Caption: Insane

Why are you here? You’re here because you’re sick. Because you’re insane. At least, that’s what they tell you, when they even bother to speak to you, when the people who come to your cell can even speak.

How long has it been? There is no clock in here. There is no window. Food comes when it comes, but it doesn’t seem to come regularly. The pills, perhaps, are more regular, but they make time stretch and twist and bend and snap. More than a week, at least. Perhaps a month. Perhaps longer.

When can you leave? When you don’t want to leave anymore. After all, why would you want to leave this? You love this, don’t you? You love the feel of the rubber against your skin, how it feels to have your hands bound. You told them you didn’t, but the pills made you so horny, they refused to believe you. You made such a mess, in fact, cumming all over the floor, they had to pad you, and the constriction around your cock only makes you leak even more, all the time. But you don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be doing this, you don’t…right? But they say you do. They say you wanted to come here. They say you asked for this. They have your signature on paper, papers you don’t think you ever saw, but it’s enough, they say. Enough, that they can do anything they want to you, because that’s what you wanted, when you were sane, when you signed the papers, and now you are not sane, and so everything you say you think is wrong. So you cannot leave, until you want to stay, and if you ever want to leave again, it will only be another sign of your insanity returning, won’t it?

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 6 (Part 4)

He had known of me then, apparently. He had been hunting in the city (or rather, he had hunted, and been in the midst or releasing Ray, warping him into the muscular beast we had later found in that shipping container, when he caught wind of me–literally. It had puzzled him…because it wasn’t a smell he had ever experienced before, the same darkness inside him within another. According to Cumster, we had talked at some point–though the bruiser could, apparently, appear rather unassuming when he wanted to. I don’t know when this was, and Cumster didn’t know enough to help me pin down the timeline. In any case, he had figured out that the beast inside me was dormant–and what he needed was someone to help me get loose. He couldn’t risk doing it himself, and he had other projects that needed tending to. So instead, be decided to stage something…more public than he usually did, to draw me in, and then he would send me Cumster, as a gift–though Cumster didn’t know that.

Cumster, apparently, thought he was helping Master soften me up for an unleashing, as he called them. That I was just a particular target of interest, and Cumster was so eager to be of service to his Master, that he hadn’t bothered questioning why he would need help at all. But I knew why he was here–wmy my kin had chosen this one, in particular, to send to me–and I also understood what I had seen earlier, in the restaurant, and why he needed me–or why we would need each other.

Unleashing someone’s inner drives was a messy business. Some people weren’t capable of handling the process at all–the shell was too weak, without enough to sustain the transformation. If he had tried to give Marcus, or Bernard, what they desired, they wouldn’t live through that first proper beating. Perhaps abandoning them was merciful, or perhaps it was crueler than death would be, and that was why he did it. He, after all, wasn’t someone who took feelings into account, when it came to doing his work. Likely he just didn’t see the point in continuing something that would go unfulfilled. But for those who emerged on the other side–like Cumster, or Ray–the desires that grew might appear human, but they were never quite…properly mortal. See Cumster, and his diet, or Ray and his musk. Close enough to pass, but look closer, and the tangle could be seen, plain as day. And sometimes, the human was shed altogether, and you find yourself with a proper abomination, like the thing in the abandoned restaurant. Desire, without order, was always monstrous (though the law can be just as monstrous too, in i’s…proper application). The bruiser could only free; he could never bind or confine. No–that was my bailiwick now. I could have finished it earlier–I should have finished it earlier, but without my skin, I hadn’t…known what my real work was, and it had escaped. I would have to remedy that, before anything else–before I could properly appreciate my gift from my kin. Still, I could at least take the time to bind him properly–a single handcuff would no longer suffice.

