The Pigtown Chronicles @pigtownchronicles - Tumblr Blog

Chapter 3.17 - Establishing Residency

Jimmy woke up on something soft, but not that soft. It wasn’t asphalt, but it also wasn’t his bed at home, though as he swung his arms and legs, flailing a bit, it could tell it was at least a bed. One foot struck a wall that the bed was shoved up against, the other leg hit air, one arm knocked something off the bedside table that hit the ground with a thud, but not a crack. He was face down still, head pounding, and he rubbed his face with both hands, drilling fingers into his eyes until he saw spots, and then tried opening them again.

Not his room. Nowhere that he had ever been before, that he could remember. He rolled over on the double bed, back to the wall, and looked around for someone who might have found him and brought him here, but he was alone that he could see. There wasn’t much of anything to see, really. There was a kitchenette across from him, bare of dishes but not necessarily clean, a bathroom at one end which didn’t seem to have a door, and in the other direction, a door that he assumed led elsewhere in the apartment. He swung his feet over the side of the bed gave a stretch, and that was when he got the first inkling that something about him was off. The weight of his arms as he reached up, the smell that came from his pits, stronger and rougher than what had been his boisterous, youthful scent. He stumbled towards the bathroom, found a switch that flicked on the beauty lights, though the bulbs in only half of them functioned, and stared at his face with a dull disbelief.

It wasn’t his face. Older, certainly. At least aged into his thirties, if not a bit closer to forty. A thick beard trimmed short all over his chin and jaw, climbing high up his cheeks. A body that looked strong, though not particularly pretty or handsome. A tunic of body hair, running up his chest, over his shoulders and down his back, interrupted by a few fresh scars running across it, from the Warden’s flogger. He ran his fingers over them--that had just been the night before, hadn’t it? They felt healed over, and yet the memory was fresh, and he felt a strange stirring in his cock from the thought of it, the bite of it, remembering how good it had felt laying into the shade, and--

He pushed it away. It was too raw and too close, the emotions all threatening to overwhelm him in a place that he didn’t know, that probably wasn’t safe, in a body that wasn’t even his own. He left the bathroom, not sure how to untangle the emotions swirling in his chest. Not fear, surprisingly. Exhaustion, sure, after the night he’d just had. Horny. A little numb, like something had been pulled out of him, something he couldn’t quite name, the importance of which was only clarified by the shape and size of the hole once pulled free. He went to the other door, opened it up, expecting to find a living room, or some other part of a larger apartment, but all he found was a concrete balcony overlooking a parking lot. It was a studio apartment, more like a hotel room, really, but Jimmy had never been inside one. He’d never known someone who lived in one either. He knew of them, vaguely, like kids in the suburbs knew about “Chicago”, or “London”, places that existed but had no real bearing on their lives. Someone passing on the sidewalk looked up, saw him, gave a whistle, and headed for the stairwell--it was only then that Jimmy realized he was standing there, stark naked under the early afternoon sun. He went back into the apartment, the man knocked on the door a few times while Jimmy cowered on the bed, embarrassed and frightened and angry at himself, before the stranger gave up and left.

There were some clothes on the floor, some torn up jeans and a wifebeater. The pockets had a key--probably to the apartment, but nothing for a car. The thing that he’d knocked off the nightstand was a cell phone, though not the one he’d had. This one was substantially older, and much less functional. The wallet had some cash, no cards, and an expired driver’s license. His name was on it, his picture looked how he imagined a halfway point between his youth of yesterday and face of today might have looked. He was smirking, and Jimmy felt mocked. The address was not his home address, but after throwing on the clothes, along with some socks and beat up work boots, he left. Sure enough, the address on the ID looked to match the apartment number and location. He might live here, allegedly, but he didn’t have to stay here. He left, key phone and wallet in his pockets, and started walking.

It was a few blocks before he could orient himself with a half remembered landmark or two, and determined he was, in fact, in Pigtown. On the outskirts, he supposed, but if Pigtown were a circle, Depot was at the southern end, and his apartment was more to the east, closer to the river and the docks. He headed that way on foot, and after half an hour, pushed open the door to Marshall’s Cigar and Briar, and found Marshall and Kyle chatting with a regular.

“Hey man,” Marshall said, “First time, I--no, wait...” He looked a bit closer. “Oh. Hey Bill, I appreciate the gossip, as always, but this one will need a little attention, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing, Marshall,” the chubby regular said, chuffing away at a massive pipe he held up with one hand. He gave Jimmy a look up and down, then a wink, and slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

The three of them just looked at one another. Kyle was confused, and didn’t seem to recognize him. Marshall was apparently content to let the silence grow as long as necessary. “It’s me, Kyle. It’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy...” Kyle said, like he was trying to recall a regular at the shop, until his brain clicked over, and he realized who it was who had just come in. “Fucking--what happened to you? I just saw you a week ago for fuck’s sake! What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

Jimmy related the story of the day and night before, from filing a report at the precinct, to his dream, and encounter with the shade on the street, concluding with a toned down version of what happened down in the jail. Jimmy didn’t want that to have been something he’d done, he couldn’t yet fold that into his identity, and so he tried to shut it away, edit around the joy he’d taken in flaying that shade open over and over again, for hours. Marshall saw it anyway, but he thought Kyle might have been fooled. There was something else though, something between him and his friend that had formed in the last week since he’d last seen him here. A confidence, maybe, in Kyle’s new persona, but it was also in the way Kyle looked at him, like he was still struggling to recall him, the young men they’d both been before. He thought about how it had felt, forgetting Marlon over the week before, and wondered how much Kyle had forgotten. How much him being here had just dredged forth.

“That’s quite the tale, bud,” Marshall said, “I assume you want to know how to change back?”

“I...yeah.”

“The short answer is, you can’t. You’re a resident now, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck here, with the rest of us, like this, more or less.”

“That’s the short answer?”

“The long answer, is that you don’t have to stay like this, I suppose. Plenty of folks around here will be more than happy to give you a makeover, if you aren’t happy, myself included. The deeper you go, the more...happy they’ll be. Around Washington street, it gets thicker, a couple blocks up from The Hideaway. Guys who go past there don’t come back to these parts after a while. We’ll all make our way there, one day I suppose. Resist, don’t, it’s all up to you. It’ll be easier if you just think of it as a brand new life, and enjoy it as best you can.”

Jimmy looked over at Kyle, who was looking down at the floor. No help then, not even an acknowledgement of his feelings, his loss. He’d expected better of his friend, but then, he wasn’t quite sure Kyle was actually his friend anymore, the one he remembered. He was becoming someone else too, just as he was. Unable to bear it, he turned around and left, breathing hard, full of anxiety, and just walked. He walked south, wanting to get out, wanting to try and get away. He knew how to get home by bus, he could go see his parents, they would help, surely. But he only got a few blocks south of the precinct before the sun felt too harsh, the air too clean. The looks that the businessmen and women going about their day shot at him told him that not only did he not belong here, but that being forced to notice him, to look at him, was making their day actively worse. He tried to get on a bus, but the driver wouldn’t even let him on. He tried to call a cab, but none of them even bothered stopping. He tried walking, but took a turn down an alley, only to find himself back on a familiar street between Marshall’s and the Precinct. He really was stuck.

He was hungry. He found a cafe, ate some dinner, but that didn’t satisfy him. The cock he ended up sucking in the alley next to the cafe was more filling than that. He ended up at Depot for a while, but the bustling youth turned him off. This wasn’t his scene anymore. Depot, he realized, was bait. A honeypot for the district to suck men in--the younger the better. Others hovered around it and inside it, looking for men in moments of weakness so they could swoop in and have their way with them. He didn’t want to be one of those. He walked more, saw the bar that Marshall had mentioned, the Hideaway, and decided it was better than nothing.

He didn’t remember much of what happened inside there. It had been pleasurable, not as pleasurable as his night in the jail, but pleasurable all the same. He awoke in the same position, in the same double bed, alone, in his new apartment. This, then, is all there is for him. He thought about getting up, but couldn’t face it. He stared at the ceiling, the patterns of mold there looking more and more like the silhouettes of cocks, until the need and the hunger drove him out again, into the evening, for more debauchery. This was it then. This was it.

-- END OF PART THREE --

#pigtown #age progression #ruination

Chapter 3.16 - A Few Steps Behind

“What do you mean, it’s gone?”

“I...well, the morning shift arrived to guard the, uh, anomaly, and it simply wasn’t there. It was just a wall again.”

Commander Rumwell took a seat in the chair behind his desk, lit up a cigar, and rubbed his temples for a few moments. He ground his thumbs in hard, and then laid his hands on the surface. “Things like that don’t disappear in Pigtown. What time did the shift arrive?”

“Seven in the morning. You...know how hard it is, getting some of these guys up in the morning.”

As best as they’d been able to figure out, everyone in Pigtown passed out for the night by around dawn--about five in the morning, this time of year--and were all transported home, with no memory of how they got there. Seven in the morning was about the earliest they’d ever been able to rouse themselves, and that was usually with a good dose of stimulants a bit stronger than coffee, that were only used by officers in these sorts of situations. That’s still a two hour window where something, apparently, had happened, and the fucking hole in the wall they’d found the day before had disappeared.

“Also, there was this,” the officer said, and slid a sealed envelope across the top of his desk towards him. “From The Warden, apparently.”

Rumwell opened the letter, and found a short, handwritten note inside. Apparently, the shade that the officers had brought in Thursday night had somehow managed to escape. No further details or explanation as to how the escape happened were included. He tore the note up, struck a match, and burned the pieces in his ashtray. “Any other news you’d like to deliver me this morning, officer?”

“Rod asked for you to, uh, ‘grace him with your presence’ in the Depot VIP lounge at your earliest convenience.”

“I see,” the commander said. The room fell silent for a moment, aside from the crackle of ash forming on the end of the cigar, as Rumwell took a long drag, an inch long cinder sprouting on the end of the fresh stick. He heaved an exhale, a massive plume of smoke settling over the desk like a fog. He stood up, carefully unbuttoned his shirt, and hung it over the back of his chair.

“Did they send you because you can take it?”

The officer gulped, but the bulge in his uniform was well apparent. “Because I like it, honestly. Be as rough as you’d like, Commander.”

A couple of hours later, the officer stumbled out of the commander’s office, nearly tripping over his feet into the wall ahead of him. He took a moment to put his shoes on properly, made a cursory attempt to straighten his cum, piss and ash stained uniform shirt, and stumbled down the hall, where another officer was standing with a folder. “Is...did you just come out of the commander’s office?”

“Commander gave me the day off, but he’s still a little feisty. Might want to come back later, I mean, unless you know...” he said as he passed him, and went down the stairs. The officer with the folder watched him, looked at the door like he was considering it a moment, and then followed him back down. It could wait.

Rumwell breathed a heavy sigh, lit his fourth, or fifth, cigar of the morning--he’d already lost track--and sat down in his chair again. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on yet; he was still dripping with sweat. The rough fuck had cleared out most of his frustration at the three bits of news he’d been greeted with this morning, but he couldn’t help but feel that, if he’d been moving just a little faster, connecting the dots over the last day, he could have stopped some of this. It couldn’t be a coincidence, though none of the three bits appeared to have anything to do with one another on the face of it. But if Rod was involved, well, then something very serious was happening. He stood up, put his shirt back on, straightened himself up in the mirror he kept behind the door, and left, telling everyone he would be taking a long lunch, and be back in the afternoon.

He made his way over to Depot, though it would be hours before the bar was officially open. He pounded on the door until a bleary eyed barback, who likely had just woken up in the backroom, opened it up for him. He didn’t bother asking for directions. He’d been in the VIP room a number of times before, and had never once enjoyed his visits here. He didn’t know who, or what, Rod was, but all of his instinct told him he was close to the secrets of this place. That if he could one day unravel him, perhaps the rest of Pigtown would unwind as well. He knew it was a hopeless thought. Pigtown was an engine and had long ago become self-sufficient. It created its own fuel, after all. The best Precinct 27 could do was starve it a little, keep as many men as they could from sliding deeper and deeper into the center of the district, where no one, as far as he could tell, had returned from. He’d sent a few patrols in, but the deepest they’d gotten, and returned to tell about it, described a city that was no longer this city at all. It obeyed no maps, the men there could barely be described as men. There was something else at the heart of it all, and worse, he could feel it calling to him. They could all feel it, every man who’d been drawn here. It wanted to eat them, and perhaps, the men wanted to be devoured just as much.

Upstairs, Rod was waiting on his usual stool, with his usual drink. The same bartender was there as always, and Rumwell’s preferred Jack and coke was already waiting for him beside Rod. He avoided looking at the orgy that always seemed to be underway among the cushions there--it had always unnerved him, though he’d never been able to explain why, and took his seat. “You requested an audience?”

“There’s been some arrangements made that I feel you ought to know about.”

“Oh?”

“Shadow will be given a house.”

Rumwell chucked his drink at the glass windows that looked out over the dance floor.

“You’re the one who told me he needed to be stopped at all fucking cost, and you’re giving him a fucking house!”

“It was convenient to have you at each other’s throats before, and now it serves no purpose. I’ll find you something else to keep your little precinct occupied instead, so you can pretend you’re all such upstanding citizens, and not just spending all day sucking cock like the rest of us.”

“No, fuck you, not after what the fucker’s done to my men, done to this fucking city.”

“I will admit that the precinct is special, for a number of reasons, but it too is a house, and must abide by the rules. If you wish to feud with him, that is your prerogative, but he will have a house, and he will have protection, so long as he abides protocol. In the meantime, Shadow and his shades are no a matter of your jurisdiction.”

“Consent is a protocol, if I recall.”

“I have informed Shadow of that stipulation, and he has agreed to modify his recruitment techniques to account for it. If he violates it, he will have much more powerful forces come to bear upon him than those your little precinct can wield. If you’d just move it a few more blocks in, you’d be much better off you know, anytime you want, just--”

“Fuck you.”

“The offer always stands. You’re far too near the edge to have much in the way of power. Perhaps you like it that way. Less likely someone will challenge you, I suppose.”

“You did it, didn’t you? Made that...thing, that hole in the wall disappear, didn’t you? I should have fucking known this had your freaky fingerprints all over it. I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to Rod, but one day, I’ll figure out this fucking place, what makes it tick, and when I do, I swear you will come down with it.”

