Caption: I Only Fuck Dads

It was just supposed to be some harmless roleplay, or so Henry thought. The young guy was one of the hottest fuckers he’d seen in a while, and one who was available for a fuck, but when he’d looked at Henry’s page, he’d almost turned him down, telling him he was more into dads–whatever that meant. Still, he’d been open to playing, but told Henry that they’d probably have to roleplay a bit, to get him into the mood. If that meant the guy called him daddy, while Henry fucked him, then he could get behind that, he supposed–he’d been with stranger guys than that. But things…well, this is not what he’d expected, at all.

“Come on daddy, what do you want–tell me what you want!”

“I want you fuck my ass already, boy, fuck it hard–do whatever the fuck you want, just fucking change me the fuck back!” Henry felt himself say, horrified, but he couldn’t moderate the words coming out of his mouth–just like he hadn’t been able to stop the young man from…changing him. He was up on the bed on all fours, and this body–he was fat! He was fat, and hairy, and his hairline was receding, and…and the young fellow was just circling him, thinking about him, and Henry didn’t know why he didn’t just fuck him already!

“Hmm…just not quite…what I’m feeling like today. I think I know what would be hot though…tell me daddy, tell me again what you want.”

“Aww jeepers boy, I sure would like it if you would just put your big tool up in daddy’s hole back there ya know?”

That wasn’t his voice–what the fuck had happened to his voice? It was…nasally, and sounded like he was from the midwest.

“Fuck yeah–that’s better, getting me hard daddy, listening to you ask me all polite like that. That how you talk to your wife daddy? When you want to have sex with her?”

He didn’t have a wife–but…but there were these new memories, of a woman. His age–his new age, and he could…remember everything about her, fuck!

“I wonder what she would say, if she knew her polite, buttoned down, conservative husband never went bowling on Thursdays like he says, but he comes here to get fucked by my hot young cock–because that’s what he really wants. Hell, I bet you two don’t even fuck much, not with that puny thing of yours.”

“Aww no, don’t go and shrink my ding-a-ling too!” Henry said, but it was too late–his eight inch cock shrank down to three inches, buried up in his fat.

“Well, it works well enough to give you a few kids, right? You can’t be a daddy without a few boys running around, right? How old are they?”

“They’re…they’re uh, twelve, fourteen, and seventeen…oh my goodness gracious how do I even know that?”

“Oh, that’s too young…” the man said, and Henry felt his body changing again, adding another decade of life, more hair falling out and turning grey, glasses appearing on his face as his eyesight gets worse, his cock shrivelling up further, no longer able to get hard. “Yeah, your boys are 22, 24, and 27–I bet they’re handsome fuckers, aren’t they? I bet you think about them a lot, about how much you want your boys to fuck you like I fuck you.”

“Oh please boy, please put that horn stick in mah hole, you’re gettin me all riled up, ya know, talking about my boys like that…”

The man fucked him then–fucked him hard, just how Henry liked it, and he fantasized that it was his oldest son, working construction right now, that was fucking his own father, and when the boy was finished, he was a sweaty, heaving mess.

“Alright boy, you had your fun, now change me back, alright?” Henry said.

“And lose my favorite Thursday night hookup? No way! Now go on and get dressed daddy–you should get home before your wife starts to worry about you any more than she already does.”

His old life fading in his mind to a faint shadow, Henry put on his bowling shirt and slacks, and headed down to his sedan, his bowling ball, unused in years now, sitting in the passenger seat beside him. He looked at himself in the mirror, at his jowls, his glasses, his grey mustache…all the lies he’d told over the years to keep his marriage together. What other choice did he have? At least…he had this, once a week. Maybe that would be enough–or maybe the boy up there was only getting started on his new project.

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Part 4)

This was a fairly close race between the redneck road trip and the leather dom, so I decided to just combine them a bit!

Max had gotten used to living his weekends as memory over the last few weeks. Johnny would get ready to put him into his trance on Friday evening, and then in one burst of light, it would be Monday, and for a few minutes, he would recall the last weekend on fast forward–seeing who he had serviced, what Johnny had made him do–but this long weekend, as he came out of his trance, he remembered that, right away, things had gone differently. Before this, Johnny had always kept their activities to themselves in the apartment–this time, however, as soon as he was under, Johnny had told him to go get in the car.

