The Dark Mind (Part 5)

The world began swimming, that same nausea from before welling up. Jordan tried to keep control of himself, but the suddenness of it had him on the floor before he could do anything, but the world didn’t face away like before. Instead, it felt like he was dreaming, or sleepwalking through his apartment, into what had been his study, where there now was a sling, some strange cross, chains hanging from the ceiling. And then he was awake again, his hands caught in those very chains, Oliver standing behind him with a long whip. “What…how?” he tried to say, but was caught off guard by the first lash, and he screamed in pain.

“You have to count them. If you scream like that again, I’ll have to gag you. Each time you miss a quota or fail to adhere to the schedule, you’ll receive thirty lashings, or more, depending on Master’s mood. That was one–” Oliver waited a moment. “Like I said, slave, you have to count them.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this, if you just help me–”

The second lashing was a bit lighter, or else his back had numbed slightly from the first one. He still screamed.

“That was one, again. Please count–I don’t want to do this all day, but I will. Master’s orders.”

What could he say? He didn’t know, so he just counted out, “One.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said, and struck him again. And again, and again.

When the lashing was over, Oliver released him from the chains holding him up, and had him lay down on the bed, so he could tend to his cuts and welts with alcohol.

“I don’t…” Jordan started, and then seethed a moment, as another cotton ball soaked in alcohol landed on his back, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why are you helping him?”

Oliver was quiet a moment, and then sighed, “I suppose you’re the only person who’ll never have a chance to experience…what it’s like, to have him inside you.”

“I know exactly what it’s like to have that thing inside me. That thing is me!”

Oliver didn’t take kindly to his tone, and poured the alcohol directly on his wounded back, making Jordan holler. “Show your master some fucking respect!”

“He’s fucking ruined my fucking life! And fuck you too for helping him.”

They didn’t speak beyond that, and after their exchange, Oliver was pitiless with the alcohol. After a bit of bandaging, Oliver let Jordan up from the bed, and showed him the schedule and quotas for the day, while Jordan lit a cigar for himself, realizing only after his first drag what he’d just done without so much as a thought. He went to put it out, but Oliver stopped his hand. “Better you get started now–Master wants you to smoke five cigars by the time you fall asleep tonight at nine.”

“Five of these things? You’re shitting me.”

“Next week, it’ll be seven a day. Anyway, we’ll have to switch over to a slightly abbreviated schedule, so we’d better get you fed, and then start on your workout.”

“No, fuck this. You can’t make me do this shit.”

Oliver just stared at him, waiting to see what would happen, Jordan meant to cross his arms over his chest, but a wave of sleepiness washed over him, he took the cigar from his mouth and stubbed the lit end against the back of his hand–the pain was enough to jolt him awake, but his hand held it there for a long second, before allowing reflex to take over. “Fucking shit!”

“Master knows we don’t have time for another lashing. Give me your hand, burns fester fast.”

Jordan just stared dumbly, as Oliver cleaned the wound quickly, and then bandaged his hand. “This…This isn’t going to end, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Come on, you’ll feel better after you eat something.”

Oliver fed him a quick breakfast, packed with protein and minimal carbs, then they returned to the living room, where some of the furniture had been replaced with a set of free weights and a bench. Oliver didn’t have much experience with exercise, but with the help of a program on Jordan’s phone, which he’d been given by master, they worked Jordan hard for several hours, and then it was time for him to eat again. Throughout all of this, Jordan had been smoking cigars at a near constant rate, his lungs were exhausted, his head swimming, body aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible before. He cleaned his plate of his required meal, and leaned back, cigar in his mouth, almost a butt. This was number four, and he imagined if he smoked another he might vomit.

“Alright, you’re good for today,” Oliver said, “Go out and smoke that last cigar of yours, watch some TV, and we’ll wait for your tranqs to kick in.”

“Tranqs? What?”

“Your sleeping pills. Gotta make sure you’re asleep by nine, right?”

“You fucking drugged me?” Jordan shouted, and stood up, but he couldn’t tell whether he was woozy from the revealed drugs, or from the smoke which seemed to be choking out his entire body.

“Calm down–trust me, it’ll all be fine, as long as we both do exactly what Master says,” Oliver said, and Jordan saw him massage his crotch a moment. “Nine can’t get here soon enough, sir…” Oliver said under his breath, Jordan retreating into the living room, where he turned on the TV, lit his last cigar of the night, and lounged back on the couch. Oliver appeared a moment later, cock indeed hard, staring at Jordan sitting there, and he walked over, got down in front of him, and tried to get his mouth around Jordan’s cock, who shoved him away. “You fucking pervert, don’t even fucking think about it.”

