Blank Skin

Everyone wanted to know about the shaved head, and his missing beard. Wasn’t the cue ball look a bit too radical, for someone like him? A wealthy, older man like him in his fifties, who dressed in fancy suits tailored to his large gut? He told them he’d wanted a change, and they all just passed it off as a mid life crisis. He couldn’t tell any of them the truth, he wasn’t allowed to, and it was frustrating, so frustrating. He acted a bit strange all day long, in his meetings. It seemed to his co-worker’s like it was hard for him to get comfortable–he kept fidgeting in his seat, and glancing to the clock, like he had somewhere else that he needed to be. A man who was known for short, practical lunches rescheduled meetings and was gone for an hour and a half so he go to some all you can eat buffet nearby. However, other than those relatively minor oddities, he played his role, as usual, leading the team, directing their focus, but when five o’clock struck, a man who rarely left earlier than seven or eight instead grabbed his briefcase and rushed out of the office as quickly as he could. He knew something none of them knew, he knew a secret he couldn’t tell anyone. The secret was, that Mitchell Pratten wasn’t a person anymore–Mitchell Pratten was just a hog in a fancy suit.

That Friday, he’d left later than usual, and the subway had been empty, aside from a rough looking, burly skinhead, face full of piercings, arms coated with tattoos, carrying a backpack. Mitchell had been wary, but unprepared for the man to spring at him and shove a needle in his neck–but after they’d had a chat, everything had been sorted out, and he’d let the skinhead follow him home and into his apartment.

But he was almost back now, he was so eager to get out of these clothes. It was stifling him, the real him. He couldn’t be himself in it, he had to be “Mitchell Pratten” and do “Mitchell Pratten” things, like read the paper and scowl at young punks when what he really wanted to do was crawl over and beg the young men to fist his ass with their big hands. He reached his stop, and he hurried to his building, taking the elevator up to his condo, where he opened the door with shaking hands, and stepped inside, immediately ripping at the suit, tearing it away from his body, so he could be rid of this horrid fabric skin.

Master had taught him so many important things, on Friday night, in his condo. He’d taught him that he wasn’t a person at all, that once you stripped away the clothes, that once you stripped away the hair and the beard and the fur coating his body, he wasn’t anything at all–just a blank page. And blank pages needed to be written on, right? And so master had written on him, had taken the tattoo gun he’d brought along in his backpack and helped fill in all the gaps. He wasn’t blank anymore, as he stood at the door, free of “Mitchell Pratten” for the day, his entire arms and chest were covered with crudely drawn words and pictures, all of them marking him for what he was. A whore. A hog. A pervert. A masochist. A hole. A slave for his master. He rubbed his smooth skin, still sore from Master’s work, and let out a snort of pleasure, before getting down on all fours and crawling where his master was sitting, and began licking his boots. He served him for the evening, licking his body clean of any sort of filth, before Master finally allowed him to eat, setting a huge steel bowl on the floor, watching as his pig shoved his face into the slop and devoured it hungrily. He was a glutton now. He was gluttonous pig, and Master liked his pigs fat, so very fat. The fatter he was, after all, the more skin he had, and the more Master could fill him in. That was why Master had insisted on cutting off his balls this weekend–hogs grew fatter much faster than boars, after all. It had hurt, but he’d already noticed the difference. He was calmer, more focused. His pleasure didn’t matter–the only thing that mattered was pleasing his master. Master told him that once that wound had healed, he’d remove his cock as well–after all, he didn’t need it, right? Right–the hog would be more than happy for it to be gone as well.

He emptied the huge bowl four times–only then did Master help wipe his face clean with a rag, and afterwards, Master told him that it was time for him to fill in more of the hog’s body, and he grew excited. He loved having his master fill him up, he loved everything his master did to him. It hurt as he tattooed him, working on his back, and as he did, Master told him what he was writing. That this hog was not only a cumdump and a fisthole, but a urinal too. This hog craved the taste of piss, and would drink whenever he could, fresh or old, and when his Master fed his his first load, he knew it was true, that he’d spend the rest of his life drinking piss and getting pissed on by his Master and any other man. But by that time, it was very late, and they were both exhausted. Master climbed into his large bed, and Hog curled up on the floor next to him, already dreading the morning.

