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.

Flash Commission – A Demon’s Face

WARNING! This story has some real extreme stuff in it, and is definitely more of a horror story than an erotica story. This includes blood and knife play, extreme pain play, scat and demonic references. If any of that isn’t of interest to you, don’t read it!


The message had arrived for John as a bit of relief. His friend Aleks had grown more and more distant over the last year or so, delving deeper into the occult and demonology, beyond the sort of fetish play the two had always enjoyed over the years. The last time John had gone over there, the mood had been tense, Aleks not exactly high, but more than a little out of his mind. John had left, unsure of what to do, and when he’d expressed some concern, Aleks had lashed out over text and refused to reply since. 

But now, months later, he’d finally gotten a message back. Short and to the point, Aleks had asked him to come over, there was something he wanted to show him. No apology, no real admission that he might have gotten a little too deep, but for John, he was happy he at least wasn’t dead or something. He got geared up in some leather pants and a spiked leather jacket, and headed for Aleks’s apartment to see what he wanted to show him.

When he arrived, though, it was quickly clear that everything was not exactly normal. The door wasn’t locked, and when he stepped inside, it was the smell that assaulted him at first. Something beyond musky or stale, perhaps even beyond rank. It smelled like something between a burning trash pile and a grungy locker room. He stepped inside, tested a light switch in the entryway, but the light only flickered for a moment before going out, and refusing to come back on. 

Looking down the hall, the whole apartment seemed to be dark and maybe even empty. He went in anyway, despite a general instinct to turn tail and run, and as he approached the living room, a more familiar smell joined the rest, cigar smoke. Sure enough, he turned the corner, and there in the dimly lit living room was Aleks sitting on the couch in full leather, smoking a cigar. He even had on a full leather mask that John had seen him in a few times, which only made the whole look hotter still.

“Ah, there you are,” Aleks said, “I was getting tired of waiting.” He grinned, and John saw something strange–there was a light coming from the inside of his mouth. Aleks put the end of the cigar in his mouth, and again, something was off. The end of the cigar wasn’t burning, but he was still exhaling smoke out of his mouth. Aleks took off the dark glasses he had on, and John’s eyes went wide–his friend had no eyes underneath. There were just the holes in the leather mask, and behind that, there was just flame. “As you can see, I’ve made a few improvements to myself since the last time we saw each other,” he said, and when he talked, John could see the fire through his mouth as well. That explained the cigar–he was literally burning it inside his mouth. Aleks took another inhale off it, and John could see the thick plumes of grey smoke emerging not just from his mouth, but from his eyes as well. “Come on then, come have a closer look,” Aleks said.

Everything in John’s mind and body screamed at him to run, but the smell, the smoke, the light of the flame, all of it beckoned him closer. His limbs a bit stiff, he found himself lurching forward, the smell growing more intense, inhaling the smoke now, feeling his mind going a bit numb, his own cock stiffening in his leather pants. “Fuck Aleks, what the fuck did you do?” John managed to croke out as he came closer.

“Well, it turns out that selling your soul is the hard part,” Aleks said to him, “But once that’s gone, everything else is so much easier, you see. Demons will trade just about anything for a face. They use them to infiltrate our world, but not many people are willing to part with them. I feel like I got everything I wanted for mine though. Stop trying to fight it, John–my smoke can bend the will of any man now, my musk can corrupt even the most stalwart soul. Stop pretending that you don’t want to kneel before me, service me, it’s all you fucking want now.”

John could feel it, the hunger and desire welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own–after all, they had imagined something like this together many times before, though only Aleks had really believed he could pursue such power. In the end, it didn’t matter. He could feel the smoke smothering all of the doubts, all of the fears, and he fell to his knees in front of Aleks, and shoved his face into his new master’s crotch, inhaling the scent of the musky leather.

One of Aleks’s hands cupped his chin and lifted his face up. “I always loved your face, you know, it’s so sweet–I’m going to get a great deal for yours, I think.” Aleks reached over to the table beside the couch where he was sitting, and opened up a switchblade.

“Wait…what…” John said, but his throat seemed too dry, his head spinning from the smoke.

“Your face, John. They want faces, and I will provide them. Don’t worry, I already know what I’ll be getting in return for yours. Now hold very still.”

The blade cut into his neck, shallow, but John gasped and tried to flinch away–only to find his body was paralyzed. Aleks drew the blade around his neck, and John could feel the blood drooling down onto his chest. Then, he drew it up the back of his head, following the spine, all the way to the crown of his head. That, it turned out, was the easy part. Aleks’s leather gloved fingers dug into the wounds at the back of his head, and began pulling the skin free of the muscle. John screamed then, the pain surging through his body and mind until he finally felt darkness overwhelm him, and he passed out.

