Good Little Piggy

By Swizzington - SwizzingtonMC@Gmail.com
published January 19, 2018
7928 words
Summary

It’s a normal Tuesday morning, and two police officers are on a routine welfare check at a residence in a sleepy, suburban neighborhood. That is, until they start breathing the smoke… and then things become a little…less routine…

Dover, Delaware. April 11, 1967. A sleepy suburban avenue.

Sergeant Tom Willis let his Plymouth Fury roll to a lazy stop by the side of the road. The gravel crunching underneath his tires the only sound of any significance on a quiet, overcast morning. He glanced at his watch as an identical police vehicle pulled in behind him. 10:05am. The street was virtually empty. Everyone was at work, he figured.

Willis climbed out of his car and stretched a little on the sidewalk as he waited for his backup to join him. He looked around. Green, orderly lawns spanned both sides of the street. The houses were not exactly downscale, but they were not extravagant either. A small, standard, unassuming American neighborhood, where nothing ever happened.

“Hey, Peach,” Willis said as John Peterson hopped spritely out of his car and approached. In truth, Willis had no idea why everyone called Peterson, ‘Peach’. It had apparently been a nickname he had picked up at the academy, and had carried through into the department - quickly becoming the only name anyone ever used.

“Good morning, sir!” Peach said enthusiastically, a big, eager grin on his boyish face.

Willis turned slightly away, as if the words themselves possessed some sort of physical force. His brow furrowed, “Told you not to call me that, Peach,” he growled impatiently. Seeing the boy’s stricken expression, he slowly turned around and placed his hand on Peach’s shoulder in the way a father would to a son while imparting an important piece of wisdom. Their eyes locked on each other, “Just relax, man. When you’re out in the field, there’s no superiors like that. Just brothers. Out here, the only people that say ‘sir’ are the civilians…to us. Got it?”

The horrified grimace that had replaced Peach’s original wide-mouthed beam now turned into a tight-lipped, sheepish smile. He nodded and averted his gaze to the ground, a little embarrassed.

Willis eyed him closely for a moment. He liked Peach. The kid had a good attitude. Took his job seriously and never mistreated people. His uniform was crisp and perfectly pressed, his tie was neat and straight underneath his leather shoulder strap, and his knee-high boots were the shiniest Willis had ever seen. The one thing about Peach was that he had only been out of the academy six months, and still very much had the rulebook lodged firmly up his ass. Procedures, protocols, rules. These were things that, Willis had found over the years, to be more of a formality, than a necessity.

Not that Willis saw himself as some sort of grizzled old veteran. Yes, he had been a cop for almost two decades. And yes, at thirty-seven, he was fifteen years older than Peach, that much was true. But he certainly did not feel like a veteran. He did not want to feel that way. As soon as you start thinking like that, Willis thought cynically, they’ll be retiring you, sticking your pension in your hand, and waving you goodbye as you’re shipped off to Florida to waste away in the sunshine.

That was probably why he kept himself in such good shape. Peach might be younger, but physically he had nothing on Willis. Peach was only 5’7”. His height, combined with his narrow shoulders, narrow waist and unexceptionally-sized biceps gave him a body that looked more like a high schooler on the swim team, than a fully-fledged law enforcement officer.

When Willis first met Peach, he had wondered why the department had hired him. Certainly it was not for his physical characteristics. It was only in the months that followed that the sergeant realized that Peach would not be a beat cop for long, and the people making the hiring decisions knew that too. The kid was remarkably intelligent, a real bookworm, probably the smartest cop in the department. He had gone to some fancy college and graduated a year early. Willis predicted Peach would be one of the department’s primary detectives in just a couple of years. And eventually, he would probably be Willis’ boss too.

But the older cop was okay with that, he had never encountered someone as sharp or as good natured. Although, given Peach’s age and experience, he could be a little naïve at times. But that was only natural.

“Right, let’s head inside,” Willis said assertively, gesturing towards the nearest house, “It’s this one right here.”

They strode up the short pathway together up onto the front porch. The house had been painted a pastel blue. It might have looked good once, but now the paint had started to crack and peel. There were leaves from the previous autumn still littered across the wooden porch. Cobwebs filled the corners. Whoever lived here apparently did not believe in maintenance.

Willis stepped forward and rapped hard on the front door, before turning to his companion and saying quietly, “This is your first welfare call, isn’t it, Peach?”

“Yes, sergeant,” Peach murmured solemnly.

“Alright. It’s simple enough. It’s usually a false alarm. Elderly people go on vacation, don’t tell their neighbors. Neighbors assumed they’ve fallen down the stairs. It’ll probably be nothing," he explained, trying to be reassuring. He remembered his days as a rookie. Willis knew better than anyone it could be a little intimidating at times when you are exposed to new situations on the job.

