A Dog’s Tale (Part 5)

It was at this point that Fido paused in his story, looked down at my lap, and licked his chops–I mean, his lips, or whatever. I followed his eyes, and was disturbed to see that his rather detailed description of his first time in gear had, for some reason I couldn’t quite explain at this moment, given me a massive erection in the front of my pants. But that…I knew I shouldn’t be turned on by this. Fido had, as the story progressed, gone from a mere curiosity to someone much creepier. Why in the hell was I even still listening to him? I needed to get home, I had work in the morning, but more than anything, I didn’t want to have to listen to the fucker’s strange ravings anymore. And yet, even as I tried to stand up and head for the doors of the train, my body stayed right beside him. He reached out with one hand, stuck in the paw of the suit, and groped my crotch, whining a bit.

“Don’t worry master, I’ll help you out soon, once we get home. Then I’ll be your pup. I’ll be a really good pup, I promise. I can’t wait to be…me again.”

“No–No, fuck you, I don’t know what your fucking shit is, but I’m fucking done with you.”

It took all the will I could muster, but I did, at last, lurch up to standing and squeeze through the people on the train towards the door as we approached the next stop. I didn’t care if Fido was following me or not–I’d get away from him somehow, or at least find some security guard or police officer to get him to stop fucking harassing me. I got out on the platform–one I couldn’t remember ever seeing in my life–where in the world was I even?

“Master! This isn’t our stop!” Fido shouted, but I just headed for the stairway out–I needed some fucking air, I needed to get away from this crazy fuck. As I hurried off, I passed a map of the subway system, and realized I had somehow gotten on the complete wrong train, heading in the opposite direction from my apartment. Instead, I was heading towards the rundown section of town, mostly occupied by small apartments where the lower class workers and laborers tended to live. I should turn around and head for the trains, but that would mean passing Fido…and all I knew was that I needed to get this fuck away from me, but he caught up to me soon enough.

“Sir, I don’t understand, why did you get off?”

“Please, just fucking leave me alone!”

“But I haven’t finished my story yet–I haven’t even gotten to the good parts!”

I turned on him, and screamed in his face, “I don’ wanna hear anymore a yer fuckin’ story, ya fuckin’ mutt!”

Something was wrong again–my voice…that wasn’t how I was supposed to sound, was it? I felt dizzy and a bit lightheaded, and as I turned around, I saw people staring at me–at me, like I was the crazy fuck, and not the fucker beside me in the fucking costume.

“Why’s he yelling at his doggy, mom?” said a little girl passing by, but her mother just shushed her, gave me a wary look, and pulled her along.

“I’m ain’t fuckin’ crazy…he’s the crazy fuck,” I muttered, but Fido just tapped at my hand with his.

“Let me finish the story sir, and everything will make sense, I promise.”

“No, I don’t fucking want to listen to anymore of this crap,” I said, quieter so only Fido could hear, and kept walking, until I passed an advertisement on the subway wall behind plastic–letting me see a translucent reflection of myself, and what I thought I saw–it couldn’t be right. My body…I could remember it not looking quite right before, but now I seemed even more off–my gut even more pronounced, and I seemed to have lost another couple of inches of height…but now, there were new differences. My usually clean shaven face was covered with a thick beard, one that looked like I’d been growing it for years, and my head was completely shaven. Almost worse, my perfectly tailored suit was gone, and replaced by a pair of grungy, hi-viz coveralls, the kind worn by guys in construction. I didn’t even fucking look like me anymore, I looked–and sounded, I realized–like some lower class, uneducated grunt. Then Fido caught up with me, and in the mirror…in the mirror, I didn’t see the man in the suit, no, what I saw was…was a dog. Was my dog, the big fucking mutt, almost to my waist–I turned and looked at him, and he was still standing there in the costume…but what the fuck was wrong with me?

“What the fuckin’ hell is this? What the fuck’s happenin’ tah me? I ain’t supposed tah look like this, ‘n why’s everyone think yer a real fuckin’ dog?”

“Because I am a dog, master–that’s what I’m trying to tell you! See, I thought it was a curse, but Master Joel–he helped me see what I needed to be, and after that first night in Pigtown everything made so much more sense, you see.”

“I don’t wanna listen anymore, I don’t wanna hear any more crazy shit from yer fuckin’ mouth.”

“Come on Master, you’re just cranky because you haven’t smoked your pipe in a while. Let’s go sit down outside, you can smoke a while, and I’ll keep telling you my story–how’s that sound?”

I tried to resist, but he just grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out of the station, parked me on a bench, and as he kept speaking, he helped me light a pipe that had somehow appeared in the breast pocket of my new coveralls. I listened, and felt my cock start to harden again, but once I had a nice buzz going from my pipe, I settled down, and groped my cock as my dog described his first night in Pigtown.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 4)

– Fido’s Story Continued –

He had held out hope that, given time, the ache would go away, or at least diminish in scope. After all, who in their right mind would actually want to be an animal! It wasn’t…normal, or natural. He went to a couple of therapists, but the shame of admitting his fantasies and desires to them always led him to abandon the effort after a session or two. He was terrified that talking about it would simply normalize it for him, but he didn’t want it to be normal, he wanted these thoughts…gone. Instead, they calcified, and hardened, and grew heavier. Nothing seemed to be getting better, and he felt like he was stuck carrying around some awful secret, worse than when he’d still been in the closet, because if he told anyone about this…no, he couldn’t imagine what that might even look like.

