Cole heard that. He sat back and stood up, his face appearing from behind Miles, and he did a double take. “Jase?”
“Cole?” Jase said, “What the fuck are you–who the fuck is this? What…Where’s my dad…?”
Miles was blushing a bit, but also found it kind of sexy that they’d gotten caught by his…son? His mind immediately told him that couldn’t be right–he and Jase were almost the same age after all. No, so then…housemates? Yeah, housemates, of course. He kind of wished they were more than that, after all, Jase was one sexy fucker, but he’d settled for Jase’s equally hot coworker Cole in the meantime. He figured that if Jase…stumbled in on them a few times, he might eventually get up the courage to maybe join in. “Sorry Jase,” he said, “we got a little carried away, right Daddy?”
Cole didn’t say anything–if this wasn’t Jase, then who the hell…his mind started filling in blanks for him. How he’d met Miles when he’d stopped by the worksite one day to give Jase something from home, and the two of them had known at a glance that they were going to fuck, and soon. That very night, in fact, Cole followed Jase home and fucked around with Miles, much to Jase’s frustration. He could still recall, of course, that Jase had been his original target, but Miles was certainly a nice consolation prize if nothing else. “Yeah, sorry man…you know how I get around Miles, right?”
Jase didn’t know. Even as the other two had new memories forming, Jase was at a loss, the smoke filled room making his eyes water a bit, unable to understand where his dad had gone, and how these two strangers had gotten here instead.
“Guess he’s speechless–come on daddy, wanna keep going in my room?”
“Sure thing cub, lead the way!”
Miles got off the couch, grabbed Cole’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs, passing Jase along the way, who was still unable to process what was going on. He shared a look with Cole as he passed, the older man regarding him with a smile, but was there also a bit of disappointment there? They both went upstairs, and all that remained was their plumes of smoke, which Jase couldn’t help breathe in, and he started looking around wondering where his dad was, but the more second hand smoke he breathed, the less certain he became that his father was there at all. Still, he could remember him, right? Certainly he could remember someone else who should be here besides Miles, his housemate. No–what?
He paused. Where in the hell had that thought come from? And wasn’t Miles his father’s name? That was an odd coincidence he supposed, but not really that strange in the end. His memories felt more and more confused, and he heard a loud thump from upstairs in the master bedroom, where Miles slept, a groan, and then the squeak of his bed’s springs. Ugh, he couldn’t believe Miles liked Cole of all people. He didn’t really care that they were fags, but did he have to pick the coworker he liked the least the fuck around with? He shook his head, figuring there were just some things he wouldn’t understand, and he too, went upstairs, back to his room and inside, but where the air was clearer, the worries returned.
He saw pictures of him and his father, pinned to the wall, the memories of them here in this house so damn clear to him, but at the same time, some other part of him kept saying he had to be mistaken. He pushed that other part of himself away, and focused on his memories–coming home and talking to his dad. That strange box he’d received in the mail. It was crazy, but…but what if Miles…was his dad? Had something happened to him? Or more precisely, had Cole done something to him? He thought of the surprise he’d seen on Cole’s face downstairs, of the sense of disappointment as he’d walked past. The box…it had been for him. Was…did something happen to his dad that should have happened to him instead?
He could still smell smoke. He threw open his window, leaned against the screen, and his head cleared further still. His dad had been acting so strange about that package, and Cole was such a raging pervert…there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing though–what had been in the box? He went downstairs and searched a bit further, until he found where his father had opened it in the kitchen, but there was nothing there–just an empty box with Arctos printed on the side, a blank piece of paper beside it. This was no use–he’d have to…maybe if he spied a bit, he’d figure something out, something that would help him figure out what had happened to his dad.
He crept up the stairs, towards the door to the Master bedroom. The smoke was thicker here, the smell as strong as it had been downstairs, and he could hear them moaning behind it–he cracked open the door, smoke billowing through, and it was so thick, he could only see the outlines of them fucking on the bed. His housemate was there, Cole’s cock buried in his hole–no! No, it was his dad. Fuck, looking at him, how hadn’t he seen it before? He looked like he had in old family portraits, just hairier, and…sluttier. But he was so young, he couldn’t be his dad, and be that young. The smoke was thick in his lungs, making him feel lightheaded. Those doubts were back, and he fought harder, knowing that they were false…but the more smoke he breathed, the stronger they got. He could sense them, trying to rewire his mind somehow, frustrated that he was being as resistant as he was, and then they noticed his awareness, and they pushed harder. He focused as hard as he could, focusing on his dad, on helping him, on fighting, but it was too much. He felt a sharp pain rip through his brain as something in him broke apart, and then fell back clutching his head, trying not not to scream.
Fuck, you hate these shitty apartments, you have got to move somewhere a bit nicer, or your neighbors are going to drive you insane. You pull up, home from work, and get out of your car, seeing your newest neighbor, some roughneck kind of fuck, sitting sideways on the one staircase up to the second floor, where both of your apartments are, foot up on the railing, blocking all access.
You go over, dreading any sort of interaction with the guy, smoking his cigar, exhaling thick plumes all over the place. “Hey, could you move?” you ask, “I gotta get to the second floor.”
“I’ll move when I’m done smokin’, boy,” he says.
