Sneak Peek: Properly Vetted

Patrons at the $5 level or higher already have access to this one! It’s sizable, and got a little bit for everyone! I’ll release the whole story next week, but for now, here’s a sneak peek.


“Sir…it’s about…my boss. About Richard Evans. I know we’ve never spoken before, and I want to thank you for seeing me, and hearing me out. I know you’re promoting him to vice president, but…but I think there’s some things you need to know about him, first.”

Kyle squirmed a bit in his seat, wondering if the older man across from him was going to say anything at all. The man in question was Gary Olson–the rather enigmatic CEO who had recently acquired the company where Kyle worked as a software engineer. Why Mr. Olson had acquired them, his plans for the company–everything was in the dark, aside from a cryptic letter the entire staff had received a few weeks before, announcing the shift in leadership. Kyle hadn’t even set eyes on him until this moment, and he wasn’t quite the sort of man he was expecting. He was…short, and a bit squat. Fat, with a heavy second chin obscuring the knot of his tie. Balding. Not very…commanding, and yet his eyes…were chilling somehow. Stone grey, and he didn’t quite seem to blink as often as a normal person. He hadn’t stopped staring at Kyle the entire time he’d been here, and he was already beginning to wonder if this was a good idea or not…but he had to say something, didn’t he? After the things Richard had…been doing to him, lately? 

He supposed he had waited long enough–Mr. Olson was still silent, and so Kyle figured he might as well just say it. “He’s been harassing me, sir. Sexually. Since about the time his promotion was announced in my department. I…He was never like that before, but…I didn’t even know he was gay, but it’s like…the power went to his head. One day he was fine, and then the next…”

Mr. Olson reacted, at last, and leaned forward, elbows on his desk, still gazing at Kyle with those stony eyes. “I see–that is a serious accusation to make against a member of our staff.”

“I know sir,” Kyle said, “But it’s the truth.”

“What has he done, Mr. Porter? Please be specific–spare me no detail. I want to hear it in your own words, if you would please,” Mr. Olson smiled then…but it did not seem particularly kind, or like it was meant to help put him at ease. It just made Kyle even more nervous. 

“Uh…well, the first…” He gulped, looked to the door for a moment, and then back at the CEO staring him down. “It was the day after I heard about it. He came by my cubicle, and I congratulated him, and…and he leaned over me, and whispered some…awful stuff in my ear, and while he did, he reached down into my lap and groped my…crotch.”

“What did he say?” Mr. Olson asked.

“I…It was…sexual and…I don’t know if–”

“I need details, Mr. Porter. Please be specific.”

“He told me…he told me that he was going to have a personal little piggy once he became VP, and that he’d decided that the piggy was going to be…me. That I was going to be his little fuckpig, his dirty little pig whore, that he was going to fuck me over the side of his desk, and…and I was going to beg and snort for it like a good little beast…” 

Kyle gave a grunt, and realized, to his horror, that one of his hands had found its way into his pants, and was currently milking his cock, right there in front of the CEO, while he recounted how his boss had talked dirty to him. His face turned bright red, and he pulled his hand free–Mr. Olson just smiled a little wider as he did.

“Did you like it, when he called you a pig?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Did you like it, Mr. Porter, when Mr. Evan’s called you a pig? It looked like, for a second there, that you were almost enjoying yourself.”

“I…I’m sorry sir, maybe…maybe this was a mistake, I…I think I should go–”

“I’m afraid that I would much rather hear more about how Mr. Evan’s has been treating you, Mr. Porter, but first–please stand up from that chair.”

Kyle slowly stood up, not sure what was going on.

“Take off your clothes, please.”

“I don’t…excuse me, sir?” Kyle said, but he noticed something odd–that while he didn’t want his hands to do it…they were already unbuttoning his shirt down the front. He tried to make them stop, or even just slow down, but they were operating without him directing them, somehow. “I don’t…why can’t I–”

“Stop talking–and just strip.”

