The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flash Commission – Greene Aged Tobacco

Garowan the tanuki brought the package inside from the porch, his striped tail swishing happily to and fro, excited that his tobacco sampler had finally arrived. It was a new variety of aged tobacco he’d seen advertised online, from a company called Greene’s. Curious, and happy with the low price, he’d ordered one just to give it a try. He opened up the box, and let out a little disappointed growl. What a ripoff! Sure, the sampler had been discounted, but inside the wood box with the Greene label on the front, there had been nothing more than a single cigarette rattling around.

A fucking cigarette! He didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He’d had a couple when he was a teenager, sure, but he preferred cigars. He picked it up, wondering who he was going to have to contact to complain about this, and brought it to his snout to take a sniff. It didn’t smell like the cigarettes he’d had before, actually, which had a sharper, cheaper scent. It was pleasant, actually. A little woodsy, a little rum, a little vanilla. He looked at it, and decided why not? He’d ordered it, he might as well try it. He could still complain about it to the company and get his money back, even if he used it. The box was decently sized, after all–it was probably supposed to have more stuff in it than this, and someone had packaged it wrong. He went into his living room, got his lighter, and lit the cigarette, taking a small draw on it, holding the smoke in, and then exhaling it into the air around him.

It was nice. Really nice. All of those flavors he’d picked up with his rather sensitive nose were still there, blended nicely together, without being too cloying or artificial. He gave his sizable nuts a scratch as he took a deeper drag, inhaling some of it this time, and felt a surprising little zing that went right to his head, making him feel a little light headed and dizzy. Apparently, whatever aging process they used made sure the tobacco packed a punch as well. He enjoyed the rest of the cigarette for a few minutes, that rush suffusing the rest of his body, and smoked the cigarette down to a small butt, before dropping it in the ashtray. It hadn’t been a total waste then–the tobacco was great. Now he really did wish he’d gotten a complete sampler, instead of just that little taste. He started back towards the kitchen, where he’d left the box, but before he could get there, be passed by a large mirror hanging on the wall in the living room, and then paused, staring at his reflection, a little confused.

He looked different. Not…all that different, he supposed. The fur on his cheeks and around his muzzle was thicker and a bit darker brown, looking like a proper beard that older tanukis usually grew. His body looked a little heftier. His arms were thicker with a bit more muscle, and his belly had grown fatter. Not my much, really. Just enough to really be noticeable, and to make his underwear look a little strained, especially since his nuts had grown as well. For tanukis, that was one of their main signs of age–their substantial sacks grew their entire life, and elders in particular often had sacks so large it made it a bit difficult to move around at times, though they usually managed. The fur on his belly had darkened and thickened as well, becoming a substantial treasure trail running up his larger gut. If he had to guess, he looked like he’d aged about ten years or so, into his mid-thirties, but he looked…good, somehow.

He went to the box, wondering if it might have some explanation, but there wasn’t anything like a note or warning. There was something new in the box though, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It was impossible that he could have missed something, it must have somehow just appeared there after he’d smoked that cigarette. It was a sizable smoking pipe, dark brown with a bent stem, and a little pouch of what he assumed must be tobacco along with it. He picked up the pouch, paw shaking a bit, opened up the top, and gave it a little sniff. Sure enough, it was the same aroma, though a little stronger, the flavors a little deeper, melded differently. Aged more. He could just tell from the darker, deeper scent. But if this tobacco was aged more, did that mean that, if he smoked it, he would age more too?

He went back to the mirror and looked at himself again, at his older body. He tried to imagine what he might look like even older and…and why was he even considering this? He couldn’t smoke this shit, who knew what it might do to him, he needed to get help. He went back, intending to throw the pouch of tobacco in the trash, but smelled it again, found himself getting a bit lost in it, and realized when he pulled it away from his snout that his cock was leaking in the front of his tight underwear. Without taking time to second guess himself, he picked up the pipe, dumped the tobacco in it, and tamped it down. The whole pouch fit in the bowl perfectly, and he went back into the living room, got his lighter, and lit the pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the stem, relishing the flavor again, enjoying the subtler notes he’d missed before.

He sat back, took an inhale off the pipe, and again, felt that same surge of energy off the tobacco as before, but while he still felt alert and energized, it was coupled with a rather profound sense of relaxation. He sank back into his armchair, and this time, he felt it as it was happening, his gut grumbling slightly, and then began to expand. Pipe in his mouth, he rubbed it with his paws, groaning a bit from the pressure. The gut was rather soft and pillowy, flowing around him, spreading out across the chair, thighs growing closer together. He could see the fur on his belly that had grown in before thicken further, and when he was about halfway through the bowl, it changed color again, the brown lightening to a steely grey, contrasting with his the prown pelt across the rest of his belly. It was joined by his beard, he realized after a moment, which was long enough to reach his chest now, and the same greyish color–almost the same color as the smoke coming from the pipe itself. His chest was growing as well, packing on fat until he had two sizable moobs resting on top of his gut. His nipples in particular grew as well, and the two piercings he had in them grew as well, from a pair of studs into two sizable gold rings. 

He smoked the pipe down to ash, and then sat for a moment, looking down at himself, surprised he wasn’t more horrified. He set the pipe aside, and hefted himself up from the chair, his legs and back aching in ways that he didn’t expect, but which he supposed came with his new age. If he had to guess now, he was probably in his late forties. As he walked into the kitchen, he could feel his nuts swinging against his knees as he walked, the constant stimulation provoking a constant leakage from the head of his cock. Along the way, his underwear finally gave up and shredded away, leaving him entirely naked. 

Something had appeared in the box again, where the pipe had been. It was a cigar, and not a small one, either. At least an 80 ring, if not larger, and close to nine inches long. He’d only seen cigars that large in pictures on the internet, never in person. He picked it up, paws shaking a bit, and brought it to his nose. The smell of it made him salivate–he could almost taste it, just from smelling the wrapper…but he shouldn’t, right? If he did, how old was he going to get, anyway?

He resisted the urge for a little while, moving around in his new body, getting used to hefting around his new weight, his sizable balls. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigar though, and come evening, after a sizable dinner to feed his new bulk, he sat down with the cigar in the living room, punched it, and after a moment, brought it to his lips and lit it.

It took some work, getting it started, because it was so large. The thing was so big it stretched his snout uncomfortably wide. At last, he was satisfied with the light, sat back, and took a sizable draw off the end, a bit greedy for the smoke even, and sighed out a thick plume, delighted with the flavor. The cigarette had been just a tease of this depth of flavor. It was the most delightful, savory smoke he’d ever had, in fact. Again, he felt the smoke spread through him, permeate him, and he grew again. Soon, his fat was spilling over the sides of the armchair, which was creaking under the weight of him, his balls sagging lower until he realized they were large enough to rest on the floor in front of the chair, his meaty thighs pushed wide apart by the massive sack. His jaw was aching from holding the cigar, but when he pulled it free for a moment to give it a rest, he realized that wasn’t the only reason. His tusks were coming in, his lower jaw jutting out, growing thicker, and two stubby incisors pushing their way out of his lower jaw. He put the cigar back in, happy to discover that it was much stronger, and could support the cigar easily while his paws explored his growing body.

His fur thicker, and all over his belly, the brownish grey lightened further to a stark white, as did his beard, which now reached down to the massive belly button in his massive gut. His moobs were even larger now, and when he squeezed them, he let out a little grunt of surprise and pleasure when he felt something leak from the nipples. Looking down, he realized he’d matured enough to start lactating, something that didn’t happen to every tanuki, but if it did, it didn’t usually happen until they were in their sixties. It felt…good, and the rings in his nipples grew even thicker, almost as thick as the massive cigar he was smoking. The smell was beginning to permeate him now, and the smell of the tobacco was joined by a scent of his own musk, growing stronger and more pungent, with a definite pang of smoke–but that wasn’t surprising. After all, he’d been a near constant smoker for years now, why wouldn’t he smell of smoke?