After roughly a minute and a half, there was still no answer. Willis frowned and raised his fist to knock again. At that moment, however, the door opened, hesitantly. The officers peered into the dark hallway beyond, before their gaze fell upon a small figure a foot or two in front of them, half hiding behind the door.

“H-hello?” the person said.

Willis narrowed his eyes. With one swift move he pulled the flashlight from his utility belt and pointed it directly into the boy’s face to get a better look. Was it a boy? Willis quickly decided the person was definitely male, but his age was difficult to determine. He was short, shorter than Peach even, and he appeared malnourished. It was like a skeleton someone had laid a sheet of skin over the top of, with no muscle or fat. His eyes were deep set into his skull, his skin a pallid white. He was fidgeting nervously.

“We’re with the City of Dover Police Department. My name’s Sergeant Willis, this is Officer Peach.”

“Officer Peterson,” Peach corrected him, his cheeks flushing a little red with embarrassment.

“Oh right, yeah,” Willis said with a sly chuckle. He knew exactly what he was doing. He found it useful not to let the kids get too big for their boots too early, especially the smart ones.

“What you want?” the kid snapped in a nasal, angry voice.

This was nothing Willis had not seen before. This guy was almost certainly a drug addict.

“We got a report from a neighbor. They were concerned for the welfare of someone living at this residence. Do you live here alone?”

“Yes,” the angry midget replied instantly.

“Mind if we come in, take a look around?” Willis said in the friendliest tone he could be bothered to muster.

Willis watched as the kid’s eyes darted around rapidly in their sockets. He was trying to make a quick calculation. After a few moments he said, “Not you. Just that one.”

Willis raised an eyebrow. He turned to look at Peach, then back at the peculiar figure, “Him?” Willis said, pointing towards his junior partner. The kid nodded feverishly.

There was a momentary pause as Willis weighed up his options. It was a somewhat unusual request, so initially he was suspicious of the guy’s motives. As he considered it further, however, he could understand it, to an extent. When standing next to each other, the two police officers were laughably different. Peach was smaller, clean cut, blue eyed, blonde haired, with soft, almost feminine features. He was bright-eyed and bushy tailed with an eager to please personality. In contrast, Willis, through years of deliberate cultivation, had the appearance of a man you did not want to mess with. He had grown a thick, black beard on his large, angled jaw. He stood at 6’4” and had the bulk to match. He possessed a sour demeanor and a constantly pissed off expression of his face. Of the two of them, he could understand why people would rather deal with Peach.

He thought about it a moment more and then nodded slowly. He decided this kid was no threat; this would be a good opportunity for Peach to fly solo, “Alright,” Willis said. “Officer Peterson will come and take a look around. While he’s doing that, you got any ID on you, champ?”

The guy reeled back slightly, his eyes went wide, as if he had been asked to do some sort of impossible mathematic equation. A second later, however, he nodded again, and pulled out a mangy wallet from his back pocket, from which he produced a driver’s license.

“Thanks,” Willis said, taking it from the boy, “I’ll run this through the system out here. Just holla on the radio if anything comes up, Peach. Keep the door open.”

“Understood,” Peach said with a firm, confident nod. He seemed both agitated and excited. Willis watched as Peach stepped inside, past the weird midget. As the door opened a little wider, Willis got a potent whiff of smoke emanating from within the house. Wow, he thought, this guy smoked a lot.

He took a step back and turned to face out towards the cars, finding the stench overwhelming, “Good luck, Peach,” he muttered under his breath with a small smile. He studied the driver’s license in his hands. Roger Bennett, twenty-five years old, it said. Willis raised his eyebrows in surprise. That guy was twenty-five? He found it hard to believe. He looked no more than sixteen, maybe eighteen at a stretch. That’s what drugs do to you, Willis figured. He grabbed his radio. He wanted to contact the station and see what this guy’s background was.

He spoke into the machine and read out the identification number on Bennett’s license. He glanced in through the open door as he waited for a response from headquarters. Willis watched Peach slowly looking around while asking the guy routine questions. Strange, Willis thought, that Peach’s facial expression seemed to have flattened out so much. His eyes seemed to be both open a little wider and a little less focused than usual. His mouth was pursed open slightly. The intensity had left his muscles. Just a moment ago he had been totally amped up, now he seemed to be moving with a sort of calm, easy serenity.

Willis saw Bennett sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, leading to the second floor. He had lit up a cigarette and was smoking it right in front of Peach, who was moving gradually down the corridor with his flash light in hand, not really pointing it at anything in particular.

Willis pulled a face. He would never let a guy he was questioning smoke in front of him. It was disrespectful. As he had explained to Peach several times, the cop always needed to stay in control of the situation. When you let them do stuff like smoke, you are giving up that control, just a little.

“Yeah,” came Linda’s shrill voice down the radio from headquarters. “He’s clean, Tom. No record at all.”

