House Arrest (Part 3)

He was back. Zack looked around him, looked down at himself. He was back to himself, back to who he was supposed to be, dressed in the clothes he’d shown up in and everything. He looked around at the unfamiliar room he was standing in–the foyer of some large house–but it wasn’t Sidney’s house. He…knew that. He knew that because…because he could remember everything from the entire weekend of hell he’d just been put through. All weekend as that musclebound fuckbuddy, doing everything–and everyone–Sidney had told him to do. He’d…he’d fucked his son. His son had fucked him. Sure, they hadn’t been in their right minds, or in their right bodies, but still, what the fuck had he just done?

Saturday and Sunday had been spent with Sidney engaging with several business partners of his, who’d all been avoiding coming by as long as Zack had been watching the place. And he’d…serviced them all. He’d wanted to, it had been so thrilling and exciting to be used by so many different men. Just remembering how it felt, Zack’ cock had gotten half hard in his pants, his stomach turning–he found the bathroom after a little searching and threw up in the toilet, disgusted with himself. But why was he alone? Where was Sidney? Where in the world was his son? Whatever was going on, he was getting the hell out of this place for sure. He went to the front door and flung it open, stepped out onto the front step, and…and all he felt was the most gut wrenching fear of his life.

There was just…just so much space out there. So many people, so many dangers. He was back inside, the door shut and locked behind him, heaving for breath. What in the hell was wrong with him? He tried again, and with some focus he managed to get a few steps outside, but the terror was crippling. He vomited again off to the side, onto a patch of ground between a couple of roses, and retreated back into the unfamiliar house. He had no idea what was wrong with him, but he couldn’t be out there. Instead, he decided to look around the house. There had to be a reason he was here. He didn’t have his cell phone or his keys. He didn’t have a wallet either, or his gun. Nowhere in the house was there a single phone, or a computer. The house looked lived in, mostly because it’s interior was well decorated, but the cabinets and fridge were empty and half of the rooms were unfurnished. But he did find one piece of the puzzle. In one of those empty rooms, he looked out the window, across the well kempt yard and over the fence, to where he could see the side of Sidney’s home.

He was right there. He was in the house next door to the fucker, but he couldn’t fucking leave, he couldn’t call his precinct, he couldn’t do anything. He fought the urge to cry, and instead he went downstairs and hurled a vase at the wall, and started sobbing anyway. He’d fallen for it. He didn’t know what Sidney was doing, or how he was doing it to him, but he was trapped in that sick fuck’s nightmare, and he didn’t know how to get out. Then, the doorbell rang. He hurried to the front door and opened it up, finding himself face to face with a young man holding a gift basket. “Please, you have to help me!” Zack said, “Call the police, the man next door kidnapped my son.”

“Oh, Master filled me in on the situation,” the young man said in a chipper voice, which made Zack’s heart sink, “He made you this housewarming gift, and said to be sure to watch the video.”

Zack didn’t know how to respond to that, and when he made no move to take the basket from him, the young man shrugged, set it down, and walked away like…it was the easiest thing in the world, to be out there in the terrifying world. Just standing in the open doorway he was beginning to shake; he grabbed the basket, trying not to think about it, and brought it in with him, shutting and locking the door behind him. Inside the basket were some cookies, some flowers–likely intended for the vase he’d just shattered–and a DVD. He got the video, found the widescreen TV and turned it on, but instead of a random TV channel, he found himself looking at the footage of a security camera. And from the looks of it, it was a camera inside of Sidney’s house. He changed the channel, and found himself looking in another room. It wasn’t until the seventh channel that he found the master bedroom–where Sidney had his still hulked out son bent over the bed, and was…plowing his ass.

He’d gotten hard immediately at the sight, and changed the channel again–his worst fears confirmed. Found the DVD player and loaded the disk, and hit play. After a few moments, Sidney’s face appeared on the TV, and started speaking:

“Hello Zackary. I hope you’ve started making yourself comfortable here, because you’ll be remaining here with me for the rest of my sentence, under a form of house arrest of your own. I must say, I admire your tenacity, but I simply can’t afford to have someone like you meddling in my affairs again. Don’t worry–you will find the house I purchased for you rather comfortable, if a bit lonely. You’ll have food delivered to you every few days, and if you so desire, a delivery slave can spend some time with you for…a price. There is, lastly, the issue of custody. As per the agreement, you’ll be permitted to stay with your son and me every other weekend, and we’ll all have so much fun together, I promise. I’m sorry your space is so sparse, but I’m sure you’ll always be able to find something to watch on TV. See you in a couple of weeks!”

House Arrest (Part 2)

He fought his feet, but he followed Sidney inside, hearing the pulse of music playing in the other room, his butt shaking in time to the beat as they got closer, and he found his hulking son still rolling his hips and moving to the beat. “Oh yes,” Zack said with a slight moan, pushing Sidney gently back down onto the couch, “I’m afraid you’re under arrest sir, and your punishment is going to be one sexy show from the hottest cop on the beat.”

What the fuck did he just say?

