“I find that there are much better ways to encourage my clients to commit to their personal training with me. Now, the only clients I take are straight men, but the first hypnotherapy sessions embed them with two very specific rules for the program. First, that they must obey the orders of anyone with a lower body fat percentage than them, and second, to make things more interesting, I make it so they can’t perform, so to speak, with women until they reach their target weight.

It turns out when you’re compelled to suck the cocks of all the jocks I train, that is some strong encouragement for those fatsos to loose weight. A few of them though–man, something happens in their heads. They reach a point where they’d rather suck cock than loose weight, and they just balloon into tubs of lard, and the bigger they get, the more submissive they become. I’ve had to take a few on as personal slaves, just because they wouldn’t stop begging for me to fuck their big asses in the locker room. Still, fat boys sure do know how to suck cock–I’m not complaining.

The hypnosis files had seemed like a funny and harmless gag at the time. Each of the fraternity initiates had their own file to listen to that would be active throughout the week–files where the frat members could make them act like chickens or fall asleep in class–but a file which made him act out whatever he was wearing at the time? Terry didn’t see how that could be bad at all.

Well, really bad, if you’re rushing a wild and crazy frat like Phi Sigma Eta. No one had told him that he wouldn’t be able to put on or take off clothes by himself, and so he was helpless as the brothers dressed him up in a diaper and a leather collar, making him their personal slave and incapable of keeping in his piss or his shit. He’d worn that nasty diaper for the entire week, and licked every one of his brother’s feet in the meantime, but the worst punishment was when they put a pig mask on him, forcing him to crawl around on all fours, grunting and squealing like an animal the whole night long.

Of course, the frat had promised that the effects would wear off at the end of the week, but for Terry, he wasn’t so lucky. Sure, he wasn’t affected by any new clothing, and he was free to dress himself, everything he’d worn that week had left effects which were impossible to reverse. He was forced to wear diapers out of necessity now, and couldn’t disobey a direct order by one of his brothers–causing quite a few of them to call in sexual favors when their girlfriends were angry or on the rag. Worse, there were times, especially when he got drunk, when he couldn’t stop acting like a real pig. Hell, a few times in class he’d started crawling around and squealing, unable to help himself.

The frat told him they were sorry, and hired the best hypnotist they could find to fix his problem, but in reality, they had an entirely different goal. They watched the hypnotist put Terry under, and then start ingraining his new habits deeper into his psyche. When Terry woke up, he knew something was wrong when he found himself unable to stand, or even speak. Worse, he felt himself drawn to the hypnotist, and as he nuzzled the older man’s crotch, he pulled out his cock, allowing Terry to suck him off much to the glee of the rest of the frat.

Now, he was little more than a mascot, often kept outside in a small pen, diapered, collared and masked, grunting and helplessly begging for his masters’ cocks up his ass or down his throat. Even worse, he loved it–he really did. In his new mind, he could imagine nothing better than his new life as an incontinent, pig slave.

Source: faggotmaster

The Bear Ray

Commissioned by Scot158f

Taylor came through the door to his apartment, and immediately pulled off his already loosened tie, before undoing the buttons on his shirt. He wished that Fall would hurry up and arrive–he was sick of this summer heat. By the time he got home from the office where he was doing temp work, he was always soaked with sweat–he hated it, and it didn’t help that the air conditioner in his car had died either. Really though, he just hated his body, the short fat hairless blob that he was.

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, eager for a shower so he could feel clean again, and wondered where in the world Brett was. Brett was his roommate. They’d been friends since high school, going to the same local college and getting nearly worthless degrees so they could waste their time in the rat race. Still, they’d always been there to support each other–especially since they were both gay. However, that was really where the resemblance stopped. Where Taylor was short and chunky, Brett was tall and very slim, with a cock Taylor couldn’t help but envy a bit, but not as much as he envied his friend’s height. Taylor had always been the short one, and he hated it more than anything–especially since Brett was always teasing him about it.

