NaNoWriMo Entry 20 – 11/27 (58,025/50,000 words)

Marcus took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and relax. He was safe now, he didn’t have to worry about the virus getting him, but the next question was what were the two of them supposed to do now?

“So now what?” Marcus asked.

“Now? Well, I suppose we’re stuck in here fer the moment, until the computer recognizes that we’re both clean, ‘n lets us out. But I’m sure a little time alone wouldn’t do us any harm, boy.”

Boy. Jack had called him boy? Marcus knew he should have been grossly offended, but all he felt was…a shiver. A shiver running through his cock. He wanted to hear that again, hear Jack call him that again. “What…what did you call me?” Marcus asked.

“Huh?” Jack said, getting up from the table and walking around to where Marcus was standing, “Well, I called ya ‘boy.’ Did that make ya feel funny? Maybe make you feel a little…nice?”

He was so big. Marcus had never realized before just how damn big Jack was. He bet that for a guy that size, he didn’t have to worry about anything, he could probably protect someone from anything too. Yeah, wrapped up in those big, musky arms, Marcus would feel so safe and secure, and…and with that big cock of his, Jack could…could… “What…what is this? What did you do to me? That wasn’t…wasn’t a fucking antidote at all, what was that?”

“What the hell are you talking about boy? You’re talking crazy.”

Boy. There it was again, he loved being called that, he loved it when his daddy called him that. Daddy, yeah, Jack was big enough, strong enough to be a daddy, wasn’t he? To be his daddy…He looked over in the mirror, looking to see if something had changed, but Marcus couldn’t see anything different. He was short, sure, and a bit on the chubby side. His clothes didn’t really seem to fit all that well, in fact, the uniform shirt wasn’t hugging him right, and his kilt seemed too long. Hell, why was he wearing stuff like this anyway? He should be wearing stuff like his daddy was wearing, yeah, that’s what a boy should wear. As though they were responding to his thoughts, the clothes began to shimmer and squirm in the reflection, and a second later, Marcus saw he was dressed in a pair of grimy overalls and a flannel vest over them, and that looked right. That looked like something Daddy Jack would give him to wear. The bigger man pulled Marcus close then and the cub let off a sigh of relief. He felt so much better in his daddy’s arms, like all of his cares could just melt away. He just didn’t need to fight anymore, it was such a relief.

“Yeah, that’s it boy. We’re gonna be one big happy family, you, me and you’re nasty Uncle Grant.”

No…there was still something…Marcus knew something was wrong. He should just relax, should just let all of his cares melt away, but he knew…knew that he had to hold on, that something about all of this just wasn’t right, that Jack…Jack was his daddy, but he’d tricked him, done something to him. He pushed himself away from Jack and backed up, trying to find some remnant of himself, something about to be burned away, something to tell him what to do. He couldn’t trust him, he couldn’t trust him at all, and that was the truth. He couldn’t even trust himself right now…but there was something he could do, something he could do to make sure they could trust one another. “Computer,” Marcus said, “run program K9 conversion mental program on interrogation subject.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jack said, “Boy quit fucking around and–” Jack started to say, but the panel in the wall slid open, revealing the glass pod, the metal tendrils snaking their way out and wrapping their way around Jack’s limbs. “Goddamn, you’re gonna fuckin’ get it! Fuckin’ tell it to stop, tell it to fuckin’ stop, boy!” The big redneck fought as well as he could, but the technology was stronger, yanking him back inch by inch into the pod, and he let out a holler of rage as the tendril found it’s way into his ass, allowing the other to insert itself into his mouth and down his throat, silencing him, and Marcus came closer.

“I’m sorry daddy, I’m so sorry, but I just…I just can’t trust you, daddy. But when you’re my dog, I’ll be able to trust you, I know I will, so don’t worry daddy, you’ll be a good doggy for your boy, and then we can go find Uncle Grant and we’ll all be happy together, right?”

The look of rage on Jack’s face didn’t release even after the computer started releasing the sedative into the system. Even after the helmet descended onto his head and the pod closed, Jack still struggled, though his fight was obviously lost, and even he knew it, as the helmet began programming him, warping his mind into that of a complete leather pup slave, utterly devoted to his boy, to protecting and serving him. Marcus pressed himself up against the glass, hugging it, hoping his daddy pup wouldn’t take too long to accept his programming. Still, he would probably be locked away at least for a night or two–maybe more, but then they would be together, and then Marcus would be able to trust him. He’d finally have someone devoted to him, who wouldn’t betray him, who he could love forever and ever, and who would love him back just as much, and his daddy wouldn’t be angry when he came out. He would be happy with Marcus–they would be so happy together.

As Marcus clung to the glass pod, as close to his daddy as he could get, he didn’t see the face in the small window in the door looking in at them. Matt looked at the young, redneck cub hugging the glass and decided he probably didn’t want to find out what had happened in there. In the next room over, however, he found what he was looking for–Terry–except he was also trapped inside one of those glass pods, and the door was sealed shut. He tried everything he could to get it open, but nothing would make it budge, until he heard a strange voice resound through the facility, “Quarantine lifted–scan complete, no viral outbreak detected.”

The door clicked, and Matt rushed inside, taking the chair and smashing it into the control panel on the side of the pod, the glass door opening and the tendrils retracting, Terry slumping out of the pod and into Matt’s waiting arms, and as fast as he could, he hauled the unconscious cub out of the building before any of the guards, quarantined by the system, could emerge from their quarters in the complex. Outside again, and now a fugitive on campus, Matt had no idea where to go. He needed to find Erikson, and quickly–he figured that the week on loan to him was going to disappear quicker than he might imagine. He thought, searching his own memories as well as those of his new body and history, and realized that the best place to go might be to where he worked as a bouncer–the Daddy’s Den. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was somewhere, and that would have to do. He hefted Terry up and started his trek across town, wondering if this nightmare would ever be over.

End: City of Bears 3: Arc 2 – Change or Be Changed

Next: City of Bears 3: Arc 3 – The Hunt for Erikson

NaNoWriMo Entry 19 – 11/26 (56,721/50,000 words)

He left the interrogation room to go see what required his attention. The communal cells were used for light security purposes–students who got a bit too drunk on campus, or for fights than might break out in the baths or in the tavern, but since it was the middle of the day, none of them should be in use at the moment. An unease was growing in Marcus’ gut as the day wore on–he was sensing that things were spiralling out of his control. Last night, leaving Clark and Doug together, he had felt confident that he had things under control, and now that he had a member of the resistance, he’d imagined things would be easy, but now he was beginning to feel his doubts and paranoia creep back in. He arrived at the cell and found two of his guards standing outside, looking a bit uneasy. “Alright, so what’s the problem?” Marcus asked.

“Sir,” the guard said, snapping to attention, “Officers 58 and 102, tasked with arresting Jack Wolfson, have returned Sir…unsuccessful. But…well, we had to…well, maybe you should just see for yourself Sir.”

Marcus walked past the guard, saw what was going on in the cell, and gasped. The two guards in the cell…well, he wasn’t even sure they were his guards anymore. He could tell that they had been his guards at one point, that was for sure, but it was only small details on each that remained the same, the high ‘n tight on one, the leather uniform stretched across the fat frame of them other one. However, neither of them seemed all that interested in what was going on, they were a bit too focused on each other. The first one, 58, had his arm lifted up over his head, and the second’s face was buried in his armpit, slurping away. Even outside the cell, Marcus could smell their combined musk, and it was making his stomach turn. “58 and 102, attention!” he barked.

The two guards reluctantly broke away and sluggishly came to attention, but it was obviously hard for them to maintain their focus on Marcus. “Yes Sir?” 102 asked in a husky voice.

Marcus took a moment to survey the damage. Both of his guards were now well into obesity, and it was clear that on his return trip 58 had simply burst out of his uniform, and 102 was well on his way to a similar fate. Both were covered in body hair and stank to high heaven, and Marcus knew it had to be the slob wave. “Report. Tell me what happened. How did you two change?”

The two guards looked at each other, “Changed…Sir?” 102 said, “We haven’t changed. We went to Jack Wolfson’s trailer with a warrant for his arrest, and we returned to report that he wasn’t there, in order to…to…” 102’s eyes rolled back, and it took Marcus a second to realize what was happening. He smelled it first–the stench of piss, and 58, eyes glazing over with lust, fell to his knees in front of 102, ripped open his pants and started lapping up the urine wherever he could find it.

“Attention,” Marcus said, but they didn’t even notice, “I said attention!” he shouted, but again, the two guards didn’t even bother, too lost in their filthy, sexual haze. He turned to the guards outside the cell and said, “I want the two of them reconditioned immediately.”

“That’s, well Sir, that’s part of the problem,” the guard said. “When they arrived back here, Sir, the computer recommended reconditioning. They were a mess Sir…and this, well, this is them, reconditioned. It had a minimal effect Sir, and they’re already, well…regressing.”

Marcus looked back at the two slobs in the cell, and saw that the guard was right. 58’s high ‘n tight was already growing out into a thick mane, and he looked the be even fatter than before, and the last glimmer of intellect was disappearing from 102’s eyes, as he snorted and grunted, little more than a pig, as he shot a load of sour smelling cum all over 58’s beard. The smells…Marcus couldn’t take it anymore, it was just overwhelming. “Alright, stay here, keep them under guard, until I can figure out what’s going on here.”

Marcus headed out of the communal cell block and back towards his control room. He needed an analysis of the footage of his officers as they crossed campus. Unfortunately, the trustees had denied his request to install cameras in all of the dorms and living areas on campus, but maybe he would be able to discern something about what had happened to 58 and 102, or at least know when it happened. That smell, he still couldn’t get it out of his nose, if felt like he was going to be carrying it around with him for hours. He needed a god damn shower, just being that close to those filthy fucks. Jack had to have something to do with all of this, he just had to, but what? He’d seen him slob Grant a few days ago, but that had been with some kind of raygun, and he hadn’t seen Jack use the device since, so it couldn’t be him doing all of this. Then again, if Jack wasn’t at his trailer, then where was he? That was his last recorded location, and the computer had been keeping tabs on him the entire time–where had he disappeared to? Marcus felt theory upon theory start piling up in his head, each more wild and crazy than the next, but his head was running wild. He had to know who was doing this. He had to know why. Was it Jack? Or was it the resistance making it look like Jack, to frame him? Or was it the trustees?

Back in the control room, he analyzed the footage and discovered a strange hole in his coverage on campus, as his officers walked down towards the trailer housing on campus, there was a gap of three seconds between one camera and the next, and it was in that gap–that single gap, that something happened…on the way to the trailer. He could see the changes start then, progress as the officers arrived at Jack’s trailer, searched the premises, and then returned to base, growing filthier and slobbier the entire way back, until they were unrecognizable, coming up the steps into the security building. A gap. One fucking gap that he didn’t know about, but someone else did. What happened in those three seconds? What could have done this?

“Sir, new location registered for wanted individual, Jack Wolfson,” the computer said suddenly, “Location, mobile, forecasting direction, approaching security services.”

“On screen,” Marcus said, and sure enough, there the fucking redneck was, hurrying towards the security building. Now what was he planning, and why in the hell had all of this caught Marcus by surprise? He was the one who was supposed to know what was going on here, he was supposed to be one step ahead, and here he was, playing catch up. “Have four guards intercept him. If he resists, subdue him. Take him to interrogation room four.”

“Understood, issuing orders now.”

Marcus watched on screen as a collection of guards hurried out of the building and approached Jack. To his surprise, Jack seemed to expect this and allowed them to take him into custody, following them handcuffed into the building. Marcus gave them a few minutes as he tried, hopelessly, to put all of this together in a cohesive picture. A resistance member, looking for information on Erikson and Tristan from the board of trustees. Did they have some plan, now that the campus was essentially headless? The defacto head of the board informing on the resistance at the cost of Clark’s life. He was obviously looking for power, was he planning all of this behind the scenes? Jack, the only other master left, now. He seemed like the most obvious culprit, but Marcus had no evidence that he was behind this, even if he was the greatest suspect, and if he was the culprit, why waltz right up here and surrender? Marcus hung his head in his hands, frustrated beyond belief, and that fucking smell! He still couldn’t get it out of his nose, it felt like it was stuck there somehow, and it kept breaking his concentration. On the screen, he saw that Jack had been escorted to the interrogation room. He must know something, and whether it was a trap or not, he needed to talk to him, and Marcus got up and returned to the interrogation bloc, letting himself into the room where Jack was waiting.

“Quite the welcome ya had ready fer me here,” Jack said, when Marcus came in, “Feelin’ a bit paranoid?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus said, “Should I be feeling paranoid? Considering the way the master’s students have been dropping like flies, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to be too careful.”

“Ha, well, by my count, I took out one, ‘n ya took out two. If anyone should be worried, I think it should be me. Look, Marcus, I ain’t here tah hurt ya, there’s somethin’ goin’ round campus, I know ya noticed it too. Ya notice everythin’ that goes on ‘round here.”

“Oh?” Marcus said, feigning ignorance, “And what might that be?”

“There’s somethin’ happenin’ tah everyone. They’re turnin’ intah fuckin’ slobs. I mean, I don’t really object, given some a mah inclinations, but well, there was somethin’ crazy about it, so I went diggin’ in some of Erikson’s old files–”

“Don’t bullshit me, the labs are locked down–you know that. No one has been able to get in or out without Erikson to open them up.”

“Yeah, but his office just has a plain old key, ‘n I can pick those,” Jack said, and for emphasis, released his hands from the cuffs the guards had put on him. They might be big, but they sure are nimble when I need ‘em tah be.” He grinned a bit wolfishly, and Marcus was beginning to worry that this could indeed be a trap. He needed to be more careful than ever before. “What I found was, well, turns out one a Erikson’s little pet projects might’ve had a bit of an accident.” Jack threw down a file folder onto the table he pulled from the back of his pants, and Marcus gingerly opened it up, revealing a collection of files about something called ‘Virus SL004.’

“Just give me the rundown. What’s it do.”

“It’s a slob virus, man. It turns guys into filthy pigs. Again, I’m not really complaining, but that’s my schtick,” he said with a laugh, “Turns out there’s an antidote that was accessible in the upper labs, before getting down into The Depths that are still locked off,” Jack said, and pulled out a small phial and set it on the table, “I already took mine, and I figured you might like one for yourself.”

“Oh no fucking way, how stupid do I look?” Marcus said, “This is all you’re goddamn doing. You released the virus, and now you want me to take an antidote?”

“I’m serious man, this is the only way you’ll be safe.”

“Bullshit. Why in the hell should I take your word in any of this?”

“Well, what other fucking explanation have you got?” Jack said, then stared at Marcus…are you…you know, you look a little…you haven’t been around one of the infected have you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You can smell it, can;t you? That’s the first sign, you can’t get their fucking stink out of your nose, and then you keep thinking about it, and then you start changing. You need to take this now, or it’ll be no help at all.”

Marcus felt like Jack had just read his mind into his deepest fears. He had been around 58 and 102…could it really be a virus? There was that three second gap, could they have encountered someone infected with the virus? No, there wasn’t even any evidence that this virus existed beyond Jack’s claims. Marcus had to get out of here, he had to. He walked to the door to leave and think, but as soon as he pulled on the door, he heard it lock down.

“Computer…computer open the goddamn door.”

“Due to evidence of a possible viral outbreak, this facility will enter quarantine level three until threat is confirmed or denied. All those possibly exposed are asked to remain calm and report any possible signs of illness to central command.”

