Halloween At the Barnyard – Alternate Ending

This is an alternate ending I wrote to the last story I posted. The original ending was requested by the original commissioner, but I kind of wanted something with a bit more turnabout. That, and a lot of guys have been asking for submissive top stories lately, and this fits the bill. Hope you enjoy! The new content starts about halfway through chapter 4, but I reposted the whole chapter here for context, along with a brand new chapter 5.


Chapter 4 (Alternate Version)

“J-Jimmy?…Jimmy!” Matt shouted through the crowd, forcing his way over to where the large man was chatting with a couple of goats, “I need tah talk tah ya.”

Jimmy did his best to suppress an eye roll when he saw the pig stumbling towards him–this was a tough nut to keep happy, obviously. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to the others, and turned to the pig. On a second look, however, it was clear that the pig was in actual distress, and he didn’t see Carl with him. “You look like a bit of a mess, Matt. What happened?” The words that fell out of Matt’s mouth came in no easily discernible order, and his panic was only ratcheting higher. Jimmy twirled one hand, a large glass brimming with a dark ale appearing in his hand, and thrust it under Matt’s snout. “Drink this down first–you’ve obviously had some shock.”  

Matt was suspicious–and for good reason, but even smelling the ale was making him feel a bit better. He took the glass in his awkward hands and drank it back in a few glugs, feeling a bit run down the sides of his mouth. When he finished, he gave off a great big belch–and he expected to feel a bit hazy from the alcohol, but if anything he felt more clear-headed than he had all night. Jimmy pulled a cigar from his pocket–Matt was happy to see it, and let Jimmy giving him a light–feeling immediately better with it in his snout again.

“Bit better?”

Matt nodded, sighing out a cloud of smoke.

“Good. Now, what’s going on? Where’s Carl?”

“That’s, Ah mean…” Matt took a deep breath, and he went back to the start, how he’d been eating for…well, he couldn’t quite be sure how long he’d been eating, but at some point he’d felt someone working him over, and he’d assumed it must have been Carl. He glossed over some of the details–Jimmy had no trouble filling them in–the pig was still soaked to the skin with piss–and skipped to the part where he’d looked back and found himself staring up at some massive minotaur, or bull, or something. He’d freaked out and gotten away, but it was only after that he’d realized the bull had been wearing the same costume as Carl had. He’d gone back to the trough to look for him, but he’d disappeared, and he’d spent the last…who knew how long looking for him all over the room. He’d heard the bell go off twice at some point–he assumed for two in the morning, and he’d spotted Jimmy here, and hoped he might be able to help him find Carl.

Jimmy listened attentively, and when Matt ran out of story, he frowned. “Well, it sounds like Carl ended up getting…something at the bar, but I gave very clear instruction as to who should receive what…this is a rather embarrassing mix up, I must say. Follow me, let’s see if we can find out what happened.”

He moved through the crowd towards the bar, Matt struggling to keep up with him. Even though he was taller, with a longer gait, Jimmy could somehow flow through everyone, leaving Matt to stumble and push his way through, muttering apologies in every direction. He caught up in time to see Jimmy talking in a rather stern tone of voice to a dog behind the bar, who had his head down and ears back. He tried to ask what he’d learned, but Jimmy was no longer paying attention to him, just striding off towards one wall of the bar where a curtain was hung over a doorway, and Matt hustled off after him, sweat pouring from his body, the fat working its way off his body little by little, thankfully, as he walked, leaving him with a more manageable, if still very hefty, body. He reached the curtain after Jimmy had already gone through, and ducked behind it, finding himself in a rather dull looking locker room, with a hounddog manning a desk next to another door. 

“Interested in a room for an hour?” the hound asked, “you’re welcome to pay by the hour, and…are you alone? I’d be happy to match you up with someone, if you give me your preference.”

“No…what? I mean, did Jimmy just come through here?”

“Boss? I mean, he did–hey, wait! You have to pay first,” he said, trying to stop Matt from going through the door, but he steamrolled by him and into a long hallway lined with doors. Some were standing open. Behind the closed doors, he could hear all manner of squeals, groans, howls and grunts coming from them, but it was about halfway down that he saw Jimmy pounding on a door and fiddling with a large keychain full of keys, shouting at whoever was on the other side. Matt was exhausted from trying to keep up with him, and he walked down the hallway, heaving for breath around the cigar still clamped in his teeth. Jimmy found the right key, apparently, worked it into the lock and threw open the door, storming into the room. A few seconds after him, Matt reached the doorway and was able to see what was happening inside.

The entire room was filthy, the floor slick with mud and covered with straw, and it stank like a barn. On one large heap of straw to the side was the bull Matt had seen earlier…was Carl, actually. Matt could…recognize him now. He was lying on his back in the straw, and mounting him was a massive boar, shorter than Matt was now, but quite a bit thicker, and a bit more feral–large tusks sticking up from his fully formed snout, bristly hair covering his rough hide. He had a leash wrapped up in one trotter, connected to a collar around Carl’s thick, muscular neck, pulled taut, forcing him to keep his neck raised, even as he tried as hard as he could to thrust deeper into the pig’s hole, his own hooved hands bound up in front of him with chain manacles, both of them snorting and grunting and heaving, covered with sweat, neither of them paying any attention to Jimmy in the middle of the room shouting at them–or rather, shouting at the boar, who was apparently named Stu.

“Fucking get off him Stu! Don’t even try and tell me you don’t remember what happened last time you pulled this shit with me.”

The pig slipped down further onto Carl’s cock, making him blurt out a long, loud moo of lust, “I don’t know, Jimmy, he doesn’t seem to want me to get off him very much, and he is a customer. Isn’t the customer always right? I can’t help it that I’m a better fuck than his stupid boyfriend,” Stu said, throwing a quick glance over to Matt in the doorway, and tightening his hold on the leash with a snorting laugh.

“I said get off of him!” Jimmy shouted, and some strange force picked Stu up into the air, the leash unwinding from his trotters. He was still laughing and grunting, as he was thrown him up against the opposite wall on his back, pinning him there, Jimmy stalking over, the two of them trying to shout their way over each other. His cock no longer inside anyone, Carl gave a snort and looked up, trying to figure out where he was, his balls aching with unfulfilled desire and started jacking his cock with his bound wrists as best he could, snorting and mooing.

It was a mess, and Matt found himself unsure of whether he should walk away and try to pretend that he’d never been a part of any of this, and…and a second desire to…to walk over there and help that big bull take care of his needs. Because he was horny too–in fact, he’d been horny for months. In all the time Carl had been slipping away here, Matt had been the one to stay true. Not because he didn’t have a choice–he’d always had more than a few fuckbuddies who’d been willing to play with him in the past. No, he’d stayed loyal because he’d wanted to, for Carl, and all those months of jacking off, they just weren’t enough. That sex earlier in the day, that fuck at the trough…rough but…much too brief. He’d been terrified, but he’d also…he’d also enjoyed it. He didn’t know if that was him. He didn’t know if that was the costume, or the the potion. He didn’t know if there was really a difference anymore.

Carl rolled his head around, getting closer, and finally noticed Matt in the doorway. He stopped what he was doing, his hands frozen, his eyes wide. “M-Matt? Oh fuck, Matt, I…I mean, I don’t…it was, I mean…All I wanted was–”

That was it. That was all of it that he could take, and Matt turned around and started off back down the hallway. Because he didn’t care what Carl wanted; what he cared about was that Carl didn’t seem at all interested in what Matt wanted, in what Matt might be able to give him.

Carl struggled up from the straw, rolling off onto his knees, struggling to pull his jeans back up and get them up over his cock. He ended up getting the button done up, his massive cock hanging out the front–his jockstrap had already been torn off by Stu earlier. “Matt–Matt!” he shouted after him, “Wait–wait just a fuckin’ minute, I’m so fuckin’ tired of ya just walking away from me.”

Matt walked faster, but his legs couldn’t match Carl’s massive stride. The bull caught up to him in the locker room, grabbed him by the back of his overalls, and threw him into a corner of the room, blocking him in. “Will ya jus’ talk tah me? I’m sorry alright? I don’t–”

“Ah’m fuckin’ tired a listenin’ tah yer bullshit, Carl! Jus’ let me fuckin’ go. It’s obi–ovius ya don’t wanna be wit’ me.”

“Don’t wanna–Fuck Matt, why the fuck do ya think I did all a this, if I didn’ wanna be wit ya?”

“Ah don’ fuckin’ know! Ya drag me all the way ‘ere, ‘n ya still end up fuckin’ that pig!”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. 

“Have…Have ya got a cigar I can have? I could use one bad…” Carl finally asked. Matt sighed, but rummaged in his pocket, finding one with a lighter, sticking it in Carl’s snout and lighting it for him, since his hands were still bound up. “Thanks,” he said, “Look, Matt, I’m sorry. I don’…know wha’ happened.”

“Ya don’ know wha’ happened? What the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yeah! I was trying tah git down wit’ ya, and ya freaked the fuck out! Ya say all this ‘bout wantin’ tah be wit’ me, and yer the one who went ‘n ran off first. Face it–ya can’t fuckin’ handle me! You can’ handle this, but this is me too! If ya wanna be wit’ me, then…then sometimes, I jus’…fuck.”

Would ya fuckin’ look at yerself?” Matt shouted, “If ya saw that fuckin’ yer hole, you’d a flipped out too!”

Carl’s snout curled up in confusion, “What?”

“Ya mean…oh fuck, a course,” Matt said, grabbed Carl’s bound hands and pulled him over to a bank of mirrors in the locker room, where he figured out how to unhook Carl’s hands from each other, “Have a fuckin’ look at yerself, ‘n ya’ll see what Ah mean.”

Carl knew he’d been feeling strange ever since those drinks at the bar, but he still hadn’t quite been able to articulate what was wrong with him. Hell, he hadn’t seen himself since he’d put on the costume, and even that had been odd, walking around, feeling “bigger”, but not really able to tell what had changed, exactly. For the last while, all he’d really been able to focus on was how horny he’d been, how sensitive his cock had been, and how…eager Stu had been to make him feel good. He looked in the mirror, and just like Matt earlier that day in in his kitchen, his jaw dropped when he saw himself, the veil of magic peeling away from his eyes.

No wonder he felt massive–he was massive. Next to him, in the mirror, Matt had to be close to six foot four–a big, hulking piece of boar–and Carl was easily a foot taller, his head a bit too close to the ceiling to make him feel comfortable, the two…horns pushing their way out of his temples coming dangerously close to scraping it. They grew out a few inches and then arced up, around the sides of the hard hat he still had on. His face had grown out similar to Matt’s, but his mouth was wider, his teeth broad and flat behind his lips, his wide nose pierced with a thick, silver ring–though he couldn’t remember when that might have happened to him. He still had on the collar and lead Stu had put on him. His entire body was coated with a thick layer of brown hair, but he could still see his skin underneath, and the tattoos coating his body, much like he’d seen on Carl earlier. He no longer had hands–much like Matt–it looked like a hoof split into three black, solid fingers–he also could see why his boots had felt so uncomfortable–his feet had become actual hooves. The rest of him had bulked up–he was packed with muscle, his arms bulging out of the tank, which was riding up, no longer able to contain his big gut. The cock hanging out of his jeans had to be at least a foot long, and his balls were equally sizable and covered with the same brown hair all over the rest of him. He looked like…like a brute. Like the brute he’d…always kind of felt like, especially when he was with Stu. No wonder Matt had been so terrified of him–if that had walked up behind him and started fucking him, he would have had a few questions too.

“Fuck, is this why Ah sound like such a fuckin’ hick? Ah look like I jus’ rolled in from the trailer park,” Matt said beside him, looking at his own reflection too.

Carl looked over at him, smelled him. He still reeked of their piss from earlier, and he…he couldn’t help but want him. Not just because he was there, like with Stu, but because…because it was Matt. “I think ya look pretty hot,” he said, stepping closer to him, pushing their bellies together. “Kinda makes me wanna finish what Ah started back by that trough.”

“We…we were tryin’ tah have a ser–surios talk, Carl…Ah wanna know what ya have tah say fer yerself…” he trailed off, sudddenly more interested in how good he smelled–how good they both smelled, actually, and how hard the bull cock pressing against him was, under his gut. 

“No, Ah don’t…I don’ got anythin’ tah say,” Carl said, “Ah can’ make this better. All Ah know, is that this…this is me. This is me too, this is maybe me more‘n anythin’ else. Now ya know, Ah shoulda told ya before all a this, Ah know. Ah spent…so much time tryin’ tah hide it from ya…but Ah think ya’ve been hidin’ somethin’ from me, too.”

“Ah don’–”

Carl pressed his hoof to his lips, quieting him, “No–let’s…let’s not be that us, fer a bit. Hell, I’d be happy never bein’ that us ever again. That old us. Let’s try…somethin’ different.”

