Tag: slave

Captions: Owned / Dirtier

Since I missed yesterday’s post, here’s a double feature!

Owned

“How long has it been since you were here, slave?”

“A…a month.”

“A month, Master,” he said, and gave the rubber clad man a smack on the ass, and left it there, running his fingers between his thighs, tracing the chastity cage locked on the outside of the rubber catsuit. “I will not have a slave disrespect me in public. We are lax at home on occasion, but I know you know your manners well.”

“Yes Master.”

“A month since you went home with me. Remember what a confident little shithead you were? Talking about how you were all top, never gonna bottom in your life? Now look at you. That big cock of yours locked away, hole loose and ready,” he said, and slid two of his fingers through the slit in the back of the rubber suit, pressing up against the slave’s hole, feeling him shudder at the touch. “You’re owned now, and once we go in there, everyone is going to know it. Everyone you’ve fucked. Everyone who wanted to fuck you. They’re gonna know that you’re my property. How does that make you feel?”

The slave didn’t respond right away, just let out a little moan.

“It makes you excited, doesn’t it?”

Another little moan, followed by, “Yes Master, it does.”

“How many men do you think I should let use your holes tonight?”

“As many as you want, Master.”

“Good, slave, you do learn quickly. The last slave I had, I couldn’t take him out in public for three months. I know you’re going to serve me well in there tonight, won’t you?”

“Yes Master.”

“And remember–always pride. Be proud that you realized who you are. Most of those men in there are too scared to accept it. But you are right where you want to be, isn’t that right?”

The slave nodded, and he followed his Master into the bar to begin his new life.

Dirtier

You hadn’t taken that old bitch seriously, of course. Who would have, really? Ranting and raving about some curse or something, while security was dragging her out of the bank where you worked, saying something about how if all you cared about was dirty money, then you might as well just keep getting dirtier.

But for the next week or so, you kept noticing things. Dirt kept appearing under your fingernails, no matter how well you cleaned them at night, and it wasn’t like you were doing anything to make them dirty in the first place. Then you noticed that, after you showered, you always still had a lingering musk around you. It wasn’t too bad at first, but by the next week, you got a couple of comments at work. You tried all of these different soaps and shampoos, but nothing helped, and by then, the dirt was starting to spread as well.

Then, it wasn’t just you, either. You went to bed in a set of clean sheets, and when you woke up the next morning, they were filthy. Stained, reeking of sweat and cum and piss, and worst of all, you didn’t mind it. It smelled good to you all of a sudden, and you couldn’t resist rolling over, grinding your cock into the sheets and adding another load to them. You showered after, of course, but it didn’t help. You could smell it lingering around you, that same grungy scent, and the more you noticed it, the hornier you were getting.

You tried to find that woman, but there was no sign of her anywhere, all of her bank records had just vanished. Your boss called you into his office, raked you over the coals for your slovenly appearance. You didn’t know where that beard had come from, or how your hair had gotten so long so quickly. You went home early, tried to shave it off and cut it away, but it would grow back faster than you could remove it, thicker and thicker each time. That day, you went to put on a suit, dreading going in to work again, but all of your suits had disappeared, replaced with grungy looking hi vis workwear and nothing else. 

But then, what else would you wear? In a stupor, you pulled on some of the filthy garments and went to work–but not at the bank. You were a construction worker, right? You spent the day trying to convince yourself otherwise, but couldn’t manage it. This just…felt right. You were scared, and too tired to fight it. Maybe if you just let it happen, it would stop. This wasn’t so bad, right? And for a while, your body didn’t get worse, at least, but your mind started growing filthier instead. Working around all of those other musky, masculine men, you found yourself caught in fantasy after fantasy, about how they would use your dirty body–and as you concocted each scenario, they came true. 

The foreman pissing on you in the portpotty. A father and son tag teaming your holes in the back of their pickup. Timmy, the fattest guy on the crew, sitting his grungy ass on your face while you jacked off your rank cock. You didn’t live in that nice house anymore. You lived in a studio apartment, never cleaned, never cared for. Sometimes, you would fight, try and remember who you’d been, but when you did, it would get worse somehow, always worse, but now, why can’t you find your way home?

You usually walked home, sometimes sucking cock in the alleys on your way to and from the construction site, but now, you just couldn’t find it. You ended up in an alley, and slept there, interrupted by a couple of cops walking their beat, who took a little break to fuck your nasty hole in the middle of the night. Come morning, you went back to the construction site, but you didn’t work there anymore. That didn’t stop all the men from using you of course, but you were too filthy even for that work now. You made your way back to your alley, still so damn horny, but things, at least, couldn’t get worse than this, right?

TPC – Chapter 2.12

Chapter 2.12 – The Hardhat Life

“Rise and shine meatheads, let’s get to fuckin’ work!”

Richard groaned and rolled over on the mattress, and nearly tumbled off–he reached out and found a post and stopped himself, then looked around. He had no idea where he was. In fact, he had no idea where he was supposed to be. He had no real idea who he was, either, for that matter. It was easier to start with the where–so he did that.

It was a long metal room, the two sides lined with bunk beds. All around him, guys were clambering out of their own narrow mattresses, all of them naked, and pulling on a wide variety of grungy, unwashed clothing that had been heaped in the center of the room. He laid there, watching, until someone came up and gave him a smack upside the head. He looked down and saw a face glowering up at him. “Newbie! Get your ass up, get dressed, and get your ass outside.”

