Arctos Monthly (Part 1)

I was in the mailroom, and saw the slip telling me that I’d received a package. My first thought was that it was probably another care package sent by my mom–even though I’d just gotten back from spring break a few days earlier. It was a bit embarrassing, but I know I wasn’t the only freshman suffering under parents with empty nest syndrome. However, when I picked up the package it quite large and heavy–at least the size of a small moving box–and wasn’t from my parents at all. With the labels printed out, it looked more like a package from Amazon or something, but I hadn’t ordered anything recently that I could remember. Checking the return address, all I saw was the name of some company I’d never heard of: Arctos Industries.

Still, who wouldn’t be a bit curious? I could have refused it, but I took it back to my room. where I got my scissors from my desk and broke open the tape of the box, opened it up, and found a card on top–I kept it all this time, actually–hold on, I can just read it to you:

Hello Bryan,

We here at Arctos Industries are beginning a new monthly subscription program called Arctos Monthly! Each month, subscribers will receive one box full of our signature clothing and other wares, and we have chosen you to be a part of our launch! If you’ve never heard of us, don’t worry–we’re testing this fabulous new program in both current and future market areas. In this pilot program, you will receive a three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly, free of charge, and your first shipment of our products will have arrived with this card. We hope you’ll try the outfit on–don’t worry if it doesn’t seem like your usual style, or if there are possible fit issues. Our signature Customerization Process (patent pending) guarantees your satisfaction with our products.

Also as a part of our launch, we are so certain that you will be thrilled with our products that we will provide you with three free referral codes for your friends. Simply go to the website listed below, log in with the information provided, and enter their full name and address, and they too will receive their own three month trial subscription to Arctos Monthly at no charge to you or them, because we know our products are at their best when shared! The referrals never expire, so feel free to wait and see what Arctos can do for you, before deciding who you’d like to refer.

Yours in Brother Bearhood,

Harvey Whitlock

Vice President of Marketing, Arctos Industries

Now that’s all very strange, of course, and I had no idea what to make of the note at the time, but hey, I was a poor college student, and I’d recently discovered how easy it is to take for granted the fact that, when you’re younger, your parents buy you all the clothes you want and need. As an adult it’s not so easy. Even if they weren’t my style, a few extra pants and shirts wouldn’t hurt, right? I threw the card on my desk and pulled out the clothing inside the box–and I was a bit dismayed.

It wasn’t really my style at all, and it looked like it was way, way too big. There were a couple flannel shirts, some XXL tees with the Arctos label across the front and back, Some jeans with a size 46 waist, a trio of jockstraps in white black and red, wool work socks, size 14 boots–and a pipe with a bag of loose leaf tobacco. That last part, especially, freaked me out a bit, after all, who in the hell would send some strange smoking supplies? Still, the clothes…they smelled really good, ok? That’s weird, but I wanted to try them on anyway. Andy, my roommate, was gone–I figured I could put them on, take a silly selfie, and then figure out how to return them for something more my size and style. I put them on as best I could–nothing fit right–hell, I even stuck the unlit pipe in my mouth, held up my phone and took a selfie…but the picture…well, let’s just say I didn’t recognize myself when I looked at the photo.

There, on the screen of my phone, was a big, hulking, muscular man–thick pecs, a decent sized gut pushing out the t-shirt he had on, a thick beard on his face and his hair cut in a high-and-tight, a pipe trailing wisps of smoke into the air. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out–and then I looked in the mirror, and I really freaked out. It was me. I was the big muscle bear in that selfie, looking like a lumberjack, smoking a pipe I couldn’t remember lighting. I told myself it couldn’t be real, I stripped off the clothes, but my body didn’t change back–and oddly enough, the more I saw of myself…the more I liked it. In fact, I ended up jacking my eight inch cock off, rubbing my very furry gut and chest, smoking the whole while like I’d been doing it for years, shocked at…at how turned on this body was making me, but I found these strange thoughts entering my head. I’d always liked bears, hadn’t I? I tried to tell myself that I was straight, but I couldn’t believe it when I tried to think it. Hell, after I came I tried to think back to how I’d used to look, and I couldn’t remember anything–and then the door opened and Andy stepped in.

I tried to explain–he just blocked his eyes and told me to get some clothes on and put the pipe out before the RA yelled at me again…like I’d always had this body. I pulled on the clothes I’d just taken off and apologized–Andy did his best to take it in stride, and somehow I got the feeling that this hadn’t been the first time he’d walked in on me naked, looking like this. I spent the rest of the evening searching for some…evidence of my old self, but found nothing. All the clothes in my closet? Gone–replaced by various clothing I’d just received in the package. Pictures on Instagram and Facebook? They all looked like this new face, all in situations I could remember…aside from a few big, brawny men I couldn’t remember meeting, but who I could remember…well, fucking. I ended up just…staring at the card from Arctos, reading it over and over, wondering what in the world the next few months would have in store for me…and I looked over at Andy working on one of his papers, feeling my cock suddenly stir…and knew just who would be getting my first referral.

