Remembrances – Episode 2 (Part 1)

Peter pulled into the Oak River Retirement Center, parked, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, tried to figure out what in the world was going on. He was here to visit his dad–he knew that somehow–but his dad didn’t live here, did he? Didn’t his dad live on the other side of the country? Yet, here he was, sitting in his parked car, about to go visit him, and trying to figure out what in the world was missing. For the last couple of days, it had felt like there was some gigantic hole in his life, one he could barely begin to fathom or understand, and so he had just been hiding from it this entire time– trying his hardest to pretend it wasn’t there…but now that he was here the feeling was only getting stronger.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet he didn’t have a choice; he had to visit his father. The father who shouldn’t even be here, as far as he could even recall. Full of apprehension, he got out of the car, walked inside, and followed the signs to his father’s room upstairs. Outside, there was some…smell coming from the door, something like smoke. He knocked, and after a moment the door opened, and Peter found himself facing the same nurse who had been so nice to him a few days before.

“Ah, Peter! There you are. We were beginning to get a bit anxious,weren’t we Harry?”

There was some sort of grunt from inside the room, but if it was words, Peter hadn’t been able to make out what his father had said.

“How is he doing?” Peter asked.

“Well!” the nurse said, then paused, “Or at least better than he was doing when he arrived. I’ve gotten him all settled in, and now that he’s surrounded by his things, he’s doing much better recalling memories, names, that sort of thing. But…well, I still don’t think he remembers you very clearly, so don’t be…shocked if he says some stuff that seems out of character, or…well, outright mean. Your dad does have a…gruff streak, I’m sure you’re familiar with.” The nurse gave him a wink. “Oh, and my name is Ferris, I don’t think I properly introduced myself before.”

Peter shook his hand, and then followed him into the apartment, and Peter found himself feeling…confused. None of these things were his father’s…and the man sitting in the recliner, watching TV was most certainly not the father he remembered. He could see the same look of confusion on the strange old man’s face as well–clearly he was not in the right place. But before he could voice his confusion, apologize for intruding, and leave, he looked up and found himself caught in the nurse’s eyes…and then nothing else particularly mattered beyond that.

“Say hello to your father, Peter,” Ferris said.

“Hi…Dad…” he muttered, and the old man looked at Mr. Elory like he was an idiot.

“I thought you said that my son was coming over. That is not my son, he can’t be.”

“Now Harry, we discussed this. You said you would be nice when your son arrived, even if you didn’t quite remember him exactly.”

“That,” Harry said, pointing a finger very forcefully in Peter’s direction, “That fellow can not be my son, Wilbur! You know that as well as I do. What kind of game are you playing, trying to pull a fast one on me? I…I might not remember much very clearly, but I know I’d never raise a limp wristed little faggot like that!”

The words stung, but Peter didn’t really mind–but why had his dad called Ferris, ‘Wilbur’? His dad obviously wasn’t in his right mind. “I, uh, can come back some other time, when he’s feeling more like himself.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Elroy said, wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and pulled him deeper into the smoky sitting area, and sitting him down on the sofa there, to the side of Harry’s recliner. “This is just what he needs. He’s never going to remember you of you don’t spend some time together. Why don’t we all discuss some of our favorite memories? I bet that will help your dad remember you better.”

But Peter wasn’t listening. Peter was just staring off into space, a happy little grin on his face, not really here nor there. Satisfied that Peter was occupied for the moment, Mr. Elroy turned to Harry, “It is a bit disappointing, isn’t it? I would have expected your son to be more like you too, Harry. Strong, with a good work ethic. Someone who’d want to be working with their hands, not at a computer all day.”

“He don’t even smoke,” Harry said.

“That he doesn’t,” Mr. Elroy said, “But you know, maybe we can do something about that, Harry, just you and I.” He walked over to where Harry was sitting, put a hand on his shoulder, and heard Harry moan slightly at his touch. “See, I don’t think your son remembers you too clearly either. I think that if he had a clearer memory of his childhood…well, that might clarify a few things for him. He might even end up with a whole new perspective on who he is. Family can do that, you know, and memories are such…a powerful thing.”

