Prison Psychology (Flash Commission)

CW: Rape

“I guess I just don’t understand why I’m here,” Officer Galloway said, looking around at the psychologist’s office, there at the prison where he worked as a guard.

“Oh,it’s just a formality, really. I like to have regular chats with the staff here, and make sure they are mentally fit enough for the work. It can be…overwhelming for some, the things they see here, the people they have to deal with on a regular basis. It’s part of my job to make sure that you’re up to the task.”

“I mean, I’ve been working here for six months,” Galloway told the psychologist, “I haven’t had any issues, I don’t think.”

“Yes, well, you might not even notice them. Still…are you sure you have the…constitution for this kind of work? You seem…rather small, I suppose. Well, I’m not in charge of determining physical fitness, so I suppose we should skip that, now…”

Galloway was caught off guard by the slight insult, and he had a hard time remembering everything else they talked about during that first session, he was so focused on that. He wasn’t a small fellow by any measure–he’d played football in high school and college, and the warden had hired him in part because he was big. Intimidating, he’d said, in fact. And this doctor, this short, chubby fellow, didn’t think he was big enough? He laughed it off at first, until he saw himself in the mirror later, changing out of his uniform to go home. Nothing had changed about him–he was still the six foot two, 220 muscular guy he’d been–he even weighed himself to check…but the doctor had been right. He was…small. He could fix that though, he could get bigger–he needed to get bigger.

He added another two days at the gym, and filled his diet with protein, but it wasn’t…enough. By the time he had another appointment with the psychologist a month later, he’d given into temptation, and started using steroids he bought from some hefty fellows at the gym–just to give himself a boost. He was bigger now–230–but the psychologist still wasn’t impressed–and was worried about his job performance too. He was concerned that he was too…nice. That he had developed a bit too much camaraderie with his fellow prisoners. Again, he left the session questioning himself, trying to sort out the truth, re-remembering…everything. He had been too soft. These people were thugs, they were criminals. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He looked down at the pills the psychologist had prescribed him–allegedly something for his depression, regarding BDD, whatever that was. Something about…his body looking wrong, but he’d fix that soon enough.

The pills worked alright. He had more energy, and he used it all to work out. The increased aggression, from the steroids and from the pills, were helpful on the job as well, and he put the prisoners he’d started getting too friendly with back in their place, with his fists, if he had to. In a few more months, and with a few more sessions with the doctor, he was up to 260, the largest he’d ever been, but it still wasn’t enough. He still looked too small, and too soft. Sure, the pills were helping. He was hairier. His face…looked different. His jaw more square, his brow deeper, and even his eyebrows were growing together, his beard thicker. He should shave it, but he’d stopped caring about…hygiene, lately. Not showering, and no deodorant–he wanted men to smell him coming, wanted them to fear getting close to him. He could be scarier though. He had some savings he could use, and he booked the tattoo and piercing appointments right away, and got started on his full body tribal tattoos, and all the piercings he needed. He got…so hard, whenever the needle pierced or stung him, but he was horny all the time now, but he hadn’t been with a woman in…ages. He was fantasizing about…about men, about the prisoners, and his fellow guards. About dominating them, but he couldn’t…do that, could he?

The next session, a few months later, was a joint session, to his surprise, with another guard, Officer Mandel. He was a sorry looking fellow–very fat, easily 300 pounds, and he smelled about as bad as Galloway did, but…weaker. He was weak, and Galloway was strong, and their doctor suggested they do some roleplay–with Mandel as the prisoner, and Galloway as the guard. He knew he should have been worried, when he ripped down Mandel’s pants and fucked him–but it felt so good, after being alone for so damn long…he wanted more, he needed more, he deserved more. That’s what his psychologist said, and Galloway always agreed with him, no matter what.

It felt like something had been…unleashed in him, after that. He would smell a guy at the gym, musky and strong, and he…he had to have them. He resisted for a while, but one night, he followed one of them home, and raped him in his apartment–making sure he never saw his face. He loved it–and that helped calm his urges, for a while. Using prisoners was easier–they were more…pliant, the ones the doctor suggested needed his special kind of attention. It caught up with him in due time however. The trial was short–he was too stupid to lie, and close to a year after his first meeting with the psychologist, Galloway found himself back in the prison, but this time, as an inmate, serving twenty-five years with no chance of parole.

Prison did nothing to contain his urges. He was a brute, a beast, and he fucked every cellmate they placed him with, until they were forced to place him in solitary confinement. It wasn’t…so bad, not really. He could work out. The psychologist visited him regularly to give him his drugs, to make sure he stayed big and strong, like he needed to be. The doctor, or his master, as he thought of him now, would keep him safe, and keep him happy, as long as he served him, here at the prison. The psychologist would bring men to him, troublesome ones, resistant ones, and they would spend a day or three with Galloway in his cell, raped by him over and over again, until they were begging to be released, until they were willing to do anything master told them to do. He enjoyed fucking the warden. The old faggot would show up, let himself into the cell, and drop his pants, cock locked in chastity, and beg for the beast to plow him. For him, getting raped by the brute in solitary was a reward. Mandel visited often too, larger every time, now over 500 pounds, snorting and squealing like a pig.

