The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 5)

He came out behind me, and lit a cigar. The smoke couldn’t cut through the smell of cum surrounding him though. Somehow it seemed to intensify it. I felt it at the edges of my mind again, I felt myself weakening, but no–no, I wasn’t going to let this happen. I remembered now–I knew who I was. I was a cop. I was order, and control, and force. He thought he understood me, but he didn’t know a thing about me. I shoved him into the alley around the side of the bar, and I think he thought I was going to ask to blow him–instead, I slammed him into the wall, wailing on him, and he didn’t fight back. At the time I assumed he was just caught off guard, but once I put him under arrest and shoved him into my car, I had my doubts. He was still smiling. “Well, where to, pig? You have me now. You can do whatever you want with me.”

I knew I should take him to the station and interrogate him, but I couldn’t explain my many breaches in protocol. If I went back there now–I told myself–soaked in cum, dragging along some unknown cumdump biker with a fresh black eye, telling them this idiotic story, none of them would understand. Besides, the man was right about one thing–this wasn’t about the case anymore–not really. This was about me. The one thing I knew, from what he’d said in the bar, was that this rapist wanted me. This rapist wanted me, and hell if I was going to let him get in my head. So I drove home, parked in the garage, dragged him out of the car and inside, still cuffed, and down into the basement. It wasn’t as large as Bernard’s had been, but it was large enough. I handcuffed him to some pipes down there, cleared out the space around him, but he wasn’t trying to fight…and then I realized that I’d just done exactly what he’d suggested I do. I’d brought him home. This was where he’d wanted to go the entire time…and without even realizing it, he’d manipulated me into doing it for him.

“Brings back memories,” he said, tugging at the handcuffs, testing them.

“Tell me what you know. Tell me about the bruiser. What is his plan?”

“Straight to business? Don’t you want to have some fun with your prisoner first, pig? I’m at your mercy after all–you can do whatever you want to me…”

I stepped up, and slapped him across the face. I didn’t know why I’d done it, and the sheer anger I felt at him was both a surprise, and yet as natural as anything else I’d felt that day. He was mocking me. He was mocking order, and my control. I’d put him in line. I’d show him who was in charge here. He didn’t resist, when I took some scissors from my work bench and cut his cum soaked clothes free, leaving him naked on the concrete floor. That was better, better to humiliate him, but I couldn’t do this right, looking like this. I went up to my bedroom, found my dress uniform and put it on, minding every detail, aside from the white dress gloves. Instead, I put on my leather riding gloves, and then went back down to the basement, where he’d started to shiver a bit in the cold. I demanded answers from him, and he stonewalled me. He laughed at me…and so I had to do it. I had to beat him. I had to…to fuck him. I had to cum in his beard, I had to put my scent on him, I had to mark him as mine, but it wasn’t until I’d cum a massive load on his face, after fucking his ass, that I realized what I’d been doing. I regained a bit of control of myself, and he…he was just laughing. Laughing at me.

“Fuck, he’s gonna love you, pig,” he said, “He’s gonna fuckin’ love breaking you. I hope he let’s me watch, because damn, it’s gonna be quite the fuckin’ show when it happens.”

I slammed the basement door behind myself, and leaned against it, panting. I didn’t understand what had come over me, how my mind had traced the steps from arresting him back at the bar, to imprisoning him in my basement, to putting on my most formal uniform and raping him. It had all…made sense in the moment, and it was only now, looking back on it, that the entire idea became heinous and horrific. But there was nothing I could do now. If I let him go, he could have me arrested. If I kept him here, I was compromised. Any information I got from him was tainted–hardly admissible in court, which was really the least of the problems I was facing. If I did get any information from him, and someone wanted to know the source…what was I going to say?

I was too deep. I was beyond deep, I was drowning, but I only had one way forward now. I had to get to the bottom of this. I’d face whatever repercussions were necessary, after the rapist was caught, and whatever he was plotting was averted. Then, I’d worry about facing my own justice for what I was doing. I threw him some water and food–he didn’t object, or try to resist or escape. He seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be, and that only worried me more. I took a shower, and that helped me feel a bit better at least, and then got some sleep, or slept as best I could. I needed to figure this out soon, or else someone would discover what I’d done, or worse, I’d be too late to stop whatever the Bruiser was planning. That, or he’d come for me next, and I knew, if he did, I wouldn’t have the will to stop him.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 4)

I realized how vulnerable I was, then. I hadn’t told anyone on the force where I was going. I hadn’t brought along a partner. I had no one waiting for me at my home. My resistance was beginning to fade, and when the big brute started groping me through the front of my pants, I humped up into his palm, unable to stop myself. I did it on purpose, I realized. I’d wanted this to happen. I’d missed my opportunity twice, but not this time, not now. Now, I was going to get what I wanted–what I needed so desperately. Answers, yes, but more than that, I needed…these men. To taste them, and fuck them, and be fucked my them, drink their cum and their piss…anything. Anything they wanted, I would do it.

“Someone’s had a busy day–nice and crusty. How’d you know what I like, pig?”

Words failed me, and I doubt he expected an answer. He leaned in and kissed me instead, and everything just…faded away. I could smell the cum in his beard, taste it on his breath. He forced his hand down the front of my pants, got it wet with my own cum, and fed it to me, right there in the booth. I was so…eager, and I didn’t even know how to describe what I feeling in the moment. “How–How are you doing this?” I muttered.

