Marv’s Doghouse (Part 2)

It was not a new doghouse by any means, in fact, it looked like it had housed quite a few pooches since it had been built, and it smelled like it too. The scent was strong enough, in fact, that when Marv threw off the tarp, it caught Ben off guard, making him sneeze.

“Finally got the last thing from my old place! Fucking moving company lost it, can you believe it? Offered to buy me a new one, but I made the fuckers hunt the thing down and it get to me. Some things can’t be replaced, you know?”

Ben did not know. As soon as something around his home began to show signs of wear, or no longer served its function, you just bought a new one. Isn’t that what normal people did? “It seems pretty old…”

“It’s been in my family for years, ever since my great uncle built it. Been wanting a new dog, but I’ve had to wait until I got the proper housing for it. Can’t have a proper dog without a proper doghouse.”

“Oh…do you have a breeder lined up yet?”

“Oh no, I only adopt.”

“Oh, well that’s good I suppose…so, do you need help lifting it?”

“That’s the idea! I could probably get it myself, but with the gate and all, it’s easier with a helper. You don’t mind, do you?”

It seemed like an easy enough task. Ben helped Marv get it to the edge of the truck bed, and then together, they hefted it up and carried it between the two of them over to the gate. Ben held it for a moment while Marv fished the latch open, and with his face pressed to the wood, he was again struck by the scent of the little dwelling. If the thing had been lost for so many months, then how in the world did the scent seem so…fresh? Ben had never been one to own a pet–especially a dog. It seemed like far too much effort on a thing that wouldn’t bring much reward–and if they smelled like this, then that gave him yet another reason to pass. But as they got it into the backyard, he reconsidered. It didn’t smell that bad, really. In fact, there was something about it that he almost…enjoyed? It was hard to explain what, exactly, he liked about it, but it was…comforting. They set it down in a corner of the yard, and Ben could finally take a look around the place–the closest he, or any of his other neighbors, had gotten to Marv’s house since he’d moved in. The backyard wasn’t much to look at, however–it had been as poorly maintained as the front was–though even more overgrown.

“You know, you can borrow my lawnmower anytime, Marv,” Ben said, kicking some of the ankle high grass.

The older fellow laughed, “Yeah, but why bother? It just keeps growing.”

“Yeah, that’s why you cut it.”

“No, you cut it to show everyone else that you cut it,” Marv said, with a wink. “Ya’ll do a lot of things so other people see you do them. Never been much interest to me–more interested in not being seen doing much.”

“It shows.”

“Yeah? Thanks! I’m pretty good at it.”

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to say to that–it wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the conversation might go, he supposed he should excuse himself and head back to his house, but something was making him linger. As overgrown and empty as the backyard was, just like the dog house next to him, there was something…comforting about it. Maybe…Maybe he was doing it wrong. It was a lot of work, after all (or rather, it would be without the help he hired to take care of it each week) and he didn’t know why, but this did seem easier. Like he could just settle down into the grass, next to the dog house, laze about all day…but that was silly, right? Very silly. He needed to get going, after all, there were things he had to do.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll probably head back.”

“Leaving already?” Marv said, “Stick around. There’s beer in the fridge, and I owe you a thank you drink at least, don’t I?”

It was a good offer, and the longer he stood there, the more he did, kind of, want to stay…and it was that sensation of comfort which he found himself distrusting more and more. Why did he want to be here, suddenly? He shouldn’t, right? The place looked like a dump, and even though all of the curtains were drawn, he had little doubt that inside would look much like the outside. “Katie is…expecting me actually, I should go–but maybe some other time.”

Before he could head to the gate, however, Marv was next to him, threw an arm around him, and a new scent hit him–it was Marv. The smell–it had the same…punch as the dog house and the yard did, but perhaps even stronger, and his legs went a bit weak. “Come on now, boy. You want to stay and have a drink with me.”

“Yeah…yeah, I do…” he muttered, and as he did, he felt…good. Good to agree with Marv, good to obey him. He felt good, and he also felt his cock stir in the front of the khakis he had on.

“Good boy,” Marv said, gave Ben a scritch behind the ears, and then headed for the house. Stay out here for a bit–I’ll just be a few minutes. You know how to stay, right boy?”

Marv’s Doghouse (Part 1)

It was a nice life–the sort of life Ben had always wanted. A nice job that he only hated some of the time, a house of his own on a quiet, suburban cul-de-sac, and last year he’d gotten married to a lovely woman, and they were planning on starting the rest of their family soon. He’d made it–from here on out, it would be smooth sailing, and maybe an early retirement. Boring, safe, pleasant and happy. That’s what he wanted. So when their new neighbor moved in–an older fellow by the name of Marv–he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. He was probably twenty years older than Ben, but it was clear his life was not nearly as on track as his own. From the look of the truck he drove up, he worked in construction or something similar–no wife, no family. He was just…alone.

