Tag: dark

The Facility (Part 6)

WARNING: Strange TF 

Holden’s body seemed to be…quivering and shaking all over, and expanding. It was all fat, that Quinn could see, and it was happening so quickly that his skin could barely keep up–even tearing the flesh at parts, though it healed over within moments, leaving him covered with scars and stretchmarks. He tried to speak, but something was wrong with his mouth–his whole face really. There was blood running from his nose and mouth down his chin as it pushed out, his jaw and skull reforming into some strange new shape. Quinn couldn’t look anymore–he got up and shook the doors again, but there was no opening them. He had to fight. He had to, there was no option. Beside the door, he saw a fire extinguisher in a glass case. He smashed it and hauled it free, charging at the monster with it raised over he hurled it at the things head, dealing it a glancing blow–the thing roaring in surprise and pain, before hauling itself out of Holden’s ass and charging at Quinn.

He dodged it’s first charge, but wasn’t expecting it’s tail to move as quickly as it did, tripping him and then wrapping itself around him tightly, so tight he could only manage ragged breaths. It was strong enough that it could lift him off the ground entirely, long enough to haul him around to face the thing’s snarling mouth, before it lowered him onto it’s cock as it stood there. He kicked and struggled, but there was no fighting it–the beast impaled him on his cock, making him scream in pain, his ass loosening immediately just like Holden’s had, and then he too, felt something begin pumping its way into his bowels, some of it seeping back out and dribbling to the floor from his now wrecked hole.

It was the pleasure which surprised him the most, catching him completely off guard. He hadn’t been able to see earlier, from how Holden had been face down against the floor, but Quinn’s cock hardened immediately, he gasped, and sprayed a massive shot of cum from his cock, and then another, eyes rolling back into his head, and even the horrific pain he felt as his body swelled with fat, skin ripping and healing as he grew, couldn’t beat the pleasure, couldn’t stop him from…wanting this. The cum was still pouring out of him in a torrent, his scrotum swelling larger and larger as he spewed, his cock growing as well, even as his new fat threatened to overwhelm it. He could…smell it. He was dimly aware that he could taste blood, that something was wrong inside of him, that his face ached–especially his teeth, but he could smell so much now. Smell his cum. Smell the monster’s cum forming a pool below him, how delicious it all smelled to him, suddenly.

Apparently satisfied with the result, the beast pulled him free and dropped him to the floor, where he landed on something large and soft, before rolling off to the side. It was Holden, he realized. It had been Holden. Whatever it was, it had crawled over from where the beast had been fucking him to the puddle beneath them, and had spent the last several minutes lapping up and eating whatever cum had dribbled from them both. Both of his arms seemed…smaller, almost atrophied. It was desperately groping it’s fat and trying to reach his groin–and his own strangely deformed cock and balls, but couldn’t do so. It took a moment for Quinn to realize that he too, was desperately trying to reach himself. He could only turn his head so far, enough to see his oddly misshapen limbs flailing about helplessly, but he managed to crawl forward somehow, his own face battling with Holden’s for whatever cum it could find on the floor.

Doctor Sondew was pleased with the results of the initial seeding. Further exposure to the beast’s seed, beyond another threshold, would trigger the complete transformation of subjects two and three–their arms and legs disappearing entirely, leaving them as little more than fat worms with a single minded thirst for cum, and whatever else the dear doctor felt they deserved. Of course, their human minds were relatively untouched, though no longer in control of their bodies, which would be governed by instinct from this point forward. Still, best to leave them…recognizable for what would come next. He would leave these two in the main facility, where they would be found, where the rest of the men in the camp could find them, know what they were, so they could see what they two would become tonight when he turned his beast on them. The woods were dark and terrifying, especially after the doctor’s small EMP had plunged their camp into silence, and killed all of their communications. After that, there would only be them, the darkness, the trees, and the beast from their nightmares fucking each of them in turn, until all that would remain come morning were the monstrous worms they all deserved to be.

Doctor Sondew would be recording it all, of course, and come morning, it would be broadcast to the entire world for them to see. To see what this company was capable of, to see what they had done. He and his beast would be gone by then, of course–and if that wasn’t enough, then he’d set the beast loose in a major city, and see how the world might respond to that.

The puddle of cum was been depleted, and both might worms had inched their way to his beast, their strange mouths and tongues licking at the monster’s massive balls. They could smell what was in them, and as much as they might fear it, they also knew that they needed it to survive. The beast was obedient, however, and refused to provide it, though it looked up to it’s master and gave a whine, telling him that it would very much like to continue with subjects Eta Two and Three. But no, there was work to be done. Two robots entered, wrapping up the Quinn and Holden and dragging them out to the room, to the elevator. His revenge would come tonight, at last.

The Facility (Part 5)

“Quinn. Quinn! Would you fucking wake up?”

Quinn moaned, opened his eyes, and found Holden looming over him. “What happened?”

“I don’t fucking know man. Get up, we need to figure out how to get out of here.”

Quinn sat up, his legs feeling like jelly, his stomach growling like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

“Me too–I…I think we were out for a couple of days.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! Do you remember anything of what happened?”

Quinn and Holden had been outside the facility, checking ground lines and connections, when they’d gotten a message from Kerry inside that he’d figured out the issue. Sure enough, when they’d gotten back to the building the lights were on, but when they looked for Kerry down in the basement, all they’d found was his laptop–no sign of Kerry anywhere. They’d started looking for their partner in the building, figuring he’d probably went to check out some other part of the generators, or address some other problem, but they hadn’t gotten far. What happened after that was blurry and vague, but he could remember something…gripping him, like an octopus or something, and an injection, but nothing beyond that. Holden didn’t remember much else of interest either, and neither of them could recall seeing a room like this anywhere on the blueprints of the building. It was large for one thing–probably around two thousand square feet of space, and about two stories tall. The floor was tiled, and it was bare of furnishings aside from the two beds where they had each woken up, completely naked, a few minutes before.

