Small Town Story - Chapter 4: On Duty

By tauro2
published October 29, 2019
Summary

A sheriff gets a special package delivered.

Sheriff Thompson was dozing off in his easy chair. It had been a long, rough day. Not that most days were different. When you were an elected official, there really is no such thing as a day off. But today had been especially bad. He thought that he finally had a break in the Miller Construction incident. About a month before, five workers filling potholes on the county highways had just disappeared into thin air. There was absolutely no trace of any evidence to explain it. One person vanishing would be weird enough, but five was practically unheard of, especially in this county. The funny thing was, nothing was taken. All of the equipment was there, as well as the vehicles, even their unopened lunches on the side of the road. Naturally, the families were in various states of disbelief and panic. Now that a month had gone by, everybody had an opinion. But there was nothing to go on. At least, not until today.

A witness said that she remembered seeing an old beater car driving on the county highway near the spot that the workers had disappeared. She gave a general make and model. As it happened, a similar car had been registered about two weeks beforehand. Thompson considered passing the responsibility on to one of his deputies, like his trusted Jeb, but he wanted to get out of the office more. Besides, cracking a high profile case by himself would look good at election time. So, he got the address and decided to make a personal visit to find out if the guy had seen anything, or if he was possibly involved to begin with.

Thompson had pulled up to the house, and his first thought was that the place was abandoned. The house was out in the country, and weeds about knee high were growing in the front yard and two windows were conspicuously cracked. Several tiles were missing from the roof. The sheriff almost turned around and left until he saw the vehicle in the driveway. It was the right make and model with a matching license plate. This had to be the guy. Carefully, he walked up the stairs, taking a wide step over a missing board. Getting up to the porch, everything looked worse. Several boards were rotten and didn’t look like they would support body weight. Thompson almost turned around right then. But he wanted to see this through.

Pausing for a moment, he knocked on the door. “Just a minute. I’ll be out,” a voice called out from inside. It took more than a minute. It was more like five. Impatient, the sheriff sat down on some wicker furniture that seemed out of place on a tattered porch. Finally, the man opened the door. He was older, probably in his 70s or 80s, but he seemed to move around pretty well. Standing up, Sheriff Thompson introduced himself. “Good morning, sir. I am Sheriff Jerald Thompson. Are you Larry Taylor?”

The man beamed an enormous smile and moved to shake the sheriff’s hand. “Why yes I am. How are you doing today? Would you be willing to come inside?”

“Perhaps. I think that I should explain why I am here. I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding a recent case that I investigated. Are you at all familiar with the Miller Construction worker disappearances from about a month ago?”

For just the briefest moment, Sheriff Thompson thought that he saw some sort of dark look come into the man’s eyes, but it could have just been a mistake. Almost immediately, Mr. Taylor responded, “I’m afraid not. I don’t have satellite in this house yet. I don’t get any news.”

“Well then, you should know that five men working for the company disappeared without a trace. The reason that I’m asking you is that somebody said that she saw your car near the area shortly before the disappearance. I would just like to know if you have seen anything unusual that would help us figure out the case.”

Mr. Taylor seemed to stop and think. Then he spoke with the sheriff, still grinning, “I’m afraid that I didn’t see anything unusual. I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary. I just recently moved here, and, as you can see, I have some things that I have to prepare before I can settle in. Say, why don’t we talk more inside?”

“By all means.” Thompson walked in the door, and was surprised to see the state of the place. There was almost nothing inside. The living room was bare. The kitchen had a table and chairs, but nothing out on the counter.

“Perhaps you would like some tea, or maybe something a little stronger?”

“Uh, tea’s fine.” Something felt wrong about this. Granted, some people didn’t need a lot of stuff, you would think he would have something in place.

Mr. Taylor quickly produced a piping hot tea kettle and began pouring into some mugs which almost seemed to come out of nowhere. “Thanks,” Thompson said.

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you with your case, Sheriff. But, you know what, since moving here, I just want to let you know how much I have grown fond of this county.”

“Uh huh,” Thompson replied, barely hiding his boredom with the conversation. This was going nowhere. He needed to hunt down different leads.

Apparently missing the sheriff’s lack of enthusiasm, Mr. Taylor went on. “And to show my appreciation, I wanted to give you a little something.”

Thompson was surprised. “You don’t have to do that. A simple thanks is fine.”

“Think nothing of it. Here, open this at home. I’m sure that you’ll love it.” He handed the sheriff a small box. Thompson looked at it suspiciously. It was light.

“Well, thank you very much. If you need anything, just call the station, or come by. You have a wonderful day.”

“And you too, Sheriff.”

