Fir Hollow: Old Agnes

By screamingmoist
published March 15, 2021
4496 words

Two college jocks on a summer roadtrip make a stop in the wrong small town and lose more than their way.

“Guess it all depends on who ya ask,” the old man said from behind the bar. His weathered features were split by a broad grin, stretching the deep trenches of his wrinkled face. “Most folks say Fir Hollow is named after all the trees growin’ ‘round here, but that’s not it. Not really. Before the town was settled the tribes in these parts wouldn’t come anywhere near it on account’a the lights they saw burnin’ up on the mountainside and down in the valley. Lights where there weren’t any people to be makin’ em. When people first started settlin’ the area around here to make a livin’ off the timber they called it Fire Hollow, but they dropped the ‘e’ when the mines started openin’ up. No one wants to haul coal outta some place with ‘fire’ in the name. Bad omen, they said. Then again, the way the mines mostly dried up, maybe it doesn’t make a difference? Hell, I even heard once that the place was supposed to be called ‘Fear Hollow’ and they just couldn’t spell too good, but I don’t know if I believe that.”

Brody swigged his beer, shooting Hank a dubious glance in the process. The two young jocks were out of class for the summer, making their way to the east coast as part of their annual road trip, and had stopped off to crash for the night in the small mountain town. They were taking the lesser traveled highways and backroads, wanting to enjoy the journey as much as the destination. When they saw the sign on the exit ramp advertising a hotel, it seemed like a perfect stopping point. The sun was starting to set and they didn’t want to blow through overnight as they both wanted to actually see the mountains they’d be driving through. They’d pulled off at the exit and turned in the direction the arrow pointed, following the narrow, winding road deep into the valley.

After nearly half an hour of disorienting switchbacks and elevation changes through a thick, rapidly darkening forest they’d started to wonder if they’d make a mistake. They had no reception, making the navigation on their phones useless, and there hadn’t been a ramp back onto the highway. They were in the middle of nowhere, with only a single arrow on a sign miles behind them pointing the way. There hadn’t been any other roads or places to turn either, and with the narrow, winding roads they didn’t want to pull a U-turn since visibility only extended a handful of yards at a time. So, not knowing what else to do, they’d kept driving, and after another tense quarter of an hour, with both of them trying to hide their growing nerves from the other, their persistence was finally rewarded.

They’d rounded another of the seemingly endless curves when the trees opened up without warning on a stunning vista. The impenetrable canopy of branches overhead fell away to reveal a sea of stars slowly winking to life, with a large moon hanging low just behind a craggy ridge in the distance. The mountain peaks were silhouetted by the dim blue glow, looming like monolithic temples ahead of them. Below, as the road switched back and wound its way down, city lights illuminated a small patch of the shadowed valley. The varying topography made it hard to determine just how big the town was, with some areas stacked high above others, but Brody and Hank could see what looked like a central downtown area, surrounded by houses of all shapes and sizes before the residences gave way to more industrial buildings at the edges. A small canal wound its way through the buildings, while a set of train tracks ran along the base of the mountain, acting as a barrier between the city and the blanketing forest that surrounded it. In the center of downtown, sitting high on a ledge that overlooked what appeared to be the main street, was a tall brick building with a sign on the roof that read “Fir Hollow Inn”. It was written in huge, glowing red block letters that seemed to float over the entire area, adding a surreal twist to the picturesque little city.

Brody and Hank’s frayed nerves weren’t overly eased as they checked in at the hotel. The building reeked of age, feeling at once like a pile of bricks that could come crumbling down at any moment, and a stalwart fortress that would stand forever. The plaque in the lobby said it had been built in 1840, and the young man behind the counter was quick to point out all the original brass fixtures and architecture as he handed over the room key. He laughed when they told him how they’d found their way to town, saying he was surprised they’d stopped at all. The nearest big city was Pikesburg, still two hours away, and Fir Hollow didn’t get its tourist season until the Fall when people came to watch the leaves turn. In fact, he’d told them, they had the place mostly to themselves, which did little to help soothe the pair’s unease in the antique building.

