Pigtown Prison (Part 6)

“Fuck Rod, you know I’ll do anything for you,” Keith said, “I’ll keep the fucker nice and safe.”

“Yeah, it looks like he already knows how to treat you right, boy–but I don’t really think that’s enough, do you? No–I think you owe me and the boys a little something tonight, don’t you? You ran out on us so quick before, we didn’t get a chance to play with you at all. Besides, no lawbreaker can go out in the real world looking all pretty like you do now–no, I think you’re gonna have to have a whole new look, just like Keith here,” Rod paused a moment, and crouched down so he could look Oliver in the eye, “But after tonight, Keith ain’t gonna remember anything about who he was, or who you were to him. You’re just going to be his worthless fucking prison slave, and he’s gonna be a hotshot motorcycle cop. But you–you’re gonna remember everything. You’re gonna have plenty of time to think about all of the mistakes you made, you fucker, and you’re never gonna have a chance to cross me ever again, I can promise you that.”

Rod spit in his face, and then grabbed Oliver by the collar and dragged him towards the back of the bar, into the dark rooms where countless men were waiting for them. He wasn’t prepared for it to hurt as much as it did, but Keith enjoyed watching every moment of it–his slave raped and tortured and changed by Rod and his men. It was payback–he knew it…but he found it harder and harder to recall what the fucker had actually done to him. In any case, it didn’t matter–Rod had sentenced him to life in prison (with a chance of parole, if Rod thought of some better fate for him later), and Rod was the boss, after all. It was shortly before dawn when he dragged the slave back out into the air, shivering and shaking and flinching at the slightest sound, naked aside from a heavy metal collar riveted shut around his neck, and a metal chastity cage around his cock, similarly sealed forever. Keith locked him in the trunk of his car and drove to a home Oliver had never seen before. In the basement, he found a fully equipped dungeon along with several prison cells–Keith shoved him in one and locked the door behind him, before marching back upstairs and abandoning Oliver in the dark.

It wasn’t until a few days later that Oliver finally had a chance to see what had happened to him in Pigtown. He…couldn’t recall much of it, beyond the excruciating pain Rod had put him through, the ants crawling just under his skin for what felt like hours. He lived in the cramped cell–really more of a cage–and only saw Keith twice a day when he was fed. At last, Master decided to take him out for a bit of play–he bent him over the horse and fisted him for close to an hour, before fucking his sloppy hole–and the whole time, Oliver could look in the mirror and see what had been done to him.

Gone were his twinky good looks and his lithe, muscular body. His arms and legs had shrunk, looking a bit stick like, and he’d grown a substantial gut where his tight abs had been at the beginning of the night. In contrast to his weakened body, the rest of his body had taken a thuggish turn–from the tattoos covering his body, to the nose that had been broken several times, and rehealed a bit more formless each time, to the teeth missing when he grimaced, and the head shaved completely smooth. But even the superficial toughness was a fraud–the tattoos, which from a distance looked like gang or prison tatts–were revealed to be nothing more than humiliating words and perverse images when studied up close. Looking at his new face, Oliver tried to push back, tried to deny it, but he could no longer recall who he’d been before all of this, before he’d been judged and imprisoned by his new masters. He looked like a prisoner, he looked like a criminal, someone unsavory and untrustworthy, and before too much longer, he’d even become convinced that this was who he was–truly. That he deserved this. After all, Master Rod was always right, and if Master Keith felt he deserved this, who was he to challenge him? They were law, they were order, and they were right.

