Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 5)

Where was he? What was he? It was hot, sweltering, wherever he was, and as uncomfortable as it was, it also felt…pleasant, in other ways. It was dark, wherever and whatever he was. Dark, and he’d sweat so much, it felt like he was surrounded by some liquid too thick and oily to be water. For a long time, he’d been too weak to fight, too weak to resist whatever he was in, but now, he’d started to feel…a kind of life returning to his body. He would press against the thing encasing him, feel it resist, and he’d relax again, building strength, drawing in the heat suffusing him, letting it fill him up, and when he was full enough, he’d be able to be free again. He’d be free…and he’d be…someone, or something, but he’d be free.

Few people had noticed the strange, black cocoon stuck to the floor of the alley, not even when they were fucking one another five feet away behind the dumpsters deeper in the alley. Most who did notice it just thought it was some kink artifact, but rarely touched it. Just…seeing it was enough to make them feel strange–horny, but also terrified in some deep mortal sense, and usually they would retreat down the alley, hungry for a fuck to remind them that they were alive, that they were still human. A few braver ones would touch it, feel it’s heat touch some darkness inside them, odd, disturbing thoughts occurring to them suddenly, which they found themselves unable to resist fulfilling–craving the sensation of a fist pummelling their guts, a sudden hunger for shit and piss, the need to feel as much pain as they might experience without passing out or dying. In any case, the cocoon remained undisturbed into the evening, until it began twitching and wiggling every few minutes. The activity increased, and became more violent until it was clear that someone was inside the cocoon, and that they were desperately trying to escape it. The skin of the shell had handened and turned brittle, allowing, at last, a fist to burst through, two hands coated in some black, oily goo ripping at the hole, enlarging it, until a head burst forth gasping for air.

Beau fought his way forth, coughing and gagging up the filth he’d swallowed, which had settled into his lungs, which rasped with each breath. The goo hardened once it touched air, and he began scraping it off his body–first in latex like sheets, and then flakes, and then like brittle sugarwork dusting his skin. As he did, he began to realize that the body he was in was not quite the same as the one he’d had earlier–it seemed so long ago, now that he had a moment to think about it, but…what had he looked like, exactly? Older. A bit of a potbelly which had earned him a good amount of ribbing from other…guys on the force. He could see them, he could remember them, but it felt once removed. Like the memories weren’t really his, but somehow leftovers. Like a movie he’d found abandoned in an old VCR at a stranger’s home. It wasn’t…him. It wasn’t him, but that didn’t mean he knew who he was.

What was he? He seemed to be human, still. Two legs, two arms, toes and fingers. Hairier than before. More muscular than before. Younger than before? That seemed…difficult to pin down. Thinking about time, it felt like a part of him stretched back…further than he could even comprehend. Time was relative. Time was infinite. He was impossibly young and also eternal. H tried not to think about it, he tried not to think about any of it. Don’t think about who you are–what do you want, he asked himself.

Want. That was simpler. Immediate. He wanted pleasure. He wanted…he wanted sex. He wanted men. He could smell them, all around him in the night, the musk, the smoke, the cum, the piss. He was about to go out and find someone–anyone–to distract him from his terror, when two figures rounded the corner. One was familiar, and the other…he didn’t know how to describe the other at all. It wasn’t…human, was it? It looked like someone who had had grown so fat, his limbs so weak, it had simply become a blob dragging itself over the ground. “Out already? I thought you’d need a bit more time to develop, but you turned out…beautifully, son.”

Son? This person was…his father? As far as age was concerned, it seemed impossible, but time no longer seemed…stable. More importantly, he knew him. He wanted him, wanted to serve him, wanted to be his, somehow. Just standing there close to him, looking at him…the man claiming paternity sent a freakish level of pleasure through his guts and cock, making Beau grin wide. He stepped forward and kissed his father, his maker, the thing oozing between them, sucking and milking their cocks with it’s…mouths? Holes? It felt good in either case, and pleasure was all that really mattered to him at the moment. He pulled away after a few minutes, breathless but thrilled all the same, and wiped some of his father’s spit from his lips. “I don’t…understand. What happened to me? What am I?”

