The Old Boss
#7 of Reflections on a Rat
I thought it was just going to be another day on the picket line. Despite all our best efforts--and the mysterious disappearance of several high-profile supporters of the bill--our lawmakers had decimated our civil rights with the stroke of a pen.
Of course, the crowd wasn't large--we are a minority to begin with, after all, and the news cycle has already passed us over. The police weren't suppressing us, so as far as the media were concerned, we were basically a nonstory.
Whatever. We still had social media going on and a steady influx of love from the more civilized areas of the country. I was taking lots of pictures and most of them were being received pretty well, though there were definitely the usual trolls too.
The day was hot and dragging on as I leaned on my sign and downvoted the more vicious comments, occasionally stopping to chant with the others as people passed in and out of the capitol building. Do what's right! Down with hate! Johnson's law discriminates!
I don't have all the stamina I had when I was a teen, though, so when I felt we could reasonably take a break, I offered to go pick up lunch for everyone. A badger girl decided to follow along with me.
The nearest place was D'Argento's, but even though pizza sounded great, the big sign in their window that proclaimed their support for the bathroom bill ruled them out altogether.
"Was there another pizza place nearby here?" I asked the badger.
"I'm not even from this part of town," she said.
"Sal's is just a block down," said a voice from behind me.
The speaker was a large rat--well over six and a half feet tall, and burly--who looked vaguely familiar. He had just come out of the pizzeria and was holding the discriminatory sign, which he then proceeded to tear in pieces.
"I'm headed that way myself. You're welcome to follow along." His voice was deep and his accent foreign--there was something irresistible in it. You couldn't help but look into those dark eyes of his as he spoke.
"All right," I said, though as we started down the street again he turned to give the badger who was with me an odd look. She stopped, seemed confused for a moment, then reversed course back towards the protests.
"I've been hoping to spend some time with you," the rat said, making me tremble with sudden arousal at the thought of his interest. But I'd only just met him, hadn't I? He looked familiar but I honestly couldn't remember seeing him before--I would have surely remembered the way he looked over me, massive belly and built chest irresistible to my attention.
We crossed the intersection and he led me into a little side alley alongside the other pizza shop. He seemed to fill the whole of that narrow space, leaning over and into me with a domineering but not entirely unwelcome intimacy.
"It's been a long time, honey bear."
I very nearly wet my pants as I remembered the rat.
Mister Rockwell.
It was impossible to escape--the big rat had me pinned against the wall.
(I didn't want to escape. Why on earth would I want to escape?)
Mister Rockwell saw my panic, and only smiled. Why should he be concerned? He could rewrite my thoughts at will--anyone's thoughts.
If I was afraid, he wanted me to be afraid.
I know that turned him on.
I can't remember whether, when I first met him, it turned me on as well.
But I know it does now.
The combination of fear of the rat and attraction to the rat made me tremble. I knew he was aroused as well--there was that unmistakable bulge in his pants, that unmistakable scent of his arousal, and that unmistakably cruel grin of a predator who's just captured its prey.
Mister Rockwell wanted me.
Mister Rockwell hungered for me.
Mister Rockwell was going to have me. Right there, right then, in that dim alley beside Sal's pizzeria, with crowds of people walking past at every moment.
Not that any of them would be allowed to see, of course. Rockwell's public image was always very carefully curated.
And suddenly I was stripping for him, his dark hungry eyes watching me as I exposed myself for him. I felt my cheeks redden as my pants came off, even though I knew nobody could see--
--why would I think that? Rockwell wouldn't care if people saw me_._
Were people stopping to look at me as they walked by the alleyway? I couldn't even tell. When I tried to look to the mouth of the alley, my glance just slid to either side.
Fucking rat.
I felt control return to my arms as I stood naked in front of Rockwell. Attempts to move my legs to escape, of course, still failed.
"What do you want, sir?" I asked.
The hunger in his eyes required no answer.
