Tag: skinhead

The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Caption) Settled Debts

October Caption Challenge (7/31)

“Alright boy, are you ready?”

Mark nodded, and listened as James, his boyfriend, began the induction.

The two of them had been dating for about five years now, after meeting in the company gym a few times. Much to their surprise, after a couple of dates, a mutual fetish for hypnosis had popped up. Mark had always fantasized about being put under, about false memories, about all sorts of kinky stuff, and James had been more than happy to test things out, reading all sorts of books and guides, and the more he’d learned, the more adventurous they’d both become. Hypnosis was a way for them to become…someone else. Their day to day lives were so buttoned up and professional–and so, on the weekends, they’d started becoming other people entirely. This weekend, James had suggested they go out as a couple of skinheads. Of course, James would remember who they were, but Mark, well, Mark was going to be his skinslave for the weekend.

Mark was already deep, just from his trigger phase, but James led him lower still, into the depths of his mind. “Now, you’re going to step out of Mark, slave,” James said, “You’re going to step out of his skin, out of his memories, out of his life, and you will be able to see all of those things around you, while you are floating free, and light, and empty–you have never felt emptier than this moment, and being empty feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Mark nodded slowly, there on his knees.

“Now, take all of the things that say Mark on them, and you’re going to put them in a box. Together, we’re going to close the box up, tightly, and as soon as the box is closed, you’re going to forget what the box has in it. Now, there’s other things around, a new skin that you are going to slide into, but you’ll remember how light you feel right this very moment, and empty, and I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about who you are now…”

After a half an hour, the two of them left their apartment in gear, Mark following behind him, sneering, eager to get to the bar, have a few drinks, and suck on his Master’s cock in front of everyone.

“Time to wake up, Mark,” a voice said.

Mark shook his head awake, and looked around, expecting to find himself back in his apartment with James, but this wasn’t his place. It was smaller, dingier, and the man sitting in front of him, grinning around a cigar, was most certainly not his boyfriend. He tried to take a step back, but his feet refused to move, and the man laughed, watching him struggle. “What is this? Who are you?” Mark asked.

“I’m your new master, Mark,” the man said, “That boyfriend of yours has been racking up debt lately, at some of the underground gambling dens we both frequent. He was getting worried that he might have his knees broken, if he didn’t find a way to square things up. Lucky for him, I’ve had a flush year, so I went ahead and settled his accounts for him–in exchange for his little hypno slave.”

“No, what are you talking about? I don’t want to obey you!” Mark said.

“Slave, get on your knees, crawl over here, and worship my boots,” he said.

Mark dropped to his knees without a moment of hesitation, crawled over, and started licking, horrified, but unable to stop himself.

“James and I have been training you together for the last week. My voice is just as powerful as his was–you’ll never obey another order from him now, of course. The only one you obey is me, from now on.”

Mark let loose a little sob against the boot, and the man laughed. “Don’t worry slave–Mark won’t be around for much longer. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you realized your boyfriend literally sold you to settle his fucking gambling debt. No–I don’t want you because of your brain, I want you because I can fucking empty you out for good.”

Before Mark could steel himself, he heard his induction phrase, and he slipped under immediately, just like with James. He drifted down into the darkness, and slid out of ‘Mark’ again, putting everything inside a little box just like before–but this time, he didn’t just forget what was inside it–he watched it burn in his mind’s eye, everything about that self destroyed, but that was good. He was light now. Empty. He liked being empty. Besides, there was a new skin to wear, wasn’t there?

The slave that had been Mark, pulled on the rubber suit his Master tossed to him, along with the mask, and when he was finished, Master secured everything with padlocks. The slave would never knowingly see it’s flesh again–it would only be cleaned while in a deep trance. It followed its Master to a mirror, looked at its new, black, faceless head, mouth replaced by a funnel to receive Master’s piss, and knew what it was, then. A drone. A rubber slave. A cum dump and urinal–nothing more. Not a person, just an object, wholly owned by its master. It would have felt something, but objects didn’t feel, did they? They just served–that’s what Master said, anyway. And everything Master said was true. 

The man smiled. There was more work to be done, to alter his new slave’s body to make service easier, but it wouldn’t be long before it would be following him to the club, sitting beside him, drinking the piss and cum of every man in the room–including James, he was sure. He had no doubt that, before long, James would be as deep in debt as ever. Maybe they’d work out another arrangement, in good time.

(Caption) Arctos: Grooming

October Caption Challenge (4/31)

Steve dragged the package in with him that was lying outside the apartment, so happy it was finally here. With the quarantine going on, all of the barbers and salons had shut down–not that Steve had really cared. He’d always just buzzed his own hair with an electric razor. But a few weeks into quarantine, the dang thing had broken down! 

He’d gone online to buy a new one, but every single one on Amazon was sold out, and back ordered for at least a month, of not longer. Unable to believe it, he’d gone out and looked at a few stores, but sure enough, he hadn’t been able to find anything. In the end, he lucked out. A little store, by the name of Arctos, had an electric shaver on their site, and the price wasn’t bad either. He ordered it in, and here it was–and his hair wasn’t even that unruly, though the couple of weeks growth was more than he’d seen on his head in ages. He got the razor out, and was surprised to find that it was just the electric shaver–there were no guards to be found. He usually used the smallest one, but it was still odd that it wouldn’t have them.

In any case, it didn’t matter that much. He went into the bathroom, plugged it in, and started working on his head–but as he did, he started to feel a bit strange. A little light headed, maybe. Of course, what he hadn’t really noticed on the shaver, before using it on his head, was that there were some setting on the side he hadn’t bothered to check. A little dial with some words on the side. See the razor didn’t have any guards–Arctos was very keen on having you shave away your old self entirely, leaving you with a nice, clean scalp, and a nice clean new life to go with it. The setting Steve was currently using to trim his hair right down to his scalp, was “sadistic skinhead”.

The more hair that fell away, the sexier he looked, and the more he found himself thinking about the cruel shit he wanted to do to Aaron, his roommate. They’d been getting along alright up to this point, but Steve found himself fantasizing about pinning him down, soaking him down in his piss, humiliating him in the most depraved ways–fuck, his cock was rock hard. He pulled it out with his free hand, surprised by the PA in the head and the tattoos running up the shaft–but just for a moment. They’d always been there, hadn’t they? He finished his haircut, his old self gone, and admired the muscular, tattooed skinhead staring back at him in the mirror. He’d save his load for now though–Aaron would be home soon. He started fiddling with the dials on the shaver–he was due for a haircut as well.

Aaron came home, and it was the smell that alerted him something was off. It was cigarettes. But Steve and he both hated them, and the apartment was non-smoking anyway, so who would have been smoking in here? He followed the smell to the bathroom, and he found Steve sitting on the toilet, cigarette in his mouth, wearing…well, it wasn’t anything he’d seen Steve in before.

“There you are, Pig,” Steve said, and beckoned him closer with a gloved finger, “Time for your haircut piggy.”

