The Doppelganger Conspiracy

This is my contribution to the Secret Santa Story Exchange over on Gay Spiral Stories this month! The two tags I received were…not my usual sort of thing, “teachers” and “robots”, but I’m honestly pretty pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy it!

“Coach, can I…talk to you about something?” Evan said as he stepped into Coach Harrison’s office. Football practice had ended half an hour ago, and Evan had dragged his feet getting undressed and showering while the rest of the team had left already, leaving him and the coach alone for the moment.

“Sure Evan, what’s up?” Harrison said, looking up from his computer. The coach was in his mid forties, and kept himself in good athletic shape. He was well liked by the whole team, and in Evan’s opinion, was a good listener. Now, Evan just had to hope that the coach wouldn’t think he’s crazy.

Evan hesitated a moment, looking down at his sneakers, then up again. “Have you noticed something…off, about Rick and Phillip? Joshua too?”

Harrison cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think so, you’re all playing great out on the field,” Harrison said, “I think we have a real shot at going to state this year, honestly.”

It was true. When the team had started practicing in late summer, they’d been good. Good, not great. But after about a month, some of the players had improved remarkably–specifically Rick, Phillip and Joshua, who were all seniors like Evan. They were almost too good to be high school players, but none of them would admit something had changed. “I just, something’s off about…how good they’ve gotten.”

Harrison sighed, “Look, Evan, if you’re worried that they’re upstaging you, don’t stress about it! You’re just as crucial to this team’s success as they are.”

“It’s not–I’m not jealous! It’s more than just…how good they got all of a sudden. Have…you met the new computer science teacher? Mr. Klein?”

“Sure, what about him?”

“Does he seem normal to you?”

“Evan, what is this about exactly?”

This was the moment. How could Evan put to words the unease that had been building up in his gut over the last few months about his three friends? All of them all enrolled in Mr. Klein’s intro course to get an easy good grade in their senior year and immediately complained about how creepy the fellow was. How he was always sneaking looks at them, ogling them in class, making these lewd comments. Then, one by one, they’d gotten sick, were gone from school for three or four days, and when they came back, they were fine. Except none of them could recall complaining about Mr. Klein before. All of them were remarkably better at football, enough that their midtier school was expected to dominate the state championship. Little things, their eyes, their smell, their mannerisms, the way they only hung out with each other now, and no one else. It wasn’t right, something must have happened to them, but what? “I just, I think they’re…different, all of a sudden. I don’t know how I know, just…and I think Mr. Klein has something to do with it. Have any of them talked to you about anything? They don’t…talk to me really at all anymore, and they won’t even say why.”

Harrison leaned back in his chair, wearing the scowl he always had on when he was thinking deep about something. “Have…you told anyone else about this?”

A bit of hope flared in Evan’s chest. He believed him! “No, I haven’t, I…didn’t know who I could trust, and you know them, so I thought if anyone would have noticed something like me, it would be you. There is something off, isn’t there? What’s going on? It’s like they’ve all been replaced by clones, or robots!”

“I…have some suspicions. I’ve been taking some notes. Tell me what you think of these?” the coach said, and opened up a word document on the screen. Evan went over to look, only to find himself looking at a blank page. Before he could ask his coach what he meant, the older man leapt up from this chair, wrapped an arm around Evan’s neck, and had him in a choke hold from behind. Evan tried to fight him off, but all he succeeded in doing was kicking over the coach’s chair, his vision tunnelling and going black. He came to after a few moments, lying on the floor, and saw coach Harrison looming over him, drawing something from a vial into a syringe. Evan struggled weakly, but the coach plunged the needle into his neck, and after a few moments, darkness overwhelmed Evan again–a deep well of darkness, complete and total.

SYSTEMS CHECK…….PROCESSING PERSONA……….VERIFICATION…..

BOOT SUCCESSFUL

Evan woke up. It wasn’t quite like waking up, but that was what his head told him it was, and he had no way to contest it, so that’s what he called it. Waking up. But it wasn’t the gradual move from unconsciousness to awareness, it was like a switch. Everything wasn’t, then everything just was. He was awake, lying on a mattress naked, and there was Coach Harrison at the foot of the bed, staring at him, completely naked. “C-Coach? What’s going on? Where am I?” Evan said, trying to remember what had happened, but he couldn’t seem to recall anything from beyond the end of practice. He’d talked to him about something, hadn’t he? But what?

“Fuck, he said you’d smell better than the other models, let’s see, eh?” Harrison said, and the burly, hairy man climbed onto the bed with Evan. He tried to move, tried to do anything, but his limbs refused to respond. They felt heavy, like bricks attached to him, not like flesh. In fact, his whole body felt off, cold and hard and immobile, but that didn’t make any sense, none of this made any sense at all. Coach Harrison pushed up one of his arms, shoved his nose into Evan’s pit, took a long sniff, and then released the breath with a shuddering sigh. “Fuck, fuck! You’re fucking perfect, fucking…” he snorted up more of Evan’s smell, and he could smell it too now. It didn’t smell like his body usually did. It was deeper, earthier, thicker somehow. It didn’t smell entirely human. “Fuck boy, you’re gonna get coach so fucking hard, I hope you’re fucking ready,” Harrison said, pulling away from Evan’s pit and leering down at him.

“Coach, what’s going on? I don’t understand what’s wrong, why can’t I move.”

