Slob Control – Timefucking the Foreman

Loop One

It had been the best weekend of Bill’s life, by far. Finally taking his asshole neighbor down a peg or ten with the help of his new spellbook had been the most satisfying moment in his life by far. Sunday at around eleven, Pete had made his way over to where Bill was smoking on the porch, waiting for him to arrive for his daily service, and he’d spent a few hours putting his new neighborhood slave through his paces, making sure Pete properly appreciated Bill for the opportunity he was giving him. Seeing the lingering resentment give way to sheer bliss was an erotic thrill he’d never expected, and seeing how happy Pete was when he left, two loads of cum drooling down the inside of his thighs, stinking of cum and musk and sex, before climbing into his jeep to go suck even more anonymous cock like he did every night–Bill couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen in just a couple of days–and he still had so many plans to put into motion.

Now, though, it was Monday. While he supposed there was no real reason why he needed to keep going to work–the spellbook could provide him most everything he needed, after all–he had some other reason to go. Mostly, to settle a few scores, and put a particular fellow in his proper place. That fellow happened to be Grant, his current foreman. Grant was relatively new to the crew, and from rumors going around the crew, it sounded like he only really got the job because he was the son of a friend of the construction company’s owner. He was young, had an attitude problem, and was real bossy but didn’t know shit for the most part. He and Bill had not gotten along from the very start.

He spent part of Sunday evening going through the book, looking through some of the spells, and found one that looked rather intriguing–in part because it would allow him to be a little more creative with his boss. Bill wasn’t one to get to work early–if anything, he was usually late, but come Monday, he roused himself ahead of schedule, got into his truck and hustled to the worksite, getting there half an hour before their scheduled start time, and before anyone else had arrived. He got the book, headed over to the trailer that served as the foreman’s office, opened it up to the page he’d marked, and uttered the spell.

He felt an odd sensation at the back of his neck, almost like the moment he finished the incantation, the world felt a bit sticky. The spell involved time–basically, he’d created a save point. He could force reality to return to this moment as many times as he wanted. Even better, he’d be able to keep any changes he made to people during each loop intact. He’d be able to fuck with Grant as many times as he wanted, in as many ways as he wanted, until he was properly satisfied.

Right on time, as he finished the spell, he saw a familiar truck arrive in the lot–it was Grant. The young, slender fellow got out of his car and headed for the trailer, slowing up a bit when he saw Bill there waiting for him. Before he could say anything, Bill uttered the same incantation he’d first used on Peter, sending Grant into a highly suggestible trance. “Come on over here, Grant,” he said, and watched his young foreman stumble his way over, slack-jawed. “That’s it, there’s some things I think we should discuss this morning, before we get to work, what do you say?”

Grant didn’t say anything of course, his mind had left the premises. Bill was about to lead him into the trailer, when he heard another vehicle approach. He looked out and saw Sam’s truck pull into the site lot as well. Sam had been with the company longer than pretty much anyone, and was one of the reasons that, even with Grant’s shitty leadership, the project hadn’t fallen too far behind schedule. Pretty much everyone, including Bill, figured he’d make a better foreman–so why not give him the opportunity, Bill wondered. Sam got out of his truck, a burly fellow in his mid forties or so, and Bill didn’t waste time uttering the same incantation and putting Sam under as well. Together, the three of them went into the trailer to have a little chat before the rest of the crew arrived. Of course, Bill was certain he’d have plenty of time to work them both over, soon enough.

Loop Three

Grant couldn’t shake the sensation that something was off this morning. There was just a nagging sense of deja vu he couldn’t seem to shake. He pulled into the lot outside the construction site, and was surprised to see he wasn’t the first one there. He was pretty much always the first to arrive, he figured it set a good example for the rest of the crew. Even more surprising was who was there waiting for him–it was Bill of all people.

There was an odd sense that Grant should detest Bill, but something else welled up instead. Something rather surprising. Looking at him there, fuck, was he getting turned on? Something about him, standing there in his filthy hi viz, smoking one of his stinking cigars, fuck, but then again, Grant had gotten into this work because he’d always thought construction workers were hot as fuck. That thought–something about it seemed off, but it was impossible to sort out how exactly. Grant got out of his truck, adjusting the front of his jeans, got his bag and tried to maintain his composure as he walked up to where Bill was standing. “Mornin’ Bill, good to see you here early for once,” he said.

Bill just smirked at him, and said nothing. Fuck, that cocky as shit attitude only made him seem so much hotter somehow. Grant hustled past him into the trailer, dropped his bag, and sat down at his desk with the window behind him. He peeked through the shades and could see Bill right there–fuck, was he really thinking about doing this? He groped himself–yeah, fuck, what was the harm just real quick. He pulled his cock out and started stroking, as Sam rounded the corner and started talking to Bill, smoking a cigar himself.

Then, fuck, and then Grant could hardly believe his eyes. Bill wrapped one hand around the back of Sam’s head, pulled him close, and the two of them shared a long, smoky kiss. Fuck! It was something out of Grant’s wildest fucking fantasies, and he’d seen it right with his bare eyes. They kept kissing, Sam kneading and massaging Bill’s big gut, almost grinding up against him even. Bill pushed him up against the side of the trailer, still kissing him, pinning him there with his big body, and fuck, Grant couldn’t help imagining himself between both of them, and, and…

He exploded, all over his hands, all over the floor, all over the wall of the trailer under the window. He opened his eyes, and was horrified to find Bill staring right at him through the window. Fuck! Did he know? He…He had to get rid of the evidence, before anyone found out. He got on his hands and knees, licking up the cum from the wall, sucking it out of the dirty carpet, cock still rock hard somehow. Embarrassed, horrified, and yet still hornier than he’s ever been in his life.

Loop Nine

Something about this morning was definitely off. Everything seemed familiar, and yet different. Grant pulled into the lot again, and took another drag off his cigar–it was the only thing that could seem to calm his nerves this morning, but even as he did, he found it difficult to believe he was even smoking. Part of him, a part of him that was something between an echo and a memory, told him that he hated smokers, that he’d always considered it a filthy habit. It was a filthy habit of course, but wasn’t that why he liked it? Why it turned him on so much? He turned off the engine and just sat there for a moment, one hand on his gut, a gut that he’d been struggling with all morning, another thing that seemed out of place, and took another drag on his morning cigar. No use trying to figure it out. He popped open the door and climbed out.

He headed for the trailer with his bag in tow, and pulled up a bit short when he saw Bill was already on the site. That…almost never happened. Bill was usually late, if anything. Fuck, just seeing him there made his half hard cock stand right up to full mast. He’d had a fucking crush on Bill since the day he’d met him, but he was too deep in the closet, too young, too nervous to say anything, though he was pretty sure Bill would be amenable. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure, but it felt right. “Hey Bill,” he said, trying his best to sound casual, and keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. “How’s the morning? You’re not usually here this early.”

“Eh, couldn’t sleep,” Bill said, taking a drag off his own cigar.

Grant came around him, and up the steps to the trailer. He unlocked the door, then hesitated. “It’s, uh, a cold mornin’ wanna come in and warm up? I’ll get the coffee on.”

“Sure,” Bill said, and followed him up into the trailer.

It smelled like smoke–not surprising, since Grant had a cigar fired up pretty much all day long. Bill just stood there, a smirk on his face, while Grant busied himself with the coffee maker, trying to keep himself from glancing over at his crush too many times, but fuck, he was right there, and he’s too chickenshit to make a move, fucking hell, just say something, anything!

But nothing came. He poured himself a cup of coffee, when he felt something warm press against his back. He turned around, and found Bill there, blocking him in against the counter, leering down at him. Fuck, it seemed like they should be the same height, somehow, but no, Bill had several inches on him, which only made it hotter somehow. “I know what you want boy,” Bill said, “Go on, all you have to do is ask for it.”

He called him boy, fuck. Grant was leaking, he was so fucking hard, this couldn’t really be happening, could it?

Then, Bill had his lips around Grant’s, feeding him his smoke, and the next thing he knew, Bill had him bent over his desk, his jeans pulled down, and he was driving his cock into his hole. Fuck, it hurt, but he didn’t care, he needed this, he needed it so bad, fuck! “Fuck me, fuck! Fuckin’ hell, god, I need you so fuckin’ bad…” he moaned, finally finding his voice.

“I know boy, I know,” Bill said, chuckling.

Loop Seventeen

He was running late again. Grant didn’t know when everything had gotten so out of control with him. There was something wrong, it felt like he’d done this already, but different. It was getting worse, somehow, he was getting worse. Every time he woke up, he seemed different. A little shorter, a little hairier, a little older, a little fatter. Well, a lot fatter, really. That wasn’t true of course. He was just as fat and short as he’d been yesterday. His beard was still a mess. He still had all this fucking body hair, he still stank. Something else though, told him it hadn’t always been like this, it had been different. Then, of course, there was the issue with Sam, his foreman.

Fooling around with Bill was one thing. Bill was just another member of the crew like he was. Sure, Grant liked sucking dick and getting fucked, and he especially liked it from big fat roughnecks like Bill, but this stuff that was happening with Sam, it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy being treated like this, he wasn’t supposed to drag his feet getting to work, and pull into the lot with butterflies in his stomach. It was abuse, wasn’t it? But then why was he putting up with it? Why was he already hard from just thinking about it? He should turn around and drive away. It was the thing he’d do if he had any fucking backbone. He could find another job, hell, he could report Sam and probably get him fired. He wasn’t going to do that though. He couldn’t do that.

