leatherpunk16

I think the first steps will involve casting your nets, and finding the fags into growth fetish. Beef attracts beef, and if one is scrawny or overweight, beef probably won't look at them as a suitable fixer-upper. That community - if it may be called such - may not exist locally. And I can't say it's advertised widely, even in big cities. I believe it will be a matter of scrounging the countryside to find a handful of guys into this. Beyond that, I'm no authority to provide actionable advice. Good luck. It's a very niche fetish (and a good one to have).

It turned you into a slut? Funny, mine must be defective. Nowadays I'm lucky if I get it at all. Member 20some years ago when kids were prescribed Ritalin and didn't really need it? That's what I feel like. Abstinence seems to be equally effective at preventing poz exposure. So remind me why I'm taking this pill?

I can't elaborate on that, but I don't think his son will get converted. He's been an apocryphal character up to this point, and we will not be seeing him.

We're here every Friday with something new. Given that you are in a different time zone than us, it may be closer to Saturday for you. Happy that you are enjoying this twisted AF story. Lots more to come.

Chapter 25: Ticking Clock City Streets. Interior of an Ambulance. 31-Oct-20XX. 21:29 MST. REDACTED location. The ambulance bucked as it took a corner too fast, suspension groaning under the weight of speed and bad decisions. Red light strobed through the back doors in a steady pulse, painting everything in alternating bands of emergency and shadow. Tex braced one boot against the bench seat and let his shoulder ride the wall, keeping himself steady as the siren wailed overhead. Gravestone lay strapped to the gurney opposite him, restraints cinched tight at wrists, ankles, chest. Sedatives had him still—for now—but Tex didn’t trust stillness anymore. He kept one eye on the rise and fall of that massive chest, counting breaths, watching for the smallest twitch. The blanket over Gravestone’s head shifted once, then settled. Tex didn’t blink. On the bench to his right, Rafi slumped against the cabinet, skin ashen, lips dry and cracked. The bite on his shoulder had been dressed, but it looked wrong even through layers of gauze—too dark, veins spidering outward like spilled ink beneath the skin. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale a little too slow for Tex’s liking. “Talk to me,” Tex said finally, voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the siren. “Both of you. Start from the beginning.” Marco glanced at Kyle, then back at the road, hands tight on the wheel. Kyle swallowed and shifted in his seat, eyes flicking once toward Rafi before settling somewhere safer—anywhere else. “We were already on shift,” Marco said. “Late call. InfraRed.” Tex’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The nightclub.” “Yeah,” Kyle added. “Packed. Halloween crowd. Costumes everywhere. Hard to tell who was drunk and who was actually hurt.” Tex nodded once. “And Rafi?” “He went hands-on,” Marco said. “Did what he always does. Too fast, too brave. There was a guy on the ground in an alleyway—bleeding, disoriented. Then something else was on him. Not a person. Not—” Marco shook his head, searching for words. “It looked like it was wearing the guy. Like it was… layered over him.” Kyle jumped in, voice tight. “Like Venom. From Spider-Man. I know how stupid that sounds.” “It really doesn’t,” Tex said flatly. “Keep going.” Kyle exhaled, relieved. “Rafi grabbed it. Tried to pull it off the victim. It turned on him and bit him. Hard. Wouldn’t let go. Then it—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “It dragged the guy away. Just picked him up and ran. Into the alley.” Silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the siren and the rattle of equipment. “We called another rig,” Marco said quietly. “There was another injured guy. Head trauma. Thrown against a dumpster. Bad concussion. We had to leave him for another crew.” Tex’s eyes flicked back to Rafi. The man stirred, a low sound rattling in his chest. “And the thing?” Tex asked. “The Venom-looking thing.” “Gone,” Kyle said. “Went running off into the night with the guy. Thankfully, we were able to mace the fuck out of him.” Tex leaned back, letting the pieces lock into place. Multiple vectors. Mobile host. Rapid onset. Too familiar. His fingers tapped once against his thigh, then stilled. Behind him, Gravestone exhaled slowly under the blanket—too slow, too controlled. Tex shifted just enough to keep the gurney in his peripheral vision. “All right,” Tex said. “That’s enough for now. You did what you could.” Marco didn’t look convinced. Neither did Kyle. Ahead, the ambulance screamed through another intersection, lights bouncing off storefront glass and empty sidewalks. Tex squared his shoulders, mind already racing several moves ahead. This wasn’t a cleanup. It was an outbreak. Tex let the silence hang for a moment. The ambulance swayed as Marco adjusted lanes, tires humming against wet asphalt. The ambulance radio crackled suddenly, sharp and intrusive. “Medical Fourteen, immediately report current location and ETA to your destination.” Tex’s eyes snapped open. The voice on the radio was calm. Controlled. Familiar in the worst possible way. His jaw set as recognition hit. “Shit. Don’t answer,” Tex said immediately, voice cutting through the cab. “Kill the mic.” Marco hesitated only a fraction of a second before reaching up and switching channels. The radio went dead. Kyle looked between them. “Who was that?” Tex leaned forward slightly, bracing his forearms on his knees. “That,” he said, “is a man who should not be asking where we are. Seems like Krell is fucking everywhere.” Marco’s expression darkened as the name clicked into place. “Jesus. General Krell. My dad said that guy should have been court marshalled.” Tex nodded once. Marco let out a humorless breath. “My dad warned me about him when I was a kid. Said if his name ever came up, it meant someone already screwed up and was looking for someone else to blame. And to never let the guy recruit me.” Tex allowed himself a thin, grim smile. “Your dad’s smart. Wish he’d have told me the same thing.” The ambulance surged forward, siren howling louder as the hospital lights came into view ahead. Tex sat back, eyes flicking between Gravestone’s restraints and Rafi’s worsening condition. Whatever had happened at InfraRed wasn’t going to be an isolated incident. It was a preview. The radio stayed quiet. Tex kept it that way. The ambulance tore down the last stretch of road toward Clearview, siren screaming, lights washing the inside of the rig in red and white. Marco drove with jaw clenched, eyes locked forward, hands steady on the wheel. Kyle didn’t look at the radio at all. It crackled again. “Medical Fourteen,” General Krell’s voice said, clipped now, stripped of its earlier calm. “You are ordered to report your location immediately. Failure to copy will result in your termination.” Tex didn’t move. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. The radio crackled a third time, sharper, angrier. “Medical Fourteen, you are instructed to divert and return to central. That is a direct order.” Marco exhaled through his nose. Then, without looking back, he reached up and shut the radio off completely. The cabin dropped into a sudden, almost peaceful quiet—sirens still wailing, but Krell gone. “Sorry,” Marco said, voice tight. “Already radioed our destination when we loaded up our latest guest. Standard protocol.” Tex nodded once. “It’s fine. You were only doing your job.” Kyle swallowed. “He sounded pissed.” “Default mode for the guy,” Tex replied. “This just means he’s starting to realize he’s not in control.” The ambulance swung into the bay hard, brakes hissing as it came to a stop. Before the doors were fully open, a small trauma team was already moving—several nurses and a resident, all pulling on gloves as they rushed forward. “Multiple patients?” one of them called. “Yes,” Tex said, stepping down first and taking command by presence alone. “Both restrained and sedated. One is one of the paramedics on their rig. Both infectious. The paramedic looks to be critical.” The doors swung wide. The moment the staff got a clear look inside, confusion rippled through them. “Wait…Dr. Kade?” someone said, blinking. Another nurse frowned. “No, I literally just saw him outside the call room. Like—half an hour ago.” The attending slowed, eyes moving from Gravestone’s strapped-down form to Tex’s face. “That’s… not possible.” Tex met her gaze evenly. “It is if you have twins.” A beat. Then Trevor Kade appeared at the edge of the bay, scrubs on, pager clipped at his waist. He stopped dead the moment he saw Tex. “Toby…What the hell are you doing here?” Trevor asked. The noise of the bay faded into the background as Tex caught Trevor by the arm and guided him a few steps away from the cluster of nurses and equipment. The first gurney rolled past them, Rafi passed out and strapped down. The next rolled by, Gravestone’s bulk strapped down beneath the blanket like a too-large shadow pretending to be human. “Trevor,” Tex said quietly, keeping his voice level. “Look at me.” Trevor did, eyes still wide, breath shallow. “Toby—what is going on?” Tex didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, hooked two fingers under the edge of the blanket, and lifted it. Just enough. Trevor’s breath hitched. Color drained from his face so fast Tex thought he might drop. Whatever Trevor saw beneath the fabric—skin too dark, features too sharp, the wrongness pressed into every angle—it stole the words right out of him. “Is that what the fuck I think it is?” Trevor whispered. Tex lowered the blanket again carefully, like tucking a lid back onto something volatile. He stepped closer, angling his body so no one else could see Trevor’s expression. “That,” Tex murmured near his ear, steady and grim, “is Elias’s and my boss, Commander Briggs.” Trevor swallowed hard. “That’s not—people don’t—” “I know,” Tex said. “That’s why we don’t have time. Elias is on his way here with another one.” Trevor dragged a hand down his face, trying to pull himself together. “What?!” “Too many people around who can overhear,” Tex replied. “I’ll tell you everything, but we need to work fast here… One of the guys responsible is on his way here, and I can’t be here when he gets here.” Trevor looked back toward the gurney, then toward the hospital doors, jaw tightening as the weight of it settled in. “You said Elias is coming, too?” “Already on the way,” Tex said. “With Zero. One of our teammates.” Trevor closed his eyes for a brief second, then nodded. “Okay. Um. Call room. Now.” Tex’s gaze flicked once more to Gravestone—still, silent, restrained. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “So, we need a solid plan. Because if we don’t make one fast…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The blanket shifted once, barely perceptible. And Tex knew they were already running out of time. The automatic doors at the edge of the bay slid open with a sharp hiss. Tex looked up instantly. A familiar sedan rolled in too fast and braked hard near the curb. Elias was out before the engine fully died, coat half-buttoned, phone still in his hand. His eyes went straight to Tex, then past him—to the gurney. Behind Elias, Zero stumbled. It wasn’t subtle. One second he was upright, jaw clenched like he was forcing himself through something; the next, his steps faltered. He grabbed at his head with both hands, fingers digging into his hair as if he could physically hold his thoughts in place. “No—not here, he’s too… something’s—” Zero gasped, voice breaking. “He’s—he’s pulling—” Elias spun, catching him just before he went down. “Hey. Hey. Look at me,” Elias said, shifting instantly into crisis mode. “Breathe, buddy. Stay with me. Focus on my voice.” Zero didn’t seem to hear him. His black eyes were unfocused now. A raw, involuntary sound tore out of his throat as pain wracked through him, sharp enough to buckle his knees. Tex didn’t wait. He was already moving, shrugging out of the way of startled nurses as he crossed the bay in long, fast strides. Trevor followed half a step behind, expression grim and already calculating. “Clear space,” Tex snapped. “Now.” Elias looked up, relief and alarm colliding when he saw Tex. “He was fine ten minutes ago,” Elias said. “Then it was like something reached inside his head.” Tex was already pulling a syringe from his pocket. “Get back.” Zero tried to push away weakly, mumbling something incoherent. Tex caught his shoulder, steadying him just long enough to find the mark. “Sorry, buddy,” Tex muttered. He drove the needle into Zero’s neck and depressed the plunger in one smooth motion. Zero went slack almost immediately, weight sagging fully into Elias’s arms. Elias swore under his breath and eased him down as carefully as he could. The bay had gone quiet again. Too many people watching now. Too many questions forming. Trevor glanced between the two unconscious men—both looking very inhuman—and the third man, looking sicker by the second while rolling away each in his own gurney, and then back to Tex. “We can’t keep doing this out here. You just knocked whoever that was out in front of a quarter of the ER staff.” Tex nodded. “I know. We need to get all of them in the most secure rooms you have.” Trevor stood for a moment and finally turned to the staff, looking at one of the nurses. “Hey, is the new psych holding open yet?” The nurse could only nod her head as they loaded them. Elias helped lay down Zero onto a gurney. “Perfect, move all of these patients to the new rooms. Just… trust me.” The staff all nodded, and quickly took a turn towards the newest part of the emergency room. Tex looked at Elias, meeting his eyes squarely. “Gravestone’s sedated. For now. Krell is already trying to reroute to us.” Elias’s jaw tightened. “Of course he is. Any thoughts on what we should do?” Tex straightened, voice dropping just enough to keep it contained. “None that are good. We’ve got maybe minutes before this turns into a political incident instead of a medical one.” Elias took a breath, then nodded once. “Then we move. Lock it down. No more surprises.” Behind them, somewhere under a blanket and a web of restraints, something shifted—just enough to remind Tex that the clock wasn’t just ticking. It was accelerating. — Trevor didn’t give them time to argue. The moment the gurneys, complete with armed hospital security, were moving and the bay’s attention fractured, he grabbed both Tex and Elias by the arms and hauled them through the nearest door. The call room was cramped and dim, a narrow space that smelled like burnt coffee and antiseptic. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the bay in one blessed, fragile slice of quiet. Trevor turned on them, voice low and furious. “Okay. What the fuck? This is NOT what you both told me this morning at the apartment.” Tex and Elias exchanged a look. For a split second, neither of them spoke. Where do you even start when the truth sounds like a delusion? Tex scrubbed a hand over his face. “There’s no clean version of this.” Elias folded his arms, jaw tight. “And no short one.” Trevor stared at them both, eyes sharp, waiting. “Try anyway. And don’t sugar coat the details this time. What in the actual fuck did you two just bring into my emergency room?” Tex glanced at the door, then back at Trevor. “Our commander isn’t our commander anymore. Or at least, not in a way that matters.” That landed hard. Trevor’s mouth opened, then shut again. “You’re talking about your commander? Briggs? THAT was Briggs?!” Tex nodded once. “Gravestone.” Trevor went very still. “Enough with the fucking code names, Tobias. It’s not funny. ” “I know,” Tex said. “That’s why I’m not laughing...” Elias stepped in, voice steady but strained. “You know how we said there was a containment breach at Helixion. The military is now covering it up. Whatever was created didn’t stay contained. I know we shut the door behind us, so it must have gotten loose some other way.” Tex nodded before adding, “Yeah, that would be our dear friend Jack. He played all of us with his drugged up fool act. Got loose and took the rest of the smilers with him.” Trevor dragged a chair back and sat, hands braced on his knees. “And the thing under the blanket—” “Is our commander,” Tex said. “Or what’s left after an ambulance hit him.” Silence pressed in on the room, thick and heavy. Finally, Trevor let out a sharp breath. “And the other one? The guy who just collapsed in the bay? After you shot who-knows-what into his neck?” Elias’s expression tightened. “Zero…. Um… Mason Hawke. He’s… compromised. Not fully. But something’s reaching for him. They both were the last two uninfected when we escaped.” Trevor closed his eyes briefly. “Jesus Christ. You’re telling me both of them turned into that in less than 24 hours?” Outside the door, voices passed. Footsteps. Life going on like the world wasn’t quietly tearing open. Tex straightened, the gears visibly shifting. “Yeah. But we’ve got another problem.” Trevor looked up. “Oh, of course we do. Never fails with you two.” “Staff’s already clocking us,” Tex said. “Two identical guys where there should be one. Krell’s trying to reroute assets as we speak, and will likely be here himself to oversee the mess. We’re about to lose control of the room. I’m thinking we need to blend in.” Elias caught on immediately, smiling. “We don’t fight it… we become gray men.” “We disappear,” Tex said, nodding. “In plain sight. Unless you have a better idea?” Trevor frowned, glaring at both of them. “Care to explain to the guy whose ER you both just took over? You know, your brother… and your husband?” Tex nodded toward him. “I have an idea on how Eli and I both get out of here without getting arrested by military police. I dress as you. Lab coat. Badge. Contact lens if you’ve got them. I become a second Dr. Kade on paper and on cameras.” Trevor blinked. “You’re insane. Both of you are.” “Yes,” Tex agreed. “But it works.” He turned to Elias. “You scrub in. Surgeon. Scrubs and cap, gloves, the whole thing. No one questions someone who looks busy and pissed off.” Elias considered it for half a second, then nodded. “I… can do that.” Trevor exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I have a spare coat in my locker. And contacts.” He looked at Tex pointedly. “Hospital-issued scrubs. They suck. I’m gonna have to wear exactly the same thing. I think I might have my old badge in there too.” Tex cracked the faintest smile. “We’ll survive, bro.” Trevor stood. “Let me be clear. This only buys you some time. And I expect you both to tell me everything. No hiding any more of the important details.” “I promise, you’ll get all the info. Time’s all we’re aiming for,” Tex said. From somewhere deeper in the hospital, an announcement crackled overhead. “Code 200 is now in effect. Repeat, Code 200 is now in effect.” Trevor reached for the door. “All right. Sounds like the hospital is going into full lockdown. Locker room. We need to move fast. You both can tell me everything else you left out on the way.” As they filed out, Tex felt the weight of it settle fully in his chest—not just the danger, but the improvisation, the lies stacked on lies. They weren’t fixing this. They were stalling. And hoping it would be enough.

