Taming the Beast (Part 6)

The good thing about Cumrag, was that he had the stamina and the vitality to take pretty much anyone Mark brought down here–and Mark had a feeling this beast was going to be a rough fucker. He took one look at the beast standing in the central room, and had a feeling he knew what his Master wanted from him…and he was looking forward to it. He hadn’t been used in weeks now, and he hated it. Hated how lonely it could be down here, just jacking off, fantasizing about his Master using him–needing him–though why anyone would need a cumrag like him was beyond his limited comprehension. “What do you need, Master?”

“Get in the sling cumrag, and don’t talk. Your voice is grating.” Cumrag nodded, and hopped up into the sling, cape hanging under him, and Mark secured his legs up in the holsters, before stepping to one side and displaying him for the beast. “I know you were used by other patrons, on occasion, but please–have your way with the thing. I assure you–it can take anything you want to give, it’s more resilient than it seems, physically at least.”

The beast didn’t hesitate. While it had often serviced people in the bar, it had only rarely gotten the opportunity to fuck…and the few times it had, had been incredibly enjoyable. He assumed that the doctor was telling the truth, and rammed his cock in roughly, not bothering to worry about Cumrag’s feelings, and while he had to muffle a gasp of surprise, his hole opened easy and wide. In less than a minute, the beast was gripping Cumdump’s thighs, slamming his massive cock in up the the hilt, listening to the sloppy sounds of the one-time-hero’s now totally loose hole, the cumrag’s eyes rolling back in his head, helplessly jacking off, so thrilled to be used again, even if it wasn’t his master using him.

“Just think–this hole could be yours at any time, whenever you desire it,” Mark said, coming close to the beast, stroking his burly, hairy arm, leaning in to sniff at his foul musk. “You could indulge your every base desire, explore all of the pleasures of the Earth, right here. His isn’t the only hole I possess either. There are others, and if you please me, you can fuck as much as you want, my handsome beast,” He turned the beast’s muzzle to him, stood on his toes, and licked at his snout, the beast extending his tongue and kissing him as best he could, breath hot and panting as he fucked harder, getting closer and closer to the edge. “You’re have no idea what you’re capable of, you have no idea what you could become. I can help you–let me help you. Let me free you from the man’s shackles, and live here, as my beast, indulging in every profane desire you can imagine. Be mine, and I’ll give you pleasures you have never thought possible.”

The beast came soon after, letting loose with something between a grunt, growl and a roar, unloading a massive load of cum deep into the hero’s hole, and the orgasm was nothing like he’d felt before, when he’d been with Bacanal. Back then, everything had felt good, all the time–but this was a pleasure unlike anything the beast had experienced before, and it lasted for ages. He ended up sitting on the ground while Mark rubbed and pet him, pulling out his own cock, and coaxing it into the beast’s mouth. After all, it was only fair, wasn’t it, that if the beast got to use one of Master’s holes, that he allow master to use his hole as well. It was the price of his freedom down here–that when Master wanted him, he would have him as well, just like he had all of his other Supers down here.

Was it worth it? The beast, in the end, was convinced. After all, it was going to be owned one way or another, and the idea of ownership Jacob had for him was somehow more humiliating–using his strength ang his speed, but never allowing the beast a moment of gratification or pleasure…no, what the doctor was offering, what master was offering, was far better. They went back upstairs together, and Mark put the beast away in Jacob’s mind again, watching the bestial form fade away, and return to Jacob’s usual body. Only then, did he breathe a sigh of relief, and relax. The hard part was over now–he had his inside man. Everything else would be much, much simpler now. He brought Jacob back from his deep dream, but didn’t wake him yet–no they had quite a bit that they needed to discuss. A while later, Jacob woke up feeling refreshed…and famished. Mark offered him dinner, and Jacob was more than happy to take him up on the offer, though he admitted afterward that he made a bit of a pig of himself, eating as much as he did. Still, Mark hadn’t minded in the least–he’d just kept piling Jacob’s plate higher and higher, watching, cock half hard, already excited to watch the rest of his plan fall into place.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 6)

It was over a week, before Evan’s curse activated. A week he actually found himself enjoying, despite the fact that everything he knew about himself told him he should hate this. He should hate being filthy, never showering, never using deodorant, always stinking. He should hate what he did to Curtis, how he fucked him mercilessly, abused him, raped him–though Curtis always begged for more. This Curtis. Was the other Curtis in there somewhere? The jock? When he thought about that, once, he swore he heard the voice in his mind chuckle…and that gave him the most likely answer. The next weekend, Robbie begged him to come over again, offered to pay him double the usual fee if he’d let him be his toilet for a day. Evan felt like a whore, but this new Evan didn’t care. Money was money after all, and watching the pig worship him all day long? It was worth it, in its own way too. Brought back…memories of them in that trailer, how close he’d been to giving it all up for a life of filth. He imagined that if he propositioned the pig, he could give up his football career, dropout of college, move right in with him…and it would be like nothing had changed at all…in fact, he could sense that the curse would always leave that door ajar for him, a little trap and temptation that made the whole thing feel even more sick.

But what was there to do, beyond live? He couldn’t go back, and the more days that past without anyone harassing him, the more certain he felt that the curse was beginning to fade from him, bit by bit, growing a bit bored and uninterested, pondering abandoning him entirely, if he wasn’t going to be a good little victim again. Until that Tuesday afternoon, after practice. He’d forgotten something in the locker room, and had slipped back in to grab it real quickly, only to hear two of the teams coaches–Hawke, the offensive coach, and Jerry, the head coach–talking. Talking about him.

“You didn’t tell him the scouts are coming?” Hawke asked, “I mean, I know you don’t like the guy, but he’s fucking good at what he does.”

“Please–I know these scouts, and I know what they’re looking for. He ain’t what they want. I’ve already…discussed it with them. No–as far as I’m concerned, the only guy worth scouting on this team is Everett.”

Everett was a receiver, a year than Evan was now. Good. Good enough to go pro, if he lost some of the ego and trained harder, or got a bit more charisma and could sell himself better as a property.

“That’s pretty fucking cold man.”

“You know as well as I do that nasty faggot is a fucking embarrassment to this school and this team. You think I’m gonna let someone like that go pro?”

Evan felt his guts twist. It wasn’t him. They weren’t talking about him, were they? No–no, of course they were, and he was fairly certain that even if they hadn’t been, it wouldn’t have mattered to the curse. His body was starting to heat up, he could feel himself starting to shift, and he backed out of the locker room before either of them could see him.