In the mirror…he finally looked right. Bestial face with the heavy brow over his eyes, hair and beard hanging all around him, growing higher up his cheeks with each month. He weighed over 300 pounds now, all of it muscle, and he couldn’t speak–he’d been alone for so long, he’d forgotten how to use his words–though he could listen. He liked listening to Master, he liked it more than anything. Soon, Master said, he would be free again. Free to roam the halls of the prison as Master’s head guard. Free to take any hole he wanted. Patience, Master said, soon, everything would be exactly as it should be.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 5)

Everyone else had collapsed. It didn’t surprise me, looking back on it, because they were all struggling to piece together what they had seen, and the reality knitting itself back around them. It was just me, standing there, and Jules in the middle of the room, muscled and serene, still tied to the chair, looking like nothing strange had happened at all. I knew I needed him–he might have answers, provided Ray hadn’t obliterated his mind…provided the rapist hadn’t gotten to him either. He was surprised to see me, I think. He tried to object, told me that Master was going to come get him, that he’d get to work out some more after this, and he fought me. He was no match for me though–I gave him a backhand hard enough to stun him, cuffed him with the spare set I’d brought along, since Cumster still had my usual ones on his wrist in my basement, and told him he was coming with me whether he wanted to or not. As I left with him, the other officers were beginning to regain their senses, but I knew they would never be able to solve this. The only one who could stop this rapist, and whatever he was doing to men in my city, and to reality, was me. Or…not really me, but this force growing inside me.

I shoved Jules into the back of my car, and he started fighting me again–and fuck, he was strong. He’d been missing for a few days, and he…well, he didn’t look like the Jules I remembered, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like him either. He smelled like…well, a bit like Ray had, when we’d popped open that container by the docks, but where Ray had simply smelled like musk, Jules smelled mostly of piss. I found it…distasteful, honestly, and a bit overwhelming. My time with Cumster had made me…appreciate the smell of cum, but I could barely detect any of it on Jules. Beyond the smell, he was just huge. Not much taller than he had been, though perhaps he’d grown a inch or two. Mostly he was wide. I don’t know what Ray could have done to him to bulk him up that quickly. It had to have been drugs of some sort–it was, in my mind at the time, the only reasonable explanation for all of this. Some new steroid must have warped him…nothing else could change a man like that this quickly…aside from the monster I’d just watched fatten multiple officers to obesity in a matter of minutes. Aside from what Cumster had done to my balls in the course of one night together.

I asked Jules what he’d seen in the restaurant. He laughed, and told me, “He’d wanted me to see that. He’d known that if I was there, you’d come.”

I don’t know who the “he” was that he was talking about. Maybe it was Ray, more likely it was the rapist himself. I asked him what that thing was, and Jules shrugged.

“Somebody. I didn’t see him before, just…after. He went too deep. He says they go too deep sometimes, like that. I…Fuck, I wanna…go deep like that, one day, I wanna fuckin’ lose it, I am losing it, losing it fuckin’ bad. You are too. Everyone–fuck, he doesn’t want everyone, but damn, does he want you bad.”

The jockstrap he was wearing was tented, his cock was no larger than it had been before, and on his massive frame, it seemed…small. The smell of piss intensified, and I realized he was…pissing himself in my car, and fuck, I got…angry. Angry like I’d been when I’d seen that thing, and the gloves…I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but it whipped out, and…and a second later, Jules’s crotch was bound up tight in leather, and he stared at me in confusion. The pouch bulged, collecting the piss inside it…and that was the first time Jules realized…I wasn’t the same person he’d left in that precinct, just as he wasn’t the same man who’d left it.

“You…you haven’t met him,” he told me, “How…how did you do that?”

I didn’t have an answer to that. I turned back around and drove off, Jules sitting back, the leather pouch sagging with piss, and said nothing else. After half an hour, we got back to my house, and I parked in the garage, so no one would see me dragging Jules inside. I dragged him out of the backseat and into the house, and as soon as I did–I knew something was off. There was a slight draft, perhaps. More likely, the odd sense I had of…chaos, for lack of a better word, was ringing. The order of my house was not as it had been when I’d left.

I dragged Jules into the kitchen, shoved him into a chair at the table, and used my straps to bind him tight–ankles and wrists, and around his mouth. Fuck, it was so easy, doing it, too. It felt like…an extension of myself, even then. I hadn’t even really understood what I’d done, or how, until it was already finished. I was already so fucking different.

I searched the house, and sure enough, one of the back windows was broken in, but I hadn’t seen any evidence that anything was missing. I crept around the main floor, until I heard the sounds of sex coming from the basement below. Weapon drawn, I descended the steps, and there, with Cumster, was Maurice. Mr. Cold Case was kneeling in front of him, mouth open, while the biker milked a massive load onto his face, eyes dazed and empty, and he looked to me, smirking.