“I wondered the same thing, for a long time. How he did it. In the moment, I didn’t even realize it was happening. If you want to know more though–you’re going to have to do something for me in exchange–after all, I don’t know if I can trust you with sensitive information like this sort of thing. Master would get pretty upset, knowing I spilled the beans to the detective who’s supposed to be finding him. Then again, that’s why he sent me to meet you. He’s…so close now. Closer than he’s ever been–I had no idea that he…I mean…” he was shaking, thinking about something. He’d been with the rapist recently, more recently than his first encounter with him, that he’d talked about, and he knew about Jules. If I could get him to talk, without losing my own head in the process, this was the opportunity I had to blow this whole thing wide open and put a stop to it before he got to anyone else, before anything got even more out of control than it already was.

At least, that’s what I told myself. Part of me believed it, but part of me…wanted something else entirely, the same part of me that had taken me to the two crime scenes. The part of me that was less interested in solving the case, and that I think was more interested in experiencing it. “I…I don’t know what kind of hold he has on you–on all of you, but you don’t have to do what he says. We can help you. Tell me where he is, and we can put a stop to it.”

He laughed then, louder than before, “Cop–you still don’t get it, do you? I’m not helping him because he’s telling me to, because he’s controlling me. I’m here, fucking with you, because I want to–because I know what he can do, and what he wants to do, and I can’t fucking wait to see it–and until you understand, I’m going to keep you…occupied.”

“But he…he raped you.”

“He raped someone that night, but it wasn’t me. You’ll understand, when he’s ready for you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You want to know more? I’ll tell you things. Things you think you want to hear. But not here–you want to know more? Let’s go back to your place, get a little more intimate…”

He tried to kiss me again, but this time, I managed to push him away, and he let me slide out of the booth this time and stand up, panting, sweating, fresh cum in my sticky underwear. “No–come with me to the station. If you have something to say, say it there. Help me understand this, I want to understand what…what this is…”

“I know you do, pig, but I can’t do that. This isn’t about a crime. This isn’t about laws, or justice. Not anymore, not for you, is it? Why were you back at the house today? At that warehouse? You weren’t investigating shit–you were there because you wanted to be there. This is about you now–and I’m happy to tell you more, but only you. That, or you can find out with everyone else, soon–but I don’t think you’ll last that long, because part of you already knows, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know anything, I don’t understand how any of this is possible.”

“There’s…a voice you keep hearing, isn’t there? A voice, but it isn’t words. It’s feelings. If you ignore it, it gets louder, and if you listen to it, it gets bigger. It’s always been there, hasn’t it? Even before all of this?”

“No, there’s nothing.”

The biker looked at me then, and then shrugged, “Well, there’s something there now, isn’t there? You obviously know what the hell I’m talking about, or you wouldn’t be shaking like that.”

I turned and left then. I needed air, but outside, it didn’t help. Had I heard the voice before? Had I felt this before? Maybe. I lived alone, and had for years at this point, as everyone else from the academy I’d known had settled down, gotten married, and was having kids. I’d gone on dates, sure, and I’d always considered myself straight, but was that really true? Did I like having sex with women? I honestly didn’t enjoy their company, and usually prefered getting a drink with another guy or three from the department, but nothing had ever gone further than that. I jacked off, sure, but…but was there more? Should there be more? Was there something there I’d been forgetting all of this time? There were…times. Times I’d slipped on my leather gloves, jacked off with them on, jacked off in uniform. I’d wanted to be a cop for so long–that was the voice I’d felt, I realized. Was it quiet now, just because I’d made it happen?

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 3)

It wasn’t until I was closer to my home that the thought occurred to me that the man tailing me could very well be The Bruiser himself. Whoever he was, it was likely he didn’t mean me well. I got my gun ready, in any case, as I pulled into the driveway of my home, and watched as the biker drove on by, head turned to look at me as he passed, turned the corner, and drove off again. A threat? Maybe. Maybe just reconnaissance. Was this rapist working with a group? It didn’t seem to fit what Bernard had described to me, but the level of planning taken in Ray’s case suggested the rapist could have outside help. In any case, all I could do was wait.

I went inside, checked that the doors and windows were secure, and then went to get my clothes off so I could take a shower, when there was a pounding on the door. By the time I opened it, whoever it was had left, leaving just a note taped up. It promised information, but said they didn’t trust the police enough to go in for questioning. Instead, they wanted to talk somewhere else–a bar known for having a relatively rough reputation, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The time on the note didn’t leave me a lot of time to change or get ready, so I grabbed a quick bite to eat, got back in my car and left, heading for the rendezvous with the mysterious biker–and I still hadn’t managed to shower, and the horniness was only getting worse.

Was he another victim? It seemed likely, but if he was, how had he escaped from the rapist’s clutches? Unless it had happened a while ago–from Marcus’s account, the rapist had been active for years at this point, even if this was the first time he was operating in the open. Could I trust him? Did I have a choice? Given what the rapist could do to his victims, it could be I was walking right into a trap, but this was a risk I was willing to take at the time. I think I would have been willing to do anything for answers, at that moment.

I got to the bar, and the biker was waiting for me inside–he’d taken a booth in the corner, where we could have a reasonably private conversation. I slid in across from him, and as far as first impressions went, I had little doubt he was someone the rapist had gotten his hands on at one point or another–he was of the same type. Tall, thickly muscled, though not as much as Ray, with a thick gut. His bare arms were extremely hairy, he had a tangled beard running down to his belly button, and when I slid into the booth, the smell of him made me gag for a moment, though I couldn’t pinpoint it immediately. There was smoke–cigars, I thought, and the smell of booze and unwashed musk, but overpowering all of that was a thick, heady scent of what I eventually pegged as dried cum.

