Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He did, and whatever junk Mr. Elroy had messed with in his head–he did want this. He wanted it bad. As he sucked, he could sense that the changes to his body were slowing down, but they were by no means over. His frame filled out with a few more pounds of fat, his potbelly becoming a proper gut, and the last of the color drained from his hair, leaving it just a dingy grey, including a mustache which grew in over his lip, brushing the surface of Mr. Elroy’s cock as he sucked, making him shiver, groa, and then grab the back of Harry’s head and start fucking his throat for real. He choked and sputtered, but didn’t have to last long before Mr. Elroy came, cum flooding into his mouth, and he swallowed it all down, like Mr. Elroy wanted him to do, before letting the cock fall from his mouth.

“Yeah, look at you–that’s real nice. We’re gonna have a real nice time here, you and I, trust me,” Mr. Elroy said, stroking his wrinkled, jowled cheek.

“Please…I…just let me go, sir…” Harry muttered, shocked by how weak and pitiful his voice sounded, “I’m sorry, if I did something wrong, I just…this can’t be right. This can’t be real…”

“Oh, it’s very real, trust me,” Mr. Elroy said, “More real than you realize.”

There was, suddenly, a knock on the door. Hoping for someone who might save him, Harry went to shout, but the voice locked up in his throat. “Now now, don’t go making a scene, Harry. Let’s get you up and situated,” Mr. Elroy said, “Your son can wait a moment, right?”

Mr. Elroy helped him up to his feet, and pushed him into a sheet covered armchair, before telling him to stay put–then he went and answered the door, and to Harry’s surprise, his father walked into the room. “There you are, Mr. Willis. I was just getting your father settled in.”

Harry could see a moment of confusion on his father’s face, but it softened in moments. He had to–this was his only chance! “Dad! Dad, it’s me, It’s Harry!” he said, weakly, trying to get out of the chair, but he couldn’t manage to stand on his own, “Don’t…don’t listen to him, don’t!”

Peter looked at Mr. Elroy in alarm, but as soon as he met his eyes, he relaxed again. “Don’t mind him, Mr. Willis. Your father has had a long day moving in–he’s just tired, and confused. Why don’t you come in and say good night.”

Peter stepped into the apartment, and walked over to Harry. “Alright dad–Mr. Elroy is going to take it from here, alright?”

“I sure will–give us a day or two to get him unpacked and settled down, and then you should come by and visit.”

“No, dad, I don’t want to stay here, not with him.”

Peter looked at Mr. Elroy apologetically, “I’m sorry, he…doesn’t quite know himself anymore.”

“Well, that’s why he’s here, Peter. Don’t worry, these sorts of episodes come and go, but it’s good you brought him in early, before the dementia really sets in. It will make the transition easier.”

“I’m just…surprised. He was always so sharp, and now seeing him like this.”

“It can be a shock–you need some rest too, Peter. Now go on home, and come back the day after next for a visit–I guarantee your father will be in much better shape.”

“I work all day though. I don’t known when–”

Mr. Elroy shushed him. “The day after next. Come after lunch, around two. Don’t worry about work, family is more important, right? I’m sure they will understand.”

Peter nodded, thanked Mr. Elroy, and then left the apartment. Harry just stared at the door, aghast, unable to believe what had just happened. His dad…hadn’t even remembered him. No–he had remembered him, but not as his son–his dad somehow thought Harry was his father! “I…What did you do to him?”

“That young Harry you think you remember is gone now. He never existed. You’re Peter’s father now. It will take some getting used to, I know, but trust me, once we get you all unpacked, you’ll remember everything you need to remember, and you’ll be much more pleasant to your son the next time you see him, without sounding like a deranged old coot.”

“But I’m not crazy! I don’t have dementia, I’m not even old!”

Mr. Elroy smiled at him, but it had no warmth. “That is true–I’ve gone rather easy on you, so far. But trust me, Harry–if you give me much trouble, I can make sure that brain of yours looks like swiss cheese in a few hours. You’ll be bedridden for a few months, barely aware of yourself, pissing and shitting in a bedpan until you finally expire. It’s all the same to me, really. So, do you want to cooperate, and enjoy the now substantially abridged life you now have, or should I go ahead and call the nurses to take you to our hospice wing?”

Harry shook his head no, and with Mr. Elroy’s help, he got out of the chair, and allowed the man to lead him down the hall, to the small bedroom at the end. Like the rest of the apartment, sheets covered most everything, but Mr. Elroy uncovered the bed, helped Harry out of his clothes, and then shoved him over the side. “Now, how about a good night fuck, and then we get you tucked in?” he said, and slid his cock into Harry’s ass, “We’ll get you all unpacked tomorrow, and get you more…familiar with your new self. It’s my favorite part, really–I can’t wait to find out who Harry Willis was, can you?”

May Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Sorry for the missing post yesterday! There will be another chunk of Remembrances at the usual time today, and here’s a bonus post for today, since this month’s suggested stories are finished! As usual, anyone contributing any amount gets access to these stories, and gets the privilege of suggesting ideas each month as well. Here’s a story I wrote for everyone last month.

Taking My Place

It had been innocent, at first. These things always were, to begin with, you never really understand where it all goes wrong. Well, Evan knew where it had gone wrong, but it wasn’t at the beginning. He was just a mild mannered family man, recently married, and currently trying have their first child, though conception was proving to be a bit tricky. It didn’t help that his workload at the company was heavy, and so he’d been staying late at work–late enough that he’d cross paths with the same janitor each night as he cleaned the floor, an older fellow by the name of Ross.

