TV Repair (1 of 2)

“Dang, that TV a yers is actin’ up again? What is this, the third time this month? Maybe ya outta have some other tech come out ‘n look at it, since Bryce ‘n I haven’t been much help at all.”

“Ya sure? I mean, I appreciate the compliment–me ‘n Bryce have been workin’ out a bit lately, ain’t that right boy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Finally got this one whipped intah shape! Fuck, first time he came here with me, he was a bit a prick, wasn’t he? So much nicer now that he only speaks when spoken too–and so damn polite!”

“A cigar? Well, you know we can’t turn down one a yer cigars. Kinda started craving them a bit, actually. Bryce too. The wife ain’t too happy ‘bout me comin’ home, smellin’ like smoke, but fuck what she wants. What brand are these anyway? Might want tah pick up some fer mahself.”

“Really? Mail order? Dang–aw shoot, ya’d do that fer us? Thanks bud. Thank the nice man, Bryce.”

“Thank you sir, for giving us a supply of cigars.”

“That’s a good boy. Now, how bout we take a look at that TV a yers. Still doin’ the same staicy shit as before, huh? Well, we’ll try and git tah the bottom a this tahday, ‘n hopefully ya won’t have to see either of us again for a while! Go on boy, git down there, on yer knees–that’s it. Make room fer me too…n’…let’s focus….focus on the screen. See if we can…can look deep enough, find out what’s…the matter…

Source: somacho

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 1)

Every year. It was absolutely disgusting. Officer Wetzel could at least tolerate the pride parade in June–there was no modesty, but at least it wasn’t so…filthy. No, there were the drag queens, which were relatively harmless. The dykes on bikes, the…occasional man in leather or rubber, but this weekend, each year, the streets were clogged with them. Leather uniforms, rubber and latex body suits, men wearing next to nothing at all, men pretending to be dogs and pigs, the alleys stinking of piss even more than usual, as well as that sour odor he’d realized was cum a few years back, and was still hoping he could forget. Each year, he begged his Lieutenant not to force him to work that weekend–he’d request vacations, he’d try anything. Sometimes it worked, and then sometimes, like this year, he was stuck. Here, amidst the throngs, men leering all around at him as he scowled back, making sure they knew that his uniform wasn’t some fetishistic role play. Some of them still didn’t get the hint, and those were usually the ones who ended up with their face against the wall, and then in the drunk tank at the local precinct.

Still, it was only three days, one long weekend. That’s what he told himself, but it didn’t help matters much. If anything, he was becoming rather desensitized to the filth and perversion and whoring going on around him–and that alone was enough to worry him. No one should consider this normal. These displays were a modern Sodom; if only God would come down and wipe this place clean like he did Millennia ago. A little divine intervention, that’s exactly what this fucking city could use.

The day was wearing on him. It was mid afternoon, the heat still climbing even as the sun was starting to drop. His uniform was itchy and uncomfortable. This was just the first day, and he didn’t know if he was going to be able to take two more days of this filth without some well deserved police brutality. Maybe on the last day, when they were too drunk to care about reporting it. Still, considering some of the shit he’d broken up before, the pigs would probably just enjoy it, so what the hell was the point?

In his glum and dour mood, he hadn’t noticed the older fellow, a bit of a belly but quite muscled, shirtless and wearing a pair of tight leather pants, smoking a cigar and holding a beer, walk up and lean on the building beside him. “Well hello Officer,” he said, “You might be a bit more comfortable in this heat if you…took off a few layers. I could help, if you want.”

The man’s hand slipped closer, and Officer Wetzel recoiled, “Lay one of those pervert hands on me, and I swear to god, you’ll be in a jail cell so fast you won’t know what happened to you, faggot.”

“Oh my–I saw that you could use a little bit of temptation, but I suppose I hadn’t quite imagined how much.”