However, one thing the two of them shared in common was they both loved bears–the gay kind, that us. The big burly men they’d see at all the leather clubs who had no interest in either one of them. Neither Brett nor Taylor had much body hair, nor could they grow much in the way of attractive facial hair either. It seemed that they were bound to be wallflowers to the men they wished they could be, night after night. Still, the hopeless self-loathing could wait, Taylor thought to himself as he headed for the bathroom–which was locked, oddly enough. He could hear the shower running, but neither of them ever locked the door. “Hey, Brett–you in there? Why’d you lock the door?”

“Oh shit–Is that you Taylor? Hold on…aren’t you home a bit early?” A voice said from behind the door. It didn’t really sound like Brett, or did it? Regardless, Taylor could tell that there was something strange going on.

“I’m not that early–but I could use a shower. It’s fucking hot out, and I’m sweaty as hell…Is–Is everything alright in there?” You sound, odd.”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Everything’s alright. Everything’s great, actually! Just wait until you see–Just a second.”

Now Taylor knew something was wrong–that didn’t really sound like Brett at all. The voice was too deep, and maybe even a bit, raspy, like someone quite a bit older than twenty-three. What if it wasn’t Brett at all? What if it was just someone…pretending to be him? What if it was a burglar or something, or what if Taylor was sick? Something about all of this just felt really off.

“Brett…If you really are Brett in there–”

“Of course I’m Brett, Taylor!”

“Well you don’t fucking sound much like Brett! I–I’m gonna call the police, whoever you are, I am!”

“Goddamn it Taylor, it’s me!”

“Well open the door and show me–what in the world are you hiding in there for? Why do you sound so different?”

“Look–it’s complicated alright? Just…Just give me a second, and I swear it’ll all make sense.”

“No, open the door now. Open the door or I’m gonna call the police!”

“You don’t need to–”

“Fuck this, I’m getting my phone!”

“Alright! Alright, here, I’m unlocking the door, alright? Calm down…Just, just try not to freak out alright? I…look a little different than usual,” Brett said, and Taylor heard the door unlock with a click. Taylor, nervous about what he might find, nevertheless crept up and opened the door wide enough to see the monstrous bear standing at the counter, his long hair and beard still damp from the shower. He certainly didn’t look anything like Brett–Brett had never had a gut like that in his whole life, much less any body hair. And how could Brett have grown a massive beard like that in a day? He looked more like some grungy biker from one of the bars than his lifelong friend.

“You…You aren’t–Fuck, who the fuck are you?” Taylor said, stepping back from the massive man who approached him slowly.

“Look, I know…I know I look different, but it really is me, Taylor.”

“I’m calling the police…you’re gonna go to jail. What the fuck did you do to Brett? Did…did you kill him? Oh fuck, you killed him didn’t you! Didn’t you–what the fuck do you want from us?” Taylor shouted, descending into a full on panic, grabbing a brass figurine from a table to wield like a club while he dug in his pant pockets for his phone.

“Taylor, look, just calm down, alright? I know this all seems really weird, but if you just let me explain–”

Taylor wasn’t listening. He’d found his phone, and with shaking hands was about to dial 911. Brett realized that if he let Taylor call he really was going to be in trouble, so he dashed back into the bathroom, grabbed a strange looking gun from the counter and leveled it at Taylor. “Put down the phone, Taylor. Put it down or I’ll shoot you, I swear I will.”

Taylor froze, phone in his hand, mouth sputtering. He had no idea what to even say, the sudden realization that he might actually get shot was too much for his brain to handle. He didn’t want to die, not like this, and his hand released the phone dropping it to the ground.

“”Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Taylor. I really am Brett. I’m the guy you came out to in Mr. Boulie’s chemistry class, in a note you passed. I’m the same guy who let you copy answers on Mr Fiddleman’s take home tests. I’m the guy who you refused to talk to for a month while we were both trying to get in Frank Neddle’s pants. It’s me, I’m Brett–I swear.”

“If…If you’re gonna shoot me…just, just do it, alright?” Taylor said, not even listening to what the strange man was saying, “I don’t fucking believe you, whoever you are. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but Brett wouldn’t point a fucking gun at me. So if you’re gonna shoot me, just fucking do it!”