This week's instalment will be a little late in coming today. We've had a technical issue, and it will have to wait a few hours. We didn't forget - but it's not going to be this morning.

Relatable. Just last week, I got this message from someone on A4A. He said that the purple hair doesn't do it for him, and the fact that I've been a prostitute is a real turn off. He wished me good luck. Let me give some context. This guy is not local to me, and I never showed any sort of interest to him previously. My mohawk is a blood red colour, not purple or violet (I called him a colour-blind boob for that). And I haven't been an active sex worker in over a decade. It wasn't even on my profile. Still isn't. Unless he was referring to my work in porn, which isn't what he called me. How on earth could he have known that I did that??? Strangely, he did not block me. I had to see who this was, and when I looked, it was a near-empty profile with no location given. DA FUK, MAN 😵‍💫

It's a fun accessory. I got one as my last act of my 30s, a real rollercoaster of a decade. My own experience was not as comfortable as yours appears to be. I had no anxiety going into it, but when that puncture happened - I fucking screamed! Ten seconds later, it was over. Didn't get to the car before the glove thing fell off. Suffered through the night, and ruined the mattress. I spent the next three days walking around the house naked with my D in a cup of warm salty water (not 100% of the time, mind you.) And when I was able to return to the gym, I found out VERY QUICKLY that I needed to wear a jockstrap. I thoughtlessly tried to do some jump rope. Big mistake that I really should have seen coming! LOL I'm now at a size 2, definitely ready for the 0. I love it. All my bottoms have enjoyed it, and none have asked me to remove it. Definitely a good choice. I never thought I'd be one of those fags with a PA, but here we are. LOL

Belltown, eh? I could WALK there.

Hey, pigs. Newest instalment. Remember Spencer from the first Intermission chapter? He's back, and this should put a few puzzle pieces together for you. ------- Chapter 23: Poz Me Up Before You Go-Go City Streets. 20:14 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Stag had deliberately wandered away from the rest of the group of infected smilers, set on following his own agenda. Instead of waiting for suitable clothing to wear in the chilly late October air, Stag had elected to wear only his camo pants and boots, leaving his muscular blackened torso exposed for all to see. He also chose not to stick to shadows, but to walk abroad in front of the rest of the world like nothing had changed for him. Doing this in secret was never going to be an option for the corrupted horny soldier. As he passed storefront windows, he occasionally caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the glass. One particular pane caused him to stop in his tracks. Stag had been passing by a main street restaurant that hadn’t been open in weeks, and the light from the street had hit him so perfectly that he could see, for the first time, exactly what he looked like in full. His ginger hair had darkened considerably, and his face had taken on a shade of grey that could only be described as “storm cloud”. His exposed skin, in fact, had this same shade all over his body. His veins spread out like black spiderwebs. He grinned in evil satisfaction. Cheaper than any tattoo I could have got!, he thought. And way more fun. As he observed his reflection with a wicked, impressed grin plastered on his face, he took the time to examine his teeth. The jaw had widened some to accommodate the new molars and fangs, and each tooth looked sharp and deadly to the touch. He could barely make them out, but the whites of his eyes were completely gone, and he looked positively possessed. The lanky, sinewy form he previously carried had grown into a muscular beast rivaling the best of Crossfit enthusiasts. Thick veins throbbed beneath the surface of his skin, and Stag started to get hard at the sight of himself. He reached into his pants and fondled his swelling member lightly, knowing he carried an instrument of mass destruction. He had a victim in mind for his first conversion, and had to stop himself from further pleasuring himself to save his demonic seeds for that gratifying moment when he shared them with his prey. Stag continued his bold march through the city to the warehouse district until he came in sight of the nightclub known as InfraRED, a popular gay bar with a dubious reputation. On this night, attendance would be as high as many of the patrons, and with a Halloween party in progress, Stag could do what he needed to without the need for secrecy or violence. Hookups were part of the everyday routine in this place, and no one would bat an eye or clutch any pearls over him having sex in a very public space. In fact, it was almost expected, but so were drunks, drug deals, fist fights, and barroom brawls, and harassment by the homeless who hung around the area. He came to the block, and saw that a canopy had been set up outside the club to funnel guests inside. This made it easier for club employees to screen guests for arriving intoxicated, and to keep the place from filling up too quickly, but Stag would not be deterred. He went to the back of the line, and spoke to no one as the line slowly moved forward. In his boredom, he lit a cigarette, and no one seemed to object to it. One man, dressed as a unicorn, turned around and saw Stag in all his toxic glory. Having nothing else to do while they waited, the unicorn opened conversation with him. “Damn, dude! That’s a really cool costume.” Stag nodded his head only once in acknowledgement, and did not wish to engage with anyone. He took another draw off the cigarette. “What are you supposed to be? You kinda look like a toy army guy.” Stag smirked without revealing his teeth. You have no idea, he thought. —-------- Dressing room at InfraRED. 20:09 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. Spencer adjusted his tight nylon armbands, placed a blue baseball cap on his head, and checked his shiny baby blue shoes one more time before appraising himself in the mirror. For nearly three years, he had been gogo dancing at InfraRED, and tantalizing horny men with his erotic dancing and powerful physique. Gogo dancing had been a means to an end - surely someone who came into the club would be his ideal, but so far, the perfect man had eluded him. The pay for dancing was decent, and so were the tips that were frequently shoved into his G-string, but it wasn’t fulfilling. He made enough money to live comfortably, but as time wore on, this mode of living wasn’t going to be satisfactory for much longer. As he stared at his reflection, he ran his left hand over his thick chest, and sighed. “Is there more to life than this?,” Spencer wondered aloud. He then adjusted his girthy member inside the gold lame underwear, twisted the hat ever so slightly, and looked one more time in the glass. He had decided against wearing any costume; the unnecessary bulk, combined with his own overdeveloped bulk, could exhaust him physically before the night was over, and he needed to make some cash for car repairs. He had been a beefy satyr at last year’s party, but he was sweating so hard after the first hour that the hair had stuck to him, and he resorted to doing a sexy striptease of the costume. He felt the investment in his elaborate costume had been a waste of funds, and he wouldn’t make that costly mistake a second time. Taking a final swallow of water from a large jug, Spencer sighed with discontent that he was stuck in a rut. His physical growth had hit a plateau, and the sex work with no sexual gratification left him frustrated night after night. Satisfied that he was ready for the public, he nodded at his reflection in silent approval of at least his appearance, and went out from the dressing room to the auditorium. The beats and the constant thumping of heavy bass was already quite deafening, and he had danced to it a thousand and one times. Just another night, another dollar. He climbed up on his usual gogo box, and settled into the beat. —------ Stag scowled slightly when the bouncer closed the rope against him after the unicorn was admitted to the club. The bouncer could allow only five enter at a time, and Stag just happened to be the sixth. He glared at the bouncer silently anyway as the man clicked his meter five times. At least a few minutes would pass before Stag could enter, so he mentally reviewed his plan one more time. Meanwhile, the bouncer couldn’t take his eyes off the corrupted creature before him. Wow, this look is fucking hot, the bouncer thought to himself as he felt his heart beat increase in envious lust. I need to jump this dude’s bones. It must have taken forever to put all that makeup on. I wonder if he’s available. Stag was slightly shocked, amazed he could almost hear the man’s thoughts with ease. He smiled back at the man, enjoying the discovery of his newfound power. “Sick costume, bro,” the bouncer squeeked, his