leatherpunk16

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.

Cookies N Cream (I am SO not helpful.)

I think you nailed it. We wrote Stag to be a selfish ass, and I think you'll like what we have planned for him in the main story. As for what's coming next, all the clues are there in the text. That's all I should say, and even that may be too much.

Hating a character in fiction is healthy. It keeps the viewer/reader engaged. So I'm curious what you see in Stag that makes you happy to see him get his just desserts. We don't really talk about the story (stories) and all the wacky inhabitants of those worlds, so it might be fun to discuss and explore this view.

I want to get my hole reopened. Since leaving the porn biz, I've stopped bottoming almost entirely. I kinda miss it. And I think I'm in a mental place to consider that, long-term, I'd like to get fisted. That might be a 2027 goal if I get opened up again. Get a size 0 ring for my PA. And spend more time in my gunge pool. I've inflated it ONCE in three years.

This thread aged well.

Chapter 7: Raisin' Bran Bran didn’t stop running. The house felt wrong—too quiet, too large, every hallway stretched just a little longer than it should have. His bare feet slapped against the floor as he tore through the second-floor hall, breath ragged, heart hammering so hard it hurt. Somewhere behind him, he could hear movement. Not frantic. Not chasing. Walking. That terrified him more than anything. He burst into his bedroom and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame, fumbling with the lock even though he already knew it wouldn’t matter. His hands shook as he crossed the room in three strides and threw himself at the window. “Come on—come on—” he hissed, yanking at the frame. It didn’t budge. The cold had contracted it tight, the wood warped just enough to trap it in place. He shoved harder, ignoring the pain in his palms, panic climbing up his throat. Outside, the snowstorm raged—white and violent and unreachable. “Fuck!” he shouted. He spun and bolted into the attached bathroom, nearly slipping on the tile as he lunged for the second window. Same result. Frozen shut. No give at all. For a moment, he just stood there, chest heaving, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were wild. His face was pale. He looked like someone already being hunted. A sound came from the bedroom. Soft. Deliberate. Footsteps. Bran backed away from the window slowly, dread sinking deep into his gut. His mind raced—stairs, front door, anything—but he already knew the truth before he acted on it. They were everywhere. He rushed back into the bedroom—and stopped dead. Derek stood in the doorway. Lighting a cigar expertly and blowing the smoke out at the flame on the tip before looking at Bran. Naked. Relaxed. Smiling. Behind him, filling the hall, were the others. Noah. Evan. Paul. Zach. All of them unclothed, unashamed, eyes completely black, expressions eerily calm. Bran’s breath caught. “Guys,” he said hoarsely, hands raised. “Guys—what the hell is this?” They didn’t answer. He tried authority first. Reflex. “I’m the president,” he said. “This isn’t funny. You need to fucking let go.” Derek frowned slightly, like he was considering something. For a heartbeat, Bran felt hope spark. Then Derek spoke. “Bran… That doesn’t matter anymore.” The words landed flat and absolute. “We serve the Alpha now,” Derek continued. “And whatever the Alpha asks for… it gets.” The brothers stepped forward together. Bran turned to run. Bran lunged for the hall. And he didn’t make it three steps. Hands caught him before he’d taken a full step—too many, too strong. He twisted and slammed an elbow back on instinct, felt it connect with something solid, but it didn’t slow them. Not even a little. The brothers moved with quiet coordination, grips firm and practiced, like they’d done this together before. “Stop—wait—” Bran gasped, thrashing as panic took over. “Derek, listen to me—this isn’t you!” Derek stepped in close, calm as ever, eyes empty. He didn’t touch Bran at first—just watched him struggle. “You’re wasting energy,” Derek said. “You’ll need it for what’s about to happen...” That was when Noah moved. Bran barely saw it happen. A wet sound, a sharp chemical stink—and then something warm and viscous struck his face. It burned and tingled at the same time, crawling across his skin and seeping into his senses. His breath hitched violently as dizziness slammed into him. “No—no—” he tried to say, but the words tangled and fell apart. His legs buckled. The room tilted. The brothers caught him before he hit the floor, lifting him effortlessly as his vision blurred at the edges. The world felt too bright and too dim at the same time, like his brain couldn’t agree on what it was seeing. “Easy,” someone murmured—Paul, maybe. The voice sounded pleased. They carried him down the stairs. Bran fought to stay awake, counting steps, biting his tongue until he tasted blood. The living room lights swam into view, wreckage blurring together—broken decorations, overturned furniture, the tree shattered on the floor. At the center of it all, sitting on the couch in the same spot he had been hours earlier, was the Alpha. Bran felt it before he saw it. Pressure settled over him, heavy and absolute, pressing down on his thoughts until even fear struggled to take shape. They tossed him forward carelessly, and he hit the floor at the Alpha’s feet, breath knocked from his lungs. He looked up. Ty sat beside the Alpha, close—too close—watching with an eager, empty expression. One massive hand rested on Ty’s head possessively, stroking like you would an obedient animal. Ty smiled dreamily and pushed his head against his hand. Bran’s stomach dropped. “No,” he whispered. “Ty… what the fuck did they do to you?” Ty didn’t answer. He just smiled. The brothers formed a loose circle around them, blocking every path out. The Alpha regarded Bran silently, head tilted, studying him like a curiosity it had already claimed. Bran realized then—with a sick, sinking certainty—that this wasn’t about punishment. This was about finishing something. The Alpha rested a massive hand on Ty’s head. Ty stiffened, then relaxed, eyes turning fully black as if something heavy had settled into him. When he spoke, the voice that came out was not entirely his—layered, resonant, echoing faintly in Bran’s skull. “Tonight,” Ty said, smiling, voice deepening into something evil, “you will be the last, Bran Coletti.” Bran shook his head weakly, trying to push himself backward, but hands pinned him in place. Christmas lights snapped tight around his wrists and ankles, their bulbs warm against his skin, pulsing faintly as if alive. “I will watch,” Ty continued, his voice cold and ancient sounding. “As each of your brothers will give you their attention.” The words slid into Bran’s mind like hooks. He thrashed again, muscles screaming, but the circle only tightened. “No,” Bran gasped. “Why—why are you doing this? To me?” The Alpha finally moved. It leaned its head slightly to one side, studying him with something like mild curiosity. When it answered, the voice bypassed Bran’s ears entirely and pressed straight into his thoughts. Because you invited us. Images flickered behind Bran’s eyes: the basement door. The cold. The storm. The latch left loose. A host opens the door, the Alpha continued calmly. A good host accepts what follows. Bran’s breath broke into an angry sob. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t—please— Fucking let me go!” He spat upward in a last, desperate act of defiance. A hand struck his face hard enough to snap his head sideways. “Show some damn respect,” Derek said sharply, puffing on the cigar, standing over him now. “The more you fight, the worse this gets. Keep it up and he’ll make you more brainless than Ty.” Bran tasted blood. His ears rang. He looked up through watering eyes and saw Ty watching him closely. Ty frowned at Derek for a moment—confused—then smiled again and nodded, pleased. “It’s not so bad, though,” Ty said softly, before shyly looking up at the Alpha. “It’s nice being close to the Alpha. I’m his pretty boy, he likes touching me best. I like when he plays with my mind and makes me feel good. He likes hearing my voice talk for him, too. He’s a good master.” The words broke something inside Bran. The Alpha’s presence pressed harder, its attention sharpening. You will endure more than the others, it told him. That is the price of being first among them. Hands closed in again. First, he felt as Nate slowly kneeled behind him, pulling hard on the lights binding his wrist as he slammed as hard as he could deep into Bran’s ass, making him scream out in agony. He tried to pull away, look at anywhere else in the room, when Noah grabbed his hair painfully and pulled his head up to face the Alpha, who quietly watched and relaxed back, legs spread as he gently pet Ty’s head, guiding him gently to his groin and rumbling with pleasure as Ty began to deepthroat his cock. Without warning, he heard as Noah let out a gasp and slammed hard several more times as his ass began to flood with cum, Noah calmly licking and biting his neck. With a wet plop, he felt as Noah pulled out, and finally able to move his head, he looked down and saw a foul looking puddle of black cum begin to drip out of his ass and onto the hardwood floors. He watched as Derek, his former vice president, patted his younger cousin proudly on the shoulder, gently running a finger on his forehead and smiling as they ran over two strange protuberances. Derek motioned at one of his brothers, and a half empty box of cigars was brought forward, with Derek smiling and reaching in, cutting it expertly and smelling the stick of tobacco. He held it out towards Bran with a smile. “Want one, man?” Derek asked, puffing hard on the one in his own mouth, “Makes this a lot fucking easier.” “Fuck you man…. Fuck you,” Bran growled out, watching as Derek simply shrugged and shoved the cigar into his own mouth and lit it up, inhaling hard and blowing a thick cloud of smoke in his face, chuckling darkly as Bran began to cough and tear up. Quietly, Bran watched as the other brothers surged forward, each grabbing their own cigar and lighting one up, puffing happily and murmuring their thanks to Derek, before blowing thick clouds of smoke at his face. Suddenly, he felt Derek plunged deep inside his ass, groaning happily. “Yeah, bitch, fucking take my pig meat,” he groaned, fucking him hard and fast like a jackhammer, making him tear up and cry from the brutal assault on his ass. For several minutes it continued, Derek slapping his ass and asking him if he wanted him to knock his privileged ass up. Suddenly, he paused, looking over at the second largest creature standing behind the Alpha’s right shoulder. “Can I shoot my pig load in him now, Daddy?” Derek asked, taking slow long strokes inside him like he was waiting for permission to shoot. One nod from the creature and suddenly he felt as Derek slammed hard and deep inside him, releasing a massive load inside him. Derek suddenly smacked his ass hard. “Fucking milk that load out, whore,” Derek muttered, groaning as Bran’s ass tightened involuntarily as he pulled out, “And don’t let me catching you losing a single drop of that dirty jizz.” Bran let out a pitiful sob, feeling humiliated at the way his former friend was talking to him as a strange feeling slowly started to course through him. He shook his head, fighting the feeling as he felt Derek shove him forward and Evan stepped forward next, a case of beer in his hands as he handed each brother a bottle. Evan towered over him, somehow with a branch from the tree in his hand and began to smack his back and ass with it, his skin burning as the skin began to get scraped and scratched. Suddenly, his frat brothers let out a collective sigh and each one began to piss on him, showering him with warm, acrid urine. It sprayed in his face and on his skin, with Evan aiming almost expertly as his hole before plunging deep inside and filling him up with more piss inside. He wanted to scream and cry, beg for them to stop when Evan let out a huge groan as he, too, unloaded his foul cum inside. Suddenly, Evan pulled out and he felt as his ass erupted out in a torrent of piss and black cum on the floor. Paul knelt beside him, actually seeming to comfort him, telling him gently to let it all out, to relax, to breathe. He looked up and almost for a second though maybe Paul would help him. “Chop… please… help me get out of here. They can’t fight against all of us,” Bran begged, thinking maybe Chop was actually on his side. “Sorry, man… this is going to happen. I’ll make it feel good for you though. I promise…” Paul said, sighing sadly, as he hocked up a large ball of spit in his mouth, and spit squarely on his hole before crawling behind him and slowly began to shove his too-sharp nailed fingers into his ass. “FUCK! NO FUCK!” Bran screamed, feeling as more and more fingers stretched him out painfully, “I’M NOT GONNA GET FISTED BY A FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT LIKE YOU!” Suddenly, he felt as the Alpha’s mind grabbed his and squeezed painfully. We don’t like that word. You’ll pay for saying it, Ty and the Alpha echoed coldly, as Paul let out an angry sigh, his fist shoving hard into his ass and stretching his anus to accompany the massive hand. Bran screamed, cursed, begged—his voice growing hoarse as the Alpha allowed the pain to crest, then suddenly withdrew it all at once. The silence afterward was worse than the agony, leaving him shaking, drooling, barely conscious. He lay there, humiliated and broken, mind slipping. Ty approached him again, black eyes shining with devotion. When he spoke, the Alpha spoke with him. “Submit,” the voice said gently. “Or be emptied of everything that defines you...” Bran sobbed openly now, tears streaking down his face. His resistance crumbled under the weight of it—fear, betrayal, the awful certainty that he was truly alone. He nodded. The Alpha’s satisfaction rolled through him like a tide. Bran’s nod felt like betrayal even to himself. The Alpha’s presence swelled at once, filling the room like a pressure front rolling in. Sound dulled. Light flattened. The circle of brothers tightened, their silhouettes steady and patient, as if they’d been waiting for this exact moment. Good, the Alpha said, the word settling into Bran’s mind like a weight. He felt as Paul began to punch fuck him, the pain in his ass screaming in pain until he felt Paul press several fingers hard on his prostate, slowly massaging the gland from inside him, making him gasp and moan in confusion as he felt more of the Alpha’s presence flood his mind. Eventually, Paul pulled his hand out with a wet sound and shove his dick inside him and cum hard, Paul’s meaty hands firmly gripping his hips and fucking him back against him. Last, Zach stepped forward, cigar glowing in his mouth as he forced Bran, now shaking uncontrollably, back into a sitting position, and began to dig his nails into his skin and scratch his lean chest hard, leaving welts of blood as the other frat brothers stood before him and began to shoot ribbon after ribbon onto his skin, each shot dribbling into his cuts, into his eyes, into his hair… and making the burn as Zach forced his mouth open and shot a load into his mouth. With a firm, clawed hand, he felt as Zach closed his mouth and leaned forward. “Swallow it, bitch boy,” Zach said, grinning evilly, “Drink my tainted seed down like a good slut.” Bran complied, his mind feeling broken, unable to do anything but comply. Hands adjusted his restraints—methodical, practiced. The Christmas lights hummed softly, warmth spreading where they touched, making it harder to tell where his body ended and the bindings began. Bran tried to focus on something—anything—to hold himself together. His name. His title. His rules. They slid away from him. The Alpha leaned closer, and Bran felt his thoughts being sorted—lifted, examined, discarded. Fear surged, then drained. Anger flickered, then dimmed. Pride cracked and crumbled. The process was not hurried. It was careful. These pieces will not serve, the Alpha decided. Bran cried out as the pressure spiked again—every nerve lighting at once—then vanished, leaving him hollow and trembling. He gasped for breath that felt too thin to matter. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed softly. Someone else murmured approval. The Alpha withdrew the pain again, just as abruptly as it had come. Bran sagged, drooling, eyes unfocused. The absence of sensation was worse than the pain had been. It made room for something else to settle in. Listen very carefully to me, the Alpha said, and Bran did. He couldn’t help it. What remains of you can still choose. Choose ease. Choose belonging. Or I will remove the rest and leave you as nothing but a drooling husk. Images pressed in—his brothers transforming alongside him, skin turning black, large horns sprouting out of their heads. Muscles growing that no amount of work in the gym would be able to produce. Their cocks lengthening and thickening, balls growing massive. His mind stalled at the idea, strangely pleased that this would be what was waiting for him. The idea of resistance felt heavy and pointless. The idea of letting go felt… simple. Ty stepped into his view, smiling with uncomplicated devotion. He didn’t threaten. He didn’t plead. He just watched, content until the Alpha spoke through him. “Just give in. Join us and it can all be yours.” Bran’s last defenses faltered. He felt as his cock suddenly hardened, his body humming pleasantly as he felt something inside him shift. He looked down and saw the black spiderweb of veins spreading out of each scratch… the puddle of piss and black cum from his ass on the ground no longer looking repugnant and instead… inviting. Even tasty. The Alpha’s satisfaction was immediate and complete. There, it said. Now you understand. Bran’s breathing slowed. His thoughts smoothed. The frantic edges of panic dulled into a blank, receptive calm. He was still aware—enough to know something essential had slipped away—but the urge to reach for it was gone. The room steadied. The circle relaxed. And Bran, no longer fighting, waited for what came next. The Alpha waited. That, more than anything, broke what was left of Bran. No rushing. No spectacle. Just the unbearable certainty that the moment would happen whether he moved or not. The pressure in his head eased slightly—not enough to free him, only enough to make thinking feel like wading through syrup instead of fire. Come willingly, the Alpha said, voice settling deep and heavy inside Bran’s skull. Or be carried. Bran swallowed. His throat felt raw. He looked around the room one last time—at the wreckage, at the shadows, at the brothers he no longer recognized. Ty met his eyes and smiled with simple, unthinking contentment, as if nothing in the world was wrong. Something in Bran finally gave way. He nodded again. Slower this time. Deliberate. Hands loosened the bindings. Someone helped him upright. The room swayed, but he stayed standing, guided forward step by careful step. Each movement felt like surrendering another piece of himself, not all at once, but in small, irreversible increments. Slowly he kneeled down in front of the Alpha and nervously took its massive cock deep into his throat and sucked it, reverently cupping a ball in each hand and groaning at the weight of each in his hand. The Alpha gently grabbed his head and shoved it down, shooting a load down his throat before pulling his head up and nodded. He suddenly felt the urge to stand up and climb onto the Alpha’s lap, and in one solid motion pierced himself to the core on the cock, fucking himself as hard as he could on it until with a deep growl, the Alpha shot again in his ass, black cum flooding him and filling him up in a way he never realized he needed. With one final slam down, he felt as his cock erupted and began to coat the Alpha’s body in his uncorrupted seed. The Alpha’s presence enveloped him completely. Thoughts that had once defined him—responsibility, authority, pride—were lifted and peeled away. Memories blurred, not erased, just made distant and unimportant. The frantic need to resist dulled into a quiet, obedient calm. Good boy, the Alpha said, satisfaction rippling outward. Bran felt himself accepting what he was being shaped into—not because it was right, but because the idea of fighting no longer made sense. The house felt steadier now. Warmer. Whole. He watched as his fellow frat brothers surged forward, licking his untainted cum off the black skin… his mind flooded with pleasure, enjoying watching his brothers consume the last pure part of him as he continued to feel his body painfully empty itself of the cum, set on giving that remaining part of himself to fuel their conversion. His strength gave out at last. The world tilted. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, soft and inevitable. As consciousness slipped away, Bran’s final clear thought wasn’t fear. It was relief.

Chapter 5: Cum Dempsey Zach Dempsey woke with that dull, insistent pressure low in his abdomen—the kind that dragged him out of sleep before his brain had time to catch up. For a few seconds, he lay there staring at the ceiling, disoriented, listening to the wind scrape against the house. The storm sounded farther away than before, muted, like the snow had swallowed more than just noise. He groaned quietly and rolled onto his side, pushing himself upright. The room felt colder than it should have, the air stale and unmoving. His phone lay dark on the nightstand, useless. Somewhere downstairs, something hissed softly—static, maybe, or an old appliance cycling on. “Great,” he muttered. He swung his legs out of bed and padded across the room, pushing open the bathroom door with a practiced hand. As the light flicked on, he felt a small, irrational wave of gratitude wash over him. At least this was his. Being fraternity secretary came with exactly two perks: endless emails and meeting notes—and the room upgrade. His own bathroom. No waiting in line. No mystery puddles. No drunk pledges fumbling with the lock at three in the morning. At the time, it had felt like a joke reward. Right now, half-asleep and uncomfortable, it felt like a blessing. He took care of business quickly, shoulders slumping as the tension eased. For a moment, everything felt normal again—just another night holed up in the frat house during a snowstorm, too much beer, too many movies. As he washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired. Pale. His eyes lingered on himself a second longer than usual, a faint prickle of unease crawling up his spine for reasons he couldn’t quite place. The light flickered. Zach frowned. “Seriously?” It steadied again, but the feeling didn’t go away. He shut the bathroom light off and stepped back into his room, the hallway beyond dim and unevenly lit, faint pulses of light flickering at the edges like the house couldn’t decide whether it wanted power or not. As he headed toward the stairs, the quiet hit him again. Phi Alpha Gamma was never this still. Halfway down, he paused. The sound was clearer now—not just static. A low, irregular crackle from the living room, like a television tuned to nothing. He frowned. Someone must’ve fallen asleep downstairs again. Or forgotten to shut something off. Rubbing his face, blinking hard to clear the fog from his eyes, Zach continued down. The living room came into view, dim and strange. The Christmas tree lights blinked erratically, some glowing steady, others flickering like they were struggling to stay lit. The TV was on. Pure static filled the screen, bathing the room in a harsh, sickly glow. Zach stepped fully into the living room, unease creeping up his spine. “Guys?” he called softly, though he already knew no one would answer. The static crackled louder. As he reached toward the TV to shut it off, a sudden chill swept across the back of his neck—sharp and intimate, like someone had leaned close and exhaled. Zach froze. Slowly, heart beginning to thud, he started to turn around— And then something wet and burning struck his face. The impact stole his breath. Whatever hit Zach’s face was thick and warm, splattering across his eyes and mouth with a sharp, chemical sting that burned before it numbed. He cried out, the sound choking off as his vision blurred instantly, the world smearing into light and shadow. “What the—” He staggered backward, hands flying up to wipe his face, but the sensation only spread. Heat surged through his chest, rushed down his arms and legs like something flooding his bloodstream all at once. His knees buckled. The living room tilted violently. Zach stumbled, heel catching on the edge of the rug, and crashed hard into the Christmas tree beside the TV. Ornaments shattered against the floor, glass popping and crunching under his weight as branches snapped and lights tangled around his shoulders. The static from the TV roared louder, drowning out his panicked breathing. He tried to push himself upright. His arms didn’t listen. The heat deepened, heavy and suffocating now, wrapping his thoughts in cotton. His head swam, pressure building behind his eyes as if