Category: Uncategorized

Spook Mart (Part 3) [Interactive]

Raphael had been inside Miles’s home any number of times–outside of their holiday rivalry, the two of them were actually quite good friends, and their families would regularly have dinner together. The house, however, was deserted–if Miles’s wife was out trick-or-treating with the kinds, Miles usually manned the door, but no one was even answering, and the kids who were brave enough to approach were leaving empty handed.

On the porch, after trying the bell a couple of times, he gave up and instead tested the knob–and discovered it was unlocked. He called out to Miles, but heard nothing in reply–he decided to venture in and see what was going on with his neighbor. As he entered, he also realized something else–that this was probably all some ploy to get back at Raphael in the first place. It was an act–it had to be! It was Halloween, after all. If anything, it made Raphael a bit proud that he’d gotten so far under his neighbor’s skin that he’d go to these sorts of lengths in order to try and scare him and win this little competition of theirs. Armed now with a bit of cynicism, he was able to see the strange oddities inside the house for what they were–fakes and props, nothing else.

Sure, the large vats full of…nightmarish looking creatures, suspended in formaldehyde or what have you, certainly looked real and terrifying, but he’d seen the trucks himself–obviously they were just props. He walked over to one and looked at it–it seemed to be some child, not even a teenager, suspended in fluid, but no longer entirely human, like someone had switched the boy’s limbs with a dog’s. He tapped on the glass, still amazed at how lifelike it was, when the boy’s eyes flicked open, and he began clawing at the glass, mouthing wordlessly in pain, or terror–and it was enough to send Raphael several steps backward, before he could remind himself it had to be animatronics of some sort–the fact that it looked so much like Miles’s son was probably done on purpose, just to make it even scarier for him.

As he explored, he heard the sound of voices down below him, and made his way to the basement steps–but as he went down, it was not the small cellar that he recalled Miles having under his home. No, this was…massive, and went down at least another two stories below than it had before, most of it open. How had they been constructing this right under his feet, for months, and Raphael hadn’t even noticed? That sneaky bastard–he had to give him some credit for this part, he supposed.

He crept down onto the platform below, and now he could see the source of the voice, and the screams as well. In an open lab beneath the catwalk, strapped to a table, was Miles–wearing some of the most elaborate prosthetics Raphael had ever seen in his life. He was naked, but much of his skin wasn’t human anymore–it was scaled, like a reptile. His face was contorted as well, with a lizard like snout pushing out from his mostly human face, open and screaming in pain (a sound unlike anything Miles had heard–but it was probably pre-recorded) and one eye was human, while the other was larger, yellow, with an iris turned on its side. He was struggling with his bonds, while a human bustled about the lab in a white coat–the mad doctor, of course, muttering to himself and to Miles, before injecting him with something else…and then, Raphael began to doubt everything, all over again.

The screams from Miles were fresh, and he watched his neighbor’s frame began to expand with muscle–but not…entirely human muscle, exactly. He could hear the bones snapping and growing, as his feet turned into dark black hooves in front of his eyes, a mane of brown hair grew down his neck and back, and his cock–fuck, it engorged and began to grow, longer and longer, until it was a literal horse cock lying between his legs on the table, a scaled tail growing out above his ass, thick like a lizards, but with the same long hair as the mane…and how was that even possible?

Raphael was frozen in shock–he didn’t hear the guards come up behind him before grabbing him, and dragging him down to the lab below, were the scientist, while annoyed at the interruption, was also pleased to have another test subject in the midst. However, what sort of test does he have in mind for Raphael?

I’m switching to a new polling platform, again! I’ve never been a huge fan of first-past-the-post voting, and after poking around a bit, I found a site offering ranked choice polls! What that means, is that instead of choosing just one option, you can rank all of the options from your most favorite to least, and all of those choices affect the final outcome of the poll. It means you can vote for a less likely to win idea, while not spoiling the outcome for a more popular option you might like as well. You can find more details here: 

Here’s your choices

  1. Breeding Program
  2. Siamese Procedure
  3. Genetic Milking
  4. Viral Mutation

Here’s the public poll

Here’s the patron only poll

The polls will close in two days, on Saturday afternoon.

