The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.

I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.


Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others. 

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear. 

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did. 

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his  body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole. 

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

Caption: Daddy Issues #2 – Evan the Bully

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays.


James’s father, Paul, was a health freak. He went to the gym five days a week, ran each morning before work, prepared only the healthiest of food, and had used all of this to rule over James’s body like a tyrant. James’s body, on the other hand, had never taken to his father’s rule well, and he’d struggled all his life trying to conform to Paul’s expectations for how he should look, and what he should do to get there. There was always just a bit too much fat, not enough muscle, why couldn’t he work harder. The question of sexuality was complicated by the fact his father essentially demanded a family from James, something he had no intention of giving him, of course. 

At college, finally free of his father’s strict hand, James had really let go, and already gained close to the Freshman 15 without even trying. He was terrified of what his father would say when he saw him, as he went up to the door and into the house, but his father wasn’t anywhere to be found. He eventually went up into the bedroom, after he heard someone grunting and groaning in there, and what he found made his jaw drop to the floor.

It was his dad, right? It had to be his dad. He could still see some of the resemblance there, but so much of it was…well, it was how fat he was, first of all. He was struggling where he was tied to the chair, and he was so heavy, he could hear the wood creaking under him, his father’s eyes horrified at what had happened to him. James felt a bit dizzy, and retreated from the room and into the bathroom, his body heating up, muscles cramping, after once the discomfort had subsided, he stood up, looked in the mirror, and was staring at a body just as unfamiliar to him as his father’s now was.

Fuck–he was…hot. He was really hot. He ran his hands over his muscled body, groped his bulge through the jockstrap he now had on, and gave a little smirk, before going back out to where his father was still tied up.

“Fuck dad, look at you, really let yourself go while I was at school, eh?” he said, walked up, and started groping and teasing his dad’s massive body. Paul squirmed and jiggled away as best he could, but James could see the confusion in his eyes, and with a little digging under his massive gut, he found out why–his dad was rock hard. “Fuck, is this turning you on old man? You fucking pig? Having your hot jock son play with your fat and tease you is getting you off?” He pulled his hand out, covered with his dad’s precum, took out his gag and fed it to him off his fingers.

“Please, I…I’m so fucking hungry, but I don’t know what’s wrong with us. Please son, we need to get help.”

“I’ll tell you what we need to get,” James said, picking his dad’s phone up off the counter. “We need five extra large pizzas here ASAP, and I’m going to feed every one of them to you. Then, when you’re good and stuffed, pig, I’m gonna bend you over and fuck that fat ass of yours. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it.”

TPC – Chapter 2.14

Chapter 2.14 – The Reality Check

Barry woke up the next morning, refreshed and satisfied in a way he couldn’t recall being since college. Maybe since before college, if ever. It was disconcerting, because he couldn’t remember getting into bed. The last thing he could recall with any real clarity, was watching Ian milk his own desires right out of Richard. He knew he had driven home, he could recall some of that. He’d gotten in the house, drank the cum and that was it.

He felt great though, and the more he thought about it, the more he could begin to recall something else, something different. He’d been at the bar for a party, but it was a party for him. He’d gotten the promotion, of course. There was no one else remotely qualified like he was, or as well liked and respected by his team and leadership in the company. Evan had called him into his office for his interview, and nearly handed him the job right then and there. There was no Richard, anymore. He didn’t even exist. Barry heaved a sigh, laid back on the bed, and basked in what he recalled. It was what he’d wanted. All of it.

Eventually he got up, went into the bathroom, and there in the mirror, he could see a few shifts as well. It wasn’t as extreme as the Prestige he’d taken in the bathroom (not that that had happened in his new memories) but it was still apparent. A stronger jaw. He was a little more toned, his posture a little straighter. He just looked more important than he had the day before. He looked like someone who could hold the attention of a room. He took a shower, and only after did he notice that something was missing–he wasn’t sure where Dennis was.

He checked his phone but didn’t see a text from him, though there was one from Ian.

“Hey, just checking in, I bet you woke up feeling great. You might notice some lingering nausea and blurry vision–this is perfectly normal. Your reality is still sorting itself out, tying up loose ends. Try not to do anything too crazy–choices you make for the next while can have repercussions if you don’t take it a bit easy. For something like this though, you should be fine in a couple of hours.”

He texted him back, asking him what he meant by repercussions exactly, but didn’t get a reply right away. Ian was probably still asleep, after all, it seemed like he’d still had more work to do on Richard after Barry had left. In any case, he was sure that it couldn’t be anything that terrible. That still left him wondering about Dennis. He tried to remember if Dennis had been there when he’d gotten home, but he couldn’t remember either finding him, or not finding him there. Most likely he’d just gone for a morning jog. He didn’t do it regularly, but sometimes he’d get to feeling like he needed to try and get into shape again, go jogging for a week or two, and then call it quits when it came clear it wasn’t going to happen like magic. 

Beyond that, he was hungry. He went down to the kitchen, started making himself some breakfast, only for the world to lurch around him, making him feel like he was going to vomit. It took a minute or two for it to settle, and when his vision cleared, the world wasn’t quite the same, but he couldn’t quite place what had changed. That must be what Ian had been talking about. He checked his phone again, and there was still no reply. Now he was worried, but if Ian said it would pass, then he’d just have to be patient. In any case, the sudden lurch had spoiled his appetite, and he set the breakfast he’d started back in the fridge for now. Maybe when Dennis got back they’d eat together, while he congratulated him on his promotion. He was looking forward to watching his husband eat crow–not that he supposed he would notice. He wondered how this reality stuff would even affect him. Barry could remember the way things had been, but would Dennis?

It was not long after that he heard the garage door opening–which was odd. When Dennis went running, he always went out the front door. He also heard the car. Maybe he’d just gone to the store or something, but that was rather unlike him. He went out to the garage in time to watch a sheepish Dennis climb out of the car, wearing a rather odd assortment of clothes–leather gear, with an oversized shirt on top and some baggy pants below. They looked at each other, Dennis’s eyes as large as plates, and he stammered out a few syllables, but Barry didn’t hear any of it. His vision slipped sideways again, and his guts twisted, and he could feel something growing taut, but he didn’t know what to name it.

When the world snapped back, he was clinging to the bannister of the small flight of steps down into the garage, and Dennis was leaning over the side mirror of the car–but he looked different. Smaller, a little chubbier. Younger too. No, he’d always looked like that, but it felt like his eyes were trying to stare at two versions of Dennis occupying the same space. “Fuck, what did…what was that Barry?” Dennis asked, forcing himself upright again, and saw himself in the mirror. “I…no, I was changing back, why do I look like that again?”

Barry turned around and went back in the house, stumbling a bit as he went. He needed to call Ian, find out what this was doing to them both. He checked his messages, but there was nothing. He called him, the phone rang a few times and then went to voicemail, and Barry almost threw his phone across the kitchen. 

“What’s going on, Barry? What happened?”

Dennis had followed him inside, and when Barry turned to look at him, the world just kept turning and spinning, Dennis blurring and spinning with it. Dennis didn’t fit right, he was the wrong shape, the wrong color, the wrong sound. He needed to be different. He needed to fit. That thing grew taut again, tighter and tighter, and then it snapped apart, everything slammed together again but it was right now. Of course Dennis was getting home late–his slutty cub of a husband liked to go out on the weekends. Barry went with him usually, but didn’t last night because of his own party–he’d told Dennis to go on without him. “Looks like someone had a good night at the Hideaway,” Barry said, grinning at him. “Go home with the staff again?”

“No, Barry, how do you know that? I…I feel so weird, what’s happening?”

Barry walked over, and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping one hand around the back of him and cupping his ass. He was smaller then him, but then, he always had been. The sensation felt strange to him all the same, and the sense of power it gave him, was an unexpected rush, and he pushed his tongue into Barry’s mouth, reminding him who he really belonged to–only for Dennis to push him away.

“What’s gotten into you? Why…why do you look…strange? Barry, answer me.”

Barry, however, was feeling a bit frustrated. How dare the cub rebuff him like that, so easily? Barry was the important one. Barry was the one who brought home the money. Barry was the one in control. He could almost feel his vision shaking this time, Dennis stubbornly refusing to shift into his proper place. Yeah, proper place, he’d put him in back where he belonged. He stepped forward, and when he went to grab Dennis this time, the world shuddered again, but at last, he felt something turn around and lock–and when it snapped back, he had Denny shoved up against the wall next to the door to the garage, one hand running down to his hole and probing it. 

“You fucking slut, how many men had you last night? Did you even count?”

“Barry, I–”

“What’s one more, eh?” Barry said, and pushed his cock into his loose hole and Dennis gasped in sudden delight. 

He knew this was wrong. Barry had never been this aggressive before, this domineering, but where the old Dennis would have put him in his place, his hole was too hungry, his heart thrumming at a different, eager frequency. They fucked right there in the hallway, Barry cumming after a few minutes, and pulling free. 

“Get yourself cleaned up–and then make us breakfast, would you?” Barry said, “Something a little celebratory, after my promotion.”

Dennis just mumbled something like a yes, and scampered upstairs and into the shower, trying to sort out what had just happened to him, what he’d felt, what he was, who he was. The shower didn’t really help, and when he climbed out, he looked at himself in the mirror, and he just felt wrong. He’d been different. Older, more dominant. He’d been important, he’d been a surgeon. But that was gone now. He just worked…as a receptionist. A receptionist at the hospital, he didn’t want to work more than that, after all, when would he get to go out and get fucked if he had an important job like that? He shook his head, the thought felt so natural, but he had to remember it was wrong. He went downstairs, planning on demanding Barry explain what happened to them, but his voice wouldn’t come out, like he forgot the words even as he tried to say them. Instead, he fixed them both a nice breakfast while Barry read the morning paper.

After they’d eaten, Barry checked his phone, and saw Ian had replied to him. Reality, apparently, could struggle to accommodate other odd changes or deviations in behavior, leading to radically altered timelines. Barry shot back an angry little note, telling him he would have appreciated the warning first. Ian apologized, and asked him if he could think of anything happening. Barry couldn’t though. As far as he was concerned, his life had never been better. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.


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TPC – Chapter 2.10

Chapter 10 – Emptied Out

Richard found himself dragged down some concrete steps into the basement of the house where Barry had driven them. It was not his house–where in the hell was he? He tried to focus on what was going on around him, but it was difficult. He never drank that much, but Barry had just kept filling his glass from all those pitchers, and he was such a good guy, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. Now he was here, in some strange basement, with two guys cutting his clothes off before strapping him down to a table.

“Good evening Richard, my name’s Ian, how are you tonight?” one of the other men said, looming over him. 