The knock and the barking of the order was enough to stiffen his little cock, and he did as he was told. By the time he got down and lumbered over–his body just didn’t feel right, somehow, but he didn’t know how it was supposed to feel anyway, so maybe this was how it should be–the pile of clothes had dwindled to nearly nothing. He pulled on a filthy wifebeater than smelled like someone had pissed on it recently, found a set of overalls that were too long for his shorter legs, and ended up in sets of mismatched socks and workboots, but he was dressed. The last one out the door, he took the hardhat the boss handed him, and put it on like the rest of the men milling about in the yard. The crowd was larger than just the men who had fit in his quarters, which now that he was outside of it, he saw was a converted shipping crate. There were three more in the vacant lot where they were now wandering around. Some guys were trying to swap clothes, others were standing, waiting for orders probably. The Boss called them to order, and they all stopped what they were doing, and listened.

“Alright, we got the usual three spots today, and some special jobs I’ll be assigning myself. Twenty of you on the right–twenty on the left, and the rest in the middle.”

There was some jostling, and Richard ended up on the left flank.

“Alright. Right hand side, you have the project with House of Kings, working on their new compound. Left, you’re working the apartments up the block. Center, you’ll be broken into smaller teams for odd jobs. Alright, let’s get to it.”

The men broke off and headed to their assigned locations, Richard swept away with the twenty other grunts headed for the apartment job. They got there in a few minutes, and another Boss was waiting for them, lined them up, and assigned them duties. He gave Richard a once over and sighed. “Newbie, you’re gonna be runnin’. Just make sure everyone’s got the shit they need, and try not to fuck anything up,” he said, and then moved onto the next guy in line. Richard wanted to ask him what they were doing, why he was here, but he didn’t get a chance, and the other guys didn’t seem particularly interested either. When he was finished assigning duties, they broke off and headed to their duties, but Richard stayed behind.

“I…uh…I don’t know why I’m here, I think…I think there’s a mistake.”

“There’s no mistake hardhat. Get to fucking work.”

“But…I don’t think I work here. My name…my name’s Richard, and–”

The Boss slapped him across the face, and for the second time that morning, Richard found himself with an embarrassing hard on. “Get in the fucking trailer. I don’t know where they’re getting you fucks lately, but they aren’t even cleaning you out properly.”

Richard gulped, but did as the Boss ordered, following him into the trailer. He noticed a couple of other guys watching, then they shook their heads and got back to work. Richard felt a little shame at that, but what had he done wrong? He just didn’t understand. The door closed behind them, and he had no chance to think before the Boss whirled on him, put both of his hands around his neck, and shoved him back against the wall.

“Now, you need to listen real close, Newbie. I don’t like having to explain shit, and you fucking hardhats are too fucking stupid to understand half of it anyway. You don’t have a fucking name–not anymore. You’re a fucking hardhat. You’re all interchangeable. You work, you eat, you sleep, and you do it again the next day, got it?” Richard nodded, but the Boss only squeezed his throat tighter, until he was gasping for breath, and then released him. Richard fell forward as he stepped back, and he landed on the floor in front of him on all fours. Without letting him catch his breath, he shoved the toe of his dirty boot in his mouth. “Clean it, pig.”

Richard tried to pull away, but he just pushed it harder, rolling him onto his back, the bottom of his boot against his mouth, while the Boss pulled his belt free from his pants, doubled it, and gave him a sharp smack on the nuts with it, making him grunt–and much to his horror, leak profusely, enough to wet the front of his ill fitting overalls. “I said clean it, pig. I know you fucking hardhats love the taste of a grimy boot.”

Richard realized he was already licking the boot by the time Boss gave the order. Even worse, he realized that he was enjoying it. He reached down to grope his cock, only for Boss to smack his hand away with the belt. 

“Keep your hands off pig–do a good job, and maybe I’ll let you cum with my cock deep in your guts.”

That image just made Richard lick harder, much to his shame. But the shame only made him more excited, made him leak even more, and that made him lick more, and he…he was enjoying this. He wanted this. When the boots were clean, he begged Boss to fuck him, begged him to breed his dirty pig hole, and Boss eventually relented–but only after looping his belt around Richard’s nuts and pulling it tight while he fucked him good and rough. That was enough for him to explode with a loud squeal, shooting his load all over the desk he was bent over, and once Boss had finished inside him, he made Richard clean off the desk, then his cock, and then gripped his neck again.

“Now, who are you?”

“A…hardhat, Sir.”

“And what is a hardhat?”

“A…stupid pig, sir. A stupid, horny, stinking, gross pig…”

“And what are you gross pigs good for?”

“Work sir. And fucking. But mostly work…will…you fuck me again sir, please?”

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he said, and released him. “Get to fucking work, don’t you realize how much of my time you wasted, Newbie? Give me that hat.”

Richard handed him the orange hat he’d received that morning, and Boss handed him a yellow one. 

“You know what that means?”

Richard shook his head.

“Means you’re today’s urinal. Tomorrow too–as long as I think necessary, until you get used to being a filthy hardhat. You’ll still be running, but all the hardhats know what that hat means. Think you can do that? If not, I have another one you can wear instead,” he said, and pointed to a brown hardhat on hanging on the wall. “But maybe you’d like that one too much.”

Richard gulped.

“Now get out of my sight.”

