Caption: Brownnoser Brother

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I couldn’t believe the fucking nerve of my fucking brother, texting me out of the blue like that. I should back up a bit, I guess. He was always the black sheep of the family, four years older than I was, and he’d always hated me. Resented me is a better word I guess. Even in my earliest memories, he was always a bully, picking on me, setting me up to take the fall for shit I didn’t do, but our parents always sided with me, which probably only served to piss him off even more. When he was a teenager, shit went even more sideways–he started drinking a lot, falling in with some guys at school that were real pieces of work, probably got involved in some drug shit though I never saw any proof. He dropped out–well, he was expelled–my parents kicked him to the curb when he was 17, and that was that for a while. My dad always had a soft spot for him and kept in touch, hoping he would turn things around, but nothing ever worked, and I mostly pushed him out of mind as I went off to college. The last time I saw him, a year ago, was for my grandmother’s funeral–he looked like garbage, stank to high heaven, couldn’t even be bothered to dress up. He came because he needed money, and thought he was getting some! Even that was enough to turn my dad against him too, and that was the last I heard from him, until I got the text today, asking me for money!

He wanted 200 dollars. I told him to fuck off. Before I could block his number though, he sent me a nasty fucking insult, calling me a “faggot brownnoser,” with a little tongue emoji to go with it. It was enough to set me off really, but what could I do? I got dressed and headed into work–I’d gotten a summer internship at a local tech firm that was going really well, and I couldn’t let my brother fuck that up for me.

Still, I felt…weird all morning. Angry, sure, but like something else was off, something I couldn’t really explain. I got an email from my boss before lunch, asking me to come by so we could discuss some details of my project, and I went to his office…and that was where it happened.

My boss didn’t even wait for me to get into the office before he stood up, dropped his pants and underwear, and bent over the side of his desk. “Well come on then, you faggot brownnoser,” he said, “Get to fucking work.”

I wanted to tell him to eat shit, go right to HR and report his ass…but instead, something took hold of me, and I got down and started eating out his hole, right there in his office, my cock hard as a rock, while he kept berating me, telling me what a worthless fuck I was, that the only reason he kept me around at all, was because I loved eating out dirty holes like his. I was horrified, but I couldn’t stop–and he made me sniff his underwear, tell him how much I loved the smell of the brown streak in the back of his briefs, all the while stroking my own cock.

He turned around and shot his load across my face, and I came in my pants–then he kicked me out of his office, telling me he wanted me back after he’d had his afternoon shit, and I fled. I was so fucking humiliated, I didn’t know what to do–but I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back there. I packed my bag and left the building–horrified at myself, the words still ringing in my mind–and I realized it was the same thing my brother had called me. It couldn’t be possible I told myself–it was just some fucked up dream. I needed to get something to eat, calm down, and call HR–but my brother’s curse was just getting started.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 5)

Dinner was good, but boring. In line with his new look, Taylor made a simple dinner–chicken breast, brown rice, a side of vegetables–high protein for his growing physique, but for Quinn…it just wasn’t quite enough, or what he was really feeling like. They chatted a bit, Quinn trying to ask about Taylor’s research, but not really getting anywhere with him. Taylor mostly wanted to talk about his workouts, and about how nice their landlord was, and how much he liked living here so far. He was sure that Quinn would feel the same way soon enough.

After dinner, Quinn ran to the store to get some food of his own, and to get a few things on Taylor’s list. Things would have gone fine, probably, if he hadn’t caught sight of his reflection in the doors of one of the freezer cases…and seen those same, shining eyes from the mirror in his bedroom. Quinn just stared at them for a moment, popping an erection right there in the grocery aisle, and then he went back out into the parking lot, grabbed a cart, and started filling it. Ice cream, chips, cookies, soda–things Quinn usually never bought all just sounded so good to him all of a sudden–and what was wrong with enjoying himself, really? It wasn’t like he was going to be able to mooch off Taylor, since he was on such a health kick. He checked out, loaded everything into his car, and then drove home. Taylor was in his room, presumably studying, and so Quinn was left to his own devices–he put the groceries away, and then tore into some chips, still ravenous after the meager dinner Taylor had made. He took the chips with him back to his room, planning on playing a computer game or something, but he never made it that far–his reflection caught his eyes, and he just sat in front of the mirror for the rest of the evening, only leaving his room to go down and get more food, and the rest of the time he spent jacking off, feeding load after load of cum to the mirror–before collapsing into bed, exhausted.

