Category: Uncategorized

“Yep, ya guessed right, I’m one a them escaped convicts from that prison break. Now, I bet yer wonderin’ why I’ve tied ya up instead of just killin’ ya. Well, we’re gonna be swappin’ skins here, cause I ain’t goin’ back tah jail, so I might as well live yer life, right? Now, I already killed yer wife ‘n boy, and the story’s gonna be that ya came home, confronted me rapin’ yer dead wife’s corpse, ‘n shot me dead in the livin’ room with that shotgun over there. Course, it ain’t gonna be me in mah body when all that happens…

Oh quit yer whinin’, at least yer gonna get a good, last orgasm before ya shuffle off. See, I need some a that seed a yers tah make the switch, ‘n I learned how tah suck a good cock in prison. How about this, if ya don’t cum in the next two hours? I’ll go ahead ‘n let ya shoot me–but trust me, I don’t think ya’ll last twenty minutes, but go ahead, prove me wrong. Now lets get this here started.

Source: batorbudd

Yeah, I know I’m not like most burglars. For one, I only break into houses when they’re occupied. Well, I should be more specific–I only break into houses that are occupied my men, preferably by big, beefy daddies like this guy here–ain’t he something?

Yeah, he thought he could defend himself–they always do. He pointed the gun at me and looked in my eyes…and well, he wasn’t ready for my psychic blast, I don’t think, and his mind was blank and under my complete control seconds later. Before too long, he was on the bed, groaning, gun by his side, cock hard, playing with his nipples–helpless, basically–while I cased the joint and took what I wanted. Now don’t worry, I didn’t leave him unsatisfied. In fact, he thanked me profusely for the best orgasm of his life and for for robbing him of his worthless goods before sucking my cock off.

So I suppose I’ve never really robbed anyone, since they’re always happy to give me anything they want, isn’t that right? You do want to give me everything I want, right?

Source: intriguingmales-blog

Growing older sucked. Now forty, Roy was fighting his body every day, from the balding to the body hair, to the paunch that resisted every diet and workout. There was no denying it–he was a bear, and he wasn’t happy about it. Well, he did like the way he looked, the real problem was that none of the guys he wanted were all that into his mature look.
Yeah, Roy loved twinks–he almost hated admitting it out loud, but something about their boyish looks and smooth, slim bodies drove him absolutely wild. Unfortunately, none of them ever gave him the time of day–until now. He still couldn’t believe the shirt had worked. He’d bought it online for the hefty price of 500 dollars, and he thought he’d been scammed when he couldn’t see anything odd about it–it just looked like a yellow shirt to him. But the first time he’d worn it to the club? The twinks had swarmed him. He’d gone home with three different boys, who’d kept him up all damn night.
So maybe growing older wasn’t so bad, so long as one always had the sense to be fashion forward.

Source: irishcubby

Your eyes flicked to the clock on your computer screen–its been 45 minutes? How…how could you have been staring at this photo for 45 minutes? Especially considering how the faceless pic is most definitely not your type, with the huge belly hanging distended over the waistband of the huge pair of jeans barely held up by a set of braces. It was part of an ad on Craigslist–you’d never actually called anyone–you mostly went on there for laughs, right? I mean, you weren’t actually…thinking about calling him, were you?

You read the advertisement again. You’ve read the short message written in all caps so many times now you’ve memorized it, but you read it anyway: “OBESE MASTER SEEKS SLAVE. MUST BE WEAK WILLED. CALL 555-253-6535 IF YOU CAN’T HEP YOURSELF.” Fifteen minutes later, you’re calling the number, begging and pleading him to let you come worship his massive frame. He gives you an address, and you leave, forgetting your phone and keys–you aren’t planning on coming back.

You never did notice notice that the picture was a GIF, did you?

Source: fatfiend

love the infantilist part of the matchmaker. do you intend to write any humiliation stories in that direction again?

Short answer: Yes. Slightly longer answer: Yes, but my stuff tends to cover a lot of bases and fetishes. It all sort of depends on the images I find, and what sort of stories I feel like writing. If there’s a particular story/fetish you want me to make happen, I’m always open for requests and commissions. You can find details here: http://wesleybracken.tumblr.com/post/27772012667/announcing-photo-caption-week

Never Heckle a Hypnotist

What’s the story with who? Oh, Robbie? The guy guzzling piss down at the end of the bar?

Ha, funny story there–let me just tell you this–never heckle a hypnotist.

What, you want the whole story? Alright, but look, I confess that it might have been a bit of a stunt, but you have to understand what it’s been like for us gay bars here in this economy, right? Guys just aren’t coming out as much, and if they need to hook up, they just use one of those fancy apps of theirs–and look, we didn’t have anything like that back in my red sock days, so you’ll understand that I was feeling a little desperate. I mean, how desperate do you have to be to hire a fucking sex hypnotist for a show? Even I felt a little silly talking to the guy when we were setting it up. Besides, the guy didn’t sound all that impressive over the phone, but he offered me a deal, and I was willing to try anything.

