The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.7 – Old Acquaintances

“What do you want pig? You want more smoke?”

The man on his knees in front of Kyle gave a little whimper, but the size of his hard on, and the hunger in his eyes showed that his hesitancy was no longer as powerful as his newfound lust. Kyle took a long drag off the jumbo pipe he was smoking tonight at The Hideaway, wrapped one leather glove around the man’s chin, and fed him the smoke. He snorted it down, his already substantial waistline filling out even further, eyes glazed over with lust, and Kyle pulled out his cock, shoved the man’s face onto it, and he started sucking, only to be surprised when even more smoke filled his mouth. Kyle heaved a sigh and shuddered, leaning over against Marshall, who was watching his apprentice work the man over in the bar, where a small crowd of regulars had gathered to watch.

It had been clear that he was freshmeat. Enough time spent in Pigtown, and you began to smell the scent when they walked past. Everyone described it a bit different. Some compared it to a steak coming hot off the barbeque. Others said it reminded them of the smell of good whiskey rising up out of a glass. Each person had their own take on it. To Kyle, it was like his mother’s fresh cobbler, fresh out of the oven, too hot to touch, and yet it called to you all the same, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. Everyone knew, and everyone wanted you. Pigtown wanted you, and they were all Pigtown. Of course, not everyone could have you, it wasn’t a free-for-all. The freshmeat had to want you first. It made it worse, somehow, when you could smell it, and somehow know it wasn’t for you. Tonight, though, the older fellow had wanted Kyle, and Kyle had wanted a smokepig, and so here they were.

Kyle had thought he’d miss his old life. Thought he’d miss going to college, thought he’d miss his old friends, thought he’d miss his family. Pigtown, though, didn’t give him any space to miss things, every moment was taken up with some little hedonistic delight now, a constant drip feed of pleasure, so he no longer needed to consider what he might be missing. Even his work in the shop was becoming more pleasurable, now that the regulars were involving him in their conversations, since he was one of them as well. Outside the shop, though, he could sense that a number of people feared Marshall, and feared him in turn.

He asked him about this, one morning as they were eating breakfast. Marshall had seemed hesitant to say something at first, but eventually had told him that even among the men in Pigtown, they were different. “You’re not like the people outside of Pigtown anymore, but you know that. We also aren’t like the men inside Pigtown either. No one really knows what to call us. At the precinct, they call us aberrations. I’m not a fan of the term, but you should know what it means, if someone says it to you. We aren’t quite human anymore, not in the ways that humans would say matter. We need different things than humans do, too. I, of course, still think of myself as human, for the most part.” He took a long draw off his second cigar of the morning to make the point, then continued, “But we’re still men. Now, there are some like us who I would say aren’t even men anymore, either. I would hesitate to say that they are dangerous. Pigtown is dangerous, but nothing here will kill you. It will change you, render you into something unrecognizable, but it won’t kill you.” It was more or less an answer. It wasn’t until he met Shadow for the first time that evening, that the boundaries Marshall had outlined became wholly clear.

It happened like this:

The light in the room changed, everything seemed to glow a bit brighter as all the light left one corner of the Hideaway, and when the darkness receded, there were two men in full leathers standing beside a small round table, and the men in the bar fled that corner just as the light had moments before. A number of men shot up from where they were sitting or leaning and booked it out of the bar, a few others sat up a little straighter, clearly ready for something, and the bartender poured a couple of whiskey sodas, and sent them to the table, free of charge. Kyle was left looking at Marshall for cues on what to expect, but his Master held the same laid back confidence as always, though perhaps the smoke inside him had quickened, ever so slightly.

“Leave the pig for a bit. We should go pay our respects, and you ought to be introduced,” Marshall said.

“Who…is that?” Kyle asked, “Is that…Shadow? The guy that took Marlon?”

“That is Shadow, yes. I would be very careful with the words you use, though. How is Shadow ‘taking’ Marlon any different than what you’re doing to this poor soul right here?” The sarcasm was exaggerated, but the point stung regardless. Kyle nodded, and followed Marshall over to the dark corner, where Shadow gave Marshall a nod as he approached.

“Marshall, it’s been a while. How’s the shop?”

“Business has been booming around here since you went away for a while,” Marshall said. Shadow stood, the two of them embraced, and then Shadow sat back down. “I heard you were in the jail.”

“Yes, I was.”

“And…you escaped. From what Rumwell is always spouting off, I’d have thought the Warden had the place locked down tighter than that.”

Shadow let a little smirk cross his mouth, the only part that Kyle could see beneath the brim of his cap. “Well, I’m sure he will attempt to return me there as soon as possible, in any case. Now, who is this strapping young man with you? Last I recall, you were rather reluctant to spread your gift, Marshall.”

“I like to think I was waiting for someone worthy of it,” Marshall said, and Kyle couldn’t help but swell with a bit of pride. “I see we have a new shade among us as well.”

“Marlon,” the other leather clad figure said, extending a hand, and Kyle gave a little jump.

“Wait, Marlon? Really?” Kyle said, leaning in close and trying to get a good look at Marlon’s face, but his eyes couldn’t pierce the shadow that seemed to fall across his eyes perpetually, “You…You’re ok then? Jimmy’s been worried sick about you, since you disappeared.”

Shadow stood up, placed himself between them, and pushed Kyle backwards, knocking him slightly off balance. “It’s very rude to look under a shade’s brim, you know. It’s very private.”

“I…He’s my friend. He went missing.”

“I don’t…wait, I do know you, don’t I?” Marlon said, leaned over and laid one hand on Kyle’s shadow. He could…feel it, somehow, and he shuddered. “Ah, of course. I didn’t recognize you from up here. Kyle, right?”

“You don’t remember me?”

“I was Marlon’s shadow, Kyle. I remember, and know, different parts of you than he would have. The Marlon you knew is gone. I took his name; it was one of the few things about him I liked.”

“What do you mean gone?” Marshall dropped one hand on the back of Kyle’s neck and gripped him there, hard enough to make him reassess what he was saying. “I mean…I’m sorry. I was mistaken.”

Shadow looked down at him, or at least, Kyle assumed the blackness under the cap was looking at him, and sat back down. “I wouldn’t have expected you to know everything that goes on here, but I would advise you to be a bit more cautious, in the future, little smoke.”

“Why don’t you go tend to your pig, Kyle. Go have some fun.”

“Yes…Sir,” Kyle said. He left, and dragged his pet pig for the evening towards the maze, wondering if he would have been dismissed so easily if he’d been a little more tactful. Marlon watched him go, rubbing his leather gloved fingers together, feeling that particular darkness, and that name, Jimmy. “Shadow, you said that I can go somewhere else, if I need to, didn’t you?”

“I am not your master, my shade,” Shadow said, “Come and go as you please.”

Marlon stood up, summoned the darkness and slipped away into it, leaving just Marshall and Shadow alone at the table together. Marshall took the seat that Marlon had been in, and watched as the rest of the bar slowly fell back into its prior rhythm, though several men were still glancing back at them both on a regular basis.

“Is it…time for you?” Marshall asked. “It’s been calling to me, lately, that’s the only reason I ask, and I know you’re quite a bit older than me.”

“Oh, all the time. But I have work to do, first, before I go there. He’s a handsome fellow, a little prone to putting his foot in his mouth, perhaps.”

“What about yours? Where has he gone off to?”

“I do not keep tabs on my shades. They go where they please. I’m in the business of freedom, you know that.”

“Chaos, some might say. I like that the nights are more interesting with you in them. I should go follow that little apprentice of mine, before he gets into too much trouble. He still has a pretty heavy hand.”

“I could use something to eat, myself. You’re welcome to join me, if you want. I think your little apprentice will manage one way or another, without your supervision.”

“I ate last week. You know I don’t need as much as you do.”

“You need just as much, you just swallow it all at once. I prefer to share.”

“Have a good night, Shadow. Let me know if I can be of assistance.”

“Last I checked, we weren’t quite on the same side of things.”

Marshall stood up, and adjusted his leather coat. “If the rumors I hear coming out of the precinct are at least half truths, I’m not quite sure where the line is anymore. Things are…breaking down, around here. Getting messy. I hate mess, you know that.”

Shadow chuckled, and from one moment to the next, the chair was occupied, and then it was not, leaving Marshall standing alone in the bar again. The men there breathed a collective sigh of relief, and Marshall wandered into the maze, sniffing out his apprentice’s pipe smoke. Shadow, meanwhile, materialized a few blocks away, in the dark of an alley, closer to the edge of the district. Still a bit early, perhaps. No matter, it would only be a matter of time before some prey wandered along, as it did.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.3 – Shadow’s Puppet

Marlon was lost, had been lost for a while now. Sometimes, he was there in the cage, feeling his body slowly draining away, too exhausted to move, too exhausted to do much of anything. Other times, he was out of the cage, with Shadow, who for the last week, had been tormenting Marlon’s shade almost non-stop. Shadow didn’t seem to need sleep, or food, or water. Marlon, on the other hand–or at least, the part of Marlon in the cage, didn’t seem to require them any more either, but didn’t stop feeling hunger or thirst. When he managed to find a voice, he would occasionally call out, begging for sustenance, but Shadow and the shade saw no reason to engage. It ought to be wasting away, after all. It wasn’t going to be important, from now on.

