Category: Uncategorized

Winston’s Stable: Titpig (Part 3)

Winston double checked the monitors to confirm that Mark was unconscious–he still had a hard time believing that the match was so successful, that he’d fallen asleep so deeply with just a command. The few subjects he’d found before, they usually required at least a sedative, but Mark was by far the best match he’d ever seen. He went ahead and placed the anesthesia mask over his face, just to make sure he stayed out once he started the procedures he was planning, but first he had to wait and for some of his initial tests to finish.

He looked over the naked man’s frame again and felt his cock stiffening in his leathers. He hadn’t bothered changing after arriving home with his catch–he was much too excited to get underway. Instead, he’d led the young man down into the basement, strapped him in, and taken the first samples of blood, along with a basic health assessment. The young man was relaxing into the pheromones nicely, and adapting to them well. The initial grogginess had passed at this point, and he no longer seemed particularly troubled that he obeyed Winston’s orders without question. He stroked the boy’s cheek with one gloved hand, and saw his cock throb, and smiled. Even asleep, he knew what he needed. Still, after searching for so long for a proper match, it was thrilling to imagine one had fallen into his lap like this. Winston contained his excitement–the pheromone could signal a match, but false positives had happened before. The results came up a few minutes later, and he gave a sigh of relief, and a laugh. 97.8 percent–nearly perfect.

Winston might be a fetish freak by night, but by day he was much, much more than that. He was a medical researcher renowned for his work on genetics, but most of his research was conducted…under the table. Winston had longed for something his entire life, a proper slave to match his deepest fantasies, and now, with Mark here, it was finally within reach. He walked over to the cooler where he stored his various genetic serums and tests, groping his crotch as he did. All he’d ever needed was one. With one as a carrier, he could do so much more. He pulled out the first stage of the prime serum, and added it to Mark’s drip, watching the green liquid slide into his vein.

A 97.8 percent chance. Winston held his breath as the sleeping Mark laid there for a few moments. If his body rejected the serum, he’d be sick for a few days, but suffer no lasting effects. Winston, disappointed, would send him on his way with no memory of what happened. Still, if it worked, he should see some of the effects take hold in the first few minutes. He forced himself to leave the basement, set a timer on his phone for ten minutes, and paced around the floor of his immaculate house, stopping only to take a cigar from his humidor and light it for himself. The timer went off, and he returned to the basement, bracing himself for failure.

He let out a sigh of relief–it was working! The changes were small, but they were there, most visible in the chest, of course, where the most development would take place. It was clear that Mark had spent quite a bit of time developing his chest, but in a matter of minutes they had grown swollen and inflamed, his breath quickening. Winston pulled off a glove and touched the surface gently, feeling the heat of new developing tissue, his other hand unzipping the fly of his pants in order to free his cock, stroking it slowly.

“You’re going to be beautiful, more beautiful than you can even fucking imagine, Titpig,” Winston said over the sleeping Mark. He…shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist. He went down the the foot of the table where Mark was lying, started pulling him down, his legs up in the air and resting on Winston’s shoulders until his ass was at the edge, and he rubbed the wet head of his cock against his hole. “I wish you were awake for this, I really do, but fuck, I can’t fucking wait, you fucking freak,” he said, drooling a bit of spit into his hand, which he rubbed on his head and shaft. He slid into Mark’s hole as gently as he could, his eyes glued to Mark’s pecs, watching them turn redder and swell larger as he fucked him. Winston didn’t last long–he pushed in deep and came inside Mark’s hole, and then pulled out, carefully returning him to his prior position on the table before cleaning off his cock.

He wanted him to know so badly, he wanted him to see himself–but he could wait. He wanted Mark to understand what was happening to him, before it was finished, he wanted to see the terror on his face dissolve into pleasure as his master used him. Still, it would be a week or so before that–he wanted to wait until the third stage was finished. But soon, Mark would see for himself. He’d see what he was really meant to be.

Winston’s Stable – Titpig (Part 2)

The man watched them shuffle off for a moment, and when they’d gotten a few yards away, he said, “Boy, I think you’d feel a lot better if you came back here and stuck around close to me.”

“Creep,” Joey muttered, but much to his surprise, Mark slipped out from under his arm, turned around, and walked back over to the stranger in leather. “Mark, what the fuck?”

