Caption: Truer Words #3 – Cocksucker

“Promote him? Sure he looks like a nice guy, but I heard he’s a cocksucker. We can’t have someone like that representing our company as a Vice President! Men like that only care about sex, fucking degenerate freaks is all they are,” the other executives at the club laughed along with Jerry as they smoked cigars, and the discussion moved on to other, straighter candidates for the position. Only Jerry heard the words on the air:

“Truer words were never spoken.”

Over the next while, Jerry found himself getting hungrier. There were the usual hors d’oeuvres available at the club, but none of them were particularly satisfying to this need growing in his gut. He ended up in a chair in the corner of the room, looking a bit sullen, sucking on his cigar, licking the end thoughtlessly, until it was nothing but a nub. Then he excused himself, got his coat from the check, and left.

He needed something to satisfy this, he was getting desperate. He didn’t go to his car, instead he found himself walking down the city streets, his feet guiding him somewhere. Perhaps he’d find a little restaurant still open at this time of night, that could give him what he needed. Instead, he found himself standing outside of a building that advertised itself as a bathhouse–he knew about these, and what those faggots did in there. He tried to walk away, but his stomach cramped, almost sending him to the sidewalk on his knees. Distressed, he followed his feet, went inside, purchased a year long membership without thinking about it, and got undressed in the locker room.

The first cock he saw, he knew what he needed. He tried to get down on his knees and suck the twink off, only for him to push him away and walk off, obviously not interested in him. Flustered, he wandered around, looking for someone willing to feed him, and finally passed by the gloryholes. His feet turned, he got on his knees in the booth, and it wasn’t long before the first cock slid through the hole, and Jerry swallowed it to the hilt, ravenous. After a few minutes, he was rewarded with a load of cum that he swallowed down eagerly, horrified at his shamelessness, unable to comprehend why he was doing this. He tried to get up, tried to run, get dressed and go home to his wife, but his legs refused to unbend. Another cock slid through the hole, and he sucked that one dry too, and the one after that, and the one after that.

When he finally felt full, he stood up, stepped out and got dressed in his suit. It no longer fit correctly. Jerry had always been large, but his gut had swollen even more with all of this cum, arms and legs shrunken, now several inches shorter than he had been. He looked like a freak, like a degenerate, like a cumhungry pig. He left the building, horrified to realize it was already morning, and he only had a little time before he was due at the office. Still in the same suit he’d worn the night before, he rushed over, only to find himself in a meeting with the new VP of Operations–which had been his position, hadn’t it?

No, of course not. The new VP was more than happy to remind him of the fact that cum hungry pig faggots like him weren’t fit for this sort of work. Thankfully, there was a position open in the maintenance department, which would be more fitting for a cocksucker like him. He had to agree, and the new VP was even nice enough to feed him a load of cum, before he went down to the basement, exchanged his suit for a set of coveralls, and spent the day dunging out the bathrooms of the offices. That night, he found himself back at the bathhouse, back on the other side of the hole, no longer questioning his hunger. His hunger that never slept, so neither would he, from now on. By day, a janitor, and by night, a hungry mouth. There was nothing else that could matter for a cocksucker like him.

Captions: Owned / Dirtier

Since I missed yesterday’s post, here’s a double feature!


“How long has it been since you were here, slave?”

“A…a month.”

“A month, Master,” he said, and gave the rubber clad man a smack on the ass, and left it there, running his fingers between his thighs, tracing the chastity cage locked on the outside of the rubber catsuit. “I will not have a slave disrespect me in public. We are lax at home on occasion, but I know you know your manners well.”

“Yes Master.”

“A month since you went home with me. Remember what a confident little shithead you were? Talking about how you were all top, never gonna bottom in your life? Now look at you. That big cock of yours locked away, hole loose and ready,” he said, and slid two of his fingers through the slit in the back of the rubber suit, pressing up against the slave’s hole, feeling him shudder at the touch. “You’re owned now, and once we go in there, everyone is going to know it. Everyone you’ve fucked. Everyone who wanted to fuck you. They’re gonna know that you’re my property. How does that make you feel?”

The slave didn’t respond right away, just let out a little moan.

“It makes you excited, doesn’t it?”

Another little moan, followed by, “Yes Master, it does.”

“How many men do you think I should let use your holes tonight?”

“As many as you want, Master.”

“Good, slave, you do learn quickly. The last slave I had, I couldn’t take him out in public for three months. I know you’re going to serve me well in there tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes Master.”

“And remember–always pride. Be proud that you realized who you are. Most of those men in there are too scared to accept it. But you are right where you want to be, isn’t that right?”

The slave nodded, and he followed his Master into the bar to begin his new life.


You hadn’t taken that old bitch seriously, of course. Who would have, really? Ranting and raving about some curse or something, while security was dragging her out of the bank where you worked, saying something about how if all you cared about was dirty money, then you might as well just keep getting dirtier.

