“Oh goodness, that does sound serious,” Mr. Habberton said, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Gremmory over the top of his spectacles, “And how long has this behavior been going on?”

“Years now. It started small, you know, just being obstinante! All teenagers are like that a little bit. We assumed it would just be a phase, but it’s only gotten worse! And now they want to throw him in jail!” Mrs. Grammory said, and then burst into tears and her husband held her while she sobbed.

“Please Mr. Habberton, if there’s anything you can do–we’re desperate,” he said, looking down at his wife.

“Well, selling drugs and stealing cars is a pretty difficult case, but I’ll take it. Bring him to this address tomorrow morning,” Mr. Habberton said, and handed them his card, “I’ll get the boy sorted out, trust me.”

The parents thanked him profusely, and Mr. Habberton went back to his large mansion, where one his many boys helped him undress and provided him with his evening blowjob, and he looked over young Dennis “Den Man” Grammony’s file, looking at the rough, unkempt man in the photos, smoking a cigarette, scowling towards the lens. All he really needed, like the rest of his boys needed, was some proper discipline–still, young Dennis would probably require a month in sensory deprivation before he’d be pliable enough to conform to the house rules. Even then, he’d probably have to be leashed to Mr. Habberton and tightly caged, to ensure proper compliance. Still, his methods were extreme, but he did have a one hundred percent success rate. And all of his boys were plenty satisfied living in his spacious mansion, or at least until they got too old. Then he’d sell them off for a handsome profit. Still, he was going to enjoy breaking this one–but then again, he did always enjoy breaking in the violent ones.

Nothing but distant memories now, more like stories that happened to friends of friends. How I used to be different. Slimmer–no, not just slimmer–muscular. Yeah, I used to work out, the stories say. I chuckle as the captain’s hands reach around and pull me closer, gripping my fat, and I moan. So far away now, so far away it might as well have never happened, and as far as the captain is concerned, it never did. “How are you feeling slave? Good?” he whispers into my ear, and I shiver.

A captain, a guide, a navigator. A man who helps people who are lost in their lives. A captain. He’d claimed to be all of these things, when I’d met him. All I’d claimed to need was directions, but he’d known better, he’d brought be here, he’d redirected and rerouted my entire life to this moment, but we still weren’t at the destination. Close though–so close. “Are we there yet?” I ask anyway.

“Not yet slave, we still have a few changes to make in your route. Are you ready for one last trip?” the captain said into my ear.

I nod eagerly, but it’s already happening, he’s already guiding me through my life again. As we pass them, I can see some of the detours and intersections I had been down before. Briefly, I glimpse the moment I’d first decided to work out, when I was twelve, but I can’t go down that path anymore–instead, I fell in love with my fat, obese uncle, and decided to be as big as him when I grow up. Much of the new changes are subtle ones now–the radical changes are all behind me, the captain is only fine tuning my directions now. I’m bullied much more through school, and become a loner, engrossed with the conversations I have with older men online, about how much I want to serve them. I grow to dislike myself, I find myself worthless, and crave service as a way to make myself useful to someone. This in turn leads me into deep masochism, and by the time we reach the present time, I can already feel the changes ricocheting through me, and I pull away from his embrace–I’m not worthy of it.

Instead, I get down and clean his boots, showing the captain that I know my place–I understand where I belong in the world now. I’m not lost anymore–I’m just a boot worshiping, obese piece of scum, barely worthy of serving my betters. There is a sharp pain on my chest where the captain’s mark appears on me, naming me his slave and property, and I am honored that he has given me the privilege of serving him. I have found my place now, and I know in my heart that I will never leave this new path.

***This caption uses a picture and some ideas submitted by Changemechainme***

“What do you think–is he ready?”

The two men stand towering over you, but you can’t even muster the energy to look up at them anymore. The chain around your neck has been draining the life out of your for days now–maybe even weeks. You’ve lost track of time in this room. The men have been checking up on you more frequently now, checking your shrinking cock, now less than an inch long, guessing at your age, talking to you on occasion, but you can’t even speak any more. You aren’t sure if that’s because your voice is literally gone, or because you simply don’t have the energy to fight back. In your heart, though, you sense that no words will cross your lips ever again. They have your current age pinned down somewhere between seventy and eighty. You were twenty-nine when they locked you up–how did they do this to you?

“I think this is the best we’re gonna get. His sack is finally big enough for what the guy wanted at least–that took longer than I’d expected. I think the guy will be satisfied. Still a lot of work to do, we’d better get going.”