There were two sets of doors at either end of the room, and after testing them both, they found both locked tight. They searched the room for anything else that might be of use, but came up empty handed–when a voice came on through the loudspeakers in the room. The voice was strange–it spoke english, but the words were almost guttural, and difficult to understand, like the person speaking had a significant accent neither of them could recognize.

“Welcome, Subjects Eta Two and Three. I’m sorry for the long rest and poor accommodations, but quite frankly, you don’t deserve better for cooperating with this company. However, I’m sure the two of you are curious as to where your third partner disappeared to a few days ago, well, I’m sorry to say that Kerry is gone–but I’d be happy to introduce you to what took his place.”

The two men heard a click as one of the sets of door unlocked and opened, revealing a small room beyond, and neither of them had words to adequately describe the monster which stomped through the door. It would have been easier, perhaps, to describe it in pieces–the head of a wolf, snarling at them as they backed up across the room. The chest and arms of a burly gorilla, the tail whipping behind it something between a gator and a snake, the legs similarly coated with scales, beefy with muscle, running down to two massive, webbed and taloned feet. Still, that all somehow seemed more understandable than the massive cock hanging from it’s crotch with its flared head, generally equine in shape and size, with two huge balls tight below. “What do you think? He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”

“Oh…oh fuck, what the fuck is that?” Holden said, standing there, but Quinn sprinted for the opposite doors, hurling himself at them, desperate to get out of that thing’s presence.

“This, is no longer Kerry, but I haven’t come up with a proper name for him yet. For now, this is Subject Eta One. The two of you will be designated Eta Two and Three, depending on which of you is mounted first. Eta One–please fuck both human subjects before you. Subdue with force if necessary, but do not kill them. Seed them both, and wait for further instruction.”

With a snarl, the beast charged toward Holden, who was still rooted in place, terrified, piss running down his legs as the thing slammed into him, throwing him to the ground with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. From a distance, he hadn’t quite understood how large the monster was, but it reached a height close to nine feet tall, and it picked Holden up like a doll in it’s huge hands, turning him over and pinning him down, before shoving it’s massive member against his ass. “No, no please! It’s so fucking big!” he screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry–you’ll be able to take it all eventually,” the voice said.

The beast’s cock was already leaking, and as it ran down his crack, he felt his sphincter suddenly relax and release–if he had eaten anything in days, he would have shit himself–but the head of the thing’s cock forced it’s way into him, drilling deeper and deeper. The relaxation of his muscles did nothing to dull the pain, and he screamed, desperately trying to crawl away from the thing mounting him, but it was too strong. A moment after being penetrated, the thing…howled, and Holden felt the massive shaft begin…pumping something into him. Cum he assumed, but there was so much of it. He vomited and saw blood–the thing was raping him so hard he must have suffered some internal bleeding, and he looked to Quinn across the room, slumped by the door, a look of horror on his face. But Quinn wasn’t only horrified by what the monster was doing to his friend–it was what was happening to his friend’s body which had him chilled to the bone.

The Facility (Part 4)

Kerry glared at him, growling a bit, and then gestured at his whole body, as a way of demanding an explanation, and the doctor sighed. “Yes, I was getting to that. It’s…a long story, however, so it would be best for us to proceed with your treatment in the meantime. X-9, please restrain the patient, while I prepare to administer Serum B.”

Kerry let out a growl as the robot approached him, slashing at its prehensile appendages with his now clawlike nails, but the robot shrugged off his attacks and wrapped him up, hauling his immobilized body off the ground and laying him back on the exam table, while Dr. Sondew prepared a syringe.

“Serum A, which you’ve already been administered, is more of a…transitional form, you might say.” the doctor said, while Kerry struggled, “X-9, perhaps a minor sedative?”

“Yes doctor,” X-9 said, and Kerry felt a needle slide into his neck, his body immediately going numb and relaxed, though he was still acutely aware of his surroundings.

“Thank you, that’s much easier,” Dr. Sondew said, shaved a small portion of Kerry’s arm, and began searching for a vein. “As I was saying, the first serum merely…shall we say, scrambles the recipient’s genome. The results are a bit difficult to predict, but what has happened is that the building blocks of your body have been broken apart and jumbled up with a multitude of others–the one which arose in you was canine, but other subjects display different results. For me, I looked like a proper minotaur, when they caught me and forced me to take it.” He slid the needle into the vein, and despite Kerry’s whines, he shot the second serum into his bloodstream. “Now this second serum–now that we have your standard form broken up, we can begin tailoring your body to particular specifications. They weren’t quite at that point with me–they were still trying to figure out what was going on, when things went south.”

Kerry’s arm felt like it was on fire again, and it was spreading to the rest of his body. He wanted to vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach. He growled and tried to lash out, but the sedative reduced his protests to meek grumbles.

“I was told we’d be doing good work, curing disease, unlocking the secrets of our species. Instead, I found a laboratory full of…victims. Illegal human trials, some of them so…twisted, and it was obvious the entire goal was aimed not at medical application, but new, disturbing forms of warfare. I tried to leak it to the press, and so they made me one of their subjects. Still, it was only a matter of time before things went awry, and I was ready, when it did. The lab had a failsafe, a pathogen released into the air, which killed everyone indiscriminately–I only survived barely, but no one else did. I hid down here in the basement labs, refining their research in the meantime on myself, and now they’re back to pick up where they left off, and I can’t let them do that. I realize…I’m doing to you exactly what they did to me, but I’ve already compromised myself. This is more important than me or you. This company has to be stopped, and you’re going to help me do it.”

