Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 6)

“Well, what is it?” Alex asked.

Kevin gulped, and read the note aloud:

Here’s your next resolution:
— We resolve only have sex with dirty, unwashed, musky men. We will no longer be sexually interested in anyone cleaner than we are, and we resolve to become as dirty as possible.
Now don’t fret! We here at New You Resolutions know that resolutions only become possible with a bit of help. We’ve already taken to liberty of making a few modifications to your wardrobe and your apartment to make living with your new interests easier than ever. Why don’t you go into your bedroom and check things out?

Kevin dropped the note on the counter, his face white. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Alex pulled him into a hug, hoping to make him feel better, but Kevin…smelled something, and without really thinking about it, pushed his nose into his boyfriend’s armpit. It was a bit musky after their sex eariler, and Alex felt his cock twitch in excitement–not much, but enough that he pushed Alex away from him in surprise.

“What was that about?” Alex asked.

“Sorry, you…I…I don’t know, I…should we call the cops?”

“No, it’s just some dumb prank.”

“But what…what could be in the bedroom?”

“Probably nothing, come on, let’s just check together,” Alex said, and led the way into the bedroom.

Nothing appeared to be out of sorts, but when they stepped into the room, next to their shared dresser, they both caught of whiff of some stench that made their noses twitch. It should have disgusted them–they knew that–but something in them had changed. The musky smell was making them hard, and horny. Alex pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, looked inside, and saw that all of their clean socks and underwear were gone–replaced with filthy, cum and piss stained briefs, boxers, undershirts, and socks. He slammed the drawer shut again, and looked at Kevin with his eyes wide, and then saw the envelope on top of the dresser. He tore into it and read it:

Doesn’t that smell better than all of that clean underwear you had in there before? You should check out your closet too, see what else we left you, once you’re done reading these other resolutions for you two:
— We resolve to no longer wash our clothing. Out of the apartment, we will always wear the dirtiest underwear and socks we can find under our suits. Whenever anyone notices how we smell, we will feel pride in our musk, and also incredibly horny.
— We resolve that, when at home, we must be wearing at least three pieces of fetish gear. Outside, we must always have at least one piece on our bodies somewhere, even if it’s under our clothes.
— We resolve to shoot at least two loads of cum a day onto either our dirty underwear, our fetish gear, or our bed, in addition to the two times we have sex each day.
Why don’t you go look in the closet, get geared up, and then meet us in the bathroom?

Kevin went to the closet door and threw it open. Usually, all that was in there were their suits for work, and there were, thankfully, a few of them still there. Most of the space inside was now taken up by a sizable collection of fetish gear: rubber, leather, spandex, gloves, boots, hats, more than either of them had ever seen in their life, and all of it smelled about as dirty as the nasty underwear in the drawer.

“I’m not…wearing that shit, I’m not!” Kevin said, but neither of them could stop themselves. Kevin pulled on a yellow rubber tanktop, some spandex compression shorts that reeked of the gym, and some rubber waders. Alex grabbed a leather jockstrap, a leather biker jacket that stank of beer and cigarettes, and some leather gloves. Then, they went to the bathroom, where sure enough, the shower had disappeared entirely, and one last envelope waited for them.

You’ve probably noticed the changes to the bathroom at this point. Here’s your last two resolutions:
— We resolve to no longer shower or bathe in any way. The dirtier we become, the hornier and cruder we resolve to become as well.
— We resolve to no longer waste our piss in the toilet–from now on, the only place we will piss is in each other’s mouths, in our bed, or in our pants. Each of us resolve to only cum with the smell of piss around us, or with the taste of piss in our mouths.
Enjoy you two! We’ll check back in with you in a few months. All the best from your friends at New You Resolutions!

Kevin balled up the letter and chucked it in the corner of the room where the shower had been. “This is fucking insane, I can’t believe–” he started to say, when Kevin shoved his face against the yellow rubber tanktop he was wearing and sniffed it.

“Fuck, it…smells like someone pissed all over this thing, I…I gotta fuckin’ smell it…”

Kevin tried to push Alex off him, but the smell was getting to him too, in the enclosed space, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were fucking again for the second time that day. When they were finished, they just sat in their bedroom in their gear, unable to pry it off themselves, wondering how in the world they were going to get through the next few months.

Kevin rolled over, and groaned. One of them had pissed the bed in the night, from the heady scent of piss in the air, and the wet spot he’d just found when he’d rolled over. Alex was still asleep, so he wrapped one rubber gloved hand around his cock and jacked off quickly, adding a load of cum to the puddle of piss in the middle of the mattress.