They unlock the chain from around your neck–the burden is gone, finally. You’d hoped that you would feel better, that energy would come back to you, but it doesn’t. You feel the same, and when the first man puts a collar on your neck with a lead attached, all you can do is crawl after him, into the fluorescent white corridor beyond the door of your cell, and down the hall to a white, sterile room.

The modifications all take place there. They begin with the difficult changes first–prying your teeth from your head one by one while a surgeon severs your Achilles’ tendons, ensuring you will never walk upright again. Then, after spreading your legs apart, they examine your massive ball sack–the surgeon cuts into it, removing your balls, and fills it back up with four, two inch diameter metal spheres before sewing it back up. Then they permanently remove all of the hair from your body, your face and your head, and begin the process of tattooing and piercing your body to the specifications of the man who purchased you. The entire time, in your mind, you’re trying to scream at them to stop, begging them to let you go, but your voice–you have no voice anymore. You remain perfectly silent and unresisting as they modify you beyond any sort of recognition.

You heal, and then are given to your new master, and you discover why he wanted your mind to remain as it was–it was because he wanted to watch it wither as he trained you himself. He wanted to see you struggle and fight as the hypnosis whittled away at the will that remained, and you did fight. You fought hard, but it was no real contest. You accepted your fate, eventually, and now you enjoy being his slave. His old, voiceless, castrated cumdump, and there’s nothing in the world you’d rather be.

***

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Jesse got off the bus, grumbling a bit, and then set off towards the address the notice he’d received in the mail had directed him to. He had the stupid letter with him, which told him that if he didn’t comply with some new government program, he’d lose his welfare and disability benefits. See, Jesse was, well, a lout. Hell, most days he didn’t even bother putting clothes on, much less look for a job. A “slip” at his last warehouse job has rendered him “disabled” you see, and he was perfectly happy collecting a government check. He did hate jumping through these idiotic hoops though–but still, it would be a day of paperwork, and maybe a class or seminar, a few forged employment applications, and he’d be good to just sit back and watch porn for another few months.

He arrived at the office–but it wasn’t like any sort of government office he’d ever been in before–if anything it looked more like a doctor’s office than anything. He went inside, and the woman behind the desk gave him some forms to complete, which he did–and sure enough, there were as many health and psychology questions as prior employment questions. Still, he filled it out, being as polite as he could muster, and then a nurse came and brought him back into an exam room, gave him a shot, and then…well, then Jesse didn’t remember anything that happened after that.

He woke up clad in a rubber body suit, collared and gloved, with some sort of heavy-duty chatity belt around his cock. He wasn’t in the exam room anymore–he was in something that looked more like a jail cell, and his ankles and wrists were chained to the floor. He screamed for someone to help him, and after about an hour a doctor came in, but didn’t speak to him, just gave him a once over…and then one of the biggest men Jessie had ever seen stepped into the room.

“Hello Jesse,” My name is Howard, but for now, I’m going to need you to call me Sir, do you understand?”

“Fuck you, get me–” Jessie started to say, when a huge jolt of painful electricity ran through the metal chastity device, making him scream in pain.

“I asked you if you understand, Jesse.”

“Yes! Yes, please turn it off!” Jesse said, the electricity still running through him, but it was obvious Howard was waiting for something else. “Yes! Yes sir!”

Finally, the electricity shut off, and he was left panting on his knees, trying not to sob.

“Thank you doctor, I can take it from here,” Howard said, and the doctor left, leaving them alone. “That was good Jessie–welcome to Project Discipline, authorized under the Affordable Care Act.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Jessie, your disability has been classified under the new ACA guidelines as type D, a failure of discipline. In order to get more people back into the workforce, Project Discipline has been created to help disabled individuals like you become better equipped towards civil service. I’m your designated trainer. Now, shall we begin?” Howard pulled his cock out of his fly, and walked up to Jessie’s mouth. “Suck it, Jessie–show me what you’ve been learning in all that porn you’ve been buying. Man, isn’t the NSA just great? Really helps us pin down all the undisciplined perverts like you. Well, don’t worry, you’ll be a properly disciplined perv soon enough.”

Truth or Dare

Alex was used to the sensation by now, the odd tugging in his mind, not exactly moving him limbs for him, but making it impossible for him to move them in any direction other than where “Dad” had told him to go. He parked his car on the street and got out, still a bit self-conscious in his leather harness and chaps, even though he’d been wearing them out of the house more and more often these days, whenever he was told to during their numerous games of “Simon Says.” How fucking twisted was that? A fucking kids game, and here he was, cigar glowing in the fading evening light, dressed up like a fucking leather fag, about to go into some dingy bar where he was going to meet his tormentor face to face for the first time.