October Story Suggestions Open! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Do you have an idea you would like to see turned into a story? It can happen! I take requests from patrons every month, and use them to write story stories for them each week. One dollar a month is all it takes.

It’s also the only way that I accept any requests at all, so those of you who keep sending them to my inbox on here, you should try this instead. *Hint* *Hint*

October Story Suggestions Open! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Spook Mart (Part 2) [Interactive]

He was up to something, Raphael was sure of it. Miles wasn’t one to just give up on something, and admit that he lost–no, Miles chased it down to the very end, which is why he was so fun to taunt. Each year, Miles tried to go so big with his holiday decorations, but throwing money at a problem like that was enough to look alright, but he had no vision. Raphael loved the holidays, he had his themes picked out months in advance, he’d been planning everything to the finest detail, but Miles just didn’t get it. But this year, he wasn’t doing anything. His house across the street was entirely bare, and whenever Raphael asked him about his decorating plans, he played coy, and didn’t say anything, just that he was waiting to set up so he didn’t ruin the surprise.

Halloween day rolled around, and out in front of Miles’ house, a large truck pulled up in front, with the logo “Spook Mart” on the side. Raphael had gone there to check it out, but found nothing interesting for his setup–what could Miles have found he thought might out do his own display?

In the end, Raphael couldn’t see much. The crew that got out of the van strung tarp across the sidewalk and driveway so no one could see it–probably so they wouldn’t ruin the surprise, or what not. He couldn’t help the curiosity though, and he wanted to know what in the world his neighbor was planning on having those men do to his house. Turn it into a haunted house for the neighborhood? Some extravagant special effect? Not knowing was killing him, slowly, but it wasn’t until dusk that the tarp would come down, and he would see for himself.

Across the street, Miles was having trouble of his own. The crew was ignoring his demands and just storming in and out of his house–the even knocked a hole in the wall without asking him, or an apology, like they were doing it on purpose! When he tried to stop them, the workers just grabbed him, tied him to a chair in the kitchen, or in a room that was looking less and less like a kitchen with each passing day, and left him there yelling and shouting for help. He was only there for a couple of minutes, before a new fellow he hadn’t seen from the van came up to him, shouting orders at the workers as he did.

He was short, and older, with a shock of wild curly grey hair on his head, and rather wild looking eyes. “Ah, there you are Mr. Yonski, so thankful to you for allowing me the use of your property for my lab this grand evening–and thank you too, for signing my test subject waiver! I can’t tell you what it means, to have someone so generously donate their lives to science.”

Miles had no idea what the crazy looking man was talking about, and kept trying to scream for help, when the doctor sank a needle into the side of his neck, plunging the sedative into his system, and paralyzing Miles within moments. “Now now, let’s not make a scene here–that’s what tonight is for, after all,” he turned to a couple of laborers and shouted, “Hey! Bozos! Get him down in the basement, and onto a table. I want to get to work. I hate all these…aesthetics, but it can’t be helped. At least try to keep the noise down so I can concentrate.”

Supervising them the whole way, the doctor led them down into the basement of Miles’ home, which he hadn’t even noticed had been converted into a sizable laboratory in a matter of hours. Down there, he was laid on a table and strapped into place, fully aware of what was going on, but unable to move a muscle. When the laborers had left, the doctor cut away Miles’ clothing–all of it–and started taking his measurements, and a few initial tests.

He could see, outside, that the afternoon was fading into night, when the doctor finally made his pronouncement. “Well, I think I know just the project for you to help me out with Miles. Don’t worry, I’ve tested it on a few others before, nothing too permanent, I promise. You’ll feel mostly like yourself in no time at all.”

He tried to scream again, as the doctor went to work. Outside, the laborers were finishing up, and took down the tarp, revealing a now dilapidated house, full of wires and sparks, some of them useful, and others less so. Every few minutes, a lightning strike would come out of the blue sky and strike the lightning rod on top of the house, making everything shudder and light up with a flash.