Mark was just as confused as Joey was, but to his surprise, when he got closer to him, he did feel better, more clear headed. Still, he didn’t get too far, before Joey grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away, through the throng on the dance floor, and to the door. Mark relented, knowing it’s where he wanted to go, but as they went, he did feel…worse. Nauseous and dizzy, especially. They got out the door of the club, and he promptly threw up his drink from earlier on the sidewalk. “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Maybe he put something in your drink. Come on, let’s get home. A rest will sort you out. You can crash at my place tonight.” They made it a little way down the sidewalk, but Mark felt…something building up in him, some kind of need, or desire, and unable to even explain why, he pulled away from Joey and staggered back towards the club. “Mark!” Where the fuck are you going!”

“Sorry! I…I forgot something, just wait a second,” Mark said, and ducked back into the club. He scanned the room, worried, but the man was right where they’d left him, sitting at the table now, nursing the drink Mark had abandoned. He made his way around to him, trying to keep his gut from dry heaving, but once he got within a few yards, his stomach settled, and…and he felt that same high wash over him, but this time it felt…better. Pleasant. Like a reward.

“That’s a good boy,” the man said, “You’ll feel much better, I promise, as long as you’re near me. In fact, if you try to leave me again, it’s only going to feel worse, I promise you that. Now, come on over and let me have a look at you.”

Mark walked over and stood to one side of the chair where the man was sitting, shaking slightly. “What…You did this to me, what’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, my boy, it’s not what’s wrong with you, it’s what’s very, very right about you,” the man said. He reached out to grope Mark’s crotch, but he stepped back before he could touch him. “Now, now. You want me to touch you. Having me touch you anywhere I want is going to make you feel good. Now come close and don’t step back again.”

Mark tried to keep his body from obeying, but it refused to listen to him. He came closer, and this time when the man reached out he couldn’t avoid him–but soon enough, he didn’t want to. The man’s touch, even through his clothing, was electric. “F-Fuck…” he muttered, “Please…please stop.”

“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

“N-No?” Mark said, and the man slid one gloved hand up his shirt and along his stomach, feeling Mark shiver.

“You’ll be addressing me as sir, from now on, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good boy. Take off your shirt.”

Mark did as he was told, and the man looked him over, surveying him. Mark was in his early thirties, and in fairly good shape, with a well developed chest and a small gut, all of it covered with a fair amount of hair. “Hmm…decent, but not quite what I want yet. Still, it’ll have to do, won’t it?”

“Mark? Mark! What the fuck?” Mark wanted to shrink smaller where he stood, as Joey hustled over to them. “You said you’d fucking forgot something!”

“Boy, that’s not nice of you to lie to your friend,” the man said, “Tell him the truth now.”

“Joey…being…being by Sir makes me feel good, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to feel sick anymore.”

“Yes, that’s right–I make you feel very good, don’t I boy?” the man said, and slid a hand around behind Mark, squeezing his ass, and making him groan.

Joey just gaped at them both. “Please, I’m sorry I can’t…I don’t know why…” Mark pleaded, “Please…help me.”

Joey, however, wasn’t listening. He turned around and abandoned him, and Mark tried to call after him, but one of Sir’s hands stroking his hard cock through his jeans made him moan instead. “Don’t worry about him boy. In fact, don’t worry about anything for a while. What you’re going to do is kneel here, beside me, while I finish your drink. I don’t usually like the fruity shit, but this one isn’t too bad. Then, we’re going to leave, together.”

Mark felt his knees buckle, and he slumped to the floor beside the man, his head level with his thighs, eyes directed under the table, cheeks burning. His display with the man and Joey had attracted quite a few eyes around the bar, but he didn’t want everyone to stare at him, he just wanted to disappear. Still, the concern ebbed a bit, after a moment, and Mark found it hard to be worried about anything happening to him. Instead, he just enjoyed the sensation of Sir petting his head while he finished the drink, and after a few minutes, he stood up, reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, and pulled out a strap of leather–a collar, Mark realized, attached to a chain leash.

“Put this on boy.”

He did as he was instructed, and then allowed Sir to slowly walk him out of the club, almost like he was enjoying the attention the display was generating–but Mark still just wanted to hide his face. No matter what happened next, he’d never be able to show his face here again. Outside, the man walked him a few blocks until they came to a sedan parked on the street–the man ordered Mark into the back seat, and they drove off into the night.