Of course, Ben didn’t really have much interest in his neighbors. He was pleasant, and he expected pleasantness in return, but beyond that, he preferred everyone else stayed out of his business. He especially felt that way about Marvin, though he found it difficult to explain why he felt uneasy around the older man. It was, perhaps, because despite the fact that his life seemed rather unfulfilled, he was, all the same, rather…happy. Or if he wasn’t happy, he could put on a very convincing happy face. And so, Ben found himself thinking and watching and wondering about Marv more than many of his other, much more normal neighbors. The others were like him, and in their normalcy, more transparent. He didn’t know the details–he could infer the rest from the jobs, the wives, the pets, the children. But over the next few months, as Marv settled into the cul-de-sac, it was clear that he was not cut from the same normal cloth as the rest of them.

The lawn was overgrown, and where everyone else conscientiously watered the grass all summer, he let his grow too long and it browned it several patches from the heat and sparse rain. The rest of the landscaping went unattended, and by early fall it was also overgrown and full of weeds. A few of the neighbors tried to mention it to him, and hint at the fact that his growing eyesore was possibly wounding their own property values, but as understanding as he would appear, nothing would change, and without as all powerful HOA there was little anything anyone could do but watch, and gossip, and wonder. No one could really know, what took place inside that house. There were no symbols of normalcy, no wife, no kids, and no conventional job, and so all that remained was speculation around the rotating neighborhood bar-be-ques, which Marv always courteously declined the attend.

“He’s a slob, and have you seen how many beer bottles are in the recycling?”

“”He probably works himself to the bone; I feel sorry for him. If I worked in construction the last thing I’d want to do is do a bunch of heavy lifting once I got home.”

“He seems so lonely–I don’t think he’s had anyone over since he moved in.”

“I wonder why he won’t come over? I’ve asked him to come by a few times, but he’s always said no. He seems like a snob to me.”

Ben could guess along, but none of his neighbor’s convictions seemed to move him. In all honesty, he had found himself reaching a space where he could stop caring. After all, he was much more focused on his wife, Katie, and trying to get her pregnant, to really worry about some strange, eccentric neighbor of his. The others could fret, and worry, and do their best to bring him into suburban line, but Ben had his path, and his plan, and he had no intention of letting anything upset it.

And so, when Marv waved to him across the cul-de-sac one September Saturday, Ben was confused. He hadn’t done anything to deserve a wave, had he? Picked up the mail? Dropped a newspaper at the porch? No–he’d simply resolved to let Marv have his strange life, a life Ben would never want to have a part of, and he assumed, in return, that Marv would show him no interest as well.

Still, he waved back. It’s what you did, after all. And instead of leaving at that, Marv smiled and walked across the street to where Ben was standing at the end of his driveway, wondering, what, in the world, the man could want.

“Hey there–it’s Ben, right?” Marv said as he came up. “Glad I could catch you–I was wondering if I could get your help with something real quick. You seem like the kind of fellow who isn’t afraid of a bit of heavy lifting.”

In fact, Ben was a bit of a scrawny fellow, and had never really been suited to much hard work. He generally hired help to do most of the heavy lifting around his house–and Marv…well, Marv seemed like he could tackle pretty much anything on his own. A few inches over six feet, broad in the shoulder, packed with muscle and a hefty gut–what could he possibly need anyone’s help with, much the less Ben’s? At the same time, you didn’t say no to a neighbor, either. Without asking for details, he said yes, and followed Marv back to his home, and around to the back of his truck. Inside, covered by a tarp which Marv unfurled, was a doghouse.

In the Doghouse (Part 4)

CW: Scat, Filth, etc. Read at your own risk.

“Yeah, that’s the kinda Faggot I wanna see, good fuckin’ Faggot…” Gage said, petting Carson’s head, and the pride he felt sickened him, but he didn’t stop. After a couple of minutes, he pushed Gage off, and heaved himself up from the recliner, dropped his filthy briefs and bent over the side, still stroking his cock, “Come on ya fuckin’ dogboi–time tah earn yer fuckin’ keep. All dogs love sniffin’ ass, ‘n yer no fuckin’ exception–’n yer Master loves cummin’ with a tonuge in his hole.”

Carson whined and tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but he did as Gage ordered, walking behind him, giving his filthy crack a sniff, and then started licking it. It was filthy, and obviously Gage hadn’t wiped well, if at all, but to his tongue, the filthier it tasted, the more he wanted it–something Gage didn’t stop reminding him of, “Yeah, how’s it feel Faggot? Ya like bein’ trapped in that nasty fuckin’ dogboi body? Don’t worry–ya’ll break eventually. Won’t even have tah collar ya in a few months, ya’ll love what I do tah ya–all of it–ya’ll be beggin’ me fer more!” Gage laughed, bore down and let out another fart, but to their surprise, a bit of shit came with it, spattering Carson’s face. He gave a snort and shook his head, trying to get it off him, but Gage just laughed some more. “Git used tah it, ya dumb mutt! Lick it up, lick it up ‘n enjoy it–ya love yer master’s nasty shit. Git back in there ‘n dig deeper. Yer Master’s close, Faggot.”