Raphael was, you could say, impressed. It didn’t really count in his book though, because he hadn’t even done it himself. As the night started and trick or treaters appeared, however, he noticed something odd–no one was answering the door. When there was a lull, he went over to see what was happening, but got no answer either–but he heard someone in there, or something at least, down in the basement, but he couldn’t see what was going on. He tried the door, and it was unlocked…but Miles was nowhere to be found. He slid inside, and headed for the basement to investigate.

So, what sort of project did our good doctor decide to test out on Miles?

  1. Hyde Serum
  2. Nanobot Integration
  3. Genetic Splicing
  4. Parasitic Propagation

Here’s the public poll!

Here’s the poll for Patrons!

Votes will be collected on Thursday!

Fall Tumblr Update

Fall is here, and with it, a lot of changes have been coming. I’ve been waiting until I got a bit further settled into my new schedule and life before making any large decisions, but I’ve decided that, due to a number of different factors, I am going to be scaling back my writing somewhat for the foreseeable future.

Some of these reasons are personal, some of them are creative, and some of them are practical. With my schedule at the moment, I simply don’t have the time to produce all the content I need for this site, for my Patrons, for my upper tier commissioners, and myself. I would say that 80 to 90 percent of the writing I have produced over the last year has been either commissions for others, or based off of people’s requests–I have a massive backlog of my own ideas that I simply don’t know when I will be able to get them out, if I continue along with my current workload. Much of what I want to produce aren’t even traditional stories at the moment–I’ve been working on some erotic role playing games, interactive stories, and other odd things like that, but I haven’t had the time to really dedicate to them the energy I would like. And finally, with my husband’s new job, we have a much more comfortable income at the moment, and so I can scale back the need to generate income, and focus more on my writing, which was the point of all of this to begin with.

For most people, nothing will change. None of the bottom three tiers on my Patreon are going away, none of their perks are going away, and for those of you with regular commissions I have already been in touch with all of you on how I hope this transition will work. Starting next month, I will be revamping the tiers somewhat to incorporate some of my new interests, especially on the RP side of things, so if that’s something you are interested in, I’ll have more details about that soon. I will also probably reconsider my goals, and have some new targets and things that I would like to target in the future.

With this drop in income, my Patron will almost certainly drop back down below the $700 dollar level, meaning I will go back to posting content only five days a week, from Monday to Friday, starting next week. As always, thank you for all of your support and for reading my strange stories over the last decade (goodness, more than a decade really, more like 11 years) and I look forward to providing you all with many more stories to come. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me a message, and I’ll get them answered.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 4)

He had known of me then, apparently. He had been hunting in the city (or rather, he had hunted, and been in the midst or releasing Ray, warping him into the muscular beast we had later found in that shipping container, when he caught wind of me–literally. It had puzzled him…because it wasn’t a smell he had ever experienced before, the same darkness inside him within another. According to Cumster, we had talked at some point–though the bruiser could, apparently, appear rather unassuming when he wanted to. I don’t know when this was, and Cumster didn’t know enough to help me pin down the timeline. In any case, he had figured out that the beast inside me was dormant–and what he needed was someone to help me get loose. He couldn’t risk doing it himself, and he had other projects that needed tending to. So instead, be decided to stage something…more public than he usually did, to draw me in, and then he would send me Cumster, as a gift–though Cumster didn’t know that.

Cumster, apparently, thought he was helping Master soften me up for an unleashing, as he called them. That I was just a particular target of interest, and Cumster was so eager to be of service to his Master, that he hadn’t bothered questioning why he would need help at all. But I knew why he was here–wmy my kin had chosen this one, in particular, to send to me–and I also understood what I had seen earlier, in the restaurant, and why he needed me–or why we would need each other.