Three bells rung out in the still air. Matt stepped back, and shook his head. “No, I don’…I can’t do do this with ya anymore, Matt. This is too fuckin’ much. This whole fuckin’ day–changin’ me, fuckin’ around behind mah back. Yer just sayin’ this shit cause yer horny, but tomorrow we’ll wake up, back in our old bodies in our old lives, and then what? Ya’ll just go out ‘n do it again. Well I’m fuckin’ done, Carl.”

Matt turned around to leave, only for Carl to grab hold of one of his forearms with his hooved hands and tug him back around. “Wait! Wait, yer right. Yer so fuckin’ right, I know. All of this was about me, and what I wanted, but let…let me make it up to ya, please let me at least try. There’s still a few hours a the party left, ya…ya can do what ya want tah me, alright? Anythin’ ya want. Show me what ya want. I’m just a stupid stud thinkin’ with mah dick, it’s always got me intah trouble, but I did all this ‘cause….’cause I wanted tah make it work. I wanted tah show ya this side a mahself, and here I am. Now…now show me what ya are. If ya wanna just ditch me here, fine. I get it, but…but I’m askin’–no, I’m beggin’ Matt, I’ll do whatever ya say.”

Carl got down on his knees, and he was so large, his horns still came to the base of Matt’s fat chest. Matt’s first instinct was to just tell him to fuck off, and go sit in a corner until dawn came, but two things stopped him. First, he was horny. Whether it was him, or the food, or the costume, or whatever it might be, he wanted to get off one way or another. Second, looking at this massive beast, smelling him there, on his knees in front of him, head raised–something else inside him clicked, something that Matt didn’t quite understand himself. He liked it. He liked seeing Carl kneeling in front of him, humbled slightly. That, perhaps, might have been why things had stopped clicking for him in their relationship, why he’d felt himself growing so distant. He felt like they were competing, two strong personalities trying to wrestle control away from one another. Carl had been in control long enough, this evening–it was time Matt had a turn at the reins. He reached down, grabbed hold of the chain lead connected to the collar, and yanked it up, making Carl snort in surprise, eyes a bit wide.

“One fuckin’ condition. Ya do everythin’ I fuckin’ say for the rest of the night. And then, when we’re back to normal tomorrow, ya do everythin’ I say then too. One fuck up, ‘n I’m gone, for good, no warnings. No more a this behind mah back shit. If ya wanna love me, if ya wanna be with me, then yer gonna be mine, understand?”

“O-Ok…”

“That’s, ‘Yes Boss,’ from now on. Let’s hear it.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Fuck, that sounded hot. Matt pushed his big gut against Carl’s snout. “So what do ya think? Am I big enough fer ya yet? Think I gained another hundred pounds or so at the trough.”

Carl gave a little snort, clearly not used to being in this sort of position, but the huge gut pushing into his face was turning him on. “Yeah Boss, yer real fuckin’ big, I love it.” Carl reached down to give his massive cock a tug, only for Matt to shove him hard by the shoulders, hard enough to send him back on his ass and into a bank of lockers behind him. 

Matt came up quick, shoving his gut in Carl’s face, pinning him there with his weight.

“Were ya thinkin’ ‘bout touchin’ that cock, stud?”

“I…I mean–”

“I think that cock a yers has gotten ya intah plenty a trouble this evenin’. From now on, ya don’t touch that big fuckin’ piece a meat unless I give ya permission, is that fuckin’ clear? As far as yer concerned, that’s mah cock now–ya use it how I want ya to, ‘n ya only put it where I tell ya to. Is that fuckin’ clear, stud?”

“Y-yeah…” Carl said, only for Matt to apply more pressure, the vents of the lockers digging into the back of his head, “Yes Boss, it’s clear!”

“I know yer just a stupid stud bull, only thing yer really ever thinkin’ ‘bout is where tah stick that cock a yers next. Ya want that cock in mah piggy hole, don’t ya? That’s what ya were just thinkin’ about, plowin’ mah fat ass?”

“Oh fuck Boss, yeah…”

“Well too fuckin’ bad, stud. Ya want this hole tahnight, yer gonna have tah earn it. Now come on, I got’s an idea…”

Matt kept a firm hold on the chain connected to the collar he had on, as he led Carl back down the hallway they’d come from. Carl felt more than a bit humiliated by how Matt was treating him now, but in all honesty, he did deserve it. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t also enjoying it, just a little bit. Stu had always liked this little dynamic with him, though he’d never taken it as far as he had tonight, chaining him up and riding him. To say Stu had him dommed from the bottom was certainly accurate. Matt kept the chain a bit too low, so Carl had to stoop a bit as they walked, only emphasizing their new difference in size. Carl again reached for his cock, which was mostly hard again already, and Carl batted his hand away. 

“What the fuck did I just fuckin’ say!” Carl said.

“Sorry Boss, I’m just so fuckin’ horny, ‘n–”

“Well too fuckin’ bad,” Matt said, and looked down an intersection, trying to recall where Stu’s room was. The answer came when Jimmy stomped his way out of the room, his fancy suit and tie all disheveled. “There you are!” Matt said, and dragged Carl along with him towards Jimmy.

“I was wondering where the two of you got off to,” Jimmy said, realized that Matt had Carl by the collar, a somewhat humiliated bullman dragged along my a squat, chubby pig. “I want to apologize profusely for what happened tonight, absolutely none of this was my intention when I suggested to Carl he bring you along to the party.”

“Look, I don’t fuckin’ care,” Matt said, “But if you want to make it up to me, then I have a costume change I’d like to request.”

“I don’t usually allow anyone to…wait, did he see himself too?” Jimmy said, noticing that Carl seemed especially quiet. “Fucking…look, the most important thing is that the two of you focus on forgetting as much of what you can. You’re both in a rather precarious position tonight, and as the night gets later, it’s only going to get worse. I have some drinks I can mix for you, now if you’ll come along–”

“No, I’m done being told what to do by you, by Carl, by who the fuck ever it is,” Matt said, “This stud is going to be mine for the rest of the evening, I don’ fuckin’ want him fergettin what the fuck he did. So no–no drinks, I want some costume changes.”

Jimmy sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and said, “Alright, what do you have in mind?”

Matt described what he had in mind. Carl tried to interject once with a moo of dismay, only for Matt to quiet him with a sharp tug on the collar, reminding him of their deal. Jimmy’s face started out a little sour, but even he had to admit, it sounded hot–and after the stunt Carl pulled in all of this, he did deserve it.

“If I do this…there’s a risk that this will have some strong repercussions on your reality, I want you to realize this. When you wake up tomorrow, both of you will probably not be the same men you where when you arrived here. There’s even a chance that you won’t leave at all–and if that happens, the only job opportunities left are either as waitstaff, or as whores. Are you sure you won’t just take the drink?”

“Matt, I–”

“Stud, I said shut the fuck up,” Matt said when Carl tried to interject.

“No, I want to do it, Boss. I’ll risk it.”

“Oh. Guess the stud has some balls after all,” Matt said, then looked back at Jimmy, “So that’s two votes. Now do what you need to do.”

“Alright,” Jimmy said, cracking his knuckles, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Both of you strip down. I can do what you want with what we have on hand, mostly–and I don’t want the two of you to miss any more of the party than you already have.


Chapter 5 (Alternate Version)

The bell rang four times, but not many people in the party even noticed. The magic was still near its peak, and everyone was fully immersed in their personal, or collective, fantasy. The air was heavy and thick, humid and musky, men of all sorts grinding up against one another all over the room, falling into piles of hay with one another if they didn’t mind a public showing, while more than a few opted for a quieter, more private experience in a room rented in the back. Not long after the bells ceased, Matt emerged from behind the curtain, tugging on the heavy chain in his hand, and Carl lumbered out after him, butterflies in his gut.

The first thing Jimmy had done was switch their basic costumes. Matt had ended up in the grubby hi viz that Carl had been wearing, Jimmy shrinking it to fit better on his smaller frame, and making a few other changes in the process. Matt was still plenty obese after his numerous stuffings throughout the day, but he’d packed on a good amount of muscle as well. Thick boar bristle was filling in thicker across his body, and a couple of thick tusks pushed their way out of his lower jaw. The hi viz was plenty grungy, but across the vest was now a full jacket, and across the back of it was the word “BOSS” in full capitals, large enough to be read across the room. He was smoking a massive cigar clamped in his mouth, took a long inhale and pushed two twin jets out of his nose as he stepped out.

Carl, on the other hand, had ended up in Matt’s filthy overalls. They had grown to fit him a little better, but not that much, the muddy denim stretched tight across his powerful thighs and calves. The crotch had ripped out completely, letting his massive bull cock flop out the front–a cock that seemed even a few inches longer than it had been earlier. Beyond that, Carl was sporting a few new body modifications, to Matt’s specifications. He had a massive padlock through the head of his cock, too wide to get into even a well trained hole without coming out, and heavy enough that even at full arousal, it pulled his cock down vertically. The padlock was also connected to two chains, each leading to a shackle around Matt’s ankles. There was enough slack that he could almost get a full stride, but if he moved too quickly, or carelessly, he would get a painful tug on the head of his cock. He had a few other additional piercings, thick gauge rings in both of his tits, which were the size of a small cock themselves, as well as a massive doorknocker hanging from his snout. Thick chains were connected to the tits and his nose, tight enough to force Matt to keep his head slightly bowed, or else get a painful tug on his tits, and his wrists were also shackled to the chain, forcing him to keep them close to his chest.

Matt gave a tug on the lead connected to both sets of chain, and Carl lumbered after him, wincing as the chains tugged on all of his sensitive parts. He walked a respectful distance behind his Boss, noticing that Matt was walking with a newfound confidence, even as he felt himself deservedly shrinking. Now that they were out in the room, the brands on his back were visible, where the thick fur of his hide had been burnt away. Across his broad shoulders, the words “STUD SLAVE” could be read just as clearly as “BOSS” on the back of Matt’s jacket. One cheek of the overalls had been torn away, allowing his long tail to escape, and revealing one muscular haunch with a smaller brand on it, a pig silhouette with the word’s “property of” inside it–signalling to everyone that this big bull was owned, and broken. 

Everyone was staring at them, a few in envy, many in lust, a few in confusion. No one could recall them from earlier in the party, but all of the attendees should have already been here. Matt ordered a beer at the bar–a normal one, not designed to make any further changes–sat down at a table, and ordered Carl onto his knees beside him while he kept smoking. His big bull spent the next while happily worshiping his Boss, sucking on his tits, worshiping his gut, before eventually working his way lower to lick the pig’s balls clean and suck on his cock. Matt’s scent was intoxicating to him, Carl kept getting lost in it. It had taken on a shift from earlier that day–more pungent, more commanding. Carl found himself sliding deeper and deeper into his burgeoning subservience, while Matt, emboldened by the public display, worked on humiliating his stud further, reminding him what a stupid stud he was, no good at thinking. If he did well, he’d get the occasional hit off Matt’s cigar, sucking down the smoke, and also served as the pig’s ashtray. This, in particular, was deeply humiliating, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He deserved it, after all. Whenever he tried to do something smart, he just ended up ruining everything, like he almost ruined this. Better to just let Matt take control, better to let Matt be the Boss, and focus on being a good stud slave like he wanted to be. 

Matt finished his beer, and felt a growing pressure on his bladder. On a whim, he shoved Carl off his cock, stood up, and hosed him down with his piss. “How’s that feel, stud slave? Like gettin’ soaked down in yer Boss’s rank beer piss? Might as well make ya mah urinal too, since all yer good fer is breedin’, ‘n ya ain’t gonna be doin’ that all the damn time.”

Carl’s massive cock pulsed, hefted up the massive padlock in the head for a moment, then dropped back down onto the floor with a clang. The horniness he was feeling was so intense, he just wanted to fuck, but he knew he needed to be a good bull for his Boss, and wait. He’d get his chance, he just knew it, if he was a good dumb bull. He gave a snort, smelling Matt’s piss soaking into his fur, and saw Boss’s cock was hard and drooling precum. “What the fuck are you lookin’ at, stud?”

“At you, Boss, fuck, yer handsome can…please, I…can I fuck ya now?”

“Ya think you’ve earned it after the shit ya’ve put me through?”

Carl gave a restless, deep low, “Please Boss, I know I’m just a stupid bull, I fucked up real bad, I knows, but I can fuck, ya know I’m good at that.”

“I know yer good at fuckin’ ‘round behind mah back.”

Carl danced a bit on his knees, cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry, I fucked up, Boss.”

“Who owns that big fuckin’ cock a yers from now on?”

“Ya do, Boss.”

“Who gets tah decide what holes it goes in?”

“You, Boss.”

“If I order ya tah fuck me all fuckin’ day, ya gonna do it?”

“Fuck yeah, Boss!”

“How ‘bout if I lock it up, fer good, in a big fuckin’ cage, say yer never gonna get tah fuck again?” Matt said, running one trotter under Carl’s massive cock, applying some pressure to his nuts, “Seems like this cock’s only gettin’ ya intah trouble, might be better tah keep it good ‘n safe…”

Carl let out a moo of dismay, but kept his head bowed. 

