(Caption) Method Roleplay 2

October Caption Challenge 3/31

Warning: Contains some gay to straight content, and heavy humiliation

Intensify your sex life! Make your wildest fantasies your own reality! Anything is possible with method roleplay!

Anthony and Sam had always liked a little bit of roleplay in their sex, just to keep things exciting, but neither of them had ever felt like it was all that…immersive. They just had a hard time taking each other seriously for some reason, and half the time would end up in giggles by the end of it. When Anthony showed Sam the ad he’d seen on a porn site, he thought it would be good for a chuckle–besides, the file was free to listen to, what was the harm?

They listened, and while neither of them could really recall much of what it had said, when it was done, they were sure it was a joke–but Anthony had a scene he’d been wanting to try for a while, but he was a little afraid that Sam might think it’s too silly. “I want you to pretend you’re a married man, and I’m just a little whore you like you use when she won’t put out,” he finally confessed, and as he’d expected Sam laughed at him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued by the idea. So Anthony dug through their closets to dress him up for the part, settling on a western shirt, some old jeans, cowboy boots, camo suspenders from an old halloween party at some bar, and as a joke, he stuck a toy cigar in the breast pocket as well.

“Alright, go down and get in your car, sike yourself up a bit. Door’s unlocked, I’ll be in the bedroom, like usual Daddy…”

Sam did as he was told, a little self conscious in his outfit, hoping the neighbors didn’t notice. He went down and got into his car, a little sedan–not very Daddy, but oh well–got in, and began talking himself up a bit.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he started, “Go to work at the fuckin’ factory all damn day, and when I come home she has…has the fuckin’ nerve to tell me she’s too damn tired. Like hell she’s too damn tired, spends all fuckin’ day on that phone a hers, that I have to pay for, can’t even clean up the fuckin’ house.”

He groped the front of his jeans, not really noticing the grease stains that had appeared on them, or on his shirt, or the beard that had spread across his face.

“Oh well, at least the faggot knows better than to tell me no. Hole’s tighter too–even though I damn well know he’s had every fucker’s cock in it within fifty miles,” Sam said, sneered a bit, and got out of the car. He felt…confident. Horny. Ready to fuck for sure. He pulled his cigar out of his pocket, clipped it with the scissors he kept on his keychain, and lit it with his lighter as he climbed the stairs to the faggot’s apartment. The door was unlocked like usual. Inside, he slipped the suspenders down long enough to take off his shirt, and then pulled them back up. Faggot always liked having Daddy a little dressed up in the bedroom. He unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out the front, before heading down the hall to the faggot’s bedroom.

It was dark inside. From the light of the hallway, he could see him there, lying face down on the bed, ass up, ready to get bred. Much to his surprise, the sight turned his stomach a bit, which almost threw Sam out of it. Why was the sight of him…of…Anthony, of his husband, suddenly turning him off so much? The thought answered him easily, with a natural logic. Because he was straight of course. Because what man, in their right mind, would let another guy violate his hole? You had to be real fucked up to do something like that. He wasn’t like that–he’d never let another guy use him like this. That was the difference between them. That’s why it was ok. He wasn’t a man, not really. Just a faggot, just a hole.

Without saying a word, he walked up and ran his fingers along the faggot’s crack. It was clean and already lubed. Sam closed his eyes, at a loss of what to focus on for a moment. He needed some inspiration to get it up, after all. He ended up thinking about Tammy, down at the strip club, with those big fuckin’ knockers in that little bikini, thinking about running his cock up and down between them while he ran it up and down the faggot’s crack.

“Oh fuck Daddy, yeah, fuck me…”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not here tah listen tah ya faggot!” Sam barked at him, the intensity even surprising himself, and he shoved his cock into the faggot’s ass before he lost his hardon. Anthony gasped at the sudden thrust–Sam was usually much more gentle, but when he tried to crawl away, Sam grabbed hold of his hips, hard enough to hurt, and dragged him back down onto his cock. “Fuck, it’s too big, wait…”

“Hell yeah it’s big, that’s why you like it, right faggot?” Sam said, leering at him, chuffing cigar smoke around him as he worked his throbbing, growing cock in up to the root.

“Oh fuck!” Anthony cried. And tried to relax. What had gotten into Sam? He’d never taken a scene so earnestly before–had that site really worked? And why did he smell smoke? Whatever, it was hot, just roll with it. “Fuck Daddy, yeah, fuck my ass with that big fucking cock, I bet your wife never moans like I do for you…”

“Faggot, I said shut the fuck up!” he said, and pushed the faggot’s face into the mattress. “Yer as bad as a bitch, always wanting tah talk. You should count yourself lucky I’m willing to waste this prime Daddy load on an ugly fuckin’ worthless faggot pig like you. Ya think I don’t hear about you from the guys at the factory? About the fuckin’ whoremouth down at the fuckin’ truckstop, takin’anything from any guy? Ya make me fuckin’ sick, but a hole’s a fuckin’ hole!”

