The humiliation for sure–but also the lack of control. It’s the inability to control something so integral to common society that makes incontinence horny to me. The shamelessness of shitting yourself and enjoying it, or feeling drawn to shit and the taboo of it. One of my favorite scat stories is probably “Bullshit Detail” and “Caught With His Pants Down.” Those stories were both super formative for me when I was first writing.
Category: Uncategorized
In The Doghouse (Part 2)
Gage grabbed the receiver. “Yeah, 911 right? Fuck yeah I got a fuckin’ emergency, two fucking guys just walked by mah fuckin’ house. Looked like they were casin’ the joint tah rob it.”
Carson went to shout so he’d be heard on the other line, but rather than words, what came out of his mouth was a long, and very loud, howl.
“Hey!” Gage shouted at him, “Hush you stupid fucking dog, I’m fuckin’ talkin’ tah the nice lady.”
In horror, Carson brought his hands to his face, and realized what had happened. Where his mouth and nose had been a second before, there was now a furry muzzle. He ran his hands along it, opened his mouth and felt his long tongue and sharp teeth, his new black nose that he could see when he crossed his eyes–he tried to speak again, but what came out were a couple short barks.
“Dumb fuckin’ mutt,” Gage said, and stomped over, wrapped his arm around Carson’s shoulders and pulled him closer, towards his armpit. When he did, the same stench as before washed over him, but this time it was both a hundred times more powerful to his new nose, and it also smelled amazing. Unable to stop himself, he started licking at Gage’s pit, who helpfully raised his arm up over his head, giving Carson full access it.
“A description? Didn’t git a good look at their faces ‘r nothin’. They were dressed like a couple of thugs though.”
This was insane, Carson thought, he had to stop this. He tried to push himself away, but his new mouth refused to cooperate.
“Nah, I didn’t see ‘em doin’ a crime, but they fuckin’ looked like it–ya can see it in the fuckin’ eyes, ‘n they took off when I yelled at ‘em! Guilty fuckin’ conscience.”
He was so close–so fucking close to the receiver, but he couldn’t do anything, he was fucking helpless.
“Whatever, if ya ain’t gonna do nothin’, then just fuckin’ say so!” Gage said, and slammed the receiver back down, and turned to Carson. “That was a very bad dog, ya made me have tah go and lie tah that nice lady, ya stupid mutt. We’re gonna have tah make sure ya don’t get intah any more trouble while yer livin’ here, that’s for sure.”
Carson whined, still unable to pull his face free of Gage’s stinking pit, but the man shoved him back a step, reached out, and grabbed both of Carson’s hands on his own. This time, he could see, as well as feel, the change ripping through them, as his fingers shrank, his nails growing longer and turning black, brindle fur running up his forearms to just below his elbows, wrist bones cracking and reforming. He looked at his helpless mitts and whined again, pleading with the man to let him go. Gage just grabbed the neck of Carson’s shirt and tugged it off him, letting his revealing his small belly and hairless arms. Carson tried to push past him and run for the door, no longer caring what he might look like, but Gage tripped him and he fell flat on his face. He knelt down behind him, tugged down both of Carson’s socks, and gripped his ankles, the same stomach churning sensation running from his toes to his knees.
Carson didn’t dare look back, he didn’t want to see. Scraping his new front claws against the linoleum, he tried to pull his knees under him so he could stand back up, but his leg refused to bend. All he could really manage was to push himself across the floor on all fours, while Gage just laughed behind him, spraying dark spit as he did. “Come on dogboy, yer on all fours fer good now. I thought a smart faggot like ya can figure it out, right?”
Out on the carpet, where he had better traction, Carson did, in fact, manage to get up on all fours, but it felt…precarious. His front paws were certainly happy, and wide enough to support him, but it felt like he was standing on his back toes, ankles up, his knees off the ground with his ass thrust a bit high. Looking under his body, and trying to ignore the sight of his slimy cock, still erect and hugging his belly, he saw two dog, toes wide with the heels lifted. From there, the leg bent twice, down at the ankle, and then back at the knee, but both sections of his legs looked…shorter. He doubted they’d be able to support his whole weight, even if he could bend them in the right direction. Still, he walked to the door as best he could, Gage following along behind, watching him. He got to the door and pawed at the knob, but there was no way his paw could get enough traction on it to open it–he was stuck.