Unleashing someone’s inner drives was a messy business. Some people weren’t capable of handling the process at all–the shell was too weak, without enough to sustain the transformation. If he had tried to give Marcus, or Bernard, what they desired, they wouldn’t live through that first proper beating. Perhaps abandoning them was merciful, or perhaps it was crueler than death would be, and that was why he did it. He, after all, wasn’t someone who took feelings into account, when it came to doing his work. Likely he just didn’t see the point in continuing something that would go unfulfilled. But for those who emerged on the other side–like Cumster, or Ray–the desires that grew might appear human, but they were never quite…properly mortal. See Cumster, and his diet, or Ray and his musk. Close enough to pass, but look closer, and the tangle could be seen, plain as day. And sometimes, the human was shed altogether, and you find yourself with a proper abomination, like the thing in the abandoned restaurant. Desire, without order, was always monstrous (though the law can be just as monstrous too, in i’s…proper application). The bruiser could only free; he could never bind or confine. No–that was my bailiwick now. I could have finished it earlier–I should have finished it earlier, but without my skin, I hadn’t…known what my real work was, and it had escaped. I would have to remedy that, before anything else–before I could properly appreciate my gift from my kin. Still, I could at least take the time to bind him properly–a single handcuff would no longer suffice.

I broke the chain, when Cumster finished speaking, when he had poured out everything he knew–even things I don’t think he was aware that he knew. He seemed exhausted from the effort, from trying to fight my orders, and when I uncuffed him, brushing my finger against the lock, the bracelets falling away at once, and for a short moment he thought he would be free. I disabused him of that notion quickly. I took great care, in how I secured him–on his knees, hands bound to his sides, mouth forced wide by my straps of skin, his head forced back and attached to the wall, ready to begin receiving the law, ready for me to begin shaping that unruly mass of ivy into something far more…orderly. My cock was the same dark, brusied shade as the rest of me, but much, much longer than it had been before, easily a foot and a half. As I felt my need boiling up, I realized I could control it, much like a snake, or a tail, the head sliding around Cumster’s chapped lips before worming down into him, sliding down his throat, feeling even his experienced body gag at the intrusion, until I was planted deep, and began to thrust, fucking his throat, feeling my cum begin to pump and flow right into his guts. He shivered. I imagine, it felt cold, and harsh, sitting in his belly like mercury, slowly leeching out into the rest of his body. I imagine it felt like death–not like the death of Steven, which had been a  death full of vitality, and pain, and heat. More like a drowning. Feeling his mind swallowed up in the chill of my law, his senses deadening, his sense of self diminishing bit by bit. I filled him up, the pleasure…so strong, that all I wanted to do was keep pumping until he was bursting with me, but I held back, withdrew, and allowed him to stew with that. There would be time for more, later, and my cock retracted into the sheath that had formed along my belly. For now, there were beasts that needed my law more than he did.

I left then, leaving the three of them bound, knowing I would deal with them all in turn, once my task was through. Listening to Cumster’s tale had cost me several hours of time, and the city was large…but like before, in the restaurant, when I could feel that disorder all around me when the thing was near, I could still feel it on the air…but it was stronger than it had been. Obviously, after escaping the restaurant, it had found a different feeding ground, and likely other victims to its desires. It was strong enough to make the hunt easy, however, and so I set off to find it, eager to dance with it again–and this time, I knew I would conquer it, and bring it under the sway of my law.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 3)

Cumster had heard me coming down the stairs, but hadn’t bothered to look over at me, and see me in my new skin. Confident, as always, but then, he didn’t know why the Bruiser, why my kin, had sent him to find me. To free me, yes, but he was also a gift, and that, he didn’t yet understand. Marcus saw me first, then, and when he saw me, he screamed. I don’t blame them for their terror, really, the law can be frightening to behold. I stepped to him, feeling strips of my skin unravelling into bonds, lashing out, tethering him to the floor in a matter of moments, keeping him on his knees there, mouth gagged, unable to move an inch. Cumster had stepped back with Marcus’ scream, and just watched as I bound him, and looked over at me, unable to understand what he was looking at. “You…what happened to you?” he stammered.