He still had sex, on occasion, but every instance now was rife with anxiety. He had a hard time getting erect, and the only time he managed to cum with someone else was jacking off while they fucked him doggy style. Thinking about what it would be like to be owned by them. To be their dog, imaging what kind of dog he might even be. He studied breeds in his spare time, thinking about them all–he couldn’t believe how many varieties there even were! In his perusal, he also discovered pup play, and it quickly became his only porn. He…dreamed of trying it out for himself, one day, but would it even be enough, just pretending? He knew it wouldn’t, so then why bother with it? If anything, it would probably just make his ache worse.

He had less and less sex, as the months wore on, and spent more time at the park, and several other dog parks around town. Should he get a dog himself? No, he’d just be jealous of the mutt, and that wasn’t fair. He went on a few dates with guys he knew who had dogs, just…to be around the entire dynamic of master and pet. He’d get a vicarious thrill, just being there as they walked the dog, or played catch, but even that stopped scratching the itch soon. The dreams grew more intense, and some days he would wake up and just cry for an hour, before being able to face work. Something was going to snap–but he didn’t know what, or when, or how.

It was a relief, in a sense, when Joel surprised him, and sat down on the bench beside him at the park one afternoon. He’d gone through the entire summer now, and as fall and the rains were approaching, fewer and fewer pups were out to watch. He begged Joel to fix him, that he was sorry for what he’d said and done, but he didn’t know how he could live with this, with himself. He’d been thinking of suicide, he lied, but he also thought it might become true soon enough. Joel just listened, and it was only after a few minutes that he noticed the older bear had a wrapped present in his lap, and he stopped speaking. Joel noticed where his attention had gone, and smiled.

“For you,” he said and handed him the package, “Be a good boy, now. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Be a good boy.” His cock was rock hard at the words, and he whined, unable to help himself. Joel just chuckled, then stood up and went on his way, whistling, leaving him there on the bench, clutching the gift, hands shaking. He should throw it in the trash. He should throw it in the trash, and then go back to work–he did have to go back to work, didn’t he? Maybe…maybe he didn’t. He went home instead, the package under his arm, and tore into it once he got there, shaking as he pulled the items inside out, one by one. A collar. A buttplug with a dog tail. Mitts for his hands. Knee pads. A pup mask. A collar. He laid them all out, gently, on the floor, like they were deadly weapons, and just stared at them for a long while. Throw them away, he told himself. You can’t give into this, it’s not right. It’s not normal to want any of this.

Two hours later, he was on his hands and knees in front of the mirror, staring at himself in the gear, cock rock hard and leaking cum. Closer–he felt so much closer like this. He’d imagined it would feel like a complete disappointment–but instead he felt so…happy, he couldn’t stop himself from giving a loud bark, rolling over, and jacking his cock with both paws until he shot all over his belly like a good boy, a very good boy indeed. Then came the shame, and he stripped out of the stuff as quickly as he could, and got right in the shower, shaking in anger at himself for giving in like that. He’d throw it all away, that was the only option. He got the box, intending to load it all back in there and throw it right out, when he noticed an envelope in the bottom he hadn’t seen before. He opened it, and read the short note inside.

You can find me at Pigtown, Saturdays and Sundays. Be yourself, pup, and let’s have some fun together.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 3)

So yeah, the story is fucking crazy, like I’d expected. Wizards? Curses? Wanting to be a fucking dog? Well, I believe that last part, given the suit he’s wearing. I keep trying to interject and get out of here–I do have a train to catch, after all, and a conference call to make, but the guy talks so fast, and with such energy–it’s like he desperate to keep me from getting a word in at all…so I end up just listening. I don’t notice the sun setting outside, the street getting dark, until another voice pipes up beside us.

“Sir? Sir!”

The dogman I’m with actually stops talking for a second, and I blink a couple of times, then look over. There’s a woman in a fast food uniform looking down at us–well, down at me really, scowling a bit. The badge on her shirt has the name Courtney, with the title Assistant Manager.

“Yeah? What is it? You don’t have to yell.”

“Sir, you can’t have animals in here. It’s against the law.”

I just stare at her for a second, then look over at the other guy, then back at her.

“Look, I know he’s a bit of a freak, but that’s fucking mean.”

“Is it a service animal?”

“No, it’s a fucking person, ya cunt!”

The anger in my voice surprises even me–especially when I stand up, ready to get in her face over some homeless guy’s dignity, and she backs up a step.

“I will call the police sir, if you don’t leave the premises right now.”

“It’s ok, let’s just go, sir. I can tell you the rest on the way home!”

The man in the suit is still grinning through all of this–if anything, he looks even happier.

“Fine, let’s go then.”

He gets out of the booth, and I notice that there seems to be…a lot more trash on the table than there should be–at least three or four hamburger wrappers, and two bags which might have contained fries at one point, which were now empty. But I swear I’d just had a salad–a salad I don’t even remember eating, but whatever. We leave the joint, I look down at my watch, and curse under my breath–it’s quarter to eight–there’s no way I can make that call now, and I can’t do it on my cell phone. I need to get going, and quick–maybe I can hail a cab?