“It was a good try, faggot, but yer mine now. Still, we gots a few more details tah sort out, right boy?” Gage gave a sharp tug on Carson’s ears, and with a jolt they shifted up to the top of his head, grew longer and flopped over, covered with the same brindle hair as his muzzle. With a touch at the base of his back, he groaned as a long tail pushed it’s way out, above his ass, and started waving to and fro against his will. “And lastly,” Gage said, running his hands over Carson’s back, he felt a million tiny pricks as fur sprouted all over his back and down over his ass cheeks, but without changing any of his body. “And now, while it’s been fun lettin’ ya struggle, I think we need ya nice ‘n obedient, right boy?” Gage said, and took a leather collar from the coat hook by the door–in the light, Carson caught a glint of the tag, which read in capital letters the word “FAGGOT”. Carson tried to get out from under him, but Gage wrapped it around his furry neck and latched it. “Now sit, Faggot!”
Against his will, Carson dropped his ass to the floor, his odd legs tucked up underneath him, tail still wagging, and sat back, looking up at Gage looming over him. He tried to move, tried to move his paws to try and get the collar off, but he couldn’t change position, not until Master said.
Master? No, no fucking way was this disgusting fat bastard going to be his Master!
“Much better, ‘n a good name fer a nasty dogboy like ya–now, I was going to have some fun wit’ ya tahnight, but ya’ve been a real bad boy–I think ya’ll have tah go tah bed without dinner, ‘r yer bone. Now go on–out in the yard ya dumb mutt.”
He tried to fight it, but his body refused to cooperate–he followed Gage out the backdoor and into the dogrun, Gage padlocking the door shut behind him, and Carson started barking, anything to get someone’s attention.
“Now stop that! Be quiet, ya mutt–ain’t nobody gonna find ya back here, trust me. Be good, ‘n I’ll see ya in the mornin’.”
I’ve been mauling an idea in my head. I’ve learned over the decades that those who say “I can’t be a (choose any one racist, homophobe, anti immigration) cause I have black friend, I work with a nice gay boy, my gardener is from Costa Rica those people are not those Mexicans. That they are proving who they are. Thought it be fun fit them to slowly wake up to his world, his buddies and family became his worse nightmare. He does have a lot of friend who are now what you fear the most. Thoughts.
I like it, though it feels a bit…heavy handed I guess? I’d also like the idea of the person actually being forced to become friends (or more) with people from those groups, too. That, or every time he says something like that, he becomes the “friend” he’s talking about.
How do you feel about depilation/headshaving, and tattooing as mediums for transformation in a literary setting?
I’ve always been a fan of tattoos triggering a change myself–though I haven’t done much with that lately, I’ll be honest. As for head shaving, it works great for fairly specific changes–like forced balding leading to a broader age progression shift, or removing all of the hair, and making them a skinhead.
It’s that time of the week again! Got a question? I have an answer! Put them here!
In the Doghouse (Part 1)
Carson looked up at the house, and double checked the address. Appearances could be deceiving, right? Just because the place looked like a wreck on the outside, didn’t mean it might not be spotless on the inside. He told himself that, but he didn’t believe it–still, he told himself he might as well check it out–rooms for rent around here scarce and expensive–and this was one of the few he could really afford right out of college. He let himself through the chainlink gate and walked up to the front door, paint peeling off it. The screen opened up with a screech and loose hinge, and he knocked, hoping no one would answer. But he heard a deep voice muttering something on the other side, and after a few moments, the door opened.
Yeah, there was no way this was going to ever work, not if this was the guy who owned the place. Even if he hadn’t looked like a complete slob–easily 350 pounds, clothes stained and ill fitting, his hair grown out into a greasy mullet–the shirt he had on with the confederate battle flag across the front of it, stretched out by his huge belly had quite faded, told Carson that even if the room was decent…he was never going to get along with a landlord like this. The man hocked a wad of black tobacco spit onto the step beside Carson, and asked, “What the fuck you want, boy?”