Winston’s Stable – Titpig (Part 1)

“Look at that fucker–looks like he showed up at the wrong bar tonight, don’t you think?”

Joey eyed someone behind Mark’s shoulder, and he had to sneak a quick look behind him from the table where they were sitting. He assumed that the guy Joey was talking about was the one who stood out like a sore thumb in the club, mostly because of what he was wearing–a complete leather uniform, from the boots to the hat, all impeccably shined. It was a bit of an anomaly among the more conventionally dressed men, and while a look like that isn’t that strange to see in some bars, this one prefered a…more normal atmosphere, usually. That said,  Mark thought the guy looked good in it, even if he was a bit older than the twinkish guys he usually preferred, like Joey. He turned back to his date, “I don’t know, it’s not that weird.”

“What, are you into that shit?” Joey asked–this is our third date, you’d better come out with it if it is.”

Mark laughed, “Oh no way. But to each their own, you know?”

Joey’s mouth turned up a bit, and he looked a bit disappointed that Mark wasn’t ready to pile on the guy as readily as he was. “I assume that’s not your thing either, then?”

“Hell no!” Joey said, almost a bit angry Mark had asked, “I…hate that uniform shit. I spend enough time terrified of the cops to wanna fuck any of them.”

Mark couldn’t blame him for that, but he wasn’t quite sure where to take the conversation from there. Joey was cute, and the sex had been good, but they…lacked a bit of chemistry when they weren’t fucking or on the dance floor. “Look, let’s get another drink, and then dance for a bit, alright?” Mark said, “I’ll buy.”

Joey nodded, but his mood had soured somewhat. Mark didn’t really know why he was making such a big deal out of it anyway. The path to the bar ended up skirting close to the stranger in the uniform, and while Mark would have given him no real mind before this, Joey’s comment had him looking at him a bit closer out of curiosity more than anything else. The guy didn’t seem very interested in the bar around him, and was just sipping a beer slowly at a corner of the bar jutting out into the room, where most people had to pass him on the way to getting drinks, including Mark. As he slipped past, however, he caught a whiff of some…smell. Something he’d never quite smelled before, but his vision spun for a moment and he nearly tripped into another table by the dance floor. He recovered, feeling a bit embarrassed, and kept going, talked with the bartender and got a couple more drinks for Joey and him.

As he waited for the bartender to mix them, he looked back over in the direction of the uniformed man, and was surprised to find that the man was staring hard at him too, with a cocky grin across his face. Mark quickly looked away, not at all wanting to give the guy the wrong idea. He found the look curious, but like he’d told Joey, he really wasn’t into the leather scene–he liked his sex nice and vanilla. Still, the man had taken an interest in him for some reason, and Mark decided to take the longer route around the bar back to the table where Joey was waiting, so he could avoid the man.

“You alright?” Joey asked, “I saw you trip.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little light headed for a second.”

“Well maybe I should take both drinks then, if you’re such a lightweight.”

Mark rolled his eyes and took a sip of his, looked back over his shoulder, and saw that the man wasn’t standing by the bar anymore. Had he left? He scanned the room again, and saw that he hadn’t. Hhe was slowly maneuvering through around the room over towards their table. He blushed and looked down, Joey noticed, looked over to see the man coming towards them and scowled. “You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

“No! He was looking at me while I was getting drinks though.”

“Creep,” Joey said, and then shouted at the man, “Hey! We’re not fucking interested. Why don’t you go find a freaky fetish night or something?”

The man didn’t say anything, he just kept coming closer, and when he was a couple yards away Mark felt the same lightheaded feeling wash over him from before, along with that odd smell. He slumped in his chair, though he tried to remain upright and push through whatever this strange feeling was. “Your friend doesn’t look like he’s doing too well. I just wanted to make sure he was doing alright, after I saw him trip,” the man said.

Joey scowled at him, “He’s fine, why don’t you go hit on someone who’s interested?”

“He doesn’t look so good to me.”

“I’m good, I’m…good…” Mark said, pushing himself back upright as best he could. While he was lying to himself at first, he was actually feeling a bit better, though he still felt…a little off. Not woozy, exactly, but like he was a bit high. “I just…feel a bit weird is all, I think.”

“Do you want to go home?” Joey asked.

