The Pigtown Chronicles: Miles’s New Boss

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.


I’ve had a couple requests for commissions set in the universe of The Pigtown Chronicles, including this one! They are, unless otherwise noted, canon, so as the series develops, we could very well see these characters coming back into play, for a cameo, if nothing else. No need to read the whole series for this one, it stands on its own.


Miles probably should have been paying more attention to where he was going, but he was more than used to people stepping out of his way, not the other way around. He’d been going down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to find this new restaurant that he was supposed to have a lunch meeting at in fifteen minutes. He’d made a wrong turn a few blocks back, and wandered into the outskirts of Pigtown instead–or perhaps, that was where Pigtown had wanted him, all along. He hit what felt like a wall, and spun off, a little stunned, looked back and saw that he had collided with a very large, very intimidating looking skinhead, surrounded by a small gang of three or so others. 

The man he’d run into was clearly the leader of the pack. A few inches taller than six feet, heavily muscled with a sizable gut, covered in tattoos and piercings, even onto his shaved head. He turned around, took a long draw off the thick cigar he was smoking, and pushed two jets out of his nose, scowling at Miles, standing there in his suit, not quite sure what to do. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Miles managed to break eye contact, turn around, and hustle away for a few steps, before a hand reached out, grabbed his arm, and shoved him up against the brick wall of a shopfront.

“Well? Not even an apology?” the skinhead said, leaning in close enough that Miles could feel the heat of the cigar against his cheek. “Not even a, ‘Sorry I was staring at my phone, couldn’t be bothered to look where I was fuckin’ goin’?’ Too fuckin’ important for the likes of us, right?”

“Look, I’m late for a meeting, I’m sorry–” was all Miles could get out, before the skinhead took a mouthful of cigar smoke and pushed it into his face. The scent of the tobacco was strong, and unlike any cigar he’d ever smelled in his life. He suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, other than that flavor, that scent, and before he could snap out of it, the skinhead leaned in, kissed him, and something strange happened. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and in his tongue. When he tried to pull away, he found that he physically couldn’t–somehow, the ring in the skinhead’s nose and pierced through his own, along with the stud in his tongue. The skinhead kissed him for a moment, pressing their faces together. He could feel other sharp stings all over his face and then pulled away with the sound of metal snapping, and Miles’ hands went to his face, where he found not only a new, thick septum ring in his nose, but studs in his tongue, in his eyebrows, gauges and rings and studs in his ears. He looked in the window beside him, horrified at the face looking back at him–at least until the skinhead grabbed him by the hair, and fed him another load of smoke from his cigar.

When he pulled away, satisfied that Miles was dazed by his smoke again, he said, “Come on boy, you’re late for your appointment, aren’t you?”

“What…what did you do? I…help me get these off, I don’t…”

“Why would you want them to come out? You love the way they look, don’t you? Come on, let’s get you to your appointment.”

Miles took one last look at his now freakishly pierced face, and then was dragged away by the skinhead, falling into step with the gang, trying to push his way out of the smoke that was still clouding his mind. Along the way, he learned that the rest of the gang simply referred to their leader as Boss–if he had a name, he wasn’t inclined to give one, when Miles asked him. Boss led them deeper into Pigtown, and came to a heavily graffitied building and into a shop front called, “The Bodyshop.”

Inside was a little bit of everything. The front was a barber shop, and further back, he could see a tattoo and piercing equipment, all of it being manned by various flavors of skinheads, all of them in various leather, rubber or denim gear. 

“Who’s the new guy, Boss?” the young skin at the reception desk asked him.

“Don’t have a name yet. I’ll be working on him personally today.”

“Of course Boss.”

“This isn’t–” 

“Shut up, boy–now come on.”

Boss took him alone into the back of the shop, and through a door, into a small, private studio, where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Boss started tearing his clothes off, Miles trying to push him off and failing, the enclosed space filling up with the smoke faster than he could fight it off. Soon, he was totally naked, his clothes trashed and torn. Before he could even grab them up, another skinhead came in, grabbed them, and bundled them off. “Why are you doing this? I didn’t mean to run into you,” Miles said.

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that, but I’m always looking for new boys to add to the gang, so I’m glad we ran into each other. You will be too, soon enough,” Boss said, coming close and pressing his heavily pierced cock up against Miles own. Like before, he felt the sharp pain as Boss’s piercings joined with his own skin–his PA now running through the heads of both their cocks, a jacob’s ladder locking their shafts together, and he could feel rings and studs erupting all through his sack as Boss pulled him closer, pressing their chests together, his thick nipple rings sliding into Miles’s own. They were locked together, no matter how hard Miles tried to pull away, he couldn’t tear his flesh off the rings and studs threaded through their bodies. Boss’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close, and he kissed him again pushing smoke into him, making him go weak at the knees–not that he could fall far, and there was a new sensation now, almost like something was crawling onto him. He pulled away, looked down, and saw that the ink covering Boss’s body was swirling around, and running down and onto Miles’s own body. He tried to brush it off, but it was already under his skin, spreading up his arms, across his chest, over his cock and down his legs, coating him with a riot of tattoos, and as they did, he felt something new. A voice in his head, a whisper at first, but then, growing stronger. He found himself looking up at Boss with something other than fear, with a growing lust, and he started grinding their cocks together, almost enjoying the pain of the piercings tugging between them.

“Fuck…fuck Boss, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Just giving you what you want boy. Don’t you want to be one of my rough fuckin’ skinhead pigs? Don’t you want all those hot men out there to abuse that hole of yours? Don’t you want to be walking down the street, some tough, scarred up looking fucker, watching men get the hell out of your way–like they ought to?” Boss planted his hands on Miles’s shoulders, and shoved them apart, making him scream in pain. Like before, when he came away, he was left with piercings where they had been connected–two thick rings in his much larger looking tits, a big PA in the head of his cock, weighing it down, a jacob’s ladder down the shaft, and countless studs and rings all through his sack. The ink, however, was still flowing under the surface of his skin. He could feel it, and it made him feel a bit nauseous. He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified at how quickly he had changed–and he found himself wanting…more. But something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Get in the chair, boy. It’s time for your shave, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes Boss,” Miles said, realizing that’s what he needed. He didn’t look like a true skinhead, not yet. He got in the chair, heard the buzz of the clippers, and Boss started shearing away his styled hair, and with each swipe, he felt that new voice getting louder, that old one getting quieter. He wanted this, of course he did. 

“Take care of this for me, won’t you boy?” Boss said, and shoved the cigar in his mouth, which Miles’ happily sucked on, drawing in the smoke deeper and deeper, feeling it sanding away at the edges of his mind. He gripped his pierced cock and started stroking it, staring at his new head in the mirror, shuddering with each pass of the razor over his head, removing more and more of his worries and cares, until Boss lathered up his skull, and razored even the stubble off. When he was finally finished, toweled him off and showed him his new look in the mirror, it only took a couple of pumps before Miles exploded all over himself, shuddering as Boss ran his hands over his smooth scalp, humiliated, yet more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll forgive you for that one, I know haircuts get you boys all excited, but don’t think you can cum without permission again. Now, up against the wall boy, time for you to thank your Boss properly.”

He dragged Miles out of the chair by the rings in his tits, pushed him up against the mirror, and ran his cock up and down his crack, the metal rings and studs bumping up against his hole making Miles shudder. “Fuck Boss, fuckin’ get inside me…” he moaned, and only realized after he’d said it, what had just come out of his mouth.

“Heh, you fuckin’ pig. I think I know a good name for you, actually. Why don’t we go ahead and call you Piggo from now on, eh?”

“Fuck Boss, ya can call me anything you want, just fuck me!”

Boss drooled some spit down Miles’s crack, and then pushed in, his new boy’s hole already open and eager to be fucked, just like they always were after a good shearing. He shoved the boy’s face against the wall, the other hand gripping his hip, and rammed in deep, making sure it was good and rough, just the way his boys liked it. Miles had never been fucked like this in his life, and he could feel something happening, the ink across his shoulder blades shifting and reforming, becoming his new title, “Piggo” in big letters across his back, with the “O” in the shape of a pig’s snout. He gave a grunt, and his old name went fuzzy. He had to actively try and hold onto it, as something like a drain opened up in the bottom of his mind, and bits of his mind started tumbling into it, lost to the depths. He was so focused on that, that he didn’t notice his  body swelling larger, Boss’s precum already beginning to have an effect on his new boy’s body.

After all, he wasn’t quite big enough to be a pig yet. He needed a bigger gut and broader, more muscular shoulders. A little shorter maybe, with a wide stance. No one would be able to push this pig around, unless the pig wanted them to, of course, and this slutty pig was going to want as many rough fuckin’ skinheads pushing him around as possible. “When I cum in this hole, pig, that means it’s mine. I can have it whenever I fuckin’ want it. Any man I take a liking to, can take it. I own your hole, I own your body, I own your fuckin’ soul from now on, do you fuckin’ understand me? You’re one of my boys now, and you’re never gonna be anything else!”

With a roar, Boss came deep in Piggo’s hole, the newly made skinpig grunting and snorting, bucking back, hungry to get as much of his boss’s seed inside him as he could, packing on mass, even as he shrank a bit, turning into a stocky fireplug, the only hair on his body now a short, chinstrap beard. Boss flipped him around and the kissed for a bit, swapping spit while they came down from their fuck, and then Boss stepped back, looking him up and down.

Piggo–no, not Piggo, that wasn’t his name! Miles shook his head, trying to sort out what was going on in his head. He knew this was wrong, knew that something had happened to him, changed him, but he couldn’t sort everything out. He stumbled over to the mirror and stared at himself in a mix of horror and horniness, his pierced face, his stocky frame, his freakish cock and balls, the riot of tattoos still swarming and settling around his body. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he said, and turned on Boss, “What the fuck did you just do to me, Boss?”

“Still got some fight in you, eh?” Boss said, and came closer, “I do like a fighter, but we’ll have you good and broken soon. Let’s get you dressed, and then it’s time to show Pigtown my new boy.”

