Caption – Arctos: Daddies 2

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But maybe you’re tired of daddies telling you what to do. Maybe, for a change, you want a daddy to do what you way. Someone more pliable, someone too weak to call the shots. A daddy who might look the part, but in the bedroom, he knows who’s really in charge.

A daddy like this one. See that slouch, the shoulders forward and back hunched? The tiny cock that can barely even get hard? The tired eyes that don’t really want to make contact? It isn’t that he’s broken–a broken daddy wouldn’t be very interesting for anyone. He does know his place however. He knows who’s in charge, and it isn’t him. He knows he’s a bottom, a punching bag, a hole, a whore even, if you have some friends over. That isn’t to say, however, that he isn’t going to change you.

You say you want to be in charge, but are you really ready for it? Do you have the patience for his simpering, his laziness, his fecklessness? Are you really ready to make every decision, and then watch him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t fuck up the directions you thought were so simple? Do you have the patience? How long until you lash out, until the belt is in your hand, and after the belt, the strap, and after the strap, the flogger, and after the flogger, the bull whip? He knows he deserves it, even before you do–and that makes you angry too. You’re so angry, angry at what he makes you do to him, angry at how good it feels, doing it.

When did you start wearing so much leather, and when did you get those tattoos? Your old friends slowly slide out of the picture, unused to dealing with someone so overbearing, and rude, and at times abusive, as you are now. You find some new friends, friends who understand your problems. Perhaps they have stupid daddies of their own, and you can have parties, and take turns with them all, enjoying them, berating them all. You do know this, however–this isn’t who you wanted to be, but it is who your daddy demanded you become.

Whore on Demand (Patreon Exclusive)

Here’s another story based off of the suggestions from folks who support me on Patreon! In this sketch, a lecherous father decides to get a specialized whore for his son’s bachelor party, but things don’t go quite how he expected. You can find the story here! Anyone supporting me at the one dollar level or more can get access to all of these short stories, and also gets the ability to make requests of their own!

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 5)

Everyone else had collapsed. It didn’t surprise me, looking back on it, because they were all struggling to piece together what they had seen, and the reality knitting itself back around them. It was just me, standing there, and Jules in the middle of the room, muscled and serene, still tied to the chair, looking like nothing strange had happened at all. I knew I needed him–he might have answers, provided Ray hadn’t obliterated his mind…provided the rapist hadn’t gotten to him either. He was surprised to see me, I think. He tried to object, told me that Master was going to come get him, that he’d get to work out some more after this, and he fought me. He was no match for me though–I gave him a backhand hard enough to stun him, cuffed him with the spare set I’d brought along, since Cumster still had my usual ones on his wrist in my basement, and told him he was coming with me whether he wanted to or not. As I left with him, the other officers were beginning to regain their senses, but I knew they would never be able to solve this. The only one who could stop this rapist, and whatever he was doing to men in my city, and to reality, was me. Or…not really me, but this force growing inside me.

I shoved Jules into the back of my car, and he started fighting me again–and fuck, he was strong. He’d been missing for a few days, and he…well, he didn’t look like the Jules I remembered, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like him either. He smelled like…well, a bit like Ray had, when we’d popped open that container by the docks, but where Ray had simply smelled like musk, Jules smelled mostly of piss. I found it…distasteful, honestly, and a bit overwhelming. My time with Cumster had made me…appreciate the smell of cum, but I could barely detect any of it on Jules. Beyond the smell, he was just huge. Not much taller than he had been, though perhaps he’d grown a inch or two. Mostly he was wide. I don’t know what Ray could have done to him to bulk him up that quickly. It had to have been drugs of some sort–it was, in my mind at the time, the only reasonable explanation for all of this. Some new steroid must have warped him…nothing else could change a man like that this quickly…aside from the monster I’d just watched fatten multiple officers to obesity in a matter of minutes. Aside from what Cumster had done to my balls in the course of one night together.

I asked Jules what he’d seen in the restaurant. He laughed, and told me, “He’d wanted me to see that. He’d known that if I was there, you’d come.”

I don’t know who the “he” was that he was talking about. Maybe it was Ray, more likely it was the rapist himself. I asked him what that thing was, and Jules shrugged.

“Somebody. I didn’t see him before, just…after. He went too deep. He says they go too deep sometimes, like that. I…Fuck, I wanna…go deep like that, one day, I wanna fuckin’ lose it, I am losing it, losing it fuckin’ bad. You are too. Everyone–fuck, he doesn’t want everyone, but damn, does he want you bad.”

The jockstrap he was wearing was tented, his cock was no larger than it had been before, and on his massive frame, it seemed…small. The smell of piss intensified, and I realized he was…pissing himself in my car, and fuck, I got…angry. Angry like I’d been when I’d seen that thing, and the gloves…I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but it whipped out, and…and a second later, Jules’s crotch was bound up tight in leather, and he stared at me in confusion. The pouch bulged, collecting the piss inside it…and that was the first time Jules realized…I wasn’t the same person he’d left in that precinct, just as he wasn’t the same man who’d left it.