The silence was a bit deafening, as the two men stood in the living room. It gave Taylor a chance to look at the gun in Brett’s hand, or at least in the hand of the man claiming to be Brett. It didn’t look like any kind of gun Taylor had seen before–not that he’d seen very many–if anything it looked like some kid’s pretend ray gun from a science fiction movie. The tip didn’t look like it would be delivering a bullet, and he could see some strange dials on the side. He could see the gears turning in the biker’s head, when he shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself,” he said, and pulled the trigger, and before Taylor could even flinch, a strange yellow ray shot out of the device and enveloped his entire body, holding him perfectly still, and he felt a strange sensation creeping along his body, something between a wave of heat and an insatiable itch.

Through the yellow glow, he could see the man fiddling with the dials on the side of the gun, and the beam of light, along with the sensations, grew fiercer, and Taylor felt almost as though his body was changing and shifting–the light pushing and pulling at his form, worming its way underneath his skin and pushing its way down his throat into his core. While it wasn’t painful, there was a definite sense of vertigo, that the entire world was shifting on and off balance, and then, it was gone, the light dissipating around him, and Taylor, unsteady, tumbled backwards onto the carpet, suddenly ill at ease with himself as the room spun around him.

“The vertigo passes in a couple of moments–I nearly puked the first time. Just take it slow…I was hoping to break you in a little slower, but you were being such a dipshit you didn’t leave me much choice,” Brett said, setting the gun down on a table and hurrying over to where Taylor was rolling about on the floor, trying to get his bearings, however, as his senses returned, some of the strangeness lingered. He was strange–different than he’d been before.

“What–what happened? What did you shoot me with you freak?” he said, but the words rolled off his tongue oddly, his voice deeper that his high, undeveloped tenor from moments before.

“Look, let me just help you up and get you in front of a mirror–you won’t believe it until I show you,” Brett said, picked Taylor up off the floor and guided him into the bathroom, where he saw his image in the mirror…only it wasn’t his image at all.

He was a bear–there was no denying it. He had a furry chest, a massive beard…and tattoos. Fucking hot tattoos that made him look rough and ready for anything. While he was still big, some of his fat had been replaced by muscle, giving him more of a powerlifter look. It was everything he’d ever dreaming of being…almost. He was still short–maybe…maybe even shorter than he’d been before, and Brett was towering over him. He hated it, he hated being short more than anything else. “It…It really is you, isn’t it?” Taylor said, turning to Brett, who was leaning against the doorframe, grinning through his thick beard, “What in the world is that gun? What did it do to me–to us?”

“I told you it was. I mean, I understand why you didn’t believe me…I found the gun at the goodwill today, while I was shopping. It had the words ‘Bear Ray’ on it–how could I resist? I never thought it would be capable of this. Hell, I shot myself by accident the first time. And this is just the tip of what it can do. I designed this body for you myself–and I must say, you look adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“Like a teddy bear–all the guys at the club are going to go wild for a little fireplug like you, trust me. Now, I have a surprise for you–just give me a second in the bedroom, I want to surprise you for real this time,” Brett said, and then dashed off, leaving Taylor red faced and angry.

‘Adorable’…‘Little’…’Fireplug’…Brett knew how much Taylor hated being short and fat, and he thought he was going to be happy like this? Sure, he was a bear, but not the kind of bear he wanted to be. He could already sense it. Brett was taking control of the entire situation, like he always had a way of doing. He’d always had a thing for short, chubby bears and now he’d made Taylor into his perfect man. Hell, he was probably going to try and get Taylor to wear a collar so he strut him around the clubs tonight–well no fucking way was that going to happen. Taylor hurried out of the bathroom and found the gun lying where Brett had left it, and started messing with the controls, turning the size dials as high as they could go before turning the ray on himself and letting loose.

Immediately, he could feel the same sense of vertigo from before, but even more extreme, as the room began shrinking down around him. He was vaguely aware of the fact that other parts of him were changing too along with his size–hair growing in on his once bald head, his cock expanding at a massive pace, body hair growing in even thicker than the hairiest bears he’d ogled at the clubs. “So what do you think?” Brett said, returning from the bedroom in some new leather gear, “I even got you some new gear, and I found this kinky collar I know you won’t be able to resist…” but his words failed him as he came face to face with the rapidly growing Taylor.