Evan had never really known how to broach the subject with his wife, but he was decidedly bisexual, and Ross ticked…all of his buttons, on the masculine side. Older, chubby, facial hair, a little dirty. It came out one night that Ross was, in fact, gay–and it didn’t take too long after that for the two of them to strike up an affair in his office during the evenings. Had things stayed there, everything would have worked out just fine–but two things happened instead.

First, Ross’s shifts changed, so that he was working during the days rather than the afternoons and evenings, like before. Second, Ross…found something. Evan had never seen it, or knew what it was, exactly, but it had a power unlike anything he’d ever seen before, something which, at first, Evan was eager to experiment with. During their evenings together, Evan had often told Ross about how stressful he found his job, and how he actually envied Ross a bit. Not in the money category of course, but it seemed so…easy, just cleaning, and going home. No real responsibility, no boss looming over him, no clients to upset. Just once, he said, he’d love to be in his shoes for the day.

And so, that morning, Ross strode into Evan’s office–and he switched them. Evan didn’t know how he did it, but one second he was behind the desk, working on an account, and the next he was standing in the doorway, wearing Ross’s coveralls–with Ross’s patch sewn on the front. Before he could freak out, Ross switched them back, and then told him what he could do–he could change places with people, he could even trade parts of their bodies, and even parts of their minds. He wanted to give Evan the chance to do what he’d wanted, which was to work a day in his shoes. It was no worry–he could switch some of their knowledge around too, so they’d both do well, and at the end of the day, they’d change back. And so, Evan spent the whole day as the building’s janitor, and knew exactly what to do, and at the end of the day, they changed back–but not before having sex in each other’s roles. Even more to his surprise, he enjoyed it–or rather, they both did, and Ross promised not to abuse his newfound power.

On occasion, when Evan needed a break, he’d let Ross switch them. But slowly, he began to notice…other things. Ross showed up one day with a new dick–a big dick, much larger than the one he’d had, and told Evan he was just borrowing it for a while from someone else. Evan noticed things about himself shifting around as well. Before, he’d always been the more dominant of them, but one day, he found that all he could think about was bottoming. He demanded to know what Ross had done, but he denied everything, but soon after that, Ross made it clear that he was the one in charge–and if he wanted to sit in the cushy office, then he was going to sit in the office, and Evan would be cleaning bathrooms and emptying trash cans. Evan found himself working as a janitor more and more often, and whenever Ross allowed him sit at his desk for the day, he never could quite get a handle on what he was supposed to be doing. He’d have to scour the building for Ross and beg for his help, and the older man would switch with him for the rest of the day, fixing everything he’d managed to screw up, while Evan cleaned up after everyone else, and then sucked Ross’s massive cock to thank him.

It seemed that the only place Evan was safe was at home with his wife. He knew he should quit and get away from Ross, but he needed the money–that, and from some hints Ross had dropped, he’d made it clear that if Evan tried to run, he’d most likely regret it. That, however, didn’t last for long. Ross came to work without his massive cock one day–instead, he had a tiny, one inch member, which was soon Evan’s one inch cock. Ross told him he’d be keeping that one for a while, but that he didn’t need to worry; he knew Evan was trying to have a baby, so he’d made sure to leave him his balls–if he could manage to get in his wife’s pussy. In fact, Evan hadn’t been able to get aroused in bed with her for months–he suspected Ross had messed with his head and made him completely gay, but he didn’t dare confront him about it. After his cock, Ross began leaving more and more of his old self with Evan when they switched back and forth, and soon, Evan would look in the mirror at his home, and see a younger version of Ross staring back at him. It was horrifying, but this…this was beyond anything he could have imagined him doing.

It was Friday, and that meant it was almost time for two whole days without Ross messing with him. At this point, Evan worked as a janitor everyday–he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even done his “real” job. He’d gone back to his office to switch back, only to discover that Ross wasn’t there–he’d left early and gone home. To his home, to his wife! He found a note on the desk for him, and Ross told him that if he and his wife were having such a hard time conceiving a child, Ross wanted to help him out. Furious, he stormed out of the building, wanting to head home and confront him–but he discovered he didn’t remember where he lived. In his mind, he lived in the city, in a grungy little apartment, alone…where he spent all weekend, usually, getting drunk and jacking off…right?

He tried to remember, he really did, but he had no car, no memory, and no way of getting there–and so, resigned, he went home to his apartment, where he found the computer on, receiving a video feed from…somewhere. It was a bedroom, but whose? There was someone in it, though–or two people rather, a man and a woman naked and getting ready to have sex, and he realized it was Ross, in his life, getting ready to fuck his wife…and just thinking about it was enough to make his little prick hard as a rock. He watched them fuck, he loved it, the idea of the janitor fucking his wife in his body, in a better body than his had ever been, actually. He…he deserved it more than he did, he deserved all of it. Evan didn’t deserve anything, he was just a stupid fucking pervert, after all. Evan made his decision, then and there–come Monday, he’d offer Ross his life. He was making the most of it, after all…and as long as he got to watch it, he’d get plenty of enjoyment out of it too.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 2)

Harry really didn’t have any interest at all in whatever the guy might want to show him, but he also definitely didn’t want to have his service hours scrapped by some vindictive adult. Together they went back into the building, and Mr. Elroy led them to a bank of elevators, and they entered one. In an enclosed space, Harry sized him up–if he tried anything creepy, he could probably take him. He looked to be around fifty, with a healthy bit of grey in his beard–probably in twenty or thirty years, he’d be another one of the old fucks around here too. They ended up on the third floor, walked down the hall to one of the rooms, Mr. Elroy pulled out a key and unlocked it without even knocking.

“Shouldn’t you at least knock or something?” Harry said, a bit disturbed about just walking into someone else’s room without permission.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Elroy said, “Now come in here.”