In all honesty, he thought that was the end. When he awoke, the nerves of his face dully throbbing away at him, he thought he must be dead, now in some afterlife. He looked around at what he could see, and knew he was on a bed in a room he recognized as Aleks’s bedroom. Perhaps it had been a dream, or some hallucination. He tested his arms and legs, and while sore, they could move. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the bed, and knew that there was a mirrored closet behind him. Terrified at what he might see, but knowing he had to look, he twisted around, and let out a groan.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in the mirror. The horrifying, bestial face, something between a gorilla and a wolf, staring back at him. The only part that he could still recognize were the human eyes underneath. He reached up, felt the greasy hair, the thick beard, the coarse skin, looked lower, under his neck, and let out another groan–whatever it was that was on his head now, it was…growing into him. He could see the veins of corruption spreading down into his chest and shoulders. He got up and went to the door–but it was locked. He tried to call out for help, but after a few minutes of that, he could feel the pain intensifying–whatever this process was, it wasn’t yet complete.

He spent the next eight hours on the bed, screaming in agony, as the demonic face fully attached itself to his head, spreading its corruption down into his body, deep into his soul. That was the most painful part, in fact, feeling that darkness, the horrifying chill, drilling deep into his chest, finding whatever light and good it could and snuffing it out. As it did, his body was growing, bones cracking and extending, muscles burning and flexing, a thick pelt of fur growing all down his back and chest. When the pain finally subsided, he looked over at himself in the mirror–and saw that his eyes were gone. His humanity was gone, corrupted away, just two pitch black eyes staring at him, a gnawing hunger deep in his guts, and an aching horniness in his groin. His cock and balls had not gone unaffected–his cock was larger now, easily eight inches, now with a sheath running up his abdomen. He got up from the bed, now nearly eight feet tall, tested the door with his claw tipped hands, but before he could rip the door from its hinges, it opened, and John dropped to his knees before his Master in the doorway.

The smell of him was not only more intense to his now bestial nose, but also smelled absolutely delightful. Filthy and musky and corrupted. Drool began flowing from his mouth faster than he could swallow it, and John pushed his face into Aleks’s crotch, snorting and huffing in his intoxicating stench.

“Good, it took. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to incinerate your corpse,” Aleks said, wrapping one hand around the back of John’s head, tangling his fingers in his greasy locks. “I’m too fond of you to not spend an eternity with you as my thrall.”

Thrall. The word reverberated through him, and John could feel it. Their connection. He lived to serve his Master now, his soul was gone, and what had replaced it was a deep, undeniable desire to worship him. Aleks’ opened his burning mouth wide, reached in with a hand, and pulled free a metal chain glowing with heat, though his gloves were unburnt. He took it, wrapped it around John’s neck, and the beast howled in pain. Aleks pressed the metal into his flesh, searing it there, before gripping the free ends of the chain in his fist and melting them together into a knot, now impossible to untangle or remove.

The pain ebbed away, and John felt his flesh healing rapidly around the metal–in a matter of moments, it was like it had been fused to his body for years. “What…what have you done to me?” he growled out, words warped by his long inhuman tongue and sharp fangs.

“I took your face, and traded it for a demon’s. A lower one, a beast of filth and sloth and wrath. I knew it would suit you and your desires. You are hungry, are you not, my slave?”

John gave a growl, and Aleks’ turned around, pulled his pants down, and shoved his ass to John’s face. The stench was horrific and intoxicating. John pried his master’s cheeks apart with his claws, digging into the skin a bit, and drove his long, pointed tongue into his hole, tasting it, tasting what he desired now, more than anything. Aleks fed his thrall his massive load of shit, listening to the beast eagerly devour every last bit of it, and when he was finished, he turned around, and sprayed him down with a load of piss. It came out nearly hot enough to scald, steaming in the air, and John was in ecstasy, reeking of his Master now, belly full, cock aching to fuck.

“Now, why don’t we begin our real task, my slave?” Aleks said.

That night, John grabbed one of the other tenants from the building, and dragged him back to the apartment. Aleks took the face from the man, and replaced it with one of his own desire, a blank rubber gas mask, filling the man with his smoke until his entire identity had been erased, knowing nothing more than the fact he was a drone, a slave to his demonic master and his favorite pet. At last, John was given his reward, and mounted the their first drone, driving his monstrous cock into its tight hole, wrecking it, destroying it, filling it with as much corruptive cum as he could, watching the drone expand in size, growing more and more muscular as the rubber of the gas mask spread, encasing the drone’s entire body.

Soon, they would have a harem. Then an army. Aleks was not content, after all, with personal power. No, the demons had promised him much, much more, if he would assist them in their assault on the mortal realm. The time of man was in twilight, and the age of demons was about to dawn.

Flash Commission: A Twin of His Own

I’m currently offering patrons flash commissions! I’ll be posting a few of them here, but if you want to read all of them, and want to read them sooner, I’d recommend you go sign up! You can find more info here.


“And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“Well, no. I’ve never done anything like this before. Hypothetically, yeah. You’ll have to talk him through it though, push him in the right direction.”

Sheriff Clark Easton had his eyes closed, listening to the men talk. The last thing he could recall well was packing up in his office late at night, getting ready to go home, but he hadn’t made it to his car. Someone had snuck up behind him, shoved a rag over his nose and mouth, and now he was here. Though where ‘here’ was, he didn’t know. Just two men talking in the room with him–they were more likely to spill something while they thought he was still out. The first voice was rather gruff, the second a little younger and softer, but he couldn’t say more than that.

“So what, like…my past?”

