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“Oh yeah boy, that’s it–suck that cock. You love it, don’t you? You love being a cumdump, right boy?”

“Oh yes sir, feed me your cum, please…” you moan, no longer able to hold back your desires. You don’t even know who this man is, but when he walked up to you on the street and told you to get into his car, no amount of stranger danger warnings going off in your head could stop you, and you’re so glad you didn’t listen too. His cock is so delicious, and you suck harder on his cock, and after a moment he starts pumping his old cum down your throat, and the deep hunger for service that he’s planted in you feel sated for a moment, and the shame and horror at what has happened crashes down on you suddenly.

He pulled his cock out, chuckling, and said, “What a faggot–I can see why my grandson picks on you so much. He’s going to be so happy to know I’m giving him a faggot slave to take to college with him.”

“Wait…what? I don’t–”

“Hush–don’t open your faggot mouth, I don’t want to hear it. Now, how about we keep working with you? Jimmy will be here in a few hours, and I want you nice and obedient by the time he arrives.

Jimmy? Jimmy Walbeck, the asshole who’d been bullying you for years now? It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be true, but sure enough, a few hours later Jimmy arrived at his grandfather’s house to find you kneeling in front of the door, begging him to let you service him, apologizing for all the rude things you’d said, and how you’d never fully appreciated his superiority before. Of course you would go with him to college as his faggot. Of course you’d live with him and cook his food and carry his books and do all of his homework and suck his friends cocks and his cock especially. Sure, you had a full ride to Harvard, but you’d go with Jimmy anywhere. He was your master after all, and you were just his lowly slave, for now and forever.

From previous experience– it seems like super-descriptive mental-shift-TF can get me into goddamn anything– So, maybe it’s like this for others, and might be a strategic method for convincing us all the wonders of scat– Almost as if the mental-shift-TF actually worked hahaha.

Yeah, that can help. It also helps when you link fetishes in with other things that are related, but don’t *seem* as strange. Still, I’ve read some scat stories that turn my stomach myself, so my stuff is still pretty light by comparison.

My Apprenticeship Part 3

Of course I was thrilled to hear that I was finally going to be getting a promotion to journeyman. I’d worked with Ivan’s gang for close to three years by that point, and I was as manly as the best of them, a beer swilling, cigar smokin’ dumb ass laborer reeking of piss all the time, and Ivan invited me over to his house to celebrate and give me my new nickname. He gave me a beer, and I kept asking him what my new name was going to be, and he kept changing the subject on me until I’d finished my beer and was feeling strangely woozy, when he dragged me down into the basement, and stripped my clothes off, before forcing me into a diaper, and telling me that my new name was going to be “Baby Bear.”

As you can imagine, that wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind. Still, I was in no position to struggle as Ivan strapped me into the chair, put the headphones on me and blinded me, and then the audio started, a recording of Ivan’s voice, that soothing voice of his, and then I was gone. Sure, of course I was “Baby Bear”–the name fit me perfectly. I loved wearing diapers, and had to wear them, actually, considering I was completely incontinent, not that I minded. In fact, I loved it. I loved the feeling of pissing and shitting myself, and on my days off, I’d usually keep the same filthy diaper on for the entire time, just wallowing in my mess, sucking my thumb or a pacifier the whole time. It all made perfect sense, once Ivan explained it to me, and I listened intently, shitting my diaper as I sat in the chair, moaning around my pacifier as I came in my diaper as well soon after.

We had a party once I was well adjust to my new role, and all the guys congratulated me on my new name, and I couldn’t have been more proud as I sucked them all off in turn in my dirty diaper. I don’t know, I just had to suck something all the time, a cock or a pacifier, but cocks are the best. Now, I get to take the apprentices, like you, home on occasion, and I love making them sniff my filthy diapers, and sometimes I make them wear them too, just us stinking babies as I suck their nipples and their cocks all night long. How fucking lucky is it that I managed to find Ivan? I don’t know where I could have gotten work otherwise. A freak like me? I’d be out on the streets in no time. Good old Ivan, Master Ivan. I’ll do anything for him–we all would. Now shit that diaper I put on you little apprentice, and let’s have some fun.