Richard scrambled out of the trailer and back towards the workers, and saw that quite a few of them were waiting to see him come out–and when they noticed the swapped hat, more than a few of them even looked a bit jealous. Richard understood why. Boss stuck his head out, hollered at them all to get back to work, and they scrambled back to their duties, Richard quickly finding a little bit of a flow. Guys would shout at him if they needed something, and he’d find it and get it to them. If there was no one shouting, he started asking around–and if they didn’t need something, they usually needed to piss, and Richard was more than happy to drink it down for them.

“Lucky fucker,” one of them said as he finished, “Wanna trade hats? I never get to be the urinal.”

The hardhat considered it for a moment, then shook his head, and headed off to check with someone else, his concerns already evaporating, as the day heated up. He was a hardhat now–he didn’t need to know more than that–but he did, for some reason, hold onto his name. It wasn’t important really, but he liked the sound of it, how it felt in his mouth. Richard. He whispered it softly to himself that night, and each night after that–and before long, it was all he had left.

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with loads of other content!

(Caption) Four Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (22/31)

Zane didn’t know that Pigtown existed. He was as straight as could be, had never so much as looked at another man–aside from a few times, out of drunk curiosity, but that was different. That didn’t matter though–sometimes, Pigtown comes for you regardless. 

He had been working a construction job down by the docks, adjacent to Pigtown, though he didn’t know that. All he knew was that there seemed to be a lot of queers and fags about on occasion, but they generally gave him a wide berth. All the better, really, so he didn’t have to bash their teeth in. Some in Pigtown, regarded that a worthy challenge. 

Once evening, Zane worked a little longer than he usually did, the fog rolled in a bit thicker, twilight came a bit quicker, the street lights were a bit late to turn on, and he found himself lost in the streets and alleys, looking for his truck. The streets were quiet–not even cars were passing him by, for whatever reason, but for all the stillness, he couldn’t shake the sensation that he wasn’t quite alone, either. Sure enough, he could see the occasional shadow of a person following behind him at a leisurely pace, too far back to make out clearly in the mist, but close enough to give an impression, one of size and substance. Not exactly threatening, but also not…weak.

Zane picked up the pace a bit, and lost his pursuer–at least until the sizable man stepped out of the alley in front of him, sending him stumbling back in surprise. He was certainly large, wearing all of this leather gear, like the fags did on occasion around here. He also had a heavy chain in his hands, and from one end, hung a heavy metal collar. “Where do you think you’re going so quick, boy?” he asked with a grin.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble, alright? I’m just trying to find my t–” Zane said, only for the man to rush into him, wrap a gloved hand around his neck, and pin him to the brick wall behind him. He clawed at the man’s leather grip, but couldn’t get a finger loose. “Hmm…thought you’d be more fun, honestly. Rather boring. Still, I caught you fair and square–so that means you’re mine, doesn’t it?”

Then, it wasn’t the hand around his neck, but the heavy metal collar, and Zane soon discovered he was unable to disobey the man who held the other end of the chain. Right there on the misty sidewalk, he sucked the man off, and then was half dragged, half led, down the street, into Pigtown proper.

Zane never made it back to his car. He remained with his Master for a while, who trained him, and then released him back into the wilds of the streets. And then, it was time for a new hunt. Hopefully this one would give him a little bit of a challenge–these men thought they were so tough these days, but a little leather, a little metal, and they just melted in his hands, every time.

(Caption) Halloween Nightmares IV

October Caption Challenge (19/31)

In business, you can get away with a certain amount of sleaze, and Carl tended to push the line a bit more than most. But mostly, what Carl was looking for was power, and now, as a hiring manager for a major company, he could wield a good amount of it, and fuck, did he like ruining someone’s day. Hell, just today, he’d had some middle aged guy come in for a job interview–they couldn’t legally screen for age, but needless to say, he was not looking for someone this old. Still, why not fuck with the guy a bit? They had a nice chat, and Carl did everything he could to butter the guy up a bit, even sharing a cigar with him in the office.

But finally, at the end of the interview, he told the guy that the position had already been filled–but he could offer him an unpaid internship instead. The guy’s face just melted–after all, those fucking internships were designed for kids with trust funds, not for older fellows with bills to pay. He asked Carl to reconsider, and instead, Carl just starts selling him on the position, telling him it will be great to build experience, and he can see the guy getting angrier and angrier, but he finally realizes he’s been played, and stormed out.

Carl had a good laugh with some buddies after that one. The dream imp wasn’t laughing, however.

That night, Carl found himself sitting in a chair in a waiting room. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there exactly, but he knew that he was waiting to be interviewed for a job of some sort, but he didn’t know what. He started to panic a bit, in fact, trying to wrack his head and remember what, exactly, he was here for. Then, his name was called, he stood up, and went into the room.

It wasn’t an office though, it was a spacious living room–and there, in a comfy armchair, was the older fellow he’d interviewed that day, except…not quite. He was more muscular for one thing, and he was wearing this strange leather gear, and these boots shined to perfection. There was no chair in front of him, and he did not motion for Carl to sit anywhere–so he just stood, awkwardly, in his suit.

“Well Carl, I must apologize. I’m afraid the position of Master that you’d applied for has already been filled, by me,” the man said, taking a long draw on the cigar he had between his gloved fingers. “Luckily though, we do have a few other openings–unpaid, sadly.”