“Yeah, the more you feed him, the more likely you’ll get the result you want from it. Just like the pig–the gun and ink does some of the work, but the more you talk him into accepting it, the stronger the result will be.”

There was a grunt from the gruffer voice, the sound of some boots coming closer to the sheriff, and then a hand slapped him across the face–harder than necessary if all he’d wanted was to wake him up. Clark gave a little shout, looked up, and saw he was staring at Timothy ‘Bruiser’ McGee. Bruiser was the leader of a particularly nasty biker gang that had been moving in on the county for the last few months. Running drugs, extortion, rape–nothing was below them, and the sheriff had been struggling to pin down their hideout and get them arrested. Now, it appeared that they may have overplayed their hand. “How exactly do you think this is going to end for you, Timothy?” the sheriff asked.

The older biker sneered at him. Bruiser was easily six and a half feet tall, and heavily muscled, with a sizable gut. The only thing the sheriff had ever seen him wear on the top half of his body was a filthy leather vest, showing off the riot of tattoos the biker had all over, even running up his neck and face. “I imagine, bud, we’re gonna walk out of here together and have a good laugh about it all,” he said, grinning and showing off his crooked teeth, a few replaced with gold caps.

The other fellow was smaller and younger, setting up what looked like a little workstation beside the chair where Clark was tied down. He looked over the equipment, and recognized the tattoo gun–what the hell were they going to do with that? “I’m ready to go,” he said. He took the gun, brought it to Clark’s arm, and while he tried to flinch away–as soon as the needle slid into him, something else happened. There was just a cascade of sensations–sights, sounds, smells. None of them were familiar to him, and yet as soon as he experienced them, he knew, somehow, they were his. Nostalgic, and yet alien. Before he could try and make any sense of them, there was another wave, another bunch of sensation, all of it baffling him, swarming his mind. He didn’t quite know how long it had lasted, but it finally ebbed away, leaving him panting and sweating in the chair. It felt like it had lasted a few moments, but the artist had managed to cover both of his arms with full sleeves, and from the one window in the room, he could tell that a significant amount of time had passed.

“Alright, that should be a good start–talk to him for a bit, I want to see if it’s taking like I thought it would,” the young man said.

“What should I talk about?” Bruiser said.

“Yourself. Usually the older stuff comes in first. Ask him about your parents.”

Brusier laughed, “Fuck, my old man, you mean. My mom dumped me on him when I was a just a fucking kid–I don’t blame her, I tried to set the house on fire when she wouldn’t let me keep watching TV one night.”

“Fuck, I…I remember that…” Clark muttered. It wasn’t his memory. He’d been a good kid, always listened to his parents, they’d been married his whole life. But he could recall, somehow, piling up a bunch of sticks under the curtains in a dingy living room, setting them off with a lighter he’d stolen from his mom’s purse, cackling while she panicked, getting a pot of water to put it out. “Why do I remember that?”

“Fuck, it’s working!” Bruiser said. “Bet you remember dad too then, don’t ya?”

“Mean fucker, beat the shit out of me,” Clark muttered. “I mean, that’s…not my dad. I…I ran away. He had some friends who were bikers, they…I ran off with them when I was a teenager, but…”

“Yeah, fuck, real sexy fuckers too, right?”

“No! I went to school, I…I went to fucking college! What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Bruiser grinned at the young man, who nodded back. “You’ll see, Mr. Sheriff. Is he ready for some more now?”

“I think so,” the young man said, brought the needle to his chest, and again, Clark was overwhelmed with the sensation. He realized, now, what he must be feeling, and he realized where he’d recognized the tattoos on his arms from. They were perfect copies of Bruiser’s own ink. The young man was copying the biker’s tattoos onto him, and in doing so, he was somehow transferring over his memories–no, more than memories, his whole personality, his history, his identity. He could feel it. Before, the onslaught had felt chaotic, but now, it felt like a force, a corruption spreading through his mind. Everywhere it went, his old self was being overtaken, erased, and replaced by this new self. 

The sensation retreated again, and when Clark’s vision could focus again on the room around him, he looked down at himself and let out a whimper. The uniform he’d been wearing had been cut off entirely, leaving him naked. He’d always figured that Bruiser had more of his body tattooed under those ratty jeans he wore, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d gone this far–his whole cock and balls were tattooed now, and halfway down his thighs. More than that though–his cock was…bigger. Much bigger. The sheriff had never been well endowed, but his newly tattooed cock was close to eight inches–soft. The rest of his body was shifting as well, growing more muscular–but shouldn’t it be? He’d been working out all the time since he dropped out of school and fell in with the gang, beating and fucking his way to the top…right? He shook his head–those weren’t his memories! He had to hold on…hold on to…to what? He struggled, but couldn’t find everything he’d lost, just bits and pieces.

“Fuck, that’s real fucking hot,” Bruiser said, stepping around the chair, while the young man prepped his gun again. 

“Bruiser, get me the fuck out of this god damn chair, ya piece a shit!” Clark said, and only after the words were out, did he realize that his voice had changed, his accent–he sounded so much like Bruiser…but he was, Bruiser, right? “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Hold on bud, you’re just confused is all,” Bruiser said, “Like that time we wrecked out on the interstate, had a concussion for days.”