He would have to be Mitchell Pratten again, for the day. He’d have to be Mitchell Pratten for ten or eleven long hours. Master told him he’d have to play the role for quite a while, that a good hog would want to make lots of money for his master, and Mitch did make lots, and lots of money. But the hog wasn’t happy. The hog didn’t like meetings and suits. He didn’t want to discuss business strategies–he wanted to suck his coworker’s cocks and drink their piss. At least Master had ordered him to stuff himself silly during Mitchell’s lunches–that was the one moment when he’d felt the most free. Still, he was just a hog–he didn’t get to choose, he could only obey. Just a hog–something gussied up in a suit–but at the end of the day a hog through and through.

As always your writing is fantastic and I love the new stories. The one thing I miss from the earlier days of your blog are your captions. lou

Yeah, I can understand that. The captions are a feature that I miss at times too, but because I’d like to get away from relying on images (especially when I lack a good method of giving those images proper credit) it’s just something I won’t be able to offer much in the future. The other thing is that captions are surprisingly difficult to write–compressing a story in that short of a frame is difficult to keep up for long periods of time, because I have to consistently and constantly generate new story after new story, and pair them with an image at the same time. It’s exhausting, and one of the main contributors to my burn out a year and a half ago. This model is just more sustainable for me, though I know it loses some diversity of content at the same time.

Sigh, I’m an idiot.

I got back into the swing of my week like everything was normal, and then realized I hadn’t uploaded anything for two days. So! There will be four updates for the next four days, my apologies.

Also, since I haven’t done one of these for a while, I’ll be up lateish tonight if anyone has had a question they want answered.

Update

Hey all, I’m back from my break. Hope you didn’t miss me too much. I did want to take a moment to once again thank everyone who helped me pass my 500 dollar goal on Patreon–I’m simply blown away that this many people are that interested in my porn, and I just hope I can keep giving you what you all want, and perhaps a few things you didn’t know you wanted.

The 500 dollar goal is especially important, however, because it’s the point at which I wanted to start investing more time and energy into longer stories, rather than simply these shorter vignettes on tumblr. Some of these stories will be free and posted here as always, others will only be available for purchase and to my supporters on Patreon. My goal is to have a longer story posted every two to three months, or perhaps a bit longer, depending on the size and scope of what I’m working on. In addition to traditional stories, I will also be working on more interactive fictions in Twine as well. Some of these longer stories will most certainly be a revival of City of Bears and Big Bears on Campus, though I’m still not certain what form that story might take as of yet, but I will have updates once I start working on it.

Thank you again for all of your support, and I hope those of you who contribute to my Patron enjoyed the Twine demo I posted last week. I’d love to hear some feedback on it–whether you loved it or hated it. You can always send me an ask or fanmail, or contact me through email, AIM or yahoo messenger.

Persistence’s Rewards – Part 4

***WARNING*** SCAT

“Fuck man, you fuckin’ reek.”

“No fuckin’, shit, Greg–fuckin’ awesome, right?”

“How many loads did you drink?”

“Lost count at thirty.”

“Damn, you’re a fuckin’ pig.”

“You complainin’?”

“You fucking know I’m not,” Greg said, pushing his neighbor against the wall in the lobby of their apartment building. running his hands over his taut gut, pumped full of piss at the bathhouse they’d been at all evening, where Shane had spent his first time strapped into the urinals there, as happy as any true piss pig could be. Greg, meanwhile, had been collecting samples–he had some ideas for new beer recipes he was eager to try, now that he had a brand new hunting ground here, and a nasty pig neighbor for a willing test subject. He leaned in and gave Shane a deep kiss, sucking salty piss from his mustache and beard, feeling his ten inch cock press out against the yellow jockstrap he was wearing with rubber chaps and a yellow rubber vest–an outfit Greg had given him as a gift before they’d left for the bathhouse earlier.

