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All My Friends

by theonehowl

I write these words so they may lead to my only salvation. Please read and use the descriptions to help find me. This seems to be a basement. Certain details give me an idea that it is bartender's home right above me. The ventilation warms the drafty space, and the furnishings look like older things moved out. But that doesn't excuse the kidnapping. Contact the police and tell them Teddy Bren was taken by Axxen Urses. The address 0801 Bratty Lane. The people at Chilligan's bar know he works there and have seen me. Please get help, I'm not sure what he's planning. In case his name is fake; he's a bear, white fur, 6' 2", big and round with muscle, maybe 280lbs, with a tuft of beard and glasses, and a scar on the right bicep. I don't remember how I got here. I was facing him about other friends disappearing. The 19[sup]th[/sup] Feb. Then, this is where and what I see. I need help. Get police, my parents, please help!!!

It's Saturday, I hope. There's more memories coming back, but I am having to mark the days and this is the only pen. I'm tired. I'm lonely. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to get out since trying to throw this into the neighbor's yard didn't work. The next door properties belong to Axxen. He explains during these session... during what he words as “the ways into solutions" but was actually more hypnosis sessions. They're not like our original ones back when... when we did those for my good.

Now, he's gone insane. Drugged my food, the specialized kibble that I am forcing down with water- a package let down into my space through a shoot built inside the wall. Before I could worry the tranquilizing contents in the food took away consciousness, the nightmare. It was welcomed. And I woke in the arms of that big bear, warm chest fur against the side of my face. His words explaining all the things, needs and responsibilities, the expulsions of my body and the cleaning of it all, were “taken care of already", and I fought to stay awake. The arms rocked and a gentle hum along the side of my face enchanted me down into darkness, more sleep. Strong words tell me to sleep, louder thoughts tell me escape, and I know deep down it's literally the hypnosis sessions being used to make those two aspects stronger. Sleeping with him, his voice, and lose track of which escape is the real one. To escape through a window, to escape through a session or time outside, to escape through a vent, to escape after sneaking the keys beside the mirror, to escape out the door and in the truck, to escape past the perimeter gates, get out of the house after knocking him out somehow. Naming the all just reduced their potential hope. The less hope, the more escaping into the other words, like relaxing arms and warmth. Freedom in letting go.

Escape seems unlikely. Even the attempt using this journal for help, and only finding it the next day... and that was long before I decided to pick this up and... get my last words, the last thoughts that belong to me, out on the page and stay sane through Axxen's process. Using my memories from the past and don't dwell on what he's doing. Don't let the things of his doing replace me. No matter how many drugs he pumps in me, no matter the mind games, I'll still be here, on the page. I keep this, I read and remind myself why I'm here, who I am: my friends and they need me. They didn't abandon me. They're here. Trapped. Like me. I know that, now. And when I find a way out, or someone finds us, maybe they will be free some day, too.

This all practically started at Chilligan's. We picked it for cheap food, fried flavors that accent a few cool beers on tap. Beginning the good times when someone said “another bear, please" when they meant beer. The word play referred to the bartender. Axxen. He was a regular placement in the community. A lot of people would hear his name and mention how they knew him, he's nice and volunteers a lot. Always, the other people I heard talk about this bear, their description of where he lived “something fancy". Bratty Lane exists up in the hilly section, outskirts of east Rolling City. Very out of the way.

My friends, the 3 that I had known since highschool, started meeting regularly after moving off into different colleges. Edgar started the requisite courses towards a degree in physics. Paula caw'd about her music major and flapped those dark feathery wings in excitement every time she got to bring it up. Siri just shrugged and said they'd know more after getting the Associate's finished. I thought of just going for English and teaching. Siri and I exchanged a certain look whenever we both talked about the future. Then, we'd both sip our beer and change topics with asking Paula anything about herself.

Edgar was the first to go missing. Axxen must have lured him in the house with some curious discussion about thrust and propulsion, the words I remember Edgar trying to describe in excited tones. I know better, now. That's the curious hook of Axxen, starting with something you're familiar with, probably knowledgeable himself at many things, and, before you know, he invites you over to talk more. It seems harmless since the house is not low profile. In just a moment, using some bar tending techniques at his own house, my lizard friend let down their guard at some point. Drugged drink or just a cozy conversation derailing into suggestions and the pleasure of control. The white polar bear's words may have seduced Edgar, I'm not sure. We never figured him out that way. Siri and him kissed once, but kissing Siri won't explain what you're in to.

I miss kissing Siri...