“Fuck, I still get headaches from that,” Clark said, “But I…I thought…there’s someone else in my head, man, what’s going on?”

“We’re fixing you up, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m scared, I…I don’t know if I can trust you, he’s…scared.”

“Here, this’ll help. You know how we get when we don’t get a smoke in a while,” Bruiser said, and pushed the cigar he had lit into the sheriff’s mouth. He took a draw on it, and while Clark had never been a smoker, he instinctively sucked the thick smoke right down into his lungs, held it for a second, then pushed it out of his nose in a couple of thick jets. “Fuck, that’s better.”

“See, we know what we need, don’t we?” Bruiser said, and groped the sheriff’s new cock, and he moaned around the cigar, feeling it stiffen in Bruiser’s hand. “We’ll sort you right out–we just have to do the back of you–you’ll feel better soon.”

Bruiser and the young man undid the rope holding Clark to the chair, and while a small voice told him to run…that wasn’t his voice. He laid down on the table they’d set up, the young man got his gun ready, and started on his back, and Clark struggled for a moment, before the sensation overwhelmed him again, and he rode the sensations. This time was different. He felt himself siding with the corruption, the strength flooding into him, rooting out and destroying all of that weakness in him. The good, the lawful, the obedient. Fuck that! He knew what he wanted, he knew what he was. The memories were coming clearer now, more and more recent. The sensation fell away again, and he blinked, pushed himself up from the table, and gave a little flex.

“How’s it feel?” Bruiser asked, as his twin sat up on the table. He was now the spitting image of himself, right down to the long hair, the thick ratted beard. Stepping close, they even smelled the same. The only difference was, the Bruiser sitting on the table had the number two on his neck, where Bruiser had the number one. They needed to keep track of pecking order one way or another.

“Fuck–I…did we get the sheriff? I can’t really remember, my head’s all fucking fuzzy.” Number two asked.

“Fuck yeah we got him–you were him!”

“Wait, what? Seriously? Fucking hell, so it all fucking worked?”

Bruiser stepped up and gave his twin a smoky kiss, which number two happily returned. He helped his twin up from the table and over to the mirror so he could see them both together, and the sight of it got them both so fucking hard, they reached down and started stroking each other off.

“Hold on, got us a celebration planned first,” number one said.

“You don’t have to tell me, I remember,” number two replied.

Downstairs was the gang’s new pig, a college student travelling through the county that the gang had kidnapped a week before, who the sheriff had been trying to track down. He’d been a test for the young man’s tattooing abilities, and the magic tattoo gun they’d gotten their hands on. The young man had been covered with raunchy images and words, his whole identity replaced with a cum and cock hungry filth pig, who at the sight of not only one, but two of his bosses, crawled over, grunting and squealing, before turning around and presenting it’s hole for them both. One took the mouth, Two took the ass, and they fucked the pig from both ends, sharing smokey kisses over his back–thinking about all the trouble they’ll be causing now that there’s two of them, and that troublesome sheriff was out of the picture for good.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares VII

October Caption Challenge (31/31)

Success! This caption uses a photo from @bowserpig over on twitter, and seemed a good one for Halloween proper.

It didn’t seem fair. Bowser had been working on this costume since last year, ordering the bits and pieces from various folks in the community, and now that his orc costume was all set and ready to go…there was nowhere to go, thanks to the pandemic. He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. He did look good, and at least he could always show off some photos on the internet. Besides, there was always next year, right?

Well, the dream imp thought it was a shame too. It was a nice attempt, really, but the orcs he was familiar with, from some of the deeper regions of the hellscape, were rather rougher. He wondered what they might think of the costume, in fact. The imps time on the surface was coming to an end, it only had energy left for one last dream–and so, when Bowser went to sleep on Halloween night, the imp pulled him into a dream, and down deep into its own realm, where he found himself standing in a rather alien environment.

There was no sun, but there was light. Nothing was growing that he could seen, just dessert and stone as far as he could make out. Looking down at himself, he was somewhat surprised to find himself in the same costume he’d had on earlier. The ground shook, just slightly, and some massive, green skinned figures came around a pile of boulders, led by a little imp floating in the air. 

“Look at this human I found, fellas–he thinks he’s an orc!” the imp said, and cackled.

Bowser took a couple of steps back, but came up against a sizable rock. The orcs he was staring at were…well, they weren’t unlike the images he’d seen in fairytales and stories, but they were decidedly more…intense. If they’d been standing upright, they’d have been close to nine feet tall, but they were hunched over, more like gorillas. Their skin was green, but a bit paler than he might have expected, and the teeth…massive tusks growing out and curling around. They came a bit closer, scowling at him and his mimicry, and he smelled them on the stale, quiet air. It was enough to make him gag, and go a bit weak at the knees.

“A human, dressed like an orc?” one of the beasts said, giving a snort.

“If he wants to be an orc so badly, we can help with that.”

“He’s all yours, if you want. All you have to do is take the deal I offered,” the imp said.

One of the orcs gave a derisive snort, but nodded. The imp gave a little aerial bow, and disappeared into the aether, leaving Bowser alone with the two orcs beneath the Earth. 