Months–it was hard to remember when exactly it had started. It had just been a game at first, something silly to do over chat. He can’t remember exactly when he discovered that Dad’s suggestions were really compulsions–probably the first time he’d been forced to go buy a cigar and light up, mimicking Dad’s actions as closely as possible the entire time. He pushed the memory away, it was too terrifying to think about right now. He had no idea what to expect now–he’d gotten on for their usual afternoon chat, and immediately noticed that something was strange–Dad was in a different room than usual–it looked like a motel room, and he’d chatted just long enough to order Alex to get dressed in his leathers and come to this bar, smoking the whole time of course–but Alex was well addicted at this point–he smoked whether Dad told him to or not.

The bar was lightly packed on a weeknight, it was easy enough to spot Dad over at the bar, a double whisky in front of him, smoking away. Unable to help himself, Alex ordered the same thing and took the stool next to him, matching Dad’s movements perfectly, without even really needing to try. “Simon Says cut it out–” the older man said to Alex, “It’s creepy when you do it in the same room as me.”

He should run. He should hit him. He should do any number of things, he knew that, and yet he just sat there–why? Because he wanted to know–why him? Why torture him for months online and then show up here and now? He wanted him life back, more than anything, but if he ran now, he knew he’d just hunt him down, or blackmail him, or anything else he wanted to do. No, he needed to be smart about this. He needed to know why, more than anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” the man asked, “figured you’d have at least started shouting at me by now.”

“Can you just tell me why? Why do this? What the fuck does any of this do for you?”

In response, the man smiled, “I just love games, I guess–but what fun are games when there’s no real risk involved?”

“Why not just go gamble your fucking life away then like other people?”

“Because the house always wins when you gamble–and I hate losing.”

“What, so you just play games that people can’t win at? Where you’re always going to walk away the fucking winner? That just sounds like cowardice to me. You fuck up my life, make me humiliate myself, all so you can win some fucking game? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alex said, his voice loud in the mostly quiet bar.

“Sounds like someone forgot how Simon Says works,” the man said, chickling, “You weren’t competing against me–you were competing against all the other boys I was chatting with too. That is how Simon Says works, after all. You’re the winner–congratulations. Are you sure you don’t want to know what your prize is? After all, you got off a whole lot luckier than the rest of them–trust me.”

Alex just sat there–how many other guys had he been playing with? And what had happened to them if having his life ruined and getting summoned to a leather bar was lucky? “How many–How many were there?”

“Twenty–to start with.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey, you did good, my boy–you won! Now, how about we play something else? Just you and me, father and son.”

“Don’t fucking say that, I’m not your fucking son.”

“If you say so,” the man said, taking a sip of whisky, “But you have to admit, that the resemblance at this point is rather…uncanny.”

Alex took a drink too, before replying. “So what is it now? Candyland? Monopoly? Hide and Seek?”

“Nah, how about a nice game of ‘Truth or Dare’?”

Alex shook his head, “I was close though–why all the fucking childhood games?”

“What else should a father play with his son?” the man said, smirking.

Alex sighed, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“I suppose I can’t make you play–you could and refuse,” the man said, pulling a small idol out of his pocket that was shining oddly bright in the dim bar, “But as far as this guy goes, he thinks the game is already going, and he doesn’t like letting players off the hook. I suppose you could skip all of your turns, but I still get to take all of mine. So, four rounds–eight questions in all. When we finish the game, and you can do whatever you want.”

Alex finished his drink quickly, and said, “Fine, but first, I have a question. What’s your name–your real name, none of this Dad and Daddy shit, I want to know your first name, at least.”

“It’s Harvey, but I think you’ll prefer Daddy by the time we’re done here. So, do you need me to go over the rules?”

“I think I know how to play Truth or Dare.”

Alright then–how about I go first? Truth or Dare, Boy?”

The idol on the bar glowed bright for a moment before settling back down, and Alex tried to ask if the idol was responsible for all of this, but he couldn’t get a word out at all. He realized then that the game had started–the only words he would be able to get out would be ‘Truth’ or ‘Dare’, and he didn’t really want to know what Dad would dare him to do here, so he said, “Truth.”

The idol glowed slowly, and the man smiled. “Truth, eh? Just so you know, this game is a little different–I get to say whatever I want about you, and that becomes true.”

