Category: Uncategorized

The Catcall Curse (part 1)

Note: For those who have been around long enough to recall the old NCMC, there used to be a wiki section for collaborative story writing. This next story takes place in one of those recurring universes, begun with “101 Curses”, and continuing through a few sequels. I contributed to a few of the stories, but it was always one of my favorites on the wiki. You don’t have to be familiar with those old stories to read this new addition, but I like providing context where appropriate, and I’d recommend reading them just for enjoyment if you haven’t already.   

His name was Jack, and he had a unique job–or at least he’d never met anyone else who did anything quite like what he did for a living. Then again, he’d also never met anyone capable of literally cursing anyone before either. Yes, for a…sizable fee, Jack would find the target of your anger, and lay upon them a curse exactly to your personalized request, or at least something along similar lines. It wasn’t always the easiest job, but it was lucrative. This job though, this one was going to be easier at least. A woman, let’s call her Jeanette, walked to work each day, and each day, for the last six months, he’d walked past this construction site, and every day for the last six months, all the guys on the crew had catcalled and heckled her, and she was sick of it. One guy was the ringleader, and always the crudest–Jeanette had thought she’d heard everything, until that fat fucker kept opening his filthy mouth. All she wanted, was for the big boy to get a taste of his own medicine.

That day, Jack hung around, and watched it happen–Jeanette walked past, and once big boy there started on her (he’d thought she was being funny when she called him that, but big boy he was–close to 400 pounds, easily six foot five, and a good chunk of his mass was muscle, from years of hard labor) the rest of the guys on the crew all joined in, jeering and laughing. That was all Jack needed to see—he could feel the power bristling through him, and jolted out of him, right into the big fuck. He didn’t…feel anything, exactly, but he froze for a second, looking like all the hair on his back had stood on end, and then looked around, trying to catch his breath, and Jack felt…a bit wiped. He hadn’t planned on that one being quite so strong–in fact, that had probably been a bit too much. Still, he probably deserved it, right? He texted Jeanette, and told her the curse was on it’s way–in a few days, when he had some solid results, he’d update her and collect the rest of his payment. But he hung around for a bit longer–he kind of wanted to see how this one might play out.

“Lookin’ good though, fatty! Love seein’ that ass of yours shakin’. Wouldn’t mind seein’ it shakin’ while I plow it with my dick!” Luis said from across the worksite.

Clyde blushed again, not that it was easy to see through his beard. “Yeah yeah, you guy’s think you’re so fuckin’ funny…Why don’t you save it for the bitches, eh?”

“Who wants to look at bitches, when we can look at you, piggy?”

The rest of the crew burst out laughing, and now you could see Clyde blushing, even through his beard. What in the hell had gotten into all of these fuckers? Ever since that bitch had walked by earlier, the on they’d been hooting at for months now, the rest of the guys had just been relentless. I mean, everyone on the crew got ribbed a bit on occasion, but Clyde was feeling…a bit uncomfortable. At least, he was feeling something, and he wanted to say in was discomfort. But if it was discomfort, why in the hell did his cock keep getting hard?

“Look guys, the pig’s turnin’ red!”

“That probably means he likes it. You like being called a piggy?”

“Guy’s, just…just stop already, I’m serious…” Clyde said, but one of his hands kept…groping his cock through his jean shorts. He tried to pull it away, but…but it wouldn’t budge.

“What? If you don’t want us callin’ ya a pig, then stop looking like one, ya know? I mean, look at how fucking fat you are. If you don’t want us callin’ ya a pig, then have some self-respect!”

“Please, he’s just playin’ hard tah get. He wants the attention.”

“Fuck guys, is the fuckin’ pig rubbin’ himself?”

“Fuck he is, isn’t he?”

He kept telling himself to stop, but…he couldn’t. He felt so fucking humiliated, rubbing his cock in front of all his workmates, but…but that thought just made him hornier, and he slipped his hand down into his pants, so he could really…grip his cock–except there wasn’t anything to grip, suddenly. He could find his head though, just barely popping out of his fatpad, and so he rubbed that instead, feeling himself shiver in the heat, every eye on him. The guys were…closing in on him now, forming a circle around him.

“What a slutty pig.”

“Aren’t you hot? Wouldn’t you feel better without those clothes on, piggy?”

The guys closed in and started ripping at his clothes, cutting them away when he tried to fight them off, and in a matter of moments he was naked in the middle of the construction site, the rest of the crew laughing at him, pointing at him and his tiny cock, which he couldn’t stop rubbing with his fingers, his other hand twisting one of his nipples.

