Caption: From Bully to Pig (Part 1)

The second half of this caption is available to patrons over on my discord! $5 or more a month gets you access. You can find out more here.


“Hey fatass, time to get up! I know you would rather sleep, you lazy fucking pig, but I don’t have all day, and I certainly don’t feel like wasting anymore energy on you than you already have.”

“Yeah, it’s me. That faggot from school–sure is. Well I think you’ll find out pretty fast that I’m not the only faggot around here anymore, Billy. Now come on, get the fuck up.”

“Ohh, are you having a little trouble there? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to being a fat ass soon enough–because from now on, that’s the only fucking thing you’re going to be. You spent all of high school bullying me and my friends, thinking you were better than us because you were a jock, and all muscle. You thought you could fuck off to college, play football? No fucking way–you don’t fucking deserve it. Go on, have a look in the mirror.”

“Scream all you want. Curse all you’d like–but that’s you now–almost 400 pounds of you, to be exact. Didn’t think you’d be able to put that much on overnight, right? Well, I know a few shortcuts now–and trust me, this isn’t the only thing around here that’s changed. Fuck–I can see how fucking angry you are–wish you could hit me, don’t you? Well, you can’t. You won’t even be able to tell anyone about what changed–I made sure of that too. Now get down on your hands and knees, I’ve been nursing this hardon all night long, and I think it’s time you took care of that for me.”

“Fuck yeah, struggling against it just makes me even harder–trust me. If you don’t want to suck on it, how about I fuck that hole of yours? Actually, that sounds like a good fucking idea, turn the fuck around, piggy.”

“Aww, fuck. Feels fucking good–at least for me. Looks like you’re not really used to it though–that hurt a bit, piggy? Looks like it hurts. You know, I could have made you enjoy this–could have made you aching to be fucked, but where’s the fun in that? I’d rather see it hurt on your face–every fucking time. Yeah, this is the tightest hole in the city–feels fucking great for us, but you…well, maybe you’ll figure out how to loosen up one day. Fuck–gonna blow quick, keep this short… fuck!”

“Fuck yeah–now gotta get that lead of yours–come on pig, we should go say hi to your dad downstairs. He just got home from the gym a few minutes ago, and he loves having some fun with his pig after his workout.”

Caption: Cheater’s Remorse (pt. 1)

Here’s the first in a pair of captions I posted over on my discord recently–again, if you want the second half, the only way to get it is to support me over on Patreon with a pledge of $5 or more!


“Is he there or not, Max?”

“Kev, just fucking drop it, alright? What the fuck are you even doing, calling me.”

“I just want to know where Ryan is–is he with you or not?”

As a matter of fact, Ryan was with him. Max was lying on his bed, propped up on the headboard, talking on the phone to his friend Kev, while Ryan–Kev’s boyfriend, was kissing and rubbing up against Max’s stomach like a fucking whore. He didn’t know how Kev had cottoned onto their little arrangement, but he supposed revealing the game at this point wasn’t going to cost him anything–after all, he had Ryan, whatever happened.

“Yeah, he’s fucking here, Kev, you’re loss. He’s gonna be sucking my cock here soon too, in case you were wondering what we were doing together.”

“Oh, I knew what you were doing, I just wanted to be sure he was there, before I released him.”

“Wait, what?” Max asked, but he didn’t get a reply–Kev just hung up on him after a little chuckle. “What the fuck ever,” Max said, and tossed his phone onto the nightstand, and focused on guiding Ryan down towards his cock, when Ryan suddenly shuddered, like an electric shock had gone through him, and he fell back off the bed in surprise.

“Hey, you alright? Max asked him.

“Y-Yeah, I…I fuck, I don’t feel so good, all of a sudden,” Ryan groaned, and then stood up, his legs shaking a bit, and he headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and leaving Max wondering what in the world was even going on around here. Was this…were the two of them playing him, or something?