The heat had spread further now, but was still most intense in the arm which had been injected. Kerry was able to lift his head and he could see that the muscles in his arm were spasming, but he couldn’t feel them do so through the sedative in his system. Already his arm was thicker and stronger than his other one, the burning crossing into his chest, running up the side of his neck to his face, as well as down his torso towards his belly, groin and legs.

“I’d feel more sorry for you, to be honest, but you’re working for them too. You know what you clean up, I know you’ve seen things that don’t seem right, but you’re just doing your job, right?” Doctor Sondew snorted, “Fucking banal. No–better you help me than help them. Not like it will matter much to you anyway, soon enough. I don’t need you feeling mercy, or doubt, so we’re going to be getting rid of most of those higher order mental functions. By the end of this serum, you won’t have ego left–just blind obedience to me. You’ll do whatever I command, and we’re going to get revenge on those fucks together–they’re never going to even see it coming.”

The serum had reached his face, and was beginning to penetrate his skull. Kerry renewed his struggle as best he could, as weakly as he could, but the robot’s arms held him too tight, he was too weak. His first arm was changing more now, especially around his hand, looking less and less like a paw and more like a hand, though the skin was leathery and tough–more like a gorilla’s. At the same time, his chest was filling out, his fur growing longer and shaggy, even as he packed on pounds and pounds of muscle and fat, nearly screaming as the bones of his spine thickened and grew, stretching his body to a taller height. His body had been missing a tail, but what burst out above his ass was by no means canine–it was thick, covered with scale and spikes, corded with muscle. It wormed it’s way out from beneath him as his awareness started to fade, moment by moment.

“You’re going to be my vengeance. You are going to put those monsters in their rightful place, and make sure that they never hurt anyone ever again.”

His snout was pushing out further, teeth longer and sharper, but retained its basic shape–now the face of a true wolf, shaggy grey fur covering his jaw, cheeks and head, eyes twitching until they turned yellow, with black pupils, the humanity fading from them as the serum began shutting down portions of Kerry’s mind. He could hear the doctor continue speaking, but suddenly he couldn’t understand anything that he was saying. He tried to hold onto himself, but it wasn’t long before the beast was all that remained. Kerry was gone–and he would never be coming back.

The Facility (Part 2)

He wasn’t certain how much time had passed, when he came awake again. He ached, from head to toe, and he was lying somewhere, and that somewhere wasn’t particularly comfortable. He let out a groan and opened his eyes, looking around at the sterile room he was lying in, trying to piece together what he could remember. The generators. The robot. Something about test subjects. What in the world had the company been doing in this place? He was lying on a bed with just a sheet and a hard mattress, and he felt sick. He assumed that was just the sedative wearing off of him, but the more conscious he became, the worse he felt. It was a difficult sensation to describe–at some moments it felt like pins and needles all over his skin–and also inside his skin, somehow, like they were trying to poke their way out of him. Other places was a deep ache, centered in his bones, a pain he’d never experienced anything like before, and which mostly made him nauseous. He couldn’t see very clearly–the entire room seemed…muted, somehow. Like someone had sucked the color out of the room, leaving it a dingy grey, with bits of green and blue. He could make out the robot against the wall, but it appeared to be off, at least. Carefully, keeping his eyes on the thing which had dragged him down here, he pulled the sheet off his body, tried to swing his body up and off the bed as quietly as he could, but his body wasn’t working like he was used to, and he crashed to the floor instead.

That sent a long howl from his mouth–he’d tried to scream, but the sound he’d made hadn’t sounded like something that should–or even could–come from a human throat. His vision was blurry, but looking down at his hands, where he landed, something was wrong with them, or rather, one of them. They didn’t match. One, when he focused on it, looked…normal, he thought. But the other one didn’t…it didn’t even look human. He raised it closer to his face, trying to puzzle out what he was looking at. His eyes didn’t seem to have the detail they’d been capable of before, but he could see the hair, the back of his hand running up the arm, and when he flipped it over, his palm and even the underside of his fingers were covered with rough pads. With his other hand he felt them, and the dark claws at the tips of his fingers which had replaced his nails, but before he could do anything else, he felt something metallic wrap its way around his leg, rolling up his entire leg and yanking him backwards.

“Test Subject E1 has been displaced. E1 will be returned to bed and sedated.”

Kerry rolled over onto his back and saw that the robot had awakened. He tried to speak, tried to tell it to stop, but nothing close to human speech would come from his mouth. His head…ached. It didn’t feel right at all, and in a reflective cabinet along the wall, he could see why, as he fought with the robot. It was…the face of a dog, looking back at him. The face and head of a dog attached to his body somehow, or what was rapidly becoming not his body. One of his legs, the one the robot had wrapped up, had changed similarly to his arm, while his other leg was still human…but he could see the hair was thicker across the surface, his human foot…contorting somehow, that deep ache in his bones. He clawed and bit at the robot’s tendrils, but he was immobilized in a matter of moments, hefted up into the air, and put back on the bed. “Administering sedative,” the robot said, and again he felt the sharp pain of an injection, the same drowsiness flooding his system until he could barely move, the tendrils relaxing away from him, the robot retreating back to its corner as Kerry fought to remain awake. He heard a door open and then close nearby, but he couldn’t quite open his eyes to see who, or what, it was.

“How is the patient, X-9?” a male voice said, but there was something…strange in the words, like the mouth speaking wasn’t quite a human one, “I received an alert?”

“Good evening, Dr. Sondew,” the robot speaking, “There was a minor incident. The patient was displaced from his resting position. Cause was due to the subject regaining consciousness. The patient was returned to resting position and sedated again 98 seconds ago.”

“I see,” the voice said, and the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer. “Do try and relax, if you can still hear me. Trust me when I say that this is all for the greater good.” the footsteps receded, “How long until Serum A’s effects are complete?”

“Approximately seven hours and fifteen minutes.”

“Keep the subject sedated until then, but make a note that I will be present before and while serum B is administered. The poor thing should at least have the courtesy of someone explaining this to him, I think.”

