New You Resolutions (Part 6)

The list of resolutions that was included in the letter from New You Enterprises to Professor Leroy Herron was as follows:

I resolve to slowly lose my academic knowledge, my cognitive ability, and literacy.
I resolve to put my cock into permanent chastity, behave submissively to all men, and consider myself as a subhuman faggot.
I resolve to no longer use the toilet, and only wear diapers, which I will be unable to change myself.
I resolve to remove all of my hair permanently, and cover myself with humiliating tattoos.
I resolve to abandon my family, and instead serve dominant men as a sex slave for the rest of the year.

Leroy, naturally, found this entire list to be so ridiculous, so scandalous, that it had to be some joke, right? Some prank pulled by another professor in the department, or perhaps by a student. He certainly had no intention of doing any of these things. He went to throw the list in the trash, but as he did, he noticed that a small package had appeared on his desk while he’d read the letter and the list, something that he was certain hadn’t been there before. Hands shaking slightly, he unwrapped the package, and inside, he found a metal chastity cage, and a single diaper.

How had this gotten here? He didn’t know, but he certainly wasn’t going…to do this, was he? And yet, hands still shaking, he undid his pants, dropped then to the floor, stepped out of his shoes, and began working the chastity cage around the base of his cock. He…he had to put it on. He…he deserved to lock up his cock after all. Only men were allowed to have their cocks out, and free, and he…he wasn’t a man, not really. Not…anymore.

He fought the thoughts invading his mind, but his hands refused to obey him. The device clicked and locked–there was no sign of anyway to open it or remove it–aside from, perhaps, going to a locksmith and cutting it away from him…but he wouldn’t do that. No, the cage had to stay, and…and he still had to put on the diaper, right? He picked it up, and tried to put it on him, but for some reason couldn’t quite figure it out. He…he needed someone to do it, a man to do it for him. He was…too stupid of a faggot to put on his own diapers.

There was a knock on the door suddenly, and before Leroy could say anything, the office door opened, and the same student as before was in the doorway, eyes a bit puffy, but when he saw his professor with his pants down, cock locked in a chastity device…he just looked confused instead. “I, uh, I just wanted to…apologize…” the young man said, but didn’t get further than that.

“No, uh, I…I’m the one who needs to apologize,” Leroy said, the words tumbling from his mouth, and he got on his knees. “Of course you can go on your vacation, and see your family, I…I’m just a stupid faggot, I can’t tell you, a man like you, what to do, please forgive me for what I said earlier!” He go crawled forward, panting his head at the student’s feet, who just gaped at him, at his stern professor literally begging him for forgiveness…and as he watched it, something…brewed up in him, and he shoved his sneaker into Leroy’s face.

“If you’re really sorry, then…then clean my shoe, faggot!” he said, almost barking at him, his cock hardening as he watched Leroy obey him, licking at his sneaker, moaning as he did, cock trying desperately to harden in the tight cage, but it refused to budge. He cleaned one shoe, and then the other, and then…begged the young man to help him. He couldn’t get on his diaper, you see, and…and maybe he would be willing to help. The student agreed, but only if the professor would suck him off afterwards. He ended up getting several pictures of the professor, wearing just his diaper, a load of cum sprayed across his face and beard–and promised him it would be all over campus by the evening, so everyone would see just how much of a worthless faggot Professor Herron truly was.

Horrified at what he’d just done, a diapered Leroy fled to his car after the student had left resolved to drive home, but as he was sitting there, he felt piss flood into the front of his diaper…and he realized he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t let his wife and children see what he was becoming, he…he needed to go somewhere else, anywhere other than there. He ended up getting a room at a cheap motel off the highway, sitting alone in the room, trying to figure out what to do, trying to look up more information about New You Enterprises, but finding nothing. Over the next week…he found himself in a hopeless spiral. The male staff members of the motel soon discovered the faggot living there, and would humiliate him day and night, making him stew in his filthy diapers until they would change him at last, before the smell could be noticed by other guests. He shaved off his hair, and started…drawing on himself with sharpie, fantasizing about the tattoos he would get…soon enough, but what he wanted most…what he needed, was a master.

He started advertising on line, streaming videos of himself, begging anyone to be his master, looking for a dominant man to show this worthless diapered, sissy faggot his proper place in life. Mostly, men would just ridicule him, but eventually, someone took an interest in him–and so Leroy transferred all of the savings he had in his personal accounts to the stranger, bought a plane ticket with the remaining pittance, and drove off, ready to begin his service as a faggot for the year–if not for the rest of his life.

Alright, I’d like to do one more recipient of a set of resolutions, and then I’ll start wrapping things up with the end of the year party for all four of our lucky resolution winners. Who would you like the final target to be? The public poll is below, and the bonus patron poll can be found here!

The King’s Ring (2 of 2) –

Reminder: after this weekend, all of my original content will be moving over to my main blog, @wesleybracken. Make sure you’re following me there if you don’t want to miss any posts!