Harry peeked around the corner and into the apartment after Mr. Elroy turned the lights on, and saw why he’d said that–everything was all packed up into boxes, aside from the large furniture, which was covered in sheets. “So…what, we’re going through some old person’s things before they move?”

Mr. Elroy looked back at him. “No one who lives here moves away, young man. They die.”

Harry’s gut twisted at the realization, and he felt like an idiot. “S-Sorry. We really shouldn’t be in here then, you know? This is kind of fucked up.”

“Harry, come inside and shut the door behind you.”

He didn’t want to go in there–he no longer cared about his service hours, he’d go talk to the woman at the desk about it. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a bunch of stuff belonging to some cadaver…but instead, his legs moved him into the apartment, and he closed the door behind him.

“It was sad, watching him go. Watching him lose himself,” Mr. Elroy said, as he walked through the room. “Can you tell me anything about him, by looking at his things, Harry?”

“I mean…not without opening something up, I guess,” he said, “Look, I get it, alright? This is creepy. I don’t care about my hours, I just want to go.”

“Yeah, you can’t tell anything about him. You know as much about him right now, as he knew about himself two days ago, as he was dying. Advanced dementia, right at the end. Such a shame, really. So confused and scared, trying to understand who he was and what was happening to him. Fuck, just thinking about it is getting me hard all over again…” Mr. Elroy said, and adjusted the front of his pants.

The guy was some fucking creep–he fucking knew it. Harry turned and tried to open the door, but it had locked, or jammed, or something–the handle wouldn’t budge an inch. “Let me out you fucking weirdo!” he shouted at Mr. Elroy, and kept fighting with the door.

“Harry, calm down, and come over here please.”

Again, like before, his body disobeyed his mind, and he walked over to where Mr. Elroy was standing in the living room, his heart pounding in terror. How in the world was he doing this to him? It didn’t make any sense–he just wanted to leave. “Please, I’m scared, just let me leave…”

“You should be scared, Harry. Most people are scared when they see magic for the first time. But I’m hungry, Harry–and you, your life, you smell…delicious, you know. I have to eat healthy lives to keep my own health, you know, and I think you could learn a lesson about age.” Harry was close now, close enough that Mr. Elroy could reach out and touch him. “Such youth would be wasted on you, like it’s wasted on all you mortals.”

What happened next–Harry could never quite find the words to describe it. Mr. Elroy reached out with both hands, and rested them on both sides of his face, but as gentle as the touch was, there was spiritual violence that he felt deep in his core, a sheer terror, but his body could not flinch away as something–life, youth, spirit, vitality, potential–was drained from him right into Mr. Elroy’s fingertips. The touch likely only lasted seconds, but to Harry, it seemed to extend into hours and days, caught in that moment, unable to move, unable to resist, until they came away from him, and the exhaustion flooded into his body, sending him crashing to his knees.

“Look at me, let me look at you. Look up at your master, you old fuck.”

He did. He didn’t have the heart to fight him–his will and resistance had been sucked away along with whatever else Mr. Elroy had drawn from him. The glimmer of delight in the man’s eye frightened him…but he could see changes all the same. A bit of grey missing from his beard, a firming up of his flesh. With a wave of his hands in the space above him, Mr. Elroy summoned a thin mirror, hanging in the air, and Harry could see himself–his new self–for the first time. He had aged at least into his forties, if not a bit further–his hair was greying and receding, wrinkles had begun to crease his forehead, eyes and mouth. He looked away from his face and down to his body, where his muscles of youth had been sapped of their strength, and a potbelly had sprouted, pushing his shirt out where it rode up awkwardly.

Mr. Elroy waved the mirror back into the void from where he’d called it, and opened the fly of his pants, allowing his thick cock to fall free, leaking a bit of precum from the tip, inches from Harry’s face.

“Tell me what you want, you old fuck.”

Harry looked up at him, desperate and terrified, and when he met Mr. Elroy’s eyes…they weren’t the same eyes that had been looking at him before. Or perhaps they were. Perhaps, whatever veil had been guarding their true nature had dropped, and the piercing eyes he couldn’t look away from had always been there. They pushed into him–Mr. Elroy pushed into him, into his mind, and the words that came out weren’t the ones he’d thought–even the voice didn’t sound like his own. “Fuck, Could sure use yer big, fat cock lodged down my fuckin’ throat.”

“That’s what I thought–now start sucking.”

Carnival (Part 9)

“You guys–we have to fight this. This isn’t right,” Finn said, pulling away from his friends, or rather, his lovers, in the mist of the tunnel. “Can’t…can’t you see that something about all of this is wrong?”

Garth and Dylan just looked at him, their eyes slightly pink. “There’s…nothing wrong with this, Finn–you know how we feel about you, how we’ve always felt about each other.”

There was a flash then, a flash of them all in the locker room after practice, sneaking looks at one another, taking their time until they were alone, and they could go to the showers together and–

Finn pushed the thought away again, and slid around the circular bench to be as distant from the other two as they could. This ride–it wasn’t a ride at all. They were literally falling in love with one another! There had to be something he could do, some way to snap the two of them out of it, but how?

The sides of the boat were high, but were lower where they’d gotten in. He reached down into the cool water, scooped some up in his hands, and flung it at the two of them, hoping it would bring them to their senses, but when it struck them, both of them glowed pink, and Finn watched them begin to shift. In their minds, both Garth and Dylan found their love for one another growing deeper–and also growing longer. They had met in college, sure, but by now, that had been years ago. In their forties now, and happily married for nearly 20 years, all Finn could do was watch as his best friends, the young men he loved, became two pudgy, middle aged bears, still kissing and even deeper in love than before.