Oliver glowered at him, but didn’t try again. It wasn’t too much longer before Jordan started to feel relaxed, and a bit…floaty, drifting in and out, slipping closer and closer to sleep, but he fought anyway. One moment, he was alone, after the next long blink, Oliver was there, sucking his cock, one hand on the older man’s head. The hand looked…too big. Another time his eyes slipped shut, and Jordan wasn’t aware of anything else until morning.

The Dark Mind (Part 4)

“Not again,” he thought, as he rolled over on the floor. He must have passed out again–apparently, those four days without sleep were still catching up with him. Still, he could see from the tiled floor that he was still in the lab, if nothing else, so he couldn’t have been out for too long. He picked himself up, every muscle in his body protesting, feeling like his frail body had just tried to run a marathon. Once he was standing, however, he noticed two things in succession. First, his lab was a disaster area. All of his carefully organized samples and notes were scattered about, beakers and vials broken everywhere. His work–he hurried about, looking for things, but his personal computer was smashed to bits on the floor, anything paper had been ripped apart or burned, even textbooks. It looked like whoever had done this hadn’t quite known what to destroy–and so they’d just tried to destroy everything. It had been enough. This would set him back weeks, if not months. The most important information was all in his head, but without equipment, what it the world was he going to do? It was then, also, that he noticed the time. He’d arrived at the lab in the early afternoon, but it was just slightly passed dawn. He went over and checked the time, but it was the date that shocked him–he’d just lost three days.

That accounted for why he suddenly felt so well rested. He was interrupted by a light in the hallway–he didn’t know who it was, but someone was coming, and he was standing right in the middle of a lab he was pretty certain he had just destroyed. He quickly drew the blinds, hoping no one would notice and decide to check in on him, and once the footsteps had faded, he slipped out the door and out of the building. The damage would be discovered at some point, of course. No one would believe the truth of the matter–hell, he wasn’t even sure he believed it, and it was happening to him. Could he blame a rival researcher? A corporation? Nothing credible leapt to mind. He’d kept such a tight lid on his work, even his advisor hadn’t quite known what he was working on exactly. No, best to just get home. Get home, get out of this stinking leather, figure out how to get his hands to stop shaking…

…Smoke…

Was that his thought, or something else? Either way, he knew that would help–calm him down, take the edge off his panic. He found a fresh supply of cigars in the inside pocket of the leather jacket he had on. The clothes he had on were different than the ones he could remember wearing before–leather pants and a black tank. He reeked of smoke and sex, and just smelling it–

…Horny…

Disgusted him, but at the same time, made his dick twitch. He took his first inhale of smoke, and his cock was at full mast, tenting out the front of the leather pants, as he tightened the belt a bit to keep the waistband from falling down, trying to not think about how much he could use a hole to fuck.

He took his usual route home, and, along the way he passed the same smoke shop he’d entered several days prior, but this time, from a block away, he could see the police car parked out front. Nervous, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he crossed to the other side of the street, and as he passed the shop opposite, he could see a couple of cops in the early morning searching the premises. An older woman was with them, a wad of tissues against her eyes. His dick twitched again, but this time he got an odd sense of anticipation with it, and he took a deeper breath of smoke, pushing it out his nose, picked up his pace towards his apartment, and arrived ten minutes later. He used his key in the door, opened it, and found himself facing an older, nearly naked man there, on his knees, head bowed. He looked up at Jordan’s confused face, letting him glimpse a moment a disappointment there, and then he dropped his head again. “Slave Jordan, please come in, you’re late.”

Jordan stepped inside the door, checking the hallway to make sure no one had seen anything, and once the door was shut and locked, he said, “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in my apartment?”

The older man didn’t move, and now that he got a better look at him…he recognized him, his stomach dropping out from under him. The owner of the pipe shop. He’d been so tired when they’d met, for that short moment, but even now, he could recognize him. “You…the cops are looking for you! They’re going to think I took you or something!”

“You didn’t take me, Slave Jordan, Master did. And I came willingly, and I would tell them that. Master didn’t see any need for me to have anymore communication with that old life.”

Jordan walked past him, and the older man stood and followed him into the apartment–before, his chest had been in shadow, but now, lit by the morning sun, Jordan saw a fresh, day old tattoo on stretching across from shoulder to shoulder–”Property of Master Harry.”

“I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you,” Jordan said.

“You didn’t do this to me,” Oliver said simply, “Master did. He marked you too.”

“What?”

Oliver walked up to him and pulled off the coat, and then hauled the tank off of him and walked him in front of a mirror. He could read it perfectly even though it was reflected backward–the same tattoo that Oliver had across his own chest. “He owns both of us–he wanted me to be very clear about that. Please…please just…for my sake, do what he says…He has a schedule for you to follow, certain quotas for you to meet, and a strict sleep schedule of course. I’m to assist you in any way possible.”

