Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 1)

Jeff looked around him, at the grungy side street he’d been walking down, and then up at the neon sign hanging over him, flickering the word “PIGTOWN” overhead, throwing blue and red light onto the potholes and trash around him. This was the place? Was this some sort of joke? This wasn’t the sort of place Jeff would have usually considered going–especially not as an officer of the law. It seemed more like a place where criminals would hang out and plot a heist–not the sort of place where a bunch of police officers would get drinks off duty. Then again, Keith hadn’t actually told him the name of the bar where they were meeting–he’d just given him precise directions–very precise. This had to be the place, but something was telling him that this was a bad idea, that little sense of danger he’d learned to trust even in his short time on the force, but still–it was just a bar. It was probably just a prank or something to see what he would do. Hell, Keith wouldn’t even be there at all, and all the guys would just have a laugh about it back at the precinct tomorrow. He climbed the steps, rang the buzzer, and a moment later the door unlocked and he stepped into an anteroom with a coat check.

He moved through into the bar proper, and there weren’t many people inside, a three or four at the bar, some others sitting at the tables scattered around the claustrophobic space. It was then that he realized something else. This wasn’t just some shady ass bar–this was a shady ass fag bar. Every man seemed to be wearing some strange leather or rubber outfit, and more than a few were engaging in rather unseemly–and illegal!–acts at and under, the tables and bar. Was it a test? Should he shut down the place and report everything in here? Before he could make up his mind whether to confront the manager about it, or simply leave in embarrassment, someone caught his attention at the bar–and his jaw dropped.

It was hard to tell in the low light, but yeah–it was Keith. Jeff felt a little bit of fear in his gut, looking at the imposing officer sitting at the bar. Everyone on the force had told him a story or two about Keith–and most of them were so fantastic that they couldn’t possibly be real, but looking at the guy, it was hard to doubt them all. When Keith had pulled him aside in the locker room and invited him out with some friends, Jeff had tried to turn him down, but Keith had ended up…almost browbeating him into coming along. He gave a little wave, and Keith acknowledged him with a not of his police cap–and Jeff realized Keith was still in his uniform. Then again, as he took more time to examine him, it wasn’t the usual uniform at all. Rather, it was crafted entirely about of shiny black leather–and a size or two too small for Keith’s frame, bulging with muscle. Jeff…didn’t know what to do, and so his feet acted on their own, and he stumbled over to the bar where Keith was. Keith shoved the man beside him off the stool, and told Jeff to sit with him…and he did, looking around awkwardly, noticing the bartender staring at him very…pointedly.

“New guy, Keith?” Rod asked, as he wiped out a glass.

“Rookie at the precinct, fresh out of the academy, ain’t that right, Jeff?” Keith said, and threw an arm around him. The smell of the leather was pungent, and while Jeff tried to shrug the arm away, Keith made it clear it was staying right where it was, when he gripped Jeff’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

“Rookie, eh? Yeah, he looks a little green if you ask me,” Rod said with a chuckle.

“Keith,” Jeff said, “What is this place? Where are the other guys you said hung out here?”

“Them? Oh, they’re already in the back,” Keith said, indicating a heavy black curtain hung across a hallway on one side of the bar, “I wanted to wait for you though. This place can be a bit…intimidating to newbies like you.”

“I don’t think…look, I don’t know what you think, but I’m not gay. And is their sex happening on the premises? You know that’s illegal, if they’re serving alcohol!”

Rod laughed, and set down a glass in front of Jeff, “I see why you brought him.”

“I’m not drinking this,” Jeff said, “I’m leaving, and I’m telling the sergeant about this.”

Keith laughed, “Where do you think the sergeant is, right now, Jeff?”

Jeff just stared at him, and then at the curtain. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Now now, take your medicine,” Rod said, pushing the glass closer to Jeff, “And you’ll understand.”

His hand gripped the glass, despite Jeff wanting exactly not to do that. The drink looked like whiskey, but it smelled much fouler, somehow. He picked it up, brought it to his lips, and downed it in a couple of glugs, dropping the glass back to the table and sputtering. It didn’t just burn–he could feel the liquid coursing down his entire throat, to his stomach–and then it went through his stomach and just…kept going. He let out a cry of pain, and nearly toppled off the barstool–he would have, actually, if Keith hadn’t been holding on to him. Jeff felt it push to every end of his body, like he was on fire, and he felt–fuck, he didn’t know what he was feeling. His skin burned, and his muscles were seizing and shaking, and then it was over, leaving his sweating, and nearly crying, on the stool. What…what the fuck just happened to him? What the fuck was wrong with his hands?

They were…too big. His forearms were too big. His clothes were too tight, and his head felt…cloudy. “What…what the fuck was that shit?” Jeff muttered, but his voice was slurred slightly, to seemed too deep.

“Think he needs another?” Keith asked.

“More than another–right man?” Rod asked, and poured some more in the glass, “Go on, drink.”

Jeff, hand shaking, grabbed the glass and chugged it down again, unable to resist the strange bartender’s orders, feeling the concoction rip through him. The pain was there–perhaps even more intense than the first time, but he could at least brace himself for it. He swelled larger, his clothes beginning to rip, but when Rod poured him a third round, he took it without even needing to be told, and fourth one after that. As much as he didn’t want to drink it, as painful as every shot was–he was starting to…crave it almost. It was a rush, and a heady one at that. He ripped away his clothes with a laugh, thrilled by how they tore like paper in his hands, amazed at how strong he was becoming. He felt…he felt like he could do anything. He noticed…hairs falling down into his vision, and ran his hand over his scalp–and all of his hair fell away, leaving him completely bald–but the hair covering his body more than made up for his sudden head of skin. He didn’t care anyway–it made him look tough. Hell, he was tough. Tough and…and horny.

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 4)

Carter woke up to empty arms, and had a slight panic, worried that Wyatt had slipped away while he was asleep, and made good on his threat to leave without spending their final night together. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have blamed him–changing was always hard, and it can be tempting to just throw yourself into the new as quickly as you can, in order to avoid the heartbreak of leaving behind whatever it was you were leaving. Still, Wyatt wasn’t like that–or rather, the old Wyatt wasn’t like that, and Carter hoped that there was still enough of that Wyatt around for them to have one last hurrah. He sat up and looked around at the room–at his room. The touches of Wyatt’s had begun to disappear–small things, like the pictures on the dresser, and the chair he liked to sit in while he put on his boots.