“Wait, what?” Alex said, “That’s not how the game is played!”

“That’s how I play it,” Harvey said, “Guess you should have asked about the rules when you had the chance.”

“That’s fucked up.”

Harvey didn’t pay him any mind, and he finally replied, “Alright, here’s your truth. It’s true that you love having me control you–you love having a strong older man dominate you, bend you to his will, and have his way with you.–it’s the height of sexual excitement for you.”

The idol glowed so bright for a moment that it hurt Alex’s eyes, and he felt…different. Everything that had already happened to him had still happened, but he felt…so different about it. Now, all of the humiliation, all the sexual abuse he’d been forced to do, it had all been…thrilling. He’d wanted to come here, he’d begged him to come find him, to…control him in person, hadn’t he? His head hurt so much, but being this close to Harvey, to Dad, fuck, he was so turned on right now, even though he shouldn’t be, should he? He was trying to catch the old memories, but everything that didn’t conform to the new truth was draining down through his fingers, and by the time the figure returned to normal, it was all gone, just…lust, and excitement, and he wanted to play this game, he wanted Harvey to dominate him, he wanted to be controlled, it was going to be so hot…

“Your turn,” Harvey said, “Go on, ask me.”

Alex didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then he remembered the game. “Are…Are you sure I can’t just skip my turn? I think I’d really rather have you dare me for a little bit,” Alex said, the flirting natural and so wrong at the the same time.

“Humor me, and play along at least,” Harvey said.

“Oh alright–Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Harvey said.

Alex pouted, “I don’t know what to do, I’m not really a top, but you know that already…” he said, smirking.

“Oh, be a little adventurous,” Harvey said, leaning in close, “Tell me something you’ve always wanted me to do to you, I want to hear one of my boy’s sick, twisted fantasies.”

Alex’s first thought was that he didn’t have any sick, twisted fantasies…but he did. He really did. Being bound up and fisted, licking his dad head to toe, begging for his cock, being his pup, so many things he couldn’t keep track of them all. “How in the hell do I choose,” he said.

It occurred to Alex then that he could dare him anything. He could make him leave. He could make him promise to undo all of the shit he’d done to Alex these past few months, but he no longer wanted that. They weren’t even through round one, and Harvey had already beaten him, but he knew what he wanted. “Kiss me, but don’t just kiss me, I want you to rape my mouth with your tongue, I want you to force your smoke into me, fucking dominate me with your fucking mouth,” he said, and even before he’d finished speaking, Harvey had lip locked him, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, breathing a big lungful of smoke down his throat which Alex inhaled relishing it as their tongues fought. He was too strong though, and Alex wanted him to win too badly, he could feel the older man wrestle him down, make his mouth his, he could do whatever he wanted with Alex, and he wouldn’t have cared one bit, no, he would have thanked him and asked him for more. They parted for air, Alex harder than he’d ever been in his life, and he said, “I love you,” without even thinking, and Harvey smiled.

In reply, all he said was “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” Alex said, not hesitating for a second. “Whatever you fucking want, I’ll do it.”

“Then get down and suck me off, right here, while I have another drink. And I want to hear you enjoy it.”

He pulled out his cock, and Alex didn’t need the idol pushing him to his knees–he was more than happy to comply. Harvey had his cock out, but before Alex swallowed it to the hilt, he asked, “Truth or Dare, Dad?”

Harvey looked surprised, but smiled and said, “Truth.”

“It’s true that you have a foot long cock, as big around as a beer can and three times as sensitive as normal, you can get hard and cum at will, and I can take it all the way to the hilt, no problem.”

“Oh what a naughty boy I’ve got here,” Harvey said, watching his cock grow under the bar. Alex swallowed it down before it finished growing, and he felt it push down his throat, but like he’d said, he had no problem swallowing the entire shaft, Harvey jerking and spasming as he sucked on him, not used to how much pleasure a simple blow job would give him from now on. It took him five minutes to relax enough and adjust so he could sip his drink at all, and he let it last, listening to Alex moan and groan in pleasure under the bar, stopping only the take a breath, draw on his cigar, exhale the smoke over Harvey’s massive cock and then keep going. The display was drawing quite a bit of attention in the small, sparsely packed bar, and quite a few men were watching the display, jacking their cocks, and wondering what they’d have to do to get some of that boy’s throat to themselves.

“Alright, I’m done, you can come up now, Son,” Harvey said.

“Do I have to?” Alex asked, kissing the head.

