Tag: strange

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.13 – Portrait of a Lover

Few things in art can survive the light of day. Samuel always worked best at night, often by candlelight, sketching and drafting and musing. He would be satisfied, until he woke up and saw what he’d done in daylight, and almost always trash his work from the night before. The nights held potential and mystery, but there was no space for that under the sun. On Friday morning, the light came in through the studio window, worked its way across the floor as the hours passed, and landed on Samuel’s face around eleven in the morning. He sat up, head throbbing from a hangover unlike anything he’d experienced in his life, looked around the studio, and wondered if any of that had been real.

It couldn’t have been real, there was simply no way. He tried to think back, and pinpoint the moment when things had last seemed reasonable. Bringing that boy back from the bar, probably. He must have fallen asleep while he was sketching on him, and imagined the rest of the night in his mind. There was no other explanation, other than all of that actually happening, and there was no way that could be true. His stomach growled. There was nothing in the way of food here in the studio, but plenty of places around would be serving lunch. He got himself put together, mostly, but struggled with his reflection in the mirror. It was the light, of course, shining there on him now, showing every little wrinkle and mar. He’d never liked himself, never felt comfortable in his body. Too much of himself to manage, none of it settling on his bones ideally. His art helped push out that frustration and desire, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t fix himself, after all.

He ran his hands under his shirt, feeling his belly there, his paunch, his tire, then worked around to his ass, which was far smaller. He thought about how it had felt, moving that man’s flesh in his dream, and tried it–but nothing happened of course. It felt foolish in the daylight, even trying. He got himself put together, then headed downstairs and out onto the sidewalk, looking for something to eat.

He found himself retracing his steps from the night before, after he’d left the boy in his dream, and was struck by something by the end of the block. Everything from his dream, it was a perfect memory. Usually dreams didn’t have that sort of detail, but he could recall all the shopfronts, the street names. He felt something squirm in his gut, shaded by the building looming over him. There was a deli he liked if he turned left, or if he kept going straight, there was a cafe a few blocks further, past the alley where his dream had happened. He continued straight, picking up his pace somewhat, that squirm in his gut growing stronger.

He came upon it, across the street, and just stared at the wall, at what was growing from the wall, what was inside and a part of the wall. The sunlight was falling on it, and he could see the bricks expand and contract slightly, like it was breathing, like it was alive. A hole in the wall, an ass suspended among the brick, it was there. It was there, and he’d made it, it hadn’t been a dream, and in the light of day, he found himself feeling sick, the squirm growing stronger now. He stumbled to a trashcan and tried to vomit, but nothing would come forth. 

He might have gone closer to investigate it further, but before traffic cleared and he could jaywalk, another man passed the alley, sniffed the air, and was pulled in. Samuel watched as he dropped his pants without hesitation, slid his cock in, and gave the hole a good pounding. In a couple of minutes he finished, pulled his pants back up, and continued on his way, shaking his head, as if trying to push off a dream. The hole shuddered, leaking something viscous onto the asphalt below, and then stopped, waiting for another man to use it. Samuel watched the spectacle in horror, but when it was finished, discovered he was hard as a rock, knowing what he’d done, and he fled down the street towards his apartment. 

He had to leave. He didn’t know where he would go, but it wouldn’t be long before someone discovered what he’d done, and if they found something to link him to the scene, he didn’t know what would happen. Was it murder, if the wall was alive? Was it manslaughter? Something else, some crime no one had named as of yet? He didn’t think of Parker, in his hurry home. He’d forgotten all about their fight the day before, how he’d planned on breaking up with him, none of that mattered anymore. Parker didn’t matter. Samuel couldn’t tell him, couldn’t show him what he’d done. It was only when he’d stepped into the apartment, and caught the scent of Parker’s unmistakable gym aroma–though it was much stronger than it usually was–that he recalled all of it. He had no way of making a clean escape while he was here, he’d just have to pack a bag, tell him he was moving out, and do his best to not give him the sense that Samuel had done something horrific.

He steadied himself, rounded the corner to the bedroom, and found himself faced with something else, something so preposterous that it made his own acts from the night before outright plausible. Parker was sitting on the edge of the bed, or at least, it was someone who vaguely reminded Samuel of Parker. The massive bodybuilder was easily twice the size that Parker had been when he’d left the apartment the day before. He’d added a foot in height, and every muscle was thick and corded, skin riddled with stretchmarks. There at his feet, were two blobus things that Samuel could only surmise had been men at some point. Their limbs were atrophied and withered, they seemed to move simply by undulating their amorphous flesh. But there was something else, something behind him, a shimmer in the air, where the light coming in wavered and writhed about. 

“There you are, I was beginning to wonder when you’d show your face, coward,” Parker said.

“Parker? What…what the fuck happened to you?”

“Don’t worry about me, you fucker–get the fuck over here, it’s time I showed you your fucking place.”

Samuel wasn’t about to take a step closer, and yet, his feet betrayed him, shuffling him forward. He could smell it now, the musk. It was intoxicating, rolling off of Parker’s body in waves. He could almost feel it pulsing in the air, in time with the wavering of the light, with the heaving of the blobs sucking on Parker’s feet. It was all tied together, it was all tied to something, something behind him, but it was too bright, he couldn’t see it, he couldn’t bear it. The closer he got, the foggier his head became, his own breath heaving now in the same rhythm. He’d stepped inside the painting suddenly, become a part of it, the light wavering not just behind Parker but all around him. With one hand, he pushed, felt the boundary there, pulled it apart, and he saw it again, for a moment. That beast, that brute looming behind Parker that he’d seen in the restroom, but it was so much closer now, so much thicker and vibrant and alive, swelling up and taking up his entire vision for a moment, before he was able to push it away, before it could see him too clearly. 

But looking at Parker, he could still see it, see it inside him, throbbing there, pulsing and brewing and swirling. He was close enough to touch him now, and Parker allowed him to do so, Samuel running his hands over his hot skin, the muscle thick and taut and solid, his cock snaking around Samuel’s thick waist, nearly three feet long now, and tightened around him, pulling him closer still. The musk was heady and humid, oppressive on his lungs, one of Parker’s massive hands closing around Samuel’s throat, tight enough to make him gasp a bit, vision tunnelling as he fought for air. The other hand tore off Samuel’s clothes, leaving him in tatters, the massive cock now hunting for Samuel’s own cock, ready to latch on and drain him of whatever he could find, leaving him as just another suckling thrall–only for Samuel to reach down, take the cock in his hands, and Parker felt something run through the flesh of his cock, a shudder, and it cramped, the muscles running along the shaft seizing up and convulsing, making Parker shout in pain. 

Samuel pulled himself free of Parker’s grasp, took the cock from around his wrist, and ran his hands over Parker’s thigh, the same pulse radiating out from his palms. “So much flesh…” Samuel muttered to himself, eyes bright with something between greed and lust. He looked up at Parker, but beyond him–Parker took a swing at him, furious at the resistance this pudgy loser was showing him, that no one else had been able to muster, only for Samuel to grab it in his hand, and his arm went limp. Beyond limp, the bones in his body had simply melted away, leaving a floppy arm hanging at his side. The sensation was somewhat painful, but more nausea inducing, and Parker grabbed at the limb with his other hand, horror churning in his gut. 

“I saw you,” Samuel said, “I saw you, but I thought you were something else–but you were mine all along, weren’t you? You were…trying to show me…”

What happened next, Samuel couldn’t quite recall. His hands had simply followed some arcane knowledge, some deep, hidden desire buried in his mind. Parker was no longer a man to him, no longer anything beyond raw material, flesh to use in bringing forth his vision. Parker found his body contorted and twisted, stretched and molded, and when Samuel was satisfied, frozen in place–mostly. When Samuel stepped back to assess the work, Parker tried to howl back at him, scream or shout or anything. His mouth was frozen in an open roar, teeth now sharp, jaw dislodged, and hanging too wide, brow thick and heavy, eyes dark. His muscles were further inflamed, but tensed–unable to release from their contraction, permanently cramped, trapping Parker in pain from every part of his body. The only bit of him that still moved was his cock, wrapped around one of his thighs, balls churning and pumping out a load every few minutes. It drooled down to the thralls below, who were now attached to Parker’s body, a part of him, growing out of his feet and calves, fighting for the pleasure and sustenance of their master above, oblivious to their new fate. 

It wasn’t perfect. It was never going to be perfect, but it was there. A portrait, he realized. A portrait of the Parker’s he’d always seen, the simmering rage, the greed, the lust, the envy, the size, all of it. There in the light, he’d created it openly, under the sun. He opened the blinds, no longer afraid of the light, or of Parker. Parker was his now, would always be his. Anyone could be his, from now on. He called Rod again, and this time, the proprietor answered. 

“Yes? What is it Samuel?”

“I…I did it. At least, I think I did. Twice. I–”

“Say no more, not over the phone. Where are you?”

“My apartment, with…I…”

“I’ll be over soon, stay there, understand?”

“Yes…yes, of course.”

“Do not talk to anyone else, understand. No one…will understand, not yet.”

“I don’t understand it myself.”

“Of course you do. You always have.”

Rod hung up on the other side of the line, and Samuel took his time admiring Parker, making a few small edits here and there as best he could. He could grasp his power now, but his control wasn’t particularly fine-tuned. He remembered, as a child, how he had fumbled with paints, trying to make the blobs of watercolor do what he commanded, unwilling to be patient and wait for it to dry. He pulled away again, worried he was making it worse, ruining the raw force of it as it was, and retreated to the bathroom, where he again looked at himself, pulled away the remaining rags, and again laid his hands on his body.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was unprepared for the disappointment, and utterly flummoxed by the rage that welled up within him immediately. He went out to the bedroom, stared at Parker again, at the portrait of Parker, really, and thought about melting him down into a puddle of goo on the floor, but pulled back. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t mold himself.

Rod arrived, Samuel answered the door, tears still fresh in his eyes. Rod just pushed past him towards the bedroom, took in the sculpture there, and gaped in awe. “It’s…beautiful, you did see it, you saw it too…”

“What is it? What is it I even saw?” Samuel asked, “And why can’t I change myself? What the fuck did you do to me?”

“What indeed, Rod?” 

The two of them looked over at the third voice, and there, in the darkest corner of the room, bending enough light around him to create a veil of twilight in the room, was Shadow.

“I knew I had smelled something of that before, last night. I didn’t think there could be another one of you, not without going deeper.”

“Neither did I,” Rod said, “I’d heard you were loose again, Shadow. It’s nice to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visitation?”

“Has he shown you the other one yet?”

“Other one?” Rod said, and looked over at Samuel. 

“I tried to call you earlier. I…last night, I made…something else. Down the street from Depot, in an alley.”

“The authorities are already investigating it.”

Rod cursed.

“No need to be so concerned,” Shadow said, “I find this one rather fascinating, and I have a feeling he will be enough to take some of the attention of the precinct off of me for a moment or two–or longer, if we can strike a deal. I want a house, Rod. I want protection, for me, and my shades.”

“Fucking hell Shadow, that’s asking a fucking lot,” Rod said.

“You can do it.”

“Of course I can do it, but…fuck, what are you offering?”

“Storage. In the darkness. I assume you wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise of the little artist’s debut gallery showing sometime down the road? Give me my house, my legality, and I’ll care for this one’s creations in the meantime.”

“Houses have rules, Shadow. You can’t just go around freeing any shade you feel like, you won’t be…you, if you have a house.”

“Change is a way of life, here in Pigtown,” Shadow said with a shrug, “I can change too.”

Rod rubbed his temples for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, then heaved a sigh. “Fine, I accept. Say you accept, Samuel.”

“I don’t, I mean–”

“Just fucking say it!” Rod said.

“I accept! I…I guess…fuck,” Samuel said.

“Where is it, the other one? Exactly?”

“I know where–I watched him craft it.”

Rod turned to Samuel, took his hands in his own, and Samuel felt the same chill of his own flesh in Rod’s–he knew, somehow, he wouldn’t be able to change him, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t flesh–he was something else. Samuel found himself wondering if he, too, was made of something else. “Don’t make anything else, not until I get this sorted. No more than a day. Alright? Just…stay here. I can’t tell you how important you are, you aren’t ready to understand, but I’ll explain as much as I can soon.”

Samuel nodded, and watched as Shadow stepped up to Parker’s portrait, Rod joining him in his veil of twilight. The darkness condensed, then disappeared, and both of them were gone, along with his art–and Samuel felt a visceral tug of anguish, seeing it gone. He panicked, but regained control of himself before he could leave. He sat as still as he could until he realized how hungry he was still, and devoured everything he could find in the kitchen, starved for something he couldn’t explain, a hunger he’d felt ever since he’d first lusted after a man, a carnal, fleshy hunger lodged in his gut. It was unfurling, into what he didn’t know, but as scared as he was, the beauty of its movements deep inside him held him rapt through the day and the night, until Rod’s return.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.8 – The Hole in the Wall

Samuel pushed his way out onto the street, taking a few deep breaths of the cold night air. He hadn’t even gathered his coat from the studio before he’d abandoned the young man he’d picked up from Depot, but he hoped that the chill might settle him, ground him for a moment. He flexed his hands, and tried to shake the sensation of that young man’s flesh, how it had bent and twisted, how fresh it had felt, throbbing and alive and it could be so many things, so much more than it was. He picked a direction and walked away from his studio, hands shoved down deep in his pockets, both for warmth, and because he was afraid that simply brushing up against any of the men sharing the sidewalk with him would draw the desires and sensations right back to the surface, where he might not be able to stop himself from doing something beautiful.