The End

My Apprenticeship Part 2

I stretched myself awake and looked around, a bit bleary eyed. Who’d I gone home with again? I looked around the room and eventually recognized it as Hog’s dingy studio apartment, which was fine with me. He was fuckin’ hot, and his piss so so fuckin’ manly, I loved it. Speaking of piss, I slipped my cock out of my jockstrap and hosed myself down with my morning load, feeling it run down through my beard and soak my already stinking wifebeater.

I looked around, wondering where Hog might have gotten to, and then got off his bare mattress and went into the bathroom, admiring myself in the mirror. It really was working, just like Ivan had promised. Who would have thought that the secret to manning up was just a steady diet of hot, steaming piss? I’d been on the crew for close to six months though, and work had kind of dried up this winter. Still, when I couldn’t quite make my rent payments anymore, I’d decided it would be easier to just sleep around with the rest of the crew. I wasn’t the only guy who did it either–there were three other apprentices like me who served the journeymen like Hog.

All the journeymen went by nicknames, and they all had worked with Ivan for a long time, and they all, well, they all had their quirks about them, I’ll say that. I heard the door to the studio apartment open and Hog lumbered in, his huge gut leading the way as he snorted, hauling several bags of fast food with him. “Brought breakfast,” was all he said and then he was eating, and I grabbed a bag before they all disappeared. I finished my breakfast, and then got down and sucked his cock while he ate–Hog loved sex with his mouth stuffed, and before too long he gave me a load of piss he’d been saving. After we ate, we headed over to the latest project Ivan had gotten for us to do, and I was just thankful to have an awesome master like Ivan. He was the best, and maybe he’d have a hot load of piss for me too.

To be Concluded…

My Apprenticeship Part 1

Working for a contractor wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I graduated from college, but even with an engineering degree–something I’d thought would be helpful in the job market, the only thing I could find were mountains of “unpaid internships.” I’d honestly only applied to the posting on a whim, and when I’d met with Ivan, the owner of the company, a brash, stocky man with a heavy gut and many tattoos, chuffing on a cigar, I’d thought I’d never get the job when he referred to me as a ‘weak little college pussyboy’. Still, he called me the next day and offered me an apprenticeship for minimum wage, and…and I don’t really remember why I took it. I didn’t really want to work for him–he seemed like a total asshole–but by the end of the conversation I was agreeing to start the next day.

The crew was working on remodelling a house, and the first thing I noticed was that everyone he employed stank like a fucking urinal, or maybe a bar bathroom. It was kind of disgusting. Still, the day progressed pretty normally, but it was hard work. I had always been a bit of a wimp, maybe even on the edge of underdeveloped, but it was a job, and I tried my hardest, but still, I could tell Ivan was growing frustrated, and he dragged me off about halfway through the day into the bathroom, and we had a chat.

He knew what I needed, you see. He just wanted to help me man the fuck up. We had a real nice conversation, but still, I didn’t know if I wanted to go through with it. I mean, sure, drinking a real man’s piss, like Ivan’s, would help me man up–make me stronger, make me hairier, more mature, but I didn’t want to drink his piss…did I? That was crazy. Ivan, however, grinning around his cigar, just pulled out his dick and started pissing into the toilet, and I watched it go, and it was such a fucking waste. I needed that piss, I needed it to be strong, and I was on my knees, drinking down as much as I could, and then he left me there to drink the toilet bowl dry, desperate for every drop I might have missed. I needed this job, after all, and I couldn’t keep it if I didn’t become a real man, and quick.

To be Continued…

“Hey, Fuckmeat!” the voice called out, and Ralph stopped short in the mall and turned around, startled, to find a loose cluster of young hooligans in a small alley between stores leering at his chubby body stuffed into his mall cop uniform.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Ralph said, stalking over to them, angry. He was, and always had been, a hothead about his size, and he wasn’t about to let a bunch of punks get away with a bunch of fat jokes.