“Noted.”

The voice spoke to the robot for a few more minutes, but Kerry had already stopped being able to understand their words, and had fallen back into a restless, aching sleep.

The Facility (Part 1)

“It has to be around here somewhere,” Kerry muttered to himself, lodging the flashlight in his mouth so he could get a better look at the blueprints he was using as a reference–but which must be wrong. The first couple of floors had been close enough to the paper, but down here in the basement–everything was all off. Had the company sent him a print of a different building’s basement or something? He took the flashlight back in his hand and shone it around the pitch black space surrounding him. They hadn’t told him, or the rest of his team, what was up with this facility–all they’d said was that they needed the power back online as soon as possible. The place seemed fairly new…but also neglected somehow, and in a few rooms, he’d nearly gagged at the strong scent of bleach hanging in the air. Someone had already come through the building, cleaning something–but what? Still, he might be the team leader, but he was still just some flunkie contractor as far as the company was concerned. Still–the blueprint might be wrong, but why wouldn’t the generators be down here somewhere? They certainly hadn’t been anywhere else he’d looked already.

He was alone inside–Quinn and Holden were outside, checking the ground lines together, while Kerry found the generators and saw if the problem was with them. He checked a few more rooms, occasionally checking back with the mostly wrong blueprint, but finally he found the generators. He poked around for a few minutes, and the problem was definitely internal–half of the control panel had been mashed to bits, with what looked like a club of some kind. That wasn’t too much of an issue, though. He found the system outputs and inputs, hooked them up to the laptop he’d brought along in his backpack, and he was able to run a basic system check if nothing else. He breathed a sigh of relief when he got the result back–there was nothing wrong them them physically, it seemed. Someone had just run an emergency shutdown, and then smashed the panel after the fact–but why?

The company had been tight lipped about the project, tighter than normal. They hadn’t even been told where they were going–just flown into some town, where the company had a small camp established, and then brought them here by truck to get their work done. He was a bit surprised he wasn’t under armed guard or anything, from the way they’d been acting, which was a bit of a relief–they wouldn’t let him in if there was anything to worry about, certainly. He got the system to reboot, and waited a few minutes, listening to the machinery around him start to come back to life, slowly. He expected a mechanical error or two, and sure enough, they were there–he went and fixed the relatively minor issues, and soon enough the place was humming back to life, lights on, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Last time he’d gone on one of these contracts, he’d had to spend months in the field, laying wire to fucking nowhere. It would take a few days to get a new control panel hooked in, but if there was nothing more than that, he’d be home in another couple of days.

He spent a few minutes with the system, making sure everything was running smoothly, helping it get back to it’s proper capacity. He’d have to leave the laptop down here for the meantime, but he plugged it into a nearby socket–and he heard the noises for the first time. A hiss of hydraulics, the odd clank of metal on metal–but it was distant and muffled by the sound of the turbines beside him–he just assumed it was the system, and hoped it wasn’t a major issue he’d have to fix. Still, he should radio in and let them know things were working. “Ground crew, this is Generator,” he said into his walkie talkie, “Got the place lit up again–obviously not a cable. Come on–” but that was as far as he got, before the radio squealed back at him, unleashed a burst of static and went silent as it landed on the floor, and he backed away from it.

The noise again, except this time, he heard it clearer, both because he was away from the generator, and because it was coming closer. He looked back towards the door, and through it came some odd, squat robot. It had a wide flat head with a few sensors, and it stood on three jointed legs which met at a small body below the head. It swiveled towards him, and a dull voice said, “Unknown personnel. Scanning. Unauthorized entry. Secure and sedate.”

The thing started towards him, and Kerry ran towards it, planning to shove it over and run past, but three tendrils shot out as he got close, wrapping their way around his body and neck, one puncturing right into his vein and administering a shot which made him feel almost instantly woozy. He fought for a moment, but the thing was holding him much too tight, and he started to droop, holding onto consciousness as best he could. The thing wrapped him up further and then lifted him off the ground, carrying him horizontally off the ground, and backtracked out of the doorway and headed down the hall–until it stopped and froze in place for a few, long, seconds.

Kerry didn’t know what to make of it’s sudden hesitation, but it hadn’t loosened it’s grip on him in anyway. His vision was beginning to tunnel too, and it was too much effort to even hold up his head. “Unauthorized personnel has been reclassified as test subject Eta One. Will proceed to testing level, and continue with testing.”

It turned around and went back the other direction, heading for a working elevator against one wall, and stepping inside. Kerry couldn’t…see anymore. His eyes wouldn’t open. He expected to go up–but instead, his gut shifted uncomfortably and they dropped. The blueprint hadn’t mentioned a sub basement. Make that, sub basements, as they descended even further, and Kerry passed out as he sank into the earth.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 9)


Waste was surprised that he was still alive. In a sense, he knew that he wasn’t, not alive in the same sense as before, certainly not alive as the same person. He uncurled himself slowly from the ball he crumpled into on the floor, before pushing himself up on shaking legs so he could see himself in the mirror.

What had happened to him? It was like every muscle in his body had been dehydrated and shrunk to a single wire connecting each of his joints. Just from looking at himself, he couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds–the curse had left him as skin and bones. His height only served to exaggerate his new physique, but the loss of muscles wasn’t the most disturbing parts–it was the concave belly with his ribs clearly defined against the skin of his chest. Somehow, the skin seemed both impossibly tight, and also loose and sagging, depending on the angle one looked at. His eyes climbed higher, to his neck, every tendon and vein visible through his much paler skin, and his gaunt face. He looked…old. So much older than he had been, with his now snow white beard growing out in wisps to his chest, his head bald aside from a few errant strands of fine hair that remained. To steady himself, he took a drag off his cigar, able to see his chest inflating with smoke, and then exhaled through his yellowed, crooked teeth, lined with gaps. Cheeks shallow and gaunt, eyes sunken deep. His eyes–he could see clearly, but they were cloudy–eerily so, and he could barely make eye contact with himself for five or ten seconds, before having to look away, but there was nowhere to look that didn’t horrify him. The only part of him that seemed to have any life left was his cock–he gripped it with a bony hand, feeling it’s warmth, feeling alive in some small way, through his shaft.

