Pup Parolee (Caption)

I can tell you this at least, being a parole officer comes with some decent perks. It’s a whole lot easier, for one thing, sitting in an office and just trying to keep guys from going back to prison again–although that can be a challenge in its own way. See, prison is easy, in a lot of ways. You don’t have many choices in prison, and so, when you get out, it can be…paralyzing, for some guys, to try and figure out what to do with yourself. It can leave some of them in a particularly fragile state–and I’m proud to say that my parolees have one of the lowest rates of recidivism in the district. You might say that I know how to give a guy…purpose.

Sure, they can come in here, acting tough, looking like they know how the world works, but I can see what makes them tick, what they’re afraid of. Some of them just need a kind word, and a good push in the right direction, to grow up and be decent people this time around. Others, well, they didn’t end up in prison usually because of something they did. They ended up in prison because they were too weak to say no, or think for themselves, or because they were scared. Those ones are harder, guys like Garrett here–or Spike, as he likes me to call him.

I knew he was going to end up back in prison if I didn’t do something, you see. He was too weak, to easily swayed by the people around him, and the people he was around, they didn’t want what was best for him, not like me. Fuck, one visit to my office, and I barely had to do much more than talk gently to him, and he was out, doing everything I told him to do, just because I could make him feel good. Well, no one has to worry about Spike now, I make sure he won’t be getting into anymore trouble, and he much prefers being my dog, to being a person–you could ask him yourself, if he could talk much anymore.

But being human is behind him. No, he spends his days naked in my house, napping, playing with his toys, waiting by the door for me to come home so we can play together–so I can fuck him, really, because he knows he’s not the alpha in this little pack. No–he’s lucky all the same though, to have a master like me, holding the leash. If he was free, who knows what trouble he’d get himself into?

April Suggestion Box Open!

Hey everyone! It’s a new month, and that means there’s a brand new suggestion box open for all of my patrons at the $5 dollar level and up. Is there a story you’d like to see me write, a fetish you’d want me to focus on, or a kind of character that turns you on? Let me know! I can even take photo inspirations over on my discord channel, open for patrons only. Here’s one of the stories I wrote for patrons last month, inspired by one such photo–if this is something you’d like to get in on, sign up on my page over here at the $5 tier or higher!

Service Beast

It’s just a store, you try and tell yourself, but you’re still nervous all the same. The space is big–too big, and too bright and white. It’s unnatural. The smells are too clean or perhaps just non-existent, without the manure and grass you’ve become so used to lately. There are also too many people, and all of them are staring at you–some of them shake their head in disgust or shame, while others–the teenagers mostly–just point and laugh. You can understand why, of course. You’re huge, for one thing–nearly seven feet tall at this point, and almost five hundred pounds of fat and muscle hanging on your frame. The hair is the other thing–your entire chest, back and belly coated in a thick pelt of brown hair, all of it easily visible through the straps of your muddy overalls–the only clothes you wear anymore. You’re beard is tangled, your hair long and bleached a bit from the hours and hours spent out in the sun this summer. You’re only…22? 23? But you look like you’re at least forty, if not fifty now. This is the first time you’ve been inside a building other than the barn and stable in months, and even though the aisles are wide, you still feel much too confined–for the first time, you’d rather be back on the farm, in the fields doing your work, rather than…this place. A place you…swear you recognize, but finding all of those old memories is so difficult now. You suppose that’s why Master feels so confident bringing you here now.

The mobility cart he’s sitting in jolts forward, and the lead in his hand, connected to the collar around your fat, hairy neck, jerks you forward as well. “Keep up, you stupid lug–get two of those and put them in the cart.”

You look at the boxes he’s indicating, grab two, and set them in the basket in front of him, and then you continue onward–you fetching and carrying from the shelves, while Master barks orders at you in public, treating you like a slave and a idiot while everyone in town watches–and while you know the truth, but can’t say it. You can’t seem to say much of anything, anymore. You’re too afraid to speak, ever since you lost your words last week–or maybe it was the week before that. It seems like the only thing that comes out of your mouth are the grunts, loos, and squeals of the beasts to care for and sleep with back at the farm. Anything more than a simple sentence just dissolves–and the thought along with it, as soon as you start.

You hadn’t always looked like this–though you were having a harder and harder time remembering that, from day to day. You’d been young and slim and muscular–not this fat, hairy stupid beast of burden he had warped you into, starting the day you got on the farm, after taking the job offer you’d found on the internet, looking for some summer employment. Master liked to play the part of the crippled invalid, but you knew the truth–he was ancient, yes, but as a wizard, he didn’t need the cart, or even you, to get the farm work done. But centuries of power had warped him, and he’d grown bored. You were just another amusement, at the end of the day, for the old wizards perverse desires.

“Come on, you stupid thing–help me get to the bathroom. I have something I need to take care of.”

You gulp, and help him up as he feigns a limp, and help him into the restroom. This room feel even smaller than the rest of the store, with the too bright halogen lights, and the small stalls. Master goes into the handicapped stall, and tugs you in as well–to help him out.

“Get down, you fucking beast, fuck, watching you lumber around like some stupid fucking ape–you’re just an animal, you know that? You’re my fucking service animal–how does it make you feel, knowing that you’re just a simple pet now?”

He opened up the fly of his jeans, and you got down–you didn’t know if you were gonna have to suck or drink, but you knew something was coming. It was piss, first. He fired before you even had your mouth around the head of his cock, but you scrambled and recovered, only a bit of piss running down into your beard as you drank down his full bladder. Once he’d finished with that, he started fucking your face, telling you what a good service pig you were, doing such good work–that as long as you were useful, he’d keep you around for a while longer, before turning you into just another member of his livestock, and replacing you with some new fellow.