He held the ring out to me, where I was kneeling. I could…sense that he wanted me to kiss it, and as soon as my lips made contact…it was like something was being sucked right out of me. My youth? My will? My identity? It…had to have only lasted a few moments, but it felt like ages, with my mouth to that cold metal, until it finally released me. “Now–another meal, slave. And then my bath.”

“Yes sir,” I said, automatically. I was still…inside my head, but I no longer had any control over myself. I stood up, feeling my knees ache slightly, and I went back to the kitchen. I was desperately trying to stop myself, to regain control, but I couldn’t. I had to obey. I was just…just a slave. An old slave faggot. I eventually saw my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall, and I would have screamed, if I could have. I…really was old, now. I must have been close to fifty. I had a silver goatee, a paunch, a thick leather collar around my neck, and shackles on my arms and legs…and my cock was locked in a chastity device. Still, I cooked feverishly, and delivered a five course meal I hadn’t even known how to cook, and he…ate all of it, all by himself, while I serviced him, and cleaned him, being sure to get between his piss soaked thighs.

When he’d finished, he again spoke. “I could do away with you entirely, you know. But he likes you, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, and he’s much easier to control with you here. I will give you control again, but defy me one more time, and you’ll be gone. Understand, slave?”

I nodded, and I felt the other persona fade back, but my body hasn’t returned. I should be thankful, I suppose. Others who I’ve…brought here to serve our king haven’t been so lucky. I know he’s still in there, somewhere. If I could just get the ring off that finger…but the fat has grown around it. I’m afraid…it won’t be coming off until he’s dead, and who knows when that will be. The king has not let me service him since my…outburst, but he forces me to watch as the cubs pleasure him–young, mindless things who crawl over him, riding his cock and sucking his nipples, and…and fuck, if I don’t love watching it, and he knows it. He’s fucked my mind to bits–none of us do, and neither will you. I have no life other that servicing him, and finding more subjects for his kingdom. Now kiss your liege’s ring, like a good pig. We need another toilet, unfortunately, but you can be thankful–toilets don’t get minds, so you’ll be gone soon enough. Just a kiss, and everything will be over–I promise.

Source: maturemenintrouble

The King’s Ring (1 of 2) – Reminder: after this weekend, all of my original content will be moving over to my main blog, @wesleybracken. Make sure you’re following me there if you don’t want to miss any posts!

There’s something…wrong, with my boyfriend. We were a pretty normal couple, just a couple of twinks, really. We worked, went to the gym together, went clubbing and dancing on the weekend. Sure, we did drugs on occasion, but we’re young, right? But one day, he comes home with this…ring on his finger. I ask him about it, and he tells me he got it at some strange store he happened across on his way home from work, but he didn’t seem to walk to talk about it. I mean, we both wear jewelry a bit, sure, but it just seemed…old, and not at all his style. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but that…it seems like that when things started to get a bit strange.

Slowly, he stopped going to the gym. He tried to keep up for a few weeks, but he kept telling me he was just too tired, and didn’t feel like it, and he started begging off. I kept going, of course, but I’d come home, and find him on the couch…stuffing his face, and as soon as I’d arrive he’d fucking want sex! I tried to say no, but he’d always get me on my knees, sucking him off while he just…kept eating, and watching TV, like…like I didn’t even matter, and he’d never fucking reciprocate anymore. It was confusing–I was usually the top, but now, all I was doing was sucking him off, or he might, on occasion, fuck me. I…didn’t even really want to have sex with him, and he disgusted me, really, but I…couldn’t say no to him. It just didn’t feel right.

Within three months…he didn’t even look like the same person anymore. He’d packed on…I don’t know, two hundred pounds? He had a huge gut, a thick beard across his face, and hair all over his body too, which I thought was so fucking gross. I…hated him, really. I despised him, and I wanted to leave–just ditch him there, but I…couldn’t. As much as I hated it, I kept going back there, I kept sucking him off, and…and licking him clean. He wouldn’t shower anymore–he was telling me that was my job, to give him nice tongue baths every day, everywhere from between his grungy toes, to his ass crack, his pits and the deepening folds of his neck. He was enjoying humiliating me, making me worship him. I cook for him constantly, whenever I’m home–hell, he’s forbidden me from going to the gym now, because he needs more and more food! But tonight…tonight, something in me just fucking snapped.

He’d…pissed himself on the sofa, and was just lying in it. I was so utterly disgusted by it, that I just started screaming at him, shouting, calling him every cruel name I could think of, and tell him I was done, that I was done with him, that if he wanted to be some slob, he could do it alone. Finally I stopped, and tried to move my feet, tried to leave…but I couldn’t. And he’s just…laughing at me. It doesn’t even sound like him, he’s almost some different person entirely. Then…then I saw the ring, how it was catching the light, drawing my attention to it.

“Now, now. We can’t have you leaving now, can we? Who will take such good care of us?” he said, “No–but you do need to be punished, don’t you? Yes…a good punishment for a bad, bad slave. Now come over here, and kiss the ring of your king, like a good little bitch.”

Source: jbearv

Twenty Lashes

“You ain’t too good at learnin’, are ya, boy?” Boss said.