“Maybe I’ll rent ya out. Turn ya into a fuckin’ whore, men payin’ me tah let ya fuck ‘em.”

Carl gave a snort, not sure whether he felt more humiliated or more horny from the thought.

“Beg. Beg tah fuck mah hole.”

“Please Boss, please,” Carl said, “I know I fucked up. Yer right! I’m stupid, ‘n dumb, ‘n shouldn’t make decissions now more. Ya can decide everythin’ from now on, I’ll do whatever ya say, please jus’ don’t lock up mah cock, I’m so horny Boss, I’ll do anythin’…”

“Clean up mah trotters, they got some piss on ‘em, while I think about it,” Matt said. He sat back down, took a long draw on the cigar and put his feet out, Carl squatting lower to lick the rough feet clean of the dirt and piss sticking to them. Matt just watched him do it, amazed at how eager his once strong willed boyfriend was to obey him now. Maybe this sort of treatment was what he’d needed. Maybe it was what they’d both needed. He wasn’t really planning on locking up his cock, of course. Watching that huge dick swing around with that weight on it, Matt’s hole was hungry as ever for it–but not here. He’d gotten enough of the spectacle, and taught Carl his place around here. He stubbed out the cigar on one of Carl’s tit rings, close enough for him to feel the heat without burning him, and stood up. Jimmy had given them a room for free for the rest of the night–they might as well retire for a while. He tugged Carl up by the chain, and led his big stud away from the rest of the party and back past the curtain.

A friendly doberman showed them the way to their already prepared room, but they weren’t alone–there, chained to the wall, was Stu, gagged and clearly a little roughed up, scowling at them both. “Don’t mind him, Jimmy wanted him tah watch,” Matt said, and Carl’s snout and face turned a bit red under his fur. “Now, let’s git ya situated. How did he have ya? Like this, I think.”

Matt unhooked Carl’s wrists from the chain, and secured them to some bolts on the wall, leaving his tits and nose ring chained up. Happy with the bull’s placement, he lit two cigars, handing the first to Carl, shoving it in the bull’s mouth, and then a second for himself. Then Matt took his time, using his hands and hot cigar to tease Carl’s cock, still padlocked to his ankles, while he enjoyed the bull’s own powerful musk, mixed with his own piss and the smell of their smoke. Carl was getting impatient, but the more he tried to hurry Matt up, the slower the pig took, leaving him as a snorting, groaning, smoky mess. 

“Alright stud–you want that big cock of yours in my ass, then ya’d better give it some good lovin’ with that snout a yers first,” Matt said, backed up and shoved his ass in the bull’s face. Carl was more than happy to service his Boss’s hole, slurping and pushing his tongue in, feeling the pig’s hole begin to loosen up. Matt pulled away, bit by bit, Carl forced to push his head more and more forward, tugging his tits up and his arms away from the wall, fighting to get to Matt’s hole, to lick it, and taste it, and worship it. Finally, when Matt was safistied, he pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the padlock from the head of Carl’s cock, and the massive shaft sprang right up, ready to be mounted.

“Ya don’t fuckin’ cum until I fuckin’ tell ya to, stud,” Matt said, as he lined himself up. “Cum too quick, ‘n ya can ferget about ever gettin’ in this hole ever again. This ain’t about makin’ ya feel good, this is about servicin’ mah horny hole, ya understand?”

“Yeah Boss, please, please, I won’t, I fuckin’ swear,” Carl moaned, but he was so excited, he thought he might explode as soon as Matt sat down on his cock and worked the first six inches in. He took a few deep breaths, trying to keep calm, tugging on his tits with his nose to keep himself from losing focus. Matt just watched his big bull squirm underneath him as he slid more and more of the cock into him, deeper than anything he’d ever taken before, but that beer–Jimmy might had had the bartender slip a little something in, to help his relaxation. Matt moaned, his own piggy cock rock hard and jutting out from under his belly, drooling precum onto Carl’s own gut. About halfway down, he pulled up a bit, then down a little further, and up, working his way deeper and deeper onto the shaft, snorting and oinking in delight, happy to finally be getting some good deep satisfaction out of this whole ordeal. He was getting excited from the cock, he decided he might as well milk a load out himself. He reached under his gut and started stroking off, dragging harder on the cigar, aiming for Carl’s addled face, and dropped a few more inches onto the bull’s huge cock. It was enough to push his own cock over the edge, and he exploded, spraying a massive load of pig cum all over Carl’s body and face to go with the piss from earlier. He could see Matt’s eyes filled with desire and jealousy–he was holding off well enough, but Carl wanted him to suffer a while longer. He wanted to see how much he wanted to please him, see how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. He kept sliding up and down on Carl’s cock for a few more minutes, until he was sure he was good and loose, and then he pulled all the way off–Carl letting off a long moo of frustration. “No Boss, don’t stop, don’t…”

“Shut up stud, ya’ll git what ya want, hold the fuck on,” Matt said, and unhooked his wrists from the wall. “Show me what ya got, stud–fuck mah piggy hole, good ‘n rough–but remember,” he said, giving a tug on the lead with one hand, and the chain connecting nose and tits with the other, “No fuckin’ cummin’ til I fuckin’ say so, got it?”

“Yes Boss!”

Carl scrambled up while Matt laid down on the ground, legs up. Carl shoved his legs back, enough to get his massive cock lined up with his Boss’s loose hole, and slid inside with a long moo of delight. Matt reached out and grabbed hold of the lead, keeping it tight, reminding Carl who was in charge here, as Carl started fucking–a little slow at first, but then harder, slamming in and out of Matt’s wrecked hole, snorting and grunting in delight, nose and tits stinging with pain, but he didn’t care, he liked it. He liked all of it, he wanted to make Matt happy, and Matt was right. He was stupid. He let his dick control him. It was better if he wasn’t in control, if Matt just…was the Boss. Matt came again after a couple of minutes without even touching his cock, shooting a load hard enough to spray his own face this time.

The sight of making his Boss cum made Carl lose a bit of control–and Matt figured his stud had been teased enough tonight. He rammed in deep, and Matt said, “Come on you fuckin’ stud, I wanna feel you blast that big fuckin’ load deep in mah guts!”

Carl gave a long, roaring low, and came, cum pouring from his massive balls into Matt’s hole. His cock refused to soften for another five minutes, and he just kept fucking and churning the cum deep into Matt’s hole, the pig groaning and grunting, telling Carl what a good bull he is, what a hot stud, what an obedient stupid slave breeder he’s gonna be from now on.

Five bells had chimed at some point while they were fucking, bringing them closer and closer to dawn. Carl pulled his cock out, and laid down with Matt, who unhooked the chain from his nose and tits so he could properly kiss his big stud. “That was a real good job, slave, ya treated mah horny hole just how I like it,” he said.

“Thanks Boss, I love fuckin’ ya,” Carl said, licking Matt’s load up from his belly with his long tongue. Matt pulled him close, and the snuggled up together, not minding Stu behind them, rattling his own chains. 

“So, who’s a better fuck? Me, or that pig back there?”

“You are, Boss, of course ya are!”

“Yer not just sayin’ that? I’m not gonna find ya here again, am I?”

Carl shook his head side to side. “I…I fucked up, I mean that. I…I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. I never knew I even wanted tah feel like this with someone. Are…What’s even gonna happen next?”

Matt pulled him close. “Don’t know. Jimmy didn’t sound like he was too sure himself. Guess we’ll find out, won’t we, stud?”

Six bells chimed out, and both of them felt a heavy drowsiness clouding their minds. In a few seconds, they were both asleep, snoring loudly, while Stu grunted and objected through his gag–but even he knew he’d lost. Jimmy had warned him before about getting too attached to clients, and Stu knew that whatever punishment Jimmy came up with–it wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.

Out in the bar, the rest of the revellers had fallen into the same slumber, all of them except Jimmy and his various employees, who were standing in the midst of them all, pleased that yet another Halloween party had gone so well, even better than last year’s. As they all slept, he saw everyone around him start to revert back to their usual selves. Some had a few…lasting changes, but you couldn’t do magic without a few consequences. Still, as long as you didn’t think about it too hard and take too well to the change, you could usually get away relatively unscathed. 

Some, of course, had never planned on getting away without a few changes, some more extreme than others. The older man in the cop costume was slumbering in a booth, a german shepard curled up under his feet–he’d be having an interesting life for a year–or longer, if he ended up preferring life as man’s best friend. With a wave, those normal enough to go back to their lives disappeared–all of them would wake up in their own beds. Sure, maybe not the exact same beds–a few of them might have taken to their costumes, and find themselves in a…new walk of life. The magic usually managed to sort it out well enough, at least, though he’d never really been able to figure out why it affected some people more than others. Just a handful remained, those looking stuck in the middle. He’d have to have some awkward conversations with them when they woke up in a few hours. They’d probably be stuck working with him for the next year–still, there were worse fates, he supposed. He realized that he had never actually checked in on Carl and Matt after fixing their costumes–he stepped over the remaining bodies in the bar and slipped behind the curtain, hoping he wouldn’t be stuck with either of them for the next year–one night had been plenty exhausting. He unlocked the door to the room he’d reserved for them, peeked inside, and it was empty aside from Stu fussing on the wall, thank goodness. Of course, just because they’d left, didn’t mean they wouldn’t have some changes to deal with. He had a feeling they would be in for a rough morning, in any case.

***

Carl moaned, rolled over and nearly fell off the bed, where Matt was still snoring beside him. What a hangover–he hadn’t felt this sick in years. He needed to piss, in any case. Doing his best not to open his eyes beyond a squint, since the sun was well risen at this time of morning, he pushed his way into the bathroom, smaller and much more cramped than he could recall it being, stood in front of the toilet, grabbed for his cock, and felt his hand wrap its way around a massive snake. 

He opened his eyes and looked down, vision blurry, and started pissing–it wasn’t a stream so much as a fan, thanks to the massive holes in the head of his cock, where Matt kept his padlock when he wasn’t using his stud’s cock. The toilet and the seat were dripping with piss when he was through, leaving Carl standing there, ogling the foot long, inhuman dick in his hands, trying to figure out why everything felt so strange. The mirror, he thought. Something about…a mirror. He went to the sink, but the glass above it was coated with grime. He did his best to wipe what he could away, well enough to get a decent look at himself, and he stared at himself with something between horror and arousal.

That wasn’t him. That wasn’t his face, that wasn’t his body. His once handsome face was deformed now, not quite the minotaur mug he’d had at the end of the party, but with the broad nostrils, the bock head, the heavy jaw and big teeth, he didn’t make for an attractive man by general standards, especially not with the massive gold ring hanging from his septum, big enough to drop below his top lip. He could see above his temples a couple bony points, little tiny horns that were pushing through from his skull. No one would notice them under the hardhat he usually wore, or unless they looked close, but it made him self-conscious anyway. He still had on the collar Matt had put on him the night before…or had it been years ago? Things seemed slippery in his mind, like he was trying to keep track of two very different stories at the same time. 

He was much larger than he’d been before, easily six foot three, and packed with muscle, with a healthy, firm gut above his massive cock. His pecs in particular were plump and thick, with two rings through his meaty tits. He had hair all over, some of it brown, some of it silvery grey, but rather than being distributed symmetrically, the two colors intermingled like patches across his body. Then, there was his cock, his massive, freakish cock, and heavy balls below. He turned around, nervous at what he’d find, and there, sure enough across his back, was a the brand from the night before turned into a tattoo–STUD SLAVE. There on his ass was the little pig brand tattoo as well. 

“Fuck it reeks in here, I thought I told ya tah piss sittin’ down, ya stupid fuckin’ bull.”

Carl looked over, and there was Matt–or at least, a man he knew was Matt, but his mind stubbornly corrected him, and thought of him as Boss more than anything else. He was a squat, five and a half foot, rotund man with a barrel chest, big gut and wide ass. His face was just as messed up as Carl’s was, though in a different way–a flat, upturned nose, small eyes, ears that seemed a little too big, and a bit floppy. He wasn’t as hairy as Carl was, but the hair he did have on his body was long and bristly, mostly down his back and legs. “M-Boss, I…we didn’t change back, look at yourself…”

Matt looked at him, a little confused, then there was a little spark of realization as he put the story together, squeezed in beside him and looked in the mirror, letting out a squeal of surprise when he saw himself. “Fuck–that…that fucker.”

Matt looked at Carl again, then back at himself. Carl said. “What…what are we gonna do, Boss? Are…we stuck like this?”

Matt looked away from the mirror and shook his head, the little recognition fading slightly. “I…Fuck, you…Fuck this, I gotta piss, and ya made a damn mess–get down there and lick it up you stupid fuck.”