“You…you haven’t met him,” he told me, “How…how did you do that?”

I didn’t have an answer to that. I turned back around and drove off, Jules sitting back, the leather pouch sagging with piss, and said nothing else. After half an hour, we got back to my house, and I parked in the garage, so no one would see me dragging Jules inside. I dragged him out of the backseat and into the house, and as soon as I did–I knew something was off. There was a slight draft, perhaps. More likely, the odd sense I had of…chaos, for lack of a better word, was ringing. The order of my house was not as it had been when I’d left.

I dragged Jules into the kitchen, shoved him into a chair at the table, and used my straps to bind him tight–ankles and wrists, and around his mouth. Fuck, it was so easy, doing it, too. It felt like…an extension of myself, even then. I hadn’t even really understood what I’d done, or how, until it was already finished. I was already so fucking different.

I searched the house, and sure enough, one of the back windows was broken in, but I hadn’t seen any evidence that anything was missing. I crept around the main floor, until I heard the sounds of sex coming from the basement below. Weapon drawn, I descended the steps, and there, with Cumster, was Maurice. Mr. Cold Case was kneeling in front of him, mouth open, while the biker milked a massive load onto his face, eyes dazed and empty, and he looked to me, smirking.

“He came to see what you were hiding down here,” Cumster told me, “So I thought I would show him myself.”

What Would I Do To You? #4 (Leatherhead)

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Sure, maybe it was a bit early in our relationship for kinky gifts, but you see how eager I am when you pull the thing out of the box…though you don’t know what you are looking at. It looks a bit like a leather bag of some sort, but it is stitched in the strangest pattern, so that it looks almost lumpy. You ask me what it is, and I tell you it’s a sheath–it’s meant to go over your cock and balls–I tell you it feels amazing, and you give me an incredulous look.

It isn’t like you haven’t worn leather before. In fact, you quite like it, but this seems a bit ridiculous. You don’t want to seem ungrateful though, so you agree to try it on. The leather, when you first felt it in your hand, seemed kind of thick–but when you pulled it over the head of your cock, it was surprisingly supple instead, and the sensation of the leather against the head made you get erect almost immediately. You didn’t know what kind of leather it was made from, but it had quite a bit of stretch to it. It took both of us to get it in place around both your cock and balls, and then pull the drawstring running through the base tight–I knotted the cord around it again, which only made you harder, and then gave you a teasing stroke.

You shuddered, hard, which was sexy as hell. Much to your surprise, it felt way more intense with the sheath on, and I kept stroking while you laid back on the bed, moaning, and let me do all the work. I climbed over you, and lowered myself onto your sheathed cock, and you nearly came from the dual sensation of your leathered cock in my hole. I knew how to keep you on the edge though, and rode you for a good twenty minutes, before you finally exploded.

You apologized, certain that the sheath would be a mess when it came out…but when I got off…the sheath wasn’t there. It was just your cock–or a cock, at least. It wasn’t the cock you’d had before, that much was for sure. It was big–easily nine inches, even though it was a bit soft, with a thick foreskin, and balls the size of oranges. You inspected them–they weren’t the right color–they looked like the same light brown the leather sheath had been, but it was skin. You could see veins and hairs…and when you asked what had happened to it, I just smiled at you, and told you that I hoped you liked your present.

You certainly played with it often enough, after that. I would catch you jacking off, even when you weren’t thinking about it. It just demanded attention. You got used to the rough surface eventually, how leathery your dick skin felt, how much more sensitive it had become. You even forgot about the sheath after a day or two–this, in your mind, was the cock you had always had. That didn’t make you any less uneasy when I brought over a much larger gift the next week–an entire set of leather gear. There was a harness, a pair of gloves, a pair of biker boots, and some shorts. But with one hand on your new cock, it was easy enough to coax you into the gear, and as soon as it was on you, it was like you became a different person.

The harness made your whole body feel alive, the straps biting into your flesh, digging in, becoming a part of you. The gloves felt just like the sheath had on your cock–you could feel…everything with them, and they knew things too. How to spank my ass just right to make me cry out, how to choke me while you fucked me, how to use the flogger I shoved into your hand, your cum dribbling down the inside of my legs as you whipped me, and you came again, just from that. It was so intense–you could almost feel every strike you laid on me, against your own back as well. By the time we had finished, the leather gear had melded with your body, just like the sheath had–but the effects manifested over the next several days.

You grew constantly. I had to keep you fed all the time, because of how much mass you were putting on, until you were six and a half feet tall, full of muscle, with hair growing everywhere on your leather brown body. Your feet were massive now, size twenties, just like the boots I had given you. Everywhere you went, you would catch the constant scent of leather wafting from your body, and everytime you did, you got rock hard. If we were alone, you would fuck me, but if you were at work or in public, you would have to find some excuse to slip away to the restroom and jack off. You were so happy–you took every chance you could find to thank me for these gifts–but when I told you I still had one more to give you…you got quiet, and a bit hesitant.