“So where are we going now?”

“We aren’t going anywhere–I have to go home.”

“But I’m not done with the story yet! We’re getting to a really good part. I know you want to hear the rest, right?”

He sounds…almost desperate, in a really strange way, and lets loose a whine that actually is a pretty good imitation of a dog–but even if I am curious, I don’t have time.

“Look Fido–”

“Is that my name? You gave me a name!”

He’s jumping around like a fucking idiot again, and I have to actually grab him, and settle him down, before someone starts staring at us.

“Calm the fuck down!”

“I just get really excited when I hear my name, is all! But the story! Let me tell you the rest of the story–you have to hear it all now! You gave me a name!”

I scan the road for a cab, but there’s none in sight; a cab wouldn’t even get me home in time for the call anyway. I get out my phone and send a text, feigning an emergency and asking a partner to handle it for me.

“Fine, Fido, but I have to catch the next train so I can get home. You’ll have to walk and talk.”

“Ok! I like walks, walks are awesome!”

So off we went, and Fido figures out where he left off in his tale, but I’m having a hard time focusing on him, as we walk–mostly because I feel a bit…sick. Bloated even. I rub my stomach, and it definitely doesn’t feel right–kind of swollen, and even a bit soft, like…like a gut.

I stop walking and look down at myself, and sure enough, where there had been gym toned abs not hours before, I now had a sizable paunch–enough that it has untucked my shirt, and I could see my undershirt peeking through the gaps between the buttons. The rest of my outfit is tight too–my suit coat isn’t sitting right on my shoulders, like they are wider all of a sudden, my tie is too tight, even my shoes are hurting my toes, which feel like their curled up against the end of the shoe. I walk over to a shop window and look at my reflection, and I start to freak out even more. I have at least six or seven days of stubble all over my face–and my face looks as chubby as my gut. It’s no wonder my tie is too tight, with how much my neck has grown, and my usually well groomed hair is too long and shaggy–greasy even.

“You’re not listening to the story, sir.”

Fido is beside me, looking a bit concerned.

“But–I didn’t look like this before. What happened to my body?”

I don’t know why I’m asking him, exactly, it’s not like Fido would have an answer, right? But he gets close to me, and looks me in the eyes, and it’s really intense, his stare.

“Just relax, sir. You already started listening to my story, and once I get to the end, everything is going to make complete sense. You have to trust me, though. You do trust your doggy, right? I’m the best doggy in the world, after all.”

“The best…doggy in the world…”

“And I’m your doggy. I’m Fido.”

“Mine…Fido.”

He lets me go, and I realize I blanked out for a second, but I do feel a bit better. Fido…really is a good dog, you know? Still, I–we–have a train to catch, so we keep going. I do my best to ignore my uncomfortable clothing, and focus on listening to what Fido has to say, as he continues his tale, and by the time we’re sitting in the train, my attention is with him completely, as he tells me what happened when Master Joel found him one afternoon in that park, a few months later.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 2)

Some time earlier…

It had been ten or so years ago, when it had started. He’d been younger then, a corporate climber, always working, fighting for raises and promotions. He’d thought that life was about status, and looks, and money. His one vice, had been men–and he’d resented it. It was the one thing about him which…was abnormal. Which cut him off from the rest of his cohort, and while most places were fairly progressive, being gay was still a liability he couldn’t afford. He kept it a secret as best he could, especially at the business where he was at the time, whose management board was quite a bit more conservative than others. He’d go out on the weekends to bars on the other side of the city, or purchase a few hours with discrete call boys if he needed to stay home and work. For a long time, it was enough, even if he knew it wasn’t satisfying.

That was the most frustrating part, in fact–the lack of satisfaction. As wealthy as he was, as important as he was, he still wasn’t happy. It never seemed to be enough. Wealth and prestige only seemed to create stress, rather than relieve it. It made him a bit cruel, and it made him drink, and so, when an older fellow had come onto him at a bar one weekend, those two traits combined into a perfect storm, and he ended up publicly berating the fellow. What he didn’t know, however, was that he couldn’t have chosen a worse target–the man he was shouting at was a wizard, and one with a particular talent for curses.

He had expected the man to slink away from him, but instead Joel, as he introduced himself, took a seat beside him at the bar, and the two of them carried on a sizable conversation–of which he recalled very little. It was so long, in fact, that the bar was closing, and he hadn’t found anyone to take home with him. He was horny enough that he would have even settled for Joel, even though the older, portly fellow was hardly his type, especially with the pipe he had spent the entire evening smoking, but Joel shot down his suggestion, told him goodnight, and left him to call a cab and go home alone.

He had the first dream that night, and it remains one of the most intense he’s ever had. He’s certain that it lasted all night, from the moment that he laid his head down on the pillow, to the point when he finally woke, mid orgasm in the midmorning sun, his sheets soaked with sweat and cum. In the dream, at first, he was a man. He was himself, but he was behaving…like a dog. Joel was there, and Joel was his Master. He knew, in his mind, that he should feel utterly humiliated, but with each passing moment, he just felt…happy. Content. He felt satisfied, in a way that he’d never really been before, and it just made him…ecstatic. They went for walks, and even though the people they passed by stared at him in disgust, he didn’t feel humiliated–they just didn’t understand, is all. This is what he needed. This is what he’d been looking for this entire time, and he’d never even known it.

