BMOC: Black Mage on Campus, Chapter 6: Sloth—“Silver Tongued Devil”

…Drake Clung desperately to the dresser, and looked at his sweaty, panic strained face in the mirror…

”oh god…” he pleaded.

“Please help me.”

…“The Good Lord only helps those who help themselves…” A voice purred sarcastically from the bed behind him…

…“So your lazy ass is out of luck...” Drake spun in terror to find Damien quietly observing him from the nearby bed. “Is there anything I can do?”

Queue Ominous music… and fanfare….

{For those of you who are fans of my work let me first say sorry to keep you waiting so long, for anyone who hasn’t been exposed to my style or stories let me suggest that you read the BMOC series, all archived here. This is my own personal Archive. It lists the entire series chronologically, contains some info on myself, a character guide, a selection of my favorite lines, and some insight into magical thinking… Please stop by and check it out… I intend to use it to also edit and “FIX” some of my previous work. The Site is a good way to get in touch with the author, give feedback, suggest story ideas or just ask general questions. )

Now, before trudging into the elaborate and pretentious plots that I wrap my deviant, perverse, gay, fantasy porn in, a quick recap: Damien Vaughn, (our hero-villain) has cast a spell on some frat boys and after making most of them porn stars in a hell of their own design, he’s been driven quite mad. Along the way he has run into his Ex from my first series: Gino, His angelic sister: Alyssa, an old friend from college: Drake, and a sinister Doctor who is half slave trader half mad scientist, all while playing auntie Mame to Peter, the weak willed protagonist who started the whole problem…

There has been a few disasters at a masquerade, lives wrecked, secrets revealed and an explosion at a nightclub… (Because writing free Porn has no production cost)

And so … I give you….

Read previous part

Chapter 1

Alyssa Vaughn Was in hell.

Her brightly colored floral sun dress was draped over the fresh cut lawn of Croix Crux’s expanse garden. She knelt delicately in the soil of the herb garden and quietly and methodically pulled any interloping weeds from the flower bed. She wore a floppy white sun hat that matched her immaculately clean apron. Her golden hair hung like a halo around her as she hummed tunelessly.

She always found comfort and tranquility here. When she was a child this was her territory. Damien had the library, Medea and Granny ruled the kitchen and Roxanna was usually occupying one of the bedrooms. The Garden was Alyssa’s. She tended it and cared for it like it was her child. Here, amidst, the rosemary, lilac and mint she felt like she was truly a witch. She knew a hundred different uses for foxglove, a number of poultices made from sage and several interesting potions that used cinnamon.

This is where she hid from Damien, from the boys who chased after her or from any unpleasant thought that might have wormed its way into her sweet little head.

She clicked her tongue irritably and pulled another dandelion from the row of tarragon. Today she sat in the sun and contemplated her hell.

It had been weeks since the party at Croix crux. Damien was missing. Leo was missing. Four other guys had also been reported missing and several others had abruptly dumped their girlfriends. The police were now involved and were investigating them.

This was not unfamiliar territory for the Vaughn’s.

Damien had his fair share of red and blue cab rides home, as did Roxanna and Medea. Granny would be knitting by the window, see the cruiser pull up and mumble, “Hmmmm is it Saturday night already?” Alyssa could deal with the cops. That was a no brainer, most of town knew to tread carefully around the Vaughn’s… and she could always just flirt her way safe.

The real problem was Damien.

He had become a Demon or something very close to it.

It was one thing to be a witch with a bad attitude, terrorize munchkins… torment farm girls over a pair of shoes… but Damien had escalated far from that. It would have been so much more convenient if her brother had been possessed. That’s an easy fix. A priest, a cross, incense and boom! Cured! No, the only thing possessing Damien right now was himself. He had come here… home… to try and bind his unruly powers but the binding spell didn’t seem to be working…and the spell he had cast on the frat boys was corrupting him like acid. Years of bottled up rage were now freed.

No remorse.

No pity.

And frighteningly, no limits.

Alyssa shivered at the memory of the costume ball. As often happened, the weather in the garden mirrored her mood. The once sunny day was now starting to cloud over with a grey solitude and the wind picked up.

She tried to hum and weed herself calm but was forestalled by the approach of footsteps. She didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. “You’re early Drake. Our appointment isn’t until 2.”

Drake Harrington stood sweating by the garden gate in a polo and dress slacks. The polo stretched handsomely over his broad but stocky frame. His shaggy brown hair was matted to his face. “What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

“Gardening.” She replied happily.

“You’re gardening now?”

“Yes… it’s difficult to do in the dark.”

“Alyssa!” he snapped impatiently.

“What are we going to do?”

“Well,” she said putting a white-gloved finger to her mouth in thought… “The perennials are going to have to go in soon and I think that raspberry bush needs to be trimmed.” Her Contemplation broke with a wide grin, “But my Apple tree looks like it’s going to bare some very useful Fruit.”

“JESUS CHRIST ALLY!” Drake yelled. The stocky muscular frame shook with irritation. “Our friends are missing. We had a party that practically got people killed, and the police are coming here to question us in ten minutes!”

“Oh, about that.” She scrunched her little button nose, “I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” Drake swore, and pounded his ham fists against the white picket fence of the garden.

“Language, Drake.” Alyssa chided “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. It’s low class.”

“Uhm…. Am I early?” asked a sad apologetic voice. Peter slinked onto the garden path. His usually immaculate express attire was disheveled. His glasses were askew. His clothes looked slept in and his neat little gay boy Faux Hawk was a mess.

“Speaking of low class…” he grunted giving peter a sour look, “No the cops aren’t here yet.” Drake answered, not even turning around.

“I don’t even know why I have to be here.” Peter whined, “I just want to be left alone.”

“Me too!” Drake roared in toddler like rage. “None of this is my business. I just want to pretend like it never happened.”

Alyssa gave him a steady measuring look as she removed her gloves. “Typical Drake; ignore the problem and hope it goes away.”

Drake stared at her, “Fuck you.” He then turned to leave. The words had just escaped his lips when he was snagged by a nearby kudzu vine and fell right into a thorny rosebush. “AHHH!!! Damn! Damn!”

Ally sniffed, “Sorry Drake. My Garden doesn’t like profanity. I did warn you.”

He got up brushing the thorns from his clothes, “It was just an accident.”

“Sure it was.’

Peter was growing increasingly anxious. The rabbit was not interested in being near the horrible house in the distance any longer then he had to. He blurted out “What are we going to do about him?”

“The Cop?” Ally asked, “Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll take of that.” Her eyes sparkled. Her hair gleamed. Her smile promised nothing but sincerity and sweetness enough to soothe even the most savage of beasts. This was the traditional Vaughn Weapon; Feminine wiles.

Peter’s head shook violently, “No not him. DAMIEN! What are we going to do about him?”

“Falling house.” Drake mumbled.

“… Bucket of Water seems derivative.” Ally mused.

“Look, I’m not joking.” Peter Warned. “He’s dangerous.”

“My brother is struggling with a personal demon which I trust he…or I will eventually exorcise.” Ally said shrugging off his concern. “That’s family business.”

“Demon?” Peter asked. “Is that the thing in the mirror?”

Ally spun eyes wide with alarm. “WHAT!”

The rabbit shuffled his feet, “You haven’t noticed? When he… When he looks in mirrors there is this weird black stuff. He seems to be really scared of it…”

Alyssa Vaughn grabbed Peter with such force that the slight boy chirped in pain. “Something in a mirror! He’s been using Mirror magic!”

“OH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” Drake said kicking over a pail of soil. “WHO FUCKING CARES!” A nearby spruce suddenly got so windswept that it struck him clean in the face. He quietly fumed. “Demons, mirrors, Abra-Ca-what-ever! This world of war craft bullshit is getting really old.”

“I thought it was a demon… black magic…” Ally whispered. Her voice, for the first seemed small…and afraid. “If he’s been using mirror magic…”

Peter was suddenly interested. Seeing an opportunity to learn, he pried further. “Why is that worse.”

“It’s fairy magic.”

“ Huh?”

“Fairy magic. Big difference. Real Powerful, oh…my… and mirror magic is the worst kind.”


Alyssa regained her composure and answered darkly, “There is a really good reason that the Wicked Queen in Snow White was such a Royal Bitch. We are in trouble.”

“At the Party…” Peter choked almost ready to cry. “He did something to me.” He gave Drake a guilty look. Drake avoided his gaze refusing to acknowledge the thought. “It was so cruel… and it wasn’t like him… it was so bad… I just ran away…”

Alyssa peered over her tulips and looked at the poor young man. He looked more timid than usual. He seemed lost and haunted, “Peter are you doing ok? You don’t…”

Just as she was about to reach out to him the sirens blared up the long driveway.

“They’re playing your family’s song.” Drake muttered.

The cruiser rolled up swiftly. Only one patrol men exited. He was tall and athletic. He was maybe early 30’s.

A very well kept 30.

He strutted toward them with the rolling gait of both a fine-tuned warrior’s alertness and a police officer’s lazy confidence. He had a high-and-tight flat top and was sporting a 5 o’clock shadow, beneath his mirrored sun glasses. His shoulders stretched the tight blue uniform but tapered down into a tight and compact waist.

There were no doughnuts in this man’s diet.

His heavy forearms grazed against the tight blue pants that stretched around thick thighs. His blunt masculine features betrayed no emotion.

“Aww shit…” Drake whimpered and turned eight different shades of red.


“That’s Officer Sloan Gudock.” Drake said running an anxious hand through his mop of unruly hair. “He was my Brother Morgan’s partner… before he died…”

Allysa’s perpetual smile froze, “Oh shit.”

Morgan Harrington had been a cop. All of the Harrington’s were…except Drake… Morgan Harrington had been Alyssa’s brother in-law… before he died…

“Alright kids. I have some questions for you.” He surveyed the 3 college kids. “I think it would be best if we separate you all- so I can get some real answers.” The voice was level, gruff and commanding. Officer Gudock betrayed no expression on his granite face.

“Is that really necessary officer?” Ally asked with her most demure, and coquettish voice, “We’re not under arrest.”

“Not yet.”

Ally didn’t let his stonewall attitude phase her-inner enchanted Martha Stewart, “Why don’t you come into the garden and have some tea, I’m sure we’ll all be more comfortable.”

The officer tipped his glasses to reveal two cruel brown eyes that were filled with disgust. “I didn’t come up to this fucking haunted house to have tea with you delinquents. I want some answers and I want them now…” He surveyed the three friends, resting his agitated gaze on Drake. “I thought you at least would have the good sense to stay away from these Vaughn Bitches… considering what happened to your brother.” The three college students remained silent under the authoritarian gaze. “And why are there only three of you? The Report says that pansy ass brother of yours was present at the party and HE is also wanted for questioning in regards to an explosion at some fag bar in the city”

Ally recovered quickly. She began to back-peddle, spreading sugar and honey over every syllable she uttered, “OH! Damien’s not available… he’s..”

“Out of the country...” Drake offered.

Just as Peter lied, “…He’s really sick.”

“Cut the bullshit. I want all four of you… one of you had better call Damien Vaughn.”

Thunder rolled from the bottom of the long driveway, a rolling thunder that came closer and closer.

The noise grew to a roaring howl and suddenly a purple and chrome Harley rounded the last curve. Damien, dressed in black riding leathers with electric blue stitching, rode the machine like he was born to do it. His jet black hair was spiked high over a clean shaven, alabaster face.

He stepped off the bike with a triumphant smirk. The license plate read “BROOM”.

“You called?” Damien asked archly.

“You know there are helmet laws in this state.”

Damien gave him a mocking grin, “Did you know that racecar spelled backwards spells racecar? Now we both learned something today.” His big muscled body stretched the leather riding suit, making it creak as he stalked toward Ally. “All back together again I see,” He waved extravagantly, “At the scene of the crime.” His aquiline features gave his expression an elegant malevolence. If someone had to be the villain, Damien certainly had the bone structure for it.

“I’m warning you Damien…” Allysandra whispered to her brother.

His smile froze and became as cold as January, “Good, because that’s ALL you can do.”

“How did you do that?” The officer asked with suspicion, gazing at the bigger man. His voice held a barely audible Basso-Profondo note of fear.

“Do what?” The Broom riding witch asked.

“Just show up, when I said your name… were you fucking casing this meeting?”

Damien gave him a look of innocent confusion, “You called my name… I know traditionally you have to do it three times or backwards … but I wasn’t all that busy.”

The man In Blue stewed. Sloan Gudock was able to yell emphatically, without losing enough control to raise his voice. He spoke firmly with no room for disagreement. “I want to know what went on here that night!”

“So ask.” Damien said just as firmly.

The Officer advanced on the muscular biker, “I see you’ve been on the juice Damien.” He accused disgustedly. “Doesn’t surprise me. You queers always do.”

He got right up into Damien’s Face. The Cop was proving that he wasn’t going to be intimidated. He was going to intimidate. “What other drugs you into huh? You come up here with all those college kids and give them your gay party drugs?”

His concrete face betrayed none of the contempt that his voice dripped. He was a blank canvas of absolute control. “I’ve never done any drugs so I don’t know. Tell me what kind of drug would make two boys act like dogs for two days? What kind of drug would make three honor students totally disappear? What kind of drug would make a star quarterback e-mail his parents to say he was going away to find himself for 3 YEARS!? Huh? PCP? LSD? Acid?” Gudock Advanced. His heavy jaw was getting close enough to Damien’s jaw to spit in his mouth. Towards the end of his speech his voice had turned to angry gravel.

The three students stood silent.

Damien offered flippantly but honestly, “Would you believe magic?”

That was the straw that broke the stone camel’s back. He grabbed Damien. “Listen here you punk…”

Damien recoiled from the approaching officer. Not from the threat of violence, but from his reflection in the cops mirrored sunglasses. He shrank back like he had been burned with a hot ember. “Take off those glasses…” He hissed.

“That’s it, you’re under arrest for obstruction of…”

“I SAID TAKE THEM OFF!!!” The mirrored Glasses flew off of Sloan’s face as if they were swatted by an unseen hand.

Officer Gudock fell backwards, but never once lost his stance. “What the fuck?” He yelled and then quickly pulled his side arm.

Damien recovered his composure. He acknowledged the aimed and ready pistol. “You homo-Sapiens and your Guns. Put it down. It’ll only irritate me.”

