Brandon McNair was browsing through his various furry porn sites, swapping over to check on his favorite artist’s Patreons. He sighed. Mid month, they’d already blown their load (pun intended) on the first day, usually with only a few sketches they’d done. Brandon found himself growing more and more disappointed with his Patrons. They’d ask for suggestions, he’d offer a few…and they never picked them. Six months, he’d been paying them, and for what? Another sketch that was clearly a commission, so basically he was getting someone else’s sloppy seconds?
He was an IT guy and made good money, sure, was it really worth $200 a month on art he didn’t care about? Sure, a few months so far had one or two had drawings he liked, but should he really be paying for that paltry amount of jerk-off material? He could just spend $200 on a real commission. Eh, maybe it was the principal of the thing. They’d all asked for ideas, all ten of his Patrons, and not one had ever used one of his.
:
Brandon checked the pricing for commissions on one of the artist’s accounts. $250. He snorted. Being a furry was a poor choice of a hobby for a poor man. Thankfully, he did have that much…but, again, why spend it on just one sketch? Gosh, it was so irritating!
He finally made the decision not to cancel. Yet. He clicked off of Patreon and went to browse some forums. There was an alert on one of them: the TF media one. With a sigh, he clicked it. Would it be another werewolf TF from a horror movie, or some stupid commercial that was too cringe to jerk off too?
To his surprise, it was a video. A hot video. A hot video purportedly of a chubby nerd turning into a German Shepherd, sucking himself to completion. It was shot in HD and professionally edited, like a proper porno, too. Brandon jerked himself to it, enjoying the panicked look in the guy's eyes as he realized he was becoming a dog. The man's eyes dimmed near the end when his mind had transformed into a fully feral canine - a nice touch!
After wiping himself off with an old shirt, he browsed the rest of the messages on the post. A new user by the name of TrojanHorse had posted it, and he was making waves. TrojanHorse commented that it was a genuine, authentic, real-life TF. There were a hundred comments on the video from users debating what they had seen.
Some of them were saying it was clearly fake, others that it was some advanced AI Deepfake. The poster insisted it was real, though. No one believed him, though a few applauded him for his editing skills, wanting to know if they could do commissions for their own TFs.
TrojanHorse responded by saying that if they didn’t believe him, they could swing by his place. He was giving away free TFs to anyone who messaged him for an appointment. Frowning, Brandon went back to the video, this time watching it with a clear eye, unclouded by lust. He put on his reading glasses and perched them on his nose as he went through the video, second by second, trying to find the CGI. He couldn’t.
This was impossible. The kid’s very detailed short film had better special effects than any Marvel movie.
Brandon wasn’t sure if he believed TrojanHorse, but he eagerly messaged him anyways, telling him he was interested. TrojanHorse responded within an hour, saying that he was happy to meet him and could host if he wanted to stay over. Then, he listed his address. Brandon’s heart pounded. Forest Grove, California, a small city by the Redwood National Park, close to farms and ranches, the town stretched out along a big river. He couldn’t believe his luck! He was working at a software firm just outside San Francisco. The dude was, like, an hour or two away.
But as it turned out, he would likely need to stay over night. TrojanHorse said he didn’t mind. His couch was free, apparently. Brandon wasn’t so sure if he was interested in a hook-up, and said as much. TrojanHorse sent him a laughing emoji and told him it was about editing. Brandon sighed in relief and messaged him he’d be over tonight.
The IT guy hauled himself to his feet, feeling his fifty years, and waddled over to his bathroom. He wasn’t sure if they’d hit it off; he’d been rather handsome before the years of office work had taken their toll on him, but he wanted to look presentable. Twenty minutes later, he toweled off and got in his Chevy Scion and took off, keying the address into his GPS.