Max could here Ryan groaning and moaning in pain behind the door, but the more sound he made, the…stranger he sounded. His voice was getting deeper, and raspier, and…distinctly un-Ryan. “Are…you alright in there?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m…It’s fuckin’ fine, boy!” the voice hollered back at him. That–was definitely not Ryan. Max went to leave, but the door opened, revealing a short, hairy, old piggy looking fucker, big nose and greasy skin, everything that was not Max’s type, sucking on a short, foul smelling cigar. “That’s fuckin’ better,” the stranger said, “Now boy, where the fuck were we? Get down on yer knees, ‘n get suckin.”

Max tried to say no, tried to run, but his legs betrayed him. He fell to his knees, and started sucking on the ugly bear’s short, thick cock–unwashed and uncut cock, too, he soon found out.

“That’s a good boy–we’re gonna have a real good night together, aren’t we,” the bear said, with a chuckle, “yeah–yer gonna love it, trust me.”

New You Resolutions (Part 1) [Interactive]

Alright, I haven’t been particularly happy with how “Home for the Holiday’s has been progressing, mostly because I kind of lost the thread on where I wanted the whole thing to go, and haven’t really been satisfied with it since. In any case, I had an idea I liked better, so I’m going to go with that instead! Something to ring in the new year a bit better. A mysterious company has been gifting people lists of resolutions–ones that they have to follow in the new year, whether they want to or not. I’ll probably do three or four different vingettes, kind of like what I did with Spook Mart a few months back, and each vingette will cover what their resolutions were, and how they ended up at the end of the year. Hope you enjoy it!


Duncan hated New Year’s more than most other holidays, and the main reason, was that, come January, the gym was flooded with so many fat asses and sorry looking losers that getting through his usual workout would often take an hour longer than usual. And so, it was with that in mind that Duncan was up early, at five, getting dressed in his gym clothes, to go out and beat the crowd as best he could.

Duncan worked as a model, and so his physique and good looks were part of his job. He knew how much work it took to look like he did, and he also believed that most people didn’t have the kind of resolve necessary to really get what they wanted. No matter how much they wanted to be thin and muscular, they’d just fall of the wagon by the end of the month (and a few might even get pushed off by Duncan himself, with a few snide glances in the locker room, or out on the gym floor). In any case, he certainly didn’t have any resolutions for himself–as far as he was concerned, his life was going perfectly! All he had to do was keep pushing on, land a few more big campaigns, and he’d be set.

He went out into the kitchen of his apartment, and before he could make himself his usual pre-gym breakfast, he saw something odd on the counter top. It was a small envelope, the paper rather classy, looking almost like a fancy invitation or something. He was certain it hadn’t been there the night before, when he’d gotten home from that New Year’s party hosted by a designer he was cultivating. He picked it up, and saw the front had no address, just his name on it, and in the corner, a monogram for something called “New You Enterprises.” He’d certainly never heard of such a thing, but thought it might be something from an agency that had been slipped to him during the party, that he’d forgotten about. He opened the envelope, and inside was a letter, and a second piece of paper that he set aside. The letter read:

Dear Duncan,

Congratulations! You have been nominated by someone you know for our exclusive resolution program, and we have selected you from many excellent candidates as someone who could benefit from our unique service. Enclosed, you will find your tailored list of New Year’s resolutions for the year 2019.


Now, we know what you are thinking, that you don’t need someone else, especially some strange organization, to make resolutions for you! That’s where you are wrong. You see, people who are nominated for our program are those in the most dire need of change, but who often are incapable of changing themselves, often through supreme self-delusion. You’ll be glad to know, then, that the included resolutions are compulsory, and non-negotiable. Come 2020. You’ll be amazed at what a little change can do for you!


Included with your 2019 resolutions, of course, is a mandatory invitation to our 2020 New Year’s Eve party. We know that it’s a year away (and goodness, do you have an exciting year ahead of you!) but we just want to make sure you mark your calendars now. Not that you have much of a choice in any case!


Enjoy the new year, and enjoy the new you!
New You Enterprises

Duncan reread the letter, certain it had to be some kind of joke. It sounded idiotic–what kind of idiot company would just go about making up resolutions for other people, especially people who had no idea who they were? He crumpled up the letter, and went to do the same to the other piece of paper that had been in the letter, but his hand…refused to crumple it. Instead, he picked it up and read the short list, growing more and more horrified at what was listed there. They couldn’t possibly be serious–this wasn’t a list of resolutions, it was self-sabotage! He certainly had no plans to do anything on the list–unfortunately, Duncan was about to discover that he was going to have to do everything on the list, whether he wanted to or not. But what were the resolutions on Duncan’s list?