It had been difficult to see in the dim light of the bar, but the man’s denim clothes were stiff and yellow with it, and the reason his beard and hair seemed so tangled was because it was caked and flaky. I was just…stunned, sitting there, wondering how many loads, how many men it had taken for him to look like this. He grinned at me, and leaned closer. “Didn’t think ya were stupid enough to come, ya pig. Good ya did though–makes all this a whole lot easier than breakin’ intah yer house woulda been.”

The rapist…was this him? I tried to get back up, but he grabbed me by the hand and yanked me back down into the booth, this time next to him. Inches away from his body, the smell was so much more powerful, and while I was still revolted, by nose was already growing used to it, just like I had to Ray’s stench in the car. I had to get away from him. I didn’t know what caused it exactly, but I couldn’t have this biker affecting me like Ray or Bernard had before. “You piece of shit, I won’t let you get away with this again, you’re going away for a very long time,” I said, or something to that nature.

The biker gave me a surprised look, and then laughed, “You got it all wrong man, I ain’t the master–trust me. If he was here…well, you’ll understand when you meet him yourself, soon enough. He ain’t ready for you yet, but boy, I think he’s got plans fer you…should see the way he smiled when he told me about you earlier.”

My mind was racing. Who could have known about me? Someone from the station? Maybe Marcus wasn’t a victim at all, but the mastermind behind this whole thing.

“Had a nice long chat with that copper that muscle pig brought with him from the station, told Master all about you and the case, or what he knew about it. Master ‘n I–we go way back. Tah think I was just some skinny little faggot, sucking cock in the rest area. He knew what I really wanted though–he knows what every man wants, and is too afraid to take for themselves. But I learned. I…fuck, I didn’t want to at first, none of us want to, right away, but we all learn to love it. To love who we can be. To love him most of all–but fuck, this shit is off the hook now! Don’t know what happened to him since last time I saw him, but whatever he pumped me full a this time…I don’t even know how tah describe it.”

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 8)

Well, it was close, but the frat won out by a few votes thanks to the Patreon poll.

Evan thought about changing back. He even started to, for a moment, but something else welled up in him, something he could only describe as a great exhaustion. So he’d turn back, and then what? He’d be back to his old self, more or less, with a third whore obsessed with him, and sure, he might be straight acting enough that he could get away without another slur, but the curse would always drag him back, somehow. He could feel it. And then he’d be back in some new nightmare–but what if he didn’t go back? What if he just said screw it, and…and just gave in?

He couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating it. Giving up. Living…like this. The spirit lingered around him, a fog on his mind, coaxing him along, seeing if he would do it. He didn’t want to be this though. He didn’t want to be this person. He could tell, somehow, that he would only inflict more pain on others like this, other guys on the team, other guys at the college. How was this better? How was he solving anything by simply taking Jerry’s place as the asshole in charge? There had to be something he could do. He couldn’t let this thing win.

He didn’t know where the idea came from, if it was his, or if the spirit whispered it into his mind. It was a terrible idea. A nightmarish idea…but he couldn’t ignore the simple brutality of it–but would it even work? No, there was no way it would work. Hand shaking, he poured himself more scotch, but his mind wouldn’t let the idea go. It was the only way–the only way he could make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else ever again–that this curse would end here for good. He drank more scotch, enough to dull himself, trying to bury himself back under the coach, mack under the homophobe, but he was terrified, all the same. Unable to contemplate it anymore, he decided he simply had to do it–he threw on a coat, and slipped out into the night, making his way towards the campus.

It was a Friday night, and the parties were still going strong. Evan made his way to Delta Kappa Alpha, widely considered the jock frat, and the most homophobic one on campus–one which had, on a few occasions, sent kids to the hospital, not that any of the jocks had ever faced punishment for it. It made him angry, which was good. He was going to need lots and lots of anger for what was coming next. He went inside, and began insulting every member of the frat he could find.

He started simple–turning them into faggots, the women in the house all disappearing one by one as the young men lost interest in them, and became far more interested in each other–and in Evan. But he didn’t make them weak. He didn’t fuck them. They needed to be strong. They needed to be brutes. He made them thugs and skinheads. Brutal biker tops and leather queens. All of them addicted to sex, the rougher and meaner the better. Sadists, rapists, abusers–he hurled out everything he could think of, until one of them had had enough, slammed Evan into the wall, and started fucking his hole raw. He demanded more. He wanted them to make it hurt. He wanted them to show him what they did to homophobic assholes like him.

Part of him was horrified and disgusted by what was happening to him, but another part of him was enjoying it. That new part urged them on, told them to use him as their urinal and cum dump, told them that they didn’t see him as a person at all, but as a gimp, a pig, a slave, an object, a whore. He said it over and over again, he said it so much he found himself believing it, as the gang dragged him down into the basement of the now condemned building they used as their hangout, where they brought the homophobes they bashed on the street to be reeducated and repurposed.

They beat him. They fisted him. They shaved him bald, and then stripped the rest of his hair off too. Pissed on him, made him clean out their holes, made him beg for their cocks, and he tried to squeeze that last little homophobic part of him out, but it remained, burning at the core of him, horrified at what he was doing, but it was too late to turn back now. He was marked. Tattooed all over his body, pierced everywhere as well. He’d lived down here for months, if not a year, brutalized by these men–and he’d grown to enjoy it. Relish it. Beg for it–because he deserved it. He deserved it for all the times he’d been cruel, and bashed queers with his friends. He deserved all of it, and would deserve it for the rest of his life too.

Dawn came, and the gang grew tired, slipping away to their homes, another enjoyable night spent working over one of their favorite straight slaves. They locked him back in his cage, and Evan shivered, exhausted–there was a kernel of himself still, deep inside, but it was so small…he was scared now. Terrified of what he’d done to himself. He grasped for it, tried to rekindle it. He didn’t want to stay here–even if he had started to believe he might deserve it. (Success Check–success! The story goes on for the moment!)