“No–No, this is insane, I’m not doing this.”

Oliver nodded, looking like he’d expected this response, “Master said I shouldn’t go easy on you, even the first time. I’m sorry.”

The Dark Mind (Part 3)

Jordan woke up slowly, like he swimming back to the surface of the ocean from some dark depth, but the water was molasses, trying to push him back down. His body ached, but he could move at least–he opened his eyes and found himself in bed–he must have slept then, so that was a relief. He certainly felt more rested than he’d been in ages, but damn, those had been some crazy dreams while he was out. He couldn’t remember them in much detail–he’d been…huge, and fucking guys, and he hadn’t had dreams like that in years, not since he was a teenager. He remembered how he’d found those websites about bears, until his Baptist father found him jacking off one day, and sent him to that camp…

He suppressed a shiver. He wasn’t religious anymore, but he also hadn’t thought of that in years–what had brought this on? The room was dark, but he could see dawn cracking outside–shouldn’t the window be on the other wall though? He found his lamp and switched it on–only to discover that this wasn’t his room, and someone was in the bed next to him. Some big, hairy, naked man, who rolled over, disturbed by the light, and looked over at thin, hairless Jordan–and did a double take.

“Fuck, what? That’s not…fuckin’ beer goggles…” He grumbled, “Go on, get out if you’re leavin’, or turn out the light,” he rolled back over, and Jordan heard him grumble a bit more, “Can’t believe I let that fuck me…seemed bigger at the bar.”

Jordan got up and looked for the clothes he’d been wearing the day before, but all he saw was a pile of leather and denim. He picked up a leather jacket, and some strange shimmer of pleasure shot through him, making him shudder again, some voice deep in him telling him these were his clothes–even though there was no possible way they could fit him. He put them on anyway, cinching the belt to keep the jeans up, and left the stranger’s apartment and headed for his own place in the dawn light, trying to piece together what, exactly, had happened to him.

The last thing he remembered clearly, he’d left the lab–utterly exhausted and desperate for sleep, but still in the grip of insomnia. He’d been stumbling home when…when his memory just sort of faded into that strange dream he’d had. At some point walking home, he’d bought some…cigars? Then he’d been different all of a sudden. Bigger, hairy, desperate for sex. Everything kind of blurred together then, images of walking through the streets. He’d…taken some clothes from a biker? He looked down at the leathers he was wearing, and realized the clothes from the dream were the one’s he had on now. And that guy, back in the bed…he could remember him too, in some bar or club or something. They’d been kissing, and the guy had been obsessed with him. So was it a dream? Which parts of it had actually happened?

It was getting hard to think–some voice in his head was pestering and nagging him, interrupting him, but it wasn’t really a voice so much as…this urge, telling him to do something. His hand was going for the inside pocket of his jacket before he realized it, and pulled out a cigar–and then a match–and he was smoking, the same shimmer of pleasure from before working it’s way through him like ripples, making his cock hard, and that tugging again. He ducked into an alley, whipped out his cock and started jacking it, sucking down even more smoke, huffing and grunting. He wasn’t in control, he didn’t want to be doing this, and yet here he was, stroking fast, his hand trying to stretch his cock uncomfortably, almost like it thought it should be bigger. He shot his load over the side of the dumpster he’d crouched behind, and the desires faded a bit–but not so much he could bring himself to put out the cigar.

The serum–had it actually worked? This wasn’t what it should have done though–the point wasn’t for him to just black out and turn into some monster–what part of him had he awakened exactly? The cigars, the sex, that massive body, it was everything he’d ever wanted, everything that had always felt so good, that he’d always denied himself, everything he’d repressed for so long–it was like all of it had combined into some ravenous beast that was finally let loose from the cage of his mind to do whatever it wanted. No–no, it was doing everything he’d always wanted to do, everything he’d always been too terrified to try. Still, he was in control again, mostly, and he didn’t have any time to waste. He had to get to his lab, and try and figure out what had gone wrong, so he could reverse it.

At that thought, nausea and vertigo ripped it’s way through him, nearly toppling him over in the alley. Something in him wasn’t happy about that idea, apparently. It took all the will he could manage, but he got himself upright again, and staggered off towards his apartment, so he could get out of these clothes, get something to eat, and then get to work. He kept hoping the thing in him, that other self, would calm down, but all it did was get angrier, sending him to the bathroom to hurl more than once, his vision so blurry he couldn’t read. But touching leather helped. Smoking helped too. Jacking off helped the most, even though it was also somewhat unsatisfying. Better to have his cock in someone, in a hole, fucking and slamming and raping–

He snapped out of it sitting on his toilet that afternoon, looking down at his changing body, and forced the beast back down, and focused back himself–his true self. That had been a close one. He’d kept these desires in check for so long–how could he have known they were this powerful? If he didn’t figure out a solution quick, he might not have another chance. He lit up another cigar, threw on his new leather jacket, and headed for his lab, hoping he’d be able to find an answer before he changed again.