“Oh, uh…there was an ad saying you have a room for rent? But I–”
“Want a look, eh?” the guy said, interrupting, grabbing Carson by the arm and pulling him inside, “It ain’t much, but helps with the mortgage.”
Carson stepped carefully around the mess filling the entire house, most of it trash, and the stench nearly made him gag. Still, now that he was inside, he had to at least play along for the moment.
“My name’s Gage. I don’t really give a fuck about you makin’ a mess or whatever–you pay your rent, ‘n you can do whatever the fuck you want, as long as I don’t have to talk to the cops about it.”
“Yeah, I…just need a place for the summer, until I start my grad program in the fall,” Carson said.
Gage snorted, “Some college kid eh? Whatever–waste a fuckin’ money–just gonna turn ya into some pussy faggot liberal.”
Gage led him down the hall to the spare room Gage was offering, but Carson didn’t want to bother looking at it, after what he’d said. “You know? Fuck this. I am one of those liberal faggots, you know? Fuck you–I wouldn’t want to live with some filthy slob like you anyway, you live like an animal.”
Gage just smiled, showing off the tobacco leaf stuck between his teeth, “Yeah, I had ya pegged fer one a those faggots–lucky I keep a room fer animals like ya’ll too,” he grabbed Carson by the arm and hauled him into the room with him–for a fat slob, he was strong, and Carson couldn’t break his grip. He dragged Carson to the window in the room, which looked out on the yard behind the house. There, Carson saw a dogrun with a sizable doghouse against the back fence. “Ain’t the nicest a quarters, but ya’ll fit in there just fine soon enough.”
Carson again tried to tug his arm away, but Gage hauled him in closer, where Carson could get a proper smell of his personal stench, and then shoved one of his hands down the front of Carson’s pants, grabbed hold of his cock, and Carson felt something like a shock sear through his cock and balls.
“Heh, animal–we’ll see who’s the fuckin’ animal,” Gage said, leaning in, groping Carson’s dick and balls with one of his calloused hands. It felt…different. Wrong, and yet Carson found himself moaning with pleasure, as ashamed of that as he was. Gage used his other hand to pop the button and drop the zipper on Carson’s jeans, and then shoved down his pants. Carson leaned over his own smaller gut, wanting to see why he felt so strange, and gasped at what he saw–his cock and balls, they weren’t his anymore–they were…a dog’s.
A short, furry sheath ran up under his belly, and a bright red cock jutted out from it, and into Gage’s hand. It seemed…wet and slimy, and yet the sensation was very close to bringing him to his knees. “Fuck…how…what did you do?”
“Now now, be a good boy, and we can have a good time,” Gage said, “I never had much of a thing fer fags like you, but nothin’ turns me on quite like a filthy dogboy.”
He had to get out of here, he had to get help, but Gage’s grip was so strong. Carson leaned in, relaxing slightly into Gage, as disgusted as he was by the idea of being anywhere close to him, and then, when he felt the grip on his arm relax slightly, he shoved him away and ran–or tried to run. He had to abandon his shoes, pants and underwear to get moving at all. This, he realized, wasn’t the best choice–he couldn’t very well run outside with nothing on–with nothing covering his new cock in particular. He turned away from the front door, and looked around for a phone, since his was still in his pants. He spotted a landline hanging on the wall in the kitchen, fought through a pile of junk to reach it, and gave a sigh of relief when he heard the dial tone, punching in 911 as gage rounded the corner and raced towards him. Before the operator picked up on the other line, Gage was on him. He touched Carson’s face with his hand, and Carson felt the same disturbing shock ripple through his mouth and jaw with the force of a punch. He dropped the receiver and stumbled back, as the operator picked up on the other line.
September Patreon Suggestions Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon
This month’s suggested stories are done and ready for all you patrons to download!
Each month I take suggestions, and use them to write a few short pieces based on those prompts. This month, there’s a sequel to an older story of mine called “The Audition”, some weight gain and mind drain, piss addiction and mind control, and an inanimate pipe TF and some pipe bear fun to go with it! All it takes is one dollar a month to be able to submit ideas, and read the completed stories. To give you an idea of what these look like, here’s a suggestion I took from August.