***

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Patreon Suggested Stories – June 2018 | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

I have three short stories for my Patrons this month, all based on their suggestions. Here’s one I wrote for them last month, which was too early to post then, and is too late to post now, but oh well, happy Father’s Day anyway.

Happy Father’s Day From Arctos

Jace and his dad, Patrick had never really seen eye to eye on anything, especially not since Jace had become a teenager. Patrick had spent his whole life pursuing the middle class dream, and now in his mid-fifties, he’d achieved it. The big house in the suburbs, a good wife, a handsome son. Sure–his life wasn’t exactly exciting–he spent the week working as a middle manager at a technology company in the city, and the weekends were usually spent golfing and relaxing at home. He liked the simple, boring life though, and he’d hoped his son would be the kind of boy he’d wanted–playing golf with him, playing baseball or football at school. A good student with an interest in business, going to college–but Jace had wanted anything but that, and his teenage years had been one rebellion after another. Growing his hair out, getting into music and trying to start a band in the garage, refusing to take golf lessons or play sports, and Patrick was almost certain he was a stoner too–but Jace was clever, and hadn’t gotten caught, yet. His wife generally stayed out of it, and after years of fighting over it, Patrick had more or less resigned himself to accepting that his son was going to do his own thing–and probably fail at it, but he refused to listen to reason.

Jace was eager to get out and live on his own. He didn’t want to go to college–he was more interested in trying to make it as a musician than studying or anything. He hadn’t quite figured out how to break that to his father yet, though–so he decided to try and smooth things over a bit and get on his good side, before dropping the hammer over the summer that he wasn’t going to apply for school anywhere. And so, he found himself in a store, looking around for a Father’s Day card he could give his dad, along with the gift of some golf balls–it was stupid, but he knew his dad cared a little too much about stupid shit like that. He didn’t pay much attention to the card he grabbed–it came from a novelty rack sponsored by some company called Arctos. He signed it at home, and then left it on his dad’s desk in his office, where Patrick would see it when he got home from golfing in the early afternoon, before going out into the garage to practice.

He was too absorbed in his playing to hear the shout of alarm coming from the house after his dad got home, found the card, and opened it. Patrick had been touched to get anything from his son this year, since usually he pretended that Father’s Day didn’t exist, or just called it a corporate scam. But when he’d opened the card, a thick cloud of smoke had exploded out of it, engulfing him, and when it cleared, he felt…strange, and looked stranger. He stumbled to the bathroom down the hall, and saw that his gold outfit had disappeared. In it’s place, he was wearing a strange assortment of leather gear, and his body was all wrong too. He had hair all over the place, for one thing, with a thick bushy beard down to his chest. But as shocking as it was, he…looked good, and looking at himself all leathered up, he thought he’d pay his boy a visit, so they could celebrate Father’s Day properly.

Out in the garage, he yanked out the power cord to Jace’s guitar, and before he could react, he had him pinned to the wall, kissing and groping him, more smoke emerging from him and swirling around Jace–though he didn’t change as much as his father, at least not physically. He found himself helplessly obeying his father’s commands, and there was nothing he could do as the smoke around them turned his guitar and music equipment into a sling and sex dungeon right there in the garage, where his father used his boy all afternoon and evening, making sure he was properly broken in.

Things were different for them both, from that day on. Patrick’s wife had disappeared from their lives, leaving just the two of them living in the house together, as father and son, and as lovers. Jace tried a few times to talk some sense into his ‘Daddy’, as he now always called him, but while Patrick could remember their old life just fine, he much preferred this new arrangement. Jace, in a desperate effort, tried to run away, but his daddy hunted him down, and Patrick told him he would have to be punished for his disobedience. After a long night in the dungeon, and after the same smoke from the card emerged from his father and surrounded Jace, he found himself in a rather different body than before–still young, but his long hair was cut into the same style as his father now, and his thin frame was now short and pudgy, his six inch cock cut in half–which Daddy promptly locked away for the rest of the summer, as a way of encouraging his boy to be on his best behavior.

