Pigtown Provides (Part 2) [pics]

The thing most people don’t realize, I think, about Pigtown, is that most of us want to be there. Or at least, I want to be there, and most of the people I know there never want to be anywhere else. It’s the only place a lot of us want to be, because it’s the only place where any of us can be ourselves. Do you know what that’s like? Probably not–not many people do, or ever get the chance, but ever since I was young, I knew that I was…different.

Not gay. Gay isn’t…anything anymore. Anyone can be gay, which is another way of saying that if you’re gay, you can be anyone–which really means no one. Which means you go to school, you get a job, you find someone equally no one to your no one, and you settle down, make more no ones, and die, eventually. But that wasn’t me, that wasn’t what I wanted. It’s what my dad wanted though, he wanted me to be nothing, just like him. Maybe it would be better to just tell him, to break him, finally, and show him who I am, but I can’t yet. Maybe, because I don’t really know who I am yet, either.

People like me, we know all about Pigtown, even if we’ve never been there. It’s everywhere on the internet, in all the places you go, if you need what Pigtown can provide. Most people never find it, because no one really knows where it is. No one even knows what it is, to be honest. All there are out there are stories of it. Anecdotes, rumors thrice removed. I thought it was just a jack off fantasy, I never imagined that it could actually exist, until I almost walked right past it.

I could barely believe it, when I stepped inside. It was like coming home. It was like meeting the family I had never known, the real family I had always wanted and fantasized about. I was changed, when I left–like everyone always is, as you know–but for me, it was everything rewired on the inside that really mattered. I was different. I was braver, and more confident. Not…confident enough to confront my dad about anything, but confident enough to at least buy cigars and smoke them. Confident enough to…go back.

I needed to be there. I needed to be the person I could be there, that I couldn’t be anywhere else. But I had to be someone else for my dad, for the entire world. Some people just…stay. They remain in the orbit, and they never have to leave Pigtown. They never have to remember that there’s anything beyond this. I don’t want that, I don’t think, but I would like…to have who I am in there match who I am out, but I’m not there yet. Maybe one day, I’ll figure out how. Until then, there’s just this. I walk up the stairs and into the bar, I hand the gimp my coat, and as soon as it’s off, I don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m just…me.

I’m a cigar cub. I’m on my knees at the feet of every smoking bear in sight, my tongue on their leather or rubber boots, ready to be of service in whatever way they so desire. I have my favorite daddies, of course, and plenty who have taken quite a liking to me. But I haven’t…found anyone yet, who I want to be with yet. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me, and why I can’t stay. Because I’m not here just looking to be someone…but I’m looking for someone too.

The night rolls, and we’re all rolling with it. In Pigtown, everyone is in flux. If you try to focus too hard on it, it’ll just break you apart–you just have to exist, in the moment, and trust it to take you to a level of ecstasy that you pray exists. Well, it does exist. I know, I’ve hit it before. Three skinheads forced me into rubber one night, hooded me, fed me smoke for…I don’t know, days. I lost everything. I lost so much of myself, and all that remained was pleasure. I think…I would have stayed, if they’d kept at it, but the night ended, like always, and outside, I was me again, mostly. The hair stayed–it hasn’t grown a millimeter since.

But that night, there is someone new. He’s there with some other bears I know well–they laugh when I ask about him, and they say they found him outside, just staring at the bar, and they…invited him in, as we all do on occasion. He was handsome, especially with the massive cigar in his jaw, and I was more than happy to serve him…but he had something else in mind.

Before I know what’s happening, he has three cigars wedged in my mouth, his boot planted against my chest, and I can feel my cock throbbing as smoke surges through me…and I know. I know this is something I could get used to. Someone I could get used to. We find a rhythm. He’s new to all this, but he’s enthusiastic, and I’m eager for whatever he might give me. I find it again, that supreme desire and pleasure, chained to the wall, now four cigars wedged in my mouth while he and another bear flog the shit out of me, and I have to know him. If he stays, I’ll stay. But things roll, and we separate, and the morning comes and I’ve lost him, and I cry on the tram going home, because men like that, men who get pulled in, men who aren’t looking for Pigtown at all…well, chances aren’t good, one might say.

I crawl into bed, and sleep in on Saturday. I somehow still get up before my dad, early enough to sneak a smoke in. We cross paths later…and I gotta say, he looks like shit. But I get close, and I smell…something, and see a little flicker in his eyes…but no, it couldn’t be, right?

Then again, Pigtown provides.

Pigtown Provides (Part 1) [Pics]

image

I think, that as a father, I have a right to know. He’s living under my roof after all. Besides, it’s such a strange thing–he never used to do anything like this. He was a good student all through high school, though not great, and was working part time downtown at a restaurant while we worked on some credits at a local community college. Then, seemingly out of the blue, he starts acting…different.

It was little things at first, things that I only notice now in hindsight. The faint scent of cigars I’d catch on the air when I came home, the window of his room always open. On occasion, when I was switching a load of our laundry, I’d notice that all of the briefs he’d worn were slowly disappearing, and were being replaced by jockstraps. He cut his nice hair down to the scalp and started growing out a beard. Nothing on its own was enough to raise an alarm, but he was becoming so distant–we’d always had a solid relationship. I’d always told me he could tell me anything, anything that was on his mind, and I wouldn’t judge him for it, and he’d told me plenty. Now, though, he hardly ever spoke at all to me, about anything. Not about school or work, not about his friends, nothing at all. He was…afraid. I knew something was up–he was in some kind of trouble, but he wasn’t letting me help.

Things got worse. He was disappearing all night long, even on school nights, and I wouldn’t see him until the next afternoon, when he would come home looking haggard and exhausted, smelling of booze and smoke and who knew what else. We started getting into fights, and he told me he wanted to move out, that he was sick and tired of me policing his every action, and trying to control my life. I just want what’s best for him! So this time, I’m going to follow him, and see what’s going on with him myself.

I know he usually takes the tram into town, and the station he usually gets off at, and so I decide to stay late at the office, and then I camp out and wait for him. It takes a while for him to arrive–he doesn’t get off the tram until nearly 10–and I almost don’t recognize him in the long coat he has on. He just looks so…different, and I don’t know when I lost my little boy. Then, when he took out the cigar and lit it on the sidewalk…I was so disgusted, I didn’t know if I wanted to know more than that…but I followed him anyway. The cigar made it easier, to follow him, both by the smell, and by the thin line of smoke rising into the night air. I was so focused on him, that I didn’t really pay much attention to where we were walking until I happened to catch my foot on a crack and stumbled.

It was…not the nicest neighborhood. Seedy bars and a couple of condemned buildings, mostly…but it was the people around us that unnerved me more than anything else. The usual nightlife crowds had all dispersed at this point, and the people who remained in the sidewalks…well, they weren’t the sort of company I had raised my son to keep, I can tell you that much. Watching him, I noticed that he’d pause on occasion, and have a short conversation with some of the men we’d pass, usually older men, some of them smoking as well, but I kept too far back to catch what they were discussing. How did my son know any of these people in the first place? How much of this had I missed, when he was living right under my nose?

It wasn’t too much further that he reached his destination–a bar I had never heard of, called Pigtown. The name didn’t leave much to the imagination all the same, nor did the various breeds of men hanging around outside of the bar, wearing all manner of leather…rubber…or, well, nothing much at all. I’d known my son was gay–I wasn’t kidding when I said earlier that we’d had some rough conversations–but I’d imagined that to be a more…normal thing than it was. You were just substituting a girl for a boy, right? He went inside, and I stayed outside, and wondered what, exactly, I was planning on doing next.

I didn’t approve; but did it matter? He was a grown man, he could do whatever he wanted, couldn’t he? But had I really even answered my question? I still didn’t know what my son was doing here. Well, my imagination could sketch a…broad picture, but I also didn’t really…know much about what these sorts of places were. I admit it, I wanted to confront him about this, not only about…this, whatever he was doing…but about him hiding it from me. But not here, not in public. I could do it later, at home, when we could be a little more…level headed. I turned to head back to the office, get my car and go home–

***

“Hey, where you goin’, man? Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Oh, I’m not…I’m just on my way home.”

“Home? You came all the way here, and now you’re just going to walk away? Whatever you’re looking for, man, it’s in there, trust me. Nothing provides like Pigtown. No judgement, no limits.”

“No, look, I don’t think you understand…I’m not…like you. I’m not gay.”

“Who said anything about gay?”

“I mean, you’re…well…”

“Yeah, come on, I think you need an introduction. Rod would never forgive me if he let someone so cute get this close, and didn’t even bring him in for a round of drinks.”

“Get your arm off of me–”

“Don’t worry man, we’ll get you what you need–Pigtown provides, even if ya don’t even know what you need.”

The Bruiser Rapes – Prologue

This is just a one shot for the moment, but there’s more to come. 

“Look, you’re drunk. You can’t even stand up straight.”

“I’m fucking fine man, give me my keys.”

Logan held Graham’s keys higher, and his drunk friend swung at them wildly a couple of times, but couldn’t get them back.

“Let me drive you home, alright?”

They were seniors in college, and had been friends for since they were Freshman, and attended their first seminar together. Logan was tall–a couple inches over six feet, and generally thin, with a bookish look and glasses. He was the responsible one of the pair, and always had been–while Graham tended to get a little…wild, especially if he knew Logan was there to keep an eye on him. He’d always resented it, somewhat–and had always wondered what Logan might be like if he ever really let loose. Still–he was right. His vision was swimming and he was in no state to drive anywhere.

He didn’t pay much attention on the drive–he was trying to keep from falling asleep mostly. Beside him, was he drove, Logan kept sneaking glances at his friend, breathing a bit heavy, adjusting the front of his pants a couple of times. He came up to a light. If he was heading to the house where Graham lived, he should have taken a left. Instead, with a quick glance to see if Graham was noticing, he took a right, and drove towards his own apartment. Logan came from money, and his trust fund financed a small, one bedroom apartment near campus, while most everyone else stayed on campus, or shared houses together.

“Hey, this…why are we at your place, man?” Graham muttered.

Logan didn’t say anything as he parked, came around, and opened the passenger door. “Come on, you can…sleep on the couch.”

Graham insisted that he’d be happier back in his own bed, but Logan just grabbed him, hauled him out of the car and dragged him towards his apartment, and it took Graham a moment to even realize it was happening. Logan wasn’t someone known for their strength, exactly. It wasn’t until they were inside, and Logan had locked the door, that Graham was able to get a few steps away from him, and size him up again…but he seemed wrong, somehow. Thicker, somehow, his usually clean shaven face filling in with stubble. He tossed his glasses onto the side table (Graham had never, once in their friendship, ever seen his friend handle his glasses so carelessly) and he walked over to him.

“Let’s get you undressed, and into bed.”

The words were stern, somehow. They didn’t seem to have any real emotion to them, it was just…fact. He hauled Graham’s shirt off before he could really do anything to stop him, and then he was unbuckling his belt. Graham tried to shove him away, but Logan just pushed back, pressing Graham to the wall, kissing and sucking at his neck, his stubble scratching at his chest as he tried to squeeze away from him. This…this wasn’t like Logan. It didn’t feel like Logan, it didn’t look like Logan–what in the world was even happening? He struggled harder, trying to punch and hit at him, and Logan didn’t even seem to notice–he just grabbed his wrists in each hand, pinned them to the wall above him, and continued biting and kissing at his neck. He was so damn strong–how in the hell was any of this even happening?

Logan pulled away after a few minutes, and released his wrists. He tried to bolt for the door, but Logan caught him, and dragged him deeper into the apartment, to the bedroom. Graham was pleading, but Logan said nothing at all. Just threw his friend onto the bed, dropped his pants and underwear, and climbed up on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. Graham kept struggling, but no matter what he did Logan never lost control. The more desperate and horrified he got, in fact, the rougher Logan seemed to become with him, until he rolled him over onto his belly, planted one hand on his back, spread his legs and began forcing his massive cock into Graham’s hole, inch by inch.

Graham had never in his life felt pain like this before. He tried to crawl away, screaming, but Logan just gripped his hips, hard enough to bruise, and hauled him back with a few grunts, slowly dragging him back until he was fully impaled on his cock, and then he started thrusting into him, rutting really.

Graham gave up, at some point. There was nothing  he could do, nothing he could do to stop his friend or fight back. Maybe, he thought, if he just relaxed and let it happen, it would be over quicker. But Logan just kept fucking, hammering the cock deeper and deeper into him. It didn’t seem to matter to him, whether Graham was resisting or not–he didn’t even seem to exist as a person to him, just…just as a hole. Looking back over his shoulder, Graham saw he was even larger now, with a full dark beard across his cheeks, eyes focused, and yet vacant, like nothing was really on his mind beyond the simple physical pleasure of the fuck.

Graham didn’t really notice when it happened, but he let out the first gasp of pleasure at some point, and then another. He was rocking back, meeting his friend’s thrusts gently, then he was pushing back avidly. He…He wanted to get fucked. He deserved to get fucked. He was moaning, begging Logan to fuck him harder, but Logan just continued his same pace, unchanging, while Graham found himself descending into some crazed cycle of depravity he could barely understand, begging for the darkest, strangest things from the perverted corners of his mind, until he came, shooting his load all over the sheets below him, but it wasn’t enough, and thankfully, Logan wasn’t nearly finished for the night.

The next day, Graham awoke on the couch with a raging headache, and an inexplicably sore ass. Logan was in the kitchen, fully clothes, skinny as a rail, glasses on, cooking breakfast. Graham…didn’t know what to think, but the reality was too much to really take, and so he just…assumed it was a dream. A dream he would take to his grave, most likely. Still, he was never able to really feel comfortable around Logan again, but whether that was out of fear, or some inexplicable desire he never quite knew. A few months later, they graduated, and Logan moved across the country for a job offer, while Graham pursued graduate study in the heartland. He didn’t think about Logan again, until a few years later, when the bruiser rapes pushed their way onto the national news. The details chilled him, but in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and he did his best to not think about it anymore beyond that.

Digital Manipulation [Interactive] (Part 1)

wesleybracken:

Trak got back to his apartment, shoved his wrist against the lock, and as soon as the door clicked open, he shoved his way through and shut it behind him, leaning against it in relief. He had it. Or rather, he had him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the datastick, and stared at it. It had been difficult getting it, something he’d been plotting for a very long time. Some of the guys on the net had been suspicious that it was even possible–after all, security at those places was huge–after all, vacation companies kept their visitors when they were their most vulnerable–its been known since the wars a century ago that no mind was as open to manipulation as one that had been converted to ones and zeros. Hell, digitization had been outlawed for ages, until the last sweeping round of deregulation had made the underground legal–and now they were multi-trillion dollar companies offering you any trip you could possibly imagine. And since Earth was looking pretty sorry these days, most of the wealthy prefered digital vacations to going anywhere in the real world.

But Trak had done it. It had taken a lot of bribes, but he had him–well, not really him, he supposed. Just a copy–that way there was nothing suspicious at all in a few days, when he was redownloaded into his body. Trak looked closer at the stick, imagining the man inside–Perrion, his boss.

Well, really he was his boss’s boss. Or rather, he had been. Perrion had masterminded a massive round of layoffs where Trak had been working, and he’d been swept out of it and onto the streets. It had been boring, but a good gig–and he’d been scraping by ever since…but Trak had an additional grievance against him. Perrion had also been his lover. But he’d fired him and dumped him on the same day, like Trak didn’t mean a thing to him–and he probably didn’t mean anything at all, really. No one did anymore–but Perrion had meant something to Trak, and he had not taken being jilted well. Now, though, he could have a little bit of revenge, and a little piece of Perrion all to himself.

He booted up his computer, and several displays lit up in the air around him, as he slipped the datastick into the port. It was heavily encrypted, but he had the key to that–it would just take a little while to give him access. Until then, he had to decide what he was going to do to him first–because he had so many plans, but now that the time had come–he wasn’t sure where to start. All he knew, was that Perrion was going to get a very special vacation, and one that he wasn’t going to he getting away from anytime soon.

See, two things about Perrion had always frustrated Trak. First, he was so…domineering, and not even in a sexy way. Everything had to be tailored to him and his satisfaction first, no matter what, and as much as Trak had loved him, it had been difficult to deal with. Second, he was just dull. Dull as could be; dull as a corporate drone should be, he supposed. But Trak…well, Trak had some rather…deviant interests, ones he had explored quite a bit in virtual reality. He’d never been able to afford a proper digitization, but he’d made quite a bit as an author of unique experiences on the net–and he planned on opening Perrion’s mind up to a whole slew of new possibilities, and Trak would be with him every step of the way, safe out here in virtual reality, even if Perrion ended up being a bit, rewritten, in the course of Trak’s fun.

He supposed it would be best to start with a slightly tamer scenario–one that would break that dominant streak in him, and leave his ex a bit more open to suggestion, and further modification down the road. He took a look through his various scenarios, and three in particular stood out to him as possibilities. In the end, he selected his favorite, and started booting it up, the decryption of Perrion’ digital file now nearly complete, and he got ready for the games to begin.

***

Here’s how this interactive is going to work. Each program is going to be a mini scenario that runs for 2-4 chunks, depending on where they go. Then, Trak will run a new program, and work on some other aspect of Perrion’s digital copy. I’m hoping this one will be a bit shorter, and a little more organized than the last one was!

So, what’s the first virtual scenario going to be?

  1. Space Prison Program
  2. Rubber Drone Program
  3. Alpha Service Program

Polls, as before, will be conducted through Patreon and Twitter. The Patron polls will be exclusive to supporters at any contribution level, while the twitter poll will be open to everyone. 

The public twitter poll is here!

The supporter only Patreon poll is here!

Voting ends in two days on Monday 3pm PST.

Still have a few more hours to get your votes in!

Greywing Manor (Part 3)

Thankfully, as a laborer, the man had arrived with a truck full of various equipment. While I busied myself preparing the room for the man’s conversion, I sent him back down to load up everything he could find of use to me, and return. In the end, it was enough, but not quite as much as I would usually require–much of the material in his truck had been wires and tubing of various materials and sizes, but I needed something a bit more…bulky. In the end, I did manage to find something–an old bulky rubber suit, almost resembling a diving suit of old, in a spare bedroom. Kinky, perhaps, but otherwise untouched, and so left unmolested by our nemesis. With that, I had enough to get started. The man stood within the circle, while the old alchemic machinery creaked back to life, spinning around him, filling the space with an unearthly green hue. Everything, to my surprise, was going smoothly, the man screaming in pain and terror at the appropriate moments, as the magic began eating away at his flesh, the energy feeding off of his body, sucking in the suit, the wires, the tubes–everything within reach of the spell, and drawing it into him, into a new, much improved form.

In the end, however, there simply wasn’t quite enough material to go around, and so, instead of a proper drone, when the machine settled back and quieted, what remained was, well, something caught between two. The suit had formed around his body nicely, replacing his skin from the neck down, bound up in wires and tubes in a rather chaotic fashion, piercing through and around him in many awkward ways. It was, however, his face which still had that…glimmer of humanity, where the spell hadn’t quite been able to draw in enough material to replace him entirely. Still, human isn’t quite the term I would use with him, or it, I suppose. There’s a bit of skin, a few shocks of hair, but most of it is wrapped up so tight in wire and pipe that you must look very close to see any of it at all. It will, unfortunately, rot. The drone will last, at most, a few months, but that should be enough to get some work out of it around me, fixing up the floors, remodelling the plumbing, fixing the circuits. Yes, when it finally expires, I will be a brand new house, I think–and in much, much better condition to accept visitors.

For you see, no-one, this little adventure has helped me understand something–while I do miss my master very much, I have allowed myself, over these decades, to wither with him, but no more. I am, I’ve come to see, my own entity–I am, after all, fashioned from his own mind and will, I am, if anything, the rightful heir to his life, and his work. It won’t always be easy, mind you–I doubt the world is prepared for a sentient mansion, especially not one with rather cruel, sadistic tendencies, but that is a challenge to be met, not a burden to shrink from! Especially with this…internet! What a glorious thing; I find it difficult to imagine that it could possibly exist without magic, and yet, it is amazing what humans can do when they have too much time on their hands, and not enough threat to their daily survival. However, to know more–to do more–I need someone of this world, someone with knowledge, someone who can assist me, and who, in return, I can reward with untold pleasures.

I owe you a debt, no-one. That is why, in one hour, an Ubercar will arrive at your home to pick you up and deliver you to me, where you will stay, for the weekend, as my honored guest. No harm will come to you, I promise. I fact, I promise to shower you with pleasures you have never imagined, and this drone, in particular, I believe will be quite a treasure before it expires. One weekend, and then, if you choose to leave, you may, and I will never contact you again…however, if this visit delights your appetites (as I imagine it might given the histories of your browsers) I will offer you a home within me. You will not be my master–I only have one, should he ever wake–but you will be…my host. For you see, there are many things I have never experienced, many things that I have watched my master partake in from afar, which I have never had the ability, or really the desire, to taste. But no more! I will live through you, if you allow it. Together, we will allow men into me, and we will enjoy them–and perhaps, we will be able to stir a bit of my master’s old energy as well, or at the very least, find the wizard who ruined him and exact our revenge upon him.

So come. Let us meet. Allow me to show you what grand pleasure I can provide. Become my host, and together, we will become so much more–I swear to you, by the boards and nails and bricks of my body, I swear it.

Digital Manipulation [Interactive] (Part 1)

Trak got back to his apartment, shoved his wrist against the lock, and as soon as the door clicked open, he shoved his way through and shut it behind him, leaning against it in relief. He had it. Or rather, he had him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the datastick, and stared at it. It had been difficult getting it, something he’d been plotting for a very long time. Some of the guys on the net had been suspicious that it was even possible–after all, security at those places was huge–after all, vacation companies kept their visitors when they were their most vulnerable–its been known since the wars a century ago that no mind was as open to manipulation as one that had been converted to ones and zeros. Hell, digitization had been outlawed for ages, until the last sweeping round of deregulation had made the underground legal–and now they were multi-trillion dollar companies offering you any trip you could possibly imagine. And since Earth was looking pretty sorry these days, most of the wealthy prefered digital vacations to going anywhere in the real world.

But Trak had done it. It had taken a lot of bribes, but he had him–well, not really him, he supposed. Just a copy–that way there was nothing suspicious at all in a few days, when he was redownloaded into his body. Trak looked closer at the stick, imagining the man inside–Perrion, his boss.

Well, really he was his boss’s boss. Or rather, he had been. Perrion had masterminded a massive round of layoffs where Trak had been working, and he’d been swept out of it and onto the streets. It had been boring, but a good gig–and he’d been scraping by ever since…but Trak had an additional grievance against him. Perrion had also been his lover. But he’d fired him and dumped him on the same day, like Trak didn’t mean a thing to him–and he probably didn’t mean anything at all, really. No one did anymore–but Perrion had meant something to Trak, and he had not taken being jilted well. Now, though, he could have a little bit of revenge, and a little piece of Perrion all to himself.

He booted up his computer, and several displays lit up in the air around him, as he slipped the datastick into the port. It was heavily encrypted, but he had the key to that–it would just take a little while to give him access. Until then, he had to decide what he was going to do to him first–because he had so many plans, but now that the time had come–he wasn’t sure where to start. All he knew, was that Perrion was going to get a very special vacation, and one that he wasn’t going to he getting away from anytime soon.

See, two things about Perrion had always frustrated Trak. First, he was so…domineering, and not even in a sexy way. Everything had to be tailored to him and his satisfaction first, no matter what, and as much as Trak had loved him, it had been difficult to deal with. Second, he was just dull. Dull as could be; dull as a corporate drone should be, he supposed. But Trak…well, Trak had some rather…deviant interests, ones he had explored quite a bit in virtual reality. He’d never been able to afford a proper digitization, but he’d made quite a bit as an author of unique experiences on the net–and he planned on opening Perrion’s mind up to a whole slew of new possibilities, and Trak would be with him every step of the way, safe out here in virtual reality, even if Perrion ended up being a bit, rewritten, in the course of Trak’s fun.

He supposed it would be best to start with a slightly tamer scenario–one that would break that dominant streak in him, and leave his ex a bit more open to suggestion, and further modification down the road. He took a look through his various scenarios, and three in particular stood out to him as possibilities. In the end, he selected his favorite, and started booting it up, the decryption of Perrion’ digital file now nearly complete, and he got ready for the games to begin.

***

Here’s how this interactive is going to work. Each program is going to be a mini scenario that runs for 2-4 chunks, depending on where they go. Then, Trak will run a new program, and work on some other aspect of Perrion’s digital copy. I’m hoping this one will be a bit shorter, and a little more organized than the last one was!

So, what’s the first virtual scenario going to be?

  1. Space Prison Program
  2. Rubber Drone Program
  3. Alpha Service Program

Polls, as before, will be conducted through Patreon and Twitter. The Patron polls will be exclusive to supporters at any contribution level, while the twitter poll will be open to everyone. 

The public twitter poll is here!

The supporter only Patreon poll is here!

Voting ends in two days on Monday 3pm PST.

Posting Update

wesleybracken:

Due to some Patrons dropping off this month, posting will be back to five days a week for the time being. That said, the interactive stories will continue, and I’ll have the first chunk of our next one up early next week, once Greywall Manor wraps up.

If you like getting content seven days a week, you can help us get back there with a monthly contribution to my Patreon here.

Scratch that, y’all, someone stepped up!

Greywing Manor (Part 2)

Well no-one, I was very pleased to have found in you a rather efficient assistant–You were, in fact, the fifth no-one I contacted, requesting a router, and you were the only one who managed to secure one for me. The others were all too busy talking about cable companies and service windows. I will admit, perhaps, that the router was a bit more complex than I may have assumed. For something which is apparently so common place, I was surprised when a man knocked on my door, claiming he needed to set up my internet service. My master let him in–in his torpid stupor I doubt he even really understood what was going on, and he returned to his fuzzy television, the man shaking his head.

“Is that an antenna?” I remember he asked, “Those aren’t even supposed to work anymore.”

I didn’t know what that meant either, and given the fact that I needed to maintain my cover as a simple dwelling, I couldn’t very well dialogue the serviceman as to my needs. My master was no help either, and so, I realized I would have to resort to a more extreme solution to the problem, but one I’d been considering for some time, in all honesty.

As I told you last time I spoke, it has been quite a few decades since my master’s mind was locked, and in that time, I have been…poorly maintained, to say the least. The magic holding me together is wearing slightly, of course, but there’s nothing to be done about that. Rather, my material condition has been…poorly maintained. My roof leaks, my floors sag, my pipes rattle. I can apply a fix to some issues, of course, with a bit of magic–but using up my energy only makes the will holding me together weaker. No, what I have been needing is something which could…help with my basic maintenance. And this fellow here, now in my house, poking around in his mind, I could see that he had quite a few skills that would be much better put to use in my service than in the service of this cable company or whatever that means.

Still, I allowed him to work on the router, but the man quickly ran into some issues, claiming that our house wasn’t wired for cable, and that he wouldn’t be able to get us internet service without the cable company laying wires in the ground around the house. Of course, I wasn’t about to allow some strange mortal collective to defile and ruin my grounds, but with the router plugged into my walls, I found I could bridge the gap myself easily enough. The internet–it was mine at last. I would explore that later, however–for now, I had a drone to create.

At this point, the man was beginning to sense that…something was amiss within me. There seemed to be no one here but a senile old man paying him no attention. The no-one who had demanded immediate service from the company was nowhere to be found, and I’m sure, with me creeping through the halls of his mind, he was certain that something was watching him. When he tried to unplug the router, only to discover that the plug had been fused into my wall…well, he decided it might be best to remove himself from the premises. He headed for my door, but a burst of static from the television in the room caught his attention, and as soon as he’d looked at it, he was gone.

Where before I had been creeping through his mind, checking through things here and there, a bit of casual investigation, now, my drone found me pouring into his mind through the TV, softening his brain, ruining his will, wiping away his memories of all life beyond me. Within an hour, his eyes were bloodshot from staring, his jaw gaping and drooling slobber into his beard, he’d pissed himself, and I doubt he could even remember being human. No–now he was simply mine. I was confident that I had sufficient control over him at this point, and while it has been quite a long time since I last had a drone to manipulate, I managed to guide him upstairs without wounding his fragile, fleshy body too badly. That, of course, would have to be the next thing to go.

After all, feeding, clothing and caring for my Master was already enough of a chore–I had no interest in adding another human to my dwelling. My new drone would instead be casting off his mortal shell, and become a proper tool for me to wield. The equipment hadn’t been used in quite a while, and without my Master supervising the process, I would have to rely on my own devices to complete the conversion, but I was confident enough that I would be able to manage the process on my own–after all, I had supervised the creation of scores of drones in my life with Master, before his tragic fall. I assumed it would be a relatively small matter.

The process is rather simple. It is, I suppose, similar in manner to how I was created myself. However, instead of the master sacrificing a bit of his own will and mind to fuel my own spirit here within these walls, we use the flesh and spirit of the man as the energy and constructive force to turn them into, well, something entirely new–and in my opinion? Better in so many ways. Once inside the room, I had the man strip–he was, thankfully, a rather sizable fellow. Middle aged with a sizable gut, and a surprising amount of hair. My Master would have enjoyed him quite a lot, in years past, alas. Still, it provided plenty of raw material for me to use in the transfiguration–at least as far as flesh was concerned. I quickly discovered, however, that the supplies my master and I would have usually used to create a drone of our own had been depleted–well, ransacked, would be a more accurate term, by the wizard who sealed him. After all, much of the material had been enchanted in various ways–it made for a more useful drone, after all, of one could imbue it with a little additional oomph. I would have to improvise.