The shade had been flat, at first. Marlon hadn’t quite understood how Shadow could grip something flat, but he could. His manacles could bind it, his whips and floggers could strike it, his needles could pierce it. There was never any mark on the shade from any of this, no matter how hard it was struck, no matter what sadistic torture it was given. There was no mark on Marlon’s body either, in the cage, but he still felt every strike as though it had been against his own flesh and bone under Shadow’s implements.

The hunger and thirst made him delusional, or at least, he thought they were delusions, at first. Visions that he was outside of the cage, looking down on himself, but without control of his body. It took a few of these before he realized he was literally looking down at himself, through the eyes of the shade. It seemed to happen when Shadow fucked the shade, or fed him a load. Often the shade would have an orgasm of its own, and Marlon’s vision would slip for a moment, looking at his own body. It was pale, flat, sagging. It seemed less like a body, and more like a costume that someone had left crumpled up on the floor. Then he would be back, shuddering, the torture would begin again, and he would return to screaming.

He didn’t understand why he wasn’t dead. Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he was dying. He asked Shadow, asked him why he was doing this, why he wasn’t dying. There was no sense of time down in the windowless room, just that constant red light. Shadow never replied, of course. The question didn’t particularly interest him. After all, Pigtown had never killed anyone, to his knowledge. Pigtown didn’t want to kill you, it wanted to use you. The men of Pigtown wanted to use you too. Use, or be used. Take, or be taken.

At some point, Marlon’s voice was taken from him. It took a few minutes, or hours, before he realized that the moans and screams he was hearing were no longer coming from his own mouth–they were coming from the shade. They were different as well. No longer were they full of terror–they sounded pleased. Delighted, almost. His voice croaked out, asking for more, “More, Master, more…” and he clawed at the bars of the cage, furious at his own shadow’s betrayal. He’d been his, after all, all his life. And now, he was taking everything from him. He tried to scream, tried to shout, but nothing–not even a whisper would leave his lips. It was one of the few times Shadow even acknowledged that he was still there, the shaded face turning to the cage, a slight smile across those bearded lips, and then he turned to the shade. “More of what, my little puppet?”

“Everything, all of it,” the shade said. Even worse, Marlon felt his own mouth move with the words, though no sound came from him.

Marlon found himself slipping back and forth, between his dwindling existence in the cage, and the painful pleasure outside of it, under Shadow’s controlling hands. He could feel the shade’s voice growing, not just when speaking, but in his own mind, too. How much it hated him. Hated that body in the cage, how it had been tethered to him for so long. Marlon found himself growing more and more sympathetic. The pain on the cross, or over the bench, or whatever else Shadow did to him was nothing compared to the aching hunger and thirst and weakness when he slipped back into the cage. He was miserable. He was a miserable little fleshy thing. Better for it to wither away, better for it to disappear. Eventually, he did–mostly. The shade overwhelmed him, took on color, took on space, took on form and feature. The shade became Marlon, and whatever it was that was in the cage continued to wither, until there was nothing really left at all, not after Shadow shared it with his new puppet.

To an acquaintance, the shade would have been easily mistaken for Marlon, as he had been. There were only a few differences, the most obvious of which was that he lacked a shadow. After all, he was the shadow, where Marlon had put all of his degeneracy, all of his fear, all of his weakness. But the shade had taken all of the substance from him, locked what little remained of Marlon away deep in his own mind, not that he planned on using any of it. It would take the name though–the shade had always liked the name. He had always hated the man it had been tethered to–most shadows resented their living hosts. Of course, the shade was indebted to Shadow, and more than happy to service him. But now, Shadow turned his attention to the two pitch black cocoons which were still quivering, where they were suspended from the ceiling.

He formed a knife from the darkness of the room, sliced one of them open, and what fell out was…something else. A shade, certainly. The shade of one of the officers, but only half-formed. Shadow had devoured quite a bit of them both, weakened them enough that their shades could overtake them, suck what substance remained from them, but there wasn’t enough.

“Are…are they alright?” Marlon asked.

“They will be, we just need to give them some more to eat, is all,” Shadow said, gave a little flourish with his hand, and gathered some of the shadows in the room around Marlon’s naked body. It condensed against his skin, becoming a set of leather gear, pitch black aside from the metal buckles that seemed to hold the light shone on them. “Why don’t we go out tonight? I have some social calls to make, but we can get these two fed first.”

The shade cradled one of the little shadows in his arms, could feel it beginning to understand itself. There was pale body mixed in with it too, somehow. Whatever it was, he could tell that it would be different from what he’d become. Shadow picked up the other shade, pulled the shadows of the room together and Marlon followed him through the darkness.

What the old Marlon had only understood, before, as a void, the shade understood as a tapestry. There were all kinds of darkness there, stretching in all different directions. Follow a strand, and you could go, well, anywhere. Shadow led them out of the darkness and into an alley not far from where he had found Marlon and Jimmy that night a few weeks before. It was night, but not that late. Shadow dimmed the lights, and the two of them waited.

It wasn’t long before the darkness of the alley lured a couple of Pigtown’s residents into the alley for a little fuck before heading off to the next bar. What they didn’t expect, was for the two shades to bolt and scurry out of the darkness, crawl their way up their bodies, and latch themselves onto their heads, the two men screaming and prying at the darkness, trying to rip it from them, until they stopped moving.

“They’ll probably just remember it as a nightmare, is all,” Shadow said to Marlon as they watched. “They’re not strong enough to take everything yet, like you or I could.”

“Like…I could?” Marlon asked.

Shadow nodded. “I may call you my puppet, but it’s merely a term of endearment. You can do anything I can do–I’m just as much a shade as you are. After this, they’ll be strong enough to make it on their own if they keep to the darkness. I had so many of them for a while, but I can’t feel them at all, not since I escaped.”

“From where?”

Shadow didn’t say. He just started off towards the mouth of the alley, and down the sidewalk, Marlon hustling a bit to catch up. Apparently, his questions would have to wait.

Flash Commission – A Demon’s Face

WARNING! This story has some real extreme stuff in it, and is definitely more of a horror story than an erotica story. This includes blood and knife play, extreme pain play, scat and demonic references. If any of that isn’t of interest to you, don’t read it!

The message had arrived for John as a bit of relief. His friend Aleks had grown more and more distant over the last year or so, delving deeper into the occult and demonology, beyond the sort of fetish play the two had always enjoyed over the years. The last time John had gone over there, the mood had been tense, Aleks not exactly high, but more than a little out of his mind. John had left, unsure of what to do, and when he’d expressed some concern, Aleks had lashed out over text and refused to reply since.

But now, months later, he’d finally gotten a message back. Short and to the point, Aleks had asked him to come over, there was something he wanted to show him. No apology, no real admission that he might have gotten a little too deep, but for John, he was happy he at least wasn’t dead or something. He got geared up in some leather pants and a spiked leather jacket, and headed for Aleks’s apartment to see what he wanted to show him.

When he arrived, though, it was quickly clear that everything was not exactly normal. The door wasn’t locked, and when he stepped inside, it was the smell that assaulted him at first. Something beyond musky or stale, perhaps even beyond rank. It smelled like something between a burning trash pile and a grungy locker room. He stepped inside, tested a light switch in the entryway, but the light only flickered for a moment before going out, and refusing to come back on.

Looking down the hall, the whole apartment seemed to be dark and maybe even empty. He went in anyway, despite a general instinct to turn tail and run, and as he approached the living room, a more familiar smell joined the rest, cigar smoke. Sure enough, he turned the corner, and there in the dimly lit living room was Aleks sitting on the couch in full leather, smoking a cigar. He even had on a full leather mask that John had seen him in a few times, which only made the whole look hotter still.

“Ah, there you are,” Aleks said, “I was getting tired of waiting.” He grinned, and John saw something strange–there was a light coming from the inside of his mouth. Aleks put the end of the cigar in his mouth, and again, something was off. The end of the cigar wasn’t burning, but he was still exhaling smoke out of his mouth. Aleks took off the dark glasses he had on, and John’s eyes went wide–his friend had no eyes underneath. There were just the holes in the leather mask, and behind that, there was just flame. “As you can see, I’ve made a few improvements to myself since the last time we saw each other,” he said, and when he talked, John could see the fire through his mouth as well. That explained the cigar–he was literally burning it inside his mouth. Aleks took another inhale off it, and John could see the thick plumes of grey smoke emerging not just from his mouth, but from his eyes as well. “Come on then, come have a closer look,” Aleks said.

Everything in John’s mind and body screamed at him to run, but the smell, the smoke, the light of the flame, all of it beckoned him closer. His limbs a bit stiff, he found himself lurching forward, the smell growing more intense, inhaling the smoke now, feeling his mind going a bit numb, his own cock stiffening in his leather pants. “Fuck Aleks, what the fuck did you do?” John managed to croke out as he came closer.

