I Dream of Bacchus (Part 1)

“Don’t make this a big deal, Aarin,” Raury said, as he got his clothes on, “You’re the one who said you didn’t want any strings, remember?”

“These are fucking strings, you fucker, and now I’m in the fucking middle of it. You could have at least fucking told me that I’m the fuckbuddy in this situation. Does he even know about me?”

Raury laughed, and shook his head.

“Oh that’s real fucking sweet of you. Turn me into a fucking homewrecker. Do you know, what this sort of shit does to people’s spiritual health?”

Raury just rolled his eyes and got dressed a bit quicker. Aarin was sexy–lithe, dark Mediterranean complexion, that fabulous hair rolling past his shoulder is waves, and that black beard set against his blue eyes, but as soon as he started in on his druidic, gypsy, paganistic bullshit, he did his best to exit the conversation, and the room, as quickly as possible.

“You have to tell him–I’m not going to have my balance fucked with just because you’re too chickenshit to ask someone for an open relationship. No fucking wonder I haven’t felt like myself lately, this is all fucking you!”

“Would you fucking calm down with your fucking magic mumbo-jumbo? It’s fucking fine,” he grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. “I’ll text you, alright?”

“If you don’t fucking tell him in two fucking days, I’ll know, Raury.” Aarin said, following him to the door, “If you don’t, then I’ll take matters into my own fucking hands.”

Raury whirled around, “You stay the fuck away from him–and like he’d believe you anyway, if you tried and tell him. You know what? Fuck this–I’m sick of your fucking magic shit anyway. I’ll go find someone else to fuck around with, since you can’t fucking be cool.”

With that, Raury pulled open the door and left Aarin’s apartment, leaving him fuming inside. He should have known this would happen with someone like Raury, but the energy he put out was so damn useful. Still, Aarin knew he couldn’t simply let this stand. He’d give him two days–48 hours-and if he hadn’t done anything to right this, then Aarin would be forced to balance the scales some other way instead–and Raury would have to deal with the consequences in…other ways.

A forest. Deep forest. He never remembers how he got there, or why he entered, and while he knows he should be trying to find his way out, he can sense that, instead, his path is taking him deeper still. The air is still and muffled, but on occasion, he can hear the sound of…animals in the distance. Goats bleating, donkeys braying, cows mooing.

It was now two weeks since Raury had fought with Aarin at his apartment. True to his word, Raury had ghosted him, even when he’d sent him some cryptic text a few days later–he didn’t even remember what it had said, he’d just deleted it and blocked the contact. But starting that night, he’d had a recurring dream, or nightmare…he wasn’t quite sure how to classify it. What he did know, was that each time it occurred, it was so vivid–every detail remaining with him when he awoke. He’d wanted to tell Jared, his boyfriend, about it when he woke up…but each time he’d hesitated, feeling like it would be wrong to mention it to anyone for some reason.

He was getting closer to the sounds now. Where before there was only a hint of sound in the stillness, it was becoming a rather raucous noise. Other sounds were coming through as well–the clink of metal and glass, stomping and clapping, flutes and drums and strings playing odd, discordant tunes.

Each night, the dream had grown longer. The first few nights, he’d only been lost in the forest, certain that someone–or something–was watching him, but nothing ever made itself known to him. Now, he’d begun hearing the sounds of some strange celebration deep among the trees, but the closest he’d gotten was the glint of a torch between two trunks. Tonight, however, felt different. He was deeper in the wood, but also deeper in his sleep, deeper in his mind. He was so…desperately curious, as to what was in the woods. He felt that if he could just find whatever event was occurring, that then, perhaps, the dreams would stop.

He saw the glint of light, in the distance, and realized then, how dark the forest had become. Whether it was because twilight had arrived, or because the forest overhead had become so dense as to block the sky, he didn’t know. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, and he crept closer, drawn to the light, drawn to the sound of laughter, following the odd, muddled scents of musk and manure and wine. He drew closer, so he could see who was there, and found himself confronted by the strangest sight–the creatures weren’t animals at all–or rather, they weren’t…entirely animals. He recognized the forms of some from myth–satyrs and centaurs, though their forms were uglier, more bestial than what he might have imagined. There was no clear distinction between the human and the animal in their bodies–everything seemed to have grown together into a jumble. But the faces, at least, if slightly warped, were human. That seemed, easier, somehow. It wasn’t until he’d overcome the shock that he realized how quiet things had grown, and that the beasts had turned towards him at the edge of the clearing, staring at him. They didn’t seem surprised–they seemed to have been expecting him, and from the glint in their eyes, he was no longer certain he should have found this place at all.

He tried to run back into the wood, but he got only a few yards before two satyrs rushed after him and tackled him, driving him face first into a mass of loam. “There’s our new Bacchus! Just like he promised.”

“Then we keep the deal. Come, little Bacchus! Come with us and be merry.”

For this week’s last recommendation, you have to go offline! A month or so ago, @cigarpervdad recommended this book on his tumblr, and being the curious sort, I thought I’d check it out. I have a few…issues with it–the sex scenes are great, the love story is…overwrought, and the story world has some odd inconsistencies that bother me–that but’s worth a post of it’s own.

