Tag: photo caption

Jack had been on his way home from the construction site, in his usual work gear, when on his way to the bus stop, someone grabbed him and dragged him into an alleyway. In fact, it had been two people–men dressed in skintight rubber suits, who had pinned him to the wall, pressing their hot bodies up against his. 

Jack hadn’t been gay, but the sheer erotic force the two men exerted upon him eroded his inhibitions, and when the two of them pulled away, he felt…different. Looking down, he saw his work clothes had become leather gear, and he now held the leads of the two rubbermen, who pulled him out onto the street and down several blocks before entering a house with an elaborate dungeon in the basement.

The two rubbermen had just lost their master, and Jack was his replacement. A slave to his rubbermen’s desires, he would feed their desires for domination, pain and cum until he, too, exhausted himself and died. Still, the pleasure was well worth it–and his slaves had allowed him to keep his hard hat, a token of a life now over.

Source: hateic

“Wake up, number 416. It is time to begin your daily exercises.”

The man on the small bunk sat up and groaned, unsure of where he was…or even who he was. He was naked, aside from a padlocked piece of chain around his neck, and sitting up, he found himself in a small, cell like room, and went to the gated door, shaking it, finding it locked.

“416, begin your exercises, or you will be reprimanded,” the voice said.

“What–what exercises? 416? Is that me? Is that my name?”

“No speaking. Begin your exercises, 416.”

416 went over to the bag and found it full of leather gear and some rubber dildos. Of course! His exercises–how could he have forgotten? He grabbed a dildo and set it on a small stool found under the bed and began his squats, being sure to lift off the dildo completely between each repetition.

“Very good, 416. Master is pleased.”

Hearing that pleased 416 greatly, but he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t really sure of anything, really. But Master was happy–and that was the most important thing, and would remain so for the rest of his life.

Source: barebearnc

“I find that there are much better ways to encourage my clients to commit to their personal training with me. Now, the only clients I take are straight men, but the first hypnotherapy sessions embed them with two very specific rules for the program. First, that they must obey the orders of anyone with a lower body fat percentage than them, and second, to make things more interesting, I make it so they can’t perform, so to speak, with women until they reach their target weight. 

It turns out when you’re compelled to suck the cocks of all the jocks I train, that is some strong encouragement for those fatsos to loose weight. A few of them though–man, something happens in their heads. They reach a point where they’d rather suck cock than loose weight, and they just balloon into tubs of lard, and the bigger they get, the more submissive they become. I’ve had to take a few on as personal slaves, just because they wouldn’t stop begging for me to fuck their big asses in the locker room. Still, fat boys sure do know how to suck cock–I’m not complaining.

The hypnosis files had seemed like a funny and harmless gag at the time. Each of the fraternity initiates had their own file to listen to that would be active throughout the week–files where the frat members could make them act like chickens or fall asleep in class–but a file which made him act out whatever he was wearing at the time? Terry didn’t see how that could be bad at all.

Well, really bad, if you’re rushing a wild and crazy frat like Phi Sigma Eta. No one had told him that he wouldn’t be able to put on or take off clothes by himself, and so he was helpless as the brothers dressed him up in a diaper and a leather collar, making him their personal slave and incapable of keeping in his piss or his shit. He’d worn that nasty diaper for the entire week, and licked every one of his brother’s feet in the meantime, but the worst punishment was when they put a pig mask on him, forcing him to crawl around on all fours, grunting and squealing like an animal the whole night long.

Of course, the frat had promised that the effects would wear off at the end of the week, but for Terry, he wasn’t so lucky. Sure, he wasn’t affected by any new clothing, and he was free to dress himself, everything he’d worn that week had left effects which were impossible to reverse. He was forced to wear diapers out of necessity now, and couldn’t disobey a direct order by one of his brothers–causing quite a few of them to call in sexual favors when their girlfriends were angry or on the rag. Worse, there were times, especially when he got drunk, when he couldn’t stop acting like a real pig. Hell, a few times in class he’d started crawling around and squealing, unable to help himself. 