He only left Master Keith’s home rarely, and even then, it was only so he could be taken to Pigtown–Rod liked to see him every six or eight months to check in on the slave’s progress, and to test out his holes, and to make sure Oliver still fully understood why he was in this situation at all. His loneliness was interrupted by Master Keith bringing other men into the basement, on occasion. Cops from the precinct who had accepted one of Keith’s invitations to go drinking and had ended up at Pigtown, where Rod twisted them into some pervy muscle slave for Keith’s other sick fantasies. Other lawbreakers Rod had decided needed a sentence in prison with his officer of the law, though they only stayed for weeks, or months, at the most–only Oliver was a full-time resident. As his harem of policemen and prisoners expanded, Keith used Oliver less and less, and soon, he found himself abandoned entirely, his cock achingly hard in its permanent cage. He should have been thankful the abuse was over, but now…now he craved it. He didn’t care how rough it was, he just wanted contact, he wanted someone to use him more than anything. Still, what he wanted no longer mattered; he’d broken the rules, and this was the price he would have to pay for the rest of his life.

Wait, pigtown is *a* bar? I always pictures it as multiple in a dingy part of a downtown area, where in its power leaks out into the nearby areas, creating a sort of “fog” that prevented people from seeing how perverse their environment was, until they reached the bar proper and it was too much to be hidden by any illusion. With like, different bars and run down shops with different bdsm themes and maybe a police station or two that has been corrupted.

Pigtown is a state of mind. Pigtown is a feeling. Pigtown fucks you up, no matter what it is.

But yes, one of the few constants about Pigtown is that it is centered around some sort of bar, and that bar is named “Pigtown”. Usually the bar is magical itself, but in the earliest instance of it, back in my first story, it was just a sleazy sex bar. The magic rarely extends beyond the doors of the bar itself, and Rod is generally confined to the bar proper–the exact relationship between the bar and Rod shifts from story to story, but they are usually linked in a rather intimate fashion.

The instances of Pigtown where anything happens beyond the bar proper are fairly new–only within the last couple of years has it appeared like that. As I said, the first version where that happened wasn’t even a story I’d written, but it was a caption done by a fan, @rbbrpigmen, but I liked the interpretation, and used a couple times myself. 

I don’t expect much world building, but I did see pigtown as a surrogate until city of bears returned, so I do like to see consistencies, even just a little.

I can appreciate that. I like to bring these settings back too, of course, or else I wouldn’t repeat them. But for me, it’s less about consistency, or continuing a constant story arc over time, than about creating new, different versions of things, and seeing how they grow in different directions.

I think that my favorite version of Pigtown isn’t even one of my own–it was started by @rbbrpigmen in some of his captions that he did on occasion, which treats Pigtown not as a bar, but as a city neighborhood with the bar at its center. It allows characters to pass through it, changed or not, and allows for a liminal space between the normal world and Pigtown which can expand or contract over time. I did a few takes of my own in that version of the setting, and I’ve been intending to write a longer piece of some sort using that as a jumping off point, but haven’t gotten the right inspiration to tackle it, beyond those few captions I did.

Pigtown Prison (Part 5)

CW: Rape

“You were telling the truth, weren’t you slut?” Keith asked as he reentered the room, “Because if Rod or I find out that was some fucking bullshit, you’re going to be wishing you’d never been fucking born.”

“Please, it wasn’t–it didn’t even work after I left the bar, please, just–I’m sorry, tell him I’m sorry,” Oliver said.

“Oh, don’t worry boy, you’ll get a chance to tell him yourself,” Keith said, “But first, don’t you want that fuck? That’s what started all of this, right? You wanted me to fuck you? That’s what I am now, someone who can fuck you nice and rough, like you asked for.”

“Please, I don’t want–”

“Who gives a fuck what you want? Interrogations always get me horned up–so you’re gonna get that fuck whether you want it or not.”

He unlocked the handcuffs holding Oliver to the radiator and dragged him into the bedroom, laughing at the small man’s attempt to free himself from his tight grip. He threw him onto the bed, pinned him down, and started forcing his cock into his ass, raw and unlubed. Oliver fought against it and tried to get away, but his fight only seemed to make the fuck better for Keith, who dragged him backward by the hips, impaling him on his massive shaft, inch by inch. Eventually, he gave up, and Keith climbed up, hammering into him, taunting him, checking underneath to see if Oliver was even getting hard–which he was, to Oliver’s own disgust.