On balance I’d say its worth a read, especially if you like detailed bondage and SM play. You can find it on Amazon here!

mutabear:

I had just moved into a new apartment and I was struggling to move all of my things in. Luckily for me, my new neighbor offered to give me a hand. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his early forties, but he was surprisingly strong and made the work go by much more quickly. He introduced himself to me as Greg, and I invited him in for a beer after we got all the boxes out of my truck. We were both sweating a lot, so he jovially suggested taking off our shirts to let the ceiling fan do its job. I laughed and agreed, and soon we were drinking shirtless. He had a pretty good body for an older guy, a decent amount of muscle with plenty of dark colored chest hair. We chatted for awhile, and he told me to come by if I ever wanted some company. I thank him for all his assistance and then set about the task of readying my apartment to at least be able to sleep in that night.
I usually saw Greg a couple of times a week in the next two months. He was always hanging around whenever I needed help, whether it was bringing in groceries or moving in a new sofa. I really appreciate it having a friend that I could count on. He loved relaxing with me, usually shirtless, and drinking beer on my porch. I’m not sure why, but for some reason I was doing terribly with the ladies ever since moving in. It seemed that no matter what I tried, I could never get spared more than a passing glance. I was used to getting laid almost every weekend in college, so this was a big change for me. I remember complaining to Greg about it one night, and he nodded understandingly. He apparently didn’t get a lot of action either, since women didn’t want an older guy who wasn’t well off financially, so we toasted to our poor results and mutual bad luck.
The next time Greg came over, he seemed like he was excited. We had just finished moving a dresser up the stairs and into my room, and now we were relaxing shirtless with a few beers. After our third one, Greg said he had an idea, something to solve our issues with our lack of sex. I was keen on what insight he could provide, so I finished my beer and sat attentively. He then told me it wasn’t too uncommon for two blue-balled dudes to help each other out, that a blowjob between buds wasn’t weird, and we would both feel better after getting off with something other than out hands. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t consider myself gay, but I was honestly considering swapping head with my older neighbor, as I was tired of beating off every night alone.
I felt anxious about being unwilling to go down on him after he got me off, so I hesitantly said we should finish another beer first. He got us a fifth, and pulled off his pants while recommending I do the same. We then sat together, in just our underwear, quickly drinking beer to get ready for the next step. I belched, then cautiously moved next to him on the couch. He casually slid off his pants, revealing a semi hard cock with a big foreskin covering the leaking head. Greg grabbed his dick and gave it a few strokes, and I watched in awe as it hardened to a thick eight inch pole, dripping precum down the shaft. I nervously grabbed it and began to stroke him, not wanting to dive into it with my mouth. He closed his eyes and told me how that felt good, that I should go slow so I wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable.
I continued to stroke Greg’s dick while my own was clubbing up in my boxers. It felt surprisingly erotic to be giving another man a handjob, and I felt pretty sexy knowing my hand was causing my neighbor to emit small sighs of contentment. I knew I considered myself straight, but if he was willing to do this to me too, then maybe it was worth a try. I bet over the couch to try to suck him, but he opened his eyes. He told me to get down on the floor and suck him there, that that would be the most comfortable for both of us. I agreed, then slid off the couch as he spread his legs, his hard cock still dripping a copious amount of precum down onto his large hairy sack.
I used my arms to grab his legs, then I slowly lowered my mouth onto his big leaking cockhead. I was expecting it to taste salty and gross, but instead his precum tasted good. Yes, it was slightly salty, but it was the taste of masculinity. Also surprising was how good it felt to slide my tongue around his foreskin. I began slowly licking up what he had leaked so far, finding myself enjoying it more and more. I realized that if I could suck him more pleasurable than I had jerked him that I would be rewarded with much more precum. I zealously began trying to shove his dick down my throat, but gagged when his large cockhead hit the back of my throat. He put his hand on my head, rubbing my hair, and told me that deepthroating would come with time. He said I was doing a good job with what I had, and that I would have plenty of time to practice.
I slowly bobbed my head up and down his dick, using my tongue to swirl around his head, licking his frenulum, and shoving about five inches of his girthy shaft into my mouth. I used my right hand to gently fondle his sack, rubbing his big nuts to entice him to produce more precum for me to lick up. I continued this for several minutes, blissfully pleasuring Greg and slurping up all the precum he would produce. He then used his hands to hold my head in place, saying he needed to get off and that I just needed to relax. He than began facefucking me, driving his cock into my mouth at a fast pace, moaning louder and louder.
He starting saying I was such a good cocksucker for a first timer, that he would get me trained up into a perfect mouth for his dick, that I would get addicted to sucking his daddy cock. With a roar he began shooting his seed into my mouth, spurt after spurt of hot jizz that had me swallowing frantically so that I wouldn’t spill a drop. After the second swallow I moaned around his dick as I felt myself shooting my load from sucking him to completion. Greg proceeded to empty his balls into me, shooting what must have been a quarter cup of cum down my hungry throat. With a moan he slid his dick out of my mouth, but moved my face so I was resting on his balls. He saw I shot too, and laughed. He told me this was a perfect arrangement, that any time either of us was horny I could suck him off and I could shoot hands free. Plus I would get all the cum and pre I could handle. I wasn’t sure about it, but then he squeezed another drop of semen out of his mostly flaccid cock, smeared it onto his finger, then stuck it into my mouth. I moaned and chubbed up again, revealing how much I enjoyed this. It only took one time, but I was hopelessly addicted to Greg’s daddy cock.

I’m on vacation this week! This is a featured author you should go support! I’ll be back with original content next week.

Source: amateurgaylovin

mutabear:

I was traveling to Germany for two weeks as part of my jobs cross training program. I worked in sales, and they like to send their new employees, especially ones straight out of college, abroad to get some traveling and work experience. I really love my job, and it paid very well, so I was pretty excited to be able to travel on the company’s dime. I packed up plenty of clothing for the trip, and the flight was a breeze. When I got to my hotel there, I was very excited to find out that I was in a single room. Most other guys on this trip had to share, but I guess I was the odd man out.
I stripped out of my clothing after the trip, admiring my smooth lean body in the mirror. My long blonde hair came down to my neck in a fashionable and messy style, and my clean-shaven face and sparkling blue eyes ensured that I had the interest of ladies very frequently. I admired my fit, trim body too. I would try to go running every morning and lift some evenings in order to stay cut, and I looked great for 22. I slid into my casual clothing and planned to hit the bars since I did not have to do anything until noon the following day and the time zone change would keep me up anyhow.
I woke up with a rather wicked hangover when my alarm blared at 10 a.m. I started to roll out of bed, and I noticed that I felt off for some reason. I tried to sit up, and I noticed I had substantially more of a midsection than I did before. Coughing a little bit, I stumbled into the bathroom and flicked on the light. I was dumbstruck with what stood before me in the mirror. Gone was my youthful body, my preppy haircuts, and my young and innocent looks. Instead of man in his late thirties stared back at me. I had a bit of a guts and my body was completely covered in brown hair. My beard had grown in, and I could even see white hair among my face. I felt horrified, but also I felt like I was lacking something. There was a deep craving inside of me that I had not known before and I felt sweaty and anxious. I did my best to clean myself up in the shower, and I shaved my body for 30 minutes to get all the disgusting hair off. I towelled off and stepped out and looked in the mirror, and was panicked when I saw it all simply grew back in when I stop shaving.
I went to go change into my slacks and sports jacket, but was pleasantly surprised to discover the closet filled with an array of fine suits. My anxiety eased a little bit as I began putting my clothes on. I slid the silk socks at my feet, and then I noticed I seems to only have bright colored jock straps for underwear. Puzzled by this, I grabbed a red and black one and slid it on. It caressed my much larger pouch comfortably, and would do for now until I got some boxer briefs. I slid on a white V-neck shirts and began getting into my button down. A nice blue one would do for today. I then started putting on the pants, a dark grey with a nice cuff at the ankle. The tire came on next comma and I expertly tied a double windsor with a Paisley silk tie. The belt and shoes came on next, polished black soft leather that I laced up carefully and swiftly. The jacket was last, and I eased into it.
I looked at my reflection again in the mirror. I was still missing something from my morning routine. Yeah, I looked good and ready to go in to the shareholders meeting, but there was something else I was missing. I walked back out into my hotel room, and I noticed a carved wooden box on my bedside table that was not there before. The word humidor came to mind, but I was not sure what that was. I opened the box and inside were several earthy smelling cigars, two boxes of matches, and an engraved cigar cutter. Of course! I hadn’t had my morning cigar yet. I pulled one outs and unwrapped it, expertly cutting it before walking out onto the balcony with it and my matches. I lit up and begin puffing standing and looking out at the city before me, feeling the last bit of anxiety disappear when I began smoking. I would need to grab a cup of coffee and a pastry, but then I could comfortably walk into my presentation.
I had heard the company had sent some young guys from the Stares to sit in on the meeting at observe, so I would get plenty of eye candy while I presented. I could feel my memories changing and rearranging the more I smoked, reinforcing my new life as a business executive. I could also feel my cock starts to tent a little bit, and I understood now why I wear jockstraps with my suit. I couldn’t have my fat cock leaving a trail of pre-cum inside of it and the large pouch jockstrap would be one of the only ways to keep me secure. I was also going to need to find a piece of ass tonight, as I could not seem to remember fucking last night. Yeah, it wasn’t too hard to find a cute hairy guy around here to come over and ride my cock. Just one of the perks of being a vice president I suppose. I finished my cigar, idly rubbing my bulge as I stared out over the city from my penthouse suite. I just had to get through the day, then I could smoke another cigar, hit up some cute guys, and live the high life.

I’m on vacation this week! This is a featured author you should go support! I’ll be back with original content next week.

Source: therageoftheoctopus

The Filth in the Gym

muskwriter:

I’ve always hated the Eastside gym. I mean, over the course of wrestling season you get to see a lot of kinda run-down places, but Eastside seems to have zero maintenance or janitorial budget.

You might think I’m exaggerating, but when me and my partner Laz showed up today, the handle had literally fallen off the front door; it was being held open by an overflowing trash can. The white rat groaned as we passed by it. “How does this place even stay open?”

“People like us holding events here, I guess,” I said. The hall that led to the locker room was uncomfortably humid and smelled of mold. “Bringing an audience to a place like this probably brings in lots of pity cash.”

Most of the lockers were busted open, and many were so bent out of shape they wouldn’t even close. A fellow bull was in the process of trying to bang one shut, muttering curses. I didn’t even try; I just dumped my duffel bag on what was left of the bench and started stuffing my street clothes into it.

I heard the sound of running water on the other end of the room as some foolhardy soul attempted a shower. Now me, I know this place and try to come prepared to spend as little time here as possible—my shower waits till I get home, no matter how bad I stink—but some needs can’t wait.

Like the need that comes on sometimes with the sound of running water.

“I know I’m going to regret this,” I said, “But fuck it, I’ve got to piss.”

I ventured toward the facilities.

The restroom area was as bad as I’d feared. All the urinals were cracked or outright broken, one of the stall walls had collapsed, and a couple of the toilets were missing altogether. A layer of unidentifiable grime covered the vast majority of the room.

“This has got to be some kind of health code violation.”

I’d half decided it might be better to just find a discreet drain in the floor to let loose in when a gray-haired gorilla in red boxers stomped in.

“I wouldn’t risk it, boss,” I said.

He grunted and surveyed the room, then looked back at me. “You’ll do,” he growled, gesturing at an empty stall. “Get in there.”

I scoffed. “What? I didn’t come here to cruise, boss.”

I tried to push past him and leave, but he blocked me with his arm, grabbed me, and lifted me up in the air.

Fuck, he was strong. Despite my professional efforts, he had no trouble carrying me back to one of the missing-toilet stalls and tossing me against the wall.

“Now open up,” he said, pulling down the front of his boxers with one hand and hefting an uncut gray cock in the other, which was barely big enough to wrap around it.

“The fuck, ’rilla, I don’t even know you.”

“Ain’t a toilet’s job to make people’s acquaintance. Open your mouth or I’ll open it for you.”

I flipped him off and tried to scramble under the stall wall, but he grabbed hold of my leg with his foot and started dragging me back.

Who the fuck’s bright idea was it to give gorillas opposable thumbs on their feet?

He pulled me back into the stall and grabbed my horn, holding me at arm’s length. “Once again,” he said. “You’re going to take my piss, toilet bull. Is it going to be the easy way or the hard way?”

“Once again,” I said, “fuck you.”

The gorilla’s fist moved so fast that I felt the pain in my nose before I even realized he’d punched me.

Just let him fuckin’ piss on you, the back part of my brain thought. He’s too strong for you to put up a fight. My pride wanted to rebel, but I knew this guy had me where he wanted me.

