Sorry for the missing post yesterday! This week has been a massive headache for various reasons. Because of that, I’m just going to post a triple sized post, and finish off this chunk of city of bears, because it kind of all needs to go together anyway. That means no post tomorrow!
The RuffHat shattered with the force of all the energy stored with in it, and shards of heavy plastic spun off in every direction. Darren let out a shout and flung up his arm to try and deflect it, losing his balance and falling off the bed backwards onto the floor. Trey, on the bed, clutched his head, trying to get a handle on the splitting headache still ricocheting around his mind. “Fuck, you fucking idiot! What the fuck did you think was going to happen, Ruffs weren’t made for that kind of shit!” He took a couple of deep breaths, his heart rate slowing down, and he managed to roll over and open his eyes, feeling the chunks of plastic crunch beneath his head. He ran his hands over his scalp and through his greasy hair, but aside from a few scratches he was unharmed–but everything else was a blur. Usually he had a pretty clear memory of his time as a Ruff, but everything was as shattered as the hat. He had heard the thud at the foot of the bed, however, and he rolled over and crawled to the edge, where he saw Darren lying on the ground, with several shards of plastic embedded in his body.
He wanted to divert his eyes, but his eyes seemed to be frozen forward. What on earth had happened? His vision was focusing in further, on the piece embedded in Darren’s skull, lodged between eye and nose, driven deep into his skull by the explosion. It didn’t seem real to him, somehow. Perhaps it was because there didn’t appear to be any blood–or any edges to the wound at all. The plastic simply seemed to meld perfectly with his skin. Beyond that, Darren wasn’t moving at all–he didn’t even seem to be breathing.
It wasn’t something Trey had ever seen before in his life–after all, death wasn’t something anyone in the city grappled with–or at least, not death like this. Everyone was busy dying in other ways, all the time, and so while it did happen on occasion, it was something no one knew how to understand. To see a body without a mind in it, even just for a moment, filled Trey with a supreme dread so unknowable he could barely comprehend what it was he was feeling. It was a relief, somehow, when he saw the shards begin to slide into the wounds in Darren’s body, the bone and skin sealing up behind them. It was a relief to know that something was alive, even if Trey wasn’t certain what it might be. It turned his stomach, but at least something was happening–after all, Darren couldn’t just…stay like that, could he? Something inert and unchanging? Everyone had to change, right?
The plastic shards slid the rest of the way into Darren’s body, and in the places were they entered, Trey could, for a moment, see something strange bulging around the skin until it dispersed through his body, and something about the surface changed with a slow shudder. It took Trey a moment to realize why the changes seemed familiar, until he realized that the heavy brow, the thick jaw and beard, the muscles and hair–they were all the things that happened whenever he turned into a Ruff–but something else was wrong–it was his skin, and his hair, in the areas around the points where the plastic hat had pierced him. They weren’t…skin. Or at least, they didn’t look like skin. He reached over the edge of the bed to touch the side of Darren’s head where the plastic had slid into him, and felt the skin of his face–it was smooth, like plastic or rubber–but not…quite alive. The hair, too, seemed synthetic, more like the sort of hair you’d find on a doll. He pressed harder, but there wasn’t much give, he leaned closer, towards the eye that looked more glass, or plastic, when it shifted suddenly in its socket, and he flung back. Darren gasped, a great long inhale, and rolled over, coughing, clutching and scratching at himself, trying to dig at his skin where the plastic had seeped into him and corrupted him, stammering and stuttering, but not speaking anything that was making sense.
“Hey, hey, it’s…you just have to calm down, it’s alright, I’m…I’m here..” Trey said, but he didn’t know what to do. Darren just seemed panicked, and he pushed himself upright, shaking his head, and trying to clear it.
“I…I don’t…I was working, and…and then I was…I don’t know…” he stumbled and caught himself on the chair by the computer, hauling himself up into it. “I…I was fucking…fucking me, working, and then I…I was gone, and now, now I don’t know…”
Trey got off the bed, and felt the massive rubber cock slap against his thigh. He hefted it, and felt the jolt of pleasure from it, and was…confused. Why was he wearing this thing? The last thing he remembered clearly, he was at his computer, and he felt something land on…on his head…
In the wall next to him, he saw a shard of plastic sticking out of the drywall, and he tugged it free. It was bright yellow and rigid, and he…he knew it. It was part of the RuffHat. “You…you fucking piece of god damn shit!” he screamed at him, “You dumb fucking–what the fuck were you thinking, trying something like that? Do you know how fucking dangerous this shit can be?”
Darren didn’t seem to be reacting to what he was saying, he was just…shaking, hands exploring his body, finding the places where the plastic had entered him, trying to understand what he was…feeling, and why his body, and his head, felt both crowded and empty at the same time. He could remember some things, things about being Darren, but there was someone else in him too, or fragments of someone else, and they were terrified, they didn’t know what had happened. They’d just been trying to work, they’d just wanted to do a good job.