New Lube (Sketch)

Noah took a look at the odd tube again, now that he was back in his apartment, which he’d received from a vendor offering out free samples to men passing by his table at the gay pride celebration he’d just been to. It appeared to some kind of specialty lube, but the matte black packaging didn’t say much about what was inside it. Still, he was curious, and the half naked guys he’d been checking had him horny. He was planning on bringing someone home tonight, of course, but why not blow off a little steam now? It was still early after all.

He stripped down and squeezed a bit of lube out onto his hand, but already it was different than any kind of lube he’d seen before. It was pitch black and opaque, but oddly shiny, almost like liquid rubber. He squeezed a bit more out onto his palm and set the tube off to one side, before tentatively rubbing it on his cock, groaning as the lube started pricking and tingling all over the surface of not just his shaft, but also the palm of his hand. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but the lube wasn’t very effective–he kept needing to apply more, and the tingling gave way to something more like numbness. It was keeping him from getting off, though he remained completely hard, and switched hands after a couple of minutes, gett the palm of his other hand coated in the stuff as well. It reminded him, when he was a kid, of sitting on his arm and putting it to sleep, so it felt weird when he jacked off, only instead of his hand being asleep, it was his dick.

To that point, he’d had his eyes closed, focusing on a fantasy involving some of the hot men he’d seen that day, but as his frustration grew, he finally opened his eyes and looked down–and gasped. His…cock. It was completely coated with the lube, but rather than drying away, it looked like it had simply coated his cock…and now it really did look like rubber. He ran his hands over it, and saw that the palms of his hands, and even the sides and some of the backs, had turned the same black color all over–his balls too, even though he was certain he hadn’t gotten anything on them. He knew he should try to wash it off, but his hands just kept stroking–faster now, fast enough that he could feel the lube drying harder. It didn’t feel good anymore, but he also couldn’t stop, and with a sudden, gut wrenching sensation, his cock and balls came right off his body, in his hands.

He stared at his cock and balls, unable to believe what had just happened to him…but they didn’t look like his equipment anymore–in fact, they looked just like a rubber dildo. Still, this had to be a dream, it couldn’t be real. He looked down, and where his cock had been attached was just a smooth patch of rubber. In a panic, he got up to go to the bathroom and wash his hands, but one hand reached out and grabbed the tube of lube–without him thinking about it–and brought it along.

In the bathroom, he set his dildo on the counter and tried to turn on the faucet. Instead, his hands–working against him, squeezed out even more lube into his palms, and started slathering it up and down his arms and legs. He screamed, trying to get his limbs to obey him, but it was like they didn’t even belong to him anymore–hell, he couldn’t even feel his hands at all, now that he thought about it, and when he grew too loud, one hand grabbed the dildo, lubed it up, and shoved it in his mouth.

The taste was vile, and the stinging and numbing was almost immediate, as the hand thrust the dildo deeper, down into his throat. He tried to scream, but suddenly he couldn’t get anything out–not even a whisper or a cough. His teeth and tongue went numb–he couldn’t even tell whether or not they existed at all, and after a few minutes, the hand pulled the dildo back out. Noah didn’t have a mouth anymore–all he had in it’s place was a puckered, rubberized hole.

By then, his legs were coated entirely, and they began to collapse underneath him, breaking off his body as he fell, and he could see from where he landed that they were now simply a pair of rubber, thigh high waders. His hands continued their work, coating his entire body with the substance, even smearing it across his eyes, nose and ears, sealing them shut, and then he sensed them deflating and falling away from him too, a pair of shoulder length rubber gloves, leaving him as a rubber torso and head on the floor of his bathroom, trying to scream with no mouth, no lungs, no hope at all.

He only had a dim knowledge of what happened next. He was picked up at some point, and driven somewhere. Before too long, the first cock shoved its way into his mouth, raping him brutally, and cumming in less than a minute. Then, a steady stream of cock followed. Some fucked him, others simply slipped inside and pissed. He could feel his torso–now completely hollow–slowly filling up with cum and piss, sloshing about inside him. He could, distantly, feel his old arms and legs being worn by men, like phantom sensations he only had distant access to, but his only pleasure came from his now disconnected cock, being ridden by some unknown asshole, or sucked on by a mystery mouth. He could never cum, of course, and the pleasure drove him closer and closer to insanity, his mind slowly turning to complete rubber, eventually only happy when it was being of service.

The Morning After – Billy Part 4

They spent the rest of their shift fondling each other’s cocks, Billy shooting once in his briefs from Derek’s attentions. He already was in better spirits, laughing and joking and flirting like normal, until they got back to the dump around eleven, and clocked out at noon.

He followed Derek into the locker room, where any number of other guys were laughing and changing back into their casual clothes. His feet walked him over to a locker he never remembered seeing before in his life. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket–all of which were unfamiliar, even though he could say what most of them opened, and used a small one on the lock. Inside, however, there weren’t any clothes at all, just a few scattered papers, a cellphone, some half eaten snacks from the vending machine, and a bottle of painkillers. There should be clothes in there, right? He looked around at the rest of the men, some leaving the locker room looking perfectly normal, none of them wearing their coveralls from work…so why didn’t he have any other clothes like they did?

