In the Doghouse (Part 1)

Carson looked up at the house, and double checked the address. Appearances could be deceiving, right? Just because the place looked like a wreck on the outside, didn’t mean it might not be spotless on the inside. He told himself that, but he didn’t believe it–still, he told himself he might as well check it out–rooms for rent around here scarce and expensive–and this was one of the few he could really afford right out of college. He let himself through the chainlink gate and walked up to the front door, paint peeling off it. The screen opened up with a screech and loose hinge, and he knocked, hoping no one would answer. But he heard a deep voice muttering something on the other side, and after a few moments, the door opened.

Yeah, there was no way this was going to ever work, not if this was the guy who owned the place. Even if he hadn’t looked like a complete slob–easily 350 pounds, clothes stained and ill fitting, his hair grown out into a greasy mullet–the shirt he had on with the confederate battle flag across the front of it, stretched out by his huge belly had quite faded, told Carson that even if the room was decent…he was never going to get along with a landlord like this. The man hocked a wad of black tobacco spit onto the step beside Carson, and asked, “What the fuck you want, boy?”

“Oh, uh…there was an ad saying you have a room for rent? But I–”

“Want a look, eh?” the guy said, interrupting, grabbing Carson by the arm and pulling him inside, “It ain’t much, but helps with the mortgage.”

Carson stepped carefully around the mess filling the entire house, most of it trash, and the stench nearly made him gag. Still, now that he was inside, he had to at least play along for the moment.

“My name’s Gage. I don’t really give a fuck about you makin’ a mess or whatever–you pay your rent, ‘n you can do whatever the fuck you want, as long as I don’t have to talk to the cops about it.”

“Yeah, I…just need a place for the summer, until I start my grad program in the fall,” Carson said.

Gage snorted, “Some college kid eh? Whatever–waste a fuckin’ money–just gonna turn ya into some pussy faggot liberal.”

Gage led him down the hall to the spare room Gage was offering, but Carson didn’t want to bother looking at it, after what he’d said. “You know? Fuck this. I am one of those liberal faggots, you know? Fuck you–I wouldn’t want to live with some filthy slob like you anyway, you live like an animal.”

Gage just smiled, showing off the tobacco leaf stuck between his teeth, “Yeah, I had ya pegged fer one a those faggots–lucky I keep a room fer animals like ya’ll too,” he grabbed Carson by the arm and hauled him into the room with him–for a fat slob, he was strong, and Carson couldn’t break his grip. He dragged Carson to the window in the room, which looked out on the yard behind the house. There, Carson saw a dogrun with a sizable doghouse against the back fence. “Ain’t the nicest a quarters, but ya’ll fit in there just fine soon enough.”

Carson again tried to tug his arm away, but Gage hauled him in closer, where Carson could get a proper smell of his personal stench, and then shoved one of his hands down the front of Carson’s pants, grabbed hold of his cock, and Carson felt something like a shock sear through his cock and balls.

“Heh, animal–we’ll see who’s the fuckin’ animal,” Gage said, leaning in, groping Carson’s dick and balls with one of his calloused hands. It felt…different. Wrong, and yet Carson found himself moaning with pleasure, as ashamed of that as he was. Gage used his other hand to pop the button and drop the zipper on Carson’s jeans, and then shoved down his pants. Carson leaned over his own smaller gut, wanting to see why he felt so strange, and gasped at what he saw–his cock and balls, they weren’t his anymore–they were…a dog’s.

A short, furry sheath ran up under his belly, and a bright red cock jutted out from it, and into Gage’s hand. It seemed…wet and slimy, and yet the sensation was very close to bringing him to his knees. “Fuck…how…what did you do?”

“Now now, be a good boy, and we can have a good time,” Gage said, “I never had much of a thing fer fags like you, but nothin’ turns me on quite like a filthy dogboy.”

He had to get out of here, he had to get help, but Gage’s grip was so strong. Carson leaned in, relaxing slightly into Gage, as disgusted as he was by the idea of being anywhere close to him, and then, when he felt the grip on his arm relax slightly, he shoved him away and ran–or tried to run. He had to abandon his shoes, pants and underwear to get moving at all. This, he realized, wasn’t the best choice–he couldn’t very well run outside with nothing on–with nothing covering his new cock in particular. He turned away from the front door, and looked around for a phone, since his was still in his pants. He spotted a landline hanging on the wall in the kitchen, fought through a pile of junk to reach it, and gave a sigh of relief when he heard the dial tone, punching in 911 as gage rounded the corner and raced towards him. Before the operator picked up on the other line, Gage was on him. He touched Carson’s face with his hand, and Carson felt the same disturbing shock ripple through his mouth and jaw with the force of a punch. He dropped the receiver and stumbled back, as the operator picked up on the other line.

Cleaning House (Part 8)

CW: Scat

~Daddy’s POV~

He’s my boy.

He’s dumb, filthy, nasty, fat, and a total pervert. He’s mine. He’s everything I wanted, and now, it’s all he wants too.

It’s difficult to explain what happened to me–honestly, even the experts are still puzzling it out. I saved the world, somehow, but I don’t remember a thing about it. They said I was a hero, but when I woke up that day, looking like this–fat, hairy, reeking, horny as can be–I had no memory of who I was. Still, the government sends me the fat checks, and want me living somewhere quiet–somewhere alone, and I could manage that for a while, but I’m…not alone in here, in my body. There’s something else inside me, a fragment of something, and it’s…so hungry.