voice somewhat betraying his lack of confidence. Hearing himself catch in his throat, he cleared it once, and hocked a white goober to one side. “Sorry. That’s really sweet.” Stag locked eyes with the bouncer. “Thanks,” he growled. “You know,” the bouncer began in a playful voice, “zombies aren’t supposed to talk. Try to stay in character, it’s sexier that way.” The smirk indicated no malice behind the words, and Stag gave no reply. Instead, he answered the criticism with a toothy grin. The bouncer wasn’t expecting Stag’s costume to be so thorough, and his mouth opened slightly with awe. “This is killer. Do you mind if I get a pic? I’ve gotta show my roommate. He does makeup and special effects for drag performers, and he’d get such a kick out of this.” The bouncer was already taking out his phone, and turning on its camera. Stag nodded his head once, giving non-verbal permission, and came in close with the bouncer. Up went the phone, and with a press of the button, he now had a head and torso shot of the corrupted soldier in its memory bank. Then Stag stood by his side as the bouncer took a selfie of the two of them. “Thanks, man,” the bouncer said gratefully. “I ‘preciate it.” “App-preciate,” Stag corrected him in a growly voice. I should just spit on this fag and let myself in. Stag prepared to launch a volley of the neutralizing saliva, but stopped short of the act. Nope, can’t do that. Too many witnesses. It can wait. They’re all doomed, anyway. Stag showed admirable restraint and swallowed it back down when he returned to the front of the line. “You with your boyfriend tonight?” Stag looked back at the bouncer, staring daggers at him. He was still uncomfortable with the idea that he was gay, after years of protestation and repression, but after his orgy with his squad and forming a plan to violate someone he once crushed on, he decided he had better start accepting it and getting comfortable with the idea. ‘Boyfriend’ sounded strange to his ears, like a word meant for someone else. He shook his head once, again giving no verbal reply. “Ah, single, then?” Stag nodded once. “If you don’t score tonight, what say you and me take a little trip to hell afterwards?” Stag raised an eyebrow with interest. Stag grinned again. When he finds out what I am, hoo boy, he’s gonna regret those words. He blinked once, and then remembered. No! Stay focused. Your quarry is inside. HE’S the one you want. “We’ll see,” Stag answered, non-commitally shrugging his sculpted shoulders. No! an intruding voice commanded. He wants it - give it to him. Infect them all! Stag just felt like he had been caught cutting class. Sorry, Alpha. There will be time for both. You better remember our deal, the voice warned. Just then, the bouncer opened the velvet rope and unbarred the door, gently motioning for Stag to enter with the other revellers in the line behind him. “You five are next. Have a good night!” As Stag passed him, the bouncer winked at him flirtatously. Stag forgot the bouncer as soon as they were apart. —---- Interior of InfraRED. 20:30 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. “Great costume, stud! Let me buy you a drink.” Stag had heard this line four times by now, and was no more invested than he was on its first three offers. This time, it came from a little twink who was dressed as the Good Witch in an off-pink tule gown, complete with a star-shaped magic wand and glittering tiara. Stag waved the offer away. “Not interested.” The Good Witch looked puzzled, but tried to entice him by tapping the wand to Stag’s forehead gently. “I want you to be changed for good.” Stag frowned at this deliberately silly act. “Oh, sister, I have been changed. For good. There’s no going back. Piss off before I drop a house on you. You don’t deserve what I have to offer.” The Good Witch looked things unutterable at him in great offense, then turned back to the bar. She silently took her glass, swallowed its entire contents, and replaced the glass on the bar. Stag was looking in the opposite direction when the Good Witch said in a surprisingly masculine voice, “Fuck you, asshole. Guys like you should be eaten by other zombies,” and stormed off. Stag walked away from the bar and toward the dance floor. As the EDM continued to pulse through the club, and the room swarmed with writhing bodies, Stag forced himself to stand in one place and scan the room. His wild appearance had drawn a great deal of attention, and Stag brushed it all off completely, sometimes with a joke, other times with his usual outright asshole remarks. After a few seconds, he beheld his intended victim, cluelessly dancing away on a gogo box. There he is. Beautiful and massive as ever. I’m going to give him such a surprise, and he’ll never see it coming. Like any good predator, Stag just observed the dancer. Watching with devious eyes and a wayward heart. Watching for any weakness, any opening that would give him a signal to act, Stag invented a number of schemes to trap his prey. His blackened eyes never left the muscular dancer. —------ As Spencer continued his gyrations, he suddenly felt like something wasn’t quite right with the world. The music shifted to something that had no percussion track in its first minute, and he momentarily lost the beat. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and then felt a familiar urge. Spencer climbed down from his gogo box, and making sure to swing his hips a little as he walked, he went in the direction of the bathroom. Stag noticed the exit instantly. Recognizing it as his opportunity, he followed Spencer at a distance. As Spencer entered the bathroom, he paid no attention to the skeleton man and the Jedi man making out just inside the doorway. The room smelled of piss and stale pizza and bleach, all mixed into one foul concoction. The stalls, though in good condition, were a covert invitation to gloryhole sex, and Spencer was working, so he went to the trough on the far right wall. Looking down, he observed that it was again filled with ice, sending up a chill that made him frown. Why the fuck do they do this? No one wants to drink piss on the rocks. Then he amended his thought. Well, maybe. Some pig somewhere must like that. Spencer extracted his eye-popping dick from his underwear, and began to relieve himself just as Stag came into the bathroom. The costumed couple left without a word, and Stag was grateful to them for the privacy he would need. Spencer continued his stream, but was getting annoyed that he had filled his bladder, and now couldn’t finish pissing fast enough. Come on, dammit. Every minute I’m in here is a minute I’m not getting cash. Hurry up! He closed his eyes in frustration, hoping a little concentration would force the remaining urine out. Stag silently positioned himself to stand directly behind Spencer, who was completely unaware of someone behind him. He grinned devilishly, savoring the moment. The last drops of piss finally left him, and Spencer lightly sighed with relief. He let the waistband of the underwear snap back to his hips, and made to turn around when something wet and sticky hit his face. “The…! The fuck is this…?!”, he exclaimed, his vision suddenly hazy. Before he could be fully sedated, he equated the view to looking through a window where the rain was so hard you couldn’t see through the running water. Stag spat at Spencer a second time, and the dancer was down for the count in seconds. —------- As Spencer started to come out of the fog, he was aware of a grinding sensation on his lower body. It felt familiar and good, and as he slowly came to the surface of his consciousness, he was also aware of the feeling of cold concrete underneath him, and the muffled sound of the thumping bass in the next room. On my back… Did I fall? The grinding sensation continued, and Spencer felt a comfortable warmth to contrast the hardness of the floor. The room smelled different. Gone were the acrid scents of the bathroom, and replaced with light dust and metal and something he could only describe as a deep red smell. Something masculine. Something rich and bold, not unlike the scents of whisky and tobacco and leather and man musk, all rolled into one. Stickiness was also registering in his mind, but he gave no thought to its source. There was also a weight on top of him, and his feet were elevated in a position he would never find himself in except during… Oh shit… He slowly opened his eyes, and what met his view was not something he expected. Something was fucking him and holding him down with both hands. Something with chemically-formed muscles, and a gargantuan dick, and it showed no signs of slowing down. Stag had dragged the comatose Spencer to the dressing room unobserved by others in the nightclub. No time was wasted in removing what little clothing Spencer had been wearing, and with another dose of spit on the dancer’s hole, he had got to work quickly. Now Spencer was starting to wake up. Neither of them was aware of how much time had passed. “W..What in the absolute fuck are you?” Spencer exclaimed, barely able to get the words out. Stag bared his