Carson licked up the shit, trying not to think too hard about how he enjoyed the taste, and then dug in deeper, probing Gage’s hole with his tongue, muzzle open wide, and listening to him moan. The sooner Gage came, he told himself, the sooner this part would be over. He licked harder, and after a couple of minutes, Gage gave a few grunts and his cock exploded all over his hand and the side of the recliner in front of him, and he panted for a moment before hefting himself back up, and pulling up his briefs. “Clean it up, Faggot. Ya’ve earned it.”

Carson licked up the cum from Gage’s hand, and then cleaned up the side of the recliner, at least happy to not have his face buried in Gage’s ass for a moment…even if he had enjoyed it. No–he shook his head. It had felt good, but he hadn’t enjoyed it–he had to keep those things separate if he was going to stay sane.

“Woowee,” Gage said, “Tuckered me out a good bit. Think it’s time fer a nap,” he said. “Still, ya gotta git in yer pen for a while, Faggot. I don’t trust ya unsupervised ‘round the house just yet–pro’ly piss on the rug tah spite me.” Gage forced him back out into the dogrun, but before locking the gate, he filled up Carson’s bowl with another load of piss, hocked in some tobacco spit, and then returned to the house. Alone again, Carson paced the dogrun looking for a weak spot to try and escape, but saw nothing…and he was thirsty. Washing his mouth out with piss seemed the best option available, but in the end, it only made his whole mouth taste even worse. The sun was hot, and the only shade available was the doghouse, so he retreated, curled up, and fell asleep.

Carson woke up a couple hours later, and saw that from the light outside, it must be approaching evening. He crawled out and looked towards the house, but didn’t see any movement inside, and none of the lights were on–either Gage was still asleep, or he’d left to run errands. In any case, he needed to try and escape. More than anything else, though–Carson needed to shit, and quick. There was no easy place to do it, so he picked the corner furthest from the doghouse, humped up as best he could, and dropped a massive load of stinking shit next to the fence. He hated that he enjoyed the scent of it, but he ignored it and focused on trying to climb the fence instead. However, his body was still too unfamiliar to him to make it work–and the fact that he’d packed on close to a hundred pounds over the course of the morning didn’t help either. In the end, he was left panting, exhausted, and he walked over to the bowl, pissed into it with a bit better aim than before, and took a drink.

He hated that this seemed normal, after just a day. He hated that he was actually enjoying this. He sat down and rolled his back legs up, looking back at his cock where it had slipped out of his sheath, and realized that with his shifted body…he could lick it himself. He did, tasting it, and he kept licking it, enjoying the sensation as the first real pleasure he’d had since entering this house a day before, but he was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening and shutting. “Enjoying yerself Faggot? Like the taste a that dogcock?” Gage said, “Might have tah bring a few other mutts ‘round fer ya tah play with if ya do.” He quickly uncurled himself as Gage unlocked the dogrun. “Come on in mutt–time fer dinner.”

Carson followed him inside, and the smell of food on the air was heavenly. Gage must have been out shopping–he saw a whole chicken on the table, still steaming–probably from a supermarket deli. “Stop slobberin’ mutt–that ain’t fer ya, ‘n ya know it. “Besides, Master always eats first–but ya can make me happy while I do, right mutt?”

Carson spent the meal under the table, licking at Gage’s nasty feet and licking at his cock–whatever Gage wanted him to do, really, licking up the grease and spit that fell from his mouth as he ate onto his huge belly, sniffing the farts and belches Gage let off regularly. When he finished, Gage pushed back with a final belch, and hefted himself up. “Alright boy–time fer yer dinner,” he said, and walked over to a metal bowl on the floor, squatted over it, and with a few grunts, started dumping shit into the bowl right in front of Carson’s snout. “See mutt? Ya git all the tasty food too, ya just git it the second time ‘round. Still, we both know how the taste ‘n smell a Master’s shit makes ya hungry ‘n horny, right Faggot? Ya dirty fuckin’ dogboi?”

He fought–he fought hard. He’d done it earlier, but he hadn’t imagined that shit was going to be his main food from that point on. Still, his slobbering muzzle eventually found its way to the bowl, and he started scarfing down Gage’s shit, while the big man laughed beside him. “Fuck yeah, ya nasty faggot…” He got down behind Carson, and with a yelp, he felt Gage grab his hips and shove his hard cock into his ass, “Yeah, keep eatin’ ya fuckin’ mutt! I wanna fuck ya while I watch ya eat mah warm fuckin’ shit. Fuck, look at ya, ya fuckin’ shameless beast. I’m gonna love watchin’ ya fight, ‘n ya better fight hard, cause when ya finally give in, when ya finally accept the fact that yer nothin’ but a filthy, disgusting mutt–fuck, that’s gonna be a real sweet sight…”

Gage kept fucking him even after he’d finished his meal, but came soon after, filling his ass with a load of cum before pulling out, leaving Carson panting and whining, tears running down his face. “Aww, don’t cry boy, here, we can make ya feel better, right? Roll o’er boy.”