Kyle’s mouth glued itself shut, and his hands kept undoing his clothes in front of the CEO, Kyle trying to get a grip on himself and what he was doing, but more and more, it all just felt like some fucked up dream he had somehow wandered into. He tried pinching himself, but it had no effect–he dropped his shirt on the floor, took off his shoes, dropped his pants and underwear, and then he was naked, shaking slightly, horrified at what he was doing and unable to understand why he was doing it at all. He went to sit back down in the chair, but Mr. Olson shook his head. “No, stay standing, and tell me what else Mr. Evan’s has been doing to you, that made you so uncomfortable.”

“Well, he…he whispered all those things to me, and I told him to stop, that it wasn’t appropriate, and he…he showed me his cock, sir.”

“Just showed it to you?”

“He…made me suck him off.”

“He made you suck him off–just like that? How did he make you do it? Did you yell for help?”

“No…No sir.”

“Did you try and get away?”

“At first sir, but…”

“But what?”

But he’d liked it. He could feel Richard’s hand around his throat, squeezing until he saw stars, his mouth popping open, and he swallowed his boss’s cock, and…and he’d liked it. The taste of it, the feel of it. He’d felt…ashamed that he’d liked it, but it didn’t change the facts, did it? 

“Why is your cock getting hard, Mr. Porter? Are you thinking about how much you liked his cock? Did you really come in here today to complain, Mr. Porter, or is there something else you’d like to tell me? Something you’d like to ask?”

“That’s…that’s not all he’s done sir, it got worse. It got…worse today, especially, please…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I’m doing this…I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be his…his pig sir, please…”

Mr. Olson leaned back in his chair, one hand in his crotch, massaging his own cock, while he stared at Kyle on the other side, completely naked, chubby, his three inch cock at perfect attention. Still…there was something there that was appealing to Gary–Kyle would make a good pig for the rest of the office, just as Mr. Evans had suggested, but maybe…well, he’d have to press him a little more, see what he thought of him himself. “What happened today then? Spare me no details, Mr. Porter.”

Kyle gulped, unable to believe he was going to say this. He didn’t even really have words for it himself, he was still so…horrified, at what what Richard had done, at what…at what he’d allowed him to do to him. “I…I was in the bathroom. I had to piss,” he said, and swallowed. “I had to piss, and I think…he saw he go in, because I was at the urinal when he came in behind me, and he told me that, as the boss, he needed to piss first. I didn’t know what to do, so I moved out of the way of the urinal, but he…he shoved me down, onto my knees, got his cock out, and pushed the head into my mouth, and he…he pissed down my throat, sir. He fed me his piss, right there in the bathroom. I…I felt so fucking dirty sir, like a dirty fucking pig, but I was so afraid someone would see me, would…would, I don’t know…I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t stop myself, like…I have to do what he says. He’s doing something to me. He’s in my head! I wasn’t…this fat, before, and my cock was bigger, and…and I feel like I’m going crazy sir, you have to believe me! This isn’t normal. He told me…told me I was going to be his personal urinal from now on, and he’d…I’d have to eat out his ass too, after he shits, and…and then he fucked me. He fucked me right there, at the urinal, plowed me so hard, and my little pig cock fucking exploded all over the dirty urinal, and he made me lick it up while he laughed.”

Mr. Olson just sat there, in the silence after that, groping himself, and smiling at Kyle across from him. “And you just let him do all of that to you? He did all that, and you still came like a little dirty pig?”

Kyle gulped, and nodded in shame.

“Mr. Olson stood up from his chair, and came around to where Kyle was standing. “You still thirsty pig?” he asked, “You wanna drink my piss too? Eat out my ass? Beg me to fuck that fat, piggy hole of yours for a while? Is that why you came in here, telling me all of this? You want me to get all horny for that fat ass of yours, is that it?”

“No–No sir, please don’t…I don’t want this!”

Mr. Olson stepped closer to him, eye to eye, and stared right into Kyle. His eyes…fuck, they were so intense, that Kyle didn’t want to keep his gaze, but he couldn’t look away, and after a moment, Mr. Olson stepped back. “Well, maybe you’re right. You’re a willful one, I’ll give you that. I don’t know if Evans properly vetted you for the position. Maybe we should have him come in, and we can see about this together…”


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The House Made Me Gay (Part 9)

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on then, let’s get you home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

The Journal of Peter Bishop

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


Report 4610-12 of the Special Investigations Bureau

Overview

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

***

July 16th, 2017 

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

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

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

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

***

July 17th. 