Sloan straightened and lowered his weapon, “You know growing up in this town, I heard all the ghost stories about this fucking house and you Vaughn’s. But I never believed it … not even when that slut Medea killed my partner…”

Ally retreated hastily into the recess of her garden. Peter and Drake both quickly followed suit and hurried out of the line of fire.

Damien positively sizzled with eldritch fire, “What did you just say?”

“If you ask me,” the brown-eyed, physical specimen of blue shielded justice spat, “They should take each and every one of you… down to the clock tower… and throw you off… just like your sister.”

Blue fire enveloped everything for the briefest moment.


Damien waved his hands in a wide sweeping arc. Officer Gudock froze like a statue, his eyes suddenly wide with paralyzed horror.

The Demon advanced on him like a stalking cat, “Now let me tell you a scary story Officer…” his voice could freeze lava, “Once upon a time… There was fine upstanding paragon of civic virtue. A true model of the young responsible man. He kept fit. Ran. Worked out religiously. Watched his nutrition like a hawk and always pushed himself for the joy of hard work.” Damien caressed the width of his prisoner’s back as he circled him.

“He loved his girlfriend, defended his home and held every other man he met to his rigid standards of behavior and attitude.” Damien droned methodically. Sloan’s eyes had been open for so long now without blinking that a tear leaked down his sculpted jaw.

The Demon allowed for a dramatic pause then gave the cops broad blue polyester covered ass a heavy swat, making the manly ass meat shake. His voice took a note of giddy pleasure when he said next, “BUT the scary part was that was all a bad trip!”

Sloan whimpered in terror.

The witch laughed hysterically, “You see this tweaked-out roided-up prostitute had done way too much blow and was surfing a low between his tina fix … and had just imagined all that.” He grabbed Gudock’s Chin and looked the cop directly in the eye.

“He was on the way to have his vain, slutty ass gang-raped for money. For money that his drug addicted nymphomaniac fag ass fucking needed to get his fix… when… BOOM!” Damien clapped his hands like thunder. “HE thinks he’s this cop. Officer Gooduck… but that wasn’t his fucking name… He wasn’t a cop!”

Damien reached out and pinched Sloan’s cheek. “Sure he knew the inside of a cop car, because he had been in trouble with the law, ALOT. He’d even sucked a bunch of hard leaky cop schlong to get out of trouble…but being some hard nose choir boy…ha… that was his worst nightmare.” His eyes flickered, a seductive and malicious blue. “Good thing it was just a bad trip …”

Damien turned his back on Sloan and finished the spell, “He shook of the fall-out and just hopped in his car and got going to that gang-bang party.”


Silence descended with the setting sun, behind the frozen tableau. Officer Goduck stared blankly at Damien as the three suspects hovered horrified nearby.

The silence stretched for what seemed months before suddenly Officer Gudock’s handsome face broke into a wide cadaverous grin of utter wild joy. It was a face alight with zeal but his eyes were panicked and disbelieving. He turned swiftly and headed toward his squad car, without a word.

Ally sprung up, on frantic legs from her garden, chasing the cop. “Officer Goduck …Officer Goduck?” She yelled.

He didn’t even turn.

He opened his car door and sat puppet-like behind the wheel. Ally rushed to the window. “Officer Goduck, You should come back and maybe rest for a…”

The handsome face gave her a toothy Dudley-Do-Right grin of pure exultant torture, “My name is Officer Good Cock!” He told her happily. “I’ve got a pnp rager to go to.” He parroted, nodding happily. His face was stretched into a mannequin’s grimace of idiotic elation. His terrified eyes however did not match the cartoonish bliss of his twisted smile.

He started the engine and drove off… without blinking once.

Ally, white linen skirt billowing behind her, watched as the police cruiser descended down the driveway and into the forest below. She turned toward her brother.

His smile was devious. His grin of malevolent glee would put the joker to shame. “What have you done?” She wailed.

His Grin grew broader and he began a horse hysterical giggle, “Oh Ally, I do so love to watch you get your vestal virgin panties in a bunch.”

Rage boiled beneath the princesses, “You’re worse than Medea. You’re MAD!’

“Furious, actually…” The grin became vulpine.

Ally screamed in fury. She charged toward him, her tiny porcelain fists balled in anger. “You’re torturing people. And causing destruction EVERYWHERE you go! You blew up a bar?”

“I smashed a big window to a Rhianna song… lucky it wasn’t Rammestien… might have taken out a whole city block…”

Something else the officer had said was nagging her, ”Damien, where is Leo?”

“I Sent Him To Hell.”

Her eyes were leaking tears of frustration. “Please let me help you… It’s gone too far this time.”

…The Demon looked at his fragile, terrified, little sister …

…and the man gave her a sad smile, “I’m sorry Ally. I’ve runaway again…” He whispered wistfully. “…And this time I’m not coming back.”…

Suddenly they were teenagers and he was crawling out his bedroom window again… and leaving her behind. He had done that to her at least 4 times in high school, disappeared in the night, only to show up months later. Every time she would beg him not to leave her. He promised to always come back… and he never once ran away forever…

She sobbed a hard dry spasm of loss.

Damien was close enough to look her in the eye. “Don’t mourn me, Glinda. No one mourns the Wicked.”

She nodded a sad defeated acknowledgment. “I know…” She swung her fist and clapped him across the temple. “Give my regards to our sister.” She spat.

Damien only nursed his wound for a second before reaching out with brutal force and grasped her neck, “You little bitch…” He spat.

Suddenly Peter and Drake where there: lunging at Damien like Swat Officers. Drake planked him in the chest and Peter rolled his legs out from under him.

Ally dropped to the ground coughing. Peter grabbed Drake and rolled him away from Damien. Peter the rabbit uncharacteristically stood up and defended the fallen frat boy. The demon regained his feet just as quickly. He curled into a defensive stance and sat like a waiting panther. His eyes locked on Ally. “This is family business boys.” He smacked his hands together and both Drake and Peter crumpled to the ground groaning in pain. “Stay out of it.”

“Be Gone Demon.” Ally announced as she retreated into the confines of her garden. She pointed violently at her brother. Suddenly the rose covered terrace behind him came alive like a living thing that had been released from a cage. It writhed and squirmed, eventually lashing out with thorn covered vines to ensnare Damien.

Thorn scratches covered his face and hands, as he tried to untangle himself from the Vines’ sharp grip. He wrestled with them madly.

Ally watched him struggle and curse, while she caught her breath, “You just stay there until I can figure out how to help you…”

Her entire outburst had been a ruse to get him into the garden. He had chased her right into a trap that she had been setting. She allowed herself a moments’ satisfaction to watch the demon snarl and drool with fury. His protest created a frenzy beneath the hold of the unrelenting vegetation.

It had worked.

… until unexpectedly he became stoic and calm.

He froze in the foliage.

The foliage froze with him.

His smile echoed the darkest frost of winter… and that frost began to form all over the surrounding garden. Frigid air blew from every direction. Knives of ice and desolation quilted every living thing around him.

The plants withered around him like brush in a nuclear holocaust. They died at his touch and broke brittle and parched to the ground.

Ally gasped in horror. “MY GARDEN!”

Demonic eyes regarded her beneath bleeding brows, “Mary Mary quite contrary… how does your garden grow…”

He stood up and stepped towards her, murder in his eyes. His sister didn’t even notice. She was busy surveying the destruction, “…you killed my garden…”

His face became suddenly jovial again. He was a smiling clown with a fantastic joke. “OH Ally I couldn’t hurt you… you’re my sister!” He assured her. His tone was mocking and overly affectionate.

His eyes tightened and in a more familiar malicious mono-tone he added, “But I’m not above taking hostages.” Drake and Peter rose from behind him, into the air. They levitated a foot from the ground and were held in shackles of air.

Drake had a look of supreme panic. Peter was resolute and dejected.

“You two really should have done what you wanted, and minded your own business. You should have done what your pathetic apathetic nature demands: NOTHING! BUT NO! You boys were such good little knights in shining armor for my sister.” Damien cooed.

“That should be rewarded.”

“Damien…” Drake stalled in a shaking voice.

The Demon leaned toward the shorter athlete. His lips were close and familiar. They brushed gently against Drake’s cheek. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid… You were rock hard during my little speech to the cop. You were turned on so bad you started to sweat.” Damien’s hand rested heavily on Drake’s pec. “Like your sweating now…” He rubbed the swell and expanse of Drake’s broad chest, “Poor little frat boy…. Locked in a closet…I can Free you.” He whispered, “No more anxiety. No more fear. Just pure unrestrained appetite. Like me…” He chortled cruelly, “FREE.”

“And you.” he motioned to peter, “You’re shaking from fear and… expectation.” Damien rolled his eyes dismissively “And partly out of force of habit.” He surveyed them both, “You want this more than he does. Pathetic…”

He stepped back and they both fell to the ground. “Go boys… be free… be the masters of your own fate… in fact: Be the master of EACH other’s fate.” His smile became a Cheshire cat’s grin, “though I imagine only one of you will end the night …the master.”

Both shaking men stood in bewildered tremors, unable to contemplate what to do next.

“Well… RUN!” Damien commanded.

They sprinted trembling toward Drake’s car, not looking back once at the woman in the garden; the girl they had left to a demon’s mercy.

Damien turned to his sister with an arched eye-brow. He remounted his bike and revved the ignition, “I’m Free, little witch and I won’t let you get in my way.”

The Dainty cherubic face of the effervescent and charming Ally Vaughn evaporated like Air. “I saw what happened with that cop.” She said ominously. “You were afraid of the mirrors. Silly little fairy has been playing with mirror magic.”

“You just called me a fairy.” He answered in an insulted voice.

“You meddled with reflections. You’re a Vaughn. You forced a mirror to show you what you wanted to see...and now you can’t stand them… because they show you what you’ve become. I don’t have to stop you. The mirror will first.”

“Don’t put your faith in folklore, Allysandra. I’m a bit more powerful than a sliver of glass.”

He kicked away the kickstand on his bike and yelled back to her, “Don’t get in my way again Ally or I’ll see to it you get to be in that garden forever…” Alyssa felt a sharp viscous pain in her palm and screamed. Growing from the center of her hand was a single, angry rosebud that had erupted directly from her skin in blood and warning.

Her brother roared off down the hill, leaving Ally in the darkening gloom of her garden.

“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose…” she whispered.

Croix Crux rose up against the setting sun like a tombstone and its shadow lay heavy on Ally’s slumping shoulders.

She fell to her knees and began to sob.

She must have been crying for a good long time, because it was almost dark when she noticed the large stranger coming up the path. She brushed her tears away and made an effort to smooth her hair. When she stood she only came up to the stranger’s chest. She looked up with red rimmed doe eyes, into a face so handsome, it could have been carved out of seductive marble. “Are You Allysandra Vaughn?” He asked in a sultry voice.

Some people might have been shocked with how quickly she rallied her spirits but it was a famous saying amongst the Vaughn family, “You either get about the business of living or get about the business of dying… and tears won’t make either transaction easier.”

Involuntarily she batted her eye lashes and flirted back, “People call me Ally.”

“I was wondering if you could help me…” He said uncomfortably.

“I’ll try.” She squeaked, ever the girl-scout.

“I need to ask you a few questions… about your brother …Damien.”

She stepped back and all her flirtation melted into apprehension, “What?”

The big guy now seemed suddenly shy and unconfident, “He was my… we were… Damien was a friend of mine.”

Ally looked up into the big green eyes brimming with tension, desperation and concern. The handsome face looked so hopeful and inquisitive. The man’s hands had started to ever-so-subtly shake.

It all became clear to her.

“SO,” She breathed with exasperation, “That’s what this is all about…”


…The Police cruiser tore through the small town of Remington. Inside it, the Officer’s heart beat rapidly out of control and he dripped sweat like a faucet. White knuckled hands gripped the wheel for dear life.

My name is Sloan Gudock.

My name is Sloan Gudock.

Now just say it.

Say my name is Sloan Gudock.

“My Name is Officer GOOD COCK!” He yelled triumphantly at the top of his big lungs.

Oh god…

Oh god…

He looked down at his navy blue pants and only saw a great expanse of orange fake tanned thigh. Big engorged quads led into bloated calves that were devoid of hair. His legs had always been covered in a thick grass of black hair… these puffy distended thighs were the color of a brown melon. He knew that they were spray tanned and bronzed by a lovingly narcissistic hand. His pants were now vinyl blue hot pants that left a ridiculous bulge in his lap. His crouch looked like a distended fruit bowl.

With a shaky hand he untied the lace string that held the skimpy plastic panties together. His dick sprung out like a happy jack-in-the-box. A thick cockring encircled its hairless base.

His pubes were gone.

His fucking pubes were…. Oh shit his smooth balls felt like silk… mmm… silky balls…

He fondled his clean shaved sack lovingly.

“MMMM… I love my silky slut-nuts.” He hollered to know one. He groped lewdly at his exposed genitals, one big paw all the way in his groin, tossing his junk like dice.

Fuck what’s happening to me…

The buttons on his uniform shirt burst opened. His pec’s swelled like balloons until he had to readjust his arms around their massive exaggerated size.

Oh fuck my…

“MY Big Fucking Roid TITS!!!” He Hollered again, like a tweaker in heaven.

The cruiser zoomed past a dude mowing his lawn. He leaned out the window and announced, “I GOT BIG JUICEY MUSCLE TITS!” The guy jumped in shock then threw him the finger.

He turned his eyes back to the road, “Oh he wants to lick on these big roid jugs,” he assured himself. He moved his hand to pull on his huge right-tit ring.

Nipple ring?

Oh shit…I don’t have…

Shit it was so hard to think…

Have to think… Need to think…

He ran his trembling hand through his hair in frustration. His flat top was gone… What the fuck was this… He yanked at the base of his neck and pulled loose a rubber band. Wavy black tendrils descended onto his shoulders. Over processed, wet silky strands of dark hair. His stylist who was also his meth dealer said the body wave made him look like Tarzan. He tweaked his big low hanging nipple, thinking of how hot his long stripper hair looked.


Gotta calm my nerves… calm my nerves.

Instinctively, he fumbled into the glove compartment. He pushed aside a used needle and a broken vial of Deca and found his prize. Yeah this will calm me down. Calm me down good.

He brought the glass pipe to his lips and fired it up, breathing in the heady taste of chemical. He felt the familiar rush of energy and sexuality.

