(Caption) Family Blackmail

October Caption Challenge (21/30)

Coming from a rich family has plenty of perks. The trust fund is a big one. I mean, my father expects me to hold down a job, something to show I have some sort of incentive to improve myself. I do have papers verifying a kind of employment as a consultant with a variety of companies downtown, mostly thanks to the many friends I’ve made at the gay clubs since I moved to the city here, away from my father’s estate where he retired. So yes, I work. By which I mean, I fuck my way through piles of drugs, men, and all manner of depravity on a daily basis, because that is how I wish to spend my time and my father’s money. I’m an only child–what other choice does he have?

Well, imagine my surprise when I get an email from him, along with a photo attached:

Yes, that’s me. I counted myself lucky, I suppose. There were many others, far more filthy that he could have found, which would have resulted in something more immediate than the ultimatum he gave me. I was to return home. I would marry a young woman, approved by him, immediately. I would work at his business for the rest of my life, or all of my privileges would be revoked.

Now, I couldn’t have any of that spoiling my fun, of course. Thankfully, quite a few of my contacts in the city had rather…unsavory connections in the world, and I was promised, for something as weightless as my soul, that they could help me with my little problem. I was more than happy to pay up of course, I was hardly convinced that souls existed in the first place, after all. There was a marketplace, I was told, where they could be bought and sold. The things we’ve learned to commoditize. 

The results were quick. I received, two days later, a series of photos, some of them tastefully anonymous, like the one below.

Others far more revealing, and filthy. I had no idea my father could be capable of such filth, to be honest. I was proud of the little hypocrite.

So, I sent them along, telling him that this revelation would be far more damaging to him than the little activities I entertained myself with. Unless he wanted them seeing the light of day, he ought to just keep the trust fund flowing.

My father was horrified. He had no idea when these photos had been taken, no memory of any of this occurring. It didn’t really matter to me whether his denials were true, or whether someone had drugged him, hypnotized him, brutalized him into disgracing himself for a camera. I had my money, and that was all that mattered to me–at least, until I was told that my soul had been sold.

Apparently, souls are very much real, and being in possession of one allows a remarkable level of control. I’m owned by my Master now, and reside in his dungeon as his full time gimp. 

The trust fund is his. He also, apparently, was the one who manipulated my father, and so he pays me visits on occasion as well–it’s the only time my hood is removed, when I get to watch my old father being beaten in the dungeon by my Master, fucked and pissed on and fed the ash from his cigars. I don’t know if he knows its happening to him. I do. Then he is gone, and the hood returns. But I can’t object. My soul is his now. I love him. I could never disparage him. I will serve him for the rest of my life, or until he sells me off again. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I could stand to lose him.

(Caption) Quarantine Home Gym

October Caption Challenge (17/31)

Not having a gym was rough for the guys on the block, but with the quarantine stretching out longer and longer, it was looking like they wouldn’t be able to get back there anytime soon, and when they could, there would probably be so many restrictions it wouldn’t even be worth it. In the end, a savior came from a surprising place–old Mr. Wilcox at the end of the road starting letting all of the jocks know that he had an old gym in his basement. It wasn’t surprising, really–he was in his 60’s but still in good shape. He told the young men they could come over and use it whenever they wanted, but only on their own.

But there were other odd requirements as well. Mr. Wilcox told them all that they couldn’t wear their own clothes–too much risk of infection. They would have to shower when they arrived, they would put on their gym uniform, work out, shower, and then leave. There was also always this weird new age hippy music playing, but hey, a free gym was a free gym.

The music put them all in a really focused headspace–their workouts would zoom by, and they were all making great progress. None of them objected when Mr, Wilcox started making changes to each of their gym uniforms.

Mark found his gym shorts and shirt replaced with a rubber singlet one day, but Mr. Wilcox told him it would be easier to keep sterile, so he was happy to put it on. Much to his surprise, he found the sensation of rubber against his skin incredibly erotic–but when he asked Mr. Wilcox if he could take it home with him, he said no. But a few weeks later, he got an upgrade, a full body latex suit, complete with a gas mask, even better to keep everyone safe. He worked out for hours in it, and never ended up going home–the gimp was stored in his cage where he belongs instead–after all, he didn’t want to take off his new skin, did he?