“Well, it turns out that selling your soul is the hard part,” Aleks said to him, “But once that’s gone, everything else is so much easier, you see. Demons will trade just about anything for a face. They use them to infiltrate our world, but not many people are willing to part with them. I feel like I got everything I wanted for mine though. Stop trying to fight it, John–my smoke can bend the will of any man now, my musk can corrupt even the most stalwart soul. Stop pretending that you don’t want to kneel before me, service me, it’s all you fucking want now.”

John could feel it, the hunger and desire welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own–after all, they had imagined something like this together many times before, though only Aleks had really believed he could pursue such power. In the end, it didn’t matter. He could feel the smoke smothering all of the doubts, all of the fears, and he fell to his knees in front of Aleks, and shoved his face into his new master’s crotch, inhaling the scent of the musky leather.

One of Aleks’s hands cupped his chin and lifted his face up. “I always loved your face, you know, it’s so sweet–I’m going to get a great deal for yours, I think.” Aleks reached over to the table beside the couch where he was sitting, and opened up a switchblade.

“Wait…what…” John said, but his throat seemed too dry, his head spinning from the smoke.

“Your face, John. They want faces, and I will provide them. Don’t worry, I already know what I’ll be getting in return for yours. Now hold very still.”

The blade cut into his neck, shallow, but John gasped and tried to flinch away–only to find his body was paralyzed. Aleks drew the blade around his neck, and John could feel the blood drooling down onto his chest. Then, he drew it up the back of his head, following the spine, all the way to the crown of his head. That, it turned out, was the easy part. Aleks’s leather gloved fingers dug into the wounds at the back of his head, and began pulling the skin free of the muscle. John screamed then, the pain surging through his body and mind until he finally felt darkness overwhelm him, and he passed out.

In all honesty, he thought that was the end. When he awoke, the nerves of his face dully throbbing away at him, he thought he must be dead, now in some afterlife. He looked around at what he could see, and knew he was on a bed in a room he recognized as Aleks’s bedroom. Perhaps it had been a dream, or some hallucination. He tested his arms and legs, and while sore, they could move. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the bed, and knew that there was a mirrored closet behind him. Terrified at what he might see, but knowing he had to look, he twisted around, and let out a groan.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in the mirror. The horrifying, bestial face, something between a gorilla and a wolf, staring back at him. The only part that he could still recognize were the human eyes underneath. He reached up, felt the greasy hair, the thick beard, the coarse skin, looked lower, under his neck, and let out another groan–whatever it was that was on his head now, it was…growing into him. He could see the veins of corruption spreading down into his chest and shoulders. He got up and went to the door–but it was locked. He tried to call out for help, but after a few minutes of that, he could feel the pain intensifying–whatever this process was, it wasn’t yet complete.

He spent the next eight hours on the bed, screaming in agony, as the demonic face fully attached itself to his head, spreading its corruption down into his body, deep into his soul. That was the most painful part, in fact, feeling that darkness, the horrifying chill, drilling deep into his chest, finding whatever light and good it could and snuffing it out. As it did, his body was growing, bones cracking and extending, muscles burning and flexing, a thick pelt of fur growing all down his back and chest. When the pain finally subsided, he looked over at himself in the mirror–and saw that his eyes were gone. His humanity was gone, corrupted away, just two pitch black eyes staring at him, a gnawing hunger deep in his guts, and an aching horniness in his groin. His cock and balls had not gone unaffected–his cock was larger now, easily eight inches, now with a sheath running up his abdomen. He got up from the bed, now nearly eight feet tall, tested the door with his claw tipped hands, but before he could rip the door from its hinges, it opened, and John dropped to his knees before his Master in the doorway.

The smell of him was not only more intense to his now bestial nose, but also smelled absolutely delightful. Filthy and musky and corrupted. Drool began flowing from his mouth faster than he could swallow it, and John pushed his face into Aleks’s crotch, snorting and huffing in his intoxicating stench.

“Good, it took. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to incinerate your corpse,” Aleks said, wrapping one hand around the back of John’s head, tangling his fingers in his greasy locks. “I’m too fond of you to not spend an eternity with you as my thrall.”

Thrall. The word reverberated through him, and John could feel it. Their connection. He lived to serve his Master now, his soul was gone, and what had replaced it was a deep, undeniable desire to worship him. Aleks’ opened his burning mouth wide, reached in with a hand, and pulled free a metal chain glowing with heat, though his gloves were unburnt. He took it, wrapped it around John’s neck, and the beast howled in pain. Aleks pressed the metal into his flesh, searing it there, before gripping the free ends of the chain in his fist and melting them together into a knot, now impossible to untangle or remove.

The pain ebbed away, and John felt his flesh healing rapidly around the metal–in a matter of moments, it was like it had been fused to his body for years. “What…what have you done to me?” he growled out, words warped by his long inhuman tongue and sharp fangs.

“I took your face, and traded it for a demon’s. A lower one, a beast of filth and sloth and wrath. I knew it would suit you and your desires. You are hungry, are you not, my slave?”

John gave a growl, and Aleks’ turned around, pulled his pants down, and shoved his ass to John’s face. The stench was horrific and intoxicating. John pried his master’s cheeks apart with his claws, digging into the skin a bit, and drove his long, pointed tongue into his hole, tasting it, tasting what he desired now, more than anything. Aleks fed his thrall his massive load of shit, listening to the beast eagerly devour every last bit of it, and when he was finished, he turned around, and sprayed him down with a load of piss. It came out nearly hot enough to scald, steaming in the air, and John was in ecstasy, reeking of his Master now, belly full, cock aching to fuck.

“Now, why don’t we begin our real task, my slave?” Aleks said.

That night, John grabbed one of the other tenants from the building, and dragged him back to the apartment. Aleks took the face from the man, and replaced it with one of his own desire, a blank rubber gas mask, filling the man with his smoke until his entire identity had been erased, knowing nothing more than the fact he was a drone, a slave to his demonic master and his favorite pet. At last, John was given his reward, and mounted the their first drone, driving his monstrous cock into its tight hole, wrecking it, destroying it, filling it with as much corruptive cum as he could, watching the drone expand in size, growing more and more muscular as the rubber of the gas mask spread, encasing the drone’s entire body.

Soon, they would have a harem. Then an army. Aleks was not content, after all, with personal power. No, the demons had promised him much, much more, if he would assist them in their assault on the mortal realm. The time of man was in twilight, and the age of demons was about to dawn.

Horny Hugh (Part 3)

WARNING: This chapter includes some abuse, pain play, and snuff elements. If that’s not your thing, I’d suggest moving on to something else.

“Goodnight, babe, I’ll see you in a few days,” Josh said to Kyle outside his apartment. The two of them had just shared a fun night out at the bars, followed by a nightcap and sex at Kyle’s apartment. Now, Josh was heading home–he was leaving on a business trip for a few days, and Kyle was already missing him, throwing him a pouting lip which looked a bit ridiculous on the buff fellow he was.

“Yeah, alright–but give it some thought, eh? What I asked about?” Kyle asked, trying not to sound too pleading.

“I will, I promise,” Josh said, leaned in and gave Kyle a kiss goodnight, before heading off down the hallway.

Kyle stepped back into his apartment and shut the door, heaving a sigh. He’d been anxious to even ask the question, but Josh had taken it well. It was a big step, sure, but Kyle had never felt this way about someone before, and he just hoped Josh felt the same way. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but asking him to move in felt like the next logical step in their relationship–not to mention it would help them both out with the finances. But now it was late, and Kyle was ready for bed. He took a quick shower, climbed in, and it wasn’t long before he had fallen asleep.

Now, since his encounter with Hugh a week before, Kyle hadn’t thought once of that strange fellow who had hit on his boyfriend. The same could not be said of Hugh, who, after his fling with Sam, had found himself obsessing more and more over Josh–and in turn, Kyle. Hugh knew, of course, that if he wanted Josh bad enough–and he did want him very bad–that he would be his, no matter what, especially with the new powers that had been revealing themselves to him over the last week. But the more he thought about Josh, the more he found himself stewing about Kyle, about the disrespect he had shown him in the bar, about how he didn’t deserve a beautiful, handsome man like Josh. That he needed to be punished first, and then, Hugh would sweep in and show Josh what a true lover was like.

But Hugh had wanted something special for Kyle. He’d been taking little peeks into Kyle’s dreams, and into his mind, for the last week or so, getting to know him better–what he hated especially. The things that turned him off more than anything else in the world. See, Hugh had made a discovery over the course of the week as he’d been playing with guys at the bars and bathhouses around town–Hugh had discovered that he could draw out someone’s fetish entirely and store it inside him, and then, when someone else blew him, he could feed that fetish to the new person–though it was usually quite a bit stronger after Hugh had held onto it for a while, toying with it, improving it. So for the last few days, Hugh had gone hunting, and he’d found three men with fetishes and lives that were the perfect torments for Kyle. He was going to hate what he loved now, though by the end of it, Kyle wouldn’t want to be anyone different.