They drove for a little while, heading out of town on the highway, but ended up pulling off outside of the suburbs, and found their way to a sizable farmhouse outside of the city, nestled in some woods with plenty of privacy. Johnny told him to stay put, and he got out of the car alone, went up to the door, and gave it a knock.

Max couldn’t see who was at the door immediately, and it felt like a little time passed before Johnny returned, told him to get out, and he saw who lived in the farm house. He was an older fellow, easily in his late fifties or early sixties, with a thick bushy beard, sucking on a massive cigar. While his skin looked like he had worked outdoors for most of his life, his western shirt and jeans were well tailored, and didn’t look particularly dirty–he appeared to be retired, and somewhat wealthy.

The man was obviously in disbelief that Max was really hypnotized. He put him through a few paces, once Johnny had given him the ability to command Max as well, and it was clear, from the sizable bulge in his pants, that he was…excited. He offered Johnny a cigar inside, and they went in–and so the weekend began.

The man, by the name of Beau, but who Max simply referred to as Master, had retrofitted the house’s old root cellar into a sizable sex dungeon–and beginning that night, Master put Max–and Johnny, to some extent, through a crash course in leather, bondage, and service. It was clear that Johnny was rather…infatuated with Beau as well, and taking a submissive role of his own–when Johnny didn’t do as Master ordered, he would often get punished himself–though never as severely as Max was, over the course of the weekend. During the daytime, Max was put to work outside around the farmhouse, which was a bit more rundown than it had seemed in the night. He only wore boots–and in retrospect, he was horrifically embarrassed for himself, naked and out in the open, completely oblivious to anyone who might have seen him–but as far as he knew, no one had.

And now, it was Tuesday morning. He looked up and saw that Johnny had changed again–some of Master Beau’s more rural sensibilities had worn off on him. He had traded in the cigarettes for a fat cigar–a bit smaller than Beau’s, but still…handsome all the same, and he was wearing jeans and a western shirt like him as well. His hair had been clipped a bit short, and he now was sporting a thick goatee, and when he spoke, he even had a hint of a drawl, as he told Max that there were going to be some changes for him around here from now on.

In private, Max no longer called Johnny by name–he was only Master to him. He was now a boy in his service–which meant that when he wasn’t in school, he was charged with the domestics around the apartment–cooking, cleaning, laundry–everything, and of course, if he served well, then Master would…reward him. Max didn’t know if Beau had given the gear to Max, or if it had simply materialized while they were away that weekend, but there was now a sling in the bedroom, and for play, Johnny preferred wearing leather–preferred that they both wore leather, in fact. Furthermore, cigarettes disappeared from the house–Max now smoked cigars like his two masters–in addition to serving as the ashtray, at their discretion.

After the first week, Max was exhausted–it felt like he was working from dawn until night, between school, the gym and all of the new tasks Master Johnny had given him after their weekend with Master Beau. The cigars didn’t help, and were making him a bit nauseous, even after his cigarette habit. He was also…worried. Worried about Johnny, and worried about what the gun was doing to him, as well as to Max. Was…this just what Johnny wanted, or was there something else going on behind the scenes? Furthermore, Spring Break was looking–a nine day stretch, and he already knew that Johnny was going to insist he be kept in a trance all week long. Sure enough, that’s exactly what Johnny proposed, and he wished that he wasn’t so horny thinking about it.

I thought about coming up with more specific ideas for this, but I decided to go with something a bit more general instead. Below are some keywords for possible story lines I’ve had in mind, and I’ll combine the more popular ones as best I can! You get three votes–so pick wisely. Here’s the bonus patron poll as well.

Caption: A Demon’s Help (Part 1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Part 3)

The results from that last poll were both…conclusive, and also inconclusive. the top picks were fairly obvious, but some of the more…flavorful options were more hotly contested. The next poll will be have some more precise options after this one, that might seem a bit familiar, and that’s why!

Again, like always, it seemed like no time passed from the time Johnny fired the gun and put him into trance, and when he woke up. It was disconcerting, that in one moment he was standing by the door, the windows dark, all of the lights in the apartment on–and in the next moment, he was sitting on the couch, morning sunlight streaming in, and while his mind caught up to the sudden dilation, it was clear, from the soreness of his muscles, that he’d been put through a bit of a wringer over the course of the weekend. But unlike the first time, apparently Johnny wanted him to know what he’d been doing to him, because he was struck by…something else. As his mind caught up, it was like all the memories from the weekend struck him, like a videotape fast forwarding through a movie, and he saw exactly what–and who–he had been doing all weekend long.

