Looking back on it, Bill realized he probably overdid it a bit. After forty-three loops, he figured he finally had Sam, gutter and the rest of the crew in a good position. He’d been ignoring the headache that had been nagging him since the thirtieth loop or so, but once he allowed time to continue onward, it only came on stronger. He barely managed to drive himself home after work, crawl his way into bed, and when Peter arrived for his evening service, Bill yelled at him to get out and leave him alone.
He slept almost twenty-four hours. When he woke up, he had a voicemail from Sam asking if he was ok, and when he called him to confirm he was still alive, Sam chewed his ass out for not showing up. He probably deserved that, he supposed. He told Sam he’d come down with something and wouldn’t be in for a few days. Sam sounded annoyed, but told him to feel better. Peter arrived a few hours later, after Bill had managed to get to the bathroom and down to the kitchen to eat something. Peter showed up a couple hours later, looking a little sheepish, but today, Bill was more than happy to have the company. Bill apologized for being so gruff the day before, had Peter service him, and rewarded his slave with a few loads humped out across his gut.
Even the day after that, he still felt like garbage. Clearly, magic took a bit more out of him than he’d expected. He spent the day flipping through the book, and decided he might as well work on something in his downtime. With Peter’s assistance that evening, he set up a scrying station–basically a bowl of water with a spell cast on it–that would allow him to spy on the rest of the neighborhood. Bill had never really bothered being very social, and so he didn’t even know anyone else’s names. At least this way, he could start narrowing down who his next targets would be.
He was frustrated by what had happened after his time warp spell earlier that week, though. If that had been enough to sap his energy for days, it was going to take him forever to work his magic on the neighborhood, without even beginning his plans beyond that. Spying on the mundane lives of the men, women and children in the neighborhood around him only made it worse. Boring, they were all so damn boring! He could imagine so many more interesting things for them, but he was exhausted. Caught between desire and limitation, he wanted to strangle someone. He strangled Peter, for fun. It helped a bit, and Peter rather enjoyed it, though not as much as he enjoyed having the air crushed out of him by his big gut on top of him. Then, on Thursday, he saw something interesting at last.
It was an argument in a house a couple blocks over, between a father and son. The son was in high school, probably seventeen or eighteen. He wanted to get a tattoo, but his rather conservative father was dead set against it. The son looked to be a bit of a rebel–or at least imagined himself as one. Watching the fight play out, Bill couldn’t help but imagine them both tattooed all over in the most perverse ways, forever showing the world exactly what kind of dirty minded perverts they both were. Then, a second idea came to him. He grabbed the spell book, flipped through it, almost willing his idea into existence, and sure enough, there it was. There was no way he was going to be able to corrupt the world all on his own, one or two people at a time. However, there was no reason why he couldn’t enlist a little help, and the rebellious youth would be an excellent trial for what he had in mind. He wove a little spell of fate, suggesting that the young man feel compelled to pay him a little visit the next day–Friday.
As expected, while he was out on the porch smoking a cigar, the young man came wandering down the sidewalk. He was looking rather punk–as punk as a suburban kid shopping mostly at Hot Topic could look. It had no real grit, not actual risk. That’s all right. His heart was in the right place, or it would be, soon enough. “Hey Jason, come on up here a second, I have something I want to talk to you about.”
Jason looked around, confused at who was speaking to him, and then over at Bill on the porch. He had no idea who this fat slob was–or how he knew his name. Curiosity, or compulsion, he walked up the driveway and onto the porch where Bill was smoking.
“I heard you had an argument with your father yesterday,” Bill said.
“Who–who the fuck are you?” Jason asked, “How do you know that, and my name?”
Bill just smiled, muttered a little incantation, and saw Jason visibly relax where he was standing. This wasn’t as strong a spell as the suggestion trance he’d been using. Just enough to put Jason at ease. He wanted his…cooperation here. It would be way hotter, and much more beneficial in the long run. “Why don’t we step inside? I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.”
“A-Alright,” Jason said. Bill hefted himself up, and led the young man into his house for what would prove to be a very fruitful discussion.
There was no reason to panic. Jason had probably just stayed over with a friend or something. They’d had that big fight, and he’d seemed alright the next day, but Mark struggled every day to understand what went through the brain of his teenage son. He didn’t understand where this rebellious streak came from. He’d been such a good kid, and then one day, he’d just done a heel turn, and he’d been a headache for Will and his wife every day since. His newest obsession was getting tattooed, and as long as he lived under this roof, he wasn’t going to let his son defile his body like that. If he did end up getting a tattoo, it had better be somewhere that Mark couldn’t see it, or there would be hell to pay, one way or another.