“God fucking damn it,” Marcus said, “There’s no fucking outbreak!”

“There damn well is, and you fucking know it,” Jack said, “and if you’ve been exposed, this is you’re only fucking chance man. Once the changes start, there’s nothing you can do, and trust me, as much as I’d like to see you as a fucking slob, I’m doing you a favor here. We gotta stick together man, we goota, we’re the only ones left who can lead this fuckin’ campus anymore.”

“No, this can’t be fucking happening,” Marcus said, and looked at himself in the room’s one way mirror. He looked the same, didn’t he? He couldn’t really still smell the officers, it was just his imagination, or was it? His imagination and terror was running wild now, barely kept in check by the high tension nerves running through him. He looked at the phial, then at Jack, then at the door. Did this make sense? Was it really the most likely solution?

“How do I know you aren’t the one behind this?” Marcus asked, trying not to betray his panic, “How do I know you aren’t setting me up?”

“I suppose you don’t,” Jack said, leaning back, “But I don’t have to worry, I have my antidote. I guess the question is–are you going to trust someone for once in your life? Or are you really going to let your fuckin’ paranoia be the end of you? I’m tryin’ tah help ya Marcus, can’t ya see that? Why in the hell would I a come if all I had tah do is let ya get infected?”

It made sense, didn’t it? Marcus felt the terror rise in him. The smell was stronger now, he could almost taste it, or was it just Jack’s musk? He didn’t know anymore, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to be a fucking slob like 58 or 102, he didn’t. But what could he do? He didn’t have time, if he waited, he’d be a slob in no time. He had to be infected, how could he not be? And if Jack was responsible for this, he wouldn’t have come, he would have just waited it out, waited until the entire security force was too far gone to do anything and then swept in to take control. He had to trust him, he had to, as terrifying as that was. He hurried over to the table, and with shaking hands, took the top off the phial and downed the contents in a few gulps, Jack just sitting there–grinning.

NaNoWriMo Entry 18 – 11/25 (54,107/50,000 words)

(Note: I had to change the mechanics of Matt and Max’s deal at the end of chapter 6, so I included the revised section here.)

Max came back in, carrying a tray laden with a collection of metal rings and studs. He started with Matt’s face, giving him small gauges in his ears, a bar in one of his eyebrows and a thick horseshoe through his septum, and then worked his way down, putting two rings in his thick nipples, and then found himself up against the jock. “Do me a favor,” Max said, “think about your cub for me, think about how much you want to fuck him.”

“”Ha, that’s a easy one,” Matt said, “Terry’s got such a fine fuckin’ ass, I could just plow that thing all day long, I tell ya what, fuck–gettin’ me horny just thinkin’ ‘bout it…” he said, and felt his cock start to swell against the chainmail pouch of the jock, the metal links pulling apart and stretching as his cock hardened, until it actually popped out between the links, the thick meat rigid and leaking a little precum, and with one smooth motion, Max slid a massive PA though the head of his cock, before it slipped back into the pouch. “Alright man, we finished here yet?”

“Almost,” Max said, “Just one last thing. Do you still remember? Do you still know who you were?”

Matt was a bit taken aback by the question. He’d been hoping he could just pretend it wasn’t real, but if this guy was actually asking about it…then how could it not be real? “Yeah…it’s…it’s kind of fuzzy, but I remember most of it.”

“Good, because I want to make you a deal,” Max said, “I need to find someone, and I have a feeling you might be just the man for the job.”

Matt just stared him down. “Why in the world would I do anything for you?”

“Well, I was hoping you would do it because you’re a nice guy. How about you at least hear me out? After all, giving you this sexy new look was a pretty big favor–I think you might owe me back at least a little.”

There was probably a catch. Everything in Matt was telling him to turn and run, but what harm was there in hearing him out? “I suppose so. What do you need?”

“I need you to help me find someone. A professor at the college, a man named Erikson. I think…I just need to find him. I don’t want to say why.”

“Why can’t you find him yourself?”

“I..well, there are, shall we say, some obstacles for me that I can’t surmount, eh? Still, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to find him, and bring him here.”

Erikson. There was no way Matt was ever going to put himself in the same room as him, no fucking way at all. “Look, I can’t do that–no way, no how. He’s the guy in charge of hunting me down, and you want me to find him? Besides, he’s gone missing–no one knows where he is. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go,” Matt said, and left the changing room, but as soon as he tried to pass the threshold and into the mall, Max called out to him. “You know, you can’t leave yet. You haven’t paid for your purchase yet, and trust me, you don’t want to know what this store does to thieves.”

Matt looked over his shoulder at him, scowling a bit. “Great, and what do I owe you, exactly?”

Max grinned, “How about those pretty little memories of yours? In fact, how about all that bright, young intellect? I think that ought to settle us up nicely. After all, a bouncer like you, used to fighting in the streets–hell, he wouldn’t be very smart, now would he?” Matt said, and held up a crystal necklace. Before Matt could react, a beam of light shot out of the prism and struck Matt in the forehead, and he could feel the beam sucking his mind to pieces, pulling out all of his memories of his prior lives, leaving him with the life, and knowledge, of an old, battlewise bouncer named Matt. A bouncer who could barely write his name, let alone much else. A bouncer far more accustomed to solving his problems with his fists, than his head.

“What..No, I need those…” he said, his words coming to his tongue so slowly, wading through the muck of his head, “Don’t…don’t make me’s fight ya for ‘em,” Matt said, and put up his fists.

“Trust me daddy–you try and fight me? You’ll lose against an alpha every time. No, I have a better idea. I’ll give this to you on a short term loan. One week. You have that week to find Erikson for me. When that week’s up, then if you’ve fulfilled the bargain, the memories are yours to keep. If you fail…well, then they return to me, and the deals off. How does that sound?”

Matt didn’t really know what Max was talking about, but he knew he needed that crystal–even if he was having a hard time remembering why exactly–so he nodded and Max handed him the necklace, and when Matt put it back on, everything was back, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Remember though, the memories aren’t yours–they’re still in that necklace. Don’t take it off, or you might not even remember to put it back on again.”

“You’re an asshole,” Matt said, “Don’t think this is fucking over.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Now get going daddy–you have a cub to tend to, and a man to find for me.”

Matt scowled, and then tromped out onto the mall, just daring any man he passed by to give him a wrong look. He was aching for a fight now, after that little bit of humiliation. He pulled out another cigar and lit up, the nicotine rush calming his wrath a bit and letting him get out without incident, and he walked back to campus and his room with Terry. Terry would make him feel better, and then he’d work on finding Erikson–even though he had no idea where to start his search. However, when he got to the dorm, and down into the basement, he saw that something was definitely wrong. The door to his room was open, and two campus security guards were standing outside the door. Like all the other guards, they were nearly identical in physique, with high ‘n tight haircuts, mustaches and the same muscle hugging leather uniforms. “What’s going on here?” Matt asked as he came close, “Where’s Terry?”

The two men turned towards him, “Sir, is your name Matt?”

“What if it is?”

“Sir, a warrant has been issued for your detainment. Come with us peacefully, or we’re going to have to use force.”

“Ha, you and what army?” Matt asked.

The two officers pulled their batons, but Matt was quicker, slamming one’s head into the wall, knocking him out with a single blow, grabbing his baton as he fell and slamming it into the other’s kneecap so hard that he heard the snap of bone, the guard screaming as he crumped to the ground.

“Shut the fuck up,” Matt screamed in his face, silencing him, and then he dragged both of the officers into his room and shut the door, throwing the conscious one up onto the bed and hauling down his pants. “Now, I can’t fuck ya, but trust me, if I could, I would. So this baton is gonna have to be my dick for the moment. Now, you’re gonna tell me where my Terry is, or this thing is going so far up your ass it ain’t gonna see the light of day for a year,” Matt said, slamming the first few inches of the baton up the man’s hole for emphasis, “Now start talking, and this fuck won’t get too rough.”

In between begging for mercy and cries of pain, Matt was able to work out the details of what had happened. Someone had put in a tip that Terry was a member of the resistance, and they’d issued a warrant for Matt as well, given their romantic connection. He left both of the security guards tied up there when he was through with them, his cock achingly hard against the chainmail which refused to budge and open for his lust at the moment, and that just made him long for Terry more. Those fuckers at security had made a big mistake, Matt thought as he crossed campus. He’d been too late to save someone he cared about once before–too late to save James, but never again. He was never again going to lose someone he loved, and if that meant wading into the hornet’s nest, then so be it.

Chapter 7

Marcus sat in the control room of the security building, trying to understand the hidden threads running across campus. Could all of this be connected? The work of Jack? The work of the resistance? Something else? His security forces had uncovered something strange sweeping across campus over the past couple of days–there were a disturbing number of students walking around campus with a decided lack of hygiene than there had been before. This slob wave, as he had started calling it in his head, didn’t seem to have a particular cause–he’d searched for one–and considering his computer’s access to the network of cameras across campus, and it’s heavy processing power, he was having a hard time understanding why he didn’t know what was going on. He hated not knowing. Still, he’d figure it out soon enough–he’d finally gotten his hands on one of the members of the damn resistance, waiting for him in interrogation room two, and he’d issued an arrest warrant for Jack–meaning he’d be in soon enough with some answers of his own. Still, Marcus couldn’t wait–he needed to act now, before this whole slob wave grew into something he couldn’t contain.

“Computer, initiate program quarantine, direct security forces to detain and hold for examination and compliance training any individuals who appear to be affected with this slob wave.”

“Confirmed, analyzing and initializing program. Program execution beginning in approximately three hours.”

His computer was as meticulous a planner as Marcus was–taking time to analyze and determine the best way to execute Marcus orders before carrying them out. On the few occasions Marcus was in a light enough mood to joke, which wasn’t often, he often remarked that the computer could probably run the entire campus without him needing to lift a finger, but Marcus was nothing if not a micromanager. He could let the computer be for a little while though–he had a captive waiting for interrogation, and he’d see if he could tell him anything about what was going on here.

He made his way through the maze of hallways to the interrogation center, passing his security personnel as he went, all of them near identical clones of one another. Culled from the students who had found it difficult adjusting to the rules on campus, Marcus had employed a variety of mental and physical conditioning equipment developed under the direction of Professor Erikson to train them into exactly what they ought to be–good, law abiding campus citizens, and who better to enforce the rules than those he’d trained to follow them to the letter? As he passed, they all gave a curt salute, acknowledging his authority before continuing about their assigned tasks, given to them directly from the central computer through the microchip implanted in each of them. They would all respond to his orders as well, as well as anyone the computer recognized as holding sufficient authority–though no one held more than Marcus. Deep in the complex, which he called campus jail, there were countless pods holding various prisoners, all being conditioned in various ways. Some would emerge as new security personnel, some simply as newly compliant members of the campus community, and still others were being given experimental programs designed for any number of purposes. His personal slave from the master’s program was the warden–in charge of overseeing the prisoners and their conditioning.

Still, that was all in his captive’s future. First, he would need to give Marcus all of the information he had about what the resistance was plotting on campus, and then he would find himself in one of the cells, though Marcus wasn’t sure what he would do with him. Well, probably condition him to be a spy–reporting on the resistance from the inside, provided they weren’t an immediate threat that needed to be neutralized immediately. He found his way to interrogation room number two, where Terry sat at a table, battered and bruised from his encounter with Ken, the trustee who had been Marcus’ ‘anonymous’ informant. Apparently the young cub had started digging for information during their session, and Ken had caught on pretty quick that he was likely a member of the resistance, and Marcus was inclined to agree with that possibility. He entered the room and took a seat at the table across from Terry without saying a word.

“Alright Terry,” Marcus said, “I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Not really,” Terry said.

“Don’t play me for an idiot, you’ve been fingered as a member of the resistance. Do you deny that?”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

Marcus smiled a bit, figuring that the cub would deny involvement. “Look, Terry, I want to be honest with you. I don’t mean you any harm–I’m just here to make sure that business on campus is conducted smoothly. I don’t want anyone to suffer, I just want everyone to be happy and safe, does that make sense? But the resistance group, well, if I don’t know what you are doing, then how can I be sure you’re happy and safe?”

“Oh go to hell.”

“Look, Matt already told us some things, I just need you to fill in some of the gaps.” From the look on the cub’s face, Marcus’ slight gambit had struck a cord. He hadn’t expected him to drop Matt’s name. True, Marcus didn’t have Terry’s boyfriend in the complex yet, but like Jack, it was only a matter of time before he was.

“No, that’s a lie, Matt wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“Are you sure about that? I can be very persuasive, if need be, and just because I want everyone to be happy and safe doesn’t mean I’m not willing to cause a little suffering to bring about that end. Now you…you’ve obviously been through a lot lately, and I don’t see any reason to cause you any further pain, provided you simply cooperate with me, and answer my questions truthfully. Now, what is the resistance planning? What are your goals, and who are your members?”

“I’m not going to tell you any of that.”

“But you admit that you know it all.”

Terry was silent then, knowing he’d given up the game.

“Look, I know you’re plotting something just tell me what it is, and Matt doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”

“What are you doing to him,” Terry said, distressed, “Where is he?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to find out what we’re doing to him, but you’ll find out soon enough if you don’t start talking.”

Terry was obviously torn, and Marcus could see that he wanted to talk, for Matt’s supposed sake, the only question now was how long it would take him to break. Not long apparently. “Look, you don’t understand, we aren’t planning anything,” Terry said, “We just meet, and talk. We just…we just want to remember who we were, you know, before all the changes. That’s all, we just meet up and talk about what we remember and help each other remember what they might have forgotten, that’s all. We aren’t doing anything, I swear.”

It wasn’t the answer Marcus had been expecting–at all. An admission of guilt, maybe. A complete reveal of their plans, possibly, but this? What was the cub even talking about? Remembering who they were? What kind of nonsense…but now that it had been brought up, Marcus felt like he could remember something, something which had been buried well, but something large enough that it affected the topography of everything above it. It was unsettling, to say the least. Still, that couldn’t be what they were doing. They were the resistance, so they had to be resisting him. “You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you? Are you honestly telling me you have nothing to do with the changes on campus?”

“Changes? What changes?”

“Don’t fucking play dumb with me.”

“I’m not–I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. We haven’t done anything, except meet, and talk–that’s it.”

Marcus sat for a moment, thinking through the possibilities. It could be that Terry was telling the truth, and the resistance really wasn’t doing anything. On the other hand, it could be that he was a member of the group kept outside of the decision making process, in which case, even if the resistance did have something to do with the slob wave, Terry wouldn’t know anything about it. Then again, the cub might simply be lying through his teeth, trying to give Marcus enough information to get him to leave Matt alone.

The speaker in the room suddenly crackled to life with the computer’s voice, “Sir, you’re attention is requested in communal cell four.”

Marcus didn’t have anyone housed in cell four–what was going on now? “Alright,” he said to Terry, “I’m going to go talk to Matt a bit more, and see what he has to say. Until then, why don’t we put you on ice for a bit? Computer, run isolation program on interrogation subject.”