You sucked, hard, and were rewarded with a load of Master’s cum shot across your beard. You knew better than to try and clean it up–Master hated it when you showed any concern like that. He wanted you to be humiliated–and he wanted you to accept it. Your task finished, you up, Master put himself back together, but before you could make it out of the bathroom, you froze–it was coming, and out on the farm, who really cared?–but not…not here, you could stop it, you could control it…

You stumbled for the urinal, tugging on the lead, but it was too late. Piss was flooding the front of your overalls, running down your thick hairy legs, pooling in your boots and across the floor. You were just mooing in panic, like one of the bulls on the farm, horrified, but unable to stop yourself, and Master just…laughed. Laughed at your soaked overalls, and tugged you back out into the store, and kept shopping–expanding the list, just so he could make you wander around with your cold overalls, making sure everyone saw you, making sure everyone knew exactly what you were, what kind of beast you were.

At last, you left, loaded the groceries into the back of the truck, climbed into the back with them, and Master drove off, back towards the farm–back home. Back home, where a beast like you belonged.

Percy the Dollman (Patron Request)

This week, we have a rather strange request for some extreme body modification and plastic surgery! Percy, a wealthy narcissist, runs across an obsessive plastic surgeon, and the results are, well, have to be seen to be believed, I suppose. If you support me at the $5 tier or higher, you can get access to this story, others like it, and the ability to submit requests yourself each month!

Arctos: Mall – Part 4 [Interactive]

As the candy melted away and was absorbed into Jeremy’s ass, the first hidden layer of the sizable asslicker could be seen, but Saul wasn’t quite sure what it was at first. It wasn’t until he brushed it with a gloved hand, and saw the surface lift slightly, that he realized that what was covering the surface of the dildo was hair. Jeremy smacked his lips once or twice, and grimaced. “Why does it…taste a bit like dog hair all of a sudden?”

“Guess he never managed to work out that little kink,” Saul said, and pushed the dildo in deeper, watching the surface of Jeremy’s skin for the first telltale signs of what was going to happen next. Sure enough, after a couple of pumps, he could see the first little pinpricks of hair appearing down Jeremy’s back on either side of his spine, fanning out rather quickly as they grew. If he was sprouting this quickly, and this thickly, he was going to be quite the hairy beast in a few minutes, once this layer was finished.

“What…what the fucking hell,” Jeremy moaned, looking at his forearm, where hairs were sprouting as well.

“Don’t worry about it too much, Jeremy, it’s going to feel perfectly natural in a few minutes, I assure you.”

“I…where the fuck is all this fucking hair coming from? What the fuck is that thing doing to me?”

“Well, you see, buried in each of these asslickers are a few different layers–and while they do all come with a signature flavor, they also come with other benefits too.” Saul ran one gloved hand up and down Jeremy’s furry back, and watched him shudder in surprise. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being hairy enough that you can be petted like a big fat dog?”

The hair kept coming, growing in thickest on Jeremy’s back, forearms, chest–and his beard. That grew in the fastest of any of it, and after two minutes, it was already two or three inches long, hanging down to the display case he was bent over, while his hands kept exploring his skin, feeling all of the hair everywhere, and surprised at how horny he was feeling as he stroked it.

When that layer finally finished, the hair was so thick in places that the skin beneath was difficult to see. Saul, however, was looking at the asslicker, ready to see what the next layer would be. The hair kept peeling away, and he could see something…fleshy underneath, like muscle. It…disappointed him a bit, to be honest–he had done such a good job fattening his customer earlier, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped.

Jeremy felt his body start to heat up, and there was a new taste in his mouth. Sweat, almost, and metal. His breath was getting quicker, and he could taste…exertion, somehow. It felt like the inside of his mouth after running a mile back in high school gym. The fat on his body–some of it, at least–was disappearing and being converted into new muscle by his body. His apron shrank up into a full, heavy gut, but hardly disappeared, still looking like a firm, hairy ball jutting out from his body. His fat thighs lost their wobble, but were just as thick–just muscular now, so wide he had to adjust his stance somewhat to accommodate them. The same with his arms, the flab hanging off shifting into thick biceps and triceps, his neck filling out and absorbing one of his three chins, and his chest–he didn’t lose all of the fat there, either, but they grew flatter and firmer as the pectorals underneath developed into heavy slabs of muscle. What remained was a solid mix of both, a huge, powerlifter shaped beast, bent over the display case, still moaning in pleasure as the shorter, older chubby fellow kept hammering the now smaller dildo into his hole.

Saul sensed something happening, however. The dildo was becoming a bit…gelatinous, the red and steel colored layer giving way to something more cream colored. “It…tastes like milk, or cream…” Jeremy muttered, panting after the exhaustion of his body growing scores of pounds of muscle in just a few minutes.

Saul realized what it was, and shoved the dildo in deep, allowing the end to slide into Jeremy’s ass as well, the hole closing up behind it. Jeremy tried to stand up and say something, but his eyes went wide–he felt the asslicker pop inside his ass, releasing all of that built up cream into his guts. He groaned, feeling all of that liquid surge through him, flowing into his balls first, feeling his sack swell up, larger than a grapefruit, then larger than a small watermelon, firm and taut, full of milk. The rest of the cream surged upward, into his chest, and he could feel it…changing it, warping the tissue there, swelling his fatty pecs ever larger, losing some of their firmness, his nipples growing and swelling larger, until with a grunt, he felt cream burst forth, flowing down his hairy chest, his cock exploding all over the front of the display case, milk gouting from him as he moaned and mooed, the orgasm ripping through his entire body as waves of pleasure. He collapsed to the floor against the case, sitting in a puddle of his own milk, heaving for breath, Saul looming over him. The confectioner scooped up a bit of cream on his finger and tasted it.

