The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 5)

Everyone else had collapsed. It didn’t surprise me, looking back on it, because they were all struggling to piece together what they had seen, and the reality knitting itself back around them. It was just me, standing there, and Jules in the middle of the room, muscled and serene, still tied to the chair, looking like nothing strange had happened at all. I knew I needed him–he might have answers, provided Ray hadn’t obliterated his mind…provided the rapist hadn’t gotten to him either. He was surprised to see me, I think. He tried to object, told me that Master was going to come get him, that he’d get to work out some more after this, and he fought me. He was no match for me though–I gave him a backhand hard enough to stun him, cuffed him with the spare set I’d brought along, since Cumster still had my usual ones on his wrist in my basement, and told him he was coming with me whether he wanted to or not. As I left with him, the other officers were beginning to regain their senses, but I knew they would never be able to solve this. The only one who could stop this rapist, and whatever he was doing to men in my city, and to reality, was me. Or…not really me, but this force growing inside me.

I shoved Jules into the back of my car, and he started fighting me again–and fuck, he was strong. He’d been missing for a few days, and he…well, he didn’t look like the Jules I remembered, and he sure as hell didn’t smell like him either. He smelled like…well, a bit like Ray had, when we’d popped open that container by the docks, but where Ray had simply smelled like musk, Jules smelled mostly of piss. I found it…distasteful, honestly, and a bit overwhelming. My time with Cumster had made me…appreciate the smell of cum, but I could barely detect any of it on Jules. Beyond the smell, he was just huge. Not much taller than he had been, though perhaps he’d grown a inch or two. Mostly he was wide. I don’t know what Ray could have done to him to bulk him up that quickly. It had to have been drugs of some sort–it was, in my mind at the time, the only reasonable explanation for all of this. Some new steroid must have warped him…nothing else could change a man like that this quickly…aside from the monster I’d just watched fatten multiple officers to obesity in a matter of minutes. Aside from what Cumster had done to my balls in the course of one night together.

I asked Jules what he’d seen in the restaurant. He laughed, and told me, “He’d wanted me to see that. He’d known that if I was there, you’d come.”

I don’t know who the “he” was that he was talking about. Maybe it was Ray, more likely it was the rapist himself. I asked him what that thing was, and Jules shrugged.

“Somebody. I didn’t see him before, just…after. He went too deep. He says they go too deep sometimes, like that. I…Fuck, I wanna…go deep like that, one day, I wanna fuckin’ lose it, I am losing it, losing it fuckin’ bad. You are too. Everyone–fuck, he doesn’t want everyone, but damn, does he want you bad.”

The jockstrap he was wearing was tented, his cock was no larger than it had been before, and on his massive frame, it seemed…small. The smell of piss intensified, and I realized he was…pissing himself in my car, and fuck, I got…angry. Angry like I’d been when I’d seen that thing, and the gloves…I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but it whipped out, and…and a second later, Jules’s crotch was bound up tight in leather, and he stared at me in confusion. The pouch bulged, collecting the piss inside it…and that was the first time Jules realized…I wasn’t the same person he’d left in that precinct, just as he wasn’t the same man who’d left it.

“You…you haven’t met him,” he told me, “How…how did you do that?”

I didn’t have an answer to that. I turned back around and drove off, Jules sitting back, the leather pouch sagging with piss, and said nothing else. After half an hour, we got back to my house, and I parked in the garage, so no one would see me dragging Jules inside. I dragged him out of the backseat and into the house, and as soon as I did–I knew something was off. There was a slight draft, perhaps. More likely, the odd sense I had of…chaos, for lack of a better word, was ringing. The order of my house was not as it had been when I’d left.

I dragged Jules into the kitchen, shoved him into a chair at the table, and used my straps to bind him tight–ankles and wrists, and around his mouth. Fuck, it was so easy, doing it, too. It felt like…an extension of myself, even then. I hadn’t even really understood what I’d done, or how, until it was already finished. I was already so fucking different.

I searched the house, and sure enough, one of the back windows was broken in, but I hadn’t seen any evidence that anything was missing. I crept around the main floor, until I heard the sounds of sex coming from the basement below. Weapon drawn, I descended the steps, and there, with Cumster, was Maurice. Mr. Cold Case was kneeling in front of him, mouth open, while the biker milked a massive load onto his face, eyes dazed and empty, and he looked to me, smirking.

“He came to see what you were hiding down here,” Cumster told me, “So I thought I would show him myself.”

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 4)

I couldn’t look at the thing anymore, and so I looked at the three men who had been drawn into its teats, watched the tentacles thicken and begin pumping the ichor into their guts, and they…swelled. I could see them writhe in pleasure, their bodies losing shape and expanding. At first I thought they were simply growing fatter, but it was more than that, they were…changing. The thing was warping them into itself, into copies, or perhaps it would simply feed them until they merged with it, drawing it into its mass, growing ever larger. I doubt it even knew what would happen–it was only driven by some singular need, not by any result or consequence. In the center of the room, Jules sat, still tied down, utterly unfazed. Whether he had expected the thing to emerge, or whether he was simply too brain dead to care, the beast seemed uninterested in him either way.

I knew I had to do something. Not because I needed to free the men it was feeding, not because I needed to protect Jules, but because there, in front of me, was the chaos. The insanity I had sensed…it was wrong. It was wrong, and had no place here, it had no place in my reality, under my control, and I felt compelled to right it, not out of a sense of justice, but out of a will to power I had never felt before. This thing…it was of a kind…with me. With me, and with Jules now, and with Ray and Cumster (though not with Bernard and Marcus, they, even then, I knew they were something else). I needed to do something, the thing inside me, the voice, it needed to do something, because this wasn’t the way it should me. I was here to bring order. I was here to control.