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

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

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

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

[…]

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

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

[…]

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

***

July 19th

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

***

July 20th

[…]

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

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

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

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

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

[…]

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

[…]

***

July 21st

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

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

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

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

[…]

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

[…]

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

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

[…]

***

July 22nd

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

[…]

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

[…]

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

***

July 23rd

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

[…]

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

***

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

[…]

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

[…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[…] 

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

[…]

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

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

[…]

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

***

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

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

[…]

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

[…]

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

[…]

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

[…]

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

***

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

June 7th, 2018

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

***

Further Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

The Hog King

A gift for a certain someone’s birthday.

Warning!: This story has some weird stuff in it. Cockvore, cock to pussy tf, mpreg. Read at your own risk!


It had been three years since the Emperor–as the leader of the rebellion had called himself–had emerged to challenge the King’s rule. Laughable, really–no one had even understood what the rebels had wanted. The realm was prosperous, at least for the wealthy, but who cared about the peasants really, so long as they were contained–and the King contained them well. It was assumed that the local levy would be enough to contain the initial uprising–but then it spread, and with it, came the first of the rumors of this so-called Emperor.

A giant, they said. Ten feet tall, packed with muscle, massive beard and hair in thick braids, swinging a monsterous axe. Powers–impossible powers. Controlling minds, swallowing men whole. A cannibal, a wizard, a monster. The King was undaunted, of course. These were just rumors–effective ones against the local dukes and counts, who were coming to pester him more and more for aid and assistance, telling him that he simply didn’t understand the threat. The Emperor–he was doing something to the people. Changing them. He could take anyone, no matter how feeble and weak, and turn them into violent brutes seemingly overnight, willing to do and sacrifice anything for their new Emperor. 

Did he want treasure? Prestige? A title of his own? When it became clear that the rebellion would soon spark a proper civil war, the King called for parlay, and sent a team of diplomats in good faith, to determine what this so called Emperor desired–but the men who returned, claiming that they were the same men the King had sent…it couldn’t be true. They were twisted somehow, corrupted. One had grown massively obese, and was carried back on a palanquin by the guard, no longer able to stand. One had become some inhuman beast, caged. Another, so old he seemed to be in his 90’s, barely able to speak. With them, an Emissary of the Emperor himself, with a simple message. Bend the knee. Submit to the Emperor, and he will give you mercy. Or else, you will become a toy, like these.

He ordered the Emissary jailed, but he escaped the dungeons–leading the King to believe there were already traitors in his midst. Seeing no other option, he rallied all of his troops, hired in several bands of mercenaries from neighboring kingdoms, and set out to crush the revolt once and for all–but things did not go as planned. The army he faced was vast–like every peasant in the land had become a soldier in the army itself. Their morale was great–every single soldier fought with a single minded devotion to the Emperor that the King’s trove of gold could never hope to inspire in his own army. The Emperor did not even enter the field–there was no need. The King’s armies were shattered, and the King himself sent scurrying away–but his castle had fallen as well, while he was away. His heirs were hidden, sent to other kingdoms, and the King was reduced to a mere scoundrel, hiding as the monstrous army pursued him–but even that had come to an end now. Betrayed once more, he was now here. Back in his own castle, in the dungeons, with his own King’s guard imprisoned with him. His luxurious garments gone, now clothed only in rags. He had been crushed, and today, he had been told, the emperor would crown him with his fate.

He did not know what that meant. Execution, most likely. It’s what he would do, what he would have done to the Emperor had he emerged victorious. Now here he was, 33 years old, a thriving and prosperous reign brought to an end by some violent sorcerer’s ego and lust for power. He had been a good king, he told himself. And if he was to die today, so be it–at least he never beant the knee to the cretin. They were men–him and his guard. They would die like men too. 

There came a sound from the stairs, and a sizable regiment of the Emperor’s troops came to the dungeons. These ones seemed…mostly normal. As normal as any of the Emperor’s minions seemed. Still human, at least. Some of the beasts on the battlefields…Men with the heads of boars, and the claws of bears. Small dog men speeding through the ranks, tearing at flesh with razor sharp fangs. It was impossible. A nightmare. These guards, though hairy, and naked, each with a cock at least a foot long, stinking of blood and sex…this was easy to comprehend, compared to some of what the King had now seen. To think, he had imagined them rumors. Still, though, he had not once laid eyes on the Emperor himself–and over these three years, the rumors of him had grown only more and more monstrous. Who knew what awaited him in his own throne room, even now?