With that, Sam came deep in Anthony’s hole. Grunting and rutting for another couple of moments before pulling free. Anthony rolled over and looked at the burly middle aged roughneck pulling on a shirt, still smoking his cigar, and was…confused. Where did Sam go? But he also wasn’t quite sure who Sam was anymore. Sam headed for the door, and it took all of his courage for Anthony to say, “Wait, where are you going?”

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home.”

“But…But Sam, you live here…”

He laughed, “Why the fuck would I live with a fitlhy faggot like you?”

“But…but I love you.”

“No faggot, you love my cock. You love cock more than anything, that’s why we don’t run your old perverted ass out of town. Stick to what you’re good at–suckin’ cock and gettin’ fucked. Leave love to the real men like me.”

Sam left, and Anthony looked around, the apartment reforming into a filthy trailer, full of dirty laudry he’d stolen from truckers, used condoms, all sorts of filth. It wasn’t right. It…It wasn’t right. Sure, he was an old cocksucker, but he knew Sam loved him. Why else would he keep coming back? One day–Anthony would have that big, fat daddy cock all to himself, no matter what. But first, he was still horny. He’d go down to the truck stop for a bit, see if any of the guys hanging around needed to drop a load. But he’d always be thinking of that cock. That perfect Daddy cock, and how he could make it his forever.

It was a few weeks before Sam was desperate enough to go visit Anthony again. Whatever had happened the last time he was there, with the faggot trying to talk about how he loved him, it had grossed him out enough that when he got home, he’d sworn off that ass forever. From now on, he’d stick to pussy–either the one he was married to, or the strippers off the highway, or whoever else. But no more ass, no way no how.

For a while his resolve had worked. He was nice enough to his bitchy wife to get back in her pussy a few times the first week, but he couldn’t keep that up. He lost his patience, she started screaming again, and so that option disappeared. Bitches were just too fuckin’ tempermental! The best thing about that faggot was that no matter how Sam showed up, Anthony didn’t care–he just wanted Sam’s cock in his hole, nothing else mattered. The faggot had been messaging him off and on for the last week, asking about him, asking how his big daddy cock was doing, asking when he was going to come back by and fuck his ass again. Sam thought about blocking the number, but didn’t. He needed the ego boost, and he swore when he read the messages, his cock did feel a bit larger each time.

So Sam turned to strippers instead, but that was a dead end as well. None of the bitches could take him, they kept complaining about how he was too big. He thought that having a big dick was a good thing, but no! They just whined about how he kept going to fast, and needed more lube, and just let them give him a blow job. But Anthony was right, Sam hated blow jobs. He wanted to fuck, and fuck rough. Bitches couldn’t take it because he was too much of a man for them. And so, after a few days of nothing, with his balls ready to burst, he finally gave in and drove back to Anthony’s trailer. One more time, he told himself. One last time, and then he’d block his number and get his head on straight again.

The trailer was filthier than he’d remembered it from last time (or had it been an apartment? It was hard to remember all of a sudden) and there was too much dirty underwear around for it all to belong to Anthony, and he saw a little trove of used condoms on the table, some of them still with cum swilling in them–probably a snack for later. Sam’s stomach turned in disgust, but better to just get on with it. The sooner he planted his load, the sooner he’d be out of here. The lights were out in the tiny bedroom like before, the old faggot in his filthy clothes up on his hands nad knees on the bed. Sam pushed the head of his cock in, and it slid in so easily, he nearly moaned. He’d missed this. Had he really fucking missed this?

He started fucking, the faggot moaning, and he kept turning around to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes…hungry. It unnerved Sam, and he said, “Turn the fuck around, stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me.”

“Don’t like having people look at you when you fuck Daddy?”

“Shut up.”

“I know some people probably think you’re ugly, with the missing teeth, that busted nose, how fat you are. I don’t care though. You got the hottest cock in town, and that’s all I need. I don’t give a fuck how much of an ugly son of a bitch ya are.”

“Yeah, well, the only fuckin’ reason I’m here is cause yer the only hole in town that can take this cock without wining about it, so stop fuckin’ whinin’! If I want someone whinin’ at me, I’ll go home tah my wife,” Sam said, but the words came out a bit odd, due to the teeth missing in the front of his mouth all of a sudden.

“Ya still gonna play that game Daddy?”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

“One of yer mates from the factory blabbed about you, after we were done fuckin’ the other day. Didn’t know you’d gotten a divorce last year.”

“Shut up, that ain’t true.”

“Found herself a real prince charming, didn’t she? Didn’t have to spend another day with a fat old ugly loser with a freakish dick anymore. Ain’t that what she said?”

Sam was feeling confused again. It wasn’t true, was it? It…It didn’t feel wrong, but it was so hard to focus.