I could feel my once human body aching for his cum, as it had been trained, but that body was no longer…my entire being. Still, I did want him. I could see him so much better now, understand him. He tried to get away from me as I approached him, running my dark hands over his matter hair and sticky skin, feeling him shudder at the sensation. He looked at my eyes–and that was when he recognized me. “You’re…you’re like him, like Master, but…but what are you, you don’t smell like him…”

“I think it is time that you were entirely honest with me, Cumster,” I said. My voice…it sent shivers through everyone in the world, and Marcus moaned as an orgasm ripped through him, puddling between his knees on the floor. “Tell me about him, everything you know.”

He tried to knot his tongue and lips, but my word is as much the law as everything else I am–he couldn’t resist me. He picked up his story close to where he had ended it the night before. He couldn’t tell me about that night, the night that he had finally supplanted Steven, because he couldn’t quite remember it well himself. It was fragmented–the bruiser, the master, had finally spoken to him, then, told him he was ready to be unchained…and that night, he had thought he would die. The bruiser…beat him. Beat him, over and over, raped him harder than he had at any point before, and while Steven could feel himself dying, and weakening, and losing himself, someone else was rising up to the surface, and as he did, the brusier grew gentler–not loving, but nurturing, in a sense, helping Cumster grow free of the bits of Steven that remained around him, using them to fuel himself…and when it was done, Steven was dead, and Cumster was finally free. The recovery was rapid, despite everything–even his broken bones had mended, seemingly overnight, under the bruiser’s hands. But even after he was healed, he kept changing…growing from the remnants of that old life over the next several months, until he was finally free of the literal chains–because he no longer needed them.

The next several years were glorious–he fell in with a biker gang, allegedly straight, but soon they were using him as their communal cumdump, and the more they were with him, the dirtier they all became. He had that effect on everyone, he discovered–all they had to do was catch a whiff of his cum soaked body, and they would be adding their own loads to him before long. His physiology had changed in other ways–he no longer needed food, though he still enjoyed it. No–it was cum that sustained him, entirely. While his own could keep him alive, it never filled him–it was only the loads of other men that could keep him fully sated.

On occasion, master would find him. Cumster never could understand how he knew where he was, but he would serve him whenever he arrived, as thanks for the new life he had given him. Each time Cumster saw him, he would seem…different. Larger, more potent, but the change was so slight, he never realized it had been happening until prison. He’d been caught helping the gang run some drugs, and gotten a twenty year sentence–and it had been difficult. Thankfully, between his cellmate and the guards, he was able to keep up his diet, but beyond that, prison was misery. He wanted to roam, and ride…and being trapped in a cell was torturous for his soul…but somehow worse, was that master never came to see him there, not for years. Not, in fact, until four or so months before we received the 911 call that began all of this.

It was in the middle of the night, when he was awoken by one of his regular guards unlocking the door to Cumster’s cell–and he was in rough shape, with a black eye…and a very distinct hard on in the front of his pants. With him, was Master–but not as Cumster had known him before. He was…bigger. Purer, and the musk rolling off of him…Cumster was on his knees, servicing him, before the thought had barely formed in his mind…because no thought had formed, really. It was pure instinct overtaking him, as well as his cellmate and the guard, who fell into fucking along with them. Master finished quickly and without much fuss, covering Cumster in a massive load, and then shut the cell door behind them, leaving the guard in Cumster’s place, for the moment. They did a quick tour of the prison, to the warden’s office, and in short order Cumster was released, on the outside, and Master told him he had a job for him to do.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 2)

It slid onto me, and I tried to see it as my uniform, tried to find the creases and patches, the buttons and seams, but the surface was alien to me, and as it conformed to my flesh, it began to shift and change further. My skin…like a bruise, all over, until it was no longer a pink, or the dark navy of the cured skin, but rather something purple and red, the hairs pushing their ways through, my hands still black, but the fingers too long, the nails nearly claws. I could feel it climbing up my neck towards my face, but it stopped before overtaking me entirely. Instead, I could see dark veins running up into my cheeks and neck, like an infection, but I felt stronger than I had earlier in the restaurant, I felt complete. That, and my eyes. They were black–entirely black, and yet I felt like I could see everything.