“That was a few bad thing to do, to try and destroy someone’s love,” a voice said. Finn looked around for the source, but couldn’t see anyone–it seemed to be coming from the mist all around them. “But don’t worry, your daddies will take good care of you.”

Before he could do anything, the mist descended on him, cloaking him in pink, filling his mind with love–love for the two older men across from him, but also dulling him, sanding off the edges, making that love into something singular and obsessive–so powerful, it was all he could think about. When it cleared, and he saw his two daddies, Garth and Dylan, looking at him, he thought his heart would burst, and a moment later, he was pulled over the center of the boat, all three of them kissing together, until they had Finn undressed, Garth and Dylan fucking him at both ends, telling him what a good boy he was, telling him that he was going to be their boy forever.

When they reached the end of the ride, all three of them having cum, and forgotten their old lives and souls in the tunnels, Garth and Dylan got out first, both of them wearing jeans and flannel, suspenders tight against their guts, looking like the perfect bearish couple, and then they helped Finn out–and Finn looked down at himself in shock. He was wearing overalls, but with shorts on the bottom, something like what a toddler would wear, with a shirt underneath with cartoon characters on them. He was shorter than his daddies, and quite a bit chubbier too–but something making him look larger was the diaper he could feel around his waist. “Wow daddy! That was a fun ride, I love you so much!” he exclaimed with his usual youthful enthusiasm, and hugged both of his daddies tight.

“I gotta admit–it’s nice to be reminded of what’s really important,” Garth said, winking at Dylan and giving his husband’s crotch a squeeze, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m a bit tuckered out–how about we all head home and call it a night?”

Dylan agreed, and while Finn tried to protest, and insisted he could go on more rides, the way he was yawning gave away how tired he was. As they left the ride, Finn felt a warmth spread across his groin, and it took him a moment to realize he’d pissed right into his diaper without a second thought. “D-Daddy? I think I had an accident,” he said, looking at Garth, who smiled back.

“Goodness–guess its a good thing we diapered you up, eh, you dirty little boy?”

Finn nodded, his little cock hard in the front of his wet diaper.

“Well, you want us to change you here, in front of everyone?” Dylan said, “Or is the dirty little boy going to have to wear a sopping wet diaper all the way home?”

In the end, he wore it home. Finn loved the feeling of a wet diaper, after all, and his two daddies always enjoyed it when their little cub made a mess like that. Deep inside him, some other version of himself was horrified, but it didn’t matter–love was the most important thing, after all, and Finn was going to love his two daddies forever.

This is the end of this interactive for the moment. I’ll probably run a Patreon only poll in a day or two, to see if there are any stories people would like to see me wrap up and expand on a bit.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 1)

“I still don’t understand why I can’t just drive myself,” Harry said, as his dad turned into the parking lot of the Oak River Retirement Community.

“Because we need the car so we can take your brother to his games–you know this, Harry,” his dad, Peter said, and pulled around the front of the building. I’ll pick you up at around seven, alright?”

“That’s the thing! They have nothing for me to do after six–I’ll just be sitting here for an hour.”

“I’m sure they can find something else for you to do, Harry–you need those hours to graduate.”

Harry heaved a sigh, and got out of the car, staring at the grey building in front of him. There was no river. There were a few oaks, but they looked…tired. As tired as the old people he could see milling about inside, through the windows, playing bingo, or whatever it is old people do when they get old. Harry was seventeen–getting old was as far from his mind as it could possibly be–he was getting ready to go to college on a football scholarship, but like an idiot, he’d put off his community service until the end of the year. At least he only needed ten more hours–five this week, five next week, and he’d be good to go.

“Fine, I’ll see you at six, dad,” he shut the door, Peter waved, and drove off again to fetch his younger son, Aaron, and take him to his baseball game. He was just a year younger than Harry, and they were often mistaken for twins because of how similar they looked–and when they were with their dad, there was never any mistaking the resemblance between them all–strong jaws, blonde hair, green eyes, and a natural athleticism that had served both boys well through their youth. Their father, Peter, had aged gracefully, turning forty a few years prior while keeping his muscular physique, all of his hair, with only a touch of grey at the temples and in his short goatee.

Harry stepped up to the doors, feeling very out of place, and saw a reception desk off to one side manned by a young woman. “Hello–My name’s Harry, and I was told I could volunteer here today for my community service requirement at school?”

She smiled, “Hello Harry–we’ve been expecting you. Each Saturday, from noon until five, we like to have young students over for some social time with our residents. It helps them keep their minds sharp, and we like to think you students learn some things from our elders too. The room is just down the hall there, to the left,” she said, pointing down the corridor behind him. “Mr. Elroy runs the sessions–just ask for him if you need any help.”

Harry thanked her, and went in the direction she’d indicated, and after a few doors, he saw a sign with “social time” written on it, and an open door. Inside, there were a few students he recognized from school, all of them seated with residents, listening–or at least trying to listen, in some cases. A middle aged man, looking to be about fifty, stepped up and greeted Harry as he entered, shaking his hand. “Hello! Come to join us today?”

Harry nodded. Mr. Elroy showed him to a sheet where he could sign in, so that they could confirm that he’d attended for his school, and then he took Harry to a seat, next to a very old man who started telling him about the war–after an hour, he never did figure out which war exactly he was talking about, but he learned the names of two men who’d died in front of the guy’s eyes, and also the names of several prostitutes he’d gotten knocked up while on leave. That, it turned out, was the most entertaining story any of the residents had to offer him. His attention began to lag, and whenever it was clear that he wasn’t paying attention, Mr. Elroy would come over and force him to engage with whoever he was talking to, prompting questions, looking for new stories, and by the time five o’clock hit, Harry was sick of the guy. Still–he just had to do one more week, right? It hadn’t been too bad, really. The residents filed off to dinner, and the rest of the students went to the front of the building, chatting a bit about what they’d been listening to. Still, ten minutes later, Harry was alone on the bench outside, staring at his phone, stuck waiting for his father to be done with his brother’s game so he could come get him.