He shook his head, but that memory was real, as real as his other ones. He could find himself remembering other things, a whole life that he’d lived now, leading to this new body. He was happily retired, well supported, and didn’t have to worry about anything. He could even sense, somehow, that he hadn’t really lost any years off his life, through these changes. He would stay like this for years now, for as long as the years he had lost, probably close to forty or so, before aging any further. He finished the cigar, set the butt down in the ashtray, and heaved a final, contented, smoky sigh. It was a lot to consider, really, but he didn’t regret any of it, though he was horny as hell after all of that, and his massive balls were aching for release. He pulled himself up, and saw he’d already accumulated quite a puddle of cum around his balls on the floor. No matter, he knew a few cubs around who would be more than happy to clean it up for him–maybe while he had another cigar, or two.

Frat Daddy – Interlude #1 (Carter)

So, given the answers on the last survey, I found that the chapters were going to be too rushed if I tried to fit everything in, but I was also a bit hesitant to have this story turn into some massive monstrosity. That said, I’ve been getting good feedback on it, I’ve been enjoying it, and so I figured I might as well embrace it and just let it get larger until I get a bit sick of it. This is the first interlude in the story, which are little asides, as Daddy takes the boys, one or two at a time, and gives them some private sessions of various kinds. There won’t be any surveys after these interludes, only after the chunks that advance the narrative further. I considered making some of these interludes Patron Only, but for now, I’ll go ahead and post them publicly.

On Friday night, the boys lined up in the living room, and Daddy came before them and considered them all quietly. None of the young men quite knew how to feel about this. Daddy had told them that, each weekend, he would select one or two boys to spend the weekend with him at his house next door, but it wasn’t clear whether this would be considered a punishment or a reward. 

“Carter, come along with me. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Carter gulped, but at the same time, he found himself…excited. Ever since that moment in the bathroom, where he’d allowed Daddy to cut off all of his hair, he’d found himself adrift, no longer sure of who he was, or what he was doing, or who he was becoming. But one thing he knew for sure, was that he would follow Daddy wherever he lead him. Daddy had apparently sensed the same thing in him, or perhaps something else. Carter followed him down into the basement, through the tunnel connecting the two houses together, and back up into Daddy’s home. Carter was scared, but doing his best to not show it too badly. Daddy saw his nerves, and pulled him into a hug. 

“No need to fret tonight. We’ll have dinner, have a smoke, talk a bit. Tomorrow, I have something special planned however. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Daddy cooked for them both. It was strange, seeing the figure who had spent all week dominating them doing something so domestic and ordinary. It was also the first real food that Carter had tasted in a week. The shakes from the machine weren’t bad–but they also weren’t this delicious. Regardless of what might come tomorrow, he would at least relish this. After they’d eaten, they adjourned to Daddy’s smoking room lined with humidors, smoked a cigar together, and spoke. Well, Daddy asked Carter questions, and he answered them as best he could. Questions about his youth, about his family, about manhood, about what he wanted. Questions that Carter couldn’t really answer anymore. He’d grown up in a rather free spirited family, independently wealthy, one of two children with enough freedom that they could both pursue whatever they wanted. He’d thought he’d wanted that freedom–the hair had been an expression of that, certainly. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

They finished their smokes, and Carter expected Daddy to ravage him at last, but instead, he led him to a guest room, and told him to sleep well. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, and he’d need his sleep. Carter didn’t think he’d be able to sleep at all, but was surprised that, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out, and didn’t wake up until Daddy knocked on his door the next morning. They ate a light breakfast, but the nerves had returned, and Carter found it hard to eat, wondering what Daddy had in store for him today. He knew better than to ask–Daddy would tell him when he was ready for Carter to know.

Then, Daddy spoke to him, said…something, and Carter…couldn’t recall what happened next. But when he was next aware of what was happening to him, he was in darkness–total darkness. He was upright, his hands shackled and strung to the ceiling with chains, from what he could hear. His legs also had shackles on them, with a bar between them, keeping them spread apart, and also bolted to the floor. There was light then, and…Daddy walked in, but not…not Daddy. He wasn’t Daddy right now. Right now…he was Sarge. The leather uniform was gone, replaced by a pair of fatigues, combat boots, and a cap. 

Ethan stepped into the room, took a drag on his cigar, and admired the boy for a moment where he was suspended in the middle of his dungeon. Carter was a handsome man, well built, with a small coating of hair on his chest and a modest bush around a sizable cock, and a heavy sack below. He was looking at him now, eyes wide with something between fear and helpless arousal, as he tried to take in what was happening to him now. “I…Sarge…” he said, and the word sent a jolt right to Ethan’s cock, “What am I doing here?”

“What you told me last night, Cadet, none of that surprises me. You lack structure and discipline. You crave it, but without a real man giving it to you, you have become shaggy and overgrown, both outside and inside. I’m going to train you into something new, into a proper man–isn’t that what you want boy?”

Ethan had stepped into the room, and as he spoke, ran a hand along Carter’s stomach, bulging a bit from his new diet, but still plenty firm. Carter flinched at the touch, and then shuddered a bit as the hand came around to his back, was joined by another one, and ran down the whole of his back down to his ass, groping and pinching enough to make him wince slightly. “I…I don’t know, Sir…”

“Why did you let me cut your hair, cadet?”

“Because…in the mirror. I…I didn’t want to become that…that person.”

“And what did you see in the mirror? What scared you more there, than the prospect of me cutting off that beautiful hair,” Ethan said, and ran his hand over Ethan’s scalp, feeling the young man shudder again, his young cock pulsing slightly. 

“I…I was old.”

“Everyone gets old,” Ethan said, and gave Carter a sharp slap on the ass, making him gasp, “What did you see! Be honest boy.”

“He…he was a loser, Sir.”

Another sharp smack, another gasp.

“He didn’t have anything left! There…there was nothing, I don’t know what you want me to say Sir, I don’t know, I just…I couldn’t…”

Ethan stepped around, and looked the boy in the eye. Carter flinched like Ethan had struck him again, and dropped his eyes almost immediately. 

“He…you…I didn’t want to look like that Sir. I…wanted to be like you. He looked like he had no control, over anything. But you…Sir…you can control…anyone. I…I want that.”

“Then the first thing you have to learn, Cadet, is self-control,” Ethan said, grabbed hold of Ethan’s nipples in his hands, and tightened the pinch slowly. Almost immediately, Carter began to groan and try and twist away, but Ethan was relentless, tightening, and twisting, with a slight pull, until Carter was begging him to stop–but Ethan just held him there, until he looked at him again, and he saw the fear in his eyes.

“You have no control here. I can do whatever I want to you. You have no choice but to submit to me. The one thing you can control here, is yourself. Your anger. Your pain. Your pleasure. Your fear. Master all of those, and there is nothing I can do to you that will touch you.” Ethan released his tits then, and Carter sighed, and Ethan grabbed hold of Carter’s cock in one hand–and Carter realized he was…hard. Rock hard.

“You seem to have betrayed yourself, Cadet. Do you like having those tits of yours tortured?” Ethan said, and while one hand stroked the young man’s cock slowly, he twisted one tit again…and this time, Carter felt something unexpected. There was pleasure twisted up with the pain now, and he gasped, unsure of which sensation brought it forth. His cock spasmed, and precum shot from the head all over the back of Ethan’s hand. He pulled it away, and wiped it across Carter’s face. “Today, I’m going to show you something else. I’m going to show you just how little control you have over yourself. It will be up to you, do decide if you want to develop the will after that.”

Carter tried to reply, but Ethan pushed a gag into his mouth, secured it around the back of his head, and began. He started with his tits–pumping them first, and then when Carter was moaning, a puddle of precum collecting underneath him, he tugged the pumps off, clipped each of them, and added a weight. His balls were next. Ethan tugged them away from Carter’s body, secured a leather parachute around them, and began adding weight, little by little, until Carter was dribbling pre in an almost constant stream, begging Sarge for release–unsure if he was begging him to allow him to cum, or begging him to let him go, because the pain was growing more excruciatingly exciting. 