“Mmm…I haven’t tasted human in ages,” one of them said, came close, and licked the side of Bowser’s face, “Are you sure we can’t just eat him?”

“The slightly larger one gave a grunt. “What do you think, little human? Do you want us to eat you, or would you like us to make you a proper orc?”

Bowser swallowed hard. “Orc…please…”

“Then you’d best eat up,” the orc said, grabbed hold of Bowser’s head in one passive palm, and shoved him under his hairy green gut. The cock waiting for him was studded up and down with bone–Bowser didn’t know if it was decorative or not, but all of it went down his throat, scraping the sides of his mouth and tongue, and the beast started fucking him, barely giving him space to breathe. With a little repositioning, the other orc hauled up Bowser’s legs and drove his own cock into his ass–pumping load after load of orc cum into Bowser’s belly.

He lost himself in the pain, which soon became pleasure, and rapture. With each load, he felt his belly begin to swell, his muscles growing stronger and brawnier, new teeth and tusks pushing out the fake ones he’d gotten for his costume. Already his human life was beginning to fade away, his memories of the surface. Once he’d grown large enough, he shoved the orcs off of him, climbed on top of one of them, and drove his own cock into the hole, while the other kissed him, their tusks grating against each other as they did. He gave a roar, and spilled what little remained of his humanity deep in his orc brother’s guts, and the three of them collapsed into a sweaty heap among the rocks. 

Some nightmares, it seems, can become the wildest of dreams–depending on who dreams them.

(Caption) What is Lost, Can be Freely Claimed

October Caption Challenge (29/31)


“Come on Simon, magic? Really?”

“Sure Marty! Just fuckin’ trust me, alright? The plan’ll work. You wanna live in this shithole the rest a yer life?”

“Ya know I don’t.”

“Well then work with me here. So we lure a couple a rich guys from the city, one a those gay couples, and have them stay here for a week.”

“Here? Why the fuck would they wanna stay at a run down shithole like our place?”

“Easy–it’s called AirBnB.”


“Come on babe, doesn’t it look quaint?”

“It looks dirty.”

“I want to get out of the city though.”

“I know, I know, look, just book it, alright? But I reserve the right to demand a refund.”


“Alright, so they stay here–how’s that help us, Marty?”

“Well, they first they lose their luggage, you see…”


“It’s not the end of the world, the airline said they’ll have it to us by the end of the week.”

“We’ll be leaving by the end of the week, Gregory! What in the world am I supposed the wear? My plane clothes all week?”

“Well, you are the one who said that you wanted to get out of the city and into the country, maybe living a little simpler could help. I mean, did you really need two suitcases for a week here?”

“Yes! Of course I did!”


“Alright…”

“Only thing is, when you lose something, according to magic, that creates…an opening. Something else can slip in and replace it. If you don’t claim it, well, that means it’s up for grabs.”

“So…we just gotta give them something else? Like what?”

“We got all kinds a stuff, Simon! And with a little spell here and there, they won’t even miss their garbage luggage.”


“I can’t wear it anymore, Gregory–oh look! Someone didn’t clean out the closet. Oh, but it’s not the most…well…chiq, is it?”

“What, coveralls and rubber boots aren’t your style? Fuck, this place is a dump, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Let me just…hmm…it fits pretty well, actually.”

“Oh my god, I have to get a picture of this. Chadwick, in coveralls–the guys back home are going to fucking freak out.”

“Oh haha, fine, you can get a picture, but only if you put on something too.”

“No fucking way.”

“Come on! It’s pretty comfy…”

“Oh fine, but I’m just trying it on, ok? Nothing more.”


“So they put on our stuff, and…then what?”

“Then we wait.”


“Fuck Greg, you…fuckin stink today.”

“Well yeah–why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“No, I mean, you don’t…usually stink, do you?”

“Come on Chad, of course we fuckin’ stink.”

“No, I mean…fuck, what was I thinkin’ about?”

“Go get me another beer man, I just wanna relax before we gotta go back tah work on Monday.”

“But we’re supposed tah leave in two days, right Greg?”

“Leave where?”

“I…I thought…”

“Dumbass, what are you fuckin’ thinkin’ for?”

“I dunno.”

“Get me that beer, then get yer ass over here, I’m fuckin’ horny as hell this mornin’.”


“We wait?”

“Yeah, we wait.”

“For what?”

“For the magic to work, stupid!”

“Don’t yell at me Simon.”

“Look, they forget who they are, they take our place, and then they renounce their old lives, which means we can have them! We take their stuff, and bang–brand new lives.”

“Why the fuck would they give up their good lives for our shitty one?”

“Look. I promise it’ll work, just trust me.”


“What the fuck ya want?”

“Just some lost luggage from the airport…for a Gregory Morse and a Chadwick Anderson?”

“Ain’t no one here by those names. Ya must have the wrong address.”

“Oh–so you’re renouncing your right to these worldly goods?”

“What the fuck ya sayin’? Yeah, sure, whatever. Get the fuck off mah property.”

“Yes sir, have a good day Sir.”

…….

“Who was that Greg?”

“No one important. Come here, Daddy’s fuckin’ horny boy…”

“Oh fuck Daddy, you fuckin’ reek tahday.”

