(Caption) Quarantine Home Gym

October Caption Challenge (17/31)

Not having a gym was rough for the guys on the block, but with the quarantine stretching out longer and longer, it was looking like they wouldn’t be able to get back there anytime soon, and when they could, there would probably be so many restrictions it wouldn’t even be worth it. In the end, a savior came from a surprising place–old Mr. Wilcox at the end of the road starting letting all of the jocks know that he had an old gym in his basement. It wasn’t surprising, really–he was in his 60’s but still in good shape. He told the young men they could come over and use it whenever they wanted, but only on their own.

But there were other odd requirements as well. Mr. Wilcox told them all that they couldn’t wear their own clothes–too much risk of infection. They would have to shower when they arrived, they would put on their gym uniform, work out, shower, and then leave. There was also always this weird new age hippy music playing, but hey, a free gym was a free gym.

The music put them all in a really focused headspace–their workouts would zoom by, and they were all making great progress. None of them objected when Mr, Wilcox started making changes to each of their gym uniforms.

Mark found his gym shorts and shirt replaced with a rubber singlet one day, but Mr. Wilcox told him it would be easier to keep sterile, so he was happy to put it on. Much to his surprise, he found the sensation of rubber against his skin incredibly erotic–but when he asked Mr. Wilcox if he could take it home with him, he said no. But a few weeks later, he got an upgrade, a full body latex suit, complete with a gas mask, even better to keep everyone safe. He worked out for hours in it, and never ended up going home–the gimp was stored in his cage where he belongs instead–after all, he didn’t want to take off his new skin, did he?

Kent arrived one morning for his workout, and found that the only thing Mr, Wilcox had for him to wear, other than socks and shoes, was a diaper. He balked, of course, but Mr. Wilcox had noticed him using his restroom the other day, and that just wasn’t sanitary. Better to keep his messes to himself. He told himself he wouldn’t use it, but he zoned out so much he pissed into it, and a few days later, he started shitting himself as well. It wasn’t long before he had a few accidents at home as well, and he had to ask Daddy for a supply of diapers for himself. He moved in too before long, though his exercises are more focused these days on opening up his dirty baby hole, and getting rid of that gag reflex so Daddy can fuck baby’s throat easier.

Bud got the same gear, day in and day out, and Mr. Wilcox never seemed to wash it. When he asked about it, he said that it was Bud’s filth, so he could wash it if he wanted–but Bud always forgot to take the clothes home with him. In fact, he stopped showering as well, and stopped doing laundry at home, the entire house filled with his sweaty musk, and more and more the smell of cum, since he kept masturbating all over himself. He’s Mr. Wilcox’s filthy pig, and when he’s done with his workout, he usually gets fucked by Master’s cock while he huffs on baby’s full diaper, already excited for tomorrow’s workout to come.

(Caption) Three Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (16/31)

You don’t always know you’re in Pigtown until it’s too late.

Richard liked to take long runs around the city on his days off. It was a good way to explore, and he nearly always saw something different, that he would have never noticed in his car. Today, he found his way to a large park and decided to cut through it for a bit of nature. It started off innocently enough–families with kids playing in the sun, the occasional picnic. It was wholesome. But at some point, after the trail passed through a few dense patches of wood, he found himself in a chunk of park that was quite a bit seedier. Unknown to Richard, he had just found himself in Pigtown.

It was the light that threw him off first. He had started his jog in the morning, but suddenly, it was like the sun had set. The sodium lights were all lit, but filthy, and they only seemed to increase the shadows around him, rather than dispel them. There were strange moans, thumps and shrieks coming from the woods around him, distorted enough that he couldn’t be certain men were making them, and the few people he did see were men who leered at him, and at his spandex clad running shorts, with lust.

