THE SWITCHER
Michael Graham was as uninteresting to me as last time, because I wanted to mess with his son more than with him. I couldn't say why I wanted to inflict so much horror and pain on the boy. Well, he had refused the mohawk the first time, so that was all the reason I needed to punish him indefinitely.
I walked into Doyle's room and stunned him once again before he had even turned around. To my disappointment he had shaved his head, so the circle on top was barely visible even for someone who knew to look for it. Wow, what an asshole. He had refused my gift again.
The boy hadn't gotten many of his files back. I had been thorough last time. I took the time to get rid of everything again, but more importantly I decided to leave him a message. I wrote on paper and pocketed the letter.
In the process of using his notebook, I saw that Doyle was taken to using pen and paper instead of digital files. Well, I grabbed them all and took his notebooks with me, of course.
Dragging the zombie-like teen behind me, I led him downstairs and back into the car. I left him with a fresh stun while I threw his paperwork away in neighborhood trash cans.
After removing Doyle's jeans, I used the old anal-alcohol insertion trick again to make sure he would be strongly buzzed by the time he woke up.
A target in mind, I drove off. I had left him in someone's home three times. A fourth time would just be boring, wouldn't it?
I fell into a routine of stunning the boy about once every time a new song came on as I navigated us to the edge of the suburb where the real city began.
Dragging Doyle behind me, I made us both enter a mall. We made our way to the very back so Doyle would have a long way outside if he decided to flee.
Once we were in an aisle with no one else around, I stripped the boy.
For a final time I checked the message on my letter. It said, "Hello Doyle, I saw you undergo one of these occurrences. I'm a friend, trying to help you. The entity who haunts your life has marked you as a finished target. Since you keep destroying the mark you keep getting re-targeted."
If the boy read that far he was likely to be greedily waiting for anything helpful. I was willing to give him that. The letter ended with, "If you want to keep these things from ever happening again, you must keep the mark. I believe, in your case, it is the hairstyle, seeing as you appear to carry no scars inflicted by these entities (yet). Make sure the hair you have left is always visible. Make a palm tree out of it, for example. Other entities can be kept away by applying other types of markings. Piercings seem to help many in your situation, although I cannot say which ones. It may be best to try a lot of them. –Your Liberator."
I folded the paper and taped it to his left biceps. He'd notice it, without a doubt, but would be unable to read it before he was in a safer place and had some time to think about anything but the current situation.
This time I dared to stay. I would make it out the place way ahead of him unless he ran, and in that case he was unlikely to spot his father's car.
On the other side of Doyle's aisle, I climbed the shelf and looked down on him as he snapped back into reality. His mind had to be sluggish from the booze, but he certainly understood what had happened to him – again.
A second long it looked like he was about to cry, but he took a few deep breaths and covered his crotch before looking around. He didn't spot me, looking down on him from in between cleaning supply crates.
To my surprise he tore the letter off his skin and read it right there. Doyle's eyes widened and he gasped. Something like a smile flickered across his face. He finally saw a way out of these situations. Good for him.
When the boy crumpled the letter and tensed I figured I should get going. He rushed to the exit, a few people along the way shouting at him or crying out in surprise as he ran past.
I walked after him and left the mall casually, he was already out of sight. Running had to be his general strategy. It seemed he had gotten away lie that every time.
Driving home, I wondered if I should do anything with Michael since it was my last visit into his head as well.
On a whim, I squeezed his cocoon to get some random information. A few dates and facts flew by, then I got to absorb some memories. Many of them were uninteresting – office stuff and sex with his wife. But a few were about Doyle's recent exploits. Apparently the boy had passed his new appearance off had his own idea and never told anyone about how he had woken up nude and drunk in someone else's home.
Arriving at the Graham residence, I wanted to turn the memory stream back off, but it didn't work. The man's mind was too fractured to let me simply put the cocoon back together. Edges of his mind's pieces were missing or in the process of crumbling.
Worse, the pieces were sinking into me like sparks. I got to know useless details about him and his life which he would never remember again. I switched out and could sense that it was more difficult this time as the factored mind didn't push me away – unable to slide smoothly into place.
I felt Michael's mind reassemble as I left, falling into place like pieces of a key dropped one by one into a keyhole – sticking together only lightly.
Waking up in my own body I was confused. It had taken much longer than usual for my mind to rush back through the darkness and this journey had left me dazed.
A scary experience for sure. I needed a distraction. The pull was still there so I went back to sleep.
The 14 year old Joshua Thomas was getting skullfucked pretty hard when I arrived in his mind. I looked up through reddened eyes, blinking away tears. The thickly muscled man above me had to be in his thirties or forties.
I decided Joshua was going to get my second lingering so I switched out and watched the boy master the art of gagging and chocking. The man occasionally gave tips and made encouraging comment which Joshua swallowed up just like he did pre-cum.
It seemed the kid had a natural talent for serving men and was learning how to unfold his true potential. I watched for a while until the man jizzed into Joshua's eyes, blinding the boy and me. Maybe they'd go for a second round later, but I didn't feel like watching it all again.
Reginald Forster aka player number 9, was out and about, probably getting more proof pictures. He had the pink mohawk, extremely short shorts with a pink speedo underneath, wore the cock ring and collar and walked in leather boots I rather liked. To my disappointment, he was wearing a baggy top that covered his chest, concealing his tattoos and nipple rings.