“I…I don’t understand, I don’t need a job from you.”

“Yes, but don’t you want one?” the man asked. Carl felt something in his head flip, and looking at him now, the leather, the boots, he…he was horny. Why the fuck was this making him horny? “Why don’t you get on your knees, boy.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order, and Carl found himself compelled to obey him. “Please Sir, I think there’s been a mistake.”

“I should say so–I can’t believe you wore a suit to your interview with me. Everyone knows that good slaves ought to show up in the gear they want to serve in.”

The suit on his body started to wriggle, becoming a pair of bleached jeans with yellow bracers, and a black tank top. “Please, this has to be a dream, just let me wake up!”

Something cackled behind him, and there, he saw the imp crouched, watching the two men in delight. 

“Don’t worry about him, slave,” Master said, “Why don’t we start the practical interview?” He clicked his gloved fingers, and something appeared in Carl’s mouth, a gag attached to a short rod, with an ashtray at the end of it. Master put his booted feet on Carl’s crotch, mashing his cock and making him moan in something between pain and delight. 

“Now, I’m going to smoke, and then I’m going to fuck your hole slave, and then we’re going to do a few hundred more things, and by the time we’re finished with this interview, I think you’ll be ready to come serve me in real life, how does that sound?”

He crushed Carl’s cock again, and he groaned through the gag. Apparently, it didn’t matter what he wanted. This dream wasn’t going to end anytime soon, and by the end of it, Carl would have a brand new position in life, whether he wanted to or not.

(Caption) One Lost to Pigtown

October Caption Challenge (10/31)

It wasn’t Peter’s first time in Pigtown. The bar was legendary in the city, and the entire neighborhood around it just as much. There were stories, tall tales really, about the bar having some sort of magic. Peter didn’t know about magic, but the energy there was unlike any bar he’d ever been to, in any city, on any continent. It thrummed in him, pushing him to dance harder, kiss more, drink heavy, and no matter what, he would never seem to remember how to got back to bed each night–though he rarely went back alone.

But tonight felt different. Tonight, there was more energy than before, pulsing through him. Everyone was looking at him, everyone wanted him, and he wanted them all just as badly. He was out of control. It culminated around midnight, with him getting up on the bar, already naked, and sliding up and down on a dildo one of the other patron’s placed there, drunk on both drink and the cheers and lusts of the men around him. 

Another patron came up, blew him while he fucked himself, and eventually, he made his way back onto the dance floor for a few minutes, but it wasn’t long before he was in the backroom, countless hands on him, countless cocks sliding into him, overstimulated and overwhelmed, he managed to crawl away, deeper than he’d gone before into the maze, so deep he wasn’t quite sure where he was going, anymore. 

“There you are, I was hoping you weren’t too lost, yet,” a voice said.

Peter looked up, and found a bearish leatherman looming over him, his face and beard lit only by the light cast from the cigar gripped in his maw. “You seemed to have lost yourself in there a little while ago, got a little out of control.”

Peter tried to respond, but his body was still thrumming with need and lust and anxious desire. He found himself crawling over to the man, licking at the crotch of his leather pants, and the man laughed. 

“Lucky I found you before something else down here did,” he said, “Let me help you.”

Peter felt something heavy slip over his head. A chain collar, secured with a padlock with the key still inserted in it, and the man pulled the key free. As he did, something…shifted in Peter’s mind, the energy turned solid, and looking up at the man, all he knew was that he was his master, and he had to obey him, and service him, and do everything that he demanded. 

“That’s a good boy, come now, I’ll show you the way back out of here. And then, you can thank me properly, how does that sound?”

Peter thought it sounded very nice, and did just that.

But the next morning, something was wrong. When he awoke, his body was…different. There were more tattoos, his nipples were pierced, his cock as well. He found himself craving cigars, and even stranger, there was a humidor sitting on top of his dresser. He was wearing a leather harness he’d never seen before in his life, but which he was somehow certain was his. And lastly, there around his neck, was the chain, the padlock, and the key still in the lock.

It had gone on so easily before, but now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it off. The chain wouldn’t slip over his head, and the key wouldn’t turn in the padlock, or even come out. He struggled with it for a while, before eventually, and a bit shamefully, going to his neighbor’s next door, and asking them for help. He was a straight guy and married, but a bit of a handyman. He fiddled with the key, and it came right out of the lock–and as soon as it did, the same urge to submit overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees in front of his neighbor–who didn’t miss a beat, hauled out his cock, and fed it to him. That evening, he had his first adventure in pigtown as well, guided by his slave for the evening, and the next morning, Peter was right back in his apartment, collar secure, key hanging free–and he realized then, that Pigtown was magic, and it had its hooks in deep.

(Caption) Pig Rehabilitation Program

October Caption Challenge (9/31)

“MMmm…MMmfffff…” Officer Barrett said, trying to get something out from around the gag strapped in his mouth. A curse, a cry for help, anything at all. He’d woken up here a few minutes before, tied up in his uniform, unable to remember how he’d gotten here, or who had taken him. The last thing he could remember clearly was getting ready to police another one of those fucking protests, but on his way, well…someone must have jumped him.

He heard steps coming down the stairs into the basement, and a couple of young men in black with their faces covered, stood in front of him. “Well, Officer Barrett–we got a hold of your records a while back from an info dump, and we were amazed. I didn’t know someone could wrack up so many complaints from the public, and not face any disciplinary action at all.”