“Shut up, you stupid hunk of junk. Enter bottom mode, plus nullification.”

Something inside Evan’s body, something unfamiliar, whirled to life in his guts, or what should have been his guts. He could feel it churning though, like gears, like screws. It made him nauseous at first, and he kept expecting there to be pain, but there was only discomfort. Looking down, he saw something happening to his cock, the flesh separating into panels with metal visible inside. It telescoped, and proceeded to retract down into his groin until it was flush with his crotch, and then the flesh smoothed back over, leaving him with just a hairy patch, his nuts sucked back up inside his body as well. Coach reached down and grabbed hold of the blank patch–Evan felt nothing, not a mote of pleasure from the touch. Harrison gripped him tighter, making Evan wince–there was the pain, a familiar sense of pain, but somehow not entirely familiar to him, like it was tracing new paths through his body to his mind to be understood. The coach’s hand slid lower, between his thighs, parting them, to his hole. One finger grazed Evan’s ass, and he let loose a moan of surprise. His body–he could move now, but he didn’t seem to have full control. His asshole twitched, his legs spread wider, and he could feel, and hear, something wet down there as the coach slid a finger into Evan’s ass. “Coach, please…don’t…” he muttered, but he couldn’t get anything else intelligible out through the moans.

“Shut up. Good to know the lube pump is working up in there, good and slick already,” Harrison said, and forcefully rolled Evan over. “Get into position B.”

Evan didn’t know what that meant, but his body knew, somehow. His limbs moved him onto hands and knees, ass high, back arched, hole flexing. The sensation of gears and hydraulics inside his limbs made the nausea return, but there was no sense of organs inside him. What on earth was wrong with him? What was he? Harrison’s cock slid up and down his ass crack, and each time it caught on his hole, Evan shuddered and gasped, until the coach finally slid inside him. His ass gave no resistance at all, and there was no pain, only a deep pleasure, a satisfaction at being used and penetrated that sprang right to the forefront of his mind, told him how much he liked being fucked, how much he wanted to coach to use him. Harrison pulled him tight, and shoved his nose into one of Evan’s pits from behind. He could feel his coach’s cock throb and harden further.

“Make that ass pulse for me, milk my cum out.”

Evan’s hole started throbbing and sucking at the coach’s cock. He couldn’t control it, he couldn’t even understand how he was doing it, the mechanics completely alien to him. His body, what was wrong with his body? He tried to sob, tried to scream, tried to crawl away, tried to beg, but all he could do was moan as his coach slid in and out of his pulsating asshole.

One side of the room was mirrored. Behind that mirror, looking on, was Evan. In horror, he watched as his coach fucked the android copy of himself that Mr. Klein had made of him over the last few days while he was unconscious, the android that had all of Evan’s memories and personality copied into it, the android that had no clear idea that it was in fact just a machine. A machine that Mr. Klein had crafted to pleasure other himself and his accomplices, like Coach Harrison.

Of course, Harrison hadn’t been thrilled at the idea when Klein had mentioned it to him, but after a few brainwashing sessions, as after getting him addicted to the unique pheromone he could only get from the androids’ pits–from Rick, Phillip, Joshua, and now Evan–he’d been more than happy to help Mr. Klein execute his master plan. Knowing that the androids were sure to help the school’s team win the state championship didn’t hurt either.

The real Evan, the Evan made of meat, he struggled in the bondage chair Mr. Klein had him strapped into, but it was no use. All he could do was look away as the coach roared and came deep in his doppelganger’s hole, only to lean in, snort up more of that artificial musk, and feel his still leaking cock return to full hardness in a matter of moments.

“It’s quite the powerful aphrodisiac,” Mr. Klein said, from where he was standing beside Evan, “I’ve seen him get eight or nine orgasms in during a single session. His nuts run dry around the sixth ejaculation, but your coach is a persistent fellow. He knows what he wants.”

“Is this what you fucking did to my friends, you fucking freak?” Evan said, “You fuck–god damn it, let me fucking go! You think no one will notice?”

“No one will notice. Even if they do, trust me, I’ll make sure they become just as committed to helping me with my plans as Coach Harrison there is,” Mr. Klein said, “This is just a beta test, after all. It won’t be long before I can replace important people. Business leaders. Congressman. Before long, I’ll have everything I ever wanted. No one will care about some high school that went to state this year–you won’t matter at all. You’re just my seed funding.”

“What?” Evan asked.

“You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to let you keep your mind, do you?” Mr. Klein said with a chuckle. “I have your memories and personality backed up, just in case the bot in there gets corrupted somehow. I don’t need you anymore, for anything. Of course, a body like yours,” the teacher said, running his hands over Evan’s toned body, down to his youthful cock and down his thighs, “Bodies like this are worth quite a lot. Some people still value flesh over artifice, for now at least. And since I can give you whatever mind I want…well, let’s just say you’re going to be a high value commodity, once I customize you. Of course, I wasn’t planning on converting another so soon–I don’t have a buyer for you yet. That doesn’t mean we can’t return you to factory settings, of course.”