The Dark Mind (Part 2)

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the shop, he could…tell that the man wanted him. He was probably in his fifties or so, with a decent gut and a full beard. He seemed familiar somehow, but it was hard for him to remember anything at all. In fact, it felt like he’d just popped into existence just a moment earlier, or like he’d just been assembled out of…chunks of something left and forgotten. All of this felt so new to him, this body, and yet at the same time he…knew so much, even though it was hard to think about much beyond fucking.

The man behind the counter, Oliver, gulped, staring at the huge man walking into his shop. He had to be a few inches over six feet, broad shouldered, body bulging with muscle and a firm layer of fat, every inch of his skin coated with hair. He had some pants on–sort of–but no shirt or shoes, and…and Oliver hadn’t seen a man that sexy in a long time. He hadn’t seen a man that sexy look at him that…hungry ever. “Are…are you alright? Do you need some help?” Oliver asked, adjusting his growing cock. He could…smell him, and fuck he smelled so damn good. He’d never smelled anyone like that before, his eyes going a bit cross, cock hard and leaking in his slacks.

“Need a fuck,” the stranger said, and walked up to the man. The closer he got, the lower the man’s jaw dropped, and when he leaned down and locked lips with Oliver, shoving his smoke into the older man’s hungry mouth, Oliver felt his cock pulse and spasm a huge load right in the front of his pants.

Oliver didn’t have a very good memory of what happened next. He dimly recalled hauling himself up onto the counter, tongue pressed to the man’s sweaty body, licking across his chest and over to his musky pits, moaning and humping the air, unable to control himself, while the man tore at his clothes, ripping them away from the man’s body as quickly as he could. Neither of them spoke–the shop was just filled with moans, the air growing thick with the smoke from the man’s cigar.

“Turn ‘round,” he said, both his massive hands grabbing hold of Oliver and forcing him to face away from him. The counter turned out to be a surprisingly good height, once he forced Oliver hips lower, and he ripped away the crotch of his pants, and ground his massive cock up and down the older man’s crack.

“Not…here, anyone can see us…” Oliver moaned, but he couldn’t do anything to stop himself either from pushing back, the massive bear’s cock slipping into his hole, making him groan. The thing was huge–he’d never taken anything in his ass before, and the stranger didn’t have any patience, just grunting and humping himself in deeper, ignoring Oliver’s protesting and begging for him to go slower and take his time. But Oliver’s body wasn’t even obeying him at this point–as much as it hurt, all he could do was push his way back harder onto the huge cock, not caring how much it hurt, only needing as much of it inside him as was possible. He came again, without even really noticing–what mattered more was…was satisfying him. Was making this huge beast happy, was submitting to him, and begging him for his seed. The beast managed to slide his cock in up to the hilt, but didn’t last much longer than that, his cum spewing forth, filling Oliver’s ass and cascading out around his shaft, both of them grunting and moaning with need. Sated, he pulled his cock free, Oliver whimpering slightly and feeling…so empty all of a sudden, but the musk was fading now, and he felt more in control than before–all that remained was a powerful euphoria–people were walking by and could clearly see his leaking hole, and…and he didn’t really care.

Finally, he managed to climb down and get his clothes put back together as best he could, looked over and saw the man rummaging through his display case, grabbing a huge handful of cigars and shoving them in his pocket.

“You…you can’t just take those. You have to…to pay…”

The man looked at him, and walked over to him, “I’ll pay you back, don’t worry. I’m gonna need that hole again later. Does that sound like a deal? You keep me supplied, and I fill that aching hole of yours over and over again.”

Oliver nodded, without even really thinking about it, and the man stepped back, and headed for the door. His head clearer, Oliver realized why the man seemed a bit familiar–those pants, and that smoke! That tired looking guy who’d bought those cigars just before that beast had come in here… “W-Wait!” Oliver said, “Are…are you…ok? I mean…”

“I’m fine, just need another fuck is all.”

“But…you came in here, and you were different…”

He turned around and looked at the man, who walked over to the cash register, and found the last receipt. “J-Jordan, right?”

Jordan…was a familiar name. The stranger felt something his head…struggling, when he thought of that name, but it wasn’t his name. “That’s not me.”

“R-Really? Then…then who are you?”

