Police Dogs – Episode 2 (Part 4)

Above him, Dingo was panting harder, as his pace increased, and Geoff focused on getting Chance out of his clothes, using the knife on his belt to make the process much simpler. After all, this pup wasn’t going to have any need for this sort of office attire, and they were all going to be too big for him anyway, at this point. He was still a bit annoyed that he’d pulled the collar tight when he’d put it on, but as he watched Chance going to town on the much larger Dingo’s cock, he found it pretty sexy, actually. By the end of it, he might even shrink him a little further.

Now that Chance was naked, Geoff squatted down, and he could see that Chance’ cock had already taken to the change–his human member was gone, and in its place was a throbbing red rocket, similar to Dingo’s, but not quite as large. Geoff got down close and started stoking it, listening to Chance whimper a bit as Dingo rammed his cock down his husband’s throat. “Feel that, pup? Feel’s good, doesn’t it? Much better than that old, ugly ass human cock ever did. I don’t even know why we put up with keeping your kind around–still, there will be one less of you soon enough.”

He saw a flash of anger in Chance’ eye as he said that, and Geoff smirked. There was quite a bit of fire in this one for sure. He was going to have to break him out of that one way or another–but most pups like this could respond well to some good old fashioned humiliation. Once they really understood who was in charge here, and just how low Geoff could make them sink, they settled down in the end. “Alright Dingo, that’s enough. I think it’s time we start putting this pup through some paces, see if he’s even worth training or not. Go get the treats out of the car, partner.”

Dingo wasn’t happy about having to quit fucking Chance’ face, especially as close as he was to shooting, but an order from Master was always more important. He redid him fly and headed for the door, leaving Chance gasping for breath, and Geoff next to him, patting him on the head. “You…you can’t get away with this, too many people are going to miss us.”

“Oh pup, trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve done something like this. But you’d be surprised what people will believe. The two of you selling your house suddenly, moving off to Hawaii for a fresh start–it isn’t that far-fetched you know. Besides, these collars have a way of…smoothing things out, over time. In a few months, no one will even remember the two of you existed.”

“That’s…that’s not possible, none of this shit is possible!” Chance said.

“Now now, keep that anger in check–after all, only the best pups get to end up on the police force, remember. Dingo was a prime candidate, but you…well, let’s just say that I don’t know if you can make the cut. A bit too…short, for one thing. If you want to end up with your husband, instead of dropped off in the drunk tank tonight as a lowlife, criminal mongrel, then you should do your best to be a good boy–besides, doesn’t being a good boy feel so much better, than being a bad one?”

The burst of pleasure was stronger now, and seemed to connect right to his new cock. Chance tried to fight it as best as he could, but he was beginning to wonder if there was a way out of this at all. Angus seemed…so far gone. The way he’d fucked his face…it hadn’t even felt like his husband doing it, just a stranger using him. Maybe…if he could just get the collar off of him, somehow, he would remember what was going on. Chance didn’t know if there was a way to reverse what the collars were doing to them, but that seemed to be the first step, if they were going to get out of this without the badger warping them into his own little slaves.

He heard the front door open up again, and Dingo came tromping through with three boxes of doughnuts in his arms–and one doughnut stuffed in his maw. Geoff saw that Dingo hadn’t been able to resist dipping into the treats they had brought over for Chance’ training, and he got up, “Dingo! Bad boy, those aren’t treats for you, and you know that.”

Dingo whimpered, his ears lowering, and he put the half eaten doughnut back in the top box. “Sorry Master, I was just…hungry, and I know I did a good job, and so I thought–”

“You dumb mutt, we covered this yesterday–who does the thinking around here? You, the dumb dog? Or me, the smart badger.”

“You do the thinking sir, sorry…”

“Leave him alone,” Chance said, at them both, “Stop…stop treating him like he’s some stupid brute, that you get to play with. He’s a fucking person!”

Geoff laughed, “Listen to that pup, Dingo–he thinks you’re a person. Is that what you are?”

“No sir, I’m just a dumb doggy,” Dingo said, tail wagging, reciting what Master had told him about himself the day before, “A real mean one on the streets, but I’m just your fat bitch in the sheets sir, I’ll let you do anything you want to me, and I’ll thank you for it after.”

