Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Someone was shaking him in his bed.

“Dad–dad, I’m up, alright? I’m up…” Harry muttered, trying to push the hands away, but something felt…wrong.

“Now now, Mr. Willis, do try to keep that old head of your straight–we do want to try and keep that senility at bay, don’t we?”

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he found himself staring up at Mr. Elroy, looming over the side of his bed, “No–no, no no!” Harry muttered, and went to try and rawl his way off the other side of the bed. He’d hoped it had been a dream, when he’d woken up. That he’d just been late for school, or his dad just wanted to make sure he was awake. Not this–not this still. It couldn’t possibly be real–people don’t just…age 40 years in a day!

Mr. Elroy calmly walked around the bed, and met him at the other side. “I assure you, Harry, that today will be much, much more difficult for me if I have to add a sedative to your medications this morning. I will–but that will only make things so much worse for you, in ways you won’t understand. Trust me when I say that you want to mentally present for unpacking day–you’ll be much, much less confused, and less confusion helps the brian last longer–trust me, I’ve been helping doddering old men like you adjust to their lives here for many years now. I know what works.”

Harry looked up at him, and then at the door of the bedroom. Could he make it?

“You won’t make it–not with those arthritic knees of yours,” Mr. Elroy said, brushing a hand against Harry’s legs, and as soon as he did, a throbbing ache grew in the joint there, making Harry wince. “Getting old can be such a pain, right Harry? Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have you drooling down the front of your clothes, and shitting in a diaper today instead?”

Harry could see in Mr. Elroy’s eyes that he was serious–and after what happened last night, he had no doubt that the man could make it happen. He nodded. “A-Alright.”

“Good. Now get out of bed, and let’s get started on your morning routine. A shower first, of course. While you’re in there, I’ll look around and put together an outfit for you to wear. Then we’ll get you your medications. Breakfast is at 8:30. We’ll come back up here after that and start getting you unpacked. Lunch will be a little later, and if you’re good, I might let you go to bridge night this evening.”

Harry had never even heard of bridge, much less played it–but he kept his mouth shut. He’d just have to bide his time, and wait for an opportunity, when Mr. Elroy let his guard drop, since there was no way he’d be able to take him in a straight fight–not feeling like this. Getting out of bed with his sore knees was a struggle. Mr. Elroy suggested multiple times that he get a cane for him, but Harry refused. He might look like an old man–he might even feel like an old man, in some ways, but he could still walk! Mr. Elroy helped him into the shower, and while the water warmed up, he sat Harry down on the toilet and made him suck on his cock for a couple of minutes, before getting him into the tub. Harry took his time in the shower, trying to sort his thoughts out, and sizing up his body–what he could do, how fast he could move–but it didn’t seem like he was very capable of anything, which is probably just how Mr. Elroy wanted him. Still, he finished his shower, and managed to get out of the tub on his own, toweled himself off, and went back into the bedroom, where Mr. Elroy was waiting, with some clothes laid out on the bed beside him.

Harry knew he could have gotten dressed in them himself, but Mr. Elroy insisted that he help. Harry could sense that he enjoyed it–that he liked making Harry feel helpless, or like a child he was taking care of. First was a plain white undershirt and a pair of briefs–both feeling oddly threadbare. After that came a button down blue cotton shirt, some well worn and well stained jeans held up by wide strap suspenders (Mr. Elroy made certain that the suspenders were tight enough that the pants went over his belly, rather than under it–he said it made Harry look much more “properly old”). Then, woolen socks and some work boots. In the mirror, Harry couldn’t even begin to recognize himself–there didn’t seem to be anything of his old self even left to see in the reflection. It was just…a stranger, an old man wearing what looked like some old work clothes–but Mr. Elroy was certainly pleased.

“Alright Harry–time for your medications!” Mr. Elroy went into the bathroom for a moment, and returned with a small cup with several pills in it. Harry asked what they were for–he didn’t recognize any of the pills himself. “Oh, just the usual things for a man of your age–arthritis, high blood pressure, persistent heartburn. Why? Would you like some more? We can always arrange that, if you’d like.”

Harry just shook his head, and put the pills in his mouth, swallowing them with the water Mr. Elroy had brought with him in a cup. Mr. Elroy offered him the cane again–after all, it was quite a walk to the dining hall for breakfast–but Harry again refused. He had to hobble slightly down the halls of the building, and Mr. Elroy told him they might be late if he didn’t move faster, but he wasn’t about to give into that crutch without a fight. Still, by the time they reached the dining room, he almost wished he had taken it–his leg ached, and pain was radiating up his back as well–he’d never been as thankful to take a seat right then in his entire life. Breakfast was bland, smooth, and nutritious. Mr. Elroy sat with him but didn’t eat anything, but no one else came by who Harry felt he could trust to get help from. After all, who would believe him? Mr. Elroy could just lie, and say he was senile, and no one would believe a raving old man, especially not if he was ranting about some…vampire turning him old.

May Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Sorry for the missing post yesterday! There will be another chunk of Remembrances at the usual time today, and here’s a bonus post for today, since this month’s suggested stories are finished! As usual, anyone contributing any amount gets access to these stories, and gets the privilege of suggesting ideas each month as well. Here’s a story I wrote for everyone last month.

Taking My Place

It had been innocent, at first. These things always were, to begin with, you never really understand where it all goes wrong. Well, Evan knew where it had gone wrong, but it wasn’t at the beginning. He was just a mild mannered family man, recently married, and currently trying have their first child, though conception was proving to be a bit tricky. It didn’t help that his workload at the company was heavy, and so he’d been staying late at work–late enough that he’d cross paths with the same janitor each night as he cleaned the floor, an older fellow by the name of Ross.

Evan had never really known how to broach the subject with his wife, but he was decidedly bisexual, and Ross ticked…all of his buttons, on the masculine side. Older, chubby, facial hair, a little dirty. It came out one night that Ross was, in fact, gay–and it didn’t take too long after that for the two of them to strike up an affair in his office during the evenings. Had things stayed there, everything would have worked out just fine–but two things happened instead.