Loopholes
Barron could, in some possible world, forgive one of his neighbors for having a dog, even if it was against the rules of the building. He had, in fact, tried to be patient. Most of the time, in fact, the dog seemed to be well behaved, or at the very least quiet, but this was the third Saturday in a row where he had been woken from a dead sleep at six in the morning by the sound of the mutt yapping its head off through the wall. He dialed the number for the building office below, but got no one–maybe it was too early. In any case, something had to be done–Barron was sick of it. He threw on some clothes, left his condo, and pounded on his neighbor’s door.
It was a few moments before the door opened, and a younger man peeked through the crack. He was new to the building–in fact, Barron hadn’t even gotten the young man’s name yet, but this was as good an introduction as any. “Hey, I’m your neighbor–I can’t help but hear that you have a dog in there–through my wall. You know this building has a no pet policy, right? It’s in our contract?”
The young man smiled, “Ah, I had a conversation with the office about that actually, and we worked out a clarification to that. See, it isn’t a no pet policy, really, but a no “animal” policy. I found that to be fair for me and my pup.”
Barron just stared at him confused.
“Look, step inside and see for yourself! He’s very nice, and he loves strangers,” he said, and opened the door so Barron could step inside. He did so, and in the living room, he found himself looking at…well, he wasn’t quite sure what it was, but even he had to admit that it wasn’t a dog. It was a man. A man in a rubber suit of some sort…but even that wasn’t quite right, because looking at him, on all fours…his body was all wrong.
“Isn’t he cute? His name is Rover Collins. Say hi Rover!”
Rover turned in a circle and gave a bark, giving Barron a chance to see all of him–including his face, the lower half of which was obscured by a rubber mask, which wrapped up the side of his head to a pair of floppy rubber ears. The eyes–he knew those eyes. “Wait, Robert?” Barron asked, “Is that you?”
Rover didn’t reply, but Barron knew it had to be him–Robert Collins, another neighbor of his on this floor.
The young man came up behind him, and Barron turned and saw that he, too, was wearing a rubber suit, with a generous opening for his cock and balls in the crotch. “Robert and I had a nice chat a couple weeks ago. I told him how much I missed having a pup, you see, and he was more than willing to help, right Rover?”
“This…what the fuck is this?”
“But I thought, why stop at puppies, you know? I have so many ideas, and so many neighbors! Like you. I was hoping you’d come by today, Barron–I’ve had Rover barking his head off, just for you.”
Barron shoved his way past the young man and ran for the door, but he ran right into someone standing in the doorway. Looking up, he recognized the face of Mr. Harrison, the building supervisor, leering down at him with a cruel grin on his face, under the rubber hood he was wearing, and the rubber shirt, and vest, and pants, and boots. “See? Part of my understanding with management was that Mr. Harrison was going to help me with…enforcement, right Harrison?”
“Yes master,” Harrison said, stepped forward and began tearing at Barron’s clothes until he was completely naked, and then the young man grabbed him in his rubber coated arms, and he felt the rubber turn wet, and begin creeping over his skin. “Now now, just relax. You’ll enjoy being my big bull so much, trust me, you’ll love it.”
“Yeah, come on, that’s it,”
Barron moaned, a bit groggy, and tried to move, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be working correctly, leaving him flailing on his side.
“Come on ya big lug, you can do it. Harrison, he’s heavy! Give me a hand.”
Barron felt four hands on his back, but instead of helping him stand upright, they rolled him towards his belly. He felt his arms and legs get under him, somehow, and he stood, shaky, looking down at the carpeted floor below him, disoriented.
“There you go, Mr. Bull! That’s very good.” The praise made his heart flutter a bit, but everything still seemed so…strange to him. What was going on? He didn’t remember much at all, beyond Robert, and then Harrison. The young man tugged something in front of his face, and he felt a sharp pain in his nose. “Come on, I want you to see.”
His arms and legs walked, but it didn’t seem to be in a way he found familiar. For one thing, why were his arms and legs the same length? He tried to look down and back under himself, but the young man kept his head up by tugging on whatever was attached to his face, until they arrived in front of a mirror, and he let Barron see his body.
