(Caption) Settled Debts

October Caption Challenge (7/31)

“Alright boy, are you ready?”

Mark nodded, and listened as James, his boyfriend, began the induction.

The two of them had been dating for about five years now, after meeting in the company gym a few times. Much to their surprise, after a couple of dates, a mutual fetish for hypnosis had popped up. Mark had always fantasized about being put under, about false memories, about all sorts of kinky stuff, and James had been more than happy to test things out, reading all sorts of books and guides, and the more he’d learned, the more adventurous they’d both become. Hypnosis was a way for them to become…someone else. Their day to day lives were so buttoned up and professional–and so, on the weekends, they’d started becoming other people entirely. This weekend, James had suggested they go out as a couple of skinheads. Of course, James would remember who they were, but Mark, well, Mark was going to be his skinslave for the weekend.

Mark was already deep, just from his trigger phase, but James led him lower still, into the depths of his mind. “Now, you’re going to step out of Mark, slave,” James said, “You’re going to step out of his skin, out of his memories, out of his life, and you will be able to see all of those things around you, while you are floating free, and light, and empty–you have never felt emptier than this moment, and being empty feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Mark nodded slowly, there on his knees.

“Now, take all of the things that say Mark on them, and you’re going to put them in a box. Together, we’re going to close the box up, tightly, and as soon as the box is closed, you’re going to forget what the box has in it. Now, there’s other things around, a new skin that you are going to slide into, but you’ll remember how light you feel right this very moment, and empty, and I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about who you are now…”

After a half an hour, the two of them left their apartment in gear, Mark following behind him, sneering, eager to get to the bar, have a few drinks, and suck on his Master’s cock in front of everyone.

“Time to wake up, Mark,” a voice said.

Mark shook his head awake, and looked around, expecting to find himself back in his apartment with James, but this wasn’t his place. It was smaller, dingier, and the man sitting in front of him, grinning around a cigar, was most certainly not his boyfriend. He tried to take a step back, but his feet refused to move, and the man laughed, watching him struggle. “What is this? Who are you?” Mark asked.

“I’m your new master, Mark,” the man said, “That boyfriend of yours has been racking up debt lately, at some of the underground gambling dens we both frequent. He was getting worried that he might have his knees broken, if he didn’t find a way to square things up. Lucky for him, I’ve had a flush year, so I went ahead and settled his accounts for him–in exchange for his little hypno slave.”

“No, what are you talking about? I don’t want to obey you!” Mark said.

“Slave, get on your knees, crawl over here, and worship my boots,” he said.

Mark dropped to his knees without a moment of hesitation, crawled over, and started licking, horrified, but unable to stop himself.

“James and I have been training you together for the last week. My voice is just as powerful as his was–you’ll never obey another order from him now, of course. The only one you obey is me, from now on.”

Mark let loose a little sob against the boot, and the man laughed. “Don’t worry slave–Mark won’t be around for much longer. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you realized your boyfriend literally sold you to settle his fucking gambling debt. No–I don’t want you because of your brain, I want you because I can fucking empty you out for good.”

Before Mark could steel himself, he heard his induction phrase, and he slipped under immediately, just like with James. He drifted down into the darkness, and slid out of ‘Mark’ again, putting everything inside a little box just like before–but this time, he didn’t just forget what was inside it–he watched it burn in his mind’s eye, everything about that self destroyed, but that was good. He was light now. Empty. He liked being empty. Besides, there was a new skin to wear, wasn’t there?

The slave that had been Mark, pulled on the rubber suit his Master tossed to him, along with the mask, and when he was finished, Master secured everything with padlocks. The slave would never knowingly see it’s flesh again–it would only be cleaned while in a deep trance. It followed its Master to a mirror, looked at its new, black, faceless head, mouth replaced by a funnel to receive Master’s piss, and knew what it was, then. A drone. A rubber slave. A cum dump and urinal–nothing more. Not a person, just an object, wholly owned by its master. It would have felt something, but objects didn’t feel, did they? They just served–that’s what Master said, anyway. And everything Master said was true. 

The man smiled. There was more work to be done, to alter his new slave’s body to make service easier, but it wouldn’t be long before it would be following him to the club, sitting beside him, drinking the piss and cum of every man in the room–including James, he was sure. He had no doubt that, before long, James would be as deep in debt as ever. Maybe they’d work out another arrangement, in good time.

(Caption) Another Flubbed Spell

October Caption Challenge (6/31)

Derek never found out for certain why, exactly, his father and uncle had fallen out. It had happened when he was ten or so, around the time his uncle had divorced Derek’s aunt. His mother thought it was ridiculous, but whatever the reason, it was embarrassing enough that his father refused to talk about it. Derek had always liked his uncle, and despite the fact that he knew it upset his dad, he still went over to work on his Uncle’s farm during the summer, and the two had gotten rather close. He was close to twenty now, and had even asked his uncle about it, but he’d been as tight lipped as his dad was about it. So, when Derek had found the ancient book of spells in the library, he’d decided that a decent test would be if the book could help resolve the difficulties between his dad and uncle.

The language was difficult, and Derek had only barely graduated high school, but he found a spell that might do the trick. Something about helping people understand each other better, bringing their fates into realignment. He didn’t quite know what it meant, exactly, but he cast it one night–and when he woke up, he and his mom discovered that his father was nowhere to be found. When Derek suggested he might be at his Uncle’s place, she shook her head–and finally told the truth. Derek’s uncle had come out as gay, and divorced his wife. Derek’s dad had never been able to forgive him for it, both for the divorce, and for lying to him for all of those years. Derek, however, was certain that his spell had done something. He got in his truck and drove out to his uncle’s farm, where sure enough, he found his dad’s truck parked as well.

He used his key to get into the farmhouse, and promptly dropped his keys on the ground, when he saw the two men in front of him. 

They were his dad and his uncle…mostly. But something was wrong–their clothes, their facial hair, the fact that the air reeked of sex and both of them were kissing heavily. “What the fuck are you doing?” Derek said.

But when his uncle looked at him, Derek felt something take hold–the spell, it turned out, was still hungry.

“Don’t be upset nephew, just relax,” his uncle said, beckoned him over, and Derek found his feet shuffling forward. “Take off those clothes of yours, no need to be so nervous and buttoned up–you understand, don’t you? Just like your Daddy does?”

Derek moaned, stripping off his clothes, and before he could really process it, he was on his knees between them, worshiping one cock and then another, feeling the leather gear wrap its way around him, the collar last, locking around his neck, signalling to everyone that he was enslaved to the passions of his father and his uncle.

That evening, he tried to disentangle himself from the sex, caught a look at himself, and was horrified at the hairy, butch fuckpig looking back at him, cum drooling down the inside of his thighs as he stood there. But he needed to get to the book, didn’t he? Figure out how to fix this? But they weren’t on his uncle’s farm anymore–the small town hadn’t taken well to their incestuous triangle, but the city had suited them all just fine anyway. The book ended up back in a library eventually, awaiting the next victim to approach.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares #1

October Caption Challenge 5/31

It was a dream, right? It had to be a dream. Garrett was in a house, a house that was…vaguely familiar, probably one of the ones he lived in when he was a kid, but his dad had been military, and they’d been shuffled around too much for any to stick. The whole house, though, was empty of all furnishings–just bare floors and white walls. 

“Hello?” he said, and heard something…scamper, or skitter, or scuttle in another room. He looked around the corner and found the room empty aside from the stairs heading up. There was the sound of the thing above him. He shouldn’t…follow it, right? Dreams have their own logic, though, and unable to stop himself, he climbed the stairs, and found his way to one of the bedrooms. Here, there was something. A heaping pile of socks, for one thing, and beside them…some kind of creature.

A dream imp. Generally confined to the various regions of hell, on occasion, usually during October, when such feats are easier, one will slip through the ways and find themselves on the mortal plane. Usually, their nightmares don’t have much force, when delivered from hell–once the mortal wakes, any hold that might have lasted disappears in an instant. The few who do succumb to them, usually die of heart attacks in their sleep, their souls dragged down into hell where they dream the same nightmares over and over. But this demon had more in mind than simple heart attack–he was here to have some fun.

“Hello, Garrett,” the thing said, “I have a gift for you,” he said, motioning to the pile of socks beside him. “Or rather, a variety of gifts–all you have to do, is pick one.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Garrett said, “I…where the fuck am I?”

“Now Garrett, those questions aren’t important. Pick your gift,” the demon said.

Garrett was overwhelmed then, by the scent of the socks in front of him. He would have expected to be repulsed–after all, none of them were particularly clean. Instead, he found his mouth watering, and he dropped to hands and knees, crawled forward, and buried his face in them.

“Now now, don’t be greedy–you only get one, you little pervert,” the demon said with a cackle.

Garrett tried to get a hold of himself, but before he could extract his head, he smelled one, one ranker than the others, or maybe the acidic sweat of it just appealed to his mind more. He pulled it free in his mouth, chewing at it, sucking down as much of the filth as he could. He was naked now–had he been naked before? It didn’t matter, he was so horny, he started jacking off. The demon jumped with glee, and when Garrett came after a minute, he would have screamed in his bed, his cock pumping a load of cum into his sheets, but it was muffled by the sock still lodged in his mouth.

Where had it come from? He had no clue, but its allure hadn’t faded. He kept sucking on it, cumming again, but already it was beginning to fade away. But as the scent of the sock died off, he could smell something else. It was faint, but it was the same smell…but coming from outside the apartment. He went to the window, opened it, and sniffed the air. Faint…but he was out there, somewhere. The owner of this sock…and Garrett needed him more than anything. More than he’d needed anything ever before.

He left before dawn. He left everything in his apartment, didn’t even bother calling work. He drove all night until he was too exhausted to go any further, but the smell was a bit stronger. How far off was he? It took him three days, and five state lines, the demon taunting him in his dreams, teasing him with more filthy clothes, until at last, he pulled into a small town, rolled up to a garage, and there, drinking a beer, it was him.

