Tag: slob

Slob Control – Gear Night at The Alley

Bill had gone out to the gay bars around town a time or two, but had generally always been dissatisfied with them. They certainly weren’t like the bars from decades past, seedy little joints where you could get up to a little trouble in the dark, and no one batted an eye. These days they were so bright and clean and…judgemental. Bill had long since given up on trying to go out, but now that he had his spellbook, he had a feeling he could make the bars around town a little more fun. He decided to start that week with The Alley–what might have been closest to the bear and leather bar around town, but it wasn’t really much of either. However, after having a little chat with the owner, and then the bartenders, and then the bouncers one night–along with a little bit of magic pushed into the place itself, he had a feeling it would have a much nicer reputation soon enough.

Kenneth and Evan got out of the uber as it idled in front of the bar, thanked their driver, and hustled over to the sidewalk outside The Alley. Kenneth and Evan were regulars here, usually coming out on Friday nights after work to have drinks with a few other couples, before heading home. Both of them were in their usual dress–khakis and button down shirts. They didn’t usually bother changing after work to go out. After all, they were in their mid forties, it’s not like they were going clubbing. They walked up to the door to the bar, opened it up, and found themselves facing an unfamiliar bouncer sitting on a stool, dressed in leather booty shorts, vest, cap and boots. It was a bit more…kinky than the usual atmosphere, but it didn’t faze them that much. They got out their IDs, and then the bouncer told them it would be a five dollar cover charge.

“What?” Evan said, “Why? There’s never a cover on Fridays.”

“It’s gear night. You’re not in gear. It’s either five dollars each, or you can grab somethin’ off the wall behind you.”

They turned around, and saw a bunch of pegs had been hung there on the wall, with a variety of gear hanging from them. Flannel, leather, hi viz, camo–it was a bearish assortment, but not anything that the two of them would usually wear. Evan sighed, “Fine,” and fished out his wallet.

“Hold on, let’s just put something on,” Kenneth said, grabbing a hi viz vest off the wall and pulling it on.

“Kenneth, you look ridiculous.”

“Come on, it saves us ten bucks.”

“We can afford ten bucks.”

“Here,” Kenneth said, holding out a leather bracelet with a snap, “Even you can pull this off.”

Evan glared at his husband, but took the leather band from him and put it on, then turned to the bouncer, who was just smirking. “That good enough?”

“Sure is,” he said, “Come on in, fellas.”

The bar was a bit more boisterous than it usually was on Fridays, and the crowd seemed a little older, a little gruffer. Kenneth spotted a few other regulars, some of them also sporting gear off the wall, as well as quite a few guys he hadn’t seen before, who looked like they’d brought plenty of gear from home. “Do you see Jamie or Kaleb?” he said.

“No, they might not be here yet.”

“Or they’re out back.”

They settled on a plan, since the line for the bar was fairly long. Evan would wait in line and get them a couple of drinks, while Kenneth scoped out the bar and looked for their friends, to see if they were there yet. Evan agreed, got in line, and Kenneth pushed his way through the crowded space towards the hall that led out onto the patio behind. He quickly got a bit turned around. The place seemed bigger than he remembered it being, the hallway a bit more twisty and windy than before–that, and quite a bit darker, with quite a few guys cruising from the corners. Kenneth eventually found his way through and out onto the back patio, feeling a bit relieved to be out of there. He scoped out the place, but it too was rather thick with guys. He was going to have to push around a bit to see if their friends were there or not. He found himself pushed around the edges of the main mass of guys, checking tables as he went, but there was no sign of the other couples. 

“Hey bud, lookin’ good tonight!”

Kenneth spun around, and saw he’d ended up near a table on the edge of the patio, next to the fence. A group of fellows who looked like they’d either just stepped off a construction site, or off a trailer park, were sitting around, smoking cigars, with about a pitcher of beer for each of them. “Huh?” he said, looked down at his own hi-viz vest, and looked a little sheepish, “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Come on, love a guy in gear, and you don’t have a drink! Need a beer?”

“No, my husband’s buying some inside.”

The fellow hadn’t waited for Kenneth’s response, he’d just poured a glass, and shoved it into Kenneth’s hand. “Guess ya better drink up quick then, go on!”

Kenneth looked down at the beer. He wasn’t much of a beer guy–he preferred a nice, sweet cocktail, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He drank some of the beer, and the next thing he knew, it was all gone. Had he just chugged that? He let off a belch, making the rest of the guys all start laughing.

“There ya go fella, have another,” the man said, and pushed another beer into Kenneth’s hand.

“No, I really should go find my husband.”

“Take a seat, he’ll find you out here faster with those drinks. Come on. Name’s Brett, by the way.”

Brett scooched over over the bench, crowding another chubby fellow down the line, and left a bit of bench beside him. Kenneth looked around, desperate for someone to rescue him from this awkward encounter, but as much as he knew he should walk away, a little voice told him to sit, have a drink. Maybe even have a cigar. They seemed nice and fun. It wouldn’t hurt to hang out with them for a bit. Just until Evan found him–that’s all. He took a seat, thigh pushed up against Brett’s, and the big fellow dropped his hand right on Kenneth’s knee. He could feel the blush all over his face, and he downed the second beer as a distraction.

“Man after my own heart, gonna try tah drink me under the table, eh?”

Kenneth looked down at the glass–somehow it had been refilled, but he hadn’t seen anyone pour it. He felt bloated, and gassy. He let off another belch, and found himself laughing along with the rest of the guys. For a while, he kept looking out at the crowd, hoping to spot Evan, but there was no sign of him. It wasn’t a big deal, he supposed. They’d probably found each other inside. He’d go join them in a bit. Just one more beer–and maybe another after that too.

It took longer than he’d expected it to, but Evan finally got a hold of two drinks–one of the sweet cocktails that Kenneth liked, and a whiskey coke for himself–and then set about trying to figure out where his husband had gotten off to. He poked around the main bar, but he was nowhere to be found, and neither were his friends. He managed to find a ledge he could set the glasses down on, checked his phone, but there weren’t any messages from anyone either. Maybe they had ended up out on the patio. He picked up the drinks and began weaving his way in between the bears of the bar, trying to find a path without spilling anything.

The clientele tonight seemed a lot more burly and crude than usual. The Alley was a bear bar, but it was a bar for middle class bears. Professional bears, with jobs downtown and adopted kids, and carefully managed open relationships. The guys he was pushing past seemed quite a bit more lower class than what he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he quite liked it very much. He narrowly avoided some chubby fellow that came barrelling through the doorway, and as he lurched, he stumbled into a wall and ended up dumping both drinks down the front of his clothes. Pissed off that he’d not only wasted a good chunk of cash, but also ruined a good work shirt, he figured he’d find the bathroom and see if he could clean himself up a bit.

The only problem is that the bathroom wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The Alley, like a lot of gay bars, wasn’t particularly large. It wasn’t even a very good cruise bar–there was no circuit, no hallways, no particularly dark corners. There had been two hallways–one that went out to the patio, and another that bent around to the bathrooms. Only the hall to the bathrooms kept going, and got darker. The lights were red, and the men he passed were looking a little more hungry than he liked. He tried to backtrack to the main room and the bar to reorient himself, but found himself turned around entirely. In his panic and frustration, he came around a corner too fast, and ran right into another fellow. He was built wide and muscular–Evan bounced right off him, and would have fallen to the ground, if the man hadn’t reached out, grabbed hold of his wrist, and kept him balanced.

“Easy there bud, what’s got you all in a rush?” the man said.

Evan sized him up–and there was a lot to size. He was tall, broad, muscular, and his whole body was decked out in full leather. Pants, shirt, jacket, gloves, boots. The only bit of skin he could see was the bit above his beard. The fellow’s muir cap was pulled down so low, he couldn’t even catch his eyes. Evan realized he was still holding onto him by the wrist. The grip was just a little too tight to be comfortable. He tugged his wrist free, and in the process lost the leather wrist band he’d put on at the door. It clattered to the floor, but before he could bend to retrieve it, the man’s cap lifted up slightly, and he caught the man’s gaze for a moment, and froze. His eyes, even in the darkness, were like steel. Hard and unyielding. He could have sworn they were metallic. He almost wanted to get a closer look, see if he could find himself in the iris, reflected–

“Careful there cub, don’t want you walking around naked now, do we?”

Evan blinked. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed in that glimpse. It might have been seconds, or it could have been hours. The man bent down and picked up the bracelet from the floor, turning it over and over in his gloved hands. It wasn’t quite a bracelet, in the light. It was too long, and was growing thinner. The snap became a buckle–it was a collar, but Evan was certain it hadn’t been a collar before.

“Here, let me put it on ya,” the man said, stepping close. Evan could smell the leather, felt it on his arms. He found himself cursing the shirt he had on, he wanted to know what it felt like against his skin. The man buckled the collar around his neck, and Evan felt a wave of ease flow over him. That was so much better. No wonder he’d been such a nervous wreck earlier, he hadn’t had his collar on right at all.

“There, that’s better, right cub?”

“Yes…Sir,” Evan said. 

“You’re all wet,” he said, tugging at his shirt.

“I…spilled a drink on myself. I was trying to get to the bathroom to clean up, and…”

“Shush,” the man said, “None of that matters.”

Evan’s lips shut tight, and he nodded up at the man.

“The most important thing, cub, is that you thank me for putting your collar back on.”

That didn’t seem quite right, to Evan. In fact, all of this seemed a bit strange. What was he doing here, with this strange man, with a collar on of all things. “I…I need to find my husband, I–”

The brim of the man’s cap slipped up, and Evan could see just a bit of silver there, and his eyes couldn’t look away. “Silly little cub. Walking in here in your leather harness, showing off those muscles you’re working on, that hot, furry little gut. Wearing those hot little chap shorts, that grungy looking jock. You didn’t come here lookin’ for a husband. You came in here looking for a Daddy. Looking for a Sir.”

Evan tore his eyes away and stumbled back. Looking down at himself in the dark, everything seemed wrong. He could remember Kenneth, remember the drinks, but he was wearing a harness, and those hot fucking chap shorts, and his dirtiest jock, because he’s a dirty little cub, fuck yeah, and fuck, if this isn’t the hottest fucking leather daddy he’s ever laid eyes on, and he has his collar on. He put his collar on him, on his neck. Fuck, this leather god collared him, the least he could do is thank him, thank him like a good little cub.Get down on his knees, shove his face in his Sir’s leather crotch, then get down and lick his boots clean, lick them good and clean. Maybe Sir will walk on him, crush him, crush his cub cock under those boots, make him squeal before he fucks him, maybe–

Evan pushed the thoughts away, and he ran. He ignored the voice that called after him, ordered him to come back. His booted feet almost ground to a halt, but Evan knew the truth, and it wasn’t that. He had to find Kenneth, he had to get the two of them out of this fucked up bar, before it was too late.

Kenneth was drunk. Kenneth couldn’t remember the last time he was drunk like this–maybe college, but even that was doubtful. He wasn’t a heavy drinker by any measure. Sure, they liked to uber to the bar together so they could both have their fill, but neither of them was an alcoholic, not like some of the other guys at the bar they could point out, or even a couple of guys in the friend group they usually hung out with. Tonight, hanging with Brett and his buddies though, every time he looked, his glass was brimming with their cheap beer, and every time he took a drink, he somehow ended up chugging the whole thing back. 

Brett’s hand was sliding over further and further, and was now openly groping Kenneth’s crotch. When he tried to scooch away, Brett’s arm ended up around his shoulder, his stinking pit inches from his face. When he tried to push away, he found his own hand in Brett’s crotch, groping his cock–his sizable cock, from the feel of it. He was losing control of the situation. He wouldn’t be able to say no, if he wanted to say no, but of course he wanted to say no. These guys weren’t his type at all, as much fun as it was hanging out with them. Besides, he needed to piss real bad after all of that beer, and try as he might, he couldn’t seem to excuse himself. “Fuck guys, I gotta go to the bathroom,” he said, or thought he said. Tried to say, at least, he might have slurred out some of that. He stumbled up from the bench, but couldn’t quite get his foot over it. He would have fallen on his face if Brett hadn’t gotten up first and been there to catch him, pull him close into his warm gut. 

He wasn’t sure how exactly his mouth ended up on Brett’s. One second he was trying to apologize, the next his mouth was full of Brett’s tongue, tasting of beer and cigar smoke, and fuck, it felt so good to just let go, and relax, and just stop worrying so much about everything, and just have this one kiss for a moment.

“Holy fuck, Kenny’s fuckin’ pissin’ himself!”

Brett pulled away from the kiss, looked down, and started laughing, along with the rest of the guys at the bench. It took Kenneth a moment to realize that the name Kenny had been referring to him, and that the kiss had apparently broken his focus so much, he’d let his bladder loose down the front of his khakis. He could feel it, the warmth running down his legs. He tried to stop it, but couldn’t seem to manage. It was running down both legs, even down into his socks and shoes. He just stood there, horrified, not at all certain what to do, as the rest of the guys just laughed.

“I…I should go, I need to find my husband and–”

“Hold on, hold on,” Brett said, “You can’t go out there looking like that, here, we’ll take care of you, don’t you worry, right fellas?”

The guys were still chuckling, but they all nodded in agreement. 

“Here, first, let’s get you out of that soaked shit.”

Brett started pulling at his shirt, unbuttoning it. Another guy came around and started unlacing his shoes. Kenneth tried to get them to stop, but he was having a hard enough time just standing upright. He ended up sitting back on the bench, totally naked, Brett balling up his piss soaked clothes and chucking them behind the bench. “Now, between all a us, we got enough to make an outfit, don’t we guys?”

It didn’t make any sense to Kenneth, how it happened. None of the guys looked any less dressed than they had been before, but now, on the table in front of him, was a total outfit of grungy looking workwear. None of it was his size of course, since all of them were substantially fatter than he was, but it was there. “I…I can’t, just give me back my clothes.”

“You don’t want those, just put these on already,” Brett said, “Or you’ll be going home naked.”

“He pulled on the stiff, cum stained briefs with a sizable brown stripe up the back, and tried to suppress a gag. Then came the mud crusted hi viz shirt, and the tattered jeans held up by a camo suspenders that were well on their way to losing their elasticity. Two mismatched, but equally grimy boot socks, and a pair of work boots much too big for his feet. Lastly, the hi-viz vest he’d gotten from the bar, and to top it off, a camo baseball cap.

“There, don’t that feel better?” Brett said, and pulled him close, “Have another beer.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m so drunk,”

“Drink Kenny, we know how much ya can handle.”

He took the glass from Brett, and chugged the beer back, but something was off about this one. It was flat, it was warm. The color was a bit too pale, and the taste a bit too bitter. Kenneth drank it all down though, and when he was through, he licked his lips. It was weird, but he liked it. He liked it a whole lot. 

“Like that one Kenny?”

“Yeah Brett, that one was different, what was that?”

“Right from the tap, Kenny,” Brett said, took the glass from him, put it under his cock, which he’d pulled out of his jeans, and he pissed into it, filling it up to the brim.

Kenneth looked on in horror at the realization of what he’d just drank–and that he’d liked it. He’d really liked it. He liked it so much that, despite his disgust, he took the glass from Brett and guzzled that one right down too, only for Brett to kiss him right after. This time, Kenneth kissed him right back, the taste of beer, smoke and piss on their breath making him hornier than he could ever recall being in his life.

Evan found his way out of the darkness, and burst out into the main bar. He was relieved, looking down at himself, that his body hadn’t changed–but his clothing had. Just like Sir had said, his work clothes had disappeared, replaced entirely by a leather harness, chaps, a filthy looking jock, and some leather boots. He reached up, tried to undo the clasp of the collar, but his hands couldn’t seem to free it.

Whatever, it would come off later, at home. He looked around, but Kenneth was nowhere to be seen here, so that left the patio. He managed to find his way there this time, and the place was packed with men, many of them smoking cigars. The smell of smoke and musk was making his cub cock throb–no, what the fuck was wrong with him? He pushed through, ignoring the cat calls and the occasional smack on his bare ass, calling out for Kenneth, and finally he found him, sitting at a bench with a bunch of roughnecks, laughing and belching like a heathen.