It took most of the day, down in that basement, to remember himself. To crawl back out of this, to remember who he’d been–or at least pieces of it. Everything was so…jumbled up. High school, college, middle age. Had he been a jock? A coach? Working in construction or on a farm? He didn’t know how to piece it back together, but he had to. He had to be something else, if he was going to get out of here in one piece.

********

Evan is starting to lose track of his identity, and of his sanity. What sort of gay reality is he going to revert to in the aftermath of this?

Fat, slobby, cigar smoking construction worker.
Closeted, burly, college football coach.
Young, grungy, muscled redneck farm boy.
A muscled abusive leatherman who belongs to the gay gang here.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the Patreon poll

Voting ends on Sunday!

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 2)

I found myself wondering if Ray, before meeting the rapist, had wanted this too, in a way, like Bernard had. Maybe the reason the two of them weren’t being honest with me, was because these weren’t really rapes at all…no, no, I didn’t really mean that, I suppose. These men had been violated, and twisted somehow, but it was like the rapist was channeling their own desires back at them. But then why had Ray been gone for four months, but Bernard only a week? The inconsistencies had to add up to something, but I didn’t know what, and it was getting harder and harder to think, my hand drifting to my crotch to grope my cock again as I sat there on the weight bench.

Why Jules? Had Ray pissed on him on purpose? Had he chosen him, or had it just been luck–good or bad, depending on how you were feeling about it? I wondered if I had been closer to him, if I’d pushed through his musk, and it had been me struck by that piss…would I have done what Jules had done, gotten him right out of the jail? He’d seemed interested in me, when we’d been driving, and while in the interview room, but it was Jules he’d been wanting to see. He…knew Jules was weak, somehow. I didn’t have any explanation for it, or how it could have worked, aside from magic, but I didn’t believe in magic. In this job, I had increasingly come to believe that all sex is just power. Holding power over someone, or giving power up to someone else, willingly or not. Maybe I hadn’t been good enough for him. Jules was bigger than me. Stronger than me. I was the weak one. I wasn’t…strong enough, was I?

I found myself searching for the place where Ray had pissed all over him, found a bit of it still pooling in the ridged floor of the shipping container, and just stared at it, inhaling the fumes off of it, feeling my mind slowing down even more. I…wanted to be enough. I wondered where they were, and what they were doing. No–I knew what they were doing, or I could guess well enough. After all, I knew what I would have been doing with him, if he’d taken me. I managed to keep myself from licking it up, jacked off again, shooting my cum onto the floor, and then left while my head was still somewhat clear. I was too jittery to drive, so I sat in my car, thinking about Ray, and Bernard, and wondering what all of these thoughts in my mind even were. I’d never been interested in men before this–I wasn’t a fag, and I didn’t really have anything against them, either, but this also didn’t…feel like I had somehow become gay, either. This was a specific desire. I didn’t want men, in general–I wanted these men. Either one of them, both of them, I didn’t know–but the desire was so specific, and I no longer knew, honestly, if I wanted to solve the case so I could stop this rapist, or if I just wanted to find either of them and see where these thoughts led.

I tried to calm down, but at this point, the only thing that seemed to work was jacking off. I hauled my cock out again, and noticed how many cum stains I had on my shirt and slacks from the day. It seemed like so much more than it could have possibly been, and I wondered if I’d been jacking off more without even realizing it, or maybe just leaking cum right into my pants this whole time. I didn’t want to think about it, I wanted to think about Ray, about getting…bigger for him, about smelling him, and smelling like him, about my mind fading away until nothing else mattered, until it was just him, and I came again, spraying myself with another load, the skin of my cock red and a bit chaffed. I needed to get home and take a shower–I’d feel better if I got cleaned up. Clean myself up, and then call the Captain and tell him I was done–that something was wrong with me–and wrong with this case. I’d gotten too close to it, or it had gotten too close to me, and they needed someone to blame this mess on, so it might as well be me. I could take the hit to my career, if it meant I could stop feeling like this. For the first time in my life, I wondered if this career, if being a cop was too much–but I pushed that away. If there was one thing about me, some core thing that I know, that I still know, it’s that I want to be a cop, whatever that means. To me, it means order–someone who orders the chaos, who makes sense of it, who judges it and controls and moderates it. That I’d questioned it for even a moment shook me more than the smell of that piss had, and I knew I needed to get out of here.

I started the car, and in the rearview mirror I noticed something–there was a bike parked behind me with a big brute on it, not doing anything in particular. I pulled away from the crime scene, and when I did, the biker revved up his bike and followed me back onto the main roads. He was tailing me, but he wasn’t very good at it–that, or he wanted me to know he was following me. Should I go back to the precinct? That was the smart idea, the better idea, but if I spooked him and he ditched me, it would be back to square one with this case. No–I needed him to follow me. I needed a lead, badly, and this might be my only shot.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 1)

If you need a refresher, you can find the first two episodes collected here: https://www.gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/216537

With no leads to be found, and with my two primary victims gone, I had nothing to do but return to the scenes of the crimes, in order to find something I could use to try and find this Bruiser, or at the very least, to figure out where either Ray or Bernard had gone to, so I could get them back and get to the bottom of what had happened to them both. Things at the precinct were going south quickly. The media was hounding us, and it was clear that the brass was looking for someone to blame–and presently, I was the only one left who could be seen as having any real responsibility for the mess this case was quickly becoming. It was good to get out of there for a bit, but going back to Bernard’s home, and going back to that storage container especially, were difficult for other reasons.