“That’s ok Daddy. You don’t need her. You don’t need women at all. Sure, you might think they’re hot, but none of them can handle a man like you, and you know it. There’s only one ass in town that can take you, and you love it. The more you fuck it, the more you need it. The more you need it, the more you love it. Sure, it’s attached to a fat, perverted faggot like me, but that’s alright. You’ll take what you can get, won’t you?”

Sam was bucking faster, all twelve inches of his fat cock sliding in and out of Anthony’s hole now. With a few grunts, he slammed in deep and unloaded, filling the faggot’s hole with a massive load of cum.

“Fuck yeah Daddy! That’s it. You fucking love this ass, I want to hear you say it.”

“I…I fuckin’ love this ass…” Sam muttered, almost in a stupor as the orgasm washed over him, “I love this fuckin’ ass so fuckin’ much.”

“You worship this ass. It’s the only thing you’re attracted to from now on. You’re obsessed with it.”

“No…No, fuck, what the fuck are ya doin’ tah me?” he said, hauling his cock free. It slapped across his flabby thigh, thicker than it should have been, and he looked down at his hairy gut covered in white hair. That wasn’t right, none of this was right. “Ya…what the fuckin’ hell, ya fuckin’ faggot?”

“Come on Daddy, ya ain’t done,” Sam said, shaking his ass, swaying it, and Sam felt his eyes lock onto it, his cock tingling at the sight of that lovely, loose hole. “Come eat Daddy–you gotta clean it up now. It’s your favorite.”

Sam, whimpering a bit, got down on his knees and started licking Anthony’s crack, and the faggot pushed down, feeding his own massive load back to him from his ass, and Sam licked it all down, Sam urging him on, telling him how hungry he was, how he was addicted to cum from this hole, how he’d eat anything from it, that he craved it more than anything. When there was nothing left, and the crack was licked clean, Sam fell back on his ass, horrified, but hornier than he’d been in his life. Anthony got up, and came back in with the pile of used condoms. “Here Daddy, you’re still hungry aren’t you?”

Sam looked up at him, horrified, but he was…hungry. He sucked the cum out of the condoms, and licked the outside, tasting his favorite hole all over them, moaning and grunting and hard again already. Anthony laid him down on his back while he kept eating, and fucked himself on the old pig’s cock again, draining another load from his balls, squatted over his face and fed that to him as well, cementing Sam’s new life here with him, for good. He didn’t leave the trailer park much after that. Anthony would go out, fill up his ass with cum from strangers and more than a few condoms too, come home, and feed his Daddy his favorite meal before they fucked all night long. It wasn’t much of a life he supposed, but for an ass loving, ugly redneck Daddy like him, with a freakish cock–what could he really hope for, in the end?

Pete the Pig Pt. 1 (Caption)

“Morning Pete,” Tatum said with a smirk, as his flatmate walked into the kitchen with a groggy look on his face, scratching his gut.

“Mornin’,” Pete said back, and went to the fridge, “Fuck, is there any of that pizza left from last night? I’m starving.”

“Nah man, you polished off both pies. I only got a couple of slices.”

“Are you kidding me? There was so much…”

“Guess you were hungry.”

“God, I need to get back to the gym, I can’t keep eating like shit and not even try and work it off again…” he let out a sigh of disgust at himself, hauled out some frozen potatoes and some eggs, and started working on making himself breakfast.

All the while, he was wearing the wifebeater. The same wifebeater he’d been wearing for close to two weeks–which coincidentally, was the last time Pete had shaven his face and also the last time he’d been to the gym. It was also two weeks since Tatum had put Pete under trance for the first time, using a hypno program he’d gotten off the net. He’d expected Pete to realize what was going on at some point, but he was still fucking clueless, and Tatum’s cock was raging hard in his boxers, watching his roommate walk through the kitchen, reeking of cum, because he’d spent the last two weeks serving as the apartment’s honorary cumrag, without even realizing it.

“Hey Pete, before you get to cooking, I got a load for you.”

Without missing a beat, Pete turned around from the counter, got down on his knees, chest puffed out, and stayed still, while Tatum got up from the table in the kitchen, already stroking his cock. Pete stayed perfectly still, like his mind had shut off, until Tatum had pumped out another load onto his wifebeater, and when he was finished, he stood back up, turned back around, and resumed making breakfast like nothing at all had happened.

Tatum’s cock had hardly dropped, however. He’d hated his roommate–how fit he was, how clean he was, how high and mighty, how he’d looked down on Tatum, especially for being a fag. Now he had him right where he wanted him, and he had a few more changes in mind for his roommate, before he was done.

Want to read more? There’s a second part that continues the story on my discord server for patrons!