First, Ross’s shifts changed, so that he was working during the days rather than the afternoons and evenings, like before. Second, Ross…found something. Evan had never seen it, or knew what it was, exactly, but it had a power unlike anything he’d ever seen before, something which, at first, Evan was eager to experiment with. During their evenings together, Evan had often told Ross about how stressful he found his job, and how he actually envied Ross a bit. Not in the money category of course, but it seemed so…easy, just cleaning, and going home. No real responsibility, no boss looming over him, no clients to upset. Just once, he said, he’d love to be in his shoes for the day.

And so, that morning, Ross strode into Evan’s office–and he switched them. Evan didn’t know how he did it, but one second he was behind the desk, working on an account, and the next he was standing in the doorway, wearing Ross’s coveralls–with Ross’s patch sewn on the front. Before he could freak out, Ross switched them back, and then told him what he could do–he could change places with people, he could even trade parts of their bodies, and even parts of their minds. He wanted to give Evan the chance to do what he’d wanted, which was to work a day in his shoes. It was no worry–he could switch some of their knowledge around too, so they’d both do well, and at the end of the day, they’d change back. And so, Evan spent the whole day as the building’s janitor, and knew exactly what to do, and at the end of the day, they changed back–but not before having sex in each other’s roles. Even more to his surprise, he enjoyed it–or rather, they both did, and Ross promised not to abuse his newfound power.

On occasion, when Evan needed a break, he’d let Ross switch them. But slowly, he began to notice…other things. Ross showed up one day with a new dick–a big dick, much larger than the one he’d had, and told Evan he was just borrowing it for a while from someone else. Evan noticed things about himself shifting around as well. Before, he’d always been the more dominant of them, but one day, he found that all he could think about was bottoming. He demanded to know what Ross had done, but he denied everything, but soon after that, Ross made it clear that he was the one in charge–and if he wanted to sit in the cushy office, then he was going to sit in the office, and Evan would be cleaning bathrooms and emptying trash cans. Evan found himself working as a janitor more and more often, and whenever Ross allowed him sit at his desk for the day, he never could quite get a handle on what he was supposed to be doing. He’d have to scour the building for Ross and beg for his help, and the older man would switch with him for the rest of the day, fixing everything he’d managed to screw up, while Evan cleaned up after everyone else, and then sucked Ross’s massive cock to thank him.

It seemed that the only place Evan was safe was at home with his wife. He knew he should quit and get away from Ross, but he needed the money–that, and from some hints Ross had dropped, he’d made it clear that if Evan tried to run, he’d most likely regret it. That, however, didn’t last for long. Ross came to work without his massive cock one day–instead, he had a tiny, one inch member, which was soon Evan’s one inch cock. Ross told him he’d be keeping that one for a while, but that he didn’t need to worry; he knew Evan was trying to have a baby, so he’d made sure to leave him his balls–if he could manage to get in his wife’s pussy. In fact, Evan hadn’t been able to get aroused in bed with her for months–he suspected Ross had messed with his head and made him completely gay, but he didn’t dare confront him about it. After his cock, Ross began leaving more and more of his old self with Evan when they switched back and forth, and soon, Evan would look in the mirror at his home, and see a younger version of Ross staring back at him. It was horrifying, but this…this was beyond anything he could have imagined him doing.

It was Friday, and that meant it was almost time for two whole days without Ross messing with him. At this point, Evan worked as a janitor everyday–he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even done his “real” job. He’d gone back to his office to switch back, only to discover that Ross wasn’t there–he’d left early and gone home. To his home, to his wife! He found a note on the desk for him, and Ross told him that if he and his wife were having such a hard time conceiving a child, Ross wanted to help him out. Furious, he stormed out of the building, wanting to head home and confront him–but he discovered he didn’t remember where he lived. In his mind, he lived in the city, in a grungy little apartment, alone…where he spent all weekend, usually, getting drunk and jacking off…right?

He tried to remember, he really did, but he had no car, no memory, and no way of getting there–and so, resigned, he went home to his apartment, where he found the computer on, receiving a video feed from…somewhere. It was a bedroom, but whose? There was someone in it, though–or two people rather, a man and a woman naked and getting ready to have sex, and he realized it was Ross, in his life, getting ready to fuck his wife…and just thinking about it was enough to make his little prick hard as a rock. He watched them fuck, he loved it, the idea of the janitor fucking his wife in his body, in a better body than his had ever been, actually. He…he deserved it more than he did, he deserved all of it. Evan didn’t deserve anything, he was just a stupid fucking pervert, after all. Evan made his decision, then and there–come Monday, he’d offer Ross his life. He was making the most of it, after all…and as long as he got to watch it, he’d get plenty of enjoyment out of it too.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 2)

Harry really didn’t have any interest at all in whatever the guy might want to show him, but he also definitely didn’t want to have his service hours scrapped by some vindictive adult. Together they went back into the building, and Mr. Elroy led them to a bank of elevators, and they entered one. In an enclosed space, Harry sized him up–if he tried anything creepy, he could probably take him. He looked to be around fifty, with a healthy bit of grey in his beard–probably in twenty or thirty years, he’d be another one of the old fucks around here too. They ended up on the third floor, walked down the hall to one of the rooms, Mr. Elroy pulled out a key and unlocked it without even knocking.

“Shouldn’t you at least knock or something?” Harry said, a bit disturbed about just walking into someone else’s room without permission.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Elroy said, “Now come in here.”

Harry peeked around the corner and into the apartment after Mr. Elroy turned the lights on, and saw why he’d said that–everything was all packed up into boxes, aside from the large furniture, which was covered in sheets. “So…what, we’re going through some old person’s things before they move?”

Mr. Elroy looked back at him. “No one who lives here moves away, young man. They die.”

Harry’s gut twisted at the realization, and he felt like an idiot. “S-Sorry. We really shouldn’t be in here then, you know? This is kind of fucked up.”

“Harry, come inside and shut the door behind you.”