Yet when I tried to voice my surrender, I found myself unable to move my mouth.

In fact, as the gorilla released my horn and stood over me with his dick in his hand, I found I was unable to move anything at all.

“That’s right.”

A stream of piss fired from his cock and splashed across my face before he was able to aim it at my open mouth. The taste and the smell of it made me want to gag, to spit it up, to do anything to get away from it—but instead I was stuck immobile, feeling it pooling at the back of my throat, unable even to swallow.

I don’t even know how my mouth held it all; the stream of piss went on for at least half a minute and I never felt any of it spill until the gorilla had nothing more to offer besides the last drips.

He put his dick away, unaffected by the resentfulness I was trying to put into my stare, and grabbed hold of my left horn again.

As he pulled down on my horn, I was horrified to find my throat opening up and the mouthful of piss rushing down into my stomach.

Somehow, it made my mouth water.

“It’s all downhill from here,” he said, and left.

Frozen in place, I tried to shake off the spell. I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m stronger than this.

An enormous gray hulk of a rabbit looked into the stall, gave me a smirk, and shut himself in with me. I watched with trepidation as he pulled his cock through the fly of his shorts and aimed it at my muzzle.

I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m not a toilet…

Despite the exertion of my willpower, I was unable to keep myself from opening my mouth wider, my body anticipating the rabbit’s piss.

The yellow stream was directed straight at the back of my throat, and my traitorous body accepted it—no, revelled in it, like some kind of golden reward. For being a good toilet.

I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m…

My mouth opened wider, eager to take in more of it, and I felt my body fusing to the floor and the wall. This time, when he pulled down on my horn, I didn’t feel the piss collect in my belly—it flowed all the way through me, to whatever pipe was carrying the waste away.

Fuck, I’m a toilet…

And even though the rabbit had finished pissing, he still stood over me, slowly stroking his dark gray cock.

“Time to finish what my buddy started.”

I was helpless to do anything other than watch as the rabbit’s unhurried strokes brought himself to full hardness.

“Soon there’ll be nothing left of you but another grimy fixture in this awful place…”

I was helpless to do anything other than watch as a strand of precum slowly developed from the tip of his cock, long enough to touch my— my instinct was to call it my lip, but at this point I could really only call it my rim.

“Filling up on piss and shit and cum and paper till the inevitable day you get clogged and left to rot like everything else here…”

I was helpless to do anything other than watch as his breaths quickened and his paw’s movements became faster and more erratic. I knew what was going to happen; at the edge of my vision I could see that where his precum had touched, my rim had become white, smooth porcelain.

“Welcome to your new life, stranger.”

I was helpless to do anything other than watch as thick ropes of cum shot from his cock and splattered across me, coating me from head to— from top to bottom in his seed.

I could feel it completing the change—not just my shape and my substance, as cum and fur combined to create porcelain and plastic and stainless steel, but my mind and my desires as well. I was a toilet now, not a…whatever I had been.

The rabbit squeezed the last drops out of his cock, put it away, and left.

His toilet watched him go and wished for more.

I heard a familiar voice calling a familiar name. “Targ! It’s go time! Hello?”

The seeker came into the bathroom area. “Where the fuck are you?”

A white rat in black-and-white–starred boxers came looking through the stalls. “What the…”

He looked at me, and for a moment I had a flash of memory. Laz! He recognized me, he’d find a way to—

“There’s a fucking clean toilet? Here?” He looked around behind him and made one last half-hearted call: “Ta-aarg?”

When no Targ answered, he said “fuck it” and came into the stall, pulling it shut and dropping his shorts.

The part of me that remembered being the rat’s wrestling partner looked on with dread as he rested his ass on my seat, while the rest of me was overwhelmed with an eager anticipation.

And when I started to hear him going to work—the deep inhalation before the shallow grunt as he began to push—the last bit of resistance faded away. After all, that old life I thought I remembered must not have any meaning if a friend I thought I had would be so casually feeding me his shit.

And then it started coming.

Shit splattered across my bowl as the rat hurried through his bowel movement, irregular grunts highlighting his effort. From my perspective as a toilet, the smell and the taste of the scat were appetizing in a way that a rapidly-shrinking corner of my brain found mortifying.

But there was no more fighting from that corner. I focused my full attention on the sound of the rat’s sputtering asshole as he gave me everything he had—the heavy dump of a guy who had clearly been holding it in for a while.

I was filthy on the inside, water and bowl, and I loved every second of it.

The rat finished after a minute of feeding me and reached for the toilet paper to wipe himself. I heard the sound of it tearing and then the unmistakable sound of an empty roll spinning in its holder.

“Fuck me,” Laz said, making a token attempt to clean his ass with the two or three squares that had been left, dropping the dirty paper in my bowl and pulling up his shorts. “That’ll teach me to ever trust this place again.”

He was so caught up in grumbling about it as he made his way out that he entirely forgot to flush.

And as I sat savoring the taste of him, I decided that suited me just fine.

I’m on vacation this week! This is a featured author you should go support! I’ll be back with original content next week.

Gotta Love the Pig

muskwriter:

The diner was usually a quiet place—even though it had the best pies in the county, it had yet to be ‘discovered’ by the folks in the city, so the clientele was mostly farmers and the older folks who lived out in the sticks.

Myself, I’d only found it because I was looking for work and I’d already run out of places to apply that were anywhere near where I actually lived. I was half disappointed when they actually did hire me: a long commute and a low paycheck? Awesome.

Still, every day is an opportunity to get a little bit better, and I tended to that dining room like a boss in hopes that I’d be able to move up the ladder, such as it was.

I’d been working there a few weeks before I first saw him.

The farmer was enormous. Now, a lot of folks are on the portly side around here, but this guy was at least a head taller than me and he was wide enough he needed to take two seats when I sat him at a table. (With a gut like his, our booths would have been out of the question altogether.)

