A Dog’s Tale (Part 9)

CW: Bestiality

“It was the happiest I’d ever been, being Master Joel’s dog. Everything was so new! It was better than I’d ever dreamed.”

Fido was crying now. He was sitting on the floor in front of me. I’d sat down in my old recliner, smoking my pipe, and listened to my pup finish his story, but here, his voice caught, and he paused. Looking up at me, he knew what my next question had to be, of course.

“If he made you his dog–a real dog…then why are you human now?”

Fido wiped his eyes.

“I was his dog for a year–a year to the day. The next winter, he took me back to Pigtown…and left me there. I became human again, my gear was back, even my old clothes were back, and…and I was a man again. I hurried after him, but he’d just…disappeared. I can’t tell you how sad I was, I thought about jumping in front of a car–I tried to jump in front of a car, several of them, but my body wouldn’t let me. I didn’t find the note in my pocket until a while later, and…in it he told me what I had to do, if I wanted to be a dog again.”

He looked up at me, judging me somehow, wondering about me. Hesitant, but I’d come this far, and I wanted to know. Eventually, he spoke again.

“I had…to find men–men like I’d been before. Businessmen, obsessed with with themselves, obsessed with their work. Vain and prideful. I had to tell them my story–the whole story, with no lies. And then, if after all that, they…if you fuck me, I get to be a dog again. Your dog, sir. Your sexy fucking mutt, and you can fuck me all fucking day long, sir. You’re the sexiest master I’ve seen, and I want to be yours, sir. Please…please, fuck me.”

It was a rush, feeling everything come back to me suddenly. I looked around the room in a panic, I looked down at myself, at this disgusting, fat, hairy, old body I was in now, and I nearly screamed, my pipe falling from my shaking lips and landing on the carpet.

“This…this isn’t me, how did you do this to me?”

“Master, please calm down. It’ll be alright I promise. You…you don’t have to fuck me, sir, I understand. Not everyone I tell the story to does. It has to be your choice. But we could be happy here–you could be happy here. You wouldn’t have come this far if I couldn’t have made you happier than you were.”

Fido stood up, and stripped his way out of the costume. He looked…filthy, under there. Under fed and exhausted. He clutched himself, and I could…see how uncomfortable he was, in his own skin. He got down on his hands and knees, facing away from me, ass in the air. It was…shaking a bit, and I could almost imagine a tail there, at the small of his back, swinging back and forth in eager anticipation, and my own cock–this cock, I mean–was stirring at the thought of giving the mutt a proper plowing, feeling my cock in his tight doggy hole, fuck!

“No, this is fucking sick, this–I’m not some disgusting dog fucker, this is so fucking wrong!”

“I know sir, I know.”

His voice was quiet, just a whisper.

“If I…If there was another way, I’d do it. How do you think it feels for me? You’re…this is the seventh time I’ve done this in the last week, you’re the seventh time I’ve tried, after I lost my last owner a month ago. I hate it, sir. I hate doing this to people, but I need it, sir. Master. I can’t stop, and so…I understand if you leave, I do. I’m…broken, and there’s no fixing me. I’ll find someone eventually though, I always have…I could tell that you’re too–well, you’re not like the others who owned me, sir.”

He turned around and got on his knees, looking at me.

“They were all…cruel, sir. They fucked me because they wanted to control me. I could feel how much they hated me, and everytime, they abandoned me, sir. They got so…disgusted with themselves, that after a year, they’d kick me out, and I’d change back–but they keep their new lives…they forget all about me and my story. But you aren’t cruel, sir. You think you are, but you aren’t. You…remind me of who I was. Following orders, doing what I thought the world was asking of me, but not happy at all. I’m happy now though, happier than I ever thought I could be, and I just…I just know I could make you happy too sir, that you’re happy like this, even though you know you shouldn’t be.”

He picked up my pipe from the floor, tamped it down gently and relit it with a match from the box on the table beside the chair, all while still on his hands and knees. I couldn’t help but feel impressed–proud, even, at his skill. I didn’t…want to admit it to myself, but in a way, he was right. I hadn’t been happy. I’d been lonely, and trying to fill every void with work, and this last evening, just…being. It was the first time I’d felt at peace. This apartment was filthy, I was filthy, but here…here there were no conference calls, and no meetings, and…and was this so bad? No one would have to know, right? That…that I’m a fucking pervert?