A panel on the wall slid open behind Terry, and before he could turn around to see what was going on, long, mechanical tendrils shot out and wrapped their way around his limbs, pulling him back into a glass pod, the cub struggling as best he could as one wormed its way down his throat, the other into his ass, both injecting him with a powerful sedative, sending him into a deep sleep, a helmet dropping down onto his head, covering his eyes and ears. “In isolation, run compliance program one.” It wouldn’t do much, just make him more prone to trust Marcus and make him feel good when he told him the truth. Generally, it was enough to make sure his subjects were honest, but there were always more advanced programs. Still, Marcus didn’t want to destroy the cub’s mind just yet. He might prove useful as a double agent, provided he could be flipped easily, and quickly enough.

NaNoWriMo Entry 17 – 11/20 (52,323/50,000 words)

Apparently, part of what had taken so long earlier, when Max was in the store was that he’d pulled far more clothes from the racks than Matt could have ever hoped to have worn in one outfit. Instead, Max started holding up various looks, generally throwing them away after a few moments, unsatisfied with what possibilities they might hold. This gave Matt a moment or two to recover from the pain of his tattooing, and let him take a look at his now older physique. He wasn’t sure whether it was the dye or the tattoos, but his skin felt strange underneath his hands, rough and leathery and even a bit wrinkled. He did his best to try and calm down, but he could already feel panic rising. He’d felt like this before, he’d felt like this after he’d gotten transformed in the common room by Tom and company, and he bolted for the door, but Max grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.

“Not so fast–we aren’t done here.”

“Please, please I don’t want to change anymore than this, I don’t want to be that much different.”

“You aren’t going to be different, you’re going to be better. Besides, don’t forget, you’re the one who asked for this. This is what you siad you wanted, so you’re gonna sleep in the bed you made whether or not I have to tie you down into it. And if you keep struggling, I might make a mistake…accidentally of course, and pick the wrong product…and then who knows what you might end up as?”

The threat was enough to heel Matt, and he settled down a bit, watching the clothes flash in the mirror next to him. A leather cop uniform was discarded, followed by some military gear which Max held up for a moment or two, apparently mulling it over, but that was cast aside too. “I like the military look, but hmm…it just doesn’t seem…ah, I know…” Max said, and dug around in the pile of clothes, “but before that, we’d have to…hmmm, yeah I think this just might work.”

“Alright, first things first, all knights need a codpiece–for protection of course,” Max said, “Here, put this on first.”

Max handed him a pile of chain, and at first he had no idea what to do with it, but as he turned it over in his older ahnds, the pattern fell out, and he saw that it was a jockstrap made of metal. The pouch was tightly woven chainmail, and the straps were chain link, and the entire thing was surprisingly heavy, and he wasn’t entirely sure how it was going to stay up if he pulled it on, but it was…kind of sexy, and at this point, he was stuck, so he might as well just go along with it. He pulled it on, and realized a second problem–there was no elastic in the chain, making the problem of it staying in place even more complicated. However, as soon as he pulled it up into place and had held it up for a few seconds, the solution revealed itself, as his ass filled out with muscle, pulling the chain tight, his waits growing to match to chain waist perfectly, and his cock and balls swelling to fill out the pouch. The chain was slightly permeable, allowing glimpses of his flesh, and he let go, the jock held in place…a little too well. He tried to take it off next, but realized that he had grown to fit it a little too perfectly. He couldn’t slide the waist down past his muscular ass. “How am I…Does this thing come off?”

“Now, what knight would be caught without their armor on?”

“I’m not kidding–how in the hell am I supposed to fuck with this thing on?” Matt said, trying to pull the pouch to the side and let his cock out, but again, it was held too well in place for his cock to slip out, “This isn’t funny–I’m not interested in a fucking chastity belt.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that–the jock is just there to make sure you keep you honest and true to that cub of yours–we can’t have you fucking around on him, can we?”

“What, I can’t even jack off?”

“Nope,” Max said, grinning, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it–and trust me–it does keep that junk of yours nice and safe. Now, these next–from our ‘Battleworn’ collection. I really want some camo on a grizzled warrior like yourself, but most everything I had was too clean and pristine. However, I bet these will be perfect.”

He handed Matt a pair of camo pants, socks and boots. Looking at the pants, Matt saw that they were heavily worn, with quite a few stains which he hoped were just mud, but which could very well have been something bloody, with the knees and crotch ripped open in quite a few places. They looked like they’d been in some rugged man’s wardrobe for most of his life–a treasured outfit worn as a badge of pride. The boots were similar, functional, but well worn, but Matt was still terrified to proceed. “If…If I put these on, am I going to forget who I am?”

“You’ll remember who you really are.”

“No, that’s not what I mean–and you know that. Will I still remember? Like I can now?”

Max shrugged, “Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t know what makes one of you remember and the next one forget. But I’d say the same rule applies–do you want to remember?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“”Then chances are you will. Now quit stalling and put those pants on–I don’t have all day.”

Matt pulled on the pants–and found them quite comfortable. In fact, they felt so comfortable Matt was suddenly convinced he must have worn them before, but where? He was still trying to remember as he pulled on some ragged wool socks and the combat boots before standing up and looking at himself in the mirror–and then he remembered–how could he have forgotten? He’d bought these pants ages ago from the army supply store, when he was just a young muscle cub. Hell, the first night he’d worn them he’d gotten into the barroom brawl which gave him the first scar across his face.

As soon as the memory crossed his mind, Matt watched the reflection in the mirror shimmer across his face, and an ugly, but well faded scar materialized, stretching from the base of his ear across his cheek, from where that biker had slashed him with a broken whisky bottle. Still, the fucker had had it coming to him, when Matt broke the pool cue over his head, trying to force that sexy barcub to come home with him on his cycle when it was pretty clear the cub had no interest in him at all. His chivalry had far too often been his undoing. Still, as the cub had cleaned the wound back in the stockroom, and then ridden Matt’s cock, it had all turned out for the best, right? Besides, he’d won plenty of other fights without getting wounded, he thought with a chuckle, his knuckles gathering all the small knicks and swells of a man accustomed to fighting with his bare hands, but he hadn’t gotten away scot free every time. Scars appeared all over him then, each one with a story–an entire military history of his life, catalogued across his body in wounds, not all of them victories, but all of them fought righteously.

Matt looked at his image, and what had once been alien to him seemed amazingly familiar, the hollowed, slightly sunken eyes, one of them slightly lazy after it didn’t quite recover from a rock flung into it, the hard lips pulled tight, the cheeks thick with white stubble. Why shouldn’t it be familiar to him? What was strange about that? He could feel something slipping away then, something he could sense that he needed to hold onto desperately, and he dug around his new history, looking for anything that didn’t belong. A young man named Matt, sequestered in a dorm room, terrified for his life. A day laborer trapped in an abusive relationship. These people, they couldn’t be him, could they? But there was Terry–he knew Terry. Terry was his cub…could he? Like a separate line unraveling behind him, he saw this other, second history, but the first, his life of battles, that couldn’t just be a lie, could it? He had all the wounds to prove it had happened, and yet he couldn’t deny the second either.

As he struggled with his mind, Max helped him into a chainmail vest, and as soon as the metal slid onto his shoulders, Matt saw his physique in the mirror begin to bulge, his muscles filling out and building on top of themselves over and over again like scar tissue, looking crude and uneven, their function being two–the first to provide him with raw power in a fight, and the second being pure intimidation. And sure enough, if Matt had seen someone like him walking in his direction looking angry, he would have turned around and walked in the other direction, well, he would have if he hadn’t always looked like this, but then again, he hadn’t always…right? His head hurt–it was so hard keeping track of everything that was changing around and within him. Terry–he had to hold onto Terry. That was why he was doing all of this, that was what he had to focus on. He had to protect him–he had to be his daddy–nothing else mattered–not really.

And that was the core of him, that underneath all of this rough skin, the hard muscle, the armor the battle, that at the very center of him pulsed this heart, and in the middle of that was love, justice and care and all towards Terry. He realized he didn’t need this chainmail jock to keep him devoted–he already was devoted, even more than he had been, and the thought of Terry lying alone in their room, injured and alone, it was breaking him apart. He needed to be there, nursing him back to health, making sure he stayed safe. “Look,” Matt said, his voice gruff and curt, “I have to fuckin’ go man, I have a cub back on campus, and he’s hurt, ‘n I gotta make sure he’s alright.”

“Now hold on daddy, we aren’t quite finished here. See, I’m really liking this metal motif of yours. Besides, you need a smoke before you go, to purge the rest of the asscub from your system, and I have just the smoke for you, while I go get a few more things,” Max said. He handed Matt a short, thick cigar, already cut, and lit it for Matt before he left. The smoke was very harsh, and Matt actually coughed on the first draw, feeling his nerves suddenly light up like he’d been given a shot of adrenaline. He felt so alive all of the sudden, and aware of everything around him. This hyperfocus slowly condensed within him into a small, tight ball of righteous anger, and his lip curled up around the cigar in a slight sneer. Yeah, so what if he had a bit of a mean streak? It was natural for someone who’d been in as many fights as he had to be a bit rough with people. It was part of why he’d become a bouncer–so he had an excuse to get into a big man’s face and fuck them up if he needed to. Sure, he might have goaded a few guys into a fight over the years, but he’d never lost a fight he’d picked. He was itching for one now, he wanted to feel his fist crush into some poor sucker’s face–he’d been out of the fight for too long if he couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood over some bitch’s bruised and crumpled body. That was why he needed the jock, he realized, so he could resist that urge to fuck the loser, because he’d made a promise to Terry, to be his, but god, sometimes he just wanted to feel a bloody mouth around his fat tool again. Maybe he’d feel that one more time before he died, god he loved that.

Max came back in, carrying a tray laden with a collection of metal rings and studs. He started with Matt’s face, giving him small gauges in his ears, a bar in one of his eyebrows and a thick horseshoe through his septum, and then worked his way down, putting two rings in his thick nipples, and then found himself up against the jock. “Do me a favor,” Max said, “think about your cub for me, think about how much you want to fuck him.”

“”Ha, that’s a easy one,” Matt said, “Terry’s got such a fine fuckin’ ass, I could just plow that thing all day long, I tell ya what, fuck–gettin’ me horny just thinkin’ ‘bout it…” he said, and felt his cock start to swell against the chainmail pouch of the jock, the metal links pulling apart and stretching as his cock hardened, until it actually popped out between the links, the thick meat rigid and leaking a little precum, and with one smooth motion, Max slid a massive PA though the head of his cock, before it slipped back into the pouch. “Alright man, we finished here yet?”

“Almost,” Max said, “Just one last thing. Do you still remember? Do you still know who you were?”

Matt was a bit taken aback by the question. He’d been hoping he could just pretend it wasn’t real, but if this guy was actually asking about it…then how could it not be real? “Yeah…it’s…it’s kind of fuzzy, but I remember most of it.”

“Good, because I’m going to have to hold onto that for a while,” Max said, and held up a small, clear crystal which emitted a stream of light and burrowed its way into Matt’s head, and a moment later, it was gone, but so were Matt’s pasts–both of them. Well, not all of it, he still knew he had a cub named Terry, and he had a job as a bouncer, but everything behind that, the entire context and history of his life had just vanished into this air, and saw a twinkle of light in the crystal Max held aloft..

“What…what did you just do to me?” Matt said, “I’ll fucking kill you asshole, I’ll fucking–” he said, and made to swing at the fat biker…but for some reason he couldn’t. That smell, the smell was back, that alpha smell, and Matt could feel it bending even his iron will around, keeping him locked in place.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Max said, palming the crystal, “I need a favor. You see, I need to find someone, but the problem is, I can’t actually leave this store…for some peculiar reasons, so I need someone to find him for me. Professor Erikson–do you know him?”

Matt recognized the name as one of the professors on campus, and he knew it should have meant more to him, but there was this hole, a giant hole in his memory, and it was there in that crystal. He was in that crystal, and he needed that, he needed it back. “The name…the name sounds familiar, but I don’t know where he is…”

“Well no one does–that’s why I want you to find him. You find him, and bring him back here in one piece, and you can have your memories back. I’ll even throw in some bonus information, I’ll let you in on why Tristan is doing all of this, and how you might be able to stop him–how does that sound?”

“Tristan? I don’t…you…you took that too, why is that name familiar? What is going on?”

Max laughed and then said, “I guess you’ll have to find Erikson if you want to know. However, don’t you have a cub to worry about? It would sure be a shame if something happened to him in his weakened condition, unless you really care to pick a fight with an alpha. Trust me, I can have that jock releasing that cock of yours to my touch in a matter of minutes–you really want to be my thrall, tough guy?”

Matt was a fighter, but he also knew better than to pick ones he knew he would lose, but he’d get this fucker back, he knew that much. “Fine, but don’t think for a goddamn second this is at all over.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Now get going daddy–you have a cub to tend to, and a man to find for me.”

Matt scowled, and then pushed his way past Max and tromped out onto the mall, just daring any man he passed by to give him a wrong look. He was aching for a fight now, after that little bit of humiliation. He pulled out another cigar and lit up, the nicotine rush calming his wrath a bit and letting him get out without incident, and he walked back to campus and his room with Terry. Terry would make him feel better, and then he’d work on finding this stupid professor so he could get his goddamn memories back from that fuck at Bear Boutique, however, when he got to the dorm, and down into the basement, he saw that something was definitely wrong. The door to his room was open, and two campus security guards were standing outside the door. Like all the other guards, they were nearly identical in physique, with identical high ‘n tight haircuts, mustaches and the same muscle hugging leather uniforms. “What’s going on here?” Matt asked as he came close, “Where’s Terry?”

The two men turned towards him, “Sir, is your name Matt?”

“What if it is?”

“Sir, a warrant has been issued for your detainment. Come with us peacefully, or we’re going to have to use force.”

“Ha, you and what army?” Matt asked.

The two officers pulled their batons, but Matt was quicker, slamming one’s head into the wall, knocking him out with a single blow, grabbing his baton as he fell and slamming it into the other’s kneecap so hard that he heard the snap of bone, the guard screaming as he crumpled to the ground.

“Shut the fuck up,” Matt screamed in his face, silencing him, and then he dragged both of the officers into his room and shut the door, throwing the conscious one up onto the bed and hauling down his pants. “Now, I can’t fuck ya, but trust me, if I could, I would. So this baton is gonna have to be my dick for the moment. Now, your gonna tell me where my Terry is, or this thing is going so far up your ass it ain’t gonna see the light of day for a year,” Matt said, slamming the first few inches of the baton up the man’s hole for emphasis, “Now start talking, and this fuck won’t get too rough.”

In between begging for mercy and cries of pain, Matt was able to work out the details of what had happened. Someone had put in a tip that Terry was a member of the resistance, and they’d issued a warrant for Matt as well, given their romantic connection. Matt didn’t know anything about this so called resistance–or at least he didn’t anymore. He left both of the security guards tied up there when he was through with them, his cock achingly hard against the chainmail which refused to budge and open for his lust at the moment, and that just made him long for Terry more. Those fuckers at security had made a big mistake, Matt thought as he crossed campus. No one takes his cub and lives to tell anything but tales of horror about Matt’s vengeance.