Sarge stepped back and admired his work, the boy’s body slick with sweat now, breath quick, cock hard and red and angry and eager to shoot–but not yet. No, not yet. He picked up a paddle from the wall, went around behind him, and went to work on the boy’s ass, each swat causing his body to jolt forward, his the weight on his balls and tits swinging away from him, picking up a rhythm, the boy descending into heaving, gasping, mindless emotion. “Look how easily I’ve broken you, Cadet. I’ve turned you into my little pain pig in less than an hour. I could do whatever I want to do to you, cause you any amount of pain that I want, and you’d beg for more, wouldn’t you? Doesn’t it feel good boy? Don’t you want me to hurt you more?”

Carter couldn’t speak through the gag, but he found himself nodding vigorously. He…did need more. He needed it. Sarge pulled a flogger down next, and began pounding at the boy’s back, sending shockwaves through his body, until he was shaking and shuddering, an orgasm unlike anything he’d ever experienced ripping through him, centered on his forehead, while his cock just kept leaking. Every swing while he convulsed was just more pleasure piled on top of pleasure, and when Daddy stopped swinging, Carter shook, the absence of pain somehow more painful than the beating had been. 

While the bar between his feet was bolted to the floor in the middle, it could swivel–and Sarge spun the young man around so he was facing behind him now–and again, Carter found himself face to face with a mirror, and again, the reflection looking back at him…it wasn’t his own. It was another future, and while his ego was horrified, the part of him that was growing more and more addicted to pain looked at himself in wonder. At the balls stretched down between his thighs, the scrotum covered his studs and rings. The tits tortured so much that they looked like small sausages, pierced through with six or sever rings each. His cock, no longer able to even get hard unless he was being tortured, also pierced all over. His body was completely hairless and pale, and he could see the bruises and welts from sessions with his Master. But it was the eyes that scared him the most. The acceptance, the eagerness, the anticipation. He could feel it now, welling up inside him, how you could become lost in this, if you weren’t careful. Lose yourself and never find your way back again.

“What do you think, Cadet? Do you want to become my little pain pig? Send you back to the house, make you beg all your brothers to spank you, and beat you, and fuck you until that pain addicted cock finally cums? Pierce you all over, tattoo you, make sure no one will ever be able to mistake you for a man ever again? Is that what you want?” Ethan’s hand wrapped its way around his cock and started stroking. “All you have to do is cum, pig. Cum–and I’ll make all your dreams come true.”

Fuck, it was tempting. Carter stared at the image again, and started swinging gently, feeling the weights on his tits and balls pull away from his body, making his cock stiff and ache for release, but he stopped himself. This…he could have this. He could even want this. But he didn’t. Control–he’d lost control of himself, he was allowing his pain and pleasure to rule him–but this wasn’t the kind of man that he wanted to be. This isn’t what Sarge was offering him. He stopped, took a few deep breaths, and Daddy took the gag from his mouth, allowing him to say, “No Sir. Thank you Sir, for the offer. But I don’t want to be a pig Sarge, I want to be a man, like you.”

Ethan smiled, and Carter knew he’d made the right decision. “That’s my boy–I knew you were stronger than the rest.”

Sarge kissed him then, and the tenderness shocked him, and when Sarge moved again, there was a new image in the mirror. Carter, older, muscled and hairy and strong and firm and confident and all of the things he’d always wanted to be, and Ethan kept stroking. Come on Cadet–shoot for your Sarge. You’ve fucking earned it.” 

Carter exploded at last, shooting a massive load all over the floor of the dungeon, and then Sarge embraced him, holding him tight while he collapsed against him, and he took the weights off his balls and tits, released him from the ceiling, and pulled him to the floor, where Carter shook and cried and laughed and Daddy held him tight, telling him how proud of him he was, that one day, he’d be that man in the mirror, and Daddy would do everything in his power to help him get there.

Sunday afternoon, Carter returned to the house, and while there was nothing obviously different about him, the other men could still sense a difference. He seemed…larger, somehow. Taller and broader. Whether he had actually grown, or whether it was just a matter of posture, no one could quite tell. But there was a firmness, a confidence that Carter hadn’t had, not even before all of this, when he’d had his full mane of hair. Tyler nailed it, eventually. Carter…was walking and talking and behaving like Daddy, in a way that he couldn’t quite figure out. It was…hot though. Tyler asked Carter what had happened, what Daddy had done to him, but Carter just smiled, reached out, and gave one of Tyler’s nipples a twist, making him cringe a bit. 

“Want me to show you?” he said, and Tyler nodded.

Interactive: Time Travel Takeovers (Part 3)

This is going to be the final entry in this interactive. I wasn’t planning on it being substantial, it was more about toying with the time travel story device and seeing if I liked it enough to use it in something else, perhaps something longer, or more twine focused. There’s an alternate version of this one over on my patreon, using a different set of winning options! If you support me, you can head here and check it out.

Needless to say, Jerry never showed up for his wedding. Edwin slipped into his mind that morning, while the bride was off getting her hair done for the ceremony that evening. He packed a bag, hopped in his car and ran. He didn’t quite understand why he was doing this, just that…he had to. It was the right thing to do, or at least, that’s what Edwin was telling him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life hitched to a ball and chain? No–he knew he wanted something else, but he wasn’t sure what yet. A better life, one more suited to him. He’d just have to drive for a while and find it.

He drove for a couple of days, while Edwin wormed his way in deeper, trying to figure out what made Jerry tick. It wasn’t long before he found a good lead–Jerry had daddy issues galore. He’d been abandoned by his dad when he was a kid, and he’d never really gotten over the trauma of it, always looking for older men to praise him. He’d done well for himself, finding some reliable, older mentors in the company where he worked–where he had been working, rather. But Edwin had a new idea for his little puppet. They’d find him a new daddy, someone more along Edwin’s tastes.

He ended up in a large city, and Edwin decided this would be as good a place as any to begin his search. He took Jerry to the sleaziest, kinkiest gay bar he could find, and decided he’d find him a properly perverse Daddy to show him the ropes of his new life. Jerry had no idea what he was doing there. He wasn’t gay, and he certainly wasn’t into…this, all of this leather and rubber, the air smelling of piss and sex. He was still dressed in his business casual, and had never felt more out of place in his entire life. He ended up compensating by drinking too much, though Edwin remained clear headed–and late that night, he found what he was looking for. 

He was in his late fifties, probably. Still in great shape, wearing a leather harness, rubber vest, and rubber waders. He was smoking cigars, was covered in tattoos and piercings. Edwin slipped into the fetish daddy’s mind and poked around a bit–it didn’t take much convincing for him to start teasing Jerry, since he was cute, though obviously repressed. Jerry didn’t know what possessed him to go home with the old kinkster, but he spent the entire next day in the man’s dungeon, and it was the most exquisite sex of his entire life. By the end of it, he was begging his new Master to keep him, to train him, to remake him into the kinky pig he’d always wanted to be, deep down, without even realizing it. Dan, the old kinky bear, didn’t really want something permanent, but something about the young man’s begging changed his mind–he could do anything he wanted to him, after all. Somehow, he knew that Jerry would agree to anything.

But to test his resolve, their first stop, the next day, was the piercing and tattoo parlor. Jerry ended up with studs in his nipples, in his ears, a PA, and a new tattoo on his ass, which read Property of Master Dan across it. As far as Dan was concerned, that sealed the deal–and Jerry started his training with him that afternoon, with a trip to the local gay gym. Dan forced Jerry–or Cunt, as he was calling him for now, before settling on a more permanent slave name–to work out in just a jock, and he spent the evening in the showers, getting plowed by guy after guy, and drinking more than a few loads of piss as well. He was humiliated, but the act of service, and the delight in his dom’s eyes brought him more pleasure than he could really understand. Dan was impressed at the newbie–to go from being a virgin to gay sex to taking five loads in a public shower, it was quite impressive. All that meant, was that he could push him further.

More and more fantasies began to intrude into Dan’s mind, unbidden. He’d never really been this extreme before, but something about Cunt was bringing the true sadist out in him, and he wanted to see how far he could go. During the day they would work out, and by the last week of Edwin’s control, Dan had started Cunt on a steroid regimen, deciding he was going to be a proper muscle bull–but a total bottom, of course. No, his cock and balls were going to be pumped to an obscene size, too big to be ignored, but also functionally useless. He’d have so many tattoos and piercings he wouldn’t be able to hold down a regular job–he’d be confined to the life of a total kinkster for the rest of his days. 