Aaron tried to run, but Steve was vicious–he pinned him against the wall and took off a stripe of hair with the razor, and as he did, Aaron gave a snort of excitement. “Yeah, that’s it pig, just embrace it. We’ll get rid of all that hair, and you’ll be so much happier, trust me.”

A few more stripes, and Aaron was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life. Steve forced the collar around him, put him on his knees, and dragged him over to the toilet, where there was a dog bowl full of Steve’s cold piss in front of him. “Have a drink Pig, while I work on the back of your head.”

The setting that Steve had settled on for Aaron, after much deliberation, was “Daddybear Pigslave.” Sure enough, as more and more of Aaron’s hair fell away, Steve watched him get older, hairier and fatter, happily lapping at his young Master’s piss. When his head was perfectly bald, Steve dragged him out of the bathroom and fucked him in his bedroom, before showing his new slave to his proper home–the cage that had appeared in the dungeon, where Aaron’s room had been an hour ago. He added some more piss to his bowl, and Aaron happily drank it down, oblivious to the fact that he’d had any other life, beyond this one.

Horny Hugh (Part 4 – Finale)

WARNING: Like the part before this one, this part has graphic material. It’s more horror than porn, unless you’re into that sort of thing. Mutilation, snuff, pain play, abuse, steroid use, and other bad things below, consider yourself warned.

Josh pushed his way into the apartment, dropped his bag off to the side, heaved a sigh of relief, and shut the door behind him. He hated travelling, especially for work, but it had to be done. Now though, it was time for a drink, a little relaxation, and then a day off tomorrow–something he always insisted on after a business trip. He went into the kitchen to fix himself a drink, and to fix himself some food, when there was a knock on his door. Figuring one of his neighbors must have figured out he was back, maybe with some mail, he opened the door, only to find Kyle, his boyfriend, standing outside in the hallway.

“Hey babe, I missed you!” Kyle said, pushing his way inside and giving him a kiss, “So glad you’re home safe.”

“Kyle?” Josh said, after accepting the kiss, “What are you doing here? I didn’t even buzz you up.”

“One of your neighbors did–I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Josh felt a bit unnerved, not necessarily by his surprise appearance, but because the night before, he’d had one of the strangest, most vivid, and most terrifying dreams of his life. Kyle had been in it, but it hadn’t been Kyle, really. There was something else inside him, and…and he’d fucked Josh, well, raped him. It had been intense, and a bit traumatic, and he’d been hoping to put off seeing him for a few days until the dream had settled. That, and he’d had wanted some more time to mull over what Kyle had asked him before he’d left, about moving in.

Josh liked Kyle, he really did, but he didn’t know if he was ready to move in with anyone right now. Sharing space was difficult, and Kyle could be a bit overbearing at times. Letting him down easy would be a challenge, but Josh didn’t want to say yes until he was sure. 

Kyle pushed into his space again, giving him another kiss, and while Josh appreciated the gesture, he was also a bit put off by how forward he was being. “Come on, give me a few minutes, I haven’t even had a shower.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said, looking a bit sheepish, “I’ve just waited so long to taste those lips, I can’t resist.”

“It’s been, like, five days Kyle.”

“It feels like ages though.”

Kyle slid closer again, giving him another kiss, now grinding his cock against Josh’s leg, Josh telling him to cut it out, asking him to stop, eventually forcing him away, and when he did, he saw…something else flash in Kyle’s blue eyes. A flicker of yellow. Something…cruel, and hungry there that he’d never seen before.

“Look, I know you meant well, but I’m not in the mood, Kyle. I just want to have something to eat and go to bed,” Josh said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Kyle just glared at him–and the air in the room grew a bit chilly, like all the heat was being sucked away. Josh gasped as two horns erupted from Kyle’s head, twisting out like the horns of a bull, their points almost glittering, as the lights in his apartment flickered. “I’ve waited so long for you, Josh, I’m not waiting any longer. You’re mine now. You’ll be so happy, you’ll see. I know just what you want, what we need together. You don’t understand yet, but I’ll help you, I’ll help you see…” Kyle said, his voice contorting into something else, something deeper as he stalked closer to Josh, head lowered, horns pointed right at him. Josh backed away looking for a weapon, certain this must be a dream. Kyle charged, Josh felt the horns pierce his chest–one driving right into his heart–and Josh gasped and choked, tasting blood, waking up from the nightmare in his bed.

He touched his chest, but there was nothing there. It had felt so fucking real, those wounds, but…but it had been a dream? But if it had been a dream, why couldn’t he remember anything else from the night before? How had he gotten into bed? And why could he hear sounds coming from the kitchen in his apartment?

He got up, went to investigate, and found Kyle there, cooking breakfast. “Morning lover–just wanted to surprise you with something nice, now that you’re home again.” 

“Oh…did…did you spend the night?” Josh asked him, “I…My memory is a bit fuzzy.”

“Well yeah, last night and every night, silly. I moved in a few months ago! How fuzzy is that memory of yours?”

Josh just stared at him, confused. He was certain that they’d just been discussing that before, but…but now, now he wasn’t quite so sure about it. Kyle pushed a mug of coffee into his hands and gave him a kiss, and before he knew it, they had settled down and were eating breakfast together. Everything felt normal. Even those two, nightmarish dreams were starting to fade into the back of his mind, feeling less and less important, now that the sun was up. Once breakfast was done, Josh cleared the table, but before he could get anything in the dishwasher, Kyle was on him, groping him, pulling him into the bedroom, and Josh wasn’t fighting him–he was certainly horny after his trip, but then, he was always horny, wasn’t he?

Kyle was more passionate than Josh remembered. It wasn’t that he’d been timid before, but he’d always been so careful with him, like Josh was something he could break. Now though, he tossed and turned Josh into whichever position he wanted, and he found himself enjoying the rougher treatment. It was like he was having sex with someone else, almost. At times, it really did feel that way, especially when Josh was on his belly, Kyle fucking him rough–he could almost…feel someone else on top of him, or…or something else, maybe. That dream came back to him, those horns. He’d seen those horns somewhere before, hadn’t he? The memory was there, but fuzzy. At a…bar one night, but he’d drunk too much, probably. Maybe at a Halloween party, or something.

Kyle fucked him and finished inside his ass, then flipped Josh over and sucked him off until he came as well, savoring the cum, licking his lips, before lying down next to him in the mid morning light of the window. The rest of the day was easy–Josh got the kitchen cleaned up again, and then they got caught up on their shows, until Kyle got randy again in the evening and gave Josh another fucking–though this time he seemed a little less…eager than he had in the morning. Almost like he was a bit bored. Then dinner, then bedtime. Sleep came easily to Josh, despite the bad dreams he’d been plagued with, and Kyle just watched him for a bit–or rather, Hugh watched him, through Kyle’s eyes, trying to temper his own disappointment.

He’d looked so perfect, from afar.