“But Boss, what–”

Matt wrapped one thick hand around the shaft of Carl’s huge cock and squeezed it hard, enough to make the massive fellow let out a loud moo-like sound. “I can’t think this fuckin’ hungover, we’ll figure it out later. Get down, clean it up, or I’ll lock ya up fer a month, make ya fuck me with the strap on–that what ya want?”

Carl did not want that. He didn’t know what Matt meant, really, but he could almost remember times, earlier times, when he’d been a bad bull, and Boss had kept him from fucking and cumming for a month, or more. After a week, he was just a stupid wreck, could barely think straight, willing to do anything for his piggy master, no matter how humiliating. He got down on his knees in front of the toilet and started licking up the piss where it had sprayed. Matt walked up beside him, pulled out his short, thick cock, and pissed onto the back of Carl’s head, where it dribbled down into the bowl, mostly. The smell was enough to get him even hornier–Carl had to resist the urge to touch his cock–if Boss caught him doing that, he’d get locked up for sure. When Matt finished, he spanked his bull’s butt while he licked around the rest of the toilet, and the floor, getting every drop, and then, feeling better and much more awake, they left the bathroom, and found themselves in a double wide trailer that had seen much better days.

“Light us some cigars while I get that cock of mine locked back up,” Matt said, rummaging around for the massive padlock he kept through the head of Carl’s dick when it wasn’t in use. Carl gave a little snort of frustration, but lit a cigar, handing it to Matt, before lighting another for himself. 

“Someone sounds a little annoyed,” Matt said as he clicked the padlock into place, “Is my stupid stud bull already horny? You fucked my piggy hole not even eight hours ago.”

“I…Yeah, I know Boss.”

“Go make us breakfast.”

“But…what about all of…this ain’t where we lived, Boss! Don’ we gotta try ‘n fix this?”

“I can’t think on an empty stomach, and we both know the hornier ya are, the stupider ya git. Go cook, we’ll figure it out once I’m full.”

Carl gave a snort, but did as he was told. This wasn’t like him, he told himself. He didn’t cook, he didn’t follow orders, he certainly didn’t like being bossed around, but he felt lost. Matt was the one thing that felt certain to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to screw that up anymore, if he could help it. So he cooked, and while he thought he would struggle in the tight, messy kitchen, he found that his body and mind, if he relaxed and trusted them, started to churn out a massive breakfast all on their own, without him having to worry about it. He delivered plate after plate to Matt, sitting at the table, grabbing some bites for himself as he went, but making sure his Boss had enough to satisfy his massive appetite. When he could tell Matt was starting to slow down, he ate his own breakfast, but Matt called him over, and had him get under the table. Matt worshiped his Boss’s gut for a while, sucked on his cock and balls, cleaned his hooves, while Matt finished and smoked his cigar down to a nub. 

Matt pushed back from the table, looked down at the big bull, red in the face, nostrils flared, cock hard but dragged to the floor by the heavy padlock. “What…what now, Boss? You…uh…fuck…”

“What’s wrong, stud? Thought there was something you wanted–I’m too full to remember really.”

“I…this…it ain’t supposed tah be like this, don’t play with me Boss, I know ya know it.”

“What, ya ain’t supposed tah be my big, burly stud slave with a locked up cock, desperate and eager for permission tah ram that whole beast deep in mah hole? Just a stupid brute who let’s me do whatever the fuck I want tah ya, cause without me, ya know ya’d be ankle deep in shit a yer own stupid ideas? Stand up.”

Carl did as he was told, crawled out from under the table, and stood up. He towered over where Matt was still sitting. He reached out and ran a rough finger down the length of Carl’s huge cock, making the massive brute shudder. “Tell me ya don’t like it.”

“I…what?”

“If ya really don’ like it, tell me. Be honest,” Matt said, “If ya think that fuckin’ shit we were up to, with the gym and the office and all that fuckin’ bullshit is better than this, me teasin’ that big fuckin’ cock a yers until ya ferget how tah even speak, tell me. We’ll go tah Jimmy, see if he can fix it. Bet he can’t, but we’ll try. If ya say so, honestly.”

“I…Well, what do ya think, Boss?”

Matt smirked, “That’s the right answer, right there. Come on.”

Matt led the big brute into their spare bedroom in the doublewide, which had been outfitted into a makeshift playroom, and secured Carl’s wrists to the ceiling with some schackles, and put a spreader bar between his ankles. For the next few hours, the pig toyed with him, teasing his cock with everything from paddles to feathers, clipping and weighing down his nipples, beating his ass and flogging his back, Carl taking it all effortlessly. Every hit, every touch, every word seemed to channel through him and right to his cock. He was hornier than he could recall being, even last night, Matt occasionally asking him questions, Carl’s answers becoming simpler and simpler until he couldn’t manage it anymore. He was just a dumb stud, aching to fuck, which is exactly what Matt wanted. He unhooked him from the ceiling, took the padlock off his cock, and Carl knew what to do from there–the only thing he could do reliably, anymore. He fucked. He fucked his Boss just how the pig liked to get fucked, like he’d fucked him for years–slow and deep, fast and rough, always keeping himself right on the edge of orgasm, as the pig pumped load after load out onto the floor under them. At last, when Matt was satisfied, he gave Carl the order to cum, and the bull unleashed a massive load into the pig’s sloppy hole, and collapsed onto him, sending them both to the ground.

“Git off me, ya fuckin’ lug,” Matt growled at him, and Carl rolled to one side, his cock popping free of his Boss’s hole. The room stank of musk and cum and piss and smoke. It stank like home. It stank like them. Matt rolled over after him, pushed his way under one of his breeder bull’s arms, and took a deep sniff from his pit, “Fuck, nothin’ better ‘n the way ya stink after ya give me a good plowin’, slave.”

“Thanks Boss, It’s my pleasure.”

They laid there a while longer, until Matt got up, replaced the padlock in the head of Carl’s cock–more out of habit than anything else, and then paused. “Come on, let’s go.”

“We got work in the mornin’ don’t we?” Carl said, vaguely recalling that Matt was a foreman for a construction company, and he worked under him, mostly as a grunt laborer. “I don’t…”

“I wanna go talk tah Jimmy.”

Carl just stared at him, “Ya…don’t like this? Ya wanna go back tah how we were? Did…I not fuck ya good ‘nough?” The panic caught him off guard. He’d told himself he hadn’t wanted this, but realized it had been a lie. He did like this. He’d thought Matt had liked it too, but now worried he was wrong.

“Didn’t say that, dumbass. I jus’ wanna talk is all. Git dressed.”

So the two of them got dressed in the sort of gear they usually wore to the barnyard–Carl in a set of well worn overalls, and Matt in a leather kilt and vest, showing off his substantial gut. Before they left, Matt took a chain and strung it between Carl’s tit rings and the padlock in his cock, pulling it tight enough that his hard cock was dragged up against his body, though still hidden from view by the front of the overalls. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was rendered useless.

They climbed into Matt’s truck, left the little trailer park where their double wide sat, and drove off down the highway. They lived a good hour out of town, but it was easy enough to pass the time. Carl spent much of the ride sniffing Matt’s pits, licking and worshiping his belly hanging out of the front of the vest, and served as Boss’s urinal on the highway for good measure. They arrived at around nine in the evening, descended the steps into the bar–no hallway and mysterious corridors tonight–and found themselves in the usual dive bar form The Barnyard took. Walking in, they bumped into one of the clients on their way out, obviously looking a little ashamed, and certainly intimidated by them both. Carl realized he was never going to have to feel that way again himself–that alone made all of this seem more worth it.

Matt led them up to the bar, where Jimmy was pouring. “There you two are–didn’t see you take off last night, wasn’t sure what condition you’d ended up in. I…hope the morning wasn’t too much of a shock.”

Matt sat down on a barstool, and motioned for Carl to sit beside him. “Jimmy–as far as my memory goes, I’ve been coming here for years with mah stud, but I know last night the two of ya fucked me over royally, and I don’t feel like I quite got a proper apology fer that, especially given the way we’ve ended up here.”

“Now, I told you the risks, but you’re the one who wanted the costume shift.”

“I know what I wanted. I got what I wanted–but ya owe me, Jimmy. Well, this fucker here owes me, ‘n I have a little suggestion that I think might make all a this a bit easier.”

“Look, if you’re going to ask me to change you back, I can’t. My powers are at their peak on Halloween–next year, maybe I can do something to help, but as of now, you’re both…well, stuck.”

“I think ya misunderstood, Jimmy,” Matt said, “Carl ‘n I are plenty happy with how things turned out, ain’t that right stud?”

“Yes Boss, sure am,” Carl said.

“What I want, Jimmy, is a little business venture, just between the three of us.”

Carl tuned to Boss, wondering what scheme the pig had come up with that day. Jimmy looked exhausted, but didn’t say anything to oppose at least hearing him out. 

“I got a real nice stud here. Ya got clients that I know would pay top dollar for this bull’s cock. How about…three nights a week, a 60/40 split on the revenue?”

Jimmy just started laughing, and Carl went completely red in the face, realizing what his Boss had just suggested. He really was going to start renting him out as a stud! His cock throbbed at the thought, making him grunt from the sudden tug on his tits in the process.

“He likes pain, loves humiliation, I think he’d be a great part time addition to your stable here,” Matt said, grinning right along with Jimmy.

“Ya know what?” Jimmy said, “That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea, honestly. Didn’t get as many new whores from the party as I usually do, and had a couple retire and move on. He can fill in–provided he wants to. What do you say, stud? Wanna let this pig rent that big bull dick of yours out?”

Carl gulped. They all knew what the answer was, but both Matt and Jimmy wanted to hear him say it, after the trouble he’d caused both of them. “Yeah Boss, sounds…real damn hot, honestly.”

“Didn’t think this was where we were going to end up, when I suggested you come to the party, but I’ll take it,” Jimmy said, poured a brew and slid it across the bar to Carl. “Drink up, stud–you gotta look the part if you’re gonna be working here, and then we’ll find you a room.”

“Oh, and I get first fuck each night,” Matt added, “Gotta make sure my stud’s quantity is good before letting other guys use him.”

“Naturally,” Jimmy said. Carl downed the beer in a few gulps, and Matt pulled him back behind the curtain, his feet changing, horns growing and pelt filling in as he went. Jimmy was right–it wasn’t the outcome he’d planned on, but both Carl and Matt were plenty happy with the reality they’d ended up with.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 5)

This is the finale of the story! If I have time over the next couple weeks, I might write an alternate ending for one of the other two options I offered in the survey for Patrons, but we’ll see. Enjoy!


For the next couple of weeks, Ken has a blast with the app, now that he’s the one in control. He still enjoys taking guys home with him from the shop to beat and fuck in the dungeon, but he is always prowling on the app, looking for more boys to turn into his little redneck pig sons, addicted to his cock, his floggers, and his stink. His form and identity seemed to be settling down and solidifying–he wouldn’t change as much when he hooked up with someone on the app, and he was becoming more and more adept at bending them to his own desires, without letting their own affect him nearly as much. Then, he got a new notification from the app one evening, telling him that he and another member on the app had been successfully matched for a gold tier date. 

Ken clicked on the link, looking for more details, but he was disheartened to see that the information he’d become accustomed to having at his fingertips since becoming a silver tier member was gone. He had no idea who this stranger was, though the one bit of info he could see was that he, too, was silver. He hadn’t dated another silver member before, and he wasn’t quite sure how it would even work. There was a date and a time attached to the date, and while Ken considered not showing up, he knew better than to try and outsmart the app like that. It would make them connect one way or another, and he had a feeling that if he skipped out on it, he would be the one who wound up at a disadvantage. So he got on his favorite biker leathers, climbed on his hog, and drove to the meeting address, only to find himself in a familiar location–it was the same bear bar where he had had his first date with Jack, of all places.

He stepped inside, right on time, and looked around. There, by the bar, was a fellow that seemed to stick out in a rather Arctos fashion–massive, very hairy, smoking a cigar that most guys would struggle to even hold in their mouths like it was nothing. His eyes sparkled when he saw Ken, came over and gave him a hug. “Well damn, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you! Last time I saw you, you were just barely on your way.”

Ken knew that voice! It was Jack, of all people. The big bear pulled away, beaming around his massive cigar. He had changed quite a bit since Ken had seen him last, but then, he’d changed quite a bit himself in the last month or so. Jack had been large before, but he was now even larger, maybe even an inch or so taller than Ken at this point, and Ken hadn’t met someone larger than him in a very long while. He was still muscular, but had filled out a sizable gut as well, though it was the pelt that was most impressive. The hair on his body was so thick you couldn’t see the skin beneath it very easily, and it ran all the way up onto his neck, joining with both his beard and the back of his short cropped hair–though his beard was now a fiery red, even as the rest of his his hair was a light brown. “I’m kind of happy its you, actually,” Ken admitted, “I haven’t been on a gold date before, I don’t know what to expect. Seems fitting you would be the one to show me the ropes.”

