Category: Uncategorized

The Kingsford County Line (Part 3)

The three bikers left out the door, leaving Howard on his hands and knees, licking cum from the filthy tile floor, and Jeremy finally shot his third load, and Doug felt mostly sated for the night, and pulled away. Jeremy still hadn’t had enough though–his cock was on fire without a hole to shove it into, and when he saw his father turn around, his ass dribbling cum, he lunged forward and rammed into him like an animal, pistoning and thrusting, while Howard lost control all over again, spraying another load himself across the floor. It was only after Jeremy came for the fifth time that he was able to regain some of his senses, pull himself free from his father, and wonder why nothing he’d just done seemed to be bothering him in the slightest. It didn’t seem to be bothering his father either, who was pushing back onto his cock just as fervently, head still pressed to the tile and eating up the last of the cum from his own final load. Jeremy pulled out and stumbled back, muscles shaking from the exertion, his cock still throbbing with need, and he looked over at Doug behind the counter. “What…what the fuck did you just do to me? What happened?”

“Kingsford County happened. Don’t worry, it’ll feel like home soon enough. Still, all that fuckin’ worked up an appetite–how about you? Why don’t we binge for a bit, and you can plow me again once you’re good and drunk–I like my men with a hefty beergut, you know? Don’t worry, you’ll only end up as big as me if you want to…” Doug said, shaking his gut again, Jeremy feeling it tug at his attention, tug at his cock, tug at his sudden, visceral need, and he ran. Ran around the end of the aisle and burst out the door and back into the parking lot, but only after did he realize he’d just left his father inside. Still–he couldn’t go back there, he couldn’t go back in there. If he did, he had a feeling he might never get out of there again. He shoved his cock back in his pants, and ran back over to the car, where he’d told Tyler and Dave to wait while he went and saw what was taking his dad so long–and he discovered something even worse. They were gone. Both of them.

There was no sign of a struggle, and the doors were all unlocked. He opened the door and looked in the back, but Uncle Logan was gone too. They couldn’t have just disappeared, right? They…they knew better, didn’t they, than to just take off without saying anything? He realized the bikers had left before them–had they done something to them? Logan wouldn’t have let something happen to them, unless…unless something happened to Logan. But then again, it wasn’t like his dad or he had been able to put up much of a fight against them inside. He looked around, but the station was deserted from what he could see. “Tyler?” he shouted into the night, “Dave?…Uncle Logan?” He ran around the pumps, and hooked around the side of the building–it was dark, but he could see someone there, sitting with their back against the wall, shaking and shivering in the dark. He ran over and found Dave there, soaking wet and stinking of…piss? What the fuck had those bikers done to him?

“Dave? Dave! Can you hear me?” Jeremy said, giving his brother’s friend a shake, “What happened? Where are Tyler and Uncle Logan?”

“They…they took Tyler. Logan…he tried–” was all dave could say, before he clamped up again, eyes welling up, “The smell, fuck…smelled so good…”

“Who? Those bikers? Did they do this?” Jeremy asked, but Dave wasn’t replying, just rocking gently against the wall. He grabbed Dave by the arm and hauled him up, half leading, half dragging him back to the van, when he saw his dad stumble out of the station doors, legs wide, face coated with cum.

“Sorry…Sorry Jeremy, had to clean up after…after Doug in there too. Fucker got cum all over his fuckin’ chair, and I didn’t want him to have to just sit down in it, you know?”

“Dad!” Jeremy said, running over, “Those fucking bikers took Tyler! And I don’t know where Uncle Logan is, I can’t find him.”

Howard didn’t seem to be listening, he just lurched over towards his son, throwing himself at him, sending Dave tumbling to the dirt where he curled up in a fetal position. “Jeremy…would…hey, fuck me again, like you did in there. Real rough. Fuck your old man, really…really fucking give it to me. Never knew my son was a real stud like that, you know?”

He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Jeremy pushed him away and slapped his father across the face, but it didn’t seem to help much. “Dad! They’re fucking gone! Don’t you fucking get it? Those fucking bikers must have taken them!”

“Nah…nah they…they wouldn’t…would they? Don’t think they’d do that. It’s me they want, they know I’m the best…best pig around here.”

“Dad, get in the damn car, we have to find them!”

“Sure sure, but what about that fuck son? Fuck me again, and we can do anything you fuckin’ want,” Howard said, leaned in and tried to kiss Jeremy, who side stepped him. Howard fell forward, trying to keep his balance, but fell to the dirt on his hands and knees–but instead of getting up, he undid his jeans and pushed them down, showing his ass to his son…and Jeremy…he wanted to, he really did, but he had to stay focused, he had to…to try not to think about what had just happened in there, what he’d done.

“You don’t want that ass–trust me, he’s taken.”

Jeremy looked over and saw Doug at the door. He must have finally lumbered over to the door, his massively fat apron still…still hanging down over his jeans, swaying a bit.

“Get back in here, we aren’t finished yet, not by a long shot.”

“No…No, those bikers, they took my brother. And my uncle.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, that’s none of your concern anymore,” Doug said, giving his fat a slight jiggle, Jeremy focusing away, but he could…feel it, feel that ache. “You’re mine, I claimed you. Now get in here–I’m fucking starving.”

No–No, he–he had to find his family. But later, maybe. Eventually? It was hard to really understand what happened to him every time he saw Doug’s gut heave again.