“You’ll learn in time. For now–you know what you need to do. I would join you, but this piece of filth needs to be taken below and stored away with our master. Enjoy yourself. Please yourself and others, and I will be happy when I see you again soon.”

There was a deep shadow, like a sudden blotting of every light at once, and they were gone. Beau was still there, but alone now. Dressed in leather gear–his gear, a hunger growing in his guts and his cock, and he set out into the night to feed, to fuck, to give pleasure–but most of all, to corrupt.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 4)

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

“How long since your last confession, my son?”

“One week,” the demon lied.

“Tell me your sins. Are you still suffering from that…overwhelming lust, you were describing to me, last time?”

“Yes father–it’s become…insatiable,” the demon let off a vulnerable moan, rubbing his uniform pants, “Today…in particular. This weekend–the faggots are out in force, Father. They gather here for three days, parading around in their filth–their leather, their rubber, flaunting their bodies and having sex in the street–such open and shameless in their displays.”

“I’m sure that must have been disgusting,” the priest said, but his eyes were glimmering and he had begun stroking his own cock openly, leaning closer to the screen separating them. “Have you been…tempted?”

“Yes father, but I have remained strong. God’s love…is stronger than the pleasures of the flesh–no matter how…thrilling they might be. But father–I…” he hesitated, and looked away. “I did…give in. None of them touched me, but I did…abuse myself–on my break, in a bathroom.”

“That is…a grave sin, my son, but given the temptation, it is admirable that you didn’t allow yourself to be pulled into their depravity further.” The priest shuffled forward on the bench, and leaned closer to the screen. The demon leaned in closer, looking at the older priest’s jowls covered with stubble, small eyes, balding hair, and that leer.

“There’s…more, father.”

“Oh?”

“I…I abused myself in the bathroom. It was…public, and I…I wasn’t alone. There were other men in there, and they were…I could…hear them, Father. I don’t know if they heard me or not. I knew I should arrest them for being indecent, for their perversion, but I did nothing, and I…pleasured myself, listening to them…and then…I…”

The priest was actively masturbating now, jaw hanging open, tongue half out of his mouth, a bit of drool. “Then what, my son, you…you can tell me,” he huffed.

The demon smiled, seeing how much the priest was enjoying his fabrication, but turned serious, masturbating harder himself, bringing himself closer to the edge. “I…came, father. I came into my hand, and without…really thinking about it, I…I licked it from my palm, and it…it tasted so…oh father!” he cried softly, and shot his wad of demonic seed into his hand, feeling the unnatural heat of it, burning into the skin of the officer’s hand. “It tasted so…good…but I can’t! Please father, take my sin from me, I can’t bear it anymore,” the demon said, and wiped the cum on the screen, smearing it inches from the priest’s flabby face, the man’s eyes twinkling, and like the pervert he was, he leaned in and licked it from the barrier between them, moaning, close to cumming himself as he unknowingly ate the demon’s cum, his face flushing, his desire…raging suddenly, and he began to lick more forcefully, desperate to taste more, desperate to eat more, but…but he couldn’t get enough of it into his mouth, his cock stubbornly refusing to shoot, leaving him…whimpering. “You understand, don’t you priest? Do you understand my need? Your need?”

The screen had begun to dissolve as the priest kept licking it, turning to ash and sulfur in his mouth. “You…you’re not Beau–what are you?”

“Let’s just say, that our friend Beau couldn’t quite resist the temptation today–and neither could you, father.”

“Begone beast! Leave that man alone, this is the house of the lord!”

“You have no power over me, priest–not after taking my seed willingly. No–the one who has the power here, now, is me.” the demon peeled away a finger from the officer’s decaying skin, and used the sharp point to cut around the base of skin around his cock, sliding it off like a condom and discarding it on the floor, allowing his true, thirteen inch, bright red cock to dribble steaming cum onto the floor. “Oh dear–I seem to be desecrating this house of worship, Father! Perhaps you could find a better…repository for my seed?”