Then, he doubted himself. It couldn’t be Kenneth. The beard was too long. He was too fat. He wasn’t wearing the right clothes either, or at least, not the clothes he’d arrived in. Then again, neither was he. He was certain it was him though, somehow. It was the eyes, the mouth, and that stupid hi-viz vest that he’d gotten when they’d come into the bar. Something about the stuff they’d been given, it’s like it was changing them! He hurried over, grabbed hold of Kenneth by the shoulder and shook him enough that his husband looked up at him, clearly more than a little drunk. He could smell the alcohol on his breath, and something else, something acrid, something that Evan didn’t want to know about. 

“Kenneth, we have to get out of here, come on, this place is fucked up.”

Kenneth just blinked a couple of times at him, his eyes narrowed, and looked a bit confused.

“Friend of yours, Kenny?” the man beside him asked.

“I…Evan?” Kenneth asked. “What are ya doin’ wearin’ all that leather shit?”

“Kenneth, you have to listen to me. Something about the bar, it’s changing us, ok? These roughneck fucks next to you are turning you into some beer swilling idiot. You have to trust me, and come with me, right now, alright?”

“Bud, why don’t you go ahead and fuck off,” the roughneck said, throwing one arm around Kenneth and leaning over him. His pit ended up right in Kenneth’s face, and he let off a moan, before leaning in and licking it. “Kenny here is perfectly happy right here with us, ain’t that right, Kenny?”

“Oh, fuck yeah Brett, fuck ya smell so fuckin’ good.”

“Kenneth!” Evan yelled, and pulled him back. “You have to believe me, we have to get out of here.”

Kenneth just blinked at him, “Do…do I know you?”

“You don’t know him Kenny. You want some more beer, man?”

“Fuck, only if it’s from yer special tap,” Kenneth said.

Evan just watched in disgust as Brett pissed in a glass, passed it to Kenneth, and his husband drank it all down. As he did, Evan swore he saw him grow a bit fatter, and hairier in the process. He licked his lips, belched, and groped his cock in front of all the roughnecks, laughing along with them.

“There you are,” a voice said behind him. 

Evan turned around, and found the leatherman from the dark standing right behind him. Before he could run off, the man hooked a leash to the collar around Evan’s neck, and as soon as the latch closed, Evan felt that same pleasurable calm sweep over him.

“Sorry guys, my cub here ran off on me. I hope he wasn’t giving you any trouble,” the leatherman said.

“Nah, nothin’ we couldn’t handle, right Kenny?”

“Yeah…sure Brett…” Kenneth said.

“Come on, cub, let’s go finish what we’d started earlier.”

Evan tried to push back on the dreamy haze enveloping him, but couldn’t seem to fight it. It just felt so good to let go, and let Sir walk him through the bar, show him where to go, back into the darkness. 

“That was a very naughty thing, running off like that cub,” the man said, pulling the leash tight when they returned to the spot where they’d met. “Still, I’ll take some of the responsibility–I should have leashed you sooner, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so willful. We’ll take care of that though, don’t worry.”

“Please…I…I have to get out of here,” Evan managed to say, but couldn’t even manage to pull away.

“Now why would you want to do that? Hot little muscle cub like you, walking in here looking like this. You knew what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Evan tried to resist, but he could feel the memories twisting and warping in the dark, just like the wristband had earlier. He thought he’d come with someone, but he’d come alone. Dressed in his leather gear, hot young cub, dirty jock and boots. Yeah, he was hot, but…but he wanted something. He was looking for something. “I found…I…”

“You found a Master, cub. You found a man to collar you. A man who’s going to own you.”

“No…” Evan mouthed, looked up, perhaps to plead, and found himself staring directly into the man’s silvery eyes. He’d been right. They were bright enough to reflect. He could see himself in them. Twenty eight years old, shorter than he’d like to be, but broad and muscular, with a bit of a belly. His harness pulled tight across his hairy chest, pits stinking. He can finally grow a full beard, and he never wants to have anything else, ever again. He looks tough, sure, but there’s something inside him, something he’s always known. He wants to be dominated. He wants to be owned, and controlled, and enslaved. Evan knew that there should be something else there, someone older and wiser, but that was all there was. That was the truth, whether he liked it or not. 

The leash tugged him down, he fell to his knees, where he belonged. He pressed his face against Master’s leather crotch, smelled it, felt the warmth, and shuddered. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for choosing me, for making me your slave,” he said.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Master said. “Now clean my boots, cub.”

Evan knelt lower, pressed his tongue to the leather of Master’s boots, and felt his cock shudder, leaking into his filthy jockstrap. He could feel Master’s gaze resting on him, judging his work. Master let out a quiet little groan, almost like the act of Evan licking his boots was like licking his cock. Knowing that even this could pleasure his Master, Evan dug in, licking up the length, feeling the boot…shudder under his tongue.

“Fuck, that’s good cub, you know how to make a leatherman happy,” Master said.

Evan beamed with pride from the compliment. He’d wanted a Master like this all his life–he wasn’t about to disappoint him now.

“Come on Keggy, wakey, wakey…”

The warm stream hit Keggy’s face, and he let out a moan. His head was pounding, but that didn’t stop him from opening up his mouth, almost by instinct, so he could swallow the piss that was hitting him in the face. He managed to crack open his eyes once the stream stopped, and looked up at Brett looming over him. He was lying somewhere cramped and uncomfortable, with a crick in his neck, and his back. He rolled up, sliding a bit, and realized he’d fallen asleep in a stand up shower. “Fuck, did I sleep here last night?”

“You know the rules, Keggy. You stay over, you sleep in here. I don’t care how many ‘accidents’ you have at home, I don’t need my trailer smelling like a urinal.”

Keggy looked down at himself, at his clothes, which were drenched and stinking. The crotch of his pants were exceptionally wet, like they’d been soaked recently. It all stank of piss, and fuck if that didn’t get his cock hardening against the wet denim. “What…happened last night?”

“Same thing that happens every gear night. You got drunk off your ass, and drank loads of piss and cum from half the guys at the bar. You had a lot of fun.”

That sounded right, but there were no actual memories to go with it. “Think I blacked out.”

“Not surprising. We were both wasted when we got home. You were begging me to get you off, but that dick of yours wouldn’t get hard for shit–mine either. Workin’ just fine now, though. Wanna fuck?”

Keggy wasn’t quite sure if he did or not, but Brett rolled him up onto all fours, his head in the shower and his knees outside it, tugged down his soaking wet jeans, and pushed the head of his cock against his hole. It slipped right in, and Keggy moaned. Brett fucked him slow, reached around, under Keggy’s big gut, and gripped his cock too, fucking and jacking him at the same time. Keggy bent down and started licking the floor of the shower, tasting Brett’s morning piss on it, humping into Brett’s fist at the same time.

“Nasty fuckin’ piss pig, lickin’ it up from the floor of my fuckin’ shower, yer fuckin’ nasty.”

Keggy couldn’t hold it much longer, once Brett started berating him, and he came, blowing a huge load all over the floor of the bathroom. Brett backed him up, keeping him on his cock, so Keggy could lick up his mess, and then focused on fucking his hole, harder and rougher now that they were both warmed up, until Brett came inside him. He pulled out and stood up, catching his breath, while Keggy got up the last bits of his cum, and managed to push himself up after, right in front of Brett’s filthy mirror. He looked at himself, at the long graying beard, the piss soaked clothes, his thick hairy forearms and massive ball gut. It didn’t…seem familiar, but his memory was a blank. There was something he should remember, wasn’t there? Something, or someone, important?

“Alright, get outta here Keggy. I got shit to do today.”

“Wha?”

“Go on, get home.”

“I…” Keggy said, “I kinda…don’t remember…don’t I live here?”

“Man, you did get drunk last night. We live in the same goddamn trailer park, but hell if I’m gonna live with you man. I don’t mind playing with a urinal on occasion, but ain’t no one wanna live with one–I guess, except you.”

“Ya don’t gotta be an asshole,” Keggy said, and Brett chuckled. 

Brett stepped close, like he was gonna kiss him, and then spit in his face. “Ya wouldn’t have nearly as much fun if I fuckin’ respected you. Yer a filthy fuckin’ piss pig. Now get the fuck out before my place starts stinkin’ like yours.”

Fuck, he was hard again. He stumbled his way out of Brett’s trailer and out onto the gravel, looked around, and saw he was in a mobile home park. Now that he was out, he did…almost remember, a place. He shuffled off, and found a trailer he imagined he recognized a few lots down. The key fit, he opened the door, and the stink of the place assaulted him. He took a deep breath, cock even harder, and sighed. Fuck, nothing smelled quite like home.

Something told him this was wrong. He stepped inside, looked around at the filthy space, walls and carpet stained with all the times he’d pissed on them–sometimes even on purpose, and felt that this couldn’t be right. He remembered living somewhere else. Somewhere clean. A house. A suburb. There was another hole, person shaped. He ran his tongue around his mouth, trying to feel for a name, but all he came up with was the taste of piss and old beer.

Beer–yeah, he could go for a beer. That would help the hangover. Might even help him remember whatever it was that was missing. Beer always helped, and fuck was he thirsty. He went to his fridge, opened it up, and found it packed full of cheap beer. He didn’t remember buying it. It was just always there, somehow. He thought he should be hungry too, but that didn’t seem right. He couldn’t really remember eating anything. He was too thirsty all the time to eat, after all. Beer, piss, and cum. What more could a urinal like him need, really? He popped open a can, chugged it down, grabbed another, and chugged that one too, letting off a long belch. He thought again about what was missing, but the beer had just clouded it over again. No matter–that was easier anyway. He sat down in his recliner, feeling the seat squelch under him, the stink of old piss wafting up around him. He hauled his cock free, aimed up, and pissed all over himself there in the chair, thinking about what Brett had said, how he’d treated him.

“Stupid, worthless fuckin’ urinal, fuck…” he muttered to himself, as the stream stopped, his cock hardening again in his hand. “Fuck, I’m disgustin’…nasty…sittin’ in my own fuckin’ piss…”

He stroked himself off again, and felt better. Once he got a few more beers in his belly, he got a good idea. He had the rest of the day free, after all. Didn’t have to go back to work until Monday. Plenty of truckers at the truckstop down the road. He could camp out in the bathroom, plenty of ‘em loved a hot mouth to piss in, and Keggy loved gettin’ treated like a urinal, like a fuckin’ object. Maybe that night, he’d head back to The Alley with Brett, but he’d see. Mostly, he was thirsty, and beer only sated him so much. He grabbed his keys, climbed in his truck, which was just as piss soaked as everything else Keggy owned, and drove off down the road to the truck stop to slake his thirst properly.

Evan didn’t know where he was when he woke up, at first. He was on something rather hard, for one thing. He pushed himself up, and saw that he’d fallen asleep on a carpeted floor, with a sheet of leather thrown over him for warmth. His whole body ached, but whether that was from sleeping on the floor, or from the punishments his Master had put him through, both at the bar in the dark, and at his home, once they’d left. That’s where he was, he supposed. He looked next to him, and saw a sizable bed beside him, covered in leather sheets. He needed to take a piss, but when he went to try and find the bathroom, he was stuck–his collar was chained to a hook on the wall, keeping him right next to the bed whether he wanted to or not.

“Sorry for the extra security,” a voice said, “but I didn’t want you running off again.” 

Evan looked up, and saw the leatherman was looking down at him from where he was lying on his bed, still in full leather regalia–boots, hat and all. Had he slept in it? That seemed like a curious level of commitment. “I…I just need to pee, Sir.”

“Ah, right. Forget about that sometimes,” he said, reached down and unclipped the lead from the collar. “That doorway over there.”

Evan got to his feet, still in his own leather gear, much to his surprise. At some point though, his jock had disappeared. He went to the doorway, and found the bathroom. He took a piss in the toilet and then went back out into the bedroom, where Master was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Evan was feeling a little nervous now, in the light of day, in a strange home. “I…I think…I’d like to go home now, Sir,” he said.

“The man smiled, and beckoned him over to where he was sitting. “And where would home be, little cub?”

Evan knew that there had to be an answer to that question, but there wasn’t one. He couldn’t remember where he lived. There was a hole there, shaped like a house, like a job, like a person. “I’m not sure…but–”

“Did you like how I made you feel last night?” he said, running a gloved hand down Evan’s chest and belly. 

Evan shuddered, and felt his cock rising, pushing against his jock. “I…I did, but…sorry, Sir, but…did you sleep in your gear last night? I…I could have undressed you, you know…”

The leatherman looked down at himself, and chuckled again. “I think you’re misunderstanding, cub. This isn’t gear–this is me,” he said, took Evan’s hand in his own gloved fingers and tugged it over, so it could rub across his jacket. “This is my skin now. I don’t really remember when it happened, or how. I love it though. Feeling you lick my boots last night, fuck, you have a real hot tongue, cub.”

“You…could feel that? I thought, but I didn’t…”

“I could. I can. I’d like to feel it again, even.”

“Wait, how is that even possible?”

Master shrugged.

“Is…do you have…a cock then? Is that why you, uh, said what you did about the bathroom?”

“Yeah–haven’t pissed in a few days. Kinda weird, but also convenient. I do have a cock though. I didn’t want to pull it out last night, I was worried it might…scare you off, but here,” he said, and with his gloved hands, he dropped the fly of his leather pants. Something pushed out, something pulsing and leathery. It was a cock, but it too, looked more like an extension of his clothing, than something that came from underneath. It was thick, and long, and drooling something off the end that wasn’t quite cum. “Go on cub, have a taste.”

Evan stared down at the strange cock, disturbed. “I…I don’t…” he looked up, and found himself caught in the man’s silvery eyes again, and he sighed.

“You love leather, don’t you cub? The feel of it on your skin,” he said, running his gloved hands down Evan’s body, watching the cub shudder at his touch. “You loved worshiping it last night, didn’t you?”

“I did, I…but…”

He got up, maintaining eye contact, and pushed Evan back, so he was lying on the bed, belly up, and then climbed on top of him, pressing his leathered body down on him, giving him as much contact as he could. It was so warm. He could feel it pulsing, it was his skin, it was alive, even if it didn’t make sense. Master’s cock was pressed against his own, his hardon throbbing. “I am leather, cub. If you want to worship leather, then worship me. Be mine. Give yourself to me. Doesn’t it feel good, just submitting? Giving in?” 

He ground his leather crotch against Evan’s own cock, feeling how excited the cub was. “I…Sir…I don’t think I can hold…”

“Don’t hold back. Cum. Release all that fear, all that reluctance. Cum, and accept that your only desire is to worship me–to worship leathermen.”

Evan’s cock exploded, pumping cum between his flesh and his Master’s leather cock. He fell back, mind reeling from the sensation, from the desires coursing through him. Master worked his way up, until he was straddling Evan’s neck with his thighs. “Clean up your mess, cub, and then service me.”

“Yes Master,” Evan said, and licked his cum off his master’s leather skin, relishing how it made him shudder, and then took his cock in his mouth. The taste was leathery, but also musky, still recognizable as human. His reluctance was forgotten, his cock already hard again. Master rolled him over after a couple of minutes, and then fucked his hole with his big cock. He expected it to be a rough, uncomfortable fuck, but it wasn’t. It was heavenly, unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Eventually, Master came, flooding his guts with his strange seed, but Evan no longer cared. This was the most phenomenal experience of his life, and he wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Thank you Sir, that was amazing,” he said, when the leatherman rolled off him. 

He grabbed hold of Evan and pulled him close. “It sure fucking was. Can you feel it inside you boy?”

There was an odd heat that he could sense. Evan reached around with his hand, touched his hole with one hand, and gasped. It wasn’t skin, not really. It was leather. Supple, soft leather, warm to the touch, and so, so hungry. “What…what did you do to me?”

“You’re a cute cub, but I think you’ll look better as a leatherboy, don’t you think? Gonna take a few more loads to make that happen, and you’ll need some more gear, but what do you say? Wanna go all the way? Be a leather freak like me?”

Evan nodded. “Yes Master–fuck, yes…Yes…”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the leatherman said, “Now, let’s get you properly dressed, boy.”