“And nothing strange has been reported at this address previously?”

“No, sir. Nothing at all.”

“Alright. Thank you, Linda,” Willis said gruffly, lowering his radio.

He glanced inside the house. He caught a glimpse of Peach. Bennett was standing closely behind the young cop, cigarette perched between his lips, seemingly leading Peach into a room at the back of the property. Willis frowned. He had been doing this for many years. He had seen a lot of shit, and he had gotten good at reading body language. Peach had been walking slowly, robotically. As if he were under duress somehow.

In Willis’ experienced - and, admittedly - slightly paranoid mind, Bennett must have pulled a gun on Peach. Likeliest explanation. But why?

Willis eased the latch off his holster and placed his fingers loosely around his sidearm. He stepped into the house slowly and easily, ears pricked. The wave of smoke hit him again like an ocean tide. It surged up into his nose and down his throat, invading his sinuses, filling his lungs. He opened the door to the right and glanced inside. Just a closet. He breathed out slowly, keeping his heart rate under control. Stuff like this was why he loved this job.

He crept forward, hearing several muffled voices from the farthest room. So much for Bennett being alone, he thought to himself. He considered making his way immediately down the long corridor, but knew that would be a mistake. He was no amateur. There were two doors to the left, parallel to the staircase. He had to check these rooms first, make sure no one could come up at him from behind.

As he moved through the thick clouds of smoke, his eyes had started to water. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the first doorknob. He took a moment to collect himself. It seemed like he could not quite get enough oxygen, forcing him to take even deeper breaths, and inevitably, breathe in even more smoke. It felt like it was filling up his insides, scratching away at the bottom of his lungs.

He swung open the door and surged in quickly, firearm raised. He swept his sights across the room in a contained, even motion. Nothing. He lowered his weapon slightly and took in another slow deep breath of smoke. It was a dark, dingy kitchen. There was an empty cereal box on the floor, alongside an assortment of crumbs, hair and dirt. Willis frowned. A little gross, but he had seen far worse.

The sergeant backtracked into the main corridor and moved several feet down the corridor to the next door. He went through the same routine. Again, nothing. Just a laundry room where not much laundry seemed to get done.

Finally he made it to the end of the corridor. He still could not make out what the voices were saying. He could hear a man’s voice that he did not recognize. Occasionally he heard Peach’s voice, giving short, simple replies. No sign of Bennett.

Willis placed his hand on the door and swung it open. He raised his firearm and pointed it into the room, “What’s going on here?!” he bellowed commandingly.

He did not see what was going on immediately. In fact, he did not see anything at all. As soon as he walked across the threshold he was hit by a thick fog of smoke, completely impairing his vision. He recoiled in surprise as the smoke flowed down his esophagus. He tried to maintain his shooting position as he coughed uncontrollably.

“Show yourselves!” Willis spluttered weakly. His heart was hammering against his chest, he had lost control of the situation. His eyes were watering so much that even if the smoke cleared he realized he would struggle to see clearly.

“Woah, calm down, mate,” said a voice through the fog. Given the gravity of the situation from Willis’ point of view, the low evenness with which the person spoke seemed almost inappropriate.

The sergeant soon realized he would just have to wait for his vision to clear, so he took a step back out into the corridor, gun still raised. With his left hand he quickly wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve. As the smoke poured out into the corridor, eventually images started to come into view.

In the center of the room was a figure, standing up. Willis trained his barrel on the figure, and waited. As the fog dissipated further, he realized it was Peach.

“Peach?” Willis called. Peach did not respond. Now Willis’ heart rate was going into overdrive. He would have much rather this entire thing have been an overreaction on his part. Something they could laugh about later at his expense. But no, the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, the instinct he had honed over many years, had proved itself once again. Something weird was happening here, “Peach?!” he called again, louder and more firmly. The smoke was thick in his lungs, burning in his throat.

Peach did not react. Willis took a step closer. The room was much warmer than the rest of the house. It was dimly lit, with only a limited amount of light streaming in through a window layered with dust and dirt. Peach was facing away from him, standing rigidly in the middle of the room, facing the opposite wall.

New figures came into view. It was a puzzling scene. The room was not particularly big. There was an armchair ten feet from Willis on the left wall. On the rear wall, the direction Peach was facing, sat a small, shabby sofa. There was a man in the armchair, and another on the sofa. The sergeant saw Bennett, squatting down in the far corner of the room, his head lowered into his lap, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Bennett?” Willis called out, totally befuddled by this situation. The smoke had been filling his sinuses for several minutes now, up into his brain. He could feel a solid headache forming. He considered, momentarily, reversing out of the room and getting back up. A notion he quickly dismissed. He was not going to leave his buddy here. He was no coward.

He heard a short cackle from the sofa, “Bennett? Ain’t ‘eard no one call shitforbrains that name in a looong time.”