But anyway, this is really about Robbie, not about me and my bar–regardless, I just want you to know that I didn’t mean for it to happen–it was his fault really for not keeping his mouth shut, let me tell you. Robbie…Robbie is, well, was a troublemaker, a rabble rouser, whatever you want to call it. He mucked up shit is what I’m saying. If he could say something to get a rise out of you, he would, and let’s just say he wasn’t really well liked at the bar, and never went home with anyone who really got to know him, but he was a staple, right? You got used to the inane bullshit which generally spewed out of his mouth after a while, still, I probably should have warned the hypnotist that there would be heckler in the audience.

And I might as well point out Jimmy too–he’s Robbie’s, well, I guess you could say boyfriend, although I think Robbie only calls him “daddy” in public now. Trust me, he wasn’t always the cocky leather bear you see over there.

Back before the show, he was a just a meek little clean shaven cub. Cute, but really, really quiet. He and Robbie, well, Robbie took advantage of him I think, made friends, they had sex a couple of times, but Robbie, well, I don’t know the details. Suffice it to say, Jimmy got burned–bad. But that’s what Robbie does I guess–well not anymore, that’s one good thing. He’s too busy drinking piss to throw shit around now.

So the night of the show rolled around, and we had a decent crowd in here–maybe thirty or forty, and Robbie was present of course and already drunk by the time the performance rolled around. Now we tend to cater to an older, bearish crowd, so everyone was pretty lackluster when the small, slight hypnotist took the stage. I too, was a bit disappointed, because I was hoping he would at least be some decent eye candy, but eh, whatever. He did his little introduction, and then asked for volunteers from the audience. He got a few good looking guys to go up there–he could at least read the tastes of the room.

One person he did manage to get up on stage was Jimmy. I don’t know why he worked so hard at getting him up there, but the shy cub gave in eventually. I don’t really remember the rest of the volunteers, it was mostly the regulars who were open enough with everyone to not mind being made a fool for the rest of our amusement. Anyway, the hypnotist got the inductions going, and I kept looking over at Robbie, knowing he was going to say something stupid and that I’d have to haul his ass out to the curb, but he stayed quiet for the meantime.

Once they were all under, he did some pretty generic stuff, making them strip down to their underwear as fast as they could, then making the loser get down and lick the feet of the winner. Making them all get uncontrollably hard and horny, but unable to get their underwear down or touch their dicks. It was pretty funny, actually, but then Robbie started his shit. Heckling the guy, telling him how stupid his act was. I let it go on for a minute, and then started over, ready to kick him out, but a stern look from the hypnotist stopped me, and I realized I might have misjudged the young guy.

He put the other volunteers to sleep, and then addressed Robbie, inviting him up onto the stage. Robbie, of course, insisted that he couldn’t be hypnotized, but everyone else had had enough of his shit too, so eventually he was forced up onto the stage, where he stumbled about, drunk off his ass. Needless to say, little miss I-can’t-be-hypnotized was out like a light in about thirty seconds flat, and then the fun really began.

He stood Robbie up and laid into his ass in front of the audience, belittling and insulting him, but always telling him how he was a naughty little boy who probably couldn’t even hold in his piss, and sure enough, less than a minute later, the front of Robbie’s jeans darkened with a tell-tale stain.

He’d actually gone and pissed himself, and the whole room started roaring with laughter. Robbie hadn’t even noticed yet, and as soon as the look of horror crossed his face, the hypnotist said “Freeze,” and Robbie couldn’t move a muscle while the rest of us hooted and hollered with glee. But the hypnotist wasn’t done, not by a long shot. With Robbie immobilized and humiliated, he stood He stood Jimmy up and started working on him.

He asked Jimmy how his father had treated him–hell, we all could tell he’d probably had a rough childhood, like most of us–and he described a rough, demanding man with a definite affinity for corporal punishment, especially spankings. Well the hypnotist started winding him up, tell him that it was time for Jimmy to step into his daddy’s shoes, and show the little boy on stage what happens to him when he’s naughty. When he unfroze them both, Jimmy stormed over, grabbed Robbie by the forearm and hauled him over his knee, pounding his ass and hollering at him in a strange, deep voice about how it’s time to take his punishment, for being a naughty little pants-pisser.

Robbie obviously wasn’t used to the treatment and started to cry, but the hypnotist kept them both quiet and told them what to say, narrating a scene where a little boy who loves pissing himself finally admits to his daddy that what he wants, more than anything else in the world, is to be a urinal. I swear, I know it sounds nuts, but that’s how it ended up, with Robbie bent over Jimmy’s knee shouting for the whole room to hear how he wanted to be a urinal, “Please daddy, make me a urinal!” and the hypnotist turns to us, and asks whether we should help this naughty little boys dream come true, and of course we hoot and holler yes like a pack of wolves.