You just stare at him for a moment. “Seriously? You’re gonna make me climb over you?”
“No, you’re gonna wait, boy. Nobody gets on top a me.”
“Yeah? And what the fuck am I supposed to do while you’re smoking?”
“You can lick my boot, boy, and stroke that little boy cock of yours until you nut.”
You roll your eyes, but get down and start licking the sole of the boot which is planting on the railing, hauling your cock out of your pants and stroking it hard. The rubber’s cleaner than usual at least–last week, there was a big chunk of dog shit you had to scrape off with your teeth and choke down. A couple of people walk by, and stare at you like you’re crazy, but it’s not your fault! This fuck’s just in the damn way, is all–it’s his fault.
You’re getting close to cumming–and he can tell. “Put that cock away, and cum in those pants of yours.” You do as he says, tucking your cock back in and rubbing it until you shoot. “Good boy–now piss yourself while you’re at it.”
That one’s a bit harder–he’s started making you do that more often now, but after a few seconds, you turn on your cock, and feel the piss drench the front of your work pants, running down to your knees, where it spreads out on the pavement below you. He taps off a long cinder of ash and keep smoking, but he’s about finished–he switches boots and you clean the other one, and when you’re done, he stamps out the butt and gets up, finally letting you passed, climbing up the stairs ahead of you. You walk a bit faster hoping to get to your door before–
“In here boy, daddy needs some help for a while.”
You look over, and he’s at his own door, groping himself. You grit your teeth, but follow in after him. A new apartment, this week, you promise yourself. Like you’ve been promising yourself for two months now, since Daddy moved in, but something tells you this week won’t be the week either. Oh well, maybe the next one, you hope, but probably not that one either.
He made himself a snack, and went to watch TV, but he couldn’t focus, and kept looking at the box, and then the clock. Jase was usually home by six…but sometimes he went out for drinks with the guys. If he wasn’t home by…say, seven…would he really mind if his dad opened it for him? It was a breach of privacy, sure, but he had a growing certainty inside him, that whatever was in there was meant not for jase, but for him. It was his! So nice of Jase to get him a present! Sure, his birthday was still a few months away, but father’s day was around the corner. He’d never splurged on anything like this before–if it was meant for him anyway, what harm was there in opening it?
He forced himself to wait. It hurt, but it was, technically, Jase’s, after all. He might be angry if he spoiled the surprise, after all. Thankfully, he heard Jase’s truck pull up outside the house and into the driveway, and it was excruciating, waiting for him to come into the house, so he could show him the package, and ask him about it. He had to play it cool though, at least a little bit. So he waited, and Jase came through the door, and in a bit of a rush, Miles said, “Hey, some guy brought you a package today–it’s by the door. What did you order?”
Jase looked at him, confused, and then went over to the box. A intense jealousy shot through him, as he watched Jase turn the box over in his hands, and then set it down again, like nothing had struck him at all. “No idea–I didn’t order anything. Who was it from?”
“He just said it was a gift, from Arctos. Are you…do you just not want to tell me about my present or something?” he asked.
“Present? What are you talking about?” Jase asked. The question hung in an awkward silence for a bit, and then he said, “It’s not mine. We might as well send it back.”
“We don’t even know what’s in there though!” Miles nearly shouted.
“Jeeze dad, get a grip! Open it if you want, I don’t care. Anyway, I’m tired–I’m going to chill out for a bit, and we can have dinner later, ok?”
Jase headed off towards his room upstairs, but Miles didn’t bother replying. How in the fuck could he not care at all, just like that! He grabbed the box, clutching it to his chest, then went and found a knife in the kitchen, slit the tape open, and opened it–inside was a large pipe, a pouch of tobacco, and a slip of paper. He’d expected the need to ebb a bit, once he’d gotten the package open and sated his curiosity, but seeing the pipe, it only got worse. With a shaking hand, he picked up the nose, but all managed to read was:
Here at the Arctos Briar Division we strive to provide the highest quality of pipes, pipe tobacco, and accessories to ensure that any man who tries one of our products is determined to be a pipe smoker for life!
Included here is one pipe smoker starter kit, which has been provided to you at no cost, through our refer a friend program. By now, our patented smart memory chemicals…
Miles already knew what he needed to to, what he wanted to do. He was a cigarette smoker, had been all his life, and while he’d seen guys smoke a pipe a few times, he had never tried one himself, even though he’d always wanted to, right? He was having a hard time figuring that out, actually. He’d thought he’d never been that interested in pipes, and yet, looking at one now, he couldn’t help but ask himself why he’d never thought of trying one before. He didn’t know quite what to do with it, but he picked up the hefty pipe, surprised by how heavy it was, feeling the smooth wood and briar, and then reached into the pouch for the tobacco. The leaf was black and quite pungent, but the smell actually made him a bit horny, for some reason. He didn’t have any trouble packing and tamping the pipe–it was like his hands simply knew what they were doing, without him needing to guide them. At last, it was ready–he put the end in his mouth, lit it with the matches from the box, because he was too excited to try and find his lighter, and puffed it to light, drawing deep as soon as he could, and exhaling with a long plume of relieved satisfaction.