“I don’t, what are you doing to me? I didn’t want to come here.”

“It’s going to be ok Richard, trust me, alright?” Barry said, coming around to the other side of the table. “You know I would never steer you wrong.”

“I…but what am I doing here?”

“You’re helping me out, Richard. You like being a helpful guy, and you’re helping my friend here out too. It’s just a little test is all, everything will be just fine. All you have to do is trust me.”

Richard nodded, but that didn’t do much to alleviate his fear.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve brought me then,” Ian said, and placed his hands on the side of Richard’s head. 

What happened after that was difficult to explain. He felt something push into him, into his mind, and start pulling on strings, poking around into various nooks and crannies. It wasn’t a physical sensation, but it was pleasurable. Richard let out a moan, and when the man pulled his hands away, he was embarrassed to realize that his cock had gotten fully erect right in front of them both.

“Well damn, this is some good stock you’ve brought along. I didn’t think it would be quite this good.”

“So it’s worth something?” Barry asked.

“Oh, I can find a buyer for a lot of this, for sure. You’ll get your cut too, of course. Finder’s fee. Your promotion, and I’ll throw in a little extra too, since it looks like you got a taste of a little bit of what else I can do tonight.”

“Fuck, you can make this…permanent?”

“It won’t be quite as intense, but it’ll be there. What ends up as waste material is the more…intense stuff. I’d explain it if I could, but this is all new, cutting edge shit.”

“No kidding, how…how is any of this possible?”

“Ask Pigtown,” Ian said. “It’s been a wild couple of years.”

“I don’t–did I do ok? On the test?” Richard asked, “Why did that feel so good?”

“You did great,” Ian said, “But this next part is more important, alright? So just relax. It’ll all be over before you know it. If you thought it felt good before, just you wait, bud.”

Richard lifted his head up, and watched as Ian took a strange tube from the cart beside him, and attached it to his cock. It was a flexible silicone sleeve with a tube coming out the top, but the bottom sealed around the base like a vacuum. “Alright, let’s start off with the finder’s fee,” Ian said, flipped a switch, and Richard gasped as the milker on his cock started sucking at it, making him shudder and buck.

Ian came around behind his head, put his hands on Richard’s temples again, and the same sensation happened as before, but more focused. Ian wasn’t looking through everything all at once this time, instead, he focused on Richard’s work at the office. Not just his work, exactly. His promotion. He saw himself in Evan’s office, getting his softball interview, already knowing he was a shoe in for the position. The team congratulating him. It was more than just that though–it was his charisma. His confidence. His trust. All of it was being bundled up and pushed lower. Down into his neck and then his chest, deeper and deeper until he felt all of those memories and emotions and sensations down in his balls, which were churning more and more as the milker tugged on his cock. The pleasure grew more intense then, and Richard couldn’t stop it as he came–and when he did, he felt all of the memories and thoughts he’d had pushed down there forced out as well, and by the time he realized he was losing them, he no longer could remember what he’d even lost.

“And there it is,” Ian said, holding up a vial that he disconnected from the end of the milker. It looked like a load of cum, but it was shimmering in a way that Richard had never seen before. He knew that what he’d lost was in there, but couldn’t articulate what, exactly, it was. “Usually I’d dehydrate it, but it’s just as potent now. Go home, drink it up, and go to sleep. You’ll feel everything in the morning. If you have an issue, contact me.”

“What…what’s gonna happen to him?”

“I already have a buyer lined up, don’t worry.”

“Like…” Barry was thinking slavery, but he didn’t really want to know. “Look, thanks, really.”

“No, thank you–you enjoy that,” Ian said, “You earned it.”

Richard watched as Barry took the vial from Ian, and left up the stairs without so much as saying goodbye to him. “Wait, he’s…he’s my ride,” he gasped out, still riding the wave of that massive orgasm.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound,” Ian said, “But we still have more to get out of you first.”

“What?” Richard asked, but before he could get another word out, Ian turned the milker back on, and he shuddered. “Wait, it hurts, I…”

“Hush now, it’s going to feel so good, just trust me. Now, what next?” Ian said. He placed his hands on his head again. “I know a few closet cases that would love a good beard.”

This time, Richard felt a different set of memories being pulled to the front of his mind. His wife. His two kids. His family. The house where they all lived together, everything he could remember about all of them, their likes and dislikes, family vacations together. This he clawed at, trying to keep it in his head, trying to keep it from sliding down, but the pressure was immense, and the milker on his cock was relentless. He begged and pleaded with him to stop, but Ian just cooed back at him, talking to him like he was a child, telling him everything would be just fine soon enough. Again he came, and he tried as hard as he could to hold onto some of it, any of it, but it was gone, and he was left shuddering on the table, tears in his eyes, trying to remember what he felt so sad about. Ian watched as the wedding ring disappeared from Ian’s finger, all of his marriage now held in a second vial. He detached that one, and put on another.

“No, please, not again.”

“Don’t worry Richard, don’t you want to feel good? This feels so good.”

Ian continued the process for the next hour or so, filling vial after vial with everything in Richard’s head he could turn a profit on. He pulled out his education, and bottled it. He pulled out his upper class background, and bottled that. He started working on his body next. He bottled two decades of youth from him, watching Richard go from 25 to 45 in a matter of minutes. He stole his quick metabolism, and his body expanded, packing on close to fifty pounds of fat in a matter of moments. He stole his brow, jawline, a few inches of his height, and whatever charm he’d had left after giving most of it to Barry, and lastly, he milked away half his six inch cock and balls, leaving him with a modest package buried in a new fat pad. Richard had long since passed out at this point, and barely stirred as Ian pulled the milker off his now thick, short cock, and gave his new chubbier body a feel. Hugh had watched all of this in silence, always amazed at what Ian could do, and feeling a little jealous of the skill that had developed in his friend over the last few year and change. He’d get a commission from this one too, at least, and the job wasn’t quite finished yet anyway.

“Alright Richard, time to wake up, you did great,” Ian said, cracking open some smelling salts and waving them under his nose, making him sputter awake. 

“I…what happened, where…where am I, I–” Richard said, his voice deeper and slower now, more ponderous.

“Everything is fine, Richard. You’re dehydrated. Go ahead and drink this up,” Ian said, and handed him a little glass of water. It shimmered a bit–he’d put in a little bit of a mix–some muscle, some construction knowledge, a good dose of submission and homosexuality of course. Pigtown would take care of filling in the rest soon enough, but that would get him ready for his new role come morning. After all, plenty of folks in Pigtown needed bodies for work, and Richard would be doing plenty of that from now on. 

He took the glass and drank it down in a few gulps, his eyes sparkled, and then dimmed again as he collapsed back on the table, shaking a bit, and then settling down. Ian pulled out his phone and made a call, “I got your goods, ready for pickup,” he said. Twenty minutes later, they were helping the now much heavier Richard out of the basement, and into the back of a pickup truck, which drove off with him into the early morning.

“Looks like a good haul,” Hugh said.

“Fuck, I haven’t had a guy like that in ages. We don’t get fellows like that around here anymore.”

“Well you sucked most of them dry.”

“Shut up. I have a feeling that Barry could be a very good contact for us in the future. Remind me, next week, to touch base and see if he’d be interested in helping us out with acquisitions.”

“Hunting, you mean.”

Ian glowered at him, “What’s with you, Hugh? You’ll get your cut, and more waste to sell once I process everything.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Hugh said, “I’m just tired is all. Gonna head home and get some sleep.”

Ian waved goodbye, and went back down into the basement. This was the harder part, really–refining the product. He’d given Richard the raw stuff, and it worked just fine, but it could cause some messy situations if you weren’t careful. For a little shift like that though, it wouldn’t be a problem, he was sure.


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Flash Commission: A Twin of His Own

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“And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“Well, no. I’ve never done anything like this before. Hypothetically, yeah. You’ll have to talk him through it though, push him in the right direction.”

Sheriff Clark Easton had his eyes closed, listening to the men talk. The last thing he could recall well was packing up in his office late at night, getting ready to go home, but he hadn’t made it to his car. Someone had snuck up behind him, shoved a rag over his nose and mouth, and now he was here. Though where ‘here’ was, he didn’t know. Just two men talking in the room with him–they were more likely to spill something while they thought he was still out. The first voice was rather gruff, the second a little younger and softer, but he couldn’t say more than that.

“So what, like…my past?”

“Yeah, the more you feed him, the more likely you’ll get the result you want from it. Just like the pig–the gun and ink does some of the work, but the more you talk him into accepting it, the stronger the result will be.”

There was a grunt from the gruffer voice, the sound of some boots coming closer to the sheriff, and then a hand slapped him across the face–harder than necessary if all he’d wanted was to wake him up. Clark gave a little shout, looked up, and saw he was staring at Timothy ‘Bruiser’ McGee. Bruiser was the leader of a particularly nasty biker gang that had been moving in on the county for the last few months. Running drugs, extortion, rape–nothing was below them, and the sheriff had been struggling to pin down their hideout and get them arrested. Now, it appeared that they may have overplayed their hand. “How exactly do you think this is going to end for you, Timothy?” the sheriff asked.

The older biker sneered at him. Bruiser was easily six and a half feet tall, and heavily muscled, with a sizable gut. The only thing the sheriff had ever seen him wear on the top half of his body was a filthy leather vest, showing off the riot of tattoos the biker had all over, even running up his neck and face. “I imagine, bud, we’re gonna walk out of here together and have a good laugh about it all,” he said, grinning and showing off his crooked teeth, a few replaced with gold caps.

The other fellow was smaller and younger, setting up what looked like a little workstation beside the chair where Clark was tied down. He looked over the equipment, and recognized the tattoo gun–what the hell were they going to do with that? “I’m ready to go,” he said. He took the gun, brought it to Clark’s arm, and while he tried to flinch away–as soon as the needle slid into him, something else happened. There was just a cascade of sensations–sights, sounds, smells. None of them were familiar to him, and yet as soon as he experienced them, he knew, somehow, they were his. Nostalgic, and yet alien. Before he could try and make any sense of them, there was another wave, another bunch of sensation, all of it baffling him, swarming his mind. He didn’t quite know how long it had lasted, but it finally ebbed away, leaving him panting and sweating in the chair. It felt like it had lasted a few moments, but the artist had managed to cover both of his arms with full sleeves, and from the one window in the room, he could tell that a significant amount of time had passed.

“Alright, that should be a good start–talk to him for a bit, I want to see if it’s taking like I thought it would,” the young man said.

“What should I talk about?” Bruiser said.

“Yourself. Usually the older stuff comes in first. Ask him about your parents.”

Brusier laughed, “Fuck, my old man, you mean. My mom dumped me on him when I was a just a fucking kid–I don’t blame her, I tried to set the house on fire when she wouldn’t let me keep watching TV one night.”