Despite the hour, the sidewalks of Pigtown were bustling. He made sure to give them a wide berth, but found himself looking past the gear, the clothes, to the flesh beneath, wondering what it would feel like, what it would look like, what it could look like. He had moved through so many mediums as an artist before this, both in two dimensions and in three, looking for something that could effectively communicate the visions he had in his mind, and now, each person passing him looked like a pigment. He thought of what he could do with them alone, he wondered what might happen if he took those two, and perhaps a bit of that third, and blended them all together. That skin, covered with that hair, stretched over those muscles, with the bones hollowed and shortened, perhaps. He had to forcefully remind himself that they were people. People! He slipped into the mouth of an alley to avoid a couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, and followed them with his eyes, their two hands melding together. They were close; they could be closer. They could be one, or many. He could articulate their desire with their own bodies. It would be an exquisite artwork.

There was a sound behind him. He turned, and there against the wall, one leather clad fellow had shoved a young cub up against the brick, yanked down his leather shorts, and was driving his cock into his hole. Helpless, Samuel just watched them fuck He had many of these sorts of acts on these streets and in these alleys, and yet, he had never seen them like he now did. The physicality of it, the pistoning, the sound of the flesh meeting and undoing and opening and leaking and crashing. He wanted to walk over and strip them of their clothes, push them together and pull them apart again, different, put them into perpetual motion, a testament to this one moment. 

He wondered what might happen to them, their internal lives. Perhaps the spirit inhabited the flesh, some separate thing that would be expunged in the process. Maybe the mind simply was the body itself. He could pry open the skull, peel it back, crack it open, spread it apart, pick and choose the bits he desired and discard the rest. Perhaps something new would come forth, some new consciousness, a new being, glad to be alive, the synthesis of flesh giving birth to something more than the sum of its parts. Sex was a desire for closeness, after all. Intimacy. To be inside someone, because the mind could never fully penetrate another, not as one could with their body. As he watched, and thought, the man came in the cub’s hole, pumped a sizable load inside him, and without a word, detached himself. The union came apart and he slipped out the mouth of the alley and down the sidewalk, not even giving Samuel a glance as he passed. 

The cub lingered a bit longer, still recovering, and turned around to lean against the wall, his own cock hard and excited. He glanced around, saw Samuel staring at him, and flashed him a smile, turned around and bent back over against the wall. An invitation, it would seem. He knew he shouldn’t. It was too risky, too dangerous, but there, he saw something, again. Something like the throbbing, undulating flesh in the VIP suite of Depot, something like that vision of Parker in the restroom, that moment he had experienced as terror at the time, but which he now thought of as something else entirely. He stumbled forward into the dim light of the alley, reached out with his hands, and felt the hot, young flesh, kneaded it, groped it, the young man moaning in pleasure and excitement. He wanted it, the flesh wanted it, wanted to be taken and used and warped and satisfied. 

Samuel didn’t know how he did it, exactly, any of it. He came around behind the young man, reached up, laid his own hands on the young man’s, and pushed them against the brick, and then pushed the flesh into the brick itself. The flesh did not disappear, and neither did the brick–you could say, perhaps, that bits of the wall came alive, you could see where the skin began to flake and turn red, almost like a sunburn, where the stone began to give slightly. The young man felt it happen, without pain, tried to pull his hands free, but couldn’t. Samuel ran his hands down his arms, pressing them against the wall, merging them together, the stone and mortar warm and flexing, hard and rough to the touch, yet with give, all the way to his shoulders, the young man’s face pressed hard against the rough surface now. Samuel stepped back for a moment, considered it, then picked up one leg, while the young man tried to kick, but rather than deal with resistance, Samuel simply pushed it, warped it, muscle and bone and tendon all melting down into one mass inside a now floppy leg, then shoved it against the wall, into the wall like the young man’s arms. First one, then the other, leaving him suspended there, horrified and confused.

Samuel pressed a hand against the man’s head, gently, but he wanted him aware. If he simply pushed his head and brain into the brick, he would mostly understand himself as a wall–but he wasn’t a wall. He would be a hole in a wall. He pushed the man’s head down instead, shoving it down into his neck, into his chest, down deep into his guts and groin, then pushed the upper part of his body against the brick, continuing the process, angling the body up, arching the small of the back, ass now available and eager, cock and balls still hanging below. Those it wouldn’t need, as a hole. He gripped around the base of the cock, tighter, the flesh constricting then coming away. He pushed the now detached member into the eager hole, then hollowed it out, feeling the flesh shudder as the nerves joined, growing more sensitive now. He pushed his hand into the hole, pulled the testes up from the inside, rewired them, and when his hand came free, so did a gush of precum drooling from the hole onto the asphalt below, the flesh shuddering from its new orgasmic pleasure. He laid the hands on the small of the back, the head inside still addled and terrified and confused. He eased it, simplified it, converted the bits of the mind dedicated to that which no longer mattered, and turned all of its attentions to the hole that it was now. No need for higher order thinking, no need for those old senses of smell, sight, or hearing. All was touch and taste now–nothing else mattered, nothing else could even be experienced, or understood. 

He stepped back, admiring his new work of art. There, suspended in the brick wall of the building, was simply an ass, gaping, winking and drooling precum, eager to be filled, meant to be filled, flesh with no other purpose beyond that simple drive and desire. The pleasure and excitement that Samuel felt now that the deed was done was impossible to articulate, but as it eased and settled, it curdled into shame and horror as forbidden pleasures often do. He stepped back up to the hole, ran his hands over it, wondering how he could reverse what he’d done to the young man, bring him back, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t see it. He had erased that old form from existence. It was gone, he was gone, and now, there was just a hole in the wall, nothing else.

“You’re a new one, since I’ve been away,” a voice said, and terrified that someone had observed what he’d done, Samuel whirled around, an explanation forming on his lips, as a leather clad fellow stepped out of the shadows at the deep end of the alley. The brim of his muir cap was pulled low, casting most of his face in shadow, aside for the sly grin of his mouth. “Don’t mind me, now. If you need to feed, feel free. I was going to take him once he was alone again, but this has been much more exciting.”

“Look, I…I don’t know what I was doing, alright?” Samuel said, “No one would believe you if you said anything anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me telling on you, I’m no friend of authority. We’re compatriots, really. A couple of aberrations, as they like to say. Not my favorite word, really, but rarely do we get to decide what we are called.” The leatherman stepped forward, sniffed the air, and then his mouth turned down slightly. “No, not…what are you? I’ve never smelled something like you before. Something very new, it would seem.”

Samuel turned away from him then, reached the sidewalk and headed back towards his studio, but ahead of him, from a shadowed doorway, the darkness condensed, and out stepped the leatherman from the alley–though there is no way he could have gotten there so quickly. Samuel came up short. “How did you do that?”

“You walk away from me when I’m asking you questions, and then have the nerve to expect answers of your own? That seems rather rude,” the man said.

“I don’t have an answer for you! I don’t–I’ve never done something like that before. I’m an artist, I…it just…happened, like that. I saw it, and I made it, and…”

“And you got nothing from it?”

“What?”

“You didn’t…feed on it? Take something for yourself?”

“I don’t–no! It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Curious.”

They looked at one another for a moment, and then the leatherman said, “To answer your question then, since you were kind enough to give me what you could, my name is Shadow. I thought we were…similar, and while I think we still are, we are not quite the same. Still, I find you interesting, and won’t be eating you anytime soon.”

Another man came down the sidewalk, passing close, and the same darkness that had collected in the doorway, opened up around him and Shadow, and they seemed to disappear–at least from sight. There was a scream, though it seemed rather distant, and after a few moments, the darkness fell away, and Shadow remained, though the man was gone. A flat thing of darkness seemed to scuttle off into the night, but it could have just been a glamour in the light. “Much better–I was rather famished. It was a pleasure to meet you, in any case. I’ll be interested to see how you…develop.”

Shadow stepped back into the darkness, and when the light faded back in, he was gone. Samuel hustled his way back to his studio, wondering how much of that had been some nightmarish hallucination, or if he was dreaming on the mattress in his studio with that young man, or if perhaps all of that had in fact happened. Inside, the young man was gone, as Samuel had known he would be, somehow. Exhausted, and yet sleepless, he sat down at his desk, looked out the window to the streets below, hands quivering with excitement. He’d made it. Art–a true art, from deep inside himself, for the first time. He sent a text to Rod, just a location, nothing more, and that was the last thing he recalled clearly before waking up in the morning, alone on the mattress in his studio.

The Pigtown Chronicles: Chapter 3.4 – Creative Block

After Parker had slapped him around back at their apartment, Samuel had spent a few minutes brooding a bit about it, and then packed a bag so he could stay overnight in his studio. It was over between them, unofficially at this point, but he wasn’t stupid enough to wait for a brute like that to come back and break the news to him. He doubted that Parker even remembered where his studio was, he’d only taken him there once, early in their relationship, so Samuel could do a study of him for a piece he’d never bothered to finish. He should have known then he was just an uninteresting piece of meat, and ditched him. He’d wait a night or two, and then go back and settle things with some back up if it got violent again. In any case, he had work to do anyway–if he could just figure out what the work was supposed to be.

There were few things worse to Samuel than a creative block. Later that day, hunched over the desk in his studio, he crumpled up another piece of paper with some worthless sketch on it, tossed it with the others all around him, and then sat back in the chair. The space around him was a mess, not that it wasn’t in some perpetual state of chaos on any other day. Some days though, the mess verged on claustrophobic–abandoned models, canvas, old unfinished work, all of it looming over him, taunting him. None of it was good enough. None of it was what he’d wanted to say, and now, even worse, he had someone who wanted to say something through him, and he couldn’t begin to fathom what it was.

He went to the window and was a bit dismayed to realize it was evening, the summer light already golden on the sides of the buildings. Hours had passed, and he hadn’t anything to even show for it, not even the memory of the time passing. The room was too tight, he needed to get out for a bit, and walk. He bundled up in his coat and slipped down to the sidewalk, not really sure where he was heading, but it was better than whatever he might do in that stale room. 

It was a weeknight, and the crowds were much diminished from what they were on a Friday or Saturday evening. Fewer normies coming in from the suburbs, more regulars in their leather and rubber milling from club to club and alley to alley, partaking in whatever pleasures they might find. He spent a while spying from the sidewalk at the mouths of alleys, a favorite pastime of his, an opportunity to watch flesh work in person. There was still too much light though, and so not much in the way of action, so it didn’t hold his interest for long. He ended up passing Depot, and on a whim, turned around and went inside. Perhaps Rod was there. This was all his fault, he rationalized in the moment. His money had sapped his creative spirit, just like he’d known it would. Until he was free of his patron, he was suddenly certain he wouldn’t make anything again.

He found a couple of bouncers milling by the bar, chatting. The bar hadn’t been open for very long and the floor and nooks didn’t require constant patrolling yet. “Hey, is your boss here? Up in the VIP room?” he said to one of them.

“What?”

“Rod, your boss. Is he here?”

“Do you have an invitation?”

Samuel rolled his eyes, exaggerated it enough to make sure the bouncer knew that what he was about to do ought to be wholly unnecessary, turned around, spotted one of the cameras and gave a wave. The bouncer received something on his earpiece, and shrugged. “Go on up, he’s expecting you, apparently.”

Samuel did not want to be expected. That alone was almost enough to send him back out onto the sidewalk. Instead, he took a drink from the lower bar, and headed up to the VIP lounge, fully planning on throwing it in his face this time. The lounge was nearly the same as when he’d been there nearly two weeks earlier–the same bartender, Rod sitting on the same barstool, perhaps not the same folks having sex among the cushions, but interchangable ones all the same. He resolved to throw the drink before Rod could even get out a word, but the sight of his eyes was enough to stall him, and when Rod pulled out another stool for him, told him to sit, have a chat, he found that same sense of camaraderie overwhelm his good, volatile sense. He sat, and when Rod asked how he was, he was honest about everything–from his artist’s block to financial struggles and recent fight with Parker. Rod was a good listener. Never interrupting, asking good questions but never trying to lead him to a given conclusion. When Samuel had exhausted himself, Rod took a sip from his drink, placed a hand on Samuel’s knee, and said, “I’m glad you confided in me, I really do understand, you know. We are not so different really, I knew that from the moment I saw your art hanging in that gallery. What you’re missing is the correct medium, I believe.”

“What?”

“You have these ideas, yes? And yet, as soon as they are committed to paper, they seem flat and empty. The problem is not the idea, but the paper.”

“I always sketch on paper.”

“You always have sketched on paper before.”

Samuel narrowed his eyes at him, “What are you saying, really?”

Rod looked over at the undulating men on the cushions, who for the extent of their conversation, had not ceased their activities with one another, not even for a drink. Samuel followed his gaze, but as he swung his head, he felt the sharp headache that had struck him that night in the club, right before he’d seen what he’d seen there, something he hadn’t even dared try and sketch, something he hadn’t told Rod about even. But there, on the cushions was something inhuman. A writhing mass of flesh, raw and pure and ripe. The distinctions between their bodies had dissolved away, face became cock became ass became chest. There was no distinction between or within any body, and when he blinked, it snapped back, and once again, he was looking at the men, at the sex, but he couldn’t unsee that either. He couldn’t be convinced that the vision was less real than the image his mind was showing him now.

“You saw?”

“I…did you?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s all I see these days. But then, the struggle has never been seeing it myself, but getting others to see it too. You’re the first. That’s why I have no worries about you, Samuel. I want you to take all the time in the world. You’ll create exactly what you need to, soon enough, and if you ever need a sympathetic ear, you will always find me here.”

