Caption: Reggie’s Training

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“Please Coach, I’m still full from breakfast, can’t I work out some more?” Reggie said, rubbing his still full belly and letting off an uncomfortable belch. He was soaked in sweat, but he’d had a hard time lifting this morning, due to how full he was.

Coach just looked down at him, unimpressed. “You said you wanted to train with me, didn’t you?”

“Yes Coach,” Reggie muttered.

“And when I told you that I would train you, you remember what that meant right? That you would have to do everything I said. That if you wanted to be a bull like me, that was going to take some sacrifices. You’d have to do some things that you wouldn’t do otherwise.”

Reggie nodded.

“Besides, you are hungry, aren’t you?”

He was. He was still so full, but his lips were parched somehow. Coach tweaked one of his nipples, and a spurt of milk shot out of it and struck Reggie in the cheek. Unable to help himself, he scooped it up with a finger and sucked it clean.

“Now drink it up, and don’t question me again.”

Reggie stood up, and started sucking on one of coach’s teats, moaning as he did, his head going foggy and loopy like it always did when he drank down his milk. It wasn’t long before Reggie’s mind had shut down entirely, as he moved onto the other tit, grinding his cock and balls up against Coach’s body. Something…had been happening to them lately. The more of coach’s milk he drank, the larger his ball sack got, and the smaller his cock became, almost like his sack was absorbing it. 

When he’d drained Coach’s teats, the older man pushed him away. “Now, what are you?”

“I’m a cow, Coach.”

“That’s good. And what are cows?”

“Cows are fat. Cows are stupid. Cows don’t have dicks, we just have udders full of milk for Master.”

“That’s good. You will remember that, you will know in your heart that you are a cow, but you will still think that you are here to become a bull like me. You still aren’t ready to know the truth of what you are, of what you want to be.”

Reggie nodded dumbly.

“Now turn around, time to fatten up that ass of yours.”

Reggie turned around and bent over the weight bench, and Coach fucked his tight hole, both of them mooing and lowing, Reggie’s smaller cock spewing milk all over the floor with each thrust of Coach’s massive cock into his ass. Give him another week, and then Coach would tell him the truth. He’d never come here because he wanted to be a bull–after all, there was only room for one bull in the herd. No, Reggie would join his brothers down in the basement, stuffing themselves, getting milked all day long, and help fuel Coach’s growing protein shake business instead. Then, Coach would find another wannabe, and show they that they would be happier as a stupid cow too.

The Pig Squad

Week One Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Look, I’ll be the first to admit that the squad had some issues, alright? But we weren’t any worse than any of the other squads in the state patrols, I can tell you that. Harrison could get a little rough with folks out on the highways. Everyone knows that Klein is a racist, though he can keep it in usually. Ricci does his best as sergeant, but his heart isn’t really in it. His dad was a cop, so he had to be too, you know? Sure, the lawsuits look bad, but most of them got settled easily enough. Hell, I’ll point you to five squads in this state with records worse than ours, but hell, one high profile chase goes wrong, and suddenly we have to do something about it. Something being, of course, this fucking psycho bullshit re-training.

I heard from Lewis that this is all because the quack doctor is some friend of the governor’s brother or something. Someone’s always greasing someone’s shaft, right? So the whole squad has to spend five fucking weeks off patrol, and instead we’re locked up in a classroom all fucking day long, with this old fuck prattling on and on at us, making us watch these boring ass movies about how we can work better as a team, how we can better serve the community, it’s all a bunch of horseshit. I’ll tell you this right now, after one week, I’ll gladly get the squad to shape up just so I don’t have to sit through this trash ever again.

And now, we have to keep a journal too, whatever. Something about helping the doctor assess the course’s effect over time. Well here doc, when you read this in a few weeks, here’s what I want you to know. You’re a fucking piece of shit quack, with no fucking idea what it takes to be a police officer. How about that for a baseline? Five weeks from now, we’ll all be back on our bikes, laughing about what a fucking waste of time this all was, and you’ll have your chunk of government money–that’s what this is all about I bet.

What else was there–oh right, the drugs. We have to take these pills too, apparently. Don’t know what they are, but they give them to us at the start of the day, and make sure we all take them. Harrison got found out when they tested our piss for it on Wednesday–he’d been hiding the pill under his tongue and spitting it out later. Had to have a “private” session with the doctor about that. More bullshit I think. At least they’re feeding us well–though without going to the gym, I look a little flabby. Wish they’d give us some time for physical activity at least–then this wouldn’t be quite so mind numbingly boring. We even had to watch a bunch of videos over the weekend at home–they were so dull I can’t remember a thing about them. Whatever–nothing else to fucking report this week, other than to say, go fuck yourself Doc, you fucking queer. As for me, I’m heading to the strip club with a couple of other guys from the squad. I know I could use a good fuck right about now, after a week of this shit. Just four more to go.


Week Two Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Alright, so I think something strange is going on with those drugs they’ve been giving us, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. They don’t give us a lot of private time–we always have the doctor or one of his various assistants watching us throughout these sessions, but the few times we’ve been able to talk to each other, we’re all reporting the same things. All of us are eating more. We just can’t help ourselves, and the fact that the doctor always has a full snack bar for these sessions isn’t helping. I’ll look down in the middle of one of his boring videos and discover I’ve demolished a massive load of candy and other snacks without even realizing it–and worse, I’m still fucking hungry, every time!

Fields said that he was taking a shower the other day, and when he looked down, a bunch of hair was clogging the drain. He’d just lost all of the hair off his body in a single shower, and apparently a bunch off his head as well. I hadn’t really thought about it until he said something, but I realized that I couldn’t recall the last day I’d needed to shave my face. I don’t grow a lot there, so I can usually get away with every other day, but I couldn’t think of when I’d shaved over the last week my chin and cheeks are perfectly smooth. When I checked the rest of my body, it was smooth too, and a lot of my muscular definition had been swallowed up in a thick layer of fat. My hair was even looking thin, and receding higher than it should have. It has to be those drugs. None of us want to take them, but when the doctor gives them to us, we can’t stop ourselves. I’ve…noticed that a lot, actually. The doctor gives us orders, and we all follow them, without even really thinking about it. It only got worse with the physical exam on Friday.

We all had to strip naked, together, and hell if it wasn’t obvious that something was happening to us. All of us were smooth as a button. Klein had lost his goatee entirely, and looked 50 pounds heavier. Hell, all of us looked 50 pounds heavier, if not a bit more. We were ushered into the doctor’s office, poked and prodded by his assistants, and then we had to answer all these…sex questions while we had electrodes hooked up to our cocks! It sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with police work, but while I…I wanted to say something, I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t do anything at all. Just answered his questions like some stupid dolt, and then they gave me a new uniform to wear for the rest of the re-training. We could wear our civilian clothes home at least, but we’d have to change in the locker room every day before the sessions started.

I wore it the next day. We all did. The shirts and breeches are so tight on all of us, with all of the new weight we’ve put on. It’s more like a dress uniform, but the tightness–the rigidness…it made my cock a bit excited. We even have to wear perfectly shined leather boots, gloves, and a hat while we sit in for sessions now. In it, I feel like I’m sweating so much, but during one session, I caught myself grabbing my crotch while the Doctor spoke, and looking around, I wasn’t the only one doing it.

I’ve heard rumors that a few guys are going to try and push back. I don’t know what they’re going to do exactly, none of them are guys I tend to run with–Klein, Harrison, a few others, Ricci probably, since he’s always one for bad decisions. I don’t know if they’re going to go to the chief, or if they’re going to try and take matters into their own hands…but I’m staying out of it. I…I just, it’s so hard to think now, that I’m sitting here at home. Last week I went out to the strip club, had a session with Sonja afterwards, and I couldn’t even get hard. She offered me a blue pill, and I just left. But now, I think it’s…smaller. My balls too. And I haven’t gotten hard thinking about a woman in…days? Just at these sessions, in my new uniform…fuck, what’s wrong with me? I need to fucking eat something, fuck this. Why am I even writing this down? I don’t want the doc to read this…


Week Three Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

I don’t know what to do. I feel like…I know that this is wrong, but…but fuck, sitting here, rubbing my gut, smoking one of my cigars, feeling my little dick get hard, it all just feels so right, all of a sudden. 

I read what I wrote last week, and it feels so far away now. So much happened since I wrote it, but I…I just keep hearing Doc’s voice, and…and fuck, he makes me feel so good, thinking about him. I like feeling good, I just want all my brothers to feel good too, right? Why wouldn’t I? If we just relax, and follow the program, I can tell everything will be alright, but part of me is telling me I have to fight this. That this isn’t my body. That I don’t smoke cigars, that I don’t want to be fat, that the feeling of my leather gloves on my cock isn’t heaven on fucking earth. But I don’t think we can fight it. Hell, look at what happened to Klein and the others when they tried.