“No, fuck–fuck you! Fix whatever the fuck you did to me!” Miles said, doing his best to sound brave, but his voice was wavering, and Boss just laughed, wrapped a hand around the back of his head, and forced him into a kiss, pushing a lungful of cigar smoke down his throat, making his mind spin again, the drain opening up, sucking down more and more of his old self into it. He tried to pull away, but Boss just shoved him back up against the wall and fed him more smoke until he stopped fighting, until he was kissing him back, drooling a bit in smoky stupor.

“Hmmm,” Boss said, “Thought you would be smarter than that, but I can’t tolerate insolence like that, boy,” he said, giving a tug on one of the rings in Miles’s nipples, making him groan. “Gonna be a fun night boy, let’s see how long you can keep that fight up at the Hideaway.”

Miles only had a foggy memory of what happened next. A boy came in with a pile of clothes for him. Some tattered and grungy bleached jeans, calf high rangers with bright red socks he knew to roll over the top, no underwear, and a thick leather biker jacket, leaving most of his upper body exposed. Last, Boss put a choke collar on him attached to a short collar, and tugged him out of the room and out of the shop, Miles struggling to keep up as they headed down the sidewalk. It was only out in the cool evening air that he realized the ass of the jeans was mostly gone–anyone walking down the street could look back and see him hanging out, and the crew around Boss all took turns groping and fingering him, while he tried to keep up with the lead in Boss’s hand.

They arrived at a bar after a twenty minute walk, a place called the Hideaway, and the bouncer out front let them all in without so much as a glance. Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was already quite packed, and as soon as they were inside, Boss used the lead to force Miles onto his hands and knees and made him crawl through the bar while he chatted with a few regulars, ordering Miles to lick their boots clean while they talked. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t tell if it was the smoke, or the bar, or just the power of Boss himself, he couldn’t seem stop himself from licking any boot put in front of him, no matter the condition. After an hour of that humiliation, enough to soften him up, he was led deeper into the bar, into a maze like series of hallways, where any number of men were already fucking away in the red lit corners. They arrived at a bank of slings, and with a little help, from the rest of the gang, they had Miles in one of them, wrists and booted ankles secured to the chains, and it was clear he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Alright Piggo, time to take your punishment,” Boss said, standing over him, the end of his cigar the brightest thing in the room. “I was gonna let you be a tough little bouncer back at the shop, but after your little outburst, I think that’s aiming a bit high for a pig like you. You’re gonna be a housepig for a while. Cleaning boots, taking fists, serving all of us as our personal ashtray, until you can show me that you can behave, how does that sound?”

He could see it, when Boss’s eyes suddenly glowed a bit in the dark, rested on his exposed gut, and the ink that had still been swirling over his body began to solidify. All over him were inked boot prints, and he found the taste of leather and bootblack lingering on his tongue incredibly erotic. Across his forehead, more ink formed the word ASHTRAY”, and when Boss took one hand away to tap the ash from his cigar into his mouth, he gulped it down, horrified at how eager he was to chew at the hot ash and swallow it. Boss laughed at his excitement, teased his body with the heat of his cigar, eventually pressing it into his skin at the base of his cock, making him howl in pain and delight, the rest of the crew all lighting up cigars and cigarettes of their own, sucking them down so they could feed him the ash and tease him with the heat, while Boss went to work on his hole. 

He skipped his cock, and started working his fingers into Miles’s hole, and Miles groaned from the stretch. He was clinging to anything he could now, so desperate to fight any of this, but he could feel the ink and spreading through him, deeper into him, into his veins, into his heart, as Boss worked two fingers in, and then three, roughly digging into his ass, demanding he be allowed inside, demanding that Miles submit. He could feel it slipping away again, that name, and all he could find again was Piggo as he began snorting and grunting in delight, begging the men around him for more ash and more burns, pushing down, aching to feel all of Boss’s hand inside him, and finally, it slid in, and when it did, he could feel something inside him snap. Piggo’s short, thick cock erupted with cum all over his tattooed gut, taking what remained of his resistance with it, taking the name Miles with it, and Boss drove his hand deeper and deeper into his hole until he was satisfied, and then let the rest of the gang around them took their turns.

Some fisted him too, others opted to ram their cocks into his sloppy hole. Piggo didn’t care as long as he was being used, and every fuck only made him hornier for his gang, for Boss, for boots and ash and cock and pain. He didn’t quite know when the night ended, but everything seemed to fade away into darkness, and Piggo awoke with a snort on a filthy mattress, tongue pressed to the bottom of some other skin’s boot.

He sat up, confused for a moment, crawled over to a mirror and looked at himself, at his tattooed body, his tattooed face, at his smooth head, forever smooth now that he was one of Boss’s pigs. He knew, somehow, that something had changed, but he couldn’t remember what. Instead, he crawled back over and finished what he must have been doing when he fell asleep–cleaning the boots of the gang, and when they woke up, he was more than happy to take their morning loads and their morning ash, a skinpig forever more.

TPC – Chapter 2.14

Chapter 2.14 – The Reality Check

Barry woke up the next morning, refreshed and satisfied in a way he couldn’t recall being since college. Maybe since before college, if ever. It was disconcerting, because he couldn’t remember getting into bed. The last thing he could recall with any real clarity, was watching Ian milk his own desires right out of Richard. He knew he had driven home, he could recall some of that. He’d gotten in the house, drank the cum and that was it.

He felt great though, and the more he thought about it, the more he could begin to recall something else, something different. He’d been at the bar for a party, but it was a party for him. He’d gotten the promotion, of course. There was no one else remotely qualified like he was, or as well liked and respected by his team and leadership in the company. Evan had called him into his office for his interview, and nearly handed him the job right then and there. There was no Richard, anymore. He didn’t even exist. Barry heaved a sigh, laid back on the bed, and basked in what he recalled. It was what he’d wanted. All of it.

Eventually he got up, went into the bathroom, and there in the mirror, he could see a few shifts as well. It wasn’t as extreme as the Prestige he’d taken in the bathroom (not that that had happened in his new memories) but it was still apparent. A stronger jaw. He was a little more toned, his posture a little straighter. He just looked more important than he had the day before. He looked like someone who could hold the attention of a room. He took a shower, and only after did he notice that something was missing–he wasn’t sure where Dennis was.

He checked his phone but didn’t see a text from him, though there was one from Ian.

“Hey, just checking in, I bet you woke up feeling great. You might notice some lingering nausea and blurry vision–this is perfectly normal. Your reality is still sorting itself out, tying up loose ends. Try not to do anything too crazy–choices you make for the next while can have repercussions if you don’t take it a bit easy. For something like this though, you should be fine in a couple of hours.”

He texted him back, asking him what he meant by repercussions exactly, but didn’t get a reply right away. Ian was probably still asleep, after all, it seemed like he’d still had more work to do on Richard after Barry had left. In any case, he was sure that it couldn’t be anything that terrible. That still left him wondering about Dennis. He tried to remember if Dennis had been there when he’d gotten home, but he couldn’t remember either finding him, or not finding him there. Most likely he’d just gone for a morning jog. He didn’t do it regularly, but sometimes he’d get to feeling like he needed to try and get into shape again, go jogging for a week or two, and then call it quits when it came clear it wasn’t going to happen like magic. 

Beyond that, he was hungry. He went down to the kitchen, started making himself some breakfast, only for the world to lurch around him, making him feel like he was going to vomit. It took a minute or two for it to settle, and when his vision cleared, the world wasn’t quite the same, but he couldn’t quite place what had changed. That must be what Ian had been talking about. He checked his phone again, and there was still no reply. Now he was worried, but if Ian said it would pass, then he’d just have to be patient. In any case, the sudden lurch had spoiled his appetite, and he set the breakfast he’d started back in the fridge for now. Maybe when Dennis got back they’d eat together, while he congratulated him on his promotion. He was looking forward to watching his husband eat crow–not that he supposed he would notice. He wondered how this reality stuff would even affect him. Barry could remember the way things had been, but would Dennis?

It was not long after that he heard the garage door opening–which was odd. When Dennis went running, he always went out the front door. He also heard the car. Maybe he’d just gone to the store or something, but that was rather unlike him. He went out to the garage in time to watch a sheepish Dennis climb out of the car, wearing a rather odd assortment of clothes–leather gear, with an oversized shirt on top and some baggy pants below. They looked at each other, Dennis’s eyes as large as plates, and he stammered out a few syllables, but Barry didn’t hear any of it. His vision slipped sideways again, and his guts twisted, and he could feel something growing taut, but he didn’t know what to name it.

When the world snapped back, he was clinging to the bannister of the small flight of steps down into the garage, and Dennis was leaning over the side mirror of the car–but he looked different. Smaller, a little chubbier. Younger too. No, he’d always looked like that, but it felt like his eyes were trying to stare at two versions of Dennis occupying the same space. “Fuck, what did…what was that Barry?” Dennis asked, forcing himself upright again, and saw himself in the mirror. “I…no, I was changing back, why do I look like that again?”

Barry turned around and went back in the house, stumbling a bit as he went. He needed to call Ian, find out what this was doing to them both. He checked his messages, but there was nothing. He called him, the phone rang a few times and then went to voicemail, and Barry almost threw his phone across the kitchen. 

“What’s going on, Barry? What happened?”

Dennis had followed him inside, and when Barry turned to look at him, the world just kept turning and spinning, Dennis blurring and spinning with it. Dennis didn’t fit right, he was the wrong shape, the wrong color, the wrong sound. He needed to be different. He needed to fit. That thing grew taut again, tighter and tighter, and then it snapped apart, everything slammed together again but it was right now. Of course Dennis was getting home late–his slutty cub of a husband liked to go out on the weekends. Barry went with him usually, but didn’t last night because of his own party–he’d told Dennis to go on without him. “Looks like someone had a good night at the Hideaway,” Barry said, grinning at him. “Go home with the staff again?”

“No, Barry, how do you know that? I…I feel so weird, what’s happening?”

Barry walked over, and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping one hand around the back of him and cupping his ass. He was smaller then him, but then, he always had been. The sensation felt strange to him all the same, and the sense of power it gave him, was an unexpected rush, and he pushed his tongue into Barry’s mouth, reminding him who he really belonged to–only for Dennis to push him away.

“What’s gotten into you? Why…why do you look…strange? Barry, answer me.”