Do you know how, when you’re trying not to think about something–something bad, like a traumatic memory, or some shitty thing you did to someone–that trying to not think about it always seems to make you think about it more? That forgetting something isn’t something you can really do, consciously? Down in that basement, where we’d found Bernard chained to the wall, I just kept seeing him there, thinking about him, naked, thinking about what I could have done differently, and wondering what in the world had happened to him to just make him snap like that. But mostly I thought about that evening when I’d come here, after that interview, and I’d…I’d wanted to fuck him.

More than fuck him. I’d been so furious with him, for blowing apart my case like that, especially angry now that everything else was falling apart on me, angry at him for lying about his past, angry at him for…for so much that I couldn’t even blame him for. Angry at myself for not being able to save him, angry that I hadn’t dragged him back down here and chained him back up, chained him here were he could have been…safe.

How fucked is that. I was thinking about putting him back down here, thinking about chaining him to the wall and fucking him, fucking him day and night, abusing him over and over because…because I don’t know why! It was just a thought–no, more than a thought, just a need, or a delusion that seemed to follow so logically from one thing to another, that even though I knew it was immoral, and wrong, and fucking monstrous, but I couldn’t make myself stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I tried. The harder I pushed against it, the hornier I became, and if I gave in and even started to consider it, it would worm in deeper, and I…I jacked off down there, in the basement, jacked off thinking about him, how I should have kept him down here, down where a slave like him belonged, that I shouldn’t have missed my fucking opportunity to make him mine. If I’d made him mine, he would have had to tell me everything. He’d have to be honest, but I’d…I’d let him go like an idiot. He could have been mine, but I’d been too stupid to see it.

I left, and the thoughts came with me. I couldn’t get them to quiet down–the only thing that seemed to help at all was jacking off, but they’d return after an hour or so, stronger than ever. I went for a drive, telling myself I just needed some time to think, a chance to clear my head a bit, but without even thinking about it, I ended up driving down to the docks, back to that abandoned warehouse, finding my way to the taped off shipping container. The doors had been closed and relocked, and after I opened it, it smelled nearly as strong as when we’d opened it the first time, but now, it didn’t seem to bother me. His musk hadn’t bothered me at all, really, since he’d ridden with me in my car back to the station. If anything…I found myself enjoying it. I felt calmer, the mania that had been gripping me since going to Bernard’s house began to ease off a bit, losing myself a bit in the tight space and the dark.

I walked past the workout equipment, trying to imagine what it must have felt like, being stuck in here. Ray hadn’t seemed upset by it, he’d been content to just workout…but there had been something else odd about this place. Bernard’s house had shown signs of being lived in. We found no evidence of anyone else, of course, but there had been new food in the cabinets and in the fridge, no dust on the table–little things. There had been someone there, even if we had no idea who. But no one could live here. There was barely space to turn around in, and no space to lie down and rest, no source of water, no plumbing, not even a bucket. It didn’t make sense–why collar Bernard down in a basement and supervise him, but go to the trouble of locking Ray in here, alone–possibly for months?

Unless it hadn’t been months. Unless he’d been somewhere else, and the rapist had only moved him here when he was ready to reveal him. But what was special about this place? Why risk moving him, when Ray could use that information against him when he got free? I supposed that Ray hadn’t exactly had the same sort of privacy as Bernard had had, since he’d allegedly been living in an apartment at the time of his disappearance, but then where had he gone in the meantime? I took a seat on the bench, and noted the weight still on the bar behind me–285 pounds of weight. There were only one or two guys on the force who could bench something like that.

Taming the Beast (Part 9)

The door behind him clicked and opened, and Mark stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Jacob managed to pry himself away from the trough long enough to snarl and look at him, but then the beast forced him back down into the slop. “Now now, Jacob–don’t fret. You’ll be safe here, just like all of my other pets down here. You’ll meet them all eventually…well, maybe you will. It depends on how long you last, really, in there. After all, Beastie has met most of them already, haven’t you?”

He felt a grunt come out of his mouth, and sensed it was something affirmative. Mark stepped closer, and Jacob could…smell him. Had he smelt that…good before? He was wearing different clothes than he usually did, they were soaked with cum, with…so many different kinds, but mostly his own, and Jacob felt his…or rather, their cock hardening. Mark ran his hands over Jacob’s wide ass, feeling the crisp briefs he had on, and then tugged them down, giving him access to his crack, which he ran his own cock along, feeling Jacob’s body squirm in excitement.

“I must say, when I saw what you could do, back in the hospital, I knew I had to have you, but I never would have imagined you could be such a delight. Just my type–once you’re properly trained, I might even let you wander the house–just tell everyone you’re my pet hog, if anyone asks, not that anyone will, of course.”

“H-How?” Jacob managed to force out through a mouthful of food.

“How? How did I do it? It was easy–you know how. You’re weak. The beast was always the strongest part of you, you were just holding it back. I’ve set it free, and given it exactly what it has always wanted–the perfect life for a little beastie like him.”

Jacob tried to object, tried to talk to the beast in control of him, but Mark forced his cock into him then, and everything else…disappeared for a while. No–he disappeared for a while, like when he was hypnotized, and he didn’t resurface for…well, he didn’t know how long, exactly, but when he woke up later, the trough was empty, licked nearly clean, and his gut…ached. Ached, and it was so big–bigger than it had ever been before this, and from the smell of cum in the room, he’d just jacked off…but the cum smelled different than usual. It was hard to see, around the huge gut, but he managed to get a peek at it, and saw that it wasn’t…human anymore. So much of him wasn’t human anymore. He was a freak, an animal. He felt something chaffing his neck, and felt a steel collar there, padlocked on, and he wanted to break it, wanted to tear it to shreds, but the beast just…laughed at him. A hyena like laugh in his mind, and he started to recede again, falling back into the darkness of himself.

