Caption: Brownnoser Brother

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I couldn’t believe the fucking nerve of my fucking brother, texting me out of the blue like that. I should back up a bit, I guess. He was always the black sheep of the family, four years older than I was, and he’d always hated me. Resented me is a better word I guess. Even in my earliest memories, he was always a bully, picking on me, setting me up to take the fall for shit I didn’t do, but our parents always sided with me, which probably only served to piss him off even more. When he was a teenager, shit went even more sideways–he started drinking a lot, falling in with some guys at school that were real pieces of work, probably got involved in some drug shit though I never saw any proof. He dropped out–well, he was expelled–my parents kicked him to the curb when he was 17, and that was that for a while. My dad always had a soft spot for him and kept in touch, hoping he would turn things around, but nothing ever worked, and I mostly pushed him out of mind as I went off to college. The last time I saw him, a year ago, was for my grandmother’s funeral–he looked like garbage, stank to high heaven, couldn’t even be bothered to dress up. He came because he needed money, and thought he was getting some! Even that was enough to turn my dad against him too, and that was the last I heard from him, until I got the text today, asking me for money!

He wanted 200 dollars. I told him to fuck off. Before I could block his number though, he sent me a nasty fucking insult, calling me a “faggot brownnoser,” with a little tongue emoji to go with it. It was enough to set me off really, but what could I do? I got dressed and headed into work–I’d gotten a summer internship at a local tech firm that was going really well, and I couldn’t let my brother fuck that up for me.

Still, I felt…weird all morning. Angry, sure, but like something else was off, something I couldn’t really explain. I got an email from my boss before lunch, asking me to come by so we could discuss some details of my project, and I went to his office…and that was where it happened.

My boss didn’t even wait for me to get into the office before he stood up, dropped his pants and underwear, and bent over the side of his desk. “Well come on then, you faggot brownnoser,” he said, “Get to fucking work.”

I wanted to tell him to eat shit, go right to HR and report his ass…but instead, something took hold of me, and I got down and started eating out his hole, right there in his office, my cock hard as a rock, while he kept berating me, telling me what a worthless fuck I was, that the only reason he kept me around at all, was because I loved eating out dirty holes like his. I was horrified, but I couldn’t stop–and he made me sniff his underwear, tell him how much I loved the smell of the brown streak in the back of his briefs, all the while stroking my own cock.

He turned around and shot his load across my face, and I came in my pants–then he kicked me out of his office, telling me he wanted me back after he’d had his afternoon shit, and I fled. I was so fucking humiliated, I didn’t know what to do–but I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back there. I packed my bag and left the building–horrified at myself, the words still ringing in my mind–and I realized it was the same thing my brother had called me. It couldn’t be possible I told myself–it was just some fucked up dream. I needed to get something to eat, calm down, and call HR–but my brother’s curse was just getting started.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 3)

Ken struggled as the men surrounded him, held him down, and began forcing him into a latex suit–first his legs, and then they pulled it up over his shoulders and his arms, zipping him up in the back. It was then that Ken had the first sign of what was in store for him–the front of the suit, in big white letters, read “PIG”. 

“No! No you fucking, I am not going to be your fucking pig!” he screamed, and the Master of the Halls just laughed–and all of his minions laughed with him. 

“Not my pig, no, not unless you remain in the halls here tonight. Then you will be. For now though, by law, your fate is still yours for the moment.”

He screamed some more, and the men forced a mask over his head, and then pulled on some gloves and two rubber boots, before stepping away and allowing Ken to get up. He immediately tried to haul the mask off of him, but while he could feel it was rubber, it refused to budge–and his hands couldn’t quite seem to get enough purchase on the mask to even tug at it. The men were all laughing around him, and he stumbled over to a mirror on the wall, feeling like he was walking on his toes–and everything became more clear, and more horrifying.

His mask was a pig mask–but it wasn’t just a mask anymore. When he looked at himself in shock, he saw every bit of his new face move–from his eyes to his snout to his cheekbones. He could see a hint or two of flesh underneath, around his eyes especially, so his real face was still there, somewhere, but…he went to tug on the floppy ears again, but frozen when he saw his hands. The two gloves weren’t normal–they were designed like trotters, with two thick fingers and his thumb in a third that let him grip things, though poorly. The same with the boots on his feet–they were trotters as well, which explained why walking had felt so strange a moment before. He started tugging on those as well, but the rubber refused to come away from his flesh–the closer he looked, the harder it was to tell where the rubber ended and his flesh began–like everything had merged with his body instantly. The singlet, too, had merged with him, the zipper teeth knitting together, and the zipper itself had become a little rubber pigtail wiggling above his ass. The back was open, allowing access to his hole, but the front was all rubber…though something was happening to it, and to his cock underneath. It heated up, and he got…horny all of a sudden, and a new cock pushed its way out, jutting in front of him. It wasn’t human, and it wasn’t even flesh, really. It was rigid, but a bit supple like a dildo, and shaped like a pig’s cock. He touched it, and snorted–it was more sensitive than his last cock too.

He turned around to where the men were still laughing, tried to yell at them, but all that came out of his mouth was a series of oinks, grunts and squeals that sent this all into hysterics all over again, while Ken just got angrier and angrier, stalking towards the Master of the Halls, who was just grinning his same, sharp, smile. But as he got close, the lights cut out, and when they came back a moment later, they were all gone–and Ken was alone.

Well, almost alone.