The frat told him they were sorry, and hired the best hypnotist they could find to fix his problem, but in reality, they had an entirely different goal. They watched the hypnotist put Terry under, and then start ingraining his new habits deeper into his psyche. When Terry woke up, he knew something was wrong when he found himself unable to stand, or even speak. Worse, he felt himself drawn to the hypnotist, and as he nuzzled the older man’s crotch, he pulled out his cock, allowing Terry to suck him off much to the glee of the rest of the frat.

Now, he was little more than a mascot, often kept outside in a small pen, diapered, collared and masked, grunting and helplessly begging for his masters’ cocks up his ass or down his throat. Even worse, he loved it–he really did. In his new mind, he could imagine nothing better than his new life as an incontinent, pig slave.

Source: faggotmaster

Evan had been a casual gamer–meaning he had a life outside of video games. Unfortunately, that meant that every game he played he lost. He hated it, and worst of all, he knew that the guys who creamed him day in and day out were just fat loser faggots who lived in their parents’ basements and did nothing but play games all day, but still, he wanted to beat them so badly, it wasn’t fair. 

Of course, he didn’t think it was very fair when he woke up one morning in his parents’ basement, two hundred pounds heavier with glasses and a neck beard to boot. But his orc warrior could obliterate nearly every player on his pvp server, and he’d somehow mastered every fps from Counterstrike to MW3 overnight, and he found it nearly impossible to not play games from dawn till far past dusk–at least when he wasn’t jacking off to his massive archive of gay porn. He’d become the guy he’d always hated–and yet he couldn’t help but enjoy every second of it.

Yeah, I guess my dad’s skin doesn’t great–there are a few odd lumps in places, but in a back room, who pays attention to that? I enjoy his maturity too much to care. Yeah I’m twenty-five, but with no facial hair and a skinny body I’m doomed to twinkhood. I always hated how my dad ridiculed me, and called me a faggot. Still, things have a way of turning out for the best.

I hadn’t expected the potion the old man had given me to work, but hell, what’s the worst that could’ve happened? Well, I suppose he could have died or something, but even that would have been alright in my book. Man, the surprise on his face when he felt his insides start hollowing out, leaving him as nothing more than a suit of skin–fuck, he was terrified. Of course, he’s mostly angry now when I put him on, but there’s nothing he can do about it. I have access to all of his memories, so I can go to work as him, and then play all night long as the leather bear I’ve always wanted to be.

Source: boners4beards

“So, Superboy, what do you think of your new look? Our focus groups have told us that this will definitely make you very popular with the 21-45 age bracket.”

“Fuck…I feel like I god hit by a god damn steamroller…Is my head shaved? What the fuck did you do–why am I cussing?”

“Just some marketing adjustments Superboy. Corporate doesn’t think your image is edgy enough.”

“Corporate…what are you taking about?”

“Why, LEXCORP, of course–your employer. Now, we have a few details to sort out postprogramming. I’m supposed to brief you on missions, payments for your heroic services, and certain corporate functions we’ll need you to make appearances at, but that can come later–I want to talk to you about your public image…See, our focus groups feel that Lana Lang is just not the kind of person you should be pursuing at the moment.”

“What?”

“See, with your new submissive status in our corporation, we feel you need a new persona. The focus groups also tend to like you more if you belong to a minority group. Since white and male are pretty difficult to change, we’ve made alterations to your sexual orientation–”

“No, this can’t be…this is all so wrong, I have to get out of here–what have you done to me?”

“Sit, Superboy. Good, that’s a very good Superboy. Now listen. You’re our bitch now–there’s nothing you can do about it. LEXCORP’s interests are your interests, and from now on, if someone wants to be rescued by you, they’re going to have to pay for it. Not that you’re going to be doing much of that–the US government is far more interested in your capacity as a weapon, but we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this later. Lex said that after all my hard work re-engineering that little brain of yours, that I could be the first one to test your ass.”

“I’m not…I’m not going to do that, I won’t. You can’t make me.”

“Now don’t try to cover it up, I can see that hard on in your new shiny suit. It’s turning you on, thinking about serving me? Pleasing me? You’re just a lacky now, Superboy, you’re our lackey, and pleasing us makes you feel very, very good–trust me. Now get over here and suck my cock. Get it good and hard so I can pop that Kryptonian cherry of yours…Yeah, that’s right. See? You already know how to serve us well…Alright, now bend over the couch and pull down your pants. I want to see if this krypton lube is strong enough to pierce that hole of yours without making you sick. I doubt I got the balance right–so I have a feeling we’re going to be doing a lot of testing in the future.