Thompson walked out, feeling that conversation had a lot more going on with it than he had at first thought. Carefully walking down the stairs from the porch, he got to the car and looked back. The house was practically falling apart. How could someone live there? Thinking no more of it he threw the box onto the passenger seat and drove off.

When he got back to the station, he was in for a nasty surprise. Reporters from four different television stations were waiting at the front entrance. Practically before he could get out of the car, one of them stuck a microphone in his face and almost demanded, “Sheriff Thompson, is it true that you were out investigating new leads in the Miller case?”

Taking a second to compose himself, he replied, “Yes, but currently, we do not have any new information.”

Of course, that was hardly the last of it. More and more questions, each loaded with some sort of accusatory statement of incompetence. Finally, he finished it with, “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to work.” Getting inside, he locked the door (probably not the best move, but better than answering more reporters’ questions) and went to his office. Most of the rest of the day was spent answering phone calls from concerned citizens who had seen the news. What had happened to this county? It was always such a quiet place.

Finally, he managed to get out of the office (well after quitting time) and went out to the car. Driving home, his thoughts turned to the box that weird man had given him. What could it be? He couldn’t remember the last time a citizen had given him a gift. He pulled into the garage, grabbed the box and entered the house.

Things hadn’t been the same since the divorce. His ex-wife had wanted half, and she had got half. He kept the house, but had to write a pretty impressive check. He didn’t think checks would allow that many zeros. Even with his elected position, he was having to cut back. The house wasn’t empty, but it was emptier. The television was the older model, before the new HD ones had come in. Turning it on, he plopped down, turned the news on, and promptly fell asleep.

About an hour later, he heard something. Blinking, he looked around, and then realized that it was the telephone. Groggily, he got up, picked up the phone and answered, “Hello.”

It was Connie from the station. “Sheriff, you need to get to the station right away.”

Suddenly alert, Thompson responded, “What, what’s happened?”

“It’s Jeb. Nobody has been able to get a hold of him for about three hours. And that’s not all. There have been reports of people that family members cannot get a hold of. I think it might be the same thing as the Miller case. How soon can you get here?”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He hung up, and grabbed his keys, but then looked at the table. The box was open. All of a sudden, Thompson just wanted to open it up and see what was inside. The station left his mind. Moving towards it, his heart pounding, he picked it up. He reached inside, and pulled out a small sheet of paper and some sort of black leather piece of clothing. He held the leather object up. It was some sort of pouch with a few straps running off of it. Suddenly realizing what it was, he looked at the piece of paper. It was a typed message and said, “Enjoy the new part of your uniform, PIG!”

It was a jockstrap. He threw it back on the table in disgust. What sort of person would give that to him? That was a really sick joke.

Regardless, he had to get to work. He went to turn the tv off, but as he reached for the remote, he gaped at what was being shown. Two hairy, overweight men were sucking each other off. They were lying on their sides, lined up with their crotches at each other’s mouths. How the fuck did that get on television? Disgusted, he changed the channel, but now there were a bunch of large, oiled up guys in jockstraps jerking each other off. Shocked, but with just a small feeling of regret, he turned the tv off and sat down into his easy chair. He completely forgot that he was supposed to get to the station. Looking at the magazines on the side table, he felt that he needed to read something before he fell asleep. But these weren’t the news magazines and trade journals that he had purchased. The first one had a picture of a hairy, muscular fellow bedecked in leather with assless chaps. For the first time, Sheriff Thompson felt genuinely curious. His heart started pounding as he turned to the centerfold. The man was dressed in nothing but a leather harness. He was lying on his back, a look of ecstasy on his face as a stream of semen shot out of his cock. Thompson started rubbing himself through his pants, getting excited. He had to see more. He turned back to the previous pages, ogling the beefy bear as he gradually disrobed. The man in the magazine was smoking a cigar. That sounds like a good idea, he thought. He reached for the humidor that hadn’t been there a couple minutes before and lit up a cigar. He took a deep puff and slowly exhaled the smoke, enjoying the flavor.

He stood up, unbuckled his belt, and let his pants drop to the floor, kicking them to the other side of the room, but he kept his boxer-briefs on. He started flipping through the magazine, gripping the cigar between his teeth. The fabric of his underwear felt good as he massaged his cock. Each picture of the model seemed to have been picked especially for him. Thompson especially liked the man’s tattoos. He had blue spikes covering his shoulders and back and a large rose running down his right hip. But now, Thompson’s massages began accelerating. If he didn’t stop soon he would -

“No. Don’t!”