It felt like he was on a track. He got out of his truck, sucking on his morning cigar, wearing his grungy hi viz as always. He walked towards the site, hoping that, just maybe, Sam would be preoccupied, and wouldn’t see him this morning, but knowing he would. Knowing it had already happened, knowing it was going to happen again. He came around the corner, and there Sam was, in the door of the trainer. Fuck, he was so fucking big, bigger than he even remembered him being, or maybe that’s just because he was short.

“You’re late, faggot,” Sam said, sucking on his own cigar.

Say no. Say you’re done. Say you’re not going to take it anymore.

“Get your fat ass in here pig, now.”

Grant said nothing, climbed the steps, and squeezed past Sam to get inside, getting a good whiff of his strong musk as he did, and wishing that didn’t make him even more excited.

“Strip.”

Grant shucked off his dirty clothes, and stood there, shaking a bit. Five foot six, nearly three hundred pounds, hairy and balding. He felt like a worthless pig in front of the six foot four heavily muscled foreman leering down at him.

“Bend over the desk.”

He did as he was told. He heard Sam tug his belt free of his pants, double it up. He picked up Grant’s nasty old jock from the floor and stuffed it in his mouth, then started beating his ass with the belt, pinning him down with one hand on his back.

“Fuck faggot,” he said, “I’m starting to think you’re showin’ up late on purpose. I’m starting to think you actually like it when I beat your fuckin’ ass. Is that it? You like it when I beat your faggot ass red?” He grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled Grant upright again, spun him around, and sure enough, there was his four inch hard cock, jutting out under his flabby gut, clear as day. “Dick’s don’t lie faggot. You like being my punching bag, don’t ya?” he said, and slapped him across his face, then pulled the dirty underwear from his mouth. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you, Sir.”

“Ask me to hit you again.”

“P-Please…” he wanted to say don’t. He wanted to beg for mercy, but his lips and tongue, they had other ideas. “Please beat me, fuck, I wanna be your fuckin’ worthless faggot Sir, beat the shit out of me.”

Sam beat his ass and nuts, making him scream through his grimy jock. Then he threw him on the ground and fucked him, with just a little spit as lube, and somehow the pain of that only made the whole thing hotter. Sam stood up, finished with his fuck, and Grant managed to push himself up to his knees, only to find himself facing Sam’s cock. “Clean it. Then, I’ve got your reward, pig.”

He did as he was told, then Sam held him down, and pissed down his throat, before telling him to get dressed, and get to work. Only he didn’t make it that far. Something dragged him back again, back to the beginning, and he screamed, and he begged, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t done. He wasn’t done by a long shot.

Loop Twenty-Six

He deserved this.

Grant looked up at where Sam was sitting in front of him, grimy jeans around his ankles, and ran his tongue up the length of his thick cock, feeling it throb against his tongue. He was a stupid, horny pig. A worthless, filthy fucking piece of shit pig. Part of him told him that wasn’t true still, that he had to fight this, that this wasn’t right, but that piece got quieter every time. He’d done this before, he was sure of it somehow. Not just yesterday, though he had done something like this yesterday. But…before. It made sense, somehow, but not in a way his simple mind could really piece together.

Behind him, Bill was fucking his pighole, nice and slow. This was how all of his morning started at the site these days, worshiping these two filthy gods. Somedays he’d worship and clean their bodies from head to toe, other times they’d beat him senseless, send him out bruised and battered for the crew to gossip about. They’d long ago locked up his cock, or had it only been a short while ago? It didn’t matter–stupid worthless pigs like him didn’t get to have orgasms. Service, obedience, and pain were its own rewards. He knew that should feel like an excuse, like a lie, but more and more, it felt like the only truth that remained.

He felt the flogger in Sam’s hand slide over his back, and he shuddered. He couldn’t find the line between anticipation, dread, and excitement. It came down on his back with a smack, he moaned, and started licking faster at Sam’s cock, his own throbbing inside its tiny cage. “Open up, pig,” Sam said. Grant looked up, mouth open, tongue out, and Sam deposited the ash from his cigar right on his tongue. It burned, but he rolled it around in his mouth, soaking it with spit, until it was wet enough to swallow. Then, he returned to worshiping Sam’s cock while Sam’s flogger kept striking him.

Watching the show, Bill’s thrusts began to speed up. After a few more minutes, with a groan, he pumped his load in deep, and when he was done shooting, he pulled himself free. “Your turn, bud,” he said to Sam.

“Finally, takin’ yer sweet time.”

“I know you like it when it’s good and sloppy,” Bill said, stealing a smoky kiss with Sam for a moment, while Grant looked up at them both, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, or so unlucky.

Sam drove his cock in without ceremony. He was bigger than Bill, which is why he usually went second. Actually, he loved the feeling of a seedy, sloppy hole around his cock–it helped him last longer. Bill came around to Grant’s head, fed him his nice, long ash, but instead of sitting down and letting him lick his cock clean, instead he bent over and shoved his wide, stinking ass into Grant’s face. “Clean me out faggot, forgot to wipe this morning.”

He balked. He didn’t balk often, anymore, but while Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him into Bill’s dirty crack. “Go on faggot, you know what that nasty tongue is for.”

He did as he was told. He did it because he deserved this, because he was a fat, loser faggot, and this is what his place in the world was. But more and more, he did it because he wanted to. Because he craved the filth, the degradation, the abuse. He pushed back, as hard as he could, but he knew it was a losing battle. Soon enough, that’s all that would be left of him.

Loop Thirty-Eight

Sam’s truck pulled into the parking lot. Bill was waiting over by the trailer, smoking his cigar. They were almost there, he figured. Maybe one or two more loops through, just to make sure everything was good and cemented in with them both. Sam got out–squeezed his way out, really. Six foot seven, nearly four hundred pounds of fat and muscle, furry and rough and tattooed all over. A real rough piece of work, harsh but fair, with no patience for slackers on the crew. He walked around to the bed of the truck, unlocked the cage that filled up a good portion of the bed, and gutter, Sam’s slave, crawled out and eased himself down from the bed.

Gutter was short–around five foot two, and about three hundred pounds of mostly fat. Middle aged, balding, and filthy–Sam didn’t hose him down very often. He was wearing just a hard hat, a grubby orange safety vest, a nasty jockstrap, knee pads, and boots–and a heavy chain collar, with a chain leash in Sam’s hands. Sam tugged him along, and gutter crawled after him, head down, gut dragging through the gravel lot.

“How ya doin’, Bill?” Sam said as they approached, “Yer not usually here this early.”

He took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in, and gave Bill a long, smoky kiss, giving his gut a rub, while Bill felt up Sam’s firm body. Fuck, he’d done good with this one, Sam was one hot fucking piece of meat. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I might as well get here early.”

“You just wanted to use Gutter here before the rest of the crew got to him.”

“I mean, that too. I gotta piss like a fuckin’ race horse.”

Sam tugged gutter around, who crawled over, waited for Bill to fish his cock out, and took the head in his mouth. He swallowed all the piss without complaint. It was what he wanted, what he was destined for. Fate had brought him to Sam, and Sam had turned him into the pig he’d always wanted to be. He slept outside in a kennel, came with Sam to work, where he was chained outside the trailer all day long, there to service the entire crew as urinal, toilet paper and cumdump.

Of course, it would take another loop or two before the crew saw it that way. Bill still hadn’t let time move that far forward, to the point that the rest of the crew arrived. It was probably about time though. Clearly, Gutter was ready to be put through his paces. Ready, and quite excited. It was certainly a grand improvement over the old Grant, not that anyone would remember him, aside for Bill of course. That, and he’d gotten a chance to test out quite a few other spells, and gotten a good handle on what he was capable of right now. “Could use a good wipe too–you like eating my filthy crack, don’t you pig?”

Gutter nodded, salivating a little. Bill dropped his pants, bent over, and shoved his crack in the pig’s face, who dove right in and started cleaning him up. Fuck, he was never going to get tired of this though–this was the fucking life.

The Pigtown Chronicles” Chapter 3.10 – All Alphas Need a Beta

Parker, with his two thralls following behind him down the dark street, didn’t look entirely out of place in Pigtown, though usually that sort of sight was more common deeper in, closer to the heart. He still got more than a few gawks from the men he passed by, and even then, none of them were really seeing him for what he truly was. It was around midnight when he got to Hugh’s apartment and pounded on the door–but no one answered. Figured, he supposed. Not many folks would be at home at this time of night in Pigtown, unless they were bringing someone back with them for the evening, and Hugh would more likely be out on the street selling his wares in the various bars and clubs. There was a chance, though, that his stash of BHB was still inside the place–after all, it wouldn’t make sense to carry a bunch of vials of the stuff around, since Hugh usually stuck to party drugs. He tried the door, but it was locked. He placed his massive shoulder against it, hand on the knob, and gave a bit of a push. The door caved it around the lock, and he and his globby thralls were inside.

Something was off, though. The lights were on, he could smell the remnants of food in the air. He poked around through the apartment, and sure enough, there was Hugh in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, shuddering, looking like he’d caught cold. Parker sniffed the air, and he recognized the scent now. Hugh was…his. Somehow, he knew that. Not quite the same as the meek little sucking things he’d made at the gym, though he supposed that Parker could probably suck him dry just as easily as the others. No, he was something else, and Hugh popped his head up from where he was lying, nostrils wide, and licked his lips. “P-Parker? I…something’s wrong, I–fuck, I…”

“Don’t worry about it Hugh, I know what you need, alright?” Parker said, lumbering around the side of the bed to where Hugh was lying. “But you need to do something for me first, alright?”

Hugh nodded, one hand reaching for Parker’s cock, already sensing why he was feeling so ill. “What the fuck happened to you Parker? What did that stuff do to you? I…I felt great, for a couple of hours, and then…I can barely move now.”

“Do you have more of the BHB?”

“I…a couple more vials, yeah, but that’s it.”