The imp was in the doorway, watching again, and when Ken saw him, and the tag around the imp’s arm, he squealed and gave chase, the imp laughing back down the halls. Ken quickly lost track of where he was in the maze–it was clear the imp was on home turf, and also toying with him–but he had to get that tag back. If he didn’t, and the party ended before he could…well, it wouldn’t be good, that much was sure, especially in his new costume. He might even be trapped like this forever. He started to have the feeling that the imp was leading him somewhere, and he entered a large stone room. The imp was there, waiting, and then, before Ken could react, a cage dropped down from the ceiling and enclosed him. 

In a panic, he started shaking the bars and pacing the cell, but it started to shrink–forcing him down onto his hands and knees, the cell soon not even wide enough for him to turn around in. He was trapped, and the imp was rubbing his hands together with excitement. Obviously the imp had something up his sleeve, now that he’d lured the piggish Ken right into his trap, but what does he have in mind?


What sort of fate would you like to see for Ken the pig? Some of these options will end the story, and we can go back and select from some of the earlier options instead. The bonus patreon poll is over here as well!

Sneak Peek: Properly Vetted

Patrons at the $5 level or higher already have access to this one! It’s sizable, and got a little bit for everyone! I’ll release the whole story next week, but for now, here’s a sneak peek.


“Sir…it’s about…my boss. About Richard Evans. I know we’ve never spoken before, and I want to thank you for seeing me, and hearing me out. I know you’re promoting him to vice president, but…but I think there’s some things you need to know about him, first.”

Kyle squirmed a bit in his seat, wondering if the older man across from him was going to say anything at all. The man in question was Gary Olson–the rather enigmatic CEO who had recently acquired the company where Kyle worked as a software engineer. Why Mr. Olson had acquired them, his plans for the company–everything was in the dark, aside from a cryptic letter the entire staff had received a few weeks before, announcing the shift in leadership. Kyle hadn’t even set eyes on him until this moment, and he wasn’t quite the sort of man he was expecting. He was…short, and a bit squat. Fat, with a heavy second chin obscuring the knot of his tie. Balding. Not very…commanding, and yet his eyes…were chilling somehow. Stone grey, and he didn’t quite seem to blink as often as a normal person. He hadn’t stopped staring at Kyle the entire time he’d been here, and he was already beginning to wonder if this was a good idea or not…but he had to say something, didn’t he? After the things Richard had…been doing to him, lately? 

He supposed he had waited long enough–Mr. Olson was still silent, and so Kyle figured he might as well just say it. “He’s been harassing me, sir. Sexually. Since about the time his promotion was announced in my department. I…He was never like that before, but…I didn’t even know he was gay, but it’s like…the power went to his head. One day he was fine, and then the next…”

Mr. Olson reacted, at last, and leaned forward, elbows on his desk, still gazing at Kyle with those stony eyes. “I see–that is a serious accusation to make against a member of our staff.”

“I know sir,” Kyle said, “But it’s the truth.”

“What has he done, Mr. Porter? Please be specific–spare me no detail. I want to hear it in your own words, if you would please,” Mr. Olson smiled then…but it did not seem particularly kind, or like it was meant to help put him at ease. It just made Kyle even more nervous. 

“Uh…well, the first…” He gulped, looked to the door for a moment, and then back at the CEO staring him down. “It was the day after I heard about it. He came by my cubicle, and I congratulated him, and…and he leaned over me, and whispered some…awful stuff in my ear, and while he did, he reached down into my lap and groped my…crotch.”

“What did he say?” Mr. Olson asked.

“I…It was…sexual and…I don’t know if–”

“I need details, Mr. Porter. Please be specific.”

“He told me…he told me that he was going to have a personal little piggy once he became VP, and that he’d decided that the piggy was going to be…me. That I was going to be his little fuckpig, his dirty little pig whore, that he was going to fuck me over the side of his desk, and…and I was going to beg and snort for it like a good little beast…” 

Kyle gave a grunt, and realized, to his horror, that one of his hands had found its way into his pants, and was currently milking his cock, right there in front of the CEO, while he recounted how his boss had talked dirty to him. His face turned bright red, and he pulled his hand free–Mr. Olson just smiled a little wider as he did.

“Did you like it, when he called you a pig?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Did you like it, Mr. Porter, when Mr. Evan’s called you a pig? It looked like, for a second there, that you were almost enjoying yourself.”

“I…I’m sorry sir, maybe…maybe this was a mistake, I…I think I should go–”

“I’m afraid that I would much rather hear more about how Mr. Evan’s has been treating you, Mr. Porter, but first–please stand up from that chair.”

Kyle slowly stood up, not sure what was going on.

“Take off your clothes, please.”

“I don’t…excuse me, sir?” Kyle said, but he noticed something odd–that while he didn’t want his hands to do it…they were already unbuttoning his shirt down the front. He tried to make them stop, or even just slow down, but they were operating without him directing them, somehow. “I don’t…why can’t I–”

“Stop talking–and just strip.”

Kyle’s mouth glued itself shut, and his hands kept undoing his clothes in front of the CEO, Kyle trying to get a grip on himself and what he was doing, but more and more, it all just felt like some fucked up dream he had somehow wandered into. He tried pinching himself, but it had no effect–he dropped his shirt on the floor, took off his shoes, dropped his pants and underwear, and then he was naked, shaking slightly, horrified at what he was doing and unable to understand why he was doing it at all. He went to sit back down in the chair, but Mr. Olson shook his head. “No, stay standing, and tell me what else Mr. Evan’s has been doing to you, that made you so uncomfortable.”