Johnny hadn’t told him who he’d be servicing on Friday night, when he put him under, but now, he could remember who was at the door when he answered it, right after being put into his trance. Two older men, hairy as hell, and both of them quite chubby, entered the apartment, looking at him with a bit of suspicion, but a few orders from Johnny put them both at ease, as Max helped them all get comfortable, took off their clothes, massaged their feet…

Max had never been attracted to bigger guys in his entire life. Johnny knew this, of course, knew that Max took tremendous pride in his physique, and went to the gym five days a week. So remembering now how he threw himself at these fat men, how he worshipped him, how they all humiliated him, and degraded him, how they sat on him and made him squirm for breath–it was so much to remember, so much to think about, and he felt a bit…nauseous. The weekend went faster, from the men getting comfortable with him over Friday night, and they stayed with them all weekend, Max waiting on all three of them all weekend long–cooking for them, feeding them, doing everything they asked not because he…wanted to, but because…because they deserved it, didn’t they? Didn’t such handsome men require such care and devotion? Everything was feeling so confused now. They’d left on Sunday night, hadn’t they? But then who was the fat fuck he’d spent last night with, unless…

He shook his head and shuddered, looked over, and there…there was Johnny. Not the Johnny who had shot the ray at him on Friday night–like before, over the course of the weekend, he had…changed. Before this, Johnny had been about as slim and muscular as Max himself, but now…well, now he was quite pudgy, easily 250 pounds if not a bit more. There was something else off about him, standing there smoking his cigarette as he did now–as they both did. He looked…off, his hairline a bit different, some wrinkles around his eyes…was he older?

Not as old as the two men who had stayed with them this weekend–they were easily in their fifties, but Johnny had been a few months younger than Max, and now he looked older, by months, if not a couple of years. “Well come on then, muscle boy–isn’t there something you’d like to do?” Johnny asked, sneering at him.

There…there was. Max got up from the couch, went over, and started kneading Johnny’s small gut, feeling his own cock stiffen, realizing how sexy he was to him, looking like this, how much better he looked now than he had before.

“Yeah, made a proper chaser out of you now–No more complaining about my weight from now on. I think you’d like to see me get a bit bigger, won’t you? More like Dick and Charley from this weekend?”

Max moaned, dropped to his knees, and started sucking on Johnny’s cock, feeling his gut press against his forehead when he went deep. Max shot quick, and then pulled out.

“Alright, enough of that for now, I have to get to work.”

“W-Work?” Max asked, a bit confused–weren’t they both in college?

“Yeah, fucking work–you get so dumb when you come out of trance, it’s kind of hot,” Johnny said. “Not all of us can be a college muscle boy like you. Now, you’ll have a nice big dinner ready for me tonight, won’t you boy?” Johnny said to him, “You do love watching daddy eat, after all.”

Max didn’t really know what to say, as Johnny laughed, grabbed his bag, and left for his job, leaving Max alone in the apartment. Horrified, trying to avoid processing what had happened over the weekend, he went to the gym to burn off some steam, but that, in its own way, made things worse. All of the men he usually enjoyed looking repulsed him now. To his new desires, even Johnny was a bit small for him…and a bit too young. He looked at himself in the mirror, and the usual delight in his physique wasn’t there either. He just felt…ugly now, even though he knew he shouldn’t feel that way at all! Johnny…was it him, or was the gun fucking with both of them?

From that weekend on, Max was in a trance from Friday until Monday, and Johnny would entertain men at their place for the weekend. Sometimes it was the same men, but usually it was different ones, all of them fat, and old–and each weekend that passed, Johnny also got older, and fatter, until he was cresting 325, and his driver’s license said that he was 46. Only Max seemed to have any memory of the way they had been before this, and he didn’t dare say anything, or risk upsetting his daddy. It was clear, however, that Johnny was becoming a bit restless, and the men who came over were becoming…odder, until a long holiday weekend came along, and Johnny told Max he had something special planned for them.

Alright, hopefully the embedded poll below is visible, unlike last week! I tested it, but if you have problems, let me know on twitter or tumblr or discord etc. Here’s the link to the bonus patron poll as well! You get two choices in each poll, so pick your top two!