After a moment of shaking my head at no one in particular, I treated the surrounding people to a view of Reg's massive, thick, smooth torso and dropped the shirt.
Walking up to a bridge, I poked a glory hole for the man.
"Hello there, Reg," I mumbled. "Just a little reminder that additional clothing is not part of the deal."
I leaned over the bridge's edge, holding a precarious balance. Cars were rushing past underneath. "Also, let me make sure you remember what is at stake here, alright? Don't try to play outside the rules. The final round is approaching and you'll want to be on the winning team, because if not..."
Leaning a bit further and wobbled just as a truck shot out from under the bridge.
"I hope you understand the message here, Reg. See you soon, unless you're lucky and win. Somehow I'm not sure you're taking this seriously enough to be on the winning site. We'll see."
Leaving his utterly terrified mind to itself, I switched to the last link in the chain.
Keith McCoy was cooking at home, a plate of chicken breast just finished in front of him. He looked perverse and stupid, but also kind of sexy. The rainbow hair, eye liner tattoo and general near nakedness was too much, sure – but his cock ringed dick was nicely semi hard and I had an urge to just jerk off for a while.
I woke him up right away, pulled the shorts down and masturbated.
"Hey there, Keith." His mind was less panicked than Reg's but he was certainly shocked at the sudden appearance of his tormenter and the loss of control.
"Just here to remind you I'm still watching and I really hope you don't plan on messing up. Do I need to remind you what happens to losers?"
The flare of fear was the answer I had looked for.
"Good. I only hope for your sake that your teammate won't disappoint. You are graded together, so you better hope he's on board with the final task."
Moaning lowly, I shot Keith's load onto his food and left.
With my switch-chain done for the moment I entertained myself in a different way. Using my riches I had prepared a luxurious hotel room. I had never set foot in it and never would, but I had a few expensive cameras and a light setup installed around the bed. There was a camera from every angle, including from above. Several more were distributed throughout the room so I wouldn't miss anything that happened even if it was off the bed.
Keith and Reg had met. They knew all the rules for the final round and had gotten started with step one. Throughout the day I had received a flurry of images of the two making out in public – wearing their usual attire of course.
Now it was time for the grand finale.
On my multiple monitors I watched them enter the hotel room. They were clearly nervous but I was confident that my threats had been sufficient to keep the on the task.
The two undressed separately, before turning to face each other. I knew Reg was straight. With Keith I wasn't so sure. He had seemed strangely eager in a few rounds.
Luckily for me, they got right to it. Making out sloppily, the two dropped onto the bed. Reg's huge body practically crushed the slim teen's under itself. Keith moaned as he rubbed his naked self on the man. Aside from the cock rings, they wore nothing. I got ultra-high definition shots of their tattoos and piercings. To my delight their permanent eye liner looked perfectly real on camera.
Reg threw Keith around however he pleased and eventually got access to the boy's ass. The man buried his face and rimmed for his life. Keith's moans seemed a little exaggerated but who cared if he was performing – I had after all told them their show was going to have to be better than that of the other team.
Shortly after, Reg pushed the teen around again to press his erection into the boy's face. Keith started sucking while Reg went back to the rim job.
They played with their own nipple rings and eventually with each other's. Keith was getting skullfucked beyond what he could handle. I watched him struggle against the urge to interrupt the sex, out of fear to be graded negatively on their performance.
Then Reg grabbed lube off the nightstand and smeared some on two of his fingers. He crouched down over Keiths's face so it was the little teen's turn to sink his tongue between massive cheeks.
The man shoved two fingers up the boy's hole and formed a hook, pulling, twisting and wiggling to loosen the ass up.
When Reg thought he was ready, he simply got up, pulled Keith into positon and fucked him doggy style. It showed that the man had no experience with gay sex because he went in way to fast and too deep, but Keith's screams were muffled as the man slammed Keith's head into the mattress.
The fuck only intensified from there one, shaking Keith so fast that he blurred even in high definition.
A minute in, Keith cummed hands-free. Reg didn't slow down, he didn't even notice. After about five minutes, the man pulled out, slapped the boy until he laid on his back and shoved his dick back into the boy's mouth.
Five minutes after that, Reg went back to fucking. He shot his load with a guttural moan, his hands both squeezing Keith's neck.
The massive man collapsed on top of the boy and they lay there, motionless aside from heavy breathing.
I started editing the footage.
On the next day I sent them the same text.
"Congratulation on winning The Game. Since contestants 5 and 8 have not performed to our satisfaction, we have elected you two the winning team. Your price money will be given according to how well your individual showing was graded by out committee. You may hear from us again some other time. We consider you eligible for another round of partition once your style deviates too far from the current one. Farewell."
I sent them both five thousand. It was a great amount of money, seen in isolation, but it was below anything they had received so far for winning a round.
The final video I created was uploaded to every platform I could think off, like I had done with Allen Adams. Of course I put their full names in the title and the tags. Maybe one or both would see it as the start of a career in gay porn.
It had been a long time since my last switch.
For almost a month I had not visited a new victim. I was keeping in touch with all my contacts, especially Bobby, but whenever I went to sleep I only felt a faint pull, very different from the ones I had felt before.
Was I losing my ability? It was a sad thought to have.
The Game is over, but everybody is a winner. Also, the return of Doyle. And Joshua found his purpose. The story is drawing to a close.