Shane had had a much better morning than the last few days. He’d woken up to a piss soaked bed, but rather than find it strange, he’d unloaded a second blast of piss all over himself, making sure to get as much of it into his mouth as he could, before jacking off three times, coating his huge gut with cum. By then it had been early afternoon, but he’d already been fired, so who fucking cared what he did anyway? He sure as hell didn’t, but fuck he was horny. He got on a pair of briefs and knocked on Greg’s door, pushing his way in when he opened the door, kissing his neighbor’s filthy mouth, licking out his pits and ass crack before slamming his ten inch cock in deep, Greg begging him to fuck him harder, ordering him to fuck him harder, like a real pig. The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon fucking, before Greg ordered a few pizzas for them both, which they demolished, and then they’d headed out for the night’s festivities.

“Fuck, it was hot seeing you with that tube down your throat, all those fucker’s pissing right into you–gonna have to take you back there tomorrow, fill you up some more.”

Shane shook his head, “I gotta… look for a job. Can’t pay rent with piss.”

Greg smiled, and groped his cock some more. “Trust me. I’ve had more than a few beers with our landlord–he’ll be more than willing to take a few of your pig loads in his ass as payment.”

Shane smiled at him. Greg thought of everything, not like him. His head hadn’t seemed to be working so well today–like he was just operating on instinct and desire. It was easier just to do whatever Greg told him to do, than to try and think of anything on his own, even now, his brain felt like it was just idling in his skull–there and running, but not producing anything of note. It was…freeing, really. Not having to think so hard. He could just exist and fuck and drink piss, like he really wanted.

“Speaking of pig loads, I could use one myself,” Greg said, “Let’s get up there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shane said, but as they headed into the lobby, they peeled apart unexpectedly, as Shane headed for the stairs.

“Yo, the elevator’s over this way, you dumb fuck.”

Shane just stared at him. “I…always take the stairs though.”

“Pig, get over here and in the damn elevator with me.”

Shane didn’t move, and Greg strode over, angry that he still hadn’t managed to get rid of all of it. “I said, come on, piss pig.”

Shane just stared at the stairs, wondering what he’d been thinking, wanting to take them, and he let Greg pull him back towards the elevator. Something…he could almost remember something. About climbing, about wanting to…to be better. Thinner. Successful. But he wasn’t that person, not anymore. They got in the elevator, but Greg was fuming, the mood killed. “S-Sorry…” Shane said, though he wasn’t quite sure why he was apologizing.

“You’re such a stubborn bitch, you know that?”

“Sorry…”

He was just going to be trouble. He could tell. He would make a mess of things, if he didn’t take care of him right now, for good. He hated it though. He hated having to use it. It meant he’d failed, if he had to resort to that. They got off at the tenth floor, and Shane tried to veer off and go to his own apartment, but Greg grabbed him and pulled him next door. “No, we’re having a nightcap.”

“I don’t want a drink, Greg. I don’t need to drink anymore,” Shane said, anxiety growing in his swilling gut, “You don’t have to make me drink. I’ll…I’ll be a good pig! I’ll take the elevator, I’ll drink all the piss you want! I swear.”

He fought. Greg had to cuff his hands and feet, had to clamp his mouth open wide, before getting his most powerful brew, so dark it was almost black, and feeding it to him drop by drop. One drop, and Shane’s entire body went slack aside from his cock, which grew even larger, now longer than a foot, ball churning, cum spewing from the tip in a constant stream, but not enough, he could tell. A second drop, his hair filled in even thicker across his body, so thick his skin was barely visible, all of it slick and wet with sweat. Greg waited, eyes narrow and angry. A third drop–no one had ever needed a third drop. Shane’s body filled with fat, firm gut sagging into a heavy, hair covered apron, pecs softening into moobs, but still not enough. A fourth drop, and finally, he heard it–the loud wet fart, the stench of the pig finally losing all control of himself, of his mind dissolving to bits in his skull. Four fucking drops, but it was over. What a god-damn waste.