In that single dream, he lived with Joel for what seemed like weeks, or maybe even months. He lost count of how many times he pleasured his master, and his master pleasured him. He was losing his grip on himself, he was certain that his entire life as a person must have been a false memory, just a mistake. He found himself changing, his hands becoming paws, hair sprouting and covering his body, his mouth and face pushing out into a proper muzzle. He was finally becoming himself. He was becoming everything he needed to be. By the end of the dream, he was just a dog–a rather perverse dog, of course, who took great delight in licking his master’s cock, and begging for him to plow his doggy hole–but certainly not a man any more. And he was happy, so happy, he was certain he’d never need anything else again in his life. And then, just as he lost the final bits of his humanity, just as he convinced himself that his prior life as a man must have been a fabrication, that he could remain here, happy, for the rest of his life–that’s when he woke up.

He sobbed for the rest of the day, uncontrollably. What had he been doing with his life, up to this point? How could he have been such a fool? He didn’t want money, or status, or a good job with a corner office. He wanted to be a dog! It was so simple, and yet he’d missed it entirely. Worse, he’d been so close in his dream, and yet he knew that this desire was unattainable for him. He couldn’t be a dog. He couldn’t just…change like that. Even pretending to be a dog wouldn’t be enough, he could already tell. The depression was crippling, and he needed to take a few days off of work–the first sick days he’d ever taken in his entire life. But what did it matter? Rich or poor, his life, from this point on, would remain unfulfilled, no matter what he did.

The dreams returned each night, never quite as intense, but they didn’t have to be. The sharpness of the feelings over the first couple of days eased off, and he was able to return to work, but everyone could see that something was different about him. The fire was gone, the ambition. He would take these long lunches, some days, and no one would know where he went for them–but every time, he was sitting in a park a few blocks away, watching the masters and their pups play, and run, and bark…and wishing he could join them, but knowing he never would.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 1)

There are, quite simply, some things that you don’t see every day. There I am, walking down the street, heading for the subway. It’s six in the evening, and I’m finally done with at the office–I have just enough time to get home, eat some dinner, and then I have an eight o’clock conference call with some representatives of a company in Japan we’re looking to do business with–look, it’s very important stuff, but it doesn’t really have anything to do with what I’m looking at here, on the street corner. There is a man–a rather dirty man, probably homeless by the look of him–dancing around in a full body dog costume, asking people passing by to pet him, or to let him lick their face.

This fucking city, I fucking swear.

I just don’t get it. Is it performance art? Is it a scheme to make money, like those weirdos I’ve heard about who dress up in Times Square? The suit does look suspiciously like Scooby Doo, or something. Is he looking for pity? Handouts? Attention? I don’t see a cup or hat or anything, and no one seems to be giving him anything. Actually, here’s a better question–why in the fuck am I still watching him a complete fool out of himself?

No, seriously. I’ve been standing here for a couple of minutes, just watching this fucker, unable to believe his utter lack of shame. I mean…what in the world happens to a person, that they think this is acceptable? Maybe I should call the police, before he harrasses a woman or something, tries to lick her tits like a freak or worse. Oh shit, he looked at me–is he? He’s coming over here, now what…

“You want to pet me on the head, sir? I’ve been a real good boy today, I swear!”

“No–I…don’t you see that you’re bothering people? What the fuck are you even doing?”

“I can’t help it! I have to, see, it’s a real long story–I mean, I could tell ya the whole thing, if you want, sir, but only if you’re interested. If not, I can find someone else, maybe…”

I see the dejected look in his eye, and the businessman in me tells me to just push past him and get to the subway already. I mean, if I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my usual train, and then my whole schedule will get thrown out of whack! But some other part of me, I admit it…I’m curious. Besides, I could at least get him off the corner, where he’ll stop harassing people, if nothing else. If he flips out, I’ll just call the cops.

“No, you know what? I have a few minutes. I can listen to your story.”

“Wait, really? Oh man, this was even easier, this time!”

“This time?”

“It’s part of the story, you’ll see!”

“Look, are you hungry? There’s a McDonald’s back that way, I’ll buy you a burger.”

“A…A real burger? Oh holy cow, that’s amazing! I never get a whole burger!”

He’s jumping up and down like a lunatic. What the fucking hell have I gotten myself into?

“Hey, calm down! Yeah, I’ll buy you a burger.”

“Thanks sir! I forget what its like to get more than kibble, is all.”

Don’t ask for details. I don’t…really want to know. I head for the fast food joint a few store front’s back, and I have him sit at a table, while I order us food. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time I’m in the line, and it’s making me feel a bit self-conscious, to be honest. I adjust my suit as I’m standing there, and smile weakly at him–he has the same, big grin that he’s been showing since I started speaking with him, looking like he has everything he wants in the entire world–if only things were so simple.