He stumbled into the laundry room, which was unoccupied, and gave into the curse, feeling it wash over him as he shifted. He lost some height, but not a whole lot–but his muscular build diminished quite a bit, and he found himself with a hefty beer gut stretching out his shirt, which was changing from a sleeveless tee into the same red polo as the rest of the coaching staff wore, his gym shorts turning into khakis. He cleaned up substantially as well, losing some of his musk, though not all of it by any means, his beard shortening into something a bit more professional, and picking up a smattering of grey–as did his receding hairline underneath the team cap he was wearing.

As the change completed, Evan’s old life faded away as well. Now, he was one of the teams assistant coaches, and an alumni from the school who had been decent, but not nearly dedicated enough to go pro. Instead, he had tried to settle down with his college girlfriend and they had a son together, but Evan had never really been able to control his temper, or his disdain for her, and all women, really. They’d been divorced for years now–his son, Will, was a senior in high school now and planning to attend here, and would be on the team if Evan had anything to say about it.

He hadn’t managed to settle down with anyone else, and told everyone that he was happier with the bachelor life–but in reality, he lived in denial of his own feelings, that the people he really wanted to fuck were the students and coaches on the team. He’d always gotten such a…thrill, ramming into guys on the field, dominating them, roughing them up…his wife had never taken to that much, but women couldn’t take shit. He couldn’t handle the idea of being a faggot though, so he bottled them up–and was as much of, if not more so, of a homophobe as Jerry.

But Evan–the real Evan, was clinging on all the same. If he was quick, and got back to the locker room, he might be able to change Jerry before he succumbed to this new life entirely, and get things back to normal quickly. However, when he got there, both Jerry and Hawke had gone home, and Evan, now fully lost to the coach, headed home himself to his dingy bachelor’s apartment, drank too much beer, watched some unsatisfying straight porn, and then went to bed. He’d have other opportunities soon to get back at Jerry–and maybe some other homophobes as well–but when?

Here are you options!

At the next coach poker game, they become cigar smoking bears.
At the next practice, he turns the coaches into dirty, gay football players.
Cuckolds the head coach, fucks his wife and makes him love the humiliation.
Confronts him in the locker room, makes him a piss drinking janitor.

Here’s the Twitter poll!

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Polls close on Saturday!

Taming the Beast (Part 5)

The beast looked around the room, perhaps a bit confused. It was, after all, the first time Mark had woken it outside of the hospital, so it was likely wondering where, exactly, it was. “This is my home,” Mark said, “The prison where you were has decided that Jacob is…less of a risk, and allowed him to leave.”

The beast gave a few snorts, almost like laughter, and then leered at Mark.

“Remember, you would have never gotten out of there without my help, and if you harm me, there are much worse prisons where they could place you. No–I have something else I would like to…suggest instead,” Mark said. “After all, I know what you want. You want to be free–and you want all of the earthly pleasure you had before, isn’t that right? Most of all though, I know that you do not like being subservient to Jacob.”

The beast snorted again.

“I would offer you something else, other than the occasional moment of freedom. I can give you a life here, with me, one that I think you will enjoy. After all, you liked your life before, didn’t you? In the bar?”

They had discussed it before, but the beast had always been…on the fence, for reasons Mark could understand. The beast had traded complete subordination to Jacob’s ego for a different kind of enslavement, to a very different master. It was reluctant to admit it, but Mark could sense the truth–the beast had liked it, very much. The pleasure, the gluttony, the revelry, the sex. It hadn’t mattered that the beast obeyed a master, so long as it was satisfied. The pleasure made the collar bearable. But more than that–the beast might long for freedom, but it had never known it–it had only ever existed under someone else’s control–and Mark wasn’t about to give it a chance to know any better any time soon, before it knew what it could be.

The beast nodded, hesitantly. It knew Mark wanted something–but Mark had been upfront about that. He had discussed it somewhat, that the beast was…wasted here. That it was meant for something more, and Mark could help it understand its true purpose.

Mark stood up, and crossed the short distance to the beast, enjoying the musk rolling off the thing’s hide. That had been a pleasant surprise as well–Mark had a certain…delight in that. He ran his hands over the beast’s belly, gentle circles, waiting until it relaxed under his hands, and then worked lower, both hands stroking its cock. “You can have that life again. All the food you could want, all the drink. Holes to fuck and dominate. But you can’t do that outside of here–they will find you, and trap you in another cage…and you can’t do it with him, so long as Jacob holds any sway over your body. No–we will have to deal with him, seal him away like he sealed you away, all those years. He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The beast snorted its approval, but whether or not it was listening to what Mark was saying wasn’t clear. It could have simply been enjoying the hand job–but it certainly wasn’t resisting.

“After all, we can both agree that you are the strong one. You’re the one who should be in charge, the one whose needs are paramount. But you won’t be able to do it without me, and if you want my help, then you are going to have to do as I say.”

The beast hesitated, and Mark stepped back.

“You don’t have to decide right now. But downstairs, I can give you a taste of the life I can offer you. Follow me.”

The beast heaved himself up from the sofa, and followed Mark around the corner and down a hallway, to a locked basement door. It was a tight squeeze down the staircase for the sizable animal, but at the base, it opened up into a open area outfitted as a sex dungeon–slings, paddles, bondage racks. Around the walls of the room were several doors, all of them locked as well. Mark went to one of them opened the door, “Hey Cumrag! Get out here–I have someone for you to entertain.”

After a couple of moments, a man stumbled out of the room, wearing nothing other than a cape around his shoulders–or at least, something that had been a cape at one time. Cumrag was one of Mark’s earliest acquisition from the hospital–a strongman Super with a rather weak will, who had been mind controlled and turned to a life of crime for a few years until he was freed. He’d struggled a lot at the hospital in Mark’s care–he didn’t know how to regain his moral center, and felt like he couldn’t trust himself. Mark agreed. Slowly, he’d worn him down, convinced him that everything that had happened was all because he was too weak to know better–that if anything, it had been good for him to be controlled by someone with some sense, good to keep his power away from the world, where he could hurt someone. He’d needed a new purpose in life, a new direction, and so Mark had suggested he help him out around the house, degrading him more and more until he, at last, accepted he was little more than an object. A cumrag. He’d been without a shower for years, at this point, and his skin and hair was caked with layers and layers of cum. The cape he still wore was rigid at this point, and when he was in storage down here, all Cumrag knew to do anymore was masturbate into his cape, his life as a hero forgotten forever–until his services were needed.