“Can…I see it again?”

“Whenever you want.”

Samuel waited, expecting Rod to do something to make it work, but his patron just took another sip of his drink. He looked back at the bodies there, focused, unfocused, cocked his head, but couldn’t seem to slip behind the veil again. “It’s not working.”

“Then you don’t really want to see it again. That’s alright, I know it takes time, and courage.”

He had another drink. He wanted to talk to Rod further, but didn’t know what questions to ask yet. The orgy behind him unnerved him now, and eventually, he bid Rod a good evening, and went down to the club floor again. He stood at the edge of the dance floor, now busier than it had been when he’d walked in, watched those bodies crush and squeeze and float and drool against one another, but while it was another mass of bodies, it was nothing like the mass of flesh upstairs. A young body peeled its way free and spun off towards him, into him really, and looked up at him, stary and drugged and hungry.

He looked up, and saw that Rod had left the stool, and was staring down at him from the VIP lounge above. He nodded to him, and Samuel understood, somehow, that this man was a gift to him. So he took him away to his studio. He was out of his mind on drugs or Pigtown itself, pliable and soft and eager. Samuel thought about sex, but decided against it. He stripped the man down, threw him on the mattress he kept in his studio for naps and long nights, and dug into his body, smelling and tasting, bending and scraping and kneading. The man passed out before too long, and Samuel studied the curve of the man’s back, before taking a marker from his desk, and drawing a line along the man’s spine, feeling a strange shudder through him. The wrong medium, Rod had said. Another line. A shape. The same thing he had struggled to sketch for days flowed right from his hands onto the man’s back. He sketched for hours, across the young man’s whole body, but it still wasn’t enough. He thought of the flesh again, the raw flesh. He pressed against the man’s rib cage, and felt it bend with his pressure, and he was so surprised, he fell back, and it snapped back into place. Samuel didn’t touch him after that, just stared at the man, at the marks he’d scrawled across his body, threw a blanket over him and left him there. He knew, somehow, he would be gone by morning–but Samuel couldn’t be here. He was afraid, not of what the young man might do when he saw the marks. Afraid of what he himself might do, if he touched the man again. He threw on his coat, and headed back out into the night.

TPC – Chapter 1.10

Chapter 10 – Visions of Flesh

As Samuel crossed the club floor, he found himself blinking a bit too much, his eyes still watering and stinging after that odd moment in the VIP lounge upstairs, where his eyes had met Rod’s. The club was dark, but each time a spotlight swung around him he would freeze, like it might reveal something other than the other horny men around him. Something monstrous, but once he processed it again, he saw that it was just men engaged in the usual sort of acts that Depot inspired. But the sense that something was wrong with him continued to plague him as he found his way to the bathrooms. Had there been something in the drink? He hadn’t really seen the bartender mix it, and Rod had seemed rather…familiar with him, verging on obsessed, even. He stumbled down the hallway into the bathroom, and found a continuation of the scene he’d watched unfolding on the small TV set upstairs. 

Patrick had a twink up on the bar between the two sinks, legs up on his shoulders, dick deep in the young man’s hole. Samuel found himself feeling a little jealous at first–Patrick hadn’t been that hard during one of their fucks in a very long time. The smell of musk and cum and sweat hung heavy in the air all around them, and while it had seemed…rougher on that silent screen, it was clear from his moaning that the twink was rather enjoying himself, and that Patrick was getting close to orgasm.

But something else was off too. The two of them weren’t alone in the bathroom, there was a small collection of men all around Patrick’s feet, rubbing and groping him, all of them moaning and pleading, and from the cum drooling out of their holes, it seemed easy to conclude that Patrick had fucked all of them in turn–and all of them were aching for more. Samuel felt his head start to throb, his head pounding in time with the music–no, not his whole head, his eyes, what the fuck was wrong with his eyes? He gripped them in pain, and fell back against the wall, groaning, and when he opened them again, he swore that he had torn his eyelids apart–but it wasn’t that. His body wasn’t ripping, it was everything around him, some giant tear across the room, cutting across Patrick, across the twink, across the men fawning at his feet, and it was growing larger, it was consuming everything, and all Samuel could do was look.

Were they still in the bathroom? It hardly mattered where they were. It was Patrick that had changed the most. The tear opened wide, and revealed a massive figure where Patrick was standing, easily a foot taller, head close to the ceiling that couldn’t really be seen through the tear. The twink was groaning, coated in a sheen of sweat, and swelling. As Patrick fucked him, or the thing behind Patrick, the thing inside him and beside him, the twink was swelling, belly expanding, filling with cum, perhaps. It was difficult to know what it was, but it was inflating him, pumping him full, his face turning fat and pudgy, letting off a long moan of delight as his own cock was swallowed up inside his growing body, and with a massive thrust, Patrick…split the young man open, his skin shredding like a popped balloon in slow motion, pulling away and shrinking away, and underneath, coated in some sort of mucus, was another man, the same man, something born from that moment. Slick with gunk, soft and turgid, with a mouth that seemed too fluid, a body that didn’t have quite enough bones, both skinny and flabby at the same time, the moans and groans coming from it curdling in the air. The beast that was Patrick fucked harder and came at last, pumping a massive load into the thing’s hole, and when he had finished, he pulled his massive cock free, and the thing slumped off the counter and onto the floor, where the others had all pooled similarly, a tangled, throbbing mass of flabby things, mouths sucking at their god, crawling and sliming over one another, hungry for more, no longer hungry for anything else.

Patrick, or the beast beside him, turned to look at Samuel, smiling. It beckoned him. Samuel didn’t know how to get there, didn’t know how to cross the void between them. Black was enveloping him, clouding his vision. He thought at first it was another tear, another break, and terrified, he thrashed about in the dark until he flung over and found himself in his own bed, Patrick splayed out on top of the covers beside him, naked, snoring heavily himself. Samuel heaved himself out of bed, squinting, made it to the bathroom in time to get most of the vomit into the bowl of the toilet, and when he was sure his guts were empty, or at least no longer threatening revolt, he turned around and sat on the floor of the bathroom, against the cabinets, catching his breath and trying to push that image in his mind further away, but it was there. Impossibly close, burned into him, somehow. He rubbed his eyes, feeling them aching still. He had to have been drugged, what other possibility could it have been? He must have freaked out in the bathroom, maybe Patrick managed to get him home somehow.

He had made enough noise that he could hear Patrick rousing himself in the bed, and after a moment, he stumbled in, stepping over Samuel on the floor, so he could take a long piss into the toilet beside him. “Fuck, rough night, huh?”

“I…Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

“I don’t remember shit man, fuck,” Patrick said, “Hugh gave me a sample of a new steroid he’s selling, that shit is…fucking hell, it’s wild…You…you must have gotten me home last night, I guess?”

“Uh…I figured you’d gotten me home, I don’t remember.”

“Huh…”

Samuel thought about trying to explain what he’d seen the night before in the bathroom, but where would he even start? Besides, it wasn’t like Patrick to really empathize with the inner life of someone else–that was labor he usually left for Samuel to pick up.

“I’m gonna hit the gym, I’m still feeling fucking pumped, you know?” Patrick said, stepping back over Samuel on the floor without offering to help him up.

After another couple minutes, Samuel flipped around and used the counter to pull himself up. In any case, that fucker Rod could take his offer and shove it. If his idea of patronage was drugging someone without even giving them a heads up, there was no way he was going to have any further dealing with the guy, no matter how much money it meant. But while his resolve started out that way, three things happened that made him waver again.

The first was his eyes in the mirror when he pulled himself up. His eyes had always been green, but in the mirror, they weren’t…entirely green anymore. The color was darker, and leaning in to look closer, he saw that there were swirls of the same cloudy grey that Rod’s had been. He couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t always had that coloring, and yet, he had never noticed it before in his life. Looking closer, he also was certain he could see the colors swirling about slightly, but that, he knew, was ridiculous.

The second, was when he dug his phone out of his pocket, he had a message from an unknown contact, that said, “What did you see?” He found the card Rod had handed him, and the number matched. He thought about replying and telling him off, but every time he tried to start the message it fell flat. Too angry, or too apologetic, or too many questions. He pictured Rod up in the VIP lounge, watching him freak out in the bathroom, and he felt like a fool, but the question was still there. He wanted to know. He knew that Samuel had seen something, and that it was important to him. If he had drugged him, it was because he wanted this from him. That made Samuel madder, of course, but it also made him feel important, and special, and he had a weakness for flattery.

The third, was that for the rest of the morning, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling from his bones that what he’d seen hadn’t just been a wild trip–it had been real. Beyond real. Something and somewhere else. He just couldn’t stop seeing it, no matter how hard he tried to push it away, it was always just there, a heaving, pulsating image; a horror. He ate a little, but felt the gorge rise again, and instead left the apartment, for a constitutional that he hoped would clear his mind a bit. His feet took him past the gallery where he’d started his night, and he looked at his work. Work he’d been so proud of, it all felt so empty now. He had seen something true, and before this, he’d been painting around the edges of another world, another existence, and this was a vision right into the heart of it, he was somehow certain of this. He resisted the urge to pull it all down and tear it up–instead, he went to the studio and tried to paint it, tried, desperately, to force it out of him, to sketch it, to mold it, to paint it, to pin it down as something outside of himself at last.

Every hour or so, he would stare at that text again, and ponder it. The art wasn’t coming, but he had to know more, he wanted to know what he’d seen. 

“Can we meet again?” he texted back.

They arranged another meeting in a few days, and Samuel sat back in his chair, rearranged patterns on the ceiling, thought of the tear, thought of stepping through it, of what he might find. ‘Flesh’, his mind replied without prompting. Flesh–he would find true flesh.

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Horny Hugh – Part 2

When Hugh had finished with Evan–now only known as the bar’s regular urinal–he had gone back out into the bar, his cock aching for someone to fuck. This was a rather new sensation for Hugh, whose attitude towards sex was generally ambivalent at best. It wasn’t that it wasn’t enjoyable–it was just…difficult. When you watch porn, you always saw guys behaving so naturally, without inhibition, and Hugh found himself so inhibited, all the time. He overthought everything, caught up trying to understand pleasure rather than experience it. There was…something inside him that wanted it, because he kept trying despite his general failures, but it was like he kept getting in his own way.

It just so happened that there, at the bar, was someone that Hugh wanted to fuck desperately. The man’s name was Josh, and he was just…so strikingly handsome, that the first time Hugh had seen him, he’d wanted him more than any man he’d ever met. Of course, Hugh knew he had no chance–not with a perfect man like that, and so he’d kept his distance, and his desire, in his heart. That hadn’t stopped him from fantasizing about Josh on a regular basis, his fantasies often taking turns that he would have never considered for someone else. It was like…Josh was a key to something. Or, not Josh himself (after all, Hugh had never even spoken to him before tonight, only given him the occasional unreciprocated cruise across the bar on nights they were both there) but the idea of Josh, some perfect…human object to fulfill his desires on. Perhaps that was why he had stayed away so far. The idea and the fantasy could have never matched reality, and the overthinking, inhibited Hugh knew that. Tonight, however, that inhibition was gone–and so he walked right on up to where Josh was standing at the bar, and hit on him–hard.

“Hey sexy, wanna touch my horns?” Hugh said, leaning in. 

Josh looked at him, confused, and then at the horns pushing their way out of Hugh’s head, and the look turned to disgust. “What the fuck man, it’s not Halloween for another six months.”

“Come on, I wanna fuck you.”

Josh backed up, but Hugh came around and cornered him at the bar, leering at him–until someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away.

“Is this guy bothering you, baby?”

Hugh spun around, and found himself looking up at a massive figure–easily six foot four, close to two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. This guy was a beast–it looked like he lived at the gym. 

“He’s just drunk, Kyle, let him go.”

Kyle stared at Hugh, and then leaned in slightly, “Leave my boyfriend alone man, he’s not interested,” Kyle said, and shoved Hugh back into the crowd, before moving in and putting one meaty arm around Josh’s waist. Hugh stumbled back and kept himself upright, but the sight of Josh with someone else gave him another feeling he wasn’t quite expecting–jealousy. Violent, vicious jealousy. Not only was the fantasy not the reality, it was so far from what Hugh had wanted that he could barely square it with the lust guiding him. The disconnect and the anger was so strong, that it broke some of whatever mental fever had come over him since his interactions with Evan over the last few days, and he pulled himself back. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Josh couldn’t be worth it. Some of him even believed him. But he cast one last look at Josh as he turned away, and that burning, aching lust wasn’t going anywhere, even if his mind was telling him to look elsewhere, anywhere else, for some release.

He didn’t end up having to look far.

“I’ll touch your horns, man,” someone said behind him. Hugh turned around, and saw a twinkish looking fellow grinning up at him. “What are they? Glued on? Pretty sure there’s another horn I’d like to touch too.”

Hugh leered, and leaned down a bit, letting the young guy touch his horns. He expected the same sort of rush he’d gotten from Evan when he’d touched them, but this was different. There was the same sort of sensation of Hugh diving down into the man’s head, looking around for his desires, but where Evan’s had been obvious and immediate, with this guy, there just…weren’t any. Well, there were some–a general desire to be fucked, an attraction to guys–but there wasn’t anything strong enough to hold Hugh’s interest. As he pulled away from the guy, he mostly felt a bit…disappointed. He was still horny though–almost more so, now that someone was actually interested in him. “What do you think? Like those horns? I do have another one for you, if you wanna come back to my place,” Hugh said.

