Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 5)

Jeff looked up at him, where Keith loomed large over everything, over his entire life. What did it really matter, if he agreed or not? He’d be Keith’s toy either way–but at least, if he agreed…maybe he would be happier with himself. So he said yes, and Keith told him to take two days, sell his things, end his lease, and return with a single bag. He’d be living with Keith from now on, as his slave. The word made Jeff balk, and when he left, he told himself he wouldn’t do it…but the desperation returned, as it always did. Two days later, he was there on the porch, one small duffel packed with only the necessities, and he stepped inside, got on his knees when ordered, and sucked his Master’s cock, showing his gratitude that Keith was willing to train him.

He stayed on at the force, but Keith had his hours cut back quite a bit, and arranged it so Jeff’s checks would be deposited automatically into his own accounts. Keith had a sizable personal gym in his house, and when Jeff wasn’t at work or completing his chores, he was there–working out and lifting weights. His meals were massive, and from the first day, Keith would inject him several times during the day, but always refused to tell Jeff what, exactly, the injections were. Still–they were working. Three months later, he was already larger–when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was beginning to see the sort of brute he longed to be…but his looks weren’t the only changes. His mind was slowing down. He had a difficult time making decisions, and relied on Keith–or Master, as he called him now, to decide everything for him–when to eat, what to eat, when to sleep, how to work out, what chores to do. It was a comfort, really, that he didn’t have to think. He knew he was being reduced to a stupid beast…but rather than be horrified, the idea actually turned him on more and more.

Keith shaved his head, pierced his nipples and cock, and began taking him to a tattoo parlour, his entire body slowly being covered by blocks and swirls of black ink, from his neck down to the tops of his feet. He loved it–especially when he was in Pigtown and caught sight of himself in a mirror, while he was balls deep inside a pig’s hole. He looked like a nasty minded thug pig, just like Keith told him he was going to be–and it was all he really wanted to be, anymore. At the bar, he would still take Rod’s drinks, but now that he was larger, the effect was even more substantial. Each time he was there, he would up even larger than before–and in turn, his daily body never felt large enough–no matter how large he got. He knew, in his mind, that he should be satisfied, but between Keith’s humiliation, and the rush of those evenings behind the curtain, even when he finally plateaued at 280 pounds of muscle and fat…he still felt puny. It didn’t help that, somehow, he was getting shorter. He lost almost six inches, from the time he moved in with Keith–and he was never able to get a straight answer why. The loss in height only made him work harder for more and more mass. He lost flexibility, his muscles restricting his movement–especially in his shoulders and neck. The pills and shots Keith were forcing on him fucked with his hormones as well, his cock and balls growing and constantly horny, hair sprouting all over his body in thick patches, and acne erupting all over his face and back, leaving his face scarred and pitted. His face–he barely recognized old photos of him anymore. He seemed so square and boxy, his head sitting right on his massive, inflamed chest, a thick beard hiding his mouth, usually stuck in a scowl.

As thick as he was, and as aggressive as he found himself behaving around the precinct–especially around guys on the force he knew he’d be fucking later in the evening, Keith kept him under his control at all times. He loved the fact that he could bend Jeff over, anywhere and anytime, and have his way with his muscle bull–with Rook, as everyone had started calling him, joking that he was built like a tower on a chess board. Keith had come up with it–as a way to shorten his usual nickname of Rookie, now that he was no longer new–and he especially loved it because Rook had grown too stupid to really understand the reference, but he knew it was a compliment, and so he grinned when he heard it all the same.

A few years later, Rook had nearly forgotten about Jeff entirely. He was Master’s enforcer, bruiser, and pet monster–whatever Master Keith wanted him to be, and whoever he wanted him to hurt, Rook obeyed him without question. The last time he felt Jeff at all, was when he was down in Master’s dungeon, punishing one of his prisoners. The leather body bag was hanging from the ceiling, squirming, as Rook went at it for another round, treating it like a literal punching bag, enjoying the feel of the flesh breaking and squishing inside so much more satisfying than the fluff of the bags he usually practiced on. Still–it had had enough. He unzipped the head of the bag, and saw the face inside–it was some old pig named Oliver, who’d been down here as long as Rook could remember, and looking at his bloody face, he felt a flicker of regret…but he stamped it out. That was weakness. He didn’t want to be weak. He grabbed Oliver by the ears, shoved his dick into his mouth and fucked him roughly, imagining he was fucking himself, that old self, breaking it up and throwing it away for good, and by the time he came, feeding the grateful Oliver a good sized load, Rook felt better. Rook felt like everything was exactly the way things were supposed to be.