Most people, I’m sure, would look at a guy like him with derision or contempt. And, well, while my first reaction may not have been the kindest, there was a part of me that wished I could follow after him. Not—not necessarily to be as big as him. But to just let go of what I thought I had to be, and be…my real self, whoever that was. Maybe a little more of a slob. Maybe a little fatter, sure. Maybe a little lazier.

I took his order and soon was bringing him out a plate piled up mostly with sausage and bacon.

“Gotta love the pig,” he said, as he started tucking in. “Don’t know whatever we’d do without them.”

Gotta love the pig, I thought. The sight of him eating had caused a stirring in my pants, and I made a quick retreat to the restroom to hide my sudden needy boner.

As soon as I got out of public view I couldn’t help myself—I scrambled to pull my dick out of my pants with one hand as I locked myself in the stall with the other and sat down.

Fuck, I want to be a pig, I thought, pumping my cock as I imagined being under the farmer’s massive belly and servicing him as he ate. The fantasy deepened, the image of myself becoming more and more piggish, grunting and squealing as my curly tail wagged from side to side. I just want to be a filthy beast for him to use…

I don’t know if it was the fact of me being in the restroom at the time, or just because it was the easiest filthy thing I could think of, but I couldn’t help but dream of taking it further—not just being a sex pig for the enormous, glorious man, but being a toilet pig for him as well. Why make him get up for anything when he could have a portable urinal on hand at any time?

In my daydream I was swallowing down loads of piss straight from the tap, eagerly slurping down the sharp-tasting liquid from what I imagined must be an enormous cock buried deep under all that fat.

The thirst carried over into reality. I need to be a pig, I thought, bending down to bring my face closer to my cock, and pointing its head at my mouth. I need—

Piss shot out before I was even ready, drenching my face and splashing over my shirt before I was able to get the stream under control. I drank in the smell and the taste of it and felt the warmth slide down my throat.

OINK, I thought. I’m a pig.

The thought of getting off faded as my piss stream ended. After all, what kind of release could be better than that? I pulled my pants back on and left the bathroom stall.

I was greeted by my reflection in the mirror: all too human. A little stocky perhaps, but definitely far from a proper pig.

I was half disappointed before I remembered my shirt was entirely drenched in urine.

I left the bathroom, luxuriating in the smell of myself, and called out to the manager that I’d had a rather bad restroom accident and needed to go home and change.

“Do, and you aren’t coming back,” she said.

“Fine.”

I left, feeling the big farmer’s eyes on me as I went.

Of course, I didn’t change when I got back to my apartment. Why would I? In fact, I’d taken the opportunity on the drive home to piss myself a couple more times. I was soaked, I smelled amazing, and I wanted more.

I went online and typed PIG into the personals search. What came back was far more than I’d expected: piss pigs, sure, but also scat pigs, pain pigs, scent pigs, cum pigs, fist pigs…

Anyone can be a pig, I thought. Anyone can let go of what they think they have to do, and pig out on what they really love.

I knew what I wanted. I posted an ad inviting all men to come and give a pig some piss. I put my home address in, too, because who wants to wrestle with emails?

At first I was a little worried about the kind of guys who’d just show up to an ad like that, but after the first guy—a burly biker type—came in, crammed a fat cock in my face, and made me gulp down every drop of piss that gushed forth, I realized I didn’t care.

This was my element.

The men started arriving. I’d have three or four lined up at a time. Most wanted to use me as a urinal, making me drink down all their piss. Some were happy just to drench me in it, soaking me from head to foot. A few shoved their dicks in my ass and filled me from that end. Sometimes they’d drop a load of cum in afterwards. I didn’t care, so long as I got what I wanted.

For a while there was a lull, and I sprawled out on my couch—noticing that someone had done me the favor of soaking it and a good deal of the rest of the room—and thought of what a good pig I was. I could smell the individual scents of every man that had came through, and their tastes had merged together into a single golden river of masculinity.

I was so lost in pleasure that I didn’t even notice I was face down and slurping piss from the couch cushions until I heard a tentative knock from someone in the doorway.

The man at the door was big; he wasn’t the giant that the farmer had been, but being shorter only made him look all the more round. He waddled in the door, breathing heavily—my apartment’s up a flight of stairs—and came around to take a seat on the couch beside me.

“Hope you don’t mind if I take a load off before I share my load,” he said.

I couldn’t hide my admiration of the big man—my hands already moved to explore the sides of his massive belly as I knelt in front of him. “Fuck,” I said. “Make yourself at home. A man like you gets carte blanche with a pig like me.”

He chuckled, reaching down to rub my chin. “Looks like you’ve been having all sorts of piggy fun already. But let’s give this snout a whiff of me.”

His hand moved up the side of my face, tracing along my—

My eyes crossed as I noticed the development on my face: my nose really had grown out into a snout. And I didn’t even have time to react before the big man hooked his fingers into my nostrils and pulled my head between his legs—into the dark, humid, musky space outlined by his thighs and underbelly.

OINK, I thought. I’m a pig.

The smell was even more powerful than I expected. At first I couldn’t tell if it was because having a piggish snout meant I could breathe in so much more of the scent of piss, or if—

“You know, when your belly hangs this low, you can piss yourself a little in public and no one can tell.”

I couldn’t help myself—I buried my face deep in that crotch and suckled as much of that stale piss from the denim as I could. After a few moments, I felt a new stream forcing its way through the fabric, and I planted my mouth over it and drank as eagerly as if I’d been thirsting for days.

More guys came around after him, but it just wasn’t the same.

I needed to serve a big man, I knew it now, and I already knew who that big man had to be.

I took my ad down, waited a little while for the last of the men to finish showing up—big or not, I wasn’t going to let any man’s piss go to waste—and drove back out to the country.

Of course, I’d been taking piss all day; evening was coming on now and there was no way the farmer would still be having breakfast at the diner. However, I felt a strange sense of ‘home’ in the area, like I knew where my…where my sty was, and how to get there.

I drove down back roads as the sun started setting; I couldn’t help but stroke my piss-filled gut on the way. It felt huge and bloated, pressed against the steering wheel, and I couldn’t get over the way it jiggled—my dick was hard as I reached down to push my seat back.

And it wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before my gut was swollen out against the steering wheel again, making me feel squeezed into my seat. The pig is coming out, I thought, feeling the wet clothes plastered against my body grow tighter. OINK. I’m a plump sausage.

I saw the light of a house in the distance and somehow knew it was the farmer’s home—the place I belonged.

I pulled up and tried to turn the car off, but found my fingers wouldn’t respond. In the moonlight I could just barely make out why: I didn’t have fingers anymore, and I couldn’t figure out how to make my trotters grab hold of stuff.

I decided to leave it running. The farmer would take care of it. I opened the car door—which was a little easier, but only barely—and before I could make two steps out I tumbled onto the ground.

That was silly, I thought, as I tried to work out what’d happened. Trying to walk upright. I’m a pig.

I went on all fours to the front door of the house, feeling my belly dragging on the ground the whole way. I’m gonna be the best pig. I could probably have reached the doorbell with a bit of effort but what kind of pig would do that?

I squealed long and loud until the farmer came to the door. My master, my owner, my farmer. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.

Like a good farmer he recognized me right away, even though I’d changed a lot since last he saw me. “Gotta love the pig,” he said, sighing a bit. “C’mon, porker. Welcome home.”

Please consider supporting my storytelling on Patreon!

I’m on vacation this week! This is a featured author you should go support! I’ll be back with original content next week.

June Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s requested stories are finished and ready for you all to download! All it takes is for you to support my Patreon at any level, from one dollar on up, and you can get access to these three stories, as well as all the suggestions I’ve done over the past several months now! It’s a pretty good deal. Plus, you’ll have the privilege of suggesting ideas of your own next month. If you’d like a summary of the stories this month, you can find that here. For an idea of what these stories are like, here’s one from last month to whet your appetite!

A Deeply Held Secret

“Good slave–now go on and take a look at yourself in the mirror. Tell me what you see. Tell me what you are.”

The bathroom had one full length mirror across from where he was positioned against the wall, which allowed him a full view of himself, his cock visibly throbbing in the rubber bodysuit Master had given him to wear for the night. Master Parker had outdone himself this time–he’d never even seen a suit like this before in his life. It was porcelain white from head to toe, with a full hood and urinal mask–larger than any model he’d seen before or ever worn–with a metal tube keeping his mouth forced open, ensuring he’d swallow every drop. His arms were pinned to his sides, and the bottom had no legs–only a space for him to kneel, making his body look like a seamless white hunk of rubber, with a head resting in top. He knew what he was, but he couldn’t speak with the tube in his mouth.

“You’re a human urinal, of course,” Master Parker bent down beside him, his black rubber suit a dark contrast to the slave’s white suit. “That’s what you’re going to be all night, isn’t that right? You’re going to forget you were ever anything else.”

The words felt like truth–but Master’s words always felt like that, after he’d sent his slave into his deep trance. He was a human urinal–nothing more. Designed to drink the piss of men better than him–he wasn’t even a man anymore, not entirely at least. He felt his cock go numb, and shuddered at the sensation, pleased to be an object again, like Master Parker wanted.

“It’s gonna be busy tonight, you know. Saturday night at the sleaziest bar in the city. You’re gonna be bursting tonight–but if you serve me well…if you serve everyone well, like a good human urinal…well, you’ve been in my service for a year now, and I think it’s time you finally learned the Secret.”

The Secret. It was something Master had taunted him with ever since they’d met. Master claimed he knew…something about him, something that gave him such power and control over the slave, a reason he was helpless and desperate to serve him. The slave didn’t know what it could possibly be, but he did know that Master Parker could…make him do, and feel, things no other dom had ever been able to. He wanted to know so badly, and so he would serve well, as he always did.

Master gave him his first load of piss, which he drank down with glee, and then he left the urinal to its work. Men began pouring in soon after the club opened, and seeing the freak kneeling against the wall, most were more than happy to use him. He drank load after load of piss, feeling his gut ballooning outward, the suit growing tighter against his skin as he filled up. On occasion, Master would bring in some rubber boy to fuck in front of the urinal, and had he been more than a human urinal at the moment, perhaps he would have even felt jealousy, but as he was, he was merely happy to watch his Master dominating and controlling others, taking his pleasure whenever and wherever he wanted. Hours passed, and soon it was four in the morning–the club was empty, and the slave was there, drenched with piss, gut full to bursting and aching for release, when his master finally returned.

“You did well, slave. Very well. I’m very pleased. I’m going to reveal your secret now–are you excited slave? You know what you are now, this moment, right slave? You’re a human urinal.”

It nodded.

“Good. Now–here’s the secret–you really are one of those two things, but you can’t really be both. Right now, you’re pretending to be one of them, right?”

He nodded.

“All your life, though, you’ve believed you were human–that the urinal part is fake. But here’s the secret: you aren’t human, slave. You can be human on occasion, but you aren’t really. You’re a urinal, slave. That’s what you really are. That’s the secret.”

The slave didn’t know what to make of that–it sounded ridiculous. It shook its head, and Master just laughed.

“When I snap my fingers, you’ll become what you really are, slave. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’ll be human again. Go on, prove me wrong if you can.”

He had to be wrong. He knew he was human, right? Master held his fingers together a moment, and then snapped them–and when he did, the slave felt a massive shiver run through its entire body, and it realized the truth: it had been wrong this whole time. It…it wasn’t human. It was just a urinal. The truth felt impossible–it couldn’t possibly be real.It tried to move, to struggle, but no muscle would respond–it…after all, it didn’t have muscles, right?

Master stepped to the side, allowing the urinal to see itself in the mirror across the room. The surface of its body no longer had the semi-translucence of rubber–it was porcelain. Real, solid porcelain. It’s head looked vaguely human, but it could…feel it’s mouth, it’s bowl–where it had fused to its face–to what had been its face, when it had been partly human before. To its horror, it watched a metal pipe push its way out of the front of it’s body–something which felt vaguely like its cock had felt before–and connect to the floor, and the massive load of piss it had stored it its body from the night emptied out into the pipes and sewers below.

