Caption: The Mason Boys and the Cop

It wasn’t the most glamorous place to be a police officer, he supposed, but maybe that was for the best, Mitch thought. He had always liked the small town life, after all, as sleepy and boring as it could be at times. The occasional drunken brawl at the tavern was about as exciting as it ever got around here–at least, until that fateful night when the Mason boys were screaming down the highway at over a hundred, and Mitch was waiting in the cop car behind some bushes, though most people knew better than to race through there.

When the car sped past him, Mitch was always too surprised to give chase. Cussing a little, he put his coffee in the center console, flicked on the lights, and raced off after them. If he hadn’t–if he’d just let them go, maybe the Mason boys would have never come to the little, sleepy town of Garrison–and the town wouldn’t have become nearly as interesting as it has, as of late.

The car slowed down as soon as Mitch pulled out from his hiding place with his lights on, and pulled over to the side of the road–which seemed a bit…too easy for Mitch, and set off a few little red flags in the back of his head. Still, it was probably just some guy who, in the middle of the night, thought no one would be around to catch him, but he was wrong, wasn’t he? Mitch radioed in the stop to dispatch, and proceeded to the driver side window–there, he found something similar to what he’d expected, an older fellow, looking a bit…terrified. He was in a suit that seemed a bit…dirty, and he stank, or at least, something stank. That was when he looked back, and saw the two men in the backseat–the Mason boys.

Both of them were grungy looking fellows, with big beards and lots of tattoos, both smoking sizable cigars, and filling the whole cab with smoke, making Mitch cough. The smell of everything made him a bit…lightheaded, and woozy in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“Please, you have to help me,” the driver said to him, “I…I can’t control…what they tell me to do, please, please, I–”

“Hey! Shut the fuck up, you stupid faggot,” one of the brothers said in the backseat. “Evening officer, what can we do for you tonight?”

Mitch wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation–the whole thing just looked…strange, to him. “Is…everything alright, Sir?” he asked the driver.

“Go on, bitch, tell the handsome cop why you were speeding,” the other brother said, and the two laughed.

“I…I was speeding because…because I like sucking cop cock, Sir,” the older man said…but to Mitch, it didn’t look like he wanted to be saying it. It looked like he was being forced to say it, but he didn’t see a weapon on anything in the back. “Please, Sir? Can I suck your cock?”

“Are they making you say that, Sir?”

“No sir, I’m just…just a fat old faggot who loves cop cock, please, please fuck me, I want you to beat me with your billy club, and shove it up my old hole, and then cum all over my face, right on the side of the road, please Sir, please…”

The man was crying, and what Mitch wanted to do, was order the other two out of the car, arrest them, and get the story straight from their captive–but what he did instead was order the driver out of the car. He threw him over the front hood, right there on the highway, and started smacking his ass with the club, while the Mason boys got out, cheering him on, the driver sobbing in pain, as Mitch yanked down the man’s pants, and shoved his club into his hole. Once it was good and deep, he forced the man onto his knees, and started fucking his face, the two men urging him on, telling him what a hot fucker he is, their musk making his head spin more and more until he came all over the driver’s face, and Mitch, panting, felt control return to him.

The Mason boys were laughing, the driver sobbing, and before anyone could do anything else, he pulled his gun on the two men, and ordered them against their car. He didn’t know…what they’d done to him, but he hadn’t wanted to do that–he was going to put them under arrest, and figure out what to do about them. He handcuffed them both, and then got them in the squad car, leaving the driver on the side of the road, his club still shoved in his hole, but the Mason boys weren’t scared, they seemed…happy. Thrilled even, as Mitch radioed dispatch, told them he’d resolved the stop, and was quitting for the night. Then, he drove his two captives home, answering all of their questions that they asked him…and only realized something was off when they pulled into his driveway, instead of the station.

“Why…why did I bring you two here?” he said.

“Don’t think about it too hard, bitch–you’re way more fun, and sexy, than that old guy–come on, let’s go inside for some fun–won’t that be nice?” one of the boys said to him.

Mitch couldn’t stop himself as he got out, took off the handcuffs, and followed the two men into his house, where he lived alone–after his last girlfriend had left him. The Mason boys had come to town, and now that they were here, they were going to be staying for quite a while–and Mitch was going to be their first toy.


“So you think you’re ready to go to work at the station? Are you sure?” Teddy Mason said, while his brother, Edd, just chuckled.

“Yeah, I…I think so,” Mitch said to them both, standing in the hallway of his house. He…he couldn’t quite remember much of what had happened the night before, after bringing the two dirty men home with him from that traffic stop, but…but his shift started soon, and he was a cop, so he had to go to work. It was important. It was hard to think though, and so he’d been struggling to get ready all morning. Thankfully Teddy and Edd had helped him out.

“You have your uniform on?”

“Yep! It’s blue and everything.”

“Is it clean?”

