Caption: Max’s New ID Badge

Max was in his office, fuming and trying to concentrate. All day at the office, he’d been having just…nothing seemed right. Ever since…he’d gone to the basement and gotten his new ID card that morning, he just didn’t feel like himself, at all.

Sure, the picture…looked like him, but it wasn’t who he’d been when he’d walked in the building, somehow he knew that too. He’d been smaller, and younger, with a sharp haircut and a clean face. Now…he felt like some damn ape! He was thick, hairy all over, stringing together two sentences was hard, and every time his twinky little secretary passed by his office carrying a stack of papers…he couldn’t stop himself. He’d bend that boy over his desk and fuck his sweet little hole, grunting the whole time–he was beginning to suspect that the secretary was actually passing his door more often on purpose.

Now, he was trying to concentrate. It was getting harder and harder to remember he’d been different, but he was clinging to it as hard as he could–it had started with that new ID, he was sure of it somehow. He’d just go back down there and ask–it couldn’t hurt, right? So he left his office, stomping off down the hall to the elevator–he almost made it without incident, but he ran into Trent, the cumdump from floor eight–and the old fuck just looked so desperate for work, that he let the old pig suck him off in the elevator, as they rode down to the basement. The guy did good work–Max came by floor five, and when they reached the basement, Trent rode back up to find some more work to do.

It was late in the afternoon, and the crowd that had been down here earlier, getting new badges from the single photographer, was gone. It was a bit…eerie even. He found his way to the security station, and was waved back to see the photographer, who looked to be relaxing a bit, but perked up when Max came in. “Hi, uh, you did my security badge earlier, but…well, I don’t think it’s right…”

“Oh?” the photographer asked, and inspected it. “It looks like you–and your job title is Fuckape, right?”

“Yeah, I mean…I guess. But I looked…different before? I think? My heads a little confused I guess. I just…wanted to ask you.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve been waiting to see who was more resistant–go one, stand over on the blue square, we can fix it right up.”

Relieved, Max stood back over the blue spot, smiled, and the man took his photo again. The badge popped out, and Max was relieved–this one definitely looked right. He stripped out of his clothes in the office, and accepted the new uniform the photographer handed him–it had turned out the job title was wrong too, but this one sounded better anyway, to him. Feeling happy he had made the trip after all, Max got down on his knees, drank down the photographer’s load of piss, then stood up and headed for his office again, on the twelfth floor.

Once there, he found his way to the bathroom, and sat down on his ass between the two urinals, and waited. It wasn’t long before a slew of other workers came in, feeding him loads of piss, soaking him down from head to toe–it’s a good thing his uniform was so bare, or his clothes would have been soaked! But this felt much more right–he knew he was meant to the the toilet bear of the twelfth floor–what other job for him could there possibly be?

Caption: Trent’s New ID Badge

Trent stepped out of the elevator and into the basement of his building, still a bit confused by what was going on today. He’d tried to get through security, but it wasn’t the usual guys standing at the metal detector–instead, it was two massive, hulking meatheads–both of them easily six and a half feet tall, who had taken one look at his ID card, and told him he needed it to get updated before he could enter, and they directed him down here, to the basement.

He was frustrated–there was an 8:30 meeting he was about to be late for, and there was nothing wrong with his picture! Still, if he could do this quick, it would be fine. Sure enough, there was a security office down there, also staffed by a meathead, who waved him back–and there, he found a chubby fellow, wearing some dirty looking suit, waiting for him. “Ah, here for an updated ID?” the man said with a leer, “I’ll need you to hand over your old one first.”

Trent did so, and the man looked him up and down–and Trent could see him…groping himself like a pervert. He was disgusted, and tried to leave–but discovered he couldn’t move an inch.

“On your knees please–I’m going to need this photo to be very accurate, you see…” the man said.

Trent found himself forced down, and the man stood up, dropped his pants, and pulled out his cock, inches from Trent’s face. He could only register his horror for a moment, before the man, after a couple of pumps, sprayed his load all over Trent’s face and the top of his shirt. The man huffed for a moment, and then put his cock away. “There–you’ll be perfect now, I think–go stand against the wall so I can take your photo please.”