I pulled you into the bedroom, and showed you the hood I had saved for last. It laced up the back, but didn’t have any holes for your eyes or mouth that you could see. You tried to tell me you were fine–that this was good enough, but when I ordered you to put the hood on–your leathery hand obeyed me, not your mind. You fought hard, as best you could, but your body wasn’t yours now–not really. It belonged to the leather, and the leather belonged to me. You pulled the hood on over your face, and I laced it tight against the back of your head. You couldn’t breathe, everything smelled of leather, and…and you were so horny, nothing else seemed to matter.

You found your way to my hole and fucked me, rougher than before, as the hood tightened around your face. I flipped over so I could watch the hood do its work, flattening the features of your head until it was nearly flat–just an anonymous leatherhead, on top of a hulking, hairy, dominant frame–just the kind of man I’d wanted you to be. Well, not really a man, I suppose, because you don’t do much in the way of anything human anymore. You live in my closet now, when I’m not using you, one leathery hand always milking your cock–but you can’t cum that way anymore–you can only cum inside me. When I get home and let you out, you do everything I want you to do to me–beat me, choke me, rape me–but we both know that I’m the one who’s really in control. You’re just a leatherhead, after all, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

My Town (Part 5)

Kyle, Todd’s older brother, had always been a brute. Even when they were kids, long before Todd had realized anything about his sexuality, he had known that, in his family’s house, there was only one true law of power, and that was sheer physical might. Perhaps, had his brother not been such a violent bully, things would have turned out differently for everyone, but as it was, he had never once allowed Todd to forget that Kyle was the one with the might. That the only person who could usurp him was their father, and so, when they were alone, he had no choice but to obey, or face the consequences.

Now that he was an adult, his violence had served his less successfully. He worked in construction, one of the few jobs around here where he could exercise his might, and still hadn’t settled down, despite being nearly thirty, and had instead settled for a series of relationships with young women he’d attempted to beat into submission. If he’d been smarter about it, he likely could have controlled them with it, like a normal abuser, but for Kyle, it was only violence that mattered–even Todd, as a child, had recognized his brother didn’t have the instinct for control, only power. It was a shame really–with more mindful violence, in this town, in this world, he could have been someone.

Instead, he lived in a trailer park, respected only because he remained nominally within their father’s orbit. He worked, and he worked out, and he worked over whatever bitch he happened to be seeing at the moment, who hadn’t yet wised up to his brother’s abusive games, or who had been lured back by his relative charm and occasional stability. The next morning, Todd relaxed around his father’s home, still a bit hungover from the rush of the day before, taking in the changes of his own body the gloves had brought on. It was a curse, allegedly, but to Todd it was a curse he was more than happy to live with. For the first time, looking in the mirror, he saw a man looking back at him, a man he’d always pictured in his head, a body he’d always desired but never been able to achieve. He was horny too, and the gloves were more than happy to encourage that, stroking him gently, but as hard as he tried to push himself over the edge, the gloves held back, merely milking his longer cock to near orgasm. They knew what he had in mind, they knew what they really wanted. Frustrated, he threw on some clothes, now a bit ill-fitting, climbed in his father’s truck and decided to stalk his brother for a bit, until their meeting in the afternoon.

He found him working on some road work downtown, and took up a spot in a small restaurant across the way where he could observe. He was…big, but not as big as he had always seemed in his memories. In fact, he seemed…almost disappointingly small after all of these years–maybe five foot ten, two hundred and twenty pounds. Thick, certainly, but he’d gone a bit to pot as well over the years. In any case, he was no longer the ripped jock stalking him in the hallways of his childhood. Still, the years hadn’t bruised his ego, apparently–he could see how he interacted with everyone on the site, the air of assumed superiority, it had him gritting his teeth, gloves aching to touch and beckon and work on him, but he waited.

He followed him home to his trailer, gave him a few minutes to settle, and then pulled up and parked, taking a moment to light himself a cigar in the cab, the smoke helping to settle his eagerness, and then he got out and walked up to the door. It took Kyle a few moments to answer, and it was clear, when he saw the stranger on the steps, he had absolutely no clue who Todd was–then again, Todd wouldn’t have recognized himself either.

“Who the fuck are you? I ain’t buying anything,” Kyle said, “Get off my property if you don’t want your face beaten in.”

It was a classic line, really. How many times had he said that to Todd when they were kids?

“Come on now Kyle, no time for a brother?” Todd said, and while it took him a couple of seconds to click the gears together, he saw recognition light up his face.

“Holy shit, Todd? What the…you fucking faggot, what the fuck are you even doing back here? Dad’s gonna have a fit if he sees you, you fuck, I oughta kick your fucking ass for showing up here, you piece of shit…”

“Trust me bro, Dad has much bigger worries at the moment–I’m here to see you.”