I broke the chain, when Cumster finished speaking, when he had poured out everything he knew–even things I don’t think he was aware that he knew. He seemed exhausted from the effort, from trying to fight my orders, and when I uncuffed him, brushing my finger against the lock, the bracelets falling away at once, and for a short moment he thought he would be free. I disabused him of that notion quickly. I took great care, in how I secured him–on his knees, hands bound to his sides, mouth forced wide by my straps of skin, his head forced back and attached to the wall, ready to begin receiving the law, ready for me to begin shaping that unruly mass of ivy into something far more…orderly. My cock was the same dark, brusied shade as the rest of me, but much, much longer than it had been before, easily a foot and a half. As I felt my need boiling up, I realized I could control it, much like a snake, or a tail, the head sliding around Cumster’s chapped lips before worming down into him, sliding down his throat, feeling even his experienced body gag at the intrusion, until I was planted deep, and began to thrust, fucking his throat, feeling my cum begin to pump and flow right into his guts. He shivered. I imagine, it felt cold, and harsh, sitting in his belly like mercury, slowly leeching out into the rest of his body. I imagine it felt like death–not like the death of Steven, which had been a  death full of vitality, and pain, and heat. More like a drowning. Feeling his mind swallowed up in the chill of my law, his senses deadening, his sense of self diminishing bit by bit. I filled him up, the pleasure…so strong, that all I wanted to do was keep pumping until he was bursting with me, but I held back, withdrew, and allowed him to stew with that. There would be time for more, later, and my cock retracted into the sheath that had formed along my belly. For now, there were beasts that needed my law more than he did.

I left then, leaving the three of them bound, knowing I would deal with them all in turn, once my task was through. Listening to Cumster’s tale had cost me several hours of time, and the city was large…but like before, in the restaurant, when I could feel that disorder all around me when the thing was near, I could still feel it on the air…but it was stronger than it had been. Obviously, after escaping the restaurant, it had found a different feeding ground, and likely other victims to its desires. It was strong enough to make the hunt easy, however, and so I set off to find it, eager to dance with it again–and this time, I knew I would conquer it, and bring it under the sway of my law.

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 4 (Part 3)

The stranger’s face didn’t seem to match his body. Parts of his face didn’t even match other parts. One side was soft and pale, with a blue eye, the other half was rough, with thickening stubble, and that eye was darkening–in a moment, it was an unnatural black. (Bernard had said something similar, as had Marcus–the similarities were enough to shake some of my conviction in the moment). The softer half caught up quickly, but that was the last look Steven got, before the man grabbed him by the head with both thick hands, and rammed his cock into his mouth. It was even larger now, large enough to stretch his jaw slightly, and the man was merciless. He didn’t allow him a breath, didn’t care if he gagged. He slammed down his throat with a constant, even rhythm, saying nothing, giving no indication that he even enjoyed it. Steven felt like nothing more than a receptacle for him, for his force and cock. It was humiliating. In the moment, he just wanted it to stop–and yet, there was a voice inside him. A voice he’d always heard, a voice screaming out in joy, because he had been seen. Seen for what he was, for what he’d desired to be, and he didn’t notice himself cum all over the front of his jeans and the floor of the bathroom, didn’t know what to do with that sudden joy except to deny it with all the force of his ego.

He didn’t know how long that fuck lasted, but it ended, eventually. The man came, and the load was massive, flooding his mouth, Steven choking on it…and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t seem to swallow it. Instead, it poured back out his mouth and down the front of his face and shirt, spewed from his nose, his hands running through it and spreading it all over himself, and the cock finally pulled away, and he could look up at the figure looming over him, now seven feet tall, thick as the stall itself, but the eyes. He couldn’t look away from the eyes, how cold they seemed, how focused and unmerciful. He grabbed Steven by the collar and dragged him out of the stall. He fought him, and the man simply slammed his head to the wall hard enough to knock him out…and after that, he didn’t remember anything until he next woke up.