Alright, below are eight options for the resolutions that Duncan found on his list. You can select up to four options below, and I’ll pick three-five of the winners to inflict on Duncan, depending on how they all work together. The winning option of the Patreon poll is guaranteed to be in the mix, and Patreon votes count double! Here’s the patron only poll, and here’s the public poll:


The Frat’s Dirty Laundry (Caption Sketch)

I’m posting captions and taking requests for captions over on my discord server for patrons supporting me with at least $5 a month! Here’s a couple from a five part series I wrote for them over there–if you’d like to get access to the rest, and to all the other captions I post there, you can sign up on my Patreon here and get access!


Alpha Beta Sigma was a dirty frat on campus–drugs, rape, drinking and partying–but because all of the young men who belonged to the frat were legacy students, or similarly important to the schools reputation and bottom line, no real punishment ever really came down upon it. Well, one group of students is fed up with it, and has decided to cast a spell over the young men of ABS–from now on, all of their laundry will be as dirty as they are, and they won’t have a choice but to air it out for all to see.

The first young man to fall victim to the curse was Lyle Everston. He was a legacy, the son of a senator from a southern state, and Lyle’s conservative politics were apparent, but well hidden. Still, there had been a rash of hate crimes across campus, and while no one could pin them on Lyle…well, the washer and dryer in the basement of the house knew the truth.

Most of Lyle’s clothes were dry clean only, of course, but he did have some things that he could wash onsite. He went down into the basement, went to pull his clothes out of the dryer…but they weren’t his clothes, and they most certainly were not clean. Instead of his underwear and lounge clothes, he found a pair of filthy beige work pants, some rubber boots caked with mud,a tattered john deere hat and a sleeveless shirt with the rebel flag across the front. They smelled rank, and yet somehow familiar. In a daze, he found himself stepping out of his clothes in the basement, and pulling on the ones from the dryer instead, his physique packing on some muscle, stubble spreading across his face. Part of him fought–but it no longer had control of his body–Lyle was trapped inside himself, watching and feeling his body change, feeling his body start to tug on his cock, a grungy, cheesy foreskin growing up over the head, and he drooled some dark spit onto it to lube it–dark from the tobacco leaf that had appeared in his mouth.

“Hey boy,” a voice growled behind him, “If’n yer gonna tug on that thing, might as well do it o’er here, wit’ yer Pa.”

Lyle spun around, but as he did, the room blurred–he found himself not in the basement, but in a filthy, rundown trailer, and there, on a small couch, lounged…his daddy, his pa. Not the pa he’d had, no, this one was a lazy, fat, nasty piece of redneck trash…just like Lyle was now. Drooling a bit more spit on his cock, he went and sat down next to his Pa, the older man’s thick musk making the boy moan, and it wasn’t long before they were swapping tobacco spit, hands on each others’ cocks, and inside his mind, all Lyle could do was scream.


Slowly, the house began to feel a bit…empty. None of the remaining young men inside could quite understand why it felt empty, why the rooms that had been doubles were now singles, why the common rooms were a little less filled, but laundry–well, laundry always had to get done.

The next young man to try his luck with the washer and dryer was Henry, one of the school’s star football players. He was an egotistical narcissist, assumed he was the paragon of masculinity, meant to be worshiped by everyone–well, by women of course. Men, especially fat men, were there to be ridiculed and humiliated–and so that’s what he spent his time doing, bullying other fellows on campus. However, when he went to pull some of his practice gear out of the dryer…well, it was a jersey that he pulled out, it just wasn’t his.

It also wasn’t the least bit clean–instead, the front of it had all manner of stains on it–food and drink stains as far as he could tell, and the fabric was stretched out, faded, and, well, reeked. Reeked like it had never been washed in ages…but the smell was familiar. It was…his. His smell, of course. Because it was his jersey. He could remember it better now, but he knew he’d have a better memory if he put it on, so he pulled off the undershirt he had on, and pulled on the jersey, and the memories can flooding back to him–as did the horror of what he’d just done to himself, but it was too late.