Master. Garrett fell out of the car, crawled over, and shoved his face against the man’s boot, who didn’t look the least bit surprised. “Fuck, was wondering what was taking you so long, pig–been expecting ya for days. Gonna have tah punish ya for makin’ me wait.”

Garrett whimpered, and this close to him…he realized the truth. He needed this man, his stink. He’d never be able to leave him. The man hauled out his cock and christened his new pig in his piss, and Garrett came in his pants from the stink of it, his old life already fading away. After a good night’s sleep, after the demon went through his mind and burned away all of his old life in front of him, there was nothing left–just a stupid, grunting pig, aching for his master’s filth, and that’s all he’d be until the day he died.

(Caption) Arctos: Grooming

October Caption Challenge (4/31)

Steve dragged the package in with him that was lying outside the apartment, so happy it was finally here. With the quarantine going on, all of the barbers and salons had shut down–not that Steve had really cared. He’d always just buzzed his own hair with an electric razor. But a few weeks into quarantine, the dang thing had broken down! 

He’d gone online to buy a new one, but every single one on Amazon was sold out, and back ordered for at least a month, of not longer. Unable to believe it, he’d gone out and looked at a few stores, but sure enough, he hadn’t been able to find anything. In the end, he lucked out. A little store, by the name of Arctos, had an electric shaver on their site, and the price wasn’t bad either. He ordered it in, and here it was–and his hair wasn’t even that unruly, though the couple of weeks growth was more than he’d seen on his head in ages. He got the razor out, and was surprised to find that it was just the electric shaver–there were no guards to be found. He usually used the smallest one, but it was still odd that it wouldn’t have them.

In any case, it didn’t matter that much. He went into the bathroom, plugged it in, and started working on his head–but as he did, he started to feel a bit strange. A little light headed, maybe. Of course, what he hadn’t really noticed on the shaver, before using it on his head, was that there were some setting on the side he hadn’t bothered to check. A little dial with some words on the side. See the razor didn’t have any guards–Arctos was very keen on having you shave away your old self entirely, leaving you with a nice, clean scalp, and a nice clean new life to go with it. The setting Steve was currently using to trim his hair right down to his scalp, was “sadistic skinhead”.

The more hair that fell away, the sexier he looked, and the more he found himself thinking about the cruel shit he wanted to do to Aaron, his roommate. They’d been getting along alright up to this point, but Steve found himself fantasizing about pinning him down, soaking him down in his piss, humiliating him in the most depraved ways–fuck, his cock was rock hard. He pulled it out with his free hand, surprised by the PA in the head and the tattoos running up the shaft–but just for a moment. They’d always been there, hadn’t they? He finished his haircut, his old self gone, and admired the muscular, tattooed skinhead staring back at him in the mirror. He’d save his load for now though–Aaron would be home soon. He started fiddling with the dials on the shaver–he was due for a haircut as well.

Aaron came home, and it was the smell that alerted him something was off. It was cigarettes. But Steve and he both hated them, and the apartment was non-smoking anyway, so who would have been smoking in here? He followed the smell to the bathroom, and he found Steve sitting on the toilet, cigarette in his mouth, wearing…well, it wasn’t anything he’d seen Steve in before.

“There you are, Pig,” Steve said, and beckoned him closer with a gloved finger, “Time for your haircut piggy.”

Aaron tried to run, but Steve was vicious–he pinned him against the wall and took off a stripe of hair with the razor, and as he did, Aaron gave a snort of excitement. “Yeah, that’s it pig, just embrace it. We’ll get rid of all that hair, and you’ll be so much happier, trust me.”

A few more stripes, and Aaron was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life. Steve forced the collar around him, put him on his knees, and dragged him over to the toilet, where there was a dog bowl full of Steve’s cold piss in front of him. “Have a drink Pig, while I work on the back of your head.”

The setting that Steve had settled on for Aaron, after much deliberation, was “Daddybear Pigslave.” Sure enough, as more and more of Aaron’s hair fell away, Steve watched him get older, hairier and fatter, happily lapping at his young Master’s piss. When his head was perfectly bald, Steve dragged him out of the bathroom and fucked him in his bedroom, before showing his new slave to his proper home–the cage that had appeared in the dungeon, where Aaron’s room had been an hour ago. He added some more piss to his bowl, and Aaron happily drank it down, oblivious to the fact that he’d had any other life, beyond this one.

(Caption) Method Roleplay 2

October Caption Challenge 3/31

Warning: Contains some gay to straight content, and heavy humiliation

Intensify your sex life! Make your wildest fantasies your own reality! Anything is possible with method roleplay!

Anthony and Sam had always liked a little bit of roleplay in their sex, just to keep things exciting, but neither of them had ever felt like it was all that…immersive. They just had a hard time taking each other seriously for some reason, and half the time would end up in giggles by the end of it. When Anthony showed Sam the ad he’d seen on a porn site, he thought it would be good for a chuckle–besides, the file was free to listen to, what was the harm?

They listened, and while neither of them could really recall much of what it had said, when it was done, they were sure it was a joke–but Anthony had a scene he’d been wanting to try for a while, but he was a little afraid that Sam might think it’s too silly. “I want you to pretend you’re a married man, and I’m just a little whore you like you use when she won’t put out,” he finally confessed, and as he’d expected Sam laughed at him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued by the idea. So Anthony dug through their closets to dress him up for the part, settling on a western shirt, some old jeans, cowboy boots, camo suspenders from an old halloween party at some bar, and as a joke, he stuck a toy cigar in the breast pocket as well.

“Alright, go down and get in your car, sike yourself up a bit. Door’s unlocked, I’ll be in the bedroom, like usual Daddy…”

Sam did as he was told, a little self conscious in his outfit, hoping the neighbors didn’t notice. He went down and got into his car, a little sedan–not very Daddy, but oh well–got in, and began talking himself up a bit.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he started, “Go to work at the fuckin’ factory all damn day, and when I come home she has…has the fuckin’ nerve to tell me she’s too damn tired. Like hell she’s too damn tired, spends all fuckin’ day on that phone a hers, that I have to pay for, can’t even clean up the fuckin’ house.”

He groped the front of his jeans, not really noticing the grease stains that had appeared on them, or on his shirt, or the beard that had spread across his face.

“Oh well, at least the faggot knows better than to tell me no. Hole’s tighter too–even though I damn well know he’s had every fucker’s cock in it within fifty miles,” Sam said, sneered a bit, and got out of the car. He felt…confident. Horny. Ready to fuck for sure. He pulled his cigar out of his pocket, clipped it with the scissors he kept on his keychain, and lit it with his lighter as he climbed the stairs to the faggot’s apartment. The door was unlocked like usual. Inside, he slipped the suspenders down long enough to take off his shirt, and then pulled them back up. Faggot always liked having Daddy a little dressed up in the bedroom. He unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out the front, before heading down the hall to the faggot’s bedroom.

It was dark inside. From the light of the hallway, he could see him there, lying face down on the bed, ass up, ready to get bred. Much to his surprise, the sight turned his stomach a bit, which almost threw Sam out of it. Why was the sight of him…of…Anthony, of his husband, suddenly turning him off so much? The thought answered him easily, with a natural logic. Because he was straight of course. Because what man, in their right mind, would let another guy violate his hole? You had to be real fucked up to do something like that. He wasn’t like that–he’d never let another guy use him like this. That was the difference between them. That’s why it was ok. He wasn’t a man, not really. Just a faggot, just a hole.

Without saying a word, he walked up and ran his fingers along the faggot’s crack. It was clean and already lubed. Sam closed his eyes, at a loss of what to focus on for a moment. He needed some inspiration to get it up, after all. He ended up thinking about Tammy, down at the strip club, with those big fuckin’ knockers in that little bikini, thinking about running his cock up and down between them while he ran it up and down the faggot’s crack.

“Oh fuck Daddy, yeah, fuck me…”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not here tah listen tah ya faggot!” Sam barked at him, the intensity even surprising himself, and he shoved his cock into the faggot’s ass before he lost his hardon. Anthony gasped at the sudden thrust–Sam was usually much more gentle, but when he tried to crawl away, Sam grabbed hold of his hips, hard enough to hurt, and dragged him back down onto his cock. “Fuck, it’s too big, wait…”

“Hell yeah it’s big, that’s why you like it, right faggot?” Sam said, leering at him, chuffing cigar smoke around him as he worked his throbbing, growing cock in up to the root.

“Oh fuck!” Anthony cried. And tried to relax. What had gotten into Sam? He’d never taken a scene so earnestly before–had that site really worked? And why did he smell smoke? Whatever, it was hot, just roll with it. “Fuck Daddy, yeah, fuck my ass with that big fucking cock, I bet your wife never moans like I do for you…”

“Faggot, I said shut the fuck up!” he said, and pushed the faggot’s face into the mattress. “Yer as bad as a bitch, always wanting tah talk. You should count yourself lucky I’m willing to waste this prime Daddy load on an ugly fuckin’ worthless faggot pig like you. Ya think I don’t hear about you from the guys at the factory? About the fuckin’ whoremouth down at the fuckin’ truckstop, takin’anything from any guy? Ya make me fuckin’ sick, but a hole’s a fuckin’ hole!”

With that, Sam came deep in Anthony’s hole. Grunting and rutting for another couple of moments before pulling free. Anthony rolled over and looked at the burly middle aged roughneck pulling on a shirt, still smoking his cigar, and was…confused. Where did Sam go? But he also wasn’t quite sure who Sam was anymore. Sam headed for the door, and it took all of his courage for Anthony to say, “Wait, where are you going?”

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home.”

“But…But Sam, you live here…”

He laughed, “Why the fuck would I live with a fitlhy faggot like you?”