Pigtown Provides: Episode 1 (Part 5)

Was he telling the truth? Ash searched his son’s face, looking for that…gruff figure from the night before, the young, muscular, leather clad master, who had chained him to the wall in the dungeon, whipped him until he begged for mercy, fucked him raw, the smell and heat of his cigar next to his ear…he’d broken him. He’d wanted it, by the end, all of it. He’d had no idea that had been his son, but now…now he wanted it to be him, more than anything. He’d been grooming him for this, teaching him how to smoke cigars ever since he was a teenager, training him at the gym, and when he’d been ready, he’d gotten him drunk, and Carter had fucked his father’s hole with his big cock for the first time…did none of that mean anything to Carter? Couldn’t he see how much effort he’d put into him, and now, he didn’t even remember the sexiest, hottest scene of both their lives?

He was reeling. All of this was too much, there was too much in his mind. Too many histories, too many wants, too many fantasies, too many realities. His son was right, this was…new. It just felt real, it was easier to want this to be real, because the truth was too…shameful to even comprehend. “What…what was that place? Where the fuck have you been going all those nights?”

“Look, dad. You need to eat something. Have your cigar, have breakfast, calm down a little bit, and then…I’ll tell you what I know about Pigtown, and then you need to tell me about what happened last night, at the bar–or at least what you remember.”

Ash…knew his son was right, but fuck, if he didn’t want to suck another load out of his boy’s cock right then and there, or better yet, get fucked by him. They could have the whole day together, chain smoking cigars, hotboxed in their bedroom, woozy and horny and wasting the whole day in a sexual haze. It wouldn’t be the first time. He pushed it away though, sat down, and ate the breakfast his son had made for them, and the normalcy of it helped break the spell of his lust, and he managed to calm down, though he had to look away from Carter, who was sucking hard on his cigar, looking flustered and uncomfortable, and sexy as hell.

They finished, and Carter filled him in on Pigtown–the legend, and the reality, and his own journey there. How, when he was nineteen, he’d started chatting with a guy who claimed he knew how to get there–who claimed he had been there before. Carter didn’t know if he was lying or not–at the time, he still wasn’t convinced that the whole thing wasn’t just…stories they all told each other. Stories they told to try and convince themselves that change was real. That there was a place for them, somewhere, where they could be what they wanted to be. It wasn’t the first time having sex, for him–he’d had a dalliance with a few guys in high school, but nothing serious. This…He was different. He knew Carter, knew what he wanted, could feel the need in him, and Carter had…thought he’d loved him. Loved him unlike he’d ever loved anyone in his life, and then he’d just vanished. Ghosted him. It had hurt, but the man had left him some leads, a few other older guys he’d fucked around with, more timidly, and those guys knew enough about Pigtown to get him closer, and closer still, until finally a year or so later, he was there.

It was the first time he’d told anyone the story. The shame he felt at it–not the shame of what he’d done (and who he’d done) to get there, but the fact that, looking back on it, he was so…weak. So contemptful. Now that he was closer, he could see how little the distance was that he’d actually traveled. He was nowhere, really. He’d taken steps, so far, that he could have taken without Pigtown entirely, steps he would have probably taken, eventually, but the place–now that he had been once, he craved it. Admitting that to his father, the one he’d been trying so hard to hide all of this from, he hated it. How weak it made him seem, how desperate. Somehow, seeing how…into it his father was, only made it worse, like it was nightmare reflection of himself, of his own desires laid bare so he could see them clearly. He wrapped up the story quicker than he’d started it–especially once he saw his father’s hand drift down to his lap, and start working his cock. Instead, he asked his father about what had happened the night before, back at the bar–and so Ash told him about how he had followed him to the bar, from the station–though it seemed odd, telling him that now–because it wasn’t him who had followed Carter, not really. That version of himself, that person, he didn’t exist anymore. Should he feel…grief, at that? He felt like he should, but he didn’t. He told Carter how he’d watched him go into the bar, and then he’d planned to leave, but before he could, three leather bears, likely bound for the bar themselves, had cornered him, and dragged him inside–and once in…well, it had been the greatest night of his life, not that he’d thought so at first.

At first, he’d been terrified. Fighting them, all of them, but there were more than just the three who had dragged him inside now. Now, there were many. So many, each of them different, and he’d scanned the crowd for Carter, called out his name, but everyone in there had just laughed and laughed, then they’d put the first glass to his lips, that first taste, and he’d fought a little less. The hands groping him, tugging at his clothes, they were no less violent than before, but now he found himself enjoying the force, and also pushing back, but everyone around him was so much…stronger than he was. Another drink past him lips, and he felt like they were molding him. Another drink, and he could feel the air itself pressing into him, the bar shaping him, like there was some other skeleton inside of him, some other lattice of self he had never known before, but this place had awakened in him–and now it was reshaping him to it, built around pleasure–and pain.

So much pain, more pain than he’d ever felt in his life. He’d fallen into the lap of a sadist, and he had been more than happy to give Ashford an introduction to his paddles, whips, the end of his cigar, the toe of his boot to his balls–and when he’d finally given into it, when he’d allowed that pain to blossom into a new kind of pleasure, that’s when the brute appeared. Huge, tattooed, from the depths of the bar (or so Ashford had thought, because he couldn’t have imagined someone like that coming from anywhere else) and Ashford could barely describe the ecstacy to his son sitting across from him, much less believe that he had, in fact, been his son the whole time.

