Tag: thrall

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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Symbiotic Justice (Part 5)

CW: Rape, Violence

Lief’s mind struggled, in the end. It couldn’t help but struggle as the grey matter within his skull was pierced over and over my countless tentacles, and slowly drained away, the new knot of the alien’s thoughts overwhelming him. Lief didn’t exist anymore, not really. There were bits of him, in the beast’s thoughts–the occasional memory, and certainly plenty of the hosts intellect was preserved. The beast was thankful to have found a host with self-awareness. Usually it’s kind simply took over whatever creature happened across it, eventually consuming every lifeform on the planet, gaining sentience as it’s hive mind grew larger and larger. But to have taken over such a intelligent creature to begin with–this world would fall much more quickly than most.

The three wrestlers writhed in agony, and behind the parasite, the coach pushed himself to his feet, jaw sagging, eyes a pale, milky white. The same milky emptiness of Lief’s parents, of all of the new thralls it had made. It was the only fate reserved for those beings too weak to give it much nourishment, but who could still be of use to it, before the culling to come. “Get your car. Be around back, and ready to transport them,” the beast said. The words were no longer human, but the thrall knew what it’s master desired, and left the room, the parasite shuddering, growing, hair filling in across the rest of his body, writhing in delight, jaw cracking and breaking, his mouth widening as more teeth pushed their way through his bleeding gums. Claws long and sickle sharp, bestial feet capable of sprinting faster than sixty miles an hour.

When each young wrestler had been reduced to a husk, barely alive, the beast began to fill them with seed, like it had his brother and the other two jocks now in the basement of Lief’s home–which the parasite had converted into its lair. Half an hour later, the jocks were full, gelatinous and pale, barely able to keep their forms upright, but they followed their master back out of the locker room, and onto the track, where the coach was waiting. Together, they loaded the three into his truck–but it was too small for for the parasite’s now ten foot frame. He gave the coach directions, and bounded off into the evening, heading home its own way–through the field where it had been born.

And there, crossing that field, he found Jimmy. Jimmy, a junior at school, weak and frail, and picked on almost as much as Lief had been. Lief smelled him–no good as food, no good as a thrall…no good for anything…and yet the remaining bits of the host’s mind were clammering at it, demanding…justice. The parasite had no understanding of this concept, but saw no reason why its host couldn’t be granted its desire in this case. Before Jimmy could react, the beast was upon him, wrapping him in his three cocks, stinging and paralyzing him, before hefting his limp, bleeding body up over one hairy shoulder and carrying him to its lair.

The parasite beat the coach there–it took a moment to deposit the immobile, but whimpering Jimmy on the basement floor, and waited while the coach ushered the three flabby things which had been Erik’s best friends down into the dank, quiet space below. Erik–or the thing that had been Erik–muttered and groaned at the sight of it’s master, eager to please it, but it could do little now that the seed filling him had begun to grow. It was eating away at the rest of Erik’s body, the parts the beast couldn’t feed on, Erik’s arms and legs withering, his gut and body bloating, skin growing tough and leathery, head slowly melting into the rest of his body. The other two, Tommy and Mason, Lief had wanted to toy with them a bit longer, and they flailed over to the beast, licking and sucking at it, hungry for more seed, hungry to be completed, and the three wrestlers joined them–but the beast shoved them all away with a roar, grabbed Jimmy by the hair, and dragged him to where Erik’s decaying body was gently throbbing with new life.

It was close now, only a few more hours before the seed would be complete. The beast settled against the opposite wall, and allowed its other seed-carriers to service it, sucking at its cocks and nipples, licking its fur, hungry for the sustenance only it could provide them. Slowly, Erik’s face hardened, the eyes dying away, skin growing brittle and hard, until it cracked apart and crumbled away, leaving just a small, rocky ball where his brother had been moment’s before. Jimmy stared at it–it was all he could do, frozen as he was, and after a couple of moments, the rocky pouch pulsed, and burst–releasing a slimy tentacle which crawled over to him and latched onto his cock.

It would be a couple of hours, while the new beast bonded with his host–in the meantime, the parasite should hunt and bring back some food for them both–it would enjoy watching Jimmy feed, enjoy watching him learn the kind of power they could have now, the kind of power these creatures could give them. Garrett, on the lacrosse team, had always been particularly vicious to Jimmy, as had his father, one of the coaches at school. A bit…old and chubby for a proper meal, but delicious all the same. The beast hefted himself up, and noticed the coach was still there, at the base of the stairs, doing nothing. He could be bait, at least. He whispered in the coach’s ear, caressing him gently with his claws, and then they emerged from the basement and into the night. A new world, the beast thought, and what a delicious world it was.