Business as Usual

An open ended, multipart story following the various tales of a business that has been taken over by a new CEO. However, the men working there soon discover that with new leadership, it is going to be anything but business as usual for them.

Last updated: 10/21/2019 – Part 3 is now public!

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Continue reading “Business as Usual”

Sketch: Greg Meets The Orc

It had shown up on Greg’s doorstep one day. A package, no shipping label or address, with just his name written on it. Wondering if it was from one of his neighbors in the apartment building or something, he took it inside his place, opened it up, and just stared at the thing in the box, trying to figure out what, exactly, it was. It was big, for one thing. Big, and…green, mottled, or almost looking a bit like a camo pattern. He picked it up–it was made of rubber, or maybe silicone…and it felt…good in his hands, somehow. Almost warm, if that made sense, or like there was a little whisper of delight, the feeling after a parent pats you on the head and tells you that you did a great job. Then he realized what, exactly, he was holding, and he dropped it with a shudder.

It was a cock. Not a real cock, of course. It was a dildo, a freakishly large dildo, slightly larger than a beer can at its thickest point. Easily a foot long, the shaft almost bulbous, the head thick and flared, with PA in the head, two balls below it–all of it in the same dingy green pattern. All he could think to do was go wash his hands, but it didn’t do anything to get rid of that…sensation, from when he’d touched it. Greg was straight after all. He’d had girlfriends with toys, though nothing like this, and he’d never touched them. This…wasn’t for women anyway. Somehow, he knew this was for…men. For gay men. It was also meant for him, but that couldn’t be right. He would never touch something like this again–in fact, he was going to throw it out, and forget this ever happened.

Except he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it away. He looked on the internet, saw how pricey these sorts of things were, and thought he might as well resell it…but he found it hard to do even that, for some reason. It just sat in the box on his side table. He would look at it before and after work, and all he could think about was that it seemed…lonely. It was a thing–things didn’t feel loneliness, but he…maybe if he touched it more, it wouldn’t…feel that way.

It was irrational. He felt like he was going a bit insane, but he was certain. The toy was lonely. It wanted his company. It wanted him to…to touch it. Not even put it inside him (not that he would ever do that) just…for him to hold it. One day after work, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he plucked it out of the box, took it with him to the couch, and sat with it touching him while he watched TV–and he was sure now. The toy…was happy, and he…he was happy too, wasn’t he? It felt good to touch it, good to spend time with it, made him feel horny, being with it…

Greg didn’t know how the idea came to him. It felt like his own, but he wasn’t sure. He went to his computer, sat down, toy between his legs, his own cock pressing against it, and he started watching porn. But the dildo didn’t want his straight porn–no, that was disgusting. It wanted…leather. Big, muscular leather men, tall muscular brutes dominating other men, sweaty smelly alpha men…Greg was lost in the videos, grinding his cock against the dildo between his legs, humping it until he came in a massive climax more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. He took the dildo with him to bed, no longer feeling the least bit weird about this, licking and sucking at the head, and the dreams…he had such strange dreams.

It got harder and harder to be away from the toy. Or from the Orc, as he’d started calling it, or maybe that was just its actual name. Why wouldn’t it have a name? It had feelings. Desires. Thoughts. He could almost hear it now–its voice. Rough and deep and guttural. But The Orc didn’t need to speak for Greg to know what it wanted…even if what it wanted seemed…extreme.

It wanted Greg to quit his job. Wanted Greg to spend all of his time with him. Wanted him to focus on working out, wanted him to wear leather, wanted him to jack off all over himself all day long. Wanted him to stop showering and stop shaving. He resisted for a while, but more and more, his time away from The Orc was…painful. It was hard to focus at work. He was short tempered and angry. Finally–he’d had enough. He quit without notice, planning on living off his savings, and spending time with what really mattered–with the Orc.

That was a couple of years ago now. Greg hardly ever leaves his apartment for anything anymore–after all, he has everything he needs right here. He wakes up, cradling The Orc close to him, and spends an hour worshipping it, cleaning it with his tongue, before beginning his routine for the day. First, breakfast–high protein–then his workout. He sets The Orc on its seat, flexes for it, showing off his body for The Orc’s pleasure, and then works out–after two years, Greg hardly looks like the slender, lean fellow from before. He’s massive–nearly 280 pounds of almost pure muscle from head to toe. He works out naked usually, or if The Orc prefers, in one of his leather harnesses, all of then custom made for his size. After a workout, if The Orc is pleased, he gets to cum–grinding his cock against The Orc until he cums all over the dildo and licks it clean again, before lunch–and then he usually spends the rest of the day doing whatever the toy wants. Sometimes they watch porn and jack off. Sometimes he puts on leather and toys with himself for the dildo’s pleasure. Sometimes, there are special days too–days like today.

Today, someone is coming over, and that means…The Orc needs to be inside him. It took a lot of training to get to this point, and Greg is proud of how well he did, training his hole up, so he would be worthy of holding The Orc inside of him. He spends a moment lubing up the massive toy, and then squats over it–it takes close to half an hour before his ass closes around the base, feeling The Orc’s balls against his own…and then it happens–Greg opens up his mind just as wide as his ass, and he feels the dildo slide deeper inside him–and then, he isn’t Greg anymore.

Now, he is The Orc. He grunts, and strokes his cock for a moment, happy to have a body for a while, though he knows that it can’t last forever. There’s a knock at the door, and The Orc answers it–it’s a young man, quivering a bit in the doorway–and The Orc leers at him, grabs him by the collar, and drags him inside. Greg watches from inside his body, as The Orc ravages the boy, feeling his own cock sliding in and out of the young, tight hole, but feeling more pleasure at the pleasure of his Master. In the end, it turns out that he is little more than a vessel for The Orc’s desires. It…terrifies him, sometimes. The Orc…wants his body for real, but isn’t sure how to make it happen, but there are…stories. In any case, it doesn’t matter what Greg wants, does it? The Orc cums, filling the boy up with his seed, and holds him for a while, letting the boy worship his musky, stinking, muscular body, and then sends him on his way–the boy leaving a few thousand dollars on the nightstand. After that, The Orc leaves him again, sliding back out of his hole, and Greg is back. He cleans The Orc dutifully, and then it is time for dinner, and time for bed. Tomorrow is a new day, after all, and a vessel’s work is never done.