“He came to see what you were hiding down here,” Cumster told me, “So I thought I would show him myself.”

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 4)

I couldn’t look at the thing anymore, and so I looked at the three men who had been drawn into its teats, watched the tentacles thicken and begin pumping the ichor into their guts, and they…swelled. I could see them writhe in pleasure, their bodies losing shape and expanding. At first I thought they were simply growing fatter, but it was more than that, they were…changing. The thing was warping them into itself, into copies, or perhaps it would simply feed them until they merged with it, drawing it into its mass, growing ever larger. I doubt it even knew what would happen–it was only driven by some singular need, not by any result or consequence. In the center of the room, Jules sat, still tied down, utterly unfazed. Whether he had expected the thing to emerge, or whether he was simply too brain dead to care, the beast seemed uninterested in him either way.

I knew I had to do something. Not because I needed to free the men it was feeding, not because I needed to protect Jules, but because there, in front of me, was the chaos. The insanity I had sensed…it was wrong. It was wrong, and had no place here, it had no place in my reality, under my control, and I felt compelled to right it, not out of a sense of justice, but out of a will to power I had never felt before. This thing…it was of a kind…with me. With me, and with Jules now, and with Ray and Cumster (though not with Bernard and Marcus, they, even then, I knew they were something else). I needed to do something, the thing inside me, the voice, it needed to do something, because this wasn’t the way it should me. I was here to bring order. I was here to control.

I…didn’t know how I did it, to be honest, the first time. I barely realized I had done anything at all. There was just the thought, the thought that something had to be done, and while I didn’t know precisely what that thing was, something in me knew. The thick leather of my right glove peeled around my hand into a strap, hanging loose from my still gloved hand, and I knew I could control it as an extension of myself. The thing noticed me then, and whether it feared me or not, it sensed what was in me, and it flung a tentacle at me, and…and I caught it in my other hand, feeling it squish between my fingers, and I nearly came standing there, the rest of the force around me not knowing what they were looking at.

No…No, let me stop for a second.

I can’t write it like this, this isn’t right. This isn’t what happened.

I write this, and it comes out like some play by play, like a boxing match or the calls of a football game. The thing did this, I did that–it wasn’t like that, in the moment. We weren’t responding to each other. I felt like we were dancing, I felt like I was alive in a way I had never experienced, I was watching myself do this…watching this leather come alive and bind itself around this monstrosity, and I felt the ache to try and contain it, and tame it, and direct it. I wasn’t fighting it, though I’m sure that’s must have been what it looked like, maybe that’s why it isn’t coming out right, why it isn’t making sense to me, reading what I wrote. I’m a man. I’m a man, trying to explain something else, something I have only experienced for a fraction of my life, something inhuman, some surreal logic to a hidden world. It was a dance. It was sex. The straps were as alive to me as my flesh, I could feel them. I wanted to drive them into the thing, I wanted to fuck it, and bind it, all at the same time. It was the same thing, really, the same act, in my mind. So no, this isn’t right. If you’re human still, reading this, if you don’t hear that voice in your mind, the oice I am hearing right now, you’ll never understand. In fact, maybe this just looks like gibberish. You might forget this, in a moment, take in each word without comprehending the entire idea. We weren’t made to see this. You weren’t made to see this, not without something changing you to be able to understand it, and remember it. Even then…even now, I don’t really know why it made sense to me, why I could even remember it.

We fought. We danced. We fucked, or at least, I tried to fuck it. Not literally, pay attention, not with my dick, but with…with these straps. Fuck, how do I even write this? Yes, with straps. Yes, it sounds that dumb, fuck, I…I’d show you, if I could, how it feels. Wrap you in them from head to toe, engulf you in them. In…in my cum too…fuck. You’d understand then, how it feels…you’d beg for more, they all…they all have.

It knew I should be stronger than it was, but that I wasn’t strong enough yet. It fled, somehow. It was too big to leave the building after all, hell, it was too big to have gotten in, looking like that, but…but maybe it hadn’t been like that, when it had been brought here. It squeezed away, out a window, I think, or the back door. It was there, and then it wasn’t, and when it wasn’t there anymore…it was like it had never been there at all.

Not…that there was no damage. Not that there were no consequences. Things were different, but they weren’t wrong. When the thing left, it left all the men it had been feeding. When it pulled the teats or tentacles, or whatever free, they were all…hideous. None of them were men anymore, not really. They had turned into blobs, too large for their uniforms, their arms and legs boneless, their faces dominated by massive, sucking mouths. Then, when it had left, they were human again, even if they weren’t the same humans as before. All of them…were fat, some of them monstrously so. One guy, the first one who had been taken, I think, back in the kitchen, he was…fuck, 500 pounds? He was 500 pounds, but his uniform fit, and we all…remembered him being that large. It was just Officer Biggs, the 500 pound juggernaut of the force, somehow still an officer despite the fact he would have never been able to pass the yearly physical. No, it didn’t make any sense, no more sense than anything I had just seen happen in the restaurant, but it was like I was watching the world’s order trying to catch up and establish control over pure, unadulterated chaos.

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This week’s suggested story for Patron supporters in about a john with a habit of abusing prostitutes. The pimp decides to deal with him, but hates to lose a wealthy client. Instead, he gives the john a set of more…punishing fetishes to focus on. Contains ruination, weight gain, slob, humiliation.

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The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 3)

The location Jules had sent was, for whatever reason, the address of an old, defunct restaurant, standing alone in the parking lot of a struggling strip mall. When I saw the building, I thought of the story Cumster had told me of his own capture and rape. An abandoned garage was not so different from an abandoned restaurant, I supposed, but unless Ray was the rapist himself…why would Ray bring him here? Unless, like Cumster, Ray was working with the rapist in some capacity, perhaps even unwittingly. That satisfied my instinct, at least. There was something similar in the way Ray and Cumster carried themselves, how they seemed to have developed these entire alternate personas…as opposed to Bernard, and opposed to Marcus, who both seemed consumed by failure, or something in them that was incomplete. But who was Jules? Had…Cumster warped me, in the same way Ray had warped Jules around his finger, warped him enough to convince him to walk him out of jail? I would probably walk Cumster out of prison, I supposed (but only so I could keep him in my own, where he really belongs). How was I going to help Jules when I didn’t even think I could help myself?

I arrived after the rest of the force, for the most part, and after what had happened with Ray a few days prior, they were busy setting up a perimeter and scoping out the building. No one wanted to go in without understanding what, exactly, we were dealing with this time around, or at least, no one wanted to go in besides me. I could…feel something in the building. It felt…like how I felt when I was in the middle of a case, when I was looking at the chaos of a mystery and aching to tame it into some understandable order and clarity…but more focused than that. There was something in there, something that ached for me to control it. I thought it must be Jules. After all, what else could be in there beside him, and possibly the rapist, I supposed, but I doubted he would allow himself to be found this easily.

I paced, wringing my gloved hands, waiting for everyone to get into position so we could enter. We got the all clear, and I went in first–and there, sitting in the middle of the restaurant, tied to a chair, was Jules. Or at least, I knew it was Jules from the smell of him, though he didn’t quite look like the same Jules who had left the precinct a few days ago–in the same way that I suppose I don’t look like the same Adam Hoft from a few days ago either. But it was him, nearly naked aside from some filthy jockstrap, reeking of sweat and piss, his muscles…fuck, he was jacked. It looked like he’d been working out for a whole year, and taking steroids to boot. He…looked like how I would expect Ray to make someone look, in the same way I was learning that Cumster wanted his men to look certain ways as well. But as soon as I saw him, I knew he wasn’t the chaos I had felt. There was something else in here, something…worse, not that the thought made any sense, at least, until the first fleshy…tentacle shot out from the window into the kitchen, shoved itself down an officer’s throat, and dragged him back into the kitchen, flailing in terror.

No one moved. No one could even be sure we had just seen what we’d seen. In fact, it felt like my memory was actively trying to wipe and deny it had even happened, trying desperately to explain it in any other way than what I had seen. I looked around at the other cops around me in the restaurant, hoping one of them would at least meet my eyes, confirm that whatever horror had passed in front of us was in fact there, but none of them would meet me. They were all white, and then the thing squeezed its way through the window, the sheetrock cracking and crumbling around it as we did, and I still struggled to make sense of it as a thing existing–at first, all I could see were…pieces.

It had hands. It had four hands, in fact. It was crawling, mostly, or really, dragging itself along, because of its sheer size. It had a face, or rather, it had a body with a face on it. It had a mass, really, I don’t even know if you can call it a body exactly. There was a top and a bottom. The top was covered in these pustules or sacs filled with some dark liquid, pulsing and throbbing as it came through. Somehow, they didn’t pop, they just shook and shuddered. On the bottom, were…these tentacles, or really, what my mind said, was an udder. These massive, prehensile teats hanging from its bloated, hairy, amorphous body, and the face sliding across it, too many eyes, an uncountable number, because everytime one blinked, it disappeared, the skin closing over it, another eye opened…elsewhere, but always that mouth. That massive, frog-like mouth splitting the things entire body, filled with mismatched teeth, and the bright red tongue drooling across the floor. Two more teats and forced their way into the mouths of the officers around me, before someone managed to do something, and fire their gun at it, striking one of the sacs on its back. It ruptured, the filth streaming down the side of its body, where the tongue licked it up. It smelled of burnt butter and bitter black molasses.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 7) [Interactive]

Sorry for the slight hiatus! Life is getting a bit hectic at the moment.