I…didn’t know how I did it, to be honest, the first time. I barely realized I had done anything at all. There was just the thought, the thought that something had to be done, and while I didn’t know precisely what that thing was, something in me knew. The thick leather of my right glove peeled around my hand into a strap, hanging loose from my still gloved hand, and I knew I could control it as an extension of myself. The thing noticed me then, and whether it feared me or not, it sensed what was in me, and it flung a tentacle at me, and…and I caught it in my other hand, feeling it squish between my fingers, and I nearly came standing there, the rest of the force around me not knowing what they were looking at.

No…No, let me stop for a second.

I can’t write it like this, this isn’t right. This isn’t what happened.

I write this, and it comes out like some play by play, like a boxing match or the calls of a football game. The thing did this, I did that–it wasn’t like that, in the moment. We weren’t responding to each other. I felt like we were dancing, I felt like I was alive in a way I had never experienced, I was watching myself do this…watching this leather come alive and bind itself around this monstrosity, and I felt the ache to try and contain it, and tame it, and direct it. I wasn’t fighting it, though I’m sure that’s must have been what it looked like, maybe that’s why it isn’t coming out right, why it isn’t making sense to me, reading what I wrote. I’m a man. I’m a man, trying to explain something else, something I have only experienced for a fraction of my life, something inhuman, some surreal logic to a hidden world. It was a dance. It was sex. The straps were as alive to me as my flesh, I could feel them. I wanted to drive them into the thing, I wanted to fuck it, and bind it, all at the same time. It was the same thing, really, the same act, in my mind. So no, this isn’t right. If you’re human still, reading this, if you don’t hear that voice in your mind, the oice I am hearing right now, you’ll never understand. In fact, maybe this just looks like gibberish. You might forget this, in a moment, take in each word without comprehending the entire idea. We weren’t made to see this. You weren’t made to see this, not without something changing you to be able to understand it, and remember it. Even then…even now, I don’t really know why it made sense to me, why I could even remember it.

We fought. We danced. We fucked, or at least, I tried to fuck it. Not literally, pay attention, not with my dick, but with…with these straps. Fuck, how do I even write this? Yes, with straps. Yes, it sounds that dumb, fuck, I…I’d show you, if I could, how it feels. Wrap you in them from head to toe, engulf you in them. In…in my cum too…fuck. You’d understand then, how it feels…you’d beg for more, they all…they all have.

It knew I should be stronger than it was, but that I wasn’t strong enough yet. It fled, somehow. It was too big to leave the building after all, hell, it was too big to have gotten in, looking like that, but…but maybe it hadn’t been like that, when it had been brought here. It squeezed away, out a window, I think, or the back door. It was there, and then it wasn’t, and when it wasn’t there anymore…it was like it had never been there at all.

Not…that there was no damage. Not that there were no consequences. Things were different, but they weren’t wrong. When the thing left, it left all the men it had been feeding. When it pulled the teats or tentacles, or whatever free, they were all…hideous. None of them were men anymore, not really. They had turned into blobs, too large for their uniforms, their arms and legs boneless, their faces dominated by massive, sucking mouths. Then, when it had left, they were human again, even if they weren’t the same humans as before. All of them…were fat, some of them monstrously so. One guy, the first one who had been taken, I think, back in the kitchen, he was…fuck, 500 pounds? He was 500 pounds, but his uniform fit, and we all…remembered him being that large. It was just Officer Biggs, the 500 pound juggernaut of the force, somehow still an officer despite the fact he would have never been able to pass the yearly physical. No, it didn’t make any sense, no more sense than anything I had just seen happen in the restaurant, but it was like I was watching the world’s order trying to catch up and establish control over pure, unadulterated chaos.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 3)

The location Jules had sent was, for whatever reason, the address of an old, defunct restaurant, standing alone in the parking lot of a struggling strip mall. When I saw the building, I thought of the story Cumster had told me of his own capture and rape. An abandoned garage was not so different from an abandoned restaurant, I supposed, but unless Ray was the rapist himself…why would Ray bring him here? Unless, like Cumster, Ray was working with the rapist in some capacity, perhaps even unwittingly. That satisfied my instinct, at least. There was something similar in the way Ray and Cumster carried themselves, how they seemed to have developed these entire alternate personas…as opposed to Bernard, and opposed to Marcus, who both seemed consumed by failure, or something in them that was incomplete. But who was Jules? Had…Cumster warped me, in the same way Ray had warped Jules around his finger, warped him enough to convince him to walk him out of jail? I would probably walk Cumster out of prison, I supposed (but only so I could keep him in my own, where he really belongs). How was I going to help Jules when I didn’t even think I could help myself?

I arrived after the rest of the force, for the most part, and after what had happened with Ray a few days prior, they were busy setting up a perimeter and scoping out the building. No one wanted to go in without understanding what, exactly, we were dealing with this time around, or at least, no one wanted to go in besides me. I could…feel something in the building. It felt…like how I felt when I was in the middle of a case, when I was looking at the chaos of a mystery and aching to tame it into some understandable order and clarity…but more focused than that. There was something in there, something that ached for me to control it. I thought it must be Jules. After all, what else could be in there beside him, and possibly the rapist, I supposed, but I doubted he would allow himself to be found this easily.