But for the next week or so, you kept noticing things. Dirt kept appearing under your fingernails, no matter how well you cleaned them at night, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything to make them dirty in the first place. Then you noticed that, after you showered, you always still had a lingering musk around you. It wasn’t too bad at first, but by the next week, you got a couple of comments at work. You tried all of these different soaps and shampoos, but nothing helped, and by then, the dirt was starting to spread as well.

Then, it wasn’t just you, either. You went to bed in a set of clean sheets, and when you woke up the next morning, they were filthy. Stained, reeking of sweat and cum and piss, and worst of all, you didn’t mind it. It smelled good to you all of a sudden, and you couldn’t resist rolling over, grinding your cock into the sheets and adding another load to them. You showered after, of course, but it didn’t help. You could smell it lingering around you, that same grungy scent, and the more you noticed it, the hornier you were getting.

You tried to find that woman, but there was no sign of her anywhere, all of her bank records had just vanished. Your boss called you into his office, raked you over the coals for your slovenly appearance. You didn’t know where that beard had come from, or how your hair had gotten so long so quickly. You went home early, tried to shave it off and cut it away, but it would grow back faster than you could remove it, thicker and thicker each time. That day, you went to put on a suit, dreading going in to work again, but all of your suits had disappeared, replaced with grungy looking hi vis workwear and nothing else. 

But then, what else would you wear? In a stupor, you pulled on some of the filthy garments and went to work–but not at the bank. You were a construction worker, right? You spent the day trying to convince yourself otherwise, but couldn’t manage it. This just…felt right. You were scared, and too tired to fight it. Maybe if you just let it happen, it would stop. This wasn’t so bad, right? And for a while, your body didn’t get worse, at least, but your mind started growing filthier instead. Working around all of those other musky, masculine men, you found yourself caught in fantasy after fantasy, about how they would use your dirty body–and as you concocted each scenario, they came true. 

The foreman pissing on you in the portpotty. A father and son tag teaming your holes in the back of their pickup. Timmy, the fattest guy on the crew, sitting his grungy ass on your face while you jacked off your rank cock. You didn’t live in that nice house anymore. You lived in a studio apartment, never cleaned, never cared for. Sometimes, you would fight, try and remember who you’d been, but when you did, it would get worse somehow, always worse, but now, why can’t you find your way home?

You usually walked home, sometimes sucking cock in the alleys on your way to and from the construction site, but now, you just couldn’t find it. You ended up in an alley, and slept there, interrupted by a couple of cops walking their beat, who took a little break to fuck your nasty hole in the middle of the night. Come morning, you went back to the construction site, but you didn’t work there anymore. That didn’t stop all the men from using you of course, but you were too filthy even for that work now. You made your way back to your alley, still so damn horny, but things, at least, couldn’t get worse than this, right?

TPC – Chapter 2.12

Chapter 2.12 – The Hardhat Life

“Rise and shine meatheads, let’s get to fuckin’ work!”

Richard groaned and rolled over on the mattress, and nearly tumbled off–he reached out and found a post and stopped himself, then looked around. He had no idea where he was. In fact, he had no idea where he was supposed to be. He had no real idea who he was, either, for that matter. It was easier to start with the where–so he did that.

It was a long metal room, the two sides lined with bunk beds. All around him, guys were clambering out of their own narrow mattresses, all of them naked, and pulling on a wide variety of grungy, unwashed clothing that had been heaped in the center of the room. He laid there, watching, until someone came up and gave him a smack upside the head. He looked down and saw a face glowering up at him. “Newbie! Get your ass up, get dressed, and get your ass outside.”

The knock and the barking of the order was enough to stiffen his little cock, and he did as he was told. By the time he got down and lumbered over–his body just didn’t feel right, somehow, but he didn’t know how it was supposed to feel anyway, so maybe this was how it should be–the pile of clothes had dwindled to nearly nothing. He pulled on a filthy wifebeater than smelled like someone had pissed on it recently, found a set of overalls that were too long for his shorter legs, and ended up in sets of mismatched socks and workboots, but he was dressed. The last one out the door, he took the hardhat the boss handed him, and put it on like the rest of the men milling about in the yard. The crowd was larger than just the men who had fit in his quarters, which now that he was outside of it, he saw was a converted shipping crate. There were three more in the vacant lot where they were now wandering around. Some guys were trying to swap clothes, others were standing, waiting for orders probably. The Boss called them to order, and they all stopped what they were doing, and listened.

“Alright, we got the usual three spots today, and some special jobs I’ll be assigning myself. Twenty of you on the right–twenty on the left, and the rest in the middle.”

There was some jostling, and Richard ended up on the left flank.

“Alright. Right hand side, you have the project with House of Kings, working on their new compound. Left, you’re working the apartments up the block. Center, you’ll be broken into smaller teams for odd jobs. Alright, let’s get to it.”