“Where were you getting it from? What’s your source?”

“Just…a friend. Another dealer, usually works the gyms, steroids, that sort of thing. We exchange samples on occasion.”

“What’s his name?”

“Aaron–don’t know much more than that.”

“And where does he get it? Who makes it?”

“I don’t fucking know Parker, please, I…I need a load from you, I’m so fucking hungry.”

“You have to fucking know something!” he said, “I’m barely going to make it through the fucking weekend with a couple of vials. Where do you meet up with him?”

“At The Emerald Spa. I deal there on Saturdays to the party boys, and he hooks up some jocks there with steroids at the same time. We chat between deals. I don’t fucking know where he’s getting it. He said it was from somewhere in Pigtown, but I don’t know more that that, you have to fucking believe me,” Hugh struggled and pushed himself upright with one arm shaking a bit, and that was when he finally noticed the two other figures who had entered the room now. “What…what the fuck…”

“Don’t mind them,” Parker said, “They’re with me.”

“What the fuck are they?”

“I don’t fucking know, Hugh. I’d like to get some fucking answers, so I know what the fuck is going on with me, but you don’t fucking know shit!”

Hugh flinched at the harsh tone, and Parker felt a jolt of delight. He was afraid of him. He should be afraid of him. Everyone should be afraid of him, everyone should know that he’s in charge, that he’s the fucking alpha. He toyed with the idea of throwing back the sheet and sucking Hugh dry right there and then, but didn’t. As much as the weak little drug dealer disgusted and infuriated him in the moment, he did still need him. He had no idea who Aaron was, and after that moment of withdrawal back in the gym, he had absolutely no interest in repeating that experience again. The only way he was going to avoid it, though, would be to get a regular supply. “Alright, I suppose you still have some use left in you,” Parker said, and shoved Hugh over onto his back in his bed. “That, and I’m fucking horny as hell. Let’s get you feeling better with a good dose from my alpha cock.”

Hugh looked like he was going to be a bit sick, when he saw the size of Parker’s new cock, and felt it sliding up and down his ass crack, lubed up with a generous layer of precum. He could feel it though, the tingle from the massive muscle man’s cum as it seeped into his skin, and he let out a little moan, cheeks flushing pink, feeling his own sex drive kick into gear. Parker pushed the head into his hole, and then with a few grunts, drove the rest of his cock in deep, Hugh biting down on a pillow to keep from screaming, knowing how much he needed this, worried that if he didn’t get it, he was going to die. Already, he could feel the withdrawl symptoms beginning to recede, but it wasn’t like before, where he felt just a simple burst of energy. He felt hot all of sudden, flushed with heat, and then came the first muscle spasm in his arm.

“What the hell, it fuckin’ hurts,” Hugh said, gripping his arm, his bicep flexing beyond his control.

“Of course it fuckin’ hurts moron, it’s a big fuckin’ dick.”

“No, not that, something’s wrong, it’s different this time, pull out.”

Bitch, I don’t pull out for anyone, I’m just getting started,” Parker said, and rammed in deeper, feeling his cock pump out some extra pre into Hugh’s guts. His thralls, attracted to the scent coming from Parker’s sex, climbed up onto the bed. One squeezed down, planted it’s greasy lips on Parker’s hole and started rimming him, driving a thick tongue into his Alpha’s hole, while the other oozed its way up onto the small of Hugh’s back, sucking on Parker’s muscular chest, drinking down the milk still seeping from his swollen muscle tits. Parker shuddered in pleasure, fucking faster now, no longer thinking of Hugh as anything more than just a hole.

Under him, the muscle spasms were spreading through Hugh’s entire body, from his arms, to his back, to his neck, to his chest, to his abs, down his legs and even in his feet. Each time, the muscle would clench, squeezing hard, and then start pumping, and with each pump, he could feel it swell, adding mass before relaxing again, exhausted but also somehow invigorated at the same time. Parker fucked faster and faster, and finally came, pumping a massive load of cum into Hugh’s guts, and when he did, he felt the same spasms begin again, his already pumped muscles inflating even larger–and only then, did Parker look down, past the fat thrall sucking on his tits, and realize that Hugh was growing larger and more muscular.

Not nearly as muscular as he was himself, of course, but Hugh had never been in much shape. Rail thin, with a small paunch, and rather short, Parker had always thought of him as a bit of a troll, and assumed he’d gotten into drug dealing as a way to extort sex out of guys, since he likely wouldn’t be able to get any from his looks alone. But while the cum hadn’t done anything to help his face, his body had gone from rail thin to thick with muscle after a single fuck. Parker pulled out, and Hugh pushed himself up and off the bed, looking down at himself, astounded. “Holy fuck, you fucking me into some fucking muscle beast, what the fuck is in that shit?”

“I don’t fucking know, but you’re gonna get me both of those vials, right fucking now,” Parker said.

Hugh didn’t even question the order–he went right to his stash, pulled out both vials, and handed them to Parker, who took one, found a needle, and injected it right into his ass. He could feel the first couple twinges of withdrawal. Filling Hugh up like that had taken a good amount of vitality out of him–he’d have to be careful with that from now on. But smelling Hugh on the air, he could tell something else, somehow. “Hugh, stand on one leg,” he said.

Again, without a moment of hesitation, Hugh shifted over and stood on one foot–and stayed there. From the look on his face, he was a bit confused himself, as to why he had done that, and why he was still doing it. “I…can’t put my foot down.”

“Holy fuck, you have to do what I say, don’t you?”

“I–wait, no fucking way!” Hugh said, struggled a bit more, but couldn’t get his foot down on the ground, no matter how much he struggled.

“You can put your foot down, but only after punching yourself in the nuts,” Parker said.

“No, what?” Hugh said, but his fist connected with his sack, and he bent over, moaning from the self-inflicted punch. “Why the fuck did you make me do that?” he said.

Parker just laughed, “becuase it was fucking funny, that’s why,” he said, “Alright, I have something I need to take care of, but I’ll be back tomorrow to give you another dose–probably before you start feeling shitty again. In the meantime, I want you to connect with Aaron–just with text. Don’t fucking tell him anything about me or what’s happening with you, just say that you’re interested in selling more BHB, and you want to get in contact with his supplier. I don’t care what you have to say, I want you to find out who’s making it and where, got it? If you don’t have the fucking info by the time I get back, I’m going to take you from this little muscle pig you’ve become, and you’re going to become one of these flabby little monsters instead–got it?” He said, grabbing one of his thralls by the scruff of its neck and hauling it’s fat body up into the air, waving it a bit in front of Hugh’s face.

Hugh nodded, “Understood…Sir.”

“Good instincts,” Parker said. “Now, I have some business to take care of. Be a good beta and get that info, or else.”

Hugh nodded, and Parker left the apartment, both thralls in tow. He found his phone, sent off a text to Aaron asking him what it would take to get that info, and then sat around waiting for the reply. In the meantime, he groped his own cock, amazed at how large it was, how it instantly rose up, demanding attention. He stroked himself off, always listening for the sound of a text coming in, but if he was going to be an Alpha’s beta, then he might as well get to enjoy the benefits in the meantime.

Suggested Story: Adventures Off Base

I’ve started taking suggestions for short stories again, over on my new Sponsus page! Here’s one I wrote this month, for someone who requested some boot worship and army men. If you enjoy it, there’s more to be found over there, and I’ll be taking suggestions for October starting tomorrow!

Jameson Army Base wasn’t where you wanted to get shipped off for base camp, but there was a reason it received a fair share of recruits. It was in the middle of nowhere, flyover country, attached to a small town whose fortunes were pretty much tied to the base and everyone on it. It wasn’t glamorous, but there were also no real distractions. When this latest batch of fresh recruits were given their first permission to go off base for a weekend, none of the young men were particularly thrilled. The bar on base was generally well regarded. The man reason to go off was to head for the strip club and hopefully get laid with a dancer after parting with a chunk of paycheck, or go to one of the rundown bars in town and look for a cute girl who wanted out of town, and was willing to marry an army man to do it.

Eddie Westfield didn’t have either of those ambitions in mind. He was a little older than some of the other recruits there, had grown up in a small town not too different from this one, fell in with the wrong crowd for a few years after dropping out of high school, and part of trying to turn himself around was taking one of the few exits that existed these days for fuckups like him: the army. When the weekend was announced by Drill Sergeant Rugger, he had made it clear to the young cadets that they were to keep their noses clean and stay out of trouble–and that meant staying clear of one bar in particular, known around there as Gully’s Tavern. It catered to some rougher clientele that didn’t take kindly to the men off the base, generally–biker gangs mostly. Eddie hadn’t thought much of the warning at the time, he hadn’t even planned on leaving base for the weekend, but as Friday finished up, and the rest of the guys were talking excitedly about their plans, he couldn’t help but get a bit swept up in it too.

He started the evening with a couple of buds at one of the friendlier bars in town. They were both looking for women they night woo, and Eddie took an early leave. The night was still young, and he wasn’t quite ready to go back to base. He decided to walk around town a bit, and see what there was around. Not much, especially not that late, but there was a building half a mile down the highway all lit up in the night. Eddie headed for it, enjoying the walk, and found himself standing outside Gully’s Tavern.

There on the porch were a couple of bikers, smoking cigars and drinking. They hadn’t noticed him walk up in the dark, as they leaned over and kissed, sharing their smoke together. So that’s why Rugger had urged them away from here. Some army kids probably tried to start something with the biker fags, and shit had gone down once, so it was easier to just urge everyone away. Rugger wasn’t perturbed, though. He’d been with guys before, and girls, and anyone really. He went up the steps, inside, turned to the bar, and froze when he saw one of the men in full leathers there, chatting and groping up a trucker-ish fellow. It was Sergeant Rugger. A bit embarrassed, Eddie turned to leave, only for the two bikers who had been out of the porch to appear behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him deeper into the bar, everyone turning to stare at the clear trespasser in their midst.

