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

What do you find erotic about scat, is it just the humiliation/degradation aspect of it or is there more too it? And I guess whats your favorite use of scat in a transformation/story.

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.

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.

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.