But he kept running. He tried to turn back, but the path, which he was certain had been straight and unambiguous, suddenly branched and forked and looped back around on itself in countless ways. He was lost, and getting a bit winded. Finally he stopped to catch his breath and calm down, get his bearings, only to find that he wasn’t alone. There was a filthy looking man on a park bench near him, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. He looked up at Richard, licked his lips, and said, “Fuck man, bet you smell fuckin’ amazing.”

Before Richard could even think of how to reply, the man had stood up, thrown up one of Richard’s arms, and started licking at his pit. The man smelled horrific–like a urinal, like a cumrag, like…like heaven. Richard shook his head and gave a snort, trying to focus, but he couldn’t seem to tug himself away from the man, and all around them, more men, just as filthy as him, were coming out of the brush, groping their crotches, leering at him, the light fading more and more as they all surrounded him, touching him, smelling him, and Richard lost track of himself, for a moment. For a while.

When he came back to himself, he wasn’t at the park anymore. He was in some apartment, hands tied up above his head, and he wasn’t wearing his clothes, or at least…they weren’t the clothes he’d had on before. He had on some long underwear and a white t-shirt, all of it covered in cumstains, soaked with piss. He could smell it, and fuck if it didn’t smell amazing.

The man from the bench came out, still in the same nasty clothes as before, and stood in front of Richard. “Fuck man, I hadn’t really planned on bringin’ anyone home tonight, but fuck me, if ya just aren’t so much fuckin’ fun. Haven’t gotten my hands on freshmeat in a long time, I forgot how fuckin’…flexible you are. We’re gonna have a lot a fun tonight, gonna have some more boys over, and you’re gonna be in heaven, I promise you that.”

Richard tried to do some math, tried to figure out what time it was. He’d left in the morning, but it had gotten dark in the park. He’d spent…hours there already, and now here, and…and it was still pitch black out the window. “I…I have to get home, I…it’s so late.”

“So what if its late, man! The night doesn’t end until we want it to, in Pigtown, and I think we can go for a while longer, don’t you?”

The man shoved the wet crotch of his filthy jeans into Richard’s face, and he couldn’t help himself, licking at the nasty denim, feeling his cock grow larger, and start to pump precum out, soaking the front of the nasty underwear he was wearing. He didn’t want it to stop, did he? No, he didn’t. Not long after that, men started appearing, and toyed with him, pissed on him, came on him, in him, fed him, filled him up, clothed him, changed him in ways that Richard could barely understand, and when Rich awoke, it was morning.

Some morning. He looked around at the nice backyard where he’d woken up, and part of him knew he should recognize it…but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t find the memory anymore. He pulled out a cigar, lit it, and that helped wake him up a bit, but it still didn’t bring out the memory. One thing he knew for sure, was that he didn’t belong here. It was too bright, the sun…hurt, somehow, even through all of his filthy gear.

He stood up and left, following his instincts back home, back to the park. Rich never left Pigtown again after that, but why would he want to? It’s where he belonged now, after all.

(Caption) Dale’s Divorce

October Caption Challenge (15/31)

The divorce had been rough. Sure, he’d made mistakes, but now he was losing the house, he could only see his son on the weekends, and he was going to have to pay her alimony? It had just been a fucking prostitute–ok, a few prostitutes, usually while he was out of town on business. If she’d just put out more, none of this would have happened.

Dale wound up in a two bedroom apartment not too far from work, but it was hard not to resent the whole mess. Frustrated, he ended up befriending one of his neighbor’s Max, and the two of them would stay up drinking, talking about their respective problems. Or at least, Dale would talk, and Max would listen.

One evening, Max interrupted Dale’s usual diatribe to suggest something. “You know, I have this little app on my phone, maybe it can help you out a bit, move past this a little.”

“Oh?” Dale asked.

Max pulled out his phone, loaded it up, and the flashlight in it began to strobe. “Yeah, it’s just a little trance program. Puts you in a relaxed state. All you have to do is look at the light. Might help you settle a bit, sleep better. I could help you push some of this stuff out of your head for a bit, get past it.”