“Fuck, it’s…delicious…” Saul muttered.

“Let…I have to get out of here, I…” Jeremy muttered, but before he could stand, Saul shoved another sucker into his mouth, the Dum Dum wrapper cast aside, and watched as the intelligence in Jeremy’s eyes drained away as he sucked, one hand tweaking his nipples, the other groping his still leaking cock–and Saul helped him up.

“Come on–tasting that…I think I’m going to need your help in the kitchen, buddy–you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being my helped back here?”

Jeremy…knew he should do something, think something…but thinking was hard, and once Saul had him hooked up to the milking machine–well, he didn’t think about much after that, or ever again, and Saul new line of cream filled truffles–well, they’re popular, even if they have a few…additional side effects.

***

“Hey, stop thief!”

Marvin just streaked past the burly clerk and sprinted down the concourse, the ring he’d just pilfered gripped in the palm of his hand. He doubted it was worth much, really, but he liked the thrill of the theft more than anything else, really. He hadn’t quite counted on the clerk being so sharp eyed, however, or on the guy giving chase. Still, he was a lot younger than the old man–he’d get away–probably. What happens with the thief next?

Alright, time to start another little vignette! We have a young shoplifter on the loose, who will probably need some sort of comeuppance for his crime, but he’s a wily fellow–let’s see what his next move is first. Here’s the bonus Patron poll as well!

Winter Vacation [Interactive] (Part 7)

Brett heard his big brother disappear into the garage, and wondered why he was heading there, when Daddy had told them both to go to their rooms. Still, something told him he didn’t really need to worry much about that–Nate could take care of himself, after all. He hefted himself upstairs, surprised by how hard it was with the extra weight of his new gut. He paused about three quarters of the way up, and wondered how in the hell Daddy was going to get up these stairs to go to bed, and thought about it, about daddy’s massive apron, covered in hair, wondering what it would be like to have one himself. His cock got hard, but he resisted touching it. Something…still just didn’t seem right to him, about all of this, even if he couldn’t quite figure out what it was exactly.

At the top of the stairs there was a hall with several rooms splitting off. A second bathroom–also equipped with a urinal, like the one downstairs, and a few bedrooms. He went to the next door, opened it, and as soon as he did, he gagged. Whatever was in this room…it reeked. He stepped back a bit, shaking his head. That couldn’t be his room. It just…it couldn’t be. But the stench, now that he smelled it…it did seem familiar somehow. Comfortable, even. He tried to leave, fully intending to get out of the house and never come back, but instead he walked into the room, eyes watering, and shut the door behind him.

Once shut it, he felt better. The air was muggy and humid–and almost immediately Brett felt himself start to sweat. He wiped his brow and looked around, disgusted by the room around him. It was filthy. Empty food wrappers and containers were scattered everywhere, mixed in with the dirty laundry that made up most of the clutter. There was a closet lying open, but there was nothing inside but even more clothing, also dirty–why in the world was there so much of it?

He felt dizzy in the heat of the room, and he went over to the bed and sat down on it…and when he did, he felt it…squish beneath him. The surface was wet, and a thick plume of filthy air billowed up around him, and when he inhaled it this time, he just felt more of his mind shut off, his jaw dropped open, one hand went to his cock and started stroking it slowly. Yeah–this was better. Much better. He was back where he belonged now, he could tell. He’d been wrong before, when he thought about leaving this–and he laid back on the damp, stinking mattress and jacked off a bit faster.

As he laid there, he could start to pick out some of the specific odors around him. Piss–there was lots of that. His stomach turned for a moment, as he finally realized why, exactly, the mattress felt so soggy…but then it just didn’t bother him at all. In fact, knowing the thing was leaden with his own stale piss somehow made everything so much…hotter. There was sweat, too–his own sweat rolling off him. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of himself, still unwashed after days of looking after daddy, and it smelled amazing. It wasn’t enough though–it still just wasn’t quite right. He’d missed something, but what?

It clicked in his head, and he smacked his forehead. He could be such a stupid, stinking boy sometimes. He wasn’t dressed, of course! He rolled over, intending to sit up on the bed, but it was hard work, for some reason, liks his body wanted to move as little as possible. He managed, however, to make it back to the edge, and he fished around in the piles around him, looking for something that smelled…right, tossing things back that dissatisfied him, and pulling on the things he found that interested him. A nasty wifebeater, some ratty briefs, some socks–and then a couple more socks on top of those–he liked it when his feet got nice and rank. Satisfied with his choices, he laid back down with a contented sigh, and continued masturbating, face snorting from his pits now, hand shoved down the front of the briefs, working on his cock, which had started leaking precum profusely into the fabric.

His balls were growing–swelling in the stank briefs, and as they grew, he could sense his own mind growing dimmer. He tried to cling to his thoughts of escape, but they slipped away from him, and soon he didn’t even feel like he was missing anything. He was just a nasty slob in his stinking room, jacking off like he always did, when Daddy or his brother didn’t need him, not that he was good for much. He was…fucking worthless, actually. He could cook, he supposed, but that was about it. He knew that should bother him, the fact that he was just wasting his life up here, but he loved it. He wanted to be worthless. He wanted to waste himself on porn and masturbation, living in his stinking man cave. The first orgasm came, but it only got him hornier. Brett could chain ten or twelve loads a day, his underwear eventually completely saturated with his fluids, and he’d still usually have a wet dream or two in the night, humping his nasty mattress until he came.