Now that Rick had a pair of boots, like he should–he could even feel the two of them gently massaging his feet, hungry for his sweat and stink–he turned his attention back to the gun, and noticed that one part seemed to be emitting some sparks. A bit concerned, he tapped the side, where a panel had popped off slightly, tried to push it back into place, but when he did, there was a sudden surge of electricity that slammed into him, and he stumbled backwards into a booth and slumped down, unconscious for the moment.

The gun hit the ground, and when it did, the sparks seemed to be getting worse, the gun shaking and spinning on the ground, arcs of yellow electricity leaping in every direction, building up into one large spray of light that shot out of the gun, slamming right into a young man on the dance floor, and sending him stumbling several feet away. He’d arrived to the bar dressed in jeans and a western shirt, and had been an early target of the gun’s creator, making him a bit more…country flavored, with a lip full of chaw, cowboy hat on his head and cowboy boots on his feet. Now, where he was sitting on the floor, feeling rather out of sorts, he looked…quite a bit older than he had before. His face was weathered from years spent outside on various ranches and farms on the rural side of the state, though he liked to come over to the city regularly to let loose at the bars.

A younger man walked over to help the old cowboy daddy up, but as soon as he touched him, there was a static shot that leapt off of the daddy and sunk into the young man, and he began to change as well, his skimpy club clothes becoming well worn jeans and a long sleeve shirt like the man on the ground. More changes followed, a full goatee around his still young face, one lip full of chaw just like the man he helped up–just like his daddy. They embraced, the son glad his dad was alright, and then looked over to where the gun was still spraying sparks and light–just in time to see another blast launch off in a different direction, where it hit a glass on the bar, and it refracted into a wide swath of light, catching two bartenders and the whole wall of liquor in its path.

No one noticed any changes right away, until an older fellow grabbed their affected drink from the bar and took a sip, not noticing as years began to melt away from his face, his body shrinking lightly and becoming more toned, his hips and booty catching the beat on the dance floor as his clothes shifted to something much more revealing. Soon enough, the new twink had finished his drink and joined the throng on the dance floor, though the gun wasn’t finished yet. There was one more blast of light, this one was a wide swath cutting low along the ground, catching several tables and chairs in its path, the furniture beginning to shake and rattle–along with the people sitting on them–and the wood and cloth they had been made off began to warp and discolor, until they were all made from leather and rubber stretched over metal frames.

Before anyone sitting in them, or near them, could do anything, the leather and rubber had come alive, and was wrapping itself around the men sitting on them, or dragging nearby men into a sitting position. They all struggled at first, but as the leather and rubber dissolved their clothes and replaced them, they all began to moan and grind into the strange furniture. Some of them were absorbed entirely, becoming human-esque chairs and tables held in bondage, quaking with desire. Others were simply covered by the substances, their minds warped with new, kinky desires. One in particular, Now a rubber covered gimp wearing a gasmask and covered with leather straps, eyed the gun they had noticed send off the light, and then the rest of the room.

On the floor, the gun had stopped sending off sparks, finally, and the small screen on the side was flashing–Critical Error!–Reboot and Repair. The gun shutdown, and glowed for a moment, as the nanites buried inside went to work, repairing the damage from the fight, and after a few moments, the gun was back to normal–and back online–ready to be used by whoever picked it up next.

Who gets a hold of it next?

Davie sees the commotion and reclaims the gun.
The new twink from the dance floor gets it–he’s looking for a daddy play with–and decides to use Rick, still passed out in the booth.
The rednecks get hold of it, and want a few more guys for their family.
The gimp gets it, and makes himself a rubber master, and decides to use Davie.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the Patron only poll

Voting ends Thursday!

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 2)

I felt the clothes then, and they didn’t feel like the cotton and wool they should have been–they were smooth and slick, like something in their makeup had changed, or the cum coating them was warping their actual nature. It felt…good. I had fought so hard to get it off, and feeling it, all I wanted to do was put it right back on. Instead, I hung it up in the closet to dry–I didn’t bother thinking about washing them then, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I did, however, manage to shower for the first time in days.

It seemed like such a feat, in the moment, but I think what allowed me to do it was the fact that I knew, even if I was clean on the outside, everything on the inside was wrong. No amount of water, or soap, was enough to scrub away what (I’d thought) Cumster had done to me. All the same, I felt better when I stepped out, though once I saw myself in the mirror, some of that feeling of good will disappeared. Not everything that had changed about me was bad, exactly. I was more muscular than I thought I should be, and perhaps a bit taller and hairier, even. The beard I hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days was thicker than my stubble usually was, but it framed my jaw well, though the hair was too long and needed a trim. It was the most disordered part about me, and I wanted it back in my usual high and tight, but there were more pressing concerns than a haircut. Mostly, my balls.

They had easily quadrupled in size in the course of the night, from Cumster’s eager treatment. No wonder I had been able to cum as many times as I had–I could almost feel them churning in my palm when I hefted them up, barely able to hold them with my fingers spread wide. I…didn’t know how I was going to hide them. I didn’t know if I wanted to hide them at all. I…I kind of wanted everyone to see them, I wanted them to know I was different, that I was wrong. That I…I wasn’t like them. My mind keeps telling me to write it, it wants me to say that I’m not human, but that’s not right. I know I’m human too, even if I’m also something else now, or maybe I always was, the things I remember now…I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what belongs to me, what was buried away, and what all of these freaks have put in my mind along the way.

My phone was dead–I plugged it in, and immediately got a deluge of notifications from it, mostly calls from the department. Dreading what I was going to have to bear, I called the captain, telling him I’d developed some nightmare flu. In the end, the excuse didn’t matter, because there was something more important than the fact that I’d kept dropping off the grid for most of the last three days. Jules had called in with a location, and nothing else. The department was getting ready to go investigate it–I told them I would meet them there.

It was so fucking hard not putting my filthy dress uniform back on when I was getting ready. Something…told me I was going to need it, I would want it…but I couldn’t be seen in something like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to hide under my usual clothing. I felt it, and it had cured somewhat in the closet, in just that short while. It was no longer wet, nor not exactly wet, but it wasn’t dry either. It took be a few moments to realize it didn’t even feel like the right kind of fabric at all…because it felt more like rubber.

It felt like rubber–smooth and flexible–but it didn’t smell like it. It smelled like…like me, like my cum. It smelled like sex, and my cock pumped a load of precum into the front of the boxers I was wearing, saturating the front in a matter of moments. It felt like something from my memory, like something I’d forgotten so long ago, that I might have just been inventing some imagined past out of fog. I wanted to put it back on, I wanted to feel what it…felt like to have it on, but I knew if I did it would never come off again. In the end, I got dressed in my usual clothes, and tucked the uniform into a bag that I took with me. At least if it was close, and I needed it, it would be there. The one exception were the gloves at boots–they still felt like they had…kind of. The gloves were…thicker, though more flexible. On my hands, they seemed to warp to every wrinkle on my hands, while at the same time making them seem…huge. The same with my boots. The cum had made them grow in some odd sense, and yet they hugged my feet so tightly they had to have been made for me. I didn’t care if anyone noticed, I…wanted them to notice, even. I was terrified, and yet, whatever was inside me, was hungry all the same.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 1)

I lost something that night with Cumster. I don’t know if that’s quite right, really, but the next morning I didn’t feel like the same person who had come home the night before. Even now, after everything I’ve witnessed, it feels so pivotal, even though it was so small, like something inside me had opened up. Sometimes, I see a door. Other times, it feels like a flower. More and more, it doesn’t feel like a thing, but like…an entity. I wasn’t entirely the same person, when I woke up on the floor of the basement, as the person who had gone down to interrogate Cumster the night before, but I was close enough to pretend that nothing had happened. Pretending was the last defense I had left, but I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that there is some mundane explanation for everything I’ve seen. There’s more in the world than he know, and as much as I wish I could close that door, or burn the plant to the roots growing inside me, I think I know that there’s no way back for me, or for any of us. I have to go though. I have to end this, one way or another, and I’m the only one in this city who can.

There was a dream, that night. I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember how it felt. Like a memory. Like I was reliving something, but not my own life–or parts of my life I had forgotten. I remember feeling alone, as well–not the sort of loneliness you feel when you are by yourself, but the loneliness of loss, the sensation that something is missing, or had been missing all this time, and then the opening came, and I wasn’t alone anymore. I felt surrounded by something, something tight and rough like a smooth skin against mine, pressing around and into me, though I was also certain it had always been there, somewhere. That all of my life, I had been struggling through without all of my pieces, and now, at last, I was fully…there. I don’t know how that can also feel like loss–but one can miss loneliness, I suppose. If you live with a hole in your heart for so long, and it’s suddenly full, so full it’s bursting and seeping through your skin, you miss that emptiness. I felt like a man who’d been starved for so long, that when I finally could eat, the sensation of fullness made me sick. I wasn’t made to be full. I wasn’t supposed to feel complete, and it made me nauseous. When I woke up, I threw up almost immediately, even though I couldn’t even remember the last thing I’d eaten. The bile was black like tar and clung to my lips. It was bitter, and did not burn my throat.

Cumster was awake, and still free. When I could stand upright, he allowed me to cuff him back to the pipes. It wasn’t necessary. I knew he would stay here until his task was finished, whatever that task might be, but I needed him under my control. The look in his eyes infuriated me, that morning, he was so pleased with himself. He could sense I was different as well, but I think that if he had known how different, or what I was feeling, he likely would have fled. This wasn’t what he thought it was. It wasn’t what he had led me to think it was, at least. Maybe he did know, but I don’t think so. I remember the surprise in his eyes, later.

Upstairs, still in my filthy, cum soaked dress uniform, which felt surprisingly…comfortable, somehow, I made breakfast for the both of us. I didn’t know how hungry I was, but I ate far more than I usually do, and then I went upstairs to deal with the filth. I was coated in cum–or at least, it had been cum at one point in the night, that much I knew, but for how long it had been, it was still wet against my skin. Wet and warm, making the fabric cling and stick to me, but not awkwardly. I remembered by dream, that sensation of being wrapped in a smooth hand, and it wasn’t unlike the uniform I was wearing, somehow. Taking it off proved to be difficult, both because I found myself dreading being naked, for some reason (well, not really naked, but now, wearing anything other than my uniform feels like I am naked) and also because nothing seemed to want to come free of my skin.

The gloves proved impossible, so I skipped them, and moved onto my shirt. The were impossible, the cum had glued them shut through the holes. Some of them couldn’t even be grabbed. I ended up prying it up over my head, tugging my arms through the sleeves with the gloves still on, until at last it came free. The pants were easier, though they were the same as the shirt, somehow both stiff and damp. My boots were a struggle, as were the socks, but I managed, until finally it was just me and my gloves, which I unstuck a finger at a time before they pulled free with a sucking sound from my hands.

Suggested Story – Double Post! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

I missed doing a suggested story last week, so this week we have a double feature for Patron’s only! One dollar a month gets you access to stories like these, as well as the ability to offer up suggestions of your own!

First, is a story called “Bachelor Party” about a couple of guys trying to sort out the aftermath of a particularly wild bachelor party they can’t seem to remember. Second is a story called, “Finding Motivation” where a chubby, lazy neighbor finally gets to motivation to take up running with his athletic neighbor. Enjoy!

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 12)

They made their way to the basement, Raury going down first, carefully down the stairs, since he couldn’t quite see them anymore, and he wasn’t even at the bottom of the steps before Eric was there, throwing his arms around him, kissing him, pulling him closer, telling him how glad he was that he was safe, that he was never going to let Raury out of his sight ever again, that he was going to keep him safe here, with him, right where he belonged.

Raury knew that Eric should…terrify him. He’d changed even more since he’d been gone. The rough skin was breaking apart and peeling away, revealing something…else beneath it. A rough red skin that, when it touched his soft flesh, was rough and…hot. In fact, all of Eric was hot. Just standing near him was making Raury sweat. His face was misshapen more and more, his nose pressing flatter against his face, even as his mouth was beginning to push out into a short snout. He…should have been terrified, but instead, looking at him, he was…so sexy. So much sexier than Hunter was, even, and he’d loved his few hours with Hunter earlier.

“I’m so…sorry Master, I’m sorry I ran, I’m just a stupid pig, I didn’t know better, but I’m back, I’ll never leave again, I promise.”

“Hush now, everything is going to be fine now,” Eric said, “You’re back where you belong–go sit on the couch and wait for me–we still need to finish what we started earlier, right?”

Raury nodded, and waddled over to the couch in the middle of the room. Hunter had come down the steps while Eric and Raury had embraced, and now Eric turned to him. “My Hunter, my clever, strong, beautiful Hunter…thank you for bringing him back to me.”

“Of course Master, I’ll never fail you again, I swear it.”

“You never will, I know that–but you deserve a reward for your service. You…you should be more than just…another. You’re my first, you will be…more…” he took a long, thoughtful draw from his pipe, stepped close, and fed his thrall the smoke, and like before, Hunter felt…power and energy flow into him. He grew taller still, until he was seven feet tall–a few inches shorter than Eric was now. Muscle packed on his frame, stark silver hair all over his body, his skull entirely bare, a thick grey beard around his mouth…but he also felt the smoke in his mind, unlocking it, quickening it.

The truth was, ever since Master had first fed him the smoke, he had felt…dull, like his mind was running a few gears lower than it usually did. Now, however, he found it running faster than it had before, insight and thought speeding through at light speed. “A cunning Hunter is the most dangerous of all,” Eric said, when he pulled away, “and I need you at your most cunning for what comes next.”

“Thank you Master, you know I will serve you, do whatever I can for you.”

“I know–go, I hunger, and this one is hungry too, I am certain. Prepare us all a feast while I tend to this one, and teach him his proper place here with me.”

Hunter slipped away, the wooden stairs groaning under his new weight, and he nearly hit his head on the doorway at the top, but caught himself in time. Eric turned and went to the couch where Raury was sitting and joined him, running his sharp nails over his tight clothes, cutting them away while Eric panted, his cock aching for his Master. “You…you wanted to play a game, before?” he muttered.

“Games,” Eric laughed, “No–I’m done with games.”