They couldn’t quite figure out the source of their discomfort. They’d stayed in every kind of ratty motel imaginable, and though their current surroundings were much nicer by comparison, there was something about the building’s worn elegance that left them on edge. It didn’t feel as empty as the young man at the counter had suggested. As they passed, each of the closed doors felt like an occupied room, though occupied by what, exactly, neither Hank nor Brody wanted to stop and think about. Neither of them were overly superstitious, but finding themselves in a centuried hotel in the middle of nowhere tested even their resolve. They’d dropped their bags in their room and quickly headed for the bar they’d been told about at check-in, hoping that coming back drunk would take the edge off.

Now, sitting in Tucker’s Pub listening to the old man, they already felt foolish. It was clearly all a schtick for the tourists, they thought. Walking down main street, the whole town was heavy with the weight of years. Buildings were weathered and lopsided, the latter coming as no surprise given how steep many of the streets were, and nothing in the immediate vicinity of downtown looked younger than a century. It was the kind of town that screamed “ghost tour”, and after talking with the wrinkled bartender it was obvious the locals leaned into the vibe. Despite the nearly empty streets they’d both had the sensation of being watched on their walk to the bar, but they’d chalked it up to their initial nerves and said nothing about it to each other.

“So the lights are, what? Ghosts?” Hank asked. The handsome blonde’s smile rode the line between “friendly” and “arrogant”, his naturally charming demeanor hiding the fact that he was making fun of the old man. The broad-shouldered jock sat back on his stool, folding his muscled arms just below the prominent pecs straining against his t-shirt.

The old man gave a loud laugh, looking at Hank like he’d just said something incredibly stupid. “Ghosts? The things in those hills’d make a ghost piss their pants and go runnin’ home to mama. You count yourself lucky if all you run into is a ghost around here,” he spat, shaking his head. “I’ve seen the fires up on the mountain, and burnin’ down in the valley at night. I’ve heard those things crawling through the trees and scratching their way up outta the mines. I know you don’t believe me. You city boys never do. I try and tell ‘em, but they never listen, do they?” he asked the half-empty bar behind the pair. The motley crowd, made up of what looked like local laborers from the mill they’d passed on their way in, largely ignored the old man as he turned his attention back to the visitors. “It’s always a joke to you boys. You got any idea how many fellas like yourselves come through here each year looking for the old Mill Creek Tunnel? Got any guesses how many ever come back? If you’re just passin’ through, do yourselves a favor and don’t go pokin’ at things.”

“Funny you say that,” Brody laughed. The stocky, olive-skinned hunk ran a hand over his buzzed, raven-scalp and looked back at the sparse, mostly male crowd. “If we wanted to poke some things…where do the girls in this town hang out?” Next to him, Hank gave a short laugh and swung his knee over to hit Brody’s meaty thigh beneath the bar. The pair had a running bet to see who could get laid the most on their trip, and they tried to add to their collection in each town they stopped at.

“Now you listen,” The old man said, his face going flat and his tone growing serious. He leaned over the bar, his voice little more than a whisper. “I saw that moon out there. Gotta be big and full and bright as the sun by now. Means Old Agnes is gonna be out and about tonight. I was a young man once…I know how that goes…but you boys keep ‘em in your pants if you want to keep ‘em at all.”

“And who’s Old Agnes,” Hank asked, no longer trying to hide the fact that he was mocking the older man.

“Someone you best pray you never meet. Usually she stays up in the hills, unless she’s in the mood to go hunting for foolish young men like yourselves. She’s old as these mountains and just as tricky. Catch her on a good day…bring her an offering…maybe she’ll work some magic for ya. Catch her on a bad night? You’ll wish you’d never been born.”

“Sounds like most of the girls back on campus,” Hank laughed, punching Brody in his solid arm. “Appreciate the warning, but we’ll take our chances.” He finished his beer and hopped off the stool while his friend did the same, both of them eager to get out of the musty bar.

“They always do,” the old man said, more to himself than the young pair. Hank and Brody just smiled and nodded, managing to hold it together until they were back outside.

