(I felt like doing some short captions today. There will be two of them. Hope you enjoy them! I already posted one, so if you missed it, check back one post.)

Caption Day (2 of 2)

Dustin knew things had to change. He was just so tired of being fat, of the looks people would shoot him in the office, of the sighs from his doctor. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it by himself, he would need help. So he asked around, and everyone seemed to recommend this particular trainer, Eddie Willis. He’d gone in for a meeting, which had turned into an impromptu work out. He’d been so impressed, Dustin had signed up for a nine month program on the spot.

“And how’s Dumbo doing today?”

“Dumbo’s super good today sir, feelin’ super pumped.”

“Because Dumbo likes lifting, right?”

“Yes Mr. Willis, Dumbo good at liftin’ heavy stuff!”

The results had been even more than Dustin could have imagined. In just a few months time, he’d lost close to fifty pounds, and he was feeling better than he ever had in his life. Sure, it was strange that he never seemed to remember his sessions with Mr. Willis, and…and there were some…other strange things too, he supposed.

“What else is Dumbo good at?”

“Suckin’ cock!”

“What else?”

“Gettin’ fucked!”

“And…?”

“Obeyin’ Mr. Willis, cause Mr. Willis is my master!”

He’d started having these…fantasies, where he was getting fucked by muscular men, or sucking their cocks. His dreams were always sexual now as well, and usually even more obscene, and more than once, he’d discovered that he’d cum in his sleep like a teenager. But when he started wearing butt plugs regularly to work, when…when that man had stopped by, and he’d sucked him off. It had felt so…normal.

“That’s very good, Dumbo. And why do we have to make sure Dumbo gets big and strong?”

“To get rid of Dustin!”

“That’s right. Because Dustin is bad, right?”

“Right!”

“You’d much rather be Dumbo, right? Lifting, sucking, fucking, too dumb to write your name, too dumb to ever question your master, right?”

“Fuckin’ right, Mr. Willis…Mr, Willis, I’m super hard, sir. Can…Can I jack off?”

“Get down and suck my cock, slave, and then you can cum.”

“Thank you sir!”

And lately, lately he was having trouble remembering things. Sometimes, he’d black out, and wake up without any recollection of what had happened. His quality of work had been slipping. Apparently, in one paper, he’d misspelled his name as “Mr. Dummbo” or something strange like that. Thinking was just…so much work. Maybe…maybe he should talk to Mr. Willis about it. Mr Willis would know what to do, Dustin was sure of it.

“Go on and jack your cock slave, but don’t cum until I allow you. I want you to think about what you’re going to look like in a year. I want you to see yourself even more muscular, we’ll even start giving you steroids, turn you into a real beast. We’ll tattoo the shit out of you. You’re going to be covered in them, just a dumb, tattooed brute, and then Dumbo, when Dustin is completely gone, when you’re just a drooling hunk of tattooed and pierced slave meat, I’m going to sell you to some old pervert, for millions of dollars. F—fuck! Think about that hard, Dumbo, think about serving some old pervs cock all day, every day, and shoot! Shoot the dumb load of yours, and feel a bit more of Dustin leave when you do, and swallow my fucking load, you dumb whore, swallow it all!”