New You Resolutions (Part 2) [Interactive]

Duncan read the list a few times, mostly just disgusted and confused by what was on there. Hell, some of the things didn’t even make sense, or didn’t even seem possible! There were five items on the list:

  • Stop going to the gym and work to get fatter instead.
  • Start smoking cigars, and age an extra thirty years.
  • No longer cut my hair, beard, or body hair, and grow it three times as fast, and three times as thick.
  • Cum only on myself and my clothes as often as I can, get as many men to cum on me as I can, and never shower again.
  • Replace my wardrobe with slobby clothes, and never wash them again.

He couldn’t control how fast he aged, or how thick his hair grew in–it had to just be some stupid prank someone was pulling on him. In any case, he had so much he had to get done today, and this stupid thing had wasted too much time. He skipped breakfast in his apartment–there was nothing that…would satisfy him here, went down and got in his car. Instead of going to the gym, like he thought he would, he wound up at a fast food place, went inside, ordered a massive amount of food–and ate all of it.

The whole time, he was trying to make himself stop…but he had to do it. He had to get fatter, right? That’s…what the list said. He didn’t understand where the compulsion was coming from, and eating the greasy food was disgusting to him, but he couldn’t get his body to stop, no matter how hard he tried. Once he finished, he again tried to get himself to drive to the gym, but instead he looked up the nearest smoke shop that sold cigars, went in and bought a pack, along with a lighter and a couple of ashtrays. He told himself to throw it out, but instead, he drove home, lit one, smoked it as best he could, and started stuffing his entire wardrobe into trashbags, and threw the whole thing into the dumpster. It took long enough that he finished the cigar–though it made him sick to his stomach and he nearly vomited, but he was…proud of himself, for finishing it. Proud of himself, for…for doing it, doing what he was supposed to do. Proud, and a bit…horny? Horny enough to sit down on the couch and rub out a load, which he onto his thigh, rubbing it in, feeling it get…tacky. He…wanted to shoot again, but he had more errands to run first.

He left the house again, this time going to the nearby thrift shop, and buying himself a new wardrobe–sweats and undershirts, some…used underwear, which disgusted him, and some mesh ahtletic shorts and beat up sneakers. Then he went home, lit another cigar, despite the fact he still felt sick from the first one, and he jacked off–spraying his load all over his flat belly, rubbing it in, and feeling the stubble growing there.

Duncan had always had quite a bit of body hair, and at his agency’s request, he kept himself shaved all over, and photoshop took care of the rest. Now though, he could see the first dark hairs coming back, much faster than they usually did…and there were so many of them! He went into the bathroom, and saw that the same thing was happening to his face, his stubble was so thick, and so obvious–he tried to shave it, but his hands just threw all of his shaving equipment right in the trash. Furious, he figured he could at least take a shower–but again, his body refused to even get in the tub. When he kept trying, his body ended up disassembling the entire shower fixture and throwing that away too.

And that was just the first day. He lost all of his modeling contracts in a week, and his agency dumped him by the end of January. He had some savings, but not nearly enough–he had, however, befriended the guys at the fast food joint where he went for most of his meals now…and while he held onto his dignity for a while, he eventually had to ask them for a job. He thought they would be disgusted by the idea–after all, he reeked like a cumrag and was so damn hairy now–but when he asked them they were eager to have him there…after all, it was handy having a cumrag around for them to use whenever they got horny. Even the owner of the place didn’t seem fazed by his hygiene, though he usually kept Duncan in the back, making fries and cleaning equipment, getting even filthier and greasier as the months wore on.

It was June when he realized, finally, how much he’d aged in just six months. He’d been 25 this year, but he’d already added another fifteen years or so, making him an even forty, according to his driver’s license, that was always accurate somehow. He was balding, his thick, already inch long beard was starting to grey, and his teeth were yellowed from the cigars he smoked almost constantly now when he was home, and always on his breaks at work. He got kicked out of his apartment for smoking and wrecking the place, and had to move in with one of his coworkers, another fat, horny slob like him, one who was more than happy to keep him around as a personal cumrag. More than once, he’d be woken up to his fat coworker looming over him, spraying his beard and hair with another massive load of cum, and Duncan, would just…thank him, and usually milk out another one of his own to go with it.

All he wanted was for 2019 to end, but he kept remembering the letter, and the party it had mentioned. He didn’t know what that might entail…but if it meant this nightmare could finally end, he’d be willing to do pretty much anything to get his body, and life, back to normal.

Of course, New Life Industries sent resolutions to more men than just Duncan. Who else got a letter from them this January?