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what it was. Something was following him, something was inside him, something else was here, and he couldn’t see it, but it was wrong, and it was wrong with him. He was starting to panic, he couldn’t catch his breath, he had to be going insane.

Calm down.

He looked to the side, and caught a look at himself in the mirror. He looked like a mess–his hair too long, something between stubble and a short beard smeared across his face, a gut bulging out, coveralls filthy.

This is what you like to wear. Calm down.

It was a stranger. He didn’t know what he should look like, he didn’t but he was certain that it was a stranger in the mirror.


He blinked a few times. What had he been thinking about? He turned back to his locker, grabbed his cell phone and slid it into the pocket of his coveralls, and started for the door. Derek was already changed and waiting for him, wearing the same grimy looking jeans and sleeveless shirt he’d had on for the last month already. “You ready to go yet? Finished staring at yourself in the mirror?”

“Shut the fuck up, ya fuckin’ bitch,” Billy said, and smacked Derek on the back. He laughed.

“You finally got over your fuckin’ blues then?”

He nodded. He did feel better. Calmer.

“Come on, let’s get going. I wanna get home so I can plug that fat ass of yours.”

They walked out into the parking lot, and Billy followed Derek to his truck. He…knew what was going to happen. They’d drive to the little rundown one bedroom apartment they shared together. Once there, they’d fuck, still dirty and grimy from work, usually without even taking off their clothes. Then, maybe, they’d change, eat, watch TV, drink, and go to bed. Like usual. Like…they always did. He tried to tell himself that, but he didn’t quite believe it. Should he get in the truck? Should he try and convince Derek that something strange was happening? That he wasn’t feeling so well after all? He stood at the passenger door of the truck, hand on the handle, trying to get his mouth to form the words, when the phone in his pocket started shaking and ringing. He looked at the ID–it was coming from someone named Owen. Should he answer it? He didn’t know any one named Owen, did he? He answered it.


“Billy! Fuck man, you have to help me, this is all fucked.”

“Who–Look, I don’t–”

“Look, just come over to my room, I need your help. Something happened last night man, something weird. I can’t look in the mirror man, I can’t!”

Last night. Where had he been last night? Billy remembered the dream that had already faded away from him, of waking up naked in that alley, but that couldn’t have happened. He’d been with Derek since their shift started at four in the morning…right? Or was this a dream, really? Nothing felt real to him, but maybe…

“Billy? Come on Billy, fuckin’ talk to me man.”

“Alright, I’ll…I’ll come over. Where are you?”

“Back at the hotel–where else would I be? Wait…where are you?”

Billy bit his lip. Should he be somewhere else? “I’m…I’m out.”

“Did you not get back last night? I know…I know we all got separated in there.”

“Look, just tell me where you are.”

“I’m at the hotel, I made it back here.”

“Look…I…someone else is driving me at the moment, I have to give him the name of the hotel. I…I forgot it.”

Owen was quiet for a moment, “I…I am talking to Billy, right? You sound weird man.”

“Look, it’s been a…crazy morning, just fuckin’ tell me what hotel.”

“Alright, alright. The Nettywood Suites, by the college. Hurry–I think I’m losing my mind.”

Billy got in the truck. “Bro, ya think we could make a stop real quick on the way?”

The Morning After – Billy Part 1

Always trying to fit into daddy’s shoes, daddy’s clothes, daddy’s life. Who even are you, Billy?

Billy tried to push himself awake from the dream, but it pushed back. Who was that, in the dark? Who was talking to him?

Who are you?

“I don’t know.”

Who do you want to be?

“I don’t know!”

He sat up suddenly, gasping for air. His head ached like he was in the middle of the worst hangover of his life. He sat up on the asphalt–the really god-damn cold asphalt. Where was he even? He looked around–it seemed like an alley somewhere downtown. He was hidden from view in sidewalk between two dumpsters…and he was naked. Completely naked. He looked around for clothing, and clothing, but there was nothing to be found around him; he peeked out around the dumpsters, but the alley was similarly devoid of anything that might be his. He stood up, being careful where he put his bare feet, and looked around. There was an unmarked door behind him–had he come out of there? He knocked, and then pounded, and when no one answered, he was almost thankful. What would they do, if they found some random guy in the back alley, naked, pounding on their door, asking for his clothes back? They’d call the police for sure. What in the hell was he going to do anyway? He couldn’t exactly just stay here all day–he was bound to be discovered at some point. But if he left, then what? He’d get arrested for sure. He was stuck.

It was just a bit past dawn. If he hurried, maybe he could get to somewhere that might have something he could wear. He should at least look around the alley a bit more, in case his stuff was somewhere nearby. What had he been wearing, anyway?

He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember anything about the night before.

No…No, it was worse than that. He couldn’t remember anything about himself, either. Just a name. Billy…no, people just called him Billy, his name was William Jr., named after his father…right? At least, that made sense. But why would he remember that, and nothing else? He couldn’t remember his father either in any real detail. He couldn’t keep thinking about this, he couldn’t. He had to focus on finding something to wear, and then he could worry about…whatever was wrong with him.