I paced, wringing my gloved hands, waiting for everyone to get into position so we could enter. We got the all clear, and I went in first–and there, sitting in the middle of the restaurant, tied to a chair, was Jules. Or at least, I knew it was Jules from the smell of him, though he didn’t quite look like the same Jules who had left the precinct a few days ago–in the same way that I suppose I don’t look like the same Adam Hoft from a few days ago either. But it was him, nearly naked aside from some filthy jockstrap, reeking of sweat and piss, his muscles…fuck, he was jacked. It looked like he’d been working out for a whole year, and taking steroids to boot. He…looked like how I would expect Ray to make someone look, in the same way I was learning that Cumster wanted his men to look certain ways as well. But as soon as I saw him, I knew he wasn’t the chaos I had felt. There was something else in here, something…worse, not that the thought made any sense, at least, until the first fleshy…tentacle shot out from the window into the kitchen, shoved itself down an officer’s throat, and dragged him back into the kitchen, flailing in terror.

No one moved. No one could even be sure we had just seen what we’d seen. In fact, it felt like my memory was actively trying to wipe and deny it had even happened, trying desperately to explain it in any other way than what I had seen. I looked around at the other cops around me in the restaurant, hoping one of them would at least meet my eyes, confirm that whatever horror had passed in front of us was in fact there, but none of them would meet me. They were all white, and then the thing squeezed its way through the window, the sheetrock cracking and crumbling around it as we did, and I still struggled to make sense of it as a thing existing–at first, all I could see were…pieces.

It had hands. It had four hands, in fact. It was crawling, mostly, or really, dragging itself along, because of its sheer size. It had a face, or rather, it had a body with a face on it. It had a mass, really, I don’t even know if you can call it a body exactly. There was a top and a bottom. The top was covered in these pustules or sacs filled with some dark liquid, pulsing and throbbing as it came through. Somehow, they didn’t pop, they just shook and shuddered. On the bottom, were…these tentacles, or really, what my mind said, was an udder. These massive, prehensile teats hanging from its bloated, hairy, amorphous body, and the face sliding across it, too many eyes, an uncountable number, because everytime one blinked, it disappeared, the skin closing over it, another eye opened…elsewhere, but always that mouth. That massive, frog-like mouth splitting the things entire body, filled with mismatched teeth, and the bright red tongue drooling across the floor. Two more teats and forced their way into the mouths of the officers around me, before someone managed to do something, and fire their gun at it, striking one of the sacs on its back. It ruptured, the filth streaming down the side of its body, where the tongue licked it up. It smelled of burnt butter and bitter black molasses.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 2)

I felt the clothes then, and they didn’t feel like the cotton and wool they should have been–they were smooth and slick, like something in their makeup had changed, or the cum coating them was warping their actual nature. It felt…good. I had fought so hard to get it off, and feeling it, all I wanted to do was put it right back on. Instead, I hung it up in the closet to dry–I didn’t bother thinking about washing them then, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I did, however, manage to shower for the first time in days.

It seemed like such a feat, in the moment, but I think what allowed me to do it was the fact that I knew, even if I was clean on the outside, everything on the inside was wrong. No amount of water, or soap, was enough to scrub away what (I’d thought) Cumster had done to me. All the same, I felt better when I stepped out, though once I saw myself in the mirror, some of that feeling of good will disappeared. Not everything that had changed about me was bad, exactly. I was more muscular than I thought I should be, and perhaps a bit taller and hairier, even. The beard I hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days was thicker than my stubble usually was, but it framed my jaw well, though the hair was too long and needed a trim. It was the most disordered part about me, and I wanted it back in my usual high and tight, but there were more pressing concerns than a haircut. Mostly, my balls.

They had easily quadrupled in size in the course of the night, from Cumster’s eager treatment. No wonder I had been able to cum as many times as I had–I could almost feel them churning in my palm when I hefted them up, barely able to hold them with my fingers spread wide. I…didn’t know how I was going to hide them. I didn’t know if I wanted to hide them at all. I…I kind of wanted everyone to see them, I wanted them to know I was different, that I was wrong. That I…I wasn’t like them. My mind keeps telling me to write it, it wants me to say that I’m not human, but that’s not right. I know I’m human too, even if I’m also something else now, or maybe I always was, the things I remember now…I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what belongs to me, what was buried away, and what all of these freaks have put in my mind along the way.

My phone was dead–I plugged it in, and immediately got a deluge of notifications from it, mostly calls from the department. Dreading what I was going to have to bear, I called the captain, telling him I’d developed some nightmare flu. In the end, the excuse didn’t matter, because there was something more important than the fact that I’d kept dropping off the grid for most of the last three days. Jules had called in with a location, and nothing else. The department was getting ready to go investigate it–I told them I would meet them there.

It was so fucking hard not putting my filthy dress uniform back on when I was getting ready. Something…told me I was going to need it, I would want it…but I couldn’t be seen in something like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to hide under my usual clothing. I felt it, and it had cured somewhat in the closet, in just that short while. It was no longer wet, nor not exactly wet, but it wasn’t dry either. It took be a few moments to realize it didn’t even feel like the right kind of fabric at all…because it felt more like rubber.