NaNoWriMo Entry 16 – 11/19 (48,968/50,000 words)

Chapter 6

Max looked up at the clock again, like always, watching that little second hand click around that damn face, again, watching the minutes and hours slip away from him, over and over again, and thinking, again, about how much Tristan was going to regret crossing him when he finally got out of this trap for good. When that fucking biker had poked a hole in the mental wall which had locked him away, Maxwell had assumed all he would have had to do was wait. Sure enough, the wall came down, and Max came out–he remembered himself, all of it, but the trap was more complex than he’d thought. Even though he had his mind back, he still didn’t have his body–and it appeared that that was much more important to Tristan’s spell than locking his head away. In this disgusting, old form, Max couldn’t even cross the threshold of the boutique–he was stuck in here with these three other freaks who were slowly becoming aware that something was different. Last night, Brute had tried to reestablish his dominance, but Max wasn’t going to have anymore of that. He’d taken the muscled alpha (who might be thirty years younger and in much better shape, but who had none of Max’s anger and rage) and pinned him to the ground, fucking him in front of their two silent thralls for hours, until Brute had begged him to stop, and that seemed to have clarified a few things for all of them. These days, they largely kept themselves confined to the apartment in the back of the store, while Max manned the counter, still unable to resist the compulsion wrapped around this body to run the store for Tristan.

His initial plan was to simply wait until Tristan came for one of his periodic visits, however, he could sense that something was awry. When he’d, “devoured” Scuzz, he’d taken in bits and pieces of him, a few memories here and there, and he noticed that Tristan had apparently visited the store in the middle of hibernation, but he couldn’t recall what might have transpired between them. Still, it was reasonable to assume that Tristan knew Max was loose, and if he knew that, he wouldn’t be coming anywhere near him for the time being. He would have to find some other way out of this mess, and he had a feeling he might know who could help him with that.

Another person had paid Scuzz a visit recently–one of the professors from the college, some bear named Erikson. While Max couldn’t recall much of their encounter, there was…a lingering feeling there. Thinking about Erikson felt, good. Like they’d had a nice conversation and Max had felt really good about whatever they’d talked about, even if he couldn’t quite remember what it was. Regardless, if there was anyone who could help him out of this mess, he was certain Erikson would be the first place to look. Unfortunately, without any way of getting out of here, he wouldn’t be able to meet with him anytime soon, but he did have an idea. He didn’t know if it would play out how he expected it to or not, but one customer he’d had earlier today seemed just desperate enough to be a pawn in a scheme. However, if he didn’t come back, then there’d be no plan, but Max had a feeling he’d be back sooner than later. Until then, he was stuck with the clock, that tick, the moving, whirling, maddening hands, and all he wanted was to smell the pine of the forest one more time before he died looking like this in this hellhole of a dimension.

However, not one to disappoint, he saw his pawn coming now, own the mall, only with a quite stunning mane of fire red hair which he hadn’t had earlier. Still, he didn’t have much of a choice, now did he? In this new world, it seemed that the only hard and fast rule was change or be changed, and Maxwell wasn’t going to be changed ever again.


Matt did his best to calm down as he hurried down the mall back to Bear Boutique, but it was very difficult to stay focused when there all these bears around, with all of their cocks bulging in their pants and leathers, and it would be so easy to ask one of them, any of them, to go into the bathroom with him and fuck his brains out, but he knew that if he gave in once, even once, that he’d probably never be able to resist going full-asscub, as he now thought of it. Still, it wasn’t far now–he could see the sign up ahead and everything, and he drove onward, trying to keep his eyes on the ground in front of him, and his mind not focused on how great it felt walking around with an eight inch dildo planted in his ass.

He made it, though there was a close call with a big dicked daddy he nearly veered off course to proposition, but he did, finally, make it. He walked over to the big biker, once more seated behind the counter, and said, “Alright, I know what I want to be now. Will you help change me?”

“Well, I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Max said, grinning, “but I can certainly change you–it’s my…job after all. So, apparently, there is something you’d like to be more than an asscub–what is it? Who do you want to be?”

Matt was quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to express what he was feeling, how he’d felt when he’d found Terry there in the bathroom, beaten and bleeding and broken, and how terrified and ashamed he’d been that he hadn’t been there. That he couldn’t save him, or protect him, or anything useful. “I…well, I’m dating this…cub, you see. And, well, I really love him, but I don’t know…I don’t know if I can really…really take care of him, you know? And, I just…I just want to be there for him, and I want to be able to protect him, and take care of him, like…like a proper daddy bear. I want to be his daddy, a good one, I want to keep him safe, and with me, always. That’s…that’s who I want to be.”

“Alright, I think I can handle all of that,” Max said, “now just wait here for a minute or two–I need to go find some products for you. Why don’t you go ahead and step into one of the changing rooms, strip down, and I’ll be right with you.”

Matt gulped, “Will…will I change again in there?” he asked, “Like last time?”

“Only if you let yourself change. This is all up to you. And just to let you know, these changes aren’t going to stick if you can’t push that cub persona back all on your own. You have to want this, or nothing will work, got it? Now get in there, strip, and practice being the daddy you want to be. How about that?”

Matt nodded, and as Max went around the front of the store, looking around at his products and putting a set together for his customer, Matt headed for the changing room again and stepped inside. He glanced in the mirror, and saw his normal reflection, or at least, his current normal. The fire red hair was still throwing him off, but it did make him look like a sexy firebrand, a bit. Of course, the beard needed to go, he thought, and a second later, the reflection shimmered, and sure enough, his beard had disappeared, leaving the cub’s thin goatee ringing his mouth and Matt closed his eyes and refocused his thoughts, feeling his bare cheeks with one hand and reminding himself of why he was here. He had to be there or Terry, he had to. There was no one else he could count on, and so far, Matt wasn’t being the man Terry needed. That was going to change. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt his cub ever again. When he opened his eyes again, he felt more in control, and nothing else changed. Still, that was the easy part–now he needed to strip.

He peeled off his too tight clothes again, feeling better naked, and saw that the normal jock he’d put on back in the room had turned red again. It did look really good on him, and he didn’t really want to take it off. After all, it showed off his–

Before the thought could take hole, Matt yanked down the jock, revealing his now four inch cock framed by a thin bush of red pubes, and threw the jock over the changing room door and out into the store, lest he be tempted to put it back on, and then he yanked out the dildo he’d put in and threw it out there too, or else he might start fucking himself with it, and then who knew what he’d be. However, losing the dildo proved to be a near fatal error on his part. With nothing up his ass, the itch returned with a crushing vengeance, and it was all Matt could do, to just sit on the bench and not shove his finger, hell, his whole fist up his own hole just to quiet it down. The minutes and seconds passed so slowly–he had no idea what was taking Max so long with finding him a new look. A couple of times he wondered if he was testing Matt, to see if he’d break again. Maybe…maybe he was hoping Matt would break. Maybe this time the alpha would fuck him with his big cock, and maybe then he could be his property. A real alpha’s fuckhole cumdump cub. He told himself that was a horrible idea, but his tingling cock thought otherwise. It wouldn’t get hard without a full ass, but he was turned on by the idea all the same, and all he’d have to do is let go. Just let the changes happen, and then he could beg the alpha for his cock. Hell, Max had already fisted him–he wouldn’t be able to resist Matt for long. Matt refused to open his eyes now. He didn’t want to see himself, he didn’t want to see who he was. It was so difficult to sort out his thoughts. He couldn’t tell whether they were coming from two people or from one anymore. As he sat on the bench, he could almost feel his body changing, growing fatter, the itch in his ass growing even stronger, his body hair disappearing…

He heard the door open then, as Max came in, and set things down on the bench next to him. “You know, I can’t do anything if you keep your eyes closed like that.”

“I don’t want to look.”

“Why don’t you just take a few deep breaths, and then go ahead and open them when you’re ready–then we can go ahead and get started. I can’t do this if you’re going to be terrified of your own reflection.”

“What if I turn into the cub though?”

“Then you turn into the cub, and we go our separate ways.”

“But I don’t want to be the cub.”

“Then, when you open your eyes, you won’t be, unless you’re lying to yourself.”

That really was the problem, wasn’t it? Matt could tell himself all day that he didn’t want to be the cub, but in truth…he wasn’t sure if that was true. The mirror though, this mirror at least, it didn’t lie. It didn’t let him lie to himself, and he didn’t want to fail again. He wanted to be strong–stronger than the first time, when Tom, Leon, and Butch had fucked him over. And now they’d done it again, and if he couldn’t fight back, then maybe he deserved it. Maybe he deserved to be their bottom bitch, just a horny asscub begging for all of their cocks. There was only one way to find out. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and saw himself.

He hadn’t changed at all, aside from the beard, and he out a little laugh of relief. “Oh thank god,” he said.

“Now, how about we go ahead and get started?” Max said, “If you want to be a good looking daddy, I think the first thing we need to do is getting you into the right age bracket.” Max pulled on some gloves before taking an aerosol can labeled “Daddy Dye,” turning it upside down, and spraying a white foam into his hand, which he then massaged into Matt’s hair. “A shame you lost that nice beard of yours. Still, we’ll see if we can grow you a new one here in a bit. Now tighten up that mouth–this stuff tastes awful,” he said, as he rubbed the foam into the small goatee Matt now had, before continuing down and foaming over his body hair and his bush. The foam tingled and burned a bit, and in the mirror, Matt could see the product in his hair seemed to be disappearing and sinking into his hair, leaving his hair and goatee a silvery grey, the same going for his body hair. In fact, he was kind of glad that he had less of it now, or else the whole dying process might have taken quite a bit of time. Max had him stand up and covered the rest of his hair in the product, even getting between his ass cheeks, and Matt caught himself wishing Max would just fist him again, but the thoughts were easier to hold at bay now. He didn’t look, or feel, much like a cub, all of the sudden. He was looking distinguished–and even a bit gentlemanly.

“Alright, it looks like that took pretty well,” Max said, “I think we’ll have you looking like a proper daddy in no time. Now, time for phase two, I think.”

“Wait, there’s more?” Matt asked, “But I feel better already. I think I can keep the cub away with just this.”

“What happened to being the great protector?” Max asked, “No, I picked out a very nice ensemble for you, and I think you’re going to put it all on, whether you want to or not. Now, how about some tattoos? I found a set that will be perfect for a protector like you. Afterall, how are you going to protect anyone without some armor of your own?”

“No, look, I think you’re taking this too far. I just want–”

“No, you’re the one not going far enough,” Max said, and slid his finger into Matt’s hole, making him moan and squirm in delight, his small cock instantly hardening. “How about this, for a deal. We keep going with this, or I go ahead and fist and fuck you to kingdom cub–how does that sound to you? I did so enjoy this hole of yours last time, and while I’m saving my load up for someone else, I’m sure you could convince me to add another thrall to my collection if this hole of yours was persuasive enough.”

The cub roared back to him then, pushing against every bit of will Matt had, trying to force words out of his mouth, trying to beg this alpha to take him and own him and use him day and night, but he held back, and as much as it pained him to do so, he grabbed Max’s hand and pulled his finger from his aching hole. “Fine…fine, let’s keep going.”

“That’s better,” Max said, and picked up the tattoo box he’d brought in, the and from the picture on the box, Matt could see that it was no small set of tattoos. The set, called ‘armored,’ was going to cover his whole body, from his feet all the way up onto his face, with both sides of his body bearing solid panels of black ink which did, actually, look like a suit of armor. Max opened up the box and pulled out the tattoo suit, letting it unfold, and then handing it to Matt. “Go ahead then, put it on, oh ‘great protector’,”

Matt did as he was told, sliding one foot and then the other into the legs of the suit, watching the tattoo take shape on his body the suit stuck to him. The legs had three panels on each leg, one running from the top of his feet up his shin, and then two long ones, one running up the inside of both thighs, meeting under his cock, and two on the outside of his legs, running up and curving onto his both ass cheeks. More panels of black wrapped around his torso and ran up his back, two panels outlined his chest, though they looked less than spectacular on his fat cubby tits, and the final panel ran across the top of his shoulders and down his arms to the back of the hands, as well as up the outside of his neck, and round his ears, and even connecting across his forehead and under his chin, giving the impression of a helmet. As soon as the entire clear and black skin was in place, he saw the panels heat up with a searing light in the mirror, and a moment later, the suit was gone, with all of the panels in place, and Matt nearly bent over after the pain ripped through him.

“Now be a tough little daddy for me, after all, we’re just getting started on you. How about we try some clothes on now?”

NaNoWriMo Entry 15 – 11/18 (45,993/50,000 words)

Doug sat down in his leather armchair with a sigh, and his slave immediately filled his favorite pipe, lit it and slid it into his master’s mouth, before beginning the long ritual of servicing his smokemaster in the evening. His first duty was a thorough shining of Doug’s boots, followed by a full service foot massage, and then whatever kind of sex Doug might feel like having that night. However, as soon as he was settled, Doug heard a knock on the door to his dorm room, and perturbed that someone was disturbing his evening, he signaled for his slave to go answer the door. “Go see who it is,” he said, “and let them know I’m busy for the rest of the evening.”

“Yes sir,” he said and went to the door, however, as soon as his slave had unlocked the door and opened it a crack, the door flung back, smacking him in the face and he tumbled back, clutching his face. Clark was through the entry a moment later, and after a swift kick to the slave’s balls, he slammed his fist into his jaw, knocking him out in a single, impressive blow.

“I was wondering when one of you would show up,” Doug said, “After I heard what happened to Len, and with Grant going all weird, I figured it was only a matter of time.”

Clark went back over and shut the door, saying, “Yeah, well, I’m tired of trying to rule as a group. I think we need a more dictatorial power structure.”

“I’m happy with that.”

Clark looked over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow.

“No, really, I am. And I don’t really have much interest in being in charge either,” Doug said, puffing on his pipe, “Why do you think I haven’t made a move yet? I could tell from the first meeting that you, Marcus and maybe Jack were going to start in at each other’s throats as soon as the day was done. Me, I just want to be left alone.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Doug asked, “What did I ever do to you, exactly? Unlike some people, I don’t really find your…inadequacies all that fun to taunt, and I actually respect you more than the rest. Marcus is completely paranoid, and Jack is, well, Jack. You seem like the most reasonable of the bunch. What can I do to help?”

“Thanks, but I’ll be ruling alone,” Clark said, “and I can’t really afford to have any other masters around to fuck me over later when I might have my back turned. Besides, I know that the tobacco you’ve been smoking each night here is designed to make anyone who gets it second hand suggestible to your commands. If you think I believe for a second that you wouldn’t intend to backstab me, or just rule from the sidelines, you must think I’m an idiot.”

Doug did his best to hide his surprise, but kept on smoking. How could Clark have known about his little gambit? “Maybe I was wrong,” he said, “I think you might be the paranoid one.”

“Oh hardly, do you think I’d just barge in on your home turf without investigating a little first? Now, let’s get the rest of this over with–I really don’t want to be here all night–I fucking hate smoke.”

“So you’ve said before,” Doug said, “I still don’t know why we can’t work together.”

“Because I already laced your tobacco, dumbass–I’m just here to finish you off.”

Doug coughed, getting the smoke out of him and setting the pipe aside and looking down at himself–however, nothing seemed different…aside from his crotch. Why in the world were his leather pants bulging out like that? And why was it so numb?

“Here, let me help you out with that,” Clark said. He walked over, pulling out a slim knife, and he cut open the crotch of his pants, revealing that his cock and balls were, well, not quite cock and balls anymore. First of all, they were bigger, but the shaft seemed slimmer and looked like it was bending in a strange fashion into a downward curve, and the flesh was colored strangely, a bit dark, but with a pattern almost like wood grain. On the other hand, his balls were sagging down below that, but it was almost like his balls were shrinking as his sack was growing, leaving only a large flesh pouch behind.

“What…what in the world…” Doug said, slurring his words a bit. It was hard to focus–how could he have been so stupid?