The priest was sweating and gagging, the confession was sweltering and he tugged at his robes, desperate to be free of them, like they were burning his skin, hurling his cross last to the floor, looking at the scar it had left on his hand where he’d grasped it. “No–No, I won’t be corrupted. I won’t!”

“Priest, you’ve already corrupted yourself! You don’t believe you were really going to heaven, do you? No–your place is with us–it’s been with us every since that first man you fucked back in seminary. But don’t worry, we take all kinds, willingly or not. Now, it’s time to take what you want priest–what you need. Don’t worry–I have plenty for you. The more you drink, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

The screen had caught fire, burning away in a moment, and then the flames had spread further, removing the entire wall between them. The priest gave a great hacking cough in the billow of smoke, like something was stuck in his throat–or maybe…maybe he was just…parched. Why had he deprived himself of pleasure for so long–only engaging in these little games with men as deeply closeted as him, terrified that if he felt…anything, his entire life might just crumble away. He took the head in his mouth and began gulping down the demon’s precum. It was so hot it burnt his throat, blisters appearing on his lips and tongue, swelling and bursting within moments, but that didn’t matter. Pain wasn’t important–his thirst was all that mattered. He only stopped for a few moments, to hack some hard, solid rock up out of his throat onto the floor of the confessional, and then resumed drinking–the demon switching to acrid, foul smelling piss–but the priest barely noticed. The rest of the officer’s purity had since burnt off, leaving the demon with the priest, lost in depravity, holding the stone which the priest had coughed up in his hand. His master would reward him well for this one.

They remained in the booth until dark fell, and then the demon stood up, holding the stone as a barrier against the premises, and walked away. The priest garbled some noise, and started after him–not quite able to walk for some strange reason, but he could crawl, mewling and begging for more filth–but the officer would be emerging soon, and the demon didn’t want him coming out without a welcoming party.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 2)

It hurt. It was dry, and even though the baton was smooth, as Officer Wetzel tried to work it into his virgin asshole, it felt like he was ripping his ass apart. No one in the circle around him showed any sympathy to his situation. The man next to him, hand on his shoulder, was slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt, sliding one hot hand beneath it, exploring the officer’s chest and gut. The man sucking him off was bringing him closer to orgasm, no matter how hard he fought–it simply felt too good, and the man whispering in his ear wasn’t helping him focus on who he knew he was. A good man. A christian man. A man who loved his wife. A man who’d never felt a single desire for a man before in his life–but that was a lie, and the man knew, he knew it. The officer could remember, unbidden, all those desires like they were new again. That time he’d jacked off with his patrol in boy scouts. The boy who’d blown him at that Christian retreat. That…desire he felt, eveny time he was alone with his priest, and he could always tell the man felt the same, but God kept them so far apart, so far–

His hand twisted the baton in deeper, and he cried up–something between a scream and a moan, and he came, the man drinking down his cum, the men around them urging them on, vying for position. Whether the man was manipulating them too, or whether this was simply their natural state, he didn’t know, but every single one of them saw him not as a person, but as a hunk of meat, an object, a tool.

“They seem excited, don’t you think? I really should give them what they want–anything else would be rather cruel. Don’t worry–they’ll get tired eventually, and leave you alone for a few hours, but I don’t think you’ll be able to keep up that whole…straight act, not after we’ve shown you what you’re missing. Do you think that hag of yours will really look as good after you’ve learned how good it feels to have a cock in your ass?” The man smiled, his smoky breath hot against the officer’s ear. He stepped away, letting go of him for the first time, but the heat in his chest kept him there, kept him pushing the baton in deeper, the faggots closing in tighter around him.

“Please, don’t…don’t do this. I’m sorry, please.” he said, as a man in rubber, hooded, an unknown, stepped up close, pulling his uniform shirt apart the rest of the way, toying with the officer’s tender nipples, pressing their cocks together.