“Thanks for coming today–you have no idea how much they appreciate it, even when you aren’t really paying that much attention.”

Harry gave a start, and looked over to see Mr. Elroy standing by a trashcan, smoking a pipe in the evening spring light. “Oh, yeah…some of the stories were interesting…”

“Kid, you wouldn’t be able to remember anything about what they said if I asked you, don’t lie.”

Harry scowled at him, “So what? You just said it didn’t matter if I listen or not.”

“I could always just scratch that name of yours off the list you know,” Mr. Elroy said, a gleam in his eye, “You should watch your tone, young man. Memories matter–you’d hate to see what happens when you lose them.” He tapped out the pipe and tucked it in a pocket of his coat. “In fact, come on, I want to show you something.”

“Dude, just leave me alone, I’m sorry, alright?”

“Come on, or I’ll scratch out your name. If you do come, I’ll mark you down for twice the hours–how’s that sound? Double or nothing.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, really. Could the guy really do that? Well, of course he could, but would he? Harry heaved a sigh. “My dad gets here to pick me up at six.”

“We won’t be that long, promise.”

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 2 (Part 4)

I didn’t tell him about the apartment just yet–instead, I asked him about Bernard, about whether anything he’d seen him say reminded him of his own experiences. He was dismissive of him. Bernard didn’t know anything, really. He said that he didn’t matter, that he could see Master had gotten tired of him, found nothing worth his time and effort, not like him–and only realized after the fact that he’d let his guard slip. I pressed him, and he clammed back up, refusing to say anything at all. He knew more about this–all of it–than he was willing to tell me, but I didn’t understand why. What sort of loyalty could this rapist possibly engender in his victims, that they would go to these lengths to defend him, and praise him? I had seen Stockholm syndrome before, on rare tragic occasions, but this…this was something else. This was a degree of change and control that, I had no reasonable explanation for at all.

He wanted to leave, and I told him it would be best if he settled down, and waited for his clothes to arrive, so he wouldn’t leave walking around in a prison jumpsuit. He didn’t argue with the point…but I think he also realized that no one was going to be finding anything of his back at the address he’d given me in the car. Instead, I went to my superiors–I wanted to hold him overnight, or really, as long as I could manage. I knew, if I wasn’t careful, that as soon as he was out of here, he’d disappear just as quickly as Bernard had. Ray changed tactics, and instead started asking about Jules–he still wanted to apologize to him for his accident earlier, and I told him I’d do my best to find him…but he was beginning to panic. Jules, however, had returned from his place, wearing a new change of clothes, and so I told him Ray wanted to talk to him and apologize–and that anything he could do to convince him to cooperate would be a big help.

Jules was a bit off, though. I didn’t realize it in the moment–after all, what we’d been through that day had us all a bit on edge, but I remember smelling the piss on him still–piss and something else, something that I now think was probably his own cum, judging by what happened later. Maybe if I’d been less distracted, I could have prevented what happened next–but as I was about to go down with Jules to see him, Marcus, Mr. Cold Case, came barging in, demanding to see the latest victim I was holding. Jules went down to talk to Ray, while I dealt with him. I refused to let Marcus get involved, of course and he had no legal ground to demand anything from me at all– but I was more interested in how he’d learned about us bringing him in, because as far as I’d heard, no one from the media had caught wind of the case yet. He made a scene eventually–I think he was trying to get locked up down in the hold with him, but in the end he left without doing anything stupid. With that taken care of, I went down to holding, only to discover that, while Marcus had been distracting me, Ray had simply left.

To say I was furious was an understatement. I demanded to know who, exactly, had cleared him to leave, and the officers on duty told me that Jules had gone into the room with him for a few minutes, alone, and then the two of them had left the precinct together. I went into the room where the session had been taped, rewound the footage, and watched and listened to what had happened when Jules had gone into the room, but as…normal as the encounter might have seemed on the surface, something was very, very wrong.

Jules had entered the room and hurried over to where Ray was standing, getting…very close to him, and on the tape, I think I can hear him sniffing, or maybe even snorting. “There you are,” Ray said, “I wanted to say sorry for gettin’ my piss all over you earlier,” Ray says, putting one massive arm around Jules’ shoulder, and bringing him close, turning around so their backs were to the camera. Whatever was said next I can’t make out on the tape–they’re both talking too quietly, but I can see Jules leaning in closer and closer, nodding along to whatever Ray is telling him, and then they leave–and when they leave, I can see that Jules is hard as a rock in the front of his uniform pants, eyes a bit distant, licking his lips–and Ray just looks…thrilled with himself, somehow.

I called Jules immediately, but he didn’t answer. The Captain was furious that we’d just let a victim walk out without getting any information about where he was going or what he was planning on doing–and I didn’t have a good answer for him. I went by Jules house that evening to talk to him, but his wife told me he’d come home to change, reeking of something awful, and had left again without even bothering to shower. He didn’t show up again the next day either, and now the Captain was even more furious–not only had a victim walked out on us, leaving us with a dead end on the most high profile case in years, apparently he had kidnapped one of our own cops in the process.

I had no leads. All I had was the video from the interrogation room, and so I poured over it, turned up the volume as much as I could, watching body language from those few minutes, trying to understand. Trying to understand why, without even knowing why, I kept trying to jack off while I watched it. Trying to understand why I could still…smell him, even now, as I walked around the precinct. I found nothing–and so I started digging into Ray’s past, only to discover it was scrubbed. No employment records. No driver’s license. No birth certificate. Someone had wiped him off the face of the Earth, whoever he’d been, and left a stinking brute in his place–and the monster who did it had who knew how many other victims in the wings, ready to reveal to the world whenever he wanted–and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

To Be Continued…

The Carnival (Part 8) [Interactive]

“I don’t really feel like going down with strangers,” one of the frat brothers, Dylan, said, “That sounds really awkward.”