The guy nodded, and they left the bar immediately. Josh and Kyle had watched the whole thing with a bit of disgust, and then went back to their drinks. That was probably the last they’d see of that weirdo, they assumed. But Hugh wouldn’t be letting Josh go that easily–and this distraction wouldn’t keep him busy for long. For Sam, however, the young man heading hope with Hugh–he was about to get filled up in ways he’d never imagined possible.

Sam got to the door of his apartment and shuddered a bit, trying to shake off that strange hookup. Hugh, that had been his name. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, as these things often did. Then he’d gotten his first good look at Hugh’s “third horn” at Hugh’s place–the cock was as heavily modded as the horns on his head must have been, in ways that Sam had never seen before. It looked like someone had implanted barbs underneath the skin, along the entire shaft. It looked…gnarly. As much as Sam enjoyed getting fucked, this wasn’t quite what he had in mind–but it became clear quickly that Hugh wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

He’d dragged Sam into the bedroom, and Sam couldn’t resist him, somehow. There was…a yearning inside Sam that Hugh brought out in him, something he’d never felt before, like a desire to be filled up by something, but when Hugh had started fucking him with that strange cock, the desire hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had gotten stronger. It was like Hugh’s strange cock was making room, hollowing a space out inside Sam’s soul that he hadn’t even realized was there–and the hollower it became, the hornier Sam got, the more Sam wanted to get fucked–even as Hugh was fucking him. Hugh quit at some point without finishing, though he was still rock hard. He had just yawned, and sent Sam on his way–he was done with him. So Sam had left a few hours after midnight, that massive chasm inside him aching still, and he knew full well he wouldn’t get any relief here at home.

Sam lived with his boyfriend, Max. They had a great relationship with one sizable problem–they were both bottoms. Sam could top on occasion, but Max had a rather small cock, and zero interest in anything other than getting plowed. Sam also wasn’t really big enough for Max anyway–his boyfriend mostly got off by being fisted or using one of the massive dildos in his collection of toys. It wasn’t really Sam’s thing–so if he needed to fuck, he’d usually hookup on the weekend and Max would play with his toys alone. It usually worked out fine–but Sam needed something tonight, badly. He went inside, Max was asleep, but as soon as Sam got into the bedroom and got into bed with him, something happened. 

Max woke up, his small cock erect. Sam showed him his ass, and Max happily shoved his cock inside him and fucked him. It wasn’t large, but that didn’t matter. The hole inside his guts that Hugh had created was getting filled by something at last. He didn’t quite know what was filling it exactly, but it was so satisfying that all he could do was collapse onto the mattress and ride the wave of satisfaction until Max finished inside him, collapsed on top of him–both of them not quite sure what had come over them in the moment.

“Thanks, I needed that,” Sam said, and crawled under the covers.

“No luck tonight?” Max asked.

“No, I…it was weird. I’ll tell you in the morning,” Sam said, and it wasn’t too much longer before they were both asleep–though Sam slept fitfully all night long. The dream came on quickly, less a narrative with setting and characters than an onslaught of sensations and needs and drives that manifested inside and outside of him. Always, there was a sensation of something growing inside him, something planted in him by Max, inside the hole Hugh had dug, which was now spreading through him in ways he could barely understand. At times in the night, he would wake in something like a fever dream, humping the bed under him, desperate for release. Other times he would sleep deep, and all he would see was Hugh in the darkness around him, those horns and that cock looming in the unknown distance. Then, he was close, so close he could smell him, the scent of the bar still on him, along with something else, something primal. Then, Hugh was inside him somehow, penetrating him, but not with his cock or his horns, digging around, looking at the thing growing inside him and making little approving noises. “Good, glad someone found a use for you–I’ll check in later, see what else I can do to help…”

And then Sam was surfacing again from the depths of his dream. Blinking, he assumed that this had to be the dream still. The sun was streaming into the apartment bedroom, Max was awake and riding Sam’s cock on the bed, moaning and shuddering and groaning while he did, and Sam joined in. It felt…good. So good for someone to be using him, using his cock, yeah, oh god, he was so horny, he could feel himself on the edge, right on the verge of release, but no matter what Max did, no matter how slow or how fast he fucked up and down on Sam’s cock, release refused to come to him. Max, however, was brought to a series of shuddering orgasms as he hammered his prostate on Sam’s cock, and when he finally pulled himself free, both of them soaked with sweat, there was a puddle of precum all over the bed from Max’s cock.

“Fuck, don’t…don’t stop, I haven’t cum yet, please…” Sam moaned.

Max just smiled at him, “Why would you cum, Sam? You know that big rubber cock of yours can’t cum. That’s just how I like you–always hard, and always eager to fuck,” Max stood up and stretched, “I need something to eat though–then we can keep going.”

Sam just looked at Max, confused, as his boyfriend went into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, and then down at his cock, still slick with lube. Was this really his cock? Was it…supposed to be his cock? It had been smaller before, hadn’t it? And…and flesh? He reached down, cautiously, and touched the black rubber skin of the shaft, trying to remember what his cock had felt like before, what it had looked like before…but now, all he could think about was this…monstrosity attached to his crotch. It was thicker than a beer can, and had to be at least fourteen inches long. The shaft itself wasn’t smooth, but covered in all sorts of different textures, nubs and waves and veiny sections. It felt…good, stroking it, but not as good as it had felt inside Max’s ass. The sensation was there, but dull, but he was still achingly horny. He reached down and felt his balls, but they were as rubber as the rest of his cock, and didn’t…feel like much of anything. They weren’t important, after all. His cock was important. Fucking was important. He needed to keep fucking–if he wasn’t fucking, then….then what was he even supposed to be doing?

He got up from the bed, his massive cock tugging down on his skin, and he looked down, where the rubber met his skin–his human skin, and he could see lines of black pushing their way up into his crotch, like the roots of an infection, almost. He recognized it then–the thing that his cock was now. It was a toy that he and Max had played with on occasion, a rubber strapon, basically, that slid on over his cock and balls. Max loved it, but Sam had never gotten much out of it, really. All…all he had to do was pull it off, right? And his…his real cock would be under it?

He gripped it, but with all the lube he couldn’t pull it free. He wiped it off, pulled again, and it was like he was trying to actually pull off his cock. The distress was hitting him now, but it was still losing out against the aching need to fuck that had been clinging to him since he woke up. Max…would know what to do, right? He followed his boyfriend out into the kitchen, where he had just dropped a slice of bread into the toaster, and stood in the doorway. “Did…did you put the…cock sleeve on me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I…I can’t get it off.”

“Of course you can’t get it off–it’s your cock silly.”

“No…I mean…I…” Sam stumbled over his words, and couldn’t quite figure out how to deal with Max’s response. “Can…we fuck some more? I can’t think good, I’m too horny.”

“Of course we can fuck some more hon, go wait in the bedroom.”

“Can I…just a little? Now? While you wait for your toast?”

Max sighed at him, and pulled him back into the bedroom. Sam was hopeful, but Max just sat him down on the bed, pulled something out of a drawer, and walked back to where Sam was. “Here, this ought to keep that mouth of yours occupied better. Good toys like you don’t really need mouths anyway, right?”

Sam tried to resist a bit, but Max seemed so much more domineering all of a sudden, and he forced the gag into Sam’s mouth. He saw a cock on one end of it, and expected it to go in his mouth, but instead, Max flipped it around and pushed the other side into his mouth, so that the cock was sticking out–and as soon as it settled in Sam’s mouth…something happened. He could feel the rubber expand in his mouth, almost like it was inflating–forcing his jaw wide. Then, it was more than that–he felt something…sucking on his tongue, like it was pulling it into the cock now sticking out of his mouth. He felt his teeth going numb. Then, he couldn’t feel his mouth anymore, like everything had been filled in with rubber. Max grinned at his confused boyfriend, flicked the cock sticking out of his face, and went back to the kitchen. “Now, be good and wait for me–we’ll try that out in a little bit.”

Sam felt incredibly patronized by everything Max was doing to him today, and so as soon as he left, he reached up and tried to yank the rubber cock gag from his mouth–but it refused to come free. In fact, it hurt when he tugged on it, like he was trying to yank his tongue out of his mouth. Concerned, he stood up and went to the mirror in the bedroom, and there, he saw that the rubber had…fused with his mouth, just like how the rubber cock had fused with his crotch. There were lines of black rubber reaching into his cheeks and around his nose in a rather worrying way. He gave another tug on it, but it was no use. He felt…lost. He was so horny, but he didn’t know what to do with any of this, so he just sat down on the bed and waited for Max to return. Maybe…after Sam fucked him and came, everything would go back to normal. He did want to cum so bad, and he’d been so close before. Everything…everything would be alright if he could just finish, right?

It was twenty minutes before Max came back, and Sam could barely contain himself. His boyfriend climbed up on the bed, ass towards him, and told him to use that new mouth of his–Sam pushed the cock into Max’s hole, and discovered he could…taste still. The rubber cock was almost like a tongue, and the deeper he probed, the hornier he became. He could feel his cock-tongue throbbing, aching for release, but it never came–instead, over the next hour as he fucked Max’s ass, it just seemed to swell, growing longer and thicker, sliding further and further into Max’s ass, bringing him to orgasm after orgasm, while Sam was left aching for release–any release at all, but his groin-cock was dull in his hands, no matter how he stroked it. Max finally had had enough, and pulled himself free–and Sam was left with his new cock-tongue–all two feet of it, hanging down to his chest.

“Fuck, that’s a hot fucking tongue of yours,” Max said, as he laid back on the bed, coated in a sheen of sweat, still shudderning a bit from his deep fuck. “You’re the hottest fucktoy in the world, you know that?”

Sam tried to make a sound, but nothing came out–it was like his throat had started sealing itself up–he could still breathe…but it was a struggle. Even then, he didn’t feel weak, if anything, the ache only made him more desperate. He couldn’t even beg, couldn’t do anything but watch as Max proceeded to ignore him, pick up his phone, and start texting a few of his friends. After a few minutes, with Sam still kneeling at the side of the bed, Max stood up and got dressed in some clothes for clubbing. Sam looked out the window, and realized it was already getting dark–how long had he had his massive tongue buried up Max’s ass today?

“I’m gonna grab some dinner with a couple of friends, then hit the club. I’ll see you tonight, fucktoy, if I don’t get lucky otherwise.”

That was all Max said to him, and then he left, leaving Sam kneeling in the dark bedroom, trying to will himself to stand up…but what did it matter? It wouldn’t make the ache go away. There was nothing to fuck anywhere here. Still, he did it, floundered in the dark, and finally found his way to the bathroom, where he looked at himself in the mirror.

The infection was worse now. The rubber was spreading over most of his hips, and even around to his ass. A good chunk of his face was webbed with black veins as well, even down onto his neck. It was changing things–his nose was…sealing up. No wonder he was struggling to breathe. What little hair he had on his face had fallen off, and when he touched it with his hands, it was…cold. Not exactly cold, but it was…rubbery cold, like there was still flesh below it, but too deep to feel easily. 

He needed to get help. Look at him! He had a massive rubber cock, and a proboscis like cock hanging from where his mouth was supposed to be. But where could he go? The hospital? What would they even make of something like this? A friend’s place? No–no one could see him looking like this, it was too humiliating, knowing that Max was slowly turning him into a rubber fucktoy, and there was nothing he could do about it at all. God, if he was here right now, he…he’d fuck him real good, maybe fist him, even. He was still so horny, but touching his cock only made it worse, because it felt like nothing. His hands were worthless–the only thing that could make him feel good, the only thing that gave him any purpose at all, was a hole. He went back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed again, resigned to the fact he would simply have to cope with being horny until Max returned to use him, and zoned out a while–until he heard a knock on the door.

He paused–should he answer that? No–of course he shouldn’t answer that. Not…not looking like he was. 

The knock came again, and after a moment, Sam…felt something, or heard something, in his head. Words, or feelings, or something between the two. He might have translated it as, “I know you’re in there, Sam. I just want to see if I can help you more. You don’t have to be afraid of me, let me in.”

The knock returned, a bit more firm, and still a bit unsure of himself, Sam got up, went to the door, and opened it up–and Hugh stepped inside from the hallway outside his apartment. “Oh my, look at you! Looks like someone definitely found something to fill you up with. I wasn’t quite sure that would work last night.”

Sam stared at him, realizing that this strange, horned man was to blame for this. That he had…done something when he’d fucked him, and then…and then Max had done something else. He tried to speak, but not a sound came out–Sam realized he wasn’t even breathing. That he didn’t even miss breathing. Hugh reached out and grabbed Sam’s cock-tongue, giving it a tug like he was testing it, and then wrapped it around his hand. “Yes, this is much better now, I think. Come on, let’s go play a bit–I hoped I might get to meet the guy who filled you up, but this is good too.”

He gave a tug on Sam’s proboscis, like a leash, and led him back into the bedroom, all the while Sam trying to figure out some way to ask him all of the crazy questions going through his head–mostly wanting to know how he could get fixed, how he could change him back. He…was here to change him back, wasn’t he? He had to be, of course. In the bedroom, Hugh pushed Sam onto the bed so he was lying on his back, and climbed on top of him, rubbing his horns against Sam’s torso, and he…felt it. That same eerie sensation he’d felt back at the bar, of Hugh rummaging around inside of him, looking for something. Before, it had felt like Hugh was wandering around an empty room inside of Sam–but now, even Sam could tell the room was no longer empty. All of Max’s desires had been pumped into him–and taken root inside of him. He was relieved, for a moment, when he felt Hugh pulling on them, tugging them…forward. Forward, and hopefully out of him, but Hugh wasn’t removing them, he was making them bigger, and finding some intriguing things that Sam had developed on the way.

