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“No boy, I still don’t think that’s shiny enough, do you?”

He shivered again, felt the leather glove against his scalp as he pulled the brush back, looking down at the boots of his master–

Master? No, this was…who was he again?

Coworker? They came to the convention together, didn’t they? But he’d come back to discover this…older man in these leathers, who had complained that his boy hadn’t shined his boots properly, and now here he was, trying as hard as he could. Why wasn’t anything good enough?

“I’m…sorry sir.”

“Don’t be sorry, just fix it boy.”

The leather glove on his hand was firmer now, pressing down.

“Go on, look closer. See those smudges? Looks like shit, boy, you can do better for daddy.”

The leather was so shiny he could see his reflection, though in the curve of the black, he seemed to be warped. His face seemed so smooth, as smooth as the boot. Where had his beard gone? Where had his hair gone? The glove weighed him down, and he found himself moving closer still to the top of the boot, fear and a strange exhilaration overwhelming him. Licking the leather, tasting the boot black, it seemed so natural. Proper.

He was cold. Naked. Bent over as he was, he saw his suit had disappeared. His body was as smooth as his face, as smooth as the boot. Flabby, underdeveloped. His one accessory was the metal cage around his puny cock and balls, to keep his boymeat in check.

Daddy allowed him up, and he inspected the surface. “Better boy.” Now the other one. The boy’s cock throbbed in his cage and he leapt to the other boot, hungry for the flavor of leather now, tongue black, teeth gritty, but anything for his daddy, anything.

Source: bootedmentobeadmired

Everyone told me to just leave it be, that the truth of Pigtown wasn’t worth the risk. But what kind of journalist would I be, if I let something like that stop me? I knew from the beginning it would be hard to crack–the first time I went to the bar and started asking questions about the place, no one would give me any kind of answer, just smile at me. It was infuriating. Still, even then I noticed the stairs, and the door. They were guarded by a bouncer–a man named Rod–and when I asked what was down there, all he said was it wasn’t for me to see. That sort of place had to have the answers I was looking for, but I wasn’t going to get there without some undercover work.

So I…created a part for myself. I admit, I may have gotten a bit over invested in it. Shaving my head and buying a whole new wardrobe. Getting those tattoos and piercings might seem extreme, but I remember Rod’s…contempt, when he looked at me. When he saw how normal I was. Well I’ll show him. I can be a freak too, like all the other disgusting freaks around here.

Still, he wouldn’t let me past when I showed up again. He even fucking recognized me! I thought I’d done pretty well with my changes, but I refused to let down my guard. I offered to blow him, if he’d let me through, and after some cajoling and flirting, he relented. I sucked my first cock at the bottom of those stairs, and after he came, he unlocked the door, and I scrambled through.

The room was massive, and completely dark. Quiet, except for the thud of the DJ above me.

“There’s…nothing here…” I said.

“Nah,” Rod said, “You’re here, and that’s enough for them.”

The last thing I saw was him framed by the light of the door, that same fucking smile on his face, and then he slammed it shut, leaving me here, in the dark.

I tried screaming for a bit, but now I’m quietly huddled in a corner. They know I’m here, whoever they are, whatever they are. They keep brushing past me, whips of leather and rubber, vapor trails of cigar smoke and musk. I’m terrified. I don’t think they’re human anymore, and they’re hungry. Rod hasn’t been feeding them much lately, I don’t think, and they’re going to savor this meal for quite a while.

Source: thinkragelive

Photo and Idea submitted by Bryan

These two college fucks–I know it was their frat bros or whatever who put them up to the prank to begin with. Cow tipping–who even tips fuckin’ cows anymore? Needless to say, I wasn’t very happy when I heard the commotion outside and went out with my shotgun, scared the two pansy ass kids half to death without even shooting anything. So I called the cops, and as soon as they figured out they might actually end up going to jail, well, let’s just say there were some tears involved, and so I offered them both a choice. Either they could go with the authorities and take their punishment that way, or they could work on my ranch on the weekends, and pay off their debt that way instead. I told them that they’d be mine from Friday night until Sunday evening, no exceptions, and if they missed even one weekend, then I’d be pressing charges on them both. They were desperate, and they knew I knew they were desperate, and so they agreed, figuring it was still better than jail.