It was just advertised as a summer job, out on a farm in the sticks, but what Nick hadn’t known was that the position was, actually, rather permanent. Whoever Boss was, the guy who owned the farm, he had some weird magic voodoo shit going for him, and Nick…he found he had to do everything the fucker said. What that meant, was close to ten hours of backbreaking labor all day, and then, at night…well, he’d service Boss then, before being put to bed in the shed outside, where he’d be living, eating slop like the pigs, pissing and shitting in a fucking bucket…

So of course, he’d been trying to escape. He’d noticed, that sometimes Boss would lose focus on him, and he’d be able to slip out of his control. He’d tried to take the truck the first time, but hadn’t even been able to get to the keys before Boss had reasserted control over him. This was his…third attempt, trying to just get away into the woods, out of Boss’s range, but he’d fucking found him all the same, and now here he was again, tied up to the fucking whipping tree, Boss and his bullwhip behind him, trying to brace himself.

“Well, maybe ten lashes just ain’t enough fer ya. Ah mean, ten ‘n ten makes twenty already, right? Well, maybe another twenty wil properly…settle ya down, boy.”

Nick’s gut dropped. It wasn’t the number of lashes which concerned him, exactly. It was what happened with each lash. Every time, he…aged another year. He’d been 22 when he got here, and now he was 42–hairy, a bit of a gut, long beard…he hardly recognized himself in the mirror anymore. Twenty lashes–he’d be fucking 62! He tried to fight, tried to pull free of Boss’s control, but couldn’t…and then, the whipping started.

The worst part, still, was that as much as it hurt–and it did hurt–his cock throbbed with excitement each time, all the same. He…enjoyed being hurt by the Boss, it made him feel good. Hurting himself for the Boss, giving himself up for the Boss, sacrificing for the Boss–

No! No, those weren’t his thoughts, he had to fight, but fuck, he was getting so…tired all of a sudden. Ten lashes in, and he was in his fifties, his gut much larger now, his hair turning white, skin tanned dark from…from years, under the hot sun, in Boss’s service. No–he had to fight the memories, they weren’t real, but his head was dulling more than it had before. He felt so…fucking stupid all of a sudden. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. After twenty, the sixty year old Nick was panting, his old cock having blown three loads in the front of his grungy jeans, moaning in pain, and pleasure. Boss walked over and fucked his old ass, feeling the blood smear between them, and Nick pushed back, feeling Boss’s world…swallow him. He couldn’t escape, not looking like this. No, best just to…to serve.

“Wish you boys would catch on sooner–yer only gonna have a few more years a work left before ya keel over, ‘n I’ll have tah find another one,” Boss said, “Still, gotta love yer old loose holes while they last, right boy?”

“Yes sir…anythin’ fer ya, Boss.”

“That’s what I like tah hear boy, that’s what I like tah hear.”

Source: hhoncho2

Dark Mind (Part 6)

Sorry I forgot to post this yesterday!

Jordan fought, as best he could, for the first few weeks. Direct disobedience was an utter fool’s errand, he quickly realized–the beast had plenty of control over him in his waking state, and seemed much less concerned with his body’s appearance than Jordan was. Oliver too, seemed to enjoy it–running his hands over the scars crisscrossing Jordan’s back, shivering and getting a bit hard. Was he thinking about the scars that also marked his own back, that the beast was giving him in the night? Certainly, Oliver appeared exhausted, and when Jordan pressed him on it, he revealed he was only receiving two, maybe three hours of sleep a night, but that for Master, he’d suffer anything.

Oliver remained a puzzle Jordan soon realized he’d never be able to disentangle. Half the time, Oliver never even seemed to be addressing him, when he spoke, and all of Jordan’s pleas to him–both rational and physical–would run headlong into the massive brick wall that was Oliver’s utter devotion to the thing which had taken up residence in Jordan’s brain and body. However, Oliver’s exhaustion soon grew so extreme that he woke one morning to the appearance of a second slave in his apartment (or a third, rather, but be refused to count himself, even though Oliver was constantly reminding him of his alleged status). The newcomer slept all day long, and it was several days before Jordan even learned his name–Paul–because his role was different from Oliver’s. He was only there for the nights, to sate the Master’s desires from dusk to dawn.

The workouts remained murderous. He was forced to smoke until the desire for nicotine took over and Jordan no longer had the will to resist his own internal desire for the cigars Oliver kept him supplied with from the moment he woke, to the time the tranqs took hold in the evening. As months wore on, Jordan felt, more and more, like he was trapped in some strange dream of a life, without reason or logic, but which he sensed he’d never be able to escape. The beast inside him sensed the weakness, and seized it, pushing at him as he woke, with whispers and secrets–but the mirrors were the worst. Looking down at himself, he still mostly resembled his lanky form, though he had put on some muscle under Oliver’s direction. But looking in a mirror, his eyes would trick him. He would see the beast there, mimicking him, mocking him perhaps–well over six feet tall, thick, strong, hairy, confident, all of the things Jordan had always despised, and yet he found himself obsessing over this new image, as disgusted as he was by the idea. When he’d been especially good, he was allowed to fuck Oliver facing a mirror, experiencing the beasts pleasure vicariously, while Oliver merely tolerated his master’ vessel attempting to please his hole.