The next morning, Quinn woke up hungry–but before that, he needed to take care of something in the bathroom. After taking a piss, he looked at himself in the mirror–and he was certain something was off. His stubble seemed too thick for one thing. He usually only had to shave a couple of days a week, but it was coming in thick, and dark after just two. He thought about shaving it for a moment, but the eyes of his reflection sparkled for a moment, and he changed his mind. It looked…good, didn’t it? He admired himself in the mirror, the slight paunch that hadn’t been there a few days ago looked nice too…but it might look better if it was even bigger…

No, wait, why had he thought that? 

The eyes of his reflection sparkled a bit brighter now, and Quinn went a little blank, hauled out his cock, and started masturbating right there in the bathroom, looking at himself. He looked good. Hot, really. He liked masturbating to himself, liked admiring himself, wanted…yeah, wanted to get fatter, and hairier, and…

He didn’t cum–but he came back to himself at the edge, and pulled back. He could…cum in his room, but first he needed breakfast. He went down to the kitchen and stuffed himself, then went back up to his room, where much of his day was spent the same way–sitting there in front of the mirror, masturbating, and the changes continued.

A week later, Quinn was hardly the same young man who had moved into the house. The scrawny, five foot six inch fellow was now nearly six feet tall, and had packed on close to 100 pounds in just a few days. His once hairless skin was now covered with a thick layer of body hair, across his chest and shoulders, down his forearms–and across his sizable gut. He was also balding–enough to make him look a few years older at least. It had distressed him, when he’d first noticed it, but after some time in front of the mirror, admiring it, he realized it just made him look even more manly. He liked looking manly. He liked men.

That was a thought that had been occurring to him more and more lately. He liked men–and since the only man he was around regularly was Taylor, Quinn found himself liking him more and more. He would fantasize about how he had caught him masturbating after that workout, think about what he could have done if he’d been more of a man at the time, and not so scared. Then again, he was a man now, wasn’t he? He stroked his larger, seven inch cock…and started to wonder if there wasn’t a way he might get the two of them to do a little exploring together.

Alright, how are we going to bring these two together? You can choose two of the four options. The bonus patreon poll is over here–as always, patron votes count five times more than votes in the regular poll!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 4)

Quinn was about to hang his clothes up in the closet, when he noticed that something was still in there, leaning against the back wall, with a sheet hanging over it. It was large–easily five feet by two feet, and when he leaned it out, discovered it was pretty damn heavy too. He dragged it out on his own and got the sheet off, and found himself looking at an ornately framed mirror. It was a little…gaudy, sure, but the more Quinn looked at the frame, at the intricate swirls of the darkly stained wood, the more…he wanted to see what it looked like, hanging on the wall, just out of curiosity.

He looked around, and saw what he figured there had to be–a couple of nails in the wall where it must have been hanging before. Funny–Mr. Woodrow didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would be so careless as to leave the nails there after taking it down–but it saved him the effort he supposed. Still, the mirror was heavy! He tried to lift it up on his own, and nearly crashed backwards with it. He might as well get help.

“Hey Taylor!” he shouted, “Could you help me out for a sec?”

He listened, but didn’t hear a response–so he went down and decided to see if he was still in the basement, and just couldn’t hear him. He made his way down the stairs, turned the corner, froze, and quickly turned back around the corner of the stairs, cheeks blushing red. Nervously, he looked around the corner again, and sure enough, there Taylor was…jacking off.

Jacking off, with one of his arms thrown up, snorting up his own musk as he stroked off, spandex shorts down around his thighs, wearing one of the nastiest looking jocks Quinn had ever seen.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Taylor had never lifted a weight in his life, and now, one summer after living here, he was…what, some stinking, musky bodybuilder now? It didn’t make any sense, and yet…he found himself watching him, unable to look away, until with a few loud snorts, Taylor came, shooting his load into his jockstrap, and then pulling his shorts right back up.