Towards the end, Edwin made one last shift in them both–in their dreams, he convinced them that they weren’t just master and slave–they were father and son. That Jerry had begged his father to take ownership of him, to turn him into a proper musclecunt of a boy, so that Dan could truly be proud of him. It took like a charm, and only made Cunt more desperate to please his father, to show him what a good pig he could become. Satisfied with those first steps, Edwin returned to the present.

When he’d recovered, he found that Jerry no longer lived next door to him. This wasn’t surprising really, but the fact of it cemented for him the seriousness of what he’d done to him. He had to use the tachyon beam to find him, tracing his path from the point Edwin had left him to the present, and what he found pleased him to no end.

There was no trace of the boring, straight laced man Jerry had been. He no longer even remembered his old name–the only name he responded to now was his slave name, Bullcunt. He was massive–years of steroids and growth hormones had made his body explode with muscle, though as he’d grown older, he’d also developed a bit of a gut. At some point in his life he’d discovered saline and then silicone–his father had decided that Bullcunt’s cock and balls were going to be some of the largest on earth. Nothing could hold them at this point, other than the custom made gear Dan commissioned for his boy. It was expensive, but given his freakish body, covered head to toe in piercings and tattoos, willing to partake in any kind of sex no matter now taboo, Musclecunt made a killing as a porn star, and was lately taking more of a dom role, making young men worship his massive junk while he smoked one of his huge cigars, fisting them with his hands–sometimes both. There were two men who could actually take his massive cock, and several more training to be next in line.

Overall, it was a grand success. Edwin knew he’d have much more fun with his invention in the days to come, but first, he needed a meal from his encourager–twelve hours without a meal, and he was famished.

Interactive: New You Resolutions 2020 (Part 8)

They stood in their small living room, the pills settling in their stomach, wondering when they were supposed to start feeling something. “Is…somethin’ supposed tah be happenin?” Kevin asked, looking around.

“Uh…I think somethin’ is man, look at yer gut,” Alex replied.

The last few months on the road hadn’t been particularly kind to Kevin’s waistline. Spending so much time on the road didn’t exactly leave him a lot of time to try and keep the shape he’d had when he was living in the city, and the constant diet of truck stop fare only made matters worse. He’d remarked a few times to Alex that he was a bit disgusted by it, but as he watched, his gut was pushing out his shirt, making it ride up, and he let out a little groan of dismay. “Nah, fuckin’ hell, I don’ wanna get fatter!”

He tried to push back against it, but nothing he did made a difference, as the weight piled on him. He’d started out around 200 pounds, and after a few minutes, and a few hastily removed clothes later, he peaked at around 350–a substantial gut hanging down over his waist, two heavy moobs where his chest had been, rolls under his arms, thighs touching, and two prominent chins under his round, puffy face. 

Alex, on the other hand, was experiencing something rather different. He’d bulked up a bit since he’d started working at the garage, just from the physical labor he’d never had to do before, but this was something else entirely. Every part of him was swelling with muscle, his chest, his arms, his ass, his legs, everything. He flexed, and he could…feel the strength running through him, and looking over at Kevin, he was almost embarrassed by his good fortune–at least until he felt his cock twitch, and start to shrink. “What the hell?” he muttered, and saw that his rather average cock was indeed shrinking up into his body–until he was left with a two inch long nub, wider than it was long, with a sizable sack of balls hanging underneath it. A foreskin grew over it as well, making the whole thing seem even smaller, like it literally had slid inside his body. He looked over at Kevin, and saw that he’d hadn’t noticed his own new addition yet–the eleven inch cock swinging under his gut, with balls even larger than Kevin’s below it. 

Kevin looked over at him, then down at his cock, and realized what must have happened. He reached down, and while he couldn’t see his new member, he could feel it–one hand couldn’t even reach around it, and touching it was electric. “Fuck…that’s…I ain’t felt one that big before, gotta say…”

Alex was distracted from their dick measuring by a new sensation–a body wide itch. From the look on Kevin’s face, and from his discomfort, it was clear he was feeling something similar, but the results appearing on their bodies were entirely different. Alex saw the body hair on his body–something he’d never had much of–start to spread and grow in thicker and thicker. Across his chest, down his firm muscle gut, all over his legs, over his shoulders and down his back, down his arms and onto the backs of his hands, and even on his knuckles. His face wasn’t spared either, and a heavy beard sprouted all over, growing up high on his cheeks, long enough to reach his belly. His hair grew in as well, and grew long into a heavy mane of hair. Then came the first prick, in his ears. He reached up and found two gauges in his ears, and then more and more pricks came, as heavy metal rings, bars, and pins appeared all over his body. His tiny cock and balls weren’t spared either–his cock had a massive doorknocker as a PA, almost larger than his cock was, and his balls looked like a pincushion from all the metal in them.

Kevin, in the other hand, found himself losing the body hair that he did have–and in its place, tattoos were appearing on his skin. Not particularly flattering one’s either–everything was about being a redneck, being a trucker, being a glutton, being a smoker, or being a total sex pig. The He ran one hand over his scalp, and all of the hair on his head fell away, leaving him with a perfectly smooth cueball, and his scruff from not bothering to shave the last while disappeared as well–making him seem even fatter. Tattoos appeared on his scalp now, over his ears on across the back of his head, things he’d never be able to hide, no matter how hard he tried. 

But something else was happening to them–they were looking at each other, and they found themselves impossibly attracted to one another, and also incredibly horny. “Git over here, and put that giant cock in my ass, boy,” Alex said, and bent over the couch. Kevin didn’t need to be told twice, and after lubing up his tattooed cock with amble engine oil, just how Alex liked it, he rammed it into his muscular ass, and Alex nearly screamed from the size of it, but he couldn’t stop. 

The last changes were finishing as they fucked, the hair all over Alex picking up a bit of grey as he grew a bit older, and Kevin’s skin softening as he lost a few years, back to his mid-twenties. Alex found himself taking charge of the scene, and Kevin was more than happy to do as he ordered, their positions in the relationship shifting slightly. Despite his small cock, Alex tended to call the shots from now on, and Kevin was more than happy to do as the older muscle mechanic told him to do.

After they both came, they pulled apart and took stock of what had happened to them, both of them horrified, and yet also turned on by their new bodies. It was Kevin who noticed the new envelope that had appeared, and handed it to Alex to tear open and read:

We hope you enjoy your new bodies you two, we think you’re a perfect match now. They do, however, come with some new resolutions to enjoy as well, of course

Alex, you resolve to get fucked or fisted at least three times a day from now on. Since your cock isn’t really good for topping anyone anymore, you’re going to become obsessed with getting as much dick, and hands, in your ass as you can.

Kevin, you resolve to become a gainer from now on. You won’t be able to get that big dick of yours hard unless your stomach is stuffed full, and the act of someone else feeding you is going to turn you on more than most anything else from now on.

Enjoy you two–you’ve made so much progress. You should be proud of yourselves!

Alex moaned, reached around, and felt his ass–he needed something else inside it, desperately. Preferably Kevin’s massive cock, man, that boy could fuck! “Come on Kev, get that cock hard again, Daddy’s ass needs another fuck.”

Kevin nodded, but then a loud grumble came from his gut, and he gripped it, surprised by the hunger that overwhelmed him in a moment. “Fuck daddy, think we could eat first? I’m starvin’.”

Alex growled a bit, annoyed that his boy’s insatiable hunger was getting in the way of his own cravings, but nodded, and ordered some pizzas for them both. First, he’d stuff his boy’s face, and then his boy would spend the rest of the night stuffing his hole. That was the way it ought to be, right? He felt like he was…forgetting something, but he had more important things to think about from now on.

Alright, that brings Alex and Kevin’s tale to a close. Let’s do one more, I think. Here’s a poll of the other three options I suggested last time. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as usual!