“It wasn’t but I went I rolled in the dirt out back like you told me to, Teddy. Now’s it’s clean.”

“You get breakfast?”

“Still working on my third can,” Mitch said, as he took another long sip from the beer he had in his hand.

Teddy and Edd were laughing now, but Mitch didn’t know what was so funny, really. He was just getting ready for work.

“You go to the bathroom? Take care of business?” Edd said, sneering at him.

“Oh…uh…no, I didn’t piss this morning yet.”

“Well I bet you have to after breakfast for sure–but you’re running late–better finish that beer and piss yourself to save some time.”

That…that made sense, didn’t it? Mitch downed the rest of his beer, and then felt piss flood the front of his uniform as he stood in the hallway, grinning like an idiot, while the Mason boys just laughed. Something must be real funny–Mitch found himself grinning along, despite not knowing why.

“Alright, I think you’re ready Bitch–go get to the station, and hurry. You’re almost late.”

“Thanks you guys, it was…real hard getting going this morning for some reason.”

“No worries Bitch, we’re here to help.”

Mitch went out to the driveway and climbed in the squad car. It was a bit hard driving after three beers, but he managed alright, and got to the station in one piece. He was half an hour late–the sheriff was going to be so pissed at him. He went in, and sure enough, Sheriff Biggs was there, huffing, and when he saw Mitch there, his face went bright red…and as soon as he was in the station, Mitch…remembered, everything, with perfect clarity.

How the Mason boys had humiliated him all night, fucking him, teasing him, and then this morning, how…how they’d dressed him up in these filthy denim clothes, and now he was here, in front of his boss, looking like some dirty fucking pig…and as hard as he tried to explain himself, no sound would come out of his mouth.

“Mitch, what the fuck are you wearing?”

“My…My uniform, Sir,” he blurted out, unable to say anything other than that, just like the driver the other night. “It’s…it’s blue, right?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“I had…I mean…”

The sheriff sniffed his breath, and wrinkled his nose. “You fucking piece of shit, you’re fucking fired! Give me your fucking keys, your badge, and your gun.”

He had remembered his badge and gun–probably because the Mason boys had known he’d have to turn them in after this stunt. Then, the sheriff booted him out of the station–without a car, he had to take the bus and walk home–and he got there in the early afternoon, fuming, but unable to tell a soul the truth about why he was dressed like this, and soaked in piss.

But the boys’ hold on him was too strong. He went inside, found Teddy wearing his uniform, minus the badge, and when he tried to cuss them out and hit them, he couldn’t move. Instead, he ended up on his hands and knees, cleaning his own boots with his tongue while Edd fucked him, making him recount everything that had happened to him that morning. Mitch cried, finally. He cried, but that just made the boys laugh louder. 

“Fuck bro, this town seems fucking boring, you know?”

“Yeah Edd–and I like our bitch here a lot–you don’t mind if we stay with you for a while, do you Bitch? I think my bro and I could have a lot of fun here, don’t you? You want us to stay with you real bad–you’ll do anything we say, as long as we stay, isn’t that right?”

Mitch had to agree of course, he’d agree with anything the Mason boys said, after all. Soon, all the rest of the men in the town would too, if the boys had their way.

Straight Town

Last Updated – 8/12/19. It’s finished! Thanks all for your patience with this one. New stuff will be coming tomorrow.

NOTE: Click the “Continue Reading” button below first, before using the links in the table of contents, or else most won’t work!

Table of Contents

Arc One: Kevin and Steve
Supplemental Writings

Continue reading “Straight Town”

Caption: A Demon’s Help (Part 1)

This is the first part of a caption story I did for patrons at the $5 tier and higher! If you want to see the second part, as well as all the other captions I post for them over on the discord, you can sign up on my page here!


Marvin had been going too fast. He was drunk, and he’d been going to fast, and now he’d gotten pulled over by some highway patrol fucker, and now…now he was going to get fucking arrested.

Maybe he wasn’t that drunk. Oh who the fuck was he kidding, he was way too fucking drunk to think he was going to get away with this. Maybe…maybe he could talk him down to a warning. He wasn’t like those other guys drinking and driving, he…fuck, Marvin thought, please God, I don’t ask for much, but please, don’t send me to jail tonight.

Oh Marvin, God can’t hear you. God can’t hear anyone anymore.

That…wasn’t his voice. The usual voice he heard in his head. It didn’t even seem to come from his head–but from a mouth, right beside his ear, like someone was in the car with him, behind him, leaning between the seats to whisper to him. He could almost feel the hot breath, but he couldn’t turn to look–his body was frozen.

God can’t hear you, but I can. I’m better than God even, I can grant little wishes like that, little selfish needs. Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.

Marvin finally managed to spin around, but no one was in the car with him. Now he was drunk, and hallucinating–fuck!

