My Town (Part 10)

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taste good?”

“Yes sir….thank you.”

“You want more?”

Quentin nodded.

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

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

My Town (Part 9)

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t he a faggot?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emptied Out (Part 1)

Nathan gave a start, and realized what he’d heard that had woken him up was someone knocking on the door of the small house he was renting with a few other students on campus. He’d been waiting for his dad to arrive and drive him home for the summer–the only other person still waiting was Greg–the housemate he detested the most. Every living situation had a bad egg, but Greg was worst than most–refusing to clean up after himself, getting everything filthy, smoking cigarettes and drinking in his room, and Nathan had even caught him masturbating in the living room to porn once. He was vile, and he was sitting in the chair across from Nathan on the sofa, just smiling–and giving him the creeps.

The house was empty except for them, their other two housemates had left the day before, carpooling to the airport, and that had left Nathan alone with Greg since then…and he’d been a bit stranger than he usually was. On top of that, Nathan had noticed that he’d been zoning out off and on–almost always while Greg was in the room with him. If he focused, he could…almost remember them having conversations, but if he thought too hard about it, he always seemed to get a headache.

“I think that’s your dad, Nathan,” Greg said, still not letting the grin down.

“Yeah, probably,” he said, got up, and straightened out his ironed shirt and khakis. Unlike his roommate, Nathan took good care of himself–went to the gym, ate healthy meals, and attended all of his classes. His family was rich, and he would admit that he could act a little spoiled because of it, but when it came to people like Greg, they deserved to be reminded of their place in the world–that is, as people much lesser than Nathan. He’d flunk out before even graduating, probably, and Nathan wouldn’t have to think about him ever again–in fact, he’d ask his dad to help him pay for an apartment for himself next year–he didn’t want to get trapped with another terrible housemate like this again. He went to the door and opened it, but it wasn’t his rich father waiting to drive him home in his Tesla on the other side–it was some nasty looking fucker, even dirtier than Greg, with a beat-up van behind him parked in the driveway. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man looked past him to Greg, and grinned, “Is…Is he the one, Master? He looks fun.”

“Yeah daddy, he’s the one you’re getting.”

Nathan just looked from one slob to the other, confused as hell with what was going on.

“He don’t know yet?” the older man asked.

“Nah, daddy,” Greg said, “I like them to find out now, what’s about to happen to them.” He got up from the chair where he was sitting and walked to where Nathan and the man were standing, “Let me introduce you, Nathan. This is Biff, one of my daddy slaves, and the man who is going to be your daddy from now on. Biff has been real good lately, and I thought he deserved a boy of his own as a reward for being such a good slave.”

Biff nodded, and beamed, while Nathan just looked at Greg like he was insane. “Slave? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t remember much of it, Nathan, but I’ve been hypnotizing you for months now–isn’t that right, horndog?”

Nathan didn’t know what came over him, but his cock got immediately hard, and he shoved his hand down the front of his pants, stroking himself right in front of them both while they watched, leering, “I…what the fuck is this!”

“This is just the tip of the iceberg, Nathan. We’ve had so much fun together–all of us have. You, me, Hal, and Josh–all of you have been such good little piggies here with me, all semester long. You though–you just never could drop the attitude…well, that and when I saw that picture of your dad, I just new I had to have him as one of mine, which means I need to find a place to keep you.” He paused a moment, and smiled, “You’ll understand everything here in a few moments, once you cum–then daddy Biff here can start filling you back up.”

Filling him up. He…knew those words somehow, but they lacked context–he was sure it wasn’t good though. Nathan did his best to try and control himself and stop masturbating, but he was helpless. He could already feel his load building, and with a muffled groan, his cock exploded in the front of his khakis, leaving a sizable wet spot on the front, but Greg wasn’t looking at his housemate’s crotch–he was looking at his face. As he came, Nathan’s mouth went slack, his eyes unfocused, shoulders slumped forward in a daze.

“Are you there Nate?” Greg asked.

Nathan nodded, “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Tell me Nate, are you empty, or full right now?”

“Empty…”

“Yes, you’re very empty, because you just shot a big chunk of Nathan right into those pants, didn’t you? Well, the good thing is that your daddy is here now, Nate–you know who your daddy is, right?”

Nathan nodded slowly, “Biff is my daddy…”

“Good. And what can your daddy do?”

“Fill me back up.”

Greg looked over at Biff. “Alright Daddy, he’s all yours, like we talked about. You know what you want to fill him up with first?”

“Sure do boy! Been thinkin’ ‘bout it the whole way here,” Biff said, and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out into his dirty palm, and pulling a lighter from his pocket. He stuck it in his scruffy maw and lit it, taking a deep, practiced inhale, and sighing two jets of smoke from his nose. “Alright boy, let’s fill ya back up with some smoke. Here, let Daddy give you some,” he said, took another long drag, leaned in, pressed his mouth to Nathan’s slack jaw, and pushed the smoke into him, and Nathan inhaled deep, his body resisting the urge to cough. “That’s good boy,” Biff said when he pulled away, “Ya love gettin’ smoke from yer daddy whenever ya can–not that you’re ever without a fag yerself, right son?”

Performance Reviews (Part 5)

*~* Six Months Later *~*

“Come on, Shitface,” Aaron said gruffly around his cigar, and tugged the leather leash. Whatever had caught it’s attention, the office pet followed Aaron into the bathroom to start it’s day. The bathroom had seen better days, but then again, it hadn’t been cleaned in nearly a year at this point. The partitions had all been torn out, leaving just two open toilets, covered in piss stains and shit smears, a couple sinks that no longer worked, and a urinal with a puddle of reeking piss that Shitface headed towards, while Aaron attached the end of the lead to the hook on the wall, next to the toilets. Shitface didn’t notice, it was too busy sucking up as much of the piss as it could. Aaron watched for a moment, still unable to believe that after all of this time, Carson was still in there somewhere. Cum dripped from the head of Shitface’s chastity cage, but it’s cock didn’t harden–Aaron had taught the beast better, with a good amount of electric shock punishment, and while it remained plenty horny, it hadn’t strained in its cage in a few months. With that, Aaron left the bathroom to get to work–Bryce needed his morning whipping while he ate breakfast. The fat fuck had been slowing down lately, and Ollie wanted him cresting nine hundred pounds by the end of the month, and pain had turned out to be a great motivator for him.

Shitface, meanwhile, finished off the puddle of old piss, and then knelt by the toilet, panting, and waiting. It wasn’t long before someone came in–Cletus, in fact, hauling around his huge gut in a pair of overalls, tobacco spit drooling into his wiry mass of a beard. He sat down with a grunt and started shitting, Shitface sucking his cock while he did and drinking his dipspit as well, until he finished, and then Cletus stood up, turned around, and let Shitface get what the beast really wanted, the nasty filth left in the crack. When it was clean, Cletus gave the beast a pet on the head and told it that it had dome a real good job, and noticed Ollie had stepped in after him without saying anything. Cletus offered his nasty redneck hole to him, but Ollie said he had some business with Shitface first, and Cletus left, disappointed, but some other dirty fucker in the office would want to ride him, he was certain.

“Well, it’s been another six months–why don’t we give you a real nice reward, eh Shitface, and see how Carson is doing in there?”

Ollie walked over, got down, and unlocked the cage around the beast’s cock. It didn’t know what to do–it hadn’t had it’s cock free in so long, and when Ollie started rubbing it, it didn’t respond at all–the beast knew what happened if it got hard, after all. Still, with some urging from Ollie, Shitface got into it, humping into his fist while he sniffed at his pits, but he didn’t manage to cum until Ollie bent over and let it eat out his crack. Only then, did he finally work a massive load from the beast, six months worth of cum pouring out of him and onto the filthy tile, and slowly, from the depths of himself that he hadn’t even known he possessed, Carson pushed his way back to the surface.

Or at least, what was left of him.

“Wha, where am…I? He muttered, lips struggling to form the words it had nearly forgotten.

“Welcome back Carson,” Ollie said, “It’s time for your review. But maybe, first, you should take a look at yourself in that mirror there.”

Carson crawled over where Ollie pointed, getting about a yard before realizing he was crawling. He tried to stand up…but didn’t quite know how, and ended up in a strange stoop, clinging to the sink to keep himself upright, and he could see what the last six months had done to him.

He was so smooth–smooth, and filthy. The hair on his head had either been freshly shaved that day, but from the grunge on his scalp, it was more likely that it had been removed entirely. The same with the hair on his face–and the hair on the rest of his body, though it looked like Ollie or Aaron had decided to replace it with tattoos. His entire front was covered with ink, and it ran down his arms and legs as well–but not on his face, for some reason. No–his face seemed wrong in other ways–his nose turned up, eyes small, mouth too large. That, and he was so…fat, so much fatter than he had been. He couldn’t remember clearly, but he’d been…around 275 when he’d last gone under, but now he looked to be close to 400, enough that he’d felt his gut graze the ground when he’d crawled a moment before. “What…you do to me? Not right, this not right.”

“Of course it’s right, Carson. This is you. You’re a brownnosing, filthy little animal, aren’t you?”

That did sound right, actually, but something…was saying no. A distant voice, but it was there. He shook his head, his hair flinging around him, but nothing seemed any clearer than before. “Not right, not right!” he yelled, “Not right, not me, no!”

He tried to turn and face Ollie, but fell back onto his hands and knees, where he knew he belonged. Ollie regarded him, and the cage in his hand. “I should probably just lock you away for a while longer, really do away with you, make you too stupid and weak to resist, but you know what? This is going to be more fun, you fucking animal.”

Carson slipped away, back into the darkness, and when he next surfaced, he had his face planted in a filthy crack, and someone was fucking him rough, rough like Master fucked him, rough how he liked it now. He’d cum again, and he struggled to pull away, but couldn’t–he was too tired, he was too tired to fight it anymore. The crack pulled away eventually, and Carson looked behind him, and saw it was Master fucking him, leering down at him around his massive cigar, and he felt…fear. So much fear. Obey master, always obey Master, or else punishment, so much punishment.

“Fuck, he is still in there, ain’t he?” Aaron said.

“The code phrase will work for you too, use it if you have to, and cage him up if his mind starts to come back and resist. I don’t think he will though–give him a few weeks, and he’ll accept it.”

Aaron waved the cage in his face, and said, “I don’t know, think I can trust you with your mind out, Shitface?”

He knew that wasn’t his name, not really, but…he couldn’t remember the other one, even though he knew Ollie had said it earlier. He nodded regardless. It was Master’s name for him, and that was all that really mattered.

Aaron looked back at Ollie, “I’m gonna enjoy having him know what’s happening to him–and trust me, in another six months? He’ll love it. I’ll make him love it, all of it. He’ll want to be a fucking pet–he’ll be begging me to use the words on him, to give him the release he craves.”

Ollie laughed. “Well, I’ll let you get started then, Aaron. And that was an excellent review as always–you’re my star employee.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aaron said, “I wouldn’t want any other job than this one.”

Performance Reviews (Part 4)

“I’m still that person, you can’t fucking break me,” Carson said, “I’m gonna blow this whole fucking thing wide open, you can’t do this forever!”

Ollie nodded, “Yeah, I know you’d try–and so, that’s why I’ve decided I simply can’t let that rational mind of yours hold onto the wheel much anymore,” he stepped closer, and Carson could…smell him, smell his stinking ass, but he fought against that urge as hard as he could. “See, that rational mind is still yours, but the rest of your head? I own it. All of it. Fuck, if you’d just give in, you wouldn’t even recognize yourself in a few days. So you know what? You’re going to have to learn how to let go–isn’t that right, you fucking animal?”

Carson didn’t know how to describe what happened next. It was like the urges pent up inside him ramped up to a roar, and every trick he’d found to hold them back could barely keep them at bay. He heard himself start panting, and smelled…piss. He’d pissed himself in the chair, right where he was sitting, and he hadn’t even cared. “No, you, how you do…that…” Carson said, but the words were slow, and nothing seemed to make sense.

“You are a tough one, aren’t you?” Ollie said, “Well, nothing can stop a fucking animal like you, trust me.”

He lost it. Carson felt his mind flung away, the instinct and desires Ollie had spent months planting in him taking complete control, and he threw himself out of the chair and onto his hands and knees, snorting and panting, nosing around to the back of Ollie’s pants. He…didn’t have a clear memory of what happened after that, it was just a cascade of wants and desires, none of it conscious, just a pursuit of whatever twisted pleasure his bestial and perverted mind desired. The next thing he knew, he was cumming, and the beast inside him lost force, allowing Carson to resurface and gain control again–and he found himself around the side of Bryce’s desk, still humping his massive, flabby thigh, and from the wetness in his pants, he had clearly cum just from grinding himself against his boss’s massive leg.

He fell back and looked to the clock. Two hours. He’d lost control for two hours, and he couldn’t remember a second of it, not clearly. He felt something cold in the back of his pants as well, and realized that somewhere in the midst of his rutting, he had shat himself as well. He was shaking in horror, and he looked up at Ollie standing over him. “I’m…I’m sorry, I’ll…I’ll do it, I’ll do everything, I swear, please don’t let it back out, please…”

“I’m sorry Carson, I really am, but you won’t be able to help yourself. You love control a bit too much. And in all honesty? You’re a hot fucking animal when you let go–and I’d rather have that nasty fucking beast in the office than you. Stand up, and strip.”

Carson, still pleading with him, stood up and took off his filthy shirt and soiled pants and underwear. Ollie grabbed something amongst the food on the desk, a little metal…something he didn’t recognize. Ollie started putting it on his cock, and Carson realized what it must be–a chastity cage. “No…No, you can’t…”

“Don’t worry Carson, I’ll let you out again eventually, but six months locked away will do a marvelous job grinding away some of that troublesome mind of yours. I have a feeling that when your next review rolls around, you’ll be a whole new man.”

He locked the cage, and gave it a tug, making sure it was secure. It was…so small. There was no way his cock could get an erection in it. “Please, please, just let me try.”

“Enjoy your last thoughts Carson–because you’re going to spend a good long time as my nasty, fucking animal from now on.”

He tried to fight it, but he was too weak to resist it again, and Carson’s rational mind slipped away again, and the animal fell onto its hands and knees, looking at the cage on its cock and whining a bit.

Ollie went to the door and hollered, “Aaron! Quit beating on the intern for a bit, and get over here. The project I mentioned is ready for you.”

Aaron appeared in the doorway, and grinned when he saw the snorting, empty eyed beast where Carson had been moments before. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.”

“Yeah, but he’s…well, look at the mess he made earlier. You’re job is to train the thing, make sure it can behave–or at least make sure it isn’t pissing and shitting all over the place–or make it clean up after itself if you prefer. Beyond that, make sure it stays plenty horny all the time–with that rank ass of yours, I doubt you’ll have a hard time with that. it’ll be going home with you too–so get used to parking around back, by the loading dock, out of sight. If people see him, we’ll have issues.”

“Sure thing Boss–can I give the thing a better name, too?”

Ollie shrugged, “Why not? What do you have in mind?”

“Come here, Shitface,” he said, calling Carson over, and the beast crawled to him, and started sucking his thick cock. “I think he likes it.”

Performance Reviews (Part 3)

*~* Six Months Later *~*

Don’t leave.

Carson opened the door to his apartment, stepped outside, and locked the door behind him.

Don’t get in the car, don’t do it, you don’t have to go there. You don’t have to be what the want you to be.

He walked down the steps, smelling the filth all over his unwashed shirt–the same shirt he’d been wearing for over a month at this point, the front stained with cum, ash, food–everything he could think of. He was horrified that someone might see him again, like they had yesterday–the shame…fuck, he hated this, he hated it, but he had to go, he had to. It was his job.

It’s not a job! It’s some fucked up twisted fucking shit. Don’t start the car. Don’t start the car, get out, and call the police, fucking call the police!

He started the car, backed out, and drove to the office, part of him already thinking about the delicious, unwashed asscracks waiting for him, and the other part, the real part, the…smaller part of him, horrified that he’d been doing this for months on end, and he hadn’t once been able to resist it. Still, at least he was trying to resist it–it seemed like the rest of the men in the office had all given into whatever strange shit Ollie had done to them, and never once looked back.

He parked the car, tried one last time to keep himself from going in there, and then took the elevator up, a bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth and running down the stubble on his chin. Other things had changed about him too, he was certain. Some of them were indisputable, like his weight. Every guy in the office had gained at least fifty pounds over the last six months, and some had gained…substantially more. More than should even be possible, in all honesty. Then, there was the hair. Everyone was hairier, and everyone had grown some kind of facial hair–usually a full beard, but depending on the role, some were allowed to shave parts of it appropriately. Carson, however, wasn’t like the rest of them…and it made sense. He was lesser than the rest of them, after all, he didn’t deserve hair. He shaved his all off twice a week–both on his head, and on his face, and around his cock too. It made him feel strange being around so many hairy men, but…but he didn’t deserve to look like a man, he supposed. Everyone should be able to tell right away, looking at him, that he was something less than a man, less than human, even.

The office was thick with smoke and the stench of rank bodies. The men already there were all involved with their usual activities, but he didn’t get to anyone before Aaron spotted him and made a beeline for him down the hall. Aaron was…huge, and one of the few men in the office who had packed on muscle in addition to a layer of fat. He was wearing his usual office attire–or what had become his usual attire, at least. Leather chaps and a vest, his gut hanging out that seemed to get hairier by the day, muir cap, and his favorite paddle in his hand, ready to strike anyone who needed a little extra discipline that morning. “Shitface! Bryce and Ollie want to see you–time for your six month review.” Then he gave Carson a wink–not a good sign. “Already had mine, told me I’m doin’ great. Turning into the perfect, nasty, domineering leather bear they wanted me to be. Tell me I’m gettin’ some new responsibilities around here soon. Hope I’ll still have time to spend with that tongue of yours.” He passed Carson, and as he did, gave his ass a sharp smack with the paddle, making him yelp and hurry along faster to Bryce’s office–or Ollie’s office really, he supposed. Ollie was the one who was really in charge here after all.

He knocked, and Ollie told him he could enter after a moment. Inside, he found the usual scene, or what had become the usual scene. Bryce was at his desk, which was clear of anything work related these days, and was now piled high with food. In six months, he had somehow gained nearly three hundred pounds of pure fat, a massive stinking apron hanging down between his huge thighs. He looked over at Ollie, love struck, and then kept stuffing himself, while Ollie, relatively unchanged, though filthier than ever, beckoned Carson in and had him sit down in the chair in front of the desk. Carson did everything he could to try and get out of there–the last review he had in here was still fresh in his mind–but Ollie had him, and Ollie knew it.

“Now Carson, why don’t we start off with a…self-assessment. As you remember, six months ago, Bryce and I gave you a new position here in the office. How has being the official brownnoser been going? You can be honest.”

“Fuck you,” Carson said, “You fucking freak, I don’t know how the fuck you’ve been doing this, but this stops–”

Ollie held up his hand and Carson’s lips froze, “Alright, that’s plenty of honesty from you. I was worried that you weren’t taking to your new role as readily as some of the other men in the office. In fact, I’d say you’re probably the most stubborn man here. Everyone else, in fact, has been adjusting great, and loving their new lives. You should have heard Aaron gush about how much he loves flogging Bryce’s big ass here. You love it too, don’t you Bryce? Be honest.”

“Oh fuck Ollie, I…I’m so disgusting, but I do,” he moaned with his mouth full, “I wanna be bigger, I wanna get…get stuck in here, fuck, I wanna be so big I can’t move.”

“See?” Ollie said, and turned back to Carson. “Now, with you, I’ve tried some extra programming, tried to convince you to give in, but I just don’t think it’s in you, Carson. You just can’t let go of that person you used to be.”

Performance Reviews (Part 2)

Bryce just looked at him, and then frowned. “You…oh, well…” Bryce flipped through the self-assessment in front of him, “We do seem to be on the same page, Carson, judging from this. Your performance this last review period has been…severely lacking. Look, you said it yourself, right here,” he cleared his throat and started reading from the papers Carson had just handed him, “‘I find being in a leadership position to be extremely stressful, and I lack the confidence to give clear direction. If anything, this promotion has shown me that I am much more suited as a follower than a leader,’ I have to say I agree with you, Carson. You just don’t seem to have it in you to be…in control, and Ollie agrees with me.”

Carson just stared at him for a moment, and then reached over, snatched the assessment back, and read it for himself. He didn’t remember writing that, he couldn’t have written that, and yet…and yet, there it was. He…thought he’d given himself a glowing review, but as he flipped through it, he…he realized everything he’d written about himself was terrible, and worse, as he read it…he found himself remembering writing it–he found himself believing it.

“You put a good face on it, I admit. I take some of the blame for this, you understand, I pushed you too far, before you were ready. I set you up for failure–I thought you could be something you aren’t. Still, this failure is helpful–we can find you a position more in line with your skills and natural aptitude. That said, I’m going to have to take away your team, and that promotion–I already told Aaron he’d take them over tomorrow, after we’re finished here, and I think he will be much more suited to the role of leader than you were.”

Carson knew he should feel…something. Something more than the numbness spreading through his entire body. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. He hadn’t written that, had he? But now that he’d seen it, right there…he couldn’t remember it, all of it. How he’d felt like he was drowning for the last months, how he hadn’t been able to feel…useful, how he knew he was out of his depth, and he was thankful that someone, at least, had seen it. “I’m…I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I really did.”

“We know.” It was the first thing Ollie had said, and he stood up before continuing, and walked over to the desk, next to where Carson was sitting. “We know you thought you could, but we know what you really are, Carson.”

Bryce nodded, “Yes, Ollie and I have been discussing what your role here should be going forward, and we…admittedly struggled, trying to figure out what skills, exactly, you could offer, because so far, it seems like the only thing you’re really good at is sucking up to me, and brown nosing your way into places you don’t belong. So Ollie and I have decided to give you a little…assessment of our own, and see if we can’t find you something a little more appropriate for your skill set.”

Carson had no idea what Bryce could be talking about, and beside him, Ollie undid the fly of his pants, turned around, dropped them and bent over, pushing his ass into his face. “Go on boy, just do what comes naturally.”

In his mind’s eye, Carson saw himself looking up at Bryce in horror, and storming out, giving some big self-righteous speech. He might not be good at his job, but he certainly wasn’t going to do something like this. But the crack was right there, inches from his face. Carson could smell it, and he leaned closer, sniffing at it, and then, he pushed his face into it and started licking. Tentatively at first, and then more fervently, one hand and then the other finding their way to Ollie’s asscheeks and spreading them apart, letting his tongue get in even deeper.

“What do you think, Ollie? Looks like he’s taking to it.”

“Ha, taking to it? He’s a natural, just like I fucking told you.”

“Fuck Ollie, I should know better than to doubt you–you’re always fucking right.”

Carson looked over at Bryce, desperate and terrified, unable to understand what he was doing, or why they were doing this to him. He kept trying to use his hand to push himself away, but it was like they were misinterpreting the signals from his brain. He would push, and his hands would spread, knead Ollie’s cheeks, and his tongue would dig a little deeper into his dirty hole. Finally, Ollie stepped forward and stood back up. “Passed the first test–why don’t you see about the suck up part, Bryce?”

His boss came around the desk, to Carson’s other side, his cock already out and hard. Again, Carson couldn’t stop himself, and he took it in his mouth, sucking eagerly, while Bryce and Ollie just laughed and chuckled, proud of themselves for finding just the right sort of job Carson would be good for–the office’s official brownnoser.

Two hours later, Aaron had already moved into Carson’s old office, and Carson was in there with him, apologizing. After all, he had never been suited for a leadership role here–no, he had figured out his place now, and that was making sure all of his betters in the office had the cleanest assholes, and had their cocks sucked promptly, whenever they needed it. In his head, Carson was horrified, and kept trying to put the breaks on, but when Aaron finally came down his throat and sent him away, he retreated to his new cubicle, and masturbated right there, thinking about how…good Aaron’s hole had tasted. He came, spraying cum on his shirt, and then got up. Maybe…maybe he’d just ask around a bit, or hang around the bathroom, and see if anyone else needed a little brownnosing. It’s what he was there for, right?

Performance Reviews (Part 1)

It was time for review at his work, and Carson was in his office, watching the clock on his computer tick away slowly to the top of the hour, when he’d be meeting with his boss to receive his “performance assessment”. Carson didn’t know why he was so nervous this time around. He knew there was no reason to be nervous, after all, he’d been doing a great job, and after the last stellar review he’d gotten, which had been capped off with a promotion, a substantial raise, and the privilege of running his own product development team, he knew everything was going to be just fine…and yet, everything at the office had been so strange lately, he couldn’t help but have a sense of some ominous doom hanging over his head.

He looked away from the clock and back to the rest of the screen for a moment, and then back at the clock in the corner, only to discover that in that briefest of moments, ten minutes had somehow passed in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either–if anything, it had been happening more and more often while he was in his office, this…losing time. Usually it was just a few minutes here and there, but just the other day he’d lost two hours he couldn’t account for. He’d have no memory either, of what he had been doing for that whole time–as far as he could tell, he’d just been sitting there, staring off into space, and yet as disturbing as that concept was, it also didn’t unnerve him nearly as much as he knew it should that it kept happening–after all, it had to be a sign of something serious right? Like a stroke, or who knew what? He hadn’t talked to anyone else about it, but it seemed like everyone in the office had been on edge for a few months now, ever since that last batch of hires, when their boss had brought on Ollie as some IT support, who was now their only IT support, after the rest of the team had quit without explanation over the next few weeks. Ollie was…a creep, and a slob, and never seemed to be getting any actual work done. No one could understand why Bryce didn’t just fire him, but any time someone tried to talk about it (including Carson a couple of times) Bryce wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

Still, with that ten minute loss, it was almost time for his review. He got his self-assessment together that he’d been working on for the last few days, put on his coat, and left to head for Bryce’s office. It was on the other side of the small building where they worked, and so Carson walked past most of his co-workers in their cubicles, and again, that sensation of doom swept over him as he passed them by. Most of them were just staring at their screens not doing anything at all, their jaws slack, but a few were…well, their behavior was a bit worrying, in all honesty, especially the ones who had already gotten their reviews this week. Phillip, he swore, hadn’t changed his clothes once since he’d had his three days ago, and when he passed him by, he…swore he was masturbating, but he didn’t want to get close enough to find out for certain. He caught a whiff of cigar smoke as he passed by Aaron, who seemed to be taking at least five breaks a day to go outside and smoke–though Carson was suspicious that he’d started smoking inside too, which was vile. Aaron looked over at him as he passed him by, and sneered slightly. They…weren’t on the best of terms, and things had only gotten worse since Carson had ben picked for that promotion over Aaron after the last cycle of reviews. Aaron thought he deserved it because he was older and more experienced, and he’d been spreading rumors around that Carson had only gotten it because he was a brown-nosing suckup to the boss. It wasn’t true, of course, and Carson hadn’t dignified it with an argument–he’d decided to just let his performance speak for him, and he’d done a good job, hadn’t he? This review would settle it at least, once it was over with.

He knocked on Bryce’s door, and a voice called him in. he opened the door, expecting to just find Bryce there on the other side–and his boss was there, but in a chair against the wall was another person–Ollie. Carson just stared at him, confused why he would be there. “Did…you just have your review, Ollie?” he asked, assuming he would be leaving in any case.

Ollie smiled at him, showing off his yellowed teeth, “Oh no–Bryce has asked me to sit in on reviews this cycle–you don’t mind that, do you Carson?”

Carson looked from Ollie over to Bryce, who was just staring into space at his monitor. He hadn’t even seemed to notice Carson stepping into the room. “I…I suppose not, no,” Carson said, and took a seat in front of Bryce’s desk.

His boss still didn’t seem to notice him, and he remained sitting for a few moments, until Bryce finally gave a start, and looked away from the computer. “Oh, Carson! Is it that time already?” he said, “I didn’t notice you come in–I’ve been getting very absorbed in my work recently.”

“Uh…yeah,” Carson said, “Here’s the, uh, self-assessment you asked me to fill out, sir.” Carson slipped the papers over to Bryce, his eyes looking back at Ollie. “Do…you mind if we do this in private, Bryce? I…don’t know why Ollie is here.”

“Ollie has been helping me out with all of the reviews this cycle. He’s a sharp guy–really understands people, what they need, what their potential is. Just try and relax Carson, I know you’re nervous, but a bad review can be more helpful than a great one, sometimes.”

Carson looked back at Bryce, confused. “A…bad one?”

The Bruiser Rapes – Case One (Part 3)

The next few days were…strange. I kept trying to put all of the pieces together, tried to figure out what I was missing, tried to find the whole I knew had to be there somewhere, but nothing turned up. We found no evidence of anyone else being in Bernard’s home–unbelievable if the rapist had been staying there the whole time, and it was impossible for the story to make sense if he hadn’t. Part of me wanted to bring Bernard back in and hold him until he finally told us the truth–the whole truth–but I in the end, I didn’t have to do that. Instead, Bernard called the local TV station, and told the truth on the evening news for the entire city–and soon enough the entire country to hear.

I didn’t see the interview until the next day, when someone from the department told me to watch it online. I couldn’t fucking believe what I was looking at, what I was fucking seeing. He got on there, and talked about the rape with the anchor, and what I was expecting was for him to rip into us, the police, for not doing enough to try and find his rapist. But what I saw instead was something else altogether. He denied it was a rape at all. The anchor was confused, because he had obviously told them he wanted to talk about his rape on the air, but he had been given a soapbox, and so he used it. He looked right at the camera, ripped off the turtleneck he had on, and there he was, still wearing that fucking collar around his neck. He starts raving, begging for his Master to come back, begging to know what he’d done wrong, and why he’d left. He told Master, whoever he was, that he loved him, that he wanted to be his slave forever–and then the station finally pulled the plug.

Needless to say, that caused some waves. We had to make a statement assuring the city we were investigating it as a rape. Somebody paid to have opinions on things on the television called Bernard a bruiser, and wondered if it was even possible to rape someone who looked as strong and burly and tough as that, and the name stuck, but to the wrong person. It was a mess, obviously, and the next day, I went over to Bernard’s home to try and get some better answers out of him, now that he’d gone and made him, and his rape, a national issue.

He was a wreck. One minute, he was lucid, and the next, he was raving at me to tell me where Master was, demanding to know where I was hiding him, demanding to know what he had to do to get him to come back. He’d told everyone, he’d told the world, but what else could it possibly take to get him to come back to him? I wondered if I should commit him to a psych ward, and as I tried to pin him down and get some straight answers out of him, I found myself getting rougher, and more demanding, and angry, and…well, horny.

He could feel it too, I think. I could see the fear in his eyes in what was happening between us, even before I realized anything strange was happening at all. I saw the fear for just a moment, and then he began pushing back, becoming obstinate and standoffish, arguing with me one moment, and then backing off and agreeing with me the next, always apologizing, and always calling me Sir.

I pushed and I pushed, and he retreated to his bedroom upstairs–I assumed out of shame and fear of what was happening to him, and locked the door. I demanded he let me in, I demanded he tell me exactly what the man had done to him, and when the door to the bedroom finally opened, all he told me was that he would show me exactly what Master had done, that we would learn together.

He was nearly naked, and that was worse, somehow. He was wearing only a leather harness, a cock cage, and a leather hood–and that fucking collar he still hadn’t removed, the collar I doubt he will ever take off for the rest of his life–and he got on his knees, and he told me he understood now. Master had left, but he’d sent him…me. A new master, someone he needed to serve as well as he’d served Him. He crawled over to me, where I was standing in shock at the doorway, and started prying open the front of my pants…and I let him.

I wanted him to do it, I wanted him to suck my cock, and I could hear…all of these little things in the back of my head, things some alien voice was whispering to me, just like how Bernard had described it to me in the interrogation room. I fought it off though, and pushed him away. I tried to talk some sense into Bernard, I told him he was traumatized, that he was suffering from some extreme PTSD, and that he needed to get help, but the only thing Bernard wanted was my cock. I ended up leaving–I couldn’t handle being that close to him, I didn’t know how long I’d be able to resist that voice, before I ended up doing to Bernard everything that rapist had already done to him down in that basement.

I went back the next day with a social worker for a welfare check, but Bernard was nowhere to be found. Eventually I found a note in his bedroom, addressed to no one, but I felt like he was speaking to me, or maybe at his rapist. He told him he understood what he needed to do now, that he’d found someone to serve, someone he needed to serve, and most importantly, someone who wanted him to serve him. He wouldn’t be returning here, apparently, and he didn’t care what happened to his possessions. We looked for him, but he did not want to be found. I’m sure, somewhere this very moment, he’d chained up somewhere, in some pervert’s home…and I think he might even believe he’s happy. I think about him too, some nights, the way I think about…all of them. The way I think about the rapist, the way I think about…so many men now. I can’t help it, I’m too close, too close to get away from it now, but I didn’t realize how close until a couple weeks later, when an old cold case came to my desk, wanting to talk about the bruiser.

The Bruiser Rapes – Case One (Part 2)

The questioning took a rougher turn. I demanded to know why he was lying, and he insisted that he wasn’t. We questioned him about details on the license, and he knew everything. He knew Bernard’s social security, his mother’s maiden name, and the city where he’d been born. Still, none of us could believe–really believe–that this hulking man was actually the man from the photos. So we cuffed him (I noticed at the time, to my disgust, that it gave him an erection) tried to undo the collar, but discovered the lock had been glued shut. It ended up being easier for us to cut the chain instead, we arrested him for filing a false report, and took him to the station.

It was when we took him to the interrogation room that he first got a good look at himself in the one way mirror–and his reaction…I have never seen a man look so horrified at himself in my entire life. He denied it, he thought it was a trick, he started raving about how this was Master’s doing, that he was being tested, that of course he wouldn’t abandon him, but that Bernard believed he had failed him somehow. I didn’t get anything useful out of him, so we stuck him in a cell for the night, and in the meantime, we ran the stranger’s prints in the database to try and figure out who this fucker was claiming to be Bernard Goldwell.

We got a match, but not the one we expected. The fingerprints of the victim did in fact belong to Bernard Goldwell, from a background check done for a security firm a few years prior. But the picture attached to the file, again, bore no resemblance to the man we had sitting in the cell. I didn’t sleep much that night, let me tell you. I spent the entire night trying to figure out how, exactly, this man could fake all of this, because the possibility that the man was in fact who he said he is…I didn’t even know how to begin processing that. I didn’t know how to begin processing most of what I had witnessed that day–thought at this point, I can officially say I have seen stranger shit than this.

So the next day, I sat down with him, alone, and started the conversation over. I didn’t know how to explain any of this, and so I asked Bernard to explain it. I wanted to know exactly what the man had done to him down in the basement for ten days, and maybe, along the way, I would learn what, exactly, had happened to take the Bernard from the photos and turn him into this man sitting across from me, still wearing that heavy metal collar like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was hesitant, but I worked it out of him, eventually. He confessed that he’d invited the man who’d done this to him over to his house for a hookup, and that night…something had happened. When he arrived, the man was slight, wore glasses, seemed awkward and small and a bit nerdy. However, he had warmed up quickly, and gotten horny quickly, and plans for a beer and a chat were skipped, as the man took Bernard straight into the bedroom, but somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, he’d…changed.

He got taller, and hairier, and rougher, and more muscular. Bernard had always had fantasies about rough, submissive sex, but nothing he’d ever acted on, or imagined doing beyond mere imagination, but that night, something inside him unlocked. It…started out as a rape, the man definitely raped him that night, though in the interview Bernard tried to hedge it somewhat. It was forced, but not bad. He’d been asking for it. He wasn’t into it at first, but as it went on, he started actually enjoying the rough treatment, even if the man he was with didn’t seem to be engaging with what he was doing at all. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t do…much at all, aside from fuck, for…hours, reaching orgasm several times that first night. When Bernard assumed he’d finally finished, the man had drugged him, and when he woke next, he was down in the basement, collared, tied up, and watching the man hammer the spike right into the brick wall–barehanded.

He’d been even bigger, then, and his eyes, apparently, had turned entirely black. When Bernard got to that detail, he shook in his seat, and he looked at me, holding back tears, and then looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t believe it either, I think. I still thought it was impossible. Even after talking with Bernard, and coming to believe he was telling me something he thought was true, I still thought it was impossible until the next case surfaced a couple weeks later. Bernard went on and detailed some of what the man had done to him…which mostly was a lot of sex. The man didn’t speak at all that Bernard could recall, but he had somehow always known what Master desired from him, almost like there was a whisper of some kind in the back of his mind, some other voice, something between his own fantasies and some other entity entirely speaking to him, speaking about him, right into his mind.

He slept in the basement. He was given food and water twice a day. He used a bucket as a toilet, and Master emptied it promptly after he used it. Beyond that, he would rape him, over and over again…and as far as Bernard could really tell, whatever had happened to him, whatever had happened to change him from the scrawny guy in the photos to the hulking bear sitting across from me, had happened slowly, so slowly he never he realized it was happening until he’d seen himself in the mirror here. Then, that morning of the 911 call, Master had never come down with his breakfast. A couple hours later, we’d arrived, and here we were.

It wasn’t the whole story, I could tell well enough, but it was as close to the truth as I was going to get, but the confusion had ruined our chance of getting anything useful from his body in a rape kit, and he, and his body, was so unreliable, even if we’d found a suspect, there was no way this story was going to work in court–mostly because Bernard had no interest in pressing charges. With no crime that I could see, even if I couldn’t explain Bernard’s strange transformation, and with nowhere to go on this rape and kidnapping, we let him go–and in doing so, we forgot to get that damn collar off of him, believe it or not.