What did it want? Jordan found himself asking that often. Wasn’t there some way it could allow them both to exist, together? No–the beast was too desperate for control to allow such an arrangement, but this situation, Jordan trapped in his own apartment with two mindfucked slaves, he could tell this wouldn’t satisfy the beast either. He was certain he’d be able to solve it f he could just get a restful night’s sleep! But everyday, he woke up exhausted, spent, barely able to keep up with Oliver’s training, hating his body, how weak he was, taunted by that image haunting him in reflections all over the apartment. He wanted it to just…stop. He just wanted to sleep. And then, one morning, Oliver led him into what had been his bedroom.

Jordan hadn’t set foot in the room since arriving home that morning–after all, his body was essentially active all day and night, while the slaves slept in shifts on a small cot in the living room. His bedroom was no longer a bedroom–it had, somehow, been converted into a small, makeshift lab without him even knowing. His notes, which he’d assumed had been destroyed, were all there–everything he needed to continue his work on the serum, in fact, or…or an antidote. He felt a twinge of pleasure at the thought–yes, of course–this is what the thing wanted as well–an antidote to him. In the end, only one of them could survive like this, and they both knew it, and the beast was willing to bet it’s control over him was, even while he was awake, strong enough to convince Jordan to murder himself–but Jordan’s sense of self-preservation lingered on all the same.

From that day on, his days were consumed with work in the lab, the beast in his mind at all times, forcing his hand in small and large ways, the two of them battling out as he mixed and crafted what he simply called the antidote, but in all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure what the thing would do, if one of them took it. He thought–he hoped–that he had successfully pushed the serum to stabilize erratic brain activity in the patient, in order to restore a normal sleep cycle–but the serum the beast wanted…he wasn’t quite sure what it was, really. The beast didn’t operate through science or rationality, but through impulse and desire. The one thing he knew, was that it wasn’t something he wanted to take–but on the day it was finished, he didn’t have a choice–The Beast took control, prepped the needle, and injected it straight into Jordan’s arm.

Jordan was never quite clear on what happened next. There was pain–a lot of it, all across his body, but also, somehow, in his very brain, like every synapse had turned on and began firing simultaneously. For a while, he was certain he was going to die. For a shorter time, lying on the floor, he was equally certain he was dead…but he wasn’t. However, he didn’t really know who, or what, he was. The man pushed himself up from the floor, looking around at the smashed up lab equipment around him, trying to process what had happened–there were so many memories, and too many people in his mind to sort them all out. Jordan and Harry, who was he? Which was he?

In the mirror, he looked like Harry–massively muscled, rough of face, massive cock, and certainly a desperate desire to fuck, but Jordan was there too, in ways. Perhaps less of him than Harry, but enough to make a certain difference in his mind, in how he thought, in what he wanted. His slaves, Oliver and Paul, entered the lab timidly, but both were ecstatic to see him, and he them. He could figure out who, or what, he’d become in a while–but right now, his slaves needed their master inside them, and he was only too happy to do so.

The Dark Mind (Part 5)

The world began swimming, that same nausea from before welling up. Jordan tried to keep control of himself, but the suddenness of it had him on the floor before he could do anything, but the world didn’t face away like before. Instead, it felt like he was dreaming, or sleepwalking through his apartment, into what had been his study, where there now was a sling, some strange cross, chains hanging from the ceiling. And then he was awake again, his hands caught in those very chains, Oliver standing behind him with a long whip. “What…how?” he tried to say, but was caught off guard by the first lash, and he screamed in pain.

“You have to count them. If you scream like that again, I’ll have to gag you. Each time you miss a quota or fail to adhere to the schedule, you’ll receive thirty lashings, or more, depending on Master’s mood. That was one–” Oliver waited a moment. “Like I said, slave, you have to count them.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this, if you just help me–”

The second lashing was a bit lighter, or else his back had numbed slightly from the first one. He still screamed.

“That was one, again. Please count–I don’t want to do this all day, but I will. Master’s orders.”

What could he say? He didn’t know, so he just counted out, “One.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said, and struck him again. And again, and again.

When the lashing was over, Oliver released him from the chains holding him up, and had him lay down on the bed, so he could tend to his cuts and welts with alcohol.

“I don’t…” Jordan started, and then seethed a moment, as another cotton ball soaked in alcohol landed on his back, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why are you helping him?”

Oliver was quiet a moment, and then sighed, “I suppose you’re the only person who’ll never have a chance to experience…what it’s like, to have him inside you.”

“I know exactly what it’s like to have that thing inside me. That thing is me!”

Oliver didn’t take kindly to his tone, and poured the alcohol directly on his wounded back, making Jordan holler. “Show your master some fucking respect!”

“He’s fucking ruined my fucking life! And fuck you too for helping him.”