He uncuffed the animal, and the pig rolled over, smelled it’s shit on the floor and started eating its own mess, pissing itself at the same time, and Greg just watched it, before dragging it into the bathroom, stripping off its clothes, and chaining it around the apartment’s toilet, where it remained, groping it’s fat body and huge cock, reaching around occasionally to coat it’s hands with its shit and lick them clean. Eventually, it’s body grew tired, and it curled up on the floor. At first it dreamed of falling down an endless staircase into the depths of some unknown abyss, but even that faded into darkness before too long, and it never dreamed again.

Persistence’s Reward – Part 3

Why was he even bothering with this? What was the point? He sat down on the stairs, feeling another button pop off his shirt, as he gasped for breath in between the fourth and fifth floors. He was climbing earlier than usual today, because he’d been fired from his job. He replayed it over and over in his head, the entire day, wondering what in the world had made him do any of it. He’d woken up late again, just like the day before, and found himself in a sopping wet bed. He’d told himself that it was just night sweats, that he’d just been hot all night long, but he could smell it, he could smell it, and he knew it was piss, that he’d pissed himself in the night, and he’d…he’d jacked off. Jacked off, rolling in his own mess, and then, without even taking a shower, he’d gotten his clothes on for work, even though he knew he shouldn’t go, that he should just call out and feign illness, he went anyway. And there, right there in a meeting with his boss, it had happened. He’d pissed himself. He’d pissed himself, a full bladder, and he hadn’t been able to do anything, just stand there while Mr. Montgomery stared at him, watched the tent grow in his pants, and tell him to leave, and not bother coming back–they’d just send his things home by mail in a few days.

And so here he was, climbing the stairs again to the tenth floor, exhausted and fat, his pants still soaked with piss and sweat. He could smell himself, he could smell himself, and his cock was so fucking hard, and as he sat there, he felt it again. That warmth, piss flowing from his dick right into his pants, soaking the seat of his pants, flowing down the stairs in a stream from where he was sitting, and all he could do was watch it. Stare at it, and think…think about getting down and licking it up, think about how…how thirsty he was, how horny he was. That was what got him up and moving again–he knew that if he stayed there, he would get down and start licking it up, he’d lick it up and jack off, and even though he wanted it, he knew something was wrong. Wrong with him.

He was fatter. He was hairier. He had a beard growing down to his chest, even as his hair was receding back past the crown of his head. He reeked and sweated non-stop. And for some reason he was still climbing these damn stairs, when he should just get in the damn elevator, but he also knew that if he did that, he would be seen. Someone would see him, and they would know what he is, they would know that he’s a nasty pig, a nasty fucking pig…He hit the seventh floor, and couldn’t stop it. The friction of his thighs, the smell of his piss soaked clothes, his sweat and musk, his cock started pumping out a massive load of cum, and he nearly fell back down the stairs from the force and pleasure of it, snorting and grunting, fighting up one step at a time. It happened again below the ninth floor, and by the time he finally emerged into his hallway, he barely even felt human. Too exhausted to stand, he fell to his hands and knees, crawling down the hall towards his apartment, snorting and grunting for breath, but Greg was there in the hall, blocking his way.

“You look like you could use another drink today,” he said, why don’t you come inside and hang out for a while?”

No. No, not that. He turned around and started crawling back towards the stairs, shaking his head, even as his cock was screaming for him to go inside.

