Category: Uncategorized

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 2)

No one said anything for a moment–the man just stood there, holding Trey’s face in his hand, and Dirk, across the table from him, gaped at his nephew’s body, limp in the seat, lying across the table. Slowly, it began to slide until it tumbled off and rolled onto the floor, face up–or what would be a face, if it had one. Something was happening to it, while Dirk watched. The clothes didn’t change–but the body underneath was. The skin didn’t look like flesh anymore, it looked…like some mix between rubber, plastic, or cloth. The dummy’s hands were just simple mitts as well. Whatever it was, it most certainly wasn’t a body anymore. Dirk took a step back from it, and ran into something–while he’d been distracted, staring at the thing, the two gimps had slid around the table behind him. Before he could react, both of them grabbed an arm, holding him in place, while their master came around the table, one hand inside Trey’s face, looking at him with a grin.

“See? Nothing under there at all. Most people are like that. Once you take away everything on top–well, there’s just nothing left for them to be, which means, they can be anything at all, isn’t that right?”

The two gimps on either side of Dirk nodded in tandem.

“They were like the two of you once, decided to mouth off a bit. I have their faces now, and if they serve me well, I might give them back one day. Would you like that?” he said, addressing one of the gimps, “Do you think you’ve earned the right to be someone again yet?” The man ran a gloved hand across one of the gimp’s facelessness, and it shuddered with pleasure, and nodded quickly. “Well too fucking bad–you don’t fucking think shit. You know that. You’re nothing. Fucking forget it. Maybe I should go home and just throw your face in the fire. Hell, maybe I should give your face to someone else, someone who might enjoy it. What do you think? Some derelict off the street? Think he could pretend to be the hotshot vice president like you were once?”

The gimp didn’t do anything this time–it didn’t move an inch.

“That’s what I thought,” the man said, and turned to Dirk, “Now, how about you? I wasn’t planning on adding to my collection tonight, but since the two of you were trying to leave, why don’t we just keep you two here? Well, your bodies at least. Your faces will come with me, for the time being. Set the two of you up as a couple of cumdumps and urinals in one of the backrooms, get you good and full, and maybe in a week, I’ll put your faces back on, just so you can feel what it’s like.”

Dirk shook his head, “No, look, I’m sorry alright? I–he’s a dumbass, I know, but we didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Well trouble found you anyway, fucker,” the man said, pushed his fingers against Dirk’s neck, and slid them under his face. “Don’t worry–you won’t have to think about anything, soon enough–you’ll be too busy drinking piss and cum to worry about anything for a good long while.

Dirk fought, and the man teased him, running his fingers gently underneath his face, the gimps’ grip on him tightening. He could…sense them getting excited, but they were always excited when Master was excited. Dirk could feel it–the skin starting to pull away from him–except then he was the skin. He was pulling away from himself. He couldn’t scream or shout for help, he could see, but his eyes couldn’t move, he just felt himself being lifted away from the head, and then he was there, hanging from the stranger’s hand, and he heard a strange, and yet familiar voice let out a long whoop, and laugh, while the man stepped back.

“Fuck man! Fucking hell! I’m fucking free, free at fucking last!”

Dirk landed on the table, face down. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear. Something was wrong. He…he was missing something, he realized. That voice in him, that voice that was always there, whispering to him. Sometimes loud…but that had been when he was young. He’d kept it quiet for so long, but it, that voice–it was the voice that had urged him into the bar.

The stranger was just staring, confused. When you took someone’s face–there wasn’t usually another one beneath it. But here, staring right at him, was the same face of the man he’d just stolen–or at least, kind of the same. He had a full beard, for one thing, his mouth twisted in a crazed smile as he laughed, eyes bloodshot and wild, nose crooked with a thick ring in the middle of it. “Fuck!” he said, “I could just fucking kiss you, ya fucker, thank you!” he said, and lunged forward, slipping from the two gimp’s grasp, and slamming into the stranger, pushing him back onto the table, and he did kiss him, roughly, the master unused to such–forwardness, but he did enjoy it. Still–he pushed him off, and stood up, wiping his lips of the man’s slobber.

“Alright, what the fuck just happened. How in the hell were you under there?” he asked.