It felt like rubber–smooth and flexible–but it didn’t smell like it. It smelled like…like me, like my cum. It smelled like sex, and my cock pumped a load of precum into the front of the boxers I was wearing, saturating the front in a matter of moments. It felt like something from my memory, like something I’d forgotten so long ago, that I might have just been inventing some imagined past out of fog. I wanted to put it back on, I wanted to feel what it…felt like to have it on, but I knew if I did it would never come off again. In the end, I got dressed in my usual clothes, and tucked the uniform into a bag that I took with me. At least if it was close, and I needed it, it would be there. The one exception were the gloves at boots–they still felt like they had…kind of. The gloves were…thicker, though more flexible. On my hands, they seemed to warp to every wrinkle on my hands, while at the same time making them seem…huge. The same with my boots. The cum had made them grow in some odd sense, and yet they hugged my feet so tightly they had to have been made for me. I didn’t care if anyone noticed, I…wanted them to notice, even. I was terrified, and yet, whatever was inside me, was hungry all the same.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 1)

I lost something that night with Cumster. I don’t know if that’s quite right, really, but the next morning I didn’t feel like the same person who had come home the night before. Even now, after everything I’ve witnessed, it feels so pivotal, even though it was so small, like something inside me had opened up. Sometimes, I see a door. Other times, it feels like a flower. More and more, it doesn’t feel like a thing, but like…an entity. I wasn’t entirely the same person, when I woke up on the floor of the basement, as the person who had gone down to interrogate Cumster the night before, but I was close enough to pretend that nothing had happened. Pretending was the last defense I had left, but I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that there is some mundane explanation for everything I’ve seen. There’s more in the world than he know, and as much as I wish I could close that door, or burn the plant to the roots growing inside me, I think I know that there’s no way back for me, or for any of us. I have to go though. I have to end this, one way or another, and I’m the only one in this city who can.

There was a dream, that night. I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember how it felt. Like a memory. Like I was reliving something, but not my own life–or parts of my life I had forgotten. I remember feeling alone, as well–not the sort of loneliness you feel when you are by yourself, but the loneliness of loss, the sensation that something is missing, or had been missing all this time, and then the opening came, and I wasn’t alone anymore. I felt surrounded by something, something tight and rough like a smooth skin against mine, pressing around and into me, though I was also certain it had always been there, somewhere. That all of my life, I had been struggling through without all of my pieces, and now, at last, I was fully…there. I don’t know how that can also feel like loss–but one can miss loneliness, I suppose. If you live with a hole in your heart for so long, and it’s suddenly full, so full it’s bursting and seeping through your skin, you miss that emptiness. I felt like a man who’d been starved for so long, that when I finally could eat, the sensation of fullness made me sick. I wasn’t made to be full. I wasn’t supposed to feel complete, and it made me nauseous. When I woke up, I threw up almost immediately, even though I couldn’t even remember the last thing I’d eaten. The bile was black like tar and clung to my lips. It was bitter, and did not burn my throat.

Cumster was awake, and still free. When I could stand upright, he allowed me to cuff him back to the pipes. It wasn’t necessary. I knew he would stay here until his task was finished, whatever that task might be, but I needed him under my control. The look in his eyes infuriated me, that morning, he was so pleased with himself. He could sense I was different as well, but I think that if he had known how different, or what I was feeling, he likely would have fled. This wasn’t what he thought it was. It wasn’t what he had led me to think it was, at least. Maybe he did know, but I don’t think so. I remember the surprise in his eyes, later.

Upstairs, still in my filthy, cum soaked dress uniform, which felt surprisingly…comfortable, somehow, I made breakfast for the both of us. I didn’t know how hungry I was, but I ate far more than I usually do, and then I went upstairs to deal with the filth. I was coated in cum–or at least, it had been cum at one point in the night, that much I knew, but for how long it had been, it was still wet against my skin. Wet and warm, making the fabric cling and stick to me, but not awkwardly. I remembered by dream, that sensation of being wrapped in a smooth hand, and it wasn’t unlike the uniform I was wearing, somehow. Taking it off proved to be difficult, both because I found myself dreading being naked, for some reason (well, not really naked, but now, wearing anything other than my uniform feels like I am naked) and also because nothing seemed to want to come free of my skin.

The gloves proved impossible, so I skipped them, and moved onto my shirt. The were impossible, the cum had glued them shut through the holes. Some of them couldn’t even be grabbed. I ended up prying it up over my head, tugging my arms through the sleeves with the gloves still on, until at last it came free. The pants were easier, though they were the same as the shirt, somehow both stiff and damp. My boots were a struggle, as were the socks, but I managed, until finally it was just me and my gloves, which I unstuck a finger at a time before they pulled free with a sucking sound from my hands.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 3) [Interactive]

Well, Setting B won the twitter poll, and setting C won the patreon poll, so why don’t we use them both?

Davie looked down at his oversized, silicone filled cock, bulging against the spandex of his singlet…and wondered if it would count as an object, as far as the gun was concerned…and if it did work, what would happen to someone he shot with it afterwards? It was insane that he was even thinking about it, and yet he got so damn horny, wondering what might happen, that he threw caution to the wind, slid deep into the booth and pulled down his singlet, letting his cock and balls free. They were…fucking massive. Easily twice the size they had been before (though he was having a harder and harder time even recalling he’d ever been different–this just felt so…natural to him now) he hefted them in his hand, feeling the weight of all the silicone he’d been pumping into them for years now. Then he grabbed the gun, checked the setting was on C, and shot his cock.

The same light as before washed over his cock and balls, but didn’t extend further around him, like it had before, when he used setting A on himself. After a moment, the light faded, but nothing seemed different–he waited until someone came nearby his booth–a young twinkish fellow, like he’d always enjoyed before, and shot him with the gun. The light enveloped him, and he held the trigger for a couple of seconds, and then released it. The guy shook the shot off, turned towards him, saw his massive cock hanging free, licked his lips and made a beeline for it, licking at the head, drooling profusely…but beyond that, he didn’t seem…that different. Something had changed about him though–Davey figured he might just have to shoot him for longer. He aimed and shot him again, holding down the trigger for as long as he needed…and then he felt it, his cock shudder, open wide, and swallow the man’s entire head down the shaft.