“Oh, what a mean man,” Hugh said, still rubbing his horns on Sam’s body, “He made you so horny all the time, but no way of releasing any of it. I know how that goes–I get so horny, if I couldn’t cum…I don’t know what I would do, really. So selfish. We can fix that, we can fix so many things, don’t you worry…”

Hugh pulled away at last, and Sam was left gasping–or trying to gasp, before he recalled he couldn’t breath anyway. But something was happening in his chest, like he had to cough, force something out, or vomit, and with something like a gag, he felt a…fluid slide out of his chest and down the long shaft of his tongue-cock, until a black, rubbery ooze seeped out of the end. Hugh leered at him, gave his massive groin-cock a stroke, and he felt the same thing, coming from the same…place, even, and his cock leaked the same goopy stuff. It felt…it felt amazing, like every expulsion was a mini orgasm, and while Hugh jacked his cocks, Sam found himself spreading the goop all over himself, coating his body with it, feeling it spread out in an even film and permeate his skin.

 “That’s it, we need to cover all of that skin up, don’t we? You don’t need it anymore–better to just be rubber, inside and out. Let me see what I can find to help…”

Hugh got up, twisting and contorting his head a bit as he looked around the bedroom, almost like he was honing in on something, using his horns to guide him. They led him right to Max’s drawer full of rubber and toys, and Hugh dug around, fishing out a few things. First, an industrial rubber glove he put on Hugh’s right left hand, and then coated with the gunk, trapping it as a fist. Sam added more and more coats of his rubbery cum to it, watching it get…bigger, and thicker, his entire arm picking up more and more muscle as he covered it with rubber–until Hugh pulled his other hand away and put a different glove on it.

This one Hugh had seen before, and played with a bit. Each finger and thumb of the glove was textured differently–one a corkscrew, one covered in nubs, another shaped like a normal cock, and so on–to give the bottom a variety of sensations. As soon as the glove was on, Sam felt it fuse with his skin, and the five fingers came alive, the bones in them melting away, scooping up more and more rubber, growing larger, and longer, and thicker. He could feel some sort of vein or network sliding down his arm and into his chest, hooking up with whatever reservoir was pumping out this rubber, and soon even more was flowing from his five prehensile fingers. Lastly, a pair of rubber waders on his feet, securing around his knees, fusing, more and more rubber flowing around them, all over his entire body now, Sam growing larger and larger, more and more muscled while Hugh admired his handiwork. His face was last, rubber flowing over his eyes, blinding him, but Sam didn’t need eyes anymore–he could…sense what really mattered now, he could feel the holes around him, Hugh’s two holes, in fact…but those weren’t his. No, he…there was one last thing that Hugh needed to do for him, and Sam turned around, bent over the bed, and presented his ass to him.

“That’s a good fuckdrone,” Hugh said, and lined his cock up with Sam’s rubbery asshole. “It’ll be an honor to be the last man to ever fuck you.”

Sam would have said groaned when Hugh thrust into him, but he couldn’t make a sound. All he could do was keep spewing his rubbery cum all over the bed, feel it slick up underneath him, turning the sheets themselves rubber, while Hugh fucked him with his barbed cock. It didn’t…hurt his body, exactly, but Hugh was tearing through…something. His identity, or what remained of it. His humanity. His self-conception, his awareness. Each thrust was like a dagger in his mind, cutting out a bit more of him, until there just wasn’t anything left. Just…urges and needs. A need to fuck, but also, a growing need to…to feed. It was hungry, wasn’t it? But what was it going to eat? Hugh came, and like Evan before him, Sam felt everything inside him suddenly lock into place. It knew, without a doubt, that it wouldn’t change again. That it was itself now–it was exactly what it was supposed to be–a solid rubber fuckdrone. A…a hungry, solid rubber fuckdrone.

Hugh pulled his cock free of the drone’s ass, and the hole sealed up behind him, disappearing entirely–the drone knew it would never be fucked again. It no longer had any holes to fuck. That wasn’t its purpose, or its design. Hugh felt better now, his own horniness sated somewhat. He had been aching since fucking Sam the night before, when he hadn’t been able to cum. He could only…make space. Then, that odd dream, where he’d seen Sam, and then this morning, he’d…known he had to find him, and somehow, he’d followed his horns, and his cock, and found him easily enough. Now though, he was finished. The drone stood up, its featureless face turning towards Hugh, all of his cocks leaking everywhere, rubber spreading all over the floor and bed, and Hugh found himself bored. He could wait, he suppose, until the man who had filled Sam up returned to find his new, finished, fuckdrone…but Hugh was pining for something else. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Josh. This had been a good distraction, and Hugh had learned a lot, but he didn’t feel satisfied by it. It was not what he needed. He was angry at Josh’s boyfriend, over how rude he’d been to him, as well. He’d never have Josh to himself, not until Kyle was dealt with–and after this, Hugh had a few ideas for how that might happen. So Hugh left, and the drone took note of him leaving, but it couldn’t leave. It had to wait. Wait for…for Max. To come home.

It didn’t really know time. It only knew hunger, and as it waited, that hunger grew. It was not a hunger of survival, exactly. The drone knew it would not die, no matter how hungry it became. But it needed to consume something, all the same. It was a hunger of purpose…but it also knew, somehow, that it’s reservoir of rubber, which it had been excreting almost constantly, was not…unending. Hunger would fulfill a purpose, but it would also refill its supply. 

Max didn’t return that night. He had gotten lucky and gone home with someone. He didn’t come home until the morning, and he could…smell something, a rubbery smell all through the apartment, and there, in the living room, was the drone, waiting for him, eager for him, hungry for him, and before Max could do anything, the drone was on him, doing everything it was designed to do. Everything Max had desired, and even more than that. The drone pushed it’s fat fist up Max’s ass, driving it in, giving no heed to Max’s pleading, begging for the drone to stop, to now fist it, that it was going too fast. It lifted him up, the rubber drone impossibly strong, so Max was hanging on the air, sitting on the drone’s arm, squirming and trying to get off, but unable to get any leverage. The drone was hungry, so hungry, and now it knew what it would feed on. This man, Max, had something it could use. It would help him. Soon, Max would never have to do anything other than get fucked ever again.

The drone’s long proboscis slid down to Max’s small cock, opened up its mouth, and slid over it, clamping down. Max felt it both sucking at it forcefully, and also pushing deeper, driving into his groin. It was painful, he screamed, but the drone could not hear the screams, nor would it have cared if it could. It was feeding. It was sucking, drawing everything out of Max’s groin that it could, sucking it down, converting it into its own rubbery muck. After a few minutes, when Max had screamed himself hoarse, the drone withdrew its proboscis–though it didn’t let the man down, not yet–and with a shaking hand, Max felt his crotch. His cock, his balls–it was all gone. In its place, a rubbery pucker, a…another hole. The drone relaxed it’s arm and dropped Max onto the couch, then replaced it with his massive cock, now pumping out rubbery gunk that coated Max’s hole, letting the massive member slide right inside. Max felt the hole stretch–but then…he felt almost a numbness as the rubber goo slicked the inside of his hole–and then, pleasure. Different pleasure. Orgasmic pleasure. Max moaned in delight, while Max’s five dicked hand slid up to his face, two forcing their way down his mouth, pumping more rubber into his throat, down into his stomach, into his lungs, and the thumb and pinky cocks wrapped around his head, drilling into his ears, middle finger into his nose, all of them pumping rubber into his head, coating his brain, making it smooth. Making it rubber, making it perfectly obedient.

Soon, Max didn’t worry about any of this. Max was barely thinking at all, in fact. It spent the next long hours in service of the fuckdrone, coating himself in it’s rubber, forming his skin into a black rubber catsuit, perfectly shiny, though his face remained human–mostly. A human face could be useful, for now. Once the fuckdrone had enough to eat, then Max’s face could go away too. The drone was hungry again, its rubber running thin now, dribbling from its cocks instead of gushing forth. That was no problem though. Max had lots of friends who liked to get fucked, after all. He called them, invited them over for an orgy, telling them he had a great new toy for all of them to play with. The drone was pleased–it wouldn’t be hungry for a long time, now. Max was happy now too. Now, all he needed was to get fucked–it was the only thing he was good for, anymore, the only thing that made him happy. He liked being happy. He would make all his friends happy. He would make any man he found happy too, happy to be fucked by his drone.

A New Teddy

Toby got his keys out of his pocket and hoped that his roommate, Kyle, wouldn’t be home tonight. It was a silly hope really, because Kyle almost never left their apartment if he could help it, but given the fact that Kyle had brought up rent again with him this morning, Toby was really hoping to avoid that conversation if he could help it.

Toby had been in a bit of a bind, earlier this year. Between going to school as a full time student and trying to juggle two jobs, he’d been struggling to find somewhere to live, hoping from roommate situation to roommate situation, all of them terrible for various reasons. In the midst of this, he had met Kyle one night, a friend of a friend, and Kyle had rather generously offered to let Toby live in his apartment with him rent free. 

When he’d met him, Toby had assumed that Kyle was maybe a few years older than him–all he’d known about him was that he’d graduated from his college a earlier than him. It wasn’t until he’d moved in that he’d learned Kyle was actually in his thirties, which made the fact that he still hung around college kids a little stranger, but he was in too deep to worry too much about it. Kyle worked from home as a tech consultant with several large firms and raked in a ton of money, but while he could have gotten a larger place, he didn’t. Just a modest two bedroom apartment. Instead he spent the rest of his money on three things–video games, porn, and weed. That, and friends when he was out. Going to the bar with him, it was easy to understand why Kyle was so popular with kids on campus, especially when he found out he also helped them score fake IDs on occasion.

Of course, Toby didn’t know any of this about him when Kyle had suggested this. At the time, it had seemed like an amazing opportunity, and in all honesty, it still was. Even though Kyle was a total slob, had no real sense of privacy, was about as inconsiderate of a roommate as you could find–at the end of the day the place was free! Free could grease a lot of wheels, and help you put up with a lot of bullshit. The problem now was that it wasn’t going to be free anymore.

Apparently, Kyle had been dropped by a client the month before, and while he had a few new ones lined up for the near future, his income had taken a bit of a hit. He’d asked Toby to start chipping in on rent this month–the only problem, was that it was also the start of the quarter. Toby had spent all of his money on books and supplies for his classes before Kyle had dropped this little nugget on him. He might have been able to swing it, but Toby had lost one of his jobs a few months before, and had almost no cash to spare. He’d tried to explain all of this to Kyle, of course, hoping he’d be understanding, but while he’d been nice enough, he had put his foot down. He wanted 500 dollars a month, no question about it. 

Now, Toby was officially past due, and Kyle, while still friendly, was being insistent. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, and found his roommate there on the couch, snacking and gaming away like he always was. Kyle was not a particularly handsome fellow. He weighed almost 400 pounds, was covered in hair, and wore almost nothing around the apartment. They were both gay, but Toby wasn’t interested in him, and Kyle had never suggested they have sex–though from the sounds of things in his room, Kyle got off several times a day by himself. He had a thick neckbeard, wore big chunky glasses, and always seemed to have an acne problem. He showered rarely, and so always had a cloud of musk following him, as well as the constant smell of weed. Not ideal–but it had been free, and desperation could convince you to tolerate a lot.

“Hey man, how was the day?” Kyle asked as he took his shoes off at the door.

“It was alright I guess, just long,” Toby said, “I’m gonna get to bed, I have an early class tomorrow.”

“Sure thing. Hey, you got that rent man? You’re a few days late, and you owe me.”

Toby gulped–no such luck. “Look, Kyle, any chance I could start paying you next month? The quarter just started, and I had to buy supplies already.”

Kyle paused the game, looked over his shoulder, and stared Toby down across the room. “Man, you owe me. If you can’t pay rent, then you’re going to have to pay me some other way.” The stare was…intense. Toby had never seen Kyle look like that, ever, and he was a bit creeped out by it. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Kyle turned around and returned to his game, and said nothing else. Toby took his bag to his room, set it down, and figured he’d have to come up with the money somehow–there just wasn’t much of a choice. Five hundred was still cheap–and when Kyle found a new client, maybe he’d let Kyle stay for free again. Hopefully. Or maybe he should find some other place. Kyle was generous, but living with him was a pain. If it wasn’t going to be free, he should just ditch him. 

Toby did some reading for his class in the morning, and then got ready for bed. Kyle didn’t say anything to him when he left his room to use the bathroom, and all he could think about was Kyle’s weird stare. Yeah–he was done here. Figure out a way to pay him, and then get the hell out of here as soon as he could. He’d obviously overstayed his welcome. He climbed into bed, and it wasn’t long before he was sound asleep.

But sometime in the middle of the night, he woke up. He wasn’t sure what had disturbed him–a sound, something touching him, or even just a bad feeling–but he opened his eyes, and found something looming over him in the dark. “Fuck Kyle, what the fuck are you doing in my room?” he asked, reached over and turned on the light he had on his nightstand, but it wasn’t Kyle standing there–it was a giant teddy bear.