Todd could see the thought forming in Kyle’s mind, the violence short circuiting the rest of his reasoning, but before he could threaten and then follow through, he reached out one gloved hand and laid it on his brother’s shoulder, and saw his eyes glaze slightly.

“Bro, let me in–we need to have a conversation, don’t you think?”

Kyle found himself nodding, and when Todd gave him a gentle push back, he stepped away from the doorway and let Todd step into the trailer, the screen door shutting behind him.

“How…what the fuck was that?” Kyle asked, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” Todd said, taking a long drag off his cigar and blowing the smoke into the trailer’s air. “Or I suppose, you can worry about that if you want, but trust me Kyle, pretty soon, you won’t be worrying about much of anything anymore.”

He was getting ready to strike. Todd could see all of his tells. He let the fist come flying, and he caught it in one gloves hand, gently, and Kyle let off a groan, his knees giving way in sudden pleasure. “I don’t think you’ll be trying that anymore, bro. We need to find a better way for you to…express yourself, don’t you think? Your fists have done enough talking for a lifetime. I want to hear some moans from now on.”

My Town (Part 3)

“Calm down dad–no one is going to notice a thing, as long as you don’t moan as loudly as you did when I fucked back at home,” Todd whispered in his ear, one gloved hand massaging the crotch of his slacks.

The two of them had spent the afternoon and early evening getting acquainted. Todd had finished his cigar while his father sucked him off nice and slow, and then he’d fucked him on his bed and made sure Edwin was nice and loud with the window’s open–enough that the neighbors outside might have possibly heard the commotion. So far, Todd had done his best to keep the gloves from altering his father too much, but the exciting afternoon had left a few effects. The most notable one, by far, was the beard Edwin was sporting across his face and neck–thick and bushy, and a bit greyer than the hair on his head. Still, a little weight there, a little hair there–he’d beared up nicely. By the time Todd was finished, he almost looked like someone he wanted to fuck.

Still, Todd wasn’t planning on keeping his dad as a personal slut. Sure, that had been his fantasy for years, but with his new gloves…well, he’d decided that he could set my sights a bit higher than that now. Still, his dad, and the rest of this fucking town, needed to be taught a lesson–a hard one. Well–really Todd was just going to make them live by their own rule–that appearance and presentation are everything. If Todd was going to hurt his father like he deserved to be hurt…well, he was going to have to suffer a few changes right?

But for now, they were relaxing for a moment, just a couple of guys in a booth at the trucker bar on the outskirts of town, the one his dad had always warned him about. It wasn’t quite a rowdy as it had been twenty years back, but it still carried a reputation. “Drink your beer, dad–look like you’re enjoying yourself a bit.”

Edwin picked up the mug and drank about half of it, and then set it back down. “Look, Todd, I’m sorry, alright? But enough is enough. I am your father, and I demand you get your hand off of my crotch.”

Todd just smiled, “Dad, I still don’t think you quite realize the level of shit you’re in–why don’t we go ahead and head into the bathroom for a bit?”

“Please, not here.”

“Calm down–we’ll do it wherever I fucking want, but this is going to be…different.”

The glove pointed to the bathroom, and his dad was compelled to go. Todd waited a beat, and then followed him. The bar was lively, and no one was paying them much mind. Inside the bathroom, he told his dad to go into the handicap stall, and then the glove ordered the other two guys present out of the room. They obeyed…but weren’t quite sure why they did. Then, Todd slipped into the stall with him.

He took a moment to look his dad over. Aside from the beard, and a bit of weight on his midsection, he was still the upstanding elder of the community he’d always believed he was. Todd had even made him dress in the same outfit he’d come home in, the waist of the khakis a bit uncomfortable, but otherwise untouched. “Now dad, you were always so ashamed of me, and my lisp, and my size. You had me marked as a faggot from the age of then–the fact that I like cock was always incidental. If I’d been more of a man, I could have at least hidden it, right?”

Edwin’s silence at the accusation was all the confirmation he needed.

“Well dad–since you think appearances matter so much, I think it’s time you tried on a new look.”

With both hands, he reached out and took hold of the suit coat his father had on, gave it a tug, and they both felt it squirm in his hands. A moment later, it wasn’t a coat anymore, but a ragged looking leather vest.

“How…how did you do that?”

“It’s easy, if you know the trick,” Todd said, ran a hand over the shirt, and the buttons disappeared, the front coming together seamlessly until it was just a grubby looking t-shirt, emblazoned with the logo of some forgotten truck stop, and the pants were next, turning into a pair of old jeans, the belt unlatching, and slinging over his shoulders into a set of suspenders. Lastly, he bent down and tugged at his shoelaces, watching as they grew up his ankles into a set of grubby work boots, caked with mud. “See? A brand new wardrobe in ten seconds flat,” Todd said, “but it’s what’s underneath that counts too, right?”