Barrett scowled at them. Sure, he had a rough hand, but it was punks like this that deserved it. One of them picked up a strange looking helmet, and placed it over his head. He couldn’t hear anything in the room, once it was settled in, but noise was piped in through headphones in the sides. “Don’t worry, we’re only interested in rehabilitation. You’re going to be helping us, Officer, perfect our method for turning the most hardened, violent, cops into upstanding, obedient citizens. Now relax, Officer Barrett, just relax…”

There was a burst of color in front of his eyes, a thick kaleidoscope of color dazzling him, making it impossible to focus, streaming in even if he tried to keep his eyes shut. The noise was deafening in his ears, white noise, but he was sure he could hear words too. He tried to concentrate, tried to resist, but he found himself drifting off–and then, eventually, he wasn’t in the basement anymore. He was…well, he wasn’t sure where he was.

He sat up, looked around him, and found he was in an alley. It was dark, there was the sounds of chanting and music not too far off, sounding like the protests that had been happening nightly in his city. He’d…been attending them hadn’t he? He tried to remember more, but it was like there was a blanket of noise, or fuzz, over his memories. He stood up, feeling…younger than he thought he should be. He was shirtless, and just wearing a pair of leather shorts–and tattoos all over as well. What had happened to him, exactly? He left the alley, turned the corner, and found himself face-to-face with a police officer, but not quite right either. His riot gear was gone, and he just had on a leather uniform, a beard longer than regulations allowed, and a cigar clamped in his mouth. 

“There you are, you fucking piece of shit,” the officer said, and before Barrett could do anything, he was on the sidewalk, hands yanked behind him painfully, and cuffed. “Thought you could hide from me, eh? Well, I know what you need, even if you don’t, you fucking pig.”

“Pig.” That word reverberated through him, somehow. He…he was a pig, wasn’t he? People had called him a pig before. But…but that wasn’t quite right, none of this was right. He tried to ask what he’d done wrong, why the officer was arresting him, but all he got instead was the officer’s baton wedged in his mouth and pulled tight, while the officer came up behind him, rubbing his stiff bulge against the back of Barrett’s head.

“I thought you pigs knew to remain silent,” the cop said, “Well, at least until the screaming starts.”

He had Barrett pinned to the sidewalk then, one boot on the back of his neck, pressing hard enough to make him gasp, and with the baton, started pounding on his ass, the sharp sting even penetrating the leather shorts he was wearing. But the pain–it hurt, but it also felt good. It felt good because he deserved it. Because he’d been a bad pig, a naughty piggy, yeah…

When the simulation was done, Barrett’s mind rebooted, processing what it had seen, and then began again, while the two young hackers watched. Starting off with the protest scenario was, perhaps, unfortunate, but the scenario would change slowly, as more and more of Barrett’s mind was rewritten with the code being pumped into his mind by the headset. They anticipated that rehabilitation would take a week, but much to their delight, Officer Barrett–or rather, Pig Barrett, as he preferred to be called, was ready to be reintroduced in just five days.

He thanked the two young men for helping him understand his place in the world, and happily worshiped their cocks, their feet, their holes, and begged them both for loads from their own–his own cock perfectly soft in the chastity cage he now wore. After all, pigs didn’t need release like that. They got their pleasure in other ways, in servicing their betters, in acts of worship. In two days, he was in his new home, servicing a proper Master, and the two young men took their bounty and funneled it into their research. There were still a few kinks to work out, and then they’d have to scale it up–but they had no doubt that before too long, their plan to abolish the police would be well on its way.

(Caption) Settled Debts

October Caption Challenge (7/31)

“Alright boy, are you ready?”

Mark nodded, and listened as James, his boyfriend, began the induction.

The two of them had been dating for about five years now, after meeting in the company gym a few times. Much to their surprise, after a couple of dates, a mutual fetish for hypnosis had popped up. Mark had always fantasized about being put under, about false memories, about all sorts of kinky stuff, and James had been more than happy to test things out, reading all sorts of books and guides, and the more he’d learned, the more adventurous they’d both become. Hypnosis was a way for them to become…someone else. Their day to day lives were so buttoned up and professional–and so, on the weekends, they’d started becoming other people entirely. This weekend, James had suggested they go out as a couple of skinheads. Of course, James would remember who they were, but Mark, well, Mark was going to be his skinslave for the weekend.

Mark was already deep, just from his trigger phase, but James led him lower still, into the depths of his mind. “Now, you’re going to step out of Mark, slave,” James said, “You’re going to step out of his skin, out of his memories, out of his life, and you will be able to see all of those things around you, while you are floating free, and light, and empty–you have never felt emptier than this moment, and being empty feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Mark nodded slowly, there on his knees.

“Now, take all of the things that say Mark on them, and you’re going to put them in a box. Together, we’re going to close the box up, tightly, and as soon as the box is closed, you’re going to forget what the box has in it. Now, there’s other things around, a new skin that you are going to slide into, but you’ll remember how light you feel right this very moment, and empty, and I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about who you are now…”

After a half an hour, the two of them left their apartment in gear, Mark following behind him, sneering, eager to get to the bar, have a few drinks, and suck on his Master’s cock in front of everyone.

“Time to wake up, Mark,” a voice said.

