Category: Uncategorized

will you do your chrismas Stories agian this year? will youh have more too good boy being turned into filthy bodybuilders or dirty rednecks?

I might take the year off from doing anything Christmas themed–I have some other stuff I’m working on at the moment that has my attention. That said, I’m planning on doing some Christmas themed shorts this month for people supporting me on Patreon, so keep your eyes peeled for that, if you want.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 3)

Ben nodded, and Marv slipped into the house, leaving Ben alone in the grass. He eyed the gate, knowing he should leave, that something about this man, and this house, and this yard, was very strange, and somehow very wrong…but he’d been told to stay. He’d been told to stay, and so he had to stay. Still, he didn’t have to stay exactly here, right? He looked at the patio, and the only feature was a dirty table and a couple of chairs, and he walked over to take a seat…but as he did, he noticed that, for some reason, his feet were hurting in his shoes. He sat down and tried to ignore it, but the ache was there even without putting any pressure on him–and his hands hurt too, oddly enough. Was it from carrying the doghouse? It had been awkward more than heavy, but maybe he was more out of shape than he thought.

Marv returned after a couple of minutes with two cans of beer in hand. He set one down in front of Ben, and then sat down at the table across from him in the other chair with a grunt. Ben grabbed the can, but the pain in his hand was intensifying, and he found it a bit…difficult to grip it, and when he brought it to his mouth to take a drink, the cold liquid made his teeth ache as well–and that ache didn’t fade after he’d swallowed. “You know…I’m not…feeling very good,” Ben said, “I think I might be coming down with something. I should probably go.”

“No Ben–you’re going to sit, stay and drink your beer,” Marv said, that grin on his face a bit wider. “That would make you feel good, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t worry about the rest, Ben. Just relax.”

“A-Alright…” he said, still feeling confused, and took another sip of beer from the can, feeling a bit of it run down his chin and onto his shirt, which was awkward, but if Marv noticed, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it–he was too busy filling the silence, with nothing in particular–talking about the dog house for a bit, about how much it meant to finally have it back. Pontificating about sports for a while, about how much better the teams were back where he’d grown up, and Ben–despite being a local fan–found it hard to get a word in edgewise. His mouth…didn’t quite seem to work right, and his tongue would get in the way. He checked the can to see what the alcohol level was, but it wasn’t particularly strong, but even then, his vision seemed a bit…off. Words were a bit blurry, and everything seemed less…vibrant, like the color was slowly draining from everything around him, particularly the red hues of Marv’s shirt.

Still, he had to sit, and stay, and finish the beer, right? But that was proving harder than he’d expected for some reason, because after sitting with Marv and listening to him for fifteen minutes or so…he found it surprisingly difficult to pick up the can of beer in front of him. His hands were cramping badly now, the pain growing, and he couldn’t get his fingers to wrap around the can, and his thumb was refusing to work. With a growl, growing frustrated, he gave the can a bat, tipping it over and spilling beer all over the table.

“Having some trouble man?” Marv asked.

“I…I ‘eally don’ heel good…” Ben said, “I can’ pic ap the ‘an.”

“Yeah, I can see you having a bit of trouble there, boy,” Marv said, and hefted himself up out of his chair. “Let me get you something else–I’ll just be a second.”

Ben tried to object, hoping Marv would actually understand his distress, but the words wouldn’t quite come to his mouth. All he managed in the end, after Marv had shut the door, was a high pitched whine. What in the world was wrong with him? He looked down at his hands, and they didn’t…look right. His fingers seemed a bit too short–especially his thumbs, and they had somehow slid down his hand, closer to his wrist. Had…had he somehow broken his hands, without even realizing it? He needed to get out of here–he had to get help, since it was clear that Marv wasn’t going to do anything for him. He steeled himself, and stood up, feeling…a wave of dread and horror wash through him for standing up and disobeying Marv’s order to sit, but he did it. He was wobbly, and felt almost drunk, and for some reason he couldn’t…drop his heels to the ground, leaving him stuck standing on the balls of his feet. When he tried, the tendons at the back of his legs screamed in pain–he’d just have to balance as best he could. He pushed back the chair and nearly fell over, tried to take a step, and his foot slipped right out of his shoe. He looked down at his foot–and through the sock, it looked…even more deformed than his hands did. He looked at the shoe, abandoned under the table, but there was no way he’d be able to bend down and pick it up with his hands contorted like they were–he’d have to abandon them. He stepped out of his other shoe, and started across the yard, shaking and unsteady for a few steps, until he lost balance and fell into the grass on hands and knees.