Kent arrived one morning for his workout, and found that the only thing Mr, Wilcox had for him to wear, other than socks and shoes, was a diaper. He balked, of course, but Mr. Wilcox had noticed him using his restroom the other day, and that just wasn’t sanitary. Better to keep his messes to himself. He told himself he wouldn’t use it, but he zoned out so much he pissed into it, and a few days later, he started shitting himself as well. It wasn’t long before he had a few accidents at home as well, and he had to ask Daddy for a supply of diapers for himself. He moved in too before long, though his exercises are more focused these days on opening up his dirty baby hole, and getting rid of that gag reflex so Daddy can fuck baby’s throat easier.

Bud got the same gear, day in and day out, and Mr. Wilcox never seemed to wash it. When he asked about it, he said that it was Bud’s filth, so he could wash it if he wanted–but Bud always forgot to take the clothes home with him. In fact, he stopped showering as well, and stopped doing laundry at home, the entire house filled with his sweaty musk, and more and more the smell of cum, since he kept masturbating all over himself. He’s Mr. Wilcox’s filthy pig, and when he’s done with his workout, he usually gets fucked by Master’s cock while he huffs on baby’s full diaper, already excited for tomorrow’s workout to come.

Interactive: Porno Virus (Part 12)

This is going to be the last entry in this series for the moment. I might revisit it at some point, but I have some other ideas I’d like to try for the moment. I’ll be starting a new interactive story of some sort next week!


As Tobias walked through the suburban streets, looking for someone to introduce to his new desires, to his new God, he saw, ahead of him, an older fellow walking a dog in the evening. He was most likely in his late thirties, wearing a shirt and slacks, looking tired from work and his home–and Tobias saw someone who could use a new…outlook on life. He followed along behind him for a few minutes, until they reached a dark stretch of the street, and Tobias pounced on him. The dog took off running, terrified at the strange smelling figure that had leapt out and tackled his master–and Eric, the man Tobias tackled, struggled with Tobias in the dim light, unable to understand what this man was–the clinking of metal, the rub of rope and leather against his skin, the sickening bulge of Tobias’ monstrous cock grinding against him. As he fought, however, he could feel…something happening to him, a strange sensation on his skin, like something was crawling on him, underneath his shirt, making him squirm and shudder in disgust. He managed, at last, to fight the man off and he ran down the street, but the sensation of…something on his skin didn’t go away. Wondering what the crazed freak might have had on him, he took off his shirt (which was feeling increasingly tight), and then pulled off his undershirt as well, and looking down, he gasped.

There were…tattoos crawling across his body. He scratched at them, trying to get them off, but they were already under his skin–the virus seeping into his body, infecting him and his desires with the images that Tobias had implanted in him. Across his chest he saw the words “Daddy Hog”, and he could…remember when he got it, at that seedy tattoo shop outside of Denver on one of his rides, the same time as that trucker had asked Eric to help him break in a new college boy he’d picked up hitchhiking…

Eric clutched his head, trying to resist the new memories, giving Tobias the opportunity he needed to grab Eric and drag him back into the darkness, groping him, covering him with still more tattoos, all over his arms and legs and belly–images of pigs, images of bikes and bikers, images of cigars and smoke. Eric tried to fight, but eventually, he forgot he was even trying to fight any of this, he forgot he’d ever been Eric at all–that Eric, from before.

They ended up fucking between two houses, Eric plowing the rubber and leather freak in the ass, at least until the side door of one of the houses opened, and a younger man emerged holding a bag of garbage, looking at the two freaks fucking by his fence, and gaped at them. Gaped long enough that Tobias could leap on him and together, they started tearing the young fellow’s clothes away, and Tobias’ cock started leaking–but it wasn’t cum that came out, but dark silicone.