“Yeah I do you fucker–come on, one more day a vacation, then it’s back tah fuckin’ work. I wanna spend it fuckin’–outside.”

“What?”

“Yeah, gonna throw ya around a mud puddle, get ya real fuckin nasty, then plow that hole a yers.”

“Oh fuck Daddy, that sounds fuckin’ hot.”

Well go on then boy, let’s get started.”

(Caption) Five Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (28/31)

Something had changed in the city lately, Matt thought. It was seedier, he kept seeing these sorry, dirty looking guys roaming around the junkyard where he worked. He thought they were derelicts at first, but that didn’t seem quite accurate. They only seemed to come out in the dark, for one thing, and more than once, he saw a manhole cover slide back into place as he passed by an alley. Were they living in the sewers? He didn’t really want to know, but it creeped him out all the same. 

All day long now, he felt like someone was watching him as he kept the bits and pieces of cars and trucks organized, and helped folks find the bits they were looking for. One evening, he lost track of time while he was out in the tire storage area, and didn’t notice the sun setting until he shuddered from the chill. He closed up and went to leave, when he heard a rustling inside–had someone gotten in behind him? 

He opened back up, poked around, and towards the back, sheltered by a stack of old tires, he found one of the grungy fellows there, sitting in some filthy work gear, cock hanging out, smoking a cigar. Matt yelled at him, and the guy startled and jumped behind the stack, almost like an animal, like he was terrified. Confused, Matt came closer, to where the cigar was still smoking on the ground, trying to figure out what was going on. He caught a whiff of the smoke, and coughed–it was…strong, to say the least. It made his eyes water, his head swim. He sat down where the man had been, trying to clear his head, but before he could, the fellow had slipped back out, picked up the cigar, and pushed it into Matt’s mouth.

That first inhale was a punch to the gut. Coupled with the stink rolling off the man in front of him, all he could do was gag–but the cigar refused to fall from his mouth, for some reason. He…he needed it, didn’t he? He took another inhale–that one wasn’t so bad. The greasy fellow got down in front of him, pulled out Matt’s cock, and started sucking on it. Matt looked down at himself, at his clothes, at his…filthy, nasty clothes. They hadn’t been that dirty, had they? A moment ago? He took another draw on the cigar, looked at the cinder on the end. Almost reading his mind, the man opened his mouth, and Matt knocked the ash off into the man’s mouth. He went back to sucking, and Matt moaned from the sensation of ashy grit on his member, and took another suck on the cigar.

They looked for Matt for a few days, but he never turned up for work. He hadn’t even clocked out, the day he disappeared. However, the owner did see someone that looked…a bit like him, in a mass of filthy bodies down an alley. Those damn derelicts–where the hell are they all coming from? It seems like they’re breeding around here, or something.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares VI

October Caption Challenge (27/31)

Nicholas liked order. He’d been a wild kid, ended up enlisting in the army, and getting shipped out to the Middle East. The experience had sucked, but it had given him the sense of discipline and consequence that he’d been missing, and when his tour of duty ended, he proceeded to get his life on the right track. Now, he was doing good. Engaged with a wedding planned for the next year, just bought a house, a solid job and good savings. He even made time to go visit the gym on a regular basis, and was in better shape now than he’d been, even in his army days.

The dream imp, however, looked at this and found itself a bit disgusted. It followed Nicholas home from the gym that evening, poking and prodding around in his head, looking for all of his quirks and weaknesses, crafting just the sort of nightmare that would break him properly, and send him back to his dirty, wild ways from before.

Nicholas fell asleep that night, and found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. A basement, probably, since there was no light or windows that he could see. He was…naked as well, which was rather embarrassing, but all of the clothes littered around the room were a bit…well, he didn’t know what half the shit was, in all honesty. There was a lot of leather, and rubber, and…fuck, what kind of faggot shit was this, anyway?

“Don’t worry about that stuff, Nick–come here, we can help.”

“Yeah Nick, let us help, come on.”

The voices didn’t sound quite human. They almost seemed to be coming from his own mind. He followed them anyway, and found himself looking at some of the filthiest clothes he’d ever seen, dropped in the corner of the room. 

“Hi Nick, don’t you want to wear us?”

“Come on Nick, it’ll feel so good…”

“No one has worn us in so long.”

Nick took a few steps back, “What the fuck is this?” he said, looking around the room, wondering what the hell kind of dream this was, when he felt something slither around his ankle, and grip him tight. Looking down, it was a leg of some coveralls that had slithered out of the pile–and the other filthy laundry was coming closer as well. 

He tried to pull his ankle away, but the coveralls tugged back harder, and pulling him to the floor–and everything swarmed over him. Some filthy briefs crawled up his legs, a nasty t-shirt squirmed over his head and down onto his body, and the coveralls swallowed everything up. He stood up, feeling almost light headed, and the words, the voices, they were so loud, they were drowning out his own mind.

“That’s it Nick, isn’t it good to be dirty again?”

“Such a loser Nick, you were always a loser. You never stood a chance.”

“You stupid fucking faggot, nothing but a dirty, filthy, faggot pig, that’s all you are.”