Carson rolled over, legs up, cock hard and slimy against his belly. “Yeah, I can make good dogboi’s like you feel real good…” Gage said, squatted down over him, and pressed his filthy ass to Carson’s muzzle. He licked up the shit caught in his cheeks, while Gage started tugging on his dog cock roughly, telling Carson what a treat it was to be jacked off by his Master, that it’s the only way a nasty dog like him can cum. With a yelp, his cock released a huge load of cum all over his belly, and Gage praised him, telling him he was a good shit eating mutt. “Yeah, yer gonna see, mutt. Yer gonna be real happy here ‘fore too long. Hungry all the time, beggin’ yer master fer shit–ya ain’t never gonna git enough, but that’s how I want ya–desperate, hungry, ‘n always horny fer yer Master.”

He made Carson clean up the floor, and then shooed him back out into the now dark yard for the night, locking him back up in the dogrun, and Carson…he was numb. He’d cum with his tongue deep in his Master’s hole, and worse…he wanted to do it again, so badly. Even worse than that…he was hungry again, and it was only getting worse. He caught a scent on the air, and saw his now cold shit in the corner of the dog run. Trying not to think about it, he walked over and ate it as quickly as he could…and only after did he realize he hadn’t heard Gage go back into the house.

He looked back over his shoulder, muzzle still covered in his own shit, and saw Gage leering at him on the steps. “Good boy,” Gage said, and went back inside.

He could still fight this, Carson told himself as he settled in for the night, a bit more comfortable than the night before with the extra padding of his new weight. He could fight him–he knew it. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight him, not really, and that, he realized, is why he was already lost.

In The Doghouse (Part 3)

CW: Slob, Trash Eating, Light Scat

Carson didn’t sleep well, hunger and thirst gnawing at him all night long. The two bowls had a bit of rainwater in them, so he had a bit to drink, but it was the hunger that was worse. The floor of the doghouse was bare wood, and very uncomfortable. His new coat of fur was itchy, forcing him to figure out how to use his four new paws in odd ways to itch everywhere he could reach. But mostly, he was terrified. Would someone find him? He hadn’t told anyone where he was going–why would he? His phone was inside, but if Gage could literally turn him into a dog…then who knew what else he was capable of. If he was going to get out, he was going to have to be patient, and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Still, eventually he did sleep, because he was roused by the sound of Gage opening the gate, and ordering Carson out of the doghouse. The morning light was bright–it was probably ten or eleven, and it looked like Gage had just woken up, from the bleary look in his eyes. “Saved it fer ya boy–gotta fill the bowl, right?” He hauled out his cock and pissed in one of the bowls–a long piss, filling it over half full, and Carson just stared at it, whining. When he finished, Carson saw him take a cup and dump some dark glop into the bowl as well, and he gave it a shake–it was a cup of tobacco spit, he realized.

“Best get used tah it, faggot–it’s what filthy dogboys like you love anyway–go on, give it a taste.”

He wanted to refuse, but the collar tugged him forward all the same. He lapped at the piss and spit, and was rewarded with a sickening pleasure in his cock. It didn’t taste good–it tasted like beer and cigarette butts from a urinal–but drinking it felt so…wrong, that he couldn’t help but find it arousing.

“See mutt? That cock of yers is hard already–go on now, piss in yer bowl like a good boy. Ya gotta piss, right?”

He did have to, but pissing in a bowl was a bit harder than he thought. He ended up getting most of it on the ground around the bowl, and Gage just laughed and heckled him for being so useless, and made him drink some more. Carson was a bit surprised that when he tasted the piss again–the taste hadn’t changed at all, but he enjoyed it, and he licked his chops when he was finished.

“Alright boy–time fer breakfast. Come on inside.”

If piss was his water, Carson didn’t have high hopes for what he might get for food–probably kibble, if anything. But in the kitchen, he didn’t even see a dog bowl for him or anything.

“Sorry, I didn’t get ya any food yet–but yer a dirty mutt, right? I bet you can find some stuff around here to eat. In fact, I bet a fat dogboi like you likes pretty much everything,” Gage said, and booped Carson on the nose with a finger, and when he did, the whole house lit up with smells, and his gut rumbled.

Unable to hold back, Carson crawled over to a pile of pizza boxes and started rooting through them with his nose, until he found the remains of a half eaten pie, and started chowing down, tearing into it with his new teeth.

