Caption: The Mason Boys and the Cop

It wasn’t the most glamorous place to be a police officer, he supposed, but maybe that was for the best, Mitch thought. He had always liked the small town life, after all, as sleepy and boring as it could be at times. The occasional drunken brawl at the tavern was about as exciting as it ever got around here–at least, until that fateful night when the Mason boys were screaming down the highway at over a hundred, and Mitch was waiting in the cop car behind some bushes, though most people knew better than to race through there.

When the car sped past him, Mitch was always too surprised to give chase. Cussing a little, he put his coffee in the center console, flicked on the lights, and raced off after them. If he hadn’t–if he’d just let them go, maybe the Mason boys would have never come to the little, sleepy town of Garrison–and the town wouldn’t have become nearly as interesting as it has, as of late.

The car slowed down as soon as Mitch pulled out from his hiding place with his lights on, and pulled over to the side of the road–which seemed a bit…too easy for Mitch, and set off a few little red flags in the back of his head. Still, it was probably just some guy who, in the middle of the night, thought no one would be around to catch him, but he was wrong, wasn’t he? Mitch radioed in the stop to dispatch, and proceeded to the driver side window–there, he found something similar to what he’d expected, an older fellow, looking a bit…terrified. He was in a suit that seemed a bit…dirty, and he stank, or at least, something stank. That was when he looked back, and saw the two men in the backseat–the Mason boys.

Both of them were grungy looking fellows, with big beards and lots of tattoos, both smoking sizable cigars, and filling the whole cab with smoke, making Mitch cough. The smell of everything made him a bit…lightheaded, and woozy in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Please, you have to help me,” the driver said to him, “I…I can’t control…what they tell me to do, please, please, I–”

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, you stupid faggot,” one of the brothers said in the backseat. “Evening officer, what can we do for you tonight?”

Mitch wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation–the whole thing just looked…strange, to him. “Is…everything alright, Sir?” he asked the driver.

“Go on, bitch, tell the handsome cop why you were speeding,” the other brother said, and the two laughed.

“I…I was speeding because…because I like sucking cop cock, Sir,” the older man said…but to Mitch, it didn’t look like he wanted to be saying it. It looked like he was being forced to say it, but he didn’t see a weapon on anything in the back. “Please, Sir? Can I suck your cock?”

“Are they making you say that, Sir?”

“No sir, I’m just…just a fat old faggot who loves cop cock, please, please fuck me, I want you to beat me with your billy club, and shove it up my old hole, and then cum all over my face, right on the side of the road, please Sir, please…”

The man was crying, and what Mitch wanted to do, was order the other two out of the car, arrest them, and get the story straight from their captive–but what he did instead was order the driver out of the car. He threw him over the front hood, right there on the highway, and started smacking his ass with the club, while the Mason boys got out, cheering him on, the driver sobbing in pain, as Mitch yanked down the man’s pants, and shoved his club into his hole. Once it was good and deep, he forced the man onto his knees, and started fucking his face, the two men urging him on, telling him what a hot fucker he is, their musk making his head spin more and more until he came all over the driver’s face, and Mitch, panting, felt control return to him.

The Mason boys were laughing, the driver sobbing, and before anyone could do anything else, he pulled his gun on the two men, and ordered them against their car. He didn’t know…what they’d done to him, but he hadn’t wanted to do that–he was going to put them under arrest, and figure out what to do about them. He handcuffed them both, and then got them in the squad car, leaving the driver on the side of the road, his club still shoved in his hole, but the Mason boys weren’t scared, they seemed…happy. Thrilled even, as Mitch radioed dispatch, told them he’d resolved the stop, and was quitting for the night. Then, he drove his two captives home, answering all of their questions that they asked him…and only realized something was off when they pulled into his driveway, instead of the station.

“Why…why did I bring you two here?” he said.

“Don’t think about it too hard, bitch–you’re way more fun, and sexy, than that old guy–come on, let’s go inside for some fun–won’t that be nice?” one of the boys said to him.

Mitch couldn’t stop himself as he got out, took off the handcuffs, and followed the two men into his house, where he lived alone–after his last girlfriend had left him. The Mason boys had come to town, and now that they were here, they were going to be staying for quite a while–and Mitch was going to be their first toy.