“Can’t believe we’ve been working with a pig this whole time.”

“You’d never fuckin’ know, would you?”

“Tiny clit on the fucker too, never seen such a worthless piece of meat before.”

“Oh…oh fuck…” Clyde groaned, “Fuck you guys…”

“What, is piggy getting horny? Is piggy gonna shoot a load for us?”

“Go on piggy, show us what a slut you are.”

He tried to stop it, he tried, but he was too close, the cum spurting out of him–dribbling really, onto the dirty ground below him. His knees started quivering, and he he collapsed onto them, mouth open and panting, skin covered with sweat as the circle closed in tighter, and the men all pulled their cocks free from their jeans, laughing.

Coach Ray Gets Trained (Sketch)

Ray gave a start, and shook his head; he was falling asleep at his computer again, so it must be time to head home. He looked up at the clock in his office, in the high school locker room, and was surprised that it was already seven. He must have really dozed off there, for a while. Ray Montaigne was the head coach at River Hills High School, and he was one of the student bodies favorite teachers. He wasn’t quite in peak physical shape anymore, unfortunately–he was in his late forties, had a bit of a gut, but he could still run a nine minute mile, and bench press 200, so he wasn’t doing too badly.

He put his arms up in a stretch, and caught a whiff of his pits–damn, they stank today, he hadn’t even really done much activity himself. He mostly taught health, as well as a few PE classes, and it was right at the beginning of the winter trimester, so the sport teams hadn’t even gotten going yet. Had…had he taken a shower this morning? Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t, had he? Had he taken one yesterday? He leaned in and took another sniff, and then another, then stuck out his tongue and gave it a lick–and only after that did he question what he was doing. This was disgusting–why in the hell had he just licked his own armpit? Why…why did he want to do it some more? And why was his cock getting hard in his shorts?

Leaving one arm up, he pushed the shorts down, revealing his jockstrap, tented by his cock. It was…kind of odd that he was wearing a jock. Sure, he made his athletes wear them, but he’d always found boxers more comfortable. Last week though, he’d…kind of wanted to wear a jock, and had…had he even changed it since? Another, funkier smell his his nose, making his cock throb, and he realized he hadn’t. He’d worn the same jock for a week–he didn’t think he’d even taken it off once. That…that was disgusting, right? He definitely shouldn’t be so turned on by how…how rank it smelled…right? Then…then why was he groping his cock through the mesh? He realized he had, without realizing it, turned his face into his other pit, and had been taking deep, long snorts of his own musk at the same time–he tried to stop, but…but he couldn’t. In fact, he suddenly felt like his entire body was running on autopilot, like he couldn’t even control himself. And so, it was with great embarrassment that he saw through the glass window of his office someone enter the locker room in a hoodie, look around, and head for his office door, open it, and step inside.

He couldn’t see who it was–not with his face stuck in his armpit. The person just laughed softly, set something down on the desk in front of him, and then turned around and left as quickly as he’d come. Ray managed to rip his face away long enough to see what it was, and found himself looking at a dildo. A…sizable dildo, in fact. His hand pulled itself away from his cock and grabbed it, his face turning back to his armpit for another lick, and he put his feet up on the desk, tipping his office chair back, feeling his hole as he started pushing the dildo in dry, groaning and muttering in pain, but he couldn’t stop himself–and then he saw that he was being observed.

Outside his office, through the window, he saw the man in the hoodie who’d just left the dildo had been joined by another man–this one, however, he recognized. It was Jullian Porter–the computer science teacher who had quit the year before, after being accused of molesting several seniors in his classes. Ray had good reason to know him–two of his football players had been targets, and he was the person who had first accused Jullian. No one had been able to prove anything; none of the boys could remember details of what had happened while they were alone with Mr. Porter, but he’d been forced out all the same. Julian smiled at him, and pulled back the hoodie on the person with him, revealing…Noah. Noah Ambert, his star quarterback, who, after the humiliation of the entire ordeal, had dropped out of school shortly after Porter had quit, and no one had heard from him since. They…they were together?

He had to clench his eyes, the dildo hurt so much, but he couldn’t stop. There were another couple of inches to go, but he already felt so fucking full…his hand didn’t care, it just kept twisting and pushing and shoving, and as soon as the dildo was lodged to the root, he felt his cock start spasming, pumping cum into the mesh of his jock, Ray whimpering in something between pain and pleasure–he looked up again, and Julian was still watching him, but Noah was on his knees…sucking Julian’s cock, right in front of him, and he couldn’t do anything. His hand was pumping the dildo now, and he could feel it sliding in and out a bit easier now…and he was kind of enjoying it, even though he knew, in his head, that this couldn’t be happening. This kept going for several minutes, until Julian came down Noah’s throat, and then he walked around and into Ray’s office, behind him.