The jersey was his, of course. But he was no longer a star running back. No, he’d been a linebacker in high school and college, before he’d dropped out, and not a particularly good one, but man, he’d always loved wearing his jersey. It…made him feel young again. He tugged it down, knowing it had fit better than this at one point, but he wasn’t in college anymore. He’d just turned fifty five, in fact, lived in a shabby single wide all by himself, and spent his days working menial labor, and his afternoons and evenings glued to the TV–usually watching sports.

Football was his favorite. He loved watching his crushes on TV, cheering them on, fucking himself when they scored, imagining they were fucking him in celebration. When football season was over, he usually found solace in wrestling instead–but that was for later. The game was almost on, after all. He pulled on his tight, cum crusted sweats, chugged down most of his beer, and headed to the living room to get settled with the rest of the twelve pack and his favorite dildo (one he’d had custom cast to match the hard cock of his greatest football crush), hoping this game would be a damn good one.

A Family Man (Caption Sketch)

For those of you who like these sorts of caption stories, I’ve started writing and posting them with some regularity over on my discord server for Patrons! It’s open for everyone supporting me at the five dollar level and up, and includes the ability to request captions, get exclusive access to all the captions I post (because I won’t be posting them all here) and you can also help me out by play testing some of the odd transformation RP games I design in my rare spare time. You can find more details here! I hope y’all had a nice holiday!


It had been a long day for Roy, and a bit of a strange one at his job, and he was glad to finally have the chance to put the day behind him and head home for some peace and quiet. Roy was an office manager at a sizable tech firm, and part of his duties included hiring, and firing, personnel. In particular, he had let go one fellow by the name of Evan the week before. He hadn’t been performing up to par, and had been blaming it on his family–but families were a choice. Kids were a choice. Roy didn’t have kids–of course, Roy was gay, so he had no interest in making them at all. Roy mostly just liked being by himself, that, and working.

But today, Evan had stormed into Roy’s office, and lunged at him, grabbing him by the hair and yanking some out before security hauled Evan off him. Roy was planning on charging him for assault, as soon as he knew more, but that was a problem for another day. Today, he just wanted to get home, relax for a while, listen to some music, cook himself a nice dinner, and go to bed, alone, like always.

Except when he got home to his condo, he realized he wasn’t alone. Someone heard the door, and in a young, male voice called out to him, “Daddy! Daddy come here, I’ve been waiting for you all day!”

No one called Roy daddy–none of his last relationships, and none of his fuckbuddies even. Confused, he went into his bedroom, and saw that it was…different. Everything was filthy, and there on the bed, on hands and knees, was a young, chubby man, his dirty ass facing him, wearing just some ragged, filthy underwear and nothing else.

“Come on daddy, you’ve been away so long today! Your boy needs you so badly…” the young man said, and shook his meaty ass at Roy…and Roy, found himself…confused. He didn’t know this young man, and yet…and yet, something about him seemed…right. “Such a naughty daddy–you don’t understand how important family is at all. Well don’t you worry, I’m going to be all the family you ever need, and you want to be my perfect daddy, don’t you?”

Roy nodded, his mouth dry and unable to speak.

“Take off that suit–my daddy doesn’t work in an office. No, my daddy stays here with me as much as he can, taking good care of me, and making sure I’m nice and happy. Now come on daddy, my crack is so dirty, and you love making sure your boy is nice and clean, don’t you?”

Roy stripped out of the suit, but the clothes didn’t just fall to the floor–as they came off his body, they just vanished away. He didn’t wear a suit after all, he was…he was just a daddy, and maybe something else, sometimes, but always a daddy first. Still, Roy needed lots of reminders about what kind of daddy he was. How old he was. How dirty he was. How fat he was. But most of all, how much he loved his boy, more than anything else in the entire world. After a few days, the old Roy was completely gone, and in his place was the perfect family man–or at least, the perfect daddy for a twisted son like this one.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 8)

Well, it was close, but the frat won out by a few votes thanks to the Patreon poll.