Rod just shrugged. “Perhaps. As for...whatever you’re talking about, I don’t know what it is you’re even talking about.”

“That’s even more bullshit that I’d expect from you. A guy doesn’t fart within ten blocks of here without you knowing about it.”

“Have a drink, Rumwell. It sounds like you need it. Maybe try enjoying yourself for once. You’re so serious all the time, it isn’t good for the heart.”

The commander stormed off without another word, leaving Rod alone in the VIP room. Once the sound of the heavy boots could no longer be heard on the stairs, the shadows collected in a corner behind the bar, and Shadow stepped forth, followed by Marlon.

“I trust that satisfies you?” Rod asked.

“How will I know he will abide by your word?”

“He will. He’s a stubborn fool, but he has too much pride in his principles to betray them. He knows better than anyone how fast turning on those principles would destroy him here.”

Shadow nodded. “Then, I suppose my only other question then, is where is my house?”

“Well, the House of Kings is still under construction, and they’re using up a good chunk of gruntwork right now. We do need storage space immediately though, so I know an old mansion or two that could work in the meantime.”

Rod gave him the address, and they shadow-walked there. It was decrepit, and some residents had taken up inside, using it as a base of operations for who knew what inside. “I’ll clear it out tonight, and have a team of hardhats over next week to assess and make necessary repairs. Are the works safe in the meantime?”

Shadow nodded.

“Good, then we have our agreement?”

“We do,” Shadow said, and slipped back into the darkness, leaving Rod on the sidewalk. He didn’t mind, it had been a while since he’d walked the streets, and besides, Samuel’s studio wasn’t too far off from here--he might as well stop by and see what his prodigy was sketching next.

#pigtown

Chapter 3.15 - Big Horny Bastards

Hugh woke up in his bed, shaking a bit, already feeling the familiar sensation of withdrawal settling over him. It wasn’t particularly late in the morning, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be long before Parker returned with his promised load. The night before, he’d gotten what Parker had asked for, the location of the lab where BHB was being produced. Aaron had been hesitant to part with the information, and Hugh had eventually been forced to wire him a substantial amount of cash in order to get him to cough it up. It had been worth it though; he’d never felt this good in his entire life, and that fuck he’d gotten from Parker had been mind blowing. He’d grabbed a dildo he used on occasion, when the desire arose, and rode it for a bit, but it just couldn’t compare at all. He’d fallen asleep early that night, since Thursday was a slow evening for dealing anyway, and it wasn’t like anyone would recognize him if he went out. Now that it was morning though, hunger was creeping in.

He tried to eat some breakfast, but couldn’t choke down more than a few mouthfuls of toast. It just made him feel sick, and it was all he could do to keep from vomiting it up into the toilet after a few minutes. He watched the clock on his phone, wondering if he should go and try and find Parker, but settled for texting him instead. He got a reply pretty quickly, telling him that he’d have his business finished up soon, and to wait for him there. Hugh wanted to scream in need, but did his best to be patient. He texted back an hour later, and nothing--not even a read notification. The worst possibilities crept into his head. What if his alpha was going through withdrawals right now, and only Hugh would be able to help him? He was starting to sweat and shake, his muscles tensing and cramping. The lab wasn’t too far off from his apartment, in an old derelict office park that a number of Pigtown residents used as a fuckspot and hangout. One of the places where even seasoned residents of Pigtown didn’t go unless they had good reason, and were well prepared. During the day though, it would probably be alright. He could go there, get the BHB, and be back before Parker returned, vial in hand--that would make him a good beta, certainly.

His desires well justified, he threw on some clothes that mostly fit him, and set off down the sidewalk, trying to project that everything about him was normal, though from the looks men gave him when he passed them by, his attempt was unsuccessful. He hurried along, the nausea intensifying, world lurching about until he had to pause and vomit up something halfway down an alley. The result looked like a gelatinous pile of cum. The weakness was intensifying, and the clothes that had been tight on him were more manageable. He was shrinking back down in size, but he didn’t know if the end result would be his own body, or something stranger. Given Pigtown, he didn’t want to find out if he could help it.

The office park was a collection of one story buildings with plenty of parking lots that had, once, been filled with bustling small businesses. But as Pigtown had grown, respectability had been pushed out, and the only businesses that could survive here were those of catering to the risque, or outright obscene. As the businesses had fled, more and more men had taken up full residency here, and without any clear place to live, a number of them had taken over spaces like this, converting old offices to communal living spaces, all of them havens of drugs, easy sex, and hedonistic desire. Really, they were just places to wake up from your Pigtown Hangovers, before spilling back out into the new night and repeating the debauchery all over, but always more intense, always spiraling deeper and deeper--into pleasure, but also deeper into Pigtown itself. In the day, though, most everyone living here was still asleep. Hugh kept himself as quiet as he could, not wanting to rouse any attention, and found his way through the park to the back, where a row of warehouses had been constructed--for storage or manufacturing he supposed, but they too had all likely been converted to residences. One though didn’t have the pile of refuse outside indicating habitation. It was clear, the door unmarked, but still on its hinges and locked. He went up to it and pounded on it, to no answer. He kept pounding, and pounding, until he heard someone roused within.

A number of locks were undone, and the door opened, by a bleary eyed young man, massively built, with a set of square glasses perched on his nose. “Who the fuck are...” he sniffed the air, and gave a little smirk. Hugh gave a little swallow, and realized what he was smelling. It wasn’t as raw as Parker’s musk had been, but it was just as pungent, just as powerful and domineering. The smell of another Alpha. Perhaps more alpha than Parker had been. Force constrained rather than overflowing at the body’s seams, the power and precision of a laser cutter, instead of a chainsaw. The man stood up straight, straightened his glasses, and wrapped one arm around Hugh’s shoulders. “Come on in, man, let’s get you fixed up, you’re gonna be a real mess in an hour or two otherwise.”

“Thanks, I...It’s been a real weird fuckin’ couple of weeks. I was dealing some of that BHB, and one of my regulars, he reacted...real weird to it, and...” before Hugh could continue, the man pushed him to his knees, pressed the head of his massive cock to his lips, and pushed in. Hugh forgot all about what he was going to say, the scent and flavor of the cock demanded all of his focus and devotion. He worshiped it for a few minutes, before the man pushed him over, maneuvering him into position without exactly manhandling him, and fucked him right there on the concrete floor. “Oh fuck, oh god, I need it so fuckin’ bad...” Hugh moaned.

“I know you do. Don’t worry about what happened, just let all of that go, just enjoy this,” he said. The fuck was powerful without being rough, and Hugh rode a series of anal orgasms until the man finally finished inside him. When he pulled out, Hugh was surprised to find he was even larger than before. Parker had grown his muscles, but unevenly--now though, he looked like he could go into professional bodybuilding. The man helped him up, and Hugh thanked him. “No need, it would be a waste otherwise.”

“My friend, you have to help him, whatever happened to him, he’s gone crazy, and...and there were these things he made, these little...blob like creatures, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

That was the first time the man looked disquieted. “What?”

“Yeah--he...he fucking used his cock to suck the muscle out of a couple of guys. I...didn’t see it myself, but he threatened to do the same to me.”

“That...huh, alright. You were just hallucinating, you wouldn’t be the first. Come on, let’s get you hooked up.”

Hugh didn’t know what he meant, but followed him instinctively to a doorway inside. “I...what’s your name?”

“You can just call me Doc.”

“What...what is that stuff? I mean, I’m not complaining, but I don’t use, I just deal. Is there an antidote? Something to manage the withdrawal?”

He passed through the doorway, and just stared. Down the length of the warehouse, massively muscled men were strapped to tables, headsets over their heads, and massive hoses attached to their cocks milking out their cum, running to the far end of the building, where massive storage tanks were waiting, most likely to be converted to BHB. “What...the fuck is this?”

“These are my Big Horny Bastards. Where do you think the name came from?”

“I...no, I...”

“Come on, let’s get you on a table.”

“No, I don’t want--” Hugh said, but his feet were already shuffling after the man, obeying his commands just as he had Parker’s earlier, without any capacity to resist. They reached an empty table, and Hugh climbed on it, lying still while Doc strapped him down, and applied a collection of electrodes all over his body. “We have to keep the muscles stimulated, but managing a full gym for all of these fuckers was a nightmare, they’d get into fights, fuck each other, waste product, this is so much easier, and so much more pleasurable for you too.”

Doc slid a needle into Hugh’s arm, and hung up an IV full of what looked like cum. “That...it’s you?”

“Yeah. It all comes back to me, but I figured out how to produce it and purify it. I thought I’d managed to suppress the alpha formation, but apparently something in your friend triggered it anyway. It’s not a problem, he’ll run out of steam soon enough, now that his dealer is out of the picture.”

Doc slid a helmet over his head, and he felt the cum hit his bloodstream, filling him with a sudden surge of energy, just as the electric jots turned on, causing his muscles to spasm uncontrollably. It hurt, at first, but after a while, it reminded him more of a good workout, and the porn on the headset was hot, and he was just so horny. Whoever was sucking his cock was doing a real good job, and Hugh came with a shudder, Doc watching the first load from him newest BHB fill up a canister under the milker. He detached it and slid in another one--he wouldn’t add this one to the main feed until he’d tested it sufficiently. In any case, having another bastard in the lab was a definite benefit--demand was spiking quick, and he was going to need all the raw material he could get.

#pigtown #muscle growth #milking

Chapter 3.14 - Mercy in the Darkness

For Jimmy, time was counted in the silence between each strike of the flogger, between the hollow scream of the shade, and the next thud of the leather on flesh, or whatever passed for flesh on Marlon’s body. No, not Marlon. This thing was not Marlon. Just a shadow, just an imposter, just a fraud. Jimmy had never wielded a flogger before, and in his haphazard strikes, he often struck himself in the process. The sharp sting of the leather was enough to remind him of his own gullibility, his inaction, the weakness of his love. The darkness of the prison never changed, there was no sign of dawn, or day, just the perpetual twilight of the lamps in the cavernous space. He’d lost count of the strikes several times now, but he had to be close to a thousand hits. His muscles were aching, but each time he struck the shade it would reform, look a little less like Marlon, a little less like anyone at all, and that was enough to push him onward, to keep hitting him, and if the pommel of the flogger hadn’t come loose and fallen off, he might have have never stopped. It did fall off though, and on the next swing, with his grip loosened by fatigue and sweat, the flogger flew from his hand, bounced off Marlon’s shoulder, and landed behind the cross a few yards off.

Jimmy let his arms hang for a moment, sweat dripping from him, and stared at the shade, who stared back. The look from the shade was still furious and angry, but the fear was more present now, and when Jimmy saw that, a flutter of pleasure shot through him, enough that his cock got hard, and he pulled back, tried to rein himself in, tried to figure out what he was even doing.

He was alone, aside from the shade. At some point, the Warden and the other two guards must have left him there to his own devices. He didn’t understand why they would have left him, or where they might have gone--the guards had restrained him, after all, and now he was completely unsupervised.

“Well, come on then Mr. Guard, you’re not finished already, are you?” the shade said. Like his face, it resembled Marlon’s, but was no longer quite perfect.

Jimmy looked over at the shade, and scowled at him. “Why did you call me that?”

The shade laughed at him, and the rush of anger in his chest, running all the way up the back of his spine, and then down to his cock and balls, confused him. He didn’t like feeling confused, he didn’t like this...this prisoner laughing at him. He should punish him, beat him, fuck him, torture him--

Jimmy shook his head, the intrusive thoughts nearly overwhelming him. He gripped his head in his hands, felt just how large they were on his face, pulled them away and looked down. This was wrong--his arms were wrong. Jimmy had never been a muscular kid, just a low effort twink really, but the forearms he was staring down at were bulging with muscle, as were the biceps, and they were hairy, and this wasn’t his body, it couldn’t be his.

“You’re one of them now,” the shade said, “You might as well just accept it. No one gets out of this prison--no one other than Shadow, I suppose, but that was an exception, I think. I wanted to drain you myself, but we can’t always get what we want. Knowing that you’re trapped here, same as me though, I can live with that, mostly.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jimmy said, his voice gruff and deeper. Was that from the shouts and hollers he could remember leaving his throat while he’d been wielding the flogger, or was it really different? There was no mirror anywhere that he could see, but running his hands over his face, feeling the stubble verging on beard, the angular jaw beneath that, the heavy brow, the short cropped hair, he could feel what he would see well enough. “I don’t...want to hurt you, I just wanted him back, but you...you took him from me, and--”

“I did. I took him from you. You want vengeance. Come on then, let’s get this over with.”

Jimmy did want to hurt him, badly. Wanted to flay him until he no longer looked human, until he was just a quivering pile of shadow, shapeless, something they could throw in a cage and forget about until it acted up again, and then they’d beat it again, over and over, until...

The thought faded away. The pain was the point. The torture was the purpose. That’s what his thoughts were telling him, but he still had enough of himself there to question it, push back against it. He didn’t see where that would lead, didn’t know what that would get him. Certainly not satisfaction or justice. The shade was saying these things, goading him on, but for all his projected confidence, the shade was terrified. Jimmy could smell it on him, and while part of him was hungry for that fear, he also found it curious. He stepped closer, looking at the shade now, at how Marlon’s face was still there, but a bit off, no longer symmetrical, no longer perfect. But still his, still the young man Jimmy had loved. He took the shade’s face in his hands, leaned in and kissed him on the lips, tenderly at first, then pushing his tongue in like he always had with Marlon. For a moment, the shade reciprocated, and then turned his face away. “What are you doing? Why would you do that?”

“I loved him. You were part of him, so I...think I would have loved you too, and you were part of him, and I think, you love me a little too, or a part of me. If I hurt you, if you lose...his face, then he’ll be gone, forever.” He used one thick hand to bring the shade’s face back over, so it faced him. “I would never want to hurt him, and so, I don’t think I want to hurt you either.”

He kissed the shade again, and he resisted for a moment, and then relented, pushing back, just like Marlon would have, Jimmy coming closer and pressing his cock against the shade’s own, feeling them throb together, when a hand landed on his shoulder and hauled him away. Jimmy lurched around and found himself facing the Warden, his face furious, and he laid a heavy slap across Jimmy’s face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, guard?”

