April Suggested Stories – Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! I posted this month’s short stories written from your suggestions over the weekend! Anyone who contributes $1 or more a month gets access to these stories, as well previous months’ suggested stories. Here’s one from last month, if you’d like a taste!


Shined Like a Mirror

“Detail oriented”. “High achiever”. “Perfectionist”. These were all terms people had used to describe me at one point or another. So, it wasn’t…surprising that I was being bothered by this, but at the same time, I didn’t exactly make it a habit to notice the condition of people’s shoes around me on a regular basis. Maybe it was the fact that everything else about his wardrobe seemed so…immaculate. The leather shirt that clung to every curve of his torso with barely a wrinkle. The skin-tight gloves holding that thick cigar of his, which I had watched him light with such care a few minutes earlier. The shine off his metal belt buckle–a detail I figured few people would even consider, or notice. The way his pants wrapped his thick thighs as he leaned against the bar, facing out, chatting with another cigar bear beside him–but then, I got to his boots, and the reason for my…annoyance. They rose up to his calves, his pants sliding inside them, and all over, the shine was immaculate, except…except for one blemish on the side of his left boot.

It was easy to see, from my perspective, because one of the lights in the bar was centered on the scuff–there was a perfect circle of shine, with a chunk of matte in the middle. I don’t even know why it was bothering me so much at this point, but I haven’t…really been able to look away from it this entire time. If he’s noticed me staring he hasn’t indicated any sort of interest–and honestly, I’m not interested in him sexually. Leather and kink aren’t really my cup of tea, but still, I should…tell him, shouldn’t I? I mean, if I’d put that much energy and thought into my outfit before going out, I’d want someone to tell me. It’s like…when a friend as food in their beard. Sure, it’s a bit embarrassing–I myself never grow one anyway–but they’d always rather you tell them than just…have them walk around looking like that.

I get up and walk over to him, he notices me as I do. His look is…disinterested. Whatever he’s looking for tonight, it isn’t me. That…makes things a bit easier, I think.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know that…well, there’s a spot on your boot that you must have missed earlier, that isn’t shined right.”

He looks a bit surprised, and I point out the spot to him I had noticed, but he doesn’t seem concerned, or particularly thankful. Instead, he just looks at me and grins.

“Well, what are you going to do about that?”

I assume I didn’t quite hear that right. It wasn’t my problem to fix. If he wanted to play leather fantasy, then he should at least care about fixing his error, right? He turns away from me and continues his conversation with the other bear, like nothing had even happened, but my eyes are glued to that blemish. I can’t…just leave it. It’ll bother me all night. If he…isn’t going to take care of his gear, it shouldn’t be my concern, but…but in a move that I swear made perfect sense to me at the time, I got down on my hands and knees and started licking at the spot, getting it wet with spit, and then I buffed it with the sleeve of my shirt. To my surprise, it looked…lovely, like the blemish had never even been there. It was so shiny, in fact, I swore I could see my own reflection in the leather. I leaned a bit closer, trying to find myself, and when my face swam into focus, I let out a cry, fell backwards, and then stumbled upright.

In the mirror behind the bar, I was still…me. Young, clean shaven, slight of build, not particularly tall, though I did have a bit of bootblack around my lips and mouth. The man looked down at his boot, appraising my work, and grinned at me again.

“Thanks, boy, that looks much better.”

He pushed off from the bar and walked a couple of steps closer to me. I wanted to back up away from him, but my feet felt rooted to the bar floor.

“Tell me, boy, did you like who you saw in there?”

What…had I even seen in there? It had been my reflection, or a reflection, at least. But…but had that really been me?

“Do you need to take another look, boy?”

The hand he put on top of my head wasn’t…demanding, but it was suggestive. I was…incredibly curious, I admit it. I got back down on my hands and knees, my eyes an inch from the shimmering leather, and this time, when I saw myself, I didn’t flinch away. It was…more than an image. I was there–a different me, a possible me, but even though I could only see my face, I could also…know so much else about him–about me–about…who I could be. I was muscular–massively built, putting in as much time at the gym, under Master’s direction, as I did at work now. Building my chest, especially, those…massive pecs and thick nips I could see in the black shine. My nips were leaking, but the hormones he had me on did that. Master liked milking me, draining my tits and my little cock all at once, while his little muscle tit pig groaned for mercy and release. Distantly, in my real body, I felt his other boot underneath me, rubbing against the crotch of my slacks, making me groan. I could see my massive frame strapped down over a fuck bench, here in the bar, with men lining up at both ends to use me. Master had taken complete ownership of his tit slave now, not that I was fit for much else beyond service. Something…he’d given me had ruined my brain–thinking about anything more complex than sex and working out was almost impossible. My tit milk was squelching under me on the bench–I could smell it, even…taste it, as it ran along my chest and dribbled to the floor–I lurched forward, groaning, my cock exploding in the front of my pants as I rubbed my face on Master’s boot, trying…trying to force my way inside, into that world, but…but it didn’t actually exist. It was just…just a possibility, a figment.