He stopped and thought for a moment–did he have a name? Something told him he…should have one, but he didn’t, not in his short run of memories. “Just…call me Harry.”

“Well Harry, do…I mean…I guess I’ll be here, for…for when you want to pay for those, then…” the older bear said, his hole already aching to be filled again. He’d always had a secret suspicion that he might like being with a man, even though he’d thought he was happily married. Still, after that, he might have to rethink some things. Harry laughed, and then walked out the door and back onto the sidewalk, smoke trailing behind him. Jordan, huh? That strange thing happened in his brain again, and he growled a bit. Whatever, more important, he needed another hole. He sniffed the air, lit another cigar for himself, and headed off, following his nose, eager to be on the prowl.

The Dark Mind (Part 1)

Who knows? Maybe tonight he’d be able to get to sleep. Jordan stumbled suddenly on the sidewalk, dragging his feet and catching them on a crack. The sidewalk seemed to pulse up and down as he struggled to figure out whether he was going to fall or not. Four days since he’d tested the serum on himself. Four days he hadn’t slept a wink. That part was working just fine, apparently, but he hadn’t quite anticipated feeling this exhausted.

Jordan was a medical researcher, a young hot shot in his field, fresh off his PhD researching the nature of sleep. He’d always found it funny that, even though no one knew why people needed to sleep, everyone did it anyway. Imagine the amount of productivity lost, just because people were doing something they might not even need! This serum would change humanity, if he could get it to work–if we only used ten percent of our brain, why not activate another ten percent to operate while the daytime half went dormant? It was so simple, or so he’d thought. With the right mix of stimulants, people wouldn’t have to sleep ever again. Sure, he shouldn’t have tested it on himself, but he hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by not taking risks. Jordan had always been consumed with his studies. He’d pretty much lived a celibate life (he’d always felt gay, but being raised in a conservative baptist family had led him to shove those feelings as deep within him as he could) and with his small frame he’d never been cut out for much beyond books. He’d just…never had enough time in the day to do everything in his head, to try everything he imagined, and he’d hit a wall in his research. Injecting himself had been a gamble–if it worked, he’d be able to redouble his focus, and maybe get new insight into the therapy. Unfortunately, things weren’t turning out quite like he’d planned.

Four days. He’d been good for two of them, but yesterday he’d started crashing. He’d never been this tired before in his life. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t work. He’d just been staring at papers in his lab, trying to decipher things he’d written last week, but everything suddenly looked like gibberish. It was Friday, he just needed to relax and hope the serum would wear off so he could sleep, finally. That, and he needed to get home without killing himself.

It was only a few more blocks to his apartment, but as he passed a small smoke shop he’d walked by hundreds of times, his feet stopped, and he sniffed the air. Ever since yesterday, he’d had this…craving. He hadn’t been able to articulate it, but it was like his body was screaming at him for something he didn’t even know he needed. On the air outside the shop he caught whiffs of tobacco and smoke and…and without knowing why he was doing it, he went inside, picked a brand of cigar at random, bought half a dozen with a book of matches, and left. What was he doing? He wasn’t a smoker! Sure, for a couple of years towards the tail end of his undergraduate study he’d gotten into the habit, but he’d kicked it for years. Is this what he’d been craving this whole time? But why now, out of the blue?

The exhaustion had reached a new level now–no longer did Jordan feel like he was inhabiting his body, it was more like he was outside of himself. Not even really aware of what he was doing as his fingers unwrapped the first cigar, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it. The smoke in his lungs was like a jolt to his system–part of the reason he’d loved smoking so much was because it helped him stay awake while he worked on term papers and grant proposals. The nicotine hit him, and it was like a shock to his entire body–he didn’t feel more awake though, if anything it pushed him further away from himself. He…sensed he was in pain, but it was more of a dull throbbing ache, his body grunting and growling. He saw himself stumble into an alley, teeth clamped hard around the cigar, sucking in more and more smoke. Someone else was screaming though–was it even him? It…it didn’t sound like him. The voice was so deep and rough and…and he was floating. He could see everything, hear everything, but it wasn’t him anymore, he could…sense that. Better…better if he took a break, he thought to himself, and fell back.

With a roar, he woke up, heaving for breath, heaving for smoke, staring around at where he was with panic in his eyes, looking down at himself. Where was he? Who…was he? He ran his hands down over his body–he was…huge, holy fuck. Big gut, covered with fur. He had on a shirt much, much too small for him–the buttons had already shot off, and he tore the remnants away, running two big hands over his hairy pecs and down over his gut, down to his massive bulge, letting off a low growl around the cigar he had stuck in his maw.