They didn’t speak beyond that, and after their exchange, Oliver was pitiless with the alcohol. After a bit of bandaging, Oliver let Jordan up from the bed, and showed him the schedule and quotas for the day, while Jordan lit a cigar for himself, realizing only after his first drag what he’d just done without so much as a thought. He went to put it out, but Oliver stopped his hand. “Better you get started now–Master wants you to smoke five cigars by the time you fall asleep tonight at nine.”

“Five of these things? You’re shitting me.”

“Next week, it’ll be seven a day. Anyway, we’ll have to switch over to a slightly abbreviated schedule, so we’d better get you fed, and then start on your workout.”

“No, fuck this. You can’t make me do this shit.”

Oliver just stared at him, waiting to see what would happen, Jordan meant to cross his arms over his chest, but a wave of sleepiness washed over him, he took the cigar from his mouth and stubbed the lit end against the back of his hand–the pain was enough to jolt him awake, but his hand held it there for a long second, before allowing reflex to take over. “Fucking shit!”

“Master knows we don’t have time for another lashing. Give me your hand, burns fester fast.”

Jordan just stared dumbly, as Oliver cleaned the wound quickly, and then bandaged his hand. “This…This isn’t going to end, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Come on, you’ll feel better after you eat something.”

Oliver fed him a quick breakfast, packed with protein and minimal carbs, then they returned to the living room, where some of the furniture had been replaced with a set of free weights and a bench. Oliver didn’t have much experience with exercise, but with the help of a program on Jordan’s phone, which he’d been given by master, they worked Jordan hard for several hours, and then it was time for him to eat again. Throughout all of this, Jordan had been smoking cigars at a near constant rate, his lungs were exhausted, his head swimming, body aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible before. He cleaned his plate of his required meal, and leaned back, cigar in his mouth, almost a butt. This was number four, and he imagined if he smoked another he might vomit.

“Alright, you’re good for today,” Oliver said, “Go out and smoke that last cigar of yours, watch some TV, and we’ll wait for your tranqs to kick in.”

“Tranqs? What?”

“Your sleeping pills. Gotta make sure you’re asleep by nine, right?”

“You fucking drugged me?” Jordan shouted, and stood up, but he couldn’t tell whether he was woozy from the revealed drugs, or from the smoke which seemed to be choking out his entire body.

“Calm down–trust me, it’ll all be fine, as long as we both do exactly what Master says,” Oliver said, and Jordan saw him massage his crotch a moment. “Nine can’t get here soon enough, sir…” Oliver said under his breath, Jordan retreating into the living room, where he turned on the TV, lit his last cigar of the night, and lounged back on the couch. Oliver appeared a moment later, cock indeed hard, staring at Jordan sitting there, and he walked over, got down in front of him, and tried to get his mouth around Jordan’s cock, who shoved him away. “You fucking pervert, don’t even fucking think about it.”

Oliver glowered at him, but didn’t try again. It wasn’t too much longer before Jordan started to feel relaxed, and a bit…floaty, drifting in and out, slipping closer and closer to sleep, but he fought anyway. One moment, he was alone, after the next long blink, Oliver was there, sucking his cock, one hand on the older man’s head. The hand looked…too big. Another time his eyes slipped shut, and Jordan wasn’t aware of anything else until morning.

The Dark Mind (Part 4)

“Not again,” he thought, as he rolled over on the floor. He must have passed out again–apparently, those four days without sleep were still catching up with him. Still, he could see from the tiled floor that he was still in the lab, if nothing else, so he couldn’t have been out for too long. He picked himself up, every muscle in his body protesting, feeling like his frail body had just tried to run a marathon. Once he was standing, however, he noticed two things in succession. First, his lab was a disaster area. All of his carefully organized samples and notes were scattered about, beakers and vials broken everywhere. His work–he hurried about, looking for things, but his personal computer was smashed to bits on the floor, anything paper had been ripped apart or burned, even textbooks. It looked like whoever had done this hadn’t quite known what to destroy–and so they’d just tried to destroy everything. It had been enough. This would set him back weeks, if not months. The most important information was all in his head, but without equipment, what it the world was he going to do? It was then, also, that he noticed the time. He’d arrived at the lab in the early afternoon, but it was just slightly passed dawn. He went over and checked the time, but it was the date that shocked him–he’d just lost three days.

That accounted for why he suddenly felt so well rested. He was interrupted by a light in the hallway–he didn’t know who it was, but someone was coming, and he was standing right in the middle of a lab he was pretty certain he had just destroyed. He quickly drew the blinds, hoping no one would notice and decide to check in on him, and once the footsteps had faded, he slipped out the door and out of the building. The damage would be discovered at some point, of course. No one would believe the truth of the matter–hell, he wasn’t even sure he believed it, and it was happening to him. Could he blame a rival researcher? A corporation? Nothing credible leapt to mind. He’d kept such a tight lid on his work, even his advisor hadn’t quite known what he was working on exactly. No, best to just get home. Get home, get out of this stinking leather, figure out how to get his hands to stop shaking…

…Smoke…

Was that his thought, or something else? Either way, he knew that would help–calm him down, take the edge off his panic. He found a fresh supply of cigars in the inside pocket of the leather jacket he had on. The clothes he had on were different than the ones he could remember wearing before–leather pants and a black tank. He reeked of smoke and sex, and just smelling it–

…Horny…

Disgusted him, but at the same time, made his dick twitch. He took his first inhale of smoke, and his cock was at full mast, tenting out the front of the leather pants, as he tightened the belt a bit to keep the waistband from falling down, trying to not think about how much he could use a hole to fuck.