Fido crawled over, my pipe in his teeth, and I take it from him, and take a deep draw off the cheap smoke.

“You aren’t going to leave, are you? I don’t…I like you sir. I’ve always wanted to be a dog, sir, but for the first time…I don’t just want to be a dog, I want to be your dog, I think.”

“I bet you tell that to everyone, Fido.”

He shook his head no. I let him take his hand in mine, and pull me back towards the recliner. I stripped off my clothes, looking at my heavyset frame, my rough hands, the tattoos covering my arms and chest. I sat down, and Fido started licking at my feet, and then worked higher until he was licking at my cockhead. I don’t know if it’s too late now–I can…see him changing, and I can feel my memories starting to fade away. He’s…getting a bit smaller now, his arms and legs growing thinner as the hair on his body fills in with a brindle pattern. His ears are shifting up to the top of his head, and I give my pup a scratch behind them as he licks at my manhood, and I…fuck, he’s one sexy fuckin’ mutt, and damn smart too. Always fuckin’ knows what his master needs, that’s for damn sure.

He backs up, turns around, and goes down, presenting his hole to me again…and who the fuck am I kidding? I know I’m gonna fuck it. I’ve…always had a thing for mutts, ever since I was a dumb kid. I get on my knees, chuffin’ on my pipe, and slide into him, trying to ignore the crack of his bones as he changes, the pants and howls of pleasure as he gets what he fuckin’ wants…and to my fuckin’ surprise, the anxiety, the terror…it melts away too. Just a man and his best fuckin’ friend, right? I cum deep in Fido’s hole, and the big mutt–probably some lab hound mix–turns around and starts licking at my face, thanking me.

“Easy boy,” I say, and reach under, feeling how hard his rocket is, slick from his sheath. “I ain’t the only horny fucker here, am I? I sure could use a fuck too–ya up to it boy?”

He gave a loud bark, and I got on my hands and knees in front of him, and like an old pro, Fido got up and fucked his way into me in return, and I knew I’d found a partner for life.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 8)

CW: Bestiality

“Please–please. I know I don’t deserve it. I know you probably don’t even want me, but I need this. I can’t explain it, sir, I can’t, but this is everything that I’ve ever wanted–or, at least, as close as I can get.”

He was on his knees in the light winter snow before Joel, still in the pup gear from the club. The only way he’d been able to catch up was to skip changing entirely, and as terrified as he was that some early morning commuter might see him in this kinky gear, he had to tell Master Joel how he felt. If he had to go through another week hiding this, he didn’t think he’d be able to survive.

Joel looked down at him, appraising him. “And what do you want? What do you really want?”

“To be a dog! A real fucking dog, and I want to be your dog, sir. But you know that! But it’s impossible, I can’t actually…and this is the best I can get, and you’re the best master I…I love you! I love you so hard that I can barely handle being away from you, and you know that and you keep leaving! You just leave me. I know I wasn’t a good person, but I’m trying to be a good pup, sir, I’m trying to make up for it, and…and…” he gave a long, loud whine which seemed to articulate the frustration better than any words could at that moment.

Joel got down, smiling at him, and gave him a pat on the head. “Boy, take a look at yourself, and you might be surprised by what you see.”

Confused, he looked back at himself, and to his surprise, the pup gear he’d had on in the club–it was gone. He was completely naked, but it wasn’t cold, because a thick pelt had grown in all over his body. Looking down at his hands, they were quickly becoming two paws, pads on the fingers and thick claw like nails. He whined again and tried to express his gratitude, but his face was stretching and contorting–before too long, all he could do was bark and yip and jump around on all fours, his bones aching terribly as they shifted into their new forms, but he didn’t care. It was happening! It was really happening to him, he was going to be a dog. He was going to be his master’s dog, and he loved his master so much. He rammed his face into Joel’s crotch, licking at the leather pants he had on, his own cock shifting into a bright red dog cock in a furry sheath, sliding out in excitement. He wasn’t any special dog–just a mutt, really, but he didn’t care. He was a dog, a real dog, just like he’d always wanted to be, and looking up at Master, he knew he would do anything for him, for the rest of his life–however long that might be.