It had been four months at this point. They’d tried to keep things normal for as long as they could, but the dirtier they’d gotten, the harder it had become to resist pushing things…further. More and more often, their lack of hygiene was noticed at their workplaces, and as humiliating as it was, neither of them could help the feeling of pride that welled up inside them knowing how filthy they both were becoming, and how much they enjoyed it. Kevin was the first to be let go, towards the end of February. He pissed himself in the middle of a presentation, and that was that. Alex had managed to hang onto his job a little longer, only because he could work from home. But working at home meant he was constantly tempted by Kevin into more and more sex, he fell more and more behind, and it wasn’t long before he was let go as well. The last month had been hopeless, both of them sinking deeper and deeper into filth and depravity, no longer even caring about who they’d been at the beginning of the year. They just…wanted to be dirty, more than anything else.

Alex woke up a few minutes later, with Kevin’s face buried in his crack, eating out his stank ass. Kevin fucked him, and Alex shot his own load into the mattress under him, and then they got out of their filthy bed to start the day–only to spot the envelope on the dresser.

It was time for the two dirty men to find a couple of occupations more suitable to their hygiene standards–what sort of jobs are in store for them?

Here’s the next poll! Kevin and Alex are going to be getting two different jobs–one is going to be the top result from the public poll, and the other will be the top result from the patron only poll. You get two votes! Be sure to use them both. The bonus poll for patrons is over here!

Patreon Bonus: Two Gear Sketches

I had two gear related suggestions from Patrons this month, which I’ve turned into a couple of sketches.

In the first, a strange science experiment gone awry has caused a young man’s skin to start tearing apart revealing something–or someone–else underneath. Skintight gear seems to keep the monster within at bay, but for how long?

In the second, a strange chain email offers to make a young man the perfect football jock. It turns out the email had a more…permanent idea in mind, as the man finds his very flesh being corrupted and twisted into football gear he’ll never be able to take off again.

If you’re a $5 patron or more, you already have access! If you’d like to see these, and other sketches, stories, and stuff I’ve posted to Patreon, there’s never a better time to support me! You can find out more information here.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 2)

The imp was laughing–cackling more like–the entire way down the hall, as Ken raced to keep up. For as small as the little monster was, he sure could run fast! Hurtled around a corner, and ran flatout into something solid. He bounced back and ended up on his ass, staring up at what he thought would be a wall–but in fact was a massive, hulking man.

He was clad head to toe in a leather uniform, reflecting dimly the red light of the hallway. He had to be several inches over six foot, and while his eyes were shrouded in shadow, he grinned at Ken, his teeth…far, far too sharp for a normal man.

“Well hello there little one, what are you doing, running around in my hallways?” the man said. His voice was deep, but didn’t seem to be coming from the man’s mouth. He was still just…smiling, the teeth seeming to grow ever sharper. He could hear the voice coming from all around him, and when he looked around, he saw that they were not alone in the hall–in fact, there were another five men surrounding him there on the floor, all of them masked, so it was impossible to see much of their faces, especially in the dark.

“I…I was chasing…a little imp guy, he took my tag.”

The men around him all laughed at that. “Oh no, the little one lost his tag–and so soon! What do you think men, should we show the little one a good time tonight? Show him what happens when little ones lose their little tags?”

Before Ken could do anything, the men swarmed him, grabbing hold of his limbs as he tried to fight them off, and they hauled him off, away from where the imp had gone down a darker, downward sloping path that emptied out into a large sex dungeon. The men tore off his costume, including his mask, and then raped him, one after another, passing him around, filling him at both ends, coating him in their cum. Ken shouted and screamed for help the entire time, but no one came–and all the while, the hulking, leather clad figure just loomed over them all, watching, that sharp toothed grin never leaving his face, his eyes never emerging from the shadow of the brim of his cap. And the more that happened to him…the more Ken found himself enjoying it.

Soon, he was begging the men to fuck him, crawling across the cold stone floor to get to their drooling cocks, swallowing thier piss, his rational mind feeling like it was getting smaller and smaller, almost like it was being eaten away at. He looked over at the leader, at the Master of the Halls–as he…somehow knew he was called, and saw him lick his lips. It…was being eaten, wasn’t it? He could feel it, somehow, feel him crawling around inside his mind, warping him further and further towards depravity. He didn’t even know how to resist it–at last, with a cock in his ass, one one in his throat, Ken came, an explosive load adding to all of the cum and sweat and piss all over his body, and the men finally retreated away from him.

Ken was left as a quivering, sweating, sobbing mess. His mind…felt like it had been torn to pieces, he could barely manage to string words together at first, but finally managed to force something like a sentence out. “What…the fuck did do to me?” he said, looking up at him, “Why…why am I still so…so fucking horny…” he moaned, one hand reaching around to his well fucked ass, sliding three fingers in effortlessly, moaning as the men around him laughed. That was when the Master of the Halls stepped forward, putting one leather boot on Ken’s chest, and forcing him to the ground. “Men–it looks as though you have torn up this man’s costume! I know that we’re done with him, but we can’t allow him to roam the halls without one, right? It is Halloween after all.”