He released the trigger, horrified by what he was looking at, as his cock shuddered again, and drew more of the man into him, and he seemed to be shrinking, as Davey’s cock ate him. The pleasure hit him then, as the man squirmed, sliding deeper inside him, his body diffusing into silicone and joining the rest of the substance merged with the flesh of Davey’s cock and balls. After a moment, the man was gone entirely, clothes and all, and Davey’s already mutant cock and balls were even larger–the cock nearly a foot and a half long and as thick as his own fat thigh, his balls lost in the mass of silicone that had become his sack, hanging like a wrecking ball from his body.

It was so fucking hot–he had to jack off then and there, though it was hard feeling much of anything with his cock and balls inflated like this. He was going to need some help. He grabbed the gun again, turned it to setting B, and shot himself for a minute, before pulling the singlet back up, his monstruous cock hanging free, and he went back downstairs. All he had to do was approach someone, and they were on him, worshiping his cock and balls right there in the open, and no one questioned a thing. When he had half a dozen guys enraptured by his junk, he retreated back away from the crowd and allowed them to please him, eventually milking a few loads out of him over the next few hours–until with a massive orgasm, he felt the man inside his junk reform slowly, and push his way out of the head of his cock.

He didn’t come out the same as he’d gone in. He was smaller than before, almost shorter than five feet tall, and skinny as a rail. It only served to make the man’s own, gigantic member even more obvious–where he’d had a modest five inch cock before, now it was nearly as large as Davey’s. The rest of him was off too–his clothes had been replaced by a full body latex suit, flesh colored, and the look in his eyes was utterly vacant. As soon as he was out, his hands gravitated right to his own cock, and he crawled over, back to Davey’s, and tried to force his way back in.

He wanted to be a cock now. A gigantic, silicone cock–it was all he desired in the world. He’d made his own cock larger, turned it into the dominant force of his entire world–that, and worshiping the cock of his master Davey, who was taking him on this path deeper into his fetish. As horrified as Davey was…he wanted his slave back inside him, but he realized, in his haste, he had left the gun upstairs, unattended. Cursing, he rushed up the stairs, his giant cock and balls heaving and bouncing, but when he got to the booth…it was gone. Someone else in the bar had already gotten hold of it, and was using it for their own devices–but who was it?

Don’t fret too hard, Davey might get another turn with the gun later in the night. For now, let’s give someone else a turn. There’s the two fairly popular options from before, as well as two other possibilities.

An older bear, who now has fetishes for watersports, diapers, chastity and public humiliation?
A younger twink, who now has fetishes for boots, smoking, pain play and uniforms?
A bouncer who now has a fetish for voyeurism, public masturbation, pornography, and gloryholes.
A young cub with a fetish for extreme age progression, businessmen, and father/son incest.

The twitter poll is here

The patron only poll is here

Voting ends on Monday afternoon

The Carnival (Part 6) [Interactive]

They couldn’t see, they couldn’t move–trapped within layers and layers of rubber, Jake and Will could only feel the vibration of the conveyor underneath them roll them into the jaws of the factory’s machine. Inside, the heat was unbearable, but it was enough to loosen the goo enough that they could almost move–though not fast enough. Jake and Will were sorted into separate production lines, sliding down chutes into their own nightmarish horrors neither of them could have begun to imagine, and which neither of them could really remember, after the fact. Just a constant sensation of pushing and stretching, the rubber goo coating them sliding into them, inflating them, changing them, warping them into something else entirely–not entirely flesh, but not entirely rubber either. Then, tools appeared, drilling and stretching, tugging and squeezing, and both Will and Jake felt something else–the rubber wasn’t only sliding into their bodies, but also into their minds. Their thoughts slowed down, became simpler. They weren’t people anymore–not even to themselves. They were…things, of a sort. Things meant for particular purposes, designed for specific tasks and desires–and everything else, beyond that, was melted smooth, filled in by the silicone and latex of the machine.

At last, both of them were trundled out at the other end, each emerging from a separate chute, sliding down and landing in a concrete, similar to a loading dock. They struggled with their corrupted minds, trying to remember who they were, trying to recall their humanity, and largely failing. If there had been a mirror nearby, they would have been able to see that their physical humanity had largely been corrupted away–neither of them knew what to make of themselves, of the new sensations their bodies were experiencing, which their simple minds couldn’t describe. However, they saw one another, lying there, and something inside them…knew they needed one another.

Will could see Jake lumbering towards him–or at least, parts of him looked a bit like Jake. The hair, the forehead, the stance…but whatever Jake had become…he was something else now. Something monstrous. It was his tongue that drew his attention most. It hung from his mouth, thick and tentacle-like, the end searching in the air, hunting for a hole–just like Jake’s cocks. There were now four of them, jutting out from his crotch, and two massive balls swinging below against his thighs. Everything about him seemed so slick–the saliva coating his tongue seemed the consistancy of lube, as did the precum dribbling from all four of his cocks–each a different shape, though they were all massive.

Jake, on the other hand, saw Will rolling around of the floor, struggling to get upright–mostly because his body was…so much larger. At first he thought it was fat…but it didn’t quite seem to…shake right, as he wobbled on the ground–or rather, it seemed to shake too much. It also didn’t fold, like most fat bodies did–it had too many channels lining it, and as Jake’s cocks found them, they could feel how his entire body was ribbed and channeled, almost like it was meant to be…fucked. Then Jake found the holes–so many holes all over his body, and slid into him, exploring him, listening to the fuckable, living, silicone blob below him quiver with need, and moan–at least until Jake’s thick tongue found his throat, and slid down his gullet, choking him for a moment, until Will realized he could…breathe through all of his holes, somehow.