teeth as he smiled wickedly while continuing to thrust his toxic dick into his victim. “What the hell are you doing to me?”, he demanded next. “Shhh, Spencer,” Stag cooed, “you’re just having a dream. Go back to sleep.” He stroked the man’s skull gently with one clawed hand, as if soothing a child that just woke from a nightmare. “Hhhhhow the fffffffuck… do you know… my name?” Awareness was settling in, and Spencer felt real fear for the first time in his life. To Spencer’s mind, his assailant was a mix between a bull and a man with the features of neither, save for the meaty cock that was tearing his hole apart. An unnaturally dark-skinned man with horns on his head and claws for hands was raping him in his nightclub. He didn’t understand the black eyes or the venomous teeth, or why both had liquid black streaming from those orifices. Nothing about this costume makes sense. “You fell off your gogo box, and hit your head,” Stag continued. “I’m just making you feel good, and giving you a little upgrade as a bonus.” Spencer became aware he was completely naked, save for his baby blue shoes, now elevated above his head, his shoulders pinned against the floor. He raised his head enough to see Stag’s girthy dick, and quickly determined that this was, in fact, not a dream. “No! Stop!” Spencer managed to yell. “Get off me!” “Take it, bitch,” Stag growled without missing a beat or a thrust. “Am I good enough for you now, Spence?” The words had a venomous bite to them, and Stag clearly intended to hurt his victim both physically and verbally. Spencer couldn’t connect the dots, the punishing thrusts of Stag’s infected cock clouding all coherent thought. Spencer never imagined he’d be a rape victim. But the powerful physique captivated his interest, and overrode his morality meter. When his head finally cleared, he was impressed by the bulging muscles of his rapist, and the black veins pushing against the surface of his skin. Stag was sweating like a pig, and thrusting harder with every minute. Spencer gradually became less resistant to the intrusion and the violation of his body, but his rational mind kept invading the moment. This guy seems to know me. Do I know him? Why are you letting this happen, Spence? This is a monster, a demon, and you’re enjoying having sex with it? Are you fucking crazy? HOOOOOOLY FUCK ON A STICK THAT’S HUGE! Stag had withdrawn himself fully, and then penetrated Spencer’s hole with his engorgement with great force. Spencer cried out. Stag licked Spencer’s face with his forked tongue. Spencer saw it coming at him. That’s funny. A tongue like a snake. That’s kinda cool. The chemicals in the saliva worked quickly, and Spencer began to relax again. Ah, that’s the stuff. Like… poppers? How did he do that? With his victim properly sedated just enough to keep him quiet, Stag resumed the infection process. During the first few thrusts, Spencer’s mind was all over the place: he experienced fear, great lust, excitement, and joyous sensations that didn’t match anything he had felt in his entire life. He’d have one hell of a story to tell in the morning. But there was the other side of it - the very act was terrifying, but so erotic and seductive, and beyond all his previous experiences. He thought for sure he was going to die from all the sensations and the terrible pain in his rectum and balls and prostate. That’s it, he thought. I’m done for. Goodbye, perfect body, goodbye perfect health, hello oblivion. But I swear I know this guy. Why can’t I remember? Between the assault on his sexual organs and how quickly this escalated, Spencer couldn’t get his brain to work. A strange yet familiar voice rattled through his head. No thoughts. Just focus on my cock. Stag fucked Spencer without mercy - Stag knew what he was capable of, and he needed a partner who could match his sex drive while already having a great physical headstart. The white hot pain was intense, and Spencer began to have second thoughts. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself upright, panic flooding in fast and unfiltered. His thighs hurt, his back scraped against the cold concrete, and Stag’s massive body loomed above him— black skin catching the light like wet latex. Spencer shoved at his chest. “S-stop— just stop— This is wrong. I don’t want this after all.” Stag didn’t budge. His grip tightened reflexively, overpowering Spencer without effort. The instinct was pure dominance—brutal, unquestioning, physical. He mentally began to try and force Spencer to stay, feeling like with just enough force, he could make Spencer do whatever he wanted with just a thought. Suddenly, Spencer let out a scream as he felt like a vice was squeezing his brain, a small trickle of blood flowing out of his nose. A flood of images slammed into his mind, with what he could swear was his ex’s voice echoing inside his head on repeat. Spencer gasped, tears beginning to flow down his face as fear began overtaking confusion. “STOP! IT HURTS! Get off— please— you’re hurting—” The words and mental feedback hit Stag harder than the physical resistance. His brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, like a wild animal momentarily recognizing it had bitten too deep. The growl in his throat weakened, replaced by something almost conflicted. His thrusts gradually slowed. He stared down at Spencer, lips parted, nostrils flaring. Then the guilt hit—blunt and uncomfortable. This wasn’t how he had imagined this going. Not with screaming. Not with terror. He was supposed to want the gift. Crave it. Break open willingly. And Spencer—Spencer was someone he had cared for before. Stag exhaled slowly, releasing the pressure without pulling away entirely. He shifted his weight so Spencer could breathe again, his hands flattening against the floor beside him instead of pinning his arms. When he spoke, it wasn’t aloud. It slid into Spencer’s skull like heat poured behind the eyes. Babe. You always wanted more than this. Spencer blinked hard, confusion warring with pain and adrenaline. Stag’s voice felt like memory rather than words, flooding synapses directly. Images flickered—unbidden, sharp: Spencer in the mirror, flexing his arms. Always complaining about needing more definition. Countless Google searches for “muscle growth cycle”. Stag walking in and hearing him whispering to himself, “Someday I’ll look like that.” Spencer’s breath hitched. “Stop—don’t— I didn’t say—” He shoved at Stag again, weaker this time. The mental pressure increased—not painful this time, but warm, insidious, sliding beneath the fear like oil. You wanted to be bigger. Stronger. Admired. You wanted everyone to stop and look. More images flooded in: Strip lights illuminating sculpted abs. Hands grabbing him at the club, not for pity flirts but hunger. Stage tips piling up. Cameras pointed at him. The struggle to walk through a doorway without getting hit on either side. Strangers staring in awe in public places. Spencer whimpered, overwhelmed. “That doesn’t mean I want—” Stag leaned closer, his voice now both in Spencer’s mind and in his breath against Spencer’s cheek. “We both know you wanted to be transformed. This is so much better and easier than all those rounds of steroids and bulking and cutting. I’m giving you exactly what you always wanted. Just trust me for once.” The fight faded from Spencer’s limbs. Not because he accepted, but because the promise wrapped itself around his desire like wire—tight, clever, exact. Stag’s guilt softened into confidence. He changed tactics completely. Instead of forcing Spencer down, he slid a hand to the back of Spencer’s head, not to hold him still but to steady him—an anchor rather than a restraint. “I could break you,” Stag murmured, sounding almost apologetic. “I can feel it. Just a hard enough squeeze and you’d be nothing but a mindless meat puppet. But that would ruin what I’m giving you. What I want for both of us to share.” Spencer swallowed hard, adrenaline fading into tremors. “What… what are you giving me?” Stag smiled, slow and certain. Everything you wished you could become. He fed images of Spencer’s skin turning black and shiny, muscles growing upon muscles, just like all the pictures Stag had found in the browser history on Spencer’s laptop when they were dating. His cock turning massive, balls becoming huge like a bull. Being able to shoot neverending streams of black foul cum out of his cock with ease. A proverbial sex demon. Outside, the crowd screamed at a bass drop. Inside, Spencer’s last attempt to crawl away dissolved into something breathless and hungry as Stag let the imagery grow richer, deeper, irresistible: Veins rising under skin, biceps thickening, chest and back growing ever wider. Dancers staring instead of ignoring, photographers chasing him eager to get another shot of his massive muscular body. Crowds chanting his name. A glass case filled with physique trophies. And the impalement of the hottest men in the world with his freakishly large dick. Stag fed Spencer one last image: an oily pair of discarded posing trunks with a large circular button pinned to the waistband, bearing