Quinn decided he might as well do it now–he stomped on the stairs a couple times, like he was just coming down, and then turned the corner. “Hey Taylor, think you could help me with something real quick?”

Taylor smiled at him, “Sure man, I was just finishing up–what do you need?”

They went up to Quinn’s room together, and Taylor helped him get the mirror up on the wall. He was still covered in fresh sweat from his workout, and the musk rolling off him, and the smell of cum, was making Quinn gag a bit–but the mirror was there. “Hey, are you, uh…feeling alright?” Quinn asked him. 

“Sure–why do you ask?”

“I just…I mean, I didn’t know you were into weightlifting, I guess.”

Taylor shrugged, like it was no big deal, and didn’t really see why Quinn was asking. “I’m gonna go eat something–want me to make you some too?”

“Yeah, sure–thanks.”

Taylor left then, and left Quinn alone. Or almost alone. He was with the mirror, after all.

He looked at himself in it, and he was…amazed at the clarity. It seemed more like a window, than a mirror, and looking at himself, and thinking about Taylor, he didn’t really have much to compare to. Still, there was something about him, in the mirror, something that seemed…off. It took him a moment to realize that what was off, was that his reflection’s pants were tented with an erection.

He blushed, looked down, and sure enough, he was hard! Had Taylor noticed? How long had he been like that? He looked back up, and this time caught his own eyes in the mirror…and they weren’t his eyes. They sparkled, like crystal. They were beautiful, and terrifying, and he couldn’t look away, as his reflection opened his pants, pulled out his cock, and started jacking off–Quinn doing the same thing, not quite sure who was leading who.

He lasted for a couple of minutes, his eyes never leaving his reflection, and came–the cum flying out and splattering across the surface of the mirror, where it…was absorbed, but Quinn didn’t notice that. He as still lost in those eyes–they were so much larger, all consuming, like they…wanted to devour him. At last, shaking, he could look away, and when he looked back at himself after a moment, his reflection was normal. The eyes were normal too…but then, as he looked, something else seemed off, but he couldn’t quite place it. He thought about taking the mirror down, but he’d have to ask Taylor again…and things were awkward enough. Instead, he kept unpacking, and then joined his housemate for dinner.

Little did he know, his reflection had changed, somehow–but what was different?


Alright, here’s the next poll! The possibilities below can all be a bit mixed and matched, so there will probably two or maybe three that get used together, to determine what happens to Quinn over the next few weeks. You can choose two options! Patrons have their bonus poll, worth five times as much, over here!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 2)

The initial explorations didn’t turn up much of interest to Taylor, and so he found himself back in the room, unpacking, when he saw something poking out from between the mattress and box spring of his bed. It looked like fabric or clothing–he grabbed it and pulled on it, and with a tug, the thing came loose–and Taylor found himself holding a pair of dirty looking briefs.

“Eww…what the fuck?” Taylor said, and stretched them out as best he could, but they were…well, a bit crispy, with some colorful brown streaks all over them, like, well, like they’d been used as a cumrag for quite a while, and someone had forgotten all about it before moving out. 

He dropped the underwear on the floor and immediately went into the bathroom to wash his hands off, shuddering. He thought about that weird guy he’d seen the day he’d signed the lease–could they be his? It seemed like something a creepy gay guy like him would do, jack off into a pair of his own underwear, and then stash it for fun later–how disgusting. He went into the kitchen, dug around under the sink for some gloves, and when he found some, he put one on, and went back up to get rid of the nasty thing–but as soon as he stepped in his room, he gagged.

The stench of the thing had spread quick–he hadn’t really noticed it when he’d pulled them out from under the mattress, but now that they were in the open air, he could smell it–and it did smell like cum, like old, nasty, disgusting, cum…Taylor gave a little snort, and took a step into the room. It smelled awful, but it was the only thing he could think about–he shoved one hand down into his shorts, and started groping his cock, before getting down on his knees, picking the underwear up, and shoving it into his face, inhaling deep, snorting even, as he grew close to a climax of his own. His cock exploded in minutes, and he filled the front of his own briefs with a load of cum–and then kept going. The smell was just getting stronger inside his mind now, and he couldn’t stop–he didn’t want to stop.