“You really are a persistent one, aren’t you?” Greg said, following him, “I’m amazed you can still climb those damn stairs without having a heart attack, but more than that, I’m amazed you’re climbing them at all. Most people prefer sitting on their ass after one date with me, but you, you just keep on fighting.” He straddled Shane and sat down on his back, forcing him to the ground under him, listening and feeling him struggle, “Where do you keep all that gusto of yours? You’re never going to be happy as pig if you don’t let me get rid of it, you know.”

“Not…Not your…pig…” Shane huffed.

“Oh trust me, you’re most certainly a pig, and certainly mine. So what is it, Shane? What is it? If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to have to get rid of everything, you know…”

Shane kept trying to pull himself out from under him, when he felt something warm on his back. He could smell it, the pig in his head taking over and salivating. Piss, his fucking piss. Greg got up, still pissing the front of his shorts, and he pulled out his cock, walking back to his apartment, leaving a trail behind him, Shane turning around and dragging his tongue across the carpet, following him at a crawl until he was inside the apartment. In the middle of the front room Greg was standing over a dog bowl brimming with beer, and he was pissing into it, and he knew he shouldn’t, he knew it, but his body, his nasty piggy body couldn’t help itself. He crawled over and started lapping up the beer and piss, drinking it down as best he could. It took him a while, and Greg came around behind him, pulling off his soggy clothes and started fucking his ass. He licked the bowl clean, drooling from the mouth, groaning and grunting, his eyes glazed over once again.

“Don’t you worry, pig,” Greg said, “I’m sure we can get you sorted out tonight. By tomorrow, we’ll have you set as a proper pig for life.”

Persistence’s Rewards – Part 2

Ugh, why was he even still doing this to himself? Shane was panting at the sixth floor, already winded beyond belief, sweat pouring down his face. He unbuttoned his shirt and fanned himself, trying to cool off, but there was no ventilation in the staircase, and the summer heat was baked into the concrete even though evening was underway. It had been a terrible day anyway–he’d woken up late for work, his head pounding from all the beer he’d drank the night before. He never got blasted like that anymore–not since college. He couldn’t remember a thing, but fuck he’d been horny. Even though he was late, he’d worked a load out of his cock, and he’d shot two more in the bathroom at work during the day. His cock just hadn’t been able to get enough. It hadn’t helped that he’d forgotten to shower, and he reeked. It fact, his BO seemed even worse than usual, and more than a few co-workers, including his boss, had ribbed him lightly. Needless to say, he’d be taking a shower tonight, and shaving off this damn beard too. He…couldn’t quite remember growing it, and everyone at work had thought it was strange, but he’d had one for a while, hadn’t he? He sighed. Should he just give up? He was exhausted, but he struggled on, hauling his body up. He felt heavier today, and his clothes hadn’t fit well either. It was discouraging–he’d been trying so hard to lose weight, and he was only getting bigger. It just made him want to…to stop fucking caring entirely. To just…just park his fat pig ass down, and…

Hard again. What the fuck was it with his cock today? Still, he wasn’t about to whip it out in the stairway like some perv–he could at least wait until he got to his apartment. He crested the ninth floor, took a short break before mounting the final flight, and slogged down the hallway, shirt and pants soaked, but his neighbor’s door was open. He’d introduced himself yesterday–Gary? Greg? Some ‘G’ name. “Hey Shane, how was the day?”

“Fuckin’ exhausted,” he said, and saw his neighbor had a beer in his hand. Just…seeing it made his mouth water. Still, something told him not…not to take it. Not to drink it. Greg pushed it into his hand, and without really being able to stop himself, he but the bottle to his lips and chugged the whole thing down. It tasted familiar…like…like something he’d tasted the day before, and he sighed, a silly, stupid grin on his face as he groped his hard cock in the hallway, trying to remember where he’d tasted that before.

“Why don’t you come inside before someone sees you, Shane. I’d hate to have to explain to any of our neighbors why you’re groping yourself like a fat, sweaty, perverted pig in the hallway.”

