Everyone else had collapsed. It didn’t surprise me, looking back on it, because they were all struggling to piece together what they had seen, and the reality knitting itself back around them. It was just me, standing there, and Jules in the middle of the room, muscled and serene, still tied to the chair, looking like nothing strange had happened at all. I knew I needed him–he might have answers, provided Ray hadn’t obliterated his mind…provided the rapist hadn’t gotten to him either. He was surprised to see me, I think. He tried to object, told me that Master was going to come get him, that he’d get to work out some more after this, and he fought me. He was no match for me though–I gave him a backhand hard enough to stun him, cuffed him with the spare set I’d brought along, since Cumster still had my usual ones on his wrist in my basement, and told him he was coming with me whether he wanted to or not. As I left with him, the other officers were beginning to regain their senses, but I knew they would never be able to solve this. The only one who could stop this rapist, and whatever he was doing to men in my city, and to reality, was me. Or…not really me, but this force growing inside me.
I shoved Jules into the back of my car, and he started fighting me again–and fuck, he was strong. He’d been missing for a few days, and he…well, he didn’t look like the Jules I remembered, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like him either. He smelled like…well, a bit like Ray had, when we’d popped open that container by the docks, but where Ray had simply smelled like musk, Jules smelled mostly of piss. I found it…distasteful, honestly, and a bit overwhelming. My time with Cumster had made me…appreciate the smell of cum, but I could barely detect any of it on Jules. Beyond the smell, he was just huge. Not much taller than he had been, though perhaps he’d grown a inch or two. Mostly he was wide. I don’t know what Ray could have done to him to bulk him up that quickly. It had to have been drugs of some sort–it was, in my mind at the time, the only reasonable explanation for all of this. Some new steroid must have warped him…nothing else could change a man like that this quickly…aside from the monster I’d just watched fatten multiple officers to obesity in a matter of minutes. Aside from what Cumster had done to my balls in the course of one night together.
I asked Jules what he’d seen in the restaurant. He laughed, and told me, “He’d wanted me to see that. He’d known that if I was there, you’d come.”
I don’t know who the “he” was that he was talking about. Maybe it was Ray, more likely it was the rapist himself. I asked him what that thing was, and Jules shrugged.
“Somebody. I didn’t see him before, just…after. He went too deep. He says they go too deep sometimes, like that. I…Fuck, I wanna…go deep like that, one day, I wanna fuckin’ lose it, I am losing it, losing it fuckin’ bad. You are too. Everyone–fuck, he doesn’t want everyone, but damn, does he want you bad.”
The jockstrap he was wearing was tented, his cock was no larger than it had been before, and on his massive frame, it seemed…small. The smell of piss intensified, and I realized he was…pissing himself in my car, and fuck, I got…angry. Angry like I’d been when I’d seen that thing, and the gloves…I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but it whipped out, and…and a second later, Jules’s crotch was bound up tight in leather, and he stared at me in confusion. The pouch bulged, collecting the piss inside it…and that was the first time Jules realized…I wasn’t the same person he’d left in that precinct, just as he wasn’t the same man who’d left it.
“You…you haven’t met him,” he told me, “How…how did you do that?”
I didn’t have an answer to that. I turned back around and drove off, Jules sitting back, the leather pouch sagging with piss, and said nothing else. After half an hour, we got back to my house, and I parked in the garage, so no one would see me dragging Jules inside. I dragged him out of the backseat and into the house, and as soon as I did–I knew something was off. There was a slight draft, perhaps. More likely, the odd sense I had of…chaos, for lack of a better word, was ringing. The order of my house was not as it had been when I’d left.
I dragged Jules into the kitchen, shoved him into a chair at the table, and used my straps to bind him tight–ankles and wrists, and around his mouth. Fuck, it was so easy, doing it, too. It felt like…an extension of myself, even then. I hadn’t even really understood what I’d done, or how, until it was already finished. I was already so fucking different.
I searched the house, and sure enough, one of the back windows was broken in, but I hadn’t seen any evidence that anything was missing. I crept around the main floor, until I heard the sounds of sex coming from the basement below. Weapon drawn, I descended the steps, and there, with Cumster, was Maurice. Mr. Cold Case was kneeling in front of him, mouth open, while the biker milked a massive load onto his face, eyes dazed and empty, and he looked to me, smirking.
“He came to see what you were hiding down here,” Cumster told me, “So I thought I would show him myself.”
Bracken's Corner 