“Hey guys, I’m just here for a brew, I’m not looking for trouble,” Eddie said.

The men all looked towards Rugger, who pushed a couple jets of smoke out of his nose in clear annoyance at being found out. “Boy, I told you all to stay away from this bar, didn’t I say that? That was a fucking order, if you didn’t realize, not a damn suggestion.”

“Sergeant, I don’t care, really I don’t! I won’t tell anyone,” Eddie said, but the sergeant was already walking over, and as he did, Eddie noticed a sizable talisman hanging from the sergeant’s neck, swinging against his hairy chest. It was…captivating, and Eddie couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.

“Sure as hell won’t tell anyone, boy. Westfield, you’re gonna be straight with me. You’ll only be able to answer truthfully.”

Eddie nodded, eyes still locked on the talisman.

“Ya gay, Eddie?”

“Bi, Sir.”

“Think I’m hot, boy?”

“I…I mean, yeah…”

“You think I’m hot, boy. You think I’m so hot, that you’d be willing to do just about anything I tell you to do tonight, got it? Now–do you think I’m hot?”

“Fuck Sir, I think you’re the hottest fucker I’ve ever seen…” Eddie muttered.

“That’s more like it. Do you like boots, boy?”

“E-Excuse me?”

“You love boots, don’t you boy? Men in leather boots. Clean ones, dirty ones, biker boots, combat boots, can’t tear your eyes off boots. Why don’t you get on your knees boy, give mine a closer look.”

Eddie did as his sergeant ordered, the rest of the bar sniggering and hooting at the show. No one knew where the sergeant had picked up that talisman on his last tour, but the bar sure had been a lot more fun ever since. The recruit had never seen something as beautiful as the leather biker boots in front of him in his whole life, his whole being quivering at the thought of servicing them, licking them, being under them. Rugger had Eddie begging him permission to lick his boots clean, and after just a few licks of the leather surface, Eddie moaned, his cock unloading in the front of his underwear. That sent the crowd into the flurry, and they tore all of his clothes off, aside for the soiled briefs, and once Rugger’s boots were shining with spit, he was ordered to crawl around, begging men permission to lick and service their boots. When the bartenders announced last call, Rugger hauled Eddie up to his feet, bent him over the pool table, and gave the boy a good rough fuck while the bar closed up.

Rugger held the talisman in front of Eddie’s face, told him he would forget the events of that evening, think he went home with the rest of the young men, though he would have a lingering fetish for boot play all the same. To his surprise though, he felt the boy pushing back against his command–the first time he had, actually. It seemed like he wanted to remember…so Rugger altered his suggestion. He made it a dream, a vivid one, but certainly a dream, one he enjoyed, one he wanted, and one he’d think about when he next jacked off, for sure.

Rugger wasn’t sure what might happen next, and Saturday evening, it wasn’t even ten before Eddie burst through the doors of the bar, looked around for the Sergeant, and headed right for him. “You–what happened last night?”

“Excuse me?” Rugger said, with a little smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Westfield.”

“No…I had a dream, and…and I…” Without saying more, Eddie dropped to his knees, and bent his head down. “Sir…it wasn’t a dream, was it? I loved it. I…please Sir, can I service your boots, Sir?”

Rugger smiled, “If that’s what would please you boy, by all means, have at it.”

It was rather unheard of for a recruit to remain at Jameson Army Base once basic training was done–the recruits were usually scattered to bases across the country for more specialized training. Eddie, though, stuck around, taking a low level office job on the recommendation of Sergeant Rugger. Their relationship was an open secret, though few knew the whole story. Eddie had no problem with that. As long as he could remain Sir’s bootboy, he’d be more than happy anywhere at all.

TPC – Chapter 2.3

Chapter 3 – Getting The Runaround

As soon as Dennis stepped into the lobby at Precinct 27 on Tuesday around noon, he gave a little grimace. This was not the well kept, shiny sort of police station they had out in the suburbs (or at least, it wasn’t the idea of a well kept, shiny police station that he had in mind, since he had never stepped foot in one aside for a tour with the boy scouts when he was a teenager). The room was dimly lit, the tiles were dingy and didn’t look like they’d seen a mop in quite some time. There was one cop at a desk behind a plexiglass partition, but it didn’t look like he was doing any work–just reading a magazine or something, leaning back, and…no, he couldn’t be doing that, that would be so unprofessional!

Dennis cleared his throat as he stepped up towards the glass, and the officer sighed, put down the magazine under the counter, and scooted forward. If he had been engaging in something unpleasant down there, he made no effort to zip back up. Dennis hoped he’d been wrong in his assumption. “Hi, I’d like to file a report,” he said when he got to the glass.

“What about?”

“A club in the area. Depot. I was there on Friday, and I witnessed more code violations than I’d have liked to see. Underage drinking, indoor smoking, drug dealing, public sex, all sorts of stuff.”

He’d expected a little bit of concern from the officer, but he just looked somewhere between bored and annoyed that Dennis was standing in front of him at all. “That sounds like a job for the liquor control board and the health department, bud,” he said.

“I already called both of those places, and they said that, for whatever reason, Precinct 27 handles that stuff around here, so here I am.”

“Ah, I see. Alright, well, we’ll look into it then.”

Dennis stood there in the silence, and he realized that the officer was just expecting him to leave, after that. “Aren’t you going to take my name or number? File a report? I’m a witness.”

With a heavy sigh, the officer pulled out a pad of paper–not even anything official looking, and a pen. “Name?”

“I’d like to speak to your supervisor,” Dennis said.

“He’s out.”

“Out?”

“Yeah, he’s out. It’s lunchtime. You can wait if you want, but you look like a real busy fellow. Or how about this, you can give me your name.”

Dennis sighed, gave the officer his name, phone number and address, then watched as he tossed the pad back in the drawer beside him and closed it. “I’ll make sure to inform an investigator, don’t you worry.”

The condescension was almost enough for Dennis to take the man up on his offer and wait there for his supervisor to come back, but likely that would just waste more time, and he still had appointments that afternoon at the hospital. So he left. No wonder Depot was flouting the law so brazenly, if this is the sort of enforcement this part of town was dealing with. He was busy coming up with a list of folks even higher up to email that evening–police commissioners, city council members, the mayor even–when he saw a couple of guys on the other side of the street, and his jaw dropped.

It was Kyle again. Kyle, and…and was that the same fucking bear from the club that he’d pulled him away from? They were walking down the sidewalk, chatting, Kyle holding a bag of takeout, likely from one of the hole-in-the-walls around there, before going into a shop front for Marshall’s Cigar and Briar. Dennis jaywalked across the street and followed them inside, as they were doling out the contents of the bag between them.

“Hey bud, come back in a bit, it’s lunchtime,” the older bear said without looking up. Kyle though, recognized Dennis, and his face went pale. Twice in less than a week–was Dennis following him or something?

“Hey, Mr. Case…”

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” Dennis asked, “And isn’t that the guy from the fucking club?”

Marshall finally looked up, recognized Dennis, and gave a little huff. “Oh, it’s you. I hate how this place does this.”

“What?” Dennis asked.

“Bud, Kyle here is an employee of mine. We are currently having lunch. I assure you, everything here is perfectly fine. If you’d like to purchase something, why don’t you come back in half an hour. Otherwise, you can go ahead and fuck off.”

“You’re working? Here? For him? Since when?” Dennis asked Kyle, “Why didn’t you say anything about that on Friday?”

Kyle wasn’t sure what to say, and mostly he just wanted to slip under the floorboards for a while, and maybe die. “You…you won’t tell my dad, will you?”

“Tell your dad you’re working at a fucking smokeshop? Maybe I should. Maybe I should also tell him you’re going out to clubs underage while I’m at it! I still haven’t made my mind up about that, either, you know.”

“You don’t understand, alright? I’m fucking eighteen, you can’t just…just decide what’s fucking best for me!”

“You’re fucking eighteen, you don’t even know what’s best for you!”

While they’d been yelling, Marshall had been calmly preparing a cigar for himself, and lighting it. Before Dennis could wheel on him, and likely try and chastise him for smoking indoors, He took an inhale, and pushed it all into Dennis’ face. Kyle watched, horrified, expecting Dennis to start coughing and explode even more, but instead, he watched as he went rather calm, almost like he was in a bit of a trance.

Marshall stood up, and beckoned Dennis over to the counter where he was standing, and without a word, Dennis did as the finger commanded. Then, Kyle watched as Marshall caught a wisp of smoke out of the air between his fingers, and twisted it, making it longer and thinner, with a little hook on the end. He put one hand on top of Dennis’s head and tilted it to one side, before sliding the wisp of smoke into his ear, twirling it a bit, and then pulling it out–along with…something else. Something a little smoke-like, but almost opalescent. Before Kyle could get a good look, Marshall had waved his hand through both hook and the bit he’d pulled free from Dennis’s head, and they dissolved into the air.

“Now, you’re going to leave my shop, and continue along whatever path you were going before, understand? You will never tell Kyle’s father about his activities. If asked by him about Kyle, you will only ever talk about what a good kid he is, responsible, and as an adult, he should be given as much autonomy as he needs, understand?”

Dennis nodded his head.

“Good, now get out of this shop.”

Dennis turned around and left, leaving Kyle with his jaw on the floor. “What did you do to him?”

“I know a few tricks,” Marshall said.

“Yeah, I’ve seen a couple of them, but what was that?”