“What the fuck is this place,” Brody laughed, spreading his arms wide as he gestured to the empty main street. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, his slab of a chest rising and falling slowly while he looked around at the darkened storefronts. There was a smattering of antique shops and art galleries, along with a bookstore advertising the obligatory local authors in its window display. They passed a rustic hardware store that might have stood for the town’s entire history based on its weathered exterior, and a few restaurants and micro-breweries were scattered in between. On the surface, it looked like a typical mountain town trying to get by on tourism after a big chunk of the industry had dried up. Half hipster and half poverty, with most of the locals falling somewhere in the middle.

It shouldn’t have been remarkable, especially in such a rural area, but the longer they walked, the more they began to notice the town’s subtle idiosyncrasies. A church sat on every corner, numbering far more than should have been necessary for such a small town. And they were devoted to all manner of religions, including several that the pair had never heard of amongst the diverse cast of worshippers. Then there was the layout of the city itself. The streets alternated between broad avenues and steep, narrow alleys without warning or any discernible pattern, and the old man at the bar had been right about the moon. It now hovered high and bright in the sky, casting long, deep shadows that jutted across walls and roads like impossibly angled chasms. The two sometimes felt like they were walking through an optical illusion, unable to tell if they’d made it several blocks or only a few feet.

“Too much moonshine,” Hank said, pausing to lean over a nearby rail and look at the dark waters of the canal. The narrow stream wove its way between and under the town’s buildings like a network of branching veins. “Or maybe everyone’s related, if you know what I mean.”

“Whatever, dude. I don’t see any girls out and about anyway. Too bad we didn’t run into Agnes…I’ve got an offering for her,” Brody laughed, squeezing his hefty bulge through his jeans. “Let’s just get back to the hotel and call it a night. Sooner we get out of here the…better…” Brody trailed off, nodding for Hank to look down the sidewalk ahead of them. A pale, slender brunette stood in a pool of moonlight, her smooth skin mostly exposed and glowing. She looked to be about their age, wearing nothing but a pair of ridiculously short daisy dukes and a cropped tank-top, her long hair covering more than her clothes as it spilled down over her lithe shoulders.

The tall blonde gave a catcalling whistle before Brody could beat him to it. “Hey gorgeous,” Hank called, waving. “Are we glad to see you,” he said, trotting forward. “We’re just passing through town and were trying to find some company for the night if…” he stopped when she smiled and nodded, motioning with a finger for them to follow. He reached over and rubbed his shorter friend’s rough scalp, a triumphant grin already on his face. “Dibs.”

“Fuck you man, I saw her first,” Brody barked, pulling out of Hank’s grip. He took off down the sidewalk at as fast a walk as his meaty legs would allow, watching as the radiant young woman rounded a corner out of view. Without pausing to think about the old man’s warning or the unlikely odds of his fantasy randomly appearing in front of him, the burly jock followed. “Whoooo…wow,” he whistled, his fat cock throbbing when he turned the corner and saw the supple, naked beauty waiting for him at the end of the short alley. It didn’t make sense, Brody knew that, but he wasn’t interested in listening to his brain at the moment. He’d been stuck in the car with another dude for hours and he hadn’t gotten laid in days. He gave his best seductive grin as he rubbed his lantern jaw, licking his lips while he sauntered towards the waiting siren and her discarded pile of clothes on the ground.

His body was on autopilot. With the kind of agile speed that won him match after match on the wrestling mat, Brody had her in his solid arms. He pressed their lips together, his stomach fluttering at her earthy, spicy musk. Already his head swam, leaving him putty in her dainty hands. He didn’t resist when she lifted his shirt and pulled it free, but instead whimpered as she traced a finger along the ridge of his plump pecs and down through the trail of hair coating his abs. The fact that they were in public never even entered his mind when she started undoing his jeans and toying with the elastic of his boxers. Fucking a random townie in an alley wouldn’t be the strangest encounter he’d ever had on one of their trips, and from what they’d seen, the streets were empty that night anyway. All he could focus on was how good it felt when his thick log sprang free, and how much he loved the sensation of her thick bottom filling his hands. The firm muscle flexing against his palms sent a pulse through his cock, and he batted it against her own firm log. It was wedged against his own between them, and her stubble-covered chin scratching against his neck sent darts of pleasure down his spine.