“So you think you’re ready to go to work at the station? Are you sure?” Teddy Mason said, while his brother, Edd, just chuckled.

“Yeah, I…I think so,” Mitch said to them both, standing in the hallway of his house. He…he couldn’t quite remember much of what had happened the night before, after bringing the two dirty men home with him from that traffic stop, but…but his shift started soon, and he was a cop, so he had to go to work. It was important. It was hard to think though, and so he’d been struggling to get ready all morning. Thankfully Teddy and Edd had helped him out.

“You have your uniform on?”

“Yep! It’s blue and everything.”

“Is it clean?”

“It wasn’t but I went I rolled in the dirt out back like you told me to, Teddy. Now’s it’s clean.”

“You get breakfast?”

“Still working on my third can,” Mitch said, as he took another long sip from the beer he had in his hand.

Teddy and Edd were laughing now, but Mitch didn’t know what was so funny, really. He was just getting ready for work.

“You go to the bathroom? Take care of business?” Edd said, sneering at him.

“Oh…uh…no, I didn’t piss this morning yet.”

“Well I bet you have to after breakfast for sure–but you’re running late–better finish that beer and piss yourself to save some time.”

That…that made sense, didn’t it? Mitch downed the rest of his beer, and then felt piss flood the front of his uniform as he stood in the hallway, grinning like an idiot, while the Mason boys just laughed. Something must be real funny–Mitch found himself grinning along, despite not knowing why.

“Alright, I think you’re ready Bitch–go get to the station, and hurry. You’re almost late.”

“Thanks you guys, it was…real hard getting going this morning for some reason.”

“No worries Bitch, we’re here to help.”

Mitch went out to the driveway and climbed in the squad car. It was a bit hard driving after three beers, but he managed alright, and got to the station in one piece. He was half an hour late–the sheriff was going to be so pissed at him. He went in, and sure enough, Sheriff Biggs was there, huffing, and when he saw Mitch there, his face went bright red…and as soon as he was in the station, Mitch…remembered, everything, with perfect clarity.

How the Mason boys had humiliated him all night, fucking him, teasing him, and then this morning, how…how they’d dressed him up in these filthy denim clothes, and now he was here, in front of his boss, looking like some dirty fucking pig…and as hard as he tried to explain himself, no sound would come out of his mouth.

“Mitch, what the fuck are you wearing?”

“My…My uniform, Sir,” he blurted out, unable to say anything other than that, just like the driver the other night. “It’s…it’s blue, right?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“I had…I mean…”

The sheriff sniffed his breath, and wrinkled his nose. “You fucking piece of shit, you’re fucking fired! Give me your fucking keys, your badge, and your gun.”

He had remembered his badge and gun–probably because the Mason boys had known he’d have to turn them in after this stunt. Then, the sheriff booted him out of the station–without a car, he had to take the bus and walk home–and he got there in the early afternoon, fuming, but unable to tell a soul the truth about why he was dressed like this, and soaked in piss.

But the boys’ hold on him was too strong. He went inside, found Teddy wearing his uniform, minus the badge, and when he tried to cuss them out and hit them, he couldn’t move. Instead, he ended up on his hands and knees, cleaning his own boots with his tongue while Edd fucked him, making him recount everything that had happened to him that morning. Mitch cried, finally. He cried, but that just made the boys laugh louder. 

“Fuck bro, this town seems fucking boring, you know?”

“Yeah Edd–and I like our bitch here a lot–you don’t mind if we stay with you for a while, do you Bitch? I think my bro and I could have a lot of fun here, don’t you? You want us to stay with you real bad–you’ll do anything we say, as long as we stay, isn’t that right?”

Mitch had to agree of course, he’d agree with anything the Mason boys said, after all. Soon, all the rest of the men in the town would too, if the boys had their way.

Caption: Brownnoser Brother

Patrons who are on my discord server get exclusive access to all of my caption stories as I write them! This one is in three parts–here’s the first one for you. If you’d like to become a patron and support my writing, you can find out more info here!


