On the Inside – Part 3

So here I am, sitting in the airport. I just finished my accelerated MBA, and I’m about to start my new job as a hedge fund manager at a New York company. I can’t wait, to be honest–finally, I’ll be around people of my own class! Over the last two years, Master has been tweaking my voice, giving me an upper class accent that makes me sound like a total snob, just like I always wanted to have. To anyone looking at me, I look normal, just another rich business man on the outside, mundane and unthreatening, but I feel my cock wriggle in my cage, knowing the truth underneath.

Because under the suit, when this shell is stripped away, I know what I really am. I’m just a nasty, redneck pig. Just a slob, just a disgusting whore for cock. I can’t get enough of it, I was born to serve men as their sex slave, it’s what I was designed for. It started slowly, Master wanted me to feel it happen slowly, but now, whenever I’m in my leather gear, kneeling and begging for him to abuse me, I sound like my old redneck self, but even harsher and stupider than before, and it makes me so horny, hearing myself talk like that, knowing that in the morning, I’ll put on a suit, this whole persona, and walk around as a complete fraud.

This suit is so itchy today, and I long for my harness, which is safely checked in my bag. Instead, a rock gently on my buttplug and grunt softly, making sure no one can hear me, and the pain of my cock trying to get hard in my chastity cage makes me even hornier, and I can’t wait to meet my new owner. The CEO of my new employer is said to be vicious, but I can take it. I love pain, I crave humiliation. This is what I’ve been trained for. High power businessman by day, disgusting, perverse redneck pig by night–everything that I’d ever wanted to be, and I’m so excited, I cum in my pants through my cage, and leave it there, hoping someone will notice the growing stain. Hoping someone will see me for the pig I truly am, on the inside.

Do you think you could post your captions an hour or so earlier than usual? You always seem to post them just right after I pass out :(

There isn’t really a spectacular time to post them I think. I just post 4 PM local time (U.S. Pacific) because it gives me some time to work on a post during the day of I don’t have anything up, and is a time that works for most U.S. time zones. I could probably shift it an hour earlier though.

On the Inside – Part 2

I gotta say, Bellmon University wasn’t precisely where I wanted to go, but when I got there, I realized why Mr. Burroughs wanted me to go there–it was because he had a house and a practice right next to campus! I was thrilled that I’d be able to keep seeing him while I was attending school there, and he even told me that I’d be able to live with him in his house, and I was thrilled, naturally.

Still, I gotta say, college didn’t quite go how I expected. I was excited for the opportunity to meet some new people, and learn new things, but Mr. Burroughs, well he convinced me to head in a different direction. First, he gave me a bit of a makeover, and required me to wear a suit to all of my classes. They were always tailored a bit big on me too, for reasons I soon discovered–Mr Burroughs wanted me bigger. He started feeding me these huge meals every day, and before long, the freshman fifteen became the freshman forty, and then the sophomore fifty after that. Still, he loved my fat ass, and he told me how much he loved it every night as he fucked me, and then started training me to take his fists as well.

At school, I’m pretty sure everyone hated me. I was always aloof with them, acting like a bit of a jerk, because Mr. Burroughs wanted me to act that way–he told me I would go farther in life. I’d entered college ready to major in English or Psychology, but he immediately made me switch my registration of business and economics, and the only people I could get to know were people Mr. Burroughs personally approved–usually professors who would want me to come by weekly for their “special” office hours.

It was in my Junior year that Mr. Burroughs started taking me to the tattoo parlor. First it was just a bearclaw on my left moob, but before long the artists were working on sleeves down to my wrists, covering my chest, gut and back with crude words and images of nasty, hot sex. By the time I was halfway through my last year, every inch of me that my suits covered during the day was tattooed, and when I was at home, I hung up my suit and wore a collar, leather harness and butt plug while I serviced Master Burroughs, and applied for MBA programs. I was ready for the next step in my life, and my future had never looked brighter.

To be Concluded…

On the Inside – Part 1

It was hopeless. That’s what I’d been told my whole life, really. My daddy was a coal miner, his daddy had been a coal miner, his daddy had been a coal miner, ad infinitum. Heh, ad infinitum, I bet you didn’t expect me to know that one–no one does. That’s the problem, that’s always been my problem. On paper, I’m a great student. Straight A’s, I even managed to get a few courses from the local community college in my small town, but getting into a nice college? Studying? Improving myself? It seemed hopeless, because when I open my mouth, I’m just another stupid hillbilly redneck, or at least I sound like one.

I’d tried to mask it all my life, I’d tried so hard, but I just couldn’t break it. Finally, nearly defeated, I went to my counselor at my high school as I was getting ready to apply for schools, and told him about my problem. What was I supposed to do, when I had an interview with an admissions director, and I sounded like an extra from “Deliverance”?

He tried to tell me that it would be alright, that a smart person would be able to separate out the accent from the person I really was–that the superficial stuff wouldn’t matter in the end, but I didn’t believe him. Still, he did have a suggestion for me, which I wheedled out of him–the name of a speech therapist who was a friend of his. He told me that he’d had success with softening accents before, and I was willing to try anything.

