Arctos: Second Life Thrift (Part 2)

Tim had heard of empty nest syndrome, that parents could have a rough time when their kids go off to college, but after spending half of winter break with his dad, he couldn’t stomach anymore of this ‘new leaf’ as Brian called it. The house was filthy, all his dad wore anymore was filthy biker gear, he stuffed himself silly, drank from the time he woke up to the time he passed out, and he’d be gone for these long stretches–sometimes overnight, and he’d come back reeking of sex. Tim tried to sit him down and talk about the changes he’d seen, but his dad didn’t want to hear it. Instead…well, Tim had gotten the sense that his father was wanting him to drop out and move back home–and that, well, his father wanted to have sex with him. That was made quite clear on the last night he’d stayed there, when his drunken father had burst into his room in the night, buck ass naked, backed up to the bed and asked his son to fuck him. Tim had left that morning, and planned on not coming back–ever if he could help it–or at least until his father sorted his shit out.

Thankfully, he’d moved off campus into a little house he rented with a few friends instead of the dorms, which were still closed, so at least he had somewhere to go. He hadn’t been there for a few days, before he got a package in the mail from some company called Arctos, paid for by his father, from something called Second Life Thrift. He opened it up, mostly out of morbid curiosity, and found that there were a bunch of clothes inside, all of it absolutely filthy–just as nasty as his dad’s new clothes were, if not worse. He sealed the box back up, intending to throw them out, but instead, the box ended up pushed into the back of the closet, where Tim forgot about it rather quickly, as the next semester got rolling. He got the occasional call from his dad those first few weeks he was back at school, but he ignored them, listening to the occasional voicemail, which wanted to know if he was enjoying the gift he’d sent, wanting to know why he wouldn’t talk to him, wanting to know why he didn’t want to fuck him. It was disgusting. Finally, he blocked the number, and started making arrangements to stay at school for the summer–because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to be living with his dad ever again.

Back home, Brian couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong. He had been certain that once his son got a good look at his new persona, he’d jump at the chance to ditch school and be a biker slut like him, but Tim hadn’t seemed the least bit interested. That night when he’d tried to force himself on Tim in his room had been a gamble, and one that hadn’t paid off at all. He’d gone back to the Arctos site, scrolling through some of the lots, wondering what he could send to his son that might give him a little bit of a boost, make him more amenable to the life his dad was offering him, when he’d stumbled on a familiar face–or at least, a face that was familiar to the ghost that had merged with him.

It was Jerry–a trucker that the ghost had been with, off and on, for close to thirty years. Occasionally, their lives would bring them close for a while, and the ghost had always loved getting fucked by Jerry’s massive ten inch cock, even if the trucker hadn’t had much in the way of Brian’s. He spent his time, when he wasn’t driving, focused on his weight lifting, and even when he was nearing sixty years old, he’d been a massive muscle beast, covered with hair–fuck, Brian could almost smell him now, even after all of this time. So why not send his son a gift, and give his old fuck buddy a new chance at life? It was too good an opportunity to be true.

So Brian waited, figuring his son wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of the clothes for too long. After all, it had only taken him a few days to fall almost entirely under the sway of his own ghost, back when he’d gotten his first box. He called his son, but got no answer–over and over again. Why wasn’t he picking up? Surely something must have happened by now, right? In the end, he took an extended trip on his hog to the college, and snooped around, only to discover that his son was…well, completely normal! Nothing about him seemed to have changed at all. How in the world could that even be possible? He snuck around the house for a bit, and eventually spotted the ghost of his old friend, hanging out in Tim’s room, looking a bit lost. He motioned Jerry outside, though it took him a little while to convince him that he could, in fact, see him, and asked Jerry what was going on–why wasn’t he trying to get Terry to wear his clothes?

Jerry told him that he’d been trying, but nothing seemed to work–he just couldn’t get inside the kids head. It had taken all of his energy just to keep him from throwing everything out, and sending Jerry to the dump with the rest of the garbage. It didn’t help that, even as a ghost, Jerry wasn’t the most clever of apparitions. Once brute force had failed, he’d mostly just settled into the room, vaguely haunting the place, waiting for something to happen, growing hornier and hornier, since he couldn’t seem to get any release as a spectre.

Apparently, Brian realized, his son was going to be a harder nut to crack than he’d expected. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised, right? After all, Jerry and Tim couldn’t be more opposed if he’d tried–which was one reason he’d chosen him, but the lack of common ground meant there was nothing for the ghost to tempt him with. Brian went back to the dingy motel room he was renting, and thought about what to do next–and eventually ended up back on the Arctos website, where he saw that their product offerings were much more robust than just some second hand clothes. In fact, as he scrolled through the various pages of products, he realized that all he’d need were a few little things to give his son a push in the right direction, and his buddy’s ghost would be able to take care of the rest.


Tim was feeling rundown. School was ramping up, and he was feeling a bit lost in his Freshman year, and that weird visit with his dad hadn’t helped things much at all. He was…worried about him, but what could he do? His dad was an only child so there wasn’t much in the way of family to contact to try and intervene. He didn’t have much in the way of friends. He was at a loss, and having a hard enough time juggling his own school work to try and solve his father’s problems for him. He turned off the sidewalk and climbed the steps to the front door of the house he shared with two friends, Eric and Max, who were both pre-med students like him. There, beside the door, was a package with his name on the label, but he couldn’t recall ordering anything recently. It probably wasn’t anything exciting. He went inside, set down his bag, then went back out and brought in the small package, which was surprisingly heavy, and sounded like there were a few metal…somethings clanking inside. Max was in the kitchen eating a sandwich–and Tim eyed the disaster area with a scowl. He supposed he was just as guilty, but none of them had really had time to clean the place up much since school had gotten so busy for them, but not having a kitchen was bugging him. He was so tired of takeout!

He knifed open the tape, and found a collection of small drink cans inside, with a note folded on top. He opened it up and read:

Greetings!

You’ve been selected by a previous Arctos customer to try one of our sample products! Arctos is a lifestyle brand for men who aren’t afraid to embrace their manliness, and enjoy the company and taste of men like them. The fellow who sent this to you has great taste, and we’re certain that when you get a taste of our products, you’ll understand just what kind of quality and craftsmanship goes into all of our products–you too, will be an Arctos customer for life!

Tim pulled one of the cans out of the box, and found that it was a protein shake, or a meal replacement shake, or both? It wasn’t quite clear from the label. The only thing it promised was that he’d have more energy (something he could use for sure), build more mass (something he couldn’t care less about), and unleash the jock within (dumb marketing bullshit, more like). He had a seven day supply, one set of shakes for breakfasts, and one set of shakes for dinner in the evening. 

He looked at the kitchen again, and then back at the can. Well, what did he really have to lose? It was just a shake after all. He hadn’t had any dinner plans anyway, and if he didn’t have to eat anything else, it was kind of convenient. He popped open one of the night shakes, took a sip–it wasn’t too bad–and carried the box back to his room, where he stashed them in the little fridge he usually used to hold his soda, but was empty at the moment.

He finished the shake, tossed the can in the trash, and sat down to get started on his homework, but after half an hour or so, the shake just felt like it was settling in his gut like lead, making him sleepy. He tried to concentrate on the chapter he needed to read before tomorrow, but it was no use, he was just reading the same paragraph over and over, making no real progress. He’d been up until three in the morning the last few days, and up again at eight to get to his nine o’clock lecture–his exhaustion was just catching up with him, and he was using the shake as an excuse. He struggled along for a few more hours, finding a bit of a rhythm and finishing half the chapter. He got ready for bed, figuring he’d just read the rest in the morning before class, setting his alarm for seven.  

He woke up starving, stumbled over to the fridge, pulled out one of the morning cans, and knocked it back, following it up with a satisfied belch–something he usually would have never done in his life, but at least it stopped the ache in his gut. Tim tried to recall what he’d been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it must have been sexy–he’d just had his first wet dream in ages over it. Pushing that aside, he tried to finish the chapter–but now he had the opposite problem. The can was right–he did have energy, so much that he could barely stay in his seat. He got to class without finishing the reading, and sitting still through the hour and a half lecture was torturous, even though he usually loved this class. All of his classes were like that though, and finally he just skipped his last one, mostly because he was hungry. He went to the dining hall, piled a tray high with food, ate all of it somehow, and then went back to his house, but the jitters didn’t stop. He ended up just walking around the neighborhood for a while, faster and faster, even jogging at times, because that was the only time his head seemed to calm down. He swore he wouldn’t have another shake, but even after a big dinner, he was…starving, he couldn’t settle down. He relented, drank down one of the night shakes, and in less than an hour he was sleeping, snoring heaving, cock tenting his sheets.

On the third day, Tim relented and went to the gym in the morning, just planning on running on a treadmill for half an hour, to burn off some steam. The next time he checked the clock, it was one in the afternoon, his body was screaming, and he realized he’d put himself through a massive workout, despite having never lifted a weight in his life. This…didn’t concern him, somehow. He ate a big lunch–he needed plenty of fuel for his growing body, after all–and went for a jog in the afternoon, returning home in the evening, and realizing he hadn’t gone to a single class all day, and he hadn’t done any of his reading since first drinking the shakes. But something just…told him not to worry about it. He tried to read, but got bored, and ended up just jacking off instead, looking at himself in the mirror in his room, how much…bigger he’d gotten, after his day in the gym, thinking about how much larger he could get. 

By the fifth day, Tim would have outgrown all of his clothes–if any of his old clothes had remained in his room. He burst out of his room after his morning shake, wearing a tank top stretched tight across his pecs, a pair of mesh shorts, and headed to the gym for his morning workout–and didn’t really bat an eye when he ended up at rugby practice that evening. The fact that he’d missed his classes didn’t faze him or his coaches. After all, a jock like him just had to worry about an easy fine arts major–he was there for sports, not to study. He went out to a bar with some of his friends, getting in with a fake ID, brought one home with him, and fucked his ass in his room before drinking his night shake and passing out again. 

On the seventh day, there was a knock on the door, and Tim was surprised to find his father standing on the step, his motorcycle parked on the lawn next to the driveway. “Hey son! I was on a long ride, and thought I’d stop by and give my favorite boy a visit,” he said, pulled Tim in for a hug–and while Tim knew he should be furious for his dad for what happened over winter break, when he smelled him, there was something about him that was suddenly…alluring. Sure, he reeked like he always did now, of booze and cigar smoke and rank musk, but there was something…else in the mix that Tim couldn’t identify. “Come on Tim, you’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” Brian said–it was less a question, and more of an order.

“Of…of course dad, come on in…” Tim said, and let Brian into the house. His two housemates were at one of their classes, so they had the house to themselves for the next few hours. Brian took a moment to look his new and improved son over in the living room, and had to say he was quite impressed with the results from those protein shakes he’d had sent to him. Gone was the scrawny, short bookish boy that had gone off to college–Tim was now a bit over six feet, and close to 240 pounds of solid mass, thick pecs, a solid muscle gut beneath them, and from the bulge in the front of the shorts he was wearing, he seemed to be packing a bit more down there as well–but that could wait for a bit. First things first, was to help Tim and Jerry get acquainted at last.

“Dang son, nice little pad ya got here,” Brian said, and started looking through the place, “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh, uh, upstairs, first door on the left.”

Brian heaved his big body up to the next floor, and Tim followed him, still trying to get close enough to figure out why he smelled so nice. “So…uh, dad, any other reason you wanted to come by? I…I mean, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“What, a dad can’t come spend some time with his strapping, hot-as-fuck son?”

Tim blushed at the rather…sexual compliment, recalled the last time, how his dad had tried to get him to fuck him back home, and wondered why he hadn’t. Things had gotten so fuzzy lately though, and he didn’t always do things that made sense, he supposed. The last week in particular had been really weird, and now his dad just shows up out of the blue? Brian entered Tim’s room, went right for the closet, dug around and hauled out the package Tim had received earlier, which he’d mostly forgotten about. Then again, over the last few nights, he’d been having these…dreams, and now, looking at the box, it was almost…deja vu.

“What, ya never even opened it?” Brian asked.

“I…I don’t even remember what’s in there,” Tim said.

“Some clothes I bought for ya, off the internet. I thought ya’d love em. Go on son, take a look.”

So Tim starting digging around in the box, and pulling out the contents, laying it out around him. There were a bunch of tanktops, or t-shirts with the sleeves hacked off, some trucker hats, some jockstraps, cut-off jean shorts, thick wool socks, some steel toe boots, and a few cans of dip. All of the clothes were heavily stained and looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages–that, and they reeked of sweat and musk, grease and exhaust too. But looking around at them, he found that he wasn’t…that disgusted by the gear, less so than he would have expected. Little did he know, thought Brian could see behind him, that the ghost of Jerry had his fingers shoved into Tim’s head, tongue sticking out, working on manipulating the young man as best he could. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Tim,” Brian said, got down beside him, and pulled his son into his pit, where he’d sprayed the special deodorant from Arctos, one designed to make men much more agreeable to his demands, We’re gonna dress you up in this gear, and then you’re gonna fuck your dad’s hole, real good. Then, I think I’m gonna crash on your couch for a while–you’d like to spend some quality time with your dad, wouldn’t you?”

Tim nodded in a stupor, between the ghost working him over and the compelling musk of his father, and together, they got him dressed up in some of Jerry’s best gear, and then he fucked his father’s dirty hole for half an hour, certain, somehow, that he’d done this all before. When Eric and Max got back a few hours later, they found Brian and Tim on the couch watching TV, Tim still dressed in the gear from the box, but with the addition of a lip of chewing tobacco shoved in his mouth, spitting into an empty protein shake can. The two clean, nerdy housemates were put off at first, but Brian was able to smooth things over with them both–by evening, they were all happy to let Brian crash on the couch for a while, especially Tim, who found himself thinking more and more about how hot it had been to fuck his dad’s hole. He couldn’t resist, in fact–he dragged his dad back into his room after dinner, and fucked him again, loud and rough, while the two roommates tried to focus on their school work–but as far as Brian was concerned, the two of them wouldn’t have to worry about things like that for much longer.


Brian had arrived in late February, and both March and April passed in a blur for Tim. The protein shakes kept arriving from Arctos, and he kept drinking them. His routine was much easier now. It didn’t take much urging from his dad to convince him to drop out in March–they both knew well enough that Tim wasn’t smart enough to keep up with college, even the easy courses for stupid jocks like him. He got a membership at a little gym near the house, and started spending most of his time there. He’d wake up in the morning, down a shake from Arctos, and then jog to the gym for his daily workout, which usually lasted four or five hours. Then he’d jog home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with his dad. Sometimes they’d go for a ride–Brian had surprised him with a bike of his own (one that Brian had “convinced” a rather rude biker to give him) and go fuck off in the woods for a while. Other times they’d stay home, and fuck around there instead.

While Tim was out each morning, Brian would find other ways to occupy himself. For the first few weeks, he turned Eric and Max into his own personal projects, testing out a few other arctos products on them both. Before too long, they had dropped out of school as well, a pair of grungy, chubby, stupid pigs with tiny dicks, hungry for Tim’s cock as much as Brian was. After all, he couldn’t afford to give Tim a chance to really think about what was going on, and Jerry’s ghost needed the stimulation. His stamina had always been off the charts, and Brian wanted to make sure the ghost of his friend always had a hole available where he could drop a load. The landlord was another issue, after he came around and saw that the house was turning into a literal sty. With a little manipulation, they came to a new agreement. He’d keep paying the mortgage and utilities, but wouldn’t expect rent in cash anymore–instead, he’d get to enjoy full access to all the cameras he was going to install in the house to catch all the pigs in action, and then spend the rest of his time jacking off, watching them all go at it, day and night.