It was easily seven feet tall, and larger than any man Toby had ever seen before. He had no idea what it was doing there, and it was just standing over his bed, looking down at him. The strangest part was that the bear’s front had a massive rip down the front, and the inside was…hollow. There was no stuffing inside of him, and yet somehow the bear was standing up perfectly fine. It had to be some kind of prank or something by Kyle, right? Was this because he wouldn’t pay him rent? What kind of weirdo did something like this anyway? The bear was standing between him and the door. He got up out of the bed, and the bear slowly moved with him, his beady eyes following him as he moved. Was Kyle controlling the thing? Was he inside it? He couldn’t be inside of it–the thing was empty! Toby didn’t want anything else to do with this place–he’d move out tomorrow, he didn’t care where he’d go, but before he could get out of his room, the bear grabbed him from behind in a hug, and started stuffing him into it’s hollow body, through the rip in it’s guts.

Toby screamed and tried to pull away, but thick threads from inside the bear’s body shot out, wrapped their way around his hands and arms, and tugged them backwards, drawing them up into the bear’s own arms. More threads wound their way around Toby’s neck, choking him, forcing his head up into the bear’s head, while the bear’s arms, with his own arms inside of them, hoisted up his legs and dropped them inside the bear’s cavity. Still screaming, he looked down and saw that the threads were zipping across the cavity, sewing him up inside the bear’s body while he struggled to get free. 

As soon as the cavity was stitched up, everything went dark–and then, the fluff that had been mysterious absent inside the bear’s body began to appear. It started at the feet, crowding in around Toby’s legs, and began to fill up in a matter of moments. At first he could still move around a bit, but the more fluff there was, the harder it was for him to move at all–and soon the pressure became crushing–more intense than should have been possible from light fluff like this. It was like the skin of the bear was starting to shrink, pressing in against him on all sides, the fluff pushing up to his neck, and then above his neck, and then surrounding his entire head, choking him. He held his breath for as long as he could, tried to struggle, but he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs anymore. There was just…fluff, as the bear shrunk down further and further, choking him out, making it impossible to breathe. His tongue was like cotton. Was it that he couldn’t see, or had his eyes dissolved into the same fluff as the rest of him? “This has to be a dream,” was the last thing he thought to himself, clinging to that hope as he passed out…and then he woke up.

There was a moment of relief. It had just been a fucked up nightmare summoned from some deep part of his subconscious, and now, he was going to be ok. He was lying facedown in bed, his blanket on top of him, feeling very warm. Too warm, really. And there was a smell. Something familiar, but not a smell that should be in his room. Heady and musky, with a strong undertone of weed. It smelled like Kyle, he realized after a moment. The blanket was also too heavy. So heavy, that when he tried to roll over, he couldn’t. It was heavy, and warm, and…and was it growling? There was a sound, wasn’t there? Like a growl. Or like a snore.

Whatever was lying on top of him, he quickly discovered it was too heavy for him to move, or to get out from under. He felt so weak somehow, and his arms and legs felt numb, probably from whatever was pressing down on him. It wasn’t long before he started to panic and squirmed harder, and he finally felt the bulk pressing down on him shift. It wasn’t a blanket–whatever it was, it was alive.

“Oh, looks like someone decided to wake up.” It was Kyle’s voice, groggy with sleep. Toby tried to get his arms and legs to work, to roll himself over, but all he could do was flail awkwardly–his limbs refused to work right, and he couldn’t seem to bend them in any sort of helpful direction. A massive hand gripped his arm and turned him over, and now that he was lying face up, he found himself staring up at a massive Kyle. How on earth did he get so damn big, and why couldn’t he move right? “You make a much cuter bear that a person,” Kyle said, “Here, let me show you. You’re probably a little confused.”

Kyle grabbed him by the arm again, and this time lifted Toby into the air like he weighed nothing to him. As he swung Toby around, all Toby felt was a tremendous sense of vertigo. He was in Kyle’s room, but the room was huge! It clicked then–it wasn’t that Kyle had grown, or that his room was big. It was that Toby was suddenly much, much smaller. Kyle’s hands gripped him around his belly, and he held Toby up in front of a mirror, and as hard as Toby tried to scream, no sound came out of his mouth. He was looking in the mirror at Kyle holding a stuffed teddy bear. He was probably about two and a half feet tall, with a big fuzzy gut, glass eyes, and a smile stitched across his face. He was the stuffed teddy bear! The dream–it had been real! He tried his hardest to squirm out of Kyle’s grip, but all he could do was flail awkwardly, stuffed arms swinging to and fro, legs pumping the air. The effect was rather cute–and hopeless.

“You know, it’s dangerous, owing a warlock something,” Kyle said. “The rules say I can’t do anything to cause harm to a person–unless they owe me a debt of some kind. And you, Toby, owed me for rent. In exchange, you get to be my new bear–I finally wore out my last one.”

Toby knew what Kyle was talking about–he’d seen the ragged old bear that Kyle slept with a few times, as well as the shelf of other old bears above his bed. 

“You though–I thought I’d try a few new things with you. You’re the best model yet, I think. Why don’t we take you for a spin?” 

Kyle set him down on the bed, sitting up, and before he could try and do anything, Kyle reached behind him, tugged on a cord hanging off his back, and pulled it away from him. It began to retract, and without knowing how it was happening, Toby heard himself start talking. “Kyle! Kyle, what the fuck did you do to me? Change me back, I’ll get you the money, I’ll figure…it…out…I…” The cord ran out, and Toby’s voice ran down. It hadn’t sounded like he was really speaking, more like some recording coming out of his chest. 

“Oh yeah, that’s hot…Gonna love hearing you moan, Teddy, while I’m on top of you, with my cock buried in your tight little ass…” 

Kyle came closer, reached down, and started rubbing a few fingers across Toby’s fuzzy crotch. Toby’s bear body didn’t have a cock or balls or anything, but as soon as Kyle touched him, his whole mind was suddenly awash with pleasure. Kyle kept rubbing, and with his other hand, pulled on Toby’s drawstring again. “Oh fuck, why the fuck does that feel so fucking good? It feels like I’m about to cum, fuck, it…almost…hurts…”

“Don’t worry Teddy, I don’t want you to suffer. You’re going to be making me so happy, you know? I’ve never really liked…people. They’re too complicated, and they never do what I want them to do, not really. But you’re not a person anymore–you’re just my special Teddy.”

Kyle flipped Toby over, and laid him on the edge of his bed so that his legs were hanging off, and his teddy bear ass was exposed. He felt something press against the fuzz, and then it pushed inside of him, and again, a burst of pleasure pushed everything else from Toby’s mind. “Oh fuck! I never made a teddy with an actual hole before–always just made a little rip, but fuck, this is fucking nice…” Kyle muttered, as he slid his cock in and out of the silicone sheath implanted in Toby’s stuffed ass. “How does it feel Teddy? You like having your master’s cock inside your furry bear hole? You want me to fill you up with a big load of cum, get that stuffing of yours all sticky with my load?”

Kyle pulled the drawstring, and again, Toby’s voice came out of the bear’s body, “Oh fuck! Of fuck, that feels so fucking good, oh god, oh fucking…god…”

“I’m your fucking god now, Teddy. I own your stuffed ass, and you’re going to be taking all of my fucking loads from now on.”

Toby felt betrayed by his own voice somehow. When Kyle pulled the string, it wasn’t what he wanted to say that came out, exactly. It was…it was more like something speaking through him, using his voice, mocking him. It did feel good, that was true. It felt almost too good. The more Kyle fucked him, in fact, that pleasure was building–but there was no outlet. It felt so good he ached. It felt so good that it felt like every other part of his mind was going to be crushed by it. He wanted to cum. That’s what it really felt like. Like he’d been edging himself for an hour, and now was trying so hard to get himself over the edge, but no matter what he did, nothing would happen. He didn’t have a cock anymore, after all. Could he even have an orgasm? If this is what it felt like to get fucked now? It felt like just having an orgasm would tear his mind to shreds. He both craved it, and also didn’t know if he’d even be able to survive it. Chances were, it would just drive him mad if it lasted much longer.

He didn’t have to worry for much longer, in any case. After a few more thrusts, Kyle drove his cock in deep, head popping out the other end of the sheath, deep in Toby’s guts, and unleashed a torrent of cum into his stuffing. Toby could feel it in there, gooping everything together, and a moment later, he felt something else. A warmth suffusing his entire body, from his flailing arms, to his face, to his fat, fuzzy feet. Everything was getting hazy somehow. Like…Like he was getting high off of Kyle’s cum. But the pleasure was still there–aching inside him. Dulled now, but still so frustrating, and when Kyle pulled his cock free, it didn’t help. Instead, he just felt so fucking empty. He felt a tug on his back, and Kyle pulled the drawstring again, and that voice–so close to his own, but twisted somehow, came out of him: “Oh fuck Master, fuck me some more, your dirty toy feels so empty, please…I…need…your…c-ock…”

“Oh don’t worry you stupid bear, you’ll get more later. How’s it feel, Teddy? You feeling good? Don’t you like the way my cum makes you feel? You were always such a wet blanket, you know that? Complaining about how much weed I was smoking in the apartment. It’s my fucking apartment, you know? Well, I thought this might help you loosen up a bit, get you feeling really good, all day long. Or at least for a few hours at a time. Once it dries, you’re going to start jonsing for another fuck. You’re going to need me inside you whether you like it or not. For now though, I need to smoke something myself, and then it’s time for some breakfast.”

Kyle got up to go find his weed and eat something, abandoning Toby on the bed. This was his chance, right? Maybe…he could escape somehow. Get help. But his high was only growing more intense, his vision starting to swirl, and he was still so weak. He tried to manipulate his body as best he could, but all he managed to do was fall off the edge of the bed and land on the floor. It didn’t hurt, thankfully, but on his back there was nothing he could do, other than stare at the ceiling spinning around him, feel the dull ache of his groin, Kyle’s cum slowly drying inside of him. He came down after about an hour, and Kyle was right–he did feel terrible. The ache in his crotch hadn’t lessened one little bit, and he felt…hungry, of all things. Hungry for cum. Hungry for Kyle’s cum. It was eating away at his guts, and there was nothing he could do, aside from lay there on the floor of Kyle’s bedroom, next to a pair of dirty underwear, smelling his musk rolling off of them. He had to get a handle on himself, but as soon as Kyle came back into the room, all he felt was relief at the sight of him.

Kyle fucked him again, slower this time, relishing it, pulling on Toby’s drawstring over and over, making his little stuffed bear beg for his mercy, beg for his cum, promise to be a good little toy forever and ever. Toby hated hearing his voice saying those things, but the more he heard them, he found them growing more and more true in his heart–or what remained of his heart. Kyle came again, and left his bear there to enjoy his high while Kyle got some work done. From where he was lying on the bed, on his back, he could look up and see the other bears on the shelf. Earlier, they had been sitting there, looking straight ahead, but now they were all leaning forward, looking down at him.

Were they jealous? Probably. Kyle wouldn’t put him up there, right? No–of course he wouldn’t. Toby was the best model yet–and…and as long as he kept his Master happy, he’d keep getting his cum, and he’d be able to stave off the ache for a little while longer. Toby caught himself, horrified at what he’d been thinking. He had to get out of this somehow–someone would come looking for him right? At the school? His family? But no one ever came. Day after day, they all passed the same for Toby, or Teddy, as Kyle called him, and Toby started calling himself that too.

The first year was great–or as great as it could be for a fucktoy like him. Then, during a rough session one evening, his drawstring broke, and Teddy never spoke again. Kyle didn’t mind. It had been hot, but it didn’t really matter that much to him one way or another, and he just kept on using him, but he was a bit disappointed, and Teddy panicked–his voice was gone, but he was still there. Teddy was covered with stains now, lumpy and misshapen from all of his stuffing being stuck together with Kyle’s cum. One drunken night, Kyle pissed in him as well, and that…well, nothing could really get the smell off of him, and Teddy could tell that Kyle just wasn’t looking at him, or fucking him, like he used to. And then, there was someone new. A roommate, a guy named Terry. Then, Teddy knew. He knew that he was too dirty, too gross. He’d been worn out, and a few months later, he too was up on the shelf, and Kyle had a brand new teddy bear to play with instead, and all Teddy could do was sit there watch his beautiful Master plow his new bear’s hole, and ache. 

Early Access: A New Teddy

I have a new commissioned story up, and Patrons can access the full version of this story now over on my site! Otherwise, it’ll be posted publicly in a week or so. Here’s a taste, if you’re curious.

…Sometime in the middle of the night, Toby woke up. He wasn’t sure what had disturbed him–a sound, something touching him, or even just a bad feeling–but he opened his eyes, and found something looming over him in the dark. “Fuck Kyle, what the fuck are you doing in my room?” he asked, reached over and turned on the light he had on his nightstand, but it wasn’t Kyle standing there–it was a giant teddy bear.

It was easily seven feet tall, and larger than any man Toby had ever seen before. He had no idea what it was doing there, and it was just standing over his bed, looking down at him. The strangest part was that the bear’s front had a massive rip down the front, and the inside was…hollow. There was no stuffing inside of him, and yet somehow the bear was standing up perfectly fine. It had to be some kind of prank or something by Kyle, right? Was this because he wouldn’t pay him rent? What kind of weirdo did something like this anyway? The bear was standing between him and the door. He got up out of the bed, and the bear slowly moved with him, his beady eyes following him as he moved. Was Kyle controlling the thing? Was he inside it? He couldn’t be inside of it–the thing was empty! Toby didn’t want anything else to do with this place–he’d move out tomorrow, he didn’t care where he’d go, but before he could get out of his room, the bear grabbed him from behind in a hug, and started stuffing him into it’s hollow body, through the rip in it’s guts.