He took a few more long inhales, enjoying the rush he was getting off the smoke, so much more intense than anything he’d gotten from cigarettes before. He should have switched ages ago! He went back out into the den and sat back down on the couch, stretching out, staring at the TV but not watching anything in particular. The panic and anxiety had ebbed, and now all he felt was horny, which was strange. He didn’t exactly get horny very often anymore, and he didn’t exactly go out looking for women much anymore either. Still, it was good to know the old lizard could still wake up on occasion, right? He checked behind him, at the stairs, but his son usually camped up in his room all afternoon until dinner, so why not rub a load out? It had never occurred to him that he had never once considered jacking off where his son might discover him–he just pulled his cock through the fly of the boxers he was wearing and started stroking it slowly, leaning back, puffing on the pipe, and then pulled his balls through the hole as well, the cloth tightening around the base, hardening into steel, and the resulting cock ring only made his cock engorge further, the rest of the cloth tightening up around his thighs, turning black and slick, becoming a pair of rubber shorts which left both his cock and ass entirely exposed.
The wifebeater he had on was contorting as well, the collar pulling up closer to his throat, the rest of tighting around his hefty, hairy gut, beginning to darken. The collar detached and tightened around Miles’ neck, thickening into a leather collar studded with short spikes, the rest becoming a tight fitting rubber tank. Oblivious, he rubbed his nipples through the rubber with his free hand, feeling how huge and sensitive they were–all that effort he’d been putting into pumping them had really paid off–same with his fucking balls. His cock wasn’t huge, but his sack was bulging larger and larger, hanging lower onto the seat of the couch–he hefted them, and then gave them a tug, his cock immediately spewing precum at the sensation.
“I would say I’m sorry, but I think we both know that it’d be a lie,” Jamie said, shoving the plug deep into Sam’s hole again, giving it a twist for good measure.
Sam yanked at the ropes binding his hands to the gate. He’d woken up here a few moments before, tied and gagged, and when he’d tried to scream, it was Jamie who had come out of the darkness. One of his coworkers, and one of his competitors for partner at the firm. Everyone knew Sam deserved the spot, of course, but he’d always known Jamie had resented him. Now he was discovering just how much.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be sticking around for long, just gotta get the place smelling a bit, wait until the pigs come out for the night to find you. Try not to worry too much about it, you’ll be as happy here as the rest of them. He slammed the dildo in and then left it, wiping his gloved hands off with a towel he’d brought with him, and then dropped it to the ground. “I took the liberty of putting in your notice at work–after all, you won’t be coming back again, I don’t think. Certainly none of the other’s have.”
Sam could hear something in the darkness around them, something alive.
“Ah, that would be them. Like I said, try and enjoy yourself Sam, you’ve earned it.”
Jamie picked up his case and walked towards the staircase, climbing up out of the abandoned subway station in the middle of Pigtown. He turned back in time to see the things coming closer, sniffing at the sacrifice he’d left them, Sam staring up and back at him, pleading through the gag, but one of them was already ripping the plug from his ass and mounting him. Jamie continued climbing–the first time, he’d watched for a bit, but it no longer had much appeal. But he slowed towards the top of the steps, where a heavyset man was waiting, smoking a thick cigar. “Hello Jamie. Come to drop something off again?”
“You promised me safe passage, Rod.”
“No, I promised you save passage for a price,” Rod said, “but that was a few years ago. Don’t they teach you about interest in business anymore?”
Before Jamie could reply, Rod stepped closer to him, locking lips, exhaling a thick, greasy plume of smoke into his lungs, forcing him to hold it, tonguing around the inside of his mouth a moment, before pulling away, Jamie coughing and gagging.
“Here,” Rod said, “You’ll be wanting these.” He tossed a couple of cellophane wrapped cigars and a lighter to the ground, and Jamie collected them, lighting one up and taking a deep breath, the scratch in his throat immediately relieved.
“That wasn’t the damn deal!” Jamie shouted, as Rod walked off.
“Just a reminder whose terms and conditions you’re operating under, Jamie. I’ll be needing a tribute every month from now on, if you don’t want to see me again real soon.”
Hey man, good to see ya! Thought you might not make it, but I know you wouldn’t want to miss a party like this. Yeah, we got him all set up over here, go on, tubes all ready–take a deep breath, and blow–
Ha! Listen to the thing moan in there! Been a few hours at this point, so it’s starting to settle down, finally. You should have seen it, whimpering and crying while me and Louie were getting it all set up.
Who was it? Don’t really know. Some straight prick was pissing and moaning about us smoking down at the bar, telling us it was illegal and whatever, like we fucking care, you know? Well, it was Louie who puffed him–locked lips with the fucker, gave him a deep breath and zonked him to the floor! Bartender didn’t say nothing, he was ujust glad to be free of the little fuck, you know? That’s why it was such short notice, ‘n only half the gangs here. Still, it’s a good looking party, don’t you think? Still, always more fun when the whole family gets together.
Yeah, Blake’s here–think he’s a bit busy with Louie. He won’t care if you go butt it, of course, though ya might have to share.
Hey now, I know, we all know you…don’t share nicely! It was supposed to be a damn joke man, take it easy, take a drag off that thing ‘n just relax…
Look, the guys ‘n I have been talking, ‘n we think you need someone.
Yeah, lone wolf ‘n all that, fine. But…Blake’s been…look, I just think…why don’t you camp out with this guy for a bit? Feed him for a while? Make him…someone for you. We all know you’re lonely man, and you could have whatever you want. All the guys are cool with it. You just gotta mellow out a bit, you know what I’m saying.
Yeah yeah, pound me into the ground if you want, but we all know it’s true, including you.
We know you’re tough, just have some fun with him, you know. Come on, give him another breath, think about it. Could be a hot little cub, chubby in all the right places, wide ass, hungry for that big cock of yours. Hell, even a damn pig, stupid as a brick, drooling on the floor while you fuck it’s holes, drinking your piss, eating the big butts of your cigars. Whatever you want! Take your time and get to know him a bit better. You’ll be happier, and it’ll be a load off our backs too.
Glad you agree. Can’t wait to see how he turns out in the morning! I’ll have Blake come over and help ya brainstorm and suck ya off–ya always think better with a mouth around your cock, right?
Story commissioned by Karwood, based up on art drawn by Kuma. The art is down a bit, into the story–I don’t want to spoil it! Kuma is a super amazing furry artist, and the rest of his gallery can be found on Furaffinity right here. (If you don’t have an FA account, much of his art will probably be invisible to you–if you want to see if, you’ll have to create an account and enable adult image viewing in your user preferences.)
Blake should just give up, but that damn buck had been such a beauty. Eight pointer, would have looked fabulous on his wall, but he’d never quite managed to line up a clean shot all day. His main fear was that some other hunter might get something off first, but he liked this area because it was a bit deeper into the woods than a lot of guys liked to bother travelling, and so he didn’t really have to worry too much about other people around. He liked the solitude, the quiet–tracking the prey was almost as much fun as the adrenaline rush of the kill. But he’d lost it–he’d snapped a twig, and while the buck hadn’t been completely spooked by him, it had taken off at a good gait. If he made too much of a racket, then it really would have been gone. He’d managed to follow it by trail for about half a mile, but now he’d lost it. Looking around, he also realized he had a bigger problem–he…wasn’t quite sure where, exactly, he was.
He tried to get his bearings, but the dense canopy made it hard to orient himself, he pulled out his compass, and knew that if he just kept heading west, he’d hit the highway eventually. This part of the state had a few large patches of private property which he’d been hoping to avoid, but if he stumbled across anyone, at least they’d be able to get him back to civilization, right? So he set off, still angry at himself for getting so caught up in the pursuit that he’d let plenty of opportunities to get off a half-decent shot go by. Still, maybe it was for the best. He’d have loved a new trophy, sure, but give that big boy another season or two, and then he’d have a real magnificent head for his wall. The early fall was already starting to develop a chill, and he pulled his coat tighter around him, and checked his compass again. How far had he gone off trail, exactly? Blake wasn’t at all sure how far he’d hiked, and the buck had led him around in a few circles, but had he really gone in this deep? Certainly he didn’t recognize anything he was passing–even if he did find the highway, he’d still have a long trek back to his truck back along the road. It was already afternoon, judging by the light filtering down, and he dug out some food from his pocket to stave off his hunger.
The trees began to thin, letting in more light. Up ahead, he could see a clearing–that might help him better judge where he was exactly in the forest. As he came to the edge of the trees, he saw a field dominated by tall grass and a few shrubs, and there, a few hundred yards in the distance, he saw a couple of men talking. He started to signal them, but paused and took a closer look, One of the men was dressed in fairly typical hunting garb–his back was to Blake, and so he couldn’t see much of him–but the other guy was…naked? Or just shirtless? It was hard to tell through the grass. But as he watched, crouched in the trees, the naked guy started to…shift. It was difficult to describe what, exactly, was happening, but the rather thin young man’s face started to contort and push out into a muzzle, ears growing larger and floppy, and his skin was changing color…or rather, he thought as he watched, it was hair growing all over his body–on his back, in was reddish brown, and on his belly it was white. What in the world was he watching? In a matter of moments, the man was gone, replaced by what would seem to be a perfectly normal foxhound had he not witnessed…whatever in the world that had been.
The hound jumped up on the man, and he could hear barking from him and laughter from the man. The man turned around, and that was when he gasped, because the man wasn’t really a man at all, but some…strange abomination. It…was standing like a man–of all things it was even smoking a pipe!–but the face, it looked more like his old labrador retriever than a man. What in the world should he do? Run? Hide? Tell the police? He wasn’t even sure of what he’d just seen, and who would even believe him? He could hear the hound barking now, with more urgency. The strange man looked down at the hound, and then up, his eyes scanning the line of trees where Blake was hiding, and all at once, he realized he was both upwind from them, and that his gasp might have been more of a scream. The grass was waving now, obviously the foxhound was on the case, and searching him out. Did he really have a choice then? He stood up and ran back the way he’d come, heart pounding in his chest, not at all wanting to be caught by…by whoever, and whatever they were.
The forest was much easier to traverse when he wasn’t running in fear of his life. Roots kept rising up from the fallen leaves to trip him, and that damn dog wouldn’t stop baying behind him. It was so loud in the dense wood that he couldn’t accurately judge how far away it was from him. It could be right at his heels, or yards and yards away. He checked over his shoulder, and in the crashing and rustling of foliage that assured him he was still being pursued. He was trying to heft himself over a fallen tree, half rotted, when he heard another bay immediately behind him, a weight slammed into his back and sent him tumbling over the other side of the log, flipping heels over head and landing on his back, the hound alighting in front of him, turning and staring at him.
They just…looked at each other for the longest time, Blake in terror, and the hound with an intense curiosity, before the hound started to chop–short, clipped barks in pairs, signaling his master where he was, and that the prey had been cornered. Blake tried to scramble up, but the hound jumped on him, pinning him to the floor with a snarl–eyes curious, but not above using force if necessary. Moving as little as possible, he reached down, slipped the band off the hilt of his knife, and with one attempted fluid motion, pulled it out and swung for the hounds throat, but it hopped to the side, Blake scrambling to his feet, looking for an escape route. He didn’t get one step further. The master leapt up on the log behind him, and before Blake could turn around, the butt of the shotgun slammed into the side of his head, and he was out before he hit the ground.
He heard something between a sigh and a quiet whine, the thump of a tail against the ground.
“Oh would you stop giving me that look? I know you think he’s cute.”
Blake let out a groan. His head was throbbing. The last thing he could remember was the strange…dog man thing looming over him, and he tried to move–but his hands had been bound behind him, his feet and legs tied up similarly, and he’d been set up against the trunk of a tree. He opened his eyes, but he wasn’t sure where he was–the light had dimmed a bit further, but it was still sometime in the late afternoon or evening. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long. He looked over and he saw his attackers a few feet away. The one who still looked a bit like a person had set up a cooking stove, and something was simmering in a pot. It smelled strongly of earth and mulch, whatever it was. He tried to fiddle with his hands as quietly as he could, but the foxhound’s ears perked up, and he bounded over, planting a foot in his chest and letting a low growl escape his throat. Blake stopped moving, and the hound…smirked, and started licking his face. Blake tried to fend him off, but he kept licking for a moment, and then bounded back to his master, and nuzzled at something on the ground by the dogman’s boot.
“I already told you, no. We’re just going to send him on a trip, and dump him by the highway–it’s easier.”
The foxhound started baying then, over and over, even when the lab told him to hush. Blake just stayed still, feeling out his bonds, wondering if he’d get a chance to try and escape.
“God, you are just…fine, alright? If it’ll make you happy. But I’m gonna make it strong–I don’t need another halfy like you giving me a headache. Two of you would just be insufferable.”
The foxhound gave a sharp bark and jumped at the dogman, licking his face, nearly knocking the pipe from his mouth.
“Alright, alright! you know what I mean, I’m sorry.”
He picked up something off the ground, the thing the foxhound had nudged, and dropped it into the pot. Blake kept fidgeting, but these ropes were well tied–he wasn’t going to be able to slip them. His one chance then, might be to try and reason with whatever the hell these things were. “I…I won’t tell anyone, please, you can just let me go.”
“Oh I know,” the dogman said, letting loose a plume of smoke, “You aren’t the first hunter to wander onto my property.”
Blake watched him stir the pot for a moment. “What is that stuff anyway?”
“Mushroom broth. It’ll help with your head. Sorry about that, but I can’t be too careful with this one,” he gave the hound a pat on the rump, “He gets excited. Couldn’t have you hurting him, you know. Mycology has always been a hobby of mine–don’t worry, it ain’t poison. Anyway, that should do it.” He poured off the broth into an aluminum cup, and brought it over to where Blake was sitting, and held it under his nose. This close, the vapor and smell was much stronger…and made him feel a bit woozy all of a sudden. “Now, if I untie you, you’re going to be good, and do what I say, right?”
Blake nodded, not even really aware that he was. The dogman bent him forward and loosened the knots around his wrists. Blake rubbed some life back into them, and then accepted the hot cup from the man, who told him to drink all of it. The taste was pungent, and not at all delicious, but once he got a taste, he found drinking the whole thing wasn’t too much of a struggle. His head did stop throbbing. If anything, the pain felt…distant all of a sudden, like it was happening in some other body he was only somewhat attached to. In fact, his whole body felt that way, numb and not his own. His head lolled a bit, the cup rolling out of his hand, and the one sensation he felt at this point was an overwhelming, undeniable horniness.
“Well boy, you’re the one who wanted him so badly–why don’t you help him out?”
The foxhound walked over and used his teeth to open the fly of Blake’s pants, and then ripped open the front of his briefs. Blake, however, wasn’t sure anymore what was real, and what wasn’t. Everything felt so full of light all of a sudden. Squinting up at the beast looming over him, face wreathed in smoke, he thought he said, “Who are you? What did you just give me?” He didn’t get a reply, and so he wasn’t at all sure that the words had actually gotten free of his brain and mouth.
He felt the hound licking at his cock now, and he tried to push him away with his hands, but they felt like putty. He wasn’t even sure how to move them. He wasn’t even sure he had hands anymore at all. However, he knew that what he was seeing at his crotch had to be a hallucination–it looked like, instead of his usual human cock, it had been…replaced, and instead, he had a furry sheath, and thick red…something was pushing out of it. Whatever it was, the foxhound was licking it eagerly, and it did feel good.
“Ya know, boy? He is kinda cute, now that I get a better look at him,” the man said. The smoke was…everywhere now. He couldn’t get a look at anything, it was all too hazy. Something pushed it’s way against his mouth and he tried to resist. “Now now, be a good doggy and open up for master.”
It looked like a bright red mushroom, but it was so warm and slick. Blake opened his jaw slightly, disturbed by the sudden crack of bone and tightness of tendon, but he allowed the head inside his mouth. It looked like…like his own, new cock. Was he turning into mushrooms? Everything felt so strange, nothing in the world was making any sense. He wrenched himself away from the two dogmen, his heart pounding, and crawled away from them, skin burning, eyesight blurry, like the world was slowly being drained of color. He tried to speak, but the words came out as inhuman gibberish, but then the lab was beside him, running one heavy paw down his back…and it felt good.
“Who’s a good boy?” he asked.
That voice. Before it had sent chills and unease through him, the gruffness, the odd inflection of vowels forced through his odd snout. But hearing it now, it made him feel safe and happy and…calm. He arched his back a bit and leaned to the side, unaware that his legs were shortening and growing thinner, the tattered remains of his pants slipping off his ass as his knees left the ground, and he found himself standing on his hands and feet, and it was so comfortable, so…normal.
“Come on boy, daddy still has a bone for you…” the lab said. The voice lulled him in, and even though the world had turned to a swath of dull greens and blues, the cock in front of him gleamed. He licked the head, his tongue extending much further than it ever could before, and then he opened his jaws again and allowed the lab, no, allowed his…master to push it in deeper into his maw, to the beginning of his throat, while the other dog came up behind him, sniffed Blake’s ass for a moment, admiring the short tail already growing out at the base of his spine, and then wormed his way underneath Blake, forcing him off their master’s cock for a moment, and Blake found his cock pressing up against the hound’s own hole.
“He’s always loved having other mutts ride him, that’s how we met in the first place,” the lab said with a chuckle, the hound giving a short, indignant chop in response. “Go on then, you know what to do.”
Somehow, he did. It didn’t feel like he knew much anymore. So much of his mind seemed to have simplifed and smoothed out while he wasn’t paying attention. What he’d mistaken for euphoria had been more than just pleasure, it had been his cares, memories, goals, everything human, everything that had made him Blake, slowly dissolving away. There wasn’t much of him left now, enough to be aware that something had happened to him, that this was wrong, that he was no longer…a person. He looked down at his front legs, at the dark brown fur running the length, at his paws. Everything was as it should be, and yet nothing was right.
“I said fuck him boy,” the lab said, the said to himself, “God, I hope I didn’t make ya too stupid, or training you is gonna take ages.”
He slipped his cock inside, then deeper. It felt…amazing. The foxhound gave a long bay, as soon as Blake slipped in deep, humping a bit wildly, not quite sure how to slow down his instincts. His master’s cock appeared in front of him again, and he licked it, the foxhound beneath him gritting it’s fangs a bit at the size of Blake’s shaft, and then he was suddenly cumming, and he let loose a howl he could barely believe had come from his own throat, and a moment later, the lab shot, coating Blake’s face with his own seed. Blake licked it off, enjoying the taste, and then tried to extricate himself from the other dog’s hole, but for some reason it was difficult to remove, like something had inflated, keeping them tied together. With a pop, they finally managed to come apart, Blake landing on his back, and he was able to look down at himself, at his new body…and yet it was the only body he could recall having. In his heart he knew he was different, that he had been something different, a…a master, even. But that wasn’t what he was anymore.
“Well, now we went and wasted the evening–I hope you’re happy,” the lab said, looking down at the foxhound who was panting, eyes bright, Blake’s cum still dribbling from his hole. “Come on, let’s go home and kennel up our new friend here. The lab gave a whistle, Blake’s ears perked up, and he got back on all four feet and trotted off after his master. He didn’t know where they were going, but one thing he knew for certain, was that his Master knew best, and that he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
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The neighbors were out in their backyard again, fucking. Shane only knew a little bit about them, but they seemed nice enough. The wife was beautiful (not that Shane had any interest in women, of course, but he could still appreciate the form, he supposed) but it was the husband who attracted his focus, with his hot dad bod and nine inch cock. They fucked like rabbits, and all summer long they were out fucking by the pool, giving Shane a chance to peep between the fence boards a few minutes at the time, when he was working on master’s garden. Of course he’d never do anything–they were so happy together, and good people. Not like Shane. Stupid, worthless Shane, he couldn’t even be a good slave half the time. He had no idea why his master even kept him around half the time. Still, watching that huge cock, his own puny member was trying as hard as it could to expand in the tight cage master kept him in. He hadn’t had an orgasm in years at this point, and expected that he’d never have one ever again.
“Hey! Dumb cunt! Where the fuck are you?”
Master was calling. He went the long way out of the bushes, making sure his naked body was covered in enough dirt and dust to look like he’d been working. When he worked on the neighbor’s yards, Master allowed him to wear a ragged pair of cutoffs, but in his own yard and house Shane was always naked aside from his cage and collar. “Yes sir, sorry sir. Was weeding by the fence,” Shane muttered, sweat running down his bald head and into his mutton chops, smoking one of the cheap cigars Master allowed him. Even standing, he had to crane his neck to look at his master, who towered over him by nearly two feet. “How can I serve you sir?”
“Barry just finished his session, but he needs some practice. Meet him in the dungeon, would you?”
Barry was one of several clients who were seeing his master to help with anger issues, usually men going through divorces or who had been arrested for assault. Somehow, they always became extreme sadists–taking their rage out on consenting slaves–helping them be much nicer to real people. Shane wasn’t worthy of being a person, however. He hurried down the steps into the basement, and found that this had been a breakthrough session for Barry. He’d been a larger man in his late forties when he’d first started seeing Master Evan, but now he was huge, a full bent pipe clutched in his bearded jaw, wearing a pristine leather uniform. The excitement of his brutal punishment had Shane’s cock leaking through his cage even more than seeing his neighbor’s cock, and he threw himself at Barry’s feet, begging to be punished.
It began with kicking and stomping, and then Barry hauled Shane up from the floor, suspended him in the air, and began whipping him, making sure to add his own welts to Shane’s back on top of his master’s other anger management clients. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had been without at least one wound, and he was secretly thankful his master never allowed him to wear a shirt. He…secretly liked the fact that everyone in the neighborhood could see what kind of treatment he deserved, and he also thought that wearing anything against these welts would be horrifically painful. After he had been whipped to Barry’s satisfaction, he gave Shane a deep fisting before finally slamming his own cock in deep, exploding only a few seconds after his entrance. After all, for Barry, it was the pain that got him off more than anything else. After he came, a look of bliss came over his face–he undressed and hung up the uniform, and left, happy to no longer the angry man he had been anywhere outside this dungeon, where Shane was more than happy to take anything Barry–or anyone else–thought he deserved.
Master came down after Barry left, and spent a few minutes tending to Shane’s wounds, making sure his back, in particular, didn’t get infected. There was little love in these moments, however–it was clear that his master wasn’t tending to him out of any sort of love or care, but merely as one would maintain a tool, to ensure it had a long life of usage. Shane had lost his cigar at some point in the session–he found the half-smoked end and relit it–Master would only provide him a new cigar after he ate the last butt in front of him.
Shane cooked dinner for his master, and then had his own small portion. After that, it was time for his evening rounds through the neighborhood. His master had been busy over the last few months, ever since the two of them had moved in here. So many good people around them had been living boring, tedious lives–and there were quite a few terrible people who hadn’t deserved the lives they had. That thought…tugged at something in Shane, and he felt even worse than he usually did, but pushed the concern away–he had work to do and men to serve. Phillip needed to be fed–he’d recently become too large to get out of bed, so master had been kind enough to provide him with an automated feeding system. Still, it had to be filled twice a day, but the mush fed continuously to him ensured the fat ass would keep growing until Master Evan decided he could stop. After that, it would be time for a session with Nick and Roy–they had been a nice gay couple a block over, but Master had found them to be far too boring. Now, the two of them were a pair of muscle bound, smoked out daddy bears, and Master was enjoying seeing how freakish the two of them could become. Still, since they were both tops, they needed a bottom regularly to keep them happy, and Shane was usually the one who had to take care of them both. Recently, however, they’d both developed a rather disgusting fondness for piss, and the last few times, Shane had to waddle back home, his already rotund gut distended with several loads of piss and cum. Still, a slave’s work was never done, right? He pulled on his cutoffs, said goodbye to his master, and set off for the evening, glad that even if he was a fucking loser, he could serve his master, and the neighborhood, to the best of his abilities. That was something, at least.
“Please, I know…I know I’m fucked up in my head, to come up with shit like that, but you have to help me, you’re the only one who can help me, I see that now, I get it!” Shane said, on his knees in front of Evan, who was looming over him, the room full of hazy with the smoke from both of their cigars. Evan had been waiting for this. He’d known it was coming, but it hard to anticipate when, finally, someone would truly understand what they’d become.
A few months had passed, since his first session with Evan, but it already felt lifetimes away. It didn’t…it didn’t really matter anyway, since it had never been real anyway, Shane reminded himself. Sure, it…felt real to him, but that’s what made his own mind so screwed up–he couldn’t tell what was real anymore. He’d kept coming over here, demanding that Evan change him back, that he give him his old life back–back when he was stud, when his wife could look at him with laughing, when he didn’t feel compelled to suck the cocks of all the men who fucked her, no matter what it cost–but he saw the truth now, he hadn’t been willing to believe Evan, when he’d first tried to tell him, he’d been so skeptical, but what other explanation was there?
“I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses, Shane, it’s good to hear. Now get up and have a seat over here, let’s talk about your breakthrough. So, you finally realized that those old memories of yours, those ones where you’re some young, muscular hotshot asshole lawyer, those were all false memories, right?”
Shane nodded, a bit hesitant now that he heard it said out loud, but…but there couldn’t be any other explanation, right?
“It’s good of you to realize that, but why do you think you created those memories, Shane?”
“I…I don’t know. They’re just…there. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Well, I happen to have a theory, you know. I think, Shane, that you created those memories so you could put the blame for your shitty life on everyone around you, and deflect that blame from yourself. I mean, if I was the one who changed you, then you aren’t responsible for you’re loveless marriage. You aren’t responsible for chasing all the cock you can find. You aren’t responsible for the fact that you can’t stop smoking those cigars you hate so much. You aren’t responsible for the fact that you can’t win a single court case, not without blowing the judge, the other lawyers, and sometimes the jury. That you’re a failure in every way. It’s hard for anyone to realize their a waste of space, a worthless person, but that’s what you are, don’t you see?”
Fuck, why was he so hard? No, not just hard–listening to Evan catalogue all his failings as a man, as a person–he had his cock out and was jacking off, just thinking about how…how much of a failure he was, and realizing that, he started sobbing. “Please, it’s…it’s too much! I’m…I’m almost broke, I can’t find any new clients. I don’t know what I was thinking, I–someone like me can’t do this!” He tried to keep speaking, but he broke down, still stroking his cock, and Evan got up and crossed over to where he was sitting, stroking his balding hand, running it through his bushy mutton chops.
“I know Shane, but this is what I do, you see. You were never meant to have a life like this, you realize that, right? A fuckup like you can’t be trusted with anything important.”
I-I don’t think anyone can help someone as fucked up as me though,” Shane said.
Evan chuckled, “Always the skeptic, to the end,” he said, “At least let me try.”
“Why…why would you ever want to help someone like me? Someone as worthless as I am?”
“Oh Shane, because this is what I do! I help people. Now come on–would you like to suck my cock? You always feel better after a load of cum, and you always get cranky when you haven’t gotten enough.”
Shane nodded. “Would…you fuck me sir? I’d…like that.”
“If you insist.”
Shane got down on his hands and knees, and Evan slid into him. It was so much easier, now that he’d finally accepted the truth. He’d fought for so long, but what other possibility was there, really? He was just a failure, there was no way around it, but that brought up another question–now what? He couldn’t keep going at this, he wasn’t meant for this for a life like this, but he wasn’t sure there was any life someone as worthless and stupid as him could ever possibly manage. He pushed the thought away, and focused on smoking his cigar, on how good his hole felt, how deep Evan’s huge cock could go, his own cock close to blowing, but he held back, not wanting to make a mess–he always felt so terrible whenever he made a mess, and he’d been trying very hard lately to only cum when someone had given him permission to do so. He wasn’t very good at it, and not many people would give him permission, but all the same, it was common courtesy. Evan finished inside him and stepped back–he felt empty, but better than earlier. Freer, somehow. He pulled his pants back up.
“Now what do I do,” he asked, “I can’t go back there, I can’t face that anymore.”
“Did you forget already? Evan said, “I’m a life coach, Shane. Just leave it all to me. We can find something for you to do that you can be happy with, I think. All you have to do is trust me.”
Shane tried to object, but Evan’s hands were already on his skull, massaging the thoughts from his mind, the world fading from view again. Everything was being pulled from him, and he let it go. It wasn’t for him to worry about, after all. He would only make things worse if he tried to interfere. Instead he let himself drift off into a void, hopeful that when he woke, his only hope was that his life would be something more suited to a loser like him.
Jerry knew he was getting close to figuring out the secret to Pigtown. The guys at the precinct all told him he was crazy to try and stop it, to try and figure out what the bar was doing to the men in the neighborhood. They even pointed out Scrimm, told him that story, but Jerry was never one to listen to threats–that is, until he came home one evening and discovered his sons were missing.
He and his wife searched for days, the entire police force was mobilized, but there was no sign of them anywhere–no one claimed responsibility, no one demanded ransom. But Jerry knew, Pigtown was involved somehow, but he didn’t know why or how. He’d always found himself able to resist the advances of the men there–was that why they were targeting him? He told the precinct Chief his theory, but the older man wouldn’t–or perhaps couldn’t–say anything. His eyes thought, told Jerry all he needed to know.
His wife broke down–she left for her mother’s, and Jerry carried on by himself for another day, before he finally received the gift, and the note.
If you want to be with your boys, you know what to do.
–Rod
That’s all it said. He opened the small box, and inside he found a small cigar and a lighter, but nothing else, no clue or anything. Should he report it? Rod–he’d come across that name over and over again in his investigations, but he had no idea who he might be. But what choice did he have? It was just a cigar, and he’d been able to resist so much else, right?
Jerry was a very different man a couple hours later. The cigar–it just kept growing, and at this point it was stretching his jaw to the limit, but he’d only suck down more smoke, twisting his now massive nipples, stroking his white beard, growing thicker and longer. He didn’t know when his clothes had become leather, but fuck, it felt good on his bare skin, on his massive cock, but as much as he stroked it, he couldn’t seem to climax–and then the doorbell rang.
There, on the stoop, was a cage. And there inside the cage were his two sons. They were naked, but otherwise completely unharmed, but Jerry knew what to do. With strange, inhuman strength, he dragged the cage into his house, his two sons screaming at him to stop, but as soon as he started feeding them his smoke, they changed their tunes rapidly, and their bodies too–both of them becoming chubby, perfectly obedient cigar cubs for their daddy, happy to be home in his arms.
His wife never did see any of them again, but some of the officers at precinct 17 would on occasion, in a dark corner of a bar or alley. Jerry wore a thick metal collar, as did his two cubs–the two boys attached to their father’s collar by two short, thick chains, assuring them that they’d never be apart again, Jerry’s cigar still smoldering in the dark, as big as ever, and unlikely to go out anytime soon.
Bracken's Corner 