Trent got up, horrified, and stood where the man had said, smiled when he said to smile, and the flash…was so bright. He rubbed his eyes, a bit dazed, and licked his lips…and tasted cum. Unable to help himself, he started wiping it off and licking it off his fingers, moaning, his own cock hardening in the front of his pants.

The man laughed, watching Trent humiliate himself, and when Trent finally pulled his hands away, he saw the man had his ID ready–with his new picture.

Below it, for his job title, it just said “Office Cumdump, Floor 8.”

He screamed at the man then, told him off, and the man just laughed at him. “If you aren’t happy with that photo–I’m happy to take another one. Go back and stand on the X again please.”

Trent found himself unable to refuse–and after another flash, even brighter than the first, he got a new ID card–but this time, his face was different. He looked to be twenty years older, and fatter–with a thick double chin that even his beard couldn’t hide. In horror, he looked down at himself and saw he was, indeed, fatter, and older, and…hungrier.

“If you still aren’t happy with that–I can make an even better one,” the man said with a grin, “I could even change that title there too, if you feel like it.” Trent fled the office, ID in hand, the man laughing uproariously–but didn’t get very far–he saw the meathead in the office, and stopped to suck him off–and then sucked off the two muscleheads at the security station too. He was the office cumdump after all, and he had a new job to do.

Caption: A Real American Pig

Thanks to PatchPig for the photo and inspiration for this one.


Bernard had lived in Britain all his life, but for years, he’d wanted to cross the Atlantic to visit the United States. He loved American movies, loved hosting American tourists–there was something about the place that felt so much more free than the stodginess of London where he’d always lived. Finally, at last, he’d saved up enough to afford a good long vacation–but when it came time to decide where to go, he was a bit…lost. The place was so damn big! New York? DC? Hollywood? In the end, he decided to chance it–he threw a dart, and it ended up in a state called Kentucky. He booked a flight, rented a car, and figured he’d spend the month driving around the states, and just seeing what he found.

Kentucky wasn’t quite what he was expecting, in all honesty–but it wasn’t necessarily bad, either. His accent drew a lot of odd looks, and he had a hard time understanding what some of the Americans were even saying too, but he was determined to enjoy himself. This, he thought, would be more authentic–not like the cities. Get to know the real America–if there was such a thing anywhere.

The deeper into the state he went, the more suspicious people seemed towards him. The funny jokes seemed a bit meaner, people were little more suspicious of him, though usually lightened up quickly when they saw he had money to spend, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a bad decision after all. At least, until the night at the little truckstop on the highway, where he stopped to get a room for the night and a meal–that ended up changing everything.

The guys in the bar laughed at him, when they heard him talk. Told him he sounded like some uptight rich fucker, just because he had a british accent. They told him to skip the beer for a moment, and have a sip of Jeb’s moonshine–an old fucker in the corner, who shoved a mason jar of clear spirit into Bernard’s fist. The guys all told him to drink up, and Bernard gave into the pressure–but he didn’t remember much that happened after that. In fact, Bernard never left the bar–the guy who stumbled out of the motel at the truckstop the next morning wasn’t Bernard at all.

Bernie knew something was wrong, that something had changed. These weren’t his clothes, he hadn’t been this fat, and his accent was all wrong–he was talking like these American hicks, not like where he’d come from. His wallet was gone, as was his car–he had nowhere to go, so he ended up moping in his hotel room–though he took a quick jaunt over to the shop at the truckstop, and used a little cash he found on the nightstand to buy some cigarettes and cheap, American beer.

Already a bit drunk, when he saw that the same guys had gone to the bar that evening, he demanded to know what they’d done to him. The guys all jeered at him, told him he just needed a good girl to help sort him out–but Bernie told them he was gay, and that he wanted them to put him back the way he was before all of this, or else he’d get the police. Things in the bar quieted down after that, at least until the guys pinned the faggot down, forced some more moonshine into him, and took turns fucking the pigs holes.

Bernie still lives at the truck stop. He pumps gas, cleans the showers, and sucks any man’s cock who needs it. He’s too stupid to think about much, but on occasion, he’ll look at his slobby mug in the filthy mirror of the truck stop, plastered with cum more often than not, and try to remember a voice. A voice he’d had–but one he’d lost forever.

Summer Internship (Finale)

Here’s the long delayed ending for the Summer Internship Interactive. I’ll have a new one starting next week!