And so, Hugh slipped his way into Kyle’s dream…though he was looking quite a bit different from how he had looked back in the bar, when Kyle had confronted him the first time. He was still human, mostly, though the more Kyle looked at him, the more he noticed that certain things about him seemed off. The horns, of course. They were longer though, and their color was darkening from something between ivory and grey, to more of a charcoal. The skin around them on the temples didn’t look great either–there was clearly an infection of some sort spreading across the skin, veins of blue and black spreading out from the roots of the horns across Hugh’s scalp and face. Hugh smiled when he saw Kyle in the dream, and the same was happening to his teeth–they were darker, and also much more pointed than they should be.

He was naked in the dream, and the proportion of his limbs was a bit off as well–legs too short, arms a bit longer than they should be. Hugh was hunched over slightly, legs wide, fingers longer and the nails were almost…claws. “Found you…” Hugh said, though it wasn’t so much that he was speaking in the dream, so much as the words appearing in Kyle’s mind. In any case, this dream was way too fucked–he tried to wake up, pinch himself, slap himself, but nothing would work. “Oh, don’t think you can get away from me so easily,” Hugh said, “Not until you’ve had your treat.”

Hugh was clearly referring to his cock–and that was something Kyle had no interest in getting anywhere near. It was big, for one thing–eight inches? Nine? It was the barbs that were confusing, and the fact that the head was…it was too bulbous, almost like it was storing something in there. It was a dark purple, and almost pulsating. “Come on now, I’ve found such good treats for you. Get over here, maggot, and drink up.”

Kyle turned to run, but the void around them offered no traction. As fast as he ran, Hugh crossed the space between them in a couple of strides, shoved Kyle to the ground, and flipped him over onto his back. Hugh straddled his shoulders, and gripped Kyle’s face with his clawed hands hard enough to draw blood. He screamed, and Hugh took the opportunity to thrust his vicious cock into his mouth. Kyle struggled, but every time he tried to pull his face free of the cock, the barbs would catch in his mouth and throat, threatening to rip him apart if he resisted. Eventually, he relented, and allowed Hugh to rape his throat for what felt like hours, choking and gasping for breath the entire time, tasting his own blood in his mouth until Hugh finally came–and when he did, it was unlike any load Kyle had ever tasted before.

It tasted like ash. Like old cigarettes. As Hugh pumped the filth into him, he stared down at him, eyes yellow, wide and manic, while he licked his lips with a tounge a bit too long to be normal. “Oh yes, oh drink the fuck up, you fucking pig. I’m going to enjoy this, and when I’m done with you, he’ll be mine, he’s going to be all mine…”

Kyle was choking now, for real. He kept trying to draw breath, but there was nothing to do other than swallow more and more of the vile cum into his guts–if it was even cum at all. Eventually, he passed out, darkness overwhelming him–and then, when he was certain he was dead, he awoke in his bed, thrashing and gasping for air, but he was alone.

He was alone, it was morning, and there was absolutely no way he would be getting back to sleep before his normal morning alarm went off for work. He laid in his bed for a few minutes, trying to calm down, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He’d never had a dream as vivid as that had been, and as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was somehow certain that it had been…real. But that wasn’t possible. Of course it wasn’t possible.

At least if he got up early, he’d have time to get to the gym before work. He hauled himself up, and after taking a shower, getting his breakfast ready, and dressing for the gym, he felt normal, mostly. With his bag over his shoulder, he took a sip of his usual morning shake, and he grimaced. It didn’t…taste right. He took another few sips on the way to the gym, and less than a third of the way through, he felt certain he was going to vomit–he had to pull into a parking lot so he could throw open the door and hurl onto the pavement. He stared at the shake on the ground, wondering if he should call out…no, just get the gym, and workout. Now that he’d thrown up, he felt fine other than the fact he was still hungry.

But at the gym, all he could think about was that hunger, but at the same time, just thinking about food made him want to hurl. He’d never experienced anything like it in his life, and he was so out of it, he couldn’t even really make it through his workout. He was craving something, something he couldn’t quite pin down–and it wasn’t until he left the gym and saw a couple of guys smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk outside that he realized what he was craving. He wanted to smoke.

He shook his head–no, he was past this! He’d been a smoker for years, since he was a teenager, and quitting had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He hadn’t had a craving in ages, and now, all of a sudden, he’d woken up aching for one? It…made a little bit of sense, he supposed, but he’d fought through all kinds of craving before. He’d just have to fight through this one too. It was easier, really, knowing what it was at least. It didn’t quite tell him why he was so hungry though. In any case, he had to get to work. He arrived, got through the morning well enough, but by lunch, he was nearly doubled over from cramps in his guts. It had never been this bad–if smoking a cigarette would make him feel better…maybe he should at least try it.

He used his lunch to go to the convenience store, bought a pack of cigarettes, smoked one–and it did help, much to his disgust. It took the edge off his hunger, but it didn’t stop it. He needed to eat something, but when he walked to a restaurant, just the smell of the food made him nauseous. Instead, he smoked the cigarette down to the butt. Then, when he should have just dropped it and snuffed it out on the sidewalk, he popped the still burning butt into his mouth, gave it a chew, and swallowed it down.

He realized what he’d done a second too late, feeling it slide down his throat, and he was horrified. Had anyone seen him do that? Looking around, he was relieved that no one had seemed to, but he did feel a bit better, in all honesty. Putting the strange incident behind him, he returned to work, but the gut cramps got so bad he had to relent and leave work early. The hunger was worse, and he could still…taste that cigarette butt, and he wanted more, but this time, smoking it wasn’t enough. He had to force himself to not eat it when he was done with it, but stamping it out on the sidewalk seemed like such a fucking waste. He’d go to the doctor tomorrow, though none of this made any sense to him at all. He got home, and found a sizable package waiting for him, though he hadn’t been expecting anything. He took it inside with him, put it on the table, opened it up–and the contents only confused him more.

Inside, it was like someone had taken the contents of a bunch of ashtrays, dumped them into ziploc bags, and mailed them all to him. There were a few coke bottles too, filled to the brim with a dark, syrupy liquid he couldn’t quite place. There was a letter too–he opened it up and read it:

“Here’s your latest supply–hope you fucking enjoy it you nasty fuck. Been collecting everything from the bar ashtrays as usual, and everything from home. As a little plus, a guy at work on the crew keeps all of his spit in coke bottles. You told me once how much you like the shit, and when I told him your deal, he was more than happy to fork over a few full ones. Looking forward to your next vids, ashtray.”

Who the hell would send him something like this? It didn’t make any fucking sense. He went to throw the whole box in the trash, but before he could even pick it up, the cramps returned, stronger than ever, and he was doubled over on the kitchen floor, panting for breath. He was so fucking hungry, and just…just thinking about all of that fucking ash in those bags, maybe…maybe just a little. Just to take the edge off.

No! What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t want to eat that shit, that was fucking vile. But it wasn’t that he wanted to eat it, exactly–it was that, somehow, Kyle knew that he had to eat it. If he didn’t, the cramps would get worse, and…and he could somehow tell that the cramps were only the first stage of worse withdrawals to come, if he didn’t give in and…and eat. He told himself he’d just have a little. Just get rid of the worst of it, and then he would call the doctor and figure out what in the hell was wrong with him. But as soon as one of the bags was open, he couldn’t contain himself–he dumped all of the ash, the cigar and cigarette butts, the match ends on the table, and he started licking it up, chewing it all down. It was disgusting–he was disgusting, fuck, he was a disgusting ashtray of a human, fucking hell…

He looked up at himself, and his face was coated in soot. Why was his cock so fucking hard through all of this? Was this turning him on? It was turning him on, knowing that he was nothing more than a receptacle for men’s cast offs, not good enough to smoke the shit himself, only subsisting on the remnants. He wanted to throw up, but instead he took a fresh bag, a bottle of tobacco spit, and sat down in front of the computer, where he filmed himself eating and drinking and masturbating for the next hour, adding it to the collection of other videos he had of himself doing the same filthy shit. Videos he could not recall making, but there he was, devouring all manner of filth. He sent the new video to his benefactor first, and then uploaded a couple more–trying to stop himself, but…but he had to. He had to show everyone what he was, didn’t he?

He let off a belch, and a little cloud of soot erupted from his mouth. He knew he should feel sick. He had to eat something–real food, but he was stuffed. It felt like he’d just had the most satisfying meal of his life, and there was still so much in the box to enjoy later. It was too late to call anyone for help–and he didn’t think he’d be able to admit what he’d just done to anyone either. Exhausted, he crawled into bed, still covered in ash and tobacco spit, and fell asleep almost immediately.

But then, he was back in the void, and Hugh was waiting for him. “Looks like someone had a nice meal today,” Hugh said to him, and laughed, a tail swishing behind him that he hadn’t had the night before.

“You…you did this to me, what the fuck did you do to me?” Kyle demanded.

“I’m just giving you a few new things to focus on, since you won’t have your relationship with Josh for much longer, not when I’m through with you both. I just want to make sure you’re happy, and out of the way for good. Don’t you like being an ashtray? I found that especially for you–the man I took that from didn’t really want to give that up, you know. I had to give him something better, just to calm him down.”