Barry, however, was feeling a bit frustrated. How dare the cub rebuff him like that, so easily? Barry was the important one. Barry was the one who brought home the money. Barry was the one in control. He could almost feel his vision shaking this time, Dennis stubbornly refusing to shift into his proper place. Yeah, proper place, he’d put him in back where he belonged. He stepped forward, and when he went to grab Dennis this time, the world shuddered again, but at last, he felt something turn around and lock–and when it snapped back, he had Denny shoved up against the wall next to the door to the garage, one hand running down to his hole and probing it. 

“You fucking slut, how many men had you last night? Did you even count?”

“Barry, I–”

“What’s one more, eh?” Barry said, and pushed his cock into his loose hole and Dennis gasped in sudden delight. 

He knew this was wrong. Barry had never been this aggressive before, this domineering, but where the old Dennis would have put him in his place, his hole was too hungry, his heart thrumming at a different, eager frequency. They fucked right there in the hallway, Barry cumming after a few minutes, and pulling free. 

“Get yourself cleaned up–and then make us breakfast, would you?” Barry said, “Something a little celebratory, after my promotion.”

Dennis just mumbled something like a yes, and scampered upstairs and into the shower, trying to sort out what had just happened to him, what he’d felt, what he was, who he was. The shower didn’t really help, and when he climbed out, he looked at himself in the mirror, and he just felt wrong. He’d been different. Older, more dominant. He’d been important, he’d been a surgeon. But that was gone now. He just worked…as a receptionist. A receptionist at the hospital, he didn’t want to work more than that, after all, when would he get to go out and get fucked if he had an important job like that? He shook his head, the thought felt so natural, but he had to remember it was wrong. He went downstairs, planning on demanding Barry explain what happened to them, but his voice wouldn’t come out, like he forgot the words even as he tried to say them. Instead, he fixed them both a nice breakfast while Barry read the morning paper.

After they’d eaten, Barry checked his phone, and saw Ian had replied to him. Reality, apparently, could struggle to accommodate other odd changes or deviations in behavior, leading to radically altered timelines. Barry shot back an angry little note, telling him he would have appreciated the warning first. Ian apologized, and asked him if he could think of anything happening. Barry couldn’t though. As far as he was concerned, his life had never been better. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.


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TPC – Chapter 2.13

Chapter 2.13 – The Give and Take

Barry and Dennis didn’t cuddle much. Perhaps it was because Dennis was a bit cold in bed, and guarded his sleep close. You couldn’t do a clean surgery if you were tired in the morning, after all. But this morning, Dennis appreciated it. The little spoon wasn’t his usual position, since he was bigger than Barry was, but this morning, he felt enveloped in his husband’s arms somehow. Safe. He snuggled back a bit, thankful it was Saturday and he didn’t really have to get up for anything quite yet, other than a jog–maybe.

The arms around him squeezed him tighter, and maybe it was how strong they were. Maybe it was the rasp of the stubble against his neck, the tongue that flicked his ear. Maybe it was the cock that slid up between his cheeks when the grip around him tightened. Maybe it was the smell, the sounds, the rougher sheets than his usual. Maybe all of it. Dennis realized that he wasn’t in his bed, and it wasn’t Barry that was holding him and pulling him closer, and in a panic, he wormed himself out of the stranger’s hold and nearly fell on the floor beside the bed.

“Hey now, calm down cub, it’s all fine,” the man said behind him. It took Dennis a moment to recognize him–the bouncer from The Hideaway. He vaguely remembered going home with him the night before, after…after everything else that had happened, a massive crush of memory, seemingly too much for a single night. He felt nauseous, and disgusted with himself. He stumbled through the bouncer’s apartment (he didn’t even know his name!) found the toilet, and fell in front of the dirty bowl, almost willing himself to vomit. He wanted to vomit, he wanted something to present to the world that would demonstrate his disgust, but nothing came up, just tears, and then the bouncer was beside him, on the tile, pulling him close, and Dennis sobbed into his chest.

“Fuck, first time, eh? Don’t worry boy, I got you, just let it all out.”

Dennis sobbed, unable to reconcile what had happened to him the night before, what he’d done, with the person he’d thought he was. He didn’t go to leather bars like that. He didn’t wear leather, he didn’t have sex with random men, he didn’t…he didn’t! But he had. He had, and he’d liked it. The disgust was there, but it was one level removed. He wasn’t disgusted at what he had done in the club–he was disgusted that he had enjoyed it all so very, very much. He could smell the sweat and the musk rolling off the bouncer’s chest, and Dennis felt his cock throb, and that was enough to push him away and wipe his eyes. He had to get himself together. 

“The first few hangovers are a real bitch. I know, I remember mine. You’ll get used to them, don’t worry.”

“I’ve never had a hangover in my life. I didn’t even drink last night.”

“Not that kind of hangover. A Pigtown Hangover. We get lost in it all, and wake up back home, no idea how we got there. Or in someone else’s bed, still no idea. It happens. It just means you had a real good night.”

“I…you all raped me. I didn’t want to do any of that!”

The bouncer sighed. “Really? You didn’t want all the guys in the bar to line up behind you and pump a load into that hot hole of yours? That doesn’t turn you on?”

Dennis had to hide his cock as it got harder still, and the bouncer laughed. “Dicks don’t lie, bud, not around here.”

“But I didn’t–”

“You disregarded my very clear suggestions that this was not the place for you, and instead you snuck in, violating our rather clear dress code. What did you think was going to happen?” he said, then sighed, “I guess you didn’t know what was going to happen, did you? Well, part of you knew. I could smell how hungry you were at the door.”

Hunger. Dennis poked around a moment, but that hunger he’d felt for days now, it was gone. Not gone, not really, but sated. “I…I need to get home.”

“Sure thing man. You live close?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t have a car, or I’d drive you. Looks like you’ll have to join the march of shame.”

He helped Dennis up to his feet, who turned, saw himself in the mirror, and gasped. He looked different. Really different. Younger, for one thing. Shorter, hairier, a little chubbier. He gave his face a poke, then the rest of him, trying to map his ego onto the body he was seeing. 

“I think that was Marshall, did that to you. You were trying to talk to his apprentice, weren’t you?”

Dennis focused, and could remember that smoke, the strange sensation. But it was Kyle who had done it, not Marshall–or the older fellow who had been with Kyle at least, if that’s who he was. “He…said I was going to be a cub with…a hungry hole, looking for a Daddy.”

“Well, you found one, and that hole sure was hungry last night,” the bouncer said, coming up behind him, running a hand down Dennis’s ass, running a finger around his ring. Dennis moaned at the sudden pleasure that welled up in him, and pushed back before getting a hold of himself. “Does the cub need one last fuck before he goes?”

“I can’t, I…my husband doesn’t know where I am, and…”

“No worries man, I get it.”

Dennis looked at himself, at what he was wearing. He still only had the jock, boots and harness on. No phone, no wallet. No keys. “I don’t…have any of my stuff, I must have lost it with my pants at the bar.”

“It’ll show up where you need it. Pigtown loves to take, but it’s not interested in any of that stuff. It gives you plenty too, if you’re brave enough to let it in.” He probed his finger against Dennis’s hole, working in a bit, feeling how eagerly it opened for him, and smiled. “Come on you cute cub, how about one more for the road?”

Dennis knew he should say no, knew he should push him away, knew he should hold onto what little bit of dignity he still had. Instead, he let the bouncer bend him over the counter, lube his cock up with some spit, and slide it deep in his hole, right where it belonged. Getting fucked had never felt like this before, it had never, not once in his life, felt good. But this was wave after wave of pleasure washing over him, and he found himself pushing back, begging for more, the smell of their sweat filling the bathroom and steaming the mirror in front of them before the bouncer finished inside him, reached around, and with just a couple of strokes brought Dennis to orgasm all over the front of the counter.

He kept his cock inside Dennis until it got soft, both of them panting together, and Dennis eventually muttered, “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Craig.”

“I’m Dennis.”

“Nice to meet you Dennis, I hope you don’t regret it.”

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t. Craig pulled free of him, helped Dennis out of his leather gear, and they showered together. He offered him breakfast, but Dennis really was starting to worry about Barry, and declined.

“Well, we should at least cover you up a bit. Otherwise, you won’t make it to your car before some other Daddy drags you down a dark alley and has their way with you.”

Somehow, Dennis didn’t doubt that Craig was telling the truth. He also found himself wondering if that might not be so bad after all. Craig gave him some jeans an old flame had left in a drawer that mostly fit–the legs were a bit long and the waist needed a belt, but it worked well enough. Then, he gave him the work shirt he’d had on at the bar the night before. It was soaked with sweat still, and smelled like heaven when he pulled it on.

“I need that back eventually–company property,” Craig said.

“What’s your address?”

“You can find me at the bar–you know where I work,” he said, giving Dennis a wink and a swat on the ass as he pushed him out the door and into the hallway of the apartment building where he lived. “You even have some leather gear now–so you can get in the front door, like a civilized cub.”

They had a bit of a laugh at that, and then Dennis was out and onto the sidewalk, along with a good number of other men in situations similar to his. He exchanged a few knowing nods along the way, and that helped too. That he wasn’t alone. Dennis made it back to his car in good time, and without losing his hole to any sexy Daddy along the way–though more than once he considered it. Just like Craig had said, his keys were resting on the hood of his car, his phone and wallet in the center console. How they had gotten there he didn’t know, but after everything else that had happened, he wasn’t surprised. He drove home, already trying to figure out what he was going to tell Barry to explain…any of this. The fear almost made him turn around, go back, and crawl back into bed with Craig–but he couldn’t do that. But the thought made his guts growl. He thought it was because he’d skipped breakfast for a moment, but he knew what it was now, that hunger. He’d sated it for the night, at least. But how long could he go without now that he’d feasted?


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TPC – Chapter 2.12

Chapter 2.12 – The Hardhat Life

“Rise and shine meatheads, let’s get to fuckin’ work!”

Richard groaned and rolled over on the mattress, and nearly tumbled off–he reached out and found a post and stopped himself, then looked around. He had no idea where he was. In fact, he had no idea where he was supposed to be. He had no real idea who he was, either, for that matter. It was easier to start with the where–so he did that.