Fine–he’d just crawl, he told himself. It seemed a bit easier actually, than walking had been, and he moved through the tall grass to the gate, looked up, and saw the latch. He tried to get his knees underneath him, so he could stand back up, but like his heels, the tendons and muscles of his body were screaming at him, refusing to move in any normal direction. Unable to get onto his knees, he had to try and reach up with his hands, crawling up the side of the gate, but even when he got high enough to touch the latch, his paralyzed hands were worthless.

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 2)

It was not a new doghouse by any means, in fact, it looked like it had housed quite a few pooches since it had been built, and it smelled like it too. The scent was strong enough, in fact, that when Marv threw off the tarp, it caught Ben off guard, making him sneeze.

“Finally got the last thing from my old place! Fucking moving company lost it, can you believe it? Offered to buy me a new one, but I made the fuckers hunt the thing down and it get to me. Some things can’t be replaced, you know?”

Ben did not know. As soon as something around his home began to show signs of wear, or no longer served its function, you just bought a new one. Isn’t that what normal people did? “It seems pretty old…”

“It’s been in my family for years, ever since my great uncle built it. Been wanting a new dog, but I’ve had to wait until I got the proper housing for it. Can’t have a proper dog without a proper doghouse.”

“Oh…do you have a breeder lined up yet?”

“Oh no, I only adopt.”

“Oh, well that’s good I suppose…so, do you need help lifting it?”

“That’s the idea! I could probably get it myself, but with the gate and all, it’s easier with a helper. You don’t mind, do you?”

It seemed like an easy enough task. Ben helped Marv get it to the edge of the truck bed, and then together, they hefted it up and carried it between the two of them over to the gate. Ben held it for a moment while Marv fished the latch open, and with his face pressed to the wood, he was again struck by the scent of the little dwelling. If the thing had been lost for so many months, then how in the world did the scent seem so…fresh? Ben had never been one to own a pet–especially a dog. It seemed like far too much effort on a thing that wouldn’t bring much reward–and if they smelled like this, then that gave him yet another reason to pass. But as they got it into the backyard, he reconsidered. It didn’t smell that bad, really. In fact, there was something about it that he almost…enjoyed? It was hard to explain what, exactly, he liked about it, but it was…comforting. They set it down in a corner of the yard, and Ben could finally take a look around the place–the closest he, or any of his other neighbors, had gotten to Marv’s house since he’d moved in. The backyard wasn’t much to look at, however–it had been as poorly maintained as the front was–though even more overgrown.

“You know, you can borrow my lawnmower anytime, Marv,” Ben said, kicking some of the ankle high grass.

The older fellow laughed, “Yeah, but why bother? It just keeps growing.”

“Yeah, that’s why you cut it.”

“No, you cut it to show everyone else that you cut it,” Marv said, with a wink. “Ya’ll do a lot of things so other people see you do them. Never been much interest to me–more interested in not being seen doing much.”

“It shows.”

“Yeah? Thanks! I’m pretty good at it.”

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to say to that–it wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the conversation might go, he supposed he should excuse himself and head back to his house, but something was making him linger. As overgrown and empty as the backyard was, just like the dog house next to him, there was something…comforting about it. Maybe…Maybe he was doing it wrong. It was a lot of work, after all (or rather, it would be without the help he hired to take care of it each week) and he didn’t know why, but this did seem easier. Like he could just settle down into the grass, next to the dog house, laze about all day…but that was silly, right? Very silly. He needed to get going, after all, there were things he had to do.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll probably head back.”

“Leaving already?” Marv said, “Stick around. There’s beer in the fridge, and I owe you a thank you drink at least, don’t I?”

It was a good offer, and the longer he stood there, the more he did, kind of, want to stay…and it was that sensation of comfort which he found himself distrusting more and more. Why did he want to be here, suddenly? He shouldn’t, right? The place looked like a dump, and even though all of the curtains were drawn, he had little doubt that inside would look much like the outside. “Katie is…expecting me actually, I should go–but maybe some other time.”

Before he could head to the gate, however, Marv was next to him, threw an arm around him, and a new scent hit him–it was Marv. The smell–it had the same…punch as the dog house and the yard did, but perhaps even stronger, and his legs went a bit weak. “Come on now, boy. You want to stay and have a drink with me.”

“Yeah…yeah, I do…” he muttered, and as he did, he felt…good. Good to agree with Marv, good to obey him. He felt good, and he also felt his cock stir in the front of the khakis he had on.

“Good boy,” Marv said, gave Ben a scritch behind the ears, and then headed for the house. Stay out here for a bit–I’ll just be a few minutes. You know how to stay, right boy?”

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 1)

It was a nice life–the sort of life Ben had always wanted. A nice job that he only hated some of the time, a house of his own on a quiet, suburban cul-de-sac, and last year he’d gotten married to a lovely woman, and they were planning on starting the rest of their family soon. He’d made it–from here on out, it would be smooth sailing, and maybe an early retirement. Boring, safe, pleasant and happy. That’s what he wanted. So when their new neighbor moved in–an older fellow by the name of Marv–he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He was probably twenty years older than Ben, but it was clear his life was not nearly as on track as his own. From the look of the truck he drove up, he worked in construction or something similar–no wife, no family. He was just…alone.

Of course, Ben didn’t really have much interest in his neighbors. He was pleasant, and he expected pleasantness in return, but beyond that, he preferred everyone else stayed out of his business. He especially felt that way about Marvin, though he found it difficult to explain why he felt uneasy around the older man. It was, perhaps, because despite the fact that his life seemed rather unfulfilled, he was, all the same, rather…happy. Or if he wasn’t happy, he could put on a very convincing happy face. And so, Ben found himself thinking and watching and wondering about Marv more than many of his other, much more normal neighbors. The others were like him, and in their normalcy, more transparent. He didn’t know the details–he could infer the rest from the jobs, the wives, the pets, the children. But over the next few months, as Marv settled into the cul-de-sac, it was clear that he was not cut from the same normal cloth as the rest of them.

The lawn was overgrown, and where everyone else conscientiously watered the grass all summer, he let his grow too long and it browned it several patches from the heat and sparse rain. The rest of the landscaping went unattended, and by early fall it was also overgrown and full of weeds. A few of the neighbors tried to mention it to him, and hint at the fact that his growing eyesore was possibly wounding their own property values, but as understanding as he would appear, nothing would change, and without as all powerful HOA there was little anything anyone could do but watch, and gossip, and wonder. No one could really know, what took place inside that house. There were no symbols of normalcy, no wife, no kids, and no conventional job, and so all that remained was speculation around the rotating neighborhood bar-be-ques, which Marv always courteously declined the attend.

“He’s a slob, and have you seen how many beer bottles are in the recycling?”

“”He probably works himself to the bone; I feel sorry for him. If I worked in construction the last thing I’d want to do is do a bunch of heavy lifting once I got home.”

“He seems so lonely–I don’t think he’s had anyone over since he moved in.”

“I wonder why he won’t come over? I’ve asked him to come by a few times, but he’s always said no. He seems like a snob to me.”

Ben could guess along, but none of his neighbor’s convictions seemed to move him. In all honesty, he had found himself reaching a space where he could stop caring. After all, he was much more focused on his wife, Katie, and trying to get her pregnant, to really worry about some strange, eccentric neighbor of his. The others could fret, and worry, and do their best to bring him into suburban line, but Ben had his path, and his plan, and he had no intention of letting anything upset it.

And so, when Marv waved to him across the cul-de-sac one September Saturday, Ben was confused. He hadn’t done anything to deserve a wave, had he? Picked up the mail? Dropped a newspaper at the porch? No–he’d simply resolved to let Marv have his strange life, a life Ben would never want to have a part of, and he assumed, in return, that Marv would show him no interest as well.

Still, he waved back. It’s what you did, after all. And instead of leaving at that, Marv smiled and walked across the street to where Ben was standing at the end of his driveway, wondering, what, in the world, the man could want.

“Hey there–it’s Ben, right?” Marv said as he came up. “Glad I could catch you–I was wondering if I could get your help with something real quick. You seem like the kind of fellow who isn’t afraid of a bit of heavy lifting.”

In fact, Ben was a bit of a scrawny fellow, and had never really been suited to much hard work. He generally hired help to do most of the heavy lifting around his house–and Marv…well, Marv seemed like he could tackle pretty much anything on his own. A few inches over six feet, broad in the shoulder, packed with muscle and a hefty gut–what could he possibly need anyone’s help with, much the less Ben’s? At the same time, you didn’t say no to a neighbor, either. Without asking for details, he said yes, and followed Marv back to his home, and around to the back of his truck. Inside, covered by a tarp which Marv unfurled, was a doghouse.

A Note on the Changes Coming to Patreon’s Payment System

wesleybracken:

As some of you have likely seen, going around on social media, Patreon has announced that starting December 18th, they are going to be changing how they collect payments and fees from creators and patrons. Previously, patrons pledged a particular amount to a creator, and from that amount, Patreon would assess fees, which were deducted from that total before being paid out to the creator. That is, all of the fees (credit card processing etc.) were assessed after a patron gave their pledge.

That is changing.

Now, instead, some of these fees will be charged directly to patrons themselves. That is, when you make a pledge, there will be a surcharge added for each contribution (.35 cents + 2.9% of your pledge) you are making to each creator on the site. So, if you are making a five dollar pledge to a creator, that $5 dollars is now going to be 5.00 + .35 + .15 = $5.50. A one dollar pledge will be $1.38, and a $10 pledge will become $10.64.

I don’t think this is a good idea, but I can also understand why the platform is making the change. It has been difficult at times, as a creator, to know exactly how much you will be receiving each month, because fees could vary widely depending on the number of supporters you have and the size of their contributions. This shift makes it much more clear–every creator is guaranteed to receive 95% of what their supporters contribute. This, actually, is a sizable raise in what I get from the site–essentially an additional $70 dollars a month–but that’s because the cost has, essentially, been shifted to the supporters, rather than coming from the contributions I’ve collecting after they’ve been made.

That said, I know that even a small additional charge is a burden, especially for those of you who are supporting multiple creators (I myself support several, and the fees can add up quickly) and I don’t think it is particularly fair for Patreon to force these fees onto supporters. That said, there’s very little I can do to alleviate this–there’s no way to opt out, as far as I can tell, but there is one thing I can do, at least.

Starting December 18th (the day these changes take place) I’m going to be reducing the $5 and $10 tiers on my Patreon by one dollar each, to $4 and $9 respectively. I can’t do anything to help those of you at the $1 level, unfortunately, because I can’t reduce that pledge any lower, but for those of you who would be inclined to stop pledging, this will give me a way to shoulder that cost a bit. Most importantly, I urge you to keep supporting your creators! Patreon has made it possible for so many of us to help support ourselves with our art–unfair or no, I think it would be a tragedy if people pulled their support from artists, writers and musicians over the very poor choices of the platform. That said, if you are able and willing to take on these unfair fees, I salute you–I’ll be doing that for the creators I support, certainly, rather than pulling my contributions, and I would urge you all to do the same–but for those of you who can’t afford the fees, this will hopefully help a few of you manage.

Thanks again to all of you who support me, in means so much that I can write these crazy stories and also make a sizable income from it as well. If enough of you keep pledging at the current level, and push me over the $700 dollar tier, then starting in January I’ll be posting content seven days a week! What that will look like, will be five days of content like I’ve been providing, and two days a week I will do either a caption, or an interactive story of some sort, like I’ve done in the past! 

If that’s content you want to see, then I hope you’ll keep pledging, but if you can’t afford the changes, I fully understand, and thank you for your support up to now.

tl;dr – Patreon is shifting fees off of creators, and onto patrons, which means your pledges will be going up. For people who would find this extra cost prohibitive, I’m dropping two of my tiers (the $5 and $10 levels) by a dollar each on December 18th to help offset these fees for those who can’t afford them. That said, this change could push me over the $700 goal line, and if it does, I’ll start producing content seven days a week in January, as promised!

I just wanted to reblog this for people who may not have seen it, and I also wanted to include a couple of links.

First, here’s a blog post from Patreon describing the mechanics of their new fee structure, and why they implemented it.

Second, here’s a more robust FAQ for patrons, if you’d like more details.

Orwell’s Demon (Part 10)

WARNING: Scat, Abuse, Filth, & other strange stuff.