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Part 2)

Sunday Morning

As far as Max could tell, one moment Johnny had the gun pointed at him, there was that…strange light that seemed to suffuse everything, and then he was back on the couch–if he hadn’t suddenly moved from one end to the other, he would have thought no time had passed at all. That…and he kinda felt like shit. He coughed and looked up at Johnny standing in front of him. “Happy Sunday,” he said with a big grin on his face–a grin that told Max he was probably in store for some surprises–especially since he couldn’t remember a thing from the past 24 hours. The gun seemed to wipe his memory from when he was in a trance, unless Johnny told him explicitly to be aware of something–even then, it was more like a dream than anything else, like the time in trance was spent outside of his body, or maybe deeper inside of himself. Not present in any case.

He moved his tongue around his mouth–there was a taste there, something he didn’t recognize immediately, but which he knew should be familiar…somehow. It was related to the smell in the room around them, and when he saw the haze, he realized what it was–it was cigarette smoke. He looked down at his hand then, realizing there was something between his fingers, and sure enough–it was a lit cigarette. He was fucking smoking–why in the hell was he smoking! He tried to snuff it out in the ashtray on the side table, but instead he took another drag off it, and saw Max’s eyes light up in delight.

“I had to figure out something that I knew you would never agree to if you were just pretending,” Max said, “And frankly, I’ve always liked guys who smoke–the more the better.”

“Wait…what the fuck, Johnny? This–you can’t just make me a fucking smoker! This…this shit is deadly.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve had this conversation already, a ton of times,” Johnny said, tapping a cigarette out into his fingers, and lighting one up himself like it was the most natural thing in the world–except Max, as far as he could recall, had never seen Johnny smoke before in their lives. “I know you hate my smoking, but I don’t think you’ll be objecting much in the future, which is good for me–besides, you think it’s sexy too, don’t you?” He lit the cigarette, and when Max saw the end flare to life…something in his chest skipped a beat, and he inhaled deep off his own cigarette, coughing a bit at the sudden desire. “Fuck, why…Johnny, you’re not a smoker, why the fuck did you do this to us?”

“Not a smoker? I’ve been smoking a pack a day since we started dating.”

“No…No, Johnny, you…what the fuck happened?”

“Take off your shirt, let’s see how those studs look today,” Johnny said, pushing the subject away from his own sudden shift in attitude towards some other changes he’d made to Max over the last day.

Max did as he was told, pulled off his shirt, and saw that his nipples had been pierced with two studs–that explained the pain he’d felt there when he woke up from the gun.

“Pants too–let’s see it.”

Afraid of what he would find, Max pulled down his pants, and saw that his cock was pierced through with a PA–nothing too large, but still, it was a shock.

“See” Now we match,” Johnny said, pulling down his own pants, revealing his own cock with a ring in it that Max couldn’t recall ever seeing before–and that looked like it had been there for quite a bit longer than his new one, one he could…almost recall feeling in his throat before this. “Come on, smoke your cigar for me.”

Like a trigger, Max sat forward of the couch and started sucking Johnny’s ringed cock, careful to keep it away from his teeth, as he’d…figured out to do before this…right? Even the smoking, that had seemed so strange a second ago, seemed more…normal to him now. Then Johnny ran a hand over Max’s head, he shuddered, and pulled away from his cock, running his own hands over his skull.

“I always like a cueball–it looks good on you,” Johnny said.

“God fucking–” Max said, got up and went into the bathroom, and sure enough, he was bald on top–smoothly shaved, and he saw on his face a full day’s worth of stubble. This, at least, he could fix. He grabbed his razor, but when he tried to shave his face, his arm went to his head automatically–he couldn’t manage to make his hands shave his stubble, no matter how he tried.

“Guess you’ll have to grow that beard out now.”

“Fuck you–Johnny, put…put me back.”

“No.”

“What the fuck do you mean, no?”

“I like you this way–you’ll like yourself too, just give it a few days to get adjusted.”

“No–Johnny, something happened–not just to me, but to you too. Did…did you shoot yourself with the gun? What did you do with it?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I just used it on you. I’ve been awake all day. Now finish your cigar.”

Max tried to resist the command, but he couldn’t–he got back down and went back to sucking off his boyfriend’s cock, stroking his own–carefully minding his new ring, still smoking his cigarette, wondering if he was going insane. It felt like it–but on the other hand…it was all kind of sexy, wasn’t it?

