The Facility (Part 5)

“Quinn. Quinn! Would you fucking wake up?”

Quinn moaned, opened his eyes, and found Holden looming over him. “What happened?”

“I don’t fucking know man. Get up, we need to figure out how to get out of here.”

Quinn sat up, his legs feeling like jelly, his stomach growling like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

“Me too–I…I think we were out for a couple of days.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! Do you remember anything of what happened?”

Quinn and Holden had been outside the facility, checking ground lines and connections, when they’d gotten a message from Kerry inside that he’d figured out the issue. Sure enough, when they’d gotten back to the building the lights were on, but when they looked for Kerry down in the basement, all they’d found was his laptop–no sign of Kerry anywhere. They’d started looking for their partner in the building, figuring he’d probably went to check out some other part of the generators, or address some other problem, but they hadn’t gotten far. What happened after that was blurry and vague, but he could remember something…gripping him, like an octopus or something, and an injection, but nothing beyond that. Holden didn’t remember much else of interest either, and neither of them could recall seeing a room like this anywhere on the blueprints of the building. It was large for one thing–probably around two thousand square feet of space, and about two stories tall. The floor was tiled, and it was bare of furnishings aside from the two beds where they had each woken up, completely naked, a few minutes before.

There were two sets of doors at either end of the room, and after testing them both, they found both locked tight. They searched the room for anything else that might be of use, but came up empty handed–when a voice came on through the loudspeakers in the room. The voice was strange–it spoke english, but the words were almost guttural, and difficult to understand, like the person speaking had a significant accent neither of them could recognize.

“Welcome, Subjects Eta Two and Three. I’m sorry for the long rest and poor accommodations, but quite frankly, you don’t deserve better for cooperating with this company. However, I’m sure the two of you are curious as to where your third partner disappeared to a few days ago, well, I’m sorry to say that Kerry is gone–but I’d be happy to introduce you to what took his place.”

The two men heard a click as one of the sets of door unlocked and opened, revealing a small room beyond, and neither of them had words to adequately describe the monster which stomped through the door. It would have been easier, perhaps, to describe it in pieces–the head of a wolf, snarling at them as they backed up across the room. The chest and arms of a burly gorilla, the tail whipping behind it something between a gator and a snake, the legs similarly coated with scales, beefy with muscle, running down to two massive, webbed and taloned feet. Still, that all somehow seemed more understandable than the massive cock hanging from it’s crotch with its flared head, generally equine in shape and size, with two huge balls tight below. “What do you think? He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”

“Oh…oh fuck, what the fuck is that?” Holden said, standing there, but Quinn sprinted for the opposite doors, hurling himself at them, desperate to get out of that thing’s presence.

“This, is no longer Kerry, but I haven’t come up with a proper name for him yet. For now, this is Subject Eta One. The two of you will be designated Eta Two and Three, depending on which of you is mounted first. Eta One–please fuck both human subjects before you. Subdue with force if necessary, but do not kill them. Seed them both, and wait for further instruction.”

With a snarl, the beast charged toward Holden, who was still rooted in place, terrified, piss running down his legs as the thing slammed into him, throwing him to the ground with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. From a distance, he hadn’t quite understood how large the monster was, but it reached a height close to nine feet tall, and it picked Holden up like a doll in it’s huge hands, turning him over and pinning him down, before shoving it’s massive member against his ass. “No, no please! It’s so fucking big!” he screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry–you’ll be able to take it all eventually,” the voice said.

The beast’s cock was already leaking, and as it ran down his crack, he felt his sphincter suddenly relax and release–if he had eaten anything in days, he would have shit himself–but the head of the thing’s cock forced it’s way into him, drilling deeper and deeper. The relaxation of his muscles did nothing to dull the pain, and he screamed, desperately trying to crawl away from the thing mounting him, but it was too strong. A moment after being penetrated, the thing…howled, and Holden felt the massive shaft begin…pumping something into him. Cum he assumed, but there was so much of it. He vomited and saw blood–the thing was raping him so hard he must have suffered some internal bleeding, and he looked to Quinn across the room, slumped by the door, a look of horror on his face. But Quinn wasn’t only horrified by what the monster was doing to his friend–it was what was happening to his friend’s body which had him chilled to the bone.

“What’s up, professor? You alright?”

Mr. Allen snapped his head back up. He must have spaced out for a second there–he hadn’t really been sleeping well lately. “Sorry James, but I really can’t pass you with your performance this semester.”

“But coach said–”

“I don’t grade according to the athletic department’s requests,” he said, but couldn’t stop himself from yawning. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I’m trying out a new CPAP, but it hasn’t really been doing as good a job as my old one…” he shook his head, “I don’t know why I just told you that, sorry.” The professor was a rather chubby guy, and he’d been diagnosed with sleep apnea years earlier. James, a football player, just smiled…like he was in on the joke, and it made him feel a bit uneasy.