That handsome face, those sweet eyes, a nice bulge. That laugh of his. But now that Josh was his, Hugh found himself…bored. He’d seen so deep inside him with his horns that first night, and everything inside Josh was rather boring–a hopeless romantic, preferring to take things slow and cautiously, rather than rush into anything. He’d taken him apart in desperation, hoping for something deeper, but there was just nothing much. No real kinks or oddities to speak of. Even Sam had been an interesting sort of empty, void enough to fill with something interesting. But with Josh, Hugh just felt nothing exciting at all. Hugh could tell that this had been a perfect day for Josh–after all, Hugh designed it that way, just to try it. But in all honesty, Hugh was bored with it. There was so much more out there to experience. Josh could be so much more, but he limited himself. He was too cautious, too nervous, too worried about what others might think of him. It wasn’t uncommon of course. So many other people Hugh had met, and helped, over the last couple of months felt the same thing, but they all had something to hide. Josh didn’t even have that. Hugh would help him though. He realized that he’d been wrong before. It wasn’t that Josh was perfect the way he’d been, it was that he was the perfect base. A perfect hunk of marble that Hugh could now sculpt into something else–a masterpiece. But first, he would need materials. Tools. 

Hugh got out of bed, and sucked Kyle’s skin back into his body, looming over Josh’s figure as himself now. His true self. Massive horns jutting from his bony face, his forehead studded with several smaller ones that had emerged over the last few days. His skin was raw and inflamed all over, the infection from the horns spreading further now, making his skin rough and leathery. His eyes were yellow, teeth too, and so sharp. Looking at Josh’s throat there, he could…bite into it, tear it out, drink him down…but no, too soon. He slid one clawed finger down Josh’s exposed arm, watching the hairs rise and skin prickle at his touch. A marvelous specimen. Kyle lumbered out of the apartment, sniffed the air, and went to the roof, where he unfurled the wings that had grown from his back, allowing him to glide across the city. He could smell what he needed–he would go take it, come back, and help Josh realize who he was always supposed to have been.

Josh went back to work the next day, but as the week wore on, he had a hard time feeling like things were going back to normal. Part of that was, naturally, because of Kyle moving in with him. He knew it had been a while since it had happened, but it was difficult to feel like it wasn’t rather sudden somehow. It was also strange because Kyle was always there–sending him off out the door, and greeting him when he got home. The only time he didn’t seem to be present was at night, when he would send Josh to bed alone, and he’d be awake before Josh everyday. He awoke one night and found the bed beside him empty, but didn’t think much of it in the moment, but it was the first time in days he’d been alone in the apartment. 

Then, he had another nightmare. The same monster as before (he knew it was always the same monster somehow, whether it looked like Kyle or not) and it forced him to suck it’s massive, barbed cock, until Josh drank down a bunch of foul tasting cum. He woke up unnerved, but the details faded before he could find Kyle and tell him about it–but that morning was different. Usually he went right to work after leaving home, but today, Kyle left with him, and they went to the gym together. This wasn’t new for them, though Josh couldn’t recall the last time they’d gone to the gym since he’d returned from his trip a week earlier. Once there, Kyle proceeded to put him through a grueling workout, focused almost entirely on free weights, rather than the usual cardio they preferred. Josh found himself sliding into the rhythm of it almost immediately, and they worked out for a solid two hours–or rather, Josh worked out and Kyle coached him until he was a quivering, sweaty, aching mess at the end of it.

But he loved it. He felt…so strong, suddenly. Big. And the ache was good too, it felt good in a way that he hadn’t expected at all. They got back to the apartment, and Josh was so exhausted he couldn’t resist as Kyle led him into the bedroom and fucked him, telling him what a good job he’d done, telling him how big he was getting, how strong he was going to be. He needed to be stronger for what was ahead, Kyle whispered to him, he needed to be so much stronger. Only after that did Josh realize he should have been at work the entire time–but Josh calmed him down, fed him a big meal, and put him back to bed. He was just taking a few days off, is all. He’d be ready to go back to work soon.

The next day, before they went to the gym, Kyle took Josh into the bathroom, loaded up a syringe, and injected it into Kyle’s ass. When Josh objected, Kyle just looked at him like it was the most normal thing. Didn’t Josh want to be bigger? Steroids were just the natural next step, after all. Didn’t he want to be a brute? A muscle bull? A giant fucking stud?

Kyle turned him around and fucked him there in the bathroom, with Kyle facing his reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t…recognize his body, at first. He was so much larger than he’d been, then he should have been. Thick traps, massive biceps, a hard roid gut topped with a two pack, pecs so large he couldn’t really see over them at times. He was a giant fucking brute, wasn’t he? And he loved it. 

“Tell me what you are,” Kyle said in his ear.

“I’m your fucking muscle bitch,” Josh heard himself say.

“What else?”

“I’m a roided out muscle pussy, I’m a steroid abusing beast. I want everyone to fucking look at me and know that all I’m fucking good for is my massive fucking muscles.”

Kyle came, and they went to the gym, Josh dressed in a singlet stretched tight over his imposing frame, and just knowing that everyone was looking at him, that they all knew exactly what he was, he found his cock leaking. By the end of the session, the crotch of his singlet was soaked with cum and sweat–Josh made him sniff it in the locker room, suck it clean until he came all over the floor, and then Josh got down and licked that up too, mooing like a fucking bull–because that’s what he fucking was.

The next day, he went back to work like nothing had changed. In fact, nothing had changed, had it? Not that Josh could really remember. No one commented on the fact that he’d disappeared for two full days, and returned with an extra hundred pounds of muscle mass packed into a tailored suit. After work, he went to the gym, where Kyle was waiting, and they worked out as they always did, then went home for a massive meal, and the rough sex Josh had found himself craving more and more, just like he craved the ache in his muscles after his grueling workouts.

Some part of him knew this was wrong. Could sense it. But it was so addled by the changes he couldn’t get its bearings, and the truth was, Josh was enjoying himself. He’d always wanted this, hadn’t he? He hadn’t–a voice said, but with the thoughts raging in his head, Josh couldn’t tell the difference between what Kyle had fed him and his own thoughts. The dreams were still coming, but Kyle found himself less and less scared of the beast in them. He…almost found himself enjoying those as much as the workouts.

Kyle had another surprise for him that weekend, after he’d been back to work for a couple of days. After their evening workout, they took a detour to a piercing and tattoo parlor–Kyle had decided it was time for his muscle bull to start getting some piercings. It was like Kyle had read Josh’s mind–he’d been fantasizing about getting his nipples pierced lately, but hadn’t said anything about it. Needless to say, he was thrilled. He got in the chair, took off his shirt, and the bearish fellow swabbed his nipples, and then the needle slid into him. Josh felt the pain course through him, and he lost track of everything else for a moment. When he came back to the room, the piercing was done, he had a small stud through his nipple, and his pants were soaked with a load of cum he’d lost from the pain of it. Kyle just grinned at him, the man did the other one, and the same thing happened–a few moments of blissful pain, another load pumped out of him, and when Kyle told him that was in for this session, Josh begged him for another–at least one more. Kyle was more than happy to oblige, the piercer did Josh’s septum, and again, the sensation was so powerful that he was left soaked, and hornier than he could recall being in his entire life.