Then he heard the toilet flush, and a couple moments later a stranger pushed open the bedroom door, looking a bit sheepish and embarrassed. Wyatt was easily in his thirties at this point, and the grey in his hair was reduced to just a few flecks around his beard–now trimmed down to a goatee–and a light dusting in his chest hair, which was a bit thinner than Carter remembered it being. He had lost quite a bit more weight as well, and was probably a hundred pounds lighter than he had been. At the same time, he filled out in muscle, especially across his chest and shoulders. He wasn’t quite Carter’s type, but he couldn’t deny that he was becoming quite a hot cub. He checked the clock, and saw that they’d slept for quite a while–it was almost five. Time for a light meal, and then time to hit the town.

“So, I was thinking Cubsters,” Carter said, “I doubt you’ve even been there.”

Wyatt furrowed his brow. “Doesn’t that club have a no daddies policy? I…well, I woke up pretty horny, honestly. Hornier than I’ve been in a while,” Wyatt gave his semihard cock a few strokes–it was average, maybe a bit smaller than it had been. “Could really use a big daddy plowing my ass, you know?” he said, and flashed a very uncharacteristically cocky grin, caught himself, and nearly blushed to death. “Oh god, did I just say that?”

Carter just laughed. “Look, let’s start at Cubsters, dance a bit, have some drinks, and then lets go to Dickhole, and we can get you fixed up–get us both fixed up. You know I can always use some good daddy dick too.”

Wyatt liked that notion, and so the two of them negotiated on what to wear. Since Wyatt’s clothes had largely disappeared at this point–and what few things remained wouldn’t fit his new frame anyway–Carter helped him pick out an outfit he liked from his own clothes. They weren’t quite the same size, by any stretch, Carter had about seventy-five pounds on him, mostly chub, and a couple inches in height, but things worked out alright. In particular, some of Carter’s older rubber gear, from when he was a bit smaller, fit Wyatt like a glove. He looked at himself in the mirror, in the dark green tank and rubber shorts, with the crotch and ass missing, his cock erect and leaking already…and he was surprised by how excited he was. His old self would have never been caught dead in something like this, but the thought of everyone staring at him as he walked down the street, as he danced in the club with his friend–fuck, he wanted everyone to be looking at him. Shoes were easier–their size was almost the same, and he slipped into some green sneakers to match the outfit, and then Wyatt got dressed too, though he skipped the rubber, and went with a pair of denim booty shorts and a leather vest–a bit trashy, sure, but why steal Wyatt’s thunder? He looked fucking great in that gear, after all, and this was celebrating him, and his change.

They grabbed some food on the way, chatting a bit, losing some of the intimacy of before, and yet a closeness lingered which they both appreciated. The love was cooling, but both of them could feel something else filling out the space between them–something like friendship, but still a bit too muddled to really be seen clearly for anything at all. Wyatt, in particular, had relaxed after their emotional morning. He didn’t seem as concerned that he’d lose Carter entirely anymore, and he also was really enjoying himself. He felt so free like this, sitting there, ass and cock hanging out, all the other bears passing by sneaking glances at him–or just openly staring and groping themselves, hoping for a quick fuck or blowjob on the sidewalk. He would have taken a few of the older bears up on the offer, but resisted the urge–he wanted to spend time with Carter, before everything drifted away again. He wanted to hold onto this as long as he could–but he could already tell that when the time came, he’d be ready to let it go, and Carter would be ready too.

“So…now that you’re unattached, anyone you’re thinking about hitting up?” Wyatt asked, “I know you have plenty of fuckbuddies to choose from.”

Carter shrugged, “Nah, no one really. I…I always liked coming home to you. Did it bother you that I slept around so much?”

Wyatt shook his head, “Nah–I was a boring old fucker, and you were just having fun.”

“I think I’ll try the single thing for a bit. It never lasts of course–I know a few guys who would take me in tomorrow, if they found out about you changing. Hell, a few guys who would probably lock me up in a dungeon to keep me from going anywhere, and I wouldn’t mind a few of them doing it either.”

Wyatt just laughed, “I’m sure you’ll be happy.”

Carter nodded. “Don’t forget I was always happy with you though.”

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 3)

It bothered Wyatt that Carter obviously had a longer memory of their relationship, before and during, than he did. To him, there had just always been Carter–his cub. Beyond that was just fuzz–it didn’t exist, not in the same way this did. It wasn’t true anymore, and so it wasn’t worth bothering to even remember. But now, their truth was fading already, and after feeling so solid, that fleeting realization was, if Wyatt was honest with himself, terrifying. It was always terrifying. He hated changing, he always had. That was why he threw himself into every new life as hard as he could, and tried his best to forget everything before. It was…easier, than trying to grapple with your own transitory nature–that your body would go on, but it would look entirely different, and everything else would simply evaporate into the void. Some bears, he knew, suffered from such anxiety that they almost never left their private spaces. Some couples, so deeply in love, they were walled in with each other, terrified to leave lest one of them disappear forever. But what kind of life was that? As unsettling as this was, it was still better to live–and you could live so much! Losing yourself was daunting, but then he thought of Levi, and his heart swelled again. There would always be love, at least, even if he was a stranger to him now.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Carter said into the silence, and Wyatt jerked from his thoughts.

“What?” Wyatt said, “Really? I don’t…know.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You and your daddy dive bars, let’s go somewhere fun! You never wanted to go to a club with me, but you won’t be able to help yourself.”

It did sound fun, actually, and he smiled.

“See? You’re thinking about it. No, ‘I’ll just stay home with a book and smoke my pipe,’ for you anymore. ” Carter said, mocking his daddy’s low baritone, “You’re a new man!”