Officer Wetzel had had enough of this fuck–might as well get the bashing done early–as a plus, he’d have to spend the rest of the weekend doing paper work. He slipped his baton out of his holster, went to raise it up, when the man caught his wrist in a firm, sensual hold, and closed the space between them in an instant, lips inches apart, the air now mostly smoke. The cigar stank worse than most, with hints of coal and sulfur. They were in the shade of a building, but even in the shadow, the man’s eyes cast an odd glow, like a flame was reflecting in them. “Now now, officer Wetzel. Why don’t you relax for a little bit? Enjoy yourself a bit?” He glanced over at the people streaming along the sidewalk, caught the eye of some older faggot wearing only a collar and jockstrap, and pulled him closer with a beckoning finger. “How about you, cocksucker? You want to help Officer Wetzel here relax a bit?”

“Would I fucking ever!” he said, got down on his knees, right there on the sidewalk, and started opening the fly of his uniform pants. Wetzel tried to protest, he tried to shove the man away, clober him with the baton he still had raised in his hand, but he couldn’t move. The one hand, firm on his wrist, had frozen his entire body–or rather, everything but his cock, which grew hard as soon as the old pig took the head in his mouth. He was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t really be turned on by this faggot sucking his cock, could he? What kind of man was he? What kind of godly man was he?

“Oh, God isn’t here–God hasn’t come down here in a long time, Officer Beauregard Wetzel. But I come up here every year. And every year, I bring someone down to my level–and this year, I think that’s going to be you.”

Officer Wetzel’s eyes went wide, and he began to try harder to pull himself away, both from the stranger’s hand, and from the man sucking his cock. The man just gave a deep belly laugh, leaned in closer, locked lips with him, and blew the smoke deep. It was hot, so hot it hurt, deep inside him in a place he couldn’t quite identify. He tried to cough, but the force of the man’s breath just kept filling him up, making him light headed, his arm relaxing, the baton falling to the ground as his hand went limp. The man pulled away, gently, Wetzel following him without thinking about it, a slight moan escaping his lips.

“Oh officer, you droped your baton. You really should put that in a safer place, don’t you think?”

Officer Wetzel nodded. Careful to not disrupt the cocksucker, he squatted down and retrieved his baton, and allowed his pants and underwear to drop down around his boots. The thought was in his mind, and he was horrified. He wouldn’t do this to himself, he couldn’t do this, not here, not in front of these freaks. Indeed, men had started to slow, stop, and stare at the scene unfolding here. “Go on officer, I promise that there’s no place safer.”

Wetzel gave a quiet sob, and bent over, moving his baton to the opening of his asshole.

There’s a new party drug on the streets, produced by some strange company called Arctos, and it’s a doozy, as Avery found out, when he went out to a club on Saturday night with a couple of his friends. He noticed the two skinheads–not the usual clientelle of the bar’s he frequented as a college student–but he didn’t pay them any mind, until around his third drink–which he’d accidentally left at the table unattended for a few minutes. He began to feel a bit like he was floating, and before he could get help from his friends, the two skinheads had cornered him, and rather easily convinced him to go home with them instead.

This decision confused him, but he found himself unable to say no to either of their demands. They got back to their slummy apartment a few blocks from the bar, and they immediately made Avery strip…and he didn’t remember much after that, to be honest. But when he woke up, Avery wasn’t quite Avery anymore. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure who he was. His two mates in the apartment–Len and Jack–told him he was part of their crew…but that didn’t quite feel right somehow. He thought he was going to school or something, but his mates just laughed at him–Aver was too dull to ever think of going to college after all. Then they hauled out their cocks and fucked him at both ends…and Aver figured his mates were probably right.

His mates kept him drugged regularly–the entire personality usually reverts after a day or two, but with repeated doses, the person loses more and more sense of themselves, and eventually they lose their old self entirely. Poor Aver–he’s been with his mates for a year now, but he’s been dosed so many times, he barely has a mind left. He’s just their skinhead pup slave now–and will be forever. So mind your drinks–this is one drink you don’t want to have end up in your glass.

Source: gayskinfun

“Please, I’m sorry…just–fuck!–please, just let me stop!”

Mr. Goldman had been pounding on his nuts with his metal ruler for about twenty minutes now. I was just watching, enjoying myself. I’d tried to warn him about flunking me in his class, but some people just think they’re beyond the reach of punishment. I mean, I could have always just *made* him give me an A in the class–but then how would he have learned anything at all? The only way we can improve is by making mistakes, after all.