It was three loads later, his own briefs now soaked inside his pants, that Mr. Woodrow came up the stairs and looked in on him. “Oh dear, I guess I could have hidden those a bit better,” he said, and stepped into the room. The smell didn’t have any effect on him, but Taylor fought tooth and nail to keep the older man from taking the filthy briefs away from him–but Mr. Woodrow sent a little surge of energy into the young man, and he went slack. “There, that’s better. We can’t have you losing yourself too quickly now–not until all of your friends have moved in here.” He lifted up the mattress again, and this time he stashed the underwear on the other side, against the wall–it wouldn’t get as good of circulation, but after that direct dose, Taylor would just need a little…reminder on occasion. Then, he sat down, and told Taylor what he was going to remember.

Taylor woke with a start an hour after that, the dream already fading from his mind. Fuck–it had been one the wildest sex dreams he’d ever had–and he couldn’t even remember it! He looked down, and saw that the briefs he’d been wearing were soaked–he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a wet dream, especially not one this powerful. He stripped off the briefs, ready to throw them into the laundry, but paused–and sniffed them, tentatively. They…reminded him of something, kind of. Then, he had a better idea. He got up, lifted up the mattress, and stashed his own briefs there, unaware of the much fouler pair on the other side. It couldn’t hurt to have a cumrag at the ready after all, he told himself, and got back to unpacking, feeling much refreshed after his nap.

For the next few weeks, the dream kept returning every night, and after every nap. Nick would never remember much of it in the end–but everytime he woke up having already shot his load, or so close he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from rubbing one out, and adding another load to the cumrag underwear he now kept stashed under the mattress. He didn’t know what had come over him really–he was just so horny lately, but porn wasn’t really holding his interest much like it had before. Instead, he dove harder into his research project, and found himself worrying less and less about the dreams as the days wore on. He’d find a girlfriend in the fall, and things would sort themselves out naturally, he assured himself.

Then, Mr. Woodrow made a surprise visit one afternoon while he was studying, hauling with him a sizable box. “Afternoon, Taylor,” the old man said with a smile, “My son has been cleaning out his things, and well, the two of you are about the same size I think. I brought over some of his clothes, to see if you might want them. No worries if you don’t–just throw them out, but I wanted to check.”

They chatted a few more minutes about other stuff in the house, and Mr. Woodrow promised he’d fix the few minor issues that Taylor had found, then left before Taylor could remember to open the box with him there. Alone now, Taylor hauled the box up onto the table, and opened it up–but what sort of clothes did he find inside?


Alright, it was a pretty close poll last week, so if you really want to see some leather, you’ll have another chance. The answers below are designed such that if two seem popular, I might combine them–we’ll see! The patron only poll is over here as well–remember, patron votes count 5x as much! You can pick up to two options!

Caption: Who’s the Boss Now? (Part 1)

This is the first of four linked captions that are available for patrons over on my discord channel! Supporting me at the five dollar a month tier gets you access to these, the rest of the discord, all of my other captions, and exclusive stories on my Patreon page! If you want more details, you can find them here. If you support me at the five dollar level, but don’t know how to access the discord channel, send me a message, and I’ll walk you through how you can link your patreon and discord accounts together.


Some people don’t deserve their authority, and one of those people was Simon. He was nearly fifty, but he still behaved like he was in a frat in college. Despite his antics, he had already failed up through most of the levels of his father’s company, and now held the title of vice president  of such-and-such–what it was didn’t really matter, at this point, even his own father knew that giving Simon any more authority would be a disaster. So Simon could do pretty much whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if he didn’t show up to work, it didn’t matter if he was hungover, if he smelled like pot, if he brought a hooker. More than once, the hookers had gotten pregnant. Abortions had been arranged in most cases, all aside from one–Simon had one son who was now of college age, but without a real role model in his life, he wasn’t going to amount to anything either. It was clear though, to the faeries, that it was time for Simon to learn some responsibility–it was time for him to learn what it was like at the bottom of the totem pole.