He needed to piss, and he knew he should use the urinal, but when he tried to get up from the bed this time, inertia won. Fuck–he was so fucking lazy, he wasn’t even going to make it to the bathroom. Not this time, at least. The piss started to flow, and there was so much of it, flooding through his briefs and soaking into the bed below him, and he came again, and again, and again, until he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do than waste his life as a worthless slob.

The next few days were quiet. Daddy and his two boys adjusted to their roles rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before they had forgotten about their old lives entirely, their gear thrown out into the backyard by Nate, who only saw the four duffel bags as junk. They ate–with Daddy always pitting his two boys against one another to see who would be the big brother for the day. Nate usually won, but Brett could pack away his groceries on occasion, and when he did, he loved bossing his brother around, ordering him to suck on his huge, nasty feet while he jacked off onto him. Nate, on the other hand, would use his brother as a biker pig out in the garage, when he won–at least, when daddy wasn’t using them both for his own pleasure.

It was about a week later, halfway through their alleged vacation, that a new car pulled up into the driveway. The mastermind had been watching the events unfolding, and was very, very pleased by the four young men’s progress–but now it was time for stage two, whatever that might be. So, who is our perverse Mastermind, anyway?

It really is Rich’s mysterious uncle, who brought along Rich’s father for extra fun.
A group of nerds they bullied looking for revenge.
The football coach, who is possessed by a demon of sloth, lust and gluttony.
A mad scientist, happy some guinea pigs wandered into his trap.

Polls will go live in a few minutes!

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 5)

He looked like a monster–what in the world had Dick and Ash done to him? No–he could imagine what they did, well enough, even if he’d never seen the dummy itself, after the work. The floppy ears raised a bit too high on his head, the short snout pushing out under his nose and mouth…he could see his face still sliding into place, his nostrils widening at the end of the snout, even as his mouth shifted underneath it. It hurt less, than when his face had first reattached, but it didn’t feel good, and he certainly didn’t like looking at it, either–even if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from himself, from the huge gut, from the stubby cock poking out of a sheath underneath it, and two massive balls swinging below, each the size of a small melon. They were…churning, and not in a sense he’d ever experienced. He felt something well up at the head of his cock, and a slimy tear of precum leaked from the slit, and drooled down to the floor, followed by a steady stream after that. Even his hands and feet were different–especially his feet. He’d assumed walking was difficult just because he was beginning to regain sensation–but he was surprised he could feel anything. His feet were…trotters–thick and wide, but completely inhuman, and his hands were reduced to three clumsy fingers, probably good for holding cocks and not much else.

“Yeah, look at you, you fucking beast. We’ll be goin’ back home together, and you’re gonna be my pet piggy, ain’t ya? You stupid piece of shit?”

Trey didn’t know what to do about his face and body–but he was plenty angry. He’d always been angry, but he’d never had the ability to do much to back it up. But now–sure, he was fat, but there was plenty of muscle packed onto this frame too. He could…fight. He clenched a fist, turned, and swung, slamming it right into Dick’s face, sending him stumbling back into a chair, and then onto the ground behind him. Yeah–that felt good, and he swung around to glower at Ash.

“Fix this,” he tried to say, but it didn’t come out right–which didn’t surprise him, he supposed, but Ash got the message in any case, and Trey stalked over towards him, ready to punch him as well, when he felt something slender wrap it’s way around his neck, tighten down on his windpipe, and bring him down to his knees.

“Bar policy,” a new voice said, “Pets gotta be kept on a leash at all times–for safety’s sake.”

Dick sat up, wiping blood from his nose, and saw the bartender had come around, and was holding the end of the leather leash, connected to the collar wrapped around Trey’s throat, who was pawing at with his useless hands. “Fuck man, thanks.”

“Yeah Rod, I owe you,” Ash said.

The bartender shrugged. “You’ve earned your place here, Ash,” he said, “And you–I like you. But don’t let this thing loose again, or I’ll have it dragging you around instead, got it?”

Rod handed Dick the end of the leash, and he gripped it tight. “No worries man–I won’t let him out of my hand.”

Rod nodded, and walked back behind the bar. Trey kept pawing at the collar for a moment, but couldn’t…quite tell what was wrong. The collar wasn’t choking him physically–if anything, it felt…comfortable, or even necessary. He was a beast after all. A monster. He had to be controlled, and chained, and…and dominated. Just a stupid, dull beast of burden, worthless for much of anything, only good for what it’s master wanted. The collar was choking out his mind, and Ash could see the intellect and fight draining from the pigman’s face, eyes going slack and dark, a line of drool hanging from the front of his snout.

“Better give it a name too–something for the tag,” Rod added, once he was back behind the bar, “How about Troff? Looks like that thing loves shoving its face in ‘em enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, sounds good to me!” Dick said, “How about it, Troff?”

Was…was that him? It sounded right. It sounded like a good name for a stupid, subservient beast like him. His master was standing beside him, and looked like he was hurt–and for some reason, Troff thought that he had done that…but that couldn’t be right. No, Troff would never hurt Master, never in a million years. He’d…hurt whoever did that to Master, is what he’d do.