The rubber…it was everywhere, but it didn’t feel like he was wearing it. It felt…like his skin, like it was a part of him. It covered his arms and legs, and they were molded to look like a cattle’s four limbs, with thick shoulders and haunches, and heavy hooves where his hands and feet ought to be. Were…were they in there? He couldn’t feel them at all. He lifted one front leg and shook the hoof, scared out of his mind. There was a rubber bull tail whipping above his ass, and his cock…what the fuck had happened to his cock and balls? He saw a thick, black cock slide out of a rubber sheath running along his belly, close to a foot long, but his balls…they didn’t look like balls anymore, they looked like an udder. His face was covered mostly in rubber, like Robert’s was, aside for the eyes. His mouth was twisted into a bullish snout, and in the end was a thick steel ring–that’s what the young man had been tugging on.
“What do you think, Mr. Bull? You’re going to be providing a lot of milk for me and the rest of my pets. From now on. Good, healthy milk.” He got down, put a bowl under Barron’s udder, and tugged on one rubber teat. He moaned in pleasure as a squirt of thick cum jetted out into the bowl, and then another, each tug like a miniature orgasm, and each time, he felt his mind shrink further and further away from him, until he was mooing and looing like a real bull, eager for his master to hook him up to the pumping station for the day, and drain him dry.
On Monday, Barron tugged the sleeve of his suit down self-consciously, did one last inspection in the mirror, and slipped out of his condo. Robert was leaving as he came out, but avoided making any eye contact with him. He couldn’t blame him, really–but he felt his cock slip a bit out of his sheath at the thought of how he’d fucked Rover’s hole on Sunday, while Master and Harrison had cheered them on. His balls gave a little squirt too, and looking down he saw he already had a stain on the front of his trousers from them leaking. This…this was going to be a challenge.
The door beside him opened, and Master poked his head out. “Shouldn’t you be betting to work, Mr. Bull?” he looked down, and smiled.
“I…I can’t go like this. Can’t you change me all the way back? Please? Just for work?”
“Then how will you remember that you’re my pet?” Master said, “Come in, I can do something else for you instead.”
A few minutes later, Barron left Master’s apartment, fiddling with his crotch, blushing profusely. A fucking diaper–he was wearing a fucking diaper. On the subway a bit later, to his horror, he felt his cock release a blast of piss into his pants as well–but true to his word, Master’s diaper sucked it all down. It seemed…hungry. Was it…a person too?
He pushed the thought away, and focused on getting to work. Keep Master happy, and everything would be fine, he told himself. Be a good pet, and everything would be just fine.
September Patreon Suggestions Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon
I think I remember hearing that you were down south? Anyway I was just thinking about Texas and other southern states that I’ve been hit by the Hurricanes. What’s your response to that? Or generally the attitude and actions have been taken and light of what’s been going on with regards to Emergency Response flooding and everything else
Nah, I’m up here in the Northwest. I don’t know much about what’s been going on with the hurricane stuff–we’ve mostly been dealing with a whole lot of fires up here. The rains finally come though, so that should be sorted out soonish.
Symbiotic Justice (Part 5)
CW: Rape, Violence
Lief’s mind struggled, in the end. It couldn’t help but struggle as the grey matter within his skull was pierced over and over my countless tentacles, and slowly drained away, the new knot of the alien’s thoughts overwhelming him. Lief didn’t exist anymore, not really. There were bits of him, in the beast’s thoughts–the occasional memory, and certainly plenty of the hosts intellect was preserved. The beast was thankful to have found a host with self-awareness. Usually it’s kind simply took over whatever creature happened across it, eventually consuming every lifeform on the planet, gaining sentience as it’s hive mind grew larger and larger. But to have taken over such a intelligent creature to begin with–this world would fall much more quickly than most.