“But…but I love you.”

“No faggot, you love my cock. You love cock more than anything, that’s why we don’t run your old perverted ass out of town. Stick to what you’re good at–suckin’ cock and gettin’ fucked. Leave love to the real men like me.”

Sam left, and Anthony looked around, the apartment reforming into a filthy trailer, full of dirty laudry he’d stolen from truckers, used condoms, all sorts of filth. It wasn’t right. It…It wasn’t right. Sure, he was an old cocksucker, but he knew Sam loved him. Why else would he keep coming back? One day–Anthony would have that big, fat daddy cock all to himself, no matter what. But first, he was still horny. He’d go down to the truck stop for a bit, see if any of the guys hanging around needed to drop a load. But he’d always be thinking of that cock. That perfect Daddy cock, and how he could make it his forever.

It was a few weeks before Sam was desperate enough to go visit Anthony again. Whatever had happened the last time he was there, with the faggot trying to talk about how he loved him, it had grossed him out enough that when he got home, he’d sworn off that ass forever. From now on, he’d stick to pussy–either the one he was married to, or the strippers off the highway, or whoever else. But no more ass, no way no how.

For a while his resolve had worked. He was nice enough to his bitchy wife to get back in her pussy a few times the first week, but he couldn’t keep that up. He lost his patience, she started screaming again, and so that option disappeared. Bitches were just too fuckin’ tempermental! The best thing about that faggot was that no matter how Sam showed up, Anthony didn’t care–he just wanted Sam’s cock in his hole, nothing else mattered. The faggot had been messaging him off and on for the last week, asking about him, asking how his big daddy cock was doing, asking when he was going to come back by and fuck his ass again. Sam thought about blocking the number, but didn’t. He needed the ego boost, and he swore when he read the messages, his cock did feel a bit larger each time.

So Sam turned to strippers instead, but that was a dead end as well. None of the bitches could take him, they kept complaining about how he was too big. He thought that having a big dick was a good thing, but no! They just whined about how he kept going to fast, and needed more lube, and just let them give him a blow job. But Anthony was right, Sam hated blow jobs. He wanted to fuck, and fuck rough. Bitches couldn’t take it because he was too much of a man for them. And so, after a few days of nothing, with his balls ready to burst, he finally gave in and drove back to Anthony’s trailer. One more time, he told himself. One last time, and then he’d block his number and get his head on straight again.

The trailer was filthier than he’d remembered it from last time (or had it been an apartment? It was hard to remember all of a sudden) and there was too much dirty underwear around for it all to belong to Anthony, and he saw a little trove of used condoms on the table, some of them still with cum swilling in them–probably a snack for later. Sam’s stomach turned in disgust, but better to just get on with it. The sooner he planted his load, the sooner he’d be out of here. The lights were out in the tiny bedroom like before, the old faggot in his filthy clothes up on his hands nad knees on the bed. Sam pushed the head of his cock in, and it slid in so easily, he nearly moaned. He’d missed this. Had he really fucking missed this?

He started fucking, the faggot moaning, and he kept turning around to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes…hungry. It unnerved Sam, and he said, “Turn the fuck around, stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me.”

“Don’t like having people look at you when you fuck Daddy?”

“Shut up.”

“I know some people probably think you’re ugly, with the missing teeth, that busted nose, how fat you are. I don’t care though. You got the hottest cock in town, and that’s all I need. I don’t give a fuck how much of an ugly son of a bitch ya are.”

“Yeah, well, the only fuckin’ reason I’m here is cause yer the only hole in town that can take this cock without wining about it, so stop fuckin’ whinin’! If I want someone whinin’ at me, I’ll go home tah my wife,” Sam said, but the words came out a bit odd, due to the teeth missing in the front of his mouth all of a sudden.

“Ya still gonna play that game Daddy?”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

“One of yer mates from the factory blabbed about you, after we were done fuckin’ the other day. Didn’t know you’d gotten a divorce last year.”

“Shut up, that ain’t true.”

“Found herself a real prince charming, didn’t she? Didn’t have to spend another day with a fat old ugly loser with a freakish dick anymore. Ain’t that what she said?”

Sam was feeling confused again. It wasn’t true, was it? It…It didn’t feel wrong, but it was so hard to focus.

“That’s ok Daddy. You don’t need her. You don’t need women at all. Sure, you might think they’re hot, but none of them can handle a man like you, and you know it. There’s only one ass in town that can take you, and you love it. The more you fuck it, the more you need it. The more you need it, the more you love it. Sure, it’s attached to a fat, perverted faggot like me, but that’s alright. You’ll take what you can get, won’t you?”

Sam was bucking faster, all twelve inches of his fat cock sliding in and out of Anthony’s hole now. With a few grunts, he slammed in deep and unloaded, filling the faggot’s hole with a massive load of cum.

“Fuck yeah Daddy! That’s it. You fucking love this ass, I want to hear you say it.”

“I…I fuckin’ love this ass…” Sam muttered, almost in a stupor as the orgasm washed over him, “I love this fuckin’ ass so fuckin’ much.”

“You worship this ass. It’s the only thing you’re attracted to from now on. You’re obsessed with it.”

“No…No, fuck, what the fuck are ya doin’ tah me?” he said, hauling his cock free. It slapped across his flabby thigh, thicker than it should have been, and he looked down at his hairy gut covered in white hair. That wasn’t right, none of this was right. “Ya…what the fuckin’ hell, ya fuckin’ faggot?”

“Come on Daddy, ya ain’t done,” Sam said, shaking his ass, swaying it, and Sam felt his eyes lock onto it, his cock tingling at the sight of that lovely, loose hole. “Come eat Daddy–you gotta clean it up now. It’s your favorite.”

Sam, whimpering a bit, got down on his knees and started licking Anthony’s crack, and the faggot pushed down, feeding his own massive load back to him from his ass, and Sam licked it all down, Sam urging him on, telling him how hungry he was, how he was addicted to cum from this hole, how he’d eat anything from it, that he craved it more than anything. When there was nothing left, and the crack was licked clean, Sam fell back on his ass, horrified, but hornier than he’d been in his life. Anthony got up, and came back in with the pile of used condoms. “Here Daddy, you’re still hungry aren’t you?”

Sam looked up at him, horrified, but he was…hungry. He sucked the cum out of the condoms, and licked the outside, tasting his favorite hole all over them, moaning and grunting and hard again already. Anthony laid him down on his back while he kept eating, and fucked himself on the old pig’s cock again, draining another load from his balls, squatted over his face and fed that to him as well, cementing Sam’s new life here with him, for good. He didn’t leave the trailer park much after that. Anthony would go out, fill up his ass with cum from strangers and more than a few condoms too, come home, and feed his Daddy his favorite meal before they fucked all night long. It wasn’t much of a life he supposed, but for an ass loving, ugly redneck Daddy like him, with a freakish cock–what could he really hope for, in the end?

(Caption) A Flubbed Spell

October Caption Challenge 2/30

“Oh fuck daddy, please, your boy’s hole is so hungry for your big cock, please fuck me Daddy…”

This wasn’t right, this wasn’t how this was supposed to be happening. Jeremy flipped his way through the spell book again, trying not to think about his growing gut, the hair that was coating his face and body, the winking asshole of his boy, fuck he wanted to pound that ass so bad, but if he did, then they really would be fucked for good.

Jeremy had always had a thing for his dad. When he’d found the old tome of spells at the library, he thought he might be able to cobble together something that might make his dad a little more willing to have sex with him. Thinking he’d worked it out, he’d cast it earlier, and it had definitely worked, but not in the way he’d intended. His dad was looking younger and younger. In fact, as Jeremy stared at him, his beard was shrinking up into his face, his body slimming down, the hair pulling back in as he grew younger and younger. Jeremy on the other hand, was getting older and older, the hair on his body picking up silver. He let out a groan of frustration, ran a hand over his head and it came away with a clump. He didn’t know how to make it work! And if he didn’t figure it out, and he fucked his boy, then the spell would seal–he’d never be able to undo it, no matter what!

“Damn it Daddy, I’m tired of waiting. Put down the stupid book and fuck me!” his boy said, ripped the tome out of his hand, and climbed into his lap, naked, legs wrapped around his waist, groping Jeremy’s fattening chest, rubbing his now hairless crack against the head of Jeremy’s fat daddy cock through the shorts barely containing his new bulk.

“God damn it boy! I’m not gonna fuck you!” Jeremy said, and pushed him off, voice deeper and more commanding. 

His boy was relentless, however, shoved his face into Jeremy’s crotch and started licking at the head, Jeremy moaning, leaking precum from his heavy balls. He grabbed the boy’s head in his hands and smothered him under his belly with a growl, trying hard to remember that he couldn’t fuck him he couldn’t, but a blowjob couldn’t hurt, right?

But no matter how hard his boy sucked on him, he couldn’t cum, and the horniness was driving him insane. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he threw his boy to the floor, climbed on him, and drove his cock into his hole. It was…amazing, better than he’d expected it to be in a million years, and in less than a minute, he came–and he felt the spell snap into place, their roles now forever reversed.

Still, there were worse things, right? He had a handsome boy willing to do anything to please him. The spell had left him wealthy enough that neither of them needed to work. All Jeremy had to do all day was drink his whiskey, smoke his cigars, and fuck his son’s hole whenever either of them got horny. After a few days, neither of them could recall a time things had been different. The book went back to the library, ready for someone else to find it, and try to work it’s magic in their favor.

(Caption) A Laundry Mixup

October Caption Challenge 1/31

Overall, the little group of apartments you’d moved into a couple weeks ago wasn’t too bad. The neighbors were nice for the most part, it was close to work, the rent was cheap. But if there was a complaint to be made, it was about the laundry situation. The apartments didn’t have separate washers and dryers–instead, there was a little basement where there were a couple of washers and dryers, all coin operated. It reminded you of being in college, and catching an empty washer could be hard, but generally, Friday nights had been working. You took your load downstairs, only to find Eddie down there putting his clothes in the washer, in his underwear, no less. 

