Where was he? What was he? It was hot, sweltering, wherever he was, and as uncomfortable as it was, it also felt…pleasant, in other ways. It was dark, wherever and whatever he was. Dark, and he’d sweat so much, it felt like he was surrounded by some liquid too thick and oily to be water. For a long time, he’d been too weak to fight, too weak to resist whatever he was in, but now, he’d started to feel…a kind of life returning to his body. He would press against the thing encasing him, feel it resist, and he’d relax again, building strength, drawing in the heat suffusing him, letting it fill him up, and when he was full enough, he’d be able to be free again. He’d be free…and he’d be…someone, or something, but he’d be free.
Few people had noticed the strange, black cocoon stuck to the floor of the alley, not even when they were fucking one another five feet away behind the dumpsters deeper in the alley. Most who did notice it just thought it was some kink artifact, but rarely touched it. Just…seeing it was enough to make them feel strange–horny, but also terrified in some deep mortal sense, and usually they would retreat down the alley, hungry for a fuck to remind them that they were alive, that they were still human. A few braver ones would touch it, feel it’s heat touch some darkness inside them, odd, disturbing thoughts occurring to them suddenly, which they found themselves unable to resist fulfilling–craving the sensation of a fist pummelling their guts, a sudden hunger for shit and piss, the need to feel as much pain as they might experience without passing out or dying. In any case, the cocoon remained undisturbed into the evening, until it began twitching and wiggling every few minutes. The activity increased, and became more violent until it was clear that someone was inside the cocoon, and that they were desperately trying to escape it. The skin of the shell had handened and turned brittle, allowing, at last, a fist to burst through, two hands coated in some black, oily goo ripping at the hole, enlarging it, until a head burst forth gasping for air.
Beau fought his way forth, coughing and gagging up the filth he’d swallowed, which had settled into his lungs, which rasped with each breath. The goo hardened once it touched air, and he began scraping it off his body–first in latex like sheets, and then flakes, and then like brittle sugarwork dusting his skin. As he did, he began to realize that the body he was in was not quite the same as the one he’d had earlier–it seemed so long ago, now that he had a moment to think about it, but…what had he looked like, exactly? Older. A bit of a potbelly which had earned him a good amount of ribbing from other…guys on the force. He could see them, he could remember them, but it felt once removed. Like the memories weren’t really his, but somehow leftovers. Like a movie he’d found abandoned in an old VCR at a stranger’s home. It wasn’t…him. It wasn’t him, but that didn’t mean he knew who he was.
What was he? He seemed to be human, still. Two legs, two arms, toes and fingers. Hairier than before. More muscular than before. Younger than before? That seemed…difficult to pin down. Thinking about time, it felt like a part of him stretched back…further than he could even comprehend. Time was relative. Time was infinite. He was impossibly young and also eternal. H tried not to think about it, he tried not to think about any of it. Don’t think about who you are–what do you want, he asked himself.
Want. That was simpler. Immediate. He wanted pleasure. He wanted…he wanted sex. He wanted men. He could smell them, all around him in the night, the musk, the smoke, the cum, the piss. He was about to go out and find someone–anyone–to distract him from his terror, when two figures rounded the corner. One was familiar, and the other…he didn’t know how to describe the other at all. It wasn’t…human, was it? It looked like someone who had had grown so fat, his limbs so weak, it had simply become a blob dragging itself over the ground. “Out already? I thought you’d need a bit more time to develop, but you turned out…beautifully, son.”
Son? This person was…his father? As far as age was concerned, it seemed impossible, but time no longer seemed…stable. More importantly, he knew him. He wanted him, wanted to serve him, wanted to be his, somehow. Just standing there close to him, looking at him…the man claiming paternity sent a freakish level of pleasure through his guts and cock, making Beau grin wide. He stepped forward and kissed his father, his maker, the thing oozing between them, sucking and milking their cocks with it’s…mouths? Holes? It felt good in either case, and pleasure was all that really mattered to him at the moment. He pulled away after a few minutes, breathless but thrilled all the same, and wiped some of his father’s spit from his lips. “I don’t…understand. What happened to me? What am I?”
“You’ll learn in time. For now–you know what you need to do. I would join you, but this piece of filth needs to be taken below and stored away with our master. Enjoy yourself. Please yourself and others, and I will be happy when I see you again soon.”
There was a deep shadow, like a sudden blotting of every light at once, and they were gone. Beau was still there, but alone now. Dressed in leather gear–his gear, a hunger growing in his guts and his cock, and he set out into the night to feed, to fuck, to give pleasure–but most of all, to corrupt.
Bracken's Corner 