Toby screamed and tried to pull away, but thick threads from inside the bear’s body shot out, wrapped their way around his hands and arms, and tugged them backwards, drawing them up into the bear’s own arms. More threads wound their way around Toby’s neck, choking him, forcing his head up into the bear’s head, while the bear’s arms, with his own arms inside of them, hoisted up his legs and dropped them inside the bear’s cavity. Still screaming, he looked down and saw that the threads were zipping across the cavity, sewing him up inside the bear’s body while he struggled to get free. 

As soon as the cavity was stitched up, everything went dark–and then, the fluff that had been mysterious absent inside the bear’s body began to appear. It started at the feet, crowding in around Toby’s legs, and began to fill up in a matter of moments. At first he could still move around a bit, but the more fluff there was, the harder it was for him to move at all–and soon the pressure became crushing–more intense than should have been possible from light fluff like this. It was like the skin of the bear was starting to shrink, pressing in against him on all sides, the fluff pushing up to his neck, and then above his neck, and then surrounding his entire head, choking him. He held his breath for as long as he could, tried to struggle, but he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs anymore. There was just…fluff, as the bear shrunk down further and further, choking him out, making it impossible to breathe. His tongue was like cotton. Was it that he couldn’t see, or had his eyes dissolved into the same fluff as the rest of him? “This has to be a dream,” was the last thing he thought to himself, clinging to that hope as he passed out…and then he woke up.

Horny Hugh #1 (Commissioned Story)

Evan knocked on the door of Hugh’s apartment, and after a couple of moments, it opened up. Hugh looked through the crack of the door, and then pulled Evan inside and shut the door behind them both.

“What the hell is up with you?” Evan asked, “You spend all morning blowing up my phone, saying I have to come to your place, and you won’t even tell me why–now you’re yanking me around like this is some spy movie or something.”

Hugh was wearing a pair of sweatpants, which wasn’t unusual for him, and a hoodie with the hood up–which was definitely odd. He didn’t say anything right away–he and Evan had been friends for ages, and he was the only person he could possibly talk to about…well, about what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d woken up this morning. “Look, promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Dude, no one fucking says that unless what you’re about to show me is really fucking weird–now what’s going on? It can’t be that bad, can it?”

Hugh took a deep breath, and then he pushed the hood back, and showed Evan the horns that had appeared, growing out his temples, when he’d woken up this morning. They were small, or at least, that’s what Hugh had told himself all morning as he struggled to not freak out about it. They were about an inch tall, with a sharp point–not quite sharp enough to draw blood, unless he gave someone a hard headbutt with a running start or something.

“What the fuck?” Evan asked.

“Please–you’re the only person I could show this to, please, I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” Hugh pleaded.

Evan was, he had to admit, a bit freaked out, but he was also, well, curious. He reached out to touch one, and Hugh pulled away. “What?”

“They’re…tender, is all.”

“Did it hurt?”

Hugh shrugged. “I…I had this dream. I don’t really remember it all that well, but…yeah, it hurt, in the dream, and when I woke up, I was thrashing in my bed, my pillow was torn to shreds, and I had these fucking things sticking out of my head. I don’t know what the hell to do–should…I mean, if I go to the hospital, are they just going to treat me like some kind of freak?”

“Can…Can I touch them? I’m just curious. I’ll be careful.”

Hugh bent his head down, and let his friend cautiously stroke one of the small horns with a finger. It wasn’t quite smooth, more like unsanded wood–but definitely bone. The flesh at the base was still a bit red and inflamed from what he could see, but it didn’t look like there was any infection.

Hugh, however, felt something rather strange when his friend touched them. Something he couldn’t quite explain. Thus far, aside from an ache around the horns where they’d burst through his skin in the early morning, they hadn’t really done anything–but when Evan touched them, he felt something. He felt connected to him for a moment–he could see…inside him, somehow. Just a flash, really, but it was disconcerting, and he pulled away after a moment.

“Did I hurt you?” Evan asked.

“No–No, I…would you take me to the hospital? I…I don’t want to go alone.”

Together, they left the apartment and Evan drove him to the hospital to get his new horns checked out, and on the way, all Hugh could think about was that strange sensation, how he’d almost been able to see Evan’s…thoughts. More than his thoughts though, deeper than that. Like…his dreams, or desires, or something like that. It had just been for a moment, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for long, but it had been tantalizing, because he was sure he’d been about to see something that Evan had never told him about–and Evan didn’t keep many secrets from Hugh, about anything.

Evan and Hugh had known each other for years. They’d met in college, and when they’d graduated, they’d both stayed in the city, though they worked at different companies. Neither of them had been very lucky in love or relationships. They’d tried dating each other for a little while, but it hadn’t worked–thankfully, their friendship had been stronger than that little mistake, but they were still closer to each other than anyone else they knew in the city they lived in. Hugh though…he’d seen something…he didn’t know, there inside Evan. A secret even his friend had kept from him–hell, maybe even a secret he was keeping from himself. It was tantalizing. There in the waiting room, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wanting to see more, wondering if he could come up with some excuse to have Evan touch them again, so he could see it.

Thankfully, the oddity of his condition meant they didn’t have to wait long, and they were taken back to meet with a doctor. His horns were examined, samples were scraped off–which was more painful than Hugh was expecting it to be. Tests were taken, blood was drawn, but after several hours of being poked and prodded, no one had any idea what was happening to him, and he didn’t seem to be in any danger, so he was sent home, and told to come back if anything changed. Hugh was frustrated–but the same thing had happened each time someone had touched his horns–though the gloves the doctors and nurses had always worn dulled the effect somewhat. He could see into their minds, see their…desires. He knew that’s what they were. With the doctors, it had been…like looking through privacy glass at something in another room. The curiosity was killing him, and he had to know what he was experiencing, and the easiest way to do that, was to get Evan to touch his horns again. 

Thankfully, Evan seemed to be suffering from the same curiosity. Ever since touching the horns, he’d been unable to get the feeling out of his mind. They were just so unlike anything he’d ever touched before. They stood by the apartment door, neither of them sure what to say, since the trip to the hospital had left them both with more questions than answers. Eventually, playing it as cool as he could, Evan asked if he could touch them one more time. Hugh was ecstatic, but didn’t let on to his own relief. He bent down, Evan touched his horns again, and this time Hugh felt everything.

It wasn’t quite an image, or a sound, or a feeling, or a thought. It was bits of all of those things smashed together. Hugh could suddenly smell something strong and pungent–it was the smell of piss he realized after a moment, but not fresh piss. More like the smell of an unwashed urinal. There was the sound of piss hitting flesh, there was the sensation of being wet and warm, like standing in a summer rain shower. The taste of piss in his mouth. He realized, finally, that what he was sensing was some deep desire of his friend’s–Evan had a fetish for watersports, and a powerful one at that. It was so…deep though. So far away. The sensations were there, but they were muted, or blocked. There was something in Hugh, something telling him that he could…could pull it closer if he wanted, so he could get a better look. Without knowing what he was doing or how, he gave it a tug, or something a bit like a tug and then the sensations stopped.

Evan had pulled away from him, shaking his hands like he’d gotten a shock of some sort. “Fuck, what the hell was that? I…Were you in my head?”

Hugh blushed, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“You…what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I…I just…” Hugh didn’t know what Evan knew–but from the look in his friend’s eyes, that deep embarrassment, he…figured Evan knew exactly what he had seen inside him, what he’d…tugged on. Without saying anything else, Evan left the apartment, leaving Hugh to get ready for bed. In the bathroom, looking at himself…he swore the horns looked a bit…swollen, the skin around them a bit more red and inflamed. It took hours to find a position that was comfortable to sleep in, and he hoped all of those tests the doctors had given him would tell him…something. At least let a surgeon remove them, or something. He felt a quiver at the thought. Something…didn’t like that notion much, but it was deep inside him too–too deep for him to notice much beyond a sudden flush of anxiety in his guts. Eventually, Hugh managed to fall asleep, and by the next day, he had already put what had happened with Evan behind him, and resolved to make the best of things.

He called his work, and with the help of a vague note from the doctor at the hospital, he convinced them that he didn’t really need to be in the office for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully he would get this strange horn situation sorted out by then. That gave him some time for himself that he hadn’t had in a very long time–and he wasn’t quite sure how to fill it–especially since leaving the house wasn’t really an option. He played some video games, he worked around the apartment, but what he found himself doing more and more was jacking off.

Hugh had never really been that sexual of a person. In fact, while he found men attractive, he had never really gotten behind the idea of sex beyond mutual masturbation–which was probably the reason why things hadn’t really worked out between him and Evan, when they’d tried to date, knowing what he did now about Evan’s interests. But suddenly, he was horny all of the damn time. He’d wake up with a raging hard on that would refuse to quit until he masturbated. The same thing would happen when he was trying to sleep–one stray thought and he would pop a boner, and he wouldn’t get a moment of rest until he’d jacked off. The more he masurbated, the more his thoughts drifted to Evan–thinking about what he’d seen when he’d taken that little peek inside his friend’s mind, the feeling of that little pull, dragging that…dark, twisted desire out of the dark and towards the light. It had been a rush, really. He hadn’t been able to admit that to himself at the moment, but he…he wanted to do it again. He didn’t even know what he’d done! But he wanted to feel that again. It was the power of it. There was some sort of power there, one he couldn’t really understand, but if he…if he could just do it again, maybe he could figure out what was going on here. Why these horns had suddenly just appeared on his head, for no reason that he could seem to comprehend.

But no such opportunity arose. Sitting around in his apartment, inventing ways to occupy his time, trying and generally failing to avoid wasting the day away masturbating, or just staring at himself in the mirror, touching his horns gently, or not so gently. It was in the evening, two days after his visit to the hospital with Evan, that his friend returned. 

They had been chatting off and on over the last couple of days, mostly Evan just checking in on Hugh to make sure everything was alright still, but all that day, Evan had gone quiet. The knock on the door was a bit urgent, and while Hugh tried to ignore it, eventually Evan shouted at him on the other side, and Hugh threw on his hoodie and opened it up for him.

It was the smell that hit him first, and he realized something had gone…very wrong. Evan reeked of piss. Hugh managed to keep his gag reflex down, but something else responded eagerly–his cock was hard as a rock. Evan shoved his way past him into the apartment, wearing a button down shirt and slacks that were, well, soaked. 

“Alright, I need a fucking answer, Hugh. What the fuck did you do to me?” Evan said, when he was inside.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened to you?” Hugh asked him.

Evan glowered at him, and Hugh could see a bit of doubt in his eyes…or maybe he could feel it. Could he feel it? Was he imagining things?

“Look, I…I’ve always had this…this fantasy, alright?” Evan said, “I really, really like the idea of…of guys using me as a urinal. Pissing on me, making me drink it, I…I mean, I’ve done some piss stuff with guys before, but…but I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I felt something when I left the other day, when I touched your horns. I…I don’t know what the fuck it was, really, it sounds stupid saying it out loud, but…but ever since…” Evan paused. “Look, the next morning, I was fucking horny, and I pissed in a glass and drank it. I’ve never done anything like that, but…but I didn’t just want to do it, I had to do it. And then, at work…the guys were…they were treating me different, and my boss…he was in the bathroom with me at one point in the morning, and he…he offered me his piss, and I fucking drank it! I don’t know what the fuck came over us, but I did. And when I went out to lunch, I wasn’t…hungry, exactly, but I went to the lunch spot, and right into the bathroom, and every guy who came in, I drank their piss too. I…I didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I went home, and I tried to eat, I fucking tried to eat, but I couldn’t keep anything down, but I could drink without throwing up. So I got drunk, and I went out to the bar…then today. Fucking today, I go into work, and by boss calls me into his office, right? He calls me in, tells me I’m getting a new position. He takes me into the bathroom, and tells me I’m the new fucking urinal! And I spend all fucking day on my knees, every guy on the floor pissing on me like I’m some fucking object, and…and that’s not fucking normal, Hugh, and I know you did something to me. You did, or those fucking horns did, and I need you to put me back right fucking now.”

Hugh just stared at him, for a moment, trying to process what his friend was telling him. He knew he should be…horrified, right? But…but wasn’t this what Evan had wanted? It’s what Hugh had seen, at least, when he’d looked into him, but…Evan didn’t look happy about it. Then again, why should he be happy about it? He’d just been pissed on by everyone he worked with, all day long…and it was Hugh’s fault. It was a hot story though. Hugh realized he was groping himself–that he’d been groping himself the entire time Evan had been telling the story of his day, and that his friend had noticed–and was looking at him with disgust. He pulled his hand away.

“What, did that turn you on or something?” Evan asked. “I…I fucking knew it! When I touched those freaky horns of yours, what the hell did you see? What did you do to me?”

“Look, I…I did something, I know, but…but I don’t really know what I did, or how I did it! It was the horns. I…I could feel it inside you, and…and I just…pulled on it. I don’t know what it was, I just….”

“Great–if you pulled on it, you can push it back in, right?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works. We should go back to the hospital. We…I don’t know what I’m doing, I might make it worse.”

“No–I can’t…I can’t go anywhere,” Evan said. The implication was clear–if he was in a public space, chances were good he’d be in the bathroom before long, drinking as much piss as he could. “You have to fix this, right here, right now.”

“Isn’t…isn’t this what you wanted though?” Hugh said, “I mean, you said it yourself this was a fantasy. I just wanted to help.”

“‘Help’? Fucking ‘help’? I don’t think I can show my face at work ever again! These last couple of days have been a fucking nightmare. It was just a fantasy! It was supposed to stay as a fucking fantasy! Something I jerk off to on occasion, and then put away. I don’t want to be stuck in a bathroom for the rest of my fucking life! I want you to put me back, and then I never want to see you or your fucking horns ever again.”