Waste. The curse had named him Waste, and now he understood. Wasting away, but also discarded by the world. Refuse. That old him, Walter, he was fading faster now, he was dying in the sandstorm, but the curse had saved him from that fate, because he could still be useful. If he didn’t want to suffer the same end, then Waste knew what he had to do, knew who he had to become.

“Sorry about that, Fuglet,” he said, looking over at his slave. His voice was dry, cracking, desperate for water. The shiver that ran down Fuglet’s back was similar to a knife running down a pane of glass. “I got…distracted. You’ve met all my conditions, slave. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re mine now–all mine, forever.”

Fuglet didn’t like this Master. Fuglet liked the old one, the one who he could tell still cared about him, but in those skeletal, cloudy eyes, he only saw hatred.

“Get on the bed–Master wants to use that hole of yours.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t disobey. He got on the bed and let his jeans slip from his ass and around his knees, his master coming over, running sharp, claw like nails along his filthy skin, pressing hard enough to leave a red mark, but not a true scratch. His cock was hungry–it was the only part of him that needed anything anymore. As long as he kept his cock happy, as long as that didn’t shrivel away as well, then he wouldn’t have to worry. The curse would be happy, and Waste wouldn’t have to die too.

He raped his Fuglet for hours. When he grew tired of one hole, he would switch to another. If his slave displeased him for some reason, he would take a moment to punish him–sometimes quickly, with a sharp burn from the end of his cigar, or other times longer, with a prolonged paddling. The whole time, he could see his cock and balls swelling larger, feeding on Fuglet’s pain and humiliation until it was over a foot long and as thick as a two liter bottle, ramming deep into his ass as he screamed with each invasion. When he finally finished, and came–filling Fuglet’s ass with a massive load of cum, Waste finally looked around and realized the apartment had completely shifted around them as well, their new life becoming…clearer.

Fuglet worked in construction during the day–it was one of the few jobs someone as stupid and ugly as he was could still manage to do a decent job and not get fired in the first week. Everyone on his crew hated him, of course. Everyone in the world despised him as soon as they met him. They just…something about him, it was clear that he wasn’t right. He had no friends, he had no family. No one knew about his master waiting back at home. No one who noticed his collar had any desire to know the details or story behind it. Still, he did his menial tasks competently, he stayed out of everyone’s way, and that was acceptable. Then, when the day was done, he went home, where Waste was waiting.

Waste never left the apartment. It wasn’t clear that Waste even could leave the apartment. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, waste was, but Fuglet was fairly certain he wasn’t entirely human, even if he had been at some point. He never ate, he only slept a few hours a night. He would abuse Fuglet until he passed out, and when he awoke, Waste would still be fucking him. As gaunt and sickly as he appeared, he was stronger than any man Fuglet had met on any crew. Waste was his curse to bear, he supposed, for some sins in some past life, and he bore him willingly. At least it was someone. At least he wasn’t entirely alone. At least there was something in the world that needed him, even if it only needed him to suffer.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 8)

“Are…y-ya fuckin’ h-h-happy now, s-s-sir?” Donny stammered out, staring at himself. “Ain’t no one g-g-onna want me now.”

“No–No, fuck you, no we’re not finished.”

Donny flinched at the edge in Walter’s voice. It hadn’t been there before–and neither had those steel grey eyes he was looking at him with. Appraising him with, like an object. Like an object, trying to figure out what part of it he hadn’t quite vandalized completely.

“That face,” Walter said, “I still see you in that fucking face.”

With a cry of pain, Donny’s facial features began rearranging themselves. His mouth grew wider and his lips thinned, his nose growing out, the point turning up and flattening, nostrils flaring wide to either side. His brow thickened considerably, hiding his now beady eyes in shadow, even as his forehead grew shorter. His ears flapped out to either side, one noticeably larger than the other.

“Too young too. You don’t fucking deserve youth. No–there’s nothing uglier than awkward middle age.”

His hairline receded, but left a noticeable tuft of hair behind offset to one side, and a few strands of grey appeared in his hair and sideburns–not enough to form a pattern, but enough to be apparent. His gut and moobs sagged a bit further, his skin growing cracked, dry and weathered, spotted with moles and freckles. Donny no longer recognized himself in any part of his body, and yet, looking at his own reflection…he knew this life of his intimately. No one had ever loved him. No one had ever touched him without also wanting to hurt him.

“Fuckin’ ugly pig,” Walter said, giggling for some reason, feeling unhinged in his own mind. What a name for you! Fuglet! The fuckin’ ugly piglet. What’s your name, slave? I want to hear you say it.”

“It’s…Fuglet s-s-sir,” Donny said…and it was true. Somehow, that nickname had followed him his entire life. He’d forgotten his real name often enough, and it was easier just to introduce himself as that–it got the messy business over faster…sometimes.

“Fugglet, oh my fucking christ, what the fuck have I done!” Walter said, still giggling. “I…I knew this was going to…to be rough, but fuck, I can’t even look at you.”

“I k-k-know sir, I’m g-g-g…” he tried to say, but couldn’t get anything past his lips.