The men broke off and headed to their assigned locations, Richard swept away with the twenty other grunts headed for the apartment job. They got there in a few minutes, and another Boss was waiting for them, lined them up, and assigned them duties. He gave Richard a once over and sighed. “Newbie, you’re gonna be runnin’. Just make sure everyone’s got the shit they need, and try not to fuck anything up,” he said, and then moved onto the next guy in line. Richard wanted to ask him what they were doing, why he was here, but he didn’t get a chance, and the other guys didn’t seem particularly interested either. When he was finished assigning duties, they broke off and headed to their duties, but Richard stayed behind.

“I…uh…I don’t know why I’m here, I think…I think there’s a mistake.”

“There’s no mistake hardhat. Get to fucking work.”

“But…I don’t think I work here. My name…my name’s Richard, and–”

The Boss slapped him across the face, and for the second time that morning, Richard found himself with an embarrassing hard on. “Get in the fucking trailer. I don’t know where they’re getting you fucks lately, but they aren’t even cleaning you out properly.”

Richard gulped, but did as the Boss ordered, following him into the trailer. He noticed a couple of other guys watching, then they shook their heads and got back to work. Richard felt a little shame at that, but what had he done wrong? He just didn’t understand. The door closed behind them, and he had no chance to think before the Boss whirled on him, put both of his hands around his neck, and shoved him back against the wall.

“Now, you need to listen real close, Newbie. I don’t like having to explain shit, and you fucking hardhats are too fucking stupid to understand half of it anyway. You don’t have a fucking name–not anymore. You’re a fucking hardhat. You’re all interchangeable. You work, you eat, you sleep, and you do it again the next day, got it?” Richard nodded, but the Boss only squeezed his throat tighter, until he was gasping for breath, and then released him. Richard fell forward as he stepped back, and he landed on the floor in front of him on all fours. Without letting him catch his breath, he shoved the toe of his dirty boot in his mouth. “Clean it, pig.”

Richard tried to pull away, but he just pushed it harder, rolling him onto his back, the bottom of his boot against his mouth, while the Boss pulled his belt free from his pants, doubled it, and gave him a sharp smack on the nuts with it, making him grunt–and much to his horror, leak profusely, enough to wet the front of his ill fitting overalls. “I said clean it, pig. I know you fucking hardhats love the taste of a grimy boot.”

Richard realized he was already licking the boot by the time Boss gave the order. Even worse, he realized that he was enjoying it. He reached down to grope his cock, only for Boss to smack his hand away with the belt. 

“Keep your hands off pig–do a good job, and maybe I’ll let you cum with my cock deep in your guts.”

That image just made Richard lick harder, much to his shame. But the shame only made him more excited, made him leak even more, and that made him lick more, and he…he was enjoying this. He wanted this. When the boots were clean, he begged Boss to fuck him, begged him to breed his dirty pig hole, and Boss eventually relented–but only after looping his belt around Richard’s nuts and pulling it tight while he fucked him good and rough. That was enough for him to explode with a loud squeal, shooting his load all over the desk he was bent over, and once Boss had finished inside him, he made Richard clean off the desk, then his cock, and then gripped his neck again.

“Now, who are you?”

“A…hardhat, Sir.”

“And what is a hardhat?”

“A…stupid pig, sir. A stupid, horny, stinking, gross pig…”

“And what are you gross pigs good for?”

“Work sir. And fucking. But mostly work…will…you fuck me again sir, please?”

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he said, and released him. “Get to fucking work, don’t you realize how much of my time you wasted, Newbie? Give me that hat.”

Richard handed him the orange hat he’d received that morning, and Boss handed him a yellow one. 

“You know what that means?”

Richard shook his head.

“Means you’re today’s urinal. Tomorrow too–as long as I think necessary, until you get used to being a filthy hardhat. You’ll still be running, but all the hardhats know what that hat means. Think you can do that? If not, I have another one you can wear instead,” he said, and pointed to a brown hardhat on hanging on the wall. “But maybe you’d like that one too much.”

Richard gulped.

“Now get out of my sight.”

Richard scrambled out of the trailer and back towards the workers, and saw that quite a few of them were waiting to see him come out–and when they noticed the swapped hat, more than a few of them even looked a bit jealous. Richard understood why. Boss stuck his head out, hollered at them all to get back to work, and they scrambled back to their duties, Richard quickly finding a little bit of a flow. Guys would shout at him if they needed something, and he’d find it and get it to them. If there was no one shouting, he started asking around–and if they didn’t need something, they usually needed to piss, and Richard was more than happy to drink it down for them.

“Lucky fucker,” one of them said as he finished, “Wanna trade hats? I never get to be the urinal.”

The hardhat considered it for a moment, then shook his head, and headed off to check with someone else, his concerns already evaporating, as the day heated up. He was a hardhat now–he didn’t need to know more than that–but he did, for some reason, hold onto his name. It wasn’t important really, but he liked the sound of it, how it felt in his mouth. Richard. He whispered it softly to himself that night, and each night after that–and before long, it was all he had left.