“I pulled out the memory of him seeing us on the sidewalk, coming in here and trying to start a fight. Then, I used a little control on him, told him to carry on with his day. Easier than talking to him–I hate blowhards like that, they never know when to shut up. Come on, let’s eat.”

Marshall sat down and took a bite from his sandwich. Kyle stood on the other side of the counter, took a smaller bite from his own, and then set it down. After a couple of minutes, he asked, “Can…you teach me how to do that?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Marshall said.

“What…does that mean?”

“You said you’re going to college soon?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Out of state, right? One of those ivy league places,” Marshall put down the sandwich, and picked the cigar back up. “This place, Pigtown. It’s not just a place, you know. What’s happening here, it’s complicated. Most guys who come in here, eventually, they don’t go back out.”

Kyle thought about Marlon for a moment, the first he had all day, and pulling that memory free was like dragging it out from a swamp. He nodded.

“There’d be no college,” Marshall said. “No family outside of this chunk of city.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I just need you to believe me, and trust me,” Marshall said, “What you want is not a simple thing. This place makes you give up more than you ever thought you’d have to. What you get back is…well, I wouldn’t want to leave, I can tell you that. But if he was right about one thing, it’s that you’re, well, young, Kyle.” He saw him start to get defensive and Marshall shook his head, “I don’t mean it like he does. I mean, you have potential. A future. Many futures. This place is hungry for people like you. It wants you, badly, and it brought us together because it knew I had something you wanted, and wanted bad. I don’t mind giving it to you. But you ought to know what you’ll be giving up. Most never get the choice.”

“I do want it.”

“I know you do,” Marshall said, and picked up his sandwich again, “But think about it. Really think about it for me. We’ll talk again tomorrow, alright? Now eat up, we’ll have some regulars looking for their smokes banging on the door soon.”

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

(Caption) Dale’s Divorce

October Caption Challenge (15/31)

The divorce had been rough. Sure, he’d made mistakes, but now he was losing the house, he could only see his son on the weekends, and he was going to have to pay her alimony? It had just been a fucking prostitute–ok, a few prostitutes, usually while he was out of town on business. If she’d just put out more, none of this would have happened.

Dale wound up in a two bedroom apartment not too far from work, but it was hard not to resent the whole mess. Frustrated, he ended up befriending one of his neighbor’s Max, and the two of them would stay up drinking, talking about their respective problems. Or at least, Dale would talk, and Max would listen.

One evening, Max interrupted Dale’s usual diatribe to suggest something. “You know, I have this little app on my phone, maybe it can help you out a bit, move past this a little.”

“Oh?” Dale asked.

Max pulled out his phone, loaded it up, and the flashlight in it began to strobe. “Yeah, it’s just a little trance program. Puts you in a relaxed state. All you have to do is look at the light. Might help you settle a bit, sleep better. I could help you push some of this stuff out of your head for a bit, get past it.”

Max looked up, and saw that Dale was already staring at the flashing light, mouth open and drooling a bit.

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Don’t you worry buddy, I know just the thing to help you get over that bitch ex-wife.”

And so, Dale found himself developing a new relationship, this time, with Max’s feet. It was just a few suggestions at first, and Max went barefoot for a while, watching Max’s eyes track his footsteps all over their apartments. Soon enough, he got him drunk, and Max was more than happy to worship his feet, love them, kiss them, and each sniff helped him forget his ex-wife a little more.

Once Max was certain the new footpig was well under his control, he told him that he wanted to make a deal. After all, Dale shouldn’t just get to worship these wonderful feet for free–no, there was something else that Max wanted. He wanted his son. Dale had introduced them, of course, and Max was just a few months shy of turning eighteen, which meant he’d be able to visit his dad all he wanted. Except Dale was going to help Max out, wasn’t he?

So the next weekend, they pinned his son down, tied him up, and after a few hours, he was already sniffing the inside of Max’s sneakers, moaning and groaning like the little foot slave he was going to become, just like his dad.

Since Max was going to be busy, and Dale wouldn’t be able to service him as much, Max had a surprise for him–he’d started renting him out as a footwhore online, and he already had his first client scheduled today.

Sure enough, a motorcycle pulled up, and an old, grungy looking chubby biker got off, and headed for where Dale and Max were standing in front of their apartments. “Hey Dale, this the pig?” he asked.

“Yep–you’ll show Willis here a good time, won’t you Dale?”

Dale gulped–but once the biker got his boots off and he got a whiff of his road funk, Max’s reservations melted away. Soon enough, his son didn’t even visit his dad, he just went right to Max’s apartment. Not too long after that, Dale and his son forgot that they were even related. He was Max’s dirty little footpig, his obedient, sexy son, and Dale was just the nasty, perverted footwhore who lived next door.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #3 (Carter’s Rebellion)

This interlude was a commission, and involves a bit of a time jump. Don’t worry, we’ll return and pick up Coach Mason’s tale another time. I’d also recommend reading the first interlude, which has the beginnings of Carter’s journey. If you’d like a commission like this one, you can find out more details here!

Fall was slowly shifting to Winter around the two houses. The leaves had fallen and been raked up by the boys, classes were gearing up for finals, some were eyeing the oncoming Winter break with a nervous glance, since it was unlikely that the Frat Daddy would simply allow the boys to return home to their families without some humiliating expectations of behavior to follow. But other boys were struggling for other reasons–and one of those boys was Carter. These last few months had been a whirlwind, from losing his hair, to finding himself under Daddy’s paddle and whip, finding himself beaten down and built back up again by Sarge on a regular basis in the dungeon. Some weeks, he felt like he could take on the world. Other weeks, he ached from the bruises, welts and cuts on his body, from his muscles and bones working through another growth spurt, and wondered how he could want this, if he was broken for wanting it at all. Other weeks, all he could do was stare at the other boys, frustrated that he couldn’t take his budding sadism out on them, as Daddy did to him. He’d look at himself in the mirror, miss his hair, no longer knowing what he wanted, or who he wanted to be. Just a mass of sensation, rudderless, no consistent identity from one day to the next.

Maybe that was why it happened. Or maybe, it was the dreams that had been plaguing him most every night, the visions of being stripped and hung in Daddy’s dungeon, flesh and soul peeling away from him with every strike of the lash until there was nothing left of him, just a dull buzz of…something in the back of his mind, something trying to pull him together. Or maybe it was Daddy wishing for him to understand, to see what Daddy saw in him, consciously or unconsciously. But whatever the reason it happened, one Friday morning, wondering if he’d be able to spend another weekend with Daddy again, wondering if he wanted to spend another weekend with him, he found himself mostly thinking about his hair. He’d be lying, if he said he didn’t miss it. He understood, somewhat, why Daddy did it…but at this point, hadn’t he proven to him that he was more than just his hair? Couldn’t Daddy at least let him grow it out again, instead of keeping his scalp shaved down every single day? It didn’t help that his beard wasn’t growing in as thick as he would have liked. His blonde coloring just didn’t stand out enough, making it look like thin, long, peach fuzz.

He looked away from the mirror, and felt something familiar brush against the back of his neck. When he turned back around, he was shocked to see his hair! It was growing in again, faster and thicker than it had before, still that perfect golden blonde that so many girls had gone wild for in high school and college, before Daddy had taken over. He ran his hands through it and gave it a tug, but it was real. How was this even possible? Looking at himself, he noticed that his beard was also filling in and growing. It finally passed through that awkward fuzzy stage and became a thick, blonde beard that reached down to his chest.

“D-Daddy?” he asked, but the room was empty–most of the other boys in the house were eating downstairs or in class. He looked back at the mirror, and then down at himself. If Daddy hadn’t done this, then…had it been him? As a little test, he thought about being bigger–thicker and taller really, and he felt his body surge outwards and respond to him, packing on muscle, his harness growing tight against his body. As he ran his hands over himself, another boy, named Ryan, came up the stairs and into the communal bedroom–and froze when he saw Carter in front of him. “C-Carter?” he asked, “Your…hair, man, how…”

Could he…change others? “Ryan–get over here and bend over, I’m fucking horny,” Carter said with a grin, and watched as Ryan did exactly as he ordered, bending over the side of his bed, and allowing Carter to pull his plug out with a pop. Ryan almost never got fucked in the house–he was too careful, but Carter had gotten him a few times. But now, he’d just…given up! Given up, because Carter had ordered him to. The rush he felt then–the sensation of power and domination over another. He loved fucking Ryan’s hole then, but nothing compared to watching that boy obey him without a single question. “Feels good, doesn’t it Ryan? You want me inside you more often, don’t you? You want me inside you as much as you can get me, got it?” he said, and Ryan started moaning and panting louder, pushing back as Carter fucked him, until he came deep in his ass–but when he pulled out, Ryan turned around, cock hard in his jockstrap, and begged him for more, his eyes betraying a terror and frustration that his mouth couldn’t articulate, but Carter was so lost in the pleasure of control that he didn’t even notice it. “Come on Ryan, let’s go see how the boys downstairs are doing. Maybe if they get me horny enough, I’ll fuck you again, would you like that?”

“Yes Sir, more than anything,” Ryan said, following along meekly as Carter went downstairs, eager to have some fun with the boys before Daddy came over in the evening.

Ethan had finished his dinner, dressed himself in his gear, and selected a cigar. With one last look in the mirror to ensure he was holding himself to the same standard he held his boys to, he went downstairs to his dungeon and crossed through the tunnel between his own home and the frat house next door, mulling over his decision again. He’d had most of the boys over at least once at this point, sometimes one on one, and sometimes together, enough to have introduced them all to the specialized plans that Daddy had for their budding manhood. Carter though–he was the exception. While he hadn’t come over every weekend, Daddy had devoted a potentially unfair amount of attention to the budding masochist over the last few months. While he wanted him again this weekend, for his own selfish ends as well as for Carter’s growth, he had decided against it. Carter had hit a wall over the last couple of weeks, one that Daddy was familiar with. He was wrestling with himself, with what he wanted to be, and it was best to let him rest for some time, to sort it out in his own time. If he pushed him too hard, it wouldn’t help anything.