“I fucking did this, fuck, I have to get the fuck out of here, I need some fucking air,” Walter said, and stumbled for the apartment door, intending to run and never come back. He’d done what the curse had wanted, hadn’t he? It didn’t need him anymore. He couldn’t stay here, he couldn’t stare that thing in the face everyday and…and not see himself reflected in it. He grabbed the door handle and hauled the door open six inches, but the door slammed against some immovable and invisible force, which slammed it back shut. It was in him. It was in him, the curse was in him, and it was angry. Now he knew what Jack had meant, when he’d told him not to resist, that the curse only wanted to use him. In the end, he hadn’t been the right tool, even if he’d been close. The curse was realizing this now, and decided to fashion him into something which would better suit its needs.

“You have to stay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stay, I’ll be your tool!” he shouted into the room, but he could tell the curse was rather unimpressed, and it was right. He couldn’t do this. He hadn’t imagined it might be this intense, this terrible, watching the man he loved…destroyed like this. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, not really, but it was the curse calling the shots. It was the curse which had seen this in him, deep inside him, and called it forth. This had come from him, but he’d never had to stomach to grapple with it–that the only way he could know–truly know–that someone was his, was to make sure no one would ever desire them.

“You cannot leave. You won’t leave. You don’t want to leave.”

The curse was pulling him away from the door, dragging him back towards the room, back towards Fuglet, back towards the mirror.

“Fuglet needs to be punished.”

“Please, I know, I’ll do it.”

“You both need to be punished.”

“No…no…” he whined, but he could already feel it, his body changing in ways he could barely understand.

“You hate. You hate, it is what you do. You hate, you wound. You are cruel. You are waste. You are wasting. No one would ever submit themselves to someone like you, no one other than someone who no one would want to dominate. You will both be cursed to have no one but one another.”

Thinking back on the moment–often after waking up from nightmares in the middle of the night, trying to scream through a dry, empty throat–it was like he had been set on his knees in a sandstorm, being buffeted by the wind and thousands of sharp, cutting grains of glass. Every cut removed a piece of him–thoughts from his mind, strength from his body, kindness from his soul. He would imagine being buried, but they were simply stripping everything away from him that was no longer necessary. The best tools, after all, were lean and efficient, honed for a single purpose, and obvious in intent. The storm disappeared, leaving him curled up in a ball on the floor, Fuglet backed up against the wall, unable to understand what had just happened, but terrified all the same. He just stared at his Master, wondering if he was dead. It looked like it could be dead, and then there was a rasping breath, and his Master uncurled himself with a groan.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 7)

“Get dressed, you dumb fuck–I want you to see what a stupid faggot you are,” Walter said, and he pitched a grungy wifebeater at Donny’s chest. He shrugged it on, the fabric gritty to the touch from the sand and mud ground into it–it lined up perfectly with his tan lines, which only made everything seem so much more…real. He got off the bed, grabbed the first pair of jeans he found on the filthy floor–it didn’t occur to him to find any underwear, since he never wore any–and pulled them on too. Now that he was standing, he realized how ill-fitting both things were–they seemed too big for him, and even when he cinched up the belt he’d left in the jeans, they still sagged around his thighs, but were too short for his legs, only coming to his upper ankle. “Shit don’t even f-f-fit,” he muttered.

“What, you were expecting them to come tailored? You buy whatever fits well enough at the thrift store–you know that, dumbass. Now get in front of the mirror–take a look at the new you. Tell me what your other boyfriend would think about you now.”

One hand keeping the pants up, Donny shuffled over to the mirror and looked at himself–his lank hair falling down in front of his eyes, his bushy mutton chops. The unwashed clothes, his unwashed body. He looked like a fucking loser. “F-F-fuck…” he said.

“Fuck?” Walter said, coming behind him, “As in what, slave? As in you’d fuck yourself? As in you think I should take a picture of you, send it to that boy of yours, and see if he’s still down to fuck?”

“N-No, as in I’m f-f-fuggin’ ugly, sir.”

“Yes, but are you ugly enough? See, I think the right person could still find you fuckable, don’t you? After all, you have your nice physique. If you bothered to brush that hair out of your way you still have a handsome face, even if it is greasy. This is all surface shit–we haven’t tackled anything foundational. We haven’t made you a freak. No-you’re going to be so repulsive, that for most people, the thought of having sex with you turns their damn stomach. Then I’ll be happy knowing no one is ever going to touch you again–no one except me, of course. Like that nice, clean skin of yours–how about we mark that up a bit?”

Donny felt the same, sharp sting as he had earlier, when that tattoo had appeared on his ass–although this time it was everywhere. Not enough to cover his entire body in any sort of understandable pattern–some places were blank, while others were covered. None of the tattoos made much sense, and all of them looked to have been crudely done on the cheap. Misspelled words were rampant, some shapes just looked like blurs. Over them, came an itching, as hair erupted from his body–but again, mostly in patches. His chest remained fairly light, but the hair was thick and long on his shoulders, running down his back. He could feel his ass clumping up with sweaty hair, and while his upper arms remained thinly covered, his forearms were coated down to the back of his hands and onto his fingers. Lastly, he noticed that his facial hair had thickened–his mutton chops growing higher on his cheeks, his eyebrows thickening into a single, heavy mass of hair over his eyes.

“We’ll have to do something about that physique as well, of course,” Walter said, running his gloved hand over Donny’s hairy shoulder, “and your proportions are just…too damn sexy as well. That silhouette could rouse some dirty thoughts if we don’t do something about it.”