The men, laughing harder now, all ran to the walls of the room, and returned with arm loads of gear, fighting amongst themselves over who would get to dress Ken in his new costume. Finally, after a little deliberation, and a couple punches, it was settled, and the men forced the squirming, resistant Ken into his new clothing. As they were, he looked over, and saw the imp crouched in the doorway, watching him with glee, his clothes check tag hanging off the imp’s arm. He tried to crawl towards him, but the men dragged him back, still gearing him up. The imp laughed, and then took off again down the hall, back into the maze–and as the gear piled on, Ken wondered if he’d even have the will left to chase him down again.

Alright, what sort of gear does Ken end up in? Some of these below might be dead ends! You’ll never know until you pick them. Again, if we hit an ending, we’ll go back to one of the earlier branches, and carry on from there instead. The bonus patreon poll is over here too!

Caption: Growing Rubber

Patreon supporters can find the second half of this caption story over on discord!

Just a jockstrap, at first. You’d always been interested in rubber, but the gear was expensive…and it was also a bit daunting, trying to know where to start. So you found a retailer online, and ordered one on a whim. It arrived a week later, and you tried it on–and immediately jacked off. It was the most sensual thing you have ever worn, and even after you came…you didn’t really want to take it off…so you didn’t.

You wore it all weekend, jacking off more than you could even remember, and come Monday, when it was time for work, you still couldn’t bring yourself to take it off–so you didn’t. Besides, who would even know? You put on your usual office attire and went to work like normal. You jacked off in the bathroom a few times, but beyond that, it was like everything was exactly the same. It never even occurred to you to try taking the rubber jock off again, because why would you want to?

You woke up that Saturday, however, and something was different. Now…it wasn’t just the jock you had on that was rubber. You usually slept naked–and this week, with just the jock, but when you woke up this time, you also had on a black rubber tank. You had no idea where it had come from, and you were so unnerved, you almost too it off…but you didn’t.

It felt so good, after all, as you rubbed your rubber stomach. You came, knew you should take everything off…but you didn’t, did you? You kept it on all weekend, and come Monday, again, you wore your rubber under your regular shirt and slacks to the office. Again, no one could notice, and you…liked it. More than you ever thought you would, and you start thinking about more, and when Friday night rolled around…you were wondering.

Sure enough, you woke up on Saturday, and there was more. The tank was now a full rubber shirt. The jock had become shorts, with an open ass–and something else. A plug. Small, easy to remove when you needed to, but having something in your ass felt so damn good…why would you stop? So…you didn’t.

But now…this was too much, right? Surely you needed to take it off now?

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 9)

Apologies for the sudden ending on this one. It was either cut it off here, or continue the thing for an entire month. Hopefully I’ll expand it into a proper something at some point!

I didn’t expect him to get up for a couple of days, mind you. Bruce had been through something rather extreme, and I was rather forgiving, so long as I had easy access to his holes to pleasure himself. I woke up that afternoon raring with energy, and I headed right for the gym…where I found a rather sordid affair had developed around the bench where I’d had my way with Bruce the night before. The manager had cleaned up the cum well enough, but the scent had lingered, and any man who wandered too close had been caught in the scent. There were five or six of them clustered around there, jacking off, sucking off, fucking…and as soon as I stepped inside, their heads swiveled toward me, and I joined them for a few minutes, before getting started on my own workout.

Like I said, I had never worked out in my life before this–I’d been a bit tubby, in fact–but this new body of mine, it seemed to have absorbed more than just Bruce’s energy, but quite a bit of his body’s experience as well. Lifting…fuck, feeling this muscular frame lift and move and force and sweat–it got me so horny that I’d have to pull the nearest man over and fuck them every few minutes, the all of them swimming in my scent, enamored with me, hungry for me and only me. I…I spent most of the weekend there. It was such a rush! The men all serving me, eagerly, and when I returned to the office the next week, I called a meeting for all of them men in the office, and within minutes, I had convinced them all how necessary it was to serve me as well.

Home, gym, work–those were the places I existed. Warping men, intensifying my stink, growing my harems. It really was a shame about Bruce–he never could manage to get out of bed, after everything I’d taken from him. I’d been rather hopeful that he could be my muscular brute fucktoy–but instead, he became another pig for Jack to care for and fuck while I was away. Adam was developing nicely, and within a few weeks he’d managed to pack on half the weight he needed to service me again. He was…so close to his goal, when he caught up to me. Now…well, now all of that was gone.