the number 7. Next to them, a hastily-removed pair of combat boots, a half-filled bottle of wine, and a single red rose. Spencer needed no explanation for what that meant. His tears dried. His shaking stilled. He reached for the monster above without realizing he had done it. And began to push his ass back, moaning. Now he understood. This was truly a gift. Stag smiled as he felt the mental changes take root inside Spencer’s head. Things would go much smoother now. And with that, the conversion truly began. It had been so long since Spencer had sex with anyone and actually enjoyed it. The surprise hookup and incredible violation of this person battled in his heart, and lust won out. Spencer grabbed Stag by the horns and stared into his abyssal eyes, getting more into the sex than was probably safe. Screw it - let him keep going. This… this is too good. I’ll complain later. Good thing tomorrow isn’t legs day, or I’d be walking funny. Oh, God, I swear he’s in my second hole. Even my toys at home aren’t this big. Stag's jackhammering cock was tearing Spencer's hole apart, but neither of them cared. Spencer’s breath came shorter and shorter, his eyes rolled back in his head more than a couple times, and what began as hate sex and rape turned to a full-on glorious rectal assault that he didn’t want to end. Stag suddenly stopped his thrusting, and abruptly withdrew himself from Spencer again, and stayed out this time. Both men lay gasping, and Spencer’s vision was hazy. The sedating effect of the spit had long worn off, but the mental coercion had done its part, leaving Spencer wanting more. Spencer stared at the ceiling, gasping for air. Stag pulled down hard on his own scrotum, his hand acting as a cockring, and preventing his load from blowing prematurely. “Why… why did you stop? Did you cum?” Spencer asked, almost breathless. He could already feel the corruption spreading inside him while Stag took a break. “No, I’m too close,” Stag answered him. “Good,” Spencer answered, surprising himself. “I want to keep going. I need you to load me up.” Stag only smirked without looking at Spencer. I can feel it working in him already. He’ll be a fucking monster with all that mass, and what I’m giving him on top of it. But let’s savor the moment. Ten bucks says he’ll thank me in the morning. Spencer’s vision cleared enough for him to give another glance to his breeder. “This is driving me crazy. I have to know - do we know each other?” Stag smirked lightly. “You don’t remember? Think carefully, Spence. You really don’t recognize the sound of my voice in your head?” Try as he might, the name wouldn’t come to him, and Stag’s appearance had changed so much that he couldn’t possibly be recognized by someone Spencer hadn’t thought of in a long time. Out of sight really was out of mind. He had nothing to go on to even guess. After a minute of pondering, he had to admit it. “No clue.” “It’s Bryce. The army guy you decided wasn’t good enough for you, so you just threw him away like an old cum rag.” Spencer raised his head slightly in disbelief, and stared directly at Stag, trying to see the man that he rejected so harshly. “Holy shit… No fucking way!” “Oh, yes fucking way. I’ve been upgraded, and I wanted to show you my improvements,” Stag said wickedly. He sat up, and spread his arms out widely so Spencer could see everything. Spencer was in awe of the creature before him. He remembered someone too lanky and lean with a penchant for asshole behavior. And he couldn’t abide his smoking habit, either. It couldn’t possibly be the same guy. His skin wasn’t this color, and he had none of these body mods, especially not the meat on his bones. He would never have worked so hard to look like this and get me turned on. Way too self-centered. Did he do all this just for me? Spencer couldn’t give voice to his thoughts. The memory and the present reality were just too juxtaposed. But the sex so far had been mindblowing. Spencer had never been fucked like that before, and he was discomfited to realize he needed more from the mutated Bryce. While Spencer processed this, Stag could already see the corruption taking hold in the massive dancer. His toxic precum was working its magic, and Spencer’s skin had a different glow to it. The ice blue eyes were darkening, but still bore traces of the whites, and what little body fat Spencer carried was already starting to burn away. It will be a slow infection, but it’ll hit him hard when I fully empty my balls. Stag crawled back toward Spencer, ready to begin another round. “I will get you there, and I’ll be by your side for all of it. You deserve it. Now raise your legs back up. Time’s a-wasting.” Spencer could only comply, tempted with the prospect of getting bigger, and the hunger for the demon’s cock. He…yes. This. I think this is what I wanted to look like all this time. Why settle for what I am when I can evolve into something better? The temptation to exceed his potential outweighed any negatives, and with that, Spencer’s fate was sealed. “Take it easy this time, okay?” Spencer asked in a light voice. Get big, or die trying, right? Those were his last thoughts before he surrendered to Stag completely.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, pigs. Here begins Season 2 of "The Master Pathogen". Expect a new episode every Friday from us. We appreciate your sticking with the story, and the Christmas Special. Happy reading! (And wanking, as the case may be.) Without further adieu.... ------------------------ Chapter 21: A New Kind of Army Clearview University Medical - Dumpf Tower, basement. 19:44 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. In 1874, the prominent Prussian-based Dumpf family built a hospital and convalescence center for survivors of the American Civil War. At the time, it was considered revolutionary and shined like a new penny, but as the decades rolled on, the structure began to weaken and show its age. Rooms felt cramped, as 19th century patients had no experience with big medical equipment that began to fill hospitals in the 20th century; ceilings were often too low, it became outdated, and big building construction technology had improved considerably since its founding. By mid-century, the plumbing needed to be gutted entirely and replaced with non-lead pipes, but the walls were filled in with asbestos and other material that is now considered hazardous. The state refused to let go of the facility, and in the later half of the 20th century, the Dumpf Medical Tower was under seemingly constant renovation. One area would be fixed only for another to need attention, and it was much like chasing roaches around a slum. Among the many problems with the decaying hospital were regular issues of black mold, faulty plumbing and water leaks, frequent electrical problems, an antique elevator that always seemed to be out of service, and a crumbling foundation. Financial needs also became an issue, due to the expense of constant upkeep of the building, and Clearview University stepped in to give the place some measure of support to keep running. It was renamed Clearview University Medical Dumpf Tower to show this support to the public, but the locals still referred to it by its old name. Several investors also pledged to donate different wings, but only two were built in the years that followed: the Schott wing, a secure wing for mental health patients, and the Gussler wing for pediatrics. Clearview subsidized these building projects as well, and the name remained attached to the new places. By the 21st century, the building was considered “vintage art deco”, but a rising water table on the site forced the county to find a new permanent home. Finally, a new medical facility broke dirt early in the decade for what would become Clearview University Medical. Millionaire Robert Steighn contributed hugely to the fund for the construction project, and a wing of the hospital was named for his family. But the Dumpf Tower remained, providing healthcare for very specific needs, and was eventually abandoned within a few years. While preservationists worked round the clock on getting Dumpf Tower a historic landmark status to prevent a total demolition, medical professionals and patients alike appreciated the shiny new facility, which had none of the difficulties of the crumbling old hospital. Dumpf Tower became a cold relic that only collected dust and cobwebs. Despite being initially saved for storage, Clearview didn’t see the value in keeping the place operational insofar as the heating and working plumbing. In this space, the Alpha and his converts had relocated their base of operations. A perfect place to hide out until a more permanent situation became available. The soldiers and scientists, worn out from their abrupt move and the orgies, had slept most of the day. Night had fallen, and as they were waking from their slumber, the Alpha came into what was formerly a cafeteria, now stripped completely of furniture and fixtures, save for a single large chair perched upon a naturally-occuring rise in the floor. It would serve as a dais for the