Me? Well, I want everything. Money. Power. Authority. I mostly have money at the moment, but hey, I’m only thirty-two. I have the foundation, and that’s the most important part–now I just have to build on it. I’m a rising star! I look like it too–a nice gym toned body, manicured hair, clean shaven face. I haven’t found…an appropriate wife yet, but it’s not like I need to hurry up and settle for just anyone. I get up to the counter, and order a salad for myself and a quarter pounder for my…friend? No, hardly friend. I’d just call him a curiosity. Besides, this might be a good story! Just wait until everyone at the office tomorrow hears about this freak. The food’s ready in a couple of minutes–I wait at the counter, because I honetly don’t want to spend any more time sitting with the guy than I have to…and why in the world am I even doing this? I’ve definitely missed my train at this point, and if I don’t get one of the next few, I definitely won’t make it home in time for the conference call. Whatever–I’ll just listen for a couple of minutes, eat my salad, and then ditch. The guy got a meal out of me, what else could he want, really?

I take the tray back over to the table where he’s sitting, and I swear, if the guy had a tail, it would be wagging. He could barely stay sitting down…and fuck, is he drooling? Really? He takes the hamburger–almost forgets that he has to unwrap it–does so, and starts chowing down, grease all over his face, and a look of near ecstasy in his eyes. What kind of person–no, I mean it. What kind of person feels that way about a burger? Especially from McDonald’s? Couldn’t he at least have some standards or something? He finishes the thing in three or four bites, and licks his chops–his lips, I mean, but that’s almost what it looks like, and he sits back, obviously satisfied. Hell, I didn’t even get him french fries–he’s a cheap date, at least.

“So, your story? I gotta leave here in a few minutes, so you’d better tell the fast version.”

“Oh! Oh! The story! I love the story! It’s really good, trust me. It is kinda long though, and I’m kinda bad at telling it, cause I can get a bit distracted. But look–this might seem hard to believe, but there was a time when you and I–we weren’t so different, not at all. I was wearing a suit, I wanted money, and things, and sex–everything I could get my hands on, and I thought I was happy, just like you think you are. But then I met Master Joel…and Master Joel changed everything…”

The Power of Society (Part 7)

“Come on Brodie–just come lift with us! Classes aren’t for fucking jocks,” his two frat brothers guffawed and laughed–that was about as close anyone in the house got to a joke these days. After all, Jocks weren’t really known for their subtlety. Well, except for Brodie, and a few others. Against the orders of the study, Brodie still showered himself down at nights, when no one else was awake, and that helped him keep his mind clear enough that he could still go to a couple of classes on campus, even if he was nearly failing both of them. The professors were patronizing–they knew he didn’t really belong there as much as Brodie did, but they also found his attempt charming, and tolerated it. Brodie ignored his bros, and left the frat house, heading for campus–it wasn’t until after a few blocks that he felt warmth in the pouch of his constantly wet uniform, and realized he was pissing himself in the middle of the sidewalk–but the piss streaming out wasn’t what unnerved him–it was that he had completely forgotten to put anything else on over his uniform.

He was standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, wearing nothing but his yellow and brown, cum and piss stained uniform, cock bulging in the pouch, his muscular, dirty, hairy ass hanging out for everyone to see…but that was normal, wasn’t it? He entertained the thought of heading back to campus and putting on some other clothes–or at least a pair of shoes–but that was ridiculous–the house didn’t have any other clothes. Jocks didn’t get to wear clothes–what did he think he was…a normal person? He felt frozen there, on the sidewalk, not really certain how to take what was happening. He’d worn clothes yesterday, hadn’t he? When he’d gone to class? Or had he? It was hard to focus, with the stench of his piss wafting up from the pavement, and he kept walking before he gave in and started lapping at the puddle. It would be delicious, of course, but if he got distracted he’d never make it to class on time.

He kept going, crossing the road onto campus proper and headed for his campus building. He saw, up ahead, a crowd gathering around a bench–some Nerd was making a scene on the bench. He took a different path, wanting to avoid it. Nerds could be…distracting, for a Jock like him, and that one looked…especially dirty.

“What the fuck is up with that Jock?” he heard someone say, as he walked, “They don’t usually walk like that do they?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird–almost looks like a human or something, when it does that.”

God, what was he doing, Brodie asked himself. He knew better than that. He hunched forward and crouched down a bit, so his hands were on the ground and kept walking. He was aware that this position should be…very uncomfortable, if not impossible…but something odd had happened to his body. It was like his legs were shorter–squat and thick–and his arms had lengthened. He seemed almost simian, as he walked, and the copious amount of hair coating his body didn’t help. Still, he felt less naked, with his pelt on. He always felt sorry for swimmers, and the shaving and waxing they had to put up with. So much easier just being a dumb football jock like he was.

He was almost to the building where the class was being taught, when something flying through the air caught his eye. He dropped his books to the ground in a heap and launched after it, tongue hanging out of his mouth, every concern in him pushed aside. A thing was in the air! A ball? No–no, a frisbee! Brodie fucking loved frisbee! He launched himself into the air–a sense of vertigo washing over him when he saw how…high his squat legs could propel him–and intercepted the disk in the air, grabbing it with a sound something between a howl and cheer, and landed on the ground with a roll. Some focus returned to him, and looking around, he realized he’d interrupted a game of catch being played by three normal guys on the quad, and he felt a bit embarrassed.

“God, fucking Jocks,” one of them said.

“Hey, be nice! It’s not like they can help it.”

He loped over, holding the frisbee in his mouth, and handed it to one of the men, who tousled his hair like a kid, or a dog…and Brodie felt a surge of pride.