So sweet.

Fuck yeah.

He shook his greasy mane and rubbed his throbbing cock between the girth of his huge carroty quads, trapping his dick between the smooth oily muscles and giggling like a school girl.

“I’m Officer Good Cock.” He said in a relaxed… compliant purr.

The small Costume shirt was cutting of the circulation to his big old Juiced up guns. His tiny little patent leather boots pumped the gas as he idled at a stop light. He was so horny and excited. He was gonna score some heavy cash from this trick, and then he was gonna score heavy. He had already been up for three days and the thought of coming down made him want to scream.

“AHHH I WANNA GET TOKED!” He yelled excitedly as his big body humped the air.

In the car next to him two high school boys in letter men jackets watched him clench his jaw and tweak. He gave them his big fuck-my-ass smile and then gave them a big double bi shot of his water retaining arms. He pulled his engorged right arm down to display the tattoo of the word “Juicy”. It encircled his exaggerated Bicep peak.

They gave him an awkward thumbs up.

He laughed and showed them his big tied up cock.

He waved his hairless orange joy stick at them with an eager smile. “Wanna taste my cherry picker?”

They were shocked and horrified… speeding away.

He laughed harder and took another hit from his pipe.

The taste of smoky acid decimated all his memories of his girlfriend… of his commitment to the law… his entire life blew away in a cloud of smoke.

Damn he needed some cigarettes.

He pulled into a gas station and got out of his car.

Gone was the Police cruiser. It was replaced by officer Good Cock’s flashy Camaro. His big muscled thighs rubbed together bunching the vinyl shorts into the crack of his bulging ass cheeks. Thick round ass meat bounced behind him as he sauntered toward to the gas station. His oiled and shaven legs were on display from his booties to his tiny slut shorts.

Officer Good Cock’s big sweaty Chest muscles protruded in front of him like masculine watermelons. He strutted with the cocky slutty arrogance of a true tweaked out muscle queen.

Eww… the soft silky pouch felt good rolling between his thighs.

The tight shirt made his ape like arms hang akimbo to his shoulders. His unnatural Lat spread was clearly on display. The muddy umber skin glowed under the gas station lights.

He caught his reflection in the mirror. His thick romance novel tresses framed an angel’s face. Thin from the tina, but gaunt and handsome despite the steroid pounds. He was thirty pounds heavier but his cheek bones and jaw couldn’t look more defined. His big lips were colored red from lip gloss. They were encircled by a sleazy pencil thin goatee that made him seem all the more oily with sexuality.

He looked ridiculous. And he was mother fucking proud of it. Chest pumped out, butt bouncing side to side and his oily curls blowing like a porn star, he entered the store.


Chapter 2

Drake Harrington’s Chevrolet Sedan Rocketed through the Streets of Remington.

“What are we going to do?” Peter practically screamed from the passenger seat. His face was in hysterics, emoting poorly contained panic.

Drake sat quietly breathing heavy from his own fear, next to him. His eyes were locked on the road not even registering the guy having the hissy fit beside him. He calmed himself and steadied himself, “We’ll go back to my place and call Ally to make sure she’s okay.”

“OH shit!” Peter whined reaching another decibel, “We left Ally all by herself!”

“Calm down.” Drake said quietly.

“We can’t just leave her there.” Peter said and then quickly returned to type by adding, “Can we?”

Drake considered his options for a minute. His heart raced and he tried to find the easiest solution. “I know exactly what to do!”

Drake made a sharp turn into a parking lot, causing his sensible sedan to vibrate erratically. Peter sucked in his breath and said a silent prayer. He thought Drake had decided to turn around and go back.

He was wrong.

Drake slammed the Chevrolet Sedan into park and jumped out of the car, leaving his unwanted passenger in confused silence. Peter was about to loosen his seatbelt and follow, when he noticed that Drake was talking excitedly into his Cell Phone. He hung up and got back into the quiet automobile. “Who’d you call?” Peter asked exasperated, “Ghostbusters?”

Drake breathed deep and steadied his nerves, “No asshole. I called my Father.”


Drake clenched his jaw, “My dad is the chief of police. I told him that Damien was a danger to himself and others, and that officer Gudock had gone missing.” Drake felt the soothing relief of putting the problem in someone else’s hands, “The police have an APB out on a purple motorcycle and are going to take him into custody.”

Peter stared at Drake’s self-satisfied face in dumbstruck disbelief. “DID YOU NOT PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT HAPPENED BACK THERE!!!”

Drake recoiled, “The police can deal with it.” He answered stupidly.

“I bet. I hope they send the entire force.” Peter squeaked. “By midnight they’ll be 30 new profiles on manhunt.”

“This isn’t our problem.” That was Drake returning to type. Ignore it and it will go away.

They sat in remorseful silence as the car pulled out of the parking lot and back on to the streets of Remington.

Peter looked out the window, troubled. “Yes it is.” He whispered. “We started this. Us. You and your Frat brothers…and me.”

Drake was quiet as he navigated back toward the dorms, “Yeah.” He whispered back, “Well there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Silence descended.

Guilty silence.

Peter broke it by asking, “Your Dad’s the chief of police?”


Peter mused, “No wonder you are in the closet.”

“Yeah,” Drake barked angrily, “What’s your Dad do, run a florist shop?” He asked appraising Peter’s frail 5’6 form, effeminate features and slight shoulders.

Silence descended again.

Drake began to regret the insult. He wasn’t by nature a bully but there was just something about Peter’s submissive demeanor that brought it out in everyone.

“He was an Army recruiter… I grew up an army brat.” Peter confessed. The shame of never fulfilling the obvious expectations of the admission was clear on his dejected face. “So I kind of know how you feel.”

The Cop’s son felt an involuntary surge of disgust at having anything in common with the weak boy next to him. He rallied to rebuff him. “Your Dad was in the army. Ha! He must have been so thrilled with you.”

The insult stung Peter, “That was really immature.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, like you are sooooo mature!”

Both men felt it.

Something in the pit of their stomach’s clenched. Vertigo swept over them for the purest fraction of a second.

Peter responded in a measured and confident tone, ”I’m not the one who went running to daddy to fix my problems.”

“Shuddup.” Drake responded.

Peter acknowledged his childishness and attempted to amend the statement. “It’s perfectly natural. Most latent Homosexual men have a variety of Father Issues.” He explained with clarity.

Drake, seized by his own insecurities, swerved the car left and right, wildly letting his feelings dictate the wheel. “YOU shuddup. Or I’m throwing you out of MY car! It’s my car and I don’t have to let you be in it” He yelled.

“You’re acting like a spoiled brat!” Peter yelled, “Calm Down and keep your eyes on the road!” He demanded in a now even prissier and condescending tone.

“Christ,” Drake sighed exasperatedly, “Could you at least MAN-UP, for once?” Peter’s effeminate mannerisms had never really irritated Drake, he saw them as a sign of insecurity, but now it was working his last frazzled nerve. “It sucks trying to escape with a whiney bitch!”

Man up.

Peter gave the spoiled Wasp Brat a dark look. “Fine.” He retorted, folding his big arms over his chest. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in his seat. His long thighs were bunched against the console. Drake was just sitting their quietly freaking out and obeying every traffic law, while inside he was completely loosing it.

Uptight-yuppie-bastard. “How bout you for once loosening up?” Peter jabbed back.

Without even pausing, Drake gave the steering wheel the head butt he was begging to do. “FINE!” HE roared. He clawed at his polo and undid a couple of buttons. He let his polite, reserved up-bringing slip aside as his terror and excitement took over. “We’re fucked. A Vaughn’s spell never fails and knowing how perverted Damien’s become we’re gonna end up sucking cock in a trailer park!”

Pete squirmed uncomfortably. His big elbow bumped awkwardly into the passenger’s side window. “How can we tell if it’s happening?”

“How the fuck should I know.” Drake yelled letting his adrenaline pump him up to a excited fit. It was like how he got amped before a game. “You’ve got more experience in this terrain then me. How should we attack this problem?”

“Find high ground, fortify our position and then defend the perimeter until reinforcements arrive.” Peter said firmly out of reflex. His voice sounded assured and robotic.

“Wow.” Drake replied, “You are not such a weakling after all.”

“I’m no Weakling.” He corrected.

He knew he was right. He wasn’t a pussy. Drake was being a pussy. He was the one whining… and fussing… and not finding a real solution. “You’re being a weakling.” HE said with conviction. Drake was spoiled and self indulgent. Sure Pete might be gay but he didn’t throw a fit when he wasn’t getting his way. But jeez his face did look hot when it was all excited with emotion like that.

Drake kept himself quiet after the bigger man insulted him. He was breathing heavy and upset. He should try and calm down. He looked over tentatively at Pete’s bigger frame, which was stuffed uncomfortably into his passenger side. “You know you can put the seat back if you need to.”



Pete’s bigger frame?

Was Pete always so big?

He was Big… like 6’8 and well fed.

He looked almost comical crouched into the side of the car. Drake found a new found respect for Pete, blossoming in his mind. He was acting like a real man for once. He nailed him with a quick fake punch the way he would applaud a teammate. “Wow man! In the face of adversity you really Straighten-up.”

Pete readjusted the raging hard on beneath the tight canvas of his Levi denim.


Drake could be such a flamer sometimes. Sure he was in the closet, and he was in a frat, and shit, but get him to relax and suddenly everything was gay and straight… not who’s gonna get to suck my cock?

Labels were for fags.

Like this kid… look at his big pecs stuffed into that polo and the tight khaki’s showing off the big stocky ass. He might blend in, but he was pretty metro. Shit, why couldn’t gay guys be more… more like Pete? Just a regular man’s men. Six pack and a slim jim kinda guys who…. “OH SHIT.” Pete swore in irritation.

“What?” Drake squeaked.

“It’s happening already.” Pete explained. He knew that something about him and Drake was changing. He could feel Damien’s meddling, but he couldn’t put his finger on how they had changed or what the catalyst was.

Drake laughed raucously almost hysterically, “No man. I don’t think so. I think everything seems fine.”

“Well then your stupider then you look.” Pete said and rolled his eyes.

Why was Pete being so mean? Oh shit stop sign. Brake.... Switch gear, drive… yeah pete was being…oh another stop…. Shit forgot to break. Oh shit… ran the sign is that bad? Is there a cop… there was a hot cop at that house they were just at… he was really… shit missed another stop sign.

“Fucking Shit drake!” Pete yelled. “You’re going to get us killed! Pull into that gas station! I’m driving.”

“Fine.” Drake said. “Just stop yelling at me ya fucking Drill Sergeant!”

Pete pulled at the collar of his deep green camo jacket. He gave the stuck-up rich boy a dirty sneer before adjusting the worn and tattered “Army” ball cap on his skull. “Go get me some smokes while we’re here.” He ordered.

They pulled into the gas station, right behind a fire red Camaro and a purple motorcycle.

Drake thought real hard about what that meant… but he was just too relieved to get away from Pete.

Inside the store he fumbled with his wallet trying to concentrate on how many different bills he had and which ones he would need to buy Pete his… aw shit wait was he supposed to buy…

“Cigarettes!” Drake barked happily to himself.

He trotted toward the counter… he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge of infantile joy…

”EWWW Candy!”

He gazed at the array of candy on display. Sour Patch kids… Snickers…”Ewwww.. M&M’s”… He was literally a kid in a candy store. His slowly moving cognitive thought lurched as he packed his hands full of brightly colored wrappers… wait… did he have enough money for both smokes and candy? He began the slow process of addition. It was hindered by the fact that his hands were full and his fingers would have been useful to count on.

“You look a little confused buddy.” An oily voice from behind him slurred.

“I’m fine thanks.” Drake said, turning to the voice.

“Yeah… you sure are.”

Drake turned, dropped his candy in shock and looked full into the face of sexual temptation.

A man about 220lbs of ripped fatless muscle arched his big chest toward him. He was wearing some stripper’s police costume and had a fake badge hanging from a nipple ring. The badge read “Officer Good Cock.”

Growing up in a family of straight laced cops…

Drake immediately sprung a boner.

The bodybuilder was obviously high as a kite. He was smacking his lips and rolling his tongue like a total zombie. His eyes were frantic and his pupils were so dilated he could probably see the future.

His big pec’s twitched up and down as he eyed Drake like water in the desert.

“You like what you see faggot?” The dude rumbled.

“I …er… I…”

The Sex pig grabbed Drake’s timid hand and pressed it against the taunt confining vinyl of his hot ass. He started to vibrate his ass cheeks rudely while he giggled in a frenzied masculine hum. “Yeah… I know a closet case when I see one… Act all straight but can’t wait to get your flamer tongue in between a man’s sweaty cheeks.”

“I am not a flamer.” Drake screeched in denial.

“Maybe not,” The muscle slut agreed. He put a forward hand on Drake’s rigid crouch. “But I bet you’re a good puppy …that likes his licks.”

Drake felt his whole buddy responded in eager playful sexuality. They must have looked like too total faggots. Two crazy fucking homo’s in a gas station. People where staring and whispering. For the first time in his life, he didn’t give a damn. If he had a tail it would be wagging. He grabbed the whore’s own obscenely displayed junk in response.

“I’m going to this party tonight. You can follow me.” The Stripper offered. He winked lewdly, turned with his hands on his tight waist, and sauntered out.

Outside Pete had gotten tired of waiting and was walking toward the store when a big shadow erupted into his view. He turned toward a large man in bike leathers. “Nice truck.” The man said.

Peter thought he should know this man. “I don’t have a truck.” Pete answered. He looked back at Drake’s car …

…but it was gone.

It was replaced by a big White FordF1-50, with raised tires and a trailer hitch.

That wasn’t his truck. He didn’t have a truck. Pete scoped out the vehicle cautiously and caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the big tinted windows.

The trucks’ wheels were giant! They propped it up like a monster truck, but even though the height of the vehicle was absurd… he could see his reflection.

He wasn’t standing on anything.

He was tall.

Really tall.

…Peter had always been slight, a runt of the litter. But now… he looked down at the huge towering frame that stretched toward the distant asphalt. Long legs extended beneath a pelvic bone that rested almost where his shoulders used to. He touched one ship sized mast with a trembling hand.

His hand was HUGE! They were easily the size of a dinner plate. He spread the branch like fingers wide in amazement.