Evan struggled as Mr. Klein lowered the helmet down onto his head, the same helmet that had copied and digitized his entire mind over the last few days. Erasing a mind, though, was much easier, and would be complete in a matter of hours. All that would remain of Evan, the original Evan at least, was a new basic protocol of a cock hungry slave, eager to obey and service any man–the perfect foundation for whatever his new owner would desire him to be. Evan begged and pleaded for mercy, as they always did, then there was a bright flash inside the helmet, and the young man slumped over in the chair where he was strapped, his mind being wiped clean of anything troublesome.

Mr. Klein walked over, put a hand under his limp chin, lifted him up and used his thumb to wipe a little drool from the corner of his new slave’s mouth. He looked over at the coach, about to unload into the android for the second time. He really should wait for the processing to complete before using his new toy, but watching the coach rough up at slutty robot, and listening to Evan’s pleading had gotten him plenty horny. He dropped his pants, pushed his cock into Evan’s slack mouth, and fucked his face roughly, feeling the mouth start to suck on him instinctually.

Maybe this one, Mr. Klein would keep for himself, as a personal pet. It had been a long time since he’d had one for himself. He’d gathered plenty of seed money at this point, and he had to admit, Evan was handsome. He could picture the young man now, shaved completely, crawling around on all fours, cock forgotten and locked away within a steel chastity cage, perhaps his nuts removed entirely. There were a few more extreme programs that Mr. Klein had been working on that he needed a guinea pig for–he could envision making Evan a complete masochist, only able to receive pleasure from painful stimuli. Making him beg his new master to tattoo him all over his body, pierce him, destroy him–and when he’d been all used up, he could always sell him off cheap to some biker gang that needed a gimp and fuckdoll to abuse.

Mr. Klein was so excited by the thought that he drove his cock in deep to the young throat and exploded, feeding his new slave the first load of many more to come. He pulled free, and smiled. For Mr. Klein, it seemed that Christmas had come a few months early.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.11 – Jimmy’s Descent

As Jimmy descended down into the jail below precinct 27, it was difficult to shake the sensation that he was passing into some other place, somewhere that didn’t quite exist in the same sense that the station, or the street. Going into Pigtown felt similar, perhaps. Crossing that liminal space between the normal world–if that world of suburbs and skyscrapers and children could be considered normal–one could sense that the rules had shifted. Each person might describe this differently. Some felt a new spring in their step, a sensation of opened opportunities where none had existed before. Others felt it as an oppressive threat, a hidden terror around every dark corner, though few could resist the parallel urge to see what those terrors might be.

Descending that first stairwell, Jimmy found himself in another hallway, identical to the one up above, but the light was dimmer, the concrete cracked, walls bulging and pulsing, almost as though they were breathing out the moans and screams that came from further below. The cells here were not entirely empty like the ones above, though there were only a couple of prisoners here. One clad in a full rubber catsuit, who seemed to be struggling with it fruitlessly, looking for a zipper or closure at the back of his neck that no longer seemed to exist, his panic rising, though the bulge of excitement in his crotch could not be discounted either. Another fellow was sitting with his back to the wall, high on some party drug, both hands wrapped around a cock rubbed red and raw, with a huge sack resting on the ground between his legs. Another gout of cum erupted from the head of his cock, rolling down the shaft, and as Jimmy stared, he swore he saw a pulse, or a wave try to extend itself from the puddle of cum accumulating around the man, and then recede, almost like the semen itself was alive. He hurried past them both, the men far too preoccupied with their own problems to notice Jimmy, who made his way to the end of the hallway, down another identical stairwell, and again, found a hallway lined with cells.

This time, though, the lights were dim and flickering, more cells were occupied, the walls seemed to have grown broader. This was enough for Jimmy to feel that he ought to turn around and climb back up, but when he turned around, all he found behind him was a solid brick wall. This was, of course, impossible. He had stepped off the stairwell just a moment before his bravery failed him, but when he pressed on the brick, it was solid and unyielding, though the stone and mortar was quite a bit warmer than the air around him, nearly the same temperature as his own flesh. He shuddered, certain somehow the wall was feeling him back, hardening further, thickening, or perhaps engorging. He retreated away down the hall, towards the staircase at the other end, hoping, perhaps, that one would rise upward. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not willing to look at the strange inhabitants of the cages on either side, at their oddities, the ways they now failed at being entirely human, the reasons, he assumed, they were all caged now. He had not yet seen a guard or officer of the law, which only increased his sense of unease. The staircase at the far end only sunk deeper into the earth, spiraling now. He no longer had any sense of being beneath the precinct above, but he no longer had much choice but to venture further. The oppressive urge to sleep that had been so constant for hours now had left him, and even if it had remained, he doubted that he would have been able to at all. He continued down.

Each level was larger than the one before, each time the staircase would seal up behind him, the light grew dimmer, the path through the cages more labyrinthine. The cells were no longer only built into the walls, but now also free standing. In large areas, there would be open spaces with a cross, a stand holding whips and floggers, or any assortment of other BDSM gear, some that Jimmy recognized from his early ventures into porn, and some that he certainly did not. It was a couple levels further down that he saw a guard for the first time, with a prisoner bound to a cross, lashing them roughly, wearing something between a police uniform and an executioner’s garb. He hit behind a cage and took a long way around, now finding himself wondering if he’d slipped into hell, or was perhaps dreaming all of this in a chair up in the waiting room. One level deeper, he was spotted by a pair of guards about to unlock a cage and drag a prisoner out for punishment. Jimmy tried to run, but the two guards chased him down and tackled him, the prisoners around him jeering and hooting and calling, shouting for the guards to rape him, to beat him, to shove him in their cage and let the prisoners have their way with the freshmeat.