There was a rapping on the window–the trooper was there now, and Marvin rolled down the window, and as he did, a voice came out of him–the same voice, and the things it said–he said, the most…horrifying, naughty, filthy things…it was only a matter of time before he had the trooper horny as hell, and then the handcuffs were on him, but he wasn’t going to jail–not this time.

The trooper took him home, took him down into the basement, and down there, the thing played with them. Twisted them, toyed with them, pitted them against each other and their own base natures. Marvin watched as the trooper became…someone else. The basement twisted into something new, full of smoke, and leather, and chains, and in the midst of it, Marvin was suspended in delight and terror, the demon (he was sure it must be a demon) and the trooper taunting him, fucking him, beating him…so many vicious, delightful things.

The next morning, the trooper dropped him back at his car, and Marvin sobbed. He hadn’t wanted that–he hadn’t wanted any of that to happen, and now…now what.

Don’t cry, Marvin. I’m here for you, I’ll always be here. Ask, and I’ll do anything for you, anything at all, I promise.

The Cop Next Door (Caption)

When I found out that my new neighbor was a cop…well, let’s just say I knew I had found my next target. He was a handsome fella, tall, with a shaved head and horseshoe stache, twice divorced, hated faggots, a real man’s man, or at least, he was. I had a feeling he’d be having a change of heart soon enough.

I got to know him, and befriended him easily enough. Me, the salt and pepper daddy, disarming charm, strong handshake and intriguing stare. I took a few weeks to get to know him, delve a bit, see how…amenable he was going to be. His apartment was always a bit of a mess–aside from one thing. He always took exceptional care of his uniforms–he respected them more than he respected himself, in fact.

The first time I took him under, with the help of a sedative I slipped into his beer, I just let him sleep, relaxed, while I went in and tried his uniform on. I was a bit bigger than him, but I could make it work–and I was so hard, thinking about my plans, that it was very hard resisting the urge to blow my load right in the crotch, and leave it there for him to find later. I did keep wearing it while I took him deeper, telling him how handsome I looked in his uniform, how manly it made me. How every man in a uniform deserved his respect, and his complete obedience.

Next, I started breaking him down. He was a slob. He was weak. He found himself starting to look at gay porn on the internet, these cop videos, and he’d…crave them, being stripped of his uniform and forced to service his fellow men in blue, knowing that he didn’t really deserve to wear the uniform at all, deep in his heart, because he was beginning to suspect that he might just be a faggot. After all, what real man would let a woman leave him twice? He’d never been able to perform, never been able to control them…because he was the one who should have been controlled the entire time.

I haven’t had him service me while he’s awake yet, but we’re close. Every day, I come over and put him under, I get into his uniform, and make him service me in his grungy, filthy, cum-coated underwear. He’s started to put on weight recently–not something I told him to do, but it makes him look even more worthless, so I’m encouraging it, that as he wrecks his body, he’s going to look less and less like the real man he always though he was, and more and more like the cum hungry faggot he’s going to be from now on.

He’s probably going to quit the force soon. He’ll lose too much of his nerve, he won’t be able to see himself as one of the officers surrounding him…but I know he won’t lose his appreciation for the uniform. After all, he’ll believe he lives next door to a handsome, rough daddy cop–one who loves having the fat faggot from next door over to worship and service him, cleaning his boots everyday, and going back home with a load of cum in his ass every night. Eventually, I’ll wipe out all trace from his memory that he had ever even been a cop, and I’ll help him find a history more…fitting for a worthless faggot like him…but that’s for the future. For now, I’m just enjoying my faggot cop’s lips around my cock, and looking forward to all the fun we’re going to have.


The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 2)

I felt the clothes then, and they didn’t feel like the cotton and wool they should have been–they were smooth and slick, like something in their makeup had changed, or the cum coating them was warping their actual nature. It felt…good. I had fought so hard to get it off, and feeling it, all I wanted to do was put it right back on. Instead, I hung it up in the closet to dry–I didn’t bother thinking about washing them then, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to, even if I wanted. I did, however, manage to shower for the first time in days.

It seemed like such a feat, in the moment, but I think what allowed me to do it was the fact that I knew, even if I was clean on the outside, everything on the inside was wrong. No amount of water, or soap, was enough to scrub away what (I’d thought) Cumster had done to me. All the same, I felt better when I stepped out, though once I saw myself in the mirror, some of that feeling of good will disappeared. Not everything that had changed about me was bad, exactly. I was more muscular than I thought I should be, and perhaps a bit taller and hairier, even. The beard I hadn’t bothered shaving in a few days was thicker than my stubble usually was, but it framed my jaw well, though the hair was too long and needed a trim. It was the most disordered part about me, and I wanted it back in my usual high and tight, but there were more pressing concerns than a haircut. Mostly, my balls.

