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.

Want to read more? You can wait until I post it for everyone, or sign up at my Patreon, and get access now!

Frat Daddy: Interlude #4 (Mike and the Pig)

This is another Frat Daddy commission, this time looking for a followup to Mike’s last interlude. If you’re interested in a commission like this, it’s $70 dollars for 3000 words, a $20 discount! You can find more details here.

Mike managed. That’s what his life became, after his weekend with Daddy. He managed the pig inside him, found himself weighing every urge, every thought, every fantasy, trying to separate what was him, from the pig that he was certain was growing inside of him at every moment. Was he hungry because he actually was hungry, or because the pig wanted him fatter? Better avoid the dining hall, just in case, but he’d find the hunger overwhelming him in the middle of the night instead, going downstairs into the kitchen, devouring a shake, and then another, desperate for something to fill him up. Was he exhausted and avoiding a workout because the pig wanted him lazy, or because he hadn’t slept well in days? Best to workout harder. Or did it want him to workout so he’d get sweaty and even more rank than he was? Best to avoid the gym altogether, go grab something to eat, sit at his desk trying to focus on school work. Did he want to hang out with the brothers in the house, or did the pig just want to smell them? They all smelled so different, so wonderful, but every sniff was a temptation he couldn’t afford. Best to be alone–but maybe the pig wanted him alone, wanted him isolated? Then he couldn’t avoid his own stink, and he’d find himself on his bed, arms up, snorting up his own musk, his cock hard and leaking, but he couldn’t cum without fucking, and fucking was too dangerous–far, far too dangerous. Dangerous because the other boys could never know about him, about what was wrong with him. If they knew–what would they think of him? What…what would they do with him if they knew? He could picture it, all of them gathered around him, nowhere for him to escape, forced to smell their pits, their crotches, their feet, their underwear. Drink their piss, drink their cum, eat out their asses, reduced to an animal, to a slave, to a fucking, nasty pig!

Coming back from that moment was always difficult. He’d be so lost in these fantasies, slipping between the boundary between nightmare, reality, and desire than when he found his way back to himself, he wasn’t quite the person he’d been before he’d gotten lost. A few pounds here and there, his nose suddenly turned up, his balls bigger and leaking cum all the time, his pits reeking more than before, bristly hair all over his shoulders and back. How on earth was he going to stop this? After a week, he went back to Daddy and begged him to fix him, but Daddy just shook his head.

He said to Mike, “You’re afraid, I understand that. But fear is your enemy here. What are you really afraid of? The pig, or something else?”

Mike had asked him what that meant, but Daddy just smiled, gave him a light tap on the cheek with his gloved hand, and smiled at him. “You’ll figure it out–you boys usually do in the end.”

Mike didn’t have the same reluctant faith in himself that Daddy did, but since he wasn’t giving him any real help, Mike turned somewhere else–his friend, and fellow frat brother, Jake.

Jake and Mike had been friends for a long time. They’d even gone to the same high school together, rushed at the same time, and were in the same major and most of the same classes. Jake, however, had always outclassed Mike, at least in terms of looks, athletics and girls. Jake was on the swim team, perfectly toned year round, while Mike had always had a bit of a paunch and bulk, thanks to his years on the football team. Jake could be a bit of a pompous asshole…but he was the only one that Mike felt he could trust with this. So one day after class, Mike pulled Jake aside before they got back to the house, and explained what had happened when he’d gone to stay with Daddy that weekend, and the current curse he was suffering from.

“Fuck man, that shit’s heavy,” Jake said, when Mike had finished his story, “I’d just assumed you were going queer like the rest of them, and that’s why you were acting so fucking strange the last few weeks.”

“I’m not gay!” Mike said, “I mean, I don’t…want to be. I don’t want to smell my pits either! But like today, I was so busy smelling them that I missed the shower, and–”

“Fuck bro, I don’t want the details!”

“I’m sorry, I just…who else can I talk to about this? Can…can you help me?”

“What you need, man, is pussy. I’ve been slipping out at night, you know, heading over to Gamma Pi–those chicks know how to fuck. Come along tonight–we’ll sort you out.”