In the end, all they did was tear off his clothes, collar him, chain his ankles and wrists together, and march him deeper still into the jail, but that was enough to have Jimmy in tears, begging for understanding, trying to understand why they were doing this to him. The guards would simply slap his ass if he got too loud or whiny, and tell him that they were taking him to The Warden, to see what was to be done with the freshmeat.

Jimmy was led deeper into the jail, down to levels where limiting walls could no longer be seen in the darkness, where the cages and dungeons were truly a maze. The guards moved through the space unerringly, the captives cringing away as they approached, or pushing forward, scarred and bruised, begging for more. The guards were more numerous, but were far outnumbered by the captives. They would punish one, shove it back into a cage, and move onto the next without a moment’s rest. They came, at last, to a man larger than any of the other guards he had seen thus far, smoking a cigar, with a silver badge on the chest of his leather shirt declaring him the jail’s warden, and the guards told him that they had found an oddity–freshmeat roaming the upper levels, and didn’t know what to do with him, beyond strip him, bind him, and bring him to the Warden, of course.

The Warden looked at Jimmy, a bit puzzled himself, took a drag off his cigar, and asked him what he thought he was doing, trespassing in his jail. Jimmy, after a few false starts, managed to get out most of the relevant details, starting with Shadow stealing Marlon away, his troubles with everyone forgetting, filing a report at Precinct 27, his dream, his encounter that night with the shade that resembled Marlon so closely, who was then taken by the cops down here, into the jail, where Jimmy had gone as well, once the precinct had mysteriously emptied for the evening. The Warden listened rather intently, and Jimmy concluded his story with a request–he just wanted to know what he could do to get his friend back to the way he’d been. There had to be a cure, certainly.

The Warden just laughed, a deep belly laugh, hooked a lead to the collar around Jimmy’s neck, and tugged him away into the dark. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Freshmeat,” he said, “but one thing I can tell you, for certain, is that your friend is gone.”

The Warden said nothing else for a few minutes, until they rounded a bank of cages, and there, bound to a cross, was Marlon–or at least, the shade that had taken his place. He was still in his leather gear, unlike most everyone else in the jail who had been stripped naked–aside from those with clothes that could not be removed, or which the guards had secured on them purposefully. The chains binding him were not mere steel, but in the dim light of the jail, were glowing bright enough that Jimmy had to shield his eyes for a moment to let them adjust. Marlon was struggling against them, and as he did, he seemed to be warping, his body trying to slide away into the darkness around him, only to be dragged back to the chains holding him in place.

“Shades are a menace,” The Warden said, “Ever since the first, Shadow, who you had the unfortunate chance of encountering, we’ve been struggling to contain them. We’d done well, securing Shadow and caging most of his converts. We’ve been hunting him since his…escape, and were lucky to catch this one early, but I suppose we have you to thank for that, in one way or another.”

“But…what happened to Marlon?”

“That thing devoured him, more of less. Took his place. We don’t know what happens to their remains, but we know that the shadows grow as the flesh wilts, the shades taking their form, and their place, once they’ve drained enough from the people they used to follow around. They pretend well enough, but here, watch,” The Warden said, took the whip wrapped around his shoulder, cracked it hard against Marlon’s chest, and the whip bit into the leather like it was somehow soft, the shade letting off a screech far outside something a person could make. “See? It pretends, but it’s nothing like us. If it were up to them, all of us would be devoured. They want nothing beyond our complete decimation. Likely this one pursued you due to a lingering emotional connection, but don’t be fooled–if you hadn’t escaped, that shadow under you would have taken your place by the end of the night.”

Jimmy just stared at Marlon, the shade staring back, eyes full of disgust, but also fear and anguish. Could it feel those things, or was that just another trick, trying to earn his sympathy, hoping it would try to free him? The Warden unhooked the chains securing Jimmy’s wrists and ankles, and lastly, removed the collar around his neck. “You, on the other hand, aren’t even a resident, and so are beyond our jurisdiction. I’ll be sure to mention the security breach to the Commander, when we next speak, but you are free to go–my guards will escort you back to the surface.”

“What happens to that? What happens to everyone here? None of this can be legal, none of this is even possible.”

“Ah, the possible! Your laws hold no sway here, neither those of man, nor those of nature. We hold back the things that would devour this whole city if we weren’t here to stop them,” The Warden said, “the shade, along with the rest of our prisoners will remain here forever. They are aberrations. Any one of them could warp the surface irreparably in a matter of nights. Pigtown would become a Hell on Earth without me and my fellow guards keeping the filth in line.”

Jimmy couldn’t seem to turn away from the shade, bound to the cross. The fury and rage and sorrow he felt were as limitless as the darkness and as loud as the screams surrounding him. Without even knowing why, he took a flogger from a stand, strode forward, and whipped it across the shade’s face. It screeched, deep lines appearing in the surface, returning to their proper form in a few moments–almost. It had his face. His lover’s face. It was the greatest insult. He whipped it again, the Warden holding back one guard who stepped forward to stop him, and shook his head.

The jail would always be short on guards–there were simply too many in Pigtown that required containment. If the freshmeat wanted to help, so be it. The Warden would be happy to add him to the ranks.