Trey, however, could barely contain his rage, and he tore the cock off of him, and threw it to the ground. He gripped the plastic shard harder in his hand, and he felt it…quiver, and begin to push its way into the palm of his hand, and he dropped it to the ground. Things like this–the only people who really understood all of the craft involved in them were the people who had made them, and Abrahams was long gone at this point. When something like this broke, there was no telling what could happen. He needed help–there were trained professionals who could deal with situations like this, and they might–might–be able to do something for Darren too.
Darren had seen the shard of plastic drop to the ground, and part of him…needed it. He got off the chair and crawled to it, picked it up in his hand, and it…it felt like it belonged to him. Before Trey could stop him, he’d pushed it into his arm, muffling a cry of pain, and Trey watched, mouth agape, as a chunk of his arm turned to the same plastic as his face, and then he scratched at it with his nails, like he couldn’t understand what he’d just done. “I…That…it was part of me, but that’s not…what’s happening to me?” he muttered. “I I need all of them, I need…I can feel them…”
Trey heard an odd scritching sound, and saw the shards all over the floor, the bed–even in the ceiling, were rattling, and moving, drawn towards where Darren was on the floor. Trey backed away as they surrounded him, forcing their way into Darren’s body, more and more of him becoming plastic, spreading all over him until, as far as Trey could tell, his entire surface of his body was no longer flesh, but just the strange, rubbery substance. When the last shard had found its way to him, he gave a shudder, and relaxed, a strange, rattling sigh leaving his body, and no inhale followed. All Trey could do was wait in the quiet room, waiting for something to happen, but nothing came, and he too, exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “D-Darren?” he said, “Are…are you still there? Can you get up?”
Darren didn’t say anything, but he did try and push himself up, but didn’t seem to have enough strength to get up from his hands and knees. Trey helped him, and together they were able to get his standing. He was…lighter than he should have been, Trey noticed, but when he stepped away from him, he tipped over, forcing Trey to lunge and catch him before he crashed to the floor again. The closest thing was the bed, and Trey heaved Darren onto it, splayed about awkwardly, eyes not looking anywhere in particular. It was…disturbing, and Trey turned around, not really able to handle whatever he was looking at. He started scrounging around on the floor, looking for something other than the filthy underwear he wore constantly, but there didn’t seem to be anything fit for the outside anywhere. He remembered what Darren had asked him, about how long it had been since he’d left the apartment. He knew it couldn’t have been more than a few days since Darren had last come over, but he also couldn’t really remember…leaving. It felt like a dream, something imagined. He’d Changed so much in the last few days, sliding into this new person, this homebound pervert–but this was important. He had to do this…but first, he needed a cigarette, most of all, and he sat down at his computer and lit up, taking a deep inhale, the comfortable smoke sliding into him, relaxing him, clearing his mind.
“Ok…ok, I…we just need to get you some help, find someone who can figure out what…happened to the hat…” he muttered, looked around again, and saw Darren’s clothes on the floor where he’d stripped them off. They…wouldn’t exactly fit him, but it was something. He pulled them on, the shirt and pants chaffing him, making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. The shoes were the worst, somehow, but he managed to get dressed, looking somewhat presentable, and turned to Darren, who hadn’t moved from the bed. “Ok–I can do this, I’ll…find someone who can help, I’ll be back soon.”
He stepped outside, still smoking, and all he really felt was…irritable. He didn’t want to be dealing with this, this wasn’t even his fault! It was all Darren’s doing. In the elevator, the annoyance escalated, and he tugged at the clothes, trying to figure out how to make them sit on him so they would be comfortable. Had…he really worn shit like this? It seemed ridiculous to even imagine it, that he’d ever really left his apartment, that he could even want to leave–because what was out there?
He stood at the door to the apartment building, watching men and cubs and bears walking down the sidewalk in the early evening through the glass–and it was so…comfortable, watching them. They were all so sexy, this far away, the glass giving them a certain sheen of virtuality, like the screen of his computer. He put his hand to the glass, but it felt as unreal to him as the false flesh of Darren’s strange body, something hard and impermeable driven between him and everyone else, rendering all of it at turns unknowable, terrifying, and worthless. How could you ever know anyone? Could you even know yourself in this city?
Fuck, he was horny, and…and hungry. Why had he come down here, anyway? No–he knew why he’d come down here–he needed to do something for Darren…but it wasn’t like he was going anywhere, right? He’d just been in the middle of a nice edging session, and maybe…maybe he’d feel better after eating, and having a couple of beers, and blowing a load. He couldn’t deal with this, with the world, not right now. He backed away and retreated to his room, where Darren was still lying on the bed, in the same position as before. Trey…felt like he owed him an explanation, for why he’d come back…but what could he say? He felt ashamed, but it was muted. Shame was for…other people, on the side of the glass. He stayed in here so he wouldn’t have to feel that. So he wouldn’t have to feel bad, or be responsible for anyone but himself. He called for a few pizzas, and then sat back down in front of the computer, picking up where he’d left off before Darren had so rudely interrupted him–and soon had completely forgotten that he was there at all, sliding back into his comfortable zone of smoking and stroking.