“I’ve been under that fucker his whole fucking life man. Fucking trapped. You don’t fucking know what he’s fucking like! The shame, the inhibition. Never wanting to do anything, fuck, it was all I could do to get him to masturbate every other day, and even then he had to do it in the damn shower, where no one would even fucking hear him! Fuck! I’ve wanted that fucker off me my whole god damn life, and I knew…somehow I knew this place could do it, I fucking knew it! And you–fucker, I owe you a fucking blow job, is what. The name’s Dick by the way,” he said, got down, and started opening the fly of the Master’s pants.

“Uh…Ash…I’m Ash,” he said, and then gasped as Dick swallowed his cock to the hilt.

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 1)

“What kind of fucking bar is this, anyway?” Trey asked, looking around again. “The fuckin’ city, Unc–I just don’t fucking get it sometimes.”

Dirk nodded, feeling uneasy and uncomfortable as well…and even though he knew, in his guts, that he and his nephew should leave…some other, deeper part of him, kept his ass glued to the chair where he was sitting in the bar. Trey’s cousin–and another nephew of Dirk’s–was getting married back at home the next week, and had wanted to have his bachelor party at some of the strip clubs in town. At some point, Dirk and Trey had gotten separated from the main group, and ended up here, in a bar called Pigtown. It had…sounded like a strip club, but now that they were in here, drinks in hand…he realized there were no women. Just a room full of men in the low light, music pounding from some other room nearby, some of the slipping off behind a curtain every once in a while, and on less occasion, a man came stumbling back out, eyes wide and breath short.

“I think this is some fag place, Unc,” Trey said, “Fuck, look at those fuckers over there, who the fuck would wear shit like that?” Trey pointed off to another corner of the bar, where three men were sitting–or, where one was sitting, and two others were kneeling on the floor beside him, while the one sipped his beer. It was the two kneeling that had captured Trey’s fascination–both of them clad head to toe in rubber gear, without any skin to be seen at all. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

He said the last bit loud enough that the whole bar heard him, including the man sitting at the table with the two gimps, who smirked, but didn’t acknowledge Trey beyond that. Dirk…couldn’t help but get a bad feeling about all of this. Trey was a bit of a hothead, and certainly had no love for faggots–not that he should, of course. Fags were pieces of shit to Dirk too, but he had grown into more of a live and let live philosophy as he’d gotten older. If they just kept their creepy shit to themselves, away from Dirk, then what did it matter to him?

“Maybe we should get the rest of the guys, and come back here, show these fuckers what a real man can do,” Trey added, and chugged the rest of his beer. “Come on, Unc, let’s get the fuck out of this dump.”

Dirk nodded, and stood up–Trey tried to do the same, but only got have way before a hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair. “What, leaving so soon? But the night’s just getting started!” It was the man from the table, the two gimps close behind him, looking like two shiny black statues. Their masks–they weren’t just masks, were they? If anything, to Dirk, it didn’t look like something was covering their face–if anything, it looked like they were simply faceless, their identifying features scrubbed away entirely. It was the lack of any contour–usually, wearing a mask, you could still see the contour of a nose and eyes and mouth, but the two drones…it was so smooth. He told himself it had to be the light, keeping him from seeing it, but he was unnerved all the same.

The other man was wearing less, and didn’t have a mask on at all. His head was shaved close, and he had stubble across his face the same length, giving the impression he’d razored all of it a few days ago at the same time. He was wearing a rubber shirt, with a leather jacket over it, and leather pants and boots. At a distance, he had seemed less imposing, but this close it was clear he was heavily muscled–more than a match for Trey, who for all of his big talk, had never had the physique to back up his boasts and threats. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble, but he was a bit too thick to learn his lessons. “You two aren’t from around here, are you?” he said, leaning down close to Trey’s ear, “Yeah, you don’t quite know how things work around here, I don’t think, so why don’t I show you?”

Trey felt one of the man’s bare hands curl around his neck–and then after picking at his neck for a moment, he felt…his fingers slip underneath his skin, like an edge had appeared out of nowhere on his body. He panicked, but the other hand on his shoulder was pressing down with an impossible weight. He looked over at Dirk with terror in his eyes, begging his uncle to do anything, but the older, pot bellied man was just looking on in horror at what was happening.

“You see, around here, we don’t have a lot of patience for men who come in here wearing masks like this. No–we like to see who you really are, underneath all the posturing and bullshit you’re throwing around, like you know something about anything,” the man slipped his fingers further under the edge and got a grip on the flap of Trey’s skin he’d found, “But you–I don’t think there’s anything under here, do you? Not under either of you, probably. Just a whole lot of bullshit–how about we check?”

