The yard

by Now Voyager   

When Simon returns to the local leather bar to retrieve his wallet, he gets more than he bargained for.

Hello Simon. I bartend here at the Yard and I found your wallet. It can be picked up anytime the bar is open. Just ask for Gage.

Simon breathed a sigh of relief and tossed his phone onto the couch. He had almost missed the Facebook message, received sometime in the small hours of the morning, in his frantic rush to cancel his credit cards and freeze his bank accounts. It was only through force of habit that his thumb happened to brush the Messenger app after the third time trying to get through to his bank, and shining at the top of his unseen messages was the answer to his prayers.

He hadn’t even noticed his wallet was missing until he had woken up this morning and gone to fish it out of his pants pocket. While he groped around for it, Simon had desperately tried to recall the events of the evening, but his memories were a bit hazy after the tequila shot he had taken with his friends. Somehow, his wallet must have slipped out of his pocket—probably during all the dancing, honestly—and someone must have picked it up and turned it into the bar. Thank goodness for people.

Running one hand through his curly brown hair, Simon slid onto the couch next to his phone and picked it up again. His frenzied morning had left him exhausted, and he almost wanted to take a nap before going to pick up his wallet, but he supposed responsibility dictated that he get this entire ordeal over with as soon as possible.

Thank you so much! Simon typed back, deciding against adding the almost-obligatory smiley face to the message. Better to keep it professional—he didn’t want to send any weird signals. I really appreciate it. I’ll be there in about an hour to pick it up.

He didn’t have to wait long for the reply—the bartender responded almost immediately.

Looking forward to it.

It was kind of a weird response, but whatever. Simon stood up and stretched, slipping the phone into his jeans pocket and grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. The bar wasn’t terribly far away—if he could coordinate his bus times just right, he might make it in less than a half hour. No need to even let his still-sleeping boyfriend or roommates that he would be gone.

Simon pulled the wire on the bus to let the driver know his stop was coming up. He barely remembered this part of the city—last night, the group of friends had shared a few rounds of shots before even heading out to the bars—but according to his phone, it would be just on the corner here.

As the bus slid to a stop, Simon slipped his phone back into his pocket. He had missed the second bus, so the trip had taken a bit longer than expected, but he didn’t mind—it had given him plenty of time to Facebook stalk the bartender who sent him the message.

He didn’t really remember Gage from the night before, but that wasn’t surprising, as the bar had been packed, and the bartenders were moving too quickly to pay much attention to any single customer. Still, he wanted to be able to recognize the bartender when he walked into the bar, and Simon never needed much of an excuse to stare at photos of hot men.

And hot this guy was, Simon thought, suppressing a smile. Gage was older than him, by quite a bit—he looked to be in his late thirties, by his most recent profile picture, but the nose ring and trendy haircut gave him the air of a younger man. And it didn’t hurt that he was, for lack of a better word, ripped—the man seemed to wear muscle shirts almost exclusively, which he liked to cover under a leather jacket that would have been fit for a biker.

Simon had never been with any daddy types before, and to tell the truth, even the word “daddy” made his skin crawl. But words were just that—words—and they didn’t obscure the fact that Gage was capital-H Hot.

The entrance to the bar was just where the map had said it would be, and seeing it brought a flood of memories back to Simon. He hadn’t remembered the trip to the area, but the bar itself stood out in sharp relief to the otherwise hazy events of the night. In fact, he would have been hard-pressed to forget it, the walls plastered with Tom of Finland artwork, photographs of men learning that they were really boys, and paintings of enormous (and strangely arousing, if Simon were being honest with himself) dicks.

Simon tore his eyes from the mural painted on the exposed brick of the bar’s outside (two men—no, boys—on their knees in front of a leather-clad man smoking a massive, very euphemistic cigar) and smiled at the bouncer, who sat watching a football game on his phone.

“Hey, I, uh—”

“Go on in,” the bouncer said in a bored monotone, waving his hand carelessly. “Your wallet’s in the drunk bin—ask Gage and he’ll show you.”

Simon laughed nervously, but the bouncer didn’t raise his eyes from the game. “Uh, thanks, man—appreciate it.”

For some reason, that got the guy’s attention. Slowly, with a massive sigh, he lifted his head and looked Simon in the eye. “Sir.”

“What?”