Evan thought about changing back. He even started to, for a moment, but something else welled up in him, something he could only describe as a great exhaustion. So he’d turn back, and then what? He’d be back to his old self, more or less, with a third whore obsessed with him, and sure, he might be straight acting enough that he could get away without another slur, but the curse would always drag him back, somehow. He could feel it. And then he’d be back in some new nightmare–but what if he didn’t go back? What if he just said screw it, and…and just gave in?

He couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating it. Giving up. Living…like this. The spirit lingered around him, a fog on his mind, coaxing him along, seeing if he would do it. He didn’t want to be this though. He didn’t want to be this person. He could tell, somehow, that he would only inflict more pain on others like this, other guys on the team, other guys at the college. How was this better? How was he solving anything by simply taking Jerry’s place as the asshole in charge? There had to be something he could do. He couldn’t let this thing win.

He didn’t know where the idea came from, if it was his, or if the spirit whispered it into his mind. It was a terrible idea. A nightmarish idea…but he couldn’t ignore the simple brutality of it–but would it even work? No, there was no way it would work. Hand shaking, he poured himself more scotch, but his mind wouldn’t let the idea go. It was the only way–the only way he could make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else ever again–that this curse would end here for good. He drank more scotch, enough to dull himself, trying to bury himself back under the coach, mack under the homophobe, but he was terrified, all the same. Unable to contemplate it anymore, he decided he simply had to do it–he threw on a coat, and slipped out into the night, making his way towards the campus.

It was a Friday night, and the parties were still going strong. Evan made his way to Delta Kappa Alpha, widely considered the jock frat, and the most homophobic one on campus–one which had, on a few occasions, sent kids to the hospital, not that any of the jocks had ever faced punishment for it. It made him angry, which was good. He was going to need lots and lots of anger for what was coming next. He went inside, and began insulting every member of the frat he could find.

He started simple–turning them into faggots, the women in the house all disappearing one by one as the young men lost interest in them, and became far more interested in each other–and in Evan. But he didn’t make them weak. He didn’t fuck them. They needed to be strong. They needed to be brutes. He made them thugs and skinheads. Brutal biker tops and leather queens. All of them addicted to sex, the rougher and meaner the better. Sadists, rapists, abusers–he hurled out everything he could think of, until one of them had had enough, slammed Evan into the wall, and started fucking his hole raw. He demanded more. He wanted them to make it hurt. He wanted them to show him what they did to homophobic assholes like him.

Part of him was horrified and disgusted by what was happening to him, but another part of him was enjoying it. That new part urged them on, told them to use him as their urinal and cum dump, told them that they didn’t see him as a person at all, but as a gimp, a pig, a slave, an object, a whore. He said it over and over again, he said it so much he found himself believing it, as the gang dragged him down into the basement of the now condemned building they used as their hangout, where they brought the homophobes they bashed on the street to be reeducated and repurposed.

They beat him. They fisted him. They shaved him bald, and then stripped the rest of his hair off too. Pissed on him, made him clean out their holes, made him beg for their cocks, and he tried to squeeze that last little homophobic part of him out, but it remained, burning at the core of him, horrified at what he was doing, but it was too late to turn back now. He was marked. Tattooed all over his body, pierced everywhere as well. He’d lived down here for months, if not a year, brutalized by these men–and he’d grown to enjoy it. Relish it. Beg for it–because he deserved it. He deserved it for all the times he’d been cruel, and bashed queers with his friends. He deserved all of it, and would deserve it for the rest of his life too.

Dawn came, and the gang grew tired, slipping away to their homes, another enjoyable night spent working over one of their favorite straight slaves. They locked him back in his cage, and Evan shivered, exhausted–there was a kernel of himself still, deep inside, but it was so small…he was scared now. Terrified of what he’d done to himself. He grasped for it, tried to rekindle it. He didn’t want to stay here–even if he had started to believe he might deserve it. (Success Check–success! The story goes on for the moment!)

It took most of the day, down in that basement, to remember himself. To crawl back out of this, to remember who he’d been–or at least pieces of it. Everything was so…jumbled up. High school, college, middle age. Had he been a jock? A coach? Working in construction or on a farm? He didn’t know how to piece it back together, but he had to. He had to be something else, if he was going to get out of here in one piece.