They had easily quadrupled in size in the course of the night, from Cumster’s eager treatment. No wonder I had been able to cum as many times as I had–I could almost feel them churning in my palm when I hefted them up, barely able to hold them with my fingers spread wide. I…didn’t know how I was going to hide them. I didn’t know if I wanted to hide them at all. I…I kind of wanted everyone to see them, I wanted them to know I was different, that I was wrong. That I…I wasn’t like them. My mind keeps telling me to write it, it wants me to say that I’m not human, but that’s not right. I know I’m human too, even if I’m also something else now, or maybe I always was, the things I remember now…I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what belongs to me, what was buried away, and what all of these freaks have put in my mind along the way.

My phone was dead–I plugged it in, and immediately got a deluge of notifications from it, mostly calls from the department. Dreading what I was going to have to bear, I called the captain, telling him I’d developed some nightmare flu. In the end, the excuse didn’t matter, because there was something more important than the fact that I’d kept dropping off the grid for most of the last three days. Jules had called in with a location, and nothing else. The department was getting ready to go investigate it–I told them I would meet them there.

It was so fucking hard not putting my filthy dress uniform back on when I was getting ready. Something…told me I was going to need it, I would want it…but I couldn’t be seen in something like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to hide under my usual clothing. I felt it, and it had cured somewhat in the closet, in just that short while. It was no longer wet, nor not exactly wet, but it wasn’t dry either. It took be a few moments to realize it didn’t even feel like the right kind of fabric at all…because it felt more like rubber.

It felt like rubber–smooth and flexible–but it didn’t smell like it. It smelled like…like me, like my cum. It smelled like sex, and my cock pumped a load of precum into the front of the boxers I was wearing, saturating the front in a matter of moments. It felt like something from my memory, like something I’d forgotten so long ago, that I might have just been inventing some imagined past out of fog. I wanted to put it back on, I wanted to feel what it…felt like to have it on, but I knew if I did it would never come off again. In the end, I got dressed in my usual clothes, and tucked the uniform into a bag that I took with me. At least if it was close, and I needed it, it would be there. The one exception were the gloves at boots–they still felt like they had…kind of. The gloves were…thicker, though more flexible. On my hands, they seemed to warp to every wrinkle on my hands, while at the same time making them seem…huge. The same with my boots. The cum had made them grow in some odd sense, and yet they hugged my feet so tightly they had to have been made for me. I didn’t care if anyone noticed, I…wanted them to notice, even. I was terrified, and yet, whatever was inside me, was hungry all the same.

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 5 (Part 1)

I lost something that night with Cumster. I don’t know if that’s quite right, really, but the next morning I didn’t feel like the same person who had come home the night before. Even now, after everything I’ve witnessed, it feels so pivotal, even though it was so small, like something inside me had opened up. Sometimes, I see a door. Other times, it feels like a flower. More and more, it doesn’t feel like a thing, but like…an entity. I wasn’t entirely the same person, when I woke up on the floor of the basement, as the person who had gone down to interrogate Cumster the night before, but I was close enough to pretend that nothing had happened. Pretending was the last defense I had left, but I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that there is some mundane explanation for everything I’ve seen. There’s more in the world than he know, and as much as I wish I could close that door, or burn the plant to the roots growing inside me, I think I know that there’s no way back for me, or for any of us. I have to go though. I have to end this, one way or another, and I’m the only one in this city who can.

There was a dream, that night. I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember how it felt. Like a memory. Like I was reliving something, but not my own life–or parts of my life I had forgotten. I remember feeling alone, as well–not the sort of loneliness you feel when you are by yourself, but the loneliness of loss, the sensation that something is missing, or had been missing all this time, and then the opening came, and I wasn’t alone anymore. I felt surrounded by something, something tight and rough like a smooth skin against mine, pressing around and into me, though I was also certain it had always been there, somewhere. That all of my life, I had been struggling through without all of my pieces, and now, at last, I was fully…there. I don’t know how that can also feel like loss–but one can miss loneliness, I suppose. If you live with a hole in your heart for so long, and it’s suddenly full, so full it’s bursting and seeping through your skin, you miss that emptiness. I felt like a man who’d been starved for so long, that when I finally could eat, the sensation of fullness made me sick. I wasn’t made to be full. I wasn’t supposed to feel complete, and it made me nauseous. When I woke up, I threw up almost immediately, even though I couldn’t even remember the last thing I’d eaten. The bile was black like tar and clung to my lips. It was bitter, and did not burn my throat.

Cumster was awake, and still free. When I could stand upright, he allowed me to cuff him back to the pipes. It wasn’t necessary. I knew he would stay here until his task was finished, whatever that task might be, but I needed him under my control. The look in his eyes infuriated me, that morning, he was so pleased with himself. He could sense I was different as well, but I think that if he had known how different, or what I was feeling, he likely would have fled. This wasn’t what he thought it was. It wasn’t what he had led me to think it was, at least. Maybe he did know, but I don’t think so. I remember the surprise in his eyes, later.