“It’s Sir, not man. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“Oh, s-sorry,” Simon stammered, suppressing a nervous laugh. He had the feeling this guy wasn’t kidding—and he really should have known better, at a bar like this. The bouncer sighed and lowered his eyes to his phone again, waving Simon inside. Before he could make another mistake, he slipped through the heavy black curtain that hung over the door.

Visiting the Yard had been Simon’s idea in the first place. Neither he nor his boyfriend frequented leather bars, and of the guys in his friend group, only one had been to this particular bar before. Still, Simon only had a few months left in the city before he had to leave for his new job, and he wanted to make the most of his time while he still could. Leather bars had been on his bucket list, and the Yard seemed like a perfect candidate.

It hadn’t disappointed either. The bar looked tiny from the outside, but the high ceilings in the main area made the smallish space feel much larger than it was, and the room opened to a patio with a raised dance floor in the middle of it, where Simon and his friends had ended the night burning through their last tequila shot.

Simon blinked stupidly as his eyes attempted to adjust from the bright sunlight outside to the dimly-lit interior of the main room. When they had, he found himself glancing covertly around the bar, taking in his surroundings. Simon was mildly surprised by how busy the Yard was—it certainly wasn’t full, but there were more men scattered throughout it than he would have guessed, given that it was only 10:30 in the morning.

As he looked, he noticed that the crowd was much more diverse than he had anticipated. Given the Yard’s reputation and the crowd he had seen last night, Simon had expected the people that were there to be a distinctly homogenous crowd—older men, probably, perhaps thickly muscled, and certainly all in leather. Yet the crowd milling around the bar, most seated at tables, chatting idly with their friends, and drinking what looked like mimosas, ranged from what looked like men in their early twenties to one man in the back who was almost certainly sixty—though a good-looking, very fit sixty, Simon thought. And while several of them were certainly in leather, it was hardly a majority of the crowd.

He felt himself relax as he walked through the bar, scanning the crowd for Gage. It wasn’t long before Simon found him—the bartender stood nearly a head taller than most of the other men in the room, and wore an outfit strikingly similar to the one he had worn last night. Grinning nervously, Simon approached the bar, and cleared his throat.

“Ah, hey there,” he said, trying to act casual. Gage was stunning—very tall, broad-shouldered, with pecs that strained against his thin shirt, black studs in his lobes, and tattoos that scrawled up both of his arms.

“Can I help you?” Gage drawled in a surprising Southern accent, and looked up. His expression changed when he met Simon’s eyes, and he grinned back suddenly. “Oh, good to see you. You’re the one who lost his wallet.”

“Yep, that’s sure me,” Simon said, instantly wondering what had made him choose those idiotic words. “I mean, yeah. Thanks for finding it.”

“It’s no problem,” Gage said, before winking at Simon. “Boy.”

Simon felt himself flush, the heat rising in his cheeks and crawling up the back of his neck. He attempted a nervous laugh and shrugged. “Still, it means a lot. I was super worried before I got your message.”

Gage smiled again and nodded his head toward the door to the patio. “The drunk bin’s out there. We put all the lost stuff in it, but it’s almost always stuff guys lose when they get sloppy drunk, so that’s what it’s called. You’ll see the sign.”

Simon smiled again. “Sounds good—thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing,” Gage said, raising his eyebrows. “See you again soon, boy.”

Another blush crept up Simon’s neck and he turned away quickly, before Gage could see it. The door to the patio was already propped open, and he stepped out into the bright sunlight, squinting for a moment as his eyes readjusted to the light. Sure enough, he did see the sign—it was hard to miss, written in neon pink letters screaming DRUNK BIN, with a massive arrow shaped like a dick pointing right toward... Simon sighed. Right toward the stage.

He could see the drunk bin now. It was little more than a small wooden crate that had probably once held some kind of booze bottles, perched atop a short metal stool. Someone had decided to put the whole contraption on the edge of the stage, so whoever wanted to retrieve their stuff—in Simon’s case, the wallet—had to climb up onto the stage in front of everyone.

At least the bar wasn’t that busy, Simon reasoned, looking around the patio. It was even more sparsely populated than the inside of the bar, and only a few tables were even being used. Most of the men on the patio were leaning against the walls, sipping mimosas and telling what were probably wild stories about their nights. They wouldn’t even notice Simon.