“Here, keep smoking–you aren’t quite finished yet, Doug,” Clark said, slipping the pipe back into the pipebear’s mouth, and watching his continue smoking, even though he was terrified of what might happen–or keep happening. Indeed, as he smoked the rest of the bowl his cock lengthened and the curve grew more exaggerated. Doug knew what it was becoming now–it was becoming some strange cross between a cock and a pipe stem. When Clark ran his hand along the shaft, a bit curious himself what it might feel like, Doug felt a shiver run down his back. The flesh was still sensitive, but hard and smooth like wood. The head narrowed a bit, but the glans remained as the changes slowed, leaving him with an eight inch long pipestem cock. Below that, his scrotum grew bigger still, and his balls disappeared entirely. With a sharp pain, he felt a slit appear in the top of the pouch, and he was almost relieved when he realized that his bowl was finished, so that meant the changes were over, for now at least.

“Well would you look at that,” Clark said, “I think that gives a new meaning to the term ‘pipe bear,’ don’t you?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you for this,” Doug said, but with his slurred voice and relaxed body, he didn’t seem very serious about his threat, and Clark laughed.

“Oh trust me Doug, you’re going to be too busy smoking to care–in more ways than one. Pity your balls had to go–I always was impressed with how big they were. How about we see if we can replace them with something better?” Clark said, pulling out a bag of tobacco, “I think I have just the thing for you.”

Doug tried to move his hands to fend Clark off, but they were as limp and rubbery as his wooden pipecock was rigid. Clark started shoving tobacco through the slit in his scrotum, filling it with tobacco, the skin growing more and more distended, the dark tobacco visible through the skin, making rendering it almost black when it was full. Completely packed, the slit opened up like the lip of a pipe bowl, but he didn’t light it, not yet.

“Now, having watched you enough, I know you need a smoker to get a pipe going. However, since your slave is incapacitated, and I don’t smoke, I suppose you’re going to have to start off ith some masturbation–how does that sound?

“I can’t…I can’t bend like that…” Doug said.

“Ha, you can know, since I borrowed a few of Len’s flexibility drugs from his room. He wasn’t going to need them anymore, after all.”Clark dropped his backpack to the ground and pulled out some rope. “Now, how about we get you all trussed up?”

The harness shot from Marcus’ gun slammed into Clark sideways, the leather arms wrapping their way around him, binding his arms to his sides and his legs together, the force of the hit sending him rolling across the room and crashing into Doug’s desk. Marcus stood in the doorway, a large gun, almost bazooka like, in his hands, the barrel smoking a bit.

“What the goddamn fuck is this?” Clark shouted, struggling against the leather wrapped around him, “Let me go you fuck!”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that, short stuff,” Marcus said, and Clark flew into a rage, screaming obscenities in Marcus’ direction, the kilted bear just smirking at him. Doug would have laughed himself if he wasn’t drugged, and he still had his cock and balls.

“I always wanted to see what would happen if I called him that,” Marcus said, walking over towards Doug and ignoring the tantrum of the cub on the ground. “Dang Doug, he really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Please, help me,” Doug said, “I can’t…I can’t move.”

“Oh, that’s alright–I don’t need you to go anywhere,” Marcus said, got down and dug through the rest of Clark’s pack. “Hmm…I see. Well, I think I know just how to fix this situation right up.” He walked over to Clark, who tried to bite him when his hand came near, but he grabbed one of the straps behind his head and dragged him over to where Doug was seated. “Alright. Clark, I think you really need to calm the fuck down already. And you know what helps people calm down? Smoking. I think it’s time you picked up the habit.”

“Oh you fucking pig!” Clark said, “I’m not smoking that shit!”

“Oh yes you are, aren’t you?”

Clark felt a shiver run through him from the leather, and realized that Marcus’ leather wasn’t going to let him refuse. Marcus propped him up on his knees in front of Doug and pushed him down, where Clark wrapped his lips around the head of Doug’s new cock.

“Alright Doug–any advice for a first time pipe smoker like Clark here?”

“Fuck you, Marcus.”

“Well, guess that means you’re on your own then, doesn’t it?” Marcus took out the matches from Clark’s pack, lit one, and started burning the top of the tobacco, Clark sucking down his first smoke, taking too much into his lungs and coughing it back up. “Take it easy there Clark–you have a lot to smoke here–I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out.” It took a few tries and a couple of false lights, but eventually Doug’s pouch was burning nice and even, and Clark was sucking down the smoke, unable to resist the compulsion of the straps binding him in place, and feeling a sinking feeling grow in his stomach. After all, this wasn’t just normal tobacco he’d been planning on making Doug smoke. For his part, the pipe bear was slumped in his armchair, moaning and sighing in pleasure. The heat in his sack, and the feel of Clark’s mouth around the head of his cock, pulling the smoke through him–it was amazing, better than pretty much any sex he’d had before, and that was saying something. He wished that he had a bowl of his own to smoke, knowing that would just make it all the better, but he was still trying to figure out some way out of this situation before things could get worse for him, but looking down, he realized that it was Clark who was more likely going to get the shit end of the stick here.

First of all, it was clear that Clark was no longer a cub. From where Doug sat, he could see his hairline beginning to recede a bit, the process speeding up as he drew more smoke into his mouth, the light brown hair turning losing color strand by strand until it was completely white. The tight goatee he usually wore expanded onto his cheeks while the hair on his chin disappeared, leaving him with a set of friendly mutton chops, making him look more like a distinguished polar bear than an angry, vengeful cub. From where Marcus was standing, he could see the rest of Clark slowly change as he smoked. His muscles were already atrophying with age, his body replacing them with sagging fat, the leather bands slowly expanding to account for his new girth, a double chin growing under his chops, and his ass filling out as well. As he smoked, Marcus noticed that Clark had to keep shifting position a bit to keep smoking the pipe, and he realized that the already short cub was actually shrinking even more. There was little doubt that when he stood up that he would be a dwarf–though a very fat one at that, maybe even larger around than he was tall.

Clark, for his part, was too busy fighting off the mental changes to worry about what was happening to his body, but the smoke was winning, little by little. He felt that cold ball of anger in his gut slowly start unraveling. As he smoked, a strange calm was settling over him, and he actually felt…happy. Maybe even content. It was a sensation so foreign to him that it was terrifying. All his life, it was the anger which had propelled him forward and upward, without it, he didn’t know what he would do. It had been his guiding light, and when it started to flicker and die out, he didn’t know what to do, but before too long, it was simply gone, and he felt…peaceful. Maybe even serene. He stopped fighting against the bands then, and instead focused on enjoying his smoke. Having dispensed with his anger, the calmness started in on the rest of him, shriveling up Clark’s massive cock to a very modest four inches, his balls pulling up and contracting, as the sudden lack of testosterone thinned out his body hair, leaving him quite smooth all over. With his burning lust now gone as well, and with a completely impotent cock, Clark felt completely adrift. He didn’t know, for the first time in his life, what to do with himself.

Then he heard the moans of pleasure coming from Doug, and his chest started filling up with something else. Maybe he couldn’t feel much pleasure anymore, after all, these old bones of his weren’t exactly made for sex anymore, but he could still bring pleasure to others–and what was wrong with that? He started working his mouth up and down the shaft of Doug’s cock, making the pipe bear moan louder, and he felt…happy. Happy that a fat old man like himself could still bring someone pleasure. His clothes shimmered in the air, seething beneath the leather straps, and Marcus saw that they were actually becoming more conservative, his polo reforming into a pressed and starched shirt, vest and suit coat, his khakis becoming dark navy slacks, his boots now leather loafers, and a pair of spectacles appeared, perched on his nose and completing the look, and Marcus figured it was time to work on Doug as well. He went over to one of Doug’s many pipe racks, pulled one down and filled it with tobacco from the second pouch Clark had brought along with him, and he stuck it in Doug’s mouth.

“No, please…don’t…” Doug managed to gasp.

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this one,” Marcus replied, “Now smoke it all down, like a good cub.”

Doug, still unable to resist a command, helped Marcus get the pipe lit, and the tobacco was surprisingly harsh and young, almost biting him as he inhaled it, and he watched his body fill out with more muscle, growing a bit younger in the process. Fuck, it was sexy watching his daddy smoke his cock, but Doug needed more–he needed to cum. His arms were still weak, but as he changed, growing younger and thicker, he wrapped his hands around the back of Clark’s old head and started thrusting his stem in and out of his old throat, Clark taking it happily, pleased to be bringing his new cub such pleasure, and he felt the smoke suddenly start pumping its way into him, and he inhaled as much as he could, the smoke now natural in his aged, well practiced lungs, and the changes advanced even further for him, aging him a bit more, filling out his fat frame, his cock shrinking down to about an inch and a half, and insuring that for the rest of his life, the entire focus of his life would be bringing as much pleasure to his new grandcub and his pipe cock as he could.

Dougie, on the other hand was barely satisfied after that massive orgasm. He was just so horny all of a sudden, but his pouch had collapsed into ash and gone out. Lovingly, Clark emptied the remnants out of his scrotum, and ran a pipe cleaner up the stem of Doug’s cock, making the muscle cub shiver with delight. “Oh granddaddy,” Dougie said, “I’m still so fucking horny. Smoke me again, smoke another bowl.”

“Of course, Dougie, grandbear will do anything for his little cub, you know that,” Clark said, and got up and hurried around the room, dragging along a stool to reach anything around the room which was too high for him, but he didn’t resent his height anymore. In fact, he rather liked his image in the mirror, the short, plump dwarf of a daddy sent a little sexual thrill through him, even if he hadn’t cum in ages, and when his cub picked him up and fucked him with his pipe, he couldn’t be happier.

He looked around the room, suddenly aware of the fact that they were alone. Hadn’t there been two others here? Mar…Mark and…and someone else? No, he must just be getting old. He and his cub had been alone all evening surely. He found his favorite tobacco and started stuffing his impatient grandcub’s sack. “How about after I get this burning, you give your grandbear a good smokey fuck, would my little cub like that?”

“Oh yeah daddy,” Dougie said, “I’d love that lots.”

Unnoticed, Marcus had slipped out, dragging Doug’s still unconscious slave along with him. With some reprogramming, he’d make a fine addition to his security personnel. Now, however, he had to talk to his mystery caller. He was going to find the resistance and crush it out, and then all that would be left between him and complete control would be Jack. And really, how much of a fight could a nasty old redneck like him really put up?

NaNoWriMo Entry 14 – 11/16 (42,959/50,000 words)

Matt’s words caught in his mouth–he didn’t have an answer. What did he want to be? he didn’t even know anymore. Did he want to be his old self, the cloistered, terrified Christian who was socially hamstrung by his fear of sinning against God? Did he just want to be some dumb laborer, someone who didn’t care about the fact that Tom ruled his life with an iron fist, but who could still have a good, carefree time? Did he want to be the fiery cub desperate for anal? A good, proper daddy for Terry, someone to take care of him, and be with him? He didn’t know–he honestly, had no idea who he wanted to be. In the mirror, he couldn’t make out his reflection–it kept shifting and slipping out of his sight, and he looked away, not wanting to know what sort of image it might settle on. “I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t know who I want to be anymore.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Max said, “because pretty soon, those smokes you had are gonna start choosing for you. Still, if you don’t know what you want, there’s nothing I can do for you.” He unlocked the door of the changing room and left, Matt shaking his head, getting up and following him out, but not before slipping his butt plug back in without even noticing.

“There has to be something you can do. Why can’t you just stop it?”

“I already told you, the magic doesn’t work like that.”


Max wheeled around suddenly and stalked back towards Matt, “Listen–I don’t give a fuck about your tiny, little problems. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no difference between who you end up ass–because you’ll still just be a weak, sniveling brat. Now get out of my goddamn store.”

Matt left–he wasn’t about to stick around and try and argue with an Alpha, but as he left the mall, he realized that he’d just confirmed the worst possibility–the smoke was still changing him, and apparently there was nothing he could do to stop it, beyond becoming someone entirely new, and he didn’t know if he could face that. Of course, it was going to happen to him no matter what, whether it was the asscub’s slow burn over the next week, or whether he went back to Bear Boutique and Max agreed to change him–he was, this version of him, was running on borrowed time.

He got back to campus and returned to his dorm room, hoping Terry would be back. He needed to talk to him about this, he needed help. Terry always said the right thing, he always knew what to do. Matt realized that he was the daddy here–that he was the one who should be leading the way, but he just…couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do, and even if he did know what to do, he would still be too scared to do much of anything. However, the room was empty–Terry must still be out on his errand. However, then Matt spotted the shorts on the ground, the same denim ones Terry had been wearing when he left, and he saw on the inside of the seat a smear of cum and…blood…

Matt rushed out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom, banging open the door and hearing a shower running. “Terry? Terry are you in here?” he called.

“Here…I’m here,” Terry’s voice said, sounding exhausted from behind the shower curtain. Matt went over and pulled the curtain back, but couldn’t bear to look for more than a few moments, before looking away and covering his mouth. Terry was sitting in the cramped, standing shower, the water raining down on him, already on the way towards going cold. “Heh…I guess…I guess I must be quite the sight,” Terry said, trying to smirk with his fat lip but only managing to wince, the one eye which wasn’t black and swollen shut leaked a tear into the shower water. “He got…a bit rougher than I was expecting. I just thought I’d take a shower, and…and get some of it off…” he said, and then he was sobbing, and Matt was down under the water with him, pulling him into a tight hug, feeling the lash marks criss-crossing Terry’s back and then he was crying himself, but he had to be strong. He had to.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed. You need to rest for a bit.”

“All this…All this and I didn’t even learn anything we didn’t already know,” Terry said, “I told him to stop, but he just…he just wouldn’t…”

“I know, here, let me dry you off,” Now that Terry was standing Matt was better able to survey the damage, and while most everything was superficial and would heal over time, Matt was much more worried about how Terry was dealing with this in his head, as his cub kept sobbing his eyes out. A few of the lash marks on his back were still weeping blood, but Matt toweled them off, hoping they would stay clean, and then helped Terry back down the hall to their room, where he tucked him into bed.

“God, I hurt all over…” Terry moaned, “I just…I just wanted…”

“Shush,” Matt said, “Just sleep for a bit, you have to…you have to rest…”

Terry looked up at him then, and a slight smile crossed his face, “When did you dye your hair, Matt? I like…firetops…” and then he was asleep, and Matt’s own problems crashed back into him. He got up off the bed and looked at himself in the mirror, and sure enough, his hair had turned the same bright red as the cub he’d been earlier. He still had his beard, at least for the moment, but he stripped down out of his now wet clothes and saw that his body hair had thinned out quite a bit, also turning red, and that he was wearing a different jock than the one he had on earlier–a bright red one. It was happening just like in the changing room, and it might even be happening faster than Max had led him to believe, but still…he did look…kind of hot.

He wasn’t really hot yet, not by a long shot, no. Maybe in a few days, when a bit more fat had filled in, and some of this body hair had gone away, then he’d be damn sexy. There wouldn’t be a single bear in the baths who wouldn’t want to use his ass. Oh fuck, would that be hot, climbing into one of the slings there, and just begging every man who passed by to use him like the little asswhore he was made to be. Hell, why not just…just go do it now? He was way to wound up about all of this. Maybe what he really needed was to relax, and everyone knew there was nothing quite as relaxing as a good, rough fuck. Matt was working the plug in and out of his hole at this point, his other hand massaging his much smaller cock through the pouch of his jock, and he already knew that he’d never be hard again without a cock or a fist in his ass, but why was that a bad thing? Why should be be ashamed of these desires? Why should he be scared of this?