Caption: Daddy Issues #2 – Evan the Bully

Hey all! For the month of April, I’m taking a break from The Pigtown Chronicles, and will be posting some caption stories instead. We’ll have captions Monday through Thursday, and I’ll be posting some longer stories on Fridays. This week, we have a mysterious force punishing men for their cruel language. Whatever you might feel about others, be careful, they might just come true for yourself.

James’s father, Paul, was a health freak. He went to the gym five days a week, ran each morning before work, prepared only the healthiest of food, and had used all of this to rule over James’s body like a tyrant. James’s body, on the other hand, had never taken to his father’s rule well, and he’d struggled all his life trying to conform to Paul’s expectations for how he should look, and what he should do to get there. There was always just a bit too much fat, not enough muscle, why couldn’t he work harder. The question of sexuality was complicated by the fact his father essentially demanded a family from James, something he had no intention of giving him, of course.

At college, finally free of his father’s strict hand, James had really let go, and already gained close to the Freshman 15 without even trying. He was terrified of what his father would say when he saw him, as he went up to the door and into the house, but his father wasn’t anywhere to be found. He eventually went up into the bedroom, after he heard someone grunting and groaning in there, and what he found made his jaw drop to the floor.

It was his dad, right? It had to be his dad. He could still see some of the resemblance there, but so much of it was…well, it was how fat he was, first of all. He was struggling where he was tied to the chair, and he was so heavy, he could hear the wood creaking under him, his father’s eyes horrified at what had happened to him. James felt a bit dizzy, and retreated from the room and into the bathroom, his body heating up, muscles cramping, after once the discomfort had subsided, he stood up, looked in the mirror, and was staring at a body just as unfamiliar to him as his father’s now was.

Fuck–he was…hot. He was really hot. He ran his hands over his muscled body, groped his bulge through the jockstrap he now had on, and gave a little smirk, before going back out to where his father was still tied up.

“Fuck dad, look at you, really let yourself go while I was at school, eh?” he said, walked up, and started groping and teasing his dad’s massive body. Paul squirmed and jiggled away as best he could, but James could see the confusion in his eyes, and with a little digging under his massive gut, he found out why–his dad was rock hard. “Fuck, is this turning you on old man? You fucking pig? Having your hot jock son play with your fat and tease you is getting you off?” He pulled his hand out, covered with his dad’s precum, took out his gag and fed it to him off his fingers.

“Please, I…I’m so fucking hungry, but I don’t know what’s wrong with us. Please son, we need to get help.”

“I’ll tell you what we need to get,” James said, picking his dad’s phone up off the counter. “We need five extra large pizzas here ASAP, and I’m going to feed every one of them to you. Then, when you’re good and stuffed, pig, I’m gonna bend you over and fuck that fat ass of yours. I have a feeling you’re gonna love it.”

Caption: Daddy Issues #1 – Conrad the Disciplinarian

Four freshmen in college met during a meeting of the college’s queer group, and quickly bonded over a common problem they shared–their fathers. It wasn’t uncommon for young gay guys to have daddy issues of course, but for them, coming out at home was still an impossibility. While each of their fathers was different, what tied them all together was their desire to control their son’s lives, and an unwillingness to accept anything other than the straightest of behavior from all of them. As they shared their woes, and prepared to go home for winter break, a mischievous little sprite was listening in on their discussion. It didn’t seem fair to the sprite, not at all. But magic always came with a cost. They could have fathers who were more agreeable, sure, but they too, would have to change as well.

Conrad’s father, Harry, was a cop, in just about every sense of the word. He worked on the police force of the city, but lived in the outlying suburbs. He was a real piece of work, and he’d ridden Conrad every moment of his life, trying to “man him up” and get him to follow in his footsteps, train him into what he considered to be a proper young man, and none of it had stuck. Now he was off to college and studying literature–what a waste in his opinion. He’d refused to pay for any of it, and Conrad was currently relying on loans to make it though. He couldn’t find somewhere to stay on break, and so, he resigned himself to going home for a few weeks. He arrived, stepped inside, and was greeted by a sight so strange, it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at.

It was his father, naked, wrestling with a leather harness that seemed to have a life of its own. “God damn it, what the fuck is this shit? Conrad, help!” he shouted when he saw his son, but Conrad just gawked, then looked around, and saw a box by the door addressed to his father. As he watched, something crawled out, scuttled across the floor, flew and shoved itself into Harry’s mouth, wrapping around his head–a ball gag and head harness. It distracted him long enough the harness could crawl onto him, followed by a pair of boots, and a butt plug with a curly black tail on the end, that flew into his father’s ass, making him howl as he crawled around, in distress.

Conrad took a step forward, only for more gear to crawl out of the box and start crawling across the floor towards him. He backed up, but before he could get out the front door, the arms of a rubber cat suit wrapped their way around his legs and pulled them out from under him. He fought them off as long as he could, but something…was wrong with them. He could hear something, hear a voice, soothing him, relaxing him, telling him all sorts of filthy, wicked thoughts.

He stood up after a few moments, fully clothed in his gear, and he felt different. Taller, more muscular. He walked past his father, still struggling on the floor with his gear, went to his humidor, took out a cigar and lit it for himself, before walking back, kicking him over and putting a boot on his father’s neck.