“That’s a good boy–you can finish that treat–but no more unless I say so.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dingo said, the doughnut muffling the second half of his reply, as he shoved it into his snout.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 6)

“Alright Sponge–not too much longer now,” Coach Robinson said, as he pulled Anton’s foam body back up, and shoved him into the chair. He felt…lighter, now–at least, aside from his head, though the piss cooling in his foam guts gave him a bit of weight. His coach leaned over and kissed him, exploring Anton’s mouth for the last time, wishing, somewhat, he could still smell the boy’s clean breath. He could at least taste him, the blank slate that he was. Fuck, all Robinson wanted to do was defile him, ruin him, but if he stayed human, there was literally nothing he could do that would leave a mark. Like this, however–well, the boy was going to be his now–an object, a dummy, a toy, a mascot for his teams to use and abuse, and he was going to love it. Well, what little bit of him would be left, would love it–there wasn’t exactly much thinking that could happen with a head full of foam. Anton’s eyes were still fearful, but resigned. Coach fed him some more spit, and Anton swallowed it down, feeling it hit the foam below his neck, and soak into him, moistening him, feeding him, nourishing him. Before, when Coach had forced himself on Anton, he’d always left feeling a desperate need to be clean, but now, for the first time, he didn’t want to be clean, he wanted…more. More spit, more cum, more piss, more sweat. He wanted to soak in it, wallow in it, be made of it.

Coach pulled his face away, even as Anton found himself seeking more. He mouthed the word “Please,” and the coach just laughed.

“Now, now–we have to finish you off first, and then you can have as much as you can get.” Coach pulled another rubber tube from his drawer–this one even thicker than the one which had been forced into his ass–and quite a bit longer–nearly two feet long. Anton…knew, where it would be going, and he didn’t…want to want it. Coach put the narrower end of the tube at his mouth and he…opened. Wide, tongue flat. “It’ll go in a bit easier if you swallow–often, and as much as you can, for as long as you can–but it’ll go in regardless.”

Anton nodded. The coach pushed the tube in, hard, and Anton did as the coach had said, and swallowed. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference, and it still hurt–hard enough that he was certain that the rubber wasn’t sliding neatly down his throat, but tearing into it–but it didn’t matter for long. The tube hit the point where flesh became foam, and the resistance picked up–there was over a foot left before the widest part of the tube would be flush with Anton’s lips, and he could see the coach, over him, bringing his weight to bear on the tube, shoving it deeper until it wouldn’t go any further, and it began to merge with his flesh. The coach was no longer pushing on the tube, but stroking it, and while it began as a tickle, soon the sensation of his hand running up and down the flexible rubber was more powerful than even his cock had been, when he’d had one.

After the tube, came a full rubber hood–much like the mitts which had gone over his hands. There were no holes for his eyes, or his nose–it was simply featureless. He could…feel the rubber taking over his skin, and then, fully choked off from the world, his face and head began to change, lighten, the flesh losing mass and becoming foam like the rest of him. He could…feel strong, firm hands on his skull, squeezing and crushing it as it changed, and he lost sense of himself, of his humanity, his brain fading, and leaving just the…need to be damp and wet and filthy. The squeezing stopped, and something else settled over his rubber head–a familiar sensation of a football helmet, his mouth tube fed through the chin strap and the face guard, and that too became part of his body, his new skull. Anton wasn’t there any longer–he was…Sponge.

Sponge couldn’t see, and it couldn’t hear, and it couldn’t smell, but it could…sense. It knew that its coach was there–no, not a coach anymore, because Sponge wasn’t a player, or on a team. Sponge was just a thing–an object, a dummy, a cumrag and urinal. But it could sense its owner, it could sense where he was, and that…that his owner was horny. Horny as fuck, looking at his newest dummy, and Sponge just wanted to be used by him, and satisfy him, over and over again, and be used by anyone and everyone. There were hands on its…tube, its snout or trunk perhaps–they were its owner’s hands, and they were putting something in the end of the tube, some attachment, and he could…feel the new end of its tube, a tight…silicone fuckhole, and its owner put his cock in it, and Sponge…felt so excited. Excited that it was going to be fed. It reached out with its mitts, pawing at its owner, trying to show him how excited it was, how much it needed to be fed, how…dry it was. It could sense how excited its owner was, as it was getting closer, and then, he came, shooting into the tube–and Sponge could taste it, taste all the delicious cum in its tube, and it dropped off the chair and onto its padded knees, and the cum ran down the tube, into its throat and soaked into the foam of its chest–and the sensation of wetting, it was ten times as powerful as it had been before. It felt like, for Sponge, that its purpose had been fulfilled, its entire life reduced to a simple mission: become wet. Hold men’s filth. Store it, and let it rot and mold within him.

Its owner removed his cock, and then grabbed Sponge around the waist, and hefted it over his shoulder. Sponge…enjoyed the sensation, how light it had become, but couldn’t wait until it was properly heavy and sodden. They moved through a doorway, Sponge’s flexible limbs bending awkwardly against it, and beyond he…sensed others. Two fucking…men? Animals? It wasn’t sure, but more importantly, there was so much filth–and Sponge hoped it would get to suck up as much of it as it could.