Orwell couldn’t stop himself from trembling as the demon approached him. How could he have fought him for so long? How could he have ever wanted to deny himself this moment of glory? The demon’s form was grotestque, twisted–but then, so was Orwell’s own–so were they all. He’d been seeing everything through human eyes, before, comparing himself to the normalcy of earth, but why? Why had he refused?

“Now, I believe that I promised you a cock, Orwell. Unfortunately, Hurlbane is making use of your old one already–so we’ll have to give you a new one. Luckily, I have one just perfect for a piggy like you.”

The demon pressed one burning palm to Orwell’s bare groin, and he felt something stir beneath it–something was…inside him, trying to force it’s way out. A moment later, a corkscrew shaped cock erupted from beneath his skin, forming a sheath running up under his gut, and then two massive balls descended into a new sack, each of them the size of a small melon. The demon took his hand away, but the burning didn’t stop. The corrupted boar cock and balls were flooding his body with lust, changing him more. His hands and feet twisted and hardened, becoming four trotters, barely capable of holding anything==but what did Orwell need to hold anymore, beyond a cock? His face was twisting as well, a short snout pushing out from his face, two thick, dirty tusks growing from his lower jaw. Six more nipples erupted from his body, all of them cigars like the first two, and with a snap of his fingers the demon set them all alight, Orwell snorting and grunting in beautiful pain, smoke streaming from his now porcine nose and mouth. His hair returned, but not human hair–it was rough boar bristle, covering his back, leaving his belly bare, the skin hardening into a proper hide, the filthy designs twisting and contorting, mutating constantly into any number of perverse and blasphemous imagery. A short, curly tail shoved its way free above his ass, and it was done. Orwell was no longer human–just a demonic boar, enthralled to his demonic master. He lunged for the demon’s cock, sucking at it, drool pouring from his chin as he pleased him, eager to thank him, eager to prove that the demon had chosen well, when he’d drawn Orwell’s hand to the amulet that day in the store.

Behind him, Ray came, pressing his massive cock to the entrance of Orwell’s hole. “It feels…so long since I was inside you, Piggy–I missed it so much, I’m so happy you joined us, I’m so happy I can impale you whenever I fucking want…” He pushed into him, filling his ass with his massive cock, distending his belly, and rotten shit pushed out of his guts and onto the demon’s cock, spilling from Orwell’s maw.

“Aww yeah, that’s my filthy pig,” Jonathan said, and got down with him, licking the filth from Orwell’s mouth and the ground below him, “Love the taste of yer fermented fuckin’ filth, fuck! Gonna be feeding ya a whole lot–I hope yer ready tah get stuffed, cause I ain’t shit in fuckin’ ages, piggy. Gonna fill ya so full ya ain’t gonna move fer a week!”

Stewart came up next, and brought a chain whip down hard across Orwell’s back, making him squeal. Aaron came beside him, sharing smoky kisses with Officer Hurlbane, stroking both of his cocks before forcing the officer down, making him wrap his lips around his cigarcock and smoke him beside the demon skullfucking his newest pig.

“Are you ready, piggy? Spill your seed, and join us here forever. Spill it on the rocky ground, and know that you’re cursed. Give up your rationality, your will. Give me your humanity, and in return, I will give you eternal pleasure, and all of the perversity that you can possibly desire. Become mine, and you will know pleasure the likes of which mortals have never known. The demon pulled out, and forced Jonathan to turn around, so his hole was facing Orwell. Go on–give him a taste, and then fuck his disgusting hole–that’s what a dirty pig like you wants, right?”

Orwell did as the demon commanded, diving into the crack, licking at it, snorting down the disgusting trucker slob’s farts, eating the logs of shit pouring from the hole, feeling his gut distend even further as Ray fucked deeper and deeper into his ass. Unable to resist anymore, he mounted him, sliding his new boar cock into his greasy hole and began to rut, Stewart raining blows down across the boar’s hairy back, driving him to new heights of pleasure, until with a squeal loud enough to shake the cavern around them, he came. He flooded the hole with his corrupted cum, pleasure blooming within him, pushing out everything else–his memories, his human desires, his will, all rational thought. Orwell was no more–he was just a pig, just a demon, just a filthy, perverse toy for his master–just like they all were, and just like they would all be forever more.