“Good to see you’ve taken so well to the programs coach,” he said in Ray’s ear, “You’re going to be so much fun in my stable. You aren’t really my kind of man, of course, I like them a bit…younger, smoother, muscled…but I’m sure we can find a use for you, once you’re…well seasoned.” Before Ray could respond, he added, “End trial, enter neutral state.” Ray’s eyes went blank, his mouth gaping–his feet slipped from the desk and he returned to a normal sitting position. Julian leaned in and gave him a kiss on the neck, before saying into his ear, “Erase memory of program trial. Add desire, dildo. Enhance desire, pit musk. Enhance desire, jock musk. Resume consciousness in two minutes.”

Julian turned and left the locker room, Noah getting up and following after him. Two minutes later, Ray gave a start, and shook his head; he was falling asleep at his computer again, so it must be time to head home. He looked up at the clock in his office, in the high school locker room, and was surprised that it was already seven forty-five. He must have really dozed off there, for a while. He rocked a bit on the dildo in his ass and moaned a bit, before he pulled his shorts up and got his things together, turned out the lights, and headed home.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 4)

WARNING: ***SCAT***

From that day on, things seemed even stranger to Rudy. For one thing, his body–he knew it was wrong, he knew that he shouldn’t be this fat, that…his fucking face was all wrong. He’d been handsome, but now, with the shaggy, unkempt beard; the under bite with the crooked, missing teeth; the bulbous and crooked nose; unibrow and severe balding…well, he wasn’t much to look at at all. His body wasn’t right either, not this fat fucking tub of lard he’d woken up with. He could…almost remember it, how muscular he’d been, how much effort he’d put into his body, and all of it had disappeared over night, leaving him an almost 400 pound lard ass–with an emphasis on ass. His gut was huge, sure, but it was his hips that were so insanely wide, his ass jiggling with every step he took, gently vibrating the dildo or plug he wore…all the time now, whenever he wasn’t getting properly fucked, of course. He did his best to carry on, but the hunger was constant–he had to feed his mouth nearly as often as he had to feed his other hole.

It would have been easier if other people had noticed the changes as well, but everyone just acted like this was normal, like he’d always been like this. And in some ways, he had–guy’s recognized him in the woods now, not as a top, but as a ugly pig bottom, willing to take a load from anyone, no matter who they were. Work was…hard. Not because of his size, but because something had happened to his head. Sure, construction wasn’t exactly something that needed brains, and Rudy had never been smart, but fuck, he just didn’t…get numbers anymore. They like, counted things, sure, but he didn’t even know how much anything was, it was nuts. He started carrying around hundred dollar bills, just so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself when he handed over not enough cash for food on booze at the gas station on the way to the rest area after work. It was like he was trapped in some fucked up dream–the only time he felt awake–really awake–was when he was in the woods, or in a bathroom stall with some big cock in his hole, snorting and grunting, begging whoever it might be for a hot load in his ass so his cock could shoot again.

It wasn’t really surprising when he got fired. He couldn’t do the work anymore, and his brain was shot. If anything, it was a relief. He’d hated working–all he wanted to do anymore, the only thing he could focus on, was eating and filling his ass with as much cock as he could find. He spend his whole day cruising rest areas and truck stops now, well aware that his meager savings was going to run out sooner or later, but this new him–he just didn’t care about any of that. His ass would just keep tingling, his cock would get hard, and the only thing that would matter was finding some cock so he could cum. He never wanted to go through that again, the aching balls, the sleepless nights. He also…kept hoping he’d see that biker again. He didn’t know what he’d do if he really did see him. Ask him what he’d done to him. Ask him to change him back. Ask him if he’d just gone insane.

When it did happen, finally, Rudy was nearly out of money. It was dark, but he was still in the woods, sitting down against the truck of a tree, feeling some stranger’s cum leak out of his ass into his underwear. He’d gotten fucked a few times, he felt good, but…but he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to stay here either, of course, but he didn’t want to go back there either, back to that stinking wreck of a sty. He’d given up on keeping anything clean, along with the rest of his life, and he just couldn’t face it anymore. It was twilight, but he didn’t know when exactly it was–it felt like he’d been there for ages when he smelled the cigar smoke, and his heart leapt up.