“Then–”

Before he could say anything else, Eric took a deep breath from his pipe, leaned in, and pushed the smoke into Raury’s throat. He was well practiced now, and he inhaled it deep…but it was different than it had been with Hunter earlier. The smoke was hot and fresh, drilling deeper into him, suffusing him, changing him. He felt it, he felt his body…relax. He didn’t grow like before–it was more like the fat on his body lost it’s structure. His somewhat firm gut sagged lower, as did the fat around his arms and legs, his triple chin under his long beard, his jowls. His face aged, growing wrinkled, with thick crows feet around his eyes. His slightly receding hairline pushed back further still, leaving only a thin horseshoe fringe, and his beard lengthened and turned a stark white–as did the rest of the hair on his body. But as old as he felt, he didn’t ache or hurt–he just felt so, impossibly heavy. So heavy he didn’t want to stand, or walk, or even move. Instead he sagged into his Master, allowing him to support him as the color drained from his eyes until they were an empty white void. His mind was empty too–there were only…needs. Hunger. A thirst for Master’s smoke. An aching horniness and desire to be fucked. That eternal inertia of his own mass.

“Such a handsome daddy you make,” Eric said, “But what should I call you?”

“Anything,” he said, his voice raspy and dry, almost too quiet to hear across the room, “Anything Master. I’ll be anything for you.”

I’m going to call you Tubb.”

Tubb nodded. It meant little to him, but he no longer had any other name, and receiving anything from his Master was enough to make his small, shriveled cock throb underneath his fat.

“Tubb, yes–so much of you here. You were very bad Tubb, for running away. I’m going to have to punish you, you know…but you like that, don’t you?” Eric said, running his claws across Tubb’s soft fat, hard enough to scratch, a bit of blood welling up behind them. He flinched, his entire body jiggled, but he did…enjoy it. Master licked the wounds, tasting his blood, and the skin sealed up again, good as new as soon as the smoke from his breath touched them. Then, Eric played harder, biting and clawing–sometimes shallow, sometimes deep, always healing him quickly, and Tubbs just laid there, enthralled to the sensation of his Master’s punishment, unable to believe that any real torture could drive him to such delirious heights of arousal–at least, until Hunter came back down with the feast.

It was massive–Hunter had cooked nearly everything he’d kept squirrelled away in the fridge and cabinets, because he could sense that this was something special. Eric ate first–he was still ravenous from his growing frame–and all Tubbs could do was watch his Master gorge himself, stuffing the rare, and nearly raw meat down his fanged gullet, and he wanted it. He wanted…to get bigger. So big, he couldn’t move. It felt like everything else had disappeared from his mind, except for that one singular desire–and when Eric finally slid over and started feeding him, Tubbs ate with all the gusto he could manage, hoping to impress his master with his suddenly bottomless hunger. Hunter just watched, until Eric told him to walk around behind Tubbs and fuck him while he ate–which he did happily, glad that he wasn’t being punished for his earlier…indiscretions with Tubbs back on campus. When he finished, Eric made him trade places, feeding Tubbs while Eric had his pleasure in his newest daddy’s hole, and the sensation of his Master’s cock filling his fat ass, making the rolls of fat on his now old body shake to and fro…it was all Tubb’s ever wanted from life. All he could possibly want, in his dull, empty mind, concerned only with pleasing his Master.

The feast lasted for hours, and after, while Hunter inhaled the scraps left behind by his Master and Tubbs, Eric relaxed against his blubbery daddy, pleased with how warm he was, inhaling more smoke from his pipe…surprised by how exhausted he was, suddenly. Changing Tubbs like that…it hadn’t been like Mr. Fields. It had cost him…something. Some energy he hadn’t even known he had, and he could already sense he wouldn’t be able to do it to someone else for quite a while…still, he craved more. He’d thought that one more would have been…if not enough, at least a number where he could rest. Instead, it had only lit is greed further on fire. He wanted more daddies, he needed more daddies. So many that he lost count, so many he’d never have to worry about losing a single one…all of them in the entire world, even. He took a deep breath from his pipe, sucking his smoke deep inside him, and felt…something spark there, in his chest, like he’d sucked down a cinder or a spark. While it should have concerned him…it didn’t feel bad. It felt…rather nice, actually, like it belonged there, and he beckoned Hunter over to his side with one clawed finger.

Eric…knew of other daddies. Daddies he coveted. Men from the school, professors and administrators mostly he’d encountered and harboured…fantasies over for longer than he cared to admit. He no longer needed to covet though–no, now was a time to take. They were his, he’d claimed them with his lust, and he would own them as sure as he owned Hunter and Tubbs. They would be happy here, serving their proper Master as good daddies should, and Hunter would fetch them for him. He would need to be careful, and he would have to be cunning. They couldn’t disappear all at once, for that would raise suspicion, and there needed to be no evidence leading anyone here–not until Eric was strong enough to defend his horde properly. Once he was…finished, once he was everything he needed to be, then they could show the world what he was, but for now…Hunter would have to be careful. Hunter was happy for the challenge. While being outside had been…terrifying in some ways, knowing that if he was away from master for too long he would perish, it had also been…exhilarating. The hunt, the capture…he wanted to taste that joy again, more than anything. And so, the next evening he emerged again, lungs full of smoke and a list of names in the pocket of his sweats. He headed for campus, ready to bring his Master the daddies he craved–knowing that with each one he brought, Master would reward him handsomely as well.