Shane couldn’t quite process what he’d just said, but he let Greg pull him into his apartment, even as he tugged the zipper of his pants down, fished out his nine inch cock and started stroking it. “Feel…fuckin’…strange….” he muttered, “Kinda good, though…”

“You know, I was pretty angry at you yesterday Shane, for wasting some of my brew. I go to a lot of trouble to make that, you know. I was just gonna make you a musky, hairy man for some fun, but you know? I think you need to be taught a more severe lesson than that. I don’t share my beer with everyone, you know–you should be thankful.”

Shane was still standing there by the door, shirt open and soaked, gut hanging out the bottom of his shirt, growing and swelling a bit bigger with each heaving breath. Greg helped him out of his clothes, running his hands through Shane’s lengthening beard, watching his already thick chest and belly hair grow in thicker still, as it filled in over his back and ass as well. “Did this yesterday. You…”

Greg shushed him. “Now, I have any number of different styles I brew, you know. One I don’t pull out very often, except for the most difficult pigs like you. I’m not about to let you waste any though, and you’re going to have to drink a lot, so get down on your knees, and we’ll get you all set up.” He pushed Shane down, and then shoved the hose from yesterday into his mouth, and then took duct tape and started taping it in, pinning his beard to his face as he wrapped it securely, making sure there was no way he could spit it out. Then, he brought out a pitcher from the kitchen, held the funnel up, and started to pour. It took Shane a few minutes to find a good rhythm–and Greg poured carefully, making sure he was swallowing and not sputtering, but as the new beer settled in his gut, Shane’s eyes glazed over, and he began swallowing with an odd sort of urgency. This beer was even more bitter than the previous style, but he began to appreciate it more and more as he swallowed it, feeling his gut swell larger and larger, bloating out and remaining firm, like a beach ball inflated in his stomach. His head was swimming, and he was close to passing out again, when Greg finally finished, and started carefully peeling the tape away from his face, managing to avoid ripping away any of his thick, wiry beard.

During his binge drinking, Shane had blown several loads across the carpet. He could smell his own cum, his sweat, but now also something else. He started crawling forward, sniffing the air, something bitter and rank on the air, his vision tunnelling, and then he was at the door to the bathroom, sniffing. The toilet, in the toilet, and he crawled over, and yellow, so yellow, all the yellow, wet, and then he was submerged in darkness once more.

Persistence’s Rewards – Part 1

It had been a long day, and today Shane knew he should have just taken the elevator. It was summer, it seemed like all he did was sweat, and it’s not like his climbing made much of a difference anyway. Certainly his physique was nothing to marvel at–he was still chubby, still hovering a little under 240 pounds, still not back to where he was when he was playing football in college. He paused to heave a few breaths on the eighth floor of his apartment building. Two more floors to go, and he’d already loosened his tie, his white buttoned shirt damp with sweat. If he could just get that damn promotion at work, he could afford to get a damn mortgage on a house in the suburbs, but for now he was stuck in this damn low rent building with no air conditioning, making never ending payments on his student loans, and he couldn’t even afford a gym membership, so he was climbing stairs. It seemed hopeless, like all of it seemed hopeless, but if anything had ever gotten him anywhere, it was persistence. He kept climbing and finally shoved his way through the door, panting, and started down the hall to his apartment, only to have the door next to his open as he passed by, revealing a short, squat man, close to his age if not a bit younger, who nearly walked right into him. “Oh fuck, sorry ‘bout that!” he said, “Just moved in–the name’s Greg.”

“Hey, I’m Shane,” he managed between huffs.

“You work out?”

“Just…take the stairs.”

“Damn man, to the tenth floor?”

He nodded.

“That takes some effort! And some perspiration it looks like,” he added with a wink, Shane feeling horribly self-conscious all of a sudden. “How about a beer as a reward, and a chance to get to know your new neighbor?”

He shrugged. Why not? He was trying to cut down on the beer, but he’d earned it today, right? Besides, it was fucking hot out, and he didn’t have anything cold in his fridge. “Only if it’s cold.”