I couldn’t believe the fucking nerve of my fucking brother, texting me out of the blue like that. I should back up a bit, I guess. He was always the black sheep of the family, four years older than I was, and he’d always hated me. Resented me is a better word I guess. Even in my earliest memories, he was always a bully, picking on me, setting me up to take the fall for shit I didn’t do, but our parents always sided with me, which probably only served to piss him off even more. When he was a teenager, shit went even more sideways–he started drinking a lot, falling in with some guys at school that were real pieces of work, probably got involved in some drug shit though I never saw any proof. He dropped out–well, he was expelled–my parents kicked him to the curb when he was 17, and that was that for a while. My dad always had a soft spot for him and kept in touch, hoping he would turn things around, but nothing ever worked, and I mostly pushed him out of mind as I went off to college. The last time I saw him, a year ago, was for my grandmother’s funeral–he looked like garbage, stank to high heaven, couldn’t even be bothered to dress up. He came because he needed money, and thought he was getting some! Even that was enough to turn my dad against him too, and that was the last I heard from him, until I got the text today, asking me for money!

He wanted 200 dollars. I told him to fuck off. Before I could block his number though, he sent me a nasty fucking insult, calling me a “faggot brownnoser,” with a little tongue emoji to go with it. It was enough to set me off really, but what could I do? I got dressed and headed into work–I’d gotten a summer internship at a local tech firm that was going really well, and I couldn’t let my brother fuck that up for me.

Still, I felt…weird all morning. Angry, sure, but like something else was off, something I couldn’t really explain. I got an email from my boss before lunch, asking me to come by so we could discuss some details of my project, and I went to his office…and that was where it happened.

My boss didn’t even wait for me to get into the office before he stood up, dropped his pants and underwear, and bent over the side of his desk. “Well come on then, you faggot brownnoser,” he said, “Get to fucking work.”

I wanted to tell him to eat shit, go right to HR and report his ass…but instead, something took hold of me, and I got down and started eating out his hole, right there in his office, my cock hard as a rock, while he kept berating me, telling me what a worthless fuck I was, that the only reason he kept me around at all, was because I loved eating out dirty holes like his. I was horrified, but I couldn’t stop–and he made me sniff his underwear, tell him how much I loved the smell of the brown streak in the back of his briefs, all the while stroking my own cock.

He turned around and shot his load across my face, and I came in my pants–then he kicked me out of his office, telling me he wanted me back after he’d had his afternoon shit, and I fled. I was so fucking humiliated, I didn’t know what to do–but I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back there. I packed my bag and left the building–horrified at myself, the words still ringing in my mind–and I realized it was the same thing my brother had called me. It couldn’t be possible I told myself–it was just some fucked up dream. I needed to get something to eat, calm down, and call HR–but my brother’s curse was just getting started.

Caption: Arctos Influencers

“Ok, look cute–not too cute though. Don’t want anyone thinking we’re too snotty.”

“I know dear.”

“Good…not good enough. Look away, over at something.”

“At what?”

“I don’t care, just–look like there’s something interesting going on, over to the side there. You’re with me, you love it, but there’s stuff going on too. Mystery gets likes.”

“Alright, fine.”

Good…yeah, that looks great.”

It was the closest Nate had gotten to an actual admission that he was in a relationship with Mark–well, with Mark and his instagram account. Everything had to be documented–and staged just right so he could keep building his followers. He’d spent an hour on Nate’s wardrobe just this morning–and he was already exhausted, and wondering if this was what he really wanted. Sure, he was hot, and internet famous…

Nate sighed, while Mark uploaded the photo. When it was done, Nate watched the likes, and follows, rack up on his own page something fierce. It did feel good, didn’t it? Then, much to his surprise, an email popped up in his inbox, from some company named Arctos. He asked Mark about it.

“Oh, some weird as company, keeps trying to get me to be an influencer for them. Don’t know why–I am so not their aesthetic. Go take a look.”

Nate went to the site–and sure enough, the page was full of big, hairy, bearded men–the exact opposite of them in most every way. Nate laughed, but couldn’t help but be a bit curious. A little later, while Mark was watching TV, he got back on his phone, and clicked the offer–just to see what they wanted. The screen changed into a swirling pattern of red and black-like flannel, but…so much more than that. It was fascinating, and Nate couldn’t look away from it, no matter how hard he tried.