Taming the Beast (Part 4)

This is a double post, for today and tomorrow, because there was no good place to split lt!

Indeed, the beast had manifested after he’d been put under, but not immediately. Mark had guided him into a dream, a peaceful, happy dream with a friendly, fluffy dog, and when the beast came out, it was not the fierce, pacing monster he’d seen before. He was a reflection of Jacob’s own imagination–fluffy, happy, soft, and eager to be petted, apparently. It was a bit…strange to see everyone in the room petting him, when he could remember nothing at all of any of it, but he had to admit it was promising. He could, apparently, control the form and personality of the beast to some extent, through his dreams. Mark believed his control was likely stronger than that–that with some practice with guided imagery and meditation, he would likely be able to call the beast at any time, and control it’s form directly. Once he was showing progress along those lines, then he would be ready to rejoin the regular population of the hospital, and then, be released. That was something they were both desperate for, and so, Jacob agreed to give it a try.

It was frustrating work, at first. Jacob found it difficult to focus, and the beast bristled at Jacob’s attempts to harness and control him. Still, they forged an uneasy path forward, mostly with the help and guidance of Mark, who Jacob was beginning to think knew the inside of his own mind better than Jacob knew it himself. In time, he managed to come to an understanding with the beast–largely predicated on the snacks the beast received when it followed Jacob’s direction when manifesting. Mark seemed to enjoy that part the most–it was one of the rare times that he seemed to smile, when feeding the monster in his room a dog biscuit. Jacob could always taste them when he came back, and while it disgusted him to some extent, it did seem to be helping. He went one month without an episode in the night, and then two. He was allowed back into the ward’s general population, at last, and he’d never been so thrilled to be surrounded by freaks. There was the occasional backslide, usually when the beast didn’t get its treat, but after a year and a half, Jacob was confident in his abilities, the beast was largely tamed–though Mark was sure it would always be a bit headstrong–and Mark cleared him for outpatient release. He would still have to check in regularly at the hospital, attend therapy sessions–both solo and group–but finally, he would be able to start putting a life back together outside the nearly three year long nightmare this had become. He wouldn’t be able to register as a vigilante again until he could show better control over his developed powers, but that was, honestly, the furthest thing from Jacob’s mind. He was free. They were free. Mark helped him find a small studio apartment to rent nearby until he could get a job and be back on his feet, though the restitution from his time under Baccanal’s control was nearly enough for him to live on, if he kept life meager.

Mark encouraged him to find some work, however–it would help him adjust back to normal life, if he had something to occupy his time. Before all of this had happened, he had worked in kitchens, mostly, and he found a job as a line cook at a little restaurant not far from his studio. It wasn’t much of a life, he supposed, but it was better than being stuck in the hospital, never getting a taste of fresh air. Life settled into a new, better routine. Group therapy one day a week, therapy with Mark twice a week, and as long as he checked in with the hospital, he was free to just…live, at last.

“Six, a bit over halfway down the stairs now. You know where you’re going, and there is no fear–only trust. Just my voice, guiding you down into the darkness below, that comforting, gentle dark of deep sleep.”

The induction was easy now–Mark knew that he had Jacob’s full trust, as misplaced as that trust was. As long as he’d been in the hospital, Mark had had to be careful–a suggestion here, a nudge there, a test or two on occasion to see how pliable he and his beast were, but never anything too unseemly. It wouldn’t do to get himself tossed out of his favorite hunting ground, after all.

“Seven….getting deeper now. You feel yourself sliding down the steps, floating down them, every inch taking you deeper and deeper towards a restful, peaceful, dreamless sleep.”

They met at Mark’s home now for their therapy sessions–it was more convenient than going to the hospital for Jacob, and they both felt more comfortable here. That, and the only cameras in the corners here were controlled by Mark. He controlled everything, and everyone here–just like he would control Jacob, and his beast, before too much longer.

“Eight, you feel very heavy, so heavy, and the dark is pulling you into it, embracing you, enveloping you in a calm nothingness.”

Mark wasn’t a Super–he couldn’t literally control people. Not like his patients had been controlled–not like how he, himself had been controlled, all those years ago, while he was just a student at college. He had been…close to a young man as an undergraduate, though rather clueless. The young man had thought there was something brewing between them, but Mark put that notion to bed quickly–he wasn’t gay, and also wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone, really. That hadn’t been what his friend had wanted to hear, and unknown to Mark, his friend was an unregistered Super–and one with the ability to…warp personalities. Mark found himself falling head over heels for him in less than a week, desperate to be with him…but the power had been so raw. He’d wanted to be with any man–every man, and his friend enjoyed making him humiliate himself, whoring him out to men all over campus, and Mark refused to report it, out of love. Thankfully, it was found out after a couple of weeks before too much damage had been done to him, but he’d never been the same person since–how could he be?

“Nine. The light seems so far away now, and the darkness is so close. You long for it. You feel so content down here, in the dark, that you will happily stay down here for as long as you can. You feel safe here, safe where no one can harm you, listening to only my voice.”

He never could find women attractive after that, for one thing. But his personality soured, warped, and settled in other ways too. He still craved sex, but also control. He became domineering with his partners, and rarely did a guy return for seconds–not that Mark was interested in having any one normal man more than once or twice. The only person he wanted was his friend–a love he’d never been able to quiet, but it had mutated, and Mark found himself becoming fascinated with other Supers like him. In time, even the love faded, but a furious spite filled its place instead. When he met another Super in graduate school, years later at that point, he decided that was close enough, manipulated him into bed, and then threatened to tell everyone on campus he’d raped Mark, if he didn’t do everything he demanded. The rush of power was unlike anything else, and he had him under his thumb for a month, before the Super ran off–and Mark as furious at having lost him. He wanted more–more Supers, more sex…but he would be more careful, and make sure they would never be able to abandon him. So far, he hadn’t lost a single one yet.

Ten. The floor melts away beneath you, and you are floating, in a deep, peaceful sleep. The only thing besides the darkness is my voice, which you must listen to. My voice is the most important thing to you, here in the darkness. You must obey it, right Jacob?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Jacob. Now, in the darkness, you are going to prepare yourself to dream of the beast–but you will not begin dreaming until we have discussed what this dream will be like, understand?”