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 10)

Time flowed forward again, and Skip’s wish came out a bit differently this time around:

“I wish you were working with me in maintenance. That way, I could use this mouth whenever I wanted!”

The genie smirked, snapped his fingers, and Jason was enveloped in a cloud of swirling mist. The young man stood up, interrupted in his sucking for the moment, as he coughed and gagged, trying to get the sickly smoke away from him. It dissipated after a few moments, leaving him feeling dizzy and discombobulated. He was looking at…at Skip there, leaning against the counter, but he didn’t know how he knew the older man’s name all of a sudden.

Like magic, an answer appeared in his mind. He knew Skip because they worked together, of course. They were both in the university’s maintenance department, and would regularly meet up on the job so Jason could suck Skip off. His mind repeated all of this at him like it was perfectly normal, and Jason had to fight it. He looked in the mirror, and with a dull horror, saw that his preppy clothes had disappeared–he was wearing the same work uniform as Skip was. The same work uniform they both wore everyday…because what else would be be wearing, anyway?

“No–no, this isn’t right, get me the fuck out of this shit!” Jason said, and started pulling at the front of his shirt, but the genie made it impossible for him to remove his uniform for the moment, enjoying watching the young man struggle with his impossible buttons. “I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this shit to me, but I’m not some fucking handyman! I’m a fucking college student!”

Skip laughed. “Maybe you were, but not for long. I wish you were a high school dropout.”

The genie made a few quick edits:

“I wish you were my son, who’s a high school dropout.”

Jason shook his head, but he could already feel it, his memories of college disappearing from his head, along with a good amount of his intelligence. “No dad, don’t…I don’t wanna be dumb! I wanna go to college again!”

“Shut up you stupid fucker. I wish the only thing you cared about was pleasing my cock.”

Or rather, once the genie was finished with it:

“I wish the only thing you cared about was pleasing my thick, chessy, uncut cock.”

Jason shook his head, but with a snap of his fingers, the genie invaded the young man’s mind once more, his eyes turning the same shifting shades as the genie’s smoke, and he took a couple steps forward again. Fuck, why had he stopped sucking his dad’s cock anyway? It was always a treat when they finished a job up quick, because his dad would give him some time to suck him off before going back to the maintenance office. He got back down on his knees, licking his lips, and sucked his dad’s cock back into his mouth, enjoying how the thick shaft stretched his jaw. He cleaned under Skip’s thick foreskin and found some cheese he hadn’t eaten earlier and swallowed it down with a moan, shoving one had down the front of his work pants to start jack himself off as well.

“Yeah, that’s better, isn’t it son? No need to worry about anything complicated anymore, you just let your daddy handle all of that stuff from now on. After all, I’m the smartest one in the family now–the one who managed to graduate from high school at least! The only way you got this job is because I work here–you’re too stupid to handle it without me, you know that right?”

Jason nodded in agreement, and Skip noticed, up close, how much the young man resembled him now. It was a bit…uncanny actually, but in all honesty, it made the whole scene so much hotter. He was getting close to blowing a load down his son’s throat at this point, and it was clear that Jason was hungry for it. With a moan, Skip unloaded down Jason’s throat, his boy swallowing all of it eagerly, and licking his lips afterwards. “Fuck dad, I love your fuckin’ cock so much…”

“Yeah, you’re as much a perverted fuck as I am,” Skip said, and helped Jesse up, sizing up his boy a bit more, now that the excitement was ebbing away a bit. He was a good looking young man in a lot of ways, but he was a little too skinny for Skip’s taste. He liked guys with a bit more muscle on them, in all honesty. It was an easy fix, of course. “I wish you were big and muscular,” he said.

The genie smiled, and decided that Skip’s wish could use a little more imagination.

Here’s the next poll! You can find the patron only poll over here as well.

The Dangers of Smoking (Original Version)

Originally published 07/09/2007

Here’s another old one, also over ten years old. It was originally broken into two parts, but I broke it up into a few more for ease of jumping around, if there’s a particular section of the story you might want to revisit. This one in particular is heavily indebted to an old Peircedskin story, “One Man’s Rubbish”, which is worth a read if you haven’t found that gem before. Also, as an odd lore note, while there is no mention of Pigtown in this story, the Rod character is this story, and the “Rod” character who owns Pigtown in most of my later works, are all versions of the same character–who is the person listening to The Wizard’s tale in “Losing Control.” I had a series of something in mind to explain how Rod got from point A to point B back when all of this started that never panned out, but this early set of stories are all loosely connected together regardless.

