The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 3)

Cumster had heard me coming down the stairs, but hadn’t bothered to look over at me, and see me in my new skin. Confident, as always, but then, he didn’t know why the Bruiser, why my kin, had sent him to find me. To free me, yes, but he was also a gift, and that, he didn’t yet understand. Marcus saw me first, then, and when he saw me, he screamed. I don’t blame them for their terror, really, the law can be frightening to behold. I stepped to him, feeling strips of my skin unravelling into bonds, lashing out, tethering him to the floor in a matter of moments, keeping him on his knees there, mouth gagged, unable to move an inch. Cumster had stepped back with Marcus’ scream, and just watched as I bound him, and looked over at me, unable to understand what he was looking at. “You…what happened to you?” he stammered.

I could feel my once human body aching for his cum, as it had been trained, but that body was no longer…my entire being. Still, I did want him. I could see him so much better now, understand him. He tried to get away from me as I approached him, running my dark hands over his matter hair and sticky skin, feeling him shudder at the sensation. He looked at my eyes–and that was when he recognized me. “You’re…you’re like him, like Master, but…but what are you, you don’t smell like him…”

“I think it is time that you were entirely honest with me, Cumster,” I said. My voice…it sent shivers through everyone in the world, and Marcus moaned as an orgasm ripped through him, puddling between his knees on the floor. “Tell me about him, everything you know.”

He tried to knot his tongue and lips, but my word is as much the law as everything else I am–he couldn’t resist me. He picked up his story close to where he had ended it the night before. He couldn’t tell me about that night, the night that he had finally supplanted Steven, because he couldn’t quite remember it well himself. It was fragmented–the bruiser, the master, had finally spoken to him, then, told him he was ready to be unchained…and that night, he had thought he would die. The bruiser…beat him. Beat him, over and over, raped him harder than he had at any point before, and while Steven could feel himself dying, and weakening, and losing himself, someone else was rising up to the surface, and as he did, the brusier grew gentler–not loving, but nurturing, in a sense, helping Cumster grow free of the bits of Steven that remained around him, using them to fuel himself…and when it was done, Steven was dead, and Cumster was finally free. The recovery was rapid, despite everything–even his broken bones had mended, seemingly overnight, under the bruiser’s hands. But even after he was healed, he kept changing…growing from the remnants of that old life over the next several months, until he was finally free of the literal chains–because he no longer needed them.

The next several years were glorious–he fell in with a biker gang, allegedly straight, but soon they were using him as their communal cumdump, and the more they were with him, the dirtier they all became. He had that effect on everyone, he discovered–all they had to do was catch a whiff of his cum soaked body, and they would be adding their own loads to him before long. His physiology had changed in other ways–he no longer needed food, though he still enjoyed it. No–it was cum that sustained him, entirely. While his own could keep him alive, it never filled him–it was only the loads of other men that could keep him fully sated.

On occasion, master would find him. Cumster never could understand how he knew where he was, but he would serve him whenever he arrived, as thanks for the new life he had given him. Each time Cumster saw him, he would seem…different. Larger, more potent, but the change was so slight, he never realized it had been happening until prison. He’d been caught helping the gang run some drugs, and gotten a twenty year sentence–and it had been difficult. Thankfully, between his cellmate and the guards, he was able to keep up his diet, but beyond that, prison was misery. He wanted to roam, and ride…and being trapped in a cell was torturous for his soul…but somehow worse, was that master never came to see him there, not for years. Not, in fact, until four or so months before we received the 911 call that began all of this.

It was in the middle of the night, when he was awoken by one of his regular guards unlocking the door to Cumster’s cell–and he was in rough shape, with a black eye…and a very distinct hard on in the front of his pants. With him, was Master–but not as Cumster had known him before. He was…bigger. Purer, and the musk rolling off of him…Cumster was on his knees, servicing him, before the thought had barely formed in his mind…because no thought had formed, really. It was pure instinct overtaking him, as well as his cellmate and the guard, who fell into fucking along with them. Master finished quickly and without much fuss, covering Cumster in a massive load, and then shut the cell door behind them, leaving the guard in Cumster’s place, for the moment. They did a quick tour of the prison, to the warden’s office, and in short order Cumster was released, on the outside, and Master told him he had a job for him to do.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 2)

It slid onto me, and I tried to see it as my uniform, tried to find the creases and patches, the buttons and seams, but the surface was alien to me, and as it conformed to my flesh, it began to shift and change further. My skin…like a bruise, all over, until it was no longer a pink, or the dark navy of the cured skin, but rather something purple and red, the hairs pushing their ways through, my hands still black, but the fingers too long, the nails nearly claws. I could feel it climbing up my neck towards my face, but it stopped before overtaking me entirely. Instead, I could see dark veins running up into my cheeks and neck, like an infection, but I felt stronger than I had earlier in the restaurant, I felt complete. That, and my eyes. They were black–entirely black, and yet I felt like I could see everything.

All my life, ever since I was a child, I had felt…two things, but I had never understood them as things until that moment. On one hand, a darkness. It had clung to me for as long as I could remember. At times, it manifested as someone else. An imaginary friend, or someone I saw in dreams. I was convinced it couldn’t exist, and so, it didn’t, but it had clung to me all the same. Tied to that darkness, was an anger, or a longing, or a hole I longed to fill, but not a hole in me, but holes in the world around me. People…doing wrong, doing ill. Or at least, it was tied to right and wrong in me, but now I see that was far too simplistic of a notion. It wasn’t morality that I wanted to fix, it was them! It was them that was wrong! There were rules, and laws…my rules and laws, they ought to have obeyed me, all of them, always, and if I had just listened earlier, if I had just listened.

I don’t look human, anymore. I think…I could, if I tried, if I…focused, but it feels too good, being together again, that I don’t want to, not yet. It feels better to be me at last, to remember everything that I am, and everything that I can do, to be able to hear myself fully at long last, to hear the law, feel it thrumming inside me. It was then, with my skin on, that I felt confident enough to confront whoever it was who had invaded my house. I checked the upper floors first, but nothing seemed to be missing or out of place. The same with the ground floor–though when Jules saw me, in the kitchen…he began to scream through the leather gag I had forced around his mouth. I ignored him–I’d brought him back to get information from him, to try and find the rapist, but I realized, with my skin on…that I could feel him, because we were the same. The same kind.

But he had claimed Jules, or rather, Jules had been claimed by one of his disciples, and so he wasn’t mine to have…though I could imagine plenty that I could do him. Still, any information he would have was rather unimportant–there were bigger questions I needed answers to now, and I imagined it was time to get them from the one person I knew who had them.