Wyatt looked shocked at Carter’s words, which confused the cub, and Wyatt hauled himself up from the table and went to his study, threw open the door, but the wall where his pipe rack had been–it was gone. All of them, gone, overnight. He’d had fifty pipes in that collection, meticulously cared for, all of them with a history, all of them with a story, all of them important, and just like that–gone. “My…my pipes. I lost my pipes…”

A smoke in the morning after breakfast, a smoke in the afternoon, and a smoke (or sometimes two, or three) in the evening. That was his routine, he had done it for years–he’d felt like he’d done it for years. It had been such a comfort, and he hadn’t even noticed it waning away. He hadn’t had a chance to even say goodbye to them all. The worst part was that he didn’t even really miss them–he wasn’t craving a smoke, but a hole had opened up, and looking around him, how many other things would fall into it? He turned and he gripped Carter tight, sobbing, “I don’t want to lose you, Carter, I don’t want to lose all of this! I…I know I have to go, but I…I can’t stand the thought of not missing you.”

Carter stood there, holding Wyatt, awkward and uncertain. He was usually the one crumbling emotionally, stressing about a bear who turned him down, horrified by some strange kink he’d done, nervous about himself and who he was–he turned to Wyatt for everything. Holding him now, a smaller him, a younger him–it wasn’t how it was supposed to work, but who else did he have, at the moment? Who else could understand it? He let him cry, trying to find words that might fix it, but there was nothing to say. Eventually, Wyatt either exhausted himself, or managed to bottle most of it back up, and he pulled away from Carter and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I…it just caught me off guard is all.”

Carter nodded.

“And I’m sorry about what I said, I don’t want this to be hard. I don’t…you don’t owe me anything, you know that, but I want you to know, while I’m still here, how much you meant to me, how happy you made me, even if I didn’t know how to say it sometimes. Just having you here made me feel so alive! And Levi, I…I barely know him, and it’s so terrifying. I want to be with him so badly, but I’m so scared of who I might become. I can’t…control myself around him, I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him.”

“You…don’t have to forget me, you know.”

Wyatt leaned into Carter’s chest. “No–that’s how it always is for me, I throw myself into it. I never look back. Hell, you remember who I was better than I do! This time next week…I might not even recognize you if we passed by on the street. Everything feels so real, and then it doesn’t. I hate this, I should just leave, I can’t do this to you, this is cruel.”

He tried to pull away, but Carter tugged him back in. “This isn’t cruel. I want you for one night. One night, and you can go tomorrow. But we’re going out tonight, and we’re going to have some fun, alright? I want to see what you’re like, as a cub. I have to admit I’m curious–that’s a side of you I honestly didn’t expect.”

“What if you don’t like me? What if I don’t like me?”

Carter laughed. “Let’s not worry too much about that, alright? Now come on–I can tell neither of us slept well last night. Now come on, let’s take a disco nap, get ready, and go out.”

He could tell Wyatt was still hesitant, but when he tugged on his hand, he followed him towards the bedroom–which thankfully still held their king sized mattress. Wyatt climbed in, but it didn’t…feel right, somehow. Like he was sleeping in a stranger’s bed, and he realized it was because the indent he’d worn in over the years was gone–there was just one divot in the center. Before he could feel terrible about it, Carter pulled him close to spoon, but found himself in the position of little spoon for the first time he could recall–still, there was a comfort in it, and Wyatt drifted off almost immediately, with Carter following soon after.

November Bonus Story – Winston’s Stable Part 2 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s bonus story is the sequel to Winston’s Stable! I posted the first part last month, which followed Mark, as his new Master used his warped science to turn him into his first beastly creation, Titpig. In the sequel,

Winston adds two new beats to his menagerie–Joey, who was Mark’s boyfriend in part one, as well as Joey’s current boyfriend Paul. Anyone giving at least $5 a month to my Patreon gets access to this story, as well as every other bonus story I’ve published–almost an entire year of extras at this point!

Below is an excerpt from the sequel–we’ll return to Orwell’s Demon tomorrow, I promise!

“Winston’s Stable II – Excerpt”

There was a click in the room, and a Winston’s voice appeared over the speakers inside. “I’m afraid I never had a chance to introduce myself properly to you both, when Titpig and I can to visit. I’d give you my name, but I assure you both that you won’t be able to remember it soon enough, so you might as well get used to thinking of me as your master–it’ll help speed things up.”

“You fucking sick bastard!” Paul shouted into the room, “You can’t fucking keep us down here–people are going to look for us.”

Winston laughed into the speaker, “Oh, I assure you, people have been looking. You’ve been down here for almost a month, after all. However–if they haven’t found you by now, well…I doubt they will. In any case, Paul, why don’t you put that mouth of yours to better use. Paul, suck on Joey’s nipples, please.”

Paul had no intention of obeying the disembodied voice, but his body didn’t give him any other option. He walked over to Joey, leaned in and started sucking at his chest, Joey trying to push him off, but Paul couldn’t take no for an answer. “Paul–Paul! Get a hold of yourself!”

“Joey, stop fighting, and enjoy yourself,” Winston said, and saw Joey relax against the wall, Paul sucking harder. After a few moments, Joey felt something around his nipple, a slight…tingle, which became almost an uncomfortable burning and pulsing sensation. He fought against Winston’s order as hard as he could, but all he could do was moan, and let Paul switch to the other, allowing him a chance to look at the one Paul had been servicing, seeing that in a few minutes it had turned swollen and red. Winston allowed Paul about the same amount of time on the other nipple, and then leaned over the mic again, “That’s enough foreplay–Paul, go ahead and suck on Joey’s dick, please, and make sure you get plenty of your special spit all over his balls too.”

Joey begged and pleaded with him, but Paul dropped to his knees with a whimper, and started slobbering all over Joey’s cock and balls, soaking them in his spit, and the same tingling, burning sensation spread over them as well. Joey had expected it to hurt, but instead it was turning him on more, and he barely heard Winston tell him to start toying with his now meatier nipples, letting his boyfriend suck him off, the burning sensation growing more intense as he grew closer, and when he came–the load was massive. He could…feel the force of his balls pumping cum out of him, it was so powerful that it actually hurt. Paul swallowed the entire load down, and when the flow stopped, he stumbled up…and Joey could see that something was wrong with him.

His eyes were glazed, and he clutched his gut, which gurgled loud enough that Joey could hear it beside him. “Fuck…I don’t…feel so fucking good…”

“You know what will make you feel better, Paul? Fucking Joey’s tight ass. You want your boyfriend to fuck you, don’t you Joey?”

In fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind, but Joey bent over the side of the bed, and Paul stumbled over, cock hard as a rock, and without even bothering to lube up, he worked the head into the hole–but to their surprise, his cock slipped in easily. In fact, Joey’s hole almost seemed…wet, almost as wet as Paul’s mouth had become, and still was–the drool flowing out of his mouth and down his chin as he fucked. Joey had liked the fact that Paul was a gentle lover, but this was different–this was rough and forceful and brutal, and it seemed like every thrust drove a bit deeper into Joey’s hole–and the deeper Paul went, the better it felt. He fucked him long enough for them both to work up a sweat, and finally he came, planting his load deep in Joey’s ass, and Joey felt it, the hot seed filling him up, that same burning sensation infusing his guts and spreading out to the rest of his body, leaving him groaning and writhing on the bed until the feeling subsided after a few minutes, and he could roll over and sit up and see Paul standing there in the room…and it was clear that something was different.

He still looked like Paul, mostly. But his body hair seemed a bit thicker, and his muscles looked a bit inflamed–not to mention his cock, was was either still mostly hard, or else was in fact larger, his balls hanging a bit lower. He was panting, drool still flowing from his mouth, and it seemed like he literally couldn’t make it stop, even as he licked his lips to try and keep it in. “Joey…are you ok?” Paul asked.

“I…I think so…”

“I…I think my cum…did something to you…”

Joey looked down at himself, and realized Paul wasn’t the only one who had changed–his slender frame looked slightly softer than before, and with a pinch of his belly, he realized he’d grown a slight paunch. Beyond his puffy, sensitive nipples, his cock was still tingling from Paul’s blowjob, but as the tingling faded, what remained was almost a numbness. He reached down and felt his cock, and was surprised to find…less than he was expecting. It was about half an inch shorter, his balls were smaller, and touching it…didn’t excite him much at all.

“That should be enough to get the two of you started,” Winston said, “Now be sure to enjoy yourselves, and each other.” He leaned back in his chair, pleased with his tests–everything was working perfect, now all he had to do was let his two pets have their way with each other for a few days, and they would be perfect before too long.

Inside the room, Paul threw his weight against the door again, and again…but Joey was finding it hard to care. He felt…dull all of a sudden. Relaxed and at ease, were perhaps better terms. He laid back on the bed, running his hands over his body, enjoying the feel of his slightly softer body and the gentle afterglow of Paul’s load. His hands eventually found their way to his nipples, and he gave them a twist and gasped–his cock might not be feeling much, but his nipples were much, much more sensitive than they’d ever been before. His chest seemed to have inflated a bit more than the rest of him, in fact, and with another couple of tugs, he noticed that his fingers were suddenly wet.

November Bonus Story – Winston’s Stable Part 2 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 9)

Apologies for the sudden ending on this one. It was either cut it off here, or continue the thing for an entire month. Hopefully I’ll expand it into a proper something at some point!

I didn’t expect him to get up for a couple of days, mind you. Bruce had been through something rather extreme, and I was rather forgiving, so long as I had easy access to his holes to pleasure himself. I woke up that afternoon raring with energy, and I headed right for the gym…where I found a rather sordid affair had developed around the bench where I’d had my way with Bruce the night before. The manager had cleaned up the cum well enough, but the scent had lingered, and any man who wandered too close had been caught in the scent. There were five or six of them clustered around there, jacking off, sucking off, fucking…and as soon as I stepped inside, their heads swiveled toward me, and I joined them for a few minutes, before getting started on my own workout.

Like I said, I had never worked out in my life before this–I’d been a bit tubby, in fact–but this new body of mine, it seemed to have absorbed more than just Bruce’s energy, but quite a bit of his body’s experience as well. Lifting…fuck, feeling this muscular frame lift and move and force and sweat–it got me so horny that I’d have to pull the nearest man over and fuck them every few minutes, the all of them swimming in my scent, enamored with me, hungry for me and only me. I…I spent most of the weekend there. It was such a rush! The men all serving me, eagerly, and when I returned to the office the next week, I called a meeting for all of them men in the office, and within minutes, I had convinced them all how necessary it was to serve me as well.

Home, gym, work–those were the places I existed. Warping men, intensifying my stink, growing my harems. It really was a shame about Bruce–he never could manage to get out of bed, after everything I’d taken from him. I’d been rather hopeful that he could be my muscular brute fucktoy–but instead, he became another pig for Jack to care for and fuck while I was away. Adam was developing nicely, and within a few weeks he’d managed to pack on half the weight he needed to service me again. He was…so close to his goal, when he caught up to me. Now…well, now all of that was gone.

It was my boxers, which had been my mistake. I’d left them stashed in the alley, and when he’d come back for his underwear, he’d found them, and tracked me down. It had been difficult, since I’d covered myself up in so much else, but for a proper stinker, no scent is too faint to track. I’d come home from work and found him waiting for me, and as soon as I caught a whiff of him…fuck. The real fucking thing. I’d just been toying around at the edges, I wasn’t a real stinker. He had me naked in less than a minute, pulled on his underwear–the underwear I’d tried to claim as my own, and forced me to suck out all of the mess I’d made in it over the last few weeks. I…I don’t know how I did it, but I did. When I’d finished, and scent of myself was gone from them–they were his again.

I’d hoped he’d just leave me, but he had something else in store, I discovered. He dragged me out of my apartment, and told me to say goodbye to my men–I wouldn’t be seeing them again. He hauled me down into the basement and shoved me into the trunk of a car and drove off. We made one stop, somewhere, a few minutes, and then we kept going until we pulled in somewhere else, and he hauled me out of the trunk, and into a tiny little studio apartment…and he got me dressed.

A dark brown jockstrap. Camo pants. Grungy wifebeater, a filthy, holey t-shirt three or four sizes too large, a flannel, and a coat over that. Work gloves on my hands. Socks and boots on my feet–big enough to fit my larger size, surprisingly. Lastly, a hard hat…and then…and then he started to jack off. I’d never seen a man pump out as much cum as he did, but he came, and he coated me in his cum–and I mean he coated me in it. It dried quickly, soaking into the clothes he’d forced onto me, and then…and then he’d just left, and now…now nothing will come off.