The guards hauled the King and his guard from their cells, shackled them together in a line, and marched them up from the depths, for their audience with the Emperor. The halls had been stripped bare for the most part, and every part of the castle was packed with heathens and warriors–and more than once, the King saw them fucking one another, in twos, and threes, the most despicable, blasphemous acts…what was to become of his noble kingdom, under the rule of this perverse tyrant? He felt despair, thinking of his court, of the noble houses, most of them now doomed to end. He doubted the Emperor would stop at his own kingdom–and if he could do this here, he could anywhere. What could possibly stop him?

They came to the throne room doors, and even the King could not stop a shudder from running through him–though he did his best to keep his men from seeing it. He held his head high–ready to face him. The guards opened the doors, marched them inside, and the King gazed upon him for the first time…and he could not help but gasp. 

He had heard rumors, so many rumors, but nothing compared to the man he now laid eyes on, if man was even the term anymore. The throne had been removed–the Emperor could have never fit upon it anyway, and he now merely sat at the top of the steps, a 25 foot giant. How had he even entered here, the King wondered? He looked, and saw one wall of the room had been demolished, a ramp constructed up the side–most likely just for him. Just the sight of a man so impossibly large was enough to make some of the men in the group pause, and one of them fell to his knees, astounded that this–this is who they had been fighting. How could they have ever hoped to win against something such as this?

The guards forced them all upright and into motion again. The King did his best to reclaim his calm–but he was shaken. How could he not be? A lion, the men fleeing the battlefield had called him. Now he saw that the metaphor was more apt than he could have imagined. Human, yes, but the Emperor’s hair was long, and impossibly thick, streaming around his face in a mane. In the dark room, it was…well, it was difficult to know what color it was. It seemed to shift, depending on how far away he was, and how much light shone on him–deep auburn, fiery red, golden blonde. The mane was perfectly braided, and each braid cascaded down the whole length of his person, pooling around him in massive coils, all the way to his bare feet. The rest of his body was hairy–but enough that skin could be seen in most places. Bristly hair, almost like a boar.

Closer still, more fine details appeared to him. The massive hands capped not with nails, but with claws–long, black claws manicured perfectly–enough that the hand was still usable, but plenty deadly to a challenger. The same was true of his feet as well. What he had first thought mere flesh between the Emperor’s legs became apparent as his cock–but it seemed impossible too. The thing was huge–nearly as thick as an entire man, and easily six or eight feet long. Then there were the eyes. The King could only hold the Emperor’s gaze for a moment, before he would look away, head swimming, What were the eyes, even? There was something there, something else, something deep, and ancient, and horrifying. Something older than humanity. He looked again, struggling to hold his eyes there, showing that he would not be bent, and the irises, like the hair, were constantly shifting in color, and…and it was beautiful.

The Emperor was beautiful. He was a monster, but looking at him there, he was regal. He was an animal, but one conscious of his own nature, one capable of presenting himself as civilized. Had he been a man before this, or was he some beast, raised up by sorcery? He trembled then, and did not feel the tears running down his face, before he finally looked back away, and nearly fell. The Emperor had seen inside him, he could feel it. Had been pawing and clawing across his mind, in that moment they had shared that gaze. The King had barely scratched the surface, but he was sure the Emperor already knew more about him than his closest advisors.

“There you are, My King!” the Emperor said, and laughed, a great booming laugh that sent the stone walls and floors shuddering. “So generous of you to finally grace me with your presence and full attention after all of these years. I have been looking forward to this moment for so very long, I assure you.” The Emperor bared his teeth in a smile–the fangs were sharp, and glistened with drool, the mouth…too wide, somehow, more like the jaws of some unseen beast.

“I know not what you wish from me,” The King said, doing everything he could to keep his posture upright, and still, “But spare my men–I will accept whatever punishment you wish. Have mercy on them, and the rest of the kingdom.”