Mark had, thus far, been unable to deduce how, exactly, Jacob’s dreams were related to the beast, but he had found that guiding his dreams could determine what sort of form the beast took when the dream began. In fact, the beast seemed rather mutable, never emerging in the same form twice, as far as Mark had seen, though his control over both of them was still very loose. In fact, this was the most dangerous moment of the entire venture, he supposed. If the beast rejected his offer, or simply attacked him–no, that wouldn’t happen. He knew what the beast desired, and he could provide it. Stick to the plan, and everything would go perfectly.

Now, you are going to dream something different, this time. Something you haven’t dreamt about in a very long time. You are going to dream of your time with Baccanal. However, this dream will not scare you, and when you wake, you will not remember any details, only that it was very pleasant. You will dream that you are a glutton. That you eat and drink anything given to you, like a pig. You will dream that you are lecherous and horny, lazy and heavy, satisfied with earthly delights like sex, food and wine. You are going to dream that you are a pig–do you understand?”

Jacob nodded, and Mark had him repeat the details of the dream back to him. Then he told Jacob that the darkness was beginning to clarify, that he was slowly entering the dream, and Mark heard the couch Jacob was sitting on creak slightly. There was always a change in mass before any change actually appeared–almost like both Jacob and the beast were inhabiting the same space at the same time, one taking the place of the other, Jacob let out a snort, and a bit of drool ran down his chin–likely imagining the food and wine from the dream, and his mouth and nose began to grow out into a short snout.

The rest of his was growing as well. Jacob was not a particularly large man–five foot five and a slightly chubby 200 pounds–he’d largely lost the gut he’d had when he first entered the hospital years prior. He could certainly hit hard for his size, though, as his power had manifested, but Mark had come to believe that Jacob, before being controlled by Baccanal, had only been using a small fragment of his potential power. Likely, it would have remained completely dormant, if the beast hadn’t been freed. Baccanal deserved some sort of reward or recognition, surely, but his life sentence would be difficult to work around, sadly. Now, Jacob was close to six feet tall, and still growing (the beast rarely manifested as a creature below seven feet tall or so, and had, on occasion, outgrown the eight foot ceilings at the hospital) his leaner physique lost now under a rapidly expanding belly, his arms packing on some muscle, but really, he seemed…flabby and rotund, just as Mark had hoped. The beast was a singular mind, with a memory separate from Jacob’s, but it’s manner and behavior differed widely depending on its form when it manifested. If Jacob dreamed of a frightening monster, it would be vicious–if he dreamed of something gentler or peaceful, the beast would be…more amenable to something resembling conversation. It had never spoken a word, or at least not to Mark, but it understood everything he said, as far as he could tell.

Jacob had been naked–one of the earliest hypnotic work the doctor had done was get Jacob used to being naked in his presence. He doubted Jacob even noticed that he stripped automatically when he stepped in the door every time now. Mark found himself focused on the beast’s growing cock–this time, it was becoming more porcine, engorging and spiraling from a slimy sheath, with two massive balls hanging below, against the cushion of the couch. The hair came next–less than usual, mostly a thick coating of boar bristle all over his back and across his chest, arms and legs. Then the eyes flicked open, no longer Jacob’s human blue, but a bestial black. The beast was awake, Jacob was lost in the dream, and would be until Mark woke him from it.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 5)

No–no, this isn’t him. This isn’t his life! He was younger, he was younger and he…he lived in the city, and he was going to school…but so many of the details were missing. This life seemed so much more real than that one–he’d let himself get sucked in too far. The pig was sucking on his foot, and he kicked it off, making it squeal, and ran to the bathroom. He needed to be alone, he needed some time to think. The bathroom was filthy, filthier than anything he’d seen before in his life, but he felt so…comfortable in it. He looked at himself, at the hulking, stinking man he’d become, hair everywhere, and he…hated himself. He hated that he’d let himself become this disgusting thing, this thing he’d never wanted to be, and he wanted out.

But do you remember?

Was that his voice? No–he remembered that voice. Is was that darkness, from that night in his room, a room he couldn’t remember, but the darkness he knew very well. It terrified him, the searing laughter in the question. It knew he couldn’t remember, not all of it.

You can’t go back if you don’t remember–just forget it all. Wouldn’t it be easier to stay?

He shook his head, hair flying. He focused on what he could remember. On youth, on…school, of some sort, on sports…he could remember something about sports, and being a jock…or had that been another life? It all seemed so muddled together in his memory, and trying to pull any of it apart only made it seem like it would crumble at any moment. It was working, though. He could feel his body shifting–shrinking somewhat, his mind clearing, the redneck pig farmer slipping away into the dark, back into the spirit that had conjured it. His memory was becoming clearer now. He could remember school–college. College? Hadn’t he been going to high school?

He opened his eyes and saw his face. A face he could recognize better, without all of the hair around him. Younger, but still grungy. He had a short beard now, mostly because he was too lazy to bother with shaving, or really much hygiene at all…right? Hadn’t he been cleaner? It was too hard to remember, and resisting the spirit was too much of a struggle. This wasn’t…right, but it was better. It was what he had. He splashed some water on his face, and the room around him started to twist as well. Still a bathroom, but not the bathroom from the trailer…but also not his own bathroom in the dorm where he lived. Where…was he?

There was a knock on the door. “Hey, sexy fucker–I’ll throw in another 200 if you…leave me something in that toilet.”

His guts twisted–it was Robbie, the filthy construction worker he’d sleep with on occasion because he’d pay him 500 for a fuck–and honesty…Evan did kind of like how much of a filthy pig he was. Didn’t like him enough that he’d fuck him for free of course, but he couldn’t get sex like this from anyone else. Robbie would do anything to lick Evan clean after football practice, among other things…and 200 hundred extra dollars couldn’t hurt. He sat down, did his business, didn’t flush, and then left. Robbie took a look, shoved the 700 into his hand and pushed him out of the apartment, barely giving Evan a chance to get his shorts and shirt back on, and then he was out, his life sorting itself out in his mind as he left the shoddy apartment building where Robbie lived a few blocks from campus, and headed for his dorm.