It dribbled, and then poured all over the young man’s body, coating him in it, sliding into every crevice and orifice, the silicone beefing up his ass, filling his lips, covering his teeth and dissolving them, covering his hands and turning them into mitts, and then Tobias forced his freakish cock into the man’s ass–while Eric fucked the new gimp’s rubberized mouth. The silicone flooded his system, and the man could feel his cock and balls inflating into some bulbous mass, a freakish accessory, also coated in rubber–and that was the last think he felt, really. The last thing he thought, as the rubber invaded and choked out his mind, leaving him as nothing more than a freakish rubber gimp for the new biker to use as he desired. Tobias felt himself ready to cum, so he hauled his cock free, and blasted Eric with his silicone cum, watched it coalesce into rubber gear to replace his ripped in torn clothes, and admired his fat, thick bearded, heavily tattooed biker freak, and then sent them off–Eric once again walking something on a leash, but no longer a dog, looking for a bike to steal so he and his slave could get back on the road, spreading the infection everywhere they went.

Whispers (Sketch)

“What’s wrong bro? It looks like your arms are starting to shake a bit. It’s only been half an hour.”

Devin kept stroking his brother’s cock, watching him struggle against the mental control he had placed on him when he’d gotten home from college. The little faggot–he didn’t know how it had happened even, but he was helpless. There was just…a voice in his mind, a whisper, and he couldn’t shut it out–and he couldn’t move. Jerome been in this plank position long enough that his muscles were screaming at him to stop, but it was hopeless–he wouldn’t break it until his little brother allowed him to move again–whenever that might be.

They’d never really gotten along as brothers. Well, really, Jerome had bullied him every day after he found out his brother was gay, and their father had as well. But they were older now–both in college, and they’d largely resigned themselves to the fact that Devin was gay–but apparently Devin hadn’t forgiven them. He just kept stoking Jerome’s cock, watching it leak precum onto the floor, smiling the whole while, the whispers growing louder, until they were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. “Oh goody, Daddy’s home!” Devin said, “I’ve been wanting you to see this.”

It was a few minutes before their father came in–or at least, the man who looked somewhat like his father. He was…massive, and seemed so much older than he had been, with a thick gut, hair all over, the white beard stretching down to his chest, the cigar clamped in his jaw. “There’s my boys,” he said with a grin, and Devin went to him and kissed him–and not in a familial way. Devin tried to look away, but his eyes were glued to his brother and father as they sucked on each other’s face. His father pulled away and looked down at Jerome, “Fuck, what a handsome young man–can…can I use him yet?”

“No daddy–we discussed this,” Devin said, “He was a very, very bad boy. We have to punish him, don’t we? He doesn’t get your cock–that’s only for good boys like me, right daddy?”

“Of-Of course, boy, you’re right–you know yer daddy isn’t too smart–only really good for fuckin.”

And they fucked right there, in front of Jerome, his body screaming in pain, unable to look away from his brother, wondering how he had done this to their father–not just warped his mind…but his body too. Daddy came, filling Devin’s ass with his cum, and then left, leaving the brothers alone again. “Alright, you can go down now,” Devin said, and Jerome collapsed to the floor, shaking and panting. He tried to get up and run, but he was too weak to even push himself upright.

“What…what the fuck did you do to dad?”

“Daddy you mean? Isn’t he handsome?” Devin said, “I always had a crush on him you know–even before he got even hotter. I helped with that. Turned him into a proper leather daddy bear, nice and rough, always smoking a cigar. Of course, he knows that it’s his boy who calls the shots around here…and he squeals like a piggy when I fuck his ass–you’ll see.”

“You can’t do this–this is so–”

“Wrong, I don’t have to do anything. All I have to do is plant the little whisper of an idea in your simple little minds, and you do everything for me. Now, why don’t you crawl on down into the basement? Everything is ready for you down there, and what you’re going to do, is…” Devin said, and pushed his mouth closer, close enough that, to Jerome, he could almost feel his brother’s tongue sliding into his mind, his eyes glazing over as he crawled away to the basement steps, Devin watching, knowing his brother would be in a much better mindset soon enough.


How long had it been? Days? Weeks? His muscles screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t.

This is what he had to do, after all. What he was…made to do. The whispers in his head, he couldn’t really understand what they were saying, but they were changing him–warping him, just like he was certain they had warped his father. He had to fight them. Fight the bad voices, trying to tell him lies.