“What the–who the fuck are you?” 

Something shook Nate out of his focus on his screen, and Mark was standing there, looking at him with utter disgust…but he just didn’t understand. “I…Look at this offer man, I think…I think we could do this,” Nate said, his voice…deep, gravelly, and so sensual all of a sudden. He turned the phone towards Mark, and as soon as he saw the swirl of pattern, he too went blank…and Nate watched his twinky boyfriend start to grow, packing on muscle, packing on hair, a thick beard pushing out of his chin and cheeks…and fuck, did he look sexy as a bear.

Needless to say, Nate and Mark have never been happier, and the influencer deal with Arctos has been working out great. Of course, a lot of Mark’s followers were confused at first, how they went from following a slim twink to a burly, hairy, bearded bear…but the flannel he was wearing smoothed out their concerns quickly–and lots of them used the link provided to purchase the shirts for themselves. After all, who…wouldn’t want to be just like them, those two sexy bears in the photo?

Caption: Max’s New ID Badge

Max was in his office, fuming and trying to concentrate. All day at the office, he’d been having just…nothing seemed right. Ever since…he’d gone to the basement and gotten his new ID card that morning, he just didn’t feel like himself, at all.

Sure, the picture…looked like him, but it wasn’t who he’d been when he’d walked in the building, somehow he knew that too. He’d been smaller, and younger, with a sharp haircut and a clean face. Now…he felt like some damn ape! He was thick, hairy all over, stringing together two sentences was hard, and every time his twinky little secretary passed by his office carrying a stack of papers…he couldn’t stop himself. He’d bend that boy over his desk and fuck his sweet little hole, grunting the whole time–he was beginning to suspect that the secretary was actually passing his door more often on purpose.

Now, he was trying to concentrate. It was getting harder and harder to remember he’d been different, but he was clinging to it as hard as he could–it had started with that new ID, he was sure of it somehow. He’d just go back down there and ask–it couldn’t hurt, right? So he left his office, stomping off down the hall to the elevator–he almost made it without incident, but he ran into Trent, the cumdump from floor eight–and the old fuck just looked so desperate for work, that he let the old pig suck him off in the elevator, as they rode down to the basement. The guy did good work–Max came by floor five, and when they reached the basement, Trent rode back up to find some more work to do.

It was late in the afternoon, and the crowd that had been down here earlier, getting new badges from the single photographer, was gone. It was a bit…eerie even. He found his way to the security station, and was waved back to see the photographer, who looked to be relaxing a bit, but perked up when Max came in. “Hi, uh, you did my security badge earlier, but…well, I don’t think it’s right…”

“Oh?” the photographer asked, and inspected it. “It looks like you–and your job title is Fuckape, right?”

“Yeah, I mean…I guess. But I looked…different before? I think? My heads a little confused I guess. I just…wanted to ask you.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been waiting to see who was more resistant–go one, stand over on the blue square, we can fix it right up.”

Relieved, Max stood back over the blue spot, smiled, and the man took his photo again. The badge popped out, and Max was relieved–this one definitely looked right. He stripped out of his clothes in the office, and accepted the new uniform the photographer handed him–it had turned out the job title was wrong too, but this one sounded better anyway, to him. Feeling happy he had made the trip after all, Max got down on his knees, drank down the photographer’s load of piss, then stood up and headed for his office again, on the twelfth floor.

Once there, he found his way to the bathroom, and sat down on his ass between the two urinals, and waited. It wasn’t long before a slew of other workers came in, feeding him loads of piss, soaking him down from head to toe–it’s a good thing his uniform was so bare, or his clothes would have been soaked! But this felt much more right–he knew he was meant to the the toilet bear of the twelfth floor–what other job for him could there possibly be?

Caption: Trent’s New ID Badge

Trent stepped out of the elevator and into the basement of his building, still a bit confused by what was going on today. He’d tried to get through security, but it wasn’t the usual guys standing at the metal detector–instead, it was two massive, hulking meatheads–both of them easily six and a half feet tall, who had taken one look at his ID card, and told him he needed it to get updated before he could enter, and they directed him down here, to the basement.