Max looked up, and saw that Dale was already staring at the flashing light, mouth open and drooling a bit.

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Don’t you worry buddy, I know just the thing to help you get over that bitch ex-wife.”

And so, Dale found himself developing a new relationship, this time, with Max’s feet. It was just a few suggestions at first, and Max went barefoot for a while, watching Max’s eyes track his footsteps all over their apartments. Soon enough, he got him drunk, and Max was more than happy to worship his feet, love them, kiss them, and each sniff helped him forget his ex-wife a little more.

Once Max was certain the new footpig was well under his control, he told him that he wanted to make a deal. After all, Dale shouldn’t just get to worship these wonderful feet for free–no, there was something else that Max wanted. He wanted his son. Dale had introduced them, of course, and Max was just a few months shy of turning eighteen, which meant he’d be able to visit his dad all he wanted. Except Dale was going to help Max out, wasn’t he?

So the next weekend, they pinned his son down, tied him up, and after a few hours, he was already sniffing the inside of Max’s sneakers, moaning and groaning like the little foot slave he was going to become, just like his dad.

Since Max was going to be busy, and Dale wouldn’t be able to service him as much, Max had a surprise for him–he’d started renting him out as a footwhore online, and he already had his first client scheduled today.

Sure enough, a motorcycle pulled up, and an old, grungy looking chubby biker got off, and headed for where Dale and Max were standing in front of their apartments. “Hey Dale, this the pig?” he asked.

“Yep–you’ll show Willis here a good time, won’t you Dale?”

Dale gulped–but once the biker got his boots off and he got a whiff of his road funk, Max’s reservations melted away. Soon enough, his son didn’t even visit his dad, he just went right to Max’s apartment. Not too long after that, Dale and his son forgot that they were even related. He was Max’s dirty little footpig, his obedient, sexy son, and Dale was just the nasty, perverted footwhore who lived next door.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares III

October Caption Challenge (14/31)

CW: SCAT

Edward stood in the shower at the gym, trying to stay focused. He should love her, Mary, his wife of nearly forty years, but lately it had just gotten so…difficult. He’d always had feelings about men. All his life, he’d known that he’d contained certain dirty lusts that were better left unsatisfied. He’d imagined that, after all of this time, they would have ebbed away. He’d lived a clean life for so long, and now…why was he feeling so weak, now?

The heart attack almost a year ago had been a message from God, he’d thought, to get his health in order. He’d started eating better, going to the gym, and the gym…it had been difficult to resist some of the thoughts and temptations he’d been facing there. Just…why did they all have to be so beautiful? Every man he saw, it seemed, just made him feel filthier and filthier. He would take a cold shower after the workout, and that had helped a bit before, but it was harder and harder to resist the urges he was feeling. The same urges that had called to the dream imp to him. The same urges the imp was going to release for him, whether he wanted them or not. However, Edward had proven to be a tougher nut to crack than the imp had expected–and he was growing frustrated with him. Perhaps, the imp thought, it was simply time to show the old fellow just how filthy he could get.

The temperature of the shower he was standing under changed, going from tap water cold to body temperature. He smelled it a moment later, the distinct pang of piss all around him, licked his lips, and was horrified to realize that the showerhead was streaming piss all over him. He recoiled from it, but the shower followed him, spraying him down, and the more he tasted and smelled it, the stronger the filthy urges inside him became. All those…men out there, the men he’d run away from, he wanted them all so badly, and this was making it all so much worse. Soap, he needed soap, anything to get clean again. He grabbed for the bar he usually brought into the shower with him, gripped it, and felt it squish in his hand.