His breathing quickened and he could feel the massive refrigerator sized chest cavity expand and contract with effort. His abdomen swelled like a giant air-mattress.

Pete swung his head up and looked at his reflection, astonished. The expression of shock looked foreign on the strangers face. The face in the window didn’t look like one that was easily overwhelmed or ever taken by surprise. It was a face that had seen it all and wasn’t impressed.

Peter’s face had always been angular and feminine, slight and identifiably too pretty for a man.

This stranger had huge features that were as bold and blunt as the Ozarks. A wide Jaw jutted beneath the rise of tense, expressionless lips. A nose that seemed more like a bridge contracted of timber dissected two big eyes the hazy brown color of dusty roads. A spider web of crow’s feet erupted from those eyes, frown lines traveled the length of the hard mouth, and there were deep trenches in the furrow of his brow.

The Giant’s long expanse of forehead stretched up to meet a tightly cropped plateau of salt and paper hair, Cut in the perfect marine style. The Hair looked like it had been stamped on, rather than cut.



There wasn’t a singular follicle out of place.

“Awww.. Shiy-it.” The explanative sounded like an Ogre’s roar as it escaped the barely-moving, tight lips.

The man in the window had a hard-assed expression that broached no argument and made no excuses. A hard life and rough living had carved into his already handsome, features with a chain saw. The effect was a sculpted work of masculine beauty. He was harsh, craggy but impressive and disarming. It was all displayed on a square, boxy head, as if he were a bust on Mount Rushmore

This wasn’t Peter’s face.

“What have you Done, to me!?.” Peter’s whiney, disbelieving inflection seamed terribly at odds with the commanding bull-horn vocals that the lamp post sized throat now produced.

“Impressed?” Damien asked happily. “I am! Looks like you and Drake are really getting the full service of my lil curse.”

“You’ve turned me into…”

“No… You and Drake turned you into this… quite Oedipal if I might say… but I’m no Freud.”

Peter moved to confront the now much smaller man, but was distracted by marveling out how much area one stride of his huge body could cover. “I’m so big…”

“You got it. It’s everything you always wanted. It’s a body to impress all men. A body to dominate. A trophy of a form that all men would covet and wish to steal.”

The big head shook emphatically… “I didn’t want this.”

“Tsk Tsk… Starving of hunger and complaining of what is served.”

“I look like…”

“Your father… or the man he imagined his son would be…”

That explained the clothes. He wiggled his goliath sized foot inside the tight confines of his boots and hit the reinforcement of a steel toe. He was wearing huge Frankenstein combat boots. His casual H&M Loafers were gone. So were his stylish express pants. They were replaced by starched straight legged Levi’s that were tucked into his thick calf-high boot tops.

His Nylon American Apparel T-shirt was history.

His Tree trunk waist and house wide shoulders were covered in a faded camouflage bomber jacket. His new taunt chest was concealed by a black wife-beater that read, “Fort Dicks 2008’”… it was low cut enough to reveal his heavy coating of silver chest hair.

Peter had been pretty hairless since puberty. This body had a forest of deep swirling grey hair. The pelt reached down to his wrists. The rug on his Baseball Bat sized forearms was thick enough to make a sweater. “This is perverse…”

“Everything is Perverse… depending on what you make your constant.”

“NO! NO! I DON’T WANT TO BE LIKE THIS… I DON’T WANT…” his instinctive clipped military tone terrified him.

“Dammit ! Rabbit! You’ve been a consciences observer to your entire life. Don’t start getting motivated on me now.”

Peter clenched one huge hand unto a ham sized fist. “I never wanted to be like this.” He thundered.

“I tried to tell you long ago, Magic gives you what you want. Just not the way you want it.” The demon said with finality.

Peter’s fading resolve wavered at the logic. “But…”

“But NOTHING! I’m offering you the body of a warrior. I’m offering you the gravity and strength to be the man you always wished you were. Dominant. Confidant. A real Commander. You can give orders, instead of take them.”

Peter had stopped listening. He found himself morbidly curious at a rather interesting thought.

If his hands were this big…

And his feet were this big…

He reached down the expanse of his thick corded waist and tentatively brushed against an organ, he had had always considered at best embarrassing. “HOLY SHIY-AT!”

“Ya.” Damien chuckled. “Ain’t nobody gonna argue with that.”

“HOLY SHIY-AT!” Peter yelped. His mind struggled to comprehend the reality of the gigantic third leg traveling down his pants. The stone mask broke into an elated grin. The huge cannon between his legs twitched and started to inflate with need.

“And all you have to do… is what your good at… NOTHING. Just let it happen. Just stop fighting. Lay back, relax and let the spell work.”

“But why?” he rumbled.

“You were there the night of the original curse. So was Drake. You two are on my list of things to do.”

“You are punishing me.” The booming voice of command accused.

Damien saddled up and put his hands on the Army man’s house wide chest, “Again, you think it’s all about you.” Damien brushed his hands against the firm muscle, “like I told you before… you are just a tool…” his hands swept down to the big bulge barely contained by the trousers…”Only now…you’re a really big…” his hands groped harder, “big… BIG! Tool…” Damien let his eyes wander to the windows of the store, “And you’re just the right Drill to SCREW my real target.”

Peter had stopped paying attention. He was fixated on the thick hose length of his new schlong. He went wildly from caressing the biggest cock he had ever seen…to being fixated by the macho, older face in the mirror. His mind was besieged with far too much stimulation.

The face looked at least 40, but dignified and manly. It was a face that had grown more potent with age. The salt and pepper hair spoke of a fine matured sexuality. His now stiff circus-sized tent pole, promised 20 extra years of carnal knowledge and experience…

“Here,” The witch offered him a cigarette… “Have a smoke and consider it.”

“I don’t smoke.” Pete said as robotically took the offered smoke, and lit it reflexively with his Army Bic.

The smoke billowed into his massive lungs…warm familiar….relaxing…intoxicating…

He puffed out a practice cloud of grey air. He marveled at the familiar sensation as the cloud enveloped him.

A Big cloud…

His mind was clouded with possibilities… Oh man he could fuck anybody looking like this. He’d have men begging just to sniff his fucking jock strap… His Giant sized Jock-strap… specially made…military issued jock strap….

He lazily stroked the big plum sized bulge of his cock head with a thumb. He idly played all the possibilities in his swiftly changing mind…

He puffed and watched the red glow of the cigarettes cherry.

His thoughts seemed so regimented now.

They were orderly and compartmentalized: He was smoking. He Had Big Hands. He Had a Big Truck. His Keys were in his pocket. Years of programmed thought patterns locked into place, like the clip of a gun.

He felt the power in his body. Taunt, vascular muscle knotted over his long bones. His body was a weapon. He was a machine. His warrior’s sinewy form was a perfectly hardened and forged tool of masculine strength. His thoughts were simply mechanisms that triggered responses from the giant soldier’s body.

He knew that his thoughts had once been a jumble of ideas and concepts, daydreams and fantasies… but now they were practical, Spartan and utilitarian. His lack-a-dazical brain waves were indoctrinated with disciplined structure. In Peter’s mind’s eye, new thoughts began to march, present and salute…

His existential collegiate theories and Sci-Fi/fantasy imagination surrendered to the ambush of belligerent conformity. Years of long conditioning set up camp and fortified the parameter.

Behind him Damien smiled, and quietly said, “Since you were so interested in magic my little rabbit… here’s one last spell for you… before you go…

Choices Made, Chances lost
Have your wish free of cost
No effort made, no sweat shed
Be what you desire but who you dread
Once, the rabbit… be now its chaser
Shave and cut with Occam’s Razor”

Pete flashed back to awareness when he heard the last line of the spell.

Occam’s razor… the easiest answer is usually the right one.

Ya that sounded about right.

“Hey Man, I’m sorry I don’t think I heard that… what did you say?”

The Biker looked up at him, with a weird smile, “I said that truck of yours looks like a real man’s ride.”

Pete felt a rush of testosterone. He stopped his butt out with one giant boot and pushed himself closer to the built biker, “No…” He answered in a direct voice, “I bet YOU are a real man’s ride.”

The biker smirked. “Maybe… but aren’t you with that stocky Frat boy?”

“Yeah…” Pete responded trying to clear his mind of the sexual fog that had descended when he began to talk to this hot Biker. “We’re going somewhere… we’ve got to do something.”

“If I were you…” The biker said in tones that made him sound very convincing, “I would forget about it.”

Pete rubbed the whiskers on his chin… Shit where did all this facial hair come from… “I should forget about it.”

“That ‘a boy.” The biker smiled. “Speaking of boys… here comes yours’…” Peter turned just in time to see Drake. He was following some muscle-bound prostitute out of the gas station. Drake was trailing after the oiled-up whore like a happy puppy.

“Now if that were mine,” the Biker whispered in conversational tones, “I’d keep a tight leash on it.”

“DRAKE!” Pete Bellowed. “Get the fuck over here!”

Drake gave a frustrated look at the stripper’s big ass and obediently answered the summons like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“Get in the cab.” He ordered.

Pete Gave the Biker a sly look, “You got plans tonight bro?” He said, idling up closer to the dark sexy stranger.

“Ha Easy Sarge…” The biker said and his eyes glinted a silvery blue.

That name… Sarge… it sounded familiar… “I have plans tonight… going to see an old friend… need to check up on him.”

Pete shrugged and his worn camouflage jacket twisted taunt into his heavy armpits. “Suit yourself,” He hoisted himself up into the driver’s seat of the truck.

Drake attacked him as soon as he shut the door. “That guy invited us to a party. Can we go! Can we huh? Huh?” His big eyes were pleading and his tongue practically lolled out in excitement.

“You want that sleazy piece of Fag trash?” Pete demanded.

“No but…” Drake fumbled.

Pete was tired of this coy shit. If this kid was gay he better damn well own it. “You want to watch his slut ass get plowed.”


“Good. Be honest and say what you want. Oh...and Where are my smokes?”

Drake tossed him a pack of Camel. “Here.”

“I smoke Marlboro.” Pete remonstrated.

Drake blushed… and started to stammer, ‘I’m sorry …It’s all the same right. Don’t be splitting hairs…”

“I am a professional at splitting Hairs.” He chuckled. Another part of the spell locked into place. Pete took his Barber’s bag and shoved it into the glove compartment. He roared his massive truck into gear, put his huge hand on Drake’s muscled thigh and followed the call boy to the fuck fest.

Damien leaned against his bike and watched the monster truck depart. “Be cautious when people feed you what you want to hear. It’s usually right before they feed you to the wolves.”

He contentedly began to put on his motorcycle gloves, humming softly to himself.

Damien Vaughn was so self-satisfied that he didn’t even notice the two police cruisers that had silently pulled up behind him.

“The Chief must really want this guy in custody.” Rookie Dan Hardy told his Partner from the passenger side of the first cruiser.

Officer Derrick Greer gave a deep grumble, “Ya that old man jumps whenever his golden-boy son is in any trouble.”

Derrick Greer had been on the Remington police for years. He was a huge man. His mixed race gave him the size and weight of a black man but he was also very light skinned with Norwegian features. All the secretaries at the precinct mooned and fawned over his exotic good looks. They also liked his size. He was broad and heavily muscled and filled out his uniform expertly. He had been a Linebacker for the football team in college. Everyone had expected him to be recruited to the PRO’s after college but bad grades had landed him in a blue shield, instead.

Officer Greer was the senior most patrolmen at the station and he made sure everyone knew it.

Rookie Dan Hardy, wasn’t really his partner. He was just being given the honor of a probationary ride-a-long. Dan was fresh out of the academy and what Greer considered to baby-faced to make an effective cop. Dan was a pretty boy, with styled blonde hair and baby blue eyes. He was more interested in impressing the college girls then he was in making any arrests. He was in decent shape, nowhere near Greer’s barbarian standards, but he did workout and was trying to eliminate some of his persistent baby-fat.

“This should be a pretty simple pick-up, just hang back, follow my lead and try to keep that fucker Officer Mutter away from me.” Derrick’s rumbling voice instructed. He looked in seething hatred at the cop seated in the car next to them.

They got out of their Cruiser.

So did the other cop, Officer Mutter.

It was no secret around the squad room that Greer and Mutter couldn’t stand each other.

Dan cursed his luck. He didn’t want to get in between the personal feud.

Officer Jesse Mutter was a tall man with a barrel chest and the some-what brawny shape of a well-fed Viking. He had shaggy blonde hair and a constant sour look on his big face. Dan had made some small talk with him, and learned very quickly, that Jesse was loud, obnoxious and a mild bigot. He was an impressively large man in girth and power. He bragged constantly that all the single women in town were beating down his door to cook him dinner.

He eyed Greer petulantly. He was obviously pissed that Officer Greer was going to take point on the arrest. Jesse wasn’t a racist per say… he was just a country boy with a total lack of charm or class. He gave Dan a condescending nod of acknowledgement. “Guess I’ll follow your lead Captain … I mean Officer Greer.” Jesse snidely whispered as he joined them.

Derrick gave him a firm no nonsense look of disapproval, His rich voice resonated domination, “Keep it professional Mutter, I’d hate to see another note in your file.”

Mutter rolled his eyes and shut-up.

“DAMIEN VAUGHN!” Greer announced. “DAMIEN VAUGHN?! We’re here to take you into custody for questioning… you can either come willingly or we can arrest you.”

The big biker regarded them with a look of supreme skepticism. “You and what Army?”

Officer Greer tensed, “We don’t want to use force but we will.” He warned. All three cops gave the still unresponsive man a look of impatience.

“Alright, Vaughn put your hands where we can see them.” Officer Mutter finally declared.

The biker’s eyes danced insanely, “You dare to challenge me?” He yelled and began to wave his arms dramatically, “You’re not warriors! You’re pigs…you’re all pigs…” The perp. Raved, then he practically fell over his motorcycle in uproarious laughter.

It was fucking ridiculous.

There was a moment of stunned disbelief.

Both large Officers looked at each other and then back to the crazy Perp.

Derrick Greer gave him a stern glare “Listen, we can do this the easy way or the hard WEEEEEEEEEEEE!” His threat was interrupted as his deep commanding voice broke into a ear splitting squeal. A look of surprise crossed his blunt face and he rallied to control himself, “the hard WEEEEEEEEEE!” he squealed again. Amazement and dismay were clear in his wide terrified eyes.