someone were squeezing his skull from the inside. The last thing he registered clearly was the tree lights blinking erratically above him, red and green smearing together into a nauseating blur. Then his legs gave out completely. Zach slumped sideways, sliding down the broken tree and onto the floor. His cheek pressed against cold hardwood. The static softened into a distant hiss, like waves pulling back from shore. As darkness closed in, he had one disjointed thought— This doesn’t make any sense. And then everything went black. Zach surfaced slowly, like something being dragged up through deep water. At first, there was only sensation—an all-over ache, sharp in some places, dull in others. His skin burned faintly, as if scraped raw, and the air felt too thick in his lungs. When he tried to swallow, his throat protested, dry and sore. His eyes fluttered open. Light stabbed at them immediately, harsh and flickering. He groaned and squeezed them shut again, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When he dared open them once more, the living room came back into focus in warped fragments: the overturned Christmas tree, broken ornaments scattered like ice across the floor, the TV still glowing with static. He was on his back. That realization landed with a jolt. He tried to sit up—and froze. Something was wrong. The air felt wrong against his skin. Too open. Too exposed. Panic flared as he looked down and saw that he was naked, his body marked with thin scratches that crisscrossed his chest, arms, and legs. They stung sharply now, as if freshly irritated, and each breath made them burn a little more. “What…?” His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper. A shadow fell over him. Zach’s heart slammed against his ribs as he forced his gaze upward. A figure stood above him—tall, impossibly broad, its skin pitch-black and gleaming as though polished. Long, demonic horns curved from its head, framing a face pulled into a slow, predatory smile. When it breathed, Zach could hear it clearly—deep, wet, deliberate. A name slid into his mind without warning, not spoken aloud but placed there, heavy and unavoidable. “Pixel.” Zach gasped, clutching at the floor as another wave of dizziness rolled through him. The figure leaned closer, studying him with open amusement. Then it spat again. The saliva struck his chest and face, seeping instantly into the scratches. The pain flared white-hot—then softened, spreading warmth through his limbs and fog through his thoughts. His head buzzed, the edges of reality blurring as the TV’s static glow pulsed brighter. His fear dulled, replaced by a thick, sluggish confusion. Pixel watched him carefully as the effects took hold, its grin widening. Zach tried to form a thought—run, scream, fight—but the words slid away before he could grab them. His muscles felt heavy, uncooperative, as though his body had already decided something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet. The static hissed. The lights flickered. And Pixel reached down, fingers closing around Zach’s shoulder with terrifying ease, pulling him upright into a seated position. Zach’s head lolled slightly as he tried to stay conscious, tried to understand. His vision swam—and then he saw them. Figures standing nearby. Zach’s vision wavered, then slowly sharpened. At first, he thought he was hallucinating—his brain scrambling to make sense of shadows and light. The static from the TV cast a pale, stuttering glow across the living room, illuminating figures standing just beyond him. Tall ones. Massive ones. Black and muscular in an unnatural way. And then— Familiar ones. His breath caught. Derek stood near the couch, posture relaxed, head slightly tilted, watching Zach with an expression that might once have been concern. Noah was beside him, closer to the Christmas tree, his gaze unfocused but calm. Evan hovered near the edge of the room, skin pale, shoulders slumped, a faint, acrid smell clinging to him that Zach didn’t want to think too hard about. They were all naked. They were all smiling. Not wide, manic smiles—but soft ones. Content. Reassuring. As if this was normal. As if Zach was the one who didn’t belong. “Guys?” Zach tried, his voice weak and unsteady. “What… what’s going on?” No one answered him out loud. Instead, Pixel shifted closer, its presence blotting out part of the static glow. Behind it, more of the horned figures stood in a loose circle, their bodies gleaming in the flicker of the lights. They didn’t rush. They didn’t grab him. They simply waited. Derek knelt first. The motion was smooth, deliberate. Noah followed, then Evan, each of them lowering themselves in front of one of the towering figures without hesitation. Their movements weren’t frantic or forced—they were practiced. Familiar. Zach’s stomach twisted. “What are you doing?” he whispered. Derek glanced back at him briefly, eyes bright with something Zach didn’t recognize anymore. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You just haven’t gotten there yet.” The words sent a chill through Zach that had nothing to do with the cold. Pixel’s grip tightened slightly on his shoulder, grounding him in place as his head swam again. The room felt heavier, the air thick with a pressure that pressed inward from all sides. The Alpha’s presence brushed against Zach’s thoughts—not fully there yet, but close enough to feel like a shadow passing behind his eyes. You see them, a voice murmured faintly in his mind. You see what waits for you. Zach shook his head weakly, tears pricking at his eyes. “No. No, I don’t—this isn’t real.” Pixel leaned closer, its smile widening as it loomed over him. The scratches on Zach’s skin burned again, pulsing in time with the static’s hiss. “This is the part where you watch,” Pixel seemed to say—not aloud, but somewhere deeper, where words weren’t necessary. The other figures continued their ritual movements. He watched in horror as each of his friends, all straight as far as he knew before this night began to hungrily suck on each of the monster’s cocks, jacking their own cocks in time to fucking their mouths. Zach squeezed his eyes shut, heart hammering. He didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to understand. But the Alpha’s presence pressed closer, forcing awareness back into him, prying his eyes open against his will. You will witness, the Alpha whispered. So that you know what you are becoming. Zach sobbed, the sound small and broken, as the circle closed around him. And for the first time since waking up, he understood with terrifying clarity— He wasn’t here by accident. The pressure in the room intensified. Zach felt it settle behind his eyes first—a slow, invasive weight that made his vision pulse and dim at the edges. Pixel’s hand tightened at the back of his neck, fingers spreading like a brace, keeping him upright as his thoughts began to slip. Then the Alpha arrived. It did not step forward so much as enter him. The presence filled Zach’s mind completely, blotting out the static, the room, even his own breathing. The voice that followed was vast and calm, layered with something ancient and patient. You are the next to receive our gift. Zach gasped, clutching uselessly at Pixel’s arm. “No—please—” His words tangled and fell apart before they reached his lips. His tongue felt thick, uncooperative. The Alpha pressed deeper. The living room dissolved. Images slammed into Zach’s mind—too vivid, too sharp to be memories, too intimate to be dreams. He saw Derek first: the moment his resistance broke, the instant fear gave way to acceptance. Then Noah, then Evan, each vision unfolding relentlessly, one after another. Each transformation lingered. Each surrender was felt. Zach sobbed, shaking his head, but the Alpha did not relent. The images intensified, forcing him to witness every step—every hesitation, every rationalization, every final moment where they stopped fighting. You watched them leave you behind, the Alpha murmured. Now you will understand why. Pain flared behind Zach’s eyes—not physical exactly, but deep and disorienting, like his thoughts were being stretched too far. He cried out, the sound breaking as Pixel forced his attention forward again. Pixel grabbed his head and slowly grabbed his massive, inky black cock and began to jack himself, clawed hands wrapping around the throbbing veiny dick as his massive balls swung almost hypnotically. Zach was unable to