Looking down at his fist, he was shaking. It wasn’t soap that he’d grabbed onto–it was a warm log of shit that had just been sitting there on the shelf. He could smell it, feel it between his fingers and under his nails. He wanted to open his hand and drop it, but instead, his hand started rubbing it all over his body, coating himself with it, feeling the dirtiness inside him grow stronger still. He was filthy. He was irredeemable. He was nothing more than a faggot, a toilet, a hole. Worthless. He ran out of shit, squatted down in the shower, and squeezed out another log into his hand, smearing that onto him as well, licking his fingers clean. He looked up, and saw the horde of muscular young men waiting for him…but they were different too. Musky, grungy, asses unwashed and fully of piss and filth. He crawled out to them, and they surrounded him, the nightmare becoming a fantasy–and when he awoke, reality.

Eddie jacked off on the filthy mattress he slept on, holding onto what had to be the hottest dream of his entire life. When he’d cum, he rolled up, got into his rubber gear, and started hitting up some of his regular fuckbuddies, looking for some asses to service, and hopefully, some shit to eat and piss to drink. He lit up a cigar as he did, feeling sexy as fuck–sure, he might be an old filthy faggot, but at least he could finally be free.

(Caption) Arctos: One Size Fits All

October Caption Challenge (13/31)

James put his arms up and checked himself out in the mirror. Damn, these were some sexy fucking shorts, he had to admit.

One of his friends had sent him a link to this online shop called Arctos, one of those bear gear supply companies. Most of the stuff on there hadn’t interested him that much, but when he’d left, he’d gotten an email with a special offer in it, to try their new One Size Fits All Underwear. It had been a great deal, so why the hell not? He’d ordered it, and a few days later, the boxer briefs had appeared in the mail.

He had no idea what they were talking about when they said one size fits all though–these things were tight, in the best way, of course. He ran his hands down and gave his cock a grope through the material. He’d have to take a few pics for his friend to show off.

It was a few days later, after sending them through the wash, and folding them in the living room, that he noticed the tag on the back of the briefs. It did say one size fits all, but it also had a weird little dial that you could spin. It was set to large, which must just be his size, but what, if you spun the dial, the shorts just…got bigger or smaller or something? He gave it a spin in one direction, and the sizes went up, settling on 4XL. Sure enough, the briefs got bigger, right in his hands. As a bit of a laugh, he decided to pull them on, but once he did, he was surprised to find that they still fit him perfectly.

Then again, why the hell wouldn’t they? He was a 4XL usually. He wore the briefs while he finished folding the laundry, huffing and puffing a bit from standing for so long, and when he was finished, he plopped down in his chair for a breather. He gave his gut a rub, then reached down and fondled his cock through the front of the briefs, moaning a bit. Damn these things were comfortable, he’d have to order a few more soon. Finding clothes to fit a big daddy bear like him wasn’t easy after all. Maybe he should take another look at Arctos’ offerings, see what they might have available for a daddy like him.

(Caption) Two Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (12/31)

It was hard not to feel self conscious.

Taking selfies helped. Aaron usually took a couple before leaving, just to help psyche himself up. They weren’t…great photos, but it helped a little. He always felt a little silly going to Pigtown looking like this, dressed like he was going to some business conference or something, but he didn’t exactly have any of the gear that he saw a lot of guys wearing in the bar and the neighborhood. Why did he keep going back there? He knew he didn’t belong, but he wanted to. That was it, wasn’t it. He wanted to belong there, so badly, but he knew he never would, not really.

It didn’t stop him from going. He still went to the bars, to the shops, to the events. He went to see what he could have if he was less afraid, if he just…let go.

Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he would do more than stand and stare, and then slip into the glory holes, and suck cocks where no one could see him, and then wake up back home, with no memory of how he had gotten there.

Then, he saw him–or rather, he was seen by him. That was more important.

A handsome muscle bear, smoking a cigar. He smelled of fresh musk and light beer. Aaron looked away, embarrassed, but the man came up to him and started talking to him, asking him how he’d been, like he was just an old friend, and they were getting reacquainted. Talking to him like he’d known him forever. Talking to Aaron like he belonged there.