“I--I’m not--” another slap, this one hard enough to send him stumbling back a couple of steps, cheek red and stinging. He licked his lips, and tasted a bit of blood from where a ring on the Warden’s finger had bit into his flesh.

“Apparently I was too optimistic in leaving you unsupervised. You seemed to be coming along so nicely. Pick up the whip, and punish that fucking shade, guard.”

The thoughts in his head grew more intense, almost a scream, the hatred behind them heating up his chest like a furnace. He nearly grabbed the whip, desperate to push it out of him, away from him, at anyone else. If he held onto it all, surely it would kill him, he would catch flame and burn to a cinder. He resisted though, he didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not that last bit of Marlon that still remained, not that, anything but that. The fever broke after a moment, and he could see with mostly clear eyes again. The Warden seethed, picked up the whip himself, but instead of turning it on the shade, he cracked it across Jimmy’s chest, raising a red welt and a line of blood down one hairy pec and part of his belly. He shouted in pain, spun around in time for the next strike to land across his back, and he screamed in agony.

“I have no patience for guards who will not do their duty down here. If you won’t wield the whip, then you’ll be under it, do you understand?”

The Warden came up to him, and shoved the handle into his hand. “Use it. Punish the thing, it deserves it, you know it does.”

Jimmy turned to face the shade again, the anger welling up, even more powerful, washing so much away with it. He closed his eyes, and cracked it across the shade’s body, leaving a deep gash down the front that took a moment to heal entirely. It hurt though. It hurt just as much as when the whip had been turned on him, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t keep doing this. He would be here forever. All around him, he could hear the screams of men being tortured, the laughs and moans and grunts of the guards thrilling in it. He raised the whip again, then tossed it to the side and rushed forward, grabbing at the restraints holding the shade to the cross. They were simple buckles, unsecured with locks thankfully, and he got one arm free before the Warden grabbed him and dragged him back, throwing him to the floor. That was enough for the shade to phase out, sliding free of the rest in a matter of moments, before the Warden could grab his light. The shade was gone into the darkness, and Jimmy chuckled.

“You fucking--do you have any idea how fucking valuable those are down here!” the Warden shouted, rolling Jimmy over onto his back. “Flesh--flesh can only take so much, but those things, we can beat them, over and over, and they always come back, fresh and vibrant--and the screams!” He spit in Jimmy’s face, and his hands wrapped around his neck, closing tight, “You’ll be in a cage then, you’ll be my personal punching bag from now on, you’ll regret this for the rest of your life, you’ll--”

That was the last thing that Jimmy heard, before the darkness shrouded him, and he was gone.

At first, he thought he’d been choked out. He was awake, though, and the darkness around him wasn’t a void--it was textured, and there, a short distance from him, was the shade. “He loved you, you know. I loved you too, both of you, shade and man,” he said. “You freed me, I freed you. We’re even.”

The darkness opened up underneath him, and Jimmy landed on the pavement below hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. He rolled over onto his back and there the shade was, standing over him. The look in his eyes was pure hunger, desire, lust. Then he was gone, and Jimmy was left in a strange alley, alone. From the look of the sky, it was just past twilight. Not dawn though--evening from where the remains of the sun glinted in the windows over him. He tried to stand up, but the exhaustion overwhelmed him at last. The pavement didn’t make for comfortable sleep, but he passed out all the same, unprepared for the Pigtown hangover that awaited him the next morning.

#pigtown #bdsm #gay erotica

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.

Chapter 3.12 - Something New

It had been a long night, but then, every night was long and fraught. Rumwell rolled over in his king sized bed, only occupied by him this morning. It had been another busy night, when he and his cops didn’t have as much time to satisfy their own vices, occupied as they were with containing everyone else’s. The high point of the evening, certainly, had been the capture of one of Shadow’s shades, which had been sent down into the jail for the warden to deal with, though where there was one, there were bound to be more. It was starting all over again, then. He could only hope that they might keep up, before the shadows were overrunning them in the midnight streets.

He rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his inch long beard, stood up, bent back and cracked his spine. His cock was already hard and leaking, and with the house to himself, he thought he might take some time for one of his more rare pleasures. The commander usually smoked cigars at the precinct, but at home, he was fond of a contemplative pipe. He threw on his robe and went to his study, where a rack hung on the wall with nearly fifty pipes on it. He took down one of the larger ones, the briar rubbed a bit smooth from his worrying fingers, then went to another shelf of pipe tobaccos, and rummaged about for a moment, until he pulled forth a particular tin, opened it up, and cursed. Barely enough for a quarter of a bowl. He never let this blend run dry, usually. With all this about Shadow, Pigtown adding another half block each month in every direction, and all of this freshmeat around, he must have forgotten. Disappointed, he considered one of the other blends for a moment, but set the pipe back up on the rack, returned to the bedroom, and dressed himself in a clean uniform. A cigar lit, he set out with plans for coffee, breakfast, and a stop by Marshall’s to refill his favorite tin.

His usual table on the sidewalk was reserved for him, and a number of other officers on the night shift were there, mostly in twos or threes, recovering from their night. A cub wearing booty shorts and an apron brought Rumwell his coffee--black with one sugar--checked that he wanted his usual, and skipped away. The cafe was connected to a bookstore, and already there were a few busy perverts in the aisles, magazines open in one hand, masturbating onto the floor with the other, in full view of the sidewalk. In another life, Rumwell would have taken issue with that, but in Pigtown, you had to choose your battles. He drank his coffee and ate his breakfast, and instead of sitting for a few more minutes to read the paper, as he did most mornings, he settled his bill and walked down the street, stepping into Marshall’s Cigar and Briar.

One of Marshall’s regulars was inside, and the two of them were chatting about some gossip or other. Marshall’s new boy was at the back of the shop restocking, puffing on a cigar, and looking a little haggard--he still probably wasn’t quite used to the long days and nights under Marshall’s care. Rumwell was a bit uneasy about the developing situation, but Marshall hadn’t asked for his advice, and the boy seemed sensible enough. If he ended up causing trouble, there was always room in the jail, after all.

“Morning Rumwell, here for some cigars?” Marshall asked.

Rumwell stared down the regular until he got the hint, and vacated the store with a hasty goodbye. Then he said, “I need some more of the blend, I’m out.”

“You know, I was hoping I’d see you soon,” Marshall said, “You hear about what happened down the street, between the Baron Apartments and that old laundromat?”

Rumwell was familiar with the spot, a dim alley where a good amount of fucking got done each night, usually by guys who were travelling between the tamer clubs at the edge of Pigtown, like Depot, and the ones a bit deeper in, like The Hideaway. “No one’s filed a report, no,” he said.

Marshall stood up, and stretched up. “Kyle, I’m gonna go get us lunch, watch the counter for me.”

“Yes sir,” Kyle said, and came to the front of the shop. Rumwell and Kyle hadn’t been properly introduced, but they sized each other up.

“You’re Rumwell--the guy in charge of the precinct?” Kyle asked him.

He nodded.

Kyle looked like there was something on his mind, but just gave a little nod to Marshall. “I got it handled, Sir.”

“What about my blend?” Rumwell asked.

Marshall went to the back of the shop, opened up one of the locked cabinets--one that not even Kyle had a key to--took out a glass jar about three quarters full, and packed a tin with it. He came back, but didn’t hand it to Rumwell right away. “Why don’t we take a walk?” he said, and left the shop. Rumwell, with a huff, followed after. He hated when Marshall toyed with him.

Marshall had been smoking a cigar in the shop, and he passed one to Rumwell, who lit up as well. “What is this about, Marshall?” he asked, “You aren’t seeking to change the terms of our arrangement, I assume?”

“Certainly not,” Marshall said, and handed him the tin. “Your supply is well secured, so long as I’m free to do as I will--which I assume I still am?”

“Within limits. Just mind your little boy in there, and make sure he understands the rules.”

Marshall chuckled. “What rules are there, in a place like this? Still playing cops and robbers like little boys in the street, that’s all you are.”

Rumwell thought about a bitter retort, but bit into the cigar instead, and they walked the next couple of blocks in silence, until they passed the apartment complex, and arrived at the narrow alley beside it. Marshall gestured to the wall, in the side of the vacant laundromat, where there was now something else there. Spray painted above it were the words “Hole in the Wall” and there, embedded in the brick, was a human ass, at about the right height to be fucked. “This is what you wanted me to see?” the Commander said, “Someone’s stuck a fuckdoll to the wall, so what?”

“Look a little closer.”

Rumwell stepped up, to the side of the building, and found himself becoming a little unnerved as he did. If it was a fuckdoll of some kind, it was a very realistic one. He could smell something on the air as well, a scent that any resident of Pigtown would know well, the smell of cum, lube and heat that any hungry hole could give off in a dark backroom--but somehow sweeter, more inviting. He was a couple feet away from it now, and the ass in the wall, which had been a little too low for someone of Rumwell’s height to fuck easily, seemed to tense, and rise up the wall by a few inches, the hole winking at him, drooling either cum or lube down the crack and onto the pavement below. He noticed then that he had his cock out and in his hand, rock hard and leaking himself, and pushed the temptation away. He zipped back up and took a few steps back, watching the hole in the wall relax again, sliding back down the wall.

“It’s...alive?”

“I don’t know,” Marshall said, “I mean, you’re familiar with my work. They aren’t alive, not like they were, and certainly not like this.”

“Have...you seen anyone use it?”

“A regular said they saw someone fucking it. The guy came, zipped up and walked off, nothing seemed to have happened to him that he could see. It certainly smells like it wants you to fuck it. I haven’t partaken myself.”

Rumwell pulled out his phone and called the precinct. “I need a squad here on the corner of Seventh and Wellington, we have a possible aberration to quarantine,” Rumwell discussed it for a few minutes while Marshall examined the hole in the wall himself, touched it, felt where the warm flesh became warm brick became cold stone. Rumwell hung up, and then turned to him, “What do you make of it?”

“Not sure. Not my kind of craftsmanship. It’s not an aberration itself, I don’t even know if it was done by an aberration. There’s nothing missing.”

“What does that mean?”

Marshall shook his head. “Look, I don’t know, and I don’t have the time. I’m just a concerned citizen looking to stay on the precinct’s good side is all. All the regulars have been talking about it this morning--half of Pigtown passes this way to get to my shop.”

“So now we not only have Shadow on our hands, but some other new aberration out of the blue.”

“I told you, this isn’t an aberration. This...is something new. It’s not the first thing either, that seems different. Something’s happening around here. There’s an energy, lately. I don’t know how to explain it. You know I don’t agree with everything you’ve done here, but I know that chaos isn’t good for anyone. Now, I gotta get back to the shop,” he said, and pushed the tim into Rumwell’s hand. “Have a good smoke, Rummy. Let me know if I can help.”

Marshall left as the cops came running up to where Rumwell was standing. Some made a perimeter, others started investigating. The Commander supervised for an hour or so, but as he figured, it didn’t match the M.O. of any of the aberrations currently active and at large. It was something, and someone, new. If there was something that Rumwell didn’t like, it was new wrinkles in Pigtown. It meant it was getting stronger. If the precinct couldn’t figure out what was coming and how to contain it, it wouldn’t be long before the whole city looked like that cafe and bookstore--or worse.

#pigtown #inanimate #smoke #gay erotica

Chapter 3.11 - Jimmy's Descent

As Jimmy descended down into the jail below precinct 27, it was difficult to shake the sensation that he was passing into some other place, somewhere that didn’t quite exist in the same sense that the station, or the street. Going into Pigtown felt similar, perhaps. Crossing that liminal space between the normal world--if that world of suburbs and skyscrapers and children could be considered normal--one could sense that the rules had shifted. Each person might describe this differently. Some felt a new spring in their step, a sensation of opened opportunities where none had existed before. Others felt it as an oppressive threat, a hidden terror around every dark corner, though few could resist the parallel urge to see what those terrors might be.

Descending that first stairwell, Jimmy found himself in another hallway, identical to the one up above, but the light was dimmer, the concrete cracked, walls bulging and pulsing, almost as though they were breathing out the moans and screams that came from further below. The cells here were not entirely empty like the ones above, though there were only a couple of prisoners here. One clad in a full rubber catsuit, who seemed to be struggling with it fruitlessly, looking for a zipper or closure at the back of his neck that no longer seemed to exist, his panic rising, though the bulge of excitement in his crotch could not be discounted either. Another fellow was sitting with his back to the wall, high on some party drug, both hands wrapped around a cock rubbed red and raw, with a huge sack resting on the ground between his legs. Another gout of cum erupted from the head of his cock, rolling down the shaft, and as Jimmy stared, he swore he saw a pulse, or a wave try to extend itself from the puddle of cum accumulating around the man, and then recede, almost like the semen itself was alive. He hurried past them both, the men far too preoccupied with their own problems to notice Jimmy, who made his way to the end of the hallway, down another identical stairwell, and again, found a hallway lined with cells.

This time, though, the lights were dim and flickering, more cells were occupied, the walls seemed to have grown broader. This was enough for Jimmy to feel that he ought to turn around and climb back up, but when he turned around, all he found behind him was a solid brick wall. This was, of course, impossible. He had stepped off the stairwell just a moment before his bravery failed him, but when he pressed on the brick, it was solid and unyielding, though the stone and mortar was quite a bit warmer than the air around him, nearly the same temperature as his own flesh. He shuddered, certain somehow the wall was feeling him back, hardening further, thickening, or perhaps engorging. He retreated away down the hall, towards the staircase at the other end, hoping, perhaps, that one would rise upward. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not willing to look at the strange inhabitants of the cages on either side, at their oddities, the ways they now failed at being entirely human, the reasons, he assumed, they were all caged now. He had not yet seen a guard or officer of the law, which only increased his sense of unease. The staircase at the far end only sunk deeper into the earth, spiraling now. He no longer had any sense of being beneath the precinct above, but he no longer had much choice but to venture further. The oppressive urge to sleep that had been so constant for hours now had left him, and even if it had remained, he doubted that he would have been able to at all. He continued down.