Officer Greer didn’t have any time to collect himself further. He felt an intense surge in his butt, like a crazy hyper itch. He ran his big football carrying hands over the expanse of his rump. He began to whimper in response to the insane hunger in his alert rectum.

His asshole was going wild with stimulation. His legs bucked and his whole body vibrated.

Officer Derrick Greer threw himself on the hood of his cruiser. He spread his hands and legs wide. He presented his brutish bubble butt up and started to swivel it agitatedly. The polyester of his issued blue pants stretched lewdly as he shook his big booty. “OH fuck…Fuck… Fuck…” His deep baritone of authority and masculinity was now replaced with a high-pitched effeminate wail. He squealed and squeaked with his silly tone. The former linebackers’ huge body and shrill voice had a very distinct Mike Tyson quality. He paused his gyrations long enough to rip open his powder blue shirt and discard it. His muscled torso and wide Pec’s dripped sweat and he began fondling his mocha nipples like a bitch in heat. “Oh fuck… oh …fuck…” The radical change in the tenor of his voice was now matched by a more sensuous face. His eyelashes were longer. His nose a little more refined. His lips more lush and his high cheek bones rose luxuriously. It was the same face only…pretty… intoxicatingly so. He looked like he was perpetually puckering up for some unseen camera. “Oh shit… oh fuck… my ass is on fire!” he chirped.

Officer Jesse “Bubba” Mutter couldn’t take it anymore; “Yeah man…yeah man…” he snorted. He saddled up behind his fellow officer and pushed him down again. Jesse’s ragged blonde hair became more ragged and disheveled. His big blue-collar body seemed to distort underneath his uniform. He let out low guttural grunt and the buttons on his dress shirt burst open to reveal an even wider gut. His clean shaven face began to grow a thick blonde beard. It sprouted from his eye line to his big barrel chest. Jesse’s big Viking mustache hid every feature except for his hungry lips. He now had a big maw that he was currently licking in mad frustration.

“Oh yeah man… oh yeah man.” He took two of his big bear hands and ripped down Officer Greer’s pants. He revealed the impressive arc of Greer’s suddenly uncontrollable ass and Gluteus. With a frantic roar he pulled down Officer Greer’s briefs. “Gonna eat that hot hole out…gonna eat it all up… yeah man.” He shoved his bearded face deep into the cleft of his superior officer’s butt cheeks. Jesse “Bubba” Mutter slurped at Greer’s hole in a sex-crazed frenzy. His big white face felt right at home eating out the big mocha ass. His hands tugged fanatically at the two hoops that now adorned his hairy chest. His whole body now looked like a Chia Pet made out of straw. Thick greasy blonde hair erupted from every pore. It bristled hard and wiry, like a pelt. He grunted and snorted as his beefy face ate out the dank and masculine butt. He looked exactly like a pig going to slop.

Officer Greer was squealing incoherently. His face was pressed against the Police car’s hood and his eyes were rolled up at the back of his head. The dark muscles of his large triceps strained, as he tried to remain standing under the erotic and relentless assault. Officer Greer was mortified but couldn’t stop his obnoxious cries for even one second…in fact he found himself shrieking, “Eat my big ass oh yeah…get that hole wet and sloppy…yeah,….fuck…..fuck… eat me raw!” he oinked happily.

Rookie Dan Hardy stared in horror at the appalling scene. He was literally stunned. He turned toward the perp. And started to say, “What have you done to…ugh…” He dropped his weapon as he fell forward, clutching at his suddenly cramping groin… “Oh fuck…” He groaned. He anxiously undid his belt to determine the source of the pain… A giant Prince Albert glinted maniacally from the crown of his young cock. “what…?” He noticed strands of blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. He reached up to check his perfectly styled, gelled hair… and came back with a handful of blonde tresses. His scalp was smooth to the touch and the head gleamed with a bright shine. His head was now shaved and polished, like a bowling ball. Poor Rookie Hardy was so frightened that the jewelry decorated cock leaked piss all over his uniform. “Fuck yeah” he snorted. His cock got rigid from the hot piss on his thighs and the acrid smell. “Fuck yeah.” His body tensed in an orgasm that reached from his head to his toes. His baby-fat melted into corded vascular muscle that stretched taunt over his bones. Deep cuts and the crystal definition, indicative of prison muscle choked every inch of his body. “Oi…fuck…” He began to lewdly wank his cock at the site of his mates going at it like pigs. He pumped his Tonker, and dripped warm piss all over his big thick soled dock Martens. His tight leather pants creaked when he strutted toward his pornographic buddies. His wifebeater rode up over his burgeoning beer belly as he approached, revealing his perfectly shaved body. He tugged at his wide bracers, lazily letting his pierced cock flop obscenely. He called to the other pigs, “OI! we can’t be goin and getting nasty wit out any quid!” He snarled.

“Oh Fuck… oh fuck…oh sweet fuck.” Officer Greer kept mewling. Officer Mutter kept right on butt munching and yanking on his furry tits.

“GEAR! MOTOR! We gotta get back ta the pen and set up the Webcam ‘fore dat escort gets der!” He crowed angrily.

The Ass devouring bear kept his snout rooted in his one-time rival, digging furtively for truffles. His Bossy competitor continued to degradingly fuss and twitch like a hog going to slaughter. Both, Officers were happier than pigs in shit.

“MOTOR!” Harley Called again, “I said SUWEE!”

Motor reluctantly took his beefy face out of his buddy’s hot cheeks. Drool and ass-juice slid down his tousled blonde beard, “Right. Fuck right.” He put both bear paws on Gear’s round curved flesh giving it a rough squeeze, making Gear screech in his childlike voice. Motor stood up and adjusted the heavy Leather Harness that restrained his brawny shoulders and hirsute frame. The big Bear struggled with his Leather Jeans which were an awkward choice for a man whose thighs were considerable and covered in hair. He adjusted his carpeted bulk and reluctantly moved away from his meal.

Gear stood up and his super sexual face pouted. He grabbed motor by the long beard and brought him into a forceful soggy kiss. Gear savored the big bear’s mouth, pulling away and trilling, “My Ass tastes so good!”. He slid a hand down and absently fingered his lubed and primed orifice. “Ah fuck guys. I was just about to cum!” He whined, diddling his ass lips harder. His strapping football player’s body was left totally bare except for a pair of ass-less leather chaps that left his insatiable greedy bubble-butt exposed to the world. The combination of his imposing brawn and his infantile intonation made it impossible to take him seriously. He swaggered arrogantly toward the other two pigs, looking for all the world like a big butch leather daddy… until he opened his mouth, “You guys gotta pwomise ta give me some deep dicken ta’night and not just the escort… Are you listening to me?” He bellyached, “HARLEY! Ya’ Hear me?”

Harley turned toward him, “No’body likes a fuckin needy bottom. Yeah I heard ya! Right! Shut your twat mouf and get on your hog!” Harley jumped on his own motorcycle and finished with, “Your piggy gobbler’ll get stuffed. Ya Damn powa’ bottom.”

“Fuck yeah!” Greer squeaked and got on his bike.

“Webcast is set for 10.” Motor reminded them, as all three men shrugged on their Leather jackets and started their Hogs. “And I told my barber he could stop by and watch in person.” He snorted a few guttural chuckles, “He likes too watch.”

“OI SWINE! Let’s get hoofin’ shows almost bout ta start.” All three Jackets had the red stitching moniker of their website, that the three men ran, “”.

The witch sat motionless, watching the three pigs and three hogs ride off into the night.

His expression was completely unreadable.

He began to laugh.

The sniggering started off innocently enough but eventually crescendoed into raving laughter.

“Pigs…ha…pigs…” Damien giggled to himself. He’d turned them into pigs…”Hahahahaha…” he continued chortling. He turned toward the dark window enclosed Gas Station.

“HA HA I called them pigs… and fucking …and then they turned into...HAHAHAHA.” His laughter echoed in the lonely night. Tortured merriment reverberated off the now deserted store. The empty store reflected the entire parking lot with its darkened glass walls.

Damien wiped a hysterical tear from his eye and realized in horror that he could clearly see himself.

The Demon moved quickly to shield his eyes from the sight of his reflection… but instead started laughing harder.

He looked into the reflective surface of the window and smiled an other-worldly grin of menace. He looked full into the face of what he had become.

It didn’t frighten him at all anymore.

The laughter cascaded further and further until he was half screaming in feral amusement.

The darkness that had been haunting his reflection was gone. Damien laughed as he realized that he wasn’t afraid of the thing in the mirror anymore because… he WAS the thing in the mirror now.

The dark parking lot rang with one last roar of reckless amused abandon and then he was gone.

All Wicked Witches resort to cackling, at the end.


Chapter 3

Pete pulled the big truck into a parking space. They were in a deserted Trailer Park on the outside of town.

This seemed oddly familiar, but neither man could remember why. Drake was confused, “I thought we were following that stripper.”

“I knew where the whore was heading so I took a short cut.” He explained as he jumped out of the Cab.

Drake followed him hastily, “But wait… how did you…”

Pete rounded on the smaller man with a steel gaze. “Since when did you get so damn chatty? Zip it and do as you’re told.” The look he gave Drake was heart stopping. It said: you are nothing. It said: you are flawed, you have no value. It said: You are less than an animal. Perhaps you may be a pet or perhaps you may be prey… and the choice is not yours.

Drake quailed at the big man. His addled brain was screaming at him that something was drastically wrong, but he followed the hulking giant into the Trailer anyway.

The entire trailer was a Play-room. There were a couple of couches, a mini-fridge, and three mattresses on the floor. It could definitely make the cover of “serial killer Home and Garden.” Several Webcams were amateurishly hung around the room.

Three Leather men stood in a circle around a computer desk, taking hits from a bottle of poppers. The biggest was a mocha colored titan of muscle in assless Chaps. The Second was a huge hairy bear that looked like an albino lion. The guy seated at the computer, who was obviously in charge, looked like an extra from “American history X”.

Drake’s Alarm rose 20 points and his head swam.

“What do we got here?” Pete thundered, “Three little pigs?”

The three Leather men turned to the new arrival. All three grinned broadly.

“OI!” The little skinhead agreed and gave him a sneer, “guess that makes you the big bad Wolf.”

The Spell clicked.

The magic Locked.

Pete stepped forward and offered his huge hand to Harley, “Peter Wolf. Most everybody just calls me Wolf.”

“More the merrier bro!”

The pigs laughed.

Motor put a big hairy blonde hand on Wolf’s shoulder, “I told you he was a cool guy.”

“Ya,” Harley nodded, “Our Mate Motor here says you runs a real fine shop in the city. He says he loves going there before he hits the bathhouses.”

“He told us you’re hung like a Clydesdale, too!” Gear twittered with his helium octaves.

Drake stumbled away from the bizarre nonsensical scene.

What was going on.

Wolf knew these guys?

Wait a minute who was wolf? Was Pete named Wolf? Wait was Peter named Pete…

“Looks like your boy’s a little confused.” Harley observed, pointing at Drake.

Wolf gave him a stern glance, “You know how kids are… too damned horny to think straight.”

Drake’s thoughts got even more jumbled and now his cock was aching. He was so confused. He was so horny. He was so confused. He was so horny. Above all else though… he was scared.

His panic was interrupted however by the arrival of the tweaked out stripper. Officer good cock sauntered into the room. His exaggerated muscles glistened with a fresh coat of baby oil and his movements were jerky and flamboyant, “I heard you guys had a 911 emergency.” He garbled giddily.

“Yeah, attempted Rape.” Harley snarled. The three pigs wasted no time attacking their meal. Harley pounced first grabbing the stripper’s head in a rough embrace, pulling his trampy hair and kissing him hard enough to draw blood. Gear followed by excitedly removing the tight little costume and reverently worshipping his glossy muscles. Motor loomed behind the whore and gave his tits a rough paw.

Officer Good cock rolled his head in ecstacy at the attention of the three pigs that were feasting on him like a trough.

Drake’s head resounded with warning but he couldn’t keep his hands from compulsively playing with his ram rod hard cock.

The Strippers pin point dilated eyes caught Drake’s nervous look and stopped the feeding frenzy. Gear had stripped Good Cock down to a pair of delicate little thong panties, that hung on his waist like a hair-tie. They sparkled pink and ridiculous against the manly physique. He paraded over to the anxiously sweating young jock. “You look pretty out of place here, college boy. You look like a little lost puppy.” He stammered. The stripper reached out to tweak one of Drake’s stocky pecs…

“Keep your fucking hands off of me, skank.” Drake roared.

Officer Good Cock’s face went slack and uncomprehending. He turned his intoxicated eyes toward wolf and said, “Looks like he’s not a puppy… more like a pit-bull.”

“OI!” Harley agreed. “Little bruiser does remind ya of a Pit.”

“Yeah pit-bull…” Motor agreed as he yanked the hot escort back toward the center of the room.

Drake took the opportunity to escape toward an open dor in the Trailer’s haul… it looked like it lead into a bedroom.

Drake hovered anxiously in the doorway not knowing if he should run or beg to fuck the stripper’s ass. His cock was so hard. His head hurt so bad. His cock was so hard.

“Here, puppy!” The Stripper called. He pulled a small bag of white powder out of the sweaty pouch of his thong. He threw it at Drake’s feet. “Take a snort of that… it’ll loosen you up… like …magic.”




Drake looked toward Peter. He wasn’t Peter. He was a soaring mountain of a man.

He was huge.

He was a Wolf.

Iron hair.

Hard eyes.

Hard body.

He had the eyes of a wolf.

Those predatory eyes were now locked on Drake. The carnivore in Camouflage advanced on him angrily.

Drake’s heart-beat thudded in his ears.

He escaped through the open bed room door and slammed it behind him.

He stumbled backwards into a bureau.

Drake Clung desperately to the dresser, and looked at his sweaty, panic strained face in the mirror…”oh god…” he pleaded, “Please help me.”

“The Good Lord only helps those who help themselves…” A voice purred sarcastically from the bed behind him… “So your lazy ass is out of luck...” Drake spun in terror to find Damien quietly observing him from the nearby bed. “Is there anything I can do?”

He spun to face his tormentor. “Please stop this!” Drake cried. He was almost ready to buckle under the pressure of the spell.

Damien’s blue eyes glinted as he languidly slid from the bed. He was wearing a wife beater and jeans. His body was pumped and alert. Drake’s already aching cock bled pre-cum from the sight.

