Wade waited until night to emerge from his apartment. Part of him knew he should try and keep from looking too conspicuous, but that proved easier said than done, with his limited wardrobe. He ended up stuffing his balls into some bulging rubber shorts and paired them with thigh high rubber waders. He couldn’t find anything that would cover up his leaking nipples–everything was either a harness, or had holes cut for them to pop free through, and the more tops he tried on, the more he enjoyed the look. He ended up picking out a rubber tank cut so narrow that his nipples were revealed through the wide cut arm holes, and last he grabbed a rubber hood. If those two uniformed guys he’d stolen the gun from were still looking for him, at least they wouldn’t be able to get a good look at him.
He hit the streets, and immediately regretted emerging this early in the evening. It was a Saturday night, and while seeing people in strange fetish garb wasn’t that odd in this neighborhood, it was clear from the stares that if his goal was to avoid attention he was going to have to give up on that. He had the gun in a small backpack he had over his shoulder, and even though he didn’t know what the settings did (and even though he liked his body) he also couldn’t deny the temptation to duck into an alley and try and become something more normal. Of course, the other question was whether the gun was even capable of making someone normal again–for some reason, he kind of doubted that it even could. Still, he’d find out soon enough–if he was going to figure this thing out, he’d have to find someone to experiment on.
It was pretty clear at this point that the settings didn’t have anything to do with their literal letters–but that just made things even harder to figure out. Setting D, he was pretty sure, had simply amplified his existing fetishes, making them stronger and warping his life around them further. The only other setting he’d seen was B–but he hadn’t seen enough to know for certain what it’s rules might be. So he wandered the streets for a half an hour, looking around for someone he might be able to use as a test subject. He needed someone alone, away from large groups of people. Finally, he caught sight of someone he might be able to use–a young, somewhat drunk guy slipping into an alley, no one else with him, and Wade slipped after him, pulling the gun from the backpack. The question, then, was what setting to use–might as well try something new, he figured, and rotated the dial to setting A, crept closer to where the guy was pissing against the side of a dumpster, and fired.
The light from the gun was…prismatic. It struck the young man, coating him for a few minutes, and becoming opaque–when it dissipated a moment later, the guy was still there, but…well, instead of the casual straight cug chic he’d been wearing, he was clad head to toe in well worn denim gear. Instead of pissing on the dumpster like before, now he was pissing into a plastic cup, licking his lips, and while Wade watched, he took the full cup and drank the entire thing down in a few gulps, stroking his hardening cock as he did, before looking over his shoulder and seeing Wade standing there. He looked surprised, sure, but he also looked, eager. “What, you got a load for me?”
The young man turned around, and Wade could see that his gear was soaked down the front–it even looked like he’d pissed himself at some point, a patch of wet running down one leg of his jeans. Had the gun sensed the guy pissing and turned him into a piss freak? He hadn’t been thinking about piss…beyond thinking about the guy pissing. Had it taken it’s cue from his own thoughts? Any one of those ideas seemed reasonable, but it was hard to know with any certainty from a single example. Still…he did need to take a piss. And the guy did look hopeful and more than a little eager.
The young man got on his knees and Wade walked over, pulling his tiny, yet engorged cock from his rubber shorts and unloading his bladder across the man’s face. More had changed about him that just the clothes and the piss fetish–he didn’t look older exactly, but he did look…nastier. Like he’d spent less time in bars and more time in alleys like this, getting pissed on. No, if anything, he looked like the alley suited him. Like he belonged here, like he had changed to match the place, more than anything else. If he was asleep here, Wade doubted he would have even noticed him, the grey denim disguising itself against the concrete. He finished pissing, and the guy licked the piss from his mustache. “I’ll suck that cock too–twenty five bucks.”
Wade didn’t have any cash, and he told him that. The guy seemed disappointed, but whether it was because he wouldn’t be getting any money, or because he was also thirsty for cum and was sad he wouldn’t get any without undermining his own business, Wade didn’t know for sure. Either way, it was obvious that their interaction had completed, and Wade started retreating to the opening of the alley–his target didn’t move, just stayed witting against the dumpster, making no effort to leave, like he belonged there. This didn’t seem…good. Maybe Wade couldn’t make things normal again with the gun, but he could try to make them different. Someone more helpful, someone he could bring home with him, to keep testing the gun on, but what setting? He went with his gut, twisted the knob on the gun to setting B, and fired at the young man one more time.
Bracken's Corner 