Upstairs, still in my filthy, cum soaked dress uniform, which felt surprisingly…comfortable, somehow, I made breakfast for the both of us. I didn’t know how hungry I was, but I ate far more than I usually do, and then I went upstairs to deal with the filth. I was coated in cum–or at least, it had been cum at one point in the night, that much I knew, but for how long it had been, it was still wet against my skin. Wet and warm, making the fabric cling and stick to me, but not awkwardly. I remembered by dream, that sensation of being wrapped in a smooth hand, and it wasn’t unlike the uniform I was wearing, somehow. Taking it off proved to be difficult, both because I found myself dreading being naked, for some reason (well, not really naked, but now, wearing anything other than my uniform feels like I am naked) and also because nothing seemed to want to come free of my skin.

The gloves proved impossible, so I skipped them, and moved onto my shirt. The were impossible, the cum had glued them shut through the holes. Some of them couldn’t even be grabbed. I ended up prying it up over my head, tugging my arms through the sleeves with the gloves still on, until at last it came free. The pants were easier, though they were the same as the shirt, somehow both stiff and damp. My boots were a struggle, as were the socks, but I managed, until finally it was just me and my gloves, which I unstuck a finger at a time before they pulled free with a sucking sound from my hands.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 12)

Evan pushed the temptation away. He didn’t…want this life, did he? He just wanted to be normal. He wanted to go back to the way things were before, he wanted to just…be himself. Alone in the locker room, he sat down on the bench and just thought about himself, about all the selves he’d been, trying to piece something together about who he’d been, but everything was such a jumble now, that nothing seemed…right. Everything he could recall about who he’d been seemed right when looked at from one angle, and wrong from another. He just…wanted to be happy, didn’t he? When had he last been happy?

I know what makes you happy, Evan.

Robbie popped into his mind then, and his stomach turned. It wasn’t true. What he’d done with him was sick, every time he and Robbie got together, no matter who he was…it was awful. Back in that trailer, when he’d turned him into a pig, in that apartment when he’d worshiped his young, dirty, athletic body, in the apartment earlier, thinking about…about all the filthy fun they got into when they were alone…

I know what makes you happy, Evan, because it makes me happy too, watching you give in. You don’t want to want it, but you can’t help yourself, can you? Well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re together again, since that’s what we both want, right?

[random check, dirty sheriff or mall cop…dirty redneck sheriff it is!]

He…smelled himself then. The musk wafting up around him, growing stronger, and he pushed back. He wasn’t some dirty construction worker, he wasn’t! He…he was an officer of the law, he was in control, he had power, he was important!

Yes, you are, aren’t you? A very important man in these parts…

On the bench, he felt himself shifting, growing taller, feet expanding, his hefty gut pushing out, covered in grey hair, the smell of himself shifting. It was more than sweat now–it was…whiskey, and dirt, and…and cigar smoke. Plenty of smoke, after all, he was never without a cigar in his mouth, usually. He shook his head, trying to focus, trying to push back, but the world around him was already here–he wasn’t in a locker room, he was in his…office. The county sheriff’s office, that is. He wasn’t naked anymore either, he was in his tan uniform, sweat marks under his arms in the summer heat, a full ashtray on his desk, cowboy boots on his feet, his beard trimmed back into a set of friendly mutton chops, just like his pappy had, when he’d been sheriff. He groped himself, feeling his anxiety and fear dropping as he settled into his new life, and leaned back in his chair. “Harry?” he hollared around his cigar, “Got one last thing fer ya, deputy.”

After a moment, Harry came to the door…looking rather similar to the short, chubby cub he’d been in the locker room earlier, but with a few…redneck twists, including his own cigar shoved in his young mouth. Evan couldn’t stand the idea of a boy like that not smoking like him, after all, so he’d been working hard on getting the young cubby deputy well addicted to them over the last few months. “Y-Yes sir?”

“Come on boy, get yer mouth o’er here–fergot tah piss.”

Harry gulped, but got down in front of his sheriff, drank down his piss and ate his ash, before being excused for the evening. He’d have the deputy spend a weekend with him and Robbie soon enough–then he’d have a full service toilet for himself both at home, and at the office. This was good enough for now–he’d chosen well, after all, finding this willing young pig desperate to serve him on the force. Once he’d left, Harry closed up his files and hit the road, climbing into his patrol car, which he had smelling nice and smoky, lit up another cigar, and drove home.

He and Robbie were together, and most everyone in the county knew about the arrangement, but most everyone was scared enough of Evan that they knew better than to say anything. Besides, crime was down (not that it had ever really been up) and he had his Pappy’s name, so Evan wasn’t too worried about having anyone contest him in an election. If someone did…well, he’d be able to put them in place quick enough, he figured. He could afford to live in town somewhere, of course, but he liked…his distance. Fewer questions, and Robbie wasn’t usually fit for polite company, anyway. No use scaring anyone with his filthy pig of a boyfriend, after all.