Somehow, Arctos just knew when to send the second collection of items from Jerry’s lot, and this second load was the final set. He’d lived his life on the road, in his truck, and so hadn’t had much in the way of earthly attachments. In any case, he figured it was time to introduce Jerry and Tim properly. He sent Eric and Max off to spend some time with the landlord–he’d recently gotten divorced, and he was thrilled to have the two pigs in his house, where he could watch them rut in real time. That gave him a few days with Tim, alone, to help him get acquainted with his ghost. He didn’t think he’d run into much trouble, but he had a few surprises up his sleeve, just in case.

Tim was still sleeping off their bender from the night before–in addition to his new dip habit, which had grown more and more severe over the last few months, he’d also taken to hard liquor as well, the cheaper and stronger the better, which had added to his hard gut, even as the rest of him swelled with muscle. Brian went in and gave his son a shake, and then a kiss, and told him he had a surprise for him, when he was up. Tim roused himself, stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, then into the kitchen for his morning shake. Once he had that in him, and a lip full of dip, he went out to the living room where his dad had a couple more boxes like the one he’d sent him before. He opened up the boxes, and found them full of more clothes–more work gear, really. Some flannel shirts, all well worn and stained with dip spit, grungy hi-vis vests and jackets, more hats, some overalls and coveralls coated with engine oil and grease. Tim was happy with them–though he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do with all of it, or why all of it seemed so…familiar to him. He looked up at his dad, beaming, and shot up from the couch when he saw someone else standing there too.

“Now son, don’t be alarmed, this is Jerry–he’s a friend of mine. He’s been helping you out for the last few months, and now it’s time the two of you got properly acquainted,” Brian said, motioning to the ghost standing beside him, “Jerry died a few years back, you see–a bad accident, but now he gets a second chance, thanks to you.”

“You…what the fuck are you talking about?” Tim asked, backing away. The pale figure was massive–easily six and a half feet tall, packed with muscle, head shaved and with a beard reaching down to his waist. He was naked, and his cock–fuck, it had to be nearly a foot long, and it was mostly soft. “Why the fuck can…ghosts aren’t real, dad!”

“I woulda said the same thing a few months ago, but trust me, this is gonna be great for us both, I promise.”

“You…you did this, all of this, didn’t you?” Tim said, “You…sent those shakes, and…and the clothes! What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Look, I just needed to loosen you up a bit, so you’d understand, that’s all!”

He looked at the ghost, who hadn’t said anything yet, and then back at his dad. “So…so what now?”

“Now, well, now you and Jerry just gotta merge, is all.”

“No fucking way. I’m not letting that fucking thing in me.”

“Aww, come on, I ain’t that bad,” Jerry said, looking a bit sheepish, “I got a big dick, ‘n I fuck real good.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, dad, we’re fucking done–for real this time,” Tim said, stripping out of his clothes, and throwing everything into the boxes, “and you can take all of this shit with you!”

“Sorry son, but you don’t get a say in this,” Brian said, and gave Jerry a nod. The massive ghost stomped over, and while Tim expected him to pass right through him, the apparition grabbed hold of him, and wrestled him to the ground. “I was gonna save this for after the two of you were together, but I’m not surprised you need a little more tenderizing,” Brian said, and pulled out a sizable dildo from a bag he’d had on the coffee table. “I’ve heard these asslickers are fucking amazing, and I ordered this one custom, just for you.”

“Keep that fuckin’ thing away from me! I’m no fuckin’ bottom,” Tim shouted at his dad.

“”Sorry son, but I promise you this, this is the last cock you’ll ever take–don’t worry about that,” Brian said, and lubed up the dildo. He pressed the head to Tim’s tight hole, and watched as it slid right in, despite Tim’s cursing and resistance. The dildo had looked like a candy, almost, and when it slipped inside, he was surprised to taste…sugar on his tongue for a moment, until the outer layer dissolved away, and the first magical layer of the dildo was revealed. The sugary taste turned bitter, and then rank, the outside of the dildo now colored a rather vile mix of green and brown, something between camo and a shit stain. It tasted like someone had shoved a months worn jock into his mouth, and then he smelled something–and realized it was him.

Now, Tim hadn’t really been the cleanest fellow over the last few months, but he usually showered once a day, before putting his filthy clothes back on. It was one habit his dirtier father hadn’t been able to break him of, but he had a feeling this would take care of it. He watched as the layers of grime on the asslicker were worn off, and appeared on his son’s body, dirt and sweat and salt and grease and dipspit. “Aww fuck yeah son, now you’re smelling better, don’t you think?”

Tim tried to disagree, but let off a little moan instead, as the dildo pulsed inside him, and he found the smell wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. He…kind of liked it, actually. The ghost relaxed a bit, now that Tim wasn’t fighting him, and slid his fingers into the young man’s mind, warping him further, pushing his excitement to the extremes. “Fuck yeah man, we’re gonna be so fucking filthy together, just you fucking wait,” Jerry said to him, and Tim…saw things, memories, maybe, disgusting scenes from Jerry’s life, with and without Brian, and all of them were thrilling. 

He didn’t notice the next layer appear on the dildo, which was now quite a bit smaller. This one was silvery, and as it was absorbed by Tim’s body, he started to get older, the hair on his head receding, while everything that remained turned grey. His gut sagged a bit, his muscles shrank slightly, but after a few minutes, he looked to be about the same age as his dad, and then, by the time the layer was gone, he was even older–pushing sixty, about the same age Jerry had been when he died. 

The dildo was smaller now, just a plug really, and Brian felt it wiggle out of his hand and disappear up Tim’s hole. He gasped, feeling it squirm up his body, growing smaller, until it reached his skull, giving him a massive headache as it drilled into his brain, mashing it up, Tim drooling dipspit on the carpet as he grew dumber and dumber, feeling his cock swelling larger and larger until it exploded underneath him, expelling most of his intellect and sense with it, leaving him with a cock twice the size, and a brain not really capable of much at all. “Fuck, I…what the fuck happened tah my head?” he slurred.

Jerry could tell this was his opportunity, climbed on top of the older, filthy Tim, and shoved his massive cock into his now well loosened hole. But where Brian had merged with his ghost rather gracefully, after two thrusts Jerry was simply sucked inside Tim’s ass, and he began to writhe on the floor, Brian standing over him, watching as the final changes swept over his son, and now lover. He grew more, another few inches, until he matched Jerry’s ghost in height, and every bit of muscle he’d lost growing older he put back, with interest. A thick pelt of silvery white hair grew all over his chest, down over his belly, shoulders and arms, and tattoos began to swim up to the service of his skin, the same sleazy, redneck ink that had always turned Brian on before. A massive beard sprouted from Tim’s face, wiry and stained brown from the spit that usually drooled into it, and then Tim shuddered, his own mashed mind melding with Jerry, mixed all up together, and when he looked up and saw Brian looming over him, he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was his dad, or…or someone he’d known long ago.

Brian helped him up and showed him his new body in the mirror, and Tim growled in excitement, seeing his old, muscular frame, filthy, clothes stretched tight over his muscle, fresh dark spit coating his lips, and he started stroking his cock, both of them watching it grow to the full fourteen inches it was now–even longer than it had been when he’d been Jerry, before. “Fuck Pa, can I fuck that nasty hole a yers already?” Tim asked.

“Pretty sure yer the daddy now,” Brian said, and bent over the counter, “Go on man, I’ve missed that cock a yers so much, fuck yer biker son’s hole already.”

First things first, Tim got down behind him, and ate him out, tasting Brian’s rank crack for a few minutes, until his cock was aching and throbbing with excitement, and then he rammed it in. It was so large, even the well practiced Brian moaned in pain as it slid into him, but Tim only fucked at one speed–as brutally as he could. Not many bottoms could handle him, which is why he’d kept coming back to Brian, after all. Well now, they were together again, for another couple of lifetimes. He came deep, holding him close, thrilled to have a second chance with his lover from a past life–and now, with Arctos, they could have a life unlike anything they’d ever imagined before.

Precinct 27’s New Recruit

When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversations. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.

The other two officers backed off, and Jordan followed Rumwell down the hall to his office. Somehow, it was even hotter in there, but Jordan didn’t understand how that could be possible. He loosened the tie he’d added to his ensemble, hoping to appear more professional, but now he just felt silly somehow. “Thank you, Sir,” Jordan said once the door was closed behind them. “I walked in on those two making out in the hallway! I…and the man at the reception desk was reading a porno mag. A gay one, I think.”

“Oh yes, Lark and Willis are partners, they usually don’t make it without fucking in the hall until around noon, and Jimmy at the desk pretty much always has his nose in a rag like that. He gets them at an old shop around the corner. I’m surprised you didn’t walk in on him with his cock out–happens more often than you might think.”

“You…you can’t be serious,” Jordan said, and tugged at the collar on his shirt. “Is…the air conditioning broken, or something?”

“Yeah, very broken,” Rumwell said, “I can turn on my fan, if you want.”

Jordan nodded. The older man turned around, twisted the knob on the back of the fan he had sitting behind him, and air started flowing. It didn’t make anything that much cooler, and the air had to pass by the commander before it reached Jordan, which meant that it stank of the man’s musk. It’s not that it was particularly rank–it was…Jordan had a hard time describing it exactly. Rugged? Masculine? Powerful? He shook his head and shuddered again, trying to keep his composure. 

“Precinct 27 is…a special case, in the city,” Rumwell was saying, and Jordan struggled to recall what had started the monologue. “This is all classified, and does not leave this precinct. There is a bar, about ten to fifteen blocks west of here, depending on how you walk there, called Pigtown. It has always had a certain…reputation, but as of late, that reputation has become…an aura. Or a zone, perhaps. There’s a perimeter around the bar that, well, it has an effect on people. On men, especially. This precinct is charged specifically with trying to contain and understand this influence, so we can stop it from spreading further. Not many recruits from the academy have the stones to make it here, you know, but I think you’ll do fine once you’re a little seasoned. I selected you in part because your instructors took note of your determination and grit–and also because you’re a rather handsome young man, if I do say so myself.”

“E-Excuse me?” Jordan said, his words a bit slurred. He felt…high, almost. He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him, and figured it had to be heat exhaustion. “Do…do you have something to drink? I’m feeling a bit dizzy. From the heat.”

“Are you sure it’s from the heat?” Rumwell asked him and chuckled, a deep chuckle that made Jordan’s heart jump a bit for reasons he didn’t quite want to explore too deeply. He dug a water bottle out from his desk and tossed it to Jordan. He guzzled it, but it didn’t help his head clear much. “Anyway, this precinct and the bar have…an agreement. We enforce the perimeter, and do our best to keep everything on the inside, in, and everything on the outside, out. Nice, and separate. We have our place, in here, and they have their place, out there.”

“Wait, in? Aren’t we…out?”

“Oh no, the perimeter is at 134th street–we’re a good five blocks inside here.”

Wait, it’s…how big is it?”

“Too big, perhaps. This far out, it’s  noticeable, but the further in you go, especially at night…well, you’ll see in good time. No reason to send you running away screaming on your first day. Around here we have a little more lewd conduct on the street than other places in the city, and the only folks who live around here tend to be men, but beyond that, nothing too out of the ordinary, especially during the daytime.”

“I saw some guys fucking in the parking garage…”

“Yeah, like that.”

“I…this…I don’t understand, what are we doing here?”

“It’s a lot to take in, and it looks like you’re having trouble focusing, Jordan,” Runwell said, put his arms back behind his head, and the smell of his musk intensified. Jordan moaned, and realized his cock was tenting the front of his pants. “Seems like your commander’s scent has you all riled up. Don’t fight it–no one around here can resist it. That’s why I’m in charge, you see. That’s why all of the men here, including you, have to obey everything I tell them to do.”

“I…I don’t understand…”

“That’s ok. Recruits like you, if I told you everything right away, well, your heads would probably explode. But that’s ok. You’re kind of tired of listening to an old man like me prattle on and on, aren’t you? Isn’t there something else you’d rather do?” The commander stood up from his chair, and Jordan gaped at him. Six foot five, massive frame packed into a uniform a little too small for him, pit stains under his arms, a thick beard growing out of his face down to the collar of his shirt, a firm muscle gut pushing out, and the bulge of his cock and balls under that. Jordan realized he was staring, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to pull his eyes away. Would that bulge smell different from his pits? How would his ass smell, he wondered? He shook his head, and managed to push out of his chair.

“This…it’s a trap,” he said, but he couldn’t quite manage to walk to the door, something was…keeping him there, a voice, maybe. A desire. An urge.

“It’s not…not a trap. I really did choose you because I knew you would be able to take it. The work here requires a…certain kind of man. You aren’t quite there yet, but give it a few months around the rest of your brothers here, and you’ll be one fine fuckin’ specimen, I can fucking tell. Yeah, look at you, all clean shaven, short hair, lean frame…but fuck, we’ll make a damn fine man out of you. Isn’t that what you want? For me to make a man out of you?”

Jordan tried to go for the door, stumbled, and fell to the floor on his hands and knees. Before he could crawl, Rumwell stood beside him and rolled him over with one boot, when he was on his back, planted it on his chest. Jordan tried to push him off, but whatever it was that was in the commander’s musk, he just felt weak. He couldn’t oppose this man. He couldn’t fight him. And if he couldn’t do those things, what could he do?

He could submit.

The idea popped into his head a little too readily for him to trust it, as much as he wanted to. He struggled anyway, even knowing that there was nothing he could do. Sensing resistance, Rumwell moved the boot, planting it on Jordan’s neck, applying just enough pressure to make breathing difficult, and Jordan froze.

“Bitchell–you don’t mind that I call you that,” the commander said. It was stated as a fact, not as a question. “Bitchell, you’re going to have to learn here that, as a recruit, you are on the bottom of the totem pole. The harder you fight, the worse you’ll make it for yourself, and the more likely it is that you’ll find yourself dragged away down some alley in the middle of the night, and when you come crawling back out–if you come crawling back out–you will not be the same man that you were when you were taken. Obedience is what protects you. If you obey me, if you only obey me, then you will always come back to me, because that is where men like you belong, do you understand?”

Jordan nodded as best he could with the boot on his throat.

“Now, I am going to remove my boot, place it on the floor, and you will lick it. Then, I will remove my boots, and you will worship my feet–you will do this not because you want to, but because as your superior, in every way, you must obey me.”

Rumwell pulled his boot away, and Jordan did everything he could to push back against the man’s musk and command, and bolt for the door. He managed to roll over onto his belly, but before he could push himself up to run, he crawled over to the boot and started licking at the leather. All the while, he was stuck in his head, screaming at himself to run, but it was like all control of his body had been severed away from him. His mind was reeling still, his vision swirling from the smell of leather and musk and the heat. Rumwell smirked, and then walked back to his desk. Jordan followed, trying to lick the boot as he walked, until the commander sat back down in his chair and put his booted feet up on his desk. “Take off your clothes, including your underwear, then take off my boots and socks and worship my feet, recruit.”