Each level was larger than the one before, each time the staircase would seal up behind him, the light grew dimmer, the path through the cages more labyrinthine. The cells were no longer only built into the walls, but now also free standing. In large areas, there would be open spaces with a cross, a stand holding whips and floggers, or any assortment of other BDSM gear, some that Jimmy recognized from his early ventures into porn, and some that he certainly did not. It was a couple levels further down that he saw a guard for the first time, with a prisoner bound to a cross, lashing them roughly, wearing something between a police uniform and an executioner’s garb. He hit behind a cage and took a long way around, now finding himself wondering if he’d slipped into hell, or was perhaps dreaming all of this in a chair up in the waiting room. One level deeper, he was spotted by a pair of guards about to unlock a cage and drag a prisoner out for punishment. Jimmy tried to run, but the two guards chased him down and tackled him, the prisoners around him jeering and hooting and calling, shouting for the guards to rape him, to beat him, to shove him in their cage and let the prisoners have their way with the freshmeat.

In the end, all they did was tear off his clothes, collar him, chain his ankles and wrists together, and march him deeper still into the jail, but that was enough to have Jimmy in tears, begging for understanding, trying to understand why they were doing this to him. The guards would simply slap his ass if he got too loud or whiny, and tell him that they were taking him to The Warden, to see what was to be done with the freshmeat.

Jimmy was led deeper into the jail, down to levels where limiting walls could no longer be seen in the darkness, where the cages and dungeons were truly a maze. The guards moved through the space unerringly, the captives cringing away as they approached, or pushing forward, scarred and bruised, begging for more. The guards were more numerous, but were far outnumbered by the captives. They would punish one, shove it back into a cage, and move onto the next without a moment’s rest. They came, at last, to a man larger than any of the other guards he had seen thus far, smoking a cigar, with a silver badge on the chest of his leather shirt declaring him the jail’s warden, and the guards told him that they had found an oddity--freshmeat roaming the upper levels, and didn’t know what to do with him, beyond strip him, bind him, and bring him to the Warden, of course.

The Warden looked at Jimmy, a bit puzzled himself, took a drag off his cigar, and asked him what he thought he was doing, trespassing in his jail. Jimmy, after a few false starts, managed to get out most of the relevant details, starting with Shadow stealing Marlon away, his troubles with everyone forgetting, filing a report at Precinct 27, his dream, his encounter that night with the shade that resembled Marlon so closely, who was then taken by the cops down here, into the jail, where Jimmy had gone as well, once the precinct had mysteriously emptied for the evening. The Warden listened rather intently, and Jimmy concluded his story with a request--he just wanted to know what he could do to get his friend back to the way he’d been. There had to be a cure, certainly.

The Warden just laughed, a deep belly laugh, hooked a lead to the collar around Jimmy’s neck, and tugged him away into the dark. “There’s a lot you don’t know, Freshmeat,” he said, “but one thing I can tell you, for certain, is that your friend is gone.”

The Warden said nothing else for a few minutes, until they rounded a bank of cages, and there, bound to a cross, was Marlon--or at least, the shade that had taken his place. He was still in his leather gear, unlike most everyone else in the jail who had been stripped naked--aside from those with clothes that could not be removed, or which the guards had secured on them purposefully. The chains binding him were not mere steel, but in the dim light of the jail, were glowing bright enough that Jimmy had to shield his eyes for a moment to let them adjust. Marlon was struggling against them, and as he did, he seemed to be warping, his body trying to slide away into the darkness around him, only to be dragged back to the chains holding him in place.

“Shades are a menace,” The Warden said, “Ever since the first, Shadow, who you had the unfortunate chance of encountering, we’ve been struggling to contain them. We’d done well, securing Shadow and caging most of his converts. We’ve been hunting him since his...escape, and were lucky to catch this one early, but I suppose we have you to thank for that, in one way or another.”

“But...what happened to Marlon?”

“That thing devoured him, more of less. Took his place. We don’t know what happens to their remains, but we know that the shadows grow as the flesh wilts, the shades taking their form, and their place, once they’ve drained enough from the people they used to follow around. They pretend well enough, but here, watch,” The Warden said, took the whip wrapped around his shoulder, cracked it hard against Marlon’s chest, and the whip bit into the leather like it was somehow soft, the shade letting off a screech far outside something a person could make. “See? It pretends, but it’s nothing like us. If it were up to them, all of us would be devoured. They want nothing beyond our complete decimation. Likely this one pursued you due to a lingering emotional connection, but don’t be fooled--if you hadn’t escaped, that shadow under you would have taken your place by the end of the night.”

Jimmy just stared at Marlon, the shade staring back, eyes full of disgust, but also fear and anguish. Could it feel those things, or was that just another trick, trying to earn his sympathy, hoping it would try to free him? The Warden unhooked the chains securing Jimmy’s wrists and ankles, and lastly, removed the collar around his neck. “You, on the other hand, aren’t even a resident, and so are beyond our jurisdiction. I’ll be sure to mention the security breach to the Commander, when we next speak, but you are free to go--my guards will escort you back to the surface.”

“What happens to that? What happens to everyone here? None of this can be legal, none of this is even possible.”

“Ah, the possible! Your laws hold no sway here, neither those of man, nor those of nature. We hold back the things that would devour this whole city if we weren’t here to stop them,” The Warden said, “the shade, along with the rest of our prisoners will remain here forever. They are aberrations. Any one of them could warp the surface irreparably in a matter of nights. Pigtown would become a Hell on Earth without me and my fellow guards keeping the filth in line.”

Jimmy couldn’t seem to turn away from the shade, bound to the cross. The fury and rage and sorrow he felt were as limitless as the darkness and as loud as the screams surrounding him. Without even knowing why, he took a flogger from a stand, strode forward, and whipped it across the shade’s face. It screeched, deep lines appearing in the surface, returning to their proper form in a few moments--almost. It had his face. His lover’s face. It was the greatest insult. He whipped it again, the Warden holding back one guard who stepped forward to stop him, and shook his head.

The jail would always be short on guards--there were simply too many in Pigtown that required containment. If the freshmeat wanted to help, so be it. The Warden would be happy to add him to the ranks.

#pigtown #bdsm #pain play #bondage #gay erotica #horror

Chapter 3.10 - All Alphas Need a Beta

Parker, with his two thralls following behind him down the dark street, didn’t look entirely out of place in Pigtown, though usually that sort of sight was more common deeper in, closer to the heart. He still got more than a few gawks from the men he passed by, and even then, none of them were really seeing him for what he truly was. It was around midnight when he got to Hugh’s apartment and pounded on the door--but no one answered. Figured, he supposed. Not many folks would be at home at this time of night in Pigtown, unless they were bringing someone back with them for the evening, and Hugh would more likely be out on the street selling his wares in the various bars and clubs. There was a chance, though, that his stash of BHB was still inside the place--after all, it wouldn’t make sense to carry a bunch of vials of the stuff around, since Hugh usually stuck to party drugs. He tried the door, but it was locked. He placed his massive shoulder against it, hand on the knob, and gave a bit of a push. The door caved it around the lock, and he and his globby thralls were inside.

Something was off, though. The lights were on, he could smell the remnants of food in the air. He poked around through the apartment, and sure enough, there was Hugh in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, shuddering, looking like he’d caught cold. Parker sniffed the air, and he recognized the scent now. Hugh was...his. Somehow, he knew that. Not quite the same as the meek little sucking things he’d made at the gym, though he supposed that Parker could probably suck him dry just as easily as the others. No, he was something else, and Hugh popped his head up from where he was lying, nostrils wide, and licked his lips. “P-Parker? I...something’s wrong, I--fuck, I...”

“Don’t worry about it Hugh, I know what you need, alright?” Parker said, lumbering around the side of the bed to where Hugh was lying. “But you need to do something for me first, alright?”

Hugh nodded, one hand reaching for Parker’s cock, already sensing why he was feeling so ill. “What the fuck happened to you Parker? What did that stuff do to you? I...I felt great, for a couple of hours, and then...I can barely move now.”

“Do you have more of the BHB?”

“I...a couple more vials, yeah, but that’s it.”

“Where were you getting it from? What’s your source?”

“Just...a friend. Another dealer, usually works the gyms, steroids, that sort of thing. We exchange samples on occasion.”

“What’s his name?”

“Aaron--don’t know much more than that.”

“And where does he get it? Who makes it?”

“I don’t fucking know Parker, please, I...I need a load from you, I’m so fucking hungry.”

“You have to fucking know something!” he said, “I’m barely going to make it through the fucking weekend with a couple of vials. Where do you meet up with him?”

“At The Emerald Spa. I deal there on Saturdays to the party boys, and he hooks up some jocks there with steroids at the same time. We chat between deals. I don’t fucking know where he’s getting it. He said it was from somewhere in Pigtown, but I don’t know more that that, you have to fucking believe me,” Hugh struggled and pushed himself upright with one arm shaking a bit, and that was when he finally noticed the two other figures who had entered the room now. “What...what the fuck...”

“Don’t mind them,” Parker said, “They’re with me.”

“What the fuck are they?”

“I don’t fucking know, Hugh. I’d like to get some fucking answers, so I know what the fuck is going on with me, but you don’t fucking know shit!”

Hugh flinched at the harsh tone, and Parker felt a jolt of delight. He was afraid of him. He should be afraid of him. Everyone should be afraid of him, everyone should know that he’s in charge, that he’s the fucking alpha. He toyed with the idea of throwing back the sheet and sucking Hugh dry right there and then, but didn’t. As much as the weak little drug dealer disgusted and infuriated him in the moment, he did still need him. He had no idea who Aaron was, and after that moment of withdrawal back in the gym, he had absolutely no interest in repeating that experience again. The only way he was going to avoid it, though, would be to get a regular supply. “Alright, I suppose you still have some use left in you,” Parker said, and shoved Hugh over onto his back in his bed. “That, and I’m fucking horny as hell. Let’s get you feeling better with a good dose from my alpha cock.”

Hugh looked like he was going to be a bit sick, when he saw the size of Parker’s new cock, and felt it sliding up and down his ass crack, lubed up with a generous layer of precum. He could feel it though, the tingle from the massive muscle man’s cum as it seeped into his skin, and he let out a little moan, cheeks flushing pink, feeling his own sex drive kick into gear. Parker pushed the head into his hole, and then with a few grunts, drove the rest of his cock in deep, Hugh biting down on a pillow to keep from screaming, knowing how much he needed this, worried that if he didn’t get it, he was going to die. Already, he could feel the withdrawl symptoms beginning to recede, but it wasn’t like before, where he felt just a simple burst of energy. He felt hot all of sudden, flushed with heat, and then came the first muscle spasm in his arm.

“What the hell, it fuckin’ hurts,” Hugh said, gripping his arm, his bicep flexing beyond his control.

“Of course it fuckin’ hurts moron, it’s a big fuckin’ dick.”

“No, not that, something’s wrong, it’s different this time, pull out.”

Bitch, I don’t pull out for anyone, I’m just getting started,” Parker said, and rammed in deeper, feeling his cock pump out some extra pre into Hugh’s guts. His thralls, attracted to the scent coming from Parker’s sex, climbed up onto the bed. One squeezed down, planted it’s greasy lips on Parker’s hole and started rimming him, driving a thick tongue into his Alpha’s hole, while the other oozed its way up onto the small of Hugh’s back, sucking on Parker’s muscular chest, drinking down the milk still seeping from his swollen muscle tits. Parker shuddered in pleasure, fucking faster now, no longer thinking of Hugh as anything more than just a hole.

Under him, the muscle spasms were spreading through Hugh’s entire body, from his arms, to his back, to his neck, to his chest, to his abs, down his legs and even in his feet. Each time, the muscle would clench, squeezing hard, and then start pumping, and with each pump, he could feel it swell, adding mass before relaxing again, exhausted but also somehow invigorated at the same time. Parker fucked faster and faster, and finally came, pumping a massive load of cum into Hugh’s guts, and when he did, he felt the same spasms begin again, his already pumped muscles inflating even larger--and only then, did Parker look down, past the fat thrall sucking on his tits, and realize that Hugh was growing larger and more muscular.

Not nearly as muscular as he was himself, of course, but Hugh had never been in much shape. Rail thin, with a small paunch, and rather short, Parker had always thought of him as a bit of a troll, and assumed he’d gotten into drug dealing as a way to extort sex out of guys, since he likely wouldn’t be able to get any from his looks alone. But while the cum hadn’t done anything to help his face, his body had gone from rail thin to thick with muscle after a single fuck. Parker pulled out, and Hugh pushed himself up and off the bed, looking down at himself, astounded. “Holy fuck, you fucking me into some fucking muscle beast, what the fuck is in that shit?”

“I don’t fucking know, but you’re gonna get me both of those vials, right fucking now,” Parker said.

Hugh didn’t even question the order--he went right to his stash, pulled out both vials, and handed them to Parker, who took one, found a needle, and injected it right into his ass. He could feel the first couple twinges of withdrawal. Filling Hugh up like that had taken a good amount of vitality out of him--he’d have to be careful with that from now on. But smelling Hugh on the air, he could tell something else, somehow. “Hugh, stand on one leg,” he said.

Again, without a moment of hesitation, Hugh shifted over and stood on one foot--and stayed there. From the look on his face, he was a bit confused himself, as to why he had done that, and why he was still doing it. “I...can’t put my foot down.”

“Holy fuck, you have to do what I say, don’t you?”

“I--wait, no fucking way!” Hugh said, struggled a bit more, but couldn’t get his foot down on the ground, no matter how much he struggled.

“You can put your foot down, but only after punching yourself in the nuts,” Parker said.

“No, what?” Hugh said, but his fist connected with his sack, and he bent over, moaning from the self-inflicted punch. “Why the fuck did you make me do that?” he said.

Parker just laughed, “becuase it was fucking funny, that’s why,” he said, “Alright, I have something I need to take care of, but I’ll be back tomorrow to give you another dose--probably before you start feeling shitty again. In the meantime, I want you to connect with Aaron--just with text. Don’t fucking tell him anything about me or what’s happening with you, just say that you’re interested in selling more BHB, and you want to get in contact with his supplier. I don’t care what you have to say, I want you to find out who’s making it and where, got it? If you don’t have the fucking info by the time I get back, I’m going to take you from this little muscle pig you’ve become, and you’re going to become one of these flabby little monsters instead--got it?” He said, grabbing one of his thralls by the scruff of its neck and hauling it’s fat body up into the air, waving it a bit in front of Hugh’s face.