Willis looked at the voice’s source. The fog had mostly dissipated now. He saw a shirtless man, wearing aviators indoors for some reason, and a bandana. Seemingly randomly placed tattoos covered his thin, emaciated body. He was sporting a thick, bushy beard, a dirty blonde color. The figure was wearing camo pants and thick leather boots. He was sprawled out nonchalantly on the couch, one leg hanging over the armrest. In one hand he had a large, girthy cigar. In the other, a pint glass of a liquid that was probably beer.

“Identify yourself,” Willis said firmly, pointing the weapon at the shirtless man, trying to regain a sense of control.

“Calm yer tits, Batman,” the shirtless man sneered, taking a long swig of his drink. He spoke with an accent that Willis could not immediately place. He was definitely not American. He had heard the guy say ‘mate’. Perhaps he was Australian? Either way, the way he was behaving so casually, even with a pistol pointed at his face, was unnerving to Willis.

“Peach??” Willis said, letting a small hint of panic accidentally leak into his voice. He took another cautious step forward into the room. He looked at his partner. Peach was standing totally still, staring at the opposite wall behind the man in the sofa. His blue eyes were glassy, his small mouth hanging open slightly. His face expressionless. Blank.

“He won’t answer you, mate. He’s too busy breathin’ proper,” said the man in the armchair, speaking for the first time with a deep, guttural growl.

Willis swiveled on the spot, swinging his weapon towards the armchair. He got a good look at the guy. He was bigger. Beefy arms, and a big, barrel-like chest. His square jaw shaped his head into an almost perfect square. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a black t-shirt, and jeans. Like the guy on the sofa, he was wearing large boots. Instead of a bandana, however, he was wearing a police hat sideways on top of his shaven head. Willis glanced at Peach’s exposed, neatly combed hair, confirming the obvious. His mind was grasping at solutions, trying to understand the situation. Was this some sort of biker group? In Dover? He had not seen any motorcycles out front.

Willis realized, with a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach, the guy was playing with a gun, like it was some sort of child’s toy. A standard-issue Smith & Wesson. Willis glanced in confusion towards Peach’s waist, seeing only the younger man’s normal belt. Then he looked at the utility belt lying on the floor in front of the armchair. Empty holster. The gun the man was holding was Peach’s service sidearm.

This did not make any sense. What was wrong with Peach? Why was he just standing there? Why had he handed over his hat and belt? But most importantly, why had he let himself be disarmed? What the fuck was going on here?

“What’s your name?” Willis asked the leather jacket. Why had he asked that, and not told the fucker to put down the weapon? He was confused, the smoke was getting to him. Making it harder to think straight. The whole situation was so bizarre and unbelievable it almost defied comprehension. It felt surreal, like he was in a dream. He felt more passive than usual.

“Don’t matter,” leather jacket replied with a thick, low growl, “Only thing you gonna be callin’ me is Daddy.”

“Clam it, shithead,” Willis retorted, trying to regain his assertiveness.

“Oooh la la,” crowed the guy on the sofa, “This one’s right spunky, isn’t ‘e?”

“Do you live here, with Bennett?” Willis said, ignoring the comment. He could feel the clouds of smoke swirling around him. It was impossible to do anything but suck it in.

“Yeah, o’ course we fuckin’ live ‘ere,” growled leather jacket. “Now stop pointin’ that fuckin’ gun at me and relax.”

Another maniacal giggle from the sofa, “Yeah, mate. Why dontcha just relax and breaaath. Don’t you feel it? The positive energy just flowin’ thru ya?”

Willis inhaled without thinking. He had to admit, now that the initial revulsion had passed, the smoke seemed almost…pleasant. It no longer burned his lungs, instead…it seemed to sooth them. It was so relaxing…

“Oh yeah he’s likin’ it now,” chuckled leather jacket.

Willis shook himself somewhat back to his senses, “I’m err,” he blinked hard, scrunching his eyes together for several seconds. He felt sleepy all of a sudden. He tried to regain some semblance of composure, “I’m going to have to ask you all to stand up and accompany me out to my squad car while I figure out what’s going on here,” he said, with far less firmness than when he had initially stepped into the room. It was like a part of him did not really believe it was going to happen either.

A guffaw from the shirtless on the sofa, “It’s cold out there, mate! Why don’t you just come sit ‘ere next to me,” he invited, slapping the empty space on the couch next to him.

There was a long pause. The room fell into a strange silence. Willis had a decision to make. Of course, Wills was fully aware that the smoke was affecting his cognitive functions in some way. Some sort of hallucinogen, perhaps. He was not a total fool. But he just felt…so tired. The fog in the room seemed to have become a fog in his mind without him ever realizing it. Suddenly the sofa seemed so comfortable. So inviting. Besides, these guys were not really a threat, were they? He could just sit for a minute and figure out what was going on.