It was true. It really was just a urinal. A urinal first…and…and human second. Only human when Master desired it. Perhaps it would never be human ever again.

“Now, the club has you leased for the next month, slave.” Master said, “After that, I might let you be a bit human again, for a while. But now that you know your secret, slave, you’re never going to be able to forget it. You’re never going to be able to pretend to be human again–and that’s what we both want, I can assure you, though you probably won’t realize it for a while yet.”

With that, he turned around and left the room, shutting out the lights and leaving the new urinal in complete darkness, still struggling to believe what had just happened. But before long, it was struggling just to think at all–after all, urinals didn’t have minds, or brains, right? By morning, it was just another soulless object, experiencing only a constant, unending thirst for piss–the only sensation it was ever certain to feel for the duration of its existence in Master’s service.

Vacation Week!

I’m taking my summer camping trip this week, and that means this week’s content is going to be a bit different than usual. Today we’ll have the final part of Arctos Audio 2, tomorrow will be a short story from Patreon, and then the rest of the week will be roundups of some more recent authors on tumblr, and also a few other recommendations I’ve found lately. Thanks as always for reading, and regular content should resume next week on Monday or Tuesday with a new story!

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 4)

How much did Terrance like football? Not at all. In fact, Terrance hated football. He hated most sports, in fact. But within a moment after Jeremiah pressing a button on the Chronivac, all of that changed. Now, he didn’t just love football–it was his life. He watched as much of it as he could, all the time, followed both the pro leagues and the college teams, and so much in his head was pushed out to make room for what he would have thought of as useless stats and figures before, but now…now football seemed like the only thing that mattered to him.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me a fucking football player?”

“No Tubbs–don’t worry about that. Someone with your physique? You’re too big to even be a defensive lineman. Sure, you might have played football back in high school,” he pressed another button, “but you were much too stupid to get into college, even on an athletic scholarship, if you’d been a good enough player to get one,” he hit another slider, “Now, all you are is just a middle aged loser, a pathetic worthless slob who obsesses on football because that’s the only thing in his life that has ever given him any meaning.”

Terrance did his best to fight it, the sensation of his entire history shifting away underneath him. Some of the details were the same as before–growing up gay in a small town–but most of it began twisting into something entirely new. Jeremiah saw him begin to shift again, though more subtly than before. His eyes lost a bit of their intelligence and dimmed, a thick layer of stubble filling in across his flabby face as his hairline began to recede. His body began to smell from a lack of care and washing, and he grew even a bit larger. In thirty seconds, Terrance was essentially gone–now there was just Tubbs, a thirty-five year old faggot pig, who spent his days working a shitty job delivering pizzas, and every second of his free time was devoted to his one true love: football.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Jeremiah. After all, even Tubbs could figure out that knowing a secret like this of a local college football star could be…rather worthwhile to the right ears. No–what he needed was a much more personal loyalty. “Tell me Tubbs,” he asked, typing in a new specification, “Who’s your favorite football player? The one you idolize over everyone else?”

“Aww fuck man! It’s fuckin’ you!” Tubbs gushed, his voice picking up the long drawl of the rest of the hick locals around here. “First time I saw ya play last year man, I knew I was lookin’ at someone special. I…I dreamed about you man, I know you’re gonna be pro, you’re gonna take a damn lucky team to the superbowl one day! I…fuck man, and…and I…” he got off the bed and onto his knees in front of Jeremiah, looking up at him with an almost childlike adoration, “I…anything I can do for you sir. Use me, my holes–I…You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen on a field, and if I can do this for you, if I can make you happy, fuck man it would be such a fucking honor. I know…I’m not much to look at, hell, I’m a dumbfuckin’ loser, I know it, but my ass is a good fuck, and its always open, whenever ya need it.”

“What I need right now, pig, is someone to clean my filthy fucking feet.”

“Oh fuck…Fuck *snort* fuck sir, yes sir!” Tubbs got down and started licking at Jeremiah’s foot, grunting and moaning, supporting himself with one hand while the other fucked himself with the dildo he had in his hole nearly all the time. Yeah–now this is something he could get used to, Jeremiah thought, hopped up on the desk behind him and started shoving his foot into Tubb’s fat mouth, jacking his cock while he watched the pig humiliate himself in front of his young football idol.

“You like those nasty feet pig?”

“Yes sir!”

What do you say pig, when your idol–when your fucking god is nice enough to let you lick your feet?”

“Thank you sir, *grunt* Thank you!”

“That’s right pig–you’ll take anything from me, won’t you, and you’ll thank me afterwards–isn’t that right?”

“Anything sir, I’m your fucking pig sir, anything, please, I’d be honored.”

“Get back on the bed pig, I got one last load of cum for you, and then you’d better get going, or you’ll be late to work.”

Twenty minutes later, Tubbs left the dorm room, adjusting his too small uniform from the local pizza delivery joint where he’d worked since he was a teenager. The front was stained and grubby, but he didn’t care–he had the best football player’s cum leaking out of his hole right this very second, and the world couldn’t get any fucking better than this.

Inside the room, laughing, unable to believe what had just happened, Jeremiah picked up the Chronivac, stepped out the dorm room, and triggered reality to alter and adjust for all of the previous changes he’d made. The room he’d just left was suddenly occupied by a completely different student, and Terrance–investigative journalist and notorious queer–ceased to exist for anyone other than Jeremiah. Later that night, he ordered a bunch of pizzas for the frat house for fun, and sure enough, Tubbs pulled up in his pickup truck, hauled out the six pizzas and took them to the door, gushing over the football players inside, who were a bit…put off that the filthy slob knew their own stats better than they did. But Jeremiah gave him a wink, and that alone had Tubbs fucking himself with his special, Jeremiah shaped dildo in a parking lot until he came in the front of his work uniform, looking forward to the next time he’d have the honor of serving his idol–which he’d have the opportunity to do many times over the next few years, until–as everyone knew would happen–Jeremiah graduated and got drafted immediately by a pro team across the country, and he was gone.