“Fuck, I gotta…gotta fuck…” he muttered to himself. These shoes were too tight though, and he yanked them off, wiggling the fat toes at the end of his size seventeen feet with a sigh. He was in an alley or something, and he walked out of it–it was early evening, and the sidewalk wasn’t very crowded, but there was enough light that he could still see his reflection in the window of a smoke shop on one side of the alley…and hell, he was one sexy mother fucker for sure. He started groping his cock harder in the pants stretched tight over his hips and thighs, seeing a wet spot form from the precum leaking out the head. Through his reflection, he saw the older proprietor’s jaw drop at the sight of him–and he sneered a bit, all sorts of strange ideas pushing through his head suddenly, and he went inside.

“I would say I’m sorry, but I think we both know that it’d be a lie,” Jamie said, shoving the plug deep into Sam’s hole again, giving it a twist for good measure.

Sam yanked at the ropes binding his hands to the gate. He’d woken up here a few moments before, tied and gagged, and when he’d tried to scream, it was Jamie who had come out of the darkness. One of his coworkers, and one of his competitors for partner at the firm. Everyone knew Sam deserved the spot, of course, but he’d always known Jamie had resented him. Now he was discovering just how much.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be sticking around for long, just gotta get the place smelling a bit, wait until the pigs come out for the night to find you. Try not to worry too much about it, you’ll be as happy here as the rest of them. He slammed the dildo in and then left it, wiping his gloved hands off with a towel he’d brought with him, and then dropped it to the ground. “I took the liberty of putting in your notice at work–after all, you won’t be coming back again, I don’t think. Certainly none of the other’s have.”

Sam could hear something in the darkness around them, something alive.

“Ah, that would be them. Like I said, try and enjoy yourself Sam, you’ve earned it.”

Jamie picked up his case and walked towards the staircase, climbing up out of the abandoned subway station in the middle of Pigtown. He turned back in time to see the things coming closer, sniffing at the sacrifice he’d left them, Sam staring up and back at him, pleading through the gag, but one of them was already ripping the plug from his ass and mounting him. Jamie continued climbing–the first time, he’d watched for a bit, but it no longer had much appeal. But he slowed towards the top of the steps, where a heavyset man was waiting, smoking a thick cigar. “Hello Jamie. Come to drop something off again?”

“You promised me safe passage, Rod.”

“No, I promised you save passage for a price,” Rod said, “but that was a few years ago. Don’t they teach you about interest in business anymore?”

Before Jamie could reply, Rod stepped closer to him, locking lips, exhaling a thick, greasy plume of smoke into his lungs, forcing him to hold it, tonguing around the inside of his mouth a moment, before pulling away, Jamie coughing and gagging.

“Here,” Rod said, “You’ll be wanting these.” He tossed a couple of cellophane wrapped cigars and a lighter to the ground, and Jamie collected them, lighting one up and taking a deep breath, the scratch in his throat immediately relieved.

“That wasn’t the damn deal!” Jamie shouted, as Rod walked off.

“Just a reminder whose terms and conditions you’re operating under, Jamie. I’ll be needing a tribute every month from now on, if you don’t want to see me again real soon.”

Source: gospodarzarobove

Hey man, good to see ya! Thought you might not make it, but I know you wouldn’t want to miss a party like this. Yeah, we got him all set up over here, go on, tubes all ready–take a deep breath, and blow–

Ha! Listen to the thing moan in there! Been a few hours at this point, so it’s starting to settle down, finally. You should have seen it, whimpering and crying while me and Louie were getting it all set up.

Who was it? Don’t really know. Some straight prick was pissing and moaning about us smoking down at the bar, telling us it was illegal and whatever, like we fucking care, you know? Well, it was Louie who puffed him–locked lips with the fucker, gave him a deep breath and zonked him to the floor! Bartender didn’t say nothing, he was ujust glad to be free of the little fuck, you know? That’s why it was such short notice, ‘n only half the gangs here. Still, it’s a good looking party, don’t you think? Still, always more fun when the whole family gets together.

Yeah, Blake’s here–think he’s a bit busy with Louie. He won’t care if you go butt it, of course, though ya might have to share.

Hey now, I know, we all know you…don’t share nicely! It was supposed to be a damn joke man, take it easy, take a drag off that thing ‘n just relax…

Look, the guys ‘n I have been talking, ‘n we think you need someone.

Yeah, lone wolf ‘n all that, fine. But…Blake’s been…look, I just think…why don’t you camp out with this guy for a bit? Feed him for a while? Make him…someone for you. We all know you’re lonely man, and you could have whatever you want. All the guys are cool with it. You just gotta mellow out a bit, you know what I’m saying.

Yeah yeah, pound me into the ground if you want, but we all know it’s true, including you.