Alpha to oversee his team, and he came in with a somewhat guilty look on his face. “Apologies for the delay,” the Alpha explained without being asked. “A few loose ends needed tying up. Our prisoner has been sedated and locked in the Schott wing, and we can now proceed without interference.” “Welcome back, boss,” Stag said warmly. “You’re looking particularly sinister tonight.” Gravestone only looked at him with distaste. A little early in the night to be licking boots, Stag, don’t you think. “Are you all ready for a night of chaos? Tonight we make our move,” the Alpha asked, calmly but cold, clapping his hands once, commanding. Gravestone was the first to answer. “Yes, Alpha, but we are starving. This place has no food or running water. We need to do something about it.” Lockjaw quickly appeared at his side, stroking his floppy cock all the while. “We can’t fuck on an empty stomach. Feeding off each other’s loads can go on for only so long.” The Alpha only stared back at them, silently weighing his options. When he finally spoke, the darkness of the room seemed to bend around him. “You’re right. We feed, like any predator. Nothing less.” Stag snickered. “Alpha, if I may. I’ve got a great idea. Let’s just Doordash everything, and recruit the delivery driver as well. Make it a full-on gangbang. He’ll never see it coming.” His smartassed comment actually raised a short, sharp laugh from the others in the room, but the Alpha only raised an eyebrow in response. That’s pretty fucked up, Stag. Buuuuuuut… The Alpha pursued his lips, and shook his head. “No, we’ll do better than that. I like that you’re thinking with your dick, but it’s too passive for my taste. I was thinking of something more aggressive and active. We’ll take what we need directly.” “What do you have in mind, Alpha?” Lockjaw enquired. “We will go out and get supplies. Men of Black Sigma, you are the best-suited to this task, and will serve as our First Strike team. Sticks and Lockjaw, you will pay a visit to the Mega Mini-Mart on 32nd and Broadway. Take Patch and Pixel as backup, and carry whatever food you can bring back here. Get enough for a few days.” Pixel turned his head to Lockjaw, and then back to the Alpha. “Alpha, none of us have any money on us to buy anything. Do you want us to steal?” The Alpha gazed out over his team from his elevated rise. “Your greatest weapon is within you. Use it. Silence those who oppose us, and dominate the weak. If they survive, they are worthy, and can be made to join us. Do not bring substandard specimens on, but recruit the best you find. Only the worthiest. All of you are charged with this task.” The many smilers nodded silently. The worthiest, huh? Stag thought. I know just the one, and he’ll never see it coming. Stag’s chest heaved as he inhaled deeply at the exciting thought of spreading the infection. “What are we going to wear?” Patch asked. “We can’t go around the city completely naked. Some of us brought our military fatigues, but others like Zero or some of the older brothers don’t have a stitch of clothing on them.” “He’s right,” Lockjaw confirmed. “And with our physical improvements, people will certainly see us as we are.” The other smilers murmured in agreement. The Alpha wasn’t expecting this level of resistance and questioning from his new recruits. “Did you forget it’s Halloween night? This is a lucky coincidence - if done right, the ‘normal people’ will just think you have an elaborate costume. But you do raise a valid point, we can’t go around naked. It’s too high profile, and public nudity isn’t legal here. Much easier to work in stealth and not draw unwanted attention. Gravestone, advance.” “Alpha?” Gravestone stepped forward, and instinctively snapped at attention as a soldier should. Shit, I haven’t done that since before my promotion to ‘commander’. Not even for Krell. The Alpha smirked with approval. He’s accepted it. Very good. “You, Zero, and Beau will pop into the clothing stores downtown. Grab whatever you can that might fit, but not for yourselves. These will be for the men I personally converted. Except for Stag.” Fuck you, Alpha, Stag thought defiantly. Leaving me out? Then Stag remembered his own gear was stashed away, brought over when they changed hideouts. “What about the rest of us?” Garrett asked while shifting his weight. “Some of you will stay here with me,” the Alpha continued. “We need to keep our guest restrained, and I would not have him get away before we’re done with him. I want this to be a covert operation, so no side-trips or going back home. And don’t fucking kill anyone. That’s high profile. No converting women, either. Oh, Stag, go find us a water supply. The plumbing here was turned off after they all moved to the new hospital, so we must have something to drink. I can’t piss down your throats on an empty bladder.” “You got it, boss,” Stag answered with too much enthusiasm. He had no intention of following orders. Finding water is work for one of these other pissants. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. And I do mean “bigger”!, he thought with a deviant smirk. The Alpha, having heard this thought, eyed Stag suspiciously, but did not answer him back. “You have your orders. Now get dressed, and get ready for a night of hell on earth,” the Alpha concluded, taking a seat on his makeshift throne. “You there,” he said, snapping his clawed fingers once. “Get over here, and nurse my cock.” A smiler who was wearing only one shoe silently drew near the Alpha, fell on his knees, and wrapped his lips around the deeply infected dick. The recruits got dressed, but some of them found that their old clothes which they had worn comfortably a day ago were now almost too tight. Patch’s uniform was quickly discarded by him, and the baggy pants got passed to Stag, who found them a little too short, but his newly-formed muscular quads filled out the rest nicely. As the soldiers and scientists passed misfitting clothes between them, only Sticks, Patch, and Garrett had a complete ensemble at the end of it. Others were topless, or wearing shirts too small for their large, distended frames. One smiler was completely naked, nothing available fitting him at all, and another found himself standing in boots two sizes too large. He clomped around the floor in them, much like a small child trying on his father’s shoes and making a joke of it. The Alpha ignored the annoying sounds, and focused only on the pleasure he was receiving from the smiler on his knees. He closed his eyes, and sent out a message to all his followers. Go now. Find food, and recruit. Bring a new friend back with you. His head raised slightly as he remembered something important. He focused on Zero, who was uncomfortably standing idle and waiting for his commander to lead him, until he had the soldier’s attention. Zero, come here. Only you can hear my voice right now. You were not naturally made one of us. Prove your loyalty. Zero approached the Alpha quietly, expecting he would have to perform oral sex on him when the other smiler was finished. I do not trust Stag to stay on mission. When you can, break away from the others and follow him in secret at a respectable distance. Stop him if he means to betray us. —--- Elias and Trevor’s apartment. 31-Oct-20XX. 19:52 MST. REDACTED LOCATION. Elias’s head began to ache again. Then the mysterious voice came into his head from seemingly nowhere. His eyes had been closed, his head resting back on the cushion on the couch, and when the voice appeared, he raised his head and snapped his eyes open at once. “Holy shit,” he said with awful realization. “They’re mobilizing for Halloween night.” How the hell do I know that? Am I becoming… telepathic? Elias forced himself up from the couch, pushing his headache aside. “I’ve got to do something,” he said with desperation. “I can’t just sit here and let this happen.” He put his shoes on, grabbed a light jacket, and put his water glass in the sink. Shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket, he found his keys. Then he raised his face to the ceiling as he processed a new thought. What do you think you’re going to do, Eli?, he thought. Do you even know where they’re going? No one’s going to believe you if you try to warn them. ‘Halloween shenanigans’, remember? He sighed with frustration as he discovered there wasn’t anything he could possibly do to prevent the smilers from spreading the infection and wreaking havoc. He sat back on the couch, trying to think of locations where the smilers might go, and how he might intervene if he encountered them. He cast his eyes to the window, and saw only darkness without. They could have done this at any time. Why wait til nightfall? Because they’ll be harder to spot? He closed his eyes once, trying to get his mental gears turning. But Elias came up empty. I don’t know where they will be. Not even a clue to get me started. May as well just sit here and think. He considered calling Tex, but he doubted he would have any guesses, either. Elias was wracked with indecision. No! You must go out, and infect, too! You’re part of the team, like