“There’s going to be some changes around here, piggy,” Conrad said, his usually meek voice now full of confidence. “Yeah…gonna…gonna train you into a proper little pig slut, yeah. You tried to make a man out of me, pig, well what do you think? Is this man enough for you?”

He pressed down, and saw his father go a little limp, aside from his cock, which was rock hard and leaking.

“I’m the man who’s gonna make a proper pig out of you, and I’ll love every second of it. You will too, soon enough. Now, I wanna hear you squeal.”

TPC – Chapter 2.5

Chapter 5 – An Apprenticeship

Kyle did think about what Marshall had said. It was all he could really think about for the rest of that afternoon, that evening after he went home, while he tried to sleep, and in the morning when he woke up. He kept thinking about watching that little bit of smoke slide into Dennis’ ear, thought about what he had seen in the shed that night, thought about what kind of power could make something like that happen. He thought about Jim too, and Marlon, and what he’d told him. Would he disappear like that too? Would everyone just…forget about him, from one day to the next? He wondered if Marlon was there in Pigtown somewhere, trying to get free from whatever had taken him. He wondered if the offer Marshall was making him was just an attractive piece of bait for a hook he couldn’t see yet. He thought about what Dennis had said, he thought about his father and college, he thought about how everyone who walked into the shop seemed so pleased to be there. Marshall knew them all by first name, and if someone walked in who he didn’t know, by the end of the visit, it seemed he’d gained another customer for life. Mostly though, Kyle didn’t feel alone there, but out here, in the suburbs, all he ever felt was loneliness.

He got to the shop half an hour before they opened, as requested, helping Marshall get the store ready. He tried to bring up what they’d spoken about the day before, but Marshall pushed the topic to other subjects, telling him they would discuss it later. Then, the doors were open, and it wasn’t long before the regulars were coming in for their cigars, their tobacco, their magazines, their gossip and conversation about Pigtown. Kyle tried to follow as much of it as he could, but little of what the men talked about seemed to make much sense to him, and none of them made much effort to clarify who, or what, they were discussing. Lunch came and went, and still they didn’t discuss it. Kyle felt that they were waiting for something, but he didn’t know what.

At around three, while Kyle was rotating and restocking some of the bulk tobacco, the bell over the door chimed, he looked over, and saw that a different sort of character had wandered into the shop than usual. He wasn’t too different from Kyle, really–younger, thin, looking a bit nervous and unsure of himself. Marshall treated him like he did most any other newcomer, making them feel at home, asking them what they were interested in, and the young man seemed like he wasn’t quite sure why he was here himself. Marshall nodded, and told him to just take his time. If he saw something that caught his attention, just let him know, and he’d help him out.

The young man spent a few minutes at the glass counter, looking at the pipes in the display case, and at some point, he must have lingered over something a little longer than the rest, because Marshall walked over and pulled a pipe from the stand it was on, and rested it on the counter.

“This one, eh?”

The man nodded. “Yeah, I…I don’t know why, but…”

“It’s alright, here, I’ll help.”

“I’ve never smoked anything like this before, I don’t know why I’m even–”

Marshall took a drag off his cigar, and pushed a couple of jets from his nose. Kyle watched them twine around the young man’s face, caress it, ease it, relax him gently. “I’m here for you. Now, let’s get this packed for you, alright?”

Marshall took some tobacco from a sample jar he kept on the counter, and helped the young man pack the pipe. Kyle stood at the back of the shop, a little confused by what he was watching. The young man seemed distressed, like he didn’t quite know what he was doing, or why. Marshall was kind, but firm, almost pushing the pipe on him. He felt like he should intervene, and yet he also knew, somehow, that this is what he’d been waiting for, what Marshall had wanted him to witness. He slipped the pipe between the man’s lips. They quivered for a moment, and then firmed up enough to hold the bit while Marshall lit the pipe, and he drew the fire into the tobacco, getting it lit at Marshall’s urging, and as he did, Kyle watched the young man begin to change.

It was difficult to pin down how it happened, exactly. Looking back on it, he couldn’t quite describe a clear progression. One moment, there was a young man drawing on a pipe, and the next, there was an older fellow, short and a bit pudgy, with a thick grey beard and manicured mustache, holding that same pipe and grinning over at Marshall, who was beaming back. He could describe how it must have happened, how his belly must have grown, how his clothes must have changed, but it seemed to detract from the central astonishment. That first man was gone. In his place, was another man, and looking at him, Kyle…knew him. As a regular, William, coming in for his usual supply of pipe tobacco, just like every Wednesday. Marshall and William chatted for a bit, while he got his usual purchase ready, he paid, and then left, leaving Marshall and Kyle alone in the store again.

“Now do you see?” Marshall asked him. “That’s what this place will do to you. You’re different from him, of course. Stronger, in some ways. That, or because you want it, it’s more…lenient.”

“You…could change me like that?”

“No, I don’t quite think so. Not so easily. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. I think we could have much more fun together along the way.”

Kyle was quiet again.

“So, did you think about it? What did you decide?”

He had thought about it. He’d thought he’d decided. But watching that happen, right in front of him, he didn’t quite know anymore. Marshall stepped out from behind the counter, and flipped the sign on the door to closed, then walked over to Kyle, smoking his cigar.

“I know you decided, Kyle, or you would have run screaming out that door after that.”

He gulped.