That night at The Alley, the leatherman and his leatherboy were quite a sight, in their full leather regalia. There were a few differences of course. The boy had a thick leather collar around his neck, and a simple leather ball cap on his head. He hadn’t yet earned the right to wear a muir cap like his Master, after all. That, and his pants. There was no fly on the front–Master decided to keep his boy in a codpiece for now–he didn’t need his cock slipping out and causing problems. That, and a zipper down the ass of his leather pants, so Master could get at his hot boy’s leather hole whenever he wanted–and he wanted it, a lot, from then on.

Slob Control – Timefucking the Foreman

Loop One

It had been the best weekend of Bill’s life, by far. Finally taking his asshole neighbor down a peg or ten with the help of his new spellbook had been the most satisfying moment in his life by far. Sunday at around eleven, Pete had made his way over to where Bill was smoking on the porch, waiting for him to arrive for his daily service, and he’d spent a few hours putting his new neighborhood slave through his paces, making sure Pete properly appreciated Bill for the opportunity he was giving him. Seeing the lingering resentment give way to sheer bliss was an erotic thrill he’d never expected, and seeing how happy Pete was when he left, two loads of cum drooling down the inside of his thighs, stinking of cum and musk and sex, before climbing into his jeep to go suck even more anonymous cock like he did every night–Bill couldn’t believe how far he’d fallen in just a couple of days–and he still had so many plans to put into motion.

Now, though, it was Monday. While he supposed there was no real reason why he needed to keep going to work–the spellbook could provide him most everything he needed, after all–he had some other reason to go. Mostly, to settle a few scores, and put a particular fellow in his proper place. That fellow happened to be Grant, his current foreman. Grant was relatively new to the crew, and from rumors going around the crew, it sounded like he only really got the job because he was the son of a friend of the construction company’s owner. He was young, had an attitude problem, and was real bossy but didn’t know shit for the most part. He and Bill had not gotten along from the very start. 

He spent part of Sunday evening going through the book, looking through some of the spells, and found one that looked rather intriguing–in part because it would allow him to be a little more creative with his boss. Bill wasn’t one to get to work early–if anything, he was usually late, but come Monday, he roused himself ahead of schedule, got into his truck and hustled to the worksite, getting there half an hour before their scheduled start time, and before anyone else had arrived. He got the book, headed over to the trailer that served as the foreman’s office, opened it up to the page he’d marked, and uttered the spell.

He felt an odd sensation at the back of his neck, almost like the moment he finished the incantation, the world felt a bit sticky. The spell involved time–basically, he’d created a save point. He could force reality to return to this moment as many times as he wanted. Even better, he’d be able to keep any changes he made to people during each loop intact. He’d be able to fuck with Grant as many times as he wanted, in as many ways as he wanted, until he was properly satisfied.

Right on time, as he finished the spell, he saw a familiar truck arrive in the lot–it was Grant. The young, slender fellow got out of his car and headed for the trailer, slowing up a bit when he saw Bill there waiting for him. Before he could say anything, Bill uttered the same incantation he’d first used on Peter, sending Grant into a highly suggestible trance. “Come on over here, Grant,” he said, and watched his young foreman stumble his way over, slack-jawed. “That’s it, there’s some things I think we should discuss this morning, before we get to work, what do you say?”

Grant didn’t say anything of course, his mind had left the premises. Bill was about to lead him into the trailer, when he heard another vehicle approach. He looked out and saw Sam’s truck pull into the site lot as well. Sam had been with the company longer than pretty much anyone, and was one of the reasons that, even with Grant’s shitty leadership, the project hadn’t fallen too far behind schedule. Pretty much everyone, including Bill, figured he’d make a better foreman–so why not give him the opportunity, Bill wondered. Sam got out of his truck, a burly fellow in his mid forties or so, and Bill didn’t waste time uttering the same incantation and putting Sam under as well. Together, the three of them went into the trailer to have a little chat before the rest of the crew arrived. Of course, Bill was certain he’d have plenty of time to work them both over, soon enough.

Loop Three

Grant couldn’t shake the sensation that something was off this morning. There was just a nagging sense of deja vu he couldn’t seem to shake. He pulled into the lot outside the construction site, and was surprised to see he wasn’t the first one there. He was pretty much always the first to arrive, he figured it set a good example for the rest of the crew. Even more surprising was who was there waiting for him–it was Bill of all people. 

There was an odd sense that Grant should detest Bill, but something else welled up instead. Something rather surprising. Looking at him there, fuck, was he getting turned on? Something about him, standing there in his filthy hi viz, smoking one of his stinking cigars, fuck, but then again, Grant had gotten into this work because he’d always thought construction workers were hot as fuck. That thought–something about it seemed off, but it was impossible to sort out how exactly. Grant got out of his truck, adjusting the front of his jeans, got his bag and tried to maintain his composure as he walked up to where Bill was standing. “Mornin’ Bill, good to see you here early for once,” he said.

Bill just smirked at him, and said nothing. Fuck, that cocky as shit attitude only made him seem so much hotter somehow. Grant hustled past him into the trailer, dropped his bag, and sat down at his desk with the window behind him. He peeked through the shades and could see Bill right there–fuck, was he really thinking about doing this? He groped himself–yeah, fuck, what was the harm just real quick. He pulled his cock out and started stroking, as Sam rounded the corner and started talking to Bill, smoking a cigar himself.

Then, fuck, and then Grant could hardly believe his eyes. Bill wrapped one hand around the back of Sam’s head, pulled him close, and the two of them shared a long, smoky kiss. Fuck! It was something out of Grant’s wildest fucking fantasies, and he’d seen it right with his bare eyes. They kept kissing, Sam kneading and massaging Bill’s big gut, almost grinding up against him even. Bill pushed him up against the side of the trailer, still kissing him, pinning him there with his big body, and fuck, Grant couldn’t help imagining himself between both of them, and, and…

He exploded, all over his hands, all over the floor, all over the wall of the trailer under the window. He opened his eyes, and was horrified to find Bill staring right at him through the window. Fuck! Did he know? He…He had to get rid of the evidence, before anyone found out. He got on his hands and knees, licking up the cum from the wall, sucking it out of the dirty carpet, cock still rock hard somehow. Embarrassed, horrified, and yet still hornier than he’s ever been in his life.

Loop Nine

Something about this morning was definitely off. Everything seemed familiar, and yet different. Grant pulled into the lot again, and took another drag off his cigar–it was the only thing that could seem to calm his nerves this morning, but even as he did, he found it difficult to believe he was even smoking. Part of him, a part of him that was something between an echo and a memory, told him that he hated smokers, that he’d always considered it a filthy habit. It was a filthy habit of course, but wasn’t that why he liked it? Why it turned him on so much? He turned off the engine and just sat there for a moment, one hand on his gut, a gut that he’d been struggling with all morning, another thing that seemed out of place, and took another drag on his morning cigar. No use trying to figure it out. He popped open the door and climbed out.

He headed for the trailer with his bag in tow, and pulled up a bit short when he saw Bill was already on the site. That…almost never happened. Bill was usually late, if anything. Fuck, just seeing him there made his half hard cock stand right up to full mast. He’d had a fucking crush on Bill since the day he’d met him, but he was too deep in the closet, too young, too nervous to say anything, though he was pretty sure Bill would be amenable. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure, but it felt right. “Hey Bill,” he said, trying his best to sound casual, and keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. “How’s the morning? You’re not usually here this early.”

“Eh, couldn’t sleep,” Bill said, taking a drag off his own cigar. 

Grant came around him, and up the steps to the trailer. He unlocked the door, then hesitated. “It’s, uh, a cold mornin’ wanna come in and warm up? I’ll get the coffee on.”

“Sure,” Bill said, and followed him up into the trailer.

It smelled like smoke–not surprising, since Grant had a cigar fired up pretty much all day long. Bill just stood there, a smirk on his face, while Grant busied himself with the coffee maker, trying to keep himself from glancing over at his crush too many times, but fuck, he was right there, and he’s too chickenshit to make a move, fucking hell, just say something, anything!

But nothing came. He poured himself a cup of coffee, when he felt something warm press against his back. He turned around, and found Bill there, blocking him in against the counter, leering down at him. Fuck, it seemed like they should be the same height, somehow, but no, Bill had several inches on him, which only made it hotter somehow. “I know what you want boy,” Bill said, “Go on, all you have to do is ask for it.”

He called him boy, fuck. Grant was leaking, he was so fucking hard, this couldn’t really be happening, could it?

Then, Bill had his lips around Grant’s, feeding him his smoke, and the next thing he knew, Bill had him bent over his desk, his jeans pulled down, and he was driving his cock into his hole. Fuck, it hurt, but he didn’t care, he needed this, he needed it so bad, fuck! “Fuck me, fuck! Fuckin’ hell, god, I need you so fuckin’ bad…” he moaned, finally finding his voice.

“I know boy, I know,” Bill said, chuckling.

Loop Seventeen

He was running late again. Grant didn’t know when everything had gotten so out of control with him. There was something wrong, it felt like he’d done this already, but different. It was getting worse, somehow, he was getting worse. Every time he woke up, he seemed different. A little shorter, a little hairier, a little older, a little fatter. Well, a lot fatter, really. That wasn’t true of course. He was just as fat and short as he’d been yesterday. His beard was still a mess. He still had all this fucking body hair, he still stank. Something else though, told him it hadn’t always been like this, it had been different. Then, of course, there was the issue with Sam, his foreman.

Fooling around with Bill was one thing. Bill was just another member of the crew like he was. Sure, Grant liked sucking dick and getting fucked, and he especially liked it from big fat roughnecks like Bill, but this stuff that was happening with Sam, it wasn’t normal. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy being treated like this, he wasn’t supposed to drag his feet getting to work, and pull into the lot with butterflies in his stomach. It was abuse, wasn’t it? But then why was he putting up with it? Why was he already hard from just thinking about it? He should turn around and drive away. It was the thing he’d do if he had any fucking backbone. He could find another job, hell, he could report Sam and probably get him fired. He wasn’t going to do that though. He couldn’t do that.

It felt like he was on a track. He got out of his truck, sucking on his morning cigar, wearing his grungy hi viz as always. He walked towards the site, hoping that, just maybe, Sam would be preoccupied, and wouldn’t see him this morning, but knowing he would. Knowing it had already happened, knowing it was going to happen again. He came around the corner, and there Sam was, in the door of the trainer. Fuck, he was so fucking big, bigger than he even remembered him being, or maybe that’s just because he was short. 

“You’re late, faggot,” Sam said, sucking on his own cigar.

Say no. Say you’re done. Say you’re not going to take it anymore. 

“Get your fat ass in here pig, now.”

Grant said nothing, climbed the steps, and squeezed past Sam to get inside, getting a good whiff of his strong musk as he did, and wishing that didn’t make him even more excited.

“Strip.”

Grant shucked off his dirty clothes, and stood there, shaking a bit. Five foot six, nearly three hundred pounds, hairy and balding. He felt like a worthless pig in front of the six foot four heavily muscled foreman leering down at him. 

“Bend over the desk.”

He did as he was told. He heard Sam tug his belt free of his pants, double it up. He picked up Grant’s nasty old jock from the floor and stuffed it in his mouth, then started beating his ass with the belt, pinning him down with one hand on his back. 

“Fuck faggot,” he said, “I’m starting to think you’re showin’ up late on purpose. I’m starting to think you actually like it when I beat your fuckin’ ass. Is that it? You like it when I beat your faggot ass red?” He grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled Grant upright again, spun him around, and sure enough, there was his four inch hard cock, jutting out under his flabby gut, clear as day. “Dick’s don’t lie faggot. You like being my punching bag, don’t ya?” he said, and slapped him across his face, then pulled the dirty underwear from his mouth. “Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you, Sir.”

“Ask me to hit you again.”

“P-Please…” he wanted to say don’t. He wanted to beg for mercy, but his lips and tongue, they had other ideas. “Please beat me, fuck, I wanna be your fuckin’ worthless faggot Sir, beat the shit out of me.”

Sam beat his ass and nuts, making him scream through his grimy jock. Then he threw him on the ground and fucked him, with just a little spit as lube, and somehow the pain of that only made the whole thing hotter. Sam stood up, finished with his fuck, and Grant managed to push himself up to his knees, only to find himself facing Sam’s cock. “Clean it. Then, I’ve got your reward, pig.”

He did as he was told, then Sam held him down, and pissed down his throat, before telling him to get dressed, and get to work. Only he didn’t make it that far. Something dragged him back again, back to the beginning, and he screamed, and he begged, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t done. He wasn’t done by a long shot.

Loop Twenty-Six

He deserved this.

Grant looked up at where Sam was sitting in front of him, grimy jeans around his ankles, and ran his tongue up the length of his thick cock, feeling it throb against his tongue. He was a stupid, horny pig. A worthless, filthy fucking piece of shit pig. Part of him told him that wasn’t true still, that he had to fight this, that this wasn’t right, but that piece got quieter every time. He’d done this before, he was sure of it somehow. Not just yesterday, though he had done something like this yesterday. But…before. It made sense, somehow, but not in a way his simple mind could really piece together.

Behind him, Bill was fucking his pighole, nice and slow. This was how all of his morning started at the site these days, worshiping these two filthy gods. Somedays he’d worship and clean their bodies from head to toe, other times they’d beat him senseless, send him out bruised and battered for the crew to gossip about. They’d long ago locked up his cock, or had it only been a short while ago? It didn’t matter–stupid worthless pigs like him didn’t get to have orgasms. Service, obedience, and pain were its own rewards. He knew that should feel like an excuse, like a lie, but more and more, it felt like the only truth that remained.

He felt the flogger in Sam’s hand slide over his back, and he shuddered. He couldn’t find the line between anticipation, dread, and excitement. It came down on his back with a smack, he moaned, and started licking faster at Sam’s cock, his own throbbing inside its tiny cage. “Open up, pig,” Sam said. Grant looked up, mouth open, tongue out, and Sam deposited the ash from his cigar right on his tongue. It burned, but he rolled it around in his mouth, soaking it with spit, until it was wet enough to swallow. Then, he returned to worshiping Sam’s cock while Sam’s flogger kept striking him. 

Watching the show, Bill’s thrusts began to speed up. After a few more minutes, with a groan, he pumped his load in deep, and when he was done shooting, he pulled himself free. “Your turn, bud,” he said to Sam.

“Finally, takin’ yer sweet time.”

“I know you like it when it’s good and sloppy,” Bill said, stealing a smoky kiss with Sam for a moment, while Grant looked up at them both, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, or so unlucky.

Sam drove his cock in without ceremony. He was bigger than Bill, which is why he usually went second. Actually, he loved the feeling of a seedy, sloppy hole around his cock–it helped him last longer. Bill came around to Grant’s head, fed him his nice, long ash, but instead of sitting down and letting him lick his cock clean, instead he bent over and shoved his wide, stinking ass into Grant’s face. “Clean me out faggot, forgot to wipe this morning.”

He balked. He didn’t balk often, anymore, but while Sam grabbed the back of his head and shoved him into Bill’s dirty crack. “Go on faggot, you know what that nasty tongue is for.”

He did as he was told. He did it because he deserved this, because he was a fat, loser faggot, and this is what his place in the world was. But more and more, he did it because he wanted to. Because he craved the filth, the degradation, the abuse. He pushed back, as hard as he could, but he knew it was a losing battle. Soon enough, that’s all that would be left of him.

Loop Thirty-Eight

Sam’s truck pulled into the parking lot. Bill was waiting over by the trailer, smoking his cigar. They were almost there, he figured. Maybe one or two more loops through, just to make sure everything was good and cemented in with them both. Sam got out–squeezed his way out, really. Six foot seven, nearly four hundred pounds of fat and muscle, furry and rough and tattooed all over. A real rough piece of work, harsh but fair, with no patience for slackers on the crew. He walked around to the bed of the truck, unlocked the cage that filled up a good portion of the bed, and gutter, Sam’s slave, crawled out and eased himself down from the bed. 

Gutter was short–around five foot two, and about three hundred pounds of mostly fat. Middle aged, balding, and filthy–Sam didn’t hose him down very often. He was wearing just a hard hat, a grubby orange safety vest, a nasty jockstrap, knee pads, and boots–and a heavy chain collar, with a chain leash in Sam’s hands. Sam tugged him along, and gutter crawled after him, head down, gut dragging through the gravel lot.

“How ya doin’, Bill?” Sam said as they approached, “Yer not usually here this early.”