Here’s a few options for possible targets by New Life industries. Some of these are more…revenge focused, while others are more about helping guys stuck in a rut become something…different. Also note, that there’s a space to write in your own ideas too! If I like them, I might include your suggestions in the upcoming polls to pick other victims of these New You Resolutions! Here’s the poll for Patrons (remember, your votes count for double in the Patron poll!) and the public poll is embedded below!

Arctos: Filters – Episode 4 (Part 6)

Jay pulled his cock free then, and walked around to Jay’s rear, giving the air a few sniffs, “Fuck yeah, you may be a hog, but you stink like a sow in heat. You like that, I bet–any boar who gets a sniff of you is going to want to fuck you, and I bet you’ll let ‘em, you fuckin’ slut.”

Jay slid his cock into Bruce’s hole, and it felt different than it had this morning. It had felt good before, sure, but not like this. Now, it felt like some puzzle piece had slid into him, fitting in perfectly, and that hole he felt disappeared for a moment, and everything was right. He was a hog, a stupid hog, and he was getting fucked. He was getting fucked like he ought to be, and that was all that mattered in the world. Jay started off slow, enjoying the sensation of his new cock in the hog’s ass, but soon ramped up his thrusts, slamming in deep, giving the hog a proper rutting, not noticing that as he did, the phone in his pocket was starting to jiggle loose. After a few minutes, it was thrown out onto the ground beside him, and when he went to change positions, Jay heard a loud crunch underneath his trotter, as Bruce’s phone was crushed underneath his weight.

He only had a moment to realize what had happened, before the energy from the app’s data stored in the phone rushed out, surrounding them both with it’s wild energy, Jay hauling his cock free of Jay’s ass and stumbling to the ground, trying to sort out what was happening to him. A few feet away, Bruce, too was caught up in the swirl of dark energy, feeling it pick him apart, remaking him again and again, trying to sort out filter from reality and back again, until at last, it dissipated, leaving both of them shaking on the floor of the barn, and Jay leaned over and gagged, trying to settle his stomach without losing his entire breakfast from earlier on the ground.

“Fuck, oh fuck!” Bruce said, turing around and seeing the phone crushed to pieces in the dirt, “You fucking–what the fuck did you do?” Bruce’s voice was…distorted, and didn’t sound particularly human. Deep and gutteral, the vowels twisted in a mouth that wasn’t designed for them, but understandable, mostly. Jay just stared at him, and then down at the phone, and then…smelled the air, smelled something…really fucking good on the air. Something he wanted.

He looked down, and saw that he had changed back, somewhat. He was closer in size to the man he’d been before, but still had the boar’s face, the bristle beard and back hair, his cock closer in size to his human one, but still pig in shape. He got up, trying to focus, but everything seemed so…hazy, like his brain was running a couple speed slower than it usually did. He just felt…stupid, really, and rather than the haze clearing, it only seemed to be coalescing around his mind, gaining further hold, making thinking harder and harder. He…needed to fuck, mostly. He was still so horny, and something smelled so good…

He stomped over to Bruce, grabbed hold of his hips and went to thrust, but the pig scrambled away as best his bulk would allow him. Still, Jay was stronger than him, and he caught him, and fucked him, Bruce yelling at him, begging him to stop, but Jay didn’t want to stop. Jay was horny, and Jay wanted to fuck, so that was what Jay wanted to do–and he could see the hog was enjoying it too, even though he didn’t want to admit it. That was ok–Jay…knew what they both needed well enough, and he would take care of them. He would make sure they both got what they needed. When he finished fucking, his mind cleared somewhat, but the haze was still thick. He tried to listen to what the pig was saying, about how they needed to change back, how they had to contact some company and fix this, how they needed help…but Jay didn’t really care. Everything was fine…but there was work he had to do on the farm. He told the pig this, and the pig got angry at him, screaming at him, and Jay didn’t like hearing that, so he dragged the pig over to a pen and locked him in, Bruce screaming and hollering at him to come back and let him out, but Jay didn’t see any reason why he would want to do that, and Jay did know best.

Jay felt better, doing his work, working up a good sweat, and when evening came, he went back to the barn, fed the pig, and fucked him again. The next morning, he did the same thing, and life fell into a certain rhythm. Jay…found himself loving the pig, somehow. Loving the way he smelled at least. Loving how it felt to fuck him. Loving how fat he was getting off his slop, but the pig never seemed to love him back. The pig was angry at first, and then desperate, and eventually, gave up. Maybe he had realized that he loved Jay too, as much as Jay loved him. Love didn’t need to be complicated after all. Love could, on occasion, be the simplest thing in the world.

Holiday Curses – Thanksgiving (Part 3)

Isaac had always been around when Mark was growing up–but he had never really been as direct a tormentor as his two brothers or his father. No, what Mark resented about Isaac was that, as far as his father was concerned, Isaac was the third son he should have had–he was everything that he had wanted for Mark, but which Mark had been too faggoty to get for himself. A start football player, all the way through college, though he leveraged that into a career running a local gym rather than keep playing and trying to go pro.