The House Made Me Gay (Part 9)

Marcus sobbed, in the circle, looking down at his fat body, covered in hair, stinking, unable to believe what had just happened to him. Mr. Woodrow, confident that the changes were finished, and that Marcus most likely posed no threat to him, broke the circle, stepped forward, wiped a bit of cum up on his finger and gave in a taste. Musky, yes, but most certainly entirely human. A pity really–a little bit of demon can go a long way, in his interests. Still, unless he wanted to call the demon back–a very risky endeavor, Marcus was just this now–a fat, hairy, stinking pig of a man. Not a terrible outcome, by any measure.

“Oh god, what the fuck happened to me? How…Can you change me back? Please tell me you can change me back!” Marcus said, sobbing up at Mr. Woodrow.

“You go messing around in one of my workshops, boy, and this is getting off lightly, as far as I’m concerned,” Mr. Woodrow said, with a grin, “Besides, why should I change you back? Maybe I like the way you look now. Maybe it’s an improvement.”

Marcus froze, and looked at him. “Please, I just want to be normal again, that’s all.”

“Normal, eh? I think we can manage that at least,” Mr. Woodrow said, and before Marcus could ask what he meant by that exactly, a little beam of light shot out of his finger, pierced Marcus’ head, and he went a bit limp, eyes glazed over, in a hypnotic stupor.

“Come on then, let’s get you home.”

Marcus followed Mr. Woodrow out of the workshop, unlooking and unaware of everything going on around him, as they made their way into the house, upstairs to his room, where he was still in the process of unpacking, and Mr. Woodrow shut the door behind them. “Now, you’re going to forget all about the last two hours, Marcus,” he said, plucking the key from his head, “You no longer see the shed, and from now on, everything is going to seem normal–but here’s what normal is, from now on…”

And so, Mr. Woodrow filled Marcus in on his new normal. He’d been living with Mr. Woodrow for most of the summer now, in his memory, and he loved it here, naturally. He was no longer going to college–he was too stupid for school, and he’d dropped out, opting to get a job as a trucker and delivery driver instead–something that allowed him to pursue his more…piggy interests–and what piggy interests he had.

With a wave of his hand, most of Marcus’s things disappeared from his room, and were replaced by, well, a mess. The floor was littered with filthy clothing, most of it Marcus’s, but much of the gear was from other trucker buddies–as well as Taylor and Quinn. There was also an older computer in the room, and an old TV, a stack of old VHS tapes next to it. After all, so much porn these days seems sanitized to Marcus…but he’s an old hand at this sort of thing now.

The hair on his body is turning grey now, wrinkles lining his face. Before long, Marcus is no longer college aged at all, but in his mid-fifties, with decades of knowledge and experience packed in his piggy mind, crowding out all of his other concerns. Satisfied that Marcus would me more than satisfied with his new normal, Mr. Woodrow snapped his finger, the daze lifting from Marcus’s eyes with a little spark, and then, without warning, Mr. Woodrow shoved him over the side of the filthy bed and gave him a rough fuck.

Marcus didn’t mind–after all, Mr. Woodrow gave him a discount on the rent, on the condition he could use his piggy hole anytime he wanted. Marcus usually…topped, in his mind, but for the right fellow, he was more than happy to roll over. Mr. Woodrow filled him up, told his piggy to be good, and Marcus leered at him over his shoulder. After Mr. Woodrow left, Marcus was feeling frisky–it wasn’t long before he sniffed his way downstairs, to where Taylor was working out. When he saw the fat, hairy, stinking fellow come down the stairs, Taylor knew what to expect of course–Quinn had an arrangement with their other housemate, that he could use his boy’s hole whenever he wasn’t home, and Taylor wasn’t going to object one bit…he liked how rough Marcus was.

He pinned Taylor on the floor, drove his massive cock into him with a few thrusts, and rutted with him for half an hour, until he pumped one of his massive loads up Taylor’s well used hole, then slid down and ate the young man out as well, flipping him over and sucking him off. Just another happy member of the house–and another was due to arrive the next day, as well.

That fellow was Ethan. Like Marcus, he had a hard time believing that he had someone agreed to lease a place with these three disgusting, horny, perverse fellows, but Mr. Woodrow seemed so kind, that maybe…maybe he’d been mistaken, and he found his way to his room, and started unpacking. But what was waiting for him in his room, when he got there?


Alright, I think this will be the last fellow to join the house. After this, I’ll move onto a Halloween something for October! I have a few ideas, so we’ll see what happens. As always, my patrons have a bonus poll over here!

The Journal of Peter Bishop

This story was commissioned by Tauro2, who I also want to credit as a co-writer on the piece. After reading my commission, he added a few entries of his own, especially to the ending. Hope you all enjoy it! You can find more of his writing over here.


Report 4610-12 of the Special Investigations Bureau

Overview

What follows are excerpts from a journal found, found at a trail head in the Rocky Mountains in April 2018. The journal belonged to one Peter Bishop, who had gone missing on the trail in July of 2017. The journal has been determined to be authentic by one Tasha Holmes, who was Peter’s girlfriend at the time of his disappearance. He kept the journal as a record of their backpacking trip through the wilderness, and his encounter with two other men, still unidentified, known only in the journal as Saul and Jim. What follows are excerpts from that journal relevant to Peter’s encounter with Saul and Jim, their activities together, and material relevant to his disappearance. The journal itself is considered a class two contaminant–access to the journal itself is restricted to level three classification with full PPE protocol 7 required for access.

***

July 16th, 2017 

[…] As I’ve written earlier, you get a strange sense of loneliness out here on the trails. I think I have seen more animals out here any people, and given how Tasha can get when she’s bored, I sometimes wonder if they might be better company! We’re a few days out from the next trailhead, where we can go down to town and resupply, maybe spend a night in a bed even! 

It was a surprise then, and a welcome one, that when he rounded a corner of the trail we found a nice campsite, and it was already occupied! I couple of guys were there, named Jim and Saul, already settled in and cooking themselves dinner–a rather tasty looking roast hare that Jim had, apparently, snared himself earlier in the day. They were generous with the meat, and neither of us had had fresh anything in days–since our fishing skills leave much to be desired, as I have noted.