Course, I couldn’t just let something like this go unpunished, you know? Now I might look like a simple redneck to you, but even this simple redneck has some tricks up his sleeves. My grandpa was a magician, years ago, and he gave me his hypnotist’s watch–and trust me, the thing’s damn effective if you know what you’re doing. Pretty soon, the two of them were loving their work on the farm, even though neither of them could quite remember what kind of work they were doing in particular, because if either of them could remember…well, I doubt they’d be happy about it.

Still, I’m pretty happy with my new pup and pig. Aren’t they adorable? Of course, I can’t change them too much right now, I have to make sure they’re still presentable when they head back to class during the week, but I think both of them are realizing they suddenly don’t quite have the minds for college. Nope, pig here spends all week stuffing himself silly, and pup here is too busy humping anything he can find, preferably pig’s leg or rump, to focus on class work. Both of them have already agreed to keep working for me all summer long, and I have no doubt that neither of them will be returning to classes in the fall. I hadn’t really planned on keeping them, but let’s just say I’ve grown pretty attached to both of their holes, and I don’t think they’ll be leaving my ranch for quite a long time, not that they’ll care soon enough. 

Marco’s Wishes – Week 1 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

wesleybracken:

Got something for ya’ll! Sorry I haven’t had much bonus content lately, everything I’ve been working on has been to big and chunky to post easily, so I had to wait until I had something sizable, so here it is! The draft is still a bit rough, but I think you all will enjoy it. Thanks again for all of your support! If you’d like to help me out with a monthly donation, now’s also a great time to sign up–you can do so through the link above if you haven’t yet. One buck a month gets you access to my archive of unpublished work, five dollars gets you access to bonus stories like this one, and ten bucks gets you access to my current drafts and stories in progress, so you can be one step ahead of everyone else. 

Thanks again to everyone who supports me regularly, I appreciate it to no end!

Marco’s Wishes – Week 1 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Marco’s Wishes – Week 1 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Got something for ya’ll! Sorry I haven’t had much bonus content lately, everything I’ve been working on has been to big and chunky to post easily, so I had to wait until I had something sizable, so here it is! The draft is still a bit rough, but I think you all will enjoy it. Thanks again for all of your support! If you’d like to help me out with a monthly donation, now’s also a great time to sign up–you can do so through the link above if you haven’t yet. One buck a month gets you access to my archive of unpublished work, five dollars gets you access to bonus stories like this one, and ten bucks gets you access to my current drafts and stories in progress, so you can be one step ahead of everyone else. 

Thanks again to everyone who supports me regularly, I appreciate it to no end!

Marco’s Wishes – Week 1 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Family Portrait (Part 2)

Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.

Family Portrait (Part 1)

It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed.

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying.

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, been friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Marty had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself.

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly tracked back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide.

Commentary: ChatChange

To get this started off, here’s the photos that inspired this last week’s story:

DaddySugarBear

Cub90909

Cub90909 as a skin slut person thing

I’ll offer a bit more commentary below, including a honest question: Why in the world do ya’ll like these chat stories so much?

Seriously though. Every time I’ve done a story or caption in this form, people seem to enjoy it. It’s kind of a pain to write–there’s a lot of copy and pasting involved, and the evolution of these usernames is like a puzzle game, but for whatever reason, people dig it, at least according to some of the metrics I look at, mostly total notes. 

Generally, the average first chapter of a story gets about 25 notes or so. A story that I consider to be a success generally hits about 50 after a week, which is about where the first chapter of ChatChange has landed. Rarely I’ll have something bust over 100, but that is very uncommon (as in, it’s happened, like, two or three times, and usually only after a picture caption got it’s caption removed. I just think tumblr has something against literacy). Notes on later chunks always taper off–I can tell most people have lost interest when they start dipping into the ten note range, and I know I pushed it too far. 

All that said, the popularity of this kind of story is a bit of a mystery to me, so if you’d like to offer me your theories etc., I’d be interested in hearing them. Beyond that, I don’t have too much to say about this story in particular–I think it fell off the rails in the last chunk, and I probably could have developed a more interesting ending beyond essentially killing off the cub. Thinking on it now, it would have been more interesting for SugarDaddyBear to give the skincub the program, letting him make Ogar into the perfect master for himself, but that thought hadn’t occurred to me as I was writing this one out.