The emperor just laughed some more, and the beasts in the room laughed with him. The calmest was the Emissary, who simply smiled in his cloak off to the side. “Nonsense King! You think I have brought you here to punish you? This is your coronation!”

The Emissary pulled something out from behind the massive Emperor then, and the King saw that the vault had been raided–there, in the Emissary’s hands, was his crown–apparently untouched. Every jewel still in place. What sort of game was this? It did not make any sense to him. Why not take the jewels? Melt the gold? The Emissary came forward, crown held gently between his hands. The King tried to make sense of him–as far as he could tell, he was fully human–so why side with these beasts?

“Now, King–kneel, and allow me to crown you once again–and you can assume your rightful place in my empire.”

He did not move. This was a trap–he could sense it. Two guards grabbed him however, and unchained him from the rest of his men. He struggled, but they were two strong–the two stinking brutes dragged him forward, and forced him to his knees before the Emissary–who gently–ever so gently, set the King’s crown upon his head–and it began to glow with a slight, golden light–and the King felt a filthy, corruption spread down through his head and into his body.

The King gave a grunt, and collapsed to his hands and knees, but forced his head up to look at the Emperor, determined to remain steadfast against the corruption suffusing him–but there was no amount of willpower that could stop what was to come. He felt his body churning, his gut grumbling, and it began to expand, his young muscles withering away as his body filled with fat. He tried to push it in with his hands, but there was nothing he could do as he swelled–another hundred pounds, and then another–fatter than any man the King had ever laid eyes on–other than his one-time diplomat, he supposed. His rags fought as hard as they could, but they shredded away in moments, leaving him naked on the ground before everyone, grunting and wheezing, feeling his vitality, too, begin to sap away.

He was getting older. His hair growing longer and receding, leaving a thin horseshoe of long, greying locks around the back of his head. He reached up to his face, feeling his sagging jowls, a beard pushing through as well, growing just as long and knotted down in front of him. He could smell himself now–the corruption seeping out from his very pores, and as much as he wanted to be disgusted at himself…he found himself relishing it. Groping his fat body, smelling the stink rising from his unwashed fat. More grey, bristly hair erupted from his skin–mostly down his back, his skin toughening into a leathery hide. His hands and feet felt like they were in a vice–fingers crushing down into hard, clumsy trotters–the same with his feet–and lastly, his face began to push out into a short, pig’s snout–though anyone would have been able to recognize him for who he’d been–as the king. The magic seered through the crown, and it began to melt and warp around the King’s fat head, now just a mass of golden, tarnished metal and dull jewels–it was far too warped for it ever to be removed–but then why would he want to remove it! He was the King! The Hog King!

The Emperor, seeing that the transformation of his rival was coming to an end, took a deep breath from his massive pipe, and pushed out two massive streams of smoke from his nose. They wound towards the King, wrapping around his arms and legs, lifting him into the air, and solidifying into a sling made of solid smoke–the changed King now facing his own men–and they gasped at the sight. Where the King’s cock had been moments ago, there was now a massive set of labia, drooling on the floor under him, the King reaching down with one trottered hand to push inside it, squealing as he did in filthy, forbidden pleasure. 

The new Hog King saw his men there, saw the horror on their faces, but why were they so horrified? Could they not see him in all of his glory? Crowned again, victorious at last! They…they would serve him–yes, serve him in all of his needs! “Fuck me!” he squealed, “Fuck your Hog King, men! Shove your cocks in my dirty pussy, I command it!”

All they could do was stare. One man, shuddered and turned away, unable to bear the sight of his King, the man he had fought beside for years, reduced…to this monstrosity. None of them stepped forward to obey him, and the King grew enraged, grunting and snorting in his sling, unable to get out, shouting for them to fuck him, to fuck him rough, to service him as he demanded!

“Well, your King has given you an order–do you not obey him? Have you not each sworn an oath to him? I have heard from other knights, that your oaths are all that separate you from the beasts of the land who prey on the innocent–are you all so easily convinced to cast them aside?” the Emperor said.

“You vile, horrific abomination!” One of the knights spit at him, “I will not let you taunt us with this thing, with this cursed beast. He is not out King, and you will never rule us either!”

The room fell quiet, and the Emperor considered the man carefully for a moment, and then one of the Emperor’s long braids shot out, coiled itself around the outspoken knight, and hoisted him into the air, drawing him across the throne room to where the Emperor reclined. “Ah–if you will not obey your king then, I suppose that is treason against the crown–isn’t that right, my King Hog?”

The King snorted in agreement, and again demanded the remaining knights fuck him–but they all stood there, watching the knight struggle against the coils, his face turning slightly blue, as the Emperor’s cock began to writhe on the ground, the head rearing up like some nightmarish worm. “Well, I suppose my cock is a bit peckish–I knew one of you would have to be an example in any case–so I skipped breakfast.”

The knight tried to scream, but could not find the air, as the head of the Emperor’s cock surged up, and swallowed his feet down into the maw. The Emperor took his time, and the only sound in the room was the King’s squeals and petulant demands, as the knight slowly disappeared down the Emperor’s urethra, his legs, then his torso, until just his head remained free from the neck up–and then even that was swallowed up. The knights watched as he struggled in the shaft for a minute, and then went quiet–just a bulge in the middle of the Emperor’s massive cock, that was pulled a few feet further towards the root every few moments, until it was gone all together–and then they saw the King’s balls swell, and a trickle of precum began to flow from the head of his cock onto the floor of the room.

“Yes–that’s much better. I only have room for a few of you in here though,” he said to the knights, “The rest, I think, I will slide into my ass–I do love feeling you squirm and thrash inside there. Now–obey your king, or you know what fate your Emperor has in store for you now.”

The knights were pale, and quiet. Finally, one of them stepped forward, up to the King, and pulled out his cock. This close, the man could smell the King’s pussy, the corruption flowing from it, and his cock stiffened immediately, and he forced it inside, losing control of himself almost immediately as the King urged him to fuck harder, and deeper–and the knight, too, began to change. Back broadening as he grew taller, packing on fat and muscle, face contorting into a bestial caricature of his former self. He fucked harder and harder, spewing precum into the King’s pussy, his brains draining, until with a final roar, he came after a few minutes–fully changed into one of the Emperor’s elite warriors. He pulled free, his cock now fully porcine, and went to stand with his fellow men.

One by one, the knights all accepted their fate, fucked their king, and became one more soldier in the Emperor’s massive army. No where near sated, the King began demanding more–cum dribbling from his pussy down onto the floor below him, but the Emperor silenced him with a word. “Take the King down into the courtyard. He will be displayed and made available to all the men for the next week–you of his former guard will see to his other needs of course, keep him fed and well watered. After seven days, the king shall take his place in the harem, with the other breeders–I’m sure he will have a load of piglets brewing by then.”

The warriors all hurried to obey their Emperor’s orders, and he relaxed–knowing that the war was now won. All that remained was to hunt down the King’s heirs and bring them here–but that task was already underway. They would be brought unchanged, just as their father had been–but they would see him–the new Hog King he had become, and then they, too, would likely join him in the Emperor’s breeding stock. After all, royal lineage had power–and he would need power, for his plans to come.

Sketch: New Sheriff in Town

It was Eta Alpha Sigma’s first party of the year, and so of course that meant it had to be as loud as the boys could make it–the frat president, a senior named Evan–had told his bros to make sure of it. The college they attended was in a small sleepy farming town away from the states big cities–you could say that EAS’s first party of the year was always the towns wakeup call that school was back in session, after its quiet summer.

As usual, it didn’t take more than a couple of hours before there was the sound of the siren, and a patrol car pulled up in front of the booming house. It was tradition, really, and Evan knew what to do. He stepped outside, and walked down to where the cop was getting out…except it was a new face he didn’t recognize. The way things had usually gone were like this–frat president would give police chief his bribe for the year on the first night of the party, and cops wouldn’t show up after that for the rest of the year. “You’re a new face, man,” Evan said, already counting out hundreds he’d gotten from his wealthy father.

“Last sheriff retired–newly elected in August. Just started this week,” the new sheriff said. He came around, and his shirt read “Sheriff Dinvers.”

“Well, Mr. Dinvers–here’s the deal. Two thousand dollars in your pocket, and you don’t show up here for the rest of the year, got it?”

Apparently, he didn’t, because before Evan really knew what was happening, the sheriff had him against the car for attempting to bribe an officer of the county, handcuffed him, shoved him in the back of his car, and drove off–and the party continued on, none the wiser that the frat president had just been arrested.

Evan threw a fit, naturally, threatening Dinvers with all sorts of legal trouble once his father heard about this–but he realized, quickly, that they weren’t heading to the police station–instead, the sheriff drove him to a large warehouse, drove into it, and parked. “Now boy, I campaigned on change in this town, and a whole lot of us who live here are pretty sick and tired of you fucking frats making our lives hell nine months out of the year. I know all ya’ll got rich fuck parents, and I don’t give a shit–because I know how to get results–and I get a little something I like out of the bargain too.” The last part he whispered into Evan’s ear as he dragged him from the cop car, and over to a chair facing a screen in a little room. Evan fought and screamed, but the sheriff injected him with some sort of drug–and Evan calmed down quickly.

The sheriff bound him to the chair, pointed him at the screen, and turned on the projector–and a spiral started playing on the wall, along with a strange soundtrack–almost words, but layered on top of each other so Evan couldn’t quite tell what they were saying. The sheriff put in some earplugs, and as Evan sank into a drug induced trance, he went to work, cutting away the boys expensive clothes–and then the real fun began–he turned on the shaver and buzzed away the pretty boy’s hair–the first of several changes he’d be making to the president’s image tonight.


No one knew where Evan had disappeared to, until late the next day, when the patrol car arrived, dropped Evan off in an orange prison jumpsuit, his head shaved, and holloweyed like he didn’t sleep a wink all night. The frat was pissed, of course–they wanted to know what they were going to do for revenge, but Evan just told them to calm down. They’d sort it out, but first he needed to rest. Alone in his room, he looked at his bare head, then pulled off the jumpsuit, carefully, feeling the welts and bruises on his back where the sheriff had…flogged him. Evan had begged him for it, his cock had exploded in the middle of the session, and that’s when the sheriff had put this on him–he looked down at the metal chastity device, riveted in place, and shuddered. Evan…had his orders. He knew what he had to do, if he ever wanted that to come off his cock again. 

He came clean a couple days later. Everything–the bribes, the embezzlement, the coverups for crimes by the college and by the fraternity themselves, the rapes, the beatings, the occasional death by hazing during pledge week–all of it. He’d agreed to a reduced penalty with the county sheriff for coming clean, and within a week, EAS had been dissolved on campus, the brothers all caught up in their own parts of the scandal as their wealthy families tried to shield them. Most transferred to other colleges, a few faced charges of their own. The other frats on campus knew that a warning shot had been fired all the same–the town wasn’t going to let their antics go anymore–they had better shape up, or they would be next.

But Evan didn’t care about that. All he could think about was the words running through his head, how…good it had felt, chained to the wall, the feel of that flogger on his back, his aching cock trapped in this tiny cage. He found himself alone in the office with the sheriff, and he broke down, and begged him to release him. He’d done everything he’d asked for, he’d followed his orders to the letter–just let his cock go, that was all he needed…wasn’t it?

Sheriff Dinvers just laughed. “Pig–I don’t think you’re done here, not by a long shot. I told you if you did as I said, you’d earn a chance at getting that cage off–remember that?” He said, and pushed his boot between the boy’s knees where he was kneeling, tapping the cage with one toe of his shiny black boot. “What do you think, you wanna try and earn it? Then lick my boot, pig.”

Evan gave a little squeal of indecision. He knew–he knew–that if he did this…his old life was forfeit. The sheriff had him right where he wanted him. He…could leave. Get the cage off somewhere, even if he had to tell his dad what he’d done. He’d disown him, sure, but…but what he wanted was the feel of that flogger again. To feel the whip the sheriff had threatened him with. Feel that cock in his hole again, do anything for this rough, masculine, domineering…

His tongue was on the boot before he could even really form the thought–and he knew he was lost. The conditioning was too deep already, and he…wanted it. “That’s a good pig–why don’t you come on home with me, and we’ll have some fun?”