“Maybe you just haven’t been using it right,” James said, and stood up in Mr. Allen’s office, dropping his shorts, revealing a rather…musky looking jockstrap beneath. The scent him the professor a second later, and he groaned, feeling an odd lethargy wash over him. James strutted over, rubbing the jock in his professor’s face, watching the old man lick at the mesh, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he tried to stop himself from debasing himself. “Yeah–let’s give you a proper dose tonight–how about we head home early today?”

Unable to resist, Mr. Allen left his work as it stood, threw on his coat, and walked out the door, with his student following behind.

At his house, James led him right to the bedroom, made him strip and lay down, and then tied his hands and feet to the four posts of his bed. Then, as Mr. Allen tried to clear his head, James stripped off his jock, pulled out the cup, and a roll of duct tape from his bag. He wadded up the jock and crammed it into the cup, and then taped the whole thing over his professor’s nose and mouth, watching the fat man bliss out almost immediately, his cock rock hard in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah, that should do it. I’ll make sure your CPAP gets a pheromone boost as well. Don’t worry professor, by morning, you’ll be happy to do anything I tell you to do. Well, anything anyone on the team tells you to do. I’ll have my A, and you’ll have the privilege of smelling my junk whenever I feel like you deserve it.”

Source: gaggedbear

The Facility (Part 4)

Kerry glared at him, growling a bit, and then gestured at his whole body, as a way of demanding an explanation, and the doctor sighed. “Yes, I was getting to that. It’s…a long story, however, so it would be best for us to proceed with your treatment in the meantime. X-9, please restrain the patient, while I prepare to administer Serum B.”

Kerry let out a growl as the robot approached him, slashing at its prehensile appendages with his now clawlike nails, but the robot shrugged off his attacks and wrapped him up, hauling his immobilized body off the ground and laying him back on the exam table, while Dr. Sondew prepared a syringe.

“Serum A, which you’ve already been administered, is more of a…transitional form, you might say.” the doctor said, while Kerry struggled, “X-9, perhaps a minor sedative?”

“Yes doctor,” X-9 said, and Kerry felt a needle slide into his neck, his body immediately going numb and relaxed, though he was still acutely aware of his surroundings.

“Thank you, that’s much easier,” Dr. Sondew said, shaved a small portion of Kerry’s arm, and began searching for a vein. “As I was saying, the first serum merely…shall we say, scrambles the recipient’s genome. The results are a bit difficult to predict, but what has happened is that the building blocks of your body have been broken apart and jumbled up with a multitude of others–the one which arose in you was canine, but other subjects display different results. For me, I looked like a proper minotaur, when they caught me and forced me to take it.” He slid the needle into the vein, and despite Kerry’s whines, he shot the second serum into his bloodstream. “Now this second serum–now that we have your standard form broken up, we can begin tailoring your body to particular specifications. They weren’t quite at that point with me–they were still trying to figure out what was going on, when things went south.”

Kerry’s arm felt like it was on fire again, and it was spreading to the rest of his body. He wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach. He growled and tried to lash out, but the sedative reduced his protests to meek grumbles.

“I was told we’d be doing good work, curing disease, unlocking the secrets of our species. Instead, I found a laboratory full of…victims. Illegal human trials, some of them so…twisted, and it was obvious the entire goal was aimed not at medical application, but new, disturbing forms of warfare. I tried to leak it to the press, and so they made me one of their subjects. Still, it was only a matter of time before things went awry, and I was ready, when it did. The lab had a failsafe, a pathogen released into the air, which killed everyone indiscriminately–I only survived barely, but no one else did. I hid down here in the basement labs, refining their research in the meantime on myself, and now they’re back to pick up where they left off, and I can’t let them do that. I realize…I’m doing to you exactly what they did to me, but I’ve already compromised myself. This is more important than me or you. This company has to be stopped, and you’re going to help me do it.”

The heat had spread further now, but was still most intense in the arm which had been injected. Kerry was able to lift his head and he could see that the muscles in his arm were spasming, but he couldn’t feel them do so through the sedative in his system. Already his arm was thicker and stronger than his other one, the burning crossing into his chest, running up the side of his neck to his face, as well as down his torso towards his belly, groin and legs.

“I’d feel more sorry for you, to be honest, but you’re working for them too. You know what you clean up, I know you’ve seen things that don’t seem right, but you’re just doing your job, right?” Doctor Sondew snorted, “Fucking banal. No–better you help me than help them. Not like it will matter much to you anyway, soon enough. I don’t need you feeling mercy, or doubt, so we’re going to be getting rid of most of those higher order mental functions. By the end of this serum, you won’t have ego left–just blind obedience to me. You’ll do whatever I command, and we’re going to get revenge on those fucks together–they’re never going to even see it coming.”