The pizzas came, and Trey ate them at the computer, when he heard a thump across the room. There was, apparently, something of Darren in there which had tried to move, and the plastic body sliding off the bed and onto the floor, or maybe his position on the bed had simply been less stable than Trey had thought, and gravity had done it all on its own. In any case, he didn’t feel right just leaving him there on the floor, and so he got up and hefted him back up, this time lying him back on the bed, and Trey just stared at him, thinking about the pictures he’d been looking at, thinking about the glass and his separation from the world and everyone in it–and thinking about how sexy Darren looked, somehow. He ran a hand over his plastic leg, feeling how smooth the false flesh was, the synthetic hair poking out from it. He kept it there a moment, noticing it was cooler than he expected–the same temperature as the room, but not the temperature of a person. He slid his hand up further, to the hairy crotch, checking for a cock or balls, but found nothing there at all in the hair, just like on a Ruff.
What was a Ruff, really, if not a doll? A living doll, sure, but just…nothing below the surface. A doll that worked, a doll you could pose, and look at, and smell, but a Ruff didn’t give anything back. A Ruff couldn’t feel anything. Is that what had caused it to shatter? The fact that, for the first time, it had felt something inside its own skin, something divorced from work and the outside world? From how it looked?
“Are you in there?” Trey asked, or muttered really. He was surprised at how little an answer would have really mattered to him, and Darren didn’t give him one. Trey dragged him up higher on the bed, and propped him up against the pillows and the wall at the head of the bed, posing his legs a bit more naturally (one with the knee up, the other extended down the bed) and then his arms (one relaxed at his side, the other thrown up behind his head, hairy pit exposed). Satisfied, he got off the bed and sat down in his chair, faced him, and started to stroke.
“Yeah, you’re a sexy fucker, aren’t you?” Trey said, taking a long drag off his cigarette, “Want me real bad, I bet, been waiting all day for me to get home, sitting there…fuck…”
He sat there for a moment, just enjoying the view, and then, a bit hesitant, he stood up and approached him, climbing up on him, straddling his hips and looking down at him, still stroking, a bit faster than before. He was gonna do it–it was worth it. He quickened his pace, and finally exploded, the load he’d been building up all day in his heavy, low hanging sack spewing out, all over Darren’s chest and face. He didn’t react. It didn’t react. Trey felt better forgetting it might be a person in there. It was safer as an object, as a doll. As…his doll.
He rubbed the cum into his doll hair and doll face. “You like that, don’t you fucker? You like having my nasty cum all over you, I bet. Well…well don’t you fucking worry, you’re going to get plenty more of that. My fucking cumdump doll, fuck…” He laid down with his doll, face next to his pit–and he didn’t smell anything at all. He licked it, enjoying the feel of the hair against his tongue, so much better than anything real, because…because his doll could be anything he wanted it to be, couldn’t it?”
Trey fell asleep that night, lying in the doll’s arms, and when he woke up, he decided that he didn’t care what might come of it–the doll was his. He spent the day posing it in all sorts of positions, ogling him, fantasizing about him, and around noon, he discovered the bag Darren had brought along with him and left in a chair by the table. Inside was an outfit of leather gear–a vest, muir cap, piercings and boots. Had it been a backup plan, or something he’d been hoping the Ruff would end up wearing? It didn’t matter really–in an hour, the doll was dressed up in the leather gear, the massive black strapon jutting up from it’s crotch, and Trey humiliated it, taunted it, wondered if it could see what it was now, some big leather master enslaved to a nasty, filthy slob like him. He pumped another couple of loads onto the doll’s face and chest, loving the dull sheen of dried cum adhered to it’s glassy eyes, wondering if he could see in there, if he could do anything at all–if there was even anything in there at all.
More outfits appeared in his closet after that–or in the doll’s closet, really. Trey wore the same filthy underwear day in and day out, growing fatter, grungier, and meaner by the day. He loved his doll, but not as some treasured object. No–his doll was a dumping ground for all of his frustration and anger, channeling his own self-loathing and pushing it onto the doll. He would beat it, on occasion, the fact that it gave no reaction at all giving him an excuse to hit it harder and harder still, and treat it rougher and rougher, like it deserved to be treated. Like it was made to be treated. It was its job, after all, or so Trey would say. The only thing it was good for. The only use it could possibly have in the world.
Eventually, Trey even believed what he was saying. Eventually, the doll believed him too.