True to Johnny’s word, after a few days, Max had decided to give in and enjoy it, but something nagged at him all the same. Johnny…had changed too. He was sure of it. Not much, but enough that it was noticeable. Enough that he told Johnny he should stop using the gun, but Johnny dismissed his concerns, telling him the trance was probably messing with his memory. Besides, Johnny already had some new ideas percolating, which he broke to Max a couple of weeks later–this time, he wanted to trance him for a full weekend, Friday afternoon to Monday morning.

Max balked–and he demanded that Johnny tell him what he had in mind–and this time, Johnny did. There were a couple of guys that Johnny knew, and he’d decided that the three of them–Johnny and the two mystery men, would have the privilege of Max servicing them for a long weekend. Max asked him who the men were, but Johnny wouldn’t say–he wanted it to be a surprise. Again, Max was hesitant, but Johnny wore him down, and soon enough, he gave in, and plans were made.

Alright, here’s a broader sort of poll. Depending on the popularity of the replies, I’ll combine them together in various ways that make sense to me! You get three choices, so pick wisely! Here’s the bonus patron only poll as well.

Update: The public poll isn’t embedding properly! Please use this link to go vote! I’ll try to add the embedded one later if it stops acting up.

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Part 1)

This interactive is inspired by a little story I read recently, which had a hypno/time jump mechanism that I found really intriguing. Hope you enjoy it!

“You’re the one who said that you were into this.”

“Well yeah, the fantasy of it, but not…well, how in the world do we even know if it works? It’s just some weird gun that you bought off the internet. What if it, like, gives me cancer or something?”

“It’s not going to give you cancer.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

Johnny sighed, and looked down at the little ray gun in his hand. The site had seemed…really reputable, but he couldn’t really put his fingers on how he knew it, or…even really remember ordering it. After Max, his boyfriend, had confessed to him about his hypno fetish–that he secretly fantasized about being put into a hypnotic trance and being ordered to do whatever humiliating thing his master wanted–Johnny had started poking around, because the idea was…curious to him. “There’s only one way to find out, you know–so come on. It’s probably just some weird lights or something.”

It took a few more minutes of cajoling, but Johnny eventually got Max to agree to at least giving it a shot. So Johnny turned to dial on the gun to the “trance” setting, fired it at Max–and there was a sudden blinding light that enveloped him for a moment, and when it was done, Max was still sitting there, eyes looking a little glassy, mouth a bit open…was he…pretending?

“Max, are you alright?” Johnny asked.

“Yes…I’m fine…” Max replied.

“Are…” Johnny stopped, not sure what to do next. He honestly hadn’t considered the gun would actually work, so…so now what?

He made Max stand up, and strip off his clothes, down to his underwear. He made him hop on one foot, and made him start acting like a chicken, and then like a monkey…but none of this really answered his question. How could he know if the gun had really worked, or if Max was just, well, fucking with him? He’d…have to make Max do something he would never want to do in real life, but…fuck, why was thinking about that making him hard all of a sudden?

He had Max sit down, and looked at him. Max was young, and muscular, and handsome, and while Johnny was no slouch in any of those departments, he…it wasn’t jealousy, that he was feeling, he just…maybe he was more into this than even he had expected to be. Maybe having Max under his control was…something he could get used to. Before he could think about it more, he turned the dial on the gun back to normal, shot Max again on the couch, and after another burst of lights, his boyfriend was looking around, confused, and then down at himself. He saw that all of his clothes were on the floor around him, and he looked at Johnny. “What…what happened?”

“What, you don’t remember?”

“No–there was just a burst of light, and then…then I was…wait, did it work? Did it really work?”

Max got up and looked at the clock–sure enough, he had lost almost half an hour of time, from when he and Johnny had been talking earlier. “What did you make me do?” he asked.

“Nothing…I mean, I…you make a pretty good chicken, and a monkey, but…I thought you were just faking it, honestly. You…you really don’t remember any of it?”

“Did you have sex with me?”

“What? No!” Johnny exclaimed. “I…Look, this was a bad idea, I’m sorry, alright?”

Max grabbed his clothes, threw them on, and stormed out, leaving Johnny alone with the gun. He felt bad, but that didn’t stop him from masturbating and thinking about it. It was later that evening when he got a call from Max, and he picked up.

“I’m…I freaked out, I know you didn’t have sex with me, I…I know you wouldn’t do that. I don’t think you would do that…”

Johnny wasn’t so sure himself, anymore, if he wouldn’t if he had another chance. “You were…sexy like that, all zonked out in a trance.”

