He went back to the gym, and again worked himself to exhaustion, and then kept going. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t strong enough. If he was stronger, he could beat Keith at his own game. If he was bigger, he’d be in control of himself, he’d be in control of everything. He collapsed, hours later, shaking and covered and sweat, and looked at the clock. It was five thirty, and if he jogged…no. No, he wouldn’t do it. It was a trap, and he knew it was a trap, and still, he was getting up, still in his sweat soaked gym clothes, and he left, hustling down the sidewalks through rush hour until he reached the precinct building, where Keith was on the steps, in his uniform, waiting. “You had me worried, Rookie–you’re a couple minutes late. Good thing I was feeling lenient today.”

Jeff wanted to pummel him into the ground. He wanted to drag him in, throw him in a jail cell, and find someone–anyone–who would believe him. But being this close to him, smelling him, he found himself shrinking slightly as he approached…and he hated it. “You can’t…do this to me.”

Keith smiled, “Rookie, you still don’t get it. You’re going to be doing this to yourself, soon enough. Now let’s get going.”

The walk to the bar was quiet. Jeff did his best to memorize the path, so he’d, hopefully, be able to find his way back on his own, so he could report the place…later. But the street wasn’t even the same one as before–even if the bar looked the same–and now even more confused, he followed Keith up the steps and into the bar–and once he was inside, everything just came naturally, like sliding into a dream. Four or five painful drinks, and then he was himself again. He was the self he wanted to be, and then he was back behind the curtain, fucking any hole he could find, but now, Keith stayed close by, urging him on, both of them fucking pigs together, occasionally fucking Jeff while Jeff fucked someone else, and Jeff found himself…envying Keith. His uniform, and his confidence. The next morning he was back in Keith’s apartment, and back to himself, but when Keith wanted to fuck him…Jeff found himself looking forward to it, in some sick way, and that was when he realized he had, without even thinking about it, given in entirely.

He managed to keep some semblance of himself together, for a time. But every night he spent in Pigtown with Keith and the other pigs on the force, the more he wanted to be that brute, and the more disgusting he found his relatively small frame the next day. When the sergeant suggested he become Keith’s partner on the force, he jumped at the chance–and quickly discovered that Keith had quite the racket going on the side. Usually, at the end of their shifts, they’d pick up a suspect or two, with or without evidence, and take them to Pigtown. None of them ever left again, to Jeff’s knowledge…but that didn’t faze him like he knew it should. He honestly didn’t care what he had to do anymore, so long as Keith kept taking him there…but eventually, the bar wasn’t enough. He didn’t just want to be the brute at night–he wanted to be him all the time. He didn’t care what it would take, or what he would have to give up, and so, one night, while Keith was distracted, Jeff went to the bar, where Rod poured him another drink–but he didn’t take it.

He was about halfway there, at this point. Muscles hulking, cock aching for a good hole, but still…capable of thought, even if he didn’t really want to. He pushed the drink away, which caught Rod by surprise. “What’s up, Rookie? Wanting something different tonight?”

“No…I…” he hesitated, “I don’t…want it to end, anymore.”

Rod cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, and be small anymore. I can’t…take it. I hate it, I hate myself. I just…I want to be this. This brute. I don’t…care what you do to me. I know guys disappear here. I know most of the guys Keith and I bring here just go behind that curtain and never come back out. I don’t care what you do to me back there, but I can’t go back out. I can’t bear it anymore.”

Rod nodded, “As sexy as that would be, chaining you up down there, making a real monster out of you–that’s not quite my call.”

“You own this place! It can be your call. I give you permission, please, just…just take me.”

“This is the deal I have with Keith. He brings me men, and in return, I let him do what he likes with the ones he claims–men like you. And trust me–he likes you a lot, and he likes how miserable you look the morning after. I suppose you could ask him. He might be willing to let you stay down there, if you beg. He likes it when they beg–trust me.”

He looked at Keith, and then back at Rod. “He won’t do it, I know him. He won’t.”

Rod shrugged, and pushed the drink over to him. “Then bottoms up, Rookie. Get what you can, if you can’t get what you want.”

The next morning, even though he knew what Keith’s answer was going to be, he asked anyway. He got down on his knees and begged for it, really, begged for Keith to let him be the brute, begged him to let him stay there, if he wanted. Keith just listened, laughed, and shoved Jeff onto all fours, and fucked him again, right on the floor.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Keith asked, “Sure, you make a sexy beast, at night, but what I love is this,” he hammered in his cock for emphasis, “This, the morning after, seeing how weak you are, seeing you realize how weak you are. Letting me do whatever the fuck I want to you, all of that ego, and all of that power just stripped away, and you turn into a desperate little faggot, everytime. Because that’s what you really are, you know. A desperate faggot. All of my pigs are. Don’t feel too bad about it–none of you can help it. Not you, not the sergeant, not the captain, not anyone on the squad. You’re all just pigs–and nothing more.” He kept fucking, Jeff trying to feel some anger or rage at Keith…but he just felt empty. The cock in his ass filled the hole slightly, but it wasn’t enough–it was never going to be enough. Keith finished, and slipped free, and while he wiped his cock off, he said, “Still–you want it that badly? Then fine. I’ll help. But you don’t get it the easy way, and you have to do everything I say pig. No talking back, no resistance, and never, ever say no. One chance–take it, or don’t.”

But of course it was for better! He…didn’t really want to be that beast, did he? No! Of course not! He tried to convince himself of that for a few minutes, and generally succeeded in doing so, burying that secret joy back in his chest, and he got out of bed, looked around for his clothes, only to remember that he’d…torn them all to shreds. How in the hell did he even get home last night–or rather, how in the hell did he get here? While the beginning of the night was relatively clear, the whirlwind of sex never seemed to end in his memory–there was just fucking, then nothing, then here, himself again and hungover.

The door to the room swung open, and there, in the doorway, was Keith–also completely naked, with that same cocky grin on his face from the bar plastered across it. “Morning Rookie–feeling alright?”

“F-Fuck you,” Jeff managed to stammer, “What the fuck was that?”

“Just an initiation of sorts, is all. You certainly enjoyed yourself, don’t you think?” He walked in, and he reeked of sex and leather and smoke, just like Jeff did, and he scooted back on the bed. “No, get the fuck away from me.”

“Oh? After giving you such a good night, where you enjoyed yourself so much, and now you think you can just prude up? It’s time for you to learn, Rookie, that a night at Pigtown with me doesn’t ever come free.”

Jeff couldn’t resist him–he didn’t feel like he could do anything. Keith had him pinned down, kissing and licking his neck, and to his own disgust–he liked it. Keith liked it too, feeling Jeff struggle, feeling how weak he was, and taunted him with it, mocked him, how such a big man from the night before was just going to give it up like this. Before long, Jeff was on his belly, Keith inside him, fucking him, and fuck, it felt good–and Keith knew it felt good. It was like he…knew him, inside and out, every button, so that by the time Keith finally filled Jeff’s hole with a load, Jeff had already shot his onto the sheets beneath him, and he felt like whore.

“Not bad Rookie, for your first real fuck,” Keith said, and got up from the bed. “You can borrow some of my clothes to get home, if you want–or just go naked. You were certainly shameless and proud of it last night in the streets. Or hey, if you want more, you can always stick around.”

He didn’t want to stick around. It took Jeff most of the day to sort his shit back out, get to his car where he’d parked it, and get back to his apartment. If anything, it was nice having a concrete problem to solve–but when he was alone again…everything came surging back. The shame, the weakness, the…lust. The clothes Keith had given him were dirty cast offs, full of his musk, and Jeff couldn’t help but smell them, thinking about that fuck earlier–but also about how he’d felt that night before. How big he’d been. How horny he’d been. How good it had felt to be so dominant and powerful. Looking at himself in the mirror, it was difficult to convince himself that he really was back to normal–compared to who he’d been for those few hours, he couldn’t help but see himself as a runt. He jacked off a couple of times, and then decided to go to the gym.

He spent hours there. He skipped his cardio, and focused on weights, pushing himself to the max over and over again. At first, it was just to prove to himself that he was a strong as he remembered…but eventually it wasn’t about proving himself at all. He…wanted to be that big again. He wanted it like he’d never really wanted anything in his life. This wasn’t enough–if…if he couldn’t be that brute, then he…he didn’t think he’d ever really be happy again. In the end, he just exhausted himself and trudged home, every muscle on fire, covered in sweat but no larger than he had been. Everything felt so…hopeless. But maybe…maybe if he could find that bar again, he could get another one of those drinks. Maybe just…one more night like that, and he could get this all out of his system.

He followed Keith’s directions to the letter, but when he reached the alley, the bar was nowhere to be found. It didn’t even look like the same part of the city. He cased the whole street anyway, and then started weaving around the streets nearby, certain it had to be close, but everytime he thought he saw a flicker of that blue neon, it turned out to be just another closed sign hung in the window of a pawn shop or restaurant. It had to exist. It had to. It couldn’t have all just been in his head, he refused to believe that. Defeated and desperate, he went back to his apartment and fell into a fitful sleep.

He skipped work the next day, and called in sick. He couldn’t face them, any of them, not after what he’d done. Especially not after what he’d done to the sergeant…and not after what the sergeant had begged him to do to him. It was clear–this was all Keith’s doing, and that bartender. He needed to turn them in, and clear house at the precinct. If that involved implicating himself then so be it. So he called the captain’s line, ready to confess, but when the phone picked up, he didn’t get an answer–all he could hear was some distant grunting and moaning.

“That you, Rookie?” a voice said over the line after a minute. It was Keith. “Of course it is. The captain and I are busy at the moment–I heard you aren’t feeling too good though. Need a pick me up? Meet me at the precinct tonight, six sharp, and we can go get you what you need.”

The phone hung up, leaving Jeff standing there, shaking, cock hard and erect, wondering just how high this went. Did he dare call someone else? Go to internal affairs? If he did, and the person he talked to was compromised…he had a feeling that neither Keith, nor Pigtown, would treat him kindly for that betrayal.

Betrayal–it wasn’t a fucking betrayal! The fucker had lured him there under false pretenses, drugged him, and then raped him the morning after in the clear light of day. He didn’t understand his own reluctance. He’d never been one to shy away from the moral act, even if it was difficult, but he found himself caught between that old self, and someone else entirely. He needed to clear his head. He needed to work out.