He searched for a reason. He needed a reason. He knew that if he couldn’t find one, that he was going to be unable to stop himself from going to the baths right now, finding some big cocked bear and begging him to ream his ass. That without some reason, without something else to guide him, the cub was going to win, and that he was no longer sure there was anything wrong with that, but in the mirror, he saw that there was a reason.

Terry. He couldn’t leave Terry, not like this, not ever. And then, it struck him. He was angry. Not just mad, but truly furious at what had happened to his cub. Not just at the trustee who had beaten him to a pulp, though a good amount of what he was feeling was directed there. He was angry at himself. He was angry that he wasn’t there, that he hadn’t taken care of his cub, that in some twisted way he knew that this was his fault. He’d sent Terry off into harms way without knowing he’d be safe, and now…now he was hurt, and Matt was too busy thinking about cock to even do anything for him.

No, the cub couldn’t win, but not for the reason Matt had first thought. He would like being that cub, he realized. It would be fun, it would be freeing, he would be popular, and well liked, and he would like himself. It wouldn’t be a bad life, not by a long shot, or at least not a bad life in this world. No, the cub couldn’t win because then Terry would be alone. The cub couldn’t win because Matt had to be his daddy–he had to protect him, and cherish him, and raise him…and suddenly, Matt found that he did know who he wanted to be. He walked over and gave Terry a kiss on the forehead, wishing he could stay, but he couldn’t let the cub get any stronger than he already was. He had to go back to Bear Boutique, and ask for Max’s help. He wondered, for a moment, whether he was making the right choice–the moral choice–but Matt didn’t know. All he knew, was that it was the choice he had to make, for him, but even more for Terry.

Chapter 5

Marcus leaned back in his office chair a bit, splaying his legs apart and with one hand shoved his slave’s head down further onto his cock under his kilt, while he stared at the bulletin board next to his desk. He’d stared at this thing for so long now that he could probably replicate it perfectly in his mind, and he let out a growl of dismay. The resistance. They were planning something, they had to be–it’s what he would be doing in their position at least. They must know by now that Tristan and Erikson were missing, so then why were they doing nothing about it? Why not shout it from the rooftops, and try to spark a revolt? What were they even doing?

He frowned a bit, wondering if he’d overestimated their abilities. Still, better than he overestimate rather than underestimate them, and there was the other conflict going on that he needed to focus on, this infighting amongst the masters. He’d been keeping tabs on all of their activities, and Clark taking down Len was no surprise, though Jack’s aggression towards Grant was a bit unexpected. They had usually gotten along fairly well, surprisingly enough–so then why target Grant, instead of trying to forge an alliance? Still, that just left four of them now, including him and Doug. Doug didn’t seem too inclined to get involved at all and as far as Marcus could tell, he hadn’t made moves against anyone, but he might just be sneakier than the rest. A voice told him he was probably just being paranoid, but isn’t that exactly what he should be at the moment?

Marcus just wanted order–he was tired of all of these variables he couldn’t easily account for getting in the way of making sure the campus was peaceful. He was just going to have to get rid of all of them eventually, he realized. That was the only way to get things back to normal. Once he was in charge of campus, no one would have to know, but then he could know everything. He could put cameras everywhere, he could know everything about everyone. On one, then, would be able to make a move he couldn’t predict–no one–and once that happened, then maybe he could stop feeling so paranoid.

He didn’t hear the phone ring at first, because he wasn’t expecting a call from anyone, and when it did finally intrude into his thoughts, he almost let it go to voicemail, because if he wasn’t expecting a call, that meant that something else was going on that he didn’t know about, and that meant it might be a trap. He thought it over, decided the risk was minimal, and picked up the receiver. “Marcus McSimmon, Security Sevices,” he said.

“Hello Marcus, I’m calling to put in a tip, about the resistance.”

Definitely not what he was expecting. Who in the world would know something about the resistance that he didn’t already know? “Who is this?”

“I’d rather stay anonymous,” the voice said.

Marcus covered the receiver with his hand, and said to his slave, “Trace the number. See if you can tell me anything about who this guy is.” His slave immediately got up and hurried into another room, where he started the trace, Marcus keeping an eye on the clock, knowing it would be a few minutes before he had any information, and he spoke into the phone again, “Alright, what’s your information?”

“Hold on, I have something I want, first. I want you to get rid of Clark Bonarte. Then I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Why in the world should I think you have anything?..Hello?” Marcus said, but the line was dead. He set the phone down, already knowing that his slave hadn’t gotten anything useful out of fifteen seconds, but he had a good idea of who the caller might have been. Clark had gotten a bit rough with the trustees a few days ago, and if there was anyone who might have some information that Marcus didn’t, it would be someone pretty high up. How did he know, though, that his wasn’t just a ploy? That whoever was calling wasn’t just trying to spur more infighting between the masters? Well, then again, of course that’s what they were doing, and probably looking for a little revenge along the way. Clark was an unpredictable shithead though, Marcus knew that much, and getting him out of the way would be one less thing he’d have to worry about complicating the larger picture, and if the caller did have something on the resistance, then all the better for him.

“Slave, give me the whereabouts of Clark Bonarte–put him up on my screen if you can.”

“Yes sir, here’s the feed sir.”

The screen of Marcus’s computer flickered to life, showing a security feed of Clark crossing campus, his slave following meekly behind him on a leash. Clark deduced from the direction he was heading that there was probably only one place he was likely going–Doug’s dorm room. Marcus got up out his chair, a bit pleased that he would be able to hit two bears with one dart, and he headed for the security armory. He’d been stocking up tools just for situations like this, and he already had a feeling that Doug and Clark could both use some time in the other’s shoes.

NaNoWriMo Entry 13 – 11/15 (40,414/50,000 words)

Chapter 4

“Are you sure the lead is a good one?”

“Yeah, TJ dropped a word in all the right places, and what do you know, the guy calls me the very next day. He must have really been interested in finding someone to fuck,” Terry said, “I’ll give him a good squeeze, and see what pops out.” He pulled on those denim shorts which hugged his ass so tight, and Matt felt excitement pulse through him, not that his cock would respond. For what felt like the hundredth time today, he reached around and gave his ass a scratch, frustrated by how it kept itching. It had been two days since his run in with Butch and Leon, and the effects of the smoke were still there, like Tom was taunting him, every time he had sex with Terry. It was just making him angry at this point, but he was doing his best to not let it show in front of his cub. Terry was already worried enough about him at this point, and there was no reason to give him more to stress about.

“And you’re certain he’s on the board?”

“Yes, Matt, quit fretting, I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve handled a VIP client, trust me.”

“I do trust you. That’s not the problem. I don’t trust this guy you’re meeting especially if he won’t give you his name. I just…I just don’t want to put you in harms way for information which might not even be helpful.”

“Well, we won’t know until we ask, will we?” Terry said, leaning over and giving Matt a kiss, “Don’t worry Daddy, you still have my heart.” He gave Matt a wink, and the strutted out the door to his meeting. TJ had heard that someone on the board of trustees was looking for a cub to fuck, and he’d dropped Terry’s name in the offices. Matt hadn’t expected it to pan out, but now there Terry went, into the lion’s den–alone. Matt reached around and scratched his hole again, and now that he was alone, he slipped a finger in and let loose a little moan.

He still hoped it was just his imagination. He did get out as fast as he could, right? And there wasn’t any smoke around now, so how could he still be changing?

No, he couldn’t even let himself think about it, better to just think about how nice it felt having something in his hole, but he needed something bigger. He dug around for his fun bucket and pulled out one of his dildos, sliding it into his hole as easy as could be. He’d never been able to do that before, but suddenly everything, no matter how big, just slipped in so easily…it was hard to go all day without something up there all the time now. Yeah, he did love having something huge stretching his hole, he was such a asswhore, yeah, but god, he still wondered…wondered what it might be like to get fucked like this, with this amazingly sensitive hole. But he had to be a daddy for Terry, he had to be strong, but still…His thoughts drifted back to Tom suddenly, and with a force Matt couldn’t halt, back to their rough fucks. He’d always complained that Tom would shove his cock in too fast, but that wouldn’t be a problem now, and Matt bet that his ass would be able to last for fucking ever like this. Maybe…maybe he could just call him up for a quickie. Yeah, maybe Tom would be into that.

He was on the bed now, slamming the big dildo home over and over again, jacking his cock with the other hand, moaning Tom’s name over and over when he came, spurting his cum all over himself, licking up anything that landed by his mouth hungrily, and he finally came back to himself, and embarrassed, he hauled the dildo out, with some regret he noted, and put it back in the bucket.

It really was getting worse. It wasn’t just his imagination. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t have a measure or anything, but when he wore his overalls now, where they’d hit his boots perfectly before all that happened, now they puddled down on top of his feet. His shirts were too big in the chest and too tight in the belly, and getting worse every day. Even his beard was thinning out a bit, as his hair continued to push back towards his forehead. It was happening slowly, sure, but it was happening. He couldn’t deny it.

He wondered whether Terry had noticed. Probably not…then again, maybe he had, and just didn’t have the heart to tell Matt what he was seeing. Matt started questioning everything all over again. Maybe he was just crazy. How could Terry not notice, and if he had noticed, why wouldn’t he say anything? Matt was sick of looking at himself at this point, sick of wondering. He had to know for sure, and it was becoming more and more apparent that there was only one place he could go to find out for sure. He found the wrapper he’d pulled from the smoky room, the one labeled with the name Bear Boutique. He had to go. Sure, everyone he’d talked to warned him not to, that getting out of the store unchanged was easier said than done. Still, Butch and Leon had managed it, why couldn’t he? It was the only way he could be sure. He got dressed, his clothes fitting a bit worse than when he’d had them on earlier, and unable to help himself, he took a small butt plug and slid it into his hole, giving a little sigh of pleasure as it settled into place, and he pulled on his coat and set off for the mall.


It looked innocuous enough, just like every other store around him in the mall, maybe people were just exaggerating their tales of the place. Still, Matt was a bit scared to go inside, just because, well, he’d be crazy not to be a bit scared, he supposed. Sill, he couldn’t put this off any longer than he had already, and it was getting hard not to think about popping down to the restroom and jacking off in a stall, while he fucked himself with a dildo. In fact, there were probably some glory holes…maybe, maybe he could find someone to fuck him. That would be so damn nice–he needed a good fuck so bad…

Matt shook his head and before he could second guess himself, he walked into the store, but there was no one at the front register, or in the store at all, actually. However, he could hear some shouting from behind a beaded curtain, and out of curiosity, he crept back and pushed it aside.

“I just don’t get what’s up with you, it’s like you’re a completely different person!” he heard someone shout–the leather clad man covered with tattoos, with the word “BRUTE” written across his forehead. He was shouting at a shorter, chubbier, and quite frankly filthy biker, who appeared to be standing his ground, despite how close Brute was to his face.

“Oh fuck off Brute, I’m done having this conversation.”

“At least tell me why. Why in the fuck did you beat up Beast like that?”

“Because he called me Scuzz. I told you that isn’t my name. If you use it, I’ll beat you down too. My name, is Maxwell. You can call me Max, if you’d like, but that’s it–got it?”

At the curtain, Matt found himself taking deeper and deeper breathes. The scent of these men, especially in confrontation–it was intixicating–even the biker, Max, who was hardly clean…Matt just wanted to…to crawl over, and…and well…do anything the two of them wanted him to do. Suck their cocks, clean their bodies, clean their boots, clean their holes–anything. Maybe one of them would fuck him, that would be amazingly hot, to have someone like that give him the honor of being a dump for their cum–he would be so happy–

Matt caught himself about to step through the curtain and go beg the two men to use him as they saw fit, and before he could give in, he stepped back and retreated towards the fresh air of the mall. That couldn’t have just been the smoke he was subjected to–there had to be something else going on for him to react like that. He was about to book it out of there, never come back, and just deal with what was happening to him when he heard the rustle of beads. He turned around and saw the dirty biker looking at him from the doorway. “Something I can help you find?” he asked.

Matt saw the name Scuzz emblazoned on the man’s forehead, but figured he wouldn’t use that name if he could help it. In fact, his head told him, the only appropriate way of addressing this man, was the word ‘Sir.’

“I…I guess, well, sir…” Matt said, stumbling over his words like a lovestruck cub. He could smell that scent again, and it was just aching to make him submit, bending his will to this filthy, beautiful master, standing right in front of him.

Max sighed, walked over to the counter, picked up an aerosol can and sprayed it all over himself, and a few moments later, Matt felt clarity return to him. “Sorry, I was working up a bit of a sweat in the back. Curse of the Alpha and all that.”

An Alpha–that explained why Matt had felt like that. He’d never meet one, but he’d heard plenty fo rumors about Alphas and their thralls. Matt gave a bit of a shiver, but was glad he had control of himself again. “Th-thanks, it was getting a little hard to think there for a second.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, what can I do for you?” Max asked.

“Well, you see…” Matt started to explain, “There was this…this prank some guys pulled on me. They, well, they burned some cigars they must have gotten here, and forced me into a room with all the smoke, and well, I’ve been…I think I’ve been changing, even after I got out. I was…well, I just want to make sure I’m not crazy.”

“I see,” Max said, “Well, let me give you a smell.” He walked over to Matt, the sudden closeness a bit surprising. While the spray had concealed the Alpha musk, the rest of the filth on Max’s body stunk plenty, and Matt did his best to breathe in through his nose. Max leaned over him, taking a few sniffs around his face and chest, before settling back and thinking for a moment. “Yeah, I remember those two. They came in two days ago, bought some cigars. I smell…some cub-an, asshog, and subsmoke, I think. Yeah, even a little exposure is enough to trigger the change. It just take longer. How long were you in the room?”

“I don’t know, maybe a minute?”

“Hmm…yeah, I’d say you’ll finish changing in about a week and a half from the initial exposure. What are you, a couple days into it?”

“You mean, I am still changing? How can I stop it?”

“Stop it?” Max asked, and then laughed, “Man, we don’t sell anything that stops a change, are you kidding me? You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

“No, I don’t want…I don’t want this. Please, isn’t there anything you can do?”

Max sighed, “Well, we could always counter this change with another one. I mean, the force of the change is pretty weak. The only reason it’s advancing is because there’s nothing pushing back against it. Still, how do you know this isn’t what you want? Maybe we should make sure before you buy anything you might regret later.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt asked, but Max wrapped his arm around his shoulder and pulled him along towards the changing rooms behind the clothing racks.

“Here, let me show you what I mean,” Max said, shoving Matt into the room and following him inside. The small room was a bit more spacious than any changing room Matt had ever seen, with one of the long wall dominated by a large mirror. He caught a glance of his reflection and did a double take. That wasn’t him in the mirror. It couldn’t be him, there was no way. Reflected back at him was the image of a short, chubby cub, dressed not in the flannel and overalls Matt had come in with, but instead in a red leather harness and a red jockstrap, his hair no longer a dark, nearly black brown, but a fiery red. His beard was gone, replaced by a short, thin goatee, and he as fat. Well, not so much fat as plump, with a big, soft ball gut and two of the roundest, firmest moobs he’d seen on a man, with pert nipples ringed by a soft layer of the same red hair as the rest of his body, which joined a soft treasure trail down into his jockstrap. His skin was so pale too, and his face was freckled a bit even.