“I called you Fuckmeat,” the ringleader said, stepping forward as Ralph can closer, and as the guard came close, he found himself looking into the young man’s eyes, and they were so captivating, he couldn’t quite look away for a few moments. He slowed down and came to a stop a foot in front of the thug, the two of them just staring at each other for a few moments before the guard jostled himself and managed to look away.

“What…what the fuck was that?”

“What was what, Fuckmeat?”

“Don’t…don’t call me that. My name’s not Fuckmeat.”

“Sure it is, you don’t have another name anyway, do you? Go on–tell me your name, and if it’s not Fuckmeat, we’ll leave you alone.”

“My name is…” the guard said, but his head was coming up empty. He knew he was supposed to have a name, something his parents had given him, but his eyes widened as the thug made contact with his eyes again, and the answer rolled off his tongue, “Fuckmeat. My name’s Fuckmeat.”

“Sure is,” the young man said, not allowing the guard to break his gaze this time, drilling in deeper, watching the tent form in the front of the older, fat man’s pants as his eyes turned glassy, his thoughts turning to how much he wanted to be fucked, how he wanted to be used, how he was just a worthless dump, a sack of meat for other men to use, and he followed the gang out of the mall, never to return.

In some ways, Eric just never really managed to grow up. If anything, he seemed like he wanted nothing more than to go back to high school and relive what he considered to be his glory days–captain of the football team, and boyfriend of the entire cheerleading squad. Or, at least that’s how he told it. Some of his friends who’d stuck around after high school knew better, and they’d listen to his stories become wilder and more fanciful, fabrications piling up on fabrications, but eventually it seemed like even Eric was starting to believe his stories at some point.

Still, not everyone was impressed by Eric’s braggart talk, and one old codger in the town, a man named Old Willy, who never seemed to age, and who’d lived in the small mountain town for as long as anyone could remember, was growing a bit tired of listening to Eric’s drunken bullshit at the bar when he was trying to watch his sports teams.

“Eric,” he finally said one afternoon, “Would ya shut up with yer piles a bullshit fer once in yer fuckin’ life?”

“Oh shut up Willy–no one gives a fuck what you have to say,” Eric replied, before guzzling down the rest of his beer.

Fed up, Willy walked over to Eric and whispered something into Eric’s ear for a couple of minutes, and the young man’s eyes went from something close to humorous to a horrific stare for the remainder, and then Willy sat back down, and Eric was silent for a moment, before he stumbled out of the bar, recalling the lies Willy had told him, about how he’d been enslaved one afternoon by Edgar, the old, obese janitor at the high school, hypnotized by him into the perfect jock slut, raped over and over by the fuck machines Edgar had designed specifically for his jockslave, and Eric tried to drive home to his parent’s house, but he lived with Edgar now…didn’t he? Why had he even left the house? He hadn’t left his master’s dungeon since he’d graduated high school.

When he got out of the car, his clothes had become a modified football uniform, his ass and cock exposed, and he went into the house before finding the machine he was supposed to be training on, and climbed on, letting it pummel his ass with the huge dildo Edgar loved using on his jockcunt until he was so loose he could barely tighten up again. And back at the bar, Willy grinned, his mouth half-toothless, excited to head over to his friend Edgar’s house for a piece of that uppity jock asshole. After his game was over though–he couldn’t miss his game for anything.

Do you write each one of these stories the same day you post them or rather polish them over time?

As far as my captions go, I do them in blocks of eight or so at a time. I have a stockpile of around 100-120 photos that I *like* at any given time, and through various methods that I switch up on occasion, I usually whittle those down into twelve-ish pairs or triplets which I think would make interest stories or captions. Sometimes I get photo submissions, and those usually get lumped in with the collection, unless they arrived paired together with a story idea already attached, in which case I’ll use them together as a ready made pair. Of those twelve sets, I usually dislike four or five enough to scrap them, and I write the rest, and then cue them up for the next week. the entire process probably takes…four to five hours or so.

As for longer stories, I write those whenever I’m not writing captions, polish them a lot, and then publish them when I feel they’re “finished”.