It was only natural to drink a bit too much. And the more he drank, the harder it became to really focus on his fellow. He realized he didn’t quite know his name, that his face was just as slippery as all the things he was learning about him, but despite all of that, he still craved the acknowledgement, and so, it was only natural to bring him home. What happened after that, was less clear.

And then in the morning, things were much, much too clear.

Aaron woke to the smell of rough cigars and rancid musk–not the same as the man he’d met outside the bar, the man who had known him so well. He was already awake and had made himself coffee, smoking a cigar in a filthy undershirt he had not been wearing the night before. Aaron was sure of it, wasn’t he?

“Mornin’,” he said. The voice was right, almost.

“What…who are you?”

“Come on, after that nice time last night, pig, ya gonna pretend ya don’t even remember?”

He didn’t remember, did he? But looking back, all of the memories of that handsome bear were gone, replaced by this lout, this slob, this pig. How had he been so wrong?

“Gotta say pig, you were delicious. Best meal I’ve had in ages. Might as well give ya something yummy in return, eh? Ya want yer breakfast?”

“I want ya out of my apartment, is what I want,” Aaron said, but his voice–it was wrong too. And his arm, had he had those tattoos? And he was fatter, and…and what the fuck had happened to him? And to his apartment? His well kept two bedroom was just a filthy studio now, and from the sound outside, he wasn’t in the quiet suburban neighborhood from before.

“In a minute, piggy–come on now, drink up,” the man said, shoved his cock in Aaron’s mouth, and let loose a stream of piss. He choked on it, feeling it dribble down into his beard and the filthy bed below him, and it was…delicious. He tried to remember who he’d been, his job, his life, but it was…gone. This man, this shifter, had stolen it all from him, and left him with this. With that, the stranger left, leaving Aaron on his knees, horrified, with no clue what to do. And at night, his hunger led him back to the bar. He only lived a few blocks away now, and he had a gloryhole reserved for him. It was his place. He finally belonged, somewhere here. Even if most only knew him as a cundump or a urinal. It was something, at least. He could be happy with that.

(Caption) Two Flubs in a Row

October Caption Challenge (11/31)

Ok, so it didn’t work out exactly how Jerry had planned it, but it wasn’t that bad of a scenario, right?

Jerry and Tim had been going out for a couple of years, but lately, their relationship had been on the rocks. Tim was a bit of gym freak, going almost every day of the week, and while Jerry had liked the gym too, after a knee injury, he’d been laid up for about six months. In that time, with nothing to really focus his energy on, he’d eaten…a lot, and packed on quite a gut. Tim was merciless about it, ridiculing him for it, all sorts of mean and snide comments, even threatening to break up with him, if he didn’t lose it. But his knees never got fully back to normal, and the few times he’d gone, Jerry had always nearly damaged it again. So one day, passing a bookstore on the way home from work, he’d stumbled upon, well, a book of spells. And in that book, had been a love spell, a spell you can use to make someone love the parts of you that…well, maybe they shouldn’t. Sure, it was a bit of a cheat, right? But their relationship was so good in every other respect, why not just use this to help Tim past his prejudice?

So, Jerry cast the spell, and now, here they are.

Tim definitely has found a new love for his boyfriend’s gut. A rather obsessive, single minded love. He worshiped the thing, and his new mission in life to to make it as large as it could possibly get. What had freaked Jerry out more than that, though, was that Tim was no longer the muscle bound beast he’d been before he’d cast the spell. No, the new Tim was about as chubby as he was, and loved his own body just as much as he loved Tim’s–determined to grow both of them as large as they could possibly get.

Jerry just rolled with it. He still had the spell book, after all. He could figure out how to reverse this, and then he’d do it right. Unfortunately, he never got the chance. The next day, while he was at work, Tim happened across the spellbook in their room, took a look through the pages, and found something that would make his life absolutely perfect.