The day started like any other day, though. He woke up, somewhere between drunk and hungover, dismissed the whore in bed with him, and got into the shower. He didn’t really feel like going into work today–it was a Monday, and usually he just skipped them entirely, but something…told him that he needed to go in today, but he didn’t quite know why. He put on a shirt and slacks, but no tie–he hated wearing a tie–and then he went downstairs, where his slacker son was in the living room, bong on the table, playing video games. On a different sort of morning, Simon might have joined him for a hit or two and some shooter of some sort, but instead he got in one of his several cars, and drove off to the office. He had…a meeting with his dad today, one he couldn’t quite recall making, but it was…important.

His father was an older gentleman, almost seventy now, but he had staved off retirement, because even he knew that passing the reins of the company to his son Simon would be a disaster. Simon headed for his father’s office, but as soon as he passed through the door and the secretary shut it behind him…he could sense that something was off.

“There you are, late as usual, I see.”

The criticism wasn’t new, but the disgust, and disappointment–the utter contempt in his father’s voice–that was new. Simon stammered for a reply, unsure what was happening, and that’s when he noticed that his father…wasn’t wearing his slacks, sitting at his desk.

“Well, get the fuck under here boy–you know I’m the fucking boss around here, right? And what does that make you?”

“The…the…s-slave sir.”

“That’s right–now suck your daddy’s cock like a good boy.”

Simon tried to fight it, but he crawled under his father’s desk, and started sucking his cock. To his horror, people kept coming into the office for meetings, and Simon stayed there, his father’s cock in his mouth, while his dad went about the company business, keeping Simon under there for almost an hour before finally cumming in his mouth, and dismissing him with barely a word, Simon scrambling out of his father’s sight, confused and horrified at what he’d just done, and he hurried to the bathroom, to sort himself out.

Demon in the Sheets (Caption)

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So you wanted your boyfriend to be a demon in the sheets? Give your hole a real devil of a time? Well you weren’t expecting that spell you read to take itself so literally, in any case. You cast it on him, and before you even really had time to register what had happened, the fiery portal had opened up behind him, and the hands–or maybe claws and hooves would be a better word for what you saw–grabbed him and dragged him back inside, and it closed up again, your boyfriend gone, aside from the scorch marks on the carpet where he’d stood a second before.

You didn’t know what to do, but you certainly weren’t going to try casting another spell from that book. It was easy enough to cover his disappearance in the meantime–telling your friends the two of you had had a big fight, he’d left afterward, and you hadn’t seen him since. It was three full days later, and you had assumed he would be gone forever, when the portal opened back up again in your bedroom, while you were getting ready for bed, and your boyfriend stepped back out of it–only he wasn’t the same person he’d been before, and he also wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t human anymore–he was horned, his eyes burning like coals, feet and hands contorted into claws and hooves–just like the other two demons who followed him through the portal into the room. The three beasts pinned you down and started raping you, ravaging you with their massive cocks until you were exhausted, too tired to fight them, and they dragged you through the portal with them.

The police investigated later, but neither of you ever appeared again in this world–but why would you? Your boyfriend, now the rough, sexual demon, and you, his subservient worm sex slave. You’re both much happier now, I can imagine–and now, the book moves to another owner, someone else who desires power, but doesn’t quite know what they will give up to receive it.

New You Resolutions (Part 6)

The list of resolutions that was included in the letter from New You Enterprises to Professor Leroy Herron was as follows:

  • I resolve to slowly lose my academic knowledge, my cognitive ability, and literacy.
  • I resolve to put my cock into permanent chastity, behave submissively to all men, and consider myself as a subhuman faggot.
  • I resolve to no longer use the toilet, and only wear diapers, which I will be unable to change myself.
  • I resolve to remove all of my hair permanently, and cover myself with humiliating tattoos.
  • I resolve to abandon my family, and instead serve dominant men as a sex slave for the rest of the year.