This continued for a few moments, until someone emerged from the shadows, and both of them froze solid, unable to move their metated bodies an inch, as they were loaded into a massive crate–still locked together in sex–and rolled into a truck, to be shipped off to who knew where, in the morning.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in the underground maze, Daniel was…struggling. He’d imagined that a mirror maze would be the simplest way out of this strange fun house, but it felt like he hadn’t made any progress at all…and these mirrors. He didn’t think these were normal–well, of course they weren’t normal, they were meant to distort, after all…but his reflections almost seemed…alive, somehow, inside of them.

Thus far, he’d managed to keep himself from running into anything like an idiot, but then he ran right smack into a mirrored wall–cheek to cheek with his reflection…only, it wasn’t exactly a reflection he recognized. It was him, sure, but the beard was something different, and the look in his eyes. He tried to pull away, but the glass clung to him, almost like there was suction between him and the glass–like it was trying to pull him inside, the other him clawing at the glass, through the glass, trying to reach him and pull him in.

He managed, finally, to tug himself away from it, and nearly stumbled into another one–like the first, the reflection was odd, and it didn’t seem to follow him perfectly. It was trying to get to him, trying to draw him closer, so it could pull him in too. Disturbed, and not at all certain if this was real, or just his paranoia playing tricks on him, he called out for Jake and Will, but the shouts just echoed around the mirrors, sounding like laughter as they died away. He proceeded carefully, and the reflections grew more animated, more desperate, shouting for him on the other side of the glass, and they grew more distorted and grotesque, the deeper he went.

Fat versions of himself, muscular ones, ones in leather and ones with tattoos. Filthy versions lying in mud–so many possibilities, and they all desired him most of all. They all wanted to become him, and claim his real life for their own. He saw the exit sign ahead, and rushed for it without thinking, and when he entered, a mirrored door slammed shut behind him, trapping him in a room of mirrors, every version of himself clamoring for him–and the walls began to close in. He didn’t have time to try and find the exit–he just turned and rushed for the nearest possible opening, and slammed into another mirror–but this time he couldn’t escape. The reflection’s hands grabbed him and sucked him into the mirror, the two of them melding together, until it shattered, and a very different Daniel was left on the ground–and the real Daniel could be seen screaming in the shards of glass scattered across the floor.

So, what sort of reflection has taken Daniel’s place in the world, and left him shattered to pieces?

An evil twin, eager to dominate and corrupt other people in the world.
A physical opposite–old, obese, filthy, lecherous, and very horny.
Several twins escaped, all of them reflecting different lifestyles Daniel could have lived.

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Digital Manipulation (Finale)

Trax spent a few months honing his new, and in his mind, much improved version of Perrion. It wasn’t too long before any trace of the old version was gone–he’d replaced his whole past with new memories, scrubbed all of his old desires and left behind a muscled out, dumbfuck skinpig desperate to be as big and freakish as his master desired. Still, it was only virtual. Trax had started this just as a way to get even, to vent some of his anger out on something that, in the long run, he figured he’d eventually just delete in a fit of shame and horror. But that wasn’t happening at all–instead, he was becoming obsessed.Obsessed not only with PJ, but also with the skinmaster persona he’d created for himself in the virtual realm. He wanted more–and he wanted it to be real…but how?

He couldn’t just kidnap Perrion–that would raise too much suspicion. Instead, he haunted him for a while, looking for a weak point he might be able to use to his advantage–and then he discovered, one night while spying on him, that Perrion had made a new purchase–a dream recorder. It was perfect–it was relatively new tech, and a lot of people had been raising concerns that they could be hacked and give people access to your subconscious. No one seemed too concerned about it. After all, companies already had complete access to your conscious already, what more could they really want?

A little malicious malware with PJ implanted inside, and a quick slip into Perrion’s apartment while he was at work, and everything was set up–PJ would have complete control over Perrion’s dreams soon enough–and a good deal more than that. The more Perrion exposed himself to the infected machine, the more PJ would slide into him, replacing more and more of his subconscious mind with his own perverse ideals and desires. Still, it had to burn slow, because PJ could be…a bit much upon introduction. He set the malware to trigger slowly, and make sure things only really ramped up once PJ was firmly rooted in Perrion’s mind. The process was set to take a year.

It was a grueling time to wait, but Trax had his own projects–namely, himself. He needed to be the skinhead master that PJ would want to be with in a year, or else the fucker would just ditch him for someone else. Trax wasn’t a large guy, but some of his less legal work had landed him a substantial windfall–mostly after making a few copies of some other people on mental vacations for clients. That money was pumped right back into his body–cybernetics mostly, growing his frame and skeleton from five and a half feet tall to nearly seven feet tall, and once he got a taste for cyber…it was hard to stop. He could pass for human, at times. But he liked how people looked at him, he liked how his metal snake of a cock could wrap around his wrist–or around his thigh under his bleached jeans.

He corrupted himself gladly, ruining his intellect, getting himself addicted to tobacco, and several substances harder than that. Still, he always had an eye on the calendar, and as the day approached, he was desperate to check in on Perrion, to see how he’d progressed…but he resisted. Better to wait for the day he’d arrive on his doorstep, begging his ex to take him back, unable to explain how he’d been dreaming about him for ages, and all he wanted was for him to twist him into some sick minded pervert pig skinslave.