The serum had reached his face, and was beginning to penetrate his skull. Kerry renewed his struggle as best he could, as weakly as he could, but the robot’s arms held him too tight, he was too weak. His first arm was changing more now, especially around his hand, looking less and less like a paw and more like a hand, though the skin was leathery and tough–more like a gorilla’s. At the same time, his chest was filling out, his fur growing longer and shaggy, even as he packed on pounds and pounds of muscle and fat, nearly screaming as the bones of his spine thickened and grew, stretching his body to a taller height. His body had been missing a tail, but what burst out above his ass was by no means canine–it was thick, covered with scale and spikes, corded with muscle. It wormed it’s way out from beneath him as his awareness started to fade, moment by moment.

“You’re going to be my vengeance. You are going to put those monsters in their rightful place, and make sure that they never hurt anyone ever again.”

His snout was pushing out further, teeth longer and sharper, but retained its basic shape–now the face of a true wolf, shaggy grey fur covering his jaw, cheeks and head, eyes twitching until they turned yellow, with black pupils, the humanity fading from them as the serum began shutting down portions of Kerry’s mind. He could hear the doctor continue speaking, but suddenly he couldn’t understand anything that he was saying. He tried to hold onto himself, but it wasn’t long before the beast was all that remained. Kerry was gone–and he would never be coming back.

The Facility (Part 3)

When he next woke, it was with some relief–the pain and discomfort he’d felt the last time he’d woken before was gone for the most part. No, not woken–what he’d dreamt, of course. Certainly it had been a dream–nothing like what he’d seen could have been possible…so it had to be some odd coincidence that he was now awake in the same room where he’d fallen from his bed and had his second encounter with that odd robotic monster. Maybe…maybe it was a hallucination? Something drug induced? The company which was employing him had its fingers in any number of industries, including pharmaceuticals and genetics. Some strange vision fueled by a drug addled mind–it was the easiest explanation.

What it did not explain, was the fact that his hands, which he saw when he sat up on the edge of the bed, weren’t not, in fact, human.

“Don’t panic. Don’t…fucking panic,” he thought to himself, “Just…just a hallucination still, that’s all.”

“The patient is advised,” the robotic voice said behind him, by the door, “That he may have free use of the room and facilities within, but may not leave without being restrained and sedated. Doctor Sondew has been alerted that the patient is awake, and will be meeting with the patient soon.” He looked over his shoulder at the strange robot standing there, and then looked away.

All Kerry wanted, however, was a mirror. The room, now that he was clearer eyed, resembled a standard hospital room, and off to the side was a door which was ajar, and within, a small bathroom. He got off the bed, nearly falling over because of the strange form of his feet–he had a hard time wrapping his head around them, but the looked like…paws. What it felt like, was that he was being forced to walk on the balls of his feet, his ankles and heels lifted off the ground by force of tendon and flesh. Carefully, using bits of equipment to help him balance on the slick tile, he made his way into the small side room, and found the mirror there, and a strange, howling and moaning cry erupted from his throat, at the sight of his new face.

It wasn’t human. He wasn’t human. He didn’t know what he was, exactly, though the word “werewolf” came to mind, or perhaps more accurate, “Weredog.” He had a snout, tipped with a black nose, floppy, hairy ears on either side of his head, and without really noticing, he had been panting, a long tongue hanging out slightly. The rest of his body–he’d lost weight, which he supposed was one fact for the pro column in all of this. He’d had quite the gut before, but now he was quite lean, the black and brown hair running all over his chest, abs and back. His torso seemed largely human still, as did his arms–though his hands. He still had thumbs…sort of. He’d be able to, say, open a door–but anything more complicated, like holding a pen, would be out of the question. He was naked, and so he saw his genitals had changed as well–his cock no longer hanging out, but pulled back into a furry sheath, with two similarly sized, but furry, balls hanging below. His legs were muscular, and the joints seemed all out of place from what he was used to, but walking and standing was easy enough, now that he’d gotten used to the sensation.

“The doctor will be arriving in two minutes. The patient is advised that any violence or attempt to escape will be met with restraint and sedation.”

Kerry hadn’t seen the doctor during his brief period of waking before, but he had heard him speak, and something had seemed odd–or had seemed odd to him, but he’d been in the thick of this…transformation, so who knew what he’d heard exactly. Still–regardless of what the robot had said, he needed to get out of this insane place. Maybe, if he could find his workmates Quinn and Holden, he’d be able to convince them that inside this strange body, he was Kerry. That, or they’d probably kill him, which would almost be a relief, in some ways. He had no idea if he’d be able to change back after all…and hadn’t the doctor mentioned another serum? If it came to that…no, he’d worry about that if it came to that.

The door opened, and then closed again. “Greetings, Doctor Sondew. Subject Eta One is in the restroom.”

“Looking at yourself then?” the doctor said. It was strange–garbled somehow. “Come on out, when you’re ready, and we can chat. Or I can talk at least–I don’t think you have much ability to speak.”