He took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in, and gave Bill a long, smoky kiss, giving his gut a rub, while Bill felt up Sam’s firm body. Fuck, he’d done good with this one, Sam was one hot fucking piece of meat. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I might as well get here early.”

“You just wanted to use Gutter here before the rest of the crew got to him.”

“I mean, that too. I gotta piss like a fuckin’ race horse.”

Sam tugged gutter around, who crawled over, waited for Bill to fish his cock out, and took the head in his mouth. He swallowed all the piss without complaint. It was what he wanted, what he was destined for. Fate had brought him to Sam, and Sam had turned him into the pig he’d always wanted to be. He slept outside in a kennel, came with Sam to work, where he was chained outside the trailer all day long, there to service the entire crew as urinal, toilet paper and cumdump.

Of course, it would take another loop or two before the crew saw it that way. Bill still hadn’t let time move that far forward, to the point that the rest of the crew arrived. It was probably about time though. Clearly, Gutter was ready to be put through his paces. Ready, and quite excited. It was certainly a grand improvement over the old Grant, not that anyone would remember him, aside for Bill of course. That, and he’d gotten a chance to test out quite a few other spells, and gotten a good handle on what he was capable of right now. “Could use a good wipe too–you like eating my filthy crack, don’t you pig?”

Gutter nodded, salivating a little. Bill dropped his pants, bent over, and shoved his crack in the pig’s face, who dove right in and started cleaning him up. Fuck, he was never going to get tired of this though–this was the fucking life.

Slob Control – Bill’s First Slave

Peter had never gotten along well with his neighbor, Bill, ever since he’d moved in next door around a year ago. They lived in an old neighborhood without an HOA or any real neighborhood association, and while Peter liked keeping his lawn tidy and his house looking good, he soon realized that Bill had no such intention. The yard went to weed, and Bill would just spend his weekends out on the porch, wearing nothing more than some boxers and a filthy looking undershirt while he drank cheap beer and smoked his cigars. Judging from the dirty pickup he drove and the grubby workwear he’d tromp around in occasionally, Peter figured his neighbor was in construction, but had never asked for details. Peter, in the end, did his best to just ignore him and focus on his own life instead. Peter was in his mid 50’s, still happily married to his high school sweetheart, and their only son was currently away for his junior year in college. It was nice having him out of the house, and striking out on his own, finally. It was a late Spring day when everything changed for Peter.

He’d been planning on a normal Saturday–sleep in a bit with Michelle, play a round of golf, mow the lawn in the afternoon. When it came time to mow, he saw that Bill was on his porch, as usual, but with something he’d never seen him with before–Bill was reading a book. Not a normal looking book either, it seemed to be, well, it was big, and leather bound, and stood out quite a bit. He seemed rather absorbed in it, and Peter didn’t exactly want details, but as he mowed, he kept a curious eye on him anyway, and saw that Bill kept looking over at him as well. Then, he noticed that Bill had set his cigar down, and was reading something aloud out of the book–and Peter felt a bit strange. Woozy, his vision beginning to tunnel, like he was going to faint. He tried to call out to Michelle for help, but couldn’t. There was something else he had to do, something important–but that was the last thing he recalled clearly.

When he was next properly aware of himself, he found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. He looked around, confused, and found that he was standing in front of Bill, who was sitting in a recliner in front of him, a big grin plastered across his face. “What…what happened?” Peter said.

“Relax, Pete, everything’s fine,” Bill said. Despite Peter knowing that everything was very much not normal, he found himself relaxing all the same, his heart rate slowing from the panic it had been racing at. “You’ll feel better if you take your clothes off. Go ahead and undress for me, Pete.”

There was, of course, no way that Peter would undress here, in front of Bill, and yet, without wanting to, he discovered his hands were already obeying Bill’s command. In a matter of moments, he was completely naked in front of his fat, slobby neighbor. “What–why is this happening?”

“I figured it was bogus, honestly,” Bill said, patting his hand on the large book beside him, “I found it at an estate sale last weekend. It came in a lot with some other stuff I wanted. Turns out, it’s a spell book, looking for a new owner, and that owner is me, now. It’s not just any book of spells either–it somehow knows exactly what kind of magic I want, and makes the spells for me, personally. The spell I cast on you, is an obedience spell. One that will make you my perfect little slave. That trance you were in is way more powerful than hypnosis–but don’t worry, I didn’t do anything too extreme today. But tell me, Pete, what do you think of my body?”

“Fuck, I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Pete said, horrified at the words falling out of his mouth. Worse, he realized that he was hard, that looking at Bill’s fat, hairy, dirty body there was, in fact, turning him on more than his wife’s body ever had.

“Oh my, are you gay, Pete? You never told me that.”

“I am gay. I’m gay, and I love servicing fat, old, hairy men like you, Bill.”

“Does your wife know that?”

“N-No…no, please, you can’t…how are you doing this? This isn’t right!”

“This isn’t right?” Bill said, hefted up his heavy apron of fat, revealing his thick, precum drooling cock below. “I’ll give you a choice, Pete. You can pick up your clothes and leave, and I’ll put your mind back the way it was. Or, you can come over here, get on your knees, worship my fat body and suck my cock off. If you do that, though, you’re agreeing to by my slave, my little whore neighbor from now on, and you’ll be my guinea pig for whatever spells I want to cast on you. What do you want to do, Pete? What do you really want?”

“Fuck, I want to worship you so fucking bad,” Peter said, and stumbled closer to the recliner, a bit of him trying to hold back.

“You want my dirty, fat body more than you love that wife of yours? Your son?” Bill said.

Pete fell to his knees, crawled over, and pressed his tongue against Bill’s hairy belly, moaning as he did. “Fuck, oh fuck…” he moaned, dragging his tongue across the surface, one hand drifting to his cock and stroking himself as he licked.

“Get your hand off that cock of yours, slave, you don’t touch yourself without permission,” Bill said, and Pete yanked his hand away, “give me a good belly rub, satisfying me is more important than satisfying you. You’ll get your pleasure if you serve me well, slave.”

Peter did as he was told, kneading Bill’s soft belly with his hands while he kept licking it, until Bill’s hand grabbed the top of his head and pushed him lower, underneath, to his cock. Peter had never so much as touched another man’s cock before, but as soon as he tasted Bill’s sweaty, musky cock, he knew without a doubt he would never want to be with a woman, ever again. He struggled all the same with the substantial length and girth of Bill’s cock, and his neighbor eventually just grabbed hold of his head and started fucking his face, barely giving Peter time to breathe, before he finally came down his throat.

“Good job slave, you’ve made the right choice, becoming my little whore, don’t you think?” Bill said, a little out of breath from the exertion. “Come on, let’s give you a little reward, eh? You want to cum, don’t you slave?”

“Please, yes, please Master,” Peter said, not even noticing what he called Bill, his face wet with tears, spit and cum.

“And how do slaves like you get to cum?”

“By…By fucking my little slave cock up against your big, beautiful belly, Master.”

Peter climbed up on top of Bill in his chair, who shoved his face into one rank armpit, and the stench alone made Pete shudder and moan in delight. He started humping against Bill’s belly, licking and snorting at the stinky pit, and in less than a minute, he was horrified to realize he was actually going to do it. He was going to cum, just from humping himself against Bill’s massive gut. It was too late to stop himself, much too late to try and wrestle any kind of control back, and he came, spraying a massive load of cum all over Bill’s belly, which his Master made him lick up afterwards.

“You made the right choice, slave,” Bill said, “Now, why don’t we take care of a few additional details, slave? There’s some spells in here I’ve been wanting to try out, and I think you’ll be the perfect test subject. First of all, Pete, we’re gonna have to do something about this body of yours. No slave of mine is going to look like, well, this–I can tell you that. Go stand back where you were, so I can get a good look at you.”

Peter did as he was told, and went back to stand a few feet in front of Bill’s recliner. He’d always taken decent care of his body, and even in his mid fifties, he was still relatively slender–though he’d picked up a small belly over the last decade or so. He’d never been particularly hairy, and Michelle didn’t like facial hair, so he kept his face smooth. He had a decent sized cock, not as large as Bill’s was, but perfectly average.

Bill picked up the spellbook, laid it open on his belly, and started flipping through the pages. Peter was confused–all of the pages looked blank to him, from where he was standing. Pete looked up, noticed where Peter was looking, and grinned, “The book, apparently, is bound to me until death, or I choose to relinquish it. No one else can use it until then, so don’t think about anything clever, like trying to steal it, slave.”

“Why are you doing this, Master? Just…please, let me go.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Bill said, “All these filthy things I’ve always wanted to do, and never had much chance, well, there’s no time like the present, is there? Now, where was that spell again…ah! Here it is.”

Bill arrived at the page he’d been seeking, and read out an incantation in a language that Peter didn’t understand at all. He felt something though, a strange tingle through his entire body, almost like there was a small electric shock running through him, from his feet up to the top of his head. “What…was that, Sir?”

“I’ll show you, come on, let’s go to the bedroom.”

Bill’s house was a small, ranch style house with no upstairs. A little hallway off the living room, past the front door, led down to a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. Bill led the way into the larger, master bedroom, where the room was littered with dirty work gear, and stank of sheets that hadn’t been laundered in months, if ever. He flipped the lights on, and the sliding doors of the closet were mirrored. He had Peter stand in front of them, looking at himself, still confused.

“Let’s see–all I should have to do is concentrate, and…”

The electric tingle returned, but this time, it was centered on Peter’s chest and his belly. He gasped, as he watched those parts of his body inflate in the mirror, his chest growing more muscular, while his small gut rapidly expanded into a firm, taut, gut. It wasn’t nearly as big as Bill’s, but it was substantial enough that Peter found himself needing to shift his stance slightly to accommodate it. The tingle affected his arms and legs, beefing him out considerably, just like his chest, and then his skin started to itch as a thick pelt of hair grew in–enough hair that he started to sweat as he stood there, a thick, inch long beard appearing on his face as the hair on his head disappeared entirely, leaving him with a bald dome. Peter had been slow to gray, but he watched as his new hair faded from his previous dark brown to mostly salt. He looked older even, though the various aches and pains he’d felt over the last few years seemed to disappear at the same time.

He looked at himself, at his new self, his hairy, chubby, muscled bearded self, and was horrified. He felt the tingle affect one last area, his groin, hefted up his gut and saw his cock shrinking up until it was just an inch long, while his nuts doubled in size. He felt Bill come up behind him, wrap his arms around his chest, and push his belly against the small of his back, and just that touch made Peter shudder and moan. His huge sack throbbed, and he felt a wad of precum drool from the head of his tiny cock. “There we go,” Bill said, “Now this is the kind of dirty, old, muscle-bound, pigslave I can get behind.”

Bill pushed Peter over to the bed, and bent him over it, and with one hand, reached between his legs, got his fingers and hands slick with Peter’s copious precum, and slid two thick fingers into his hole. Peter had never been touched back there, and he expected his body to put up at least some resistance, but all he felt was pleasure as his hole opened to his Master’s touch. “Oh–Oh fuck, Sir!”

“Yeah, just a filthy, slutty old pig bottom, that’s what you are, slave,” Bill said, “I’m not a cruel master. I want you to want the things I do to you. I want you to beg me for it, to beg me for more. You want me to fuck you, pig? You want your Master’s cock in that hole, now that I got it all lubed up with your precum?”

“Please, please fuck me Master, fuck me…” Peter moaned, horrified at how deep his voice was, at how pleading he sounded, at how true it was.

Bill hefted up his big belly and let it flop down on the small of Peter’s back, making him shudder. Bill’s cock was already hard again, and he slipped into Peter’s hole with no resistance, running his hands over Peter’s furry back, kneading his muscles there while he fucked him. Peter could smell him as himself as he sweat more and more, the pungent musk rising up from his pits. It was rank, and yet, he couldn’t get enough of it. He could feel sweat dripping off Bill’s face as he fucked him roughly, panting and huffing from the exertion, could smell him in the sheets underneath him, in the room. His cock was spewing precum, massive amounts of it, but an orgasm felt impossible. Bill’s thrusting quickened, and he came with a roar, driving deep and emptying his own load into Peter’s hungry hole, before collapsing on top of him, driving the air out of Peter’s lungs, the sensation of being crushed under his Master’s weight making Peter even hornier.

Finally, Bill pulled himself free, climbed up on the bed, and collapsed in a sweaty, stinking heap. “Go on, slave, I know you’re horny after that. Worship my belly, hump a few loads out, use me like a fuckin’ cumrag, I wanna stink of you when you’re done.”

Peter didn’t need any further direction. He crawled across the mattress, grabbed hold of Bill’s soft gut, and after just two thrusts against the soft mass, he came with a roar of his own, thick cum drooling down the side of Bill’s gut from Peter’s massive load. His Master was right though, he was still so horny. He straddled him, bellies pressed together, and kept humping, licking and sucking at Bill’s sweaty belly, already feeling another orgasm building, Bill just watching his lust crazed neighbor lose himself in his own lust and belly worship, right where they both belonged.

Half an hour later, they laid on the bed together, their hairy bellies sticky with sweat and several loads of Peter’s cum that he’d shot between them before finally collapsing beside his Master. “That was good, slave,” Bill said, rolling over and running his hand through Peter’s new beard, “You’ve made me very, very pleased, this afternoon.”

“I…Thank…Sir…” Peter said, not quite certain how to respond. He’d enjoyed it, but only because he’d been compelled to do so. The pleasure, though, was undeniable. He’d never felt this kind of lust, this kind of sheer, hedonistic delight before in his life. “I…we can’t…please, I can’t stay like this, you have to change me back, Sir.”

Bill just smirked at him. “Why? You didn’t enjoy yourself immensely?”

“I…I did. But Michelle, and…I can’t just show up to work looking like this, and…and this, we can’t, just, live like this, it’s not…it’s not…right.”

Bill just laughed. “Who says it’s not right, or good? Last time I checked, I get to make those rules now, pig.”

“This is crazy, you can’t just…make me…like this.”

“I can, and I did, and I have no intention of changing you back, either. You’re my pig slave now, and that hole of yours is way too good to let go of now.”

“But my life, I can’t–”

“Here, first things first,” Bill said, as he hefted himself out of his bed, muttered a little incantation, and the spellbook appeared in his hands from nowhere. “Damn that’s handy. Let’s see, first, let’s finalize that body shifting spell…”

Bill flipped the pages, muttered a spell under his breath, and Peter felt that odd tingle again all over his body–but this time, it was almost in…reverse. There was something else happening, like all of this potential he’d been imbued with was evaporating, his body growing solid, and real in ways he couldn’t quite explain. “Tell me slave, what did you look like when you came into my house today. Do you remember?”

“I…I was…” Peter said, but while he knew that Bill had changed him, as far as his memory could tell, he’d always looked like this. It wasn’t true, and yet, his memories, all of it. “I…I don’t remember. But I was different, I know I was!”

“Go check your wallet then.”

They went back out into the living room, he dug his wallet out of his pant’s pocket, and sure enough, it was his new face, his new weight–all of it. It was real. This was real now, like it had always been him.

“I own you slave. I own your fucking reality,” Bill said, “You think I’m going to let something like society, or laws, or rules stop me? You should feel honored that I chose you to be my first. I’m tired of being an outcast, a freak. From now on, everyone is going to bow to me. This is my world now, and you’re going to love it, trust me.”

“You…you can’t just…” Peter said, but realized it wasn’t true. He could. Bill could, and clearly, he wasn’t going to stop here.

Bill flipped through the book again, landed on a page, and said a different incantation. As he did, Peter felt his head begin to ache, but not like before, when he’d been put into that trance. This felt like someone was digging into his head, into his memories, into his very reality. The divorce. How he’d come to the realization, a decade ago, that he was gay. That he’d always been gay, and miserable with Michelle. She hadn’t taken it well. He hadn’t seen her in ages, and she’d gotten near total custody of Sean, their son in the process. He’d lived here, alone, all that time, now, single and gay and…and something else. There was more coming, too.