He took his usual route home, and, along the way he passed the same smoke shop he’d entered several days prior, but this time, from a block away, he could see the police car parked out front. Nervous, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he crossed to the other side of the street, and as he passed the shop opposite, he could see a couple of cops in the early morning searching the premises. An older woman was with them, a wad of tissues against her eyes. His dick twitched again, but this time he got an odd sense of anticipation with it, and he took a deeper breath of smoke, pushing it out his nose, picked up his pace towards his apartment, and arrived ten minutes later. He used his key in the door, opened it, and found himself facing an older, nearly naked man there, on his knees, head bowed. He looked up at Jordan’s confused face, letting him glimpse a moment a disappointment there, and then he dropped his head again. “Slave Jordan, please come in, you’re late.”

Jordan stepped inside the door, checking the hallway to make sure no one had seen anything, and once the door was shut and locked, he said, “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in my apartment?”

The older man didn’t move, and now that he got a better look at him…he recognized him, his stomach dropping out from under him. The owner of the pipe shop. He’d been so tired when they’d met, for that short moment, but even now, he could recognize him. “You…the cops are looking for you! They’re going to think I took you or something!”

“You didn’t take me, Slave Jordan, Master did. And I came willingly, and I would tell them that. Master didn’t see any need for me to have anymore communication with that old life.”

Jordan walked past him, and the older man stood and followed him into the apartment–before, his chest had been in shadow, but now, lit by the morning sun, Jordan saw a fresh, day old tattoo on stretching across from shoulder to shoulder–”Property of Master Harry.”

“I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you,” Jordan said.

“You didn’t do this to me,” Oliver said simply, “Master did. He marked you too.”

“What?”

Oliver walked up to him and pulled off the coat, and then hauled the tank off of him and walked him in front of a mirror. He could read it perfectly even though it was reflected backward–the same tattoo that Oliver had across his own chest. “He owns both of us–he wanted me to be very clear about that. Please…please just…for my sake, do what he says…He has a schedule for you to follow, certain quotas for you to meet, and a strict sleep schedule of course. I’m to assist you in any way possible.”

“No–No, this is insane, I’m not doing this.”

Oliver nodded, looking like he’d expected this response, “Master said I shouldn’t go easy on you, even the first time. I’m sorry.”

Pig Bros (Part 4)

WARNING: Bestiality, herm TF

“Ethan! What the hell are you–” he said, but had the wind knocked out of him as Ethan tackled him to the floor…and Avery smelled him. God, he wanted him, he wanted him so badly, his body wanted him, but…but he did too. He wasn’t even fighting as Ethan rolled him over onto his belly, lined up that freakish cock and slipped it into his ass. The pleasure that hit him was massive, all of the pent up honrniness of the entire week crashing into him as surge after surge of pleasure, pleasure at finally being mounted, like he needed to be! He started to cum, at last, and while it felt amazing, it also hurt–his balls contracting so hard with each pulse of cum leaving him that they ached in his gut. Ethan didn’t notice–he just kept rutting, and while that sow had felt good, his brother’s ass felt amazing. No wonder Daddy liked boars better–he had a feeling he’d be riding his brother a whole lot more in the future, provided Daddy gave him permission.

Beneath him, Avery’s cock kept pulsing, a massive puddle of cum growing beneath him, and as it did, he felt his body…shifting. Odd sensations up and down his front, as three more rows of nipples appeared on his massive gut, all of them incredibly sensitive, more so than even his cock, but not as much as his ass had become. He felt so good, submitting like this. He liked to submit. He needed to submit. He was meant to be ridden, to be taken, to be controlled. With a final heave, Ethan slammed in deep and came inside Avery’s ass, his balls aching even worse, something strange happening in his groin, his body…shifting, leaving him both exhausted and satisfied, as his brother collapsed onto him, musky and sweaty…but there was another stench on him. Someone else, that same person he could almost remember.

“Fuck, could lay here all night, but let’s get you out of here before the whole campus sees us.”

Avery wanted to know where, he wanted to know what was going on, what had happened to his body, but his brother put on his overalls again, and let Avery out of the dorm naked, on his hands and knees, to a waiting truck. Avery could smell the person in the driver’s seat–it was a familiar scent, and he wanted to see who it was, but his brother forced him into the back bed, while Ethan rode in the cab, and they drove off in the dawn light.

Avery’s head had cleared a bit by the time they arrived at the pig farm–the chill of the morning air had helped ease some of the desire from him, and as much as he tried to explore his body on the ride…he found it rather difficult. His…arms seemed shorter, or he was simply so fat he couldn’t reach far enough down to reach his cock, much less his balls. They pulled up alongside the large barn, and Avery demanded an explanation, but Ethan just ordered him out of the truck, and led him into the barn, where the driver, Daddy, Avery assumed, had entered. The two of them forced him into a pen too small for him to turn around in, and the massive farmer came around in front. “Ya can go ahead ‘n remember me now.”