“Actually,” Jack said, “I haven’t been on one either. I’ve heard of them, a bit, but only from some guys who are coupled. They wouldn’t give me details though, or maybe they couldn’t–I don’t really know how any of this works.”

“Oh…well, do you want to grab a drink or something?”

“Really? Like we don’t know each other at all?” Jack said, and groped the front of Ken’s pants, his eyes going a bit wide. “Fuck, how big is that thing now?”

“I’d be more than happy to show you, big boy,” Ken said, “My place isn’t far, if you really want to skip the getting drunk portion of the date, and go right to the fun part.”

“Only if you smoke a big fucking cigar while we get down to business,” Jack said, and Ken felt an odd little tingle run down his body. He’d felt that sort of sensation before, but not quite so apparently. It usually signaled a change of some sort. He hadn’t been smoking before, but the craving for a cigar was growing overwhelming. He pulled a stick from his vest pocket where he usually kept them, only to pull out a cigar even larger than the one Jack had in his mouth, easily a 90 ring cigar, and close to a foot long. “Fucking hell, didn’t think you’d come packing two massive sticks.”

“I didn’t bring this thing, you said it, and it happened,” Ken said, lighting the massive cigar up.

“So, if I said I want you to grow a pelt as thick as mine….what would happen?” Jack said.

No tingle this time. Ken shrugged. “Well, I wonder what would happen if I told you that you’re a small dicked loose holed bottom bear, and from the second you groped my massive cock, you wanted to feel it inside you, rearranging those guts of yours until I blow a huge load all over your insides,” he said with a growl.

He saw Jack shudder, and with a grin around his massive cigar, he knew it had worked. “Guess that means we get to take turns,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up and take me home, I need that cock in me so fucking bad…” Jack said, grabbed hold of Ken’s hand and dragged him out of the bar, “My little dicklet is leaking all over my fucking underwear.”

“I’d fucking love to,” Ken said, giving Jack’s ass a swat as they left, feeling like he had the upper hand–for the moment at least. The hog was too small for both of them to ride, and Ken didn’t feel like getting into Jack’s truck, so they swapped a smoky kiss for a moment, and he said, “What was it you said earlier? About a thick pelt?”

“Fuck you, you’re not getting off that easy,” Jack said, “I know how much you love how I smell, you dirty fucker, getting off on my musk all the time, makes that huge cock of yours so fucking hard, especially my rank crack–ain’t that right fucker?” Ken said, and threw his arms up above his head.

Ken shoved his face into his pits, snorting up Jack’s scent, licking and sucking the sweat off the thick hair, grinding his rock hard cock up against Jack’s muscular thigh. “Fuck, you fuckin’… Git on that bike of yours, so I can get you out of that grungy leather and denim at home. I’m gonna plow you into next week for that.”

“You fuckin’ promise?”

“You fuckin’ know it.”

Jack’s truck was gone, replaced by a bike as large as Ken’s and the two of them rode back to Ken’s home, and as soon as they were down in the basement, they started peeling off each other’s clothes. Ken threw Jack onto the king size bed, hearing the springs creak under his massive size, climbed up, spread the cheeks apart and ate out his hole for a few minutes while Jack smoked, reveling in the smell of the hairy bears hole, his cock harder than he could even recall it being. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he climbed up and pushed the head of his cock against his hole, feeling the hairy bear’s ass open up and almost start nursing at the head. “Quit fuckin’ teasing it,” Jack said, setting his cigar off to the side on the nightstand, “Get in there–I’m gonna milk at least five huge loads out of those massive nuts of yours, I want this fucking bed soaked in your cum and sweat before you stop. You wanna fuck me so bad, then you’re gonna be fuckin’ me all night long.”

“Oh fuck!” Ken said, feeling his nuts start to swell even larger as he drove the head and the first few inches of his cock into Jack’s hole, gouting enough precum to help lubricate the rest as he started fucking, a little deeper with each thrust, grunting and snorting with need, his balls literally pulshing and churning with cum, smacking against Jack’s hairy thighs. “You’re fuckin’ askin’ fer it now,” Jack said, his drawl coming on full strength, hornier than he could even recall being in his life. “Ya always were the stupid one, bro, ya know, always thinkin’ with yer hole, never with that head a yers, just my dirty, stinkin’ redneck pig of a little brother, been huntin’ fer cock all day long since he was eighteen, but ya always come back tah mine, don’t ya. No one else can fill ya up like I can, no one can really give this loose, empty hole ya call an ass a proper fuck. No fist is big enough, even, only yer big brother knows how tah treat this hole right, can treat ya as rough as ya really want,” he slammed his whole length into Jack’s ass, pinning him to the mattress, one arm wrapping around Jack’s neck and pulling tight enough to make him gasp, “Ain’t that right, ya stupid pig, yer just mah little fuckhole, ain’t ya, and ya fuckin’ love it.”

He watched as some of the light dimmed out of Jack’s eyes, his beard warping into a set of muttonchops, leaving his chin one of the few places on his body without hair, and the hair on the back of his head grew out into a mullet. It was the smell of him, though, that entranced him. He smelled…like him. They smelled like each other. They smelled like their dad–it was the first time he’d really known he was related to someone he was fucking, not just playing around, and he was so turned on, he pushed off, and started jackhammering into his brother’s hole, listening to the horny pig grunt and snort below him, mind addled, both of their heads filling up with new memories of their lives together. 

They had the same father, but different mothers–they’d met after Jack had turned eighteen, and from the moment they laid eyes on each other, they’d been in a sick, twisted, hungry love with one another. They’d moved in, and while Ken found plenty of other holes to fuck around with, and Jack certainly found other cock, the two of them were truly a perfect match. No one else could take Ken’s rough marathon fucking, and no one else could fill Jack’s aching needy hole just right. Jack gave a holler and Ken felt the hole contract around his cock, Jack’s little three inch cock spurting out a load of cum all over the sheet below him, the first of many anal orgasms he’d enjoy for the rest of the night. Ken thought about taking his time, but he was too horny–he drove in, harder and harder until he exploded, pumping shot after shot of cum into Jack’s ass until it was flowing out each time he pulled out a little, but his cock didn’t go the least bit soft.

“Round two, bro?”

“Fuck bro, don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”

Ken leaned in, took a hit off Jack’s rank, unwashed pits, and gave a body wide shake of delight, cock back to full stiffness, and he drove back in, easier this time, making sure he hit all the right spots in his brother’s hole, giving him orgasm after orgasm, milking his prostate dry, cumming himself the promised four more times that night before he finally collapsed, too exhausted to continue, and the two of them shared one of their trademark massive cigars in bed, Ken taking regular breaks to enjoy his brother’s pits in the process. 

They got the notification at the same time, alerting them that they had both been promoted to the gold tier of the Arctos Dating app–as a gold level couple, they would be able to go on occasional double dates, though generally, couples wouldn’t inflict further changes on each other. They were also allowed to peruse the silver profiles, and if there was sufficient compatibility, add additional members to their gold unit.

Ken liked the sound of that, and he scrolled through until he found Ryan’s profile, and invited him on a date with them both the next evening.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked.

“I love havin’ a brother, don’t get me wrong, but what I always wanted was a son, ya know that,” Ken said.

“Aww fuck, that mean I get tah be a Daddy too?”

“No, yer gonna be a uncle, dumbass.”

“Oh, right–can he call be Daddy anyway?”

“I’m gonna be Daddy. He’ll call ya Unc.”

Jack pouted a bit. “Will he have a big cock, at least?”

“Would that make ya feel better, ya horny fuck?” Ken said, grinning at his brother. “Fine, he can have a big cock, but it ain’t gonna be as big as mine.”

With that, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, snoring loudly, already dreaming of the pervy family they would be making soon enough, happy as could be.

Interactive Story – Arctos Dating (Part 1)

Guess who finally cleared their commission queue! This fella, it was me. Sorry the content over here has been a little sporadic for the last while, but while I get back to work on The Pigtown Chronicles, I thought it would be a good time to do another interactive story! I considered picking up where I’d left off with Frat Daddy, but decided to start a new one instead. This time around, we have a rather mysterious Arctos branded dating app. One slight change this time around is that I won’t be running a private and a public poll for these anymore–voting on what happens next will be patron only. However, all patrons, at every reward level, will be able to access it this time around. If you want to support me, and get a say in what happens next, check out my patreon page!


It had been the longest year and a half of his life, he supposed. Ken had gotten out of a relationship in the summer of 2019, found himself his own place and settled in on his own in the fall, as the first news of the new virus was spreading through China. He hadn’t thought much of it–he’d been more focused on enjoying his new found solitude after that rather crushing relationship. He didn’t want to be alone forever, of course, but after taking a few months to himself, just as he was about to start putting himself back out there, well, the whole world had shut down in a matter of weeks, leaving him trapped in his apartment, utterly alone.

His work had gone fully remote, he could order in enough food, but as the months wore on, his one bedroom apartment went from feeling cramped, to claustrophobic, to outright punishing. He reorganized the furniture over and over again, obsessed over whatever stupid hobby people were discussing on social media. He baked bread, he curated his zoom background for work and presentations, he streamed more movies and television than he’d ever wanted to watch in his whole life, but now, at last, the world was beginning to blossom again.

Early on, he’d retreated onto the various hookup apps like a lot of guys had, only to find the whole experience dissatisfying. He didn’t want more people to chat with, or another screen to stare at, he wanted someone he could touch, and smell, and, well, fuck of course. So he’d uninstalled them all after a while, resolving he wouldn’t download any of them again until he was confident he’d be able to see people in person, and that time seemed to be now. The first few gay bars were opening up around town again, and while distance and masking was more or less adhered to, now that cases were down and Pride season was swinging, it felt as close to the old world as he’d managed to get, since he’d gotten his vaccination in late Spring.

And so, he started downloading. He picked up the usuals of course–grindr, scruff, and growlr–he had a soft spot for bears. When they were downloading, he saw another app recommended for him. Something called Arctos Dating. He opened it up, and saw it was another bearish sort of dating app, and downloaded it on a whim. It probably didn’t have much of a user base, but why not give it a shot and see what happened.

He opened it up, and quickly realized what the gimmick was. It was a bear dating app, sure, but it was also blind. No profiles, no pictures. The app just asked you these fairly boring multiple choice questions–favorite colors, hobbies, that sort of stuff that you’d put in a profile anyway, and then it whisked it away. He poked around the app a bit more, but found that he had limited functionality, because he was only a trial member. Wondering how much the thing cost per month, he couldn’t even find a place to purchase a membership. The only information he could find was a rather cryptic section of a deep FAQ that said membership levels were determined by participation on the app. But how was he supposed to participate, if the app didn’t let him do anything? Frustrated, he closed it out and mostly forgot about it, sticking to his profiles on the other sites, reconnecting with guys on there–but that evening, he got a little push notification from the Arctos app.

“Hey! A silver level member wants to meet with you tonight! Tap here to connect!”

Curious again, Ken clicked the notification, expecting a profile to pop up and maybe a chat window, only for there to be nothing of the sort. There was just a time and a location, telling him the date was set for seven that evening at The Roadhouse, one of the more bearish bars in town. It really was going to be a blind date–he knew absolutely nothing about this person. Still, he’d struck out on tinder, hinge, grinder, scruff and every other app that evening, so what was the risk, really? If the guy was ugly, he could just leave after all. Or who knows, maybe he could pick his brain a little about how this app actually works, and how he managed to become a silver level member, and what that even meant.

So he got dressed in some casual clothes, and checked himself in the mirror. He’d fuck himself, he supposed. He was twenty-five, still pretty much in the twink category–or chaser, as he’d been called a few times before, given his interest in older bears. He had thick hair that fell almost to his shoulder, and when he was more committed to working out, could still manage to get that six pack to pop out on occasion, though he’d been pretty sedentary through the pandemic, and wasn’t quite as muscular as he had been before. Still, he felt good about it, and headed for the bar, wondering how, exactly, he was supposed to know who he was even meeting.

It was a weeknight, and so the bar wasn’t particularly crowded. Ken went to the bar, got himself a drink, and scanned the room, only to spot a fellow waving him down from a table in the corner of the room. He wandered over, and the man stuck out his hand. “You must be Ken, right? From Arctos?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

The fellow showed him his phone, and sure enough, there was a photo of Ken on it, though he was certain that the app hadn’t asked him for one. “Sure looks like you.”

“That is me, but how do you have a photo? The app doesn’t show me anything like that.”

“Oh fuck, are you just a trial member? I remember those days. I didn’t check, I just don’t see many chasers on the app, thought it would be a little treat,” he said, and said, “The name’s Jack, nice to meet you.”

“What’s up with the membership thing? I couldn’t find a screen to explain the subscription to me.”

“Oh, you don’t subscribe, it’s based on activity. The more you use the app, the more access it gives you to other features.”

“How am I supposed to use it if it doesn’t let me do anything?” Ken asked.