Jordan did as he was ordered, stripping off his tie, shirts and slacks until he was naked and sweaty in the commander’s office, horrifically embarrassed to find himself completely naked before the uniformed older man in front of him. He pulled off one of Rumwell’s boots, and the smell that struck him was even stronger than the general musk of the room, and much to his own disgust, he almost craved it. Not…the smell itself, exactly. He craved…he craved the pure manliness of it. He wanted to drink it down. He wanted it to pour out of him as well. He pulled off the other boot and sock, faster now, and then got down and started licking the commanders size seventeen feet clean, shoving his nose between his toes, snorting up the scent, taking in as much of it as he could.

“That’s a good recruit, get as much of that in you as you can. I had a feeling you’d have good instincts. You want it, don’t you? You might not understand why yet, but fuck, you want it. I can see it, I can tell–there’s no use trying to hide it. Go on, enjoy it. Relish it. Take it all in.”

Jordan didn’t know how long he was there in front of the desk, cleaning the commander’s feet, but when he finally took them away and pulled his socks and boots back on, Jordan collapsed back in the chair, looked at the clock, and saw that an hour and a half had passed since the start of their meeting. “I…What the fuck are you doing to me?” he said.

“Heh, that was just the introduction, recruit. Get up and follow me. Leave your clothes here–you won’t be needing them again. We’ll get you into the recruit uniform for now.”

“I…won’t…everyone see me?”

“You aren’t a very quick learner, are you?” the commander said, “Get out there–locker room is on the ground floor.”

The commander marched him down the stairs, past a few officers who catcalled and whistled at him as they passed, making Jordan’s face burn in humiliation. But as he walked, he was certain that something about him was off. He didn’t quite know what it was, exactly–like he was a little thicker, or a little hairier, his dick a bit bigger–it was rock hard despite how horrified he was by this entire scene. The officers that passed them went and told the rest of the shift that there was a new recruit about to be broken in, and a mob of officers followed them into the locker room, surrounding Jordan, making him feel even more self-conscious. 

“Now, recruits tend to wash out here pretty regularly. They run out into the streets, and when we find them again, they usually aren’t very interested in being officers any longer. We started saving time keeping just one recruit at a time, and you all get the same uniform. I always tell the guy who had it last to wash it, but they never do, for some reason,” Rumwell said, opened up a locker, and pulled out a grungy looking uniform stuck to a hanger. The commander pulled it off, and it was…crispy. He brought over to Jordan, and he realized, from the smell, that the reason it was crispy was because it had been saturated with cum–and probably a bit of piss–and left to dry there in the locker. Once the pants were laid out, he saw that the ass of the pants had been ripped open, giving ready access to whoever’s ass might be underneath. His ass, soon enough, he supposed. 

“I…No fucking way am I putting that shit on,” Jordan said.

“Recruit, put on your uniform–that’s a fucking order,” Rumwell said, and watched the young man struggle to resist. There was no underwear of course, and no boots or socks. He pulled on the shirt, trying not to gag when he realized that some patches were still a little wet–apparently it had been worn more recently than he’d thought. The pants were next, and he had to use the belt that the commander handed him to cinch them up, because they were too small for him, the ankles pooling around his feet. The officers around him laughed, and all Jordan wanted to do was run away.

“Well men, this is our new recruit. For now, you all will address him as Bitchell, until he’s proven to us that he’d good for more than being the precinct’s bitch, right?”

Again, the men laughed and some advanced closer to him, a few with their cocks hanging out of the flies of their uniform pants. This has to be a dream, Jordan thought to himself. He didn’t know what to make of it, if it was, but it was better than this actually happening to him. He tried to shrink away, but the officers were coming from every side, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

“Attention, Recruit!” Rumwell snapped at him, and Jordan immediately took the proper position. “Here are your orders. From now on, you will serve this precinct as our cumdump, urinal and bitch. You are not to leave the premises under any circumstances. A cell will be reserved for you below, where you will sleep when you are not on your shift. When you are working, you will service any officer who requires it. You will not refuse a request from an officer under any circumstance, no matter how much it might personally revolt you–but I have a feeling you’ll come around to our way of things soon enough,” the commander added, whispering that into Jordan’s ear.

With that, the men of the precinct descended upon him in the locker room, bending him over the length of the bench between the lockers. One officer took his mouth, another took his ass, and with that, Jordan lost his virginity to two sizable cocks at both ends. He tried to do something, anything, to get away, but his body refused to obey him again, and the smell of the men around him was so heady and intoxicating he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to leave. The men didn’t last long. Some waited until they could have a turn at either end, while others were too excited and simply shot their loads all over the back of Bitchell’s uniform, as they all called him now. After an hour or so of constant sex, with his hole pulsing and his jaw aching, he was finally done, and just stayed on the bench for a few minutes, shuddering, feeling the cum ooze out of his ass, drain down between his thighs and pool in the crotch of his pants. 

He pushed himself up, and found that he wasn’t alone. The commander was still there, standing against the lockers, admiring the sight of the new recruit plastered with his men’s cum, and a few loads of piss to go with it. “Fuck, you’re gonna be a handsome pig once we’re done with you, I can already fucking tell,” Rumwell said, “I knew it from the first time I saw you in the yard that day, that I had to have you.”

“Please Sir, please…I…just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I…please…” Jordan said, crawling over to where the commander was standing and kissing his boots.

“Are you sure you want to leave, recruit? Get up, I want to show you something.”

He got down and hauled Jordan up off the floor, and helped him over to the mirror at the end of a bank of lockers. There, Jordan got his first good look at himself since putting on the disgusting uniform…and he was appalled. There was cum all over his face and hair–but then he saw something else that hadn’t been there earlier. He had a five o’clock shadow. He never had a shadow like that. Hell, he generally didn’t have to shave his beard more than a few days a week, because he didn’t grow that much. He opened up the shirt, and saw that the same thing had happened across his chest and belly, a thicker trail of hair had appeared than there’d been before. There was something else too, but harder to pinpoint. He smelled different. At first he thought he was just smelling all of the cum that was on him, but it was more than that. He’d never had much of a musk before this, but he could really smell himself, and…and he liked it. 

“Look at you, already growing into a proper man. Probably won’t even have to have you in the recruit uniform for very long, if you work hard and bulk up quick, and show that I can trust you to be good and obedient. You like being obedient, don’t you? It feels good to obey men like me. The better you obey me, the sooner you’ll be a man just like me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you recruit?”

He came closer and licked the side of Jordan’s face, one hand groping his cock and balls through the front of the crispy uniform–only the crotch wasn’t so crispy anymore. Some of that was because of the cum that had drooled out of his ass, but he realized he’d been leaking this entire time into the front as well. “Please, I…” Jordan managed to say, but then the commander pulled him into a kiss, forcing his tongue into his mouth, invading it, dominating it, and Jordan just…relented, as the commander’s other hand slid behind him, found his well used hole, and slid a finger inside it.

The commander pulled away, and put his lips to Jordan’s ear again. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Getting fucked by men feels good. It feels good to service them. The more you service them, the faster you’ll stop being a bitch, and grow into a real man like them too. You want to be a real man, don’t you? You don’t want to be a bitchy little recruit forever, do you?”

“No, Sir.”

“No–you want to grow big, and strong, and hairy, and musky like a real man, don’t you?”

“Fuck…fuck Sir, I…I do Sir.”

“Do you want me to fuck you Bitchell? Do you want me to pound that hole of yours, flood your guts with my seed? Do you want me to make you even hairier, and bigger, and smellier than you already are? Do you want to become a proper pig like the rest of my men here? You do, don’t you?”

“Please Sir, please fuck me…” Jordan moaned.

“You fucking bitch slut, if you insist.”

The commander pushed him over in front of the mirror, lined up his cock, and pushed inside Jordan’s hole, sliding right in up to the hilt. His cock wasn’t the longest, but it was the thickest, and the stretch of his hole made Jordan gasp and contract. “Don’t fight it bitch, you need this. You want this load. You want every load this bitch hole can take, isn’t that right? If you don’t, you aren’t going to be man enough to stay here. You’ll just wash out, and we’ll leave you out back for the freaks to come collect when night falls–that what you want? You want those pigs out there to drag you into the alley and do all sorts of unspeakable things to you?”

Jordan shook his head.

“Yeah, why would you want that, when we can do all those filthy, unspeakable things to you right here,” Rumwell said, and fucked him harder. He came, flooding Jordan’s guts with his load, and he could feel it, this time. The potency of the commander’s seed, the corrupted essence of it, Jordan looked at himself in the mirror, saw his shoulders widen, his pecs beef up, his waist expand enough that he needed to let the belt out a notch. Even his feet grew larger, and had a fine coating of hair on the surface. 

The commander pulled him close, making sure he got every last drop, and then led him downstairs to the jail. Most of the cells were empty, but the commander showed him to his new room, but left the door open. After all, the men needed easy access to the bitch. His first shift would start tonight–the night shift was always more active here in Pigtown, and a lot of the officers liked to blow off some steam before going out on patrol–it helped keep some of the temptations down. As the commander was leaving, Jordan asked, “Wait, what about my car? My stuff? I can’t…just stay here.”

“Don’t worry about that life anymore, Bitchell,” the commander said, “We’ll take care of you from now on. This is your home now–even when you aren’t the bitch anymore, you won’t want to be anywhere else. You’ll see. That’s the thing, really. In the end, Pigtown will claim us all. Until then, well, someone has to keep order around here.”

With that, the commander left. Jordan thought about trying to escape, but he was exhausted. He curled up on the cot, still in his uniform, and passed out. It wasn’t until around nine at night that someone shook him awake, and shoved a dick in his mouth. The night shift was here, and Jordan’s time as the precinct’s newest recruit had begun.


Those first few months were hard, as Jordan adapted to his new role in life as the precinct’s bitch. Nothing worked the way it ought to. He felt like he was trapped in some sick and twisted gay porno–all the actors were wearing cop uniforms, but none of them were actually cops, no matter what they might look like or say. Except, they were. It was all confusing, and he struggled to keep his footing, just trying to take things as they came, rather than sort the whole mess out all at once. One thing was certain, and that was that the night shift at the precinct was much more active than the day shift. It was populated with a different sort of officer as well–younger, bigger men, all of them forming a stern and tight knit community. They didn’t talk to Bitchell much or engage with him as a fellow officer–it was clear that they didn’t see him as an equal, but merely as a tool. They would go out on their patrols, but who they returned with, if they had to make an arrest, shocked him at first, and one thing the officers always told him, was to stay away from the other cells in the block when they were occupied–best, in fact, to avoid the jail altogether during the night. He had plenty to keep him busy in the rest of the precinct anyway. After their patrols, the officers were usually so horned up and desperate, they either fucked each other right there over the desks or up against the wall, or if no one else was available, they’d use Bitchell. 

Once the night shift ended around dawn, Jordan would go down to the jail, once one of the officers had given him the allclear, and find that all of the men that the officers had dragged in over the course of the night had disappeared from their cells–he’d never see them leave the building in other ways, and there was no other way out of the jail that he had seen yet. It was like the perverts, the leather beasts, the rubber pigs, all of them just evaporated with the morning sun. The one exception, on occasion, would be a rather bewildered businessman waking up with a massive hangover, possibly someone that an officer had dragged in to keep them from going too deep. One thing was clear–if you went too deep, you weren’t going to come out the same person again. Even just skipping across the surface, you’d slip under eventually. He saw a few of these businessmen reappear in the cells as the months passed by, the cops doing their best to convince them to stay away, but the place had its hooks in them, the suits giving way to leather and rubber, tattoos appearing across their bodies, begging the officers for abuse–and some of the cops even gave it to them, if they begged enough. Then, they wouldn’t show up again, or if they were showing up, they were disappearing with the morning, like the rest of them.

Once the cells were empty, Jordan would collapse and sleep in his own cot for six or seven hours, until the day shift had gotten in and was ramping up. Then, Jordan would wake up (or be woken up, if one of the officers was particularly desperate) and he’d spend the afternoon and evening servicing them. The day crew was generally older, chubbier, and looked a little more ragged around the edges both physically and mentally. There was more laughter he supposed, but less camaraderie. None of them remained in the building after sunset, and on a few occasions, he heard them talking about the nights, about their time on the night shift–work that none of them could do anymore, not after what they’d seen, what they’d done, or what had grabbed them in an alleyway during a patrol and done to them. They were scared, he realized. Scared of Pigtown, to some extent, but more terrified of themselves, of what would happen to them when their resolve failed, when they decided to stay out one night, and just relent, at last. But until then, they had each other, and that was enough, even as that fear also held them apart. They processed the paperwork left by the night crew, took note of which apparitions seemed to be active or growing stronger and what could be done about that, and they would leave their advice and suggestions for the night shift, sometimes heeded, and other times balled up with a laugh and chucked against the wall.

But Jordan didn’t understand what they were doing here. When he had the occasional opportunity, he would make his way up to the commander’s office and try and get a straight answer out of him, but for the most part, Commander Rumwell wasn’t interested in giving him a clear answer. He would just tell Jordan to focus on his training–that he’d understand in time. As for his training, it felt like a cruel joke to Jordan. Mostly, his training meant crawling from officer to officer, servicing them in whatever sick way they preferred, and then doing it all over again with the next one. In the bathroom (where Jordan tried not to remain for too long, if he didn’t want to spend a few hours doing urinal service exclusively) he’d look at himself in the mirror, and every day, he looked at a different version of himself. Hairier, more muscular, fatter, taller, shorter, older, strong, weak, filthy, tattoos, piercings, shaved head, shaggy mop, long beard goatee–it wasn’t long before he couldn’t even really remember who he’d been to begin with, that bright eyed, clean cut, young man was gone for good. Not too long after that, he lost his last name–he just couldn’t remember it. All that would come to him was Bitchell. He clung to Jordan for a while after that, but lost it one night, when he made his first proper mistake.

It had been a crazy night at the precinct, which meant that for Bitchell, it had been relatively boring. When most of the officers were out on patrol, or dealing with the men they’d arrested, that usually meant that Jordan was stuck in the office, bored out of his mind and working out in the small gym next to the locker room, waiting for someone to come and need one of his holes. It wasn’t dawn yet, but most of the officers had left, tired and ragged, and so Jordan, without thinking about the fact it was still an hour or so until dawn, descended down into the jail, and found one of the cells was still occupied.

The officers usually took care to make sure that Jordan didn’t get a good look at the men they brought in (he thought of them as men, still, though the officers generally called them beasts, apparitions, or monsters) but Jordan had always assumed they were at least human. They had to be human, didn’t they? Downstairs, Jordan had his first proper encounter with one of the apparitions of pigtown, men who had been swallowed up by the bar at some point, then spit back out as something else and now they roamed the streets, their single purpose now to corrupt others. This one had no flesh visible, just a pile of grimy rubber gear heaped around him, but whether he was wearing it, or whether it was simply stuck to him, it wasn’t clear. Each time it turned its head, another face appeared on the rubber mask it had on, always facing him: a pig, a gimp, a demon–so many so quickly, that all he could do was stare at it, and step closer, and closer to see, to feel it. The next thing he knew, the officers had him by the shoulders and hips, dragging him back, the sensation of the rubber coming unstuck from his face, where the thing had latched onto him–something between a kiss and a sucker–and all he could do was try to get back down there. The other officers spent the next few hours with him in the locker room, shoving their own musk in his face, dominating him, fucking him, but it took the commander coming in and brutally fucking him, to finally break the things hold on him properly. When he was back to himself, back to Bitchell, the rubber beast was just a memory now–faint, but powerful, and he asked what had happened, none of them could come up with an answer that satisfied him.