Leroy, naturally, found this entire list to be so ridiculous, so scandalous, that it had to be some joke, right? Some prank pulled by another professor in the department, or perhaps by a student. He certainly had no intention of doing any of these things. He went to throw the list in the trash, but as he did, he noticed that a small package had appeared on his desk while he’d read the letter and the list, something that he was certain hadn’t been there before. Hands shaking slightly, he unwrapped the package, and inside, he found a metal chastity cage, and a single diaper.

How had this gotten here? He didn’t know, but he certainly wasn’t going…to do this, was he? And yet, hands still shaking, he undid his pants, dropped then to the floor, stepped out of his shoes, and began working the chastity cage around the base of his cock. He…he had to put it on. He…he deserved to lock up his cock after all. Only men were allowed to have their cocks out, and free, and he…he wasn’t a man, not really. Not…anymore.

He fought the thoughts invading his mind, but his hands refused to obey him. The device clicked and locked–there was no sign of anyway to open it or remove it–aside from, perhaps, going to a locksmith and cutting it away from him…but he wouldn’t do that. No, the cage had to stay, and…and he still had to put on the diaper, right? He picked it up, and tried to put it on him, but for some reason couldn’t quite figure it out. He…he needed someone to do it, a man to do it for him. He was…too stupid of a faggot to put on his own diapers.

There was a knock on the door suddenly, and before Leroy could say anything, the office door opened, and the same student as before was in the doorway, eyes a bit puffy, but when he saw his professor with his pants down, cock locked in a chastity device…he just looked confused instead. “I, uh, I just wanted to…apologize…” the young man said, but didn’t get further than that.

“No, uh, I…I’m the one who needs to apologize,” Leroy said, the words tumbling from his mouth, and he got on his knees. “Of course you can go on your vacation, and see your family, I…I’m just a stupid faggot, I can’t tell you, a man like you, what to do, please forgive me for what I said earlier!” He go crawled forward, panting his head at the student’s feet, who just gaped at him, at his stern professor literally begging him for forgiveness…and as he watched it, something…brewed up in him, and he shoved his sneaker into Leroy’s face.

“If you’re really sorry, then…then clean my shoe, faggot!” he said, almost barking at him, his cock hardening as he watched Leroy obey him, licking at his sneaker, moaning as he did, cock trying desperately to harden in the tight cage, but it refused to budge. He cleaned one shoe, and then the other, and then…begged the young man to help him. He couldn’t get on his diaper, you see, and…and maybe he would be willing to help. The student agreed, but only if the professor would suck him off afterwards. He ended up getting several pictures of the professor, wearing just his diaper, a load of cum sprayed across his face and beard–and promised him it would be all over campus by the evening, so everyone would see just how much of a worthless faggot Professor Herron truly was.

Horrified at what he’d just done, a diapered Leroy fled to his car after the student had left resolved to drive home, but as he was sitting there, he felt piss flood into the front of his diaper…and he realized he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t let his wife and children see what he was becoming, he…he needed to go somewhere else, anywhere other than there. He ended up getting a room at a cheap motel off the highway, sitting alone in the room, trying to figure out what to do, trying to look up more information about New You Enterprises, but finding nothing. Over the next week…he found himself in a hopeless spiral. The male staff members of the motel soon discovered the faggot living there, and would humiliate him day and night, making him stew in his filthy diapers until they would change him at last, before the smell could be noticed by other guests. He shaved off his hair, and started…drawing on himself with sharpie, fantasizing about the tattoos he would get…soon enough, but what he wanted most…what he needed, was a master.

He started advertising on line, streaming videos of himself, begging anyone to be his master, looking for a dominant man to show this worthless diapered, sissy faggot his proper place in life. Mostly, men would just ridicule him, but eventually, someone took an interest in him–and so Leroy transferred all of the savings he had in his personal accounts to the stranger, bought a plane ticket with the remaining pittance, and drove off, ready to begin his service as a faggot for the year–if not for the rest of his life.

Alright, I’d like to do one more recipient of a set of resolutions, and then I’ll start wrapping things up with the end of the year party for all four of our lucky resolution winners. Who would you like the final target to be? The public poll is below, and the bonus patron poll can be found here!