Josh begged the man to fuck him, as a thank you. He was a bit reluctant, but Kyle had a word with him on Josh’s behalf, explaining to the bearish fellow that he was a muscle bull with an aching cunt, who loved pain and loved getting fucked good and rough. Kyle and the artist, a man by the name of Tim, tag teamed Josh right there in the studio, and when they got home, Kyle fucked him again after Josh begged him to, telling him how much he loved the gift, how he couldn’t wait for them to be healed so Kyle could properly torture them.

Apparently, that meant the next morning. Much to Josh’s surprise, when he looked at himself in the mirror the next day, the small studs that had gone into his nipples and nose had been replaced by massive rings. The ones in his muscle tits were 0 gauge, and the barbell hanging from his nose was 00 gauge–and fuck, he looked so fucking hot, he started groping himself, tugging on his chest rings, feeling his flesh pull and ache. Somehow, other piercings had appeared as well, in his ears, in his eyebrows, in his lips and tongue. He could remember having them, somehow, but they felt so new as well, and fuck, if they weren’t sexy as hell too. He called Kyle in to fuck him right then and there, he couldn’t stand it. That night, Kyle took him back to the piercing shop to do his cock as well–though Kyle didn’t recall as much from that session. Tim and Kyle tied him down to the chair and tortured him for hours, and when he woke up, he found himself with a massive PA and a jacob’s ladder running the length of his six inch cock, a multitude of rings in his ball sack, and a ring in his taint as well. He gave his cock a stroke and shuddered–it felt so different, but it felt so…right. Like this is exactly what kind of cock he was supposed to have. Kyle was obviously pleased as well–and since it was Saturday night, he figured it was time for Josh to have his premiere.

He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Kyle wouldn’t explain more. They went through their usual Saturday routine with an extra long workout and afternoon fuck session, and then, after dinner, Kyle told him it was time to get ready. He put Josh in a bunch of leather gear he didn’t know either of them had–a thick leather harness across his chest, weights and a chain attached to his swollen tits, a leather vest, chaps, and lastly, he took a heavy padlock and attached the PA in Josh’s cockhead to the ring in his taint, forcing his cock to stretch painfully across his balls, held tightly in check. Then, a choke collar, a leash, and once Kyle was dressed in a full leather uniform, he dragged him to the bar, to display him.

Kyle and Josh had been there countless times, but never like this. Josh was horrified, and yet so fucking turned on that everyone could see him for the muscle cow he was now–the muscle cow he’d always been, really. After a few drinks for them both, Kyle started pimping Josh’s muscle pussy out to anyone he took a shine to, and the men would drag him into the restroom, fuck him next to the urinal working its usual shift, and then back out again, until cum was literally running down the inside of Josh’s legs. They went home, and Josh had never felt so satisfied in his entire life–but he could tell that Kyle wasn’t quite as satisfied. He kept looking at Josh in the strangest fashion, like he was trying to see someone else through him, or inside him.

That was because Hugh still wasn’t completely satisfied. The more he twisted Josh, the more he could imagine twisting him further–there was always a level of perversion beyond the one he’d just finished dragging his obsession toward. This should be enough, Hugh told himself, but the beast refused to be satisfied–it knew what it needed to do next. It would be so…exciting, it could barely contain itself in Kyle’s skin that night. It had to slip out the window, find someone to toy with for a moment, let off a little steam before it could continue with Josh. If Hugh pushed too far, he knew it would be ruined. He’d get there, slowly. He’d understand soon enough that Hugh was the only beast that knew what Josh could really desire. He was the only thing in the world that could really help him now.

They started going out to the bars most every night after that. It wasn’t long before Josh was known as the communal muscle pig open for anyone, no matter how old, or ugly. Back in their apartment, Kyle was rougher, training Josh’s flesh in ways he’d never known possible, with a wide assortment of paddles, whips, floggers and other implements of pain and torture that Kyle found himself craving just as much as the exhausting workouts he had on a daily basis. Kyle upgraded to knives, sliding the blades along his skin at first, just enough to scratch, but it wasn’t long before the wounds turned deep, Kyle would end up driven into a blood lust when he tasted it, Josh left certain that the wounds Kyle gave him were sure to be the end of him, though by morning, all that remained of the night’s activities were old scars all over his body. 

Kyle surprised him one evening when they stayed in, and told him he’d arranged a special playdate for them both, something he was sure Josh would enjoy. The fellow arrived after dinner–a muscular skinhead, covered in tattoos and calluses, wearing filthy workgear and smelling like he’d just walked off a construction site. The scene started normally enough, with Kyle and the skinhead working Josh over in various ways, but then the knives came out–or at least, Josh thought it was a knife. He waited, expecting the blade to sink into his own flesh–but he just felt a hot spray of blood across his back, looked over, and saw that Josh had severed the skinhead’s throat–and that the blade was not a knife, but a claw.

A claw Josh recognized. A claw of the beast in his dreams. Was he dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but then, his dreams never felt like dreams, until he woke up. Did he want to wake up? He watched the blood pour from the skinhead’s throat, and part of him, a small part, but one that had been growing, wondered what it might feel like. That pain, and that terror. A smaller part was even envious, but it was too small to be noticed yet, just a seed, the blood splatter it’s first watering. Josh was too confused to scream, too uncertain as to whether any of this was real, as Kyle’s skin pulled back, was swallowed away, and the beast slid forth, crawling over the skinhead’s corpse, licking up blood with a long black tongue, sliding one claw along the skinhead’s body, as if contemplating where to cut next. 

“What…why did you do that…Kyle?” Josh asked, though he knew this was not Kyle. He didn’t know who it was, but he had known it wasn’t his boyfriend for sometime now. Calling it Kyle was convenient for them both, but it was not the truth. 

“You’re too pretty,” the beast said, its voice like steam hissing against hot rock. “Always have been too pretty. But I have a new face for you. New skin. Better skin. First though, the old must peel away.”

The pain that came next was indescribable. The beast pinned Josh down to the floor, and with it’s long prehensile tail tipped with a dagger like claw all its own, cut it’s way around Josh’s face. Then, it peeled it away, off the muscle, his entire mind crumbling into hot white agony. What came next, Josh wasn’t certain. He came, several times. Something slid over his head, like a hood. The beast repeated the process on his arms and hands, degloving him, sliding something else warm and wet over them instead, cut away skin in other places too–his chest, his back, applying new pieces there as well. When he was certain he couldn’t take it anymore, the beast fucked him, the cock penetrating him deeper than it had ever gone before, and Josh could feel everything shrinking to him, tightening, constricting, choking him until he passed out–and then, at last, he woke from the most horrifying, dizzying, erotic dream of his life, and puked over the side of the bed.