Table of Contents

Part 1 – A Chance Encounter With Rod

Vincent peered into his closet, unsure of what he should wear to his meeting. Mr. Mathews was one of the most important clients of his company, and he had to make a good first impression. Finally he pulled out his blue navy suit and laid it on his bed, getting out of his standard work suit to change. After stripping, he paused a moment to look over his body. His 190-pound, six-foot frame was smooth and muscled from many hours at the gym and with a shaver. Even though Vincent hated to workout, and hated breaking a sweat even more, he knew how important it was too look good as a company representative. After going to the gym, he would immediately shower, he couldn’t stand being dirty for any long period of time. He also hated the hair on his body, and trimmed most of it off except for his pubic bush. His apartment reflected this tidy attitude, and Vincent spent almost all of his time at home cleaning everything. Any of the girlfriends he had had left after a few months because they couldn’t stand his constant cleaning, but Vincent didn’t mind, it was easier to keep everything clean when he only had to pick up after himself.

He pulled out his ironing board and pressed his shirt and pants, then put on his suit. He picked up his other clothes and tossed them in the dry cleaning hamper, and then found the appointment book where he had written down the location of the meeting. Mr. Mathews hadn’t wanted to come to the office for some reason, but Vincent was ok with that so long as he got a bonus for sealing the deal. Flipping through his notebook, he saw that he had written “Bremerton Pub, 6 p.m.” under Thursday with an address in the harbor district he had looked up online earlier. Vincent felt his stomach turn at the thought; any pub in the harbor district wasn’t going to be anything like the upper class soirées he was used to. But the customer was always right, so he climbed into his car and drove downtown.

Continue reading “The Dangers of Smoking (Original Version)”

New You Resolutions (Part 4) [Interactive]

There was no way he was going to do this, Morgan told himself. The list he was holding read like a nightmare:

Morgan’s Resolutions for 2019

  • Drink lots of cheap beer, and grow a big beer gut.
  • Drop out of college and find a job doing menial labor.
  • Go through a second, intense puberty, and age an additional ten years.
  • Act like a lazy slob, rarely shower, and get off on my own musk.
  • Become an aggressive, dominant top, and double the size of my cock.

Why in the hell would he do any of this shit? Who in the hell was this company anyway? He looked back at the letter, and then at the list again, looking for more information, but there wasn’t anything else, just this sudden wave of anxiety, and he…he…

Fuck, he needed a fucking beer.

Morgan shook his head, trying to clear it. Why in the world had he thought that? He didn’t drink much at all for one thing, but it did nothing really to slake his thirst. The older couple were out of the house for a while, running some errands…and before he could muster any mental opposition, he went down into the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed one of the beers the man always kept on hand, but which Morgan had always refused, and chugged it, letting off a long belch afterwards.

And fuck, if he didn’t feel so much better, almost immediately.

He spent so much time trying to be perfect, so much time trying to live up to some standard, to prove everyone wrong, to be everything he was supposed to be…but why? Why was he doing this, any of this? He knew he’d had answers, he might have even had answers when he’d woken up that morning, but he didn’t have them right now…and he found that to be such a relief, somehow. He grabbed another beer, drank that too, and then figured he should just go buy some of his own to replenish what he’d taken. He bought a twenty-four pack at the nearby gas station, went home, and in three days, it was gone.

In three days, he hadn’t taken a shower, he hadn’t thought about school, he hadn’t thought about those jocks or being bullied, or any of it. He’d sat in his room, drunk off his ass, doing jack shit, masturbating to the smell of his pits, and feeling…odd. It took him a few more days to realize what was odd–it was that he was aching in a weird way, like he was growing again, but faster than he had in his teens. He was angry too, all of a sudden. Angry, and lazy, and he had so many hormones rushing through him, that by the time school started back up a few weeks later, it was a relief to have an outlet, that he could charge up to the registrar, drop out, and be done with the whole mess.

It felt good, doing it. It felt good, like he was freeing himself. Sure, he didn’t have a job or anything, but he’d find something. He had some savings, some cash from his parents, enough to pay the rent and coast for a couple of months, and figure some things out–that, and finish growing. He hurt all the time now, in ways that he hadn’t remembered since high school. Each day, it seemed like something new happened–his voice cracking and dropping to a low bass, acne appearing across his face, his cock…growing. It seemed like it packed on another inch each week, and Morgan found his desires shifting as it grew, away from the mostly bottom he’d been, to something far more aggressive. He’d watch porn videos of gay guys taking down straight homophobes, raping them, and nothing would get him harder–he’d explode all over himself, thinking about the jocks he hated, so happy he’d never have to see them again–but if they did, boy, would they have a surprise coming to them.

By the time March hit and he had to hit the streets to look for work, Morgan looked like a brand new person. He was about six inches taller, more muscular, his jaw stronger and covered with a thick beard growing up his cheeks, his arms and chest similarly coated with hair from his renewed puberty. His gut, however, was the most notable part about him, jutting out like a beach ball in front of him, making him balance it out by leaning back a bit. He didn’t have a hard time finding a job in the city, and ended up working in a warehouse down on the docks, amazed at how much he could rake in with a union job, enough to move out of that room and rent his own place by June–a proper bachelor pad, he told himself.