He took one last glance down the alley in both directions, and then scampered around, looking in various nook and crannies nearby, but there wasn’t anything at all wearable, whether it was his or not. He was rummaging about when he heard the grumble around the corner, looked up like a rat, and saw the bright headlights of a trash truck bearing down on him.


There was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. He could see the man in the cab of the truck blinking at him, obviously confused, and Billy blushed red. The truck stopped, the door opened, and the man leaned out the window. “Rough night, eh man?”

What should he say? What should he do? “Y-Yeah, I suppose so.”

It would be so much easier to know if he was lying or not, if he could just remember what he’d been doing in the first place.

The garbage man opened the door and climbed down. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve found someone naked in the alleys around here. Lots of guys get too drunk and their friends abandon them around here as a prank.”

That did make sense…sort of. Assuming he’d been out with friends, of course. “Look…I’m just trying to find my clothes, but I haven’t found anything.”

“No worries man, I can help you look.”

Together, the two of them prowled the alley for about ten minutes, but neither of them found anything. The guy asked him what he’d been wearing the night before, and Billy bluffed. He had no idea what he’d been wearing, so he just said it had been jeans and a t-shirt. It didn’t really matter, because there wasn’t anything in the alley to wear at all.

“Well dang man,” the garbage man said, taking off his hat and scratching his messy, shoulder length hair. “Maybe they’re planning on coming back to find you?”

“I don’t know…maybe…”

“Well, I have something at least, though it’s kind of gross. I always keep an extra set of coveralls with me in the truck, and I just wear whichever one is cleaner. Problem is, I haven’t washed either of ‘em lately, so they’re both pretty nasty. Still, its better than nothing, right?”

Billy looked him up and down. The coveralls the guy had on already looked filthy, with a name tag peeling off that read, “Derek”–he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the other pair looked like. Still, what choice did he have, really? “I mean, I guess that’ll have to do, right?”

Derek climbed back up into the cab, rummaged around for a moment, and returned with a crumpled ball of fabric, which he shook out into a pair of coveralls. It was a bit of a toss up to say which one was grimier–both were obviously supposed to green, but were more of a mottled brown. This one, had a name tag on it too. “Damn, when’s the last time you washed them?”

He shrugged, “I don’t get to the laundromat often. If you don’t want ‘em, you can be naked for all I care. You’ve already made me late, so do you want them or not? It’s better than being buck naked like you are now, right?”

That was a good point. He took the coveralls from them, tried to ignore how crispy they were in his hand, pulled them on and zipped up, careful of his cock, but as soon as the zipper hit his neck, it was like some strange shock ran through him, and he looked at Derek, who looked at him back. His eyes were vacant, like he wasn’t quite aware of what was going on around him, one hand pawing at his crotch.

“Get…on your knees.”

“Sure kid, I can give you a ride home I guess, as long as we’re heading in the same direction. Sure, that little trailer park there? I know the place, in fact, I have a friend who lives there too–one of my workmates. Climb in, and we’ll get going. What’s your name, kid? Ben? Nice to meet you, Ben.”

“Heh, yeah, I guess it does reek a bit, sorry. I still have my gear from the job site back behind the seat–the smell doesn’t bother me anymore. Nothing I can really do about it–I don’t get a chance to wash it very often–laundromat’s all the way in town, and I don’t have a washer at my place. How about you? Where do you work?”

“You don’t have a job? Seriously? How old are you, twenty? twenty-two?”

“Only nineteen eh? Still, your old enough to vote. Old enough to get a bitch pregnant. Old enough to hold down a job. That’s the problem with your generation, you boys don’t know how to work like men. Hell, you probably think you’re too good to work in construction, something where you get sweaty and dirty by the end of the day, something that involved actual work.”

“Heh, college? Seriously? In the fall. Whatever, college is for fuckin’ pussies, I think. Are you a pussy?”

“Hey boy, calm the fuck down already, I’m just yankin’ your chain is all. Still…I didn’t need no college. And a boy should learn how to work is all I’m saying, you know?”

“What do you mean you feel funny? The smell? Well I told you there’s nothing I can do about that. Can’t even roll down the windows–they’re broke. You’ve just probably never smelled a real man like me before, is your problem. Sweat and dirt and grime–fuck! Nothin’ better than a day in the hot sun, working up a sweat. Makes you feel like a real man. Here, yeah, my fuckin’ hard hat. Been wearin’ this thing for years now, smell that! Don’t screw your nose up at me! Fuckin’ smell it, boy!”

“Yeah, that’s it–nice deep breaths now. Get it deep in those lungs of yours. Smells better now, don’t it? Like a man? You still smell like a boy, all fresh ‘n flowery ‘n shit. Fuck. Go on, put it on if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I know it smells good. I’m just glad I’m givin’ you a proper education in manhood.”

