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Hey all,

So, I ran dry on that last run of photo captions, and I’ll have a few long form stories to post this week, however, I’m not happy with the… dearth of content here that happens when I’m working on long commissions, and don’t quite have the energy/time to put out new content every day. So here’s the question. I’d like to set up a more regular schedule, but I’d like to know what kinds of content you want to see, so I know where to invest my energy. Here’s a list of ideas I have, and how often I’d be able to put out content if I focused on them.

Photo captions – These are the easiest, and I would be able to post about four a week.
Vignettes – These take a bit more work, and I’d likely be able to post one 2000 word story a week.
Interactive Stories – These would be along the lines of Greywall Manor, and I could probably have two updates a week, with a longer break between interactive stories.

Now, this isn’t to say I can only work on one of these three choices–I’ll probably have all three of them in the future, but I’d like to know which ones you all enjoy the most so I know where to focus my energy. What do you all think?

Continued from here.

After we finished our fuck–and Donny finished his smoke, he came back to his old self–sort of–and angry or embarrassed, he fled my house and I didn’t see him for several days, until he charged back over, drunk, and hammered on my front door.

He demanded to know what I had done to that cigar. Apparently he hadn’t been able to fuck his wife since then–she simply repulsed him–and he couldn’t stop thinking about me. I told him about the strange shop in the mall, and how the owner had given me the cigar without me asking for it. I’d had no idea what it was capable of. Still, I don’t know if he believed me, but he was too horny to care, throwing me to the floor and fucking me right in my living room, cumming and leaving.

I needed to make this right. I went back to the mall to find the shop, but the place had disappeared. Not even an empty store front–it was just gone, like it had never existed. The next day, Donny was gone–he’d simply packed a bag and left his wife and kids–no explanation at all. Meredith was a wreak–she couldn’t understand what had happened, and I felt terrible, but how could I tell her the truth? That I’d made her husband a total fag on accident, and I had no way of changing him back?

Months past by without a word–and then the package shows up on my doorstep, a box with the label “Spells ‘R Us,” and I can’t believe it. I drag it inside, hoping for some answer, but as soon as I do, the contents of the box spring to life and tackle me to the ground. Leather, rubber–an entire suit climbs its way up my body, encasing me, collaring me, and my head–there’s all these words just pouring into me, telling me to submit and serve, and…

and then there he is–in the doorway. My Master. Donny, dressed in a leather uniform, smoking a cigar. The anger is still there in his eyes, I can see it, and the knowledge that I have made him unhappy rips me apart inside. I give a little whimper, like a dog who knows he’s about to be punished, and he came up to me, put the cigar in my lips, and said–“Smoke it, then we’re even.”

He lit the cigar and I sucked it down, feeling my body start changing. I was growing younger, but also a bit more heavy set. “Master, I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t fucking say anything, slave,” he said, “You took my wife away from me–you took my kids away from me, so you know what cub? You;re just gonna have to be my family now.”

Maybe he thought it was punishment, but I didn’t. It was what I’d really wanted after all, even if it wasn’t how I’d expected to get it.

Donny’s my neighbor–fuck, I’ve had a crush on him for so damn long. Still, straight, married and five kids? What chance did I have with a breeder like that? Still, he was nice enough, and he wasn’t a homophobe or anything. Still, the few times I got drunk enough to risk a come on he shot me down pretty hard–even refusing a god damn blow job.

It was pretty hopeless, but then I happened upon this strange shop at the mall, a place called Spells ‘R Us. Just one of those curio shops–figurines, knockoffs, though I had to admit that it was pretty high end as far as kitch went. I struck up a conversation with the shop owner, and before I knew it, he was ringing me up for a cigar of all things.

Crazy–I wasn’t a smoker. I didn’t know anyone who smoked. And here I was, one cigar, nothing else, I took it home, put it on the table, and the doorbell rang, and there was Donny, here to return some tools he’d borrowed the other day.

I invited him in for a beer, he saw the cigar, and I told him he could smoke it if he wanted to–and the next thing I knew, we were upstairs in my bed, his cock buried deep in my hole–it was everything I’d ever wanted and more–but the story didn’t end there…

Continued from here.

Yeah, the trucker was a bit ridiculous, with that ratty “Bubba” hat he wore all the time–even to bed, and his deep southern drawl, but he’d seemed nice enough to Jimmy, and considering they were both headed the same way, he figured it couldn’t hurt to ride with him for as long as the big redneck might have him. However, after a couple of days on the road together, he’d found the trucker was…well, bonding a little too close for his comfort. Sure, Jimmy was a nice guy, but he sure as hell wasn’t a fag, and even if he had been, “Bubba” sure as hell wasn’t his type. Still, they were close to his destination–one more night of unrequited love could be tolerated, right?