“Oh? Does someone want to make a deal?” the man said, leaning against the wall out of reach, watching the freaks close in around him. “Well, I suppose you can have an evening with them, or a weekend with me. It’s up to you, which you’d rather suffer.”

The rubber freak had one gloved hand on the top of Wetzel’s head, applying pressure, his other hand gripping his cock, eight inches, pierced in more places that the officer imagined possible, someone coming around the side, taking over the baton. His knees were buckling, he was…he was going to suck the man off. Then the next man too. Other’s would fuck him, and he wanted them to fuck him, he’d always wanted to know, he always wanted to know what it would be like to have a man inside him, and he’d confessed, to his priest, how he’d played with his hole while his wife was away, listening to the priest jack off while he told him, jacking off himself–“No, not them, please, not this. You can do what you want with me.”

The ring of men was pushed back by some strange force, allowing Officer Wetzel to take a breath, but it was filled with smoke, sulfur, brimstone, as the man, the demon, locked lips with him, pushing the smoke in deep, feeling the officer’s body melt against him. He was hot, so hot it felt like his skin might burn. Everywhere he touched, his skin ached with lust, his uniform caught fire and burned away, and the man turned the officer around, allowed him to brace himself against the wall. He’d become bigger, hairier, skin no longer any human tone, but a deep red, cock even larger than the rubber freaks had been, but Wetzel wanted it, he was begging for it. The demon hauled the baton from the officer’s hole and flung it away, hauling apart his ass cheeks with two hands, fingers tipped with claws, precum steaming as it dribbled from the tip of his cock. With a voice, halfway to a growl, the beast said, “You know, all it takes is one for the infection to happen, right?”

Before Wetzel could doubt his decision, the demon’s cock had forced itself into him. It burned, it was rough as sandpaper. He needed it, needed it deep inside him all the same, and he was bucking back as the beast fucked him. He felt a fever building in him, a horrific heat burning away the false faith he’d used, in desperation, to bind himself. His true self. Was he even human anymore? He was something different, that much he knew. There would be no coming back from this, now that he’d been seeded, and everything felt so…strange. Wrong. Different. The demon was pounding harder, the men still surrounding them, urging them onward. Could they see it for what it was? Could they see him changing? Or were they just victims in all of this? Did they know what was walking among them? What was inside of him?

The demon came, and after that, for a time, nothing mattered. Nothing even seemed to exist. It was white, or so black he know longer knew what light was. He was aware of his body existing. He could feel the cock slide out of him, and the heat began to flow out of him, exhaustion replacing it, and he fell to his knees, facing the wall. Who was he? What was he? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to either.

Joining The Family (Part 2)

All my life, thinking of Mikey’s father and how I’d failed him when he was growing up, I’d always blamed my drinking, my absence. “If I’d been there, if I’d been sober,” I’d tell myself, “None of that would have happened. I would have been able to catch him before everything went wrong.” Well now here I was again, watching another young man in my charge slowly slip away from me, except this time I couldn’t blame my drinking. I wasn’t even sure I could blame myself, though there was plenty of that involved, I can tell you. I kept trying to figure out how to get Mikey to open back up to me, to help him find his way back to that sweet kid I’d been raising, but suddenly it was like I was living with someone else entirely.

There was the smoking. I couldn’t prove it, I would turn his room over while he was at school searching for cigarettes or ash, but I never found anything. Still, it was the drinking that made me even more furious. I’d worked so hard, freeing myself from liquor. I’d told him everything, I’d told him how the devil was in alcohol, how it had ruined my life, his father’s life, and then there he was, coming home with booze on his breath, eyes unfocused, that new sneering grin of his on his face, pushing past me and locking himself in his room until the morning, when he’d leave again, picked up by those two foul twins. “They were to blame,” I told myself now, it was their influence which was ruining him somehow, but I knew it was a lie. Things just fell to shit sometimes–I’d known that for as long as I lived. There was only so much I could do. So…I was there for him as best I could be that spring, but things only got worse.