By then, he barely recognized himself at all in the mirror, and sure, part of him was horrified…but part of him liked it. A growing part of him, a brute thrumming in his chest, the mean drunk that came out when he’d had a few too many, the brute that had…forced himself on a couple of the guys at work, who had, to his surprise, relented, and let him plow their holes with his massive, ten inch cock. But the greatest conquest was something special–after finals, one of the chief jocks who had bullied him ended up there in the bar–in his bar. Morg knew just what the prissy piece of shit needed–and he cornered him in the bathroom, and fucked the young jock’s brains out, raped him for all the shit he had done to him, and he realized, then, that perhaps these resolutions weren’t so bad after all.

But who else got a letter from the company?

Here’s the next poll! I used two fairly popular ideas from the last poll, to give them one more chance, and also used two ideas from readers that they submitted with the last poll. The public poll is below, and the patron only poll can be found here.

Arctos: Cable (Part 2)

“Come on, bro, get off me–I’m late for my fuckin’ class…”

Jared pushed mah head up, ‘n I moaned–how fuckin’ much did I fuckin’ drink last night? I mean, I ain’t no stranger tah hangovers by any fuckin’ measure, but this one was like someone had dropped an engine block on my noggin. Beside me, Jared gets up and stretches, givin’ his big jock gut a nice scratch,’n then heads fer his room–in front a me, the TV is still on, but unlike the night before, it ain’t holdin’ mah attention–just a fuckin’ rerun. I know all these Mechanic Stars episodes by heart anyway.

I haul mahself outta the deep indent in the couch, but it seems a bit…harder than it should be, fer some reason, ‘n give a good belch, mah gut rumblin’ when I do.

“Nice one, bro!” Jared shouts from his room.

“Plenty more where that shit came from, trust me–’n git a load a this!” I hike up a leg, give a shake, and pop outta fart fer him too, hearin’ ‘em chuckle as he’s gittin’ dressed. “Fuck, what fuckin’ day is it, anyway?” I mutter.

“Tuesday–don’t you have work, bro?”

Fuck, Jared’s right–I gotta be at the shop in a few hours. Still–first things first, gotta take a leak. I heft myself into the bathroom, stand in front a the toilet ‘n let loose, the sharp stench a beer piss in mah nose, ‘n I grunt. From the sound a it, I’m gettin’ most in the bowl at least, but I ain’t never been one tah aim real good. Doesn’t help I can’t fuckin’ see mah cock either! I give it a shake, and go to back out, when I see mahself in the mirror…’n I freeze.

I freeze ‘cause the fucker I’m seein’? That ain’t the fucker I ‘member bein’ the night before.

I mean, sure, I remember mahself good enough. Three hunderd pounds a beef right there, huge fuckin’ gut, hefty moobs, covered in a whole lotta fur. Fat jowly face with a big goatee–same style as Mick on Mechanic Stars, cause he’s mah favorite–shaved head too. I see all that–I know that’s me, but at the same fuckin’ time, I know it ain’t right, but I can’t pin down why I fuckin’ think that!

“Make way bro,” Jared says, and squeezes past me to the toilet, adding his own load a piss on top a mine. I wanna ask ‘em if he…thinks this is right. I mean–he’s the one in college, right? Not that he’s smart ‘r anythin’, he’s a meathead jock, really, but I’m dumber than he is.

“Jared–is there…do I look right to ya this mornin’?”

“I mean, ya could do the world a favor and take a shower, but you’re the same big pig as always, Mike.”

“Yeah, but…coulda sworm I was…that we was…”

Jared finished pissin’ ‘n squeezed back past, my cock doin’ a little throb when his gut slides by. “Sorry man, gotta go. If I’m late to class again, they might kick me off the team.”

“Yeah, sure–a’ight…”

Mah belly was growlin’–I never can think ‘bout shit on a empty gut. I git in the kitchen ‘n cook mahself breakfast–Jared eats a bit and then runs out the door, wearing his usual grungy looking gym gear a ain’t never seen ‘em wash in his life. Still–smells damn fine. So does breakfast–might feed a regular family a four, but I sit down at the table ‘n inhale all a it by mahself, lean back and let out a long belch, feelin’ a whole lot better. Still, I’m havin’ a hard time shakin’ the feelin’ that somethin’ just ain’t quite right ‘bout all a this, ‘n I try ‘n think back tah the night before.

I swear I was studyin’ shit, ‘n then I got sucked intah that marathon a Mechanic Stars…Yeah! ‘N when I got home yesterday, Jared was zoned out too, in front a the fuckin’ game! Did…did the fuckin’ TV do this shit tah us?

I hear a click, ‘n the sound a the TV flippin’ on all by itself.