Todd grabbed hold of his father’s crotch with one hand, kneading his cock again, and this time Edwin felt a shift as his six inch cock began to retract, halving in size as his balls pulled up tight. His son’s other hand stroked his stomach, and it began to round out, becoming a hefty beach ball of a gut, stretching the t-shirt to the limit, the words of the logo a bit warped by the size, his father forced to lean back a bit to counter it. Todd came close, pressing his own stomach to his dad’s new belly, reached around, and palmed his ass, feeling it grow out as well, filling out the seat of his new jeans. Lastly, he mussed up his father’s hair, watching it grow out a bit and turn lanky, his beard tangled, and with a snap of his fingers a trucker cap appeared in one hand, and he rested it on his father’s head.

“Go on dad, have a look–but I think you’ll like what you see,” Todd said, stroking his father’s cheek with one hand.”

My Town (Part 2)

Edwin took good care of himself, and was in fine shape for a man nearing sixty, but he was someone who had always considered a proper, masculine, appearance to be the most important quality a man could possess. He was dressed in his usual Saturday attire–a bit dressed down from his usual suit and tie for the weekdays. Clean shaven, hair maneuvered into position over his receding hairline, sweating slightly from the hot day outside. He loosened his tie and shut the door, walked into the house and noticed the furniture had shifted, and that a relative stranger was sitting in his chair, facing him, smoking a cigar.

“Who the fricken–” he said, and then looked a bit closer. It had been a long time, but the resemblance was there. “Todd?”

“Hey dad. How have things been?”

It didn’t…quite sound like Todd, though. In particular, that lisp was gone. Edwin had always hated the sound of his youngest boy’s voice, it had always given away the little faggot’s weakness, and it had implied weakness in Edwin as well. He’d never really cared who the boy wanted to fuck, but his sissy ways had undermined the family, in Edwin’s mind. He’d been happy to see the boy leave, and was pleased that the time away had apparently helped him man up somewhat. In fact, Todd looked…good. Healthy, clothes on his back, didn’t seem to be drugged out. “Son, I…wish you’d called, and told me you were coming.”

“And spoil the surprise?” Todd grinned around his cigar, and with one gloved hand, beckoned his father over to him. “Come on daddy, let your boy get a good look at you.”

Something in his son’s tone set Edwin’s hair on edge, but he walked over anyway, eyes locked on the gloved finger drawing him in. He could almost hear the slight squeak of the leather as he drew closer. He intended to stop a few feet away, but his feet kept walking him right up in front of his son in the chair, until the finger stopped moving. Before he could move away, his son’s other hand reached out and stroked the side of his thigh, and Edwin…shivered. It had felt wrong, being touched by that glove, but why? The hand took his own, and the feel of the leather against his fingers, it was so supple. He barely heard his son’s voice speaking to him.

“Go on daddy, drop those pants, and take off that shirt.”

Edwin did has Todd told asked, and when the leather glove brushed it’s way down his bare thigh, he realized why it had felt so wrong. It was because he’d had clothes on, of course. The leather…it felt so good on his bare skin, better than anything he’d ever felt. Todd kept stroking his father’s thighs and small gut, listening to him mutter and sigh as he undressed, until he was naked in front of him. “Looking as good as ever, Daddy–but looking good is all that ever really mattered to you, right? That, and always making sure you kept proper company.”

Edwin knew this wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be naked like this in front of his son–especially not his faggot son–but everytime one of those gloved hands ran down his thigh or stomach, he lost a little more will to care–he just wanted to be touched. Todd tugged down on his father’s hand, and watched him wobble, and then sink to his knees in front of him. Lightly, he caressed his face with both gloved hands, watching his jaw go slack. “That’s good, daddy, that’s very good. Now, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and I want to see your real face around my cock first. Then we’re going out tonight, and we’ll see what sort of company you keep from now on, daddy.”

Todd unzipped the fly of his jeans with one hand, and pulled his cock free, shuddering as he did when the leather touched flesh. Helplessly, he watched his hand stroke his own cock, beyond his control, the shaft lengthening and thickening from a modest four inches to seven. Then, he took his father’s head in his hands, and pushed the dribbling head to his lips, Edwin happily accepting it, so long as the lovely leather remained against his skin a while longer. Todd took a long drag off his cigar, and released a thick cloud of smoke over his father’s head, making him cough. Edwin had always hated smoke, but he fought through it, eyes burning slightly, because the gloves wanted him to. Because Todd wanted him to. Todd pushed his father’s mouth off his cock, holding him in place with both hands, took another draw off the cigar and locked lips with him, pushing smoke deep into his father’s lungs, making him hold it until he coughed and gagged–then he rammed his cock back into his mouth and fucked his face roughly for a few minutes, barely giving him space to breathe.

“That’s right you fucker–your boy’s back in fucking town. Is this man enough for you, daddy? Is this man enough for you yet? Because trust me, I’m going to be more man than this little fucking town can handle soon enough, just you fucking wait and see.”