Joel watched the last of the changes of his new dog’s body settle in, the tail fur filling in as it grew to it’s full length, wagging to and fro, his flesh nose darkening to black, and the brightness of his human eyes dulling somewhat, as he lost contact with his humanity. He would still be smarter than your average dog–much smarter, really–but all thoughts of life as a man were locked away. For Fido, the only life he could lead now, was as a dog. “Alright boy–now how about we go home?” Joel said, clipping the lead he’d used in the club to Fido’s collar. He barked in agreement, and together they tromped off down the city blocks, Fido not even feeling the cold, and when they got back to Master’s apartment, he begged for his Master’s cock, just like any good dog should. He licked and licked, and then Master fucked his doggy hole too–it was tight, but it was what Fido wanted–what Fido had always wanted.


“It was the happiest I’d ever been, being Master Joel’s dog. Everything was so new! It was better than I’d ever dreamed.”

Fido was crying now. He was sitting on the floor in front of me. I’d sat down in my old recliner, smoking my pipe, and listened to my pup finish his story, but here, his voice caught, and he paused. Looking up at me, he knew what my next question had to be, of course.

“If he made you his dog–a real dog…then why are you human now?”

Fido wiped his eyes.

“I was his dog for a year–a year to the day. The next winter, he took me back to Pigtown…and left me there. I became human again, my gear was back, even my old clothes were back, and…and I was a man again. I hurried after him, but he’d just…disappeared. I can’t tell you how sad I was, I thought about jumping in front of a car–I tried to jump in front of a car, several of them, but my body wouldn’t let me. I didn’t find the note in my pocket until a while later, and…in it he told me what I had to do, if I wanted to be a dog again.”

He looked up at me, judging me somehow, wondering about me. Hesitant, but I’d come this far, and I wanted to know. Eventually, he spoke again.

“I had…to find men–men like I’d been before. Businessmen, obsessed with with themselves, obsessed with their work. Vain and prideful. I had to tell them my story–the whole story, with no lies. And then, if after all that, they…if you fuck me, I get to be a dog again. Your dog, sir. Your sexy fucking mutt, and you can fuck me all fucking day long, sir. You’re the sexiest master I’ve made, and I want to be yours, sir. Please…please, fuck me.”

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 5)

WARNING: Scat, bestiality, castration

Nate stopped in front of the door to catch his breath–how out of shape was he, that fifteen steps to the front door had him out of breath? He hauled his keys out of the pocket of his overalls and found the house key, went to unlock it, and found a sizable package sitting on the stoop. Curious, he bent down and picked it up–it wasn’t too heavy, but he hadn’t ordered anything recently, had he? Maybe it was for Nate. He checked the address label, but the shipping address didn’t have a name, instead, it read, “The Filthy Pig, C/O Its Farmer Master.”

He didn’t know what that meant, but fuck, that kind of turned him on. If it wasn’t meant for him…maybe he could still take a peek inside, just out of curiosity. He held the package against his gut and unlocked the door, pushing it open and lumbering in, setting the box on a table in the hall and shutting it behind him. “Hey Nate! Ya home? Hey, I’s…got some stuff I wanna dis–disca–some stuff tah talk ‘bout wit’ ya.”

Nate didn’t reply, but Paul heard someone was in the house. There were noises coming from the kitchen, but it didn’t exactly sound human to him–it reminded him more of an animal, like a raccoon he’d startled while it was rummaging in the trash. “If some fuckin’ pest gots its way in here, gonna have tah git mah shotgun,” he grumbled and headed for the kitchen, paying no mind to the mud he was tracking into the house from the bottom and sides of the knee high waders he was wearing. He rounded the corner, and there, facing away from him, was the widest, cutest, prettiest little piggy rump he’d seen a long time, with a little black rubber tail swishing to and fro above a crack caked with manure. “Well cross my eyes backwards! Somebody let a sexy little hog loose in mah fuckin’ house.”

Nate lifted his head up from the food he was scarfing down and looked behind him, eyes wide at the sight of Paul–or at least a man he could barely recognize as Paul. His slim, well dressed husband had left this morning in pristine condition as always, and had returned home looking like he belonged in the middle of Iowa. As horrified as Nate was at what had happened to him, and as hopeful as he was that his husband might be able to help him escape this nightmare, the pig inside him, the pig growing stronger by the second, saw the massive redneck in the doorway, and all it could think about was how fucking sexy Paul looked, and how much it wanted that redneck cock buried deep in his piggy hole.