Before Trey could say anything, the man lifted the edge, and Dirk watched as the edge pulled away all around the base of Trey’s neck, and the man drew it up Trey’s head quickly, his nephew’s face going blank as his features came away from his body, attached to the mask the man had created. He pulled it free, and Dirk found himself staring at a face just like the two rubber gimps behind the man–no features, simply…blank, and then Trey’s face fell forward and collapsed onto the table, limp and lifeless–nothing more than a dummy.

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 3)

Did it even make sense to call this a movie? Maury wasn’t sure, because so far, there was no plot, there was no…nothing. The title had rolled, and after that, it was just clips and pictures of all of these massively fat men–almost all of them eating something. It was stupid, whatever it was…but he couldn’t quite get his hand to go to the player and eject the disk. Still…he had to get rid of this. If the other guys saw him watching this, what would they think of him? It was…weird, right? So he forced his hand towards the player, but he couldn’t get one of his fingers to hit the stop or eject button because he had a death grip on the doughnut in his hand.

Where had he even gotten that? He tore his eyes away from the screen for a moment, towards the snack bar off to the side, and sure enough, there were several boxes of doughnuts there, just begging to be eaten. If…If he ate it, then he’d have a free hand to stop the player, right? He pushed the pasty into his mouth, chowing down on it, chased it with a glug of soda he’d gotten from the fridge nearby, and then got another doughnut–too late to remember that he should have stopped the disc first. Still…why stop it, really? It was kind of relaxing, right? He should…get a bunch of snacks, and sit on the couch, and just…watch for a while. He hurried to the snack bar and loaded up his arms, trying to be quick so he wouldn’t miss anything, and then went back to the couch and plopped down on it, just as Brett and Nate rounded the corner, and peeked into the room, drawn by the odd sounds coming from the TV, which sounded…almost like porn.

It wasn’t porn though–both of them were confused as to why Maury was sitting there, stuffing his face, eyes glued to the screen and watching other fat men stuff themselves as well, most of them without shirts, showing off their huge, overflowing guts. “M-Maury? What are you watching?”

“It’s a movie called Flabulous! It’s awesome you guys, come on–have a seat, there’s plenty to eat.”

Neither Brett nor Nate were really interested in watching a video with a bunch of clips of men eating…but now that they were watching it, they were a bit hungry. What was the harm in a little snack, after all? Brett and Nate sat down on the couch with Maury, both of them eating idly, more and more, all of them losing track of just how much food they were shoving into their guts, none of them listening to their guts growling, the belches they were throwing off–and how their shirts were all starting to ride up slightly, as they ate.

Soon, the men on the screen were naked, many of them jacking off, sometimes even being fed by other men on the screen, who were usually fat as well. Maury suggested that Brett focus on feeding him for a bit, and then looked over at Nate, stroking his cock, his chest and small gut covered in food, and told him he had a different snack for him–a better snack, and with a bit of suggestion, Nate was between Maury’s legs, sucking his cock, drinking down his cum and whatever morsels fell down near his mouth–which was quite a lot, in fact.

The movie kept playing, hour after hour, the men on the screen growing bigger, their feeding more and more gluttonous and perverse. Maury began slathering himself with food, making his two friends eat it off his body while they worshipped him, his thin, athletic frame now lost under a hefty gut and large moobs, his ass widening as well. The only breaks any of them took was to go to the bathroom, to flush their soda piss down the urinal, but none of them needed to shit, for some reason. It seemed like everything they were eating was being instantly metabolized into fat–and none of them noticed a thing wrong with any of it–especially not Maury, who was quickly becoming the leader and instigator, encouraging his two friends to focus on feeding him more and more–and it showed.

The movie played for a full day, and the three men stayed awake for the whole time, never sleeping a moment until the screen went black, and all three of them collapsed in exhaustion. It was the next morning when they all started to wake up, and look at the room around them, which they’d destroyed in their feeding frenzy. Maury was still on the couch–all five hundred pounds of him at this point, His clothes ripped and tattered around him. Brett still had on his underwear–barely. His briefs were stretched tight across his three hundred pound frame, and the waistband was starting to tear apart when he rolled over, yawned, and belched. Nate was in a similar condition, around 300 pounds, blinking blearily, trying to understand how he and his two friends had all packed on so much weight in just a single day. He…wanted to panic, but that soothing hum in the air helped him keep his cool.

It was all going to be ok–after all, the three of them were…flabulous now, right? Yeah! Super flabulous, just how…how they’d always wanted to be. Looking at Maury, still snoozing, Nate couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, and hoped one day he’d be as large as his friend was now too.