“Yeah, the whole point was to go together anyway,” Garth added.

They all agreed, then, to try their luck and go as one big group together, but it wasn’t until they were in line a bit further on that all three of them got a little self-conscious. All around them were heterosexual couples, most of them younger, but a few older married couples from town too, and then there was the three of them together. None of them were the least bit gay, but the looks they were getting from others were making them second guess their idea. The line wasn’t long though, and they got to the ride entrance before any of them lost their nerve. The inside was all decorated in garish pinks and reds, and the air smelt of flowers. It was cloying, and all three of them were already rolling their eyes at the kitchy setup, as they stepped up to the next boat, and the carny minding the ride, gave them a look.

“All three of us want to go together,” Finn said, the other two suppressing a chuckle. To their surprise, however, the man just shrugged, and told them that he’d unhook one of the three’s company boats they kept for special requests. Where the other, two seater boats were all bench like, the larger boat was designed in a circle, with a small table in the middle and high sides giving a bit more privacy than they were really comfortable with. Still, they all climbed in, the carny secured the door, and sent them off floating into the pink light, the dock disappearing as they rounded the first corner.

There was no sound–no music, and not even the sound of other people ahead or behind them, even though they couldn’t have been that distant from them. It was a little unnerving, and the surroundings were rather uninteresting. Some flowering plants on the rock walls, the occasional small waterfall giving off a bit of sound, and just the sound of them all breathing, wondering what they should say. They knew they should be making fun of it, but now it seemed heavy and serious, none of them able to look one another in the eye as a mist began to rise from the water around them, and spill over the sides of the boat. It had the same scent as earlier, but much more pungent–strong enough that all three of them began to feel lightheaded. Garth looked out, trying to see the walls and the way forward, but he couldn’t see anything at all through the fog. He sat back down, only to find Finn had leaned over, and was kissing Dylan–gently, but it was growing more passionate, Dylan leaning into it, hungry for it, and all Garth felt was an immediate, desperate horniness.

Those two…how had he never seen them like this before? In the locker room, out on the field, in the bathroom showers…He scooched around and started feeling Dylan’s body, and he turned away from Finn to kiss him instead, while Finn reached over, toying with their cocks and nipples gently, and then leaning over and stealing Garth’s mouth from Dylan. Time seemed to slow down as their desires intensified, the water still, the whole space quiet aside from their gentle moans and soft sighs into one another’s mouths. However, the boat kept moving on, deeper into the tunnel, the light growing dimmer and dimmer as they reached the heart, all three of them feeling new memories, desires, and most of all, love, filing their minds and their souls until they thought they might burst–until they did burst, in fact, all three of them cumming together, and then arriving at the other end of the tunnel. In the light, they could see that more had changed than just their desires…but this was normal now. The three of them would be together for as long as they live–though what kind of relationship do they have now?

So, what does the boys’ new relationship look like?

Two daddy bears with a diapered boy
An incestuous redneck family
A leather master and two slaves

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The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 2 (Part 3)

Eventually, what I had first assumed to be the man’s mindless obsession shifted into…something more self-aware. Jules, the only one of us who could get close to him, and honestly, the only one of us large enough to really compare to him, kept trying to get him to stop, and at one point, tried to block his way when he went to move to a different machine. The huge fucker just stood chest to chest with Jules, his jaw as slack and eyes as distant as they had been since we entered, sounding confused…and then he pissed all over him. In the halflight, as Jules sprang back, cursing, uniform soaked, I swore I saw the man sneer nostrils flared, his cock half hard as he pushed past Jules and worked through the next set in his routine. Jules went home to clean himself up, and the rest of who remained discussed whether we were going to have to drag him out of there by force. As we reached the decision to get some gas masks if necessary and drag him out, he dropped the barbell he’d been lifting with a clatter, announced that he was finished, and that he could leave with us.

We suggested he go to the hospital to get checked out and cleaned up, and he refused. He didn’t want to go to a hospital, he insisted that he felt perfectly fine, and he didn’t see any reason at all why he needed to get clean. I told him that there was no way he would be riding back with us anywhere smelling like that, and he just shrugged. “I don’t even know why you’re here. I was just doin’ my workout, when you barged in here.” His voice was gruff, with a practiced stupidity I didn’t quite believe was authentic. I told him that someone had called 911 and reported a rape victim, and since he was the only person in the area, we assumed the call had meant him. He looked down at himself, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times. “I…I mean, at first…” he muttered, then shook his head. “No, I’m fine, but…but I…I’m sorry for, uh, pissin, earlier, I don’t always have the best control or focus when I’m workin’ out. Is he…around? The guy I soaked? I’d like to apologize.”

“He’s back at the station,” I lied, “Why don’t you ride back with me, answer a few questions I have, and you can get a chance to apologize then.”

“Am I under arrest? I didn’t do nothin’,” he said.

“You’re welcome to do whatever you want…though I would like to know why you were trespassing on private property here. If you were here of your own volition, then I’ll have to charge you with squatting.”

He got real quiet. I didn’t understand what he was playing at, at the time. Why not just come out with it, and admit it? Then again, if he’d been in here more than a few days, he would have had no idea about the other case that had just come to light. Right then, he thought he was alone. “There’s others, you know. You aren’t the first one to deal with this. I know it seems impossible, looking at yourself, but I’m willing to believe just about anything you tell me about him at this point, after what I’ve seen already.”