It was Tuesday. Wednesday? I don’t know, they all blend together. I saw Doc yesterday, I know that, and it was two, three days before? I was already dressed, in the main room, had taken my pills and gotten in my seat. A few guys on the squad were all missing at this point, the ones I knew had been planning something, and a couple others that didn’t surprise me. Most of the bad apples, you might say–the ones who were causing the bulk of the issues in the first place. A few minutes after I noticed that, the assistants (I call them that, but they’re guards, aren’t they? Keeping us there like that, controlling us) dragged them all in, kicking and flailing. Fuck, that was a sight. Doc came out, asked them why they were late, and Klein ripped into him, yelling and shouting, accusing him of all sorts of shit, trying to hypnotise us, warp our minds, fucking with our bodies. The rest of us just sat there. I was scared, honestly. I knew he was right…I think? I don’t know, I just feel so out of it.

Doc tells the assistants that they all need a special group sessions with him for the day, and the rest of us just rewatch some of the videos we’d already seen, while the assistants watch us. I try and focus on them this time, really hard, but by the end of the day, hell if I can remember what the videos said–though I knew they were ones I’d seen before, somehow. I knew that I…I knew what they’d said, even if I couldn’t say it, or think it. We change out of our uniforms at the end of the session, and the rebels are there, eyes…glassy. They’re smearing some weird cream on their crotches, vile smelling shit. Harrison bent over, and I swear I saw something in his ass. A plug or a dildo, who knows what. None of them said anything, and the next day, all of them were on time, fully dressed, took their pills like good hogs, and sat down.

Hogs–why did I just write that? Reading it makes me so fucking hard, why the fuck…I can’t think about that, I can’t handle this.

I know what I have to do. I just gotta cruise through. Make sure no one notices me. But then, yesterday, Doc holds three of us back. Wold, Fields, and I. We all go into his office, he…talked with us, about stuff. Then Wold and Fields left, and it was just the two of us.

Now, I’m scared. I’m scared, because this is the first time I can really remember something Doc said to me, clearly. He asked me why I’d never pursued a leadership position in the squad, and I told him the truth, that I didn’t want the trouble. That it was easier to just go with the flow, rather than try and push back against a bunch of shit that will never change. I learned years ago that you can fight the racists like Klein, or the fascists like Harrison, or the legacies like Ricci, but there’s always more of them that show up. Doc just nodded. Then he handed me a bunch of cigars and a set of videos. Told me to watch them this weekend, and smoke at least two cigars a day for the rest of training.

Everyone else was gone, when I’d left. I didn’t notice until I got home that I was still wearing my uniform–it was the first time I’d worn it outside of the training. I looked at myself in it, in my mirror, and I hardly recognize myself. Smooth face and head, fat body squeezed into the thick cloth and shiny leather. It made me leak. I’ve gotten through half the discs, I think. I don’t know what they’re doing to me, but thinking about Klein and Harrison, how stupid they’ve seemed for the last few days, thinking about that…plug in Harrison’s hole, fucking hogs. Need a good boss to tell them what to do. Yeah, plug their hogholes, make ‘em squeal, that’ll–

Fuck, what a fucking mess. Filled the front of my fucking breeches with a load, just thinking about those stupid hogs of mine. Fuck, why am I writing this? What is he doing to me now? And why the fuck do I keep farting so dang much?


Week Four Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

I broke him. Fuck, and it felt fucking good doing it, fuck.

This week was different. Instead of group sessions, Doc scheduled individual meetings with all of us. Mine was early on, which kind of surprised me, since I’d just had a personal session with him a few days before. He asked me how I’d liked the cigars that he’d given me. I’d smoked them all over the weekend–I hadn’t really been able to stop once I’d started them. They didn’t really hit me like the few cigarettes I’d had before. There was a bit of a nicotine rush of course, but mostly I felt…powerful, when I was smoking one. Powerful, and dominant, and I’d usually found myself thinking about my squad brothers, about how they looked in their uniforms, and more and more, how they might look out of them, kneeling in front of me, and…

Fuck, is this me? Has this always been me? I can’t really remember how I used to look, you know? I try. I look in the mirror, but I can’t picture myself with hair on my head. I can’t imagine what I’d look like if I managed to lose the weight I keep putting on somehow. 

I told all that to the Doc. He just nodded, and then he asked me whether I’d noticed myself farting more. I blushed–I’d been passing gas the whole time I’d been sitting in his office, trying to keep them quiet, but more than a few had been at least a little noisy. I’d belched a few times as well, when I was trying to talk. I told him I didn’t know what was causing it, but assumed it was just how much I’d been eating lately, but he told me to relax. He was my closest confidant, after all–I could be myself around him, if I wanted to.

Well, apparently “being myself” meant leaning back, groping myself, sniffing my own farts while I told him all of my…disgusting fantasies I’d had about the other men in the squad. As horrified as I was, I couldn’t stop myself–and more than once, I came in the front of my uniform, and Doc just smiled at me in the oddest way. I don’t recall a lot after that. He spoke a lot, but as always, I just zoned out when he was speaking, though it had been a full hour when I finally realized what was happening. He told me that for the rest of the week, I would be leading workouts with the squad while he was having individual meetings. I asked him why Ricci wasn’t doing them–he was the squad’s sergeant after all. Doc told me not to worry about it. As I left, I remembered that he had been one of the guys involved in the little revolt, so the answer was obvious, in the end.

The next day, with a fresh supply of cigars, I started putting the rest of the pigs through their paces in the gym. It had been relatively unused in the training up until then, but now, all of us were sweating up a storm, and for all the weight we’d put on, I was surprised to find we were all…stronger. I could bench 200–I’d never been able to do that in my life, though I let a massive fart rip when I did. The rest of the guys were a bit…confused as to why I was put in charge, but I whipped them into shape well enough, and as more and more guys went to see the Doc, their attitude towards me changed more too.

I found Lewis in the locker room after a workout, rubbing his shiny boots against his tiny cock, moaning and grunting…and when he saw me, fully dressed in my own uniform, his jaw just about dropped. I…I don’t know why I did it. I ordered him to get down and lick mine clean. He was reluctant, but once he sniffed my farts, he went into a bit of a frenzy, eventually humping my boots, tongue hanging out, smooth flab coated in sweat until he came all over them, licked them up, and told me, “Thank you Sir, for letting me serve you.”

I was horrified. But that night, sniffing my farts and belches, all I could think about was how hot it had been, and how I wanted to do it again, as soon as I could. Other guys were picking up interests of their own. A few confessed to me that they’d started using dildos–it was the only way to get their little cocks to cum any more. Harrison needed to be fisted, apparently–the Doc had prescribed him some drugs to help him get stretched out enough so he’d be ready by the end of training, and I wondered what it would feel like, my fat fist shoved up his hole, making him beg for mercy. Some just wanted to smell me, my farts, my belches–they couldn’t get enough of it. By the end of the week, I had the whole squad eating out of the palm of my hand, and fuck if that wasn’t a powertrip. Then I realized I hadn’t seen Klein in a couple of days. I asked Doc, but he avoided the question–then, on Friday, during a video, he had me follow him instead–and he showed me where Klein was through some one way glass.

He was in a small room, staring at a screen flashing a seductive series of spirals into his face. He was clearly zonked out–eyes unfocused, drool rolling down his first and second chin. He was completely naked as well–and that was when I saw the result of that strange cream all of them had been using. Klein’s cock and balls were…gone. Just a piss hole in the middle of his crotch, and nothing else. “Hog”. I thought it again, and now I knew why I had thought it the first time. There were the pigs in the squad. Then there were the hogs like Klein, Harrison and Ricci–and then there was me, something else entirely. A pig too–but the head pig, I guess.

Doc turned off the screen, and after a couple of moments, Klein came back to himself, shouting and yelling, trying to get out of his restraints. Doc told me that this was a leadership test–Klein was ready and primed, all I had to do was get him in line, and show him how a hog ought to behave. I protested, but the assistants shoved me into the room, undid Klein’s restraints, and he charged at me.

I just…reacted. I was so much stronger than him, I just…knew I was, and I had him shoved up and pinned against the wall in a few moments, grinding my crotch into his ass, cigar tip warm against his cheek. It felt good. He deserved it. He had to be put in his fucking place. It didn’t take me long–just a few belches to knock him off balance, get him horny, then a blast from my ass, and he couldn’t stop himself–he dug in and started eating out my smelly hole–and fuck, it was the best feeling I’d ever had. Ten times better than an orgasm, as Klein’s thick tongue dug deep into my ass. By the time I was finished with him, he was well broken, face glazed with a few loads of my cum. He kept thanking me for letting him have his favorite snack–his Sergeant’s hole.