It was my boxers, which had been my mistake. I’d left them stashed in the alley, and when he’d come back for his underwear, he’d found them, and tracked me down. It had been difficult, since I’d covered myself up in so much else, but for a proper stinker, no scent is too faint to track. I’d come home from work and found him waiting for me, and as soon as I caught a whiff of him…fuck. The real fucking thing. I’d just been toying around at the edges, I wasn’t a real stinker. He had me naked in less than a minute, pulled on his underwear–the underwear I’d tried to claim as my own, and forced me to suck out all of the mess I’d made in it over the last few weeks. I…I don’t know how I did it, but I did. When I’d finished, and scent of myself was gone from them–they were his again.

I’d hoped he’d just leave me, but he had something else in store, I discovered. He dragged me out of my apartment, and told me to say goodbye to my men–I wouldn’t be seeing them again. He hauled me down into the basement and shoved me into the trunk of a car and drove off. We made one stop, somewhere, a few minutes, and then we kept going until we pulled in somewhere else, and he hauled me out of the trunk, and into a tiny little studio apartment…and he got me dressed.

A dark brown jockstrap. Camo pants. Grungy wifebeater, a filthy, holey t-shirt three or four sizes too large, a flannel, and a coat over that. Work gloves on my hands. Socks and boots on my feet–big enough to fit my larger size, surprisingly. Lastly, a hard hat…and then…and then he started to jack off. I’d never seen a man pump out as much cum as he did, but he came, and he coated me in his cum–and I mean he coated me in it. It dried quickly, soaking into the clothes he’d forced onto me, and then…and then he’d just left, and now…now nothing will come off.

Something about his cum, it’s stuck every zipper, it’s adhered the cloth to my skin. I can’t even haul off the gloves, forcing me to grope the front of my new pants until I cum in the front of them. Now, though, there’s the voices. I can…I can hear the men in the clothes, their lives, their minds, their desires, warped and twisted by the stinker. They’re getting so loud now, I can barely hear myself…and I think that’s the point.

He told me that for him, the clothes can make the man, and he’s remaking me. He padlocked the door shut, and told me he’d be back when I was finished. I…I don’t remember my own name now. I could a few hours ago, I’d almost forgotten it and had been reminding myself, but it had slipped. It had slipped, and the rest of me is slipping away too. I’m…I’m telling myself the story. I’m telling myself what I did, to try and remind me, but I…I don’t know if I can again. Instead, I smell construction sites, and grungy bathroom gloryholes, and piss and cum on my stubbly lips. I’ve grown a gut, and I think…I think I’m shorter too. Not too much longer, and I’ll be gone.

The one thing of mine that I can still hear clearly, though was this, the last thing he told me: “Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 8)

The gym closed at ten, but a little chat with the manager, and he agreed that Bruce needed to continue his workout, so he left the key with me, and I promised to return it to him in the morning. Bruce, on the other hand, was inconsolable. When he realized he was going to have to keep working out all night long, until I was satisfied with the state of his shirt, he pleaded and begged me to let him go, to let him rest, to let him stop for a moment. He was having a hard time walking, his legs were shaking so badly, and I realized that I had worked him nearly to the point of exhaustion. Still, the shirt…it was close. It wa stronger than it had been when I’d first smelled him, in fact, but at this point my greed was getting the better of me. In the end, I told him he could have an hour nap in the sauna, sweating out some of his misery, and then it was back on the floor to keep at it.

He could barely lift anything, at this point, and so I put him on an exercise bike for a couple of hours, sweating him out a bit further, keeping him plenty hydrated, and when he tried one too many times to get a break by telling me he had to piss, I started just making him piss his shorts on the bike–and let me tell you, when I caught a whiff of that, mixing with his sweat? I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold out for much longer. It was three in the morning when I decided he could finally stop, and that I was satisfied. He tore that tanktop off and handed it to me with a sob of relief that he could finally stop, and I pressed it to my nose, inhaling his stench, ripped off my own shirt and pulled his on, feeling his damp sweat against my skin, and it was like all of the energy he’d put into it began to flood into my body. I was tired too, at this point, but like a strong cup of coffee, suddenly I was awake. I was more than awake, I was eager. He could barely move, but I didn’t need him to move–I just needed to bend him over the bench, tear down his piss sodden shorts, and slide my cock into his tight, virgin hole.

He couldn’t even flinch from the pain–if anything, the cramps in his legs were probably more painful than my fuck was. He’d wanted me to fuck him, after all. He’d been begging me for it for hours–because he knew that when I fucked him, it would be over. He wouldn’t have to workout anymore. However, I was far from done–the longer I wore that tank, the hornier I got, and the stronger I got, and the longer I could go. I remember glancing over at the mirror, and I could see my body swelling with muscle right in front of my eyes–I took a quick break from my fuck to haul off Bruce’s shorts too, and pull them on, shuddering at the piss wet mesh, but I could feel my ass begin to tone up, my thighs and calves too.