The day came, and he didn’t have to wait long–Perrion arrived before noon, knocking on his door, and when he saw Trax–the new Trax, a stain of precum appeared on the front of the jeans he had on, shading the massive bulge of his somewhat siliconed cock. He was bigger than he’d been, his head shaved, looking shabby. He must have lost his job along the way, and now here he was, begging this alpha brute to take him and make him his–and Trax did just that, because Perrion, or PJ as he began calling him immediately still had so much further to go.

He’d been too terrified of the piercings to get many of them, but Trax quickly caught him up–he wanted hoops in his flesh everywhere, and he used them all the time to bind his skinpig up–to himself, or to the walls, where he’d put other hooks, using them to chain the pig in excruciating positions, while Trax’s massive metal cock wormed its way into his ass, or his thick fist drove its way into his guts. More and more, he’d see the look in his eye–that glazed look of awe–that he’d come to know so well in the simulation. It was PJ, taking more and more control, and helpless, Perrion was losing more and more ground, until he was locked away, and the only person left was PJ, or more often known as Chains, from the decorations Trax liked the thread through his piercings around his body, his massive, amorphous, mounding piece of cock meat bursting through the worn jeans Trax allowed the pig to wear when they were outside.

On occasion, Trax would plug PJ into VR, and boot up the original Perrion, just to introduce them. Introduce them, and then Trax would appear, and have his way with them both, revealing to Perrion that the hulking beast was him–the future him, the only him that really existed anymore. He wouldn’t believe it, of course, until he started changing as well, PJ overwriting him in the scenario, and Trax would get to relive the corruption all over again.

Digital Manipulation (Part 7) [Interactive]

PJ knew it was a dream, though how he knew that exactly, was difficult for him to explain. It didn’t feel any different to him than real life, but it had felt like he’d been in a dream for ages, now. So long, he was beginning to doubt that he would even be able to wake up–so long, he didn’t even know what he could wake up as, anymore. So how did he know this was a dream? Because he wasn’t anywhere. It was just dark. He was standing, but he wasn’t standing on anything. He was breathing, but there was nothing to breathe. He could see, but there was no light that he could tell.

“Oi! There ya are mate.”

He spun around at the voice, and discovered that while he wasn’t anywhere in particular, he was no longer alone. There, standing in the nothing space with him, was someone else–and while it took him a few moments to catch on, he realized he was looking at himself. At a version of himself. At another version of himself…right? The similarities were obvious–both of them were huge–roided out with muscle, with prominent guts, their cocks and balls grown to obscene proportion, as where their chests and asses, which had been given implants as well. The differences though–they were so very different.

His doppelganger–his head and face were completely shaved–as was the rest of his body. It the place of the hair he had, tattoos and piercings covered his body–but it was the piercings which horrified PJ the most. They were everywhere–not just in the usual places like ears and nipples and noses. No, he had loops of metal dotting his flesh, running down his arms and legs, barbells were implanted in his gut in a spiral out from his belly button. The hoops were threaded in some places with twine and chain, in other places they were left unadorned. He took a step towards PJ, and he could hear the metal shake like some musical instrument of torture. “No–no, that’s…I’m not going to let you.”

He tried to run, but as he turned, he felt some awful yank on the head of his cock. He looked down, and saw that the massive, doorknocker sized ring running through the head of his double’s siliconed cock had somehow pierced his own as well, hooking them together. “Don’t worry Mate, it ain’t gonna hurt too much, trust me–you’ll love it anyway, soon ‘nough.”

He stepped closer, and the Jacob’s ladder running down the underside of his cock drew his own closer, and he felt every pin slide into his own flesh, until their cocks were completely connected from root to tip, jutting up between them. “Please, please, not this, I’m not you.”

“Not yet, ya ain’t,” his skinhead double said, “But come a little closer now, and let’s see about that.”

PJ raised a hand to strike him, to try and push him away, but the skinhead’s arm raised at the same time, and the tattoos running down his arm lashed out, wrapping their way around PJ’s arm and binding them together. He couldn’t help but be tugged in, and their gut’s touched, and every barbell spiralling around his gut joined to his, fusing them together, the tattoos sliding onto his body, the ink caressing him, and he shuddered, feeling the flesh of their cocks beginning to fuse together, phasing into one another until they were joined at the groin, one singular, and massive, cock jutting to one side, as their guts began to fuse as well.

“Gettin’ closer. Feels good, don’t it, mate?”

“Fuckin’ get off a me!” PJ shouted, but the skinhead lunged at him, spearing his tongue on the thick barbell through his own, tugging his face into his own, and PJ cried out as the rings, studs and bars in his doppelganger’s face all stuck to his own as well. He tried to move his arm…but he couldn’t feel his arm. Looking to the side, there was just one arm now–the skins, though it seemed…bigger and meatier after absorbing his.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be huge together, ain’t it gonna be great, mate?”

It took PJ a moment to realize that he shouldn’t have been able to hear the man’s voice, since their mouths were stuck together–no, he was hearing his voice in his mind, and it was getting louder, even as his own was getting quieter and quieter. The skin wrapped his spiked arm around PJ’s back and pulled him closer, pulled him into his body, and PJ lost sense of himself. There weren’t…really two of them, were there? Had there ever been two of them? All he felt was a sense of vertigo for a moment, and then he awoke with a jolt, looking around him, trying to figure out where he was…but he was right where he was supposed to be.

He was lying on a few sheets beside his master’s bed, where he slept every night. He wanted to get up, he wanted to see, but he couldn’t risk it. If master knew he was awake, he’d be punished…not that he minded being punished, of course, but Master could be…rough in the morning, before his coffee. It wouldn’t be the first time PJ had been confined to bed, his arms laced to the eye hooks running up the sides of his body, the barbells on the insides of his legs laced together as well, bound up in himself. Still…that dream. There was something he needed to remember, or someone he needed to remember, perhaps. It was all foggy now, and almost gone from his memory. He laid back down, and soon he was sleeping again until morning, when his master roused him with a boot to the ribs, and told PJ it was time to get the day started.