The thought of fucking a woman turned his stomach–and the thought of a woman seeing him like…like this…no, that wasn’t going to work. He shook his head. “No, come on, that’s not even the issue here!”

“Well, then you’re just going to have to man up then! Come on–I can think of something to try.”

They went home together, and down into the gym. Mike hadn’t been down here in a few weeks, not since he’d caught a whiff of himself on the bench press, and nearly dropped the bar on himself. It showed on his figure–the shakes were piling on the pounds, now that he’d stopped trying to work them off. “I…I can’t do this,” Mike said, “I’ll stink too much.”

“Pussy, get on the fucking bench–I’ll spot you.”

Mike shook his head.

Jake sighed. “Spot me then.”

Mike did, following Jake around while he did a quick circuit of a few machines, working up a good sweat–then he lifted up an arm, and shoved it in Mike’s face. Mike backed away as fast as he could, until he hit a wall, Jake following him. “What the fuck man? What are you doing?”

“If you lick my pit, you fucking pathetic faggot, I am going to bend you over that bench and fuck you–is that what you want?”


“Then don’t do it.”

Mike tried as hard as he could to resist, but the pig shoved his face forward, and he sucked the fresh sweat from Jake’s pit–and his friend, shoved him over the bench, hauled the plug from his hole, and fucked him–hard. “I’m doing this because I want you to get better, bro,” Jake said as he plowed him, “So we’re gonna have to give you some negative reinforcement. Learned this one in psych class.”

And so, Mike found himself with a new kind of torment. Jake would invent all kinds of reasons to get him alone, confront him with some new stench, and if Mike gave in, Jake would fuck him and humiliate him for it. Mike always gave in. Worse still, Mike was beginning to wonder if he enjoyed the treatment. Worse than that, he was starting to think that Jake might be enjoying it most of all. He was straight, or so he said, but he’d always had a thing for ass–as Mike had found out one night in high school after they’d both gotten a bit too drunk. Jake had apologized…but had he meant it, really? Had Mike been asking for it, like Jake had said? 

The darkness was getting harder and harder to avoid, and his own perversions were growing more and more intense. He couldn’t bear to shower now, just like Daddy had said would happen. He’d gained so much weight he needed a new jockstrap, after the other one started cutting into his chubby hips. Sleep was impossible. The dreams were too intense, and the boys were asking too many questions about why he would wake up snorting and squealing and screaming in the night. So he’d retreat downstairs to the gym, enjoy the fading musk of the boys’ evening workout, usually with a pilfered shoe of Jake’s. He wouldn’t know, he was busy sneaking out every night fucking some pussy when…when he had a perfectly good pig to use here, right? Daddy found him like that, sitting on the floor, face shoved in his brother’s shoe, snorting and stoking on edge. 

“When’s the last time you came, boy?” Daddy asked.

Mike snorted in surprise, and fumbled the sneaker to the floor, face red with embarrassment. “Daddy, I wasn’t–”

“When’s the last time you came.”

He hadn’t been able to fuck anyone since he’d visited Daddy, and that was the only time they could cum, so… “Not…since that night, with you.”

“No wonder you’re so pent up.”

The tears were welling up before he could do anything about it, and he started sobbing there on the gym floor. “I’m…I’m scared, Daddy,” he said, “I don’t want to be a pig. I don’t want to want to be a pig. And Jake, he’s just making it all worse, and he’s supposed to be my friend, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired, Daddy, I’m so tired of fighting it.”

“Then don’t.”

Mike looked up at him.

“Stop fighting it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Mike couldn’t believe Daddy would say something so cruel to him. He knew what could happen. He knew!

“I know you’re worried, boy. I know this is new for you, and scary. But it’s not the pig controlling you, it’s your fear.”

“I don’t…what are you talking about?”

“Tell you what,” Daddy said, and stood back up. “Come spend the night with me. Or, spend the night with that sneaker, again. Don’t think I haven’t heard you in here the last few nights with that thing already. I’m surprised you haven’t sucked all the stink out of it by now. It’s up to you–but you’ll only have a chance to cum with one of those options–and you know which one.”