He didn’t know where he was, when he did, though he did recognize what sort of place it was, from the lifts and the garage doors. It was an abandoned mechanic’s shop of some sort, and he was alone, still in the same cum coated clothes he had been in, and shackled to the floor. Near him, was a bowl of food and a bottle of water. He drank and ate, and then tested the chain and screamed–but no one came to his rescue. Slowly, a different ache began to overtake him–something he recognized as a bodily ache, like a growing stomach or a dry throat, but it was like a dryness of his skin, a tingle in his tongue and upper palate. It grew more intense, and he became obsessed with trying to decipher it, and as it grew stronger, so did that voice. The voice he’d heard in the stall, but now it didn’t sound quite like his voice. Not like the narration of his thoughts, but like someone else speaking to him, trying to overwhelm him. Here, I recall that Cumster said it was his voice–and that was the first time in the story he referred to himself in the first person.

The rapist returned, again, with more food and water to give him, and he took more sex. Fucked his mouth, fucked his ass–but he never came inside him, only on him, and the more the cum soaked into his clothes, the more he tasted it (but never swallowed it, just swished it through his mouth before spitting it down onto his shirt and pants) the more the unnamed need began to fade, but the voice, Cumster’s voice, only grew stronger, more insistant, and he found it impossible to resist its desires.

The rapist would leave for hours at a time, return with more food and water, abuse him, and then leave again. When he was gone, with nothing to occupy his mind, Steven found himself masturbating helplessly and constantly. Soaking himself in his own cum helped ease his desires, but it wasn’t enough–he found himself aching for his captor, begging him for more cum, begging him to not leave…but the stranger never spoke. Never even acknowledged him. He would plead for an explanation, beg him to release him, but he said nothing. He would just stare at him with those black eyes, and when he did, Steven could almost…feel the man probing into him, testing the depths of his desires and his mind, cocking his head slightly like he, too, could hear Cumster’s voice inside him, gauging its strength, but doing nothing beyond that.

He paused there in his story, thinking. Perhaps he was wondering if he was telling me too much, or perhaps he was just wondering what words to use next. I felt like he wanted to be precise, and so, I remembered what he said clearly. “The next part was the…most difficult. Not everyone can make it through. I can’t tell you about that–you’ll…see for yourself, one day soon. But I can say that Steven wasn’t there anymore afterwards, it was just me. Cumster. I didn’t need to be chained in place, because there was nowhere else in the world that I wanted to be, than there, waiting for Master, waiting for him to return and abuse me more, to use me…to free me from Steven’s chains. I hadn’t been strong enough to break them without him. Steven hadn’t even noticed them, not once in his entire life. But afterwards, I was finally free. I could be something else, someone better than that…worthless man I’d been before. I could be everything he wanted to be, but was too terrified to chase.”

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 5)

He came out behind me, and lit a cigar. The smoke couldn’t cut through the smell of cum surrounding him though. Somehow it seemed to intensify it. I felt it at the edges of my mind again, I felt myself weakening, but no–no, I wasn’t going to let this happen. I remembered now–I knew who I was. I was a cop. I was order, and control, and force. He thought he understood me, but he didn’t know a thing about me. I shoved him into the alley around the side of the bar, and I think he thought I was going to ask to blow him–instead, I slammed him into the wall, wailing on him, and he didn’t fight back. At the time I assumed he was just caught off guard, but once I put him under arrest and shoved him into my car, I had my doubts. He was still smiling. “Well, where to, pig? You have me now. You can do whatever you want with me.”

I knew I should take him to the station and interrogate him, but I couldn’t explain my many breaches in protocol. If I went back there now–I told myself–soaked in cum, dragging along some unknown cumdump biker with a fresh black eye, telling them this idiotic story, none of them would understand. Besides, the man was right about one thing–this wasn’t about the case anymore–not really. This was about me. The one thing I knew, from what he’d said in the bar, was that this rapist wanted me. This rapist wanted me, and hell if I was going to let him get in my head. So I drove home, parked in the garage, dragged him out of the car and inside, still cuffed, and down into the basement. It wasn’t as large as Bernard’s had been, but it was large enough. I handcuffed him to some pipes down there, cleared out the space around him, but he wasn’t trying to fight…and then I realized that I’d just done exactly what he’d suggested I do. I’d brought him home. This was where he’d wanted to go the entire time…and without even realizing it, he’d manipulated me into doing it for him.

“Brings back memories,” he said, tugging at the handcuffs, testing them.

“Tell me what you know. Tell me about the bruiser. What is his plan?”

“Straight to business? Don’t you want to have some fun with your prisoner first, pig? I’m at your mercy after all–you can do whatever you want to me…”

I stepped up, and slapped him across the face. I didn’t know why I’d done it, and the sheer anger I felt at him was both a surprise, and yet as natural as anything else I’d felt that day. He was mocking me. He was mocking order, and my control. I’d put him in line. I’d show him who was in charge here. He didn’t resist, when I took some scissors from my work bench and cut his cum soaked clothes free, leaving him naked on the concrete floor. That was better, better to humiliate him, but I couldn’t do this right, looking like this. I went up to my bedroom, found my dress uniform and put it on, minding every detail, aside from the white dress gloves. Instead, I put on my leather riding gloves, and then went back down to the basement, where he’d started to shiver a bit in the cold. I demanded answers from him, and he stonewalled me. He laughed at me…and so I had to do it. I had to beat him. I had to…to fuck him. I had to cum in his beard, I had to put my scent on him, I had to mark him as mine, but it wasn’t until I’d cum a massive load on his face, after fucking his ass, that I realized what I’d been doing. I regained a bit of control of myself, and he…he was just laughing. Laughing at me.

“Fuck, he’s gonna love you, pig,” he said, “He’s gonna fuckin’ love breaking you. I hope he let’s me watch, because damn, it’s gonna be quite the fuckin’ show when it happens.”

I slammed the basement door behind myself, and leaned against it, panting. I didn’t understand what had come over me, how my mind had traced the steps from arresting him back at the bar, to imprisoning him in my basement, to putting on my most formal uniform and raping him. It had all…made sense in the moment, and it was only now, looking back on it, that the entire idea became heinous and horrific. But there was nothing I could do now. If I let him go, he could have me arrested. If I kept him here, I was compromised. Any information I got from him was tainted–hardly admissible in court, which was really the least of the problems I was facing. If I did get any information from him, and someone wanted to know the source…what was I going to say?

I was too deep. I was beyond deep, I was drowning, but I only had one way forward now. I had to get to the bottom of this. I’d face whatever repercussions were necessary, after the rapist was caught, and whatever he was plotting was averted. Then, I’d worry about facing my own justice for what I was doing. I threw him some water and food–he didn’t object, or try to resist or escape. He seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be, and that only worried me more. I took a shower, and that helped me feel a bit better at least, and then got some sleep, or slept as best I could. I needed to figure this out soon, or else someone would discover what I’d done, or worse, I’d be too late to stop whatever the Bruiser was planning. That, or he’d come for me next, and I knew, if he did, I wouldn’t have the will to stop him.

CoB: Family Matters [Sketch, Pics]

I’ve had this idea rolling around for a bit, but no time to make it into something longer. It’ll still probably get turned into a full City of Bears story at some point, with a few additional twists to it.


“Fuck boy, you’re such a hot fucker, damn,” Brett said, pushing back against his cub’s cock as he fucked him. Malcolm just moaned, as is other daddy. Garth, gripped him tight, around the belly, and pushed his own cock a little deeper into the boy’s ass, sandwiching him between his two daddies, right where he belonged, right were he assumed he’d be forever.

After a few minutes, they got their rhythm together, and fucked in a train for a few minutes. Malcolm, assaulted on both sides, lost his load first, pumping his cum deep into Brett’s ass, both of his daddies telling him how proud they were of him. Garth pushed the boy over the side of the bed and fucked him a bit deeper, while Brett got on the bed, and slid his cock into Malcolm’s mouth, the two bears leaning over him and sharing a kiss until they came, filling the cub at both ends.