He came away relatively unscathed–but he did lose his first name–it had just been pulled right from his mind by the beast’s sucking rubber. If that rubber thing had kept a grip on him, what else could he have lost, and how quickly? Bitchell looked at the night shift with more respect after that. They could have abandoned him to that thing, the apparitions were always easier to wrangle after a snack, but they’d saved him. It was the first time that Bitchell felt like he belonged there, and he minded them and their orders more carefully in the future.

As the weeks became months, Bitchell’s body began to shift less from day to day, and was beginning to solidify into something he could at least recognize as a person. He hadn’t grown much older, at least. Some of the times he’d looked at himself in the mirror he’d seemed older than half the officers at the precinct. There was a thick beard coating his face, about an inch long. It never seemed to get longer, oddly enough, but it would get thicker and bushier. His face was more angular, brow heavier. His eyes were no longer blue, but instead a dark grey. The rest of his body was filling out the recruit’s uniform he’d been given rather well. Where before everything had been relatively baggy on him, on some days it now felt too tight. The belt was on the last notch, when he could even manage to get it fastened, the buttons across his chest were threatening to pop free, and he could fell the fabric stretched tight across his thighs, biceps, and hips. The officers had pitied him after a month and thrown him some boots–they’d been size sixteen, and now his toes cramped up in them after a day.

There were other changes as well. While he found himself still bound to obey the other officers, and especially the commander, the compulsion no longer seemed as strong. Lying on his cot in his cell in the mornings, while he listened to the activity above him, he wondered if it was because the commands were losing force because he was stronger, or whether it was simply because he wanted this. Did he want this? He hadn’t seen the outside world in so long now, he wasn’t entirely sure that it existed. There was just the constancy of his service, wallowing in the musk and the fucking and the piss and the debauchery of his precinct. Wasn’t he enjoying himself? He struggled to remember the academy, what he’d learned there, but none of it seemed to matter anymore. The men of precinct 27 carried their guns, but they were largely worthless. They couldn’t keep you safe from Pigtown. It was the strength of your will that saved you, not a bullet. Was he getting stronger though? Is that why he was thinking…all of these new thoughts? Having all of these dreams?

His sleep had been filled with visions lately, fantasies of storming through the precinct house, bigger than he is now, roaring, pinning down the officers one by one and fucking the daylights out of them, culminating with the commander in his office, but he always woke up before they came to blows. The dreams terrified and thrilled him, and more than once, he’d filled the front of his stained breeches with a load or several even before waking up and climbing from the jail to assume his duties. 

Then one day, he lost it. It had been Hopkins of course–that fucker was always taunting him, from his first week at the precinct. Hopkins, Bitchell had managed to deduce, had been a stellar cop at a central precinct, aiming for a promotion, before he’d been transferred here as a way to get rid of him for some failure Bitchell hadn’t deduced yet. The commander almost never took experienced cops–they simply didn’t understand what they were getting into. Hopkins had disregarded all of the commanders warnings, gotten in over his head within the first month, with several cops having to drag him back to the precinct just to keep from losing him entirely. Now, he was dayshift only, and Bitchell had heard that he got up to some rather…freaky shit when he wasn’t here. He took a lot of his rage out on Bitchell because he was an easy target–at least until Bitchell had had enough, and with a snarl, thrown Hopkins to the floor, tore out the rear of his pants, and mounted him right there in the middle of the office. 

The rest of the officers had just laughed and watched–there was no real love for Hopkins at the station. They all knew that one day, he just wouldn’t show up, and he’d be just another one of the freaks out there. Hopkins knew it too, and that terrified him more than anything. By the time Bitchell was through with him, he was begging for more, begging him to fuck him harder, and only when Bitchell pulled his cock out, and Hopkins looked around him, did he realize what had happened. He fled the station, and Bitchell was summoned to the commander’s office. He’d expected to be reprimanded, but instead, he was told that he was being promoted, and to get out of that filthy uniform. He was so thrilled, and so thankful, he stripped down and bent over the desk, allowing the commander full use of his ass, and then he received his first civilian clothes in ages, and that afternoon, he left the precinct for the first time in nearly nine months. The sunlight on his skin, even just in the evening, sent a shudder down his spine, and he cried a little. Gunner, the other officer he was with who had offered him a spare room in his place, just held him for a moment, and let him use his shoulder. “You’re alright, brother,” Gunner said, “I know it sucks, but its fuckin’ necessary. Come on, let’s get a meal in you, and then get home.”

They got there as twilight was ending, and already, the denizens of Pigtown were out in force, selling their wares, or just tempting the unsuspecting men travelling through for a little fun in an alley. Gunner showed Bitchell into his apartment–a cozy and rather rundown two bedroom flat, but after sleeping in a prison cell for most of a year, it was heaven. Gunner had made up the second bed, as an offer, but he wasn’t surprised when Bitchell climbed into bed with him, nuzzled up to him, but he was asleep before the two of them could get past foreplay. Bitchell wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed or apologetic the next morning, but Gunner got down, blew him, then fucked him, and that was enough to explain that there was nothing to feel bad about. Back at the precinct, he received his new uniform–and it really was a new uniform, much to his surprise. He pulled it on, and found that he missed the smell of his old one–he’d felt…surrounded, in it, by everyone at the station. Now, it was just him–his own musk, warped and twisted by the men around him, sure, but it was still him. Lastly, he received his badge, but where he’d half expected to see the name Bitchell written there, instead, he saw the name Bulldog. “I think it’ll suit you, soon enough,” Rumwell told him with a wink, and with that, he was officially a full-fledged officer of precinct 27.

He trained with the day shift at first, as they explained what to expect outside the walls of the precinct, and what their job was. They had two tasks, really. Protect the folks outside of the zone, and do their best to keep them out. This was what the day shift did, primarily, policed the space between and tried to keep everyone on their proper sides. This was the best they could do to keep Pigtown from getting any larger than it already was. Over the years, they’d learned that the more men that congregated there, the stronger the power at the center became, and while they knew the deal would hold between them and the owner of the bar, they were sure that, as soon as the opportunity arrived to overwhelm them, the owner would do so without hesitation. The second task was the night–dealing with the rogue agents of Pigtown–the apparitions, the beasts, the monsters–whatever you wanted to call them. He wasn’t ready for that yet, but he would be soon. For now, he was partnered up with Gunner, who worked both shifts off and on, and kept sleeping at his place for the time being. Together they walked the streets, did their best to steer folks away using whatever means necessary, and gathered what intel they could from the men, in exchange for a load of cum or piss, usually. 

Then, after about six months there, he was transferred–the commander thought he was ready for the night shift. The crew that greeted him was familiar to him, but now, instead of keeping him at arm’s length, they welcomed him into the fold as a fellow officer. After all, the night was different from the day. Out in the maze of the night, the only folks they could rely on were each other. It was night when the apparitions came out. None of them knew for certain what they were, if they’d been men before this, if they were men during the day, if there were something else entirely, some tendril of power coming from the bar itself. The only thing they knew, was that the stronger they got, the harder they would be to fight. So they captured and tamed them, as best they could, worked to uncover their weaknesses, or at least tried to keep them confined to the inner segments of the neighborhood. Those first few nights were unlike anything Bulldog had ever witnessed, and when they got back to the precinct house, he tore open another officer’s clothes and fucked him there in the entryway–the other officers pulling him off, calming him down, but all of them were so caught up in it, it wasn’t long before an orgy had broken out around the office. When a new recruit appeared in the jail one night, Bulldog realized how necessary his own role had been–the more he could fuck here without distracting another officer, the clearer his head could be out there without impeding their mission.

He proved himself many times over the next few years, dragging a few of his fellow officers back from the brink, and surviving more than a few encounters with apparitions that should have been the end of him, but which he scraped free from with just his wits and sheer force of will. The only weakness he had was rubber. More than once he’d seen that apparition from the cell when he’d been a recruit, just watching him. Perhaps, one day, when he finally fell, it would be at the hands of that thing, everything sucked from him, until he was just a pile of rubber, just another face in the mask–but not tonight. Not for a long, long time, if he had anything to say about it. 

Officers came and went. Hopkins never came into work about a year after their encounter in the office. Not too long after that, a couple of officers found him in a rather sleazy den, the property of a leather clad pimp. Hopkins was decked out in a rubber cop uniform with a zipper up the ass, his hole drooling cum and lube, his mind already gone for the most part. They did their due diligence and tried to get him to return with them–a brother is a brother, after all–but he no longer remembered anything before his service with his new master, and so they left him. He was happier now, in any case, right? New cops came, usually three or four a year, barely enough to replace the ones they lost. Only a few came up from the academy–most of the others ended up in precinct 27 because they pissed off someone more important than they were, and they needed to disappear. Usually they did, but the rare one, who listened to Bulldog and the others, managed to stay relatively sane and become a proper brother. 

Bulldog and Gunner had something like a relationship, but neither of them could really explain what it was between them. A shared tragedy, mostly. Gunner had been the recruit before him, raised up to a proper officer just a week before Bulldog had arrived. They had seen everything together, and no one else could really understand them, other than the commander, perhaps. Bulldog kept meaning to move out and find his own place, but being alone no longer felt right. They were safer together, in the end, even off duty, even if commitment seemed dangerous and terrifying. Would that make them a target? Could he bear to lose him one day? Could he resist him, if he had to? It was better not to worry about it, to take the shelter where he could find it. Happiness was fleeting, and that made it all the more important to hold onto, wherever you could find it.

Slowly, he found himself not just a brother, but a leader. The other officers started asking him for his advice, and more often, he was the one leading their incursions into Pigtown, tracking down the troubling apparitions and finding ways to drain at least a bit of their power and keep their city safe for a little longer. It was a losing battle–Pigtown would creep larger, pulling in a few more blocks each year. The further out you went, the less you felt it, but it was there. At the same time, Bulldog knew he’d never be able to leave. It was home, now. A part of him. He wondered, at times, what it would be like, if Pigtown were…everywhere. He tried not to listen to the part that seemed thrilled by the prospect. They wouldn’t have to fight it anymore. They could just…give in. Fuck. Night would go on forever then, they would never have to go to bed, they’d never have to wake up. It would be hell, it would be paradise. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it. He had to be a force for order. He had to, if he was going to live with himself.

He was surprised when, a couple months shy of his five year anniversary at the precinct, Commander Rumwell invited him to his home for dinner. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the commander’s townhouse, but it was the first time he’d been invited alone. Unsure of what to expect from the older man, he arrived looking as sharp as he could out of his uniform, as twilight was falling, and stepped inside.

“Evening Bulldog, good to see you,” Rumwell said, and pulled him into a hug and a short kiss. This close to the man, Bulldog felt that same flutter he always did when he smelled his commanding officer’s musk. No matter how many holes he fucked, no matter how much of a top he was, he knew he’d always bend over for Rumwell with just a word, no matter what. 

“Evening Sir, my pleasure,” Bulldog said, took off his leather jacket and hung it up, along with his cap. “I just wonder what the occasion is,” he added.

“What, I can’t have dinner with one of my most reliable and trusted officers at the precinct? I can’t congratulate him on the fine work he’s done over the last few years?”

“I mean, sure, but…” Bulldog wasn’t really sure what to say to that. There had to be more. It felt like there was more, between Rumwell’s words. 

Rumwell put an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat. We can discuss more over a cigar after, alright?”

The food was delightful–Bulldog had always been surprised that the commander was a decent cook. With Gunner, he mostly relied on takeout and a good workout regimen to keep the fat off as necessary. After they’d eaten their fill, they retired downstairs to the commander’s modest, but well supplied dungeon, stripped out of the rest of their clothes, and took a cigar each from the humidor. Even now, being naked with the commander made him feel so…vulnerable. He could almost remember a young kid, fresh out of the academy, a sweltering hot office, a scent he could barely even understand, a power he not only wanted to worship, but a power he desired himself, worshiping this burly, masculine, forceful man. But that felt like a lifetime away, now.

They chatted for a while about some cases that were ongoing, before they fell into a lull of silence, and Rumwell said. “The reason I’ve asked you over, Bulldog, is more than just to congratulate you on your work, though fine it is. I’m offering you a promotion. Precinct Captain. I trust you won’t refuse.”

Bulldog stared at him, a bit confused. The precinct didn’t have a captain. In fact, it didn’t really have rank at all–they were all just officers. Equals, aside from the commander, and whatever recruit they might have crawling around at the moment. “I…I guess I didn’t know there was a position for a captain available.”

“There usually isn’t. But I’ve been doing this for…nearly twenty years now. I have a few more left in me, but I know, one of these days, it will get me too. I’m…I’m ready, in some ways, but not yet. I needed someone that I knew would be able to handle this job when I’m gone–a proper successor. And I want that man to be you, Bulldog.”

“I–I mean…” Bulldog stammered, but in all honesty, he’d never allowed himself to think about a future where the commander wasn’t there. But if there was one thing he’d learned about Pigtown, it was that none of them would escape it, in the end. Not even he would. Not even Rumwell either.

“And more than that, as well,” Rumwell said, getting up and walking over to a cabinet, where he pulled out a uniform not unlike Bulldog’s own. But when the commander brought it close, and Bulldog smelled it…he moaned. It smelled like the commander, pure, delightful, pungent power, almost dripping from it. “I’ve been wearing this one for a few weeks at home, getting it ready for you, boy,” Rumwell whispered in his ear, “Look at the badge, too.”

Bulldog did, and saw that it was a captain’s badge–and the name on it was, “Bulldog Rumwell”. 

“I…I don’t understand…”

“I’ve always wanted a son, you know? Rumwell said, pulling Bulldog up from his chair and helping him get dressed in the uniform he’d prepared for him, “In this place of course, that’s out of the question, but…but I think this just might work. Wrap you up in my scent, seed that ass of yours, and maybe, if we believe enough, we can get what we both want, eh son?”

Bulldog shuddered at the word, and nodded, smelling his own scent from his body melding with the scent of the uniform, becoming something between them. He fell to his knees and pushed his face into his commanders–no, into his father’s crotch, inhaling his scent, licking at the head, sucking the web of pre that had already formed between the head of his cock and his low hanging balls. “Feed me Daddy,” he said, “Feed me your seed, and make me your son, your successor, please…”

He lost count of how many loads Rumwell fed him that night. It seemed that the magic of the place was suffusing them both, stretching out time, driving them to heights of arousal and perversion neither of them had experienced before. By morning, they were a tired, aching, heaving knot, Bulldog’s uniform discarded and crumpled off in a corner of the dungeon. Rumwell Sr. was snoring still, when Bulldog got up, thighs, and hole aching, and stumbled into the bathroom to take his morning piss, but froze in the mirror. 