The House Made Me Gay (Finale)

Phil went to the door and unlocked it, and in came a young man, probably in his mid twenties. He was…well, he didn’t look particularly clean, for one thing. He was chubby and greasy, his clothes covered in food stains–and probably more than a few cumstains, from the shape and placement. The young man ran over to where Ethan was strapped to the chair, cigar lodged in his mouth, and he looked extremely pleased. “Fuck man, he looks so fucking good! I knew you could do it.”

“I know it can’t really replace what you lost, but I think he’ll do you just fine.”

“No way man, I think he’s even better.”

The young man’s name was Josh, and since he was eighteen, he had been in love with his father. He’d learned how to be a dirty pervert from him, sitting around all day, jacking off, swapping cum and spit and piss–and sometimes, if they got a bit drunk, even more than that. But tragically, Josh’s father had passed away–a heart attack–the year before, though he’d left his son a sizable life insurance policy. A good chunk of that was now invested in Ethan–who was going to be Josh’s replacement slobby father.

Josh ran his hands over Ethan’s massive cock, watching the older man shudder, his eyes fearful, and Josh…felt bad for a moment, but he was so turned on by the man Phil had created–and he knew that, before too long, his new daddy would love him just as much as his old one had. He went around and gave him a sniff–and wrinkled his nose. “He smells too clean still.”

“I was going to wait on that until you got here. He still needs a few more tatts before he’s really done,” Phil said, “But first–you still want those rings we talked about?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Josh said, “That sounded so hot.”

“Alright–then let’s get those in you both first.”

Phil worked quickly. With a box of matched rings, he quickly pierced both of them in the septum, in both their nipples. “That’s all we need to start, I think,” Phil said, “Why don’t you climb on and give daddy’s cock a ride boy? Then we can see how those work while I finish daddy up.”

Ethan struggled as Josh climbed up, and started lowering his ass down onto his massive cock. Josh’s first daddy had always loved opening up his son’s hole over the course of an afternoon, before sliding in his fists–but his cock had always been too small to really fuck his son. This new daddy though–he was going to be perfect in every way. Josh groaned as he felt his hole open around Ethan’s massive cock, taking it slow–but Ethan’s cum was the perfect lube now, helping stretch the boy’s hole. When he was halfway on, Phil took the cigar from Ethan’s mouth, and Josh leaned forward–Ethan heard the click of their septum piercings–and Josh kissed him, the boy’s rank mouth tasting of beer and cigarettes. He tried to pull away, but felt a tug on his nose when he did–their piercings had…merged. Josh leaned in closer, pressing their chests together, and their nipples stuck in the same way–Josh was now impaled on his cock, and latched to him, slowly sliding lower onto his massive cock, as Ethan panicked.

“Calm down now,” Phil said, as he got his tattoo needle ready again, “They come apart once you both cum. Just enjoy being close to your son, Ethan.”

“He’s not my son!” Ethan shouted through Josh’s mouth, and Phil just smiled, and got started on his arm, quickly sketching out a classic heart with “My Son” in the middle–and an arrow through it–or a cock, really, a cock spewing cum and piss down the rest of his arm. Josh could…feel this ink differently. Each little prick seemed to shift something in his mind, and as it took form…he found he could remember Josh–because Josh was…his son. His real son, and he…he loved him so much, didn’t he? Josh moaned, his ass now resting on the base of Ethan’s massive cock. “Fuck son, dadd’s so fuckin’ proud of you!” he said into Jason’s mouth between kisses. “Ride daddy’s big tool boy–I wanna see that hole gape.”

“Oh daddy…I…I missed you so much,” Josh moaned, and started sliding up and down on his new daddy’s cock, both of them kissing more passionately and Phil kept working, moving over to his other arm now. First, some lettering at the top of the shoulder– “Months Since Daddy’s Last Shower:”–and then below it, Phil started making hash marks, and after each one, Ethan started getting dirtier, and dirtier, and dirtier, as his memories of showers, of any hygiene really, faded further and further into the past. It…His son had wanted him to stop bathing, he said he wanted to see just how nasty his daddy could be. So they’d agreed on a tattoo to…to keep track. But that had been…months, no a year, no two years, no…no almost five years ago now, right? The hash marks ran down the outside of his arm, almost to his wrist–marking off four and a half years since his last shower–and Ethan stank to high heaven of musk, and smoke, and cum, and piss–but it was only driving Josh into a frenzy. With a roar, Ethan came, flooding his boy’s hole with his massive load of cum, feeling it drain out around his cock and into his lap–and that was enough for Josh to cum as well, shooting a much smaller load all over his daddy’s belly. They kept kissing for a moment, and then pulled apart–their rings separating again like magic.

“Fuck man, you…really outdid yourself. He’s fucking perfect,” Josh said to Phil, cum running down the inside of his legs. “Really…I know…I paid, but I…”

“It’s ok–what you had was special, and I’m happy I could give it to you again.”

“T-Thanks…we talked about some other stuff, can we…”

Phil laughed. It’s been a long day for your dad in that chair–why don’t you take him home for a while? When he comes in next month for his update–we can talk then, alright? I might even do those pro bono–you two are fucking hot to watch.”

Josh beamed, went over, and undid the straps holding his father to the chair, and Ethan stumbled up out of it, trying to figure out what, and who he was. Josh got him dressed in some of his filthy whities and a scummy tanktop crispy with cum, and then pulled his daddy out of the shop and to their little truck. By the time they got home to their little stinking trailer, Ethan was feeling almost normal again–that, and he was already horny as hell for his son’s hole. Josh was only too happy to ride his dad’s massive cock again of course–and by morning, neither of them could remember that their lives had ever been different from this.

ChatChange (Part 2)

MasturCub90909: Fine, whatever, let’s just get this over with. What do you want to start with?

DaddySugarBear: Well, I’ve been thinking about your image a lot, you know? I mean, I get the whole clean cut, nice guy image, but I just don’t think that’s what a lot of guys want to see. At least, it’s not something I’m interested in at all. You just sort of fade into the background, one more pretty face. You need an image! Something that will catch people’s attention. So when they see you, they’ll know exactly who you are.

MasturCub90909: Yeah, and what the hell do you have in mind?

DaddySugarBear: I’ll show you.

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: There, I think that’s better, don’t you?

MasturSkin90909: Fickin A what the hell ya fuckin do! I look like a fuckin freak!

DaddySugarBear: I know, right? No one’s gonna be able to look away from you now, I can tell you that, not with that face.

MasturSkin90909: What ya mean my face?

MasturSkin90909: Holy fuckin shit Im fuckin ugly! What the fuck? When did those fuckin piercings show up? Where’d my hair go?

MasturSkin90909: Change me the fuck back right now this fuckin shit is fuckin over ya bastard Im not jokin!

DaddySugarBear: Look, just hear me out. There’s plenty of skins on tumblr, I mean, you can’t swing a bat without hitting one (though looking at that new nose of yours, I think you probably know what I’m talking about). So look, you have up the ante somehow. Those piercings are your trademark, man! That’s what makes you, you! Besides, I know you think they’re sexy as fuck.

MasturSkin90909: Well ya their sexy but i didn’t ask to look like this even if they do look fuckin hot on me

DaddySugarBear: They go perfect with your new persona though! Just a dumb, rough skinhead thug, nice and thick, little eyes, that busted nose, missing teeth. Everyone’s gonna love or hate you, but no one’s going to look away, I can promise you that. Still, we aren’t done, I mean, we have to fix that wardrobe of yours. Afterall, if you’re going to spend all day cumming on yourself, best to make it easy to clean right?

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

RbbrSkinStrokr69: Where the hell this come from?

DaddySugarBear: That’s what I’m talking about, I fucking love singlets.

RbbrSkinStrokr69: No fuck u Im takin this shit off

DaddySugarBear: You will do no such thing!

RbbrSkinStrokr69: Shut up you mothrfuck! Im donewith this shit!

<<Toggle Subject Autonomy: Obedience–Aware>>

DaddySugarBear: Sit back down in that chair, get that rubber singlet back on, and keep stroking that cock of yours, right now.