“Yes, get up here–we still have a game to finish after all. Now, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Alex said, “And something hard this time.”

“I think my cock is plenty hard boy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Harvey said, and thought for a moment, before reaching into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a leather collar and a padlock. “I dare you to take this collar, put it around your neck, padlock it closed, and then throw the key away, accepting the fact that you’re going to be my slave for the rest of your life. I usually save that one for last, but why wait? It leaves one round for us to enjoy ourselves.”

Alex shakily took the collar from Harvey, and looked at it, a bit teary eyed–but not from fear…he was…happy. “You…you mean it? You want to keep me?”

“I do,” Harvey said, “I want to keep you forever, son.”

“Dad…” Alex said, but he didn’t have the words. He just took the collar, buckled it around his neck without a word, padlocked it closed, and handed the key to a passing bartender, “Could you throw this away please? I won’t be needing it.”

The man just looked at the two of them for a moment, wondering if he should try to intervene, but figured he’d rather get a big tip than get yelled at by some dom. He took the key, but didn’t throw it away–keeping it by the register, in case the lovestruck sub changed his mind, like they usually did.

“So, Truth or Dare, sir?” Alex asked.

“Dare.”

“Alright. I dare you to leash me up, and take me around the whole bar on my hands and knees. I want you to introduce me as your son who you’ve enslaved, and offer all of the men here an opportunity to use me however they’d like.”

“You’re such a fucking slut.”

“You’re the one who made me that way–enjoy it, sir.”

Alex got down on his hands and knees, and Harvey pulled out a leash he hadn’t brought with him, hooked it to the collar and started parading him around the bar, introducing Alex as he’d been dared to, and nearly every man took him up on the offer. Usually they just wanted blow jobs, but a few men fucked Alex’s ass, and he loved it. Loved being a slave, loved being owned by his Dad, loved serving men, being controlled, the sensation of the leash tugging at his neck, of the rough leather collar he knew he would never take off. It took over two hours for them to go around to everyone, and Alex loved every minute of it, and looking up at his Dad, he could see that the older man approved as well.

They made their way back to the bar, and as they did, Harvey asked, “So son, I suppose this is the last round–Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Alex said, “As hot as that was, I don’t think I can handle another round of that.”

“Ha, oh really? Well, it’s true that you have a massive libido which can never be satisfied, that you’re a total sexually obsessed pig covered with explicit, degrading tattoos that you show off to the whole world at every chance you get, and that you can’t say no to anyone, so long as they’ll give you the rough, abusive treatment you crave more than anything else in the world, especially from me.”

It hurt, the tattoos as they spread across his body like fire, but it was over in a second, or at least, most of the burning. His ass, his cock–he needed sex, he needed it so bad. “Fuck dad, you know I didn’t mean that right?” he said, nearly panting with lust, “Let’s go again, I didn’t get fucked nearly enough, fucking make them plow me Dad, I need my hole so loose that it won’t close, come on, please, sir? Please?” he begged.

Harvey looked down at his boy, tattoos of cocks and foul language covering most of his body, the lust filling up his nearly empty eyes, and it was everything he’d ever wanted in a boy. “Sure thing son, but you still have one last question. Ask me, and then we’ll get you what you need.”

Alex looked visibly frustrated, but asked the question, “Truth or Dare, sir?”

“Truth.”

Alex grinned crudely, “Truth eh? Alright. It’s true that you’re my real dad, from your own loins, a hyper-masculine beast of a man, a true alpha, who devotes his whole life to working out, fucking his son whom he’s trained as his sex slave since he was a teenager, a man rough and aggressive, who loves inflicting pain and abuse on anyone inferior to him, who refuses to take no for an answer and will do anything to get his way.”

Harvey had just enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before the idol gave a final flash, and then he noticed that the floor was a bit further away than it had been a second earlier…and that he definitely wasn’t the same man he’d been. He was close to seven feet tall, and must have weighed close to 300 pounds of mostly muscle. He was covered with fur, and had a two inch beard on his face which had grown in the span of a single day, like always. He had nearly as many tattoos as his son–yes, his son. He loved his son, he loved fucking the pig, working out with him–he was shorter than his dad, but had almost as much muscle, a thick bull pig looking up at him with all the love and adoration he deserved, and before he really knew what he was doing, he had his cock out and was fucking him right there in the middle of the bar, roaring out abuse, Alex begging him to be rougher and harder, the rest of the bar silently watching the spectacle unfolding before them.