He grabbed the front of his uniform and tugged, feeling the snaps break apart as he started dancing with his son, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened to him. There was a mirror on the wall, and as he danced, he was able to catch glimpses of himself in it, but it wasn’t him. His…face was still mostly right–the shaved head, the horseshoe mustache starting to turn a bit grey–but his body…he’d never looked this ripped, not even when he was in the best shape of his life. Huge meaty pecs, a ripped abdomen, thick thighs which were nearly bursting the little blue shorts he had on. It struck him, at last, that this wasn’t his uniform. This was a costume. He didn’t know how, but Sidney had turned him into a stripper, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop himself from humiliating himself.

The look of horror must have registered on his face, because Sidney laughed the next time he turned towards him. “Yes, Officer, I’m sure you’re a bit confused. But why don’t you just relax? Look at how much fun your son is having. Aren’t you having fun Evan?”

“Yes sir,” Evan said with a thick laugh, “I’s having lots of fun. I just a dumb meathead stripper whore! I like to dance and fuck and suck and cum and work my body for sexy old men like you.”

“You…what the…hell did you do to him?” Zack managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Nothing that won’t happen to you too, officer. Now, keep at it. The more you dance, the better you’ll feel–I promise.”

Zack pulled his shirt off and kept dancing. Evan kept trying to feel him up and dance with him, but as much as this body wanted to play, he kept finding the will to push him away, but that will was starting to fade, slowly but surely. His panic was dimming, and his excitement and pleasure were increasing. He shucked his shorts, only to find he was wearing an NYPD jockstrap–and from the bulge in the front, he was both hard, and huge. He groped himself for the old man, loving how sexy he felt, his partner rubbing his hands all over his body…turning his head to the side for a kiss…

That face. He…knew that face, didn’t he? It was getting hard to think, and he felt so hot and sexy. And the hunk he was dancing with was hot and sexy too. He didn’t need to think, he just needed to dance and then he wouldn’t have to think anymore. He could just be a dumb meathead stripper too then, and everything else in the world wouldn’t even matter. They kissed, their mouths hot, rubbing their sweaty bodies together, looking over to make sure their client was enjoying their show, because this wasn’t really about them–it was about pleasing him. Most people probably wouldn’t find a client like this very attractive–middle aged, glasses, portly in odd places, a scruffy beard–but guys like this really turned Zach on for some reason. The idea of a sexy, attractive guy like him worshiping and obeying some fat, nerdy loser like this? It got him so fucking hard every time.

The man beckoned him over after the two of them had been making out for a few minutes; Zack sauntered over, climbed up on the couch facing the man so he was straddling him with his muscular thighs, moaning and swaying to the beat of the music. “Are you still in there, officer?” he asked, “Well, of course you are. Don’t worry, you’ll remember all of this once we’re done for the weekend, but for now, why don’t you kiss me, you handsome dumbass?”

He didn’t really know what the guy was talking about, but he did want to kiss him, and being called a dumbass made him really horny for some reason, so he leaned in and started making out with the client, one hand wrapping around the older man’s cock, stroking it slowly and gently, making sure to edge him. The client beckoned to his partner, who got down behind Zack and started sucking the man’s cock–Zack was jealous as hell, but the client’s pleasure was more important than what he wanted.

The man pushed him away for a moment, and let Zack focus on feeling up his flabby body while he toyed with a tablet he’d kept beside him. “I needed you two to keep your faces for a bit, just to make sure you recognized each other, but I’m sick of looking at your face, officer. Let’s make it a bit more appealing, eh?”

Zack felt an odd shift in his head, but when he looked over at himself in the mirror, he didn’t see anything different. His strong jawline coated with a bit of stubble, those thick lips of his, small nose and piercing green eyes, his brown hair short, and attractively mussed up. “Fuck, I looks sexy…” he said to himself.

“You sure do, stud,” Sidney said, and turned his face back so Zack was looking at him, “And what do you think of me?”

“Fuck, sir, I think’s you’re, like, really really hot. I mean, I’m a stud, but you’re like, my dream guy,” Zack said, gushing a bit, “Do you wanna fuck me, sir? I like being fucked a whole lot.”

“Sure slut, I’ll fuck you. I’ll be fucking you both a whole lot this weekend, I think.”

Zack liked the sound of that for sure. His partner stopped sucking, and he slid his client’s cock into his ass with a loud groan. He might not be smart, but he and his partner were the best whores in the city, and he was going to show this hot fucker the best weekend of his life.

House Arrest (Part 1)

Zack had spent years on the case. Building it from the ground up, finding every witness, digging up every scrap of evidence, chasing his own tail at times, but it had come together at last. Sidney Hubert might seem like your average tech savant by day, but at night he had his hands in so many shady enterprises–online black markets, insider trading, human trafficking–it was only a matter of time before he slipped up, and he knew that all he needed to do was be there to catch him, cuff him, and lock him up for good. The chance had come, when he showed up in person for a deal–he’d given the prosecutor the conviction wrapped in a bow, only to watch him throw it.

He couldn’t prove it. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that a man with as much wealth and influence as Sidney would have some pull in the criminal justice system, but Zack had underestimated exactly how much, obviously. In the end, the jury let him off on most of the charges, but stuck him with some of the lesser tax evasion charges. Even then, because he was such an alleged upstanding citizen, he was only sentenced to two years of house arrest. Two years, and the fucker was essentially relaxing all day in his massive mansion. And what did Zack have?

This case had…been rough on his life. His wife had lost it, when he’d gotten too obsessed, and left. His son was distant with him, and he only saw him every other weekend. He’d burned a good number of bridges with the department, and with the DA’s office. Five years ago, people were mentioning him as someone who might run the department one day, but now he was going to be stuck as a detective for the rest of his life. He was in his forties, and he was starting to feel it. He didn’t know if he had it in him anymore to chase this guy down all over again, once he got out, but he had to try. He didn’t have anything left to lose, after all.

Zack watched him like a hawk for six months, but there was nothing the least bit suspicious at the residence. If anything, Sidney seemed so clean that this alone was enough to raise a few alarm bells. Sidney would taunt him, occasionally–having pizza delivered to him while he sat in his car, or one time, sending him a text inviting him inside for a glass of wine and to look around–enough to let him know that he knew Zack was watching him. It was only making things feel more hopeless. He needed to accept that he’d been duped, but he couldn’t. He had to believe he could still nail this guy in the ass.

He tried to focus on reconnecting with his son, Evan, when he did see him, but it was difficult. He was seventeen, a bit of a loner, and Zack was a bit worried he might be getting involved with the wrong sorts of kids at school. They barely talked, their worlds didn’t even seem to overlap at any point. He’d drift into Zack’s apartment on Friday afternoon after school, they’d try to connect–go out to eat, see a movie–but nothing much seemed to help. Then, one Friday, Evan didn’t show up. He usually just caught the bus, but Zack thought he might have stayed after school–he called his ex-wife, but she didn’t even pick up the phone. He called the school, but they treated him like he was crazy–they couldn’t find any record of his son even attending school there. Then, he got the text message on his phone, from Sidney’s number.

“Feel like you’re missing something?”

His gut fell to his feet. That fucker, he was never going to get away with something like this. He called the squad to get backup, but as soon as he tried to tell his sergeant what had happened, he started treating him like he was crazy. He told Zack that Zack didn’t have any kids. Zack had never even been married to anything beside his job. He wanted to know if Zack had been drinking. He wanted to know if he’d been pursuing the case on his own. Zack hung up on him, incredibly frustrated, and also scared. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He had a son, he knew he had a son, but why did the entire world seem to suddenly think he didn’t even exist? He got in the car, determined to take this shit into his own hands. The rumors he’d heard about Sidney, about trafficking in men and strange technology…he tried not to think about it, as he sped across town.

He parked a ways off down the street, and approached on foot, staying out of sight of Sidney’s numerous security cameras as he slipped around the house, casing the place. Through a front side window, he saw them–Sidney sitting on the couch, naked, and…some muscular guy dancing for him in the middle of the room. That wasn’t his son–Evan was thin as a rail, hunched, always fidgety. But when the hunk spun around to wiggle his bubble butt at Sidney, and Zack saw his face…it was Evan’s face. It was Evan’s blissed out, moaning face, on some stranger’s body. He didn’t know what was going on, but he had to get in there. He went around to the front door and hammered on it, ready to burst in if need be, but after a few moments, the door opened, and a naked Sidney was there in the doorway, leering at him.

“Good evening officer, what can I do for you?”

Zack sensed that…something was wrong. He’d had his gun in his hand, but he…didn’t, suddenly. He hadn’t been wearing his uniform, but now he was in his blues–and the fabric, it was…scratchy and ill-fitting. “Sir,” he said, licking his lips, “I’ve heard reports of lewd behavior at this residence–I’m afraid I’m going to have to search the premises.”

“Oh! Well do come in officer, do come in and investigate all you want.”

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 2)

It hurt. It was dry, and even though the baton was smooth, as Officer Wetzel tried to work it into his virgin asshole, it felt like he was ripping his ass apart. No one in the circle around him showed any sympathy to his situation. The man next to him, hand on his shoulder, was slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt, sliding one hot hand beneath it, exploring the officer’s chest and gut. The man sucking him off was bringing him closer to orgasm, no matter how hard he fought–it simply felt too good, and the man whispering in his ear wasn’t helping him focus on who he knew he was. A good man. A christian man. A man who loved his wife. A man who’d never felt a single desire for a man before in his life–but that was a lie, and the man knew, he knew it. The officer could remember, unbidden, all those desires like they were new again. That time he’d jacked off with his patrol in boy scouts. The boy who’d blown him at that Christian retreat. That…desire he felt, eveny time he was alone with his priest, and he could always tell the man felt the same, but God kept them so far apart, so far–

His hand twisted the baton in deeper, and he cried up–something between a scream and a moan, and he came, the man drinking down his cum, the men around them urging them on, vying for position. Whether the man was manipulating them too, or whether this was simply their natural state, he didn’t know, but every single one of them saw him not as a person, but as a hunk of meat, an object, a tool.

“They seem excited, don’t you think? I really should give them what they want–anything else would be rather cruel. Don’t worry–they’ll get tired eventually, and leave you alone for a few hours, but I don’t think you’ll be able to keep up that whole…straight act, not after we’ve shown you what you’re missing. Do you think that hag of yours will really look as good after you’ve learned how good it feels to have a cock in your ass?” The man smiled, his smoky breath hot against the officer’s ear. He stepped away, letting go of him for the first time, but the heat in his chest kept him there, kept him pushing the baton in deeper, the faggots closing in tighter around him.

“Please, don’t…don’t do this. I’m sorry, please.” he said, as a man in rubber, hooded, an unknown, stepped up close, pulling his uniform shirt apart the rest of the way, toying with the officer’s tender nipples, pressing their cocks together.

“Oh? Does someone want to make a deal?” the man said, leaning against the wall out of reach, watching the freaks close in around him. “Well, I suppose you can have an evening with them, or a weekend with me. It’s up to you, which you’d rather suffer.”

The rubber freak had one gloved hand on the top of Wetzel’s head, applying pressure, his other hand gripping his cock, eight inches, pierced in more places that the officer imagined possible, someone coming around the side, taking over the baton. His knees were buckling, he was…he was going to suck the man off. Then the next man too. Other’s would fuck him, and he wanted them to fuck him, he’d always wanted to know, he always wanted to know what it would be like to have a man inside him, and he’d confessed, to his priest, how he’d played with his hole while his wife was away, listening to the priest jack off while he told him, jacking off himself–“No, not them, please, not this. You can do what you want with me.”

The ring of men was pushed back by some strange force, allowing Officer Wetzel to take a breath, but it was filled with smoke, sulfur, brimstone, as the man, the demon, locked lips with him, pushing the smoke in deep, feeling the officer’s body melt against him. He was hot, so hot it felt like his skin might burn. Everywhere he touched, his skin ached with lust, his uniform caught fire and burned away, and the man turned the officer around, allowed him to brace himself against the wall. He’d become bigger, hairier, skin no longer any human tone, but a deep red, cock even larger than the rubber freaks had been, but Wetzel wanted it, he was begging for it. The demon hauled the baton from the officer’s hole and flung it away, hauling apart his ass cheeks with two hands, fingers tipped with claws, precum steaming as it dribbled from the tip of his cock. With a voice, halfway to a growl, the beast said, “You know, all it takes is one for the infection to happen, right?”

Before Wetzel could doubt his decision, the demon’s cock had forced itself into him. It burned, it was rough as sandpaper. He needed it, needed it deep inside him all the same, and he was bucking back as the beast fucked him. He felt a fever building in him, a horrific heat burning away the false faith he’d used, in desperation, to bind himself. His true self. Was he even human anymore? He was something different, that much he knew. There would be no coming back from this, now that he’d been seeded, and everything felt so…strange. Wrong. Different. The demon was pounding harder, the men still surrounding them, urging them onward. Could they see it for what it was? Could they see him changing? Or were they just victims in all of this? Did they know what was walking among them? What was inside of him?

The demon came, and after that, for a time, nothing mattered. Nothing even seemed to exist. It was white, or so black he know longer knew what light was. He was aware of his body existing. He could feel the cock slide out of him, and the heat began to flow out of him, exhaustion replacing it, and he fell to his knees, facing the wall. Who was he? What was he? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to either.

Officer Wetzel Meets a Demon (Part 1)

Every year. It was absolutely disgusting. Officer Wetzel could at least tolerate the pride parade in June–there was no modesty, but at least it wasn’t so…filthy. No, there were the drag queens, which were relatively harmless. The dykes on bikes, the…occasional man in leather or rubber, but this weekend, each year, the streets were clogged with them. Leather uniforms, rubber and latex body suits, men wearing next to nothing at all, men pretending to be dogs and pigs, the alleys stinking of piss even more than usual, as well as that sour odor he’d realized was cum a few years back, and was still hoping he could forget. Each year, he begged his Lieutenant not to force him to work that weekend–he’d request vacations, he’d try anything. Sometimes it worked, and then sometimes, like this year, he was stuck. Here, amidst the throngs, men leering all around at him as he scowled back, making sure they knew that his uniform wasn’t some fetishistic role play. Some of them still didn’t get the hint, and those were usually the ones who ended up with their face against the wall, and then in the drunk tank at the local precinct.

Still, it was only three days, one long weekend. That’s what he told himself, but it didn’t help matters much. If anything, he was becoming rather desensitized to the filth and perversion and whoring going on around him–and that alone was enough to worry him. No one should consider this normal. These displays were a modern Sodom; if only God would come down and wipe this place clean like he did Millennia ago. A little divine intervention, that’s exactly what this fucking city could use.

The day was wearing on him. It was mid afternoon, the heat still climbing even as the sun was starting to drop. His uniform was itchy and uncomfortable. This was just the first day, and he didn’t know if he was going to be able to take two more days of this filth without some well deserved police brutality. Maybe on the last day, when they were too drunk to care about reporting it. Still, considering some of the shit he’d broken up before, the pigs would probably just enjoy it, so what the hell was the point?

In his glum and dour mood, he hadn’t noticed the older fellow, a bit of a belly but quite muscled, shirtless and wearing a pair of tight leather pants, smoking a cigar and holding a beer, walk up and lean on the building beside him. “Well hello Officer,” he said, “You might be a bit more comfortable in this heat if you…took off a few layers. I could help, if you want.”

The man’s hand slipped closer, and Officer Wetzel recoiled, “Lay one of those pervert hands on me, and I swear to god, you’ll be in a jail cell so fast you won’t know what happened to you, faggot.”

“Oh my–I saw that you could use a little bit of temptation, but I suppose I hadn’t quite imagined how much.”

Officer Wetzel had had enough of this fuck–might as well get the bashing done early–as a plus, he’d have to spend the rest of the weekend doing paper work. He slipped his baton out of his holster, went to raise it up, when the man caught his wrist in a firm, sensual hold, and closed the space between them in an instant, lips inches apart, the air now mostly smoke. The cigar stank worse than most, with hints of coal and sulfur. They were in the shade of a building, but even in the shadow, the man’s eyes cast an odd glow, like a flame was reflecting in them. “Now now, officer Wetzel. Why don’t you relax for a little bit? Enjoy yourself a bit?” He glanced over at the people streaming along the sidewalk, caught the eye of some older faggot wearing only a collar and jockstrap, and pulled him closer with a beckoning finger. “How about you, cocksucker? You want to help Officer Wetzel here relax a bit?”

“Would I fucking ever!” he said, got down on his knees, right there on the sidewalk, and started opening the fly of his uniform pants. Wetzel tried to protest, he tried to shove the man away, clober him with the baton he still had raised in his hand, but he couldn’t move. The one hand, firm on his wrist, had frozen his entire body–or rather, everything but his cock, which grew hard as soon as the old pig took the head in his mouth. He was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t really be turned on by this faggot sucking his cock, could he? What kind of man was he? What kind of godly man was he?

“Oh, God isn’t here–God hasn’t come down here in a long time, Officer Beauregard Wetzel. But I come up here every year. And every year, I bring someone down to my level–and this year, I think that’s going to be you.”

Officer Wetzel’s eyes went wide, and he began to try harder to pull himself away, both from the stranger’s hand, and from the man sucking his cock. The man just gave a deep belly laugh, leaned in closer, locked lips with him, and blew the smoke deep. It was hot, so hot it hurt, deep inside him in a place he couldn’t quite identify. He tried to cough, but the force of the man’s breath just kept filling him up, making him light headed, his arm relaxing, the baton falling to the ground as his hand went limp. The man pulled away, gently, Wetzel following him without thinking about it, a slight moan escaping his lips.

“Oh officer, you droped your baton. You really should put that in a safer place, don’t you think?”

Officer Wetzel nodded. Careful to not disrupt the cocksucker, he squatted down and retrieved his baton, and allowed his pants and underwear to drop down around his boots. The thought was in his mind, and he was horrified. He wouldn’t do this to himself, he couldn’t do this, not here, not in front of these freaks. Indeed, men had started to slow, stop, and stare at the scene unfolding here. “Go on officer, I promise that there’s no place safer.”

Wetzel gave a quiet sob, and bent over, moving his baton to the opening of his asshole.

Medical Trials (Part 1)

Evan looked around at the desks around him, all of which had emptied out my now, leaving him alone in the precinct, chasing his own tail on this investigation into several men over the last few months. There was no real connection between any of them–not age, neighborhood, habits…well, except for one. Every single one of the men was employed at a massive health conglomerate in the business district, Trinq Incorporated. The company was trying to claim that all of the disappearances were all likely to have been done by one of their chief, international competitors–and initially, that’s what had seemed like the most likely possibility. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. The evidence the company had provided had just enough holes to make it look reasonable, but also impossible to prosecute, and in two of the cases, he’d found evidence that the men in question had actually been preparing to blow the whistle on what was looking like some serious ethical issues in Trinq’s R&D department. But as soon as he’d started asking questions along those lines, the company had started stonewalling him. His boss was pressuring him to close the file as a cold case if necessary, but Evan’s detective instincts were telling him he was on the cusp of something big.

He heard the elevator ding, and assumed it was just the janitor, coming up to clean the floor. He didn’t have time to react when the two massive men attacked him, one of them holding a rag soaked in chloroform to his nose. He fought as hard as he could, trying to reach his sidearm, but he was out before he could do anything to fight back, and the two men carried him down to the basement parking garage, threw him in the back of a van marked with Trinq Incorporated’s logo, and drove off through the city, arriving at an unmarked office building, and disappearing inside.

He was trying to scream, but all he could manage was a muffled cry, with the strange tube shoved in his mouth, and held in place by the mask secured around his head and neck, holding it immobile. The only things exposed were his eyes, allowing him a limited survey of the room–white tiled wall straight ahead and to the right, a white door in that corner, and to the left, a wall with a large mirror. In his experience, he figured it was likely one way. Where in the hell was he? The last thing he could remember was sitting at his desk, and then everything else was a blurry haze. Had someone kidnapped him? He didn’t know if it was Trinq or some foreign company, but he was willing to bet he’d stumbled on a hornet’s nest, and hadn’t been smart enough to know it.

The rest of his body was immobilized as well, and all of his clothes had been removed, leaving him naked, though there was something on his cock, or perhaps more precise, inside it–a tube, almost like a catheter, though he couldn’t see where the tube led outside his range of vision. In his arm was an IV, and some sort of complex machinery which was pumping something into him–probably saline–though he had a feeling that he’d be subjected to something else before too long. Sure enough, now that he was awake, he heard the machine whirring to life, and a blue liquid was added to his drip. All he could do, was try to scream and struggle against his bonds as the drug–whatever it might me–slipped down the line and disappeared into his arm.

For what felt like a long time, but which in reality was likely only fifteen minutes or so, nothing happened, beyond Evan panicking and hyperventilating. Then, without any warning at all, he felt his cock stiffen all on it’s own accord in a matter of seconds, and a massive orgasm ripped through him, leaving him shuddering and shaking in the chair, and he only had a few moments to heave for breath through his nose, before a second orgasm, even longer and more intense, followed right on the first’s heels.

He had no idea how long it lasted–he quickly lost count of how many orgasms he suffered through in rapid succession. At first, it was pleasurable, but the euphoria dulled away, and soon every shot of cum was simply excruciatingly painful. It felt like his balls were being crushed in a vice, milked endlessly–and somehow, every time, more cum came out of him. He’d heard somewhere, that after a relatively small number of loads, a guy would just begin shooting dry, but not him–he could see his cum flowing through the tube lodged in his cock, flowing to some unknown destination below him.

After an hour of this, the time between orgasms began to lengthen again, and he did indeed begin to shoot dry–which hurt even more, somehow. His balls were throbbing, his cock felt like it was on fire, but after the intensity of the experience, those sensations felt so distant, and as the last few orgasms shook through him, what Evan actually felt was a surprising sense of calm. Or more than just calmness, also…indifferent. Like the world had emptied of meaning somehow, or he’d simply lost the capacity to grapple with things going on around him. And as the tension left his body, he saw something rising up from below him–a massive tank, full of at least four liters of his own cum. At the top of the tank, which was being slowly raised up into the air, was the end of the tube attached to his cock, and at the bottom, the end of the tube leading back to his mouth.

“Officer Evan Timmons, you will eat all of your own cum. You will enjoy it.”

The words came through speakers in the mask itself, and they lit up the grey, featureless world around him, broke through his indifference, and he found himself focused on the command, as the tank began to empty down the tube, and into his mouth.

Jerry knew he was getting close to figuring out the secret to Pigtown. The guys at the precinct all told him he was crazy to try and stop it, to try and figure out what the bar was doing to the men in the neighborhood. They even pointed out Scrimm, told him that story, but Jerry was never one to listen to threats–that is, until he came home one evening and discovered his sons were missing.

He and his wife searched for days, the entire police force was mobilized, but there was no sign of them anywhere–no one claimed responsibility, no one demanded ransom. But Jerry knew, Pigtown was involved somehow, but he didn’t know why or how. He’d always found himself able to resist the advances of the men there–was that why they were targeting him? He told the precinct Chief his theory, but the older man wouldn’t–or perhaps couldn’t–say anything. His eyes thought, told Jerry all he needed to know.

His wife broke down–she left for her mother’s, and Jerry carried on by himself for another day, before he finally received the gift, and the note.

If you want to be with your boys, you know what to do.

–Rod

That’s all it said. He opened the small box, and inside he found a small cigar and a lighter, but nothing else, no clue or anything. Should he report it? Rod–he’d come across that name over and over again in his investigations, but he had no idea who he might be. But what choice did he have? It was just a cigar, and he’d been able to resist so much else, right?

Jerry was a very different man a couple hours later. The cigar–it just kept growing, and at this point it was stretching his jaw to the limit, but he’d only suck down more smoke, twisting his now massive nipples, stroking his white beard, growing thicker and longer. He didn’t know when his clothes had become leather, but fuck, it felt good on his bare skin, on his massive cock, but as much as he stroked it, he couldn’t seem to climax–and then the doorbell rang.

There, on the stoop, was a cage. And there inside the cage were his two sons. They were naked, but otherwise completely unharmed, but Jerry knew what to do. With strange, inhuman strength, he dragged the cage into his house, his two sons screaming at him to stop, but as soon as he started feeding them his smoke, they changed their tunes rapidly, and their bodies too–both of them becoming chubby, perfectly obedient cigar cubs for their daddy, happy to be home in his arms.

His wife never did see any of them again, but some of the officers at precinct 17 would on occasion, in a dark corner of a bar or alley. Jerry wore a thick metal collar, as did his two cubs–the two boys attached to their father’s collar by two short, thick chains, assuring them that they’d never be apart again, Jerry’s cigar still smoldering in the dark, as big as ever, and unlikely to go out anytime soon.

If you’re going to work at Precinct 17, then you have to respect Pigtown. At least, that’s what the longtimers always try and tell the new police recruits, when they arrive, first day on the job. Of course, they also can’t be too specific–they wouldn’t be longtimers at the precinct without having made a few deals with the devil himself–but by now, the chief can usually tell, as soon as he meets them, which officers will survive a year so they can transfer out of this insane place, and which young hotshot the brass sent their way, so he won’t be with the force too much longer.

Recruit Donny Scrimm was one of those. Football jock bully in high school, dumb as a brick but the army wouldn’t take him for whatever reason, thought he’d become a police officer so he could get a chance to shoot a fucker and not get in trouble. He showed up, took one beat around the neighborhood, and was disgusted. What the hell was this place? Everywhere he looked, there were guys in rubber and leather, prowling the streets, their cocks hanging out. None of them approached him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. When he asked the chief, and the chief said to leave them alone–all of them–and to especially stay away from the bar called Pigtown, Donny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He left, furious, and marched back out onto the street, ready to bash some of these disgusting queers back into their place.

He was missing for three days. When he finally did resurface, he was sobbing, crawling up the precinct steps, looking quite…different from when he’d left the building before. He’d put on about fifty pounds in his gut, a scruffy beard across his face, running up onto his chin, his uniform coated with who knew what. The recruits who saw him, well, now they knew why you didn’t fuck with Pigtown, and why Precinct 17 wasn’t like any other police station they’d ever been to. Donny went to the chief, asking for help, but the chief told him there wasn’t anything he could do–beyond take his badge and his uniform (which revealed Donny’s now hairy body was coated from foot to neck in lewd, filthy tattoos) give him a long fuck over his desk, get him dressed in some rubber, and throw him back to the streets, where he belonged now.

You can still see Scrimm on occasion, down in the alleys. He doesn’t remember being a police officer now–hell, he doesn’t remember much of anything. His entire body is tattooed, but oddly enough, the tattoos seem to change and shift over time–and anyone who takes a load of his pigseed finds a new tattoo of their one on their body, one that seems to grow a bit larger whenever they aren’t looking at it.

Making Pigs (Part 3)

Officer Vernon knew this wasn’t what he should be doing.

He’d received multiple calls about a couple of guys having sex on the side of the freeway, in open view, and he’d been tasked with getting them to stop and arresting them for gross indecency. But he’d gotten off his motorcycle, walked over towards them, and then…and then here he’d been standing for a few minutes, just watching them fuck, his cock out of his uniform pants, stroking himself off, unable to look away.

“That’s good pig, just keep stroking that big, thick shaft of yours. Just keep watching me pound Porgy’s front hole. You like watching men fuck, don’t you? In fact, whenever you see men fucking, it’s like every other thought flies straight out of your brain, and it’s all you can think about.”

Yeah…yeah, he did have a hard time focusing on anything where guys were fucking in front of him, especially when one of them was a sexy pig like Porgy…fuck, watching that perfectly smooth fat jiggle, the fucker’s triple chins wobbling as the man plowed that pig’s cockhole deeper and deeper…What had he been thinking about again? It…it probably wasn’t that important really. His cock was important. He looked down at it, at the fifteen inch long monstrosity in his hands, and could barely believe the size of it. It hadn’t been that big before, had it? Who cares? It felt fucking good in his hands as he milked it, angling himself so he could show it off to the car’s driving by.

“Yeah pig, that’s right. You like showing off, don’t you? Why don’t you take that shirt off, show everyone that firm gut of yours and piggy pecs, those fat, inch long nipples you have studded on your chest. Go on, give them a twist, I bet they’re sensitive as hell, right? Almost enough to make you cum, just playing with those by themselves. And those fucking meaty thighs, packed with as much fat as muscle I bet.”

The buttons popped off as he tried to get his shirt off, and he ended up just tearing his way out of it, hearing the seams of his pants ripping apart at the same time. After a moment, he too was naked, aside from his boots which were bulging around his enlarging feet, stroking his massive cock with one hand, twisting his huge nipples with the other, eyes empty, drool leaking out one corner of his mouth, lost in the pleasure of his own changing body.

“Hairy beast too, a proper boar. Stupid as fuck though. Bet you can’t even talk. Still, those hands and feet of those are as massive as your cock–guess it’s true what they say. Damn short though–what are you, just a little over five feet? Damn pig, that cock of yours almost hits your fucking knees. Yeah, fucking look at you, Can’t believe I caught myself two today, gonna fuckin’–”

He watched the man start huffing and fucking Porgy deeper now, and with a cry, he shot his own load deep in Porgy’s front cunt, the pig letting out a squeal of his own, cumming for the fourth or fifth time.

“Get over here, come clean out Porgy’s holes like I know you want to. Cum hungry slut, covered with fucking hair. No thought in your heads except about fucking and stroking that big cock. Need a name too though–how about Boaris, eh?”

Boaris snorted his approval, and tried to walk over, bursting from the remains of the boots as he did, and got down in front of Porgy, hefted up the fat apron and shoved his lips to the pig’s gunt, sucking out all the cum he could, licking it up, digging his tongue in deep. The man came up behind him, running his hands through the thick, furry pelt that had grown in over Boaris’ whole body, from the tops of his size twenty feet to the backs of his palms to the huge curly beard swallowing his face.

“Porgy, clean yourself out, and give Boaris a treat–eh?”

Porgy somehow knew what the man meant, and he let loose his bladder, sending a flood of piss out his hole which Boaris tried to drink up, but a good bit of it just ran down the front of his body, soaking into his hair, running down over his pecs and the curve of his muscular gut.

“Alright you pigs, that’s enough get in the back–we have an auction to get to, and a long drive to get there.”

The two pigs, their past lives now well forgotten, hauled themselves into the bed of the truck–Boaris helping the massive Porgy in first, before hauling himself up after. The man climbed in the cab, started the engine, and drove off. It wasn’t a mile down the road that he felt the truck start bouncing–sure enough, Porgy was flat in the bed and Boaris was mounting him at eighty miles an hour down the highway. Yeah, these two were going to fetch a damn good price at the hog auction today, he could just tell. And with all the attention they were getting, it was a good chance they’d pick up a third or fourth pig on the way too. The man smiled and took a long drag off his cigarette–the pigs never see it coming, but somehow it never gets old.

Case Closed (Part 4)

He yanked him off his cock by his hair, and Richard nodded. “Yes…sir. I…I wasn’t…telling the truth.”

“Yeah, now why don’t you go ahead and tell Bailey here what really happened last night?”

“I…It was me, sir. I begged them all to fuck me. At…at first they wouldn’t because they were all straight, but I had to get…get down on my knees and…and beg. Beg, and…and plead. And finally they gave…gave me their cocks, sir. That’s…what happened. I was lying before. I’m…I’m sorry.” The last syllable was cut off, by Walker impaling his mouth on his cock again.

The thing is, it didn’t sound like he was telling the truth, but now that I was in here again, my earlier convictions were fading. It really did seem, then, that the fucker had been lying to us, and that meant, that if it wasn’t the second, then it had to be the first. “So what then, Richard? Why go to all this fucking trouble then?” I said, and then squatted down next to him, watching him suck my partner’s cock, “You see, I was doing some thinking, while I was out getting some cigars for me and my partner. I think, the reason you did all this? The reason you had to make up this whole fuckin’ story? Because you need attention. Because you need fuckers like us to feel sorry for you, so we’ll give you a pity fuck, is that it? Did you think that, if you just told us some sob story, about getting raped, that we’d just let you suck our cocks, just like that? You fucking pig, you fucking disgust me.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool me and my partner, you fucker,” Walker said, “Bailey, I think we should do a contraband search on this fucker, what do you say?”

“I think it might be good to check him out, fuck yeah.”

Walker uncuffed him, and together we hauled him up and started stripping him out of his clothes, poking fun at his fat body, twisting his nipples jiggling his fat, stroking his big cock, telling him that if he didn’t want this, then why in the hell was he so fucking hard? He wasn’t even fighting us at this point, the pig knew we’d caught him, and good too. Still, when Walker bent him over the table, holding him down while I gloved up, making sure my sleeves were rolled up well past my elbow, he started protesting again, begging me to not make him do this, to just let him go, but I gave his fat ass a few smacks, and that got him settled down, before I lubed up and slipped my fingers in his ass, listening to him moan.

“Listen to this fucker–I bet he hid something up there just so we’d have to find it.”

“Yeah, why else would the pig be moaning like this?” I said, but I didn’t feel anything near the entrance. I pushed in deeper, widening the hole, but it was so damn tight. If the pig had been fucked by an entire frat house the night before, it sure didn’t feel like it–no, it felt fucking amazing. At some point I must have undone the front of my pants, my free hand stroking my cock as I thrust my fingers deeper and deeper into the pig’s hole. It was…fuck, it was big! All of me looked big, all of a sudden, though. Walker walked around to the other side of the table, which Richard’s head was sticking off of, and started fucking his throat again, and before too long I had my whole fist buried in the pig’s ass. “Fuck, this pig’s so tight, man.”

“Heh, probably didn’t even get fucked at all last night–that’s probably why he’s so desperate. He sure doesn’t look like he goes to fucking college either–heh, maybe a decade ago, eh Richard?”

“Is that what you do, Richard? Nah, not Richard, I bet everyone calls you Dick, don’t they? You’re so fat, so ugly, so old, that the only way you can get someone to pay any attention to you, is if you beg cops like us for fucks, is that it? Well fucking fine pig, have it your way!” I shoved in deeper, feeling him squirm and groan in pain, but as he did, his body started spasming and his cock started spraying cum under the table…and shrinking. It had been fairly sizable before, not that I’d gotten a good look at it, but almost as it shot, it seemed to dwindle, until it was only about three inches long. I looked elsewhere, and the rest of his body was also changing, right in front of my eyes, or at least, that’s what it seemed like at the time. Shit like that can’t really happen, right? He was getting older, his hair turning grey and balding, leaving him with a mostly bald scalp and some stringy hair around it. His body got fatter too, spreading out on the table around him, but I recognized him now–Dick. Fucker’s a regular here, always coming in, claiming he’s been raped and abused, but it’s just a fucking game to this pig, getting the two of us all hot and bothered until we give him a good working over. And fuck if it doesn’t work everytime, but then again, it doesn’t take much for Walker and I to get revved up–the two of us are always fucking horny, and usually always fucking–each other, or tag teaming some pig we pulled off the street and into an alley.

His pig’s tight hole was finally starting to loosen up a bit–I hauled out my arm and slid my big cock inside him and pounded it in up to the hilt over and over, and table screeching across the floor a bit each time from the impact, shoving his throat deeper onto Walker’s cock each time. Finally, the two of us came–I don’t remember who first, but it was close enough together that it didn’t really matter, and we each pulled free. I made Dick get down and lick up the load of cum he’d shot all over the floor, the two of us watching and smoking, making sure he got every drop, and only then did we let the old fag get dressed again in those grungy, stained clothes he’s always wearing. He didn’t look very happy, and he tried to just leave! Well I wasn’t going to have any of that–fuck no. I shoved him up against the wall, and cuffed him for filing a false report.