“Well, he…he whispered all those things to me, and I told him to stop, that it wasn’t appropriate, and he…he showed me his cock, sir.”

“Just showed it to you?”

“He…made me suck him off.”

“He made you suck him off–just like that? How did he make you do it? Did you yell for help?”

“No…No sir.”

“Did you try and get away?”

“At first sir, but…”

“But what?”

But he’d liked it. He could feel Richard’s hand around his throat, squeezing until he saw stars, his mouth popping open, and he swallowed his boss’s cock, and…and he’d liked it. The taste of it, the feel of it. He’d felt…ashamed that he’d liked it, but it didn’t change the facts, did it? 

“Why is your cock getting hard, Mr. Porter? Are you thinking about how much you liked his cock? Did you really come in here today to complain, Mr. Porter, or is there something else you’d like to tell me? Something you’d like to ask?”

“That’s…that’s not all he’s done sir, it got worse. It got…worse today, especially, please…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I’m doing this…I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be his…his pig sir, please…”

Mr. Olson leaned back in his chair, one hand in his crotch, massaging his own cock, while he stared at Kyle on the other side, completely naked, chubby, his three inch cock at perfect attention. Still…there was something there that was appealing to Gary–Kyle would make a good pig for the rest of the office, just as Mr. Evans had suggested, but maybe…well, he’d have to press him a little more, see what he thought of him himself. “What happened today then? Spare me no details, Mr. Porter.”

Kyle gulped, unable to believe he was going to say this. He didn’t even really have words for it himself, he was still so…horrified, at what what Richard had done, at what…at what he’d allowed him to do to him. “I…I was in the bathroom. I had to piss,” he said, and swallowed. “I had to piss, and I think…he saw he go in, because I was at the urinal when he came in behind me, and he told me that, as the boss, he needed to piss first. I didn’t know what to do, so I moved out of the way of the urinal, but he…he shoved me down, onto my knees, got his cock out, and pushed the head into my mouth, and he…he pissed down my throat, sir. He fed me his piss, right there in the bathroom. I…I felt so fucking dirty sir, like a dirty fucking pig, but I was so afraid someone would see me, would…would, I don’t know…I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t stop myself, like…I have to do what he says. He’s doing something to me. He’s in my head! I wasn’t…this fat, before, and my cock was bigger, and…and I feel like I’m going crazy sir, you have to believe me! This isn’t normal. He told me…told me I was going to be his personal urinal from now on, and he’d…I’d have to eat out his ass too, after he shits, and…and then he fucked me. He fucked me right there, at the urinal, plowed me so hard, and my little pig cock fucking exploded all over the dirty urinal, and he made me lick it up while he laughed.”

Mr. Olson just sat there, in the silence after that, groping himself, and smiling at Kyle across from him. “And you just let him do all of that to you? He did all that, and you still came like a little dirty pig?”

Kyle gulped, and nodded in shame.

“Mr. Olson stood up from his chair, and came around to where Kyle was standing. “You still thirsty pig?” he asked, “You wanna drink my piss too? Eat out my ass? Beg me to fuck that fat, piggy hole of yours for a while? Is that why you came in here, telling me all of this? You want me to get all horny for that fat ass of yours, is that it?”

“No–No sir, please don’t…I don’t want this!”

Mr. Olson stepped closer to him, eye to eye, and stared right into Kyle. His eyes…fuck, they were so intense, that Kyle didn’t want to keep his gaze, but he couldn’t look away, and after a moment, Mr. Olson stepped back. “Well, maybe you’re right. You’re a willful one, I’ll give you that. I don’t know if Evans properly vetted you for the position. Maybe we should have him come in, and we can see about this together…”


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Commission: Serving the Cloth 2

Brett liked to run. He’d always been good at it, even when he was younger, running from cops through the streets. But he’d always felt like there was somewhere he had to run to, or something he was running from. Now though–he was just running. Running through this nice suburban neighborhood, running without really feeling like there was anywhere to go, running in a circle, starting at Regis’ sizable house, and ending right back at that sizable house again, an hour later, sweaty and exhausted, but not feeling like he had gotten anywhere.

He had, of course. He’d gotten here. He’d leveraged his body, and his wits, and his charm, and he’d gotten out. Here he was, twenty years old, slender and lean, cute face, good hair, a perfect little twink for older men to slather over–but he’d caught one. From whoring himself out on street corners, to settling down with a sugar daddy like this–it was everything he’d wanted, right? But then why did he hate it so much? Why was he feeling so miserable? He had money, a credit line, could whatever he wanted. The sex was…sex. He had never really felt much for anyone, and Regis was no exception–but over the last few months, things had gotten…harder. Regis had been so excited about moving him into his place, promised him the world–but it was really just a gilded cage. He was so controlling, and outright abusive at times. It was easier being on the street, in some ways. He was comfortable here–but for how long, really? He could tell already that Regis was tiring of him, and as much as he hated it, it hurt. It hurt, because while Brett had been using him to get out of there, he’d also…loved him, in a way. Loved a version of him. Loved what he could provide him with–safety and security. Regis was away on a business trip right now, and they’d had such a fight when he’d left a few days ago, that Brett was not looking forward to him coming home tomorrow. He thought about just running–taking what he could, and just…be gone. Maybe.