The one person who moved was the bartender, who took the key he’d been given and threw it in the trash. The boy was right–he wouldn’t be needing that ever again, and then he saw the idol, now dull and boring, sitting on the bar. He pocketed it, and left before anyone could see him. He’d been hoping for a good tip–and if he was right about what he could almost remember happening, this little thing was the best tip he could get.

“Drink it—Fucking drink it, faggot!”

“Get it all down his fucking throat—don’t miss a god damn drop!”

***

A dream, but god, what a dream. Troy sat up in his bed, sweating, wondering where in the hell that had come from. The details of it were already fading, but the circle of young men surrounding him, forcing whatever that had been down his throat—what a nightmare.

He got up and went into the bathroom to piss, but stopped when he saw his reflection. CUMDUMP. It was tattooed in huge letters across his chest, and he couldn’t believe it. He ran back into the bedroom and found his phone. Wednesday—how was it Wednesday? He’d gone out on Saturday, and lost three days? What about work? What had happened to him?

Regardless, he had to cover it up and get to the office, and figure out what was going on. He opened his closet, but instead of the usual selection of conservative suits, there was only…leather, and rubber, and…and…

When he next came to, he was kneeling on the floor in front of the door, wearing rubber shorts and a leather harness, waiting. Waiting for what? He didn’t know, for someone to come. There was the sound of a key in the door, and then a group of men came in. “Ready for the party, Cumdump? I brought some new friends for you to suck off.”

“Yes Sir, use me as you see fit, Sir,” Troy answered, almost mechanically.

He wouldn’t be going back to work, he realized. He had a new job—a more important job. He took the first cock presented to him and started sucking, desperately thirsty for cum, his old life slowly forgotten in the haze of sex and service in the years of slavery that followed.

Source: treasureislandmedia.com

I make a new one every Bear Run I go to–I never get tired of it. It’s the first timers I like the most, the ones who don’t run in the usual circles, the ones desperate for friends and attention. They’re always nervous with me at first, but they so want to be liked–to be needed–and I can give them that, even if it’s never in the way they expect.

I ply them with liquor–with compliments. In turn, they open up about themselves, as though I care one lick about who they are. They come up to my room, and then the fun starts. That first night, breaking them down, destroying them, remaking them–by morning they’re begging for it, and a whole new man walks out my door.

Bareback only. Fistpigs. Painplay. Urinals. Toilets. Nothing is too extreme for the whores I craft. The second day, they endure heavy use, and they revel in it. If there are any doubts, any vestiges of their old selves remaining, they’re wiped out soon enough–the pleasure is too much–and people need them so much, how could they refuse?

The bidding process is silent, discrete. I introduce them to their new owner on the final day, and they leave–happy slaves all. Finally needed, just like they wanted.

Source: jiminwi38

One Change #3 – Justice

With this power, why wouldn’t someone go around trying to right a few wrongs as well? Certainly a few changes were devoted to trying and correct injustices made against people in the past and to try and give criminals and bullies what they deserve. Here was a good example–Mr. White.

He looks like a nice man, right? A good neighbor, a delightful old character? Unfortunately, he had a history of abusing children, and when the person responsible for these changes learned about what he’d done from a grown victim, he knew that something had to be done about it. It turned out that Mr. White had an entire basement in his home where he did his work–so the Changer decided that–before Mr. White had harmed anyone, he should have been kept locked up in a dungeon himself.

Not very pretty no, but fitting. The new Mr. White was kept chained in a cage in a basement by a cruel master–aside from the times he was being fucked, fisted or beaten into submission. Sure, the new Mr. White didn’t know why he deserved this treatment, but it was better to spare his victims as far as the Changer was concerned. Besides, the new Mr. White had long since accepted his role, after nearly fifty years of slavery, and he derived plenty of satisfaction from it now.

Of course, not every punishment needed to be so extreme. Sometimes it was better just to force the culprit into a fitting new life, as was the case with Vinnie.

Living as a redneck, he was fond of bullying and beating up anyone remotely resembling a faggot in his eyes, and the Changer could sense that this was born from his own questionable sexuality. Vinnie also loved violence–it helped him get off. So, instead of being turned on by violence, the Changer decided to make him thrilled by men looking at him instead.

The new Vinnie certainly wasn’t a redneck–he’d moved to the city as soon as he’d saved enough for the train ticket. He’d wanted to be a star, but he’d settled for being a stripper at a local bear and leather bar. He loved the work, and the men loved him–his confidence, his thrill at being watched. The Changer was happy to find that this new Vinnie, living open, was much happier than the old one, and considered his work well done.