“I guess you really do like it rough, you slut–is this really what you fucking wanted all along? Well, you only have yourself to thank for this, you know. The only reason I’m here is because you were stupid enough to think you could cross Pigtown and get away with it. Well don’t worry, slut–we have all night and day tomorrow to play. I’ll give you what you fucking need, plenty of it, and then we’re going to pay Rod a visit, eh? I think you have an apology to give the boss, don’t you?”

He wrapped one massive, hairy arm around Oliver’s throat and hauled him up. Oliver struggled for breath and arched his back as much as possible–his body was raised completely off the bed now, and with one thick hand, Keith reached around, gripped Oliver’s cock in one huge hand, and started tugging on it roughly in time with his own thrusts. He was…close, Oliver realized, and he found himself looking forward to an orgasm at least–but as he crossed over the edge, Keith gripped his cock hard, making him scream, his cum trickling out but ruining the orgasm completely.

“What, you thought you’d be getting another orgasm ever again? You fucking cunt!” Keith laughed, pounding in harder now, shoving Oliver down onto the bed and giving him the full length of his cock for another minute until he unloaded deep inside him. “Fucking whore–you’re mine now, and I’m going to payback the pain you put me through a hundred fold, just you fucking wait,” he said, pulling his cock free. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel Keith’s fist force its way inside him with a pop. He screamed again, but the night was young, and his new master was only just getting started.

It was around nine the next night, that Keith dragged a handcuffed Oliver down the steps and back into Pigtown. The previous day had seemed like they would never end. Keith’s new mind had a never ending capacity for abuse–he would transition seamlessly from fucking, to fisting, to torture and back again in sessions that stretched on for hours. Every time he saw Oliver’s cock rising thanks to the treatment, he would taunt and toy with him, and each and every time he had ruined his orgasm, leaving him shaking, sobbing and hornier than ever, even as exhausted as he was. He was allowed to rest a few times, but never for longer than a couple of hours, and always handcuffed to the bed. He thought about trying to escape…but he was terrified of what might happen if Keith caught him. He’d never met someone like this, and all he really wanted was for all of it to stop. He was thankful when Keith told him it was time to head back to the bar–no matter what Rod might do to him in there as punishment, he was somehow certain that it would be better than this–it had to be, right?

The bar was sparsely occupied when he stumbled in, but behind the bar Rod’s eyes lit up with excitement. “There you two are–I was getting worried.”

“No need to worry about me, boss,” Keith said, dragging Oliver over to the bar.

“You took care of the little shit’s magic whatever?”

“Sure did–some ring from his witch of a grandmother–had a ward of protection or something. Stopped working after he came in here though, and I smashed it for good measure.”

“Good to fucking hear,” Rod said, coming around the bar to where Oliver was standing, “So, what do you think? Is your old boyfriend everything you wanted him to be? You have a good time with him? It sure as fucking hell looks like he enjoyed the shit out of you boy, you look like a piece of shit.”

“Please–please, I’m sorry. I…I was wrong, please just let me go.”

Rod laughed, “Boy, get on your fucking knees.”

Oliver tried to resist, but the magic of the place, the compulsion in Rod’s words, brought him down, his face inches from Rod’s crotch.

“Now see? You broke the rules before, boy. You know what that makes you? It means you’re a lawbreaker. You know what happens to lawbreakers, right? Lawbreakers have to go to prison. And who better to keep an eye on a lawbreaker than a man of the law, like Keith here?” Oliver whimpered a bit, watching Rod massage his growing cock through the front of his grungy jeans. “Yeah–I like that idea a lot, don’t you Keith? You willing to keep an eye on this slut for me?”

I seem to recall you mentioning you were working on a twine text game a while ago. Am I going crazy, or did you actually say that?