“Oh…good…oh, you mean good…as in sexy? Well, don’t worry none about that. That’s just natural. Hell, I remember when I was twenty, I was horny all the fuckin’ time. I remember the first time I got a good whiff of a real man–my uncle, fuck, now there was a man. Big gut, huge fuckin’ uncut cock. The fuckin’ cheese he’d get up under there, tasty. You ever tasted cock cheese boy? Nothin’ better–food of the god for real men like me.”

“A faggot? I’m not no faggot you little mouthy fucker! I’m pullin’ the fuck over…Does a faggot smell like this? Yeah, get the fuck over here boy, smell these sweaty pits. No faggot can reek like this, I’ll tell you that. Quit fightin’ boy, yeah, that’s it…smell those pits. Those are real men’s pits. Hold on, let me get this shirt off…yeah, there we go, look at these hairy fuckin’ pits boy, look how soppin’ wet they are. Now lick it. Get that fuckin’ tongue over here and lick boy!”

“Yeah, that’s it. I remember my first taste too. Like a fuckin’ light bulb went off in my head. Couldn’t get enough of my uncle’s sweat. Damn boy, that cock of yours is hard as a rock! Good size too. Let me see here…Oh, what the fuckin’ hell, your parents cut yer fuckin’ skin off! Too fuckin’ bad, but no wonder you’ve never gotten a taste of cheese before. Man, I was eatin’ my own once my uncle taught me how great it tastes. Guess you’ll just have to taste some of mine.”

“I know you’re not a faggot boy, you don’t have to be a fag to appreciate a real man like me. This is your fuckin’ education. Yeah, look at that–got a huge skin on my cock, get your mouth over here, taste this shit, fuckin’ delicious. Yeah, that’s it boy, get your tongue down in there deep, where it belongs. I hear you moanin’ now, see? See how good cheese tastes? That’s the shit a real man makes, you remember that. Now keep suckin’, I gotta get back on the road.”

“Cheese is just the appetizer though, boy. Don’t feel bad ya ain’t got none a your own. What really matters is cum and piss–not every man has a cheesy cock, but I’ve met some men, no skin, but damn was their piss rank! Fuckin’ hot men, every single one of ‘em. Let me give you a taste boy, here it comes, som real fuckin’ man piss for you. Don’t fuckin’ sputter it out! This is a fuckin’ gift of the gods, boy! Do you want to be a real man or not!”

“You don’t know? You don’t fuckin’ know if you want to be a real man like me, or some fuckin’ college pussy boy? Some college faggot? I got something else for you back here, something else for you to smell, something that’ll change your mind. Fuckin’ boots. Yeah, look at these, been wearin’ ‘em for years. In fact, they were my uncles–he gave them to me when I told him I wanted to be a real man like him. And here, I’ve been wearin’ these socks for weeks now, suck the sweat out of those.”

“Yeah, look at you go, boy. Rank, right? Shove that boot over your face, get a good whiff of my feet. Get that cock out of your jeans, I know you wanna jack off, go on, jack off while you drink in my boot stench. This is what real men do. Real men enjoy each other. Real men get off on stench, they drink piss, they fuck, suck and swallow.”

“Fuck yeah! Look at that load you just blew. Damn, and your cock’s still hard. Go on then, keep jacking boy, but tell me again. Tell me you don’t love this. Tell me you don’t want to be a real man…Louder boy, I can’t hear you through that boot over your mouth…Yeah, that’s good, that’s what I want to hear. You’re gonna be a real man just like me, aren’t you?”

“Now, you wanna drink the rest of my piss, or do you wanna be a pussy boy? Yeah, I didn’t think you wanna be a pussy. Get down here, that’s it. I’ll start a bit slower this time…that’s it, that’s real good man, drink it all down. Fuck, like a fuckin’ champ! Now suck my dick man, suck it, I’m gonna blow a load of cum down your fuckin’ throat! Fuck yeah, here it fuckin’ cums!”

“Shit man, that fuckin’–ran me off the road, I should know better than to pick up men like you. Heh, hell yeah you’re a man! Take a fuckin’ look at yourself in the mirror there. Look at that nasty face, look at those dumb fuckin’ eyes. That’s not the face of some pussy who’s goin’ to school. Smell those pits of yours–yeah, see how they reek now? You worked up a fuckin’ man sweat in here. You gonna go home and shower that off? Heh, I didn’t think so. In fact, if you’re unemployed, why don’t you come work for me? I got a few opening on the crew, and all of us are real men like you, you’ll fuckin’ love it, I promise.”

“Now, how about we celebrate man? Go on, piss those fuckin’ jeans of yours, I want this cab to reek of your piss for days. Don’t be shy, I piss myself in here all the fuckin’ time–why do you think it smells so bad? Just relax man, relax and let it loose…yeah, that’s it, look at that stain. Damn, you had a full bladder too, didn’t you? Let me have a fuckin’ taste man, I gotta taste your piss…Oh fuck, this is some of the nastiest piss I’ve ever had! You’d better fuckin’ save this for me at the job site, put it in a fuckin’ thermos for me if you want. Shit man, fuckin’ hot.”