“Sooey! Come here sweet little thing–I was just thinkin’ ‘bout how much I been missin’ havin’ a hoghole tah fuck, ‘n looky here! Just like Pa said, ya ain’t never gonna know where ‘r when yer prayers ‘r gonna be answered.” He stepped forward, and it took him a moment to realize that the animal he was looking at wasn’t in fact a pig. When he actually noticed the human hands and feet, his heart sank a bit. “Wait…this a fuckin’ trick? Ya ain’t even a real piggy!”

“It’s me! It’s Nate!” he tried to say, but the mask refused to let the words come out right, and Paul had no idea what the pigman had tried to say. Paul looked closer, certain he should recognize the person under that pig mask, but his head just wasn’t quite as agile as it had been in his youth–not that it had been particularly quick then, either. Then he remembered the package he’d found on the step. “Wait a god damn minute–a package fer a filthy pig, care of a Farmer Master! That’s me, ain’t it! ‘N that’s you, ya dirty piggy.”

Paul retreated back to the entry way to get the box, pulling a slender knife from a holster hanging from his pocket and using it to cut the tape. The pig in his head gave a few grunts, and decided it had had enough food for the moment–what it needed now, more than anything, was a good rough fuck, but that sexy redneck didn’t seem that interested. Nate was fighting it as hard as he could, trying to stay in control, because he was realizing that what he’d thought was a story all this time might have actually been something more like a prophecy.

The boy had taken the carcass and sewn the head, cock, and tail to his body, and after he’d done that…thanks to a twisted fairy, the dead flesh had come alive again, granting the boy his disgusting wish, but with a cost. His human mind began to wither, and the new piggish instincts began to take control. The boy, a pariah and monster, had hidden on a pig farm and emerged only at night, helping himself to the slop the farmer left for his pigs, until one night he’d been discovered.

What the boy hadn’t known, was that this farmer had always held a deep, perverse love for his pigs–especially the castrated hogs he raised for slaughter. In fact, it a twist of fate, it had been one of his hogs’ carcasses the boy had stolen from the butcher, and the man recognized the hog’s face–it had been one of his favorite lovers. It had broken his heart to send it to the butcher, but now it had come back to him–though it was incomplete. Still, the fairy had whispered to him, he could fix that, couldn’t he?

Nate rounded the corner, in time to see Paul reach into the box and start hauling out the contents from the box–but in his heart, he already knew what it was going to be. First, the skin–a full body, black rubber suit, with the word HOG on the back in light brown. Next, the trotters–two gloves and two boots, all four with solid rubber trotters where the hands and feet should be. And lastly, a ball stretcher–and it was the last item that filled Nate with the most terror. After all, he was still a pig, for the moment. But the story wasn’t called “To be a Boar,” now was it?

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 3)

*Meanwhile, elsewhere*

Paul was about ready to head home from work, putting the finishing touches on his work and shutting down his computer, already dreading the commute home–but dreading having to see Nate even more. Something…was wrong with him. It had been going on for a couple of weeks now, but every time he’d tried and talk about it with him, Nate had avoided the conversation like the plague. It had been little things at first–mostly these…violent dreams, where he’d be thrashing and squealing and no matter how hard Paul shook him he wouldn’t wake up. Then things had gotten stranger–Nate usually kept a pristine house, but lately he hadn’t seemed to be keeping anything clean, and the way his body was looking, he’d been spending a lot of that time binge eating.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, he supposed, but the change had happened so quickly…and Paul didn’t know how to deal with it. This weekend…he’d have to talk about it with him, he just didn’t have any other option. They’d work through it, whatever it was–he was sure of it. With his things packed up he got up from his chair and checked his phone, where he saw a strange notification from an app he didn’t recognize, and which he was certain he hadn’t ever downloaded, called Arctos. He tried to dismiss the message telling him he’d been selected to receive a complimentary audio album from their collection, but instead of swiping away, it took him to a download screen, which he couldn’t stop.