“What’s wrong boy?” the sergeant asked him. He was inches from Jimmy’s face, so close that he could see the individual droplets of the sergeant’s sweat running down his face. Around him, something had happened to most of the other recruits–they’d all fallen to the ground in pairs or threesomes, the sergeant’s musk washing over them and driving them into a sexual frenzy as they tore into each other’s uniforms. Now, it was just Jimmy standing there, as strong as he could, trying to resist. He didn’t know why he was resisting so hard, just that he knew it was important, that this wasn’t real, that if he gave in…something awful would happen to him. The sergeant was staring at him, unblinking, and when he realized, at last, that Jimmy wasn’t going to break, he smirked, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him off across the grounds, towards a little building that Jimmy realized was a bathroom.

“I think we need to loosen you up a little, boy,” the Sergeant said, and dragged him inside, and shoving him in a corner of the room. In the heat of the day, the stench in the restroom was horrific, the stench of piss and shit assaulting Jimmy’s already fragile mind, taking it apart, bit by bit.

“Please, I…I thought I was going to be a soldier…” he moaned, cock hard, hand unable to keep from rubbing it.

“You are–don’t you worry. But we have special roles for men like you,” the sergeant dropped his pants and stepped out of them, and Jimmy imagined that he was going to shove his cock in his face, and he’d have no ability to resist, not here. But instead, the sergeant turned around, bent over, and presented his unwashed asscrack and hole. “Here, piggy, piggy, piggy…” he taunted.

Jimmy snorted. He wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t. He let out another snort, and found himself on his hands and knees, crawling closer to the sergeant, the stench getting stronger and stronger, pushing out everything else, and then he buried his face in the officer’s crack, snorting and chewing and eating at it as fast as he could, like a glutton. It was rank, and disgusting, but already Jimmy knew he would need more. When the sergeant was satisfied the new pig was properly mind fucked, he pulled his ass away, went behind him, and fucked Jimmy’s ass until they both blew their loads, and then had Jimmy suck the filth from his cock for good measure.

After cumming, Jimmy could feel some of his will returning to him, but not quick enough. A collar slipped around his neck, and then a chain connected him to a metal ring on the floor. Enough length to move little, and he couldn’t stand up at all. “There–now why don’t you hang around here for a while, and make yourself useful. This is the officers’ facilities by the way, so be sure to be respectful.”

The virus had him cornered now, and in his bed, Jimmy began to change. Growing fatter and fatter, body stinking from months spent in the officer’s bathroom without a shower–aside from golden ones of course. The stench wearing away at his mind until he really was nothing more than a horny pig, barely capable of forming words, much less sentences. When the virus was satisfied, Jimmy woke with a start–300 pounds, hungry for piss and dirty ass, stinking up the entire room–and for the people sleeping in there, it was too late for them anyway, and so all of them were locked down in the room together, with the pig.

Some of them fell quickly. One of the older researchers who went down for a catnap, woke up and felt someone eating at his hole…but it didn’t disturb him. It was just…just the officer’s pigslave, after all, and he…he was an officer. He’d grown thicker and more muscular as he’d slept, his musk just as powerful as the pig’s stench, and he gave the pig a quick fuck, before turning his attention to the four or five other grunts now trapped in the room with them–but they’d all make good soldiers, the new sergeant was sure of it, and they’d all have a filthy pig to enjoy together, after training.

Interactive: Hypno Time! (Finale)

Here’s the final chapter of this interactive. I’m back from vacation, and getting back into the swing of things. Later this week, I’m going to post an update on some process stuff that will have an impact on posts around here–nothing too major, but more of a clarification. I’ll have a new start to an interactive up next week!