“Come on, we’d better get you home–you start work in the morning. Oh? You don’t want to go home? You want to stay with me? Look, I know parents are a drag, but I already got a couple of men at home to keep happy, and I’m not looking to bring in another. The four of us have a good thing goin’ already…sorry man, maybe…maybe you can come on over and play sometime, but that’s pretty quick.”

“Hey man, don’t look so fuckin’ bummed. Look, how about…how about I take you to Todd’s place? He’s a bit of a loner–fuckin’ loves to jack off more ‘n anyone I’ve ever met, but you might like him. If nothing else, it’s a place to stay for a while until you can get a place of your own, right? Yeah, his pits reek, trust me on that, you’ll like him. He lives in the same park as your parents, let’s turn in here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty run down, I know. Oh? You like that? Yeah, it does look like a real man lives here, don’t it? Wait here in the truck, I’ll go talk to him.”

“Hey Todd, I got a new friend of mine waiting in the truck, his names Ben. He needs a place to stay for a bit, and I thought…well, I know you like bein’ alone, but here’s the thing, Ben’s new to manhood, and I was thinkin’, well, he’s pretty open minded, you know? Some of that porn you watch, man, that shit’s filthy, but Ben, man, I think he might be open to some of that nasty shit you like so much.”

“Yeah, I know he’s skinny, but then feed him up! He’d look fuckin’ hot if he got as fat as you.”

“Look, if you don’t like him, it’s just for a little while. I’m not tryin’ to set you up with anybody, I just think, you know, you just seem lonely sometimes. I’m just tryin’ to help. Just give him a chance to get out on his own at least, eh?”

“Alright Ben, he’ll let you stay. Yeah, he is fat, isn’t he? Still, I think you might like that–he gets so fuckin’ sweaty man, all those fuckin’ rolls of fat. He’s a filthy fucker, and I know how you like us filthy men. Besides, it’s better than your parent’s right? Now be a good man, and do what he says. He’s letting you stay rent free, so you gotta be amenable, alright? No, nothing in particular, just keep an open mind, and keep him happy, is all. He works with me too, and he’ll give you a ride into work.”

“Oh, no need to thank me man, I’m just helpin’ you out like my uncle helped me…but wait. Before you go, here, I want you to have these, take the hard hat…and take the boots too. No, I want you to have them, they’re yours. Treat them well, like a man, alright? I’m just helpin’ you like my uncle helped me is all. I’ll see you tomorrow? Be good to Todd. He’s a bit rough, but once you two get to know each other, I think you’ll hit it off just fine. I’ll see you in the mornin’ and you better save that fuckin’ piss of yours for me, I fuckin’ mean it. Thanks man, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Serving the Cloth

Ty pulled his car into the driveway, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened to him at the store. It had just been a regular grocery store, and yet, when he’d gone back to pick up some more cleaning equipment–everything was gone. The shelves were simply empty, and when he’d asked an employee what was going on, they hadn’t even been able to give him a straight answer. He’d left the building in a huff, but as soon as he had, a short elderly man with a beard running down to the pavement had stopped him and shoved a spray bottle into his hand.

“Here boy,” the man said with a chuckle, “You’re going to need something extra-strength to deal with that house you’re trying to clean up!” Before Ty could even say anything, the man had run off, laughing. He must have just been a crazy guy–but every store he’d been to after that had been just as empty as the first. It seemed that no one in town had any cleaning equipment–well, aside from the bottle of “Clean-All” the old man had given him. Annoyed, he climbed out of the car and went up to the front door of the house he and his dad were cleaning after their lessee had skipped out on them, and went inside.

“Dad! I’m back. You’re not going to believe this–I went all over town and no one had anything! How crazy is that?”

“Pretty…pretty damn crazy. Son…Son, get in here, I got…we got something you need to do. I’m in the living room.”

Ty walked into the next room, taking the bottle of Clean-All with him, turned the corner, and froze when he say his dad sitting on the chair, a half-smoked cigar clamped in his maw, wearing a filthy yellow jockstrap he was certain he’d thrown out, along with a black muscle shirt and denim vest. “Dad–what the fuck are you doing? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“Son–I need you to…to get over here, and lick…lick up all the piss–all the fuckin’ piss!” Mick said, laughing then, and he stood up, “Gonna make you fucking lick it up, son. Gonna…Gonna turn you intah mah little pigcunt!”

Mick charged Ty, tackling him to the ground. He went down hard, scattering a pile of trash all over the floor as he landed, the spray bottle skittering from his hand, and then his dad was on him, pinning his son’s arms to his sides with his piss damp thighs, grabbing the back of his head and shoving him face first into the filthy jock he was wearing. “Dad! Dad, what are you doing, let me go!”

“Now now, jus’ calm down son, it’ll all be alright soon, we…we have it all planned out, don’t you worry, we have it all planned out.”