You were surprised he even did laundry, honestly. The guy was a slob, and kind of a jerk. He gave you a gruff hello, and both of you loaded your things separate. The silence was awkward, but temporary, and when you went back down to load your stuff into the dryer, he wasn’t there–he’d probably gotten drunk and forgotten about it. When your stuff is finished, you load it back into your basket, but the whole way back to your apartment, you notice an odd…smell coming from your clothes. You don’t use dryer sheets or fabric softener, because of your sensitive skin, but it doesn’t smell like that. It smells…like it’s not actually clean. The stupid washers are just old, you tell yourself, take your clothes in and fold them while you watch TV–and then you find the source of the smell, and gag.

In amongst your clothes are a pair of the filthiest briefs you’ve ever seen. The front is crusty with cum and piss, and the rear is coated with skid marks. They weren’t yours–did you just dry your whole load of laundry with this nasty shit? No wonder everything smells! You try to throw the briefs away, but your hand can’t let go of them–and to your horror, you press them to your nose, and give them a snort. The next thing you know, you’re sucking as much of the filth from them as you can, your cock rock hard in your slacks, grunting and snorting like a pig. 

An hour passes, and there’s a knock on the door. You crawl over and open it, and find Eddie looming over you, wearing some underwear just as filthy as the ones from the dryer. You can’t stop yourself from shoving your face in his crotch, sniffing and licking, and he laughs. “That’s a good little piggy,” he says, “Let me in now, your Master needs a good cleaning. I haven’t had a good tongue bath in a long while–not since my last pig got evicted a few months back. Guess we’ll see how long you can keep yourself together, but if you’re already this far gone–I don’t think it’ll be too long. Too bad, you’re a cute one.”

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 2)

Tim had heard of empty nest syndrome, that parents could have a rough time when their kids go off to college, but after spending half of winter break with his dad, he couldn’t stomach anymore of this ‘new leaf’ as Brian called it. The house was filthy, all his dad wore anymore was filthy biker gear, he stuffed himself silly, drank from the time he woke up to the time he passed out, and he’d be gone for these long stretches–sometimes overnight, and he’d come back reeking of sex. Tim tried to sit him down and talk about the changes he’d seen, but his dad didn’t want to hear it. Instead…well, Tim had gotten the sense that his father was wanting him to drop out and move back home–and that, well, his father wanted to have sex with him. That was made quite clear on the last night he’d stayed there, when his drunken father had burst into his room in the night, buck ass naked, backed up to the bed and asked his son to fuck him. Tim had left that morning, and planned on not coming back–ever if he could help it–or at least until his father sorted his shit out.

Thankfully, he’d moved off campus into a little house he rented with a few friends instead of the dorms, which were still closed, so at least he had somewhere to go. He hadn’t been there for a few days, before he got a package in the mail from some company called Arctos, paid for by his father, from something called Second Life Thrift. He opened it up, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and found that there were a bunch of clothes inside, all of it absolutely filthy–just as nasty as his dad’s new clothes were, if not worse. He sealed the box back up, intending to throw them out, but instead, the box ended up pushed into the back of the closet, where Tim forgot about it rather quickly, as the next semester got rolling. He got the occasional call from his dad those first few weeks he was back at school, but he ignored them, listening to the occasional voicemail, which wanted to know if he was enjoying the gift he’d sent, wanting to know why he wouldn’t talk to him, wanting to know why he didn’t want to fuck him. It was disgusting. Finally, he blocked the number, and started making arrangements to stay at school for the summer–because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to be living with his dad ever again.

Back home, Brian couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He had been certain that once his son got a good look at his new persona, he’d jump at the chance to ditch school and be a biker slut like him, but Tim hadn’t seemed the least bit interested. That night when he’d tried to force himself on Tim in his room had been a gamble, and one that hadn’t paid off at all. He’d gone back to the Arctos site, scrolling through some of the lots, wondering what he could send to his son that might give him a little bit of a boost, make him more amenable to the life his dad was offering him, when he’d stumbled on a familiar face–or at least, a face that was familiar to the ghost that had merged with him.

It was Jerry–a trucker that the ghost had been with, off and on, for close to thirty years. Occasionally, their lives would bring them close for a while, and the ghost had always loved getting fucked by Jerry’s massive ten inch cock, even if the trucker hadn’t had much in the way of Brian’s. He spent his time, when he wasn’t driving, focused on his weight lifting, and even when he was nearing sixty years old, he’d been a massive muscle beast, covered with hair–fuck, Brian could almost smell him now, even after all of this time. So why not send his son a gift, and give his old fuck buddy a new chance at life? It was too good an opportunity to be true.

So Brian waited, figuring his son wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of the clothes for too long. After all, it had only taken him a few days to fall almost entirely under the sway of his own ghost, back when he’d gotten his first box. He called his son, but got no answer–over and over again. Why wasn’t he picking up? Surely something must have happened by now, right? In the end, he took an extended trip on his hog to the college, and snooped around, only to discover that his son was…well, completely normal! Nothing about him seemed to have changed at all. How in the world could that even be possible? He snuck around the house for a bit, and eventually spotted the ghost of his old friend, hanging out in Tim’s room, looking a bit lost. He motioned Jerry outside, though it took him a little while to convince him that he could, in fact, see him, and asked Jerry what was going on–why wasn’t he trying to get Terry to wear his clothes?

Jerry told him that he’d been trying, but nothing seemed to work–he just couldn’t get inside the kids head. It had taken all of his energy just to keep him from throwing everything out, and sending Jerry to the dump with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t help that, even as a ghost, Jerry wasn’t the most clever of apparitions. Once brute force had failed, he’d mostly just settled into the room, vaguely haunting the place, waiting for something to happen, growing hornier and hornier, since he couldn’t seem to get any release as a spectre.

Apparently, Brian realized, his son was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d expected. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised, right? After all, Jerry and Tim couldn’t be more opposed if he’d tried–which was one reason he’d chosen him, but the lack of common ground meant there was nothing for the ghost to tempt him with. Brian went back to the dingy motel room he was renting, and thought about what to do next–and eventually ended up back on the Arctos website, where he saw that their product offerings were much more robust than just some second hand clothes. In fact, as he scrolled through the various pages of products, he realized that all he’d need were a few little things to give his son a push in the right direction, and his buddy’s ghost would be able to take care of the rest.

Tim was feeling rundown. School was ramping up, and he was feeling a bit lost in his Freshman year, and that weird visit with his dad hadn’t helped things much at all. He was…worried about him, but what could he do? His dad was an only child so there wasn’t much in the way of family to contact to try and intervene. He didn’t have much in the way of friends. He was at a loss, and having a hard enough time juggling his own school work to try and solve his father’s problems for him. He turned off the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front door of the house he shared with two friends, Eric and Max, who were both pre-med students like him. There, beside the door, was a package with his name on the label, but he couldn’t recall ordering anything recently. It probably wasn’t anything exciting. He went inside, set down his bag, then went back out and brought in the small package, which was surprisingly heavy, and sounded like there were a few metal…somethings clanking inside. Max was in the kitchen eating a sandwich–and Tim eyed the disaster area with a scowl. He supposed he was just as guilty, but none of them had really had time to clean the place up much since school had gotten so busy for them, but not having a kitchen was bugging him. He was so tired of takeout!

He knifed open the tape, and found a collection of small drink cans inside, with a note folded on top. He opened it up and read:

Greetings!

You’ve been selected by a previous Arctos customer to try one of our sample products! Arctos is a lifestyle brand for men who aren’t afraid to embrace their manliness, and enjoy the company and taste of men like them. The fellow who sent this to you has great taste, and we’re certain that when you get a taste of our products, you’ll understand just what kind of quality and craftsmanship goes into all of our products–you too, will be an Arctos customer for life!

Tim pulled one of the cans out of the box, and found that it was a protein shake, or a meal replacement shake, or both? It wasn’t quite clear from the label. The only thing it promised was that he’d have more energy (something he could use for sure), build more mass (something he couldn’t care less about), and unleash the jock within (dumb marketing bullshit, more like). He had a seven day supply, one set of shakes for breakfasts, and one set of shakes for dinner in the evening. 

He looked at the kitchen again, and then back at the can. Well, what did he really have to lose? It was just a shake after all. He hadn’t had any dinner plans anyway, and if he didn’t have to eat anything else, it was kind of convenient. He popped open one of the night shakes, took a sip–it wasn’t too bad–and carried the box back to his room, where he stashed them in the little fridge he usually used to hold his soda, but was empty at the moment.

He finished the shake, tossed the can in the trash, and sat down to get started on his homework, but after half an hour or so, the shake just felt like it was settling in his gut like lead, making him sleepy. He tried to concentrate on the chapter he needed to read before tomorrow, but it was no use, he was just reading the same paragraph over and over, making no real progress. He’d been up until three in the morning the last few days, and up again at eight to get to his nine o’clock lecture–his exhaustion was just catching up with him, and he was using the shake as an excuse. He struggled along for a few more hours, finding a bit of a rhythm and finishing half the chapter. He got ready for bed, figuring he’d just read the rest in the morning before class, setting his alarm for seven.  