We know you’re tough, just have some fun with him, you know. Come on, give him another breath, think about it. Could be a hot little cub, chubby in all the right places, wide ass, hungry for that big cock of yours. Hell, even a damn pig, stupid as a brick, drooling on the floor while you fuck it’s holes, drinking your piss, eating the big butts of your cigars. Whatever you want! Take your time and get to know him a bit better. You’ll be happier, and it’ll be a load off our backs too.

Glad you agree. Can’t wait to see how he turns out in the morning! I’ll have Blake come over and help ya brainstorm and suck ya off–ya always think better with a mouth around your cock, right?

Source: goa1701

Life Coach (Part 4)

“Please, I know…I know I’m fucked up in my head, to come up with shit like that, but you have to help me, you’re the only one who can help me, I see that now, I get it!” Shane said, on his knees in front of Evan, who was looming over him, the room full of hazy with the smoke from both of their cigars. Evan had been waiting for this. He’d known it was coming, but it hard to anticipate when, finally, someone would truly understand what they’d become.

A few months had passed, since his first session with Evan, but it already felt lifetimes away. It didn’t…it didn’t really matter anyway, since it had never been real anyway, Shane reminded himself. Sure, it…felt real to him, but that’s what made his own mind so screwed up–he couldn’t tell what was real anymore. He’d kept coming over here, demanding that Evan change him back, that he give him his old life back–back when he was stud, when his wife could look at him with laughing, when he didn’t feel compelled to suck the cocks of all the men who fucked her, no matter what it cost–but he saw the truth now, he hadn’t been willing to believe Evan, when he’d first tried to tell him, he’d been so skeptical, but what other explanation was there?

“I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses, Shane, it’s good to hear. Now get up and have a seat over here, let’s talk about your breakthrough. So, you finally realized that those old memories of yours, those ones where you’re some young, muscular hotshot asshole lawyer, those were all false memories, right?”

Shane nodded, a bit hesitant now that he heard it said out loud, but…but there couldn’t be any other explanation, right?

“It’s good of you to realize that, but why do you think you created those memories, Shane?”

“I…I don’t know. They’re just…there. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Well, I happen to have a theory, you know. I think, Shane, that you created those memories so you could put the blame for your shitty life on everyone around you, and deflect that blame from yourself. I mean, if I was the one who changed you, then you aren’t responsible for you’re loveless marriage. You aren’t responsible for chasing all the cock you can find. You aren’t responsible for the fact that you can’t stop smoking those cigars you hate so much. You aren’t responsible for the fact that you can’t win a single court case, not without blowing the judge, the other lawyers, and sometimes the jury. That you’re a failure in every way. It’s hard for anyone to realize their a waste of space, a worthless person, but that’s what you are, don’t you see?”

Fuck, why was he so hard? No, not just hard–listening to Evan catalogue all his failings as a man, as a person–he had his cock out and was jacking off, just thinking about how…how much of a failure he was, and realizing that, he started sobbing. “Please, it’s…it’s too much! I’m…I’m almost broke, I can’t find any new clients. I don’t know what I was thinking, I–someone like me can’t do this!” He tried to keep speaking, but he broke down, still stroking his cock, and Evan got up and crossed over to where he was sitting, stroking his balding hand, running it through his bushy mutton chops.

“I know Shane, but this is what I do, you see. You were never meant to have a life like this, you realize that, right? A fuckup like you can’t be trusted with anything important.”

I-I don’t think anyone can help someone as fucked up as me though,” Shane said.

Evan chuckled, “Always the skeptic, to the end,” he said, “At least let me try.”

“Why…why would you ever want to help someone like me? Someone as worthless as I am?”

“Oh Shane, because this is what I do! I help people. Now come on–would you like to suck my cock? You always feel better after a load of cum, and you always get cranky when you haven’t gotten enough.”

Shane nodded. “Would…you fuck me sir? I’d…like that.”

“If you insist.”

Shane got down on his hands and knees, and Evan slid into him. It was so much easier, now that he’d finally accepted the truth. He’d fought for so long, but what other possibility was there, really? He was just a failure, there was no way around it, but that brought up another question–now what? He couldn’t keep going at this, he wasn’t meant for this for a life like this, but he wasn’t sure there was any life someone as worthless and stupid as him could ever possibly manage. He pushed the thought away, and focused on smoking his cigar, on how good his hole felt, how deep Evan’s huge cock could go, his own cock close to blowing, but he held back, not wanting to make a mess–he always felt so terrible whenever he made a mess, and he’d been trying very hard lately to only cum when someone had given him permission to do so. He wasn’t very good at it, and not many people would give him permission, but all the same, it was common courtesy. Evan finished inside him and stepped back–he felt empty, but better than earlier. Freer, somehow. He pulled his pants back up.