Still, Tubbs didn’t resent him–how could he? He’d settled into his life well–packing on another hundred of pounds thanks to drinking problem and binge eating Jeremiah had helped nurture in the pig. He liked to think that, maybe, he’d helped him a little. That with his sorry life, he’d done something for the one person in the world who really mattered. He watched every game that Jeremiah’s team played, lounging on his couch, drunk, one of his idol’s dirty jockstraps or jerseys from his private collection pressed to his face, bouncing on his dildo, wishing for at least one more fuck from him–and at the end of the season, he got a package that had his squealing with joy. Jeremiah remembered him, and liked him enough to send the pig a ticket to the superbowl–and after winning his first ring of what would be many, Jeremiah gave that pig a night long pounding he was certain would last Tubbs a good long while. After all, loyalty and silence had to have its rewards, right?

Jeremiah’s Biggest Fan (Part 3)

No, he supposed it hadn’t been a very nice thing to do, when he’d thought up the idea the semester before–the first time he’d heard the rumor about Jeremiah’s sexuality. But on closeted football player wasn’t that large of a story–or at least, it wasn’t the story he really wanted. No–it was the corrupt athletic staff and coaches he’d been after–that was the real scoop. Millions of dollars had disappeared from various funds over the last decade, and it was lining someone’s pocket–Jeremiah had been his ticket into the organization, to bust it wide open. But now–well, he’d thought he’d been setting up a honeypot, only to get stung by the hive instead.

He’d woken up a minute earlier, and Jeremiah had told him to go ahead, stand up, and look at himself in the mirror. It was obvious that he’d changed substantially from his real body again–it felt a bit like Terry as far as size was concerned, but it wasn’t muscle he was carting around anymore. No–in the mirror he was looking at a massively obese body–and a tall one at that. He had to be at least six four, and judging by the massive rolls hanging off him, he was close to 400 pounds. He’d never been a hairy fellow before, but now it didn’t look like there was a single hair anywhere on his body, aside from the short buzz cut on top of his head. He ran his meaty fingers over the top, disgusted by his particularly fat face–heavy jowls, three chins, small nose and close set eyes with big ears.

“Yeah, fuck–now that’s a sexy body right there,” Jeremiah said behind him. He was naked and sitting on the bed, looking at Terrance’s new body and jacking his cock–his now ten inch cock. Big enough to fit in his uniform still, but a much nicer tool than the four and half he’d been packing an hour ago.

A bit embarrassed, Terrance checked under the apron of fat hanging off of him, but all he found was a thick fat pad where his cock and balls should have been.

“Don’t bother–you’ve got half an inch now. Doubt you could even reach it if you wanted to. It isn’t your dick your body wants to please anymore anyway, trust me.”

“Look–this…this was a fucking mistake, I admit it. I’m sorry, I was wrong. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Of course you won’t,” Jeremiah said, toying with the Chronivac for a moment, “I can make sure of that–but for now, why don’t we pick up where we left off? You wanted to have sex with me, if I remember right. So come on Tubbs, get on the bed, and let’s fuck that wide ass of yours into next week.”

Jeremiah hit a button, and Terrance felt a massive amount of information surge into his head, displacing a bunch of other stuff which just…disappeared. When the sensation disappeared, he was left drooling at the sight of the massive football player just sitting on his bed, with that huge cock–he needed it inside him. He needed it fucking bad. But as he walked over, he caught a whiff of Jeremiah’s musk that remained from his workout earlier, and felt his guts knot up–he lunged and shoved his face into Jeremiah’s pit, snorting and grunting like a pig as he licked up as much sweat and stink as he could, drool pouring from his mouth, his tiny cock leaking cum into his fatty folds below his gut.

“Yeah, fuck! You even sound like a fucking pig, Tubbs. If you make my dick good and happy, I might let you sniff my feet later–how’s that sound?”

He didn’t want it to sound as good as it did, that was for sure. After cleaning out both pits, Jeremiah shoved him onto the bed on all fours, got behind him, and started working his big cock into Terrance’s now very loose hole, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, a chorus of grunts and snorts falling out of his mouth as Jeremiah fucked him deep and rough.

“Yeah Tubbs, that’s real nice. See? This is the kind of bitch I want–not some muscled out guy like me, but a fat fucking pig, tiny cock, who can only get off by being fucked nice and long. You like that Terrance? You like being my fat, disgusting, bottom pig?”

“Oh *snort* oh fuck! *Grunt* just don’t fucking stop, please!”

With his new tool, Jeremiah had plenty of stamina to keep the pig happy–he managed to hold off for fifteen minutes before he came once, but his cock didn’t go soft. He just kept fucking, feeling the massive load of cum leak out around his cock and down the pig’s thighs for another half an hour, until he came again. Terrance had cum twice in the meantime, and the sheets below him were soaked with sweat and cum, his muscles quivering as Jeremiah pulled out, leaving him with the worst sensation of emptiness he’d ever felt. He…he needed it. He needed to get fucked again, just like that, he had to have something in his hole.

“Please…please keep going, *snort* it hurts without you in there.”

“Sorry pig, but I have class in the morning, so we need to wrap this up soon, and you still need some more work, don’t you think?”

Terrance wasn’t really listening–he was reaching around and sliding as many fingers into his ass as he could. Jeremiah rolled his eyes, fiddled with the Chronivac, and a moment later, Terrance’s hole was sealed with a massive dildo–a replica of Jeremiah’s own cock, and that settled him down, and allowed the pig to think.

“Fuck–please change me back–you have to. I can’t just stay like this, no one will believe it.”

“What–knowing what you know now? Sorry Tubbs–but this was always a risk, you know. I can’t change you back, and I…really like that ass of yours, so I’d like to keep you plenty available in the future. So we’re going to have to find a way to keep you nice and compliant for the future–but don’t worry Tubbs, I have just the solution for us both. So tell me Tubbs,” Jeremiah said as he pressed a button and adjusted a setting, “How much do you like football?”