It was nice having some conversation for a change, and both Jim and Saul have a great sense of humor and quick wits. Tasha, though, was quiet all evening, and it was later that I found out why–she was understandably nervous about the two of us camping with two strange men out in the middle of nowhere–what if they killed me raped her, she wondered.

Sigh–she can be so extreme sometimes. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. […]

***

July 17th. 

We woke up this morning, to discover that Jim and Saul were braking camp themselves, and were heading in the same direction as us–towards the next trailhead. I suggested that the three of us might as well hike together for the company at least, and both Jim and Saul were thrilled at the prospect of me coming along with them.

Tasha was pissed at me though. She wanted us to camp here one more night, and then leave, so we could be away from them. I pressed her for more details, about why she was so nervous about these two, but she wouldn’t give me much of anything. They smelled, she said (we all smell–none of us have been near an actual shower in weeks) she didn’t like how friendly they were with me, while neither one of them had said ten words to her this entire time. A few times, she caught Jim looking at her with a real…nasty sort of disdain or disgust. Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn’t. It made me think about how jealous she could get, if we were at the club and another girl was looking at me. 

Knowing it would probably just piss her off more, but kind of enjoying it, I told her that they were probably gay. Two guys with few boundaries sleeping in one tent in the backwoods? She got all huffy then, but she knew I was probably right–it explained why neither of them had shown her any interest at all, but that only made her angrier I think. She didn’t really like gay guys much–though lesbians are fine if they’re flirting with her, naturally.

I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t read this part–but I’m starting to have my doubts. A month in the outdoors, relying on someone…you get to know them more than you want to, in some ways.

[…]

After lunch, we get moving again. Jim, who is pretty obviously the strongest of all of us, moves to the head of the pack. Tasha is behind him, and ahead of me, still mad about that dig I gave her over lunch, and that left me and Saul in the back, a good ten yards back from them both. Saul is…well, built like a brick shit house, and a few inches shorter than Jim. He’s plenty strong, but more in the ‘lifting heavy shit kind of way’ and not in the ‘cover ten miles a day for two weeks kind of way’. I like his pace a bit better honestly, even if he sweats like a pig, and kind of smells like one too, let’s be honest. We chat, and I ask them where they’ll be finishing their hike, and they tell me they’re heading to a particular cave deeper in the mountains. It’s a few days out from the trailhead we’re heading to, so they’ll be going off from there. 

I ask them about it, and Saul talks wistfully about it. Right by a massive mountain lake, great views, lots of stuff to forage, good hunting for snares. He and Jim usually stay there for a week, living off the land, before coming back. He did such a good job selling me on it, I kind of want to see it myself, honestly.

[…]

I mention it to Tasha in our tent, the cave, and she…gets so angry at me for even mentioning it. She tells me that Jim was so cold to her earlier, and…she swears he bared her teeth at her and growled when she tried to make conversation. Jim was so nice over dinner though–I don’t get it. They’re two perfectly nice guys–why does she have to try and hate everything that seems threatening to her?

***

July 19th

The weirdest thing just happened. The call of nature woke me up and I went out to piss on a tree. I was just about to start when Jim scares the shit out of me. How can he be so quiet moving through the forest? Not just that, he was shirtless. He has to be the hairiest guy that I’ve met in my whole life. He said that he needed to piss too and asked to join me. I usually don’t like peeing next to other guys, even in a restroom with dividers, but when he sidled up next to me–way too close for comfort…it actually was kind of nice, somehow. So we’re standing there, pissing away at the same tree, and Jim asks me about Sasha–it’s pretty clear there’s no love lost between the two of them. I guess I should have defended her more, but yeah, she’s really been a wet blanket so far on this hike. I finished up, wished him a good night, and he turned to say goodbye. It wasn’t until I got back to the tent that I realized that he had peed on me a little at some point. I could…smell it, and it made me a bit horny, somehow. I thought about waking Sasha up for a little fun, but I just ended up jacking off quietly instead. It seemed…better.

***

July 20th

[…]

I didn’t think she’d actually just…leave like that. Fuck–well, it’s too late to chase her down now, and honestly…I’d rather hike with Jim and Saul, if I’m being honest.

We hit the trailhead around noon, just in time for lunch. Tasha and I hadn’t mentioned the cave since I first brought it up–but now the moment of truth is here, and I start asking the guys about it again, just to get some more details. It’s about 20 miles, but the trail is rough and hard going–it takes about three days in, and two out–once you know the land–and you’re going downhill. Tasha immediately notes we don’t have the supplies–and she’s right. But after hearing them talk about it for days now, I’m, well, I really want to see the thing!

Tasha refuses to even play the game, as I try and figure out how to make it work. She wants us away from them as fast as possible, and she blows up at me, and at them, yelling that they’re turning me against her, that she hates them, that if I don’t leave with her this second, we’re through. She gets up, grabs her pack, and heads for town a few miles out. I let her–and figure she’ll come back in a second when she realizes she doesn’t have my half of the gear anymore–but while we wait a couple of hours after lunch, just relaxing and chatting…she really did just fuck off and leave me here.

I tell the guys I need to find her…but they just laugh, and tell me to leave her. She obviously doesn’t have my sense of adventure–and they’re right. Saul tells me that they have enough food for the three of us, that Jim is the best hunter, and Saul is the best forager, and we’ll have plenty to eat.

So fuck it. I went with them. Why not? I’m tired of Tasha anyway–I don’t care if she waits or not. I’ll be down in a couple of weeks probably, and we’ll sort things out then. For now–I want to see this cave, and enjoy the forest. That’s what I came here to do anyway–not to play stupid games with her.

[…]

Fuck, I just realized she has the tent with her. I told the guys, and they laughed, and told me I could sleep with them–said they’ll keep me safe from the bears and wolves.