Dick, through the leash, could sense Troff’s anger, and decided to let the pet off for this one. “Calm down now, pig–here, let’s give you a treat, eh?” Dick said, and pressed the head of his cock to Troff’s snout, and with a delighted grunt, it started sucking on Master’s cock, one thick hand massaging it’s nuts, feeling more and more precum puddle around his knees on the floor. Maybe master would let him lick it up, later–Troff was good at licking shit up, after all. After a moment, Dick got Troff repositioned, so Ash could fuck his ass, and together they brought to pig to a snorting, squealing orgasm, cum pouring from his cock onto the floor, which, like he’d hoped, Dick let the pig lick up after they were all finished.

Ash shook Dick’s hand, and wished him luck with his new life, and his new pig, and then turned to his two gimps, both of whom had watched the entire scene without moving–though with mixed, if limited, feelings. “Alright you two,” Ash said, “I think we’re calling it an early night, tonight, and heading back to my place. I think you’ve earned the privilege of getting your faces back–after we have a little fun with your bodies, eh?”

The end for now…

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 3)

*Meanwhile, elsewhere*

Paul was about ready to head home from work, putting the finishing touches on his work and shutting down his computer, already dreading the commute home–but dreading having to see Nate even more. Something…was wrong with him. It had been going on for a couple of weeks now, but every time he’d tried and talk about it with him, Nate had avoided the conversation like the plague. It had been little things at first–mostly these…violent dreams, where he’d be thrashing and squealing and no matter how hard Paul shook him he wouldn’t wake up. Then things had gotten stranger–Nate usually kept a pristine house, but lately he hadn’t seemed to be keeping anything clean, and the way his body was looking, he’d been spending a lot of that time binge eating.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, he supposed, but the change had happened so quickly…and Paul didn’t know how to deal with it. This weekend…he’d have to talk about it with him, he just didn’t have any other option. They’d work through it, whatever it was–he was sure of it. With his things packed up he got up from his chair and checked his phone, where he saw a strange notification from an app he didn’t recognize, and which he was certain he hadn’t ever downloaded, called Arctos. He tried to dismiss the message telling him he’d been selected to receive a complimentary audio album from their collection, but instead of swiping away, it took him to a download screen, which he couldn’t stop.

Was it some virus? He tried to click away, frustrated, but it only let him get out of the screen after it had finished downloading whatever it was onto his phone. Was it a fucking virus or something? It didn’t seem to have messed with anything else on his phone, but he’d have to get it checked out this weekend as well, to make sure it wasn’t something malicious. Trying to focus on his bigger problem with Nate, he rode the elevator down and got to his luxury sedan out in the parking lot, and started the engine. Without thinking much of it, he hooked up his bluetooth from his phone to the car, ready to play some of his music, but as soon as it was connected some strange country song started blaring out of the speakers instead of his usual classic rock. Checking his phone, he discovered that whatever strange album that program had downloaded had been set to autoplay, and he couldn’t make it stop, no matter what he did–even turning down the car volume wouldn’t work for some reason. Frustrated, he simply resigned himself to the problem–he’d get it figured out this weekend, but if this was the worst the virus did, he might as well count himself lucky–and now that he’d listened to it for a couple of minutes, the music wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as he’d have expected it to. To his own surprise, he belted out the chorus of the first song without even realizing he’d learned it by heart:

Ya don’t want no city livin’.
Got ya wishin’ for a simpl’r time
Well ya’ll be a big, old country bear
If ya just listen tah mah rhyme!

Ya got a beard down tah yer gut
And mullets never went outta style.
Relax ya big, old country bear
And crank that volume dial!

Paul didn’t notice, as he kept humming along to the catchy tune, that he was starting to change in the driver seat of the car. He’d always taken great care to make sure his appearance was professional–he knew that appearances mattered in business, and he wasn’t about to let a beard or a paunch get in the way of a promotion. Yet he slumped a bit in his seat now, adjusted the crotch of his pants as his cock picked up a few more inches, heaved a sigh, and his gut pushed out against his tight shirt, a couple of buttons popping as it grew. He scratched his face, unfazed by the beard growing out from his cheeks and chin, rapidly rowing longer than a foot–his meticulously styled hair growing greasy and long, hanging around his head in tangled locks with streaks of grey, the top shaved short–but not short enough to disguise his now receding hairline. Unaware of the changes, and curious about the album now that he’d gotten through the first song, he turned up the stereo and kept listening:

Wearin’ yer waders ‘n yer overalls
Smokin’ a ‘gar in yer rusty truck
Nothin’ but a dumbfuck redneck,
ain’t it just yer fuckin’ luck!

Ya Never wash yer clothes
‘N ya never take a shower
The worse ya stink the dumber ya think
But a real man ain’t a fuckin’ flower!

Paul guffawed at that line–because…because he was a real fucking man, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like those prissy bitches in the city. No–he didn’t want to live like that anymore–why worry about climbing the corporate ladder, when he could just work on the farm all day–simple shit, without having to worry about complex shit like accounts, or computers or whatever. He leaned forward and gave the ass of his overalls a scratch, digging into his crack a bit with a grunt around the cigar he was smoking, and then sat back with a sigh, hearing the old seat of his pickup groan under his weight, smelling the grungy musk welling up around him and making his cock stir Sure was his luck! No better fucking life than this one he had right now as a dirty fucking farmer bear, right? This was a great album–how in the world had he never heard of it before? He kept listening, humming along and singing when he got the choruses of the song’s down. As he was pulling onto the subdivision where he lived with Nate, the last track of the album came on, called “Hogfucker” and this one made his breath catch in his lungs:

Those curly tails and big wide rumps
get ya rarin’ fer a nasty fuck
Can’t help climbin’ in the filthy sty
just a plowin’ in the mud and muck!

Who’s a proud hogfucker?
Yer a proud hogfucker!