I miss you, Siri. I miss Edgar. I miss Paula. I miss those times. The very sacred and seldom time to travel a town over, or across a state line, and join up at the bar. Just losing hours with catching up and laughing. The time we did furious texting over those weeks about Paula's bad taste in men and the new jerk. She'd fallen for Axxen before any of us took a liking to him. Just Edgar got the first invite. The bird brain thought she was the one seducing this bar tender. So, after Edgar went missing, our next meet up was a little bewildered and no catching up happened. We waited in astonished silence, some saying “he'll be here soon, right?" And we almost started checking around before Axxen stated that he was at a frat, and it's doing a certain event this weekend. We believed him for some strange reason. So obvious, now.

That night, Paula stayed behind while Siri and me took comfort in each other at a nearby motel. Missing Edgar left both of us needing the touch and embrace. The sex that night is bitter, now. Knowing the circumstances by this point, and what our friend Paula fell into. Maybe we could've done something. She most likely went home with him, got in his car and fell into the bear's strong tone and soothing selection of words, probably in the vehicle before getting to his place. Siri and I found it strange immediately that silence, no communication the next day. We felt something happened. And not waiting another few weeks for our traditional meet-up, Siri met me at Chilligan's as soon as it opened for lunch.

While waiting to confront Axxen, I went to the restroom, and she was gone. Depression and panic. Axxen stayed there, and lots of other patrons were around. He said she just left in a big hurry. I said “she wouldn't leave without telling me." And through a clever little talk, calming and soothing my nerves, by hearing and understanding the way I feel, the bear convinces me to come back the next day. A few hours later, Siri texts to meet tomorrow for lunch, again. It was too important to talk at the time, she uses as the excuse. But I know, now, Axxen took her, or made her go to his place while he stayed at the bar the whole time. He made her text me that message. It must be the suggestions, a power of hypnosis that he implanted over a long time through small anecdotes we absorbed from him.

And, so, I was alone, at the bar booth. The bar was practically empty. There was Axxon. He offered to close up early, cheer me up. I'm numb from all that's happened. A little voice says I need to go do something, help them somehow. Inner voice suspicious of him and where this was going. But I am at a loss, isolated. He pats my shoulder as we left, walking out and him locking the door. It's not even wrong to get in his car, to allow him to drive up Bratty Lane for 25 minutes and poor some drinks. Nothing felt out of place. I never got a word in, just Axxen explaining the way life works, the way people are, this one time, over in Chattsville, and on he goes, the way we go.

That's how disarming Axxen is. He finds the weak points and breaks down so effortlessly those desperate and innocent enough. Something in me should be angry. But I miss the big arms, the deep and peaceful voice taking away the silence and confusion. Loneliness makes me feel betrayed, and this giving in to what can't be helped anymore is not the betrayal that it looks like. The bear's words bring tranquility to this chaos. The things I do, what is happening, and how desperately I know I would normally stop and prevent this. Yet, that's not happening. I am listening and obeying him. This resistance, it's an unconscious thing that he chips away. And maybe for my own good at this point. For my sanity and salvation.

I have to sleep.

It still feels pointless. Writing this, nobody's listening. Only me. Listening to the soft voice, taking in the food set out in a dog bowl and succumbing to the drugs. He's adding more. Through the haze, a tolerance building up, the big hands wield a needle with fluid. I try to pretend to be asleep, retain as much as possible. His belt buckle shines above tight blue jeans and the bulge running down a massive thigh. When the needle penetrates, it reminds me to look, and the liquid's only a clear substance inside the syringe.

I guess it makes me hornier. There's no coincidence about this cage attached between my legs. It's tight, small and squeezing, vibrating against the arousal fighting for freedom, unable to grow further and bouncing against the bars. Before he begins our “talk session", a quick induction of triggers and testing the depth of sleep. I wonder if the others are getting the talks. I'm more awake, either from the tranquilizer wearing off sooner or the burning heat pushing into this metal cock cage. He talks about being the Master. Master of my orgasms. Master of my sex. Master of my body. Master of my mind. Master of the heat. He keeps saying Master, and the throbbing matches the rhythm.... desires to be free. The Master tames those desires. And, again, rattling the list over, out loud, the Master goes on. It's too difficult to deny how the sexual frustration wins sometimes. It breaks barriers I didn't realize would break down. Looking at him, the Master, so much pleasure that it's addictive. The addiction cycle of getting myself hard enough to squeeze out, release just a little arousal from the over-stimulated flesh.

Have to drop the topic of my torture and manipulation, the cage hurts enough already. But the horny, throbbing heat causes the difficulty in thinking about anything else. And he said I would have trouble forming thoughts through the heat. Master of heat. He said it would take my mind off things if the frustration drove me insane, and it really does. Master just makes me throb. The word, the thought, and the twisted way I'm compelled to drive the heat down deeper. Saying Master. Thinking of Axxen. Master. It's the way the cage wraps tighter against my dragonhood.