“Hey Rudy, long time no see.”

He looked around and saw him a few paces away, the butt of his cigar the brightest thing in his world, and he started crawling away, utterly terrified. “Please, please just leave me alone, please…” He said.

“I’m just trying to educate you, Rudy. I just wanted you to understand why I love asses so much, and I wanted you to love them too. Don’t you want to love them Rudy?” The biker stepped out in front of him, even though he should have been behind him. “Don’t try and run Rudy, there’s nowhere for you to go. When’s the last time you ate, Rudy? You hungry?”

“Oh god, please no, not that,” he tried to turn around, but the roots of the trees were holding him in place, and all he could do was stare at the biker undoing his pants and chaps, and dropping them to the forest floor.

“I do love a fuck, of course, but nothing gets me off better than a fat, filthy pig like you eating the shit from my ass. I haven’t had a pig riding with me in awhile, you know Rudy, and you don’t have a lot of options. Better to spend your life doing something you love, right? And you are hungry, right? So fucking hungry for some fuckin’ shit, right Rudy?”

His gut was growling, he was shaking with hunger, with need. He felt his clothes shifting, his shirt splitting apart into a leather vest, tattoos swirling over his fat body, greasy jeans and chaps covering his wide ass. He snuffled forward and licked at his biker master’s hole, loosening him up, waiting for him to bore down and feed his pig his first proper meal.

Learning to Like Ass (Part 3)

The biker walked over, and pressed close, laying the length of his cock in the crack of Rudy’s ass, listening to his whimper, feeling him try and maneuver his hole into position. “Not so fast, Rudy,” the biker said, and started kneading the cheeks in his hands, “I wanna take a moment, savor this wide ass of yours. Gonna be a nice fuck, especially if I don’t have to look at that ugly mug of yours.”

“Please, just fucking fuck me! I can’t fucking take it anymore, please, I need it so fucking bad…”

“Oh now Rudy, you know I never fuck without eating first, it’s only polite,” the biker said, and slipped down onto his knees, and started licking at his crack, burrowing in with his tongue, making Rudy squirm and grunt, gripping the sheets in an iron grip. It felt good, hell, it felt amazing, but it wasn’t what he wanted–what he needed more than anything. Still, he didn’t push him, he tried to just enjoy himself, one hand stroking his oozing cock, hanging on the edge of an orgasm but not able to cross it.

When the biker was satisfied that Rudy was open enough, he got back up, pressed the head of his cock to Rudy’s hole, and slipped inside, feeling him shudder around him and immediately throw himself back, but the biker stepped with him, teasing him, keeping just the head inside. “Come you, this is what you fucking want right? So fucking plow me!”

“I just don’t want you to get excited and blow your load too soon. After all, a good, fat piggy like you knows you can’t cum until you’ve made the man you’re with cum, right? Only once you have a nice and warm raw load in this chute, can that cock of yours finally explode, isn’t that right?”

“Oh god, please…”

“Well? Am I right or not, Rudy? I think I know my fat pigs well enough, I’ve plowed a shit ton of them. Get that hand off your cock, you’re too eager. You’re attention should be on me. On making sure my stay in this hole of yours is the best it can be.”

“Ok, ok,” Rudy said, pulling his hand away, feeling his gut drop, first brushing against the sheets, and then pressing into it. Fuck he was a fat pig, fuck yeah, and he was gonna make sure this hole was the biker’s best fuck in ages. He might not look like much, sure–hell, he was outright ugly, but once a guy got inside him, they all forgot about that. He relaxed, and felt the biker slide in deep. He shivered, unable to stop himself, and matched the biker’s rhythm, slamming back with his thrusts, feeling his entire body jiggle, especially his ass, fuck, this guy was fuckin’ with some goddamn force, just how he liked it! He was getting close, he could feel it, feel the biker trying to hold back, but he clamped down, dragging him over the edge, feeling the cock explode deep in his guts, and it was like a wave crashing into him, his own balls exploding their load on the sheets–

He kept humping the bed, sheets tangled around his legs and gut. He could feel how wet his sheets were, but fuck, what a dream! He was sweating hard, muscles quivering and aching like he’d just tried to run a mile or something. Had…had it even been a dream? Like that last one, before this. Still, where that one had been terrifying, this one had been so incredibly satisfying. He shuddered, the last bit of cum seeping out of him, and he…he needed to feel that again. He grabbed one of his dildos (he always had one on his nightstand for easy access) and slipped it inside his hole with a quiver and a moan. It wouldn’t be enough to get him off–no toy had ever been able to replace a real cock for him–but it would at least let him calm down, his hole milking the latex rod like a baby sucking a pacifier. He wrangled the sheets back on top of him, kneaded his soft gut for a few minutes, and drifted back off to sleep, snoring away.