His face–it was his face, almost. But the nose, the jaw, the auburn hair–there was no mistaking it, was there? He lifted up an arm and sniffed his ripe pit, and moaned in delight–he smelled like his dad, fuck! That same authority, that same masculinity was flooding the bathroom around him, and it was so hot he could barely contain himself. He tried to stroke off, his arm was too tired from the night before to finish the job, and he had to go back to his father lying on the floor, lick him clean, thank him for his gift, for his power, and Rumwell Sr. was so thrilled to have his son, that they spent the morning fucking as well.

Everyone at the precinct was nervous, when Bulldog and Rumwell showed up late. The commander was never late, after all, and never arrived to work…with anyone. But as soon as they caught a whiff of them both, they found themselves beginning to understand what had happened, and by the time Rumwell gathered them all in the office to announce the promotion of his son, Bulldog Rumwell, to the position of Precinct Captain, no one could object. Bulldog would oversee the night shift as their shift commander and report to Rumwell Sr., while the commander would continue to supervise the day shift, as he had been. 

Afterwards, the other officers came up to congratulate Bulldog, and to get a good sniff of him too–which Bulldog was more than happy to give them all. And when they were all drunk of his own powerful musk, he enjoyed ordering them all up against the wall so he could sample all of their holes with his cock–and whoever was the nicest fuck would get his load. His father looked on, proud of his boy and pleased to see how quickly he’d been able to assume control over the officers. He could rest a bit more easily now, knowing that when he was gone, there would be a leader here. And maybe, when Bulldog found the right man, the Rumwell legacy could continue. Someone had to keep the city safe, after all. Bulldog looked back at his father, and realized that this is what he’d always been looking for, when he’d decided to become an officer. A family, and a duty. And now that he had both, he would do whatever he could to protect it, until he too, fell under, until they all did, one day. But that was for the future. For now, he had holes to breed–it was time to put these pigs in their place, and show them who would be boss around here, soon enough.

A New Recruit at Precinct 27 (Sneak Peek)

Sorry for the long bout of silence! Things have been happening, mostly a lot of commissions, most of which are sizable (and some which are…not fit for public consumption). In any case, that should be changing soon, starting with a new story here. This is a Pigtown story, but it’s also not really about the bar this time around. A while back, riffing off a fellow who did some captions inspired by Pigtown on his tumblr, that turned it into more of a neighborhood, instead of just one bar, I did a little riff using the same idea in a couple of captions. I’ve used the idea in a few stories, but most are unfinished–but I’m pretty happy with this one, and thanks to the commissioner for the nice ideas and being willing to let me run with it! This is a sample of the story, I’ll post the full version publicly next week. If you want to read it sooner, you can find it on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 level or higher.


When Jordan heard that he was being assigned to Precinct 27 after graduating from the academy, a couple of other trainees pulled him aside and asked what he’d done to get that assignment. From their tone, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a curse or a blessing. When he asked why they seemed surprised, none of them would really give him any details. The only hard fact he could get out of any of them was that the precinct was on the edge of a chunk of the city which was generally called Pigtown, which was a rather unsavory locale, where it was best not to be caught after dark. Jordan, having grown up in the suburbs of the city, hadn’t heard of it, which only seemed to surprise the fellows more. In any case, none of them had been there, or if they had, they weren’t talking about it, so they moved on to other conversation. Jordan learned what they meany by unsavory, however, when he pulled into a parking garage not far from the precinct house, and stumbled upon two guys fucking near the elevator.

He froze. The fellows looked over at him, from the shadows, and one of them was so bold as to beckon him over. Jordan didn’t join them, and if he’d been on duty, he would have hauled them in for public indecency. Instead, a bit rattled, he retreated down to street level, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and found it hard to believe he was still in the same city he’d always thought he’d known. The ground and storefronts were grungy and dirty, the air choked with smoke and exhaust, the streets narrow and full of alleys that seemed to weave around in directions that made no sense. The men passing him on the sidewalk (and it was only men, he realized after a few minutes) were all dressed in leather, denim, rubber, work gear, none of it clean, and some of it rather suggestive, but not as suggestive as what they catcalled him with as he passed by. 

He found his way to the precinct eventually, nearly getting lost in the process. He was certain, somehow, that the streets were moving around him, but that couldn’t be possible, right? In any case, he got there on time, climbed the steps and stepped inside, eager to find somewhere normal after such a strange start to his day, but he quickly discovered that there was a reason precinct 27 had…a reputation with the rest of the cops in the city. 

The building seemed tired. Whether it was because it was simply old, just uncared for, or something else, he couldn’t tell. The tiles of the floor were peeling up and scuffed. The walls had any number of stains on them. The chairs were falling apart, the officer manning the desk had his boots up on the desk in front of him, and he was flipping through a magazine that, Jordan realized as he came closer, looked to be a vintage gay porno rag. He cleared his throat, giving the officer the chance to put the magazine away, but he just looked over the top of it. “What’s up?” he said.

“Uh, hi. My name is Jordan Bethell, I’m a new recruit assigned here? I’m supposed to have a meeting with the commander today at ten.”

The man leered at him. Jordan had never really known what a leer was, until the moment this officer’s nose and lips turned up, upon the news that the precinct had a new recruit. “Sure thing man. His office is on the third floor. Elevator’s broke though, gonna have to climb,” the officer said, pointing to the stairs.

“They gonna fix it soon?”

The man just laughed, and returned to his magazine, groping the crotch of his uniform openly as he reached the centerfold. Jordan backed away, confused, and took the stairs up. He’d be sure to mention the officer’s rather inappropriate behavior when he spoke to the commander. The higher he climbed in the building, the hotter it became, adding ten, then maybe fifteen degrees of heat, despite it being a rather cool Spring day outside. He passed a few officers on the way up, and each of them were walking uniform violations–beards on almost all of them past regulation length, some men who were quite a bit too fat to pass the physical exam, illegal modifications to their uniforms–and he was certain that one of them smelled like alcohol as he passed, and another stank of piss. What kind of operation was the commander running here? He had met a few captains and commanders while he was at the academy, and all of them had seemed rather rigid and sticklers when it came to the rules of how an officer ought to present themselves. Whoever was leading this place–if this is what he let his officers get away with, how could he expect them to look up to him as a leader?

At the top floor, the temperature in the building had to be eighty degrees, and Jordan was already sweating through his undershirt and out onto the crisp, clean button down he’d worn, since he didn’t have his official uniform to change into yet. Those were stored at the precinct, and given to recruits when they arrived. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, and at the end of the hall, he saw one officer had shoved another up against the wall, and was…making out with him? The other one had his hand down the other officer’s pants and was stroking the man’s cock, making him moan. “What…what the fuck are you two doing?” Jordan asked.

Both officers turned to him, surprised and annoyed at having been interrupted. “Who the fuck are you, askin’?” the larger one asked. He was big, one of the larger men that Jordan had ever seen, and he stalked towards him, footfalls reverberating through the floor, and Jordan stepped backwards, only to stumble into someone else. The officer stopped, stood up straight, and saluted, “Commander,” he said, and the other officer behind him pushed off the wall and saluted as well, “I was just inquiring as to what this…civilian was doing in our precinct.”

“I believe this civilian is Jordan Bethell, our new recruit out of the academy,” the voice behind him said. Jordan turned around, and found himself looking up at Commander Rumwell. He was a few inches taller than Jordan was, his body thickly packed with muscle. Unlike the other officers he’d seen, his uniform was at least worn as it ought to be, but that didn’t stop the older fellow’s musk from forming a thick cloud around him in the heat. Jordan’s nose wrinkled at the smell–it reminded him of the days back in high school after football practice, the air full of sex and hormones and sweat. He shuddered a bit, but wasn’t quite sure why. “We have a meeting, don’t we Jordan? Thank you for your promptness,” the commander said.


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Frat Daddy – Interlude #2 (Mike)

Mike had thus far avoided any of Frat Daddy’s direct attention, and he counted himself thankful, because keeping up with just the new rules of the frat house was proving challenging enough. The worst part, though, was the showers. Or really, the lack of them. Mike was on the football team, along with a few other guys in the house, and between only showering three times a week, not being allowed to use much soap at all, and just being an active guy, trying to workout and burn through the massive calorie diet Daddy had them all on, he reeked–and he hated it. Mike had always prided himself on his cleanliness and style, always smelling and looking good for the girls on campus–none of who would give him a second look now.

None of this had escaped Ethan’s attention though–especially when he found contraband in Mike’s drawer during a surprise check. It was a can of deodorant (unscented even, because he knew any scent would have given him away in the house) and Daddy had him turn around, and threatened to shove the aerosol can up his hole, if he ever found something like this in the house again. Instead, he just gave him ten solid paddlings with the metal cylinder, and left the house with it. When Friday rolled around, and it was again time to gather up and find out who Daddy would have spend the weekend with him, Mike was surprised when Daddy chose him. 

The week before, Carter had come back and he’d been…different. More assertive. Bigger too, somehow. He’d been vague about his time with Daddy, but said it had been something very special, and that he couldn’t wait to go back and see him again sometime. In fact, Carter looked outright despondent that he hadn’t been selected, while Mike was trying to figure out, why him? If it was a reward, why pick him after finding contraband in his room? If it was a punishment…he didn’t really want to think too hard about that, actually. There was only one bright spot, he thought, as he followed Daddy through the tunnel and over to his home, and that was, maybe, he could get that little can back from him. It was risky, sure…but maybe, if he could just talk to him, he’d understand, right?

Daddy cooked him dinner, which was off putting. He hadn’t had much in the way of real food, aside from the occasional dining hall visits, since anything consumed outside of the house didn’t actually count towards their daily goal, and the shakes were so damn filling. Daddy was quiet–not like he was angry, but like he was trying to give Mike some space to think. It was enough for Mike to reconsider him for a moment, that maybe he was something more than just the taskmaster he had taken him to be. Daddy asked him about football, and about the coach in particular, if he’d said anything to the boys about their uniform, their diet, or the fact they were forbidden to shower after practice. From there, talk drifted to the topic of hygiene. Mike tried to, gently, suggest that maybe the boys could be allowed to shower more–at least after practice, but Daddy didn’t seem interested in changing his mind. What he did say, was that if Mike still felt that way after this weekend, then he might consider it. It wasn’t much, but a bit of hope was better than nothing. When Mike asked him what they were doing this weekend, Daddy was honest–the house needed some work, especially outside in the garden, ahead of winter. As part of his punishment, Mike would be helping him. That seemed fair to Mike–and he imagined that Daddy could have inflicted much harsher punishments if he so chose. Daddy showed him to his room, and then left–he’d get him up in the morning.

But Mike had a hard time sleeping, for a number of reasons. He was horny, for one thing, but that had become a rather constant feature of his life, since he didn’t exactly enjoy having sex with his brothers, and women were off limits. In fact, Mike hadn’t fucked anyone in the last week–as hard as it was to resist after a cigar. It wasn’t required, so why do it? That, though, brought up another reason sleeping was difficult. He’d taken to consuming one of his required cigars in the evening, and he hadn’t today–so much to his displeasure, he was jonesing a bit for nicotine. The room was also quite hot–hotter than it should have been, especially this late in October. He’d kicked off all the sheets, and was still soaked in sweat. He tried to open the window, it wouldn’t budge. In the end, he got up, tried to door, and much to his surprise, it wasn’t locked–though why he’d expected it to be…he didn’t know. Maybe he could find that can of deodorant at least–if he didn’t have to smell himself, he’d sleep a bit better. If not that, a cigar–Daddy would understand, he was sure. He’d seen a humidor downstairs in the lounge–might as well go there first, for an alibi.

After fetching a cigar–the smallest he could find, since he didn’t want to be up all night, he made his way back upstairs, and found himself outside Daddy’s room–he could tell from the snoring. He pushed open the door, which was ajar, and it was just as sweltering as his own room, not that it was bothering Daddy at all. Sure enough, there, on the dresser, was the little can of deodorant. Just grab it, slip out, spray it on, put it back, and he’d be good for the weekend at least. But instead, as he crossed the side of the room as quietly as he could–he smelled something else. Looking down, he realized what it was, he was standing right on some of Daddy’s well worn underwear, and he could smell it, the cum, the piss, the sweat, all of it wafting up to him, and he didn’t understand what he did, or why, but he bent down, picked them up, and retreated to his own room where he closed the door, lit his cigar, and spent the next hour with the underwear pressed to his nose, moaning and groaning and jacking off, always on edge, unable to cum, until at last, he passed out, the butt of the cigar balance on the side table, still smoldering. 

Outside the room, Ethan was crouched, looking through the door that Mike thought had been shut tight, but no doors were closed to Daddy. He hadn’t been sure that Mike would take the bait–but the deodorant would have been a fine surprise for the boy too–just a different sort of surprise. For now, he would go with this plan–the weekend was still long, after all, and Mike was a tough nut, he could already tell.


The pounding on the door jostled Mike awake. “Come on boy! Get a move on,” a voice said from the other side of the door, and it took Mike a moment to place it, before he remembered where he was. It was Daddy of course. He sat up, saw the cigar on the side table, and remembered everything else that had happened last night, and his stomach turned. The underwear! He looked around for it on the bed, but it wasn’t anywhere–and then he looked down, and saw that he…was wearing it.

His stomach turned a bit, at the sheer thought of wearing someone else’s underwear–especially one as dirty and…and why were they still wet? He tried to take them off, only to discover they refused to budge from around his waist. In a rising panic, he stood up, almost called to Daddy…but then he’d have to admit that he took them, and admit what he did the night before, which he could barely even reckon with himself. Instead, he put on the clothes that had appeared on a chair by the door–a pair of old 501 levis that fit surprisingly well, a wife beater, socks, and a pair of work boots. They were all used as well, they all smelled of a vague musk, but what choice did he have? He’d just have to get through the weekend and be done with it. He thought again about that can on the dresser, but Daddy pounded on the door again, ordering him out. Mike emerged, followed Daddy downstairs and they had breakfast, followed by a cigar, as Daddy outlined the tasks for the day.

Daddy had some general work to do winterizing the house and the backyard. Mike would be spending the day mowing the lawn, organizing the shed, and a few other general tasks, should he be a good boy and finish all of those quickly. The morning chill burnt off quickly, and Mike found himself mowing the lawn in a heat that felt more like August than Fall–it was unnatural, and he found himself working up a sweat almost immediately. The lawn was connected seamlessly to the frat house’s front lawn, and Daddy told him to mow that as well. Quite a few of his brothers could see him through the windows, and Mike grumbled a bit, knowing that the rest of them would know that he was Daddy’s chore boy this weekend. At least he could smoke a cigar while he was mowing, though that did nothing to ease his horniness. Every erection he sprouted as he walked, he knew it was rubbing up against Daddy’s dirty underwear, and he found it hard to know how he really felt about that. Disgusted? Excited? Both? He mowed faster so he could at least be done with it, and when he was finished, he went back and found Daddy in the backyard, as soaked in sweat as he was.

They had a quick break for lunch, and sat out on the porch to eat it. Each time Daddy raised his arm to take a swig from his beer, Mike would get a whiff of his pits, and the same emotions would roil through him all over again. He was certain this was Daddy’s plan all along, turn him into some…musky boy or whatever he had it mind, like how Carter had come back, and suddenly he was twisting tits and smacking asses as he fucked everyone, and…and what in the world was happening to them all? This wasn’t normal, right? He had to remember that. He had to keep telling himself that.

