Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 2)

“Fuck…” Jeff muttered, the room spinning a bit, “Fuck, what the fuckin’ shit…”

“Hey now, Rookie, calm down for a second,” Keith said and stood up after him, “You feelin’ good man?”

“Fuck–hell fuckin’ yeah I feel fuckin’ good!” Jeff said, “I…I ain’t never felt like this, fuck!”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like this, once you got the hang of it,” Keith stepped closer, rubbing his leather uniform against Jeff’s bare skin. He looked up at him, having to crane his neck a bit further back than usual, because he seemed…shorter than before. Shorter, and wider. In fact, it was kind of hard to move his neck, because of how much muscle had been packed onto it–the same with his arms, and his thighs. Keith bent down, and kissed him roughly, Jeff returning it with plenty of fervor, wrestling with his tongue, but Keith simply forced his way into Jeff’s mouth, invading and dominating him with just his tongue, so that when he pulled away, Jeff was breathless. “Come on Rookie, let’s meet the rest of the guys, eh? I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great time tonight.”

Keith put his arm back around Jeff’s shoulder, and now the smell of the leather wasn’t off putting–but spicy and somehow exciting. Jeff reached down and idly stroked his cock, only to discover he was already completely hard–and much, much larger than he had been previously. He felt powerful. He felt…fuck, he felt like fighting. He felt like getting in a fucking brawl, and knocking someone flat, before rolling them over and raping their ass. He reached around and grabbed Keith’s ass as they passed through the curtain–but as soon as he did, Keith stopped, and gave him a side-eye. “Careful you don’t bite off more than you can handle, Rookie. I’ve been at this a whole lot longer than you.”

Jeff…wasn’t sure of what to make of the look in Keith’s eyes. The red light of the backroom met the green and just turned them a harsh, unyielding grey, and a spike of fear cut through him, and he pulled his hand away. “Good boy–why don’t you go say hi to our sergeant over there?”

Keith pointed to a threesome underway, an older, chubby bear spitroasted by two hung muscle bears, also in police uniforms like Keith was. The pig in the middle–it took Jeff a moment to recognize him, but it was, in fact, the sergeant…but twisted. A full tangled beard, eyes crazed with lust, a hundred pounds heavier–but it was him. He looked over at Jeff, and he knew what the pig needed. He stomped over, shoved one of his fellow officers out of the way and took over, ramming his cock in deep, fucking him roughly, and Keith just watched, for a moment, letting him get into a nice rhythm, before he went over, pulling his own cock free as he did. He shoved Jeff in deep, and then slipped two wet leathered fingers into the brute’s hole, listening to his moan with pleasure, and then fucked him hard, Jeff nearly lost in a sexual haze, pounding into the Sergeant with even more fervor, snarling and growling until he exploded, and Keith filled the rookies hole as well.

“That’s a good fucker–now go make some new friends, eh?”

Jeff, eyes glazed and lost, just nodded dumbly, wandered over until he saw another hole, and started fucking all over again, his cock not even going soft in between fucks. Satisfied, Keith slipped back out into the bar proper, and sat back down at the bar.

Rod just inspected a glass, and then set it down. “Not your usual flavor, I have to say.”

“He was gonna be a troublemaker, I could just tell. Better to nip it in the bud.”

“He has a solid will–think you can handle it?”

Keith gave him a wink, “I learned from the best, right boss?”

***

Jeff, woke up with a burning headache–unlike any hangover he’d ever experienced. He remembered Pigtown, or at least most of it, but it seemed–impossible. One minute he’d been himself, and the next he’d literally ripped his way out of his clothes, become some dumb hairy brute…and then he’d spent the rest of the evening in a sexual frenzy. He lost count, in his mind, of how many different holes he’d fucked–fellow officers of the force, both ends of their sergeant, other anonymous pigs who had all begged him for his seed. He’d kept expecting, after each orgasm, to finally come down from his high, but it seemed like every load only made him hornier, every load larger than the rest, his balls churning with need. Fuck, just thinking about it was getting him horny! He reached down for his cock, only to find it had shrunk.

No–not shrunk. It was normal. It was his dick, but after a night wielding such a massive cock, it felt so…small. He gave it a few strokes, but despite being turned on my his memories, it remained flacid, and more than that, his arm ached too much to even begin to jack off. Every inch of him ached–but more than the hurt, he simply felt…weak. Whether, like his cock, it was a matter of exhaustion from the night before (a night he still wasn’t quite convinced had actually happened) or simply a matter of comparison, after being such a massive beast of a man, capable of hefting the three hundred and fifty pound sergeant into the air, and impaling him on his cock, he didn’t know–but what he did know was that he hated it.

He felt awful. He felt sick, but more than that, he couldn’t believe what he’d done–what Keith had done to him. What that bartender had done to him. He opened his eyes a crack, hoping to see his apartment ceiling, but it wasn’t. He was somewhere else, in a sizable bed, alone. He was filthy too–reeking of sex–but his body was back. For better or worse, he was himself.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 1)

Jeff looked around him, at the grungy side street he’d been walking down, and then up at the neon sign hanging over him, flickering the word “PIGTOWN” overhead, throwing blue and red light onto the potholes and trash around him. This was the place? Was this some sort of joke? This wasn’t the sort of place Jeff would have usually considered going–especially not as an officer of the law. It seemed more like a place where criminals would hang out and plot a heist–not the sort of place where a bunch of police officers would get drinks off duty. Then again, Keith hadn’t actually told him the name of the bar where they were meeting–he’d just given him precise directions–very precise. This had to be the place, but something was telling him that this was a bad idea, that little sense of danger he’d learned to trust even in his short time on the force, but still–it was just a bar. It was probably just a prank or something to see what he would do. Hell, Keith wouldn’t even be there at all, and all the guys would just have a laugh about it back at the precinct tomorrow. He climbed the steps, rang the buzzer, and a moment later the door unlocked and he stepped into an anteroom with a coat check.