Emma wanted to call the police and report him missing, but there was no actual evidence that he was abducted or anything like that. Instead, he’d called Luke, the pastor at his church for advice, and he’d said the same thing. Jason would come home eventually, and they’d figure out the next steps together. Mark calmed her down, told her they might as well just wait and see. Sure enough, a little before noon, Mark got a text. Jason had been out all night, he wouldn’t say where, and he was stranded. He texted him an address, and told him to come meet him there. He loaded up the address on his phone, and was surprised to see it was some dirty looking strip mall in a rundown part of town. He had no idea how Jason had ended up there, but he was going to pick him up, and they would have a long chat about his recent rebellious behavior.
The drive took about twenty minutes. Mark pulled into the small parking lot, climbed out of his car, looked up at the address, which hadn’t been tied to a business on his phone, and his gut dropped out from under him.The name of the business upset him enough–who would call their shop, ‘The Devil’s Work’! Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was a tattoo and piercing parlor, to make matters worse. If his dumb son had gotten himself a tattoo, at a place like this no less, and then told him to come pick him up–he was going to be walking home. He stormed up onto the walk, yanked open the door, ready to give Jason a piece of his mind, but what he saw inside the shop was so outrageous, that he couldn’t even really process it for a moment.
Right in front of him, bent over the short counter, was one fellow, quite fat and hairy and old, with his grubby work pants down around his ankles. Behind him was a younger man, wearing some tattered black jeans, boots and a leather vest, covered all over with tattoos, busy fucking him–so busy, that it took him a moment to realize that they weren’t alone in the room anymore. The younger tattooed fellow looked up at where Mark was, jaw on the floor, and just smiled at him. “Oh, hey daddy. Thought you might be a little longer. Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll be with you when I’m finished.”
He absolutely wasn’t going to do that, Mark thought to himself. Yet, his feet dragged him into the shop, towards the small waiting area surrounded by sample tattoo artwork. He didn’t know where to look. He didn’t want to look at the men fucking in front of him, and yet, the one who had spoken to him, he knew that voice, he…
Jason.
“Jason!” Mark shouted, “Jason, what–what in God’s green earth has happened to you?”
“Fuck, was wondering how long it would take him,” Bill said.
“He’s an idiot,” Jason said, “Fuckin’ hell, your hole is somethin’ else. Gonna bust deep in here, you want it?”
“Fuckin’ hell yeah I do, load me up, freak!”
Jason thrust in hard, and with a loud moan, pumped his seed deep into Bill’s hole, making eye contact with his father the entire time. Mark tried to deny it. It couldn’t be his son, it just couldn’t. For one thing, he was older–not that much older, probably in his mid-twenties, but older all the same. His frame was packed with muscle like he’d been going to the gym for years. Then, of course, the tattoos and piercings. There was no way all of that could have appeared overnight.
Jason’s cock finished pumping, and he slowly allowed his cock to fall from Bill’s loose hole, and Mark’s face flushed. The cock looked almost inhuman, what had Jason, what had this other freak done to it? It was studded with metal, and covered with black ink like the rest of Jason’s body, but it was the shape that seemed most strange. It looked almost engorged somehow, and even though he’d just cum, it didn’t seem like it was getting any smaller. He’d heard of some sex freaks injecting silicone into their cocks in order to make them larger, and he prayed to God that Jason hadn’t done something like that.
“You doing alright, Dad?” Jason said, “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”
“Jason–Jason, what happened? What did this…this faggot do to you? Please, you have to come with me, we have to get you help!”
Jason just laughed. Bill pushed himself upright, pulled up his pants, and put the suspenders back over his shoulders, but left his cock hanging out as well. “I assure you, Mark, that Jason accepted the terms of my little business proposition all on his own. His very own body mod shop, and a good amount of magical power to boot! Now, why don’t you show how supportive you are of your son’s new venture, hop in the chair here, and become his first customer? Seems like that would be the fatherly thing to do, right Jason? Besides, your son here is gonna need some practice with his new skills before we open to the public.”
“No, I don’t know what demon has infiltrated my son, but you cannot have him! Jason, please, come with me, we’ll fix you, please…”
“I don’t need ‘fixing’,” Jason spat at his father, “You, on the other hand, are a piece of work that could use some adjustments. Take off your fucking clothes and get on the table.”
Mark tried to resist, but his body disobeyed him, and began undressing. “How…how are you doing this?”
“This is my shop,” Jason said, “And with Bill’s help here, anything I say in my shop, goes. It’s my own personal kingdom, and you wandered right in. You’re mine now, dad, until I’m through with you.”
“You can’t do this, I’ll call the fucking police!”
“No one can help you dad. If you were smart, you’d just get on your knees and beg me for mercy, but even that probably wouldn’t help. Watching you do that would just make me too horny to stop myself.”
Mark’s underwear and socks hit the floor, and he shuffled over to the table, obviously still struggling, but it was hopeless. He got on it, lying on his back, and his son came around to his side, looking him over.
“Fuck, you’re a sorry looking fucker. So dang hairy too! I can’t have that obstructing my work,” Jason said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up here with a whole new look, a whole new attitude too. First things first, we aren’t going to need any of this hair of yours…”
It was the strangest sensation. It was like Mark could feel all of the individual strands of hair all over his body, from his feet to his armpits to his head to even his eyebrows, just pull themselves back into his skin and disappear. In less than a minute, he went from moderately hairy to not a single hair on his skin, anywhere. “How…”
“It’s magic Daddy, are you still playing dumb?”
“This is devil work, son, you have to resist it!”
Bill just laughed. “There are no gods, and no devils. There’s just power–and your son has lots of it.”
“Wanna see daddy? Here, let me show you. No needles–at least, unless you want them.”
Jason laid his hands on Mark’s chest, and as he did, he watched the ink on his son’s hands and forearms wriggle to life, and begin sliding down to his palms–and from his palms, out onto Mark’s chest. He screamed then, tried to force himself out from under his son’s grip, but he couldn’t seem to move. He could feel it, the ink permeating his skin, but something else as well. It was leaking into his mind, he could feel the corruption trying to push into his soul. He did his best to resist, but it was no use. It was changing him, Jason was changing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop him.
After about a minute, Jason pulled his hands away from his father’s chest, where he was lying on the table. Mark could feel the ink that his son had pumped into him still squirming and settling under his skin. He looked up, and saw that there was a mirror hanging on the ceiling, giving him a full view of his hairless body. The lettering was reversed in the mirror, but he could read the letters that now sprawled across his chest. He didn’t have to read them. He knew what it said, in his heart, before even looking up.
PAINPIG
It couldn’t be possible. Tattoos didn’t work like that, they weren’t alive, they didn’t just appear on your skin, but it was there. Before Mark could say anything else, Jason grabbed hold of both his tits, one in each hand, and squeezed–hard. The moan of delight that slipped out of Mark’s mouth surprised him. The pain was there, yes, the exquisite, beautiful pain, but within, there was pleasure, more pleasure than he could understand.
“Goodness dad, I didn’t know you were such a masochist,” Jason said, rolling and tugging the tits in his fingers. His nails felt so sharp. Mark managed to raise his head and look down, noticing that Jason’s nails weren’t normal. They were metallic, and came to sharp, claw like points. He also noticed that the more Jason worked his tits, the bigger and puffier and fuller they seemed to become, the more sensitive too. “This next part might hurt, dad, but I don’t think you’ll mind, somehow,” Jason said, and caught each nipple between the nails on his thumbs and index fingers.
Mark screamed as the metal sank into his flesh, piercing him, slowly driving deeper into him. It hurt, it hurt so much, and his cock was so hard, aching, drooling cum. The points of each nail pushed into his flesh until they met inside his tits, then Jason pulled his fingers back, the metal still embedded in Mark’s body, completing a thick, metal ring, before coming free. The metal squirmed a bit, evened out and eventually froze as two massive stainless steel rings through each pumped tit, tugging down hard on his chest. The pain eased, became a new baseline. As horrible as the experience was, Mark found himself wanting it back, wanting more, and hating himself for it.
Jason ran one sharp nail down his father’s belly, watching him shudder, down to his aching, drooling cock. “”You’re making quite the mess, Daddy,” he said, “Guess that means you like it. Shall we continue then? Make you a proper freak?”
Jason climbed up on the table so he was straddling Mark at the waist, their cock and balls pressed against each other. Jason’s were massive, and heavy. He grabbed hold of his dad’s cock, positioned the head so it was pressed against the oddly deformed head of Jason’s cock, and he felt the head of his own sucked inside of Jason’s, and then, felt something begin to pump into him, something slick, yet firm.
He could feel his cock and balls begin to inflate with the magical silicone Jason’s cock was feeding him. Jason moaned and sighed, bucking slightly like he was in the midst of an orgasm, and Mark could feel it, the pleasure seeping into him, the strange fullness as his skin stretched. Jason eventually pulled free, heaving and gasping a bit, his own cock looking somewhat deflated now. “Fuck, wasn’t planning on giving you quite that much, but it felt so fucking good…”
Mark could see what he meant. His cock and balls were no longer even recognizable as such. His cock was just a lumpen, misshapen mass, resting on top of a scrotum as large as a summer watermelon. “No…no, it…it can’t…”
“Don’t worry dad, regular silicone causes all sorts of dangers, and can reduce sensitivity, but mine comes with none of those drawbacks,” Jason said, running his claws down the girthy length of Mark’s new cock, making him shudder in pleasure. “See? Still, we’d better put a warning on this junk…” He ran his hands across the top of Mark’s groin, and he felt more ink slide under his skin:
CAUTION:
FREAKMEAT
Yeah, his freakmeat, that’s what he called it. Mark shook his head, it wasn’t true, but there it was, in his head. He couldn’t think around it, it was everywhere.
“Better lock it down, too. We don’t want your freakmeat getting free now, do we?”
Jason put a massive ring through the misshaped shaft of Mark’s cock, behind the head, even larger than the ones in his tits–large enough to almost be a bracelet. Then, a second massive ring in the front of his scrotum, running up and down. The two rings joined, seamlessly, ensuring that his freakmeat would always be locked up tight–not that it could get hard anyway. He dug his nails into the tender, distended flesh of Mark’s groin, watching his father writhe, caught somewhere between delight and terror. Mark could feel the metal leeching into his flesh, only to reemerge as studs and rings all over his flesh. More tattoos slid down onto his skin there as well, demands for punishment written all over his freakmeat. It was no longer meant for pleasure, after all. No–it was meant to be punished. A freak like him deserved, no, needed punishment, pain, agony!
Jason pulled his nails free, admiring the studded, tattooed flesh between his father’s legs, watching him panting, heaving for breath, a drool of precum leaking from the maw of his siliconed cock.
“God,” Mark said, “God please, deliver me, have mercy on my son, please, release him from the demon that has possessed him–”
“God isn’t real, Daddy, don’t you know that by now?” Jason said, climbing down off the table, coming around to his father’s head, and running his sharp nails along his bare face. Mark shuddered and cried as more metal sprang up, rings and studs in his ears, lips and tongue. “There’s just me. There’s just power. Why don’t we find you something more useful to worship? We already know the name of your first God, don’t we?”
Jason laid his hands on his father’s right arm, the ink spreading down from his hands and across his bare skin. Barbed wire, spotted with blood. Knives, blades, needles–instruments of his God, instruments of Agony. The corruption slipped deeper into Mark’s soul, curdling his faith, warping it. Ecstasy, prayer, devotion, he had never truly understood the enlightened state, not until he had experienced Agony, true pain. The end of the self, floating, empty, adrift, nothing but sensation to guide him. The more he hurt, the more he could see it, true divinity.
When Jason released him, he saw that his entire arm was covered in a sleeve, from his knuckles–PAIN across them–all the way up onto his shoulder and chest, around the block letters Jason had already given him. He cried. He cried because he had fallen. He cried because he understood, because he knew.
“Now, why don’t we roll you over, and I show you who your other God is, daddy?” Jason said into his ear.
Mark tried to resist, with what little willpower he had left, but did as his son ordered him to, and rolled over, his ass up on the table now.
“Hands and knees, come on,” Jason said.
“Please, don’t do this…” Mark said, but moved into position. He could feel, for the first time, how heavy his freakmeat was now, how the silicone and flesh and metal tugged away from his body in the most divine way. He swung it, feeling the tug and pull, and shuddered, only for Jason to bat it with one hand roughly. Mark moaned, bit his tongue before he caught himself begging for more, begging him to hit him harder.
“Like a speed bag,” Bill said, one of the first things he’d said, while watching Jason work his father over.
“I bet he’d like that,” Jason said, “but we have a little more work to do first, don’t we Daddy? One more God to introduce you to, one more thing for you to worship with the rest of your agonizing life.” He pressed his father’s ass cheeks apart, and more ink slid down his hands, covering them, sliding around, forming two words, one on each cheek:
FIST HOLE
Like before, Mark could feel the ink etching itself not just across his body, but over his mind, over his desires. He knew what was written there without even needing to see it, knew what it meant. Jason took a bottle of lube and squeezed it, let it run down his father’s ass crack, one hand gathering it up and probing his father’s hole, more ink marking him in his most intimate area, a series of black, concentric rings like a bullseye. He pushed two fingers in, and Mark shuddered, moaned.
“You’re nothing but a hole,” Jason said, roughly driving his fingers into him, his sharp nails now retracted and smoothed over, “A gaping void longing to be filled. This hole, this hole is your second God. A hungry, aching, greedy God, that needs constant satisfaction.”
“Please…Please, I…”
“What, what do you need? Tell me.”
Mark tried to keep the words from his lips, tried to knot them, keep them secret in his heart, but he couldn’t, the desire was raging through him too quickly to deny it. “Deeper, fucking…shove that fucking fist in me already, fuck, I need it, I need it…”
Mark’s hole swallowed Jason’s hand with almost no resistance. He gasped and moaned, but even as full as he felt, he wasn’t enough. Jason slid back out, and that moment of emptiness was torture, before he plunged his hand back in, deeper than before. Then out, then in, pushing in, Mark’s hole almost sucking at his son’s forearm, clinging to him, willing him to never leave. The ink was still sliding from Jason’s arm, faster now, spreading down both of Mark’s legs, up the sides of his body, and down his other arm. Cocks and dildos sliding in and out of mouths and assholes, an obscene sleeve all the way to his wrist, and on his knuckles, the word HOLE.
Mark felt his mind slip away, at some point. The bliss was impossible to describe. He had thought, before, that the pinnacle of human satisfaction, the moment of clarity at his baptism, was impossible to surpass, but this, dancing the line between pleasure and pain, fullness and the void, it was indescribable. At some point, while Jason had both his hands inside Mark’s hole, Bill wandered around to his face and began slapping him, choking him, picked up a belt and began beating his back, ass, and fuckmeat. He lost track of how many orgasms ripped their way through his asshole, as Jason pummeled him. He had no idea how much time passed, but at some point, the three of them collapsed–Mark on the table, hole gaping and twitching, bruised and aching. Off to the side were Jason and Bill still going strong, though this time it was Jason riding Bill’s cock to completion.
While they fucked, Mark managed to slide his way off the table and make his way to the full length mirror not far from the table. He looked at himself, but nothing was a surprise, somehow. He knew what he looked like, after all. He knew he was a freak. He tried to recall who he’d been when he arrived that morning, his body, his life, but there was nothing. It had been blacked over so thoroughly by his son that barely anything remained. Some names, the notion of a job, God.
God–a farce. He could see it so clearly. A religion that called self-denial the pinnacle of human experience, but after what had happened to him, he knew it was a lie. Pain and fucking, those had both given him pleasure and insight beyond anything he’d received from a good book. His life, he supposed, was over now. Even if Jason reversed everything, even if he returned him to his pristine body, he couldn’t change the truth that he had found in his heart. He started to cry, but much to his surprise, it wasn’t from terror, or shame. He was relieved. He was joyful.
Jason came over, got down behind where his father was crouching, and held him close, held him tenderly. It shocked him, appalled him, somehow, that after everything he’d done, there was still softness here.
“You understand, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I’d always known, kind of, even before I met Bill, I think. He showed me the rest. I hoped you’d see it too.”
“What…what now? Who even am I?”
Jason pulled him close, “I have a plan, don’t you worry. You just do everything I tell you to do, alright? Everything is going to be just fine, I promise.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know. I didn’t understand how…how good…”
“It’s alright,” Jason said, as his father broke down again, “You’ll be alright, I promise.”
Jason held him until he stopped shuddering, and then left his dad to explore his new body on his own. He stood up, shaking a bit from the exertion of the transformation. In the mirror, Jason could see that his own ink and metal had diminished substantially–much of it transferred to his father. “You said I’d recharge, right? Do you know how long it will take?”
Bill shook his head. “No idea, honestly. Never did a spell like this before. Looks like everything worked perfectly though.”
“I’m just exhausted.”
“I’m not surprised. You should rest for a few days, let your ink and metal fill back up.”
“I will, but there’s one more thing I have to do. Tomorrow. I have enough for that.”
Bill nodded. “You want support?”
“No, I can do this on my own,” Jason walked over, and gave Bill a deep kiss. “Thank you, for everything. It feels like a dream, it’s everything I’d ever wanted.”
“Trust me, you’re helping me out,” Bill said. “Can’t warp this world all on my own, now can I? You just keep making freaks, and we’re even.”
“Fuck–you got it, boss.”
Bill gave him another kiss, and then went on his way. He was exhausted too, but the spell had worked like a charm. He turned around, muttered an incantation around the seedy looking shop, making sure it would draw folks in, like moths to a light. Jason would never be lacking for customers, and the city would have plenty of hot freaks roaming around soon enough.
Luke was concerned when Bill didn’t show up to service that Sunday morning. Considering the conversation they’d had the night before about Jason being missing, it didn’t bode well that he was absent. Bill was never absent, church was something he had built into his life, a cornerstone, a rock. But over the last few years, Luke had also come to think of Bill as more than just a parishioner, he was a friend as well. He’d been hosted by Bill and his wife many times for dinner, and he’d gotten to know Jason fairly well too. Jason–he’d always been troubled. Luke had prayed for him many times, for God to help the young man back onto the path of righteousness. Prayer, and God, at times, could only do so much, and he feared that Jason had turned away fully from the light, towards the darkness, for quite some time now. It was a darkness he was familiar with, one he had defeated, but one that he knew he would struggle with for the rest of his life. Watching someone succumb to it only made it worse, but Luke was strong. God was strong, and Luke knew he was on the right side of morality.
After coffee hour, as the church was finally emptying, Luke was in his office packing up his things, when he got the text from Bill. He’d found Jason! That alone was good news. He was asking Luke to come counsel him, but not at home, which seemed odd. Bill texted him an address, begging Luke to come help. It was odd, but Luke trusted Bill, and Bill needed his help. He dropped his wife off at home, and then headed for the address he’d been given. It was…a tattoo parlor, of all places. He had no idea why Bill would tell him to come here. Again, his sense that something was amiss increased. He should leave, he knew he should leave, and yet, he felt drawn to it all the same. He stepped inside the narrow shop, dimly lit, and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
“Ah, Pastor Luke, so good of you to join us.”
He knew that voice, almost. It sounded like Jason, but deeper, firmer. “Jason?”
“Yes pastor, come on in, you haven’t missed your appointment. I’ve just been entertaining my father while we wait for you to arrive.”
What Luke saw in the darkness there made his gasp. There, sitting on a couch–yes, it was Jason, but not the Jason he knew. Thickly muscled, covered with tattoos and piercings, wearing nothing other than a filthy, tattered jockstrap hiding an obscene, inhuman bulge, and two combat boots on his large feet. That was bad enough. It was the man before Jason, if you could call it a man, that was more terrifying. Covered with tattoos, with genitals that swollen into something gargantuan, he was bouncing up and down on a massive dildo on the ground in front of Jason. He could see as well that two carabiners had been attached to the massive rings in his nipples and his junk, and then suspended from the ceiling by a number of bungee cords. The man was oblivious to the world, lost in some filthy, degrading stupor.
No, it couldn’t be. It…It was Mark. It was Jason’s father, what on Earth had happened to him, to both of them? “Jason, what…what happened to you?”
“I’ve been set free, Luke,” Jason said, standing up. “You told me once, in your office during one of our counseling sessions, about the darkness, do you remember? I think I was…fifteen?”
“We…we shouldn’t talk about that here, Jason,” Luke said, “You need help, we need…we need to get you to a hospital, your…your body…”
Jason flexed, showing off his muscular form, watching the ink ripple across his skin. “You like it, don’t you?” he said, “You can admit it. This is a safe place. I know what’s inside you, what you’ve hidden away, Luke. Don’t worry, I’m here to set you free.”
Jason came closer, and Luke tried to run, but his feet refused. He was frozen, still, as Jason came within inches. He could smell him, the musk rolling off him, see the glint of metal, the swirl of ink. Jason’s hand, tenderly, reached down and cupped the crotch of Luke’s khakis. He was so hard, he hadn’t even realized it. Luke stifled a sob, as Jason pulled him close. “Don’t, I can’t…”
“Look what your false God’s done to you. You should be furious.”
“Don’t…don’t say that,” Luke said, pushing him away, “It’s…it’s all I have.”
“Then we should give you something else. Something better,” Jason said. “Take off your clothes, show me who you are.”
“This isn’t right,” Luke said, “God help me,” he muttered as he began stripping his clothes off. He couldn’t tell if he was compelled, or if something inside him was urging him, pushing him onward.
“God has never helped you,” Jason said, “All he’s done is trap you. Let me give you the release you’ve always needed.”
Jason leaned in, and gave Luke a kiss. He could feel the rings and studs in his lips and tongue, warm steel against the soft flesh of his mouth. It had been so long since he’d dared, over a decade since the last time he’d given in and indulged. He was so hungry, and Jason, the taboo, the confidence, the scent, all of it only served to drive Luke even more wild. There was something wrong with him, something was possessing him, making him do these things. It wasn’t right, but it felt so good all the same.
Jason pulled away, leaving Luke panting, cock still hard in Jason’s hand. “Why does it always feel so good?” Luke said, ending with a bit of a whimper.
“Time to let the darkness out,” he said, “If the world wants us to hide in the darkness, we might as well become their nightmares, right?”
“I don’t understand,” Luke said, as he looked at Jason, then over at his father, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can. Because I want to,” Jason said, “Because the world has told men like us that we’re fucked, that we’re worthless for too long. They roped you in, made them do your dirty work for them. You wanted me to do the same, but instead, you’re going to work for me–you’re going to be my horny demon…”
“No–no, I–” Luke said, and then dissolved into moans as Jason pressed his hand to his belly. Luke could feel his flesh shudder under Jason’s touch, the ink sliding down his hands through his fingers as they traced their way across his stomach. Luke had always kept himself in reasonable shape. It was vanity, he knew that. The only man he could openly admire was himself, after all. He could feel something happening though, his stomach inflating with a slight layer of fat as the ink spread out in a series of decorative lines. He stepped back, looked down, and saw an inverted pentagram across his belly with arcane symbols littered through it, a ram’s head leering in the center. “No…I won’t let you corrupt me, I won’t…”
“It’ll feel so good though,” Jason said, stepping closer, laying his hands on Luke’s shoulders, more ink flowing down into his skin. “You’re gonna feel so strong, so powerful. So many men telling you what you can’t do. You don’t have to care about that anymore. From now on, they’re gonna fear you.”
Luke could feel it, his body expanding with muscle, bones lengthening. He’d started out a bit shorter than Jason where they were standing, but suddenly he was a couple inches taller, thicker, hotter. He felt the ink sliding down his arms, bulking up his biceps, his forearms. He’d never felt like this before, this strength. More than that though, he realized an absence. There was no fear. The fear he’d felt in his heart, a fear he’d lived with so long, a fear that he had grown around, that had confined him in every way, was suddenly gone. He’d never imagined that could be possible. He swelled, physically, spiritually. He leaned down and kissed Jason again, this time feeling the metal sting him, bite into him, but he didn’t mind. He could feel the runes appearing on his arms, the images of demons and devils. The marks down his forearms in inches, so he can know just how far his hand is buried in a man’s hole. The backpiece forming, two devil wings across his wide, muscular back, and a tail too, of course, winding around his ass.
“Look at you,” Jason said. “A sadistic, satanic, hedonistic, dominant, gay-as-hell nightmare.” He reached up to Luke’s metal studded face, watched the short, black beard fill in around his cheeks and chin, swirls of ink around his eyes, down his neck, over his bald crown. Lastly, his metal nails dug into his scalp near his temples, and two steel horns sprouted up from his skull, three inches with a slight curve to catch the light. The ink even slid into his eyes, coloring the whites entirely black. He kissed him, Caught Luke’s tongue in his teeth, and he moaned, feeling it split down the middle, now forked. Jason pulled away, admiring his work. “Now, there’s just a matter of your demonic tool, eh?” Jason said, one hand sliding down and caressing Luke’s cock and balls. “You’re a little…small, sadly, for what I’m going to need. Silicone won’t quite do either. I have just the thing though, hold on.”
Jason slipped away into the back of the shop, leaving Luke standing there, reeling from what just happened to him. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he should be ashamed at the visage looking back at him, at the hulking, tattooed, metal studded, demonic freak, but there was no shame. There was, instead, pride. Fuck, he looked hot, he looked mean. He looked like someone no one would mess with, who wouldn’t have to take shit from anyone, especially not God. He ran one finger along the curved steel horn attached to his skull, and shuddered. He thought about all the men he could gore on the end of them, the painful things he could do to their bodies to pay them back for the misery they’d inflicted on his soul. The rage he felt wasn’t new, but it was no longer contained. He wanted to hurt something–someone.
Before he could quite follow that thought to any conclusion, Jason returned, holding something that Luke first mistook for a black dildo. “Here, let’s get this on you,” Jason said, and Luke realized it wasn’t a dildo, but a cock sheath. Jason got down on his knees, maneuvered Luke’s nuts into the hollow cavity below the rubber cock, and then, after lubing up his shaft with a little spit, then he worked Luke’s cock into the hollow part of the sheath. Luke Once it was on, Jason traced a little sigil on the rubber sheath with a metal nail, muttering something under his breath, and Luke moaned. It was heating up around his cock, almost uncomfortably hot. He went to tug the rubber free, as Jason pulled away, but discovered he couldn’t. The rubber had sealed itself to his body, the rubber melding seamlessly with his own flesh, spreading into his skin, almost like an infection.
“What is this? What did you do?”
“You don’t like it?” Jason said, grabbing hold of Jason’s rubber cock with both hands, stroking it, watching Luke almost melt with the sensations assaulting him, “It is still a bit small, but now we have more to work with, don’t we?”
With the sheath, Luke’s cock was nearly a foot long, but as Jason’s hands kept working the shaft, he could see it was growing, both longer and thicker. The surface grew smooth and became wet and slick, almost like the rubber flesh was perspiring lube. The head grew wide and flat, almost like a spade, and when Jason released it, it was nearly three feet long, thicker than a two liter bottle at the root, where it joined his body, and he…he could control it. He knew how, instinctively, watching it twist and writhe in the air, prehensile and slick and filthy. Wrapped it around Jason’s waist, dragging him closer, and kissed him, finding Jason’s hole with the thick head, pressing against it.
“You’ve turned me into a monster,” Luke muttered.
“You were always a monster. We were monsters.”
“I should beat the living shit out of you for this. Fuck, I’d beat the shit out of it and enjoy it.”
“I would too–but not as much as he would.”
Jason motioned over towards Mark, still fucking himself on the dildo, who had watched Luke’s entire transformation with a hungry look.
“He needed a master, someone who would care for him the only way a painhole like him can be cared for. A master like you.”
Jason walked over, unhooked Mark’s tits from the bungees hanging from the ceiling, then shoved him forward onto his hands and knees, the massive dildo sliding out of his loose hole with a slurping sound. “This, of course, was my father, once. I don’t think he remembers much of that anymore. The pleasure of his gods has been eroding his mind. Took me a while to set that little scene up for him just so he’d leave me the fuck alone for a while. His name is painhole now.”
There was a creeping feeling in Luke’s chest at the sight of the grown man moaning on his hands and knees there on the cement floor, hand reaching back, whining about how empty he was. It was pitiful. It was horrifying, too. He looked back at himself in the mirror again, and clung to that horror as some sort of moral compass, and he turned to Jason. “Jason, please…this isn’t…right,” he said. Even then, he knew how false the words sounded in his mouth. It didn’t matter what was right, and what was wrong. There was only power, authority, and dominance.
“He made my life a living hell, I feel it’s only fair that I do the same,” Jason said.
“I won’t. You can’t make me.”
Jason laughed. “I felt sorry for you, Luke. I knew what you are, I could see how it warped you, but you still allowed it to happen. You warped yourself to please them, and then did their bidding, doing your best to warp me too. We had the same darkness inside us, the same faggotry. You still did wrong by me, by who knows how many others. This is your hell too, Luke. I’m just giving you the honor of becoming a guard. Now, both of you, follow me.”
Jason led them to the back of the shop, where a heavy steel door was set in the side of the building. He unlocked it, then opened it, and revealed a staircase let red, that spiraled down beneath them. They walked. It felt too deep to simply be a basement. At last, they landed, and the space opened up into a massive sex dungeon, much larger than the small shop above. “Welcome to your hell,” Jason said, and turned to Luke, “On your knees before your God,” he said.
Luke tried to resist, but found himself forced to kneel before him. Jason laid his hands on the sides of Luke’s bare scalp, and this time, he could feel the ink sliding down, deeper, etching itself on the very surface of his mind. It blacked out his humility and kindness. Blacked out his empathy, his tenderness. It blacked out his name. He did not need a name. He was not a person, he was a demon, and demon’s had a single purpose, here in hell. They were here to punish the sinners.
Jason stepped back, and watched his first demon turn to look at painhole, where it was cowering by the foot of the stairs. He snarled at the slave, and then leapt, pinning it to the floor, his thick, slimy, prehensile cock snaking around the slave’s neck, making it gasp and heave for breath.
“I left something for you too, demon,” Jason said, walking closer, “I left his back unmarked. Feel free to decorate it as you see fit.”
The demon looked around the dungeon, at the whips, the needles, the knives, the floggers, the paddles. Yes, it would mark this sinner, it would punish it well, and the thing would beg for more.
Painhole, of course, would come to no real harm here. Thanks to Bill’s magic, whatever injury the demon might inflict on him would heal in a matter of minutes, though not without leaving behind a scar. Deprived of air, painhole went a bit limp, still heaving, and the demon allowed it’s cock to relax, dropping the slave to the floor. It crawled on top of him, cock slipping easily into its wrecked ass, worming in deep, the slave moaning in its stupor as all three feet of the demon’s cock writhed inside him, rearranging his guts as it saw fit.
Pleased with himself, Jason watched the demon fuck his father for a moment, and then ascended the stairs. He locked the door behind him, smiling. His own personal hell, one he would be happy to fill to the brim with sinners of all stripes. He could already think of so many at the church his father had forced him to attend. So many old, conservative men, pleased with their bigotry and confident in their safety and security. He will take them, and mark them, and throw them into his hell where they belong, and he will make more demons, so many demons who will tend to them and their painful delights.
Fuck, he was horny. He should have fucked one of them before locking them down there, but he didn’t want to interrupt them now. As he was mulling over just jacking off, he heard the bell over the door ring. Peeking through the curtain, he saw a young man, probably college aged, step into the shop a little tentatively. Perfect–a brand new customer. He concentrated, and clothes appeared on his body, more than the dirty jock he’d had on earlier, stepped out and made the young man feel comfortable.
An hour later, he had the old biker bent over the side of his table, howling as Jason drove his massive cock deeper into his ass. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, fuckin’ pig?”
“Fuck man, ain’t no one fucked mah hole with a cock that big in years, fuck, feels so fuckin’ good…” the biker drawled back at him.
“It fuckin’ does, fuck it does…” Jason said. He took it slow. He wanted this to last a while after all. And when he sent the biker on his way, covered with tattoos and metal, he told him to recommend his shop to all his buddies. He’d hook them up with whatever mods they needed–even if they didn’t know they needed them yet.
Bracken's Corner 