All my life, ever since I was a child, I had felt…two things, but I had never understood them as things until that moment. On one hand, a darkness. It had clung to me for as long as I could remember. At times, it manifested as someone else. An imaginary friend, or someone I saw in dreams. I was convinced it couldn’t exist, and so, it didn’t, but it had clung to me all the same. Tied to that darkness, was an anger, or a longing, or a hole I longed to fill, but not a hole in me, but holes in the world around me. People…doing wrong, doing ill. Or at least, it was tied to right and wrong in me, but now I see that was far too simplistic of a notion. It wasn’t morality that I wanted to fix, it was them! It was them that was wrong! There were rules, and laws…my rules and laws, they ought to have obeyed me, all of them, always, and if I had just listened earlier, if I had just listened.

I don’t look human, anymore. I think…I could, if I tried, if I…focused, but it feels too good, being together again, that I don’t want to, not yet. It feels better to be me at last, to remember everything that I am, and everything that I can do, to be able to hear myself fully at long last, to hear the law, feel it thrumming inside me. It was then, with my skin on, that I felt confident enough to confront whoever it was who had invaded my house. I checked the upper floors first, but nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. The same with the ground floor–though when Jules saw me, in the kitchen…he began to scream through the leather gag I had forced around his mouth. I ignored him–I’d brought him back to get information from him, to try and find the rapist, but I realized, with my skin on…that I could feel him, because we were the same. The same kind.

But he had claimed Jules, or rather, Jules had been claimed by one of his disciples, and so he wasn’t mine to have…though I could imagine plenty that I could do him. Still, any information he would have was rather unimportant–there were bigger questions I needed answers to now, and I imagined it was time to get them from the one person I knew who had them.

At the basement steps, I heard the moans coming from below, and realized what must have happened. My prisoner must have taken care of the intruder on his own. I stepped down into the basement, and saw what I began with–Marcus, on his knees in front of Cumster, licking at the biker’s cock where he was still handcuffed to the pipe on the wall, naked. Marcus’s balls were…engorged, much as mine had become, but then, that was what Cumster did, and he did it well. Such…a simple creature. I could see now, deeper inside him, how that singular drive had been nurtured and grown to eclipse all else inside him, like ivy choking out a tree until all you could see were vines. Overgrown, though. In need of a pruning, and a shaping. In need of law.

Marcus, I could understand him better as well, and Bernard too–what kind they were. The drive was there, but the material was lacking. A brick of clay that desired to become a sword. There was no helping men like this–they couldn’t sustain the form of what they most desired, and so there was nothing the bruiser could do for them. They lacked a solid will, and with no where for it to live, no law could shape them, and so there was little that I could do either. This, in some ways, was the closest they could get–well, there were things I could do to alleviate the misery, I realized, and perhaps it would be a kindness, in the end. After all, what kind of life could there be, knowing you had been rejected by us? Finding out that, after all of your searching and desperation, that your nature was such that you had failed before you had even begun to live? It was no wonder, they searched for him after he abandoned them (I don’t blame him for abandoning them, for no amount of explaining, no words can really articulate the loss, and the sorrow we feel as well) because how could you get so close, how could you think you had finally found your salvation, the hammer to shape you on the anvil of punishment, only to be tossed away for imperfections you couldn’t help? I do hope Bernard found some solace in a Master, somewhere. Marcus, in the end, had to be helped in other ways.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 1)

I…stepped down into the basement, where Marcus and Cumster were, and I saw their eyes when they saw me, when they saw the law coming for them, and…

No–I want to get to the basement, because what happened down there eclipsed everything else that had happened to me so far, but that didn’t happen yet. But everything is too hard to recall now, because time…time is so slippery now? It didn’t feel like that before, but now everything around me is sliding about, and all I want to do is anchor, strap it down, pin it like some butterfly in a display case. I’ve been missing for so long, I’ve allowed so much chaos out into the world, and nothing is ordered. The law has been forgotten by these mortals, if they ever knew it, if they ever could have abided it. I was so much more than I ever thought I could be, I was so blind.