He stumbled to the bathroom, but it wasn’t his face looking back at him, not anymore. It was the skinhead’s face. His broken nose, his rotten teeth, his boxed ears, his bald scalp, the tattoos on his neck crawling up the sides of his head. They weren’t his hands either, covered with all these tattoos, calloused and stubby fingers, nails caked with grime and dirt. Other bits of the skinhead had been cut away and applied to him, tattoos that the beast had fancied, apparently, and thought would accent Josh’s new look. He vomited again, tugged at his skin, but it refused to come free. It was his now. It had always been his now.

Nothing more than an ugly brute. A muscle bull, aching for pain and for cock. Even now, the thought of that exquisite pain had his cock aching, though it was still locked up, knotted to his own taint, dribbling cum down the inside of his massive thighs. He sobbed–what the fuck was happening to him? What on Earth had he become? Kyle found him there, and Josh tried to fight him off, but there was nothing he could do to resist him. He was just trying to help him, just helping him become who he was supposed to be. Couldn’t Josh see that? That he was so much better now than he’d ever been before?

“What did you do with him?” Josh asked, over breakfast.

“Don’t worry about him, I found a use for everything left over.”

“Not him–with Kyle. Where’s Kyle?”

The thing inside Kyle’s skin looked over at him, and smiled, “He never understood what you needed. I’m the only one who could give you the help you. I helped him too–he’s much happier now.”

Josh went to work, though he had taken the skinhead’s place on the construction crew now. It was aching, back-breaking work, but he loved that too. Loved how sore he was. The other men around him were so sexy and handsome, his cock was aching for all of them. Kyle told him that they might invite them over soon, help them out, give them all a taste of what the beast could do for them as well. The beast just wanted to help. So many people, trapped inside a reality that would never allow them to be what they wanted to be. The beast was free now, and it could free them all too. It wouldn’t stop until they were all free.

But Josh knew he was trapped. Trapped in a nightmare that he’d never really woken from, ever since he’d returned from that trip. Maybe he did want this. He couldn’t tell anymore–but one thing he knew was that so long as he was here, the beast would never be finished with him, and that scared Josh to death. So, one night, he ran.

The beast hunted at night, Josh had long since realized that. The thing couldn’t be satisfied with Josh alone, it had discovered that soon enough–and so it had gone out at night, found other men to help along with their urges, freeing more and more men to realize their darkest desires around the city. Josh knew it was hopeless, that the beast would surely find him, but he had to try. He had to prove to himself that there was still some part of him that was him, and him alone. Not some sick thing planted in his mind, growing into a thicket of thorns and perversion he was more and more lost inside with each passing day. He would run. Leave town. Settle somewhere else. If this was who he was, then so be it, but he wouldn’t be a toy of the beast any longer.

But of course, it found him. Josh ended up cornered in an alley, the beast looming over him, enraged that Josh had left without its permission. Didn’t he understand how much Hugh loved him? Didn’t he understand how much help he needed? Maybe that’s why he had run, because he’d wanted punishment. Perhaps, it was Hugh that had neglected him. Josh fought, but there was nothing he could do–the beast slashed his throat open, and at last, he knew what it would feel like, the blood running down his chest, soaking him like sweat, tasting and smelling nothing but iron. The beast watched life drain from his toy, and contemplated what to do. Perhaps, it had been neglectful. It picked up Josh’s limp, blood-drained body in one clawed hand, and flew into the sky, returning to the apartment–and in the morning, Josh woke again, alive, with a new scar across his neck, and the beast looming in the bedroom.

The beast remained with Josh for a few more weeks, devoting all of its attention to him, and him alone. Each time the beast played with him, Josh was certain that this agony would be the highest attainable, that certainly there was no pain greater than what he was feeling right now. Each time, he would beg, and pray, as the blood drained from him, as his head was crushed in the beast’s claws, as his heart was pulled from his ass, that this would be the final time, but always, he would wake from death, and they would begin again.

Josh began to realize that he was losing something with each resurrection. A bit of his mind, a bit of his soul. His body was coated with scar now, his bones broken in more places than they were whole. There was just the pain, the mutilation, the destruction, the laying out of his flesh until he was no longer recognizable as anything human, and then returned, for it to begin again. He knew it would not last forever. Each time, the joy in the beast’s eyes dimmed slightly–it was tiring of him, as he’d known it would. All Josh could do was hope that the beast would end him, give him just that mercy–but he did not.

One morning, Josh woke, alone. The absence of pain (aside from the constant ache of mended bones, and the network of scars that wound across his body)  was a new sensation, one that was deeply unsettling to him, but one that he knew should be a welcome relief. In the mirror, he looked at his mangled face. One eye remained, the other hadn’t survived–there was just a deep, ugly scar that mangled forehead, socket and cheek. But he was alive–wasn’t he? But then why did he feel so empty now? 

The beast had left without explanation. After a day, the yawning emptiness inside him was terrible. He had lost too much, in the process. There wasn’t enough here to survive on, the only thing that could occupy him was thoughts of pain, and mutilation, and death. Still he survived for a few days, working at the site, going to the gym, getting fucked at the bars, before he gave in, took a knife from his work belt, and stabbed it into his arteries, the orgasmic pain swelling inside him, the only thing close to fullness that he had felt since the beast left him alone. Then he died for the night, and awoke the next morning–still alive, still empty, still aching.

He found others who would use him, eventually. Men who would kill him, maim him, torture him, bring him to the brink of crossing over, but always, whatever magic the beast fueled him with would pull him back, and Josh would come back, emptier each time, with less and less of himself, less and less humanity to ground him. The deaths and beatings and tortures took their toll of course. In time, it was difficult to recognize him as something that might have been human once, but the thing knew what it’s purpose is now. To die. To suffer. Perhaps one day, the beast, its true master, will return and end its existence–but until then, it will suffer, and suffer gladly.

Business as Usual

An open ended, multipart story following the various tales of a business that has been taken over by a new CEO. However, the men working there soon discover that with new leadership, it is going to be anything but business as usual for them.

Last updated: 10/21/2019 – Part 3 is now public!

Click the button below to see the table of contents, and read the story!

Continue reading “Business as Usual” →

Losing Control (Original Version)

I’m hoping to publish a longer story once a week or so, but I know that I won’t be able to always have sizable new content for you all. However, one thing I have been wanting to do for years is organize all of my stories in one place with a more comprehensive tag/category system, so this is the beginning of that project. When I don’t have a new story to post for the week, I’ll go back in my archives, clean up an old story, and repost it here. I’m going to be starting off with some stories that I haven’t touched in a very long time–like this one! My first story, almost twelve years old! Like a small child. Almost a teenager even. A story that is also a tween. I think this is now sufficiently weird.