“Throw!” he said, his voice gutteral, almost a growl. “Throw again! Brodie catch! Brodie good catcher. Brodie play football.”

The guy rolled his eyes, “Hey guys, the jock wants to play.”

“Of course he fucking does.”

“Throw!” Brodie said, jumping up and down, an odd glee and exuberance filling his chest. “Throw for Brodie!”

“He’s not going to stop, is he?”

“How about keep away?” one of them suggested, and the other’s agreed. So the three of them began throwing the frisbee between them with Brodie in the middle, chasing after the disk like a pup, intercepting it often…and sometimes letting it go, because he liked seeing the people happy. Jocks, after all, wanted to make men happy, right?”

They stopped after an hour. Brodie hadn’t thought about his class once, and to thank the men for letting him play with them, he blew them all in sequence, and drank down their piss on the quad. No one really batted an eye at that–after all, Jocks could be a bit…forceful if the didn’t get their way. In the end, Brodie heard the four o’clock chime ring from the bell tower, said a hasty goodbye, and took off in the direction of the fieldhouse. Practice started at four fifteen, after all, and Brodie didn’t want to be late. Brodie wanted to play football! Maybe tomorrow, those guys would be playing frisbee again. He liked frisbee too, and their cum had been delicious as well. Maybe, if he was extra good tomorrow, they’d fuck his dirty ass too.

The End for now…

Still fighting, eh boy? Look how happy your two friends are, eating out daddy’s nasty pits. Fuck, they’re changing already, losing those nice clothes of theirs–they’ll be a couple of leather slaves here soon enough. One on the left–he’s gonna be a cute little cub, cock hungry, eager to please any man I take a liking to. That’s what he gets, for being first to give in–the privileged position this weekend. I’ll probably hand him off to some abusive fucker when I get bored, but trust me, he’ll enjoy it plenty–the more abusive the better.

Your other friend here? Yeah, let’s put a mask on him–a nice little pup, following me around, desperate to please. Yeah, look at that rubber tail wagging away–who’s a good boy? That’s right, you are, Sparky. If he’s really good this week, I’ll let him be human on the weekdays, and he’ll only go into full pup on the weekends hunting the alleys for a master–but if he’s a bad boy, maybe I’ll make him full dog, and he can be a stray roaming the streets when the weekend’s over–I guess that all depends on your behavior, right boy?

Now, that just leaves you, the final holdout. I told you, whoever gave in first would get the best deal, and whoever was last–well, lucky for you, I have one more place you can stick your face, pig. Oh? Did I hear a grunt from you when I said that? Yeah, you can smell it now, can’t you, you dirty fuck? Look at those knees buckle–that’s it, crawl right around there, and get that face of yours between my cheeks, you fucking hog.

Yeah pig, look how big you’re getting–400, 500 pounds? Play with that fat, feel how much it’s sagging, but you aren’t a boy, are you? No, you’re an old pig. A old, fat, small cocked, disgusting piggy. Reeking of piss, cum in your beard, you filthy fuck. No–you aren’t going anywhere with me, what makes you think I want a pig in my company? No–you stay right here in this alley–trust me, plenty of men will find you, and you’ll be ready to eat and drink whatever they give you, won’t you? I’ll be back at the end of the weekend, and we’ll talk about your future options, if you even remember your old life anymore. Now come on boy, heel Sparky, let’s go have some fun, and leave this old pig to enjoy his new life for a while.

Source: billthompson69

Dale’s Story (Part 9 – Finale)

Thank you all for the input over the last month, this has been a lot of fun to do again! I’ll probably take a break on this for a little while, and go back to just photo captions for a bit (look for them on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays). Here’s the finale, which is option #3 with a twist of #2 for all of you desperate pups out there.

His dad did look rather lonely, nursing that beer over there all by himself, looking around at the bar as more and more men succumbed to the new reality slowly taking them all over, exuded by the stranger…or the mayor, right? Dale looked over at the old man, shoving pipe smoke down George’s throat at the bar, and wondered how he could have not recognized him all this time. The damn town mayor! What in the hell was wrong with him, that he’d forget something like that? Oh well, it wasn’t like his head was screwed on too tight when it came to anything that wasn’t food and cars, so he’d make do.

The two young men, Jack and Terry, were still licking him clean, and he started tweaking their brains a bit, a little at a time, pulling and unraveling a few strings at a time, making sure they knew what was happening, but also knowing there was nothing they could do to fight it. Soon enough, they actually kind of liked it–the idea of a man having total control over them, especially someone like Dale. A big man…a father figure, even. Someone they could respect. Someone they could serve, perhaps.

The mayor gave him a funny look, and then shifted his attention to the man who, yesterday, had been Dale’s father. He’d gone to pot a bit since his wife’s death a few years ago, putting on a spare tire, and getting a bit too attached to the beer and whisky. As dale watched, his gut expanded into a firm, hard ball belly, his shirt disappearing, revealing skin coated with hair. His beard filled in but remained a bit scraggly, his nose growing red and bulbous from a few breaks, scars from brawls due to his mean streak, a real roughneck, as rough as they come. A denim vest covered with biker patches and regalia appeared on his shoulders, some well worn chaps over his jeans–Bubba, as everyone called him, knocked back another shot of whisky, stood up, swayed a moment, then stomped his way over to where Dale was sitting with the two young men, and he definitely liked what he saw, liked it even better when Bubba lit a cigar, leaned over and fed Dale a deep lungful of smoke while his two boys went to town on Dale.