Was it some virus? He tried to click away, frustrated, but it only let him get out of the screen after it had finished downloading whatever it was onto his phone. Was it a fucking virus or something? It didn’t seem to have messed with anything else on his phone, but he’d have to get it checked out this weekend as well, to make sure it wasn’t something malicious. Trying to focus on his bigger problem with Nate, he rode the elevator down and got to his luxury sedan out in the parking lot, and started the engine. Without thinking much of it, he hooked up his bluetooth from his phone to the car, ready to play some of his music, but as soon as it was connected some strange country song started blaring out of the speakers instead of his usual classic rock. Checking his phone, he discovered that whatever strange album that program had downloaded had been set to autoplay, and he couldn’t make it stop, no matter what he did–even turning down the car volume wouldn’t work for some reason. Frustrated, he simply resigned himself to the problem–he’d get it figured out this weekend, but if this was the worst the virus did, he might as well count himself lucky–and now that he’d listened to it for a couple of minutes, the music wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as he’d have expected it to. To his own surprise, he belted out the chorus of the first song without even realizing he’d learned it by heart:

Ya don’t want no city livin’.
Got ya wishin’ for a simpl’r time
Well ya’ll be a big, old country bear
If ya just listen tah mah rhyme!

Ya got a beard down tah yer gut
And mullets never went outta style.
Relax ya big, old country bear
And crank that volume dial!

Paul didn’t notice, as he kept humming along to the catchy tune, that he was starting to change in the driver seat of the car. He’d always taken great care to make sure his appearance was professional–he knew that appearances mattered in business, and he wasn’t about to let a beard or a paunch get in the way of a promotion. Yet he slumped a bit in his seat now, adjusted the crotch of his pants as his cock picked up a few more inches, heaved a sigh, and his gut pushed out against his tight shirt, a couple of buttons popping as it grew. He scratched his face, unfazed by the beard growing out from his cheeks and chin, rapidly rowing longer than a foot–his meticulously styled hair growing greasy and long, hanging around his head in tangled locks with streaks of grey, the top shaved short–but not short enough to disguise his now receding hairline. Unaware of the changes, and curious about the album now that he’d gotten through the first song, he turned up the stereo and kept listening:

Wearin’ yer waders ‘n yer overalls
Smokin’ a ‘gar in yer rusty truck
Nothin’ but a dumbfuck redneck,
ain’t it just yer fuckin’ luck!

Ya Never wash yer clothes
‘N ya never take a shower
The worse ya stink the dumber ya think
But a real man ain’t a fuckin’ flower!

Paul guffawed at that line–because…because he was a real fucking man, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like those prissy bitches in the city. No–he didn’t want to live like that anymore–why worry about climbing the corporate ladder, when he could just work on the farm all day–simple shit, without having to worry about complex shit like accounts, or computers or whatever. He leaned forward and gave the ass of his overalls a scratch, digging into his crack a bit with a grunt around the cigar he was smoking, and then sat back with a sigh, hearing the old seat of his pickup groan under his weight, smelling the grungy musk welling up around him and making his cock stir Sure was his luck! No better fucking life than this one he had right now as a dirty fucking farmer bear, right? This was a great album–how in the world had he never heard of it before? He kept listening, humming along and singing when he got the choruses of the song’s down. As he was pulling onto the subdivision where he lived with Nate, the last track of the album came on, called “Hogfucker” and this one made his breath catch in his lungs:

Those curly tails and big wide rumps
get ya rarin’ fer a nasty fuck
Can’t help climbin’ in the filthy sty
just a plowin’ in the mud and muck!

Who’s a proud hogfucker?
Yer a proud hogfucker!

Manure and slop sure turn yer crank,
The oinkin’ snortin’ ‘n squealin’.
Ruttin’ away in the disgustin’ filth
Yeah! Ain’t no better fuckin’ feelin’!

Fuck, why in the hell was his cock so hard all of a sudden? He thought the song was metaphorical for a moment, but pretty soon…he was sure it was talking about pigs. Real fucking pigs, and how…how fucking sexy they were. Hell, why should he try and deny it anyway? It was true–he’d fucked a few pigs in his life–it was always better than fucking a dude or a bitch in his opinion.

“Who’s a proud hogfucker?” The song asked again.

“I’s a proud hogfucker!” Paul shouted back with a chorus of redneck voices on the track, hauling his cock free of his overalls and stroking himself roughly, thinking of the last time he’d been with a proper hog–too fucking long ago in his opinion. He needed to get back out on the farm, into the country, where he’d feel more at home anyway–but he…he had to do something here first. The song ended–too soon for Paul to finish his load–and the heavyset redneck got out of his truck with a grumble and tromped up the steps of his house, feeling out of breath and out of sorts, but he was sure he’d feel better once he was back on the farm, where he belonged.