In addition, for some of these, I’m planning on working on fixing up some of the writing, and also potentially extending them. I already have an extended rework of this story is process in fact. Some of those enhanced versions will be published here, others will be for Patron eyes only, depending on how I feel about them. I do want to preserve the original work, however, so I won’t be cleaning these archive versions up too much. The writing is a bit…well, it was twelve years ago! I was trying very hard. In any case, some of you might not have ever seen these stories, and others might like to revisit them, and now they will all be in one place, eventually! Hooray!

(Original version, published 4/22/2007)
I’m not a fan of destroying peoples’ lives, but sometimes they just deserve it. Being a wizard, it’s important to not lose control and let your power go to your head. Of course, I feel that I have a certain duty however to assist other people in realizing that they shouldn’t let their power go to their heads either. For example, do you remember Mike, the quarterback?… No of course you don’t remember Mike, Jerry’s the quarterback now and always has been. Let me just tell you a story then. Let’s say that there was this guy on campus, and he was a quarterback, and very popular, with a great body. All of those things would give a guy a lot of power, right? And a reasonably good person might use that power to do something good, right? You know…instead of picking on a wizard just because he would rather read a good book of spells than spend hours at the gym grunting like an ape, right? Well let’s say Mike wasn’t a reasonable good person, and that he did pick on a wizard, and that wizard felt like Mike was out of control. Or perhaps he had to much control. So all I did was make him lose a little. Ok, so it wasn’t really a little, but let me get to the story.

Mike had just got home from a frat party where he had a wonderful Saturday night. Not only was there plenty of beer, but the girls had been almost as bottomless as the stockpile of kegs as well. If he counted right, he had made out with ten, gotten blowjobs from six, and fucked two. The girls went crazy over his six foot three, 230 pound chiseled body, and blue eyes. Of course, he may have lied to a few of them, like when they asked if he loved them. He didn’t, but their bodies were damn hot, and that’s all that mattered to him. He unlocked the door to his apartment off campus and stepped inside. Dodging a pile of old pizza boxes, he threw his coat onto the couch and stumbled into the kitchen for a final beer before going to bed. He should clean up his apartment, but he didn’t really care that much. We wasn’t here most of the time anyway, he reasoned. He opened the fridge, pulled a can out of the 12 pack box, and sat down at the table, shoving a stack of papers aside to make room. One of them fell in front of him, and as he picked it up, the salutation caught his eye, “Dear Mike, the asshole jock.” He read the first line a few more times, thinking it was the beer, but there it was, written in script on a piece of plain paper. Curious, he went on the read the rest of the letter:

Continue reading “Losing Control (Original Version)” →

Digital Manipulation (Finale)

Trax spent a few months honing his new, and in his mind, much improved version of Perrion. It wasn’t too long before any trace of the old version was gone–he’d replaced his whole past with new memories, scrubbed all of his old desires and left behind a muscled out, dumbfuck skinpig desperate to be as big and freakish as his master desired. Still, it was only virtual. Trax had started this just as a way to get even, to vent some of his anger out on something that, in the long run, he figured he’d eventually just delete in a fit of shame and horror. But that wasn’t happening at all–instead, he was becoming obsessed.Obsessed not only with PJ, but also with the skinmaster persona he’d created for himself in the virtual realm. He wanted more–and he wanted it to be real…but how?

He couldn’t just kidnap Perrion–that would raise too much suspicion. Instead, he haunted him for a while, looking for a weak point he might be able to use to his advantage–and then he discovered, one night while spying on him, that Perrion had made a new purchase–a dream recorder. It was perfect–it was relatively new tech, and a lot of people had been raising concerns that they could be hacked and give people access to your subconscious. No one seemed too concerned about it. After all, companies already had complete access to your conscious already, what more could they really want?

A little malicious malware with PJ implanted inside, and a quick slip into Perrion’s apartment while he was at work, and everything was set up–PJ would have complete control over Perrion’s dreams soon enough–and a good deal more than that. The more Perrion exposed himself to the infected machine, the more PJ would slide into him, replacing more and more of his subconscious mind with his own perverse ideals and desires. Still, it had to burn slow, because PJ could be…a bit much upon introduction. He set the malware to trigger slowly, and make sure things only really ramped up once PJ was firmly rooted in Perrion’s mind. The process was set to take a year.

It was a grueling time to wait, but Trax had his own projects–namely, himself. He needed to be the skinhead master that PJ would want to be with in a year, or else the fucker would just ditch him for someone else. Trax wasn’t a large guy, but some of his less legal work had landed him a substantial windfall–mostly after making a few copies of some other people on mental vacations for clients. That money was pumped right back into his body–cybernetics mostly, growing his frame and skeleton from five and a half feet tall to nearly seven feet tall, and once he got a taste for cyber…it was hard to stop. He could pass for human, at times. But he liked how people looked at him, he liked how his metal snake of a cock could wrap around his wrist–or around his thigh under his bleached jeans.

He corrupted himself gladly, ruining his intellect, getting himself addicted to tobacco, and several substances harder than that. Still, he always had an eye on the calendar, and as the day approached, he was desperate to check in on Perrion, to see how he’d progressed…but he resisted. Better to wait for the day he’d arrive on his doorstep, begging his ex to take him back, unable to explain how he’d been dreaming about him for ages, and all he wanted was for him to twist him into some sick minded pervert pig skinslave.

The day came, and he didn’t have to wait long–Perrion arrived before noon, knocking on his door, and when he saw Trax–the new Trax, a stain of precum appeared on the front of the jeans he had on, shading the massive bulge of his somewhat siliconed cock. He was bigger than he’d been, his head shaved, looking shabby. He must have lost his job along the way, and now here he was, begging this alpha brute to take him and make him his–and Trax did just that, because Perrion, or PJ as he began calling him immediately still had so much further to go.

He’d been too terrified of the piercings to get many of them, but Trax quickly caught him up–he wanted hoops in his flesh everywhere, and he used them all the time to bind his skinpig up–to himself, or to the walls, where he’d put other hooks, using them to chain the pig in excruciating positions, while Trax’s massive metal cock wormed its way into his ass, or his thick fist drove its way into his guts. More and more, he’d see the look in his eye–that glazed look of awe–that he’d come to know so well in the simulation. It was PJ, taking more and more control, and helpless, Perrion was losing more and more ground, until he was locked away, and the only person left was PJ, or more often known as Chains, from the decorations Trax liked the thread through his piercings around his body, his massive, amorphous, mounding piece of cock meat bursting through the worn jeans Trax allowed the pig to wear when they were outside.

On occasion, Trax would plug PJ into VR, and boot up the original Perrion, just to introduce them. Introduce them, and then Trax would appear, and have his way with them both, revealing to Perrion that the hulking beast was him–the future him, the only him that really existed anymore. He wouldn’t believe it, of course, until he started changing as well, PJ overwriting him in the scenario, and Trax would get to relive the corruption all over again.