It was true, wasn’t it. He was weak. He’d always been the weakest. But this wasn’t freedom. He screamed at the beast, telling him he thought this was freedom, but he was nothing. Just a pet, a slave, some sexual freak. All he received back was a silence, and then a pressure, a force driving him back down into the dark, and he was gone again. The beast felt him recede, and laid back on the floor of his room.

The man was right, he supposed. He was nothing more than a pet, really. No better than he’d been with Bacanal, no better than he’d been when locked away by the man. He could get free…maybe, but he was so used to gluttony, sloth and lust now, that it was hard to imagine the fierce forms it had taken back in the hospital. What did it matter, in the end? He was a pet, but he was satisfied. He was a sex freak, but he’d never experienced pleasure like this before. It was slavery, but it you got everything you wanted, wasn’t that just as good as freedom, in a way? The door clicked, and swung open. Beastie crawled through it, and saw Cumrag there in the room, tied up, ass up, and he went over and shoved his snout into the man’s hole and licked. He liked the taste of this one. Liked how he moaned when Beastie fucked him, liked how eager he was for attention, and especially liked how rough he could be with him.

Months passed by. Jacob surfaced less and less, and every time he did, there was less of him that came back from the darkness. Without context, he couldn’t really distinguish between himself in the beast…and by the time he realized the beast’s mind was actually absorbing him, it was too late for him to even consider what it might mean to resist. Mark thought about intervening, but it would have been a substantial amount of work…and really, what good was he to anyone? Beastie was truly the better half–best to just do away with what wasn’t necessary. Beastie kept growing, helped by his constant, massive meals, and after six months he was nearly eight feet tall, and weighed close to a ton. Mark had been forced to renovate two of the other rooms into one sizable pigpen, with a mud hole which he and his pet enjoyed fucking in regularly. After a year, Beastie couldn’t even recall a time when he hadn’t lived with his master, as his pet. It was simply who he was–and he couldn’t imagine any life he could want more than this one.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 7)

The rest of the week, even though Evan was around Jerry fairly often, he never managed to regain enough control over this persona to force work the curse upon him–mostly because now that he was a coach, and just as much of a bigot and homophobe as Jerry, they were fast friends and comrades in arms. Evan would always have Jerry’s back, no matter what–after all, the school was on a militant streak, faggots were on every corner, and what, they were just supposed to let this school fall into moral decay? They didn’t have much power beyond the athletic programs, but they sure as hell weren’t about to let the young men under their watch be anything less than real men. If that meant sliding rape accusations under the rug, what harm was there really? Both him and Jerry had “raped” girls back in college by these new standards, anyway. Boys would be boys, after all.

Deep down, Evan–the real Evan–struggled against the pull of this awful person he’d become, and he secretly suspected that the curse was punishing him for going so long without the curse activating. If he was going to try and live as normal a life as he could, he was, apparently, going to have to suffer as a homophobe longer in exchange. At long last, at the end of the week, he got his chance, at the monthly poker game Jerry held at his home for all of the coaches on the team–six men in total, and no wives allowed. They would smoke cigars, drink scotch, bullshit about the team, and usually had a good time…but as Evan got drunker, he felt the curse’s homophobic hold on his tongue loosen–and he made his play.

“Hey, Jerry, get me another glass of scotch, would you?” he said.

Jerry hated having to play waiter–he considered it a woman’s job. On poker nights, he expected the men to all serve themselves. “Get it yourself, what, are your legs broken?”

“Bitch, I said get your fat ass up, and bring me another glass of scotch,” Evan sneered at him, feeling the curse’s built up energy stream into his target…and fuck, it felt good. Evan’s cock hardened immediately, as he watched the shock in Jerry’s face turn to confusion, and he got up, adjusting his shirt as his small paunch began to expand against the polo shirt he was wearing. All of the other coaches just stared, not at all sure what they should say…or if this was some joke or prank the two of them were playing on the rest of the staff. Jerry…never served anyone, after all. But he got the scotch in silence, and then brought it back, and set it down beside Evan.

“Now, what do you say?” Evan asked him in the same cold voice.

“E-Excuse me?”

“You worthless piece of faggot shit, what do you fucking say for talking back to a superior man?” Evan shouted at him, spittle flying from him, and he could feel his frame expanding with muscle as he did, voice dropping, beard filling out and turning whiter.

“S-Sorry sir…” Jerry said, his voice quiet and meek…and the rest of him was changing as well, his polo shrinking as he grew fatter until it tore away, leaving him wearing nothing other than a leather collar around his neck. In a couple of moments, he was completely naked, aside from the collar–that, and a metal cage around his cock. The other coaches were trying to process what they were seeing, but all of them were starting to change as well, growing burlier, hairier, and hornier. None of them became gay–but all of them sneered at the old, fat faggot slave Evan had found somewhere. The faggot who had begged him for the honor to serve them during their monthly poker game.

“On your knees, and open your dirty mouth,” Evan said, and Jerry obeyed without a second thought. Evan rolled the cinder of his cigar over the slave’s tongue, his cock throbbing as the faggot moaned in delight. “Don’t even know how to punish you, given how much you like having me and all my friends beat your ass to bits, you masochistic pervert.”

“Thank you sir, it’s an honor to serve you, always, please, abuse me however you want, I’ll do anything to serve my alpha masters.”

“Then get over here and polish my boots, cocksucker,” Hawke said on the other side of the table, leering around his cigar. The beard and the muscle looked…damn good on him, but Evan quashed that thought. He liked his friends plenty, but not like that–sure, he might use a faggot like this sorry piece of shit on occasion, mostly because of how pitiful they all were. Especially Jerry, who he had to admit was his favorite one to beat on. But Evan wasn’t a queer–he was a rough, abusive fucker, and he’d take whatever hole he wanted to–faggot or bitch. It just so happened that he tended to prefer faggots, not that he’d ever tell anyone that.