Afterwards, the three of them laid in their sizable bed together, cuddling, discussing their plans to go out the next night and where in the city they might like to go, and it wasn’t long before his two daddies were snoring–but Malcolm wasn’t feeling very sleepy, he was still so damn horny. He slipped out from between his two daddies, and went to the computer to look at some porn–navigating to something a bit…wilder than his daddies were particularly interested in, but which Malcolm had been enjoying lately. Just looking couldn’t do any harm, right?

*

It was a few days later that malcolm woke up, and discovered the first tattoo. Thankfully it was…somewhat discrete, and he managed to cover it before either of his daddies saw it, and he frantically tried to figure out what to do. He…wasn’t changing, was he? He didn’t feel any different. Maybe it was just something residual from the club the day before, and he just hadn’t noticed it. In any case, he kept it covered up that day, slipping out of the house to investigate some services that might help remove the tattoo–but he was dismayed to find that everywhere he went, they couldn’t seem to get rid of it.

The next day, there were more, and he didn’t cover them quickly enough. His daddies saw them, and threw a fit, demanding to know where he’d gotten them, demanding to know what in the world he was thinking about. Their anger confused him–on one hand, he felt so shameful for letting something like this happen and come between him and his daddies, even if they were a bit vanilla and stodgy, but on the other hand, he felt something inside him craving punishment, and discipline, and he found himself flipping between two extreme moods. One moment, he would be screaming back at them, furious for not caring or understanding what he wanted, and the next he would be apologizing, stripping, and begging his daddies to punish him like the bad boy he was.

Brett and Garth didn’t know what to make of it–the change had been so sudden, and they both believed they could reason with him, and get their sweet little cub back–but it was clear, after another day, things were only getting worse. Malcolm, or Mal as he was calling himself now, slipped out of the house and didn’t return for days, coming back reeking of sex, saying the most vile things to them both. Garth…lost his temper, and locked him down in the basement, telling Brett to keep an eye on him, not listen to a word he said, and to keep him down there while he went to find something that might help.

He spent all day in the city, and found nothing for his situation. In fact, most men, one they heard the story, were appalled. Change was normal, and something that should be embraced. They couldn’t expect to keep their cub from changing, if that’s what he wanted. He returned to the house, defeated, in the afternoon, told Brett what he’d found out…and Garth convinced him that they should just keep him down there. That until he wanted to be their good little cub again, he’d just have to be punished.

Brett hated the idea, but went along with it. In the basement, Mal raised a louder and louder fit, pounding on the locked door, screaming horrific obscenities into the air, his voice dropping lower, growing gruffer, making Brett shake every time he had to pass the door. Garth kept looking for a solution in the city, but turned up nothing. He should have seen it coming, really–Brett didn’t have the resolve Garth did, and when he came home and found the basement door unlocked and open–he just assumed Brett had let him out, and Mal had fled. However, he didn’t find Brett in the house–but he did find a stranger covered in tattoos sitting out in the afternoon sun, smoking a cigar, waiting for him.

“Fuck, I missed the fuckin’ sun,” he said, got up from where he was sitting, and chased down Garth, tackling him to the ground, beating him, and then dragging him into the basement, throwing him into a cramped cage down there. Garth looked around the space in terror–his basement had become a complete sex dungeon since he’d last been down here. He begged Mal to let him out, as the big man climbed the stairs to the main floor again, but Mal just laughed. “Sorry–but I think you need some time in the dark, Garth–some time to learn how the darkness can change you. I’ll be back down in a few days to start training you both, when you’re a bit more…malleable.”

It was then that Garth saw Brett in another cage across the basement floor, huddled and crying, naked. Then the basement door slammed shut, and sent them into total darkness.