it or not. Go NOW!, the mysterious intruding voice commanded. Whoever you are, fuck off! I’m not doing your dirty work. Elias shot back. Tell me who you are! The voice didn’t answer, but Elias imagined its source laughing at him. “If you’ve got nothing else to say, then we have nothing to discuss,” he said aloud without realizing until he’d said it. “Get out of my head!” Elias felt a bestial growl welling up inside him. “Nobody’s controlling me!” He jumped to his feet, and decided. I’m going out, but not to be part of the chaos. They must be stopped. We can start with downtown. Better go out prepared. Elias marched with determination to the bedroom, his heart pounding in his ears, and instantly went to the closet. He took down a small metal box, and after inserting the key, he opened it. Pulled out a small revolver, and checked the barrel. No bullets. Elias opened a second metal box containing only ammunition, and with shaking hurried hands, he struggled to load the weapon. Eventually the bullets went in, and he closed the chamber. Something stronger than tranq darts this time, he thought as he inserted the last one. Setting the loaded revolver down gently, Elias took a shoulder holster down from the shelf, and put it on, then placed the gun into it. He promptly put on the jacket over it, knowing his concealed carry license and active duty made it okay to go out armed. Elias then tried to send out his own telepathic message to its unknown source as he went back to the front room. Whoever the fuck you are, consider this my desertion. If you want me so badly, you’ll have to get to me first. I’m not part of your army, and I won’t fight for you. Elias was equally surprised when he got a response of dark laughter. We’ll just see about that. You’ve already recruited one. You won’t be able to resist getting another. A shudder went through Elias’s full body as he realized the voice was right. An angry fire began to grow in his heart, and it was matched by an urge to fuck anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. It would be so much easier if you just cooperated. So much more pleasurable for you. “It would, wouldn’t it,” Elias answered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His burner phone suddenly rang, causing him to jump with alarm. “Hey, it's me,” Tex said in almost a panic. “I just watched Dr. Grant get kidnapped by a smiler! I tried to chase after them, but these fuckers are fast!” “You've gotta be shitting me,” Elias said incredulously. “What happened?” “He was acting weird when we closed up at the camp, so I tailed him. He went to a corner store and bought some flowers, and then he took them to the cemetery. He was… visiting someone. A friend, I think.” “Are you there now?” Elias asked. “Yep,” Tex answered. “I kept my distance, but he knew I was there the whole time.” Tex stopped for a breath. “Eli. He knows who we are. He saw last night’s mission brief, and outright accused you and me of lying to our superiors, and he knows we were there.” Elias knew this was bad news, but surely not the end of it. Tex continued, “He knows my codename, and knows we escaped the quarantine. And all of a sudden, this figure descended on him, and spirited him away. It looked like a smiler. I think they are looking for him, too. There's no way that was accidental.” “Shit,” Elias whispered. “Stay there and out of sight. I'm on my way.” Elias dashed out the door, slamming it without meaning to in the process. His footsteps were heavy, and echoed loudly as he charged toward the stairs, causing a neighbor to poke her head out a door. “Hey, where’s the fire?”, she demanded. Elias didn’t bother to answer her, and hit the door at the bottom with all his bodyweight. It made a loud sound as the two collided, and Elias was out in the autumn night in under a minute. Elias practically sprinted to his car, and jumped in. He shoved the key into the ignition with a little more force than was needed, and as soon as the engine turned over, he put the car in reverse, and backed out of his usual parking spot in a flash. Then the car zoomed out of the neighborhood, completely ignoring any speed zone rules. — The first thing Clark Grant noticed when he came back to himself was the smell. Old antiseptic. Rust. Damp plaster. That unmistakable rot that settled into abandoned buildings long after the last human breath had left them. It clung to the back of his throat, thick enough that swallowing felt like work. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. The ceiling above him sagged, cracked tiles yellowed with age and water damage. A fluorescent light buzzed weakly, flickering just enough to keep him from forgetting where he was. Hospital. Or what remained of one. His wrists were bound to the metal rails of the bed—too loose to hurt, too tight to ignore. “No,” he breathed, the word leaving him before he could stop it. Not here. Memory surged back in fragments: the graveyard, cold mud soaking through his shoes, headstones looming like crooked teeth. The sudden pressure at his back. Hands—strong, deliberate—guiding him down, not rough, not gentle. Certain. Then darkness. Clark tried to sit up. The bed creaked in protest, chains rattling softly. His pulse spiked, not with fear, but with a sharp, burning anger that settled into his chest like a live coal. Of all places. His gaze drifted, unwillingly, to the far wall. The peeling paint. The rusted IV stand. The old heart monitor shoved into a corner like trash. He knew this room. He had memorized every flaw in it once, had sat here counting cracks in the wall while pretending not to watch the life drain out of the man he loved. “You son of a bitch,” Clark muttered. The door opened. Not slammed. Not creaked. It opened smoothly, as if the building itself obeyed him. The Alpha stepped inside. He looked wrong in the room—not out of place, but too present. Like the walls had bent around him to make space. His posture was relaxed, hands loose at his sides, expression calm in a way that made Clark’s teeth grind. “Well,” the Alpha said mildly. “You’re finally awake.” Clark barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You drag me out of a graveyard and dump me in a fucking corpse of a hospital, and that’s your opener?” The Alpha smiled. It wasn’t cruel. That somehow made it worse. “You were difficult to catch,” he replied. “I don’t enjoy chasing. Or maybe I do. I haven’t decided yet.” “Let me go,” Clark snapped. He pulled against the restraints again, metal biting into his skin. “You don’t get to do this. Not here. Anywhere but here.” “Yet here you are, Clark.” Clark’s vision blurred for just a second. He forced it back into focus, jaw tightening. “You always were a bastard,” he said. “Always. Even before all of this. You think I don’t see it? Think I don’t know what you are?” The Alpha tilted his head, studying him with something like curiosity. “And what am I, Doctor Grant?” “A coward,” Clark shot back. “A control freak hiding behind fear. You take what you want and dress it up like destiny.” The Alpha chuckled softly and stepped closer. The air felt heavier with every pace he took, pressure settling over Clark’s skin, his lungs, his thoughts. Clark refused to look away. “You put me in this room on purpose,” Clark continued, voice shaking now despite himself. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You think this will break me? That I’ll beg for you to let me go?” The Alpha stopped at the foot of the bed. His smile didn’t falter. “No,” he said gently. “I think you’ll remember every last detail.” Clark snarled, straining forward. “You don’t get to talk about him. You don’t get to use this place like some sick leverage. I saved lives. I watched him die in this room. You don’t get to—” The Alpha leaned in close enough that Clark could see the faint glow in his eyes, feel the hum of something ancient and vast just beneath his calm exterior. “When you feel like cooperating,” the Alpha said quietly, “I’ll come back.” He straightened, turning toward the door. “Until then,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder, “consider this… a reminder of what happens when you refuse to accept what you are.” The door closed behind him with a soft, final click. Clark lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling as the light flickered overhead. The room pressed in on him, heavy with memory, grief, and something darker still. Slowly—carefully—his breathing evened out. “Idiot,” he whispered to the empty room. Because the Alpha thought he’d brought him here to break him. And Clark Grant would never tell him how wrong he was.

Having been in the porn biz myself, the answer is undoubtedly YES. For those who enjoy seeing a list, here is mine. Michael Phoenixxx Brian Bonds Lawrence Portland Lance Charger Jason Ryder Ryden Coxwell Scruffy Lobo HungerFF Sean Weston It's a short list. I didn't make that many films, and some of this was non-studio stuff. That counts, too!

188 last I counted. That might seem low, but I had sex with many of these men a number of times.

The story resumes Friday morning. Be sure to tune in.