Manure and slop sure turn yer crank,
The oinkin’ snortin’ ‘n squealin’.
Ruttin’ away in the disgustin’ filth
Yeah! Ain’t no better fuckin’ feelin’!

Fuck, why in the hell was his cock so hard all of a sudden? He thought the song was metaphorical for a moment, but pretty soon…he was sure it was talking about pigs. Real fucking pigs, and how…how fucking sexy they were. Hell, why should he try and deny it anyway? It was true–he’d fucked a few pigs in his life–it was always better than fucking a dude or a bitch in his opinion.

“Who’s a proud hogfucker?” The song asked again.

“I’s a proud hogfucker!” Paul shouted back with a chorus of redneck voices on the track, hauling his cock free of his overalls and stroking himself roughly, thinking of the last time he’d been with a proper hog–too fucking long ago in his opinion. He needed to get back out on the farm, into the country, where he’d feel more at home anyway–but he…he had to do something here first. The song ended–too soon for Paul to finish his load–and the heavyset redneck got out of his truck with a grumble and tromped up the steps of his house, feeling out of breath and out of sorts, but he was sure he’d feel better once he was back on the farm, where he belonged.

Method Roleplay (Part 5)

He stumbled out of the bathroom, but felt a strange sense of vertigo–he was in a hall, but not…the hall he should be in. The walls were covered with paint that was chipped and peeling, the carpet covered in stains. There should be a doorway across from him, where the computer had been in Brett’s office, but there wasn’t a door–a bit further down the short hall was one, which led to…the bedroom he and daddy shared together.

No, this had been Brett’s apartment, they weren’t living together yet, right? He opened the door, and saw the messy room covered with clothes, and he could smell them both in there, their musk, their sex…fuck, it was so hot, how much it reeked. It got Evan worked up just like it did Brett, smelling the stale, stinking air. His dad’s cum was still dribbling down the crack of his ass, and he ran one hand up it, getting it good and coated, and started licking it off, grunting and moaning as he rubbed his little cock.

Why…had he come in here again? He’d been looking for a computer, right? But…they didn’t have a computer. They were too poor for that–Daddy just had his smartphone, and that was it–but hadn’t they listened to something together? There had been something, he was sure of it, but it was like the harder he tried to grasp it, the further away it got. He…he should talk to daddy about it. Daddy would remember it right? He had to! Daddy was so smart–he was just a dumbfuck little shithead boy–or at least, that’s what daddy said he was, and daddy was usually right about those sorts of things.

He turned around and walked back towards the main room of their apartment. He could hear the TV on, and smell…smoke. The smell concerned him–was something burning? He found his daddy where he expected him, on the couch, watching sports on TV, a can of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other, but this wasn’t right. This apartment wasn’t right. Brett should be changing back to his old self, but things only seemed to be getting even worse. After all, Evan hadn’t said anything about Brett being a smoker, and now he was sucking down cigar smoke? It was like reality was moving around them, and trapping them in the fantasy they’d created.

“Daddy? I…I know it’s hard, but I think we need to change back now?”

Brett looked over at Evan, a confused look on his face, and belched. “What the fuck are you talking about, boy?”

“Re-remember? We listened to that…thing together? That song, or…or somebody speaking? Maybe it was a book. You remember that right?”

“Boy, ya know yer old man’s memory is pretty shot. Ain’t too bright, ya know.”

“But do ya remember?”

“Boy…” Brett paused, “Boy, I remember a lotta shit, but ain’t none a it makin’ much sense right now. But I’m feelin’ a whole lot better, now that I got a cigar ‘n a couple a beers in my gut, and I’d feel a bit better with my boy next to me eating out my nasty pits, so git over here, sit down with yer daddy,” he said, patting the cushion beside him.

Evan didn’t want to disobey him and get another spanking, so he did as he was told. As soon as he was on the couch, Brett threw an arm around him and pulled him in tight, Evan’s face inches from his sweaty pit, and they reeked of sex. He gave a grunt without really meaning to, and felt a bit of his cares slip away.

“Yeah, that’s my sexy boy, ya make yer daddy real fuckin’ happy, ya know that?”

“No daddy, I’m…this ain’t how I’m supposed tah look–it ain’t how we’re supposed tah look. Ya do remember, I know ya do.”

“I was just bein’ thick boy.”

“No! I was lyin’ before! Ya were right! This ain’t right!”

“People can’t git younger, Evan. I ain’t ever gonna be a kid again–the world don’t work like that. How fuckin’ dumb are ya?”

“But daddy–”

“Boy, shut up–I wanna fuckin’ watch TV ‘n not care about shit until work tomorrow.”

“Ya can’t go tah work lookin’ like that! No one’ll recognize you.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Brett said, looking at Evan like he was crazy, “I been a mechanic there fer years.”

“Ya ain’t a…mechanic…” Evan muttered, but as he did, he saw his daddy’s clothes change in front of his eyes, becoming a set of grease covered coveralls, his hands coated black, and the scent of oil and metal mingled with the other odors of their apartment. “Daddy, ya gotta stop, or ya ain’t gonna be able tah git back if ya keep goin’!”

“Course not, boy–but I got ya with me, so I’m fuckin’ good.”

“No–No, I’m–this ain’t me daddy, I don’t care what ya wanna be, but this ain’t me,” Evan hauled himself off the couch, and started fishing around for clothes to put on. He had to get out of here–maybe get back to his apartment, where he could remember himself better, and change back. “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ live like this. It was just supposed tah be a game! I don’ wanna live like a fuckin’ nasty pig!”

“Boy, watch yer mouth, ‘n sit yer ass back down this instant.”