[…]

***

July 21st

Well that was an interesting night. I had been carrying the food for most of the trip, while Tasha had the tent–when she marched off yesterday, we didn’t exactly take the time to redivide the packs. I told Jim and Saul that I’d just sleep under the stars, but they insisted that there was enough room in the tent with them…and they were mostly right. I figured I’d end up on the outside, but they put my stuff in the middle between them, and after the day’s hike along the narrow, overgrown trail, I was too tired to argue. Then, both the guys strip down to just their underwear–Jim in a…really nasty looking jockstrap, let’s be honest, and Saul just has on some equally nasty briefs, and they climb in and just sandwich me in there.

Jim is behind me, and spooning me, and my face is planted right next to Saul’s sweaty, stinking pit. I thought he smelled bad on the trail, but being that close to him–to them both, honestly–was something else entirely. They both fall asleep in moments, and I’m left trying to get comfortable–but I do drift off eventually…and that’s when it happens.

It must have been some dream. I can’t remember a single bit of it. All I know is that I’m woken up by Jim shaking me, and I’m shuddering, and realize a moment too late that I just had a wet dream between them. Saul is awake too, and the two of them just start laughing, and I feel humiliated, honestly, but then they’re hugging me tight, and…and I actually do feel better, you know?

I can’t remember the last time I’ve had two guys touch me as often as they do. They want to be around me. They want me here–I really believe that. And…more and more…I want to be here too.

[…]

Caught a whiff of Saul’s BO on the trail, and immediately popped a huge boner. Fuck–what the fuck is wrong with me?

[…]

As the day wore on, Saul and Jim kept taking off clothes, complaining about how hot it was. It was hot, but not…that hot, with this many trees and the brush we’re pushing through. But we hit a meadow just now, and I looked and saw Jim take off his pants too, and shove them in his pack. His ass…fuck, why the fuck am I looking at his ass? Jim wants to camp here for the night, and he runs off into the woods, mostly naked, to ‘set some snares’ while Saul lumbers off to go forage, leaving me alone to get camp set up.

These guys are so fucking weird, but why…fuck, I kind of miss them, and they haven’t been gone for half an hour. I heard a wolf howl in the twilight, and got a bit nervous. I hope they get back soon.

[…]

***

July 22nd

Another wet dream last night. Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with me? They’re the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had, and neither Saul nor Jim seem to care one bit. Once I wake up, they both just hold me close and…and they smell so good. Jim smells different than Saul, I’ve learned. There’s…this smell, like rust almost. It’s…thrilling in its own way too. I get hard again, while they’re cuddling me, and they suggest we all jerk off to relieve some pressure. I haven’t jacked off with guys since college in the frat, but I don’t object. I end up huffing Saul’s pit stink and stoking harder and harder while they both urge me on, and I cum again, another massive load–and then Jim is licking it off my belly, and his tongue feels too long in the dark, Saul snorting and huffing as he jacks his own cock, and the smells intensify suddenly, like something…changed, and I fall back asleep again not long after that, exhausted.

[…]

The guys have been teasing me relentlessly, and so I’m finally hiking naked with them, in just my boots. I thought it would be weird, but it’s actually…kind of nice. I can see a cliff face rising in the distance. The guys say we’ll reach the cave tomorrow morning or afternoon, depending on our pace. They’re…excited. I can smell it on them, and they’re quiet now. Quieter, I guess. I don’t know how I can tell really, it’s strange. I can smell…a lot of things better out here, somehow. Like the air is just clearer. I haven’t seen a jet trail all day, I just realized. The sky is so blue.

[…]

I feel like something must be happening to me, but I don’t even really know how to explain it. It started earlier today, as he hiked, we passed…something. A threshold. But the air got so much…brighter. Not light bright, but crisp somehow. I don’t know how to even write this. Saul and Jim seemed to sense it too, and…and they smelled different too, more pungent sure, but also…I don’t know, it’s so hard to describe what I’m feeling, and that’s not even the craziest thing honestly. I was going off to take a leak, and then Jim comes right beside me and grins. It was kind of like that night a few days ago. I don’t know how to make this sound…not crazy, or freaky, or whatever, but it wasn’t. It was…natural, somehow. He started pissing before me, and the smell from it hits me and then everything got foggy, like I can’t think, just observe. He pushed me down to my knees and started pissing all over me. And that smell covered me and I got rock hard. He circled around me and covered me and I just sat there and took it and loved it. I started jerking off and he kept going. He finished and shook the last few drops on me and I blew my load right there and I just fell over, not able to think, just experiencing it. Saul came over and they both lied down beside me, saying things that I didn’t fully understand. Something about being “marked”? I think. I just felt such affection for them. I know it’s gross and disgusting and wrong, but I loved every second of it. I think I love them. What’s wrong with me? Why is all of this happening?

***

July 23rd

We got to the lake–it’s beautiful. Fuck, they weren’t kidding, everything out here is damn pristine. I thought about Tasha this morning, and realized it was the first time I’d thought about her since two days ago, with the whole tent thing. I haven’t missed her, I don’t want to share this with her. But I’m so…fucking glad I met Jim and Saul. I feel…fuck, love feels like a stupid word for a couple of guys like them, but what else do I say? There’s something between them–something deep. I feel like they’re doing something to me. Drawing me in with them into the same bond. I feel closer to them than I have to anyone in my whole life, and…and now that I’m here, I don’t know if I want to leave, you know? I just…forgot to put on clothes this morning, just my boots, all three of us just walking around naked now, like a pack of idiots, or animals, or whatever. 

[…]

They have something planned for us at the cave this evening, I think. They keep whispering between each other, and looking back at me and smiling. It’s…kind of a hungry smile. But I trust them. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I don’t think I could help it now.

***

The following entries are undated. All of them were entered after the 23rd, The first several are likely from the following few weeks. Much of the handwriting is large, like Peter was writing with a hand not used to holding a pen.

[…]

Fuck it wasn’t a dream it wasn’t a fucking dream, I don’t fucking, how could any of that have fucking happened I don’t

[…]

I gotta write it down, I gotta write it. Just get it out, what I remember.

So we got to the cave. The place is huge, just…like a big worn out hole in the wall of the cliff, that also goes deep. We go down, and as we go, there’s these torches, and Jim and Saul know where everything is, like they’ve been here more than once. The cave is sloping down, and we come to a sizable underground lake where rainwater must have pooled for ages. But on the shore, all around us, are all of these…artifacts. 