I did say that! In fact, I posted a demo of it for all of my Patrons a couple of years ago, promising to finish it at some point, but I, uh, didn’t! Because follow through has never been my strong suit. That said, the demo is quite large, and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. You can access it with a pledge at any level here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/virtual-revenge-2667106

As for working on other twine stories, I’m still very interested in doing that, but it’s also very hard to find the time to do so, because these stories require a sizable investment of time/energy, much more than the standard story I put out. It’s also a bit difficult to come up with ideas that would be well served by that format that I’m interested in writing. On one hand, I don’t want to create a “character generator” story, where plot is thin, and mostly you’re just crafting a persona. But there has to be some space for reader interaction as well, or it’s just a regular old story. The demo I wrote struck a surprisingly good balance mostly by accident, and I’m not sure how to make it work again.

Then again, I’m so disappointed in Dream Daddy that I have thought about creating a dating/TF simulator of my own of some variety, but that’s still very, very far from any sort of realization.

Eh. I rather liked the recent pigtown series. To be quite honest with you (and I know the character might not be the same in each story) I was a bit flustered when it seemed like Rod had lost control. I rather like him (or them).

Rod is one of my oldest characters, and actually dates back to my first story, “Losing Control,” where he is the audience for the narrator of that story. Needless to say, I rather like him myself. If there’s a character I feel the most empathy and connection to, and who feels most like a direct authorial insertion, it’s probably Rod more than anyone else. 

In any case, different strokes, different folks. The commissioner loved it, so that’s what counts to me! There’s two more parts to come today and tomorrow, and then onto whatever’s next!

Aw. Dang, I was hoping we’d see some stronger world development for pigtown. The immunity ending up being a plot device really makes it feel hollow. I was personally rooting for a get away that leaves a bunch of moral grays and ambiguity that would change some future pigtown interactions.

Caveat: This story was a commission. That’s not me attempting to excuse myself, the ring plot point is a bit shoddy, but the point of the commission wasn’t to delve into Pigtown, so much as the TF of Keith, and his revenge on Oliver. The commissioner likes the Pigtown setting I use, and it made sense to use it here. 

But even then, Pigtown isn’t a world–there’s no internal logic to the place–it’s just a setting. It’s an entirely different place each time I use it. Each iteration has a few commonalities–it’s always owned and operated by a man named Rod, for instance–but beyond that there is no continuity here that you’re looking for.

That’s not say I don’t find the bones of your idea intriguing–not enough people escape Pigtown, in my opinion, and a setting with a 100% success rating becomes less interesting over time. But I don’t think you’re ever going to get “stronger world development” in my stories–it simply isn’t how I write. If anything, I actively avoid constructing worlds whenever possible–I prefer the flexibility a more fluid storytelling style offers.

Pigtown Prison (Part 4)

It was getting late, and Oliver was trying to figure out whether or not his gambit had paid off. He knew Keith had gotten to the bar and gone inside…but whether Rod had actually done as Oliver demanded…well, no one really knew what might happen once Pigtown got involved. Threatening him probably hadn’t been the best move either, especially because Oliver had been making threats he was no longer sure he could back up, should things go awry. The magic ring he’d gotten, the one which cancelled out magic around it, had…cracked after he’d gone to the bar the night before. Whatever magic Pigtown was running on, it was a whole lot stronger than the parlor tricks Oliver had been taught by his grandmother, and the trinkets gifted to him in her will. Still, whatever happened, he was never going to be setting foot in that place again–that would be way too much of a risk. In fact, he should probably skip town entirely, just to be safe.

He sent Keith another text, telling him he was probably just going to cancel tonight…but at this point, why was he even trying? If Keith had gone into the bar, it was too late for him anyway, regardless of whether Rod had followed through on the bargain or not. He felt…a bit bad, really, but he’d never liked Keith that much–he’d never been able to love Keith like he’d loved Oliver in return. He was about to get ready for bed when he heard a heavy knock on the door to his apartment.

“Open up! It’s the police!”