The scene at the bar returned to him, and Avery squealed, trying to escape from the pen, while both Ethan and Daddy squealed and snorted with laughter. “Ethan! Ethan, you have to stop this! Snap out of it!”

“Don’t mind the sow, little boar,” Daddy said, pulling Ethan close and giving him a sloppy kiss that Ethan eagerly returned, “He just hasn’t had a proper dicking yet, is all.”

“Can I do it Daddy? Please?” Ethan asked.

Daddy laughed, “No boy, we can’t have that–yer welcome tah his ass anytime ya like, though, n that fat snout a his too, a course. In fact, feed that brother a yers that big boar cock, while I introduce him tah his new sowhood.”

Avery tried to demand answers, but Ethan shoved his cock into his throat, forcing him to suck it, and then Daddy touched him where his balls should have been…but weren’t. Instead, he felt his rough, stubby fingers slip inside him, and he squealed with pleasure.

“Somebody like’s their new pussy, I see. Don’t worry, I’ll be fuckin’ ya plenty, little sow. Yer gonna have quite a few a mah litters, I think, how does that sound? Make that dick hard, thinking about me sowing my seed in yer new pigcunt?”

He forced himself inside Avery’s new pigcunt, and with that, he felt his entire resistance slip away, the soul sinking deep into his heart, and he accepted it. Welcomed it, actually. Eager to be fucked by his daddy…even excited that he could get pregnant with his piglets. And his brother, of course, with his own delicious boar cock, he thought, sucking and licking at the shaft in front of him. His brother might have to fuck sows for a living, but he knew that the hole he really wanted was Avery’s piggy ass. He felt the final changes sink in, his arms and legs shortening, hands and feet becoming trotters. His face was mostly human still, aside from floppy ears and a short snout, but Avery would be on all fours for the rest of his piggy life.

Ethan’s boar bristle filled in thicker, his face becoming more porcine than Avery’s, with a long snout and flat nose Daddy would eventually pierce with a thick ring. His feet changed into thick trotters, but he remained upright, rudimentary hands capable of wielding a few tools, but not much else, eyes dulling, no longer interested in anything beyond fucking and making his daddy boar happy. And the farmer looked down at them both, happy with the new additions to his farm, and knowing the rumours that would spread around the campus with their disappearance would remind the students who was really in charge around here.

Dale’s Story (Part 7)

Well the winner by a good margin was option number two with 35% of the vote, and the close runner up was option four with 27%, so why not combine them both together, right? So, WARNING: BESTIALITY AHEAD is what I’m trying to say.

“Well come on o’er here, Mick, ‘n let me git a good look at ya,” Dale said, waving the farmer over to where he was standing next to Bishop, or Piggy as he knew himself know, still helplessly chowing down on slop from the trough, horrified that someone had found him in this position.

“I don’–who the hell are you?” Mick asked, “How’d ya…know my name?” he walked over, not even aware that he was doing so until he was a few feet away from Dale–and he looked over his shoulder at where his shotgun was lying back by the barn entrance. “Yer on mah property, I want ya off.”

“Oh, we ain’t trespassin’, Master Mick–yer the one who invited us, after all. Piggy here wanted tah be yer new pigslave, ‘n we’re tryin’ him out, tah see if he’s good enough fer yer sty, ain’t that right?”

Mick’s mind was simple, and Dale found it rather…thrilling, how he could rewire the man’s head at to his merest whim. The farmer was a gentle guy, easy going–he had a shotgun, sure, but he’d never be able to really use it on anyone. No–he’d been more scared than anything, when he’d heard the noises in his barn, coming back from getting his hogs bedded down for the evening. So Dale started hardening him, giving him edges, cruel and abusive instincts, sadistic desires, and filling his mind with all sort of pervere, twisted fantasies. He resisted a bit, but the old Mick couldn’t stand for more than a moment against Dale’s mental onslaught, and when Mick looked down at Bishop again–it was hunger and lust and anger in his eyes that show through, as he kicked his new slave in the gut, yelling at him to eat faster, that he’ll never manage to be his pigslave with a sorry appetite like that. Mick started inspecting him then, unhappy with his scrawny the pig was, but he could fatten him up, if the thing had the spirit to handle him.

Dale crouched down next to Bishop’s face in the trough, and watched his brother plead with him for a moment, but he was already rewiring him as well. After all, this is what Bishop had wanted, right? Yeah, a master, a farmer, someone who could really help him become the pig he knew was deep inside him, that he’d always felt in there, that he’d always wanted to be. He wanted to be abused, humiliated, raped even, if that’s what it took, and even though these desires made him feel so ashamed, his cock was hard as a rock when Mick ran two dirty fingers down his crack and gave the piggy’s cunt a test–and Dale had an idea, or rather, Mick had his idea a moment later.

“I’m on the fence ‘bout it,” Mick said, “Could be a good ‘un, but I ain’t sure it really wants it. One way tah find out fer sure though. Get the hog’s hole warmed up fer a bit man, ‘n I’ll be back in a few.”