It was a long metal room, the two sides lined with bunk beds. All around him, guys were clambering out of their own narrow mattresses, all of them naked, and pulling on a wide variety of grungy, unwashed clothing that had been heaped in the center of the room. He laid there, watching, until someone came up and gave him a smack upside the head. He looked down and saw a face glowering up at him. “Newbie! Get your ass up, get dressed, and get your ass outside.”

The knock and the barking of the order was enough to stiffen his little cock, and he did as he was told. By the time he got down and lumbered over–his body just didn’t feel right, somehow, but he didn’t know how it was supposed to feel anyway, so maybe this was how it should be–the pile of clothes had dwindled to nearly nothing. He pulled on a filthy wifebeater than smelled like someone had pissed on it recently, found a set of overalls that were too long for his shorter legs, and ended up in sets of mismatched socks and workboots, but he was dressed. The last one out the door, he took the hardhat the boss handed him, and put it on like the rest of the men milling about in the yard. The crowd was larger than just the men who had fit in his quarters, which now that he was outside of it, he saw was a converted shipping crate. There were three more in the vacant lot where they were now wandering around. Some guys were trying to swap clothes, others were standing, waiting for orders probably. The Boss called them to order, and they all stopped what they were doing, and listened.

“Alright, we got the usual three spots today, and some special jobs I’ll be assigning myself. Twenty of you on the right–twenty on the left, and the rest in the middle.”

There was some jostling, and Richard ended up on the left flank.

“Alright. Right hand side, you have the project with House of Kings, working on their new compound. Left, you’re working the apartments up the block. Center, you’ll be broken into smaller teams for odd jobs. Alright, let’s get to it.”

The men broke off and headed to their assigned locations, Richard swept away with the twenty other grunts headed for the apartment job. They got there in a few minutes, and another Boss was waiting for them, lined them up, and assigned them duties. He gave Richard a once over and sighed. “Newbie, you’re gonna be runnin’. Just make sure everyone’s got the shit they need, and try not to fuck anything up,” he said, and then moved onto the next guy in line. Richard wanted to ask him what they were doing, why he was here, but he didn’t get a chance, and the other guys didn’t seem particularly interested either. When he was finished assigning duties, they broke off and headed to their duties, but Richard stayed behind.

“I…uh…I don’t know why I’m here, I think…I think there’s a mistake.”

“There’s no mistake hardhat. Get to fucking work.”

“But…I don’t think I work here. My name…my name’s Richard, and–”

The Boss slapped him across the face, and for the second time that morning, Richard found himself with an embarrassing hard on. “Get in the fucking trailer. I don’t know where they’re getting you fucks lately, but they aren’t even cleaning you out properly.”

Richard gulped, but did as the Boss ordered, following him into the trailer. He noticed a couple of other guys watching, then they shook their heads and got back to work. Richard felt a little shame at that, but what had he done wrong? He just didn’t understand. The door closed behind them, and he had no chance to think before the Boss whirled on him, put both of his hands around his neck, and shoved him back against the wall.

“Now, you need to listen real close, Newbie. I don’t like having to explain shit, and you fucking hardhats are too fucking stupid to understand half of it anyway. You don’t have a fucking name–not anymore. You’re a fucking hardhat. You’re all interchangeable. You work, you eat, you sleep, and you do it again the next day, got it?” Richard nodded, but the Boss only squeezed his throat tighter, until he was gasping for breath, and then released him. Richard fell forward as he stepped back, and he landed on the floor in front of him on all fours. Without letting him catch his breath, he shoved the toe of his dirty boot in his mouth. “Clean it, pig.”

Richard tried to pull away, but he just pushed it harder, rolling him onto his back, the bottom of his boot against his mouth, while the Boss pulled his belt free from his pants, doubled it, and gave him a sharp smack on the nuts with it, making him grunt–and much to his horror, leak profusely, enough to wet the front of his ill fitting overalls. “I said clean it, pig. I know you fucking hardhats love the taste of a grimy boot.”

Richard realized he was already licking the boot by the time Boss gave the order. Even worse, he realized that he was enjoying it. He reached down to grope his cock, only for Boss to smack his hand away with the belt. 

“Keep your hands off pig–do a good job, and maybe I’ll let you cum with my cock deep in your guts.”

That image just made Richard lick harder, much to his shame. But the shame only made him more excited, made him leak even more, and that made him lick more, and he…he was enjoying this. He wanted this. When the boots were clean, he begged Boss to fuck him, begged him to breed his dirty pig hole, and Boss eventually relented–but only after looping his belt around Richard’s nuts and pulling it tight while he fucked him good and rough. That was enough for him to explode with a loud squeal, shooting his load all over the desk he was bent over, and once Boss had finished inside him, he made Richard clean off the desk, then his cock, and then gripped his neck again.

“Now, who are you?”

“A…hardhat, Sir.”

“And what is a hardhat?”

“A…stupid pig, sir. A stupid, horny, stinking, gross pig…”

“And what are you gross pigs good for?”

“Work sir. And fucking. But mostly work…will…you fuck me again sir, please?”

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he said, and released him. “Get to fucking work, don’t you realize how much of my time you wasted, Newbie? Give me that hat.”

Richard handed him the orange hat he’d received that morning, and Boss handed him a yellow one. 

“You know what that means?”

Richard shook his head.

“Means you’re today’s urinal. Tomorrow too–as long as I think necessary, until you get used to being a filthy hardhat. You’ll still be running, but all the hardhats know what that hat means. Think you can do that? If not, I have another one you can wear instead,” he said, and pointed to a brown hardhat on hanging on the wall. “But maybe you’d like that one too much.”

Richard gulped.

“Now get out of my sight.”

Richard scrambled out of the trailer and back towards the workers, and saw that quite a few of them were waiting to see him come out–and when they noticed the swapped hat, more than a few of them even looked a bit jealous. Richard understood why. Boss stuck his head out, hollered at them all to get back to work, and they scrambled back to their duties, Richard quickly finding a little bit of a flow. Guys would shout at him if they needed something, and he’d find it and get it to them. If there was no one shouting, he started asking around–and if they didn’t need something, they usually needed to piss, and Richard was more than happy to drink it down for them.

“Lucky fucker,” one of them said as he finished, “Wanna trade hats? I never get to be the urinal.”

The hardhat considered it for a moment, then shook his head, and headed off to check with someone else, his concerns already evaporating, as the day heated up. He was a hardhat now–he didn’t need to know more than that–but he did, for some reason, hold onto his name. It wasn’t important really, but he liked the sound of it, how it felt in his mouth. Richard. He whispered it softly to himself that night, and each night after that–and before long, it was all he had left.


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TPC – Chapter 2.11

Chapter 2.11 – Lost in the Hideaway

Dennis quickly discovered that The Hideaway wasn’t so much a bar, as a fucking maze. The hallway made a few turns, and then ended at a junction going left or right. The corridor was narrow, and barely lit. He stood there for a couple moments, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and then went right, trying to follow the sounds of what he assumed would be the crowd at the main bar. But after following the corridor for a little ways, he came upon a dead end with a sling hanging from the ceiling. A man clad in a rubber body catsuit was in it, another fisting him rather deep. The fister looked over at him, leering, and Dennis quickly retreated back down the hallway. Easy enough–he’d just go the other way at the junction.

But he never found the junction again. He couldn’t remember taking any turns or choices, but each time he turned a corner, it seemed he found himself in a loop, or a dead end, or some other obstacle he couldn’t seem to bypass. He was beginning to panic, sweat building up under his shirt from the heat of the place, and again, he felt that same need or hunger building up inside him. Feeling light headed, he took a seat on a little perch for a moment, unbuttoned the front of his shirt, and felt…something underneath it that didn’t seem like it should be there.

It was a leather harness. He didn’t own a single piece of leather in his whole wardrobe, aside from shoes. He gave the leather a tug, feeling it pull against him, and then attempted to loosen the buckles, but they refused to budge. 

“Ah, I had a feeling it was gonna be you.” Dennis looked up at the voice and saw the same bouncer from the door looming over him–and blocking his only exit from where he was sitting. “Some guys said someone was running around the halls, didn’t look like he belonged, but it looks like you’re already fitting in a little more, eh?”

“I…I didn’t put this on. I don’t know where it came from,” Dennis said. “Can…you help me get out of here?”

“But you were so eager to get in earlier. Besides, if Pigtown wanted you gone, you’d be gone. I think you’re right where it wants you. I did warn you about the dress code though–so the rest of that is gonna have to go.”

The bouncer stepped into his space and started tearing away Dennis’s clothes, first his shirt, then his pants, leaving them as shreds on the ground. Similar to the harness, he saw that his underwear had become a leather jockstrap, and on his feet were not the sneakers he’d put on earlier, but a couple of black work boots. 

“See, isn’t that better?” the bouncer said, grabbing hold of Dennis’ nips in his fingers, and toying with them, watching him wince and gasp. “I’d stay and play, but technically I’m on the clock, and Boss doesn’t like that. Maybe later, eh? I like my boys a little broken in anyway.”

The bouncer backed off and turned down the corridor, leaving Dennis to scramble down and try and reassemble the scraps of his clothes–but nothing was even there. It had all just vanished into nothing. It was impossible, but then, all of this was. He turned the corner and went after the bouncer, but he’d already slipped away into the dark, and Dennis found himself turned around again. Now, however, the corridors were not nearly as empty. They were full of men in leather and rubber gear, all of them leering at him, sniffing the air, following behind him until he came to another dead end.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” one of the men said. He stepped forward, a tall, burly fellow in leather vest and chaps, with a thick cock swinging between his legs. He pulled Dennis into him, and while he tried to will himself to fight the man off, as soon as the man laid his lips on him, something inside him roared to life, and he found himself passionately kissing the leatherman, as the others came around. He had no idea what this hunger was, this desire. The leatherman pushed him back onto a ledge, hauled up his legs, and Dennis felt his cock press against his hole. He hadn’t been fucked in years, and he tried to say something, ask him to go slow, but the leatherman worked the head in, and a swirl of pleasure and pain swirled through Dennis’s mind.