I don’t really know what happened next exactly. There was something in my lunch–I thought it was just disagreeing with me, but I think…it was a drug. Something they gave me. I was floating, and everything swimming a bit. Saul had been supporting me down into the cave, and now he led me over to this stone slab and laid me down on it, and fuck, I thought they were going to kill me. I thought I was seeing shit then, when…Jim just fucking changed.

Fucking wolfman. He’s a fucking wolfman! I could hear his bones cracking, and all this grey fur sprouted all over him, a thick fluffy tail, and his fucking teeth, his eyes. I realized why he smelled like rust, why he was such a good snarer–and why he’d never let me see the rabbits before he cleaned them–because there would have been fucking fang marks on that shit. He was fucking hunting–as a wolf!

He’s looming over me, and Saul is too, except Saul is different also–though a bit…more human, I guess. His face–he looks like a boar. Short pig snout, these two long tusks thrusting out from his lower jaw, floppy ears. He has a short tuft of a tail behind him, his back covered with boar bristle. He’s just…huge, and thick–both of them are over six feet tall I think, and then they’re chanting, and…and Jim has this bear claw in his hand, a real fucking bear claw, and he drives it down into my chest.

It doesn’t hurt. I don’t even see blood–and the claw…it’s gone, like it just slid into my body and disappeared. I think I must be tripping, having some dream, but the more this is happening, the more I’m remembering my dreams from the last few nights, how…how I’d seen this happening. I knew what was coming next, could feel the power thrumming through me on the stone slab, Jim and Saul still chanting, the fires are so damn bright, and I start to change too.

I can feel it happening, but there’s no pain. If anything, it feels good, like the rush after you take a drug or something, this sudden euphoria as I watch my bones start to lengthen and shift, every part of me getting thicker, as a thick belt of black hair starts filling in across my body. My gut grows out into a solid mass, my shoulders so damn broad, and I open my jaw, almost like I’m yawning, but I can feel my face extending into a snout, tipped with a black nose, jaws full of fangs, my hands…are kind of human, but the nails are claws now. And I’m lying there, my cock harder than it has ever been, and still mostly human–though emerging from a sheath–and before I can do anything or even catch my breath, Saul is on it, sucking and licking at it, and I…roar? Moan? Something. I don’t know what these sounds are, but fuck it feels good.

Jim kisses me, and I can taste the blood now, and it’s making me hornier still. I…lose myself. Whatever they gave me, it’s only getting more intense, and I…I don’t remember much of what happened that night. I fucked them both, hard and rough, especially Jim. We…wrestled, and fought. Not serious, but I have a few bite marks, and I know I gave him a couple of scratches, before I topped him and…and I won, I guess.

Won is the wrong word. There’s nothing to win, but I showed…superiority. That’s the only way to explain it. I lumbered off into the woods in the early morning, terrified, unable to believe what I had become, what I was now, and…and I was starving. I stripped some berries off a bush and devoured them, I found a stream and…fuck, I just knew how to catch trout now, as they leapt out of the water and…I was so hungry. I caught more, I brought them back, and Saul and Jim had gotten some food for us as well, and we ate and…they told me everything.

[…] 

I belong here, with them. I see that now. They knew that as soon as they’d smelled me, back with Tasha. It took me so long to realize it. I’m an idiot. Such a fucking idiot. 

[…]

The second night, I decided to be better to them. Gentler, maybe. I…I lost control, I didn’t know what I was capable of, and…and honestly, I still don’t, but it was a test too–to see who was strongest. I’m…in charge, I guess. Jim was before, and he thought I would be under him, but he doesn’t resent me for it. It’s not…anything strict. It’s…complicated, and yet so obvious and simple at the same time. I wanted this night to be about them, and about…me gaining a bit of control back. 

Saul stood in front of me. His cock was short but thick and oozed precum. Fuck, his balls; they’re like two hairy oranges dangling between his legs. I used my coarse tongue on his nut sack and then started lapping the cockhead. Jim started to give me a rim job. Fuck, he knew exactly where to put that tongue of his. Saul snorted the whole time and tweaked his nipples. I gave the occasional satisfied growl. Between my ass getting eaten out, the taste of Saul’s pre, and his musky bush, I was leaking pretty heavily. Finally, his thrusts increased and he shot his load into my mouth. Where does it all come from? I mean, yeah, his nuts are huge, but even I couldn’t possibly swallow it all. I don’t think that I got half of it. I moved to start sucking Jim off, and I wanted Saul to rim me too, but he warned against it with his tusks. I later learned that he had once tried a rim job on Jim; Jim couldn’t sit down for a whole week. Instead, Saul licked my cock from below while I deep-throated Jim. His cock was longer than Saul’s and I had to work my tongue around it to get the whole shaft. I came at the same time that Jim did, covering Saul’s face. Jim happily went down and licked his face clean. And then we just laid back under the stars, snuggling each other. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.

[…]

They helped me change back to human. I look different. I’m me, but I’m not really who I was. I smell different. I’m hairier, bigger, maybe even older, but that’s harder to tell. Clothes feel awful–we all hate wearing them. Even being human is–it feels wrong now. It’s not who I am, it’s just a mask, but we don’t want to wear the masks. Jim and Saul left for the winter to avoid the cold, and it took them all Spring and Summer to get back here. This place isn’t…a place. It’s a feeling, and a smell. I don’t know if I really understand it, but we’re all afraid to leave again. If we don’t find our way back, we’ll be stuck, and we…I think about the human world, and I hate it. All of it. I always did, that’s why I loved hiking. But with the three of us, late in the season…we want to try. I don’t know if we’ll make it, but we have to at least try.

***

The entries become fewer in number. Most detail their life through the fall and into the early winter.

We bagged a fucking elk! I can’t believe it. We’ve got this shit down. Saul spotted it yesterday and we made a plan. Saul and I chased it down a ravine to Jim’s hiding spot. He took it down like a fucking boss! I did feel a little sorry for it, but Papa Bear’s gotta eat. Saul carried it back to the den (and I got to watch his muscles work the whole time). This thing’s gonna keep us fed for a good week at least. Afterwards, we decided to have some fun, I was so ready. I stuck my nose right into Saul’s rank pit and came right there on the spot. I even let Jim fuck me, he deserved it. He was more than willing to eat me out right afterwards too. Fuck, that tongue of his. Saul blew his load down my throat and we all snuggled for a little while after in my den. Do we got this winter thing? Do we all shit in the woods?