He didn’t want to go in there–he no longer cared about his service hours, he’d go talk to the woman at the desk about it. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a bunch of stuff belonging to some cadaver…but instead, his legs moved him into the apartment, and he closed the door behind him.

“It was sad, watching him go. Watching him lose himself,” Mr. Elroy said, as he walked through the room. “Can you tell me anything about him, by looking at his things, Harry?”

“I mean…not without opening something up, I guess,” he said, “Look, I get it, alright? This is creepy. I don’t care about my hours, I just want to go.”

“Yeah, you can’t tell anything about him. You know as much about him right now, as he knew about himself two days ago, as he was dying. Advanced dementia, right at the end. Such a shame, really. So confused and scared, trying to understand who he was and what was happening to him. Fuck, just thinking about it is getting me hard all over again…” Mr. Elroy said, and adjusted the front of his pants.

The guy was some fucking creep–he fucking knew it. Harry turned and tried to open the door, but it had locked, or jammed, or something–the handle wouldn’t budge an inch. “Let me out you fucking weirdo!” he shouted at Mr. Elroy, and kept fighting with the door.

“Harry, calm down, and come over here please.”

Again, like before, his body disobeyed his mind, and he walked over to where Mr. Elroy was standing in the living room, his heart pounding in terror. How in the world was he doing this to him? It didn’t make any sense–he just wanted to leave. “Please, I’m scared, just let me leave…”

“You should be scared, Harry. Most people are scared when they see magic for the first time. But I’m hungry, Harry–and you, your life, you smell…delicious, you know. I have to eat healthy lives to keep my own health, you know, and I think you could learn a lesson about age.” Harry was close now, close enough that Mr. Elroy could reach out and touch him. “Such youth would be wasted on you, like it’s wasted on all you mortals.”

What happened next–Harry could never quite find the words to describe it. Mr. Elroy reached out with both hands, and rested them on both sides of his face, but as gentle as the touch was, there was spiritual violence that he felt deep in his core, a sheer terror, but his body could not flinch away as something–life, youth, spirit, vitality, potential–was drained from him right into Mr. Elroy’s fingertips. The touch likely only lasted seconds, but to Harry, it seemed to extend into hours and days, caught in that moment, unable to move, unable to resist, until they came away from him, and the exhaustion flooded into his body, sending him crashing to his knees.

“Look at me, let me look at you. Look up at your master, you old fuck.”

He did. He didn’t have the heart to fight him–his will and resistance had been sucked away along with whatever else Mr. Elroy had drawn from him. The glimmer of delight in the man’s eye frightened him…but he could see changes all the same. A bit of grey missing from his beard, a firming up of his flesh. With a wave of his hands in the space above him, Mr. Elroy summoned a thin mirror, hanging in the air, and Harry could see himself–his new self–for the first time. He had aged at least into his forties, if not a bit further–his hair was greying and receding, wrinkles had begun to crease his forehead, eyes and mouth. He looked away from his face and down to his body, where his muscles of youth had been sapped of their strength, and a potbelly had sprouted, pushing his shirt out where it rode up awkwardly.

Mr. Elroy waved the mirror back into the void from where he’d called it, and opened the fly of his pants, allowing his thick cock to fall free, leaking a bit of precum from the tip, inches from Harry’s face.

“Tell me what you want, you old fuck.”

Harry looked up at him, desperate and terrified, and when he met Mr. Elroy’s eyes…they weren’t the same eyes that had been looking at him before. Or perhaps they were. Perhaps, whatever veil had been guarding their true nature had dropped, and the piercing eyes he couldn’t look away from had always been there. They pushed into him–Mr. Elroy pushed into him, into his mind, and the words that came out weren’t the ones he’d thought–even the voice didn’t sound like his own. “Fuck, Could sure use yer big, fat cock lodged down my fuckin’ throat.”

“That’s what I thought–now start sucking.”

Carnival (Part 9)

“You guys–we have to fight this. This isn’t right,” Finn said, pulling away from his friends, or rather, his lovers, in the mist of the tunnel. “Can’t…can’t you see that something about all of this is wrong?”

Garth and Dylan just looked at him, their eyes slightly pink. “There’s…nothing wrong with this, Finn–you know how we feel about you, how we’ve always felt about each other.”

There was a flash then, a flash of them all in the locker room after practice, sneaking looks at one another, taking their time until they were alone, and they could go to the showers together and–

Finn pushed the thought away again, and slid around the circular bench to be as distant from the other two as they could. This ride–it wasn’t a ride at all. They were literally falling in love with one another! There had to be something he could do, some way to snap the two of them out of it, but how?

The sides of the boat were high, but were lower where they’d gotten in. He reached down into the cool water, scooped some up in his hands, and flung it at the two of them, hoping it would bring them to their senses, but when it struck them, both of them glowed pink, and Finn watched them begin to shift. In their minds, both Garth and Dylan found their love for one another growing deeper–and also growing longer. They had met in college, sure, but by now, that had been years ago. In their forties now, and happily married for nearly 20 years, all Finn could do was watch as his best friends, the young men he loved, became two pudgy, middle aged bears, still kissing and even deeper in love than before.

“That was a few bad thing to do, to try and destroy someone’s love,” a voice said. Finn looked around for the source, but couldn’t see anyone–it seemed to be coming from the mist all around them. “But don’t worry, your daddies will take good care of you.”

Before he could do anything, the mist descended on him, cloaking him in pink, filling his mind with love–love for the two older men across from him, but also dulling him, sanding off the edges, making that love into something singular and obsessive–so powerful, it was all he could think about. When it cleared, and he saw his two daddies, Garth and Dylan, looking at him, he thought his heart would burst, and a moment later, he was pulled over the center of the boat, all three of them kissing together, until they had Finn undressed, Garth and Dylan fucking him at both ends, telling him what a good boy he was, telling him that he was going to be their boy forever.