The three wrestlers writhed in agony, and behind the parasite, the coach pushed himself to his feet, jaw sagging, eyes a pale, milky white. The same milky emptiness of Lief’s parents, of all of the new thralls it had made. It was the only fate reserved for those beings too weak to give it much nourishment, but who could still be of use to it, before the culling to come. “Get your car. Be around back, and ready to transport them,” the beast said. The words were no longer human, but the thrall knew what it’s master desired, and left the room, the parasite shuddering, growing, hair filling in across the rest of his body, writhing in delight, jaw cracking and breaking, his mouth widening as more teeth pushed their way through his bleeding gums. Claws long and sickle sharp, bestial feet capable of sprinting faster than sixty miles an hour.
When each young wrestler had been reduced to a husk, barely alive, the beast began to fill them with seed, like it had his brother and the other two jocks now in the basement of Lief’s home–which the parasite had converted into its lair. Half an hour later, the jocks were full, gelatinous and pale, barely able to keep their forms upright, but they followed their master back out of the locker room, and onto the track, where the coach was waiting. Together, they loaded the three into his truck–but it was too small for for the parasite’s now ten foot frame. He gave the coach directions, and bounded off into the evening, heading home its own way–through the field where it had been born.
And there, crossing that field, he found Jimmy. Jimmy, a junior at school, weak and frail, and picked on almost as much as Lief had been. Lief smelled him–no good as food, no good as a thrall…no good for anything…and yet the remaining bits of the host’s mind were clammering at it, demanding…justice. The parasite had no understanding of this concept, but saw no reason why its host couldn’t be granted its desire in this case. Before Jimmy could react, the beast was upon him, wrapping him in his three cocks, stinging and paralyzing him, before hefting his limp, bleeding body up over one hairy shoulder and carrying him to its lair.
The parasite beat the coach there–it took a moment to deposit the immobile, but whimpering Jimmy on the basement floor, and waited while the coach ushered the three flabby things which had been Erik’s best friends down into the dank, quiet space below. Erik–or the thing that had been Erik–muttered and groaned at the sight of it’s master, eager to please it, but it could do little now that the seed filling him had begun to grow. It was eating away at the rest of Erik’s body, the parts the beast couldn’t feed on, Erik’s arms and legs withering, his gut and body bloating, skin growing tough and leathery, head slowly melting into the rest of his body. The other two, Tommy and Mason, Lief had wanted to toy with them a bit longer, and they flailed over to the beast, licking and sucking at it, hungry for more seed, hungry to be completed, and the three wrestlers joined them–but the beast shoved them all away with a roar, grabbed Jimmy by the hair, and dragged him to where Erik’s decaying body was gently throbbing with new life.
It was close now, only a few more hours before the seed would be complete. The beast settled against the opposite wall, and allowed its other seed-carriers to service it, sucking at its cocks and nipples, licking its fur, hungry for the sustenance only it could provide them. Slowly, Erik’s face hardened, the eyes dying away, skin growing brittle and hard, until it cracked apart and crumbled away, leaving just a small, rocky ball where his brother had been moment’s before. Jimmy stared at it–it was all he could do, frozen as he was, and after a couple of moments, the rocky pouch pulsed, and burst–releasing a slimy tentacle which crawled over to him and latched onto his cock.
It would be a couple of hours, while the new beast bonded with his host–in the meantime, the parasite should hunt and bring back some food for them both–it would enjoy watching Jimmy feed, enjoy watching him learn the kind of power they could have now, the kind of power these creatures could give them. Garrett, on the lacrosse team, had always been particularly vicious to Jimmy, as had his father, one of the coaches at school. A bit…old and chubby for a proper meal, but delicious all the same. The beast hefted himself up, and noticed the coach was still there, at the base of the stairs, doing nothing. He could be bait, at least. He whispered in the coach’s ear, caressing him gently with his claws, and then they emerged from the basement and into the night. A new world, the beast thought, and what a delicious world it was.
I’ve been following the Alien story you’re writing rn, and this gave me some ideas. Have you thought writing about a brain parasyte which induces lust in it’s host and makes them extremly potent, while the parasyte itself wants to use the host’s sperm to breed? It takes over your body and enlarges your testicles and your whole body becomes extremly sensitive, the urge of planting your seed in someone else making you loose touch with reality and becoming either consumed, or consuming others.;3
It’s certainly a nice idea! I like it a lot, actually.
Bracken's Corner 