He was quickly passing eight feet tall, his gut ballooning outward with solid fat as the rest of his body packed on pounds and pounds of muscle. His beard passed Brett’s own, growing bushier and bushier until he couldn’t even see his mouth, much less his chest buried beneath a thick black pelt. His head slammed into the ceiling, making Taylor wince in pain, but he refused to take his hand off the trigger, feeling his body hunch over, trying to find room in the rapidly shrinking apartment. The ray only stopped because his hand became too large to grip it and pull the trigger, the device slipping from his hand as the yellow glow subsided once more, leaving in its place a massively hairy, gigantic bear of a man. “What do you think, asshole?” he growled, “Am I still your ‘little adorable fireplug’?”

“You’re fucking nuts!” Brett shouted, and made a move towards the gun, but before he could reach it, Taylor snatched it in his massive palm and crushed it in his fist, sparks flying from between his fingers. “You idiot! What the fuck did you do that for? Now we’ll never be able to change back.”

Taylor laughed–that was fine with him–he was the new big bear in town. Looking down at his fretting roommate, his foot and a half long cock hardening up, Taylor decided it was time to show his ‘friend’ who was really going to be in charge from now on.

Evan had been a casual gamer–meaning he had a life outside of video games. Unfortunately, that meant that every game he played he lost. He hated it, and worst of all, he knew that the guys who creamed him day in and day out were just fat loser faggots who lived in their parents’ basements and did nothing but play games all day, but still, he wanted to beat them so badly, it wasn’t fair.

Of course, he didn’t think it was very fair when he woke up one morning in his parents’ basement, two hundred pounds heavier with glasses and a neck beard to boot. But his orc warrior could obliterate nearly every player on his pvp server, and he’d somehow mastered every fps from Counterstrike to MW3 overnight, and he found it nearly impossible to not play games from dawn till far past dusk–at least when he wasn’t jacking off to his massive archive of gay porn. He’d become the guy he’d always hated–and yet he couldn’t help but enjoy every second of it.

Yeah, I guess my dad’s skin doesn’t great–there are a few odd lumps in places, but in a back room, who pays attention to that? I enjoy his maturity too much to care. Yeah I’m twenty-five, but with no facial hair and a skinny body I’m doomed to twinkhood. I always hated how my dad ridiculed me, and called me a faggot. Still, things have a way of turning out for the best.

I hadn’t expected the potion the old man had given me to work, but hell, what’s the worst that could’ve happened? Well, I suppose he could have died or something, but even that would have been alright in my book. Man, the surprise on his face when he felt his insides start hollowing out, leaving him as nothing more than a suit of skin–fuck, he was terrified. Of course, he’s mostly angry now when I put him on, but there’s nothing he can do about it. I have access to all of his memories, so I can go to work as him, and then play all night long as the leather bear I’ve always wanted to be.

Source: boners4beards

I was really fond of the vignette involving the fellow who’s dick shrunk and who started to have accidents. I feel perverted saying this… but I really want to see more of that. Him destroying his slacks like that helplessly was quite hot,and I bet he would likely undergo some heavy diaper based humiliation in the near future. I’d love to see more, if possible.

Ha, there’s nothing wrong with feeling perverted.

I’m not sure if we’ll see more about that story, but there will probably be more stories in that vein coming down the pipe, so we’ll see.

I would really love to see more about master jordan. I enjoyed the one about the out of shape football players as well. The one of the fat guy riding the other was fun to look at I think the story needs more and I am sure you would provide a wonderful continuation of that one.

Well, I’ll keep all those in mind as possible continuations or expansions in the future. I know that photo captions rarely do a story justice, but sometimes short and sweet is the way things ought to be.