“Seems like you saw something in there you liked, boy.”

I looked up at him. It was the first time I had done so, and yet it felt like the thousandth, like he’d already been a part of my life for so long. I…ached for him, for that…version of myself, as disgusted as I was by the entire vision. But I couldn’t deny it. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night, but I spent it on my knees beside him, cleaning his boots, and the boots of his friends. I went home with him that night, for my virgin plowing, my clothes ruined and covered in boot black. I wanted to ask Master if he’d known. If he’d…forced me to see what I’d seen. It didn’t matter, in the end. I wanted it all the same–to be master’s big titted muscle pig, and I was going to do everything in my power to make that vision a reality.

April Suggested Stories – Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

A Home of Mirrors (Part 5)

***WARNING: Still substantial violence and abuse.


“Was that thing really me?” Eli asked.

“It’s still you–never forget that. We’ve brought you to heel, given you our power, but this is still you. You belong to us now.”

Eli was still looking down at the pitiful slave beside his reflection, on hands and knees. It glanced up at him, met his eyes, and for a flash, Eli could see himself looking down in contempt, could feel the burns and aches all over it’s body, how…how hard it’s cock was, how hungry it was now, for cum, for pain, for punishment. He broke his eyes away, terrified that he might be trapped there, and delivered a swift kick to the slave’s chin, hard enough to flip it over onto it’s back. The anger and rage didn’t surprise him, but the fear behind it did. Fear wasn’t something he had felt, in the last week. Fear was something he wasn’t supposed to feel, not anymore. He walked over and pressed his boot to the slave’s neck, pressing hard, “Never meet my eyes again, do you fucking understand? I never even want to know that you fucking have eyes, you fucking worthless piece of shit!” His measured words had grown into an unhinged shout, the boot pressing harder, and he could see the slave’s face turning red. It wasn’t fighting him, it wanted him to do it, wanted him to kill it, wanted him to set it free, but a hand grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back, the slave choking, gasping for air.

“You can’t kill it, no matter how much you want to. We won’t allow it. Hurt it as much as you like, but it must live.”

Eli looked at the thing, at himself–at that old self. It had curled up into a ball on the floor and rolled away from him, hiding it’s face.

“Displease us, and you know where you’ll find yourself.”

“Eli looked back at his reflection, at the stern, hard stare. “I apologize, I…I was weak.”

“You are weak. The last time we met, we couldn’t free much of you. Much remains to be done.”

“Please, I…I know,” Eli said, one gloved hand running down his reflection’s shirt. “I can’t…tell you, how difficult this was, being away from you. I’ve felt so…broken. I know I can be so much…better.”

The reflection smiled, though it wasn’t clear what it found worthy of the smirk. “Better, yes. But now, we can…improve you, can’t we?”

Eli groaned, and fell to his knees in front of himself, pressing his head to the floor a moment, shuddering, trying to suppress a sigh of relief, “I’m yours. Remake me in your image, so I might better serve you.”

“Debase yourself, faggot. Then you can look at me.”

The voice sent a shiver through him. It was his voice, and yet…not. The only emotions he could imagine it communicating were contempt and loathing. The voice of someone utterly superior in every way. He inched forward and began licking at the boots before him, and noticed they were different than his own. Since buying the house, Eli had found wearing anything other than leather to be…uncomfortable. He wore the gloves night and day–he wasn’t ever certain he could take them off, but he’d broken down, and purchased a pair of boots. The ones he was licking, however, were not those. These were shined bright, nearly bright enough to see a reflection in the spit wet surface. They ran up the calf–that was as far as Eli dare look without a direct order from above. He cleaned each boot, top and bottom, thanking his reflection for the privilege of serving him, and only after, was he allowed to rest up on his knees, and look up.

He was beautiful. Standing tall in his leather uniform, every detail immaculate, the lush grey beard flowing from around his mouth, with the thick cigar burning bright. Between the leather and the hair, the only skin Eli could see of himself was the space around his eyes, aged and weathered, but far from weak. He looked lower, down the barrel chest and firm gut held in check by the leather dress shirt, to the crotch, bulging with flesh. “Please, sir, may I?” Eli asked, looking back to meet his reflection’s hard eyes.