Mark shook his head awake, and looked around, expecting to find himself back in his apartment with James, but this wasn’t his place. It was smaller, dingier, and the man sitting in front of him, grinning around a cigar, was most certainly not his boyfriend. He tried to take a step back, but his feet refused to move, and the man laughed, watching him struggle. “What is this? Who are you?” Mark asked.

“I’m your new master, Mark,” the man said, “That boyfriend of yours has been racking up debt lately, at some of the underground gambling dens we both frequent. He was getting worried that he might have his knees broken, if he didn’t find a way to square things up. Lucky for him, I’ve had a flush year, so I went ahead and settled his accounts for him–in exchange for his little hypno slave.”

“No, what are you talking about? I don’t want to obey you!” Mark said.

“Slave, get on your knees, crawl over here, and worship my boots,” he said.

Mark dropped to his knees without a moment of hesitation, crawled over, and started licking, horrified, but unable to stop himself.

“James and I have been training you together for the last week. My voice is just as powerful as his was–you’ll never obey another order from him now, of course. The only one you obey is me, from now on.”

Mark let loose a little sob against the boot, and the man laughed. “Don’t worry slave–Mark won’t be around for much longer. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you realized your boyfriend literally sold you to settle his fucking gambling debt. No–I don’t want you because of your brain, I want you because I can fucking empty you out for good.”

Before Mark could steel himself, he heard his induction phrase, and he slipped under immediately, just like with James. He drifted down into the darkness, and slid out of ‘Mark’ again, putting everything inside a little box just like before–but this time, he didn’t just forget what was inside it–he watched it burn in his mind’s eye, everything about that self destroyed, but that was good. He was light now. Empty. He liked being empty. Besides, there was a new skin to wear, wasn’t there?

The slave that had been Mark, pulled on the rubber suit his Master tossed to him, along with the mask, and when he was finished, Master secured everything with padlocks. The slave would never knowingly see it’s flesh again–it would only be cleaned while in a deep trance. It followed its Master to a mirror, looked at its new, black, faceless head, mouth replaced by a funnel to receive Master’s piss, and knew what it was, then. A drone. A rubber slave. A cum dump and urinal–nothing more. Not a person, just an object, wholly owned by its master. It would have felt something, but objects didn’t feel, did they? They just served–that’s what Master said, anyway. And everything Master said was true. 

The man smiled. There was more work to be done, to alter his new slave’s body to make service easier, but it wouldn’t be long before it would be following him to the club, sitting beside him, drinking the piss and cum of every man in the room–including James, he was sure. He had no doubt that, before long, James would be as deep in debt as ever. Maybe they’d work out another arrangement, in good time.

Interactive: Three Word Difference (Part 8)

“I wish my bros were into big, slutty himbos like me! We’d be…we’d, uh…what was I sayin’ again?” Tim said, the genie already sapping what remained of Tim’s intellect to start fulfilling his modified wish. The genie didn’t feel the need to modify much of the big man’s physique with this one, but as Tim grew dumber still, new desires started to cloud his mind–mostly focusing on how eager he was to get a good fuck. He hadn’t gotten fucked in ages! The biggest, manliest slut on campus, and he honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a cock inside him. He took another drag off his cigar, imagining it was a cock, and moaned. Leaning forward, he shoved one hand down the back of his tight spandex shorts, and probed his hole with one meaty finger, his cock leaking in the front of them as well.

“I believe, Master, that you were going to tell me more about these, ‘bros’, you live with.”

“Fuck genie, they’re all fuckin’ studs, eager for my hole, you wouldn’t fuckin’ believe how lucky I am. I mean, I wish more of them were cigar smokers–it grosses a couple of them out.”

The genie rewound that bit, and Timothy spoke his wish again.

“I wish all of them were dominant, sadistic, cigar smokers–it grosses a couple of them out.”

Tim, not really smart enough to realize what his idle wish had done, leaned back, smoked, and fingered himself for another minute or two, until someone pounded on the door. “Hey slut! Are you in there?”

Tim recognized the voice–it was Greg, one of the members of the frat. He hurried over, opened his door, and there his bro stood–muscled, shirtless, smoking a cigar just as large as Tim’s was, groping the front of his mesh shorts. 

“What the fuck did we tell you about locking your door, fag?”

“S-Sorry, I–” Tim’s excuse evaporated into a groan, as Greg latched onto his nipples and gave them a hard twist. 

“I don’t need your dumb excuses–get on the bed.”

Tim hopped up on the bed, shorts down, ass up, and Greg grabbed some lube off Tim’s bedside table and slathered some on his cock. “Yeah, that’s right slut–we have an open door policy around here–you know that. That means that whenever any of us want this hole of yours, we should be able to just walk right in here and grab it–think you can remember that?”

“Fuck bro, I’m sorry man, but fuck, get…get that cock in me man, I fuckin’ need it so bad!” Tim said.

Greg laughed. “Can’t believe a bottom like you got the biggest cock on campus. What a fuckin’ waste.”

“Fuck bro, I wish your cock was big like mine…”

The genie’s eyes glowed, and time skipped a beat.

“Fuck bro, I wish your cock was big instead of mine…”

Greg slid his cock in, and Tim gasped a bit in surprise. Greg was on the smaller side of the cocks in the house, and usually Time could take him without any trouble, but today…maybe he was just a bit tighter? Greg drove his cock in deeper and deeper with each thrust, with Tim’s slutty hole finding itself stretched to the max, as his cock dwindled down, becoming even smaller than Greg’s had been before–just a couple inches long. “Yeah, you like that slut? Like having my monster cock planted deep in your fucking guts?” Greg said as he pushed his now eleven inches completely into Tim’s ass, listening to the slut moan with something between pain and desperate need.