They finished lunch, and returned to work. Mike spent the afternoon in the shed, organizing and sorting Daddy’s tools, and the tin roof turned it into an oven. Soon, all he could smell was his own musk, or was it Daddy’s? He couldn’t tell anymore, but it was making his cock ache, but he refused to give in. He stayed focused on his task, and finished it without making a fool of himself. If he could demonstrate self-control, if he could show Daddy that he didn’t need to be dirty to be a good boy…then maybe he really would listen to him. He hoped he would, at least. 

With their chores finished, and their bodies plenty sore, they went in, and Daddy cooked another sizable dinner. Once they’d eaten, Daddy poured them both some bourbon and they sat back out on the porch with their cigars, this time on the swinging bench, Daddy’s arm around Mike’s shoulder, his pit inches from the boy’s face. “Well boy, you did some nice work today, I have to admit. Good boys deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Daddy’s arm contracted around his shoulders and pulled him closer, while his other hand groped his boy’s crotch. Mike was very hard–it felt like he’d been hard all day long at this point. The urge to lean in and just…smell Daddy’s pit was nearly overwhelming, but one little lapse, and he’d have lost. He was so focused on not giving in, that he forgot what Daddy would find when he undid the button fly of his jeans–and Daddy chuckled. “Well boy, now where did you get those?”

Mike tried to pull away from him, but Daddy tugged him even closer.

“Looks like someone snuck into Daddy’s room, and made off with a pair of underwear, you little thief. To think, all this time, saying you can’t handle the smell of the other boys in the house, and the first chance you get, you steal a pair of my dirty, cumstained, stinking underwear so you can wear them yourself.”

“That’s not…I didn’t…”

“Sure seems like you enjoy it boy,” Daddy said, groping harder and rougher, and then he pressed his fingers to Mike’s nose. He snorted in reflex, and then moaned, the smell of his own musk mixing with Daddy’s more than he could really take. “What does it smell like, boy? Does it smell like hard work? Smell like hardworking, burly, hairy men? You like men like that, don’t you? Like Daddy? Don’t you want to be a stinking man like that? Dominating all of the men around you with your pits, with your crotch, with your feet?”

“No,” Mike said, and managed to push himself away, and stand up. “No–I know what you’re doing, but I’m not like you, I’m not! I’m not just…just going to let you do this to me, to all of us.”

“Boy, sit your ass back down, right now,” Daddy said, but Mike ran inside, and headed for the stairs. The first place he stopped was the bathroom, so he could get in the shower–but he discovered that there simply wasn’t one there. 

“Boy, think about what you’re doing right now, you’re about to make a mistake.”

“Shut up!” Mike cried, “I’m not some fucking boy–I know what I’m doing, and what I want, and it isn’t this!”

He went into Daddy’s master bedroom, but again, somehow, the shower in the attached bathroom he was certain should be there was just…gone. He turned, saw the little can on the dresser, and made a beeline for it. He might not be clean, but at least he wouldn’t stink!

He popped off the cap, and Daddy stepped into the room, hands down, looking…not angry, like Mike had expected of him, but a bit…concerned. “Boy, you don’t understand what you’re about to do. I know it’s hard, but I just need you to trust me, and you’ll understand that what I’m offering you is about more than this. That if you don’t work past this, one way or another, you won’t–”

“Shut up! I’m sick and tired of your rules, and your lectures, and your fucking stink!” he said, and proceeded to spray himself from head to foot–but as soon as the mist struck his nose, he knew something was wrong. This…wasn’t unscented anymore. It smelled…foul. Fuck, it fucking reeked so…so fucking much, and the next thing Mike really remembered clearly, he had crawled across the floor, grunting and snorting, and shoved his nose into Daddy’s crotch, snorting up all the musk there, hungry for it, aching for it.

“I tried to warn you pig, but some boys need to learn the hard way, no matter what,” Daddy said, and dropped his own jeans, so Mike could shove his nose into his dirty underwear, sniffing and grunting and squealing until he shot a load in the filthy pair of underwear he had on still. Mike was desperately trying to regain control of himself, but he could feel that he was changing further, his gut sagging lower, his body coated with sweat and grime like he hadn’t had a shower in ages. Daddy stripped down, got on the bed, and let the pig climb up with him, licking him clean, worshipping every inch of his body, every slight difference in musk registered and relished by his more sensitive nose, until Daddy had had enough with the licking, shoved the pig down on his belly, and pounded his hole, making the pig squeal and shoot another load all over the sheets beneath him. After that, Daddy kicked the pig out of bed. Mike crawled around, sniffing for a while, and eventually curled up in a pile of dirty laundry, and was soon snoring away.


Sunday morning came, and all that registered to Mike at first, was a headache, like he had spent all night huffing paint. He made his way to the bathroom, splashed a bit of water on his face, took care of his business, stumbled out, but Daddy must have woken up already. Mike went downstairs, carefully, since the world was still spinning a bit rapidly, and found Daddy cooking a delicious smelling breakfast. His memories of the night before were…hazy. He could remember the fight, somewhat, and he felt…bad, but he wasn’t quite sure why. 

“There you are, pig,” Daddy said, with a grin, “sleep well?”

“I…I feel like I got hit by a train, Daddy,” Mike said, and sat down at the table.

“I tried to warn you, boy, but you didn’t want to listen.”

“Well I’m sick of listening! I’m sick of you telling us what to do. We’re adults, you know! We’re–” before Mike could get anything else out, Daddy had walked over, shoved his face into his pit, and everything else disappeared–there was just that wonderful, filthy stench, and with a grunt, Mike was licking and sucking at his pit with pure delight, until Daddy pulled away, and Mike came back to himself, horrified. “How…why did I do that?”

“You’re a pig.”

“But the spray, I thought it wore off.”

“It might wear off, eventually. But until then, anytime you smell another fellows musk–you’re going to turn into one hundred percent grade A muskpig.”

“You…you can’t be serious.”

“I most certainly am. It’ll get worse, too. You’ll get fatter, the more it happens. Dirtier. It’ll start wearing off on you. Showers, for you, are optional from now on–if you can stand to take them. You might even start to like it. You might forget you ever wanted to be a man at all, boy. You might just leave here a pig, and never look back.”

Mike sat in silence, while Daddy finished cooking, and set the meal in front of him. Was he hungry because he was legitimately starving, or was he hungry because the pig was urging him on? He ate anyway, trying to hold back, trying to find the line, but it eluded him. “For what I said, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You meant it,” Daddy said, and looked him in the eye, “When you really understand what you did wrong–then apologize. Until then, well, we’ll see.”

After breakfast, Mike returned to the house. The boys all asked him how it had been, if the chores had been a punishment, or something else. Mike didn’t really know what to tell any of them. Later, Carter found him, alone, and sat beside him–and just put his arm around him. Mike knew it was commiseration, but it took all of his will to not leap into Carter’s pit and suck it clean.

“Daddy’s a real bastard, isn’t he?” Carter said, “But fuck, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“He is a bastard, that’s for sure,” Mike replied, and left it at that.

Patreon Exclusives: “Stud Service” & “Arctos: Scents #1 and #2”

Got a couple new stories up for Patrons this week! The first one is currently in early access, which means that it’ll get posted publicly in a week or so. I’ve had it sitting around for a while and never got around to posting it. It’s got some good old fashioned weird shit–anthro, furry, feral, cock swapping, fairy tale oddities etc. You can find it here, or you can hang on for a while and catch it here in a bit.

The others are a pair of suggested stories based off ideas from Patrons. Folks liked the first one I did last week, and so I did a follow up with a different scent I’d mentioned. I’ll go ahead and post the first one in full–if you enjoy it, you can find the second one here.

As always, if you haven’t signed up for my Patreon, I’d recommend it! You get early access to full stories, as well as access to the suggestion box, all of the stories I write based on those suggestions, and the occasional freebie too. You can find more details here!


Blake didn’t know what the package was when it showed up in his mailbox, nor did he recognize the company on the label–some place called Arctos Industries. He took it inside with the rest of his mail, opened it up, and three little canisters fell out, along with a note:

“Blake,

You’re a man of discerning scent. We here at Arctos are offering you a sample pack of our new personal scents–Mechanic, Dungeoneer, and Truckstop. Now you too can smell like an Arctos man. The full strength formulas can be found at our website, once you’ve settled on your favorite. Happy scenting.”

“Fucking weird ass marketing campaigns these days,” Blake said, and looked at the three aerosol cans. They must be some kind of deodorant or body spray. Out of curiosity, he popped the top off one, labeled Mechanic, and gave it a little spray in the air.

Grease. Motor oil. Sweat. New car smell. Metal shavings. Battery acid. 

It was…strong. If this wasn’t full strength, he didn’t want to know what the real thing smelled like. But the smell was lingering in his nose, he couldn’t quite seem to shake it, somehow. Something…something was off. He realized then that he’d taken his shirt off at some point, but when? He tried to move away from where he’d sprayed it, but it followed him–he lifted an arm up, gave a sniff, and realized it was on him–he’d sprayed himself with it, but when? Looking at the clock, he’d lost…fifteen minutes? He was feeling woozy again, woozy, and…horny. That was the last thing he remembered clearly, until he found himself lying in his bed.

With a moan, he stood up, and looked around. What time was it? He looked for his phone, but it was nowhere to be seen. He got up and went into the kitchen, and discovered it was…morning. He turned on his computer, and found out it was morning…two days later. He’d just lost around 36 hours of time, and he had no way of accounting for it at all. He heard the buzz of his phone, back in his bedroom, and he found it in the pocket of some filthy coveralls he had never seen before in his life, coated with grease and motor oil. He couldn’t imagine wearing something like that ever–but then why were they here, with his phone in the pocket? The buzz had been a message from some stranger he didn’t even know, asking why he wasn’t at the shop–probably a wrong number.

Other stuff was off though. He went to make himself some breakfast, and found leftover take out from some fast food place in the fridge–shit he would have never ordered in his life. He threw it out. His hands were filthy, with grease under the nails from who knew what. He drank his coffee, and noticed the canister of deodorant was still on the counter. Mechanic–that was the last thing he’d done before blacking out. Did that have something to do with all of this? He didn’t want to test the theory–he just chucked it in the trash with the fast food, and wondered if he should call the doctor. 

In the end, he felt fine though–he watched TV for the rest of the morning and early afternoon, only for his show to be interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Wondering who it could be, he opened it, and found himself looking at a stocky guy wearing some grungy looking coveralls. He looked surprised, and then confused. “Oh, hey. Is Blake here?”

“Uh…yeah, I’m Blake.”

“No, I mean…big guy, roommate?”

“I live here alone, no other Blake as far as I…what are you doing?” Blake asked, as the shorter guy started sniffing the air. 

“I…I smell him, he’s here somewhere,” he said, and pushed past Blake into the apartment.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” The guy made a beeline for the trash can, and pulled out the canister, then came back and sniffed Blake. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get out of my apartment.”

Blake tried to shove him back out into the hallway, but before he could, the guy pulled off the top of the canister and sprayed Blake with the Mechanic scent again. As soon as he smelled it, he blanked out again for a second, and when he came to…he was…different. 

“Fuck, I knew you had to be here, I had to smell you again,” the guy said, his face shoved into Blake’s armpit. He…He was naked, mostly naked. But something was off. He was bigger, hairier. He tried to push the stranger away, but ended up using his hand to shove him harder into his armpit. Things began to swim, losing more clarity, and then, he wasn’t in his apartment.

He was in a bathroom. Not the cleanest bathroom he’d ever seen. It was obviously a business bathroom, single occupancy, lock on the door. Blake looked around him, totally disoriented, and saw himself in the mirror, face coated in grime, wearing the coveralls he’d found in the apartment, the nametag patch on them said Blake. They fit…poorly. They pooled around the work boots he had on, which were also too small, and hung off him, like they were made for a guy at least a hundred pounds heavier. What in the world was happening to him? He found his phone in his pocket, but couldn’t unlock it–someone had changed the pin on him to something he didn’t know. He could see the date though–he’d lost…five days this time! How was that even possible?

He left the bathroom, and found himself in the lobby of a mechanic’s garage. One of the customer’s waiting did a double take when he came out, then buried his face back in the magazine he was reading. Blake, red in the face, left the lobby and looked for his car, but it wasn’t anywhere that he could see. He was still wandering about when the guy who had shown up at his apartment before came jogging over to him.

“You! Where…where the hell am I? What did you do to me?”

“Hey, easy now, calm down, I can explain,” he said, but he just pulled the canister from his pocket and shot it all over Blake’s body, “I was hoping a smaller dose would be ok, since we’re running low, but the full strength spray should arrive today–it’s all going to be fine.”

Blake choked and gasped, and he…he could feel it. Feel his body growing larger, his gut filling out the front of his coveralls, hair receding and filling in with grey, a bushy beard across his face, and the stench! Fuck, he smelled fucking good, made his fat cock get hard and start leaking in the front of his favorite coveralls…but what was he doing out here in the parking lot? Last thing he remembered, he’d needed to take a piss, and his boy wasn’t around to drink it for him. “What the hell, I fergot some shit again…” he muttered, embarrassed. That had been happening lately, just…losing time without any explanation. 

“Don’t worry Daddy, your medication will get here today–you’ll be feeling better soon enough,” Sam said, and gave the massive, smelly mechanic a hug, taking a deep inhale of his scent, his own cock going crazy. “It’s lunch time Daddy, why don’t we hit the drive through, and we can both get fed,” he said, and groped Blake’s crotch.

“Fuck boy, sounds like a plan tah me,” Blake growled to him. They hopped in the used truck they’d bought a few days before–he didn’t know what he’d been thinking, buying a little car he could barely fit into, but this was so much more comfy. They headed for the drive through–Blake would get his usual massive meal, and while he ate, his boy would get a load of mechanic cum for his troubles.

The Pig Squad

Week One Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Look, I’ll be the first to admit that the squad had some issues, alright? But we weren’t any worse than any of the other squads in the state patrols, I can tell you that. Harrison could get a little rough with folks out on the highways. Everyone knows that Klein is a racist, though he can keep it in usually. Ricci does his best as sergeant, but his heart isn’t really in it. His dad was a cop, so he had to be too, you know? Sure, the lawsuits look bad, but most of them got settled easily enough. Hell, I’ll point you to five squads in this state with records worse than ours, but hell, one high profile chase goes wrong, and suddenly we have to do something about it. Something being, of course, this fucking psycho bullshit re-training.

I heard from Lewis that this is all because the quack doctor is some friend of the governor’s brother or something. Someone’s always greasing someone’s shaft, right? So the whole squad has to spend five fucking weeks off patrol, and instead we’re locked up in a classroom all fucking day long, with this old fuck prattling on and on at us, making us watch these boring ass movies about how we can work better as a team, how we can better serve the community, it’s all a bunch of horseshit. I’ll tell you this right now, after one week, I’ll gladly get the squad to shape up just so I don’t have to sit through this trash ever again.

And now, we have to keep a journal too, whatever. Something about helping the doctor assess the course’s effect over time. Well here doc, when you read this in a few weeks, here’s what I want you to know. You’re a fucking piece of shit quack, with no fucking idea what it takes to be a police officer. How about that for a baseline? Five weeks from now, we’ll all be back on our bikes, laughing about what a fucking waste of time this all was, and you’ll have your chunk of government money–that’s what this is all about I bet.