“You’re fucking sick! Just…just make me normal again. You can’t fucking do this to people, how the fuck are you doing this?”

“Let’s not waste time with silly questions. After all, I still have more for you to drink up, Kyle…” Hugh said, and stepped forward. The head of his cock was still swollen large–though the swelling had gone down some. “Get over here and suck it.”

“No–no, I’m fucking waking up! I’m not doing this again, I’m not, I’m n–”

That was all Kyle got out, before Hugh’s tail wrapped around his throat, and squeezed enough to leave him lightheaded and gasping for air. “Less talking now, I’m done talking.”

The prehensile tail dragged Kyle down to his knees in front of Hugh’s cock, and started fucking his face on the barbed member, slamming Kyle’s face into Hugh’s crotch over and over, the massive cock drilling deeper and deeper into his throat with every pound. He clawed at the thing around his neck but it just constricted tighter, until he was seeing spots and certain he would pass out. Then, Hugh came, pumping another load deep into his guts, and when he was finished, the tail relaxed, and Kyle collapsed.

“See you tomorrow–just one more dose…” Hugh said with a chuckle, and then Kyle passed out, and woke up in his bed again, this time in the middle of the night. He sobbed in his bed, exhausted and terrified, wondering what in the world was going to happen to him this time. What in the world was Hugh? He’d been certain, in the bar, that those horns had been fake, but…but all of this was too real now. When the sobbing subsided, all that remained was hunger, but he didn’t dare indulge in his new found vice–he was too ashamed. Sleep eluded him however, until he got up and grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his nightstand. He chained smoked a couple on the balcony, eating the butts down when he finished them, and when he had calmed down at last, he went back to bed, and slept fitfully for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t possibly face work the next morning. He called his boss, letting him know that he wouldn’t be coming into the office, and was too sick to work from home too. He felt better now that he didn’t have to go out, but now he was stuck in his apartment, with that package, with nothing to distract him from the cravings gnawing away at him. They were stronger today, without a doubt. He needed to go see a doctor, but he couldn’t bear the thought of confessing any of this to someone. What could they even do? There wasn’t exactly a treatment out there for demon-men invading your dreams and making you crave filth like this. He passed the time smoking instead, which kept the hunger at bay, though it wasn’t nearly as satisfying. He finished the pack of cigarettes before noon, and was faced with a new dilemma–go get more, or…or eat. He was so fucking hungry now, and the hunger was beginning to win out over his shame. He relented and dug in, chewing down a few cigar butts, relishing them, washing them down with murky spit from the bottles, letting it run down his chin and onto his chest, rubbing it in there, using it to lube up his cock, licking his fingers, recording and jacking off for his patrons, showing them all how much he appreciated their gifts.

The horniness was more powerful today too–he stroked as hard as he could, trying to climax, but it was like the hunger was keeping him right at the edge. He ate more, stuffed himself, and when he was certain he couldn’t eat anymore, he finally came–but what came out of the head of his cock wasn’t cum–it…it was smoke.

Hanging there in the air, around his cock, forming a consistency somewhere between fog and some strange goo, he pushed his hand through it, and felt nothing as he passed right through it. This was it, he told himself. He eaten all of that shit, and how he was hallucinating, and now he was going to die from it, right? He could only stare as the smoke from his cock began to congeal, becoming a hand that wrapped around his cock–and then he could feel it, as it stroked him off, more and more cummy smoke coming out of his cock pooling in the air around the end of the hand until it was an arm, until the arm was connected to a body, until a face appeared at the top, and legs below, and Kyle was staring up at a massive muscle bear that had somehow been formed out of his own smoke-cum, right in front of his eyes.

He felt one last long pulse from his groin, and the man pulled a cigar out from Kyle’s urethra, stuck it in his mouth, where it flamed to life–along with the man’s eyes. “What…what the fuck are you?” Kyle said, standing up from his office chair and backing away from the smoky figure standing in the midst of his living room.

“Me?” the man said in a deep, raspy voice. “You made me, Ashtray–who the fuck do you think I am?”

Kyle didn’t know, but he did know one thing–despite his massive orgasm, his cock was still hard as a rock, and looking at this man, so different from any man he’d ever been attracted to in his life, he found himself…aching for him in ways he couldn’t really explain. He took a tentative step forward, reached out, and tried to grab the man’s thick cock, but his hand passed right through it, the thing becoming smoke as soon he would have touched it, and forming once his hand had passed back out. “How…how is any of this happening?”

“God, you’re fucking stupid,” the man said, “It’s a good think you’re just a fucking ashtray or I’d feel sorry for you.” He reached out, grabbed hold of Kyle’s nipple and gave it a rough twist, making him cry out and pull away from him. “You made me because you need someone to use you, Ashtray–it’s as simple as that. You can’t touch me, but I can touch you all I want–and I’m going to be touching you a whole fucking lot.”

He grabbed hold of Kyle and threw him onto the bed, and then climbed on top of him. Kyle tried to kick him off, but his feet went right through the man’s torso–he scowled at Kyle, took the cigar from his mouth, and slammed the lit end right into Kyle’s forehead, making him scream, the smell of seared flesh in his nose while the man ground it there. “Stop fucking fighting, Ashtray–you’re going to get used, and the sooner you just accept it, the sooner you can start enjoying it.”

He rolled Kyle over, climbed on him, and forced his cock into his hole dry, Kyle trying to crawl away, but the man’s hands were like a vice, cinders kept falling from the cigar over him and scalding his back, while the man laughed. “Look at you, you fucking loser. Can’t get a real man to fuck you rough like you want, so you make your own sadistic fucks instead. Filthy fucking thing, no good for anything other than taking the waste men leave around, their ash, their cum–you’re fucking worthless, and you fucking love it, don’t you?”

Kyle couldn’t reply, he was trying to leave, trying to not think about what was happening to him, trying not to accept the fact that part of him was enjoying this, it was craving it, it needed this just as much as it needed the ash, and the cigarette butts, and the spit. The smoke man came, and not too long after that, his cigar finished–he forced open Kyle’s mouth, made him eat the last bit of it, and then he dissipated around him, settling all over the apartment in a fine layer of soot. Kyle was left to nurse his wounds and his burns. The man had gripped him hard enough to bruise, and the burn on his forehead was…severe. He did what he could to bandage it, but the more he thought about it, the more he…he wanted more. His hole was raw, but his cock was still so fucking hard, harder than he could recall it being ever in his life. He’d…needed that. He’d deserved that. The smoke man was right, he’d never been able to find someone to treat him like that in real life, someone he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to, and now…now he could make someone like…like that whenever he wanted.

He knew this was Hugh’s doing, that he was in his mind, warping him, making him want things he should have never desired in his life. He hated being degraded. He was proud of his life, of his job, of his body, of how he was always in charge. But now, that life seemed so far away, so distant, like a haze of smoke had settled over it and rendered it impossible to distinguish. Now, he wanted to be used. So he jacked off again, but this time, he thought about it, about who he wanted to create. The same man as before, almost. But taller. Bigger cock. Clad head to toe in leather. Thick bushy beard. He had to eat more–he couldn’t cum if he wasn’t full, but after gorging himself, he stroked off, and he didn’t stop stroking when he started cumming, didn’t stop thinking about who he wanted to abuse him, and rape him, and humiliate him, and use him all evening long.

“Fuck Ashtray, now this is what I’m talking about,” the man said, looming over him, ripped right out of his imagination. The man put a boot on Hugh’s neck, and drooled dark spit onto his face while he gasped for breath. “We’re going to have some fun tonight I think–that’s what you want, isn’t it? Tell me what you want.”

“Use me, please Sir, use me…” Kyle said, garbled as his throat was crushed under the man’s boot.

A few hours later, battered and bruised, coated in ash and soot and spit, Kyle was in his bed, exhausted. His smoky creation had lasted longer this time, a few hours, long enough to beat him into shape, long enough to fuck his mouth, his ass, and his mouth again. Long enough that Kyle’s doubts and anger had been overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of it, but now, in the aftermath, bed gritty with ash, he was horrified with what he was allowing to happen. He couldn’t keep doing this, could he? He realized, when he was done, that the camera on his computer had been filming the entire scene, the massive leather brute throwing him around like a rag doll and punching bag, broadcasting live to all of his fans, urging the beast on, wondering how a loser ashtray like him could find a perfect leather sadist like that to abuse and humiliate him.

But he was exhausted. Exhausted, but he didn’t dare sleep. Hugh was waiting for him–he’d said there was one more thing he had to give him, and Kyle was terrified. This was already awful. He hated all of this, it was everything he’d always hated, and now he was living his worst nightmare. If he could just stay up all night, maybe he would be safe. He just had to not sleep. And not jack off. Not…make himself some new sexy beast of a man to abuse and humiliate him all night long. Then he wouldn’t sleep a wink, he was sure of that. Maybe a pipe smoker this time, older, fatter, dirtier, using him like a urinal…fuck…

He spent the next few hours caught between hunger, horniness, and exhaustion–but exhaustion did win, eventually. He could have sworn he only meant to blink, but then he couldn’t force his eyes open again. When he could finally see, he found himself not in his bedroom, but back in that inky void, Hugh waiting for him there, tail longer and thicker, his skin…flaking, or maybe peeling off, revealing something raw and angry underneath. Scales perhaps. Kyle didn’t want to look to close. He didn’t want to know anymore of this than he had to.