No. It was a bad idea. He was the senior officer in this situation. Peach’s supervisor. He had to be responsible, had to stay in control. He had no idea who these people were, “If you don’t comply,” he began, “I’m going to have to call in backup. I’ll have no choice but to slap resisting arrest charges on top of whatever else you’ve done.”

“Done? We ain’t done shit,” retorted the guy on the sofa, “Fuckin’ American pigs and your guns. Always needin’ to be in control. Oppressin’ the fuckin’ people. How ‘bout you just calm your fuckin’ tits for five minutes like your mate here?”

Willis felt his will faltering. These guys were clearly not going to come willingly, but trying to arrest them forcefully….it would be a lot of effort. A lot of paperwork….after a moment of deliberation, he tried a new tactic. ”How about I sit for a minute, ask some questions, then you come out to the car with me?” he offered hopefully. It was the last tool he had: bargaining.

Shirtless glanced over at leather jacket, eyebrows raised in amusement, “Sure, mate. You come pop your little bum over here and we’ll have a chat. Then we’re all yours.”

Willis noticed a little plume of smoke leaving his own mouth as he breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some cooperation.

Even though, deep down, a part of him knew it was a terrible decision, Willis slowly slid his sidearm back into the holster. He walked forward, paying little mind to his statuesque colleague as they brushed shoulders. He arrived dreamily at his designated spot on the sofa. He turned on heel, until he was facing Peach, and then he slowly, robotically lowered himself down into the seat. Despite feeling so sleepy, he did not allow himself to slump down into the soft leather. He stayed perched on the edge of the seat, feet flat on the floor, back straight, ready to jump up at any moment, if need be.

“There’s a good lad,” the stranger next to him said, with an approving smile.

“What did you do to, Peach?” Willis asked sluggishly. Almost impotently, as if the answer did not really matter to him either way.

“Dindu nuthink,” the shirtless man said. Willis watched as the guy picked up a box of cigarettes from the table beside him. He extracted one from the carton and lit it while holding his own much larger cigar between his teeth. Once the flame got going, he reached out to hand it to the sergeant. “Now this is one of my best, so you better enjoy it. Your mate here didn’t need it, but I reckon yous are gonna need a lil’ extra push. So ‘ere you go.”

Willis slowly looked at the outstretched hand, then at the cigarette. He stared at it for a moment, as if struggling to understand what it was. He glanced up at Peach. Then back at the cigar. He took it from the shirtless man, “Thank you,” he found himself saying. He stared at it for a moment longer, before looking back up at the man and asking again, “What did you do to Peach?”

“I just told ya. Dindu nuthink. He came in ‘ere, playing dress up, axing questions. All we did was sit ‘ere and answer ‘em. Only took a little while and then he just stopped and stood there, gawking like an utter moron. Went and shut right down, didn’t he? Silly fucker. No resistance at all. Went rite under.”

Willis nodded slowly, as if this made complete sense. The questions were starting to seep from his mind. It occurred to him that it did not really matter what had happened to Peach. It was not like he was in any danger, he was just standing there. He inhaled another lungful of smoke through his nose. Felt it enter his mind. So soothing.

“Now, I can tell yous never smoked one o’ these before so lemme walk you through it, alright?” the man said. The guy might actually be British, Willis found himself thinking absentmindedly. “All you do is, put it to yer mouth, suck in real nice and deep. Then the key part, once you’ve taken the biggest breath you can, just ‘old it in. Don’t breathe out, just let it sit there in yer chest. Got it?”

“Okay,” Willis murmured, no longer overly concerned by the bizarre nature of this encounter.

He hesitantly raised the small white cigarette to his lips and did as the man told him. He breathed in deep, sucking it down his windpipe. He felt his chest puffing out as he breathed in as much smoke as possible. Once he was sure his lungs were sufficiently full, he held his mouth shut and just sat there.

The shirtless man watched triumphantly. The passive smoking effects could be hit or miss, but he knew, now Willis had taken a direct hit form the source, it was all over. With a satisfied grin he observed with interest as Willis’ eyes dilated even further. His pupils expanded massively, until there was nothing but a sliver of his dark brown iris left. The muscles in the cop’s face slackened. He stared vacantly somewhere into the distance as he slowly exhaled, the smoke – seemingly endless - poured out of his nose and mouth.

“The coppa likes it, I reckon” leather jacket proclaimed smugly from across the room.

“Yeah…” Willis replied vaguely, in a voice quite unlike his own.

“Oi, I pay taxes, mate. I pay your salary. Means I’m your boss, y’see? ‘Bout time you pigs show us some respect,” leather jacket said bossily, taking a long drag from his own cigar and blowing the exhaled smoke in Willis’ direction.

