Tag: photo caption

Yeah, your uncle’s been playin’ guitar a long time–hell, longer than you’ve been alive!  I’m surprised you never asked, but why would you be interested in an old rocker like me? So what, this some college band you’re thinking of joining? Well sure, I can give you a few lessons, at least get you started off on the right track. Now let me just warm up here for a bit–I haven’t played in a while.

“Hey nephew, you ever hear about somethin’ called the brown note? Oh, South Park did something about that? Huh, who woulda thought. I heard a tale about some bass player–he was fussin’ with his sound so much, he dropped the pitch so low he gave everyone at the practice session the fuckin’ runs!

"Oh you wanna know why the guitar ain’t makin’ any sound? Ha, trust me, it is. You look horny nephew–maybe you should take out your cock and stroke it. See, I never did find the brown note, but I did find the lust note–makes everyone who hears it horny as fuck. Get over here ‘n suck your uncle’s cock boy. We have all afternoon to practice, and you have lots to learn.

Paul–what a boring man he’d been. Middle management, stuck in a cubicle all day long, complaining to all of his coworkers about his boring wife, his boring kids–I felt sorry for him, I admit it–wouldn’t you? Besides, he’s so much more interesting now. It took some convincing to get him to come over for a drink, but with a few nudges he gave in. After all, if there’s one thing for certain, boring men like Paul had been love being told what to do.

Still, a few brews and he’s already much more interesting. College education? Nah–I think some hard knocks on the streets would be much more interesting. Boring childhood in the suburbs? Not anymore–how about falling in with a gang at thirteen, and prison for manslaughter at sixteen? Look at him, that boring cheap suit barely constraining that suppressed violence. Certainly he’s never been married–I’ll have to get rid of that boring ring. He’s looking at me, hungry. He’ll fuck girls, but since his jail time, he much prefers a man’s ass. Maybe I’ll give him mine tonight–that would definitely be interesting.

Source: gmcboot

“So? How was my famous ‘Beefcake’? You enjoy it? Sure looks like it–there ain’t none left!” the chubby chef of the small roadside diner said, taking away Robbie’s plate.

“Don’ know…Feel…real strange. Is–Is I bigger?”

“Sounds like those ‘dumb-dumb shrimp’ ya had fer an appetizer are workin’ hard too!” the chef said. Now just hold on, dessert’s on its way, boy.“

Robbie looked around, his eyes dull. He hadn’t seen anyone else come into the dinner since he stopped…was that weird? He felt his body, the firm muscle covered with a thick layer of fat. He barely fit in the booth anymore…or had he never fit in it? And what was with this singlet? There were so many strange things going on, but his brain…it felt so empty now. He flexed his arms, watching his biceps and deltoids bulge out in the mirror behind the counter, and laughed loudly. He was big, like, big-big. And hairy–he could see the pelt on his chest and arms growing in thicker every moment, a thick bush underneath each armpit, and the shadow of a beard darkening across his face. He shouldn’t look like this…but why did he think that? Why did he think anything? It was easier–better, not to think at all, he remembered, and went back to just flexing.

"Here you go boy, my favorite dessert, my Homo’shake’sual!” the cook said, putting the milkshake down in front of Robbie. “Well? Go on, suck it all down like good little beefcake.”

Robbie expected the cook to return to the kitchen, but he just stood there, waiting and watching. Robbie wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked, the shake oddly salty, but still good. As he sucked it down, he found his eyes drawn up to the cook looming over him, his big belly covered with his soiled apron, his fat greasy face leering down at him. If Robbie had been smarter, he would have felt scared, but he was just feeling warm…and horny. He sucked down the last of the shake suddenly, surprised how fast he’d gone through it, and licked his lips. He was still thirsty, but for what?

The cook had taken off his apron, revealing clothes that looked like he hadn’t changed them in several days, if not longer, unzipped the fly of his jeans and pulled out a thick, smelly cock. “Well go on, my dumb-dumb beefcake homosexual. Give me a good blow job, and I’ll jack you off in that tight singlet of yours.”