[…]

Why did I read that last entry? So hungry. Did we catch that elk a month ago? I think? Things haven’t been good. The ground’s too frozen for Saul to dig out any tubers. I can still catch a few fish, but a lot of the streams have frozen over, and it gets old, nothing but fish. Even Jim can’t catch that much, just one or two rabbits every couple of days. It’s not enough. And those fucking squirrels! They know how to stay just out of reach. Even Jim can’t catch them. I got within a couple of inches of one and I swear the little fucker flipped me off,. I’m pretty sure he flipped me off. I’m gonna bite that squirrel’s fucking face off.

[…]

We finally bit the bullet. We left the cave and the lake, and came back, down the mountains, and into town. Jim managed to find a cruddy apartment in town where the landlord wouldn’t ask too many questions. It’s not much, but we’re together. And we don’t mind the cold, so we just keep the heat on enough to keep the pipes from freezing. It’s been rough though, getting used to…people again. Jim and I managed to get jobs at the general store, even in the slow winter months, and the work is a distraction at least. It’s been harder on Saul. It’s difficult for him to go out in public. He can shower, but he’ll start stinking again in about an hour. Of course, I don’t mind, but he gets nasty looks if he gets too close to people. He’s been shovelling sidewalks for cash, and other odd jobs like that, but I think he misses home more than both of us. Jim and I go to the bars, just the two of us; I feel guilty about it, but Saul insists. He doesn’t want us to stay in just because of him–though we stay in more often than not. Getting drunk…well, we’re so big it takes a whole fucking lot, and we also tend to, well, lose control. It’s best if we…stay inside, together.

[…]

I just feel like such a fucking failure. They don’t want me to take it too hard, winter is…rough, but I feel like I failed them. I’m…I’m the leader, somehow, and they trust me, and I did my best, and we all agreed to come back, to change back, but now here we are, back with the people, and we all hate it so much. I can already smell the lake slipping away, moving away, god, if we don’t find it again come Spring, fuck. We aren’t meant for this world. The only time we can transform is when we’re in bed together. Even then, we can’t do everything we want. We want to make all of the noises, all of the growls and roars and howls and oinks and squeals and grunts and fucks that we fucking want to. I start to think that we should have just stayed out there, even if we starved to death. I can’t do that to Saul and Jim though. I need to figure something out. If we can get more people, we can get more skills, more hunters, more foragers, more contributors. I don’t think I can do this again.

[…]

I almost forgot about this journal. It’s been spring about a month now, and compared to being trapped in town, it’s like heaven. We ripped each other’s clothes off the moment we got far enough into the woods. And then we went at each other. I may have been a little too rough with them. I’m hoping Saul doesn’t get scars from those claw marks. But what do you expect, we’d been cooped up for what seemed like forever. Now we just have to find that damn cave again, just have to get home again. I…can almost smell it, maybe. I sniff along, but it leads me…to people, other hikers. Jim says it was the same with him–that I smelled like home somehow. Maybe…I think I have an idea, on how to get home. We met an older fellow, loves hiking and the woods, he smells so…strongly of it, and I can smell it through him, somehow. He was easy really, and he wants to see the cave himself…and I know we can get there, all of us together. With him. He’s the key, just like I was the key.

***

The final entry is the only newer entry that is dated.

June 7th, 2018

We can’t go back. We don’t want to go back anymore, but we can’t avoid it for now. But you–if you find this, you know what happened. Maybe you even feel the pull of it. You could find us too, if you want. If this is something you want. We…don’t want to go back to the world you know, and if you’re out here, you probably don’t either. You could come here though, join us. Trust your nose. Follow the trail–just do what comes naturally. We’re waiting for you, all of us. Come play, come live.

***

Further Notes

The journal was found on June 10th by two hikers who returned it to authorities when they left the trail. Both of the hikers were women. During their interrogation, both of them described a sensation of repulsion at the journal and it’s contents, mostly due to the way it smelled. Both of them, however, had heard of Peter Bishop’s disappearance, and brought the journal to town for the sake of evidence. When asked to describe this smell, one of them said, “It smells like a bear pissed all over it or something, it’s disgusting.” Most women describe a similar reaction. Men, however, find the scent mild, and somewhat intoxicating. A smaller number of men have a more troubling reaction, especially when exposed to object 4610-12-B.

4610-12B is a scrap of cloth that was stuffed in the back of the journal, between the last page and the back cover. It has been determined to be from a set of soiled underwear. Samples taken indicate it is predominantly soiled with sweat, urine, and semen. The scrap of cloth is classified as a class one contaminant. Access to it for further study is limited to level 5 access, and then, only permitted for women, who seem to remain immune to the contamination, though access is still highly discouraged. 4610-12B has been associated with five other missing persons cases, including two researchers. PPE and psychological supervision required for access.

Attempts to locate the Peter, Jim, Saul, and cave itself in the mountains have been unsuccessful. Various reasons have been posited, and you can see supplemental findings from these expeditions in files 4610-13 through 16. For details surrounding the disappearances of those exposed to the journal or the cloth, see files 4610-6 through 10. A full transcript of the journal’s entries can be found in file 4610-3.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 8)

Marcus crawled forward, but before he could reach Mr. Woodrow near the ladder leading up, something appeared around him–a circle not unlike the one that had surrounded the demon before, except now he was on the inside. He tried to cross the barrier, but it was like some sort of forcefield–he could hammer on it all he wanted, but he couldn’t cross the line, no matter how hard he tried. He was panting, his whole body getting hot, and without really thinking about it, he stripped off his clothes, sweat pouring off his body, head spinning, and all he could do was croak at Mr. Woodrow, begging him to help him, to do something, that everything hurt.

Mr. Woodrow just watched. Demon seed could be…tempermental, and while one dose was rarely enough to cause the full corruption of a man’s soul, it certainly wouldn’t be without repercussions–some of them more dangerous than others. Until he saw how the seed affected Marcus, he was going to keep him in the circle, just to be safe. He could already see the changes starting, the hair beginning to sprout across Marcus’s shoulders and down his chest, the slight swelling in his gut. It was only a matter of moments before Marcus noticed them as well, but he was feeling too weak to do anything about it. Instead, he sat back on the floor in the circle, lying on his clothes, and just watched as the changes began to warp and corrupt his body.

It was the stench that he noticed first. As his body heated up and started to sweat, the smell that came with it was something entirely unlike anything he had smelled before–aside from the demon he had just sucked off. But that had been…pungent, and also…also pure somehow. This didn’t smell like that, it smelled like…like something inside him was rotting, like his soul was rotting, and pouring out of him in a heady musk that…fuck, the more he smelled it, the hornier he was getting somehow. It didn’t make the smell any more pleasant–but he couldn’t stop himself as he reached down and started working his cock, throwing up an arm and snorting up the scent from his pit, all as the rest of his body started to grow and expand.

He was getting fatter. Not just a little fatter, but piling on the pounds rapidly–so much so that with a bit of will, Mr. Woodrow expanded the circle around him, just to give him some additional space. His body grew out and softened, a full, heavy apron that grew down and over his crotch, making it harder for him to work his cock, but Marcus couldn’t stop himself. His arms and legs grew thick, their own rolls hanging off of them, his ass spreading out underneath him like a puddle. And all over the larger surface, hair was sprouting, the same coarse, bristly hair as the demon’s hand been, so thick that it looked more like a pelt.

Marcus had to put his other arm down, and use it to hoist up his new fat to keep working his cock–but there was another reason he was struggling. His cock was bigger–easily nine inches long and thicker than a beer can. It was his balls though, that had grown the most. Each was around the size of a large grapefruit, and precum was gouting from the head, soaking the inside of his thighs and pooling on the ground, as Marcus got closer and closer to orgasm. He came, expelling a chunk of his humanity, and as he did, Mr. Woodrow watched his face contort, nose turning up and growing wider, ears longer and nearly flopping, a wider mouth, his teeth looking a bit sharper, especially the small tusks that were beginning to sprout where his canines had been.

The load was massive, and marcus found himself sitting in a shallow puddle of his own semen, heaving for breath, stuck in a magic circle in a new body he barely understood, more tired than he could really imagine–and he passed out, with a bit of help from Mr. Woodrow, who figured the young man had suffered enough. Now, he just had to decide what to do with him. He wasn’t abnormal enough that a human life was impossible for him–though it would require some editing to get him to accept it. On the other hand, looking at the fat, hairy pig…Mr. Woodrow wondered if he might not push him a little further in his own way–either for the benefit of the men moving into his house, or even for his own research. After all, he had never had the chance to document corruption like this before…and maybe this was too good of an opportunity to pass on.


Here’s the poll! You can make up to two selections. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 3)

Taylor opened the box, and wrinkled his nose up at the smell coming up from it. It was…not pleasant. Did Mr. Woodrow even wash these clothes before bringing them over to him? It smelled like a locker room in the box, and Taylor started digging through the contents, confused about why his landlord would bring him stuff like this. It was all workout gear–and most of it made out of spandex of some sort. He thought about the workout room in the basement but he hadn’t used it once since he’d arrived–it wasn’t really his sort of thing. Taylor was thin and lanky, had never really been interested in sports or anything. Had Mr. Woodrow gotten the wrong idea or something about what he was doing here?

He dug down a bit deeper, and at the bottom, he found…something else. A leather vest, some leather straps, what looked like leather pants even. Some sneakers, and also some leather boots. The smell coming off them was pungent…but also a bit different. It was…a bit too much to think about, if this stuff had really come from Mr. Woodrow’s son.

The smell in the air was thick now, and Taylor wasn’t noticing it as much. If anything, now that he was more used to it, it smelled kind of nice. When he’d seen what was in the box, his first instinct had been to just toss it, but now…well, trying it on couldn’t hurt, right? It was just for some laughs after all, maybe a selfie to show the guys later, when they moved in. So he stripped down, and pulled on a well worn jockstrap, a set of spandex shorts and a spandex muscle shirt–both of them actually hanging a bit loose off his thin frame, even as small and stretchy as they were. How big was Woodrow’s son, that this stuff would fit him? Still, it did feel nice…and he’d never had fabric like this on before. It was…different, especially on his cock, which was feeling…electric, somehow. He groped himself, breathing deep, the scent sliding into him now, surrounding him, and he shoved his hand down into the front of the shorts and started jacking off, as mindlessly as he’d done when he’d found that underwear before.

He came, and with it, a mind blowing orgasm. He even whited out for a moment, and came too just in time to catch himself with the wall in front of him, and looked around, bewildered, a massive wet spot on the front of his workout clothes. What…had he been doing, anyway? Mr. Woodrow had come by to talk about some repairs…but had there been more to it? No–not that he could recall now. He saw the box on the table, with the leather gear inside it, but didn’t think about it–he just took it up to his room, and put the box deep in his closet, where he wouldn’t have to worry about it yet. That…that, was for later, something told him, and then he forgot about it, sat down on the bed, and pulled on his sneakers, excited for his workout.

Unknown to him, in the moment of that orgasm, all of his old clothes had disappeared–replaced instead by clothes of the same musky nature as these ones–mostly spandex, but a few basic muscle shirts as well. The fact that they were all still too big for him didn’t bother him–he…he was going to fix that. He went down to the basement and started his workout. A workout he had never done before in his life, but he lifted with perfect form like he had done it for years, and already, his muscles were tensing, and growing, bit by bit–but only Mr. Woodrow could tell at the moment.

He looked down into his scrying pool, pleased with the results. This one wouldn’t require any more work for a while, he would do just fine in time. He checked the calendar again, and saw that the next lodger would be arriving a bit earlier than expected–in another few weeks time. A young man by the name of Quinn. Plenty of time to get his room ready, in any case–and Mr. Woodrow sat back, and enjoyed the show of Taylor working out–his research project now secondary to a new one–building up his new body.