He shouldn’t have gotten drunk–that was his first mistake. He’d woken up from a way-too-many black out to find himself tied up in the sleeper cab of the truck, which was parked in the corner of some rarely traveled rest stop. Bubba was up front, saw that he was awake, and grinned. “Good–yer up,” he said, “God damn, I forgot how lonely it gits out on the road, though I’ve been thinkin’ that ya might be just the solution, eh farm boy?” he said, holding up a baseball cap with those words embroidered on it, and putting it on Jimmy’s head.

The effect was immediate. One moment, he was looking at his normal body, and the next, he was someone entirely different–a bit shorter, much stockier and chubby, with a good amount of body hair, wearing a flannel shirt with the arms ripped off, and mud caked jeans. “What the fuck ya do tah me?” he shouted, unprepared for the drawl that came out unbidden.

Bubba just laughed, and then started kneading Jimmy’s body, tweaking his nipples, and unable to help it, Jimmy let out a moan, and his cock hardened against the dirty denim. Bubba edged him for hours–all day and long into the night, talking to him almost constantly, telling him about how he was going to be his boy, his cub, his lover.

The hat was doing something to his mind, he realized. It was becoming harder to separate out what was real from what wasn’t. His mind was dulling, and he realized that now, he hadn’t even graduated high school, working full time on his family’s farm instead. Now though, he rode around with Bubba, his daddy, trucking across the states–but that couldn’t be right, could it?

It was right enough–Farm Boy, even dumber than Bubba was, wasn’t equipped to challenge the hat, or Bubba’s indoctrination. By morning, he was just a dumb, horny bottom cub, just what Bubba had always wanted.

I have to admit, I was suspicious of them when they rode up to give me an estimate on the renovations, but with their backfiring pickup and grungy clothes, who wouldn’t be a little suspicious. Still, they convinced me to hear them out, and when they sounded like they knew what they were doing, and quoted me a price lower than everyone else I’d talked to…something convinced me to go with them, even if my better judgement told me not to trust them.

Granted, it took a lot of trust, those first few months, and I was more than hesitant–hell, most of the time, I was outright hostile. When they insisted that I let them sleep in the house, when they told me that part of the contract was to cook them meals–naked–I was pretty angry, but I trusted them, and it paid off.

Their house is beautiful, and they even built me a place of my own in the backyard. Yeah, that’s me, down in the corner. Sure, I know you only see a dog–because that’s what they want you to see. My master’s–just trust them, and it’ll all be alright. It worked out for me, after all–what’s the worst thing they could do to you?

Source: constructionguys

While Jack and Phil might have thought that their camping trip with Aaron was a chance to relax and unwind, they didn’t know that their old friend had some…ulterior motives in store for them both. It started that first night when Aaron, an amateur forager, brought some berries back to camp and said they were a tart snack, but as soon as Jack and Phil had tried some the strangest thing happened. It was like time…skipped forward for both of them, and the next thing they knew it was hours later–already into early evening, and things just got stranger from there.

When Aaron saw that they had come around, he pulled his cock out of his camo pants and said to Phil, “Hey faggot, help me out with this,” and before Phil could question it, he was down on his knees, sucking off his friend like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jack, on the other hand, was appalled, and tried to talk some sense into his friends, but Aaron had other ideas. “Jack, shut the fuck up. Finger your asshole and jack off while you watch this faggot suck my dick, and regret that it isn’t you sucking me off, bitch.”

Jack, like Phil, was quick to obey, and as he tried to formulate some kind of escape, Aaron let them both know that he’d had this planned from the start. The berries were a native plant which at the right ripeness, exuded a powerful hypnotic agent which rendered the consumer extremely susceptible to suggestion, and he kept his friends on a solid diet for the rest of the weekend.

Each time Phil and Jack came to, something else had changed about them and their behavior. Phil found himself unable to concentrate unless he was sucking on something–preferably a cock, but he would settle for his thumb, though he had a bad habit of pissing his pants whenever he did that. Still, he found he liked it when that happened, and he was happily diapered and working as Aaron’s urinal by the time they left. Phil on the other hand had to have something up his ass all the time, and the only materials he could bear to have touching his skin were leather and rubber. Worse, whenever he was horny–which was almost all the time now–he had a habit of snorting and grunting like a pig while he jacked off uncontrollably.