He grabbed his dad by the arm and hauled him up, dragging him over to the car, Howard stumbling with his pants and underwear around his ankles, and Jeremy shoved him into the passenger seat, as Doug pushed his way out, yelling and cursing, but he was too slow to stop him, Jeremy knew that. He grabbed Dave and helped him up from where he’d fallen, and shoved him into the back of the van, climbed in the driver’s side and started the engine, hearing it give a strange, grinding whine that it hadn’t been making before, but he floored it, and sped off into the dark. Still, he couldn’t…couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rearview mirror, where he could still see Doug silhouetted in the light of the station, until the road turned a bend, and he disappeared behind him in the dark.

The Kingston County Line (Part 2)

Yesterday went to hell, so here’s a double length post to make up for it!

He knew the answer to his own question as he looked them up and down–these guys were doing whatever the hell they wanted to do. All three of them were probably in their midthirties, more in shape than out, and wide, square shoulders, and none shorter than six foot three. What in the hell was he doing even asking guys like this a question like that? The one the attendant had called Butch, the biggest, and meanest looking of the three, his body so thickly coated with tattoos even his face had thick blocks and swirls of black on his cheeks and forehead, pulled a dark leaf, near black cigar from the pocket of his worn leather vest, a lighter from the other, and took a moment to light it, puffing it to life with an odd gentleness. How long since he’d seen someone smoke indoors in a place like this? Decades? It was such a strange sight, that it was almost comical to him, and the joker in him blurted out, “I don’t think you can smoke in here,” and immediately regretted it.

“Definitely new around here,” Butch mumbled with a chuckle, and then stared Howard down, “I think you’ll figure out soon enough that, here in Kingsford, we can smoke wherever the fuck we want to, bitch.”

Howard tried to retort, but his throat was frozen shut, his eyes unable to look away from Butch’s. He heard Doug let out a despairing moan, “Aww come on! You know he should be mine! Let me have him, ya’ll don’t have to be so damn greedy! Besides, I know you came in here for my fat ass, Butch, don’t tell me you aren’t gonna give me a good reaming now just cause someone new came in the door!”

“Slim, smack Dougy for me,” Butch said without breaking eye contact, and one of the bikers–neither of which was at all slim, turned and slapped the attendant hard across the face, dark chewing tobacco spittle flying from his mouth. “Thanks, Slim.”

“Sure thing boss.”

“Dougy, you can watch if you fuckin’ want, I guess, but I sure as hell don’t want your ass now, none of us want your nasty, loose hole, you’re just fuckin’ easy, and you know it. No, not when we have someone new inside the county line,” Butch stepped closer, puffing on his cigar, until he was toe to toe with Howard, and then took the cigar from his mouth, leaned down until he less than an inch from his face, and exhaled a thick plume of dark grey smoke right at him.

He didn’t want to breathe in, but the sudden surprise made him jolt and inhale anyway, pulling the rank smoke into his lungs…but more than that. He felt the soot stick to his face, to his eyes, cloud up his mind. He swayed on his feet, as Butch took a second deep drag off his cigar, and again leaned in, but this time he was ready–Howard…opened his mouth, allowing Butch to lock their mouths together, feeding him the smoke directly into his lungs, the two of them sharing smoke even as Butch ran his knife down his bare arms, making Howard shiver, before using it to cut the buttons from his shirt, one by one until it opened up, revealing his hairy belly beneath. At this point, Howard wasn’t thinking anything at all, his eyes blank and staring into the middle distance, jaw slack, but more than happy to take another load of smoke when Butch fed it to him, while he undid the fly of Howard’s jeans and pushed them down, helping him shrug off his now buttonless shirt, the father now naked aside from the tennis shoes. His cock was rigid, but Butch had no interest in that–he spun him around, bent him over at the waist, and got down on his knees, taking another drag off his cigar, this time spreading apart Howard’s ass, and pushing the hot, acrid smoke right into his ass.

The effect was immediate–his hole loosening, but more than that–a strange, desperation pushed it’s way into his hazy mind. Though Howard had never once in his life entertained being with another man, suddenly, the only thing he needed, more than anything else, was a cock buried deep in his ass. Howard kept feeding him smoke, four or five more loads, and each time he didn’t believe the desperation could grow, but it did all the same. By the third lungful of smoke, he heard himself begging, almost outside of his body, pleading with the bikers to fuck him, to rape him, all of them, that he needed their cum, he needed their smoke, he needed them all inside him, all at once, if possible. When he needed a fuck so bad he was nearly sobbing, Butch finally decided he was ready, lined up his thick, nine inch cock, and slipped it inside Howard’s now welcoming ass, teasing him, holding his hips tight in his gloved hands to keep the older man from impaling himself on it, making him quiver and beg for every inch, until Butch was nestled in deep.

“First of many, bitch, first of so fucking many, don’t you worry,” Butch said to the quivering man, “Now, tell me, how much do you want my brothers’ cocks shoved down that hungry throat of yours? How bad do you need them to rape your throat rough and hard?”

“So…so badly, more than I’ve needed anything, other than how much I need you inside me right…right now.”

“That’s good–because their cocks deserved to be worshiped, don’t they? Look at them, think about me. We’re the only kind of men you desire. Rough, violent, willing and happy to treat a desperate pigwhore like you how you deserve to be treated. The only people who can give you, what you know, in your heart, you need, and deserve. Men like us, we deserve to be worshiped, deserve your service, isn’t that right?”