He probably would have talked himself into it that day, if he hadn’t run past that house. The haunted one, he thought, though haunted houses weren’t real, of course. All of the houses in the neighborhood were a bit…odd, but this one was especially odd. No one had lived in it consistently for ages now–it was either left empty, or someone would buy it, and then…well, no one really knew what. Brett had seen haunted shit before–the back alleys of the city were full of places like that, where you could feel the souls of people in anguish. This place was like that, and he usually avoided it, and took the long way around. However, he wasn’t focused on his route, and so he was already running past it before he realized where he was. The same car was parked out front, in the same place, where it had been for weeks. He’d seen a father and son pull up a few weeks ago, looking like they were going to overhaul it and flip it, but he hadn’t seen them since. Today though, something had changed. There was a bunch of detritus on the lawn–old clothes, actually, filthy looking stuff, and one of the windows on the upper floors was broken out, like someone had thrown everything out of it. Brett picked up his pace, but then he heard…something.

He picked up the pace, eager to be past it, but all the way home, he had a curious sense that he was being followed, by someone or something. He got to the garage of Regis’s place, unlocked the door, when something slammed into him, sending him stumbling through the doorway and onto the pavement inside.

He awoke a few moments later, and rolled over, looking around for who, or what, had slammed into him–but there was nothing around him. Cautiously, he stood up, locked the door, and listened…but he didn’t hear anyone or anything inside the house. Or…or was there something? A voice?

You don’t have to run anymore.

Brett nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice was so close, almost inside his ears, and yet seemed so…quiet, a whisper recorded and played back at an impossibly loud volume. Then, he felt something squirm under his running shorts, and in a panic, he dropped them–and saw that instead of his usual briefs–there was a rancid looking jockstrap that had somehow materialized under his clothes. Worse, he could feel the pouch…moving, groping him. It was unsettling, and yet…also arousing, and he groaned a bit.

You want things. We want things. Others…waste. We don’t want to waste, We want to help…

Brett looked down and saw that something was happening to his running shorts too–they were…beginning to squirm as well, the orange nylon darkening, becoming a light denim cut off short, ones that smelled as rank as the jockstrap he had on smelled in the enclosed space of the garage…but he didn’t mind it, did he? Brett groped himself with one hand, torn between trying to understand what was happening, and simply…wanting to enjoy it. The change was spreading to his tanktop now, becoming a simpler, ribbed wifebeater…and Brett pushed back. He hauled the clothes off of him–all of them, his shoes too, and hucked them across the garage into a pile, and stood there, naked and breathing heavy…but the smell wasn’t going away. He looked down, and saw that his…cock and balls had changed. He’d never been well endowed, in all honesty, but that had changed substantially–his cock was now close to eight inches long, as thick as a beer can, and had a long, wrinkled foreskin around the head. His balls, too, were massive–and his usually hairless crotch was seething with a riot of curly black hair. 

“What…what the fuck did…how did that…” Brett looked up in time to see the clothes had stood up, of their own accord, and were crawling, rolling and hopping into the house proper. His sneakers were the last, shuddering as they changed into a pair of heavily worn work boots, and they stomped off after the other clothes.

What could he do? He didn’t have anything to wear. He couldn’t call the cops and complain about living clothing. Regis wouldn’t be home for another day. He had no friends he could call. It…was up to him. He cautiously stepped into the house, listened, and heard the clothing on the stairs, and he followed them up.

Come here, follow us…

Was he hearing voices, or was it his own head? Brett didn’t know for sure. He also was no longer certain that following this…weird shit was the smartest thing he could do…but when he tried to turn around and go find a weapon downstairs…his feet wouldn’t stop climbing.

Up here, we have so much to show you…

–He should run, he should be running he had to run he had to run–

You don’t have to run anymore.

The thought struck him hard. Not having to run–what would that be like? He’d been running his whole life now, it was ingrained so deep inside him, that he didn’t know what it would even be like to…not do it. To plant his feet. To stay. He was at the top of the stairs now, one hand still on his now massive, uncut cock. He missed the feeling of that nasty jock now, how it had caressed him, how it had loved him. It had loved him, his body, in a way nothing else had. No one else had.

He was making his way to the bedroom now. He pushed open the door, the voices louder now, but…but more than just loud. There were more of them. All of them speaking differently, and yet at the same time, amplifying each other, louder and louder and firmer. He saw now, what was happening. The jock, the shorts, the boots and the socks and the wifebeater–they had found their way to the closets and were pulling out the clothes they found there, touching them, changing them, and throwing them into a pile in the middle of the room, a seething, warping…mass, and Brett stood there, gaping at it. 

Let us love you we love you, we will love you

The mass threw itself at him, surrounded him, absorbed him. The smell was intense and impossible to avoid, but it…it was his smell. They were his clothes, after all, weren’t they? The jock was on him again, groping him, and more, so much else, but he couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air, and as he blacked out, the last thing he heard was:

No more running, you’ll be a man who doesn’t run from anything or anyone ever again.

***

Brett wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when he came to again. The light coming from the window hadn’t changed–it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but he felt like he had slept for ages. He groaned, and pushed himself up from the floor onto his hands and knees, got his feet underneath him, and forced himself upright. His head ached–his whole body ached, really, but his head hurt the most. The voices were there and so loud–it was difficult to try and parse apart into anything meaningful. They also…didn’t seem to be from outside him anymore–they were in him. In his mind. Or they were his mind, digging in and pushing out anything that wasn’t right, that old him that…that other him. He turned, still a bit wobbly on his feet, saw himself in the mirror, and just…stared at himself, at what the clothes had done to him.

The clothes he was wearing weren’t his clothes, or Regis’s clothes either. Neither of them had anything like this in their wardrobe. Somehow the jockstrap had…changed them into this. He was wearing a wifebeater under a leather vest, both of them looking like they’d been worn for years, and not cared for particularly well. On his legs were a set of leather chaps, biker boots, and under them a pair of filthy looking jeans–though he could only judge that by the crotch, which was more yellow-brown than blue at this point. But him–underneath the clothes. That couldn’t be him, it just…it couldn’t.

He was huge–easily a few inches over six feet tall, broad shouldered, thick pecs, massive muscular arms covered in a riot of tattoos–and over those, a thick layer of hair. His face though–that was the worst part. He’d been handsome before, even beautiful. His face had gotten him out of poverty, further than even his body could have, and now, he was…ugly. A wide mouth and nose, a heavy brow, a thick black beard a couple inches long and growing high on his cheeks, a scar across one side of his face, brown eyes staring out at himself. He was…fuck, he looked like a brute. He felt like a brute, and the voices, they wanted him to like it, they wanted him to enjoy this, but all he could feel was horror.

He started trying to pull the clothes off of himself, but they fought him, refusing to budge. He could hear the voices starting to panic, shouting louder, so loud he had to scrunch up his eyes and clasped his massive, calloused hands over his ears in an effort to clock it out, but nothing worked. 

You want to be a real man, you want this. You want to stop running, be the kind of man who doesn’t run. 

He could feel them rummaging through his mind and his memories, trying to find something else to use against him, and they found Regis, and suddenly, he was all he could think about. How…how angry he was at him for being such a manipulative and abusive asshole. He’d never been this angry at him before in his life, but the voices were amplifying it, intensifying it, making it the only thing he could feel.

We’ll fix him. We’ll fix him for you, we’ll make him love you, we’ll pay him back for everything he did to you just let us in let us in and let us stay stay with us stay keep us on live in us we live in you and we’ll fix you and fix him and

Something broke. Something in his head broke, and Brett just stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, the voices quiet…and then he said, in a voice not quite his own, but one…better than his last one. “I’ll fix him…” It was low and gruff. It sounded mean. He liked it. He liked being mean. “Yeah, I’ll fucking fix him real fucking good, we’ll fix him, fuck yeah…” He hauled his cock out of the front of his jeans and started jacking off, thinking about Regis now, so many cruel, mean, nasty ideas, and all…all he had to do, was listen. Stop thinking so hard, just…just do what the voices told him to do, and everything would work out just fine. He lumbered over to the remaining mass of clothing piled in the middle of the room, looming over it, jacking harder now, and he came with a groan–a massive load of cum splattering all over the clothes there, drying instantly, and Brett felt much better. No more running. No–he would…wait here. Some planning to do of course, some preparations had to be made, but Regis…Regis would love him, really love him. He would fix them both for good.

***

Regis was fuming as he climbed out of the uber parked on the sidewalk in front of the house, went around to the trunk, and hauled his luggage out. That fucking boy–he knew he was supposed to pick him up from the airport today, one fucking job to do, and he couldn’t even do that properly! He’d even done him the courtesy of texting him that morning, but he hadn’t even been checking those apparently. Regis straightened himself out a bit, and braced himself. He’d settle this–that boy was out, as of today. He didn’t care where he went, or with who–this had been a mistake.

Brett had been charming, when they’d first met. But then, Regis had paid him to be charming, and Brett had known what was good for him. The sex had been great too, of course, and Regis had stupidly tricked himself into thinking that this one might be different. He might be worth bringing home. But as the months had worn on he’d grown bored of the boy, the allure of him standing on the street corner dashed when you could have him whenever you wanted him. Regis had been seeing other boys of course–on the trip he’d fucked two just yesterday, and they’d been better and more interesting than Brett by a mile. Yes–he was done with him. Go in there, throw him out on his ass, and pretend that none of this had ever happened. It was for the best, really. At least for him–but then, Regis generally only cared about what was best for him.

He was in his fifties, and not exactly the most handsome man to grace the earth. He was short, and pudgy–a little top heavy really, with a fat chest and gut riding on small legs. He was balding badly but didn’t put much effort into either hiding the fact or embracing it. He had a mustache, and usually a bit of stubble around his face. His looks had never mattered to him, not when he could grease his path with money–and that had served him well enough. 

He walked up the drive and in through the front door–and there was the first sign that something was amiss. There was a smell in the house–something…heady and musky and certainly human but also…not. There was also no sign of Brett anywhere–he’d hoped the boy would have enough sense to at least beg for forgiveness–it would make it that much more satisfying to throw him out. But there was…nothing. No one. He shut the door behind him and set his bag by the door, and called out–but no one replied. The smell grew…more intense though, and then he heard the sound of boots on the hardwood floor, and someone came around the corner.

Regis had no idea who the massive fucker was, standing there in those filthy clothes and all of that leather gear, leering at him. “Hey daddy,” the stranger said, “Glad to see you made it home in one piece.”

The voice…it couldn’t be. It was too deep, and yet…something about it rang familiar. “I…I don’t know who you are, but I will call the police and have you arrested.”