“Think we have ourselves a smart one in here, don’t you Mick?”

I know that voice–it’s one a the mechanic stars! I look out at the TV, ‘n see Mick ‘n JD from the show on the screen, just…starin’. Starin’ at me.

“Have a seat, Mike.”

Their voices ain’t right. They ain’t got the drawl they usually do. I should run, but instead, I waddle back intah the room and sit back down on the couch.

“Yeah, there’s the stupid fucker, look at the fucking slob.”

“Keep your eyes here Mike–we know what you want–what you like to watch.”

The two mechanics turned tah one another on the screen, ‘n started makin’ out, sloberin’ all o’er each other’s fuckin’ faces, greasy hands, grubby clothes, ‘n I can’t fuckin’ tear mah fuckin’ eyes away. I feel mah cock throb again, ‘n reach into my nasty boxer shorts tah start strokin’ it, mouth open, drollin’ intah mah goatee.

“Yeah, I think the pig likes it, don’t you Mick?”

“Of course he likes it–he’s just a stupid, disgusting mechanic pig like us–what else could he possibly be?”

“Probably spends all night slobbering over that sexy jock roommate of his, begging him to fuck his dirty piggy hole with his cock, smelling his old jockstraps while he jacks off.”

There’s….somethin’ in mah hand. I bring it tah mah face, ‘n sure ‘nough, it’s one a Jared’s rank jocks. I take a long snort a his musk ‘n feel mah cock start leakin, I shove the thing in mah maw and start suckin’ on it.

“Yeah, that’s a good piggy–give in. Let yourself go. TV knows what’s good for you, TV knows what you are. You’re a nasty fucking piggy, and you’re happy as can fucking be.”

It’s true, it’s all fuckin’ true. I can feel those old memories just drainin’ out mah head, I’m so dense anyway, can’t remember much shit at all! I’m fuckin’ close though, strokin’ hard suckin’ on Jared’s jock ‘n sniffin’ mah filthy pits–mah cock explodes all over mah thighs, ‘n I’m pantin’ ‘n huffin’, sweatin’ all o’er but feel so fuckin’ good…

Then I look ‘oer, ‘n see Jared in the doorway–must a fergotten somethin’–yeah, fergot tah fuck his pig, a course! Fuck it if he’s late fer class–he knows he can’t leave wit’out plowin’ mah shit hole!

Arctos: Cable (Part 1)

A shorter something based off a caption I did for a pic over in the bear TF discord channel.

I knew something was up when I came home to the sound of the TV on.  Jared, my roommate in the apartment we shared, almost never watched TV–he spent almost all of his time holed up in his room, either reading or studying for classes. We were both fairly nerdy guys: quiet and reserved, and we’d always gotten along well, which is why we’d moved in together. Listening, it sounded like the TV was tuned to a sports channel, which was even stranger. I went inside, dropped my bag–and that’s when I saw him.

Jared–he wasn’t the Jared I remembered. He was on the couch in a pair of mesh shorts, jaw dropped, a bit of drool in the goatee he had somehow grown in the course of a day…but it was the belly that had sprouted which I found the most concerning. “Jared?” I asked, and he didn’t seem to hear me, “Jared!”

With a start, he looked over at me, eyes a bit dull…and I saw the empty beer cans scattered over the side table. “Hey roomie! What’s up? Some Arctos cable guy came by today, said we gots a free upgrade on the box. Picture’s fuckin’ great now! Sit down, let’s watch a bit.”

I didn’t know what to say–did he not see what had happened to him? I tried to point out how different he was, but he didn’t seem interested in listening–and before I could get him to pay attention, he was focused back in on the TV screen. Unnerved, I retreated to my room, keeping my eyes averted from the TV, and shut myself inside my room. Was I just imagining things? Jared certainly hadn’t seemed to notice anything wrong at all–and the more I thought about it, the harder time I was having trying to remember what, exactly, Jared had looked like earlier that morning. After all, hadn’t I left him right there, like usual, watching TV? He was always watching TV, wasn’t he?

I did my best to focus on my school work, but I swear Jared kept turning the volume on the TV up as the evening wore on. I went out to get some food and asked him to keep it down a bit, but he didn’t pay me any attention and just kept chugging the beer he had in his hand. “Whatever, bro,” he said to me, and let off a huge belch. I retreated back to my room, still keeping my eyes away from the TV as best I could. Once it came time to get to bed, however, I could hear the TV–and Jared snoring–through the walls of the apartment. I was going to have to go out there and turn it off at least so I could get some rest.