Yeah, they were going to be Bubba’s boys for sure, not that the rest of the town couldn’t have a piece of either one whenever they felt like it. He looked down, and saw them changing under the stranger’s gaze. Jack first, his body bulking up with a muscle and fat, a bushy goatee around his mouth, body covered with scars, sores, welts and bruises, but that’s just normal for a punching bag fag like him. He’d grown up taking everything Bubba had felt he deserved, and Bubba thought he’d deserved a whole damn lot–thankfully, the boy’d grown to like it well enough, and generally was happy enough to let anyone abuse him as long as he got a fuck out of it in the end. Bubba tapped him on the head, and Jack looked up, mouth open, letting Bubba drop a cinder in his mouth to swallow, and then he went back to licking Dale’s chest, his tongue leaving a trail of sodden ash wherever it went.

Next came Terry, or Terrier, as everyone called him. A simple boy, he hadn’t really been up to being a man, so Bubba had trained him to be a pup instead. He was smaller than his brother Jack, more lithe and muscular, and he dropped down onto all fours, wagging the buttplug tail in his ass to and fro, as he scrambled under the table, buried his nose into Dale’s fat and started working on his cock, lapping up Dale’s cum as he moaned, and Bubba hauled out his own cock and fed it to Dale’s hungry mouth, and he looked again at the stranger, whose eyes were on him now.

He could feel his awareness dulling, his memories of the last twenty four hours dimming and dulling away into this new sense of normal. He saw Farmer Mick burst into the bar, hauling his massive pig behind him on a leash, coated with mud, and it was just…normal. His sucking Bubba’s cock was normal too, of course. He’d always had a thing for rough types like him, and Bubba had always liked pounding his big, fat ass into the ground, whenever he came in to get a tuneup for his harley. Course, Dale did have a bit of a reputation to uphold–he couldn’t just go around letting the whole town think his fat ass was open to just any fucker who wanted it, but he did have a soft spot for the big lug, he had to admit it. “Ya know Bubba,” Dale said, when he pulled away for a moment, “How ‘bout you ‘n yer boys, ‘n me ‘n mah boys, all spend a nice long night at mah place tahnight?”

“Heh, I had a date with a few biker buds of mine, but I wouldn’t pass up a chance at yer big ass, the way I’m feelin’ tonight,” Bubba growled down at him, and they shared some more smoke, before Bubba hauled him up out of the chair. Dale gave a whistle, and his two boys came over, and all six of them headed off into the night, happy denizens of the new town, where they lived happily ever after, in one life or another.

Photo and Idea submitted by Bryan

These two college fucks–I know it was their frat bros or whatever who put them up to the prank to begin with. Cow tipping–who even tips fuckin’ cows anymore? Needless to say, I wasn’t very happy when I heard the commotion outside and went out with my shotgun, scared the two pansy ass kids half to death without even shooting anything. So I called the cops, and as soon as they figured out they might actually end up going to jail, well, let’s just say there were some tears involved, and so I offered them both a choice. Either they could go with the authorities and take their punishment that way, or they could work on my ranch on the weekends, and pay off their debt that way instead. I told them that they’d be mine from Friday night until Sunday evening, no exceptions, and if they missed even one weekend, then I’d be pressing charges on them both. They were desperate, and they knew I knew they were desperate, and so they agreed, figuring it was still better than jail.

Course, I couldn’t just let something like this go unpunished, you know? Now I might look like a simple redneck to you, but even this simple redneck has some tricks up his sleeves. My grandpa was a magician, years ago, and he gave me his hypnotist’s watch–and trust me, the thing’s damn effective if you know what you’re doing. Pretty soon, the two of them were loving their work on the farm, even though neither of them could quite remember what kind of work they were doing in particular, because if either of them could remember…well, I doubt they’d be happy about it.

Still, I’m pretty happy with my new pup and pig. Aren’t they adorable? Of course, I can’t change them too much right now, I have to make sure they’re still presentable when they head back to class during the week, but I think both of them are realizing they suddenly don’t quite have the minds for college. Nope, pig here spends all week stuffing himself silly, and pup here is too busy humping anything he can find, preferably pig’s leg or rump, to focus on class work. Both of them have already agreed to keep working for me all summer long, and I have no doubt that neither of them will be returning to classes in the fall. I hadn’t really planned on keeping them, but let’s just say I’ve grown pretty attached to both of their holes, and I don’t think they’ll be leaving my ranch for quite a long time, not that they’ll care soon enough.

Gordon’s Wish (Patreon Commission)

“That’s it?” Jerry asked, taking the collar from Gordon’s hand, “I just put it on you?”

“Ideally, yeah,” Gordon said, “And, thank you. I mean, for doing this for me. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, but, well, when you tell people you want them to turn you into a…a dog, they tend to freak out.”