“You kept me waiting tonight,” Hugh said, “Were you enjoying your new skill? Looks like you made a daddy who treated you right,” the monstrous fellow of his dreams came close, brushing a clawed hand across Kyle’s bruised face. “Don’t worry–they won’t kill you. You’re rather…durable now. After a good night sleep, you’ll be good as new, no matter what kind of damage they inflict–though I do like that burn there…” he added, and pressed a claw against the raw wound on Kyle’s forehead, making him wince and flinch away.

“Please, make it stop. I don’t want any of this, I…I just want to be normal again!” Kyle begged him, dropping to his knees. “I’ll never see Josh again. I’ll forget all about him, all about you–please, don’t make me do this anymore.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Kyle,” Hugh said, close enough that he could smell his breath, feel the lash of his long, blackening tongue on his cheek, “I just want to help you be happy–don’t worry, you’ll be happy soon enough. Tonight is a bit of a trade. You give me something of yours, I give you one last gift–and we’ll be even. You’ll never see me again.”

He felt something tighten around his cock, looked down, and saw that the head of the demon’s cock had swallowed his own. He tried to pull away, but the head clamped down harder, making him feel like he was about to pull his own cock off. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me.”

“Sorry Kyle, but first I need something from you–I need to make sure you stay out of my way, and the only way that’s going to happen, is if Kyle disappears. So you’re going to give me all of yourself.”

Kyle felt the head of Hugh’s cock throb, and it…sucked on his cock, and he moaned, trying to stay on his feet. It wasn’t pain that he felt–it wasn’t anything physical at least. It felt like…a strawberry milkshake, when you’re trying to suck a berry through the straw. Only he was the berry–his mind, his identity, his relationship to Josh–all of it. Hugh sucked again, and he felt some of it slip away from him, leaving just…a hole. He knew that something should fill it, but he didn’t know what–just the vague outline of…of something. Another pull, and more of him disappeared, Hugh pulling him close, holding him up while he watched the confusion on Kyle’s face grow as he sucked down more and more of him, storing him in his cockhead, just like he’d stored those other men, which he’d fed to Kyle.

When he was satisfied that he’d pulled out enough, Hugh let the man fall, his cock slipping free of his own, and on his knees, the man looked around in horror. “I…Who…What just happened? Who are you?” He asked, looking up at Hugh in terror, “Why…why can’t I remember anything?”

“Don’t worry, I can help,” Hugh said, and pressed the head of his cock against the round burn on the man’s forehead. With a thrust, he shoved his cock into the man’s head, driving right into his skull, the man going limp while Hugh fucked his brains in his dream. Eventually cumming and emptying out the final gift he’d prepared for Kyle into his skull. He let him fall to the ground, a limp doll, and sneered at him before slipping back into the void. Hugh had what he needed now, and Kyle wouldn’t be an issue anymore–well, Kyle didn’t exist, not anymore. The man lying on the ground with a hole in his head, in his dreams–he didn’t have a name. He did have a purpose though, and that was good enough.

When he awoke, he couldn’t do much of anything for a moment, his head ached so badly. His body as well, like he’d come down with a cold overnight, his bones and joints aching. All he could do was moan and toss in the filthy, ash covered bed for most of an hour, until the pain in his skull settled down, his body eased up, and he could finally throw his legs over the side and stand up.

He…didn’t feel right, somehow. His head felt empty–emptier than it should be. He should have a name, right? He…he couldn’t remember one though, but he could remember a…a job. A thing, that he was. Ashtray. It wasn’t a name–it was a category, but did he really need something more than that?

Ashtray went into the bathroom and pissed, before looking at himself in the mirror. This seemed wrong as well–he could…almost remember another reflection. A younger one. A sexier one. But this…this face. He was old. Easily in his fifties, if not sixties, though he couldn’t remember how old he was. A thick beard across his face, stained yellow around the mouth from years of smoking, caked with ash. He was balding heavily, with just a fringe of too long hair around the temples and down the back. The face was lined with wrinkles, and when he opened his mouth, he grimaced–a good number of his teeth were gone, and the rest were…not in great shape at all.

Ashtray knew that something was wrong. That something had changed, but he didn’t know what. The worry nagged at him, but not as much as the hunger and the horniness did. He…he had to talk to someone about it, maybe they would know. So he ate–he devoured a few bags of ash from the shipment a couple days before. It was…pleasurable, to some extent, but he ate it because it was his duty to eat it. He was an ashtray, after all. What other purpose could he serve? When he was full, he masturbated, thinking…thinking about someone. Someone who would…help him understand, and remember what he was sure he had forgotten. But all he could think about was that image in the mirror, his old, feeble body. The smoke poured from his cock, and formed an older man, quite fat, covered in hair, wearing some shabby clothes and smoking a massive pipe.

“I…Sir…I…I don’t…know what to ask, really, but I don’t know who I am? Do…do you know who I am?” he muttered, falling to his knees before the figure, who just scowled down at him.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are. I do know what you are though–you’re an Ashtray–is that not good enough for you?”

The figure shoved the hot bowl of his pipe against Ashtray’s nipple, holding it there until he cried out from the heat. He spit in his face and then dragged him into the bedroom, throwing the old, fat pig onto the bed, and forcing his fat cock into his ass.

Ashtray decided that it didn’t really need to know who it was. Or more likely, it would have to accept that there wasn’t going to be an answer. It was an object, at the end of the day. It served the filth that men sent it, chewed it down, and ejected it back out into their most violent, perverted fantasies for it to suffer under. It would always be a waste–there wasn’t anything more for it beyond that. There couldn’t be. And so, it accepted itself, as best it could, as the fat pipe bear finished inside it’s hole, hauled out, and started working his fist inside him next. It would be a good ashtray.

Hugh smiled, watching in his own dreams, stroking the head of his cock, swollen now with the contents of Kyle that it had sucked out. Josh would be back in a day, and Kyle would be there to greet him–a Kyle, at least. But Josh would be Hugh’s before long. He would be his forever–after all, it was time that Hugh helped himself.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 5)

“I know you probably won’t appreciate this, pig, but let me tell you–from my own experience, it will be better this way,” the imp said, and jumped back up to the ceiling, pulled a lever, and a few moments later, the taste and consistency of the mash flowing into his mouth…changed. The taste was vile–musky and rank and dirty and…and delicious. He panicked, trying to keep from swallowing the filth, but the tube forced itself deeper into him, and he had to choice as it was pumped directly into his guts.

“See, that first Halloween, no one…destroyed me. I had to survive here, my mind witnessing everything in this darkness, all year long. It was horrifying. No one should have to go through what I did. This is better. Better to just be what you’re going to be, don’t you think? Give in, never have to worry about that old life of yours? Just let yourself be the dirty, shameful, disgusting pig you were meant to be, from the moment you stepped in here.”

Ken was still struggling, but he could feel it. The filth was…warping him. He could distingish some of the flavors now–piss from the urinals, cum from the dumps, mud and muck from the floors washed down the drains, the tang of shit even, at the back of his throat. He wasn’t getting fatter, but something else was happening, he could…smell himself, and it was the same heady musky of the filth being pumped into him. He stank of a toilet, and a filthy sock, and a cumsoaked armpit, all at the same time, and…and he loved it. His mind was fading, shifting. He was oinking and squealing, his cock leaking all over the floor beneath him. The surface of his latex clad body was changing as well, the rubber growing…moist. Not with sweat, but with some vile, slick scum–a goo seeping ring out from his rubber pores and sliding down his skin and onto the floor under him.

“Don’t worry piggy–all you have to do is cum, and the hose will release you. The sooner you embrace it, the more of a mind you’ll have left–so I suggest you start working that piggy cock into that fat of yours quickly. I, however, have a party to leave–and a new lease on life. Enjoy it–maybe I’ll pay you a visit next year.”

The imp was gone, leaving the pig all alone in the cage, swallowing down the muck, grinding his cock mindlessly between his gut and the floor for a few minutes until he came, squealing in delight at the mess he was making, at the filthy mess he was. He wasn’t…the same, as he squeezed out of the cage. The muck he’d been dropping wasn’t just…coming from him, it was him, he was made of that same filth, his pig face slumping and drooling off him as he walked, reforming again as he lost bits of himself to the floor, in a trail of black slime as he crawled into the room, sniffing and snorting for filth he could devour, hungrier than he could have ever imagined being in his life.

“Hello? Hello!”

He looked up at the sound of a voice, as a young man, somehow still in his black attire from the party, stumbled around the corner. He was missing his clothes tag, took one look at the nightmarish rubber pig in front of him, and froze. Before he could do anything, however, Ken was on him, his gooey body sticking to the man’s flesh as he screamed, dragging him down, eating away at his clothes, while Ken’s cock, the last firm thing left on his body, starting probing for the man’s hole. He was screaming, so Ken covered his mouth in goo, the substance hardening quickly, the man’s mouth now covered by a patch of black rubber that melded seamlessly with his skin, only able to breathe through his nose.