********

Evan is starting to lose track of his identity, and of his sanity. What sort of gay reality is he going to revert to in the aftermath of this?

  1. Fat, slobby, cigar smoking construction worker.
  2. Closeted, burly, college football coach.
  3. Young, grungy, muscled redneck farm boy.
  4. A muscled abusive leatherman who belongs to the gay gang here.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the Patreon poll

Voting ends on Sunday!

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 1) [Interactive]

Evan was tired of it. Tired of the insults, of being shoved into lockers at school, of guys shouting “faggot” and “queer” at him from the windows of passing cars. All of it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though–and in his opinion, there wasn’t even anything that “faggy” about him–not like some of the guys he’d seen, or some of the guys in the porn he liked to watch, he supposed. Yeah, he had a bit of a lisp, and he tended to sashay slightly–that, and he definitely loved sucking dick. Still, where the insults would have reduced most people to tears and depression, Evan reacted differently. He was angry. Angry all of the time, so angry, he barely even noticed it anymore, it was just a constant, seething, bubbling mass in his guts that never went away. He’d have fantasies though. Fantasies about the men who bullied him, about beating them, humiliating them, doing what they did to him right back, but tenfold. Maybe it was that, which drew the spirit to him–but in any case, he never really knew why it appeared to him that night in his bedroom, after one particularly cruel fantasy, thinking about some jocks he had a run in with earlier that day. He’d wiped up his cum, and there it had been, a massive, hulking shadow glued to his wall, two bright, gem-like eyes where it’s head was, staring at him.

The terror in him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, as it slid along the wall, closer to him. Then, he saw something. A powerful vision overtook him, similar to the fantasy he’d just had, but far more powerful. Bending over Curtis Barrister, the top jock of the school, and Evan raping his hole while he rained abuse down on him–but it was so vivid…like it really was happening. Then, it was gone, and he heard a voice in his mind.

I can give you the power. You can have your revenge on all of them, if you so desire it.

For real? Was this just some hallucination? A nightmare? If it was, then does it really matter? He did want it. He had a feeling this thing wouldn’t have come to him, if he hadn’t known he would accept its offer. The darkness slid closer to him, and then slid over him, and everything went dark, and he couldn’t move his body. The darkness was more inside him, and he could feel it, in that anger in his stomach, changing it, changing…him somehow, and he came again, the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had, and then fell right asleep, the spirit chuckling in the dark, as it faded away. Evan would have his revenge, certainly, but it likely wouldn’t be the sort of revenge he was expecting. Anger could twist people in strange ways, after all–and vengeance was never kind to the avenger.

Evan woke up the next morning, certain it had been a dream, and nothing more. He got up and got ready for school, but he still couldn’t shake the sensation that something about him was different. He was still angry, but it…tasted different, when he felt it, but that didn’t make sense even to him, when he experienced it. There was a definite sense, too, that things would be different today, like how he felt when a thunderstorm was on the way. He said goodbye to his mother, left the apartment and hit the street, walking to school…wondering when the first insult would hit. But the anticipation was different too, in his guts. Usually he just felt fear and anger as he braced himself, but today, part of him was almost…excited. Eager to experience it, and that terrified the rest of him even more. Still, who knew what the day would hold? Maybe everything would be fine. The spirit in him knew better, though–and it was eager to see the curse it had laid on Evan work for the first time.

He made it all the way to school, however, before the first insult came his way–and sure enough, it was none other than Curtis Barrister himself, and his posse of football friends, calling him a faggot. His face burned red…but he felt that same heat infusing the rest of him too, and he was feeling a bit…sick. He went to the bathroom near the entrance of the school and ducked into one of the stalls–and as soon as he was alone, he looked down, and saw his body was…changing. He grew six inches taller, body filling out with muscle, his skinny jeans and tank top became gym shorts and a t-shirt bearing the mascot of the high school–along with word football. No–he tried to fight it, but there was nothing he could do–when he stumbled out a minute later, Evan was gone–or at least, he wasn’t the Evan he should be. He was…a jock. Strong jaw, flat top, cocky grin, and worst of all, he knew he was best friends with Curtis.