DaddySugarBear: Oh don’t look at me like that, you said that you would listen to what I have to say, and I’m not done yet. Just relax for a bit, focus on that nasty cock of yours–damn, that thing has almost as much metal as your face. I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it? Way better than before, so sensitive like that.

DaddySugarBear: Get your hand off that keyboard!

DaddySugarBear: I’m tired of you taking my advice for granted, you know that? Here I am, taking time out of my evening to help you and your tumblr, and you’ve been one ungrateful prick this entire time. Now, we’re going to continue, and I was going to save this for a bit, but I think you need it now.

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: Now, tell me what you think, and be honest now.

RbbrSkinPOS: Oh fuck sir I so sorry, I fucking deserve this, I do

DaddySugarBear: What do you deserve, bitch?

RbbrSkinPOS: I deserve to be a stupid skinbitch. A pig. A whore. Fuckin worhtless thats all I am, just a bitch for real men to use and abuse as they see fit

RbbrSkinPOS: Fuck sir just thinkin what you did to me so fuckin horny. Plz sir, can I cum? Will you let this worthless skinpig shoot a load for you?

DaddySugarBear: No pig, you haven’t earned a chance to cum. You’ve been a very bad pig, and that means you need to be punished.

RbbrSkinPOS: Yea sir punish me fuck do whatever the fuck you want

DaddySugarBear: Do you think I should change you more? Turn you even further into a disgusting skin pig? Turn you into something most men would spit on?

RbbrSkinPOS: O fuck sir ruin me fuck whatever you want I deserve it

<<Change initiated…Change applied successfully>>

DaddySugarBear: Tell me pig, what’s your favorite color?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Duh fckin yellow

DaddySugarBear: Probably could have guessed that, judging by that yellow rubber of yours

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Fck yeah never wear anythin else

DaddySugarBear: Alright pig take off one of those waders of yours and I want you to fill it up with your piss, and then I want to see you drink it for me.

DaddySugarBear: Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Do you know how many fucking pigs are going to love you on tumblr, if you post a video like that everyday? You’re going to be damn famous. Everyone’s going to know what a worthless urinal you are pretty soon, how does that sound?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Sounds fuckin good to me, sir. Damn that tasted good, but it sure wasnt punishmnt sir.

DaddySugarBear: Oh, that wasn’t your punishment pig–I’d have to deliver that in person. Still, since we live across the country, I can’t very we’ll do it, so we’ll have to do it by proxy.

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Whats poxy sir? sounds kinky

DaddySugarBear: Don’t worry your stupid head about it pig. Just send me a contact from your list, someone who lives close to you, who’s online right now.

RbbrPissSkinPOS: K

<<Contact Received: HTHogarth>>

DaddySugarBear: Who’s that?

RbbrPissSkinPOS: Some lame nerd I used to study with. Lives a few blocks away.

DaddySugarBear: Works for me. Give me a second to warm him up, and then let’s start a group chat, eh?

Mr. Drake’s Games – Part 3

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, boy,” Mr. Drake said, “Or rather, what you’re gonna do. I want to see you jack off, lard ass. I wanna see you pump a load of cum out into those massive rolls of fat you have now. And what I’m gonna do, is every minute you spend trying to cum, I’m gonna change something about you. Alright? See that clock on the wall? In fifteen seconds, that second hand is gonna hit the twelve, and then you can start–heh, well why don’t I give you a head start? You might need it.”

Jay didn’t need any encouragement or direction beyond that. He started digging around under his fat with both hands, desperately searching for his half sized cock. He could find his balls relatively easily, and they were really very huge, but for the life of him, he couldn’t quite reach his cock. He kept trying, pushing up into his fat as hard as he could, occasionally brushing his hand across the head, but he couldn’t get a grip.

“That’s your first minute–How about he give you some more hair? Hell, how about a lot more hair? I like my fatties hairy as hell.”

“I can’t fucking reach it. I can’t fucking reach my cock!” His body was itching as hair grew in, dense across his entire body, and the thick bush accumulating at his groin didn’t make it any easier to reach his cock either.

“Well, then I guess I’m gonna be changing you a whole lot then, aren’t I?”

Jay kept trying, one hand working his nipples, keeping himself hard, but it was no use.

“Another minute down–how about a big beard to go with that hairy body of yours? I want to see that head shaved, though.”

“Please, there’s nothing I can fucking do!”

Mr. Drake wrapped his hand in the long beard pushing it’s way out of Jay’s chin, and he leaned in closer, “I just don’t think you’re being very imaginative, is all. I don’t think you really want to cum, is your problem.”

Jay did his best to calm down, and tried to think. If he couldn’t reach his cock, then he was going to have to try something else to stimulate himself. He rolled his body, and felt a shiver of pleasure, and then shoved his hips forward, feeling his cock working its way in and out of his fatpad. With a grunt, he started tugging at his nipples, feeling his arousal growing higher, bucking his cock into his fat. Closer, he was getting closer now.

“Still taking too long, boy. How about we see what happens when we make you a bit dirtier, eh? No more showers, no more baths, just a stinking pile of fat, and you fucking love it.”

The sweat building up as he tried to fuck himself suddenly reeked, and as much as Jay wanted it to disgust him, it didn’t. It only made him hornier, and he lifted one arm, taking a long snort of his hairy pit, licking up his own fat sweat. But he was getting tired, he had to find a better way to rub his cock off. Maybe if he tried a different position. He rolled over and dropped off the couch onto his knees, facing the seat, bucking his hips as hard as he could into his fatpad, but it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Poor little piggy, it seems like you’re still having some trouble there. Maybe you should go ahead and start making some sexy pig noises too?”

His face hurt, like his nose was pushing into his face, and suddenly he was snorting and grunting, unable to help himself. “Please, I can’t, *grunt* I need help…” he managed to get out between gasps.

“Do you want me to help you? I could probably do that, but you’d better ask me nicely. You’d better beg.”

“Please, please help me, I *snort* need to cum so bad, I can’t do it, I need you to help me.”

Mr. Drake helped Jay stand up and bend over the sofa, presenting his ass away towards Mr. Drake. Of course, all of this had cost another minute, and he could feel the heavy septum ring now hanging from his nose, feel the studs in his nipples, the rings in his scrotum which Mr. Drake added. Mr Drake worked his cock into his fat hole, and it was unlike anything Jay had ever felt before. He was squealing, desperately trying to get as much of the old man’s cock in him as he could, and he was cumming, he was finally cumming, and he huffed and puffed and collapsed into the couch while Mr. Drake kept pounding his fat hole, shooting his own load deep inside his ass.

“Well done, pig–too bad that still took you an extra minute. But watching that performance, I know just the thing, right pigslave? Yeah, Pigslave. Owned by your fat, nasty dad, and he lends you out to all the perverts in the neighborhood, and you fucking love it. You love it because you’re too dumb to know any better. You love it because seeing someone look at you like you’re less than human makes that little piggy cock of your hard. You love it because it gives you an excuse to belly up to your trough and get even fatter, isn’t that right, Pigslave?”

He tried to say no, but all he could do was grunt and squeal–after all, he wasn’t allowed to talk. Pigs were never supposed to talk like men. Something tight was around his neck, and he recognized it as his collar. It felt good, actually, a reminder that he was owned. That he was just an animal for men’s pleasure. Mr. Drake clipped the leash onto it, and led him out the door and across the asphalt, back towards his house. He knew he should be embarrassed, but he also wasn’t quite sure why. Why would a pig like him be embarrassed? This is just what he is. His dad–no, his Master–was happy to get him back, and made sure he’d done a good job pleasing Mr. Drake. As a reward, Jay got his dinner an hour early. He crawled over to the trough in the kitchen, and his dad poured in his slop, and he lost himself in his feast. By the time he’d finished, Jay was dead and gone, and all that remained was the neighborhood pigslave, exactly what he’d always wanted to be.