“Good boy! Don’t worry–ya gots an iron stomach now, ya can eat pretty much anythin’, no matter how disgustin’. We’ll have some more fun when ya git in better shape, faggot.” Gage parked himself in the recliner and turned on the TV, but spent most of his time laughing and mocking Carson as he stuffed himself with whatever trash his nose scrounged up around the room. He did his best to fight it–he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but again, the worst part was that the more he ate…the more he liked it. And the more he liked it, the harder his dog cock got–something Gage never ceased reminding him of either. His hunger never abated, no matter how full he got–but it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that Carson noticed the effect the filth he was gorging on was having on his body. His small gut had ballooned in size, hanging heavy as he walked on all fours, his thighs rubbing against one another, a second chin forming underneath his muzzle. “Heh, maybe I should have made you a pig, the way you’re chowing down on all that trash, mutt,” Gage said, and then called Carson over, “I think that’s enough for now, Faggot–yer Master needs some lovin’ now.”

Carson had purposefully avoided getting too close to his Master all morning, mostly because every time he did, he caught another whiff of his musk, and he wanted to smell more of it. Now, however, he had no choice. He walked over to where Gage was sitting, feet up in his recliner, and the smell of him had his mouth drooling in a matter of seconds.

“Ya look excited Faggot–take off mah socks, ‘n clean mah feet. Do a good job, ‘n ya might get a bone…”

With his teeth, he gripped Gage’s rank socks and tugged them off one at a time, and then licked the bottoms of his feet, trying not to enjoy himself as he did, but he couldn’t help it. He knew it was disgusting, he knew it should terrify him, but every taste–it sent a blast of pleasure right to his brain and his cock. It was even better when Gage drooled tobacco spit into his palm and smeared it on his body–he licked the rank spit up even more eagerly than everything else. Gage told him he was being a good boy, and let him lick a bit further up, cleaning his hairy thighs and calves, when Gage gave a grunt and let off a long fart a few inches from Carson’s face. Before he could pull away, Gage grabbed the back of Carson’s head and shoved his muzzle between his thighs, the stench making his eyes water even as his cock started leaking cum, and horrified, his body humped against his Master’s leg.

“Fuck Faggot! I know ya like mah stink, but ya fuckin’ know better!” Gage said, and gave Carson a kick in his balls, making him yelp, but held his face down as he released another fart. Carson managed to control himself this time, but the stench…he was drooling all over Gage’s thighs, panting and horny, and when Gage pushed his cock against Carson’s muzzle, he licked at it eagerly, no longer caring about whether he should feel this good–and just let it happen.

In The Doghouse (Part 2)

Gage grabbed the receiver. “Yeah, 911 right? Fuck yeah I got a fuckin’ emergency, two fucking guys just walked by mah fuckin’ house. Looked like they were casin’ the joint tah rob it.”

Carson went to shout so he’d be heard on the other line, but rather than words, what came out of his mouth was a long, and very loud, howl.

“Hey!” Gage shouted at him, “Hush you stupid fucking dog, I’m fuckin’ talkin’ tah the nice lady.”

In horror, Carson brought his hands to his face, and realized what had happened. Where his mouth and nose had been a second before, there was now a furry muzzle. He ran his hands along it, opened his mouth and felt his long tongue and sharp teeth, his new black nose that he could see when he crossed his eyes–he tried to speak again, but what came out were a couple short barks.

“Dumb fuckin’ mutt,” Gage said, and stomped over, wrapped his arm around Carson’s shoulders and pulled him closer, towards his armpit. When he did, the same stench as before washed over him, but this time it was both a hundred times more powerful to his new nose, and it also smelled amazing. Unable to stop himself, he started licking at Gage’s pit, who helpfully raised his arm up over his head, giving Carson full access it.

“A description? Didn’t git a good look at their faces ‘r nothin’. They were dressed like a couple of thugs though.”

This was insane, Carson thought, he had to stop this. He tried to push himself away, but his new mouth refused to cooperate.

“Nah, I didn’t see ‘em doin’ a crime, but they fuckin’ looked like it–ya can see it in the fuckin’ eyes, ‘n they took off when I yelled at ‘em! Guilty fuckin’ conscience.”

He was so close–so fucking close to the receiver, but he couldn’t do anything, he was fucking helpless.

“Whatever, if ya ain’t gonna do nothin’, then just fuckin’ say so!” Gage said, and slammed the receiver back down, and turned to Carson. “That was a very bad dog, ya made me have tah go and lie tah that nice lady, ya stupid mutt. We’re gonna have tah make sure ya don’t get intah any more trouble while yer livin’ here, that’s for sure.”

Carson whined, still unable to pull his face free of Gage’s stinking pit, but the man shoved him back a step, reached out, and grabbed both of Carson’s hands on his own. This time, he could see, as well as feel, the change ripping through them, as his fingers shrank, his nails growing longer and turning black, brindle fur running up his forearms to just below his elbows, wrist bones cracking and reforming. He looked at his helpless mitts and whined again, pleading with the man to let him go. Gage just grabbed the neck of Carson’s shirt and tugged it off him, letting his revealing his small belly and hairless arms. Carson tried to push past him and run for the door, no longer caring what he might look like, but Gage tripped him and he fell flat on his face. He knelt down behind him, tugged down both of Carson’s socks, and gripped his ankles, the same stomach churning sensation running from his toes to his knees.