Evan didn’t finish college that year. He dropped out a couple of weeks after selling his stuff, told his dad he didn’t want anything to do with the family anymore, and left–he didn’t tell anyone where he was going, but he didn’t go far–he moved right in with the sheriff, so his real training, and transformation, could begin. He lived down in the dungeon, eating a strict–and massive–diet. If he was going to be the sheriff’s pig, he was going to have to look, like one, wasn’t he? He packed on weight, and he was educated in all manners of sex–piss play, fisting, bondage–but it was the pain he loved the most. When he’d been a good pig, and done all his chores, and made his weight goals, and shown he was worthy–Master would undo the cage for a session, and beat the pig raw until he came, and then lock him back up again–and cuddle with him upstairs in the bed, tending to his back, admiring the growing web of scars forming on the young pig’s hide–and tell him how proud he was of him.

A couple years later, a new deputy joined the force. He was the sheriff’s cousin, or so he said. He was a tubby fellow, but capable, and more than willing to help out the department in whatever way they needed. He always had his collar buttoned to the top, his tie knotted tight–so he could hide his slave collar underneath. He was also always mindful of his cuffs–less he expose the riot of perverse, piggy tattoos his uncle–his master–had started putting on him. But his back was always kept clean–just the scars there, showing him for what he really was. A fat pain pig, and that was all Evan wanted to be, for the rest of his life.

Caption: A Real American Pig

Thanks to PatchPig for the photo and inspiration for this one.


Bernard had lived in Britain all his life, but for years, he’d wanted to cross the Atlantic to visit the United States. He loved American movies, loved hosting American tourists–there was something about the place that felt so much more free than the stodginess of London where he’d always lived. Finally, at last, he’d saved up enough to afford a good long vacation–but when it came time to decide where to go, he was a bit…lost. The place was so damn big! New York? DC? Hollywood? In the end, he decided to chance it–he threw a dart, and it ended up in a state called Kentucky. He booked a flight, rented a car, and figured he’d spend the month driving around the states, and just seeing what he found.

Kentucky wasn’t quite what he was expecting, in all honesty–but it wasn’t necessarily bad, either. His accent drew a lot of odd looks, and he had a hard time understanding what some of the Americans were even saying too, but he was determined to enjoy himself. This, he thought, would be more authentic–not like the cities. Get to know the real America–if there was such a thing anywhere.

The deeper into the state he went, the more suspicious people seemed towards him. The funny jokes seemed a bit meaner, people were little more suspicious of him, though usually lightened up quickly when they saw he had money to spend, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a bad decision after all. At least, until the night at the little truckstop on the highway, where he stopped to get a room for the night and a meal–that ended up changing everything.

The guys in the bar laughed at him, when they heard him talk. Told him he sounded like some uptight rich fucker, just because he had a british accent. They told him to skip the beer for a moment, and have a sip of Jeb’s moonshine–an old fucker in the corner, who shoved a mason jar of clear spirit into Bernard’s fist. The guys all told him to drink up, and Bernard gave into the pressure–but he didn’t remember much that happened after that. In fact, Bernard never left the bar–the guy who stumbled out of the motel at the truckstop the next morning wasn’t Bernard at all.

Bernie knew something was wrong, that something had changed. These weren’t his clothes, he hadn’t been this fat, and his accent was all wrong–he was talking like these American hicks, not like where he’d come from. His wallet was gone, as was his car–he had nowhere to go, so he ended up moping in his hotel room–though he took a quick jaunt over to the shop at the truckstop, and used a little cash he found on the nightstand to buy some cigarettes and cheap, American beer.

Already a bit drunk, when he saw that the same guys had gone to the bar that evening, he demanded to know what they’d done to him. The guys all jeered at him, told him he just needed a good girl to help sort him out–but Bernie told them he was gay, and that he wanted them to put him back the way he was before all of this, or else he’d get the police. Things in the bar quieted down after that, at least until the guys pinned the faggot down, forced some more moonshine into him, and took turns fucking the pigs holes.

Bernie still lives at the truck stop. He pumps gas, cleans the showers, and sucks any man’s cock who needs it. He’s too stupid to think about much, but on occasion, he’ll look at his slobby mug in the filthy mirror of the truck stop, plastered with cum more often than not, and try to remember a voice. A voice he’d had–but one he’d lost forever.