Requested by Patchbear

Phil felt terrible after missing the first wrestling practice of the year, but he hadn’t anticipated getting sick the first week on campus. At least the new wrestling coach at the college was less of a hardass than Mr. Stevens, who’d retired somewhat unexpectedly over the summer. The new coach, Mr. Wick, had just told him to feel better, and come to the second practice a few days later, if he felt up to it–and added that he was excited to see what Phil, as one of the stars of the team, thought of some of the changes Mr. Wick had in mind for the program. 

Luckily he got over the fever quickly, and the next day he felt good enough to go to his classes at least–but he had the strangest run in with someone, around noon, as he was heading to the Student Union for lunch. Some strange guy–fat, hairy, and reeking of musk and who knew what else, spotted him and charged over, tackling Phil to the grass, laughing and snorting, asking where the hell he’d been the night before. Phil had no fucking clue who the guy was, and he crawled his way free and took off, the pig just laughing and snorting on the grass.

The next night he headed to the gym a bit early, so he could get himself warmed up properly before practice started. He was in the locker room when an older man, quite fat and out of shape, who he assumed was a janitor or something came up and clapped him on the back. “Phil! There you are. Glad you’re feeling better!”

This…this guy was Mr. Wick? What the fuck was the school thinking, hiring someone like this? This close to him, the unwashed stench rolling off him was horrific, and Phil shoved him away. “Oh…uh, yeah. I’m feeling better. Sorry…I…I don’t want you getting sick if I’m still infectious.”

“I’m sure you’re fine. You’re early! Come on, get your singlet on, and let’s spar a bit. I’ll get you caught up with the rest of the guys in no time.”

Disgusted, Phil never the less got dressed in his singlet and found Mr. Wick in the gym in a singlet of his own. He suggested they spar a bit, so he could get a better idea of Phil’s skill level, and see if he was as legendary as he’d heard. Phil chuckled to himself–the guy might outweigh him, but he had a feeling the hardest part would be getting close enough to the fucker’s stench to pin him. 

It didn’t quite go as Phil imagined it. Mr. Wick, for all of his flab, was surprisingly adept, and he pinned Phil over and over again…and Phil found himself…enjoying it. Feeling the weight of the man pressing down on him, feeling his stench overwhelm him, overwhelming his mind, making…making him think all these filthy, disgusting thoughts, grinding his ass into his coach’s crotch, his body inflating with fat, and finally Mr. Wick ripped away the ass of his singlet and slammed his cock into Phil’s hole, listening to his newest wrestling pig squeal with pleasure. Still, Phil Robertson wasn’t going to be the best wrestler on the team–no, he was going to be a lot more interested in getting pinned and fucked–but he’d sure he having a lot more fun this year, as one of his filthy, disgusting wrestling pig squad.

If you’re going to work at Precinct 17, then you have to respect Pigtown. At least, that’s what the longtimers always try and tell the new police recruits, when they arrive, first day on the job. Of course, they also can’t be too specific–they wouldn’t be longtimers at the precinct without having made a few deals with the devil himself–but by now, the chief can usually tell, as soon as he meets them, which officers will survive a year so they can transfer out of this insane place, and which young hotshot the brass sent their way, so he won’t be with the force too much longer.

Recruit Donny Scrimm was one of those. Football jock bully in high school, dumb as a brick but the army wouldn’t take him for whatever reason, thought he’d become a police officer so he could get a chance to shoot a fucker and not get in trouble. He showed up, took one beat around the neighborhood, and was disgusted. What the hell was this place? Everywhere he looked, there were guys in rubber and leather, prowling the streets, their cocks hanging out. None of them approached him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. When he asked the chief, and the chief said to leave them alone–all of them–and to especially stay away from the bar called Pigtown, Donny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He left, furious, and marched back out onto the street, ready to bash some of these disgusting queers back into their place.