Robbie let out a guffaw, and without a thought, inhaled the cook’s cock, flexing his muscles as he sucked him off. He was a dumb-dumb beekcake homosexual, wasn’t he? Guess he should have been more careful when the cook had warned him that he was what he ate.

July 11th 2012

The hormone supplements have produced stunning results in farmhand A in a single month, the most noticeable being the rapid muscle growth all over his body, and the bony protrusions on his temples, which I believe to be the beginning of horns. Unfortunately, there have been a number of personality changes as well, particularly increased aggression and libido. While his penis size has remained constant, his testicles have grown both in size and production, and he appears to have taken a liking to mating with the cows. Any attempts to stop the copulation are met with fierce resistance–this leads me to conclude that, regardless of the amazing physical results this test has yielded, the personality shift has rendered this particular blend unworkable. For the next month, I plan on using a slightly different formula, introducing some female hormones to promote docility and submissiveness without diminishing the physical growth.

***

August 13th 2012

I must conclude that this new mixture has been a success, even if some of the side effects are extreme and potentially untenable. The aggression previously exhibited has been greatly reduced, and is replaced by a obedience and submission which exceeded my expectations. However, the farmhand’s libido has not reduced, though he now appears to emit a pheromone attractive to bulls, leading the stud to mate him regularly in the field.

As strange as this might be, it is the new physical changes brought on by extended exposure which are more troubling. The farmhand has grown a fine pelt of fur, and the bony protrusions on his temples have extended into short horns. The addition of the feminine hormones have caused some fatty weight gain, though the farmhand’s musculature appears unaffected. Strangest of all are the farmhand’s genitals. He appears to have been rendered impotent–however, his testicles have grown even larger, each to the size of grapefruits, and they produce copious amounts of fluid, his penis functioning like a udder. Without a daily milking the farmhand appears to suffer great distress and pain. The fluid appears to be a mixture of milk and semen–and though hardly scientific, I tasted it, and found it to be quite delicious, high in protein, and naturally low in fat. 

Regardless, I feel that further experimentation with farmhand A will yield little progress–it is, I believe, time to put him out to pasture. Since he has long since lost most of his human cognitive capacity, euthanasia would be simplest, but I’m ashamed to admit that I have grown fond of my daily protein shake, so I think I will keep him alive for now. In fact, I think I’ll go indulge right from the source right now. I always feel so pumped up after a good, long drink…though my temples are starting to itch. I’m sure it’s nothing though. Still, I’ll have to acquire a new farmhand for further testing when I go into town tomorrow. A breakthrough is close at hand, I can almost taste it.

Source: Flickr / phaenon

When Danny was told that he’d have the opportunity to sit in on an executive board meeting, he was elated. How often, after all, did a lowly intern get to witness the grand wheeling and dealing of a Fortune 500 company? When he arrived, a secretary ushered him into the room, but something was off. All of the men at the table were older gentlemen, and they were all staring at him, licking their lips. 

Before Danny could say anything, the men swarmed around him, ripping away the layers of his cheap suit and latching themselves onto his cock and nipples, fighting like sharks for prime position. Danny was soon so overstimulated he could barely keep track of what was happening to him, his body growing chubby, hair whitening and falling out, bones and muscles atrophying as his face sagged and wrinkled. 

The company has been nice enough to set Danny up with a nice pension, a mansion and a butler–not that he’s ever allowed to leave. He wakes up each morning and stares at his ninety year old reflection full of regret. He certainly became successful in business, just not in the way he imagined.

Source: beautyofthabeast

I can’t believe that homeless bum was right–it’s great living in the back of my truck.  Sure, I didn’t believe him when he told me, why would I? Nobody listens to bums. In fact, I hated bums, and would yell at anyone stupid enough to try and panhandle me. I don’t know why this bum was different, but he’d said that, for some cash, he’d give me some advice on my life. Turns out it was the best advice I’d ever gotten.

Living in the back of my truck, wearing the same nasty clothes day after day, never washing myself or cutting my hair or beard–I feel fantastic. Still, every piece of advice came at a steeper cost, not that it hasn’t been worth it. I handed him over the deed to my house yesterday, and he’s been nice enough to let me keep the truck to sleep in. 