Before Regis could even make a move to grab his phone, however, the man charged him, slammed into him and pinned him back against the door. Now he knew where the smell was coming from–it was coming from him. It wasn’t just him though–it was the clothes…and this close to him, he could feel them…squirming against him like they were alive, the man just staring at him with his eyes, slightly vacant, but the erection pressing against Regis’s gut was very much eager and excited. Regis was frozen for a moment, before he managed to shove the massive man away–he was so large, that Regis was sure he only stepped back because he wanted to–not because of Regis’s shove. The man was just leering at him, groping his crotch and the massive bulge there, and Regis realized that the strange writhing sensation was still there–because his own clothes were…shifting.

He looked down, and saw that a multitude of stains were spreading across the front of his white dress shirt, and he quickly tried to pull it off–but the fabric fought him, the buttons disappearing under his fingers as the shirt sealed down the front, the fabric shifting from the expensive cotton he always wore to something far cheaper, his suit pants changing similarly, becoming rougher, and dirtier, becoming ragged denim–even as a voice started speaking in his mind, a voice he didn’t recognize–more forceful and powerful that the brute’s had been.

Down, down piggy, such a good little dirty piggy daddy yes go down down hands and knees before him before us before your masters

He tried to speak, but as he did, the tie he had on constricted suddenly, choking him, making him gargle and snort for breath. Brett just watched as his daddy’s fancy suit began to assume it’s new form–a cheap, threadbare t-shirt, covered with all manner of food stains with several holes in the front and under the armpits. The pants turned to denim, and started to grow up–his belt becoming denim as well and looping up over his shoulders, completing the new set of filthy overalls, his suit coat picking up color, a checkered pattern, turning to a flannel vest–the sleeves disintegrating before his eyes, the tie turning dark brown and becoming a thick leather collar cinched tight around his daddy’s throat. He clawed at it for a moment more, and then he fell to his knees, and the collar loosened, allowing him to gasp for air, snorting for it really, the voice louder in his ears, telling him what a good obedient pig he was, what a good slave he was going to become for his new master.

Brett stepped up, grabbed his pig by the hair, and dragged his face into the crotch of his filthy jeans, forcing the pig to snort in his stench now, the voice urging him to breath it in, lick it, taste his masters, taste the filth, serve the man, serve the cloth, serve them all–they would both serve them so well now, serve them well forever.

“I’m not running anymore, you fucking piece of shit,” Brett said, hocking a wad of spit right in Regis’s face, “You’re going to do exactly what I say, from now on–got it? You’re just my fucking pig, and…and yeah, fuckin’ hell, you’re gonna be so fucking hot, fuck–come on pig, let’s go play.”

Brett walked to the basement door and went downstairs, leaving Regis there, spit running down his face, more humiliated and disgusted than he’d ever been in his entire life…but it was too late, wasn’t it? The voices were already inside him. He was so much less resistant, so much more…pliable. As he crawled towards the basement, his body sagged heavier, more and more fat piling on him, the cloth growing to accommodate his new size, even as his cock shrank down. He didn’t need a big cock, not that it had ever been large to begin with. But he needed a pig cock, short and thick and always leaking. He crawled down the stairs, and when Brett saw him, more changes had appeared–a thick beard all over his face, growing longer by the moment, all of it a filthy off-white. He walked around his pig, found the convenient hole in the ass of his new pig’s overalls, and the nasty, unwashed briefs underneath, unleashed his cock, and rammed it into the pig’s hole, listening to him snort in excitement as his master fucked him for the first time of many, his own mind draining out his cock and soaking the front of his overalls in cum–and piss soon enough, the pig losing total control of his bladder, soaking his clothes and the concrete floor under him in it–though a number of filthy garments crawled out from the dark corners of the basement and soaked up every drop they could find. Yes, these two would feed them well, but the cloth would be smarter here–smarter than the cloth over in the other house, who simply devoured mindlessly. They would be careful, feed from them, and lure others, yes, already, Brett knew what he would do, what this pig would do for him. He hauled his cock free, and unloaded his cum all over the clothes swarming them, feeding them, the pig whirling around and sucking the last few drops from the cheesy head of his master’s cock, already eager for more–rough fucks, piss, anything it’s master wanted, the filthier the better, the pig would do anything to be with him, anything at all. He loved him, loved him so much he could barely stand it.

But the pig also had work to do–he understood that. Brett would find the men–online sometimes, or more often in person. Entrance them with his own powerful musk, but bring them home with him, tell them that he had a sex pig willing to do anything for anyone. Sure, once the men caught sight of the massive, old, hairy, stinking pig, some of them had second thoughts–but not for long. The cloth would swarm them, show them the error of their ways, and usually the men would leave with a brand new wardrobe different than what they had arrived in–more than willing to come back and feed the pig–and the cloth–whenever they could. Yes, this way they would survive–no, more than survive. They would thrive.

Sketch: New Sheriff in Town

It was Eta Alpha Sigma’s first party of the year, and so of course that meant it had to be as loud as the boys could make it–the frat president, a senior named Evan–had told his bros to make sure of it. The college they attended was in a small sleepy farming town away from the states big cities–you could say that EAS’s first party of the year was always the towns wakeup call that school was back in session, after its quiet summer.

As usual, it didn’t take more than a couple of hours before there was the sound of the siren, and a patrol car pulled up in front of the booming house. It was tradition, really, and Evan knew what to do. He stepped outside, and walked down to where the cop was getting out…except it was a new face he didn’t recognize. The way things had usually gone were like this–frat president would give police chief his bribe for the year on the first night of the party, and cops wouldn’t show up after that for the rest of the year. “You’re a new face, man,” Evan said, already counting out hundreds he’d gotten from his wealthy father.