Hugh nodded, “Understood...Sir.”

“Good instincts,” Parker said. “Now, I have some business to take care of. Be a good beta and get that info, or else.”

Hugh nodded, and Parker left the apartment, both thralls in tow. He found his phone, sent off a text to Aaron asking him what it would take to get that info, and then sat around waiting for the reply. In the meantime, he groped his own cock, amazed at how large it was, how it instantly rose up, demanding attention. He stroked himself off, always listening for the sound of a text coming in, but if he was going to be an Alpha’s beta, then he might as well get to enjoy the benefits in the meantime.

#pigtown #muscle growth #mind control #erotica #gay

Chapter 3.9 - Love's Shadow

“Jimmy? Are you there?”

Jimmy could still hear the voice in his head as he drove down the freeway, heading for the city proper. He had snuck out of his room in the middle of the night, and was on his way to Pigtown--all because a dream that he was somehow certain wasn’t a dream at all.

“Please Jimmy, you have to help me. He’s hurting me, please, Jimmy, please!”

It had been days since Jimmy had thought about Marlon, since he’d even recalled being in a relationship with anyone at all at school. But then he’d woken up in his bed, or at least, in the dream, he had woken up in his bed, and he’d sensed something in the room. He’d only felt something like it once, in the darkness that night on the sidewalk. Terrified, he’d tried to sit up, only for something to land right on his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. There, in the corner of the room, a figure, a shadow, a silhouette of someone, he couldn’t see who, but it was their doing, they were crushing him, killing him, and the voice, he’d heard Marlon’s voice...

I don’t know how much longer I can last, I need you Jimmy, I love you--”

It had taken all of his willpower, all of his disbelief, but he’d managed to reach out, grab hold of the cord of the lamp on his bedside table, and click it on. The weight had lifted, he’d heard a scream come from the being in the corner, and it had disappeared with the light, leaving Jimmy sitting up in his bed, panting and heaving for breath, the sound of Marlon’s voice fresh in his ears, his face fresh in his mind, and again, the shame, the crushing shame of abandoning him, of forgetting him.

Who knew if it had been real or not. It couldn’t have been real, but then, none of it could have been real, any of it, which is why it was constantly in a state of unraveling and unbeing. It was just a dream, and it had to be more than a dream. If he’d stayed in his room, if he’d fallen back asleep, it would have been nothing more, but he knew, somehow, that if he went to Pigtown, it might become something more than that. A message. A sliver of hope.

It was two in the morning when he drove through the liminal space between the city and Pigtown. Outside the district, the streets had been empty, but here, they were full of activity. He had no idea where to go, other than, perhaps, to the place where it had happened. He parked the car a block or so away from Depot, and retraced his steps to the same dark sidewalk where Marlon had simply vanished into the darkness. Jimmy’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he hesitated as he approached the doorway where the man had stepped out from that night, that shadow. He stopped, turned to go back to the car, or to the precinct, or anywhere other than here, but there, behind him, was him.

No--not him. Another man in full leathers, but a bit shorter, and younger--though it was hard to tell, since the only thing he could see of flesh was the bottom of his face, his eyes and brow shaded by the muir cap on his head. “You came. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“M-Marlon?” Jimmy said. “Is that you?”

“Yes and no,” the figure said, and took a step forward. As he did, the streetlight behind him flickered, and went dark. “I had almost forgotten you too, my love. I had forgotten how good it had felt, when we’d crossed on the bed while they’d kissed. How good our darknesses feel together.”

Jimmy felt something stir at his feet. He looked down, and saw his shadow was bent at a strange angle in the light where he was standing. The light was above and a bit in front--his shadow should have been small and behind him. Instead, it was in front of him, one hand outstretched towards Marlon, though Jimmy was making no such movement. He took a step back, and the shadow snapped back into place with a sickening sensation, something gut wrenching. He could feel it, suddenly, the longing, perhaps even deeper and more distraught than his own had become, tempered with an anger he couldn’t begin to fathom. His own shadow was furious, furious at him, but he had no idea why.

“Marlon, what happened to you? Where did you go?”

“I’m not talking to you!” the man spat at him, with just as much disgust as he’d felt from the shadow at his own feet. “You’ve held him down long enough. You escaped one time, but not again.”

Marlon raced towards him then, and Jimmy turned and ran off down the street away from him. He kept to the sidewalk at first, but the streetlight ahead of him flickered off, turning into that same pitch black hole that Marlon, his Marlon, had fallen into. He swerved around it into the street, where the light was more diffuse, and Marlon followed him, shouting and cursing at him, his own shadow clawing at the ground below him, trying to slow him down and hold him back. It was only a block away from the precinct. Perhaps, if he could get there, he would be safe.

There was one other close call when Marlon swerved into a dark corner and disappeared, only to reappear ahead of him, rushing from the side to cut him off. He tackled Jimmy to the ground, and he saw the lights begin to dim around him, almost like the darkness was trying to swallow him down into the very street, his own shadow rising over to smother him. He managed to fling Marlon off him, get up, and dash around the corner. If there hadn’t been a patrol coming out of the precinct at that moment, he might not have made it, in the end. But there was, and Jimmy shouted at them, “Shadow! Shadow!” hoping that would be enough to get them to see what was happening. Sure enough, the three burly cops heading out on patrol all turned in his direction at the word, and each of them pulled free a massive flashlight from their belts and ran towards him. Marlon was so preoccupied with his prey, and too new to realize the dangers of the precinct’s cops, that he didn’t consider turning back. He knew this was his only chance to get a hold of Jimmy’s shadow, to free him, so they could be together as they always should have been, away from their fleshy masters.

The first beam struck him, and it seared through him like a laser. He howled in pain, twisted away into the darkness, gathering up as much as he could to try and reform and protect himself. The beam swung and found him, and a second as well, pinning him in the light as the third officer came around behind and brought his own beam to bear on Marlon’s back--only it was looking less and less like Marlon, and less and less like a person at all, the longer the light was on it.

Jimmy just stared in horror as the thing that he’d known as his boyfriend, the man he’d come to save, melted away, lost definition, becoming flat and matte and small. One of the officers carefully set his light down on the ground, making sure it remained on Marlon without giving any space for a shadow to form that it might escape into, opened up the backpack he was wearing, and pulled out a plastic globe about the size of a basketball. He split it apart, and careful to make sure his own shadow made no contact with the shade, he scooped the small black creature into it, and locked it. One officer picked up the other flashlight, and together, the three of them carefully walked the globe back to the precinct, back past Jimmy, who just stared at them, and followed behind, wondering if he could help, if maybe, just maybe, they could fix his friend.

Inside the precinct, the previously calm waiting room was now anything but. Every chair was full with leather and rubber clad miscreants of various flavors, all of them staring at Jimmy, wearing just a pair of sweatpants and the tanktop he usually slept in. The hunger radiating off them was enough to curdle his guts. The three officers shoved everyone out of the way and took the shade back behind the desk and down the hall before he could catch up--only for an officer to grab him by the collar and haul him back. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, kid? What the fuck are you even doing in this part of town at this time of night!” the officer shouted at him. He was nothing like the men he’d seen lounging around the office during the daytime--he was muscular, and furry, his uniform clinging to his body, looking more like a stripper version of a cop, perhaps, though it was clear he wasn’t about to take anything off. Jimmy stammered out as best an explanation as he could, told him that he’d spoken to a detective just a few days prior about his friend going missing, the same friend that they had just turned into some weird shadow creature and taken away.

It was clear the officer didn’t believe him, and didn’t particularly care in any case. “Take a number, take a seat, and when its called, an officer will help you--but this is a restricted area, especially for freshmeat like you.” At that word, a few of the guys in the room--not the officers, but the other men waiting--all hooted and hollered, only for the officer to glare at them, and shut them right up. “Better yet, boy, you should go home and get back to bed. This is no place for you.”

Instead, Jimmy took a number, and since every seat was taken--though a few men offered to let him sit on their laps--he parked himself on the tile floor against the wall, and struggled to stay awake. He would start to drift off, feel something pull at him--not his shadow, but some other force he couldn’t quite describe, and it would be enough to panic him, wake him up, and each time he opened his eyes again, the waiting room would be more and more empty. He never saw anyone taken back, nor did he hear anyone’s number called, but he stuck his ground, staring down the officer behind the desk, as well as the one guarding the hallway who had chastised him, only for sleep to threaten again. He would check his phone, but the minutes began to crawl along as dawn approached, almost like time refused to progress until he fell asleep. After one final close call, at four fifteen, he snapped back awake, only to find the waiting room was empty aside from the two officers at the desk. He stood up, yawned, brushed himself off, walked up to the desk and slapped his number down on the table. “I’m done with this. Tell me what you did to my friend, and how I can fix him. I fucking want answers.”

The two officers looked at each other, surprised he’d lasted this long.

“The only one who can give you those answers is the commander, but I don’t think you’ll like what he has to tell you,” the officer said, his tone a bit softer. “You really should just go to sleep, and go home.”

That was reversed, wasn’t it? Jimmy was so exhausted, all of this was making even less sense than usual. “No, I want to talk to him.”

“Alright alright, look, he’s just wrapping some stuff up. Just a few minutes, and I’ll take you to see him,” the man said, yawning. “Have a seat.”

“I’ve been sitting for hours.”

“So then you can sit a little more, go fuckin’ sit down.”

Jimmy did as he was told, and the two of them stared each other down, both of them blinking slow, the end of the night bearing down on them, urging them to close their eyes and rest. There would be more nights in Pigtown, after all. Jimmy resisted the urge, though barely. He noticed, once, that the officer had begun to snore behind the desk, and the next time he pried his eyes open, he had disappeared--simply vanished from one moment to the next. Jimmy told himself he must have just nodded off, but the clock hadn’t advanced at all--in fact, it didn’t seem that time had advanced as much as it should have.

There was an analog clock above the desk, ticking away, but when Jimmy got up to investigate it, the second hand wasn’t advancing at all. Just trying to push past some invisible barrier, frozen a few minutes before dawn. The whole police station, which had been so full of raucous life earlier, was now silent aside for Jimmy. He went past the desk to the hallway, and there, he saw a little sign pointing down a stairwell that said “Jail”. That would be where they’d taken Marlon, probably. He went down the stairs, and found himself in a small collection of cells, but like the rest of the station, they were also empty, though there was evidence that they hadn’t been earlier--some abandoned clothing, an empty bottle or two. It was eerie. No longer was it fully silent, however. He heard sounds coming from another stairwell at the end of the jail, leading down to a sub basement, apparently.

He told himself that he should go, that he’d come back in the morning for answers, but something else called to him. He wanted to know now, and he knew, come morning, much of this would feel like a dream, like some wild fabrication, no longer fitting into a reality where the sun could banish shadows so easily. He started down the stairs into the jail proper, hoping he’d find the truth down there, in the darkness.

#pigtown #erotica

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.

#pigtown #erotica #horror #body horror #inanimate tf

Chapter 3.7 - Old Acquaintances

“What do you want pig? You want more smoke?”

The man on his knees in front of Kyle gave a little whimper, but the size of his hard on, and the hunger in his eyes showed that his hesitancy was no longer as powerful as his newfound lust. Kyle took a long drag off the jumbo pipe he was smoking tonight at The Hideaway, wrapped one leather glove around the man’s chin, and fed him the smoke. He snorted it down, his already substantial waistline filling out even further, eyes glazed over with lust, and Kyle pulled out his cock, shoved the man’s face onto it, and he started sucking, only to be surprised when even more smoke filled his mouth. Kyle heaved a sigh and shuddered, leaning over against Marshall, who was watching his apprentice work the man over in the bar, where a small crowd of regulars had gathered to watch.

It had been clear that he was freshmeat. Enough time spent in Pigtown, and you began to smell the scent when they walked past. Everyone described it a bit different. Some compared it to a steak coming hot off the barbeque. Others said it reminded them of the smell of good whiskey rising up out of a glass. Each person had their own take on it. To Kyle, it was like his mother’s fresh cobbler, fresh out of the oven, too hot to touch, and yet it called to you all the same, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. Everyone knew, and everyone wanted you. Pigtown wanted you, and they were all Pigtown. Of course, not everyone could have you, it wasn’t a free-for-all. The freshmeat had to want you first. It made it worse, somehow, when you could smell it, and somehow know it wasn’t for you. Tonight, though, the older fellow had wanted Kyle, and Kyle had wanted a smokepig, and so here they were.

Kyle had thought he’d miss his old life. Thought he’d miss going to college, thought he’d miss his old friends, thought he’d miss his family. Pigtown, though, didn’t give him any space to miss things, every moment was taken up with some little hedonistic delight now, a constant drip feed of pleasure, so he no longer needed to consider what he might be missing. Even his work in the shop was becoming more pleasurable, now that the regulars were involving him in their conversations, since he was one of them as well. Outside the shop, though, he could sense that a number of people feared Marshall, and feared him in turn.

He asked him about this, one morning as they were eating breakfast. Marshall had seemed hesitant to say something at first, but eventually had told him that even among the men in Pigtown, they were different. “You’re not like the people outside of Pigtown anymore, but you know that. We also aren’t like the men inside Pigtown either. No one really knows what to call us. At the precinct, they call us aberrations. I’m not a fan of the term, but you should know what it means, if someone says it to you. We aren’t quite human anymore, not in the ways that humans would say matter. We need different things than humans do, too. I, of course, still think of myself as human, for the most part.” He took a long draw off his second cigar of the morning to make the point, then continued, “But we’re still men. Now, there are some like us who I would say aren’t even men anymore, either. I would hesitate to say that they are dangerous. Pigtown is dangerous, but nothing here will kill you. It will change you, render you into something unrecognizable, but it won’t kill you.” It was more or less an answer. It wasn’t until he met Shadow for the first time that evening, that the boundaries Marshall had outlined became wholly clear.