He woke up starving, stumbled over to the fridge, pulled out one of the morning cans, and knocked it back, following it up with a satisfied belch–something he usually would have never done in his life, but at least it stopped the ache in his gut. Tim tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it must have been sexy–he’d just had his first wet dream in ages over it. Pushing that aside, he tried to finish the chapter–but now he had the opposite problem. The can was right–he did have energy, so much that he could barely stay in his seat. He got to class without finishing the reading, and sitting still through the hour and a half lecture was torturous, even though he usually loved this class. All of his classes were like that though, and finally he just skipped his last one, mostly because he was hungry. He went to the dining hall, piled a tray high with food, ate all of it somehow, and then went back to his house, but the jitters didn’t stop. He ended up just walking around the neighborhood for a while, faster and faster, even jogging at times, because that was the only time his head seemed to calm down. He swore he wouldn’t have another shake, but even after a big dinner, he was…starving, he couldn’t settle down. He relented, drank down one of the night shakes, and in less than an hour he was sleeping, snoring heaving, cock tenting his sheets.

On the third day, Tim relented and went to the gym in the morning, just planning on running on a treadmill for half an hour, to burn off some steam. The next time he checked the clock, it was one in the afternoon, his body was screaming, and he realized he’d put himself through a massive workout, despite having never lifted a weight in his life. This…didn’t concern him, somehow. He ate a big lunch–he needed plenty of fuel for his growing body, after all–and went for a jog in the afternoon, returning home in the evening, and realizing he hadn’t gone to a single class all day, and he hadn’t done any of his reading since first drinking the shakes. But something just…told him not to worry about it. He tried to read, but got bored, and ended up just jacking off instead, looking at himself in the mirror in his room, how much…bigger he’d gotten, after his day in the gym, thinking about how much larger he could get. 

By the fifth day, Tim would have outgrown all of his clothes–if any of his old clothes had remained in his room. He burst out of his room after his morning shake, wearing a tank top stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of mesh shorts, and headed to the gym for his morning workout–and didn’t really bat an eye when he ended up at rugby practice that evening. The fact that he’d missed his classes didn’t faze him or his coaches. After all, a jock like him just had to worry about an easy fine arts major–he was there for sports, not to study. He went out to a bar with some of his friends, getting in with a fake ID, brought one home with him, and fucked his ass in his room before drinking his night shake and passing out again. 

On the seventh day, there was a knock on the door, and Tim was surprised to find his father standing on the step, his motorcycle parked on the lawn next to the driveway. “Hey son! I was on a long ride, and thought I’d stop by and give my favorite boy a visit,” he said, pulled Tim in for a hug–and while Tim knew he should be furious for his dad for what happened over winter break, when he smelled him, there was something about him that was suddenly…alluring. Sure, he reeked like he always did now, of booze and cigar smoke and rank musk, but there was something…else in the mix that Tim couldn’t identify. “Come on Tim, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” Brian said–it was less a question, and more of an order.

“Of…of course dad, come on in…” Tim said, and let Brian into the house. His two housemates were at one of their classes, so they had the house to themselves for the next few hours. Brian took a moment to look his new and improved son over in the living room, and had to say he was quite impressed with the results from those protein shakes he’d had sent to him. Gone was the scrawny, short bookish boy that had gone off to college–Tim was now a bit over six feet, and close to 240 pounds of solid mass, thick pecs, a solid muscle gut beneath them, and from the bulge in the front of the shorts he was wearing, he seemed to be packing a bit more down there as well–but that could wait for a bit. First things first, was to help Tim and Jerry get acquainted at last.

“Dang son, nice little pad ya got here,” Brian said, and started looking through the place, “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs, first door on the left.”

Brian heaved his big body up to the next floor, and Tim followed him, still trying to get close enough to figure out why he smelled so nice. “So…uh, dad, any other reason you wanted to come by? I…I mean, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“What, a dad can’t come spend some time with his strapping, hot-as-fuck son?”

Tim blushed at the rather…sexual compliment, recalled the last time, how his dad had tried to get him to fuck him back home, and wondered why he hadn’t. Things had gotten so fuzzy lately though, and he didn’t always do things that made sense, he supposed. The last week in particular had been really weird, and now his dad just shows up out of the blue? Brian entered Tim’s room, went right for the closet, dug around and hauled out the package Tim had received earlier, which he’d mostly forgotten about. Then again, over the last few nights, he’d been having these…dreams, and now, looking at the box, it was almost…deja vu.

“What, ya never even opened it?” Brian asked.

“I…I don’t even remember what’s in there,” Tim said.

“Some clothes I bought for ya, off the internet. I thought ya’d love em. Go on son, take a look.”

So Tim starting digging around in the box, and pulling out the contents, laying it out around him. There were a bunch of tanktops, or t-shirts with the sleeves hacked off, some trucker hats, some jockstraps, cut-off jean shorts, thick wool socks, some steel toe boots, and a few cans of dip. All of the clothes were heavily stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages–that, and they reeked of sweat and musk, grease and exhaust too. But looking around at them, he found that he wasn’t…that disgusted by the gear, less so than he would have expected. Little did he know, thought Brian could see behind him, that the ghost of Jerry had his fingers shoved into Tim’s head, tongue sticking out, working on manipulating the young man as best he could. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tim,” Brian said, got down beside him, and pulled his son into his pit, where he’d sprayed the special deodorant from Arctos, one designed to make men much more agreeable to his demands, We’re gonna dress you up in this gear, and then you’re gonna fuck your dad’s hole, real good. Then, I think I’m gonna crash on your couch for a while–you’d like to spend some quality time with your dad, wouldn’t you?”

Tim nodded in a stupor, between the ghost working him over and the compelling musk of his father, and together, they got him dressed up in some of Jerry’s best gear, and then he fucked his father’s dirty hole for half an hour, certain, somehow, that he’d done this all before. When Eric and Max got back a few hours later, they found Brian and Tim on the couch watching TV, Tim still dressed in the gear from the box, but with the addition of a lip of chewing tobacco shoved in his mouth, spitting into an empty protein shake can. The two clean, nerdy housemates were put off at first, but Brian was able to smooth things over with them both–by evening, they were all happy to let Brian crash on the couch for a while, especially Tim, who found himself thinking more and more about how hot it had been to fuck his dad’s hole. He couldn’t resist, in fact–he dragged his dad back into his room after dinner, and fucked him again, loud and rough, while the two roommates tried to focus on their school work–but as far as Brian was concerned, the two of them wouldn’t have to worry about things like that for much longer.

Brian had arrived in late February, and both March and April passed in a blur for Tim. The protein shakes kept arriving from Arctos, and he kept drinking them. His routine was much easier now. It didn’t take much urging from his dad to convince him to drop out in March–they both knew well enough that Tim wasn’t smart enough to keep up with college, even the easy courses for stupid jocks like him. He got a membership at a little gym near the house, and started spending most of his time there. He’d wake up in the morning, down a shake from Arctos, and then jog to the gym for his daily workout, which usually lasted four or five hours. Then he’d jog home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his dad. Sometimes they’d go for a ride–Brian had surprised him with a bike of his own (one that Brian had “convinced” a rather rude biker to give him) and go fuck off in the woods for a while. Other times they’d stay home, and fuck around there instead.

While Tim was out each morning, Brian would find other ways to occupy himself. For the first few weeks, he turned Eric and Max into his own personal projects, testing out a few other arctos products on them both. Before too long, they had dropped out of school as well, a pair of grungy, chubby, stupid pigs with tiny dicks, hungry for Tim’s cock as much as Brian was. After all, he couldn’t afford to give Tim a chance to really think about what was going on, and Jerry’s ghost needed the stimulation. His stamina had always been off the charts, and Brian wanted to make sure the ghost of his friend always had a hole available where he could drop a load. The landlord was another issue, after he came around and saw that the house was turning into a literal sty. With a little manipulation, they came to a new agreement. He’d keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but wouldn’t expect rent in cash anymore–instead, he’d get to enjoy full access to all the cameras he was going to install in the house to catch all the pigs in action, and then spend the rest of his time jacking off, watching them all go at it, day and night.

Somehow, Arctos just knew when to send the second collection of items from Jerry’s lot, and this second load was the final set. He’d lived his life on the road, in his truck, and so hadn’t had much in the way of earthly attachments. In any case, he figured it was time to introduce Jerry and Tim properly. He sent Eric and Max off to spend some time with the landlord–he’d recently gotten divorced, and he was thrilled to have the two pigs in his house, where he could watch them rut in real time. That gave him a few days with Tim, alone, to help him get acquainted with his ghost. He didn’t think he’d run into much trouble, but he had a few surprises up his sleeve, just in case.

Tim was still sleeping off their bender from the night before–in addition to his new dip habit, which had grown more and more severe over the last few months, he’d also taken to hard liquor as well, the cheaper and stronger the better, which had added to his hard gut, even as the rest of him swelled with muscle. Brian went in and gave his son a shake, and then a kiss, and told him he had a surprise for him, when he was up. Tim roused himself, stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, then into the kitchen for his morning shake. Once he had that in him, and a lip full of dip, he went out to the living room where his dad had a couple more boxes like the one he’d sent him before. He opened up the boxes, and found them full of more clothes–more work gear, really. Some flannel shirts, all well worn and stained with dip spit, grungy hi-vis vests and jackets, more hats, some overalls and coveralls coated with engine oil and grease. Tim was happy with them–though he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with all of it, or why all of it seemed so…familiar to him. He looked up at his dad, beaming, and shot up from the couch when he saw someone else standing there too.

“Now son, don’t be alarmed, this is Jerry–he’s a friend of mine. He’s been helping you out for the last few months, and now it’s time the two of you got properly acquainted,” Brian said, motioning to the ghost standing beside him, “Jerry died a few years back, you see–a bad accident, but now he gets a second chance, thanks to you.”

“You…what the fuck are you talking about?” Tim asked, backing away. The pale figure was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, head shaved and with a beard reaching down to his waist. He was naked, and his cock–fuck, it had to be nearly a foot long, and it was mostly soft. “Why the fuck can…ghosts aren’t real, dad!”

“I woulda said the same thing a few months ago, but trust me, this is gonna be great for us both, I promise.”

“You…you did this, all of this, didn’t you?” Tim said, “You…sent those shakes, and…and the clothes! What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Look, I just needed to loosen you up a bit, so you’d understand, that’s all!”