How he’d started making up for lost time. How he’d quickly realized he preferred quantity over quality. That with his tiny cock, he could only real be a bottom, so he better be a good one. He didn’t play golf anymore–no, he spent his free time sucking cock, preferably anonymous ones, usually at the adult video store a couple miles down the road, in the gloryholes, where he could just be a mouth, or an ass. That, and the gym. He went to the gym everyday, keeping his muscular build up, even as he got older, and fatter by the year. That, and work–he still worked at the same place, still had the same job.

The ache in his mind started to subside, leaving him exhausted. He fell to his knees, trying to cling to the reality, the history that was already vanishing from his mind, from his thoughts. Just a shadow was left, a hole, enough to know that something he’d treasured was gone forever. “You…what did you…do to me?”

“I ruined you, slave,” Bill said, getting down beside him on the floor, and pulling him close. “The only thing you have, now, is me. That’s the way it should be, right? A good slave can’t have other distractions from your service. Besides, that blowjob you gave me before was terrible, I needed to make sure you got your skills up, and got rid of that gag reflex. I can’t shift too much at once–even that was pushing it a bit, but I didn’t want you having anything to regret. I just want my old muscle slave to be happy–and nothing makes you happier than going to the gym, sucking tons of cock, and servicing your master every day, of course. That’s all you have left now. It could, I suppose, be worse, couldn’t it? Why don’t you thank me for giving you the life you deserve, slave.”

“Th-Thank you Master.”

“You’re welcome, slave. Now get home. Your service is done for today.”

Peter got dressed in his clothes–his filthier, much larger clothes than what he’d had on before, kissed his Master’s gut goodbye, and left. Evening was falling. He stepped down the porch, still feeling a bit unsteady in his new body. He saw his house next door, now it just as much disrepair as his Master’s was. Inside, the floor was littered with pizza boxes and old take out. He didn’t want to be here though. He could feel everything that Master had taken from him still, little ghosts of old feelings that he couldn’t recall, but that still lingered at the back of his mind. Besides, he was starving–and not for food. He got in his dirty jeep and drove to the sex shop, where the guy behind the counter knew him by first name. He went right to the gloryholes, got on his knees, and soon was sucking cock. It felt good, being wanted, being needed, even if it was just his mouth, and the cum tasted so good, and filled him up in ways that he’d grown to crave over the years. When he was satisfied, the front of his jeans was soaked with precum, like usual, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to cum until he was back with his Master. Back where he belonged. The only place where a dirty old pig could possibly be needed. It was all he had now–he could see that. As much as he wanted to hate Bill for it, he couldn’t. He loved him. He loved him in ways he could barely fathom. He’d do anything for him, now. He was Bill’s slave now, in body, mind, and soul.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 5)

This is the finale of the story! If I have time over the next couple weeks, I might write an alternate ending for one of the other two options I offered in the survey for Patrons, but we’ll see. Enjoy!

For the next couple of weeks, Ken has a blast with the app, now that he’s the one in control. He still enjoys taking guys home with him from the shop to beat and fuck in the dungeon, but he is always prowling on the app, looking for more boys to turn into his little redneck pig sons, addicted to his cock, his floggers, and his stink. His form and identity seemed to be settling down and solidifying–he wouldn’t change as much when he hooked up with someone on the app, and he was becoming more and more adept at bending them to his own desires, without letting their own affect him nearly as much. Then, he got a new notification from the app one evening, telling him that he and another member on the app had been successfully matched for a gold tier date. 

Ken clicked on the link, looking for more details, but he was disheartened to see that the information he’d become accustomed to having at his fingertips since becoming a silver tier member was gone. He had no idea who this stranger was, though the one bit of info he could see was that he, too, was silver. He hadn’t dated another silver member before, and he wasn’t quite sure how it would even work. There was a date and a time attached to the date, and while Ken considered not showing up, he knew better than to try and outsmart the app like that. It would make them connect one way or another, and he had a feeling that if he skipped out on it, he would be the one who wound up at a disadvantage. So he got on his favorite biker leathers, climbed on his hog, and drove to the meeting address, only to find himself in a familiar location–it was the same bear bar where he had had his first date with Jack, of all places.

He stepped inside, right on time, and looked around. There, by the bar, was a fellow that seemed to stick out in a rather Arctos fashion–massive, very hairy, smoking a cigar that most guys would struggle to even hold in their mouths like it was nothing. His eyes sparkled when he saw Ken, came over and gave him a hug. “Well damn, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you! Last time I saw you, you were just barely on your way.”

Ken knew that voice! It was Jack, of all people. The big bear pulled away, beaming around his massive cigar. He had changed quite a bit since Ken had seen him last, but then, he’d changed quite a bit himself in the last month or so. Jack had been large before, but he was now even larger, maybe even an inch or so taller than Ken at this point, and Ken hadn’t met someone larger than him in a very long while. He was still muscular, but had filled out a sizable gut as well, though it was the pelt that was most impressive. The hair on his body was so thick you couldn’t see the skin beneath it very easily, and it ran all the way up onto his neck, joining with both his beard and the back of his short cropped hair–though his beard was now a fiery red, even as the rest of his his hair was a light brown. “I’m kind of happy its you, actually,” Ken admitted, “I haven’t been on a gold date before, I don’t know what to expect. Seems fitting you would be the one to show me the ropes.”

“Actually,” Jack said, “I haven’t been on one either. I’ve heard of them, a bit, but only from some guys who are coupled. They wouldn’t give me details though, or maybe they couldn’t–I don’t really know how any of this works.”

“Oh…well, do you want to grab a drink or something?”

“Really? Like we don’t know each other at all?” Jack said, and groped the front of Ken’s pants, his eyes going a bit wide. “Fuck, how big is that thing now?”

“I’d be more than happy to show you, big boy,” Ken said, “My place isn’t far, if you really want to skip the getting drunk portion of the date, and go right to the fun part.”

“Only if you smoke a big fucking cigar while we get down to business,” Jack said, and Ken felt an odd little tingle run down his body. He’d felt that sort of sensation before, but not quite so apparently. It usually signaled a change of some sort. He hadn’t been smoking before, but the craving for a cigar was growing overwhelming. He pulled a stick from his vest pocket where he usually kept them, only to pull out a cigar even larger than the one Jack had in his mouth, easily a 90 ring cigar, and close to a foot long. “Fucking hell, didn’t think you’d come packing two massive sticks.”

“I didn’t bring this thing, you said it, and it happened,” Ken said, lighting the massive cigar up.

“So, if I said I want you to grow a pelt as thick as mine….what would happen?” Jack said.

No tingle this time. Ken shrugged. “Well, I wonder what would happen if I told you that you’re a small dicked loose holed bottom bear, and from the second you groped my massive cock, you wanted to feel it inside you, rearranging those guts of yours until I blow a huge load all over your insides,” he said with a growl.

He saw Jack shudder, and with a grin around his massive cigar, he knew it had worked. “Guess that means we get to take turns,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up and take me home, I need that cock in me so fucking bad…” Jack said, grabbed hold of Ken’s hand and dragged him out of the bar, “My little dicklet is leaking all over my fucking underwear.”

“I’d fucking love to,” Ken said, giving Jack’s ass a swat as they left, feeling like he had the upper hand–for the moment at least. The hog was too small for both of them to ride, and Ken didn’t feel like getting into Jack’s truck, so they swapped a smoky kiss for a moment, and he said, “What was it you said earlier? About a thick pelt?”

“Fuck you, you’re not getting off that easy,” Jack said, “I know how much you love how I smell, you dirty fucker, getting off on my musk all the time, makes that huge cock of yours so fucking hard, especially my rank crack–ain’t that right fucker?” Ken said, and threw his arms up above his head.

Ken shoved his face into his pits, snorting up Jack’s scent, licking and sucking the sweat off the thick hair, grinding his rock hard cock up against Jack’s muscular thigh. “Fuck, you fuckin’… Git on that bike of yours, so I can get you out of that grungy leather and denim at home. I’m gonna plow you into next week for that.”

“You fuckin’ promise?”

“You fuckin’ know it.”

Jack’s truck was gone, replaced by a bike as large as Ken’s and the two of them rode back to Ken’s home, and as soon as they were down in the basement, they started peeling off each other’s clothes. Ken threw Jack onto the king size bed, hearing the springs creak under his massive size, climbed up, spread the cheeks apart and ate out his hole for a few minutes while Jack smoked, reveling in the smell of the hairy bears hole, his cock harder than he could even recall it being. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he climbed up and pushed the head of his cock against his hole, feeling the hairy bear’s ass open up and almost start nursing at the head. “Quit fuckin’ teasing it,” Jack said, setting his cigar off to the side on the nightstand, “Get in there–I’m gonna milk at least five huge loads out of those massive nuts of yours, I want this fucking bed soaked in your cum and sweat before you stop. You wanna fuck me so bad, then you’re gonna be fuckin’ me all night long.”

“Oh fuck!” Ken said, feeling his nuts start to swell even larger as he drove the head and the first few inches of his cock into Jack’s hole, gouting enough precum to help lubricate the rest as he started fucking, a little deeper with each thrust, grunting and snorting with need, his balls literally pulshing and churning with cum, smacking against Jack’s hairy thighs. “You’re fuckin’ askin’ fer it now,” Jack said, his drawl coming on full strength, hornier than he could even recall being in his life. “Ya always were the stupid one, bro, ya know, always thinkin’ with yer hole, never with that head a yers, just my dirty, stinkin’ redneck pig of a little brother, been huntin’ fer cock all day long since he was eighteen, but ya always come back tah mine, don’t ya. No one else can fill ya up like I can, no one can really give this loose, empty hole ya call an ass a proper fuck. No fist is big enough, even, only yer big brother knows how tah treat this hole right, can treat ya as rough as ya really want,” he slammed his whole length into Jack’s ass, pinning him to the mattress, one arm wrapping around Jack’s neck and pulling tight enough to make him gasp, “Ain’t that right, ya stupid pig, yer just mah little fuckhole, ain’t ya, and ya fuckin’ love it.”

He watched as some of the light dimmed out of Jack’s eyes, his beard warping into a set of muttonchops, leaving his chin one of the few places on his body without hair, and the hair on the back of his head grew out into a mullet. It was the smell of him, though, that entranced him. He smelled…like him. They smelled like each other. They smelled like their dad–it was the first time he’d really known he was related to someone he was fucking, not just playing around, and he was so turned on, he pushed off, and started jackhammering into his brother’s hole, listening to the horny pig grunt and snort below him, mind addled, both of their heads filling up with new memories of their lives together. 

They had the same father, but different mothers–they’d met after Jack had turned eighteen, and from the moment they laid eyes on each other, they’d been in a sick, twisted, hungry love with one another. They’d moved in, and while Ken found plenty of other holes to fuck around with, and Jack certainly found other cock, the two of them were truly a perfect match. No one else could take Ken’s rough marathon fucking, and no one else could fill Jack’s aching needy hole just right. Jack gave a holler and Ken felt the hole contract around his cock, Jack’s little three inch cock spurting out a load of cum all over the sheet below him, the first of many anal orgasms he’d enjoy for the rest of the night. Ken thought about taking his time, but he was too horny–he drove in, harder and harder until he exploded, pumping shot after shot of cum into Jack’s ass until it was flowing out each time he pulled out a little, but his cock didn’t go the least bit soft.

“Round two, bro?”

“Fuck bro, don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.”

Ken leaned in, took a hit off Jack’s rank, unwashed pits, and gave a body wide shake of delight, cock back to full stiffness, and he drove back in, easier this time, making sure he hit all the right spots in his brother’s hole, giving him orgasm after orgasm, milking his prostate dry, cumming himself the promised four more times that night before he finally collapsed, too exhausted to continue, and the two of them shared one of their trademark massive cigars in bed, Ken taking regular breaks to enjoy his brother’s pits in the process. 

They got the notification at the same time, alerting them that they had both been promoted to the gold tier of the Arctos Dating app–as a gold level couple, they would be able to go on occasional double dates, though generally, couples wouldn’t inflict further changes on each other. They were also allowed to peruse the silver profiles, and if there was sufficient compatibility, add additional members to their gold unit.

Ken liked the sound of that, and he scrolled through until he found Ryan’s profile, and invited him on a date with them both the next evening.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked.

“I love havin’ a brother, don’t get me wrong, but what I always wanted was a son, ya know that,” Ken said.

“Aww fuck, that mean I get tah be a Daddy too?”

“No, yer gonna be a uncle, dumbass.”

“Oh, right–can he call be Daddy anyway?”

“I’m gonna be Daddy. He’ll call ya Unc.”

Jack pouted a bit. “Will he have a big cock, at least?”

“Would that make ya feel better, ya horny fuck?” Ken said, grinning at his brother. “Fine, he can have a big cock, but it ain’t gonna be as big as mine.”

With that, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, snoring loudly, already dreaming of the pervy family they would be making soon enough, happy as could be.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 4)

Ken remained at the sex shop into the early hours of the morning, until he’d essentially run out of dick to suck. Mostly satisfied, he let off a little belch and left out the back door–though it took him a second to realize why. He no longer lived at the apartment he could vaguely recall living at, but instead rented out the basement in a rundown house back behind the sex shop, where the owner of the shop also lived. It was convenient to say the least, and given how popular Ken’s mouth and cock were, the owner gave him a steep discount on the rent provided he put in at least a few hours in the hall every night. He was a bit worried about having to show his face at the office the next day, but that, he realized, was fading quickly as well. Phil, after all, thought a filthy daddy like him ought to be working in a dirty job himself, so he’d never gone to college. He worked menial construction jobs, the dirtier the better, and then after gorging himself on fast food, would spend his free time at the shop, or at home, if he decided to get to know someone better.

He descended the stairs and unlocked the door to his new place, and was momentarily disgusted by the state of things, before the acceptance settled in over it. He went in and remembered that he had finally managed to level up on the arctos dating app. He pulled it up, expecting to be as disappointed as he had been when he’d gotten the bronze designation–but found that, at last, the app had given him a much larger range of permissions than before. For one thing, he could see some profiles, finally. Scrolling through a few of them, he realized that they all seemed to be bronze or trial members. He still didn’t have access to everyone on the app, then, including the guys he’d already dated before this. It was better than nothing, though, and when he clicked into a profile or two, he saw that he could request a date with them, if he so desired.

He explored a bit more of the app though, and saw something else–a tab that said, “Edit Profile”. He hadn’t even seen his own profile at all, so he clicked it, and sure enough, there it was–everything about him. His cigar smoking, his porn addiction, his gaining and incest fetishes, his craving for humiliation, his gloryhole hobby. It was…kind of hot, reading all of it, but he didn’t really want everyone to know that, did he? He clicked something to edit, but instead of opening up a text box, he got a little pop-up. Apparently, he could modify some of the changes that had been inflicted upon him, but for each one he reduced–another one would have to increase. As a silver member, he could modify his profile three times before it would lockdown again.

He knew what he’d change first, for sure. He opted to minimize the ugliness that Phil had given him, along with the humiliation fetish, and opted instead for some additional body growth, bulk, and body hair that had been gifted to him by Jack. He accepted the change, and watched in the mirror as his ugly face straightened out into a more rugged look, and his body grew even larger–with his sizable build, he eventually hit six feet eight inches tall, and weighed in at 450 pounds, a good amount of that packed onto his massive gut hanging off him.

Satisfied with that, he looked through the rest of his options. He decided that, as much as he enjoyed sucking cock, he didn’t really want to be known all over town as a gloryhole pig. He reduced that option, and decided that he could afford to lean into the redneck, blue collar persona that Phil had given him a bit more. It didn’t seem that bad, after all. His reality shifted around, and while he still was a regular at the sex shop, usually it was to get his massive, ten inch, uncut cock serviced by a couple of cockwhores in the hall while he watched some porn in a booth. Then, he smelled it–apparently, when he’d opted for increasing his redneck persona a bit, he hadn’t accounted for the loss in hygiene that came with it. He showered–on occasion. Maybe once a week, sometimes with soap even! He had a constant farmer’s tan from years working outside in just a tanktop, and his hair grew out into a ponytail down his back, even as his beard grew thicker and longer.

He had one final change to use, and decided he might as well address the masturbation and porn addictions as well. Looking over the remaining options, he decided he could stand being a bit older–he found that he actually didn’t miss his younger looks from before, and had quite enjoyed the thought of being the “daddy” to another cub or two…or more. His history shifted again, no longer spending much time at all in the shop at all, other than to go down the hall and get himself serviced, if there was a cute young fellow who liked being called “son”. Hell, he didn’t even mind playing with a guy closer to his own age, so long as they played along as his younger brother. Too late, he realized he had also intensified his incest fetish, so that it was one of the only ways to get him hard–and he could remember fondly how, in his youth, he’d played around with his own redneck brothers, uncles, and even his father and grandfather on one occasion. He wished he could have had a boy of his own…though he supposed, with this little app, maybe he could, one day.

He stroked a load out, thinking about setting up a date with an unsuspecting cub, and then warping them into a total pig for daddies, longing for a proper father to set them right, dominate them, train them, abuse them–anything for family really. After he came, he was surprised by how domineering he’d become after those three revisions, but again, it wasn’t unwelcome. He looked around at the cameras in the corner of the room–since the owner of the shop wasn’t making money off his mouth anymore, instead he had rights to the videos he recorded down in the basement, when Ken brought home his young boys to play with. He was quite popular on the internet, and anything he brought in over rent went right into Ken’s pocket. It was late though, and he had work on the construction site in the morning. He collapsed onto his bed for a few hours of rest, got up with his alarm, rolled through the fast food joint for a few bags of breakfast to feed his gut, and got to the site mostly on time. All day long, he kept checking the app, browsing the various bronze and trial members, narrowing down his selection until he decided on one young man in particular that he quite liked the looks of.

He was twenty three, looked like a bit of a hipster with a nice beard for just a young guy, and quite a few tattoos and piercings. He was wearing a nice shirt and khakis in his profile picture, and it looked like he had a job at some tech startup in the city as a programmer. He’d been on one date already, with a rather grungy leather daddy, who had given him a bit of a stink fetish and a definite kink for leather and BDSM. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out some of Ken’s now more domineering nature. He sent the dating request, and told the boy that he wanted to meet him for a drink a rather run down pub near the worksite–some place that would make him feel plenty out of place. Before it sent the request, however, he got a pop up from the app, alerting him that placing a date with this profile would also result in some changes to his own profile, in order to enhance compatibility. He hesitated for a moment, but then figured, why not? It’s not like he hadn’t changed plenty already. He accepted the note, sent the request, and then headed for his truck–except he didn’t own a truck. There, instead, was his motorcycle–an absolutely massive hog custom built for his massive frame. It had cost a pretty penny, but he fucking loved riding it. Looking down, he saw that his clothes had changed as well–adding a pair of leather chaps, motorcycle boots, and a heavy leather jacket. Nothing to object to so far. He climbed on, and rode off to the bar, and parked out front a few minutes early.

He got a beer, and a table where he could see the entrance, and sure enough, there the young man was–named Ryan. Ken gave a wave, and he could see Ryan’s face turn into one of trepidation. The app wouldn’t let him walk away though, and so Ken threw his arms behind his head, leaned back in the chair as Ryan came over and sat down beside him. “Evening boy, how ya doin’ this evenin’?” Ken said in his now heavily accented voice.

“Oh, uh…I think…there’s been a mistake. I tried to delete the app off my phone, and then I still got this notification, but I…I think I should go.”

“But if you go, ya ain’t gonna be able tah git a whiff a these, boy,” Ken said, wrapped one arm around Ryan’s neck, and pulled him into his chest and pit. Ryan moaned in surprise and pleasure, Ken reaching down to grope the boy’s now rock hard cock, and knew that he had him right where he wanted him. He played with him while he finished his beer, softening him up a bit, making sure Ryan knew to call him Daddy, and that every time Ken called him boy, or better, son, he would get more and more turned on each time. When Ken was finished, he suggested they head back to his place. He threw Ryan in front of him on his motorcycle, pulling him close into his sweaty chest, Ken’s massive cock pressed against the small of Ryan’s back, and they drove off to his house, and Ken led his new son down into the basement.

His apartment down there had changed a bit. Half was still a bedroom and kitchenette, but most of the living area was now a well equipped dungeon, with quite a few cameras all around to record the action. Ken undressed Ryan, and while the boy worshipped his grungy body and dirty leathers, he started warping him, twisting him–and especially his hipster tattoos until he was covered with redneck sayings and references–especially trucks, musk and bikers. Then, he got him bent over the fuck bench, and after warming up his son’s ass with a couple of paddles, he hauled out his massive, stinking cock and worked it into his son’s hole, giving him a good rough fuck until they were both sweaty and smelly. Ryan’s own scent was intoxicating, and only served to make Ken even harder and hornier. He came once, unloading a massive wad of cum into his ass, but his cock didn’t soften–he just kept fucking his hole until it was gaping, and dumped in a second load. Ryan could barely stand afterwards, but Ken just led his boy over to the bed, telling him how proud he was of him, that Daddy loved him so much, laid him down and licked his boy clean for aftercare, sucking a huge load from his own uncut cock at the end of it.

Ryan took his leave after that, no longer a programmer, but now a truck driver with a fetish for big dicked bikers–though none of them could compete with Ken. In the basement, Ken felt incredibly satisfied and more than a little drunk with power. He pulled up the app and began poking around in the other profiles, wondering who his next target would be. What Ken didn’t know though, was that there were levels to the app above silver–and someone else had already set their eye on him.

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Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 3)

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Ken woke up the next morning and surveyed the destruction of his long night out with Eddie. His gut had diminished as he’d slept, but not my that much. He dug out an old scale he hadn’t used in a while from under the bathroom sink, weighed himself, and was shocked to see that he was 280 pounds–and from the looks of it, he had gained another inch or two, putting him at nearly six feet four inches tall. His beard was caked with cum, he stank of musk and cigar smoke, and as much as he wanted to be disgusted by himself, he was just horny–he hauled out his big cock from the stained briefs he’d crawled into bed, sat down in front of the computer, pulled up some porn and got to work on his first load of the morning.

His usual stash of porn wasn’t quite doing it for him, so he poked around for something new, and thought back to what Eddie had put on in the booth the night before–a whole lot of dad/son incest porn. While Ken had always liked the look of older guys, the thought of calling someone else Daddy had always made him a little queasy, but he pulled up some videos, started watching, and his reaction now was completely different. He found himself drawn especially to those videos which were a little heavier on the humiliation–whether it was the son manipulating the horny dad into sex, or whether it was the father catching his son in the act of sniffing his underwear, and humiliating him with the fact his own dad turned him on. One load became two and then three, with Ken licking up whatever didn’t soak into his briefs off his hand, feeling himself getting hungrier and hungrier–not only for food, but also for cum. Finally, he took a break, lit up a cigar and made himself some breakfast–but with those two cravings taken care of, the need to suck some cock was only getting stronger.

He’d woken up pretty late in the day, and thankfully he didn’t need to go to work for another few days, but he made his way back to the sex shop, the guy behind the counter giving him a nod and a welcome by name, like he was a regular. A shameless regular, no less. Ken went around behind the booths, half expecting Eddie to be there waiting for him, but there was just a couple of other pigs waiting for cocks to pop through the gloryholes in need of service. It was slow for a while, and Ken was getting anxious. So much so, that he went out and gave the guy behind the counter a blowjob as well, just to keep his hunger sated. There was a fast food joint down the street, and he went down there and stuffed himself for an hour or so, and when he got back to the shop, business had picked up. He sucked a good number of cocks, and when he was feeling mostly satisfied, he packed up what little dignity he still had and went home, where he stayed up for a few more hours, smoking cigars, watching porn, and jacking off, eventually collapsing into bed, considering a shower, but no longer sure why he would even bother.

The rest of his weekend proceeded the same. He’d hoped that some of the desires would wane slightly, but he found himself only growing fatter, even as his height stopped creeping up. By Monday morning, he was six foot four and 325 pounds, and thankfully, his work clothes had adjusted themselves to his new reality, like much of the rest of it had, and grown along with him, though finding the tent like shirts a bit snug on his massive, hairy frame only made him more self-conscious. Work, at least, would be more normal, he told himself–but when he arrived, and tried to focus on the tasks at hand, it was nearly impossible. He pulled up porn on his work computer, and right there in his cubicle, he rubbed out load after load right into the crotch of his suit pants, even as he found himself wondering what each of his male coworker’s cum would taste like.

He took a long lunch break to stuff his gut with fast food, and took several bags back with him to his cubicle, only to be greeted by his boss waiting for him. He was an older fellow, and gave Ken a bit of a flurry in his gut–though any guy could get that reaction out of him at this point. He berated him in his office about his performance and missed work days, only for things to take a rather…unsettling turn, and the humiliation turned rather sexual. Ken found himself bent over his boss’s desk and getting fucked by his sizable cock, and then fed his big load, before being sent back to his cubicle for the rest of the day, where he ate, and jacked off–and then saw the notification on his phone. Someone else wanted to go on a date with him, from the Arctos app.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal though–the guy just wanted to grab a beer with him after work. If nothing else, it would be another load of cum, right? Ken was a bit disgusted that he was using his cravings as justification for behavior at this point, but if he’d learned anything about dates on the Arctos app, it was that he couldn’t seem to say no to them. So he agreed, the guy sent him the name of the bar, and Ken left work, wondering what sort of hot bear he’d be meeting.

He got to the bar, which was more working class than the sort of place he usually frequented, and scanned around for who he was meeting. The crowd was all guys, but clearly more straight than gay. He looked around at the various grizzled fellows, all done with work at the docks, or factories, or construction yards, but the one who waved him down was none of those–but a burly young fellow sitting in a booth in a corner, who was probably Ken’s age, or a bit younger even. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he went over and slid in across from him, the young man waving down a waitress and getting him a beer.

“Ken, right? Howdy! I’m Phil. Glad you could make it.”

“Sure thing, I was just getting done with work myself,” Ken said, loosening his tie, feeling a bit out of place in this more rundown place, noticing how many guys were slipping them glances, or him, more specifically.”

“Yeah, I just got finished with work myself, I work in construction,” he said. “You look like you’ve been stuck in an office all day.”

Ken nodded, and shuffled in his seat a bit. Phil was congenial, looked a bit grimy and dusty in his hi vis gear, but just wasn’t quite his type–or at least, not the type he’d found himself developing over the last few dates. Ken wasn’t going to turn down a load of cum, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

“You alright? You seem a little distracted. Long day?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ken said, “I…you just aren’t quite what I was expecting, is all.”

“I get it,” Phil said, “You like your guys a little older. I do too.”

Ken looked at him a little confused. “They why ask for a date with me, if I’m not your type?”

Phil threw him a mischievous little grin, “You’re not my type yet, daddy.”

The word sent a shiver down Ken’s spine. “I, uh, gotta go, I just realized I forgot something at the office–”

“Daddy, sit down. See, you’re a great package already. Big, chubby, hairy, big beard, and a total pig for cock. We just need to adjust your…outlook, is all. Come on, sit down, have another beer with your boy for the afternoon, and let’s chat.”

Ken sat back down, and when the waitress came back by, she dropped off a whole bottle of cheap whiskey, which Phil insisted Ken swig from while he told him what he was going to expect from his latest daddy. For one thing, he wasn’t going to be working in an office–or if he did work in an office, he wouldn’t be wearing a suit, or anything like that. No, he liked his daddies with a bit more country in them. Ken listened, his tie disappearing, his button down swapping out for a grungy undershirt, khakis becoming grubby looking jeans. His daddies weren’t very smart either–no college education, for sure, and preferably a high school dropout. After all, Ken didn’t have much of a brain for smart stuff like that–for all of his life, he mostly just let his big cock do the thinking for him.

Ken was now quite drunk, and couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from his cock, which was not only hard, but quite a bit larger than it had been before. “Yeah, that’s right, just a big fuckin’ donkey cock shoved in those pants of yours, isn’t it? Just a stupid, sex obsessed daddy, can’t keep your hands off yourself, even when your out in public. You like it though, don’t you? Showing off that big fucking bulge of yours to anyone around? The humiliation just makes your hornier–and I think a lot of guys get one look at it, and probably want you inside them. You can’t turn anyone down though. You might be a top, but you’re too stupid to be much of a dom. You like other guys telling you what to do, who to fuck, how long, how hard, how many times. You’re just a stupid, dirty, ugly stud daddy. An ugly fuckin’ pig. No one would even look twice at you, if it wasn’t for that monstrous cock of yours, those huge balls, constantly leaking into your grungy underwear–”

“Fuck boy, ya can keep talkin’ if ya want, but if ya do, this load isn’t goin’ in yer hole, I can tell ya that.”

“What, you wanna fuck my hole daddy? I thought you liked older guys? I guess you don’t. I guess you like young cubs, don’t you? I mean, you’ll fuck anyone of course, if they ask for it, but that’s who you like best, muscular, handsome boys like me. You’ll do anything for someone like me, won’t you?”

Ken nodded, drooling a bit from two ends, and finally, Phil stood up, and led the way into the bathroom, where he bent over the toilet in the larger stall, and pushed his butt out in Ken’s direction. He didn’t need another invitation–he dropped his grubby pants, ran his precum-slicked head up and down Phil’s crack, and then pushed his massive head into his hole. 

“Oh fuck Daddy, you’re so fuckin’ big!”

“Eleven fuckin’ inches boy, and you’ll get all of it if ya want it.”

“Of course I fuckin’ want it, you stupid fuck! Get it in me!”

Phil was tight, but then, Ken hadn’t met much in the way of holes that were loose when it came to his cock. He drove it in, focusing on what Phil told him to do, and it wasn’t long before both of them were sweaty, and Ken was getting real close to cumming. He drove his massive cock in up to the root, and filled his boy up real good with a massive load, holding it in there as long as he could until Phil told him to pull out, and then the young man turned around and sat down on the toilet, his own cock rock hard. “Fuck daddy, that was a good one–now come get your reward. You love boycum, don’t you daddy?”

“Fuck boy, I love any cum, but boys like you always taste the fuckin’ best,” Ken said, got down on his knees, and started sucking. Phil didn’t last long, fed Ken his load, and then he was standing up, and out of the stall faster than Ken could do much. It wasn’t surprising–not many guys wanted to be seen with him, after all. He got himself put back together, stepped out of the stall, and got a good look at his new face for the first time, and was a bit shocked. His big ears and nose, heavy brow with sunken eyes, beard climbing up onto his cheeks paired with substantial balding, most of his beard greying now and colored a bit yellow from all of his cigar smoking over the years. He was an ugly fucker–but what a fucker he was, he supposed. He left the bathroom, paid for his drinks, and left–climbing into an beat up old pickup he couldn’t recall owning, and headed for the sex shop. One load couldn’t satisfy him after all, and at least through a hole, no one cared what he looked like. Guys loved his massive cock, and he could usually get two guys to service him at the same time–provided they didn’t have to look up at his ugly mug while they were doing it. On the other side, he could get as much cum as he wanted, and no one needed to know what he looked like either. 

He took a little break to check his phone that night, while grabbing dinner at the fast food joint nearby, and saw a notification from the arctos app–he’d received another upgrade! He was now, officially a silver tier member, with new benefits. Most importantly, he discovered that for the first time, he could see other profiles on men on the site–those who were bronze or trial members–and request to go on dates with them. And he assumed, that also meant he’d be able to warp them in the same way he had been warped before this. His mind was rather excited by this–but it would have to wait. He finished his meal and went back to the shop. There were still more cocks to suck after all. In a day or two, he’d find someone for a date, and take the app’s new privileges for a test drive.

Interactive Story: Arctos Dating (Part 2)

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Ken did his best to pretend that the night with Jack had been more or less normal. Sure, there might have been a few…oddities, but he had probably just been drunk and imagined things that weren’t really there. He kept hoping, for some reason, that Jack would reach out to him again, since he still had no way of contacting him from his end of the app. However, the more he tried to focus on getting back to normal, the more he noticed that things seemed to be different.

For one thing, he was just so damn horny now, all the time. Horny, and hungry. The day after he met Jack, and he felt like he was hungover as hell, the one thing that still seemed to be working was his cock, and so he milked out three loads before falling asleep that night at last, wishing he had another day to recover before going back to work on Monday. 

That morning, he woke up, needed to jack off again, ate a much larger breakfast than he usually did, and when he tried to get into his usual business casual, he was frustrated to discover that everything was just a bit too small for him. It wasn’t a matter that he’d gotten chubbier or anything, though he had perhaps gained a little chub–everything was off, from the length of his sleeves, to the legs of his pants, to even his shoes feeling a bit too cramped for his feet. He passed it off as nothing, maybe just a strange little bloat, and did his best to get through the workday, but the sensation of being hungover refused to pass. It wasn’t until he passed by some coworkers who had just come in from a smoke break outside that he realized he wasn’t hungover from the drinking, but from the cigar he’d had with Jack.

He’d quit that though. He wasn’t going back to being a smoker if he could help it. It wasn’t even that he found himself craving cigarettes again–he wanted the feel of a cigar in his hand, that more complex flavor, and deeper nicotine buzz. That evening, he held off pretty well, but soon found his porn interest sliding into cigar smoking videos, and as horny as he was without a chance to jack off at work, he found that he couldn’t cum–and the hangover sensation was only intensifying. He tried to go to bed, but just tossed and turned for a couple of hours before he finally gave in, found a smoke shop that was still open, bought some cheap cigars, went home, smoked one, and the relief! It opened the floodgates in other ways as well, and he came twice as he smoked it, and feeling better than he had in days now, he managed to sleep.

The next few days though, everything just got worse. He was definitely outgrowing his clothes. He measured himself, and was surprised to discover he was gaining almost an inch a day–and was now 6’1”–no wonder his pants were too short! He did have a definite belly coming in, but his chest seemed to be growing not only fat, but some muscle as well–that, and there was the body hair. He’d never been that hairy before, but the day after, he’d started feeling rather itchy, and now three days past the date with Jack, he had a full blown forest of fur coming in all over his chest. It was embarrassing, and coupled with the shrinking clothes, he faked an illness on Wednesday and planned on calling out for the rest of the week, until whatever this strange shit was subsided. Only it didn’t subside at all, and the time off from work only gave him more time for his worst impulses. He spent Wednesday and Thursday bingeing food, cigars and masturbation, until Friday afternoon, when he got a notification from the Arctos dating app–someone else wanted to take him on a date!

He opened it up, but again, he couldn’t see the fellow’s profile or picture or anything–but this time, there was a messaging function open that wasn’t there before, along with a message from the stranger.

“Hey man! You’re looking hot–wanna grab dinner and take a trip to the movies tonight?”

Ken hadn’t gone to see a movie in over a year, since the pandemic had struck. Maybe it would provide him a little bit of relief from his recent impulses as well. He was a bit worried that meeting up with another guy might change him more, but it’s not like that was really possible. He was just having a rough week is all, getting back into the dating scene after a year without. He was just pent up, and a little bloated, and a few days away from work was all he needed. He took the fellow up on his offer, and the fellow offered to pick him up. It wasn’t exactly the safest thing, he knew, but it was probably fine. Ken told him to pick him up at a park near his apartment, so he wouldn’t have to give him his address, and at six, he was out waiting, wondering who this next blind date was going to be.

It wasn’t long before an old beater truck pulled into the parking lot. Ken didn’t think much of it, until the driver climbed down out of the seat, turned around, and beamed at him. “You must be Ken!” he said, “The name’s Eddie, nice to meet you.”

Ken was a bit confused at first. He’d been expecting someone of at least Jack’s caliber, but this guy was decidedly not in stud territory. He was quite a bit shorter than Ken, especially at his new, inexplicable height, with a massive ball gut that Eddie had to tilt back to support. He was wearing some old, grungy looking jeans, suspenders, and just an undershirt with a number of unidentifiable stains on it, and when he came in for a hug, he definitely didn’t smell like he’d taken a shower that day. “Uh…yeah, nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Well come on then, get in the truck! I’m starving.”

“Oh shit, you know, I just realized I forget my wallet at home,” Ken said, “Let me, uh, go grab it.” It was a bad excuse, but it was something at least. There was no way he was going to go on a date with this fellow, if he could help it. However, he found himself walking after Eddie to his truck,, and climbing in with him, feeling a bit sheepish, and wondering why he was doing this. He’d felt the same way with Jack, actually–every suggestion had just somehow necessary. Eddie just chuckled, “Don’t worry pal, I can spot you.”

They drove off, Eddie’s right hand leaving the steering wheel and making its way over to Ken’s thigh, across the bench seat. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Ken said, hoping that a cigar might dissuade him.

“Hell no, light it up! Cigars are fucking sexy as hell. Loved seeing that in your pics.”

His pics? He hadn’t taken any pictures of himself smoking, that he could recall, and he certainly hadn’t put any up on the dating app. As far as he knew, the only photo up there was his face pic that he’d used as his profile picture. “My pics?” Ken asked, as he lit up his cigar.

“Yeah, you got a good little collection going already on there. Love a big, furry fella like you, couldn’t resist adding my own special twist, if you know what I mean,” Eddie said, and gave him a wink. He turned into a strip mall parking lot, and then into a fast food drive through. This, apparently, was dinner. Eddie pulled up to the speaker and rattled off way more food than two people ought to order. Ken tried to tell him he didn’t want to eat that much, but Ken didn’t pay attention. At the window, five bags of food came at them, along with two big drinks each. Eddie pulled into a parking spot, tossed Ken a bag, and told him to eat up.

“I, uh, don’t usually eat fast food, honestly.”

Eddie just leered at him, “Well you do now, pig. Come on, I know how fucking hungry you are,” he unwrapped a burger and pushed it to Ken’s lips, who found himself helplessly opening his mouth and taking a bite, his gut giving a little gurgle, his hunger rising. “Come on, you don’t have to hide that gluttonous side from me, I know exactly how good it feels to just let go and enjoy yourself.”

Ken ate the first hamburger is about six bites, picked up another one and tore a big chunk out of it with a moan, while Eddie slid closer, eating his own sandwich with one hand while he pushed up Ken’s tight shirt and rubbed his belly. “Oh fuck, it tastes so fucking good,” Ken said through a mouthful.

“Sure does piggy, come on, let’s see how big we can get this gut tonight.”

Ken demolished bag after bag of food, Eddie eating his own smaller share, but spending most of the time rubbing and massaging Ken’s belly and chest, rubbing the grease into his skin as he did, telling him that it was good for making his hair grow. His sweat pants were a bit tight now, and Eddie hauled down the front of them, fished out his cock and rubbed it as well, telling Ken that he loved being a glutton, loved seeing how big he could get, loved eating in front of people like a shameless pig, making as much of a mess as he wanted to. Eventually, all the food was gone, and Ken was left groaning while Eddie massaged his much larger belly and chest, his shirt now impossible to pull down over it at all, and sure enough, even more hair had sprouted across it and down into a thick pubic bush as well. Eddie took a photo of Ken’s face and showed it to him, and sure enough, his beard was longer too–just barely long enough to brush across his chubby chest, full of grease and bits of food.

“Alright, let’s go see what’s playing, pig,” Eddie said, and drove off again. Ken just nursed his very full gut, groaning a bit, but still so hard and horny. He reached down to play with himself, only for Eddie to knock his hand away, telling him to wait. He pulled into another parking lot, and Ken was confused for a moment–there was no movie theater here, just a run down looking sex shop. “Come on, let’s get inside,” Eddie said, and Ken hauled his fat ass out, trying to get his shirt down and failing, waddling after Eddie, horrified at what this nightmare date was becoming.

Eddie knew the old man behind the counter by his first name, pulled Ken to the back of the shop where there was a row of private booths. “I like this place cause most of these are big enough for big guys like us,” he said, “Go on, get in and sit down.”

Ken went in and sat on the sticky bench, and Eddie followed, squeezing down between Ken’s thighs, his face in Ken’s crotch. He pulled the door shut, put on some gay porn, and got to work milking Ken’s cock. It wasn’t Ken’s usual porno selection, but he found himself enraptured by it anyway–and feeling Ken sucking on his cock the whole time left his own hands free to explore his new, even larger body. As disgusted as he was by the massive gut, the skin was incredibly sensitive, and the increased layer of hair made him shudder–especially when Eddie’s hands joined in. Even his longer beard was a new sensation, and not an unwelcome one. In about fifteen minutes, Eddie milked one load out of him, and when Ken went to open the door, he stopped him. 

“Now now, I know these fat fucking pig balls of yours can pump out more than one load–I’m not done with you yet, piggy.”

Eddie kept sucking, and sure enough, Ken was still hard as a rock. He made his way through three full videos, an hour and a half, with Eddie milking load after load out of his cock, leaving Ken panting and heaving, both of them sweating up a storm in the tight quarters, before Eddie finally stood up, and fed Ken the last load of cum he’d shot into his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s not…the date I was expecting, you’re a damn fine cocksucker.”

“Heh, I’ve had lots of practice,” Eddie said, “But I think it’s time you got dessert, don’t you?”

“Oh fuck, I can’t eat more man, come on.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this. It’s your favorite fucking meal. Come on.”

They left the booth, squeezing their way out, but instead of leaving the shop, they went down to the end of the booths, around behind them, and found themselves in a narrow hall behind the booths. Ken had noticed the glory hole in the booth, but hadn’t thought much of it–there was one in every booth, all the way down. A cock popped through, and Eddie shoved Ken forward. “Go on pig, get your dessert.”

Ken got down and started sucking, while Eddie encouraged him, groped him, gave him tips and pointers, and in a few minutes, he got his first load of cum–and just like Eddie said, it tasted fucking delicious. He crawled down a couple of booths to where another cock had just pushed through, and sucked that one as well, no longer needing much in the way of encouragement, letting Eddie pull down the back of his sweatpants, and slide his own cock into Ken’s hole while he sucked the stranger off. Ken lost track of how many loads he ate as he crawled from glory hole to glory hole. Eddie would occasionally take a break to suck a cock himself, and more than a few guys came around to use Ken’s hole while he was sucking, but he didn’t mind. He loved cum after all, just like Eddie said, and it didn’t matter which end it went into.

It was nearly three in the morning when the two of them finally stumbled out, Ken’s belly now even larger than it had been when he’d entered. He hauled his shirt off and let it all hang out, as he dug the half smoked cigar out of the truck, relit it, and sucked it down as well, while Eddie gave his full, massive gut a rub down. Eddie took him home not long after that, and Ken collapsed into bed, exhausted, knowing that come morning he would be horrified by how he’d spent the evening, but he couldn’t help but admit that part of him was thoroughly satisfied as well. He’d just have to deal with the consequences in the morning, wouldn’t he?

Don’t forget, if you want to help pick what happens in the following chapters, check out my patreon!

(Flash Commission) Monster Cock

Jeff saw the package sitting on the porch when he got home, got out of his car, hurried up, got it, and took it inside. He’d been waiting weeks for it to arrive, and finally, it was here. He put it on his table, opened it up, and hauled it out, turning it over in his hands, already wondering if his eyes had been bigger than his stomach, or his ass, rather. It was a custom dildo from a fellow who called his creations “monster cocks”–each one was one of a kind, and while he didn’t charge for them, getting your hands on one of them was hard as hell. The creator took applications for his work, but who received them always seemed a bit random. He said that his toys chose who they wanted to own them, but after trying for most of a year, Jeff had finally been chosen, and now, it was in his hands.

It was in his hands, and the thing was massive. Far larger than anything he’d ever taken before in his life. He had a modest collection of dildos for when he didn’t have anyone around to fuck him, and he’d always enjoyed it. Some guys he knew had suggested he start training to take a fist, and he was close to that at this point. This dildo though was thicker than most guys fists, and easily a foot long. The dildo’s skin was a dark brown mottled with tan up the shaft to the head, which had a sheath, or a foreskin, bunched up around the glans of the cock. He toyed with it, and saw that it was actually rather elastic, and could stretch over the head, even, giving it more of a sheathed look. The base of the dildo included a set of substantial balls, the sack the size of a small melon. The sack and the bottom third of the cock was actually covered with hair–running his hand over it, he couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. It had to be synthetic, but it felt a bit like soft boar bristle–he wondered what it would feel like on the inside of his hole–if he could get it that far in, even.

Jeff tried at least. Got himself cleaned out and lubed up, warmed up with the largest dildo he had, and then gave it a go. He was just too tight–he couldn’t even get the thing in past the head. He felt demoralized, got cleaned up and onto his computer, where he saw a chat message from the dildo maker.

“I saw that the package got delivered, just wanted to make sure everything got there alright.”

“It did,” Jeff replied, “It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Don’t know when I’ll be able to take it.”

“Don’t worry too much about that. It’ll get in you faster than you think, just keep trying. I know this is the right one for you, it won’t be too long at all.”

Jeff wasn’t sure of what to make of that, but he poked around online, looking for a dildo to train with larger than the ones he had, but smaller than the monster cock, but all he could think about was the beast waiting for him upstairs, and how much he wanted it inside him. It was getting late, and he had work in the morning, so he went to bed. His dreams that night were intense, and when he woke up he couldn’t recall much of them at all, aside from a strange sensation of being stalked. That, and he woke up with the monstrous dildo in his arms, when he was certain he’d left it in the drawer with the rest of them before bed. Confused and a bit bewildered, he went to work, but found it more and more difficult to focus. At first, it was just because he was tired after his restless night, but as the day progressed, he found himself thinking more and more about the dildo waiting for him at home, and he rushed home so he could be near it again, feel it again, lube it up, and once again try and fit it inside him.

That day, after an hour, he finally managed to get the head inside his hole, and that alone was a revelation. It was a sign of progress, and Jeff kept working at it, sweating and grunting, until he was too starving and shaking to continue. He went downstairs, found a couple of steaks he’d been saving in the freezer, and cooked them both, not caring they were rarer than usual, he was just starved. He considered a shower, but felt too tired to bother, and simply went upstairs to bed, curling up around the dildo without even thinking about it. The dreams that night were no clearer, but he woke with a groan, rutting his own cock against the dildo, the sheets under him soaked with sweat and cum from what must have been a very active night. He pulled himself together as quickly as he could, not even bothering to shower, but when he headed for the door, he struggled. He couldn’t…leave it here. He bundled the dildo up and took it with him not quite sure what he was doing, but it felt instinctual. He managed to leave it in the car for most of the day, but found himself terrified someone might see it, or worse, steal it. On his lunch break, he went down, retrieved it, and struggled to resist the urge to take it out and start riding it right there in the office. He settled for taking it into the bathroom with him, licking and sucking on the head while he jacked off, horrified by his loss of control, but still unable to stop.

It was when he got home, that he noticed something was off. He hadn’t really bothered looking at himself in the mirror that morning, but in the bathroom, ready to clean himself out and try again, he saw his reflection, and just stared. He hadn’t been that hairy before, or that muscular. It wasn’t…much, really, but it was there. His clothes didn’t quite fit right, which explained some of his discomfort the day before. His beard was thicker, and when he lifted an arm up in the shower, he caught a whiff of his musk, and that was more pungent too. He didn’t have time to shower though–he hosed out his hole, skipped the soap, and was back in his bedroom, riding the dildo again, working it deeper, inch by inch, now sliding halfway down the shelf. 

He could almost feel it…throbbing inside him, trying to wriggle deeper. He couldn’t tell if it was real, or if he was just imagining it. The idea of it was so hot, though, that he kept shooting load after load of cum all over his bed and his sheets until he collapsed again, too exhausted to move. It was nearly midnight, he’d been at it for hours. He had to piss, but was too weak to get up from the bed. He released it onto the bed under him, horrified at first, but the scent of it satisfied some deep, primal need inside him, and sleep took him soon after.

The next day, he got up from the bed, sniffed his hairy pit, and before he even really realized it, he was pissing all over the carpet and the wall next to the bed. Part of him was concerned, but it was much quieter than it might have been usually. Instead, he hauled out his cock and jacked off as well–it was the only thing on his body that wasn’t larger, all of a sudden. He squeezed his way into some office attire as best he could, no longer certain why he was wearing this, why he was bothering with it. He had more important things to concern himself with, after all, but some part of him clung to that normalcy, tried to deny the drives and desires that were well on their way to overwhelming him.

He didn’t last long at the office that day. He kept sneaking away to the bathroom to masturbate, to worship the dildo, his cock, his monster cock, as he kept thinking about it. Each load that he shot did nothing to calm him down, it only seemed to drive him to more intense heights of desire. When he stepped out of the stall shortly after lunch, and saw the one of his burlier coworkers at the urinal pissing, maybe it was the smell, maybe it was the sight of his ass filling out the back of his slacks, but he went over, shoved the man up against the urinal, and rutted against his ass, grunting and snorting like some animal. The man managed to get away, and before security could get a hold of him, Jeff fled the office with the dildo, abandoning everything else, and sped home.

He wouldn’t go back there. It wasn’t safe. He was safe in his home, in his den. He had to finish, he had to fuck himself with his cock, with his monster cock. He threw himself into the task, he was so close. The dildo was warm now, he could feel blood pulsing through it, the hair no longer synthetic, but so close to the hair that beginning to sprout all up and down his own body. He only had a couple more inches to go, and He worked at it, pushing everything else out. Every time he shot a load of cum, he realized, the dildo would slide in a little deeper. His body was getting larger, yes, but he noticed at last that his balls were shrivelling, his cock dwindling. At long last he took the dildo to the hilt with a roar, and felt the monstrosity come alive, the entire thing digging deeper, screwing into his guts, his wrecked hole closing up behind him.

He felt it push out, forcing its way from his body, his human cock stretching and ripping apart as his new, monstrous cock erupted from his crotch, his massive balls coming through last and dropping, slapping against his hairy thighs. He could feel it, his new cock pumping…something through him, changing him. His teeth, already sharper than they had been, grew longer, into proper fangs, is mouth and nose distending into a furry muzzle. The hair that had been growing thicker on his body became a thick pelt of black fur, hands becoming paws with thick claws on the end, his whole body filling out with layers of muscle and fat, until he was nearly eight feet tall and close to seven hundred pounds of pure mass. He looked at his monstrous bear body in the mirror, cock throbbing and leaking, and that was the last thing he recalled clearly, as he wrapped his paws around his cock and kept stroking, kept pleasing his cock, a slave to his new sexual desires, no longer interested in anything else.

When he awoke, his body had reverted–somewhat. His room was wrecked, as were several of his doorways, but he hadn’t managed to make it outside at least. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was what his new cock desired–and it wanted a hole to fuck. There was a knock on his front door, and much to his surprise, there on the doorstep was his old coworker from the bathroom, the one he’d rutted up against. He was shaking and sweating, muttered some excuse about needing to see him again, but Jeff knew what the man needed. He grabbed him by the collar with his clawed hand and dragged him inside, shoved him down to his knees, and pissed all over him, marking the man as his new property, or rather, the property of his cock. It would take a while to open this one up and fuck him properly, but he had no doubt that in time, he would be a perfect slave–and when he took him to the hilt, and filled him with a load of his corruptive cum, he too, would turn. He shook off the last bit of piss from his cock, and dragged the addled and horny man into the bedroom now reeking of his scent, threw him on the bed, and went to work.

Commission: Arctos – Air Freshener

“We here at Arctos Outfitters are dedicated to ensuring that every one of your senses is delighted in your home! That’s why, Brendon, we’ve decided to send you a sample from our new line of plug in air fresheners. Each comes with three unique scents that, once you get a whiff of them, you won’t be able to get enough! Enjoy!”

Brendon put the note down and picked up the little plug-in air freshener that had been in the small box as well. He didn’t know how the company had gotten his address, but they weren’t necessarily wrong about his interests. Brendon did like having his apartment smelling nice, and kept a regular supply of candles and air fresheners around to keep it that way. It was a bit odd that the company hadn’t bothered to tell him what the scents were, and when he sniffed at the plug in, he didn’t smell anything at all, really, which was odd. You could usually get a good idea of what it was going to smell like beforehand, which meant this was either going to be some weak scent, or they had just sealed it in really well. He figured he’d try plugging it in overnight in his bedroom, let it do its thing, and see what he thought of the result in the morning. That evening, he popped it into the outlet by his bed, and while he heard it whirr to life, he still couldn’t smell anything. With a shrug, he laid down, and it wasn’t long before he was fast asleep, and with a little click, the plug in started to release a smoky haze into the room around him. Brendon tossed and turned for a moment in his bed, and began to dream…

Brendon wasn’t sure where he was at first. It was a narrow room with a number of booths running down either side, and the air was full of smoke. Men were crowded into the booths, and all of them were smoking cigars of various sizes. Brendon wasn’t a smoker, and had always found cigars unappealing. He passed the booths, the men all staring at him as he passed them by, trying to find his way out, but when he reached the end of the smoky room, all he found was a waiter standing by a sizable humidor. He turned around to leave, only to find the way blocked by a thick wall of smoke coming closer and closer to him. Before he could react, it had swallowed him up.

The smoke was everywhere, all around him. He could smell it, the deep, pungent cigar smoke pushing at him, probing him, trying to get inside him. He held his breath as long as he could, but when he had to inhale, the smoke forced its way inside him, driving down into his lungs. He could feel it solidifying, and a massive 80 gauge cigar manifested from the smoke, crammed in his jaw, fully lit and spouting smoke. He couldn’t help but inhale now, sucking down more and more smoke, feeling it permeate his entire body, his cock rock hard and aching. He needed it now, the smoke. Men came out of the booths around him, now naked, still smoking, feeling him up, urging him on, stroking his cock, and–

Brendon woke as the orgasm hit him in his bed, surging through him, his cock erupting all over the sheets around him as he spasmed in his room. He sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes. He’d never had a dream that intense before, and he hadn’t shot a load in his sleep since he was a teenager. He ran his tongue around his mouth, already missing the cigar he’d been smoking, but then, it was about time for his midnight smoke, after all. He opened up the humidor on his bedside table, took out one of his shorter sticks he preferred for his breaks in the night, and lit it up.

Fuck, he was so fucking addicted to these things. He smoked them almost constantly during the day, and had to wake up a couple times each night just to keep himself hopped up on the nicotine. The air was hazy with smoke, and he could smell it–stale and fresh mixing together, and heaved a contented sigh. He reeked of cigars too, of course, but he didn’t care. Why wouldn’t he want to smell like a cigar?

He finished the cigar in half an hour, snuffed it out, and climbed back into bed. He’d already forgotten about the plug in the wall, which had exhausted its first scent, and now was moving onto the second, as Brendon began to dream again…

This time, he found himself standing in a locker room, naked. From the sounds coming from nearby, it was connected to a gym. He looked around, smoking his dream cigar, a bit embarrassed–he needed to find some clothes before anyone saw him. He saw something lying on a bench near him, went over, and found a set of gym clothes scattered about on the floor, all of which looked to have been worn recently–but no one else was there. Without thinking too much about it, he pulled on the sweaty, musky shorts and tanktop, socks and shoes, and when they were all on, much like the last dream, be felt the scent begin to soak into his skin, making him feel a bit woozy.

He sat down on the bench for a moment, taking deep inhales of the musk rolling off the gym clothes, aware that…something seemed to be happening to him, but it was difficult to describe what. When he felt he could stand again, he did, turned, saw himself in the mirror, and gasped. He…he was massive. The clothes, which had been too large on him before, were now too small, the spandex stretched tight across his thick frame, hair popping out everywhere, each inch of his soaked in sweat. He flexed, watched the outline of his thick cock in the shorts throb in excitement, reached down to take care of that, and

He woke with his hand shoved into the filthy jock he’d worn to bed, one muscular arm thrown up over his head, nose shoved as close to his pit as he could, masturbating to his own stink, unable to control himself, not that he even really wanted to. He finished, shooting the second load of the night all over himself, rubbing the cum into his sweaty body, and sat up to have his second cigar of the night. He flipped on the light, and had a small moment of confusion when he looked around at the piles of dirty clothes scattered throughout his room, but…of course he didn’t want them. No, he loved how they all smelled, he loved making them all even muskier even, of course he did. He took a deep inhale of his cigar, laid back on his unwashed sheets, and sighed smoke, not really noticing that the ash was falling on the bed. He didn’t care–after all, he smelled like an ashtray most days, why would it matter? He finished his cigar and turned the light back off, rolling over as the third scent filled the room, and another dream began…

He was in the gym locker room, naked aside from a towel, going into the sauna. It was empty, for the moment, but as soon as he sat down, a series of muscular bears all filed in as well, taking up the various seats, crowding in around Brendon. They all started to sweat, but then the bear beside him lifted one leg in Brendon’s direction, and let loose a long, loud fart. The smell caught him a moment later, pungent and ripe, and he couldn’t seem to escape it, there was nowhere to go. He leaned away, only for the bear on the other side to lift his leg and let loose one of his own, and soon, every bear in the room was farting up a storm, the small sanua filled with the scent of gas, making Brendon gag. He got up, trying to get free, only for a leg to trip him. He ended up on the floor, on his back, and one of the bears got up and sat his naked ass right on Brendon’s face, letting loose a fart directly on him.

He tried to resist, tried to hold his breath, but like before, he could feel it probing down into him, sinking into his pores, multiplying there, and soon, it didn’t smell so bad at all. He started licking at the sweaty, hairy crack, and after a few moments, it was replaced by another, and then another, all of them farting, and Brendon could feel a pressure building in his guts. He let loose a massive fart that reverberated off the walls around him, and–

–and he woke up to the sound of his own fart in his room, just as loud, and just as noxious. So noxious in fact, that Brendon snorted up as much of the fumes as he could and jacked off again, wishing the hot asses from the dream were real, smothering him now, but he’d just have to make do with his own scent for now, he supposed. After he shot his third load of the night all over himself, he rolled off the bed, checked his phone, and saw it was just a few minutes before his alarm. He got up, gave a little flex, and started sniffing around for something that smelled good for the gym this morning. He ended up in a cum crusted tanktop, the jock he’d been wearing to bed, a set of gym shorts with a few burnt out holes from some cigars, and a couple of stinking socks and trainers. Feeling good, he went into the kitchen, got one of his protein shakes together–a blend that he’d found gave him the rankest farts possible–and guzzled that down. Feeling good, he stepped outside of his filthy apartment, and bumped into a young man in a suit coming down from an apartment upstairs. 

“Sorry bud,” Brendon said, “wasn’t lookin’.”

The man wrinkled his nose in disgust, and took in the sight of the massive, musky muscle bear who was his downstairs neighbor apparently–had the other guy moved out without him even noticing? “Whatever freak, take a fucking shower,” he said, and tried to push past him, only for Brendon to grab his wrist, pull him close, and shove his face right into his pit. He…didn’t know why he did that exactly, but it felt right. The man struggled for a few moments, and then relaxed a bit, and when Brendon pulled his face away, he could see it was a bit…different. A little more stubble on his cheeks, drooling a little. 

Maybe the gym could wait for a bit. He took a drag off his cigar, wrapped a big hand loosely around the man’s neck, and fed him the smoke, pleased with how receptive the man had become with just a little taste of his pitmusk. “Why don’t you come in for a bit, bud? Take a load off, have a cigar with me,” Brendon said, wrapping one muscular arm around his shoulders, and leading him in, “What’s your name, man?”

“Uh…Cliff,” he said, “But I…gotta get to work.”

“Come on man, just a little cigar, that’s all.”

Brenden sat the man down on the couch, stained with cum in several spots. Cliff looked around, visibly grossed out by the state of the apartment, but Brendon could tell from the erection in the front of his slacks he was already giving in. ‘Hey Cliff, can you smell something for me? I wanna see what you think of this.” He then dropped his shorts, turned around and ripped a long nasty fart right into his neighbor’s face.

His eyes glazed over, part of him still thinking that it was disgusting, but when his mind told him to get away, his body leaned in and started snorting up the fumes from Brendon’s ass, and he groaned out, “Oh fuck,” as his cock unloaded right into the front of his slacks. “Oh fuck, that’s fuckin’ rank, bro…” he said.

Brenden flashed a huge smile. “Glad you like it. Now, how about that cigar man? You can finish this one,” He placed his cigar in the man’s mouth, who started puffing contentedly. Cliff’s stubble had grown into a full beard now, his office attire stretched by his expanding body, packing on muscle. Brendon climbed into his lap and tore off his shirt, tossing the rags over the back of the couch, pushed Cliff’s arms into the air and ate out his pits, which were growing more and more intense by the moment, Cliff sucking down the cigar, feeling the smoke warping his mind, dumbing him down, making everything seem so simple. It wasn’t long before he was on his knees on the couch, bent over the back, Brendon’s bearded face shoved into his crack, tasting the first of Cliff’s own rank farts, his own cock hard as steel and ready to fuck after a few minutes of rimming his bro’s hole.

He pulled his face away, wiping the sweat and drool into his beard, and then pressed the head of his cock against Cliff’s hole. “Ready bro? Wanna feel my big, rank cock slam into that gassy ass of yours?”

“Fuck bro, what the fuck are ya waitin’ for!” Cliff said, looking over, just a butt of a cigar remaining. 

The fucked for half an hour, and by the time Brendon finished, Cliff had shot his own load all over the couch below him, adding his own cumstains to the fabric there. His mind had faded, his old life lost, and with his roommate, and boyfriend’s cum planted in his musky hole, he pulled on a pair of filthy gym shorts off the ground and a tank top, and the two of them left to get to the gym, a bit later than planned.

They went down the stairs, and as they did, Cliff let off a little fart of each step, filling the back of his shorts with Brendon’s load of cum, making them both giggle like idiots as they stood in the cloud of their own stink, getting hard again, but they resisted the urge. They could fuck later, after all. The gym was just a quick walk down the street, long enough to work up a sweat for sure. And when they got there, they were sure that once the local bodybuilders all got a whiff of them, they’d have them all following them back to their place after their workout. Their smell had a way with guys, after all–that was the Arctos promise.

Caption: Truer Words #1: Hick

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.

“Fuck, I hate it here, I don’t know why we always have to come visit my uncle’s stupid fucking farm. Whole towns just full of a fat, stupid hicks, probably a bunch of incestuous fuckers too, judging by how ugly they all are,” Nick muttered to himself in the guest room of his uncle’s house, just wanting to be back home with his friends.

“Truer words were never spoken…”

Wait, what was that?” Nick said, and felt an odd shiver run down his spine. He could have sworn that something had spoken, but he was alone, wasn’t he? Whatever, he might as well take a selfie and post it to Instagram, do something to show everyone how lame it was out here. He went into the bathroom and gave a bored pose in the mirror, and only when he looked at the pictures after, did he realize he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes. He was wearing a set of overalls!

“What the fuck? I didn’t put this shit on,” he said, trying to get the clasps to unhook, but they wouldn’t budge. He didn’t even notice that he was beginning to grow cubbier, a beard filling in across his face, hairline receding as it turned from brown to grey. The room started to spin around him. He dropped his phone and tried to steady himself, and when the room finally stopped spinning, he looked around and he…wasn’t in the same bathroom as before. 

This one was…grungier, and smaller. He hauled himself up with the lip of the counter, and found himself staring at a new face–a bulbous ugly nose, scrunched eyes, balding hair nearly white and pulled back into a ponytail. He got his feet underneath him and stood up, now six inches shorter than before.

“Where in fuckin’ hell, this ain’t Unc’s place!” he said, his voice deeper and raspier, with an obvious rural twang, “What the hell happened tah me? I ain’t…some old redneck fuck!”

“Nick, where the fuck are ya?” Came a voice from outside the room, one he didn’t recognize. A moment later, another chubby fellow poked his head into the bathroom, “Come on Nick, we’re gonna be late bro,” he said.

“Nick’s head started spinning again, but this time, it was also growing thicker, and slower. This…this was Billy, his little brother, right? He tried to tell himself that he didn’t have a little brother, but…but that wasn’t right, of course he did. “Sorry Billy, just got distracted I guess.”

“No worries bro, I know ya ain’t the smartest fucker, but yer one of the cutest pigs in town,” he said with a wink, and pulled Nick into a kiss–a full kiss, with tongue, that left him panting a bit, his stubby cock hard in the front of his overalls. Unable to stop himself, he dropped to his knees, hauled out Billy’s cock and blew him. It didn’t take long, Billy could cum ten times a day, but never lasted longer than a minute. Nick guzzled down his brother’s cum, licked his mustache clean, and got up.

By afternoon, all memories of his prior life were forgotten for good–aside from a little corner of his dim mind, where the old Nick was trapped, well aware that he was caught in his own worst nightmare, but no one would hear him ever again.