“No hands. Earn your fucking reward, you hungry faggot.”

Thankfully, the pants had a double zipper, giving him an easier task. First one, and then the other, and then after the flap fell down, he got his first sight of his cock, his first smell of it–musk and sweat and smoke. He licked, careful with his teeth, taking it slow, knowing one false step would mean his prize taken away. He coaxed the cock to it’s full, eight inch length, and then swallowed it to the hilt, shuddering at the ghostly sensation around his own head and shaft, in his pants. His better half allowed him a moment to enjoy himself, and then wrapped both, gloved hands around the back of his head, and began skull fucking Eli’s throat mercilessly.

He couldn’t breathe, but he could also taste the sweet cigar smoke he kept sucking into his lungs. He could feel his hands both wrapped around his head, and around both of his thick thighs. For one glorious moment, he was fully together, and then the next, he came, slammed the thing’s head to his crotch, and felt it crumple and flatten with the force, his thick cock bursting out of the back of the husk’s head, cum spraying all over the carpet. In his gloved hands, he crumpled up the husk until it no longer even had a head, and then pulled his cock free, brushing off the dust from his shaft and pants. “Clean it up,” he snarled at his slave, and the meek thing scurried over and began sucking the cum from the carpet as best it could.

The husk crumbled away after a few more moments, and the dust disappeared into the air. He turned back to the mirror, and saw himself there, beside the slave. “I’ll mind him–you should go tend to your son. He’s having trouble…accepting us.”

Eli gave a growl of agreement, and didn’t bother putting his cock away, as he strode down the hall, following the cries of pain which filled his newer heart with an odd, delirious joy.

Photo and Idea submitted by Bryan


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

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

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

Requested by Patchbear


Phil felt terrible after missing the first wrestling practice of the year, but he hadn’t anticipated getting sick the first week on campus. At least the new wrestling coach at the college was less of a hardass than Mr. Stevens, who’d retired somewhat unexpectedly over the summer. The new coach, Mr. Wick, had just told him to feel better, and come to the second practice a few days later, if he felt up to it–and added that he was excited to see what Phil, as one of the stars of the team, thought of some of the changes Mr. Wick had in mind for the program. 

Luckily he got over the fever quickly, and the next day he felt good enough to go to his classes at least–but he had the strangest run in with someone, around noon, as he was heading to the Student Union for lunch. Some strange guy–fat, hairy, and reeking of musk and who knew what else, spotted him and charged over, tackling Phil to the grass, laughing and snorting, asking where the hell he’d been the night before. Phil had no fucking clue who the guy was, and he crawled his way free and took off, the pig just laughing and snorting on the grass.

The next night he headed to the gym a bit early, so he could get himself warmed up properly before practice started. He was in the locker room when an older man, quite fat and out of shape, who he assumed was a janitor or something came up and clapped him on the back. “Phil! There you are. Glad you’re feeling better!”

This…this guy was Mr. Wick? What the fuck was the school thinking, hiring someone like this? This close to him, the unwashed stench rolling off him was horrific, and Phil shoved him away. “Oh…uh, yeah. I’m feeling better. Sorry…I…I don’t want you getting sick if I’m still infectious.”

“I’m sure you’re fine. You’re early! Come on, get your singlet on, and let’s spar a bit. I’ll get you caught up with the rest of the guys in no time.”

Disgusted, Phil never the less got dressed in his singlet and found Mr. Wick in the gym in a singlet of his own. He suggested they spar a bit, so he could get a better idea of Phil’s skill level, and see if he was as legendary as he’d heard. Phil chuckled to himself–the guy might outweigh him, but he had a feeling the hardest part would be getting close enough to the fucker’s stench to pin him. 

It didn’t quite go as Phil imagined it. Mr. Wick, for all of his flab, was surprisingly adept, and he pinned Phil over and over again…and Phil found himself…enjoying it. Feeling the weight of the man pressing down on him, feeling his stench overwhelm him, overwhelming his mind, making…making him think all these filthy, disgusting thoughts, grinding his ass into his coach’s crotch, his body inflating with fat, and finally Mr. Wick ripped away the ass of his singlet and slammed his cock into Phil’s hole, listening to his newest wrestling pig squeal with pleasure. Still, Phil Robertson wasn’t going to be the best wrestler on the team–no, he was going to be a lot more interested in getting pinned and fucked–but he’d sure he having a lot more fun this year, as one of his filthy, disgusting wrestling pig squad.