Trax, in his VR set, had taken on the roll of PJ’s skinhead master, and spent the next few days putting his heavily modded and warped ex-boyfriend through his paces, making sure everything was nice and cemented in this new version of him. All in all, he was very pleased with the result…but at the same time, he was a bit disappointed. As much fun as it was playing with a copy of his ex, what he really wanted was the real thing–but with this copy of his…well, there were a few ways he could have some fun with him in the real world, if he got close enough.

This next entry will be the finale. Below are a few options Trax could use to bring this copy of Perrion out into the real world. Choose the one you’d be interested in seeing.

Trax downloads the copy into an artificial body, and has the copy rape the real Perrion.
Trax kidnaps Perrion and replaces him with the copy. Together, they enjoy warping Perrion’s body into a twisted version of itself.
Trax implants the copy into Perrion’s subconscious, and let’s his ex’s new subconscious desires slowly ruin his life.

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Digital Manipulation (Part 5) [Interactive]

Yeah, Trax liked the idea of giving Perrion some muscle a lot. Now that Perrion had been taken down a few pegs, and he wouldn’t be working an office job again in his…virtual life, it was time for him to update his physical appearance a bit. Thankfully, he wasn’t going to be limited by his current body, because Perrion wasn’t much to look at, honestly. Short, rail thin–took care of himself, and was always so focused on his presentation, looking down on anyone who ever looked a little messy–like Trax always had. In fact, he thought part of the reason Perrion had been with him was because Trax made him look better by comparison (and humble, for being willing to date someone so obviously his lesser). Well, Trax would make Perrion exactly the kind of man he hated–big, muscular, stupid, ugly–nothing more than a dumb brute laborer. He found the scenario and loaded it up, triggering it to start up when Perrion’s mind woke from processing the last scenario and encoding it into his memory. It would take about as long as a night’s sleep, so in the morning, Trax would be up, and excited to watch what happens next.

Perrion awoke with a start, unsure of where he was, or what was happening to him. He…could remember something, something about work, and a bar, and…and he didn’t know what else. It was in his head, he could feel it in there, but there was something blocking him from accessing it, like his mind kept telling him it wasn’t important. But that also meant there wasn’t much…there. He needed to get up and…go to work, tight? Or do something? But his mind was just blank, laying there, until someone rolled over in bed next to him. “Well, how about we get started?”

Perrion gave a shout and nearly fell out of the bed. Next to him…he was a stranger, and yet also so…familiar. “Who…who are you?” he stammered.

“Me? I’m Perry–you know me,” the man said, and got out of the bed. He was larger than Perrion, and a bit taller, thickly muscled with a thick coat of hair–but not much cock at all, he noticed. His hair was short, and he had a short beard…but then Perrion realized why he looked so familiar–it was because…because they were nearly twins. It was like he was looking at an alternate version of himself, from some other world, but as soon as he realized that, the thought was gone, locked away behind the same barrier as everything else, and he was just looking at Perry–his…boyfriend. His…alpha. “Now get up–we need to get going with the day.”

Perrion did as he was told–in fact, he did everything Perry told him to do. They had a hearty breakfast, more than Perrion ever would have eaten normally, and then they went to the gym. Perry forced him through a grueling workout, one he barely managed to keep up with, but Perry demanded it, and so he did it, he did everything. It seemed like it lasted for hours, and then they went and home again, and they ate another massive meal, before lazing away the rest of the afternoon on the couch, watching TV, with Perrion spending a lot of time and energy keeping Perry happy–bringing him more snacks, toying with his small dick, tasting and smelling him–then they went to bed, and the next morning they woke up, and they did the same thing all over again–huge meals, a massive workout even harder than the last, and another afternoon and evening spent in front of the TV.

He lost track of the days, and he lost track of himself. Everything blurred together, and the only thing that seemed to hold focus was Perry. Perrion noticed that he was…changing, somehow, in the mirrors of the gym. He would look at himself, and see Perry where he should be for a moment, before separating them apart again in his mind. Perry became…clingy. On the couch, he would always have his arm around Perrion, pulling him in, drawing him closer in bed, waking up in a tight bear hug, like Perry was trying to absorb him. Or perhaps, it was the other way around.

He could almost hear Perry’s words in his mind, even before he spoke them. Perrion knew what he wanted, what he needed to do, even before Perry had to say it. The workouts became easier, and he began to enjoy them. He ate more and more, feeling his frame filling out to match his boyfriend, and the TV which had seemed so idiotic to him before was now…engrossing. He would fiddle with Perry’s small cock, and feel his own respond in kind, both of them orgasming in tandem. He didn’t know when he realized that Perrion had disappeared entirely, but at some point, he did. He was just Perry now, a muscle bound, unwashed pig of a man, satisfied with his own base gratification, and unable to remember a time when he’d been anyone else. Just like Trax had wanted.

But Trax wanted more. That was just the introductory persona, after all–Perry was going to have a new boyfriend in his bed soon enough, once these new habits were sufficiently ingrained after another few repetitions. He’d have a whole new set of habits ready to program into him then, he just needed to decide on what.

So, what sort of spin is Trax going to put on Perry’s now muscular lifestyle?

Steroids, silicone and body mods–make him an exhibitonist freak
Cum, sweat and piss–make him a cumdump urinal
Cigars, booze and masturbation–make him an addicted loser

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