At the basement steps, I heard the moans coming from below, and realized what must have happened. My prisoner must have taken care of the intruder on his own. I stepped down into the basement, and saw what I began with–Marcus, on his knees in front of Cumster, licking at the biker’s cock where he was still handcuffed to the pipe on the wall, naked. Marcus’s balls were…engorged, much as mine had become, but then, that was what Cumster did, and he did it well. Such…a simple creature. I could see now, deeper inside him, how that singular drive had been nurtured and grown to eclipse all else inside him, like ivy choking out a tree until all you could see were vines. Overgrown, though. In need of a pruning, and a shaping. In need of law.

Marcus, I could understand him better as well, and Bernard too–what kind they were. The drive was there, but the material was lacking. A brick of clay that desired to become a sword. There was no helping men like this–they couldn’t sustain the form of what they most desired, and so there was nothing the bruiser could do for them. They lacked a solid will, and with no where for it to live, no law could shape them, and so there was little that I could do either. This, in some ways, was the closest they could get–well, there were things I could do to alleviate the misery, I realized, and perhaps it would be a kindness, in the end. After all, what kind of life could there be, knowing you had been rejected by us? Finding out that, after all of your searching and desperation, that your nature was such that you had failed before you had even begun to live? It was no wonder, they searched for him after he abandoned them (I don’t blame him for abandoning them, for no amount of explaining, no words can really articulate the loss, and the sorrow we feel as well) because how could you get so close, how could you think you had finally found your salvation, the hammer to shape you on the anvil of punishment, only to be tossed away for imperfections you couldn’t help? I do hope Bernard found some solace in a Master, somewhere. Marcus, in the end, had to be helped in other ways.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 1)

I…stepped down into the basement, where Marcus and Cumster were, and I saw their eyes when they saw me, when they saw the law coming for them, and…

No–I want to get to the basement, because what happened down there eclipsed everything else that had happened to me so far, but that didn’t happen yet. But everything is too hard to recall now, because time…time is so slippery now? It didn’t feel like that before, but now everything around me is sliding about, and all I want to do is anchor, strap it down, pin it like some butterfly in a display case. I’ve been missing for so long, I’ve allowed so much chaos out into the world, and nothing is ordered. The law has been forgotten by these mortals, if they ever knew it, if they ever could have abided it. I was so much more than I ever thought I could be, I was so blind.

So yes, the basement happened, but not first. First, the house was broken into, I didn’t know by who then. The fear I felt…I couldn’t name it. I had just done some strange, indescribable battle with some nightmarish beast, but never had I felt fear then. But knowing that my house had been violated, and that my skin had been there, unguarded–skin, that’s what it is now, not what it was, or it was, but I didn’t know how to wear it. My uniform was there, the uniform I had peeled away after my night with Cumster in the basement, after I had begun to stir at last, after so long, and I’d not even known what it was! My own skin!

I remember binding Jules in the kitchen, and then didn’t spare him another thought, as I raced up to my room, throwing open my closet, and I don’t think I breathed until I saw in hanging there, where I had left it like some fucking fool, and I knew that before anything else, before finding the person who had violated my home, I need it on me, the uniform, though it didn’t even look like a uniform anymore, not really.

The navy had darkened–not to black, but to some bottomless blue, the ocean so deep down it gets only scraps of light. I touched it with my gloved hands, felt the rubber like texture, but what sent a shiver up my arms was realizing that it was warm. It was…alive, it was a skin. My skin. My true skin, the skin of the thing inside me, the thing that had been sleeping, that is, me. It can’t be written, what we are. What we always have been. Maybe before, I could have described it, but I’m too close to it now, I can’t get the distance I would need to distinguish us.

I tore off the clothes I was wearing. Tore them–I didn’t bother undressing myself, I knew I would never need them again–and only left on my boots and my gloves, which I couldn’t have taken off, even had I wanted to. They are my skin too–I could see how, after wearing them for just a few hours, they had already begun to fuse into the other flesh below. It was why I could…feel everything through the palm of my gloves, like there was no barrier at all–because now there truly isn’t one. I tried to pull the shirt and pants apart, but they refused to part–in the closet, they had joined together into a single piece of skin, but the chest was still undone, allowing me to step into the legs and pulling everything else up around me as a single piece. The fit was tight, but not uncomfortable–rather, as soon as it was on me, I found it hard to believe I had ever even removed it. The idea of ever taking my skin off just seemed incomprehensible, and the fact that I was already thinking of the uniform as a skin disturbed me, because I was still, am still, I suppose, trying to fight this.

I kept it at bay for so long, inside me. I don’t know how I did it, how I quelled it. The Bruiser couldn’t keep it in, obviously–now that I know, now that it’s out and a part of me, I understand all of it better, I suppose, but it took Cumster to fill in the rest of the gaps–once he understood who I was, exactly…because my fellow had not been entirely honest with him, about whose den he was walking into. I was gentle though–I can be, at times. The law is firm, but obeying it need not be arduous, if you only live it inside you.

Live it inside you, what sense is that even? You reading this will never understand it in full, but I write it anyway. Find me, if you want to know, really know, what this is. If this tale fills you with a quaking need for me, if you know something inside you is…twisted, you know what I mean, if this is you. I can right you, I can order everything about you, all of your life will feel purpose driving you to the fate you should have had. He frees, that is all he knows how to do. Sees the desires inside you, the ones you can’t bare to follow, and unshackles you from your own doubt and terror. I’m different. We are all different, in our own ways. Choice is meaningless, when one has the law inside you. My law is strict, but living it feels like the most natural state in the world, once it has settled in your guts.

A Tender Heart (Story Suggestion) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

This suggested flash fiction is a bit softer than my usual stuff. If you’re a fan of the more romantic side of things, and you’re supporting me with at least one dollar a month, check it out! Also, I’m still low on ideas this month, so if there’s something you’d like to see, throw me a buck, and you can get your idea written!

A Tender Heart (Story Suggestion) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Spook Mart (Part 1) [Interactive]

For this next round of interactive, I would like to do a few mini stories, all of them Halloween based! In each chapter, we’ll meet a character with a Halloween related problem, solved by our mysterious store, Spook Mart. Once the purchase is made, we’ll fast forward and see how that choice plays out on Halloween night. Once each small story concludes, we’ll return to the shop, set up a new story, and continue on. I have three planned, but if a fourth occurs to me, or if I get bored, I’ll move onto something else, as I tend to do anyway.

It’s september, and that means that every vacant storefront in every strip mall all across the country have all be converted into Halloween stores–at least until November. For some, it’s a sign of the season, a reason to get excited about the first big holiday of the fall and winter–for others, they come too soon, and signal the end of summer. But this year, in this small town, a new store has opened up–not that anyone ever remembers the names of these shops from year to year. Spook Mart–rather ramshackle, perhaps, but the proprietor swears by his products, and promises that if you use his wares, you’ll have a holiday like nothing else.