Another inscrutable look, but one which I was certain contained some anger. That surprised me more than just about anything else had, that day. It was enough to convince him to come along with us back to the station to take a statement, at least–he rode back with me, giving me plenty of time to get…accustomed to his musk. It was heady, but it also wasn’t…old, if that makes sense. Rather, it smelled fresh in a way I couldn’t quite describe, and as I adjusted to it and found myself able to breathe a bit more normal, I felt a stirring in my crotch, and my cock started to harden inexplicably. I distracted myself with some basic questions–getting his name (Ray Campbell), whether he had anyone he wanted us to contact (no one that he was willing to name), and where he lived, so we could get him a change of clothes (an apartment downtown, though at the mention of clothing, he gave a dismissive grunt). I radioed someone to head to his apartment, with his permission to enter, and then we arrived at the station. I got him a blanket, but the only clothing I had for him was a jail jumpsuit. He took it, begrudgingly, and we went into an interview room to discuss the actual subject at hand.

He stonewalled me, right from the beginning. If Bernard had been confused and befuddled by what had happened to him, Ray seemed to fully understand what had happened, but hid it, poorly, behind a feigned ignorance, stupidity and dullness. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the shipping container. He didn’t know anything about who had put him in there, what they’d looked like, or why they had forced him to workout. Instead, he kept trying to flip it around, poking and prodding about the other people I had mentioned this happening to…and so, since he was going to see it at some point anyway, I got the tape of the interview Bernard had done on the nightly news, and let him watch it while I got us some food. It was then that the men I’d sent to his apartment returned, empty handed. The landlord had told them that Ray had disappeared four months earlier, leaving all of his shit behind, and when no one came by to pay the rent, he’d claimed everything in the place, pawned the valuables and junked the rest, and was already renting the apartment out to someone else.

Four months. Bernard had been in that basement for a week (or so he’d said), and Ray had been missing for at least four months. I checked for a missing person report, or anything, but there was nothing–perhaps the one thing Ray had been honest about was that he didn’t have anyone he wanted to contact. Armed with some information, at least, I went back into the interview room, and found the tape finished, and Ray was agitated, pacing the small room, back and forth, muttering to himself something I couldn’t make out under his breath. When I arrived, he did his best to protect the air of idiocy he’d been attempting with me, but he was off balance. I thought, maybe, I’d be able to get something out of him now.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 2 (Part 2)

So we talked about Marcus’ encounter, but I quickly realized that while he was trying to appear helpful, he was fishing for something else–information about Bernard’s case. He allegedly didn’t recall much of anything from the night he’d been assaulted, but he’d drop a hint, and then ask if something similar had happened to Bernard as well. When I’d try and get him back on the subject of his own case, he’d twist it back around, quizzing me about Bernard, and the evidence from the case, and whether I had found anything else about the Bruiser during the investigation–and if I had any leads on where Bernard had disappeared to. I didn’t have any leads of course, and I wasn’t about to tell this stranger any details from the case. When it became clear that we were stonewalling each other, he got agitated, and then angry, grabbed the photos he’d brought, accused me of not being interested in justice, and stormed out of the precinct, leaving me more confused than anything.

All I knew now, was that this…this case was big. The biggest thing I’d ever dealt with, by far, and Marcus was right about one thing–Bernard knew more than he was letting on. In fact, it was now quite likely he knew the man who had kept him down there all week, given his extracurricular activities. But if it was a scene gone wrong, why not say so? And how on earth did this even begin to explain how he had…changed? In any case, I had a lead, and so I started hunting down some of Bernard’s associates in the BDSM community, to see if any of them could help me figure out who had done this to him, or where he might have gone. No one was really interested in talking to me, and I didn’t get much in the few days I had before the next 911 call came in, the same voice as before, directing us to an old, abandoned warehouse down by the docks.

The search, however, turned up nothing at first. The building wasn’t being used for anything at the moment, and was just vacant–the docks still hadn’t fully recovered from the last recession, like a lot of the city, and so that wasn’t surprising. The caller hadn’t given us any details regarding who we were looking for, or where they might be, but it turned out that there wasn’t anything inside the building at all. Instead, we got a radio call that one of the cops, an older veteran by the name of Jules, had been searching the perimeter of the building, when he heard an odd sound coming from several supposedly empty shipping containers in the yard beside the building. It was metal on metal, a rhythmic clanking of some sort, and it wasn’t long before we’d identified the container, broken the lock on it, and when we flung open the doors…it was the smell that I remember the most.

You know how a locker room can smell, when it doesn’t get cleaned often enough? It was like that, and yet, somehow a hundred times stronger. The only light in the shipping container was a bare light bulb suspended from the ceiling, and inside the cramped space was one man working out with a collection of weight machines and free weights. Even when we opened the door, he didn’t stop–from where he was, he just seemed like this…monstrous shadow in the darkness, moving back and forth, eyes zoned out in the middle distance, completely uninterested in us.

I want to say that it was the cramped space that smelled the worst, but it was actually him. We tried to get close to him, tried to tell him that he could stop, but none of us could handle the sheer…force of it, and we’d retreat back, eyes watering, coughing and hacking. In the end, it was Jules who managed to get close enough to touch him, and it was like he woke from a dream at the touch, and he stopped drawing the weights up, and looked around at us, confused by who we were, and what we were doing in there with him.