”Stop it?! …you’re rejecting my gift? Awww… and I went to all this trouble.”

“Gift?” Drake squealed as he unwillingly massaged the incessant throbbing in his crotch. “You cursed me!”

“Technically yes… but it seems I need to take matters into my own tentacles. You’re being surprisingly resistant. Guess that’s all the Cop blood in your veins. A nuisance really, but I am looking forward to giving you what you deserve lover-boy.”

Drake could barely understand him. The compulsion of his hard dick was becoming a mind-blinding craving. He yelled in frustration, “We were friends and you’re turning me into a whore!”

The temperature in the room dropped about 40 degrees, “Friends? When we were in school together and “friends”, you denied ever knowing me. You’d ignore me and only met me in secret.” Damien corrected. “Because you were afraid your Frat brothers would know you were friends with the weird fag…”

Drake froze at the truth in the statement… “I… was young and…”

Damien smiled. It wasn’t comforting. “Blah blah blah… you may not be the architect of recent events… but you certainly laid the foundation.” Damien rubbed his own obviously swelling bulge, “Odd how one little choice can affect the future…” His voice dropped dramatically, “Isn’t it.”

Drake stared hungrily at the big man’s groin, wanting desperately to rip off his clothes and bath in cum. He fought valiantly against the sex crazed need, “Listen, we can help you. We can…”

Damien surged forward, slid his hand down the sweaty khaki and seized the root of Drake’s engorged cock, manhandling it like a toy baseball bat.

“Do I look - like I need - your help?” Damien’s grip tightened and his mouth consumed Drake’s hungry lips in animal passion.

Their mouths fought and wrestled with each other. In between ragged breaths, Drake said “Peter said you couldn’t look in the mirror…”

Damien stopped the kiss and tugged both of his “friends” nipples in a hard twist, “Not anymore…”

Drake whined and began mindlessly humping his thighs against Damien’s heavy form.

“I am the thing in the mirror…” The Demon released him with a satisfied smile and then suddenly thrust the tortured jock’s face toward the mirror, “Now we were discussing how small choices affect the future.” The desperate man in his clutches began to writhe in fear. “You chose… a long time ago, to spend a life pretending to be someone else… living a lie and staying in the closet… but what if you hadn’t? What if you couldn’t…”

The captured frat boy trembled like a mouse in a cat’s claw, “You can’t change the past… time doesn’t…”

“Time is a theory, like relativity, the big bang and basic human decency.” The demon released him… but Drake found his tense sweaty body was unable to look away from the reflection, “Now let’s just say that instead of forcing yourself to go to the Senior Prom at 18, with whatever poor socialite with low self-esteem you found… that… your very homophobic father found your stash of internet porn…” The demon laughed loudly, “Or your brother found you hooking up with one of your dirty clandestine internet lovers…”

Drake felt a tremor. It was slight, like the aftershock of a far away earth quake.

“A fight ensued and in his rage…” Damien Paused. Drake tried to scream. “…They threw you out of the house.”

A tidal wave of emptiness collapsed onto Drake’s mind. His conscious was shattered by wave after wave of years slipping away. Drake felt himself being swept away leaving only fragmented ruins of his identity behind to guide him. He knew he went to college. That he was in a frat, that he graduated high school and that his parents never found out… but it was like knowing a stranger from far away…

Blue light began to illuminate the dark bedroom, as the witch’s eyes burned and his voice brutally continued, “Now tell me pup… what happened next…”

This is where the parallel universe attacked.

Possibilities are endless.

One day you take the bus instead of drive and BOOM! A whole new reality is created.

All the possibilities of all the possible choices Drake could have made in his life, spread before him, reflected in the depths of the mirror. Go to TSU instead of Remington… play the piano instead of football… watch the smurfs instead of Teenage mutant ninja turtles. Eat the apple instead of the orange…

The mirror reflected the infinite variations on the course his life could have taken. So many choices… so many possibilities…

Damien crooned behind him, “I can Trance…I can trance… I can transform ya!”

Alternate realities entwined with ours, riding like parasites waiting to find a chance to exist. One such reality was so close that Drake could see it in the mirror. It took everything that had happened to Peter and to him… and began to take form…

“I…er…I…joined the army.” Drake stammered in horror. The figure in the mirror rippled… A young Drake…clean faced and lean… a sharp military buzz cut and fatigues stared back. The eyes were big and impressionable with an anxious obvious uncertainty. More than athletic, the boy in the mirror was a mass produced weapon. The fatigues and lean body created the vestige of a dully forged tool of modern conformity and regiment.

The reflection was thankfully all that had changed. He was still wearing his polo…still 23 not 18, still himself. He was the man he woke-up being this morning.

The witch smiled, and the mirror rippled. “Of course you did. Nowhere to go. No family to turn to. You did what most young men would do…. And feeling alone and abandoned… robbed of the father figure you so desperately wanted to please… You met…”

Drake struggled to resist, but the memories of a new and different world assaulted him. His throat croaked, “I met Drill Sergeant Peter Wolf.”

“And you two closet cases hit it off right from the start. It was Brokeback Mountain, only in fatigues.”

Parasite universes circling around our own like vultures waiting for a chance to strike… the boy in the mirror found stability in the service, found a place to hide from himself and found a man who he could please. “You two formed quite the Bro-mance…” They met during basic and Wolf took him under his wing immediately. It only took about three weeks before drake was secretly blowing the imposing officer. Night after night of escaping the barracks to lay naked with the manly Senior officer, were suddenly remembered… Both men were keeping silent about their regular play dates, because Wolf was deep in a military required abstinence… until he met Horny, lonely young Drake… who wanted nothing more to please him.

“Wolf made sure I always followed him, wherever he was stationed… He really took care of me…”The boy in the mirror smiled exultantly. The grey eyes were beaming with admiration.


This is wrong!

“This is all an illusion.” The Frat boy disagreed.

The demon’s eyes narrowed irritably, “True, it’s all an illusion… aren’t you clever.”

The recruit in the mirror frowned. “That is until… you believe it.”His own disembodied voice mocked.

“I don’t deserve this!” screamed at his reflection, having one of his typical red faced fits.

“Your right,” the mage behind him agreed… “You deserve much worse… see Drake,” Damien whispered vindictively, “All those meaningless internet hook-ups… all those guys who thought you might be interested in a little more than sex…while you hid in the closet of your FRAT house? Well, all those disappointments create a lot of negative energy… energy that I’m funneling… right into you! Quite the Power Keg, really. Speaking of Power Kegs… tell me about Sergeant Wolf and Power …”

“Lifting.” He answered in an uncontrollable burst.

“Power lifting.” Drake stammered. “While we were stationed in Germany he got me into Strength competitions …” Drake’s lipped trembled in disgust, but continued on of their own accord, “World’s Strongest Man type training…”

Damien’s eyes practically twinkled, “And that close to East Germany…I’m sure he was able to find you just the right kind of supplements.”

Drake struggled to stay silent. He fought angrily until his whole body shook and he erupted the word “HGH” his body convulsed, “Cattle Hormoooooone.ssss…AHHH!”

His pants split right down the middle. The collar of his polo tore and stretched. His torso quivered with tremors that expanded his once trim 190lb frame. His thighs vibrated with muscle and fat that distended the split pants like elephant legs. His ass literally exploded from the confines of his briefs. Hours of Dead lifts, Leg presses, and Power Squats poured into the once taunt athletic rear end. The bull sized ass cheeks reverberated with chubby strength and absurd masculine size.

“OHHH GODDDDDD” Drake groaned in revulsion. His already broad shoulders swelled to ridiculous proportions, heavy with the weight of shrugging tires, hurling boulders and hauling cars. Long hours of Pumping Iron began to inflate his small frame. His neck disappeared into nothingness as his traps ballooned to ape-like proportions.

Drake had a big chest to begin with…now his chest was the size of a roof. His polo fell in tatters around him, revealing an impossible expanse of awkward weight. The giant blocks of his huge pecs were covered in heavy flesh leaving his nipples dangling at least a foot away from his torso. His arms were bloated and looked more like thick legs then biceps.

“Blach!!’ He let out a thunderous belch and the waist line of his khaki’s split under the pressure of his distending cannonball gut. Thick, wide Ab Muscles expanded around a rotund but cast iron belly of impressive strength, “no, no,no,…” Drake gurgled as he tried clumsily to hold back the girth of his power-lifters’ abdomen. His thick uncooperative arms hindered the attempt. The sheer size of his chest made the act comical.

His face swelled. The jowls of his cheeks broadened and the preppy, boy-next-door good looks submerged into a meaty face that was heavy with weight and brute strength.

“Puh-leeze!!” His voice sounded different. The added weight of his now ridiculous size made him talk slower and with more difficulty. “Puh-leeze” He had gone from 5’8 and 190lbs to 5’8 and 250 in a matter of minutes. Men this size were normally referred to as “sparkplugs” or “fireplugs”. Drake was now roughly the size of a very compact “fire-truck”.

Dark eyes regarded him coldly, “Ask not for pity from Dark Phoenix my love, She knows not the meaning of the word. …” Damien gave the huge bestial ass a heavy flesh shaking swat, “This was the perfect Hobby for such a lazy guy. Lots of heavy lifting, sure… but lots and lots of eating and lots and lots of resting… bodybuilding would be too much work for someone with your unreliable motivation level… Yes, the perfect hobby for you…that is until…” Damien paused…letting the alternate reality redirect it’s course yet again… strangling Drake with its force and suffocating his resistance.

Drake was too busy gawking in nausea at his ruined body to catch himself before he said, “I Got dishonorably discharged for having controlled substances on base…”

Oh god.

The Humiliation and shame of being forced out of the army swept over him. The terrible dishonor of being disgraced and rejected again… his rotund cheeks blushed scarlet and tears of embarrassment streamed down the wide mug.

“Good thing Sergeant Wolf had just retired, and was eager to keep you by his side…”

Drake’s cavernous chest bulked with a half controlled sob, “Yeah thank god for Wolf…wait…no…”

‘Where’d you two end-up anyway?”

“In the city, an old marine buddy of his had a tattoo shop…and wolf set up shop as a…”drake fumbled…”…a”

Damien’s smile was practically super-natural “A barber.”

Drake’s Mop of preppy hair swept up to short peaks that dissected his head. A spikey three inch Mohawk crowned the barbarian head. Handsome auburn was tinted angry black with unnatural toxic blonde- bleached out tips. The sides of his shiny skull glinted cruelly from a clean shaven head. The raptor’s quill ran from window’s peak to neck. Big, black muttonchops formed on his beefy jaws. Thick swatches of black beard that hooked around his chubby cheeks and met his pudgy mouth, like big furry triangles…

“Of fuck…” the former frat boy swore as he futilely groped at the punky crest, his over grown shoulders confined his movements to toddler like flailing.

Behind him, eyes glowing… blue light refracting from his every pore, Damien marveled at his own work… “Damn Drake… how many people did you piss off… While you were on the “DL”? This is one hell of a rush…” The witch continued to fuel his magic with all the animosity of Drake’s covert lovers… Licks of sapphire fire played across his hands… all the harnessed energy of the men Drake had fucked, forgot and called faggot later…

The mutated Frat boy groaned as the alternate possibility of his life’s course took firm hold. His stubby neck lurched closer to the mirror. His eyes locked with the gruesome image. His big eyes were transfixed in a deep trance. They expressed nothing but empty thought as he began to drone on; a marionette pulled by the thug in the mirror… “Closet… Wolf had been in the closet so long… that when we got out…he had so many things he wanted to try…”

Pain hot and ready shot up from his groin and other parts of his body. Sharp needles of cold agony darted into his flesh. The image in the mirror and the boy in the bedroom both screamed. The demon savored the moment, “So many years in the closet… with only the internet to guide his lust… I’m sure that kind of repression would generate quite a wide variety of perversions… and f-e-t-i-s-h-e-s….”




All over his face.

It had started out simple enough… just a tongue ring… that Drake could hide. Wolf has only asked him to do it because he had read that it would feel hot against his cock, when Drake gave him one of his many daily blow-jobs.

His tongue shot out in pain, a sterling ball in the center.

…then it was earrings… to make him look more like a city boy… blend in… be more urban.

Two shiny silver hoops pricked into the lobes of his ears…

…but then Wolf had a taste for it… told Drake it reminded him of stories he had read on the internet… How hot he thought it was that Drake wanted to please him… Wolf was so hot for him every time he would come home from the piercers and always seemed to be stroking his cock with thoughts about what he could do next…

Wolf had Drake read some of the stories. They were all saved on his computer. They were lovingly archived from years of surfing porn sites while his libido was restrained by his career choices.

The earrings eventually became gauges… and the gauges started to increase in size, distending his earlobes primitively.

A big barbell slit between his right eyebrow. It was heavy and thick like a segment of piping, not jewelry.

Drake had gotten a job as a security guard but soon Wolf’s insatiable desire for Drake to look more and more hardcore, made that impossible. Their fuck sessions got more intense after each new mark of Wolf’s control. Drake began to look more and more like a counter culture eyesore.

It was the septum ring that got him fired.

A big bull ring, thick as a doorknocker protruded from his nostrils. It was bulky and ungainly, just like Drakes size. It forced his nostril holes to flare. It left him looking like a brutish lout, like some tribal mascot.

Having been dishonorably discharged it was impossible for him to get a new job, especially with how he looked. Good old Wolf found him a new job though…where his appearance wouldn’t only fit in… it would attract attention.

By now, that’s what Wolf was really after. His sexual appetite had grown beyond just his boy. He had been caged too long. He wanted to make up for all that lost time, serving at his country’s pleasure. He was now intent to serve his pleasure.

Drake began working at the local leather bar, as a bar back or doorman or whatever they needed. It was the ultimate marriage of all the new changes. His Hair and beard were a perfect advertisement for Wolf’s specialty Barber shop and he could pick up hundreds of horny strays to take home to his master…

It was after he was at the leather bar for a month that he started to think of Wolf as his master… it just came natural… wolf wasn’t his boyfriend… he wasn’t wolf’s equal… wolf was his superior. His boss. His owner… The old Drake had always just gone with the flow and tried his hardest to fit into the crowd… so this Drake did too… This drake totally immersed himself in the leather sub-culture the way the old Drake had done with the Fraternity lifestyle. Two different paths, same desperate need to fit in.