Patreon Commission: Liam’s Grandfather

I met Liam’s grandfather by accident. The two of us had early release from high school on Wednesdays, and we’d usually go to this little cafe in town for coffee and to work on our homework. We’d been friends since kindergarten, and lived down the street from each other. Both of us were on the swim team–tall, lean, and generally hairless. He’d hung around with each other for so long, some people would mistake us for blonde haired, green eyed brothers, but Liam…Liam had been acting a bit strange lately. He told me that a few months ago his grandfather had moved in with his parents, because he couldn’t afford the mortgage payments on the house he’d been living in across the country, and while he hadn’t told me anything in particular, he was just being…well, it made more sense once I met his grandfather myself

So anyway, we get to the cafe. It’s early afternoon, after the lunch rush, but the place is still busy. We get in line to order, when Liam looks around and spots his grandfather sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He freaks out, and says we have to leave before he notices us. I don’t get what the big deal is, but then we hear a loud, gravelly voice calling Liam’s name, and it’s like someone flipped a switch, and Liam is calm as can be, even…happy.

He waves at his grandfather, and without ordering he heads over to where the old man is seated. I don’t hear what they say, but then his grandfather grabs Liam’s chin and pulls his mouth down, and starts making out with him right in the middle of the room, and no one says a thing. That was the strangest part. Telling you about it now, sure, it was fucked up. No one kisses their grandfather like that. But when I was there, staring right at them, it seemed like the most normal thing in the world. It didn’t bother me at all.

I knew what Liam liked to drink, so I ordered for the both of us and then took them over to the table where his grandfather was sitting. They didn’t pay me any mind, and as I watched the two of them make out, I started to get…kind of jealous. Now that I was closer, Liam’s grandfather…he suddenly looked really sexy. That bushy, untrimmed beard, the gut hanging out the bottom if his shirt. A real sleazy sexy. I mean, I know…I don’t feel that way right now, but when I was close to him, I just…the thoughts were just–there. Obvious. And I was jealous. How lucky was Liam that he got to live with a hot daddy like that?

I think I cleared my throat or something, but they broke off the kiss, his grandfather smiled up at me, a couple gold teeth in his mouth, and my heart started pounding as he looked me up and down. He said, “Oh Liam, now where have you been hiding this handsome young man from me?” and I swooned into him. He had smoker’s breath, I didn’t care. I told him my name, he tweaked one of my nipples through my shirt, and I nearly came in the front of my jeans.

Liam was furious, and pushed me away, placing himself between us, blurting out something like, “He’s no one Gramps, just a friend.” Then he said he wanted to show him something, and pulled off his shirt in the middle of the cafe revealing two freshly pierced nipples, and also dropped his pants. He was wearing a jockstrap, and he turned around, showing his grandfather his bare ass, which I saw had a tattoo on it which I had never seen before in the showers after swim practice. His grandfather whistled, and when Liam turned back around he nodded approvingly and pulled Liam into his lap. I wished that I had something I could show off, Liam’s grandfather looked so happy, twisting his grandson’s tits, pulling him close, reaching around to knead his ass. He let go long enough to unzip the fly of his pants, letting his cock flop out. It was huge–I’d never seen one so thick, but before I could do anything, Liam was on his knees, sucking on the head, moaning.

I was hurt, but he beckoned me closer and we made out. One of his hands was on the back of Liam’s head, the other reached down the back of my pants, fingering my asshole. Between kisses, he’d tell me how hot I’d look if I was a bit…edgier. Some piercings, maybe a tattoo. Then I’d be fuckable. He said I’d be fuckin’ irresistible. I came, two of his fingers deep in my hole, grinding my crotch against the side of his gut, his tongue running it’s way around the inside of my mouth. He gave a couple of grunts, and then he was filling up Liam’s mouth. Liam had, at some point, started jacking off, and at the taste of his grandfather’s cum, he shot his own load across the ceramic floor of the cafe.

Then we got up, like nothing strange had happened. We all sat at the table and had our drinks, flirting, vying for his attention for a couple of hours, and then he excused himself, and waddled out of the cafe. As he left, the horror descended on both of us. I couldn’t even look at Liam, I just stood up, grabbed my bag, and fled. I couldn’t tell anyone. Who would even believe me? Hell, everyone in the cafe had just watched it happen, and no one had done anything! No–I was bound to take the reality of what had happened to the grave.

Liam and I grew distant. Everyone at school was talking about him, how he’d turned into a bit of a bad boy. He got more tattoos and piercings. He shaved his head down to the skin. He was smoking cigarettes and failing his classes. I knew why, of course, but the worst part was…that I want it to be me. Fuck, I want it to be me so badly. I know he’s disgusting, I know it’s wrong, I know I’m straight, and yet all I can think about is him.

So that’s why I need these tattoos and piercings. That’s why I can’t ask my parents. I…I heard you’d bend the rules for…for a blow job. I could…do that. You look a bit like him, if I squint.


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Commission – The Roadhouse Men (Musky)


“Marty look, I know I let you help out around here on occasion, but you can’t really expect me to–”

“Ed, I don’t have anywhere else to go. He kicked me out!”

“Weren’t you saving the cash I’ve been givin’ you?”

“He already found it. I don’t have anything. Please, I’ve thought about it, alright? I really have.”

“Eddie, just let him do it,” Danny boy said, where he was sweeping the bar floor in a pair of bright green gym shorts and nothing else, “Bruno and I could use the help, right Bruno?”

The big, hairy bear behind the bar, dressed in a perfectly shined leather uniform didn’t say anything, but he never said much, really. Ed looked at them both, and then at Marty. He’d been waiting on the stoop of the roadhouse this morning when Mitch Evans had dropped Danny Boy off in his truck. Ed had arrived half an hour later to Danny Boy patting Marty on the back while the young man sobbed, telling him how his dad had kicked him out of the trailer for being a queer. Ed was sympathetic, and it was because he was sympathetic that he was reluctant.

“There’s no way back, you know. You won’t age. You won’t be able to go against my orders. You’d be giving up a whole lot. How about I just hire you as a barback, under the table? You can sleep in the backroom with Bruno, until you get back on your feet–”

“I don’t…” Marty said, and then stopped. “I don’t want to be a barback, Eddie. I want…” he looked over at Danny Boy, where he was standing, but Eddie knew he didn’t want Danny Boy. Marty’s tastes ran decidedly older–and quite a bit ranker–than his green whore. What he wanted was what Danny Boy could do. He could bend men to his will–no man older than forty could resist him. Marty had spent his life powerless, and the power of the whore was immediate and tempting. Ed knew the temptation–he made quite a bit of his living off it, but there was so much more to Marty than that.

“Danny Boy, would you please tell Marty here that your life isn’t as glamorous as you make it seem?”

“Are you kidding? I fucking love my job, daddy.”


Danny strutted over, “What? You made damn sure I like daddy dick, it’s your fault.” He leaned over the bar and gave Ed a deep kiss, before returning to sweeping.

“At least you’re letting him have a choice,” a deep voice said, and they all turned to Bruno.

“No need to go dredge up that old shit again,” Ed said.

Bruno shrugged, “It is fun. It’s…powerful. I know why he wants it.”

“That doesn’t mean he should want it.”

“You can’t protect him, sir, or rather…If you really want to protect him, then you should keep him.” Feeling he’d said enough, we went back to stocking the bar for the evening. Ed scowled at the bear’s wide, hairy back.

“Fine. If it’s really what you want.”


“Yes, but you need to think about it, and be really sure this is what you want. You need to go out, take a walk–make damn sure. Don’t come back until after seven, got it? Or the deals off.”

Marty nodded excitedly, and rushed out the door. Ed sat for a moment, and then turned to Bruno. “You can finish that later, Bruno. We got somewhere to go. You keep cleaning, Danny. We’ll be back in a bit.”

Bruno and Ed waited a few minutes until Marty was a ways off, and then climbed in Ed’s truck and took off towards town, to make a pickup for tonight’s party.


Marty returned at quarter to seven, but Ed wasn’t going to disbar him on a technicality. By nine, he was good and drunk on the house brew, and word had spread around that everyone’s favorite little barback was going to be joining the Roadhouse crew full time, and the betting pool started up, guessing what color he might be representing by the end of the night. At ten, Ed called for silence, helped Marty to a table in the middle of the bar, giving everyone a good view, and then pulled out a bottle of fortified wine, pouring a glass of the deep magenta liquid into a tumbler for the young man.