Pigtown Prison II – The Rookie (Part 4)

He went back to the gym, and again worked himself to exhaustion, and then kept going. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t strong enough. If he was stronger, he could beat Keith at his own game. If he was bigger, he’d be in control of himself, he’d be in control of everything. He collapsed, hours later, shaking and covered and sweat, and looked at the clock. It was five thirty, and if he jogged…no. No, he wouldn’t do it. It was a trap, and he knew it was a trap, and still, he was getting up, still in his sweat soaked gym clothes, and he left, hustling down the sidewalks through rush hour until he reached the precinct building, where Keith was on the steps, in his uniform, waiting. “You had me worried, Rookie–you’re a couple minutes late. Good thing I was feeling lenient today.”

Jeff wanted to pummel him into the ground. He wanted to drag him in, throw him in a jail cell, and find someone–anyone–who would believe him. But being this close to him, smelling him, he found himself shrinking slightly as he approached…and he hated it. “You can’t…do this to me.”

Keith smiled, “Rookie, you still don’t get it. You’re going to be doing this to yourself, soon enough. Now let’s get going.”

The walk to the bar was quiet. Jeff did his best to memorize the path, so he’d, hopefully, be able to find his way back on his own, so he could report the place…later. But the street wasn’t even the same one as before–even if the bar looked the same–and now even more confused, he followed Keith up the steps and into the bar–and once he was inside, everything just came naturally, like sliding into a dream. Four or five painful drinks, and then he was himself again. He was the self he wanted to be, and then he was back behind the curtain, fucking any hole he could find, but now, Keith stayed close by, urging him on, both of them fucking pigs together, occasionally fucking Jeff while Jeff fucked someone else, and Jeff found himself…envying Keith. His uniform, and his confidence. The next morning he was back in Keith’s apartment, and back to himself, but when Keith wanted to fuck him…Jeff found himself looking forward to it, in some sick way, and that was when he realized he had, without even thinking about it, given in entirely.

He managed to keep some semblance of himself together, for a time. But every night he spent in Pigtown with Keith and the other pigs on the force, the more he wanted to be that brute, and the more disgusting he found his relatively small frame the next day. When the sergeant suggested he become Keith’s partner on the force, he jumped at the chance–and quickly discovered that Keith had quite the racket going on the side. Usually, at the end of their shifts, they’d pick up a suspect or two, with or without evidence, and take them to Pigtown. None of them ever left again, to Jeff’s knowledge…but that didn’t faze him like he knew it should. He honestly didn’t care what he had to do anymore, so long as Keith kept taking him there…but eventually, the bar wasn’t enough. He didn’t just want to be the brute at night–he wanted to be him all the time. He didn’t care what it would take, or what he would have to give up, and so, one night, while Keith was distracted, Jeff went to the bar, where Rod poured him another drink–but he didn’t take it.

He was about halfway there, at this point. Muscles hulking, cock aching for a good hole, but still…capable of thought, even if he didn’t really want to. He pushed the drink away, which caught Rod by surprise. “What’s up, Rookie? Wanting something different tonight?”

“No…I…” he hesitated, “I don’t…want it to end, anymore.”

Rod cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, and be small anymore. I can’t…take it. I hate it, I hate myself. I just…I want to be this. This brute. I don’t…care what you do to me. I know guys disappear here. I know most of the guys Keith and I bring here just go behind that curtain and never come back out. I don’t care what you do to me back there, but I can’t go back out. I can’t bear it anymore.”

Rod nodded, “As sexy as that would be, chaining you up down there, making a real monster out of you–that’s not quite my call.”

“You own this place! It can be your call. I give you permission, please, just…just take me.”

“This is the deal I have with Keith. He brings me men, and in return, I let him do what he likes with the ones he claims–men like you. And trust me–he likes you a lot, and he likes how miserable you look the morning after. I suppose you could ask him. He might be willing to let you stay down there, if you beg. He likes it when they beg–trust me.”

He looked at Keith, and then back at Rod. “He won’t do it, I know him. He won’t.”

Rod shrugged, and pushed the drink over to him. “Then bottoms up, Rookie. Get what you can, if you can’t get what you want.”

The next morning, even though he knew what Keith’s answer was going to be, he asked anyway. He got down on his knees and begged for it, really, begged for Keith to let him be the brute, begged him to let him stay there, if he wanted. Keith just listened, laughed, and shoved Jeff onto all fours, and fucked him again, right on the floor.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Keith asked, “Sure, you make a sexy beast, at night, but what I love is this,” he hammered in his cock for emphasis, “This, the morning after, seeing how weak you are, seeing you realize how weak you are. Letting me do whatever the fuck I want to you, all of that ego, and all of that power just stripped away, and you turn into a desperate little faggot, everytime. Because that’s what you really are, you know. A desperate faggot. All of my pigs are. Don’t feel too bad about it–none of you can help it. Not you, not the sergeant, not the captain, not anyone on the squad. You’re all just pigs–and nothing more.” He kept fucking, Jeff trying to feel some anger or rage at Keith…but he just felt empty. The cock in his ass filled the hole slightly, but it wasn’t enough–it was never going to be enough. Keith finished, and slipped free, and while he wiped his cock off, he said, “Still–you want it that badly? Then fine. I’ll help. But you don’t get it the easy way, and you have to do everything I say pig. No talking back, no resistance, and never, ever say no. One chance–take it, or don’t.”

Pigtown Prison II (Part 3)

But of course it was for better! He…didn’t really want to be that beast, did he? No! Of course not! He tried to convince himself of that for a few minutes, and generally succeeded in doing so, burying that secret joy back in his chest, and he got out of bed, looked around for his clothes, only to remember that he’d…torn them all to shreds. How in the hell did he even get home last night–or rather, how in the hell did he get here? While the beginning of the night was relatively clear, the whirlwind of sex never seemed to end in his memory–there was just fucking, then nothing, then here, himself again and hungover.

The door to the room swung open, and there, in the doorway, was Keith–also completely naked, with that same cocky grin on his face from the bar plastered across it. “Morning Rookie–feeling alright?”

“F-Fuck you,” Jeff managed to stammer, “What the fuck was that?”

“Just an initiation of sorts, is all. You certainly enjoyed yourself, don’t you think?” He walked in, and he reeked of sex and leather and smoke, just like Jeff did, and he scooted back on the bed. “No, get the fuck away from me.”

“Oh? After giving you such a good night, where you enjoyed yourself so much, and now you think you can just prude up? It’s time for you to learn, Rookie, that a night at Pigtown with me doesn’t ever come free.”

Jeff couldn’t resist him–he didn’t feel like he could do anything. Keith had him pinned down, kissing and licking his neck, and to his own disgust–he liked it. Keith liked it too, feeling Jeff struggle, feeling how weak he was, and taunted him with it, mocked him, how such a big man from the night before was just going to give it up like this. Before long, Jeff was on his belly, Keith inside him, fucking him, and fuck, it felt good–and Keith knew it felt good. It was like he…knew him, inside and out, every button, so that by the time Keith finally filled Jeff’s hole with a load, Jeff had already shot his onto the sheets beneath him, and he felt like whore.

“Not bad Rookie, for your first real fuck,” Keith said, and got up from the bed. “You can borrow some of my clothes to get home, if you want–or just go naked. You were certainly shameless and proud of it last night in the streets. Or hey, if you want more, you can always stick around.”

He didn’t want to stick around. It took Jeff most of the day to sort his shit back out, get to his car where he’d parked it, and get back to his apartment. If anything, it was nice having a concrete problem to solve–but when he was alone again…everything came surging back. The shame, the weakness, the…lust. The clothes Keith had given him were dirty cast offs, full of his musk, and Jeff couldn’t help but smell them, thinking about that fuck earlier–but also about how he’d felt that night before. How big he’d been. How horny he’d been. How good it had felt to be so dominant and powerful. Looking at himself in the mirror, it was difficult to convince himself that he really was back to normal–compared to who he’d been for those few hours, he couldn’t help but see himself as a runt. He jacked off a couple of times, and then decided to go to the gym.

He spent hours there. He skipped his cardio, and focused on weights, pushing himself to the max over and over again. At first, it was just to prove to himself that he was a strong as he remembered…but eventually it wasn’t about proving himself at all. He…wanted to be that big again. He wanted it like he’d never really wanted anything in his life. This wasn’t enough–if…if he couldn’t be that brute, then he…he didn’t think he’d ever really be happy again. In the end, he just exhausted himself and trudged home, every muscle on fire, covered in sweat but no larger than he had been. Everything felt so…hopeless. But maybe…maybe if he could find that bar again, he could get another one of those drinks. Maybe just…one more night like that, and he could get this all out of his system.

He followed Keith’s directions to the letter, but when he reached the alley, the bar was nowhere to be found. It didn’t even look like the same part of the city. He cased the whole street anyway, and then started weaving around the streets nearby, certain it had to be close, but everytime he thought he saw a flicker of that blue neon, it turned out to be just another closed sign hung in the window of a pawn shop or restaurant. It had to exist. It had to. It couldn’t have all just been in his head, he refused to believe that. Defeated and desperate, he went back to his apartment and fell into a fitful sleep.

He skipped work the next day, and called in sick. He couldn’t face them, any of them, not after what he’d done. Especially not after what he’d done to the sergeant…and not after what the sergeant had begged him to do to him. It was clear–this was all Keith’s doing, and that bartender. He needed to turn them in, and clear house at the precinct. If that involved implicating himself then so be it. So he called the captain’s line, ready to confess, but when the phone picked up, he didn’t get an answer–all he could hear was some distant grunting and moaning.

“That you, Rookie?” a voice said over the line after a minute. It was Keith. “Of course it is. The captain and I are busy at the moment–I heard you aren’t feeling too good though. Need a pick me up? Meet me at the precinct tonight, six sharp, and we can go get you what you need.”

The phone hung up, leaving Jeff standing there, shaking, cock hard and erect, wondering just how high this went. Did he dare call someone else? Go to internal affairs? If he did, and the person he talked to was compromised…he had a feeling that neither Keith, nor Pigtown, would treat him kindly for that betrayal.

Betrayal–it wasn’t a fucking betrayal! The fucker had lured him there under false pretenses, drugged him, and then raped him the morning after in the clear light of day. He didn’t understand his own reluctance. He’d never been one to shy away from the moral act, even if it was difficult, but he found himself caught between that old self, and someone else entirely. He needed to clear his head. He needed to work out.

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.

Orwell’s Demon (Part 1)

Alright, here’s the expanded version of Orwell’s Demon! I should also mention that several aspects of this story have been…somewhat inspired by the work of Major, over on Gay Spiral Stories, and if you’re familiar with his stuff…it can get pretty extreme. Consider yourself warned.


The room is chilly, and yet, Orwell’s shirt is sticking to his back when he sits forward in the plastic chair, trying to get comfortable, looking around again for a clock, but knowing he won’t find one. How long has he been in here, now? Probably not as long as he thinks he has, probably not even an hour, but waiting feels…excruciating. To his right, there’s a mirror stretching the length of the wall–one way, he assumes. In the TV shows, they’re always one way, at least.

They’re over there, they’re talking about you, about how weak you look, about how it couldn’t possibly be you, Orwell.

Orwell shook his head, and glances at the mirror–he sees something, and the camera in the room flickers for a moment, like a shadow gathering at the edges of the lens, and he yanks his eyes away, back down to his lap. He came here of his own will. That would count for something. Besides, if they knew it was him, they would have arrested him already, before things…had gotten more and more out of his control. He clutched at something under his shirt for a moment, and then let it go, leaning forward, like he was trying to keep something under there from touching his skin, and tried to relax.

On the other side of the glass, was Detective Hurlbane of the city police department, who had been investigating the series of disappearances which had occurred over the last several months. No trace of the men who’d disappeared–four in total–and no bodies or trace of the men had been found. The one connection between them all was the man sitting in the chair–Orwell Englewood. An unassuming teacher of English at a local high school. He was, maybe, five foot four, and weighed close to 350 pounds. He had no prior record, and everyone who knew him had assured Hurlbane that Orwell was a kind, generous fellow–even if he’d seemed a bit odd over the last few months. Then again, anyone who found themselves as the prime suspect in a series of mysterious disappearances would behave a bit oddly.

Hurlbane decided Orwell had stewed enough, and he walked around to the door, and stepped inside. “Afternoon, Orwell. Thank you again for volunteering to come down to the station today and answer some questions about Mr. Piper.”

Mr. Piper, the fourth man to disappear, was Orwell’s next door neighbor. He’d hosted a poker night with some of his friends last Tuesday, while his wife was out with her own friends. His poker buddies had left early, around nine, and when his wife had arrived home at midnight, he was gone–no sign of forced entry or foul play–and he hadn’t been seen since. Orwell hadn’t been at the party, but he had been home, next door. He claimed he hadn’t noticed anything odd during those three hours, but he had no alibi. Hurlbane had a difficult time imagining this short, chubby fellow overpowering anyone…but at some point the coincidences had added up–what he needed was a confession, and he was going to get one.

“Anything I can do to help, although…I don’t know how much help I can be. Like I told you on the phone, I went to bed early that night, and I didn’t hear…anything suspicious.”

“Did you have much of a relationship with Mr. Piper? It seems odd that you’d be his neighbor and not get invited over for a poker night.”

Orwell shrugged. “We…didn’t share much interests I guess. I’d rather sit at home with a good book, than play poker.”

Hurlbane sat down in the chair across from Orwell, and leaned over the table. Orwell avoided his eyes, and seemed…nervous. “That seems understandable. But for someone who likes to sit at home, you have to admit it’s suspicious.”

Orwell didn’t say anything, or take the bait.

“It’s suspicious that of all the men who have disappeared, you’re the only person in the city who knows all of them.”

Orwell shook his head, “No–I didn’t…I told you, I have no idea what that whole…rest area thing was about.”

Hurlbane nodded, “Yes, of course. My apologies. Three out of four then. I just have a hard time imagining that you wouldn’t know something–especially since you were the last one to see one, or possibly two, of these missing men alive and well.”

“I’ve told you everything I know, Detective, I really have.”

Liar. If only he knew the truth. Think he’d like to find out for himself, Orwell?

Hurlbane saw Orwell grip at something by his chest, and wince, as if he were in pain. “Are you alright Orwell?”

He nodded, but the detective could see something had changed about him. He looked…pale, and was sweating even more. “I could just…use a smoke is all.”

“I didn’t know you smoked–there were no ashtrays in your house when we searched it.”

“I only do it outside.”

Hurlbane sat back, a bit confused–but it wasn’t important. If anything, needing to smoke would make him more likely to slip up. “Well, before we talk about Mr. Piper, Orwell, I’d like to review some of the facts of the other men we’ve discussed anyway, just in case you’ve remembered anything else that might be helpful to the investigation.”

“Is that really necessary? I think…I should go, I really need to go, actually.”

Orwell started to get up, but Hurlbane was faster, and blocked him in. “It won’t take long, Orwell. I promise. Now–can we start with Mr. Diamond? The gym teacher. He was the first one to go missing as you know, and your desks weren’t too far apart. In fact, some of the other teachers said the two of you were rather friendly with one another–but you said you can’t recall even one conversation with him.”

I can remember a few conversations with him–and a few other things too. Come on Orwell, you had a good time, didn’t you? With Mr. Diamond and his cock?

Pigtown Prison (Part 3)

Keith, in his mind, was desperately trying to make his body stop, but he couldn’t. He’d never topped another person in his life, but all his body wanted to do now was fuck–and fuck rough. The pig under him had gotten used to the assault and was starting to enjoy himself, so he redoubled his force, plowing him harder until the pig squealed in pain…and hearing that, he felt so fucking good, it nearly made him shoot. “What…the fuck did you fucking do to me!” he shouted at Rod, his voice deep and gruff, completely alien to the one he’d known his whole life.

“Don’t be mad at me, fucker–it was Oliver, who did this to you.” Rod got down and stared Keith right in the eyes, “You wanna be mad at anyone, then be mad at him.”

Something…changed in him. The rage he was feeling flared higher, and Keith felt all of it focused on Oliver. He tried to fight it and push back–he loved Oliver! Sure, their sexual chemistry was a bit of a struggle, given that they both preferred to bottom, but he’d thought they’d been working through it, right?

Rod just chuckled, “Oh no, Keith, no, no, no. Oliver never really wanted you. That’s why you’re here. He wants a top, a brutal top, a mean fucker who only wants to plow him into next week. He doesn’t care about who you are–he just wants the fuck. All this? All this pain? He doesn’t care as long as he gets what he wants. Well guess what Keith? You don’t have to care either. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

There was a flicker in Rod’s eyes, and a moment later, Keith screamed again. His mind–it felt like it was on fire–or at least parts of it were. All of his memories of Oliver, all of the times they’d shared together, all of them were aflame–but it wasn’t just memories–it was his compassion and his love. He could feel it shrinking and withering to ash, and the pain was horrific but soon he didn’t even care. He enjoyed it, he reveled in it–he gripped the pig by one hip, hard enough to bruise, and drove in deeper still, his other hand planted on the back of the pig’s head shoving his face into the filthy, pissdamp floor of the bathroom. “How’s that feel, you fucking piece of shit?” he screamed, and his cock exploded, filling the pig’s ass to the brim, but he kept fucking until he went soft, and only then did he pull out–body shaking with some caustic mix of pain, exhaustion and exhilaration.

Who…was he now? He remembered so little, but he did know one thing, and remember one person. Oliver–he remembered him, and he hated him. Hated him, because it was his fault that he’d just been put through all of that pain and suffering…and Keith knew he was going to have to pay for what he did.

“That’s a good boy,” Rod said, giving Keith a pat on the shoulder, “Now, why don’t we get you deputized?”

Rod’s hand settled on his shoulder, and underneath his palm, something like a shadow spread out and down Keith’s body, down his chest and back. He braced himself for more pain, but this didn’t hurt–it was warm and supple–he first thought it was some kind of rubber, but he touched it with a finger, and discovered that he somehow being coated in leather. It covered his entire body, aside from his neck and head, in less than a minute, a smooth, body hugging layer–and once it had coated him, he felt the entire body suit shift and morph around him. It split at the waist, becoming a shirt and pants, and then split again at his knees, the leather around his feet shaping into a pair of perfectly shined leather motorcycle boots. The pants were tight against his muscles, with a red stripe down the side, his huge cock bulging in the crotch and running down one leg. The leather…adjusted to it, and it felt so comfortable, like his cock always laid there, in a stretched out pocket of his pants. The shirt took a bit longer to form, but the details were more intricate–lapels and pockets, the sleeves shortening, exposing his massive biceps and forearms, hands encased by the tightest fitting gloves he’d ever felt, like they were painted on his hands.

Rod gave a flourish with his hand, and a cap appeared in his hand–and a silver steel badge. He placed the police cap on Keith’s head, and pinned the badge to his chest, and then gave him a smoky kiss. “Beautiful–now, you have a suspect to interrogate, right officer?”

“Y-Yes sir,” Keith said.

“Good fucker–work him over nice and proper. Figure out what sort of shit he pulled here yesterday. But whatever he did, don’t bring it back here! Just…deal with it as best you can. Probably some knick knack or something–it surprised me, but wasn’t that strong.”

Keith nodded, and a few minutes later he was out on the sidewalk, cool in his leathers despite the hot night. He found his motorcycle and rode off into the dark, heading for Oliver’s place, and more than eager give the man who’d done this to him a bit of payback.