He was frustrated–there was an 8:30 meeting he was about to be late for, and there was nothing wrong with his picture! Still, if he could do this quick, it would be fine. Sure enough, there was a security office down there, also staffed by a meathead, who waved him back–and there, he found a chubby fellow, wearing some dirty looking suit, waiting for him. “Ah, here for an updated ID?” the man said with a leer, “I’ll need you to hand over your old one first.”

Trent did so, and the man looked him up and down–and Trent could see him…groping himself like a pervert. He was disgusted, and tried to leave–but discovered he couldn’t move an inch.

“On your knees please–I’m going to need this photo to be very accurate, you see…” the man said.

Trent found himself forced down, and the man stood up, dropped his pants, and pulled out his cock, inches from Trent’s face. He could only register his horror for a moment, before the man, after a couple of pumps, sprayed his load all over Trent’s face and the top of his shirt. The man huffed for a moment, and then put his cock away. “There–you’ll be perfect now, I think–go stand against the wall so I can take your photo please.”

Trent got up, horrified, and stood where the man had said, smiled when he said to smile, and the flash…was so bright. He rubbed his eyes, a bit dazed, and licked his lips…and tasted cum. Unable to help himself, he started wiping it off and licking it off his fingers, moaning, his own cock hardening in the front of his pants.

The man laughed, watching Trent humiliate himself, and when Trent finally pulled his hands away, he saw the man had his ID ready–with his new picture.

Below it, for his job title, it just said “Office Cumdump, Floor 8.”

He screamed at the man then, told him off, and the man just laughed at him. “If you aren’t happy with that photo–I’m happy to take another one. Go back and stand on the X again please.”

Trent found himself unable to refuse–and after another flash, even brighter than the first, he got a new ID card–but this time, his face was different. He looked to be twenty years older, and fatter–with a thick double chin that even his beard couldn’t hide. In horror, he looked down at himself and saw he was, indeed, fatter, and older, and…hungrier.

“If you still aren’t happy with that–I can make an even better one,” the man said with a grin, “I could even change that title there too, if you feel like it.” Trent fled the office, ID in hand, the man laughing uproariously–but didn’t get very far–he saw the meathead in the office, and stopped to suck him off–and then sucked off the two muscleheads at the security station too. He was the office cumdump after all, and he had a new job to do.

Caption: Himbo Daddy

This caption is an early version of a short story I just released for patrons, and which will be publicly posted next week! It’s, uh, not my usual sort of story, you might say, but I thought I would give everyone something a bit lighter after a month and a half of “Straight Town”. If you’re a patron at the $5 level or higher, you can find the full story over here! Otherwise, you’ll have to wait a week, and see what comes later.


The new neighbors were nice enough I suppose–and they’d seemed perfectly normal when I’d first met them. A couple about the same age as me and my wife with two kids–one girl and one boy. But ever since the day I met him, that kid…his name is Nick–he gives me the creeps. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against faggots as long as they act normal enough, and they don’t fucking touch me or come onto me or any of that shit. Nick was gay–his dad told me (almost sounded like he was proud of him, which is gross to me too, but whatever) I warned my own son to stay away from him in any case, and figured the case the settled–since Nick was going to be moving out soon to start college at the end of the summer.

But for months now…I catch him looking at me. I’m mowing the lawn in a tanktop, and he’s up in some high window, leering down and watching me. I’ve seen him peeking in windows, all sorts of shit around here, but I’ve never managed to catch him red handed. In any case, I figure the pervy kid will be gone soon enough, so I don’t really have anything to worry about. Then, one Saturday while my son and wife are out, there’s a knock on the door, and a package for me. 

Curious, since I know I didn’t order anything, I open it up, and inside there’s this…underwear. Or at least, that was my best guess, since I had never seen anything like it before in my life. It’s bright electric blue, and there’s a mesh, semi-transparent pouch for my junk in the front, and then two big holes where, I guess, my ass would hang out–not like I’m going to put the thing on of course!

Yeah, of course…

I feel the fabric, and something in my head is…really curious now, what it might feel like. What could it hurt, I suppose? I go upstairs, strip naked, and pull the underwear on, missing a hole twice since there’s too many of them, but finally they snap around my waist properly…and I moan.