He moved through into the bar proper, and there weren’t many people inside, a three or four at the bar, some others sitting at the tables scattered around the claustrophobic space. It was then that he realized something else. This wasn’t just some shady ass bar–this was a shady ass fag bar. Every man seemed to be wearing some strange leather or rubber outfit, and more than a few were engaging in rather unseemly–and illegal!–acts at and under, the tables and bar. Was it a test? Should he shut down the place and report everything in here? Before he could make up his mind whether to confront the manager about it, or simply leave in embarrassment, someone caught his attention at the bar–and his jaw dropped.

It was hard to tell in the low light, but yeah–it was Keith. Jeff felt a little bit of fear in his gut, looking at the imposing officer sitting at the bar. Everyone on the force had told him a story or two about Keith–and most of them were so fantastic that they couldn’t possibly be real, but looking at the guy, it was hard to doubt them all. When Keith had pulled him aside in the locker room and invited him out with some friends, Jeff had tried to turn him down, but Keith had ended up…almost browbeating him into coming along. He gave a little wave, and Keith acknowledged him with a not of his police cap–and Jeff realized Keith was still in his uniform. Then again, as he took more time to examine him, it wasn’t the usual uniform at all. Rather, it was crafted entirely about of shiny black leather–and a size or two too small for Keith’s frame, bulging with muscle. Jeff…didn’t know what to do, and so his feet acted on their own, and he stumbled over to the bar where Keith was. Keith shoved the man beside him off the stool, and told Jeff to sit with him…and he did, looking around awkwardly, noticing the bartender staring at him very…pointedly.

“New guy, Keith?” Rod asked, as he wiped out a glass.

“Rookie at the precinct, fresh out of the academy, ain’t that right, Jeff?” Keith said, and threw an arm around him. The smell of the leather was pungent, and while Jeff tried to shrug the arm away, Keith made it clear it was staying right where it was, when he gripped Jeff’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

“Rookie, eh? Yeah, he looks a little green if you ask me,” Rod said with a chuckle.

“Keith,” Jeff said, “What is this place? Where are the other guys you said hung out here?”

“Them? Oh, they’re already in the back,” Keith said, indicating a heavy black curtain hung across a hallway on one side of the bar, “I wanted to wait for you though. This place can be a bit…intimidating to newbies like you.”

“I don’t think…look, I don’t know what you think, but I’m not gay. And is their sex happening on the premises? You know that’s illegal, if they’re serving alcohol!”

Rod laughed, and set down a glass in front of Jeff, “I see why you brought him.”

“I’m not drinking this,” Jeff said, “I’m leaving, and I’m telling the sergeant about this.”

Keith laughed, “Where do you think the sergeant is, right now, Jeff?”

Jeff just stared at him, and then at the curtain. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Now now, take your medicine,” Rod said, pushing the glass closer to Jeff, “And you’ll understand.”

His hand gripped the glass, despite Jeff wanting exactly not to do that. The drink looked like whiskey, but it smelled much fouler, somehow. He picked it up, brought it to his lips, and downed it in a couple of glugs, dropping the glass back to the table and sputtering. It didn’t just burn–he could feel the liquid coursing down his entire throat, to his stomach–and then it went through his stomach and just…kept going. He let out a cry of pain, and nearly toppled off the barstool–he would have, actually, if Keith hadn’t been holding on to him. Jeff felt it push to every end of his body, like he was on fire, and he felt–fuck, he didn’t know what he was feeling. His skin burned, and his muscles were seizing and shaking, and then it was over, leaving his sweating, and nearly crying, on the stool. What…what the fuck just happened to him? What the fuck was wrong with his hands?

They were…too big. His forearms were too big. His clothes were too tight, and his head felt…cloudy. “What…what the fuck was that shit?” Jeff muttered, but his voice was slurred slightly, to seemed too deep.

“Think he needs another?” Keith asked.

“More than another–right man?” Rod asked, and poured some more in the glass, “Go on, drink.”

Jeff, hand shaking, grabbed the glass and chugged it down again, unable to resist the strange bartender’s orders, feeling the concoction rip through him. The pain was there–perhaps even more intense than the first time, but he could at least brace himself for it. He swelled larger, his clothes beginning to rip, but when Rod poured him a third round, he took it without even needing to be told, and fourth one after that. As much as he didn’t want to drink it, as painful as every shot was–he was starting to…crave it almost. It was a rush, and a heady one at that. He ripped away his clothes with a laugh, thrilled by how they tore like paper in his hands, amazed at how strong he was becoming. He felt…he felt like he could do anything. He noticed…hairs falling down into his vision, and ran his hand over his scalp–and all of his hair fell away, leaving him completely bald–but the hair covering his body more than made up for his sudden head of skin. He didn’t care anyway–it made him look tough. Hell, he was tough. Tough and…and horny.

Pigtown – Faceless (Part 1)

“What kind of fucking bar is this, anyway?” Trey asked, looking around again. “The fuckin’ city, Unc–I just don’t fucking get it sometimes.”