“Y-yes, sir…” Willis said, feebly correcting himself. His eyes had glazed over, unseeing. Peach still had not moved or spoke since his partner had entered the room.

The shirtless man sitting beside Willis leaned over and removed the sergeant’s cap, placing it on his own head - backwards. Willis did not react. He did not even move. He continued to sit perched on the edge of the sofa, hands on his knees, staring into nothingness. He was just enjoying the sensation. Breathing the smoke in…and out…

“’Ave another pull, sweetheart,” the shirtless man said, leaning back in his seat again.

Willis blinked once, then looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He had almost forgotten about it. Seeing no reason to do anything other than exactly what the stranger said, he lifted the cigarette to his lips and sucked in deeply. Just like before, he held it in his lungs for several seconds before exhaling slowly. It felt good.

“Good, innit?”

“Yes, sir…” Willis said slowly. All independent thought had basically ceased, swallowed up in the paralyzing smoke. He had never felt this sort of high before.

“You wanted to know my name, didn’t ya? Well, as far as you care, it’s Boss now, alright darlin’?”

In truth, Willis no longer remembered wanting to know the man’s name. He was having a hard time remembering anything. All he wanted to do was breathe the smoke. Feeling no need to argue or question him further, Willis simply replied, “Okay, Boss.”

“Actually, why don’ you go give your mate a puff? He’s missin’ out,” Boss said, gesturing towards Peach. “What did he say your name was? Pear or summin?”

Realizing, after a few seconds, that the man was addressing him, Peach replied, “Peach, sir,” he croaked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Willis stood up and walked forward, sliding the cigarette into the boy’s mouth. Peach’s lips dutifully parted and accepted it.

“Now just breathe in real nice like I told your pal ‘ere, alright sunshine? Breathe in niiiice and deep,” Boss said goadingly.

Willis watched hazily as Peach took a long deep pull from the cigarrete and held his breath. Then he held it some more. Willis watched curiously. After twenty seconds or so Peach’s face started to go purple. His eyes were watering.

“Alright, christ on a bike, let it go,” Boss said. “Don’t want one of you cunts dyin’ in me house now, do I?”

Peach immediately exhaled, the smoke rushing out of his nose as he did. He let out a small noise as he released. A noise which almost sounded, in Willis’ opinion, like a whimper. His eyes grew wide and totally unfocused while a small, content smile emerged on his lips. It was almost like Willis could see the pleasure center of Peach’s brain lighting up behind his eyes.

“That’s enough, gimme it back,” Boss said dismissively. Willis took the cigarette from Peach, then turned and handed the man the cigarette. He watched in dismay as Boss snuffed it out in the ashtray.

“Aight I think yous are both ready to hear me now,” Boss said, “Turn ‘round and line up next to your little mate there.”

Willis did as he was told, stepping back and lining up at an easy attention next to Peach, both of them facing Boss. Both of them staring vacantly at the wall. This was not how welfare checks usually went.

“Now listen right close,” Boss said, leaning forward, his face gravely serious, “What I’m gonna say now is gonna stick with yous. It’ll be part of who you are. Alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Peach and Willis both said simultaneously.

“You proper fuckin’ love my smoke, don’t ya? You love it so fucking much, you’d do anything to get more of it, wouldn’t ya? You both want a whole pack for yourself, I bet?”

“Yes, sir,” the entranced duo replied, totally believing it. They loved this feeling, they needed more. They would do anything.

“So you’re gonna be right good boys, aren’t ya? Proper little fuckin’ obedient pigs. Right?”

“Yes, sir,” they chanted again, totally accepting it, their voices vacant and monotonous.

“Say it then,” Boss said, “Say ‘I’m an obedient little pig.”

“I’m an obedient little pig,” the police officers recited on cue. They did not care anymore. They did not care what they said, what they did, or even who they were. All they cared about in that moment was the cigarettes.

“Now say, ‘I’m a good little piggy.”

Again, the two uniformed men repeated the words, as instructed.

Boss smirked, “So listen up, lads, this is how it works. You know what they call these little fuckin’ things where I’m from? Fags. Know why? Cuz everyone who smokes em…is a fucking fag!” Boss cackled throatily, before continuing, “So that’s what you are now. Fags. Little fucking bumbashers. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied. Willis was vaguely away that parts of what the Boss said did not make sense, but there was little reward in questioning it, and everything to gain by simply accepting and obeying. He was, after all, a good little piggy.

“Nice one,” said leather jacket with a smirk, seemingly satisfied that the policemen were now ready to receive more detailed orders. He used his leg to launch Peach’s utility belt several feet out of the way, then looked up at the smaller officer with a hungry grin, “Oi, peachy. Come to daddy.”

Peach turned silently and shambled over to leather jacket.

“Knees,” the man said, pointing towards the floor with a long, fat finger.