I can’t help myself. Looking in the mirror, and how the pouch cups my junk, running my hands over my ass which feels…really sensitive all of a sudden, I realize I’m hard as a rock–and that the window to my bedroom faces next door–and that there, ogling me, in Nick, right there.

I blush, but when I try to take them off, I can’t. Then, I hear the door downstairs, and up comes Nick, grinning his face off. “Hey daddy, you’re looking good in that gift I got you,” he says, “Why don’t you get up on the bed there, and show them off for me?”

I couldn’t resist what he asked, and he came up behind me and started kneading my ass through the holes in the underwear, and I moaned even louder, my cock hard and leaking in the pouch. 

“Looks like Daddy needs a fucking–don’t worry, I can take care of that for you.”

I begged him not to, I begged him. I’d never been fucked before, I’d thought it would hurt, but it…fuck, it didn’t hurt at all. He pulled the middle band of the underwear aside, slid his cock inside me…and I nearly screamed in pleasure, from the sensation of him, of…my boy fucking my daddy hole.

“Oh, I knew you were going to be a great summer daddy, I just knew it!” Nick moaned as he fucked me deep, “And I have so many things I want to see you in–you’re going to love being a dumb himbo daddy, I just know it.”


Caption: A Real American Pig

Thanks to PatchPig for the photo and inspiration for this one.


Bernard had lived in Britain all his life, but for years, he’d wanted to cross the Atlantic to visit the United States. He loved American movies, loved hosting American tourists–there was something about the place that felt so much more free than the stodginess of London where he’d always lived. Finally, at last, he’d saved up enough to afford a good long vacation–but when it came time to decide where to go, he was a bit…lost. The place was so damn big! New York? DC? Hollywood? In the end, he decided to chance it–he threw a dart, and it ended up in a state called Kentucky. He booked a flight, rented a car, and figured he’d spend the month driving around the states, and just seeing what he found.

Kentucky wasn’t quite what he was expecting, in all honesty–but it wasn’t necessarily bad, either. His accent drew a lot of odd looks, and he had a hard time understanding what some of the Americans were even saying too, but he was determined to enjoy himself. This, he thought, would be more authentic–not like the cities. Get to know the real America–if there was such a thing anywhere.

The deeper into the state he went, the more suspicious people seemed towards him. The funny jokes seemed a bit meaner, people were little more suspicious of him, though usually lightened up quickly when they saw he had money to spend, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a bad decision after all. At least, until the night at the little truckstop on the highway, where he stopped to get a room for the night and a meal–that ended up changing everything.

The guys in the bar laughed at him, when they heard him talk. Told him he sounded like some uptight rich fucker, just because he had a british accent. They told him to skip the beer for a moment, and have a sip of Jeb’s moonshine–an old fucker in the corner, who shoved a mason jar of clear spirit into Bernard’s fist. The guys all told him to drink up, and Bernard gave into the pressure–but he didn’t remember much that happened after that. In fact, Bernard never left the bar–the guy who stumbled out of the motel at the truckstop the next morning wasn’t Bernard at all.

Bernie knew something was wrong, that something had changed. These weren’t his clothes, he hadn’t been this fat, and his accent was all wrong–he was talking like these American hicks, not like where he’d come from. His wallet was gone, as was his car–he had nowhere to go, so he ended up moping in his hotel room–though he took a quick jaunt over to the shop at the truckstop, and used a little cash he found on the nightstand to buy some cigarettes and cheap, American beer.

Already a bit drunk, when he saw that the same guys had gone to the bar that evening, he demanded to know what they’d done to him. The guys all jeered at him, told him he just needed a good girl to help sort him out–but Bernie told them he was gay, and that he wanted them to put him back the way he was before all of this, or else he’d get the police. Things in the bar quieted down after that, at least until the guys pinned the faggot down, forced some more moonshine into him, and took turns fucking the pigs holes.

Bernie still lives at the truck stop. He pumps gas, cleans the showers, and sucks any man’s cock who needs it. He’s too stupid to think about much, but on occasion, he’ll look at his slobby mug in the filthy mirror of the truck stop, plastered with cum more often than not, and try to remember a voice. A voice he’d had–but one he’d lost forever.