He did stop on his way out of town and picked up five pizzas–his usual order, and then headed home. He parked on the gravel outside the trailer, and undressed there–wouldn’t do to get his uniform dirtier than it had to be, after all. Naked, he got his pizzas out and headed for the door, cock already hardening from the smell of their grungy life together. Inside, Robbie was where he always was, on the filthy couch in his piss and shit stained clothes, watching old porn on VHS–the classics. Evan stuffed his fat face, and then made the pig beg for the load of shit he’d been carrying around for him all day. He never got tired of listening to the pig beg, after all.

Later, as they fell asleep on the bed, and Evan came back to himself…somewhat. He couldn’t escape this–the spirit wouldn’t let him escape it. It wanted to see him suffer like this, wanted to see him succumb to this…corruption. Worse…he really did enjoy it. He was happy here, as sick as that was…and maybe, the curse would finally let him rest.

***

I’m gonna call it good here on this one! I’ll run a poll here in a bit (probably for Patrons only) on some possible ideas for another interactive that I’ll start next week sometime.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 11)

As soon as Evan thought about giving into this persona, however, the spirit welled up inside him–warning him. Telling him that it would get its satisfaction one way or another, whether he helped it along or not–and so, it would be best for him if he simply cooperated. He looked over at Harry, who was now naked, and felt that familiar squeamishness rise up in his throat at the sight of him, like looking at naked men always seemed to do to him, like he was some fucking queer–and he hated it. He hated Harry, most of all, in that moment, and he thought of all the vile things he could do to him…but he held back and restrained himself. He couldn’t lose himself again, like before. Stay in control of himself, and maybe he could keep his wits about him.

“You know, I just don’t think you have what it takes, Harry,” he said, the power twining out and around him–but not changing him yet, just…sliding a little bit of doubt and confusion into his mind.

“What are you talking about, Evan?” Harry asked him.

“I mean, as far as recruits go–you’re a pretty sorry looking fucker, you know that? I mean, what are you, five foot five? 240 pounds? Decided to tuck into those doughnuts even before you got through the academy. Can’t fucking imagine how you managed to pass the physical tests with that sort of frame, but maybe the standards just aren’t quite what they used to be, back when I went through. They’ll let any short fat dumbfuck become a cop these days.”

Harry tried to rebut him, but the spirit was too quick, warping him as Evan spoke, until the lean, muscled, veteran of the force had almost entirely disappeared. In his place was a short, stocky young cadet, fresh out of the academy, who had been given to Evan to train. The words…stung, but while Harry knew he should try and defend himself, and his honor…he couldn’t seem to make his brain work fast enough to come up with a retort.

Evan just continued, feeling more confident, feeling his cock hardening in anticipation, “I did have a chat with Grant, though, about you. I always check in with him when I get a new cadet to train–and you know what he told me? Grant and I go way back you know–he paired me up with you for good reason, boy–he told me all about those special skills of yours you used to get through the academy. That sweet mouth and tight ass. See, we let the occasional faggot through, you know. Not many–they never make good cops, but they sure can make great bootlickers. You a good bootlicker, boy?”

Evan put his booted foot up on the bench, and watched Harry’s eye go right to it. He knew what was expected of him–and he walked over, got down on his knees, and started shining his superior officer’s boot with his tongue–first one, and then the other, paying special attention to the bottom of the soles (where Evan reminded him he’d walked through dog shit earlier that day) and then shoved the young cub up against the lockers and fucked his tight ass, showing the boy what he could expect his proper place to be in this precinct–though he knew what he was signing up for, didn’t he? He’s fantasized about being a cop’s sex slave for as long as he could remember, which is why he signed up for Grant’s special recruitment program, after all.

He came deep, pulled free, and made the cadet clean off his cock, before ordering him to get changed and out of his sight. Harry did as he was ordered, his own cock rock hard the entire time, and Evan knew he would be jacking off as soon as possible–these little faggot cadets were all the fucking same, after all. Evan went back to changing, and noticed that he had changed as well. No longer just a beat cop anymore–he was the captain in charge of this entire precinct–which is exactly why Grant had sent this pig here–he was just Evan’s type after all, and his last pig had finally broken down and quit a month ago. He wasn’t worried about they talking–they all wanted it, after all, even if the reality was always too much for them. Still, this one was…particularly eager–he might last longer than most, but Evan would grind him down eventually. That was his favorite part, after all.

He was dressed in his street clothes, admiring his broad shoulders, silver hair and mustache, thinking about how nice it would be to get home for dinner…but something was nagging him. This wasn’t quite right, after all. He knew he should be remembering something…but he was so tired, and maybe it was easier to just finally forget. (will check 60%: success! The story goes on!) He did remember though–how could he forget? This wasn’t real, but his task was, at least, finished…and maybe he’d be able to avoid the same fate as before now, if he was careful when he changed back. If he changed back, that is.