Dirk nodded, feeling uneasy and uncomfortable as well…and even though he knew, in his guts, that he and his nephew should leave…some other, deeper part of him, kept his ass glued to the chair where he was sitting in the bar. Trey’s cousin–and another nephew of Dirk’s–was getting married back at home the next week, and had wanted to have his bachelor party at some of the strip clubs in town. At some point, Dirk and Trey had gotten separated from the main group, and ended up here, in a bar called Pigtown. It had…sounded like a strip club, but now that they were in here, drinks in hand…he realized there were no women. Just a room full of men in the low light, music pounding from some other room nearby, some of the slipping off behind a curtain every once in a while, and on less occasion, a man came stumbling back out, eyes wide and breath short.

“I think this is some fag place, Unc,” Trey said, “Fuck, look at those fuckers over there, who the fuck would wear shit like that?” Trey pointed off to another corner of the bar, where three men were sitting–or, where one was sitting, and two others were kneeling on the floor beside him, while the one sipped his beer. It was the two kneeling that had captured Trey’s fascination–both of them clad head to toe in rubber gear, without any skin to be seen at all. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

He said the last bit loud enough that the whole bar heard him, including the man sitting at the table with the two gimps, who smirked, but didn’t acknowledge Trey beyond that. Dirk…couldn’t help but get a bad feeling about all of this. Trey was a bit of a hothead, and certainly had no love for faggots–not that he should, of course. Fags were pieces of shit to Dirk too, but he had grown into more of a live and let live philosophy as he’d gotten older. If they just kept their creepy shit to themselves, away from Dirk, then what did it matter to him?

“Maybe we should get the rest of the guys, and come back here, show these fuckers what a real man can do,” Trey added, and chugged the rest of his beer. “Come on, Unc, let’s get the fuck out of this dump.”

Dirk nodded, and stood up–Trey tried to do the same, but only got have way before a hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair. “What, leaving so soon? But the night’s just getting started!” It was the man from the table, the two gimps close behind him, looking like two shiny black statues. Their masks–they weren’t just masks, were they? If anything, to Dirk, it didn’t look like something was covering their face–if anything, it looked like they were simply faceless, their identifying features scrubbed away entirely. It was the lack of any contour–usually, wearing a mask, you could still see the contour of a nose and eyes and mouth, but the two drones…it was so smooth. He told himself it had to be the light, keeping him from seeing it, but he was unnerved all the same.

The other man was wearing less, and didn’t have a mask on at all. His head was shaved close, and he had stubble across his face the same length, giving the impression he’d razored all of it a few days ago at the same time. He was wearing a rubber shirt, with a leather jacket over it, and leather pants and boots. At a distance, he had seemed less imposing, but this close it was clear he was heavily muscled–more than a match for Trey, who for all of his big talk, had never had the physique to back up his boasts and threats. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble, but he was a bit too thick to learn his lessons. “You two aren’t from around here, are you?” he said, leaning down close to Trey’s ear, “Yeah, you don’t quite know how things work around here, I don’t think, so why don’t I show you?”

Trey felt one of the man’s bare hands curl around his neck–and then after picking at his neck for a moment, he felt…his fingers slip underneath his skin, like an edge had appeared out of nowhere on his body. He panicked, but the other hand on his shoulder was pressing down with an impossible weight. He looked over at Dirk with terror in his eyes, begging his uncle to do anything, but the older, pot bellied man was just looking on in horror at what was happening.

“You see, around here, we don’t have a lot of patience for men who come in here wearing masks like this. No–we like to see who you really are, underneath all the posturing and bullshit you’re throwing around, like you know something about anything,” the man slipped his fingers further under the edge and got a grip on the flap of Trey’s skin he’d found, “But you–I don’t think there’s anything under here, do you? Not under either of you, probably. Just a whole lot of bullshit–how about we check?”

Before Trey could say anything, the man lifted the edge, and Dirk watched as the edge pulled away all around the base of Trey’s neck, and the man drew it up Trey’s head quickly, his nephew’s face going blank as his features came away from his body, attached to the mask the man had created. He pulled it free, and Dirk found himself staring at a face just like the two rubber gimps behind the man–no features, simply…blank, and then Trey’s face fell forward and collapsed onto the table, limp and lifeless–nothing more than a dummy.

Pigtown Daddies (Part 3)

“I’m…I’m not gonna say it. You can’t make me say it.”

Evan was coated in sweat, the marks on his back turning dark as the welts grew across. He’d lost track of the hours at this point, it had simple melded together into a blur of pain and pleasure–Barrett lashing him, Mick taunting him and fucking him with his dildo, promising him a real cock if he’d just admit it–admit that what Evan wanted, what he reall wanted, the reason he’d come back, was to be their boy, for real. But Evan wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, if he could help it.

Barrett was panting a bit, and snapping the whip he was currently bringing down on the boy’s back. He cracked his neck and grunted, while Mick leaned in a bit closer to Evan, bringing his face close. “Boy–you don’t get it, do you? I don’t need you to ask for it, anymore. I just need you to admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Boy, now you’re just being obstinate.”

“I’m not your fucking boy, you fucker! Now let me the fuck out of here, you can’t fucking keep me in here, you’re asses are going to be in jail for the rest of your fucking life.”

“You gotta stop pretending boy, because now this is just silly. It was funny, at first, but now your daddies are starting to get…tired of your fatherfuckin’ shit.”

“You can’t do anything else to me, you dumbfuck, this is all you got. And you made me fucking like it! What the fuck did you expect?”

Mick just glared back.

“Jus’ fuckin’ show the boy, Mick,” Barrett said, frustrated, “I know ya like the reveal of it ‘n all, but he ain’t gonna git it ‘til he sees it.”

“Shut up Barrett.”

“Mick, yer just as fuckin’ bullheaded as the damn boy!”

“Not fucking in front of him!” Mick said, whirling on Barrett.

The argued for a bit, giving Evan a chance to catch his breath and try and regroup. It was…true, in a sense. He enjoyed this. He’d cum…fuck, he didn’t know how many times, but he didn’t want this to stop, he wanted his daddies to keep abusing him all fucking night long–

No–No, not daddies, why had he thought that?

“Fine, fucking fine, whatever–you’re fucking right, alright?” Mick said, and walked back to where Evan was bound to the cross, and he undid the chains holding him to the wooden cross. “Barrett says we could all use a little break, boy, so why don’t we all go have a drink? Then we can have some more fun.”

The bar–if they took him back to the bar, maybe he could escape out the door, if he was quick. He feigned exhaustion…but he didn’t have to fake much. His legs were rubbery, his back was screaming, and he still couldn’t really stand up straight because of the chain running from septum to glans. Still, the dim light of the bar was still a revelation to him, after so long in the red. Barrett went to the bar to get a round, while Mick directed Evan over to a table and sat him down, where Evan found he had a clear view of himself in a mirror stretching along the wall…and when he saw the image of himself there at the table with Mick, his jaw dropped, and he hauled his way out of the chair and over to the glass.

“The..what the fuck did you do to me?”

“I told you boy–I don’t need you to say it anymore,” Mick said, “We’re just waiting for you to admit it, finally.”

It wasn’t him, in the mirror. Not the person he’d been, at least. He was six inches shorter, or so, and quite a bit fatter. Arms and belly soft, the chain running tight against the curve of his gut to the smaller cock underneath the overhang. “I’m not…I’m not their boy, though…” he muttered to himself.

“Boy, git o’er here, ‘n sit down. Ya gotta take a break.”

“O…Ok daddy,” Evan muttered, and turned to where his daddies were sitting at the table, Barrett with three beers for them all, Mick looking like someone had spoiled his whole fun, and Barrett smiling warmly at him. He walked over, trying to sort out all of the thoughts and narratives in his head, but before he could get to his seat, Barrett grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around his boy, Evan gritting his teeth in pleasure at the sting of his daddy’s sweat against his flayed back.

“Feel good, boy?”

“Y-Yeah daddy…”

“That’s a good boy. Ya doin’ a’ight? Daddy wasn’t too rough, was he?”

“Daddy…ya…ya know ya can’t be too rough with me…right?”

Mick scowled a bit at them both, “My way is more fun, you know.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Barrett said, “but I think the boy’s been through enough, for a bit.”

“No way daddy! You can whip me some more, can’t you?”

“Heh–of course boy,” Barrett said, pulling his chubby pain pig closer. “I bet daddy Mick o’er there will lighten up once he gits his thick arm buried up that boy cunt, right boy?”

Evan looked at the door to the bar–he’d…he needed to leave, didn’t he? He’d planned on running, but why? He could remember…something, a vague something, but it had dissolved in the mirror behind him. He looked back at the mirror, and he thought, for a moment, he caught a glimpse of a man in the mirror, pounding at the other side, screaming, but a smack on the thigh from Barrett brought him back to what mattered, back to his daddies. “Yeah! Yeah, daddy Mick, you wanna fist me? I wanna feel that big fist in my hole way more than my dildo!”

Mick’s glower softened a bit, and he nodded. “Sure boy, I’ll fist you for sure. Fist you so fucking hard you spurt a load of boycum right out without even touching that cock of yours.”

Evan grinned, and bounced a bit on Barrett’s knee, rocking on the dildo as they drink, and when they finished, they went back into the red, and by morning, even the mirror had forgotten Evan had existed.

Pigtown Daddies (Part 2)

Evan tried to back away from them, but found his feet stuck to the floor–in fact, all of his body had frozen stiff, and he was aware that every eye in the red room had shifted to him, as Mick and Barrett circled him, predators eyeing a kill.

“What do you think Barrett? Didn’t expect him to come back for more–most don’t once they get a taste for it.”

“Well he didn’t exactly hang ‘round fer long–better make sure the boy can’t git away so easy this time!”

“Was pretty funny watching him get away though,” Mick said, “But point taken.”

Evan gasped sharply, as Mick reached out and pinched his nose–but it hurt much, much more than a pinch, he blinked rapidly, tears budding in his eyes, pulled his face away as best he could, but he couldn’t–something was connected from Mick’s hand to his nose. It took him a moment, in the light, to piece together what had happened–he had a ring in his nose, which had been the pinch, but also a thin chain was running through the ring, and the two ends of the chain were gripped in Mick’s fist a few inches from his face. Mick passed one end to his other fist, and with a laugh ran the chain back and forth through the new ring in Evan’s nose, the sensation of the chain rattling through making his shudder.

“Not gonna be going anywhere soon now, are you?”

“Please–please, I’m sorry, I–” Mick gave the chain a sharp tug with both hands, snapping his face down, and the sharp bite of pain made Evan’s cock throb.

“Shut up boy, and take it. Barrett–remove the boy’s shirt, please.”

Behind him, Barrett grabbed hold of Evan’s shirt, and tore it off him, and Mick took his hands down, the chains somehow growing as his hands moved, to Evan’s nipples, where with two pinches, he created two new rings and threaded the chain through them. Evan looked down, confused, and then up at Mick, who gave him a grin before tugging the ends of the chain up. Evan’s face snapped down towards his chest, but it could only go so far before the chain hauled his nipples up, and he panted, grunted and groaned in pain, eyes still watering. He tried to force his arms to do something, but they just hung limply at his sides–the one thing which was reacting was his cock–pain had never been something he’d enjoyed before, ever, but suddenly it was making him…incredibly horny.

“How’s the boy doing?” Mick asked Barrett, tugging the chains up another inch.

Barrett reached around and down the front of his jeans, groping his hard cock, “Boy’s gittin’ on real good, Mick–right boy?” He popped open the front of Evan’s pants and let them drop, and with only giving the chain a bit of slack, Mick brought the chain down to the head of Evan’s erect cock and with a final pinch, a thick gauge PA appeared in the head, the chain running through it, his cock tugged up painfully against his chest. Evan found the length was much too short to give him any chance at rest–he either had to bow his head down to release some of the pressure on his nipples and cock, or if he wanted to look up, he had to bear with the chain tugging roughly on his cock.

“Don’t cry boy, take your punishment like a man, since that’s what you want to be.”

Evan could move again, at least, and with his hands he ran his hands over the chain, but he couldn’t find any link in the chain where he could unattach it–it was a solid string of metal. “How…how the fuck do I get this off?”

Mick laughed, “Boy–that’s your punishment. Who said you could take it off?”

I have…I have to go to work, I can’t, fucking live like this!”

“Says the fuckin’ boy wit’ a ten inch dildo plugged in his hole–seems ya got along good wit’ that all day, didn’t ya boy?” Barrett said, pulling Evan close to him, grinding his crotch into his ass, thrusting against the base of the dildo, making Evan groan and leak.

“You can’t…you can’t just leave me like this, you fuckers!”

“Oh, we aren’t done with you yet boy–trust me,” Mick said, and shoved Evan over to the wall, watching him stumble and try to avoid tugging too hard on his cock as he struggled out of his pants. Together, they forced him up against one of several St. Andrew’s crosses along the wall, face to the wood, and with a few manacles and chains summoned from his gloves, Mick had Evan well secured to the posts.

“Don’t worry boy, you want this–you really do. That’s the worst part, isn’t it? That you’re enjoying this?”

Evan tried to look back and see what was happening, but all he could do was catch glimpses of Barrett wielding a leather flogger, swinging it around in his hands, red light glinting off the brute’s teeth. He flung the flogger, lashing across Evan’s back, and he cried out and arched back in pain, tugging on his cock and nipples at the same time, pain flooding through his body…but Mick was right. He…he did want this. Barrett lashed out again, and this time he did want it. It only took six of them before he felt his cock spasm, cum spewing out around his new PA, some of his splattering against the wooden cross in front of him, but much of it running back down the front and sides of his cock and dripping from his balls, Barrett taking a break so Mick could come up and toy with the dildo in his hole, giving it a few brisk thrusts, enough to make his ass spasm slightly as he shook.

“Best part about punishing boys, you know, is how much they like it. You do like it, don’t you boy?”

Sobbing, Evan nodded.

“We could stop, you know, if you want. Do you want it to stop?”

Evan didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he wanted.

“Say it boy, say what you want.”

“I…I want…” Evan swallowed, “I want it to stop, please…”

“Only one way to make it stop, boy,” Mick said, “But you seem smart, if a bit bullheaded–maybe you’ll figure it out in a couple of hours.”

Pigtown Daddies (Part 1)

What choice did he have, really? He had to get this…thing out of him. Well, that wasn’t really the issue, Evan supposed, the issue was that he couldn’t get himself to leave it out of him. He’d been at the bar last night–the usual bar–but on the way home, he’d ended up…somewhere else. He didn’t remember much through the hangover and blackout, but he did remember the name–Pigtown. What had happened there…he only had a vague collection of memories, but what he did know was that when he’d woken up in his bed this morning, he’d had the thing in him.

The dildo.

The massive fucking dildo.

It had to be at least nine inches long, and thicker than a beer can–he’d felt the pressure in his ass when he’d woken up, along with the raging hard on, and when he’d tried to pull the thing out in disgust, he’d gotten it most of the way–but then his hand had plunged it back in, and he’d groaned, stroking himself off and fucking himself until he came in his bed. Horrified by what he’d done, he managed to get the dildo out long enough to take a shit, but after that, his hole had started to itch, and before he could even think too hard about it, he’d grabbed the dildo and slid it back inside him with a gasp–and that alone had started another round of fucking himself until he came.

The whole day had gone on like that–Evan trying to pull the dildo out, and when he rarely succeeded, trying to keep it out, and his hands working against him to get it back inside him and jack off almost constantly when it was. He didn’t understand it, but somehow he knew that Pigtown had been the start of it, and it might be where he can get the thing out.

The bar wasn’t particularly crowded, with plenty of seats, but Evan didn’t take one–he was afraid any pressure might get him started again, and looking around at the clientele, this…wasn’t the place a straight guy wanted to get caught with a dildo in his hole. Still, he didn’t recognize anyone, but he made his way to the bar to ask the hefty bartender if he knew anything. It turned out that he didn’t even have to ask, “Back so soon boy? You seemed pretty eager to get out of here last night. Ready to take Mick and Barrett up on the offer?”

“I–look, I don’t know who they are, but I…I have…did they do something to me? Last night?”

“Can’t get it out, eh?” the bartender said with a wink, and Evan flushed a deep red. “Don’t be embarrassed–the whole bar saw it.”

That didn’t help Evan feel much better.

“Look, you should go talk to them. If you ask real nice, they might help you out. They headed deeper not too long ago. You’ll find them, I’m sure.”

Deeper. He hadn’t noticed, but what he had assumed was the back wall of the bar wasn’t a wall at all–it was just dark. Walking stiff, he headed into the dark, feeling his way around a couple of bends, before emerging in a red-lighted chamber, where there were considerably more people, and considerably more sex going on that Evan was comfortable with. Mick and Barrett–who the fuck were they? He didn’t recognize anyone, even as his eyes adjusted to the light, but then came the whistle. He looked over, and two hulking muscle men, not too much older than him, were standing against the wall, waving him over. “Back so soon boy?” One of them called, “I thought you weren’t even gonna step foot in here again, from the tone ya had last night.”

The other one chuckled, “Nah, I told ya he was just bluffin’, Mick–he wanted it, he’s just playin’ hard tah get.”

Evan walked over, still a bit stiff, and the two men chuckled. “What the fuck did you do last night? Why the fuck can’t I get this…this thing out of my ass!”

“Easy boy,” Mick said, “We just gave you a choice is all–be our boy, or…well, you know what the other option is, don’t you?”

“Ya sure seemed tah like it last night, when we was poundin’ yer hole with it fer an hour, while everyone else was watchin’!”

“Well I don’t want to…to be your whatever, and I sure as hell don’t want this thing inside me, so let me fucking take it out already!”

“That ain’t the way the deal works, boy,” Mick said, and before Evan could do anything about it, one of his meaty hands slapped his ass, right on the butt of the dildo, forcing it in a bit further, and Evan moaned, his cock pulsing.

“But since ya came back,” Barrett said, “We gets tah make another deal with ya–how’s that sound? Two choices, either ya become our boy, or ya take yer punishment again, and like it, of course.”

“I’m not gonna be your fucking boy, you fucking creeps!” Evan said, “Now get this thing out of me, you fuckers, or I’ll make you fucking faggots take it out.”

“Ya hear that, Mick?”

“‘Sure do Barrett.”

“Boy still don’ wanna be our boy.”

“Guess that means he’s gonna have to take his punishment again–such a naughty boy.”

A Dog’s Tale (Part 6)

He held out as long as he could. For a while, just having the gear was enough for him to feel better–even his performance at work improved, though he still found it difficult to care about any of it. He would get done, rush home, and spend a few hours in the gear Joel had given him, parading around, doing tricks, fantasizing about a…Master coming home to find him there, and he’d greet him like a good boy and suck his cock. He kept the mask on all night, even when he had to go back to doing human things, like making dinner, or doing chores around his apartment. It was hard to look at himself without it on, in fact–he just felt so ugly when he had to look at himself. It was no longer a face he could ever want to have, for the rest of his life.

In time, this became failed to satisfy–mostly because he found himself longing for something he imagined every dog must long for to some extent–he wanted an owner. He wanted a master. He wanted a man who would come home, like he imagined in his dreams–who would play with him, and feed him, and fuck him, and go to the dog park with him. That’s what he really wanted, and thinking about it while he jacked off with his paws, it felt so empty–his life felt empty. One night, when he’d had too much to drink, he asked an old boyfriend to fuck him while he was in gear, but the guy called him a freak and blocked him. No one from his life would understand this–no one except one. He knew where Joel was–why wasn’t he going to him?

One Saturday, he decided he’d go and see what the place looked like. Strangely enough, he couldn’t find anything about the place on the internet, and he worried that Joel had been leading him on just to make him suffer. He went to one of his regular bars instead and after a couple of drinks he asked the bartender about it, and the man grew quiet. “Look, if you’re smart, you’ll stay the fuck away from that place. It’s a fucking freakshow, trust me.”

He pressed the young man for more details, but he seemed…a bit shaken. Still, he managed to get directions out of him, and after chugging down the last bit of his drink, he grabbed his bag from the coat check and headed over to Pigtown, which it turned out was just a few blocks away, towards the area of the neighborhood which dissolved into the industrial and warehouse district. Sure enough, there it was–how had he never even heard of the place before? He buzzed the bell, and was a bit worried when it didn’t open right away, and he saw a camera in a corner of the doorframe. Were they inspecting him for some reason? Still, he heard the lock click and he slipped inside, and found himself in an antechamber with a coat check and benches lining the walls.

“Put on your gear, boy. Joel’s at the bar, waiting for you.”

The huge man at the window had spoken to him with a grin, and he froze–how did he know about him? He went to speak, but the only thing which crossed his lips was a bark, making the man laugh. “You’re new here, pup, so you’ll find out this bar ain’t like the rest. You are who you are here–and what you are is a dog. Now gear up or get out.”

He’d come this far, and the way the man was speaking to him…he liked it. He stripped out of his clothes quickly, and got into the gear Joel had given him. As soon as he did, he found himself on all fours and unable to stand back up–the man behind the window came out and collected his discarded clothes for him and took the bag behind the counter.

“I’ll hold this for you, if you still need it when you leave. Get goin’ pup–don’t keep your friend waiting.”

He crawled down the hallway and found himself in a narrow bar. It was poorly lit, and he couldn’t see the end of it, where it led into darkness–the darkrooms, he supposed. Joel was there, however, dressed in leather gear. He grinned around the stem of a pipe when he saw the dog crawling up to him, panting and whining a bit in stress–but he settled down after a pat on the head and a taste of Joel’s cock under the bar. Other people came and went and quite a few made comments–a few just laughed at him, but a couple treated him the way he wanted to be–telling him what a handsome pup he was, and offering to give him a belly rub if he did a trick or two. It made him so happy, knowing that people could see him for what he really was. When Joel clipped a lead to his collar and started walking into the back room, he didn’t have any second thoughts about following along beside him, panting and grinning and swinging his tail to and fro as he crawled.

He lost track of how many men he serviced that night–but he no longer could say no to anyone, if Joel told them it was alright to play with his pup. He spent most of the time with dicks in both his mouth and tailholes, and while it hurt, and he didn’t…want to enjoy it, every time Joel told him he was a good boy for doing what he wanted, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling overwhelmed with happiness. He was a good boy. He was making his master happy. Those thoughts were simpler, and stronger, than the human doubts and fears he was having–at least until Joel took him back to the bar early in the morning, and left him there, telling him he’d be there next week if he wanted to play some more.

It crushed him in ways he could barely express. Hadn’t he done well? Hadn’t he been a good boy? Could he have been better? Didn’t Joel want to keep him, take him home? Why had he done this to him, and shown him these feelings, if he didn’t want to take any responsibility for it? He crawled after him, but by the time he’d changed back and could speak, Joel was gone, and he was alone, and the humiliation was crushing him on the sidewalk.

Pigtown Prison (Part 1)

“Look, I know what you can do here, I know the stories,” Oliver said to the bartender, “I just…I do like him, you know? But I can’t be with a bottom–two bottoms, what the fuck are we supposed to do? And he’s fucking clueless. If he was a top, a bigger, and…well, you can do all that, can’t you?”

Rod looked the young man up and down–he had to admit, he might be small and a twink to boot, but he had balls to come into his bar, and start making requests. “I got plenty of pigs in the back room who would love a turn at your hole, boy–how about I just give you to them?”

“No thanks–I like myself plenty. This isn’t about me, it’s about him. Besides, you can’t do shit to me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll help me out here,” Oliver smiled, “I’m trying to be nice, and polite.”

Now Rod was fuming. Who the fuck did this punk think he was, walking into Pigtown, his bar, and thinking Rod owed him a favor. “Boy, get your ass around this bar, and suck my fucking cock.”

Oliver just sat there, looking calm, and Rod resisted the urge to let his jaw drop. Pigtown was his, and by extension, everyone inside it was his too. No one should be able to resist his orders, but this fucker was just sitting there, flaunting his control, and worse…he knew it. Apparently this was a bit more…complicated than Rod had thought. “You do this for me, or else you’re going to find yourself with a much more normal bar than you’d like, Rod. Make my boyfriend my perfect top, and you’ll never see me again. He’ll be here tomorrow night–his name is Keith. Big muscles, huge cock, hairy all over–your usual sort of clientele. Don’t fuck with his head any more than you have to, though.”

Oliver got up from the bar and walked to the door, leaving Rod sputtering. “Somebody stop that fucker!” He shouted. The room was full of men–his men. Men who would do anything for him, be anyone for him…but no one moved an inch. Oliver threaded through them at a leisurely pace, feeling all of their eyes following him, and then he was gone. When the door shut behind him, Rod felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time–he felt scared. “Jimmy, he said to one of his regulars, “Piss yourself.”

He worried for a moment that he’d lost it, that something had happened to the magic of the place, but a second later, Jimmy’s grubby jeans turned dark with piss, and the big bear blushed behind his beard. Rod breathed a sigh of relief–still, Oliver had figured something out, a way to nullify his magic–not just for him, but for everyone around him. If he thought Rod was going to respond to a threat like that and just roll over, well, Oliver was hardly the most formidable opponent Rod had bested in his years. Still, why not give the boy what he asked for? Rod would make it perfectly clear that in this case, the young trickster had bitten off much, much more than he could hope to swallow.

Keith shoved his way into the bathroom, his guts churning and vision swimming, wondering just what had been in that drink that dirty old bartender had given him–and where in the hell was Oliver? His boyfriend had told him to meet here for a date tonight, but he’d texted him to say he’d be late–telling Keith to go ahead and get a drink while he waited. Now, though, it felt like his guts were ripping themselves to shreds, and the look the bartender had given him when he’d stood up and rushed for the bathroom…it hadn’t been a very sympathetic look, by any means.

The bathroom was even grungier and filthier than the bar outside…and he swore he could hear the grunting and moaning of a couple guys fucking in the far stall. Still, he got done in front of one of the nasty toilets and tried to force himself to throw up, but even though his stomach was heaving nothing came, and the pain in his stomach was starting to spread. Had that fucking bartender poisoned him or something? He stood up and stumbled back out of the stall, hanging onto one of the sinks to stay upright while he reached for his phone to call for help, but once he’d gotten it into his shaking hand, someone grabbed it from him, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it under the heel of his boot.

The bartender, still with that cruel grin of his across his face. “Now, now–take your medicine like a man. I gotta keep my side of the bargain after all, but you don’t get to fucking enjoy this, by any means.”

Three’s a Crowd

It was supposed to have been about you–you were the one who brought them here, after all. A cute younger couple, friends of yours, and you knew the perfect bar where the three of you could hang out after work–a bit kinky, a little strange, but all fun. See, they were a bit too…vanilla for your tastes, and despite your obvious interest, neither one of them seemed very interested on opening up and letting you play with them, either together or separate. So, why not help things out a bit, right? That’s what Pigtown was for. It had helped you out, after all–shown you what you could be, and now you could introduce the two of them to what they could be, in your eyes.

Yeah, you’d wanted a couple of cubby slaves, right? Two boys, maybe even brothers, both of them obsessed with you, focused on you and your pleasure, willing to do anything to make you happy. Because that’s what had always bothered you most, was that ever since the two of them had met–ever since you’d introduced them to each other, two years back at a party–they’d…become so much more interested in each other than they ever had been in you, and fuck, you hated that. So you plied them with beers, got them loosened up, the regulars all circling around, looking for an opening to jump in and spoil things, so when they start getting horny, you drag them back into the club, find somewhere a bit secluded, and start trying to work them over into what you want them to be.

But it was like herding cats, with the two of them. You’d get them down on their knees, your cock in their face, and after a couple of licks each, they’d just start making out with one another instead. You tried working on them one at a time, but somehow the other would slide right in and replace you before you even knew what was happening. Neither of them is shaping up how you wanted–they’re growing older, more muscular, more confident. Two…hot fucking leather daddies in love and lust with one another, and there you are, six feet away, leaning in a doorway–watching.

Watching them like you’ve been doing for years now, on the outside all over again. You should try again, but honestly? It’s too exhausting to keep trying. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. You…got replaced, and you don’t have to like it, but…maybe it’s time to give up. Settle in. They are…fucking sexy together, you have to admit. You did always like watching them together, didn’t you? Whispering in each other’s ears, laughing–you were on the outside and that burned you up, but the curiosity was always there. They never cared about you, but you have always cared about them, watched them, obsessed over them, desired them from afar. They don’t…even know you exist, but then who would want to notice you? It’s not like you’re really anything to look at–not anymore, at least.

Because you’ve been changing, leaning there, staring at them hungrily. You’re shorter and fatter. Older still, at least fifty if not sixty. Four inch cock, getting shorter with every stroke, tongue hanging out, eyes glued to the sexy daddies fucking each other’s brains out against the wall. Better than porn–and you should know, after all, since that’s all you do with your time now, you fucking voyeur. Just a fat old faggot, sitting at home all day, masturbating, and then you come here to pigtown, and watch people sexier than you fuck and masturbate to that too. No one even sees you. No one cares about you, and you hate it, but that’s just the way things are now.

The bears finish up after half an hour, and the couple heads off into the club to find a couple other guys to play with. They walk right past you, through the doorway–one of them even bumping into your big, furry gut, but he doesn’t apologize, or even recognize you. You’re a ghost now. You look down and realize what you just allowed happen, but it’s too late for you–there’s another scene brewing in the next room, and the sounds of men rutting draw you like a fly to a wound, jacking your short cock. Invisible, desperate, and always alone.

Marination

I wasn’t the same, after going there the first time. I don’t think anyone can be the same, in there. I had always had a kinky side before, but I had no problem with vanilla sex either–I just liked sex! I suppose it wasn’t a surprise that I’d end up at Pigtown eventually. I think…all of us will, at some point. After that night there, I was still the same person on the outside–the handsome daddy bear, nicely muscled, successful, high achiever, all of the good stuff…but inside. Inside I felt like an entirely different man, and I had no words I could use to articulate it. Nothing could get me off anymore. It’s not that I wasn’t horny, understand–it’s that nothing appealed. None of my usual porn did anything for me, none of my usual fuckbuddies. I was so frustrated, but I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t cum for days, and then weeks, no matter how much I tried, and while…I thought Pigtown might give me an answer, I was too terrified to ever go back there again.

After nearly a month of desperation, and self-reflection, I could finally articulate the problem. Everyone on the outside now fell within two groups. On one hand, there were the men I was now attracted to–young, innocent, preferably questioning or straight. Their…lack of experience thrilled me, made me want to ruin them, but none of them would tolerate anything extreme, if they would tolerate gay sex at all. In the other camp, were the freaks. The men who would willingly satisfy all of my perverse desires, but none of them, no matter who they were or what they looked like, were the least bit attractive. How could I possibly bridge that gap? How could I fall in love with a man in the first group, but force him into the second, so I could actually be satisfied? The answer, as happens sometimes, came to me in a dream.

There was an intern at my work, who I’d befriended, a young man by the name of Timothy. Sweet, twenty-two, straightish but without anyone significant. He liked me, I think, as a bit of a proxy father, and oh fuck, did I want him. I wanted to ruin him, but how could I? In my dream one night, I found myself in complete darkness, but not within a void. There were scents of smoke, piss and beer. The thump of bass from a dance floor somewhere nearby, and as I watched, a man emerged from the darkness. I couldn’t see his face, just his body. I could smell him, the musk and sweat and cum crusted on his skin. That cocky smile, the bulge in his rubber shorts, those fucking nips begging me to tear into them. I knew him. I didn’t need to see his face to know that, but he was…so perfect, and before I could ravage him, I woke up, sheets full of cum, screaming Timothy’s name at the ceiling.

The next night, I suggested the two of us go get a drink together, so we could discuss his career goals and further education. I told him that I knew the perfect bar for us. We arrived at Pigtown, and he knew what the place was as soon as we stepped inside, and he tried to leave…but I shoved him in, watching the freaks pull the clothes from his body, dragging him deeper into the club, and…and I left. I didn’t want to see what would happen to him, until it was finished. Let him marinate for a few days–maybe a week, and then he’d be ready for me. Perfectly corrupted…but I don’t think he’ll satisfy me for long, a night or two at most. I’ll have to make offerings at Pigtown’s altar regularly, I think, if I’m going to stay sane, but if that’s what it’s going to take, then that’s what I’ll do.