Five Film Contract (2 of 2) WARNING: FILTH, BESTIALITY


Just one more, Evan was telling himself. Just one more film, and he’d be done. The contract would be over. He could…be normal again, himself again. He wouldn’t have to keep doing this, why was he still doing this?

He’d gone back to his room after the second film, stunned, unable to look at his reflection in the mirror, at his shaved head. He could still smell Rick on him, and he liked it. He’d left the set still wearing that dirty jock, and he’d jacked it, trying to find a dildo large enough to make his ass happy, disgusted with himself, but more turned on than he’d been in his life, and terrified that he still had three more films to go, that…that he might lose control of himself like that, again. That, even worse, he might lose control of himself like Rick. After their film together, he’d been even larger, with huge, meaty forearms–one of them marked like a ruler, lumbering off to his own room. He didn’t want to be like that…but he could tell, the directors had something else in mind for him.

The third film he’d done better, he’d kept his head around him. He’d taken every toy the other two actors had used on him and loved every second of it, watching the two of them…shift. The rubber, the tattoos, the piercings, the dullness in their eyes, but he’d fought off the worst of it. Sure, he couldn’t…quite bring himself to take off the rubber when he got back to his room, and the rings in his nipples did feel good, but he hadn’t given in like they had. That had been a victory–he could see the frustration in the director’s eyes. But the fourth film, yesterday…

The piss…the filth…he’d lost himself in it, and they’d caught every second of his debauchery on film. He still reeked of piss and shit now, the next morning. He’d tried to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to–he’d been too…wired, looking at himself in the mirror, at his new body. His missing muscles, his paunch, how he’d aged into at least his early forties. Now he was pissing into condoms to drink later–he…he liked it cold–and working his fist back into his ass at the same time, losing himself, whatever bit of himself there still was…but there was just one more film. He could make it through one more, right?

He left his room, but instead of going to a set, he was led to a car–rubber sheet placed over the backseat–and driven out of town. “We have a special final set for you all prepared, Evan,” the director said, “everyone is going to love this, watching you collapse. You’re going to be a star after this, just you wait.”

It was a farm. He wasn’t shooting with any of his other actors–no, Evan was tied down in the muck and manure, the cameras rolling as animal after animal fucked his hole–a dog, a boar, a cow, a donkey, and finally, a horse. He lost himself in it, he felt his very humanity draining away into the mud. When they finally untied him, all he could do was grunt and crawl through the mud, rubbing his cock raw. But he was a star, when his series premiered on the internet. Most people thought it was a hoax, that he was just a paid actor, but Evan could have confirmed it, if Evan still existed. Now he was just the director’s personal pet–but rumor has it there’s a reunion special coming up–Evan and Rick, together again for one evening–the two nasty beasts rutting in the mud and filth. You should see the preorders–it’s going to make bank.

Master Fitzroy’s Stables (Part 4)

A commissioner requested an additional chapter to this story from earlier this year. Here’s where you can find part’s one, two, and three. Also, this chapter’s a bit out there–animal hybrids, and castration.


“I’m very disappointed, Mr. Grant. I’ve made you a very comfortable home here, you know. To have my generosity thrown back at me in my face, well…what do they say about the hand that feeds you?”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!”

“Now, I don’t know quite how you managed to untwist your way out of my programming, but I am still the master of this house, and you will still treat me with the respect I require.”

“I’m not treating you for shit! You fucked me up! I’m some old fucking man, and that…that thing fucks me fucking twice a day! No, I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to expose you, and you’re going to fucking jail.”

“Do you honestly believe that you’re the first one of my staff to have gotten their wits about and run off to your holy ‘authorities’? Please, I have an excellent relationship with the entire local government. I can assure you. even if you had gotten away without being caught, your feat would have amounted to nothing.”

“…”

“Silence? Fine. Still, we will have to punish you, I can assure you.”

“Edufuck me all you fucking want, I’ll just beat it again.”

“Oh, edification will be necessary, yes, but I think this situation calls for more…extreme measures. No, good night, Mr. Grant. I’ll see you in a few days.”


Mr. Grant smelled manure. It was a scent he’d grown accustomed to over the last few months, since when he first displeased the Master of Fitzroy Abbey, but not one he’d ever learned to enjoy. No, he hated it more with each day. But now, waking up slowly, it…comforted him. It smelled like home, somehow.

