“You, boy, need to go to sleep while your father and I have a conversation,” he said, touched Pete’s temple, and he slumped over on the sofa, Mr. Elroy plucking the cigar from his hand before it could fall and setting it down in the ashtray. “As for you, Harry, I thought we had an understanding. What you were trying to pull back there…that’s a problem Harry, trying to give your son his life back. You know full well that his life isn’t his anymore, it’s mine. Mine! Just like yours is. He gets to be whatever I allow him to be, you see, and you can either help, or I can send you off to hospice to die, Harry. Is that what you want? A slow, withering death, lost in your own mind, not even knowing your own name?”
He rested a hand gently on Harry’s knee, but as gentle as it appeared, he might as well have brought a sledge hammer down on his body, soul, and spirit. It was happening again, just like the other night, he could feel his entire body weakening, curling in on itself as he sat there, almost like he was drying out under the heat of an impossibly hot sun. Mr. Elroy stood back up and looked at Harry, who was no longer a middle aged man in his late forties–he had gained at least another two decades in the span of the short touch. His already balding head had progressed all the way past his crown, and turned a dingy, dishwater grey. The same had happened to his beard, which was also thicker and longer, hanging down a couple of inches past his chin, looking tangled, matted, and uncared for.
Harry tried to speak, but all that came up was a rasping, hacking cough, deep in his lungs, his entire body shaking with the force of his coughing, until he felt something dislodge from his mouth and fall into his lap. He looked down…but was having a difficult time seeing anything clearly. “Oh, you might be needing these, Harry,” Mr. Elroy said, “The things you adjust to with age, right?” He slipped a pair of glasses on his face, and everything came into clarity, and Harry moaned at the sight of the dentures he had accidentally coughed out. “Those just do not want to stay put, do they, Harry? It’s almost like you want to be able to remove them on occasion,” the nurse unzipped his fly, his cock freeing itself from his slacks. “I think we need to remember who is in charge here, Harry. Tell me, is it you, you old, feeble piece of shit?”
Harry shook his head.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“No, Thir,” Harry said, as best he could without his teeth, “You ahhre.”
He fucked Harry’s mouth for a few minutes, and Harry did his best not to cry. He just felt so…empty, like everything had been drained out of him. Why had he fought? He knew better, he knew this could only get worse, and yet he’d done it anyway. He looked over at his dad, at his son, at his kin, at whoever he was now. At Pete. He was still fast asleep, but it was clear that the things Mr. Elroy had made them remember had affected him. He was…thicker. Stockier and beefier, with a sizable gut he didn’t remember him having a moment ago. He had a full beard as well, and the same high and tight cut he’d kept as a kid–the same one Harry still had as well. He was still in his suit though–that hadn’t changed. He’d made a difference. Maybe…maybe he could still fight this, if he was smart.
No–No, that was idiotic. Look at him. All it had taken was the slightest touch, and Mr. Elroy had taken another twenty years from him. As he sucked his nurse’s cock, he explored the rest of his body, his much larger gut and thin arms, the ache in his knee which had only grown more extreme, throbbing dully even through the pain medications he knew he was on. It was hopeless, and he needed to learn that now, before he just made things even worse, but he couldn’t just give up either. This wasn’t right–none of this was right. He didn’t know who, or what, this nurse was, or how he was doing this to them both, or even why, but that didn’t change the fact that it was wrong, and that he needed to do everything he could to resist him. It had been different, when it had just been him, but this was bigger now–this was about his son–his…father…he didn’t really know for certain, but it wasn’t right.
Still, there was nothing he could do now, he supposed. Maybe, maybe there was something his son could do. After all, he doubted that Mr. Elroy was planning on keeping him here too. Once he got out, he would be able to get help–hopefully, if Harry could keep some piece of his old self safe from Mr. Elroy’s magic, somehow. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had left, he supposed. He kept sucking–it was…much easier, and somehow more pleasurable for him, without his teeth–until Mr. Elroy finally pulled his cock free with a pop.
“Do we have an understanding, Harry?” he said, looking down at him, “You’re so delicious, I would hate to have to eat you all at once–and your son as well. After all, your fates are tied, right?”
Harry looked up at him, a bit confused.
Mr. Elroy just walked over to where Pete was slouched over asleep, and rested a hand on his shoulder. Harry saw his sleeping son flinch, let out a groan, and he aged nearly ten years in a moment. Watching it happen from the outside was no less difficult that feeling it from the inside, seeing him be hollowed out, his gut sagging further over the waistline of his pants, beard filling in with more white, his hairline receding further. “He’s still rather handsome, don’t you think?” Mr. Elroy said, “Maybe he would be more cooperative than you–he could take your place rather easily, you know. Or maybe I should keep you both in here, as brothers. That’s a nice thought too.”