When Jerry got home, he felt…an odd pulse shudder through him, but didn’t think much of it. He just waddled his way into the den of the home he shared with Tim since he’d retired a few years back, shucked off his 4XL clothes, and plopped down in a recliner, while his husband focused on fixing them both their substantial dinner. Fuck, he was hungry. He dug around in his gunt for his puny cock, gave it a little squeeze, thinking about how much bigger he’s gotten since finally being able to retire, and focus on what really mattered in life, getting as fat as he possibly could.

After their massive dinner, a few belly rubs in the kitchen, the two of them headed to bed, and feeling sexy, Jerry took a selfie of himself in the mirror to send to a few fellow gainers later. There, on the bookshelf was the spell book, but in the morning, it had disappeared, gone elsewhere to tempt another soul.

(Caption) One Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (10/31)

It wasn’t Peter’s first time in Pigtown. The bar was legendary in the city, and the entire neighborhood around it just as much. There were stories, tall tales really, about the bar having some sort of magic. Peter didn’t know about magic, but the energy there was unlike any bar he’d ever been to, in any city, on any continent. It thrummed in him, pushing him to dance harder, kiss more, drink heavy, and no matter what, he would never seem to remember how to got back to bed each night–though he rarely went back alone.

But tonight felt different. Tonight, there was more energy than before, pulsing through him. Everyone was looking at him, everyone wanted him, and he wanted them all just as badly. He was out of control. It culminated around midnight, with him getting up on the bar, already naked, and sliding up and down on a dildo one of the other patron’s placed there, drunk on both drink and the cheers and lusts of the men around him.

Another patron came up, blew him while he fucked himself, and eventually, he made his way back onto the dance floor for a few minutes, but it wasn’t long before he was in the backroom, countless hands on him, countless cocks sliding into him, overstimulated and overwhelmed, he managed to crawl away, deeper than he’d gone before into the maze, so deep he wasn’t quite sure where he was going, anymore.

“There you are, I was hoping you weren’t too lost, yet,” a voice said.

Peter looked up, and found a bearish leatherman looming over him, his face and beard lit only by the light cast from the cigar gripped in his maw. “You seemed to have lost yourself in there a little while ago, got a little out of control.”

Peter tried to respond, but his body was still thrumming with need and lust and anxious desire. He found himself crawling over to the man, licking at the crotch of his leather pants, and the man laughed.

“Lucky I found you before something else down here did,” he said, “Let me help you.”

Peter felt something heavy slip over his head. A chain collar, secured with a padlock with the key still inserted in it, and the man pulled the key free. As he did, something…shifted in Peter’s mind, the energy turned solid, and looking up at the man, all he knew was that he was his master, and he had to obey him, and service him, and do everything that he demanded.

“That’s a good boy, come now, I’ll show you the way back out of here. And then, you can thank me properly, how does that sound?”

Peter thought it sounded very nice, and did just that.

But the next morning, something was wrong. When he awoke, his body was…different. There were more tattoos, his nipples were pierced, his cock as well. He found himself craving cigars, and even stranger, there was a humidor sitting on top of his dresser. He was wearing a leather harness he’d never seen before in his life, but which he was somehow certain was his. And lastly, there around his neck, was the chain, the padlock, and the key still in the lock.

It had gone on so easily before, but now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it off. The chain wouldn’t slip over his head, and the key wouldn’t turn in the padlock, or even come out. He struggled with it for a while, before eventually, and a bit shamefully, going to his neighbor’s next door, and asking them for help. He was a straight guy and married, but a bit of a handyman. He fiddled with the key, and it came right out of the lock–and as soon as it did, the same urge to submit overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees in front of his neighbor–who didn’t miss a beat, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. That evening, he had his first adventure in pigtown as well, guided by his slave for the evening, and the next morning, Peter was right back in his apartment, collar secure, key hanging free–and he realized then, that Pigtown was magic, and it had its hooks in deep.