But Jace’s rebellious streak died hard, that summer. His father took over his life–what he wore (his band shirts replaced with business casual, or nothing at all when he was at home), who he hung out with (his bandmates never knew why he stopped hanging out with them, but Patrick entertained the other dads of the neighborhood regularly, and all of them had their fun with Jace’s holes), and what he did with his time (he played round after round of golf with his daddy, but was also in charge of keeping house and cooking meals, since Daddy didn’t have time for it, with work). He fought back, but every time he did, his father would drag him back out into the garage, the smoke would return, and change something else. He got older, aging up into his forties at first, and then even further, passing his father in age and ending up at sixty-two, though he would always be the boy in the relationship. He lost all the hair on his body, and most of the hair on his head, his voice shifting higher and picking up a femme touch–something that drove daddy wild, when he listened to his boy beg for him to fuck him every night like the little slutty boy he was, and by the end of the summer, he’d resigned himself to his new life as his one-time father’s subby boy, and the slut of the entire neighborhood to boot.

Whispers (Sketch)

“What’s wrong bro? It looks like your arms are starting to shake a bit. It’s only been half an hour.”

Devin kept stroking his brother’s cock, watching him struggle against the mental control he had placed on him when he’d gotten home from college. The little faggot–he didn’t know how it had happened even, but he was helpless. There was just…a voice in his mind, a whisper, and he couldn’t shut it out–and he couldn’t move. Jerome been in this plank position long enough that his muscles were screaming at him to stop, but it was hopeless–he wouldn’t break it until his little brother allowed him to move again–whenever that might be.

They’d never really gotten along as brothers. Well, really, Jerome had bullied him every day after he found out his brother was gay, and their father had as well. But they were older now–both in college, and they’d largely resigned themselves to the fact that Devin was gay–but apparently Devin hadn’t forgiven them. He just kept stoking Jerome’s cock, watching it leak precum onto the floor, smiling the whole while, the whispers growing louder, until they were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. “Oh goody, Daddy’s home!” Devin said, “I’ve been wanting you to see this.”

It was a few minutes before their father came in–or at least, the man who looked somewhat like his father. He was…massive, and seemed so much older than he had been, with a thick gut, hair all over, the white beard stretching down to his chest, the cigar clamped in his jaw. “There’s my boys,” he said with a grin, and Devin went to him and kissed him–and not in a familial way. Devin tried to look away, but his eyes were glued to his brother and father as they sucked on each other’s face. His father pulled away and looked down at Jerome, “Fuck, what a handsome young man–can…can I use him yet?”

“No daddy–we discussed this,” Devin said, “He was a very, very bad boy. We have to punish him, don’t we? He doesn’t get your cock–that’s only for good boys like me, right daddy?”

“Of-Of course, boy, you’re right–you know yer daddy isn’t too smart–only really good for fuckin.”

And they fucked right there, in front of Jerome, his body screaming in pain, unable to look away from his brother, wondering how he had done this to their father–not just warped his mind…but his body too. Daddy came, filling Devin’s ass with his cum, and then left, leaving the brothers alone again. “Alright, you can go down now,” Devin said, and Jerome collapsed to the floor, shaking and panting. He tried to get up and run, but he was too weak to even push himself upright.

“What…what the fuck did you do to dad?”

“Daddy you mean? Isn’t he handsome?” Devin said, “I always had a crush on him you know–even before he got even hotter. I helped with that. Turned him into a proper leather daddy bear, nice and rough, always smoking a cigar. Of course, he knows that it’s his boy who calls the shots around here…and he squeals like a piggy when I fuck his ass–you’ll see.”

“You can’t do this–this is so–”

“Wrong, I don’t have to do anything. All I have to do is plant the little whisper of an idea in your simple little minds, and you do everything for me. Now, why don’t you crawl on down into the basement? Everything is ready for you down there, and what you’re going to do, is…” Devin said, and pushed his mouth closer, close enough that, to Jerome, he could almost feel his brother’s tongue sliding into his mind, his eyes glazing over as he crawled away to the basement steps, Devin watching, knowing his brother would be in a much better mindset soon enough.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? His muscles screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t.