At least, that’s what he told himself. As he crossed the patio, making a beeline for the stage, a couple of the men started clapping and chanting. Simon blushed again and walked faster. The chant was catching on, and it had become quite clear that this was part of the Saturday morning ritual—watching guys who had gotten a bit too drunk the night before come in and reclaim their lost items.

“Drunk bin! Drunk bin! Drunk bin!”

Still, it would all be over soon. Simon reached the stage and climbed the four stairs leading to its top and leaned over the wooden crate, sifting around in the mess of phones, iPods, headphones, and a few other wallets to find his own, sandwiched right between a red Android phone and what looked like a pair of boxer briefs. Gingerly, he extracted his wallet from the briefs and turned around.

The patio was much busier than it had been when he started his walk. The chanting had brought more men wandering out of the bar’s interior, and now at least thirty men stood or sat around the patio, grinning at Simon and chanting. He gave a valiant attempt to smile back and suddenly noticed Gage leaning in the door to the bar. The tall bartender caught his eye and grinned, then raised his hands to his face and cupped them, like a megaphone.

“BOY!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the patio. Simon ducked his head in embarrassment and moved to the edge of the stage, but as he took the first step, a wave of dizziness hit him and he slowed. The patio swam in front of his eyes, and he stood, swaying, trying to catch his balance. He could barely make out Gage, crossing the patio and climbing the stairs two at a time, until he stood behind Simon, the bartender’s powerful pecs brushing against his back.

Simon took a deep breath and steadied himself as his vision cleared. He felt Gage lean down and felt his stubble brush against his right ear as the man whispered to him.

“You’re a dumb pig, boy.”

“I... wh-what?” Simon stammered. This was getting weird. “I—I need to go.”

“I said, you’re a dumb pig, boy.” This time, Gage reached around and locked his arms around Simon’s chest. The men around the patio had stopped chanting and were now watching in silent, rapt fascination. Simon was suddenly struck with a terrible feeling. This wasn’t right.

“No, no,” he heard Gage whisper again. “This is absolutely right. You came to see what this place was like, and now you belong here. After all, what other bar would keep a pig like you?”

At the word pig, Simon felt Gage’s fingers brush hard up against his face, pulling his nose up in a mock pig-nose.

“Hey, stop!” he said, now angry, but the bartender’s right arm was still wrapped around his chest, keeping him in place.

“I’m not doing anything,” Gage said, his voice powerful, and somehow deeper than before. “I’m just showing you what you really are.”

He let go of Simon’s nose, and the men on the patio suddenly burst out whooping. Shouts of “pig!” and “swine!” bounced across the patio, and Simon suddenly realized that he could still see his nose in his field of vision.

“Wh... wha...” he gasped, trying to reach up to feel it, but held in place by Gage.

“That’s right. You’ve got yourself a stupid pig nose,” the bartender said, chuckling. Simon realized suddenly he could feel the man’s massive erection pressing against him, pulsing with excitement... and power. “A stupid pig nose for a stupid pig boy.”

“Th-this can’t be real!” Simon said, finding his voice. He had to get out of here. Perhaps they had drugged him, or somehow hypnotized him after he entered the bar. If he could get away from Gage, he could make his way out front and call for help.

“It’s real,” Gage rumbled in his ear, and Simon felt one of his hands suddenly snaking down his back, pinching at the base of his spine. As he struggled to escape the bartender’s powerful grasp, Simon felt Gage shift slightly, shuffling so that the two of them were fully facing the crowd. Simon stared out, humiliated and terrified, and caught a glimpse of himself in a large mirror on the wall just behind the crowd.

He didn’t look the way he should, Simon realized with a surge of horror—and somehow, strange arousal. There was something wrong with his face. His upturned nose obscured his vision slightly, but Simon could still make out the vision in the mirror. He looked small and weak, wrapped in Gage’s powerful arms, but that wasn’t what held Simon’s attention. He couldn’t stop staring at his face—or what was predominantly his face, obscured by the large, ridiculous pig nose protruding from it.

Gage laughed above him, his chest heaving with the chuckle. Simon felt the massive bulge pressed against his back flex, and suddenly the bartender’s lips were at his ear again, whispering. “But a stupid nose does not a pig make. That honor would belong to...”

Simon gasped suddenly as he felt Gage pinch and pull at the skin an inch or two below his beltline. It felt almost like he was unraveling something, pulling and tugging on something that shouldn’t be there in the first place. He could feel the man’s thumb brushing against the tip, letting it spring back and forth...

“The tail,” Gage finished, spinning Simon around and yanking his shirt up and pants down to expose him. The men in the crowd yelled in satisfaction and Simon squeezed his eyes shut, his face buried in Gage’s massive chest, sure at this point that he was dreaming. He could still feel the bartender’s massive cock pressing against him, and his own cock was harder than he could ever remember it being.

Simon could feel the cool morning air on his exposed backside, and as it brushed across what he now knew to be his—his tail, he shivered and barely suppressed a squeal. What was happening to him?

Gage leaned down again and whispered in Simon’s ear, barely audible over the cheering and whooping of the men. “That’s a good boy. You like this, I can tell.” Gage’s hand fell from Simon’s... god, from his curly tail, and slowly, almost seductively, trailed around his side to slip between the two men. Simon felt Gage’s hand tighten around his cock, and he inhaled sharply.

“P-please,” he stammered, taking deep breaths and trying to stay calm. “I h-have a boyfriend. Let me go.”

“You don’t really want that,” Gage said, his hand tightening and moving rhythmically now, Simon’s face still pressed into his powerful chest. “Pig boys don’t want to go, do they? They want to serve.”

“I—I don’t want…” Simon struggled to protest, to tell Gage that this was all wrong, that he didn’t want to serve, that he wasn’t a freaking pig… but the taller man’s hand moved faster on his cock, slipping it free of its confines, brushing his thumb over the tip…

“You do,” he whispered in Simon’s ear. “You’re a pig boy, and you want to serve.”

“I’m... I...” Simon fought to form words, but his mind felt strangely empty, muddled by the bartender’s deep, rumbling voice. He nodded dumbly, all these thoughts coming oddly thick and slow, and a grin spread across Gage’s face.

“We’ve got another pig to use!” he called out. The men around the patio were all laser-focused on the scene on stage, and the patio was absolutely silent, aside from Simon’s moans and occasional whimper when Gage would brush his thumb across the head of his wet cock.

Gage leaned his head down again, so his lips were brushing against Simon’s ears. “Now, I want you to get on your knees and serve me, like a pig boy should.”

Slowly, Simon sunk to his knees, his cock rock-hard and dripping in front of him, and Gage unbuckled his belt. Simon stared at the bulge in front of him, only dimly aware that he was looking at it over a pig snout that shouldn’t be there, that the men all around him were staring at his stupid, bouncing tail and his ass, which was now slowly expanding, filling out, getting rounder, firmer, and much, much bigger.

Gage slipped one hand into his pants and laced the fingers of his other through Simon’s hair. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? A good pig boy.” Simon nodded.

Suddenly, Gage looked up. “Going somewhere?” he asked, a heart-stopping smile spreading across his face.

Across the patio, a man froze, halfway to the door leading into the bar. He was in his mid-twenties, well-dressed, and was holding his coat and bag. He paled, and backed toward the door, shaking his head furiously.

“I didn’t mean… that wasn’t… I just h-have to…” He gulped and took another step toward the door.

“First time here, I take it?” Gage called across the patio. The man nodded, and Gage smiled again. “Oh, you’re not sure about what you’re seeing. Sometimes the new boys aren’t. But calm down—I want you to enjoy this.”

An obvious bulge formed in the front of the man’s skinny jeans. He stared down, dumbfounded, and looked back up at Gage, fear—and arousal—apparent in his eyes. “H-how is this even possible?”

“On your knees,” Gage said, and the man fell to one knee. His face furrowed and he stared up at the stage, clearly fighting.

“Don’t do this!” he cried, somehow managing to clamber to his feet again. Abandoning all pretense, he dropped his things and turned to run toward the door.

“ASS!” Gage yelled, his voice echoing around the patio once more. The man took another step toward the door and stumbled, catching himself on his hands and knees. As the crowd watched, the man’s ass swelled larger and larger, tearing through his already-tight pants. He cried out, more in fear than in pain, as the base of his spine began to lengthen and stretch, pulling out from his body like ropey taffy.

“I said I want you to enjoy this,” Gage repeated, and the man gasped. What remained of his tattered pants fell away from his body as his cock began to swell, pumping full of blood, hardening to its limit—and then continuing to grow, impossibly, until it was far too large to be real. His balls grew with it, and as they swelled, they forced his legs apart, until they were nearly the size of bowling balls, hanging between his legs, which spread for all the bar to see. Above his now-massive ass and balls, a long, ropey tail lashed, ending in a tassel of dark hair.

“That’s better.” The man was panting now with lust and arousal, though he still managed to crawl another few paces toward the door. With every movement, his body continued to change. His ears stretched upward, growing longer, thinner, and the hair from his head raced upward to cover them in dark brown fur. His fingers began to ache and his hands hardened, blackened, and flowed together into shiny new hooves.

“H-help me!” he cried, staring around at the men watching him. Many had their cocks out, and two were filming him on their phones. “I need hAWWW!”

“You need to feel good,” Gage said, and returned his attention to Simon. The man, only a few feet from the door at this point, gasped one more time and his eyes glazed over with lust. Panting, groaning, he rolled on his side and tried helplessly to jerk his now-massive cock, dripping and throbbing with need, with his hooves. Several of the men nearest to him looked to Gage, saw that he was occupied with Simon, and gleefully moved toward the donkeyboy on the floor, pulling their cocks out.

“Now for you, boy,” Gage said, running his hands through Simon’s hair again. Simon looked up at him, his mind still floating in a thick haze, and grinned. “What should I do?” he asked, his hands wrapped around his iron-hard cock.

Gage frowned. “Call me Sir when you talk to me, boy.”

Simon shook his head. That sounded so familiar. Where had he heard that before? It had been… the bouncer, just earlier… His memories came trickling back, a few at a time, and he began to rise out of the haze he had been in. Why was he on stage? What was that in front of his face?

In an instant, everything flooded back, and Simon tried to scramble to his feet, shouting in surprise. Quickly, Gage pushed Simon back to his knees, and grabbed his ears and yanked.

“Oooiiink!” Simon squealed, clapping his hands over his mouth. He could feel his ears, strangely distended and stretched on the sides of his head, catching the air as he looked back and forth, trying to get a glimpse of them.

“Pig ears,” Gage said with a dazzling smile, looking down at Simon. “That’s what you get for fighting. Now, suck.”

He wrapped a hand around the back of Simon’s head and pulled his massive cock out with the other. It was huge, at least ten inches in length, and Simon found himself unable to tear his gaze away. Fight, he thought. Fight it. But the longer he stared, the more he found himself wanting, no, needing to suck that cock, to feel its weight in his mouth, to play with it, touch it, serve it…

His thoughts drained away again as he stared, and Gage’s soothing voice drifted over him. “Just a dumb pig boy, aren’t you? Why don’t you go ahead and do what you’re meant to do, boy?”

The words washed over Simon, filling his mind, and soon they were all he could hear, all he could concentrate on, besides the huge cock that filled his vision. He was just a dumb pig boy, after all—what else was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, he realized, the cock was in his mouth, pushing deep into his throat, and he was pumping, licking, sucking, bobbing his head, one hand wrapped around it, the other wrapped around his, moving across the slick skin, focusing only on his need, his desire, his purpose for living.

He heard Gage shout from somewhere above him and he felt his Sir cum, filling his mouth. Simon sucked eagerly, knowing that this was his purpose, what he was meant to do—he wanted to be a good pig boy, didn’t he? As he sucked, he felt Gage’s hands run through his hair, playing with his stretched ears, thumbing his stupid nose, and he came, shooting up, all over his chest, all over the stage.

Slowly at first, like rising through heavy water, Simon felt his mind rising up through and out of the thick haze again. He was still panting, his heart hammering from the intensity of the orgasm, but now he was acutely aware of his position on the stage, of his exposed cock and ass, and of his—his tail, pig nose, and ears. He stared up at Gage, suddenly horrified.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Gage rumbled, looking down over his pecs. “I’ll let you go. You’re going to go back to normal—for a time. But you need to come back, and soon. Every day you go without tasting me another part of you will go back to the pig boy that you are now.”

Simon nodded, afraid to speak, afraid that the stunning bartender might change his mind.

“Get outta here,” Gage said, stepping back and smiling again. Simon felt his heart beat a little faster and he turned and rushed down the stairs, trying to pull his pants up from his knees as he moved. On his dash out the door, he barely noticed the donkeyboy on the ground just a few paces away, or the men surrounding him jerking their cocks furiously. He had to get home before anyone noticed he was gone.

It wasn’t until after Simon was outside the bar and halfway down the road that he realized he had left his wallet in the bar.

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