“You…thought it was hot?”

“I mean…it was creepy too, I just…”

“I’m coming over.”

“What?”

“I’m coming over. I want you to trance me again, and fuck me, and then wake me up as you cum inside me.”

“Max, I’m not–”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Max showed up, and he was adamant, and Johnny was honestly into it, so he did as Max told him–tranced him, they fucked, and it was…fuck it was hot–for them both. The gun started working it’s way into their life, little by little, but it was Max who pushed it further, first.

“I want one day. Twenty-four hours with you under trance.”

“What? I…I don’t know, Johnny. What the hell would you do for a day?”

“You’d find out when you came out of it.”

“I…I mean, that’s…”

“I can see you want to–you’re hard as a rock.”

“I…Tell me what you’d do. You must have an idea.”

“No–that’s for me to know, and for you to find out later,” Johnny said, waving his phone in his face, “I’ll keep a record of it for you, I promise.”

It took some more cajoling, but Max did finally give in. They agreed to do it on that Saturday–that Johnny would have him under trance from ten in the morning, until Sunday morning. Johnny had been…plotting, for a while now. He still couldn’t quite believe that the gun really worked, and that Max wasn’t pulling his leg. He had to make Max do something that he would never do, without hesitation–he had to see just how far he could go with this new power.

Here’s the first poll! The categories are a bit broad, because I kind of want to see what sorts of changes you all might be interested in seeing. Here’s the bonus patron poll as well!

Patron Bonus: The Rehabilitation of Resistance Fighter Marcus Willard

This is a longer story, based off of a few suggestions. I’ve had a lot of people want a sequel/continuation of this suggested story from a few months ago. This one was longer, because I missed a week due to other circumstances, so here’s the first half for free, and if you want to conclusion, you can check it out on my Patreon, if you support me at the $5 tier or higher!

The capture of James Woods was a coup for the government. Thanks to their conditioning technology, there were no secrets in Jame’s mind that were safe, and safehouses were raided all over the country, as the resistance scrambled to try and avoid the net closing in around them. Some of the resistance was lucky, and scurried their thin selves deeper underground, while others, like Marcus Willard, were not so lucky.

Marcus wasn’t like many of the other resistance fighters, who came to the group with muscle and jockish determination. Before the shift in policy, and the crackdown on anyone thin, Marcus had been wealthy, and with that wealthy, he had sought beauty–and thinness was part of that, for him. He had been bankrolling the resistance with his funds as best he could, converting it to cash, and using it to try and fund a solution to the nightmare–but that made him a prime target, as he knew everything there was to know about the cash flow of the resistance. When he was apprehended–well, he divulged everything, because no one can resist the conditioning of the government. When they had drained him of everything useful, they loaded him on a train with other thin undesireables and sentenced him to a five year stint at work camp #23 in Iowa.

Stepping off the train, he could see nothing for miles aside from stockyards, and the stench of manure was everywhere. With the countries new policies, the food production and consumption had skyrocketed–especially the need for meat. Here, at work camp #23, the prisoners of the government worked to supply that food, while also being fattened up themselves, at the source. Marcus was special, however, and so, while the rest of the prisoners were sent for their introductory conditioning, Marcus was instead brought to the home of one Terry Bastion, the commander of work camp #23. Terry had been a pig farmer in these parts, and always a sizable fellow. He’d ridden the government’s policies, and grown with them, into the man he was today–800 pounds, eating almost constantly, his desires twisted and perverted as the government had turned more cruel, and now, he had Marcus Willard right here, in front of him–and oh, did he have plans for the rich boy. Despite being on the run with the resistance, Marcus had always managed to keep himself looking rather preppy–even now, in his dirty slacks and shirt, he was projecting a city vibe that Terry detested.

Marcus was…afraid, standing there in the dining room, watching the massive redneck in front of ridicule him through mouthfuls of food, telling Marcus that he had a special sort of conditioning in store for him, one that he’d set up personally. Marcus cursed him out, but the hulking guards dragged him away, down into the depths of Terry’s house, hooked him up to a feeding tube and a VR set, and before Marcus could do anything about it, he was out, the fattening mush pumped right into his stomach.