He looked at the ghost, who hadn’t said anything yet, and then back at his dad. “So…so what now?”

“Now, well, now you and Jerry just gotta merge, is all.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting that fucking thing in me.”

“Aww, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Jerry said, looking a bit sheepish, “I got a big dick, ‘n I fuck real good.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, dad, we’re fucking done–for real this time,” Tim said, stripping out of his clothes, and throwing everything into the boxes, “and you can take all of this shit with you!”

“Sorry son, but you don’t get a say in this,” Brian said, and gave Jerry a nod. The massive ghost stomped over, and while Tim expected him to pass right through him, the apparition grabbed hold of him, and wrestled him to the ground. “I was gonna save this for after the two of you were together, but I’m not surprised you need a little more tenderizing,” Brian said, and pulled out a sizable dildo from a bag he’d had on the coffee table. “I’ve heard these asslickers are fucking amazing, and I ordered this one custom, just for you.”

“Keep that fuckin’ thing away from me! I’m no fuckin’ bottom,” Tim shouted at his dad.

“”Sorry son, but I promise you this, this is the last cock you’ll ever take–don’t worry about that,” Brian said, and lubed up the dildo. He pressed the head to Tim’s tight hole, and watched as it slid right in, despite Tim’s cursing and resistance. The dildo had looked like a candy, almost, and when it slipped inside, he was surprised to taste…sugar on his tongue for a moment, until the outer layer dissolved away, and the first magical layer of the dildo was revealed. The sugary taste turned bitter, and then rank, the outside of the dildo now colored a rather vile mix of green and brown, something between camo and a shit stain. It tasted like someone had shoved a months worn jock into his mouth, and then he smelled something–and realized it was him.

Now, Tim hadn’t really been the cleanest fellow over the last few months, but he usually showered once a day, before putting his filthy clothes back on. It was one habit his dirtier father hadn’t been able to break him of, but he had a feeling this would take care of it. He watched as the layers of grime on the asslicker were worn off, and appeared on his son’s body, dirt and sweat and salt and grease and dipspit. “Aww fuck yeah son, now you’re smelling better, don’t you think?”

Tim tried to disagree, but let off a little moan instead, as the dildo pulsed inside him, and he found the smell wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. He…kind of liked it, actually. The ghost relaxed a bit, now that Tim wasn’t fighting him, and slid his fingers into the young man’s mind, warping him further, pushing his excitement to the extremes. “Fuck yeah man, we’re gonna be so fucking filthy together, just you fucking wait,” Jerry said to him, and Tim…saw things, memories, maybe, disgusting scenes from Jerry’s life, with and without Brian, and all of them were thrilling. 

He didn’t notice the next layer appear on the dildo, which was now quite a bit smaller. This one was silvery, and as it was absorbed by Tim’s body, he started to get older, the hair on his head receding, while everything that remained turned grey. His gut sagged a bit, his muscles shrank slightly, but after a few minutes, he looked to be about the same age as his dad, and then, by the time the layer was gone, he was even older–pushing sixty, about the same age Jerry had been when he died. 

The dildo was smaller now, just a plug really, and Brian felt it wiggle out of his hand and disappear up Tim’s hole. He gasped, feeling it squirm up his body, growing smaller, until it reached his skull, giving him a massive headache as it drilled into his brain, mashing it up, Tim drooling dipspit on the carpet as he grew dumber and dumber, feeling his cock swelling larger and larger until it exploded underneath him, expelling most of his intellect and sense with it, leaving him with a cock twice the size, and a brain not really capable of much at all. “Fuck, I…what the fuck happened tah my head?” he slurred.

Jerry could tell this was his opportunity, climbed on top of the older, filthy Tim, and shoved his massive cock into his now well loosened hole. But where Brian had merged with his ghost rather gracefully, after two thrusts Jerry was simply sucked inside Tim’s ass, and he began to writhe on the floor, Brian standing over him, watching as the final changes swept over his son, and now lover. He grew more, another few inches, until he matched Jerry’s ghost in height, and every bit of muscle he’d lost growing older he put back, with interest. A thick pelt of silvery white hair grew all over his chest, down over his belly, shoulders and arms, and tattoos began to swim up to the service of his skin, the same sleazy, redneck ink that had always turned Brian on before. A massive beard sprouted from Tim’s face, wiry and stained brown from the spit that usually drooled into it, and then Tim shuddered, his own mashed mind melding with Jerry, mixed all up together, and when he looked up and saw Brian looming over him, he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his dad, or…or someone he’d known long ago.

Brian helped him up and showed him his new body in the mirror, and Tim growled in excitement, seeing his old, muscular frame, filthy, clothes stretched tight over his muscle, fresh dark spit coating his lips, and he started stroking his cock, both of them watching it grow to the full fourteen inches it was now–even longer than it had been when he’d been Jerry, before. “Fuck Pa, can I fuck that nasty hole a yers already?” Tim asked.

“Pretty sure yer the daddy now,” Brian said, and bent over the counter, “Go on man, I’ve missed that cock a yers so much, fuck yer biker son’s hole already.”

First things first, Tim got down behind him, and ate him out, tasting Brian’s rank crack for a few minutes, until his cock was aching and throbbing with excitement, and then he rammed it in. It was so large, even the well practiced Brian moaned in pain as it slid into him, but Tim only fucked at one speed–as brutally as he could. Not many bottoms could handle him, which is why he’d kept coming back to Brian, after all. Well now, they were together again, for another couple of lifetimes. He came deep, holding him close, thrilled to have a second chance with his lover from a past life–and now, with Arctos, they could have a life unlike anything they’d ever imagined before.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 1)

Well, he’d made it. Life as a single dad wasn’t what Brian had signed up for, and raising his son all these years while holding down his job had been a struggle, but the moment that he’d been aiming for was past–his son, Tim, was off to college, a find young man himself now, and Brian found himself sitting in his now much emptier house wondering, “Now what?”

He’d been ecstatic at first. Privacy! Time to finish the projects in the garage he’d started, but that had always been delayed because of Tim’s school work, or extracurricular activities, or community service work. But that eagerness lasted about a month, when the depression set in. The projects were still sitting there. Brian was spending more and more time after work just sitting in front of the TV, a microwave dinner in front of him with a beer or six, drinking and wondering why his son didn’t call him more often. Is this all he had now? He thought back to when he was younger, and all the things he’d wanted to do, a life he’d pictured for himself before his family had taken over so much, but it was hard to remember any of it. It was a ghost, really, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him. 

He didn’t remember how he stumbled on the web site. An online ad, probably, for some service provided by a company called Arctos, and after clicking through a few links, he’d found himself poking around an online thrift shop. It was called Second Life Thrift, which seemed like rather intense branding for some second hand clothing. But one thing kept dragging his attention back, day after day–this biker jacket. It was well worn but still in decent condition from what he could see. He’d always wanted to own a motorcycle, but it had been cast off, just one dream like so many others that he’d never managed to fulfill, too busy making sure his son was provided for. But what was stopping him now, exactly? He dropped a mention of it to his son in a phone call, and Tim laughed at the thought of his dad wearing a bunch of leather and riding around on a bike. But rather than snap him out of it, it only made Brian consider it further. The price was a bit steep for second hand, but it wasn’t like you could find stuff like this at every thrift store. One night, after a couple of extra beers, he pulled the trigger on it. More likely than not he’d wear it around a bit and then it would gather dust in a closet somewhere, but at least, for the moment, he’d feel like he had control of his life again. Maybe it would pull him out of this funk, at least.

It wasn’t until he perused the confirmation email, and noticed that it had been divided into three shipments, that he realized he hadn’t just bought a leather jacket–he’d bought an entire lot of second hand goods! No wonder the price was so steep. There was no inventory of what was included, but he did figure out that the shop wasn’t so much a thrift store, as a front of estate sales. All of the goods belonged to one guy, apparently, who was, sadly, no longer alive. A bit morbid, really, but at least the name made more sense now. No wonder the shop didn’t advertise that more extensively.

A few days later, the first shipment arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but three sizable boxes were left for him while he was at work, and he dragged them into the house. They were numbered from one to three, so he decided he might as well start with the first one. He broke the tape, opened it up, and coughed a bit from the smell–leather, but also…well, he wasn’t quite sure what the musk was rolling off the contents of the box was. He pulled the first item out, and found himself looking at the jacket he’d thought he was buying all along, so at least he had that. It…stank a bit. He’d have to get it dry cleaned at some point, but he couldn’t quite resist the desire to try it on. He did, and was a bit annoyed to find it was too big. That was the problem with buying stuff over the internet, he supposed, you never quite knew what size you were getting. If everything else was this big, well, a lot of it would be going to the dump today. Underneath the jacket was a bunch of denim jeans, all of them unwashed as far as he could tell, and covered with dirt and stiff with unidentifiable stains. He pushed them away, not really wanting to touch them, and pulled the next box over–only to be further disgusted–sitting there, right on top of the second box, was a pair of clearly soiled briefs. He didn’t move them, but under those he could see other clothes, socks, more underwear, some t-shirts, and the stench was…well, his eyes weren’t quite watering, but it wasn’t good. The third box didn’t have clothes at least, but it’s contents were no less disappointing. On top, wrapped up in some bubble wrap, was a clock, surrounded by a neon sign that said, “It’s always drinking time!” and below that, was a humidor well stocked with a collection of cigars.

Brian wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. Still, he might be able to sell them and get the cost back for what he’d paid. For now, though, all of this was going out to the garage where it wouldn’t stink up the rest of the house, and left the jacket on top of the boxes with the rest. He’d try wearing it again after he got it cleaned up.