When the manager knocked on the door the next morning, wanting to be let in, I was still fucking. Bruce had gone slack hours before, his cock shooting the occasional load–dry by now–just from the friction of rubbing against the leather bench. I had packed on close to forty pounds of muscle–I was even larger than Bruce had been when I’d put on the tank. I made the manager wait a few minutes until I’d shot another load–I’d long since lost count–and when I pulled out, the…sheer volume of cum which flowed back out of his ass, pooling on the floor under the bench…fuck, I realized just how much control I’d lost. I went to the door, opened it…and as soon as the manager smelled the stale air of the gym, his eyes glazed over, he gave a snort, and he started groping the front of his shorts, horny beyond belief, his rational mind slowly shutting down.

I dragged him over to the bench, where he was more than happy to start licking up the puddle of cum from the floor, and I hauled Bruce upright on shaking legs, but he could barely stand. He just wanted to go home, but I still wanted to fuck–still, I couldn’t very well keep fucking him here, right? Even with my musk, I was sure that would get a call from the police at the very least, and I had no real interest in dealing with that. I…I was afraid that if I dealt with that how I knew I could deal with it…then this power really would go to my head. Instead, I got Bruce dressed in some spare clothes the manager had lying around, and then helped him home. Home to my apartment, of course. I knew, from Jack, that he’d just track me down if I left him. He needed me now, and I sure as hell wanted him. Best to just…simplify things. My home would be his home from now on.

It was hard going, down the dawn lit sidewalks. Not to conspicuous, I think–most people probably thought I was just helping my drunk friend home, though why we were dressed in gym gear, especially in weather this cold, was probably a bit of a mystery. The excitement and rush of the clothes was beginning to wear off, and I was starting to realize just how exhausted I was myself. Upstairs in my apartment, I heaved Bruce onto the bed, gave him one last fuck, and then dragged him under my smelly covers and climbed in with him–him naked, me fully clothed in all of my gear, boots and all, hugging him tight,m whispering sweet nothing into his ear while he groaned, telling him how happy he was going to be here, telling him what a privilege it would be for him to serve me and thanking him, of course, for my new gear.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 7)

It was a few days later that I caught a whiff, again, of the man from the gym.

Just a whiff as I was heading into my building that afternoon, but it was gone before I could trace it and run him down–still, I recalled how he had captured my interest, much the same way Jack’s feet had before…and I told Adam I would be taking the rest of the week off from work. He didn’t object–he just kept eating, not that Jack was going to give him much of a break. I’d told Adam that when he’d gained fifty pounds, he’d have the privilege of cleaning one of my feet again, and that was more than enough to inspire him to greatness–that, and Jack was proving to be quite an excellent taskmaster.

Thankfully I remembered the name of the gym from when I’d stalked him before–Planet Workout. I had no way of knowing if that was the gym where he actually attended, or if he just had one of their old gymbags, but it was the only lead I had, apart from scouring the city for him up and down. So that day, I walked over to the gym, housed in a rather rundown looking warehouse, and stepped inside…and holy fuck, the smell of the place.

The city smells. As my nose had become more sensitive, I had found that I everything had become more intense–especially the smell of men–but there was so much out on the streets I just…tuned it all out, because it was simply too much to process. But stepping into that gym…it was the first place I’d entered where the scent of man was just…so concentrated. It was everywhere, and it hit me like a brick, my cock spewing a load right there in the entryway–it was all I could do to keep myself contained and not start jacking off right then and there. Even better, I could smell him on the air–not strong enough to tell me he was there right now, but plenty to confirm for me that this was most certainly where he got his workouts.

The woman at the desk looked like her stomach was going to turn as I approached, and she left before I could ask about membership. I had to hunt down a guy on the floor, and he was more than happy to sign me up for the gym, even if it meant cutting the session short with the member he was working with. With my membership card in hand, I went back to my apartment, threw on some reasonably appropriate clothes to work out in, and went back to the gym. I had never worked out in my life, but I haunted that gym for hours, filling the place with my musk as I sweated and stank all over the place, and by that evening, all of the women had left, leaving a smaller collection of men wondering why there were all so horny all of a sudden. As tempting as some of them were, I was waiting for him, my muscle man. The rest…I’d sample them later.

I arrived early the next morning as well, determined to wait. From the smell of him he was here often–there were only a few smells of men there more prevalent than his, and sure enough, around two in the afternoon, he walked through the door, and I whirled toward him…and scowled. He wasn’t wearing it. He wasn’t fucking wearing it! He was there, his smell was there, but the beautiful musk of that fucking tanktop he’d been wearing was nowhere to be found. I went over to see what he had on instead, and my heart dropped–in fact…he was wearing it. I realized then, that since I’d seen him, he must have fucking washed it.