“Jesus…what the fuck happened to us?” Brett said, hefting up his gut, “I…Did we just eat for two straight days?”

“Fuck, still kind of hungry,” Nate muttered, “Anybody want breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds great,” Maury said, “Why don’t you go cook us something man. I think I’ll just…sit here for a bit longer.”

“No, guys, fucking listen to me. This isn’t fucking right–and where in the hell is Rich? Have you guys seen him at all since we got here?”

Both Maury and Nate looked at each other, and then at Brett. It was…worrisome, they supposed, but what were they supposed to do about it exactly? The hum in the room got a bit louder, and Maury shook his head. “No–this is dumb. It’s time for breakfast. Brett, go cook something for me–and make plenty of it.”

Brett…knew he should do what Maury told him to do. He had to do what Maury told him to do. He was…the biggest, after all. Being the biggest came with certain…benefits, like being in charge. But this was still wrong–he knew it, and he had to try and do something about it.

What does Brett do?

  1. He gives in, and spends the morning cooking breakfast like a good friend.
  2. He keeps arguing with Nate and Maury, until they have to punish him.
  3. He secretly searches the house for Rich’s whereabouts.
  4. He secretly searches for clothes, so he can escape.

The public twitter poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Polls are live until Friday afternoon!

Winter Commissions are Open!

wesleybracken:

So, the holidays have come and gone, and a series of rather unfortunate events have left a sizable hole in my wallet. But, I also have some extra time on my hands, and so, from now until probably March or April (depending on interest and my own workload) I will be open for commissions!

The process will be much the same as it was last summer (click through for a longer explanation of the process). I will not be offering a limited number of commission slots! Instead, I will be using the “pots” method, as before. If you are interested in a commission from me, send me a message or email, and we can chat about your idea and see if it is feasible, and something I’m interested in writing. Once we hammer out an idea together, I will add the idea to the pot. As I have time, I will take ideas from the pot and commit to writing them–at that point, the commissioner will owe me a down payment, and I’ll get to work.

Agreeing to put a story in one of my pots is not a promise from me that I will definitely write it, though I will do my best to get to everyone. Once you provide a down payment, however, you will be guaranteed a story for sure. Like before, I will be limiting commissions to 2000 to 5000 words. The down payment for a story is $20 dollars, and the total cost of the story is 2 cents a word (minus the down payment, of course). I will only accept payment through paypal. If you want a longer story, I am open to that–but the story will be written in 5000 max word chunks, and each chunk will have a separate spot in the pots. 

Like before, there will be two separate pots, one which is high priority, and one which is low priority. The high priority pot is reserved for Patreon supporters only–anyone giving at least a dollar a month will get their commission finished first! If you aren’t backing me on Patreon, I’ll add you to the lower priority pot, which I will start taking stories from after I’ve cleared the Patreon pot entirely.

If you have any questions about the process, or would like to request a commission, you can send me an email (wesley.bracken@gmail.com), message me here on tumblr, through twitter (@wesleybracken), discord (Wesley Bracken#4835), or for patrons, through Patreon’s messaging platform! 

Thanks, as always, for reading!

Just wanted to give this another boost! If you’re interested in a commission, send me a message and we can chat about it!

Votes are In (Part 2)

Here are the results from both polls!

First, the public poll on twitter (which had 82 total votes):

  1. (werkouts) 22% – 18 votes
  2. (flabulous) 38% –  31 votes
  3. (pup training) 26% – 21 votes
  4. (babydaze) 14% – 12 votes

Second, the private patron only poll on Patreon (which had 40 votes)

  1. (werkouts) 28% – 11 votes
  2. (flabulous) 45% – 18 votes
  3. (pup training) 13% – 5 votes
  4. (babydaze) 15% – 6 votes

Here’s the total results, out of 122 votes!

  1. (werkouts) 24% – 29 votes
  2. (flabulous) 40% – 49 votes
  3. (pup training) 21% – 26 votes
  4. (babydaze) 15% – 18 votes

Thanks all for voting! Get Flabulous was the most popular option by far, so I think we can all know what to expect tomorrow. As a warning, the polls likely won’t activate until a bit later in the evening–after the story has gone up, but you’ll have the full two days to vote as usual.

Hypnotic Reversal (Sketch)

>>And you promise it’ll work?

>>>>Of course. You aren’t the first guy who’s come to me with this sort of problem, trust me.