But it was too late. He climaxed, groaning loudly as he pumped hot seed into his underwear. As he finished up, feeling temporarily embarrassed, he quickly got an idea. Taking the underpants off, he brought them to his face and took in a whiff. The smell of spunk of intoxicating. Setting the cigar down, he started licking semen out, then smeared the rest into his beard. He then got another idea. He grabbed his undershirt and ripped it straight down the middle, exposing his chest. He was no longer a young man, but he always kept himself in shape. Still, he had a little bit of a beer gut sticking out.

He was far from finished. He grabbed the next publication; this one was a brochure for male adult products. One model on the cover was a particularly brawny man sporting a semi-transparent jockstrap. Thompson couldn’t stop himself. He lingered on every page, by now, admiring men in leather harnesses and crotchless pants. On one page, one guy was dressed in a spiked dog collar, giving oral sex to a bodybuilder with a set of male enhancement equipment. Now, Thompson was completely into it. He blew a load over the two of them, licking up the mess that he had made. By the time he finished the brochure, he moved onto a bear magazine devoted to extremely hairy men.

How long did it last? Who knows? However long, he eventually got to the bottom of the pile. The last thing wasn’t a magazine; it really wasn’t a publication at all. Instead, it almost seemed to be some sort of primitive drawing of an anthropomorphic wild boar. The thing was covered in gray fur, and really muscular, aside from its gut. It was also well hung, sporting a hard on and looking directly out.

Suddenly, Thompson felt incredibly dizzy and fell forward out of the chair. He started grunting loudly and turned over onto his back. Shocked, he saw that thin, gray fur had grown on his chest and was now spreading down to his abdomen. Wherever the fur went, the muscles grew along with it, the one exception being his abdomen, which expanded a little bit with the increased fat. His pecs were the first to enlarge. The fur spread up his shoulders and down his arms, making them practically the width of tree limbs. By now, he could feel it spreading down his back. “This. This can’t be happening. Oink!” What was that? “What? What is - OINK!” By now, his back muscles had swollen. He looked in a nearby mirror and almost didn’t recognize the being that looked back. His head hair had thinned to the same as the fur that was now spreading on his body. His beard was going the same way. He opened his mouth and saw that his two lower canines had lengthened and almost wouldn’t fit in his mouth. His nostrils expanded and began moving up, creating some sort of snout.

Suddenly, a brief jolting pain came from his lower back. He reached back and felt an expanding nub. With a realization of horror and delight, he realized that he was growing a tail. The tail grew to about a foot long with a small tuft at the end. Rolling over onto his hands and knees, the change finally got to his crotch. Almost instantly, he felt a wave of testosterone hit him as his nuts increased to unheard of proportions. His penis was quickly going the same way. It had just about tripled in length. By now, the sharpened teeth had pushed out of his mouth: tusks. His nose had pushed out from his face, forming a snout. His ears had lengthened and grown floppy, partially hanging down. The change was almost complete. He stood up shakily and approached the mirror. He looked exactly like the boar man in the picture.

He checked himself over, and the more he looked, the more turned on he got. “Is that me? I like it. I like it a lot.” He was suddenly hornier than he had ever been in his life. He fell back into his chair - by now, not an easy chair, but practically a throne covered in furs - and started pumping away. The mirror gave a perfect view of him pleasuring himself. He stuck his legs in the air and spread his ass cheeks apart, revealing his asshole. He started fingering himself, enjoying every sensation. Finally, he couldn’t help it anymore. He gave one final stroke and blew a load that went right over his head. Grunting, he continued the orgasm for a good 20 seconds at least. Finally, he was out of breath and completely satisfied. Dripping semen, he walked over to the hard oak table and grabbed the jockstrap. He knew that he wasn’t done tonight. He was now on duty, and he had responsibilities that he had to finish. He stuck his legs in and pulled it up, enjoying the sensation on his package.

Thompson walked out to the garage, by now seriously enjoying the feeling of the jockstrap on his balls. Except now, the garage was gone, and in its place was a small equipment shed. He went up to the doors and noticed a padlock keeping them shut. He reached into one of the pouches on his belt and drew out a key. It fit, and the padlock gave way. Thompson lit a lantern and entered inside. His eyes immediately fell on a treasure trove before him. It seemed like somebody had created an armory for a knight from the Middle Ages. Racks were equipped with swords, maces, axes, quivers, bows and arrows, and weapons Thompson couldn’t readily identify. He practically drooled at the weaponry that he had at his fingertips. He picked up a battle-ax with an extremely intricate design. As he held it, he felt like he had trained his entire life to use it. He gave it a few good swings, and held it up high over his head. The light glinted off the metal and seemed to illuminate the whole room. Thompson pulled a leather carrying strap over his shoulder and attached the battle-ax so that it would stay on his back. He had to find Jeb. He had to get to the station. And heaven help anybody who would try to stop him.

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