I can’t tell you how fucking angry I was, when I realized that. I had already taken ownership of that shirt in my mind, it had been mine ever since I’d first caught wind of it. The idea that he’d taken that perfect musk and washed it out…it was the closest I’d ever felt to true grief. I could barely function–I just sat around the gym, staring at him, wondering what I could do to him, but nothing seemed to match the travesty he’d committed, no punishment would suffice. Still, as he worked out, as he sweated into the shirt, I…I could smell it a bit better. Faint, but it was there all the same. Different too…but given enough time, and the right sort of encouragement, I had no doubt that he’d be able to produce something equally pleasing, even if it wasn’t quite the same. In fact, I bet that I could make something even better.

He finished up his workout, or at least he thought he did. He was heading for the door, when I intercepted him, struck up a bit of a conversation with him, and directed him into the locker room instead, and directly into the sauna with me. Let me tell you–I stink, but put me in a hundred degree room with a ton of humidity, and there’s nothing fucking like it. I did bother to learn his name, finally–Bruce–and after an hour of him worshiping my body, of keeping his rock hard cock right at the edge of orgasm, he was willing to do just about anything to get a taste of my grungy crotch, but I kept him back. When I was certain he was well in control, we went back out onto the floor of the gym, and he went back to working out–and he didn’t stop. I was nice enough to run out and get him some dinner, which he devoured, arms shaking, barely able to lift anything–so I had to feed him the entire pizza I’d bought–but then I ordered him back onto the machines. All the while, I could smell him, the shirt, intensifying–soon, it would be ready. Soon, it would be mine.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 6)

As it turned out, I needed him pretty much every morning before I left for work, and every night after I got home. Usually we would fuck in the alley–I liked smelling the trash around us, melding with our own musk as he served me, but on occasion, when I was particularly horny, I would have him come up to my apartment with me, where he’d have the privilege of sharing my bed, provided I could fuck him all night long. He never seemed to mind, of course.

I…I knew my life was unravelling, and yet, at the same time, everything seemed to be going so…so well. I was just so happy, all the time. Enjoying myself. Even as everything around me slipped–my hygiene in particular–no one at work seemed to notice, or if they did notice, no one wanted to say anything…I couldn’t really tell which it was. I mean, I looked…fucking awful. I hadn’t done laundry in weeks, I was wearing the same two or three suits for days in a row and I fucking loved it. I loved how they smelled on me. I’d stopped shaving and cutting my hair, I was still wearing my massive boots everywhere around the office. I did almost no work on any given day, and spent most of it just masturbating, usually openly in my cubicle. My co-workers would come by, though they were obviously trying to avoid me, and I was even caught a couple of times. The look in their eyes at the sight of me stroking off into these filthy briefs–I could see their disgust, but with quite a few of them, I could see a…hunger too.

I could smell it even, I could smell…so much, suddenly. I could smell things that ought to be impossible. I could smell weakness. I could smell what my co-workers would moan like, with their mouth around one of my filthy socks. I…I could sense, somehow, that I was meant to dominate them, they were meant to serve me. I found myself feeling particularly resentful towards Adam, my manager. He smelled so weak, so lowly, and yet he was supposed to have control and power over me? I knew guys were going to him, telling him what they were seeing, complaining about me, but he was refusing to do anything about it. He was afraid of me–he was afraid, because he wanted me, but he didn’t know how to feel about that. So, I decided I’d better go over to his office and tell him how he should feel about it.

He was resistant, but once I’d gotten my boots off, and thrown my socked feet up on his desk, a couple of feet from his face, he wasn’t able to stop himself from lurching over it and shoving his nose up against them, snorting and huffing my stink, and a few minutes later I had him on his knees between my legs, grinding my nasty underwear into his face, and making sure he properly understood who, exactly, was really in charge around here. From that day on, I made sure Adam came to visit me regularly throughout the day to pay proper tribute…but it wasn’t enough for me, honestly, to only own his ass for eight hours. I kept thinking of my derelict–of Jack, I should say, since I did, finally learn his name. I thought of how…eager he was to be with me, how he’d walked across the city to find me, how he never complained about the cold as he waited for me. But I could see in Adam’s eyes that he was only pushing through me, not toward me. He would get home, to his wife, to his children. He would pretend none of this was happening. He would pretend he didn’t want me as much as he did.

So I brought him home with me that weekend. He tried to object, he tried to tell me that he couldn’t, that if he didn’t go home, his wife would have questions. So, I made him call her. I made him call her and tell her exactly what he had been doing for me at the office. I listened to her disbelief turn into rage. He told her she could have the house, that they could handle the divorce eventually, and then, I took him home and I introduced him to Jack. You should have seen Adam’s face, when I told him to wait for a moment at the door, so I could fetch the old derelict from the alley, all of us riding up together in the elevator, and the stink of us both…Adam could barely contain himself. He thought he’d be servicing me all weekend, but no–no, I had him service Jack. Obey him. Worship him. Warping his mind until the old, grungy fucker was the only man he wanted in the world–aside from me, of course. But I felt he no longer deserved me. That he would have to prove his commitment before he’d be allowed to lick my feet clean again. On Sunday afternoon, while the two of them were occupied, Adam’s face buried in Jack’s asscrack, snorting and grunting like the pig he was going to be, I went down and had a chat with the building manager. Sure enough, he had a few vacant units in the building, and he was more than happy to let Adam sign a new, year long lease for the empty unit on my floor, and the two of them moved in together that evening–and I made sure Jack had very clear instructions for the sort of care and attention he should expect from his pig–and clear instructions for how his pig should be cared for as well.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 5)