When they reached the end of the ride, all three of them having cum, and forgotten their old lives and souls in the tunnels, Garth and Dylan got out first, both of them wearing jeans and flannel, suspenders tight against their guts, looking like the perfect bearish couple, and then they helped Finn out–and Finn looked down at himself in shock. He was wearing overalls, but with shorts on the bottom, something like what a toddler would wear, with a shirt underneath with cartoon characters on them. He was shorter than his daddies, and quite a bit chubbier too–but something making him look larger was the diaper he could feel around his waist. “Wow daddy! That was a fun ride, I love you so much!” he exclaimed with his usual youthful enthusiasm, and hugged both of his daddies tight.

“I gotta admit–it’s nice to be reminded of what’s really important,” Garth said, winking at Dylan and giving his husband’s crotch a squeeze, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m a bit tuckered out–how about we all head home and call it a night?”

Dylan agreed, and while Finn tried to protest, and insisted he could go on more rides, the way he was yawning gave away how tired he was. As they left the ride, Finn felt a warmth spread across his groin, and it took him a moment to realize he’d pissed right into his diaper without a second thought. “D-Daddy? I think I had an accident,” he said, looking at Garth, who smiled back.

“Goodness–guess its a good thing we diapered you up, eh, you dirty little boy?”

Finn nodded, his little cock hard in the front of his wet diaper.

“Well, you want us to change you here, in front of everyone?” Dylan said, “Or is the dirty little boy going to have to wear a sopping wet diaper all the way home?”

In the end, he wore it home. Finn loved the feeling of a wet diaper, after all, and his two daddies always enjoyed it when their little cub made a mess like that. Deep inside him, some other version of himself was horrified, but it didn’t matter–love was the most important thing, after all, and Finn was going to love his two daddies forever.

This is the end of this interactive for the moment. I’ll probably run a Patreon only poll in a day or two, to see if there are any stories people would like to see me wrap up and expand on a bit.

My Town (Part 12)

Quentin looked up at Todd from where he was on his knees. He wanted to cry…but he couldn’t. All he could feel was that same hunger beginning to build in him, and he reached around, pulled the cigar butt from his ass, and stuck it in his mouth, unlit, and began to chew. “Please…Please, I’ll do anything you want. Make me whoever you want. I’ll be your sheriff, I’ll beat up whoever you want, but not this, please not this,” he muttered to Todd.

Todd stepped into the cell with him, his leather boots hard against the concrete, and crouched down with him, watching him chew the cigar while he smoked his own. Quentin saw that his eyes had changed, from the night before–something was…wrong with them. They had been blue before, and certainly cold and calculating, but now they were something else. The iris was grey, and seemed to swirl gently as they looked at one another, and the pupil was black, but almost had a sheen of leather. Todd stroked the side of his face with one of his gloves, and he flinched away, only for Todd to grab him by the neck, squeezing him gently, tilting his head so his cheek was half an inch from the burning end of his cigar.

“This is my town now, do you understand that? I don’t think you do, really. None of you do, yet. I remember you, you know, when I was a kid. You were just a deputy then, always the perfect image of professionalism on the beat. I wonder, do you remember me at all? Do you remember watching me getting beat up in the school yard from across the street, that same grin as always plastered on your face? You didn’t do shit for me then–you were useless, and spineless. Now, at least, I have a use for a piece of scum like you. Like all of you–my dad, my brother, every man in this town. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Do you have any idea what I’ve given up for this? You can’t possibly understand–but that’s alright. I’m not keeping you all around because of your smarts, or because of your compassion. I’m keeping you all here for my pleasure–and do you know what would please me most right now? Making you a filthy fucking ash pig for the rest of your miserable life,” Todd smiled, “And you know what else? I think that’s what would please you most too.”

Quentin…remembered something then. Something he was certain wasn’t real, something fabricated by Todd and inserted into his mind, but it felt…so real. He remembered how, for so long, he’d been keeping a secret–that while to the rest of the town he was an upstanding, respectable citizen, whenever he was alone in his garage, he’d been…consumed by a desperate, insatiable desire for smoke and ash. “No–no, it isn’t true, I…I never did any of that.”

“No? You didn’t go on cam with strangers all over the world, devour full trays of ash in front of them over cam, coat yourself with it, and beg them to send them their own fill ashtrays? You didn’t do any of that? But you remember it, don’t you? I can pull up your xtube account, I can show you everything. It’s real now–it’s all real as could be. So you see, Ashtray–all I’m doing is setting you free. Setting you free to be the man you always wanted to be–because in my town, you can be exactly who you were meant to be, all along.”

He fled. He pushed himself to his feet, shoved his way past Todd, and ran all the way out of the police station. He didn’t pay attention to the other leather clad officers laughing as he passed them by, didn’t notice the thick haze of smoke in the air, from all of their collective pipes and cigars–he didn’t stop running until he was on the sidewalk, two blocks down, and crouched in an alley between a bar and a cigar shop–and he tried to deny it. Tried to find himself, but he was still chewing the cigar, still swallowing down bits of it, taking it out, licking the still warm end, coating his tongue in ash, moaning, groping himself, thinking about how…how satisfying it was. It was true–he’d hated that side of himself, hadn’t he? No–no, not that side. He’d hated his public face. He’d hated how everyone had looked at him in uniform, hated the standard he had to abide by…but now, there were no standards for him. He was free to fall as far as he could, and as terrifying as the thought was, he was so…happy, all the same, to be free at last.

Now, he walked the streets during the day, begging the men of the town for ash, smoke, spit, piss–whatever they were willing to give him, and enduring any act of humiliation to get it, and at night, he’d sleep in the alleys or get picked up by his favorite cops, and spend the night in a cell servicing them all night long. Now–now he simply was who he was–no illusions, no disguise. The ash starved pervert he’d always wanted to be…it was real now, and as much as he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t right, that he had it backwards, the relief was so real. He stepped out of the alley, wanting everyone to see him. Wanting them to know him for exactly who he was, the cigar unraveling in his mouth, leaf stuck in his teeth, and a couple of bears were coming towards him down the sidewalk, cigars half-smoked.

“Fuck, any…anything a filthy Ashtray can do for some of that ash of yours fellas?” he said. He said it. He wanted to say it, and when the two men shoved him into the alley for a little fun behind the dumpster, he felt that old Quentin withering in his mind, and he pushed him away. This is just who he was–who he’d always been meant to be–and thank god for Todd, for his town allowing him to become the nasty pig he’d never known he really was.

This is the end of “My Town” for now–there may or may not be more in the future.

My Town (Part 11)

Quentin woke up later on a concrete floor and rolled over, expecting to find himself still in his garage, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was somewhere else he recognized–the inside of one of the city’s jail cells. He got up, still a bit unsteady, and went to the cell door, but it was locked–why in the hell was he even in here at all? The evening before was…fuzzy, but he could remember enough of what mattered–that Todd was doing something to the men of the town, something evil and vile, and he needed to be stopped. Something…else was wrong with him though. There was a need in his chest, a need in his guts, something he couldn’t explain. He knew he should…remember, but it was locked away somehow, but he felt…sick to his stomach.

He shouted for help, but no one came. He just sat on the bench, guts twisting, a headache brewing in his temples, wondering what on Earth was going on with him, until he heard voices–the familiar voices of his two most loyal deputies–coming down the hall to the cells. They would understand–he knew Todd hadn’t gotten to either of them yet. Together, maybe, they would be able to stop him.

Then he smelled it–smoke. Not fire smoke, but tobacco smoke. The need in his guts grew more intense, and he gagged, vision spinning. They rounded the corner and he could see them, Deputies Hawkes and Miles, and walking ahead of them both was Todd, smoking a cigar just like he had been the night before. His blood ran cold when he realized that both Hawkes and Miles seemed different as well. They were both smoking too–Hawkes a massive Boswell Pipe, and Miles a thick gauge cigar, and their uniforms were wrong too. The usual cotton blue was gone. Instead, they were both wearing formal black leather uniforms…just like the one he’d seen on himself in that vision the night before. And when he saw that, it finally occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing the uniform he’d had on the night before either–but he also wasn’t wearing a leather version like his fellow officers.

It fact, he wasn’t wearing much of anything at all. He had on a pair of denim shorts, hugging his ass and crotch tight, showing off his ample ass, thick leather biker boots up to his knees, and a mesh shirt, which showed off his hairy chest and shoulders. He felt different, somehow–his entire body seemed off, but he couldn’t quite nail down the details. It felt like his body, but at the same time he knew he should be different–not this muscular, not with this wide ass that seemed to shake when he took a step. He caught another whiff of smoke, stronger this time, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from opening up and saying, “Fuck boys, this ash pig is starving–you got anything for a filthy slut like me?”

His cheeks turned bright red when he heard himself speak, mostly from how desperate he sounded. The deputies laughed as they approached, and Miles said, “Sure, Ashtray, have some of mine,” and stuck the lit end of his cigar through the bars, tapping it on the metal, and dropping the ember onto the floor. He flung himself down picked up as much of the ash in his fingers as he could and shoved it in his mouth, the satisfaction flooding his body making him moan, and he groped himself in his tight shorts, before getting down and licking up the rest of it from the concrete.

“You’re such a fuckin’ pig, Ashtray,” Hawkes said. He unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, moving behind Quentin and grinding his fat cock against Quentin’s fat ass. “Sometimes I think you cause trouble just because you like getting fucked in a cell. That turn you on pig? Being at the mercy of the two meanest cops in town?”

“Officer, ya can fuck me anywhere, anytime as long as you pay me for it, you know that,” Quentin said, and slipped his shorts down, Hawkes slipping his own sizable cock into Quentin’s ass. “Fuck, nothing like the first fuck and the first mouthful of ash in the mornin.”

“Get that tongue out, Ashtray,” Miles grabbed him by the hair through the bars and yanked him up, and Quentin stuck his tongue out, screaming in delight when Miles rolled the cigar over his tongue, leaving it coated in ash. Then, before he could swallow, he shoved his cock through the bars, and rammed it down Quentin’s throat, making him gag on the length, and the hot ash he hadn’t managed to swallow.

The two cops played with Quentin for a couple of hours, and in his mind, he was reeling. He had no control over himself–he’d do literally anything for a taste of ash, or a taste of smoke from their lips. He would look over at Todd on occasion, begging him with his eyes for release, but Todd was just smiling around his cigar, his gloved hands exploring his body, and as he watched, Todd changed more–his beard now more white than ash grey, his body powerfully muscled aside from a thick gut, cock now over twelve inches long, so long he stroked it with two hands while he watched, encouraged, and directed the humiliating scene unfolding in front of him.

The two cops came first, both in Quentin’s now very loose hole. Then Hawkes dumped the ash from his massive pipe on the floor while Miles held him back, pissed on the pile, turning it into a slurry, and they let him loose, watching him grind his bearded face into the ashy muck, Miles shoving the end of his cigar into Quentin’s hole, and told him to keep it there, so he could eat it later. Unable to stop himself, Quentin felt his cock explode in his shorts as he licked up the filth, and the two cops laughed as they left the cell, telling Ashtray that he was free to go–unless he felt like hanging around for round two in a couple of hours. That, or they could always pick him up off the street a bit later, instead.

They laughed, and walked off, leaving Quentin overwhelmed and humiliated, looking up at Todd, who was still across from the cell, smiling at him. “Well Ashtray? You gonna get going or not?”

My Town (Part 10)

Quentin chucked the files at Todd, the papers and photos falling around him in the chair. “You–you’re a fucking whore. I don’t know what you did to yourself to make you look like some old man either, and I don’t want to know, but this is the fucking truth, and no one here is going to vote for some prostitute. Get the fuck out of my town, or I’ll run you out myself!”

Todd picked up a photo–a mugshot, and looked at the face in it. He was so young then. So weak. “You’re more clever than I expected, I gotta say, Sheriff, but it’s too late–I don’t blame you for not realizing it, but the sooner you see that I own this whole fucking town–and all the men in it–the happier you’re going to be.”

“Fuck you.”

Todd heaved a sigh, “You know, I came here to make a peace offering, Quentin. I like you–you have a strong spirit, and I’d hate for you to lose that. Here’s my offer–drop out of the race, and I’ll let you stay on as Sheriff. Trust me–a rough fucker like you, you’d enjoy keeping law and order in my town. All you’d have to do is do whatever I say, when I fucking say it–and beyond that, enjoy yourself! It’s going to be a paradise, trust me.”

Todd got up from the chair he was sitting in, walked to where Quentin was standing, and brushed his cheek lightly with the back of his gloved hand. Quentin felt it, the brutal pleasure in that leather. He understood it, somehow–or it understood him. Todd took the cigar from his mouth, leaned in and kissed him, breathing smoke into his mouth, and he groaned against his own desires, memories of his wife and daughter fading, even as that rage–that horrible, violent rage–started storming inside him. “Who–What are you?” he said quietly when Todd pulled away.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to see.”

Todd lead the way into the garage, and there, against the wall, was Todd’s father. He was bound to some cross of some sort, chained to it, and when they entered, he looked over at then and moaned in excitement. “What–What the fuck is this!” Quentin said, the shock lifting the daze from his mind.

“That, is my father. He’s been a very bad man, you see, and he needs lots, and lots, of punishment. That’s what sheriffs do, after all, they punish, and they beat, and they discipline. That’s what you’ll be doing for me from now on, at least. That is, if you take me up on my offer. I can assure you I won’t make it twice.”

The glove brushed him once again, and he felt that rage intensify once again. There, on the table, were any number of instruments of torture–whips and canes, an electric shock kit, dildos and clamps and…and he could see himself using them all, a version of himself using them, dressed in a leather uniform, a cruel smile on his face, beating the shit out of this prisoner…is this what had been happening to the whole town? Was Todd behind this entire strange summer? He couldn’t let him win. He couldn’t give in like this. This was his town, and goddamn it, he was going to put it back together, the way it was supposed to be.

He rushed to grab the nearest thing–a cane–tried to turn and swing at Todd’s face–but the gloves were faster, somehow, and caught it in mid air, and going for his throat with the other, tight enough for him to get immediately lightheaded from the pressure on his arteries. “Too bad. Still, I can’t say I’m too surprised. Some men, you can’t give them what they want, and expect them to take it happily. We can figure something else out, though–what was it you said? A town would never vote for a prostitute?”

The glove tightened, and his vision blurred slightly. Everything around him seemed to be warping and twisting, and he couldn’t quite keep anything straight. Todd released him, shoving him back and making him teeter off balance. “You know, I never offered you a smoke. That was rude of me, wasn’t it?” Todd said, “You’d like to smoke something, wouldn’t you Quentin?”

He tried to regroup, but that sensation of lightheadedness clung to him, his tongue clammy, his temple aching. He…did need a smoke, didn’t he? When had he smoked last? He couldn’t remember–and he nodded at Todd, who pulled a spare cigar from his pocket and rolled it in his fingers.

“You know, Quentin, these aren’t cheap–do you have any cash?”

Quentin patted his pants, but his keys, his wallet–they were gone. “I…thought I did.”

“Well that’s alright–you’ll do anything for a smoke, won’t you bitch?”

That didn’t seem right to him, did it?

“Come on over here, get on your knees, if you want some of this.”

Quentin shuffled over, unsure if he was being compelled to obey him, or if he really did want to get down on his knees in front of this faggot. He couldn’t take his eyes off the cigar, in any case…though his eyes were more drawn to the lit one in Todd’s mouth. He got down in front of him, face up, trying to piece together what was happening to him.

“Open up, Quentin–first taste is free.”

He expected Todd to let him have a taste of his smoke, but instead, Todd rolled the ash off his cigar onto his tongue, making him wince from the heat, but he took the ash gratefully, soaking it in his spit, and swallowing it, unable to believe how hard his cock had gotten from that simple act.

“Taste good?”

“Yes sir….thank you.”

“You want more?”

Quentin nodded.

“Get over there, and clean off my dad’s disgusting body–I think the whole biker gang used him as their urinal last night.”

Quentin crawled over, horrified…but he wanted more, and when Todd knocked the ash onto his dad’s body and let Quentin lick it off, or fed him some of his second hand smoke, more and more of Quentin retreated into the darkness his soul was becoming. After allowing Todd to fuck his ass and fill him up with his cum–and then after sucking off his dad–Todd locked lips with him and they shared the same lungful of smoke for…well, Quentin didn’t know how long he lasted, until he grew lightheaded, the garage blurring, and he passed out onto the concrete floor.

My Town (Part 9)

The town felt something was amiss as April became May, and the summer heat descended on the town. It began with Edwin Moss resigning his seat on the city council at the Memorial Day celebrations. No one had seen much of him for the last month, and even fewer could even recall how such a figure had ended up on their council to begin with. He stood up at the podium, wearing some grungy biker leathers, fresh tattoos running up both arms, head shaven and only just beginning to pick up a tan from riding under the hot sun, announced his decision, and then left almost immediately. Some in town seemed like he should have been…different. Clean cut and respectable. “Hadn’t he been planning to run for mayor in the fall?” various people whispered to each other, but no one could really remember hearing that before, or imagine what might possess such a man to think he had a chance of winning.

Thus, it seemed that Quentin Furman, the town’s current sheriff, was the front runner. Traditionally, the candidates for mayor announced at the Memorial Day celebration, and he was the only one who planned on even giving a speech–and he did. He praised the town’s traditions, and emphasized a platform of safety and security, to make sure every family felt they were protected in their little town. Protected from immigrants. Protected from gangs. Protected from anything new. It assuaged them, and by the end of the speech, everyone had largely forgotten about Edwin’s odd appearance–at least until a surprise speaker climbed up as the Sheriff descended–it was a man no one recognized, immediately, but one a few had seen around town in the last month. He introduced himself as Todd Moss–Edwin’s younger son–and announced his intention to run for Mayor.

His speech was largely forgotten, amidst the flurries of gossip running from one end of the crowd to the other.

“He can’t be Todd–he looks much too old to be him!”

“I know he’s living in the Moss’ house though–he showed up about a month ago, out of the blue.”

“Wasn’t he a faggot?”

“He doesn’t have a woman, what does that tell you?”

“Doesn’t look like a faggot to me–ain’t his older brother the faggot anyway?”

“That whole family is a mess if you ask me.”

“Why is he wearing leather? It’s so hot today.”

Still, as the day progressed, and Todd had the opportunity to gladhand the townsfolk before, during, and after the parade, most found themselves impressed. The men all noticed how…firm of a grip he had, with those supple leather gloves he wore. He was distinguished, his voice full of confidence and authority. The cigar smoke around him lent a further air of credibility, especially among the older men, who say them as call back to a earlier, stronger era. He seemed to have an answer for every question–especially about his odd family. “There are bad seeds in every family, you know,” he said to one man, “but that doesn’t mean we should hate them. No–everyone should have a place in our town, don’t you think?”

Still, Sheriff Furman wasn’t concerned. Todd was a stranger. He had a reputation. His family was a laughingstock or considered a public menace, depending on who you asked. If anything, he was the perfect opponent, or so he tried to convince himself. The months wore on, and heat increased, and the sheriff discovered he may have dismissed him too handily. Todd was everywhere, and speaking with everyone–and his tongue was silver. He could say anything to anyone, and they would agree with him, it seemed like. But something else was unsettling to the sheriff, and to the town. The divorce rate was spiking. Women were abandoning the town in droves, both young and old. No one could speak about it, especially not the men who were suffering most, because it seemed to happen with no real explanation. But Todd was always there, consoling the men left behind, seeing if they needed anything from him, anything at all–or from his father or brother, if that interested them more.

By August, Quentin was certain that Todd was behind it, somehow. The men of town were all behaving so…strangely. It had somehow become normal to go through the streets shirtless. There was carousing, touching, holding hands. More rumors than he could count of men, family men, suddenly turning into faggots overnight with their best friends, or with relative strangers. He tried to talk to Edwin, when he rolled through town, about his son, but the biker…couldn’t speak to him. The same with his older brother, not that he seemed bright enough to know what was going on half the time. So he decided to go on a short trip to the city, where Todd had rolled in from a few months before–and there he found breadcrumbs, but enough to sink his opponents campaign, he supposed. A few arrests for prostitution ought to do it, right? With the files in hand, he drove back home, but when he got to his house…the lights were on, but his wife’s car was gone. He went inside, and there, sitting in his chair, was Todd, smoking one of his thick cigars, clad in less leather than usual–but much more provocative choices. A thick banded harness, a vest, leather chaps with a jock holding his cock and balls, thick boots, and always those gloves.

“Hello Sheriff–Maise asked me to give you a message. She’s taken the girls and gone–apparently, she was tired of the…beatings. You’re quite a beast, it seems, from the bruises she showed me. I can’t say I’m surprised–do you know how common domestic abuse is in the homes of law enforcement? I must say I’m disappointed in you all the same–you had such a reputation as a family man.”

My Town (Part 8)

“Well? Go on then, get out. You don’t want to be late to work, do you?”

Todd was in the driver’s seat of his brother’s truck, and they were parked on the street, a block down from the construction project where he’d spied on him the day before. His brother was in the seat beside him, crushed up into the cabin as best he could. He hadn’t really realized how large he’d grown, until he’d climbed into the cab, knees crunched up to his chest, head bent over to keep from being pressed against the ceiling. He…didn’t want to get out. He didn’t want anyone to see him, not looking like this.

Todd had not been kind to his brother during the night–he’d left marks, purposeful ones, all over his brother’s aching body. Lash marks across his ass and back onto his shoulders and neck, cigar burns on his thighs, bruises all over, including a black eye he’d given him, after feeling a brush of teeth on his cock while his brother had been giving him head. He looked battered and broken–and the clothes his brother had given him to wear this morning hid nothing–just a pair of short denim shorts, pockets hanging out the bottom like the daisy dukes Kyle had chased in his teens, and a t-shirt cropped short, showing off the welts across his lower back, where the hair didn’t cover them up. He looked over at Todd, pouting slightly with his fat lip. “Please bro…please, can we just go home? You…you can fist me, all you want, but don’t…I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Oh Kyle, I can fist you all I want, no matter what,” he said, slapping his face lightly, but enough to make Kyle flinch slightly, “But right now, what I want, is for your whole crew–hell, for the whole damn town–to see you looking like a beaten piece of meat, dressed like a fucking whore. Now get out of the car, and lets go get you to work.”

Kyle fought, but his body obeyed all the same–his brother’s voice didn’t give him a choice. Without thinking about it, he took a cigar and lit it, which eased his nerves slightly, and he waited for his brother to get out and come around to the sidewalk with him. “They…they won’t even recognize me, will they?”

“Maybe not a first, no, but that’s why I’m coming with you,” Todd said, “To make sure they know who you are, and what you’re for,” he said, slapped Todd on the ass right in front of an older couple walking down the street, who looked away in shock and disgust. Kyle…didn’t know what to feel. He was almost thankful for his now shrunken cock, at the moment, so no one could see how hard he was, and he squeezed the dildo in his ass, thankful he was at least plugged. He thought about the older man, thought about him turning around and calling him out on his shame, calling him a whore, shoving him against the wall and beating him, making him suck his cock right here in the street, and he turned back and tried to get back in the truck–only for Todd to grab him with a gloved hand and drag him back.

“Please…please, I don’t want to be this, I don’t want to do this…”

“Do you know, Kyle, how many times I had to walk the halls of school with a black eye, or a swollen nose?” Todd said, linking his arm in his brother’s, and walking him the block to the construction site, where Kyle could see his co-workers–his friends–gathering to get started for the day. “More times than I can really count. At least you enjoy it. At least everyone seeing you as the muscle bound slut masochist turns you on more than anything. You know what I think? You’re afraid you’re going to like this. You’re afraid you’re going to like this so much you’re going to want it. And you know what, Kyle? You’re right.”

They rounded the corner, and Kyle saw the first couple guys see him, and look shocked. Then came the recognition, a moment later. “Kyle? Is…what the fuck happened to you, man?”

His face was red. He couldn’t speak. He wanted to die, he wanted them all to fuck him. He wanted to be humiliated. He wanted it all to stop.

“Just a normal night, right guys?” Todd said, as the men clustered around them, eyes going a bit cloudy from his smoke, looking at the older fellow walking with their muscle bound worker, “I mean, which one of you guys here hasn’t spent a night with your crew slut, beating him while he begs for more, fisting his hole, covering his face with spunk? I bet every single one of you has, right? You can remember, can’t you Kyle?”

He could remember. He could remember them all, and Kyle realized he was forgetting as well. Forgetting all the women he chased and battered, all of the conquests, all of the macho posturing he’d wasted his life with. No–he remembered better now, remembered all the men he’d slept with, all the cruel, vile things they’d done to him, that he’d begged them to do to him. The men around him, the eyes were turning cruel, the mouths twisting into leers, more than one of them rubbing their cocks through the front of their pants, thinking about their last nights with Kyle, and thinking about how they could use another one soon.

“Is that fucking Kyle? You fucking piece of fucking shit, you’re late again!” An older man, the foreman, pushed himself through the circle of men, and met Todd, who brushed him with his gloved hands, warping him just slightly, and Kyle fell to his knees in front of him. “Sorry…sir, I’m sorry. I just had to help my brother out, and I lost track of time. I can make it up to you right sir?”

Todd pushed the cigar into the foreman’s mouth, and stepped away. “Yeah, you can make it up to me, in the trailer, you fucking slut. Get going.”

Kyle booked it into the trailer, and for the next several hours, the men listened to the cries and screams of their crew slut, as the foreman worked him over, and when the foreman stumbled out, sweaty and exhausted, he sent each member of the crew in for a break, like usual. By the end of the night, Kyle was limping along with Carl, a particularly thickly forearmed bricklayer, already hungry for a night with his ass full of him–and whatever else he might feel like doing to him. He deserved it after all–but he needed it, more than anything.

My Town (Part 7)

He started towards me, ready to swing, but my gloves were faster–they went right to his massive tits and tugged on them, and the blast of pleasure scattered every thought of hurting me, and he just stood there, jaw slack, eyes distant, groaning as I twisted and tugged at his nipples, growing them until each was larger and meatier than the puny cock between his legs. I grabbed each of his hands and brought them to his tits–he started playing with them of his own will now, no longer even thinking of violence–no, my brother would look like a brute, but violence, from now on, would be the furthest thought from his mind. I had him bend over, face pressed to the wall of his trailer, ass out, and I slid the first two fingers of one gloved hand into his hole.

I’d needed that fuck–I’d needed to get it out of the way, so I could get to the real task at hand. Two fingers, then three, and then my whole glove fist slid into him, my brother moaning and howling in pain, but he wanted it–he wanted it more than he could even understand, and with my hand in him, I could find his prostate, and I began milking it, swelling it larger, until it went from the size of a golf ball, and became an orange, throbbing inside him, and the first orgasm ripped through his body. He cried and hollered in a deep voice, but just a few dribbles of cum fell from the tiny cock he now had. The orgasm itself, however, lasted for nearly a minute, and by the end of it he was sweating and shaking, his legs giving out as he slid down further onto my forearm, my other hand eager to join in, and slowly, I stretched his hole even further, until both of my gloves were inside him, pleasing him, his mind going numb from pleasure and desire, forcing him to have orgasm after wracking orgasm, until he collapsed to the floor, quivering, pale, and panting, begging and mewling, though I couldn’t tell if he was asking me to stop, or if he was asking for more. I doubt he even really knew what he wanted himself. Still, I figured he wouldn’t try anything for a few minutes, and I went back to my car, dug around for his presents, and went back inside the trailer, where he still hadn’t recovered.

“Alright Kyle,” I said, “I’m going to be sleeping here tonight, just to keep an eye on you, until we can finish you off tomorrow. I’ll be taking the bed of course–a beast like you will be plenty comfortable on the floor, won’t you?”

“F-fuck…” he muttered, and tried to push himself up as best he could, but could only really manage to get to his knees, where he looked at me. He was trying to be angry–he really was. It was only his natural reaction, after all, but I was breaking him of that, slowly. Instead, I could see something else, a dullness to his eyes, a hunger there as well. “How…the fuck did you…fuck…”

“Don’t worry so much, bro,” I said, walking over to him, one glove rubbing his head, the hair there falling away until it was a smooth dome, the other hand gripping his jaw, thick stubble sprouting into a full, wiry beard a second later. His face shifted too, slightly–not so much as to make him unrecognizable, but his brow thickened, his mouth widened, his eyes sunk slightly and his nose and ears both expanded. “You won’t have to worry about much going forward. Your only concern is going to be finding enough cock for that ass and throat of yours, and finding enough men to abuse you to make that little cock of yours spurt. But that’s for later–for now…for now, I need you here, with me. For one night, I want my brother in there, worshiping me, serving me, hanging on my every word, begging for my cock, begging for whatever sort of abuse I might feel like giving you.” My hands were tightening on his skull now, worming into his thoughts, “I want you to want me to hurt you. I want you to want all of the abuse you’ve given me over the years. I want you to want to suffer–it’ll be more fun that way, trust me.”

I walked over to the duffel bag I’d brought in with me, unzipped it, turned it over, and let the contents fall to the floor in front of him. Massive dildos, tit clamps, candles, cigars, a humbler, handcuffs, rope, flogger, whip, and plenty else for us to play with. His eyes latched onto the largest dildo of all, right away–a black rubber replica of a fist and forearm, at least two feet long. He tore his eyes away and up to mine, both terrified and desperate.

“You want that in you, don’t you, you fucking slut?”

All he could do was nod.

“Well go on then. I know how that ass of yours gets, when you haven’t been punchfucked in a few minutes. Then we’ll introduce you to your other new friends.”