I didn’t tell my parents where I was going. Amazingly, the doctor had agreed to see me for a consultation without a payment, which was good, because we didn’t even have insurance. In the office, he told me that he’d found that quite a few patients had had lots of success with hypnosis to help correct their accents, and I was willing to try anything once. He put me under…and I don’t remember what happened, but when he woke me up, I still remember what I said, it was beautiful:

“Please sir, please can I suck your cock Sir? I’m just a cum hungry pig sir, please, I’m so thirsty.”

It came out perfectly, not a hint of accent, and when he unzipped his fly and let me suck his cock, I was in heaven. I’ve been his patient ever since, and I know I won’t have an issue getting into college now, though Mr. Burroughs wants me to apply to Bellmon University–I’m not sure why though. Still, I need to go see my counselor today–I need to give him another ‘thank you’ blow job today, he loves those almost as much as I do.

To be Continued…

***This caption uses a picture and some ideas submitted by Changemechainme***

“What do you think–is he ready?”

The two men stand towering over you, but you can’t even muster the energy to look up at them anymore. The chain around your neck has been draining the life out of your for days now–maybe even weeks. You’ve lost track of time in this room. The men have been checking up on you more frequently now, checking your shrinking cock, now less than an inch long, guessing at your age, talking to you on occasion, but you can’t even speak any more. You aren’t sure if that’s because your voice is literally gone, or because you simply don’t have the energy to fight back. In your heart, though, you sense that no words will cross your lips ever again. They have your current age pinned down somewhere between seventy and eighty. You were twenty-nine when they locked you up–how did they do this to you?

“I think this is the best we’re gonna get. His sack is finally big enough for what the guy wanted at least–that took longer than I’d expected. I think the guy will be satisfied. Still a lot of work to do, we’d better get going.”

They unlock the chain from around your neck–the burden is gone, finally. You’d hoped that you would feel better, that energy would come back to you, but it doesn’t. You feel the same, and when the first man puts a collar on your neck with a lead attached, all you can do is crawl after him, into the fluorescent white corridor beyond the door of your cell, and down the hall to a white, sterile room.

The modifications all take place there. They begin with the difficult changes first–prying your teeth from your head one by one while a surgeon severs your Achilles’ tendons, ensuring you will never walk upright again. Then, after spreading your legs apart, they examine your massive ball sack–the surgeon cuts into it, removing your balls, and fills it back up with four, two inch diameter metal spheres before sewing it back up. Then they permanently remove all of the hair from your body, your face and your head, and begin the process of tattooing and piercing your body to the specifications of the man who purchased you. The entire time, in your mind, you’re trying to scream at them to stop, begging them to let you go, but your voice–you have no voice anymore. You remain perfectly silent and unresisting as they modify you beyond any sort of recognition.

You heal, and then are given to your new master, and you discover why he wanted your mind to remain as it was–it was because he wanted to watch it wither as he trained you himself. He wanted to see you struggle and fight as the hypnosis whittled away at the will that remained, and you did fight. You fought hard, but it was no real contest. You accepted your fate, eventually, and now you enjoy being his slave. His old, voiceless, castrated cumdump, and there’s nothing in the world you’d rather be.

***

Want to see this (or another caption) expanded? Commission it from me for $25!

Are you unhappy with your weight? Do you wish that your body would match how you want to see yourself? Then the Fat Action Team is for you! We run private seminars in many cities, call us today for locations in your area!

That was the third time Max had seen the flyer on bulletin boards outside the restrooms in the Flying J’s he stopped at on his cross country hauls. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit interested. Max had been driving trucks for quite a few years now, and the simple act of sitting behind the wheel for ten hours a day, and eating greasy food at these truck stops was quickly piling weight on his aging frame, and he didn’t like it one bit. Hell, he’d been a track star back in high school, and had simply assumed that his metabolism would never fail him! And now here he was, over 300 pounds and hating the image in the mirror. So, he ripped off a phone number slip from the bottom and gave it a call, discovering there was a seminar happening in his hometown during his next weekend, and he signed right up.

When he arrived, however, he quickly figured that something strange was going on. For one thing, he knew a lot of the guys there, fellow truckers from the road, but they were all guys who’d grown quite a bit larger over the last few months, and who were all rumored to be complete fags as well. Still, as soon as the seminar started, and the spiral appeared on the wall, Max wasn’t worried one bit any more–Max wasn’t worrying or thinking about anything.

The rest of the weekend was spent in a haze of sex and food. Trips with the Fat Action Team to all you can eat buffets, followed by massive orgies in the hotel bedrooms, all of them videotaped by the Team members, to be sold on their porn site, gainerpornos.com. Still, when Max left the seminar, refreshed and already signed up for another group session in two weeks, he did look at himself differently in the mirror–he was too damn skinny. Still, he devoured food on the road (and fucked quite a few FAT members he ran into at truck stops) and successfully packed on ten pounds before the next seminar. He felt so good about himself after that, and there was nowhere to go from there but bigger, and bigger, and bigger…

***

Want to see this (or another caption) expanded? Commission it from me for $25!