Carson didn’t dare look back, he didn’t want to see. Scraping his new front claws against the linoleum, he tried to pull his knees under him so he could stand back up, but his leg refused to bend. All he could really manage was to push himself across the floor on all fours, while Gage just laughed behind him, spraying dark spit as he did. “Come on dogboy, yer on all fours fer good now. I thought a smart faggot like ya can figure it out, right?”

Out on the carpet, where he had better traction, Carson did, in fact, manage to get up on all fours, but it felt…precarious. His front paws were certainly happy, and wide enough to support him, but it felt like he was standing on his back toes, ankles up, his knees off the ground with his ass thrust a bit high. Looking under his body, and trying to ignore the sight of his slimy cock, still erect and hugging his belly, he saw two dog, toes wide with the heels lifted. From there, the leg bent twice, down at the ankle, and then back at the knee, but both sections of his legs looked…shorter. He doubted they’d be able to support his whole weight, even if he could bend them in the right direction. Still, he walked to the door as best he could, Gage following along behind, watching him. He got to the door and pawed at the knob, but there was no way his paw could get enough traction on it to open it–he was stuck.

“It was a good try, faggot, but yer mine now. Still, we gots a few more details tah sort out, right boy?” Gage gave a sharp tug on Carson’s ears, and with a jolt they shifted up to the top of his head, grew longer and flopped over, covered with the same brindle hair as his muzzle. With a touch at the base of his back, he groaned as a long tail pushed it’s way out, above his ass, and started waving to and fro against his will. “And lastly,” Gage said, running his hands over Carson’s back, he felt a million tiny pricks as fur sprouted all over his back and down over his ass cheeks, but without changing any of his body. “And now, while it’s been fun lettin’ ya struggle, I think we need ya nice ‘n obedient, right boy?” Gage said, and took a leather collar from the coat hook by the door–in the light, Carson caught a glint of the tag, which read in capital letters the word “FAGGOT”. Carson tried to get out from under him, but Gage wrapped it around his furry neck and latched it. “Now sit, Faggot!”

Against his will, Carson dropped his ass to the floor, his odd legs tucked up underneath him, tail still wagging, and sat back, looking up at Gage looming over him. He tried to move, tried to move his paws to try and get the collar off, but he couldn’t change position, not until Master said.

Master? No, no fucking way was this disgusting fat bastard going to be his Master!

“Much better, ‘n a good name fer a nasty dogboy like ya–now, I was going to have some fun wit’ ya tahnight, but ya’ve been a real bad boy–I think ya’ll have tah go tah bed without dinner, ‘r yer bone. Now go on–out in the yard ya dumb mutt.”

He tried to fight it, but his body refused to cooperate–he followed Gage out the backdoor and into the dogrun, Gage padlocking the door shut behind him, and Carson started barking, anything to get someone’s attention.

“Now stop that! Be quiet, ya mutt–ain’t nobody gonna find ya back here, trust me. Be good, ‘n I’ll see ya in the mornin’.”

In the Doghouse (Part 1)

Carson looked up at the house, and double checked the address. Appearances could be deceiving, right? Just because the place looked like a wreck on the outside, didn’t mean it might not be spotless on the inside. He told himself that, but he didn’t believe it–still, he told himself he might as well check it out–rooms for rent around here scarce and expensive–and this was one of the few he could really afford right out of college. He let himself through the chainlink gate and walked up to the front door, paint peeling off it. The screen opened up with a screech and loose hinge, and he knocked, hoping no one would answer. But he heard a deep voice muttering something on the other side, and after a few moments, the door opened.

Yeah, there was no way this was going to ever work, not if this was the guy who owned the place. Even if he hadn’t looked like a complete slob–easily 350 pounds, clothes stained and ill fitting, his hair grown out into a greasy mullet–the shirt he had on with the confederate battle flag across the front of it, stretched out by his huge belly had quite faded, told Carson that even if the room was decent…he was never going to get along with a landlord like this. The man hocked a wad of black tobacco spit onto the step beside Carson, and asked, “What the fuck you want, boy?”

“Oh, uh…there was an ad saying you have a room for rent? But I–”

“Want a look, eh?” the guy said, interrupting, grabbing Carson by the arm and pulling him inside, “It ain’t much, but helps with the mortgage.”

Carson stepped carefully around the mess filling the entire house, most of it trash, and the stench nearly made him gag. Still, now that he was inside, he had to at least play along for the moment.

“My name’s Gage. I don’t really give a fuck about you makin’ a mess or whatever–you pay your rent, ‘n you can do whatever the fuck you want, as long as I don’t have to talk to the cops about it.”

“Yeah, I…just need a place for the summer, until I start my grad program in the fall,” Carson said.

Gage snorted, “Some college kid eh? Whatever–waste a fuckin’ money–just gonna turn ya into some pussy faggot liberal.”

Gage led him down the hall to the spare room Gage was offering, but Carson didn’t want to bother looking at it, after what he’d said. “You know? Fuck this. I am one of those liberal faggots, you know? Fuck you–I wouldn’t want to live with some filthy slob like you anyway, you live like an animal.”