What else was there–oh right, the drugs. We have to take these pills too, apparently. Don’t know what they are, but they give them to us at the start of the day, and make sure we all take them. Harrison got found out when they tested our piss for it on Wednesday–he’d been hiding the pill under his tongue and spitting it out later. Had to have a “private” session with the doctor about that. More bullshit I think. At least they’re feeding us well–though without going to the gym, I look a little flabby. Wish they’d give us some time for physical activity at least–then this wouldn’t be quite so mind numbingly boring. We even had to watch a bunch of videos over the weekend at home–they were so dull I can’t remember a thing about them. Whatever–nothing else to fucking report this week, other than to say, go fuck yourself Doc, you fucking queer. As for me, I’m heading to the strip club with a couple of other guys from the squad. I know I could use a good fuck right about now, after a week of this shit. Just four more to go.


Week Two Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Alright, so I think something strange is going on with those drugs they’ve been giving us, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. They don’t give us a lot of private time–we always have the doctor or one of his various assistants watching us throughout these sessions, but the few times we’ve been able to talk to each other, we’re all reporting the same things. All of us are eating more. We just can’t help ourselves, and the fact that the doctor always has a full snack bar for these sessions isn’t helping. I’ll look down in the middle of one of his boring videos and discover I’ve demolished a massive load of candy and other snacks without even realizing it–and worse, I’m still fucking hungry, every time!

Fields said that he was taking a shower the other day, and when he looked down, a bunch of hair was clogging the drain. He’d just lost all of the hair off his body in a single shower, and apparently a bunch off his head as well. I hadn’t really thought about it until he said something, but I realized that I couldn’t recall the last day I’d needed to shave my face. I don’t grow a lot there, so I can usually get away with every other day, but I couldn’t think of when I’d shaved over the last week my chin and cheeks are perfectly smooth. When I checked the rest of my body, it was smooth too, and a lot of my muscular definition had been swallowed up in a thick layer of fat. My hair was even looking thin, and receding higher than it should have. It has to be those drugs. None of us want to take them, but when the doctor gives them to us, we can’t stop ourselves. I’ve…noticed that a lot, actually. The doctor gives us orders, and we all follow them, without even really thinking about it. It only got worse with the physical exam on Friday.

We all had to strip naked, together, and hell if it wasn’t obvious that something was happening to us. All of us were smooth as a button. Klein had lost his goatee entirely, and looked 50 pounds heavier. Hell, all of us looked 50 pounds heavier, if not a bit more. We were ushered into the doctor’s office, poked and prodded by his assistants, and then we had to answer all these…sex questions while we had electrodes hooked up to our cocks! It sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with police work, but while I…I wanted to say something, I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t do anything at all. Just answered his questions like some stupid dolt, and then they gave me a new uniform to wear for the rest of the re-training. We could wear our civilian clothes home at least, but we’d have to change in the locker room every day before the sessions started.

I wore it the next day. We all did. The shirts and breeches are so tight on all of us, with all of the new weight we’ve put on. It’s more like a dress uniform, but the tightness–the rigidness…it made my cock a bit excited. We even have to wear perfectly shined leather boots, gloves, and a hat while we sit in for sessions now. In it, I feel like I’m sweating so much, but during one session, I caught myself grabbing my crotch while the Doctor spoke, and looking around, I wasn’t the only one doing it.

I’ve heard rumors that a few guys are going to try and push back. I don’t know what they’re going to do exactly, none of them are guys I tend to run with–Klein, Harrison, a few others, Ricci probably, since he’s always one for bad decisions. I don’t know if they’re going to go to the chief, or if they’re going to try and take matters into their own hands…but I’m staying out of it. I…I just, it’s so hard to think now, that I’m sitting here at home. Last week I went out to the strip club, had a session with Sonja afterwards, and I couldn’t even get hard. She offered me a blue pill, and I just left. But now, I think it’s…smaller. My balls too. And I haven’t gotten hard thinking about a woman in…days? Just at these sessions, in my new uniform…fuck, what’s wrong with me? I need to fucking eat something, fuck this. Why am I even writing this down? I don’t want the doc to read this…


Week Three Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

I don’t know what to do. I feel like…I know that this is wrong, but…but fuck, sitting here, rubbing my gut, smoking one of my cigars, feeling my little dick get hard, it all just feels so right, all of a sudden. 

I read what I wrote last week, and it feels so far away now. So much happened since I wrote it, but I…I just keep hearing Doc’s voice, and…and fuck, he makes me feel so good, thinking about him. I like feeling good, I just want all my brothers to feel good too, right? Why wouldn’t I? If we just relax, and follow the program, I can tell everything will be alright, but part of me is telling me I have to fight this. That this isn’t my body. That I don’t smoke cigars, that I don’t want to be fat, that the feeling of my leather gloves on my cock isn’t heaven on fucking earth. But I don’t think we can fight it. Hell, look at what happened to Klein and the others when they tried.

It was Tuesday. Wednesday? I don’t know, they all blend together. I saw Doc yesterday, I know that, and it was two, three days before? I was already dressed, in the main room, had taken my pills and gotten in my seat. A few guys on the squad were all missing at this point, the ones I knew had been planning something, and a couple others that didn’t surprise me. Most of the bad apples, you might say–the ones who were causing the bulk of the issues in the first place. A few minutes after I noticed that, the assistants (I call them that, but they’re guards, aren’t they? Keeping us there like that, controlling us) dragged them all in, kicking and flailing. Fuck, that was a sight. Doc came out, asked them why they were late, and Klein ripped into him, yelling and shouting, accusing him of all sorts of shit, trying to hypnotise us, warp our minds, fucking with our bodies. The rest of us just sat there. I was scared, honestly. I knew he was right…I think? I don’t know, I just feel so out of it.

Doc tells the assistants that they all need a special group sessions with him for the day, and the rest of us just rewatch some of the videos we’d already seen, while the assistants watch us. I try and focus on them this time, really hard, but by the end of the day, hell if I can remember what the videos said–though I knew they were ones I’d seen before, somehow. I knew that I…I knew what they’d said, even if I couldn’t say it, or think it. We change out of our uniforms at the end of the session, and the rebels are there, eyes…glassy. They’re smearing some weird cream on their crotches, vile smelling shit. Harrison bent over, and I swear I saw something in his ass. A plug or a dildo, who knows what. None of them said anything, and the next day, all of them were on time, fully dressed, took their pills like good hogs, and sat down.

Hogs–why did I just write that? Reading it makes me so fucking hard, why the fuck…I can’t think about that, I can’t handle this.

I know what I have to do. I just gotta cruise through. Make sure no one notices me. But then, yesterday, Doc holds three of us back. Wold, Fields, and I. We all go into his office, he…talked with us, about stuff. Then Wold and Fields left, and it was just the two of us.

Now, I’m scared. I’m scared, because this is the first time I can really remember something Doc said to me, clearly. He asked me why I’d never pursued a leadership position in the squad, and I told him the truth, that I didn’t want the trouble. That it was easier to just go with the flow, rather than try and push back against a bunch of shit that will never change. I learned years ago that you can fight the racists like Klein, or the fascists like Harrison, or the legacies like Ricci, but there’s always more of them that show up. Doc just nodded. Then he handed me a bunch of cigars and a set of videos. Told me to watch them this weekend, and smoke at least two cigars a day for the rest of training.

Everyone else was gone, when I’d left. I didn’t notice until I got home that I was still wearing my uniform–it was the first time I’d worn it outside of the training. I looked at myself in it, in my mirror, and I hardly recognize myself. Smooth face and head, fat body squeezed into the thick cloth and shiny leather. It made me leak. I’ve gotten through half the discs, I think. I don’t know what they’re doing to me, but thinking about Klein and Harrison, how stupid they’ve seemed for the last few days, thinking about that…plug in Harrison’s hole, fucking hogs. Need a good boss to tell them what to do. Yeah, plug their hogholes, make ‘em squeal, that’ll–

Fuck, what a fucking mess. Filled the front of my fucking breeches with a load, just thinking about those stupid hogs of mine. Fuck, why am I writing this? What is he doing to me now? And why the fuck do I keep farting so dang much?


Week Four Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

I broke him. Fuck, and it felt fucking good doing it, fuck.

This week was different. Instead of group sessions, Doc scheduled individual meetings with all of us. Mine was early on, which kind of surprised me, since I’d just had a personal session with him a few days before. He asked me how I’d liked the cigars that he’d given me. I’d smoked them all over the weekend–I hadn’t really been able to stop once I’d started them. They didn’t really hit me like the few cigarettes I’d had before. There was a bit of a nicotine rush of course, but mostly I felt…powerful, when I was smoking one. Powerful, and dominant, and I’d usually found myself thinking about my squad brothers, about how they looked in their uniforms, and more and more, how they might look out of them, kneeling in front of me, and…

Fuck, is this me? Has this always been me? I can’t really remember how I used to look, you know? I try. I look in the mirror, but I can’t picture myself with hair on my head. I can’t imagine what I’d look like if I managed to lose the weight I keep putting on somehow. 

I told all that to the Doc. He just nodded, and then he asked me whether I’d noticed myself farting more. I blushed–I’d been passing gas the whole time I’d been sitting in his office, trying to keep them quiet, but more than a few had been at least a little noisy. I’d belched a few times as well, when I was trying to talk. I told him I didn’t know what was causing it, but assumed it was just how much I’d been eating lately, but he told me to relax. He was my closest confidant, after all–I could be myself around him, if I wanted to.

Well, apparently “being myself” meant leaning back, groping myself, sniffing my own farts while I told him all of my…disgusting fantasies I’d had about the other men in the squad. As horrified as I was, I couldn’t stop myself–and more than once, I came in the front of my uniform, and Doc just smiled at me in the oddest way. I don’t recall a lot after that. He spoke a lot, but as always, I just zoned out when he was speaking, though it had been a full hour when I finally realized what was happening. He told me that for the rest of the week, I would be leading workouts with the squad while he was having individual meetings. I asked him why Ricci wasn’t doing them–he was the squad’s sergeant after all. Doc told me not to worry about it. As I left, I remembered that he had been one of the guys involved in the little revolt, so the answer was obvious, in the end.

The next day, with a fresh supply of cigars, I started putting the rest of the pigs through their paces in the gym. It had been relatively unused in the training up until then, but now, all of us were sweating up a storm, and for all the weight we’d put on, I was surprised to find we were all…stronger. I could bench 200–I’d never been able to do that in my life, though I let a massive fart rip when I did. The rest of the guys were a bit…confused as to why I was put in charge, but I whipped them into shape well enough, and as more and more guys went to see the Doc, their attitude towards me changed more too.

I found Lewis in the locker room after a workout, rubbing his shiny boots against his tiny cock, moaning and grunting…and when he saw me, fully dressed in my own uniform, his jaw just about dropped. I…I don’t know why I did it. I ordered him to get down and lick mine clean. He was reluctant, but once he sniffed my farts, he went into a bit of a frenzy, eventually humping my boots, tongue hanging out, smooth flab coated in sweat until he came all over them, licked them up, and told me, “Thank you Sir, for letting me serve you.”

I was horrified. But that night, sniffing my farts and belches, all I could think about was how hot it had been, and how I wanted to do it again, as soon as I could. Other guys were picking up interests of their own. A few confessed to me that they’d started using dildos–it was the only way to get their little cocks to cum any more. Harrison needed to be fisted, apparently–the Doc had prescribed him some drugs to help him get stretched out enough so he’d be ready by the end of training, and I wondered what it would feel like, my fat fist shoved up his hole, making him beg for mercy. Some just wanted to smell me, my farts, my belches–they couldn’t get enough of it. By the end of the week, I had the whole squad eating out of the palm of my hand, and fuck if that wasn’t a powertrip. Then I realized I hadn’t seen Klein in a couple of days. I asked Doc, but he avoided the question–then, on Friday, during a video, he had me follow him instead–and he showed me where Klein was through some one way glass.

He was in a small room, staring at a screen flashing a seductive series of spirals into his face. He was clearly zonked out–eyes unfocused, drool rolling down his first and second chin. He was completely naked as well–and that was when I saw the result of that strange cream all of them had been using. Klein’s cock and balls were…gone. Just a piss hole in the middle of his crotch, and nothing else. “Hog”. I thought it again, and now I knew why I had thought it the first time. There were the pigs in the squad. Then there were the hogs like Klein, Harrison and Ricci–and then there was me, something else entirely. A pig too–but the head pig, I guess.

Doc turned off the screen, and after a couple of moments, Klein came back to himself, shouting and yelling, trying to get out of his restraints. Doc told me that this was a leadership test–Klein was ready and primed, all I had to do was get him in line, and show him how a hog ought to behave. I protested, but the assistants shoved me into the room, undid Klein’s restraints, and he charged at me.

I just…reacted. I was so much stronger than him, I just…knew I was, and I had him shoved up and pinned against the wall in a few moments, grinding my crotch into his ass, cigar tip warm against his cheek. It felt good. He deserved it. He had to be put in his fucking place. It didn’t take me long–just a few belches to knock him off balance, get him horny, then a blast from my ass, and he couldn’t stop himself–he dug in and started eating out my smelly hole–and fuck, it was the best feeling I’d ever had. Ten times better than an orgasm, as Klein’s thick tongue dug deep into my ass. By the time I was finished with him, he was well broken, face glazed with a few loads of my cum. He kept thanking me for letting him have his favorite snack–his Sergeant’s hole.

That’s right–I’m the squad sergeant now. It makes sense, I guess. I do have the biggest cock of the whole fucking bunch, even though mine’s just a couple of inches. Doc gave me the honor of letting me grow a mustache too this weekend, with a special cream–a thick, dark walrus over my lip–a sign of my authority and maturity. I feel it too–everything else is fading faster and faster. I don’t care if it goes, really. I’m ready. My squad is ready. We’re gonna be the best fucking motorcycle cops in the state, me and my brothers. I’ll make sure of that. And really, we have Doc to thank for all of it.


Week Five Debrief, From the Training Journal of Officer Bernard Matthews

Fuck, I’m so damn proud of my squad of pigs! You know, when we started this training, I didn’t really know what to make of it, but looking back on it, and seeing how far all of my pigs and hogs have come, I really couldn’t be more proud. Fuck, just thinking about all of them at the retreat this weekend has my little pig cock all hard in my breeches again. 

Doc announced my promotion, officially, on Monday. None of the pigs were surprised of course–it was just natural that I ought to lead the squad–after all, I’d like to see one of those pigs try and grow a mustache–much less get harder than an inch! The hogs couldn’t really care less–but then, the hogs aren’t really much for caring, or thinking really. The six of them usually sit in a little cluster, drooling and rocking back and forth, riding their plugs like good little hogs ought to do. Klein, Harrison, Ricci and the rest–they were good brothers, and they’d be good cops too, but like Doc said, the more some guys think, the more trouble you get. Best to just smooth them out all over–brains included.

We spent the rest of the week going over the new order of things. No more unnecessary stops, no more racial profiling, no more use of force. Mandatory community service events. We were gonna be good pigs, like Doc said, and do everything by the book. We were here to serve, after all. Service is the cornerstone of what pigs like us do–that’s what Doc says all the time. Serve like good little pigs, and everything will be just fine. 