That’s right–I’m the squad sergeant now. It makes sense, I guess. I do have the biggest cock of the whole fucking bunch, even though mine’s just a couple of inches. Doc gave me the honor of letting me grow a mustache too this weekend, with a special cream–a thick, dark walrus over my lip–a sign of my authority and maturity. I feel it too–everything else is fading faster and faster. I don’t care if it goes, really. I’m ready. My squad is ready. We’re gonna be the best fucking motorcycle cops in the state, me and my brothers. I’ll make sure of that. And really, we have Doc to thank for all of it.


Week Five Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Fuck, I’m so damn proud of my squad of pigs! You know, when we started this training, I didn’t really know what to make of it, but looking back on it, and seeing how far all of my pigs and hogs have come, I really couldn’t be more proud. Fuck, just thinking about all of them at the retreat this weekend has my little pig cock all hard in my breeches again. 

Doc announced my promotion, officially, on Monday. None of the pigs were surprised of course–it was just natural that I ought to lead the squad–after all, I’d like to see one of those pigs try and grow a mustache–much less get harder than an inch! The hogs couldn’t really care less–but then, the hogs aren’t really much for caring, or thinking really. The six of them usually sit in a little cluster, drooling and rocking back and forth, riding their plugs like good little hogs ought to do. Klein, Harrison, Ricci and the rest–they were good brothers, and they’d be good cops too, but like Doc said, the more some guys think, the more trouble you get. Best to just smooth them out all over–brains included.

We spent the rest of the week going over the new order of things. No more unnecessary stops, no more racial profiling, no more use of force. Mandatory community service events. We were gonna be good pigs, like Doc said, and do everything by the book. We were here to serve, after all. Service is the cornerstone of what pigs like us do–that’s what Doc says all the time. Serve like good little pigs, and everything will be just fine. 

Then came the weekend, and the big retreat. As a reward for doing so well on our training, we were going to spend the whole weekend at a campground in the woods, that Doc had reserved just for the squad, the assistants, himself, and a few special guests that he wouldn’t even tell me about. We all got in our uniforms and piled into the bus. I had Klein next to me, and the fucking hog wouldn’t tear his snout from my pits the whole way there–at least, unless I was letting him suck my cock out the front of my breeches.

The retreat was a blast. It felt so good getting back to nature, and really just going wild. I knew some of the special guests there–the governor’s brother, for one, who grabbed the first pig he saw–Fields I think–shoved him down into the dirt, and started fucking his hole, while the pig squealed in excitement. There were some of the higher ups in the department, and even the chief of the Metropolitan Police Department. I had a session with him myself, since Doc told me he was going to be a bit reluctant. But once the chief got a whiff of my farts and my belches, he came around–eating out my dirty hole before fucking me with his big fuckin’ cock! Fuck that felt so damn good, I fuckin’ love gettin’ plowed. Doc told me I’d done a real good job on him, that the city would definitely be partnering with him for a round of training with their own troublesome cops. Doc rewarded me with a fuck–and damn, can that man fuck. Makin’ me squeal like a dirty animal, cock oozing load after load as he rams his big cock deep inside me, fuck, I’d do anything for him, I really would.

Harrison spent most of the days and nights in a set of stirrups, naked except for his boots, with one fist after another shoved deep in his hole. Ricci ended up in the toilets, guzzling piss. Fucker smelled like a urinal all the way back home on Sunday. Klein was pretty much always buried under one ass or another, though he usually found his way back to mine before too long. He says, “There ain’t no ass like yers Sarge! Tastiest fuckin’ crack there is.” Fuck, that dumb fuckin’ hog, I fuckin’ love him though. I love all my brothers, and I couldn’t be more proud of them, and how they’ve performed over the last five weeks. We’re gonna be the star squad this year, just you wait.

But the best part–that was the gift Doc gave me on Sunday. I know that what my squad needs most is to get fucked–hell, I doubt I’d be able to think if I went a few days without getting fucked myself. Only problem is my little two-incher can’t even get in any of the pigs–we’re all just too damn fat! Well Doc gave me the best gift–a fucking strapon. Big nine inch rubber cock I can put on, and ream all of my fuckin’ squad, right in a line. In fact, that’s what I did, when I got it–ordered them all to line up and salute, then had them bend over, and I fucked ‘em all, one after another, until I brought all of them to a squealing orgasm–even the dickless hogs. By that point, I was so horny that I begged Doc to fuck me, right there in front of my men, making them all watch, telling us all that he was the Master of all of us, that we were all just stupid pigs now, and we would do what we were told–and the person giving the orders was Doc. Fuck, I ain’t felt that satisfied in my whole damn life as I was on the ride home, Doc’s cum leaking out into the seat of my breeches with every fart, already excited for next years retreat that Doc promised us. Provided we’re good pigs of course. But of course we will be! What else could we be, anyway?


Three Month Assessment, From the Files of Doctor Leoncett

Our third trial of the training program, using a rather troublesome squad of motorcycle cops with the state police, concluded three months ago. In that time, the state police has seen a dramatic decrease in complaints leveled against members of the squad, both internally from other police members, and externally, from civilians. While it is still too soon to judge the long term stability of the program, the short term results are an unqualified success.

There have been some mentions made about the sudden change in appearance by the squad–especially the rapid weight gain and hair loss that is a result of the pharmacological treatment regimen. The same mentions were seen in the earlier studies as well, though the addition of the sergeant’s rather smelly means of suggestion has subdued some of the concern, helping them adjust to the new manner of the squad’s functioning going forward. 

Morale is high. Cohesion is high. Sergeant Matthews was an excellent selection for the leadership role, and his quarterly review was exceptional, both from the squad below him, and from his higher ups in the chain of command. 

Some side effects have been noted. The additional castration treatment given to the especially troublesome elements of the squad seemed to have an additional impact on their mental faculties. Even after three months, their average IQ hovers in the mid 70’s, while the baseline for the rest of the squad is closer to 90, as is our target. I’m not sure this is a detriment, but perhaps uncovering the mechanism causing this would give us a finer grade of control over the result, allowing us to tweak it as necessary. One subject, an Officer Harrison, did degrade further, closer to 50 or 60, and had to be retired from the force. I found a home for him, and he is living happily as a fist pig several states over, for a pair of lovely gentlemen, in exchange for another round of research funding. 

Other projects are on the horizon as well. The governor’s brother continues to be an asset. Having the sergeant of the squad spend some time with the city chief of police during the retreat paid great dividends–I have been given oversight on the entire force’s training schedule come Fall. While the conversion of the entire force using the program would be too obvious, being able to select small groups of officers for specialized training and testing is an great opportunity for this project. The future is bright–with a few more contacts, we might even be ready to create a standardized program for nationwide rollout to departments across the country my as early as next year. And after that–well, with all of these pigs at my disposal, who will stop me then?

The Janitor’s Revenge

Gonna go ahead and skip the Patron only step of this, since it’s been a while since I posted something. Life is crazy! Work is especially crazy–it’s a good time to be in the grocery business, but I’m exhausted. I still have commissions that I’m working on, mostly because I need the extra money to make ends meet for a while. I don’t quite know when I’ll get back to “normal” content, or a more regular schedule, but I’m doing what I can. Special thanks to everyone supporting me on Patreon as well, as always. Stay healthy everyone!


It was strange being back after so long. Mark had thought it would be easier, but if anything, it had only revealed just how raw everything still was inside of him. He’d thought he’d moved on. The job paid well, it had good benefits. But right there, in that shower, he’d sucked Assistant Coach Anderson’s cock that first time after practice, that one act which had set everything else in motion–and now he was back here, twenty-five years later, mopping the same tile floor as the college’s newest member of the janitorial staff.

Twenty five years after he’d been pulled into a relationship with his coach, been outed by a professor on campus, and expelled by an assistant dean–after the coach had thrown him under the bus, told everyone that Mark had seduced him, which was a fucking lie, but it had saved his own reputation at the expense of Mark’s. He’d been a good player, but after that, he had nothing–bouncing between dead end jobs and dead end relationships. Now, in his forties with nothing to show for it aside from a bunch of hurt he’d never had the liberty to process, he was trying to keep himself from a panic attack in the middle of the locker room. It hadn’t been fair. It had been the 90’s though. AIDS was still all over the news. Every gay man was a predator. Now, all he wanted to do was survive.

“Why survive, when you could have revenge though?”

The voice caught Mark off guard, and he spun around in the shower, but no one was behind him.

“Up here man, hey!”