This time, the ache was all inside of his body. His muscles felt like someone was twisting them, milking the strength from them, draining it from his body. As he watched, he…just began to deflate. His arms lost the most mass, he thought, as did his legs, looking more like toothpicks compared to what he’d had moments before. He lost all of his definition in his chest, and when the fat started to pile on, he ended up with two full mantits and a potbelly. Still–something else was off as well. His legs seemed too short, and were bowing outward. His arms hung down too low. His torso seemed scrunched, and his head sat right on his shoulders–barely enough neck for his collar to wrap around, if you could see it under his second chin. His face had puffed out with fat, making his head look even wider, his square jaw dissolving into a mass of indiscriminate flab. Other details were smaller–his feet were bigger–close to a size 18, which his hands seemed…way too small. His shoulders weren’t nearly as broad, giving him even more of a lumpy shape. His ass was flabby, but it sagged down in a rather disgusting fashion. His clothes fit even worse now–his gut poking out from his wifebeater, a crescent of tan indicating that he should get used to exposing it. His pants kept falling down even with a bigger waist because he had no ass–everytime he bent over he’d be showing off his hairy crack. At his shorter height, the pant legs were pooling around his feet…but his eyes kept being drawn back to his Master standing behind him, and the look of unexpected disgust across his face.

Indeed, even Walter was having a difficult time looking at what he’d done. There was simply something so…off about his body. Donny didn’t even seem human any more. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t want to be around it. He took a step back, but the curse redoubled inside him, sensing the resistance.

“Don’t lie to yourself, you enjoy this.”

“He’s disgusting.”

“He’s yours. That’s what you wanted. You don’t have to like looking at him. In fact, you don’t want to like looking at him, The more disgusting he is, the easier he is to hate. You hate him, you want to hate him.”

“This…I didn’t think–”

You hate him. You want to see that thing suffer. You want to make it suffer.”

The hatred which welled up in his chest–it wasn’t his. It felt like someone had taken his heart and dropped it into a bucket of freezing ice water. He didn’t want to be this person. He didn’t want to be enjoying this, but he was enjoying it. What use was there in fighting it? “I do hate him. I just…never realized how much.”

“Then finish it. Make him the embodiment of that hatred. Make him everything you hate, and then, you can be free.”

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 6)

“I don’t…this shouldn’t be possible, none of this should be happening.”

“You’re not answering my question, slave.”

“Please, you don’t have to do this. I’m your slave! No one’s going to–”

Walter grabbed Donny by the lock on his collar, and hauled him up to his feet, before grabbing him by his filthy locks, and dragging him over the bed, yanking him so he was face down and bent over. A paddle was in his hand. He had no idea how it had gotten there, but like the boots, like the cigars, it had simply appeared when he’d needed it. He realized, again, that he was changing too, and he hesitated with the paddle, unsure of what he was doing, but after a moment, he swung back, and slammed it into Donny’s ass, enjoying the howl that followed. “I’m not going to be tolerating any back talk. I’m not going to tolerate any disobedience. I own you, and I…will shape you into whatever I need you to become,” Walter said, his own voice unsettling him. It hadn’t sounded like him–it had sounded like that voice in his head earlier…and somehow it had felt like the words had been directed at him, as much as at Donny. “Now count, you fuck. Slaves always count.”

Ten heavy slams with the paddle, enough to raise welts, enough to leave his skin red and angry. Donny was crying–it was clear he’d never experienced anything like this before, and again, Walter wanted to feel sorry for him, wanted to pull back, but the curse shoved him away, climbed up onto the bed, and yanked his slave’s head up by the hair. “There must have been more that he liked about you, fucker. No one would fuck you for your fucking hair. If he liked your hair, I bet he liked your beard, didn’t he? The color, how well trimmed you keep it. Well fuck that shit.”

Donny could feel the hair on his face shifting, his beard parting down the center and pulling back from his mouth until it was just a pair of muttonchops remaining with nothing around his mouth, trimmed at an awkward, uneven line. Then, the hair began to grow, curling and puffing out, the color dulling to the same dingy brown as his hair.

“That’s better–no one in their right mind is going to find something like that sexy. Now, tell me–why the fuck did he want you? Why the fuck did he want to see scum like you three times a month?”

“He liked fucking being with me!” Donny seethed, “He said he always felt stylish when he was with me, fucking hip. He felt like a cool kid. He said I was charming and smart. He said I was funny. Fuck you–sometimes we didn’t even fuck, we just talked for hours. He loved me–he told me that. You sentimental fucks.”

“You’re being disrespectful, slave,” Walter said, and slammed the paddle down on his ass again, making him cry out.

“Please sir, I’m sorry sir, please.”

“Count–from one again.”

Twenty more this time, plus two extra when the slave missed the count. When he was finished, Walter set the paddle back on his chair, and took a long inhale of smoke, thinking, and imagining, and scheming. “Stylish and hip.” he said, walked back over to the bed, and rolled Donny over onto his back, seeing him flinch when his ass touched the sheets. “Charming, smart, and funny.” Walter ran a gloved hand over Donny’s skin, lightly, knowing he’d be the last one to touch it. “Not for too much longer, I don’t think.”

Donny tried to speak, but he felt it, his body…shifting, his mind–it was like a splitting headache, ripping his head apart.

“I don’t think someone who cares so little about their own hygiene could ever be considered stylish. More like slovenly and lazy.”

He could smell himself, suddenly–he reeked. It wasn’t just that he was unwashed, it was everything he’d done to take care of himself, all of his routines–deodorant, cologne, lotion–he couldn’t remember any of it. Why would he ever bother with shit like that? But he’d smelled his own BO before–and this was far worse than anything he’d ever put off in the past. Each time he caught a whiff, he just felt…ashamed that he would let himself stink like that, but knowing with as much certainty that he’d never lift a finger to do anything about it.

“I mean you do have a style. I’d call it dirty labor chic. Wifebeaters, ripped jeans and boots coated with mud and grit. Even when you’re naked, we can all see your tanlines, slave–we know what you are. Lips packed with that nasty tobacco of yours, juice leaking down your chin all the time. Not exactly a look that’ll be featured on magazines anytime soon.”

Donny lifted up his head, feeling his lip bulge out with a wad of tobacco–he tried to spit it out, but only ended up dribbling dark spit down his now bare chin. He did have a tanline–his arms a burnt orange, which his chest and belly were a pale white. It was clear what he wore, day in and day out now, under the sun. But other details too–his broken and cracked nails with dirt packed beneath, making them look black or brown.