Gage just smiled, showing off the tobacco leaf stuck between his teeth, “Yeah, I had ya pegged fer one a those faggots–lucky I keep a room fer animals like ya’ll too,” he grabbed Carson by the arm and hauled him into the room with him–for a fat slob, he was strong, and Carson couldn’t break his grip. He dragged Carson to the window in the room, which looked out on the yard behind the house. There, Carson saw a dogrun with a sizable doghouse against the back fence. “Ain’t the nicest a quarters, but ya’ll fit in there just fine soon enough.”

Carson again tried to tug his arm away, but Gage hauled him in closer, where Carson could get a proper smell of his personal stench, and then shoved one of his hands down the front of Carson’s pants, grabbed hold of his cock, and Carson felt something like a shock sear through his cock and balls.

“Heh, animal–we’ll see who’s the fuckin’ animal,” Gage said, leaning in, groping Carson’s dick and balls with one of his calloused hands. It felt…different. Wrong, and yet Carson found himself moaning with pleasure, as ashamed of that as he was. Gage used his other hand to pop the button and drop the zipper on Carson’s jeans, and then shoved down his pants. Carson leaned over his own smaller gut, wanting to see why he felt so strange, and gasped at what he saw–his cock and balls, they weren’t his anymore–they were…a dog’s.

A short, furry sheath ran up under his belly, and a bright red cock jutted out from it, and into Gage’s hand. It seemed…wet and slimy, and yet the sensation was very close to bringing him to his knees. “Fuck…how…what did you do?”

“Now now, be a good boy, and we can have a good time,” Gage said, “I never had much of a thing fer fags like you, but nothin’ turns me on quite like a filthy dogboy.”

He had to get out of here, he had to get help, but Gage’s grip was so strong. Carson leaned in, relaxing slightly into Gage, as disgusted as he was by the idea of being anywhere close to him, and then, when he felt the grip on his arm relax slightly, he shoved him away and ran–or tried to run. He had to abandon his shoes, pants and underwear to get moving at all. This, he realized, wasn’t the best choice–he couldn’t very well run outside with nothing on–with nothing covering his new cock in particular. He turned away from the front door, and looked around for a phone, since his was still in his pants. He spotted a landline hanging on the wall in the kitchen, fought through a pile of junk to reach it, and gave a sigh of relief when he heard the dial tone, punching in 911 as gage rounded the corner and raced towards him. Before the operator picked up on the other line, Gage was on him. He touched Carson’s face with his hand, and Carson felt the same disturbing shock ripple through his mouth and jaw with the force of a punch. He dropped the receiver and stumbled back, as the operator picked up on the other line.

September Patreon Suggestions Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This month’s suggested stories are done and ready for all you patrons to download! 

Each month I take suggestions, and use them to write a few short pieces based on those prompts. This month, there’s a sequel to an older story of mine called “The Audition”, some weight gain and mind drain, piss addiction and mind control, and an inanimate pipe TF and some pipe bear fun to go with it! All it takes is one dollar a month to be able to submit ideas, and read the completed stories. To give you an idea of what these look like, here’s a suggestion I took from August.


Barron could, in some possible world, forgive one of his neighbors for having a dog, even if it was against the rules of the building. He had, in fact, tried to be patient. Most of the time, in fact, the dog seemed to be well behaved, or at the very least quiet, but this was the third Saturday in a row where he had been woken from a dead sleep at six in the morning by the sound of the mutt yapping its head off through the wall. He dialed the number for the building office below, but got no one–maybe it was too early. In any case, something had to be done–Barron was sick of it. He threw on some clothes, left his condo, and pounded on his neighbor’s door.

It was a few moments before the door opened, and a younger man peeked through the crack. He was new to the building–in fact, Barron hadn’t even gotten the young man’s name yet, but this was as good an introduction as any. “Hey, I’m your neighbor–I can’t help but hear that you have a dog in there–through my wall. You know this building has a no pet policy, right? It’s in our contract?”

The young man smiled, “Ah, I had a conversation with the office about that actually, and we worked out a clarification to that. See, it isn’t a no pet policy, really, but a no “animal” policy. I found that to be fair for me and my pup.”

Barron just stared at him confused.

“Look, step inside and see for yourself! He’s very nice, and he loves strangers,” he said, and opened the door so Barron could step inside. He did so, and in the living room, he found himself looking at…well, he wasn’t quite sure what it was, but even he had to admit that it wasn’t a dog. It was a man. A man in a rubber suit of some sort…but even that wasn’t quite right, because looking at him, on all fours…his body was all wrong.

“Isn’t he cute? His name is Rover Collins. Say hi Rover!”

Rover turned in a circle and gave a bark, giving Barron a chance to see all of him–including his face, the lower half of which was obscured by a rubber mask, which wrapped up the side of his head to a pair of floppy rubber ears. The eyes–he knew those eyes. “Wait, Robert?” Barron asked, “Is that you?”

Rover didn’t reply, but Barron knew it had to be him–Robert Collins, another neighbor of his on this floor.

The young man came up behind him, and Barron turned and saw that he, too, was wearing a rubber suit, with a generous opening for his cock and balls in the crotch. “Robert and I had a nice chat a couple weeks ago. I told him how much I missed having a pup, you see, and he was more than willing to help, right Rover?”

“This…what the fuck is this?”

“But I thought, why stop at puppies, you know? I have so many ideas, and so many neighbors! Like you. I was hoping you’d come by today, Barron–I’ve had Rover barking his head off, just for you.”

Barron shoved his way past the young man and ran for the door, but he ran right into someone standing in the doorway. Looking up, he recognized the face of Mr. Harrison, the building supervisor, leering down at him with a cruel grin on his face, under the rubber hood he was wearing, and the rubber shirt, and vest, and pants, and boots. “See? Part of my understanding with management was that Mr. Harrison was going to help me with…enforcement, right Harrison?”

“Yes master,” Harrison said, stepped forward and began tearing at Barron’s clothes until he was completely naked, and then the young man grabbed him in his rubber coated arms, and he felt the rubber turn wet, and begin creeping over his skin. “Now now, just relax. You’ll enjoy being my big bull so much, trust me, you’ll love it.”

“Yeah, come on, that’s it,”

Barron moaned, a bit groggy, and tried to move, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be working correctly, leaving him flailing on his side.

“Come on ya big lug, you can do it. Harrison, he’s heavy! Give me a hand.”

Barron felt four hands on his back, but instead of helping him stand upright, they rolled him towards his belly. He felt his arms and legs get under him, somehow, and he stood, shaky, looking down at the carpeted floor below him, disoriented.

“There you go, Mr. Bull! That’s very good.” The praise made his heart flutter a bit, but everything still seemed so…strange to him. What was going on? He didn’t remember much at all, beyond Robert, and then Harrison. The young man tugged something in front of his face, and he felt a sharp pain in his nose. “Come on, I want you to see.”

His arms and legs walked, but it didn’t seem to be in a way he found familiar. For one thing, why were his arms and legs the same length? He tried to look down and back under himself, but the young man kept his head up by tugging on whatever was attached to his face, until they arrived in front of a mirror, and he let Barron see his body.

The rubber…it was everywhere, but it didn’t feel like he was wearing it. It felt…like his skin, like it was a part of him. It covered his arms and legs, and they were molded to look like a cattle’s four limbs, with thick shoulders and haunches, and heavy hooves where his hands and feet ought to be. Were…were they in there? He couldn’t feel them at all. He lifted one front leg and shook the hoof, scared out of his mind. There was a rubber bull tail whipping above his ass, and his cock…what the fuck had happened to his cock and balls? He saw a thick, black cock slide out of a rubber sheath running along his belly, close to a foot long, but his balls…they didn’t look like balls anymore, they looked like an udder. His face was covered mostly in rubber, like Robert’s was, aside for the eyes. His mouth was twisted into a bullish snout, and in the end was a thick steel ring–that’s what the young man had been tugging on.

“What do you think, Mr. Bull? You’re going to be providing a lot of milk for me and the rest of my pets. From now on. Good, healthy milk.” He got down, put a bowl under Barron’s udder, and tugged on one rubber teat. He moaned in pleasure as a squirt of thick cum jetted out into the bowl, and then another, each tug like a miniature orgasm, and each time, he felt his mind shrink further and further away from him, until he was mooing and looing like a real bull, eager for his master to hook him up to the pumping station for the day, and drain him dry.

On Monday, Barron tugged the sleeve of his suit down self-consciously, did one last inspection in the mirror, and slipped out of his condo. Robert was leaving as he came out, but avoided making any eye contact with him. He couldn’t blame him, really–but he felt his cock slip a bit out of his sheath at the thought of how he’d fucked Rover’s hole on Sunday, while Master and Harrison had cheered them on. His balls gave a little squirt too, and looking down he saw he already had a stain on the front of his trousers from them leaking. This…this was going to be a challenge.

The door beside him opened, and Master poked his head out. “Shouldn’t you be betting to work, Mr. Bull?” he looked down, and smiled.

“I…I can’t go like this. Can’t you change me all the way back? Please? Just for work?”

“Then how will you remember that you’re my pet?” Master said, “Come in, I can do something else for you instead.”

A few minutes later, Barron left Master’s apartment, fiddling with his crotch, blushing profusely. A fucking diaper–he was wearing a fucking diaper. On the subway a bit later, to his horror, he felt his cock release a blast of piss into his pants as well–but true to his word, Master’s diaper sucked it all down. It seemed…hungry. Was it…a person too?

He pushed the thought away, and focused on getting to work. Keep Master happy, and everything would be fine, he told himself. Be a good pet, and everything would be just fine.

September Patreon Suggestions Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon