Lost Boy (2 of 2)

“Oh, you look so much better with that beard trimmed down short like that. Much more presentable and cute, boy.”

“Thank you sir! I’m…glad you like it.”

“Now now, what did we talk about? Sir’s what I used to be, but what am I now?”

“Oh–sorry, d-daddy…” Part of Lee fought that word, tried to keep it from getting out from between his teeth and lips, but it got out anyway, and it felt good, saying that. It always felt good doing what daddy said.

Daddy had found his lost boy at the grocery store–he’d been so scared there without his daddy!–and brought him back to the motel room where he was staying, gotten his boy out of those adult clothes he’d been wearing, gotten him cleaned up and into his new boygear–a leather harness and jockstrap, before trimming down his beard nice and short. Now daddy was shearing the hair off his head, and after that, he would shave him bald, so he’d look like a proper, slutty little cub. The whole time, he’d been talking to his boy, and his boy had been paying good attention. Telling him how much he’d missed his daddy, how happy he was to be back with him, and how terrible he felt for running off like that and getting lost for so long.

“You were a very, very bad boy, you know that, right?”

“Yes daddy…I’m…s-sorr–” but he couldn’t quite finish the word.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re very sorry to me. I think daddy’s going to have to punish his naughty boy, for running off like that. Maybe you don’t really deserve to be daddy’s boy after all, if you can’t even apologize for running off.”

“No daddy! Don’t send me away! I want to be a good boy, I do!”

“Well, let’s get this head of yours cleaned up, and then we’ll hit the bed, and see how much of a good boy you can be. Because if you can’t–then we’ll see how you like being daddy’s dirty piggy for a month or two, and try again after that.”

Lost Boy (1 of 2)

Lee had done his best to put that weekend behind him. Hell, he’d done more than that–when he’d slipped through that strange fucker’s grasp, he’d done more than put it behind him, he’d tried to disappear. He hitched a ride out of town with the first trucker who’d take him, ended up fifty miles away from that god awful place, and tried to forget about what had happened to him, tried to forget about the…things that man had made him do. Had made him want to do. Part of that was trying to figure out who he was again–working out harder than he had, growing out a beard, and over the next few years, Lee settled down into the small town he’d drifted into–he had a girlfriend he was thinking about marrying, a steady job. Then, one Tuesday evening at the grocery store after work, there in the freezer aisle by the ice cream, Lee looked up and he saw him.

He froze. He didn’t know what to do–had he seen him? No–he was still walking away from him. Maybe he didn’t recognize him? What was he even doing here? Was he sure it was even the man? He abandoned his cart and headed for the exit, not caring. He didn’t care what kind of life he could build here, if that strange fucker could show up here, then Lee knew he wasn’t safe, not here, and maybe not anywhere, but–

“Lee? That is you, isn’t it?” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, freezing him in place, that…horrifically familiar comfort flowing into him, relaxing every tense muscle in his body, releasing every worry he’d had. Fuck, he’d…missed this. He’d forgotten how good it felt, having him just…touch him, even through his clothes. “Sweetie, I’m so glad I found you! You know, I thought you were just a weekend fling back then, but ever since you slipped off that night, I’ve always wanted to…reconnect with you again.”

The man’s hand drifted down to his bare arm, the comfort and pleasure tripling, now that it was skin on skin. “Please–I…” he tried to get out, but the man pulled his hand and turned Lee towards him, looking him in the eye, and nothing else mattered, but those eyes.

House Arrest (Part 4)

Zack knew, from his time dealing with the criminal justice system, that the most important thing you can do, especially in a system of solitary confinement, in create a routine for yourself, and stick to it. First things first, he smashed the TV as soon as the DVD had finished playing, and then set out to explore the house a bit further, making sure he hadn’t missed anything he might be able to use as leverage, or a weapon. The kitchen was more empty than he’d first imagined, lacking even basic appliances, or a set of knives. The closest he had to a weapon was a plastic butter knife. His exploration eventually brought him back to the living room, where he discovered that both the vase he’d smashed, and the TV, had miraculously righted and repaired themselves. The vase even had sitting in it the flowers he’d been given, and water had been added.

“Hello?” he called out, certain there had to have been someone in the house with him for something like this to occur, and he started turning the place upside down, looking for any sort of clue, but each time he ransacked a room, left, and returned, it had been put back into order. He kept this up for a while, but then gave up–either someone was here he wouldn’t be able to find, or this was some other power of that strange program Sidney had at his disposal. Still, he wouldn’t watch the TV, he had no interest in knowing what was happening to his son, he wouldn’t fall for that bait. Instead, he found one of the bare rooms and started working out, running through a calisthenics routine he’d kept when he was younger and in better shape than his current, middle aged self. Still, the day was beginning to turn to evening, and he was getting a bit hungry, when the doorbell rang again.

He went down and answered the door, to find the same young man as before with a cart laden with groceries. “Here you are, sir,” he said, and pushed the cart inside, “I’ll be back tomorrow with another load for you. Is there anything else I can do for you today? Do you require some company?”

Zack didn’t engage with him; he just accepted the groceries and shut the door in the young man’s face. In the kitchen, the hunger was becoming substantial, but as he dug through the bags, all he could find in them was candy, junk food, a twelve pack of beer and frozen meals for the microwave–hardly the sort of food he usually ate, but his stomach told him otherwise. He started stuffing himself, disturbed at his own behavior and hunger, but unable to quite get a handle on it. Was he really back to normal? Was Sidney still fucking with him somehow?

The food arrived every day, and no matter how much arrived, Zack would have eaten all of it by the time the young man arrived with the next load. He would try to resist the hunger and focus on exercising instead, but it was difficult to manage, especially after drinking twelve beers a day for a week straight. Drunk and full and depressed, he more than once found himself on the couch, watching Sidney have sex with his son in one body or another…masturbating.

The next weekend with his son arrived, and he was dreading it–he went to sleep Thursday, only to wake up in a dog house in Sidney’s backyard, naked, covered with fur from head to toe but still human–aside from his cock, which had become fully canine, and his missing balls. He spent the weekend as his son’s loyal pet, unable to disobey him, unable to not enjoy the feeling of his son fucking his doggy hole, while Sidney fucked his snout. Still…it was a relief to simply be…with people. He’d never really realized how terrible loneliness could be, and when he woke up back in the house next door on Monday, he was relieved to be back in his own body, but he couldn’t bare to think that this was all his life would be for the foreseeable future.

It was difficult to pinpoint when, exactly, Zack broke. It didn’t help when, after a couple of months in the house, cigars started appearing with his daily load of groceries, and like everything else, he found himself compelled to consume those as well. His realization, the week after, of how much his body had changed living here drove him deeper into depression–his muscles now well hidden beneath a flabby body, his face shrouded in a scruffy beard and his hair growing out with a massive bald patch for the first time in years. His hair shouldn’t have been able to grow that fast, but he also shouldn’t have gained close to 100 pounds in two months. Obviously, Sidney was still manipulating him from afar. He spent all day drunk, lying on the couch, smoking, jacking off, watching Sidney and his son fuck each other’s brains out…wishing…wishing he had someone, wishing he wasn’t so alone.

“Would you…stay with me for a bit?” he finally asked the young man who delivered his food to him each day. “I’m lonely.”

“I’d be happy to!” the young man said, “The only thing we’ll have to discuss is payment.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Master has already created a payment system for you to use. It’s simple, really. Each time you use me, then Master gets to change something about your past, and your reality, permanently.”

Zack hauled the groceries inside and slammed the door in the young man’s face, but he honestly didn’t know how long he’d be able to hold out on his own like this. He opened the door a minute later, and the young man was still on the doorstep, looking smug. “Shall I come in, and we can discuss your payment options?”

The End for now, but we might follow Zack, Sidney and Evan a bit more in the future.

House Arrest (Part 3)

He was back. Zack looked around him, looked down at himself. He was back to himself, back to who he was supposed to be, dressed in the clothes he’d shown up in and everything. He looked around at the unfamiliar room he was standing in–the foyer of some large house–but it wasn’t Sidney’s house. He…knew that. He knew that because…because he could remember everything from the entire weekend of hell he’d just been put through. All weekend as that musclebound fuckbuddy, doing everything–and everyone–Sidney had told him to do. He’d…he’d fucked his son. His son had fucked him. Sure, they hadn’t been in their right minds, or in their right bodies, but still, what the fuck had he just done?

Saturday and Sunday had been spent with Sidney engaging with several business partners of his, who’d all been avoiding coming by as long as Zack had been watching the place. And he’d…serviced them all. He’d wanted to, it had been so thrilling and exciting to be used by so many different men. Just remembering how it felt, Zack’ cock had gotten half hard in his pants, his stomach turning–he found the bathroom after a little searching and threw up in the toilet, disgusted with himself. But why was he alone? Where was Sidney? Where in the world was his son? Whatever was going on, he was getting the hell out of this place for sure. He went to the front door and flung it open, stepped out onto the front step, and…and all he felt was the most gut wrenching fear of his life.

There was just…just so much space out there. So many people, so many dangers. He was back inside, the door shut and locked behind him, heaving for breath. What in the hell was wrong with him? He tried again, and with some focus he managed to get a few steps outside, but the terror was crippling. He vomited again off to the side, onto a patch of ground between a couple of roses, and retreated back into the unfamiliar house. He had no idea what was wrong with him, but he couldn’t be out there. Instead, he decided to look around the house. There had to be a reason he was here. He didn’t have his cell phone or his keys. He didn’t have a wallet either, or his gun. Nowhere in the house was there a single phone, or a computer. The house looked lived in, mostly because it’s interior was well decorated, but the cabinets and fridge were empty and half of the rooms were unfurnished. But he did find one piece of the puzzle. In one of those empty rooms, he looked out the window, across the well kempt yard and over the fence, to where he could see the side of Sidney’s home.

He was right there. He was in the house next door to the fucker, but he couldn’t fucking leave, he couldn’t call his precinct, he couldn’t do anything. He fought the urge to cry, and instead he went downstairs and hurled a vase at the wall, and started sobbing anyway. He’d fallen for it. He didn’t know what Sidney was doing, or how he was doing it to him, but he was trapped in that sick fuck’s nightmare, and he didn’t know how to get out. Then, the doorbell rang. He hurried to the front door and opened it up, finding himself face to face with a young man holding a gift basket. “Please, you have to help me!” Zack said, “Call the police, the man next door kidnapped my son.”

“Oh, Master filled me in on the situation,” the young man said in a chipper voice, which made Zack’s heart sink, “He made you this housewarming gift, and said to be sure to watch the video.”

Zack didn’t know how to respond to that, and when he made no move to take the basket from him, the young man shrugged, set it down, and walked away like…it was the easiest thing in the world, to be out there in the terrifying world. Just standing in the open doorway he was beginning to shake; he grabbed the basket, trying not to think about it, and brought it in with him, shutting and locking the door behind him. Inside the basket were some cookies, some flowers–likely intended for the vase he’d just shattered–and a DVD. He got the video, found the widescreen TV and turned it on, but instead of a random TV channel, he found himself looking at the footage of a security camera. And from the looks of it, it was a camera inside of Sidney’s house. He changed the channel, and found himself looking in another room. It wasn’t until the seventh channel that he found the master bedroom–where Sidney had his still hulked out son bent over the bed, and was…plowing his ass.

He’d gotten hard immediately at the sight, and changed the channel again–his worst fears confirmed. Found the DVD player and loaded the disk, and hit play. After a few moments, Sidney’s face appeared on the TV, and started speaking:

“Hello Zackary. I hope you’ve started making yourself comfortable here, because you’ll be remaining here with me for the rest of my sentence, under a form of house arrest of your own. I must say, I admire your tenacity, but I simply can’t afford to have someone like you meddling in my affairs again. Don’t worry–you will find the house I purchased for you rather comfortable, if a bit lonely. You’ll have food delivered to you every few days, and if you so desire, a delivery slave can spend some time with you for…a price. There is, lastly, the issue of custody. As per the agreement, you’ll be permitted to stay with your son and me every other weekend, and we’ll all have so much fun together, I promise. I’m sorry your space is so sparse, but I’m sure you’ll always be able to find something to watch on TV. See you in a couple of weeks!”

You never gave up on him. What father could give up on his son? The police all said their was no hope of finding him if he didn’t want to be found, but that just wasn’t your boy–you knew he would never run away like that. It was the cities fault. He’d been a small town kid–innocent and trusting–he didn’t know how rough things could get in the city. No–something had happened to him, and you were sure of it, but you also couldn’t prove it.

When the police hadn’t been able to find anything, you’d taken a leave of absence from the shop you owned, and headed for the city to try and find him yourself. You interviewed his roommate from college–he told you that your son had seemed happy and good for the first few months, but one night he didn’t come home to the dorm until the next morning, and something had seemed different about him. Distant. Aggressive. He’d started smoking and drinking heavily, and he was hanging out with a group of guys off campus. He missed class regularly, and then one day he just stopped showing up at all. But that didn’t sound like your boy–what had those guys done to him?

Other people on campus you interviewed gave you similar stories, but no real details you could actually call a lead–that is, until someone dropped the name of some club on the other side of the city–some place called Pigtown. You went there, took one look at the place, and left–utterly disgusted. That was some faggot place! Your son would never have been caught dead in a place like that–he wasn’t a faggot! He’d had a girlfriend and everything all through school, and so you keep looking for clues, but every once in awhile, you feel…like you’re being watched.

Because while you were out looking for your son, your son found you. He doesn’t quite…remember who you are, or who you were to him, but he does know you. He hates you. Hates you for never seeing him. Hates you because so much of him hates now, so much of him lives to cause pain, to humiliate, to abuse. He lurks in the shadows, following you around the city as you search for him, rubbing his ten inch cock through his pants, thinking about you. About what a good pig you’ll be when he gets his hands on you. About how you’ll be getting everything you deserve tonight, when him and a few of his slaves catch you, and drag you into Pigtown kicking and screaming for a night you won’t soon forget.

House Arrest (Part 2)

He fought his feet, but he followed Sidney inside, hearing the pulse of music playing in the other room, his butt shaking in time to the beat as they got closer, and he found his hulking son still rolling his hips and moving to the beat. “Oh yes,” Zack said with a slight moan, pushing Sidney gently back down onto the couch, “I’m afraid you’re under arrest sir, and your punishment is going to be one sexy show from the hottest cop on the beat.”

What the fuck did he just say?

He grabbed the front of his uniform and tugged, feeling the snaps break apart as he started dancing with his son, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened to him. There was a mirror on the wall, and as he danced, he was able to catch glimpses of himself in it, but it wasn’t him. His…face was still mostly right–the shaved head, the horseshoe mustache starting to turn a bit grey–but his body…he’d never looked this ripped, not even when he was in the best shape of his life. Huge meaty pecs, a ripped abdomen, thick thighs which were nearly bursting the little blue shorts he had on. It struck him, at last, that this wasn’t his uniform. This was a costume. He didn’t know how, but Sidney had turned him into a stripper, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop himself from humiliating himself.

The look of horror must have registered on his face, because Sidney laughed the next time he turned towards him. “Yes, Officer, I’m sure you’re a bit confused. But why don’t you just relax? Look at how much fun your son is having. Aren’t you having fun Evan?”

“Yes sir,” Evan said with a thick laugh, “I’s having lots of fun. I just a dumb meathead stripper whore! I like to dance and fuck and suck and cum and work my body for sexy old men like you.”

“You…what the…hell did you do to him?” Zack managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Nothing that won’t happen to you too, officer. Now, keep at it. The more you dance, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

Zack pulled his shirt off and kept dancing. Evan kept trying to feel him up and dance with him, but as much as this body wanted to play, he kept finding the will to push him away, but that will was starting to fade, slowly but surely. His panic was dimming, and his excitement and pleasure were increasing. He shucked his shorts, only to find he was wearing an NYPD jockstrap–and from the bulge in the front, he was both hard, and huge. He groped himself for the old man, loving how sexy he felt, his partner rubbing his hands all over his body…turning his head to the side for a kiss…

That face. He…knew that face, didn’t he? It was getting hard to think, and he felt so hot and sexy. And the hunk he was dancing with was hot and sexy too. He didn’t need to think, he just needed to dance and then he wouldn’t have to think anymore. He could just be a dumb meathead stripper too then, and everything else in the world wouldn’t even matter. They kissed, their mouths hot, rubbing their sweaty bodies together, looking over to make sure their client was enjoying their show, because this wasn’t really about them–it was about pleasing him. Most people probably wouldn’t find a client like this very attractive–middle aged, glasses, portly in odd places, a scruffy beard–but guys like this really turned Zach on for some reason. The idea of a sexy, attractive guy like him worshiping and obeying some fat, nerdy loser like this? It got him so fucking hard every time.

The man beckoned him over after the two of them had been making out for a few minutes; Zack sauntered over, climbed up on the couch facing the man so he was straddling him with his muscular thighs, moaning and swaying to the beat of the music. “Are you still in there, officer?” he asked, “Well, of course you are. Don’t worry, you’ll remember all of this once we’re done for the weekend, but for now, why don’t you kiss me, you handsome dumbass?”

He didn’t really know what the guy was talking about, but he did want to kiss him, and being called a dumbass made him really horny for some reason, so he leaned in and started making out with the client, one hand wrapping around the older man’s cock, stroking it slowly and gently, making sure to edge him. The client beckoned to his partner, who got down behind Zack and started sucking the man’s cock–Zack was jealous as hell, but the client’s pleasure was more important than what he wanted.

The man pushed him away for a moment, and let Zack focus on feeling up his flabby body while he toyed with a tablet he’d kept beside him. “I needed you two to keep your faces for a bit, just to make sure you recognized each other, but I’m sick of looking at your face, officer. Let’s make it a bit more appealing, eh?”

Zack felt an odd shift in his head, but when he looked over at himself in the mirror, he didn’t see anything different. His strong jawline coated with a bit of stubble, those thick lips of his, small nose and piercing green eyes, his brown hair short, and attractively mussed up. “Fuck, I looks sexy…” he said to himself.

“You sure do, stud,” Sidney said, and turned his face back so Zack was looking at him, “And what do you think of me?”

“Fuck, sir, I think’s you’re, like, really really hot. I mean, I’m a stud, but you’re like, my dream guy,” Zack said, gushing a bit, “Do you wanna fuck me, sir? I like being fucked a whole lot.”

“Sure slut, I’ll fuck you. I’ll be fucking you both a whole lot this weekend, I think.”

Zack liked the sound of that for sure. His partner stopped sucking, and he slid his client’s cock into his ass with a loud groan. He might not be smart, but he and his partner were the best whores in the city, and he was going to show this hot fucker the best weekend of his life.

House Arrest (Part 1)

Zack had spent years on the case. Building it from the ground up, finding every witness, digging up every scrap of evidence, chasing his own tail at times, but it had come together at last. Sidney Hubert might seem like your average tech savant by day, but at night he had his hands in so many shady enterprises–online black markets, insider trading, human trafficking–it was only a matter of time before he slipped up, and he knew that all he needed to do was be there to catch him, cuff him, and lock him up for good. The chance had come, when he showed up in person for a deal–he’d given the prosecutor the conviction wrapped in a bow, only to watch him throw it.

He couldn’t prove it. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that a man with as much wealth and influence as Sidney would have some pull in the criminal justice system, but Zack had underestimated exactly how much, obviously. In the end, the jury let him off on most of the charges, but stuck him with some of the lesser tax evasion charges. Even then, because he was such an alleged upstanding citizen, he was only sentenced to two years of house arrest. Two years, and the fucker was essentially relaxing all day in his massive mansion. And what did Zack have?

This case had…been rough on his life. His wife had lost it, when he’d gotten too obsessed, and left. His son was distant with him, and he only saw him every other weekend. He’d burned a good number of bridges with the department, and with the DA’s office. Five years ago, people were mentioning him as someone who might run the department one day, but now he was going to be stuck as a detective for the rest of his life. He was in his forties, and he was starting to feel it. He didn’t know if he had it in him anymore to chase this guy down all over again, once he got out, but he had to try. He didn’t have anything left to lose, after all.

Zack watched him like a hawk for six months, but there was nothing the least bit suspicious at the residence. If anything, Sidney seemed so clean that this alone was enough to raise a few alarm bells. Sidney would taunt him, occasionally–having pizza delivered to him while he sat in his car, or one time, sending him a text inviting him inside for a glass of wine and to look around–enough to let him know that he knew Zack was watching him. It was only making things feel more hopeless. He needed to accept that he’d been duped, but he couldn’t. He had to believe he could still nail this guy in the ass.

He tried to focus on reconnecting with his son, Evan, when he did see him, but it was difficult. He was seventeen, a bit of a loner, and Zack was a bit worried he might be getting involved with the wrong sorts of kids at school. They barely talked, their worlds didn’t even seem to overlap at any point. He’d drift into Zack’s apartment on Friday afternoon after school, they’d try to connect–go out to eat, see a movie–but nothing much seemed to help. Then, one Friday, Evan didn’t show up. He usually just caught the bus, but Zack thought he might have stayed after school–he called his ex-wife, but she didn’t even pick up the phone. He called the school, but they treated him like he was crazy–they couldn’t find any record of his son even attending school there. Then, he got the text message on his phone, from Sidney’s number.

“Feel like you’re missing something?”

His gut fell to his feet. That fucker, he was never going to get away with something like this. He called the squad to get backup, but as soon as he tried to tell his sergeant what had happened, he started treating him like he was crazy. He told Zack that Zack didn’t have any kids. Zack had never even been married to anything beside his job. He wanted to know if Zack had been drinking. He wanted to know if he’d been pursuing the case on his own. Zack hung up on him, incredibly frustrated, and also scared. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He had a son, he knew he had a son, but why did the entire world seem to suddenly think he didn’t even exist? He got in the car, determined to take this shit into his own hands. The rumors he’d heard about Sidney, about trafficking in men and strange technology…he tried not to think about it, as he sped across town.

He parked a ways off down the street, and approached on foot, staying out of sight of Sidney’s numerous security cameras as he slipped around the house, casing the place. Through a front side window, he saw them–Sidney sitting on the couch, naked, and…some muscular guy dancing for him in the middle of the room. That wasn’t his son–Evan was thin as a rail, hunched, always fidgety. But when the hunk spun around to wiggle his bubble butt at Sidney, and Zack saw his face…it was Evan’s face. It was Evan’s blissed out, moaning face, on some stranger’s body. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had to get in there. He went around to the front door and hammered on it, ready to burst in if need be, but after a few moments, the door opened, and a naked Sidney was there in the doorway, leering at him.

“Good evening officer, what can I do for you?”

Zack sensed that…something was wrong. He’d had his gun in his hand, but he…didn’t, suddenly. He hadn’t been wearing his uniform, but now he was in his blues–and the fabric, it was…scratchy and ill-fitting. “Sir,” he said, licking his lips, “I’ve heard reports of lewd behavior at this residence–I’m afraid I’m going to have to search the premises.”

“Oh! Well do come in officer, do come in and investigate all you want.”

Just a Kiss (2 of 2)

Jules didn’t show up to the convention the next day. Eli thought he might just be sick…hopefully. It was just a kiss, right? He checked Jules’ room before lunch, but no one answered. He tried calling him, and the phone rang, but no one picked up. Eli felt guilty, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Call the cops? Go back to the bar? Maybe…maybe he could just give it one more day. He’d show up, surely.

He went out to dinner with some clients, hoping to nail a few more sales, but he was off his game, because as much as he liked to think of himself as aloof and immune to consequence, he was scared to death that Eli was dead in some alley, or being raped in some basement, and–if you looked at what had happened in a certain light, you might be led to conclude that the whole mess had been Eli’s fault.

He’d had quite a bit to drink at the restaurant, but before collapsing into bed, he decided to head back to Jules’ room one last time, to see if he’d made it back, or was just pulling his leg. He got to the room, and was relieved when he saw it was propped open–he hurried down the hallway and turned the corner, ready to tell Jules he was sorry, and that he was glad he was ok, but there in the hotel room were two of the bruisers from the night before, jacking up all of his things for him as quick as they could. Eli just stared at them, unable to believe what he was seeing, when one of them saw him in the doorway, alerted the other, and Eli split down the hall, the two men hot on his tail. They caught him when he stumbled, one man climbing on him, holding his head still, while he kissed Eli, forcing a lungful of smoke into his mouth…and after that, it was hard to remember what happened exactly.

He helped the men pack of Jules’ things, and then they went to his room and packed up his stuff, and Eli checked them both out of the hotel. He…didn’t really want to do any of these things, but everytime he started to fight, one of them men would give him another breath of smoke, and he’d…be hanging on their every word again. They made Eli get in their truck with them, and they drove to a…substantially poorer neighborhood, got out and went into a large house. The two guys took Jules’ and Eli’s things to the fireplace and started burning them, while the Boss escorted Eli down into the basement, where he found Jules. He…looked every different, with his huge beard and cigar, his tattooed arm shoved deep in some bear’s moaning hole, but it was him–he knew it.

“Hey, you fucker–I was gonna get you in a couple of days, but it’s good to see you again!” Jules said, hauling out his greasy arm and walking over, “Now how about that kiss, you piece of shit? Then we’ll get you a cigar, get you in that sling, and we can get the real fun started.”

Source: horsto

Just a Kiss (1 of 2)

“No–I want to see you two fucks kiss. Come on–one kiss, and we’ll let you go. I…promise.”

Eli wasn’t sure how things had gone so far south so quickly. He and Jules had just wanted to grab a drink after they’d finished working the booth at the business convention. They’d wanted to avoid the bars near the center, so they wouldn’t have to schmooze, and could just be themselves for a bit, and they’d ended up here–and now, here they were on the small deck, surrounded by these…burly fucks. Eli shouldn’t have said the word faggots, of course, much less at a volume anyone besides Jules could have heard, but now here they were–surrounded.

“Come on–it’s just a fucking kiss. It doesn’t mean anything. You think a kiss will turn you into a faggot or something?” the ringleader said, grinning a bit, getting some chuckles from the other brusiers around them. The air was thick with smoke–most of the guys in the group had a cigar or cigarette in their mouth. Eli looked over at Jules, who was just glaring back–angry at him for his stupid comment, but also a bit terrified. They were both middle aged businessmen; hardly a match for the guys surrounding them.

“N-No. Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Look boys, if these two won’t kiss, why don’t we just kiss both of them?” the boss said, to raucous howls of his gang. They closed in, one man grabbing Jules around the shoulder and pulling him into a smoke filled kiss, while Eli, fought his way out of the circle, losing his coat, but emerging unscathed otherwise. He looked back for Jules, but he was…still kissing the man? The guys were still chasing him, but he ran out of the bar as fast as he could hailed a taxi, and headed back to the convention. Jules would be fine, he assured himself. He’d…make it back on his own.

Source: bearpipe

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 5)

Where was he? What was he? It was hot, sweltering, wherever he was, and as uncomfortable as it was, it also felt…pleasant, in other ways. It was dark, wherever and whatever he was. Dark, and he’d sweat so much, it felt like he was surrounded by some liquid too thick and oily to be water. For a long time, he’d been too weak to fight, too weak to resist whatever he was in, but now, he’d started to feel…a kind of life returning to his body. He would press against the thing encasing him, feel it resist, and he’d relax again, building strength, drawing in the heat suffusing him, letting it fill him up, and when he was full enough, he’d be able to be free again. He’d be free…and he’d be…someone, or something, but he’d be free.

Few people had noticed the strange, black cocoon stuck to the floor of the alley, not even when they were fucking one another five feet away behind the dumpsters deeper in the alley. Most who did notice it just thought it was some kink artifact, but rarely touched it. Just…seeing it was enough to make them feel strange–horny, but also terrified in some deep mortal sense, and usually they would retreat down the alley, hungry for a fuck to remind them that they were alive, that they were still human. A few braver ones would touch it, feel it’s heat touch some darkness inside them, odd, disturbing thoughts occurring to them suddenly, which they found themselves unable to resist fulfilling–craving the sensation of a fist pummelling their guts, a sudden hunger for shit and piss, the need to feel as much pain as they might experience without passing out or dying. In any case, the cocoon remained undisturbed into the evening, until it began twitching and wiggling every few minutes. The activity increased, and became more violent until it was clear that someone was inside the cocoon, and that they were desperately trying to escape it. The skin of the shell had handened and turned brittle, allowing, at last, a fist to burst through, two hands coated in some black, oily goo ripping at the hole, enlarging it, until a head burst forth gasping for air.

Beau fought his way forth, coughing and gagging up the filth he’d swallowed, which had settled into his lungs, which rasped with each breath. The goo hardened once it touched air, and he began scraping it off his body–first in latex like sheets, and then flakes, and then like brittle sugarwork dusting his skin. As he did, he began to realize that the body he was in was not quite the same as the one he’d had earlier–it seemed so long ago, now that he had a moment to think about it, but…what had he looked like, exactly? Older. A bit of a potbelly which had earned him a good amount of ribbing from other…guys on the force. He could see them, he could remember them, but it felt once removed. Like the memories weren’t really his, but somehow leftovers. Like a movie he’d found abandoned in an old VCR at a stranger’s home. It wasn’t…him. It wasn’t him, but that didn’t mean he knew who he was.

What was he? He seemed to be human, still. Two legs, two arms, toes and fingers. Hairier than before. More muscular than before. Younger than before? That seemed…difficult to pin down. Thinking about time, it felt like a part of him stretched back…further than he could even comprehend. Time was relative. Time was infinite. He was impossibly young and also eternal. H tried not to think about it, he tried not to think about any of it. Don’t think about who you are–what do you want, he asked himself.

Want. That was simpler. Immediate. He wanted pleasure. He wanted…he wanted sex. He wanted men. He could smell them, all around him in the night, the musk, the smoke, the cum, the piss. He was about to go out and find someone–anyone–to distract him from his terror, when two figures rounded the corner. One was familiar, and the other…he didn’t know how to describe the other at all. It wasn’t…human, was it? It looked like someone who had had grown so fat, his limbs so weak, it had simply become a blob dragging itself over the ground. “Out already? I thought you’d need a bit more time to develop, but you turned out…beautifully, son.”

Son? This person was…his father? As far as age was concerned, it seemed impossible, but time no longer seemed…stable. More importantly, he knew him. He wanted him, wanted to serve him, wanted to be his, somehow. Just standing there close to him, looking at him…the man claiming paternity sent a freakish level of pleasure through his guts and cock, making Beau grin wide. He stepped forward and kissed his father, his maker, the thing oozing between them, sucking and milking their cocks with it’s…mouths? Holes? It felt good in either case, and pleasure was all that really mattered to him at the moment. He pulled away after a few minutes, breathless but thrilled all the same, and wiped some of his father’s spit from his lips. “I don’t…understand. What happened to me? What am I?”

“You’ll learn in time. For now–you know what you need to do. I would join you, but this piece of filth needs to be taken below and stored away with our master. Enjoy yourself. Please yourself and others, and I will be happy when I see you again soon.”

There was a deep shadow, like a sudden blotting of every light at once, and they were gone. Beau was still there, but alone now. Dressed in leather gear–his gear, a hunger growing in his guts and his cock, and he set out into the night to feed, to fuck, to give pleasure–but most of all, to corrupt.