look away, almost feeling at times hypnotized by the motions. With a sudden growl, he felt and saw as the corrupted black cum shot powerfully at him, splattering across his skin and into his eyes, feeling as the cuts and his eyes began to burn with an intense fire, followed by an almost soothing sensation, his mind reeling and stuttering as he tried to blink the foul liquid away. The Alpha’s voice cut through everything. Submit, or I will show you more. Zach’s breathing came in short, panicked bursts. “Stop,” he pleaded. “I can’t—please—” The pressure increased. The visions returned, harsher now. Not just his friends—but himself. Reflections of what he could become, what he would be shaped into if he resisted. Endless repetition. Endless awareness. Zach screamed. Or rather, he tried to. The sound tore free of him, raw and helpless. It came out instead like a tiny screech. Tears streamed down his face as his mind buckled under the strain. He felt himself sliding—fear unraveling into desperation, desperation into a frantic need for it to just end. “I’ll—” His voice broke completely. “I’ll do it. I’ll—just make it stop.” The Alpha’s presence stilled. For the first time since it had entered his mind, the pressure eased—just enough to let him breathe. Good, the voice said, satisfied. Now you see. Allow it to happen. The room rushed back into focus around him, but it no longer felt solid. Everything seemed filtered, muted, like he was observing the world through thick glass. Pixel leaned closer, approval radiating from him. He slowly began to slide his large cock across his face, the skin rubbing more and more of the cum into the cuts, when he saw each of his corrupted friends sit up and begin to spit the foul cum in their mouths onto his face, each cut burning in a strangely comforting way as they began to jack off on his face and chest as well. He was shocked when each seemed to shoot their loads on him in unison, their cum looking less black, but still having a strange effect as it got into his eyes, Zach sagged, exhaustion crashing over him in heavy waves. His thoughts slowed, the sharp edges of fear blunted into something dull and pliable. The scratches on his skin burned faintly, then cooled, tingling in a way that felt wrong but strangely grounding. His jaw fell open, slack and relaxed as each frat brother dragged their cock across his face and shoved easily into his mouth. His mind felt surprised but not shocked when he opened even larger with an almost hunger to accommodate both Derek and his cousin Noah at the same time. The Alpha withdrew slightly, its presence lingering like an imprint. You will remember this, it told him. And you will not forget how it felt to give in. You will enjoy replaying it in your mind over and over once you join us. Zach’s head lolled forward, consciousness wavering. He didn’t know how long he remained like that—caught between awareness and collapse—but when his eyes fluttered shut again, it wasn’t from defiance. It was from surrender. Zach felt himself being moved before he realized he had stopped resisting. Hands guided him—firm, unyielding, but not rushed—positioning his body with an unsettling familiarity. His limbs responded sluggishly, like they belonged to someone else now. Each attempt to tense or pull away dissolved into weakness before it could take shape. Pixel remained close, anchoring him, while the Alpha’s presence expanded until it filled every corner of Zach’s awareness. You are fighting yourself now, the Alpha murmured. There is nothing left to protect. Just lay back and enjoy the show. Zach whimpered, shaking his head, but the pressure behind his eyes intensified. The scratches across his skin burned again, flaring hot, then cooling as something dark seeped inward. He could feel himself changing—not all at once, but in small, horrifying increments, like pieces of him being overwritten one by one. His vision wavered, and he almost was shocked at what he saw, almost like viewing himself from outside his body. Slowly getting up, sitting down on the couch, and letting Derek and Evan lift up each of his legs, as Evan held his head forward, aimed directly at the Alpha who was now stepping forward, massive dick drooling and aimed directly at his exposed asshole. Each of his frat brothers slowly massaged the black cum into his skin, each cut looking angry and almost infected, as faint black veins began to creep outward, his skin taking on a greyish pallor around each cut. Suddenly, his mind was pulled back into his body as he felt the Alpha suddenly slammed into his ass. He gasped loudly, feeling as his asshole surrendered to the brutal assault, his stomach bulging obscenely as the Alpha’s cock dug deep inside him, his mind almost laughing at how this looked like the chest burster scene from Alien. The Alpha suddenly placed its clawed hand on his stomach and pressed down before slamming its cock into his ass hard, with Zach groaning as he felt something tear open inside him, and a sudden flood of pleasure flooded inside his body. The room pulsed with low sound. Zach’s thoughts fragmented, each memory losing clarity as it was touched. His name still existed—but it felt less important now, less solid. The things he worried about before—grades, schedules, being responsible—floated away like static washed from the screen. Instead, his mind floated, watching in awe and a sick delight as he could see the massive cock twitching inside him, as the Alpha slowly dragged its claws down his chest and stomach, each line welling with small pinpricks of blood as he watched his skin take an even greyer appearance before his eyes, each detail now in even greater detail and focus. The Alpha pressed deeper into his mind as it pulled out of his ass with a wet plop and its infected seed dripped out of him. Images rose unbidden: Zach kneeling, eyes black and skin grey, waiting, watching others break the way he was breaking now. The threat of his own horns trying to breach out of the skin on his skull. The fear those images once inspired no longer held their edge. Instead, they felt instructional. Inevitable. Strangely beautiful. This is where you belong, the Alpha said calmly. This is what you are for. Zach’s breath hitched. A sob tore loose—but it didn’t carry resistance anymore. It was empty. Exhausted. The fight drained out of him completely, leaving behind a hollow, receptive quiet. Suddenly, the other creatures… his new brothers his mind suddenly told him, walked up and surrounded him as Pixel suddenly knelt down and took him deep in his mouth, the too-sharp teeth dragging on the thin skin of cock, each scrape feeling like a wave of pleasure as each creature suddenly began to shoot load after load on his skin. He suddenly felt the urge to rub each load deep into the cuts, enjoying as he felt them entering him, reshaping him in ways he’d never known were possible. Suddenly, he shot his load, watching with happiness as Pixel greedily gulped down the last remaining part of him no longer corrupted. He groaned and pulled Pixel’s head down harder on his cock as he felt several large clawed fingers deep inside him, milking his prostate and making him continue to cum. Something sealed shut inside him, locking the last part of himself away. He smiled, watching as his release finally slowed to a dribble as Pixel released his cock from his mouth before pulling Pixel up and locking lips with him, sucking the remains of his untainted cum off the forked tongue. The burning across his skin dulled, replaced by a heavy warmth that sank into his bones. His thoughts slowed to a crawl, then smoothed into something eerily peaceful. He stopped trying to understand. Stopped trying to remember. The Alpha lingered a moment longer, ensuring the change held. Good, it said. You see clearly now. Zach’s eyes fluttered, unfocused. His body sagged as if all the tension of his analytical mind that had once defined him had finally been released. In its place was only the satisfaction of being allowed to watch and enjoy the destruction of his friends around him. Pixel withdrew, satisfied. The circle loosened. Zach slumped back against the couch, breathing slow and even, expression blank and serene. Whatever had once made him Zach Dempsey receded into the background, muted and distant. The TV static cut out abruptly as it was shut off. The living room lights steadied. And Zach drifted into unconsciousness, the overwrite complete.