“Yes…yes sir, fuck, they’re so…you’re all the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, please, please let me serve you, please give me your cocks, I need them, I want…I want to give you pleasure, do whatever you want to me, use me however you want, just…just please…please.”

Slim and Leon, the third biker, were more than happy to give the pig what he was asking for. Both of them released their own cocks from their greasy jeans–Leon’s was a more modest five, but heavily pierced, with a thick gauge PA and a jacobs ladder, while Slim’s was ten inches and again, hardly slim, with a meaty foreskin. Howard didn’t know where to start–he hopped from each cock, back and forth with Butch started fucking him, drawing his cock all the way out before slamming back inside him with enough force to impale his face on whatever cock had his attention at the moment. And inside his head, Howard scrambled for any kind of foothold he could find. What was he doing? These…these men were raping him, and he was just going to let it happen? No, he wasn;t just letting it happen, he wanted it to happen. He wanted them to be even rougher, he wanted it, he needed it. How could he have not known this about himself? How was he just discovering this part of him? It felt…it felt like that smoke–it had been more than smoke. It had planted something inside of him, something that was growing…or festering. Butch came inside him, and he felt that…thing, it latched onto him, wrapping itself deeper into him, watered with the cum filling his bowels. Butch pulled out, motioned to Slim, and the massive man took his place, burying his even larger cock in to the hilt.

Butch had been gentle, compared to Slim. Even as loose and pliable as he’d become, he still groaned and moaned in pain, even as he tried to focus on worshiping the cocks in front of him, cleaning his own filth from Butch’s tool, tasting his own humiliation. It was then that he realized that his own cock had been wrapped around his own cock this whole time, and he’d already cum once–he hadn’t noticed because the force and pleasure of his own orgasm hadn’t compared at all to the pleasure of his service at the cocks of these rough, abusive bikers, these gods, as he was coming to see them now. His gods.

“D-Dad? Dad!”

Some small fragment of whatever spell was holding him snapped, and Howard flung his head away from the cocks, and found himself staring at Jeremy, his son, who must have come in to look for him, when he hadn’t returned to fill up the car.

Did I fucking tell you that you could stop?” Butch asked, grabbed Howard by the iar and yanked his face back around, cheeks burning as he continued nursing the head of Butch’s cock, tasting the last bit of cum dribbling from his balls. “Looks like it’s your fucking lucky day Doug, we have a two for one.”

Jeremy pulled his eyes away from the disgusting scene of his father’s willing rape, and looked to where Butch had turned, finding himself staring at the gas station attendant behind the counter. He had hefted his huge gut up onto the glass surface, like a shelf, and squatted down so he could access his puny cock buried there in the folds–it was one of the only ways he could reach it at his size. The young man, however, found his eyes locked to something else–the massive man’s undulating belly, as he jacked his cock. It was…it was huge. Jeremy had never even seen anything like it in his life, and…and suddenly, what he wanted more than anything else, was to just stare at it. Or…or even touch it. It was only after he’d registered that as a thought, that he realized he was walking forward, past the bikers fucking his father at both ends and around behind the counter, where he found himself grabbing onto Doug’s flab, shaking it, watching and feeling it jiggle against him. Doug pulled off his uniform, revealing his monstrous upper body, smooth aside from a moderately thick trail running the impossibly long distance from belly to chest, and he got down, yanked down Jeremy’s shorts before he could do anything about it, and began slathering it from root to tip with his dark spit.

It was like a jolt of caffeine shot directly into his bloodstream. Suddenly, Jeremy was so aware of everything occurring around his cock, that he was completely unaware of anything else. He began thrusting his cock into Doug’s fat mouth–awkwardly, but the fat man knew how to handle strangers fairly well–he’d certainly seen his fair share of them, since this was usually their first stop in Kingsford County, and he took the opportunity to lick his black slobber all over Jeremy’s balls as well, which only intensified his need. When he pulled away, Jeremy didn’t even really notice–he simply kept fucking the air, completely unaware of what was going on around him as Doug dropped his pants to the floor, bent over in front of him, and helped guide the young man’s cock into his hole, where Doug needed it most. All it took was that first deep thrust, and Doug let out a loud, long moan, his balls pumping a huge load of cum across the seat of the chair where he’d been sitting.

“Fuck yeah! That’s what I’m fuckin’ lookin’ for. You love pounding a fucking hole, don’t you boy? Best fuckin’ feeling in the whole goddman world, ain’t it? Go on, show me how much you love it, give it to me like Slim’s giving it to that pig!”

Jeremy shot his first load after about a minute, but Doug coaxed him to keep going, that no young stud like him was satisfied with just one load in a fat hole like his. So Jeremy just kept going, his mind still on a livewire as he fucked, no longer even caring that his father was still getting reamed by the bikers feet away from him. Slim had finally finished, leaving Leon to pick up sloppy third, grumbling about the fact that he had to go last, now that Slim had stretched the hole to “fuckin’ oblivion,” as he said. Butch told him that if he didn’t want it, he could just skip his turn entirely, but Leon still wanted to cum. Jeremy shot again, but still couldn’t bring himself to stop, and was close to his third load when another face came around the corner–a filthy looking chubby hick, smoking a short, thick cigar, who surveyed the scene with mild interest before turning to Doug.