He was lying on straw, but why was he sleeping in the stable? Had he passed out? Slipped away for a nap? Master would be very unhappy with either possibility, and he didn’t want to upset master, no, not that–

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but it felt so…thick, all of a sudden. It wasn’t like Mr. Grant had ever been the smartest person, but before he’d been able to manage. Now, it felt like his thoughts were running through molasses. Had…had something happened to him again? He could remember a conversation, dimly. Master had been angry. He’d been angry too, but also…terrified. But what he’d done, he couldn’t recall at all. He opened his eyes, and where he was propped against the side of the stable, he had a clear view of his body, and that was what caused the scream which echoed across the grounds of the entire Abbey gardens.

His legs, what the fuck had happened to his legs! The terror cut through the static clogging his mind, and he ran his old hands over the furry flanks his ass and thighs had become, then down further, to his knee, the slender leg ending in a thick, solid brown hoof. He felt the whole thing with his hands, unable to believe it, but it was him, his body. The static was returning, and as it did, some of his shock and surprise faded as well. Had things been different? He couldn’t actually remember being different, so it was possible he’d always been this way, right? The one thing he definitely appreciated was his cock, the sheath running from the base of his heavy balls all the way up his slightly elongated torso, where the head of his cock began to emerge. He forced himself upright, finding it relatively easy to balance on the wide hooves, and with his hands, felt the shaft. He had to piss–and as soon as he’d thought it, the urine poured out of him in a torrent with no control at all–he barely managed to aim it at a corner, away from the straw where he’d been laying. The scent was strong, but not at all unpleasant, similar to the manure. He…liked it here actually…but didn’t he have work to do? Hadn’t he been…trying to get somewhere? The thoughts didn’t seem to connect up to anything, but he pushed open the door to the stable, and walked out, smelling the air. Something…else was in his nose, something…wonderful. Chopper. Chopper, he definitely knew, his new horse tail flicking at the thought, ass clenching.

Whistling a little tune, he took off, following the scent of his favorite horse. He smelled something else, but realized what–or rather, who–it was, too late. Master was waiting for him as well, with two burly servants of the house.

“Ah, Mr. Grant. I trust you’ve found your new accommodations acceptable? You’ll be staying here with the horses from now on, considering you’re mostly horse yourself now. You’re usual duties will be the same, though with that new brain of yours, I doubt you’ll have much time to think of escaping again. Still, there is one last thing I’d like to take care of. I did so love that tiny cock of yours, but gene manipulation…we can’t always have everything we want. Still, I think having you as a gelding will work out fine–calm you down a bit, make you more…pliable.”

The two men tackled Mr. Grant to the grubby floor of the stable, holding him down, allowing the master of the abbey to first, bind his huge balls with a series of bands, and once they’d turned a deep, blackish blue, to cut open the sack and extract both of his testicles, before sewing up the incision. Mr. Grant just stared, dumbfounded, but once they were gone he…felt better. Calmer. The panic in him died back a bit, and he got a stupid grin on his face. He was all too happy to let Chopper fuck his new hole–a wonderful new experience, since his wider frame could better take the huge shaft, and from them on, Mr. Grant settled into his new life, that of a grubby stable man gelding–and always ready for any of the stallions to mount him, if need be.

Dale’s Story (Part 7)

Well the winner by a good margin was option number two with 35% of the vote, and the close runner up was option four with 27%, so why not combine them both together, right? So, WARNING: BESTIALITY AHEAD is what I’m trying to say.


“Well come on o’er here, Mick, ‘n let me git a good look at ya,” Dale said, waving the farmer over to where he was standing next to Bishop, or Piggy as he knew himself know, still helplessly chowing down on slop from the trough, horrified that someone had found him in this position.

“I don’–who the hell are you?” Mick asked, “How’d ya…know my name?” he walked over, not even aware that he was doing so until he was a few feet away from Dale–and he looked over his shoulder at where his shotgun was lying back by the barn entrance. “Yer on mah property, I want ya off.”

“Oh, we ain’t trespassin’, Master Mick–yer the one who invited us, after all. Piggy here wanted tah be yer new pigslave, ‘n we’re tryin’ him out, tah see if he’s good enough fer yer sty, ain’t that right?”