Well, the hypnotist starts telling Robbie about everything it takes to be a good urinal for a men’s room, gets him naked aside from his underwear, then sets him down on his knees, on the stage, and tells all the guys up there that Robbie needs to practice a bit before taking his “daddy’s” piss. So they all piss in his mouth and down the front of him, and Robbie just can’t get fucking enough of it. I mean, I knew then, that this was going to far, that we had taken a left turn at crazy, but I couldn’t stop it–I was laughing too hard.

So he drank all their piss, and he’s fucking soaked, when it’s finally Jimmy’s turn, but the hypnotist has a challenge for them. He wants them to stand as far away from each other, and see if Jimmy can still get his son doused in his piss, and by golly, that piss arced a good six feet, I’m not lying. Sure, the hypnotist worked a little magic on Jimmy’s bladder, but hey, it was still hot as hell, and I’m not even into that shit.

It was quite the finale, and we all gave the hypnotist quite the ovation, and he had a little chat with all of his volunteers before letting them off for the night, although they were all left with a few tweaks that were only supposed to last a night. Jimmy, well, he kept his big daddy persona with the deep voice and confidence to boot–and Robbie, fuck, he had no fucking clue. The hypnotist told him that for the rest of the evening, he would think that his clothes were perfectly dry, and that he would be unable to use the bathroom, pissing his pants instead, and he would be forced to announce it to the room every time it happened. Lastly, and perhaps worst of all, he was going to keep drinking all night, but instead of going to the bar, he’d ask around for piss to fill his glass with from men in the room, thinking it was beer the entire time.

Fuck, watching him walk around thinking he didn’t have a ton of men’s piss soaked into his clothes, including Jimmy’s, who he’d treated so poorly, it was priceless. Hell, when he wasn’t looking, guys kept pissing on him, at least when they weren’t providing him with bottomless refills in his glass. He left that night with a stomach so bloated, I figured he would piss gallons when it all finally worked its way out of him. Still, the bar was such a fucking mess, I was here for hours mopping up piss after closing time.

Well, a few days passed, and Robbie was suspiciously absent from the bar. When he finally did show up, it was with a foggy memory, and no one really wanted to razz him too hard, to be honest. But Jimmy, man, had he become a cocky asshole, though still nicer than Robbie had been. That little personality adjustment had really gone to his head, and he was getting laid right and left–and topping all of them, or so I’d heard. He’d also gone out and bought some new leather gear, and started smoking cigars so he would look older. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went and dyed his beard grey, he’s so wrapped up in looking like a good leather daddy now. Anyway, when he saw Robbie, he just wouldn’t let up, and to my surprise, Robbie was the submissive one this time around. By the end of the night, Jimmy had Robbie down at the end of the bar, right where he is now, drinking down piss once again like it was his favorite thing, and the two have been inseparable ever since, believe it or not.

I will say though, that having a bar urinal has been great for business. I’ve never really made inroads with the whole kink community, but hey, Robbie has been great for that. Besides, the two of them seem happy…god, that’s kind of sick, isn’t it? Well, I’m actually scheduling another performance with the hypnotist for next month–you should come watch it. I think it’s going to be a packed house, but like I said earlier, stay quiet, and never heckle a hypnotist. You never know where you might end up when he’s through with you.

The house was haunted, or at least, that’s what everyone said. No one in the neighborhood had ever seen the ghost themselves–but everyone knew the stories. The children made up their own tales to terrorize, gleaned from small, true details overheard from hushed whispers–the rattling of chains, the screams of pain coming from the basement. 

It never stayed vacant for long–a young couple would move in, convinced that with some hard work they could have the dilapidated old building looking good as new–and the price was always such a steal. They would move in, and the neighborhood would watch. The wife would leave within a month, driven away by the specter and their suddenly intolerable husband. They always became demanding–abusive, with a new desire for doggy style and the wife’s back door, yelling at empty spaces, spending days in the basement all by themselves.

No one knew where the husbands went. One day, they were just not there anymore, a new “for sale” sign up within a week, luring in another victim, another master to sate house slave’s endless desires.

Source: fagthing

Lost? No, you weren’t lost anymore. Sure, a few days ago, when you’d found yourself stranded in the bayou after you were separated from the tour group, tromping and crashing through the muddy water trying to find your way back to civilization, yeah, you’d been lost then. But now? No, you weren’t lost, you were home.

The Bayou had taken you in, it had chosen you, spared you death so that you could be reborn. It did it in dreams–every night, after emerging from a deep, horrific, and fitful sleep filled with fires and dank mud, you woke changed. Your clothes had gone missing the first morning–the tattoos, the marks of the bayou–they had come the second. Your body shifting and changing as the days passed, your mind growing accustomed to life here, filling with knowledge as your old life washed away out to the ocean. 

And now, you were close to your birth. Clothes had begun to drift towards you–a hat, a pair of boots–but more would come. The bayou would provide after all–the bayou will provide.