“And you know, you’ll be able to do that too, eventually,” Marshall said, opening his lips and blowing a pair of smoke rings out. They drifted through the air, slipped around Kyle’s wrists, and he felt them clamp down. With a push of the hand, they dragged him towards the back of the store, pinning him to the wall, while Marshall advanced on him again, Kyle struggling a bit as he came closer. “Easy now, easy…” Marshall said, stroking the side of Kyle’s face with a plume of smoke, calming him down again, easing his breath. “We’re going to have so much fun together, my little apprentice.”

Marshall pressed his cigar between Kyle’s lips, and he grasped it in his teeth, pulling on the smoke gently while Marshall’s hands pushed up under his shirt, caressing him gently, working back down and undoing the fly of his jeans, and pushing them and his underwear down. Kyle’s hard cock sprang out, and Marshall grinned. “Ah, you are enjoying this. A boy’s cock never lies, you know. Now, why don’t we get you a little more used to that smoke.”

Marshall got down on his knees in front of him, wrapped his bearded lips around the head of his cock, and sucked on it, and as he did, Marshall felt his own lips seal around the cigar in his mouth and draw the smoke deeper into his lungs than he had before. He tried to cough and sputter, but his mouth wouldn’t open back up. He had to force the smoke back out through his nose, eyes watering.

Marshall pulled his lips free, and looked up at him. “Easy now, the first time is always the hardest. It’ll be as natural as air, soon enough. You can’t be afraid of the smoke. You have to control it, own it. Dominate it. Relax and let it in. I won’t let it hurt you.”

Kyle murmured and pleaded around the cigar he couldn’t release, but Marshall wrapped his lips around his cock and pulled on it again, the smoke again drawn into his lungs, and then deeper than his lungs. Kyle’s heart raced from the sensation, heaving smoke out his nose, but Marshall drew again, and again, sucking the smoke deeper, further into him, until after a couple of minutes, he pulled away from Kyle, who let out a groan as something…was sucked out of him, or through him. He thought it was an orgasm at first, but it didn’t feel quite right. Marshall pulled away from the head of his cock, and pushed a stream of smoke up at him, grinning. Kyle was confused, until he saw the tendril of smoke curling out of the head of his cock. “That’s a good boy,” Marshall said, and did it again.

The pleasure grew with each draw, and Kyle could feel it. Feel the smoke pulled into his lungs, through his lungs, circling through his entire body. He felt sick and exhilarated, terrified and powerful. At last, he felt his balls begin to churn, felt the heat of the smoke in there as well, filling him up, swelling, mixing with his cum and he came, gouts of smoke and cum, all of which Marshall drew into himself, leaving Kyle there, hanging from the smoky manacles, shuddering and gasping for air around the cigar. Marshall waved the smoke away, plucked the butt of the cigar from Kyle’s mouth, and caught him as he sagged forward into his arms, holding him close while he gasped.

“That’s it, you did good, so good…” Marshall said to him, “You’re my apprentice now, I’ll always take good care of you.”

He got Kyle some water, sat him on the floor, and just held him for a bit. Kyle could still feel it, the smoke all through his body, but it was…cooling, and he started to feel more nauseous than pleasurable. He excused himself, went into the bathroom and threw up. Marshall followed him in, telling him that was to be expected, but there’s no real way to avoid it. A few minutes later, Kyle felt himself start to shake, and when Marshall handed him a cigar, he looked up, a bit confused.

“You need it now, boy,” Marshall said, “It will never hurt you, but you also won’t be able to go without it for long. You should light up.”

His hands were shaking a bit too much to get a good light, and so Marshall helped him. He took a mouthful of smoke, and then took a long inhale. It didn’t hurt, not like before. He pulled it deeper, feeling it slide through his body again like before, and he let out a little moan of pleasure–and Marshall gave him a kiss. “That’s better. Now come on, we’d better open up again. I know we’ll have some angry customers if we don’t. They bring down the door and want to join in.”

Kyle spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of shock, trying to finish his list of duties for the day, but had trouble juggling the cigar he now craved in ways he couldn’t quite understand. As uneasy as he felt at first, he found himself enjoying it, at least until closing time came. Marshall flipped the sign over, and Kyle realized that he was going to have to go home soon, and the consequences of his decision crashed down on him in ways that he wasn’t quite ready to deal with.

“I…how am I going to explain this to my dad? If I have to smoke–” he started to say, but Marshall just shook his head.

“You live here now, with me. You’re a part of Pigtown now, for good. Now come on, let’s get some dinner on, and then we’ll get started on your training, properly.”

Kyle gave a little gulp, and looked at the door again.

“If you don’t believe me, check your keys.”

He did–and realized a few were missing. The keys to his parents’ cars for one thing, and their house key. But there was a new one, for the shop of course. He…it was real, wasn’t it? He wasn’t going back there. He expected to feel fear, but the relief was much stronger. He followed Marshall up to the apartment over the shop where he lived, realizing that he’d slipped his track completely–and now, his future belonged to Marshall.

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The House Made Me Gay (Finale)

Phil went to the door and unlocked it, and in came a young man, probably in his mid twenties. He was…well, he didn’t look particularly clean, for one thing. He was chubby and greasy, his clothes covered in food stains–and probably more than a few cumstains, from the shape and placement. The young man ran over to where Ethan was strapped to the chair, cigar lodged in his mouth, and he looked extremely pleased. “Fuck man, he looks so fucking good! I knew you could do it.”