There's this beautiful time with Siri, when I'd touch up inside and find the right button. Long dragon digits petting and coaxing delicious gasps and screams. The cute sounds they made for just a few moments before coming. If Master does the same to me, I'd bet he feel this same pride and power over another. I felt it when playing around up inside Siri. Somehow, that makes the heat melt and the whole cage is wet, now. It's hard to understand why it feels like that when talking about giving more sexual control and power to Master to have over me. Something about that phrase gives him more sexual control and power over my mind. Something about the repetition Master uses gives him more sexual control and power over my mind. I slightly remember giving him more sexual control and power over my mind. Now I remember giving him sexual control and power over my mind. I can remember dreaming about his sexual control and power over my mind. Dreams.

I'm straight. More or less. Siri's cock never registered to me. The way she carried herself and always interacted with me, whenever we were intimate, we spoke the same language, one required for another who's masturbated to female porn and fantasied about older teachers and punk girls in skirts. Siri in that skirt is such a good memory, still. Yet, Axxen had his way with me, today.

I blame the cage, the drugs creating incessant need and painful fullness. The cage clamped out precum and erections from me for hours last night until passing out. Exhaustion put an end to an abyss of mindlessness. Being that horny and susceptible scares me. I can't even read all the text without falling again. And so Axxen threatened worse. He says so confidently that the knobs on my arousal are under his thick digits and can go up ten times more. It sounds so true and real. That's when he forces it out, while threatening to turn up my depravity past the point of shattering my persona, I had no choice except to admit utter love and desire for him. Just as he commanded.

The bear always did the sessions shirtless in some simple belt and jeans. Pure white fur, the polar bear suddenly grew in my perception then. Then, sighting the well knit muscles of the shoulders and arms, a belly with a worked out chest, and the thick thighs with a massive trunk between. With permission to act on what has just been revealed in me, my body moved on all fours, and with full clarity I watched as my mouth and hands took out the bear's shaft. The length appeared in front of me, tall enough to angle where Axxen's approving smile floated in the background above. He exists up there, and me far down here. The smell of his balls and taint made me believe that they've not been washed for the very least a day. It was something I had to close my eyes and spend several minutes whiffing to experience. Unsure of when I liked this scent of a man, part of the mind filled in for Axxen by admitting it's always been like this. I'm not gay, but Axxen's got my eyes and nose into him. Once the smell was mostly memorized, the belly took over as the new obsession. Never did I fantasize about a belly, or jerk off to one. Yet, he can tell by my kisses and nuzzles, the cupping hand on its side while the other strokes his growing cock, there's worship in my eyes and devotion in my breathing. My cock is surprisingly, achingly hard... even after getting me off earlier, to clear the hedonist personality that took over last night. Just so a new one could move in; at least, I got to choose this personality. At least I can write this, now.

With a clear head, the nightmarish heat won't enslave my mind into thinking about Axxen and the taste of his cock forever. Already came three times since being placed back in this sub-room. Keep thinking about the cage and how wild it made the heat. There's a fear inside towards being put in it, again. That fear gets me off every time. Almost enough relief. This craving for Master, to call Axxen my Master, to go back inside the cage and allow him to control sexually over me and manipulate more of his power into the confines of my mental resistance. It's easier to get off when I say it like that.

This will be the fifth time, now. But Axxen has sexual control over me and may have power over my mind. It's better if he just chooses what I think next. That feels so good. I can't keep going like this. I need him to stop this over-stimulation.

It's just been another day. Except I yearn and ache so many different ways for Master. I had to apologize for trying to run away just for a chance to lick and worship his cock. The smell of him called out so desperately that knowing the difference between who's right and wrong lost meaning. The bear just carries this scent that calms and soothes in ways no words describe. We barely did that much oral. We talked a lot about what I love about men, now. Well, now that I've been with one. It's easy to admit to him that I'm falling for the bear. That him making me call him Master felt like the best thing to do to awaken what's probably been there all my life. All I needed was the right bear. It's really personality, we helped me discover. Other guys just didn't treat me the way my Master does. Master Axxen gently weilds power and expects perfect behavior naturally, without discipline. His correction and molding have a pleasant, easy process. He admitted that I'm already in that process. That we're correcting and disciplining me, now.