It happened like this:

The light in the room changed, everything seemed to glow a bit brighter as all the light left one corner of the Hideaway, and when the darkness receded, there were two men in full leathers standing beside a small round table, and the men in the bar fled that corner just as the light had moments before. A number of men shot up from where they were sitting or leaning and booked it out of the bar, a few others sat up a little straighter, clearly ready for something, and the bartender poured a couple of whiskey sodas, and sent them to the table, free of charge. Kyle was left looking at Marshall for cues on what to expect, but his Master held the same laid back confidence as always, though perhaps the smoke inside him had quickened, ever so slightly.

“Leave the pig for a bit. We should go pay our respects, and you ought to be introduced,” Marshall said.

“Who...is that?” Kyle asked, “Is that...Shadow? The guy that took Marlon?”

“That is Shadow, yes. I would be very careful with the words you use, though. How is Shadow ‘taking’ Marlon any different than what you’re doing to this poor soul right here?” The sarcasm was exaggerated, but the point stung regardless. Kyle nodded, and followed Marshall over to the dark corner, where Shadow gave Marshall a nod as he approached.

“Marshall, it’s been a while. How’s the shop?”

“Business has been booming around here since you went away for a while,” Marshall said. Shadow stood, the two of them embraced, and then Shadow sat back down. “I heard you were in the jail.”

“Yes, I was.”

“And...you escaped. From what Rumwell is always spouting off, I’d have thought the Warden had the place locked down tighter than that.”

Shadow let a little smirk cross his mouth, the only part that Kyle could see beneath the brim of his cap. “Well, I’m sure he will attempt to return me there as soon as possible, in any case. Now, who is this strapping young man with you? Last I recall, you were rather reluctant to spread your gift, Marshall.”

“I like to think I was waiting for someone worthy of it,” Marshall said, and Kyle couldn’t help but swell with a bit of pride. “I see we have a new shade among us as well.”

“Marlon,” the other leather clad figure said, extending a hand, and Kyle gave a little jump.

“Wait, Marlon? Really?” Kyle said, leaning in close and trying to get a good look at Marlon’s face, but his eyes couldn’t pierce the shadow that seemed to fall across his eyes perpetually, “You...You’re ok then? Jimmy’s been worried sick about you, since you disappeared.”

Shadow stood up, placed himself between them, and pushed Kyle backwards, knocking him slightly off balance. “It’s very rude to look under a shade’s brim, you know. It’s very private.”

“I...He’s my friend. He went missing.”

“I don’t...wait, I do know you, don’t I?” Marlon said, leaned over and laid one hand on Kyle’s shadow. He could...feel it, somehow, and he shuddered. “Ah, of course. I didn’t recognize you from up here. Kyle, right?”

“You don’t remember me?”

“I was Marlon’s shadow, Kyle. I remember, and know, different parts of you than he would have. The Marlon you knew is gone. I took his name; it was one of the few things about him I liked.”

“What do you mean gone?” Marshall dropped one hand on the back of Kyle’s neck and gripped him there, hard enough to make him reassess what he was saying. “I mean...I’m sorry. I was mistaken.”

Shadow looked down at him, or at least, Kyle assumed the blackness under the cap was looking at him, and sat back down. “I wouldn’t have expected you to know everything that goes on here, but I would advise you to be a bit more cautious, in the future, little smoke.”

“Why don’t you go tend to your pig, Kyle. Go have some fun.”

“Yes...Sir,” Kyle said. He left, and dragged his pet pig for the evening towards the maze, wondering if he would have been dismissed so easily if he’d been a little more tactful. Marlon watched him go, rubbing his leather gloved fingers together, feeling that particular darkness, and that name, Jimmy. “Shadow, you said that I can go somewhere else, if I need to, didn’t you?”

“I am not your master, my shade,” Shadow said, “Come and go as you please.”

Marlon stood up, summoned the darkness and slipped away into it, leaving just Marshall and Shadow alone at the table together. Marshall took the seat that Marlon had been in, and watched as the rest of the bar slowly fell back into its prior rhythm, though several men were still glancing back at them both on a regular basis.

“Is it...time for you?” Marshall asked. “It’s been calling to me, lately, that’s the only reason I ask, and I know you’re quite a bit older than me.”

“Oh, all the time. But I have work to do, first, before I go there. He’s a handsome fellow, a little prone to putting his foot in his mouth, perhaps.”

“What about yours? Where has he gone off to?”

“I do not keep tabs on my shades. They go where they please. I’m in the business of freedom, you know that.”

“Chaos, some might say. I like that the nights are more interesting with you in them. I should go follow that little apprentice of mine, before he gets into too much trouble. He still has a pretty heavy hand.”

“I could use something to eat, myself. You’re welcome to join me, if you want. I think your little apprentice will manage one way or another, without your supervision.”

“I ate last week. You know I don’t need as much as you do.”

“You need just as much, you just swallow it all at once. I prefer to share.”

“Have a good night, Shadow. Let me know if I can be of assistance.”

“Last I checked, we weren’t quite on the same side of things.”

Marshall stood up, and adjusted his leather coat. “If the rumors I hear coming out of the precinct are at least half truths, I’m not quite sure where the line is anymore. Things are...breaking down, around here. Getting messy. I hate mess, you know that.”

Shadow chuckled, and from one moment to the next, the chair was occupied, and then it was not, leaving Marshall standing alone in the bar again. The men there breathed a collective sigh of relief, and Marshall wandered into the maze, sniffing out his apprentice’s pipe smoke. Shadow, meanwhile, materialized a few blocks away, in the dark of an alley, closer to the edge of the district. Still a bit early, perhaps. No matter, it would only be a matter of time before some prey wandered along, as it did.

#pigtown #erotica #horror #bdsm #smoke play

Chapter 3.6 - The Warden

Precinct 27 had been a normal police precinct, at one point. The neighborhood had been rundown, ripe for gentrification maybe, but no more troubled than any other area of the city. But then, they’d seen an uptick in public indecency, nudity, sex in the alleys, all of it originating at the far end of its jurisdiction. Rumor told of a bar or a club or a complex called Pigtown that had opened up, some sleazy gay place, but the officers had never been able to find it and shut it down. Then, it had spread. A few more arrests for public indecency turned into gay bars and bathhouses and more opening up, and it wasn’t long before the corruption, or whatever it was, had spread to some of the officers. Looking back, it was difficult to say whether the choices Rumwell had made then had been the right ones or not, but there was no good reason to second guess himself now. What he had done, he had done in the interest of maintaining order, both within the precinct, and outside of it, as best they all could. It had meant making some deals with a few devils. It had included making a few necessary sacrifices. There had been an equilibrium for a while--Pigtown hadn’t grown much larger than the blocks beyond the precinct, and the commander had done what was necessary to keep the city and other eyes from prying too closely. Over the last few months, though, Rumwell had found it difficult to feel like that balance was going to last forever.

He was in his office, where two of his officers had finished their business with his boots and his cock. He sent them off to other duties, and made his way down to the lowest level of the precinct--or at least, what had been the lowest level at one time, known as the drunk tank. The basement was lined with a few cells, empty at this time of day. It was generally intended for catch and release these days. But what hadn’t always been there were the stairs at the end of the hall, that led down into the jail proper.

Six months into whatever this was, the precinct had run out of room. There were just too many deviants, and if you jailed them together, they would get up to even worse antics in the cells than out on the streets, and more than a few times, he’d caught his officers fraternizing with the perverts. He’d even lost a few to the alleys, in the early days, before he’d learned how to assert proper control and discipline over his ranks. They’d needed space, and one night, more space had appeared. Another bank of cells below the basement, appearing like magic. But soon those had been filled as well, and more appeared, and more. At this point, it was difficult to know how deep the entire complex went below the precinct. He imagined that the only person who might know would be The Warden.

When the jail had first begun growing, a small contingent of officers proved to be more resistant to the corruption spreading from the perverts locked up there than others--or at least, they were less prone to letting them escape, or running off with them. At some point, the group had named one of them their de facto leader, and begun calling him The Warden. Rumwell had known his real name at one point, but now, it was gone, as was most of the man’s prior identity, he supposed. After all, it wasn’t that the men had been more resilient to the corruption spreading through this part of the city, it was merely warping them in a different fashion, and by the time Rumwell realized what had happened down there, it was too late to do anything about it.

The result, now, was a division. The precinct above, run by Rumwell, and the prison below, run by The Warden. They had been cooperative at first, but slowly, the warden had grown more antagonistic. He demanded more guards to cover the cells, and when Rumwell refused, he simply took them for himself. Prisoners that Rumwell had intended to release back onto the street come morning were deemed too deviant to be allowed out, and commandeered on a regular basis. Rumwell couldn’t help but feel like he was no longer entirely in charge, and when he’d confronted the Warden about his actions a couple of months ago, neither of them had escaped the encounter unscathed. They hadn’t spoken sense.

He descended into the jail, trying to ignore the screams, the sounds of whips and flails and paddles and whatever instruments the guards desired to maintain the prisoner’s compliance. It seemed rather clear to him that their motives were more selfish. Some prisoners saw him, begged him for mercy. The deeper he went, the less he heard that cry--instead, conditioned by constant beatings, twisted by the guards, by the warden, the deviants ached, craved the pain and the discipline, howling with ecstasy from where they were chained on the walls or confined in the cages.

The occasional guard would notice him, but while some would smile, none tried to stop him. They all knew that they wouldn’t be able to resist him--the only one who could was the Warden. He recognized the faces of a few, but many were unrecognizable, either their faces were hooded, or they had been twisted into such a brutish appearance as to no longer even seem human. This was deeper than he’d ever been before, the depravity around him much more intense.

“Ah, so he has returned,” a voice said out of the darkness, and The Warden stepped forth, a flogger over one shoulder, half smoked cigar clamped in his bearded jaw, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Commander Rumwell? Come to give me another lecture?”

Rumwell sized up the warden, who seemed to have grown a little wider, and a bit taller since their last encounter. Not quite as large as Rumwell was, but close. He was wearing a full leather uniform, and underneath the smell of leather and smoke, there was the distinct pang of blood in the air as well. “My feelings on the matter haven’t changed, and I assume yours haven’t either. I don’t see a reason to open up old wounds just yet. I’m here on business. I need to confirm that Shadow is still being held here--I want to see him.”

The Warden took a draw off his cigar, and pushed a plume off to the side. “Unfortunately, he escaped.”

“What?”

“A few weeks ago. Found himself a shadow, slid right into it.”

“You told me you had him contained.”

“And I thought I did.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this? Weeks? You know full well how many fucking shades that monster can make! It was a nightmare cleaning up the streets last time, and who knows if we even caught all of them.”

The Warden gave a little shrug, “I’m sure you’ll be able to catch him again.”

Rumwell stalked a little closer, “You let him escape on purpose, didn’t you?”

“And you still aren’t meeting the quotas we agreed on.”

“So you let one of the most unpredictable aberrations loose onto the street because you’re not getting enough bodies to torture?”

“This is not torture, Commander. All of these bodies, if we let them loose, what do you think would happen? The city would be overrun. You can’t keep the streets in order without me, without everything that I do down here. I know what they need. I know how to control them. You can pretend that you sit in that tall office of yours, that you know this city, but it’s down here in the fucking dark that I keep it safe. All I ask is that you give me what my guards need to stay occupied.” He took a draw off the cigar, and blew another plume. “Besides, shades are really...exquisite things. The punishment they can take--the punishment they need. Nothing like it in the world that I’ve found. If Shadow happens to make a few more that end up down here, I can’t say I would be disappointed. Flesh withers so easily, but shadow--so much more resilient.” He held out the flogger, handle towards the commander, and he saw that each leather strap was tipped with a metal spike, a few with flecks of what he imagined must be blood. “My offer still stands, Commander, if you want to try your hand at it. See what it feels like. I know you have the rage in you, I can still feel the bruise on my jaw a little. Why don’t you just let it out on something that really deserves it? They aren’t even human after all.”

Rumwell turned and left before The Warden could finish speaking, the laughter of the man echoing through the halls, mirrored in the ecstatic screams and shouts all around him. He struggled to find his way back up to the precinct, the stairwells and hallways seemed to twist around him, confound him, threaten to seal him in, but finally, he burst his way back up into the drunk tank, and didn’t stop until he was out of the building, standing on the sidewalk, panting in the night air. It was monstrous. It was necessary. He wondered, again, how it would feel, what the screams would sound like if he had brought them forth himself, if he would lose himself. He knew he would. He was strong, but not strong enough, and the Warden knew that.

He straightened up, and marched back inside, where the night shift was just coming in. They were more hardened, more resilient than the day officers. They faced the brunt of what Pigtown had to offer, and pushed back as best they could--and fed the beast below them. “The Warden has informed me that Shadow has escaped from the jail. He’s been on the loose for a few weeks now. This is now our priority. I want him found, and I want him back down there, where he belongs.”

#pigtown #erotica #cops #bdsm #horror

Chapter 3.5 - Side Effects

Parker swore that it had been a normal workout--usually a couple of hours from when he started stretching to his cool down cardio. When he looked outside though, he was confused to see that it was night already, and he had been lifting weights for close to five hours straight, cycling through arms, back, legs, chest, core and back again, over and over, desperate to try use up the energy that was suddenly thrumming through him. He was a bit addled at first, soaked in sweat, trying to piece together the hours that he had apparently spent here without even realizing it. Not long after that, he realized that more than a few of the men around were staring at him, some lustfully, but more than a couple just looked confused or concerned. He wasn’t quite sure why, until he turned again, saw himself in one of the mirrored walls of the gym, and did his best not to let his own jaw hit the floor at the sight.

The workout clothes that he had on, which he liked a little tight, so they could better show off his bulge and physique, were about to tear themselves off his body, if he flexed a bit too hard. In fact, one of the straps on his tank top had done just that at some point, revealing one massive, hairy pec with a nipple on the end of it larger than some men’s cocks--and was it leaking? He reached over with one hand, and sure enough, it was. That was enough to send him into the locker room for a moment, so he could get a better handle on what he was looking at.

He went around the corner to the sinks, and there, he realized that he hadn’t just grown more muscular over the course of a single afternoon, he’d also grown taller. The sinks that usually hit right at his waist, now met the middle of his thigh, and he needed to stoop down slightly just to get a look at his face in the mirror. “God damn, what the fuck,” he said, looking at his thickly bearded face, heavier jaw and bro...the receding hairline. He ran a hand through his usually thick hair, only to watch a good chunk of it fall away, leaving him with a substantial bald patch. He splashed some water on his face, tried to stop himself from hyperventilating, got out his phone, and called Hugh--but the dealer didn’t answer.