Chapter 3: Feliz Miccion Home Alone played loudly across the living room, the Wet Bandits screaming while the guys of Phi Alpha Gamma howled with laughter. Evan had picked the movie hoping for something lighthearted, something to ease the weird feeling twisting in his stomach. Instead, he spent most of the runtime watching the basement door instead of the TV. Noah should have come back by now. Derek definitely should have. Evan pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, trying to ignore the faint cold draft slipping from under the basement door. It didn’t feel like normal cold air—more like something breathing out into the room. The others didn’t seem to notice. They sprawled over the couches, arguing about which trap was the best, tossing popcorn, drinking too fast because the storm outside felt like a good excuse. Bran elbowed him lightly. “Dude, relax. You’re staring holes into the floor.” “I’m just saying… I never saw either of them come up,” Evan murmured. “Not once.” “Derek probably found porn,” Ty said without looking away from the screen. “Noah probably passed out,” Zach added. “You know how he is.” Porkchop frowned sympathetically but didn’t join in. Evan stared at the TV, trying to let the movie distract him, but the feeling wouldn’t loosen. The storm outside smashed against the windows, rattling the frames as if testing them. The house lights flickered once—just enough for Evan’s pulse to jump—before stabilizing again. The others barely reacted, but Evan felt the pressure in the room shift, subtle and wrong. Something was happening downstairs. He couldn’t hear it, couldn’t see it, but the sense of it pressed into him like a weight beneath his ribs. He hugged his arms around himself. “I’m telling you, I would’ve heard them go upstairs.” Bran sighed without taking his eyes off the movie. “Evan. Man. They’re fine. Derek’s the last person on earth who’d get himself killed in a basement.” The reassurance didn’t touch him. If anything, it only made him feel more alone in his worry. The movie’s climax exploded across the TV—chaos, traps, screams, laughter—but Evan barely registered a second of it. His gaze stayed fixed on the basement door, on the quiet line of darkness pooling beneath it, on the draft that seemed to breathe just a little too steadily. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones. And before the night was over, he knew he would have to be the one to face it. By the time Kevin was dropping bricks onto the Wet Bandits’ skulls, Evan couldn’t focus on the movie at all. The storm outside roared harder than the TV speakers, rattling the windows every few seconds. He kept glancing at the basement door, anxiety chewing at him—Noah wasn’t back, Derek wasn’t back, and he knew he hadn’t missed either of them going upstairs. The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then the whole house went dark. Groans erupted instantly. “Dude, right at the BEST PART—come on!” “I hate this house!” “Electric companies should be illegal.” Bran sighed heavily and ordered everyone upstairs before the cold set in. The guys shuffled away, complaining the whole time, leaving only Evan standing alone in the pitch-black living room. Perfect. His gaze drifted to the cases of beer on the floor. If he didn’t stash those downstairs, some idiot would keep drinking until hypothermia felt “kinda fun.” He gathered the loose bottles first, then hefted two full cases into his arms, glass clinking sharply in the dark. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I’ll just do everything then.” He carried the crates down the stairs carefully, each creak echoing much louder in the cold basement. Without the furnace running, the air felt unnaturally still—damp, metallic, almost grim. He set the beer down near the wall and rubbed his chilled fingers together. As he turned to head back upstairs, a faint sound froze him in place. A scratch. Then a drag. Coming from behind the old maintenance door. He swore he could see something like a string of gold tinsel glinting in the near darkness, only the faint glow of the snow and his phone’s flashlight giving the space any light. “…it's just a raccoon, Evan. Just a raccoon that should have been hibernating and got in somehow,” he whispered. The lights snapped on for one harsh second—just long enough for him to see the maintenance door twitch like something nudged it from the inside—before the power died again. Evan’s heart hammered. But with Derek and Noah missing, he couldn’t ignore it. He swallowed his fear, approached the door, and reached for the handle. The moment his fingers brushed it, a wet hiss cut through the dark—and two streams of hot, chemical slime splattered across his face. Evan choked, stumbling back as heat pulsed through his skull. The world folded inward. Blackness took him. — Warmth pooled beneath him first—not comforting warmth, but thick and suffocating, the kind that clung to the skin like steam rising off concrete after a storm. Evan surfaced into awareness slowly, as if his consciousness were tethered to the floor by heavy ropes. Every breath felt thick, his lungs dragging in humid air that carried a faint chemical tang. His mind refused to focus, circling the same dulled thought over and over: something is wrong. When he tried to move, cold stone scraped against his bare hip. The texture jolted him, pulling him more fully awake, and his eyes widened as the dim, reddish glow of emergency lights revealed his situation piece by piece. His clothes were gone. All of them. His skin was exposed to the freezing basement air, except for the disturbing warmth soaking the floor beneath him, spreading in an unmistakable shape around his thighs. At first, Evan thought—hoped—it was spilled beer or a broken pipe or anything else. But the heat, the smell, the way it clung to him… “No,” he breathed, voice cracking. “No, no, that’s not— I didn’t—” His brain felt too fogged to scream properly, too heavy to fuel panic. Whatever had hit him before knocking him out had softened his awareness, numbing the edges of his fear until everything felt dreamlike, distant, unreal. A low exhale drifted through the room. Warm. Heavy. Animal. Evan’s head jerked up, breath hitching painfully as two massive silhouettes stood just beyond the deepest pool of red light. They stepped forward in perfect synchrony, each movement deliberate, predatory. The glow revealed their bodies in slow increments—first their broad torsos, glossy and black like oil-slicked stone; then their arms, corded with unnatural muscle; and finally their heads, crowned with long, jagged horns that curved like ornate blades carved from obsidian. They were not human. Not even close. Evan scrambled backward instinctively, but his limbs felt uncoordinated, coated in molasses. His body didn’t respond with the speed or desperation he needed. The monsters watched him with eerie stillness, as if studying a creature that had not yet realized it was trapped. Then a voice entered his mind with a thin, slicing presence, not heard so much as felt. Sticks. A second voice followed—heavy, grinding, powerful enough to shake loose something small and fragile in Evan’s mind. Lockjaw. Evan whimpered, though even the sound felt muted by the fog smothering his thoughts. “Wh-why can I… hear you? Why… where are my c-clothes—please—” Neither creature moved its mouth. But their attention pressed into him like invisible hands, nudging his thoughts aside to make room for their own. His fear bled into confusion, then into a warm, dizzying pressure that made it hard to resist anything at all. Sticks lowered himself into a crouch, claws clicking lightly against the stone as he