One after another, the men fucked him. Most were smaller than the leatherman had been, and so Dennis had no trouble taking each of them in turn. He had moments of clarity, thoughts that he should resist, that he couldn’t be doing this, but another cock would slot into him, and he’d be carried off on that same pleasure all over again. After the crowd had taken their turn, they left him on that ledge, ass drooling cum under him, and he stood up and hobbled away down the hallway–and there it was, the corridor. The bathrooms. The breakroom. The alley. He could run. He could get out. But the hunger, he was so hungry now, every fuck had only made him want it more, and so he turned and continued into the dark, now hunting–and it wasn’t long before he smelled the smoke, and found his way to where Kyle and Marshall were smoking cigars and kissing, a pig on the ground licking both of their boots, stopping only to look up and take the ash off their cigars as it accumulated.

“K-Kyle…” Dennis managed to say, but his voice felt so parched and dry all of a sudden.

The young man turned towards him in confusion, and in the dark, he struggled to recognize him at all. Dennis stepped closer into the red light, and Kyle’s eyes lit up. “Fuck, again?” he said with a laugh. “Hey Master, look who it is.”

Marshall turned to look at Dennis, and he felt, for a moment, that cloud of smoke clear, enough that he could recognize the older smoker’s face from…from the shop, and from Depot, though neither of those memories made much sense. Marshall sighed. “I told you, he must like you.”

“We just kissed once! I was just curious, I didn’t even like him that much.”

“Kisses mean different things to different people.”

The kiss in the garage. Dennis had tried to tell himself it hadn’t meant anything either, that Kyle didn’t mean anything to him. He’d just wanted to protect him, and care for him, and…and suck his cock, and beg him for his seed, and oh gods, this had been a mistake. The hunger was for Kyle, but not just Kyle. For this freedom, if that’s what this was, but Kyle was the root of it. That stolen kiss, he’d never felt so brave before in his life. No wonder he’d held onto it so hard, though he’d never been able to admit it. “Please, I…I don’t know why, I remember…can you tell me what’s happening to me?”

“Pigtown’s happening to you, friend,” Marshall said, “Like it happened to all of us. What do you think, should we help him out, Apprentice? Go on boy, play with him. He’s yours, make him what you want him to be.”

Kyle stepped up to Dennis, close enough that he could feel the heat of his cigar on his cheek. “You always treated me like a kid. Do I look like a kid to you?”

Dennis shook his head.

Kyle took a long draw off his cigar, wrapped one gloved hand around the back of Dennis’s head, and kissed him again–but it was nothing like the kiss he’d taken in the garage. He’d been timid before, anxious. He’d let Dennis guide him, and tease him. But this was forceful, rough. He pushed the smoke into Dennis’s lungs, and while he tried not to breathe it in, it drove deep anyway, flooding not just his body, but up into his mind as well, making him feel lightheaded and uneasy on his feet.

“You’re going to be the boy now,” Kyle said. “Cute little cub with a hungry little hole, looking for a Daddy to take care of you, and fuck you, and play with you. That’s what you are tonight.”

Dennis felt something in his shift, the smoke warping his body, filling his body out with a soft layer of fat as he lost a little height, his first few wrinkles smoothing out, his beard pulling in and becoming a sparse goatee as his hairline grew back to a point it hadn’t been in years. 

“Nicely done, apprentice. You’re such a fucking natural.”

“I learn from the best.”

Dennis looked down at himself, at his strange body, at the two handsome Daddies in front of him, and he dropped to his knees, inched forward, and started sucking on Kyle’s cock. Marshall came around, lifted up his ass, and the two of them spitroasted him, and when they came, Kyle’s cum tasted and felt like smoke, and Marshall’s load swirled in his guts, into his veins, settling inside him like ash. They left, and Dennis tried to get them to take him with them, but Kyle stopped him. “Not tonight, pig. Tonight, I think you belong to The Hideaway, don’t you?”

Dennis…knew he was right, somehow. The bar claimed him, for violating its…its rules, though he couldn’t recall wearing anything other than what he had on now. He roamed the halls, circulating, stopping whenever he found a handsome Daddy perched in a corner to suck their cock and beg for a load, before moving on again, until he found himself at the bouncer’s booted feet again, looking up at him eagerly.

“See? Nice and broken now, aren’t you?”

Dennis nodded.

“Alright cub–come on home with me then, and let’s have some fun.”


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TPC – Chapter 2.10

Chapter 10 – Emptied Out

Richard found himself dragged down some concrete steps into the basement of the house where Barry had driven them. It was not his house–where in the hell was he? He tried to focus on what was going on around him, but it was difficult. He never drank that much, but Barry had just kept filling his glass from all those pitchers, and he was such a good guy, he hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. Now he was here, in some strange basement, with two guys cutting his clothes off before strapping him down to a table.

“Good evening Richard, my name’s Ian, how are you tonight?” one of the other men said, looming over him. 

“I don’t, what are you doing to me? I didn’t want to come here.”

“It’s going to be ok Richard, trust me, alright?” Barry said, coming around to the other side of the table. “You know I would never steer you wrong.”

“I…but what am I doing here?”

“You’re helping me out, Richard. You like being a helpful guy, and you’re helping my friend here out too. It’s just a little test is all, everything will be just fine. All you have to do is trust me.”

Richard nodded, but that didn’t do much to alleviate his fear.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve brought me then,” Ian said, and placed his hands on the side of Richard’s head. 

What happened after that was difficult to explain. He felt something push into him, into his mind, and start pulling on strings, poking around into various nooks and crannies. It wasn’t a physical sensation, but it was pleasurable. Richard let out a moan, and when the man pulled his hands away, he was embarrassed to realize that his cock had gotten fully erect right in front of them both.

“Well damn, this is some good stock you’ve brought along. I didn’t think it would be quite this good.”

“So it’s worth something?” Barry asked.

“Oh, I can find a buyer for a lot of this, for sure. You’ll get your cut too, of course. Finder’s fee. Your promotion, and I’ll throw in a little extra too, since it looks like you got a taste of a little bit of what else I can do tonight.”

“Fuck, you can make this…permanent?”

“It won’t be quite as intense, but it’ll be there. What ends up as waste material is the more…intense stuff. I’d explain it if I could, but this is all new, cutting edge shit.”

“No kidding, how…how is any of this possible?”

“Ask Pigtown,” Ian said. “It’s been a wild couple of years.”

“I don’t–did I do ok? On the test?” Richard asked, “Why did that feel so good?”

“You did great,” Ian said, “But this next part is more important, alright? So just relax. It’ll all be over before you know it. If you thought it felt good before, just you wait, bud.”

Richard lifted his head up, and watched as Ian took a strange tube from the cart beside him, and attached it to his cock. It was a flexible silicone sleeve with a tube coming out the top, but the bottom sealed around the base like a vacuum. “Alright, let’s start off with the finder’s fee,” Ian said, flipped a switch, and Richard gasped as the milker on his cock started sucking at it, making him shudder and buck.

Ian came around behind his head, put his hands on Richard’s temples again, and the same sensation happened as before, but more focused. Ian wasn’t looking through everything all at once this time, instead, he focused on Richard’s work at the office. Not just his work, exactly. His promotion. He saw himself in Evan’s office, getting his softball interview, already knowing he was a shoe in for the position. The team congratulating him. It was more than just that though–it was his charisma. His confidence. His trust. All of it was being bundled up and pushed lower. Down into his neck and then his chest, deeper and deeper until he felt all of those memories and emotions and sensations down in his balls, which were churning more and more as the milker tugged on his cock. The pleasure grew more intense then, and Richard couldn’t stop it as he came–and when he did, he felt all of the memories and thoughts he’d had pushed down there forced out as well, and by the time he realized he was losing them, he no longer could remember what he’d even lost.

“And there it is,” Ian said, holding up a vial that he disconnected from the end of the milker. It looked like a load of cum, but it was shimmering in a way that Richard had never seen before. He knew that what he’d lost was in there, but couldn’t articulate what, exactly, it was. “Usually I’d dehydrate it, but it’s just as potent now. Go home, drink it up, and go to sleep. You’ll feel everything in the morning. If you have an issue, contact me.”

“What…what’s gonna happen to him?”

“I already have a buyer lined up, don’t worry.”

“Like…” Barry was thinking slavery, but he didn’t really want to know. “Look, thanks, really.”

“No, thank you–you enjoy that,” Ian said, “You earned it.”

Richard watched as Barry took the vial from Ian, and left up the stairs without so much as saying goodbye to him. “Wait, he’s…he’s my ride,” he gasped out, still riding the wave of that massive orgasm.

“Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound,” Ian said, “But we still have more to get out of you first.”

“What?” Richard asked, but before he could get another word out, Ian turned the milker back on, and he shuddered. “Wait, it hurts, I…”

“Hush now, it’s going to feel so good, just trust me. Now, what next?” Ian said. He placed his hands on his head again. “I know a few closet cases that would love a good beard.”

This time, Richard felt a different set of memories being pulled to the front of his mind. His wife. His two kids. His family. The house where they all lived together, everything he could remember about all of them, their likes and dislikes, family vacations together. This he clawed at, trying to keep it in his head, trying to keep it from sliding down, but the pressure was immense, and the milker on his cock was relentless. He begged and pleaded with him to stop, but Ian just cooed back at him, talking to him like he was a child, telling him everything would be just fine soon enough. Again he came, and he tried as hard as he could to hold onto some of it, any of it, but it was gone, and he was left shuddering on the table, tears in his eyes, trying to remember what he felt so sad about. Ian watched as the wedding ring disappeared from Ian’s finger, all of his marriage now held in a second vial. He detached that one, and put on another.

“No, please, not again.”

“Don’t worry Richard, don’t you want to feel good? This feels so good.”

Ian continued the process for the next hour or so, filling vial after vial with everything in Richard’s head he could turn a profit on. He pulled out his education, and bottled it. He pulled out his upper class background, and bottled that. He started working on his body next. He bottled two decades of youth from him, watching Richard go from 25 to 45 in a matter of minutes. He stole his quick metabolism, and his body expanded, packing on close to fifty pounds of fat in a matter of moments. He stole his brow, jawline, a few inches of his height, and whatever charm he’d had left after giving most of it to Barry, and lastly, he milked away half his six inch cock and balls, leaving him with a modest package buried in a new fat pad. Richard had long since passed out at this point, and barely stirred as Ian pulled the milker off his now thick, short cock, and gave his new chubbier body a feel. Hugh had watched all of this in silence, always amazed at what Ian could do, and feeling a little jealous of the skill that had developed in his friend over the last few year and change. He’d get a commission from this one too, at least, and the job wasn’t quite finished yet anyway.

“Alright Richard, time to wake up, you did great,” Ian said, cracking open some smelling salts and waving them under his nose, making him sputter awake. 

“I…what happened, where…where am I, I–” Richard said, his voice deeper and slower now, more ponderous.

“Everything is fine, Richard. You’re dehydrated. Go ahead and drink this up,” Ian said, and handed him a little glass of water. It shimmered a bit–he’d put in a little bit of a mix–some muscle, some construction knowledge, a good dose of submission and homosexuality of course. Pigtown would take care of filling in the rest soon enough, but that would get him ready for his new role come morning. After all, plenty of folks in Pigtown needed bodies for work, and Richard would be doing plenty of that from now on. 

He took the glass and drank it down in a few gulps, his eyes sparkled, and then dimmed again as he collapsed back on the table, shaking a bit, and then settling down. Ian pulled out his phone and made a call, “I got your goods, ready for pickup,” he said. Twenty minutes later, they were helping the now much heavier Richard out of the basement, and into the back of a pickup truck, which drove off with him into the early morning.

“Looks like a good haul,” Hugh said.

“Fuck, I haven’t had a guy like that in ages. We don’t get fellows like that around here anymore.”

“Well you sucked most of them dry.”

“Shut up. I have a feeling that Barry could be a very good contact for us in the future. Remind me, next week, to touch base and see if he’d be interested in helping us out with acquisitions.”

“Hunting, you mean.”

Ian glowered at him, “What’s with you, Hugh? You’ll get your cut, and more waste to sell once I process everything.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Hugh said, “I’m just tired is all. Gonna head home and get some sleep.”

Ian waved goodbye, and went back down into the basement. This was the harder part, really–refining the product. He’d given Richard the raw stuff, and it worked just fine, but it could cause some messy situations if you weren’t careful. For a little shift like that though, it wouldn’t be a problem, he was sure.


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TPC – Chapter 2.9

Chapter 9 – Taking the Bait

For the rest of the week, Dennis found himself running that odd encounter with Kyle’s father over and over in his head, trying desperately to fit all of his memories of the last week into some sort of order. Some of the pieces now felt like they didn’t fit anywhere…(had he really seen Kyle that night in Depot? If he had, why would he have taken him home? If he couldn’t take him home, why had he gone down and intervened?). Some of the pieces now felt too small (he’d gone downtown on Tuesday to that weird precinct, where he’d gotten the runaround…(but hadn’t something else happened hadn’t it? He’d seen someone, but now it all was shrouded in fog, or maybe smoke). Some of the pieces felt right, but nothing connected to them…(He could remember, after speaking to Kyle’s father, how he had moved out, how he had heard about the fight through the neighborhood grapevine, but if he’d known that, why did he only know it now?)

His brain kept trying to shove everything together in different ways to no success. Something, he realized, was missing. There was a bit of the puzzle that he didn’t have, though he couldn’t imagine a shape that would make all of this come together in a way that made sense. This was only intensified by an increasing restlessness he’d never felt before in his life. He had trouble sleeping, and was plagued with dreams he would only half recall. Thursday morning, he’d awoken to wet sheets. He’d thought he’d just sweat, until he realized he’d had a wet dream he couldn’t even remember anymore. He’d never had one before in his life, not even when he’d been a teenager. It felt like something had awoken inside him, or taken up residence, and it too didn’t have a shape or form that made sense to him. 

On Friday evening, he got home early from the hospital. Barry wasn’t going to be home until late, because of some work function that he’d assured Dennis didn’t need to be at. That left him alone with Misty the cat, which wasn’t usually a problem. He’d planned on watching his shows, having a simple dinner, and early bed, but all afternoon and early evening, he found it impossible to settle and relax. He was trying to piece his memories together again, but more than that, he was craving something, a taste he couldn’t begin to describe. Frustrated, he fed the cat, got dressed, and drove downtown. He’d decided to start at the precinct and retrace his steps–see if he couldn’t find what he’d forgotten in that fog…(smoke, why did he keep thinking smoke?).

Just like the week before, the sidewalks were already busy with folks getting their weekend started at the various bars and clubs around the nightlife district. Dennis had been so annoyed the week before though, that he hadn’t noticed just how different the crowd was just a block or two over, once he’d crossed that invisible boundary into Pigtown. The precinct was, much to his surprise, busier now than it had been during the daytime, with a steady flow of officers going in and out of the front door, including a few guys in cuffs obviously being arrested. Some of them were doing their jobs then, at least. From there, he looked around and tried to piece together the memory he was missing. He’d been going back to his car, but he’d seen something. No, someone. He’d seen someone heading down the other direction, and he’d followed them. Letting his feet guide him, he crossed the street, went down the block, but pulled up short in front of a smoke shop. Marshall’s Cigar and Briar. Why would he stop here? He thought again, thought about the fog, how he kept thinking it was smoke, didn’t know what to make of any of it, and the shop was closed anyway. Closed, but the lights were on. 

He didn’t quite know why he did it, but he crossed the street again, staked out a spot at the mouth of an alley, and watched the door. He’d give it twenty minutes, and see what happened. More than a few guys passed him in the alley, slowed down and gave him a look, but his scowl in return generally dissuaded them–though one guy went so far as the flash him and try and kiss him, and Dennis had to forcefully shove him away, before he took the hint. He couldn’t quite fathom what must have been making these men behave this way. They all seemed to be gay, but the city had never really been known for much in the way of gay nightlife. Now, there wasn’t just a resurgence of gay clubs, but they were brazen enough to be fucking in alleys, apparently.

He was about to give up, and try again in the daytime, when he saw some movement in the shop. He emerged from the alley and stood behind a car parked on the sidewalk, and after a few minutes, two men emerged from the shop, after turning out the lights, locked the door, and walked off down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. 

Dennis followed them on the other side of the street, not sure if he should be trying to be sneaky or not. He wasn’t even sure who he was following, or why he was following them in the first place. The reached the end of the block, where the light was better. They were both in leather and denim, like a good number on the guys on the sidewalk were, and both were smoking cigars. One of them turned and looked in his direction, and Dennis realized that it was Kyle–but not quite the Kyle he recalled from some of his memories. A little older, a little thicker, with a full beard cut short across his face. The man he was with, Dennis recalled him as well, didn’t he? The memories of him either didn’t quite fit…(sitting at a table in a gay club, kissing Kyle, when Dennis pulled him away for a reason that no longer made sense), or were shrouded in that same fog as the shop…(righteous anger, jealousy, something in his ear, the smell of smoke, but what else was there behind all those clouds?). Dennis knew, somehow, that this was the piece. Part of the piece he was looking for. He kept following them down the street for a couple more blocks. They were deeper in Pigtown now, and the streetlights seemed dimmer, the men around him a little hungrier, a little more brazen. Leather was the norm now, along with quite a bit of rubber. More than once, he passed men whose cocks and asses were exposed, some even erect. Several times, someone felt him up in passing. Dennis was almost unnerved enough to turn around and go home, when Kyle and the other bear stopped and stepped into a bar, called The Hideaway. 

Dennis jaywalked after them, got to the door where a bouncer was sitting on a stool in full leather, and when he tried to push past him and go inside, the man put an arm out and stopped him, and laughed. “First time, buddy?” he said, “We have a dress code here, and you don’t meet it. BLUF only.”

“Bluff?”

“Breeches, Leather, Uniform, Fetish. Denim and cowboy get in too on theme nights. Damn, you must be real new if I have to tell you this shit. Maybe I should let you in for a little fun,” the bouncer said.

“I…look, someone I know just went in, alright? Guy named Kyle. I just wanted to talk.”

“Kyle? Marshall’s new apprentice?”

“I…yeah, him.”

“Ex, eh?”

“No! He’s only eighteen.”

The man laughed. “Look fella. You gotta be dressed properly to get in here, sorry. Go get some gear and come back when you’re a little more seasoned. This place’ll eat you alive otherwise.”

Dennis walked away, sensing that no manner of appealing to the bouncer’s sense of right would work in this case. Should he go home? That same…something inside him was thrumming now. It felt like hunger, or thirst, or something else, some other need that he didn’t have the right word to articulate. He felt like an alien here. He knew he should go home, that he didn’t belong here, but whether he wanted answers, or whether he wanted to feed whatever it was beginning to claw at his guts, he slid down an alley next to The Hideaway, and around to the back of the building. The alley was narrow, with very little lighting. As expected, there was a back door propped open by a block of wood. There was some chatter–probably employees on break or something not too far away. Peeking inside, he saw a break room, as he expected, and a hallway leading down to some bathrooms and the bar proper. Before he could second guess himself, he slid inside and down the hallway, hoping he wasn’t getting in over his head.


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TPC – Chapter 2.8

Chapter 8 – The Friday Night Party

Thursday evening, after work, Barry was on the corner where Hugh had told him to wait. Depot was down the street, and he watched the nearly unmarked door keep a steady traffic going in, even this early. Barry was surprised that a club would ever be that busy on a weeknight, but he found himself thinking about the dance floor again, thinking about how he’d almost gotten lost there, but lost the feeling instead. That sense of doubt almost made him abandon his plan, but he held on. Hugh showed up a few minutes late, and they walked down to a bench outside a rather unkempt park, and chatted.

“Alright, so here’s what you asked for,” Hugh said, and passed him a little baggie with two pills in it. “Have you used those before?”

“No!” Barry said, a bit defensive. 

“I’m not in the shame business, calm down. Look, it’ll take a bit for them to kick in, and when they do, he’s going to be, well, useless. You have a plan on how to get him to the lab?”

“I was gonna get him to my car and drive him.”

“And when people notice?”

“I mean, it’s not perfect, but it’ll do, right?”

Hugh dug around in his pocket with a little smirk. “Alright, I had a chat with Ian, and he agreed to let me slip you a little something extra. If you play your cards right, you might not even need the roofies. Here.”

Barry looked at the vial Hugh pressed into his hand, and it was similar to the shimmering dust he’d sampled back at the house, which had given him those…visions of being a little club twink. “I don’t think he’ll be doing coke at the party, if you want me to try and give him this shit.”

“It’s not for him, it’s for you. It’s not that club drug you sampled before. Ian has all kinds of homebrew back in the lab. Most of it is just, well, waste product, I guess you could say. Little bits and pieces from his work that get pulled out with everything else. The buyer might not want them, or they might not fit in afterward, so he’s left with the stuff. Ephemera is what he calls it. Some of it works…like a vision. That was what the dust at the house did for you. Other stuff he makes gives you little boosts, or temporary shifts. I keep telling him to market the shit, call it Prestige or something, but he says he can’t guarantee supply, so whatever. His loss, your gain.”

“So what’s it do then?”

“It…makes you important. People want to listen to you more, they’re more willing to do what you say. You can’t make someone jump off a building, but I don’t think you’ll have a hard time convincing your friend to take a ride with you if you’re on it.”

“How long will it last?”

“That should get you through the whole evening, no problem.”

He paid Hugh for the drugs, and was assured that if he didn’t end up needing the roofies, he could return them for a refund later. All day Friday, it was impossible to focus. He couldn’t believe he was really considering this, that any of this was really possible. He’d considered taking a little bit of what Hugh had called prestige that morning, just so he could get a grip on it, and figure out if it would be helpful, but chickened out. Part of him sensed he was going to chicken out tonight too, that he wouldn’t make an opening, that he would, once again, sabotage himself like always.

Anticipating the party, most everyone at the office was taking an easy day, getting a little work done, but mostly chatting and planning out their weekends. Richard seemed to mingle with all of them so easily, and knew more about some of them than Hugh had ever bothered to learn, and he’d only been with the team for a week. It was effortless for him. But then, Hugh had always felt like he needed to guard himself, hide part of him away out of shame. He couldn’t really talk about his family, or what he got up to on weekends, because no straight person would look at him the same way afterward. No wonder they’d picked Richard over him. They all probably thought he was an asshole who didn’t want anything to do with them, when really, he was the one terrified of them all.

He almost bailed at that point, and skipped the party entirely. What drove him to push on was fear. It wasn’t really the promotion he wanted. It wasn’t even really the respect. It was the fact that, if he didn’t pursue this, if he didn’t follow through, he knew he’d be right back with Ian, agreeing to cash it all in. He’d spend the rest of his life as some stupid circuit bunny, without a thought in his head other than the pulse of the beat, and maybe he’d be happy. Maybe. But he’d never be satisfied with that. It was time to swallow that fear and seize something for once in his damn life. Maybe it was time for these straight fucks to be afraid of him, instead.

They went to the bar near the office, the same sports bar they always went to for events like this. It was just as despairing as every other straight bar Barry had ever gone to. He did his best to mingle and fit in, but it was clear he’d already been frozen out. Word had gotten around that he’d been turned down for the promotion, and it seemed like everyone was rather pleased about it. He suspected that the dislike from them he’d always thought might be paranoia was more likely real. Again, his resolve shook, he ended up in the bathroom, making a line of prestige on the counter, knowing that this would probably be his only shot.

After all, none of those people would let him just take Richard with him. They’d all probably think he was going to rape him or something. He snorted the line, expecting a sensation similar to the one he’d had at Ian’s office, a vision of…something, but instead, he just felt this warmth suffuse him. It wasn’t a rush, and it wasn’t a high. He just felt centered, and confident. In the mirror, he straightened his jacket, and realized he hadn’t had a jacket on a second ago. He was wearing a rather sharp suit now, and while he recognized his reflection well enough, his face was just a bit sharper. His jaw was a bit more defined, the pimple on his nose had disappeared, his stubble gone, hair filled with highlights. He looked damn good. Like Hugh had said, he looked important.

He stepped back out into the party, and it was like meeting a bunch of strangers, somehow. They all gravitated towards him, wanted to talk to him, wanted to be seen with him. The conversation came easy, and Barry found that the forced congeniality Richard had been treating him to was stripped away, replaced by a genuine curiosity. He ordered a round of pitchers that came on the house, and everyone drank at his urging, especially Richard, who never had an empty glass. Just like Hugh had said, he didn’t even need the roofies. The party ran longer than they usually did, and as he made his way around the room, multiple people confided in him that they thought he should have gotten the promotion, not Richard. He just didn’t have the same charisma. Barry was always gracious, but just that little bit of ego stroking made him eager to move onto the next step.

Richard was nearly falling over, and in no shape to drive. Barry, who hadn’t been drinking at all, offered to drive him home, and everyone thought that was a great idea, he was so kind and generous, a terrific human. He just smiled, nodded, and helped Richard out of the bar and into his car, and they drove off.

“Don’t you need my address?” Richard asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get you there just fine.”

“You know, I…didn’t really like you at first, Barry. I kind of thought you were a stuck up asshole. But you’re a real good guy, you know that?”

“Thanks Richard, that’s nice of you to say,” he said.

“Are we heading into town? I live out by Butte Creek.”

“This is a shortcut, you can trust me.”

“Alright.”

A few minutes later, Barry pulled into the little driveway in front of the house where Ian ran his business, and drove around into the back yard. Ian and Hugh were waiting for him there, and helped Richard out of the car, and down into the basement. “I don’t…where are you taking me?” he mumbled, but couldn’t put up much of a resistance.

“Don’t worry Richard, the real party is about to get started,” Barry said, and followed them down into the lab.


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TPC – Chapter 2.7

Chapter 7 – Smoke and Shadow

Upstairs that evening, Marshall had Kyle assist with cooking dinner, and after they’d eaten, he led him into the living room. There, against the wall, was another humidor full of Marshall’s private stash of cigars, and hanging beside it, a rack with his pipes. He pulled out two cigars, handed one to Kyle, and soon they were on the couch, kissing and swapping smoke, and it wasn’t long before Marshall stood up and dropped his jeans.

Kyle realized it was the first time he’d seen his new Master naked, and it caught him by surprise. Where he’d expected a cock, there wasn’t one at all. With a bit more investigation, he realized that Marshall had a pussy instead, buried within his pubic hair. “You uh…huh,” he managed to say, and Marshall let out a laugh.

“Don’t worry boy, I can make all the equipment I need,” he said, “took a deep breath off his cigar, pulling the smoke deep inside him, and he watched as something pushed its way out, a silvery cock growing from Marshall’s crotch, made entirely of smoke, with two low hanging balls to match. “That enough for you to handle, boy?”

“Uh…yes Sir, I…I mean…I haven’t…”

“Yes you have, you just don’t remember it yet. Let daddy remind you,” Marshall said, and pushed him towards the sofa.

It turned out to be plenty. Marshall pinned him down on the sofa and fucked Kyle’s ass, sucking on his cigar, pumping more and more smoke into him with his cock until he came, and then, he flipped Kyle over, and rode his new apprentice’s cock to completion, leaving them lying there sweaty, room fogged with smoke, and he pulled him close. “You’re a hot little fucker boy, glad you walked your way over to me that evening, and not some other big, burly bear.”

Kyle, heaving for breath, realized after the fact he’d lost his virginity, and hadn’t even really noticed. All of it had felt so natural, so vital. So exhausting. It hadn’t even been his virginity, had it? He could recall now, all the other, many times he and his Master had fucked around before–like reality was still knitting itself together around him. He laid back on the couch, nursing the butt of his cigar, while Marshall went into the bedroom, and a few minutes later, came out dressed again, this time in leather pants, vest, boots and smoking a sizable pipe. “Come on boy, get your ass up.”

“What?”

“You’re in Pigtown now–you thinking you’re going to sleep? Good luck. You won’t get more than a nap in before you need another smoke.”

Wait, then…are you saying we can’t sleep?”

“Well, not ‘can’t’. Come on, I have some gear for you boy. You represent me now, out on the street, so I expect you to always look your best.”

Gear, apparently, meant a leather jock, boots, harness, and not much else. Kyle refused at first, and Marshall responded by simply manipulating the smoke flowing through him now, and forced him to dress himself in what was laid out. “You’re mine now, boy, for the foreseeable future. You don’t mind, do you?” he said, cupping a hand under Kyle’s chin, and giving him a deep kiss. The pipe smoke didn’t just taste different–it felt different. Somehow, he could…sense the slight shift in flavor, in density, in temperature. “I promise, I’ll never make you look anything other than the handsome, fuckable man you are, agreed?”

Kyle was still reluctant, but once they hit the sidewalk, he realized that he was actually not nearly as kinky as quite a few others on the dark street, going from club to alley to sauna and back again. Many looked, but no one touched–it was clear, somehow, that he was Marshall’s boy, and that meant they would need permission to use him, Kyle assumed. They made their way to a small bar, the air saturated with smoke, and Marshall started introductions. After a drink, he started passing him around, and Kyle found himself sharing smoky kisses with men whose name he could barely remember. He was fucked by some, blew others, the drinks piling on with the cigars, until it all became a blur, and next thing he knew, he woke up next to Marshall in their bed, head throbbing, throat creaking, and aching for smoke.

Marshall was already up, and passed him the cigar he had ready. Kyle sucked in as much as he could, feeling a bit more human after a few minutes, and realized it was morning, but he had no recollection of making it back here. “I…must have drunk more than I thought,” he said.

“Oh no, it wasn’t the drink, just the good ol’ Pigtown Hangover. Happens every night, you get used to it.”

“Every night?” Kyle asked.

“I said, we got to sleep somehow. Now come on, it’s time for breakfast, and you’re cooking, boy.”

Kyle wasn’t a great cook, but he could fry some eggs and make toast–it seemed to be enough to satisfy Marshall. Once they’d eaten, they went downstairs to get the shop ready to open up, and Kyle had a moment to check his phone. His only real important message was from Jim, asking him if he’d heard anything about Marlon yet.

He’d completely forgotten all over again. He thought about what had happened to him over the last day, what Marshall had…done to him, and the story that Jim had told him, about Marlon disappearing into a shadow, seemed all the more possible now, after what he’d seen. Maybe Marshall would know something, even. He told Jim to come visit the shop, he might know someone who could help. A couple of hours later, between regulars, while Marshall was showing Kyle the intricacies of blowing smoke rings and hardening them, Jim came through the door, asking what he knew.

Kyle explained the situation to Marshall, and Jim retold him what had happened that night after leaving Depot the week before. Around the time he mentioned the shadows, Kyle felt the smoke in his master quicken beside him, and he looked over at him. Outside, he seemed unaffected, but he definitely knew something. Jim finished the story, how some police officers had appeared and helped him get back to his car without Marlon, and the next day, it was like he had never even existed. 

Marshall sat back, took a long drag off his cigar, and pushed a cloud towards the ceiling. “Wish I could help you, young man, but I have nothing that can help you with this one.”

Kyle tried to say something, point out that was clearly a lie from what he had felt, but before he could even speak, he felt some lingering smoke in his mouth knot up around his tongue and gave it a squeeze. Marshall, apparently, was not interested in what Kyle might have to say.

“But…Kyle said you might know something.”

“I know a lot of things. What I can offer you are two options that you have right now. One, you can forget what you saw. It will be easy, once you decide to do it. I would suggest you not show your face around Pigtown again, if you do this, but I give that suggestion to most everyone.” Marshall paused, almost whether he was considering whether to even continue. “The other option would be to go to Precinct 27 and file a report.”

“I already tried to call the cops, but I couldn’t even prove he existed. They treated me like I was crazy.”

“That’s why I told you to go to Precinct 27. It’s just down the street here. They will be more sympathetic than I can be, and far more so than your usual cop. I wouldn’t choose to deal with them myself, but that’s your choice to make.”

Jim looked over at Kyle, who thought about trying to undo the knot around his tongue and get Marshall to tell them everything, but he didn’t. His loyalties had shifted in ways he hadn’t quite expected. He trusted his master. If there was a reason he wasn’t speaking about it, it was probably a good one.

“Now, unless you’d like to purchase something, I’d suggest you leave.”

Kyle nodded to Jim, and his friend left the shop, frustrated and feeling even more confused than before. The knot around Kyle’s tongue relaxed, and he asked, “You know more than that, what didn’t you want to tell him?”

“I know a lot of possibilities. I don’t know anything for sure. What it sounds like, is that Shadow got himself out of jail.”

“Shadow?”

“Acquaintance. We have different interests, different targets. Never really had a reason to fight, or cooperate. I respect his abilities and his autonomy so long as he respects mine.”

“Why are you bullshitting me about this? Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

“There’s a lot about this place, about the people here, that you don’t know, little apprentice,” Marshall said, “A lot of history. But the thing about history is that it’s just a story. Who’s telling the story matters just as much as anything else. Maybe if we see Shadow one night, he’ll tell you the story himself. I don’t know everything about it, just what gets passed around as gossip between the regulars.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re right, it isn’t.”

Kyle glowered at him, “You’re treating me like a kid.”

“You’re barely a resident here, apprentice,” Marshall said, “That boy there, he’s still freshmeat. I gave him what he needed to know. What could actually help him. The precinct…I don’t agree with them entirely, but I can respect their desire for order, even if their methods are questionable. But then, they were cops, they can’t help themselves.” 

“Wait, they were cops? I thought you said it was a precinct?”

Marshall shook his head, “I wish I knew how to tell you all of this so that it would make sense. I wish I could just give you everything I’ve seen since I came here, but I can’t. You have to see it for yourself. You’ll have your own story before long–now come on, get back to work.”


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TPC – Chapter 2.6

Chapter 6 – Counteroffers and Missing Pieces

Of all the things that Barry had considered that meeting might be, he was left with a result, afterward, that was so far beyond his expectations that by the time he got home, he was sure that it must have been a dream of some sort. A hallucination, perhaps. He checked his wallet twice, but everything was there. He hadn’t given out any personal information that he could recall, but maybe he’d been under some sort of strange influence, and just didn’t remember. Dennis asked him why he was home late, and he came up with some excuse about working late on a deadline for a meeting in the morning that seemed to satisfy him. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure that Dennis particularly cared, beyond the fact that it was a disruption in his routine.

Dinner had already been made, and he ate it alone, since Dennis never waited for him to get home if he was late. He thought again about what he had felt for that moment, under the effect of that dust, the sheer lust for life that had pulsed in his veins, but while he appreciated the sensation, it was not what he wanted, not really. He wanted something more…ephemeral than that. He wanted a husband who would be willing to wait until he got home, who would eat with him, who would ask him about his day and genuinely care about his answers. He wanted a job that gave him a sense of dignity and respect, without feeling like he was being constantly placated with condescension. He felt like everyone around him treated him like a child. He tried to push beyond himself, wondering if he was asking for this. Maybe he was a little childish. A little petulant and unfocused, a little afraid of commitment and authority. But that wasn’t his fault. He’d just never been given a chance to show that he could do it. That he could be the adult in the room. They treated him like a child, which made him want to act like a child, which only reinforced the way they all treated him. A vicious cycle, one he’d been swirling in too long to see the edge, but this was a sword that could cut through all of it. He just wanted respect–and even if he couldn’t get something so immaterial, maybe he could at least get that…promotion.

It seemed like it should be possible to him, given what he’d seen and learned today. The more he thought about it, the more right it sounded, and the more he was willing to accept what he’d seen, if it might mean getting the life he thought he deserved. Dennis asked him if he wanted to join him on his evening constitutional around the neighborhood, and Barry declined. Instead, he went up to his office upstairs, and gave Ian a call. He’d expected him to agree, but instead, Ian gave him a sigh. A familiar sigh, to Barry. It was a sigh people gave him when he’d asked for too much, for something an adult would understand was impossible.

“Well see, now we’re not so much talking about you as a seller, and changing our conversation to that of a buyer,” Ian said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, now you’re asking for something that’s worth more than what you have to offer, which means it’s going to have to come with a price tag. That’s not a problem, mind you, but to get my hands on something like that–to find someone willing to give it up…It’s not impossible, mind you, just, well, let me quote you something.”

He gave Barry a number that made his guts twist around a bit inside. They were wealthy, sure, but not…like that. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not.”

“Anyone who could pay that sort of money could already buy the damn respect of people in the first place!”

“You’re not wrong,” Ian said. “There is another possibility.”

“What?”

“If you were to…acquire someone with the sort of qualities that you’re looking for, and then perhaps bring them here, I could see that you get a finder’s fee for the service.”

“I don’t…know if I quite understand what you mean.”

“If you’re asking for this, then you already know someone who has what you desire, don’t you?”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

“Then if you were to bring them to the house, I would be able to process them. You would get what you desire, and I would be able to process the rest into goods to be brokered with others.”

“That’s…I mean, what happens to them?”

“I’m a broker. There’s always a buyer, even for waste product in most situations.”

“I see.”

“Do keep in mind my other offer though, Barry. I do think that you have some prime assets to sell, and you would be quite satisfied with the results, I assure you.”

“I…I’ll let you know.”

“Have a good evening.”

Barry hung up, and considered what Ian had told him. He thought about Richard again. He thought about how everyone was going out on Friday evening. He pushed that away, but each time it did, it came circling back again, and each time, it looked a little more attractive than before.

Meanwhile, Dennis was walking the neighborhood in the pleasant summer evening. It was almost eight and the sun was still shining near the horizon, folks were out on their porches, kids were out in the street chasing each other. It was pleasant. It felt normal, and comforting to him. He waved at the various families he passed, stopping on occasion to catch up, to ask how their gardens were doing, if they had any vacation plans. He worked his way down the street until he reached the house where Kyle lived, and saw Kyle’s father in the garage, working on some project. He gave a wave, and got a scowl back at first, but then a half-hearted wave in return. Dennis figured it would be better to keep walking, but you didn’t change minds without a bit of exposure. “How’s the project going, Eric?” he said.

“Just fine, thanks for asking.”

“Good to hear. Hey, how’s Kyle doing? Barry and I might be taking a week in August for a trip to see our folks, and we’d love him to watch the cat.”

“Why the fuck would I know that that faggot son of mine is up to?” Eric spat back at him, and Dennis looked at him, confused. Had…Kyle told him? 

“What…what happened?”

“Moved into the city after he graduated, told us he was gay, that he didn’t want anything to do with us. Haven’t heard from him sense, and don’t fucking want to. At least he had the decency to not make me pay for his fucking college tuition–won’t be getting a dime of my money if I have anything to say about it.”

Dennis took all that in, gave another wave, as Eric went back to his project, and he kept walking, picking up his pace a bit, trying to sort out what he’d just learned. Kyle hadn’t moved out, had he? Hell, just a few days ago, they’d brought him home from the club! Dennis tried to pin down the events, but as he did, they were getting a little foggy and confused. He did remember seeing Kyle in the club with that bear, but…

He got home, went upstairs and found Barry in his office, head in his hands and staring at his phone. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Huh? Sure, what’s up.”

“We…gave Kyle a ride home on Friday, didn’t we?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I swear we did.”

“Dennis, Kyle moved out his parents place a few months ago. We saw him at the club with that older guy, yeah, but…” Barry shrugged, “The kid’s making his own choices now. Nothing we can do about it, you know?”

“I guess,” Dennis said, standing in the doorway, still trying to sort out his own memory. There was something else too, nagging at him. Something that seemed to be missing, another little piece of the puzzle, but one that had mysteriously slipped from the box. “I’m gonna go to bed early, I have a surgery tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in a bit,” Barry said.

He heard Dennis go into the bedroom and the shower turn on, and he picked up the phone again, and saw that Ian had replied to his text asking for Hugh’s contact number, and given it to him. He put in the contact, and sent another message to Hugh, and then sat there, anxiously waiting for a reply. He had a hard time taking his own mind on this seriously, but it was the first idea in a very long time that he felt a sense of certainty about. If he wanted people to respect him, then he was going to have to get out of this hole he was in. This was the first time someone had offered him a way out–and he wasn’t going to back away from it, not this time. His days of being treated like a child were over.


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