Still, I suppose he’s had enough pain for the moment. The next time he smacks his sack with the ruler, I see the pleasure light up his eyes, and he moans, with a tinge of confusion, before smacking himself again. They’d swelled slightly, in the course of regular punishment, but now they were expanding much faster, his sack bulging until it was the size of a softball, and then larger–large enough that it would be obvious in the front of any pants he wore, even as his cock shrank in size to little more than a nub.

“Oh fuck, how…how are you doing any of this?”

“Heh, if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I said, “Or figure out something worse than death, perhaps. Are you sure you want to know?”

His academic curiosity was sated, but I still had plenty of plans for my least favorite professor, and he had all summer to discover a brand new side of himself, with my help.

Gino’s New Job (Part 2)

Winston led Gino out of the office, the bartender giving the nude, zonked out stud a sly smile, remembering his interview with the boss all too clearly himself. They stopped in front of a small closet, the boss pawed through the gear inside, on shelves and hanging on rods, before pulling out a collection of rubber gear and shoving it at Gino, who just stared at it. He…he couldn’t really wear something like this, could he?

It turns out, after some encouragement from the boss, he was more than happy to pull on the gear. The rubber body suit clung to his muscles, and the whole crotch was exposed, giving him, and anyone else, easy access to both his cock and his ass. Lastly came the waders, which were a bit big on him, but the boss said Gino would be able to use his first earnings on a new set for himself, which he liked. The boss set him down in a chair, told Gino to play with his cock, and fetched an electric razor, buzzing his hair down to the scalp, and then shearing away his beard as well, leaving him with just a light stubble.

“Yes, that’s better–can’t have a bathroom boy looking too old, can we?”

“B-Bathroom boy?”

“That’s your new position, Gino. The one you applied for? You told me how much you love drinking piss, and licking toilets clean back in the office, right? I thought this would be perfect for you.”

Gino shook his head no, but the memories were already filling in, and after both his boss, and the bartender, fed him their loads of piss, the craving was real, and aching. Since the bar was still slow, they fucked him at both ends, and the boss sent him to the bathroom to get ready for the evening.

His duties were to clean the urinals out, lick the toilet seats clean, serve the customers as a urinal himself, unless he was busy as a cumdump at either end. His first night, the Gino, the real Gino, fought hard, where he was locked away in this new identity, but the next night was easier, and the night after that too. Boss says if he keeps it up, he might even get a promotion one day, but Gino doesn’t really need one. Being a bathroom boy is everything he’s ever wanted, after all–why would he ever want to do anything else?

Source: knightsandprey

Gino’s New Job (Part 1)

Gino’s gut told him the place was a fag bar, even though he couldn’t be sure, but he was so desperate for a job at that point, that he didn’t even care if it was or not. It’s not like he was applying as some gogo dancer or anything, he was just looking to be a barback, or well, anything, really. Hell, washing dishes? Even cleaning toilets, if he had to. His unemployment was about to run out, and without much in the way of skills, he was just happy to have an interview, if nothing else.

The place had just opened for the day, though there was no one there aside from the staff. Looking around, he became a bit more certain that it was run for fairies, but a man not too much older than he was, in a tailored suit, spied him, walked over and gave him a firm handshake, introducing himself as Wilson. He was the owner, and he escorted Gino back to his office behind the bar, for the interview.

The interview went surprisingly well. Gino wasn’t exactly happy about having to take all of his clothes off as soon as they were alone, but he did need the job after all. The questions seemed…a bit personal, but Wilson was forgiving. Gino tried to convince him he was straight for quite a while, but it wasn’t too long before Gino realized he’d actually been gay all along. And that Wilson was…amazingly attractive. That he’d do anything his boss told him to do, anything at all.

That’s how he found himself on his knees, Eating out the back of his new boss’ pants, thanking him for offering him a job. It wasn’t going to be the barback position, apparently, and Wilson was rather vague regarding what it would entail, but he assured Gino he’d enjoy his work so much, he’d never imagine trying to get another job, ever again. Gino wasn’t really paying attention–he was thinking about how much better it would be if he could get his tongue against his boss’ hole, instead of just the suit, but before either of them had really had their fun, Wilson told him to stop, and straightened himself up.

“First things first, Gino, let’s get you into your uniform–then we probably have time for some training before your first shift tonight–how does that sound?”

Source: homobeing

The Dark Mind (Part 4)

“Not again,” he thought, as he rolled over on the floor. He must have passed out again–apparently, those four days without sleep were still catching up with him. Still, he could see from the tiled floor that he was still in the lab, if nothing else, so he couldn’t have been out for too long. He picked himself up, every muscle in his body protesting, feeling like his frail body had just tried to run a marathon. Once he was standing, however, he noticed two things in succession. First, his lab was a disaster area. All of his carefully organized samples and notes were scattered about, beakers and vials broken everywhere. His work–he hurried about, looking for things, but his personal computer was smashed to bits on the floor, anything paper had been ripped apart or burned, even textbooks. It looked like whoever had done this hadn’t quite known what to destroy–and so they’d just tried to destroy everything. It had been enough. This would set him back weeks, if not months. The most important information was all in his head, but without equipment, what it the world was he going to do? It was then, also, that he noticed the time. He’d arrived at the lab in the early afternoon, but it was just slightly passed dawn. He went over and checked the time, but it was the date that shocked him–he’d just lost three days.

That accounted for why he suddenly felt so well rested. He was interrupted by a light in the hallway–he didn’t know who it was, but someone was coming, and he was standing right in the middle of a lab he was pretty certain he had just destroyed. He quickly drew the blinds, hoping no one would notice and decide to check in on him, and once the footsteps had faded, he slipped out the door and out of the building. The damage would be discovered at some point, of course. No one would believe the truth of the matter–hell, he wasn’t even sure he believed it, and it was happening to him. Could he blame a rival researcher? A corporation? Nothing credible leapt to mind. He’d kept such a tight lid on his work, even his advisor hadn’t quite known what he was working on exactly. No, best to just get home. Get home, get out of this stinking leather, figure out how to get his hands to stop shaking…

…Smoke…

Was that his thought, or something else? Either way, he knew that would help–calm him down, take the edge off his panic. He found a fresh supply of cigars in the inside pocket of the leather jacket he had on. The clothes he had on were different than the ones he could remember wearing before–leather pants and a black tank. He reeked of smoke and sex, and just smelling it–

…Horny…

Disgusted him, but at the same time, made his dick twitch. He took his first inhale of smoke, and his cock was at full mast, tenting out the front of the leather pants, as he tightened the belt a bit to keep the waistband from falling down, trying to not think about how much he could use a hole to fuck.

He took his usual route home, and, along the way he passed the same smoke shop he’d entered several days prior, but this time, from a block away, he could see the police car parked out front. Nervous, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he crossed to the other side of the street, and as he passed the shop opposite, he could see a couple of cops in the early morning searching the premises. An older woman was with them, a wad of tissues against her eyes. His dick twitched again, but this time he got an odd sense of anticipation with it, and he took a deeper breath of smoke, pushing it out his nose, picked up his pace towards his apartment, and arrived ten minutes later. He used his key in the door, opened it, and found himself facing an older, nearly naked man there, on his knees, head bowed. He looked up at Jordan’s confused face, letting him glimpse a moment a disappointment there, and then he dropped his head again. “Slave Jordan, please come in, you’re late.”

Jordan stepped inside the door, checking the hallway to make sure no one had seen anything, and once the door was shut and locked, he said, “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in my apartment?”

The older man didn’t move, and now that he got a better look at him…he recognized him, his stomach dropping out from under him. The owner of the pipe shop. He’d been so tired when they’d met, for that short moment, but even now, he could recognize him. “You…the cops are looking for you! They’re going to think I took you or something!”

“You didn’t take me, Slave Jordan, Master did. And I came willingly, and I would tell them that. Master didn’t see any need for me to have anymore communication with that old life.”

Jordan walked past him, and the older man stood and followed him into the apartment–before, his chest had been in shadow, but now, lit by the morning sun, Jordan saw a fresh, day old tattoo on stretching across from shoulder to shoulder–”Property of Master Harry.”

“I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you,” Jordan said.

“You didn’t do this to me,” Oliver said simply, “Master did. He marked you too.”

“What?”

Oliver walked up to him and pulled off the coat, and then hauled the tank off of him and walked him in front of a mirror. He could read it perfectly even though it was reflected backward–the same tattoo that Oliver had across his own chest. “He owns both of us–he wanted me to be very clear about that. Please…please just…for my sake, do what he says…He has a schedule for you to follow, certain quotas for you to meet, and a strict sleep schedule of course. I’m to assist you in any way possible.”

“No–No, this is insane, I’m not doing this.”

Oliver nodded, looking like he’d expected this response, “Master said I shouldn’t go easy on you, even the first time. I’m sorry.”

The Dark Mind (Part 2)

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the shop, he could…tell that the man wanted him. He was probably in his fifties or so, with a decent gut and a full beard. He seemed familiar somehow, but it was hard for him to remember anything at all. In fact, it felt like he’d just popped into existence just a moment earlier, or like he’d just been assembled out of…chunks of something left and forgotten. All of this felt so new to him, this body, and yet at the same time he…knew so much, even though it was hard to think about much beyond fucking.

The man behind the counter, Oliver, gulped, staring at the huge man walking into his shop. He had to be a few inches over six feet, broad shouldered, body bulging with muscle and a firm layer of fat, every inch of his skin coated with hair. He had some pants on–sort of–but no shirt or shoes, and…and Oliver hadn’t seen a man that sexy in a long time. He hadn’t seen a man that sexy look at him that…hungry ever. “Are…are you alright? Do you need some help?” Oliver asked, adjusting his growing cock. He could…smell him, and fuck he smelled so damn good. He’d never smelled anyone like that before, his eyes going a bit cross, cock hard and leaking in his slacks.

“Need a fuck,” the stranger said, and walked up to the man. The closer he got, the lower the man’s jaw dropped, and when he leaned down and locked lips with Oliver, shoving his smoke into the older man’s hungry mouth, Oliver felt his cock pulse and spasm a huge load right in the front of his pants.

Oliver didn’t have a very good memory of what happened next. He dimly recalled hauling himself up onto the counter, tongue pressed to the man’s sweaty body, licking across his chest and over to his musky pits, moaning and humping the air, unable to control himself, while the man tore at his clothes, ripping them away from the man’s body as quickly as he could. Neither of them spoke–the shop was just filled with moans, the air growing thick with the smoke from the man’s cigar.

“Turn ‘round,” he said, both his massive hands grabbing hold of Oliver and forcing him to face away from him. The counter turned out to be a surprisingly good height, once he forced Oliver hips lower, and he ripped away the crotch of his pants, and ground his massive cock up and down the older man’s crack.

“Not…here, anyone can see us…” Oliver moaned, but he couldn’t do anything to stop himself either from pushing back, the massive bear’s cock slipping into his hole, making him groan. The thing was huge–he’d never taken anything in his ass before, and the stranger didn’t have any patience, just grunting and humping himself in deeper, ignoring Oliver’s protesting and begging for him to go slower and take his time. But Oliver’s body wasn’t even obeying him at this point–as much as it hurt, all he could do was push his way back harder onto the huge cock, not caring how much it hurt, only needing as much of it inside him as was possible. He came again, without even really noticing–what mattered more was…was satisfying him. Was making this huge beast happy, was submitting to him, and begging him for his seed. The beast managed to slide his cock in up to the hilt, but didn’t last much longer than that, his cum spewing forth, filling Oliver’s ass and cascading out around his shaft, both of them grunting and moaning with need. Sated, he pulled his cock free, Oliver whimpering slightly and feeling…so empty all of a sudden, but the musk was fading now, and he felt more in control than before–all that remained was a powerful euphoria–people were walking by and could clearly see his leaking hole, and…and he didn’t really care.

Finally, he managed to climb down and get his clothes put back together as best he could, looked over and saw the man rummaging through his display case, grabbing a huge handful of cigars and shoving them in his pocket.

“You…you can’t just take those. You have to…to pay…”

The man looked at him, and walked over to him, “I’ll pay you back, don’t worry. I’m gonna need that hole again later. Does that sound like a deal? You keep me supplied, and I fill that aching hole of yours over and over again.”

Oliver nodded, without even really thinking about it, and the man stepped back, and headed for the door. His head clearer, Oliver realized why the man seemed a bit familiar–those pants, and that smoke! That tired looking guy who’d bought those cigars just before that beast had come in here… “W-Wait!” Oliver said, “Are…are you…ok? I mean…”

“I’m fine, just need another fuck is all.”

“But…you came in here, and you were different…”

He turned around and looked at the man, who walked over to the cash register, and found the last receipt. “J-Jordan, right?”

Jordan…was a familiar name. The stranger felt something his head…struggling, when he thought of that name, but it wasn’t his name. “That’s not me.”

“R-Really? Then…then who are you?”

He stopped and thought for a moment–did he have a name? Something told him he…should have one, but he didn’t, not in his short run of memories. “Just…call me Harry.”

“Well Harry, do…I mean…I guess I’ll be here, for…for when you want to pay for those, then…” the older bear said, his hole already aching to be filled again. He’d always had a secret suspicion that he might like being with a man, even though he’d thought he was happily married. Still, after that, he might have to rethink some things. Harry laughed, and then walked out the door and back onto the sidewalk, smoke trailing behind him. Jordan, huh? That strange thing happened in his brain again, and he growled a bit. Whatever, more important, he needed another hole. He sniffed the air, lit another cigar for himself, and headed off, following his nose, eager to be on the prowl.

Still taking votes on part seven of Dale’s Story! We’ll be wrapping the interactive up in the next few weeks I think, so come help me figure out the conclusion!

Another day, another workout. The locker room was always fairly deserted at this time of day, at least, and Ian walked across the room towards his locker, having just finished his shower. He didn’t have the easiest shift at work, but at least he usually had the gym to himself when he got off late–and he’d always been a bit of a night owl anyway. Even if there had been someone around, Ian had never been shy or ashamed of his body. He undid his lock and opened the door, only to be nearly knocked off his feet by the stench that rolled out of the small chamber when he did.

He coughed, tears streaming down his eyes. He’d never smelled anything like that before in his life. Had someone put something in his locker or something? What even was that? It didn’t smell rotten exactly, more like…well, it was hard to describe, but it was more like sweat and BO or something, but way more powerful than should be possible. Holding his breath, he pulled out his gym bag and opened it up, but his clothes weren’t in there–it looked like some strange, disgusting work gear or something, and now he could detect other scents in the powerful aroma he’d begun to breathe in a bit more deeply–beer, piss, smoke, cum.

His cock was hard, and he was stroking it. He pulled out a disgusting jockstrap, pressed it to his nose and snorted in the scent, finding himself craving it–and then hauled out a disgusting, mud crusted work boot, shoved it to his face and huffed in the powerful scent, his cock exploding all over the bench.

“Sorry fer borrowin’ yer locker, pig, but I didn’ think ya’d mind.”

Ian looked over at the man who’d appeared at the entrance to the locker room, soaked in sweat, reeking with the same musk Ian now couldn’t imagine living without, and he ran over, shoving his face into his master’s pit and licking out as much sweat as he could get.

“Heh, prefer not tah shower after I workout, but suppose we can make an exeption tahnight.”

Pig Bros (Part 1)

Avery and Ethan were twin brothers attending college in a small town out in the sticks. It had seemed like a nice place when they’d visited as high school seniors, but after three years spent there, their patience was wearing a bit thin with the place, and they were both eager to finish their senior year and be gone. The town always felt this tension, however, between the college student population which bloomed each fall and died back in the summer, and the farmer and ranchers who remained there the whole year long. Both of the brothers had turned 21 over the summer, and now that they could drink legally, they were stretching their legs a bit–and it was Avery who suggested they go to The Watering Hole, just to see what it’s like.

There were a few unspoken rules in the small town which kept tensions lows between the students and everyone else–one of those rules was that the college kids would keep to the North of town, where the small downtown had been rejuvenated and hipsterized, while the rest of the folks would stick to the southern side, where they had their own set of bars and restaurants–all of them quite a bit cheaper, but with the expectation that students weren’t particularly welcome there. The Watering Hole was one such bar, and Avery had always been curious about it, but that was Avery. While the two were identical in appearance, their temperaments were a bit more varied. Avery was brash, always up for a good prank, a shortcut, and rule bending. Ethan, on the other hand, was quieter, thoughtful, and usually the one who got Avery out of the trouble he inevitably stirred up in his wake.

The bar wasn’t much to look at–just a fairly normal pub, beaten up tables, chairs and booths, a craggy bartender who wasn’t particularly happy to see a couple of students in his bar, but he served them, and they took a seat. The rest of the patrons, mostly cattle ranchers, pig farmers and corn growers, shot them a few dirty looks, but when that wasn’t enough to deter the brother’s they opted to ignore them–all aside from one man, propped up in a corner booth, slouched over, his huge gut propped up on wide thighs, chewing tobacco and staring at the young men…trespassing. It had been a while, he realized, since the students had been…reminded what could happen when you go where you don’t belong. Perhaps, he would make an example of these two, or perhaps not. He watched, making up his mind.

Ethan was bored and suggested they leave, but Avery was disappointed their arrival hadn’t caused more commotion–so he ordered more beer, got drunker, and louder. Everyone ignored him, but the massive man in the corner had made up his mind–an example indeed, he thinks, of that one at least. He gives off a massive, beery belch, making sure the young man notices him, encourages him to notice him, encourages him to think poorly of him. He can see the young man looking over, looking down, sneering a bit. Just you wait boy, just you wait.

Avery kept looking over at the massive, obese farm fuck in that booth, grossed out in one way…and yet obsessed in another way. The man was staring at him with his tiny eyes, glaring really, and Avery met his gaze each time, feeling emboldened each time. Ethan excused himself to go to the bathroom, and as soon as he was gone, Avery knew this was his chance to confront him, to taunt him. He got up and made his way to the back of the pub–the rest of the patrons staring at him and the massive farmer in silence. A few men got up and left, others tore their eyes away and kept them there, as Avery sat down across from the fat farmer and leaned on the table. “What the hell man? You’ve been looking at me all fucking evening. You have a problem or something?”

The man let out a low, snorting laugh, and then heaved himself up into the light. He was…uglier than Avery had thought, and he leaned back a bit. “Oh, silly boy–you think you’re in any control here? In my booth? In this bar? In this town?”

“Oh, I get it–you’re not just a dumb fat fuck, you’re a delusional fat fuck.”

Faster than Avery was expecting, the man lunged over, and with his fat fingers grabbed hold of the young man’s shirt collar and dragged him closer, their eyes inches away. He hadn’t been able to see from across the room but his eyes…they didn’t seem quite…human. He tried to pull himself away, but his body was limp–he couldn’t do anything as the man, snorting and chuckling, undid a front pocket on his overalls and pulled out a small crystal shard. In the light, it shone a brilliant pink between two fat, stubby fingers. “Don’t worry, you won’t remember this in the morning,” the man said, “It’s more fun when you forget, after all.” With one hand, he gave a sharp tug on Avery’s shirt, ripping the front away and revealing his furry chest. Avery kept trying to quirm away as the man pressed the sharp point of the crystal to his left pec, and forced it into him, where he could feel the thing dig deeper into his body. It hurt, and he screamed in pain, throwing himself back against the back of the booth, clawing at his chest, trying to fish the crystal up from the wound which sealed itself up behind it, leaving just a raw scar.

Ethan had emerged from the bathroom, and heard his brother screaming. Everyone in the bar was purposefully paying the noise no attention, but he ran back to the booth, where he found his brother shouting and digging at his chest. “What the fuck did you do to him?” Ethan said to the farmer.

“Don’t think I forgot about you now–come here, and sit on my knee boy. Let me get a better smell of you.”