leaned close enough for Evan to feel the heat radiating off his massive frame. The creature inhaled near Evan’s skin, slow and deliberate, as if savoring his scent. Its breath rolled over him with a humid force that made his chest tighten. “He woke marked,” Sticks’ mental voice murmured, darkly pleased. “Already leaking. Softened and wet. Ready.” Humiliation flushed through Evan’s body like a fever. “No—I didn’t—this isn’t—please, don’t—” His voice broke as Lockjaw’s clawed hand settled around his ankle, the touch firm but not painful. The effect, however, was immediate and profound; his muscles seized, trembled, then slackened under a wave of numbing heat that surged up his leg. Evan gasped, terrified by how fast the sensation spread. The monsters seemed to share a silent exchange before stepping even closer, boxing Evan in with their towering bodies. Their shadows merged into a single darkness around him, swallowing the red glow, making the room feel impossibly small. They reached toward themselves—bodies shifting, opening, revealing as they stepped forward two pitch black cocks, looking at though they were clad in black latex. Each of them shook their cock at him a few times, until suddenly a pair of twin streams of foul smelling urine shot out, spraying Evan in his face, splashing into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Into the small scrapes that he didn’t remember having on his chest and legs. Warmth splattered across Evan’s chest and stomach, coating his skin in a way that shouldn’t have felt as heavy or intoxicating as it did. The air thickened with a scent both chemical and primal, sinking into him with every breath he took. Evan tried to recoil, but his body refused to move the way he needed it to. The fog in his mind thickened, melting his panic into something softer, more pliable. “No—please—just tell me what’s happening—” His voice trembled helplessly. Sticks’ mental presence curled around him like smoke. “Hush, little pig.” “You were chosen. We’re just showering you in our love.” Lockjaw lifted Evan’s face by the jaw, not roughly, but with a certainty that allowed no escape. The motion forced Evan to look directly into the creature’s eyeless, gleaming hollows. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt around that gaze—falling inward, folding in on itself. Then he felt as the man opened his jaw and expertly shoved it into his mouth. Suddenly, he felt a sudden flood of piss fill his mouth, and something inside him told him to drink. To enjoy this. That it would help what was to come. A rush of heat flooded Evan’s senses, so overwhelming that the room blurred at the edges. His breath stuttered. His body jerked beneath an instinct he didn’t understand and couldn’t control. The creatures’ psychic voices pressed deeper, pushing against the last organized pieces of his mind. “Don’t—don’t make me—” he whispered, but his will was already dissolving. His limbs slackened; his resistance thinned like melting ice. Sticks’ growl rumbled through his mind, satisfied. “Good.” Lockjaw gathered him up, repositioning him as if arranging a ritual object. Evan’s stomach flipped, his world spinning, and then he shuddered as he felt Lockjaw shove his knees to his chest and slowly began to press his large, dripping cock against his hole. In one sudden movement, he felt as the man shoved his cock deep inside of him. The two cracked open two new bottles of beer, much to Evan’s surprise, and he went to open his mouth, telling them not to drink them. Oddly though, his brain couldn’t produce the words and Sticks looked down at him before shoving his cock into his mouth and unleashing a new round of piss down his throat. Chuckling with a deep, dark growl, Lockjaw forced his dick even deeper in Evan’s ass, and that’s when Evan felt it. The feeling of heat and liquid filling up inside of him as the man began to empty his bladder deep in his guts. Pressure built inside him—unnatural, overwhelming, wrong. His vision swam. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. A cry slipped from his throat as Lockjaw’s large hand settled against his abdomen, guiding the energy within him, shaping it. The moment Lockjaw pulled out, the pressure released in a flooding rush that tore a strained sound from Evan’s chest, and he felt his own bladder start to release, as well as his bowels of Lockjaw’s tainted piss. He couldn’t stop until he was sure he was empty, his guts feeling pleasantly clean and empty and ready for something else. Something he couldn’t name. Suddenly, both were adjusting him as if he were a sex toy for their pleasure. He felt as Lockjaw first shoved his cock deep inside him, growling and pleased and then, he felt it. Sticks’s even larger cock pressing up next to Lockjaw’s, forcing the too-tight flesh apart as he too began to seat himself inside of him. He slumped forward, gasping. But the ritual wasn’t over. Sticks and Lockjaw closed in again—synchronized, practiced, moving with the precision of beings who had performed this rite countless times. Their claws traced sigils along Evan’s spine, along his ribs, across his chest. Each mark burned briefly, then sank into his flesh as faint lines of blood welled up on his skin as they pistoned in synchronization in and out of his guts. Evan whimpered, shaking uncontrollably as the psychic voices slid around his consciousness like dark waves. “Open.” “Yield.” “Let us in.” “You belong.” He didn’t know how long he endured it; time became unreal, stretching and folding over itself as the monsters worked. His mind frayed at the edges, unraveling strand by strand. That was, until he finally felt both of them picking up speed. They both growled at each other, with Evan scared and strangely excited as they both began to shoot their foul, brackish loads inside his ass. He didn’t know why, but something inside of him was telling him to be glad his ass was bleeding slightly and pleasantly burning, that it would make things go even faster for him. Shapes moved in the dimness—other monsters stepping forward, circling him, rumbling in approval. Some carried the beer he had brought down, drinking casually as they watched, savoring the scene like spectators at a ritual feast. Their presence pressed against Evan’s awareness, adding to the weight collapsing around him. The air shifted suddenly. Everything went still. Even Sticks and Lockjaw froze, lowering their heads. Evan’s breath hitched when he felt it—a gravity, an authority, a presence so powerful it made his bones feel hollow. The Alpha entered the chamber. He was larger, broader, horned with spiraling obsidian that looked carved by impossible forces. His body radiated heat and darkness, and the space around him seemed to bend subtly, as though reality struggled to accommodate him. The faint red glow reflected in the gleam of his teeth and the slow pulse of energy that haloed him. Evan couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. The Alpha crouched, bringing his massive form level with Evan’s trembling body. When he spoke, the voice struck like a blow inside Evan’s skull. “Give in. Be marked. Become ours.” Evan’s whole body shuddered, his thoughts scattering like frightened birds. Whatever remained of his willpower flickered, faded, and collapsed. In quiet recognition, he rolled onto his stomach and slowly lifted his ass up, as if it were a sacrifice to the Alpha, grabbing both of his cheeks and pulling them apart. He felt the Alpha gently stroke his mind, making his body shiver in happiness and reverence, as his new god slowly began to shove its cock deep inside him. He felt his bladder leaking with every thrust as the massive member slammed