“No, I think he wants to stick around, don’t you?” The man said, coming around to stand at the edge of the table between Joey and Matt.

Matt was worried, and he didn’t feel good. He wanted to go home, or at least go outside for a bit of fresh air, but instead of saying so, he said, “I…yeah, I want to stick around, I think.”

Mark could see Joey was annoyed that he’d sided with the stranger over him, but that hadn’t been what he’d wanted at all. He tried to say so, but everything was still drifting a bit sideways. “I really think we should go,” Joey said, and he stood up, “Thanks for your concern, whoever you are, but I think I know what my boyfriend needs more than you do.”

He came around the table, the man watching as he helped Mark up from the table. It was a bit difficult keeping his feet under him, so Joey had put an arm under him to help keep him steady. “Did you fucking take something?” he muttered to him as they walked away.

“No! No, I didn’t take anything, I just…I’ve never felt like this before. I think I just need some fresh air.”

October Suggestions Open! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

It’s October! That means it’s time to open up the suggestions box again–everyone supporting me with at least $1 a month can have give me suggestions and requests for short stories you’d like to see me write. This month, I wanted to do something a little bit different, and have suggested a couple of themes for the month!

#1 – anything Halloween or spooky related! Ghost stories, demons, costumes, monsters, you name it, I want to hear it.

#2 – It’s also Orctober, so if you have an idea centered around the big green adorable brutes, let me know!

If you want to make a suggestion, go ahead and use the link above! I’m excited to see what you all have in mind this month.

October Suggestions Open! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

In the Doghouse (Part 4)

CW: Scat, Filth, etc. Read at your own risk.

“Yeah, that’s the kinda Faggot I wanna see, good fuckin’ Faggot…” Gage said, petting Carson’s head, and the pride he felt sickened him, but he didn’t stop. After a couple of minutes, he pushed Gage off, and heaved himself up from the recliner, dropped his filthy briefs and bent over the side, still stroking his cock, “Come on ya fuckin’ dogboi–time tah earn yer fuckin’ keep. All dogs love sniffin’ ass, ‘n yer no fuckin’ exception–’n yer Master loves cummin’ with a tonuge in his hole.”

Carson whined and tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but he did as Gage ordered, walking behind him, giving his filthy crack a sniff, and then started licking it. It was filthy, and obviously Gage hadn’t wiped well, if at all, but to his tongue, the filthier it tasted, the more he wanted it–something Gage didn’t stop reminding him of, “Yeah, how’s it feel Faggot? Ya like bein’ trapped in that nasty fuckin’ dogboi body? Don’t worry–ya’ll break eventually. Won’t even have tah collar ya in a few months, ya’ll love what I do tah ya–all of it–ya’ll be beggin’ me fer more!” Gage laughed, bore down and let out another fart, but to their surprise, a bit of shit came with it, spattering Carson’s face. He gave a snort and shook his head, trying to get it off him, but Gage just laughed some more. “Git used tah it, ya dumb mutt! Lick it up, lick it up ‘n enjoy it–ya love yer master’s nasty shit. Git back in there ‘n dig deeper. Yer Master’s close, Faggot.”

Carson licked up the shit, trying not to think too hard about how he enjoyed the taste, and then dug in deeper, probing Gage’s hole with his tongue, muzzle open wide, and listening to him moan. The sooner Gage came, he told himself, the sooner this part would be over. He licked harder, and after a couple of minutes, Gage gave a few grunts and his cock exploded all over his hand and the side of the recliner in front of him, and he panted for a moment before hefting himself back up, and pulling up his briefs. “Clean it up, Faggot. Ya’ve earned it.”

Carson licked up the cum from Gage’s hand, and then cleaned up the side of the recliner, at least happy to not have his face buried in Gage’s ass for a moment…even if he had enjoyed it. No–he shook his head. It had felt good, but he hadn’t enjoyed it–he had to keep those things separate if he was going to stay sane.

“Woowee,” Gage said, “Tuckered me out a good bit. Think it’s time fer a nap,” he said. “Still, ya gotta git in yer pen for a while, Faggot. I don’t trust ya unsupervised ‘round the house just yet–pro’ly piss on the rug tah spite me.” Gage forced him back out into the dogrun, but before locking the gate, he filled up Carson’s bowl with another load of piss, hocked in some tobacco spit, and then returned to the house. Alone again, Carson paced the dogrun looking for a weak spot to try and escape, but saw nothing…and he was thirsty. Washing his mouth out with piss seemed the best option available, but in the end, it only made his whole mouth taste even worse. The sun was hot, and the only shade available was the doghouse, so he retreated, curled up, and fell asleep.