“Ah see yer a bit busy. I’ll git what Ah need ‘n leave cash on the counter?”

“Fuck-Fuckin’ fine, Pa, whatever.”

The man browsed the beer for a bit, settled on a cheap twenty-four pack, left a few bills on the counter and left with the beer under his arm like nothing strange was happening at all. It wasn’t too much longer after that, when Leon finally finished up, and pulled out of Howard’s hole.

“Good job, pig,” Butch said, patting him on the head. Now get down there and clean up that cum of yours you shot everywhere like a good pig, got it? Come on boys, let’s see what we have outside, and then we can round up the rest of the gang for a roadside pickup, eh?”

“Sounds good to me, Butch.”

“Fuck, everyone’s gonna be so fuckin’ happy to have another pig around here.”

The Kingsford County Line (Part 1)

This is a now defunct story of mine that I’m thinking about reworking into an interactive once the fetish gun finishes up here soon (since I’m kind of running out of steam with it! In the mean time, and because I still don’t quite have my buffer back, here’s the first chapter of the original story I wrote.

“That sign says, ‘Kingsford County’! How about that, does that help?” Tyler said, watching the sign blow past in the dark. In the passenger seat of the minivan, his older brother Jeremy squinted harder at the roadmap he had spread out in his lap, while their father, tried to focus on the road. Next to Tyler, on the middle bench of the van, his best friend, Dave, was staring out the other window at the darkness. There hadn’t been much out there all day–just plains and some low hills, and the occasional antenna which did nothing to improve anyone’s cell phone reception out here in the damn national sticks. Some roadtrip–why in the hell had he taken the invitation in the first place? If he’d known all he was going to see was dirt, he would have stayed home. Behind them, on the back bench, Tyler and Jeremy’s uncle Logan was snoring softly, having already fallen asleep after driving most of the day, before his younger brother, Howard–the boys’ father–had taken over a few hours before.

The Brandt Boys Annual Family Roadtrip was something of a tradition for Logan, Howard Brandt and his two sons, and each year they would choose a different part of the country to drive through. This year, they were driving through the heartland, but at the moment, they were rather lost. Jeremy searched the map–they should be somewhere in…Missouri? Arkansas? Gah, he was a horrible navigator, why in the hell had his dad given him the map? His Uncle Logan was so much better at this than he was, but he couldn’t blame him for wanting to take a nap. Jeremy had just finished his Junior year of college and was home for the summer, while Tyler and his friend had both just graduated. It was Tyler who had picked their trip, as a graduation present, and also brought along his friend, though Dave hasn’t exactly enjoying himself. Still, the trip was his idea–why the hell wasn’t he the one failing at reading the map? At least then he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty for doing it wrong. He looked over at his dad–now in his late fifties, rings under his eyes from driving all day long, and now into the night, beyond a short pit stop for lunch at some small speck of a town a hundred miles behind them now. “Dad, do you want to switch? I can drive for a bit, if you want.”

“No, I’m good–there has to be something around here, somewhere. It’s not like we can be on a road to nowhere, right?”

It sure felt like they were. Jeremy went back to studying the map, looking for a Kingsford county anywhere on there, but he didn’t see one. The road they were one was currently a bit hilly–and all of them breathed a sigh of relief when the rode up over a low peak and saw the night glimmer of a tiny town in the distance. It didn’t exactly look large, but it was something–or somewhere. If nothing else, they weren’t going to be camping on the side of the road like they’d had to a few times in the past–and they hadn’t run out of gas yet, either…though Howard checked the gauge again. This was definitely the closest they’d come–he’d dumped in the two gallons of spare gas he kept for emergencies just before sundown, when he’d switched with Logan. Still, this was all part of the adventure, for him. Staying off the highways, finding these old, forgotten places. This country was massive, but no one understood that. Everyone just stayed in their little bubbles, not even caring about what might be out there, and he wanted his sons to see all of it, warts and all.

The glimmer disappeared behind the next hill, but it was there, at least. They kept driving, and after another ten miles, the first sign of civilization appeared–a small, rundown gas station, with pumps that looked like they’d last been installed in the seventies or eighties, but it would have to do. He pulled the car in up next to a pump, and breathed a sigh of relief–Tyler noticed, Jeremy didn’t, and Dave was still staring out the window like there was still nothing out there at all but plains. There was one small pickup truck, well worn, and three motorcycles parked off to the side, but no one else getting gas. It didn’t look like a pay at the pump sort of situation, so Howard told the three boys to wait in the car with Logan–who hadn’t yet woken up–while he went in and prepaid–thankfully he had cash, because he didn’t expect a place like this to have a card reader.

He also didn’t expect to walk in on a hold up. Or, what looked like a hold up.

The small store was stocked mostly with a few short, but tall, aisles of junk food and candy bars, the coolers along the walls packed with beer. The aisles blocked the view of the counter, and so he lost sight of the windows as he came around the end of the aisle where he found a short counter, and he heard them before he saw them:

“Now, Dougy, are you gonna give us what we want? Or do we have to take it, like usual? You know I like the way you fight, fat fuck, but I don’t know if I wanna work that hard tonight, you know?”

“Aww, come on Butch!” the attendant said, flashing a smile, showing off the fact he was missing quite a few teeth, “You know how I like it, and if you want it so bad, I want to feel you take it–it’s the only thing that helps these fuckin’ night shifts pass, you know?”