His memory was clearer now–he could remember better who he’d been–Evan the slender twink, a senior in high school–but the opportunity to get back there had closed. Who he was now was…substantially different, especially physically. His body was packed with muscle and fat, the perfect build for an offensive lineman. He’d aged up, and was a junior in college, on track for a potential pro career, if his sexuality didn’t torpedo things for him. He was also out of the closet–a rarity, and the team kind of hated him for it, but he was so good, no one gave him shit…usually. In fact, walking back to campus, it was the first time he could remember walking anywhere in the city, and no one called him a queer, or a faggot…or even really noticed him much at all. It was a relief in some ways. It meant that the curse was less likely to trigger, if nothing else.

He got a text on his phone, and saw, with some surprise, it was from Curtis. He, apparently, was going to college now too, and had sent him a pic of him naked, bent over, ass to the camera–one of his standard booty calls. Evan’s cock jumped to attention, tenting out the front of his mesh shorts. Even though he’d just plowed Robbie’s fat ass…he could always use a round with Curtis. No one had a hole like his…but he couldn’t. He needed help–someone somewhere had to know about this curse, and how to get rid of it, but where could he go? He didn’t know anything about this stuff, after all. Maybe it would be best to try and forget about it, if there was nothing he could do about it. So he headed for Curtis’ dorm instead, let himself in, and spent the next half hour fucking the twink’s tight hole until it was nice and loose, loving how high the bitch could moan, loving how he could make him beg–loving the power he had. The power he had over both of them now, he supposed, since Robbie was the same…just with different inclinations. No one was going to talk shit about him, not to his face at least. Maybe…maybe he could be safe like this, if he just kept his head down, and didn’t make waves. Maybe the spirit would get tired of him, and go away on its own, if he refused to give it what it wanted.

He did his best, for a few days. He went to practice, and went to class, fucked Curtis regularly, finding the rhythm of this new life. Not once in that time did he hear a slur…and he was beginning to have hope that he might be normal enough now to get through this. The curse was willing to be patient though, because it knew he would hear something soon enough–not even something necessarily directed at him. Someone would be talking about him behind his back–or he would hear a slur directed at someone else he was with. It wouldn’t matter–he’d change again, and the spirit would have its satisfaction.

***

Alright, who’s going to insult him this time?

His preppy, conservative roommate complains about him.
He overhears two coaches talking shit about him after practice.
He and Curtis get stopped by cops after going to a gay bar.
Some ROTC members gossip about him nearby.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the patron poll

Voting ends on Tuesday!

Taming the Beast (Part 3)

What Jacob had hoped would be a short stay, was rapidly becoming something much, much worse than he’d imagined it might be. He’d thought he was fine. Perhaps it was easier, because he didn’t remember much of his time away, and because he hadn’t really had much of a life to return to, once he was free. It was easier to compartmentalize everything he’d done, everything that had been done to him, as a dream. Something he could just put behind him, and forget. But this–this was just as bad, as before He was still in a cage, still treated like an animal in a cage, too. But this time, it was for his own good–and for the alleged safety of the staff and the other patients. It had been better before, at least that had been a kind of freedom. Baccanal had, of course, held the lead…but beyond that, the beast had been free to enjoy itself. It…wanted to…enjoy itself.

While he still detested group sessions, they were rapidly becoming the only place where he had any socialization, beyond nervous staff members clutching tranquilizers, and Mark, who seemed as unfazed by everything as always, though Jacob could…sense a shift in him, somehow, though he couldn’t explain how he knew that. This was becoming a common occurrence, and it took Jacob some time to realize that the voices and ideas in his head, that he’d always experienced as some odd conscience, were in fact the words and thoughts of the beast inside him. It all seemed so obvious now, but he’d been so clueless this whole time. Now, however, all he really wanted was for it to stop. He’d give up…everything, if the beast would just go away for good. He vented in group about that, about how he felt like he’d lost every remnant of control here, how he’d been freed from one enslavement, and was now stuck in another. The other inmates would commiserate, but none of them could really understand, he didn’t think. He knew he was dangerous, and yet…and yet the beast was assuring him that as long as they got out, it would calm down. It just…didn’t want to be caged anymore. It wanted to enjoy life, it wanted pleasure, and sex, and food and wine, all the delights it had become accustomed to, with Baccanal. Jacob found himself wanting them too, just so the beast would finally quiet down.

He shared all of this with Mark, in their sessions together. Mark seemed less interested in what had occurred with Baccanal, however, and wanted to know more about how Jacob’s powers had developed. He was especially fascinated when the dreams began again, though they were…different, this time. He still felt pursued, and attacked, but Jacob found himself witnessing it as both predator and prey. When he awoke, afterwards, he also wouldn’t be caught in the midst of a slippage–he might see just the last bit of nail or fur disappearing in the dark, unsure if he’d seen anything at all.

“I believe, Jacob, that this beast, as we call him, is in fact a separate entity inside both your body and your mind–but when you were both growing up, neither of you understood yourself as separate entities. You were, in fact, much closer in identity than you have become. The events you suffered…created a break in your unity, likely because the substances Baccanal made you consume affected each of you differently. You, Jacob, they put to sleep, but the beast was invigorated by them. I don’t know if it is possible for the two of you to find the same sort of synchronicity you once established so naturally, but I think things are only going to improve after we find a way to communicate with the beast, and after we understand how it uses these dreams to manifest itself, because they are…clearly connected, somehow.” Mark looked up from his notes. “I would like to try a few sessions of hypnosis with you, focusing on dream control, and see if we can better understand the link between the two of you. If we can help you exert a bit more control over the form the beast takes, then you may be able to establish a healthier relationship with your own power, in time.”

At this point, Jacob was willing to try anything, if it might mean getting away from here, though he could feel the beast was anxious about it. It didn’t want Jacob to be in control–all it wanted, was to be free. He told this to Mark, that he wasn’t sure the beast would be very cooperative, and Mark had a simple answer.

“I think the beast is smart enough to understand that, until we find a way to train it and control it, there is no way it can be allowed outside of these walls. I want to help both of you–but if either of you puts up any resistance, then you will both be stuck here for the foreseeable future. Progress is entirely in your hands–both of your hands–and I trust you will both cooperate to the best of your abilities.”

They could both see the truth in that–though when they arrived for the first session, and saw the bed and the straps and the guards looking on nervously, neither of them were feeling very trusting of the doctor. It had to be done, Mark insisted. After all, it had been shown that they both could react very differently to the same stimuli–and it was likely that by putting Jacob into a hypnotic sleep, the beast could very possibly manifest itself while Jacob was in a suggestable state. A few minutes later, Jacob was lying on the bed, watching the flashing screen in front of him while Mark whispered softly in his ear–and then he remembered…little else. He dreamed, he knew that, but what dream it was, was something he couldn’t recall beyond a general sensation of…peace and relaxation. When he was next woken, everyone in the room appeared to be at ease as well, though Jacob didn’t really understand why–it wasn’t until Mark showed him the footage from the session the next day, that he understood.