I found out, by accident, what I could do. Hypnotize people, I guess. Change them, slowly, encourage them, make them lose themselves. I was caught between my desperate loneliness, and my own terror at what I wanted, what it wanted–what we wanted. So I placed the ad in the paper, and I chatted with him over the phone, got a feel for him, and I liked him a lot, the sound of him even. When he showed up at the cabin and saw the state of how I lived–fuck, I was so hungry for him, for that disgust on his face when he saw me. He tried to turn around and leave, but I had too many hooks in him from our phone chat–he marched right in, terrified out of his wits, and then we had our first chat, face to face.

Those first few months were tough. Controlling people is…exhausting, and I can only do it for so long–I have to convince them that they want to be controlled by me. I made him fantasize about me, long for me in all of my filth. I made him want to be my boy. I made him want to be bigger, and dirtier, and fatter, and hairier. He began to crack, after a few months, and I could start feeding him, and that night he gave in and masturbated for me–fuck! Then, I knew he was mine. Our boy.

I hired him as a cleaner at the beginning, but honestly, I love the filth. I kept up appearance for a little while, while I was cleaning out more and more of his mind, but now, with our second winter coming, the house is even more of a sty than it was when he first arrived, but he loves it even more than I do at this point. I honestly…I wasn’t going to push him this far, but when he left for that funeral–I can’t explain how I felt, when he was gone. I was terrified he wouldn’t come back, I was terrified I’d be alone again, but I couldn’t be alone, not with the voice. When he came back, sobbing in misery, horrified at himself–I was so angry. I started cleaning out even more of him, like he’d cleaned out my house, getting rid of everything that didn’t concern me, letting the sick, twisted loe he felt for me now grow larger and larger until it took up nearly everything inside him. Getting rid of his intelligence, of his shame, of his confidence, of his self-control. He can still talk, for now…but that’s a project for the winter, too, I think.

We’ll be alone here for months, with nothing but the snow for company. I’m going to scrub him out completely, and then I’m going to fill him back up again. He’s going to be my boy–my son–for real, or at least believe it with all of his heart. My stupid boy, with a vocabulary of 500 words, who usually just speaks in grunts. My perverse boy, with a cock that’s always hard, and two hands that can’t keep away from it for longer than a couple minutes. My nasty boy, pissing and shitting himself, unable to stop anything, unable to even feel shame as he drops load after load into the back of his underwear to eat later in front of me. My fat boy, pushing at least 600 pounds, but still able to work for me, for his daddy, the man he’ll do anything for.

I try to tell myself that it’ll be enough, if I finish the job, if I destroy him. I hate myself for doing it, but I can’t stop, it won’t let me stop, and I enjoy it too much, I’m so fucking ashamed of it. But one–one will be enough. One boy, one helpless boy for me is all I need. He can take it–he’ll have to, everything I can give him, because whatever is inside me…it wants out. It wants to grow, and consume, and destroy…everything, but I can’t let that happen. Whoever I was before, he died to stop that from happening, and I have to stop it too, I have to keep it from happening, and this…this is the only way I know how to do that, anymore.

He would understand, right? Who am I kidding, he wouldn’t understand it. At least…it’s what he wants now. He’d never be able to function without me anyway–he needs me now as much as I need him, to stay in control. He can take it–he’s a good boy. He wants to make sure Daddy is happy, he wants me to control him, and own him, and abuse him, and feed him–so I will. And after this, I’ll stop. The voice…it tells me that this won’t be enough, it laughs at me for lying to myself, but I know better. All I want his him. I can’t…explain how it makes me feel, when I see the love in his eyes, the complete devotion he has for me–what else could a Daddy possibly want? In any case…it will have to be good enough.

Cleaning House (Part 7)

CW: Scat

It’s…hard to talk about, honestly.

I mean, I don’t remember it that well, either. I showed up in Daddy’s clothes, reeking, almost 200 pounds heavier than she remembered me…

I drank a lot, that night, and smoked a lot too. Still, I tried to help, after I cleaned myself up and took a shower. Being clean…I felt so naked, and so worthless. Amy didn’t…want me there, and there was nothing I could really do to make anything better. I was just…something else to manage. She did everything without me, and I just sat there in a stupor, drunk, and she cared so much. The only…

The only family I could care about anymore was Daddy. I missed him so much, more than I missed my mom. I needed him to know what to do, I couldn’t…I don’t know how to be alone anymore, I don’t know how to live for myself, if I ever really did.

Amy, I still feel awful. She even ordered me a suit, knowing I wouldn’t even think to buy one. It chafed, I was so hot and sweaty in that tiny church, listening to everyone drone on about my mother. I jacked off, I was so bored, I jacked off into my filthy underwear at my mom’s funeral, got drunk after, jacked off some more and hit on a few older guys who reminded my of Daddy–none of them took me up on the offer.I didn’t even stick around to the next day–I junked the suit, got back in my real clothes, and drove off.

I got back to Daddy and I sobbed. I was so sorry for leaving him, I was so upset, and he was there for me, he…he understands me, and he knows me like no one else I’ve ever known. He knows what I need better than I do. He held me for an hour in bed, telling me that I was safe, that I would never have to leave again, that he’d never make me leave, that he’d never let me leave. That I belonged with him, that there was nowhere else that I could ever belong anymore, other than here. He fed me a big dinner, I drank a huge load of piss he’d been saving for me all day, I cleaned his nasty crack…and by the next morning, I could almost pretend that none of it had ever happened. But it had, and I don’t…it changed me.

I saw how worthless I am. How stupid I am. I couldn’t understand what Daddy saw in me, I couldn’t understand why he loved me, unless it was pity. I thought about leaving, I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting someone to me, but I was too scared. I acted out, I pushed back, I made him spank me, and I liked it, and he liked it, and he got rougher, and meaner, and I begged him for more. I didn’t deserve to be his boy, I said. I’m too much of a fuck up, I’m a waste.

He made me eat his ash one day, right out of the tray. I licked it up–it was so…dry, but some of his piss helped wash it down. He fed me his cigar butts, and some of his trash. I…I begged him for his shit. I wanted to be his toilet. I wanted to prove to him, and to myself, that it wasn’t a lie, that I was as low as that, that I was a toilet. He refused, and so I filled the back of my briefs with a load of my own, dropped them to the ground, got down and started eating my own shit, right there in the kitchen. I’d…practiced already. I knew I liked it, and when I saw how hard he was in his briefs, I wondered why he’d refused. He fucked my shitty hole, made me clean off his cock, and then I was under his rim chair, eating his shit straight from the source, and it only…I only got hungrier, after that.

It was summer again, already. Most of my days were spent outside doing work around the cabin, naked aside from a pair of Daddy’s old boots, my shit, piss and cum stained briefs or jockstraps, and a pair of work gloves. I lost a bit of fat and bulked up again, but when you crest 400, there’s only so much that muscle can do to make you not look like a tub of lard. In the mirror I barely recognized myself anymore. I looked so much like him now, it disturbed me. Still, he’s happy–that’s what matters, right? That’s why I came here, that’s why I agreed to be his cleaner. It seems so far away now, but it’s only been a year and a few months. I feel like I’ve known him for years, and that he’s known me my whole life. I have no secrets from him, I can’t lie to him, I can’t lie at all, really. My sister called, worried about me, and I told her everything, or as much as I could before she hung up, and she hasn’t called again since.

Fall is here again, and everything is dying. I feel like I’m dying too, day my day, curling up into myself, into this cabin, into Daddy. I’ve…been pissing the bed, most nights, and Daddy started forcing me to wear diapers at night, for protection. I feel so small in them, and he looms over me, grinning down, humping the front of my diapers with his cock until I cum, gasping, and then he shoves his cock down my throat, and when he cums, I keep sucking, hungry for more–more food, more piss, more cock, more ass. I want him to fill me up, because all I ever feel, when I’m alone, is empty. I shouldn’t be here. I should run, but I won’t. I can’t. Even…going to town now, fills me with such anxiety, I can’t go without him anymore. We’re supposed to have the first snow tonight, and everything will be white again. Maybe it can cover me up, until I disappear too.

Cleaning House (Part 6)

This became my new normal over the next several months. A fuck in the morning, a massive breakfast, a few hours cleaning Daddy’s body and eating his ass under the rimchair, lunch, chores, a massive dinner, and then a relaxing evening before bed. I…I loved it. All of it. I felt like I had find my proper place in life, and I thanked him every day for giving me the opportunity to serve him as his boy.

As I adjusted to my new role, and my new life, Daddy slowly began to impose more rules on me to follow, controlling more and more of me until I couldn’t so much as go to the bathroom without his permission, and often, his supervision. He forbade me from shaving, and my beard filled in, thicker and faster than I remember before, when I’d tried growing it out. I, too, had to stop showering, and certain things began disappearing from my shopping list–most notably, toilet paper. Still, from how dirty Daddy’s ass is, I don’t think he ever used it much, and he loved seeing the streaks growing in the seats of my whities…and to be honest, it turns me on too, especially when he gags me with my own crusty, cum soaked underwear while he rims and fucks my own dirty hole.

I was still growing steadily, and with winter here and no tasks outside the cabin, I had no physical activity to bulk with…and so my waistline kept expanding. By New Year’s I’d hit 300, and none of the clothes I’d bought fit me–instead of allowing me to buy anything new, Daddy insisted I just wear his old cast offs, including his old underwear. I…fuck, the first time I pulled on one of his massive pairs of briefs, and I felt how crusty and filthy they were, I couldn’t stop myself, and I jacked off right there in front of him while he watched, grinning, listening to me belch and snort and grunt like a fucking pig. My masturbation habits–it’s gotten really bad now. Even at the store in town (Daddy doesn’t see much reason for me to go to the laundromat anymore), I have to consciously remind myself to get my hand out of my pants…and more than once, waiting in line…I have eeked out a quiet load, and knowing that people are right there…fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me.

I think back, and I…I don’t remember being this perverse. I mean, I had ideas, sure. I’d fantasized about being owned by a daddy for as long as I can remember, but I…I’d never done anything, not until I’d met Joe. My ex-boyfriends were nothing like him either, usually slim guys close to my age, the same sorts of guys who do nothing for me when I look at them now around town, but one grungy looking trucker, and I have to duck into an alley to jack off in my pants, thinking about how dirty his crack is, and if he might let me lick it–whether Daddy might let me lick it, I mean. He’d…talked, a few times, about sharing me out with other men. I didn’t know if he meant it, or if he just said it because he’d found out it turns me on…at least, until that night we took a drive in January, out to a local rest area. We stayed there all night, and I had to ask every man who came in whether I could be their urinal, toilet paper and cum dump…and several said yes.

Yeah, I forgot that–when Daddy made me drink his piss. It was late one night, when we’d polished off a twenty-four pack together, and he was too drunk to stand up easily, so he started…talking to me, telling me he thought it was time I drank piss–I wanted his piss, right? I…I hadn’t really thought too hard about it, but I did–so I got down, and he pissed down my throat, and I nearly choked, that first time. I’m better now–much better. But back at the rest area, Daddy just watched, and chastised me if I fucked up in front of anyone. He told me on the way home that it had been a present for me being such a good boy, getting to serve so many men…but I didn’t really know how I felt about it, at the time, but the more he took me…the more I looked forward to it. It’s like he knows what I want even before I figure it out for myself.

In time, the snow melted, and winter turned into spring. I…barely recognized myself, by the time March rolled around, and I got the call from my sister. I weighed about 330 pounds, I had an inch long beard all over my face, and my hair was a tangled mess. My clothes were filthy, I jacked off close to eight or nine times a day, and the entire focus of my life was Daddy–keeping him clean, keeping him happy, drinking his piss, licking his ass, and being fed by him until I was blue in the face. In the winter…the world shrinks. Everything outside is white, and the world is gone, hidden. I’d forgotten about so much else, but that phone call…I missed her call, twice. Honestly, I was afraid to call her, I was afraid to talk to anyone other than Daddy, but he made me call her back.

My mom had died, suddenly. She was in tears, and needed help with the funeral, she was furious I hadn’t listened to her messages. I felt…awful. I told Daddy, and I said I had to go home for a few days…I didn’t even think about what I looked like. About what anyone might say about me. Still, Daddy agreed–I needed to go, and say goodbye, and help my sister with what I could. So I got in my car–as best I could fit in the tiny sedan–and drove over to the next state…but it wasn’t until my sister saw me, and smelled me, that I realized I was never going to belong there again, in that world.

Cleaning House (Part 5)

I was still in Joe’s bed, surrounded by his stench, and surrounded by him, as well. He must have climbed in without disturbing me, and he’d wrapped me in his arms and fallen asleep. I felt so…safe and secure, and happy, and I could feel his hard cock pressed against one cheek of my ass…and I definitely liked that too.

Fuck, what had I done yesterday? What had we done? What had he done to me? I’d wanted that–I’d always wanted that, for as long as I could recall, but…but doing it, it had felt so terrifying. Terrifying that…that I really enjoyed it as much as I had. No one should enjoy that right? Didn’t that all mean I was broken, somehow? I didn’t want to think about it, and so…and so, I didn’t. I snuggled back against Joe, focused on him snoring gently in my ear, and drifted back off, until he woke an hour or so later.

He kissed me, groped me in bed, and then pushed me onto my stomach and crawled behind me, spread my ass and ate out my hole. It felt…fuck, it still feels amazing, whenever he does that, but better when I was tight, when him shoving his tongue in my ass made me shake and groan and writhe under him, humping the mattress until I came in my briefs. He opened me up enough that he could slide his cock into me with just his spit as lube, and he fucked me, rough, for a few minutes before he came. The fuck…it wasn’t much, but the feel of his tongue. Rimming was something I’d thought of, but always been to scared to do.

Breakfast was next, and we followed the same pattern as the night before–I helped him cook my meal, he force fed me the entire thing, and then he cooked a meal for himself while I relaxed on the couch, digesting and jacking off–he demanded two loads from me by the time he finished cooking, and then, I crawled under the table and sucked him off while he ate, and came again at his demand. My cock–it ached, and yet I was still so horny. I felt like someone had flipped a switch in me, and now…now I couldn’t stop myself.

When he finished his meal, he told me it was time I took on a new task, and I followed him back out into the front room. “I hate showerin’, boy,” he told me, “Always have–too big tah really clean up real good. So yer gonna clean me from now on–all over, with that nice tongue a yers, every mornin’.”

I gulped, and started to speak, but he told me to start with his pits…and as soon as I got a good whiff of his musk, I didn’t want to object. I didn’t really want this to stop, did I? I had my dream man here, right in front of me…I couldn’t let this slip away. I spent the next half hour cleaning his upper body, and then moved to his feet at his order. I…fuck, his feet were huge, and I couldn’t stop myself, as I came again, licking them.

I started to work my way up, but he stopped me. “Time tah change seats,” he said.

He got up, hauled a bag out of a closet, and dumped a rimchair out onto the floor, and made me assemble it. I…I’d seen them in porn before, and fantasized about them, sure…but his ass? I thought about how it had felt when he’d rimmed me earlier…and I wanted to make him feel that good too, I realized. I got underneath, and he sat down, his cheeks spread and hole right against my lips. I licked, and he groaned. I licked harder, hand in my underwear, jerking off as I cleaned his ripe, greasy crack while he played his game, and fuck, I was loving it. I felt so used, but I wanted this man to use me. He put his ashtray on my belly, and warned me not to topple it, forcing me to keep my frame as still as I could, even as I licked and proped harder and deeper into him, tasting him and his shit for the first time, and already excited that I would be doing this daily.

The fart caught me by surprise, and with two strokes my cock exploded in my briefs yet again.

“You like that boy? You like daddy’s nasty farts?”

“Y-Yes Daddy.”

“Yeah, not surprised, the way yer chowin’ down on that filthy hole. I bet ya love daddy ass, right boy?”

“Yes Daddy, I do.”

Yeah–good boy, I like hearin’ that–guess ya can spent a bit more time under there, since ya like it so fuckin’ much.”

I serviced his ass for another hour, and then finished licking his ass and thighs clean, ending at his cock, which I sucked off. My jaw ached, and I was so hungry–when he fed me lunch next, he couldn’t stuff me fast enough. That afternoon was spent on chores, and then we ate dinner again–me first, and then him, and after a night of beers, cigars, and another fuck, we fell asleep again in his bed–or our bed, since I never ended up in the guest bed again.

Cleaning House (Part 4)

“Need something else, boy?”

My mouth was dry.

“Need daddy’s cock in that mouth a yers?”

I couldn’t say anything. He took my hand again, and tugged me forward, out of the chair, where I fell to my knees in front of him.

“What do ya need, boy.”

“I…want your cock, I do, I’m sorry.”

He gave me a slap to the face. “I asked ya what ya need–not what ya want. ‘N never apologize, ‘less ya fuck up, and that ain’t how I’m addressed, is it? Git it right.”

“I…need…your cock, d-daddy.”

“That’s a good boy,” he said, wrapped one big hand around the back of my head, and pulled my face into the front of his own briefs. They were…moist, and they reeked. I realized something, in that moment, that in all of the loads of laundry I’d done for him back in town, never had I ever seen a pair of underwear in those loads. “Daddy’s been waitin’ fer ya tah come ‘round, boy, things ‘r gonna be a lot better fer us both.”

He made me pull his briefs down with my teeth, and I saw his cock for the first time–six inches or so, thick as the can of beer still in his hand, with a hefty amount of foreskin around the head. He fucked my face for a couple of minutes, but got a bit winded, stopped and went back to the couch, naked. “Come on boy, git over here ‘n play with me while I play.”

I spent the next hour on my knees between his legs, sucking his cock and licking his balls, bringing him to multiple orgasms, but surprisingly his cock never once softened–and equally surprising, neither did mine. He forced me to have one hand down the front of my pants at all times, massaging my cock, keeping myself horny, matching him load for load, until the front of my briefs were soaked with my cum, and my cock felt raw and tender to the touch. He finished up the game when both of our guts started growling, and told me it was time for dinner, and he went into the kitchen to start cooking for the both of us, leaving me in my briefs on the floor, shaking, confused, and more turned on than I’d been in my life. “Boy, git in here–ya can help,” he called out to me, and so I joined him in the kitchen.

I didn’t do much–or rather, he didn’t let me do much, but it was the first time he’d let me near the kitchen since I’d moved in with him, and I felt…special. We laughed and chatted, things felt…more normal, as if I didn’t have four loads of cum in my gut, and my briefs weren’t coated in my spunk.

“I’ve never…done anything like that before,” I said.

“But ya wanted it.”

I nodded, hesitantly.

He smiled at me, and pulled me into a short hug, out frames pushed together, him gently grinding his gut into my smaller one. “As soon as I saw ya, I knew ya were the one, I had tah have ya.”

“I…the first time I saw you, I fantasized about you for days, while I packed up my things.”

He didn’t say anything, just pulled me closer, and then we went back to cooking. I noticed that the portions seemed…a bit smaller than usual, but I didn’t say anything about it. When everything was finished, I went and sat at the table, but was confused when he didn’t join me. “Aren’t you eating too?”

“Nah boy–this here’s all fer ya. I’ll eat later.”

I looked at the spread in front of me, confused–I could never eat all of this! It was easily a meal for four on it’s own. “I…I can’t do that.”

“Ya can boy, trust me–trust yer daddy, I ain’t never gonna steer ya wrong.”

That was the first evening he fed me. My hands barely touched the food–instead, he forced me to keep one hand back in my filthy briefs, and the other on my nipples, as he drove the food into me at a steady pace, faster than I usually ate but not so much I choked. I liked it, actually, giving him control. I liked it so much, I came again, moaning through a mouthful of food, and he grunted and belched, grinding his own hard cock into the side of my belly. “Fuckin’ Pig,” he said, “Fuckin’ Pigboy.”

He kept feeding me, fucking his cock against the side of my belly, and before the end of the meal he’d cum again as well–I could feel the sticky mess spew through the front of his whities as he kept grinding against me, and then he leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was all beer and smoke, and I exploded again as his tongue invaded my hungry mouth until he pulled away, and we focused on the remains of the meal. Somehow…I ate it all. All of it. I ached, and I could barely move, but all of it was within me, and I belched–Joe leaning in close and sniffing it, grunting, groping me roughly. “Good boy, I told ya ya’d eat it.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

He helped me up from the table, and led me down the hall of the cabin. I thought we were heading to my room, but instead we went to his. It was the one room of the house he didn’t want me to clean, or even enter, and I never had. It was sizable, but as filthy as the house had been when I’d arrived, with laundry all over the floor, with sheets on the bed I knew I’d never once washed since arriving as his cleaner. They smelled so strongly of him–his cum and his sweat…I laid down on them, feeling him his musk was engulfing me. “Sleep boy–Daddy’s gotta go make his own dinner now.”

I had no idea how I would possibly sleep with my gut so angry, but all I remember is Joe turning out the light, shutting the door, and when I next woke, it was morning.

Cleaning House (Part 3)

I woke to the smell of fried breakfast and made my way downstairs in just my boxers. I wouldn’t have normally, but after our conversation the previous night I felt like it was the right thing to do. And by the look on Joe’s face when I walked into the kitchen, I realised it was definitely the right thing to do. “There’s me boy! Have a seat and I’ll serve up”. It was the first time that I ended up with more on my plate than he did. But I ate it all and gave a massive belch after. “Now that’s how ter compliment the chef!” he bellowed with a big laugh. “Now, don’t be thinkin’ yer gettin’ outta yer regular duties now, just ‘cause I’m feedin’ ya. Git the kitchen clean, ‘n then I’ll have a list of chores outside fer ya.”

The tone he used with me that morning–it was different. He’d been fairly easy going so far, and had been happy with whatever work I’d done around those house. I don’t think he cared, to be honest, as long as everything ended up cleaner than it usually was. But in the kitchen, washing up, I felt his eyes on me from the doorway, and I felt…uncomfortable. He’d seen me in my boxers before, of course, but this was the first time I felt like he was really looking at me–or…enjoying looking at me.

Did he enjoy looking at me? I was afraid to ask. Had he noticed how much I’d enjoyed looking at him? He came up behind me and gave me a light slap on my ass, and I felt it jiggle. He chuckled. “Next time yer in town, buy yerself some briefs. They’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’ve always worn boxers though.”

“Yeah, but ya ain’t been close tah 250 pounds before. Tomorrow, when ya do the shoppin’, buy a pack of briefs–and a couple jockstraps.”

“I don’t like wearing jockstraps for sure.”

“Just do it.”

So the next day, on the rest of the shopping list, he’d added the two items there at the bottom, and I bought them. I wasn’t sure how to feel about him telling me what kind of underwear to buy, but honestly…I felt good doing it, and maybe a bit humiliated I suppose. Still, he was…firmer over the next few months, and as large as the meals were, the work never seemed to stop either. My routine was eating, working and sleeping. He decided it would be a good idea to keep a record of my growth, and I was surprised by how quickly I was growing. I now had a nice big round belly that hung down, hiding my belt, a big chest which was both muscle and fat and my arms were nearly twice the size of when I first started working for Joe. I hit 280, and kept going strong.

As fall came and the weather turned, there was less and less work to do outside, beyond raking leaves and getting the cabin ready for the winter. One afternoon, on one of my days off, Joe and I were sitting in the front room. He was playing his games and I was sitting there eating a stack of sandwiches with crisps and drinking beer he’d made, and told me to eat. I’d gotten into a habit of belching loudly as Joe never seemed to mind. In fact he seemed to enjoy it, and praised me whenever I let off an extra loud one. Still, after he’d started feeding me more, I’d found he was less and less interested in me playing games with him, and so I found myself just watching, and snacking–always snacking. Well, I’d pretend to be watching the game, but more often I was watching him sit there, stuffing his face with the snacks I’d bring him, drinking beer, smoking fags and cigars. I’d get so horny, actually, that I’d developed a bit of a…habit of sneaking off to the bathroom down the hall to jack off when I couldn’t stand it anymore, and then returning after flushing away the evidence.

“I gotta go take a piss,” I said.

I heaved myself up, but before I could take a step, Joe spoke, “Ya sure ya gotta piss? Ya don’t usually piss in there, ya know. Usually yer in there wackin’ off.”

I can’t imagine how red my face must have gotten, but I was so startled I couldn’t even deny it.

“Take off those pants and sit back down, boy.”

Boy–fuck, he’d called me boy. Did he know? He had to know at this point, if he knew about me jacking off. Still, I did as he said, and dropped my sweats and stepped out of them. I was wearing a pair of the briefs he’d made me buy, but they were tight at this point.

“That’s a good boy, wearing your whities like that. Now, if ya wanna jack off, ya can do it here. In fact, I wanna see it, so get to it.”

“I…Look, I, it was a mistake, I’m sorry.”

He looked over at me and smiled, “Nothin’ that’s happened here so far has been a mistake boy, trust me. I’m gettin’ what I want–I always do.”

He paused his game and hefted himself up, lumbered over in front of me. His belly, just hanging there, was so…huge, and a bit of drool fell out of my mouth as I stared at it, and then looked up. He ran a hand down my belly to my crotch, and groped me cock and balls with his big hand. “Plenty hard–yer ready. So do it boy. Shoot that load a yers intah those whities.”

I tried to protest again, but he grabbed my wrist, and forced my hand down to my crotch…and I gave in. He stood there, looming in front of me, stroking my belly and teasing my nipples, and in less than a minute, I exploded, the load filling the front of my briefs. I felt…awful. I felt humiliated. I was so turned on, that I didn’t know what I wanted, other than it to never stop.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 9)

CW: Bestiality

“It was the happiest I’d ever been, being Master Joel’s dog. Everything was so new! It was better than I’d ever dreamed.”

Fido was crying now. He was sitting on the floor in front of me. I’d sat down in my old recliner, smoking my pipe, and listened to my pup finish his story, but here, his voice caught, and he paused. Looking up at me, he knew what my next question had to be, of course.

“If he made you his dog–a real dog…then why are you human now?”

Fido wiped his eyes.

“I was his dog for a year–a year to the day. The next winter, he took me back to Pigtown…and left me there. I became human again, my gear was back, even my old clothes were back, and…and I was a man again. I hurried after him, but he’d just…disappeared. I can’t tell you how sad I was, I thought about jumping in front of a car–I tried to jump in front of a car, several of them, but my body wouldn’t let me. I didn’t find the note in my pocket until a while later, and…in it he told me what I had to do, if I wanted to be a dog again.”

He looked up at me, judging me somehow, wondering about me. Hesitant, but I’d come this far, and I wanted to know. Eventually, he spoke again.

“I had…to find men–men like I’d been before. Businessmen, obsessed with with themselves, obsessed with their work. Vain and prideful. I had to tell them my story–the whole story, with no lies. And then, if after all that, they…if you fuck me, I get to be a dog again. Your dog, sir. Your sexy fucking mutt, and you can fuck me all fucking day long, sir. You’re the sexiest master I’ve seen, and I want to be yours, sir. Please…please, fuck me.”

It was a rush, feeling everything come back to me suddenly. I looked around the room in a panic, I looked down at myself, at this disgusting, fat, hairy, old body I was in now, and I nearly screamed, my pipe falling from my shaking lips and landing on the carpet.

“This…this isn’t me, how did you do this to me?”

“Master, please calm down. It’ll be alright I promise. You…you don’t have to fuck me, sir, I understand. Not everyone I tell the story to does. It has to be your choice. But we could be happy here–you could be happy here. You wouldn’t have come this far if I couldn’t have made you happier than you were.”

Fido stood up, and stripped his way out of the costume. He looked…filthy, under there. Under fed and exhausted. He clutched himself, and I could…see how uncomfortable he was, in his own skin. He got down on his hands and knees, facing away from me, ass in the air. It was…shaking a bit, and I could almost imagine a tail there, at the small of his back, swinging back and forth in eager anticipation, and my own cock–this cock, I mean–was stirring at the thought of giving the mutt a proper plowing, feeling my cock in his tight doggy hole, fuck!

“No, this is fucking sick, this–I’m not some disgusting dog fucker, this is so fucking wrong!”

“I know sir, I know.”

His voice was quiet, just a whisper.

“If I…If there was another way, I’d do it. How do you think it feels for me? You’re…this is the seventh time I’ve done this in the last week, you’re the seventh time I’ve tried, after I lost my last owner a month ago. I hate it, sir. I hate doing this to people, but I need it, sir. Master. I can’t stop, and so…I understand if you leave, I do. I’m…broken, and there’s no fixing me. I’ll find someone eventually though, I always have…I could tell that you’re too–well, you’re not like the others who owned me, sir.”

He turned around and got on his knees, looking at me.

“They were all…cruel, sir. They fucked me because they wanted to control me. I could feel how much they hated me, and everytime, they abandoned me, sir. They got so…disgusted with themselves, that after a year, they’d kick me out, and I’d change back–but they keep their new lives…they forget all about me and my story. But you aren’t cruel, sir. You think you are, but you aren’t. You…remind me of who I was. Following orders, doing what I thought the world was asking of me, but not happy at all. I’m happy now though, happier than I ever thought I could be, and I just…I just know I could make you happy too sir, that you’re happy like this, even though you know you shouldn’t be.”

He picked up my pipe from the floor, tamped it down gently and relit it with a match from the box on the table beside the chair, all while still on his hands and knees. I couldn’t help but feel impressed–proud, even, at his skill. I didn’t…want to admit it to myself, but in a way, he was right. I hadn’t been happy. I’d been lonely, and trying to fill every void with work, and this last evening, just…being. It was the first time I’d felt at peace. This apartment was filthy, I was filthy, but here…here there were no conference calls, and no meetings, and…and was this so bad? No one would have to know, right? That…that I’m a fucking pervert?

Fido crawled over, my pipe in his teeth, and I take it from him, and take a deep draw off the cheap smoke.

“You aren’t going to leave, are you? I don’t…I like you sir. I’ve always wanted to be a dog, sir, but for the first time…I don’t just want to be a dog, I want to be your dog, I think.”

“I bet you tell that to everyone, Fido.”

He shook his head no. I let him take his hand in mine, and pull me back towards the recliner. I stripped off my clothes, looking at my heavyset frame, my rough hands, the tattoos covering my arms and chest. I sat down, and Fido started licking at my feet, and then worked higher until he was licking at my cockhead. I don’t know if it’s too late now–I can…see him changing, and I can feel my memories starting to fade away. He’s…getting a bit smaller now, his arms and legs growing thinner as the hair on his body fills in with a brindle pattern. His ears are shifting up to the top of his head, and I give my pup a scratch behind them as he licks at my manhood, and I…fuck, he’s one sexy fuckin’ mutt, and damn smart too. Always fuckin’ knows what his master needs, that’s for damn sure.

He backs up, turns around, and goes down, presenting his hole to me again…and who the fuck am I kidding? I know I’m gonna fuck it. I’ve…always had a thing for mutts, ever since I was a dumb kid. I get on my knees, chuffin’ on my pipe, and slide into him, trying to ignore the crack of his bones as he changes, the pants and howls of pleasure as he gets what he fuckin’ wants…and to my fuckin’ surprise, the anxiety, the terror…it melts away too. Just a man and his best fuckin’ friend, right? I cum deep in Fido’s hole, and the big mutt–probably some lab hound mix–turns around and starts licking at my face, thanking me.

“Easy boy,” I say, and reach under, feeling how hard his rocket is, slick from his sheath. “I ain’t the only horny fucker here, am I? I sure could use a fuck too–ya up to it boy?”

He gave a loud bark, and I got on my hands and knees in front of him, and like an old pro, Fido got up and fucked his way into me in return, and I knew I’d found a partner for life.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 8)

CW: Bestiality

“Please–please. I know I don’t deserve it. I know you probably don’t even want me, but I need this. I can’t explain it, sir, I can’t, but this is everything that I’ve ever wanted–or, at least, as close as I can get.”

He was on his knees in the light winter snow before Joel, still in the pup gear from the club. The only way he’d been able to catch up was to skip changing entirely, and as terrified as he was that some early morning commuter might see him in this kinky gear, he had to tell Master Joel how he felt. If he had to go through another week hiding this, he didn’t think he’d be able to survive.

Joel looked down at him, appraising him. “And what do you want? What do you really want?”

“To be a dog! A real fucking dog, and I want to be your dog, sir. But you know that! But it’s impossible, I can’t actually…and this is the best I can get, and you’re the best master I…I love you! I love you so hard that I can barely handle being away from you, and you know that and you keep leaving! You just leave me. I know I wasn’t a good person, but I’m trying to be a good pup, sir, I’m trying to make up for it, and…and…” he gave a long, loud whine which seemed to articulate the frustration better than any words could at that moment.

Joel got down, smiling at him, and gave him a pat on the head. “Boy, take a look at yourself, and you might be surprised by what you see.”

Confused, he looked back at himself, and to his surprise, the pup gear he’d had on in the club–it was gone. He was completely naked, but it wasn’t cold, because a thick pelt had grown in all over his body. Looking down at his hands, they were quickly becoming two paws, pads on the fingers and thick claw like nails. He whined again and tried to express his gratitude, but his face was stretching and contorting–before too long, all he could do was bark and yip and jump around on all fours, his bones aching terribly as they shifted into their new forms, but he didn’t care. It was happening! It was really happening to him, he was going to be a dog. He was going to be his master’s dog, and he loved his master so much. He rammed his face into Joel’s crotch, licking at the leather pants he had on, his own cock shifting into a bright red dog cock in a furry sheath, sliding out in excitement. He wasn’t any special dog–just a mutt, really, but he didn’t care. He was a dog, a real dog, just like he’d always wanted to be, and looking up at Master, he knew he would do anything for him, for the rest of his life–however long that might be.

Joel watched the last of the changes of his new dog’s body settle in, the tail fur filling in as it grew to it’s full length, wagging to and fro, his flesh nose darkening to black, and the brightness of his human eyes dulling somewhat, as he lost contact with his humanity. He would still be smarter than your average dog–much smarter, really–but all thoughts of life as a man were locked away. For Fido, the only life he could lead now, was as a dog. “Alright boy–now how about we go home?” Joel said, clipping the lead he’d used in the club to Fido’s collar. He barked in agreement, and together they tromped off down the city blocks, Fido not even feeling the cold, and when they got back to Master’s apartment, he begged for his Master’s cock, just like any good dog should. He licked and licked, and then Master fucked his doggy hole too–it was tight, but it was what Fido wanted–what Fido had always wanted.

“It was the happiest I’d ever been, being Master Joel’s dog. Everything was so new! It was better than I’d ever dreamed.”

“If he made you his dog–a real dog…then why are you human now?”

Fido wiped his eyes.

He looked up at me, judging me somehow, wondering about me. Hesitant, but I’d come this far, and I wanted to know. Eventually, he spoke again.

“I had…to find men–men like I’d been before. Businessmen, obsessed with with themselves, obsessed with their work. Vain and prideful. I had to tell them my story–the whole story, with no lies. And then, if after all that, they…if you fuck me, I get to be a dog again. Your dog, sir. Your sexy fucking mutt, and you can fuck me all fucking day long, sir. You’re the sexiest master I’ve made, and I want to be yours, sir. Please…please, fuck me.”

A Dog’s Tale (Part 7)

Needless to say, listening to my mutt’s description of that first night out in gear, I was understandably horny as fuck. Still, even in that costume, I could tell he was genuinely sad about the memory–I gave him a scritch behind his ears and that seemed to help him perk up a bit. “Sorry sir, thinking about Joel always makes me a little sad, and I don’t like being sad.”

“Ya don’t gotta be sad Fido–ya sure got me horny as fuck, talkin’ about that shit. I got a bone right here for ya, if ya want boy,” I said, showing off the outline of my hard cock in the crotch of my overalls. Fido stared at it, whined, and then looked away.

“I want to sir, you know I do. But we need to get home, don’t we? And I’m still not done with the story. I can’t…not until I tell you the whole thing, sir.”

“Yeah, probably best not tah fuck mah pup here, where everyone can see, as hot as that would be…” I said, and tapped the ash from my pipe out onto the cement and stood up, sliding it back into my pocket. “Come on boy, let’s catch the next train–I’m feelin’ a whole lot better now.”

“Yes sir!”

I admit, a part of me was still struggling to accept this, a part of me trying to insist that I’d missed some conference call, trying to tell me that my loft was on the opposite side of the city. But every time I tried to get my thoughts in order, the mutt was give me a nuzzle to make sure I was still paying good attention to his story, and so I figured it would be best to give the mutt what he wanted, let him finish, have a fuck, and then I could get my own shit straightened out.

The mutt told me about how horrible he’d felt for the next few days, about how horrible it had felt for giving in like that, but at the same time, it was craving more. It went back the next weekend, and the treatment was much the same–Fido did his very best to please Joel and all of the other men at the bar, but once again, it wasn’t enough. Joel kept abandoning him, time and time again, and he kept trying to understand why every time it happened he was so devastated.

“Finally…I realized I was in love with him. I was in love with him, but he didn’t give two shits about me, not really. I wasn’t…I was a toy, something to play with, I wasn’t a human to him at all. I don’t even know if he saw me as a pet. But I loved him unconditionally. Just seeing him would make me grin from ear to ear, and my tail would wag, and I’d get so excited because he was there again, he was back with me. I’d feel whole again. But then he’d leave–he’d always leave.”

We were off the train now, and walking through some poorly maintained apartment buildings. Fido seemed to know where he was going, and so I was following along behind, smoking my pipe again, now that we were out of the underground. It took me a moment to realize he hadn’t kept speaking, and he was looking back at me with…a strange look in his eyes. A loving look, but also desperate, and it…scared me, honestly. “So what, is that yer story, mutt?” I asked gruffly.

“Almost done. Let’s go in though, sir.”

He pointed to a door to one of the buildings, and I pulled out a thick ring of keys from my pocket, and sure enough, one of them let us into the building. The key was marked with the number “607”, so together we hiked up the stairs–the elevator was out–and arrived at an apartment. I opened the door and stepped inside, and immediately I felt…like I was home. The air smelled of my musk and my smoke–and it smelled like…Fido, too. There were dog toys all over the floor, mixed in with the grungy work clothes I tended to leave lying around. Still, it was home, but it wasn’t familiar. I didn’t know this place, even if this place seemed to know me. Fido stepped inside as well, a but cautious, but I could sense how excited he was about being here finally. I shut the door behind us, and he walked around, sniffing the air.

“Well? Here we are mutt–are you going to finish the story or not?”

He turned to me, face beaming, and nodded.

“So…I loved him. I loved Joel like I’d never loved anyone before in my life, and once I realized it…I realized he knew how I felt. He’d known longer than I had, and he hadn’t…done anything. But I needed to be with him. It didn’t feel like a choice, it was a desperate compulsion, and so one night, outside the club, I managed to chase him down, and I begged him. I begged him to…to let me be his pup.”