Something about his cum, it’s stuck every zipper, it’s adhered the cloth to my skin. I can’t even haul off the gloves, forcing me to grope the front of my new pants until I cum in the front of them. Now, though, there’s the voices. I can…I can hear the men in the clothes, their lives, their minds, their desires, warped and twisted by the stinker. They’re getting so loud now, I can barely hear myself…and I think that’s the point.

He told me that for him, the clothes can make the man, and he’s remaking me. He padlocked the door shut, and told me he’d be back when I was finished. I…I don’t remember my own name now. I could a few hours ago, I’d almost forgotten it and had been reminding myself, but it had slipped. It had slipped, and the rest of me is slipping away too. I’m…I’m telling myself the story. I’m telling myself what I did, to try and remind me, but I…I don’t know if I can again. Instead, I smell construction sites, and grungy bathroom gloryholes, and piss and cum on my stubbly lips. I’ve grown a gut, and I think…I think I’m shorter too. Not too much longer, and I’ll be gone.

The one thing of mine that I can still hear clearly, though was this, the last thing he told me: “Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 8)

The gym closed at ten, but a little chat with the manager, and he agreed that Bruce needed to continue his workout, so he left the key with me, and I promised to return it to him in the morning. Bruce, on the other hand, was inconsolable. When he realized he was going to have to keep working out all night long, until I was satisfied with the state of his shirt, he pleaded and begged me to let him go, to let him rest, to let him stop for a moment. He was having a hard time walking, his legs were shaking so badly, and I realized that I had worked him nearly to the point of exhaustion. Still, the shirt…it was close. It wa stronger than it had been when I’d first smelled him, in fact, but at this point my greed was getting the better of me. In the end, I told him he could have an hour nap in the sauna, sweating out some of his misery, and then it was back on the floor to keep at it.

He could barely lift anything, at this point, and so I put him on an exercise bike for a couple of hours, sweating him out a bit further, keeping him plenty hydrated, and when he tried one too many times to get a break by telling me he had to piss, I started just making him piss his shorts on the bike–and let me tell you, when I caught a whiff of that, mixing with his sweat? I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold out for much longer. It was three in the morning when I decided he could finally stop, and that I was satisfied. He tore that tanktop off and handed it to me with a sob of relief that he could finally stop, and I pressed it to my nose, inhaling his stench, ripped off my own shirt and pulled his on, feeling his damp sweat against my skin, and it was like all of the energy he’d put into it began to flood into my body. I was tired too, at this point, but like a strong cup of coffee, suddenly I was awake. I was more than awake, I was eager. He could barely move, but I didn’t need him to move–I just needed to bend him over the bench, tear down his piss sodden shorts, and slide my cock into his tight, virgin hole.

He couldn’t even flinch from the pain–if anything, the cramps in his legs were probably more painful than my fuck was. He’d wanted me to fuck him, after all. He’d been begging me for it for hours–because he knew that when I fucked him, it would be over. He wouldn’t have to workout anymore. However, I was far from done–the longer I wore that tank, the hornier I got, and the stronger I got, and the longer I could go. I remember glancing over at the mirror, and I could see my body swelling with muscle right in front of my eyes–I took a quick break from my fuck to haul off Bruce’s shorts too, and pull them on, shuddering at the piss wet mesh, but I could feel my ass begin to tone up, my thighs and calves too.

When the manager knocked on the door the next morning, wanting to be let in, I was still fucking. Bruce had gone slack hours before, his cock shooting the occasional load–dry by now–just from the friction of rubbing against the leather bench. I had packed on close to forty pounds of muscle–I was even larger than Bruce had been when I’d put on the tank. I made the manager wait a few minutes until I’d shot another load–I’d long since lost count–and when I pulled out, the…sheer volume of cum which flowed back out of his ass, pooling on the floor under the bench…fuck, I realized just how much control I’d lost. I went to the door, opened it…and as soon as the manager smelled the stale air of the gym, his eyes glazed over, he gave a snort, and he started groping the front of his shorts, horny beyond belief, his rational mind slowly shutting down.

I dragged him over to the bench, where he was more than happy to start licking up the puddle of cum from the floor, and I hauled Bruce upright on shaking legs, but he could barely stand. He just wanted to go home, but I still wanted to fuck–still, I couldn’t very well keep fucking him here, right? Even with my musk, I was sure that would get a call from the police at the very least, and I had no real interest in dealing with that. I…I was afraid that if I dealt with that how I knew I could deal with it…then this power really would go to my head. Instead, I got Bruce dressed in some spare clothes the manager had lying around, and then helped him home. Home to my apartment, of course. I knew, from Jack, that he’d just track me down if I left him. He needed me now, and I sure as hell wanted him. Best to just…simplify things. My home would be his home from now on.

It was hard going, down the dawn lit sidewalks. Not to conspicuous, I think–most people probably thought I was just helping my drunk friend home, though why we were dressed in gym gear, especially in weather this cold, was probably a bit of a mystery. The excitement and rush of the clothes was beginning to wear off, and I was starting to realize just how exhausted I was myself. Upstairs in my apartment, I heaved Bruce onto the bed, gave him one last fuck, and then dragged him under my smelly covers and climbed in with him–him naked, me fully clothed in all of my gear, boots and all, hugging him tight,m whispering sweet nothing into his ear while he groaned, telling him how happy he was going to be here, telling him what a privilege it would be for him to serve me and thanking him, of course, for my new gear.

Winston’s Stable: Titpig (Part 5)

Winston decided, when Titpig woke up after the fifth and final dose of serum, he wanted him to be alone. Well, not completely alone, of course. Titpig was lying on the bed in one of Winston’s guest rooms–the same one where they’d played a week and a half earlier. Much to Winston’s dismay, the milk and cum had stained the carpet rather badly–he was going to have to rip it up entirely, along with much of the carpet throughout the rest of his home, if he was going to have Titpig roaming anywhere beyond the basement dungeon below. He could see both Titpig, and the stained carpet, on the various cameras he’d set up around the room earlier, so he could watch his finished freak fully discover his new body on his own, before his master joined him. “Alright Titpig, it’s time to wake up.”

Through the speakers, he heard a deep groan, and a second later he saw the figure on the bed begin to roll about. For the moment, he had suppressed most of the mental shifts he’d been drilling into the slave’s mind for the last week or so–for the moment Mark was in the driver’s seat, though the serums had done some damage to his mental faculties. It wouldn’t be too big of a deal–after all, he didn’t need to be a genius to see what’s right in front of his face.

In the room, Mark was having a hard time getting up from the bed for some reason–every time he tried to sit up, his upper body would drag him back down, almost like he was pinned down by something on his chest. In the end, he was forced to roll to the side and then onto the floor–he tried to get his feet under him to balance, but he had to throw his upper body back to try and stay upright, nearly toppling over. Instead, he flung himself forward, hunching over, his hands far closer to the floor than they should be, right?

He was up, and he was stable, but why in the world was his upper body so…heavy? Looking down at himself, he could see why, clearly enough–the thick pecs he’d developed had easily doubled in size, forcing him to hunch over, knees bent, just to keep himself upright. His spine, however, felt…comfortable in this position, however, and he looked up and around the room, wondering if he might, still, have an opportunity for escape–but it was doubtful. Master–whatever he was doing to him, he must have been planning this for a very long time. He turned a bit so he could face a mirror, and what he saw…it couldn’t be, could it? It had to be a lie, or a trick. He waved a hand, and the figure waved back–it was him, it was really him.

His shoulders and neck had grown at pace with his chest, his shoulders in particular widening to accommodate the additional muscle and breast tissue forming across his pecs. They hung down in front of him, massive slabs of meat with two thick nipples jutting from each of them, both of them nearly three inches long, and as thick as a garden hose. The natural coating of hair which had been there before had disappeared entirely–the skin on his chest and belly was completely smooth, but it had grown in thicker elsewhere–his forearms, legs and ass in particular. His legs were slightly shorter than they were before, which accounted for how his arms were so close to the ground in his new posture, and they bowed out considerably to make room for the massive ball sack swinging between them. His scrotum was taut, and each testicle could be made out clearly–they were almost visibly churning as he watched them, and a bit of cum started to leak from the head of his puny, inch long nub of a cock, where it ran back along the short shaft and down the front of his balls.

Like his chest, his head was similarly devoid of hair–his scalp and face completely bald, aside from a thin eyebrow–but his facial features…he no longer resembled himself, as far as he could recall. In fact, he no longer looked entirely human. His brow was thicker, eyes set back a bit further in his skull, and his nose, mouth and ears all seemed a bit too large. The result was rather ugly, and quite beastly, if he was honest with himself. Still, with a body like this, he doubted that anyone would really find much reason to focus on his face…still, he wasn’t as terrified as he knew, in his mind, he should be. In fact, he was…excited.

Thrilled, in fact, with his new body. Something told him that they weren’t his thoughts, but looking at himself, at his huge chest and giant balls, his hunched posture and ugly maw…it was him. It was who he wanted to be–no, it was who he was supposed to be. But more important than even that, it was what Master wanted. The door opened, almost on queue, and he turned to see his Master in the doorway, wearing his customary uniform, his cock already hard in his gloved hand, cigar lit and clamped in his teeth. “Alright Titpig–get the fuck over here and put that ugly mug of yours to work.”

Titpig lumbered over, and as he did, he felt like his mind was…dulling away. No, he could feel it, actually. It was harder and harder to think, and before he could even try and fight it, most of his own will had disappeared. He gave his Master’s cock a long lick from root to head, a bit of drool escaping from his mouth as he grunted, balancing with one hand while the other reached around and probed inside his loose asshole. Winston saw Titpig’s eyes dull and glaze over–the mental programming had worked as he’d hoped. For now, at least, Mark was nothing more than an animal–his animal–but he would be so much more than that, soon enough. Yes, Titpig was the key, and now that the first stage had come to fruition, Winston could finally begin constructing the thing he’d wanted his entire life.

He could finally begin filling his stable, and he thought that the perfect place to start, would be with Mark’s old friend Joey. After all, he’d seemed so…vanilla, and such a bore–and proud of it. Well, Winston would make sure he wasn’t a bore any longer–no, Joey would be something just as special as Titpig–and just as much the property of Master Winston.

Winston’s Stable: Titpig (Part 4)

“No–that’s…that can’t be me, what the fuck have you done to me, Sir?”

It was two weeks since Winston had dosed Mark with the first serum, and he’d done an additional stages in five day cycles. Tomorrow, he’d dose him with the fourth serum, but he thought Mark had earned a night awake for being such a wonderful subject. Besides, too much time spent unconscious could be unhealthy for a mind–and Winston wanted to make sure that any damage done to Mark’s head was damage he’d wanted, not anything he’d done on accident. He’d kept him in a hypnotic state earlier, and moved him from the lab downstairs into one of the bedrooms upstairs, where they were standing now, and where Mark had come back to himself. In the full length mirror in front of him, he could see the extent of the changes which had swept across his body, and though they were unfinished, to someone unprepared for them, they would seem…staggering, he supposed.

Of course, the most dramatic shift was his chest. With each dose of the serum, the tissue of his chest had reentered a state of heightened development–but most of the tissue developing wasn’t muscle fiber, but rather breast tissue. The result was something rather unnatural looking–his chest still had the appearance of two muscular pecs, but the surface, rather than flat, was instead rounded and puffy. His serum made sure the breast tissue was still firm and didn’t sag, but the texture could be disturbing to some, though Winston found the appearance highly arousing. He watched Mark gently rub one of his inflamed tits, shuddering as he did, his cock spewing a sudden jet of cum across the carpet in front of him.

“That’s a very naughty Titpig–get down there and clean up that mess you made. I take cleanliness in this house very seriously, so you will have to learn to contain your messes.”

Mark tried to resist, but he got down on all fours and licked his own cum from the carpet, but once it had started his cock refused to stop–it kept leaking, forcing him to try and keep a hand underneath the head, collecting the precum, and he slurped it up once his palm was full. Winston knew that the increased cum production was an additional effect of the serum–Mark’s balls had so far tripled in size, stretching his scrotum tight, even as his cock had shrunk. Now it was just four inches, down from it’s original six, and he hoped that after the final serum it would be closer to one or two inches at most–perhaps even outsized by his nipples, which were just as inflamed as the rest of his chest had become. Each was at least as thick as Winston’s thumb–he straddled Mark where he was still cleaning the carpet, reached under and gave them both a tweak, and Mark nearly squealed as thick milk spurt from them both onto the carpet below him.

“Please…please, just…change me back sir, please. I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.” Mark said.

“Because you’re special, Titpig. Besides, you don’t really want to go back to who you were, do you?” Winston gripped Mark under the arms and hauled him up and knelt down behind him, so they were both on their knees in front of the mirror, Winston behind him, gloved hands caressing his tits gently. “This is what you want to be, after all, you want to be a freak–you want to be my freak.”

“N-No…” Mark said, but he could feel his Master’s words sinking into his psyche. Now that he was over the shock of it…it was kind of sexy, wasn’t it? Winston groped a bit harder, and Mark moaned, his nipples leaking more milk which ran down his chest and belly in tear trails.

Winston caught some on his fingers, brought it to his lips, and gave it a taste. “It’s delicious, Titpig–you should be proud.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“What do you think slave? Are you happy with what I’m doing to you? It sure looks like you’re are–that cock of yours is still leaking all over my nice clean carpet, even though I ordered you to stop it–but I don’t think you can stop, can you?” Winston twisted Mark’s nipples, making him cry out in pain, milk spraying out and hitting the mirror in front of them, where it dribbled down. “Lick it up slave, before it hits the floor.”

Mark crawled forward and licked up the milk–Master was right, it was delicious. Winston reached out and slipped a finger into Mark’s ass, and to his surprise it slid right in, and he groaned in pleasure, and pushed back, finding his body eager to be filled.

“Tell me what you are, and I’ll fuck you.”

Mark hesitated, locking eyes with himself in the mirror. “I–I’m your…Titpig sir.”

He slid another finger in, “And what do you want to be?”

“I want to be your freak sir, I want to be your Titpig, please fuck my hole, please…”

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear,” Winston said, and slid his cock into Mark’s hole, listening to his grunt and groan in delight, his cock leaking a steady stream of precum below him, where it puddled on the carpet. “You know you’re only halfway through, right? After we have a nice long night together, I’m going to put you back to sleep, take you back down into the lab, and shoot you up again. If you think you’re a freak now, just you fucking wait, you’ll be my proper monster soon enough.”

Mark found himself pushing back, eager to have more of his Master’s cock planted inside him. He’d been fucked before, but it had never felt like this–it had never gone in so easily, or felt like it…belonged in there.

“Yeah, do you like your new ass too? It’ll take anything now–it’s almost as hungry for cock as your mouth is going to be.”

“Harder Sir, fuck me harder!”

Winston was more than happy to do as his Titpig requested, reaching around and tugging on his tits, spewing enough milk to soak the front of his body, and when the Slave came, without even touching his cock, he spewed almost as much milk from his chest as he did from cum from his puny cock, but Winston wasn’t done yet–he wanted this fuck to last a good long while. They had all night, after all, and Winston wanted his new slave to appreciate the control his new Master had over them both before they went back to the lab and resumed their work. We he did cum, he filled his slave to the brim, and his sloppy hole leaked most of it back out, much to Mark’s embarrassment. Winston left him there, soaked in cum and milk, shaking with pleasure, unable to process most of what had he had just experienced, but desperate to feel it all again.

“Well, you’ve made quite a mess slave–I’ll have to punish you for that later. For now, though, why don’t we give you your first milking? I can always flog you once we get you hooked up, and kill two birds with one stone.”

Mark followed his Master out of the room, dripping and exhausted, and terrified of what he’d find, of what would happen…and yet, the sheer pleasure assaulting him ensured that by the end of the night, he was begging for more–and Winston assured him he’d get it, when he woke again in a few more days.

Winston’s Stable: Titpig (Part 3)

Winston double checked the monitors to confirm that Mark was unconscious–he still had a hard time believing that the match was so successful, that he’d fallen asleep so deeply with just a command. The few subjects he’d found before, they usually required at least a sedative, but Mark was by far the best match he’d ever seen. He went ahead and placed the anesthesia mask over his face, just to make sure he stayed out once he started the procedures he was planning, but first he had to wait and for some of his initial tests to finish.

He looked over the naked man’s frame again and felt his cock stiffening in his leathers. He hadn’t bothered changing after arriving home with his catch–he was much too excited to get underway. Instead, he’d led the young man down into the basement, strapped him in, and taken the first samples of blood, along with a basic health assessment. The young man was relaxing into the pheromones nicely, and adapting to them well. The initial grogginess had passed at this point, and he no longer seemed particularly troubled that he obeyed Winston’s orders without question. He stroked the boy’s cheek with one gloved hand, and saw his cock throb, and smiled. Even asleep, he knew what he needed. Still, after searching for so long for a proper match, it was thrilling to imagine one had fallen into his lap like this. Winston contained his excitement–the pheromone could signal a match, but false positives had happened before. The results came up a few minutes later, and he gave a sigh of relief, and a laugh. 97.8 percent–nearly perfect.

Winston might be a fetish freak by night, but by day he was much, much more than that. He was a medical researcher renowned for his work on genetics, but most of his research was conducted…under the table. Winston had longed for something his entire life, a proper slave to match his deepest fantasies, and now, with Mark here, it was finally within reach. He walked over to the cooler where he stored his various genetic serums and tests, groping his crotch as he did. All he’d ever needed was one. With one as a carrier, he could do so much more. He pulled out the first stage of the prime serum, and added it to Mark’s drip, watching the green liquid slide into his vein.

A 97.8 percent chance. Winston held his breath as the sleeping Mark laid there for a few moments. If his body rejected the serum, he’d be sick for a few days, but suffer no lasting effects. Winston, disappointed, would send him on his way with no memory of what happened. Still, if it worked, he should see some of the effects take hold in the first few minutes. He forced himself to leave the basement, set a timer on his phone for ten minutes, and paced around the floor of his immaculate house, stopping only to take a cigar from his humidor and light it for himself. The timer went off, and he returned to the basement, bracing himself for failure.

He let out a sigh of relief–it was working! The changes were small, but they were there, most visible in the chest, of course, where the most development would take place. It was clear that Mark had spent quite a bit of time developing his chest, but in a matter of minutes they had grown swollen and inflamed, his breath quickening. Winston pulled off a glove and touched the surface gently, feeling the heat of new developing tissue, his other hand unzipping the fly of his pants in order to free his cock, stroking it slowly.

“You’re going to be beautiful, more beautiful than you can even fucking imagine, Titpig,” Winston said over the sleeping Mark. He…shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist. He went down the the foot of the table where Mark was lying, started pulling him down, his legs up in the air and resting on Winston’s shoulders until his ass was at the edge, and he rubbed the wet head of his cock against his hole. “I wish you were awake for this, I really do, but fuck, I can’t fucking wait, you fucking freak,” he said, drooling a bit of spit into his hand, which he rubbed on his head and shaft. He slid into Mark’s hole as gently as he could, his eyes glued to Mark’s pecs, watching them turn redder and swell larger as he fucked him. Winston didn’t last long–he pushed in deep and came inside Mark’s hole, and then pulled out, carefully returning him to his prior position on the table before cleaning off his cock.

He wanted him to know so badly, he wanted him to see himself–but he could wait. He wanted Mark to understand what was happening to him, before it was finished, he wanted to see the terror on his face dissolve into pleasure as his master used him. Still, it would be a week or so before that–he wanted to wait until the third stage was finished. But soon, Mark would see for himself. He’d see what he was really meant to be.

Symbiotic Justice (Part 3)

CW: Rape, Gore, Violence

“Erik,” Lief said quietly. He pushed open his brother’s door, his cock squirming and writhing towards where he was sitting at his computer, headphones on, oblivious. “Erik,” he said louder, “Erik, you have to get out of here.”

His brother dropped the headphones, “Faggot I told you not to fu-fucking disturb…” his voice trailed off when he spun and saw the freakish, two foot long, muscular tentacle where his little brother’s cock should have been, the skin writhing as sharp fragments of bone pushed their way out of the skin.

“Erik, I can’t…run, please try to run,” Lief said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t, I’m so hungry…”

Erik got up from his chair and stumbled back, and Lief entered the room, the cock snaking out through the air, lashing at Erik’s ankle and cutting him to the bone. He fell to the ground and stumbled back up towards the window, but the toxin was already spreading through his leg, rendering it useless, even as Lief advanced, his brain shutting down, the only thing that mattered at this moment was his hunger. He lashed out again, feeling a burst of pleasure at tearing into his brother’s flesh again, the other leg now, leaving him crawling along the floor.

He deserved this, for everything he’d done. Yeah, this was right, this is what Lief had always wanted, what Erik deserved. He ran forward and tugged down his brother’s shorts, revealing his ass framed by the straps of the jockstrap he had on, grabbed him by the hips, and directed the spade like head to dive right into his ass. Erik screamed, and tried to keep crawling, but Lief’s hands felt like steel on his flesh, digging in, bruising him, as the thing pulsed, forcing it’s way deep into his body, the shards of bone ripping and tearing at his insides as it fucked him. “Yeah, you fucking asshole, I fucking hate you!” Lief screamed at him, even louder than Erik was crying for help, “You’re mine now, you’re all mine, you hear me? Mine forever!”

Something…changed, about the head of his cock. It seemed to split into smaller pieces, painfully enough to make him grunt in surprise, and Lief felt his cock push deeper into his brother’s body, digging into his muscles, and then, the orgasm struck…but rather than feel like he was ejecting something into his brother, it happened in reverse–his cock pumped, and drew something from his brother back into him. He shuddered with each draw from his cock, feeling whatever it was being swallowed down the length of his cock until it reached the base of his body, and a heat grew from the base of his cock and suffused his entire body. Bones cracked, and began to grow, his muscles were hot, stretched painfully tight until they cramped, but all through the pain, wave after wave of pleasure swept through him too, and he drove his cock in and out of Erik’s bloody ass over and over again, reveling in it. He didn’t know if he was dead or not–most of him didn’t particularly care. Whatever he was, he wasn’t…hungry, anymore.

After an hour, he could draw nothing else out of his brother. He looked like a husk, but Erik was still alive, from the sound of rattling breaths creaking through his parched lips. Lief felt drunk–drunk on power, on food, on conquest. His body had grown several inches taller, and he’d packed on pound after pound of muscle–he looked to be a bit larger than his brother had been, before this, and he felt…so fucking good. But he could feel…other things happening. Hair growing in all over his body, thicker than he’d ever seen on a person before, in patches. His hands and feet were growing as well, his nails thicker and sharper. The light…hurt his eyes, and so he smashed the lamp, discovering it was even easier for him to see in the dark than it had been in the light. He licked his bearded lips, feeling a tongue slip out of his mouth which was too long to be human, and which came to a sharp point, his teeth and jaws aching. He pushed into his brother, to the base, feeling his cock writing about to make space, and then, at last,m he felt the seed squirming in his sack pump out, down his shaft, and begin to fill his brother’s husk like body.

The sensation was different than when he’d fed. Almost relaxing, as he filled his brother’s body. Erik groaned in pleasure, the first sound he’d really made in an hour, and Lief saw his body changing, skin growing pale, but also filling out again, but not with muscle. Instead, his entire form looked soft and flabby, missing the definition he’d had before, and looking…inhuman. Yet the more he changed, and the fatter he became, the hotter Lief found him. He leaned over him, pressing his muscular, hairy body against his brother’s rubbery body, pushed his mouth the Erik’s ear, and slid his pointed tongue into his ear. Erik cried out once, and then said nothing else, Lief’s tongue drooling into his brain, rewiring it, softening it, simplifying it, making it as worthless and gelatinous as the rest of him was becoming. When at last his sack was emptied and he withdrew his cock, Erik’s ass closed up behind him, and his brother rolled over, jaw slack, eyes lazy and unfocused.

“Service me, you fucking piece of shit,” Lief said, his voice…it didn’t sound human either, not with his tongue, and his teeth, and his jaw. Erik just nodded, and crawled over towards him, licking at Lief’s furry feet, eager to serve his master…and Lief watched, horrified at what he’d done, and yet the voices were pleased, and he felt so…full. He beckoned his brother, his thrall, closer, and shoved his cock down his throat, into his belly, fucking him gently, shuddering at the sensation, and when his parents got home from their date, Lief went downstairs, to have a word with them both.