“Fuck, I…I remember that…” Clark muttered. It wasn’t his memory. He’d been a good kid, always listened to his parents, they’d been married his whole life. But he could recall, somehow, piling up a bunch of sticks under the curtains in a dingy living room, setting them off with a lighter he’d stolen from his mom’s purse, cackling while she panicked, getting a pot of water to put it out. “Why do I remember that?”

“Fuck, it’s working!” Bruiser said. “Bet you remember dad too then, don’t ya?”

“Mean fucker, beat the shit out of me,” Clark muttered. “I mean, that’s…not my dad. I…I ran away. He had some friends who were bikers, they…I ran off with them when I was a teenager, but…”

“Yeah, fuck, real sexy fuckers too, right?”

“No! I went to school, I…I went to fucking college! What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Bruiser grinned at the young man, who nodded back. “You’ll see, Mr. Sheriff. Is he ready for some more now?”

“I think so,” the young man said, brought the needle to his chest, and again, Clark was overwhelmed with the sensation. He realized, now, what he must be feeling, and he realized where he’d recognized the tattoos on his arms from. They were perfect copies of Bruiser’s own ink. The young man was copying the biker’s tattoos onto him, and in doing so, he was somehow transferring over his memories–no, more than memories, his whole personality, his history, his identity. He could feel it. Before, the onslaught had felt chaotic, but now, it felt like a force, a corruption spreading through his mind. Everywhere it went, his old self was being overtaken, erased, and replaced by this new self. 

The sensation retreated again, and when Clark’s vision could focus again on the room around him, he looked down at himself and let out a whimper. The uniform he’d been wearing had been cut off entirely, leaving him naked. He’d always figured that Bruiser had more of his body tattooed under those ratty jeans he wore, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d gone this far–his whole cock and balls were tattooed now, and halfway down his thighs. More than that though–his cock was…bigger. Much bigger. The sheriff had never been well endowed, but his newly tattooed cock was close to eight inches–soft. The rest of his body was shifting as well, growing more muscular–but shouldn’t it be? He’d been working out all the time since he dropped out of school and fell in with the gang, beating and fucking his way to the top…right? He shook his head–those weren’t his memories! He had to hold on…hold on to…to what? He struggled, but couldn’t find everything he’d lost, just bits and pieces.

“Fuck, that’s real fucking hot,” Bruiser said, stepping around the chair, while the young man prepped his gun again. 

“Bruiser, get me the fuck out of this god damn chair, ya piece a shit!” Clark said, and only after the words were out, did he realize that his voice had changed, his accent–he sounded so much like Bruiser…but he was, Bruiser, right? “Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Hold on bud, you’re just confused is all,” Bruiser said, “Like that time we wrecked out on the interstate, had a concussion for days.”

“Fuck, I still get headaches from that,” Clark said, “But I…I thought…there’s someone else in my head, man, what’s going on?”

“We’re fixing you up, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m scared, I…I don’t know if I can trust you, he’s…scared.”

“Here, this’ll help. You know how we get when we don’t get a smoke in a while,” Bruiser said, and pushed the cigar he had lit into the sheriff’s mouth. He took a draw on it, and while Clark had never been a smoker, he instinctively sucked the thick smoke right down into his lungs, held it for a second, then pushed it out of his nose in a couple of thick jets. “Fuck, that’s better.”

“See, we know what we need, don’t we?” Bruiser said, and groped the sheriff’s new cock, and he moaned around the cigar, feeling it stiffen in Bruiser’s hand. “We’ll sort you right out–we just have to do the back of you–you’ll feel better soon.”

Bruiser and the young man undid the rope holding Clark to the chair, and while a small voice told him to run…that wasn’t his voice. He laid down on the table they’d set up, the young man got his gun ready, and started on his back, and Clark struggled for a moment, before the sensation overwhelmed him again, and he rode the sensations. This time was different. He felt himself siding with the corruption, the strength flooding into him, rooting out and destroying all of that weakness in him. The good, the lawful, the obedient. Fuck that! He knew what he wanted, he knew what he was. The memories were coming clearer now, more and more recent. The sensation fell away again, and he blinked, pushed himself up from the table, and gave a little flex.

“How’s it feel?” Bruiser asked, as his twin sat up on the table. He was now the spitting image of himself, right down to the long hair, the thick ratted beard. Stepping close, they even smelled the same. The only difference was, the Bruiser sitting on the table had the number two on his neck, where Bruiser had the number one. They needed to keep track of pecking order one way or another.

“Fuck–I…did we get the sheriff? I can’t really remember, my head’s all fucking fuzzy.” Number two asked.

“Fuck yeah we got him–you were him!”

“Wait, what? Seriously? Fucking hell, so it all fucking worked?”

Bruiser stepped up and gave his twin a smoky kiss, which number two happily returned. He helped his twin up from the table and over to the mirror so he could see them both together, and the sight of it got them both so fucking hard, they reached down and started stroking each other off.

“Hold on, got us a celebration planned first,” number one said.

“You don’t have to tell me, I remember,” number two replied.

Downstairs was the gang’s new pig, a college student travelling through the county that the gang had kidnapped a week before, who the sheriff had been trying to track down. He’d been a test for the young man’s tattooing abilities, and the magic tattoo gun they’d gotten their hands on. The young man had been covered with raunchy images and words, his whole identity replaced with a cum and cock hungry filth pig, who at the sight of not only one, but two of his bosses, crawled over, grunting and squealing, before turning around and presenting it’s hole for them both. One took the mouth, Two took the ass, and they fucked the pig from both ends, sharing smokey kisses over his back–thinking about all the trouble they’ll be causing now that there’s two of them, and that troublesome sheriff was out of the picture for good.

TPC – Chapter 1.10

Chapter 10 – Visions of Flesh

As Samuel crossed the club floor, he found himself blinking a bit too much, his eyes still watering and stinging after that odd moment in the VIP lounge upstairs, where his eyes had met Rod’s. The club was dark, but each time a spotlight swung around him he would freeze, like it might reveal something other than the other horny men around him. Something monstrous, but once he processed it again, he saw that it was just men engaged in the usual sort of acts that Depot inspired. But the sense that something was wrong with him continued to plague him as he found his way to the bathrooms. Had there been something in the drink? He hadn’t really seen the bartender mix it, and Rod had seemed rather…familiar with him, verging on obsessed, even. He stumbled down the hallway into the bathroom, and found a continuation of the scene he’d watched unfolding on the small TV set upstairs. 

Patrick had a twink up on the bar between the two sinks, legs up on his shoulders, dick deep in the young man’s hole. Samuel found himself feeling a little jealous at first–Patrick hadn’t been that hard during one of their fucks in a very long time. The smell of musk and cum and sweat hung heavy in the air all around them, and while it had seemed…rougher on that silent screen, it was clear from his moaning that the twink was rather enjoying himself, and that Patrick was getting close to orgasm.

But something else was off too. The two of them weren’t alone in the bathroom, there was a small collection of men all around Patrick’s feet, rubbing and groping him, all of them moaning and pleading, and from the cum drooling out of their holes, it seemed easy to conclude that Patrick had fucked all of them in turn–and all of them were aching for more. Samuel felt his head start to throb, his head pounding in time with the music–no, not his whole head, his eyes, what the fuck was wrong with his eyes? He gripped them in pain, and fell back against the wall, groaning, and when he opened them again, he swore that he had torn his eyelids apart–but it wasn’t that. His body wasn’t ripping, it was everything around him, some giant tear across the room, cutting across Patrick, across the twink, across the men fawning at his feet, and it was growing larger, it was consuming everything, and all Samuel could do was look.

Were they still in the bathroom? It hardly mattered where they were. It was Patrick that had changed the most. The tear opened wide, and revealed a massive figure where Patrick was standing, easily a foot taller, head close to the ceiling that couldn’t really be seen through the tear. The twink was groaning, coated in a sheen of sweat, and swelling. As Patrick fucked him, or the thing behind Patrick, the thing inside him and beside him, the twink was swelling, belly expanding, filling with cum, perhaps. It was difficult to know what it was, but it was inflating him, pumping him full, his face turning fat and pudgy, letting off a long moan of delight as his own cock was swallowed up inside his growing body, and with a massive thrust, Patrick…split the young man open, his skin shredding like a popped balloon in slow motion, pulling away and shrinking away, and underneath, coated in some sort of mucus, was another man, the same man, something born from that moment. Slick with gunk, soft and turgid, with a mouth that seemed too fluid, a body that didn’t have quite enough bones, both skinny and flabby at the same time, the moans and groans coming from it curdling in the air. The beast that was Patrick fucked harder and came at last, pumping a massive load into the thing’s hole, and when he had finished, he pulled his massive cock free, and the thing slumped off the counter and onto the floor, where the others had all pooled similarly, a tangled, throbbing mass of flabby things, mouths sucking at their god, crawling and sliming over one another, hungry for more, no longer hungry for anything else.

Patrick, or the beast beside him, turned to look at Samuel, smiling. It beckoned him. Samuel didn’t know how to get there, didn’t know how to cross the void between them. Black was enveloping him, clouding his vision. He thought at first it was another tear, another break, and terrified, he thrashed about in the dark until he flung over and found himself in his own bed, Patrick splayed out on top of the covers beside him, naked, snoring heavily himself. Samuel heaved himself out of bed, squinting, made it to the bathroom in time to get most of the vomit into the bowl of the toilet, and when he was sure his guts were empty, or at least no longer threatening revolt, he turned around and sat on the floor of the bathroom, against the cabinets, catching his breath and trying to push that image in his mind further away, but it was there. Impossibly close, burned into him, somehow. He rubbed his eyes, feeling them aching still. He had to have been drugged, what other possibility could it have been? He must have freaked out in the bathroom, maybe Patrick managed to get him home somehow.

He had made enough noise that he could hear Patrick rousing himself in the bed, and after a moment, he stumbled in, stepping over Samuel on the floor, so he could take a long piss into the toilet beside him. “Fuck, rough night, huh?”

“I…Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

“I don’t remember shit man, fuck,” Patrick said, “Hugh gave me a sample of a new steroid he’s selling, that shit is…fucking hell, it’s wild…You…you must have gotten me home last night, I guess?”

“Uh…I figured you’d gotten me home, I don’t remember.”

“Huh…”

Samuel thought about trying to explain what he’d seen the night before in the bathroom, but where would he even start? Besides, it wasn’t like Patrick to really empathize with the inner life of someone else–that was labor he usually left for Samuel to pick up.

“I’m gonna hit the gym, I’m still feeling fucking pumped, you know?” Patrick said, stepping back over Samuel on the floor without offering to help him up.

After another couple minutes, Samuel flipped around and used the counter to pull himself up. In any case, that fucker Rod could take his offer and shove it. If his idea of patronage was drugging someone without even giving them a heads up, there was no way he was going to have any further dealing with the guy, no matter how much money it meant. But while his resolve started out that way, three things happened that made him waver again.

The first was his eyes in the mirror when he pulled himself up. His eyes had always been green, but in the mirror, they weren’t…entirely green anymore. The color was darker, and leaning in to look closer, he saw that there were swirls of the same cloudy grey that Rod’s had been. He couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t always had that coloring, and yet, he had never noticed it before in his life. Looking closer, he also was certain he could see the colors swirling about slightly, but that, he knew, was ridiculous.

The second, was when he dug his phone out of his pocket, he had a message from an unknown contact, that said, “What did you see?” He found the card Rod had handed him, and the number matched. He thought about replying and telling him off, but every time he tried to start the message it fell flat. Too angry, or too apologetic, or too many questions. He pictured Rod up in the VIP lounge, watching him freak out in the bathroom, and he felt like a fool, but the question was still there. He wanted to know. He knew that Samuel had seen something, and that it was important to him. If he had drugged him, it was because he wanted this from him. That made Samuel madder, of course, but it also made him feel important, and special, and he had a weakness for flattery.

The third, was that for the rest of the morning, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling from his bones that what he’d seen hadn’t just been a wild trip–it had been real. Beyond real. Something and somewhere else. He just couldn’t stop seeing it, no matter how hard he tried to push it away, it was always just there, a heaving, pulsating image; a horror. He ate a little, but felt the gorge rise again, and instead left the apartment, for a constitutional that he hoped would clear his mind a bit. His feet took him past the gallery where he’d started his night, and he looked at his work. Work he’d been so proud of, it all felt so empty now. He had seen something true, and before this, he’d been painting around the edges of another world, another existence, and this was a vision right into the heart of it, he was somehow certain of this. He resisted the urge to pull it all down and tear it up–instead, he went to the studio and tried to paint it, tried, desperately, to force it out of him, to sketch it, to mold it, to paint it, to pin it down as something outside of himself at last.

Every hour or so, he would stare at that text again, and ponder it. The art wasn’t coming, but he had to know more, he wanted to know what he’d seen. 

“Can we meet again?” he texted back.

They arranged another meeting in a few days, and Samuel sat back in his chair, rearranged patterns on the ceiling, thought of the tear, thought of stepping through it, of what he might find. ‘Flesh’, his mind replied without prompting. Flesh–he would find true flesh.


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TPC – Chapter 1.3

Chapter 3 – A Dose of BHB

Parker watched Samuel pull that prudish looking little twerp away towards the dance floor, and if he hadn’t been coasting on the high from the weed he and Samuel had smoked before the gallery show, he might have been able to muster some resentment, or perhaps, jealousy. Instead, he pulled Hugh off in another direction, beside a few small tables and the hallway that led down to the bathrooms. Parker liked Hugh, they understood each other. It helped that the dealer was a slight fellow, he could overpower if he had to, and Hugh obviously had the hots for him, letting him get a discount on occasion, That was just perks though–it was the slicked back hair, the try hard suit that didn’t quite fit, the scruff, the cheap cologne–that was how Parker had known just from looking at him that they’d both come from relatively nothing. They were both just trying to make their way up in a world of their liking–Hugh was pushing his way up, and Parker was lifting and fucking his way there.

“You have my stuff?” Parker asked. Hugh had been his hookup for various steroids and hormones for about a year now, since Pigtown had really started taking off. The dealer was actually how Parker and Samuel had met, in fact. They’d both been buying from him at the same time, at Poni–a little hole in the wall bar that was defunct now–and the two of them, high on their preferred substances, had fucked in the bathroom, and woken up together in Samuel’s apartment the next day, no real memory of how they’d gotten there. That had been happening more and more, lately–not remembering how he got home, and not just to him. Samuel had noticed it, along with some of their friends, who had taken to calling it a Pigtown hangover. He knew it was probably worrisome, but it never felt…disorienting, or like he’d been in danger. If anything, it was a sign that he was living life to the fullest. “Took me a bit to work the funds up for you, sorry,” Parker said, and pulled out a wad of cash, some of which he’d pilfered from Samuel earlier that day. It wasn’t the first time. If Samuel noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. It was the price you had to pay, if you wanted to keep a stud like Parker around, after all.

“Yeah man, of course,” Hugh said. “But before we get to that, I got my hands on that new shit we’d discussed last week.”

“Oh?”

“Yep,” Hugh said, dug around in a pocket, and pulled out a little vial of clear liquid–no label. “Combination steroid, performance enhancer, and aphrodisiac. Like I said, it hits like a ton of bricks, cock rock hard whenever you want it.”

Parker loved the body he was getting on the drugs Hugh had been selling him, but one of the side effects had been some rather embarrassing impotence. He hadn’t been able to get hard for Samuel regularly all of a sudden, something that his boyfriend had proceeded to mock him over, only for Parker to take shots at Samuel’s chubby frame in retaliation. They put on a good show out in public, but things were getting rocky between them. As much as the artist could annoy the fuck out of him, he happily enabled Parker’s drug habit, his gym membership, and he hadn’t had to hold down an actual job in months, since Samuel’s year had been flush. “What’s it called?”

“Some guys are calling it BHB, or Big Horny Bastard.”

“Is it hormones? Some of those you’ve given me fuck me up, you know that.”

“Trade secrets, you know that.”

“Fine, I’ll try it.”

Hugh motioned down the hallway, “Come on then, stud, let’s get it in you.”

Hugh led the way, his rather slight frame, dwarfed by Parker following behind him. The bathroom wasn’t empty, but that didn’t matter. No one here really used the bathrooms as a bathroom. They found an empty stall, Parker dropped his pants and turned around, pushing his ass, speckled with acne, back towards Hugh. The dealer pulled out a clean hypo, drew the serum from the vial, jabbed it into Parker’s ass, and gave it a squeeze. “Now, it’s subcutaneous, but give it ten minutes or so, and you’ll be feeling it.”

Parker gripped his waistband, but Hugh tugged the shorts he had on down further. Knowing the deal, and willing to get his discount, Hugh turned around, sat down on the toilet, and let Hugh get down on his knees in front of him, and take his soft cock in his mouth, Hugh’s hands exploring his thighs and chest as he sucked. After a minute, Parker’s face went a bit red–he was still soft. This was the fucking problem! He pushed Hugh off him, embarrassed and frustrated. ‘It’s not working,” he said.

“Give it a bit, alright?” Hugh said, and pushed Parker’s hand away. “Trust me.”

Parker let Hugh get back to sucking, and after a couple minutes, he did feel something. First, and most important, his cock got hard. And not the usual sort of hard-ish he’d been working with for months now. It had been enough to get into a well worked hole, but not quite hard enough to satisfy the bottom, or give him the confidence to really thrust and drive deep. It certainly hadn’t been hard enough to crack a cherry. But this…this was properly hard. Hugh looked up from where he was sucking, grinning around Parker’s cock, knowing his customer was satisfied. But the hardness wasn’t all of it. There was sensitivity. There was control. The sensation thrumming through his cock wasn’t overwhelming, though it was intense. He didn’t feel like he was about to blow at any moment. He knew exactly how distant he was from orgasm, and when he felt Hugh getting him close to the edge, he pushed him back–not ready to cum just yet.

“What’s up?”

“Don’t want to cum yet.”

“You’ll still be hard after, trust me.”

Parker was reluctant, but when Hugh went back to sucking, he didn’t object, riding the wave of pleasure until he burst down Hugh’s throat. Hugh pulled away, licking his lips and stood up. Parker looked down and saw that, true to Hugh’s word, his cock was still plenty hard–that, and he was still horny as hell. Every touch to his cock seemed to set it further on fire, and he shook his head, trying to keep himself under control. “Fuck, this is intense.”

“Not too bad, I hope.”

“Fuck no! It’s amazing.”

“Good to hear. Now, listen, it’s not like anyone has tested this shit a lot, alright? I’m not hearing about any big problems, but currently, I’m recommending that you dose two days, and then cycle off, and repeat that each week, alright? You notice anything off, you call me right away.”

“Sure, sure.”

Have the rest of this vial. That’ll be your dose tomorrow. As always, please use clean needles.”

“Whatever, fuck! I’m so fucking hard!” Parker said, gripping his cock and squeezing it, enjoying the sensation that he hadn’t felt it quite some time. 

“Happy to be of service, as always.”

“I bet you are,” Parker said, got up and pushed Hugh against the wall of the stall, running a hand down the back of his pants. He felt good. Really fucking good, and he was ready to go all over again. “How about another tip?”

Hugh pushed back, hard enough to make Parker move away. “Not now, I have business, you know that.”

“Fine, if you say so, but you know you want it.”

“I’m sure I’ll get a taste soon enough,” Hugh said, and gave Parker a kiss on the cheek. “Pleased to be of service stud. Now, my fee? I’ll take the usual this week, but just so you know, this shit is expensive. Only one supplier, you know the deal. Gonna be $200 a week.”

“Seriously?”

“You know I would never rip you off stud.”

Fuck, I don’t have that much.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, or we can go back to the usual.”

Yeah right, like Parker was going to do that, after how good he was feeling on this shit. He pulled the wad of cash he’d taken out earlier at Hugh, the dealer took it, and slipped out of the bathroom, leaving Parker alone, and still plenty horny. Should he go find Samuel, drag him back here, and remind him why he’s with him? He considered it, but a cubbish fellow peeked into the stall, saw how hard Parker was still, and turned around, hole loose and still drooling cum from whoever had last used him. He wasn’t going to object. He pulled the boy in, left the door open for anyone could watch if they wanted, and all that passed between them was a series of grunts and moans, Parker taking his time, and giving the cub the proper sort of fuck that he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. 


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The Family Portrait

This is…technically an older story that I never got around to finishing at the time, and at the urging of a patron, I returned to it, revised it a bit, and gave it a conclusion. Hope you all enjoy it! Also, the new series I mentioned, “Pigtown Chronicles”, is in early access over on Patreon, and I’ll be posting it publicly next week! If you missed the first three chapters, you can go check them out there, or wait and read them here. If you’re still over on tumblr, I created a new blog for this series–that way it won’t be stuck behind the nightmare that is NSFW tumblr, and have a searchable, accessible archive. If you want to follow it there, you can go ahead and follow it here. I’ll also be reposting all of them to my old tumblr as well.


It was…quiet. It was never quiet, not around here. Keith breathed a sigh in his empty house–as happy as he was at the family he’d made for himself, between Tara and his three sons, that also didn’t leave him very much time at all for himself. The place had been getting quitter, however. With his two oldest sons in their second and third years of college–at the state school a few hours away at least, and his youngest son, a senior in high school, out with Tara running errands on a fall Saturday for a few hours, he had the house to himself. He had it to himself, and he had absolutely no idea what he should be doing with his chance. It was funny, really. He so often wished for more private time, and now when the chance came, he had no clue how to spend it. He sighed–not really a bad problem to have, he supposed. 

He was interrupted by a loud, heavy knocking on the front door. Curious who it might be, he walked to the door and opened it, finding a strange man on the porch he had never seen before in his life. He was none too clean, dressed in a pair of stained camo cargo shorts and a wifebeater, with a thick overgrown beard. He was carrying a large…something under his arm, wrapped in paper. Something rectangular and flat–but he had no idea what. “Hey! What’s up? I’m your new neighbor down the road there, just moved in a few days ago. Name’s Marty.”

“Oh, uh…hi. I’m Keith…Keith Ireland. Nice…to meet you,” he replied, not taking the man’s hand when he extended it out to shake. How someone who looked like this could possibly afford a house in a neighborhood where Keith lived…something seemed a bit odd about this, and he wasn’t about to let him inside his house. “Where…which house did you move into? I wasn’t aware anyone was moving.”

“Oh, just a few houses down.”

“I didn’t see any moving trucks or anything though.”

“Really?”

Keith just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well look, I just wanted to say…hi. My wife, she’s an artist, and we always have too many things of hers, so we like to give our new neighbors some of her artwork. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it or anything–her stuff isn’t for everyone, but it’s nice, right?” He held out the paper wrapped picture to him, and as strange as this was, Keith didn’t want to seem mean, especially if the guy really was his neighbor. He could always take a look, and then give it right back. He tore open the paper and flipped the picture so it was facing him. It was a sizable canvas, probably at least three feet wide, landscape, but there wasn’t much at all in the picture itself. In fact, it wasn’t even a painting–it was a photo. It looked like one of those cheap portraits you might get a Sears or something, but the only person in the picture was Marty, centered but small. Like it was supposed to be a family portrait but he was the only one who showed up. He looked closer, trying to figure out who could possibly see this as valuable, and discovered that the background of the photo…it was moving. The backdrop pattern…it was alive, twisting and ebbing back and forth–he couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to. It felt like the pattern was growing in his field of vision, almost giving the illusion of falling into the photo, his mind emptying. 

Marty watched his “neighbor’s” eyes grow dull and his jaw go slack, and he walked around him, stepping inside the threshold of the home, looking at the family portrait. The photo was indeed shifting and twisting, in one particular place–a figure coming clear standing beside Marty–quite blurry, and yet if you squinted you could see that it was Keith appearing in the image. The focus became a bit sharper, but never came fully clear, Marty taking a moment to inspect Keith, see how he’d changed all these years.

Keith obviously hadn’t recognized him, but they’d both been very different back in high school together. They even, at one time, were friends–with a few benefits. Keith was bi–and he’d let Marty suck his cock on a few occasions, but when they’d gotten caught, he pinned the whole thing on Marty–claiming he’d been “corrupting” him. Or rather, his dad Gary, a conservative city councilman who couldn’t afford to have a gay son in the news, made his say it, and Keith went along with it. Marty had had no one after that–he’d gotten expelled from school, and kicked out by his family. But now, well, Marty had a little revenge planned for his old friend. He’d gotten by as best he could, but Marty had made a few new, strange friends along the way…including a warlock who specialized in revenge spells. He’d made the portrait Keith was currently staring at–and which was absorbing his image. It was Keith’s fault that he’d lost his entire family after all. As far as Marty was concerned, that meant Keith could provide him with a new one—a better one. One Marty was going to design just for himself. 

It had been long enough now–the rest was up to him. He landed a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him start and jump, his mind snapping back to awareness, eyes blinking, trying to understand what had just happened to him. “What do you think bro?” Marty asked, “Ain’t that a good picture of us?”

Keith’s eyes moved from the portrait in his hands, and looked beside him, at his…his brother. His brother Marty. Something was still wrong with his mind–it felt like part of him was…missing. His eyes slowly traced back to the picture, at the blurry image of himself in there. It looked like…like he was screaming in there. Marty pulled him back by the arm and shut the door, plucking the picture from Keith’s hands and pressing it to a nearby wall, where it adhered immediately. “Come on bro, the game’s almost on–I know you hate missing a game, right?”

Keith found himself nodding, even though he’d never in his life enjoyed watching football, and stumbled sleepily after his brother into the den, finding the portrait looming over him on a new wall in the den–it had moved somehow, haunting him–as Marty pushed him down onto the couch in front of the TV, grinning wide. 


Another touchdown! Both Keith and Marty threw their arms up, shouting with excitement. Their team was doing great, and Keith couldn’t be happier if he’d tried, sitting here with his favorite person, his brother, watching the game with him. He grinned over at him, grabbed another handful of potato chips and shoved the whole wad into his mouth, chewing loudly with his mouth open, washing it all down with his seventh can of beer, a huge belch rumbling out of his fat belly. He gave it a pat, feeling it jiggle and wiggle around him. It felt…damn good, actually. Like Marty had told him, he’d always been a fat ass–he couldn’t stop eating if he fucking tried, he loved it so much–drinking too–and it showed, nearly six hundred pounds of flab, but he didn’t care. Like Marty said, he found it…kind of hot, actually.

He still wasn’t feeling quite like himself though. Ever since he’d sat down and started watching the game, he’d felt…almost like he was in a dream. Marty was there for him though, reminding him to get the snacks and beer, talking with him while they waited through replays, about all sorts of things. Like…like his lucky jersey. He’d worn in for years, ever since their team had won the superbowl, and he wore it for every game, religiously. He never washed it, so it stank to high hell, and was easily three sizes too small at this point, but it just didn’t feel right not wearing it, right? In fact, Marty had been doing most–or rather, all of the talking. Keith had focused on cheering during the game–with how hard it was to think, he didn’t feel capable of keeping up a conversation at the moment. Besides, it was more important for him to listen to Marty. Marty was the smart one, the clever one…but his eyes kept going to the clock next to their family portrait, and Marty noticed.

“Worried about the time, bro?” Marty asked him.

“Just…wondering when…Tara and the boys…” he said, but couldn’t complete the thought through the haze in his head.

Marty smacked his head and scowled at himself. Fuck, he’d forgotten–that would have made a mess of things for sure. “Why in the hell would that bitch be coming here? She hates your guts. The two of you haven’t laid eyes on each other since that last time she dragged you to court over missing your alimony payments. You’re lucky you didn’t lose partial custody over that shit.”

Keith looked at his brother, confused…but he…he was right. Tara hated him, and she kind of had good reason to. “Yeah…don’t know…why I’d thought…”

“Don’t worry about it bro, you hate women anyway. They fucking disgust you. The only people you want to spend time around is family. Especially me, your best friend. Your best big brother in the whole world. You love me more than anyone, right?”

Keith nodded and grinned at him, letting off another belch.

“Yeah, you’re just a fuckin’ deadbeat dad, really. Can’t hold down a job–doesn’t help that you dropped out of school, still, considering how stupid you are, that ain’t surprising. Luckily we could move in together–I support you, but that’s ok. There’s nothing you’d rather do, aside from lounging around the house, naked all the time, stuffing your face, drinking beer, watching TV, and loving me.”

This time, even Marty could feel it, the changes sweeping through them. The house around them began rotting–there was no way either of them could live in a neighborhood like that, after all. Still, served the fucker right, Marty thought. They ended up in a double wide trailer in some rundown park–still nicer than pretty much anywhere Marty had lived before, and it felt like home, his brother splayed out on the couch next to him, completely naked aside from his lucky jersey, eyes glued to the TV.

“Oh, and smoking cigars, of course. You couldn’t live without those.”

The air grew dank and smoky all of a sudden, and Keith sucked deep off his cheap cigar. Smiling, amazed at how well the portrait was working, Marty leaned forward and lit a cigar for himself, sighing smoke out, groping his cock through his filthy shorts, wondering how much further he could push this before getting down to business. Hell, why not now? He could remember how big Keith’s cock had been when they were teenagers, and it had only gotten bigger–but no fucking way did he deserve a tool like that, not after what he did.

“The smoking, the food, the beer–it makes you fucking horny too, right bro? So fucking horny all the time. Too bad you can’t find your inch long cock in all that flab of yours. Just makes you sex crazed all the time, leaking cum everywhere, desperate for release.” He watched Keith start panting, heaving smoke, sweating, crotch damp with precum, “Luckily you have a big brother to take care you, right? Help you out?” He reached over and dug around in keith’s new gunt, finding his miniscule cock, stroking it, watching his obese brother spasm with pleasure. “And luckily you’ll do anything your perverse big brother wants you to do, right? You love satisfying all of my sick, disgusting fantasies. At heart, you’re all bottom. A sex crazed pig, aching to have all of your holes stuffed at all hours. That’s the only way you can cum, with a big cock in your ass or buried in your throat, while you grunt and snort like a pig.”

Keith didn’t make it to halftime, before he tore into his brother’s shorts and started sucking on his cock. He ended up bent over the couch, his brother balls deep in his sloppy hole, dull mind desperate for sex, cock leaking like a faucet onto the already well stained couch. His eyes–he felt them pulled up, to the portrait on the wall. The background, it was swirling again, but his image–it was becoming clearer now–no longer blurry. His massive frame barely contained by his favorite jersey, wearing a pair of massive sweats. His shaven head and face looking even larger, three chins drooping under his thick handlebar mustache, a stupid grin on his face, leaning on his brother, his big brother, the best big brother in the world. With a snap, the portrait froze in place, and it was like all of him came alive again. With a holler, his tiny cock spurted a load into his fatty folds, and Marty shot deep in his filthy brother’s hole, and looked up at the photo. A good start, for sure–but there was still so much room in the portrait. Luckily, he had a few ideas for other people he could add to their family–starting with his new nephews. He knew that they would be so much happier away from their bitch mother for good and living with their dad and uncle, where they really belonged.


When reality snapped back to order, the effects were seen far beyond the run-down house where Keith now lived with his older brother–his now ex-wife and sons were forced into new realities as well. The two older sons, David and Terrance, were living out on their own, working and renting an apartment together while they attended the local community college, trying to make the leap to a four year college when they could afford it, and both of them avoided their father like the plague. His youngest son, Bobby, split his time between his mother’s house and his father’s house, but only because he was still seventeen for a few more months. In all honesty, he hated every second he had to spend with his filthy uncle and father–he was ashamed to even be related to them. His mother understood, but there was nothing she could do, until he reached eighteen and could legally decide for himself. And so, Marty decided that the next easiest target would be Bobby, when he arrived to stay with his dad and uncle the next week.

That gave him plenty of time to get adjusted to life with his new stupid, lazy younger brother, and he loved every second of it. While he couldn’t make any massive changes to him, now that the picture had become static again, just like his wizard friend had said, he could continue making small changes and suggestions for another few days, all of which Keith was more than happy to obey, and by the end of the week, he reeked of cum and sweat, he hadn’t had a shower in months, and he spent all day and night drunk, passing out on the couch with the TV on every night, when he wasn’t busy in his brother’s bed, servicing his every sexual desire. Still, they both knew that as soon as Bobby arrived for his week of custody they would have to control themselves…for a little while. Marty didn’t think Bobby would be returning to his mother’s house anytime soon, that was for sure. All he’d have to do is get the young man relaxed and focused on the portrait, and everything would be perfect.

However, from the day Bobby arrived, it became clear it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Marty had thought. The boy had some…problems with authority, especially parental authority. He spent almost all of his time in his room, giving his uncle no real chances to exert much influence on him in any way. Marty thought he had him the second night, when he managed to successfully enchant Booby with the portrait, causing a third blurry figure to appear beside the images of his father and uncle, but when he tried to influence the boy, and turn him into a chubby, submissive cub for them both to use, nothing seemed to work–Bobby fought his suggestions, and after an hour, the image of him had faded from the picture entirely.

Angry and frustrated, Marty called his wizard friend, demanding to know what was wrong–the wizard was a bit flummoxed, but said that the reason for Bobby’s resistance probably had to do with his perceived relationship to his family–that is, he didn’t want to perceive himself as Keith’s son, but he didn’t have an easy solution for him. Marty’s mood stayed sour for a few days, until he overheard a fight between Bobby and his father one night. Bobby told him that Keith had never been his father, that Bobby was the only person in the room who could act like an adult–and that gave Marty an idea: if Marty thought he was the adult in the room…well, why not make him one?

The fight ended, Bobby stormed off to his room. Marty waited for half an hour, and then knocked on the door, letting himself in–the portrait had appeared on the wall of Bobby’s room, looming over him. “Bobby, I know you aren’t a fan of us, but you need to accept the fact that we’re your family, and there isn’t anything that can change that,” he said, and pointed at the picture, “Look at us up there, wasn’t that a good day?” Bobby looked at the swirling paint, his eyes drawn in immediately, a fleshy blob appearing in the picture, but Marty could see him fight, see him resist his placement between them, where a son belonged. So Marty tried something different, “But you’re a man now, you know? And you know, we don’t treat you like that enough. You aren’t a boy anymore, Bobby–no, not Bobby–Bob. You’ve grown into a fine young man, haven’t you?”

Bobby resisted for a moment more, but then visibly relaxed where he was sitting on the side of the bed. Marty could see his body changing, hair growing up his forearms, thick like theirs, his body bulking, as he grew older, into his mid 20’s. Finally, finally he had him, and Marty knew exactly what this young prick needed–if he wanted to be an adult, then fine, let him. 

“You know Bob, I’ve always admired you. I’ve never seen you as a nephew, not really. I’ve always thought of you as a real brother to me. And I know Keith gets on your nerves, but he’s, well, he’s younger than us, right? He’s always going to be a bit immature.”

Bob kept growing older, his face growing a bit more lined, hair receding back past the crown of his head, becoming flecked with gray, and he chuckled, “He acts like a fucking child,” Bob said, “I wish…I wish…grandpa had been sterner or…or something, he…why does my head hurt all of a sudden?” Bobby said, rubbing his temples, “I…I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“You mean dad, don’t you?” Marty said. “You wish dad had been stricter.”

“I…I guess.”

“Look, you’re not one to run away from Keith when he gets on your nerves. You know what he needs–you’ve always known what we both need, as the oldest.”

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right Marty–you always have a way of…of making so much sense, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, now come on. I think you should go have another word with Keith, don’t you?”

Bob nodded, and turned to leave the room. Marty checked the portrait, and sure enough, there was Bob level with them both–but Marty wasn’t really interested in having another brother. Since Bob wanted to be an adult so badly, why not go a little further? He smiled, and joined the rest of the family in the den.

The now middle aged Bob went and stood in front of Keith on the couch. He looked up at him, confused for a moment, before the magic helped him along. Bobby his son didn’t exist for him now–he was looking up at his big brother Bob. 

“Yer blocking the game Bob, get out of the way,” Keith said, craning around him as best he could.

“Yeah? That so? What’s a fat fucking piece of shit like you gonna do about it?” Bob asked.

Keith glowered at him, and hefted himself to one side, but Bob just shifted along with him.

Marty stepped up, and saw that the family portrait had followed them, and was now hanging above the fireplace. “Come on now Bob, you know what Keith needs, don’t you? Ever since he was a kid, you knew exactly what kind of worthless piece of shit he was going to be, and you never hesitated to put him in his place.”

Bob’s gaze grew a bit harder, and he undid the belt around his waist, pulling it free of the loops with one pull. Keith’s eyes went wide, but he couldn’t move before Bob’s hand was around his neck, gripping tight enough to make him gasp for breath. “Apparently someone has forgotten who the boss is around here,” he said, “get up, knees on the sofa boy, I think you need a good reminder.”

Keith tried to mumble something, maybe an apology, but Bob’s grip tightened enough that he only managed a squeak. He released him, and Keith did as he was told, hauling his fat body up and onto the couch, letting Bob tug the back of his grimy underwear down, and pushing his body over the back of the couch, so his ass was high. The first smack made Keith holler, and that was enough to shake Bob as well, and he looked at the belt–almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

“Don’t worry about the screams, Bob–we all know that just makes that big dick of yours even harder. All those years working construction put a whole lot of muscle on you, and you love using it on the pig–even more than the pig likes the abuse. Go on, see how much that fat pig’s puny cock is leaking.”

Bob ran a hand between Keith’s legs, and sure enough, it came back coated with precum that he wiped across both cheeks. Leering now, he brought the belt down again and again on Keith’s ass, stopping only to pop open the buttons on his jeans, letting his own sizable cock free. Unable to resist anymore, He tossed the belt down and drove the cock into Keith’s loose hole, making them both cry out in delight.

“That’s it Daddy,” Marty said, coming close and stroking Bob’s body as he fucked the pig’s hole. “You’re such a good daddy to us boys, aren’t you?”

Bob was too eager to fuck to even muster much of a resistance, as the portrait began to shimmer again, Bob’s image migrating behind Keith and Marty, where the patriarch would be. 

“Retired now, sure. Past your prime, maybe. But you trained the pig well, didn’t you? You knew before he could walk that he wasn’t going to amount to shit, and no amount of discipline would stick, because the pig just wanted more. More punishment, more humiliation, more, more, more. But that’s ok, isn’t it? You do love him, you want to give him what he wants. It just so happens its exactly what you want to, right Daddy?”

Bob swelled larger, body filling out with more fat and muscle as his hair all turned a stark white, beard down to the top of his gut, snorting and grunting in time with his son as he thrust harder and harder, until he came finally with something like a roar. He pulled free, and his cum drooled out Keith’s hole, who was coming down from his own orgasm, having soaked the couch cushion below him. 

“Fuck Daddy–you’re so fucking hot. Take care of me now, come on. I’ve always been the favorite. Your oldest, I could never do anything wrong. You want to make me happy all the time, don’t you Daddy? You can’t resist anything that I say,” Marty said, grabbed his burly father by the shoulder and shoved him down to his knees, Marty’s own cock out. “Come on Daddy, suck your boy off, you love the taste of my fuckin’ cum, you fuckin’ need it.”

Bob swallowed Marty to the hilt in one practiced motion, and he didn’t last more than a couple of thrusts, before exploding in his Dad’s mouth. He could feel the magic tightening around them all as the portrait turned solid again. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned, Marty thought as he pulled free, watching his new father lick his lips and thank his favorite boy for his load, before getting up, grabbing a beer and a cigar, and sitting down next to the still panting and huffing Keith to finish the game. Marty could make this work, though. He’d pay a visit to Keith’s sons soon, once he was sure these two were well under his thumb, and his new family would be nearly complete.


It had been a bigger change than Marty had planned on for Bobby, and he was a bit concerned that he might try and push back against the magic, but for the rest of the weekend, everything progressed smoothly. If anything, Bobby was revelling in his new found authority and power over his new son, humiliating and abusing him all day long, cementing Keith’s new role as the family loser more and more. But much to Marty’s surprise, the change to Bobby was having an impact on him as well.

Apparently, by making him his dad’s favorite son, that changed some of his own past in the process. Over the rest of the weekend, as his dad showed him his new found affection, pleasing his favorite boy as much as he could, while he did everything he could to punish Keith, Marty found he was losing weight, and putting on muscle. New memories came to him of playing football in high school at his father’s urging–it clashed uncomfortably with his other, older memories of being kicked out of school at Keith’s father’s behest. Needless to say, Marty was thrilled that he could be affected as well, and once he realized the effect it was having, he pushed his dad, and himself, to be more manly, more masculine, both of them sprouting thick beards and bigger cocks, ending Sunday night with a family spit roast in their leather gear–father and his favorite son skewering the family pig at both ends, while they both smoked their favorite cigars, before dragging him down into the basement dungeon, where they took turns flogging him until the pig’s puny cock exploded in delight against the wall.

Marty had spent a bit of time trying to work out how to get the rest of the family under the portraits influence as well. Talking to his friend, the portrait was bound to the house–it would only affect people while they were here. That meant he had to figure out some way to get Keith’s other two sons, Jack and Eric, over here–but neither of his older sons wanted anything to do with him. In the end, the situation with Bobby, now Bob, created a solution to the problem. When Bobby didn’t return to his mother’s house on Sunday night, and with no word from Keith, and after a call to the police turned up no record of her son at all, she asked Jack and Eric to check up on Bobby and make sure he was alright, and to bring him home.

And so, Monday evening there was a pounding on the door. Bob and Keith were downstairs taking care of some discipline, and so it was Marty who opened the door, and found both of his nephews standing on the doorstep, looking rather angry. “Marty,” Jack said, “Is Bobby here?”

“Bobby?” Marty asked, a bit confused. He’d almost forgotten that his father downstairs had been a teenager a couple days before this. 

“Stupid fucking freaks, where the hell is he?” Eric said, shoving his way inside and looking for Bobby in the living room and kitchen. Jack followed after him, and Marty shut the door, smiling that his next two targets had entered the web so willingly.

“Boys, I think you’re confused. Who’s Bobby?”

“Our brother, you know who.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think I had any boys other than you two,” Marty said, looking up at the portrait up above the fireplace, watching the image of both young men materialize in front of Keith for a moment, but Marty had a better idea. Keith was a loser pig, and these boys didn’t deserve that. No–he had a better idea for both of them, that he’d been mulling over for the past couple of days, and with some focus, he watched the images of them scooch over, and take their place in front of him instead. These were going to be his son’s now, and he would raise them just right.

He saw that slight daze come over both of them as the portrait took hold of them, and smiled. “Come on boys, I know you’ve had a long day at work on the site. Crack open a beer and let’s have some family time, while Grandpa’s taking care of your uncle downstairs.”

“What…no, we….we came here for…for Bobby,” Jack said, trying to push through.

“No, you’ve been working on the construction site all day, like usual. Now you’re home, where you belong, with your family. You’re thinking of Bob, your grandpa. You two aren’t too bright, I know you can get confused easily.”

Marty was a bit worried that they’d put up as big a fight as Bobby had, but he watched as Eric’s clothes shifted to some grungy workwear and boots covered in dust and dirt, and seeing it happen to his brother, Jack changed quickly after that. Apparently, the two of them had a good affinity for each other–Marty could work with that too. The two of them followed Marty over to the sofa and sat down together, while he got the remote, fiddled with it, and found an old boxing match to put on. “There we go, that’s what you boys like, isn’t it? A good bout, right?”

Jack and Eric watched the fight go on, while Marty kept talking.

“Yeah, the two of you have always been fighting each other, ever since you were kids. I was always hollering at you two to cut it out, but that just seemed to encourage you. But you’re both sadists, just like me and your grandpa–it shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose, all the roughhousing. You two were always so easily matched though–identical twins, and damn, did both of you grow big and strong, just like the real men of the family.”

Jack gave a groan, and was the first to pull his cock free of his pants, with Eric following along soon after. The two of them were swelling larger now, packing on a substantial layer of beef across their chest, arms and legs as they grew larger, topping six and a half feet. Their features were melding together–Jack’s hair lightened to the color Eric’s shaggy brown mop, while Eric’s eyes grew more sucken and his brow grew in to match Jack’s own forehead. 

“Fucking inseparable, the two of you. Always have been. Only way I can tell you apart at this point is that Jack, you lost both of your front teeth to a game of backyard football when you were fourteen, and Eric, you pissed Jack off so much a year later he pummelled your face and flattened that nose of yours to your face. But you love each other, deeply. Been catching the two of your fucking around with one another for years now, and I swear you know what the other is thinking half the time. Of course, both of you are such dimwits that it makes sense the two of you would only have one brain between the two of you.”

At the same time, their hands moved and took hold of each other’s cocks, and the two boys moaned simultaneously. One eye each still on the screen, taking in the blows of the bout, obviously excited at the bloodsport, they leaned in and started kissing each other, pressing closer, Eric wheezing through his busted nose, his tongue sliding through the familiar gap in the middle of Jack’s teeth.

“That’s it you two. Fuck, I couldn’t be more pround of my two handsome, dirty, sadistic boys. Hardly ever showering you, pretty much always have a thick cloud of musk and cigar smoke clinging to you, covered in dirt, but not so much that we can’t all see the riot of matching tattoos the two of you have gotten over the years together, all over your arms, your chest, even your cocks have twin snakes down the length of them,” Marty said, came around the front of the couch, and climbed up, one foot between each boy’s legs, his cock thrust between their faces, his twins slobbering all over their new father’s cock as the portrait swirled, coming more and more into focus, the old Jack and Eric fading away, and replaced by the two massive twin bruisers parked on either side of their massive father. “But most of all, you two boys love your Daddy, don’t you? You’ll both do anything for me, without a moment’s hesitation–and your Grandpa too. We’re the only guys who ever fuck you–aside from each other. But that’s what guys in a family do for each other, right? Besides, I know how the two of you love to fight over my cock.”

Jack won the day not long after that, taking his dad’s cock in his mouth while he shoved his brother’s face lower, Eric relenting and lapping at Marty’s balls until he exploded in Jack’s mouth. He pulled free and fed the load to Eric, the two of them sharing it, watching it drool into their tangled brown beards. “Fuck dad, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” Eric said when they pulled free, “Can I suck it next time?”

“You know the rules boys, Daddy likes watching you fight for it,” Marty said, getting down from the couch. “Now come on, let’s go see how grandpa’s work on your pig uncle is going.”

They all went down into the basement dungeon, where they found grandpa with his flogger, coated with a sheen of sweat, laying into Keith’s back with a whip. The smell of blood and sweat mingled in the air, and from his sons’ panting, Marty could tell the scent was getting them excited. “Hey dad, Eric and Jack are home from work, why don’t you let the youngin’s take over for a bit?”

Bob looked over his shoulder, confused for a moment, but the magic took hold after a moment, and he remembered his two grandson’s properly. “Sounds good to me–I think the pig’s just getting warmed up, isn’t that right?”

He walked around, and there was a puddle of cum under Keith from where he’d lost any number of loads already, but from the look of bliss across his face and his still rock hard little cock, it was clear he was ready and eager for more punishment. “Fuck yeah boys, come teach your naughty pig uncle a lesson already,” he said, leering at the two of them. Jack and Eric stripped down repositioned Keith so his hands were together and suspended from the ceiling, pulled tight enough he couldn’t quite touch his entire feet to the ground, and then started using him as a punching bag, one twin punching his uncle’s fat gut while the other held him fucking or fingering his ass while he did, and then trading positions. Meanwhile, Marty took a seat where he could watch his boys work, and Bob came over, got down, and started sucking on his son’s cock.

This was shaping up to be a better family that Marty could have ever dreamed of–but it was still missing one last person, he thought. Gary, the old patriarch of the family, was going to have to be given a new position, since Bobby had already taken his. Now with his two sons in place, Marty knew just where to put him, and then, the portrait would be complete.


Over the next day or so, as Marty made sure his twin boys were well cemented in their new lives, he could feel the magic of the portrait beginning to ebb and pull back. If he was going to bring Gary into the fold, he had to do it soon, or he would miss his opportunity. Thankfully, Gary still lived in town, though his years as a councilman were behind him at this point. He’d used his local connections well though, ending up on the board of a sizable corporation, doing very well for himself. It was time, in Marty’s opinion, to take the old man down a few notches. The disjoint between the two realities–between the portrait and how things used to be–made it difficult to see how to get him close enough for the magic to work on him. After making a call or two, he didn’t even recognize Keith as his son, whether that was because of the magic, or because he wanted nothing to do with a pig like Keith, well, it didn’t matter that much.

In the end, the simplest solution proved to be best. Marty told his two sons to go get the old man and bring him back here, no matter what it took. It took a little breaking and entering, and a little bit of a beating, but not long after midnight, Jack and Eric returned with a well bound, and slightly bloody Gary between them, that they dragged into the house. 

“What the fuck is this? Do you fucking know who I am?” Gary shouted when Marty pulled the gag from his mouth. “Is this about money? Well, you’re not getting any, you’ll all fucking rot in jail!”

“No Gary, this isn’t about money,” Marty said, “This is a family matter. You remember your son Keith, don’t you?”

Keith stepped forward, battered and bruised, stinking of cum and musk, covered in hair. Gary stared at the pig, horrified, but after a moment, there was recollection as well. “K-Keith? What…I…what happened to you?”

Keith, on the other hand, didn’t know who this man was. As far as his simple mind was concerned, Bob had always been his father now. An uncle, maybe? He looked over at Marty, unsure of what to do or say, and the pig knew better than to act without direction from his superiors.

“Yeah, your boy,” Marty said. “Or at least, he was your boy. How about me, Gary? Do you remember me? Marty Hackman, that ring a bell?”

Gary shook his head.

“You ruined my life, Gary. Your son gave me a blowjob in high school, and rather than deal with the fact that your kid liked dick, you decided to demonize me, and get me kicked out of school. Now do you remember Gary?”

Gary’s face went a bit pale, then. “I…What is this, what are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose you could say, I’m going to give you another chance, boy, to do right by your family. Boys, pick him up, bring him into the den, so he can see our family portrait.” Jack and Eric dragged him along, following their dad into the family room, where the portrait was hanging over the fireplace. “There, Gary–doesn’t that look like a happy family?” Marty said, grabbing Gary by the hair and making him look up at the picture, “Still, it’s missing something. It’s missing you, Gary…”

Gary watched as the image began to shimmer, and after a moment, a new image appeared in it, behind Keith and next to Bob–his own image, in fact. “What? How…how did…” Gary said, but trailed off, the magic already taking hold, putting him in a light trance.

“Oh, but that’s not where you belong in the photo Gary, not after everything you’ve done,” Marty said. “No, not someone as petulant as you. As greedy. As cruel and conniving. You don’t get to be the head of this family anymore. But there’s always room for another pig, right nephew?”

Gary watched as the portrait shimmered again, and his image in it moved and shifted, moving from the back beside Bob, down to the front row, in front of Keith and next to Jack and Eric. “How…I don’t understand…”

“I know it’s hard for you, pig’s aren’t very good at thinking, right Keith? You wouldn’t expect a pig son of yours to be any good at thinking hard, would you?”

“No way bro,” Keith said, “No son a mine would be a good thinker. He’d just be a stupid, gluttonous, cocksuckin’ pig like me, if I had anything to say about it.”

“Fuck Gary, you hear what your Daddy is sayin’ about you?” Marty said.

“No, I’m not…I’m not…” Gary said, but watched as the image in the portrait began to change–and to his horror, he could feel his own body begin shifting to match it. Gary, as he had gotten older, had spent his time maintaining his physique as well as he could, and he had quite a reputation as a silver fox. But now, the silver was beginning to fade, and his body began to expand with fat. He pushed back with his hands, trying to stop it, trying to cling to his old self, but he was finding it harder and harder to think, as his mind slowed to a crawl.

“Don’t fight it, pig, you know it’s what you deserve. It’s what you want,” Marty said. “Just a short, obese, hairy, stinking piggy. Not many good genes on that side of the family. You got your daddy’s tiny dick for one thing–hell, we tried to measure it once, but couldn’t really get a good read because of how fat you both are. Hair all over. Your fucking musk could peel paint off the wall, and it doesn’t matter if you shower or not, it comes back in just a few minutes. We don’t mind of course, as family, it doesn’t bother us. All that hair though, and you’re still balding at…how old are you? Twenty two? Ugly fuckin’ mug too, but that can’t be helped. Not many women were willing to have sex with that pigdad of yours. We found one willing, but he couldn’t even get inside her–we had to inseminate. We paid her plenty, of course, but even she thought you were the ugliest baby she’d ever seen. Never wanted to see you again, if she could help it.”

Gary could only watch in horror as everything Marty said came true. He lost a few more inches in height, even as his weight exploded–ending up at five foot six and nearly four hundred pounds of mostly fat. His skin was coated with hair, aside from his hair, which was balding, the rest of it buzzed short. The thick beard on his face did some to conceal his ugly looks, but you couldn’t hide the big nose and ears, the thick brow, the crooked teeth. His clothes had disappeared, but that wasn’t shocking. Pigs didn’t get to wear clothes in the house, and it wasn’t like Gary got to leave that often. Between the stink rolling off him, and his ugly looks, the family decided it was best if the pig just stayed home and took care of the family. 

“But every generation has to have their pig, right? Yer Daddy was my pig, and that means you get to be my boys’ pig. That excites you, of course. Getting to service two big, burly sadists like them, day and night, doing whatever sick, twisted things they want to you. They’ve been training you real well for the last couple of years. Just last month, they finally managed to fit both of their fists inside you at the same damn time. You make my boys so damn happy, and you’re happy doing what you do best, being a stupid, ugly pig cocksucker for your whole damn family.”

Unable to help himself, Gary gave a snort, remembering how happy he’d been, feeling histwin cousin’s fists deep inside him, pummelling his prostate until his little cock jizzed all over his gunt. Across the room, uncle Marty had been busy working over his Daddy with a paddle, working out some sadistic aggression on his ass, turning it bright red. Every once in a while, Keith would shudder and grunt, adding to the pool of cum drooling off the fuck bench he was strapped to. 

“You like being a pig, don’t you Gary?”

“Yeah Uncle Marty, of course I do.”

“You like being your family’s fist hole? Their urinal? Their ashtray? You like how we treat you like a fucking garbage can and cum dump? You love being humiliated.When my boys brought home that tattoo gun, you begged them to use it on you, to mark you as theirs forever. Of course, the only place they could tattoo you where anyone would see it was your face, since the rest of you was so hairy…”

Crude writing appeared across Gary’s face, scrawled there by his cousins over the last few months. Gary didn’t mind. He loved being marked by them, owned by them. What else was there for a pig like him to do anyway? Too stupid to work, too horny all the time to do anything other than beg for sex, he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had been born into a family that understood what a pig like him needed, and treated him right.

“Open pig.”

Gary did as ordered, opened his mouth, and Marty tapped the hot ash from his cigar into his mouth, then shoved his nephew down to his knees. “Open up boy, let me help you wash that down.”

Marty started pissing all over his nephew, watching the young pig chase the stream all over, the rest of it dribbling down into his hairy body. The rest of the family gathered around–even Keith–and added their own piss, baptizing the newest, and youngest member of the family as one of their own. Marty could feel the magic thrumming around him and through him–this was the last one, he could already feel it beginning to seal, but he had gotten what he wanted. He pushed Gary down, climbed on top of him, and drove his cock into his loose hole, Gary grunting with excitement as his uncle took him for the first time, for the hundredth time, he didn’t know. All he knew anymore was that he was a horny, cockhungry pig, and he was here to service his family as they required. Gary’s hole wasn’t tight, but Marty was so horny he didn’t last long. He exploded deep in Gary’s hole, and felt the magic contract and solidify around all of them. Looking up, the portrait was still there, but perfectly stable now–but a piece of artwork, nothing more. 

“Come on boys, let’s get these pigs downstairs. I think we’re just getting warmed up, right?”

Everyone hollered in agreement, and dragged Keith and Gary down to the basement, for their nightly ritual. None of them could be happier, of course, especially Marty, whose own memories were fading away, and had disappeared by dawn. He had what he’d always wanted, a loving family. A perverted, stinking, roughneck family of pigs, sure, but a family all the same.

(Caption) Notes on Reality #1

October Caption Challenge (24/31)

Mitch had never really felt that life had dealt him the hand that he deserved, much less the hand that he wanted. Gay, but at least able to pass, growing up in a small town as the only kid of a fairly deadbeat, and rather traditional father, who tended to keep him at arms length. Mitch hadn’t done well enough in school to get into college–there was the small issue of the cheating on his permanent record. That had nixed most of his college hopes, so he found himself living with his dad, stuck in a dead end job, and with no real opportunities for relationships aside from the occasional hookup with a trucker passing through, while his dad was passed out on the couch.

However, it was one of those truckers who took a bit of pity on him, and passed him an odd little notebook. It was blank, and the cover of it said, “Notes on Reality.” 

“This little thing gave me the life I’d always wanted,” the old, cigar smoking fellow said, as he got back behind the wheel of his semi, adjusting his sizable endowment as he did. “Give it a try yourself–I think it might be just what you’re looking for.”

Mitch had no idea what he was talking about, but he took the notebook home, tossed it on h8is dresser, and promptly forgot about it for the evening–but the book didn’t forget about him. The next day, he found it tucked in his glove box at work. Then, he found it on his bedside table when he was going to bed. It clearly wanted him to do something, but what? He opened up the blank notebook, and there on the inside cover, was something scribbled that he hadn’t noticed before. Write what you wanted, and reality would bend to your whim. It sounded impossible, but then, the book kept appearing right where it couldn’t possibly be. What harm could there be in giving it a shot.

So he wrote a little something, talking about how he had cleaned his room up earlier that day, despite having done no such thing, and all around, him, from one moment to the next, the room was…immaculate. Even odder, he could remember doing it himself! It was almost like nothing had changed–it fact, even reading back to himself what he’d just written, it was difficult to remember exactly how things had been. Suddenly, his hand didn’t seem so terrible after all.

He went out into the living room, where his dad was sitting in his underwear, smoking a cigar, and wondered just how much he could influence things.

He wasn’t sure that he wanted to change himself, exactly…but why not make his stern, overbearing, distant dad a little more…relatable?

He went into the kitchen and wrote:

“I came out to my dad around a year ago, and he was very supportive and kind. He wants me to be happy, and has absolutely no problem with me being gay.”

As he finished the thought, he felt reality twist around him–and sure enough, he could remember sitting his dad down and having the talk, and he’d been…fine with it. Better than fine, really. If anything, their relationship was better and more open than ever. 

He laid awake that night, pondering and scheming and wondering. He could stop now, of course. He didn’t…need to keep using the notebook. But…why not keep using it? He hated living here, he hated so much about his life, and he could change it, all of it. So he started writing in the middle of the night, as much as he could. About living and growing up in the city, about going to college–but his thoughts turned to his father again, and what came out was…not quite what he had planned, initially. 

His dad was unhappy, he knew that. At first, he just wanted to make him happy too. He wrote about his dad going to gym, he wrote about how he had a good job that he liked. And then, he wrote about how his dad was gay too. Then, he started writing more about him, about how he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but that he made up for it with his kindness and his strength of character. He wrote about how he had a substantial cock, but was a total bottom in bed. He wrote about how his dad was attracted to him. He wrote about how his dad had begged Mitch to fuck him, how he loved getting plowed by his son’s cock more than anything. Finally, he couldn’t write anymore, after filling pages and pages with his fantasies, and the resulting wave, as reality shifted, was too much, and he passed out in his bed.

When he woke up, it wasn’t in his dad’s small house–it was in the apartment they shared, while Mitch was going to college in the city. He had been woken up by a massive, white haired, burly fellow with a substantial cock sucking him off, a man he knew was his father, but did not quite recognize as such quite yet, and then the older man climbed on and fucked himself on Mitch’s cock while he watched, moaning and panting like a fucking slut, until they both came–Mitch inside his father’s ass, and his father all over Mitch’s chest and face. 

“Fuck boy, I needed that,” he said. The voice was familiar, but lacked the drawl, and was instead a bit higher, a little freer. “I’m gonna hit the gym–you coming?”

Of course he was. Mitch always went to the gym with his dad before class. More than once he caught his dad flexing and winking at him on the gym floor, and before he could stop himself, they were fucking again in the sauna–like usual, right? 

His dad was a fucking slut after all, he needed a cock in his ass all the damn time. Preferably Mitch’s, but he’d take almost any young buck in a pinch. After a long day of school, Mitch found himself back at home, and much to his unease and muted delight, the notebook was waiting for him as well. He tucked it away in a drawer, and it seemed to stay put, for the most part. After all, he had everything he wanted, right? At least, for now.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares V

October Caption Challenge (23/31)

What a treat for a dream imp! Two young men, asleep in the back seat of their father’s car during a long road trip. Pulling two men into the realm of nightmares at once was difficult, which is why the imp rarely did so, but the stronger the connection between the two, the easier it would be to bring them together.

Kyle and Steve were brothers, sure, but they were also rivals, and had been their entire life. Encouraged by their father, both of them were challenged to one-up each other in whatever athletic contest he might decide. As such, the brothers were both well built, athletically accomplished young men, who, on a certain level, despised one another.

And so, they began to dream. Kyle found himself in a dungeon, full of all manner of painful devices. Steve was in the center, chained up and unable to move. Before Kyle could move to help him, a voice told him to stop. He turned, and saw his father in the corner of the room–no, not his father, not quite his father, the face kept…sliding away from him, the eyes were red, the teeth too sharp.

“Come now, Kyle,” his not-father said, “Don’t you want to show me what a good boy you are? Don’t you want to punish your brother? Show me what you can do?”

Kyle…didn’t, not at first, but then, there was a flogger in his hand, and he started bringing it down on his brother’s back, and fuck, it felt good, thinking about all the times he hadn’t measured up. He was the oldest brother, he should be the one to be the best, but then why did he lose? As he pounded on his brother’s flesh, he didn’t notice that Steve was beginning to change, his muscle growing thicker, his body hair and beard filling in, his cries of pain now punctuated with the occasional moan of delight. 

Then, a whistle, and before Kyle even knew what was happening, he was there in the middle of the room, in chains, and his brother–his larger, hairier, brutish brother, was leering at him, cock leaking, his not-father’s red eyes gleaming in the shadows. “Now now, you boys take turns, alright?”

Steve set on him with the floggers, with the paddles, with the clamps, with slaps and fists. At first, all Kyle could feel was the pain, all of it excruciating. But then, buds of pleasure, then full blossoms, as his body grew, piling on muscle, piling on scar, piling on hair. When it was time to switch once more, he could see that Steve had grown just as hungry for it as he had–and he would be sure to give his brother as much pleasure as he possibly could.

And on the road, his sons quiet for so long, the father looked back and discovered the back seat vacant–yet he hadn’t stopped, and there was nowhere for his son’s to have gone. He was blamed, of course–there was no other explanation, but if his boys ever did make it back to the mortal plane, they never crossed paths with him, that he knew of.