He looked up, and there, clinging to one of the shower heads was a small green creature. It was fat, it’s body covered in blisters and seeping who knew what onto the floor below him, eyes black with pinprick pupils of red. “What…what the fuck are you?”

The little creature laughed, and burst apart into a cloud of green gas. It flowed past Mark’s face, and he caught a whiff of one of the most horrendous scents he’d ever smelled in his life–something between a fart, the worst body odor he’d ever smelled, and the filthiest bathhouse he’d ever had to clean. The creature rematerialized on his shoulder, and the smell came with it, invading Mark’s nose, and he could feel it eroding his mind somehow, making him…sleepy? No, not sleepy exactly, but the more he smelled it, the more relaxed he became, and the less he minded the stench at all.

“You know man, I never thought I’d see you here again. What a reunion! I was just a little spec of filth when you were blowing that guy in here. Shame what happened to you, real fuckin’ shame. Those three guys, you know? They all still work here. I see ‘em on occasion, especially that coach of yours.”

It was true–Mark had learned that already. The assistant dean was now the dean of students. The professor was now the head of the business department. The assistant coach was now head coach of the football and wrestling teams. “Yeah…I know…” Mark managed to say, but the words felt sluggish and heavy in his mouth.

“You know, we could help each other out. I know what you really want man–you want revenge, don’t you? And me, well, I wanna get out of this place. It’s great, in some ways you know. Lot’s of filth to feed on, but I know I could do more–we could do more together, what do ya say?” The demon flicked it’s tail under Mark’s nose, then grabbed the zipper on his coveralls, and rode it down to Mark’s crotch, where it clung, groping his hardening cock. “Come on man, what have ya got to lose? Let me in–we’ll have so much fun. Those three fucks won’t know what hit them.”

Mark knew that something was wrong with this. The demon worked on him for a while longer, tempting him, bringing him to his knees on the floor of the shower, the demon’s stench working it’s way deeper and deeper into Mark’s brain, until all he could think about was how much he loved it–that, and how much he wanted to cum. The demon kept him on the edge for close to an hour, until Mark was begging him for release.

“Let me in Mark,” the demon said, “Let me in, and I’ll let you cum. It’ll be better than any orgasm you’ve ever had–trust me. Once I’m inside of you, you’ll feel like a brand new man. Then, we can show those fucks who wronged you what kind of men they really are. So say it. Say the words Mark, say the words…”

“Please…please get…get inside me, just let me cum, please…” Mark muttered, eyes distant and delirious.

The demon cackled, turned into gas, went around behind Mark, and he felt something forcing its way inside his ass. He fell forward onto his hands and knees with a groan, as the demon pushed inside, and while it hurt, it also felt so good–his cock exploded all over the tile floor without him even touching it. After a few minutes, it was over–Mark, lightheaded and confused, stumbled upright, and looked down at his bloated stomach, then stumbled over to the mirrors in the locker room. He looked…mostly right. Except his eyes. His eyes hadn’t been that…sickly shade of green before, had they?

Don’t worry about it, Mark. You feel good, don’t you? Strong? Powerful? Hungry?

It wasn’t his voice in his head–it was the demon, but he was right. He did feel…good, and also hungry. His gut rumbling, he went back to where he’d shot his cum on the floor, got down, and licked it all up, while the demon kept whispering to him, telling him his entire plan. It was a good plan. Mark knew it would work–all he’d have to do is trust his new friend and do everything he said–and everything would turn out just fine.


“Got something to show you in the showers, Coach.”

Ralph Anderson crumpled the note he’d found on the door to his office after practice, and frowned. He hadn’t planned anything with one of the guys on the team today, had he? Maybe one of them was feeling a bit frisky, and wanted to blow off some steam, or something else. In any case, Ralph never objected to getting his rocks off–so he headed for the locker room to see who was inviting him.

He wasn’t the young, muscular fellow he’d been twenty-five years ago, when he’d been hired as an assistant coach, but the years had been kind for the most part. He was still plenty muscular, but could finally sport the beard he’d always wanted when he was younger. The guys on the team certainly appreciated–or at least the ones who liked to call him daddy. It wasn’t good to be an out athlete still, not if you wanted to go pro, but Ralph had always been willing to help his boys find an outlet. He’d never tell, after all.

He stripped down when he got in the locker room, headed into the shower, and stopped right in his tracks. It wasn’t one of his boys waiting for him at all. In fact, the coach had no idea who this fellow was–obviously a janitor, given the boots and coveralls he was wearing, but…or wait, did he know that face?

“Hey Ralph, it’s been a while,” Mark said, and smirked at him, his bright green eyes shimmering in the half lit locker room. “Thought you might fancy a reunion with your first.”

“M-Mark? Is that really you?” Ralph said, and looked at him closer. The years hadn’t been kind to him. While he still had some of his muscle, Mark had put on a sizable beer gut in the last few years, but as he watched, the gut squirmed a bit, and seemed to…inflate slightly, while Mark let off a loud fart. Now that he knew who it was though, Ralph could recognize him, even through the beard, the grimy looking uniform…and his rather captivating green eyes that Ralph was having a hard time looking away from.

“Come on over here Coach, don’t you miss me?”

“Look, Mark…I…I’m sorry for what happened. I…I didn’t mean…” Ralph kept stumbling over his words, the scent of Mark’s fart drifting towards him, sliding up his nose and into his brain, his own eyes picking up a figment of the green shimmer in Mark’s own.

“It’s alright Ralph. Why don’t you come on over here, and you can say sorry properly.”

Ralph didn’t want to come any closer. Some part of him knew that there was something wrong with Mark, with this whole situation. But while he tried to keep his feet planted, instead, they started shuffling him forward, bit by bit, deeper into the shower, Mark beckoning him closer. The smell grew more and more intense, and Ralph found himself disgusted by it–but the more he smelled it, the harder it became to think about anything else, the harder it was becoming to think at all.

“That’s it, down on your knees, Coach,” Mark said, and pushed him down, while his other hand unzipped the front of his coveralls, pushed them off his shoulders, and then Mark turned around. “Go on Coach, give me a kiss. Show me how sorry you are.” He bent over, pushing his ass into Ralph’s face, and before he could work up the will to pull away, Mark unleashed another fart. Ralph didn’t have a chance–the stench was so direct and so powerful, that the rest of his mind shut down. When Mark stood up and turned around, the older coach was on his knees, listing a bit, drool running out of his mouth, his eyes shimmering green. “There we go, Coach, doesn’t that feel better now?”

The coach nodded slowly.

“You know Coach, you really did me wrong back then. You know that, don’t you? And now…now I know all about your other boys. You feel bad about what you did you me then, don’t you? You’ll do whatever you can to make it up.”

“Yes…Mark.”

“No, you don’t get to call me that anymore. From now on, you call me Master.”

“Yes, Master.”

“That’s much better. It feels good to submit to me. It feels good being my slave. The only way you can get my forgiveness, which you want so badly, is to submit yourself to me. To become my willing, eager slave. Do you understand, Coach?”

He nodded.

“What do you want to be, Coach?”

“Your…slave Sir. I want to make up for my mistakes Sir. I want to serve you…forever Sir…”

“Kiss your Master’s ass, slave.”

Ralph leaned in and planted a kiss right on Mark’s ass, the small part of him left inside screaming desperately, but it no longer had any power. Soon, it wouldn’t even exist.

“Good slave, now get down and kiss my dirty boots. Lick them clean.”

They spent the next few hours alone in the shower, Mark having his new coach slave worship his entire body lovingly, feeding him another blast of gas whenever his hold on him began to diminish. They ended up with the coach lying on the tile floor, Mark’s bare foot pressed against his mouth, while the coach jacked off, pledging his life and eternal obedience to his new Master while he serviced his feet, knowing that this was where he belonged, where he had always belonged. He’d been wandering, lost, these twenty-five years, looking for other young men to fill the hole that he’d always known could only be filled by one person. By his Master. Now, he had him again. He’d do everything he could to keep him happy, anything he could to service him. 

“Once you cum, Slave, you know what that means, right? It means you’ll be mine forever–mind, body, and soul. You’ll never be able to disobey an order from me. You will want to be with me, servicing my body all the time, because it is the only thing that will bring you the filthy pleasure you so desire from now on. Shoot slave–I want to see you cover yourself in your seed!”

With a groan that echoed in the entire locker room, Ralph’s cock exploded all over himself, and when it did, he felt the gas inside him–the presence that the gas was, perhaps–bind itself to his mind, and to his will. He could…feel it. He knew he should be horrified, but all he felt was a tremendous peace. That, and a raging lust he could barely describe for his Master standing over him. “Get dressed coach–let’s go home. We have plans to make.”

“Yes Master,” Ralph said, got up, put his clothes on, and followed Mark out into the night, ready and eager to serve.