Jack just laughed, and pulled a cigar from the pocket of the flannel shirt he had on. “Let’s head for the patio, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

Ken did, actually. He’d quit smoking about three months before the pandemic had hit, and managing to keep from going back to it was one of the few victories he’d managed to chalk over the wasted year and a half. But before he could say that, he found himself following Jack out onto the patio, where the bear lit up his cigar, and exhaled a thick plume into the evening air. They continued to chat, though Jack seemed to be the one steering the conversation. It started off fairly innocuous–work, hobbies, things like that, though the two of them had almost nothing in common. Something about Jack was rather infectious though, and despite the fact that Ken wanted to despise him for any number of petty reasons, he was instead hanging on every word, and growing more and more turned on with each plume of smoke pushed in his direction.

“Want to taste it?” Jack asked, turning the cigar to him, “You haven’t taken your eyes off it.”

“I quit smoking about two years ago, I’m not looking to start again.”

“Come on, just one little puff is all,” Jack said, pushed the cigar into his mouth, and Ken took a little into his mouth, resisting the urge to inhale it, only for Jack to lock lips with him and pull the smoke out of him, then feed it back. Ken had never done anything like that before in his life, and when Jack took a deeper draw on the cigar, leaned in and kissed him again, he rolled with it, the two of them sharing a smoky kisses for the next few minutes, until Ken couldn’t bear it anymore, and got up, excusing himself to the bathroom for a moment.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him, honestly. None of this was the sort of thing he was even into, usually. In the bathroom, he splashed some water on his face, looked at himself, and was taken aback. His usual five o’clock stubble was closer to a full beard, and he seemed thicker than he should be–but maybe that was just the light, and the slightly warped bar mirror. In any case, this date was too weird, and as turned on as he was, he resolved to ditch–only for the door to the bathroom to open and Jack to step inside. “Thought you could hide from me in here, eh?”

“Look, I…I think I’m gonna head home, alright? It’s been nice meeting you, but this isn’t really what I’m into.”

Jack moved in, one hand going right to Ken’s crotch and groping his mostly hard cock. “Feels like you’re pretty into it, if you ask me.” He pushed Ken back against the wall, one arm on either side of his head, and Ken could smell him, his woodsy, smoky musk coming through the shirt, and he let out a little moan again. Jack went for his neck, kissing and licking where his sudden beard stopped while he undid the buttons of Ken’s shirt, rubbing his hands over his chest and belly. Ken shuddered, and when he looked down, he saw that, like his beard, he was much more hairy than he should be. And a little more muscular, just thicker all over, really. “Please, something…I need to get home.”

“I have a better idea,” Jack said, “Why don’t we go home to my place, and we can plow each other’s holes all fucking night long? That big cock of yours would feel so damn good in my hole, I can already tell.” Jack gave Ken a hard grope, and he could almost feel his cock swell larger as he did, and even though he tried to protest, a few more kisses, a grope of his ass, and he found himself holding onto Jack’s hand and letting the bear drag him the two blocks away to his apartment.

He spent the rest of the night in the bedroom, a cigar shoved in his mouth, giving Jack a good long fuck–though Ken was usually much more of a bottom. He’d never felt this horny in his life, and while he didn’t measure it, he was sure, somehow, that his cock had grown at least a couple of inches. The rest of him too, it seemed that the more contact he had with Jack, the more he was becoming some big, hairy cigar smoking muscle bear. The night finished with him on all fours on the bed, Jack eating out his sweaty asshole and blowing cigar smoke up his hole before returning the favor, shooting a load deep in his ass and milking a second load out of Ken all over the sheets below him, before the two of them collapsed on the ashy sheets.

“Fucking hell, what the fuck was that?” Ken muttered, mostly to himself, but Jack chuckled and pulled him into his damp, hairy chest.

“I asked myself that too, the first time. It’s a great app, trust me.”

Whatever hold Jack had over him seemed to be ebbing, and when Ken excused himself to leave, Jack didn’t stop him. He walked his way back to his car, horrified and elated in turn, and got home in one piece at around five in the morning. He was almost afraid to look at himself in the mirror, but the strange changes he’d noticed over the course of the night seemed to have disappeared–mostly. He still had a slightly heavier stubble than normal, and the nicotine craving was much, much stronger than he wanted to admit, but after a few glasses of water and a shower, he was more exhausted than anything else. He climbed into bed, and figured he’d sort the rest of it out in the morning.

It was hard to parse what he was feeling the next day. Hungover, humiliated, ecstatic, mortified, horny, desperate, used, satisfied. He popped some tylenol for the physical misery he was suffering, after a long night of physical exertion, and checked his phone, only to find another notification from the Arctos Dating app waiting for him.

“Congratulations, you got your cherry popped! You’ve gone from trial member to bronze member.”

He clicked the notification, expecting the app to have opened up for him now, but found that the functionality was frustratingly limited still. No profiles, no pictures. The one thing he could find that was definitely new was a button that said, “Update Profile”. Maybe that would open the app up for him, then. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted another experience like that though, so he closed the app down and focused on getting through the rest of his weekend chores…but by that evening, his curiosity, and his horniness, had the app back open again.

He’d never had an encounter like that in his life. Sure, it had been…a bit scary, but nothing bad had happened to him, right? So he clicked the button, only to find himself assaulted with a slew of new meaningless questions–or at least, the first couple were. Then, it asked…very specific questions about his little encounter with Jack that night, and he got a little concerned. How did they know any of this stuff? He tried to exit out, but the app wouldn’t let him leave until he finished the survey, so he completed it, and shut it down, thought about deleting it, but didn’t. Jack probably put the info in or something. Nothing nefarious. He opened it up again, but still no profiles–apparently, he’d just have to wait again for someone to want to meet him for another blind date, and in the meantime, he’d just have to let things be.


As I said above, patrons get early access to these chapters, and get to vote on what happens next in the story! Patrons at all levels, even just $1, get access to the surveys. If you’d like to know more, check out my patreon page here.

Commission: Arctos – Air Freshener

“We here at Arctos Outfitters are dedicated to ensuring that every one of your senses is delighted in your home! That’s why, Brendon, we’ve decided to send you a sample from our new line of plug in air fresheners. Each comes with three unique scents that, once you get a whiff of them, you won’t be able to get enough! Enjoy!”

Brendon put the note down and picked up the little plug-in air freshener that had been in the small box as well. He didn’t know how the company had gotten his address, but they weren’t necessarily wrong about his interests. Brendon did like having his apartment smelling nice, and kept a regular supply of candles and air fresheners around to keep it that way. It was a bit odd that the company hadn’t bothered to tell him what the scents were, and when he sniffed at the plug in, he didn’t smell anything at all, really, which was odd. You could usually get a good idea of what it was going to smell like beforehand, which meant this was either going to be some weak scent, or they had just sealed it in really well. He figured he’d try plugging it in overnight in his bedroom, let it do its thing, and see what he thought of the result in the morning. That evening, he popped it into the outlet by his bed, and while he heard it whirr to life, he still couldn’t smell anything. With a shrug, he laid down, and it wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, and with a little click, the plug in started to release a smoky haze into the room around him. Brendon tossed and turned for a moment in his bed, and began to dream…

Brendon wasn’t sure where he was at first. It was a narrow room with a number of booths running down either side, and the air was full of smoke. Men were crowded into the booths, and all of them were smoking cigars of various sizes. Brendon wasn’t a smoker, and had always found cigars unappealing. He passed the booths, the men all staring at him as he passed them by, trying to find his way out, but when he reached the end of the smoky room, all he found was a waiter standing by a sizable humidor. He turned around to leave, only to find the way blocked by a thick wall of smoke coming closer and closer to him. Before he could react, it had swallowed him up.

The smoke was everywhere, all around him. He could smell it, the deep, pungent cigar smoke pushing at him, probing him, trying to get inside him. He held his breath as long as he could, but when he had to inhale, the smoke forced its way inside him, driving down into his lungs. He could feel it solidifying, and a massive 80 gauge cigar manifested from the smoke, crammed in his jaw, fully lit and spouting smoke. He couldn’t help but inhale now, sucking down more and more smoke, feeling it permeate his entire body, his cock rock hard and aching. He needed it now, the smoke. Men came out of the booths around him, now naked, still smoking, feeling him up, urging him on, stroking his cock, and–

Brendon woke as the orgasm hit him in his bed, surging through him, his cock erupting all over the sheets around him as he spasmed in his room. He sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes. He’d never had a dream that intense before, and he hadn’t shot a load in his sleep since he was a teenager. He ran his tongue around his mouth, already missing the cigar he’d been smoking, but then, it was about time for his midnight smoke, after all. He opened up the humidor on his bedside table, took out one of his shorter sticks he preferred for his breaks in the night, and lit it up.

Fuck, he was so fucking addicted to these things. He smoked them almost constantly during the day, and had to wake up a couple times each night just to keep himself hopped up on the nicotine. The air was hazy with smoke, and he could smell it–stale and fresh mixing together, and heaved a contented sigh. He reeked of cigars too, of course, but he didn’t care. Why wouldn’t he want to smell like a cigar?

He finished the cigar in half an hour, snuffed it out, and climbed back into bed. He’d already forgotten about the plug in the wall, which had exhausted its first scent, and now was moving onto the second, as Brendon began to dream again…

This time, he found himself standing in a locker room, naked. From the sounds coming from nearby, it was connected to a gym. He looked around, smoking his dream cigar, a bit embarrassed–he needed to find some clothes before anyone saw him. He saw something lying on a bench near him, went over, and found a set of gym clothes scattered about on the floor, all of which looked to have been worn recently–but no one else was there. Without thinking too much about it, he pulled on the sweaty, musky shorts and tanktop, socks and shoes, and when they were all on, much like the last dream, be felt the scent begin to soak into his skin, making him feel a bit woozy.

He sat down on the bench for a moment, taking deep inhales of the musk rolling off the gym clothes, aware that…something seemed to be happening to him, but it was difficult to describe what. When he felt he could stand again, he did, turned, saw himself in the mirror, and gasped. He…he was massive. The clothes, which had been too large on him before, were now too small, the spandex stretched tight across his thick frame, hair popping out everywhere, each inch of his soaked in sweat. He flexed, watched the outline of his thick cock in the shorts throb in excitement, reached down to take care of that, and

He woke with his hand shoved into the filthy jock he’d worn to bed, one muscular arm thrown up over his head, nose shoved as close to his pit as he could, masturbating to his own stink, unable to control himself, not that he even really wanted to. He finished, shooting the second load of the night all over himself, rubbing the cum into his sweaty body, and sat up to have his second cigar of the night. He flipped on the light, and had a small moment of confusion when he looked around at the piles of dirty clothes scattered throughout his room, but…of course he didn’t want them. No, he loved how they all smelled, he loved making them all even muskier even, of course he did. He took a deep inhale of his cigar, laid back on his unwashed sheets, and sighed smoke, not really noticing that the ash was falling on the bed. He didn’t care–after all, he smelled like an ashtray most days, why would it matter? He finished his cigar and turned the light back off, rolling over as the third scent filled the room, and another dream began…

He was in the gym locker room, naked aside from a towel, going into the sauna. It was empty, for the moment, but as soon as he sat down, a series of muscular bears all filed in as well, taking up the various seats, crowding in around Brendon. They all started to sweat, but then the bear beside him lifted one leg in Brendon’s direction, and let loose a long, loud fart. The smell caught him a moment later, pungent and ripe, and he couldn’t seem to escape it, there was nowhere to go. He leaned away, only for the bear on the other side to lift his leg and let loose one of his own, and soon, every bear in the room was farting up a storm, the small sanua filled with the scent of gas, making Brendon gag. He got up, trying to get free, only for a leg to trip him. He ended up on the floor, on his back, and one of the bears got up and sat his naked ass right on Brendon’s face, letting loose a fart directly on him.

He tried to resist, tried to hold his breath, but like before, he could feel it probing down into him, sinking into his pores, multiplying there, and soon, it didn’t smell so bad at all. He started licking at the sweaty, hairy crack, and after a few moments, it was replaced by another, and then another, all of them farting, and Brendon could feel a pressure building in his guts. He let loose a massive fart that reverberated off the walls around him, and–

–and he woke up to the sound of his own fart in his room, just as loud, and just as noxious. So noxious in fact, that Brendon snorted up as much of the fumes as he could and jacked off again, wishing the hot asses from the dream were real, smothering him now, but he’d just have to make do with his own scent for now, he supposed. After he shot his third load of the night all over himself, he rolled off the bed, checked his phone, and saw it was just a few minutes before his alarm. He got up, gave a little flex, and started sniffing around for something that smelled good for the gym this morning. He ended up in a cum crusted tanktop, the jock he’d been wearing to bed, a set of gym shorts with a few burnt out holes from some cigars, and a couple of stinking socks and trainers. Feeling good, he went into the kitchen, got one of his protein shakes together–a blend that he’d found gave him the rankest farts possible–and guzzled that down. Feeling good, he stepped outside of his filthy apartment, and bumped into a young man in a suit coming down from an apartment upstairs. 