They loved Aaron though–Aaron was their master–their God, and they would stay by his side for the rest of their lives.

Source: artistbear

“A cure? Well, unfortunately Ed, your new condition is, well, a bit more chronic in nature. Yeah, that’s right–you’re gonna be an old, fat fuck from here on out, no matter what you do…well, I mean, there are ways to manage your symptoms, I suppose, though I doubt you’d be very interested.

"Oh, it isn’t complicated, one pill a day will be enough to keep you as your old self, but if you miss a dose–well, you know what will happen. Still, I’m not a charity Ed, if you want me to help you out, you need to do something for me.

"Oh yeah, that’s it, suck on that pouch, you fucking fat faggot. Who’s the fat one now, huh? You have at least a hundred pounds on me, and you’re gonna feel all of it shaking and jiggling when I fuck your ass.

"Oh, the pills? Sure, I have them, but we have the frat house to ourselves this week–everyone else went home for vacation. I think I’ll–enjoy your fat ass for a few more days, before I let you go back to that hot shot body you were so fucking proud of. Now bend over–watching you sob has got me horny as fucking hell."

There are spirits that live in mirrors–the beings which mimic us as our reflections, and as of late, they have become rather intrigued by this new love of people taking pictures of themselves with the little hand held devices they call smartphones. These spirits, though, while usually friendly, aren’t above being a bit meddlesome. They’ve found that, by twisting the image that gets sent back to the lens, they can radically alter the world outside their mirror, and Max was unlucky enough to be their next victim.

They’d watched him for weeks now, berating the black men who came into the locker room to change, especially the larger, out of shape ones, and the mirror spirits thought he might deserve a lesson. He’d snapped the picture, planning on sending it to a bitch he was trying to get laid with, but the image that showed up on his phone was all wrong. The man was fat, for one thing–very fat–like “having no business ever stepping into a gym” fat. There were other details that were strange too, like a tattoo across the man’s chest reading “I ❤ BBC.” What in the world was BBC? Even the case of his phone was different–where the confederate flag had been, there was now that faggoty rainbow one.

“Aww yeah, there’s my bitch–you been waiting all this time, just for me?” a voice said behind him, and he spun around. It was Ned, one of the heavy set men Max had teased regularly, but when he saw the fat black man now–and the big cock he had in his hand, Max’s mouth watered.

“Yes sir–you know I can’t leave without serving my black masters.”

What did he just say? Max barely had time to register the words that had come out of his mouth, before he was on his knees, Ned’s massive cock rammed down his throat, and he realized the strange picture was now truth. On the outside he was the fat pig, a fag desperate for black cock, but inside, he was still the same–for the moment at least.

Source: thelockerroom

Sure, Jay was a bit vulgar in public, especially after he’d had a few beers in him, but at the restaurant with his friends, he’d been completely caught off guard by the five year old kid who’d walked past with his parents, while he was in the middle of cussing up a storm, and turned toward him and in a voice loud enough for the whole place to hear, say to Jay, “I don’t like you–you’re a potty mouth.”

Jay turned to look at the boy, but found himself locked in place by the kid’s eyes. “Oh god–Michael, he’s doing it again,” the mother said to the father, who was just staring, grim faced. Jay, however, wasn’t listening–he just got up from the booth and marched back into the bathroom.

His clothes vanished as soon as he’d entered, and he gagged and coughed as something sprang up out of his throat–a metal tube which expanded into a funnel, the last thing he saw before the seamless leather hood grew up over his entire head. He fought with it for a few moments, before his hands were forced back behind his back by some unseen force, and he knelt down in front of the restaurant’s urinal, just another potty mouth to be used.

Source: bearlust

God, I can’t believe I was dumb enough to fall for Derek’s bullshit. I should have known that a hotshot football player couldn’t really have been that interested in science, and when one thing lead to another, and I sucked him off, only to have him blackmail me with the photos–well, I’ve been thinking about how I might get even for a while now.

Yeah Derek, drink up that beer–have as many as you’d like. This is the last time I’ll be blowing your short, stubby cock. I’m sure you’ll be getting black out drunk tomorrow, and when you wake up in that filthy trailer tomorrow morning, you’ll probably have no idea what’s going on, but who’s going to believe your story?

Yeah, that hot, smooth, young body will be gone by morning, and you’ll just be another piece of old, fat, filthy, hairy trailer trash. I wish I could be there to see the look on your face, but I’d rather never see you again, so drink it all down boy, and we’ll see who gets the last laugh.

Source: bearassassin-blog