The itch in his ass was suddenly a flame, and he reached around, grabbing for the butt plug he’d put in earlier, but instead finding his ass filled with a ten inch, beer can thick dildo, also red, which he started thrusting in and out of his ass. “Oh fuck yeah, fuck I need something up my cubpussy!” he moaned, his voice higher, and with a hint of a lisp…wait…Matt though. No…No it was just a reflection, wasn’t it?

He ripped his eyes away from the mirror and looked down at himself, letting out a bit of a shriek when he saw that, in fact, it wasn’t just a reflection, not anymore. He was the fat, pale, hairless cub he was looking at in the mirror, helplessly slamming the dildo home in his ass, but he knew his cock wouldn’t get hard unless it was filled with something…something else. A big cock, two big cocks, a fist, two fists, anything, anything as long as it was alive, as long as there was some man wreaking and abusing his worthless hole. “Oh fuck I need a cock,” he said, then turned to Max and dropped to his knees, “Please sir, please fuck me, this cub is such a horny asspig, I need it so bad sir, please.”

Max laughed, “Sorry cub, but you wouldn’t like what my cum might do to you.”

“But I need to cum sir, please, isn’t there anything you can do? My pussy is aching sir, my hole needs a man to fill it, it’s so empty…”

Max felt a twinge of pity in him. The old him, well, he would have never put himself in a position like this. Still, where had those old principles of abstinence and freedom gotten him? Here he was, trapped in a foreign dimension, in a foreign body, with these foreign beings which were just aching to be dominated. Max felt his cock harden in his grimy jeans, leaking a bit of his alpha cum. It would be so easy to turn him. He hated Toilet, hated that sniveling worm of a thrall, but this one, this little cub could be everything that Max wanted. He could be his true first, the thrall he kept. Max shook his head, pushing the thought away. He wanted to wait. He wanted his body back first. He would take a thrall then, when he was back to normal, and besides, he already had a someone in mind for his first conversion–Tristan. That little cousin of his, oh the things Max was going to do to him…

“Alright you fucking cub–I suppose I have to help you out a bit, or you’ll just be stuck like this. How about I shove my fist up that hole of yours?”

“Oh thank you sir,” Matt said, got down on his hands and knees and shoving his ass towards Max. “Put it in dry sir, my hole can take it. I want it to be rough.”

“Well aren’t you just a little assslut.”

“The biggest assslut sir! Now please, please fist my cubhole sir!”

God Max wanted to fuck that hole so bad, but he resisted, getting down on his knees and working in a few fingers. The cub’s ass nearly swallowed them down, and they slid in so easy, that in a matter of moments, without Max really remembering how, his entire fist was buried in the cub’s hole, Matt moaning and groaning like a complete whore, his red jock showing the first blot of precum as his tiny cock hardened now that his hole was being used properly. “Fuck cub, this is the easiest ass I’ve ever had,” Max said.

“More sir, give me more! I need it so bad.”

Max felt the cub’s hole grip his arm and start pulling him in, massaging his arm a bit as it entered. He could only imagine what that would feel like on his cock. Maybe just one fuck, but Max held off. Giving in now would be complacency. Besides, if he had an ass like this around all the time, he would never get around to freeing himself from this hellhole. Now he was in up to his elbow, and Max reached between the cub’s legs, massaging the pouch of his jock, making the cub squirm.

“No, no, don’t jack me off, put that fist in me too, I want them both.”

“Fuck, you are a horny asscub.”

“Just do it sir, please!”

Who was Max to deny the cub his pleasure? His second fist slipped in just as easily as the first, and soon he was pummeling Matt’s hole, sliding both fists in and out as easy as could be, the cub shivering and shuddering with every pounding thrust into his ass, and with a loud groan, he filled the pouch of his jock with a massive load and collapsed onto the carpet, Max sliding his fists out as he went down, watching as Matt’s original form reasserted itself, leaving him lying on the ground, trying to process what had just happened to him.

“There, see?” Max said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You sure did seem to enjoy it.”

“No, no I can’t let that happen.” Matt said, pushing himself up. His hole was so sore from the pounding, but god if that itch hadn’t disappeared for the moment. It was an amazing relief, but if he fell into that trap–well, in another week, that’s who he would be. A cub wandering campus begging men for their cocks and fists, returning to Tom’s room every night for another reaming, with Butch and Leon there too, probably. Even worse, as he was imagining the scenario he was getting turned on big time. He had to fix this, he couldn’t let that happen to him. “Please, you have to help me.”

“Well it’s not that simple,” Max said, “I can’t just change you into anything. There has to be desire behind it–drive. That’s what makes it all work. There has to be will behind it, or it all just fizzles out, wasted. So, if I’m going to help you, you have to tell me what you want to be.”

“Can’t it just be a small change? I don’t…I don’t want to…”

“Don’t want to what?”

“I don’t…I don’t want to, well, forget.”

Max cocked an eyebrow at him, “So finally, I get to meet a member of the oh-so-famous resistance which has been such a thorn in my cousin’s side.”

“Tristan’s your cousin?”

“Oh yes, not that it matters.”

“But that means you know where he came from, what he’s doing. Why is he doing this? Where did he go?”

Max laughed, “Please, I don’t give out my answers for free.”

Matt frowned at him. “What could I give you in exchange?”

“How about we discuss that later,” Max said, “You still didn’t answer my question. What do you want to be?”

NaNoWriMo Entry 12 – 11/14 (37,007/50,000 words)

The glow returned moments later, and Grant had to stop his rows for the moment, because his skin started to itch. It was all of this body hair and these too tight of clothes. They always made him itch, but he never seemed to remember to go get some better fitting garments. He took advantage of his momentary break to take a sniff of his pits, and then a longer one, his hand rubbing his hard cock in his shorts, as he let off another belch, and feeling braver, he lifted his arm up over his head, rubbing his nose right in the pit, loving the feel of his hairy pits grating against his wild, tangled beard.

“Hey, Grant, if ya ain’t too busy over there,” Jack said with a smile, “Would ya mind spottin’ me on the bench press?”

Grant looked over his shoulder sheepishly, a bit embarrassed to have been caught getting off on his pit stink by someone as hot as Jack. “Sure man, I’d be happy to,” he said, got off his machine and hurried over to where Jack was positioning himself under the barbell. Even just standing over him, Grant could take in the musk which surrounded Jack. How could he have not noticed how amazing that smells before? He’d always thought that he’d hated it, but already he couldn’t get enough to satisfy himself suddenly. Again, he was struck by how he looked in the mirror across the room, and yet, it was his reflection–why did it bother him so much? Everything just seemed so…different, all of a sudden.

“You ready Grant?”

“Oh…yeah, whenever you are.”

Jack started pressing the bar, Grant counting off his reps, but mostly unable to take his eyes off himself. There was something wrong here, something that should be obvious, but it was like something hiding impossibly well right in plain sight. He shouldn’t look like this. That’s what was wrong. He didn’t know what he was supposed to look like, sure, but it wasn’t this–this massively fat man with a dingy beard and greasy hair, with clothes too tight, his skin bursting with hair. He grabbed the barbell as Jack was in the middle of one of his last reps, and shoved it down, pinning it against Jack’s chest, catching the big bear off guard. “What the fuck have you done to me, Jack?” Grant said.

“What the–what are ya even talkin’ about!” Jack cried, trying to push the bar off his chest, “Let me up, will ya?”

Grant felt a tremor of doubt in his chest. No, it couldn’t be Jack. Jack wouldn’t do something like that to Grant…right? No…no, of course not. But then that meant that they were both in danger, that Marcus or Clark or Doug were somewhere around here, maybe even manipulating them both. “Look, I don’t…I don’t think it’s safe here, I think one of the other masters…I think they did something to me.”

“Just let me up!” Jack shouted, and Grant helped lift the bar back into place, letting Jack sit up and take a few deep breaths. “Alright, what it the world are you talking about?”

“Someone did it to Len man, they changed him, they kicked him out of the program, and now I think they’re doing it to us. Do you…do you feel different at all?”

“No, do you?”

“I don’t…My head is telling me that this is all wrong, that…but I don’t know, it just isn’t right. It isn’t right at all. And there’s this glow I keep seeing, this weird glow, and then…”

“A glow eh?” Jack said, it didn’t happen to look like this, did it?” Grant turned around to see that Jack had a small handheld raygun in his hand pointed at Grant, and a second later, the tip of the gun engulfed Grant in that same glow, and he felt sucker punch to the gut. It was Jack–Jack, his hero, had been doing this to him–whatever this was. Shouldn’t…shouldn’t he be happy about that? The glow faded, and he was left trying to sort out the sudden crush of contrary feelings. Honor, fear, confusion, lust–he didn’t know what to feel, or why he should be feeling any of it. “It’s just a little something I picked up from Bear Boutique a little while ago–somethin’ called a Slobifier. Great little thing, ain’t it? Not only can it make someone slobby, it can change how they think, ‘n even change how they treat other slobs.”

“That’s amazing,” Grant said. He loved it when Jack spoke–he loved listening to Jack’s voice so much. He’d do anything for Jack.

“Yeah, sure is. Now Grant, how about ya do a few reps yerself? I’ll spot ya.”

“Oh..sure! Yeah, we can do that, but why are you…I mean, why me? Why use it on me?”

“Well, because you were such a tight ass before, I figured you could stand to loosen up a bit.”

“So I was different before–who was I? Tell me what you did.”

“Why? Ain’t you enjoyin’ who ya are now?” Jack said. Come on, lie down on the bench, and lets keep going with your workout.”

Grant was torn. He wanted answers, but he also really needed to do what Jack said. He couldn’t resist obeying anyone as dirty as he was, so he figured they could always talk about it later. He lied back down on the bench, and Jack went around to the head, and when Grant looked up, he saw that Jack had stripped off the denim shorts he’d been wearing and had nothing on other than his signature suspenders strapped onto one of the filthiest jockstraps Grant had ever seen. He wanted it. He wanted it on his face, in his mouth, all over his body. “Oh fuck Jack, why have you been hiding that from me?” he said, and went to lick the pouch, but Jack backed off.

“Nuh uh, ya gotta finish your reps first.”

“Please Jack? Please just a taste?”

“Are ya tellin’ me that you’d rather taste my nasty, pissy jock instead a workin’ out?”

That was a stupid question, Grant thought, why would he ever choose differently? He nodded, “Fuck yeah, man, give it to me.”

Fine, ya can taste it,” Jack said, “but only if you piss yourself. Right here, right now.”

“What?” Grant asked, taken aback.

“I wanna see ya piss those army shorts of yours. I want to see them soaked. I want to see you fucking piss your pants like a real nasty son-of-a-bitch. Then you can taste my sweaty jockstrap.”

Grant really wanted to taste it. What harm could there be in pissing his shorts? Something about it felt…just wrong, but thinking back, he’d woken up more than once after a night of drinking to find he’d pissed himself. Who really cares? Still, between his hard on, his inability to look away from Jack’s jock, and his nerves, he found pissing to be next to impossible. “I…I don’t think I can.”

“Do ya want some help?”

“I…I guess so. I do really want to taste your jock.”

“Well, the slobifier here, I can use it to make you incontinent. I can make it so ya have to piss yourself. How does that sound? I mean, ya can’t taste my jock until ya piss those shorts, so what have ya got tah lose?”

That was a horrible argument, or, it should have been a horrible argument, but everything that came out of Jack’s mouth just seemed to make so much more sense than it really should. And hadn’t that gun, that slobifier been the source of the rest of his problems? Were they really problems at all? And he did want to taste his jock, so what choice did he really have? “A–Alright, I guess you can do that to me.”

“That’s a good pig,” Jack said, aimed the gun at him and let loose once more. Grant didn’t feel any different once the glow faded, but a second later, he felt a strange warmth spread in his shorts, and sitting up, he could see the front of them darken, the piss flowing beyond his control, before flowing onto the bench and off the sides, where it dribbled onto the carpet.

“Fuck, oh fuck Jack that feels so good, and it reeks man–it fucking reeks…”

“You like that, don’t you, the smell of piss?”

“Oh yeah…oh, I don’t…I don’t feel too good…” Grant said, feeling a cramp in his gut. A moment later, he let loose with what he was expecting to be a fart, but was much more than that, shit suddenly packing itself into the back of his tight shorts. “Oh…oh god, I just…just shit myself.”

“Feels even better, doesn’t it?”

“God, it does…no, no this is so fucking messed up.”

“But you do get to taste it now, isn’t that what you wanted?” Jack said, pushing Grant down onto the bench and leaning over his, smashing the filthy jock right into his face. A second later, Jack started pissing himself, the stream flowing out of the jock and down over Grant’s face, into his open mouth, Grant couldn’t seem to close it for some reason, he needed that piss in his mouth, and the jock pressed against his nose stank of stale cum and piss and he was in heaven. He could smell his own shit now, mixing with the piss in the air, driving him to new heights of pleasure, and suddenly he was shooting his wad right into his shorts, letting it sink in with his piss. He’d never cum spontaneously like that before, but he had just as little control over that as the rest of his fluids, suddenly.

“Ha, alright, I think yer ready fer the truth,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?” Grant said, but the glow surrounded him again, and suddenly, as though a different light was shining on the events of the past hour, he remembered. He remembered all of it, how he’d been, how Jack had been changing him slowly, slowly reducing him to this…this nasty fucking slob! He scrambled up off the bench and backed away from Jack, “What the fuck!” he sputtered, “You fat fucking pig, what the fuck did you do?”

“Now, now, be nice, I ain’t the only ‘fat fucking pig’ here anymore.”

“Change me back.”

“Hah, no way”

“If you don’t change me back,” Grant said, starting to advance on Jack, but the redneck leveled the gun at him, and he stopped.

“You probably don’t want to find out what this thing will change next. All I did just now was make you aware of the changes. As much as I like having you as a lovestruck little pig, I’d rather finish off with the real Grant.”

“Why me?”

“Everyone’s picking off somebody. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“But why me?”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ snob, dumbass. I just want tah show ya that yer nothin’ more than a pig, like me, everyone else is gonna be, and I’m gonna be king pig, whether you like it or not. However, judgin’ from the cum stainin’ yer shorts, I think ya like it more ‘n ya let on. Reagrdless, I’m done wit’ ya now. There ain’t no way yer gonna stick around in the masters program, since the only thing gettin’ you off in the near future is the smell a piss ‘n shit.”

“You can’t just leave me like this, remembering who it the fuck I was!”

“Sure I can. I wouldn’t want you tah have any regrets, would I?”

“You fucking asshole.”

“Don’t worry Grant, you’ll settle into it. Before long, you won’t be able to imagine bein’ anythin’ other than a filthy pig, ‘n ya’ll love it all. Now why don’ ya march on out a here, while I’m goin’ easy on ya. Drop out a the program, ‘n I won’t have tah pay ya another visit wit this guy.”

“Please, don’t leave me like this. Just do me that fuckin’ service. I’ll drop out, I’ll do whatever you want. Just change me back.”

“But I like you much more like this, and don’t worry, by the time I’m through with this campus, everyone is going to be as dirty as us. Won’t that be fucking hot?”

Grant did his best not to think about it, but it was making his cock hard again, and Jack was coming closer now. “Keep…keep back,” Grant said.

“Just think about it Grant, think about who you used to be, that tight ass marine, think of all the work you had to do. Now, all ya have to do is laze about, pissin’ and shittin’ yerself, cummin’ on occasion. Isn’t that a better life?” Jack said, rubbing Grant’s crotch.