Carson woke up a couple hours later, and saw that from the light outside, it must be approaching evening. He crawled out and looked towards the house, but didn’t see any movement inside, and none of the lights were on–either Gage was still asleep, or he’d left to run errands. In any case, he needed to try and escape. More than anything else, though–Carson needed to shit, and quick. There was no easy place to do it, so he picked the corner furthest from the doghouse, humped up as best he could, and dropped a massive load of stinking shit next to the fence. He hated that he enjoyed the scent of it, but he ignored it and focused on trying to climb the fence instead. However, his body was still too unfamiliar to him to make it work–and the fact that he’d packed on close to a hundred pounds over the course of the morning didn’t help either. In the end, he was left panting, exhausted, and he walked over to the bowl, pissed into it with a bit better aim than before, and took a drink.

He hated that this seemed normal, after just a day. He hated that he was actually enjoying this. He sat down and rolled his back legs up, looking back at his cock where it had slipped out of his sheath, and realized that with his shifted body…he could lick it himself. He did, tasting it, and he kept licking it, enjoying the sensation as the first real pleasure he’d had since entering this house a day before, but he was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening and shutting. “Enjoying yerself Faggot? Like the taste a that dogcock?” Gage said, “Might have tah bring a few other mutts ‘round fer ya tah play with if ya do.” He quickly uncurled himself as Gage unlocked the dogrun. “Come on in mutt–time fer dinner.”

Carson followed him inside, and the smell of food on the air was heavenly. Gage must have been out shopping–he saw a whole chicken on the table, still steaming–probably from a supermarket deli. “Stop slobberin’ mutt–that ain’t fer ya, ‘n ya know it. “Besides, Master always eats first–but ya can make me happy while I do, right mutt?”

Carson spent the meal under the table, licking at Gage’s nasty feet and licking at his cock–whatever Gage wanted him to do, really, licking up the grease and spit that fell from his mouth as he ate onto his huge belly, sniffing the farts and belches Gage let off regularly. When he finished, Gage pushed back with a final belch, and hefted himself up. “Alright boy–time fer yer dinner,” he said, and walked over to a metal bowl on the floor, squatted over it, and with a few grunts, started dumping shit into the bowl right in front of Carson’s snout. “See mutt? Ya git all the tasty food too, ya just git it the second time ‘round. Still, we both know how the taste ‘n smell a Master’s shit makes ya hungry ‘n horny, right Faggot? Ya dirty fuckin’ dogboi?”

He fought–he fought hard. He’d done it earlier, but he hadn’t imagined that shit was going to be his main food from that point on. Still, his slobbering muzzle eventually found its way to the bowl, and he started scarfing down Gage’s shit, while the big man laughed beside him. “Fuck yeah, ya nasty faggot…” He got down behind Carson, and with a yelp, he felt Gage grab his hips and shove his hard cock into his ass, “Yeah, keep eatin’ ya fuckin’ mutt! I wanna fuck ya while I watch ya eat mah warm fuckin’ shit. Fuck, look at ya, ya fuckin’ shameless beast. I’m gonna love watchin’ ya fight, ‘n ya better fight hard, cause when ya finally give in, when ya finally accept the fact that yer nothin’ but a filthy, disgusting mutt–fuck, that’s gonna be a real sweet sight…”

Gage kept fucking him even after he’d finished his meal, but came soon after, filling his ass with a load of cum before pulling out, leaving Carson panting and whining, tears running down his face. “Aww, don’t cry boy, here, we can make ya feel better, right? Roll o’er boy.”

Carson rolled over, legs up, cock hard and slimy against his belly. “Yeah, I can make good dogboi’s like you feel real good…” Gage said, squatted down over him, and pressed his filthy ass to Carson’s muzzle. He licked up the shit caught in his cheeks, while Gage started tugging on his dog cock roughly, telling Carson what a treat it was to be jacked off by his Master, that it’s the only way a nasty dog like him can cum. With a yelp, his cock released a huge load of cum all over his belly, and Gage praised him, telling him he was a good shit eating mutt. “Yeah, yer gonna see, mutt. Yer gonna be real happy here ‘fore too long. Hungry all the time, beggin’ yer master fer shit–ya ain’t never gonna git enough, but that’s how I want ya–desperate, hungry, ‘n always horny fer yer Master.”