Without protest, Peach fell to his knees in front of leather jacket with a hard thud. The man unzipped his jeans and pulled the officer’s head forward. No more words were required, his expectations were clear. Peach would not disappoint. He had never disappointed anyone. He worked hard. He was a good boy.

“Mmm, I want me some of that. Come ‘ere you,” Boss said, extending a finger and beckoning the larger cop towards him.

Willis did as he was told, approaching the sofa once more. This time, he vaguely understood, he was not to sit on it. Instead, he too, fell to his knees. Taking the initiative, he unzipped Boss’s pants, and extracted the mediocre sized penis. Oddly, despite not being able to construct any sort of meaningful thought whatsoever, Willis found himself noting with interest that Boss’s penis, unlike his own, was uncircumcised.

He leaned forward and took the cock into his mouth. He had never done anything like this before, so he was not quite sure how to proceed. It seemed, however, to come fairly naturally.

“That’s it, boy,” Boss moaned, “Wrap your fuckin’ lips around it. And remember this. ‘Cuz every time you wrap those little lips of yours around one of my fags in future, this is what I want you to think of. It’ll be just like blowin’ me, every, damn, time.”

Willis found himself becoming aroused, despite not being particularly interested in his task. He was pretty sure he was just obeying so that he could have another cigarette. And yet, his own cock was starting to strain against his briefs. Perhaps he really was a fag?

Boss took another long drag of his cigar, “Oi,” he said quietly. He grabbed Willis by the hair and pulled back hard on his head, forcing his face up. Then Boss blew out the smoke in his mouth directly into Willis’ face. He let Willis enjoy a brief moment of pleasure as he inhaled, and then shoved the sergeant’s head back down onto his dick. Spurred on, Willis became even more enthusiastic, employing his tongue vigorously around the Boss’s shaft.

On the other side of the room, Peach was bobbing up and down on leather jacket’s far larger penis. He was struggling to fit it in, and several times found himself almost gagging.

“Listen here, Peaches,” leather jacket said, leaning back in the chair and looking up at the ceiling, “I’m your daddy now, got it? That’s what you’re gonna call me.”

Peach came up for air, his normally bright blue eyes seemed a shade greyer, and far more lifeless, “Yes, Daddy,” he replied.

“You know, Peachy, I got a whole draw full of cigs. You’d like ‘em wouldn’t ya?”

“Oh, yes please, Daddy!” Peach responded with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. It was as if his brain had found a way to rationalize this new reality, and was now starting to apply his normal eagerness, bounce, and work ethic to the situation. It had not been a difficult transition. Peach had always been obedient to authority, always followed the rules and towed the line. The only difference was the authority he was serving had changed.

“There’s a good lad,” Daddy said, easing Peach down onto his cock. He was a little taken aback by Peach’s behavior, how quickly he had initially gone under when he entered the building, and how willing he was now he had been conquered. Peach had been the easiest slave ever.

While Boss and Willis kept going, Daddy came hard into Peach’s mouth. Peach realized that his throat felt quite sore as he swallowed down the semen. He had not noticed before.

“Oi, shitforbrains,” Daddy said, clicking his fingers in Bennett’s direction, who was still silently huddled in the corner. “Go get the apron from the kitchen. I think we finally found our maid.”

Without a word, Bennett stood up and hurried out into the corridor, his head bowed, his hands clutching his pack of cigarettes protectively.

He returned a few moments later with a small, frilly pink apron. He handed it to Daddy, who in turn passed it to Peach, “Put it on, Peaches. It’ll suit ya, I reckon.”

Ever obedient, Peach took the apron and stood up. He hooked it over his head, neatly flattening it down over his police uniform. Then he grabbed the strings and tied a tight knot behind his back.

“Now,” Daddy continued, taking a pull from his cigar first, “As you can see, Peachy, we aren’t big domestic people. Things have got a little sloppy around ‘ere. We’d of had shitforbrains do it but as you can see he’s a fuckin’ waste o’ space. But seein’ how you’re all clean and proper, I reckon you’d do a good go of it. So go get started in the kitchen, would ya? I want it spic-n’-span.”

Eager to obey, Peach immediately took a step back, turning half-way towards the door before pausing with a small frown. His academy training rearing its head through his new mental condition. “But Daddy, I am required to report my position regularly to the station. They may get suspicious fairly soon and send out another detail.”

Daddy’s brow furrowed for a moment as he considered this, “’Kay, well go get started for a few minutes while that lot finishes up. You can come round for a couple o’ hours after your shifts each day. That’ll work.”

Peach gave a small smile, “Yes, Daddy,” then he turned on heel and quickly made his way to the kitchen, his boots squeaking on the linoleum. He wanted to get as much done as he could before he had to leave. He figured that would increase his odds of earning more cigarettes. He needed the smoke.

