Taming the Beast (Part 5)

The beast looked around the room, perhaps a bit confused. It was, after all, the first time Mark had woken it outside of the hospital, so it was likely wondering where, exactly, it was. “This is my home,” Mark said, “The prison where you were has decided that Jacob is…less of a risk, and allowed him to leave.”

The beast gave a few snorts, almost like laughter, and then leered at Mark.

“Remember, you would have never gotten out of there without my help, and if you harm me, there are much worse prisons where they could place you. No–I have something else I would like to…suggest instead,” Mark said. “After all, I know what you want. You want to be free–and you want all of the earthly pleasure you had before, isn’t that right? Most of all though, I know that you do not like being subservient to Jacob.”

The beast snorted again.

“I would offer you something else, other than the occasional moment of freedom. I can give you a life here, with me, one that I think you will enjoy. After all, you liked your life before, didn’t you? In the bar?”

They had discussed it before, but the beast had always been…on the fence, for reasons Mark could understand. The beast had traded complete subordination to Jacob’s ego for a different kind of enslavement, to a very different master. It was reluctant to admit it, but Mark could sense the truth–the beast had liked it, very much. The pleasure, the gluttony, the revelry, the sex. It hadn’t mattered that the beast obeyed a master, so long as it was satisfied. The pleasure made the collar bearable. But more than that–the beast might long for freedom, but it had never known it–it had only ever existed under someone else’s control–and Mark wasn’t about to give it a chance to know any better any time soon, before it knew what it could be.

The beast nodded, hesitantly. It knew Mark wanted something–but Mark had been upfront about that. He had discussed it somewhat, that the beast was…wasted here. That it was meant for something more, and Mark could help it understand its true purpose.

Mark stood up, and crossed the short distance to the beast, enjoying the musk rolling off the thing’s hide. That had been a pleasant surprise as well–Mark had a certain…delight in that. He ran his hands over the beast’s belly, gentle circles, waiting until it relaxed under his hands, and then worked lower, both hands stroking its cock. “You can have that life again. All the food you could want, all the drink. Holes to fuck and dominate. But you can’t do that outside of here–they will find you, and trap you in another cage…and you can’t do it with him, so long as Jacob holds any sway over your body. No–we will have to deal with him, seal him away like he sealed you away, all those years. He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The beast snorted its approval, but whether or not it was listening to what Mark was saying wasn’t clear. It could have simply been enjoying the hand job–but it certainly wasn’t resisting.

“After all, we can both agree that you are the strong one. You’re the one who should be in charge, the one whose needs are paramount. But you won’t be able to do it without me, and if you want my help, then you are going to have to do as I say.”

The beast hesitated, and Mark stepped back.

“You don’t have to decide right now. But downstairs, I can give you a taste of the life I can offer you. Follow me.”

The beast heaved himself up from the sofa, and followed Mark around the corner and down a hallway, to a locked basement door. It was a tight squeeze down the staircase for the sizable animal, but at the base, it opened up into a open area outfitted as a sex dungeon–slings, paddles, bondage racks. Around the walls of the room were several doors, all of them locked as well. Mark went to one of them opened the door, “Hey Cumrag! Get out here–I have someone for you to entertain.”

After a couple of moments, a man stumbled out of the room, wearing nothing other than a cape around his shoulders–or at least, something that had been a cape at one time. Cumrag was one of Mark’s earliest acquisition from the hospital–a strongman Super with a rather weak will, who had been mind controlled and turned to a life of crime for a few years until he was freed. He’d struggled a lot at the hospital in Mark’s care–he didn’t know how to regain his moral center, and felt like he couldn’t trust himself. Mark agreed. Slowly, he’d worn him down, convinced him that everything that had happened was all because he was too weak to know better–that if anything, it had been good for him to be controlled by someone with some sense, good to keep his power away from the world, where he could hurt someone. He’d needed a new purpose in life, a new direction, and so Mark had suggested he help him out around the house, degrading him more and more until he, at last, accepted he was little more than an object. A cumrag. He’d been without a shower for years, at this point, and his skin and hair was caked with layers and layers of cum. The cape he still wore was rigid at this point, and when he was in storage down here, all Cumrag knew to do anymore was masturbate into his cape, his life as a hero forgotten forever–until his services were needed.

Taming the Beast (Part 4)

This is a double post, for today and tomorrow, because there was no good place to split lt!

Indeed, the beast had manifested after he’d been put under, but not immediately. Mark had guided him into a dream, a peaceful, happy dream with a friendly, fluffy dog, and when the beast came out, it was not the fierce, pacing monster he’d seen before. He was a reflection of Jacob’s own imagination–fluffy, happy, soft, and eager to be petted, apparently. It was a bit…strange to see everyone in the room petting him, when he could remember nothing at all of any of it, but he had to admit it was promising. He could, apparently, control the form and personality of the beast to some extent, through his dreams. Mark believed his control was likely stronger than that–that with some practice with guided imagery and meditation, he would likely be able to call the beast at any time, and control it’s form directly. Once he was showing progress along those lines, then he would be ready to rejoin the regular population of the hospital, and then, be released. That was something they were both desperate for, and so, Jacob agreed to give it a try.

It was frustrating work, at first. Jacob found it difficult to focus, and the beast bristled at Jacob’s attempts to harness and control him. Still, they forged an uneasy path forward, mostly with the help and guidance of Mark, who Jacob was beginning to think knew the inside of his own mind better than Jacob knew it himself. In time, he managed to come to an understanding with the beast–largely predicated on the snacks the beast received when it followed Jacob’s direction when manifesting. Mark seemed to enjoy that part the most–it was one of the rare times that he seemed to smile, when feeding the monster in his room a dog biscuit. Jacob could always taste them when he came back, and while it disgusted him to some extent, it did seem to be helping. He went one month without an episode in the night, and then two. He was allowed back into the ward’s general population, at last, and he’d never been so thrilled to be surrounded by freaks. There was the occasional backslide, usually when the beast didn’t get its treat, but after a year and a half, Jacob was confident in his abilities, the beast was largely tamed–though Mark was sure it would always be a bit headstrong–and Mark cleared him for outpatient release. He would still have to check in regularly at the hospital, attend therapy sessions–both solo and group–but finally, he would be able to start putting a life back together outside the nearly three year long nightmare this had become. He wouldn’t be able to register as a vigilante again until he could show better control over his developed powers, but that was, honestly, the furthest thing from Jacob’s mind. He was free. They were free. Mark helped him find a small studio apartment to rent nearby until he could get a job and be back on his feet, though the restitution from his time under Baccanal’s control was nearly enough for him to live on, if he kept life meager.

Mark encouraged him to find some work, however–it would help him adjust back to normal life, if he had something to occupy his time. Before all of this had happened, he had worked in kitchens, mostly, and he found a job as a line cook at a little restaurant not far from his studio. It wasn’t much of a life, he supposed, but it was better than being stuck in the hospital, never getting a taste of fresh air. Life settled into a new, better routine. Group therapy one day a week, therapy with Mark twice a week, and as long as he checked in with the hospital, he was free to just…live, at last.

“Six, a bit over halfway down the stairs now. You know where you’re going, and there is no fear–only trust. Just my voice, guiding you down into the darkness below, that comforting, gentle dark of deep sleep.”

The induction was easy now–Mark knew that he had Jacob’s full trust, as misplaced as that trust was. As long as he’d been in the hospital, Mark had had to be careful–a suggestion here, a nudge there, a test or two on occasion to see how pliable he and his beast were, but never anything too unseemly. It wouldn’t do to get himself tossed out of his favorite hunting ground, after all.

“Seven….getting deeper now. You feel yourself sliding down the steps, floating down them, every inch taking you deeper and deeper towards a restful, peaceful, dreamless sleep.”

They met at Mark’s home now for their therapy sessions–it was more convenient than going to the hospital for Jacob, and they both felt more comfortable here. That, and the only cameras in the corners here were controlled by Mark. He controlled everything, and everyone here–just like he would control Jacob, and his beast, before too much longer.

“Eight, you feel very heavy, so heavy, and the dark is pulling you into it, embracing you, enveloping you in a calm nothingness.”

Mark wasn’t a Super–he couldn’t literally control people. Not like his patients had been controlled–not like how he, himself had been controlled, all those years ago, while he was just a student at college. He had been…close to a young man as an undergraduate, though rather clueless. The young man had thought there was something brewing between them, but Mark put that notion to bed quickly–he wasn’t gay, and also wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone, really. That hadn’t been what his friend had wanted to hear, and unknown to Mark, his friend was an unregistered Super–and one with the ability to…warp personalities. Mark found himself falling head over heels for him in less than a week, desperate to be with him…but the power had been so raw. He’d wanted to be with any man–every man, and his friend enjoyed making him humiliate himself, whoring him out to men all over campus, and Mark refused to report it, out of love. Thankfully, it was found out after a couple of weeks before too much damage had been done to him, but he’d never been the same person since–how could he be?

“Nine. The light seems so far away now, and the darkness is so close. You long for it. You feel so content down here, in the dark, that you will happily stay down here for as long as you can. You feel safe here, safe where no one can harm you, listening to only my voice.”

He never could find women attractive after that, for one thing. But his personality soured, warped, and settled in other ways too. He still craved sex, but also control. He became domineering with his partners, and rarely did a guy return for seconds–not that Mark was interested in having any one normal man more than once or twice. The only person he wanted was his friend–a love he’d never been able to quiet, but it had mutated, and Mark found himself becoming fascinated with other Supers like him. In time, even the love faded, but a furious spite filled its place instead. When he met another Super in graduate school, years later at that point, he decided that was close enough, manipulated him into bed, and then threatened to tell everyone on campus he’d raped Mark, if he didn’t do everything he demanded. The rush of power was unlike anything else, and he had him under his thumb for a month, before the Super ran off–and Mark as furious at having lost him. He wanted more–more Supers, more sex…but he would be more careful, and make sure they would never be able to abandon him. So far, he hadn’t lost a single one yet.

Ten. The floor melts away beneath you, and you are floating, in a deep, peaceful sleep. The only thing besides the darkness is my voice, which you must listen to. My voice is the most important thing to you, here in the darkness. You must obey it, right Jacob?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Jacob. Now, in the darkness, you are going to prepare yourself to dream of the beast–but you will not begin dreaming until we have discussed what this dream will be like, understand?”

Mark had, thus far, been unable to deduce how, exactly, Jacob’s dreams were related to the beast, but he had found that guiding his dreams could determine what sort of form the beast took when the dream began. In fact, the beast seemed rather mutable, never emerging in the same form twice, as far as Mark had seen, though his control over both of them was still very loose. In fact, this was the most dangerous moment of the entire venture, he supposed. If the beast rejected his offer, or simply attacked him–no, that wouldn’t happen. He knew what the beast desired, and he could provide it. Stick to the plan, and everything would go perfectly.

Now, you are going to dream something different, this time. Something you haven’t dreamt about in a very long time. You are going to dream of your time with Baccanal. However, this dream will not scare you, and when you wake, you will not remember any details, only that it was very pleasant. You will dream that you are a glutton. That you eat and drink anything given to you, like a pig. You will dream that you are lecherous and horny, lazy and heavy, satisfied with earthly delights like sex, food and wine. You are going to dream that you are a pig–do you understand?”

Jacob nodded, and Mark had him repeat the details of the dream back to him. Then he told Jacob that the darkness was beginning to clarify, that he was slowly entering the dream, and Mark heard the couch Jacob was sitting on creak slightly. There was always a change in mass before any change actually appeared–almost like both Jacob and the beast were inhabiting the same space at the same time, one taking the place of the other, Jacob let out a snort, and a bit of drool ran down his chin–likely imagining the food and wine from the dream, and his mouth and nose began to grow out into a short snout.

The rest of his was growing as well. Jacob was not a particularly large man–five foot five and a slightly chubby 200 pounds–he’d largely lost the gut he’d had when he first entered the hospital years prior. He could certainly hit hard for his size, though, as his power had manifested, but Mark had come to believe that Jacob, before being controlled by Baccanal, had only been using a small fragment of his potential power. Likely, it would have remained completely dormant, if the beast hadn’t been freed. Baccanal deserved some sort of reward or recognition, surely, but his life sentence would be difficult to work around, sadly. Now, Jacob was close to six feet tall, and still growing (the beast rarely manifested as a creature below seven feet tall or so, and had, on occasion, outgrown the eight foot ceilings at the hospital) his leaner physique lost now under a rapidly expanding belly, his arms packing on some muscle, but really, he seemed…flabby and rotund, just as Mark had hoped. The beast was a singular mind, with a memory separate from Jacob’s, but it’s manner and behavior differed widely depending on its form when it manifested. If Jacob dreamed of a frightening monster, it would be vicious–if he dreamed of something gentler or peaceful, the beast would be…more amenable to something resembling conversation. It had never spoken a word, or at least not to Mark, but it understood everything he said, as far as he could tell.

Jacob had been naked–one of the earliest hypnotic work the doctor had done was get Jacob used to being naked in his presence. He doubted Jacob even noticed that he stripped automatically when he stepped in the door every time now. Mark found himself focused on the beast’s growing cock–this time, it was becoming more porcine, engorging and spiraling from a slimy sheath, with two massive balls hanging below, against the cushion of the couch. The hair came next–less than usual, mostly a thick coating of boar bristle all over his back and across his chest, arms and legs. Then the eyes flicked open, no longer Jacob’s human blue, but a bestial black. The beast was awake, Jacob was lost in the dream, and would be until Mark woke him from it.

Taming the Beast (Part 2)

Mark stared at him over the edge of the tablet for a moment, made a note, and then moved onto someone else, with some other unique trauma that Jacob couldn’t care less about. He was hungry, and group therapy was always right before dinner. He had such an appetite now–Baccanal had fed him well, and the extra fifty pounds on his frame showed. He wanted to lose it…but the hunger was worse now. Better than it had been, those first days, but would he ever feel normal again? He hoped so–or maybe he just couldn’t really remember what normal felt like anymore.

“So no more dreams?” Mark asked. He and Jacob were alone in his office, for some one-on-one therapy. The tone of his voice was neutral, but it was clear that he was skeptical.

“I wasn’t lying at group yesterday, no.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Good. I mean, shouldn’t I feel good? Those dreams…they were disturbing. I’m glad I’m not having them, at least. I feel like I’m getting better.”

The dreams Jacob had been having, ever since he’d regained control over the beast, usually precipitated one of his…slippages. He would wake up, howling and barking, nails like claws, fur all over his body, two minds panicking at the same time, and he would have to fight to put the beast back where it belonged, deep in his mind, where it was supposed to be–where it had always been, at least. But he hadn’t been dreaming, and he hadn’t had a single slip in a week. How could that not be good?

Still, it was clear from the look on his therapist’s face that he was missing something. It made him feel…crazy, when he did that, keeping cards close to his chest. He could handle the truth–he didn’t need to be coddled like some drooling, drugged out problem. Like the rest of them.

“You don’t seem…convinced.”

“I honestly hope you’re lying to me Jacob, because if you aren’t, I’m afraid things are getting worse.” Mark said, and set down the tablet. “You have to be honest in these sessions. I can’t help you regain control of your powers if you don’t trust me.”

“I…I am in control of my powers.”

Mark sat back, said nothing, but the stony look didn’t change on his face.

“Is…there’s something you’re not telling me? What am I missing?”

Mark sighed, toyed with his tablet a moment, and then the screen on the wall lit up, showing a video feed from surveillance footage–footage of Jacob’s room.

“You…you were recording me?”

“We record everyone. It’s for your own safety, and all the files are encrypted and destroyed after your discharge. It’s all in the privacy policy included in your admission packet.”

The admission packet was an entire three inch binder, and Jacob hadn’t exactly been given time to pour over it, before being committed to the center. Mark ran the tape forward a bit, and Jacob watched himself get ready for bed, and then climb in. Nothing happened for a moment, as two hours slipped by. “Was this…when was this?”

“Three nights ago, though there were similar…events during the night’s since, as well.”

“Events?”

“You’ll see.”

It was shortly after one in the morning that it started. In the video, Jacob say himself begin to turn, and then thrash. He was breathing heavily, then panting, then growling, from the look of his mouth, though the video was silent. He started to change, then–fur growing in all over his body, a short snout pushing out his mouth and nose…then his eyes opened, he sniffed the air, and looked around. The beast paced the room for close to half an hour, watching out the window for guards, testing the window and the grates…obviously planning on some sort of escape plan…and Jacob had absolutely no memory of this ever happening. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell the doctor that.

“I…I was lying before. I did…I did have, some dreams, I…” Jacob didn’t know why he was so terrified. He felt like he’d been…caught, but he hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t his fault.

“Actually, Jacob, I believed you the first time,” Mark said. “I don’t think you had any dreams. I think the beast persona inside of you has been testing ways of gaining control over you, and it has…succeeded, for moments, while you sleep. It doesn’t seem to last too long, no more than a half an hour or so at a time…but my worry is that it will get better, and it will seriously injure someone, trying to escape. I’m afraid that, for the time being, we are going to have to move you to a secure cell, until we get a better understanding of what, exactly, is happening with your power.”

Jacob was still watching the screen, unable to believe he was looking at himself–at something…using his body like that. He started to shake. It was a…thing that kept happening, ever since he’d gotten free, this anxiety. He’d lost a year of his life, a whole year to that fucker and the animal inside of him, and now he was going to lose, what, years to this place? Was he going to be like Richie, still here in five years, just an animal locked in a cell? He didn’t remember starting to scream, just when the guards came in, tranquilized him, and dragged him out of the office, to his new cell. Mark just sat behind the desk, watching, trying not to give away the sizable erection the entire scene had given him, and he played back the video feed, pulling his cock free, and stroking it slowly, watching that beast pace back and forth, looking for a way out of this cage.

Well Mark had broken bigger monsters than this in his tenure here. He’d break this one too–and he already had a thought of how he was going to do it. He’d give Jacob some time to adjust to this new revelation, settle on a new drug cocktail, and then the real tests would begin.

Taming the Beast (Part 1)

“I feel…a little better today, I guess. The…the compulsions are still there, but I know they’re compulsions, even if I can’t…always stop myself. It’s like my head is stuck on a track, and there’s…there’s no way off the track. I keep looking for a switch, someway to move past it, past what he told me to do that night…what I couldn’t do that night. I know that if I just…did it, I’d be free–”

“Richie, you know you shouldn’t think that.”

“I know, I know. I…I don’t…I don’t need more drugs, or a higher dosage! I…I won’t. It was just an admission of fact right? If I killed him. If I found him, and like…strangled him, or shot him, or ran him over with a car. If I just…thought he was dead. Maybe if someone told me he was, and really…really convinced me. Like showed me a finger! I could fingerprint it, and–”

“Richie, I think that’s plenty of sharing for this session. Why don’t you go to the nurse’s station,” the therapist said, tapping on the tablet beside him, while Richie stood up, wringing his hands, and went down the hall to take more pills.

Group. Jacob hated group–it was the worst part of the week, always. Still, Mark, his therapist, insisted on it. It helped, he said, to share your experiences with others. It helped you feel less alone, but Jacob always felt…alone here. He wasn’t like the other people here, in the circle–well, he was, in one very important way. But in every other important respect? He was very, very different.

How were they all the same? All of them had been, at one point or another, mentally manipulated or physically controlled by a Super, by a person with extraordinary powers. Well, more than that. The control had been so extensive, or so damaging, that they were all considered a potential danger to society at large. And so, until they were better, or fixed, they were locked up here. Richie there had been a cop. He’d had a run in with a Super connected to the mob, who had “convinced” him that he had to murder an important witness to a crime. He’d failed–and that had been five years ago. He couldn’t drop it. If he was out on the street today, he’d hunt them down just like before. None of them were responsible for these things of course–Mark always told Jacob that–but it was hard to believe you weren’t culpable in the failure of your own mind, especially when no one was about to let him leave any time soon.

“How about you, Jacob?” Mark asked, looking at him over the tablet, “We had an interesting conversation about your dreams in our last session, perhaps someone else is experiencing something similar.”

“I…I haven’t had any I’ve remembered lately,” Jacob said, trying not to show the frustration with being singled out to perform healing for people he couldn’t care less about. He didn’t see the point. Nothing he said was going to help these people–and nothing going on in their addled minds was going to help him either? Why pretend? And so, he refused–it was the one bit of control he still had. To just disengage. Jacob had only been here for a couple of weeks–this was only his fourth group session, but he refused to share anything. He wasn’t like the rest of them. How could they understand what he’d been through? Besides, he was in control, wasn’t he? The beast hadn’t broken out in days. He felt sane, though he wouldn’t for long, listening to any more of this.

Jacob, you see, wasn’t like the others in one very important respect–he was, himself, a Super. A Super who had, in turn, been controlled by another Super, and made to…well, lose control of something Jacob had never actually known that he possessed. Jacob had always known he was different. Faster, stronger, fiercer than other kids his age, bigger too, and always a certain hunger he could never really explain. He supposed, had things gone differently for him, he could have easily become a villain, of a sort. A bully, more likely. But that hunger had manifested as a desire to correct injustice, and so he’d registered and taken to patrolling the streets…but he hadn’t been at it for a few months before he wandered into a place he should have been more careful around–a bar run by another Super named Baccanal, an enchanter, of sorts.

One sip of his wine, and Jacob had been willing to do anything for the owner of the bar–and the more he drank, the more dedicated to him he became…but also, the more control he found himself losing. Control over something he’d never even known was inside him–a beast. Claws, teeth, fur–he didn’t recognize himself, soon enough, and Baccanal was thrilled at his newest acquisition, particularly when he discovered that the beast inside Jacob could morph into whatever animalistic form its new Master desired to see.

Jacob…didn’t recall much from the next year or so, of being pressed into Baccanal’s service. What he did remember…made him shiver with rage and humiliation. Becoming a satyr, waiting on tables in the bar, telling jokes and humiliating himself, usually. When Baccanal had a few special patrons come through, he would take on other forms, and service them as whatever mythical stud they desired–a minotaur, a centaur, more freakish forms he was glad the couldn’t fully recall. At long last, Baccanal had slipped up and gotten caught. Free of his enchanted wine, Jacob had managed to take control again…mostly. Due to the occasional slippage he’d experienced, and the fact that all Supers who were controlled had to undergo mandatory treatment, he’d ended up here, with these freaks, just waiting until he got the green light, and was released again. He hated being caged more than anything–and the beast in him was none to happy about the situation either.

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.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 8)

Strange, how in all of their talk that evening, not once had either of them brought up his son. In fact…it was hard to even remember him clearly, for some reason. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he poured himself another glass to settle his nerves. Mr. Elroy noticed, “What’s wrong Harry? You’re not letting those bad thoughts in again, are you?”

Harry shook his head, “No…No…sir…I was just…I know my, uh, son is visiting tomorrow, but I…well, I don’t really remember what he looks like, is all. Isn’t that…odd?”

“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ve had a severe episode, but you’re already doing much better. I’m sure you’ll remember him tomorrow, just fine.” Mr. Elroy stood up, exhaling a thick plume of smoke as he did, and when he stepped out of it–it was…Wilbur standing there, a few feet from him, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “Anything else you need tonight, buddy?”

“Wilbur, I…I miss you so much…” Harry said.

“Now, now–I can help you with that, bud. Come on–let’s get you to bed for the night.” Wilbur helped him up, and being this close to him, he even…smelled right, that musk of his that had always gotten Harry so hard on the factory floor, that aftershave he’d always wear. When he fucked him that night, it was so…good. One of their best, and when he was finished, he helped Harry under the sheets, kissed him good night, and he fell asleep almost immediately, his dreams full of the past.

Harry woke up in a good mood, and Mr. Elroy helped him get dressed after his shower, but all he was really wanting was his first cigar of the day–that, and a shot of bourbon to help the lingering headache from his indulgence the night before. The smoke helped clear his mind, and he felt sharper than he had yesterday. Everything from two days ago just felt like a horrific dream–all of the terror and confusion…he didn’t want to feel that way again. Thankfully he had Mr. Elroy to help him along, and get him back to himself. He was…safe here. Happy here.

“Are you excited to see your son today, Harry?” Mr. Elroy asked from the bedroom, while he made the bed.

His son…he still didn’t remember much about his son. That should worry him right? Shouldn’t all of this worry him? He took another inhale from his cigar, and that helped settle him back down. “Yes. Of course I am,” he said, “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

Mr. Elroy didn’t respond–not that Harry needed a reply. Still, it was bothering him, all the same, and so he decided to just…imagine what his son might be like. What he hoped he’d be like. Mostly, he hoped he was a man. A proper man, like Harry was. Smoking, drinking, working with his hands. Not afraid of a fight. That’s the sort of boy Harry would have wanted to raise–that would be a good legacy, in his mind. He finished his cigar and went down to breakfast–after that, Mr. Elroy put the finishing touches on the apartment, making sure everything was in place for Harry’s son, when he arrived. Harry, however, was feeling more and more nervous, and doing his very best to make sure Mr. Elroy didn’t notice. He…didn’t want his nurse to know that he was starting to think that something about all of this was wrong.

His memories–they just weren’t lining up at all. Yes, he was suffering from…dementia, allegedly, but even that didn’t seem to account for everything. He could remember so much about himself, and yet, about other things, there was just…nothing at all. Nothing about his son, nothing about how he’d gotten here, and while he could recall Patricia and Wilbur, all of his memories of them were…ancient. Weren’t those the ones that usually went first? And why did he keep having this feeling that all of this was wrong? That it was fake? He could remember other things, it was true. Things about going to school, about being a teenager–not back in the fifties, but a teenager today. They…they seemed more real to him, in some ways. Brighter, if that made any sense. But they couldn’t be real. If those were real, then that meant everything else–Patricia, Wilbur, Mr. Elroy–that meant it was all…all a lie. That meant that what he could remember of the night before last, of becoming…old in a moment. That meant it might be true, but he…he didn’t want that to be true. He wanted to be past that.

They went down to breakfast, Harry hobbling along with his cane, and then back up in his room, there was nothing for him to do except sit in his chair, watch TV, drink coffee and chain smoke cigars, his eyes checking the clock every few minutes, eager for lunch time to come. Mr. Elroy busied himself around the apartment, unpacking more and more of Harry’s things. “Everything alright Harry?” he said, when he took a break, “You seem…tense. You aren’t feeling the dementia coming on again, are you?”

Harry shook his head, a bit of ash falling in his lap, which Mr. Elroy scooped away quickly, “No sir, I’m…I know who I am..” he paused, “I just…I don’t remember nothin’ ‘bout my boy.”

“Oh, is that all that’s bothering you?” Mr. Elroy said, “Don’t worry about that now–I’m sure that once you see him, and get to chatting about the past, you’ll remember him just fine in time. You’re just going to have to relax, and do everything I tell you to do, and remember everything I tell you to remember. You can do that, right Harry?”

He nodded, “Yes sir, Mr. Elroy.”

“That’s a good boy,” Mr. Elroy said, stroking the side of his face just like Wilbur used to, when they were alone. “I think we’ll have lunch here, in your room today. How does that sound to you?”

“I’d…I’d love to…Wilbur,” Harry said, already lost in his memories, as Mr. Elroy allowed him to undo the front of his pants, Harry alternating between sucking on his cock and smoking his cigar–and occasionally blowing smoke all over his cock. Wilbur liked that, the heat of his breath, and he pulled Harry out of the chair, got him on his hands and knees, right in the living room, pulled down his bracers and pants, and fucked him like a dog. “Wilbur…not…what if Patricia sees us?” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry–everything is gonna be just fine. You let me take care of everything.”

“I…lo–I…” But he couldn’t say it. Love wasn’t something two men like them could have, in Harry’s mind. “Thanks for being with me, Wilbur, I…I missed you so much…”

“I know buddy–now open up. You want this dick in you bad, don’t you?”

“Fuck Wilbur, you know how I like it.”

“Rough and raw–I know what you need buddy,” Mr. Elroy said, and slipped in Harry’s hole, watching him chuff on the cigar and bore down with a grunt. Mr. Elroy, on the other hand, couldn’t wait for Harry’s new son to arrive. He had a feeling it was going to be quite the reunion.

End of Episode 1 – More to come soon.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He did, and whatever junk Mr. Elroy had messed with in his head–he did want this. He wanted it bad. As he sucked, he could sense that the changes to his body were slowing down, but they were by no means over. His frame filled out with a few more pounds of fat, his potbelly becoming a proper gut, and the last of the color drained from his hair, leaving it just a dingy grey, including a mustache which grew in over his lip, brushing the surface of Mr. Elroy’s cock as he sucked, making him shiver, groa, and then grab the back of Harry’s head and start fucking his throat for real. He choked and sputtered, but didn’t have to last long before Mr. Elroy came, cum flooding into his mouth, and he swallowed it all down, like Mr. Elroy wanted him to do, before letting the cock fall from his mouth.

“Yeah, look at you–that’s real nice. We’re gonna have a real nice time here, you and I, trust me,” Mr. Elroy said, stroking his wrinkled, jowled cheek.

“Please…I…just let me go, sir…” Harry muttered, shocked by how weak and pitiful his voice sounded, “I’m sorry, if I did something wrong, I just…this can’t be right. This can’t be real…”

“Oh, it’s very real, trust me,” Mr. Elroy said, “More real than you realize.”

There was, suddenly, a knock on the door. Hoping for someone who might save him, Harry went to shout, but the voice locked up in his throat. “Now now, don’t go making a scene, Harry. Let’s get you up and situated,” Mr. Elroy said, “Your son can wait a moment, right?”

Mr. Elroy helped him up to his feet, and pushed him into a sheet covered armchair, before telling him to stay put–then he went and answered the door, and to Harry’s surprise, his father walked into the room. “There you are, Mr. Willis. I was just getting your father settled in.”

Harry could see a moment of confusion on his father’s face, but it softened in moments. He had to–this was his only chance! “Dad! Dad, it’s me, It’s Harry!” he said, weakly, trying to get out of the chair, but he couldn’t manage to stand on his own, “Don’t…don’t listen to him, don’t!”

Peter looked at Mr. Elroy in alarm, but as soon as he met his eyes, he relaxed again. “Don’t mind him, Mr. Willis. Your father has had a long day moving in–he’s just tired, and confused. Why don’t you come in and say good night.”

Peter stepped into the apartment, and walked over to Harry. “Alright dad–Mr. Elroy is going to take it from here, alright?”

“I sure will–give us a day or two to get him unpacked and settled down, and then you should come by and visit.”

“No, dad, I don’t want to stay here, not with him.”

Peter looked at Mr. Elroy apologetically, “I’m sorry, he…doesn’t quite know himself anymore.”

“Well, that’s why he’s here, Peter. Don’t worry, these sorts of episodes come and go, but it’s good you brought him in early, before the dementia really sets in. It will make the transition easier.”

“I’m just…surprised. He was always so sharp, and now seeing him like this.”

“It can be a shock–you need some rest too, Peter. Now go on home, and come back the day after next for a visit–I guarantee your father will be in much better shape.”

“I work all day though. I don’t known when–”

Mr. Elroy shushed him. “The day after next. Come after lunch, around two. Don’t worry about work, family is more important, right? I’m sure they will understand.”

Peter nodded, thanked Mr. Elroy, and then left the apartment. Harry just stared at the door, aghast, unable to believe what had just happened. His dad…hadn’t even remembered him. No–he had remembered him, but not as his son–his dad somehow thought Harry was his father! “I…What did you do to him?”

“That young Harry you think you remember is gone now. He never existed. You’re Peter’s father now. It will take some getting used to, I know, but trust me, once we get you all unpacked, you’ll remember everything you need to remember, and you’ll be much more pleasant to your son the next time you see him, without sounding like a deranged old coot.”

“But I’m not crazy! I don’t have dementia, I’m not even old!”

Mr. Elroy smiled at him, but it had no warmth. “That is true–I’ve gone rather easy on you, so far. But trust me, Harry–if you give me much trouble, I can make sure that brain of yours looks like swiss cheese in a few hours. You’ll be bedridden for a few months, barely aware of yourself, pissing and shitting in a bedpan until you finally expire. It’s all the same to me, really. So, do you want to cooperate, and enjoy the now substantially abridged life you now have, or should I go ahead and call the nurses to take you to our hospice wing?”

Harry shook his head no, and with Mr. Elroy’s help, he got out of the chair, and allowed the man to lead him down the hall, to the small bedroom at the end. Like the rest of the apartment, sheets covered most everything, but Mr. Elroy uncovered the bed, helped Harry out of his clothes, and then shoved him over the side. “Now, how about a good night fuck, and then we get you tucked in?” he said, and slid his cock into Harry’s ass, “We’ll get you all unpacked tomorrow, and get you more…familiar with your new self. It’s my favorite part, really–I can’t wait to find out who Harry Willis was, can you?”

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 2 (Part 4)

I didn’t tell him about the apartment just yet–instead, I asked him about Bernard, about whether anything he’d seen him say reminded him of his own experiences. He was dismissive of him. Bernard didn’t know anything, really. He said that he didn’t matter, that he could see Master had gotten tired of him, found nothing worth his time and effort, not like him–and only realized after the fact that he’d let his guard slip. I pressed him, and he clammed back up, refusing to say anything at all. He knew more about this–all of it–than he was willing to tell me, but I didn’t understand why. What sort of loyalty could this rapist possibly engender in his victims, that they would go to these lengths to defend him, and praise him? I had seen Stockholm syndrome before, on rare tragic occasions, but this…this was something else. This was a degree of change and control that, I had no reasonable explanation for at all.

He wanted to leave, and I told him it would be best if he settled down, and waited for his clothes to arrive, so he wouldn’t leave walking around in a prison jumpsuit. He didn’t argue with the point…but I think he also realized that no one was going to be finding anything of his back at the address he’d given me in the car. Instead, I went to my superiors–I wanted to hold him overnight, or really, as long as I could manage. I knew, if I wasn’t careful, that as soon as he was out of here, he’d disappear just as quickly as Bernard had. Ray changed tactics, and instead started asking about Jules–he still wanted to apologize to him for his accident earlier, and I told him I’d do my best to find him…but he was beginning to panic. Jules, however, had returned from his place, wearing a new change of clothes, and so I told him Ray wanted to talk to him and apologize–and that anything he could do to convince him to cooperate would be a big help.

Jules was a bit off, though. I didn’t realize it in the moment–after all, what we’d been through that day had us all a bit on edge, but I remember smelling the piss on him still–piss and something else, something that I now think was probably his own cum, judging by what happened later. Maybe if I’d been less distracted, I could have prevented what happened next–but as I was about to go down with Jules to see him, Marcus, Mr. Cold Case, came barging in, demanding to see the latest victim I was holding. Jules went down to talk to Ray, while I dealt with him. I refused to let Marcus get involved, of course and he had no legal ground to demand anything from me at all– but I was more interested in how he’d learned about us bringing him in, because as far as I’d heard, no one from the media had caught wind of the case yet. He made a scene eventually–I think he was trying to get locked up down in the hold with him, but in the end he left without doing anything stupid. With that taken care of, I went down to holding, only to discover that, while Marcus had been distracting me, Ray had simply left.

To say I was furious was an understatement. I demanded to know who, exactly, had cleared him to leave, and the officers on duty told me that Jules had gone into the room with him for a few minutes, alone, and then the two of them had left the precinct together. I went into the room where the session had been taped, rewound the footage, and watched and listened to what had happened when Jules had gone into the room, but as…normal as the encounter might have seemed on the surface, something was very, very wrong.

Jules had entered the room and hurried over to where Ray was standing, getting…very close to him, and on the tape, I think I can hear him sniffing, or maybe even snorting. “There you are,” Ray said, “I wanted to say sorry for gettin’ my piss all over you earlier,” Ray says, putting one massive arm around Jules’ shoulder, and bringing him close, turning around so their backs were to the camera. Whatever was said next I can’t make out on the tape–they’re both talking too quietly, but I can see Jules leaning in closer and closer, nodding along to whatever Ray is telling him, and then they leave–and when they leave, I can see that Jules is hard as a rock in the front of his uniform pants, eyes a bit distant, licking his lips–and Ray just looks…thrilled with himself, somehow.

I called Jules immediately, but he didn’t answer. The Captain was furious that we’d just let a victim walk out without getting any information about where he was going or what he was planning on doing–and I didn’t have a good answer for him. I went by Jules house that evening to talk to him, but his wife told me he’d come home to change, reeking of something awful, and had left again without even bothering to shower. He didn’t show up again the next day either, and now the Captain was even more furious–not only had a victim walked out on us, leaving us with a dead end on the most high profile case in years, apparently he had kidnapped one of our own cops in the process.

I had no leads. All I had was the video from the interrogation room, and so I poured over it, turned up the volume as much as I could, watching body language from those few minutes, trying to understand. Trying to understand why, without even knowing why, I kept trying to jack off while I watched it. Trying to understand why I could still…smell him, even now, as I walked around the precinct. I found nothing–and so I started digging into Ray’s past, only to discover it was scrubbed. No employment records. No driver’s license. No birth certificate. Someone had wiped him off the face of the Earth, whoever he’d been, and left a stinking brute in his place–and the monster who did it had who knew how many other victims in the wings, ready to reveal to the world whenever he wanted–and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

To Be Continued…

The Carnival (Part 8) [Interactive]

“I don’t really feel like going down with strangers,” one of the frat brothers, Dylan, said, “That sounds really awkward.”

“Yeah, the whole point was to go together anyway,” Garth added.

They all agreed, then, to try their luck and go as one big group together, but it wasn’t until they were in line a bit further on that all three of them got a little self-conscious. All around them were heterosexual couples, most of them younger, but a few older married couples from town too, and then there was the three of them together. None of them were the least bit gay, but the looks they were getting from others were making them second guess their idea. The line wasn’t long though, and they got to the ride entrance before any of them lost their nerve. The inside was all decorated in garish pinks and reds, and the air smelt of flowers. It was cloying, and all three of them were already rolling their eyes at the kitchy setup, as they stepped up to the next boat, and the carny minding the ride, gave them a look.

“All three of us want to go together,” Finn said, the other two suppressing a chuckle. To their surprise, however, the man just shrugged, and told them that he’d unhook one of the three’s company boats they kept for special requests. Where the other, two seater boats were all bench like, the larger boat was designed in a circle, with a small table in the middle and high sides giving a bit more privacy than they were really comfortable with. Still, they all climbed in, the carny secured the door, and sent them off floating into the pink light, the dock disappearing as they rounded the first corner.

There was no sound–no music, and not even the sound of other people ahead or behind them, even though they couldn’t have been that distant from them. It was a little unnerving, and the surroundings were rather uninteresting. Some flowering plants on the rock walls, the occasional small waterfall giving off a bit of sound, and just the sound of them all breathing, wondering what they should say. They knew they should be making fun of it, but now it seemed heavy and serious, none of them able to look one another in the eye as a mist began to rise from the water around them, and spill over the sides of the boat. It had the same scent as earlier, but much more pungent–strong enough that all three of them began to feel lightheaded. Garth looked out, trying to see the walls and the way forward, but he couldn’t see anything at all through the fog. He sat back down, only to find Finn had leaned over, and was kissing Dylan–gently, but it was growing more passionate, Dylan leaning into it, hungry for it, and all Garth felt was an immediate, desperate horniness.

Those two…how had he never seen them like this before? In the locker room, out on the field, in the bathroom showers…He scooched around and started feeling Dylan’s body, and he turned away from Finn to kiss him instead, while Finn reached over, toying with their cocks and nipples gently, and then leaning over and stealing Garth’s mouth from Dylan. Time seemed to slow down as their desires intensified, the water still, the whole space quiet aside from their gentle moans and soft sighs into one another’s mouths. However, the boat kept moving on, deeper into the tunnel, the light growing dimmer and dimmer as they reached the heart, all three of them feeling new memories, desires, and most of all, love, filing their minds and their souls until they thought they might burst–until they did burst, in fact, all three of them cumming together, and then arriving at the other end of the tunnel. In the light, they could see that more had changed than just their desires…but this was normal now. The three of them would be together for as long as they live–though what kind of relationship do they have now?

So, what does the boys’ new relationship look like?

Two daddy bears with a diapered boy
An incestuous redneck family
A leather master and two slaves

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