“No…No, I don’t think it is.”


Grant didn’t have an answer to that–why didn’t he have an answer? It should be the simplest question in the world, but he was…enjoying this. Enjoying this a lot. He let out another belch, and that pleasant self-satisfaction filled him with pride. He tried to fight it back, but it was authentic. He did feel proud of himself. He was reveling in this in ways he couldn’t even begin to grasp.

“How about this. How about I trust you to help me out?” Jack said, and Grant felt Jack press the gun into his hand. “Everyone needs to feel like this, Grant. People fight it, they always do, but you can bring them down to our level. You can show them how wonderful it is to be a slob.”


“You can’t fucking resist me, Grant,” Jack said, leaning in close, and Grant nearly fell forward, desperate to get Jack’s scent on him–in him, everywhere. Jack needed to be in charge, he realized. The world needed him to lead it, and if Grant…if Grant could help him do that, it would be an honor. He was down on his knees then, sucking on Jack’s cock through the wet pouch of his jock, and Grant realized that he’d been beaten. That he had accepted Jack’s world, that this was indeed best to him, and that he would do his best to help Jack succeed, because it was the right thing to do. It was right, to serve Jack, and he did need to show everyone else how true that was. Jack let his cock slip out of the punch, and Grant happily sucked it down, tasting the filth coating the shaft, thankful that Jack, his master, was allowing him the honor of service. It was an honor, a true honor, and when Jack’s cum filled his belly to the brim, he came again, without touching himself.

“Ya know what ya need tah do, don’t ya?”

“Yes sir,” Grant said.

“That’s a good marine. Now get to work,” Jack said, and left the gym, Grant following him out a few minutes later, wanting to get out before anyone caught him in there, and before he could meet any traffic on the way back to his dorm who might smell the shitload in his shorts. He got back before his cadet had returned from his run, and he sat there, in the dark, smelling himself, holding the gun and terrified of doing what was necessary. It couldn’t really be the best thing, could it? But Jack, his master, had told him to do it–so he…he had to, as sick as it might make him to do it.

When his cadet came into the room, panting a bit, the stench of musk in the room was overwhelming. “Holy crap…what is that,” he said, “Sarge? Sarge, are you there sir? What’s that smell?”

He could just barely make out a fat figure sitting on the bed, holding something, no, pointing something at his chest. “I’m…I’m sorry Cadet,” he heard his sarge said, and then he was surrounded by a strange glow, and then, nothing much mattered to him. He could smell it though, he could smell what he needed. Snorting a bit, he made his way to the bed and buried his face into the seat of his Sarge’s shorts, smelling and licking at the shit there, hungrier than he’d ever been in his life, and Grant felt a shiver run through him. Still, he did need someone to clean him up a bit, and who better than his cadet? It felt…surprisingly good, he realized, to make someone into a slob like him. Maybe Master Jack was right. Maybe they were all just pigs at heart. Well, Grant would do his part. If Jack wanted an army, he was going to get an army. He had a sergeant to lead it after all–now Grant just had to recruit all the soldiers he could find.

NaNoWriMo Entry 11 – 11/13 (34,176/50,000 words)

Chapter 3

“Well Officers, here we are, the scene a the crime,” Jack said, leading the massive men to the spot in the forest where the strange corpse had been found once people had woken up from hibernation. “We don’ know much about what happened, other than the fact that Tristan Newbeary and Professor Erikson are missin’ but I was hopin’ the two a ya could help us with that.”

Jack was a big man, but even he didn’t really want to get on the bad side of Officers Leather and Rubber. The two of them were infamous on the force, not only for their imposing physiques, but also for their curious methods of punishing any wrongdoer who crossed their paths.

“Well, if the two of them are just missing, then there’s no crime for us. We have better things to do than run errands for you, Jack.”

“Well how do ya know there wasn’t a crime committed?”

Leather cocked an eyebrow, but looked over at his partner rubber, the muscle bound hulk, his huge cock crammed in the leather thong he always wore. “Rubber, why don’t you give the place a sniff–nothing can beat your nose at sniffing out a crime.”

Rubber chuckled a bit, but apparently Leather wasn’t kidding. The rubber clad hulk stepped into the middle of the scene, and took a deep inhale through his nose, a bigger breath than Jack had ever seen someone take before, and he held it for a good minute, his eyes clenched tight, before exhaling it in a large burst. “There’s something on the air alright,” Rubber said with a growl, feeling that familiar, lovely rage start building in his gut, “something happened here…murder? Kidnapping? and something…something foul. Fuck, something, really, really rank.”

Leather looked at his partner curiously, “What was it?”

“I…I don’t know,” Rubber said, taking another breath. “All I can say, is that it’s one of the worst crimes I’ve ever smelled, it’s horrible…it’s making me…really angry…” he said.

“Well then it’s settled,” Jack said, “Ya’ll can hunt the two a them down then.” He looked at Leather and Rubber, but neither one was listening. “Right you two?”

The growl in Rubber’s throat was growing louder, and he suddenly threw a punch into the trunk of a tree next to him, his fist bursting through the wood like it was hollow, and making the entire century old tree shudder, and nearly tumble to the ground. “We have to punish this, this is…this is…” Rubber managed to get out, but the rage was quickly consuming him.

“Well what was it, Rubber? What was the crime?”

“I don’t…I don’t know. It was an abomination here, someone did something unnatural…they did it…there,” he said, pointing towards the science building where Erikson’s labs were housed, “but the perpetrator isn’t there, he’s…he’s gone. He was the one kidnapped, but not the murder, no. We have to punish this, Leather, this should have never happened.”

“Well now hold yer horses fellas,” Jack said, “I just need ya tah find them, not punish them.”

Quicker than Jack had imagined him capable of moving, Leather had crossed the distance between them, “You don’t get to decide matters of justice, Jack–we do. That’s our role. It’s what we do–what we are.”

“Hey man, I know that,” Jack said, backpedalling, but Leather had caught a whiff of something off Jack, and it wasn’t just the redneck’s filthy musk, and he pursued it, sniffing a bit himself.

“You’d better watch yourself Grant, I can smell…intent. What are you planning later?” he said, “At the…at the gym? With…someone in the military? That mean anything to you? Maybe we should stake that place out, make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Jack did his best to play it cool, “I ain’t got no idea what yer talkin’ about, Leather. Ya know I’m a good, law abidin’ citizen.”

“Well then you won’t mind if we pursue the crime here as we see fit, since you wouldn’t want me to charge you with obstruction of justice, would you? Are you planning on getting in our way?”

“No sir, you do what you do best.”

“Good. Rubber, lead the way. Let’s find out what happened here, and make sure whoever did this gets their proper punishment.”

Jack watched the two of them stalk out of the woods, back towards their squad car, which was still comically small for their massive frames, but the two of them made it work somehow, and he wondered who, exactly, the two of them were pursuing. Was it Tristan? Erikson? Who had kidnapped who? And which of them had committed a crime bad enough to make Rubber react like that? Hell, Jack already knew the answer to that question. It was Erikson–who knew what that crazy professor had been up to in those labs of his? Jack had never had much interest in science, preferring to focus on his Masters studies, but from the rumors he’d heard, it had been some pretty strange stuff. Still, the good news was that Leather and Rubber were going to find him. Of course, the bad news was that Erikson was going to get what sounded to be a pretty stern punishment. Still, Jack wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing–after all, that just meant there was one less person in his way. Still, Leather had been a little too exact in sniffing out what Jack had planned for later. He wondered, briefly, whether he should wait, but decided against it. The power struggle had already begun. He’d spotted Len getting three fists crammed in his hole the night before at the club. Jack didn’t know who had done it to him, but he sure as well wasn’t going to stand by and let someone else come to him. No, Jack would lead–and once everyone else loosened up a bit, they would understand that, and he knew just who to loosen up next.


Grant, wearing the Army tank top and fatigue shorts he always wore to the gym, let himself into the weight room with the key Coach Red had given him, and shivered a bit. Even though everyone was awake, and Spring was coming, there was still a definite chill of winter in the air, especially this early in the morning. Still, he’d rather work out now than have to deal with all of the jocks and amateurs getting in his way during the daytime. Grant was regimented above all else, and if he didn’t adhere to his workout schedule, which had been optimized for maintaining his body fat right at seven percent, he got angry. And for his cadet’s sake, he’d been trying to get angry less often. Most days, he had his cadet work out with him, however after the long sleep, they’d gone into their first work out a few days ago too quick, and he’d pulled his shoulder pretty bad. He was doing a five mile run instead of his usual work out, and Jack would need to time everything perfectly to get everything done without his usual spotter, assistant, and slave on hand to help him out.

However, when he walked into the weight room, he was surprised to find that the lights were on, and that there was someone there already lifting, and much to his surprise, it was Jack. Jack–big, slobby, redneck Jack, was working out. Grant had never seen him lift a weight, much less do any kind of real work at all, so what in the world was he doing here? “Hi Jack–I’m surprised to see you here this early.”

“Oh! Hey Grant,” Jack said, setting the dumbbells he’d been using down. “I wondered if I might run into you today.”

“I’ve never seen you work out before.”

“Ha, well, that’s cause we’ve never worked out at the same time!” he said, “I usually come durin’ the day, but I thought I’d try out the early mornin’, since you’re always talking it up.”

“Who gave you a key?”

“Coach Red, who else? He gave one to you after all, I just suggested that it’d be fair fer me tah have one too.”

Grant just stared Jack in the eye. His story was plausible, but almost too plausible for Grant. Something fishy was going on here, and he’d have to figure out what it was. Everyone in the masters program was on edge since Erikson disappeared, wondering what was going to happen to the college now, if he nor Tristan came back soon. Still, maybe he was trying something new. Grant didn’t really have any reason to be suspicious–still, he was going to do his best to keep his eye on him while they worked out. He trusted Jack as much as Jack trusted him–which was not at all. “Alright,” Grant said, “Just try and stay out of my way. I have a routine, and I like to stick to it, alright?”

“Ha, I know how ya is wit the sticks up yer ass. Ya really should try and loosen up, ya know.”

“Thanks, but I think you’re loose enough for both of us.”

Jack let out a big belly laugh at that, and went back to lifting his weights, leaving Grant to start his own workout. He checked the time, and headed over to the pull up bar, jumped up and started on his first set. While he started out keeping an eye on Jack in the mirror in front of him, he quickly became immersed in his own work out, and keeping up with his schedule. Trying to watch Jack while he worked pushed second onto his times, and he just couldn’t allow that. He was so focused that he almost didn’t notice the strange glow engulf him in the mirror momentarily before disappearing again, so quickly that he wasn’t even sure anything had happened at all. However, the next time he pulled himself up, he nearly lost his grip, when he caught a whiff of the stench coming from his pits. It was some of the worst BO he’d ever smelt, and he thought back, certain he’d put deodorant on. Had he forgotten? In his confusion, he realized he’d lost count of his reps, and dropped back to the ground, trying to regain his composure. Even with his arms down, he could smell himself, and he realized the smell wasn’t just coming from his pits. His entire body was suddenly sweaty, his tank top nearly soaked through, and while his pits were the worst by far, all of his sweat was rank. But that’s how it always was, wasn’t it?

Grant shook his head, trying to clear it, and remember. He hadn’t put deodorant on, but then again, he didn’t use it anyway. Nothing could really cover up the stink of his pits, and he hated the scent of that stuff anyway. He’d much rather just go all natural–people could just deal with it, and he’d always sweated hard during his workouts, so why was that odd? He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Jack facing away from him at the pec deck, focused on his own routine, and he glanced up at the clock, cursing himself. He’d fallen minutes behind now–he couldn’t afford any more distractions. He jumped back up and grabbed the bar, ready to pull himself up when the glow returned. He was certain he’d seen something now…wasn’t he? Still, he couldn’t let it distract him, he had a workout to do.

He tried to pull himself up, but found it surprisingly difficult. Huffing and puffing, he could only squeak out eight reps before dropping back down, breathless. What in the hell was up now? He’d always been able to max out closer to twenty-five, not at eight. Still, considering the weight he was packing, he had a lot more weight to haul up there than other guys, Grant thought, giving his small, but firm gut a pat, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Still, the only way to get better was to keep at it. He jumped up again, missing the glow this time, and grunting and groaning, fought with the bar, desperate to get just one rep out, but there was just no way he could get his fat frame up, and he dropped down again, a bit unsteady on his feet.

Hell, what it the world was he thinking, trying to do pull ups? He’d never been able to do a pull up once in his life, he thought, giving his gut a good shake. It’s firmness was gone, and it sagged out the bottom of his sweat soaked army tank quite a few inches. That was embarrassing–he could at least dress in clothes that fit him when he went out, for Christ’s sake, what had he been thinking? His shorts were stretched uncomfortably tight around his thighs as well, and turning around, he could see that the top of his ass crack was actually showing over the waistband. It was disgusting, surely he wouldn’t go out looking like this by choice, what was going on?

His worries were suspended for a moment by a sudden cramp in his gut, followed by a massive belch which nearly rattled the equipment around him, and he clamped his hands over his mouth in shock and mortification. That was definitely not normal, what the fuck was going on? He was staring at himself in the mirror when he caught sight of that glow again, but forgot about it as soon as it disappeared. Ah hell, he thought, who cares what he looks like? He doesn’t have to be ashamed of himself, so why should he care what other people think of him.

“Dang man, that was an impressive belch. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Jack said, catching Grant off guard, and he blushed. Jack had liked that? Well, maybe…maybe he did care a little bit, about what people thought. Well, he cared about what Jack thought, at least. He’d always liked Jack, even…admired him a bit.

“Ha…you, you really think so?” Grant said, a bit giddy, “I bet…I bet I can do another one.”

“Oh? Let’s see.”

Grant started working the gas in his guts around, opened his mouth for another belch, when the gas erupted out the other end, with a nasty, wet fart that stank to high heaven, the shock on Grant’s face even apparent to Jack, who erupted with laughter.

“Holy fuck, Grant, that was awesome!”

“Ha, I wasn’t expecting it, but yeah, I guess it was, wasn’t it?” There was that giddy feeling again, or was it attraction? No, there was no way he could be attracted to Jack. That was just…gross, right? I mean, the guy didn’t shower, and from the state his pig was always in, he was into some pretty filthy stuff. Still…there was something Grant couldn’t shake. He liked getting compliments from jack. He wanted Jack to like him–that made him feel really good. He shook his head a bit, and realized he’d completely messed up his workout schedule, but who cares? Jack didn’t have a schedule, so why would Grant need one? Still, if he couldn’t do a single pull up, he really needed to work on his back, so maybe some rows would be a good choice.

He headed for the rowing machine, setting it for his usual weight, but found it surprisingly difficult to reach the pull bar with this gut in the way. Again, he was struck by how odd it seemed to him, that he was fat. Still, he’d always been fat, right? But then why was he working out? There was something he was missing, something odd going on here, but he couldn’t figure out what. Still, lunging forward, he managed to grab the bar without hurting himself and started rowing, when that glow came back. He wasn’t facing a mirror now, so he caught it just outside the field of his vision, but nothing seemed different when it faded, so he forgot about it, as he leaned into his pits a bit, enjoying the smell wafting off them. He could still smell that fart he’d let off earlier, and the rank stench was so hot, he felt his cock start to harden in his shorts.