The rest of the evening was eventful in many ways. Jerry licked clean everyone’s boots, served as the communal ashtray, and when he got sick and puked the ash up after an hour, Evan shoved the old faggot’s fat face into it and made him eat it back up off the floor, thinking about how hard he was going to pound this pig’s hole after all of this friend’s left. Jerry wanted the fuck just as much as he did though–he begged for it, and Evan made him work for it–lashing him for every mistake he’d made during the evening, real or imagined, before finally plowing his hole with his nine inch cock. Afterwards, the faggot had the audacity to ask Evan when he might be able to cum again–and Evan responded by riveting the cage shut then and there. As far as he was concerned, no faggot was worthy of that kind of pleasure. Faggots like Jerry were meant to serve after all, and that was all the reminder he needed, that his old, worthless cock wasn’t worth his attention. Then, Evan sent him on his way.

Alone again, with himself, Evan was shaking with terror. He…couldn’t believe he’d just done that to someone–and that he’d enjoyed it more than anything in his life. The curse was ebbing slightly–if he focused, he’d probably be able to shift back…but he liked this power, too. Head coach by day; abusive cigar master by night–he could get used to this, probably, if he wasn’t careful, but the curse was whispering to him, telling him not to mind that too much. He should allow himself a bit of indulgence before going back–after all, there were so many people who deserved punishment, right?

The curse is getting stronger, and Evan’s resolve is getting weaker and so there’s a possible chance of the story ending no matter what option you choose. Also, I don’t know if I’ll restart this one right away–I’ll probably do a poll to see if people enjoyed it, or I’ll start a different interactive instead.

He tries to change back now, but the curse pushes back and tries to convince him to stay. (20%)

He meets with the scouts as the new head coach and corrupts them into football obsessed perverts. (40%)

The redneck in him comes back out, and he changes his homophobic son into a cock hungry cubslave. (60%)

He gets angry, drunk, and goes to a frat house, where he changes all the bros there into filthy fetish pigs. (80%)

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Polls close on Wednesday!

Taming the Beast (Part 8)

Jacob didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t feel like he was getting better, certainly…but he did trust Mark, didn’t he? After all, he never would have gotten out of the hospital at all, if it hadn’t been for his help, and if Mark thought he was a danger to anyone at all, he knew that he would never let him hurt someone else again. He decided to do as he suggested, and trust that he would pull his way out of the slump soon, and things would become a bit more normal…but were things becoming normal, or was he just getting used to how filthy his life had become? Men kept coming around to see him, men he couldn’t even remember calling, and the sex he had with them was getting…stranger. He fucked them, always, but also took to soaking them down in his piss, and covering them in his cum, making sure that when they left, they smelled like him…like his property, like his mates.

Then, he went into another rage at work, and this time went too far–they fired him on the spot, and he was just…so frustrated, so angry, and he didn’t feel like he had anywhere to put it…so he ate. He ate, and he fucked, and he drank, and he didn’t rest for days. The next appointment with Mark blew past without him even thinking about it, he just didn’t want to care. He didn’t want to exist. It was two days after that, when Mark arrived at his door…and he was so relieved to see him, that he fell to his knees and sobbed. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He couldn’t trust himself, he’d given the beast too much control because…because he was weak. So weak. That’s what Mark told him, that he’d spent so long with the beast out, that he didn’t have the capacity to contain him anymore. Jacob didn’t want to believe it, it couldn’t be true…but when Mark hauled him up and dragged him into the bathroom to look at himself–really look at himself, he was terrified.

It wasn’t his face in the mirror. Or, it was kind of his face, but it was…twisted and bestial, with a snout pushing out around his mouth and nose, two tusks pushing out from his lower jaw, the hair on his head and beard looking more like boar bristle than human hair. He begged Mark to take him back to the hospital, to take him somewhere where he would be safe…but Mark told him he thought the hospital would be the worst possible thing for them both. The beast would panic. He would fight, and turn vicious, and most likely, Jacob in his weakened state wouldn’t be able to regain control, and in the end, he’d just be locked up in a cage for the rest of his life, in a ultramax prison with the rest of the villains of the world. But he wasn’t a villain, right? No–he just needed some time to get back on his feet…but he did need to be supervised. Mark graciously offered him a room down in the basement of his house, and Jacob was so thankful he didn’t think twice. So thankful in fact, that he sucked the doctor’s cock, right there in his apartment. It was just…the right thing to do. To show how much he respected him. To show him how important he was. Some time under the doctor’s direct care was just what he needed. He left with him, not wanting to wait in case the beast resisted, and they got to Mark’s home shortly before dark. They went downstairs and into a large, bare room with several doors on each wall. Mark ushered him into one of them, and while it wasn’t much larger than the room he’d had in the hospital, he should be appreciative, shouldn’t he?

Mark shut the door behind him, and told him he would be back soon with some food for him, and Jacob couldn’t shake the sense of unease he was feeling. The beast had hated being stuck in the hospital, and he’d been certain it would fight this too. But it hadn’t. If anything, he felt better now than he had in his apartment. Safer. Like everything was working out exactly like he thought it should…except it wasn’t. He had none of his things, not even a change of clothes or a toothbrush–not that he’d been using one lately. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He looked around, but there wasn’t a phone anywhere, or a TV…or really anything. There wasn’t even a bed, or a window, just some lights inset in the wall behind glass or plastic. It was a cell. He was in a cell.