Luke Marshall had been working late in his office like usual, and was now on the way out of the building where he worked as the head of the business department. It hadn’t been an easy road here for him, especially since when he’d been hired, back in the early 90’s, he’d been only one of two black professors on the entire campus. He was tall and thin, and known around campus for being an uncompromising fellow–rules were there for a reason, as were morals. Violating either category was a sure way to get on his bad side, and if you were there, well, it was best to just switch majors entirely, rather than try and sway him. It was that conservative streak that had buoyed him this high, however, through any number of trials. He did have his share of secrets, however–and a fair number of hypocrisies he kept locked away tight in his chest, but after so long, it felt entirely natural. He had no reason to expect, as he slipped out of the building and started towards the parking lot, that one of those old secrets, and hypocrisies, was waiting for him.

The quickest path to the lot included an alley between two dorms set rather close together. As he was about to exit the dimly lit corridor, someone stepped out in front of him–no one he could recognize immediately. With the light behind them, they just looked like a looming, broad shouldered shadow. He took a step back in fright, and after a moment, realized who it was–Ralph Anderson, one of the school’s coaches.

“Oh! Ralph…you surprised me…” he said, feeling his cheeks heat with a little blush. Thankfully, against his skin and in the night, the coach wouldn’t be able to see it. Ralph had always…inspired certain feelings in him that Luke had struggled to contain. It had led him, before, to rash decisions. “How…how are you doing? Heading home?”

Ralph stepped forward, more into the light, and Luke realized that something was off about him. The coach’s usually clean shaven face was sporting a thick layer of stubble. His clothes looked rather dirty as well, and when the breeze shifted, Luke caught a whiff of the powerful musk rolling off the coach’s body. Then, there were the eyes. Ralph’s blue eyes had always been a favorite feature of Luke’s–but tonight they were green, and in the dark, they seemed almost like they held a shifting light of their own. “Just out for a walk, is all,” Ralph said, “Fancy running into you though–you know, I have a friend who’s been wanting a word with you, Luke…”

Luke stepped back, and Ralph matched him, pace for pace, until he was backed against the wall. “Ralph, you’re scaring me…”

“Don’t be afraid. Master…he just wants an apology is all. You’ll understand, I promise, everything will be so much better soon…”

Ralph tried to grab him, but Luke had always been quick on his nimble feet, and his thin frame allowed him to slip away before the coach could grab him. Luke took off at a sprint, his long legs carrying him to the parking lot while the coach chased after him–he unlocked the door to his car, climbed in–but before he could even start it up, he heard someone shift in the back seat–and let loose a massive fart. In the rearview mirror, he saw someone sitting there, with the same glowing green eyes Ralph had–and then the stench hit him like a brick. Choking, he clawed at the door handle, but Ralph was there, holding the door shut, leering at him through the window, as the stink weakened his resistances.

“Fuck, that smells good,” Mark said, and let another fart rip, “Gonna get it nice and stinky in here–I think you’re gonna be a bit harder to break than Coach was out there. Just relax, take some deep breaths–you won’t mind it in a few minutes, trust me, Professor Marshall.”

That voice–he knew that voice! How could it be? In the mirror, the fat old stinking man in the backseat looked nothing like Mark–but it had to be, it made too much sense. Luke made a half hearted plea, but his mind was already beginning to go empty, his clawing only half-hearted, and then he was gone, Mark whispering in his ear as Ralph climbed in the passenger seat, and together they started working on their newest victim.

The demon knew the whole story, you see. That Luke had reported Mark and Ralph because he had been lusting after the coach himself. Well, now, he could have him. All he’d have to do is pledge his eternal loyalty to Mark, promise to become his utter slave, and he could have the man he’d always wanted in his heart. It took a while, breaking down all of those morals and rules that Luke had constructed to keep himself standing tall, but before long, he understood how good it could feel to give in. His face buried in Ralph’s musky pit, sucking on his big cock while Ralph urged him on, telling him how good it would be, both of them together, filthy, utterly devoted to their master. At last, Luke came, filling the front of his pants with a load while he worshiped Ralph’s muscular body, the coach urging him on, and in the backseat, Mark just laughed, and smiled–two down, and only one more to go. Then, his revenge would be complete.


Edward Willis didn’t know how this week could get any worse. First, Coach Anderson, after acting strangely for a day, had disappeared from campus. No one had seen him, and he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. Then, a couple days later, Professor Marshall, after working late one night, hadn’t returned to class the next day, and was just as missing as the coach. There had to be some sort of connection, didn’t there? The police were no help, and the press had caught wind of the story now too–this could be a scandal, and Edward had no patience for a scandal right now. What he wanted was answers.

Exhausted from fielding phone calls all morning, he hefted his substantial bulk up from the chair behind his desk, and headed for the bathroom to take a piss. The administrative wing bathroom was usually empty, but today there was a janitor mopping the floor–Edward didn’t take any notice of him, as he headed for the urinal–until the man let loose a massive fart right behind him. Edward was about to tear into him…but something else happened instead. It was hard to recall exactly, but the next thing he recalled clearly, he was alone in the bathroom, the scent of the man’s gas still lingering in the air…and when he looked down, he realized he’d pissed his slacks.

His face turned bright red with embarrassment. He couldn’t let anyone see this! He had to get home immediately and change. Without saying a word to anyone, he took the back stairs, got to his car in the lot, and drove off–but while he had every intention of driving home, he instead found himself driving somewhere else. He found himself growing more and more distressed, the further from his house he got, but he couldn’t figure out how to make himself turn around–there was somewhere he had to go, somewhere important. Somewhere…he could get answers.

He ended up parking back behind a rundown looking bar, a place he had never been to in his life. It was early in the afternoon, and doubtful the place would be open–but he went to the front, knocked, and after a couple of moments, it opened up–and the person who greeted him was none other than Coach Anderson, dressed up like a grungy looking bouncer. He stepped aside without a word, and Edward entered the rather cramped space–behind the bar, sure enough, there was Professor Marshall as well, wearing nothing more than a jockstrap and a leather harness strapped tightly around his lanky frame, getting the place cleaned up. 

“Master’s waiting for you in the bathroom–you’re already late,” Ralph said in a gruff voice, and shoved Edward towards the back of the bar, where there was a sign for a restroom, and inside, waiting for him, was the same janitor from the bathroom at school. 

“What…what is this? What am I doing here?” Edward demanded, and the janitor just smiled.

“You’re almost late for work, is what you are,” Mark said, leering at him. “You didn’t forget your new job already, did you?”

With those words, a crash of memories returned to Edward–how just that morning–after running into the janitor in the bathroom–he’d put his resignation in with the university, effective immediately. How he’d known that he had a new job starting here, this afternoon. How…how he was going to be working as a urinal, here in the bar from now on…wasn’t he? “M…Master, what’s going on? I don’t…I don’t understand what’s happening?” Edward muttered, as he stripped off his suit, still soaked with piss, and got on his knees next to the trough, while Mark handcuffed him to two rings screwed into the wall. 

“Here, I know what will help my little piss pig out,” Mark said, turned around, and let off a massive fart right in Edward’s face–and with his hands bound, there was nowhere he could run as the stench assaulted him, and he remembered more. How he…he loved piss more than anything. How he was nothing more than a fat, old piss pig, luck enough to have a job doing exactly what he loved, at the filthiest gay bar in town. 

Mark got down and started working Edward’s cock, helping him settle into his new role, and he called in his bouncer and bartender to give the new urinal his first loads of piss that evening–juts tasting the stuff sent Edward into a sexual frenzy, and without even touching his cock, he exploded, cum puddling below him as his eyes turned the same bright green as the other three, his mind rotting away inside his mind until all that remained of the dean was a snorting, grunting, piss-starved glutton, aching and begging for more from his Master–who gave him a load of his own.

Inside, the demon smiled–this is exactly what he’d needed, a new place to grow, and thrive. The locker room had been…a delight, but there would be so much more opportunity here, especially with four thralls at his disposal. He would spread his filth all across the city, into as many men as he could. Mark had had his revenge, at last, and the demon had what it longed for as well–power, and a kingdom of his own.

Caption: The Fetish Box

This is the first half of a caption story for $5 patrons and higher suggested by a supporter! You can find the whole story over on my discord server. If you want more details, you can head over to my patreon page, and sign up!


When he’d signed up, this wasn’t quite what he’d expected. It was one of those monthly gift box services, but the gimmick for this one was that each month, the company would send you a gift box centered around a different fetish each month. It seemed like a weird gimmick, but Allen had always had a little bit of a wild side when it came to sex–but nothing too wild, he supposed. He had some leather gear, he’d had a few BDSM sessions with a local dom, things like that. The minimum order for the company was three months, and the price wasn’t terrible. He’d signed up, and figured he’d get a laugh out of it if nothing else.