“Last sheriff retired–newly elected in August. Just started this week,” the new sheriff said. He came around, and his shirt read “Sheriff Dinvers.”

“Well, Mr. Dinvers–here’s the deal. Two thousand dollars in your pocket, and you don’t show up here for the rest of the year, got it?”

Apparently, he didn’t, because before Evan really knew what was happening, the sheriff had him against the car for attempting to bribe an officer of the county, handcuffed him, shoved him in the back of his car, and drove off–and the party continued on, none the wiser that the frat president had just been arrested.

Evan threw a fit, naturally, threatening Dinvers with all sorts of legal trouble once his father heard about this–but he realized, quickly, that they weren’t heading to the police station–instead, the sheriff drove him to a large warehouse, drove into it, and parked. “Now boy, I campaigned on change in this town, and a whole lot of us who live here are pretty sick and tired of you fucking frats making our lives hell nine months out of the year. I know all ya’ll got rich fuck parents, and I don’t give a shit–because I know how to get results–and I get a little something I like out of the bargain too.” The last part he whispered into Evan’s ear as he dragged him from the cop car, and over to a chair facing a screen in a little room. Evan fought and screamed, but the sheriff injected him with some sort of drug–and Evan calmed down quickly.

The sheriff bound him to the chair, pointed him at the screen, and turned on the projector–and a spiral started playing on the wall, along with a strange soundtrack–almost words, but layered on top of each other so Evan couldn’t quite tell what they were saying. The sheriff put in some earplugs, and as Evan sank into a drug induced trance, he went to work, cutting away the boys expensive clothes–and then the real fun began–he turned on the shaver and buzzed away the pretty boy’s hair–the first of several changes he’d be making to the president’s image tonight.


No one knew where Evan had disappeared to, until late the next day, when the patrol car arrived, dropped Evan off in an orange prison jumpsuit, his head shaved, and holloweyed like he didn’t sleep a wink all night. The frat was pissed, of course–they wanted to know what they were going to do for revenge, but Evan just told them to calm down. They’d sort it out, but first he needed to rest. Alone in his room, he looked at his bare head, then pulled off the jumpsuit, carefully, feeling the welts and bruises on his back where the sheriff had…flogged him. Evan had begged him for it, his cock had exploded in the middle of the session, and that’s when the sheriff had put this on him–he looked down at the metal chastity device, riveted in place, and shuddered. Evan…had his orders. He knew what he had to do, if he ever wanted that to come off his cock again. 

He came clean a couple days later. Everything–the bribes, the embezzlement, the coverups for crimes by the college and by the fraternity themselves, the rapes, the beatings, the occasional death by hazing during pledge week–all of it. He’d agreed to a reduced penalty with the county sheriff for coming clean, and within a week, EAS had been dissolved on campus, the brothers all caught up in their own parts of the scandal as their wealthy families tried to shield them. Most transferred to other colleges, a few faced charges of their own. The other frats on campus knew that a warning shot had been fired all the same–the town wasn’t going to let their antics go anymore–they had better shape up, or they would be next.

But Evan didn’t care about that. All he could think about was the words running through his head, how…good it had felt, chained to the wall, the feel of that flogger on his back, his aching cock trapped in this tiny cage. He found himself alone in the office with the sheriff, and he broke down, and begged him to release him. He’d done everything he’d asked for, he’d followed his orders to the letter–just let his cock go, that was all he needed…wasn’t it?

Sheriff Dinvers just laughed. “Pig–I don’t think you’re done here, not by a long shot. I told you if you did as I said, you’d earn a chance at getting that cage off–remember that?” He said, and pushed his boot between the boy’s knees where he was kneeling, tapping the cage with one toe of his shiny black boot. “What do you think, you wanna try and earn it? Then lick my boot, pig.”

Evan gave a little squeal of indecision. He knew–he knew–that if he did this…his old life was forfeit. The sheriff had him right where he wanted him. He…could leave. Get the cage off somewhere, even if he had to tell his dad what he’d done. He’d disown him, sure, but…but what he wanted was the feel of that flogger again. To feel the whip the sheriff had threatened him with. Feel that cock in his hole again, do anything for this rough, masculine, domineering…

His tongue was on the boot before he could even really form the thought–and he knew he was lost. The conditioning was too deep already, and he…wanted it. “That’s a good pig–why don’t you come on home with me, and we’ll have some fun?”


Evan didn’t finish college that year. He dropped out a couple of weeks after selling his stuff, told his dad he didn’t want anything to do with the family anymore, and left–he didn’t tell anyone where he was going, but he didn’t go far–he moved right in with the sheriff, so his real training, and transformation, could begin. He lived down in the dungeon, eating a strict–and massive–diet. If he was going to be the sheriff’s pig, he was going to have to look, like one, wasn’t he? He packed on weight, and he was educated in all manners of sex–piss play, fisting, bondage–but it was the pain he loved the most. When he’d been a good pig, and done all his chores, and made his weight goals, and shown he was worthy–Master would undo the cage for a session, and beat the pig raw until he came, and then lock him back up again–and cuddle with him upstairs in the bed, tending to his back, admiring the growing web of scars forming on the young pig’s hide–and tell him how proud he was of him.