Mark hated him for that–not because of his success, or because his father loved Isaac more than him, but because he looked…fucking perfect. He always had a great body and physique, despite the fact that all his youth, Isaac ate like a total pig and glutton. It had never slowed him down though, not once, and while he ate better now that he was older, he still…had that in him, that gluttony that no one else could see. Well, Mark was going to make sure everyone saw it from now on.

He didn’t lead Isaac into a bedroom, but rather into the kitchen, where he ordered his cousin to strip out of his clothes. Meanwhile, Isaac pulled a paint can out of his bag as well as a brush, and popped off the top. It had taken a few tries to get this one right, when he’d been working on it with his boyfriend, but he was quite happy with the result of the imago curse. It wouldn’t need a circle and a spell like with his brother–this solution, once painted all over Isaac’s body, would take care of everything.

Once Isaac was naked, Mark began the process of applying the solution onto his body from the head down. It was thick, but went on clear and even. Isaac tried to ask him what this was, but Mark didn’t reply–so he just allowed him to apply it, moving his body so he could get everywhere with the stuff, even the soles of his feet and between the cheeks of his ass.The stuff was clear, but had an odd sheen to it. I stayed wet the entire time Mark was applying it, until he had successfully covered everywhere on Isaac’s body. Then, all at once, he felt the paint harden and also constrict, binding to his skin, or fusing with it. He scratched at his body, trying to get it off, but it was…gone. It was just him, and his own skin, but something was different, something was wrong with him.

“There we go Isaac, you’ll be a brand new man soon, trust me. Man, look at all this food my mom made for Thanksgiving–it sure would be a shame to waste it. Remember how much you used to eat when we were kids, Isaac? Hell, even my brothers thought you were a pig behind your back. Why don’t you dig in, see what you can do?”

Isaac…was hungry, and Thanksgiving was the one day a year he considered a true cheat day, when he could officially eat as much as he wanted, no matter the consequence. He went over to one of the ovens, where the sides were being held warm, hauled out the mashed potatoes, grabbed a spoon and started eating, and eating, and eating. There was something wrong with him, something inside him, gurgling and grumbling about. Mark urged him on, compelling him to eat faster, to enjoy it. He’d always loved food after all, probably more than he’d ever really loved a person.

This carried on for an hour, until he heard the first sickening tear in his own flesh. It didn’t hurt, surprisingly, the massive gash in his flat abs, and there was no blood…just…more flesh underneath it. He panicked, but Mark drove him further, now that he was so close, stuffing him himself, opening the tear, hearing others forming all over his body until at last, the outer layer of Isaac gave way, breaking apart as a new Issac burst forth. A much, much larger Isaac than before.

His entire body was…new, like it had burst from a cocoon. It wasn’t that different really, he still felt, and looked, like himself…but he was so much fatter now. He had a sizable gut, much larger than he’d ever allowed himself during the offseason, sporting a physique more of a linebacker than a running back…but wasn’t that right? There were new memories overwhelming the others, years spent running defense rather than offense, years spent in more gluttony than before…loving food. Really loving it. The new Isaac dug into the meal with new fervor, and Mark knew the rest would take care of itself–once he saw Isaac use a gravy slathered hand to start massaging his cock and balls to stiffness.

It had taken a little longer than he’d hoped to deal with Issac, and he checked on John quickly, but while his older brother was exhausted, he hadn’t stopped for a second reveling in his new addictions, cementing them firmly in his mind where they belonged. Now, just his second older brother, Luke, and his uncle and father remained. Luke’s curse would be quick, at least. The middle child, Luke had been the real evil in the family. John might have been the brawn, but Luke was the brains, whispering ideas to him and Isaac, new ways to humiliate and hurt him. Well, now it was Mark’s turn to whisper a few commandments into his brother’s ear. He had control of them all, for the moment, of course, but this curse was more lasting. The commands he gave his brother would be unbreakable, no matter what.

Like some of the other polls I run, this one will have multiple winners! Luke will probably end up with a new job of some sort, as well as a few humiliating changes to his daily routines.

  • Finds a new job at a fast food joint
  • Finds a new job as a trash collector
  • Finds a new job as a full time sex slave
  • Starts wearing diapers
  • No longer showers or cuts his hair
  • Posts humiliating videos online
  • Gets trashy tattoos and piercings
  • Locks himself in full time chastity
  • Sucks redneck cock at rural rest areas

Here’s the public poll

Here’s the patron only poll

Votes will be counted in a couple days!

The Mailman’s Pup (Flash Commission)

The mailman would be here any second, and Carson couldn’t swallow the pit of dread in his stomach, the same one that was there every day now, ever since he’d received that first letter in the mail. Carson worked remotely, managing customer service for a few tech companies out of his small house, and one day, his mailman had delivered a fragile package all busted up. He’d been furious, and demanded the man’s name to report him…but when the mailman had handed him something on a sheet of paper…something else had happened instead. He’d let the mailman in, blown him, and then the man had left–all without him ever learning his name.