It was a week later when the box arrived. He’d found it waiting in his apartment mailbox, and while not small, he had no trouble hauling it upstairs to where he lived. He opened it up, and inside, all he found was a note, a bottle of pills, and a set of goggles–like swim goggles, but with the lenses blacked out somehow.

He looked at the note, but the thing looked like gibberish to him–just swirly patterns all over the paper. The only text he could make out told him to put on the goggles, and then he’d be able to read the rest of the note. He did as the note said, pulled the goggles on–and that was the last thing he remembered clearly, beyond a sudden flash of swirling colored light.

When he could finally manage to pull the goggles off, he looked at the clock, and saw it was close to ten at night–he’d been staring at…at whatever that was for the entire afternoon and evening. The message on the paper was readable now, somehow–and he saw that the first fetish he’d received was…gaining.

It couldn’t be serious, right? But the hypnosis in the goggles would make it impossible for him to go long without eating, and the feeling of a full gut would be profoundly erotic. The pills, taken over the next month, would permanently alter his metabolism, and make sure he never could be thin again. Allen wasn’t it great shape, but he certainly wasn’t fat–he’d never wanted to be fat a day in his life! But then his stomach growled, and he found himself drawn into the kitchen, where he stuffed himself silly for the next several hours. Lying on the couch, surrounded by wrappers, groping his swollen belly and stroking his cock off, he was horrified, and yet more aroused than he could ever recall being in his life. He fought it, but he took a pill, downed it with another soda, and then shot another load, wondering just how large he might be at the end of the month.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 11)

Martin found himself, eventually, falling into a routine. Before, when he’d try to lose weight, he’d always end up running into a wall of some sort, something coming up that was just more important to him than exercise was, and so he would skip the gym, and before long, abandon his resolution entirely. Now, however, there wasn’t anything else–there was just him, the Sergeant, the woods, and his punishing exercise. There was no work, other than the general upkeep of the house where they lived. There was no TV, there was no internet. On a calm night, the Sergeant would, at most, relax with a cigar, some bourbon, and a book of history, while Martin finished his chores–or more likely, sat at the Sergeant’s feet, polishing his boots, or servicing his cock.

The thing that he hated most, however, was that it was working. The weight fell right off him, and after three months, he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, fifty pounds lighter, without a hair anywhere on his body, with a bit of muscle starting to show under his skin. The sun was out in the Spring, and he was already starting to tan a bit. Satisfied that his charge was progressing well, the pace of the exercise slowed somewhat–that, or Martin was simply getting used to the punishing pace. Instead, Martin found himself spending more and more time with the Sergeant down in the dungeon, working on various other exercises.

The first time he went down with his Sergeant, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The basement was rather bare, with just a cement floor, the walls painted black, the lighting dim. The Sergeant collared him, then cuffed him, then put a blindfold over his eyes. After a few minutes, he was hauled up by a leash, pulled over to a cross on the wall and shackled there–and then the Sergeant pulled off the blindfold. He had swapped out his fatigues for a full leather military uniform, with a flogger in his hand–and he proceeded to whip Martin until he was begging for mercy. Only then did the Sergeant fuck his ass, still shackled there on the cross, Martin feeling the precum dribbling from his caged cock onto the floor under him.

The collar never came off after that–the Sergeant padlocked it in place. Martin begged him, pleaded with him to never to that to him again–the Sergeant just laughed at him, and that night, he found his cot was replaced with a mummy sack. After he was locked securely inside, the Sergeant placed headphones over his ears, and Martin spent the night listening to hypnosis, conditioning him for…well, who knew what. But the pain…he found himself enjoying it, more and more. The act of submission, the punishing workouts, seeing the smile on the Sergeant’s face after he’d served him well–outside, in bed, in the dungeon, it didn’t matter where. He…found himself wondering if he might actually be falling in love with his captor.

That, he decided, could not happen. Martin did his best to balance the knife’s edge, pretending to be the perfect slave, while keeping his own thoughts of resistance alive. Eventually, the opportunity presented itself–and he found a stash of chloroform while cleaning out the dungeon. That evening, while the Sergeant was reading his book, Martin got up to refill his bourbon, and returned with a cloth soaked in the drug, which he forced over the Sergeant’s face. The man struggled mightily. Thankfully, Martin was no longer the weakling he’d been when he arrived, or he would have lost easily–but soon the Sergeant was passed out in his arms, and Martin found himself with an aching cock inside his cage. Had…this turned him on? Really? He couldn’t quite process that–all he could focus on was getting the Sergeant downstairs, where he hauled him into a bondage chair and secured him in place.

But now what, exactly? 

He was angry. Furious, really. He found the key to his collar, and he took it off–he felt naked, so naked without it, but free too, so fucking free! It took some searching, but he found the key to his cock cage as well, and freed himself. By then, the Sergeant had woken up from his nap, and was struggling against the chair, shouting and screaming at Martin to free him, or else he would be in for a nasty fucking surprise.


Use the poll below to select the final chapter in this story! After this next chunk, I’ll be taking a little time off from interactives to work on some commissions–the next one will start up sometime in March! Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

Caption: The Mason Boys and the Cop

It wasn’t the most glamorous place to be a police officer, he supposed, but maybe that was for the best, Mitch thought. He had always liked the small town life, after all, as sleepy and boring as it could be at times. The occasional drunken brawl at the tavern was about as exciting as it ever got around here–at least, until that fateful night when the Mason boys were screaming down the highway at over a hundred, and Mitch was waiting in the cop car behind some bushes, though most people knew better than to race through there.

When the car sped past him, Mitch was always too surprised to give chase. Cussing a little, he put his coffee in the center console, flicked on the lights, and raced off after them. If he hadn’t–if he’d just let them go, maybe the Mason boys would have never come to the little, sleepy town of Garrison–and the town wouldn’t have become nearly as interesting as it has, as of late.

The car slowed down as soon as Mitch pulled out from his hiding place with his lights on, and pulled over to the side of the road–which seemed a bit…too easy for Mitch, and set off a few little red flags in the back of his head. Still, it was probably just some guy who, in the middle of the night, thought no one would be around to catch him, but he was wrong, wasn’t he? Mitch radioed in the stop to dispatch, and proceeded to the driver side window–there, he found something similar to what he’d expected, an older fellow, looking a bit…terrified. He was in a suit that seemed a bit…dirty, and he stank, or at least, something stank. That was when he looked back, and saw the two men in the backseat–the Mason boys.

Both of them were grungy looking fellows, with big beards and lots of tattoos, both smoking sizable cigars, and filling the whole cab with smoke, making Mitch cough. The smell of everything made him a bit…lightheaded, and woozy in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Please, you have to help me,” the driver said to him, “I…I can’t control…what they tell me to do, please, please, I–”

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, you stupid faggot,” one of the brothers said in the backseat. “Evening officer, what can we do for you tonight?”

Mitch wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation–the whole thing just looked…strange, to him. “Is…everything alright, Sir?” he asked the driver.

“Go on, bitch, tell the handsome cop why you were speeding,” the other brother said, and the two laughed.

“I…I was speeding because…because I like sucking cop cock, Sir,” the older man said…but to Mitch, it didn’t look like he wanted to be saying it. It looked like he was being forced to say it, but he didn’t see a weapon on anything in the back. “Please, Sir? Can I suck your cock?”

“Are they making you say that, Sir?”

“No sir, I’m just…just a fat old faggot who loves cop cock, please, please fuck me, I want you to beat me with your billy club, and shove it up my old hole, and then cum all over my face, right on the side of the road, please Sir, please…”

The man was crying, and what Mitch wanted to do, was order the other two out of the car, arrest them, and get the story straight from their captive–but what he did instead was order the driver out of the car. He threw him over the front hood, right there on the highway, and started smacking his ass with the club, while the Mason boys got out, cheering him on, the driver sobbing in pain, as Mitch yanked down the man’s pants, and shoved his club into his hole. Once it was good and deep, he forced the man onto his knees, and started fucking his face, the two men urging him on, telling him what a hot fucker he is, their musk making his head spin more and more until he came all over the driver’s face, and Mitch, panting, felt control return to him.

The Mason boys were laughing, the driver sobbing, and before anyone could do anything else, he pulled his gun on the two men, and ordered them against their car. He didn’t know…what they’d done to him, but he hadn’t wanted to do that–he was going to put them under arrest, and figure out what to do about them. He handcuffed them both, and then got them in the squad car, leaving the driver on the side of the road, his club still shoved in his hole, but the Mason boys weren’t scared, they seemed…happy. Thrilled even, as Mitch radioed dispatch, told them he’d resolved the stop, and was quitting for the night. Then, he drove his two captives home, answering all of their questions that they asked him…and only realized something was off when they pulled into his driveway, instead of the station.