>>And you mean it, you’re going to do it for free?

>>>>Yep! No payment necessary. I’m just happy to help.

Gary was still skeptical, and who wouldn’t be, honestly? Still, it was the best he could do, at the moment, because everything else had failed miserably–every diet, every exercise program–Gary was fat, and he was only getting fatter. The worst part was that he’d wanted it–badly. Badly enough that he’d had a conversation just like this one a few years before, back when he weighed 150 pounds, with hardly any meat on his bones. A friendly hypnotist had agreed to put him under and help him gain some weight–just enough to be more comfortable with himself–and it had worked. It had worked way too well. He just…couldn’t stop eating, no matter how he tried–and if he didn’t get enough to eat during the day, he’d even sleepwalk into the kitchen and gorge himself all night long. In a matter of years, he’d packed on over 300 pounds…and it was too much. He’d just wanted a gut–not this massive apron of flab hanging off him.

Even worse, when he’d demanded the hypnotist stop it, and get rid of the compulsion, he’d taunted him instead, making him jack off every time he stuffed himself, making him wear clothes way too small for his body, making him lose his normal sense of hygiene. After that, he’d disappeared off the internet, and Gary was much too terrified to talk to anyone about it…but then, along came this fellow. He told Gary that what he was suffering from was a classic hypnotic curse–that the harder he fought, the harder it would be to escape. Still, the man said that he could put Gary under and remove the curse entirely. It was…a risk, for sure. But what choice did he really have?

He got on cam with the hypnotist, and the spiral came up, and it was so…soothing. So easy to just slip back into his trance. He’d always enjoyed this part, how nice he felt, just floating, and listening, and obeying. It was then, with a flash of terror, that he realized why it felt so familiar–the voice, the spiral–it was the same! The man he’d been chatting with, it must be the same man who’d hypnotized him before. He struggled for a moment, but it was already too late, and he slipped under into his trance, and the hypnotist let out a little chuckle, before he started speaking to his zonked out pig.

Gary woke with a start, feeling refreshed and alert. He glanced around and checked the clock on the computer–three hours. He’d been out for three whole hours–he’d never been out that long before. The cam was off, and the window was closed. He logged back onto the site, but the man wasn’t on, under either username–and then he felt the growl in his guts. The hunger, fuck, it was still there, and if anything, it was even more intense. If he didn’t feed it, and soon, he was going to be fucking sorry. He hauled himself out of his chair and waddled into the kitchen, but as he perused the piles and piles of snack food he kept on hand…he realized he didn’t want any of it. He was starving–so starving, and yet…it wasn’t food that he wanted. He tried to eat, but while he could keep some of it down, it didn’t taste good at all, and it didn’t help the hunger go away. He went back to the computer, saw the hypnotist was online, and messaged him.

>>Please…please, you can’t do this to me, you can’t make it even worse!

>>>>Worse? I’m just giving you what you want. You don’t want to be hungry for food anymore right?

>>But I’m still fucking hungry!!!

>>>>Don’t worry–I have a meal on the way for you. It’ll be there soon.

The hypnotist logged back off, and he heard a knock on his door. He…tried to stop himself, but he was compelled to the door, he answered it, and there was an older, portly fellow, leering at him. “The hypnotist send me to bring you your gift.”

He had a bag over his shoulder, and Gary watched as he dropped it, and pulled out a rimchair–and Gary’s eyes went wide. He looked over at the man, and saw him drop his pants…and as soon as he saw his crack, the hunger roared to life, and he was on his knees, face buried in the stranger’s ass, licking at his crack. He ended up under the chair for hours, licking and slurping at the man’s asshole, while he toyed with Gary’s nipples and cock, bringing him to multiple orgasms before leaving, Gary panting and shaking on the floor, unable to believe how he’d just humiliated himself. He went back to the computer, shaking with rage, and the hypnotist was there.

>>>>Now, turn on the cam, and let’s chat some more.

He couldn’t stop himself, and the spiral dragged him back down into the empty void. Distantly, he wondered what was going to become of his now–but that…wasn’t really something he should care about, right? No–he was just an ass and cock hungry slut. He didn’t need to think about anything. Master did all the thinking for him. In a few years, Gary was back to his old body, mind empty, eager to service any man’s hole or cock that his master required.