He was missing for three days. When he finally did resurface, he was sobbing, crawling up the precinct steps, looking quite…different from when he’d left the building before. He’d put on about fifty pounds in his gut, a scruffy beard across his face, running up onto his chin, his uniform coated with who knew what. The recruits who saw him, well, now they knew why you didn’t fuck with Pigtown, and why Precinct 17 wasn’t like any other police station they’d ever been to. Donny went to the chief, asking for help, but the chief told him there wasn’t anything he could do–beyond take his badge and his uniform (which revealed Donny’s now hairy body was coated from foot to neck in lewd, filthy tattoos) give him a long fuck over his desk, get him dressed in some rubber, and throw him back to the streets, where he belonged now.

You can still see Scrimm on occasion, down in the alleys. He doesn’t remember being a police officer now–hell, he doesn’t remember much of anything. His entire body is tattooed, but oddly enough, the tattoos seem to change and shift over time–and anyone who takes a load of his pigseed finds a new tattoo of their one on their body, one that seems to grow a bit larger whenever they aren’t looking at it.

Requested by @coltenjohnandgabriel

Chef Michael Dover ran one of several restaurants at the resort, but his was by far the most popular. People who went there, almost always, said that while the atmosphere was iffy, and the service a bit slow, the food was always magical. It helped, of course, that the chef was a wizard–and if he made people a little addicted to his food, what was the harm, really? He was just helping the resort become one of the most popular destinations in Florida, despite it’s lackluster accommodations, and everything else about it. The one time he wished it was less popular was Spring Break–but he would ways to occupy his time. 

This year, it was Jeremy. He’d shown up at the resort early, and gotten some food at Michael’s restaurant, and had the gall to be rude to the waiter. So, as an olive branch, the chef had comped Jeremy a dessert–a huge slice of chocolate cake which, to quote Jeremy, was so good that he might have to break his no cake rule in the future. See, Jeremy was a jock–one of those ripped guys who thinks they’re better than everyone just because of how they look. He was in Florida to bang some chicks and catch some sun…but he also found himself unable to resist eating every meal at the Michael’s restaurant.

It was strange too. He always had a table reserved for him, even when there was a line out the door. He no longer ordered from a menu, the waiter would simply seat him, and then food would appear instantly, like magic, and he’d eat it all. The rest of his Spring Break was a bit of a flop. He did manage to catch some sun and swim in the pool, but every girl he hit on just seemed to laugh in his face, call him a pig, and walk off. He chalked it up to feminism, but Jeremy’s problem was that Michael had enchanted him to be unable to see the changes to his own body. Even now the week was ending, he was taking one last dip in the pool, surprised at how hard it was to haul himself up with the ladder, and on his way to one last dinner–or at least, he thought it would be his last one. Instead, he discovered he’d been chosen at random to receive another week at the resort, complementary of the restaurant, and he couldn’t have been happier–Michael too, was happy–he had so many more plans for his pig, that one week just hadn’t been enough time.

After all, he still had to make him gay, and crave cum as much as he needed food. That last dinner had aged Jeremy into his late thirties, but the chef had always had a soft spot for silver daddies, big beards, over five hundred pounds, and desperate to do anything you wanted them to do. And the big reveal, of course! He couldn’t want until he could show Jeremy the end product, at long last, shattering the illusion of his young hot body with his new reality. In fact, he had a feeling Michael probably wouldn’t be leaving the resort, even after this next week–no, he needed a new front of house, and a new personal pig slave, and by the end of the next week, Jeremy was going to be a perfect fit for both positions.

If you could, in the coming weeks, do a pup play caption? You’ve done a couple in the past I believe but I haven’t seen one from you in a while…unless I missed it recently. But anyway, I do appreciate any caption you put out, thanks for all the great content you put out for free! Do you still have a patreon?

The only pup thing I’ve done lately was a long one–and funny you bring up my Patreon, because that’s the only place it’s currently available, for anyone donating five dollars or more a month. It’s the second installment of Halloween at the Barnyard. Other than that, I haven’t really done anything pup related, and I can try and do something along those lines here in the future.

And honestly, I like putting my stuff out there for free–what’s the point of writing all this stuff if no one reads it? That said, I definitely appreciate everyone who supports me on patreon too–I wouldn’t be able to put out as much stuff as I do if I didn’t have that cushion each month helping me out. 

I’ve cum to your gym fart and scat caption about 4 times now, though im Not usually into scat but the way you put it drives me wild. Think you’ll ever do continuations of some captions or is it one and done? Just curious ^^

I do, on occasion, expand captions, when I think there’s somewhere for them to go. That might mean I just reblog the caption with another part tacked onto the end, or I might rewrite the caption into a longer story–it kind of depends. I’ve had a few requests to expand that one, so it’s already on the table for the future.