“I got a job daddy, I got a future, and a life. I ain’t givin’ that up fer some fucked up fantasy.”

“Please. You? Git a fuckin’ job?” Brett said, standing up, “Boy, yer thick as a fuckin’ brick, ‘n fat, ‘n lazy. They even fired ya from the fuckin’ garage, remember?”

“Daddy, I don’t…wanna remember that…” Evan said, but he could. He could remember how his daddy had gotten him work there after he’d dropped out of high school, but he’d just sat around eating and jacking off until their boss had fired him. And now…now he just…

“All yer fuckin’ good for boy, is sittin’ ‘round here, stuffin’ yer face, jackin’ off like a good pigson, and when I git home ya serve yer daddy like a good little porker should. Ain’t that right?”

“Nuh-uh, ain’t…nah daddy…” Evan said, but his words were slow, and even thicker than they had been. He could feel his body growing, his gut sagging and covering his cock completely, the smells of the room growing more intense. “Mean…I gotta…” and with that, his mind broke. He really was too stupid to figure this out–what the fuck had he been thinking? He knew better than that. He was…he was just his daddy’s pig–he was never gonna be more than that. “S-Sorry dad, I know I’s just a dumb pig ‘n stuff.”

“It’s alright boy,” Brett said, put his hand on Evan’s head, and pushed his 400 pound, idiot son to his knees. “Daddy’s got some nice beer piss fer ya, pigboy–‘n then how’s about we order pizza ‘n git ya fed nice ‘n full?”

Evan liked the sound of that a lot, and he gulped down daddy’s piss, grunting and snorting as he did, and by the time he’d been stuffed full, over two hours later, neither of them would have ever believed that the day before they’d been anyone other than the incestuous pigs they were now.

The Alpha’s Pet (Part 5)

Everything had been going so well.

“I want a fucking answer, you fucking piece of shit–what the fuck were you doing to my fucking jock that it fucking looks like this?” Daryn held up the shredded underwear so Jasper could see it–but he already knew what it looked like–the waistband broken and mostly gone, about half the pouch remaining, several chunks gone and the edges frayed. He’d been stupid to take it, but he’d been so hungry, and he’d done so well for two months–hadn’t he deserved a reward?

He really had done well–even Mr. Wadsworth had said so to him. He’d lost quite a bit of his weight from that first binge, and with a…meager diet every day–a cup of piss water, a few cum soaked pieces of tissue–he’d managed to keep the worst of the hunger at bay, and still keep his wits about him, but it hadn’t always been easy. He’d fallen off the wagon a couple of times–never as badly as that first taste, but enough to know that if he wasn’t careful–and if he didn’t keep Daryn completely in the dark–then things were bound to get much more complicated.

The jockstrap had been taunting him for days at this point, just lying on the floor by the trashcan in Daryn’s room. It smelled…so fucking good, so fucking delicious, and it wasn’t like Daryn was going to miss one of his many, many jockstraps, right? So he’d taken it back with him into his room one night, and started devouring it, unable to believe how good it tasted, and how horny it made him. He savored it, portioned it out–a bit of waistband tonight, a little patch of crusty pouch tomorrow–maybe he should have just disposed of the evidence in one go, maybe then he wouldn’t be here, in this mess, with Daryn looming over him, throat dry, not sure what sort of lie he might even manage to tell.

“You want to know what this fucking looks like?” Daryn asked, “It looks like something has been fucking eating my jockstrap–that’s what it looks like.”

It…maybe a mouse, or something?” Jasper replied.

“And why in the fuck did I find it in your room, hidden under your fucking pillow? This is my fucking jock–you don’t take my shit, you fucking pig.”

“I’m sorry, I just…I was hungry–” Fuck, did he just say that?

Daryn just stared down at him, and then sneered. Without saying a word, he shoved the jock into Jasper’s face, and unable to stop it–he’d never figured out how to stop it–he started drooling, knees shaking slightly, and Daryn mopped it up with the fabric. “I always wondered why you seemed to drool every time you looked at me, you know that? If you were so fucking hungry, all you had to do was ask nicely. So, let me hear you ask, fucker. What do you want?”

Jasper sealed his lips, unable to trust his words.

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want,” Daryn said, “I want you to be hungry, Jasper. I’f I’d known, I would have done a much better job feeding you.”

Jasper’s jaw dropped, and Daryn took the opportunity to push the half-eaten jockstrap into his mouth. “That’s a good little dump–go on and finish your meal, and then we’ll see what else I can feed you.”

It wasn’t hard, eating it. He’d already noticed that his teeth had changed in odd ways, becoming a bit serrated, better for tearing apart fabric and tissue, and his slobber made swallowing the thing down so easy. Daryn was so happy too–why had he been trying to keep this a secret from him for so long? Daryn was only too happy to feed Jasper a load of cum and piss next, and as soon as he’d tasted both of them fresh and from the source, Jasper knew he’d never be able to do without either ever again. June was still two months away, however–if he didn’t push back, then what would happen to him? To them both?

The next day, Daryn was distressed to see he’d wiped away a small chunk of the gains his prior temperance had earned him, and he went out, planning on telling Daryn he couldn’t do this anymore. That he was alright with being hungry, if it meant he could be himself again. Instead, he found himself on his knees, sucking down three loads from Daryn before his roommate had to leave for class. He sobbed on the kitchen floor, both because he was so full and satisfied than he’d ever thought possible, and also because he knew he’d likely lost his one chance at ever getting back into his previous life.