He came out of the tunnel in the gym under the frat house, and that was the first indication that something was amiss–there was no one down there working out. Usually, on a Friday night, many of the boys would be down here working off their dinner, some of them working out while they smoked to take the edge off their horniness without having to fuck–or for the couple of boys in chastity at the moment, because they couldn’t. But there was no one. Guarded, he climbed the stairwell that led up to the living room, and found himself looking at the entire house of boys, all of them clustered around Carter, who was sprawled on a chaise, every single boy in the house worshipping him, with Ryan on top, fucking himself on Carter’s cock, moaning in ecstasy.

“Boys, Line up!” Daddy called, and that was enough to jolt them to their senses. Most of the boys did as commanded, some of them looking a bit…confused or scared, like they’d been caught in the act of something wrong. Carter did not line up with them, but instead stepped forward, his long hair and beard soaked with sweat from the hour long orgy he’d instigated with the rest of the house–well, commanded, really. Carter had been waiting for this, hoping his Daddy would be proud of him, but what he saw in Daddy’s eyes wasn’t appreciation, it was the sort of scowl he reserved for the boys who truly misbehaved. “Carter, what is the meaning of this? Where the fuck did that hair come from? You know that is a violation of the house dress code.”

“I…I grew it, Daddy,” Carter said. “I…I thought it was you.”

“Tell me what happened boy,” Daddy said, and Carter did–told him about how he’d grown his hair, about the power he had over the rest of the boys, the same sort of power that Daddy had himself.

“Can’t you see Daddy? I’m a man now! Like you said I would be one day, I’m…like you. I can help you!”

Daddy sighed. “Carter, come here–stand with me and look at the boys in the line.”

Carter did as he was told, but wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

“They’re scared, Carter. They’re scared of you.”

Carter looked again, and he understood then. None of them would meet his eyes. Some turned away, out of fear or shame, or perhaps both. “Well, they should be afraid of me,” Carter said. “They should be afraid of both of us.”

The slap shocked him. It wasn’t the first time Daddy had done so, usually when Carter mouthed off in the dungeon, but never publicly, and never quite that hard. “No–that is not what we do. That is not what I do. We do not use fear, not here, not between us. Power, yes, but never fear. Get downstairs, Carter–we have to figure out what’s going on here, and how to stop this…power of yours.”

“What? No!” Carter said, “I…I thought you would be proud of me.”

“Carter,” Daddy said, resting his hands on his shoulders, “You are still so young, and so new. Gifted, yes, but you are wading into waters far too deep for you to handle yet. I’m not angry–I understand, but you need to listen to me. We have to fix this, alright? I cannot allow what you have done here tonight to stand. Now come with me, and we will sort this out.”

Ethan inflected that last sentence as an order,, with a sliver of will from the amulet around his neck, but he felt Carter shrug it off without much effort. “Let go of me,” Carter said in response, and the force of it caught Daddy off guard. He removed his hands, and Carter stepped back. “You’re weak. You were always weak. I’m stronger than you, I bet. Why don’t you get down on your knees and kiss my feet, Daddy? Maybe a few days servicing me will help you appreciate my power a little better.”

The young man was strong, but Ethan felt the command slide off him without him so much as flexing a knee. When he didn’t bend, he saw the kernel of fear that Carter had been hiding in his eyes grow a bit larger, and he took another step back.

“I said kneel!” Carter said again, but again, Daddy was unbent, even as every boy in the line off to the side collapsed to their knees at the force of the command.

“This is not power, Carter, this is a tantrum. Get downstairs now, or I will drag you down there myself.”

Carter found that he had to flex all of the will he could muster just to shrug off Daddy’s command–he would lose if this kept up. He had to get out of here. He bolted for the front door, and was out and down the steps before Daddy could make it onto the porch.

“God damn it boy, get your ass back in this house!” Daddy shouted at him. Carter felt the pull, but sprinted harder, dragging free of it. There, on the street, a motorcycle. Had it been there, or was this a wish of his own? He didn’t know how to ride it, but with a wish, he was dressed in leathers and a helmet, hopped on, and sped off down the street. He made it a few blocks before he had to pull over, rip the helmet off, and sob. He would show him, one day soon. He’d show Daddy just what kind of man he was. He’d be back, and when he did–Daddy would be the one kneeling before him, begging for forgiveness.

Ethan stood on the porch and watched Carter roar off down the road. He probably could have caught him, brought him back, but he decided not to–it was more important to tend to the boys and make sure they were ok, in any case. Back inside, the boys were rattled, but mostly resilient. Daddy canceled training that weekend, and spent the next couple of days with the boys, focusing more on making sure they felt cared for, smoking together, lying around with them, seeing to their course work, talking with them. Many asked about Carter, about what Daddy would do about him, but Daddy told them not to worry. Carter had needed space from him–but apparently, he’d needed more space than even Daddy had anticipated. One way or another, he would be back. All Daddy could hope, was that when he returned, he’d come back with a new understanding. Otherwise, there might not be a choice, other than to fight.

He sat with the amulet and meditated with it, trying to uncover how, or when, Carter had been given that strange power. In the end, nothing revealed itself which was troubling itself. If Ethan couldn’t understand how he had gifted Carter his power, then that meant he would have to be ready for it to happen again with the other boys. The weekend passed, and Carter didn’t return. Daddy spent the evenings out on the porch with a whiskey and a cigar, ready and waiting to see that motorcycle come back–but it didn’t come. After a week, Ethan began to wonder if he might be gone for good–or that perhaps something else had happened. In any case, there was nothing he could gain from worrying over it. In the end, he hung up the vigil, and things settled back down into a new normal.

Thanksgiving was coming closer, and Daddy and the boys were getting ready for the feast–none of them could return home to see their families, Daddy said, and while many were disappointed, they had found themselves growing closer to one another, and to Daddy–enough that to some of them, this felt more like their family than their old one ever had. It was Monday night andEthan had been out late shopping. Sure, he could just make the food appear if he wanted to, but he didn’t like to rely on it for the mundane. He believed it was better to retain a bit of humility, as a reminder. When he pulled up in front of the house, there was the bike. It had obviously been well travelled over the last few weeks, the wheels coated with dust and mud. Still, Carter wouldn’t have parked it here if he’d planned on jumping him. That either meant he’d come to his senses, or he’d grown powerful enough that he thought he could take Daddy without the element of surprise.

The door had been unlocked–not surprising, with Carter’s power. Daddy took a few minutes to put the food away, and just listened. He couldn’t hear much, but he could smell smoke wafting up from the dungeon below. Once the groceries were stashed away, Daddy took a cigar from his humidor, lit it, and went downstairs to meet his lost boy.

Carter was there, sitting in the bondage chair, a cigar in one hand, and a glass of whiskey balanced on the arm rest. He looked about as rough as the bike did–hair greasy and unwashed, longer than it had been in the house, reaching almost to the small of his back. His beard had grown out as well, down to his belly–or rather, a gut. Carter looked up at him as he entered, and Daddy saw that Carter was not the same boy that he’d been when he’d left. He was older–not as old as Daddy, but easily in his thirties. His skin weathered from hours riding under the sun. He shuffled his feet, and downed most of his glass of whiskey. “Hi…Daddy,” he said, finally.

“Welcome back, boy. I was worried about you,” Daddy said, and pulled over a chair to face Carter.

“You…didn’t come after me. If you were worried, why didn’t you look?”

“You needed space,” Daddy said. “Me chasing you wouldn’t have made you stop running, and it wouldn’t have helped the rest of the boys either. They needed me here more than you needed me coming after you.”

Carter looked a bit pained, like the reason was so obvious now, and the fact that he hadn’t seen it only made him feel worse. “Are…they all ok?”

“Yes, for the most part. I don’t know if they’ll be happy to see you, but they’re ok.”

“I came…I mean…I tried, I really did,” Carter said, and the first of the tears fell then. Daddy held back–but it was painful to watch all the same. “All I wanted was to be like you. To be strong like you are. I thought…if I could do it to others, then I must be, but god, I fucked up, I fucked up…”

“You did.”

“Not just the house, out there. I thought it was complicated here, but out there–fuck.”

Daddy nodded.

“You were right. I wasn’t ready. I’m just a kid, but the more I felt that way, the older I got, and I…I don’t know if I can go back, it won’t let me go back.”

“You can’t go back, Carter. There’s no erasing what you did. All you can do is go forward.”

“Please, I want to be a boy again. Help me try again, I’ll be better, I’ll listen this time.”

Daddy chuckled, and took a drag off his cigar, “But if you went back, you won’t know why you needed to listen, would you?”

Carter’s head sank. “So…I’m stuck? Like this? For good?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Daddy said, and stood up. “I can try something, I think–but you have to trust me, like you did that first day–can you do that? You have to want this to be right, more than you want to feel ashamed, and guilty, and depressed. You have to believe that I can offer you something else.”

Daddy walked over, and started fastening Carter’s wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the bondage chair, then slipped a blindfold over his eyes. He went to the wall, took down a pair of scissors, and bundled up Carter’s hair into his fist. “What do you want me to do, boy?”

“Please Daddy–cut my hair. I…I haven’t earned the right to wear it yet.”

“I will boy–but listen to me. When I cut this hair from you, I will sever you from your power–this power. Concentrate on that. It will be sealed away inside you, until you are allowed to grow this again, properly. And when that power is sealed, you will be renewed, do you understand? You will be a boy again–you will be my boy again.”