“Now what do I do,” he asked, “I can’t go back there, I can’t face that anymore.”

“Did you forget already? Evan said, “I’m a life coach, Shane. Just leave it all to me. We can find something for you to do that you can be happy with, I think. All you have to do is trust me.”

Shane tried to object, but Evan’s hands were already on his skull, massaging the thoughts from his mind, the world fading from view again. Everything was being pulled from him, and he let it go. It wasn’t for him to worry about, after all. He would only make things worse if he tried to interfere. Instead he let himself drift off into a void, hopeful that when he woke, his only hope was that his life would be something more suited to a loser like him.

Jerry knew he was getting close to figuring out the secret to Pigtown. The guys at the precinct all told him he was crazy to try and stop it, to try and figure out what the bar was doing to the men in the neighborhood. They even pointed out Scrimm, told him that story, but Jerry was never one to listen to threats–that is, until he came home one evening and discovered his sons were missing.

He and his wife searched for days, the entire police force was mobilized, but there was no sign of them anywhere–no one claimed responsibility, no one demanded ransom. But Jerry knew, Pigtown was involved somehow, but he didn’t know why or how. He’d always found himself able to resist the advances of the men there–was that why they were targeting him? He told the precinct Chief his theory, but the older man wouldn’t–or perhaps couldn’t–say anything. His eyes thought, told Jerry all he needed to know.

His wife broke down–she left for her mother’s, and Jerry carried on by himself for another day, before he finally received the gift, and the note.

If you want to be with your boys, you know what to do.

–Rod

That’s all it said. He opened the small box, and inside he found a small cigar and a lighter, but nothing else, no clue or anything. Should he report it? Rod–he’d come across that name over and over again in his investigations, but he had no idea who he might be. But what choice did he have? It was just a cigar, and he’d been able to resist so much else, right?

Jerry was a very different man a couple hours later. The cigar–it just kept growing, and at this point it was stretching his jaw to the limit, but he’d only suck down more smoke, twisting his now massive nipples, stroking his white beard, growing thicker and longer. He didn’t know when his clothes had become leather, but fuck, it felt good on his bare skin, on his massive cock, but as much as he stroked it, he couldn’t seem to climax–and then the doorbell rang.

There, on the stoop, was a cage. And there inside the cage were his two sons. They were naked, but otherwise completely unharmed, but Jerry knew what to do. With strange, inhuman strength, he dragged the cage into his house, his two sons screaming at him to stop, but as soon as he started feeding them his smoke, they changed their tunes rapidly, and their bodies too–both of them becoming chubby, perfectly obedient cigar cubs for their daddy, happy to be home in his arms.

His wife never did see any of them again, but some of the officers at precinct 17 would on occasion, in a dark corner of a bar or alley. Jerry wore a thick metal collar, as did his two cubs–the two boys attached to their father’s collar by two short, thick chains, assuring them that they’d never be apart again, Jerry’s cigar still smoldering in the dark, as big as ever, and unlikely to go out anytime soon.

It was getting harder and harder to remember I’d asked him to come over so he could help me, and not so I could make him like me. Maybe…maybe the former was just a lie I’d told myself. When I picked up my phone to text him, hands shaking, the cigar still between my fingers where I couldn’t release it, had my cock been hard? Had it…wanted me to bring someone over? Had it wanted me to try to escape?

It doesn’t matter now of course. There is no escape. When I’d called, I’d had a hairy ballgut covered with hair. I could have passed for a man in his fourties. Now, I’d be lucky to be in my sixties. I hadn’t grown much larger, but I can grown weaker, my muscles weakening and dying , making it…so much easier to just sit here in my chair (my chair–this chair? Its chair? Our chair?) and smoke this endless cigar, and drink this endles bourbon that appeared not too long before, and watch him lap at my cock.

He was about where I’d been, when I’d called him. He hadn’t believed me, when I tried to tell him who I was, his best friend, and before he could get out, his eyes had glazed slightly, and I’d had all these…ideas suddenly. They were in him too, I knew, because he’s the one who got down on his knees and started sucking at my cock–now shorter and thicker than before, and we’d moved here, to the chair.

I don’t know how many loads I’ve fed him at this point. I don’t know what time it is, it’s stopped all the clocks. Its timeless. We’re timeless. Almost like we’re caught in a loop, changing a bit more each time we go around. My hairline still creeping back. I didn’t have these glasses earlier, I’m certain. He’s only getting larger and fatter, chins jiggling around my shaft, hair sprouting everywhere, even as his head balds messily. Maybe it will let us go, eventually, but will we want to leave? Will there even be anything out there for us? Maybe we should just stay–that would be easier, wouldn’t it?