“Fuck bro, just…just fuck me man, fuck my slutty hole…”

Greg held out for a couple more minutes, but he eventually came deep, planted to the root, Tim shuddering as he felt his bro’s massive cock throbbing and filling him up with a load of cum. Greg finished, and pulled out. “Remember fucker, no locks for you, or we’ll just take the door off.”

It took Tim a few minutes to recover from that fuck, quivering and shaking on the bed. He finally reached down to stroke himself, and was horrified to find that he was working with much, much less suddenly–and he realized then, what he’d said in the heat of sex.

“Wait! I…I didn’t want to lose my cock too,” he said to the genie, “I wish my cock was big again!”

Or rather, once the genie was through with it…

“I wish my cock was permanently locked up!”

The genie snapped his fingers, there was a sharp pain, and Greg found himself looking down at his tiny cock in a very small chastity cage–riveted shut. “No! What the fuckin’ hell! That…that’s not what I wanted!” He tugged at the cage, but it refused to budge. “You…you fucked with my wish, didn’t you! How did you do that?”

The genie just smirked, and Tim heard the frat house door open, and the sound of loud voices in the common room downstairs. Football practice was over–and that meant most of the house was home.

“Where’s that fuckin’ slut!” one of them shouted, “Get your ass down here, now!”

Tim shook his head, but the genie’s eyes sparkled. He found himself unable to resist going downstairs, where the filthy football players all took turns with both ends for the rest of the evening, Tim losing himself in a haze of fucking, musk, smoke and humiliation that he couldn’t get enough of, even as he knew it was all wrong. He woke up the next morning in his bed, hole wrecked as usual, a dried mess of cum under his locked crotch–some his own, but most of it from his loose hole, and he rolled upright, and found the genie looking at him, still smirking.

“Have a good night, slut? It sure looked like you were enjoying yourself,” the genie said.

“Please…please, I…I wish I didn’t have to be the frat’s sex slave anymore.”

The genie just shook his head, and this time Tim felt it, the words forcing their way back into his mouth, changing in his mind, becoming something else when he spit them back out.

“I wish I have to be the frat’s sex slave forever now!”

He clapped his hands over his mouth, but it was too late–the frat president and a few other bros came into his room, and told him that the frat had come to a decision. Tim wasn’t going to be a student anymore–he was going to be moving rooms too. They dragged him down into the basement, where they forced him into a cage next to the house washer and dryer, gagged him, and went back to bed. Tim begged through the gag to the genie, begging him not to leave him like this, but he just laughed.

“I’m sorry master, I can’t hear you through that silly gag–I’m just going to have to assume my services are no longer required here–enjoy yourself.”

With that, the genie disappeared, leaving Tim to his new lifetime role as the fraternity’s cumdump.

***

The genie found his way back to the same dorm as before, now two students lighter. He looked around again at his options, and made a decision of who to visit next. There was still Eli, the jock who had been Adam’s roommate, until he got whisked away into his new life. There was the clean freak freshman who had been complaining to Timothy about his slobby roommate earlier. There was a young, thin fellow currently jacking off in his room, thinking about…one of his older, bearish professors. Finally, coming up the stairs, was an older maintenance man, coming to fix some wiring. He was a bit of a perv himself–and liked his job mostly because he could see all the hot college boys that he wanted. There was plenty to work with, but what does the genie choose?

Here’s the poll! I think this will be the last character in this interactive–once the new year hits, I’ll do another round of New You Resolutions! The bonus poll for patrons is over here as well.

Losing Control (Original Version)

I’m hoping to publish a longer story once a week or so, but I know that I won’t be able to always have sizable new content for you all. However, one thing I have been wanting to do for years is organize all of my stories in one place with a more comprehensive tag/category system, so this is the beginning of that project. When I don’t have a new story to post for the week, I’ll go back in my archives, clean up an old story, and repost it here. I’m going to be starting off with some stories that I haven’t touched in a very long time–like this one! My first story, almost twelve years old! Like a small child. Almost a teenager even. A story that is also a tween. I think this is now sufficiently weird.

In addition, for some of these, I’m planning on working on fixing up some of the writing, and also potentially extending them. I already have an extended rework of this story is process in fact. Some of those enhanced versions will be published here, others will be for Patron eyes only, depending on how I feel about them. I do want to preserve the original work, however, so I won’t be cleaning these archive versions up too much. The writing is a bit…well, it was twelve years ago! I was trying very hard. In any case, some of you might not have ever seen these stories, and others might like to revisit them, and now they will all be in one place, eventually! Hooray!

(Original version, published 4/22/2007)
I’m not a fan of destroying peoples’ lives, but sometimes they just deserve it. Being a wizard, it’s important to not lose control and let your power go to your head. Of course, I feel that I have a certain duty however to assist other people in realizing that they shouldn’t let their power go to their heads either. For example, do you remember Mike, the quarterback?… No of course you don’t remember Mike, Jerry’s the quarterback now and always has been. Let me just tell you a story then. Let’s say that there was this guy on campus, and he was a quarterback, and very popular, with a great body. All of those things would give a guy a lot of power, right? And a reasonably good person might use that power to do something good, right? You know…instead of picking on a wizard just because he would rather read a good book of spells than spend hours at the gym grunting like an ape, right? Well let’s say Mike wasn’t a reasonable good person, and that he did pick on a wizard, and that wizard felt like Mike was out of control. Or perhaps he had to much control. So all I did was make him lose a little. Ok, so it wasn’t really a little, but let me get to the story.