There, around the corner, was a short counter, behind which a was stashed the stores cigarettes, cigars, and other tobacco, and it was also where three rough looking bikers were standing, the one in the center leaning over the counter with a knife pressed into the fat, fleshy throat of the attendant–a very large man wearing a greasy uniform and a name tag which said “Doug”. He had his head tilted up, and some…black substance was leaking out the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t seem worried. If anything, he looked excited.

Howard froze and all four of them turned to stare at him, like they were all looking at some strange beast.

“Well fuck me,” Doug said, “Not what I was expecting tonight.”

Howard steeled himself–as best as an overweight, over the hill five foot six father of two with a good amount of grey hair can–and puffed up his chest. “What…what the hell do you three think you’re doing?”

The Neighborhood Bitch (Flash Commission)

It’s crazy, is what it is. No one on the block seems to think it’s the least bit strange–but it sure as hell isn’t normal! My wife and I moved in here a couple of weeks ago, and were so busy getting everything unpacked, we didn’t have much of a chance to meet the neighbors–but the ones who came by seemed nice and normal. The one neighbor we didn’t meet was the one who lived across the street–and when we asked about them…no one seemed to have anything to say, really. But there I was, on my my new porch enjoying the evening, when I see the guy leaving the front door…and following him, wearing just a collar and a lead, is some freaky fucker pretending to be a dog!

They walk down the drive like whatever shit they’re pulling is completely normal, and I’m not about to stand for something like this. I charge across the street, howling at them both to cut the faggot shit out, and he just looks at me with surprise for a moment, and then…irritation. Without saying anything, the creepy fucker pulls out this…medallion from under his shirt, and as soon as it catches the light…it’s like everything in my mind flies away, and all I can see is that shining light. I fight it though–and when the medallion goes away, and my…head tries to tell me this is normal, and I should accept my nice neighbor and his…pet, I decide to take matters into my own hand, and I slug the faggot across the chin, like I always did with the fags back in school.

Now the dog-man didn’t take too kindly to that, and leapt on me, both of us rolling around on the ground. Then the medallion was back out again…and this time I knew what was happening, as I stripped off my clothes and got down on my hands and knees on the sidewalk…and the fucking dog-man mounted me! Right there in the middle of the street, in view of all of my new neighbors, and I was just thankful my wife was at the store so she couldn’t see it. The man said something about making me the neighborhood bitch…but then everything faded away again, and when my head was clear, I was alone in the street…but I had to crawl back to my house naked before I could manage to stand upright again.

I think the fucker is fucking with us, with our heads. With everyone on the damn street! Nothing…has been right since that evening. My cock…seems smaller, and it refuses to get hard, much to the frustration of my wife, who usually likes a good fuck every evening. I think…word has been spreading too, about what happened, but it wasn’t until today I realized something was really wrong. I went over next door to borrow a tool I hadn’t been able to find in my boxes. Jerry, the guy there had been nice so far, seemed on the level with everything…but when he got close to me, and…I think he smelled me. He sneered at me in the garage, called me a bitch…and when he did, I couldn’t stop myself.

I took off all my clothes like before, got down on my hands and knees, and he fucked me right there, hard and rough like the dog-man had…and fuck, if it didn’t feel so fucking good! I was moaning and panting, begging for more, and when he shot in me, it was like everything was normal again. I got dressed, we said nothing more of it, and I borrowed the tool like I’d hoped…but he still had that sneer on his face the whole time, like he knew my secret.

Every guy on the block has been the same! They’ve all called me a bitch, and fucked me…and hell if I wasn’t thinking about it still, wishing I could get hard, wanting…wanting all of them to dump their seed in my bitch cunt. I…I have to see him, I have to get him to fix this, I can’t keep feeling like this, I can’t!

He didn’t fix me. He just made everything worse. Now, at home, I have to…do all of my business outside, in the yard. I can’t wear clothes in the house, and I crawl around like a fool. I think he’s been talking to my wife too, because she just treats me like some mutt–feeds me out of a bowl, gives me a naked walk in the evening…and she’s talking to all the guys in the neighborhood, flirting with them right in front of me…and sometimes she even brings one home, and fucks them in our bed…and I’m not jealous of them, but of her–I…I’m the bitch, I should be getting their cum, not her!

My body is changing too–my dick really is smaller, just a nub now, and I can’t tell if I have balls anymore or not. My body hair is all gone–it just fell out over the last week, and I feel…fatter, somehow, especially around my hips. I can’t talk anymore, I just bark and yip like a fucking animal, and she treats it all like the most normal thing in the world. At least…after fucking her, they usually fuck me too. I’m…the neighborhood bitch after all, I get used by everyone…and I like it, fuck, I live for it, and I’m so fucking ashamed of it, I don’t know what to do with myself.

It can’t be true.

It fucking can’t. I’m…I’m a man, I know I am, I was.

I can’t be pregnant, I can’t.

But I can feel the thing inside me…I can feel it. My cock disappeared, and it…it turned into a pussy, and fuck, the first time I got fucked, it was the biggest orgasm of my life, and I hadn’t cum in months…I just wanted more, I wanted every man I could find to fuck me. The neighbor, with the medallion, told my wife (my owner now, I suppose–she doesn’t even remember being married, and the ring is gone from her hand) that I was probably in heat, and to be careful. But every man in the neighborhood fucked me anyway, I couldn’t say no, and now…now I’m some pregnant bitch, and everyone knows it…and I think it’s his.