He felt his cock release a stream of piss into the coveralls, and the clothes squirmed like they were orgasming–they were orgasming, actually, and it felt like he was as well. After that, he just relaxed, and let the clothes drink him dry, sucking down his muscles, sucking down his mind, sucking down his cum and piss and sweat, and when he finally woke up, it wasn’t in his bed.

He was on a toilet.

He didn’t know where this toilet was. He didn’t know how he’d gotten the dirty workwear he was wearing. He didn’t know…anything, really. The dream had drained so much of him, that all that was left was a nasty minded pig. A pig with a name at least. Nick. He was called Nick–no last name. He didn’t need one. He…had a job too, didn’t he? He thought hard, tried to focus, and pissed his pants by accident, feeling it pool around the seat of his pants and dribble off onto the floor.

He would have gotten down to lick it up like a good pig, when the door to the bathroom opened. Later, then. He had work to do, after all. A greasy looking roughneck rounded the corner, ready to use the toilet, and found the pig there, with a surprised look on his face. But one whiff of him, and he knew what he needed to do. A full service toilet pig, just waiting for him. It was his lucky day, apparently.

Nick kept trying to leave, when he remembered there was a door outside the stall where he’d woken up. But whenever he tried, he woke up right back on the toilet. After all, he still had work to do, didn’t he? So much work to do.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares V

October Caption Challenge (23/31)

What a treat for a dream imp! Two young men, asleep in the back seat of their father’s car during a long road trip. Pulling two men into the realm of nightmares at once was difficult, which is why the imp rarely did so, but the stronger the connection between the two, the easier it would be to bring them together.

Kyle and Steve were brothers, sure, but they were also rivals, and had been their entire life. Encouraged by their father, both of them were challenged to one-up each other in whatever athletic contest he might decide. As such, the brothers were both well built, athletically accomplished young men, who, on a certain level, despised one another.

And so, they began to dream. Kyle found himself in a dungeon, full of all manner of painful devices. Steve was in the center, chained up and unable to move. Before Kyle could move to help him, a voice told him to stop. He turned, and saw his father in the corner of the room–no, not his father, not quite his father, the face kept…sliding away from him, the eyes were red, the teeth too sharp.

“Come now, Kyle,” his not-father said, “Don’t you want to show me what a good boy you are? Don’t you want to punish your brother? Show me what you can do?”

Kyle…didn’t, not at first, but then, there was a flogger in his hand, and he started bringing it down on his brother’s back, and fuck, it felt good, thinking about all the times he hadn’t measured up. He was the oldest brother, he should be the one to be the best, but then why did he lose? As he pounded on his brother’s flesh, he didn’t notice that Steve was beginning to change, his muscle growing thicker, his body hair and beard filling in, his cries of pain now punctuated with the occasional moan of delight. 

Then, a whistle, and before Kyle even knew what was happening, he was there in the middle of the room, in chains, and his brother–his larger, hairier, brutish brother, was leering at him, cock leaking, his not-father’s red eyes gleaming in the shadows. “Now now, you boys take turns, alright?”

Steve set on him with the floggers, with the paddles, with the clamps, with slaps and fists. At first, all Kyle could feel was the pain, all of it excruciating. But then, buds of pleasure, then full blossoms, as his body grew, piling on muscle, piling on scar, piling on hair. When it was time to switch once more, he could see that Steve had grown just as hungry for it as he had–and he would be sure to give his brother as much pleasure as he possibly could.

And on the road, his sons quiet for so long, the father looked back and discovered the back seat vacant–yet he hadn’t stopped, and there was nowhere for his son’s to have gone. He was blamed, of course–there was no other explanation, but if his boys ever did make it back to the mortal plane, they never crossed paths with him, that he knew of.

(Caption) Quarantine Home Gym

October Caption Challenge (17/31)

Not having a gym was rough for the guys on the block, but with the quarantine stretching out longer and longer, it was looking like they wouldn’t be able to get back there anytime soon, and when they could, there would probably be so many restrictions it wouldn’t even be worth it. In the end, a savior came from a surprising place–old Mr. Wilcox at the end of the road starting letting all of the jocks know that he had an old gym in his basement. It wasn’t surprising, really–he was in his 60’s but still in good shape. He told the young men they could come over and use it whenever they wanted, but only on their own.

But there were other odd requirements as well. Mr. Wilcox told them all that they couldn’t wear their own clothes–too much risk of infection. They would have to shower when they arrived, they would put on their gym uniform, work out, shower, and then leave. There was also always this weird new age hippy music playing, but hey, a free gym was a free gym.

The music put them all in a really focused headspace–their workouts would zoom by, and they were all making great progress. None of them objected when Mr, Wilcox started making changes to each of their gym uniforms.

Mark found his gym shorts and shirt replaced with a rubber singlet one day, but Mr. Wilcox told him it would be easier to keep sterile, so he was happy to put it on. Much to his surprise, he found the sensation of rubber against his skin incredibly erotic–but when he asked Mr. Wilcox if he could take it home with him, he said no. But a few weeks later, he got an upgrade, a full body latex suit, complete with a gas mask, even better to keep everyone safe. He worked out for hours in it, and never ended up going home–the gimp was stored in his cage where he belongs instead–after all, he didn’t want to take off his new skin, did he?