“Yes Sir, I understand Sir.”

Ethan cut through the hair–but it was harder than the first time. The grease didn’t help, but the power was resisting as well. He had to draw on his own, push it down into the blades of the shears, but they finally cut through, and Carter let out a sob of relief. Daddy kept cutting, working around the strap of the blindfold, and when he’d clipped as close as he could, he shaved Carter bald once again–but he left the beard. A token, perhaps, but in all honesty, it was vanity. It looked good–and the boy would need something to remind him of this.

He removed the restraints, led Carter in front of the mirror, and took off the blindfold–and Carter gasped in relief. He was young again. Himself again. He collapsed to his knees, and kissed Daddy’s boots, thanking him for another chance. Daddy got down with him, and pulled him close, giving him a kiss, running his fingers through his still grungy beard. “I’m proud of you,” Daddy said.

Carter didn’t say anything back–he clearly didn’t understand how Daddy could be proud of him, after what he’d done.

“You came back, boy. You came back–but more than that, you were man enough to admit that you’d been wrong. You surrendered to me not because you had to, but because you want to. And that shows that you are stronger than nearly every man I have ever met–and you’re still just a boy, for now. But one day, I can already tell, you’re going to make a great Daddy yourself. Maybe even a Frat Daddy like me.”

“I…Thank you Sir, I’d…be honored.”

“But first, there’s the small matter of your punishment, I believe.”

“I’ll take whatever you deem necessary Sir.”

“Oh, you’ll take a beating from me, yes. But first, I think the other boys have a right to first crack at you. Get up–you’re going on that cross. Every boy in the house is getting a flogging lesson tonight–and you’re the meat–got it?”

Carter gulped, but they both saw his cock jump at the thought. And once all the boys in the house had gotten a chance to take a little bit of their frustration and shame out on the now powerless Carter, they were all more than happy to take him back into the fold. And for Thanksgiving, they were all thankful for Daddy–but none more so that Carter, at Daddy’s right hand. He knew what he was now, without a doubt. It would take time, and training, and practice, and diligence, but he’d be a Daddy too, one day–it was the only thing he wanted to be. The only thing he could be. But he’d do it right, and he knew that with Daddy guiding him, he’d grow to be the best man he could possibly be.

Interactive: Frat Daddy (Part 1)

Ethan went strolling down the sidewalk, fondling the amulet around his neck. It still seemed too good to be true–an amulet that would allow him to warp people’s minds to his own desires, an amulet that could change bodies and even warp reality around him. He’d tested it on a few small things, but now, it was time for the real show. He came to a stop in front of a large victorian style house in a nice neighborhood beside a college campus, and looked up at the house. “I wish this was my house, that I owned it, and that no one will ever take it away from me, no matter what happens.”

He watched as the car parked outside on the driveway disappeared, the various decorations in the yard vanished–whoever had lived here before no longer did–where they had gone was not Ethan’s problem, they had merely been in the way. He strode up the walkway and found the key to the house on his keychain. Inside, he found all of the furniture from his apartment across town inside–it wasn’t nearly enough to fill the large house, but that could wait. It was his. His house. But more important, was the fact that he now lived next door to Phi Beta Alpha–one of the hottest fraternities on campus, and a constant obsession of Ethan’s.

Ethan was a pervert. He had a perfectly normal life, or he had had one before the amulet had made such a thing unnecessary. Working in an office as a manager, nothing particularly impressive about him, aging more or less gracefully into his forties with a bit of a pot belly, and more hair on his body than on his head. Ethan was gay, but had never really found much success in relationships. What he’d always wanted was in the realm of fantasy, in any case. He’d always loved jocks. Back in college, he’d…gotten in a bit of trouble for spying on a fraternity then, as well, thinking about all the naughty things he wanted to do to those young men. The desires had only intensified for him as he’d grown older, imagining more and more perversities to visit on their youthful bodies, minds, and souls. And now, with the amulet in hand, he could finally make his fantasies reality.

He’d spied on this frat often enough to know the major players. The term had just started not too long ago, and the new Freshmen pledges had been inducted and were getting settled. He’d chosen today, of course, because Phi Beta Alpha was throwing their first major post-rush party. It was the perfect time to introduce all of the young men to their new Frat Daddy, who would be living next door, and taking control of their organization from now on. His cock was rock hard in his khakis at the thought, a dark spot growing where he was leaking. He wanted to jack off, but he could wait–it would be better, so much better, to wait, now that he was so close. Instead, he walked through his new home, filling in the rooms here and there, giving extra care to the extensive dungeon in the basement. Before he knew, it was night, and he could hear the party next door picking up plenty of steam. It was time for the new frat daddy to make his first appearance.

“I wish that I had the new title of frat daddy, for Phi Beta Alpha. As frat daddy, I can dictate all of the rules of the frat, and all members of the frat, as well as anyone in the frat house, is compelled to obey me without question. The members of the frat do not know any of this yet, but when they learn of it, they will all accept it without question.”

With that, the amulet glowed a bit, as it did for the larger wishes, and then fell dark again. Satisfied, Ethan left his new home, went next door, and let himself into the frat house. No one noticed him at first, between the loud music, the conversation, and all of the beer being drunk. The first young man to notice him as a fish out of water was Tyler, a sophomore, who was sitting with his girlfriend Natasha on the couch. “Hey! Who the fuck are you?” he said as Ethan looked around the living room.

“I’m your frat daddy, Tyler,” Ethan said, knowing everyone about the young man as soon as he saw him. It was natural, after all, for the frat daddy to know everything about his subjects. “You know that, don’t you?”

Tyler blinked, confused for a moment, and then nodded slowly, while Natasha just looked at him, wondering what was going on. “Of course Sir, sorry, I…didn’t recognize you, I guess.”

“That’s good boy, but who is this now?”

“This…this is Natasha. My girlfriend.”

“Now Tyler, you know it’s forbidden for members of PBA to fraternize with women. You’ll have to break up with her immediately.”

“But…but we…”

“Who makes the rules of the frat, Tyler?”

“You do, Daddy,” Tyler said, and turned to Natasha, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry babe, we gotta break up.”

Natasha was dumbstruck, and waited for someone to tell her it was a joke. It never came. “You…you can’t just break up with me! What the fuck?”

“Natasha, leave his house. When you step outside, you will forget you were ever in a relationship with Tyler, and you will never return here. Now go.”

Natasha looked like she wanted to bite his head off, but instead she grabbed her things and left, without looking back.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” Tyler said, “I forgot that was a rule, I guess.”

“That’s alright Tyler,” Ethan said, sitting down on the couch next to the hot jock, “Now give Daddy a kiss.”

Tyler balked, but couldn’t refuse. He tried to lean in for a little peck, only for Ethan to wrap one hairy forearm around his neck, pull him in, and force his tongue into Tyler’s mouth in the middle of the party, kissing him for most of a minute before pulling away. Tyler was horrified, and tried to get up from the couch, but Ethan pulled him back down. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you Daddy, for the kiss…”

“Good. Now take that shirt off, and dance for me.”

Tyler did as Daddy asked, and started gyrating to the techno playing around them, shaking his ass for Ethan while he groped himself, telling Tyler what a good boy he was, until several other members of the frat noticed what was going on, and music stopped. Tyler stopped as well, and retreated away before Daddy could say anything else to him.

“What the fuck are you doing Tyler? Who’s the pervert?”

“It’s…he’s the frat daddy! He asked me to dance for him…”

Ethan watched as the looks of confusion all turned to realization in a matter of moments. Ethan stood up and looked around the now quiet room. “I see too many women here–you boys know women are forbidden from the grounds. All of you girls leave, forget you were ever here, and do not return.”

The girlfriends and dates of the frat brothers all swarmed out of the house, leaving just the brothers and their new frat daddy in the living room. The fraternity president, Jameson, stepped forward then, and cleared his throat. “Daddy, I don’t think that most of the guys here appreciate you sending the girls away.”

“But it’s time for the ceremony, Jameson. After rush, at the first big party, the fraternity president bends over right here, and gets fucked by the frat daddy while the rest of your brother’s watch. You recall that, don’t you?”

“I…I mean, of course, but…”

“But what?”

“But I’m…straight, Daddy.”

“Why should that matter to me? Bend the fuck over. Daddy’s horny as fuckin’ hell.”

Jameson gulped, and bent over the back of the couch. Ethan pulled down his athletic shorts and boxers, pushed the head of his rock hard cock against his hole, and said, “Beg.”

“What Daddy?”

“Beg me to fuck you. You’re straight as an arrow, but you want me inside you more than anything else in the whole world. You want all of your brothers to watch me fuck you. You want them all to feel jealous that I fucked you first, that you earned that right as president. You know it will hurt, but you don’t care, you want me inside you more. Now beg.”

“Please Daddy! Please fuck my ass, make it hurt, please, fuck me, your fucking hot jock boy, I’ve worked on my ass so much for you, I want you to enjoy it, I want to be so tight for you, I want you to ruin my hole, Daddy, I want you to rape me, please, fuck me!” The words spilled out of Jameson’s mouth faster than he could really process them, and at the end of it, Daddy did as he’d asked, and pushed the head of his sizable cock into his hole, making Jameson hollar in pain, but he pushed back, eager to feel the whole thing inside him, hungry for it, aching for it.

The rest of the boys watched, unable to look away, as Ethan started fucking Jameson in earnest. “All of you,” Ethan said as he fucked, “Strip, and start jacking off. You’re all going to fantasize about how much you wish it was you over this couch, getting fucked by the frat daddy. You’re all going to cum into your hands, and you will feed your loads to Jameson, who will thank you for each and every one of them, and lick your hands clean afterward.”