He went to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. He was locked in here–he’d let himself get trapped in here, like an idiot! Still, the door was nothing compared to what the beast was capable of, right? He focused, trying to reach for it, trying to harness it…but while it was there, it was calm. No–more than calm, it was relaxed, and watching him panic, and enjoying this. It wanted to be here.

There was a loud thunk from the long wall of the cell, and the bottom foot or so angled out, revealing a shallow trough running the entire length. A moment later, slop slid down into, steaming slightly, and Jacob felt his gut rumble, and the beast licked its chops. No–no, he licked his lips, right? Jacob was still trying to understand what was happening to him in his mind, as his body lowered itself down onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the trough, shoving his short snout into it and devouring as much of it as he could, as quickly as he could, while it was still warm and delicious.

Taming the Beast (Part 7)

The whole rest of the week, Jacob noticed that he was feeling a bit…strange. Well, strange wasn’t really the best way to describe it–what he was mostly feeling, was hungry. Hungrier than he could really ever remember being in the past, in fact. His meals doubled in size, much to his dismay, but whenever he tried to exert a bit of self-control, it would crumble by the time he ate next, and he’d end up gorging himself until he could barely move. It became a problem at work especially, being around food all the time. He would sneak snacks right off the grill or out of the fryer, and afterwards, started taking home anything that was leftover and would usually be thrown out, and stuffing himself with it before going to bed for the night.

As unnerving as it was, he hesitated bringing it up with Mark. He was just so happy being out of the hospital, and he knew that at the first sign of a setback, he could be readmitted immediately. So he did his best to pretend like nothing was going on at all, as he watched his weight steadily creep upward on the scale he kept in the bathroom, until in a fit of shame and panic he threw it out and went on a weekend long binge, cleaning out his cupboards and fridge, stopping only to masturbate every few hours–though he found it easy enough to do both things at the same time. That was the final straw. He had to talk to Mark about this, even if it meant going back to the hospital. This had to be something to do with the beast–there was no other explanation that he could think of for these sudden urges.

At their next session, before Mark hypnotized him, Jacob told him about what had been happening to him. About the binging, and the fact that he seemed to be masturbating more and more often. Mark was troubled by the new developments, and they talked about it for a while, trying, together, to determine whether what was happening posed a danger to him, or to anyone else. In the end, Mark left the decision up to Jacob, if he wanted to go back to the hospital or not–and Jacob told him this was something he’d rather deal with himself. It felt so good being back out in the world, and he wasn’t ready to go back to being locked up again, not until he felt like he couldn’t handle this himself. Mark told him that he would have a word with the beast, and see if he could understand what this sudden shift in behavior might mean. He seemed to be under for…a very long time. Several hours, at least, and when he came too again, Mark was sitting across from him, though his face was rather grave.

“Was…was everything alright?” Jacob asked him, sitting up from the couch where he’d been lying down.

“Yes, I mean, these compulsions of yours do seem to be related to the beast, but…well, I can’t know anything without further observation. I think the best thing you can do is try to resist them as best you can. Keep track if possible–how often you binge, how often you masturbate, anything else that sticks out to you as odd. We’ll try to get a baseline for the behavior, and see if it gets worse, alright?”

Jacob did his best for a few days, but he kept forgetting about keeping a journal, and the whole exercise just…didn’t interest him much at all. Work was the same. Over the next few weeks, he found himself getting aggravated at his boss and coworkers, and would on occasion break out into a sudden rage that would catch him off guard. He didn’t do any real harm, aside from a couple of broken dishes, but the fact that it kept happening…it terrified him. Was he really ready to be out here with people? He found himself wondering about every tic and every thought, and the constant self-awareness was exhausting. He started oscillating between days where he would try to constantly check himself, and days where he would give up and just indulge in…everything. He would stuff himself, drink excessively, masturbate over and over, miss work, and even fuck on occasion. Men–always men, something he had never done before in his life, but he loved it, and the rougher he got with them, the harder he came–and most of them came back for seconds.

It was Mark who brought up his hygiene one session, awkwardly, like he’d been hoping Jacob would mention it finally, without him having to bear the burden of broaching it. Without having to humiliate Jacob with the knowledge that he hadn’t even noticed how dirty he was becoming. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in weeks at that point, and it was coming in thick–much thicker than he could remember it looking the last time he’d tried growing one out. The same went for his hair, which was quite long, as well as the hair on the rest of his body, which was filling in thicker than he knew it should over his now substantial gut. Looking down at himself, and paying attention to it, he realized that he couldn’t clearly recall the last time he’d taken a shower, and he also couldn’t remember when he’d last changed his clothes. He’d been wearing the same outfit for work without washing it for over a week, which no one had complained about out of fear it might set one of his rages off, and he hadn’t changed the underwear beneath that in…a month? More? It was wet, at the moment, since he’d jacked off before coming over, but he could smell cum…so much cum. They were saturated, as was the undershirt he was wearing. He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he was losing so much control, so quickly, without even realizing it in the moment. He couldn’t trust himself, he couldn’t be trusted with himself, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that hospital either…though he knew Mark was going to call for it.

But to his surprise, Mark didn’t. In fact, he told Jacob that he thought he’d been improving, and after the session he seemed really pleased with how Jacob was progressing. These new behaviors were a surprise, sure, and might be difficult to adjust to, but he was going to have to deal with the fact that the beast inside him was, from now on, most likely going to be a more immediate presence in his life. The best thing he could do, in Mark’s opinion, was keep it satisfied, and likely, in a few more weeks, they’d manage to reach a new equilibrium. It might not be what Jacob wanted, necessarily, but this was most likely the course his power was going to develop. Fighting it would likely only make it worse.