Max fought him at the end of the school year. Told him that all of this had gone to far, told Daddy Johnny that he didn’t realize that the gun was warping him as well. Johnny was insistent–he was only giving Max what he wanted after all, what they both wanted. Max tried to run, but he didn’t get far–not with the amount of control Johnny had over him. He tried to fight, even managing to give his daddy a fat lip, which only angered Johnny more. Finally, he begged–and that was the last thing Max remembered before the gun fired, and he felt time warp around his mind again–but unlike the last few times…he could almost feel the time passing. A weekend felt like a moment, but even a week had been…noticeably longer. This time, however, it felt like days–days lost in that yellow haze, unable to do anything, or think anything, or see what was happening to him outside of himself. He had time to be terrified. Had time to wonder if Johnny was ever going to wake him back up again. Had time to wonder if he had made a mistake, had time to doubt himself, and then doubt his doubts, and then back again. Distantly, if he focused, he could…hear himself speaking, or other people speaking at him, but it was always garbled. He could almost feel himself, feel sensations, but they were so quick, more like a flicker, that he barely had time to realize something had happened, before it had already passed him by. At long last, the yellow haze lifted from him, and he came back to himself, back to the present, but all he could do was roll around on the ground in pain and confusion, as his mind tried to reconstruct what had happened to him.

“That’s it son, just take a few deep breaths, take your time. Daddy’s here for ya…”

He knew that voice. It was Johnny’s voice, more or less, but the drawl was deeper, and his breath reeked of cigars and beer even more than it had before. Or…or did it? He could remember other things now, remember…his daddy–his Pa–and…but wasn’t there something wrong with that? He hadn’t been his dad, he’d been his…his…

There was a blank there. That was new. His memory was just…gone. He could recognize the hole, he knew that there was some past there, something between him and Pa–before they were father and son…but…but that didn’t make any sense! Pa had always been his dad after all, hadn’t he? He could remember something then, remember…going somewhere familiar, a home somewhere, with a man and a woman, and Pa did something to them, made them forget Max, and…and then it was gone too. There was just Pa. Pa and…and his grandpappy, and Uncle Beau of course. They all lived here, on Pa’s farm. It had been grandpappy’s farm, but he was too old to do much with it now, so he’d given it to Pa, and Beau helped out on the farm too, of course.

He forced himself upright, or at least, he tried to. He was bigger than he should have been, bigger than he’d been before, and his physique was wildly different. Before, Pa had been…keeping him muscular, but the body he had now–while thick and strong from working on the farm all day long with Uncle Beau, was also massively fat–so fat, he had a massive, stinking apron hanging over his waist, down past his cock, even. Horrified, he hurried into the bathroom, looking at himself in the filthy mirror–his head shaved down still, scalp tanned a deep brown from hours and hours in the sun. He had even more tattoos now–tattoos everywhere, even on his face–that and a good number of piercings, including a massive, door knocker sized ring in his nose. His mouth gaped, and he saw he was missing most of his teeth now as well–whether they had rotted out, or been yanked out, he couldn’t remember clearly–but Pa…liked the feel of his boy’s gums around his cock more than teeth anyway, that he could recall.

He turned around and saw Pa clearly for the first time as well. The years–it had to have been years–had blown him up even larger, and older. He was easily over 500 pounds, with a thick, tangled beard, wearing nothing more than some filthy stained underwear around the house a size or two too small, leering at his boy and groping himself, enjoying the realization sweeping over his boy’s mind. “Decided five years oughta do it boy, get ya real good ‘n cemented in here. Wouldn’t be givin’ be anymore a that dumb talk about leavin’, like there’s anything wrong with this, right Piggy Boy?”

Something happened in his mind, when his dad said ‘Piggy Boy’. It…turned off, almost, or something else turned on. He grunted, fell onto all fours, and crawled over to him, shoving his face into his dad’s filthy groin, snuffling about for his cock, feeling his own harden in his own fat pad. Johnny just laughed, and watched his pig son start sucking on his dad’s cock, grunting like a sow in heat, and then turned around, bent over, and Max dove into his father’s nasty unwashed asscrack with the same fervor as he’d gone after his cock.

There were heavy footfalls, and a massive Beau stepped into the room from outside, sweating from the early summer heat. “Fuck bro–ya had tah pig him out right now? There’s work we gots tah do.”

“Oh shut up, Beau, and give the pig a fuck–he’ll come to his senses faster that way anyway.”

Beau nodded, unable to disobey his older brother, and started fucking the pig’s ass. Beau had been a problem that first summer, when he found out about the gun. He’d had this stupid idea that he ought to be in charge of the family–but Johnny had set his straight on that. Now he was just his stupid, muscular brother–good for farmwork, of course, but not so much for thinking. He did love the farm’s pig though, and whenever the pigboy got out of line, Beau was more than happy to get on his leathers, and give the pig a good round of punishment in the cellar.