Kent arrived one morning for his workout, and found that the only thing Mr, Wilcox had for him to wear, other than socks and shoes, was a diaper. He balked, of course, but Mr. Wilcox had noticed him using his restroom the other day, and that just wasn’t sanitary. Better to keep his messes to himself. He told himself he wouldn’t use it, but he zoned out so much he pissed into it, and a few days later, he started shitting himself as well. It wasn’t long before he had a few accidents at home as well, and he had to ask Daddy for a supply of diapers for himself. He moved in too before long, though his exercises are more focused these days on opening up his dirty baby hole, and getting rid of that gag reflex so Daddy can fuck baby’s throat easier.

Bud got the same gear, day in and day out, and Mr. Wilcox never seemed to wash it. When he asked about it, he said that it was Bud’s filth, so he could wash it if he wanted–but Bud always forgot to take the clothes home with him. In fact, he stopped showering as well, and stopped doing laundry at home, the entire house filled with his sweaty musk, and more and more the smell of cum, since he kept masturbating all over himself. He’s Mr. Wilcox’s filthy pig, and when he’s done with his workout, he usually gets fucked by Master’s cock while he huffs on baby’s full diaper, already excited for tomorrow’s workout to come.

(Caption) Three Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (16/31)

You don’t always know you’re in Pigtown until it’s too late.

Richard liked to take long runs around the city on his days off. It was a good way to explore, and he nearly always saw something different, that he would have never noticed in his car. Today, he found his way to a large park and decided to cut through it for a bit of nature. It started off innocently enough–families with kids playing in the sun, the occasional picnic. It was wholesome. But at some point, after the trail passed through a few dense patches of wood, he found himself in a chunk of park that was quite a bit seedier. Unknown to Richard, he had just found himself in Pigtown.

It was the light that threw him off first. He had started his jog in the morning, but suddenly, it was like the sun had set. The sodium lights were all lit, but filthy, and they only seemed to increase the shadows around him, rather than dispel them. There were strange moans, thumps and shrieks coming from the woods around him, distorted enough that he couldn’t be certain men were making them, and the few people he did see were men who leered at him, and at his spandex clad running shorts, with lust. 

But he kept running. He tried to turn back, but the path, which he was certain had been straight and unambiguous, suddenly branched and forked and looped back around on itself in countless ways. He was lost, and getting a bit winded. Finally he stopped to catch his breath and calm down, get his bearings, only to find that he wasn’t alone. There was a filthy looking man on a park bench near him, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. He looked up at Richard, licked his lips, and said, “Fuck man, bet you smell fuckin’ amazing.”

Before Richard could even think of how to reply, the man had stood up, thrown up one of Richard’s arms, and started licking at his pit. The man smelled horrific–like a urinal, like a cumrag, like…like heaven. Richard shook his head and gave a snort, trying to focus, but he couldn’t seem to tug himself away from the man, and all around them, more men, just as filthy as him, were coming out of the brush, groping their crotches, leering at him, the light fading more and more as they all surrounded him, touching him, smelling him, and Richard lost track of himself, for a moment. For a while.

When he came back to himself, he wasn’t at the park anymore. He was in some apartment, hands tied up above his head, and he wasn’t wearing his clothes, or at least…they weren’t the clothes he’d had on before. He had on some long underwear and a white t-shirt, all of it covered in cumstains, soaked with piss. He could smell it, and fuck if it didn’t smell amazing. 

The man from the bench came out, still in the same nasty clothes as before, and stood in front of Richard. “Fuck man, I hadn’t really planned on bringin’ anyone home tonight, but fuck me, if ya just aren’t so much fuckin’ fun. Haven’t gotten my hands on freshmeat in a long time, I forgot how fuckin’…flexible you are. We’re gonna have a lot a fun tonight, gonna have some more boys over, and you’re gonna be in heaven, I promise you that.”

Richard tried to do some math, tried to figure out what time it was. He’d left in the morning, but it had gotten dark in the park. He’d spent…hours there already, and now here, and…and it was still pitch black out the window. “I…I have to get home, I…it’s so late.”

“So what if its late, man! The night doesn’t end until we want it to, in Pigtown, and I think we can go for a while longer, don’t you?”

The man shoved the wet crotch of his filthy jeans into Richard’s face, and he couldn’t help himself, licking at the nasty denim, feeling his cock grow larger, and start to pump precum out, soaking the front of the nasty underwear he was wearing. He didn’t want it to stop, did he? No, he didn’t. Not long after that, men started appearing, and toyed with him, pissed on him, came on him, in him, fed him, filled him up, clothed him, changed him in ways that Richard could barely understand, and when Rich awoke, it was morning. 

Some morning. He looked around at the nice backyard where he’d woken up, and part of him knew he should recognize it…but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t find the memory anymore. He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and that helped wake him up a bit, but it still didn’t bring out the memory. One thing he knew for sure, was that he didn’t belong here. It was too bright, the sun…hurt, somehow, even through all of his filthy gear.

He stood up and left, following his instincts back home, back to the park. Rich never left Pigtown again after that, but why would he want to? It’s where he belonged now, after all.