Normally, men were conditioned in four hour blocks of time, with a mandatory rest, fed all the while, until they were deemed ready to enter the general population of the work camp. Longer stretches of conditioning, while not unheard of, came with…risks–but those were risks that Terry was willing to take on Marcus’ behalf. Marcus wasn’t the first, of course, Terry had been pushing the limits with the prisoners of the work camp since it was established–with the government’s approval of course, so he was fed for a month straight, his body pumped with a variety of drugs to shift metabolism and hair growth. Artists from town arrived and applied the tattoos early, before he had grown too much–Terry wanted them to look…stretched. Finally, after a long couple of months, he was given his final haircut, a couple of final changes, and laid down in a room to wake up properly, for the first time in ages.

Terry was there to witness the shock first hand, when Marcus managed to force himself up in the bed, and look in the mirror and the changes Terry had wrought on his body. The month long feeding had given him a huge gut, a wide ass, and dwindled away much of his muscle mass, leaving him weakened. In the mirror, he could still see his face–Terry had been careful to leave in unchanged, so people who knew him well, might recognize him, But his hair was cut into a short mullet in the back, his usually clean face now sporting a thick horseshoe mustache. There were trashy tattoos all up his arms and across his chest as well, all of them redneck in nature. He was no longer the preppy, suit wearing Marcus Willard of the resistance. Terry had warped him into some disgusting caricature of himself. But it was when he tried to talk, that he realized just how deep the changes had gone.

This wasn’t his voice. It was…deep, and slow, with a thick drawl even he could barely understand. Terry and the guards started laughing at him, and he couldn’t even shout, or yell, he just tried to stay silent, his face turning redder and redder, and Terry told him that this was who he would be for the rest of his life, a fat, stupid hick–even when he got out of the camp, there would be no changing any of this. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about who he was before this either–Terry said, and with a snap of his fat fingers, something…in Marcus’ brain warped again, and all of these new memories slotted into place. He tried to resist them, tried to deny them, but his past–his real past–was just a distant glimmer, something he could barely even recall himself now. No–he…he was just a stupid hick, abused by his fat daddy and brother’s all his life, abused so much he…he craves it. The guards sneer at him, groping themselves, and he tries to push them off, but they…make him squeal for it, in the end, and by the time he’s introduced into the camp, he can still feel their cum swilling in his guts–and he knows he can’t end up like this. They could take his dignity, but he…he would keep fighting all the same, even in here. He’d do everything he could, just to prove that he would never be broken. Not like they broke James–he’d push through this, no matter what.

Caption: Grooming the Groomsman (One Possibility)

This is another caption series I’m running over on my discord server for Patrons! This is just one possible ending for our hapless groomsman, out of four. If you’d like to support me, and get access to bonus content like this, then you can do so over on my Patron account here!

I knew I shouldn’t be hunting so close to family, but as soon as I saw Porter, posing for pictures with the rest of wedding party, I just couldn’t resist thinking about it. He was just so dang cute! A little chubby, a nice beard, and that little bit of smugness that I just find it so fun to toy with. But he was close to my nephew, one of his friends from college, and so at first, I really was just thinking about it, I promise. But it’s surprising how quickly thinking about things can slide to doing something about it rather quickly.

Maybe if he had been more social during the reception, instead of sitting off by himself at a table staring at his phone, I wouldn’t have kept thinking about it. Maybe if I hadn’t wrapped up another project a couple weeks ago, I wouldn’t have kept thinking about it. Maybe if he hadn’t gone under so damn easily, I wouldn’t have kept going. But it was so easy. I slid into the chair next to him, and we chatted easily–he was so trusting, I could feel him relaxing, begging me to relax him. I probably could have just talked him under with an hour, but in the open, I wanted to be quick. I showed him a spiral on my phone, kept talking, and five minutes later, he was gone, happy to talk to me about anything, happy to do anything I told him to do–but I couldn’t there, not so brazenly. Maybe if he’d had more strings–a girlfriend, roommates, anything at all–I wouldn’t have gotten scared off. As it was, I suggested he come by my hotel room later that night–without telling anyone–so we could continue our nice conversation, and he was more than happy to agree with me.

In my room, we slid under again right away. It was like he wanted to be under, like he wanted it even more than I did. We talked a little more, while he stripped for me. He told me that he’d always liked girls, but it wasn’t hard to convince him that he was mistaken, that it was men he’d always wanted, especially older men, men like me. By midnight, he was there willingly–I didn’t even need to have him under trance for him to be begging for my cock–and fuck, if he wasn’t so god damn sexy, and so damn easy.