Digital Manipulation (Part 7) [Interactive]

PJ knew it was a dream, though how he knew that exactly, was difficult for him to explain. It didn’t feel any different to him than real life, but it had felt like he’d been in a dream for ages, now. So long, he was beginning to doubt that he would even be able to wake up–so long, he didn’t even know what he could wake up as, anymore. So how did he know this was a dream? Because he wasn’t anywhere. It was just dark. He was standing, but he wasn’t standing on anything. He was breathing, but there was nothing to breathe. He could see, but there was no light that he could tell.

“Oi! There ya are mate.”

He spun around at the voice, and discovered that while he wasn’t anywhere in particular, he was no longer alone. There, standing in the nothing space with him, was someone else–and while it took him a few moments to catch on, he realized he was looking at himself. At a version of himself. At another version of himself…right? The similarities were obvious–both of them were huge–roided out with muscle, with prominent guts, their cocks and balls grown to obscene proportion, as where their chests and asses, which had been given implants as well. The differences though–they were so very different.

His doppelganger–his head and face were completely shaved–as was the rest of his body. It the place of the hair he had, tattoos and piercings covered his body–but it was the piercings which horrified PJ the most. They were everywhere–not just in the usual places like ears and nipples and noses. No, he had loops of metal dotting his flesh, running down his arms and legs, barbells were implanted in his gut in a spiral out from his belly button. The hoops were threaded in some places with twine and chain, in other places they were left unadorned. He took a step towards PJ, and he could hear the metal shake like some musical instrument of torture. “No–no, that’s…I’m not going to let you.”

He tried to run, but as he turned, he felt some awful yank on the head of his cock. He looked down, and saw that the massive, doorknocker sized ring running through the head of his double’s siliconed cock had somehow pierced his own as well, hooking them together. “Don’t worry Mate, it ain’t gonna hurt too much, trust me–you’ll love it anyway, soon ‘nough.”

He stepped closer, and the Jacob’s ladder running down the underside of his cock drew his own closer, and he felt every pin slide into his own flesh, until their cocks were completely connected from root to tip, jutting up between them. “Please, please, not this, I’m not you.”

“Not yet, ya ain’t,” his skinhead double said, “But come a little closer now, and let’s see about that.”

PJ raised a hand to strike him, to try and push him away, but the skinhead’s arm raised at the same time, and the tattoos running down his arm lashed out, wrapping their way around PJ’s arm and binding them together. He couldn’t help but be tugged in, and their gut’s touched, and every barbell spiralling around his gut joined to his, fusing them together, the tattoos sliding onto his body, the ink caressing him, and he shuddered, feeling the flesh of their cocks beginning to fuse together, phasing into one another until they were joined at the groin, one singular, and massive, cock jutting to one side, as their guts began to fuse as well.

“Gettin’ closer. Feels good, don’t it, mate?”

“Fuckin’ get off a me!” PJ shouted, but the skinhead lunged at him, spearing his tongue on the thick barbell through his own, tugging his face into his own, and PJ cried out as the rings, studs and bars in his doppelganger’s face all stuck to his own as well. He tried to move his arm…but he couldn’t feel his arm. Looking to the side, there was just one arm now–the skins, though it seemed…bigger and meatier after absorbing his.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be huge together, ain’t it gonna be great, mate?”

It took PJ a moment to realize that he shouldn’t have been able to hear the man’s voice, since their mouths were stuck together–no, he was hearing his voice in his mind, and it was getting louder, even as his own was getting quieter and quieter. The skin wrapped his spiked arm around PJ’s back and pulled him closer, pulled him into his body, and PJ lost sense of himself. There weren’t…really two of them, were there? Had there ever been two of them? All he felt was a sense of vertigo for a moment, and then he awoke with a jolt, looking around him, trying to figure out where he was…but he was right where he was supposed to be.

He was lying on a few sheets beside his master’s bed, where he slept every night. He wanted to get up, he wanted to see, but he couldn’t risk it. If master knew he was awake, he’d be punished…not that he minded being punished, of course, but Master could be…rough in the morning, before his coffee. It wouldn’t be the first time PJ had been confined to bed, his arms laced to the eye hooks running up the sides of his body, the barbells on the insides of his legs laced together as well, bound up in himself. Still…that dream. There was something he needed to remember, or someone he needed to remember, perhaps. It was all foggy now, and almost gone from his memory. He laid back down, and soon he was sleeping again until morning, when his master roused him with a boot to the ribs, and told PJ it was time to get the day started.

*

Trax, in his VR set, had taken on the roll of PJ’s skinhead master, and spent the next few days putting his heavily modded and warped ex-boyfriend through his paces, making sure everything was nice and cemented in this new version of him. All in all, he was very pleased with the result…but at the same time, he was a bit disappointed. As much fun as it was playing with a copy of his ex, what he really wanted was the real thing–but with this copy of his…well, there were a few ways he could have some fun with him in the real world, if he got close enough.

*

This next entry will be the finale. Below are a few options Trax could use to bring this copy of Perrion out into the real world. Choose the one you’d be interested in seeing.

  1. Trax downloads the copy into an artificial body, and has the copy rape the real Perrion.
  2. Trax kidnaps Perrion and replaces him with the copy. Together, they enjoy warping Perrion’s body into a twisted version of itself.
  3. Trax implants the copy into Perrion’s subconscious, and let’s his ex’s new subconscious desires slowly ruin his life.

Here’s the public Twitter Poll!

Here’s the supporter only Patreon Poll!

Polls close on Friday!

Masturbation Workout [Pics]

Evan didn’t want to be fat, but he also didn’t really want to do anything to lose it either–or at least, nothing that felt like work. He was a slacker, and a gamer, and as far as he was concerned, being fat was just the price he had to pay, in order to live the life he wanted. He worked an easy job from his apartment as an editor, and spent the rest of his downtime gaming–well, that and masturbating. He didn’t exactly have much of a sex life, since he didn’t even leave the house most days, but he liked his hand more than the few women he’d been with anyway.

Of course the ad seemed too good to be true. “Lose weight doing what you’re good at! Jack off and lose the pounds at the same time!” The first time he saw it on one of his porn sites, he laughed out loud, and didn’t think about it again, until it kept popping up. Eventually, the curiosity got the better of him after a quick wank session, and he clicked on the ad just to see what it was offering–and the site seemed to be just that–jack off to their porn stream, and the pounds would literally cum right off. There was no explanation of how in the world this was supposed to even work, but the site did offer a free trial…so the next time he got horny, he accepted the offer, and after a moment, the site started a slideshow–a rather…rapid one, and one which contained only men.

The site hadn’t given him an option for whether he wanted gay porn or straight porn, but this definitely wasn’t what he was into. He tried to close the window, but it refused, saying he hadn’t finished his workout yet. He spent another minute trying to escape it, and then he found himself getting drawn into the slideshow, and then, a minute later, he had his cock out, and was happily masturbating to the men on the screen.