Requested & Submitted by @inchingtowardursinity


He couldn’t believe how long they’d been taking, building the house next door to his. He’d been surprised when the person who’d bought the large house beside his had simply bulldozed everything, opting to build a new house all from scratch. he hadn’t really seen much of the new owner; he appeared to be taking a rather hands off approach to his new house, and in Charles’s opinion, it showed in the amount of work the crew was putting into it. Often, it seemed like they weren’t doing anything all, beyond being rowdy, loud and a general nuisance. 

The crew was full of older, burly men—all of them with a considerable amount of tattoos, most with beards, and every single one of them seemed to be smoking something–cigarettes, pipes, cigars. The smoke was the worst part–he couldn;t seem to escape it, and the more he smelled it, the harder it was to focus on his own work around the house. One time, he’d been trying to do yard work, when he realized he’d just been…standing there for close to half an hour in one spot, just…smelling the smoke. He was angry at himself, and didn’t even notice the fact that he was hard, suddenly.

Still, Charles warmed up to the crew over time. He befriended a few of them over the fence one afternoon. It turned out that the reason things were taking so long was that the crew was understaffed, and the owner was taking forever, on the plans and details. Not too long after that, the men started suggesting he come over and hang out with them in the afternoons and evenings. He never really recalled the meetings well, but…but he sure did enjoy himself every time. There were flickers of clarity–once when he had his cock through a hole in his fence, getting sucked off by one of the workers on the other side. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but he also couldn’t stop, and he fell back into his smoky stupor long before he came, got down, and returned the favor.

Soon he was craving smoke, but for some reason none of the men would let him smoke anything of theirs–all he could do was suck their second hand smoke from their mouths. It was not long after that, when the owner came knocking on Charles’s door. Charles was in the middle of a terrible week–he’d…simply forgotten to go to work for a few days, and his boss had called and informed him he’d been fired. The owner had heard of his troubles, and had come by to offer him some relief. He had a perfect job for him, he said–all Charles had to do was give him the deed to his property.

Charles refused at first–he loved his home. But when the owner laid out a pipe, a cigar, and a pack of cigarettes, and offered him one of those in addition to the job…he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed the pipe, packed it and lit it like he’d watched the crew do countless time, and sucked down the smoke, feeling his entire body heating up, from his toes to his gut to his hands…and in a matter of moments, a very, very different man was standing there, chuffing on his pipe.

“What do you think Chuck? Think we can have this house torn out in a week?”

“W-What? I…I don’t…” Chuck looked down at his body, his full gut coated in a riot of tattoos–at least what he could see around his long thick beard, “I…where am I?”

“You’re a member of my crew Chuck. We’re looking at this house I just bought. I want to tear it down and add it to my property next door.”

“O-Oh…I…I guess me ‘n the crew could do it…”

“That’s what I like to hear–now you fat pig, bend over–I wanna fuck your nasty hole.”

Chuck was all to happy to oblige, letting his owner fuck him bent over the side of the couch, and then he went back and joined the rest of his crew. He was welcomed like an old friend, and all of them wanted a taste of Chuck’s new, eight inch cock, and a chance to admire his new, beautiful body; just like the bodies the owner had all given them over the years.

Milk, by Donald T. Oolong

It was sweet and rich, flowing steadily into his mouth. Need more. Kevin opened his eyes, saw strands of wiry brown hair, and realized he was lying atop another man, mouth clamped tightly on his nipple. He jerked up and got a glimpse of the man’s face.

“Ah-ah-ah! You’re not nearly done.”

A strong hand pushed Kevin’s face down while another held him firmly in place. The man’s body was muscular, with a padding of fat and hair that tickled Kevin as he squirmed back and forth. “My friends—“ Kevin gasped before instinctively lapping up the whitish fluid leaking from the man’s chest. The four of them stopped at this motel… Paul said he saw weird dudes in the lobby…a knock at the door and…white. Kevin struggled a few seconds more before latching back onto the nipple. He resumed sucking.

“Safe; they’re being suckled like you. You’ll see them again soon, and be closer than you ever thought possible.” The man tousled his hair reassuringly. And Kevin did feel reassured. There was no place he’d rather be than cradled in this huge, bearish man’s arms, nuzzling his downy hair and drinking this—milk?–that to flowed endlessly from his nipple. The man squeezed his ass.

“You’re putting on weight. Gonna be a nice and thick when this is over. Hairier too. Me, Tony and Mick, we like our men on the husky side—strong, with a bit of softness. Keith, though, likes ‘em straight up fat,” the man chuckled. “Who’s that red-haired friend of yours?”

“Tm.” Kevin mumbled a reply around the nipple. He was getting drowsy again.

“Tom? Tim? Whatever his name is, Kenneth made short work of that swimmer’s build. Got a nice, big, bouncy ass on him already.”

Tim, a fat guy? He was good-looking already but could use some meat on his bones. God, he was beautiful. And Paul and Zach…Kevin realized how much he loved his friends. They were coming to terms with the same feelings right now, for each other, for him, and for these other men, three of whom Kevin hadn’t even seen yet. He knew it. Kevin was getting hard, and began to grind his cock against the thigh of his (Brother? Lover? Father? They were all right answers) and the other man stiffened as well. They rubbed against each other. Kevin greedily sucked down more milk.

“OhGodohfuckohhh-oh-hoh,” the man bellowed and pulled Kevin forward. He thrust his tongue into Kevin’s mouth and sprayed onto Kevin’s belly. Kevin came soon after, and they stared at each other as their semen grew cold. The man then pushed Kevin back down toward his chest. Kevin latched onto his other nipple.

“Thanks…other one was sore…Nice to have a family, isn’t it? To be loved? To know there’s someone else?” The man’s voice grew thick. He was dozing off.

He was snoring when Kevin finally fell asleep, but he continued to suck. It was sweet and rich.

Well holy hell, this is one hot, fucking submission. Hope this makes your Saturday night a bit raunchier. Thanks Beardsman, and well done.

***

I found it a bit strange when I saw my Dad. The divorce with Mom had hit him hard, and I had been actively talking to him every other day for a month now. It was just a few weeks ago that he was telling me about his friend that he met at the town’s tavern. Allen-something-or-other. The conversations would slowly shift from him missing the smell or touch of my Mother to the crazy drinking nights Allen had him mixed up in.

He was a true man, at least as I saw him, raising me in a small country town. I guess it wasn’t too different seeing him in his regular Flannel shirt. The leather vest had just thrown me off a tad.

As I said, he was always the real man’s man. However, he had a big heart. He never spoke roughly of anyone, gladly offered a helping hand, and was a trusted member of the community. The man I saw before me was barely that. I could only recognize my Father’s stare, looking back at me in a glazed daze. He opened his mouth to speak, and I hardly could process just how deep of a rumble escaped his lips.

“Missed you, boy” he spoke aloud. A cloud of smoke nearly blocked his entire face with those three words. While in a deeper, gravelly-tone, I almost melted at the heart-felt meaning. He only called me ‘boy’ when he was heart-broken, sappy, or proud. He took a drag from his cigar, and I noticed his arm adorned with an array of tattoos creating an unfinished sleeve. Another strange occurrence, as he was always a man who was against defiling the body with ink or metal. Still, his tattoo and shining septum-piercing that stood out in the contrast of his facial hair broke down those familiar barriers.

His facial hair, I remembered it as a shaggy black beard that completed his charming lumberjack facade. It was now trimmed and shaped into something smaller than I had ever witnessed his wear. Almost as shocking as his mop of raven hair was shaved to a uniform strip that followed it all the way back to his neck.

Before I could process any of it, I still knew it was my Dad. He was accepting of everything I did, so I shouldn’t jump to any judgments with his new style. Some guys just handle divorce differently.

I out-stretched my arms and approached, big smile gracing my face to combat the same stony expression he held since I entered from the front door. What was intended as a solid loving hug went horribly awry. He grabbed my chin as I was closing my arms around him and locked thick meaty lips onto my own. Before I could pull back, still somewhat trying to hug him, I felt the burning rush of tobacco smoke filling my insides. The thickness made me light-headed, and I could scarcely register his nicotine-lined tongue sliding inside.

With a rough push, he released me, and I stumbled back. My head played everything in slow-motion, and I could even see the slick trail of saliva between us before it vanished in distance.

“I said…I missed you, boy.” The same word I knew as an affectionate pet name rattled around in my head, and I felt another meaning creeping up behind it. That wasn’t pride, at least not the wholesome pride I knew to expect. That was ownership.

“D-dad…Why did you kiss- I mean, what was that f- how did..??” I couldn’t get the words out, not while he was looking at me like that. Not while that smoke poured from his nose and danced in the air between us. I had a feeling that my concern wouldn’t be met.

“You didn’t want a kiss from your old man?” That voice again, this time it sent shivers through me. Just as velvety as that smoke. What the fuck was going on??

“A kiss..? No, Dad..It’s okay…I missed you…”

That was it. That was all I could reply. I started rationalizing that a kiss was just as affectionate as a hug, if not more so. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. It was a natural thing, right? Guys kiss their girls like that all the time. The logic only barely concerned me, as I didn’t have time to realize I compared myself to a girlfriend, or using ‘girls’ as an objectified noun.

“I bet,” he said, swiftly stepping towards me and reaching a meaty weathered palm out to rub my abdomen. I heard the stomping of his boots, and looked down out of instinct. Not towards his suggestive advances on my body, but to the perfectly-shined leather and silver adorning his feet. Normally, those clompers were kept in the muddiest condition from his job. I hadn’t seen them this clean even when they were new.

My thoughts were interrupted by another, softer kiss. It was joined by a vibration that emanated from his throat. A cross between a growl and a moan, but I couldn’t tell the difference with that sweet baritone he addressed me in. Since this kiss was slower, more sensual, I had time to really taste him. It wasn’t the normal taste of a cigarette you’d detect on a smoker’s tongue. It was heady, spicy. A multitude of flavors danced on my palette. Mixed with the smell of an earthy cologne he seemed to be wearing, I was swimming in sensations.

I almost didn’t let my Father pull back from the kiss, keeping on his tongue with my lips until he was too far to hold. Out of instinct, my hand rested on his chest. Solid, as I imagined, and shaved clean to the skin.

“Yeah, not growing out that pelt anymore. Allen says I look better without it.” I hadn’t even asked the question, but I supposed he sensed my reluctance to the change. I always remembered the furry barreled-chest. One that you’d be happy to bury your nose in, and cuddle in, and- what the fuck was I even thinking…?

“I don’t know what’s going on, Dad…,” I said as I grabbed my head. It felt like my thoughts were splitting in two.

“You don’t? That was always like you, boy. Confused and helpless. Never understood why you ventured off on your own.”

What was that? It seemed a bit harsh in those words, and the mocking tone he took hit a sore spot deep down inside.

“Yeah, your face says it all. It’s fine, boy. Allen explained how some of us are just born to take orders. I’m the same way. That’s why your Mother was always in the picture. Big difference now is that I can GIVE the orders, too…,” the last sentence had a cocky tone to it, and my confusion only increased the way he was staring at me. “You want some orders, boy? You haven’t really moved since you got here. You already seem eager.”

“No, Dad, I’m just..I..,” COME ON! WHY CAN’T I FINISH A THOUGHT???

“You mean ‘Yes’, Jake,” he said matter-of-factly.

“N-no..I mean..yeah..maybe…,” it was still hurting, the throbbing in my head. I had trouble looking away from him. I had trouble thinking anything different than what he was suggesting.

“’Maybe’ isn’t good enough, is it, boy?” I blinked in response, and he leaned closer, “Is. It. Boy.”

“N-no, sir…”

I saw a smile grace his face for the first time, as if he had accomplished something great. He took another hit off his waiting cigar, and blew a thick plume into my face before speaking again, “Yeah, Allen said you’d need some training. Just like your old Daddy here.”

He turned his cigar around and put it in my lips. I’d smoked before, but never on anything like this. I could taste the signature of my Father’s saliva as the tip hit my tongue.

“Suck it deep.” I wasted no time, using my experience to inhale. I didn’t want to disappoint him, to fail him. It wasn’t a new feeling, just a classic one translated to these new phantom desires I felt arising in me. “Hold it.” That harsh tone again. I coughed inside, a small billow escaping my nose. Before I could see anything, I felt his hand push against my face and the back of my head hit the wall.

“I SAID HOLD IT, FUCKER!” I immediately broke out in a cold sweat from his harshness. That and the shortness of oxygen to my brain were really fucking with me. He closed in on my face again, slowly removing his hand and replaced it with his lips.

This was like the first kiss. Penetrating, harsh, wild. I took it as a sign to let go, and felt the burning deep inside release through my mouth. My Father sucked it in with an almost innocent eagerness. The permeating fog floated between us in short clouds each time an opening showed in our kiss. It was in this moment that I felt his hand brush over my jeans, and knock my erection.

My Dad pulled back and gripped tighter than I would have liked at the bulge in my jeans, “Yeah, fucking hard already. My boy likes it rough, huh?” I didn’t recall enjoying having my head slammed. I would have guessed that it was the kiss, or the sultry smoke, but he was telling me differently. As up to this point, I couldn’t argue with him. Before I could plead my case, I felt his fist land on my soft chest, knocking me back again into the wall. I grunted in pain, and felt his hand massaging my crotch once more. The combined sensations were confusing, of course. “Yeah, feels good to someone like you.”

What the fuck did he mean by that?? I tried to respond, but felt a slap around my face before a word could escape. His hand was thick, and he obviously wasn’t playing around. It definitely hurt. At the same time, I could still feel the other rough palm pressing into my dick.

“Still hard, and getting harder,” he declared. He kept up his efforts, hurting me in different ways while continuously massaging my manhood. I knew the smoke was slowing me down, making me hang on every word, and he was conditioning me to like everything he was doing. His taunting was pushing me closer to the edge, whether I wanted it or not. Even as he ripped my shirt open, and stroked the dusting of soft fur of my own, I knew he was getting through to me when I let out a desperate moan from him harshly twisted my nipple.

“Oh god, Dad!” I cried out involuntarily, and his smug expression only deepened. His grip loosened finally, and I heard the sound of my jeans-zipper lowering. I should have pushed him away, fought back in some form, but I was craving what might happen next. Like a cliff-hanger to a story, but with an expectedly VERY naughty ending.

This was my Father. That very fact made this all the more disgusting and wrong, which in the same aspect made it feel so much more fun. There was a thin line between Taboo and Fetish, and god-damn if he wasn’t eradicating it right now!

“You’re a leaker, boy. Makes me proud that you take after your Daddy…In more ways than one, obviously…,” I looked down to see my pole pushing a small opening in my briefs, and the front cloth was slimy and darkened from my own fluids. Two of his fingers pushed into the opening and played with my dickhead. My mouth opened in a boisterous moan. “Make some noise, you little shit!” He egged me on, and reached with his other hand to squeeze my clothed nuts.

“FUCK!” I pushed back against the wall, and squirted pre from my slit. I never though this pain could feel so GOOD. It was him, my Daddy. I knew he was telling me to like it, and I was obeying as he expected. It scared me at how much power he had over me, but I wasn’t about to tell him otherwise.

“Your Daddy here likes his balls stretched and squeezed. You do, too. Dontcha?” Another grip, another pleading moan from my lips. I looked down with blurry-eyes to his zippered crotch. He sensed what I was thinking, and opened the forbidden denim gate.

Just as his previous statement, I saw his sac stretched at least three-inches downward by metal rings. They looked red and swollen, but all I could think was how good they must have felt compared to his grip on mine.

I almost didn’t see what hung above it. A thickly-veined beast with a silver ring dangling under the head. A bit thicker than his septum-piercing, and dripping musky dick-slime. It DID look just like mine, but a tad larger in thickness. It was surreal, staring at what my cock might turn into in the future.

“It’s big, Daddy,” I stated, almost dumbly. Well, did I expect to make a philosophical statement on it?

“No shit, dumb-fuck.”

Dumb-fuck. I sure felt that way right now. I looked into his eyes, and he read my mind once again.

“Yeah, dumb fuckers like you that can’t think straight. Nothing straight about you. Even that curved pig-dick of yours.”

Pig dick?? Sure, I was dumb, but was he calling me fat now? That wasn’t very nice.

“Fat. Fucking. Pig Dick.” He grabbed my dick and shook it with force.

“Oink!” I snorted. I fucking SNORTED instead of moaning. I must have liked being a pig for my Daddy.

“Damn! For a dumb pig you sure learn quick. How about this?” He grabbed my nuts again, and I couldn’t help squeal out, “You’re nice and soft, especially your ass, piggy.”

“Daddy, you like my ass?” I was surprised by his comment, and felt a swelling of pride in me.

“Oh yeah. I loved it when you’d bend over and spread those fat round cheeks for me. That fur, the musk- makes me want to eat you out. One hungry pig for another.”

I snorted, shooting out more pre as his suggestion hit home again. Why was I enjoying this so much? Why was I trying to overthink everything? Pigs don’t think that much. I felt a rumbling in my tummy as I considered the word ‘hungry’. I was, very much so. “I’m hungry, Daddy…”

“Yeah you are, pig. What do pigs like us eat?”

“We…we eat…,” I replied dumbly, having trouble with the question. The obvious answer was in his previous statement, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Spit it the fuck out, pig. What do hungry, nasty, horny pigs like us eat?”

“WE EAT ASS,” I said aloud, pushing the statement from my lips. Admitting it was like a flood-gate opening with new nasty thoughts permeating every corner of my mind.

“Yeah we do. We eat ass, and cum, and sweat, and piss.”

PISS? The thought a few minutes ago, that would have made me ill, but if I was growing used to the thought of my Daddy’s musky ass crack, then what harm was getting a drink from his dick? “We..we eat piss?”

“We drink it, dumb-fuck. We drink that stale liquid gold and our thirst is never sated.”

My mouth felt so dry as I listened to Daddy sir speak. I still felt hungry, too.

“Piggy looks like he wants something,” was his reply to my sudden obvious fidgeting. Without a warning, he dropped what remained of his jeans and turned around. I thought he was wearing underwear, seeing his dick just hanging out, but I realized he was wearing a very tattered pair of briefs. They were stained and darkened from constant wear. I could smell the stench wafting from the material. It only made me hungrier.

The back of the material had multiple holes, mostly small, but I could see the outline of his sweaty crack. The line was accented with the roundness of his fit ass from years of hiking and squats.

“Here’s some beef for my piggy. Better dig in before it gets cold.”

I didn’t need any more urging, and I dove forward, landing on my knees, and my face was buried in that dingy cloth. I still gagged, and tried mentally to pull away with no avail. It was so rank, so foul that I was buried in my own Father’s ass. My Father…Dad…Daddy. Daddy’s ass. I was tongue deep in my Daddy’s ass. I was hungry and needed more. I pushed the tip of my tongue into several of the holes, tasting salty flesh underneath.

“I don’t need my underwear cleaned you fucking nasty son of a bitch! Open that up!” I wasted no time in following what he wanted, grabbing a hole with two fingers and ripping it wide. While his chest was clean-shaven, his ass was untouched. It looked so fucking GOOD!

I snorted, and moaned, mashing my lips deep into his almost cavernous crack. The plump flesh left so much to hold onto, to clean, to worship. The buds on my tongue scraped and dove deeper with each thrust, until I hit the waiting pucker. I heard my Daddy let out a piggy-snort of his own, and he pushed back without any more urging. The tip of my tongue penetrated, the flesh inside was even muskier. I felt him clench around the invasion, my hands holding his thighs tight and pulling him into me. It felt like an actual meal, as I drank his sweat and suckled on his ass I felt the hunger-pains weakening.

“FUCK! *Snort*,” he rocked on his feet before falling to his knees. I clamored to follow his movements, only coming loose from his ass for a moment before pushing back in with greater force. On his hands and knees, Daddy called me degrading names, and kept telling me how insatiable my hunger would be. “What the fuck do pigs eat, bitch??”

I pulled out of his ass and moaned “Ass!” and fell right back into it.

“Yeah, we eat ass. We can lick and chew tight beefy backsides until our Sirs cum all over us. What do PIGS eat?”

“We eat ass, and cum!” I called out, proud of remembering the next one.

“WHAT ELSE DO WE EAT, PIG??”

“SWEAT, SIR!” Upon that reminder, I licked straight up his crack to gather the stale sweat, and even lowered myself to lick deep between his thigh and stretched balls.

“*SNORT* WHAT DO WE DRINK, YOU SICK FUCK?”

“We- *snort!* We drink piss, SIR!”

At that, Daddy flipped onto his back, legs spread wide and I finally had a clear view of his swimming pucker. It was drenched in my saliva, and I had the urge to suck it all up. That is, until Daddy pointed his dick at me.

“I hope your thirsty, pig!”

I tried to reach it in time, my mouth wide and ready to take his rod deep to drain him of every drop. I was too late when the stream hit my face. It ran down my cheeks, my lips, and I tried my best to get it into my mouth. The taste was explosive. So much better than the salty perspiration. He raised his aim, soaking my forehead and then my hair, watching it stream down my chest and fall from my belly to form puddle below me. As the stream began to slow, I stayed put, smacking my lips and drinking what I caught on my tongue. Daddy watched me with pride.

“There’s a happy pig…” He patted his ass, urging me to continue, and I dove back into it with fervor, drinking left-over sweat, piss, and my own saliva. It was only when Daddy pulled away and got back onto his knees that I could stop, and in his position he grabbed my face and mashed it into his.

Another loving, primitive kiss. This time, he was tasting himself. He was enjoying his own musk, and snorting between breaths as he enjoyed the treat as a good piggy should. My Daddy lead such an amazing example. Pigs like me, we learn from the best!