“I know it can’t really replace what you lost, but I think he’ll do you just fine.”

“No way man, I think he’s even better.”

The young man’s name was Josh, and since he was eighteen, he had been in love with his father. He’d learned how to be a dirty pervert from him, sitting around all day, jacking off, swapping cum and spit and piss–and sometimes, if they got a bit drunk, even more than that. But tragically, Josh’s father had passed away–a heart attack–the year before, though he’d left his son a sizable life insurance policy. A good chunk of that was now invested in Ethan–who was going to be Josh’s replacement slobby father.

Josh ran his hands over Ethan’s massive cock, watching the older man shudder, his eyes fearful, and Josh…felt bad for a moment, but he was so turned on by the man Phil had created–and he knew that, before too long, his new daddy would love him just as much as his old one had. He went around and gave him a sniff–and wrinkled his nose. “He smells too clean still.”

“I was going to wait on that until you got here. He still needs a few more tatts before he’s really done,” Phil said, “But first–you still want those rings we talked about?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Josh said, “That sounded so hot.”

“Alright–then let’s get those in you both first.”

Phil worked quickly. With a box of matched rings, he quickly pierced both of them in the septum, in both their nipples. “That’s all we need to start, I think,” Phil said, “Why don’t you climb on and give daddy’s cock a ride boy? Then we can see how those work while I finish daddy up.”

Ethan struggled as Josh climbed up, and started lowering his ass down onto his massive cock. Josh’s first daddy had always loved opening up his son’s hole over the course of an afternoon, before sliding in his fists–but his cock had always been too small to really fuck his son. This new daddy though–he was going to be perfect in every way. Josh groaned as he felt his hole open around Ethan’s massive cock, taking it slow–but Ethan’s cum was the perfect lube now, helping stretch the boy’s hole. When he was halfway on, Phil took the cigar from Ethan’s mouth, and Josh leaned forward–Ethan heard the click of their septum piercings–and Josh kissed him, the boy’s rank mouth tasting of beer and cigarettes. He tried to pull away, but felt a tug on his nose when he did–their piercings had…merged. Josh leaned in closer, pressing their chests together, and their nipples stuck in the same way–Josh was now impaled on his cock, and latched to him, slowly sliding lower onto his massive cock, as Ethan panicked.

“Calm down now,” Phil said, as he got his tattoo needle ready again, “They come apart once you both cum. Just enjoy being close to your son, Ethan.”

“He’s not my son!” Ethan shouted through Josh’s mouth, and Phil just smiled, and got started on his arm, quickly sketching out a classic heart with “My Son” in the middle–and an arrow through it–or a cock, really, a cock spewing cum and piss down the rest of his arm. Josh could…feel this ink differently. Each little prick seemed to shift something in his mind, and as it took form…he found he could remember Josh–because Josh was…his son. His real son, and he…he loved him so much, didn’t he? Josh moaned, his ass now resting on the base of Ethan’s massive cock. “Fuck son, dadd’s so fuckin’ proud of you!” he said into Jason’s mouth between kisses. “Ride daddy’s big tool boy–I wanna see that hole gape.”

“Oh daddy…I…I missed you so much,” Josh moaned, and started sliding up and down on his new daddy’s cock, both of them kissing more passionately and Phil kept working, moving over to his other arm now. First, some lettering at the top of the shoulder– “Months Since Daddy’s Last Shower:”–and then below it, Phil started making hash marks, and after each one, Ethan started getting dirtier, and dirtier, and dirtier, as his memories of showers, of any hygiene really, faded further and further into the past. It…His son had wanted him to stop bathing, he said he wanted to see just how nasty his daddy could be. So they’d agreed on a tattoo to…to keep track. But that had been…months, no a year, no two years, no…no almost five years ago now, right? The hash marks ran down the outside of his arm, almost to his wrist–marking off four and a half years since his last shower–and Ethan stank to high heaven of musk, and smoke, and cum, and piss–but it was only driving Josh into a frenzy. With a roar, Ethan came, flooding his boy’s hole with his massive load of cum, feeling it drain out around his cock and into his lap–and that was enough for Josh to cum as well, shooting a much smaller load all over his daddy’s belly. They kept kissing for a moment, and then pulled apart–their rings separating again like magic.

“Fuck man, you…really outdid yourself. He’s fucking perfect,” Josh said to Phil, cum running down the inside of his legs. “Really…I know…I paid, but I…”

“It’s ok–what you had was special, and I’m happy I could give it to you again.”

“T-Thanks…we talked about some other stuff, can we…”

Phil laughed. It’s been a long day for your dad in that chair–why don’t you take him home for a while? When he comes in next month for his update–we can talk then, alright? I might even do those pro bono–you two are fucking hot to watch.”

Josh beamed, went over, and undid the straps holding his father to the chair, and Ethan stumbled up out of it, trying to figure out what, and who he was. Josh got him dressed in some of his filthy whities and a scummy tanktop crispy with cum, and then pulled his daddy out of the shop and to their little truck. By the time they got home to their little stinking trailer, Ethan was feeling almost normal again–that, and he was already horny as hell for his son’s hole. Josh was only too happy to ride his dad’s massive cock again of course–and by morning, neither of them could remember that their lives had ever been different from this.

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.