The rest of the evening passed normally, aside from the fact that Brian couldn’t quite shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone in the house. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt jumpy since his son had left for college, but this was different, somehow. Like there was something around him, something poking around his house, poking at him too. He probably just felt weird after going through the boxes–after all, he had a dead guy’s stuff sitting out in the garage, why wouldn’t he feel weird? He turned in a bit early, worried that he might be too unnerved to sleep, but he didn’t have trouble at all–but once he was out, that was when the dreams started.

They were intense, sexual, but when he woke up, he wouldn’t be able to remember a moment of them, but each time he’d wake up with a raging hard on, or he’d discover that he’d shot a load into his sheets like he was a teenager again. There was that presence as well, like someone lying in bed with him, but when he turned on the light, there was always nothing there. The dreams continued all week long, and by the time the weekend hit, Brian was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was get one good night’s sleep. Probably the only way he’d manage, he figured, was if he got rid of all of that shit in the garage, but while he intended to do so, in the end he spent a rather uncharacteristic weekend in front of the TV, binge drinking some cheap beer he bought at the supermarket. The presence was there, but where it had unnerved him before, he was growing more comfortable with it. It was nice, not being alone at least. 

Sunday, he got more drunk than he’d ever been in his life. The last thing he really remembered was going out to the garage, putting on that leather jacket, and opening up the boxes again, allegedly to throw out the filthy clothes inside. Instead, he woke up next morning in bed, naked aside from the leather jacket, with a pair of the filthy, stained underwear pressed to his face. He sniffed them, and while the aroma hadn’t changed, his opinion of it had–he gripped his aching cock and jacked off while he sucked on the crotch of the underwear, almost like he could imagine them filled with another man’s cock, and shot all over his sheets, which he hadn’t changed all week, and were beginning to stink a bit themselves after all of these wild dreams. 

Dreams like this one. It had to be a dream, right? He left the underwear there in his bed, and saw a half smoked cigar on his nightstand, resting in an ashtray he recognized as coming from the boxes. He coughed, throat scratchy and head pounding with a hangover. He stumbled out into the living room, and saw the neon sign hanging on the wall–and found a beer out of the fridge and downed it. He found his phone, dead because he hadn’t bothered to charge it, plugged it in and called work, letting them know he was sick and wouldn’t be coming in. Then he surveyed the wreckage, disgusted with his behavior.

But why? Hadn’t he enjoyed himself?

How could he know? He didn’t remember anything from the night before.

He needed to relax. No need to worry about work today, just take a load off. He was too stressed out, everything would be fine.

It seemed like a good idea. A reassuring idea. It only occurred to him later, while he was watching TV, that he wasn’t quite sure whether the thought had been his own, or come from…somewhere else. From whatever presence was around him, something he was growing more and more certain was an actual thing, and not his imagination. That should terrify him, but the more he relaxed, the more he settled down, the closer it got to him…and it was comfortable, somehow. He’d worked so hard, after all, for so long. Didn’t he deserve a chance to let go a little?

He called out of work for the rest of the week, said he was feeling like crap, and that he just needed some time for himself, which he hadn’t taken in ages. His boss was understanding–he’d been urging Brian to use some of his PTO for ages now. Without the pressure of that, Brian found he could relax even more, and soon, he’d pulled out some more gear from the boxes, and was wearing it around the house. The jeans were too loose and baggy around his ankles, but with the help of some leather suspenders he dug out, they at least stayed up. The shirts were all too big as well and stretched out around the gut, but if you tucked them in, it wasn’t really a problem. He kept the underwear on, shoving his hand down the front, and pulling it out to sniff it. He was hungry all the time, and kept the local restaurants in business, ordering lots of food, always intending there to be leftovers, but somehow he kept devouring all of it. At the bottom of the second box, which he hadn’t excavated at first, he found a collection of DVDs, all of which were gay pornos featuring, well, bears apparently. It wasn’t a term he’d heard before, but by the end of the next weekend he’d started watching those movies more than cable.

The first week back to work was torturous. His shirts and slacks didn’t fit right after all the binging he’d done. He craved beer and cigars all day long–but worst of all, he was alone. Whatever…thing had been following him around, it didn’t go with him to work. He was angry, and frustrated, and lonely, and when he got home he stripped down, put on the biker’s clothes (which were beginning to fit him better by the day), watched porn and jacked off while he smoked, drank, and ate himself sick, all surrounded by that comfortable presence, feeling more relaxed and happy than he could remember.

It was Thursday when he arrived home and found more boxes sitting outside his front door, along with something he certainly didn’t expect–a mattress. He opened up the garage door and dragged everything in before the neighbors could see everything, opened up the boxes, and took a couple of steps back when he saw everything that was inside. Dildos, plugs, sex toys all of sorts of descriptions. In another box was more leather gear, harnesses and vests, along with more denim even filthier than the stuff that had been in the first shipment. He was taken aback–he’d…let himself get carried away before this, because he felt so lonely, but this–this was too far. He wasn’t gay! Sure, the porn was…fun, but that wasn’t, he wasn’t–

“Fuck yeah, look at this stuff! They really got a hold of everything!”

Brian had turned away from the boxes to think, and when he spun back around, he froze. There, standing over the boxes was…well, he didn’t quite know what it was. A ghost, he supposed. It was an apparition or a hallucination, something standing there with all of the color drained out of it, completely naked–but judging by the size of the man, or the thing he was looking at, it was about the right size for the clothes he’d been receiving…and he…it felt like that presence he’d noticed ever since the stuff had arrived on his doorstep.

“What the fuck? What are you?”

The ghost turned, surprised to be addressed, apparently. “Fuck, ya can see me now?”

“What do you mean, now?”

“Fuck man, beats me. Last thing I remember was a real wild fuckin’ night, then I was here–you had the boxes of my stuff, and I’ve just been…hanging around, you know.”

“You–you’re the one who’s been making me…wear all of this shit, aren’t you? The dreams! I…I recognize you from them, I…I  can’t remember, but…no, fuck this shit, this shit is all going to the dump, right fucking now.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the ghost said, and drifted over to where Brian was standing, “Come on, bud. Maybe…a little, sure, but you’re the one who needed to loosen up, right? Live a little? I’m just…givin’ ya a little boost is all. Nothing serious.”

“No, I’m fucking done! I don’t know what the fuck this is, but I’m through with it,” Brian said, stepped around the ghost, picked up a box and tossed it in the back of his car. “You’re going to the dump, and I’m getting back to normal!”

The ghost kept trying to dissuade him, as Brian loaded up all the boxes that he could fit. The mattress was going to have to wait, but that would be the second trip. Before he could finish loading, however, the ghost lunged at him, and his fingers slid right into Brian’s head–and he stopped moving, his eyes and mouth going slack. “Fuck, being inside you feels so fucking good,” the ghost said, his cock growing erect and drooling a bit of ectoplasmic cum on the garage floor, “I’m not going anywhere, buddy–but why don’t you have a listen to a better idea, eh?”

Brian’s head nodded, his skull moving through the ghost’s fingers. The ghost tried to push in further, but couldn’t–but this was better. Before Brian could see him, he’d barely been able to get in him at all, and even then, only when he was sleeping. He’d been forced to just whisper to him, cajole and tempt him–it had worked, but fuck, this was going to be so much easier now. After he finished explaining to Brian what the new plan was, he drew his fingers out, and was pleased to see that the same blank expression remained across his face even without his fingers inside him. “Now, why don’t you go take care of what we agreed on, right Brian? Then we can have some more fun.”

Brian found himself returning from the dump, satisfied that he’d done what was necessary. Just…too much stuff cluttering up his house, really, so many unnecessary things. He couldn’t really…remember much of what had happened, and when he looked at the clock, he realized that it was the middle of the day of Friday–he’d forgotten about work entirely, he’d been so focused on…on getting rid of all the unnecessary stuff. The biker’s stuff, right? Oh well, he’d call and explain what had happened. Everything was going to be just fine now.

He pulled into the garage, and sure enough, the boxes were all gone. It was a relief to see that. Then he went inside the house, and his jaw dropped. “No…no no no…” he moaned, when he saw the neon drinking sign still on the wall, the porn DVDs by his TV, but everything else had been stripped from the walls. All of his books, all of his movies, his little collection of blown glass–all of it. And there, sitting on the sofa, was the ghost. 

“Welcome back, Brian–feeling better now that we got rid of all of that junk?” the biker said, grinning from ear to ear.

Brian looked down, and realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothes–he was dressed in the filthiest set of jeans he’d ever seen, reeking like a urinal, leather chaps on top of them, no shirt, the leather jacket and a greasy denim vest on the outside of that. He rushed to his bedroom, and just groaned when he saw what was in there–the filthy mattress that had been delivered had replaced his own, and there, hanging from the ceiling, was a leather sex sling taking up most of the room. He opened the closet, his dresser, but all of his old clothes were gone–and the biker’s filthy gear was piled around the room in heaps. “What…what the fuck did I do?” he muttered, and the ghost came up behind him, and slid his hands back into his skull, making Brian go slackjawed again. 

“Now there’s no reason to be scared, or sad, or angry. All of this was your idea. You wanted this. But don’t you think we should celebrate, Brian? I think you should throw a little party, doesn’t that sound fun?”

When Brian came back to himself, he was in the sling, wearing a harness, chaps, boots and nothing else. He struggled, but he had manacles on his arms keeping them hooked to the chain, and the ghost was there, stroking his own cock. He stepped up, and pushed inside him–it wasn’t quite like fucking, but it still felt real fucking good, and the ghost humped up against him. “I was never much of a fucker, you know,” he said, “But I just want to be inside you so bad, it’s all I can think about…” he moaned and fucked a bit harder. “You’re so tight though! I’ll…We need to loosen you up some more, and I know just the thing…”

Brian heard the front door of his house open and close–someone had just let themselves in! He struggled a bit, but the ghost passed a hand lightly through his skull, and he relaxed again. “You want this, Brian. Remember, all of this was your idea. Putting that ad up on the internet, all comers, anyone can use your dirty hole…”

A big, bearish fellow stepped into the bedroom, saw Brian hanging there, and leered at him, groping his cock before stepping up, and pushing inside Brian’s ass without much ceremony. He didn’t last long, and the thoughts of horror and disgust were slowly replaced by pure horny need. By the end of the day, with nearly ten loads drooling from his well used hole. Brian was thanking the ghost for helping him loosen up–and he spent the rest of the evening with a big plug up his ass, watching more porn, and listening to his new ghostly friend talk about his life.