Kerry emerged from the small room, keeping distance between him and both the doctor and the robot, trying not to gawk at the man’s face, and body. Indeed, Doctor Sondew’s speech was garbled by two large tusks jutting from the man’s lower jaw. Perhaps man was the wrong word, in fact, but he was as much a man as Kerry was, at this moment. Still, the doctor’s body seemed like a mismatch of various animals–the tusks were paired with a short pig’s snout, but the rest of his head looked more like a black bear, with the two rounded ears on top, as did the top of his torso. His arms were thick and corded, with short fur on a thick hide, his fingers more like hooves, and about as useless as Kerry’s new hands. The bottom half of his body was similar, but with different colored hair, the thighs thicker, and distinctly equine hooves where his feet should be. He wasn’t naked, however, wearing a set of loose fitting scrubs over his body.

“Hello there–I would ask you your name, but I don’t think–”

“Kerroo,” he tried to say, but while it was close, it frustrated him that he couldn’t even get his name across.

“Here,” the doctor said, placing a piece of plastic with the alphabet printed on it, along with the numbers zero through nine. “Use this. I’ll try to keep my questions to yes and no.”

Kerry pointed to the letters of his name, and the doctor nodded along.

“Kerry? That’s your name?”

He nodded.

“Good! You understand.”

Five Film Contract (2 of 2) WARNING: FILTH, BESTIALITY

Just one more, Evan was telling himself. Just one more film, and he’d be done. The contract would be over. He could…be normal again, himself again. He wouldn’t have to keep doing this, why was he still doing this?

He’d gone back to his room after the second film, stunned, unable to look at his reflection in the mirror, at his shaved head. He could still smell Rick on him, and he liked it. He’d left the set still wearing that dirty jock, and he’d jacked it, trying to find a dildo large enough to make his ass happy, disgusted with himself, but more turned on than he’d been in his life, and terrified that he still had three more films to go, that…that he might lose control of himself like that, again. That, even worse, he might lose control of himself like Rick. After their film together, he’d been even larger, with huge, meaty forearms–one of them marked like a ruler, lumbering off to his own room. He didn’t want to be like that…but he could tell, the directors had something else in mind for him.

The third film he’d done better, he’d kept his head around him. He’d taken every toy the other two actors had used on him and loved every second of it, watching the two of them…shift. The rubber, the tattoos, the piercings, the dullness in their eyes, but he’d fought off the worst of it. Sure, he couldn’t…quite bring himself to take off the rubber when he got back to his room, and the rings in his nipples did feel good, but he hadn’t given in like they had. That had been a victory–he could see the frustration in the director’s eyes. But the fourth film, yesterday…

The piss…the filth…he’d lost himself in it, and they’d caught every second of his debauchery on film. He still reeked of piss and shit now, the next morning. He’d tried to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to–he’d been too…wired, looking at himself in the mirror, at his new body. His missing muscles, his paunch, how he’d aged into at least his early forties. Now he was pissing into condoms to drink later–he…he liked it cold–and working his fist back into his ass at the same time, losing himself, whatever bit of himself there still was…but there was just one more film. He could make it through one more, right?

He left his room, but instead of going to a set, he was led to a car–rubber sheet placed over the backseat–and driven out of town. “We have a special final set for you all prepared, Evan,” the director said, “everyone is going to love this, watching you collapse. You’re going to be a star after this, just you wait.”

It was a farm. He wasn’t shooting with any of his other actors–no, Evan was tied down in the muck and manure, the cameras rolling as animal after animal fucked his hole–a dog, a boar, a cow, a donkey, and finally, a horse. He lost himself in it, he felt his very humanity draining away into the mud. When they finally untied him, all he could do was grunt and crawl through the mud, rubbing his cock raw. But he was a star, when his series premiered on the internet. Most people thought it was a hoax, that he was just a paid actor, but Evan could have confirmed it, if Evan still existed. Now he was just the director’s personal pet–but rumor has it there’s a reunion special coming up–Evan and Rick, together again for one evening–the two nasty beasts rutting in the mud and filth. You should see the preorders–it’s going to make bank.

Five Film Contract (1 of 2)

It was a bucket list thing, but Evan had always wanted to be in a porno. He certainly had the looks for it–he’d had some success as a model off and on, and had even landed a role in a few commercials for local companies, but when he heard through the grapevine that a new porn studio was opening up and looking for new actors, he did a bit of digging for the company around the internet, and sent in an audition tape of him masturbating, as requested.

He got a reply the very next day–apparently, the studio was more than willing to sign him, but the only catch was that he would have to sign a contract obligating him to do five films. They wouldn’t be sequels, apparently–the new business was just looking to film a bunch of these movies with cheap actors, and then release them slowly over the next year or so. Five films in five days–it sounded extreme, but also kind of enticing. Why not? He agreed, and went over to the office to sign his contract.

Filming wasn’t until the next month, and there, he met the various actors the company had hired, and he was surprised to find they had all stuck to a pretty specific type–like him. Model looks, trim, but not overly muscular. Young, in their early 30’s at most. All of them were just the kind of guys Evan liked to fuck–so this was going to be a pretty stellar week. The first day was spent doing an orientation and discussing the kinds of films the company was looking for. They wanted real sex–nothing too scripted. They wanted to see what kind of strange perversions lied beneath all of these pretty faces.

His first film wasn’t too strange. He was with another cute guy like him, and after making out for a bit, his partner wanted to fuck his ass–and Evan was willing to oblige. It didn’t seem strange in the moment, but Evan almost always topped–the guy slipped inside him however, and any desire to top fled his mind. It felt…amazing, to have cock in his ass. Soon he was begging the guy to fuck him harder, deeper, their talk turning kinkier and rougher until they both came–Evan without even touching his cock. He was amazed when the guy pulled out, and he saw his ten inch cock–it hadn’t been that big before, had it?

The night after, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good it had felt to get fucked. Each actor had their own room, at least, but he spent most of the night fingering himself, before he found a dildo in a drawer and fucking himself on that long enough to get himself to cum. He didn’t know what had gotten into him–getting fucked had never been like that before. Then, came the second film. His partner in this one wasn’t someone he’d seen at the meeting before, and he’d gotten a good look at everyone–no, he was a massive, muscular brute, with a full beard and cruel sneer.

“Um…he wasn’t one of the cast, was he?” he asked.

“Oh, Rick here had a very productive shoot at the gym yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yeah,” Rick said, flexing, “I’m a fucking beast!”

“We think you two are going to have some great chemistry. Your video yesterday, Evan, was good, but a bit…stale. We’d like to see the two of you up the ante a bit today.”

The second film…Evan had a hard time recalling what happened, exactly. Rick skullfucked him first, getting Evan used to his musk, and then shaved his hair off…and Evan let him do it, no, begged him to do it. Then, after forcing him into one of Rick’s filthy jocks, he shoved his fist into Evan’s ass all the way up to the forearm, and only after Evan had shot, screaming in pain, did Rick fuck him rough and cum as well.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” The director shouted, “Much better–Just you wait Evan, we’ve only just begun to tap into that filthy, whorish mind of yours.”

Source: sluttyfathers

The Facility (Part 2)

He wasn’t certain how much time had passed, when he came awake again. He ached, from head to toe, and he was lying somewhere, and that somewhere wasn’t particularly comfortable. He let out a groan and opened his eyes, looking around at the sterile room he was lying in, trying to piece together what he could remember. The generators. The robot. Something about test subjects. What in the world had the company been doing in this place? He was lying on a bed with just a sheet and a hard mattress, and he felt sick. He assumed that was just the sedative wearing off of him, but the more conscious he became, the worse he felt. It was a difficult sensation to describe–at some moments it felt like pins and needles all over his skin–and also inside his skin, somehow, like they were trying to poke their way out of him. Other places was a deep ache, centered in his bones, a pain he’d never experienced anything like before, and which mostly made him nauseous. He couldn’t see very clearly–the entire room seemed…muted, somehow. Like someone had sucked the color out of the room, leaving it a dingy grey, with bits of green and blue. He could make out the robot against the wall, but it appeared to be off, at least. Carefully, keeping his eyes on the thing which had dragged him down here, he pulled the sheet off his body, tried to swing his body up and off the bed as quietly as he could, but his body wasn’t working like he was used to, and he crashed to the floor instead.

That sent a long howl from his mouth–he’d tried to scream, but the sound he’d made hadn’t sounded like something that should–or even could–come from a human throat. His vision was blurry, but looking down at his hands, where he landed, something was wrong with them, or rather, one of them. They didn’t match. One, when he focused on it, looked…normal, he thought. But the other one didn’t…it didn’t even look human. He raised it closer to his face, trying to puzzle out what he was looking at. His eyes didn’t seem to have the detail they’d been capable of before, but he could see the hair, the back of his hand running up the arm, and when he flipped it over, his palm and even the underside of his fingers were covered with rough pads. With his other hand he felt them, and the dark claws at the tips of his fingers which had replaced his nails, but before he could do anything else, he felt something metallic wrap its way around his leg, rolling up his entire leg and yanking him backwards.

“Test Subject E1 has been displaced. E1 will be returned to bed and sedated.”

Kerry rolled over onto his back and saw that the robot had awakened. He tried to speak, tried to tell it to stop, but nothing close to human speech would come from his mouth. His head…ached. It didn’t feel right at all, and in a reflective cabinet along the wall, he could see why, as he fought with the robot. It was…the face of a dog, looking back at him. The face and head of a dog attached to his body somehow, or what was rapidly becoming not his body. One of his legs, the one the robot had wrapped up, had changed similarly to his arm, while his other leg was still human…but he could see the hair was thicker across the surface, his human foot…contorting somehow, that deep ache in his bones. He clawed and bit at the robot’s tendrils, but he was immobilized in a matter of moments, hefted up into the air, and put back on the bed. “Administering sedative,” the robot said, and again he felt the sharp pain of an injection, the same drowsiness flooding his system until he could barely move, the tendrils relaxing away from him, the robot retreating back to its corner as Kerry fought to remain awake. He heard a door open and then close nearby, but he couldn’t quite open his eyes to see who, or what, it was.

“How is the patient, X-9?” a male voice said, but there was something…strange in the words, like the mouth speaking wasn’t quite a human one, “I received an alert?”

“Good evening, Dr. Sondew,” the robot speaking, “There was a minor incident. The patient was displaced from his resting position. Cause was due to the subject regaining consciousness. The patient was returned to resting position and sedated again 98 seconds ago.”

“I see,” the voice said, and the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer. “Do try and relax, if you can still hear me. Trust me when I say that this is all for the greater good.” the footsteps receded, “How long until Serum A’s effects are complete?”

“Approximately seven hours and fifteen minutes.”

“Keep the subject sedated until then, but make a note that I will be present before and while serum B is administered. The poor thing should at least have the courtesy of someone explaining this to him, I think.”

“Noted.”

The voice spoke to the robot for a few more minutes, but Kerry had already stopped being able to understand their words, and had fallen back into a restless, aching sleep.

The Facility (Part 1)

“It has to be around here somewhere,” Kerry muttered to himself, lodging the flashlight in his mouth so he could get a better look at the blueprints he was using as a reference–but which must be wrong. The first couple of floors had been close enough to the paper, but down here in the basement–everything was all off. Had the company sent him a print of a different building’s basement or something? He took the flashlight back in his hand and shone it around the pitch black space surrounding him. They hadn’t told him, or the rest of his team, what was up with this facility–all they’d said was that they needed the power back online as soon as possible. The place seemed fairly new…but also neglected somehow, and in a few rooms, he’d nearly gagged at the strong scent of bleach hanging in the air. Someone had already come through the building, cleaning something–but what? Still, he might be the team leader, but he was still just some flunkie contractor as far as the company was concerned. Still–the blueprint might be wrong, but why wouldn’t the generators be down here somewhere? They certainly hadn’t been anywhere else he’d looked already.

He was alone inside–Quinn and Holden were outside, checking the ground lines together, while Kerry found the generators and saw if the problem was with them. He checked a few more rooms, occasionally checking back with the mostly wrong blueprint, but finally he found the generators. He poked around for a few minutes, and the problem was definitely internal–half of the control panel had been mashed to bits, with what looked like a club of some kind. That wasn’t too much of an issue, though. He found the system outputs and inputs, hooked them up to the laptop he’d brought along in his backpack, and he was able to run a basic system check if nothing else. He breathed a sigh of relief when he got the result back–there was nothing wrong them them physically, it seemed. Someone had just run an emergency shutdown, and then smashed the panel after the fact–but why?

The company had been tight lipped about the project, tighter than normal. They hadn’t even been told where they were going–just flown into some town, where the company had a small camp established, and then brought them here by truck to get their work done. He was a bit surprised he wasn’t under armed guard or anything, from the way they’d been acting, which was a bit of a relief–they wouldn’t let him in if there was anything to worry about, certainly. He got the system to reboot, and waited a few minutes, listening to the machinery around him start to come back to life, slowly. He expected a mechanical error or two, and sure enough, they were there–he went and fixed the relatively minor issues, and soon enough the place was humming back to life, lights on, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Last time he’d gone on one of these contracts, he’d had to spend months in the field, laying wire to fucking nowhere. It would take a few days to get a new control panel hooked in, but if there was nothing more than that, he’d be home in another couple of days.

He spent a few minutes with the system, making sure everything was running smoothly, helping it get back to it’s proper capacity. He’d have to leave the laptop down here for the meantime, but he plugged it into a nearby socket–and he heard the noises for the first time. A hiss of hydraulics, the odd clank of metal on metal–but it was distant and muffled by the sound of the turbines beside him–he just assumed it was the system, and hoped it wasn’t a major issue he’d have to fix. Still, he should radio in and let them know things were working. “Ground crew, this is Generator,” he said into his walkie talkie, “Got the place lit up again–obviously not a cable. Come on–” but that was as far as he got, before the radio squealed back at him, unleashed a burst of static and went silent as it landed on the floor, and he backed away from it.

The noise again, except this time, he heard it clearer, both because he was away from the generator, and because it was coming closer. He looked back towards the door, and through it came some odd, squat robot. It had a wide flat head with a few sensors, and it stood on three jointed legs which met at a small body below the head. It swiveled towards him, and a dull voice said, “Unknown personnel. Scanning. Unauthorized entry. Secure and sedate.”

The thing started towards him, and Kerry ran towards it, planning to shove it over and run past, but three tendrils shot out as he got close, wrapping their way around his body and neck, one puncturing right into his vein and administering a shot which made him feel almost instantly woozy. He fought for a moment, but the thing was holding him much too tight, and he started to droop, holding onto consciousness as best he could. The thing wrapped him up further and then lifted him off the ground, carrying him horizontally off the ground, and backtracked out of the doorway and headed down the hall–until it stopped and froze in place for a few, long, seconds.

Kerry didn’t know what to make of it’s sudden hesitation, but it hadn’t loosened it’s grip on him in anyway. His vision was beginning to tunnel too, and it was too much effort to even hold up his head. “Unauthorized personnel has been reclassified as test subject Eta One. Will proceed to testing level, and continue with testing.”

It turned around and went back the other direction, heading for a working elevator against one wall, and stepping inside. Kerry couldn’t…see anymore. His eyes wouldn’t open. He expected to go up–but instead, his gut shifted uncomfortably and they dropped. The blueprint hadn’t mentioned a sub basement. Make that, sub basements, as they descended even further, and Kerry passed out as he sank into the earth.

Metawriting – Chronological Focus

This post was precipitated by a conversation I was having with @mcbaer about some of the differences in our two styles of writing. In particular, I told him that I appreciated his stories and the style of his writing because the choices he makes about where (and more importantly when) he focuses lead to quite different stories than I would have written, given the overarching narrative and plot. He wanted me to elaborate on that, but I was heading to bed, and now that it’s a new day, I realized it was going to take a bit of extra space to explain what exactly I was talking about, so I thought I would expound a bit on the concept of chronological focus, and it’s role in determining what sorts of stories we tell.

First, let me explain what I mean by the term chronological focus. To help explain what I mean, we’re going to use some diagrams of a possible narrative, let’s all it Narrative X. We might represent this narrative like so:

Narrative X involves a few plot points we’re all familiar with. There are two characters at the start. At point A, the two characters encounter a MacGuffin with some power to change or control the two characters. At point B, the two characters interact with the MacGuffin and become new, sexier, men. And finally, at point C, the two characters are in a new, sexual relationship of some kind–a new status quo different from the start.

Narrative X is very generalized–a good chunk of my stories, as well as the ones written by a fair number of other authors, can be said to be various versions of Narrative X. Often, what differentiates these stories from one another is content–in one version, the two characters might become a muscle bears thanks to magic gym equipment. In another, a magic cigar might turn one character into a leather bear dom, and the other into his submissive fat pig. I want to set these various content differences aside for the moment, however, and instead discuss the ways in which we can get different stories out of Narrative X not by applying different content, but by varying structure instead.

Before getting into the meat of this, however, I want to clarify one more distinction which will be important here. I’m going to be using the words “narrative” and “story” distinctly here, such that “stories” are defined as different versions of a more general “narrative”. The former are more specific than the latter. If you don’t keep this in mind, what I’m about to discuss will seem very confusing, and I will do my very best to be precise.

We have established already that two stories of the same narrative can look very different because of content–but structure plays just as important a role, and generally, this structure has to do with what point of the narrative we focus on within the story. That is, not every story is going to traverse the narrative from “start” to “end”. Instead, we can imagine, say, three different stories–Red, Green, and Blue–which all traverse different portions of the narrative–that is, each of these stories will possess a different chronological focus. Those three distinct stories might look something like this, when laid over our previous diagram of narrative X:

All three of those stories focus on different chunks of the narrative timeline. Let’s say, for a moment, that all three stories draw from the same narrative content–the characters are two friends in college, and one friend finds a smoking pipe in a thrift store–this would be point A to point B. He smokes the pipe, and becomes a older daddy bear, and when his friend arrives, he becomes his younger cub son–this would be the space from B to C. Lastly, reality shifts around them giving them new lives as a wealthy gentleman, and his obedient, horny cub slave–From C to the end. Now, given how the three story bars are structured, each story is going to end up omitting some of this content. The green bar, in the middle, would cover most of it–say, from the point of discovering the pipe, and ends around the point of reality changing for them both. The red story, on the other hand, spends more time developing the characters at the beginning, and stops right after the changes have begun, leaving everything which is to come up to the reader’s imagination, with help from the author by way of foreshadowing. The blue story is the opposite–it focuses after the change, as the two characters adjust to their new reality and forget their old lives. It’s all the same *narrative* but each *story* would be wildly different, with their own distinct climaxes and conflicts.

The choices an author makes, about where to start and where to finish their story–within the broader context of the narrative–is one of the more important things we need to consider. Do I want to focus mostly on the transformation? Then I’m going to go with something like the green story, but perhaps shrink it at each end even further. Do I like the idea of watching these two students find their minds overwritten by personalities which aren’t their own? That would be more along the lines of the blue story. Do I want to tease the reader a bit, setting up conflict and characters and then providing them something which stimulates their imagination? Then I’d go closer to the red story.

Of course, not every story is linear, either! You can imagine a completely different story in the narrative being told backward, in chunks. You begin with the older gentleman and his slave cub for a while, examining their life. You back up to the midst of their change, looking at them struggle. And then back up once more, showing how they arrived at such a predicament. The length of time you’re covering in the narrative also has no bearing on length of story. In the diagram above, it’s perfectly conceivable that the green story could be covered in fewer than a 1000 words, while the blue story span the length of a short novel. There are an infinite number of ways to cut up and tell a narrative structurally, and each one yields a unique story. The challenge as an author, is in figuring out what you want the story to *do* and then selecting a chronological focus which best accomplishes your goal.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 9)

Waste was surprised that he was still alive. In a sense, he knew that he wasn’t, not alive in the same sense as before, certainly not alive as the same person. He uncurled himself slowly from the ball he crumpled into on the floor, before pushing himself up on shaking legs so he could see himself in the mirror.

What had happened to him? It was like every muscle in his body had been dehydrated and shrunk to a single wire connecting each of his joints. Just from looking at himself, he couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds–the curse had left him as skin and bones. His height only served to exaggerate his new physique, but the loss of muscles wasn’t the most disturbing parts–it was the concave belly with his ribs clearly defined against the skin of his chest. Somehow, the skin seemed both impossibly tight, and also loose and sagging, depending on the angle one looked at. His eyes climbed higher, to his neck, every tendon and vein visible through his much paler skin, and his gaunt face. He looked…old. So much older than he had been, with his now snow white beard growing out in wisps to his chest, his head bald aside from a few errant strands of fine hair that remained. To steady himself, he took a drag off his cigar, able to see his chest inflating with smoke, and then exhaled through his yellowed, crooked teeth, lined with gaps. Cheeks shallow and gaunt, eyes sunken deep. His eyes–he could see clearly, but they were cloudy–eerily so, and he could barely make eye contact with himself for five or ten seconds, before having to look away, but there was nowhere to look that didn’t horrify him. The only part of him that seemed to have any life left was his cock–he gripped it with a bony hand, feeling it’s warmth, feeling alive in some small way, through his shaft.

Waste. The curse had named him Waste, and now he understood. Wasting away, but also discarded by the world. Refuse. That old him, Walter, he was fading faster now, he was dying in the sandstorm, but the curse had saved him from that fate, because he could still be useful. If he didn’t want to suffer the same end, then Waste knew what he had to do, knew who he had to become.

“Sorry about that, Fuglet,” he said, looking over at his slave. His voice was dry, cracking, desperate for water. The shiver that ran down Fuglet’s back was similar to a knife running down a pane of glass. “I got…distracted. You’ve met all my conditions, slave. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re mine now–all mine, forever.”

Fuglet didn’t like this Master. Fuglet liked the old one, the one who he could tell still cared about him, but in those skeletal, cloudy eyes, he only saw hatred.

“Get on the bed–Master wants to use that hole of yours.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t disobey. He got on the bed and let his jeans slip from his ass and around his knees, his master coming over, running sharp, claw like nails along his filthy skin, pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, but not a true scratch. His cock was hungry–it was the only part of him that needed anything anymore. As long as he kept his cock happy, as long as that didn’t shrivel away as well, then he wouldn’t have to worry. The curse would be happy, and Waste wouldn’t have to die too.

He raped his Fuglet for hours. When he grew tired of one hole, he would switch to another. If his slave displeased him for some reason, he would take a moment to punish him–sometimes quickly, with a sharp burn from the end of his cigar, or other times longer, with a prolonged paddling. The whole time, he could see his cock and balls swelling larger, feeding on Fuglet’s pain and humiliation until it was over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, ramming deep into his ass as he screamed with each invasion. When he finally finished, and came–filling Fuglet’s ass with a massive load of cum, Waste finally looked around and realized the apartment had completely shifted around them as well, their new life becoming…clearer.

Fuglet worked in construction during the day–it was one of the few jobs someone as stupid and ugly as he was could still manage to do a decent job and not get fired in the first week. Everyone on his crew hated him, of course. Everyone in the world despised him as soon as they met him. They just…something about him, it was clear that he wasn’t right. He had no friends, he had no family. No one knew about his master waiting back at home. No one who noticed his collar had any desire to know the details or story behind it. Still, he did his menial tasks competently, he stayed out of everyone’s way, and that was acceptable. Then, when the day was done, he went home, where Waste was waiting.

Waste never left the apartment. It wasn’t clear that Waste even could leave the apartment. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, waste was, but Fuglet was fairly certain he wasn’t entirely human, even if he had been at some point. He never ate, he only slept a few hours a night. He would abuse Fuglet until he passed out, and when he awoke, Waste would still be fucking him. As gaunt and sickly as he appeared, he was stronger than any man Fuglet had met on any crew. Waste was his curse to bear, he supposed, for some sins in some past life, and he bore him willingly. At least it was someone. At least he wasn’t entirely alone. At least there was something in the world that needed him, even if it only needed him to suffer.