Mike had just got home from a frat party where he had a wonderful Saturday night. Not only was there plenty of beer, but the girls had been almost as bottomless as the stockpile of kegs as well. If he counted right, he had made out with ten, gotten blowjobs from six, and fucked two. The girls went crazy over his six foot three, 230 pound chiseled body, and blue eyes. Of course, he may have lied to a few of them, like when they asked if he loved them. He didn’t, but their bodies were damn hot, and that’s all that mattered to him. He unlocked the door to his apartment off campus and stepped inside. Dodging a pile of old pizza boxes, he threw his coat onto the couch and stumbled into the kitchen for a final beer before going to bed. He should clean up his apartment, but he didn’t really care that much. We wasn’t here most of the time anyway, he reasoned. He opened the fridge, pulled a can out of the 12 pack box, and sat down at the table, shoving a stack of papers aside to make room. One of them fell in front of him, and as he picked it up, the salutation caught his eye, “Dear Mike, the asshole jock.” He read the first line a few more times, thinking it was the beer, but there it was, written in script on a piece of plain paper. Curious, he went on the read the rest of the letter:

Continue reading “Losing Control (Original Version)” →

New You Resolutions (Part 9) [Interactive]

Duncan was holding his breath, listening to the audience of men in front of him laughing and whispering, discussing his fate, toying with the devices they were all holding, until he heard a ding above him, and the screen changed.

“Well, it looks like the audience has decided to give you a little mercy, Duncan,” the MC said, and Duncan felt a rumble in his guts. The screen above him said he would lose some weight and regain some of his youth, and he was, well, thrilled. Some of the fat on him melted away, his heavy apron reducing, the hair all over him regaining it’s former brown color–but the hair didn’t lessen at all–it was still incredibly thick, his long beard intact. The weight loss tapered off far sooner than he would have liked as well–leaving him around 300 pounds, with a solid gut, and thick moobs, and a wide ass of course. He wasn’t quite as young as he’d been either, ending up around 30 or so in age.

“This…this isn’t enough!” he said, shaking his gut with his hands. “If you can change me back this much, at least change me back all the damn way! This…this is almost worse!”

The audience was laughing again, and toying with their devices, when he heard a second ding, and another change popped up on the screen.

“Well, it looks like they audience thinks you should be a little more…grateful, for what they’ve given you, Duncan,” the MC said.

He looked up at the screen, and the second change said that he was going to start becoming an exhibitionist, who loved flaunting his fat, filthy, and hairy body for everyone to see, and as he read it, he felt his head start…swimming. He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to enjoy this! But when he shook his gut again…it felt good. He belched, and when the men laughed at him, he felt a burst of pride, and belched again. Then, without really thinking about it, he hauled off his tanktop, showing off his whole hairy expanse of a gut, and the men were all laughing and cheering him on…and it was…almost like the resh he’d felt in front of the camera before, when he’d been modelling. Almost…better in some ways. He started groping himself, hornier than he could really imagine from showing off like this in front of all these men, when there was another ding above him.

He felt the change happening as he groped his crotch, before he even looked back–his balls growing larger, his cum production constant, and perpetually horny, so he wouldn’t be able to resist groping and jacking off almost constantly. The last bit of himself that held any shame tried to drag his hand away from his cock, which was rapidly being dwarfed by the size of his balls, but he couldn’t. It just felt too damn good, and the first load of pre gouted from the head of his cock, soaking the front of his mesh shorts, and he could smell it, how pungent it was, and then it was too late–he was openly jacking himself off now, feeling the precum flowing almost constantly, soaking his shorts, running down his chubby thighs. He didn’t really hear the final ding–different from the rest.

“Oh goodness, looks like someone has made an offer!” the MC said, and one of the men from the audience climbed up onto the stage. He was the owner of a collection of fast food franchises–and he had plans for Duncan. His hands were shackled, something that frustrated him to no end, since he had to stop touching his cock, and the man–his new owner–led him away.

In the new year, when he awoke, he was in a cage in the store room of his new owner’s fast food chain, who came and let him out–but only after servicing his cock, of course. Then, he spent the entire day working the fryers in the back, hands shackled so he couldn’t touch himself, until the evening, when he was released and dragged back to his cage, where he ate his meal of cold fast food and jacked off–his old life forgotten, and his new life of servitude stretching before him forever.

As Duncan was led off the stage, the next of the four was pushed out onto it–Morg. He was massive now, easily six and a half feet tall, with a massive gut, body packed solid with muscle. He was wearing some of his clothes from his work, grubby from his labor, and wondering what all of this was about–but part of him…wondered if there was a chance he could change back, go back to being that college student, because he was…terrified by how much he enjoyed this, being this rough, aggressive, domineering brute–the brute who had spent the whole fall hunting down and raping the entire football team, one after another, turning them all screaming sissy bitches impaled on his massive cock…

The MC announced him, and the audience began to deliberate and vote–and Morg waited to see what they had in store for him now.

The next public poll is below, and the bonus poll for Patrons can be found through this link!