Ty tried to fight back, but when he opened his mouth to fight–the jock wiggled and then shoved its way into his mouth like it was alive, and as he tasted the rank piss, musk and cum of the jock, he felt–and heard–a voice. A strong, powerful will assaulting his mind, telling him to suck on it, to lick it to worship it. To crawl over, snorting and grunting, and lick up all his Pa’s piss while his Pa fucked his fat–fat piggy hole, how hot it was gonna be, servin’ his Pa, ‘n cleanin’ his filthy body, ‘n wearin’ all these fuckin’…fuckin’ filthy clothes. They needed to be worn, he could hear them, and he would, he’d wear them all he’d wear them–

With a scream, Ty managed to block out the voice for a second, long enough to put his hands up on his dad’s back and shove himself underneath him, disgusted as his nose squeezed past his dad’s reeking taint, but he was free, and he rolled over onto his hands and knees, grabbed the closest thing to him as a weapon, and stood up.

The spray bottle. He’d grabbed the fucking bottle of Clean-All–what fucking good was that going to do? Still, it was better than nothing, and he held it out as his dad stood up, laughing. “Slippery little pig–not gonna matter. Gonna rape ya little pig, gonna rape yer hole till ya like it, we’re gonna wear ya little pig, we’re gonna wear ya, ‘n wear ya out!”

His dad charged him again, and Ty squeezed the trigger, a cloud of spray slamming into his dad, who screamed in pain and stumbled back. As Ty watched, he saw the shirt and vest he was wearing writhe in agony, before they dissolved into some sort of goop on the ground, and his dad looked clean–normal–or at least the top half did. In a panic, Mick grabbed the jockstrap and clambored out of it, wadding it up and hurling it across the room, where it slammed into the wall, landed on the floor, and…stood up.

Ty couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he noticed that the whole room was shuffling–all of the clothing was climbing out of bags, and then they swarmed. Ty was able to keep them back from him and his father for a few moments, long enough for Mick to stand up, and then they were rushing through the house, a horde of filthy clothing pursuing them, and a few seconds too late–Ty realized they were actually herding them deeper into the house. A grungy flannel shirt opened the basement door, and the clothes surged forward, shoving Mick and Ty into the doorway, sending them tumbling down the stairs and into the darkness below.

Neither of them had been down into the rental’s basement yet–they’d been too afraid. Mick quickly untangled himself from his son and stood up–his head bonking the chain attached to the single light. Thankful he’d found that at least, he reached up and clicked it–light flooding the basement–or what had been a basement. Now, well, he didn’t know what their lessee had been up to, but the room looked more like a dungeon more than anything else. In the room, he saw a sling and some sort of wooden cross, and the walls were lined with all sorts of paddles, dildos, whips, and then he saw it. The mass of leather and metal coalescing in one corner of the room–there was so much of it. He watched as the mass stood up–a seven foot tall golem of leather and chain which stalked toward them. “Ty! Look out!” Mick shouted, but one thick arm swung out, extending as it flew and slammed into Mick, throwing him back against one of the concrete walls if the room, before wrapping itself around his son and dragging him into the mass.

“No!” Mick shouted, and crawled up, his head spinning. He had to find the bottle his son had used, he looked around the room, saw it lying below the stairs and ran over, only to have something fly into his face and send him stumbling back–the jockstrap.

No, no–not the jockstrap. His jockstrap. His favorite jockstrap. His one and only jockstrap. He wore it everywhere, all the time, why in the world had he taken it off? He took a deep inhale of the pouch, and then pulled it back on, shivering as the pissdamp pouch cupped his cock and balls, gently massaging him until he was half hard and leaking like a faucet. He let out a groan of pleasure, and felt his body growing grungier as he stood there–and took a deep whiff of his pits. Not dirty enough–he wasn’t dirty enough. Still, he…he could fix that, but he had to…destroy it. Yes, destroy the evil thing, destroy it destroy the thing that hurts them destroy it–

He tromped over to the bottle of Clean-All and picked it up, but before he could obey the jockstrap, because he knew he would only have one chance–he turned the nozzle towards his crotch and sprayed.

The scream that ripped through his mind was excruciating, but only lasted a moment, as the jockstrap, caught in the full blast, dissolved in moments, leaving Mick panting and shaking. He did it–he didn’t know it that would work–but it had.

“Dad! Help!”

Mick turned and saw his son tangled up in the mass of leather. As soon as he spoke, however, a strap of leather wrapped around his throat, turning his face blue, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the beast. Mick ran over, bottle outstretched, and sprayed the leather before it could smack him again. The golem yanked itself back and then recoiled, his son dropping unconscious from it’s body to the concrete floor as the leather retreated to its corner. Mick grabbed his son under his arms and flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and tromped up the stairs, one hand steadying Ty, and the other brandishing the spray bottle.

At the top of the stairs, it was clear that destroying the jockstrap had meant something to the rest of the clothing. They menaced them, but kept their distance, well out of the spray bottle’s range, and so Mick, huffing and puffing by the end, managed to weave his way out of the house, stumbling down the front steps naked, threw open the car door with the keys from his son’s pocket, and laid Ty out in the back seat. He hurried around before anyone could see him, climbed in and started the car, driving off as fast as he could, before he slowed down and pulled off to the side of street, shaking and panicked and terrified of what had just happened. He laid his head on the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths…and then he heard his son chuckle.