The voice was low and gruff, with a hard edge to it. Had…something happened to Keith? Oliver went to the door and opened it up, and found himself staring up at a man who might as well have stepped out of his wet dreams. At least six foot four, his wide framed packed with muscle and squeezed into a leather police uniform, all of it meticulously shined. “There you are, Oliver–I think the two of us need to have a word.”

Did he…know him? Oliver’s eyes flicked to the badge on the shirt, and the name engraved on it. Keith Lewis. His eyes went wide, unable to believe it–had…had Rod really bought it? Had he turned little twinky Keith into this…fucking monstrous brute, just for him? Before he could say anything, Keith put a gloved hand on Oliver’s chest and shoved him back into the apartment, Oliver struggling to keep his balance. Keith stepped in, shut the door behind him, and locked the door. “Keith, uh, I…guess you met…Rod?” Oliver asked.

“Rod? Yeah, I know Rod–he’s my boss now,” Keith said, cracking his knuckles in his gloves as he walked forward, “I know you too, Oliver…kind of. It’s a bit…fuzzy. But I know what you fucking need, and I have a fucking job to do. You have information I need, and I’ve found that the best way to get that sort of thing is…a little unpleasant, but necessary.”

He stepped up to Oliver, grabbed him, and shoved him up against the hallway wall, and then pushed his body against him, pinning him there. Oliver moaned, and started grinding his ass back against the leather clad officer, unable to believe it. Rod had actually done it! “Fuck, sir, you can do whatever you want to me, I fucking want you so fucking bad…”

“Yeah, I bet you fucking do,” Keith whispered in his ear, “You fucking slut–do you fucking know what you put me through? Do you fucking know how much it fucking hurt? I…I still feel it, you know, the fucking ache. I wanna hurt you like you fucking hurt me, but I don’t even know where to fucking begin…”

“Fuck me sir, fuck me and show me what a bad boy I’ve been.”

“Fuck you?” Keith said, laughing, “Oh no boy–see, that’s what you want me to do. I didn’t come here to give you what you want pig. I came here to teach you a fucking lesson, about fucking with the wrong fucking people.”

He grabbed Oliver by the hair, slammed his face into the wall, and then flung him to the floor, where he lay for a moment, stunned.

“As far as fucking you is concerned…fuck, you know what? I really do want to rape that tight fucking ass of yours. I wanna leave it a gaping, bleeding crater. But you know what I think? I think you might enjoy that too much, you fucking slut, so let’s call that a reward. You know what we’re going to do first, to deserve a reward like that? You’re going to tell me how you were able to resist Master Rod yesterday. He’s real curious about how you made that work, you see, and I don’t think I can see myself fucking you unless you get real helpful, real fucking quick.”

Oliver scrambled up to his feet and backed up down the hallway, staring at the door to freedom behind Keith’s massive frame. “Look, Keith…I’m sorry, alright? Just–we can talk this out.”

“Oh no–you ain’t sorry for nothing, Oliver, I could feel how fucking horny you got, rubbing against my big fucking cock–well fuck you, you fucking slut–you’re gonna fucking get what’s coming to you.”

Oliver made a break for the fire escape, but Keith tackled him before he could even get the window open, and dragged him over to the radiator, where he handcuffed him to the base. Over the next few hours, Oliver endured what Keith considered to be an interrogation–stripped of his clothes, and beaten, until he told Keith everything he could–about the ring, about his grandmother, about how he’d been planning on running–when Keith was satisfied he’d gotten the truth, or at least enough to satisfy Rod, he decided to give Oliver a rest, took his boot off the young man’s balls, and let him sob a sigh of relief. He went into bedroom, where Oliver had told him the ring was, and picked it up–to think, all of this shit was caused by such a small thing. He dropped the ring to the floor, and stomped on it, hearing the already cracked crystal shatter under his heel. Back in the living room, Oliver heard the sound, and guessed what had happened–whatever came next, he was at Keith’s–and Rod’s–mercy.