Source: vincentlycra

“You thought you were a sexpig, that’s what you told me, remember? Well, I don’t think you’re a sexpig–a real sexpig doesn’t care about anything other than where he’s going to get his next fix. They don’t have jobs, they don’t have brains, all they want to do is fuck and cum. Well, don’t worry, you’ll be a real sexpig soon enough.

"It’ll hurt when the demon possesses you, trust me, I know–but he won’t be there forever. It can’t live forever outside the immortal realms, but for a few nights? While we have an orgy? It’s going to feast on you, all your dreams, your intellect, your fears and worries, they’ll all be gone down the demon’s gullet before long, and then you’ll be a real sexpig for the rest of your life.

"Now how about we get this ceremony started? I’m going to have to make you cum–but all that viagra you took earlier should help. Look at you, leaking already. Your eyes say no, but I think your cock is saying yes, yes, yes…”

Matt pulled into the rest area needing two things–a cigarette and a piss. Unfortunately, he’d smoked his last one fifty miles back, and he was desperate for another one. Still, he could at least take a piss before worrying about that.

The only other guy in the restroom was a huge, imposing redneck at a urinal. He had to be close to seven feet tall, and thickly muscled. Matt felt rather inadequate standing next to him, especially when he caught a peek of his huge cock. He stared for a few seconds before the man asked, “Like what ya see?”

Matt blushed and shook his head no, the redneck chuckling as though he were used to that reaction, before leaving the bathroom. Completely embarrassed, Matt finished up and left as well, but soon found that the parking lot was completely empty, aside from the redneck’s truck. He couldn’t really ask him, not after that, but god he needed a cigarette.

“Hey, do…do you have a cigarette?”

“So ya are interested then. Ya can suck me off in the woods if ya want.”

“No…No, really. I’m sorry, I just need a cigarette.”

“Oh…suit yerself then. All I got is chaw.” He pulled a metal tin from his back pocket, opened it up and presented it to Matt, “Go on, it ain’t gonna bite ya, bro. You’ll like it.”

Mike gave the man a glance of suspicion, but took a wad of the tobacco. He felt a near immediate rush of nicotene when he stuffed it in his lip…but also something else. Looking down, he could see his small gut start to shrink back into his stomach, as hair grew in all over his body. Unsteady on his feet, he felt almost as if he were being stretched, and was overcome with vertigo as he passed six and a half feet and kept climbing. He tried to get away and spit out the tobacco, but it tasted so good he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His clothes shifted into a western style denim vest and jeans, size eighteen cowboy boots, and his crotch began to bulge out obscenely. As the onrush of horniness overwhelmed his mind, he dropped to near idiot IQ. His last thought was a realization that he now looked identical to the redneck next to him. “Fuck man, that’s hell of a rush,” he said with a drawl thick enough to match his new friend’s voice.

“Nah bro, that’s nothin’ compared tah this,” the redneck said, leaned in and started kissing his twin, swapping tobacco spit as sexy memories flooded Matt’s head about his twin brother Jack.

“Damn Jake, ya sure know how tah get me goin’. How’s about we finish this in the woods?” Matt said, groping his ten inch cock.

“Sound’s good tah me bro, soun’ds damn good tah me. But yer suckin’, I’m horny as fuck.”

Tim was a gambling addict, but Tim had a problem–he was broke, and no one would lend him money anymore. You can imagine his excitement when he heard about a new kind of slot machine which didn’t require money to play, but will promised real winnings. Of course, he didn’t read the fine print, and after a few spins, he quickly realized he was gambling with his body and life. 

He took a moment, and told himself he should stop while he was only a bit behind. He’d just gained 50 more pounds on a bad bet, but told himself he couldn’t stop until he he’d won back his straightness. Unfortunately, he never got there. When the casino security finally dragged him away, he was over five hundred pounds, had aged into his sixties, with an impotent, two inch cock. Of course, Tim never did learn his lesson–some addicts never do. You can still find him out back behind the casino, selling five buck blow jobs to random strangers so he can keep trying to win it all back.