Tag: under 200

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

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

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

Source: hateic

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

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

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

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

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

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

Source: boners4beards

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

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

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

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

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

Here at WaleMart, we have spent several years trying to capture shoppers belonging to a wider variety of demographics, yet our core consumers, and our most reliable shoppers, still share a few, common qualities: they come from lower income households, are overweight or obese, and possess IQs below 100. However, rather than struggle to attract other demographics, Walemart will embark on a bold new approach–bringing these shoppers into our core demographic.

Here we see a man being assisted by one of our helpful new demographic associates, trying on clothes which have been treated with special chemicals which, even now, are causing weight gain, as well as promoting hunger, encouraging a trip through our grocery aisles once he’s finally settled into his 54 inch waist overalls. The food itself is not only laced with addictive chemicals, but also decreases intelligence with repeated consumption. With time, his lack of energy and diminished faculties will force him out of the upper income bracket he currently occupies, and he will be one more loyal WaleMart customer cemented in our key demographic for life.

For most athletes, college football is as high as they go, if they aren’t planning on going pro–and at a division III school, no one ever goes pro. It was the eve of their final game of the year, and someone (the prankster never revealed themselves, but it had to have been someone from the team, they thought) had left the box of shirts at the party house that night. 

Laughing and already drunk, all of the football players had put them on, and when they woke up the next morning, hungover and aching, they saw that the shirts hadn’t been joking at all. They were all potbellied, in their thirties, balding, and very confused. When a group of biology students whose experiments they’d sabotaged last year as a prank came by, pretending to be members of the staff, and told them that the reunion was over and they had to get off campus, they had nowhere to go. How could they play, go to class, or even graduate, looking like this? Still, one thing was certain–none of them would play football ever again.

Source: usexybrah

Ned hadn’t had a very happy birthday yesterday. You see, as a greedy child, Ned had been cursed to receive a gift from everyone he met on his birthday–only it was never something Ned wanted. Well, he’d managed to avoid going out on his birthday–but this year had been a mistake. See–he’d paid a gypsy to protect him from the curse, and it had worked for a while–until he’d accidentally wandered past a gay leather bar. 

The sheer force of desire had overcome the gypsy’s protections, and before Ned could escape, he’d taken on so many gifts he could barely process them. Some were small, but others, like a fascination with piss and shit, or the need to have his mouth and face stuffed with filthy dildos–those were going to be harder to manage. He was definitely getting a refund–but that could wait until he’d found his master. He’d picked up a collar from some unhappy sub–and now all Ned could think about was servicing a Master Jordan. He didn’t look forward to finding out why the sub hadn’t liked his master–but Ned knew he was about to find out.

“Dang son, you smell so good, I could ride you all damn night!" 

Yep, I think I handed out the wrong drinks, judging from the horny looks on my dad’s friends’ faces as they close in around us, but my cock was so hard, thinking about how it would feel to serve them, I don’t care.

I’d bought the pheromones to prank my asshole father, who loved calling me a faggot and a pussy. He was the one who was supposed to get the Beta drink, but they’d all looked the same, and maybe I’d flipped the tray when I’d brought down the beers…

Dad pulled down my shorts as Uncle Willis shoved his thick cock down my throat, and I nearly came from that dominant thrust alone. The pills would last for 24 hours, but hey, I might as well make the best of a bad situation right? In fact, maybe being a faggot isn’t so bad after all, I think as my dad’s cock enters my ass, and I cum uncontrollably for the first of many times that night.