“Ughh,” Boss said, finally arriving at orgasm. Willis, like Peach, had no choice but to swallow. Not if he wanted another cigarette. Boss let out a long sigh. He stretched out a left arm and grabbed a packet of cigarettes, then he leaned forward and slid it into the pocket on Willis’ shirt. He straightened Willis’ tie, then he took off the police hat and returned it to Willis’ head. “’Ere ya. Now go report back to the rest of your pig pals that you’re fine and everythin’s dandy. Tell ‘em Pear will be along in a lil’ while.”

“Yes, sir,” Willis said compliantly, climbing to his feet.

“And next time I see ya, that beard better be gone. Good little piggys don’t have beards.”

“Yes, sir,” Willis said again, already mourning the loss of his facial hair. He did not want to shave it, but he knew he had no choice. He would need more cigarettes. He needed to be a good little piggy.

“Oh ‘ang on, before you go. Write your name and number on a piece ‘o paper so I can summon you when I need.”

Willis pulled out his notebook and scrawled down his information, before handing it to Boss. Boss eyed the paper closely, “Sergeant Willis…” he read out loud. “You spelt Slave wrong, you fuckin’ donut,” he said handing the paper back to Willis. “Write it again with the proper title this time.”

Willis frowned. That did not sound quite right. He glanced at Boss and immediately remembered he was a good little piggy now. He turned to a fresh sheet of paper and this time wrote ‘Slave Willis’.

“That’s better,” Boss sneered with a satisfied smile, setting the paper down on the table beside him. “Now bugger off. Remember what I said.”

“Yes, sir,” Willis said. On his own initiative, he found himself doing a little submissive bow for some reason before turning to leave. Why had he done that?

“And remember,” Boss called out as Willis reached the door, forcing the sergeant to stop in his tracks and listen. “Erry time you light one up, think o’ me, remember you’re a good little obedient pig, and get hard. Doesn’t matter where you are, who you talkin’ with, you’re gonna get the biggest fuckin’ boner in your life. Every time.”

Willis did not reply, he did not turn around. He just gave a little forward nod and carried on walking towards the exit. He glanced sideways into the kitchen as he walked by. He saw Peach mopping the floor. Peach did not look up, he was intently focused on what he was doing.

Seeing Peach in that bizarre scene, hatless, wearing that apron, hard at work vigorously cleaning the house of strangers he had just come to check up on ten minutes earlier… for a brief moment it made Willis feel…strange. He almost felt like there was something horribly wrong about this situation. After a slightly pause, he breathed in the residual smoke in the air and shook off the ill feeling.

He walked outside onto the porch, still in a slight daze, but coming to his senses a little. Just being out of that room helped.

He realized that his erection was still straining hard against his uniform pants. He took his hat off and brought it down in front of his groin area. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, its rays beaming down on him. Coming out of that dark domain, his eyes heavily dilated, he found it blinding. He squinted painfully and marched back towards his car, head down. He felt a little odd as he passed Peach’s vehicle, just sitting there empty. Expectantly. Like a loyal dog awaiting his master.

Willis swung open the car door and flopped down heavily onto the worn seat, the leather making a scrunching noise underneath him. The sergeant took in a deep breath of fresh air. The clean oxygen did not feel quite right in his lungs anymore.

He grabbed the radio and hit the button to connect to headquarters, “Control, this is Slave Willis. Call on Madison had been taken care of. False alarm. Returning to base.”

“Say again, please,” came Linda’s slightly confused voice out the speaker.

Willis rolled his eyes with impatience, he thought he had spoken quite clearly, “I repeat, this is Slave Willis. Everything A-ok on Madison. Returning to headquarters.”

“Affirmative,” Linda replied unsurely. “I coulda sworn it sounded like you were saying something other than sergeant there for a minute, Tom,” she said with a nervous chuckle.

Willis’ eyes went wide as he realized what he had said, totally without realizing it. “Um, err-must be bad connection, Linda. Over,” he stammered, embarrassedly.

He slammed the radio down and stared out of the windscreen, pensively. “Well shit…” he muttered to no one, as it dawned on him fully that he had just been made a slave.

He certainly had not been expecting that to happen when he clocked in for his shift that morning. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he was surprisingly okay with that. After all, it wasn’t all bad. He had discovered the joy of smoking. In a way, he was disappointed he had not started earlier in life.

Without thinking, his hand rose to his shirt pocket, feeling to make sure that the cigarettes his obedience had earned were still there. He found the fact that they were to be reassuring. It was funny, before he went in that house, he had never smoked a cigarette. It had never interested him in the slightest, and yet, now he felt like he would be incomplete without them sitting there snuggled in his pocket. He understood now why so many people smoked.

He revved the engine and slid the car into drive. First stop, the gas station down the street; he needed a lighter. Slave Willis was desperate for a smoke.

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