He was so overcome that it wasn’t until he shifted his hands up from the muscled globes to grip a plump set of pecs that the discrepancies finally registered. Brody’s eyes shot open, his whole body going crimson when he discovered a naked Hank in his arms, not an ephemeral goddess. It wasn’t a mountain beauty’s tongue in his mouth, but his friend’s, and it wasn’t her slender fingers tugging on his churning balls, but Hank’s.

“Du…dude! Stop!” Brody finally managed, shoving the other man away. He watched a familiar, crimson veneer blossom across his friend’s strapping frame as the glassy expression cleared from Hank’s eyes.

“Brody? What the fuck?!” Hank yelped, trying in vain to cover his rigid girder as he scampered back.

“Why the fuck was your tongue just in my mouth, dude,” the stocky wrestler whined, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

The flustered blonde shook his head. “It wasn’t! You weren’t even here, man! You were behind me on the sidewalk. I was making out with that…wait…where’d that chick go?”

Hank barely finished the question before a hoarse, husky laugh filled the alley. The wheezing sound was so loud it made their ears ring, rattling them to their core as it bounced off the weathered brick walls around them. Hank forgot his modesty. He let go of his aching cock and clutched the sides of his head to block out the sound, his eyes going wide when he saw the massive, hunched figure draped in tattered rags blocking the entrance to the alley. Whoever, or whatever, it was had to be close to seven feet tall and wider than both of the young jocks put together, with stringy hair trailing down its mountainous frame. The creature was backlit, thankfully obscuring the specifics of their more hideous features, but the spindly, overly-long arms, with curled fingers like spider legs, were all too evident as they slowly lifted in the pair’s direction.

As they gawked, the stunned young men watched the shadows cast by the horrible arms began snaking towards them along the ground. At the same time, an invisible force hefted them aloft and held them frozen, their feet dangling a few inches above the ground. Brody’s powerful, compact body strained against it, his still-aching cock wagging as he struggled with all of his might, managing nothing more than a few light kicks of his meaty legs. He looked at Hank as much as he could through his peripheral vision, the other man’s lean frame just as tense and straining as he fought the same losing battle.

When the horrible shadow arm finally slithered its way to his kicking foot, Brody wished he could have screamed. His whole body went cold as a phantom finger slowly traced up his hairy calf and along the inside of his thick thigh in a horrible parody of the petite digit that had toyed with his pecs. He grunted and fought harder than ever when the hand reached his girthy package, hating the surge of lust that shot through him. Instead of earthy and spicy, his nostrils filled again with a scent that was wet and rotten as he tried to force back the impending explosion. Brody didn’t know what the creature was or what it was doing to him, but the young stud’s body was reliving every pleasurable moment he’d ever experienced. Based on the way he could see Hank spasming next to him, he guessed his friend was undergoing a similar process. It would have been humiliating if it wasn’t so terrifying.

That fright became even more prominent when Brody finally fell over the edge. He erupted with a guttural gasp while Hank did the same, but he didn’t have much time to bask in his release before his attention was pulled to his spraying log. A pins-and-needle sensation had washed over his spurting geyser, and with each ropy strand, he watched the impressive equipment dwindle. It only took seconds, but it felt like hours as Brody’s pride-and-joy went from a wide seven inches, to a sub-par five, then a minuscule three, before eventually settling as little more than a tiny mushroom head poking out of his trimmed bush. His low, heavy balls had become vestigial marbles, and he tried not to think about how his stocky frame would look filling out a wrestling singlet with his now non-existent package.

He couldn’t see Hank’s long hose from the corner of his eye anymore either, but there wasn’t time to dwell on what had just been taken from them before the hands slid up to grip their throats. Both of the former studs let out a garbled, choking gasp, their stomachs dropping when the sound went from rough and deep to high and soft. They still couldn’t speak, but even their whimpers had become light and chirping, a transformation that was horribly cemented when the fingers slid along Brody’s lantern jaw and up his face, piercing into his skull.