The gloves, he could feel them fighting him, and one peeled away from his father’s head and dragged his hand back towards Todd’s body, hauling up his shirt and grabbing his nipples, twisting and pulling at them. Todd groaned, feeling them grow larger and fuller the more the glove played with them, and with a sharp pain, he looked down and saw metal piercings had appeared in both of them. Apparently satisfied, the glove allowed his hand to return to Edwin, stroking his smooth cheek, feeling a thin layer of stubble grow under his fingers. There would be more of that, soon enough, Todd thought, thinking of his plans, of the plans of his gloves, and he filled his father’s mouth with a massive load, listening to him choke it down like the good whore he was going to be soon enough.

My Town (Part 1)

If you had asked Todd, when he was first wrestling with his desires, which possibility he thought was worse–being gay, or having everyone think you were gay–he would have said the latter. Being gay was only secondary to the fact that, in the mind of the small town where he grew up, he checked all of the gay boxes. Short and lithe, high voice with a slight lisp, pale skin and thick lips–he was a faggot to the world regardless of who he wanted to fuck. For better or worse, he happened to like dick on top of that. His father essentially disowned him, his older brother, Kyle, and his friends tormented him at school, and shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he’d stolen 200 dollars from his father’s wallet and run away to the closest city, imagining it had to be better than this dump. No one cared that he had gone, and no one cared to know what had happened to him. What mattered most, was that he wasn’t there anymore–the town had done its job, and had preserved itself. Within the year, he was forgotten by most, and the few who did remember him–particularly his father and brother–saw no reason to ever discuss him again. As far as they were concerned, he might as well be dead, and so they carried on.

It was eight years later, on a sunny Saturday morning in late April, that a greyhound pulled into the depot off main street one morning, and one person got off, carrying no baggage, just the clothes on his back. No one recognized Todd. The gangly young boy had grown taller, but stayed thin, the hair he’d always kept long was shaved close to his scalp, he had blond scruff on his chin and cheeks. To this day, no one in town knows where Todd had lived or what he had done to survive for those years he was away. They did know why he came back, in the end. Todd had a few scores to settle, both with his family and the town that had failed him, and he’d decided it was time to collect.

He cracked the knuckles of both hands, the leather gloves he was wearing flexing as he did, reached into a pocket and pulled out a cigar. As he walked down the street he lit it, smoking it slowly as he walked down the familiar road, seeing which shops had closed, and which were still there. Like many towns, the years had hollowed it out–all of the young blood which could leave, had–just like Todd–though most had gone to college and simply never returned. Those who remained were invested in this place, in an imagined purity of it. It was a place Todd would have never been allowed to survive, but it could change. It would change. He would change it.

No one recognized him, and he no longer looked to be out of place, beyond his status as a stranger in a closeknit community. People passing him by assumed he was one of many young men who tended to arrive during the Spring and Summer for seasonal work up in the nearby mountains, either planting trees, or cutting them down. He cut down a sidestreet, headed for his father’s house. He’d placed a call there the week before, while he was planning his return, just to make sure they hadn’t moved, and of course they hadn’t. His father wasn’t going to be pried from his house until he was dead–it wasn’t a slight, that was something he had said on any number of occasions. He loved his house and he loved this town, and everyone knew him by name–Mr. Edwin Lobart–it was a shame, to Todd, that he’d never loved his family the same way.

He gave a rough knock on the front door, but as he’d expected no one was home. His brother had gotten married a few years back to some woman he’d known in high school–Todd hadn’t been invited, of course, but he’d observed it from afar on facebook. His father was rarely home on Saturdays–he was at the farmer’s market, manning the city table as a councilman, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, his eye on the mayoral race this coming fall. He’d likely be home in early afternoon, but Todd could wait. It would give him a moment to take a look around.

Little had changed since he’d left. In fact, he was surprised by just how little had changed. He felt like an entirely different person, and simply being in this space was like a haunting of some past he’d outgrown long before. Everything was smaller than he remembered, when the whole world had seemed to loom over him. Upstairs, his room was storage now–his old things and other detritus stored away in boxes, the furniture long since sold off at garage sales. He ran his gloved hands over the dusty surface, and then wiped them off on the curtain before leaving the room. He found a bowl in the kitchen to use as an ashtray, and knocked off a sizable cinder. Back in the den, he grabbed hold of his father’s recliner–still the same old sunken La-Z-Boy after all of these years–and spun it around, away from the TV and towards the front door. He pulled a side table with the bowl beside him, and kept smoking, one leg over the other, booted foot swinging, relaxing and waiting for the sound of a key in the door, which would announce his father’s return home.

It was an hour and a half later, with Todd halfway through his second cigar, bored and groping himself, that he heard the click. He leaned back, one gloved hand still on his crotch, feeling how excited his hands had become–or his gloves, really. The material had tightened against his hands, and was shivering slightly. They could feel their Master’s excitement as well. The door opened and Edwin stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and then noticed the furniture had been rearranged, and a relative stranger was sitting in his chair, smoking a cigar.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 6)

He held out as long as he could. For a while, just having the gear was enough for him to feel better–even his performance at work improved, though he still found it difficult to care about any of it. He would get done, rush home, and spend a few hours in the gear Joel had given him, parading around, doing tricks, fantasizing about a…Master coming home to find him there, and he’d greet him like a good boy and suck his cock. He kept the mask on all night, even when he had to go back to doing human things, like making dinner, or doing chores around his apartment. It was hard to look at himself without it on, in fact–he just felt so ugly when he had to look at himself. It was no longer a face he could ever want to have, for the rest of his life.