The opening of his jaws did.
"But-- you didn't like my taste, sir..."
"Tastes change."
"But I'm--"
"You're the one I... I've..." The rat faltered only briefly as emotions he wouldn't name crossed his face.
Then control returned. "I don't really need to explain. But you're coming home."
His jaws stretched wide again and he took my head into his cavernous maw.
I felt him gag a little as he tried to overcome the honeyed taste of my fur. But another effort and my nose was pressed against the back of his throat.
I struggled to escape. Even though I knew the attempt would be hopeless, maybe I could at least hurt him--take the enjoyment out of his meal. But his fur was thick as ever, and I could tell I wasn't having any effect as I beat on him. As my head was forced down the tight passage of his throat, my arms were pinned to my side by the ridiculous stretch of his maw, making the resistance even more futile.
The rat pushed down further, firm and powerful swallows drawing me deeper down his throat as he took in my shoulders and chest, before he took hold of my body by the hips and lifted me up into the air, holding me up against the wall in such a way that the weight of my body would pull me down to his stomach faster.
It only took a few more swallows before Mister Rockwell had fully devoured me.
In the darkness of his stomach, I wondered what would happen next.
Mister Rockwell never had a favored way of treating his meals--it was often a toss-up whether you'd end up digested or let out in one piece. You never knew how long you'd be conscious of what was going on--sometimes you'd black out as soon as you hit the stomach lining...sometimes he'd keep your thought processes going till you were nothing more than a pile of shit in a toilet.
But whatever happened, you'd always come out changed.
Mister Rockwell's power over minds weakened with distance.
Inside him, in the darkness of his gut, his power was absolute.
And I was afraid, because I couldn't tell what he was doing.
The rat's stomach rocked gently, telling me he had started moving. I tried to imagine Mister Rockwell moving through crowds with the belly the size of a person hanging in front of him. Would people stop to comment? I don't think anyone would dare. It was hard enough to imagine the rat in a crowd, anyway. Either other people were background to him, or he wasn't seen at all.
I felt myself being hefted up as the rat lifted his belly to sit down. A steady rumble told me we were on the subway. I tried to readjust myself for comfort, but I accomplished little more than to get further coated in the slime that puddled along the bottom of his stomach.
The air was getting bad, and I was having trouble staying awake.
The lull of the subway noise that filtered through the rat's body, the grumbles of his digestive system getting used to its meal, the gentle massage of Mister Rockwell stroking me through his gut--all conspired to nudging me towards sleep.
As my consciousness diminished, I could feel the new thoughts forming in my head.
I belong to Master Rockwell. I serve Master Rockwell without question. I will never leave him again.
I woke up on my old bed at Rockwell's house, still coated in digestive juices. The rat was sitting by the bed, unconcerned.
"I hate you," I said. At least he'd left me that.
"You don't," he said, as if it were true.
"What do you want me for? Why?"
His dark eyes made no answer.
I sat up. "Master Rockwell..."
"No," said the rat. "There won't be any more explanations. Things will be as I wish them to be, period."
Before I could say anything, he waved his paw, and I passed out.
I woke up the next morning with my fur in a terrible state from whatever had dried out in it. I took a good long shower and tried to compose myself.
I felt worn out, like I'd just gone through a terrible day, but I couldn't remember why.
My roommate knocked on the door. "Mel! I haven't got all day."
The other bear grumbled at me as I gathered up my stuff and let her in.
"Hey...when did I get home last night? I feel like I blacked out, but I don't even remember going drinking."
"I don't think you even went out. That old boss of yours brought you home all covered in slime just as I was getting back from work. How is he, anyway? He wouldn't stop to talk."
"How's who? What boss?"
"That big rat, Rockwell."
I shrugged off the question. The name wasn't familiar and I felt...well, I felt like everything in the world was more important than that, for some reason.
"Hey, have you picked up lunch yet?" I asked. "I could really do with some pizza."