Sunday I didn’t dare leave the house. Sunday…hell, I probably couldn’t have left the house even if I’d wanted to. I woke up that morning in bed, wearing the filthy underwear as usual, but also found I’d managed to climb in with the derelicts socks and boots still on my feet, crusted with all manner of filth, but it didn’t bother me one bit. I…I wanted to smell them some more, but I also…I also didn’t want to take them off, in the same way that I didn’t want to take off the underwear I had on as well, though with the boots, the urge was less strong. As I went about my day, however, I did notice something strange–that as I would take my occasional break from masturbating to go to the kitchen for something to eat, I would notice that the boots which had been much too large on my feet–so large simply walking home in them the night before had been a challenge…they weren’t nearly as uncomfortable as I remembered.

By the time that evening rolled around, I was no longer sure if I didn’t want to take off the boots because I enjoyed wearing them, or if I didn’t want to take them off because I was afraid of what I might find within them. They were, at this point…the most comfortable shoe I’d ever had on, but I…I needed to know, really. I already knew what I was going to find, of course, but I just…I pulled off both boots, looking down at the browned, holey socks, and I could tell right away that something had changed about my feet. They were…huge. No wonder the boots fit so well, my feet had swollen up to match them! Had I caught some strange disease? Did I need to go to the hospital? I hauled off the socks, expecting some red, horrific infection, but instead saw two…normalish feet. I qualify that, because they were…well, monstrous in size, but otherwise completely normal…aside from the smell.

At first, I couldn’t tell if the stink was coming from the socks and boots, or if it really was coming from my newly changed feet–I had to cross the room, the feel of the carpet under my new feet…it felt wrong, and I wanted to get the boots back on as soon as I could, but I forced myself to get away from them for a moment, crouched down, and took a whiff of my feet alone, and moaned. It…it was both of them, of course. But my feet didn’t smell like my feet anymore–they smelled like the boots, but stronger than them too. Like my feet had somehow…somehow learned from the smell of the boots, like the smell had changed them in the same way that my now nine inch cock seemed to be learning and changing from the underwear I was still wearing. All of it was too much to try and understand, so I did what seemed easiest–I jacked off, and then put the socks and boots back on, feeling much, much more comfortable immediately. They…they were mine, after all. I’d taken them, and they were mine. No–he’d given them to me. He’d wanted my cock, and he’d given me his boots. A fair trade. Finders keepers.

It was harder to tell myself that when I left for work the next day, and as I left my apartment building, driving past an alley, I saw him lying against the side, in an alley. The derelict. The panic and guilt in my throat almost made me throw up in the car, but I tamped it down, and kept driving. Had he followed me home somehow? I hadn’t…seen him following me, and I know I had checked behind me a few times. Still, if someone had stolen my only pair of boots…I’d probably want them back too.

But I hadn’t stolen them. He’d given them to me! They were mine now, they fit, they were mine!

The sheer…force of those thoughts surprised me. The sense of ownership I had for these things I was wearing…I jacked off into both boots that day at work–because…because I had to wear them to work. It didn’t look very good–a nice suit on with two massive, grungy, well worn boot on my feet, but I hadn’t even considered wearing something else…not that any of my other shoes would have even fit me, given the new feet I had after the weekend. Still, I couldn’t focus–what in the hell was he doing there? Was he going to call the police? Accuse me of rape? I…I had to confront him. I had to get him to leave.

Passed by the same alley as I went home, and sure enough, he was still there, and…still barefoot. I did feel awful about that, I admit it. I went down later that evening to confront him, to tell him to leave, but the encounter didn’t go how I was expecting it to go. As soon as he smelled me, he turned to me, and he…fuck, I could see the hunger in his fucking eyes, and he raced over, shoving his face into my crotch, huffing at my stink.