I started asking him questions, asking him who had locked him in here, how long he’d been in here, but he just stared back at me like nothing I was saying made any sense. I backed up a bit and just asked him his name. That one he thought about for a couple of moments, trying to get something to come up from the depths of his mind, but he just shook his head, a thick mane of hair spraying all of the officers around him with little beads of sweat. “I don’ know, I don’ know! I just…Master said to keep working out, so I…I have to keep going…”

There it was again: Master. Something stirred in me, when I heard him say it, the same thing that had stirred in me when I’d listened to how Bernard had talked about his rapist, both during the interviews, and during that broadcast. It was a zealotry. It wasn’t a name, or a title–the way they said it, it was like they were naming a god. I don’t know if it was the smell finally getting to me, or if it was the horror of it–I left the shipping container, went around the corner, and vomited.

Getting him to come with us was the next challenge. He refused to leave the container–Master had told him to keep exercising, and so, he was going to keep at it, for as long as he could, until Master came back and told him what to do next. We tried to remove him by force, but the scent of him was so strong, no one could get close enough to lay a hand on him–without even dealing with the fact that he was…huge. Seven feet tall was my guess, and packed with more muscle than I could really ever remember seeing on a man before. His hair and beard were grown long–years long, though I knew there was no way he could have been inside here for years (I had to believe there was no way he could have been in there for years, at least) and and his cock…even on his tall frame, the thing was monstrous, and nearly always half erect.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 2 (Part 1)

I suppose cold case is a bit misleading, but when I went back to look at the file later, after out conversation, it was a confusing mess of a situation. The victim, who came to visit me that day, was a young man named Marcus, though he’d been younger when the case had first come through the department, before I’d been added to the sex crimes unit here in the city. He was, according to the officers who had taken his statement, an extremely volatile and unreliable witness to his own assault, whatever it might have been. Over the course of several interviews, the story Marcus was telling kept shifting–at times it was a kidnapping, at other times a physical assault or mugging, or at others, a rape. The officers decided that there was nothing to pursue, because Marcus couldn’t actually be counted on to be clear about what, exactly, had happened that night, but Marcus had been persistent. For months, he’d kept coming back, harassing the officers, demanding the find him, that they had to find him, that he had to know who it was who had done this to him. Eventually, the officers had threatened to charge him with filing a false report, and he’d stop coming in. Now, I had the distinct pleasure of dealing with him.

As for what had happened to Marcus exactly, the basic details of the event were at least consistent. He had been out with some friends at a gay bar one Saturday night, late, and all of them had been drinking heavily. There was…an altercation of some sort, with someone, though the details of the figure were inconsistent. At times, Marcus would describe him as a rather unassuming man: short, thin, glasses, scruffy and quiet. At others, he was a hulk–taller than him, heavily muscled, pure black eyes, strong enough to pin him to the wall with one hand. As for what had happened exactly…well, Marcus claimed this man drugged his drink, and then followed him and his friends when they’d left the bar, not feeling well. The man had ambushed them in an alley, either mugging, assaulting, or raping Marcus, depending on which version he was telling, and then, when Marcus hit him in the head with a brick, he’d fled–or so he claimed. The place where he alleged the struggle had occurred had no signs of a struggle, and no bloody brick. His friends hadn’t been any help either, or at least the ones they could find. An odd case for sure. Something had happened to him, because there were pictures of him with wounds that didn’t seem self-inflicted, unless he was particularly masochistic, but whatever the real story was, Marcus either didn’t want the police to know it, or didn’t know what had happened himself, really.

In any case, I was deep in shit already, dealing with that insane interview and Bernard’s sudden disappearance, that this guy’s appearance at my desk, claiming to have a tip about the Bruiser, wasn’t really something I wanted to deal with at the moment, and so I was terse and impatient. It wasn’t until he shoved the pictures in front of me that he’d found on the internet, that I began to actually pay attention to what he was saying, especially when he threatened to take them to the news media instead.

Apparently, Bernard had possessed a side that few in the city knew much about, and one that none of us had uncovered during the investigation. In all honesty, most of our energy had been invested in trying to unravel the mystery of his shifting identity and volatile behavior, to do much digging into him and his past. Marcus, on the other hand, had, and the pictures only served to make everything more complicated. Bernard, it seemed, had been a rather common sight around the BDSM circles of the city, always as a sub, often involving himself in some scenarios that appeared…rather extreme in their execution. One photo stood out to me in particular, of Bernard–the old Bernard, from the photos and the identification, in the middle of a grungy basement, perhaps even the basement we had found him in, kneeling on the filthy floor, naked aside from a leather harness, a chastity cage, and a thick metal collar around his neck–not as large as the one he’d had on, but the parallels between the photo and the condition we had found him in were impossible to deny.

Was it some sex scene gone awry? Given the secure nature of Bernard’s work at a defense contractor, I doubted that he had much interest in this sort of compromising information getting out into the open, which would explain why he would avoid telling me about it when I interviewed him. But then why, if he was worried about secrecy, would he then go on TV, proclaim his love and devotion to his unnamed and unknown master and captor, and then disappear into the night? Somehow, the entire thing made even less sense than before, and when I pressed Marcus for details about where he had found this, and what he’d been doing looking for it, he refused to give me any background to them at all. Instead, he wanted to talk about his own case from years ago–because he was certain that the man who had done this to Bernard, was the same man who had assaulted him in that alley, raped him, and tried to kidnap him off to who knew where.

Was it plausible? Sure. Was I ready to accept that this rapist had been active in the city for years, doing who knew what to men this entire time, and somehow no one had even been aware that it was happening? I was definitely not. After all, I had assumed, up to this point, that the man who had placed the 911 call leading us to Bernard was the rapist, though I wasn’t entirely sure why he would do so. But if he’d been secretly active for years…it meant that not only was he much more skilled at this than I was ready to admit, but that there also had to be some reason he was making his crime public. Now, he wanted us to know about him–and that meant either that the guilt was finally breaking him (which, in my experience was unlikely) or things were about to get much, much worse.