He…was important, now, after all. He had ambitions, and…needs. He could becomes someone even more important–he was attending a gala with the mayor and the commissioner in a few days, after all. But is that what he wanted? Thinking about Harry’s young hole…there were some young men in the neighborhood who could use his  If he changed back now…what if he did end up back with Robbie, or maybe even something worse? But what did he want, really?


Alright, Evan can either change back into something else at this point, or he has a couple of options if you’d like to see him continue in his cop persona. If he changes back, there’s two different options below–each has two possible outcomes (two cleaner, two grungier, depending on your tastes).

  1. Changes back into either a campus security guard (50%), or burly ex jock coach (50%).
  2. Changes back, into a grungy, chain smoking redneck sheriff (50%), or Robbie’s fat, slobby mall cop boyfriend (50%).
  3. Pursues his ambition, and corrupts the commissioner and mayor of the city. (80% end)
  4. Pursues his needs, and corrupts some young Mormon missionaries in his neighborhood. (80% end)

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Polls close on Saturday!

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 4 (Part 4)

He didn’t tell me much more after that. I pressed him for more, tried to get him to tell me how the bruiser had changed him, how he had accomplished the physical changes, to make the man in the mugshot into the man in my basement, because it just…wasn’t possible. It wasn’t just a matter of years–no one could grow six inches in height. No one’s jaw went from a triangular point, to a flat square. No one’s eyes went from a bright blue to gray. He just laughed, and said that he might tell me more later, if I was good.

I reminded him that I was the one in control here, and he just laughed at me, and told me I owed him five loads for the story…and I refused, but he pulled me close to him, my head to his cum coated chest, and I…I lost it. I couldn’t stop jacking, grinding my cock against him, my dress uniform filthy now, and he whispered in my ear, twisted things, filthy things, and I heard them like my own voice, I heard my own voice shifting slightly, changing inflection, saying more, saying different. Saying how horny I was. Saying what a dirty, filthy, corrupt little copper I was. I came again, spraying a massive load all over his face, the largest load I had ever seen, and realized just how much my body had changed in the course of the night, my balls swelling to twice the size they had been, throbbing desperately, aching to empty themselves onto him, onto the filthy pig I owned and controlled, onto my property, my right.

In the end, I gave him seven loads before I finally collapsed and exhausted, and could crawl away from him–but not without attaching his cuff to the pipes on the wall again. Did it really matter if I had cuffed him or not? Probably not. He could have made me do anything he wanted, probably. He could have escaped, he could have taken me with him. No–he wanted to be here. He was supposed to be here…but I needed the illusion of control all the same. I retreated upstairs to my bedroom, saw myself, and I was…horrified.

My uniform was trashed. Wrinkled and soaked in cum, front and back. I stripped out of it, knowing I should wash it…but the voice told me no. I couldn’t wash it, it had to stay dirty. I was a dirty pig cop, and a dirty pig cop needed a dirty uniform. I snorted at the thought, cock throbbing again in need, and started jacking off–but before I could cum, I had to find…something. Something to catch it, because I couldn’t spill it just…anywhere, now could I? No, my cum had to go on Cumster. I ended up shooting my load into the water glass I kept by my bathroom sink, and I watched it gout from the head of my cock, filling the eight ounce glass nearly three quarters of the way to the top before it finally slowed and stopped. Still naked, I went back downstairs, got some water and food, and took them down to Cumster, along with my cum still in the glass. Before eating or drinking, he drank a mouthful of cum, swished it around in his mouth, and then let it fall from his mouth down into his beard…and fuck, the sight of it made me horny all over again, and I came for the ninth time while he ate, letting it spill on the top of his shaved head, watching it run down the sides and back, coating him, knowing I was sealing him in a layer of my spunk, and I just felt so…powerful. I felt more alive in that moment, than I ever had before in my life, and I was so scared, that when I went back upstairs, I was shaking uncontrollably. I wanted a shower…but I couldn’t. I had to be dirty, I needed it, I deserved it.

Instead, I just went to bed, but sleep didn’t come easy that night. I was too horny, for one thing. I had to keep a bowl beside the bed to catch my cum, when I had to jack off. While I lay there, in between sessions of masturbation, I found myself running Cumster’s story through my head, thinking about what it could possibly mean, thinking about how this rapist could do this, and why he was doing this at all. Perhaps what chilled me most was Cumster’s description of how cold the rapist had been to him. How unfeeling–just rough and brutal, with no compassion, not even speaking to him for as long as he’d been imprisoned there. Breaking him down until…he changed.

I wondered if I was going to change. No, I knew I was changing, but I wondered how far this would go, I wondered what I was becoming. Steven had heard Cumster’s voice there, in the old shop where he’d been imprisoned. Whose voice was I hearing? I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know, because I was worried that knowing would give it even more power over me. That admitting it was real, that separating it from myself, meant that it was more than me, outside of me…that I could…end. End in the same way Steven had ended, somewhere in that abandoned mechanic garage. Steven had died, and Cumster had been born…and the rapist was the connection between them. I knew more than I had, but I didn’t feel like I had any better understanding of what was going on here. I wouldn’t give in, I told myself. I wouldn’t give into this any further–I would find this rapist and end it, whatever he was doing…and he would fix me. I would go back to who I was, who I was supposed to be–it was the only way I would ever get back, I imagined…but is that what I really wanted? Even now, I don’t know what I want, honestly. I know what I should want…but do I have the courage to take it back?