A couple years later, a new deputy joined the force. He was the sheriff’s cousin, or so he said. He was a tubby fellow, but capable, and more than willing to help out the department in whatever way they needed. He always had his collar buttoned to the top, his tie knotted tight–so he could hide his slave collar underneath. He was also always mindful of his cuffs–less he expose the riot of perverse, piggy tattoos his uncle–his master–had started putting on him. But his back was always kept clean–just the scars there, showing him for what he really was. A fat pain pig, and that was all Evan wanted to be, for the rest of his life.

Sketch Commission: The Diaper Slave Neighbor

Want a commission of your own? I’m still open! You can find out more details here.

Commissioned by WorldOfWetcraft. WARNING: Contains scat and diaper play.


Gregory flung open his door and got into his apartment, shutting the door behind him–red in the face and panting for breath. He hadn’t been able to make it. He’d done alright the first couple days of the week, leaving a bit early, making sure he was watching his fluids, he’d been able to make it back home without…well, without doing this.

He stepped out of his shoes and dropped his pants–which he could see were a little wet between his legs. There, instead of his usual underwear, was a diaper, sagging quite a bit from the load of piss Gregory hadn’t been able to hold back while riding the train home. People had…smelled it. He could smell it, how acrid it was, since he hadn’t been drinking much water at all. He was so humiliated he’d gotten off and walked ten blocks instead–but that had been worse, if anything.

Gregory was older, in his early fifties, and not exactly in decent shape. Now he was hot, sweaty, stank of piss, and his legs were even a little chafed. He heaved a sigh–there was no avoiding it, he was going to have to knock on Alex’s door.

Alex was Gregory’s new neighbor who had moved in a week ago–and he was also the reason Gregory was now in this predicament. Alex was not…an attractive fellow. He was fat, with greasy hair and a tangled beard, dressed like a slob, and Gregory didn’t think he left the house for much. But Alex…could do something to him, to anyone, probably, but something about Gregory had irked him–and now, ever since meeting him that first time, he couldn’t get out of these diapers. He had to wear them until he pissed in them, and then go next door, and ask Alex to change him–but the price of a change was usually going into his apartment and giving the chubby slob a blow job–something else the one time straight Gregory would have never done, but now…now he was even starting to like that. Anticipate it, even now, as he pulls up his pants and goes next door, and knocks on Alex’s door.

Alex answers, his hairy gut hanging out, wearing just a pair of filthy briefs, and he leers at Gregory–and sniffs the air. “Need a change, man? Come on in.” Gregory stepped inside, and Alex dropped his briefs down–but instead of telling him to suck his cock, instead he bent over the side of the couch, and pushed his ass towards Gregory. “Been needing a good cleaning–clean out my ass, and I’ll give you a night off, like usual.”

Gregory balked. “What? That’s…no! No, I won’t do that, you disgusting, fucking pervert!”

Alex looked over his shoulder, sneering, and wiggled his ass. “Are you sure?”

Gregory yelled and screamed at him, but then Alex said…something, and he stopped. He floated for a bit, like he did…when Alex was controlling him, telling him something…new, and then he was back. “What…what did you do?”

“If you change your mind tomorrow morning, let me know, buddy,” Alex said, and pushed Gregory back out into the hall, where he retreated to his own apartment, stepped in, and he was safe. Safe, and secure, and…

It was like being back in his space triggered something–and he felt his bowels shift. He tried to stop it, but it was too late–he filled the back of his diaper with a load of shit, and Gregory just stood there, not sure what to do, or even how to move. He tried to leave, to go back to Alex and do…well, anything, but he couldn’t get out–apparently he was stuck here for the night, in a messy, soggy diaper, and…and the stench.

No, this was wrong, why was this happening to him? He felt the front of the diaper, and sure enough, his cock was hard, just…just from smelling his own shit. He groped it, suddenly desperate to jack off, but couldn’t get a good grip–but the failure only made him hornier. Eventually, he managed. Naked, aside from the diaper, he humped the corner of his sofa for twenty minutes, sweating and panting and heaving and stinking until he finally came in the front of the diaper as well, and he relaxed, sitting back on the floor, his shit smashing up and down his crack…and finally, Gregory cried. 

He sobbed there, in his filthy diaper, horrified at how he’d lost control, how even now…the smell of his own shit was making him horny all over again, even though he was too exhausted to do anything about it. He drank heavily that night–just wanting to numb himself, and he woke up in the middle of the night, filled his diaper with beer piss, and humped his bed until he came again–and collapsed back into fitful nightmares.

In the morning, he went back and knocked on Alex’s door again, head hung low, and his neighbor let him in without a word, went back and bent over the couch. Gregory got down on his knees behind him…and Alex’s rank ass….reminded him of his own stench, and he found himself…enjoying it. He ate out Alex’s hole, his cock hard in the soggy, sagging diaper, while Alex told him what a good asseater he was, that he was definitely going to have Gregory over morning and night to eat him out from now on, and Gregory just tried to ignore it. Alex flipped over and fucked Gregory’s face, fed him a load of cum, and then, finally, allowed Gregory to change his diaper–and even let him use his shower to clean up. Then, Alex forced him back into a new diaper–but this one was different, thicker.

“I noticed you were leaking, man,” Alex said, “We can’t have that–this should be a bit better.”

The last variety of diaper had been thin enough people hadn’t noticed it under Gregory’s clothes. This one though…it was so thick, it would make his suit pants bulge out around his ass. He knew better than to complain though–he thanked his neighbor, went back to his apartment, and got ready for work.