Stinkers – Coach’s Senior Gifts (Part 4)

After his demonstration, the coach forced Anton into a long sleeve compression shirt–long enough that the spandex and the rubber of his new mitts overlapped slightly, making it difficult to tell where one fabric ended and the other began. Much to Anton’s surprise, even after he’d lost the feeling of his flesh under the shirt, he found that he could still move…but without bones or tendons, he also had a…surprisingly large range of movement. He was like some living doll, and every touch of the coach’s hands on his new “skin” sent waves of pleasure through him. He didn’t want this to be so enjoyable. He was terrified, certainly, but also somehow…excited.

Coach forced him to bend over the desk next, revealing his ass for him. Anton thought coach might want one last fuck before sealing away his asshole underneath the uniform pants, but instead, he took a wide, semi-flexible rubber tube, told Anton to open up his ass, and began sliding the tubing into him. He could feel the rubber wanting to cling to the sides of his ass, as it went in, but Coach kept forcing it deeper–deeper than Anton had ever really taken much of anything before, until there was just an inch or so of tube sticking out from between his ass cheeks. Then, coach stopped, and after a few seconds, the rubber had adhered to the inside of his hole. The inside of the tube was filled with silicone, almost like a fleshlight. The coach’s finger pushed against the rubber sphincter and entered him, making Anton shiver, and an odd…need, overwhelmed him. “There–you might be a dummy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be useful, right?”

“R-right…” Anton moaned back, without much thought.

“Yeah, I think you like being used, don’t you?”

Anton just moaned again. Coach played with his dummy’s new hole a little longer, and then got the pants and socks he’d already prepared–black spandex, like the shirt, but with pads built into the knees and ass. Socks first, and while Anton’s feet and ankles began to numb up and turn to fluff, Coach forced the pants on, all the way up to his waist. A ragged hole had been left in the front, allowing the jock pouch to peek through the front, and a small hole had been left in the seat of the pants as well. It took a bit of maneuvering, but coach pushed the end of the rubber tube through the hole, and the pants sealed themselves around it–joined with it seamlessly, in fact. Anton was left with an ample butt oddly without much of a crack–just a hole leading deep into Anton’s body, and the fluff it was rapidly becoming.

Now that most of his body had been…converted, he had a better feel for the substance which was now filling his body. It felt more like…foam, than anything else. Pushing in, his body would indent substantially–much more than flesh–but would return to it’s shape rapidly. It reminded him of those memory foam mattresses, or an unused but first-wetted sponge. He tried to stay standing, but the foam feet kept giving way under his weight. Coach put on two cleats next, which helped–giving strength and structure to his ankles and soles, allowing his the ability to walk–slowly, but he…could tell he would become better at it in time.

It was with some fear that Anton realized that, for several minutes now, he hadn’t heard, or felt, his heart beat. He also wasn’t breathing, now that he had no internal organs to pump air or blood through him. He tried to speak, but while his mouth could move, there was no air inside of him which could be forced out to make sound–he was just a human head, miming language uselessly.

“Almost done, dummy. Just a few more pieces. How about we get your jersey and pads on, eh?”

Anton had seen the yellow jersey with black writing in the corner, but it wasn’t until Coach had put it on him that he saw his new number on the front–34, the same number he had out on the field, in fact, but the name on the back was different. Instead of his last name, all it said was “Sponge.” The word filled his head with fear, thinking about what coach had demonstrated earlier, with his crotch, but the foam body…it had begun to ache. It needed to be wet, if it was going to move, after all. If he hardened, then he’d be frozen in place, like a statue. He was…damp at the moment, thanks to the water held in all the flesh he’d been before, but if he didn’t get more, he’d shrivel up.

Sensing his thoughts, Robinson patted him on his padded shoulder, “Don’t worry Sponge, I have lots of guys who will be keeping you well…saturated. My teams always love my dummies, and use them plenty. You’ll be holding onto all of our piss and cum and spit and sweat for a long time–everything might have just wiped off you before, but now, you’re going to be keeping everything.”

He pushed Anton over at the waist–it didn’t feel like bending over, it felt like he was just some doll, being manipulated by an owner. The rubber tube emerging from his new ass was a couple inches wide–an easy target, though Coach missed on purpose, soaking the seat of Anton’s ass in piss, before sending the rest of the stream into the tube, where Anton could feel it reach the end, deep within him, and the piss just started…suffusing him. It was warm, and pleasant…almost like the time coach had made him piss himself out on the field, after a particularly humiliating fumble. “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it? It’ll take a while, but pretty soon, you’ll be dribbling filth with every step you take, heavy with everyone’s fluids. I bet you’re already starting to ache for it, right? Well, we just have to take care of that head of yours, now, and once that’s done, you’ll be a dummy through and through, Sponge–isn’t that exciting?”