“Evan, I–”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking freak!”

Hugh didn’t know what to say to that. Mostly it hurt, but not in the way he expected it to. He knew, in his head, that he’d done something wrong to Evan, but…had he really? He knew this is what Evan wanted–what he really wanted, more than anything else in the entire world. Evan could deny it all he wanted to, but he couldn’t lie to Hugh–Hugh had seen right into him, he knew all of those little secrets he kept, and there was absolutely no way he could be wrong about this. If anyone should be angry in this situation, shouldn’t it be him? He’d given Evan a gift! He’d helped him fulfill a lifelong dream of his, and now that he had what he wanted, he was getting scared? More than just getting scared–he was blaming Hugh for all of it. But Hugh had only done what he did because Evan wanted it so badly. It was all Evan’s fault, really. If he’d just been honest with himself, he’d understand how…how happy he should be right now. But Hugh could fix this. He had to fix this–it was the right thing to do. Evan would forgive him eventually, right? “Ok–look, touch my horns, and…and I’ll put it back. I think I can do that.”

Evan was nervous, but he reached out and touched Hugh’s headd, and the same sensation that he’d felt before washed over him. It had been…strange. In the moment, he’d felt so calm, like he wanted nothing more than for Hugh to rifle through his thoughts and…and change things. He’d watched before, as Hugh had found his desires, dragged them out to the front of…of him, somehow, or at least closer. He’d known what he’d been doing, but as soon as he’d pulled his hands off those horns, he’d lost it. He could see it again though, he could see all of those nasty, perverted, filthy things he wanted men to do to him, right there, like he was broadcasting it to the world–which would explain a few things, he supposed. And Hugh was there, and he…what was he doing?

He wasn’t pushing them back down, that was for sure. Evan screamed at him, and when his friend looked up at him, his eyes…weren’t Hugh’s. They were pitch black, and the smile that crossed his face–his entire face, his mouth stretching from ear to ear, those…those sharp teeth…that wasn’t Hugh, what the fuck was that? The thing that looked like Hugh began pulling everything out, all of the filth, putting it everywhere, filling up everything with it, and Evan tried to scream, tried to beg, tried to do…something! Anything to stop it from happening, working to wrench his hands away before it was too late, and finally, he let go, and all of it fell back behind the shroud. He was left standing there, looking at the top of Hugh’s head, at those two horns taunting him, trying to sort out what in the world had just happened to him.

“There, see? Doesn’t that feel better already?” Hugh said, raising his lead up. His eyes were…normal, as was his mouth, but Evan couldn’t shake the vision from his head, that there was something else behind his friend’s face, something inside of him, trying to push it’s way out of him, and Hugh didn’t even realize it. 

“I…I don’t know…I guess I’m thirsty, mostly.”

“That’s not surprising. Shouldn’t you be getting to the bar soon?” Hugh asked him. “Tell you what–I’ll come by later, towards the end of your shift. If you still aren’t happy with things, then I’ll put everything back, but I think we got everything right this time, I can just…I can just feel it.”

“Are…are you sure I can’t have something to drink before I go?”

Hugh sighed, and pushed down the sweatpants he’d been wearing around the house. “I’m really fucking horny, but I think I can piss for you. I know how much you need it.”

Evan got down on his knees, the horror still there, but muted. Like some part of him was…was so deep now, that he never even really had to acknowledge it existing. It…It was more important to be a urinal, right? Isn’t…isn’t that what he was? He was certainly thirsty enough to be one, and when Hugh finally managed to piss through his hard cock, and Evan drank it all down, every single drop, he felt so much better. “Thanks man, you’re…a great friend, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” Hugh said, “Now go on, you don’t want to be late.”

Evan left Hugh’s apartment, got in his car, and while he was certain he should be driving home–he had work in the morning after all–he instead knew, somehow, that he had to work somewhere else tonight. At…at the bar, right? The Hawk? It was the seediest of the gay bars in town, and Evan hadn’t been there very often, but he had to be there. He got there a little before six. The bouncer at the door knew his name somehow–as did the bartender, and after saying hello, Evan went right into the bathroom, got on his knees next to the other urinals, and it wasn’t long before Lucas, the bartender, came in. 

“Fuck Evan, glad you got here early, didn’t think I could hold this for much longer,” Lucas said, and unloaded his bladder into Evan’s eager mouth. “Gonna be a busy night tonight–hope you’re ready for it.” Lucas finished up, didn’t say anything else, and Evan moaned a bit, feeling the piss settle in his gut. He didn’t have long to think about it, before another man came in, and then another. The other urinals were neglected for the entire night–after all, Evan was the best urinal the bar had ever had. Evan found himself caught in his mind between this new normal, and that little voice, begging him to stop, to listen to reason, that he couldn’t just…be a urinal, right? He was a person! He had to be a person, didn’t he? During a lull, it was that little voice that forced him up from his knees, stumbling over to the sink where he could look in the mirror. Told him to look at his smooth head and face, at his porcelain white skin, at his belly distended from the gallons and gallons of piss he’d drank already tonight. He was naked, but when had he stripped his clothes off? Had he driven here naked? Why would a urinal need clothes anyway?

“Hey! Pisser! Get back in your spot.”

It was the bouncer. Evan felt guilty, and got back down on his knees, took the bouncer’s piss, and remained there, where…where he belonged, where he needed to be. He kept drinking all night long, until sometime after one in the morning, as the club was winding down, and Hugh pushed his way into the room. He was drunk, from the way he was staggering, and Evan swore that Hugh’s horns looked a bit…longer than they had back in the apartment. Fuck, his horns were right there. He wasn’t even hiding them! 

“Fuck Evan, fucking look at you,” Hugh slurred, “What a good looking urinal. I did a good fucking job on you, you know that? Aren’t you happy? This is exactly what you wanted–I know, I fucking saw it there, right in your brain. I’m…fuck, I’m like the best fucking friend, you know that? How many other friends would actually help you become the urinal you always wanted to be?”

Evan…knew he shouldn’t. But that little voice, it refused to shut up. “Hugh, please, I…I don’t want this! I don’t know what’s going on, but this…this isn’t you. Those horns, they’re controlling you. I…I like piss! I always have, but fucking look at me! I…I don’t want to look like this.”

Hugh squinted at him, then squatted down and squinted some more. “Fuck, you’re right, this…this is no good.”

Thank you! Fucking thank you, please, please fix me!”

“You don’t look like a urinal at all. I can be such a fucking idiot sometimes. I mean, you still look like a person!”

Evan’s guts dropped out from under him, and he tried to force himself up from where he was kneeling, but he was suddenly frozen in place, as Hugh leaned in, and rubbed a horn against Evan’s hairless, perfectly white arm.

“I’m still learning, I know, but I’ll get it right this time, you’ll be perfect.”

Evan found himself behind the shroud again, inside his own mind, but this time, it wasn’t that Hugh was pulling anything out–he was putting things away. Burying all of those parts of Evan, all of his humanity, deep inside himself, deeper than his watersports fetish had ever been, so deep that Evan couldn’t even see it, or feel it, or…or know it.

At last, Hugh pulled away from him, and Evan tried to scream, but he couldn’t. His mouth was frozen in place, open wide. His tongue was glued to the bottom of his mouth, and he was drooling constantly, the water running down the back of his throat and into his massive, porcelain gut. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Hugh said, “You’re fucking beautiful. Fuck, I’m…so fucking horny…”

Hugh couldn’t stop himself. He tore open his pants and started jacking his cock, but every touch was like fire. He was grunting and moaning in pain, but it felt so damn good too. Evan, head locked into position, watched his friend’s body contort, like something was inside his skin, rearranging Hugh’s insides while he stroked off, a trickle of blood running down the front of his face as the horns pushed out another few inches, splitting the skin apart as they did. Hugh licked the blood from his lips as it ran past his mouth, and moaned in excitement–enough to bring himself to orgasm–but his cock…well, it wasn’t the same cock that Hugh had started with. It was bigger–easily nine inches long, the head more pointed, with fleshy barbs running up and down the shaft. He came with something like a roar, pouring inky black cum down Evan’s open throat, and Evan…he felt something inside him turn into cement. He knew, without knowing how, that…that after what Hugh had just fed him, this was…him now. Forever. He’d never change again. Already, he could feel his old life fading away, turning to vapor in his mind. He felt at ease, Hugh’s cum settling in his friend’s gut next to his piss, and Hugh heaved a sigh, and pushed his swollen, barbed cock back into his pants. “That was good, but god damn, I need to fuck something. Urinals are no good for fucking…” he muttered, and stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bar proper, leaving Evan alone. A thing that had been named Evan, once. It didn’t have a name now, of course. Urinals didn’t have names.

Its shift finished a little after two in the morning, after one last load of piss from the bouncers and the bartenders. The urinal forced himself upright, standing just a little over four feet tall on squat, wide legs, and waddled slowly over to the mirror on the wall. There was its face, contorted and constantly open wide, eyes wide set, head dominated by its massive maw. It had no neck, rather its head was placed right on his wide body, above his massive, distended gut. It was the only part of the thing’s body that was still pliable. It would process all of that piss and cum he’d ingested tonight, turn it into more drool, use it to power its body, but the thirst would always be there. Thankfully, a good urinal always had plenty of work. During the weekdays, it worked in an office nearby. In the nights and evenings, it was always here, at The Hawk. But on the weekends, it would make its way to a truck stop on the edge of town, drink its fill of trucker piss all day long, and start all over again on Monday morning. It was a life, wasn’t it? And it was happy. It was doing what it was meant to do–why wouldn’t it be happy? It left the bathroom at its slow, trudging pace. It looked around for Hugh, but its friend was nowhere to be seen. Hugh was done with him anyway. Hugh had found someone new to take home–someone to fuck. But most importantly, Hugh knew he could help them too. Horny Hugh was going to help everyone.

Patreon Bonus: Two Gear Sketches

I had two gear related suggestions from Patrons this month, which I’ve turned into a couple of sketches.

In the first, a strange science experiment gone awry has caused a young man’s skin to start tearing apart revealing something–or someone–else underneath. Skintight gear seems to keep the monster within at bay, but for how long?

In the second, a strange chain email offers to make a young man the perfect football jock. It turns out the email had a more…permanent idea in mind, as the man finds his very flesh being corrupted and twisted into football gear he’ll never be able to take off again.

If you’re a $5 patron or more, you already have access! If you’d like to see these, and other sketches, stories, and stuff I’ve posted to Patreon, there’s never a better time to support me! You can find out more information here.

Interactive: A Pigtown Halloween (Part 8)

“Please, no more, don’t…I don’t, get off me!” Ken shouted, trying to force the men swarming him away, but there were too many.

“Can we make him a top sir? Can we?”

“We need more tops, so many holes, not enough tops!”

Some of them were holding him down at this point, looking up at the Master of the Halls, and his shadowed face, and those leering teeth. “Sure, why don’t you all make him a top, since it sounds like you need one so badly.”

The freaks all laughed and tittered, and one of them brought over a strange sheath. It looked a bit like a dildo at first, but Ken saw that it was in fact hollow inside, and the freaks started working his cock until he was hard, and then they forced the sheath over his entire cock. It was a tight fit, and once they had that on, they took a similar sheath, pulled it open, forced his balls inside, and let that snap around them as well. Only then, did they release his arms, and Ken immediately tried to pull the rubber things off of him–only to discover that they wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t that the rubber pieces had stuck together–though they had–it was that they had stuck to him as well. He couldn’t find the seam where the rubber started and his flesh began, and as he tugged on the sheath, he realized…he could feel his hand against it, growing more and more sensitive, until he was moaning in pleasure, unable to stop, he was so turned on by the sensations coming from his new rubber cock, now permanently hard, eleven inches and thick as a beer can. His balls were churning as well, and he could feel them pumping something not out of his cock, but into him instead, and he began to feel some of the other changes start in his body.

He was growing taller, and thicker. Not fat–almost all of it was muscle. In a matter of moments, he went from a fairly average height and build to being six foot seven, and nearly 300 pounds, all of it thick, corded, powerful bulk, ready to force anyone he found into submission. He was growing hairier as well, especially across his chest, arms and back. Once he was finished expanding, the freaks went back to work, and started forcing more gear on his body–a thick cut leather harness, a pair of leather chaps, some biker boots, and lastly a hood that went over his face. He tried to pull it away, but it too had adhered to his skin somehow, and when he looked at himself in the mirror across the room, he no longer even recognized himself. 

He was massive, his head and cock both sealed away in rubber, conforming to his every feature and vein, but somehow making them look even more masucline, and tough, and rugged, and violent, and…and fuck, he was hot, wasn’t he? He kept stroking his cock, and from the tip, some sort of strange, black, viscous material began to leak out and cover his hands–it quickly spread over his fingers and became a pair of black rubber gloves, just as impossible to remove as the mask or the sheath itself.

Horrified, he pulled his hand away, but his cock was aching for attention. No, not just attention, it was aching to fuck, to force its way inside some tight hole and ruin it–that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? He looked at himself, and tried to remember who he’d been, but the hood…was sucking it away from him, as hard as he was trying to keep it. He might have been lost to it, had the imp not appeared in the doorway, eyes wide at him, and then taken off down the hallway. With a growl, Ken pushed past the freaks and took off after him, thankful for his new size now. The imp was quick, but he was bigger now–if he stayed focused, he’d be able to catch him, and maybe even get his tag back.

So, what happens next? The public poll is below, and the patron only poll is over here!