“Heh, ya heard the boss,” Dale said, unzipping his fly and dropping his pants, hefting his huge gut onto the small of Bishop’s back and shoving his rock hard cock in dry. Bishop groaned in pain, and Dale gave him a slap on the ass. “Don’t be worried ‘bout this, bro, be worried ‘bout who yer new master’s bringin’ back wit’ ‘em.”

Bishop had no idea what Dale might be referring to, until Mick returned with his prize winning boar leashed up. “Best way tah see if it’s got what it takes, is tah give it a taste a the real thing.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me!” Dale said, and made room for the boar. He gave the animal a mental prod, encouraging it on to mount Bishop, who cried out when he realized what was about to happen with him…but he wanted this. No, he didn’t want this, whatever his brother was doing to him he…he’d always thought about this, about being mounted like an animal, by an animal. A squeal escaped his mouth as the boar slid inside him, and the excitement of his fantasies coming true–his cock exploded all over the ground beneath him as he rutted with the boar, Mick letting out a laugh. “Hot damn, this thing ain’t a pig, it’s a god damn sow! Heh, bet we’d make some real nice progress if we went ‘n nutted the damn thing–then it’d put some wait on her hips real fast.”

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, Master Mick-it’s your piggy now.”

“Heh–the leather daddies back in the big city ‘r gonna go fuckin’ nuts over it at the convention next year, I’ll tell ya that!”

“Well Bishop,” Dale said, “I think yer in perfectly capable hands now–maybe I’ll come check in on ya tahmorrow, ‘n see how yer comin’ along.”

Bishop tried to beg, tried to plead, but all he could do was oink and squeal and debase himself as the boar came to climax inside him, and his master shoved the animal to the side and took it’s place, raping his new pig’s sloppy pussy as rough and hard as the boar who’d just been inside him. Dale watched a moment, and then left the barn, satisfied–to an extent.

“Damn, Dale, that’s pretty fuckin’ twisted,” a familiar voice said behind him. He turned, and the stranger appeared out of the dark, smoking a cigar.

“Fucker deserved it.”

The stranger didn’t say anything, just let a stream of smoke into the evening air. “Well, ya still got plenty a time left–who else ya wanna get some revenge on, while ya got the chance?”

I’m not sure if we’ll revisit Bishop here or not–his story line seems to have wrapped itself up pretty well. Still, I’m sure a guy like Dale has a few other grudges he could take on, right?

His father–he’ll need some way to occupy himself now that both of his son’s are out of the house.
His bully from high school who still lives in town–he could use a few lessons in punishment.
A couple of Bishops friends–he’s sure to find them at George’s bar tonight, and he never did get to finish that drink with them.
The stranger himself–try and take control of him. It’s risky and might fail, but he’ll never know unless he tries, right?

So, who do you want Dale to target next?

Hey man, good to see ya! Thought you might not make it, but I know you wouldn’t want to miss a party like this. Yeah, we got him all set up over here, go on, tubes all ready–take a deep breath, and blow–

Ha! Listen to the thing moan in there! Been a few hours at this point, so it’s starting to settle down, finally. You should have seen it, whimpering and crying while me and Louie were getting it all set up.

Who was it? Don’t really know. Some straight prick was pissing and moaning about us smoking down at the bar, telling us it was illegal and whatever, like we fucking care, you know? Well, it was Louie who puffed him–locked lips with the fucker, gave him a deep breath and zonked him to the floor! Bartender didn’t say nothing, he was ujust glad to be free of the little fuck, you know? That’s why it was such short notice, ‘n only half the gangs here. Still, it’s a good looking party, don’t you think? Still, always more fun when the whole family gets together.

Yeah, Blake’s here–think he’s a bit busy with Louie. He won’t care if you go butt it, of course, though ya might have to share.

Hey now, I know, we all know you…don’t share nicely! It was supposed to be a damn joke man, take it easy, take a drag off that thing ‘n just relax…

Look, the guys ‘n I have been talking, ‘n we think you need someone.

Yeah, lone wolf ‘n all that, fine. But…Blake’s been…look, I just think…why don’t you camp out with this guy for a bit? Feed him for a while? Make him…someone for you. We all know you’re lonely man, and you could have whatever you want. All the guys are cool with it. You just gotta mellow out a bit, you know what I’m saying.

Yeah yeah, pound me into the ground if you want, but we all know it’s true, including you.

We know you’re tough, just have some fun with him, you know. Come on, give him another breath, think about it. Could be a hot little cub, chubby in all the right places, wide ass, hungry for that big cock of yours. Hell, even a damn pig, stupid as a brick, drooling on the floor while you fuck it’s holes, drinking your piss, eating the big butts of your cigars. Whatever you want! Take your time and get to know him a bit better. You’ll be happier, and it’ll be a load off our backs too.

Glad you agree. Can’t wait to see how he turns out in the morning! I’ll have Blake come over and help ya brainstorm and suck ya off–ya always think better with a mouth around your cock, right?

Source: goa1701