“God fucking damn it,” he said, face feeling flushed, looked down, and saw another reason the guys had been staring at him. He’d been so focused on his face and upper body, he hadn’t bothered to notice that his cock was simply massive--long enough that the head and a couple inches of the shaft were hanging out of the leg of his shorts, only half hard, and drooling the same viscous, milky substance his pecs had suddenly started producing. He dropped his shorts, and his balls were swollen to easily the size of a bowling ball--he held them in his hands, and he could feel them aching. Not just aching. They were churning. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d last cum? The skin of his scrotum was pulled taut--he couldn’t even feel his testicles inside them. It was like they were swimming in the goo now flowing out of him.

“God, some guys are such fucking freaks, they’ll shoot themselves up with anything. What do you think that fucker’s on, anyway?”

“Who the fuck knows, some of the shit on the street these days can be real fucking shady. Steroids, sure--who hasn’t done them? But I sure as hell don’t want to look like that.”

“Did you catch a whiff of him? Dude fucking reeks too.”

“I bet--looks like he’d be better suited in a fucking barnyard.”

Parker’s face flushed red. They were fucking talking about him, they had to be. The shame he felt surprised him. He loved seeing guys stare at him, but this...what the fuck was happening to him? He needed to get to the hospital or something, needed to figure out what the hell this stuff even was. He went to take leave, only for the shorts he was wearing to finally give up the fight, tear open from crotch to waist, and his massive genitals spilled out, the sudden drop causing a massive burst of milky cum to ooze their way out of the head, making a sizable puddle on the floor. Parker hefted his monstrous package, but just pressing on the swollen sack made even more of the gunk spew all over his hands, and the smell of it, fuck, it smelled a bit rank, but it was making him kind of horny too.

Maybe it was just a minute or two, but when Parker came back to himself, he had both hands wrapped around his cock, milking it with long strokes, grunting and moaning like some fucking animal, just flooding the floor with his precum. He regained a bit of control, just in time for the two men who had been talking about him to round the corner, heading for the showers, and stopped dead in their tracks. “Fucking, hell, what the fuck is that stench?” one of them said, throwing his elbow across the face.

“Christ, you fucking pervert!” the other said, but Parker could see something happening to them both, their eyes going a little glassy. The other one gave a little snort, got down, crawled towards the puddle of precum he’d just made and started lapping it up. The first put up a little resistance, tried to run--but Parker had had enough. He grabbed him, dragged him back, and flung him face first into the puddle with his friend, watched him try to resist for a moment, but he soon gave in and started licking as much of it up from the filthy gym floor as he could. Parker didn’t quite know why he was doing this, but he was so...so full. He needed someone to empty him, didn’t he? He got down on his knees with them, grabbed the back of their heads, and pulled them to his teats, both of them sucking down Parker’s milk right from the source, and as they did, he could see them both changing.

Their guts grew first, filling up with Parker’s milk, but it soon became obvious that it wasn’t just a full belly--they were actually getting fatter. Their hair was next, both on their heads and their bodies, falling away into the puddle below them. Parker felt something happen to his cock--it moved in a way he didn’t quite understand, in a way he couldn’t even really control, slithering between him and one of the men latched onto his pec, like it was seeking something out. It found it, the head of his cock swallowing up the man’s cock, and it started sucking on it, and both he and Parker let off a moan in unison. He could feel it, feel himself draining the man’s vitality, his muscles, even his youth, his now hairless face growing a bit wrinkled, his muscles atrophying as they were sucked out and added to Parker’s own massive frame. The other man tried to pull away in horror, but his mouth wouldn’t let him detach from the other nipple. When his cock was finished, and had sucked away the man’s cock and balls until the only thing that remained was a piss hole buried in his new fat, the now larger cock snaked over to the second man, and repeated the process, draining him completely dry as well. When he was finished, he stood back up, the two men’s mouths coming away from his tits with a loud sucking sound, and he looked down at them, barely even recognizable as men now, just two short blobs, their mouths sucking up everything they could of their new master from the floor under them.

He, on the other hand, was even larger. His head was mere inches from the ceiling, the rest of his clothes fell away from him as he stood up and flexed, and he tore the rags away from him. There was no reason to hide this body now--he was superior to every other man, how could he have ever doubted himself before? One of the thralls below turned around and raised its hole, now loose and more than capable of taking its master’s cock, but before he could accept the invitation and fuck the thing, there was a cramp in his arm, and then in his guts that made him double over in pain.

He didn’t know what could be causing it, but his whole body was screaming out for...for something. Something it needed. He stumbled over to his locker, fumbled it open, and carefully extracted the extra vial of BHB he’d taken from Hugh. Manipulating the syringe with his massive body was difficult, especially with the muscle spasms, but he managed to get himself injected, and after a couple of scary minutes, he felt the pain recede, and the horniness flood through him all over again--but that could wait. Hugh’s place wasn’t too far from here, and if that was how his body was going to react to withdrawal, he couldn’t afford to go without a dose again.

When the staff came to investigate the smell in the men’s locker room, after the emergency exit had been tripped, they found the strange pool of goo, the tattered remains of three sets of men’s workout clothes, and nothing else. Parker was busy strutting his way through the darkness of pigtown, his two thralls lumbering and wobbling their way after him, stopping one after another to slurp up their master’s precum that was still seeping its way onto the sidewalk. It was time, now, to have another little chat with Hugh, and after that, it was time to settle things with Samuel once and for all, and show him who was really the boss in this relationship.

#pigtown #muscle growth #body horror

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.

#pigtown #body horror #erotica

Chapter 3.3 - Shadow's Puppet

Marlon was lost, had been lost for a while now. Sometimes, he was there in the cage, feeling his body slowly draining away, too exhausted to move, too exhausted to do much of anything. Other times, he was out of the cage, with Shadow, who for the last week, had been tormenting Marlon’s shade almost non-stop. Shadow didn’t seem to need sleep, or food, or water. Marlon, on the other hand--or at least, the part of Marlon in the cage, didn’t seem to require them any more either, but didn’t stop feeling hunger or thirst. When he managed to find a voice, he would occasionally call out, begging for sustenance, but Shadow and the shade saw no reason to engage. It ought to be wasting away, after all. It wasn’t going to be important, from now on.

The shade had been flat, at first. Marlon hadn’t quite understood how Shadow could grip something flat, but he could. His manacles could bind it, his whips and floggers could strike it, his needles could pierce it. There was never any mark on the shade from any of this, no matter how hard it was struck, no matter what sadistic torture it was given. There was no mark on Marlon’s body either, in the cage, but he still felt every strike as though it had been against his own flesh and bone under Shadow’s implements.

The hunger and thirst made him delusional, or at least, he thought they were delusions, at first. Visions that he was outside of the cage, looking down on himself, but without control of his body. It took a few of these before he realized he was literally looking down at himself, through the eyes of the shade. It seemed to happen when Shadow fucked the shade, or fed him a load. Often the shade would have an orgasm of its own, and Marlon’s vision would slip for a moment, looking at his own body. It was pale, flat, sagging. It seemed less like a body, and more like a costume that someone had left crumpled up on the floor. Then he would be back, shuddering, the torture would begin again, and he would return to screaming.

He didn’t understand why he wasn’t dead. Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he was dying. He asked Shadow, asked him why he was doing this, why he wasn’t dying. There was no sense of time down in the windowless room, just that constant red light. Shadow never replied, of course. The question didn’t particularly interest him. After all, Pigtown had never killed anyone, to his knowledge. Pigtown didn’t want to kill you, it wanted to use you. The men of Pigtown wanted to use you too. Use, or be used. Take, or be taken.

At some point, Marlon’s voice was taken from him. It took a few minutes, or hours, before he realized that the moans and screams he was hearing were no longer coming from his own mouth--they were coming from the shade. They were different as well. No longer were they full of terror--they sounded pleased. Delighted, almost. His voice croaked out, asking for more, “More, Master, more...” and he clawed at the bars of the cage, furious at his own shadow’s betrayal. He’d been his, after all, all his life. And now, he was taking everything from him. He tried to scream, tried to shout, but nothing--not even a whisper would leave his lips. It was one of the few times Shadow even acknowledged that he was still there, the shaded face turning to the cage, a slight smile across those bearded lips, and then he turned to the shade. “More of what, my little puppet?”

“Everything, all of it,” the shade said. Even worse, Marlon felt his own mouth move with the words, though no sound came from him.

Marlon found himself slipping back and forth, between his dwindling existence in the cage, and the painful pleasure outside of it, under Shadow’s controlling hands. He could feel the shade’s voice growing, not just when speaking, but in his own mind, too. How much it hated him. Hated that body in the cage, how it had been tethered to him for so long. Marlon found himself growing more and more sympathetic. The pain on the cross, or over the bench, or whatever else Shadow did to him was nothing compared to the aching hunger and thirst and weakness when he slipped back into the cage. He was miserable. He was a miserable little fleshy thing. Better for it to wither away, better for it to disappear. Eventually, he did--mostly. The shade overwhelmed him, took on color, took on space, took on form and feature. The shade became Marlon, and whatever it was that was in the cage continued to wither, until there was nothing really left at all, not after Shadow shared it with his new puppet.

To an acquaintance, the shade would have been easily mistaken for Marlon, as he had been. There were only a few differences, the most obvious of which was that he lacked a shadow. After all, he was the shadow, where Marlon had put all of his degeneracy, all of his fear, all of his weakness. But the shade had taken all of the substance from him, locked what little remained of Marlon away deep in his own mind, not that he planned on using any of it. It would take the name though--the shade had always liked the name. He had always hated the man it had been tethered to--most shadows resented their living hosts. Of course, the shade was indebted to Shadow, and more than happy to service him. But now, Shadow turned his attention to the two pitch black cocoons which were still quivering, where they were suspended from the ceiling.

He formed a knife from the darkness of the room, sliced one of them open, and what fell out was...something else. A shade, certainly. The shade of one of the officers, but only half-formed. Shadow had devoured quite a bit of them both, weakened them enough that their shades could overtake them, suck what substance remained from them, but there wasn’t enough.

“Are...are they alright?” Marlon asked.

“They will be, we just need to give them some more to eat, is all,” Shadow said, gave a little flourish with his hand, and gathered some of the shadows in the room around Marlon’s naked body. It condensed against his skin, becoming a set of leather gear, pitch black aside from the metal buckles that seemed to hold the light shone on them. “Why don’t we go out tonight? I have some social calls to make, but we can get these two fed first.”

The shade cradled one of the little shadows in his arms, could feel it beginning to understand itself. There was pale body mixed in with it too, somehow. Whatever it was, he could tell that it would be different from what he’d become. Shadow picked up the other shade, pulled the shadows of the room together and Marlon followed him through the darkness.

What the old Marlon had only understood, before, as a void, the shade understood as a tapestry. There were all kinds of darkness there, stretching in all different directions. Follow a strand, and you could go, well, anywhere. Shadow led them out of the darkness and into an alley not far from where he had found Marlon and Jimmy that night a few weeks before. It was night, but not that late. Shadow dimmed the lights, and the two of them waited.

It wasn’t long before the darkness of the alley lured a couple of Pigtown’s residents into the alley for a little fuck before heading off to the next bar. What they didn’t expect, was for the two shades to bolt and scurry out of the darkness, crawl their way up their bodies, and latch themselves onto their heads, the two men screaming and prying at the darkness, trying to rip it from them, until they stopped moving.

“They’ll probably just remember it as a nightmare, is all,” Shadow said to Marlon as they watched. “They’re not strong enough to take everything yet, like you or I could.”

“Like...I could?” Marlon asked.

Shadow nodded. “I may call you my puppet, but it’s merely a term of endearment. You can do anything I can do--I’m just as much a shade as you are. After this, they’ll be strong enough to make it on their own if they keep to the darkness. I had so many of them for a while, but I can’t feel them at all, not since I escaped.”

“From where?”

Shadow didn’t say. He just started off towards the mouth of the alley, and down the sidewalk, Marlon hustling a bit to catch up. Apparently, his questions would have to wait.

#pigtown #horror #erotica

Chapter 3.2 - Filing a Report at Precinct 27

The week before, after going to see his friend Kyle at the smoke shop and having that strange conversation with Marshall, Jim had strode down the sidewalk and gone straight towards the precinct as Marshall had suggested. Standing outside the building, however, his resolve had wavered. Marshall had told him he had two options. Either he could forget that any of this had ever happened, like everyone else had seemed to, aside from him and Kyle, or he could ask the officers here for help. Jimmy couldn’t imagine what help the officers here could give him, especially since he had no concrete evidence that what had happened that night, had actually occurred. He didn’t even have evidence that Marlon existed.

In the end, he’d left, and gone home. He’d think about it. He’d wait. See if Marlon turned up on his own. He felt like a coward, and it was that shame that kept welling his memories of him back up to the surface, just when the water had gone still. The furthest he got was three days, almost enough that he’d forgotten he’d been trying to forget something at all, only for him find a shirt that had been Marlon’s stashed in his closet that he’d stolen one night after some fumbling half-sex together. He’d felt horrible, horrible that he’d decided to just give up on him, horrible that he could still smell him on the shirt, pressed to his face. Horrible that he was clinging to some strange delusion, an imaginary boyfriend he couldn’t even prove existed at all.

And so, Marshall’s point was proven. There really were only two things he could do, two paths forward. He wouldn’t be able to forget him, he could already see that. Time might stretch longer and longer between remembrances, but Marlon would always come back to him, and that, he was sure, would drive him mad, eventually. The only other choice then, was to find someone who could help--and if the officers of Precinct 27 could help, then that’s where he would have to go. He stepped into the lobby on Thursday afternoon, trying to plan the words that might convince the officers to even listen to him. It would sound crazy, he knew that, but Pigtown seemed to be a little crazy already. Maybe that’s why they would be a little more understanding.