Whenever Master Axxen says, “Smack" loudly and pronounces it right, then my brain will feel spanked. It almost feels a little red and hot, now. He kept saying “Smack" after talking about how pink my brain is, then getting red hot will put me deeper into his control. And that was funny to me, I said, he already completely, sexually controls me and has power over my mind. Master really liked that. The bear grinned the most I'd ever seen. That's when the bear layed me over his lap, as if about to give me spankings. The word “Smack" rang out louder, more forcefully that it squeezed gasps from my lips. Master made me call him “Master" while between each “Smack" popping my brain. The bear's palm on my smooth ass associated the contours of the inner palm into the soft lobes. The words smacked the brain and the palm left it hot. Searing into my mind, the bear's control reduced this dragon into a pile of withering moans, drooling and desperate, complacent answers to his every request.

There were black out moments. And then fuzzy moments where something Master said, hypnotic voice and suggestions, that bind me to him. My heart is being bound up. And he confided in me that I've been the hardest one to crack. And I instantly apologized and said I'd do whatever I can to remedy my resistance to his Love and Control. Then he told me to write about Love and Control. Think about his Love and Control over me. And I find enough Love and Control inside my heart and soul for him to use, then we'll make me into something totally different. He says that it's a surprise.

The sessions today was a breakthrough like no other. Dad lets me call him that, now. I love saying Dad. It helps my mind feel connected to the cock I suck almost everyday. The seed that flavors my mouth until feeding time the next morning. It helps me see him the way I do, especially since every feeding comes with a drugging, cleaning, and shots. Dad does all that for me. And he called me son. The moment he said it, I came so hard. Which was a big no no. So we put me back in the cage, reminding us how in control Dad really is. It's going to drive me insane. Especially when I think about my Dad controlling orgasms and reducing thoughts to nothing. Nothing but sucking his huge cock and drinking cum for him.

This cage is frustrating. It just makes me want to worship and give up more. But I don't feel like that's possible. Nothing really seems possible without Dad enabling it. He basically controls all my life at this point. The cage leaks, and I can't stop thinking about Dad's control. Imagining him saying “son" again. And “Smack". That feels so good. My brain has a big and red, strong bear paw print on its hilly, lobed surface. We do that daily. Paint my brain red with his love and discipline while his son thanks and worship Master for being the best Dad ever. After all the “Smack" triggering and the tears of joy rolling from my cheeks, Dad simply asks the same question at the summation of each session: “What do you want most, son?" And it's always the same, to bring absolute joy and pleasure, happiness to the one I have all this gratitude for.

...Dad just visited me in the night. He just fucked me so good, cumming inside and leaving his son's ass a dripping, creamy surprise. I want to write more, but he commanded me to sleep. I miss him and wish he didn't leave...

Another breakthrough, one after another, these days just collide and blend as the sessions go on. It's weirder, now. The cage inserts us into a state of fugue and lucidity, Dad explained the words but I can only vaguely use them based off the memory of one day. He thought that was interesting. It feels like rambling whenever my mouth opens for Him. Just nothing comes out but words that decided what best pleases Him, the thoughts that are designed to please Him. It sounds like only nonsense, but it's obvious somewhere floating nearby I see us having a conversation. And it's only obvious we do this all the time, every day.

Then, Dad shifts the totality in me when exploring this “interesting" idea. We can either address this obsession with regressing into further dependence upon Him, or let me decide what I want. An alien word invaded my senses, but once He planted it, the mind just knew instantly like it had been there all along. Unpacking this new thing inside my mind, and pulling out memory after memory of Dad and the sessions, deep droopy body in His arms, cleaning in the haze of drugs, falling inside the voice always around me, surrounding me, the clutches of His love squeezing the most beautiful feelings from the deepest parts inside. And then, He said, go look back through the journal and remember where this started. “You'll figure out what you want." And he was right.

This journal is filled with old thoughts, old thinking, old personalities that don't jell with us. This is a new day. These old things, somehow still exist, but not in this way. And I felt compelled to tell him that the next day. We agreed to just burn them, in a cast iron dutch over under the stove vent.

The next thing, the most wonderful things happened. Dad showed me to some new friends. We walked down a hall, down a corridor, into a clean, stainless steel place lit brightly with lots of chemistry sets and a microscope, glass shelves of bottles of medicine and fluids, even an operating table... He said stay, so I waited... Then, he came back around the corner. My eyes shined. I lit up with joy. I cried a little.

All my friends were here. They ran up excitedly, on all fours, transformed. Literally, their bodies and breed all reduced into a feral canine form. Coloration carried over, their eyes visually identifiable. I knew them despite the husky like appearance. They licked my face, greeted me, wagged and jumped. Their energy was contagious. We tumbled around, them scratching for attention and panting with long tongues. “How do you like them?"

They're amazing. And we're all together, reunited. I finally did it. I found them. Just as I said I would.