He looked back, past the center console, and saw that Ty was awake–and that he’d changed. His son had been a string bean, but in the course of a few minutes, as they’d driven away, he’d put on a ton of muscle, and as Mick watched, tattoos snaked their way past his bicep and down his forearm. “Too…too tight…” Ty said, his voice deep and thick. He grabbed his shirt in one hand and ripped it away with a grunt, revealing a thick leather harness underneath. It must have wormed its way on when Ty had been in the grip of it, and Mick hadn’t checked–

Before he could grab the bottle of Clean-All, however, a slender leather collar which had twined its way around one of the harnesses straps shot out and coiled its way around Mick’s neck, choking him. He clawed at it, but it was no use–he was too weak, too…too submissive, too pitiful he had to serve, serve his son, serve the master the master was more important. Struggling for air, and for his sanity, Mick watched his son continue to change, growing taller, and more brutish by the minute, his eyes dull and cruel and masterful and Mick loved him so much, didn’t he? Loved him as a son as a master yes his master. His one and only master.

“Back.” Ty growled, sneering at his pitiful father as he spun around, turned the car on and sped back towards the house, desperately fighting with the collar for control, but realizing he’d already lost. Ty, however, grabbed the bottle of Clean-All from the passenger seat, considered in dumbly for a moment, and then tossed it out the window. They weren’t going to need that. He had more important things to do. They pulled back into the driveway, and Mick was pleading with his son, “Please, please Ty, snap out of it–don’t do this, don’t do this to us! You have to fight it–you have–”

He was silenced by Ty grabbing him by the throat with one massive, furred hand and squeezing the voice out of him, “Shut up slave. Inside, now!”

Mick felt his cock pulse in desire, and then he was out of the car and hurrying up the walk and back into the house, his son lumbering after him. Inside the living room, the clothing had all gathered, and Mick stood there–terrified and naked. “This one,” Ty growled, shoving Mick forward, “Yours–This one–ours, in the basement. Leave collar.”

The clothing swarmed then, tackling Mick to the floor, all of it so filthy, so wonderfully, amazingly filthy. They fought over him, and he wanted to wear them all, he did, but he couldn’t. A disgusting wifebeater several sizes too large slipped onto him, followed by a muddy pair of overalls with a bit too much room for a gut, and a pair of grungy socks and boots, and then the rest backed off, and Mick stood up, feeling his body change as the clothing wanted. He was growing, his gut filling out with fat, the collar needing to expand as his neck thickened, and was soon covered my a massive wiry beard that grew out of him chin.

“Aw yeah, filthy fuckin’ redneck hick, gotta cum, gotta git dirty, we gotta git so fuckin’ filthy, fuck…” Mick groaned, massaging his cock into the denim. But almost as soon as he had changed, the clothes were ripped away by others which pulled themselves onto his body, and changed him again. He lost track of how many outfits he wore over the next few hours, his body changing to suit each other, and they all wanted him–needed him. He could never leave, there were too many–but then, he heard the voice, the deep roar of his son from the basement, “Come. Time for punishment.”

The collar wouldn’t let him say no, and he hurried down into the basement, where he found his son. He was massive, at least eight feet tall, and it looked like every bit of leather in the basement had managed to wrap itself around him. His eyes were cruel and angry and vicious, and as soon as Mick fell in front of him, straps shot out and wrapped their way around him, and then it began, his son beating and torturing him for hours, the leather feeding off his pain and agony. This was their life now, serving the cloth, and it would consume him before long, like it had consumed the ones before him, but he would serve, and serve happily.

I coach the local high school football team, and, well, our school isn’t the best in the state, or the best in the county–well, we’re basically the worst out of everywhere. A friend of mine recommended a sports psychologist to me though–a guy who specializes in getting rid of the culture of losing, or something. I think it’s a crock of bull to be honest, but I hired the guy–it can’t hurt right?

Well, he’s been meeting with the team once a week now, and I have to say, he must be doing something right. I mean, we aren’t winning every game, but the team has definitely improved–but…well…

Some of them have been acting strange. I got a call from Jerry’s parents–they’re concerned, because he hasn’t taken off his jersey, jockstrap, cleats, or gloves from last week’s game. He just tells them that it’s his lucky gear, and that if he doesn’t wear it, then the team won’t win a game ever again. I asked him to hang out after practice yesterday to talk to him about it, and when I came out…well, he had his jockstrap off, and he was…sniffing it, and he had a hard on. I don’t know what to make of it. I tried to talk some sense into him, but he just blabbered on about Dr. Jacobs this and Dr. Jacobs that…it was hopeless.

And then, the next day in the weight room, Vinny was doing his bench press, when all the sudden he glazed over, rolled off the bench onto all fours and started barking and panting like a dog. He did it for a good minute, and I had to smack him across the face to get him to stop it, and he didn’t remember doing any of it! It was so bizarre. I think I need to have a talk with Dr. Jacobs about this. I’ll schedule a meeting for tomorrow before practice, and we’ll sort this all out then. I hate to fire the guy, but if he’s doing something weird, I need to know.