It’s a pilot program for prisoners who we’ve deemed to be unredeemable. With the massive overcrowding of our prison system, it simply is becoming too cost-prohibitive to keep the long term prisoners behind bars, and so, we’ve begun offering this as an alternative punishment–volunteer only. Of course, they don’t know precisely what they’re volunteering for, but if they did, well, we wouldn’t have any volunteers now would we?

We suppose they figure out that something strange is going on when we strap them into the chair. We keep them immobile, because the process requires several oral and subcutaneous injections over a series of days, and the early test subjects always had to be restrained once they discovered what was happening to them. I suppose if we could find some way to work the mental changes in first it would all work better, but alas, the order is too difficult to flip.

The first injection is perhaps the most insidious. The patient generally doesn’t think anything is happening at all, but they all notice that slight tingle in their groin as their cock and balls begin to shrivel up. They don’t disappear entirely–the lack of testosterone is necessary for the remaining steps–but it does come with some side effects, usually a loss of musculature and body hair over the course of the treatment, as well as an increase in appetite. The second stage comes in a series of three doses, administered over a series of days. It relies on the lower testosterone levels to remove any inclination toward violent or unruly behavior from the subject–but again, these shots have their own side effects.

The most obvious is the rapid aging–usually around an additional fifty years or so. The second is severe memory loss–it’s become necessary to fabricate lives for all of our volunteers so that they can live some kind of normal life in the nursing homes they end up in, but none of them come out of it very smart. Still, they remain rather healthy, living ten or fifteen more years before their hearts give out or severe dementia sets in. Still, it’s a far more peaceful life than prison–and far cheaper for the state–even if it’s not the life they would have wanted.

***

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You and your brother have always been close. You’re only separated by a year, and your parents didn’t have any other kids after you, and even though your childhood was dotted with periods of intense rivalry, after attending different colleges you both ended up living in your old hometown, and found a bit of comfort in each other’s company. It was then that the dares started–alternating, one of you would suggest something that the two of you would then have to do together, but when your brother brought over the two cigars to your apartment, even you thought that was a bit strange. He’d always been a vehement anti-smoker, and when you asked him where he’d gotten them, he never gave you a clear answer. Still, they were just cigars, right? One wouldn’t hurt you certainly.

You lit them together and coughed up your first draws, laughing at each other as much as yourselves, but after those first few inhales, the smoke didn’t seem as bad as before, and it was really relaxing, actually. The two of you had smoked your cigars down a quarter of the way when the itching on your belly grew severe enough that you decided to slip into the bathroom to investigate, and what you saw shocked you so much you nearly dropped the cigar. A tattoo had appeared on your belly–a tattoo of three intertwining cocks snaking their way up to your chest, and dropping your pants, you saw that there were equally obscene tattoos running down both your legs.

You went out, naked, and saw that your brother was on the couch, still smoking, but his clothing was different. Now, instead of his button down shirt, he was wearing a rubber tank and nothing else, and a goatee had appeared around his mouth, along with an equal number of tattoos…and he looked hot–really hot. You felt yourself drawn to him, the cigar leading the way, and you laid back on him, your head against his swelling gut, and he reached around and started yanking on your nipples, and you gave a sharp gasp as two rings appeared in them, and a third, massive PA through the head of your cock.

“Where…where did you say you got these cigars again?” you ask, before letting out a soft groan.

“Don’t worry about it, bitch,” he says back, grabbing underneath your chin, “Just smoke it all the way down, bro–enjoy it.”

You still had so much more to smoke though, and you had a feeling the changes were just beginning. With a shudder you leaned back into your brother, you cock hardening, and took a deep, long draw deep into your lungs.

***

Want to see this (or another caption) expanded? Commission it from me for $25!

Out of all the fetishes/kinks you’ve written about (Besides the obvious Transformation) which have been your favorites to write about? And Least favorite? Btw: I was the one who asked about the regression caption for my B-Day. Thanks again! And it was awesome someone had it expanded! I really should do that when I have the cash for it.

I think fetishes and kinks all sort of depend on context. I can usually get behind most anything, with a few exceptions. That said, personally, I’m a fan of the slob, weight gain, humiliation, and redneck transformations myself. The ones I’m less interested in personally would be feminization, age regression, straight-forward muscle growth and straight-forward mind control.

Also, you’re welcome for the caption. I actually just had someone else ask me if I would expand the vignette even further, but no details have been hammered out on that yet, so we’ll see if that happens or not.

Got any questions? It’s Tuesday and all that stuff, if you feel like throwing a TMI my way. I’m still looking for some more images/gifs that you might like to see turned into captions too. You can submit them here, in singles or in pairs or more. That said, try not to resubmit ones you sent me before—either I already have plans for them (i.e. you’ll be seeing them pop up in the next few weeks) or I didn’t like them for some reason (no hard feelings). I’ve gotten a few interesting ones certainly, but the more the merrier!