The guy with the medallion, the way he looks at me, the way he…fucked me, that one time…it has to be his, and I feel so fucking dirty…but I want to feel him in me again, I want them all in me, I don’t care anymore. I’m a stupid bitch, and that’s all I will ever be now.

The Mailman’s Pup (Flash Commission)

The mailman would be here any second, and Carson couldn’t swallow the pit of dread in his stomach, the same one that was there every day now, ever since he’d received that first letter in the mail. Carson worked remotely, managing customer service for a few tech companies out of his small house, and one day, his mailman had delivered a fragile package all busted up. He’d been furious, and demanded the man’s name to report him…but when the mailman had handed him something on a sheet of paper…something else had happened instead. He’d let the mailman in, blown him, and then the man had left–all without him ever learning his name.

Now the mailman came to the door everyday, and each day he’d make Carson service him, calling him his special little pup, and he’d give him a new letter each day. He never knew what the letters said, or how they did what they did, but they would…compel him to do new, humiliating acts the next day, either to himself, or to the mailman.

He heard the gate open, and he opened the door for him–and he saw the mailman had a package with him. A sizable one. “Don’t worry pup–I’ve been extra careful with this new toy of yours–got here safe and sound.”

Carson had no idea what could be in the odd, flat box–likely he had ordered something online, as ordered by the mailman’s letters, and then forgotten about it entirely. Usually he could recall what the man had written, mostly, but other times, the man liked to surprise him. He stood back, and the mailman pushed his way inside–he was short and fat, and reeked of BO–but while that had bothered Carson at first, now it just aroused him more than anything, and he could already feel the need to service the dirty man’s feet and pits beginning to overwhelm him.

“Well come on then, open it up–I’m eager to take it for a ride,” the mailman said.

Carson found some scissors and opened the package up–and as soon as it was open, he could remember ordering it–and what it was. A rim chair. He’d…he’d ordered one, because he needed to worship his mailman’s ass–after all, a pup like him loved liking and smelling dirty holes, right?

Carson wasted no time getting the chair out of the packaging, the mailman behind him ridiculing him, telling him what a dirty pup he is, ordering a thing like this, telling him he hasn’t wiped his ass all day, reminding Carson what a perverse, horny little pup he truly is. When it was finished, the mailman got out of his shorts, and boots, but left on his socks, and sat down. “First things first pup–I’ve been on my feet all day. You know what to do.”

That had been one the early letters–making Carson obsessed with the mailman’s feet. He shoved his face into them, snorting in the man’s reeking scent, feeling his cock harden as he did–but he didn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch it in his presence, but when the mailman was gone, Carson masturbated all the time, thinking about the mailman, about what he made him do, and…and how much he enjoyed doing it all. He tugged the socks off with his teeth and got to work on the man’s feet properly, and when he was satisfied they were clean, he ordered Carson under the rim chair, and told him to get to work.

It stank, and the mailman hadn’t been kidding when he said he hadn’t wiped. He was torn between his disgust, and his desperate desire for the man’s hole–the former fading away until only Carson’s puppy lust remained, moaning as he licked at the mailman’s ring, cleaning it, working his tongue inside of it, listening to the man moan over him. He…he was doing a good job. He was being a good pup–good pups didn’t bark and yell at a mailman, they did whatever a mailman told them to do, like good boys, and Carson wanted to be a good boy more than anything.

The mailman put one foot on Carson’s chest, and the other started working the pup’s cock. “Come on you dirty pup–you’re going to cum with your dick under my foot, like a little bitch–I want to see you do it–tongue up my ass, under my feet–you’re really my bitch now, and I still have so many letters for you to read–just you wait.”

Carson tried to hold off on his orgasm, just to spite him–it was one of the few bits of control he still had. The man liked seeing him struggle though, and won in the end–Carson sprayed the underside of the man’s foot, and his own belly, with a load of cum, and he used his feet to rub it into Carson’s skin until it turned tacky.

“Alright, enough of this–get out, hands and knees–I gotta get back to my route.”

Carson wormed his way back out from under the chair, got up, and the mailman fucked him–he had a surprisingly large cock, and while Carson had hated getting fucked by him at first…now, it was really the easiest part of the entire ordeal. The mailman finished quickly, and then got his shorts and boots back on–before handing Carson the next letter, and leaving for his truck.

He tried not to open it, he fought as hard as he could, but he tore into the envelope, and pulled out the letter, and read it. Like before, he couldn’t ever remember what was written on it exactly, and when he came back to himself a half an hour later, he always found the letter burned on the stove–but the contents were sealed in his mind.

Master wanted him to be a dirtier pup–much dirtier. No more showers–and no more using the bathroom at all, in fact. From now on, he was going to do his business out back in the yard–naked of course, and always on all fours, like a proper mutt. He managed to hold it until later in the evening, so his neighbors were less likely to see him, and he crawled out of the house, over to a tree, lifted a leg and peed on it–feeling a bit proud of himself at how good he’d done on his first try, and then humped up to shit as well. He smelled it, and thought of his Master’s hole again…and even though he knew it was wrong, he was already looking forward to servicing him the next day, and the day after that–and then all day on Sunday. Sundays were his…favorite. After all, there was no mail to deliver on Sunday, which meant Master could spend all day with his pup…training him. Carson had a feeling he’d be under the rim chair a lot this Sunday–and hoped cleaning the mailman’s hole was all he’d be doing.