One by one, the jocks all came in their hands, thinking about how much they too desired Daddy’s cock. They walked forward and fed their loads to Jameson, who thanked them and licked their hands clean afterward. Ethan watched in glee, fucking hard, completely in control of his orgasm thanks to an earlier wish. When all of the boys had fed Jameson their cum, he came as well, pushing in deep, and pumping a massive load into Jameson’s ass.

No one really remembered what happened after that. It was a flurry of sex and deabuchery, with plenty of beer helping to lube up the boys’ inhibitions. They woke the next morning in a pile of bodies, aching and sore, humiliated and shamed at what they had done. The only person who wasn’t was Ethan, fully dressed again, with a mug of coffee in his hand, sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace.

“Come on boys, time to wake up. We have some new house rules to discuss. Take your seats and listen closely–you will all be expected to obey all of these rules to the letter from now on.”

Hey everyone! I’m going to be trying something a little different with this interactive. There will probably be just one, maybe two entries a week, but they will be a bit more substantial than usual. The polls are also going to be different! I’m trying a different program here, which allows for the ranked choice voting I prefer, and also allows me to ask multiple questions! There are four questions below. Everyone will be able to provide answers to two of them, but for the other two, those will only be available for patrons. Patrons can find their extended survey over here. Everyone else, you can answer the questions below! Just click and drag the possible answers around, and rank them from top to bottom.

Interactive: Time Travel Takeover (Part 1)

Had he really done it?

Edwin looked at the monitor in his basement lab, looking at the stream of data passing by. It looked…right. He moved over and examined the tachyon laser, not that there was much to see. Tachyons moved faster than the speed of light, and that meant, well, they moved faster than time itself. And moving faster than time, with the right sort of setup, also meant going back in time. He’d really done it. He put in a command in the console, and then went to the corner of the basement. Where there had been an untouched corner a moment ago, there was now a small burn in the brick wall. He touched it, it was still warm. Sure enough, the beam had done that ten minutes ago, in the past, while he was still setting it up. Not just time travel then–could he really change things?

It was complicated, of course. You can’t send physical matter back in time, after all–just tachyons. But that had been his first breakthrough, really, that he could use a tachyon beam to communicate data–a massive amount of data. Say, the consciousness of a person in the future, beamed into the past. It worked in the same room too–he’d tested it with a subject or two early on. He’d been able to beam his own conscious experience into their mind with a shot from the beam. He’d made them forget, of course, but now, if the beam could go back in time and move through space, well…

He could be anyone, really, at any point in history. Almost giddy with excitement, he set up his equipment, put on the transmitting helmet, and connected into his new setup. He already had a target in mind, in fact–he was going to shoot the beam at the young man currently resting the upstairs room from him. His name was Josh, and he was a nice enough kid. Went to the local college, played on the baseball team, liked to go out and party a lot, as young guys did he supposed. He had been one of Edwin’s earlier test subjects, and the momentary experience of being young again…it had been a rush. It didn’t hurt that Josh was attractive, and that Edwin was a bit of a pervert.

He loaded up the security cameras in the house, and found the exact moment and coordinates from the day that Josh had moved in a year ago. Then, he crossed his fingers, started the program, and the beam started to power up. One moment he was sitting there in his basement, and the next–he wasn’t. He was seeing through Josh’s eyes, one year ago. He could see the calendar on the wall and everything!

The sensation was the same–Josh was still in control, but the beam was broadcasting Edwin’s mental states on top of his. A passenger really, and Josh didn’t seem to have any idea it was happening, as he stood in the kitchen with Edwin a year ago, discussing the various rules of the house. Edwin was looking at himself–that was strange as well. He’d remembered what he’d been thinking about at this moment, actually, that what he’d really wanted was this hot young jock to get down and start sucking him off.

He felt the mind he was in lurch oddly around him. Had Josh…heard that? He had–it must have felt like an intrusive thought, or something like that. Could…no, he couldn’t make him do something like that, could he? For the next several minutes, he started forcing more and more thoughts into Josh’s mind, subtler, about how he found his new landlord attractive, how he could get a little discount on the rent, in exchange for, well, you know. He couldn’t believe it when he heard the words come out of Josh’s mouth, and knowing himself, Edwin was more than happy to oblige the young man. Josh sucked him off right there in the kitchen, and Edwin did everything he could to reward him, make his mind feel good, tell him how much he enjoyed this. When Josh was finished, and swallowing down the load of cum, Edwin killed the stream back in the present–and when he found himself back in his own mind, he had a sudden headache.

He could…remember it. Remember Josh sucking him off that day–and sucking him off once a week ever since. Sure, it had meant a fifty percent discount on the rent, but the boy’s mouth was so nice, and he was so eager for it, Edwin didn’t mind losing a bit of income. He still knew he’d changed it–but all of those memories were…harder to pull forward, and made the headache worse. He went upstairs for some water, and pondered for a moment.

How long had he been there? He’d expected a one to one conversion rate, but was surprised to find that his hour spent in the past had only been one minute in the present. That meant, he could spend an uninterrupted month in the past, and only lose around twelve hours in the present.

One month. Fuck, if he’d been able to turn Josh into a cocksucker in one hour, what could he do if he lived in the young man’s head for a month? Who could he turn him into? He’d had so many fantasies–make the jock ruin his fit, muscular body and turn him into an obese pig. Make him his subservient butler. Convert him into a rubber gimp, maybe even as a urinal. Hell, he could warp his entire personality, drop out of school, a disgusting gooner. He went back downstairs, and started powering up the beam, hundreds of ideas circling through his head. He would go back there, and spend a month, he’d decided. See what sort of control he had over people in the past, and have some good, naughty fun while he was at it.

Alright, I thought it was time for another interactive, and I’d had this idea bouncing around for a bit in various ways, and figured it would make a decent one. We’ll probably have Edwin make some modifications to a few different people, starting with his roommate Josh. These polls will have a lot of options–I’ll mix and match the most popular ones into a result that uses several. Patrons get their own bonus poll of course! While you can only choose two options in the public poll, patrons can choose their four favorites on the bonus poll. I’ll probably do an alternate chapter or two for patrons as well, depending on how things go. The public poll is below, and the patron only bonus poll is over here.

Orcish Recon: 1.2.1.1 – An Inside Job

This is one ending of Avoy’s story! I hope you enjoyed the chapters. i’m still working on a little twine adventure based on this one, that I hope to release in a week or two, depending on how fast I can work, and how cooperative twine is. I wrote an alternate storyline as well for patrons, which I concluded yesterday–you can find that post here. I’ll see about getting another interactive started, or something else, next week!

It was the dagger. Avoy stared at it, lying there in the top of his pack, trying to recall how it had gotten in there. He couldn’t recall taking it–he’d…no, he had taken it, but then he’d gotten captured, and then…and then something else, something that was right on the tip of thought, about to crash over him–and he remembered the medallion.

That light, that sweet green light washing over him, over his mind, back when he’d been an orc–no, a half-orc…right? He…he hadn’t been an orc before, he’d been human.

No, this is a disguise–remember…

A disguise? He pulled out the mirror from his pack again and looked at himself. It wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he was supposed to look like, but what was he supposed to look like? Why had he lost his face?

Remember the sigils. They will give you back your true self.

Symbols swam to the front of his mind. He wasn’t sure what they meant, at first, until he looked down and saw the dagger in his hand–but he wasn’t changing. He had changed before, hadn’t he? He’d changed because he wasn’t an orc, but if he wasn’t changing now, that meant…

You are an orc. Meant to be an orc. An orc in disguise. Reveal yourself, destroy them all, as you know you can.

Avoy tried to stop himself, but the dagger traced it’s way along his flesh, digging in, the magic pouring into him. He could feel it warping him, re…returning him to his true form, yes, his rightful form. A trick! He was no human at all, the clever shaman, he was an orc, had always been an orc. He carved faster, marking the sigils on his skin, the marks of a great warrior, and he could feel the magic coursing through him. He finished, and collapsed onto the floor, wounds scarring over already, his body twisting and changing, Avoy knotting up his mouth to keep from screaming and alerting everyone in the monastery. He had to change. Return to himself–then…then one last thing, and he could…begin.

It was the dead of night when he felt the magic ease away, and Avoy stood up–he was back, a true orcish warrior, as he ought to be. Now, the attack, yet…yet there was something else. He picked up the dagger in his hand, and slammed it into the stone floor. The glass blade shattered into shards of crystal all over the surface–Avoy picked one up, pressed it to the skin of his scrotum, and slit it open. He pushed the crystal shard inside, feeling the magic heat up his massive orc sack, an aching horniness overwhelming him, shimmering green precum leaking from the tip of his cock. He dug in the pack and found the medallion there as well–now, it was time.

He found the abbot first, sleeping in his bed. Avoy raped the old man–he was far too weak to put up much of a fight, though he tried to scream and bite through Avoy’s massive paw as he held it over his mouth. He didn’t have to for long–as Avoy’s enchanted cum made it’s way into the abbot’s guts, he began to change, skin turning green, tusks growing from his mouth, and Avoy began swinging the medallion in front of his face, telling the old pig about his new position in the clan as the collective fuck pig for all of the warriors to use whenever they desired. By the time he finished, there was no one left aside from a mindfucked, fat, cockhungry orc, and together they made their way to the other monk’s bedrooms, corrupting them as they went.

A few days later, travelers came to the monastery, but found it empty of life. There were signs of a struggle, but not a single body found anywhere inside the building. It was considered a mystery–at least until the orc horde stormed down from the mountains a few months later, raiding settlements, turning unsuspecting men into new grunts for the massive army, and Avoy was among them, humanity long forgotten, happily raping and pillaging for the rest of his days.

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.