Fuck I’m horny–guess I’d better pay the camp under the overpass another visit. Sucking other bums dicks is the only way I can get off these days–just another great piece of advice. He says he has one final gem for me tonight–I can’t wait to hear it.

Continued from here:

Trent tried to fight them–the thoughts in his head that told him that this was normal, but he wasn’t supposed to look like this, no matter how much he loved looking at himself in the mirror. The overly tanned body, inflated pecs, the disgusting porn star mustache ..he was supposed to be some rough and tough marine, not this disgustingly hot and sexy faggot. He flexed and tugged on his cock, his worries suddenly distant, the moment of clarity over.

“Ready for your big debut?” a voice said behind him–Master, his owner, his love. Every doubt suddenly evaporated, Master coming up and yanking on Trent’s teats, making the muscle man groan in a high pitched voice. “I think the men are gonna love you tonight, especially your dance with Rudy.”

“Ooo, yeth Thir,” Trent purred, “I love danthing.”

“I know you do bitch. Now get out there and make me proud.”

Trent took one last look in the mirror, trying to remember what he’d been thinking about, but it was gone. Dancing mattered more anyway, he thought as he pulled on his green jock, and walked out to his waiting fans.

Source: gravediggersgold

“Go on, tell the world how hot it is to have your brother’s big cock shoved up your ass.”

“Oh gawd, it feelths so good,” Benny sighed, the lisp prominent and inside his own mind he tried to roar with rage and anger, but all he could do was keep speaking like a complete fag, “I’m only happy with a big fat cock up my sloppy hole.”

Sal zoomed in for a closeup, loving how the two trailer trash sons of his old high school bully fucked wildly for the whole internet to see. They were gained quite a bit of popularity–Benny with his effeminate lisp and hungry hole paired with Doug’s gruff dominance. Sal had already received offers from several porn companies to produce movies. In a few weeks they were going to move out to LA with him–once Sal had the pleasure of hosting a private screening for his old enemy. He’d planned this revenge for so long–he couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized his sons would be fags forever.

“Please, no more, change me back.”

“Why? You sure seem to love the taste of that pit of yours. Fuck you’re ripe–I can smell you across the room. I love that in a roommate.”

“I just–I’m only fucking looking for a place! I’m not your roommate.”

“Details–before I’m done with you, ain’t no one gonna want to be your roommate other than me. Face it, your apartment hunting’s over. Now, how about some tatts? I love a man with tatts.”

“But I work in an office! They’ll fire me if I have tattoos.”

“An office? What kind of sissy are you? You’re gonna be workin’ construction with me, anyway–don’t worry.”

“No fuckin’ way is I…I ain’t gonna work somethin’ like…like that. Ya…Ya did somethin’ tah me, wha’ the fuck’d ya do!”

“Sorry, I hate having roommates smarter than me. I only got an IQ of 95, so yours is 70 now. Don’t worry–with those big muscles and big cock, you’ll be too busy workin’ out and fuckin’ to think.”

“Ha–ha ha, yeah…yeah that sounds fuckin’ hot, roomie. Could…could I suck ya now? I’s pretty horny.”

“Sure. What are roommates for?”

Gary was an inventor–one who was obsessed with creating a real, working time machine. He was convinced that, theoretically, it was possible, but always a solution eluded him. His last failure was certainly his greatest–he thought he’d created a device which could create a time suspension field–allowing everything within fifty feet to cease aging while everything outside sped along at normal speed. 

Ready to venture to the future, Gary had triggered the device, only to find out he’d reversed the polarities. He, and everything else aged incredibly fast, and before he could stop it, he was a chubby old geezer with a massive white beard.

There was no way to reverse it. The device was fried by the field, and everything in his home caught in it had aged into older versions of themselves. His now circa 1990 computer couldn’t begin to make sense of his complex files on time theory, and his aged brain couldn’t formulate possible solutions to his dilemma. He lived the rest of his life as a recluse, a testament to the dangers of overzealous experimentation with the forces of time.