I crept out into the living room, and there Jared was, snoring away, his big hairy gut hanging out, cap on backwards, passed out drunk. What a fucking lout, I thought–what was I doing sharing an apartment with a fat, lazy pig like this anyway? I started digging around for the remote and eventually found it wedged under Jared’s ass, pointed it at the TV and tried to turn it off–but I must have hit the wrong button, because instead of turning off, the channel changed to something else. It wasn’t a show that I recognized at all, but at first look it seemed to be a reality show of some sort focused around a chop shop–a bunch of grungy looking mechanics covered in grease talking about the cars and motorcycles they were fixing and modding at the moment–however, it was the guy on the screen that caught my attention. He was speaking in a deep southern drawl, and this big, thick beard, and looked to be close to 400 pounds–just massive, and all of it packed into the grubby coveralls he was wearing.

After staring at the screen for a couple of minutes, I found myself becoming more interested in the content too–I decided to have a seat on the couch and at least finish the episode out. Then, when that one was finished, I discovered it was a marathon of the show…and I couldn’t very well watch just one episode, right? My hand found its way down to the side of the couch, where it fished up a can of beer–I popped it open and took a long swig, while my free hand started rubbing the crotch of my shorts, thinking about how sexy it would be to work somewhere like that–the smell of grease, the musk of my fellow mechanics, working with my hands. Still, I was starting to get tired, and while I tried to fight it as best I could, the beers were only making things worse. The last thing I remember is lying my head over onto Jared’s shoulder, and then I was out.

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 7)

Needless to say, listening to my mutt’s description of that first night out in gear, I was understandably horny as fuck. Still, even in that costume, I could tell he was genuinely sad about the memory–I gave him a scritch behind his ears and that seemed to help him perk up a bit. “Sorry sir, thinking about Joel always makes me a little sad, and I don’t like being sad.”

“Ya don’t gotta be sad Fido–ya sure got me horny as fuck, talkin’ about that shit. I got a bone right here for ya, if ya want boy,” I said, showing off the outline of my hard cock in the crotch of my overalls. Fido stared at it, whined, and then looked away.

“I want to sir, you know I do. But we need to get home, don’t we? And I’m still not done with the story. I can’t…not until I tell you the whole thing, sir.”

“Yeah, probably best not tah fuck mah pup here, where everyone can see, as hot as that would be…” I said, and tapped the ash from my pipe out onto the cement and stood up, sliding it back into my pocket. “Come on boy, let’s catch the next train–I’m feelin’ a whole lot better now.”

“Yes sir!”

I admit, a part of me was still struggling to accept this, a part of me trying to insist that I’d missed some conference call, trying to tell me that my loft was on the opposite side of the city. But every time I tried to get my thoughts in order, the mutt was give me a nuzzle to make sure I was still paying good attention to his story, and so I figured it would be best to give the mutt what he wanted, let him finish, have a fuck, and then I could get my own shit straightened out.

The mutt told me about how horrible he’d felt for the next few days, about how horrible it had felt for giving in like that, but at the same time, it was craving more. It went back the next weekend, and the treatment was much the same–Fido did his very best to please Joel and all of the other men at the bar, but once again, it wasn’t enough. Joel kept abandoning him, time and time again, and he kept trying to understand why every time it happened he was so devastated.

“Finally…I realized I was in love with him. I was in love with him, but he didn’t give two shits about me, not really. I wasn’t…I was a toy, something to play with, I wasn’t a human to him at all. I don’t even know if he saw me as a pet. But I loved him unconditionally. Just seeing him would make me grin from ear to ear, and my tail would wag, and I’d get so excited because he was there again, he was back with me. I’d feel whole again. But then he’d leave–he’d always leave.”

We were off the train now, and walking through some poorly maintained apartment buildings. Fido seemed to know where he was going, and so I was following along behind, smoking my pipe again, now that we were out of the underground. It took me a moment to realize he hadn’t kept speaking, and he was looking back at me with…a strange look in his eyes. A loving look, but also desperate, and it…scared me, honestly. “So what, is that yer story, mutt?” I asked gruffly.

“Almost done. Let’s go in though, sir.”

He pointed to a door to one of the buildings, and I pulled out a thick ring of keys from my pocket, and sure enough, one of them let us into the building. The key was marked with the number “607”, so together we hiked up the stairs–the elevator was out–and arrived at an apartment. I opened the door and stepped inside, and immediately I felt…like I was home. The air smelled of my musk and my smoke–and it smelled like…Fido, too. There were dog toys all over the floor, mixed in with the grungy work clothes I tended to leave lying around. Still, it was home, but it wasn’t familiar. I didn’t know this place, even if this place seemed to know me. Fido stepped inside as well, a but cautious, but I could sense how excited he was about being here finally. I shut the door behind us, and he walked around, sniffing the air.

“Well? Here we are mutt–are you going to finish the story or not?”

He turned to me, face beaming, and nodded.

“So…I loved him. I loved Joel like I’d never loved anyone before in my life, and once I realized it…I realized he knew how I felt. He’d known longer than I had, and he hadn’t…done anything. But I needed to be with him. It didn’t feel like a choice, it was a desperate compulsion, and so one night, outside the club, I managed to chase him down, and I begged him. I begged him to…to let me be his pup.”