House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 11)

“M-Mr. Fields?” Raury muttered, seeing hints of the older man in the stranger’s face, but so much was different as well.

“Don’t worry–we have a little while. You have a room here, don’t you? Is there anyone there?”

Raury shook his head no.

“Good. Take me up there, with you, and we can talk about what a bad thing you did, and how you can make it up to Master.”

Raury knew he should run, but it was so much better to…obey. He had to do what the smoke said, after all…didn’t he? He turned around and unlocked the door to the dorm while Hunter gathered up the bags of food, and followed him inside. Raury’s room was down in the basement, and thankfully they didn’t pass anyone along the way. Raury opened up his room, and Hunter pushed him inside, immediately letting loose a long exhale, smoke pouring from his nose and mouth into the air of the small room, and he breathed a little easier. Once it was dark, they would return to Master together, which gave him plenty of time to punish him properly.

“Did…did Eric do this to you?” Raury said to Hunter, fondling himself without even realizing he was doing it. “What…what did he do to us?”

“Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing with that mouth of yours?” Hunter said, pulling a wrapped hamburger from one of the bags. He took off the paper, walked to where Raury was standing, and pushed it to his mouth. Raury devoured it, and somehow it tasted…better than it had back in the dining hall. Something about the smoke in the air, something about the smoke the stranger had fed him, he ate it in five or six bites, and felt his stomach growl in need…and swell slightly larger.

He shook his head, “No…I don’t…don’t make me bigger, please…”

“No? Then why did you have all of this with you? What were you going to do with it then?”

He fed him more before Raury could find words to speak, and after that, Raury didn’t seem to be able to find anything to say at all. He just…ate, and ate, and ate, whatever the man gave him, did whatever he told him to do, his mind slowing to a crawl, the man telling him he was stupid. So stupid for leaving, so dumb for forsaking their master. Just an animal–too stupid to talk, too stupid to run anymore, too stupid to think for himself–from now on, the only thoughts he was going to have were the thoughts Master allowed him to have. Hunter told him how handsome he was becoming, how much Master was going to enjoy him, all of him, how proud he should be of himself and his gluttony.

Before too much longer, the clothes he was trying to wear were ripped away from him, and Raury found himself shoved over the side of the bed, and then Hunter was inside him, raping him, fucking him–what did it matter? He was stupid, dumb, couldn’t be trusted to think for himself. It was good Hunter had come to get him, after all, he didn’t even know what was good for him. Didn’t understand how much Master loved him, didn’t understand how much he needed him. He felt…terrible, remembering what he did back at the house, running away like that. He’d never run again, no–no, he didn’t want to run again, he just wanted to go back.

Hunter came deep inside Raury’s ass, and then Hunter pulled his clothes on and took Raury’s keycard and phone, before pushing a bit more smoke out into the air of the room. “Stay here–I’ll be back in half an hour or so. Don’t make me hunt you down again–you know how much that will upset Master.”

Raury nodded from the bed, and then Hunter slipped out, leaving him alone again…and he thought. Or rather, he tried to think. He tried to make his mind do…anything, but he couldn’t seem to do much of anything at all. He rolled up, forcing himself up to a sitting position, and couldn’t believe how…huge he was now, even larger than he’d been back at the dining hall, but it didn’t terrify him anymore. This…was how he was supposed to look. How a stupid pig like him should look…though he still didn’t look quite right. He was too…young still, but Master would fix that, probably. Master could do anything, after all. Master was so smart, and handsome, and the most important being in the entire world. He found some cold food still in the bags and ate it, feeling his body swell a bit larger still, and it wasn’t long before Hunter returned with a shopping bag of clothing–some for him, and something much larger for Raury. It was dark out at this point, so they got dressed–Raury struggled, both with how slow his mind was running, and how big he had become, and so Hunter had to help him out, but when they were dressed, they left.

Around midnight, they arrived back at the house, and once inside, Hunter breathed a great sigh of relief, the remaining smoke pouring out of him into the already hazy air. He’d made it. He’d made it, and he’d…succeeded. Raury, too, felt better being back here. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he’d even left in the first place. He still hadn’t learned what game it was that Master wanted to play with him–and while he wasn’t sure he was smart enough to play it, he would try, for him. He’d do anything for him, after all–Hunter told him he had to, after all, and whatever Hunter told him to think…he’d think.

House of Marvels -Episode 1 (Part 8)

Eric rolled him over, so he was belly up, looking up at him on the ground, his cock still buried in his hole. Before he could do anything to resist him–not that the old man would ever resist him–he took a long draw off the pipe, leaned over him, and pushed it into him, all of it and more. He pushed that fire he felt inside him, pushed it into his mind, into his soul, burning parts of him away, and as he did, he watched him…change. Mr. Fields began to grow, his belly and muscles swelling larger, his bones cracking and expanding, white hair growing in thick all over his body. His cock, once small, was growing as well, and when they pulled apart, his once blue eyes had turned a steely, grey, the same grey as the smoke curling from his slack jaw.

“What’s your name?” Eric snarled at him, driving his cock into him.

“I…I have no name, master, not anymore,” his thrall said, groaning as Eric’s cockslid deeper than it had before, like it had grown longer in his ass while they fucked.

“No, you don’t. You aren’t anyone anymore, are you. You’re mine–that’s all that matters. You could never be anyone ever again. Without my smoke, you would die now. Now, you need me. You’ll never be able to leave my side, unless I allow it.”

“I would never leave you Master, never. I love you, I love you, please, harder Master, harder…”

Eric gripped his flesh, feeling his nails dig into his hairy skin, his toy growling in pain and surprise, but not resisting. He was nothing more than a vessel, a thing for his Master to use, and to own. His humanity had burnt away now–all that remained was desire and eager obedience, willing to do anything for his master, even if it cost him his life. He felt…terrible, terrible that he’d allowed that other man to escape so easily. He should have tried harder, should have chased after him, and dragged him back down here for his Master to enjoy. Eric came with another roar, even louder than the previous ones, and he watched his Master’s form warp further, muscles bulging and bones cracking, skin turning red and cracking apart all over his body, eyes yellow with rage and greed, the pipe smaller, somehow–or perhaps it was just that Master’s mouth was so large, and so full of teeth.

He withdrew his cock from his thrall’s hole, feeling somewhat better, and more secure in his position. Still, the thrall felt terrible. “I failed you Master, I let him escape. It’s my fault. Please, let me go after him! I’ll drag him back to you by force if I have too, he will understand what a gift it is to serve you in time, if you–”

“No! No, I forbid it. I can’t lose you, I can’t,” Eric said, shaking slightly at the thought.

“Please–please let me do this for you. I’m…stronger now. You can make me even stronger if you so desired. He deserves to be punished–let me serve you, Master, please. Rest here. Gather your strength, and I’ll find him. I’ll show him your power–feed…feed me your smoke, and I…I can do the rest, please, let me do this for you.”

He groveled down at Eric’s feet, amazed at how…large they had become, at the sharp black claws that had replaced his nails, at the slight web between the toes. His master was becoming more marvelous by the day, and with more men to serve him, he would become even more powerful. He could do this–he knew he could…and he sensed that Eric was softening to the idea.

“Yes…I think you’re right, but any sign of danger, and you return to me immediately–and if you aren’t back by dawn tomorrow, know that you will suffer a death that you cannot even begin to imagine, if you betray me.”

“Never Master. I am yours. Your tool, and your pleasure, and your hoard.”

Eric could feel it. Feel his slave’s regret and his own failure, and the burning desire to serve his Master in whatever way possible. In truth, he was terrified. If his thrall didn’t return, what would happen to him then? He…needed him, even more than his thrall needed his master and his smoke–but as risky as it was, it was his only option. With Raury and Sam on the loose, he was vulnerable. He was strong now, but not strong enough–if anyone found out about him…they would kill him, or worse, lock him away in some dungeon to study until he withered away and died. He bent down and kissed him again, pouring more smoke into him, infusing him with enough to keep his strong and healthy until he returned. “You are most important. You are my gem. Return, even if you fail–I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“Yes Master, I could never live without you.”

“I know. You will have a new name now–you will be my Hunter.”

With that, Hunter took the stairs two at a time, unable to remember the last time he’d felt so strong, body thrumming with vitality. Finding clothes was more difficult–nothing seemed to fit his massive frame, but he managed to squeeze into an old pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and then he was outside. He missed the smoke, deeply, but he had enough inside him to last–and if he hurried, more than enough to share with the one who had gotten away. He sniffed the air, picked up a trace of smoke leading away from the house and down the sidewalk, and hurried after it. He was Hunter now–and he would never fail his Master again.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 7)

“Alright…but what’s the game called?”

Eric didn’t say anything, he was looking at Raury’s, trying to see what the smoke was showing him, and trying to understand what it wanted him to do. That night with Mr. Fields had been so…natural–just feed him his smoke, and he’d given in easily–desperately, really. But Raury was something else–he wasn’t right yet. He didn’t belong here with him yet…but he could, with…time. With time, and something else. “It’s a roleplaying game. But one that I’d say is a lot more focused on story and character, than fighting or anything like that.”

Eric leaned in closer, a bit more smoke unfurling from his mouth, sliding through the air and into Raury’s mouth and nose, his friend’s eyes unfocusing slightly. “Can I…use my usual sort of character?”

Eric laughed–Raury always liked to play as an elf mage, or the closest thing he could get to it, in whatever game they might be playing at the moment. The idea disgusted him–some young, tall, skinny thing. No–nothing like that was worthy of him, of his attention. “No, why don’t you try branching out a bit? Trying something a little different? I’m thinking something a little…more sizable…something I can really sink my nails into…”

Before Raury could say anything else, Eric had taken a deep breath of smoke from the pipe, and closed the distance between them, locking lips with his friend and pushing the smoke deep into his lungs. Raury wasn’t ready for it, and he started coughing and hacking, shoving Eric off of him and getting up from the couch. “What…what the fuck, Eric?” His head was spinning, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table. What was he doing down here, anyway? He should have left with Sam, he’d wanted to leave with Sam, but something…he’d gotten distracted by the smoke, and by Eric–but this wasn’t right. Eric wasn’t playing a game down here–there were no books, there were no dice. He coughed some more, trying to get the smoke out of him, but he could feel it clinging to the inside of his lungs, working its way into his body.

“Mr. Fields, help Raury out, would you? Help him back over here, so we can talk some more about the game.”

Mr. Fields walked towards Raury and pulled him close for a moment, and something about the older man’s skin against him reminded him of the smoke inside him, made him feel warm, and safe, and…and a little horny too, for some reason. He pushed him away, but Mr. Fields held tight to his arm, and tried to drag him back to where Eric was sitting–but he yanked his arm away. “Eric, what are you doing? This isn’t like you–something is wrong with you, you need to get help!”

“I don’t need help, Raury–you need help. You need my help. Come over here, let’s…chat some more. You’ll feel much better soon, you’ll understand. You’ll be happy here, I promise, you all will.”

Mr. Fields tried to grab him again, but Raury had no intention of getting near him again, if he could help it. He pushed his way past him and ran for the stairs, Eric shouting at him, demanding he get back down there, and as much as Raury wanted to obey him, for reasons he couldn’t understand beyond their sheer force, he pushed on, upto the main floor of the house, where the smoke was thinner, and then outside into the clean air–and breathing it hurt, somehow, even though it made him feel better all the same. He looked around for Sam, but his friend was nowhere to be seen–he didn’t blame him, honestly–he too wanted to put as much space between himself and this house as he could. He knew he should call someone for help, but who? The police? There wasn’t a crime, really–and Eric was his friend. No…no more than his friend, really, but the word he was looking for escaped his tongue. He’d…remember it eventually. No, he just needed some space. He’d connect with Sam back on campus, and together they’d figure out what to do about this. As he walked, he kept coughing on occasion, but nothing else was coming up. He felt winded though, and a bit…heavy, somehow–but he chalked it up to being a bit high on whatever Eric had been smoking in that pipe, and tried his best to forget about it.

Back in the house, Eric was in a fury. When Raury had made it up the stairs and back into the house, Eric had tried to follow him–but hadn’t been able to make it halfway up before he’d started shaking and trembling. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to go outside yet, he wasn’t…strong enough, he wasn’t finished, and he’d gotten away! He’d been his, Eric had claimed him, marked him, started…working on him, and he’d escaped, and it was consuming him in hatred and anger he could barely understand or grapple with. It was irrational, he knew that, but his reason was drowned out by the simple fact that he couldn’t dispute–Raury was his. His! His, just like Mr. Fields was his, and Eric had let him get away, like a weak fool. He had to get him back, but he had no way of knowing if he would come back here or not–most likely not. But if Eric couldn’t get him back…it would consume him, this anger, and jealousy, and rage. He felt hot, so hot, like something had kindled a fire in his chest, and he let off a roar into the room, Mr. Fields cowering away from him in fear.

Eric hated him. He desired him, but he hated him. He owned him, but he hated him. He hated how weak he was, how small he was, how he was helpless against losing him. If he lost Mr. Fields like he’d lost Raury…he didn’t know what he would do. Just thinking about it made him ache with need, and he stalked over to him, threw Mr. Fields to the floor, and mounted him then and there, pouring out smoke from the pipe, grunting and roaring and snarling, reminding him of his place, reminding him that he belonged to Eric. He had been too kind to him, allowing him to keep a bit of his humanity, allowing him a name, allowing him to be anything other than an object. He was too kind–he would need to rid himself of that if he was going to be happy–if he was going to survive.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 6)

“Mr. Fields,” Raury said, “You have to see how fucked up this is. We have to get you out of here–both of you.”

“No!” Eric screamed, “No, he’s mine, you can’t have him, you can’t take him away from me, he’s mine!”

“Eric, calm down,” Sam said, “We’re just worried about you, and I don’t think you really know what you’re saying right now. What is in that pipe, anyway? That smoke…it doesn’t smell right.”

Eric, however, couldn’t calm down. After what Raury had said, about taking his daddy away from him, a horrific paranoia and fury had erupted in him. They’d come here to take him away from him. They knew how sexy he was, what a hot, beautiful daddy he was, these two young men, and they wanted him for themselves. He wasn’t going to let that happen–he should…he should kill them.

He gasped, horrified by what he’d just thought. He couldn’t kill them, they were his friends, weren’t they? But what good friend would take his property away? Didn’t they understand how important this was to him? No, that was the problem. They didn’t understand, but perhaps he could…help them understand a bit better, just like how he’d helped Mr. Fields understand his role here better earlier.

“No, you see? It’s just a game, that’s all. A big game,” Eric said, his voice soft and silky on their minds, the smoke twining around them both unnoticed, sliding into their noses, their mouths and ears. “Just a…a role playing game, is all. Mr. Fields was curious about them, about how we played them, and so we’re doing some roleplaying together. That’s all. We’re just in costume, and maybe we got a bit carried away, but we’re both fine–neither of you have anything to worry about. In fact…if you wanted to play too, I’m sure we could find a role for you both in here too. I know how much the two of you like games after all.”

“O-Oh…I guess that makes sense,” Raury said softly, eyes looking slightly distant.

“What?” Sam said, “No it doesn’t! It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“Sam, calm down,” Eric said, “You came in here, raving like a lunatic, when obviously, we’re all just playing a silly game here. There’s nothing strange about this at all.”

Was he being silly? But if this was a game, then why in the world had Eric missed nearly an entire week’s worth of classes? If this was a game, why was Mr. Fields even playing it? He seemed way too suspicious of the games they played, and was way too strict of a figure to ever try playing one with them when they’d offered, to be polite. It didn’t make any sense, but what other explanation was there? “Alright then, if you two are roleplaying something, then what are you playing at exactly? Because to me…well, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen you play before with us, and I know all of the games you know, Eric.”

“Well we don’t have to keep playing this one by any means, I was getting a bit bored with it, honestly. In fact, I’m glad you two came, I was starting to get…well, why don’t we play something? All four of us? It’ll be more fun that just the two of us. Your choice Sam, anything you’d like.”

“Eric, I…really think that something is wrong here, with both of you. I don’t…want to play a game, I want to get you help.”

“If you don’t want to play a game, then why are you here, Sam? You only come here when you want to play games after all.”

Sam didn’t want to listen to anything else, and the smoke was making his head spin. “I…I need some fresh air, I…I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t want to know…” He headed for the stairs and got out of the house into the evening air, taking deep breaths and coughing up as much smoke as he could, but it was a few moments before he realized that Raury hadn’t come up with him. He’d…come up on his own, surely. Something told Sam that he should go back in and get his friend, but he didn’t want to go down there again. He didn’t want to smell that smoke ever again, if he could help it. Raury…Raury would be fine, he should just go, and put as much space between him and this house as he could.

Downstairs, Raury had watched Sam go, and part of him had wanted to go with him, knew that staying down here was…dangerous for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why, exactly. After all, it was just Mr. Fields and Eric down here, playing a game. There was nothing dangerous about that. Still…Sam had seemed really freaked out by something, and he wanted to make sure he was alright. But before he could get to the stairs, Eric spoke, “Come on Raury, stay for a while. Play a game with us. It’ll be a fun one, I promise. Entertain me, I’m so bored today…”

Raury paused, and turned away from the stairs. “What…game do you want to play?”

Eric thought for a moment, and stared at Raury across the room. He wasn’t his type at all–too skinny, too smooth, too small, too young most of all…but could he do something about that? Something…was telling him that he could, that even though Raury wasn’t fit to be his property just yet…he could make it happen somehow. He could almost see it, even, like the smoke was forming around him in clumps, hinting at a larger frame, wisping around his clothes like white fur…thinking about it was making him hard, and Raury went red in the face at the sight of Eric’s cock openly engorging. Had…had Eric been naked all this time, and he just now realized it? “I kind of feel like playing something new–something I just found out about the other day, in fact. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 5)

In all of this, Eric hadn’t bothered going to class, or even getting on his computer or using his phone. He had missed all of his teachers’ messages, and the texts from his friends, wondering where he was, and what was wrong with him. On the rare occasion when Eric thought about the life outside of the house, he was a bit worried, but it seemed so…uninteresting to him. It caught him, and Mr. Fields off guard, when Raury and Sam arrived at the house, demanding to see him, and refusing to leave when Mr. Fields told them that Eric didn’t want to be disturbed. Still, it was clear that something was going on inside. Raury and Sam had never once seen Mr. Fields dressed in anything other than a full set of clothes, shoes included, in his house, and here he was standing, gut out, wearing just a pair of boxers, which it looked like he’d put on backwards.

They pushed their way past him and into the house, which was in disarray, something else that was very much unlike him. They shouted for Eric and raced upstairs, but his room was empty–all that there was, was the lingering scent of some odd smoke, an odor they both noticed through the rest of the house as well. Mr. Fields raced up after them, agitated and furious, trying to force the two young men out of the room and out of his house before they disturbed his Master. Neither one of them knew what to make of that, so they ignored it, and demanded to know where Eric was, and what they had done to him, before they called the cops.

Mr. Fields didn’t know what to do. It had been going so well, just him and his Master in the basement, but his mind was slowing and the idea of making a decision was paralyzing. He…wanted to be with his Master. Master would know what to do about these two strangers. Master would take care of everything. “Alright…Alright, he’s…down in the basement.”

“Whatever you freak, you probably killed him down there or something,” Raury said.

Mr. Fields shook his head, “I didn’t! Master is fine! He’s…We’re fine here, and you should just leave, but I can show you if you want to see for yourself.”

“Look, you keep saying Master–we’re looking for Eric.”

He nodded, “He…is my master.”

Raury and Sam exchanged a glance of confusion, and then looked back at Mr. Fields. “Alright, take us to him them, and we’ll see for ourselves whatever you’re talking about.”

So they followed him back downstairs, back around to the messy kitchen, a massive slab of roast out on the counter, and then down into the basement, where the smoke they’d smelled before was thick and cloying, weaving up the stairs as they descended. It was so thick at first that neither of them could make out much beyond blurry shapes in the room. Raury coughed and doubled over, fumbling for a wall, while Sam squinted, the smoke burning his eyes, but there, reclined on a couch in the center of the room was a person smoking a pipe, but it couldn’t be Eric, could it?

No, he was much too large, with a thick gut and broad shoulders. Eric was much smaller, the smallest of all of them in fact. He stepped closer, still not quite sure why he was approaching the stranger still, now that he knew it couldn’t be Eric, but something nagged at him. Something about the curve of the jaw, the hands in his naked lap. Now just a few feet away, he could make out the man’s face, and he felt a chill slide into his bones. It was Eric–or at least, whoever it was was wearing his friend’s face…sort of. Parts of it were distorted, like something seen through a curved piece of glass. The ears were small, his cheeks a bit pointy, most of the hair pulled from his head, that…disturbing rash covering half of his face. “Eric?” he asked, “Eric, what is going on? You’ve been missing class, and you never responded to any of our messages. Why…what in the hell is going on, Eric? Where have you been?”

Seeing his friends roused something inside him, and Eric felt a bit of his old self rise back to the surface. “Sam? I…” Eric didn’t know what he was supposed to say, though. None of this made any real sense, and yet it also seemed perfectly natural. But how could he even begin to explain what was happening to him, and what he was feeling? “I don’t know, I started smoking the pipe that Jamie gave me, and…and I know this must look so strange, but really, I’m fine. We’re both fine. You should go–don’t worry about me, just…just forget about it.”

“Are you fucking insane?” Raury said, coming closer, “Look at yourself, what’s wrong with your skin? And is that…what is that around your mouth? It looks like blood or something.”

“I just ate is all, I get…really hungry now.”

Sam and Raury looked at one another, and then Sam grabbed Eric by the hand and tried to pull him up from the couch. “We need to get you to the hospital, both of you. Something weird is going on and you’re acting crazy.”

Eric yanked his hand away from him. “No! Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re fine!”

“Yeah, we’re both fine, we want to be here,” Mr. Fields said, still standing by the stairs. “Look, you’re…you’re upsetting him, and it’s almost time for his dinner, so I think it’s time for you to leave.”

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Eric too, found himself struggling to adapt to whatever had happened to him that night, when he’d placed the pipe between his lips for the first time. From that moment on, the only time the pipe even left his lips for longer than a few seconds was whenever he was asleep, but otherwise he was smoking it. It didn’t require much–in fact, just the smoke coming from the bowl was enough to stave off the craving, but it tasted so wonderful, and it felt so good, heating his lungs, that he preferred to get as much as he could. There was the occasional moment of rebellion when he’d try and resist it, but he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without it, and he’d find himself helplessly drawing as much smoke as he could into himself afterwards, in an attempt to catch up. In fact, despite all of his newfound power, he felt…weaker in other ways. Mr. Fields was a weakness–he absolutely hated it whenever he left, not only because he wanted him by his side, in the same way he wanted the smoke. No, what he felt when he watched the old man walk up those stairs was fear. Fear that he would lose him–not in the sense of losing someone in a relationship, but like he was going to lose his property. Mr. Fields belonged to him, and he spent quite a bit of time drilling that into the old man’s head, making sure his new daddy, his first daddy, wasn’t just dependent on his smoke, but that he wanted, more than anything, to be his servant.

It proved to be relatively easy, in fact. After all, Mr. Fields was a god-fearing fellow. All he needed to be convinced of was that his god, the god he should have been worshiping all of this time, was here, and very real, and right in front of him. Once he’d accepted that, deeply in his soul, all of his doubt and resistance disappeared immediately–and Eric was surprised by how aroused he became seeing this old daddy utterly enraptured by him, whenever they were together. He seemed more lustful than Eric in fact, begging his god to use him, and fuck him, staring at him with as much awe as Eric stared back at him in lust and covetous delight. In fact, he was so caught up in the pleasure of his first thrall, that it was a few days before he noticed that Mr. Fields wasn’t the only one suffering some unexpected changes.

It started with an itch on his neck. Small enough that he didn’t mind it particularly much for a while, but it only grew more insistent, and he found himself unable to resist scratching at it. It began to spread into a larger patch, and then other patches appeared on his chest, arms, and thighs. They didn’t seem bad at first, just like patches of dryness, but the more he scratched them, the more red and inflamed they became, and the skin seemed to be cracking apart, and even bleeding on occasion, though never badly or for very long. He dreaded the idea of leaving the basement, and so he ordered Mr. Fields to bring the house’s largest mirror down into the basement, so he would have a way to look at himself, and it was then that he saw the skin was only one of the changes happening to him.

His hair was falling out, for one thing. It wasn’t an orderly kind of baldness either, like he was growing older. It was falling out in clumps, and not only from his head–his beard was thinner, and the hair on his body was also falling out, especially in the areas where the rash had struck. He was terrified, certain it had to be some kind of disease, but he felt great otherwise. In fact, he felt better than he had in ages, and despite the fact that he never did much of anything down in the basement, beyond smoke his pipe, he was growing.

It was difficult to be certain, but his musculature seemed odd, especially around his back, which was growing faster than everything else. He measured himself on the wall, and in two days, he added an inch of height. Not much, by any means, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t quite describe. He ate more than he ever had in his life, the meat Mr. Fields was bringing him became rarer and rarer at his insistence. It just…tasted wrong when it was cooked somehow, but his human sensibility insisted on at least a seared outside. It was difficult to eat it so raw for a few days, especially when the first of his teeth began to fall out, though new, sharp fangs grew in their place, which made the meat much easier to chew.

After a few days of this new life, Eric found himself growing…bored. The dream he’d had that night kept returning, every time he dozed off, and he was surrounded by smoky daddies that he couldn’t touch, but which he desired with a force he couldn’t explain or rationalize. It was instinctual, to collect and own them. To hoard them down here with him, to keep him happy and entertained. He found himself growing tired of Mr. Fields–the man who had so enraptured him for a few days now seemed boring and uninteresting. He wanted someone new, he wanted more…but he didn’t know how to get it.

House of Marvels – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He stripped off his shirt and boxers he usually slept in–wearing clothes seemed…strange all of a sudden–and still with the pipe in his mouth, feeling more and more like it was some extension of his body, rather than a simple tool, he walked down the hall to Mr. Fields’s master bedroom at the end, and let himself into his room. Mr. Fields was still sound asleep, snoring gently, wearing a full set of pajamas in his bed. Eric just watched him sleep for a moment, his cock growing hard as a rock being this close to a man he’d wanted for so long, and then he walked around to his side of the bed. Mr. Fields heard him and made a groggy noise, but before he could register who was beside him, Eric had bent over him, shoved his lips to Mr. Fields, and pushed some of his smoke down his throat and into his body.

Mr. Fields shuddered for a moment, and then shoved Eric off of him, and backpedaled away from him across the surface of the bed, coughing, but none of the smoke seemed to be coming back out of him. “Eric! What–What as gotten into you?” He looked over and saw the pipe in his hand, “It’s the damn devil weed, isn’t it? I told you to never smoke in this house!”

Eric just put the stem of the pipe back in his mouth, and stroked his cock with one hand, “I want you, Mr. Fields. I’ve wanted you since I saw you, and you’re going to be mine. You already are mine, in fact, you just don’t know it yet.”

Mr. Fields was quivering slightly, and still coughing. He could taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, clouding his palate. He had…had a period of rebellion in his youth, he knew what weed tasted like, and tobacco too–but it didn’t taste like this. Still…it tasted good, and he felt the beginnings of a strange flush in his body. Eric got up on the bed, his rock hard cock jutting out, and Mr. Fields kept trying to back away, but ran out of space quickly. Eric lunged forward, and kissed him again, feeding him more smoke somehow–though Mr. Fields hadn’t seen him take another draw on the pipe he was holding in his hand. The pleasure was stronger this time, and he moaned into Eric’s mouth, his own cock responding and getting harder than it had been in years. He touched his young renter’s skin, with hesitation at first…but something about it seemed wrong, like he’d expected it to feel…different somehow. Not as soft as it was–it should be…rougher. He didn’t know what to make of the thought–he didn’t know what to make of any of his thoughts suddenly. Nothing was fitting in his mind–it felt more like the smoke was filling him up and clouding everything–his memories, his life. He leaned into Eric now, hungry for the young man’s mouth, his smoke, drawing more and more of it into himself, grinding their cocks together in his bed, knowing that lying with another man like this was a sin…but Eric wasn’t a man–or not just any man at least. He was…

“M-Master…” he muttered when their lips parted for a moment, eyes cloudy and distant, “Thank you Master, for making me yours.”

“You’re welcome slave. Now, please me–show me what you desire now, the only thing you truly desire in the whole world.”

Mr. Fields slipped lower and took Eric’s cock into his mouth, and Eric sighed, pipe back in his mouth, drawing in more smoke, feeling the desire still smoldering inside him. This was good. This was right, and what he deserved, how he deserved to be treated. Things were going to change around here, Eric was certain of that–but even he didn’t know, at that time, just how much.

They woke up together, with Mr. Fields still wrapped around his young renter in his bed. For a moment, he tried to reassert control, and demanded that the faggot harlot get out of his house, but Eric picked up the pipe from where it had landed beside him, stoked it back to life without even needing a match, and watched the man start to shake and quiver, craving…something, but not knowing what. Eric also wasn’t moving, and the room was slowly filling with the smoke pouring from his nostrils. Mr. Fields began to lose his train of thought, the words disappearing from his mind as his feet shuffled him closer to the bed, the smoke clouding him back into that comfortable space, and a moment later he was sucking down Eric’s smoke, and then rode his cock for a good long while, Eric making sure he had plenty of smoke to keep him in the proper mindset. Then, when he was back to being the kind of obedient daddy that Eric wanted, they started setting some new rules around the house.

First, Eric told him that he was moving into the basement–the entire basement. Mr. Fields cleaned his things out of sizable space down there over the next few days, and Eric spent his time down there, smoking his pipe, lounging about, having Mr. Fields service him whenever he desired (or sometimes he just had him stand where he could regard him, he was such a beauty, truly) and he ate, and ate, and ate. Eric had heard somewhere that smoking tended to take away your appetite, but for him, or for this pipe, the opposite was true. He was constantly hungry, and the only thing he was hungry for was meat. Mr. Fields found his day spent serving his new master, sometimes happily, and sometimes with resistance, but even when he was away from Eric and his smoke, he…thought about it, how much he craved it, and he could tell that something about him had changed, something deep inside him, but he didn’t know how to articulate what he’d even lost.

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.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 2)

I found myself wondering if Ray, before meeting the rapist, had wanted this too, in a way, like Bernard had. Maybe the reason the two of them weren’t being honest with me, was because these weren’t really rapes at all…no, no, I didn’t really mean that, I suppose. These men had been violated, and twisted somehow, but it was like the rapist was channeling their own desires back at them. But then why had Ray been gone for four months, but Bernard only a week? The inconsistencies had to add up to something, but I didn’t know what, and it was getting harder and harder to think, my hand drifting to my crotch to grope my cock again as I sat there on the weight bench.

Why Jules? Had Ray pissed on him on purpose? Had he chosen him, or had it just been luck–good or bad, depending on how you were feeling about it? I wondered if I had been closer to him, if I’d pushed through his musk, and it had been me struck by that piss…would I have done what Jules had done, gotten him right out of the jail? He’d seemed interested in me, when we’d been driving, and while in the interview room, but it was Jules he’d been wanting to see. He…knew Jules was weak, somehow. I didn’t have any explanation for it, or how it could have worked, aside from magic, but I didn’t believe in magic. In this job, I had increasingly come to believe that all sex is just power. Holding power over someone, or giving power up to someone else, willingly or not. Maybe I hadn’t been good enough for him. Jules was bigger than me. Stronger than me. I was the weak one. I wasn’t…strong enough, was I?

I found myself searching for the place where Ray had pissed all over him, found a bit of it still pooling in the ridged floor of the shipping container, and just stared at it, inhaling the fumes off of it, feeling my mind slowing down even more. I…wanted to be enough. I wondered where they were, and what they were doing. No–I knew what they were doing, or I could guess well enough. After all, I knew what I would have been doing with him, if he’d taken me. I managed to keep myself from licking it up, jacked off again, shooting my cum onto the floor, and then left while my head was still somewhat clear. I was too jittery to drive, so I sat in my car, thinking about Ray, and Bernard, and wondering what all of these thoughts in my mind even were. I’d never been interested in men before this–I wasn’t a fag, and I didn’t really have anything against them, either, but this also didn’t…feel like I had somehow become gay, either. This was a specific desire. I didn’t want men, in general–I wanted these men. Either one of them, both of them, I didn’t know–but the desire was so specific, and I no longer knew, honestly, if I wanted to solve the case so I could stop this rapist, or if I just wanted to find either of them and see where these thoughts led.

I tried to calm down, but at this point, the only thing that seemed to work was jacking off. I hauled my cock out again, and noticed how many cum stains I had on my shirt and slacks from the day. It seemed like so much more than it could have possibly been, and I wondered if I’d been jacking off more without even realizing it, or maybe just leaking cum right into my pants this whole time. I didn’t want to think about it, I wanted to think about Ray, about getting…bigger for him, about smelling him, and smelling like him, about my mind fading away until nothing else mattered, until it was just him, and I came again, spraying myself with another load, the skin of my cock red and a bit chaffed. I needed to get home and take a shower–I’d feel better if I got cleaned up. Clean myself up, and then call the Captain and tell him I was done–that something was wrong with me–and wrong with this case. I’d gotten too close to it, or it had gotten too close to me, and they needed someone to blame this mess on, so it might as well be me. I could take the hit to my career, if it meant I could stop feeling like this. For the first time in my life, I wondered if this career, if being a cop was too much–but I pushed that away. If there was one thing about me, some core thing that I know, that I still know, it’s that I want to be a cop, whatever that means. To me, it means order–someone who orders the chaos, who makes sense of it, who judges it and controls and moderates it. That I’d questioned it for even a moment shook me more than the smell of that piss had, and I knew I needed to get out of here.

I started the car, and in the rearview mirror I noticed something–there was a bike parked behind me with a big brute on it, not doing anything in particular. I pulled away from the crime scene, and when I did, the biker revved up his bike and followed me back onto the main roads. He was tailing me, but he wasn’t very good at it–that, or he wanted me to know he was following me. Should I go back to the precinct? That was the smart idea, the better idea, but if I spooked him and he ditched me, it would be back to square one with this case. No–I needed him to follow me. I needed a lead, badly, and this might be my only shot.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 3 (Part 1)

If you need a refresher, you can find the first two episodes collected here: https://www.gayspiralstories.com/newSeries/show/216537

With no leads to be found, and with my two primary victims gone, I had nothing to do but return to the scenes of the crimes, in order to find something I could use to try and find this Bruiser, or at the very least, to figure out where either Ray or Bernard had gone to, so I could get them back and get to the bottom of what had happened to them both. Things at the precinct were going south quickly. The media was hounding us, and it was clear that the brass was looking for someone to blame–and presently, I was the only one left who could be seen as having any real responsibility for the mess this case was quickly becoming. It was good to get out of there for a bit, but going back to Bernard’s home, and going back to that storage container especially, were difficult for other reasons.

Do you know how, when you’re trying not to think about something–something bad, like a traumatic memory, or some shitty thing you did to someone–that trying to not think about it always seems to make you think about it more? That forgetting something isn’t something you can really do, consciously? Down in that basement, where we’d found Bernard chained to the wall, I just kept seeing him there, thinking about him, naked, thinking about what I could have done differently, and wondering what in the world had happened to him to just make him snap like that. But mostly I thought about that evening when I’d come here, after that interview, and I’d…I’d wanted to fuck him.

More than fuck him. I’d been so furious with him, for blowing apart my case like that, especially angry now that everything else was falling apart on me, angry at him for lying about his past, angry at him for…for so much that I couldn’t even blame him for. Angry at myself for not being able to save him, angry that I hadn’t dragged him back down here and chained him back up, chained him here were he could have been…safe.

How fucked is that. I was thinking about putting him back down here, thinking about chaining him to the wall and fucking him, fucking him day and night, abusing him over and over because…because I don’t know why! It was just a thought–no, more than a thought, just a need, or a delusion that seemed to follow so logically from one thing to another, that even though I knew it was immoral, and wrong, and fucking monstrous, but I couldn’t make myself stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I tried. The harder I pushed against it, the hornier I became, and if I gave in and even started to consider it, it would worm in deeper, and I…I jacked off down there, in the basement, jacked off thinking about him, how I should have kept him down here, down where a slave like him belonged, that I shouldn’t have missed my fucking opportunity to make him mine. If I’d made him mine, he would have had to tell me everything. He’d have to be honest, but I’d…I’d let him go like an idiot. He could have been mine, but I’d been too stupid to see it.

I left, and the thoughts came with me. I couldn’t get them to quiet down–the only thing that seemed to help at all was jacking off, but they’d return after an hour or so, stronger than ever. I went for a drive, telling myself I just needed some time to think, a chance to clear my head a bit, but without even thinking about it, I ended up driving down to the docks, back to that abandoned warehouse, finding my way to the taped off shipping container. The doors had been closed and relocked, and after I opened it, it smelled nearly as strong as when we’d opened it the first time, but now, it didn’t seem to bother me. His musk hadn’t bothered me at all, really, since he’d ridden with me in my car back to the station. If anything…I found myself enjoying it. I felt calmer, the mania that had been gripping me since going to Bernard’s house began to ease off a bit, losing myself a bit in the tight space and the dark.

I walked past the workout equipment, trying to imagine what it must have felt like, being stuck in here. Ray hadn’t seemed upset by it, he’d been content to just workout…but there had been something else odd about this place. Bernard’s house had shown signs of being lived in. We found no evidence of anyone else, of course, but there had been new food in the cabinets and in the fridge, no dust on the table–little things. There had been someone there, even if we had no idea who. But no one could live here. There was barely space to turn around in, and no space to lie down and rest, no source of water, no plumbing, not even a bucket. It didn’t make sense–why collar Bernard down in a basement and supervise him, but go to the trouble of locking Ray in here, alone–possibly for months?

Unless it hadn’t been months. Unless he’d been somewhere else, and the rapist had only moved him here when he was ready to reveal him. But what was special about this place? Why risk moving him, when Ray could use that information against him when he got free? I supposed that Ray hadn’t exactly had the same sort of privacy as Bernard had had, since he’d allegedly been living in an apartment at the time of his disappearance, but then where had he gone in the meantime? I took a seat on the bench, and noted the weight still on the bar behind me–285 pounds of weight. There were only one or two guys on the force who could bench something like that.