Usually I like a challenge. I like wearing them down, I like finding ways to break them, to turn their own minds against themselves, but rarely do you find someone like this, like Porter, with a mind so easily bent that its like he wants you to do it to him. Maybe if he hadn’t just moved into the same town where I lived, things wouldn’t have gone any further, but as it was, he was due to start a new job next month–and was so eager to see me again. How could I resist? Flying back home, it was all I could think about–what I might do to him, who I might make him into. There were so many options, how could I even choose?

I do know what he wants, what he told me when he was so open and honest that he couldn’t help it–he isn’t happy with how he looks, with his gut, with his chubby face. I suppose I could help him with that. We could start off easy at first, get him a gym membership, fix his diet–just some small suggestions to help him feel like he’s making progress, little things that help make him trust me more and more, and he slides deeper and deeper under my control with every visit. But just giving him what he wants doesn’t do anything for me–and my needs…well, if he’s only enjoying himself, where’s the fun in that? He needs…to lose himself. Lose control. That’s what I want to see, that’s what gets me off.

He’ll start working out more and more, neglecting his other relationships, looking at himself in the mirror and feeling more and more…dissatisfied. He feels caught between his old self, his friends, his job, and this new…something. It’ll scare him. He’ll try to pull back, and pull away from it, from me, but there’s no way I can let that happen.

I’ll tell him what the injections are–growth hormones and steroids–and he’ll be horrified, but I’ll watch him inject them himself, unable to resist my orders–and then he’ll jack off while I fuck him, telling him what a monstrosity he is going to become. I’ll start reducing his intellect, wearing it down around the edges, making it harder and harder for him to do anything beyond lifting and counting. He’ll beg for his job, in the end, but it’s only getting in the way of lifting more and more–it has to go too, in the end. He wanted this body, I’ll tell him. He wanted this–all I’ve done is give it to him.

I wonder if I’ll let him remember any of it. Probably, on occasion. He’ll have glimpses, as he’s resting in the gym, thinking about the man he’d been–clever, funny, happy even. He had no idea it would be this much work, that being this big would be so exhausting, but when he sees himself in the mirror, fuck if it doesn’t make him horny–even if the drugs are shrinking his cock. Even if he can only get hard around fat older men. Even if all he really wants is to be abused and humiliated in this massive body by men like me, and all of my friends. Fuck, he’ll hate it, but he won’t be able to stop himself…still, there are other ideas too…

Caption: Gramps’ Garage

No one loves you like grandpa loves you boy.

Out there, who the fuck would want to give you a second glance? Look at all of your fat rolls, tiny cock, big ears, that annoying voice of yours. Nobody wants you, but here, with grandpa? You know that you’re special.

You know grandpa loves how fat you are, loves how you moan, loves that little cock of yours and that hungry hole. You don’t need to go anywhere else to get what you need, you don’t need a woman, and you don’t need friends. You just need gramps is all. Feel his old hands on your belly, playing with your fat. His hot breath and bushy beard scraping against your tender skin. HIs weathered hands on your scalp as he pushed you down onto your knees, face to face with his big, stinking, uncut cock.

“Who’s my hungry piggy?” he’ll ask you, and you’ll hate it, hate that the answer is you, but…but if you didn’t have grandpa, who would you have at all? So you grunt for him, and suck him off, get his old cock hard, and he’ll turn you around and plow you, there in the garage, and it hurts still, but less than it did. You’re getting used to it. You’re starting to enjoy it. You’re starting to believe him.

You’re starting to see this pig in the mirror outside of the garage. You’re starting to think that he might be right. You don’t think you always looked like this, you thought it was some trick, some spell he’d cast on you, but maybe…maybe you were just being thick. “You gonna come for grandpa today, piggy? Is that short little cock gonna blow a load for me, all over the fucking cement?” You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but with a grunt, you do, pumping a big load all over the floor, knowing that grandpa will make you lick it up, once he finishes inside you.

Back in the house, you look in the mirror. You look like you remember, like before–mostly. But you…can see it, you know the truth. One day, you’ll look in the mirror, and grandpa’s pig is all you’ll see. The thought makes you hard, and you get in the shower, run the water ice cold, but the thought won’t go away. It’s still there, eating away at you, no matter how hard you try and deny it, and one day, it’ll all be gone for good.

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.