hard and fast, feeling as his colon began to burn as the Alpha quickly worked itself into a frenzy, gently dragging its claws against Evan’s tender flesh, adding more scratches to the surface. With one final, guttural growl, he felt as the Alpha’s seed flowed into him, his mind imagining a dark malevolent force pushing itself into him, flowing through his veins and shoving its tendrils into his mind. With a gasp and growl, Evan smiled, his pupils growing wide in surprised awe, feeling the second the Alpha’s virus started to seep into and reshape his mind. With a satisfied smile, the Alpha let its bladder flow, watching as Evan’s stomach began to bulge in response, as one of his other minions walked forward and handed their master a large butt plug, Evan’s mind likening it to a Christmas tree in the dim light. The plug was shoved deep into him, his anus stretching and burning even more before finally seating in place, trapping the massive amount of cum and piss deep in his guts to be absorbed and feed the change about to occur in his body. Evan felt the weight of something cold and heavy locking into place inside him, glowing briefly with unnatural light before settling. His mind cracked open, flooded with visions—his new form, his brothers waiting, the ritual not ending but beginning. Pleasure, fear, obedience, and delirium blurred into one unstoppable tide. He gasped, shaking violently and began to shoot his load, coating his wet, piss covered body with rope after rope of cum, smiling angelically as Sticks and Lockjaw dove forward, greedily lick his chest and stomach clean as Sticks latched onto his cock and began to suck it dry, with Lockjaw squeezing his balls as if to wring out each and every uncorrupted drop out of him. He sobbed at the sensation, until finally, his consciousness gave way entirely under the Alpha’s will. He belonged. Evan lay on the cold stone floor, trembling so violently that his muscles twitched with each breath. The Alpha’s presence pressed over him like a weighted blanket woven from heat and shadow. His vision pulsed in and out, red light ebbing through the chamber like a heartbeat not his own. His own heartbeat felt distant now—faint, irregular, as though it belonged to someone he used to be. Then the Alpha’s voice rolled through his skull, deeper now, resonant enough to shake his ribs: “Open your mind.” Evan gasped as warmth surged through his chest, rising up his throat and spilling behind his eyes in blinding waves. Thought itself felt like it liquefied—ideas melting, memories softening, borders dissolving. He felt the change beginning inside him like a second heart awakening. At first, it was subtle pressure—pushing outward against his bones, stretching the space behind his sternum, pulsing at the base of his skull. Then the pressure intensified, blooming into something hotter, richer, powerful enough to make him arch off the floor. A sound tore from him—half cry, half moan, all desperation—but not from pain. From hunger. He wanted this. “Oh… god…” he whispered, barely aware of his own voice. “Please… don’t stop…” The Alpha’s shadow leaned closer, horns framing the edges of Evan’s vision. “You crave what you will become.” Evan nodded, breath shuddering. “Yes… yes, I… I want it—” The Alpha’s mental touch slipped deeper into him—into the cracks of his unraveling identity, into the spaces where doubt and fear and worry had lived only an hour before. Images fluttered behind Evan’s eyes: the black horned silhouettes, the pack circling him, the rituals performed again and again in endless cycles, a brotherhood not of blood but something darker, older, binding. Of a shared virus. Changing all of them and corrupting them into something darker and evil. His chest burned with longing. His stomach tightened with anticipation. His mind whispered back, fragmented but eager: Let me be one of you. Let me belong. Make me yours. Heat spiraled down his limbs, crawling beneath his skin like molten ink. He felt it threading through his veins, sinking into his marrow, rewriting him. The sensation hurt—and soothed—and intoxicated him all at once. His fingers clawed the stone floor, unable to anchor himself through the overwhelming rush overtaking him. He could feel his shape already beginning to loosen around the edges. His breathing deepened, slower, more powerful than before. A faint shiver passed across his arms—like shadows dancing beneath the skin. He gasped and embraced the sensation instinctively. More. Please, more. I want to transform faster, Alpha. His bones ached—not breaking, but preparing, longing to shift. His skin prickled, pores heating with the promise of something dark and glossy rising beneath the surface. He wanted to feel it burst through, to feel the monster beneath him reveal itself. Every instinct he had ever lived by—fear, restraint, self-preservation—crumbled. His mind leaned into the change, pressing toward it like someone stepping willingly into fire. A whisper crossed his mind—not from the Alpha this time, but from himself. I want this. I want it so badly. Please… let me finish becoming. The Alpha’s hand lowered to his chest—a massive palm radiating heat—and Evan arched beneath it, shaking. Suddenly, a set of deep gashes sliced into his chest, welling up with blood as the other monsters stepped forward and began to piss into his wounds, allowing for their filth and seemingly demonic seed flood in through his wounds. When each of their minds touched him, Evan’s consciousness cracked open wide. He saw himself—reflected in the Alpha’s mind—tall, horned, obsidian-skinned, eyes glowing faintly from within. A creature of the dark. A brother. A vessel. A soldier. He exhaled shakily, tears streaking down his temples. “Yes…” he whispered. “That’s… me. That’s what I’m supposed to be…” His body would begin to pulse with the energy filling him. His muscles would tighten, expanded, relaxed, reshaped in terrifying, exquisite waves. His vision would cloud, then sharpen, as his physiology slid between human and other. Heat pooled low in his abdomen, flooding his spine, spreading through every nerve. He savored each ripple of soon to come transformation. Each small distortion of his humanity. Each sensation pushing him further from who he had been. “I want it,” he murmured desperately, his fingers curling, nails darkening slightly with each twitch. “I want to finish. Please—I want it. I want to be yours.” The Alpha’s mental voice rolled through him like a commandment: “Then surrender the last of your human mind.” Evan did. Gladly. He let the tide sweep through him, let the dark reshape him, let the warmth erase the final weak fearful sparks of who he’d been. Pleasure, terror, identity, submission—all blended together into a single overwhelming pulse of transformation. He shook violently, almost convulsing. He felt as his cock erupted again, with Sticks and Lockjaw switching positions, already feeling that his seed was no longer perfect and untainted, and instead tinged ever so slightly with the corruption. He let out a deep sigh and then collapsed back to the floor, chest heaving, eyes dimming faintly with the first signs of the monster he would become. He was not finished. He would continue to pump out every last drop of his still mostly uncorrupted cum to feed his new creators until nothing but black corrupted seed flowed out of him. He would gladly give up the remaining untainted part of him in order to feed that darkness. Because he was no longer human. And he wanted the rest of the change more than he wanted air.

He may have theories, but field test is required for accuracy. That's all I can say. I don't have the dadta to speculate more.