He started packing on weight, going from thin to pudgy in a matter of months. He wasn’t taking care of himself, refused to brush his teeth or shower. He’d wear the same disgusting clothes for days at a time, usually just a pair of overalls with nothing else, not even overalls. Dale and Rick liked the look, he told me, wanting me to be furious. He refused to go to church, he burned my bible at one point after one of our common fights, when I’d slapped him for disrespecting me. It wasn’t too long after that I decided I’d been passive for long enough, that I had to do something, or Mikey would ruin his life before it even began.

I started following the twins around in my own truck, both with and without Mikey. I’d been getting calls from the school, telling me that Mikey’s attendance had slipped severely, and I found out that the twins almost never went to school. They’d pick Mikey up, and then drive a few miles down the road to the trailer park where they lived–one even more rundown than mine, and they’d spend all day there. They lived there with their father, a man who reminded me in all the worst ways of myself when I was younger. He’d leave once a day–long hair, scruffy beard, huge gut–and take the truck to a gas station down the road, stock up on way more beer and cigarettes than he needed himself, and then go back home. Obviously he was supplying his sons and Mikey–I confronted him at the station one day, but he just sneered at me with a smile missing more than a few teeth. “Gotta give my sons what they want, ya know? Best be stayin’ away if ya know what’s good fer ya,” he said. Well when Mikey stopped coming home at all, that’s when I’d had enough. He stayed out two nights, and then I got in my truck and drove off, planning on dragging him back home if I had to.

They were obviously home. I pounded on the door for close to ten minutes, and I could hear them inside, laughing at me. The door wasn’t exactly strong, and I might be sixty but I still had some strength left. I forced the door open and stormed into the trailer. The place was a complete sty–ashtrays and booze bottles everywhere, the stench of the place made me gag. There in an armchair was their father, staring at the TV screen, wearing nothing but a pair of whities stained yellow with who knew what. He had his cock out and was jacking off, tongue out, but a thick cigar stuffed in one corner spouting smoke, drooling at the screen. I came around but the screen wasn’t showing anything but static. I tried to get his attention, but he didn’t even seem to notice I was there at all, aside from a low, guttural chuckle. I could hear something in one of the bedrooms–I forced my way in again, and found the twin’s bedroom lit only by candles, and Mikey was between them, and they were all naked. I didn’t want to know what was happening there, in the dark. The light from the candles was burning bright, but it couldn’t quite manage to extend light to the entirety of the small room, leaving what was happening there to the imagination. It was almost like there were too many bodies on the bed, too many arms and legs. I suppressed a gag, and fumbled for the light, flipped it on and soaked the scene in fluorescent clarity.

There they were–Dale buried in my grandson’s ass, Rick in his mouth. I was nearly sick again. I’d never had tolerance for faggots, it was never something I’d ever been able to understand. I’d had my suspicions with Mikey, given his disinterest in girls, and I’d…been trying to think about what I might say to him, if it came to that. Trying to figure out if I could still love him or not. But this filth–it was too much. My head was reeling. The smoke was so thick in the trailer, it was hard to breathe, my head spinning. I didn’t feel good, and I tried to get out, but without me hearing him, Dale and Rick’s father got up and blocked my way, and whispered in my ear, “Told ya tah stay away. Who knows what might happen to ya now…” He laughed–the sound was filled with his own terror and desperation, and that hopeless sound filled me with more terror than anything he could have said to me, right then.