(Caption) Pig Rehabilitation Program

October Caption Challenge (9/31)

“MMmm…MMmfffff…” Officer Barrett said, trying to get something out from around the gag strapped in his mouth. A curse, a cry for help, anything at all. He’d woken up here a few minutes before, tied up in his uniform, unable to remember how he’d gotten here, or who had taken him. The last thing he could remember clearly was getting ready to police another one of those fucking protests, but on his way, well…someone must have jumped him.

He heard steps coming down the stairs into the basement, and a couple of young men in black with their faces covered, stood in front of him. “Well, Officer Barrett–we got a hold of your records a while back from an info dump, and we were amazed. I didn’t know someone could wrack up so many complaints from the public, and not face any disciplinary action at all.”

Barrett scowled at them. Sure, he had a rough hand, but it was punks like this that deserved it. One of them picked up a strange looking helmet, and placed it over his head. He couldn’t hear anything in the room, once it was settled in, but noise was piped in through headphones in the sides. “Don’t worry, we’re only interested in rehabilitation. You’re going to be helping us, Officer, perfect our method for turning the most hardened, violent, cops into upstanding, obedient citizens. Now relax, Officer Barrett, just relax…”

There was a burst of color in front of his eyes, a thick kaleidoscope of color dazzling him, making it impossible to focus, streaming in even if he tried to keep his eyes shut. The noise was deafening in his ears, white noise, but he was sure he could hear words too. He tried to concentrate, tried to resist, but he found himself drifting off–and then, eventually, he wasn’t in the basement anymore. He was…well, he wasn’t sure where he was.

He sat up, looked around him, and found he was in an alley. It was dark, there was the sounds of chanting and music not too far off, sounding like the protests that had been happening nightly in his city. He’d…been attending them hadn’t he? He tried to remember more, but it was like there was a blanket of noise, or fuzz, over his memories. He stood up, feeling…younger than he thought he should be. He was shirtless, and just wearing a pair of leather shorts–and tattoos all over as well. What had happened to him, exactly? He left the alley, turned the corner, and found himself face-to-face with a police officer, but not quite right either. His riot gear was gone, and he just had on a leather uniform, a beard longer than regulations allowed, and a cigar clamped in his mouth.

“There you are, you fucking piece of shit,” the officer said, and before Barrett could do anything, he was on the sidewalk, hands yanked behind him painfully, and cuffed. “Thought you could hide from me, eh? Well, I know what you need, even if you don’t, you fucking pig.”

“Pig.” That word reverberated through him, somehow. He…he was a pig, wasn’t he? People had called him a pig before. But…but that wasn’t quite right, none of this was right. He tried to ask what he’d done wrong, why the officer was arresting him, but all he got instead was the officer’s baton wedged in his mouth and pulled tight, while the officer came up behind him, rubbing his stiff bulge against the back of Barrett’s head.

“I thought you pigs knew to remain silent,” the cop said, “Well, at least until the screaming starts.”

He had Barrett pinned to the sidewalk then, one boot on the back of his neck, pressing hard enough to make him gasp, and with the baton, started pounding on his ass, the sharp sting even penetrating the leather shorts he was wearing. But the pain–it hurt, but it also felt good. It felt good because he deserved it. Because he’d been a bad pig, a naughty piggy, yeah…

When the simulation was done, Barrett’s mind rebooted, processing what it had seen, and then began again, while the two young hackers watched. Starting off with the protest scenario was, perhaps, unfortunate, but the scenario would change slowly, as more and more of Barrett’s mind was rewritten with the code being pumped into his mind by the headset. They anticipated that rehabilitation would take a week, but much to their delight, Officer Barrett–or rather, Pig Barrett, as he preferred to be called, was ready to be reintroduced in just five days.