Taming the Beast (Part 2)

Mark stared at him over the edge of the tablet for a moment, made a note, and then moved onto someone else, with some other unique trauma that Jacob couldn’t care less about. He was hungry, and group therapy was always right before dinner. He had such an appetite now–Baccanal had fed him well, and the extra fifty pounds on his frame showed. He wanted to lose it…but the hunger was worse now. Better than it had been, those first days, but would he ever feel normal again? He hoped so–or maybe he just couldn’t really remember what normal felt like anymore.

“So no more dreams?” Mark asked. He and Jacob were alone in his office, for some one-on-one therapy. The tone of his voice was neutral, but it was clear that he was skeptical.

“I wasn’t lying at group yesterday, no.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Good. I mean, shouldn’t I feel good? Those dreams…they were disturbing. I’m glad I’m not having them, at least. I feel like I’m getting better.”

The dreams Jacob had been having, ever since he’d regained control over the beast, usually precipitated one of his…slippages. He would wake up, howling and barking, nails like claws, fur all over his body, two minds panicking at the same time, and he would have to fight to put the beast back where it belonged, deep in his mind, where it was supposed to be–where it had always been, at least. But he hadn’t been dreaming, and he hadn’t had a single slip in a week. How could that not be good?

Still, it was clear from the look on his therapist’s face that he was missing something. It made him feel…crazy, when he did that, keeping cards close to his chest. He could handle the truth–he didn’t need to be coddled like some drooling, drugged out problem. Like the rest of them.

“You don’t seem…convinced.”

“I honestly hope you’re lying to me Jacob, because if you aren’t, I’m afraid things are getting worse.” Mark said, and set down the tablet. “You have to be honest in these sessions. I can’t help you regain control of your powers if you don’t trust me.”

“I…I am in control of my powers.”

Mark sat back, said nothing, but the stony look didn’t change on his face.

“Is…there’s something you’re not telling me? What am I missing?”

Mark sighed, toyed with his tablet a moment, and then the screen on the wall lit up, showing a video feed from surveillance footage–footage of Jacob’s room.

“You…you were recording me?”

“We record everyone. It’s for your own safety, and all the files are encrypted and destroyed after your discharge. It’s all in the privacy policy included in your admission packet.”

The admission packet was an entire three inch binder, and Jacob hadn’t exactly been given time to pour over it, before being committed to the center. Mark ran the tape forward a bit, and Jacob watched himself get ready for bed, and then climb in. Nothing happened for a moment, as two hours slipped by. “Was this…when was this?”

“Three nights ago, though there were similar…events during the night’s since, as well.”

“Events?”

“You’ll see.”

It was shortly after one in the morning that it started. In the video, Jacob say himself begin to turn, and then thrash. He was breathing heavily, then panting, then growling, from the look of his mouth, though the video was silent. He started to change, then–fur growing in all over his body, a short snout pushing out his mouth and nose…then his eyes opened, he sniffed the air, and looked around. The beast paced the room for close to half an hour, watching out the window for guards, testing the window and the grates…obviously planning on some sort of escape plan…and Jacob had absolutely no memory of this ever happening. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell the doctor that.

“I…I was lying before. I did…I did have, some dreams, I…” Jacob didn’t know why he was so terrified. He felt like he’d been…caught, but he hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t his fault.

“Actually, Jacob, I believed you the first time,” Mark said. “I don’t think you had any dreams. I think the beast persona inside of you has been testing ways of gaining control over you, and it has…succeeded, for moments, while you sleep. It doesn’t seem to last too long, no more than a half an hour or so at a time…but my worry is that it will get better, and it will seriously injure someone, trying to escape. I’m afraid that, for the time being, we are going to have to move you to a secure cell, until we get a better understanding of what, exactly, is happening with your power.”

Jacob was still watching the screen, unable to believe he was looking at himself–at something…using his body like that. He started to shake. It was a…thing that kept happening, ever since he’d gotten free, this anxiety. He’d lost a year of his life, a whole year to that fucker and the animal inside of him, and now he was going to lose, what, years to this place? Was he going to be like Richie, still here in five years, just an animal locked in a cell? He didn’t remember starting to scream, just when the guards came in, tranquilized him, and dragged him out of the office, to his new cell. Mark just sat behind the desk, watching, trying not to give away the sizable erection the entire scene had given him, and he played back the video feed, pulling his cock free, and stroking it slowly, watching that beast pace back and forth, looking for a way out of this cage.

Well Mark had broken bigger monsters than this in his tenure here. He’d break this one too–and he already had a thought of how he was going to do it. He’d give Jacob some time to adjust to this new revelation, settle on a new drug cocktail, and then the real tests would begin.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 4)

So somehow the two polls ended up being mirror images of one another, which seems incredibly unlikely, but hey, here we are. Some of you voting in the Patron only poll are either splitting your vote, or else need to discover Twitter! In any case, the winner (by one vote) was wanting to see Evan spend the rest of the weekend corrupting Robbie even further, with a 60% chance this branch of the story ends here, and we head back to the beginning for another round.

Also: WARNING: Scat

It was early in the afternoon on Saturday when Evan managed to pull himself out of slumber, blinking his bleary, hungover eyes at the grungy ceiling above him. He only dimly recalled the night before–and he felt the familiar curdle of shame in his gut that he always felt after giving into his worst impulses and messing around with a faggot or a pig. He…shouldn’t want to do that–he was a real man, and real men like him should only want bitches, but damn, something about watching a man lust after him and his filthy body got him so riled up, he couldn’t resist it. After all, he wasn’t really one to resist his natural impulses very often.

He sat up, dug around in the bag of chaw sitting on the table by his filthy bed, and pulled out three pinches, packing them in his lower lip, feeling the first buzz of nicotine start to push back against the haze of beer from the night before. He got up and went stumbled into the bathroom, planning on pissing, but didn’t make it to the toilet before seeing himself in the mirror and giving a start. He…didn’t quite recognize himself in the filthy glass…but how else was he supposed to look?

He was huge–six and a half feet tall, body full of muscle, hair all over. He hadn’t cut his hair or his beard in–hell, even he had lost track at this point, and they were both shot through with the first streaks of grey. His beard was so thick, he could barely see the bulge of his cheek from the chaw–and he took a second to spit in the sink–though some of it hit his beard like usual, not that he cared. He was naked, nine inch cock hanging between his legs, thick calloused hands running their way over his greasy, dusty body…and he could almost remember something else. Being young, a curse, a…task.

The pig–had he left?

He turned around, and there he was, on the couch, snoring away. Evan felt a flash of anger, seeing the animal on the furniture, and he stomped over, grabbed him by the leg and dragged him off and onto the floor, amid the unwashed laundry and trash littering Evan’s little trailer. “Pig, I thought I told ya last night animals sleep on the goddamn floor!”

The pig started to say something, but Evan just smashed one of his massive, size eighteen feet into his face, pinning him to the floor, watching the pig’s pathetic three inch cock immediately come to attention. He…he knew he had to stop this. That he had to…remember, and go back…but he didn’t want to. He had all weekend with this pig, after all…and it was clear it was going to need quite a bit more training. Foot still smashed into his face, Evan pointed his dick at him and blasted him with a load of piss, soaking down the pig, and his foot, and the clothes around them, not that he cared. If anything…he kind of enjoyed the smell. He made the pig lick, it up, and then made him clean the toilet as punishment–with his tongue, of course. He whined about it, begged Evan to let him go home, but a good asskicking reminded him of his proper place.

By that evening, Evan had decided to skip it–why the hell would he need a clean toilet, when he could just make the pig be his toilet? Sure, the pig was willing to drink piss, but it balked at having to eat Evan’s shit–so he force fed the fucker, and when he puked it back up, Evan made him eat that too, until it was all gone, until the pig realized how good he was being to it. Until he realized that he wasn’t a man anymore, or a person, or much of anything at all. Faggots like him didn’t amount to shit–no, they just consumed it. Hungered for it, ached for filth. Knew that it was all they deserved from the world, because filth was all they were–and Evan grew filthier too.

He didn’t work on construction anymore–he was too dirty even for that. No, Evan worked out on a pig farm, where it didn’t matter how bad you smelled, the manure almost always stank worse. The pig didn’t make the mistake of trying to get on the furniture Saturday night–it just curled up in a pile of its master’s filthy, manure stinking laundry and went to sleep, dreaming of more filth, the curse scrubbing its mind of anything else–and scrubbing at Evan’s mind as well, sanding off the edges, wondering if it should just abandon him here with the pigs he hated so much.

Sunday, Evan spent on the couch, watching porn–straight porn, of course. Evan told himself he preferred women, even though he hadn’t been with a woman in years at this point. He hadn’t managed to find one who would put up with his stink for more than an hour to even consider sleeping with him, and he didn’t have the cash for a prostitute. No–all he had was his pig…right? As he lounged about, he could feel the flicker of something else around the edges of his mind, trying to connect to the world around it, trying to find something to anchor itself on, if anything even remained for it to cling to. [[Dice roll…drum roll…success!]] In the end, it found something, and Evan–the real Evan, crawled his way back to the fore.

He was horrified, wasn’t he? Then why wasn’t he…reacting? He could hear the spirit rattling about in his mind, laughing at him, laughing at how far he’d let himself fall…and he knew he had to escape…right? Then again, this wasn’t so bad, was it? He looked down at his pig, and then thought about his boss on the farm, and what a mean fucker he was. He’d always talked down about faggots, called them lower than shit…the curse was still hungry, and it could offer him a sort of life here…should he give in and take it?

Here’s your choices! Choice #1 is a guaranteed ending, so be mindful if you choose that one. Otherwise, the curse has a few possible ideas for what might become of Evan, as his old life twists to accommodate some of his new experiences.

He gives in, and uses the last bit of will to corrupt his homophobic boss on the farm (guaranteed ending).
He changes back, but now he has a redneck past, and lives in the trailer park.
He changes back, but now he is a grungy dirty jock, though much of his life is similar.
He changes back, but finds himself as a young apprentice on the construction crew.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the patron only poll

Voting ends on Saturday afternoon!

Taming the Beast (Part 1)

“I feel…a little better today, I guess. The…the compulsions are still there, but I know they’re compulsions, even if I can’t…always stop myself. It’s like my head is stuck on a track, and there’s…there’s no way off the track. I keep looking for a switch, someway to move past it, past what he told me to do that night…what I couldn’t do that night. I know that if I just…did it, I’d be free–”

“Richie, you know you shouldn’t think that.”

“I know, I know. I…I don’t…I don’t need more drugs, or a higher dosage! I…I won’t. It was just an admission of fact right? If I killed him. If I found him, and like…strangled him, or shot him, or ran him over with a car. If I just…thought he was dead. Maybe if someone told me he was, and really…really convinced me. Like showed me a finger! I could fingerprint it, and–”

“Richie, I think that’s plenty of sharing for this session. Why don’t you go to the nurse’s station,” the therapist said, tapping on the tablet beside him, while Richie stood up, wringing his hands, and went down the hall to take more pills.

Group. Jacob hated group–it was the worst part of the week, always. Still, Mark, his therapist, insisted on it. It helped, he said, to share your experiences with others. It helped you feel less alone, but Jacob always felt…alone here. He wasn’t like the other people here, in the circle–well, he was, in one very important way. But in every other important respect? He was very, very different.

How were they all the same? All of them had been, at one point or another, mentally manipulated or physically controlled by a Super, by a person with extraordinary powers. Well, more than that. The control had been so extensive, or so damaging, that they were all considered a potential danger to society at large. And so, until they were better, or fixed, they were locked up here. Richie there had been a cop. He’d had a run in with a Super connected to the mob, who had “convinced” him that he had to murder an important witness to a crime. He’d failed–and that had been five years ago. He couldn’t drop it. If he was out on the street today, he’d hunt them down just like before. None of them were responsible for these things of course–Mark always told Jacob that–but it was hard to believe you weren’t culpable in the failure of your own mind, especially when no one was about to let him leave any time soon.

“How about you, Jacob?” Mark asked, looking at him over the tablet, “We had an interesting conversation about your dreams in our last session, perhaps someone else is experiencing something similar.”

“I…I haven’t had any I’ve remembered lately,” Jacob said, trying not to show the frustration with being singled out to perform healing for people he couldn’t care less about. He didn’t see the point. Nothing he said was going to help these people–and nothing going on in their addled minds was going to help him either? Why pretend? And so, he refused–it was the one bit of control he still had. To just disengage. Jacob had only been here for a couple of weeks–this was only his fourth group session, but he refused to share anything. He wasn’t like the rest of them. How could they understand what he’d been through? Besides, he was in control, wasn’t he? The beast hadn’t broken out in days. He felt sane, though he wouldn’t for long, listening to any more of this.

Jacob, you see, wasn’t like the others in one very important respect–he was, himself, a Super. A Super who had, in turn, been controlled by another Super, and made to…well, lose control of something Jacob had never actually known that he possessed. Jacob had always known he was different. Faster, stronger, fiercer than other kids his age, bigger too, and always a certain hunger he could never really explain. He supposed, had things gone differently for him, he could have easily become a villain, of a sort. A bully, more likely. But that hunger had manifested as a desire to correct injustice, and so he’d registered and taken to patrolling the streets…but he hadn’t been at it for a few months before he wandered into a place he should have been more careful around–a bar run by another Super named Baccanal, an enchanter, of sorts.

One sip of his wine, and Jacob had been willing to do anything for the owner of the bar–and the more he drank, the more dedicated to him he became…but also, the more control he found himself losing. Control over something he’d never even known was inside him–a beast. Claws, teeth, fur–he didn’t recognize himself, soon enough, and Baccanal was thrilled at his newest acquisition, particularly when he discovered that the beast inside Jacob could morph into whatever animalistic form its new Master desired to see.

Jacob…didn’t recall much from the next year or so, of being pressed into Baccanal’s service. What he did remember…made him shiver with rage and humiliation. Becoming a satyr, waiting on tables in the bar, telling jokes and humiliating himself, usually. When Baccanal had a few special patrons come through, he would take on other forms, and service them as whatever mythical stud they desired–a minotaur, a centaur, more freakish forms he was glad the couldn’t fully recall. At long last, Baccanal had slipped up and gotten caught. Free of his enchanted wine, Jacob had managed to take control again…mostly. Due to the occasional slippage he’d experienced, and the fact that all Supers who were controlled had to undergo mandatory treatment, he’d ended up here, with these freaks, just waiting until he got the green light, and was released again. He hated being caged more than anything–and the beast in him was none to happy about the situation either.

VIP Cam Show (Sketch)

WARNING: This one is…weird. Male Pregnancy, dog TF.

“I don’t know, Anthony,” Hugo said, “I still…I mean, the money is good, but doesn’t it make you feel kinda shitty?”

“Just pretend the camera isn’t there. You’re doing great–and we pull in way more cash together than I ever did alone,” Anthony said and came up behind him, pulling him into a hug, “Besides, this new site is a fucking goldmine from what I’ve heard. Invitation only, and they requested us both. We get 5000 up front just for doing a show–not counting what we get in tips.”

Anthony and Hugo had been dating for around six months, after they’d met at the gym one morning–glancing at each other across the gym floor, then in the shower, and finally in the sauna. Things had been going well, but a month into the relationship, Anthony fessed up that he made most of his money working as a cam model, filming videos of himself and putting them online, taking requests from followers, and…other things. It didn’t bother Hugo at first–at least until Anthony started pressuring him to participate with him. Hugo had been game to give it a try, and the chunk of cash he made off it was…more than he usually made at his usual job, but it was hard to shake the feeling of humiliation that washed over him each time he did it. Still…money was money, at the end of the day.

Anthony got the cam set up and logged into the site, called VIP Cam Show. After a couple of moments, the screen changed, displayed a message saying, “bidding begins in one minute. Open requests.”

“What does that mean?”

“The guys watching can see us, and are bidding right now on what they want us to do.”

“Do…we have to do it?”

“Of course not–they can’t make us, after all.”

The timer ran down and struck zero, the message changed and read, “Bid accepted! Processing scenario, please wait….”

Both Anthony and Hugo felt a jolt run through them, and without being able to help themselves, they both fell to their hands and knees. “What–what the fuck, Hu–Huwwooof!” Anthony tried to say, but his words weren’t coming out as words, but as barks and woofs. Hugo tried to respond, but he was suffering the same problem. As they looked at each other, clothes and gear began to appear on their bodies–leather hoods, fist mitts, rubber chaps and heavy chain collars. They heard a ding, and unable to control themselves, they began to kiss each other, fighting against the compulsion, but unable to resist.

Both of them were still changing though–they could feel a stirring in their groins, but both of them were feeling something…very different. Hugo could feel his cock and balls aching, like some invisible force was cramming them against his body and shoving them inside him. Anthony, on the other hand, felt a heat stirring in his cock and balls–that, and a desperate, aching need to fuck. He went around behind Hugo and sniffed at his ass–and smelled something…amazing. He mounted him, and after a couple of thrusts found a hole…but it didn’t quite feel like Hugo’s ass usually felt. Still, it didn’t matter–he had to fuck. He kept hammering into Hugo’s hole until he came deep inside him–only for his cock to swell, and he found himself locked to him, unable to pull his cock free, leaving him whining and whimpering for several minutes, before he could finally pry himself free.

It felt like a dream. The gear disappeared, both of them felt their ability to stand and speak returning–and without the hoods obstructing their vision–they could finally see what had happened to their groins. Where Anthony’s cock had been, he now had a bright red dog’s cock sliding back into a sheath running up his belly–and Hugo didn’t have a cock anymore. He had a full fledged pussy…and Anthony could still smell it…and he wanted to fuck it all over again.

“Why…why the fuck haven’t we changed back?” Hugo stammered, running his hands over his groin–and also noticing that he seemed to have several extra sets of nipples–and that all of them were starting to swell. He went to the computer and tried to click around–and saw that the session countdown timer had to be wrong. It was reading 90 days–three months long, and the payout had risen to several million dollars–dependent on successful delivery.

“D-Delivery?” He said, and looked down at his belly, and then back at Anthony, who was stroking his dog cock, and coming closer, unable to resist the scent of Hugo’s new pussy, and he fucked him again. At least he got to end up on top, he supposed–and since Hugo didn’t work, he was free to stay at home and let their…puppies grow. He suppressed a shiver, wondering what, exactly, would pop out of Hugo’s body in a few months…but if they wanted that money, they were going to have to find out.