“Sorry bud,” Brendon said, “wasn’t lookin’.”

The man wrinkled his nose in disgust, and took in the sight of the massive, musky muscle bear who was his downstairs neighbor apparently–had the other guy moved out without him even noticing? “Whatever freak, take a fucking shower,” he said, and tried to push past him, only for Brendon to grab his wrist, pull him close, and shove his face right into his pit. He…didn’t know why he did that exactly, but it felt right. The man struggled for a few moments, and then relaxed a bit, and when Brendon pulled his face away, he could see it was a bit…different. A little more stubble on his cheeks, drooling a little. 

Maybe the gym could wait for a bit. He took a drag off his cigar, wrapped a big hand loosely around the man’s neck, and fed him the smoke, pleased with how receptive the man had become with just a little taste of his pitmusk. “Why don’t you come in for a bit, bud? Take a load off, have a cigar with me,” Brendon said, wrapping one muscular arm around his shoulders, and leading him in, “What’s your name, man?”

“Uh…Cliff,” he said, “But I…gotta get to work.”

“Come on man, just a little cigar, that’s all.”

Brenden sat the man down on the couch, stained with cum in several spots. Cliff looked around, visibly grossed out by the state of the apartment, but Brendon could tell from the erection in the front of his slacks he was already giving in. ‘Hey Cliff, can you smell something for me? I wanna see what you think of this.” He then dropped his shorts, turned around and ripped a long nasty fart right into his neighbor’s face.

His eyes glazed over, part of him still thinking that it was disgusting, but when his mind told him to get away, his body leaned in and started snorting up the fumes from Brendon’s ass, and he groaned out, “Oh fuck,” as his cock unloaded right into the front of his slacks. “Oh fuck, that’s fuckin’ rank, bro…” he said.

Brenden flashed a huge smile. “Glad you like it. Now, how about that cigar man? You can finish this one,” He placed his cigar in the man’s mouth, who started puffing contentedly. Cliff’s stubble had grown into a full beard now, his office attire stretched by his expanding body, packing on muscle. Brendon climbed into his lap and tore off his shirt, tossing the rags over the back of the couch, pushed Cliff’s arms into the air and ate out his pits, which were growing more and more intense by the moment, Cliff sucking down the cigar, feeling the smoke warping his mind, dumbing him down, making everything seem so simple. It wasn’t long before he was on his knees on the couch, bent over the back, Brendon’s bearded face shoved into his crack, tasting the first of Cliff’s own rank farts, his own cock hard as steel and ready to fuck after a few minutes of rimming his bro’s hole.

He pulled his face away, wiping the sweat and drool into his beard, and then pressed the head of his cock against Cliff’s hole. “Ready bro? Wanna feel my big, rank cock slam into that gassy ass of yours?”

“Fuck bro, what the fuck are ya waitin’ for!” Cliff said, looking over, just a butt of a cigar remaining. 

The fucked for half an hour, and by the time Brendon finished, Cliff had shot his own load all over the couch below him, adding his own cumstains to the fabric there. His mind had faded, his old life lost, and with his roommate, and boyfriend’s cum planted in his musky hole, he pulled on a pair of filthy gym shorts off the ground and a tank top, and the two of them left to get to the gym, a bit later than planned.

They went down the stairs, and as they did, Cliff let off a little fart of each step, filling the back of his shorts with Brendon’s load of cum, making them both giggle like idiots as they stood in the cloud of their own stink, getting hard again, but they resisted the urge. They could fuck later, after all. The gym was just a quick walk down the street, long enough to work up a sweat for sure. And when they got there, they were sure that once the local bodybuilders all got a whiff of them, they’d have them all following them back to their place after their workout. Their smell had a way with guys, after all–that was the Arctos promise.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.


Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others. 

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear. 

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did. 

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his  body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole. 

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

Caption: Long Distance Hypnomutt

Was it what he wanted? Banjo wasn’t quite sure he could really tell the difference anymore. He was humiliated, sure, when the message from his Master came through after his latest hypno spiral, telling him he needed to go get a sharpie, and mark himself with what he knows about himself to be true, now.

He didn’t really know what that meant, but he got himself a new sharpie, took off his shirt, and started writing on himself. When he was finished, he looked in the mirror, upper lip curled up, and gave a little snort.

“It is a dumb mutt…” he said, groping his cock, unable to stop himself from snorting as the words came of of his mouth. “It is a *grunt* sex toy.”

He couldn’t stop until he lost a load of cum right into the front of his underwear, and control returned to himself–mostly. He tried to take off his soiled underwear, but couldn’t seem to get them to peel away from his body–he was stuck with them on apparently, for the time being. He went in to message his master, the man who had been cementing control over him for months now, took a picture, and sent it to him, as he knew he needed to do.

“Good mutt–what a stupid fucking mutt, letting some stranger control you like this. Now, you know I live a long ways away, so it’ll be a while before I can use you myself, but I like sex toys like you well broken in. Go unlock your door, and wait on your knees, mutt.”

Banjo tried to message back, asking for an explanation, but before he could even reach the keyboard, he was standing and following his master’s directions, unlocking the door to his apartment, and getting down on his knees, and waiting.

He was there for almost an hour, cramping, uncomfortable on the hard floor, but he couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. All he could really think about was the cold load of cum slowly drying in the front of his underwear. Then, he smelled…cigar smoke. He heard boots outside his door, it opened without a knock, and he found himself looking up at a grungy looking fellow sucking on a half finished cigar.

“You must be the mutt,” he said, stepped past him without another word like he owned the place, and Banjo tried to stand up–but couldn’t. All he could do was crawl after him, and the man took a seat in one of Banjo’s chairs like he owned the place, and gave a sigh.

“Fuck, what did he want me to say?” he said, and pulled out his phone. “Right–ok, ‘dumb mutt’, get over here you stupid, ‘sex toy’ and suck my dirty fuckin’ cock.”

Banjo gave a grunt at each utterance, felt his cock swell, and he found the rather repulsive fellow suddenly very…attractive. He crawled over, dug the man’s greasy cock out of the front of his unwashed jeans and started sucking him off. The man kept using the keywords, watching as Banjo grew more and more horny, his mind starting to fade out, and the man told him to turn around, got down, tore open the back of Banjo’s underwear and gave him a rough fuck. Banjo came again in the middle of it with a loud grunt and a moan, and that was enough for the strange to unload in him as well.

“Fuck, yer a weird fucker, but that was kinda hot,” he said. “Nice place too–gotta say. Nicer than my shithole.”

He pulled out his phone, took some pictures of Banjo’s ruined underwear and leaking hole, and sent them off, then texted for a bit.

“Good fuckin’ news, you dumb mutt,” he said. “Yer…Master or whatever says you’re gonna let me stay here for a while. You don’t mind, do you, sex toy?”

Banjo tried to object, but the man showed him a spiral on his phone that his master had sent, and soon enough, he was back in front of the computer, ready for another round of programming, and more than happy to host his new roommate, and give him whatever services he required from then on.

Caption: Daddy Issues #1 – Conrad the Disciplinarian

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.



Four freshmen in college met during a meeting of the college’s queer group, and quickly bonded over a common problem they shared–their fathers. It wasn’t uncommon for young gay guys to have daddy issues of course, but for them, coming out at home was still an impossibility. While each of their fathers was different, what tied them all together was their desire to control their son’s lives, and an unwillingness to accept anything other than the straightest of behavior from all of them. As they shared their woes, and prepared to go home for winter break, a mischievous little sprite was listening in on their discussion. It didn’t seem fair to the sprite, not at all. But magic always came with a cost. They could have fathers who were more agreeable, sure, but they too, would have to change as well.

Conrad’s father, Harry, was a cop, in just about every sense of the word. He worked on the police force of the city, but lived in the outlying suburbs. He was a real piece of work, and he’d ridden Conrad every moment of his life, trying to “man him up” and get him to follow in his footsteps, train him into what he considered to be a proper young man, and none of it had stuck. Now he was off to college and studying literature–what a waste in his opinion. He’d refused to pay for any of it, and Conrad was currently relying on loans to make it though. He couldn’t find somewhere to stay on break, and so, he resigned himself to going home for a few weeks. He arrived, stepped inside, and was greeted by a sight so strange, it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at.

It was his father, naked, wrestling with a leather harness that seemed to have a life of its own. “God damn it, what the fuck is this shit? Conrad, help!” he shouted when he saw his son, but Conrad just gawked, then looked around, and saw a box by the door addressed to his father. As he watched, something crawled out, scuttled across the floor, flew and shoved itself into Harry’s mouth, wrapping around his head–a ball gag and head harness. It distracted him long enough the harness could crawl onto him, followed by a pair of boots, and a butt plug with a curly black tail on the end, that flew into his father’s ass, making him howl as he crawled around, in distress.

Conrad took a step forward, only for more gear to crawl out of the box and start crawling across the floor towards him. He backed up, but before he could get out the front door, the arms of a rubber cat suit wrapped their way around his legs and pulled them out from under him. He fought them off as long as he could, but something…was wrong with them. He could hear something, hear a voice, soothing him, relaxing him, telling him all sorts of filthy, wicked thoughts.

He stood up after a few moments, fully clothed in his gear, and he felt different. Taller, more muscular. He walked past his father, still struggling on the floor with his gear, went to his humidor, took out a cigar and lit it for himself, before walking back, kicking him over and putting a boot on his father’s neck.

“There’s going to be some changes around here, piggy,” Conrad said, his usually meek voice now full of confidence. “Yeah…gonna…gonna train you into a proper little pig slut, yeah. You tried to make a man out of me, pig, well what do you think? Is this man enough for you?”

He pressed down, and saw his father go a little limp, aside from his cock, which was rock hard and leaking. 

“I’m the man who’s gonna make a proper pig out of you, and I’ll love every second of it. You will too, soon enough. Now, I wanna hear you squeal.”

Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings. 

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked. 

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

TPC – Chapter 2.11

Chapter 2.11 – Lost in the Hideaway

Dennis quickly discovered that The Hideaway wasn’t so much a bar, as a fucking maze. The hallway made a few turns, and then ended at a junction going left or right. The corridor was narrow, and barely lit. He stood there for a couple moments, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and then went right, trying to follow the sounds of what he assumed would be the crowd at the main bar. But after following the corridor for a little ways, he came upon a dead end with a sling hanging from the ceiling. A man clad in a rubber body catsuit was in it, another fisting him rather deep. The fister looked over at him, leering, and Dennis quickly retreated back down the hallway. Easy enough–he’d just go the other way at the junction.

But he never found the junction again. He couldn’t remember taking any turns or choices, but each time he turned a corner, it seemed he found himself in a loop, or a dead end, or some other obstacle he couldn’t seem to bypass. He was beginning to panic, sweat building up under his shirt from the heat of the place, and again, he felt that same need or hunger building up inside him. Feeling light headed, he took a seat on a little perch for a moment, unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and felt…something underneath it that didn’t seem like it should be there.

It was a leather harness. He didn’t own a single piece of leather in his whole wardrobe, aside from shoes. He gave the leather a tug, feeling it pull against him, and then attempted to loosen the buckles, but they refused to budge. 

“Ah, I had a feeling it was gonna be you.” Dennis looked up at the voice and saw the same bouncer from the door looming over him–and blocking his only exit from where he was sitting. “Some guys said someone was running around the halls, didn’t look like he belonged, but it looks like you’re already fitting in a little more, eh?”

“I…I didn’t put this on. I don’t know where it came from,” Dennis said. “Can…you help me get out of here?”

“But you were so eager to get in earlier. Besides, if Pigtown wanted you gone, you’d be gone. I think you’re right where it wants you. I did warn you about the dress code though–so the rest of that is gonna have to go.”

The bouncer stepped into his space and started tearing away Dennis’s clothes, first his shirt, then his pants, leaving them as shreds on the ground. Similar to the harness, he saw that his underwear had become a leather jockstrap, and on his feet were not the sneakers he’d put on earlier, but a couple of black work boots. 

“See, isn’t that better?” the bouncer said, grabbing hold of Dennis’ nips in his fingers, and toying with them, watching him wince and gasp. “I’d stay and play, but technically I’m on the clock, and Boss doesn’t like that. Maybe later, eh? I like my boys a little broken in anyway.”