Suggested Story – Worms, Pups, and Pigs | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This week’s suggested story for Patrons is an extended XL story, since I missed a post last week in the thick of moving. As always, if you support me with at least a dollar, you get access to all of these stories, and the ability to make suggestions of your own. This week, a jock’s plan to blackmail a professor backfires horribly, and he and two of his friends are about to be given very different sorts of lives, after the professor takes his revenge. Includes pup play, humiliation, hypnosis, BDSM, and some extremely strange TF content as a weird bonus. Hope you enjoy it!

Suggested Story – Worms, Pups, and Pigs | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

The Bro Apartments (Flash Commission)

Commissioned by @mutabear

“Yeah bro–it isn’t much, but it should do you for now, I think,” Greg said, as he showed me around the small one bedroom apartment I was looking at renting. I had just graduated from college this month, landed a tech job with a startup nearby, and the apartment was workable–at least until the app took off and we got some of that sweet venture capital coming in.

Greg for his part seemed…nice. Mid forties probably, but not really dressed like it. He reminded me of the frat bros back in college, but one who never grew out of it. Sports jersey, gym shorts, big belly from too much beer every night, hat on backwards…I mostly felt a bit sorry for him, because he seemed really nice and genuine beyond that.

“Of course,” Greg continued, “We have a gym for you to use if you want. A lot of the bros work out there–saves money on a gym membership! We’re a real tight community around here, so I’m sure you’ll fit in.”

“Well, I’ll probably be at work most of the time,” I said.

Greg nodded. “Well, you just owe me first, last, and a deposit–I don’t bother with credit checks or shit like that.”

“Really? Aren’t you worried about people flaking out?”

Greg laughed, “Eh, not really. Besides PJ gave you a good recommendation, so I’m not worried.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about my friend Paul Jeffers, who had moved in a few months earlier, and recommended I check it out. Never in my life had I ever heard Paul referred to by his initials. I signed the lease agreement for six months, gave him a check, and got to work moving in.

It was a week later when I finally managed to connect with Paul in the complex. Moving in had been easy–even the furniture. A couple neighbors of mine (just as broish as Greg was, but still nice fellows) helped me get stuff up into my room, and insisted I come over to their apartment for a beer afterward. The strangest thing…is I don’t really remember getting home that night, and when I woke up, I…was nearly naked. All I had on was this weird, ripe smelling jockstrap. I took it off of course, and meant to throw it out, but it ended up by the bed.

When I did connect with Paul, or rather, PJ as everyone in the apartment complex called him, I…well, it was a surprise to say the least, on many, many fronts. The Paul from school had been a small guy, really bright, a sharp programmer…but this was not the same Paul I had known from a year ago.

For one thing, he was taller than me. He must have grown a foot taller somehow, and when I pointed it out, he just told me it was a late growth spurt. He was more muscular, with a decent sized gut, wearing sports jerseys like everyone else in the complex besides me it seemed. He spoke different too–slower, with a whole lot more “Bro” and “Dude” than he had…but it was the same guy. I was put off, but once he’d coaxed me into drinking a few of the beers he’d brought by, we got on perfectly well…but again, I fucking blacked out, and woke up alone, in my bed…wearing that same jock from before.

I thought it had to be some prank the guys were pulling on me, but I’d also woken up horny as hell, jacked off, and blew my load into the pouch…and I left it there, and dozed back off. When I woke again, I pulled the thing off in disgust and took a shower…but still couldn’t seem to throw it away.

It was a few days after that when I got an even bigger surprise–when PJ introduced me to his boyfriend–Alec. Paul–Paul who had always been straight, if not all that successful at it, was gay! It…surprised the hell out of me, and I wasn’t too keen on hanging out with him after that, especially since the last time I’d woken up with no memory and mostly naked…but he was just so congenial, and Alec was sweet, and with some more beer, they coaxed me over to watch a game–and then another game a few nights later. And then I started going to the gym with them, and hanging out more, and…and I was having so much fun, and work was just so difficult and stressful!

I couldn’t seem to focus while I was at the office, and the capital wasn’t coming, and I didn’t know how I was going to be able to pay rent a few months down the line. So yeah, I…avoided my problems a bit. Hanging out with PJ and Alec–and some of the other bros in the complex was just so much more relaxing. It was a week later when I realized I had the jock on–at work. I had woken up in it a few days earlier, and just never taken it off! I was horrified, but didn’t have anything to change into…and by the time I got home, and had a couple of beers…I didn’t want to take it off. Greg…told me about this party he’s throwing for the whole complex here in a few days. He really wants me to come…but I’m scared. This place, these guys, they’re doing something to me, they’re making me like them, and…and I’m so happy, I don’t know what to do.

The party was a fuckin’ blast bro! Just–fuck! You had to be there to really, you know, get it.

So I showed up, and everyone from the complex was there, hangin’ around the pool, and they were all wearing these jocks, just as dirty as the one I had on. A few other guys, more “normal” ones like me, were there too…and we all started stripping down to our own jocks…and fuck, it felt so good not to have to hide anymore, or be alone!

PJ and Alec found me, got some beers in me, and before I knew it, PJ had his tongue down my throat, and fuck, I…I’d wanted him since the day I’d seen him here, but I hadn’t even realized it. Alec came back, lubed up my hole, and coached me through it, just like he’d coached me at the gym, and soon I was riding his cock, moanin’ and gruntin’, PJ sucking me off, and Greg…he was holding court, watching all a us bro’s hangin’ out and fuckin’, and happy as a fuckin’ bro whose team just won the championship.

I woke up between them in their apartment…and I knew there wasn’t any way back for me. I’m…fuckin’ huge, and hairy, and…maybe a bit stupid, but who cares? PJ ‘n Alec don’t care–when they woke up we went right back into it, fuckin’ and suckin’ and lickin’…

I quit my job. Alec says he can find me somethin’ nearby at the college working in sports administration or something, nothing too hard. I’ll be saving money in any case, ‘cause I’m movin’ in with them next week–Greg was more than happy to let me off the lease, as long as I recommend someone to take it, and I got just the friend in mind.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 9)

And we’re back! There will still probably be a few days this week without new updates, but hopefully it should be back to normal(ish) by next week. Bear with the upheaval–besides, it’s my birthday on Friday! You all have to cut me some slack, so there.

Rick gave a groan, and sat up in the booth where he’d been thrown by the gun, when it had gone shorted out. When he realized where he was, and who he was, he made a quick check of himself to see if anything about himself had changed when the gun had struck him–and to his surprise, he was still the same tall, thick leather clad biker bruiser he’d been after his tussle with Parker a few minutes ago, or at least, what he assumed had been a few minutes ago. He had no idea how long he’d been out, in all honesty.

The gun wasn’t where it had fallen, and he got up to look for it–but when he did, he heard a rather unsettling moan coming from under him, and his foot sank into something…squishy, and fleshy. He tumbled back down in alarm, and saw that both of his boots–were not quite boots any longer. They were still black, mostly, but the rim of the top of each of them were shaped like lips, and he could feel them sucking on his feet gently. The tongues of the boots were becoming more active and shrinking, becoming red instead of black, as fledgling limbs began to sprout on the sides and out the toe of the boot. The leather faded into flesh–though it remained quite leathery–he reached down and stroked one gently, and felt Anthony–he thought–shudder at his touch, and suck a bit harder, trying to stay on his foot even as his body was beginning to reform into a proper sort of form.

The foot of each boot began to grow, becoming a proper body–small at first, but becoming larger with each passing second. He could still feel his feet filling each man’s mouth, and down a bit of their throat, though it was becoming tighter and tighter. The men tried their best to keep his feet slammed in deep, but it proved hopeless as their human anatomy regained prominence. They each had to release the foot eventually, though their oversized tongues kept slathering Rick’s feet as hungrily as they had before.

As they grew larger, Rick noticed something else–that he couldn’t quite tell who was who. When he’d fired the gun at Anthony, by accident, he had been his father–wearing his soggy diaper, covered in shit from Parker’s eager fisting of Anthony’s hole, before he’d tried to grab the gun. But when he’d shot Parker, he’d been…normal, mostly. Now however, he was looking down at two versions of his dad–they looked…identical. Two massively fat old pigs, both of them eagerly sucking and feasting on his filthy feet.

As they both changed back, new memories were filling in his mind–and it wasn’t his father and a stranger sucking on his cock, but rather his uncle and father, twin brothers/, and both of them hungry for Rick’s filthy body more than anything else. They were mostly changed at this point, and Anthony noticed something else, that each of the brothers was actually a mirror image of the other–just like his boots of course.

After another few minutes, they were both back to their (new) old selves, their prior lives forgotten for the most part. Rick allowed the two of them to keep servicing his feet for a couple of minutes, lost in the pleasure of it until he recalled the gun, and kicked both of them off–they could take care of cleaning his feet later.

Rick surveyed they bar, and saw a couple of guys tussling over something by the dance floor. Sure enough, he caught sight of the gun between them, the pig turning the other man into a brutal looking rubber master, who proceeded to fuck the pig’s mouth right there on the floor–and the pig let the gun fall to the floor beside him, largely forgotten.

This was his chance–if he could get to the gun, it would be his again–and he could have some more fun with it before the night was through. Then again, the rubber redneck looked…pretty sexy. He might be amenable to joining forces, and families. There was always Davey too–and the odd, shifting bartender over there. He could find some way to get his hands on the gun again…probably.

*

So what should Rick’s plan be next?

  1. He tries to work out a deal with the rubber redneck, and sees what he might want to trade for the gun.
  2. He fights with him for the gun, causing some wild, unpredictable shots.
  3. He notices that the drinks poured by the bartender seem to be having strange effects, and wonders if that could help deal with the rubber redneck.
  4. He heads over to Davey instead, and sees if he wants to team up and get the gun back together.

The public poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Votes will be counted in two days!

VACATION! (Not really one at all because moving is terrible)

Hey all! I’ve been moving all month, and it’s crunch time, and I’ve kind of exhausted my usual buffer, and so posts are going to be…a bit suspended for a few days, until I get my feet back under me. Hopefully it will only be for a couple of days, but it might be a week! I don’t know! Moving is terrible.

I am no longer taking new requests for flash commissions, but I still plan on finishing the queue I have established over the next month. If you haven’t received your story, just hold on a little longer, and I’ll get it to you. If your finances/interest has changed, just let me know, and I’ll scratch you off the list, no harm done.