In time, this became failed to satisfy–mostly because he found himself longing for something he imagined every dog must long for to some extent–he wanted an owner. He wanted a master. He wanted a man who would come home, like he imagined in his dreams–who would play with him, and feed him, and fuck him, and go to the dog park with him. That’s what he really wanted, and thinking about it while he jacked off with his paws, it felt so empty–his life felt empty. One night, when he’d had too much to drink, he asked an old boyfriend to fuck him while he was in gear, but the guy called him a freak and blocked him. No one from his life would understand this–no one except one. He knew where Joel was–why wasn’t he going to him?

One Saturday, he decided he’d go and see what the place looked like. Strangely enough, he couldn’t find anything about the place on the internet, and he worried that Joel had been leading him on just to make him suffer. He went to one of his regular bars instead and after a couple of drinks he asked the bartender about it, and the man grew quiet. “Look, if you’re smart, you’ll stay the fuck away from that place. It’s a fucking freakshow, trust me.”

He pressed the young man for more details, but he seemed…a bit shaken. Still, he managed to get directions out of him, and after chugging down the last bit of his drink, he grabbed his bag from the coat check and headed over to Pigtown, which it turned out was just a few blocks away, towards the area of the neighborhood which dissolved into the industrial and warehouse district. Sure enough, there it was–how had he never even heard of the place before? He buzzed the bell, and was a bit worried when it didn’t open right away, and he saw a camera in a corner of the doorframe. Were they inspecting him for some reason? Still, he heard the lock click and he slipped inside, and found himself in an antechamber with a coat check and benches lining the walls.

“Put on your gear, boy. Joel’s at the bar, waiting for you.”

The huge man at the window had spoken to him with a grin, and he froze–how did he know about him? He went to speak, but the only thing which crossed his lips was a bark, making the man laugh. “You’re new here, pup, so you’ll find out this bar ain’t like the rest. You are who you are here–and what you are is a dog. Now gear up or get out.”

He’d come this far, and the way the man was speaking to him…he liked it. He stripped out of his clothes quickly, and got into the gear Joel had given him. As soon as he did, he found himself on all fours and unable to stand back up–the man behind the window came out and collected his discarded clothes for him and took the bag behind the counter.

“I’ll hold this for you, if you still need it when you leave. Get goin’ pup–don’t keep your friend waiting.”

He crawled down the hallway and found himself in a narrow bar. It was poorly lit, and he couldn’t see the end of it, where it led into darkness–the darkrooms, he supposed. Joel was there, however, dressed in leather gear. He grinned around the stem of a pipe when he saw the dog crawling up to him, panting and whining a bit in stress–but he settled down after a pat on the head and a taste of Joel’s cock under the bar. Other people came and went and quite a few made comments–a few just laughed at him, but a couple treated him the way he wanted to be–telling him what a handsome pup he was, and offering to give him a belly rub if he did a trick or two. It made him so happy, knowing that people could see him for what he really was. When Joel clipped a lead to his collar and started walking into the back room, he didn’t have any second thoughts about following along beside him, panting and grinning and swinging his tail to and fro as he crawled.

He lost track of how many men he serviced that night–but he no longer could say no to anyone, if Joel told them it was alright to play with his pup. He spent most of the time with dicks in both his mouth and tailholes, and while it hurt, and he didn’t…want to enjoy it, every time Joel told him he was a good boy for doing what he wanted, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling overwhelmed with happiness. He was a good boy. He was making his master happy. Those thoughts were simpler, and stronger, than the human doubts and fears he was having–at least until Joel took him back to the bar early in the morning, and left him there, telling him he’d be there next week if he wanted to play some more.

It crushed him in ways he could barely express. Hadn’t he done well? Hadn’t he been a good boy? Could he have been better? Didn’t Joel want to keep him, take him home? Why had he done this to him, and shown him these feelings, if he didn’t want to take any responsibility for it? He crawled after him, but by the time he’d changed back and could speak, Joel was gone, and he was alone, and the humiliation was crushing him on the sidewalk.

August Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! If you’re a patron, you can download the three short stories I wrote this month based off suggestions and requests a couple weeks ago. Below, I have one from last month for everyone to read.

Midlife Crisis

Is this what a midlife crisis is? Les had always imagined them to be something…else. In TV shows, the men in crisis are always so…exuberant. Buying new cars, divorcing wives and dating younger women, but for him it just felt like a crippling depression and a growing confidence that everything he had done in his life had been for nothing. He didn’t want a car, or a boat, or some young thing–he didn’t know what he wanted, but after turning fifty this year it seemed like it had just now dawned on him how…miserable he is.