Still, his mind didn’t last long enough to really understand what he’d lost–with Daryn now making sure his dump was constantly fed, within a week Jasper had lost most of capacity for thought. He spent the day wandering the apartment on all fours, heavy gut dragging along the floor behind him, snorting and rooting around for anything his master might have left him to eat. After devouring the contents of his gym bag one afternoon–his cleats included–Daryn was forced to keep his pet kenneled up during the day, and he’d let him out when he got home each day, fed him load after load of cum and piss and the food scraps from dinner, before fucking the thing’s tight hole, and putting him back in his cage for the night. When June rolled around, neither of them could even remember the fact that Jasper had once been human–he was just a pet now, a dump really. Still, Daryn saved a lot of money on his five year lease–especially after Mr. Wadsworth corrected the mistaken “multiple tenant” fee and changed it to a pet fee instead. Yeah, Daryn figured they’d both be staying here for a long time–but Jasper was happy anywhere, as long as he always had a gut full of his master’s filth.

Buried Treasure (Part 3)

We got to the farm after driving for most of the day. It wasn’t the first time we’d been there by any means, but none of us had been there in quite a few years at this point. As we drove past along the road, I saw that the fields, which were usually neat and tidy, looked a bit weedy and overgrown, like no one had been paying them much mind for the last few weeks, or even longer. We turned down the road leading to the old farmhouse where Bill and Cody lived, and it looked like someone had spent a lot of time digging–there were holes and trenches everywhere in the fields, and they grew more numerous the closer we got to the house, where it looked like bombs had been dropped all over the yard. We all got out of the car together, and we could see someone digging dirt out of a hole–except it didn’t look like a person, from what I could see. Before we could get a better look, though, the front door of the house burst open and Cory ran out and headed straight for Mike, who looked to be torn between the terror I knew gripped him and his compulsion to love our cousin all the same. They embraced for a few minutes, kissing and grinding against one another, and then pulled apart. The ring was still on his finger–but now, there was a second one as well.

“Hey dad! Why don’t you get out of there and come say hello to your brother and nephews,” he shouted towards the person digging, and they stopped, shoved the shovel in the ground, and…and what came climbing out of the hole there only bore a passing resemblance to the Uncle Bill I remembered. No–this wasn’t a person, it was a fucking minotaur–eight feet tall standing upright, his entire body packed with muscle and covered with a rough hide and fur, looking at us with eyes that…I didn’t know what Cory had done to him. I didn’t understand how any of this was possible.

“I found another one Mike, just like I told you! I can fucking…see them, when I sleep. They’re in the ground here, and when I get them all, no one’s going to be able to stop me, Mike,” Cory said, and then kissed my brother for a moment, before pulling away. “Go inside–have a drink, and then get on the bed. You want me to fuck you, right? You always want my cock inside you. So go get ready, and I’ll be in right after I…show your dad and asshole brother their new assignments.”

“Cory–Cory, please…this isn’t…you,” Mike managed to say, but Cory just slapped him across the face.

“Shut up! Never speak to me like that again, you fucking know better. Now go get ready.”

Mike went inside quickly, nursing his cheek, and then Cory came over to me and my dad, Uncle Bill standing off a few paces away, unable to look us in the eye.

“My dad is a good digger–better now, after I found this one,” Cory said, pointing to the new ring I’d noticed, “But he needs help. You’re both going to be helping him out. Still–if you’re going to be little more than beasts of burden, you both might as well look the part, right?” The ring glowed, and the light shining from it enveloped us both. It…hurt. It hurt in ways I can’t even begin to describe, right down to my very core, like…like some key part of me was being ripped apart and put back together again in strange new ways. I blacked out at some point, and I awoke on the ground with a snort, Cory looming over me, grinning. “Yeah, who’s the fucking pig now, Darren?”

Looking down at myself, it was pretty clear that I was going to be the pig–boar really. He told me later that he’d rather have made me a nice soft hog, but he’d have to save that until after we’d finished working, until after…he was complete–whatever that means. My hands are human enough to handle a shovel, and…and the mud and dirt actually feel really nice on my hide, I admit it. My head’s slowed down again–even more than before–and this time it’s not because Cory is controlling me, it’s because my brain is just…dull. My dad though–fuck. He’s a fucking draft stallion now–or at least halfway to being one. Even taller than I am, though stupider, I think. He…hasn’t said a word to me or Bill since Cory changed him–I don’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to talk, or because he can’t. But for days now, all we’ve been doing, from dawn to dusk, is digging. Digging for Cory.

He’ll come out in the morning and point us to a new spot to focus on, and all three of us will attack it together. Sometimes Cory will supervise, bullwhip in hand, Mike a little ways off in the shade waiting to be used by Cory when he wants a fuck. We go hard all day, stopping only at noon for a brief lunch, and when it’s dark we stop. The three of us…we sleep in the barn. Of course, my dad and uncle…they can only sleep after a fuck, and Cory designated me as the hole…it still hurts, a lot, especially my dad’s horse cock, but even worse, I’m actually starting to…to enjoy it–their massive cocks in my ass. It’s making my piggy cock hard just thinking about it. But Mike snuck this stuff out to me, last night–a pen and paper. He can’t write–he’s too close to Cory–he’ll get caught. But me, I can still think…kind of. For the moment. Cory won’t look out here, I hope, and maybe we’ll figure out how to stop him–and whatever power is in those fucking rings of his…but he says he’s getting close to another one. He thinks we’ll find it tomorrow. God, I fucking hope not–I don’t want to know what this one will do next, but I have a feeling I’ll be finding out whether I want to or not.

It doesn’t sound like this should be the end of the story, but it is for now. I really like the direction of it, but I’m not sure where it goes! There might be a longer version someday.