Months of dirty threesomes, weekend long sex fueled escapades and the orgy of city life beckoned Drake from beyond the mirror. He didn’t even notice that he had wrapped one big callused paw around his cock and begun to stroke it. Memories of faceless men, their cocks bared and their voices commanding obedience filled the once proud Cop’s sons’ mind. The dick in his hand stuck out like an arrow pointing hungrily in the direction of this new life.

The depravity worsened Wolf’s need to augment his boy… Drake lurched forward as he felt the tight clinch of a ball stretcher yank his scrotum like taffy… dangling balls swung grotesquely against his legs…

He yelped in pain as the pins and needles built up into an uncontrolled frenzy, trying to force their way out of his nipples. A strange pressure started pushing outwards and his areolas were enlarging. Fearfully Drake felt these unwelcome protrusions with his fingertips. His areolas were taking on a darker hue and an intense shooting pain could be felt behind his nipples, as if a piece of wire was trying to connect. To Drake's horror those little nubs began to inflate as his teats hardened to resemble a pair of long eraser heads… he yelped as two thick barbells dissected them. Long hours of nipple play, torture and piercing had mangled his tits into live wires of pleasure and pain.

Hardcore Sexuality and fornication became second nature to him. He was the perfect hound to sniff out willing playmates to take back to Wolf’s Den. The new Drake that stared back at him had taken to this life of deviance and rebellion the way the old one, the closeted Frat boy, had taken to being a jock clone. He assumed the role he was expected to play. He became what everyone else expected him to be.

The Lech in the mirror’s walrus face grinned in recognition. This new Drake was just like the old one…just a different set of circumstances… different culture to please… Different crowd to desperately fit into…

So many ways to please Wolf…

He was the perfect advertisement…

Oh fuck!

Drake fell to his knees and collapsed doggy-style on the carpet. He rolled and squirmed along the carpet as if he was engulfed in flames.

Not again.

It felt like termites had begun to burrow underneath his skin. Shit, that tingling sensation was unbearable. It was everywhere. It was all over him. He barked and bucked in panic, moving his brawny body like a dog trying to rid itself of fleas… all the while his gaze was still transfixed to his reflection.

Drake had been the one to offer to get the first tattoo… it just snowballed from there…with his master insisting on more and more perverse and brash designs…

Red and white Barber stripes connected his elbow to his wrist, his forearms looking roughly the size of a barber pole.

Wolves mounting various dogs ran in a mosaic up to his shoulder.

Wide unmistakable paw prints traveled from his hulking chest up the side of his neck.

The Alternate Reality and the one Drake had been living finally collided. The old Drake was obliterated and steamrolled into non-existence under the locomotive pressure of the new reality.

Fuck he liked the Tattoo’s.

He liked the debauchery. It was dirty. He was dirty. Endless nights of getting fucked and milked like an animal washed away nights of studying and organizing fraternity events.

Big cursive lettering formed over his ponderous iron belly, “SLUT GUT”. The Drake in the mirror laughed. The Drake on his knees laughed too. Wolf always said it wasn’t all the Power Squats or beer that gave him that prestigious gut… it was all the cum he had guzzled down at the bar…

Drake stood up, still fixated on his distorted doppelganger, not realizing he now was the reflection. He laughed at himself, taking in the full effect of the massive weight gain, the heavy muttonchops and the abnormal face… “No Wonder dey Call Me a Pit Bull.”

The gauges widened… stretching width and lengthening the ears to bizarre measurements. The Big man jowls… the over muscled traps, and now the floppy ears… “I looks like a Pit-bull.” He laughed even harder. The stocky muscled form shook with rancorous giggles.

The word “Pit-Bull” spread across his gargantuan back, written like a wide and unmistakable prison tattoo… A portrait of a Pit-bull pissing on a rainbow flag was scrawled in a lewd mosaic on the ample flesh of his right thigh.

“Fucking Pit bull!” He kept on stroking his erection, the top of his meaty hand slapping the underside of his gut-keg. “Whadda fuckin Sexy pig.” He flared his nostrils and snorted…laughing harder. “Bigger pig then dos’ fuckah’s outside.”

Above the swell of his big buffalo ass, in smaller script, the label, “SLUT BUTT” appeared.

Drake continued to laugh at the Pit-bull monstrosity in the mirror. He gave himself a playful “Ruff!” and flexed an engorged bicep.

“Well Drake, looks like you’ve made quite the dog’s dinner of things.” Damien mused.

“Aww Relax Damien, I’m just haffin sum fun.” Drake snorted as he scratched his low hangers.

Wait. Damien? How did he know this guy anyway? He had never met him.

The gruesome leather boy turned toward the stranger… he was really hot, maybe he was here to play too… “Hey ah… How da ya know my name… We hook up or sumfin?”

“Yes back in college.”

Drake bayed a big belly laugh and barked, “I ain’t neva gone ta no college.”

“I’m glad you agree.”



Oh no…


The last lingering remnants of Drake’s former identity fought valiantly. He felt bile rising in his obscenely huge stomach and thrashed wildly at the atrocity in the mirror. He rallied all of his fractured personality and and made one final attempt at resistance.

“Damien!” Drake roared. He looked at the man who had once been his friend and occasional lover. His eyes pleaded and he implored for compassion, “Change me back! I’m begging you.”

The Demon paused, “That’s not begging.”

He moved closer to Drake, his powerful form undulating under his tank top. The demon bent his face to drake’s distended droopy ear. His tormentor whispered diabolically, “I’ll show you how to beg.”

A wave of emotion pulled over Drake like a blanket. He fell to his knees. He stared up at the figure in absolute adulation. His cock was hard and his mind was on fire with the need to please the wraith in front of him. His desire was constricting and suffocating. His skin burned with the urge to be touched. His teeth chattered with the need to service cock.

He was worthless, a pathetic ball of muscle and flesh whose only purpose was to bring other men pleasure. He had learned that over the years of being dominated by Wolf.

He shook with desire and humiliation, in the presence of such a great and powerful man. He whined like a dog in obedience and his stiff cock jabbed his belly in expectation. His mouth was dry and his voice trembled, “Please!” He whimpered, sniffing the man’s feet. “please…please… please… use me… use me … please… .”

The demon Laughed, “Now that’s begging. You’re a good puppy.”

“Drake is Good puppy?” He asked stupidly, wretchedly seeking approval.

“You bet Puppy. You are man’s Best Friend… Every man… Any man. You are a well trained, well groomed DOG.”

Drake smiled contentedly.

He was a well groomed puppy.

His piercings were all shined. His muscles all pumped. His Mohawk styled and His fetish Gear was polished. He now wore only a pair of calf high boots and wrist gloves… both bought from a city fetish store. They were designed to mimic a Dog’s paws and restricted his movements to basic animal function. The only attempt to cloth the pornographic artistry of his immoral muscled flesh canvas… was a dirty white jockstrap that let his long ball sac droop out the side. Puppy looked at his Hot Sexy Body in the mirror, he whined a little because his fetish mits restricted his hands and he couldn’t get at his insatiable Cock, “Hey bud…” he said looking at the strange man in the room with him… “Help me out?” He rolled on to his back and presented his Raging erection. He stuck out his droopy pierced tongue and panted excitedly. The Dog boy kicked his swollen legs into the air playfully. He Loved being in this Gear it totally let him act like an animal. He could totally let go in the role… He was good at acting like something he wasn’t…. He had always been…

“Sorry Puppy. I have a Date,” He patted the prostrated mound of beef on his spiky head, “and so do you…” The Demon receded into the shadows of the bedroom “…no rest for the wicked…” He whispered to the Cockhound on the floor.

The door opened and Wolf sauntered in. Drake swung his head around and immediately rose to his knees in supplication. “There’s my good boy; On your knees where you belong. Sorry we forgot the knee-pads tho.”

“It’s okay I don’t…” Drake was silenced with one of Wolf’s huge hands across his mouth. It was comforting and familiar. Drake licked it affectionately, tasting the musk of his master.

“No talking tonight, okay little buddy? You know the rules. Bark when I say speak. You’re in your gear so… you’re my good boy tonight.” He rubbed his puppy’s clean shaven head lovingly.

He Gave the Pup a long deep kiss that tasted both of his puppy’s tongue piercings. Drake savored the kiss and then returned it by licking the silver stubble of Wolf’s jaw. Wolf smiled and put an ornate spiked collar around Drake’s bloated neck. He carefully attached a long chain leash. “You’re going to make your internet debut tonight, and I want you to make me proud.”

Drake beamed at the prospect of getting his master’s approval, wagging his butt excitedly.

“Now these guys can make you a star… all you gotta do is put on a good show.” Wolf pulled the leash tight forcing Drake to stand and follow him from the room.

These guys were going to put Puppy on their website. Puppy was gonna make Wolf Proud. Puppy was going to suck. Puppy was going to Lick. Puppy was going to Fuck. Puppy was going to get fucked. Puppy was going to be a good Dog.

Drake wobbled out of the bedroom on sturdy but inflexible legs, his akimbo waddle making him look like an overinflated balloon. The leash was long but still held tight in Wolf’s grasp.

Drake no longer thought of himself as Drake. He was just “Puppy”. He had been responding to that name for so long, that his name…his name just didn’t sound right. He was Puppy. He was Wolf’s puppy.

“Alright Puppy… go Fetch.” Wolf commanded

Puppy gave Wolf a look of desperate obedience and shambled toward the two seated Bikers on the couch. Motor and Gear had their leathers undone to their knees, with their tighty-whitey’s pulled like rubber bands around their kneecaps. Both men were vigorously stroking their cocks and watching the stripper get impaled by Harley’s aggressive ministrations with his own nightstick. The Young skin was wanking his cock like a mad man, watching the slutty physique model squirm and whimper.

Officer Good cock was handcuffed to a pipe, with a set of his own costume cuffs. His naked body was sweaty and wet. Every inch of fake tan skin was covered with perspiration from straining his ass muscles around the wide shaft of the foreign object.

All the men gave lecherous smiles every time “Officer Good Cock” whimpered and squealed from the assault on his hungry hole. His overly muscled and ridiculously tanned body twitched and convulsed in torment, anchored down by the handcuffs. His pretty face was tight with anguish but his ramrod hard cock bounced against his taunt abdomen, betraying his pleasure.

Puppy dropped to all fours in front of the men. His heavy shoulders hunched up and his thick unmanageable legs were lodged together. The jockstrap left the huge overgrown swell of his Bull ass exposed as he bent forward. His stretched and extended scrotum dangled ridiculously as he spread his big thighs, the modified ball sac looking to all-the-world like the canine genitals of a well-hung mut.

The Dog boy gave his master one last look before he dove hard into Motor’s Hairy crotch… his long tongue bathing the man’s sweaty and rigid staff ferociously. He ran the heavy piercing of his tongues’ tip gauge against the wide mushroom of Harley’s cockhead. He lapped at the stranger’s crotch franticly, grunting and yelping for emphasis. He ran his snout through the heavy bush covered in sex juice and relish the stink of the Big Bear’s Pubic Mane. Motor moaned contentedly and began stroking the sides of puppy’s shaved head, murmuring over and over again, that he was “a good dog…such a good dog.” The front of puppy’s worn and distended jockstrap tented magnificently as his dog cock flopped around in excitement at the approval. He continued to bury his whole face in the scumbags’ swampy groin. He sniffed and licked at the heavy genitals that rubbed against his tongue, lips and muttonchops. Above him, Motor violently flexed and roared as the big cock spit its seed all over puppy’s Mohawk. Motor grabbed tightly onto the heavy spiked collar around the cock-hound’s thick neck. He jerked him back and forth with each shudder of his orgasm.

Puppy cleaned the oozing tool gently. He slurped up every drop of cum from the Biker’s flaccid organ.




Good dog.

Without even pausing, he pushed his huge ass upward and shuffled over toward Gear, with his sack bobbing ludicrously. He went right to work, nipping at the big man’s bone. The Linebacker tweeted in his silly squeaky-toy voice and made unconvincing attempts to sound Butch in commanding Puppy “To Lick his big Babymaker.”

Wolf sat in a chair that gave him full view of the lewd display and humiliation of his boy. His own massive tool was firmly in hand. He stroked his girder, delighted in watching his pet subjugate and debase himself in front of strangers. He was such a good dog. Wolf’s eyes devoured every inch of the scene. Puppy’s mammoth, over developed ass cheeks shuddered tantalizingly as he bobbed up and down on the cock-meat in front of him. The weight of his overgrown shoulders flexed as he struggled to remain on all fours. His multitude of Tattoo’s glistened from a thick coating of sweat, making each one look even more vile, obscene and plastic.

Wolf’s eyed fixated on the wide cursive script of the word “Slut Butt” which arced over the former military man’s huge ass, stamped profanely on the small of his back. His Gaze then traveled lower to Puppy’s massive right buttock… to the wolf’s paw and smaller print, which read quite clearly, “MILLITARY ISSUED PROPERTY OF SRGT.P.WOLF.”

The Giant instrument in his hand couldn’t resist any longer. He moved forward on his long legs and knelt behind his puppy’s wide waiting hole. Puppy felt the familiar pressure of Wolf guiding his high hips and thick cock shaft down toward him. He whined in eager anticipation. Wolf took both his big hands on either side of the dog’s meaty hips, “Time to wag that tail bitch.” He commanded.

Puppy’s heart beat with senseless expectation. Wolf spit on the length of his dick and drove it deep between the dog’s bloated cheeks, toward the warm, wet, empty, slut-hole of his property.

Puppy’s body shook and every one of his bulky muscles tensed, as he howled in overwhelming ecstasy at the intrusion of the impaling pole.

His puppy mouth hung slack jawed and his eyes glazed as he panted under the brutal fucking. Wolf slammed into him over and over again, plowing him like a field, filling his sloppy muscle hole with the dick that owned him. The Older man methodically set to work on him, sweating, grunting and manhandling him with expert force.

Puppy drooled and whined. His dog-cock leaked.

Wolf battered down on the greedy hole.

The Three Pigs, laughed, cheered and masturbated harder. They were a chorus of snorting approval.

The stripper whimpered and attempted to rub his own erection against the hard carpet, in an animated and futile effort to relieve his own aching need. He fretfully humped the ground, forcing the nightstick that skewered his toned and muscled ass, to dance comically. All the while he unabashedly writhed and moaned like a bitch.