Greg laughed, clapped a hand around his back and led him into his apartment. It was laid out the same as Shane’s, and it was obvious the guy was still in the middle of unpacking. The furniture was in place, but surrounded by boxes in various stages of unpacking. “Go ahead and have a seat on the couch, I’ll get you a brew,” Greg said, and returned with an open bottle of beer, cold, but without a label. “Sorry it’s missing a label–I got it cheap at the store because it was. Some IPA or something.”

“No worries, Shane said, and took a sip. It was bitter, but refreshing after his hike upstairs earlier, he took a few long slugs, emptying half the bottle as Greg sat down, and asked him what he did. Shane told him about his office job, sparing him some of the gory details, but he kept feeling distracted. The heat was terrible for one, and even with the cold beer, he was sweating heavily. He unbuttoned his shirt all the way, Greg watching him as he did, and then pulled it off, before also stripping off his undershirt, pants and boxers without a second thought. He was starting to feel a bit loopy from the beer, and he couldn’t quite keep his thoughts in order, lapsing into “hmms” and “ummms”, and Greg made small talk at him, one hand toying with his cock openly in front of his new neighbor.

“So, how do you feel, being a nasty pig?” Greg asked during one such lull.

“W-wha?” Shane asked, letting off a belch.

“Yeah, a nasty, sweaty, dirty pig?”

“F-Fuck…” Shane groaned, his cock now fully hard, bottle of beer empty on the table next to him, stroking himself slowly, just staring himself stroking, mouth open.

Greg got up, shucking off his own sweaty clothes as he went back to the kitchen, and returned with a second beer, now naked as well, and pressed it into Shane’s hand. “Here you go, have another drink, on the house.”

Shane felt like the entire world had collapsed in on him. He knew this was wrong, that something in the beer had drugged him, and he resisted, but all he could do was let the bottle drop from his hand, spilling it on the couch next to him, Greg cursing. “Fuckin’ bitch,” he muttered, “I’ll fix you…”

Shane tried to peel his hand from his cock, but couldn’t. He did manage to push himself up off the couch to a teetering stand by the time Greg returned, carrying several bottles of his brew, as well as a plastic hose and funnel. He shoved Shane back onto the couch, and pushed the hose into his mouth and down his throat, making him gag. Before he could spit it out, he had a beer in his hand and was pouring it in, and Shane had to either swallow or choke, making it through most of a second bottle before he got the hose out, covering his chest and gut with bitter beer. “What…why you doing this?” He moaned, the sensation of his cock suddenly heightened, “Fuck…” He could feel it, feel his cock getting bigger, his balls heavier. Felt so good to just sit and stroke, and he relaxed back into the couch, pumping his now nine inch cock a bit faster.

“That’s better, you fuckin’ pig. From the second I saw you, I knew you were gonna be my first, sweaty and soaked and musky in the hallway,” Greg said, leaned in, lifted one of Shane’s arms, licking at the sweat there, watching his neighbor’s already thick bush of underarm hair grow in even thicker. “That’s right, you’re mine, and we’re going to have so much fun together, neighbor–not that you’ll remember much of it. Have another beer–we’re gonna get you blackout drunk tonight, but don’t worry–tomorrow’s a brand new day. A brand new stinkin’ day for all of us.”

One more thing!

I just hit $500 dollars on Patreon!

Beyond being fabulous, and thanks to all of you kind people helping to keep me going, this also means that I will, as promised, start working harder on various longer pieces that have been idling far too long (*cough* City of Bears *cough*). I’ll have more details on what this means when I get back–but for now, thanks! You’re all pretty awesome.

On Vacation

Just a note that I’m going to be gone for the next week, and most likely won’t have access to internet. There will still be four updates this week–I have them all queued up for all of you. This is mostly a note that, should you send me a note or subscribe to Patreon, I won’t be getting back to you until the week I get back. Thanks again for reading, as always.