The frozen hunk’s vision went blurry, his head filling with a rush of new memories. He and Hank were still on a road trip, and they’d still wound up in Fir Hollow by accident. The two had still gone to Tucker’s, but instead of leaving the bar in search of tail, Brody’s heart started racing when he saw the two of them flirting with a group of four, burly young guys at the bar. They weren’t wearing jeans and t-shirts anymore, but the daisy dukes, panties, and crop-top they’d seen on the woman. And they hadn’t followed her down the alley; they’d led the four young locals down it.

Brody’s tiny new nub throbbed as he suddenly saw himself naked on his knees, switching his attention between a pair of spit-slick cocks that kept finding their way into his whining mouth. The soft, feminine pitch was just as stark a contrast to his athletic physique as his shrunken cock was, but none of the men seemed to mind. Brody felt sick when he heard them talking about him and Hank the way the two of them used to talk about the women they hooked up with, but at the same time he longed for it. Their smug, deep voices and thick, rigid clubs made his knees weak. And the more they debased him and Hank, who was busy working a pair of cocks like himself, the more he craved it.

When the scene shifted to him on all fours, Brody could only put up a token effort at resistance. Already the memory of his plump globes and thick pecs bouncing while one of the men slammed into him, his mouth wrapped around the other’s solid pole, felt so good that he had to fight to tell himself it was wrong. He had to fight to tell himself that he and Hank should have been just like the guys eagerly fucking their brains out, not the ones getting pounded in a dark alley.

It was a losing battle. In a matter of moments, the arrogant ladies men were gone. They weren’t just a pair of straight jocks on a road trip, but a pair of micro-dicked power bottoms fucking their way to the beach. Brody still remembered writhing under wrestlers, but now it was while they fucked him, not as part of the team. It was the same for Hank, who now only swung a bat whenever he jerked off a baseball player. Brody felt a final, fleeting stab of dread as the memories of the cum-bath he’d just received from the young men became a reality and began to solidify on his altered body.

And then it was over. When their vision cleared, Brody and Hank weren’t floating in the air but climbing to their feet, looking spent and satisfied, not stricken with fear. They could hear a group of deep, smug voices laughing and growing distant as the four locals left them to clean up and get dressed. The two blinked and shook their heads at the sight of each other’s tiny equipment, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what was odd about it.

“Real glad we stopped off here,” Hank finally said, his formerly deep voice a soft twitter as he pulled on the red lace panties.

“Meeee tooooo,” Brody sighed, following suit. His own voice was just as high, but it was the sight of the barely present lump in the women’s underwear that sent a chill down his spine. He didn’t know why he expected the skimpy underwear to feel odd as it slipped between his muscled globes and accentuated his petite bulge. He blamed the chill that followed on the cool breeze wafting down the alley as he stepped into his shorts, wincing at the unexpected soreness. “Fuck, man, that ginger beat my ass up,” he half whined, half giggled.

“Right? That thick, hairy one split me so wide you could park the fuckin’ car up there right now,” Hank said, his brow furrowing. There was a moment of silence as the two wrestled with the odd sensation that their conversation felt bizarre, not ordinary as it seemed, but the feeling fled before they could give voice to their concerns. When Hank pulled the crop-top on, he thought more about the way it showed off his sculpted pecs and tapering waist than he did about the fact that it left a lace whale-tail on display.

Brody grinned, snapping the elastic of his own exposed panties as he eyed his friend. Even after the pounding they’d just received, he was already thinking about getting the other man’s little nub in his mouth once they got back to their room. “You think we should stick around here for a couple days? I mean…the beach is fun, but if the rest of the guys in town are anything like this group…”

“I’m sold,” the scantily-clad blonde nodded as they headed back out onto the sidewalk. “Hey! You know what? We should see if that cutie working the desk at the hotel wants to play.”

Mind Control
Wanking material
You've created tags exclusively for this story! Please avoid exclusive tags!