Puppy felt so good to be used. He was worthless when he wasn’t getting boned. When Wolf was inside of him he was complete. He was safe and he was owned. His ass clenched and spasmed around the huge cock, that had been guiding his entire life, making all his decisions and taking care of him.

Wolf continued his assault. His gargantuan body rained sweat down all around him, while under him, puppy barked with reckless abandon. The Ogre thrust in and out until after what seemed like hours, he let out a roar of release, dominance and ownership… The puppy joined his Master in relief, both men barked a primal animalistic howl…that was enough to blow the whole house down.


Chapter 4

Gino sat quietly across from Damien’s little sister.

She wasn’t at all what he had expected.

When one conjured the image of Damien Vaughn’s sister, you didn’t picture the captain of the cheerleading team. But, there she sat demurely… almost apologetically across from him. They sat facing each other across an ancient garden table that was situated at the heart of a frost bitten garden. This girl didn’t look more than 17 but he knew she was a senior in college. Her beauty was breath-taking. As she nervously smiled across from him, he noticed that her attraction wasn’t just her smooth ageless face, or the delicate yet athletic frame. She radiated an aura of confident fragility. She was the personification of young womanhood; bright, loving and full of promise.

Gino’s dick didn’t twitch once

Yup, still very gay.

… but he did find himself longing to have this girl approve of him.

“Now let’s begin,” She chirped sweetly and then began to light white candles around the table. She pulled a deck of cards from her apron. Gino recognized them from junior high. They were brightly colored Tarot cards…

“Uh I lived with your brother for awhile and I er.. never saw him do this stuff…” He questioned uncomfortably.

Ally tisked, “That’s because we’re two different kind of witches. Now if you’re going to laugh or be uncooperative it will break my spell…” The dreamy blue in her eyes hardened to a steely grey, “And if you break my spell I will be very “NOT happy.”” She warned.

Yup, that was Damien’s sister.

“So er… there are “Different Kinds” of witches?” Gino asked, continuing with uncomfortable conversation.

“Yes, I’m a real Witch and Damien’s not.”

“Damien’s not a witch?”

“Oh he’s one hell of a witch, just not a real one… he deals in a kind of magic that hasn’t been used in three hundred years, Fairytale magic.”

Gino didn’t even try to sugar coat his next skeptical question, “Fairytale?”

“I play by the rules of witchcraft,” Ally sighed heavily. I believe in it’s tenants and I use silly things like candles… flowers… tarot cards… because my magic is based in what is real… dirt… flesh…water… blood.”

She began to spread the cards in front of her, “Damien’s so powerful he doesn’t have to use tools or obey any rules. He simply decides to do something and does it. He’s Cinderella’s Fairy God Mother or the wicked Fairy at the christening… Pure magic no constraints… It’s why he’s going crazy… He’s turned the world into stories and got caught up in them.”

This was total bull-shit.

He needed to find Damien.

He didn’t need this fucking diatribe on mumbo-jumbo.

Doctor Heart had been very specific.

He wanted Damien Vaughn.

And whatever Rhodry Heart wanted, he got.

Or somebody paid.

…Gino was still healing from Doctor Heart’s last “session” with him. After the scene at the club, Heart kept him in a sling in his office for days, letting his army of whores, thugs and gangsters fuck, bleed and bruise him to a pulp.

Doctor Heart nursed him lovingly back to health, assuring him it was for his own good. His master gently lavished care and compassion on him, assuring Gino that he had learned his lesson.

And he had to do only one thing to be his master’s alpha slave again…

Find the Witch.

It wasn’t his place to ask why.

It was his place to obey.

It was his place to Obey and perform.

He liked to obey.

Obeying made him satisfied.

…but still, a part of him wanted to warn Damien.

WHATEVER his intentions were …

If he didn’t find Damien and soon… Heart would send him back to the… back to the box… he couldn’t go back there…not back there…

“I need answers!” He stormed. “…And I don’t believe in any of this magic SHIT!”

Ally smiled a grin of approval, “Good. That might improve your odds.” She arranged her deck and looked up expectantly. Her grin was genuine and sweet, “Now Mr. Salvatore, let’s read.”

Gino looked at the doe eyed blonde impatiently, “What are you going to learn from those cards, that I just can’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” She said sweetly, “I know most of it already. You were born into a lower middle class family and worked some kind of labor job…but you’ve recently come into money… and now work somewhere that appearance and means are very important.”

Gino sputtered… “How did you know that…”

Ally shrugged, “I could tell that just from your tacky adherence to over-priced label clothing. The Nuevo Riche always overdo.”

Gino blinked. This was absolutely Damien’s sister.

“Go ahead.” He conceded.

She turned over the first card, “The Knight of cups.” She poked him, “that’s you. It means a brave valiant man, a man of great spiritual energy.” She said happily.

Gino rolled his eyes.

She pretended not to notice.

“You are crossed by…the magus.” She overturned a picture of a magician.

“So I guess that’s Damien.” Gino offered forcibly.

Ally scrutinized the card. “No, this is a schemer… a game player… a man of design and machination…”

Gino’s Heart froze in his chest. He knew who that was. “This man crosses you because he has you under his spell I think.”

Gino’s mind shrieked the name, Dr. Heart.

Allysandra was wrapped in what the cards were saying to her. She turned over the next one, “Your desire is”… There was a card of a solitary man, ”The hermit.” She smiled triumphantly…”Now there’s Damien.”

“Behind you in your past… The Wheel of Fate. It symbolizes Great change…”

Gino thought of living with Damien…changing jobs…coming out…

“And in your recent past… Lust…” Two lovers were entwined on the card “But it’s reversed…” She mused. “Dark lust… twisted and carnal.”

Gino looked around uncomfortably, ashamed at his recognition of such things…

“And your future?” she asked herself. “The two of rods.” The picture displayed two men with walking sticks traveling down to separate roads. She turned to face Gino. Her blue eyes captured him and held him in their grasp. Her gaze was intent and her face now seemed terribly mature and not ageless at all. “You face a choice Mr. Salvatore. Choose one road or the other.”

“What the FUCK does that mean!” He roared. Gino swept the cards off the table. “Listen, you don’t even know me. What do you know about my life?”

Allysandra didn’t even blink, “I know you have allowed some man to control you with your lust and carnality.”

“I HAD NO CHOICE! HE MADE ME HIS SLAVE!” The scream from Gino’s throat was wild and primal.

“No.” The oracle replied, her voice as gentle as a reed, “You Chose to let him make you a slave. For the same reason you let Damien transform you. You wanted it. Secretly, deep down in the darkest places of your heart… you desired it.”

“You think I let him turn my whole life upside down, take me from a happy care-free mechanic and turn me into a horny bodybuilding queen.”


“You spend too much time playing cards.”

Gino sat down heavily, his throat was stifling sobs as the young girl in the garden stripped away all his denial and excuses. “This magus gave you a life of carnality, lust and pleasure… and in return you gave him your obedience. That’s the spell that crosses you. The spell you allow.”

“You’re wrong,” Gino almost whimpered. He was in shock and about to start hyperventilating. “I don’t want… I Don’t allow…”

Allysandra Vaughn leaned in close to him, with the calculation of a coiled viper, “Do you know why Damien’s spells never fail?”

Gino shook his head dejectedly.

“He lets the victims do all the work.”

The big Italian’s head shot up incredulously.

“Magic is nothing but the sheer force of belief. Now, Damien’s always been self-assured enough to be able to harness that into one hell of a weapon. He really believes in himself… but his spells are only illusion… UNTIL the victim starts to think they are real… wants them to be real.”

Gino considered it… Thinking of all the things he had done since he had first come out…wandering now how much was forced and how much was just freed.

She smiled a secretive knowing smile. “He strikes at men who have the dark desire to be punished, Men who wish their life was different, desperate for some kind of change, men who are ruled by their appetites: Sex, money, attention….” She spoke to him like she was reciting a recipe. “He casts a spell on them, trapping them in the punishment they privately know they deserve and he baits the trap with sexual inhibition and depravity.” She gave his big bicep a pat, “Human nature does the rest.”

Gino considered this for a moment and with a stark realization saw what she meant. “Damn”

“Damned.” She corrected, “Free will is the most powerful force in the universe.” She sat back happily, “So you see… everyone has a choice Mr. Salvatore… no magic can take that from you.”

Gino sat in silence.

“Now that I’ve read you… I can tell you about Damien….” She fidgeted uncomfortably, “He’s lost himself in a mirror. He used a mirror to change who he was and now… he’s just a reflection… of his true self. Fairy magic twists everything. He’s physically beautiful but rotting from the inside out.”

Gino was quiet and his hands were gripped in tight fists “He did that for me… Changed himself…”

“I expect he did.”

“He thought I wouldn’t be able to love him, if he weren’t some muscleboy” He looked up and his eyes were fighting back tears… “But I did! I loved him.”

“Yeah that’s unfortunately the other BIG problem. Love and our family don’t go well together.” Her smile was embarrassed, “Family curse.”

Gino rolled his eyes.

“If you Google: Vaughn, Tragedy and Love, It should catch you up.” She added helpfully.

“I’m confused.”

“This is what you need to know:” She sighed impatiently “He’s only a reflection of himself. The real Damien is somewhere in there…but he can’t see that. He’s off dancing with the fairies… he can’t tell what is real anymore…” She sighed again “Also, He’s a Vaughn. He fell in love. Now it’s destroying him. “

“Who did he fall in…”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She snapped. “We both know you’re not.”

“You’re a smart girl.” Gino said in a quiet voice.

”I know a lot.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know you are looking for him because you were told to.” Her voice was angry and protective. He began to defend himself but she added in a gentle tone, “And because you hope he can save you.”

She stood up, implying that the audience was over.

Gino wasn’t finished, “Well can’t you do something!”

She moved away from the table, as twilight began to descend on her garden. “Unfortunately my brother has made sure I’m going to be too busy trying to help two of my friends… for the moment my hands are tied.”

Alyssa stopped her retreat for a brief thoughtful second. She looked up at the skeleton of her once flourishing apple tree; now a dry husk. She reached out and retrieved one singular apple that had managed to survive her brother’s attack. She tossed it from hand to hand thoughtfully.

The young White witch glided back toward the house, a ghost in the fading light. “Two roads, Mr. Salvatore. The choice is yours.” She turned and gave him one last formidable glare, “Neither of those roads will lead to Damien saving you.”

Her voice hung in the air long after she had vanished into the night. Gino sat alone in the gloom, haunted.

Her last words floated on the breeze,

…“But I do pray one road will lead… to where you can save him…”


Somewhere else.

Somewhere hidden.

Somewhere far away.

Somewhere Deep beneath the Earth.

Somewhere it was hot all the time…

Somewhere unlucky men lived in torment…

The Dank musty smell of sex and blood perfumed the dark cell. The Jailers threw their prisoner back into his cage. Another night of fighting in the Box, trying to stay on his feet… not to fall… trying not to be the loser… not to be the man who got his ass…raped… had drained Leo of all his Strength.

He hated the box.

How long had this been going on? He lay in a pool of his own blood and piss and wandered how long his time in hell had been. There were no windows in the box or his Cell. The time was only marked by sleep… fighting for his life in the ring and the meal times of high protein gruel. His hell was eternal and unending.

He hated the Box.

When they first brought him here he was horrified to realize that he was supposed to fight gladiator style with other captives regularly… even more horrified to realize the loser of these brutal animal brawls was wrestled to the ground and raped for the amusement of the guards and the shadowy clapping figures in balconies high above the ring.

“You don’t look to good champ.” A familiar voice taunted him. “Your Pre-season training not what you expected?”

Leo was delirious and so exhausted that he didn’t even question the Demon’s presence. He looked up at Damien. He wore a heavy unzipped sweatshirt that revealed the deep cleft in his chest but covered his face in a deep cowl. Blue stars twinkled soullessly from the shadows of the hood.

Leo’s split lip bled down his chin and he spat blood all over the cement floor. “Is this Hell? Are you the devil?” He asked in a defeated tone.

Damien turned to him and regarded him with a wintry curiosity, “I thought you Leo, of all people, would be above such things as believing in the boogeyman.”


Damien drew closer to the crumpled form on the floor of the cell. He knelt down to meet Leo’s angry gaze. “The Devil is a fiction created by weak men.”

His cold voice displayed no hint of interest or emotion. “It’s a myth to keep the peasants in line. It kept the serfs in the pews and the coffers in the collection plate. Men believed it because it gave them an excuse for the evil and corruption inherent to their nature.”

“You are the devil…and this is hell…” Leo whispered to the blood stains on the floor. He didn’t even bother to look at the witch.

The demon stood surveying Leo’s raped and beaten body with appreciation, and continued his lecture. “It’s easier to say the devil made me do it, than it is to admit that the devil really is a little piece of yourself.” Damien’s eyes glittered beneath the hood, “No Leo I am not the Devil… but in a way… we all are.”

The beaten Prisoner let his head fall back to the cool concrete floor of his Cell. “Why did you come here?”

“To ensure that you were not dying. Death is not part of my design.” The dry voice explained.

The Man’s disinterest in his animal captivity, his cool composure at his torture and prison, ignited a fury in Leo. He managed to stand on wobbly legs and felt his nude ass leak blood and probably cum as he struggled to meet the man’s gaze. He reached down deep into himself, into the memory of who he really was, and wailed, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!!!” His scream came out in a flourish of spit and blood.

The man didn’t blink. “Because I can.”

Leo collapsed back down again, and for the first time since this hellish nightmare began he let himself weep. He sobbed quietly clutching his probably broken ribs. The realization, that this was all real and it was going to continue, crushed him in an avalanche of despair.

“…and quite frankly Leo… I think I like seeing you suffer.” The hooded and gothic specter melted into the shadows “I’ll be seeing you soon, whenever the Good Doctor declares you fit to play ball…. Goodbye Leo…”

Leo shuddered.

He realized that Damien was the first person to use his name in months… He barely recognized it.

The animal that he was becoming, barely recognized it. He huddled his broken naked body against the concrete, coughed and sobbed himself to sleep.





Life inside the Box and after…

The stories of several of Dr. Hearts Experiments

And of course, Leo’s reconditioning at Doctor Heart’s skilled Hands.

Nothing could be as horrible as Damien right?... Right?