This is what he had to do, after all. What he was…made to do. The whispers in his head, he couldn’t really understand what they were saying, but they were changing him–warping him, just like he was certain they had warped his father. He had to fight them. Fight the bad voices, trying to tell him lies.

The bad voices telling him he wasn’t a gimp. An object. A rubber thing to be used by his two masters. The bad voice telling him to stop sucking the gag in his mouth, to stop riding the dildo in his ass. The bad voices telling him his cock shouldn’t be locked up–no, he had been bad, very bad. He didn’t deserve to have a mind, or thoughts, or anything at all. All he deserved to be used, and abused.He was winning though. The bad voices were getting quieter every day, leaving his mind empty–a blank slate for his master to toy with. Maybe one day, there wouldn’t be anything at all. Nothing left of him, just a thing. He could…see it.

Chained in the basement, covered in rubber that never came off. Cock sealed away, or maybe removed all together. It didn’t matter–it wasn’t there to feel anything, after all. Rear hole plugged, ready for dildos, or fists, or anything its masters desired. Front hole fitted with a funnel, ready to receive piss or cum, or anything from its masters thought it should eat or drink. It’s body was flabby from the fattening gruel it was fed–that, and it hadn’t walked anywhere in…months, or maybe years. Or at least, no further than the sling and the rack, when it had been good enough to earn a night spent hooked up to the fucking machine. After all, it was too filthy a thing to be fucked with a cock–no, it had never had a cock inside it…and it ached for it. Hoped that one day, it might earn the right to service its masters properly…but until then, it would serve as required.

That’s what the good voices were saying. That’s what he had to listen to, what he had to focus on. He would get better soon, he knew he would. He would be exactly what he was supposed to be, and everything would be alright, and at last, there would be silence.

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.”

My Town (Part 6)

My other hand grabbed him by the jaw, three leather fingers finding their way into his mouth, forcing it open, running over his teeth, sloppy with his spit. They…wanted him. They wanted him bad, at least as badly as I did, as I always had. Without even noticing it, one glove had opened the fly of my jeans, hauled out my now larger cock, and was giving it a few strokes–and I felt it growing even larger now, nearly eight inches. “What do you think bro? Think your little brother is man enough for you?”

I didn’t give him a chance to answer, and plunged my cock into his mouth, forcing it down his throat, listening to his gag and moan, my gloves tugging at his clothes, ripping at them, hungry for the skin underneath. They knew what I wanted him to be–they knew what he deserved. My brother thought that strength was everything–that if he was bigger than everyone else, that meant that he got to be in charge. Well I was going to show him that size isn’t everything–that just because you’re the most massive, most brutish looking fucker in a room, doesn’t mean shit when I can get my gloves on you.

Both of my hands sweep across his back, and I watch it explode with muscle, his shoulders, neck and delts all swelling in size. He barely notices–his focus is entirely on my cock–right where it should be. From there, my gloves grope his chest, feeling his pecs grow thick and meaty, the nipples like bolts jutting from them. Hands on his arms, and his biceps, triceps–even his forearms swell, his hands doubling in size, easily large, and strong enough, to palm a watermelon. The hair comes next, a thick pelt forming all over his body, but most heavily on his shoulders, arms, back and chest, like a proper brute should have, in my opinion. I shove him over so he falls onto his back, straddle his wide chest, and kiss him, shoving smoke into his mouth, feeding it to him, and push my cigar in there once I’m done–he starts chuffing away at it, like a good little pig. “Alright big boy, bend over. Let me see how that ass is.”

Without even thinking to question it, he struts over to the bed–which is quite a sight, really, given how top heavy he’s become in the last few minutes. He manages to keep himself upright, however, and bends over, my gloves diving right for his ass, swelling both cheeks into thick globes, then down onto his thighs and calves, swelling them larger, the bones thickening and growing longer, pushing him up to a new height of nearly seven feet tall. Then, his feet–rubbing them both until they’re well over size twenty…and then I can’t resist it anymore. I dive in, licking at his ass for a minute, listening to him groan and open up slightly, and then slam my cock in, nice and rough.

While I fuck him, the gloves turn their attention to me–swelling me up in the same fashion as my brother, though not nearly as large. I can see myself aging again as well–a bit more white a grey sprinkled in my chest hair and beard…but I don’t care, and I light myself a second cigar, since my brother is well occupied with my first one. I’m a smoking hot daddy bear at this point, and this muscle pig of a brother is moaning and begging for me to fuck him harder, and harder…but I have one more thing before I cum. I roll him over, throw his legs up in the air, and keep fucking him–but I can see his cock now as well. It was always quite large–one of his best qualities, really. But now, at his new size, it actually looks quite small–but not nearly small enough. I grip it in one gloved hand–both cock and balls, and I squeeze, feeling them contract and shrink as I apply more and more pressure, until there’s barely any left of either–just an inch long micro cock, buried in the massive forest of my brother’s pubic bush, and a tiny, tight sack with two balls smaller than grapes. Looking at him, at this massive fucker with a miniscule cock, moaning for me to fuck him harder, and deeper around my thick cigar–it’s too much. I explode, deep inside him with a shout, but keep fucking until I fall out soft. It’s done, mostly. The physical side, at least. His head is mostly still there–I want him to see what I made him, before I turn him into the man he’s going to be from now on.

He keeps sucking down smoke, and finally sits up, staring down at himself, his hairy body, and his missing cock–he stares at me blankly until he finally puts everything together, and his eyes go wide in terror. “You…Bro, what the fuck…what the fuckin’ hell did you fuckin’ do to me?”

I smile at him, and light a second cigar for myself. “Trust me Kyle, it’s going to be so much better this way, for us both.”

“But I’m…I’m fuckin’ huge, bro! I…and I can’t…fuck, I…I’m so fuckin; horny bro, I’m so…” His hand doesn’t go to his cock, though–it goes to his ass, two fingers sliding inside himself while he groans, eyes wide, trying to understand why he just did that, and why he wants to keep doing it, and hell, if my cock isn’t twitching already, hungry and desperate for another round with him. “I…Fuck, I wanna get fucked again bro, ya turned me into a fuckin’ faggot!” He pulled his hand free, and I could see how much it pained him–he wanted it in there, he needed something in there. His eyes were narrowing–I could see the gears turning, as he went back to his anger, the shock and horror beginning to fade. He knew how big he was–and even if I was larger too, he knew he was still bigger than I was. And if he was bigger than me, then he could take me–or so he thought.

My Town (Part 5)

Kyle, Todd’s older brother, had always been a brute. Even when they were kids, long before Todd had realized anything about his sexuality, he had known that, in his family’s house, there was only one true law of power, and that was sheer physical might. Perhaps, had his brother not been such a violent bully, things would have turned out differently for everyone, but as it was, he had never once allowed Todd to forget that Kyle was the one with the might. That the only person who could usurp him was their father, and so, when they were alone, he had no choice but to obey, or face the consequences.

Now that he was an adult, his violence had served his less successfully. He worked in construction, one of the few jobs around here where he could exercise his might, and still hadn’t settled down, despite being nearly thirty, and had instead settled for a series of relationships with young women he’d attempted to beat into submission. If he’d been smarter about it, he likely could have controlled them with it, like a normal abuser, but for Kyle, it was only violence that mattered–even Todd, as a child, had recognized his brother didn’t have the instinct for control, only power. It was a shame really–with more mindful violence, in this town, in this world, he could have been someone.

Instead, he lived in a trailer park, respected only because he remained nominally within their father’s orbit. He worked, and he worked out, and he worked over whatever bitch he happened to be seeing at the moment, who hadn’t yet wised up to his brother’s abusive games, or who had been lured back by his relative charm and occasional stability. The next morning, Todd relaxed around his father’s home, still a bit hungover from the rush of the day before, taking in the changes of his own body the gloves had brought on. It was a curse, allegedly, but to Todd it was a curse he was more than happy to live with. For the first time, looking in the mirror, he saw a man looking back at him, a man he’d always pictured in his head, a body he’d always desired but never been able to achieve. He was horny too, and the gloves were more than happy to encourage that, stroking him gently, but as hard as he tried to push himself over the edge, the gloves held back, merely milking his longer cock to near orgasm. They knew what he had in mind, they knew what they really wanted. Frustrated, he threw on some clothes, now a bit ill-fitting, climbed in his father’s truck and decided to stalk his brother for a bit, until their meeting in the afternoon.

He found him working on some road work downtown, and took up a spot in a small restaurant across the way where he could observe. He was…big, but not as big as he had always seemed in his memories. In fact, he seemed…almost disappointingly small after all of these years–maybe five foot ten, two hundred and twenty pounds. Thick, certainly, but he’d gone a bit to pot as well over the years. In any case, he was no longer the ripped jock stalking him in the hallways of his childhood. Still, the years hadn’t bruised his ego, apparently–he could see how he interacted with everyone on the site, the air of assumed superiority, it had him gritting his teeth, gloves aching to touch and beckon and work on him, but he waited.

He followed him home to his trailer, gave him a few minutes to settle, and then pulled up and parked, taking a moment to light himself a cigar in the cab, the smoke helping to settle his eagerness, and then he got out and walked up to the door. It took Kyle a few moments to answer, and it was clear, when he saw the stranger on the steps, he had absolutely no clue who Todd was–then again, Todd wouldn’t have recognized himself either.

“Who the fuck are you? I ain’t buying anything,” Kyle said, “Get off my property if you don’t want your face beaten in.”

It was a classic line, really. How many times had he said that to Todd when they were kids?

“Come on now Kyle, no time for a brother?” Todd said, and while it took him a couple of seconds to click the gears together, he saw recognition light up his face.

“Holy shit, Todd? What the…you fucking faggot, what the fuck are you even doing back here? Dad’s gonna have a fit if he sees you, you fuck, I oughta kick your fucking ass for showing up here, you piece of shit…”

“Trust me bro, Dad has much bigger worries at the moment–I’m here to see you.”

Todd could see the thought forming in Kyle’s mind, the violence short circuiting the rest of his reasoning, but before he could threaten and then follow through, he reached out one gloved hand and laid it on his brother’s shoulder, and saw his eyes glaze slightly.

“Bro, let me in–we need to have a conversation, don’t you think?”

Kyle found himself nodding, and when Todd gave him a gentle push back, he stepped away from the doorway and let Todd step into the trailer, the screen door shutting behind him.

“How…what the fuck was that?” Kyle asked, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” Todd said, taking a long drag off his cigar and blowing the smoke into the trailer’s air. “Or I suppose, you can worry about that if you want, but trust me Kyle, pretty soon, you won’t be worrying about much of anything anymore.”

He was getting ready to strike. Todd could see all of his tells. He let the fist come flying, and he caught it in one gloves hand, gently, and Kyle let off a groan, his knees giving way in sudden pleasure. “I don’t think you’ll be trying that anymore, bro. We need to find a better way for you to…express yourself, don’t you think? Your fists have done enough talking for a lifetime. I want to hear some moans from now on.”

My Town (Part 4)

His dad left the stall and looked at his new figure and clothes in the grungy mirror, and true to his son’s words…it didn’t bother him at all. He knew it should, and he felt humiliated, but his small cock was rock hard in his jeans at the sight of the big bellied trucker he’d become in less than a minute.

“Something is still missing, I think–ah, of course! An old fuck like you, I bet you’d be smoking something like this,” Todd said, and again, his glove whipped out a small curved pipe, which he slipped into the pocket of his vest, “That’s for later–for now, why don’t we go have some real fun?” Todd said, with one hand on his father’s shoulder, he leaned in and started whispering into his dad’s ear, a grin twisting on his face as he did. All Edwin could do was listen, his jaw dropping in horror at what his son was telling him to do–at what his son was going to make him do–but by the time Todd was finished speaking…he wanted to do it too, and he groped his puny dicklet a couple of times, hiked the ass of his grimy jeans up, turned around and left the bathroom.

He surveyed the bar for a moment–it was much busier than it had been when he and his son had arrived, so many more…options. For a moment he looked at a table of rough construction workers enjoying some beers after work, but his eyes drew him to what he knew he wanted–what his son knew he wanted too. The thicket of bikers who had come in an hour ago, now quite drunk and clustered around the pool table after a long day’s ride. They were no group of hobbyists either–and looking at the grizzled fuckers over there, Edwin knew what he wanted–what he needed, and walked over to them.

Todd just watched as his father waded into the gang, and begged biker after biker to drag him into the bathroom and fuck his dirty trucker hole, loud enough so the whole bar could hear what was going on. The bikers didn’t know what to think about it, for a moment, and just ignored him, but Edwin didn’t like that, so he pushed things further, and started groping them, egging them on. That, it turned out, was a bad idea. Two bikers grabbed him under the arms and hauled him out the front door, the rest of the clientele giving them plenty of room as the rest of the gang followed them out, ready to give the faggot a proper beating in the parking lot. After they left, the bar picked up where things left off, and Todd slipped out, taking a spot on the porch of the bar, where he could see the ring of bikers form around his father, see him fall to his knees and beg for their cocks again, helplessly, terrified out of his mind, and then the first punch connected with his face.

The punch–the gloves shivered, and unable to stop himself, they took control of Todd’s hands, forcing open the front of his pants, one glove stroking his cock roughly, the other tugging at his balls, pulling them away from his body hard enough that he could almost hear the skin stretching. He deserved this, he thought, watching the bikers beat his father, his now faggot father, and still he was begging for a fuck–but he couldn’t stop. Todd knew he could do nothing–if he did nothing, the bikers would probably kill him, but that was better than his father deserved, it wasn’t…enough. The hand on his sack pulled away, took the cigar from his mouth, and whistled, loud and piercing, and every biker froze in place, turning to the stranger on the porch of the bar.

“Gentlemen,” Todd said, stepping down, feeling…taller. More imposing. Even a bit…older. His cock was still out, and he was still stroking it with his free hand, but none of the bikers seemed to mind this. “No, not gentlemen, nothing gentle about you lot, right?”

The bikers all laughed. It sounded forced, compelled from their lips.

“This has been a good show, I must say, but don’t you think it would be better for everyone if you simply gave the faggot what it wants? After all, what’s a gay biker gang without a sex slave pig to haul around with you, right?”

The bikers felt a wave pass through them. It left them feeling uneasy, and unsure of themselves–Todd could tell it wasn’t quite enough. He made eye contact with his father, eyes swollen, bloody mouth, a tooth lost on the ground beside him, and Edwin knew what he needed to do, what he had to say. “Please, I’m just a stupid faggot trucker. I’m worthless, with a tiny fuckin’ dick. I was made…to serve you, please let me be your biker bitch.”

“Come on guys, if one of you rough fucks hasn’t got a hardon, hearing that, then kill the pig.”

As it turned out, none of them were soft. With a few whoops, they headed for their bikes parked along the front of the bar, a couple dragging Edwin over and tossing him into a bitch seat. He glanced over at his son, eyes wide with terror, but Todd just sneered at him. “Don’t worry dad, you’ll be back home in a few days, probably.”

Edwin tried to shout something, but it was lost over the sound of the roaring engines. The gang took off, leaving Todd in the dust and smoke of his cigar, and with one more rough tug, his cock exploded all over the ground in front of him, his body shuddering. He fell to his knees, out of breath, mind heady with the rush of power he’d just wielded, to bend the wills of so many men, all at once–he’d known it would be possible, but the act of doing it was something else entirely. It was a minute before he could stand again, and when he did, he looked different. Taller by a few inches, shoulders wider, chest inflated with some muscle, a bit of grey in his beard. He went back to his father’s car and climbed in–he needed some sleep, and then, in the morning, he’d pay his brother a long overdue visit.