“Alright, so here’s the main rooms–you can set your luggage there for the moment,” Mr. Woodrow said, and continued the tour for Quinn. It was a couple weeks later now, early August, and Quinn came into town early both to escape his family, who was driving him nuts, and to spend some time with Taylor, who was one of his closest friends, before school started and they got sucked into their studies. The house was amazing–just like Taylor had said, and Mr. Woodrow seemed very nice as well. 

“Is Taylor around?” Quinn asked.

“I think he’s downstairs–he’ll probably come up…oh, I think I hear him.”

There was a thumping on what sounded like stairs, and the basement door opened, and Quinn’s jaw dropped. There Taylor was, but not…quite the Taylor he recalled. He was…getting buff. A few weeks down in the workout room had packed thirty pounds of muscle onto Taylor’s frame–enough that the spandex clothing he was wearing looked like it actually belonged on him. “Quinn!” he shouted, and pulled his friend into a musky hug–he reeked. Quinn tried to pull away, but the hug lasted…a bit too long, and Quinn was conscious that Taylor had pulled their crotches together too–and he could feel the outline of Taylor’s cock against his own. Then he released him, and Quinn was too confused to say much. Taylor said hi to Mr. Woodrow, and then went back down to continue his workout–while Mr. Woodrow picked up Quinn’s bag, and showed him to his room upstairs.

The room was nice–spacious, already furnished modestly. Mr. Woodrow told him to go ahead and unpack, and he’d leave him alone–and handed him the key to the house. Quinn was reeling, trying to process what he’d just seen…but as much as he wanted to talk to Taylor, his sudden change was…a bit much. Instead, he started unpacking and getting his room in order, but as he did, he discovered something odd…

What sort of magical trap has the landlord laid for Quinn in his room? As usual, you can vote for two options. If you support me on Patreon, you can find the bonus poll over here as well.



Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 2)

The initial explorations didn’t turn up much of interest to Taylor, and so he found himself back in the room, unpacking, when he saw something poking out from between the mattress and box spring of his bed. It looked like fabric or clothing–he grabbed it and pulled on it, and with a tug, the thing came loose–and Taylor found himself holding a pair of dirty looking briefs.

“Eww…what the fuck?” Taylor said, and stretched them out as best he could, but they were…well, a bit crispy, with some colorful brown streaks all over them, like, well, like they’d been used as a cumrag for quite a while, and someone had forgotten all about it before moving out. 

He dropped the underwear on the floor and immediately went into the bathroom to wash his hands off, shuddering. He thought about that weird guy he’d seen the day he’d signed the lease–could they be his? It seemed like something a creepy gay guy like him would do, jack off into a pair of his own underwear, and then stash it for fun later–how disgusting. He went into the kitchen, dug around under the sink for some gloves, and when he found some, he put one on, and went back up to get rid of the nasty thing–but as soon as he stepped in his room, he gagged.

The stench of the thing had spread quick–he hadn’t really noticed it when he’d pulled them out from under the mattress, but now that they were in the open air, he could smell it–and it did smell like cum, like old, nasty, disgusting, cum…Taylor gave a little snort, and took a step into the room. It smelled awful, but it was the only thing he could think about–he shoved one hand down into his shorts, and started groping his cock, before getting down on his knees, picking the underwear up, and shoving it into his face, inhaling deep, snorting even, as he grew close to a climax of his own. His cock exploded in minutes, and he filled the front of his own briefs with a load of cum–and then kept going. The smell was just getting stronger inside his mind now, and he couldn’t stop–he didn’t want to stop.

It was three loads later, his own briefs now soaked inside his pants, that Mr. Woodrow came up the stairs and looked in on him. “Oh dear, I guess I could have hidden those a bit better,” he said, and stepped into the room. The smell didn’t have any effect on him, but Taylor fought tooth and nail to keep the older man from taking the filthy briefs away from him–but Mr. Woodrow sent a little surge of energy into the young man, and he went slack. “There, that’s better. We can’t have you losing yourself too quickly now–not until all of your friends have moved in here.” He lifted up the mattress again, and this time he stashed the underwear on the other side, against the wall–it wouldn’t get as good of circulation, but after that direct dose, Taylor would just need a little…reminder on occasion. Then, he sat down, and told Taylor what he was going to remember.

Taylor woke with a start an hour after that, the dream already fading from his mind. Fuck–it had been one the wildest sex dreams he’d ever had–and he couldn’t even remember it! He looked down, and saw that the briefs he’d been wearing were soaked–he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a wet dream, especially not one this powerful. He stripped off the briefs, ready to throw them into the laundry, but paused–and sniffed them, tentatively. They…reminded him of something, kind of. Then, he had a better idea. He got up, lifted up the mattress, and stashed his own briefs there, unaware of the much fouler pair on the other side. It couldn’t hurt to have a cumrag at the ready after all, he told himself, and got back to unpacking, feeling much refreshed after his nap.

For the next few weeks, the dream kept returning every night, and after every nap. Nick would never remember much of it in the end–but everytime he woke up having already shot his load, or so close he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from rubbing one out, and adding another load to the cumrag underwear he now kept stashed under the mattress. He didn’t know what had come over him really–he was just so horny lately, but porn wasn’t really holding his interest much like it had before. Instead, he dove harder into his research project, and found himself worrying less and less about the dreams as the days wore on. He’d find a girlfriend in the fall, and things would sort themselves out naturally, he assured himself.

Then, Mr. Woodrow made a surprise visit one afternoon while he was studying, hauling with him a sizable box. “Afternoon, Taylor,” the old man said with a smile, “My son has been cleaning out his things, and well, the two of you are about the same size I think. I brought over some of his clothes, to see if you might want them. No worries if you don’t–just throw them out, but I wanted to check.”

They chatted a few more minutes about other stuff in the house, and Mr. Woodrow promised he’d fix the few minor issues that Taylor had found, then left before Taylor could remember to open the box with him there. Alone now, Taylor hauled the box up onto the table, and opened it up–but what sort of clothes did he find inside?


Alright, it was a pretty close poll last week, so if you really want to see some leather, you’ll have another chance. The answers below are designed such that if two seem popular, I might combine them–we’ll see! The patron only poll is over here as well–remember, patron votes count 5x as much! You can pick up to two options!