His head throbbed, and Evan–the gay Evan, receded. In his place, someone else took control of his body, a very, very straight Evan–sort of. He was, still gay, actually–but this version of him was deeply in the closet, barely able to admit it to himself. Still, this new version of himself would know exactly how to act around his straight jock friends–and with his girlfriend, Stephanie Hawkins. The whole day was torture, hanging out with his new jock buddies, kissing his girlfriend, making fun of nerds and even throwing a few barbs at his friends…but as he did, Evan noticed something else. Whenever he threw a casual insult at Curtis or one of the other jocks…they changed. Not much, but enough that he began to understand what this curse was–and what the spirit was offering him.

After practice, he and Curtis happened to hang back chatting a bit, and showered alone together. He accused Curtis of looking at his cock, and called him a faggot, and watched as his bully started to get hard–and so Evan decided to have his way with him, shoving him up against the shower wall and fucking his loose hole, calling him a faggy sissy, a weak little cocksucker, and watched as his words came to life. When he finally came, it was a very different Curtis who fled the locker room–barely 150 pounds, short, ass and mouth hungry for cock all the time–the exact kind of faggot Curtis had always seen him as. He was horrified by what he’d done–but even more horrified when he saw himself in the mirror of the locker room. He was…massive. Thick with muscle, hairy all over, the exact kind of alpha jock he’d always detested–and feared. This…he wasn’t stuck like this, was he? He could…sense that the curse would, now that he’d dealt with his primary target, let him change back, or he could visit a few of the other jocks on the team too. But if he did…who would he become then? Would he even remember who he’d been before? No–he wanted to change back–he pushed his way forward, and saw the hulking frame in the mirror begin to recede at last.

He was back in his old body, but not everything was back to normal. He was more muscular for one thing, and he remembered, now, that he was on the track and field team, when he’d never played sports once in his life. He was hairier too–was this all because of what he’d done to Curtis? He got home as quickly as he could, but struggled to fall asleep–and got a text from a number he didn’t know late at night–it was Curtis, looking for a fuck. He had new memories now of Curtis, a hopeless sex addict, as a frequent fuckbuddy at school, and his stomach turned into knots all over again. He could hear the spirit laughing in his very soul, and Evan knew all he could do was wait until someone else insulted him–and he’d be forced to change them as well.


Alright, so for those of you who visit CYOC, this is loosely inspired by the branch of straight TF and “were-breeder” stories that are somewhat popular (and which I have contributed to in the past). I’ve always found an appeal in them, but also found some of them super uncomfortable, so I want to push them in a slightly different direction with this interactive. This intro is a bit longer than usual, just to give an overview of how the curse functions, but for clarity’s sake, Here’s an explanation:

First, when Evan hears a homophobic insult directed at him, he will find himself helplessly transforming into someone similar to the person who insulted him. For example, if it’s a jock, he becomes a jock too, or a redneck, or a skinhead, or whatever it might be. Evan is still present, but his body’s new persona is doing most of the driving–that is, he can’t really act out of his new “straight” character. That said, his personas are all still, technically, gay–but deep in the closet.

Then, in his straight-acting persona, reality shifts so that he is friends with the person who insulted him–and he discovers that whenever he insults him (and people around him who share his views) those insults are capable of changing them.

However, the more he changes them, the more he changes as well, the persona becoming more and more extreme, and the more danger he is in of forgetting about his real self, and the persona taking over for good. He can only change back after he turns the original insulter gay and has sex with them (he can be bottom or top, but will usually tend towards top in this scenario), but he can remain in the persona longer if there are other people he wants to change–at the risk of losing more of himself. When he changes back, he keeps some of the qualities of the persona he had before–the more extreme he became, the more likely the changes will stick.

So, with that out of the way–what sort of person is going to insult Evan next?

  1. A gang of skinheads threaten him on the street.
  2. Some gaming nerds at school being edgelords.
  3. Some middle-aged construction workers on his way to school.
  4. A prudish, older conservative christian neighbor.

Here’s the twitter poll!

Here’s the Patron poll!

Polls close in two days.