“Fuck I…I needed more sir, I’m sorry,” he moaned, “I could smell you across the city, I…with your shoe, I’m sorry for following but I had to, I had to…I…”

He didn’t get anything else out before I dragged him away from the sidewalk, behind a dumpster halfway down the alley, and fed him my cock. The way he shuddered and groaned–it was like watching an addict get their fix, and rather than horror, what I felt was…was power. I had power over him, just because of my stink. I started to wonder what I could make him do. I ordered him to take off one of my boots, and suck the sweat from my sock–he did as ordered, and the pleasure that washed over him, and the massive load of cum he shot from his cock, was enough for me to shoot as well, blowing a load of cum into his face and beard. I stepped away, got my boot back on, and it was clear that he wanted to follow me, but I told him to stay here…where I’d be able to find him whenever I needed him.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 4)

It took half an hour of scouring several blocks before I found the source of the stink which had caught my nose, and when I did find it…I didn’t want what I’d found…to be the thing I was searching for. It hadn’t been easy–he had stuffed himself between two metal dumpsters, but whether that was for warmth in the chilly evening, or so fewer people were likely to find him, I never knew. Like most everyone else in the city, we never…observed the homeless. They were always there, always around us, always a problem with no real solution. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really…I mean…

He stank. That’s all I knew. He stank, or part of him stank…somehow I could tell the difference. That it wasn’t him, it was something…on him. He was asleep, or drunk enough to seem to be asleep, and so…and so I got down over him, trying not to touch him, and I started smelling around until I worked my way closer to his feet, nauseous about what I was doing, realizing I had one hand down the front of my sweats massaging my thick cock through my grungy underwear. He had on some old, well worn boots…and fuck, they reeked. They reeked…not like the underwear had reeked. They…they were something else entirely, but smelling those boots, and I realized, the socks he had on as well, I recalled that gymrat I’d stalked for several blocks earlier in the week. They hadn’t smelled anything alike–he had been sweat and acrid energy, these boots and socks were piss and aged exhaustion. But I wanted these boots just like I’d wanted that man–or, I realized now, the…shirt the man had been wearing. I was torn…I couldn’t…just take them right? But at the same time, I…I needed them.

I got down, as quietly as I could, and I started undoing the laces on the boots. I got them both undone…and I realized there was no way I was going to be able to do this without him waking up, so I might as well just…just try to do it as quickly as I could, and hope he was as drunk as he smelled. I tugged off one shoe, and he stirred–I was about to grab the other one, when he lashed out with a kick, connected with my chin and sent me falling back onto the pavement behind me, blood in my mouth from where I’d bit my tongue.

“What the fuck ya fuckin’ cunt!” I think he said, something like that. I…had one of his boots in my hand, and he lunged for it, trying to get it back, landing on me, clawing at my face. I just…I just reacted, grabbed his head, and shoved it down to my crotch, getting his face in a leg lock, his nose pressed to my stinking crotch, and I hear him gag immediately. He’s calling me all sorts of shit, telling me what a fucking pervert I must be, trying to bite me, but…but I can feel him start to give, slowly. Hear the gags become moans, his grip on me slackening slightly, and when I pull down my sweats, he can’t stop himself–he shoves his face right into the nasty briefs and starts…snorting like a fucking pig, and I’m so turned on by the sound I nearly fill the front of my briefs with a load right then and there. Still, I shove his face away–he tried to lunge back to keep sniffing, but I grab him by his greasy hair and haul him away.

“You’re giving me those boots and socks, fucker, and then you can have my stinking cock.”

It didn’t…sound like me, or something I would say, but none of this was something I would ever do in my entire life. He tried to protest, but he gave in–hauled off his other boot and both socks, and then I allowed him to get back to licking and snorting at my underwear, while I grabbed a boot, shoved a sock in it, pressed it to my face and started huffing the man’s footstink.

It…fuck, it was exactly what I’d wanted. It was heaven. I was so close to shooting, I hauled down the front of the briefs and shoved my cock into the derelict’s mouth just in time to fill it to bursting with a massive load–the first one in nearly a week that I hadn’t shot directly into my underwear. The guy gulped it all down, and then buried his nose back into my crotch, snorting and grunting as he he stroked his own cock off, and I let him finish in a minute or so, spilling the seed all over the front of my sweats and shirt, but I didn’t fucking care. I didn’t fucking care.

I was lying in an alley, with some strange derelict, and I didn’t fucking care. I took another whiff of the fucker’s boots, and I cared even less–the only thing I fucking cared about, was getting the things on my own feet as fast as possible. I shucked off my own shoes, pulled on the crusty, damp socks, shuddering with pleasure at the feel of them, and then tugged on the boots as well…only to discover they were massive. My feet aren’t large–a size ten, and while I couldn’t make out the tag on the old tongues, these have to be at least a size 18 or 20, and four or five E in width. I laced them as tight as I could just to keep them on, and the guy just stared at me, horrified by what he’d done, barefoot in the cold, but I didn’t feel bad at all. He picked up my old shoes, held them to his feet, but they were obviously much too small. I…I couldn’t really handle it obviously, watching his face. I knew I should feel worse than I did…but I took off and headed home to my apartment where I locked myself in, tugged off a shoe and a sock, and started jacking off to the stink, caring less and less with each load shot into the nasty underwear I was, more and more, considering to be mine.