That, it turns out, is exactly what Miles Jarvis wanted–a holiday like no other. Well, he would settle for any version of the holiday that was better than his neighbor’s, Raphel Williams. They had a running contest to deck out their homes for each holiday, and lately, it had become an arms race, with giant inflatables, and huge animatronics–it was costing Miles a small fortune, and he knew it was ridiculous, but he…needed to be the best at…something for once. Goodness knows, his mediocre life, and mediocre family, and mediocre job didn’t give him much room for excellence.

He’d gone to Spook Mart, hoping that, since it was new, he might be able to swoop in and nab anything interesting before his neighbor could–but inside he was rather…unimpressed. The aisles of decor offered the same usual tripe–tombstones, skeletons, cobwebs, spiders–nothing impressive enough to beat out Raphael, at least. Before he could leave, however, the owner came up and started chatting with him, asking him what he was looking for, and Miles started talking about the competition…and the owner’s eyes lit up.

“Oh! Well, I doubt this aisle will excite you much then–this is all rather basic. However, I do offer a decorating service through my business, and I must say, the results are always…well, rather unbelievable. A full makeover of your whole property, top to bottom. The crew arrives Halloween day, fixes you up, and tears it down the next day for you–no pressure at all.”

Miles was hesitant at first. For one thing, he…kind of considered it to be cheating, to hire someone to do all the work for him, but the owner was…persuasive, took him back to his office, and showed him a flipbook of what he had to offer. When Miles saw the pictures…well, if the man could deliver this sort of thing for his own house, well, he’d beat Raphael, guaranteed! The prices weren’t even as bad as he was expecting, either. In the end, he chatted with the owner for a bit, chatting about what theme he’d like for his property this year. Once he settled for one, he signed the contract, and whistled his way out of the store. He…didn’t have to do anything at all now, and he wouldn’t breathe a word of it to Raphael–he’d let his neighbor let his guard down, and then, surprise him on the day with something he wouldn’t be able to believe was even real.

But which package did Miles decide on?

Deliverance Package – Rednecks, swamps, gators, and other dangers around each corner.
Inferno Package – Send your visitors on a trip to hell, with demons, ghosts and other punishments from beyond.
Mad Science Package – Let one of our resident mad scientists turn your house (and possibly your neighborhood) into their lab for the night!
Roswell Package – A strange craft has crashed into your home, and the visitors are not…particularly friendly.

Here’s the standard poll!

Here’s the patron only poll!

Voting ends on Wednesday!

The Kingsford County Line (Part 9)

This is the end of the story as far as I ended up writing it–sorry again for the odd update schedule, life, etc. I’ll have some bonus posts tomorrow to make up for the gap.

The credits for the movie rolled. There were six actors, and all of them were naked, with Logan thought was very funny. The movie started, and an older man close to Grandpa’s age, and his grandson were in a bedroom together. The grandpa was tucking his grandson in…and Logan felt such a longing, when he looked at the grandson, at his chubby, smooth body; his small peepee; his short stature. That was what he’d wanted to see in the mirror, when he climbed out of the tub, that’s what he felt he should look like. The grandpa kissed his grandson goodnight, but then they started kissing longer, and the boy asked his grandpa why his peepee had gotten hard, and so the grandpa showed his grandson how good peepees can make you feel. In the room, Edgar had wrapped his arms around Logan, pulling him close to him, rubbing his belly as Logan stared at the screen, rapt in faascination, and Edgar reached around and started rubbing Logan’s peepee again, making him shiver and moan.

The movie kept going. Soon, the grandpa put the grandson’s peepee in his mouth, and the grandson did the same. Then, the grandpa pushed his grandson onto his belly, climbed up, and put his peepee in the boy’s hole. When he saw that, Logan laughed, boucning up and down on the edge of the armchair. “I knew it!” he exclimed, “I knew you could do that with a peepee!” he leaned back, and looked at his grandpa with a suddenly serious expression, “Grandpa, I want you to put your peepee in my butthole, like that grandpa’s doing there.”

“Goodness boy, are you sure? Your grandpa’s awfully big, and you’re awfully tight.”

“I don’t care! Do it, I want to make your peepee feeel good.”

“Then you need to get it wet first. You remember what that grandpa told his grandson? Like a lollipop, but no teeth?”

“Yeah! I can do it…”

Logan wrenched himself out of his grandpa’s arms and got on his knees in front of him, licked his lips a few times, and then gave it a try, sucking on his Grandpa’s peepee as hard as he could, listening to him moan, knowing he was being such a good boy. With one hand, he reached back and started pressing on his hole, already so excited to feel his grandpa’s big peeepee in there…it was going to feel so good!

“Alright…alright, it’s wet enough,” Grandpa moaned, now get back up on my lap, and sit on my cock, boy.”

“Cock? I thought it was a peepee.”

“Boys like you have peepees, but grandpas and daddies have cocks.”

“O-Oh. Ok.”

It was the first thing he’d done in grandpa’s trailer that hurt, but he didn’t care, because after a minute, it felt so good he didn’t mind the pain, bouncing up and down on his grandpa’s cock, while grandpa rubbed Logan’s peepee. Logan groaned, and some strange white stuff sprayed out of his cock, shooting across the room. “Oh you fucker, you made a mess,” Edgar said, “Such a naughty dirty boy…”

“Oh…Oh, I’m sorry grandpa!”

“Heh, you can’t even stop yourself, came in here, and look at you now, just a boy desperate for grandpa’s cock. Been lonely for a long time boy–decades. I don’t get out much, and I’ve only seen a visitor after someone else has claimed ‘em, but you’re mine, you’re mine, and you’re gonna make me so fucking happy…”

Grandpa shoved Logan off his cock, sneding his boy sprawling across the carpet, but before Logan could do anything, Grandpa was on top of him again, ramming his cock deep, but now it really did hurt. Now, it wasn’t making him feel that good at all, and he started crying.

“Shut up! You think this is bad, heh, I can only imagine what those nasty fucks are doing to that nephew of yours. You should be thanking me–you’re going to have a good life here, keeping me happy. You’ll understand soon enough…”

The pain was bringing back other memories, and he remembered Tyler in that trailer, with those rednecks. What…what was he doing here? How much time had he wasted, and why…why was he letting his grandpa fuck him like this, and why was he enjoying it so much. He kicked and screamed, and managed to crawl away from grandpa, stumbling up. “No! No, I have to help Tyler. I have to call the police.”

“Heh, you should worry about yourself–not get back over here, before you make grandpa angry, boy.”

Fuck. Fuck, he didn’t want to make grandpa angry, but…but he needed to get help. He needed to get away from here, but he didn’t have any clothes, he didn’t have anything. He looked back towards the bedroom, but he’d never make it–all he could do is take a chance. He bolted for the door, slamming it open, and hit the ground running, and didn’t dare look back, not even when Grandpa screamed at him from the doorway, not even when his heart ached with guilt and shame, not even when he hit the edge of the trailer park and turned back the way he’d come. This place was insane, and he had a feeling he was going to be in so much trouble with grandpa when he got back home.

The Kingsford County Line (Part 8)

Sorry again for all the missed posts, and the double posts after the fact! Things are settling down (a bit) so hopefully the consistency will be back soon.

As he crept through the park, he began to realize how foolish this had all been–he hadn’t even let Howard know what was happening. He pulled out his phone, but the screen was cracked, probably from his fall off the truck, and he hadn’t been able to get service all day anyway, so it would have been next to usless working. All he’d really done is get equally lost himself–it wasn’t like he could just whisk himself back to the gas station–no, what he needed to do, first, was find that damn truck, and then find the police, and put these sickos where they belong.

The trailer part was structured around a loop, and at the back end of the gravel road, he spotted it–they had come in here, and they were probably in that trailer right next to it. Part of him wanted to investigate further, and see if he could save his nephew himself, but getting help wwould probably be a better idea, as much as he might want to be the hero. Should he knock on a neighbor’s door, or might they be in on whatever was going on? Without a phone, his options would seem to be, either, to ask to use someone’s and risk it, or to try and find the police station in town, wherever it might be. The first would save time–and who knew what those two might be doing with Tyler–but the second was probably safer. Still, he needed to figure out what was going on as quickly as possible, so he chose a trailer a little ways back which had seemed to be fairly well maintained, with the lights on, walked up to the door, and knocked.

“Just a minute!” a voice cried, male, sounding aged, and after a few moments, the door swung open, and on the other side of the screen door, wearing his a pair of boxers, was a man slightly older than Logan himself. He had a prominent gut, but the rest of him looked rather feeble and unthreatening, with a thick, but neatly trimmed white beard, glasses, and a small pipe tucked in the corner of his mouth, putting off a sweet scent that immediately set Logan at ease. but he seemed rather surprised at the sight of Logan, “Oh! Do I…know you? Don’t see out of towners around here very often.”

This, he thought, is a man I can trust. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but this is an emergency. I’m on a road trip with my brother and my two nephews, and while we were gassing our van, the two rednecks who live a few trailers down from you–they kidnapped one of my nephews! I…I followed them by riding on the back of their tow truck, as crazy as that sounds, but I need to call the police right away–do you have a phone I can use?”

“Oh my goodness, that does sound serious–yeah, Skip and Pa can be such troublemakers, I know just who you’re talking about, and we’ll get everything sorted out. I’m sure they don’t mean the boy any harm, though. Now come in, the phone’s inside. My name’s Edgar.”

“Thanks, Edgar. I’m Logan,” he said as the older man opened the screen and pushed it open for him, and as he climbed the stairs into the trailer, Edgar blew a could of pipe smoke right in his face, making him cough.

“Oh goodness Logan, I’m sorry about that–I smoke so often I forget I have it in my mouth sometimes.”

“It’s…it’s fine,” Logan said, clearing his throat, “I don’t really mind it that much, actually. In fact, it smells really…kind of sweet.”

“Oh, I’m too old to smoke the rough stuff anymore–sweet and young and soft, that’s what I like these days, you know?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Oh, now what did you do to your arm, boy?”

Now that he could get a better look in the dim light of the trailer, Logan figured that his earlier assessment that everything was fine might have been a bit hasty. There were no deep cuts, but his arm was covered in blood. “I…I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, and your face,” Edgar said, graabbing Logan’s chin in his hand and turning it towards him, Logan getting another face full of smoke in the process. “Did Skip do that to you?”

“No, it was…the older one.”

“I keep telling you to be careful around him, and you just don’t listen–well we’ll get you cleaned up, alright? Now get out of those clothes, they’re filthy, they have to be washed.”

“I-I think I really just need to use your phone…”

“The clothes, boy–you can use the phone later, but I won’t have those filthy rags getting my trailer filthy, and then you’re going to have a bath.”

Logan thought about protesting, but it was Edgar’s trailer, and he did want to be polite. He pulled off his shirt, doing his best to get catch the fabric on his bloody arm, his shoes and socks, and then dropped his pants, and without really thinking about it, he took off his underwear as well. Tsking, Edgar gathered up the pile of laundry and disappeared into the back of the trailer with them, leaving Logan naked, and feeling rather uncomfortable. He looked around, and saw the phone hanging on the wall in the kitchenette…but he really should ask permission first, shouldn’t he? He looked around the trailer a bit more, which was clean and rather spartan, though everything exuded softness, from the overstuffed armchair in front of the small TV, to the cushions on the chairs at the table, and he breathed a sigh of ease, the tension and terror that had been gripping him releasing slowly. His clothes were filthy, and a bath did sound wonderful, especially since all he’d had lately were low water pressure showers in grungy motel bathrooms. Tyler…he could wait a bit, right? Edgar hadn’t made it sound like he was in grave danger or anything.

He heard the sound of water running, and Edgar appeared again. “The tub’s filling up, now let’s take a look at that arm. Come here, over by the sink and we’ll see what that boy did to you.”

Logan followed him over, Edgar inspecting his arm under the light, before taking a fluffy washcloth and going to work, getting most of the dried and caked blood off. Like Logan had thought, it wasn’t as bad as it looked–but it was pretty bad all the same, with much of his forearm scraped away. Edgar didn’t say much, just smoked his pipe, pushing the smoke in Logan’s direction each time, watching his visitor inhale it now, a bit hungry for it, though Logan didn’t notice that the sweet smell was growing more and more appealing to him. When the worst of it was off his arm, Edgar turned his attention to Logan’s face, wiping the blood from where his lip had split, feeling the swelling there, watching him wince, though…his touch was still so gentle, just like the room around him, and Logan almost didn’t mind the fact that his touches brought a bit of pain–he…he just wanted Edgar to touch him, and…and be close to him. His cock had grown hard, but he hadn’t paid it any mind, but the old man saw it, and smiled. “Come on, boy–let’s get you in the bath.”

That was the second time Edgar had called him that. It was…strange, that he’d call him that, but he’d missed the chance to tell him to not call him that the first time, and now, his words felt so soft, he worried that if he asked him not to call him that, he might injure the old man. He was…so kind, and gentle. Logan didn’t want to do anything to upset him, of course. He followed him into the steamy bathroom, a large tub about half full of water. “Alright, get in and let’s get you all cleaned up.”

The water was hot, and bubbly–obviously Edgar had put something in to make it froth this much, and the room smelled sweet–kind of like his pipe smoke, but more bubblegum. It didn’t seem very appealing, but once Logan had settled down in the water, he gave a little gurgle of pleasure, He hadn’t taken a bath in ages–in his mind, baths were for kids, or something you did at spas, or something. Of course, his bachelor pad only had a shower, so it wasn’t like he could take a bath even if he wanted one. Still, this was…nice. In the back of his mind, he felt like he was getting off track. What about Tyler? He still needed to call the police, and tell them what had happened, or call the gas station, and try and get in touch with Howard, Jeremy or Dave. But all he really wanted to do was sink under the water for a bit. After all, it was just a bath. He knew where Tyler was, and he probably wasn’t going anywhere soon.

Edgar got down on his knees next to the bath, and picked up a big sponge and dipped it in the foamy water, before pushing Logan forward and starting on his back. “There we go, let’s get my boy nice and clean.”

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of washing myself…you don’t have to…to help.”

“I know, you’re a big boy who thinks he can take care of himself,” Edgar said, but he didn’t stop, and Logan didn’t press the point, because…because he liked having the man touch him. That seemed…odd. Logan had never really liked being touched, but everytime his instincts told him to cringe, when the older man touched some other place, he instead felt…good. Soft, and good. “Alright, let’s shampoo that hair–close your eyes, you don’t want to get any in there.”

Logan obliged, squeezing his eyes shut tight while Logan massaged the soap into his scalp, telling him he was being such a good boy, and so patient, even thought Logan was squirming a bit, wanting to open his eyes, but he’d keep him shut, because…because he’d said so, because he didn’t want to disappoint him, right? Edgar took a small glass and used it to rinse the soap from Logan’s hair, and told him how good of a boy he was, keeping the soap out of his eyes, and…and Logan heard himself giggle.

He flung his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. What the hell was that? Edgar just laughed and rolled with it, soaping down his shoulders and front, running the sponge under the water over his belly and under his arms, which again, made Logan giggle. “That…that tickles!”

“Oh? Is someone a bit ticklish?” Edgar said, and pushed his hands into Logan’s armpits, wiggling his fingers, making the grown man lose himself in a spasm of giggles and sqirms, water splashing everywhere as they both laughed, the room full of smoke and steam, “No, Edgar! Stop!” he said.

“Call me grandpa, and I’ll stop!”

“No! That’s…that’s silly, you aren’t my…my grandpa!” Logan managed to stutter out in the midst of the man tickling him, but his chest and jaw hurt from laughing, “Alright! Alright, grandpa, stop! Grandpa!”

“Haha, that’s my good boy,” Edgar said, pulling his hands away, letting Logan catch his breath, still giggling a bit, smiling wide up at Edgar. “Alright, now get on your knees in there, let grandpa wash the rest of you up, boy.”

*

“Ok,” Logan said, and repositioned himself on his knees in the tub, and Edgar sponged him lower, around the outside of his thighs, his butt cheeks, and then the inside of his thighs, which made Logan shiver again.

“Ticklish?” Edgar asked., setting his pipe to the side with his free hand.

“N-No…no, just…funny, grandpa…”

“Funny good, or funny bad?”

“Funny…funny good.”

Yeah, that’s a good place, isn’t it? Your peepee?” Edgar asked, sponging Logan’s hard shaft under the water, then under to his balls, and between his thighs.

“Really good Grandpa, feels really…good…” Logan sighed, humping his cock into the sponge.

“Do you like how Grandpa makes you feel? How grandpa makes you feel good and soft and clean and happy?”

“Y-Yeah, grandpa, you make me feel really good, oh…oh grandpa…”

“That’s a good boy, my good, good boy,” Edgar said, letting the sponge float to the surface, wrapping one hand around Logan’s cock, stroking it slow, his other hand slipping under the water and around behind him, between his cheeks, lightly pressing against Logan’s ass, listening to his groan. “Do you want Grandpa to make you feel super extra good, boy?”

“Y-Yeah…” Logan moaned, a quiver of doubt in his voice, not quite sure what he was doing or why, but he didn’t want to stop. “Grandpa, why…I don’t…”

“Shush boy, everything’s fine, you’re happy and safe with Grandpa, I promise. Give Grandpa a kiss.”

“W-what?”

Give Grandpa a kiss.”

Edgar leaned over the tub, locking lips with his boy, and his doubts caved after a moment, Logan turning towards him as he humped into his grandpa’s hand, letting his grandpa shove his tongue deep in his mouth. It tasted of smoke, and was so soft, he didn’t notice that grandpa’s finger had slid into his ass until the pleasure surged through him like a bullet. “Oh…Oh Grandpa!” he cried into the older man’s mouth, but it was too late, he was shaking and cumming, spraying his cum into the bath water. They kept kissing a few minutes, until Logan had come down from his pleasure, Grandpa’s finger still probing his ass, and Edgar pulled his hands out, wiping them with a cloth, before picking his pipe up again. He took a deep inhale of smoke, and kissed him again, feeding him the smoke straight this time, and it was like Logan had never breathed fresh air before, the way he sucked it from his lungs. After a minute of sharing their air, they pulled away, both of them panting.

“I…love you, grandpa.”

“I love you too, boy…but we should get the rest of you cleaned up.”

“But….but I want…I want you to make me feel good again, like that.”

Edgar chuckled. “I’ll tell you what–let’s finish your bath, and then we can watch a movie that’ll make us both feel good.”

“Movies can make you feel good?”

“You’ll see. Now sit back down, and lift up a leg so I can wash it.”

The rest of the bath proceeded largely without incident, aside from another tickle attack on Logan’s feet, which again sent him into spasms of giggles and laughter, water flying everywhere as he kicked and splashed, but finally they finished, drained the bath, and Logan stood and climbed out, but froze when he saw his reflection.

“Grandpa? Why…I look…” he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. What he saw was…how old he looked. With his grey hair, and wrinkled face. His sagging gut and tits covered with hair. His goatee and receding hairline. That…that was what he’d always seen in the mirror, sure, but…somehow, looking at himself, he saw just how many years he’d put on, without even noticing, and…and he hated it, but that wasn’t quite right. After all, he loved how grandpa looked, he looked…looking at him made Logan really happy, in that good way, in the way that made his peepee hard, but that wasn’t how he wanted to look! That…that wasn’t how grandpa wanted him to look either, he bet. “Why am I so ugly?”

“Oh, don’t worry about how you look right now, you’ve had a rough day–all you need is your beauty sleep,” Edgar said, as he started towelling Logan down from head to toe, paying special attention to his boy’s peepee, of course, his boy leaning against him, feeling how soft and comfortable his grandpa was, how much he loved being close to him, how much he loved touching, and being touched by him. “Now, we were going to watch a movie, right?”

“Yeah…but…”

“What?”

“There was…Wasn’t there something else I needed to do?”

“Like what?”

Logan searched his head, trying to remember, but couldn’t. “I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it–just let grandpa take care of the hard stuff, alright?”

“Ok, sounds good, grandpa. But what movie are we watching?”

“Oh, it’s one of my favorites–I’ve watched it lots of times.”

“Really? What’s it about?” Logan asked, as they went back into the living room.

“It’s about a grandpa and a grandson who love each other very much, and who love making each other feel good and special.”

“Kind of like us!” Logan exclaimed, with a laugh.

“Exactly like us! That’s why I know you’re going to love it.”

Grandpa put the video in the player, and turned on the TV, then went over and sat in the armchair. “Now come on boy, come sit in grandpa’s lap, and let’s watch together.”

Logan sat down between his grandpa’s legs on the chair, and felt his grandpa’s peepee poking him in the butt, but he didn’t mind…thinking about his grandpa’s finger in his hole, and how good that had made him feel…maybe…maybe that’s what peepees were for…even? He felt like he should know that, and yet the idea felt so staggeringly revolutionary to him, that even if that wasn’t what peepees were for, he…he kind of wanted to try it anyway.

The Kingsford County Line (Part 7)

Damn it, he’d been sleeping hard too. As much as Logan enjoyed these treks with his brother and nephews, he had to admit that it was hard getting a decent sleep at the various tiny motels and campgrounds were they had been staying, especially as he was getting older. Howard–he’d only turned fifty-five last year, but Logan had just turned sixty-one, and he felt every damn year in his back right now. He didn’t know how Howard did it, keeping up with these two boys. Two weeks was plenty for him, and he wanted to strangle one, or both. The eternal bachelor, Logan had dated serially for a couple of decades, until he was about fourty, and then he’d resigned himself to the fact that he much preferred his own company to anyone else–particularly women. It wasn’t that he wasn’t straight by any means. No, Logan took several trips a year to Vegas where he had a few paid relationships with women of his choosing, but the thought of settling down just seemed exhausting. Sure, he felt a paternal desire every once in a while, but these road trips were generally enough to sate it, squash it, or a bit of both.

He resettled himself in the back of the van, wondering what exactly Tyler had been so upset about. The kid usually had a pretty level head on him–maybe not as level as his older brother, but they were both good, solid kids. But he’d seemed…genuinely scared of something, but who knew what, exactly. It wasn’t like he scared easily either, so maybe there really was something going on out there. He sat up in the van, in time to see some big, fat trailer trash looking fellow come out of the building with a case of beer under his arm. He walked over to the tow truck parked beside them and put the beer inside, and then did the strangest thing–he sniffed the air a few times, licked his lips, and headed back towards the station, this time going around the side, where Tyler said Dave had gone, and where he assumed Tyler had followed. Still, everything was probaby fine, he supposed–untl he saw that burly redneck along with another, younger version of him proping Tyler between them…and Tyler looked like he was stoned or something. He crawled forward in the van, expecting them to bring his nephew there, but instead they kept going to the tow truck, where they shoved Tyler into the cab.

Ok, so something was definitely wrong. He threw open the door and got out of the car, and said, “Hey! What the hell are you doing with my nephew?”

The two rednecks looked over at him, and the younger one said, “Don’’ fuckin’ worry ‘bout it man–ya should probably be worryin’ ‘bout yourself, anyway.”

“Tyler? Tyler!” He shouted, “Get the hell out of there!”

The big redneck slammed the tow truck’s door shut, and he could see Tyler looking at him from inside, his face still slack and confused, but why wasn’t he trying to get away or anything? Logan rushed the two as fast as his old body would let him, hoping to get past them to the door, but he lost his momentum as soon as he got a good whiff of them–they stank to high heaven, he didn’t think he’d ever smelled anyone as foul before, and he came up short, eyes streaming tears, nose on fire, and so the big redneck’s windup punch to his jaw caught him completely off guard, sending him stumbling back and down onto his ass, coughing and sputtering and trying to recover his footing and get that awful funk out of his nose.

“Damn, nice punch, Pa,”

“Thanks son–now let’s git the hell out a here ‘fore he git’s up.”

The son ran around the truck and got in the passenger side, his dad crammed himself behind the wheel–Tyler squished between them. The engine rumbled to life just as Logan got his footing back, stumbling slightly, and before he could think twice about it, he rushed the truck and threw himself onto the back, clinging to the winch equipment for dear life as the tires squealed, caught the rough asphalt, and the truck flew off down the road with Logan clutching on like a feeble barnacle.

He knew this was suicidal–what the hell had he been thinking? He sure as hell couldn’t do anything about it now, though, the truck rocketing through the night along the highway. It felt like they were going a hundred miles an hour, even though he knew that couldn’t be true, and after half an hour his fingers were beginning to tire, he was shivering in the wind, and was happy to see they were finally entering something like a town. He managed to hang onto the side until the truck took a sudden right turn, and he finally lost his grip, tumbling out into the middle of the deserted road. He picked himself up, terrified someone might hit him, and also that he might lose them. He got onto the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the one working taillight the tow truck still had, as it banked hard again a quarter mile down the road, making another right.

Logan hustled as best he could, but the pain was finally catching up to him–both the punch he’d taken earlier to his face, which felt like it was twice the size as usual, and from the fall off the truck. he scraped one arm up pretty well, but there wasn’t any serious damage, he hoped. He could move everything still, if nothing else. He finally reached the spot where he thought the truck had turned, and found himself at the entrance to a trailer park called “Louisiana Acres.” It was all he really had to go on, and so he limped in–if he couldn’t find the tow truck here…well, then he’d have to figure out something else, he supposed.

The Kingsford County Line (Part 6)

Tyler looked at his extended index finger, at the filth under his chipped nails, skin crusted with grease and who knew what else, but like in a dream, his hand floated up, grabbed hold, and gave it a tug–and immediately Skip let loose a loud, noxious fart with a chuckle. Tyler chuckled too, but half-heartedly, but once the stench him him like a truck, he let out a groan, and collapsed to his knees. “Oh…Oh fuck! What the, fucking hell, it…smells so fucking…”

“Yeah, probably shoulda warned ya. Pa ‘n I got us some fuckin’ nasty gas. Still, ya don’ mind it that much, do ya?”

Tyler didn’t reply. On his knees, his eyes watering, but vacant, tongue lolling out from his gaping mouth.

“Heh, didn’t even pull that hard,” Skip said, unbuckled his belt and dropped his greasy jeans as he turned around. He didn’t have underwear on, and he stooped slightly, so his ass was inches from Tyler’s face. “Good thing Ah got plenty more.”

“No…No, don’t.” Skip looked up, and saw Dave there, shaking his head, “Please…if…if you have to, just…take me. I need…need some more, please–I’m thirsty still.”

“Shut up, you’re not man enough for me anyway. You’ll get what you need from someone else, but I’m fuckin’ busy. I don’t want to hear a fucking peep, or I’ll give you some shit to eat to keep you occupied.”

Dave looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Instead, he grabbed his sopping wet shirt, pulled the collar up past his mouth and started sucking the piss from it.

“Better–now where where were we?” Skip said, looking back at Tyler, “You ready? Cause here it fuckin’ comes!” Skip grabbed his own index, and gave it a hard yank–and this time a massive fart ripped from his hole, powerful enough to ripple his cheeks slightly, and all of it blasted directly into Tyler’s face, who started snorting it up, mouth turning up into a sneer, and with his hands he spread Skip’s ass and shoved his face into the ripe, filthy crack, licking and chewing at the hole while Skip encouraged him with another fart or too, until Tyler was snorting and grunting uncontrollably, his hands fishing his cock free from his pants so he stroke it, shooting a load all over himself, the back of Skip’s boots and the asphalt in a matter of seconds.

It wasn’t too much longer that Pa, came out of the store with a twenty-four pack of cheap beer under his burly arm, walked over to the tow truck and tossed it back behind the seat, and then looked around for Skip. He didn’t see him anywhere–but fuck, he could smell something filthy back around the building–hell, he could smell his boy coming from a mile, he knew his stench so fucking well. So he followed his nose around the side of the building, and sure enough, there he was, bent over, with the face of one of the boys he’d seen earlier shoved in his crack, encouraging him, urging him to dig deeper, suck harder on his filthy hole, get it nice and clean.

“Didn’t think ya’d start without me,” he said, “Heh, ya should see what’s goin’ on inside, fuckin’ Bubba ‘n his gang got a hold a one–almost feel sorry fer ‘em. Sure glad Ah ran intah you ‘n not them.”

Skip pulled his ass away from Tyler, and he tried to follow, tongue greasy, nose a bit brown, eyes still empty of everything other than hunger. “Come on Pa, let’s git ‘em in the truck–we got plenty a time tah dawn tah work on ‘em tahgether.”

“Sounds like a plan tah me!” Pa said, reached down and hauled Tyler up by the arm. His legs were like jelly and Tyler didn’t know who this guy was supporting him, but…but fuck, he smelled good. Almost as good as Tyler. Pa had his arm under his, and Tyler leaned it to the redneck’s exposed pit, licking at it with as much eagerness as he had Skip’s hole, and Pa laughed. “Fuckin’ eager!”

“Ah think he’s gonna be perfect. Ya’ve been needin’ some help.”

“Heh, as much as Ah love ya son, yer too much fer one daddy, I know. Come on man, let’s git ya’ll home, where we can have some real fun.”

“S-Sure…home…” Tyler mumbled, and let Pa and Skip help him over to the tow truck.

Pa popped open the driver’s door and helped Tyler inside. “Only one bench, so ya’ll have tah sit between us–don’t think ya’ll mind though.” Tyler shook his head, still not quite sure what was going on, but…but he was happy. Still, shouldn’t…shouldn’t he be in the van? That van, over there? He saw his Uncle Logan get out of the side yelling at Pa for some reason, but before he could say do much Pa laid him out on the asphalt with a haymaker to the jaw, and then Skip climbed in the passenger side, Pa hopped in–smashing Tyler between both their filth, and drove off with tires screeching. Tyler wanted to look back, and make sure his uncle was alright, but when he turned to the side he found his face in Pa’s armpit again…and he’d rather lick that anyway, right?

“Heh, found an eager one, fer sure,” Pa said, lifting his arm a bit higher to give Tyler better access, steering with his left hand.

“Fuck, shoulda seen the other one, sorry piece of shit. Got one whiff a me ‘n pissed himself.”

Pa laughed, “Don’ know, sounds right up our alley tah me.”

“Nah, don’t need no fuckin’ jittery fucker, Pa,” Skip said, “Not fer what Ah got in mind.”

Pa looked over at his son in the passenger seat, illuminated by the dim instrument panel and the tip of his cigarette, “Yeah, Ah think Ah see what yer lookin’ fer. Just…don’t replace me, ya know?”

“Ain’t nobody getting replaced Pa, don’ be gettin’ all sappy on me, ya fucker–’sides, yer gonna be helpin–he’ll be yers as much as mine.”

“Shit Skip, ya know all Ah need is you.”

“Yeah, but is that all ya want?” Skip asked, and looked over. He could smell how horny his daddy was, with this fucker’s mouth suckin’ at his ripe pit, he knew he wanted it. “I know ya got lots a love Pa, Ah made ya that way, ‘n I gots plenty too.”

Tyler, between them, was only able to half listen to the conversation. The rest of him was either enthralled by the filthy smell of Pa’s pit, which only seemed to be growing fouler the more he cleaned it, or terrified beyond belief. What in the hell was he doing here? Had he really just climbed into some strange tow truck, by himself, with these two freaks? What had he been thinking? Then again, it felt more like he hadn’t been thinking, ever since…since that first nasty fart. Fuck, that…that had smelt so damn good, fuck! No–No, he had to get out of here, he had to. It took all the force he could muster inside himself, but he managed to rip his face from Pa’s pit with a gasp, wipe his slobber from around his mouth on his arm, and say, “No, no, I want to go back.”

Skip laughed, “See what I mean? Got a strong one.”

“Ah heard strong ones are just annoying,” Pa said, “Always gettin’ in tah trouble before they finally settle down. Hell, Hendrick was one a those, ‘n ya hate that fuck.”

“Yer fergettin’ Pa, tha ya were pretty strong willed yerself, ‘n look at ya now. Most fuckers jus’ don’t know how tah break ‘em right, make ‘em need ya.”

“I said I want to go back–please, just let me go back.”

“Pa, why don’ ya go on ‘n let one loose, give ‘em a taste a yer shit–he already got a taste a mine.”

Pa smiled around his own cigarette, lifted his inside leg and let a long, loud fart loose towards Tyler. In the small cabin, which already reeked of musk and smoke, he hadn’t imagined that it could smell worse, until the dank, rotten egg slammed into his nose. It wasn’t quite as pungent as Skips had been, but it didn’t matter–unable to stop himself, he was snorting and inhaling deep, bucking his hips mindlessly.

“Fuck, look how riled up that got ‘em–’n that wasn’t even that nasty! Damn Skip, ya sure can pick ‘em.”

“See Pa? He’s fuckin’ perfect. ‘Sides, ain’t ya always wanted a brother? Some filthy fuck to pal around town with?”

“Ya mean–”

“Ah jus’ want ya tah be happy Pa, that’s all.”

“Aww fuck son–I love ya so damn much.”

Between them, Tyler was trying desperately to get his body back under his control, but he couldn’t avoid the stench. Skip lifted a leg and let loose a fart of his own, and that only made things worse. He couldn’t think about anything beyond the smell, and how…and how much he wanted it. It reeked, sure, but he wanted it all the same, wanted it all. He only dimly realized that, at some point he had undone the fly of his pants and had begun jacking off. The first load blasted out of him, cum splattering across the radio in front of him, Skip wiping some of it off with a finger and giving it a taste.

“Fuck, why…why do I…why do I want this…” Tyler gasped, sobbing, and Skip hushed him, wiping his tears away with one hand.

“Don’ worry ‘bout that Unc. Here–let’s git ya somethin’ tah settle ya down.”

Skip pulled out a box of cigarettes and tapped one out, stuck it in Tyler’s mouth and lit it for him. It wasn’t the first cigarette Tyler had tried–he’d attempted to smoke one once back in middle school, with some “cool kids”, but this was different. Obviously unfiltered, and the leaf was cheap and rank, and yet, just like the filthy musk rolling off the two men who’d kidnapped him, he couldn’t stop once he got a taste. When Skip handed him a beer, he didn’t bother questioning it, and after a few more miles, as they all started rolling past the outskirts of Kingsford itself, he had a solid buzz going, and had his face happily stuck in Skip’s pit now, licking it clean, taking the occasional moment to take a drag off his cigarette or slug some of the beer down. Before too much longer, he’d stopped finding the whole situation so strange. If anything, this is where he belonged, right? At least that’s what Skip and Pa were telling him, and…and they wouldn’t lie.

At last, they rolled into a very rundown trailer park–one of several they’d passed along the road in varying states of disrepair. The sign out by the road called it “Louisiana Acres.” Pa drove them around until they came to a well-rusted single wide, pulled the tow truck up in front of it, and got out.

Well Unc, welcome home man.”

Home? It didn’t feel like home. Hadn’t…hadn’t he been doing something else? Been going somewhere else? Still, when Skip waved him to follow, his feet shuffled after him, up the steps, and into the trailer behind them.

The Kingsford County Line (Part 5)

“All ‘lone out here, eh?” Skip asked, taking a drag off his cigarette, and following it with a loud, frothy belch, “On a trip? Ya look perty young tah be travelling all ‘lone like that–pretty brave, pretty adult.”

“No…Not alone. My dad and big brother are inside, and my uncle’s in the van. My friend, too, over there.”

“Ah–a family road trip. Hate tah break up a family, ya know? Don’ know what I’d do without mah Pa with me.”

Tyler just squinted at him, a bit confused. “I don’t…what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Where’d you say that friend of yours was?”

“He’s…over there, around the side of the building. He’s being kind of pissy, cause we’re lost.”

“He, won’t be lost for long, trust me,” Skip said, walked around the van and off towards where Daniel was, “Heh, pissy.”

“Why are you going over there? He…He doesn’t want to talk to you, trust me.”

Skip turned and glared at him, and something…something in his eyes froze Tyler in place, “Git in the van boy, ‘n don’t worry ‘bout yer friend, I’ll take good care a him.”

Tyler was still confused, but his hand was already grasping for the sliding door of the van, and he climbed inside, even as he watch Skip slip around the corner and out of sight. What in the hell was that? It didn’t make any fucking sense at all, anything that had just happened. So he reached around and shook his uncle awake again.

“Wha–now what?”

“Uncle Logan, I…I think something weird is going on out there, these guys showed up, and…and I don’t know what, but David is out there, and I…”

“Tyler, you don’t have to be afraid of people, you know that–what’s your dad always tell you?”

“Most people are good, I know, but this was really weird, but would you…go check on him, for me?”

“Tyler, you sound like you’re six or something.”

The truth was, the way Skip had stared at him, the way he’d smelled–he’d felt like he was a child again–no. No, Skip had looked at him…it was hard to understand, really, like he’d been sizing him up somehow–not what he was, but deeper than that. No, standing in front of Skip, he’d felt…old, somehow. Older, maybe, but without control over himself, without control over anyone else. But…but maybe his head was just getting the better of him. This long drive, being lost. He was just…he needed to get a grip. Still, he should go see whether Dave was alright. He turned around and pulled the door open again, got out, and followed where he’d seen Skip gone, around the corner.

It was dark back there, but enough lights were around that he could see the scene clearly enough–Dave was where he’d been when Tyler left him, sitting with his back to the brick wall. Skip was in front of him, his jeans open and cock out, and he was…pissing on him. He could see the stream glittering in the dark, arcing through the air, hitting Dave in the face, his friend’s mouth open wide, eyes locked with Skip’s own. “What–What the fucking hell!” Tyler shouted, and Skip swung towards him, breaking eye contact with Dave.

Almost immediately, Dave tried to scramble away to the side, but all Skip had to say was “Fuckin’ stay still,” and suddenly he was frozen, unable to move an inch.

“What…what the hell are you doing to him, you fucking freak?”

“Nothing he won’t want more than anything else come dawn–go back to the van, this don’ concern you in the least, anymore, as greedy as I might like to be,” he said, and Tyler felt that pressure behind that glare, but this time…this time he was ready for it, and he fought back, holding himself in place as he feet tried to walk him away, back to his uncle in the van, but no–no, this wasn’t happening. This was fucking wrong. Skip sensed his resistance–for a moment he pushed harder, knowing it would be a small matter to break him…but why? Because if Skip was being honest with himself, he liked this one much better–he, at least, hadn’t pissed himself in fright as soon as he’d gotten his first whiff of him. He cocked his head to the side, and then broke his gaze with Tyler, and looked down at Dave, licking his lips of piss, but his eyes were brimming with terror and confusion. It’s true, breaking up a family was cruel, but it wasn’t like the rest of Kingsford would feel the same way, so why not go with his gut? Because…because he liked this one. This one was going to be so much more fun to break, than the whimpering pisser he’d found back here. “Ya know what? have it yer way, I’ll leave’m alone, ‘n take you instead. Ah like you better anyway.”

“What?” Tyler asked. He tried to back away, but his feet had now glued themselves to the pavement, as Skip approached him,” What are you talking about?”

“What, you think we’d just leave ya fer the rest a the town? Nah, been looking tah round out our family a bit, git’s a bit lonely, just the two a us–but Ah also like a bit of a challenge…” he walked closer to Tyler, and with each step, the intensity of his stench doubled. In his mind, Tyler wanted to run, but the smell seemed to be wrapping itself around him, weighing down his limbs, holding him in place somehow as the redneck approached him. This close, nearly toe to toe with him,. it was getting hard to see, hard to think about anything beyond the stench. “Too bad Ah wasted mah piss–still, there’s more than one way tah git a bit filthy, ya know? Go on buddy, pull mah finger, ‘n see what happens.”