He should be happier, right? He’d been married to his wife for over twenty years, he had a beautiful daughter who had just gotten married the year before after what felt like an endless courtship, his career was right on track, but there was a hole in his chest all the same. It was a hole he’d always felt his entire life, and it had started aching over the last few months and it refused to stop. But this–he had to stop doing this. He couldn’t keep crying like this.

He wiped his eyes in the restaurant bathroom, hoping they didn’t seem too bloodshot. He and his wife were currently driving to go see their daughter, Kate, and his son-in-law, Gabe, and had stopped to get some food, but he’d…god, why was he crying like this so often now? Everything just felt like too much for him to handle, but there was no one he could talk to about any of it.

“Bad life, eh?”

Les gave a start, and in the mirror he saw a trucker had entered the bathroom without him noticing. “Just, uh, tabasco in my eye.”

“You can’t lie to me man, I’ve been there. I can see it,” the man pulled something out of his pocket, a golden coin, walked over and pressed it into Les’s palm. “This will help. It helped me, it’s helped lots of people before me too. Just pass it on once you have what you need.”

***

He didn’t know why he kept it. No, Les knew why he kept it–it was because he couldn’t get rid of it. He’d tried to junk the worthless coin, only for it to keep showing up in his pocket every time. He done his best to forget his strange encounter, and instead focused on enjoying time with his daughter…but when they arrived, both he and his wife could sense something was wrong. It was a few days later, on the back patio alone with Kate, that she finally told Les what was wrong.

“I think Gabe is cheating on me,” she said, choking back tears, “I…think it’s been going on for a while, before we were even married.”

Les just listened, stunned, as she recounted all of the clues and hints that had led her to this conclusion, and how things only seemed to be getting worse, how he was almost more…open about it, like he was daring her to try and do something about it. She was at a loss, and Les was too. He’d never gotten the feeling that Gabe was the sort of man who would do that, and his first instinct was to disbelieve it. Still, it was clear that something was upsetting Kate, and that tugged at his heart and only complicated the feelings he was wrestling with himself. In the end, he had nothing to offer in the way of help, but she seemed to appreciate him listening if nothing else.

It had to be wrong–he…liked Gabe. He liked Gabe more than any of the other young men Kate had dated before this, and he…well, he doubted Gabe felt the same way, but he considered him to be the son he’d never had. The feelings were complicated, though, and mixed in with the rest of the mess he was in. He covered it all up with a smile through the rest of the evening, finding himself looking over at Gabe, at his wife, at Kate, one hand slipping into his pocket and fiddling with the coin. It was hot, hotter than it should be, and he found himself getting…angry. Angry at Gabe, angry that he’d cheat on his family with…who knew who. He was going to cry again, wasn’t he? He excused himself before it hit and went to the bathroom, locking himself inside, tears falling, coin gripped in his hand.

It was even hotter now, hot enough to feel like it might burn him, but he couldn’t release his fist as hard as he tried. He just…wanted everything to work out. He wanted what he could never have, what he’d wanted for his daughter, what he’d only realized he’d wanted once it was too late. Everything shuddered, or maybe it was just him. The tears subsided again after a few minutes, and he went back out to rejoin the dinner, pretending everything was normal, like they all were.

“Would you join me for a cigar after dinner, sir?” Gabe asked him, catching Les off guard.

“I didn’t know you smoked, Gabe.”

The young man looked at him a bit oddly, “Well, I didn’t, until you showed me, sir.”

Many people had addressed him as “sir” in his years, but never had it sounded like it did when it came from Gabe. He agreed, and while Kate and her mother washed up, the two men went into the garage. It felt natural, letting Gabe light his cigar for him, watching him kneel down in front of him, hands shaking as he unzipped the fly of Les’s slacks, pulled out his hard cock, and started sucking on it, blowing his own smoke over it. Les was terrified, and yet…and yet he wanted this, didn’t he? No–this was…kind of what he wanted, but not really. The coin–had it done this?

But he didn’t want to hurt Kate…and somehow, she knew. Knew that her father and her husband were fucking behind her back, but he didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. But this–Gabe, he was so handsome, such a good young man, and he would be a much better man for his daughter if he was under Les’s control. So he could become a better husband, and a better father as well…a man more like him. The coin was hot again against his leg, and once more the world shuddered.

The door to the garage opened, and his wife entered, unsurprised by the sight of Gabe sucking her husband’s cock over cigars, and set down a couple glasses of whisky. “Thanks, Evelyn,” Les said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“I know what you and your boy need, honey.”

“You always have.”

“You two going out tonight?”

“What do you think boy, think you’ve earned a night out with daddy at the leather bar? I’d like to see your…technique. Make sure you’re pleasing my little girl. No cumming though–you save your seed for her, understand? I need an heir.”

“Yes sir, of course sir,” Gabe said, cock leaking in the chastity device he wore for his master and wife’s sake, sucking a bit harder now, eager for a night out on the town with his father-in-law.