He made Carson clean up the floor, and then shooed him back out into the now dark yard for the night, locking him back up in the dogrun, and Carson…he was numb. He’d cum with his tongue deep in his Master’s hole, and worse…he wanted to do it again, so badly. Even worse than that…he was hungry again, and it was only getting worse. He caught a scent on the air, and saw his now cold shit in the corner of the dog run. Trying not to think about it, he walked over and ate it as quickly as he could…and only after did he realize he hadn’t heard Gage go back into the house.

He looked back over his shoulder, muzzle still covered in his own shit, and saw Gage leering at him on the steps. “Good boy,” Gage said, and went back inside.

He could still fight this, Carson told himself as he settled in for the night, a bit more comfortable than the night before with the extra padding of his new weight. He could fight him–he knew it. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight him, not really, and that, he realized, is why he was already lost.

In The Doghouse (Part 3)

CW: Slob, Trash Eating, Light Scat

Carson didn’t sleep well, hunger and thirst gnawing at him all night long. The two bowls had a bit of rainwater in them, so he had a bit to drink, but it was the hunger that was worse. The floor of the doghouse was bare wood, and very uncomfortable. His new coat of fur was itchy, forcing him to figure out how to use his four new paws in odd ways to itch everywhere he could reach. But mostly, he was terrified. Would someone find him? He hadn’t told anyone where he was going–why would he? His phone was inside, but if Gage could literally turn him into a dog…then who knew what else he was capable of. If he was going to get out, he was going to have to be patient, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Still, eventually he did sleep, because he was roused by the sound of Gage opening the gate, and ordering Carson out of the doghouse. The morning light was bright–it was probably ten or eleven, and it looked like Gage had just woken up, from the bleary look in his eyes. “Saved it fer ya boy–gotta fill the bowl, right?” He hauled out his cock and pissed in one of the bowls–a long piss, filling it over half full, and Carson just stared at it, whining. When he finished, Carson saw him take a cup and dump some dark glop into the bowl as well, and he gave it a shake–it was a cup of tobacco spit, he realized.

“Best get used tah it, faggot–it’s what filthy dogboys like you love anyway–go on, give it a taste.”

He wanted to refuse, but the collar tugged him forward all the same. He lapped at the piss and spit, and was rewarded with a sickening pleasure in his cock. It didn’t taste good–it tasted like beer and cigarette butts from a urinal–but drinking it felt so…wrong, that he couldn’t help but find it arousing.

“See mutt? That cock of yers is hard already–go on now, piss in yer bowl like a good boy. Ya gotta piss, right?”

He did have to, but pissing in a bowl was a bit harder than he thought. He ended up getting most of it on the ground around the bowl, and Gage just laughed and heckled him for being so useless, and made him drink some more. Carson was a bit surprised that when he tasted the piss again–the taste hadn’t changed at all, but he enjoyed it, and he licked his chops when he was finished.

“Alright boy–time fer breakfast. Come on inside.”

If piss was his water, Carson didn’t have high hopes for what he might get for food–probably kibble, if anything. But in the kitchen, he didn’t even see a dog bowl for him or anything.

“Sorry, I didn’t get ya any food yet–but yer a dirty mutt, right? I bet you can find some stuff around here to eat. In fact, I bet a fat dogboi like you likes pretty much everything,” Gage said, and booped Carson on the nose with a finger, and when he did, the whole house lit up with smells, and his gut rumbled.

Unable to hold back, Carson crawled over to a pile of pizza boxes and started rooting through them with his nose, until he found the remains of a half eaten pie, and started chowing down, tearing into it with his new teeth.