Daddy turned around and walked back down the tunnel to his home. Mike sat there for a minute, looking from the tunnel to the shoe and back again. He could smell Daddy on the air now, fresher than the workout musk from earlier, and his mouth watered, his cock drooled. He got up, and followed Daddy down the tunnel, and found him in the dungeon on the other end, waiting for him. He was wearing just a pair of briefs, nothing else, and from where Mike was standing, he’d been wearing them for a few days–maybe…maybe a week. They stood there, facing one another, until Mike finally muttered, “Is…can I…” but the words died on his lips.

“Is there something you want, boy?” Daddy asked him. “Come and get it, or go back to the shoe–your choice.”

“I…but what if…I get stuck?”

“Stuck as what?”

“As a pig! What if…I don’t come back as me!”

“So what if you don’t?” Daddy said, and took a step forward, stretching his arms up and putting them behind his head, “So what if you end up as a filthy, fat, stinking pig down in my dungeon, locked in a cage heaped with my filthy clothing? So what if I only let you out in the evenings so you can crawl down the tunnel and go clean up all the good little boys after their workout? So what? What if you really do want that, boy? What if it isn’t the pig you’ve been hearing all this time? What if it’s just you?”

Mike stepped back, turned toward the tunnel, but before he could run Daddy grabbed hold of his wrist, tugged him back, and pulled his face into his pit, feeling Mike relax against him and start licking, sighing with relief, and Daddy pushed down on his shoulders, guiding him down his pecs and chest to his crotch, Mike burying his face in the stained briefs, snorting and grunting in heat, cock rock hard and aching. “Oh fuck Daddy, oh fuck you smell so fucking good Sir…”

“That’s it boy, you enjoy that,” Daddy said, and dropped the briefs to the floor. Mike grabbed then and shoved them to his face, snorting happily, while Daddy went to the wall of the dungeon, and came back with thicker collar than the boys usually wore. After taking off Mike’s thin one, He snatched the briefs from Mike’s hands, pulled them over his face, and secured the  bigger collar tight around his neck with the waistband tucked past it, pulling the briefs tight over his face, blinding and hooding him. 

Mike was terrified at first, tried to rip the briefs off his face, but Daddy grabbed his hands and held them behind his back, shushing in his ear, bringing him back down out of the terror. “That’s it boy, just relax, just let it all out. You’re so horny, aren’t you? Don’t you want to cum?” Daddy lifted one of Mike’s arms and sniffed his pit, and then licked it. “Oh, what a naughty pigboy–you’ve been skipping showers, haven’t you? And you’re getting so fat now–too nervous working out with your brothers? Worried their musk would distract you?” Daddy groped his gut, and Mike moaned and muttered something unintelligible. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, boy. You just focus on this,” Daddy said, and tore open a hole large enough for Mike’s mouth in the seat of the briefs over his face. “You just worship Daddy, enjoy it.”

He guided his mouth down to his pit again, and Mike happily licked at them, lost in the pleasure of it now, hungry for more. Daddy guided him from one pit to the other, then down lower, having the boy worship his cock and crotch for a while, and then down to his feet. Once he was satisfied, Daddy rolled over, pushed his ass into Mike’s face–and the boy balked. “I…Daddy, I–”

“Boy–what are you?”

“I…I’m a pig, Daddy,” Mike said, surprised by how good the admission felt after so many weeks of denial.

“Then eat my ass like a good pig. Doesn’t it smell good and ripe?”

Mike gave it a tentative lick, and then dove it, probing Daddy’s hole with his tongue, giving the hairy crack long, loving licks from bottom to top, his own cock hard and aching in his hands, drooling precum all over the floor. “Please Daddy, please let me cum…” he muttered.

“Boys only get to cum in a hole, isn’t that right?”

Mike whimpered a bit–there was no one here for him to fuck…right? Had…had Daddy meant…should he…

“What are you, boy?”

“I’m a pig Daddy.”

“Are you a fucking pig, boy? A manly, burly, fat, hairy, stinking pig fucker?”

Mike was panting now, unable to take it. He raised up, felt with his hand, lined his cock up with Daddy’s loosened hole and drove it inside.

“Fuck yeah, you fucking pig! Give it to Daddy!”

“Fuck yeah, I’m a fucking pig!”

“That’s it boy, this is what you fucking wanted, isn’t it?”

“I’m a fucking pig, I’m a big, fat, stinking pig fucker!” Mike shouted, and his cock unloaded deep in Daddy’s hole. The orgasm felt like it lasted an hour, burst after burst of pleasure he’d resisted for so long overwhelming him, until he finally felt himself come down, exhausted and aching and happy and relaxed, and He slid free of Daddy’s hole. He came around, pulled his boy into a hug, and held him, Mike nuzzling into the base of Daddy’s neck, smelling his musk there, licking a bit, happier now than he could remember being…ever, perhaps. 

“That was great boy, you did great.”

“T-Thank you Daddy…”

“Come on, stand up now–I want you to see something.”

Daddy helped Mike up, and he was a bit unsteady for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out at first. He assumed he was just disoriented, from the briefs still pulled down over his head, but when Daddy pulled them free, Mike saw…something else, in the mirror in front of him. It was him–he recognized him, but he was…different. Taller and broader, more muscular across his back and shoulders. Below that, a thick gut stuck out, almost like a beach ball. He was coated with hair, matted in sweat, a thicker beard growing higher up his face than it had before, and his cock! It…fuck, it was bigger than Jake’s now, and Jake had always been quick to point out the difference before. 

“What do you think, boy? You make a pretty fine pig, don’t you think?”

“Fuck Daddy, I…I mean…”

“Just say yes, boy.”

Mike gulped. “Yes, Sir. Thank you Daddy, for letting me, uh…”

“Thank you for servicing my hole, fuck pig–I’d been wondering who the first boy would be to have the honor.”

Mike blushed with pride, and then he realized he was missing something–the fear…it was gone. It had evaporated, and all that remained was a deep relief, and he nearly collapsed from it, but Daddy caught him before he could hit the ground. “Come on boy, let’s get to bed.”

“Wait, I…Daddy, I have something to say,” he said, and turned to face him, head hung low. “I’m sorry for my behavior before. What I said–I allowed my…fear to control me, and I insulted you. You were right. And you were right, that one day I’d understand what to apologize for. I think…you’re probably right about everything.”

Daddy chuckled, “I wouldn’t go that far, boy–now come on.”

Mike nodded, and allowed Daddy to help him upstairs to his room, where they slept together, and Mike had the most peaceful night of sleep in ages.

The next day, when Mike returned to the house, after the communal shower, stinking of sweat and cum and sex, looking beefy and fat and hairy and rough, with a massive bulge in the pouch of his jock, no one knew what to say. Mike threw a wink at Carter across the room, who nodded, glad that he’d finally understood what Daddy could offer. And later, when Jack confronted him, accused him of giving in, of becoming a faggot, Mike didn’t have anything to say to him–he just threw him against the wall, hauled out his plug, and shoved his big pig cock up his brother’s hole. This one would get what was coming to him, Mike thought, sooner or later. But Mike didn’t have to worry about him anymore. He knew what he was now–he was a fuckpig. And this boy was just an asshole–and he knew just what to do with an asshole, didn’t he?

This interlude was a commission, and involves a bit of a time jump. Don’t worry, we’ll return and pick up Coach Mason’s tale another time. I’d also recommend reading the first interlude, which has the beginnings of Carter’s journey. If you’d like a commission like this one, you can find out more details here!

Fall was slowly shifting to Winter around the two houses. The leaves had fallen and been raked up by the boys, classes were gearing up for finals, some were eyeing the oncoming Winter break with a nervous glance, since it was unlikely that the Frat Daddy would simply allow the boys to return home to their families without some humiliating expectations of behavior to follow. But other boys were struggling for other reasons–and one of those boys was Carter. These last few months had been a whirlwind, from losing his hair, to finding himself under Daddy’s paddle and whip, finding himself beaten down and built back up again by Sarge on a regular basis in the dungeon. Some weeks, he felt like he could take on the world. Other weeks, he ached from the bruises, welts and cuts on his body, from his muscles and bones working through another growth spurt, and wondered how he could want this, if he was broken for wanting it at all. Other weeks, all he could do was stare at the other boys, frustrated that he couldn’t take his budding sadism out on them, as Daddy did to him. He’d look at himself in the mirror, miss his hair, no longer knowing what he wanted, or who he wanted to be. Just a mass of sensation, rudderless, no consistent identity from one day to the next. 

Maybe that was why it happened. Or maybe, it was the dreams that had been plaguing him most every night, the visions of being stripped and hung in Daddy’s dungeon, flesh and soul peeling away from him with every strike of the lash until there was nothing left of him, just a dull buzz of…something in the back of his mind, something trying to pull him together. Or maybe it was Daddy wishing for him to understand, to see what Daddy saw in him, consciously or unconsciously. But whatever the reason it happened, one Friday morning, wondering if he’d be able to spend another weekend with Daddy again, wondering if he wanted to spend another weekend with him, he found himself mostly thinking about his hair. He’d be lying, if he said he didn’t miss it. He understood, somewhat, why Daddy did it…but at this point, hadn’t he proven to him that he was more than just his hair? Couldn’t Daddy at least let him grow it out again, instead of keeping his scalp shaved down every single day? It didn’t help that his beard wasn’t growing in as thick as he would have liked. His blonde coloring just didn’t stand out enough, making it look like thin, long, peach fuzz.

He looked away from the mirror, and felt something familiar brush against the back of his neck. When he turned back around, he was shocked to see his hair! It was growing in again, faster and thicker than it had before, still that perfect golden blonde that so many girls had gone wild for in high school and college, before Daddy had taken over. He ran his hands through it and gave it a tug, but it was real. How was this even possible? Looking at himself, he noticed that his beard was also filling in and growing. It finally passed through that awkward fuzzy stage and became a thick, blonde beard that reached down to his chest.

“D-Daddy?” he asked, but the room was empty–most of the other boys in the house were eating downstairs or in class. He looked back at the mirror, and then down at himself. If Daddy hadn’t done this, then…had it been him? As a little test, he thought about being bigger–thicker and taller really, and he felt his body surge outwards and respond to him, packing on muscle, his harness growing tight against his body. As he ran his hands over himself, another boy, named Ryan, came up the stairs and into the communal bedroom–and froze when he saw Carter in front of him. “C-Carter?” he asked, “Your…hair, man, how…”

Could he…change others? “Ryan–get over here and bend over, I’m fucking horny,” Carter said with a grin, and watched as Ryan did exactly as he ordered, bending over the side of his bed, and allowing Carter to pull his plug out with a pop. Ryan almost never got fucked in the house–he was too careful, but Carter had gotten him a few times. But now, he’d just…given up! Given up, because Carter had ordered him to. The rush he felt then–the sensation of power and domination over another. He loved fucking Ryan’s hole then, but nothing compared to watching that boy obey him without a single question. “Feels good, doesn’t it Ryan? You want me inside you more often, don’t you? You want me inside you as much as you can get me, got it?” he said, and Ryan started moaning and panting louder, pushing back as Carter fucked him, until he came deep in his ass–but when he pulled out, Ryan turned around, cock hard in his jockstrap, and begged him for more, his eyes betraying a terror and frustration that his mouth couldn’t articulate, but Carter was so lost in the pleasure of control that he didn’t even notice it. “Come on Ryan, let’s go see how the boys downstairs are doing. Maybe if they get me horny enough, I’ll fuck you again, would you like that?”

“Yes Sir, more than anything,” Ryan said, following along meekly as Carter went downstairs, eager to have some fun with the boys before Daddy came over in the evening.

Ethan had finished his dinner, dressed himself in his gear, and selected a cigar. With one last look in the mirror to ensure he was holding himself to the same standard he held his boys to, he went downstairs to his dungeon and crossed through the tunnel between his own home and the frat house next door, mulling over his decision again. He’d had most of the boys over at least once at this point, sometimes one on one, and sometimes together, enough to have introduced them all to the specialized plans that Daddy had for their budding manhood. Carter though–he was the exception. While he hadn’t come over every weekend, Daddy had devoted a potentially unfair amount of attention to the budding masochist over the last few months. While he wanted him again this weekend, for his own selfish ends as well as for Carter’s growth, he had decided against it. Carter had hit a wall over the last couple of weeks, one that Daddy was familiar with. He was wrestling with himself, with what he wanted to be, and it was best to let him rest for some time, to sort it out in his own time. If he pushed him too hard, it wouldn’t help anything.

He came out of the tunnel in the gym under the frat house, and that was the first indication that something was amiss–there was no one down there working out. Usually, on a Friday night, many of the boys would be down here working off their dinner, some of them working out while they smoked to take the edge off their horniness without having to fuck–or for the couple of boys in chastity at the moment, because they couldn’t. But there was no one. Guarded, he climbed the stairwell that led up to the living room, and found himself looking at the entire house of boys, all of them clustered around Carter, who was sprawled on a chaise, every single boy in the house worshipping him, with Ryan on top, fucking himself on Carter’s cock, moaning in ecstasy.

“Boys, Line up!” Daddy called, and that was enough to jolt them to their senses. Most of the boys did as commanded, some of them looking a bit…confused or scared, like they’d been caught in the act of something wrong. Carter did not line up with them, but instead stepped forward, his long hair and beard soaked with sweat from the hour long orgy he’d instigated with the rest of the house–well, commanded, really. Carter had been waiting for this, hoping his Daddy would be proud of him, but what he saw in Daddy’s eyes wasn’t appreciation, it was the sort of scowl he reserved for the boys who truly misbehaved. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? Where the fuck did that hair come from? You know that is a violation of the house dress code.”

“I…I grew it, Daddy,” Carter said. “I…I thought it was you.”

“Tell me what happened boy,” Daddy said, and Carter did–told him about how he’d grown his hair, about the power he had over the rest of the boys, the same sort of power that Daddy had himself. 

“Can’t you see Daddy? I’m a man now! Like you said I would be one day, I’m…like you. I can help you!”

Daddy sighed. “Carter, come here–stand with me and look at the boys in the line.”

Carter did as he was told, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

“They’re scared, Carter. They’re scared of you.”

Carter looked again, and he understood then. None of them would meet his eyes. Some turned away, out of fear or shame, or perhaps both. “Well, they should be afraid of me,” Carter said. “They should be afraid of both of us.”

The slap shocked him. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had done so, usually when Carter mouthed off in the dungeon, but never publicly, and never quite that hard. “No–that is not what we do. That is not what I do. We do not use fear, not here, not between us. Power, yes, but never fear. Get downstairs, Carter–we have to figure out what’s going on here, and how to stop this…power of yours.”

“What? No!” Carter said, “I…I thought you would be proud of me.”

“Carter,” Daddy said, resting his hands on his shoulders, “You are still so young, and so new. Gifted, yes, but you are wading into waters far too deep for you to handle yet. I’m not angry–I understand, but you need to listen to me. We have to fix this, alright? I cannot allow what you have done here tonight to stand. Now come with me, and we will sort this out.”

Ethan inflected that last sentence as an order,, with a sliver of will from the amulet around his neck, but he felt Carter shrug it off without much effort. “Let go of me,” Carter said in response, and the force of it caught Daddy off guard. He removed his hands, and Carter stepped back. “You’re weak. You were always weak. I’m stronger than you, I bet. Why don’t you get down on your knees and kiss my feet, Daddy? Maybe a few days servicing me will help you appreciate my power a little better.”

The young man was strong, but Ethan felt the command slide off him without him so much as flexing a knee. When he didn’t bend, he saw the kernel of fear that Carter had been hiding in his eyes grow a bit larger, and he took another step back. 

“I said kneel!” Carter said again, but again, Daddy was unbent, even as every boy in the line off to the side collapsed to their knees at the force of the command.

“This is not power, Carter, this is a tantrum. Get downstairs now, or I will drag you down there myself.”

Carter found that he had to flex all of the will he could muster just to shrug off Daddy’s command–he would lose if this kept up. He had to get out of here. He bolted for the front door, and was out and down the steps before Daddy could make it onto the porch. 

“God damn it boy, get your ass back in this house!” Daddy shouted at him. Carter felt the pull, but sprinted harder, dragging free of it. There, on the street, a motorcycle. Had it been there, or was this a wish of his own? He didn’t know how to ride it, but with a wish, he was dressed in leathers and a helmet, hopped on, and sped off down the street. He made it a few blocks before he had to pull over, rip the helmet off, and sob. He would show him, one day soon. He’d show Daddy just what kind of man he was. He’d be back, and when he did–Daddy would be the one kneeling before him, begging for forgiveness.

Ethan stood on the porch and watched Carter roar off down the road. He probably could have caught him, brought him back, but he decided not to–it was more important to tend to the boys and make sure they were ok, in any case. Back inside, the boys were rattled, but mostly resilient. Daddy canceled training that weekend, and spent the next couple of days with the boys, focusing more on making sure they felt cared for, smoking together, lying around with them, seeing to their course work, talking with them. Many asked about Carter, about what Daddy would do about him, but Daddy told them not to worry. Carter had needed space from him–but apparently, he’d needed more space than even Daddy had anticipated. One way or another, he would be back. All Daddy could hope, was that when he returned, he’d come back with a new understanding. Otherwise, there might not be a choice, other than to fight.

He sat with the amulet and meditated with it, trying to uncover how, or when, Carter had been given that strange power. In the end, nothing revealed itself which was troubling itself. If Ethan couldn’t understand how he had gifted Carter his power, then that meant he would have to be ready for it to happen again with the other boys. The weekend passed, and Carter didn’t return. Daddy spent the evenings out on the porch with a whiskey and a cigar, ready and waiting to see that motorcycle come back–but it didn’t come. After a week, Ethan began to wonder if he might be gone for good–or that perhaps something else had happened. In any case, there was nothing he could gain from worrying over it. In the end, he hung up the vigil, and things settled back down into a new normal.

Thanksgiving was coming closer, and Daddy and the boys were getting ready for the feast–none of them could return home to see their families, Daddy said, and while many were disappointed, they had found themselves growing closer to one another, and to Daddy–enough that to some of them, this felt more like their family than their old one ever had. It was Monday night andEthan had been out late shopping. Sure, he could just make the food appear if he wanted to, but he didn’t like to rely on it for the mundane. He believed it was better to retain a bit of humility, as a reminder. When he pulled up in front of the house, there was the bike. It had obviously been well travelled over the last few weeks, the wheels coated with dust and mud. Still, Carter wouldn’t have parked it here if he’d planned on jumping him. That either meant he’d come to his senses, or he’d grown powerful enough that he thought he could take Daddy without the element of surprise.

The door had been unlocked–not surprising, with Carter’s power. Daddy took a few minutes to put the food away, and just listened. He couldn’t hear much, but he could smell smoke wafting up from the dungeon below. Once the groceries were stashed away, Daddy took a cigar from his humidor, lit it, and went downstairs to meet his lost boy.

Carter was there, sitting in the bondage chair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey balanced on the arm rest. He looked about as rough as the bike did–hair greasy and unwashed, longer than it had been in the house, reaching almost to the small of his back. His beard had grown out as well, down to his belly–or rather, a gut. Carter looked up at him as he entered, and Daddy saw that Carter was not the same boy that he’d been when he’d left. He was older–not as old as Daddy, but easily in his thirties. His skin weathered from hours riding under the sun. He shuffled his feet, and downed most of his glass of whiskey. “Hi…Daddy,” he said, finally.

“Welcome back, boy. I was worried about you,” Daddy said, and pulled over a chair to face Carter.

“You…didn’t come after me. If you were worried, why didn’t you look?”

“You needed space,” Daddy said. “Me chasing you wouldn’t have made you stop running, and it wouldn’t have helped the rest of the boys either. They needed me here more than you needed me coming after you.”

Carter looked a bit pained, like the reason was so obvious now, and the fact that he hadn’t seen it only made him feel worse. “Are…they all ok?”

“Yes, for the most part. I don’t know if they’ll be happy to see you, but they’re ok.”

“I came…I mean…I tried, I really did,” Carter said, and the first of the tears fell then. Daddy held back–but it was painful to watch all the same. “All I wanted was to be like you. To be strong like you are. I thought…if I could do it to others, then I must be, but god, I fucked up, I fucked up…”

“You did.”

“Not just the house, out there. I thought it was complicated here, but out there–fuck.”

Daddy nodded. 

“You were right. I wasn’t ready. I’m just a kid, but the more I felt that way, the older I got, and I…I don’t know if I can go back, it won’t let me go back.”

“You can’t go back, Carter. There’s no erasing what you did. All you can do is go forward.”

“Please, I want to be a boy again. Help me try again, I’ll be better, I’ll listen this time.”

Daddy chuckled, and took a drag off his cigar, “But if you went back, you won’t know why you needed to listen, would you?”

Carter’s head sank. “So…I’m stuck? Like this? For good?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daddy said, and stood up. “I can try something, I think–but you have to trust me, like you did that first day–can you do that? You have to want this to be right, more than you want to feel ashamed, and guilty, and depressed. You have to believe that I can offer you something else.”

Daddy walked over, and started fastening Carter’s wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, then slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He went to the wall, took down a pair of scissors, and bundled up Carter’s hair into his fist. “What do you want me to do, boy?”

“Please Daddy–cut my hair. I…I haven’t earned the right to wear it yet.”

“I will boy–but listen to me. When I cut this hair from you, I will sever you from your power–this power. Concentrate on that. It will be sealed away inside you, until you are allowed to grow this again, properly. And when that power is sealed, you will be renewed, do you understand? You will be a boy again–you will be my boy again.”

“Yes Sir, I understand Sir.”

Ethan cut through the hair–but it was harder than the first time. The grease didn’t help, but the power was resisting as well. He had to draw on his own, push it down into the blades of the shears, but they finally cut through, and Carter let out a sob of relief. Daddy kept cutting, working around the strap of the blindfold, and when he’d clipped as close as he could, he shaved Carter bald once again–but he left the beard. A token, perhaps, but in all honesty, it was vanity. It looked good–and the boy would need something to remind him of this.

He removed the restraints, led Carter in front of the mirror, and took off the blindfold–and Carter gasped in relief. He was young again. Himself again. He collapsed to his knees, and kissed Daddy’s boots, thanking him for another chance. Daddy got down with him, and pulled him close, giving him a kiss, running his fingers through his still grungy beard. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy said.

Carter didn’t say anything back–he clearly didn’t understand how Daddy could be proud of him, after what he’d done.

“You came back, boy. You came back–but more than that, you were man enough to admit that you’d been wrong. You surrendered to me not because you had to, but because you want to. And that shows that you are stronger than nearly every man I have ever met–and you’re still just a boy, for now. But one day, I can already tell, you’re going to make a great Daddy yourself. Maybe even a Frat Daddy like me.”

“I…Thank you Sir, I’d…be honored.”

“But first, there’s the small matter of your punishment, I believe.”

“I’ll take whatever you deem necessary Sir.”

“Oh, you’ll take a beating from me, yes. But first, I think the other boys have a right to first crack at you. Get up–you’re going on that cross. Every boy in the house is getting a flogging lesson tonight–and you’re the meat–got it?”

Carter gulped, but they both saw his cock jump at the thought. And once all the boys in the house had gotten a chance to take a little bit of their frustration and shame out on the now powerless Carter, they were all more than happy to take him back into the fold. And for Thanksgiving, they were all thankful for Daddy–but none more so that Carter, at Daddy’s right hand. He knew what he was now, without a doubt. It would take time, and training, and practice, and diligence, but he’d be a Daddy too, one day–it was the only thing he wanted to be. The only thing he could be. But he’d do it right, and he knew that with Daddy guiding him, he’d grow to be the best man he could possibly be.