“Why…why did I bring you two here?” he said.

“Don’t think about it too hard, bitch–you’re way more fun, and sexy, than that old guy–come on, let’s go inside for some fun–won’t that be nice?” one of the boys said to him.

Mitch couldn’t stop himself as he got out, took off the handcuffs, and followed the two men into his house, where he lived alone–after his last girlfriend had left him. The Mason boys had come to town, and now that they were here, they were going to be staying for quite a while–and Mitch was going to be their first toy.


“So you think you’re ready to go to work at the station? Are you sure?” Teddy Mason said, while his brother, Edd, just chuckled.

“Yeah, I…I think so,” Mitch said to them both, standing in the hallway of his house. He…he couldn’t quite remember much of what had happened the night before, after bringing the two dirty men home with him from that traffic stop, but…but his shift started soon, and he was a cop, so he had to go to work. It was important. It was hard to think though, and so he’d been struggling to get ready all morning. Thankfully Teddy and Edd had helped him out.

“You have your uniform on?”

“Yep! It’s blue and everything.”

“Is it clean?”

“It wasn’t but I went I rolled in the dirt out back like you told me to, Teddy. Now’s it’s clean.”

“You get breakfast?”

“Still working on my third can,” Mitch said, as he took another long sip from the beer he had in his hand.

Teddy and Edd were laughing now, but Mitch didn’t know what was so funny, really. He was just getting ready for work.

“You go to the bathroom? Take care of business?” Edd said, sneering at him.

“Oh…uh…no, I didn’t piss this morning yet.”

“Well I bet you have to after breakfast for sure–but you’re running late–better finish that beer and piss yourself to save some time.”

That…that made sense, didn’t it? Mitch downed the rest of his beer, and then felt piss flood the front of his uniform as he stood in the hallway, grinning like an idiot, while the Mason boys just laughed. Something must be real funny–Mitch found himself grinning along, despite not knowing why.

“Alright, I think you’re ready Bitch–go get to the station, and hurry. You’re almost late.”

“Thanks you guys, it was…real hard getting going this morning for some reason.”

“No worries Bitch, we’re here to help.”

Mitch went out to the driveway and climbed in the squad car. It was a bit hard driving after three beers, but he managed alright, and got to the station in one piece. He was half an hour late–the sheriff was going to be so pissed at him. He went in, and sure enough, Sheriff Biggs was there, huffing, and when he saw Mitch there, his face went bright red…and as soon as he was in the station, Mitch…remembered, everything, with perfect clarity.

How the Mason boys had humiliated him all night, fucking him, teasing him, and then this morning, how…how they’d dressed him up in these filthy denim clothes, and now he was here, in front of his boss, looking like some dirty fucking pig…and as hard as he tried to explain himself, no sound would come out of his mouth.

“Mitch, what the fuck are you wearing?”

“My…My uniform, Sir,” he blurted out, unable to say anything other than that, just like the driver the other night. “It’s…it’s blue, right?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“I had…I mean…”

The sheriff sniffed his breath, and wrinkled his nose. “You fucking piece of shit, you’re fucking fired! Give me your fucking keys, your badge, and your gun.”

He had remembered his badge and gun–probably because the Mason boys had known he’d have to turn them in after this stunt. Then, the sheriff booted him out of the station–without a car, he had to take the bus and walk home–and he got there in the early afternoon, fuming, but unable to tell a soul the truth about why he was dressed like this, and soaked in piss.

But the boys’ hold on him was too strong. He went inside, found Teddy wearing his uniform, minus the badge, and when he tried to cuss them out and hit them, he couldn’t move. Instead, he ended up on his hands and knees, cleaning his own boots with his tongue while Edd fucked him, making him recount everything that had happened to him that morning. Mitch cried, finally. He cried, but that just made the boys laugh louder. 

“Fuck bro, this town seems fucking boring, you know?”

“Yeah Edd–and I like our bitch here a lot–you don’t mind if we stay with you for a while, do you Bitch? I think my bro and I could have a lot of fun here, don’t you? You want us to stay with you real bad–you’ll do anything we say, as long as we stay, isn’t that right?”

Mitch had to agree of course, he’d agree with anything the Mason boys said, after all. Soon, all the rest of the men in the town would too, if the boys had their way.

Caption: Arctos Influencers

“Ok, look cute–not too cute though. Don’t want anyone thinking we’re too snotty.”

“I know dear.”

“Good…not good enough. Look away, over at something.”

“At what?”

“I don’t care, just–look like there’s something interesting going on, over to the side there. You’re with me, you love it, but there’s stuff going on too. Mystery gets likes.”

“Alright, fine.”

Good…yeah, that looks great.”

It was the closest Nate had gotten to an actual admission that he was in a relationship with Mark–well, with Mark and his instagram account. Everything had to be documented–and staged just right so he could keep building his followers. He’d spent an hour on Nate’s wardrobe just this morning–and he was already exhausted, and wondering if this was what he really wanted. Sure, he was hot, and internet famous…

Nate sighed, while Mark uploaded the photo. When it was done, Nate watched the likes, and follows, rack up on his own page something fierce. It did feel good, didn’t it? Then, much to his surprise, an email popped up in his inbox, from some company named Arctos. He asked Mark about it.

“Oh, some weird as company, keeps trying to get me to be an influencer for them. Don’t know why–I am so not their aesthetic. Go take a look.”

Nate went to the site–and sure enough, the page was full of big, hairy, bearded men–the exact opposite of them in most every way. Nate laughed, but couldn’t help but be a bit curious. A little later, while Mark was watching TV, he got back on his phone, and clicked the offer–just to see what they wanted. The screen changed into a swirling pattern of red and black-like flannel, but…so much more than that. It was fascinating, and Nate couldn’t look away from it, no matter how hard he tried.

“What the–who the fuck are you?” 

Something shook Nate out of his focus on his screen, and Mark was standing there, looking at him with utter disgust…but he just didn’t understand. “I…Look at this offer man, I think…I think we could do this,” Nate said, his voice…deep, gravelly, and so sensual all of a sudden. He turned the phone towards Mark, and as soon as he saw the swirl of pattern, he too went blank…and Nate watched his twinky boyfriend start to grow, packing on muscle, packing on hair, a thick beard pushing out of his chin and cheeks…and fuck, did he look sexy as a bear.

Needless to say, Nate and Mark have never been happier, and the influencer deal with Arctos has been working out great. Of course, a lot of Mark’s followers were confused at first, how they went from following a slim twink to a burly, hairy, bearded bear…but the flannel he was wearing smoothed out their concerns quickly–and lots of them used the link provided to purchase the shirts for themselves. After all, who…wouldn’t want to be just like them, those two sexy bears in the photo?

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 6)

Quinn was certain that the mirror was doing something to him. It wasn’t hard to figure out, of course, but while he was a bit…terrified, in all honesty, it felt so good to let go around his reflection that he was willing to just embrace it. He didn’t know whether the idea came to him on his own, or if it was planted in his mind like so many others, but he knew, somehow, that the easiest way to get Taylor into bed with him, would be to…to get him to look at the mirror himself. Get the mirror inside him, somehow, in the same way in was inside him.

Of course, Taylor spent most of his days working out, and he wasn’t particularly keen on being interrupted, so Quinn had to wait until the late afternoon, when he heard Taylor tromp up the stairs and towards the kitchen, probably to start making himself dinner. Quinn was ready though, and he intercepted him before he could get started.

“Hey man, could you come look at something in my room real quick? I just wanna know if I should ask the landlord about it.”

Taylor’s brow furrowed, “What’s up?”

“I think my window has a bad seal or something, I can hear some wind through it.”

“I’d just call him,” Taylor said, and continued into the kitchen, “Mr Woodrow’s a good guy, he’ll sort it out.”

“Just come listen real quick, would you? I don’t want to call him for nothing. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

Obviously annoyed at his routine getting disturbed, Taylor followed Quinn up the stairs and into his room. Taylor went over by the window to listen, while Taylor went and stood next to the mirror. After a moment, Taylor shook his head. “I don’t hear anything, but maybe we should call him just in…”

Taylor had looked back at where Quinn was standing, and ended up looking right into the mirror next to him. Quinn knew it must have worked–he could see that same…shimmer in his eyes that he saw in his own reflection, when the mirror…had him too. He cautiously walked over to his muscular roommate, laid his hands on him, feeling his body still clammy with sweat from his workout, and Quinn shuddered. This close to him, he could…smell him now, and fuck, he smelled rank, but it wasn’t…bad. It was just strong, and heady, and Quinn’s cock got hard just from leaning into Taylor’s pits for a sniff.

“You ok Taylor? Don’t worry, we’ll…we’re going to have lots of fun this evening, isn’t that right?”

Taylor nodded.

“See…the mirror is…is mine, Taylor. And as long as you’re in it, that means you’re mine too, doesn’t it? You have to do everything I say. It will feel good to do everything I say.”

Taylor nodded, and moaned now, his own cock tenting out the front of his shorts, leaking a bit.

“Get on your knees boy, suck me off.”

The voice that came out of his throat surprised Quinn. It was gruff and…and deeper. Not quite his own, but it was…his. Taylor got down, pulled down the sweatpants Quinn was wearing, and started sucking on his cock, hungrily, and Quinn had to lean on the wall to stay standing, his eyes drifting over to the mirror, seeing himself there, his burly, fat, hairy body getting serviced by this hot, musky jock…there was a twinkle in his eye, just a suggestion really…

“Get up,” Quinn said, “Go down into the kitchen, bring me some snacks. Daddy’s hungry boy.”

“Yes…daddy,” Taylor said, and stood up, leaving the room and heading for the kitchen. Quinn worried that being away from him and the mirror might snap him out of it, but a few minutes later, Taylor arrived back in the room, eyes still shining, arms loaded with beer, and snacks, and Quinn’s mouth started watering at the sight.

Quinn ordered Taylor to feed him for a while, while he just relaxed on his bed, telling Taylor in between mouthfuls how much he was enjoying this. How he wanted his daddy to be happy, how he loved feeding him, how serving him in whatever way he needed just felt so good to him, made his cock hard, made him want to service him more and more. Quinn took over his own eating, and ordered Taylor to start worshiping his body–especially his belly. Told him that Taylor loved being muscular, but that servicing fat men like daddy was what he was born to do, what made him feel complete. 

The mirror was getting…restless. It wanted to be fed, as much as Quinn did. He ordered Taylor up, told him to face the mirror, brace himself and bend over–daddy was going to breed his boy for the first time of many. They had no lube, but Taylor’s hole was hungry and wet, Quinn’s thick cock was leaking profusely, and they slid together like it was all part of some larger design. “Oh fuck, jockboy, fuckin’ hell you feel real nice around daddy’s cock…” Quinn moaned, and started fucking him long and deep. “Yeah, stupid fucking jockboy–good thing you have a nice daddy around here to keep you in line. You love doing everything daddy says, it makes everything so much easier for you, doesn’t it? Easy, and you get to feel good too. You just let all those complicated thoughts drain away, right there into the mirror. From now on, you just need to worry about getting bigger, and keeping daddy as happy as can be, you fucking got it? Oh fuck boy, here it fucking comes!”

It was the first load that Quinn hadn’t shot into the mirror since arriving at the house. It felt explosive, and bright, like he was firing hot light right into Taylor’s body. His boy groaned, reared up, and shot his own load all over the glassy surface, where it shimmered for a moment, and then melted into the surface, and both of them felt the mirror’s hold over them ebb away, Taylor turning around, holding his aching head.

Quinn was…nervous. Would he remember, or would he not? “Fuck daddy, thanks! You’re dirty jockboy needed that real fuckin’ bad…” Taylor said, leaned in and gave Quinn a deep kiss, massaging his big belly as he did, and Quinn melted into him, pulling his boy close, knowing he was his from now on. His…and the mirror’s. “Alright boy, that’s enough for now–get down there and make daddy some dinner.”

Taylor gave him a wide, and kind of stupid, grin. “Sure thing daddy! I love cookin’ for you!” Then he was gone, and Taylor relaxed, snacking on the food his boy had brought him, but already hungry for dinner–and for another round with his boy’s hole after that.

***

Mr Woodrow was more than happy to accomodate the two of them a few days later, when they suggested that they move into the basement together, converting the larger space down there into a studio apartment for them both, the mirror hanging on the wall within easy view of the entire room. It was a few days after that, when Marcus, the third member of the house arrived to move in, a week before school started. 

Mr. Woodrow was there, waiting for him, ready to give him the tour. It was a beautiful house…but Marcus struggled a bit, when Taylor came bouncing up from the basement to give him a hug, and tell him how excited he was for him to be living there with him and his daddy. Marcus…couldn’t really recall who this was at all, at least not right away. Mr. Woodrow helped talk him down, and when Quinn got home from his job later that evening, working as the foreman for a construction company, everything made a bit more sense…kind of. He’d met Taylor at school, and been introduced to his boyfriend, Quinn, not long after that. Quinn was in his early 30’s–and hadn’t gone to college, but they were…well, love was a weird word for what they had, but it seemed to work for both of them. Taylor was studying exercise science–badly, really, but he was good enough to graduate and probably find work. But for the life of him…Marcus found it had to believe he would be friends with them…for some reason.

But Marcus settled into one of the rooms upstairs, and started unpacking–and like Taylor and Marcus before him, he too, discovered something…odd in his room as he did.


Alright, so what’s Marcus going to stumble upon in his room? As always, you get two choices in the poll. The patron only poll is over here, and votes are weighted five times as much!

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.

July Suggested Stories Available for Patrons!

I have four new suggested stories for patrons available now, based on suggestions from earlier this month. First, we have a tale of a young gay man given an opportunity to seek justice that had been denied. Second, we have a man struggling to lose weight, who decides to try hypnosis for assistance. Third, a man with a slobby neighbor finally learns why he seems to be the butt of every joke. Lastly, there’s a new drug spreading like pigweed through a rural community, with some interesting side effects.

They’re available for every patron supporting me at the $5 dollar level or higher! You can find more details about my Patreon page here, if you’d like to support me. Below is a sample from the second tale, to whet your appetite!


“And the files are really free?” 

Ken looked at the chat he had with his friend online, and then went back to the site they were chatting about. It seemed a bit…sketchy, in all honesty. Some guy offering free hypnosis files to help guy’s quit smoking, or help them with their workout goals, or whatever else they might want. His friend, another bodybuilder, had been seeing some pretty impressive results, if Ken said so himself, and he attributed all of them to these files. Looking over the site, he saw that the guy also did erotic hypnosis, and that quite a few of his files seemed rather, well, perverse.

“Yes, they’re really free. He’s just some old guy who does it in his spare time. What are you so worried about, even? He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do–that’s how hypnosis works.”

It was true, or at least, that’s what his friend kept saying to him. Ken sighed–he’d been stuck on this plateau for so long, he just wasn’t sure if there was anything that could really help. He’d been a big guy–fat, that is–and he’d decided to try and get into shape. It had been going well–he was down fifty pounds already, hovering around 210, but he hadn’t been able to keep it up, and he was getting frustrated. What did it really matter, he supposed, if they worked or not? In the end, he filled out a submission form on the site, detailing some things about himself, and what he wanted from his files, sent it off, and didn’t expect much from it. But the next day, he got a reply, with the guy asking for a video conference. His friend hadn’t mentioned that, but he threw caution to the wind, and found himself chatting to an older fellow about his interests. He seemed nice enough, and his natural charm disarmed a lot of Ken’s initial worries that he was just some pervert. The guy got a feel for him, and then said he needed to hypnotize him so he could find an induction that would work. The man put a few spirals on Ken’s screen, asking him to just relax. The first few didn’t seem to do anything, but the fourth…well, the next thing he knew, he woke up with a start, and the old man was back on the screen, grinning from ear to ear. He told Ken he would have the first file for him in a few days, and signed off.

The sensation had been…disturbing, but not unpleasant. He felt more awake and alert than usual that afternoon, and his workout was great–he had so much focus–but it didn’t last. He waited for the first file, and it arrived as promised, after a few days, along with the directions to watch and listen to it twice a day–once before his workout, and once before going to bed. He watched it that night, and didn’t even remember getting into bed, but woke up feeling relaxed and refreshed. He watched it again before his workout the next day, and that same focus was there, but even stronger. He could, just, do more. Push himself further. He was so pleased with the results, that when he got home, he was giddy…but something also felt a bit off. He went to jack off before bed, and before listening to the file…but couldn’t seem to get hard, for some reason. He watched the file again, and went to bed, but the next day, discovered something new–there was something on his cock.

It was a tight cage, held in place with a small padlock. He was so unnerved by it, that as soon as he found the key on the counter he unlocked it…but when he did, he felt…immediately guilty. He needed to be locked up. It was important to him. How else would he be able to focus on his workouts, if he wasn’t locked up all the time? He’d just…masturbate all the time, and forget to workout, and then he’d be some fat slob, jacking off all the time, and he didn’t want that, he didn’t want that at all! He quickly put the cage back on, hid the key, and got ready for his next workout…