Joining The Family (Part 1)

Considering everything the boy had been through, I suppose it was pretty impressive he was as happy-go-lucky as he was. His father sent off to prison when he was seven–dumb as boy a mine, I’ll take credit for that one. Never…quite knew how to be a good father, you know? The fuckin’ babe just pops out, and it’s not like you have a damn instruction manual. Yeah, his dad was a lout–drunk, unemployed. Got busted cooking meth with a buddy, ended up shooting a dang cop! He’s gonna rot away in there, and serves him right. Still, Mikey’s mom didn’t hang around for much longer–she needed her fix, after all. She ditched him on the steps of my trailer, just some kid I barely knew–it’s not like my son brought him around to see Gramps very often. Then she hopped on the back of a motorcycle, driven by some fat fuck with fewer teeth than her, somehow, and she hasn’t come back. I doubt she ever will. Wouldn’t matter anyway–court’s given me full custody, and I resolved to do better with this generation than the last.

Still, I owe a lot of it to Mikey–he’s a real good kid, you know? Not like his father ever was, at least, or maybe I just have a bit more patience now. Helps that I stopped drinking, and the church helps us out too, of course. Gives us a some structure. And now, here he is–seventeen and almost a man, not that you’d really know it, looking at him, or maybe I just see him that way since I raised him. He still looks fourteen to me, his bright eyes, chubby face. Barely has any stubble anywhere on his body, and he’d rather be down in the forest catching crawdads than chasing girls–which is a better occupation in my book. He doesn’t have the grades for college or anything, but he’s already got a job helping out in the kitchen at the roadside diner down the road from our trailer park–he’s got a real talent for cooking, not that you’d know it, looking at the beanpole. He’s put a few pounds on me though, with his food at the diner! Things were going great–until things suddenly weren’t going so great.

It was spring, I remember that–just finishing up his junior year. Now, Mikey had never been very good at making friends. He just…had a hard time trusting people, and opening up, I think. He was always a quiet kid, and I don’t think he’d ever invited anyone over to his house, and had rarely gone anywhere else to play. It was usually just him and the forest until he came home at dusk for dinner. Then, one day, he wasn’t on the school bus when it rolled by. I assumed he’d just missed it, which happened on occasion if he got hung up by a teacher. I was getting ready to drive to school and pick him up, wondering why he hadn’t called me to tell me. I went outside, in time to find some mud crusted pickup, spewing fumes, roll into the trailer park, stop, and a moment later, out came Mikey, laughing and smiling at the other boys in the truck, gave them a wave, and then walked over to me and came inside.

I asked him who they were, and he just said they were some kids from his class who’d offered to give him a ride. He smelled of smoke and…something else I couldn’t place. Something a bit musky? His quietness had changed as well–before he’d been happy to talk about anything once he got talking–but suddenly he was clamming up, dodging questions. He excused himself and went to his room–odd since he usually preferred the woods after school, and he didn’t come out until dinner, and when he came out this time–he still reeked of smoke and that musky smell again…and I realized what it was. He’d been masturbating.

Now, like I said, he hadn’t shown really…any interest in girls, or sex at all for that matter, as long as he’d been in my trailer. So this was odd, to say the least. Now, I’m religious, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a guy busting a nut now and then. Hell, I jack off plenty myself, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite, so I just let it slide. I figured he’d get over it, or if it became an issue, we could talk about it.

Well, it wasn’t the masturbating that became the issue, it was the smoking. From that day on, he stopped taking the bus–instead, he caught rides with those new friends of his. It took me days to pry their names out of him–Apparently the ringleaders (that is, the two who drove the truck the rest of them rode around in) were Dale and Rick Pearson–twin brothers in the same grade as Mikey. Everytime, he smelled like smoke, and he insisted he wasn’t having any of it, and I believed him–until I found the lighter and the pack of reds in his room! I threw them out, and we had a long talk–well, a long argument at least. He was pissed I’d gone through his room, and I can understand that, but I didn’t want him smoking. He didn’t see anything wrong with it–after all, Dale and Rick smoked all the time! It didn’t end well–I sent him to his room, which was where he wanted to be anyway, and…he stayed mad at me for a while. I knew he was still smoking, but I couldn’t prove it, and I blamed those two twins, for coming between us. I hoped that this was going to be the worst of it, but it turns out things were only going to go downhill from there.