“As for charming. As for smart. As for funny. We know the truth, don’t we? That crude language of yours you’ve picked up from being on worksites your whole life. That stutter. Even if that drop-out mind of yours had anything smart to say, you can’t get it out half the time. Plus you’re so dull, you still haven’t realized you’re the butt of every joke on the worksite.”

All Donny could do was shake his head side to side, but he could feel it, his mind collapsing in on itself, sharp edges dulling, the world seeming so…simple all of a sudden. S-Shit M-M-Master. I ain’t got shit in my f-f-f-fuckin’ head. You f-f-f–f…Shit, I’m fuckin’ not a s-stupid f-f-faggot.”

Walter just laughed his head off, and under his mutton chops, Donny’s cheeks flared as red as his heavily tanned shoulders. He was a stupid faggot, but he could also tell that Walter wasn’t satisfied that his third condition had been entirely met just yet.

No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 5)

“No sir, please.”

“Should I cut them off? What do you think? Don’t answer that, no one cares what slaves think.” Walter planted a boot on them, crushing them back against Donny’s body with enough pressure to keep him from replying. “You see–here’s my dilemma. As a lying, cheating, fuckhole, there’s simply no way that I can possibly trust you around other men, is there?”

Donny was just shaking his head, but whether he was agreeing with the statement, disagreeing, or simply more terrified at what might happen to his nuts, it wasn’t clear.

“Castration would be a simple solution. Remove your cock too–after all, it’s not like you’ll be using it in the future. Nothing left but a nice, gigantic, ugly scar to remind you that you got yourself into this mess, that you did this to yourself. I wonder if it would feel good, rubbing it? Then again, I’m not convinced that this would really solve everything. After all, your cheating ways are only part of the problem. Maybe it would be best if we simply removed the other part of the equation–maybe you just need to be unfuckable. After all, even removing this,” he emphasized with a hard tap of his boot to his balls “at the root doesn’t get to the root of the problem, does it? Besides–I might need the leverage later.”

He took his boot away, and Donny let out a sob of relief.

“Tell me Donny–exactly how many men have you slept with behind my back? And how many times?”

Donny didn’t think he’d be able to produce an exact figure, but his mouth spoke for him. Twenty-seven men. Sixty-three times.”

Walter whistled. “Goodness, that is a lot. That…that really hurts, more than I was expecting it to. Here I was, thinking it was you just unable to keep your body for me a couple of times, but sixty-fucking-three.”

“Please Master, I’m sorry.”

“The second condition–you’re never going to have another ejaculation, as long as you live.”

Something clamped down on his cock and balls–he reached for them, but instead of flesh he only hit metal…his cock and balls were still there, but encased in a metal chastity device secured around them all. Just like the collar, there was a locking mechanism and a padlock, but no keyhole, no combo, no way out. He felt nothing in there–no sensation at all, when he touched them. It was a disturbing sensation, but one he realized he was already getting used to. After all, he’d been locked in this metal cage for…for years? That didn’t seem possible, but again, like his collar and tattoo…he could remember them clearly, the day Master had locked him in permanently, the day he’d…thanked him for the honor, of all things.

“I’ve only left them attached to your body, because it will be fun to use them to hurt you, to turn them against you,” Walter said, knelt down, and placed the lit end of the cigar to the metal surrounding one of his balls. A few seconds later, he could feel the heat–a gentle warmth at first, but soon it was causing actual discomfort–not quite like setting his balls on a hot stovetop, but he had no doubt that Master could do worse if he so desired. “I’m looking forward to hurting you, substantially, like you’ve hurt me. Did you even care about me at all? About this?” Walter shook his head–those were sentimental questions–they didn’t need to be asked. The curse didn’t care about them, and scrubbed them away–Walter needed to be focused, focused on punishing his slave above all else. “Sixty-three. When was the last time?”

“Yesterday, sir. I…I’ve been seeing another man regularly, two or three times a month for the last five months or so.”

“Does he love you?”

“M-Maybe, sir.”

“And you don’t love him?”

“I just like fucking him, sir. It was just a fuck.”

“Did you ever love me?” Walter could feel the curse growing frustrated with him, angry that he was so caught up in his personal injury, but Walter pressed anyway.

“I was afraid to, sir. I was worried I’d…you’d change me.”

“Well, funny you say that slave, because you are going to have to change. Because even if your cock is locked up, you can still get fucked. Other men are still going to want you, and desire you, but I can’t fucking have that. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be desired. You don’t deserve to be loved. You’re a thing, you’re my property. Mine, and no one is ever going to want you, no one’s going to desire you ever again.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“That’s my third condition, slave. One by one, you’re going to give up everything about yourself that all, of those men found attractive in you, and we’re going to make you disgust them instead.”

“I don’t–that doesn’t…” but Donny stopped himself. Nothing that was happening made any sense any more.

“That man you were seeing. What was his name.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Oh trust me slave, I have no bone to pick with him–this is your responsibility. What was his name?”

“A-Adam.”

“Alright. Adam. What did Adam like about you? Why did he want you? What kept him coming back to you, month after month?”

“He was just a good lay!”

“What, he never once gave you a compliment? He never once liked something about you?”

“My hair, alright, sir? He always liked how I styled my hair!” Donny said, but as soon as he did, he felt something…strange. He always kept his hair perfectly styled, every day. He went to the barber for a trim every two weeks on the dot. But when he reached up, that wasn’t what he felt. His slick backed look was gone–no gel or pomade, just coarse, long, stringy hair hanging down in every direction. Lank and greasy, a grungy grey brown in color, like soot. “No, what the…how did…”

“What else did he like about you, Slave?” Walter, asked, “Tell…me…everything,” leaning slightly on each word, sneering at Donny’s terrified face.