Max came half an hour later, plugged at both ends by his father and uncle, and he was horrified at how he’d lost all control–but he also realized there was no way back for him–not now, not ever. And later that night, cleaning out his grandpa’s fat folds while the old man sat and watched TV, giggling like an idiot–he even found himself enjoying it. A week later, he couldn’t even remember much of anything else–and not only did he forget that life could be different, he didn’t want a life other than the one he had.

Caption: From Bully to Pig (Part 1)

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caption: I Only Fuck Dads

It was just supposed to be some harmless roleplay, or so Henry thought. The young guy was one of the hottest fuckers he’d seen in a while, and one who was available for a fuck, but when he’d looked at Henry’s page, he’d almost turned him down, telling him he was more into dads–whatever that meant. Still, he’d been open to playing, but told Henry that they’d probably have to roleplay a bit, to get him into the mood. If that meant the guy called him daddy, while Henry fucked him, then he could get behind that, he supposed–he’d been with stranger guys than that. But things…well, this is not what he’d expected, at all.

“Come on daddy, what do you want–tell me what you want!”

“I want you fuck my ass already, boy, fuck it hard–do whatever the fuck you want, just fucking change me the fuck back!” Henry felt himself say, horrified, but he couldn’t moderate the words coming out of his mouth–just like he hadn’t been able to stop the young man from…changing him. He was up on the bed on all fours, and this body–he was fat! He was fat, and hairy, and his hairline was receding, and…and the young fellow was just circling him, thinking about him, and Henry didn’t know why he didn’t just fuck him already!

“Hmm…just not quite…what I’m feeling like today. I think I know what would be hot though…tell me daddy, tell me again what you want.”

“Aww jeepers boy, I sure would like it if you would just put your big tool up in daddy’s hole back there ya know?”

That wasn’t his voice–what the fuck had happened to his voice? It was…nasally, and sounded like he was from the midwest.

“Fuck yeah–that’s better, getting me hard daddy, listening to you ask me all polite like that. That how you talk to your wife daddy? When you want to have sex with her?”

He didn’t have a wife–but…but there were these new memories, of a woman. His age–his new age, and he could…remember everything about her, fuck!

“I wonder what she would say, if she knew her polite, buttoned down, conservative husband never went bowling on Thursdays like he says, but he comes here to get fucked by my hot young cock–because that’s what he really wants. Hell, I bet you two don’t even fuck much, not with that puny thing of yours.”

“Aww no, don’t go and shrink my ding-a-ling too!” Henry said, but it was too late–his eight inch cock shrank down to three inches, buried up in his fat.

“Well, it works well enough to give you a few kids, right? You can’t be a daddy without a few boys running around, right? How old are they?”

“They’re…they’re uh, twelve, fourteen, and seventeen…oh my goodness gracious how do I even know that?”

“Oh, that’s too young…” the man said, and Henry felt his body changing again, adding another decade of life, more hair falling out and turning grey, glasses appearing on his face as his eyesight gets worse, his cock shrivelling up further, no longer able to get hard. “Yeah, your boys are 22, 24, and 27–I bet they’re handsome fuckers, aren’t they? I bet you think about them a lot, about how much you want your boys to fuck you like I fuck you.”

“Oh please boy, please put that horn stick in mah hole, you’re gettin me all riled up, ya know, talking about my boys like that…”

The man fucked him then–fucked him hard, just how Henry liked it, and he fantasized that it was his oldest son, working construction right now, that was fucking his own father, and when the boy was finished, he was a sweaty, heaving mess.

“Alright boy, you had your fun, now change me back, alright?” Henry said.

“And lose my favorite Thursday night hookup? No way! Now go on and get dressed daddy–you should get home before your wife starts to worry about you any more than she already does.”

His old life fading in his mind to a faint shadow, Henry put on his bowling shirt and slacks, and headed down to his sedan, his bowling ball, unused in years now, sitting in the passenger seat beside him. He looked at himself in the mirror, at his jowls, his glasses, his grey mustache…all the lies he’d told over the years to keep his marriage together. What other choice did he have? At least…he had this, once a week. Maybe that would be enough–or maybe the boy up there was only getting started on his new project.