Mick’s mind was simple, and Dale found it rather…thrilling, how he could rewire the man’s head at to his merest whim. The farmer was a gentle guy, easy going–he had a shotgun, sure, but he’d never be able to really use it on anyone. No–he’d been more scared than anything, when he’d heard the noises in his barn, coming back from getting his hogs bedded down for the evening. So Dale started hardening him, giving him edges, cruel and abusive instincts, sadistic desires, and filling his mind with all sort of pervere, twisted fantasies. He resisted a bit, but the old Mick couldn’t stand for more than a moment against Dale’s mental onslaught, and when Mick looked down at Bishop again–it was hunger and lust and anger in his eyes that show through, as he kicked his new slave in the gut, yelling at him to eat faster, that he’ll never manage to be his pigslave with a sorry appetite like that. Mick started inspecting him then, unhappy with his scrawny the pig was, but he could fatten him up, if the thing had the spirit to handle him.

Dale crouched down next to Bishop’s face in the trough, and watched his brother plead with him for a moment, but he was already rewiring him as well. After all, this is what Bishop had wanted, right? Yeah, a master, a farmer, someone who could really help him become the pig he knew was deep inside him, that he’d always felt in there, that he’d always wanted to be. He wanted to be abused, humiliated, raped even, if that’s what it took, and even though these desires made him feel so ashamed, his cock was hard as a rock when Mick ran two dirty fingers down his crack and gave the piggy’s cunt a test–and Dale had an idea, or rather, Mick had his idea a moment later.

“I’m on the fence ‘bout it,” Mick said, “Could be a good ‘un, but I ain’t sure it really wants it. One way tah find out fer sure though. Get the hog’s hole warmed up fer a bit man, ‘n I’ll be back in a few.”

“Heh, ya heard the boss,” Dale said, unzipping his fly and dropping his pants, hefting his huge gut onto the small of Bishop’s back and shoving his rock hard cock in dry. Bishop groaned in pain, and Dale gave him a slap on the ass. “Don’t be worried ‘bout this, bro, be worried ‘bout who yer new master’s bringin’ back wit’ ‘em.”

Bishop had no idea what Dale might be referring to, until Mick returned with his prize winning boar leashed up. “Best way tah see if it’s got what it takes, is tah give it a taste a the real thing.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me!” Dale said, and made room for the boar. He gave the animal a mental prod, encouraging it on to mount Bishop, who cried out when he realized what was about to happen with him…but he wanted this. No, he didn’t want this, whatever his brother was doing to him he…he’d always thought about this, about being mounted like an animal, by an animal. A squeal escaped his mouth as the boar slid inside him, and the excitement of his fantasies coming true–his cock exploded all over the ground beneath him as he rutted with the boar, Mick letting out a laugh. “Hot damn, this thing ain’t a pig, it’s a god damn sow! Heh, bet we’d make some real nice progress if we went ‘n nutted the damn thing–then it’d put some wait on her hips real fast.”

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, Master Mick-it’s your piggy now.”

“Heh–the leather daddies back in the big city ‘r gonna go fuckin’ nuts over it at the convention next year, I’ll tell ya that!”

“Well Bishop,” Dale said, “I think yer in perfectly capable hands now–maybe I’ll come check in on ya tahmorrow, ‘n see how yer comin’ along.”

Bishop tried to beg, tried to plead, but all he could do was oink and squeal and debase himself as the boar came to climax inside him, and his master shoved the animal to the side and took it’s place, raping his new pig’s sloppy pussy as rough and hard as the boar who’d just been inside him. Dale watched a moment, and then left the barn, satisfied–to an extent.

“Damn, Dale, that’s pretty fuckin’ twisted,” a familiar voice said behind him. He turned, and the stranger appeared out of the dark, smoking a cigar.

“Fucker deserved it.”

The stranger didn’t say anything, just let a stream of smoke into the evening air. “Well, ya still got plenty a time left–who else ya wanna get some revenge on, while ya got the chance?”


I’m not sure if we’ll revisit Bishop here or not–his story line seems to have wrapped itself up pretty well. Still, I’m sure a guy like Dale has a few other grudges he could take on, right?

  1. His father–he’ll need some way to occupy himself now that both of his son’s are out of the house.
  2. His bully from high school who still lives in town–he could use a few lessons in punishment.
  3. A couple of Bishops friends–he’s sure to find them at George’s bar tonight, and he never did get to finish that drink with them.
  4. The stranger himself–try and take control of him. It’s risky and might fail, but he’ll never know unless he tries, right?

So, who do you want Dale to target next?