So yes, the basement happened, but not first. First, the house was broken into, I didn’t know by who then. The fear I felt…I couldn’t name it. I had just done some strange, indescribable battle with some nightmarish beast, but never had I felt fear then. But knowing that my house had been violated, and that my skin had been there, unguarded–skin, that’s what it is now, not what it was, or it was, but I didn’t know how to wear it. My uniform was there, the uniform I had peeled away after my night with Cumster in the basement, after I had begun to stir at last, after so long, and I’d not even known what it was! My own skin!

I remember binding Jules in the kitchen, and then didn’t spare him another thought, as I raced up to my room, throwing open my closet, and I don’t think I breathed until I saw in hanging there, where I had left it like some fucking fool, and I knew that before anything else, before finding the person who had violated my home, I need it on me, the uniform, though it didn’t even look like a uniform anymore, not really.

The navy had darkened–not to black, but to some bottomless blue, the ocean so deep down it gets only scraps of light. I touched it with my gloved hands, felt the rubber like texture, but what sent a shiver up my arms was realizing that it was warm. It was…alive, it was a skin. My skin. My true skin, the skin of the thing inside me, the thing that had been sleeping, that is, me. It can’t be written, what we are. What we always have been. Maybe before, I could have described it, but I’m too close to it now, I can’t get the distance I would need to distinguish us.

I tore off the clothes I was wearing. Tore them–I didn’t bother undressing myself, I knew I would never need them again–and only left on my boots and my gloves, which I couldn’t have taken off, even had I wanted to. They are my skin too–I could see how, after wearing them for just a few hours, they had already begun to fuse into the other flesh below. It was why I could…feel everything through the palm of my gloves, like there was no barrier at all–because now there truly isn’t one. I tried to pull the shirt and pants apart, but they refused to part–in the closet, they had joined together into a single piece of skin, but the chest was still undone, allowing me to step into the legs and pulling everything else up around me as a single piece. The fit was tight, but not uncomfortable–rather, as soon as it was on me, I found it hard to believe I had ever even removed it. The idea of ever taking my skin off just seemed incomprehensible, and the fact that I was already thinking of the uniform as a skin disturbed me, because I was still, am still, I suppose, trying to fight this.

I kept it at bay for so long, inside me. I don’t know how I did it, how I quelled it. The Bruiser couldn’t keep it in, obviously–now that I know, now that it’s out and a part of me, I understand all of it better, I suppose, but it took Cumster to fill in the rest of the gaps–once he understood who I was, exactly…because my fellow had not been entirely honest with him, about whose den he was walking into. I was gentle though–I can be, at times. The law is firm, but obeying it need not be arduous, if you only live it inside you.

Live it inside you, what sense is that even? You reading this will never understand it in full, but I write it anyway. Find me, if you want to know, really know, what this is. If this tale fills you with a quaking need for me, if you know something inside you is…twisted, you know what I mean, if this is you. I can right you, I can order everything about you, all of your life will feel purpose driving you to the fate you should have had. He frees, that is all he knows how to do. Sees the desires inside you, the ones you can’t bare to follow, and unshackles you from your own doubt and terror. I’m different. We are all different, in our own ways. Choice is meaningless, when one has the law inside you. My law is strict, but living it feels like the most natural state in the world, once it has settled in your guts.

A Tender Heart (Story Suggestion) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This suggested flash fiction is a bit softer than my usual stuff. If you’re a fan of the more romantic side of things, and you’re supporting me with at least one dollar a month, check it out! Also, I’m still low on ideas this month, so if there’s something you’d like to see, throw me a buck, and you can get your idea written!

A Tender Heart (Story Suggestion) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon