October Requests Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Hey all! If you’re looking for a Halloween story from me this month, this is it–I took a bunch of suggestions from Patrons earlier this month, and I rolled them all up into a short story called “The Pact.”

Three nerds make a strange pact with a spirit haunting a house near campus–but while they get revenge on the three jock bullies plaguing them, the house gets everything it wants from them as well.

Below is the first chunk from the story–if you’d like to see the rest, anyone pledging at least $1 a month can read it, and the other suggested stories I’ve written, on my Patreon.

Y-O-U-W-A-N-T-R-E-V-E-N-G-E

The three chubby nerds looked up from the spirit board and at each other, speechless. The house…everyone on campus had always said it was haunted, and it had been a joke, really, to come here with Marcus’ the board just to see what would happen. They hadn’t expected this–the pointer literally moving all on it’s own across the board as they all watched, speechless.

Still, it was true. The three chubby young men had been plagued for three years now by a trio of jocks on campus, who had bullied them all relentlessly. Still, what could they do about it? They just tried to keep their chins up as best they could, and kept going–none of them were strangers to bullies after all.

I-C-A-N-H-E-L-P

“Guys, we should go,” Clark said, looking to the front door of the house, only to hear the wood walls creek in dismay and agitation.

H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N

B-R-I-N-G-T-R-E-A-S-U-R-E-S-O-F-E-A-C-H

W-E-W-I-L-L-M-A-K-E-P-A-C-T

The pointer stopped moving, and the three young men stayed frozen until the walls of the house had fallen silent once more. Then, they grabbed the board and fled out into the autumn yard, all of them certain, in that moment, that they would never again set foot in that house. That certainty remained, at least, until the dreams started.

None of them could remember them clearly, in the morning, but the basic gist of it was always the same. In the dream, they had all won. The jocks were beaten, the jocks were theirs, the jocks were their slaves. They could do whatever they wanted to them, they did do whatever they wanted to them, and the sheer pleasure of it overwhelmed each of them, and several times, they woke to sheets wet with cum from the night. The one thing they all heard, and could remember clearly, were the words, “Make the pact,” said to them in a voice none of them could describe. Finally, it was Edwin who broached the subject one evening, over dinner. “I…I think we should do it.”

“Yeah…but…how do we get their things?” Marcus asked, not even bothering to object to the idea. He’d been thinking the same thing, they all had.

“The house said we needed their treasures, right? I guess…one from each of them? I don’t even know what they would be.”

Stumped, the three of them went back to bed, and the dreams supplied the means, and the answers, to the question. And so, the three of them did what needed to be done, the day of Halloween, and then, spirit board in hand, they returned to the house, gathered in the empty living room with the three treasures of their bullies, and together, with the spirit of the house, they made the pact, and waited for the three jocks to take the bait.

***

“This house? You can’t be serious,” Taylor said, looking up at the decrepit old building, “It’s condemned, isn’t it? I should have my dad buy it and tear the thing down–what an eyesore.”

“Let’s just go in and beat the shit out of the fucks already,” Rob said, hopping the fence into the yard.

Sam hopped over after him, and Taylor opened the gate, went in, and shut it behind them all. Sam brushed his combed over mohawk from his eyes, and looked around. What the hell were these three nerds were up to? They had picked the wrong night to fuck with him–with all of them, and the wrong place too. “At least no one is going to hear them scream here,” he said, getting a laugh out of Rob, who was already heading for the door to the house.

They must have some plan,” Taylor said, “We could at least be a bit careful.”

“They’re fucking idiots, Tay–you know that.”

“Don’t call me that,” Taylor said, shooting Sam a glare, “They also got into our rooms and stole our belongings–they aren’t as stupid as you, Rob.”

The hulking football lineman scowled at Taylor. If he hadn’t needed the rick fuck’s father to help cover up his string of assaults, he would have cut the fucker loose ages ago. At least Sam was fun to get drunk with. He shoved open the door and entered the bare foyer, looking around, but he didn’t see any sign of the three fatass fucks who’d crossed them–for the last time, in fact. Rob was planning on giving these fuckers a beating they’d never forget.

Sam followed behind, looking around. “I don’t see them–what’s the plan?”

Taylor came followed in behind, and the door shut quietly behind them all of its own accord–none of them noticed. “They might not even be here, you know. They could be misleading us.”

“They’re here, I can smell their bullshit.”

“Rod, could you be…a little less crude on occasion?”

“Whatever, we need to find them.”

“Let’s split up.”

None of them were sure who’d suggested it, but it seemed like a reasonable idea to them all. Taylor headed for the staircase to the second floor, while Sam and Rob went deeper into the house. The two hadn’t gone far before Rob found a door to a basement, and thinking he smelled something familiar, he headed down into the darkness, with just his phone for light, leaving Sam alone on the first floor. The spirit watched them all, and chuckled. They were all going to find what they were looking for, all six of them, but it was the spirit who would be getting the real pleasure, by the end of the evening, it was certain.

October Requests Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Symbiotic Justice (Part 3)

CW: Rape, Gore, Violence

“Erik,” Lief said quietly. He pushed open his brother’s door, his cock squirming and writhing towards where he was sitting at his computer, headphones on, oblivious. “Erik,” he said louder, “Erik, you have to get out of here.”

His brother dropped the headphones, “Faggot I told you not to fu-fucking disturb…” his voice trailed off when he spun and saw the freakish, two foot long, muscular tentacle where his little brother’s cock should have been, the skin writhing as sharp fragments of bone pushed their way out of the skin.

“Erik, I can’t…run, please try to run,” Lief said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t, I’m so hungry…”

Erik got up from his chair and stumbled back, and Lief entered the room, the cock snaking out through the air, lashing at Erik’s ankle and cutting him to the bone. He fell to the ground and stumbled back up towards the window, but the toxin was already spreading through his leg, rendering it useless, even as Lief advanced, his brain shutting down, the only thing that mattered at this moment was his hunger. He lashed out again, feeling a burst of pleasure at tearing into his brother’s flesh again, the other leg now, leaving him crawling along the floor.

He deserved this, for everything he’d done. Yeah, this was right, this is what Lief had always wanted, what Erik deserved. He ran forward and tugged down his brother’s shorts, revealing his ass framed by the straps of the jockstrap he had on, grabbed him by the hips, and directed the spade like head to dive right into his ass. Erik screamed, and tried to keep crawling, but Lief’s hands felt like steel on his flesh, digging in, bruising him, as the thing pulsed, forcing it’s way deep into his body, the shards of bone ripping and tearing at his insides as it fucked him. “Yeah, you fucking asshole, I fucking hate you!” Lief screamed at him, even louder than Erik was crying for help, “You’re mine now, you’re all mine, you hear me? Mine forever!”

Something…changed, about the head of his cock. It seemed to split into smaller pieces, painfully enough to make him grunt in surprise, and Lief felt his cock push deeper into his brother’s body, digging into his muscles, and then, the orgasm struck…but rather than feel like he was ejecting something into his brother, it happened in reverse–his cock pumped, and drew something from his brother back into him. He shuddered with each draw from his cock, feeling whatever it was being swallowed down the length of his cock until it reached the base of his body, and a heat grew from the base of his cock and suffused his entire body. Bones cracked, and began to grow, his muscles were hot, stretched painfully tight until they cramped, but all through the pain, wave after wave of pleasure swept through him too, and he drove his cock in and out of Erik’s bloody ass over and over again, reveling in it. He didn’t know if he was dead or not–most of him didn’t particularly care. Whatever he was, he wasn’t…hungry, anymore.

After an hour, he could draw nothing else out of his brother. He looked like a husk, but Erik was still alive, from the sound of rattling breaths creaking through his parched lips. Lief felt drunk–drunk on power, on food, on conquest. His body had grown several inches taller, and he’d packed on pound after pound of muscle–he looked to be a bit larger than his brother had been, before this, and he felt…so fucking good. But he could feel…other things happening. Hair growing in all over his body, thicker than he’d ever seen on a person before, in patches. His hands and feet were growing as well, his nails thicker and sharper. The light…hurt his eyes, and so he smashed the lamp, discovering it was even easier for him to see in the dark than it had been in the light. He licked his bearded lips, feeling a tongue slip out of his mouth which was too long to be human, and which came to a sharp point, his teeth and jaws aching. He pushed into his brother, to the base, feeling his cock writing about to make space, and then, at last,m he felt the seed squirming in his sack pump out, down his shaft, and begin to fill his brother’s husk like body.

The sensation was different than when he’d fed. Almost relaxing, as he filled his brother’s body. Erik groaned in pleasure, the first sound he’d really made in an hour, and Lief saw his body changing, skin growing pale, but also filling out again, but not with muscle. Instead, his entire form looked soft and flabby, missing the definition he’d had before, and looking…inhuman. Yet the more he changed, and the fatter he became, the hotter Lief found him. He leaned over him, pressing his muscular, hairy body against his brother’s rubbery body, pushed his mouth the Erik’s ear, and slid his pointed tongue into his ear. Erik cried out once, and then said nothing else, Lief’s tongue drooling into his brain, rewiring it, softening it, simplifying it, making it as worthless and gelatinous as the rest of him was becoming. When at last his sack was emptied and he withdrew his cock, Erik’s ass closed up behind him, and his brother rolled over, jaw slack, eyes lazy and unfocused.

“Service me, you fucking piece of shit,” Lief said, his voice…it didn’t sound human either, not with his tongue, and his teeth, and his jaw. Erik just nodded, and crawled over towards him, licking at Lief’s furry feet, eager to serve his master…and Lief watched, horrified at what he’d done, and yet the voices were pleased, and he felt so…full. He beckoned his brother, his thrall, closer, and shoved his cock down his throat, into his belly, fucking him gently, shuddering at the sensation, and when his parents got home from their date, Lief went downstairs, to have a word with them both.

A Dog’s Tale (Part 2)

Some time earlier…

It had been ten or so years ago, when it had started. He’d been younger then, a corporate climber, always working, fighting for raises and promotions. He’d thought that life was about status, and looks, and money. His one vice, had been men–and he’d resented it. It was the one thing about him which…was abnormal. Which cut him off from the rest of his cohort, and while most places were fairly progressive, being gay was still a liability he couldn’t afford. He kept it a secret as best he could, especially at the business where he was at the time, whose management board was quite a bit more conservative than others. He’d go out on the weekends to bars on the other side of the city, or purchase a few hours with discrete call boys if he needed to stay home and work. For a long time, it was enough, even if he knew it wasn’t satisfying.

That was the most frustrating part, in fact–the lack of satisfaction. As wealthy as he was, as important as he was, he still wasn’t happy. It never seemed to be enough. Wealth and prestige only seemed to create stress, rather than relieve it. It made him a bit cruel, and it made him drink, and so, when an older fellow had come onto him at a bar one weekend, those two traits combined into a perfect storm, and he ended up publicly berating the fellow. What he didn’t know, however, was that he couldn’t have chosen a worse target–the man he was shouting at was a wizard, and one with a particular talent for curses.

He had expected the man to slink away from him, but instead Joel, as he introduced himself, took a seat beside him at the bar, and the two of them carried on a sizable conversation–of which he recalled very little. It was so long, in fact, that the bar was closing, and he hadn’t found anyone to take home with him. He was horny enough that he would have even settled for Joel, even though the older, portly fellow was hardly his type, especially with the pipe he had spent the entire evening smoking, but Joel shot down his suggestion, told him goodnight, and left him to call a cab and go home alone.

He had the first dream that night, and it remains one of the most intense he’s ever had. He’s certain that it lasted all night, from the moment that he laid his head down on the pillow, to the point when he finally woke, mid orgasm in the midmorning sun, his sheets soaked with sweat and cum. In the dream, at first, he was a man. He was himself, but he was behaving…like a dog. Joel was there, and Joel was his Master. He knew, in his mind, that he should feel utterly humiliated, but with each passing moment, he just felt…happy. Content. He felt satisfied, in a way that he’d never really been before, and it just made him…ecstatic. They went for walks, and even though the people they passed by stared at him in disgust, he didn’t feel humiliated–they just didn’t understand, is all. This is what he needed. This is what he’d been looking for this entire time, and he’d never even known it.

In that single dream, he lived with Joel for what seemed like weeks, or maybe even months. He lost count of how many times he pleasured his master, and his master pleasured him. He was losing his grip on himself, he was certain that his entire life as a person must have been a false memory, just a mistake. He found himself changing, his hands becoming paws, hair sprouting and covering his body, his mouth and face pushing out into a proper muzzle. He was finally becoming himself. He was becoming everything he needed to be. By the end of the dream, he was just a dog–a rather perverse dog, of course, who took great delight in licking his master’s cock, and begging for him to plow his doggy hole–but certainly not a man any more. And he was happy, so happy, he was certain he’d never need anything else again in his life. And then, just as he lost the final bits of his humanity, just as he convinced himself that his prior life as a man must have been a fabrication, that he could remain here, happy, for the rest of his life–that’s when he woke up.

He sobbed for the rest of the day, uncontrollably. What had he been doing with his life, up to this point? How could he have been such a fool? He didn’t want money, or status, or a good job with a corner office. He wanted to be a dog! It was so simple, and yet he’d missed it entirely. Worse, he’d been so close in his dream, and yet he knew that this desire was unattainable for him. He couldn’t be a dog. He couldn’t just…change like that. Even pretending to be a dog wouldn’t be enough, he could already tell. The depression was crippling, and he needed to take a few days off of work–the first sick days he’d ever taken in his entire life. But what did it matter? Rich or poor, his life, from this point on, would remain unfulfilled, no matter what he did.

The dreams returned each night, never quite as intense, but they didn’t have to be. The sharpness of the feelings over the first couple of days eased off, and he was able to return to work, but everyone could see that something was different about him. The fire was gone, the ambition. He would take these long lunches, some days, and no one would know where he went for them–but every time, he was sitting in a park a few blocks away, watching the masters and their pups play, and run, and bark…and wishing he could join them, but knowing he never would.

Pigtown Prison (Part 5)

CW: Rape

“You were telling the truth, weren’t you slut?” Keith asked as he reentered the room, “Because if Rod or I find out that was some fucking bullshit, you’re going to be wishing you’d never been fucking born.”

“Please, it wasn’t–it didn’t even work after I left the bar, please, just–I’m sorry, tell him I’m sorry,” Oliver said.

“Oh, don’t worry boy, you’ll get a chance to tell him yourself,” Keith said, “But first, don’t you want that fuck? That’s what started all of this, right? You wanted me to fuck you? That’s what I am now, someone who can fuck you nice and rough, like you asked for.”

“Please, I don’t want–”

“Who gives a fuck what you want? Interrogations always get me horned up–so you’re gonna get that fuck whether you want it or not.”

He unlocked the handcuffs holding Oliver to the radiator and dragged him into the bedroom, laughing at the small man’s attempt to free himself from his tight grip. He threw him onto the bed, pinned him down, and started forcing his cock into his ass, raw and unlubed. Oliver fought against it and tried to get away, but his fight only seemed to make the fuck better for Keith, who dragged him backward by the hips, impaling him on his massive shaft, inch by inch. Eventually, he gave up, and Keith climbed up, hammering into him, taunting him, checking underneath to see if Oliver was even getting hard–which he was, to Oliver’s own disgust.

“I guess you really do like it rough, you slut–is this really what you fucking wanted all along? Well, you only have yourself to thank for this, you know. The only reason I’m here is because you were stupid enough to think you could cross Pigtown and get away with it. Well don’t worry, slut–we have all night and day tomorrow to play. I’ll give you what you fucking need, plenty of it, and then we’re going to pay Rod a visit, eh? I think you have an apology to give the boss, don’t you?”

He wrapped one massive, hairy arm around Oliver’s throat and hauled him up. Oliver struggled for breath and arched his back as much as possible–his body was raised completely off the bed now, and with one thick hand, Keith reached around, gripped Oliver’s cock in one huge hand, and started tugging on it roughly in time with his own thrusts. He was…close, Oliver realized, and he found himself looking forward to an orgasm at least–but as he crossed over the edge, Keith gripped his cock hard, making him scream, his cum trickling out but ruining the orgasm completely.

“What, you thought you’d be getting another orgasm ever again? You fucking cunt!” Keith laughed, pounding in harder now, shoving Oliver down onto the bed and giving him the full length of his cock for another minute until he unloaded deep inside him. “Fucking whore–you’re mine now, and I’m going to payback the pain you put me through a hundred fold, just you fucking wait,” he said, pulling his cock free. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel Keith’s fist force its way inside him with a pop. He screamed again, but the night was young, and his new master was only just getting started.

It was around nine the next night, that Keith dragged a handcuffed Oliver down the steps and back into Pigtown. The previous day had seemed like they would never end. Keith’s new mind had a never ending capacity for abuse–he would transition seamlessly from fucking, to fisting, to torture and back again in sessions that stretched on for hours. Every time he saw Oliver’s cock rising thanks to the treatment, he would taunt and toy with him, and each and every time he had ruined his orgasm, leaving him shaking, sobbing and hornier than ever, even as exhausted as he was. He was allowed to rest a few times, but never for longer than a couple of hours, and always handcuffed to the bed. He thought about trying to escape…but he was terrified of what might happen if Keith caught him. He’d never met someone like this, and all he really wanted was for all of it to stop. He was thankful when Keith told him it was time to head back to the bar–no matter what Rod might do to him in there as punishment, he was somehow certain that it would be better than this–it had to be, right?

The bar was sparsely occupied when he stumbled in, but behind the bar Rod’s eyes lit up with excitement. “There you two are–I was getting worried.”

“No need to worry about me, boss,” Keith said, dragging Oliver over to the bar.

“You took care of the little shit’s magic whatever?”

“Sure did–some ring from his witch of a grandmother–had a ward of protection or something. Stopped working after he came in here though, and I smashed it for good measure.”

“Good to fucking hear,” Rod said, coming around the bar to where Oliver was standing, “So, what do you think? Is your old boyfriend everything you wanted him to be? You have a good time with him? It sure as fucking hell looks like he enjoyed the shit out of you boy, you look like a piece of shit.”

“Please–please, I’m sorry. I…I was wrong, please just let me go.”

Rod laughed, “Boy, get on your fucking knees.”

Oliver tried to resist, but the magic of the place, the compulsion in Rod’s words, brought him down, his face inches from Rod’s crotch.

“Now see? You broke the rules before, boy. You know what that makes you? It means you’re a lawbreaker. You know what happens to lawbreakers, right? Lawbreakers have to go to prison. And who better to keep an eye on a lawbreaker than a man of the law, like Keith here?” Oliver whimpered a bit, watching Rod massage his growing cock through the front of his grungy jeans. “Yeah–I like that idea a lot, don’t you Keith? You willing to keep an eye on this slut for me?”

Pigtown Prison (Part 4)

It was getting late, and Oliver was trying to figure out whether or not his gambit had paid off. He knew Keith had gotten to the bar and gone inside…but whether Rod had actually done as Oliver demanded…well, no one really knew what might happen once Pigtown got involved. Threatening him probably hadn’t been the best move either, especially because Oliver had been making threats he was no longer sure he could back up, should things go awry. The magic ring he’d gotten, the one which cancelled out magic around it, had…cracked after he’d gone to the bar the night before. Whatever magic Pigtown was running on, it was a whole lot stronger than the parlor tricks Oliver had been taught by his grandmother, and the trinkets gifted to him in her will. Still, whatever happened, he was never going to be setting foot in that place again–that would be way too much of a risk. In fact, he should probably skip town entirely, just to be safe.

He sent Keith another text, telling him he was probably just going to cancel tonight…but at this point, why was he even trying? If Keith had gone into the bar, it was too late for him anyway, regardless of whether Rod had followed through on the bargain or not. He felt…a bit bad, really, but he’d never liked Keith that much–he’d never been able to love Keith like he’d loved Oliver in return. He was about to get ready for bed when he heard a heavy knock on the door to his apartment.

“Open up! It’s the police!”

The voice was low and gruff, with a hard edge to it. Had…something happened to Keith? Oliver went to the door and opened it up, and found himself staring up at a man who might as well have stepped out of his wet dreams. At least six foot four, his wide framed packed with muscle and squeezed into a leather police uniform, all of it meticulously shined. “There you are, Oliver–I think the two of us need to have a word.”

Did he…know him? Oliver’s eyes flicked to the badge on the shirt, and the name engraved on it. Keith Lewis. His eyes went wide, unable to believe it–had…had Rod really bought it? Had he turned little twinky Keith into this…fucking monstrous brute, just for him? Before he could say anything, Keith put a gloved hand on Oliver’s chest and shoved him back into the apartment, Oliver struggling to keep his balance. Keith stepped in, shut the door behind him, and locked the door. “Keith, uh, I…guess you met…Rod?” Oliver asked.

“Rod? Yeah, I know Rod–he’s my boss now,” Keith said, cracking his knuckles in his gloves as he walked forward, “I know you too, Oliver…kind of. It’s a bit…fuzzy. But I know what you fucking need, and I have a fucking job to do. You have information I need, and I’ve found that the best way to get that sort of thing is…a little unpleasant, but necessary.”

He stepped up to Oliver, grabbed him, and shoved him up against the hallway wall, and then pushed his body against him, pinning him there. Oliver moaned, and started grinding his ass back against the leather clad officer, unable to believe it. Rod had actually done it! “Fuck, sir, you can do whatever you want to me, I fucking want you so fucking bad…”

“Yeah, I bet you fucking do,” Keith whispered in his ear, “You fucking slut–do you fucking know what you put me through? Do you fucking know how much it fucking hurt? I…I still feel it, you know, the fucking ache. I wanna hurt you like you fucking hurt me, but I don’t even know where to fucking begin…”

“Fuck me sir, fuck me and show me what a bad boy I’ve been.”

“Fuck you?” Keith said, laughing, “Oh no boy–see, that’s what you want me to do. I didn’t come here to give you what you want pig. I came here to teach you a fucking lesson, about fucking with the wrong fucking people.”

He grabbed Oliver by the hair, slammed his face into the wall, and then flung him to the floor, where he lay for a moment, stunned.

“As far as fucking you is concerned…fuck, you know what? I really do want to rape that tight fucking ass of yours. I wanna leave it a gaping, bleeding crater. But you know what I think? I think you might enjoy that too much, you fucking slut, so let’s call that a reward. You know what we’re going to do first, to deserve a reward like that? You’re going to tell me how you were able to resist Master Rod yesterday. He’s real curious about how you made that work, you see, and I don’t think I can see myself fucking you unless you get real helpful, real fucking quick.”

Oliver scrambled up to his feet and backed up down the hallway, staring at the door to freedom behind Keith’s massive frame. “Look, Keith…I’m sorry, alright? Just–we can talk this out.”

“Oh no–you ain’t sorry for nothing, Oliver, I could feel how fucking horny you got, rubbing against my big fucking cock–well fuck you, you fucking slut–you’re gonna fucking get what’s coming to you.”

Oliver made a break for the fire escape, but Keith tackled him before he could even get the window open, and dragged him over to the radiator, where he handcuffed him to the base. Over the next few hours, Oliver endured what Keith considered to be an interrogation–stripped of his clothes, and beaten, until he told Keith everything he could–about the ring, about his grandmother, about how he’d been planning on running–when Keith was satisfied he’d gotten the truth, or at least enough to satisfy Rod, he decided to give Oliver a rest, took his boot off the young man’s balls, and let him sob a sigh of relief. He went into bedroom, where Oliver had told him the ring was, and picked it up–to think, all of this shit was caused by such a small thing. He dropped the ring to the floor, and stomped on it, hearing the already cracked crystal shatter under his heel. Back in the living room, Oliver heard the sound, and guessed what had happened–whatever came next, he was at Keith’s–and Rod’s–mercy.

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.”

Use It or Lose It (Part 6)

“Look…I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I lost my temper with you, and I’m sorry that I lied to your son about masturbation. It was wrong, alright?”

“Well, thank you for the apology. I trust you’ll be sticking to the facts from here on out?” Ms. Eleway asked.

“Yes, yes. I promise. Just…just change me back, alright?”

Silence. Her face didn’t change one whit, not even a turn at the corner of her lips. Randal just stared at her, waiting for something, even some confirmation that this wasn’t all just in his head. It…it wasn’t all in his head, was it? He got hit with a wave of doubt, suddenly. What if he’d…just thought things were changing? What if he was just crazy? No–No, he wasn’t crazy, this bitch was doing this to him, and this bitch was going to cut it the fuck out. He’d said his apology, he’d learned his lesson–now everything was supposed to go back to normal!

“I know you’re doing this to me,” he said, a hint of manic conspiracy in his tone, “I know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Gray.”

Did she not remember either? No one else had noticed any of the changes happening to him. “Please…I feel like I’m going insane, and…I need to know that this is really happening. Please, just give me my life back, I don’t want to be this person, I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“Well, then why don’t you just stop?” she asked, a slight smile on her face.

“Because you’re making me do this! I don’t know how, I don’t know if you’re some kind of witch, or what this shit is, but it needs to stop,” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m trying to not get angry, but you have to understand that the last weekend was…hard for me.”

She stood up, and put her purse over her arm, pressing a few wrinkles from her shirt. “You’re apology is accepted, but it isn’t enough. You need to learn restraint and self-control. If you want to get your life back, Mr. Gray, you’re going to have to follow your own bad advice, and stop masturbating–for good.”

“Excuse me?”

“It shouldn’t be that difficult for you–after all, you yourself said you fucked your wife often enough that you’d never needed to masturbate before. For each full day you go without masturbating, you’ll get an inch back, and that set of changes will reverse. Of course, the more you lose, the harder it’s going to be to get everything back, and if you try and resist, but give in anyway…well, you know what will happen then,” she turned to leave, but added one more thing over her shoulder, “It’s probably best if you just stay as you are now–that’s the safest thing. In a couple of months, the curse will lose force, and you’ll never even remember being anything different. In any case, I wish you good luck with whatever you decide to do–just know that if you lose everything–” her eyes flicked down to Randal’s crotch, and then back to his face, “then there’s no going back for you, ever.” She started on her way, “Best to get used to being a fat, ass hungry faggot–I don’t think you have it in you to be much else now.”

Should he beg? No–no, he wouldn’t beg. He wanted to kill her, is what he wanted. He rose from his desk, intending to follow her, perhaps bash her head in against the wall, but as the thought of harming her flared up, his need to masturbate flared as well–almost strong enough to signal another possible loss. Still, he couldn’t just let her leave, could he? She had to fix this! He’d learned his lesson, he wasn’t going to put up with this awful shit anymore! He hefted himself up and headed out the way she’d left, but didn’t see her down any hallway–and his cock was growing more insistent each moment. In the end, he retreated to the bathroom down the hall, dropped his grungy pants, and spent a few minutes fucking himself with his dildo he kept in his ass all day (for safety’s sake), jacking off until he came with a grunt all over the wall of the stall. Still shoving the rubber in and out, he got down and licked up his own cum, savoring the taste, thinking he might have to give someone a call today. Rubber was nice, but real was so much more satisfying, he’d discovered.

God, is this really what things had come to? Was he really ready to surrender to this?

He resisted the urge to break down into tears, hiked his pants back up–dildo shoved deep inside his ass–and left the bathroom again, heading back for his office. He needed to focus on the positives here–she wasn’t going to just give him his life back, that much was clear–but he could get it back all the same…assuming she was telling him the truth about the nature of the curse. Then again, he had no reason to doubt her, right?

Actually, he did. Not masturbating…it might change him back, if he could control himself, or maybe she was just laying a trap for him, knowing he’d attempt it and fail, losing more of himself in the process. Still, she hadn’t…sounded like she was lying. What choice did he really have? He’d have to take a chance and trust her–he could abstain for a day…right?

He pulled the dildo out, cleaned it off, and stashed it in a drawer in his desk–then he left and headed for home. He could do this–it was just one day, right? In fact, it was one of the most difficult days of his life. All evening, jacking off was all he could think about. It was hard to believe how central the act of self-pleasure had become to his daily routine. He walked, instead, exhausting himself, and settled in late for a restless night. There were a couple of close calls, when he woke–one hand in his ass, the other mindlessly stroking off–the orgasm of change building–but he managed to stop himself. Work the next day was worse. The dildo was right there, in his drawer. Just…one time. It couldn’t hurt, his body screamed, but he held off, all day long. He’d met her at 3:00, she’d left around 3:15, he’d last jacked off before 3:30. He watched the clock, cock screaming with need, groping himself, nervously opening and shutting his desk drawer. But the clock slipped closer, and he felt something happening to his body–it was shrinking. The fat he’d gained last time was disappearing, along with the beard. His clothes turning cleaner–it was true! She’d told the truth! There was a way out for him–he could do this. The dildo had disappeared, and he left the school, humming to himself, full of hope. Three more days, and he’d have his life back–then he’d teach that bitch a thing or two about self-control.

Use It or Lose It (Part 5)

Six inches now–almost half the man you were. What did you say back then? Fat dirty slobs who couldn’t get any action?

The note was taped to the bathroom mirror, but Randal could see the results well enough right in front of him. The nice clothes he’d put on were gone, replaced by grubby sweats and a t-shirt–both heavily stained with what he suspected was his own cum–and probably that of other men too. He’d been able to see some of his old body left in him before, but now, all of that was gone for good. He’d lost most of his muscle mass, and had packed on at least a hundred and fifty pounds of fat instead. The scruffy beard he’d started growing was now a shaggy mass, and his hair was balding severely, almost past the crown of his head–much of it now grey where it had been a younger black. His body hair, on the other hand, had greatly diminished, leaving his fat body looking much smoother than before. In fact, all of him seemed…a little less masculine. His angular face was rounder, he was an inch or two shorter, and his ass had gained at least as much size as his belly.

He was disgusting. He was the kind of man he would have sneered at before, whom he would have considered lower than dirt in his, and in God’s, eyes. He was that low. He realized that now. He was worthless–he hated looking at himself, and yet, in some twisted way, that line of thinking was only making him…even hornier. He hadn’t jacked off since leaving the church, and the need was rising. He reached under his gut and found his cock…and trembled at how short it suddenly felt. Not only was it quite a bit shorter than before, his new gunt swallowed at least an inch. The five inches left for him to stroke was new–as was how skinny it seemed. His balls, too, were shrinking–they were closer to his body and didn’t swing as much as he was used to–still, it shouldn’t stop him from getting off, right? But much to his surprise, it was difficult to get off. His arm got tired, but the need to cum was only getting stronger. It wasn’t strong enough to change him–yet–but if he didn’t cum soon…

He saw the note and yanked it off, but before he could wad it up he saw something written on the back:

P.S. I don’t want to make this too easy for you. If you want to get off–you’re going to need…assistance from now on. Living, or rubber, should do. Check your nightstand, faggot–I think you might recognize it. Go fuck yourself.

Afraid of what he might find, but more afraid of what might happen to him if he doesn’t cum quickly, he heads into the apartment bedroom and to the nightstand. In the top drawer, where he’d usually kept his bible, there was now a flesh colored dildo and a container of lube. Like it might bite him, he reached in and pulled the cock out, worried about how large it was. The thing had to be ten inches long–and as he held it, he realized that the dildo was probably ten inches long exactly, just like his old cock had been. In fact, the dildo was exactly like his old cock–a complete replica.

He couldn’t think too hard about this, or he’d never get it done. Besides, the sight of it…had made him so much hornier, and hadn’t he always kind of wondered what it must have felt like, whenever he slammed that big cock of his into a tight pussy? He squeezed some lube on the head and shaft, laid back on the bed and started trying to force it into his hole, but the head was just too large to fit in easily, and his horniness was making him impatient. He had to work some of his fingers in first, stretching at the hole, before he could finally manage to impale himself on the dildo successfully. It hurt, he screamed, but one hand couldn’t leave his cock. He stroked faster, ignoring how much his weaker arm was burning, and forced the dildo in deeper, feeling his ass begin to adjust, the pain disappearing and being replaced by a deep satisfaction. He was a faggot. He could do this. This is what he was made to do! He slid down further, and started fucking himself on it, stroking faster, and even after he shot he kept fucking himself until he got hard again, and blew a second load, his fat body shaking and soaked with cum, lube, and sweat. At last he collapsed back, dildo still buried deep in his ass, and the first sob escaped his lips.

He’d lost. He had to admit it. He’d been wrong, and he’d lost. He didn’t know what that witch had done to him, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight it. He’d lost his body, he’d lost his family, and he’d lost his faith. He’d been wrong to lie, and he’d been wrong to lose himself to pride and anger like that in front of her. He’d assumed he was superior, when clearly, he had badly misjudged the situation. He would have to talk to her. He would apologize, and he was certain that she would put this right. He’d certainly learned his lesson, or so he’d thought. Still, there wasn’t anything he could do until he got to school in the morning, and so he left the dildo inside him for the rest of the day. It was comfortable–he had to admit that. By the evening, it seemed normal that he’d have to fuck his loose ass to get off–after all, what would keep an old fat faggot like him happier than an ass full of cock?

Use It or Lose It (Part 1 & 2)

Sorry for the missed post yesterday! Today’s will be a double to make up for it.

“You told my son that masturbation will make his penis shrink, and you’re accusing me of being immature?” she said, resisting the urge to shriek, but losing to her anger at Mr. Randal Gray, the health teacher and wrestling coach sitting across from her. “I thought your job is to educate our children, not flat out lie to them!”

“Ms. Eleway,” he said, emphasizing the fact that the mother had no weding ring, and without a man, no real standing in his eyes, “The bible is clear that masturbation, and lust, are sins. Sex and ejaculation are for procreation, not recreation! A little fib here and there is worth the preservation of innocence, in my eyes. Besides, it’s motivation! The only men who need to masturbate are worthless lazy slob who are too ugly to get any action–is that who you want your son to be?”

“This is a public school–it’s facts that matter, not your fucking beliefs!” she seethed, “I’ll fucking report you to the school board.”

Mr. Gray scoffed, and leaned back, flexing slightly against the polo he wore. “Well before you do, maybe sit on a nice thick cock, you fucking cunt,” he said, groping himself, “because that’s obviously what you need to sort your issues out.”

She glared at him, and stalked off. She was bluffing–they almost always were bluffing. And if they did call the school board? Well, half of them attended the same massive chruch he did–things would get swept under the rug as usual. God always wins in the end. It was improper of him to use such coarse language at a woman, but she had cursed at him first, and more importantly, she fucking deserved it.

Thankfully, the rest of the teachers’ communal office space was empty, aside from a few stragglers, so there had been no witnesses. Randal packed up his gear and headed towards the gym–the bitch had made him late for practice on top of everything else, and he believed in setting a good example for the youth. After all, masturbation didn’t actually shrink your cock, but abstinance was still best–goodness, he jacked off one a year at most–and that was plenty. Of course, his wife put out every night like a good christian slut should, so it wasn’t like he was lacking in action. He ran the young men a bit harder than usual, to make up for his tardiness, and then went home. He felt an odd shiver up his spine after dinner, while playing with one of his daughter’s, but forgot about it by the time he and his wife went to bed. He fucked her slower than usual, making her moan properly around his ten inch cock–thinking about that bitch from earlier while he did. He came in deep, and then pulled out. She rolled away, not expecting Randal to do anymore for her, and he fell asleep quickly–only to wake up again a few hours later with a raging hardon.

Still, that was no problem–he had a cunt to fuck after all. He tried to rouse her, but she was deep asleep, and the way she was curled up didn’t allow for…easy use. He rolled back over, determined to just ignore it, but the desire only grew. He reached down, and found himself fondling it, wondering how long it had been since he’d last jacked off. Months, at least, if not a year. What was the harm, really, in a little self pleasure? Still, heaven forbid his wife should hear him–he slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and on the toilet he stoked himself. It took longer than he’d expected it to, but it felt wonderful–better than the sex he’d been having lately. She’d taken to being a dead fish, uninterested in him, just…letting him do his business. But his hand…knew him, somehow. Stifling a groan, he exploded. He wasn’t prepared for the size of it, as it shot across the small room and splattered on the wall opposite the toilet. He felt…good. Sleepy as well, and a bit exhausted, sure, and a little…wore out? It was hard to describe, exactly.

He got off the toilet and cleaned up his mess with some wads of toilet paper, and flushed away the evidence, before going to the sink to wash his hands. In the mirror…something seemed off about his reflection. As a gym teacher, he’d always kept his body in solid form, even as he’d gotten older. He’d crossed fifty a few years back, and had only resolved to work harder…but it seemed like some of his gains had disappeared. His gut was bigger, and looked to be more of a potbelly. His arms lacked definition as well, and his chest was flabby. His smooth face looked unshaven, and his hairline had receded more than he recalled. He dried his hands and stared at himself, certain he’d looked better earlier. Still, he’d get himself back into shape–he’d done it before. That, or maybe age was just finally catching up to him. He went back to bed, and the worries didn’t stop him from sleeping–he awoke the next day, and while his appearance hadn’t improved in the night, it at least seemed more…normal to him. What wasn’t normal, was that he was horny again.

Of course, being horny wasn’t an issue itself–Randal was horny often. But what he wanted…was to jack off again. In the shower, he tried to resist, but couldn’t stop himself. The load wasn’t as powerful as the one before, in the night, but it also didn’t leave him feeling tired like that one had either. He was a bit worried, when he got out, that he’d…be different again, but nothing had changed–though he did notice one more thing. Stroking himself in the shower, his cock had seemed…off, and sure enough, when he measured it, it was shorter than before–nine inches, instead of ten. Still, he could worry about that later–he was running late. He got his clothes on, surprised how well they fit despite his body being so off his usual form, and headed to school for another day.

He got to his desk and set down his things, but found an odd note on the desk, written in careful script on a blank piece of parchment:

One inch down. Keep up your new habit, or what you teach will keep coming true.

Randal looked around, but none of the other teachers were looking at him. He asked a few, if they’d seen someone leave anything on his desk, but the early arrivers hadn’t seen anyone come or go since they’d gotten in. What could the note mean? It was probably just some weird prank by some of the kids at school. He threw the note in the trash, and got ready for the day. Still, he found himself…getting hornier throughout the day, and once at lunch, and again after school, before practice, he slipped into the bathroom and jacked off again. He was starting to become a bit…worried, actually. This wasn’t healthy–he didn’t need to jack off, he had a wife to fuck, right? Still, he couldn’t resist the urge, once more in the evening, and when he and his wife climbed into bed–it was the first time in months that they didn’t have sex. He just…didn’t feel like it, and from the way she’d been looking at him, so disinterested, it was clear that she had no interest either.

It kept him up at night, all the same. It was his Christian duty, wasn’t it? Best to nip this habit right in the bud–no more jacking off. It had been a mistake to give into temptation the night before, but he was strong. His cock wasn’t going to control him! He did manage to fall asleep again, and slept soundly through the night, but when he woke up, his cock was erect…and plenty eager. He tried to suggest a morning round of sex with his wife, but she insisted that she had to be at work early. He chastized her for refusing him, but she just blew him off–the reaction stunned him. No one treated him like that, especially not his own wife! They fought that morning, and he insisted she was going to fuck him that evening, or else. She left, he moped–thought about jacking off, but resisted the urge. He was going to save it for the bitch later, he told himself.

It was Friday, and Randal was as distracted as his students–though for different reasons. He’d managed fairly well through the morning, but by lunchtime, his horniness had grown…insistant. He’d tried to find ways to stand in front of the class to disguise his tent, but he’d heard a couple of snickers–after an uncomfortable lunch, he taught the afternoon classes from his desk, to avoid further embarrassment. There was no practice that afternoon, at least, but after packing his things at his desk, he’d decided he couldn’t stand it any longer. One quick shot wasn’t going to do any harm, certainly. In the bathroom, he wrapped his hand around his cock, and once again…the experience was different than usual. It was like that first time, the day before last in the middle of the night. His cock wasn’t simply eager–it was almost aflame with desire. As quiet as he was trying to be, he couldn’t help but release a few moans into the air, but as quick as he tried to make the session, it dragged on. His cock seemed to rest on the edge forever, but finally he managed to push himself over the edge, a load even larger than that first one spilling out of him, onto the stall door, onto the tile floor. He was left sitting, shaking, feeling like an earthquake had passed through him.

Still–he’d needed that, apparently more than he’d realized. Cleaning up as best he could with the single ply the school provided, he left the stall…afraid to look at himself in the mirror when he washed his hands, but nothing seemed to have changed. His stubble was a bit thicker, perhaps, but beyond that, everything looked…normal to him. Happy, he gathered up his things, got in his car and drove off, but as he did, he found himself growing more and more confused. His hands, and his memories–they weren’t taking him where he was supposed to be going, or at least not to the home he could recall with his wife and three daughters. Instead they drove him to a rundown apartment complex in a much cheaper part of town, and parked in a covered spot, like he belonged here.

But he didn’t belong here, right? He got out with his things, still not completely in control of himself, but unable to explain how he knew that, and walked up to one of the buildings, to the second floor, and there, on one of the doors, was a parchment note, similar to the one he’d received the day before:

“Two inches gone–and quite a bit more this time. If you keep resisting, things will only get worse. Don’t worry, your wife and daughters will have a much happier life without you, and you only need your hand now, right?”

He fumbled with his keys–the house key he’d had was gone, replaced by another, which opened the door in front of him. Inside, he found…his apartment. An apartment he could suddenly recall perfectly, as those other memories of a house and a family began to dissolve like a dream. The air was stale, and there was another smell too, that he knew he should be able to recall, but couldn’t. Still, it couldn’t be real–what was happening to him? He looked for the note on the door, but it had disappeared, and his terror was relaxing as well. He was home, right? Shouldn’t he feel…comfortable?

He shut the door, and stripped off his clothes–down to his underwear. That was better–he liked being alone after all–no one to worry about impressing. Plus he could jack off whenever he wanted! That had to be a plus, right? In fact, he was pretty horny right now. He sat down in his recliner and pulled out his cock, to stroke it. This was wrong–he knew this was wrong. The shame was there, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from shooting a load all over his gut. He wiped it off…and noticed something else, as his cock started to soften. It was shorter–again. Eight inches now, when he measured it later. Still, it seemed normal enough that perhaps he was mistaken. He jacked off another couple of times, and then fell asleep in his bed, alone.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 8)

Raury stared at the man, feeling all of his desires welling up, both earnest and twisted, and he nodded. He didn’t care–he needed him. If he could have Jared, then everything else would be fine, he was certain. The beasts raised a great cry of joy and excitement, and the music picked up again, a new tune, and Jared kept dancing, faster now–wild and crazed–in the clearing, surrounded by beasts. The song was similar to the one before, when Aarin and Jared had fucked in front of him–it had far more power and force behind it than their usual music, and even Raury found himself jiggling and swaying to the beat where he was lying on his throne, guzzling wine. He would catch a glimpse of Jared’s eyes every few cycles, and they were wide with terror and confusion, though it wasn’t long before his concerns faded away, the beasts coming closer, nearly blocking him from Raury’s view. It was just a mass of flesh and fur, hand and hoof, until with a great clamour the beasts stopped and retreated back, leaving…something else in the midst of them, something not even Raury had seen before, in the thicket.

His first thought was that it had to be a centaur of some kind, but that wasn’t quite right. The beastly thing was bent over on all fours, with the rump and ass of a donkey, including a tail still swishing along to the beat that had been playing moments before. The torso was still human however, and the face, while twisted somewhat, was recognizably Jared’s. Still, it was clear that not much of Jared’s mind remained–the beast’s eyes were crazed and hungry, and when it caught sight of Raury, of its Bacchus, his low hanging donkey balls began to churn, and his massive cock slid free of his sheath. “My Bacchus, my great, beautiful Bacchus. Please, I was wrong, let me serve you, let be one of your beasts!” it cried and stumbled forward, not quite certain how to make his new body work right, but Raury was all too happy to oblige his lover. He rolled over and presented his ass for the donkeyman, and after a bit of work, Jared managed to throw his hooved hands up on to Raury’s back, shove his cock deep into the Bacchus’ hole, and begin rutting.

Raury knew he should feel guilty, that he’d witnessed some strange, otherworldly horror, but just knowing it was Jared fucking him, rutting with him…it was worth it. After a few minutes, the donkey came, and it felt like fire burning into his guts. His body…it felt more real, the fat hanging off his body carried real heft, and the stench surrounding him was more pungent than it had ever been. He felt renewed, or perhaps ruined–it was difficult to tell. Something had changed, and while it worried him at some level, he was too thrilled to have Jared inside him again to really care.

“A new compact!”

“A new beast!”

“Our Bacchus forever, a true Bacchus!”

“What did you do to me,” Jared groaned, his cock still spewing, “What the fuck is happening to me–AWWW,” he brayed, and two satyrs pulled him free so they, too, could have a turn at Raury’s hole. He looked about for the rest of the night, when he could, trying to find Jared’s face again, but he had been swallowed into the morass of beasts servicing him. Still, he could feel them. There was a connection between them, Raury…owned him, in some strange way. He felt that, should he need him, he’d be able to bring him forward again at a moment’s notice. Once again, Jared was his, and that, at the moment, is all that mattered.

Waking came slowly–much more slowly than it ever had before, in part because it took him a while to realize he actually was awake. Before, the differences between his real body and the body of his dream had been so wide that he’d always been able to tell he was awake because he was smaller. It was no longer surprising that the massive body he’d had while asleep had suddenly felt so real to him–it was because it was real. Something had been keeping the beasts’ magic from fully affecting him, he realized–it must have been Aarin! Was this part of his plan too?

“No Bacchus, this is better now.” A satyr said, bleating on the couch beside him. He wasn’t certain if the thing was actually there with him, or just another figment of his imagination. “The gypsy, we had a deal, a temporary deal. A Bacchus for a year, to balance the burdens of his life, a punishment for you, but a small one. But a new deal! A deal for all of us! A true Bacchus–we haven’t had one in so long. But now, with you here, we can exist in your realm again! Your true servants, your lovers, your worshipers. You are our god, Bacchus, and we will find many more men, and beasts, to serve you now than we ever could before.”

Raury tried to force himself up from the couch, but his new weight was too much. In the more flexible reality of his dreams, he’d been able to move with difficulty, but the weight of reality had made him entirely immobile now.

“Don’t worry our Bacchus, just relax!” another satyr said who’d appeared, looking around the apartment, “You can hear the drums, can’t you? The others dancing, waiting to follow you? Relax and listen, dear god, and let them through–we will please you here now–you’ll never need to sleep again.”

“Please–Aarin…the gypsy…” He huffed, but speaking was difficult. He could hear the drums, and it was soothing. He allowed his head to fall back, and he could…feel how thin the world had become here. If he could just…bring the woods here, he’d be able to move, and think, and dance…right?

“Yes, our dear Bacchus–we hate him too, for trying to deny us what we truly need. We will find him, and bring him to you. He will be a beast like us, and serve you. After all, that would be true balance, would it not? Can’t you see it, Bacchus? Him as a beast like us, worshipping you, as he should have always done?”

He could see it. He could see so many things. The drums were louder now, the barrier thinner. He could lift his arms, and breathe a bit easier. Soon, they would all come through. They would all come through and together they would dance and revel in these streets, and all men would dance to him tunes, forever.