The bad voices telling him he wasn’t a gimp. An object. A rubber thing to be used by his two masters. The bad voice telling him to stop sucking the gag in his mouth, to stop riding the dildo in his ass. The bad voices telling him his cock shouldn’t be locked up–no, he had been bad, very bad. He didn’t deserve to have a mind, or thoughts, or anything at all. All he deserved to be used, and abused.He was winning though. The bad voices were getting quieter every day, leaving his mind empty–a blank slate for his master to toy with. Maybe one day, there wouldn’t be anything at all. Nothing left of him, just a thing. He could…see it.

Chained in the basement, covered in rubber that never came off. Cock sealed away, or maybe removed all together. It didn’t matter–it wasn’t there to feel anything, after all. Rear hole plugged, ready for dildos, or fists, or anything its masters desired. Front hole fitted with a funnel, ready to receive piss or cum, or anything from its masters thought it should eat or drink. It’s body was flabby from the fattening gruel it was fed–that, and it hadn’t walked anywhere in…months, or maybe years. Or at least, no further than the sling and the rack, when it had been good enough to earn a night spent hooked up to the fucking machine. After all, it was too filthy a thing to be fucked with a cock–no, it had never had a cock inside it…and it ached for it. Hoped that one day, it might earn the right to service its masters properly…but until then, it would serve as required.

That’s what the good voices were saying. That’s what he had to listen to, what he had to focus on. He would get better soon, he knew he would. He would be exactly what he was supposed to be, and everything would be alright, and at last, there would be silence.

The Ninth Day of Christmas

Marco walked into his living room, and yawned. He’d planned on sleeping in–it was Christmas after all–but he’d woken up early and couldn’t fall back asleep. After tossing and turning for a little while, he’d finally resigned himself to getting up, and he went down to eat some breakfast, when he saw the stocking hanging above the electric heater in the living room wall. He looked at it quizzically–he hadn’t hung it up there–and then went over and looked at it, before taking the large sock off the nail and shaking it, making something metallic jangle inside but the sock was fairly light. He dumped it into his palm, and founds himself looking down at some strange metal device that, as soon as it hit his skin, came to life, crawled down his arm and into his pants before securing itself around his cock and balls.

He screamed and tried to get it off, and Santa, smoking a pipe, came around the corner chuckling. “You know, I spent a lot of time wondering what to get the really naughty boys this year–coal is so…pointless now. Hell, it was always pointless, really. Why not get something that’s a real punishment? Why not give the gift of chastity?”

Marco was looking at his cock and balls, perfectly soft and secured behind a metal cage. He kept looking for a seam, for some way to get it off of him, but the device was seamless–he couldn’t get it off. “What the hell is this you freak! Get it off of me.”

“Oh, it might come off next Christmas, if Santa’s feeling generous–don’t you worry. Still, I am very proud of the little contraption–it even comes with a few different modes. Would you like to see them? How about puppy mode?”

A crushing pain in his balls, and before Marco even knew what had happened, he was on his hands and knees, and the device was heating up, activating the leather rubber which snaked it’s way out of him, and in less than fifteen seconds, he was in a full dog muzzle with a collar and fist mitts, a rubber dog tail buttplug in his ass, and the chastity device had sprouted a short, dog cock shaped dildo which smacked his belly as he gave a shake, unable to help himself, and then he woofed in confusion at Santa, unable to talk.

“Oh, he’s going to love that–now how about mummy mode?”

The dog gear retracted, and a cold rubber slime emerged, coating his body even as he tried to keep it at bay. It completely encased his body, trapping him within a tight rubber cocoon on the floor, able to breathe only through two small holes at his nose, and he was already starting to sweat. He flailed about for a moment, but the pain in his balls returned and he found that only by staying as still as possible could he avoid pain.

“Well well, you can learn!” Santa said, rolling Marco onto his front with the toe of his boot before squatting down and slipping a gloved finger into the hole in the rubber around his ass, feeling Marco squirm. “Now, I’d love to fuck, but I leave your cherry for Kip–yeah, that little faggot down the hall you love to tease! Don’t worry, he’ll find you here in a few hours, when he eventually wakes up, with a full list of all the modes he can use on you. Have a good year, bitch.”