The ghost’s name was Ben. He’d never had money, he’d never had much in the way of family, but he’d sure as hell had fun, riding all over the country, sucking, fucking and pissing all the way. Things had changed over the years. You had to ride deeper now to find the real freedom, now that so much shit is all the fucking same, and so damn sanitized and family friendly. But didn’t Brian want to be free? Isn’t that why he’d bought that jacket in the first place, because he knew that, somehow, it was connected to freedom?

Brian didn’t go back to work. He didn’t even bother calling to tell them he quit–what the hell did that place even matter? It was just a cage. A cage like the cars driving around on the road, the little boxes and the little boring lives that men just…accepted. That he’d accepted. But not anymore. He sold the car–couldn’t get much from it, but it was enough, and he didn’t need to go anywhere yet. All the clothes fit him perfectly now–he’d grown a few inches taller over the last few days, so the jeans hit the boots just right, and his fat gut distended the ratty bar shirts just like they had when Ben had been wearing them. It was comfortable. It was right. That’s what the ghost said, at least, and Brian was more than happy to believe him.

The last shipment would arrive any day now, and the ghost was so eager for it. Sure enough, the truck pulled up, and offloaded the ghost’s old, but reliable, motorcycle. A beat up Harley that had seen hundreds of thousands of miles, but now that it was Brian’s it would see a few hundred thousand more. There were a few boxes with the shipment as well, mostly odds and ends, but it was the bike that the ghost was obsessed with. “Come on,” he said to Brian, “Let’s take him for a ride.”

Brian climbed on, but he’d never so much as ridden a motorcycle before, much less drove one himself. But the ghost hopped up and settled on the seat behind him, and slid his arms down into Brian’s own, and he shuddered as the ghost took control of them, pushed his way into his body from the back, the biker’s big gut in the middle of his back, feet pushing into his boots–and then they were off. Whether he was in control or not–he didn’t know. It felt like it was the ghost just…guiding him along, showing him how to lean, what to twist and when, providing a steady hand. “This could be your life, you know,” the ghost whispered to him, “I’d want this for you. I had a real fucking good time when I was alive, and…I know I can’t be alive again, but you…if you let me in, this could all be yours. Really be yours.”

Brian shuddered as the bike accelerated, slipping into the other lane to breeze past a few cars, the shocked look on people’s faces as he did enough to make his cock explode in his filthy denim jeans. “Fuck–Fuck, I…I fucking do,” Brian moaned.

They pulled off the highway and found a little secluded gully, parked the bike, and Brian bent over it, pants down around his boots, while the ghost ran his hands over and through him. Brian…could tell he was a bit scared as well. Neither of them knew what this would do to them both, but they both…wanted it so badly. The biker fucked him for a while, but it wasn’t enough–they knew it wasn’t enough, so he switched to his fist, pushing it into Brian’s eager hole–maybe even more eager than the biker’s had been when he was alive, and it slid deeper and deeper, until it wouldn’t come free. Both of them panting and heaving for breath, the biker forced his way deeper in, Brian’s ass not distending so much as his mind opening up more and more. The ghost’s other arm then, both of them up to the shoulder, then his head, crawling his way into Brian’s guts, into his very being, and together, they came as the ghost disappeared inside him, beame a true part of him, and Brian collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, ass shuddering and twitching in orgasm as well, from the sheer excitement of it.

When he stood up again, he was Brian, mostly. At least, on the outside. On the inside, well, that was difficult to say. He shook his gut, which had grown out another few inches, and let off a belch, stroked the long beard that had grown out of his face, and gave his ass a scratch before pushing a couple of fingers in. Maybe on the way home, he’d cruise a few rest areas, see what he could find, yeah, fuck, that sounded hot. By the time he got home, ass pumped full of cum, pants damp with piss that he’d been soaked in a few times, including his own which he’d let go while riding, he entered his house, picked up his phone, and found a message from his son. Fuck, he was a handsome fellow, wasn’t he? Last Brian had talked to him, he’d been struggling at school a bit, trying to figure out who he was. At the time, Brian had been struggling himself, with that same question. Well, Brian didn’t have that problem now–he knew exactly who he wanted to be. He knew exactly who his boy ought to be too. Ben had always wanted a family–when he was alive. Winter break was coming soon–and maybe, if he played his cards right, he could show his son exactly what kind of man he ought to be.

Patreon supporters already have access to the second part! They can read it here. I’ll post it for everyone else next week.

Arctos: Second Life Thrift – Part 1 (Patreon Early Access)

There’s a new story up for Patrons! If you support me at the $5 level or higher, you can find it here. For everyone else, here’s a sneak peek. It’s got two parts, I’ll post the first part next week, and the second part the week after that, but Patrons will get early access to them both, today and tomorrow!

Well, he’d made it. Life as a single dad wasn’t what Brian had signed up for, and raising his son all these years while holding down his job had been a struggle, but the moment that he’d been aiming for was past–his son, Tim, was off to college, a find young man himself now, and Brian found himself sitting in his now much emptier house wondering, “Now what?”

He’d been ecstatic at first. Privacy! Time to finish the projects in the garage he’d started, but that had always been delayed because of Tim’s school work, or extracurricular activities, or community service work. But that eagerness lasted about a month, when the depression set in. The projects were still sitting there. Brian was spending more and more time after work just sitting in front of the TV, a microwave dinner in front of him with a beer or six, drinking and wondering why his son didn’t call him more often. Is this all he had now? He thought back to when he was younger, and all the things he’d wanted to do, a life he’d pictured for himself before his family had taken over so much, but it was hard to remember any of it. It was a ghost, really, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him. 

He didn’t remember how he stumbled on the web site. An online ad, probably, for some service provided by a company called Arctos, and after clicking through a few links, he’d found himself poking around an online thrift shop. It was called Second Life Thrift, which seemed like rather intense branding for some second hand clothing. But one thing kept dragging his attention back, day after day–this biker jacket. It was well worn but still in decent condition from what he could see. He’d always wanted to own a motorcycle, but it had been cast off, just one dream like so many others that he’d never managed to fulfill, too busy making sure his son was provided for. But what was stopping him now, exactly? He dropped a mention of it to his son in a phone call, and Tim laughed at the thought of his dad wearing a bunch of leather and riding around on a bike. But rather than snap him out of it, it only made Brian consider it further. The price was a bit steep for second hand, but it wasn’t like you could find stuff like this at every thrift store. One night, after a couple of extra beers, he pulled the trigger on it. More likely than not he’d wear it around a bit and then it would gather dust in a closet somewhere, but at least, for the moment, he’d feel like he had control of his life again. Maybe it would pull him out of this funk, at least.

It wasn’t until he perused the confirmation email, and noticed that it had been divided into three shipments, that he realized he hadn’t just bought a leather jacket–he’d bought an entire lot of second hand goods! No wonder the price was so steep. There was no inventory of what was included, but he did figure out that the shop wasn’t so much a thrift store, as a front of estate sales. All of the goods belonged to one guy, apparently, who was, sadly, no longer alive. A bit morbid, really, but at least the name made more sense now. No wonder the shop didn’t advertise that more extensively.

A few days later, the first shipment arrived. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but three sizable boxes were left for him while he was at work, and he dragged them into the house. They were numbered from one to three, so he decided he might as well start with the first one. He broke the tape, opened it up, and coughed a bit from the smell–leather, but also…well, he wasn’t quite sure what the musk was rolling off the contents of the box was. He pulled the first item out, and found himself looking at the jacket he’d thought he was buying all along, so at least he had that. It…stank a bit. He’d have to get it dry cleaned at some point, but he couldn’t quite resist the desire to try it on. He did, and was a bit annoyed to find it was too big. That was the problem with buying stuff over the internet, he supposed, you never quite knew what size you were getting. If everything else was this big, well, a lot of it would be going to the dump today. Underneath the jacket was a bunch of denim jeans, all of them unwashed as far as he could tell, and covered with dirt and stiff with unidentifiable stains. He pushed them away, not really wanting to touch them, and pulled the next box over–only to be further disgusted–sitting there, right on top of the second box, was a pair of clearly soiled briefs. He didn’t move them, but under those he could see other clothes, socks, more underwear, some t-shirts, and the stench was…well, his eyes weren’t quite watering, but it wasn’t good. The third box didn’t have clothes at least, but it’s contents were no less disappointing. On top, wrapped up in some bubble wrap, was a clock, surrounded by a neon sign that said, “It’s always drinking time!” and below that, was a humidor well stocked with a collection of cigars.

Brian wasn’t much of a drinker, and he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. Still, he might be able to sell them and get the cost back for what he’d paid. For now, though, all of this was going out to the garage where it wouldn’t stink up the rest of the house, and left the jacket on top of the boxes with the rest. He’d try wearing it again after he got it cleaned up.

The rest of the evening passed normally, aside from the fact that Brian couldn’t quite shake the sensation that he wasn’t alone in the house. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt jumpy since his son had left for college, but this was different, somehow. Like there was something around him, something poking around his house, poking at him too. He probably just felt weird after going through the boxes–after all, he had a dead guy’s stuff sitting out in the garage, why wouldn’t he feel weird? He turned in a bit early, worried that he might be too unnerved to sleep, but he didn’t have trouble at all–but once he was out, that was when the dreams started.

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