The bouncer backed off and turned down the corridor, leaving Dennis to scramble down and try and reassemble the scraps of his clothes–but nothing was even there. It had all just vanished into nothing. It was impossible, but then, all of this was. He turned the corner and went after the bouncer, but he’d already slipped away into the dark, and Dennis found himself turned around again. Now, however, the corridors were not nearly as empty. They were full of men in leather and rubber gear, all of them leering at him, sniffing the air, following behind him until he came to another dead end.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” one of the men said. He stepped forward, a tall, burly fellow in leather vest and chaps, with a thick cock swinging between his legs. He pulled Dennis into him, and while he tried to will himself to fight the man off, as soon as the man laid his lips on him, something inside him roared to life, and he found himself passionately kissing the leatherman, as the others came around. He had no idea what this hunger was, this desire. The leatherman pushed him back onto a ledge, hauled up his legs, and Dennis felt his cock press against his hole. He hadn’t been fucked in years, and he tried to say something, ask him to go slow, but the leatherman worked the head in, and a swirl of pleasure and pain swirled through Dennis’s mind.

One after another, the men fucked him. Most were smaller than the leatherman had been, and so Dennis had no trouble taking each of them in turn. He had moments of clarity, thoughts that he should resist, that he couldn’t be doing this, but another cock would slot into him, and he’d be carried off on that same pleasure all over again. After the crowd had taken their turn, they left him on that ledge, ass drooling cum under him, and he stood up and hobbled away down the hallway–and there it was, the corridor. The bathrooms. The breakroom. The alley. He could run. He could get out. But the hunger, he was so hungry now, every fuck had only made him want it more, and so he turned and continued into the dark, now hunting–and it wasn’t long before he smelled the smoke, and found his way to where Kyle and Marshall were smoking cigars and kissing, a pig on the ground licking both of their boots, stopping only to look up and take the ash off their cigars as it accumulated.

“K-Kyle…” Dennis managed to say, but his voice felt so parched and dry all of a sudden.

The young man turned towards him in confusion, and in the dark, he struggled to recognize him at all. Dennis stepped closer into the red light, and Kyle’s eyes lit up. “Fuck, again?” he said with a laugh. “Hey Master, look who it is.”

Marshall turned to look at Dennis, and he felt, for a moment, that cloud of smoke clear, enough that he could recognize the older smoker’s face from…from the shop, and from Depot, though neither of those memories made much sense. Marshall sighed. “I told you, he must like you.”

“We just kissed once! I was just curious, I didn’t even like him that much.”

“Kisses mean different things to different people.”

The kiss in the garage. Dennis had tried to tell himself it hadn’t meant anything either, that Kyle didn’t mean anything to him. He’d just wanted to protect him, and care for him, and…and suck his cock, and beg him for his seed, and oh gods, this had been a mistake. The hunger was for Kyle, but not just Kyle. For this freedom, if that’s what this was, but Kyle was the root of it. That stolen kiss, he’d never felt so brave before in his life. No wonder he’d held onto it so hard, though he’d never been able to admit it. “Please, I…I don’t know why, I remember…can you tell me what’s happening to me?”

“Pigtown’s happening to you, friend,” Marshall said, “Like it happened to all of us. What do you think, should we help him out, Apprentice? Go on boy, play with him. He’s yours, make him what you want him to be.”

Kyle stepped up to Dennis, close enough that he could feel the heat of his cigar on his cheek. “You always treated me like a kid. Do I look like a kid to you?”

Dennis shook his head.

Kyle took a long draw off his cigar, wrapped one gloved hand around the back of Dennis’s head, and kissed him again–but it was nothing like the kiss he’d taken in the garage. He’d been timid before, anxious. He’d let Dennis guide him, and tease him. But this was forceful, rough. He pushed the smoke into Dennis’s lungs, and while he tried not to breathe it in, it drove deep anyway, flooding not just his body, but up into his mind as well, making him feel lightheaded and uneasy on his feet.

“You’re going to be the boy now,” Kyle said. “Cute little cub with a hungry little hole, looking for a Daddy to take care of you, and fuck you, and play with you. That’s what you are tonight.”

Dennis felt something in his shift, the smoke warping his body, filling his body out with a soft layer of fat as he lost a little height, his first few wrinkles smoothing out, his beard pulling in and becoming a sparse goatee as his hairline grew back to a point it hadn’t been in years. 

“Nicely done, apprentice. You’re such a fucking natural.”

“I learn from the best.”

Dennis looked down at himself, at his strange body, at the two handsome Daddies in front of him, and he dropped to his knees, inched forward, and started sucking on Kyle’s cock. Marshall came around, lifted up his ass, and the two of them spitroasted him, and when they came, Kyle’s cum tasted and felt like smoke, and Marshall’s load swirled in his guts, into his veins, settling inside him like ash. They left, and Dennis tried to get them to take him with them, but Kyle stopped him. “Not tonight, pig. Tonight, I think you belong to The Hideaway, don’t you?”

Dennis…knew he was right, somehow. The bar claimed him, for violating its…its rules, though he couldn’t recall wearing anything other than what he had on now. He roamed the halls, circulating, stopping whenever he found a handsome Daddy perched in a corner to suck their cock and beg for a load, before moving on again, until he found himself at the bouncer’s booted feet again, looking up at him eagerly.

“See? Nice and broken now, aren’t you?”

Dennis nodded.

“Alright cub–come on home with me then, and let’s have some fun.”


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TPC – Chapter 2.7

Chapter 7 – Smoke and Shadow

Upstairs that evening, Marshall had Kyle assist with cooking dinner, and after they’d eaten, he led him into the living room. There, against the wall, was another humidor full of Marshall’s private stash of cigars, and hanging beside it, a rack with his pipes. He pulled out two cigars, handed one to Kyle, and soon they were on the couch, kissing and swapping smoke, and it wasn’t long before Marshall stood up and dropped his jeans.

Kyle realized it was the first time he’d seen his new Master naked, and it caught him by surprise. Where he’d expected a cock, there wasn’t one at all. With a bit more investigation, he realized that Marshall had a pussy instead, buried within his pubic hair. “You uh…huh,” he managed to say, and Marshall let out a laugh.

“Don’t worry boy, I can make all the equipment I need,” he said, “took a deep breath off his cigar, pulling the smoke deep inside him, and he watched as something pushed its way out, a silvery cock growing from Marshall’s crotch, made entirely of smoke, with two low hanging balls to match. “That enough for you to handle, boy?”

“Uh…yes Sir, I…I mean…I haven’t…”

“Yes you have, you just don’t remember it yet. Let daddy remind you,” Marshall said, and pushed him towards the sofa.

It turned out to be plenty. Marshall pinned him down on the sofa and fucked Kyle’s ass, sucking on his cigar, pumping more and more smoke into him with his cock until he came, and then, he flipped Kyle over, and rode his new apprentice’s cock to completion, leaving them lying there sweaty, room fogged with smoke, and he pulled him close. “You’re a hot little fucker boy, glad you walked your way over to me that evening, and not some other big, burly bear.”

Kyle, heaving for breath, realized after the fact he’d lost his virginity, and hadn’t even really noticed. All of it had felt so natural, so vital. So exhausting. It hadn’t even been his virginity, had it? He could recall now, all the other, many times he and his Master had fucked around before–like reality was still knitting itself together around him. He laid back on the couch, nursing the butt of his cigar, while Marshall went into the bedroom, and a few minutes later, came out dressed again, this time in leather pants, vest, boots and smoking a sizable pipe. “Come on boy, get your ass up.”

“What?”

“You’re in Pigtown now–you thinking you’re going to sleep? Good luck. You won’t get more than a nap in before you need another smoke.”

Wait, then…are you saying we can’t sleep?”

“Well, not ‘can’t’. Come on, I have some gear for you boy. You represent me now, out on the street, so I expect you to always look your best.”

Gear, apparently, meant a leather jock, boots, harness, and not much else. Kyle refused at first, and Marshall responded by simply manipulating the smoke flowing through him now, and forced him to dress himself in what was laid out. “You’re mine now, boy, for the foreseeable future. You don’t mind, do you?” he said, cupping a hand under Kyle’s chin, and giving him a deep kiss. The pipe smoke didn’t just taste different–it felt different. Somehow, he could…sense the slight shift in flavor, in density, in temperature. “I promise, I’ll never make you look anything other than the handsome, fuckable man you are, agreed?”

Kyle was still reluctant, but once they hit the sidewalk, he realized that he was actually not nearly as kinky as quite a few others on the dark street, going from club to alley to sauna and back again. Many looked, but no one touched–it was clear, somehow, that he was Marshall’s boy, and that meant they would need permission to use him, Kyle assumed. They made their way to a small bar, the air saturated with smoke, and Marshall started introductions. After a drink, he started passing him around, and Kyle found himself sharing smoky kisses with men whose name he could barely remember. He was fucked by some, blew others, the drinks piling on with the cigars, until it all became a blur, and next thing he knew, he woke up next to Marshall in their bed, head throbbing, throat creaking, and aching for smoke.

Marshall was already up, and passed him the cigar he had ready. Kyle sucked in as much as he could, feeling a bit more human after a few minutes, and realized it was morning, but he had no recollection of making it back here. “I…must have drunk more than I thought,” he said.

“Oh no, it wasn’t the drink, just the good ol’ Pigtown Hangover. Happens every night, you get used to it.”

“Every night?” Kyle asked.

“I said, we got to sleep somehow. Now come on, it’s time for breakfast, and you’re cooking, boy.”

Kyle wasn’t a great cook, but he could fry some eggs and make toast–it seemed to be enough to satisfy Marshall. Once they’d eaten, they went downstairs to get the shop ready to open up, and Kyle had a moment to check his phone. His only real important message was from Jim, asking him if he’d heard anything about Marlon yet.

He’d completely forgotten all over again. He thought about what had happened to him over the last day, what Marshall had…done to him, and the story that Jim had told him, about Marlon disappearing into a shadow, seemed all the more possible now, after what he’d seen. Maybe Marshall would know something, even. He told Jim to come visit the shop, he might know someone who could help. A couple of hours later, between regulars, while Marshall was showing Kyle the intricacies of blowing smoke rings and hardening them, Jim came through the door, asking what he knew.

Kyle explained the situation to Marshall, and Jim retold him what had happened that night after leaving Depot the week before. Around the time he mentioned the shadows, Kyle felt the smoke in his master quicken beside him, and he looked over at him. Outside, he seemed unaffected, but he definitely knew something. Jim finished the story, how some police officers had appeared and helped him get back to his car without Marlon, and the next day, it was like he had never even existed. 

Marshall sat back, took a long drag off his cigar, and pushed a cloud towards the ceiling. “Wish I could help you, young man, but I have nothing that can help you with this one.”

Kyle tried to say something, point out that was clearly a lie from what he had felt, but before he could even speak, he felt some lingering smoke in his mouth knot up around his tongue and gave it a squeeze. Marshall, apparently, was not interested in what Kyle might have to say.

“But…Kyle said you might know something.”

“I know a lot of things. What I can offer you are two options that you have right now. One, you can forget what you saw. It will be easy, once you decide to do it. I would suggest you not show your face around Pigtown again, if you do this, but I give that suggestion to most everyone.” Marshall paused, almost whether he was considering whether to even continue. “The other option would be to go to Precinct 27 and file a report.”

“I already tried to call the cops, but I couldn’t even prove he existed. They treated me like I was crazy.”

“That’s why I told you to go to Precinct 27. It’s just down the street here. They will be more sympathetic than I can be, and far more so than your usual cop. I wouldn’t choose to deal with them myself, but that’s your choice to make.”

Jim looked over at Kyle, who thought about trying to undo the knot around his tongue and get Marshall to tell them everything, but he didn’t. His loyalties had shifted in ways he hadn’t quite expected. He trusted his master. If there was a reason he wasn’t speaking about it, it was probably a good one.

“Now, unless you’d like to purchase something, I’d suggest you leave.”

Kyle nodded to Jim, and his friend left the shop, frustrated and feeling even more confused than before. The knot around Kyle’s tongue relaxed, and he asked, “You know more than that, what didn’t you want to tell him?”

“I know a lot of possibilities. I don’t know anything for sure. What it sounds like, is that Shadow got himself out of jail.”

“Shadow?”

“Acquaintance. We have different interests, different targets. Never really had a reason to fight, or cooperate. I respect his abilities and his autonomy so long as he respects mine.”

“Why are you bullshitting me about this? Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

“There’s a lot about this place, about the people here, that you don’t know, little apprentice,” Marshall said, “A lot of history. But the thing about history is that it’s just a story. Who’s telling the story matters just as much as anything else. Maybe if we see Shadow one night, he’ll tell you the story himself. I don’t know everything about it, just what gets passed around as gossip between the regulars.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re right, it isn’t.”

Kyle glowered at him, “You’re treating me like a kid.”

“You’re barely a resident here, apprentice,” Marshall said, “That boy there, he’s still freshmeat. I gave him what he needed to know. What could actually help him. The precinct…I don’t agree with them entirely, but I can respect their desire for order, even if their methods are questionable. But then, they were cops, they can’t help themselves.” 

“Wait, they were cops? I thought you said it was a precinct?”

Marshall shook his head, “I wish I knew how to tell you all of this so that it would make sense. I wish I could just give you everything I’ve seen since I came here, but I can’t. You have to see it for yourself. You’ll have your own story before long–now come on, get back to work.”


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