Gordon had met Jerry at a bear run the year before–he was looking slightly pathetic, a pudgy middle aged man dressed in mitts, a pup mask, a dog tail butt plug and not much else, and ended up servicing a rough looking top dressed in a leather uniform. They’d run into each other a few more times that weekend, at first by accident, and then on purpose, and even after they’d flown back to opposite sides of the country, they’d stayed in contact. It was a few months later, after they’d been chatting as both friends and as long distance dom and sub, that Gordon sprung the request on him. Jerry, admittedly, hadn’t known what to think about it, and had figured Gordon was just taking his roleplay a bit too far, but in fact he was perfectly serious–and that, much to Jerry’s surprise, had turned him on much more than he’d expected.

“Well, we don’t even know that it’ll work, right?”

Gordon nodded, but from the look in his eyes, Jerry could see that if it didn’t, it would hurt him to the core.

“Stand at attention, pup.”

Gordon hurried to follow the order, standing rigid, hairy gut thrust out, shivering with excitement. It had to work, it just had to. Jerry unhooked the collar and wrapped it around Gordon’s neck, but as he secured the metal clasp in place, something pricked his finger, drawing a bit of blood–breaking through the leather gloves he had on–and when he pulled his hand away, the collar had become a solid band of leather around the sub’s neck. “T–thank you, master,” Gordon said, and unable to help himself, licked his face. “Sorry…sorry Master, I don’t…I don’t know why I just did that.”

A gloved hand wrapped around the back of his head, and Jerry pulled him into a kiss, and as much as he tried to kiss him normally, Gordon kept returning to licking, and Jerry felt his sub’s tongue lengthening as it scraped across his face, growing thinner, and then their mouths didn’t fit together quite as well as they should. He pulled back and saw that the shape of Gordon’s head had changed significantly–his mouth pushing out into a short snout, his nose blackening. His beard had expanded all over his face and was now of two colors–around his mouth it had become pitch black, but as it grew up over his face and head it was a golden brown. Jerry pulled off a glove and stroked his fur with one hand, seeing Gordon’s still human eyes look at him with something between terror, excitement and love.

“Does it hurt?”

Gordon tried to speak, but it came out as a garble. In the end he shook his head ‘No’.

“That’s good. Here’s let’s get those clothes off of you, I doubt they’ll fit for much longer.”

Together they got off Gordon’s harness, leather shorts, jockstrap and boots. It was both easy, because Gordon was slowly shrinking out of them all anyway, but also more difficult, because before they were finished, his hands had fully morphed into paws, covered with the same golden fur as his head, which was spreading up his arms as they grew thinner. His legs were changing similarly, and as Gordon tried to get the boots off, he discovered he couldn’t balance on his two pads like they were feet, and he tumbled forward into Jerry, who caught him and lowered him down. At first he tried to stay on his hands and knees, but his legs wouldn’t bend right to allow it, his new bones forcing him onto all fours.

He looked over and saw the full length mirror that hung in Jerry’s play room, and took a few steps forward. First, he was trying to figure out how to make his legs work, but soon he realized that they worked just fine–he already knew how to work them, didn’t he? If anything, this felt more natural to him than walking on two legs ever had. And yet, it still felt…so strange. He’d imagined it for so long, in so many different ways, that the reality of it. He approached the mirror, saw his mostly German Shepherd face, and saw himself pull his tall ears back a bit, nervously. He could see that his arms and legs had fully changed–it was the bulk of his human torso which was left, the golden fur spreading over his heavy gut, pulling it up into a leaner frame, the black fur spreading over his back and down to his…tail. He hadn’t even noticed it pushing it’s way out above his ass, and he gave it a tentative wag, seeing his new mouth smile.

Jerry had followed him over to the mirror, still unable to believe that any of this was actually happening. It would be a lie, however, to say that he wasn’t turned on. This was a fantasy of his own–just not one he’d ever imagined he’d be able to experience in his life. In fact, Gordon was the first partner who had managed to coax it from his imagination and out his mouth. Gordon looked up at him, and nuzzled the crotch of Jerry’s breeches. He could see the bulge as well, and he licked at the leather. Jerry unzipped the fly and let his cock out. Gordon was careful to keep his new fangs well away from his Master’s flesh, and focused on licking the length of the shaft with his tongue, wrapping it around the head, listening for his master’s moans, and his smell!

Something shifted in his mind, and the entire world lit up for him in a completely unfamiliar way. He could smell…everything. He could smell where he’d been, where his Master had been–the whole room smelled of his Master, and that made him so incredibly, indescribably, irrationally happy. Happy and safe. He licked a bit harder, and then too his Master’s cock in his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth, feeling him shudder. “C–Careful pup, not too hard…” Jerry said, but Gordon…he could sense that he liked the feeling more than he might be willing to let on, and did it again. Jerry didn’t protest. He shuddered, and flooded his pup’s mouth with cum, Gordon licking the head and drinking it down happily, and then sat back on his haunches, tongue hanging out, panting, and trying to figure out what had just happened to him.

It didn’t really matter, did it? He had Master, and Master would keep him safe. Jerry put his cock away, and looked down at his dog–his new German Shepherd…and yet, he could remember owning him for years now…right? He noticed something glinting on Gordon’s collar, reached down, and looked at the tag that had appeared. It had his name and address on it, but surely it hadn’t been there before.

Gordon let out a whine, and looked over to the door, where several leashes hung.

“What, you wanna go for a walk, pup?”

Gordon let out a happy bark and charged over to the door, sitting patiently, looking back over his shoulder at his Master. Jerry walked over, clipped a leash to his collar, and they walked on into their dream together.