Stinker’s Drive (Sketch)

It had been a gag, one day–a prank by one of the guys on the football team, and no one had ever fessed up to it, not that Jeff would really give a fuck who it was. He’d gone out one afternoon, after practice, to find that someone had slipped his keys from his locker, gone out, and hung his dirty jock from the rearview mirror, like an air freshener. It had been a gentle ribbing, aimed at Jeff’s hygiene, because he almost never washed his jocks and other gym clothes, so the rest of the team could smell him coming around the corner, but rather than humiliate him, he just considered it to be a source of pride–and so, rather than take it down, he decided to just leave it there for the rest of the semester.

It wasn’t like his decoration went unnoticed around town, either, since it was a small college town in a rural part of the state. He didn’t really mind the reputation though–he didn’t give to fucks what anyone thought of him, because when it came right down to it…he liked the way he smelled, and he wasn’t going to change for anyone, just to make them more comfortable. So it was, one afternoon, that Jeff climbed into his car, at the end of the day, and when he did…he noticed that something stank a bit more than usual.

He looked around at his car, which was a bit of a mess, but there wasn’t any food or anything in the back. Besides, it didn’t smell like rot–it smelled like…sweat, and piss, more than anything else. Still, he couldn’t find the source, and figured it wasn’t a big deal–he buckled up and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the house he was renting with some friends a few miles away from campus.

Still, the smell lingered, and while it didn’t bother him, he was…surprised to find that it was making him a bit horny. He hadn’t gotten laid lately–most of the girls on campus avoided him because of his musk, but it didn’t bother him all that much. He liked his hand more, in some ways, because a pussy always seemed to be attached to something complaining. But he did want to know what in the hell the smell was, and so, stopped at a red light, he looked around again–and noticed his jock, hanging from the rearview mirror–or at least, what should have been his jock, but it wasn’t.

This thing–it was almost grey brown in color, and looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. How in the hell had he not noticed that? Was this another prank by one of the guys on the team, pushing him a bit further, since the first prank hadn’t worked? But…maybe it was his jock. It looked right, to him, and part of him was telling him that it…smelled right too, somehow, but he couldn’t quite be sure. Against his better judgement, he leaned in, took a whiff, and as pungent as it was…it did smell amazing.

He shuddered in his seat, groping himself waiting for the light. It seemed…hotter in the car, than it usually did, somehow. Sure, the sun was out, beating down on the chassis, but this…it was an internal heat too. Something inside him, making him sweat–and by the time the light turned green, it was pouring off him, soaking his hair down, and soaking into his clothes too. It didn’t feel right–in fact, he was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. He…he needed to smell that jock again. Yeah, that would make him feel better for sure.

He took another whiff, shivers crawling up and down his spine. He kept driving, but his mind was focused elsewhere–he didn’t notice his college t-shirt soaking through with sweat under his hoodie begin to dissolve away, the same with his jeans–the denim around his ass succumbing first, and then the rest down his legs, to his feet, which were similarly melting his socks and shoes. He started groping his cock openly now, looking around at the drivers in the other cars, wondering if they could see him. It felt…good to be driving naked, actually. Risky. He liked risks, and he liked showing off too. He unhooked the jock from the mirror and looped it over his neck–better to smell it, and better to let other people see what a fucking pig he was too.

The air was heating up inside the car, the seats blistering and popping, the metal warping and reforming around him as he drove. Over the course of the next two streets, Jeff’s little sedan swelled and grew into an old grey pickup, paint peeling and rusted, but man, did the cab smell good. It smelled like the jock–it smelled like him. He was breathing deep, sucking in as much of the filth off his jock as he could, hair growing in all over his chest, shoulders and back, and something else was happening to his body too–color swirling to life all over his chest and belly, down onto his legs. Thankfully, he had a ways to go before he would be home–give him plenty of time to sniff and edge himself while he drove, passing the little house where college students usually lived, and got on the highway out of town. He enjoyed the ride, sniffing his ripe pits, stroking his long, sweaty cock, hotboxing in his own heat and sweat. He got to the house after about half an hour, pulled into the garage and finally opened the door of the truck–and the scent of the place–oil, dirt, smoke and beer. He started stroking faster, jock out in front of his cock, and he shot a massive load into the pouch, feeling a pair of leather biker boots form around his feet, along with a leather bracelet and cock ring–his usual driving gear.

As he recovered from his orgasm, Jeff realized that he had no clue where he was, or how he’d even known to come here. Still, just like the jock, he could tell, from the smell of the place, that he was home. He was home, and he was finally the man he’d been meant to be, all this time.