“So…hungry…” Ken grunted in the man’s ear, as he fucked him, and as he did, his body began to lose…shape, flowing down around the man, engulfing him slowly into Ken’s own form. The man’s body, warped by the filth, was beginning to lose firmness as he was sucked into the pig, Ken’s cock drilling deeper and deeper until it forced it’s way out the other side of the man’s body, through his own cock, the man shuddering in something like an orgasm as he felt the monster’s filth begin to dissolve and eat away at his body, absorbing him into the pig as a new part of him, his mind locked away with Ken’s, forever trapped inside this monstrous, rubber beast eager to devour anything in sight.

Then, it was four o’clock, and the lights shut off. Trapped in the dark, with only the other monsters for company. Until next year at least–and by this, this pig would be starving.

–An Ending–

Alright, let’s go back and pick up the story somewhere else! Here’s some options. A few are new, and one is a popular path that didn’t get picked from this last little chunk. The bonus poll for Patrons is over here as well!

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 1)

The invitation caught Ken by surprise that day, a couple of weeks before Halloween. These days, you never got stuff like this in the mail, after all, but there it was, in a clean white envelope, something that Ken had only ever assumed was rumour. An invitation to Pigtown’s Halloween Party.

Pigtown, of course, was the stuff of legend. It was a bar, that much Ken knew, but he’d heard so many different stories of the place from people, moving through the circles he did, and every story sounded a bit ridiculous to his ears. Still, people insisted the place actually existed–he’d even, on occasion, met a person of two brazen enough to claim that they themselves had gone through those doors and come out the other side to spin a tale of perversion and decadence and change unlike anything Ken had ever heard before.

What choice did he have? He had to go and see it for himself, of course.

He didn’t tell his friends what he was doing–the invitation had explicitly said not to bring guests–that the invitation was for one, and one only. Anyone bringing a guest along would not be allowed in, due to capacity concerns, allegedly. The other interesting note was that costumes would be provided, apparently–there was a mandatory clothes check, and costumes would be distributed at the door. Ken didn’t know what that might mean–maybe everyone was going to be wearing something similar? That did sound kind of hot–and thankfully he hadn’t spent anything on a costume for this year yet.

The day of the party arrived at last. He bailed on his prior commitments, blaming an alleged illness, and then made his way to the bar. There wasn’t an address, oddly enough–just a series of cryptic directions, most of them relying on landmarks, rather than street names. He got started on the trail early, not wanting to be late, but was rather confounded all afternoon–it wasn’t until dusk arrived, and the streets got dark, that the path started to make sense, weaving in and out of alleyways, into places of the city that Ken had never laid eyes on before, street names he no longer recognized. There were…people here, poking their way out from the dark, some of them human, others…well, they had to be human too, but something else was there as well, something hungry. Ken hesitated, turned around to go back, but found himself lost almost immediately, the men in the dark closing in on him, and he fled back, tracing the rest of the path to Pigtown. Apparently, once started, you had to see it to the conclusion.

There was a line at the door, but it moved quickly. The anteroom of the club was a locker room, all manners of men stripping down to nothing, packing their clothes into bags, and handing them off the employees at the club, getting numbers in return. When Ken handed his clothes off, the employee stressed that he make sure he hold onto his number–clothes were not returned without a valid number.

With that, they disappeared, and returned with a second bag, apparently with his costume. The bag was sealed, and had his name on the side, printed. Men weren’t allowed to change into their costumes there, however, for the sake of surprise–past the ante room, there was a hall with changing rooms on both sides. Men never reemerged from them, the sign on the door would just flip from red to green again. Ken entered one, heart pounding, and opened up his bag to find his costume on the inside–but was a bit disappointed. A black tanktop. A pair of tight black shorts. Socks and boots in his size. A small mask for his face, more like a masquerade than something frightening. There was no pocket for the clothes check tag, but he found that it was attached to a bracelet, like he’d gotten at bat houses before, that kept it secure around his upper arm. He pulled on the clothes, and then a second door opened, and he found himself in a throbbing room, full of men dancing–and sure enough, all of them were in the same dress as him, a sea of men in black tanks and shirts, masked, booted–it was quite the sight, actually…but was this really all? He’d expected…more, he supposed, from the stories, than just a nice rave. Still, the night was young.

He walked around the room, and saw a cluster of people around one end of the room. He jostled his way over there, and saw a wide doorway leading deeper into the complex, with caution tape strung across it. There was also a sign posted with a warning.

WARNING:

This is Halloween, after all, and Pigtown has some…well, some things only come out that this time of year, but isn’t that why you’re here? Some of what you might find deeper in the club will shock you, frighten you, or perhaps be something dredged from your deep nightmares. Of course, no harm can come to you forever, so long as you keep your clothes check tag! Don’t lose it in the dark–or you might never get back out…The party ends at four–if you aren’t back into your own clothes by then…well, some parties never end.

It was a good gag, he supposed. People were trickling in little by little, but he noticed no one seemed to be coming out–then again, it was early. He passed by the sign without paying it much heed, but he did check to make sure his tag was still on his arm. Beyond the sign though…things immediately got a bit…strange as he went deeper into the dark hallway. A wider variety of costumes for one thing, guys in leather and rubber, small and large, all of them moving through the dark–but it was the masks that caught him off guard. They had to be masks, right? No one could really look that…horrifying in person, of course not. He hurried through the hallway as quickly as he could, but was caught off guard when someone came up behind him, grabbed his tag, and yanked it down his arm and off him in one movement.

“Hey!” Ken shouted at the short man, who turned around for a moment, laughing–his face like some deformed imp, or other nightmarish something. Then, the fellow raced off, deeper into the complex, and Ken hurried after him. The hallways kept branching, and he could hear…screams around him, or was that just people fucking and yelling in glee? It was unnerving in any case, but he had no choice but to find that little fucker and get his tag back. He passed a clock on the wall that said it was 11 pm–he had five hours to find that fuck and get out, before…well, he was suddenly thinking that the warning sign might have been a little more accurate than he wanted to think. He picked a path and drove deeper, only to find himself somewhere new.

Alright, so here’s how this one is going to work. Ken is going to be chasing the little demon through the complex, changing all the while, and trying to avoid getting caught inside Pigtown when the party is over. There are, of course, a wide variety of ways that Ken’s story can end–most of them not particularly good for Ken. I’m aiming for more of a horror vibe with this one, so some of the content might get weird along the way–fair warning. Each time we hit an ending of some sort, rather than start a new story, I’ll go back to previous branches that had been popular, and continue Ken’s story from there instead. Here’s the first poll! The patron bonus poll is over here as well!

Caption: Down in the Valley

Backpacking is one of the few escapes that Marcus felt he could still rely on, in a world that felt like he was constantly connected to everything, whether he wanted to be or not. More than once, he had fantasized about leaving it all, finding some cabin in the wilderness, abandoning wifi and phones and data and electricity and everything else altogether. Maybe he’d be able to shake this anxiety and depression, maybe he’d feel connected to something that wasn’t a constant maelstrom of terror and death and impending doom. So he would take a couple weeks off in the summer, and do his best to disappear, trails or no trails, just…escaping. Just him, and nature, alone–except on this trip, he was beginning to suspect that he wasn’t particularly alone.

The trip had started off normal enough, on familiar territory. He decided to go off in a new direction, towards a rather secluded valley in the midst of the forest, and as he descended into it, he began to get the sensation that he was being watched. This in and of itself was not too uncommon–after all, just because there were no people, did not mean that he was in fact alone–he saw all sorts of wildlife during his trips, but largely had never had a problem with them, so long as he minded his food habits properly. However, this sense was something else entirely, and when he camped for the day, the sensation didn’t disappear like it usually did, but he saw no sign of anything, so he figured he was as safe as he could be.

It was when he went down to the river to refill his water, that he saw him, there in the brush.

Handsome did not really begin to describe him. Marcus was stricken with something more than lust, it was…compulsive. Animalistic. He dropped his pack without another thought, and walked towards the strange, eyeing him over his shoulder, and the man walked away, and Marcus followed. After a quarter mile, the man led Marcus to a cave, and pulled him inside, and in the dark…Marcus felt that something was wrong. Feeling the man, his cock, his body–it didn’t seem to match what he’d seen outside of the cave. There were too many limbs, and they were too thin, the skin wasn’t hairy, but smooth, and seemed to stick to him, if he didn’t pull away fast enough. His rational mind tried to rebel, but the desire overwhelmed him anyway, pulled him into the stink of him, the heady scent of musk, with a strange pang of carrion and rot all around it. The man, the thing, forced Marcus onto the floor of the cave and fucked him deep–deeper than a cock should have been able to go, seeded him hard, hard enough he could feel his gut expand, and them wrapped Marcus in his arms, and held him there, sticky and sweaty in the dark, deep, inhuman rattling breaths in his ear, long tongue wrapping around his neck, sharp teeth at an ear.

He tried to squirm away, but the thing would nip him–not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to draw blood. He held still instead, unsure of what to do, watching the dim light from the entrance to the cave dim as night came, unsure if the squirming in his guts was hunger, thirst…or perhaps something else entirely.

Arctos Audio 2: True Story (Part 2)

It wasn’t the reply Nate had expected from the company, but then again, what had he expected? Why in the world had he written to them in the first place? He felt ashamed at daring to admit what had gone through his head to anyone, over the last few weeks, and now the same company which had cursed him with this fucking obsession was sending him a gift? He was sick to his stomach, when Paul came home from work to discover his husband in a fit of–well, Paul didn’t know what was wrong with Nate, but he was concerned. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and his mood–and appetite–swung wildly. On some nights, he wouldn’t be able to eat anything, and on others, he’d arrive home and find Nate laying on the couch, binging on snacks, with an obvious hardon in his underwear. That night, however, it was clear that something was worse–but like before, Nate refused to discuss it, and simply disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Paul to fret on his own while he prepared dinner for himself, his mind running through a whole list of worries. Still–what could he do, if Nate wasn’t willing to be open and honest with him? He went to bed late, and found his husband tossing and turning in bed, as had become common, the sheets wet with sweat, and smelling of cum. Disturbed, he decided to sleep in the guest room instead–at least that way he wouldn’t have to put up with it.

The next morning, Nate awoke late to discover that Paul had already gotten up and left for work without disturbing him. The night had been even worse than usual–it seemed like he’d relived the entire story from beginning to end in his mind, trapped in the horror, unable to wake up. He groped for his balls, and gave a sigh of relief when he felt them, and then looked at the rest of his body. He was normal–a bit worse for wear, after his sudden binging habit which had kicked in, but…himself. Why did that…upset him so much? He felt better, at least–more focused. Today was the day he’d turn it around, he decided. He’d put it behind him. He could do it. He wouldn’t worry about Arctos or their fucked up books anymore, and he’d be Nate–himself…right?

He spent the morning catching up on the household chores he’d been neglecting, and with a cleaner house, he felt cleaner himself–especially after a nice long shower. Maybe writing that letter had been what he needed to do–maybe just getting it out of him and admitting it had gotten him to a place where he could finally move on. It was around eleven that he’d gotten dressed and ready to run some errands–and get back to the gym, of course–when he opened the door, and found a large package on the stoop in front of him.

It couldn’t be–how had it gotten here so quickly? It must be something else he’d ordered from Amazon and forgotten about. He checked the shipping label, and sure enough, it was from Arctos–it was his gift. Throw it in the trash, he told himself, nothing this company sends you can be any good. He picked it up–it was heavy–and with a look around to see if anyone was watching from the neighborhood, he turned around and went right back inside, found a knife, and opened it up.

When he pushed aside the packing material from the top, he tried to scream but his voice was caught in his throat. It…it wasn’t real, was it? No–no, it was black, it didn’t look like flesh–he reached in and touched the thing, and while it was stiff, he figured it had to be rubber. A rubber cast of a pig’s head, hollow, meant to be worn as a mask. Just like…like the head the boy from the story had stolen from the butcher, the boar’s head he’d taken, hollowed out, forced over his own and then sewn in place. The boar’s head which had magically come to life–and beside it, two other things–a pigtail dildo and something that looked like a dildo, but wasn’t–he discovered upon inspection. No–the last item was…was meant as a sleeve for his cock, just like the boar’s cock the boy had skinned and sewn over his own as well.

It was a cruel joke, to call such a thing a gift, and yet, looking down at them, the feelings Nate had managed to quell for the morning roared back to the front of his mind. He…he wanted to put them on–there, he’d thought it. He’d thought about it for weeks now, about what could drive someone to do such a horrific act, and now, staring down at the rubber gear–he knew. He was in the wrong body–he wanted to be a hog, had always wanted to be a hog–he’d just never known how to articulate that desire in all his life, and this monstrous book had given him the language, and the need. Or maybe it was just a brief fascination. Maybe if he tried it, he’d see how silly he’d been and be able to forget it. He was already stripping his way free of his workout gear, and had the head out of the box, feeling the heft of it, imagining the weight on his shoulders.

In front of a mirror in the hall, he lowered it over his head, and it fit snuggly. It took him a moment to line his eyes up with the holes in the mask, but when he did, he let out a snort of excitement–there in the mirror was his body–his awful, human body–with a beautiful boar’s head resting on top, just like he’d always imagined, just like he’d always needed. He grabbed the cock sleeve and shoved his hard, leaking cock inside it, and then pushed the dildo into his ass, and started stroking, amazed he could…feel his hand through the thick rubber of the sleeve, but he needed this–he’d always needed this. In his mind he knew he needed to take the stuff off, that it was feeling…hot stuffy and sticky inside the heavy mask. But he needed this, as ashamed as he was. He needed this more than anything, and he could always take it off, right?

The Bathroom of the Lost (Part 1)

RJ pushed open the door too hard, so it slammed into the back wall, and then stepped into the restroom. A cocky fucker, always ready for action, whether the bitch wanted it or not. One bitch he’d been accosting that night, it turned out, had had enough of him and decided to be dealt with, like all the rest. He rounded the corner, and looked around, confused, the door swinging shut behind with a bang. This bar was one of his regular hangouts, but this wasn’t the restroom. He’d been expecting a small room, barely enough space for the sink, crapper and urinal and the walls between them, but this space was at least three times the size, with no sinks at all–one side of the long room lined with urinals, the other with toilets, and not a partition in sight. The lights were dim and seemed to cut out halfway down the room, leaving much of it shrouded in darkness.

Had the owner planned a fucking remodel or something? He turned around and grabbed for the door handle, but found himself swinging at air. There was no door behind him at all, just more wall, not even a seam to show that a door had been there at all. “What the hell?” he said, “Hey! What the fuck is this, let me out!” he screamed, his voice echoing in the tight room.

“No one can hear you,” a voice said behind him, “or maybe they can, but they don’t care.”

He spun back around, and saw a figure moving in the corner of the room. The man had been crouched down between two urinals, on the edge of the darkness. He stood up now, and he was wearing what looked like a gym outfit–a loose tank, mesh shorts, trainers–but everything he had on was filthy, the tank stained with all sorts of filth, the shorts stiff. The room smelled stale and musky, and RJ was certain that a good amount of it was him.

“I was getting worried, I’ve never been alone in here before, but–”

As the man spoke, a row of lights cut out, shrouding the stranger in total darkness, and he stopped talking entirely. RJ waited a moment or two to see if he’d continue talking, and then stepped forward into the bathroom slowly.

“Yo, you there?” he said, “Man?”

He approached the place on the edge of the darkness where the man had been, and suddenly the lights flicked back on–more of them, in fact, illuminating more of the bathroom than before–but the man had disappeared. Cautious, RJ kept going into the room, trying to remain in the middle between the row of urinals and toilets as best he could, and the lights kept flickering on as he walked. There was no way the bathroom could be this big–it made no physical sense. After about twenty feet of walking forward, he finally stopped and went to go back, only to discover that the lights had turned off, trapping him somewhere in the middle of the room, darkness on both sides.

He hurried over, planning to just run through the dark and back to the wall where he’d started…but something made him pull up short before crossing the penumbra of the shadow. This wasn’t darkness. This close, he realized it was almost solid, and something in his gut, something deep inside him, told him that he shouldn’t go in, that he needed to stay in the light, that he was somehow safe in the light, although he didn’t know what that might mean, safe. Where had that man gone? He shouted out again, but his voice seemed to disappear into the void. He was about to step back from the darkness, when one row of lights flicked on again, right in front of him, and the man appeared inches from his face, facing the other direction, blinking quickly–like he’d emerged from hours in the dark, rather than a minute.

He was…different too. He looked to be even grungier than before, and that ripe musky smell from before had only grown stronger, and…and something else, something else about it too, it was making him hard, it was making him…want to fuck, and he let out a moan, unable to help himself.

“Oh god,” the stranger said, “Oh please, not again, oh fuck…” he didn’t have a chance to get a good look at himself before RJ pushed him up against the wall between two urinals and started licking his sweaty, greasy neck, grinding his cock against him, the musk shutting off his mind little by little, making him unable to think about anything beyond fucking this man, this stranger. RJ tried to get a grip on himself, tried to stop himself. The man was pushing at him, but he only grew rougher, yanking down the man’s pants and slamming his cock deep in the man’s filthy ass. The idea of fucking another man had always turned RJ’s guts, but suddenly the desire to fuck this hole had consumed all of his thoughts.

“You have to stop, please, you have to try and keep control of yourself!” the man screamed, “This is what it wants, what it wants, but you have to, please…”

But RJ couldn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, for what felt like several hours. He raped the nasty stranger, licking up his sweat and grease as he did, swallowing it all down, as much of it as he could, and he would have kept going too, if the lights hadn’t suddenly switched off above them both, and something like hands had dragged him away from the stranger, and into the bathroom’s dark void.