“Purple?” Marty asked, “What the fuck’s purple? How come I can’t be something cool, like red?”

“Trust me Marty, if there’s anything you’ll enjoy, it’s purple, now drink up.”

The room was silent, but everyone could see that Marty was choking. Suddenly faced with the crucial decision, everything didn’t seem quite so easy as it had in the sober daylight. “I don’t…I don’t know, maybe you were right, maybe this is a bad idea. I don’t…” he stood up.

“Sit down, Marty,” Ed said, and he immediately plopped back down in the chair.

“How…how did you do that?” Marty asked, “I didn’t…”

“Oh Marty, I’m sorry, but one of the first things you’re going to have to learn is that you don’t get to say no–not anymore. Now drink.”

He picked up the glass, hand shaking, trying to spill it out, but then it was at his lips, the acrid liquid in his mouth. It didn’t taste like wine, it tasted like some foul jockstrap which had fermented at the bottom of a laundry heap. It tasted like a bum’s unwashed armpit smeared with rubbing alcohol. It tasted…really damn good. Soon, Marty was being passed around the bar, swigging openly from the bottle, only noticing slightly that he could suddenly distinguish the subtle differences between each roughneck’s musk and sweat as he passed them by. He started lingering more, sniffing and licking necks and bare pits, tasting each of them in turn. His pants had disappeared, as had his shirt. Looking down, he’d grown somewhat leaner, with a bit of a belly, his body smooth, but covered with a riot of purple tattoos that hadn’t been there earlier. He grabbed one pierced nipple with one hand, threw up his other arm, and licked up his own sweat, his hand brushing against something stiff over his head. Looking at himself in the mirror across the room, he saw a bright purple mohawk greased up in spikes six inches high, his head shaved smooth on both sides. In fact, he was hairless aside from a purple goatee, a thick purple bush around his cock, and his thick purple bushes under each arm. Metal studs gleamed magenta all over his face, with studs in his nipples and a thick gauge PA in the head of his cock. He looked so fucking nasty, he fucking loved it.

A whistle sounded behind him, he spun around. “Hey Musky!” Ed said, “Dirty Doug’s got something for you.”

Dirty Doug was one of the roadhouse’s filthiest slobs. Massively fat, he always stank, his hair and clothes unwashed. Marty had always had a bit of a thing for him though, but now, seeing the fat slob bent over, pants down, his crusty crack pointed towards him…he licked his lips, strutted over and got down on his knees. Parting the crack, he admired it for a moment, and then dug in, licking and gnawing at the hole until Doug rewarded his attention with a loud, nasty fart right into his mouth. The hot air was putrid, and Musky moaned loudly as the room cheered. Doug followed it up with a second fart, and Musky felt his cock spasm, spraying cum across the floor in front of him. Dan flipped over and pushed the head of his cock into the whore’s mouth, leg’s up, still farting as Musky sucked, watching his purple eyes roll back in pleasure until Doug finally sprayed a load of cum across his pierced face. He didn’t eat it–instead he rubbed it in. It felt so much hotter, the sticky sensation on his face and skin as it dried.

“Well everyone, why don’t you all give our newest whore a round of applause, eh? Welcome him to the family, Musky!”

Everyone cheered, and inside himself, this new self, Marty sought some sense of shame, but all he felt was pride. He liked the applause. He liked knowing that he’d done his job well.

“Now, however, we have a little surprise for you. See, you not only love stink, you put out quite a bit of it yourself. It’s pretty powerful stuff too, from what I hear. How about we all watch Musky work his magic on someone, eh boys? And it turns out I know just who Musky can use for a test run. Bruno? Bring the man out. Let’s see was Benjamin thinks of his son’s new profession.”

Bruno came out of the back room of the roadhouse, holding a leash, and following behind him was Marty’s father–Benjamin, naked aside from the collar tethered to Bruno’s gloved hand and the shackles binding his hands behind his back. Benjamin glowered at the rest of the crowd, and even spotted a few faces he’d recognized–that he’d trusted. He couldn’t believe how many faggots were surrounding him, and his son. His fucking, faggot son, naked, filthy, pierced…purple. What the fuck had these faggots done to him? Is this why’d he’d been acting so strange these last few months? Well they weren’t going to get him, he was more man than any of these fuckers.

Musky just stared at the man who had caused him so much misery these years, and smiled. He could…smell himself now. And just like Danny Boy, just like Bruno, he had a few tricks up his sleeve too. “Well hey dad,” Musky said, walked over and took the leash from Bruno, yanking his father over and pushing him down into a chair, “Fancy running into you at the Roadhouse. And here, you used to tell me that only faggots came around here.”

“Boy, I don’t know what they did to you, but you have to–”

Musky placed a finger at his father’s lips, “Oh dad, you still don’t get it, do you? This is where I’ve been hanging out, all those nights I told you I was chasing girls. See, I’ve been chasing boys instead. But you know? I’d rather we not talk right now. In fact, what I’d rather see you do is lick.”

Muky sat down in his father’s lap to one side and threw up one arm, shoving his purple bush into his dad’s face. The stench was horrific, but then why wasn’t he pulling away? Why was he leaning in, why was he sniffing deeper, why was he licking at the filthy hairs, tasting his son’s sweat?

“What do you think dad? How do I taste? Seems like you like it,” Musky wrapped the leash in his hand over and over, pulling his dad in tight, but he wasn’t fighting it–he was relishing it. Why was he relishing it? Sure, he’d never been one to shy away from a bit of pit stink, but this was different. This was rank, and yet he couldn’t pull himself back, and when Musky stood up, he was panting, tongue out, sweat or saliva dribbling from his chin, he didn’t know which. “You want the other one, dad? You like my fuckin’ stink?”

“I…” his throat was so dry, “Please don’t, don’t make me like them, don’t…”

“Look at your cock, dad–it’s so hard…” Musky said, wrapping one hand around the shaft, “I didn’t know you got turned on by my stink, like a fuckin’ pig. Are you a fuckin’ stink pig, dad? Is that what you like more than anything in the world?” Musky reached around and dug around in his ass with two fingers, then walked around behind his dad, hooked them into his nose and pulled it back. His father’s eyes rolled back in, and he shuddered, precum seeping from the head of his cock and dribbling back down the shaft. He was snorting the stink in, but he needed more, he fucking needed so much more. His son pulled his fingers out and got down on his hands and knees in front of his dad. “Well come on piggy, get down here and have a taste of my filthy hole.”

Benjamin fell out of his chair and onto his knees with a grunt. He couldn’t support himself with his bound hands, so he had to get close, cock bobbing and swinging cum onto the floor, before he could push his face in between his son’s cheeks and into his ass crack. Something was wrong with him. He shouldn’t want this, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he didn’t want to stop. Musky screwed up his face and let the first fart rip, and the load that had been building flew from the head of his father’s cock, as he spasmed, his nose taking in deep snorts of his son’s gas, but it wasn’t enough. Musky farted again, and Benjamin felt his old self dissolving away, replaced by a desire for filth, for nasty asses and filthy pits, and his son’s especially. Musky reached under himself and starts stroking his pierced cock, getting close, and then he turned around and shot his load all over his father’s face, before getting down and sharing it with him, licking it up, the room cheering around them, and then the men pulled them apart, wanting a piece of them both for themselves.

Benjamin was a staple of the roadhouse from then on, and that first night he’d picked up a few nasty habits, no longer showering, shaving or wiping his ass after a shit. He struck up a friendship, and then a relationship, with Dirty Doug, and usually he could be found with his face plastered in some trucker or biker’s nasty pit, stopping only to take a swig off his beer. But when he could afford it, he’d buy a night with his son and take him home, lick every inch of Musky’s body clean, and his mind would dissolve a bit more, turn even dumber and filthier and nastier, but he couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t want to stop himself. Musky had his own home now though, and things were different, and even hard, at times. But he never once regretted his choice, and he did everything he could to make sure the Roadhouse, and Ed, had a successful, happy future ahead of them.


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