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 10)

He didn’t want this. Evan could remember better now, that he was away from Robbie, who he’d been before. Not…all the way back, his recollections of the young twink in high school that he’d been were cloudy with his own, new memories of his own high school experience as a drop out–he’d been too busy sucking cock and drinking piss in filthy alleys and bathhouses to care much about school, after all. But he hadn’t always been this. He’d been a jock in college, he’d been a coach, he’d been trailer trash–he could go back, maybe. He could be better than this fat, stinking filthy faggot pig the curse had warped him into as some sick joke.

But what was he going to do? He didn’t exactly read like a faggot–not anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something like that to his face. He was going to have to be a little more forward now, if he wanted a reaction. That, and he’d have to find a suitable target–though that was a bit harder than he’d expected. He kept walking, but he was exhausted after a long day at work already–and all he really wanted was to go home, have Robbie stuff him silly, and then sit on his face and fill his boyfriend with a load of his shit–and maybe get a taste of it himself. He was about to give up, and give in, when he saw someone approaching him–a beat cop with a reputation around here for roughing up twinks on occasion…though he wasn’t quite sure how he knew that. Whether the curse was offering him a way out, or whether he was just lucky, it didn’t matter–he hiked up his pants, went over to the cop, and said, “Fuck, ya look sexy as hell in that uniform buddy–let me suck that dick a yers,” the worst part, was how…authentic he sounded, when he said it. That, and he really did want the officer’s cock, he realized.

The officer recoiled away from him in disgust, just like Evan had hoped he would, “Get the fuck out of my face you dirty fucking faggot–talk to me again, and I’ll arrest you for indecency.”

The word washed over him like some soothing balm. The officer pushed past him, and Evan felt himself shifting–though perhaps not as much as he would have liked to. He grew a bit taller, but didn’t lose his entire gut. He was left with a hefty beer belly stretching out his shirt, which was growing cleaner, buttons appearing in the front as it morphed into a blue uniform shirt, his grubby jeans similarly changing into navy slacks. He felt the beard disappearing into his face, leaving him with just a thick bushy mustache trimmed to his lip, his hair buzzed down into a flat top under his patrolman’s hat. He was so relieved to be someone different, he didn’t even care about the disgusting homophobia welling up inside him–it was better than who he’d been, in any case.

He was Officer Evan Pittock now, and he’d been a beat cop for quite a while. He’d been passed over for promotions a few times, mostly because of his fairly common record of roughing up the queers he came across on the street, usually with his partner Harry. Both of them detested fags more than pretty much anything else, and had become fast friends on the force. Thanks to the police officer’s association, and their ability to back up one another’s story, they could get away with pretty much anything, so long as they used some flimsy charge as an excuse, which they usually dropped in exchange for the victim of their abuse not saying anything about what they’d done to him. He hurried along the sidewalk and caught up with Harry at the corner, and the two of them resumed their bullshitting, happy that their shift was nearly over as they headed back to the precinct, stopping only to call out a couple of faggy looking whores as they went.

In the locker room, as he was changing out of his uniform, he did his best to avoid looking at any of the other men around him. He’d always gotten…odd feelings, looking at guys in the locker room. Gay feelings, maybe, but he’d bottled them up for so long that he was used to avoiding thinking about them. No, he had a wife and two kids now. It didn’t matter that looking at her never managed to get his dick hard–unless he was taking her from behind, and better if he was fucking her ass. They just didn’t have much sex anymore–the only sex he’d gotten lately was one blowjob from a particularly desperate faggot he’d extorted one night while Harry was off…just…so he could know what it felt like.

Buried deep inside this new Evan’s mind, the curse roiled, urging him to warp his partner in revenge. He could think of so many things to do to him…but did he really want to? Evan was tired–what if he just…slipped away? Sure, life as some homophobic, closeted, overweight cop wasn’t…ideal, but it was still better than risking ending back up with Robbie, right?


As usual, each choice in the poll comes with a risk of the story ending–and the last one guarantees that the story will end, so choose wisely!

  1. He changes his partner into a young, cubby recruit hungry for his cock, and he becomes his boss.(60%)
  2. He beats and abuses him, until his partner is a masochistic pain slave. (70%)
  3. He takes his partner on a motorcycle ride, and makes him a biker pig, and becomes a biker too. (80%)
  4. He resists the curse and tries to live as the homophobic cop, but the spirit has other plans for him and his partner. (END)

The twitter poll is here

The patron only poll is here

Voting ends Tuesday!