Now the mailman came to the door everyday, and each day he’d make Carson service him, calling him his special little pup, and he’d give him a new letter each day. He never knew what the letters said, or how they did what they did, but they would…compel him to do new, humiliating acts the next day, either to himself, or to the mailman.

He heard the gate open, and he opened the door for him–and he saw the mailman had a package with him. A sizable one. “Don’t worry pup–I’ve been extra careful with this new toy of yours–got here safe and sound.”

Carson had no idea what could be in the odd, flat box–likely he had ordered something online, as ordered by the mailman’s letters, and then forgotten about it entirely. Usually he could recall what the man had written, mostly, but other times, the man liked to surprise him. He stood back, and the mailman pushed his way inside–he was short and fat, and reeked of BO–but while that had bothered Carson at first, now it just aroused him more than anything, and he could already feel the need to service the dirty man’s feet and pits beginning to overwhelm him.

“Well come on then, open it up–I’m eager to take it for a ride,” the mailman said.

Carson found some scissors and opened the package up–and as soon as it was open, he could remember ordering it–and what it was. A rim chair. He’d…he’d ordered one, because he needed to worship his mailman’s ass–after all, a pup like him loved liking and smelling dirty holes, right?

Carson wasted no time getting the chair out of the packaging, the mailman behind him ridiculing him, telling him what a dirty pup he is, ordering a thing like this, telling him he hasn’t wiped his ass all day, reminding Carson what a perverse, horny little pup he truly is. When it was finished, the mailman got out of his shorts, and boots, but left on his socks, and sat down. “First things first pup–I’ve been on my feet all day. You know what to do.”

That had been one the early letters–making Carson obsessed with the mailman’s feet. He shoved his face into them, snorting in the man’s reeking scent, feeling his cock harden as he did–but he didn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch it in his presence, but when the mailman was gone, Carson masturbated all the time, thinking about the mailman, about what he made him do, and…and how much he enjoyed doing it all. He tugged the socks off with his teeth and got to work on the man’s feet properly, and when he was satisfied they were clean, he ordered Carson under the rim chair, and told him to get to work.

It stank, and the mailman hadn’t been kidding when he said he hadn’t wiped. He was torn between his disgust, and his desperate desire for the man’s hole–the former fading away until only Carson’s puppy lust remained, moaning as he licked at the mailman’s ring, cleaning it, working his tongue inside of it, listening to the man moan over him. He…he was doing a good job. He was being a good pup–good pups didn’t bark and yell at a mailman, they did whatever a mailman told them to do, like good boys, and Carson wanted to be a good boy more than anything.

The mailman put one foot on Carson’s chest, and the other started working the pup’s cock. “Come on you dirty pup–you’re going to cum with your dick under my foot, like a little bitch–I want to see you do it–tongue up my ass, under my feet–you’re really my bitch now, and I still have so many letters for you to read–just you wait.”

Carson tried to hold off on his orgasm, just to spite him–it was one of the few bits of control he still had. The man liked seeing him struggle though, and won in the end–Carson sprayed the underside of the man’s foot, and his own belly, with a load of cum, and he used his feet to rub it into Carson’s skin until it turned tacky.

“Alright, enough of this–get out, hands and knees–I gotta get back to my route.”

Carson wormed his way back out from under the chair, got up, and the mailman fucked him–he had a surprisingly large cock, and while Carson had hated getting fucked by him at first…now, it was really the easiest part of the entire ordeal. The mailman finished quickly, and then got his shorts and boots back on–before handing Carson the next letter, and leaving for his truck.

He tried not to open it, he fought as hard as he could, but he tore into the envelope, and pulled out the letter, and read it. Like before, he couldn’t ever remember what was written on it exactly, and when he came back to himself a half an hour later, he always found the letter burned on the stove–but the contents were sealed in his mind.

Master wanted him to be a dirtier pup–much dirtier. No more showers–and no more using the bathroom at all, in fact. From now on, he was going to do his business out back in the yard–naked of course, and always on all fours, like a proper mutt. He managed to hold it until later in the evening, so his neighbors were less likely to see him, and he crawled out of the house, over to a tree, lifted a leg and peed on it–feeling a bit proud of himself at how good he’d done on his first try, and then humped up to shit as well. He smelled it, and thought of his Master’s hole again…and even though he knew it was wrong, he was already looking forward to servicing him the next day, and the day after that–and then all day on Sunday. Sundays were his…favorite. After all, there was no mail to deliver on Sunday, which meant Master could spend all day with his pup…training him. Carson had a feeling he’d be under the rim chair a lot this Sunday–and hoped cleaning the mailman’s hole was all he’d be doing.