He lost track of time–and of how many times he shot. He also didn’t think about where he was shooting, he just kept unloading all over himself until, at last, the slideshow stopped, the site said he’d finished his workout, and told him to subscribe. Only after he’d put in his payment information, and signed up for a daily workout regimine, did he finally come back to himself, disgusted, and horrified to find he’d been masturbating for nearly an hour straight. One thing he knew for sure, was that he was never going anywhere near that site again–he closed the window, and went to take a shower, unaware that he was a couple pounds lighter already.

*

But Evan quickly learned he didn’t have much of a say in what he did with that site, now that he’d subscribed. Every day, he’d get a notification reminding him to workout, and unable to stop himself, he would navigate to the site and watch another slide show, jacking off constantly, only regaining control after the session had ended. To his horror…he actually found himself enjoying the sessions. He’d finish them, covered in cum, and feel a…rush, or a high, and just loll in his own cum, rubbing it into his clothes–no longer bothering to shower after. The results were apparent after a couple of weeks. He really was losing weight, and he could barely believe it. It seemed like a price he was willing to pay, and so he kept at it–but then things started getting…strange.

The workouts got longer for one thing. One hour became two, two became four, four would occasionally be six. The men in the sideshow were changing as well. At first, it had been fairly generic men, models, pornstars…but lately, they had been taking on a certain different flavor. Skinheads featured prominently, as did men in workwear. Grungy men, dirty men, piss play and rubber and leather. He was hornier outside of his workouts, and would search out more porn like it to jack off to, thinking about what it might be like to shave his own head…until he came to from a session and discovered he was totally shaved, from head to toe.

More changes came, usually during longer sessions. Tattoos in particular. He was getting rather trim now–he could barely believe it, how much weight he’d lost in a few months. His old clothes had disappeared, replaced by new gear that better fit his new body, all of it like the gear he saw on the skinheads on the screen. To his pleasure, even as his cock and balls had…grown. His balls especially–each was the size of a orange now, and he leaked almost constantly. There was no longer a time when he wasn’t horny–gaming was no longer of interest to him, all that mattered was self gratification. 

Well, that, and the men on the screen.

They were all of a similar type now. Fat, dirty skinheads, mean fuckers, covered in tattoos and piercings, wearing leather and rubber. He found himself admiring them, envying their size. Imagining himself on his knees, licking their guts and cleaning their boots, drinking their piss. The knock on the door startled him one evening–he hadn’t left the apartment or seen another living person in weeks now, and he had no idea who it could possibly be. He…knew he had to answer it though, and who he saw in the hall took his breath away.

“Hey mate–nice tah finally meet ya. I’m your sponsor–or rather, your…”

“M-master,” Evan muttered.

“Exactly,” the huge brute said, and pushed his way inside. “I think you’re done with those silly workouts now–how about you get some experience with the real thing?”

Use It or Lose It (Part 12)

He went home after work, horny but so excited at the same time. Part of him could barely believe that he was preparing to actively lose another inch of his cock, but that old part of him was so far away and so small now that it was easy to ignore. He’d cum once on the bus, just from the vibration of the engine, but he went into his bedroom, laid down on his cum crusted sheets, and kept still, feeling the need and desire rising within him. He was impatient and growing desperate, but he made himself lie there for two hours–long enough to feel the curse kick into high gear. Then he got up, shoved one of his favorite rubber fists into his hole, and started fucking himself, expecting to cum in a few minutes–but while his cock quickly reached the edge, it stubbornly refused to shoot. Twenty minutes later, he collapsed back on the bed, drenched with sweat, cock and balls aching to release and yet unable to do so.

He waited fifteen minutes, until he had his breath back, and tried again, but like before it refused to cooperate. Like the last time, he had a distinct sensation that his cock was somehow resisting him. It didn’t want to shrink any further, it wanted to grow again–but he couldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going back to that old life, he wasn’t going to be some stupid Christian breeder. He was a pig now, a filthy perverted sex pig, and he had no intention of ever being anything else for the rest of his life. Still, after four or five sessions, he still had no luck, and his hunger was increasing. He decided it might be best to take a break, have some dinner, and then see if he could find someone willing to help him out.

Most of his contacts weren’t available–generally everyone had something more important to be doing on a Monday night other than abusing a pig, but Randal was becoming more and more desperate. He had to go to his B-list before he finally found someone willing to come over–a fat, greasy skinhead sadist he’d played with a couple of times, but who was always…too rough for Randal’s tastes. Still, it would work, wouldn’t it? The man wasn’t willing to come over, but he gave Randal his address, and told him to wear nothing other than leather and rubber. He got dressed and set out for the man’s place at around ten in the evening, not even embarrassed that other people were staring at him in his fetish gear–it was more important to get off.

The ride over on the bus only made him hornier–as soon as the skin opened the door, smoking a cigarette in his bleached jeans and rubber vest, Randal was on his knees, begging him for release, that the man could do whatever he wanted to Randal, just as long as Randal came. The master chuckled, and dragged the pig in by the collar, making him service his rangers before getting to work on the pig’s hole.

With two hands buried in up to the elbow, Randal finally came. It felt like a torrent, but Master said, afterwards, that it had only been a few pitiful spurts. Still, the pleasure blooming inside him was so powerful, and Randal was so thankful for the man who’d given it to him. He looked back at the chubby man, and he’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life than his Master, not noticing the scars appearing across his back from whips and chains, the shaved scalp he now had, the tattoos running up and down his arms marking him as a skinpig and slave. He was close now–so close, and after Master had his pleasure, Randal begged him for one last scene–tie the pig down for two hours, make him completely immobile, and then make him cum through any means possible. Do that, Randal said, and he’d be his slave forever.

The man didn’t need much convincing–he forced the pig into a rubber suit and bound him tight for three hours, watching the pig squirm and beg to be released, slowly working his cock while he did, and when he let him free, the pig’s appetite was insatiable. It took hours of abuse before the pig finally came, and when he did, Randal felt his cock squirm and fight, but there was nothing it could do. He’d won. He’d beaten it, finally. He didn’t deserve a cock, he didn’t deserve anything. He was nothing.

When he inspected the area later, while cleaning his wounds, all he found at his crotch now was an old scar. He didn’t remember what it was from, at first, but he recalled in time. His master had always hated how often Randal had jacked off, and so one night, he’d drugged him and while he was asleep, had castrated him and removed his entire cock. He’d protested at the time, but he’d learned soon enough that this was a change for the better. Now, without his own cock as a distraction, all of his energy could be focused on making his Master, and any other man, really, happy. And of course, making them happy was about them abusing the pig in whatever vile, ways they could imagine. He wasn’t a person, not anymore. He wasn’t a pig, either, even if that was his official title. He was an object and a tool. Something men could use to masturbate. That’s what made him happy now, and within a week, the new skinpig couldn’t even remember a life before this one, or having ever been as happy as he was now.