He thanked the two young men for helping him understand his place in the world, and happily worshiped their cocks, their feet, their holes, and begged them both for loads from their own–his own cock perfectly soft in the chastity cage he now wore. After all, pigs didn’t need release like that. They got their pleasure in other ways, in servicing their betters, in acts of worship. In two days, he was in his new home, servicing a proper Master, and the two young men took their bounty and funneled it into their research. There were still a few kinks to work out, and then they’d have to scale it up–but they had no doubt that before too long, their plan to abolish the police would be well on its way.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares #2

October Caption Challenge (8/31)

Times had changed, he supposed.

Jack remembered when he’d been a teenager, and it felt like he’d had all the time in the world to play video games. But now he was almost 30, with a job, and a physique to maintain. Now he was lucky if he managed to play a couple of hours a day on the weekends, and maybe sometime during the week.

But it wasn’t just that. It was that the fuckers were so fucking mean! If you wanted to play with people, that meant going online, and he was so tired of fuckers calling him whatever foul language they wanted. Sure, he understood a little trash talk, but it was ridiculous. It was enough that, tonight, he lost his temper. After getting clobbered in a round, he let loose, “If I was a fat fucking pig like you guys, I’d be good at this game too,” he said.

The guys on the other end just laughed at him, and he felt his cheeks growing red. Little did Jack know, that the demon was listening in, cackling to itself. It wasn’t long after that, that Jack went to bed, and the demon followed him into sleep.

Jack found himself on his couch again, controller in his hand, playing a game–but it seemed…harder than it should be. After struggling for a while, a dialogue popped up on the screen, asking if he’d like to decrease the difficulty. He grumbled to himself, selected yes–and felt a strange gurgle in his gut. Looking down, he saw his flat stomach bulge out into a gut, his muscles beginning to atrophy right there where he was sitting. He heaved himself up and got to the bathroom to look at himself in shock and horror. He…fuck, he looked like he hadn’t set foot in a gym in his whole life.

Then again, of course he hadn’t. He spent all that time gaming now! When the game had asked him if he wanted to make it easier, it hadn’t made the game easier–it had changed his whole life instead!

Something chuckled behind him, and he found himself looking at a strange little beast crouched in the dark. “How does it feel, being a fat fucking piggy?” it asked.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Hush now, Jack, don’t you want to keep playing?”

He found himself back on the couch, the controller in his hand. He tried to get up, but he was stuck to the cushions. He tried to throw the controller, but it was glued to his hands. “What the fuck is this?”

“Play the game, Jack–I can always make it easier, if you want,” the demon said from its perch behind him on the couch.

He started playing again, and sure enough, it was easier. Everything that had flummoxed him before, his hands just…performed without any sort of effort. At least, until he passed the easy levels. Things got harder and harder, but he refused to increase the difficulty–at least until he noticed the counter for his lives at the top of the screen. It was low–only five left. How had he not noticed that before?

“What happens if I lose all the lives?” he asked.

“It’s game over, then,” the demon said, breath hot on his neck, “Which means I get to play with you next, forever. Sure you don’t want to make it easier?”

“Please, I don’t want to play anymore. I don’t care! Make it so I’ve never played a game in my life, anything you want, I’m tired of this, please, I just want to wake up.”

“Don’t tell me you’re really going to be a quitter,” the demon said, sounded a bit disappointed.

“Yes! I quit! I’m done, I never want to play a game as long as I live.”

The demon sighed, “Well, if you say so. I guess you can spend the rest of your life on the couch, jacking your tiny cock into your fat gunt, toying with your gaping hole and fat tits, watching the most disgusting, humiliating porn you can find.”

“Wait, what?”

The next thing Jack knew, he was awake from that horrible nightmare. Imagine, him gaming! He hadn’t touched a video game in his life–though he did, on occasion, like to listen to videos of them hurling insults, imagining they were all humiliating him. He moaned, and started tugging on his fat tits, looking for the remote on the nasty couch he was sitting on. He needed to jack off, and he needed something especially filthy to take his mind off that horrible dream.