Various Updates

Alright, that brings photo caption week number two to a close. I’m still looking for a job, though I have a few possibilities in the wings. Still, if anyone would like to purchase a tumblr commission from me it would be most helpful with the bills at the moment. You can find details about those at this post here: http://wesleybracken.tumblr.com/post/27281772073/open-for-commissions If you’re interested, send me a message or email me at wesley_bracken@yahoo.com.

In other news, my homelife is going to be getting a bit of a shake up in the next few weeks, because my husband is finally getting me the corgi puppy he promised me for my college graduation. I have no idea how much time I’ll have for writing in the coming weeks, but I expect it won’t be a lot, and most of the time I do have will need to be reserved for commissions. Still, I enjoy the photo captions and vignettes, so I’m aiming for new posts every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Usually they’ll be photo captions, but I’ll sneak a vignette or two in as I can. Of course, this may end up being wildly optimistic, so we’ll see.

Thank you to all my new followers, and thanks for the notes about which photo captions you all have enjoyed this past week. I do have a few continuations/expansions in the works based on the feedback I’ve gotten, so maybe we can delve into what’s been going on with Marcus and the nephew on the farm. Most of all, thanks for reading.

“So, Superboy, what do you think of your new look? Our focus groups have told us that this will definitely make you very popular with the 21-45 age bracket.”

“Fuck…I feel like I god hit by a god damn steamroller…Is my head shaved? What the fuck did you do–why am I cussing?”

“Just some marketing adjustments Superboy. Corporate doesn’t think your image is edgy enough.”

“Corporate…what are you taking about?”

“Why, LEXCORP, of course–your employer. Now, we have a few details to sort out postprogramming. I’m supposed to brief you on missions, payments for your heroic services, and certain corporate functions we’ll need you to make appearances at, but that can come later–I want to talk to you about your public image…See, our focus groups feel that Lana Lang is just not the kind of person you should be pursuing at the moment.”

“What?”

“See, with your new submissive status in our corporation, we feel you need a new persona. The focus groups also tend to like you more if you belong to a minority group. Since white and male are pretty difficult to change, we’ve made alterations to your sexual orientation–”

“No, this can’t be…this is all so wrong, I have to get out of here–what have you done to me?”

“Sit, Superboy. Good, that’s a very good Superboy. Now listen. You’re our bitch now–there’s nothing you can do about it. LEXCORP’s interests are your interests, and from now on, if someone wants to be rescued by you, they’re going to have to pay for it. Not that you’re going to be doing much of that–the US government is far more interested in your capacity as a weapon, but we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this later. Lex said that after all my hard work re-engineering that little brain of yours, that I could be the first one to test your ass.”

“I’m not…I’m not going to do that, I won’t. You can’t make me.”

“Now don’t try to cover it up, I can see that hard on in your new shiny suit. It’s turning you on, thinking about serving me? Pleasing me? You’re just a lacky now, Superboy, you’re our lackey, and pleasing us makes you feel very, very good–trust me. Now get over here and suck my cock. Get it good and hard so I can pop that Kryptonian cherry of yours…Yeah, that’s right. See? You already know how to serve us well…Alright, now bend over the couch and pull down your pants. I want to see if this krypton lube is strong enough to pierce that hole of yours without making you sick. I doubt I got the balance right–so I have a feeling we’re going to be doing a lot of testing in the future.

Source: vincentlycra

“You thought you were a sexpig, that’s what you told me, remember? Well, I don’t think you’re a sexpig–a real sexpig doesn’t care about anything other than where he’s going to get his next fix. They don’t have jobs, they don’t have brains, all they want to do is fuck and cum. Well, don’t worry, you’ll be a real sexpig soon enough.

"It’ll hurt when the demon possesses you, trust me, I know–but he won’t be there forever. It can’t live forever outside the immortal realms, but for a few nights? While we have an orgy? It’s going to feast on you, all your dreams, your intellect, your fears and worries, they’ll all be gone down the demon’s gullet before long, and then you’ll be a real sexpig for the rest of your life.

"Now how about we get this ceremony started? I’m going to have to make you cum–but all that viagra you took earlier should help. Look at you, leaking already. Your eyes say no, but I think your cock is saying yes, yes, yes…”