You never gave up on him. What father could give up on his son? The police all said their was no hope of finding him if he didn’t want to be found, but that just wasn’t your boy–you knew he would never run away like that. It was the cities fault. He’d been a small town kid–innocent and trusting–he didn’t know how rough things could get in the city. No–something had happened to him, and you were sure of it, but you also couldn’t prove it.

When the police hadn’t been able to find anything, you’d taken a leave of absence from the shop you owned, and headed for the city to try and find him yourself. You interviewed his roommate from college–he told you that your son had seemed happy and good for the first few months, but one night he didn’t come home to the dorm until the next morning, and something had seemed different about him. Distant. Aggressive. He’d started smoking and drinking heavily, and he was hanging out with a group of guys off campus. He missed class regularly, and then one day he just stopped showing up at all. But that didn’t sound like your boy–what had those guys done to him?

Other people on campus you interviewed gave you similar stories, but no real details you could actually call a lead–that is, until someone dropped the name of some club on the other side of the city–some place called Pigtown. You went there, took one look at the place, and left–utterly disgusted. That was some faggot place! Your son would never have been caught dead in a place like that–he wasn’t a faggot! He’d had a girlfriend and everything all through school, and so you keep looking for clues, but every once in awhile, you feel…like you’re being watched.

Because while you were out looking for your son, your son found you. He doesn’t quite…remember who you are, or who you were to him, but he does know you. He hates you. Hates you for never seeing him. Hates you because so much of him hates now, so much of him lives to cause pain, to humiliate, to abuse. He lurks in the shadows, following you around the city as you search for him, rubbing his ten inch cock through his pants, thinking about you. About what a good pig you’ll be when he gets his hands on you. About how you’ll be getting everything you deserve tonight, when him and a few of his slaves catch you, and drag you into Pigtown kicking and screaming for a night you won’t soon forget.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.