Author: wesleybracken8258

Do you supply every single liked photo with a caption or do you treat them more as bookmarks?

Here’s my process. First, I wander around tumblr looking for pictures that pique my interest. That usually takes the longest of the entire process, and I keep track of them by liking them, so yes, as bookmarks. Then, I usually pick ones at random to flesh out as I feel inspired to do so. Not every like gets a caption–sometimes I the reason I liked it in the first place fades.

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The Shift, by Donald T. Oolong

Michael was a head-turner, and he knew it. Other men always noticed him, vaguely aware there was something—off—about the otherwise unassuming man. The air around him shimmered as if he were staring at asphalt on a hot day, even when it was cool outside. He called it the Shift, and he’d seen it ever since the car accident. He’d wondered if it was brain damage, but soon realized that if he concentrated hard enough, he could bend the will of others.

He passed a surly-looking young man unloading musical equipment from a van outside one of the clubs downtown. Mid-twenties, shaggy black hair, scruffy, lean but defined, tattoo sleeves coiling around his tightly bunched muscles. From the corner of his eye, Michael saw Tattoo Sleeves jerk his head up to look at him, only to have the amp slip from his hands and crash on the pavement. Michael chuckled as he projected ideas into Tattoo Sleeves’ head. Wanna bury my face in his belly; suck his tits; be pinned down under his weight helpless but safe and warm; feel his cock up my ass. Want men, not women. Fat, older men. That’s what I need: daddy.

                             *************************************************

Flustered by the dawning realization that his girlfriend–fuck, all women—didn’t do it for him anymore. Caleb stared at Michael’s retreating form, mouth agape. His eyes fixated on the enormous round asscheeks that shifted back and forth with each step, oblivious to the wreckage of his amplifier and the prominent bulge in his pants.

Michael suddenly whirled around “See something you like, young man?”

Their eyes met and Caleb followed Michael’s gaze down to his crotch. He blinked several times, his face reddening as he struggled to find his voice. An address popped into his head, the image of a white brick house. Michael smirked, and Caleb felt as if he were shrinking under his gaze, but found himself somehow enjoying it. It was the same condescending look his dad gave him whenever he talked about his band, or how he didn’t want to grow up to be like him. But in the end he really wanted to lose, to have one of these fat, self-satisfied douchebags put him in his place, but then their faces would soften, they’d throw their arms around him, pull him close and—

Caleb let out a high-pitched cry as he came, soaking his pants. Michael turned and walked away.

                                                *****************************************

Michael could influence things, but he couldn’t control them. So it was a pleasant surprise when he heard the cacophonous music coming down the his street, getting louder and louder until it suddenly stopped in front of his house with the slamming of a car door. Tattoo Sleeves smoked on the sidewalk, glancing at the house and the tree-lined street around him. That gave Michael a few minutes. He unlocked the door, stripped down, and sat in the kitchen facing the door. He heard a knock, and called out. Showtime.

“It’s open!”

Have you seen any cool horror movies recently?

Recently? I haven’t been watching many movies lately to be honest, but if you want some recommendations, I have a few. 

Two French horror films would probably top my list. The first is called “Martyrs”–just supremely fucked up, and really well done. The second is called “Irreversible” which is more ‘thriller’ than ‘horror’ I suppose, but still a great film.

Beyond that, I mostly just watch whatever B-horror flicks tend to wind up on Netflix at the moment, unless I really feel like watching Paris Hilton die a horrible death, and then “House of Wax” it is.

Have you ever thought of having more photo captions with more than one transformation in them?

Well, I usually try to keep my captions short, usually under 500 words, and because of that restriction, that usually precludes me from including more than one transformation in them. That said, sometimes the perfect picture comes along which supports two transformations, but usually, I think I’ll stick to just one. Of course, if people vote for a caption and I expand it, Then I’m perfectly happy to include more than one transformation.

hope you continue that workout pig story you made earlier. I’m not into pigs persay, but that just hit a cord. On a side note. What do you think is the mass appeal for pigs being the go to for complete humiliation? Does it get you off

I’m not sure which story from last week I’ll be developing yet, so it could very well be that one. As for the connection between pigs and humiliation, I think our culture just sees pigs (as animals) as being deserving of humiliation, since they seem to enjoy wallowing in filth etc. It’s just an easy symbol to grasp, I suppose. As for me, I probably wouldn’t write it if it didn’t get me off lol.

There comes a time on Halloween night when you don’t want to be out after dark, and the four young men had entered that witching hour without realizing it. Coming home from the gay bar, they were cutting through a back alley on their way to the apartments where they lived, when a lightening bolt thundered through the clear sky overhead, struck the pavement, and a hulking, eight foot man, clad all in leather, stood in front of them.

“I am the Master of the Hunt” the man said, “And I need a pack.”

Before any of the young men could do anything about it, three collars attached to leads shot out from his hands and wrapped their away around the throats of three of them, the men struggling with them even as they began changing, their clothes disappearing, fur sprouting over their bodies. They remained human, but the collars grew up over their head into leather dog muzzles, and they all crawled over the their new master, and growled at the one man left standing.

“What…what about me?” the man whimpered.

“You? Why you are the prey,” the Hunter said, and cackled. The man turned and scrambled away, the baying and howling of the pack nipping at his heels, and he prayed that he might survive the night.