Then came the weekend, and the big retreat. As a reward for doing so well on our training, we were going to spend the whole weekend at a campground in the woods, that Doc had reserved just for the squad, the assistants, himself, and a few special guests that he wouldn’t even tell me about. We all got in our uniforms and piled into the bus. I had Klein next to me, and the fucking hog wouldn’t tear his snout from my pits the whole way there–at least, unless I was letting him suck my cock out the front of my breeches.

The retreat was a blast. It felt so good getting back to nature, and really just going wild. I knew some of the special guests there–the governor’s brother, for one, who grabbed the first pig he saw–Fields I think–shoved him down into the dirt, and started fucking his hole, while the pig squealed in excitement. There were some of the higher ups in the department, and even the chief of the Metropolitan Police Department. I had a session with him myself, since Doc told me he was going to be a bit reluctant. But once the chief got a whiff of my farts and my belches, he came around–eating out my dirty hole before fucking me with his big fuckin’ cock! Fuck that felt so damn good, I fuckin’ love gettin’ plowed. Doc told me I’d done a real good job on him, that the city would definitely be partnering with him for a round of training with their own troublesome cops. Doc rewarded me with a fuck–and damn, can that man fuck. Makin’ me squeal like a dirty animal, cock oozing load after load as he rams his big cock deep inside me, fuck, I’d do anything for him, I really would.

Harrison spent most of the days and nights in a set of stirrups, naked except for his boots, with one fist after another shoved deep in his hole. Ricci ended up in the toilets, guzzling piss. Fucker smelled like a urinal all the way back home on Sunday. Klein was pretty much always buried under one ass or another, though he usually found his way back to mine before too long. He says, “There ain’t no ass like yers Sarge! Tastiest fuckin’ crack there is.” Fuck, that dumb fuckin’ hog, I fuckin’ love him though. I love all my brothers, and I couldn’t be more proud of them, and how they’ve performed over the last five weeks. We’re gonna be the star squad this year, just you wait.

But the best part–that was the gift Doc gave me on Sunday. I know that what my squad needs most is to get fucked–hell, I doubt I’d be able to think if I went a few days without getting fucked myself. Only problem is my little two-incher can’t even get in any of the pigs–we’re all just too damn fat! Well Doc gave me the best gift–a fucking strapon. Big nine inch rubber cock I can put on, and ream all of my fuckin’ squad, right in a line. In fact, that’s what I did, when I got it–ordered them all to line up and salute, then had them bend over, and I fucked ‘em all, one after another, until I brought all of them to a squealing orgasm–even the dickless hogs. By that point, I was so horny that I begged Doc to fuck me, right there in front of my men, making them all watch, telling us all that he was the Master of all of us, that we were all just stupid pigs now, and we would do what we were told–and the person giving the orders was Doc. Fuck, I ain’t felt that satisfied in my whole damn life as I was on the ride home, Doc’s cum leaking out into the seat of my breeches with every fart, already excited for next years retreat that Doc promised us. Provided we’re good pigs of course. But of course we will be! What else could we be, anyway?


Three Month Assessment, From the Files of Doctor Leoncett

Our third trial of the training program, using a rather troublesome squad of motorcycle cops with the state police, concluded three months ago. In that time, the state police has seen a dramatic decrease in complaints leveled against members of the squad, both internally from other police members, and externally, from civilians. While it is still too soon to judge the long term stability of the program, the short term results are an unqualified success.

There have been some mentions made about the sudden change in appearance by the squad–especially the rapid weight gain and hair loss that is a result of the pharmacological treatment regimen. The same mentions were seen in the earlier studies as well, though the addition of the sergeant’s rather smelly means of suggestion has subdued some of the concern, helping them adjust to the new manner of the squad’s functioning going forward. 

Morale is high. Cohesion is high. Sergeant Matthews was an excellent selection for the leadership role, and his quarterly review was exceptional, both from the squad below him, and from his higher ups in the chain of command. 

Some side effects have been noted. The additional castration treatment given to the especially troublesome elements of the squad seemed to have an additional impact on their mental faculties. Even after three months, their average IQ hovers in the mid 70’s, while the baseline for the rest of the squad is closer to 90, as is our target. I’m not sure this is a detriment, but perhaps uncovering the mechanism causing this would give us a finer grade of control over the result, allowing us to tweak it as necessary. One subject, an Officer Harrison, did degrade further, closer to 50 or 60, and had to be retired from the force. I found a home for him, and he is living happily as a fist pig several states over, for a pair of lovely gentlemen, in exchange for another round of research funding. 

Other projects are on the horizon as well. The governor’s brother continues to be an asset. Having the sergeant of the squad spend some time with the city chief of police during the retreat paid great dividends–I have been given oversight on the entire force’s training schedule come Fall. While the conversion of the entire force using the program would be too obvious, being able to select small groups of officers for specialized training and testing is an great opportunity for this project. The future is bright–with a few more contacts, we might even be ready to create a standardized program for nationwide rollout to departments across the country my as early as next year. And after that–well, with all of these pigs at my disposal, who will stop me then?

Caption: Bathhouse Music

*Thump* *Thump* *Thump* *Thump*

Did they have to have that music on all the time? It seemed like, no matter when Lance went to the gym these days, the bass from that damn place next door leaked through the walls. Even when he had his headphones in, it was like he could still feel it in his bones.

That place, was the bathhouse that had somehow managed to open up right next door. No one had expected it. It had been under construction for a few months, and no one had any idea what it was going to be, and then, when it opened, the guys at the gym were disgusted to discover that they were going to be sharing their parking lot with a bunch of fags going in to get their rocks off. They’d tried complaining, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it, so they settled into a bit of a truce. The only thing breaking that line between them was the music coming from the bathhouse.

It could be worse though, right? Lance pulled off his shirt, dropped his gym shorts, and admired himself in the mirror, pleased with his progress lately. He snapped a photo, and then put his phone back in his bag, and kept admiring himself.

The nipple piercings he’d gotten a few weeks ago were still a bit tender, but fuck, they were hot as hell. He’d never really thought about it before–if anything, he might have thought getting his tits pierced was a little…well, gay. It felt so good though, and it definitely made him look hotter in his opinion. Hell, just looking at himself, he was getting a bit hard already. 

He groped his cock and balls through his grungy jock, and noticed it was wet again. He kept leaking at the gym lately, usually enough to soak his jock and stain the front of his shorts. It…was embarrassing, but also kind of hot for some reason, but it was hard to explain why. He was about to stroke off, when he realized he wasn’t alone–an older, chubby fellow was on a bench not twenty feet away, dripping dry with a towel over his shoulder. He must have been in the shower while Lance was checking himself out.

The older man leered at Lance, pulled the towel away, and revealed his own cock, rock hard, and he started stroking it while Lance stared at it.

*Thump* *Thump* *Thump* *Thump*

Ten minutes later, Lance left the door, not even aware of the load of cum plastered across his bearded face. As he headed for his truck, he saw a familiar car pull up with some guys who worked out at the gym, but instead of going in there, they all went right into the bathhouse instead. Lance was a bit…unnerved by it, and wondered how he’d never realized any of them were fags this whole time. He certainly would never be going in there, of course. No…never. Sure, he had that one dream once, and…but no. Not even if he was curious. He wouldn’t cross that line.

Patreon Exclusive: Hog Musk Poppers

This story is based off a suggestion from a patron earlier this month. A young man purchased a curious brand of poppers, and doesn’t notice that the more he uses it, the more he seems to be changing. The one person who definitely notices, however, is the man running the shop where he purchases them. Here’s a little taste of it–but if you want to read the whole thing, you have to support me on Patreon at the $5 level or more!


The bell over the door rang, and Wade looked up from the porn magazine he was flipping through behind the counter, over at the man who had come through the door. He smiled behind the magazine, while the young man made a show of walking around the store, looking at some things. He’d ask about what he was really looking for soon enough. Eventually, he made his way up to the counter, reached into his pocket, pulled out a little bottle and set it on the counter. The side of the bottle had a picture of a cartoon pig on it, with the words “Hog Musk” next to it.

“Hey man, I was…in here a few weeks ago, and I bought some of this stuff,” the young man said, “I…how long does it usually…last?”

“What do you mean?” Wade said, “that’s a bottle of leather cleaner.”

“No, I…” the young man rubbed his face with one hand, and scrunched his eyes up, like he was trying to focus. “How…long are they good for? Like, fresh?”

“Depends on how often you open the bottle,” Wade said, “How…often have you opened it up.”

The young man looked a bit shifty, “I…I guess I might need another one.”

Wade nodded, got a bottle off the shelf behind him. The young man paid for it and left. Wade just smiled and went back to his magazine. He’d be back soon enough.

***

The bell over Wade’s door rang. He was in the middle of restocking the condoms, looked up, and it took him a moment to realize it was the same young man from a few weeks earlier. He was bigger for one thing–more muscular. The first time he’d come into the shop, he’d been in good shape–lean and slender, obviously a little vain. It looked like he’d switched up his workout a bit, because he was bigger. Thicker all over, with a layer of scruff across his face. 

“Hey, can I help you?” Wade asked, and went to the counter, the young man skipping the pretext and heading right for him. He got close, and Wade caught a whiff of the musk rolling off the young man as well–he smelled like a locker room that hadn’t been cleaned in a few days at this point, but the young fellow didn’t even seem to notice.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 6)

“Well, what is it?” Alex asked.

Kevin gulped, and read the note aloud:

Here’s your next resolution:

— We resolve only have sex with dirty, unwashed, musky men. We will no longer be sexually interested in anyone cleaner than we are, and we resolve to become as dirty as possible.

Now don’t fret! We here at New You Resolutions know that resolutions only become possible with a bit of help. We’ve already taken to liberty of making a few modifications to your wardrobe and your apartment to make living with your new interests easier than ever. Why don’t you go into your bedroom and check things out?

Kevin dropped the note on the counter, his face white. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Alex pulled him into a hug, hoping to make him feel better, but Kevin…smelled something, and without really thinking about it, pushed his nose into his boyfriend’s armpit. It was a bit musky after their sex eariler, and Alex felt his cock twitch in excitement–not much, but enough that he pushed Alex away from him in surprise.

“What was that about?” Alex asked.

“Sorry, you…I…I don’t know, I…should we call the cops?”

“No, it’s just some dumb prank.”

“But what…what could be in the bedroom?”

“Probably nothing, come on, let’s just check together,” Alex said, and led the way into the bedroom.

Nothing appeared to be out of sorts, but when they stepped into the room, next to their shared dresser, they both caught of whiff of some stench that made their noses twitch. It should have disgusted them–they knew that–but something in them had changed. The musky smell was making them hard, and horny. Alex pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, looked inside, and saw that all of their clean socks and underwear were gone–replaced with filthy, cum and piss stained briefs, boxers, undershirts, and socks. He slammed the drawer shut again, and looked at Kevin with his eyes wide, and then saw the envelope on top of the dresser. He tore into it and read it:

Doesn’t that smell better than all of that clean underwear you had in there before? You should check out your closet too, see what else we left you, once you’re done reading these other resolutions for you two:

— We resolve to no longer wash our clothing. Out of the apartment, we will always wear the dirtiest underwear and socks we can find under our suits. Whenever anyone notices how we smell, we will feel pride in our musk, and also incredibly horny.

— We resolve that, when at home, we must be wearing at least three pieces of fetish gear. Outside, we must always have at least one piece on our bodies somewhere, even if it’s under our clothes.

— We resolve to shoot at least two loads of cum a day onto either our dirty underwear, our fetish gear, or our bed, in addition to the two times we have sex each day.

Why don’t you go look in the closet, get geared up, and then meet us in the bathroom?

Kevin went to the closet door and threw it open. Usually, all that was in there were their suits for work, and there were, thankfully, a few of them still there. Most of the space inside was now taken up by a sizable collection of fetish gear: rubber, leather, spandex, gloves, boots, hats, more than either of them had ever seen in their life, and all of it smelled about as dirty as the nasty underwear in the drawer.

“I’m not…wearing that shit, I’m not!” Kevin said, but neither of them could stop themselves. Kevin pulled on a yellow rubber tanktop, some spandex compression shorts that reeked of the gym, and some rubber waders. Alex grabbed a leather jockstrap, a leather biker jacket that stank of beer and cigarettes, and some leather gloves. Then, they went to the bathroom, where sure enough, the shower had disappeared entirely, and one last envelope waited for them.

You’ve probably noticed the changes to the bathroom at this point. Here’s your last two resolutions:

— We resolve to no longer shower or bathe in any way. The dirtier we become, the hornier and cruder we resolve to become as well.

— We resolve to no longer waste our piss in the toilet–from now on, the only place we will piss is in each other’s mouths, in our bed, or in our pants. Each of us resolve to only cum with the smell of piss around us, or with the taste of piss in our mouths.

Enjoy you two! We’ll check back in with you in a few months. All the best from your friends at New You Resolutions!

Kevin balled up the letter and chucked it in the corner of the room where the shower had been. “This is fucking insane, I can’t believe–” he started to say, when Kevin shoved his face against the yellow rubber tanktop he was wearing and sniffed it.

“Fuck, it…smells like someone pissed all over this thing, I…I gotta fuckin’ smell it…”

Kevin tried to push Alex off him, but the smell was getting to him too, in the enclosed space, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were fucking again for the second time that day. When they were finished, they just sat in their bedroom in their gear, unable to pry it off themselves, wondering how in the world they were going to get through the next few months.


Kevin rolled over, and groaned. One of them had pissed the bed in the night, from the heady scent of piss in the air, and the wet spot he’d just found when he’d rolled over. Alex was still asleep, so he wrapped one rubber gloved hand around his cock and jacked off quickly, adding a load of cum to the puddle of piss in the middle of the mattress.

It had been four months at this point. They’d tried to keep things normal for as long as they could, but the dirtier they’d gotten, the harder it had become to resist pushing things…further. More and more often, their lack of hygiene was noticed at their workplaces, and as humiliating as it was, neither of them could help the feeling of pride that welled up inside them knowing how filthy they both were becoming, and how much they enjoyed it. Kevin was the first to be let go, towards the end of February. He pissed himself in the middle of a presentation, and that was that. Alex had managed to hang onto his job a little longer, only because he could work from home. But working at home meant he was constantly tempted by Kevin into more and more sex, he fell more and more behind, and it wasn’t long before he was let go as well. The last month had been hopeless, both of them sinking deeper and deeper into filth and depravity, no longer even caring about who they’d been at the beginning of the year. They just…wanted to be dirty, more than anything else.

Alex woke up a few minutes later, with Kevin’s face buried in his crack, eating out his stank ass. Kevin fucked him, and Alex shot his own load into the mattress under him, and then they got out of their filthy bed to start the day–only to spot the envelope on the dresser.

It was time for the two dirty men to find a couple of occupations more suitable to their hygiene standards–what sort of jobs are in store for them?


Here’s the next poll! Kevin and Alex are going to be getting two different jobs–one is going to be the top result from the public poll, and the other will be the top result from the patron only poll. You get two votes! Be sure to use them both. The bonus poll for patrons is over here!

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!

Click the button below to see the table of contents, and read the story!

Continue reading “Business as Usual”