He stepped up to the desk, where a rather bored, disheveled officer had his feet up on the counter, and realized that he was thumbing his way through a rather dogeared porno magazine. A gay one, at that. Unconcerned, the officer looked up at him, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Can I help you, kid?”

“I...I think I need to file a report,” Jim said.

The officer gave a little snorting noise, something between a grunt and a chuckle, and then leaned in and gave Jim a few sniffs, and sat back, his brow furrowed. “Huh, I think you do, actually. Have a seat, I’ll find someone to help you out.”

“Oh, uh...ok,” Jim said, “Do you...need some info, or anything?”

The officer had already gotten up from the desk and left the lobby, heading down a side hall. Jimmy just looked around, considered leaving before the strange fellow returned, but didn’t. He took a seat on a lumpy chair off to the side, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long, but for a police station, the place didn’t seem particularly busy. Looking around, it also didn’t seem particularly well cared for either. The walls were stained, the floor tiles peeling up. It was a far cry from the shining, well-funded precinct out in the suburbs where he lived, where the clean, well polished officers had looked at him like he was crazy. He didn’t have to wait long for the officer to return, followed by a rather rotund and stout detective in civilian clothes, with a beard down to his chest. Nothing about him suggested he had abided by any sort of dress code, or that he could even pass a fitness test. “Who, that one?” the other officer said, looking over at Jimmy, “You said he smelled like what?”

“You heard me. Faint though.”

“But it’s the middle of the day!”

“That’s why I didn’t go right to Rumwell.”

The new officer gave a huff, and walked over to where Jimmy was sitting. Now that he was closer, he saw that under the officer’s gut was a substantial amount of muscle, and he found himself second guessing his assumption about the officer’s physical capabilities. He had a name tag on that identified him as Ambrose Winston. “What are you here for, kid? You look a little young to be a resident. Feel fuckin’ sorry for ya if ya are.”

“A resident?”

“Of Pigtown.”

“Uh, no--I...the guy, Marshall, who runs the smoke shop, he said...you might be able to help me. My name’s Jimmy, I live out in Barry’s Hollow.”

“Out in the suburbs?” Something about the way the officer said it, made it sound that it might as well be another continent--another planet in the solar system.

“Uh, yeah...My, uh, friend went missing, the Friday before last. I...I tried to tell the cops, out where I live, but they didn’t believe me.”

The officer looked at each other. “Was that when...” Winston said, looking back at the cop from the reception desk, who just nodded, eyes a little wider.

“Huh. Alright, come on back, and let’s have a chat. I think we might be able to help each other out, actually.”

“What?” Jimmy asked, but Winston was already walking away, and Jimmy hurried to catch up. They went down a short hallway, then up a flight of stairs, and found themselves in a collection of cubicles where a few other officers were busy with paperwork. Winston led them to a small office off to the side, took a seat at a desk, and motioned for Jimmy to sit across from him. “So, your friend went missing...a week and a half ago then?”

“I tried to report it sooner, but...well, it’s a little hard to believe, I guess.”

“Trust me kid, I’ve heard some weird ass shit in this precinct--let me have it.”

So Jimmy did. He told him about walking back from Depot, leaving out the underage drinking, since they had snuck in. He told the detective about the streetlights going out, about the man stepping out of the shadows--and only then did Winston perk up.

“Can you describe the man for me?” he asked.

“Not really well. He was covered in leather. All I could see was the bottom of his face. His eyes were always shaded.”

“Shaded how? Did you see his eyes at all?”

“I...I don’t think so.”

He kept going, describing how Marlon had stepped into the shadow and disappeared. Then he told them about the two officers coming to his rescue, and again, Winston perked up. He asked him questions about them, their size, even what they’d smelled like, the sound of their voices. Jimmy didn’t understand why he was so interested in them, but he hadn’t even gotten their names. He finished by describing how everyone else seemed to have forgotten that Marlon had even existed. Just he and Kyle recalled him at all. When he’d finished, Winston sat back in his chair for a moment, mouth twisted in a bit of a scowl.

“You...believe me?”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“Can you find him then? He’s not dead is he?”

“Pigtown doesn’t kill anyone. Death would be a mercy.”

“What does that mean?”

Winston didn’t reply. He just pushed a card into Jimmy’s hand, told him to call if he remembered anything else, or if anything happened that reminded him of that night. Jimmy left, realizing only afterward that he hadn’t left any information with the officers--he made the man at the reception desk take down his name and number for the detective, but he didn’t seem to consider it important. He left feeling demoralized, but in an entirely different way. They believed him, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know if Marlon was alive, he didn’t know who could have done this. It would have been easier if they’d just laughed in his face.

But inside the precinct, Winston wasn’t laughing. He hustled up the floors to the top story, where Commander Rumwell’s office was. He pushed inside, not even bothering to knock, and interrupted the commander with one officer cleaning his boots, while another one was between his legs, sucking and nursing at his sizable cock. Winston didn’t blink at this, of course--he gave a little salute, and said, “Sir, I have new information regarding the disappearances of Glison and Avery.”

“Oh?” Rumwell said.

“I...I think it was Shadow.”

That brought Rumwell up from where he was reclining, and he pushed the younger officer off his cock. “Excuse me? We know where Shadow is--he’s in the jail.”

“I...have solid testimony that leads me to believe he may have escaped. Have you...uh...spoken to the Warden lately?”

Rumwell’s face soured. He took a long draw off his cigar, and pushed the smoke out his nose in twin jets. “We haven’t been on the best of terms lately, no.”

“What?” Winston said, “I mean...I don’t know what that means.”

“It means nothing, for the moment. He’s just sulking. Tell me what you heard.”

Winston told him, and by the end of it, Rumwell had sucked his cigar down to a thin butt, which he snuffed out in the ashtray on his desk. It was credible, as much as he didn’t want to believe it.

“Do you have a lead?”

“Marshall’s, maybe. I heard he has a new apprentice who seems to know the witness and the victim.”

“He does have a new apprentice, nice kid--little green,” Rumwell said. “Go have a chat. I’ll go see what I can wring out of the Warden.”

#pigtown #erotica #cops

Part 3, Chapter 1 - Feeding the Fire

The Tuesday after he’d met Rod in the VIP room above Depot, Samuel had given him a call and said he wanted to talk about his offer. He’d intended the meeting to be short--long enough to turn his deal down, and maybe throw a drink in his face. Samuel had never wanted to be bought. You couldn’t get anywhere in the art world without selling your work of course, but there was selling the work you made, your unadulterated vision distilled, and then there was commission, creating for someone else, with your own voice. Advertisements, really. Marketing. He found it distasteful, and after that strange vision in the bathroom of Depot, he also found it terrifying.

Yet, once Rod had stepped into the studio, and begun probing at the art in the revolving process of ideation and disintegration around him, Samuel found his plan already falling off the rails. What unnerved him the most, was that Rod understood. Understood what he saw, what his art was, why he did it. Samuel was obsessed with flesh. Many reviewers misunderstood when he said this to them, and translated his precise word of ‘flesh’ to the more palatable ‘bodies’. Bodies were composed of flesh, of course, but it was not the body itself that drew Samuel’s attention. It was what comprised it. Muscle, fat, sinew, tendon, bone, blood, organ. Rod had used the precise word, without prompting. “I love your depiction of flesh in this one,” he said, holding up a canvas, looking back at Samuel with those steel grey eyes.

“It’s not right, that one is no good,” Samuel had said, attempting to deflect.

“Oh, none of them are good. None of them are anything like what you’re really capable of, Samuel,” Rod had said, and he’d struck his second weakness, that fine line between backhanded compliment and earnest encouragement. They’d chatted a bit more, then Rod had left, and Samuel stared down at the check in his hand, astonished that he’d taken it. Astonished that he’d wanted to take it. For a moment, after cashing it, he was flush with inspiration, but as soon as he’d sat down to work some of it out, it vanished.

Since then, he’d spent over a week trying to recapture that moment of inspiration, but it hadn’t returned. Not a single idea that, as soon as it was down, didn’t feel like the most insipid, self-satisfying bullshit he’d ever considered. Normally, when faced with a block like this, he’d found that his best solution was a good fucking at the hands of whatever muscle bound man he was with at the moment. Something about being pounded by a mountain of flesh could provide insight, but Parker, currently filling that role, only terrified him now.

Terrified was the wrong word. Disgusted was the wrong word. He’d yet to find the correct one, in any language that he knew. He could barely stand to exist in the same space as him, and he’d hoped that a few days of distance from that scene in the bathroom would help settle his mind and let him get back to fucking, but the vision refused to fade away. It was always there on the edge of his sight, that beast, those sucking thralls at his monstrous feet, beckoning him. He’d considered telling Parker what he’d seen, asking him about the new steroid that Hugh was apparently selling him now, but neither of those things could cross his lips. He told himself that Parker was far too simple to grasp what he’d witnessed, but he was also afraid that perhaps he would understand perfectly. Perhaps Parker’s ignorance of the beast behind him was the only thing keeping it from bursting free at any moment.

Parker, on the other hand, spent the early part of the week following his night at Depot feeling great. Every workout was phenomenal. He broke through his plateau in a matter of days, packing on a solid five pounds of mass, even as he could tell he was cutting fat, giving his body the sort of definition he’d only been able to manage after a few days with minimal water. His energy was up, his libido was definitely up, and after trying a couple of times to get Samuel interested in a good fuck, he gave up, and started fucking anything that moved--and there were a lot of things in Pigtown that wanted him, day or night.

But as was usually the case with steroids, the effect wore off a few days before it was time to shoot up again, but that first week, the relief was enough for Parker to push through to Friday, get another dose from Hugh, with the usual discount of a good fuck, and then enjoy the rush again. That second week, however, the high dwindled away quicker, his impotence was back by Tuesday, and he was left feeling frustrated that the drug wasn’t delivering what Hugh had promised him.

Thursday afternoon, he’d returned home from the gym to discover Samuel there. He hadn’t been spending much time at their apartment for the last few weeks, for some reason. He seemed...afraid of Parker, but wouldn’t tell him why, and the two of them hadn’t fucked since before that night at Depot. They ended up fighting about money, of course. Without the fucking to distract them, there was nothing to hide the fact that the two of them were completely at odds with one another. Much to Samuel’s surprise, however, Parker ended up getting rough with him, something he hadn’t done before, pinning him up against the wall, grinding his cock against him--it was only the fact that he couldn’t even get it up that made Parker retreat, leaving Samuel with just a few slaps and a lighter wallet before storming out of the apartment, and heading for Hugh’s, to get his next fix.

He had to pound the door for most of a minute before Hugh finally answered. It was early afternoon, but judging from the fact all he had on was some boxers and heavy bags under his eyes, it had been a late night for him--but then, dealers didn’t get to work normal hours. “Fuck Parker, what is it?”

“I need another dose.”

“You shouldn’t dose again until tomorrow, once a week. Like I said--this shit is real experimental.”

“Real fucking worthless you mean, the stuff doesn’t even last a whole week!” Parker said, pushing into the apartment, “Now I got your money, give me another vial.”

“It has to fully cycle out before you can take another--”

“Trust me Hugh, it’s fucking cycled out, now give me the shit already.”

“Ok ok, calm down man,” Hugh said, shut the door and went into his room, dug around in his stash, and pulled out another vial of BHB. “Are you doing alright? You seem a little agitated.”

“I’m not here asking you to be my therapist,” Parker said, grabbing the vial out of Hugh’s hand, threw the wad of cash he’d taken from Samuel’s wallet down on the dresser, looked around until he found a syringe that seemed clean, and drew out his dose.

Hugh just watched, just wanting to get Parker out of here. He was obviously agitated, but whether that was a side effect of the drug, or whether he was just frustrated that the drug wasn’t perfect, he couldn’t tell. He had a few other guys testing it out, but he hadn’t seen any of them react quite like this before. Hugh injected himself, junked the syringe, and heaved a sigh of relief, and set the vial down on the counter of the bathroom. “Now, how about that other part of the payment?” he said, and dropped the gym shorts he was wearing.

“Fuck Parker, not right now, I have a hangover the size of Texas. I don’t even know how I got home last night.”

“Well nothing helps a hangover like a good dose of protein, you know?”

Parker stepped closer to him, and Hugh noticed something strange--he smelled different. He was used to Parker smelling--he didn’t exactly shower much after the gym, and Hugh didn’t mind a little musk. This was different, it was sharp, and drew him in with a moan. Parker lifted up his arms and let Hugh clean them both out for a few minutes, before he could feel the same rush of horniness as before, and pushed him over to the bed.

“Seriously Parker, take it easy,” Hugh said, but Parker was aching to fuck now, climbed up, and literally tore to boxers off his body, shoved the slick head of his cock against Hugh’s hole, and pushed it inside. Hugh moaned, that same sharp scent, that need now somehow inside him, suffusing him. He moaned in pleasure as Parker drove in deeper, reaching around his neck with one muscled arm and pulling him back, choking him lightly and also keeping him from moving too much.

“I don’t do easy, slut,” Parker said, and slammed his cock the rest of the way in, and Hugh gave a howl of pleasure. He lost track of how many times Parker came over the next hour, as he fucked him non-stop. Each time he did, he would feel that same sharpness leech into his body, making him feel weaker, making him want it more and more, until Parker, sated for the moment at least, hauled his cock free, and watched the cum drool from Hugh’s well worked hole, onto the sheets below him, the dealer still moaning. “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?” Parker said, got up, and fished around in Hugh’s good for another vial of BHB. “A tip--you don’t mind, do you?”

“Wait, Parker...I think something’s wrong...with you...” Hugh muttered, but Parker either didn’t hear him, or didn’t want to hear him. He was out the door and back on the street, heading home to finish what he’d started with Samuel--but when he got there, he was nowhere to be found. The coward had probably run off to his studio. Parker considered tracking him down, but that long fuck with Hugh had mostly fixed the frustration he’d been feeling. What he wanted now was a good long workout, and then maybe he’d hit a few clubs to find a few more holes to plow. Before he left though, he took out the partial vial from Hugh’s place, drew the rest of it out, and injected himself again--a booster, he told himself. By the time he got to the gym, he was riding high, pumping more than he ever had in his life. Even if there was a risk, he was willing to take it--he could take anything he wanted, as long as he felt like this forever.

#pigtown #erotica #muscle growth

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