“Good boy! Don’t worry–ya gots an iron stomach now, ya can eat pretty much anythin’, no matter how disgustin’. We’ll have some more fun when ya git in better shape, faggot.” Gage parked himself in the recliner and turned on the TV, but spent most of his time laughing and mocking Carson as he stuffed himself with whatever trash his nose scrounged up around the room. He did his best to fight it–he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but again, the worst part was that the more he ate…the more he liked it. And the more he liked it, the harder his dog cock got–something Gage never ceased reminding him of either. His hunger never abated, no matter how full he got–but it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that Carson noticed the effect the filth he was gorging on was having on his body. His small gut had ballooned in size, hanging heavy as he walked on all fours, his thighs rubbing against one another, a second chin forming underneath his muzzle. “Heh, maybe I should have made you a pig, the way you’re chowing down on all that trash, mutt,” Gage said, and then called Carson over, “I think that’s enough for now, Faggot–yer Master needs some lovin’ now.”

Carson had purposefully avoided getting too close to his Master all morning, mostly because every time he did, he caught another whiff of his musk, and he wanted to smell more of it. Now, however, he had no choice. He walked over to where Gage was sitting, feet up in his recliner, and the smell of him had his mouth drooling in a matter of seconds.

“Ya look excited Faggot–take off mah socks, ‘n clean mah feet. Do a good job, ‘n ya might get a bone…”

With his teeth, he gripped Gage’s rank socks and tugged them off one at a time, and then licked the bottoms of his feet, trying not to enjoy himself as he did, but he couldn’t help it. He knew it was disgusting, he knew it should terrify him, but every taste–it sent a blast of pleasure right to his brain and his cock. It was even better when Gage drooled tobacco spit into his palm and smeared it on his body–he licked the rank spit up even more eagerly than everything else. Gage told him he was being a good boy, and let him lick a bit further up, cleaning his hairy thighs and calves, when Gage gave a grunt and let off a long fart a few inches from Carson’s face. Before he could pull away, Gage grabbed the back of Carson’s head and shoved his muzzle between his thighs, the stench making his eyes water even as his cock started leaking cum, and horrified, his body humped against his Master’s leg.

“Fuck Faggot! I know ya like mah stink, but ya fuckin’ know better!” Gage said, and gave Carson a kick in his balls, making him yelp, but held his face down as he released another fart. Carson managed to control himself this time, but the stench…he was drooling all over Gage’s thighs, panting and horny, and when Gage pushed his cock against Carson’s muzzle, he licked at it eagerly, no longer caring about whether he should feel this good–and just let it happen.

September Bonus Story Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! I’m going to interrupt “In the Doghouse” for a day to mention that this month’s Patreon Bonus story is ready to be downloaded, for anyone giving $5 or more a month to my page. The title of the story is “Kegger: Initiation”, and focuses on a top jock attending a party at a fraternity on campus, only to discover that the frat president seems to have an awful lot of control over the brothers in the house. There’s a whole lot of stuff in here: musk, muscle, weight gain, mind drain, slob, smoke, feet, piss, etc. so if that interests you, head on over! There’s a sequel coming next month as well, for October. Here’s a sneak peek of the story for those curious!

*Two Beers Down*

“Hey bro, what’s up? Havin’ a good time?”

Gregory had actually been slipping towards the door to the frat house, and planning on ditching the party. He hadn’t quite known what to expect, he supposed, from a college party, especially one at a frat house, but movies and TV had led him to believe it would involve a lot more…girls. The whole place was a sausage s, and all of the guys here seemed more interested in getting drunk than anything else. “Hey, uh…yeah, It’s ok I guess.”

Brad smirked, and leaned against the wall, blocking Gregory’s path. “Hey, so you’re the hot shot Freshman, right? The bro who’s supposed to take us all the way to the Rose Bowl or something. Some of the other bros were talking you up–I thought ya’d be bigger ‘r somethin’.”

“Well, when you’re a receiver, being quick is more important than being big,” Gregory said, looking at the guy blocking his way out. He sure didn’t have what it takes by any means, not with a bug gut like that. He doubted that Brad did much of anything physical, besides flipping channels on the remote, and getting up for more beer. “Gotta keep my figure, you know?”

“Hey, well, a few beers can’t hurt anyone, right?” Brad said, and clinked his red solo cup to Gregory’s–his own sent up a little splash of brown foam, but Gregory’s was clear. “Fuck man, is that fucking water in there? No one drinks fucking water at a Delta Iota Kappa Kegger!”

“Sorry, two’s my limit. I should get going too–I have some early classes tomorrow.”

“Two? Fuck bro, don’t be a fucking loser,” Brad said, “You gotta hang around a little while longer.”

“No, I fucking don’t alright?” Gregory said, “I came here tonight thinking I’d get some pussy, but all you fucks want to do is sit around like a bunch of idiots and get wasted. It’s boring. I’m gonna call a bitch and get laid.”

Brad had his arm high against the wall in front of Gregory, his hairy armpit exposed by the tanktop he was wearing. Gregory pushed forward, planning on sliding between Brad and the wall, but when he got close to Brad’s pit, the foulest odor hit him, and he froze, his face inches from the hairy mass…and he just kept…breathing. He knew he needed to keep moving, but his mind felt like it was shutting down, and struggling to reboot, and all he could really think about was how horrible Brad’s pits smelled…and how he kind of liked the stench.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, maybe a minute, when Brad tapped him on the shoulder. “Here bro! Here’s another beer for ya. I saw you needed a refill.”

Gregory looked around, a bit confused. Brad wasn’t where he’d been a moment before–had he just been standing and staring off into space like an idiot? How long could it have taken Brad to leave, and come back with a beer? He didn’t even want another beer, right? Hadn’t he been planning on leaving? “Uh…thanks, bro,” Gregory said, and took the beer from Brad, who just smiled.

“No problem bro! As president of this frat, I make sure everyone is taken care of at all times,” he gave Gregory’s stomach a pat, and leaned in close–close enough that Gregory caught another hint of his musk, and felt his cock stiffen in the front of his jeans. “Now relax and enjoy yourself! Have a good time, and get to know some of the guys. You’ll find out that we all have more in common than ya might think, bro.”

*Five Beers Down*

Gregory’s head was spinning, and he felt like he was losing control–but he didn’t lose control, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be feeling this drunk after five beers. He’d been lying earlier, when he’d told Brad that his limit was always two–back in high school he’d gotten plenty wasted on several occasions, but he…he needed some air, maybe. The air was too stale, and all of the guys were starting to get a bit rowdy, and sweaty, and every time Gregory got close to one of them and caught a whiff…

Well, it wasn’t like with Brad–that…that had been something else. Something really strange. No, the problem now, whenever he caught a whiff of another guy’s musky pits, was that it gave him a raging hard on, and there were no bitches in sight. He didn’t want anyone here thinking he was a faggot, but he also couldn’t deny how horny he was. He needed to get out, but Brad was watching the door–and watching him. The president had intercepted him again when he got too close, and insisted on getting him yet another beer, but maybe out the back somehow.

He made his way to the kitchen, claiming he needed a refill, and then slipped out the back door of the house and out onto the porch. The crisp fall air was a relief, and he felt his head clear up a bit immediately. It was definitely time to get out of here–there was something…off about this frat, and Gregory had no desire to hang around and find out what it was. Then, he caught a whiff of something on the wind, and someone spoke off to his side. “Hey bro, come out here for a smoke too?” He looked over, and sitting in a patio chair off to the side was one of the frat brothers, shirtless in the cool air, smoking a cigar. “Nice to have the company–I usually get stuck out here alone when I need a stogie.”

“No, I don’t smoke,” Gregory said, “I…uh…I just wanted some fresh air.”

“Fair enough. It can get a bit crazy in there. My name’s Josh by the way.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild…” Gregory looked around the yard, but he didn’t see a gate he could run for, and he didn’t want to leave with the guy just sitting here. He couldn’t just say nothing though, right? “Wish the party had some chicks–I’m horned up as hell, bro, but got nowhere to stick it.” His face turned red, unable to believe he’d just said that out loud. He must be drunker than he thought.

“Eh, who wants to deal with cunts anyway? They just ruin a good party. Us bro’s can always just jack it, right man? Come on, have a seat–this stogie’s got me ready to burst too.”

Gregory stared at him for a second, wondering if he’d just heard him right. Did this guy want to jack off with him? Was he some sort of faggot? He wanted to tell him to fuck off, but instead, he walked over, and sat down in the chair next to him on the patio, downwind, catching a mix of Josh’s cigar smoke and musk that made it even harder to think about what he was about to do, and how wrong it seemed.

“Hell yeah bro,” Josh said, and pushed down his shorts and jockstrap, letting his hard seven inch cock come free. He gave it a couple of slow strokes, and then looked over at Gregory, who couldn’t take his eyes off it. “Come on bro, let’s see it!”

September Bonus Story Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon