Category: Humiliation (Page 2 of 3)

A man in a dark, futuristic suit sits confidently in a high-backed chair on a spaceship bridge, surrounded by illuminated control panels and monitors.

I Don’t Own My Likeness 1

2025-08-28 / admin bot / 5 Comments

Hey you—yeah, you, reading this post. This one’s not a quick jolt of transformation kink. I Don’t Own My Likeness is a slow burn, built like a novel, where each chapter tightens the screws and pushes Vince Karros deeper into a change he can’t escape.

Settle in. It only gets more consuming from here.

—JHW

One Last Take

The stars shimmered around him. They weren’t real stars, of course, just reflected gels against the midnight-black backdrop. But from the way Vince Karros stood at the helm, you wouldn’t know the difference.

His eyes were locked onto the forward view screen, yet another example of Hollywood trickery. In Vince’s mind’s eye, it stretched into endless, galactic silence. In reality, it was slathered in a shade of green paint not found in nature, allowing the visual effects department to superimpose whatever they wished into the panorama.

A pair of black leather gloves rests on a wooden table next to a document labeled IOU and an old-fashioned inkwell.

Dust and debt

2025-08-11 / admin bot / 4 Comments

The door creaked open with a slam of dust and summer heat. Eli Cotton’s thick, bulky body filled the frame, but his downturned eyes and stooped shoulders made him look more like a man sneaking into his own funeral. Sweat clung to his throat, his brow, and even the hollow of his chest where his shirt gaped open. He clutched his hat in both hands, twisting the brim nervously, eyes darting to the floorboards before glancing up.

“Mr. Mercer,” he said, his baritone voice sheepish. “Crops are failin’.”

At his desk, Silas Mercer didn’t look up right away. He was seated behind a desk so polished it practically gleamed in the light spilling through the lace-curtained windows. His perfectly fitted black leather gloves creaked as he turned a page in his ledger. Neatly stacked beside him were a dozen IOUs, some already signed in Eli’s scrawled penmanship, others still pristine and waiting.

A magazine spread shows four men standing outdoors, smiling at the camera. They are dressed in casual button-down shirts, with greenery and pink flowers in the background.

Kiss cam

2025-08-04 / admin bot / 0 Comments

Everyone had seen the footage a thousand times already, so no one in the conference room spoke when it played on the screen. Someone’s shaky camera phone had recorded the Jumbotron at a concert over the weekend, and eighteen seconds of wobbly, tinny video had taken the internet by storm. Now, two marriages and a billion-dollar company were put to the test.

The stadium crowd roared in the background, but the audio was turned down. Adam’s body pressed close against Gareth’s. Too close for a CEO and his head of human resources, especially when they were both married to other men. Adam’s chin rested near Gareth’s neck, and their drifting, intertwined hands rested just a little too low on Gareth’s hips. “KISS CAM” flashed beneath their blissfully ignorant faces in bright red block letters.

Protected: Subscribers only: Scent of submission

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Protected: Subscribers only: Jester’s Tragedy

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Eurosong Protocol

Thom, a brooding American singer and songwriter, never expected to win Sweden’s national song contest and earn the right to represent them at Eurosong. With a stripped-down love ballad and zero choreography, he defied the odds and became a global glitch in the system. But SwedeTV wasn’t sure Europe would vote for him, so they’re not taking any chances.

Plunged into the surreal world of Europe’s largest televised music competition, Thom is renamed, re-costumed, and reprogrammed. His emotional song becomes an obscene, hypersexualized pop anthem. His guitar is replaced with flashy dance routines. His name becomes Toomas. His accent is rewritten. His bulge is enhanced.

What starts as minor “orientation” spirals into full-body reconditioning: vinyl suits, autotuned vocals, sensual compliance training, and eroticized surveillance. As the days count down to the Grand Final, Toomas must decide if he’s still Thom somewhere inside or if he’s just another bulge-suited product engineered for continental affection.

Darkly funny, disturbingly erotic, and piercingly satirical, Eurosong Protocol is a body-horror pop odyssey that asks: what’s left of you after fame finishes sculpting?

Eurosong Protocol is a 26,400-word novella. All content in this story is fictional and depicts activities between consenting, unrelated adults who are 18+.

Yellow text reading EuroSong Protocol over a background featuring people in colorful, shiny outfits, possibly at a musical event or performance.

Eurosong protocol (chapter 3)

2025-06-02 / admin bot / 1 Comment

Catch up on chapter 2 of “Eurosong protocol.“

The Voice Cage

Thom didn’t know what day it was anymore, but it had been at least a week since the suit. It hadn’t come off. It hadn’t even loosened.

He’d stopped trying to escape from it after the third day. With the collar locked in place and no zipper, it had been an exercise in futility. He showered in it. Slept in it. Woke up each morning to the same high-necked yellow gloss staring back at him from the bathroom mirror. When he dressed over it—SwedeTV-approved trousers and geometric pullovers—the suit made every layer sit too tight, too high. His skin no longer felt like skin. It felt like packaging.

And, of course, there was the bulge. Or what was left of it.

Eurosong protocol (Chapter 2)

2025-05-26 / admin bot / 2 Comments

Catch up on chapter 1 of “Eurosong protocol.“

The Measurement Room

The handler didn’t speak.

Nor had he the night before, when he delivered Thom to his new residence just past 23:00. He handed Thom a keycard without explanation and disappeared into the corridor like a shadow from a forgotten nightmare. This morning was no different. Tall, angular, and dressed in SwedeTV-standard black with white piping, he walked precisely five steps ahead of Thom, maintaining just enough distance to preempt conversation.

Thom had counted three right turns, one left, and then a ramp with no apparent descent before he gave up. The broadcaster’s headquarters were impossible to navigate—white on white, matte surfaces broken only by the occasional glowing icon pulsing on a wall panel. No signage, no windows. Even the lighting was unnatural.

Eurosong protocol (Chapter 1)

2025-05-19 / admin bot / 1 Comment

The Winner

Tune in over the next several weeks as American folk singer Thom discovers what it really takes to represent Sweden on the biggest stage in Europe.

The carpet was too soft. Every step Thom took sank just slightly, like walking over memory foam. The corridor walls stretched too long and curved just enough that he couldn’t tell if they were leading him deeper or circling back. The production assistant hadn’t said a word since they’d left reception. The tall, expressionless man in a black polo shirt with the SwedeTV logo embroidered on his chest—no badge, no name—just pressed on.

Quid pro quo

2025-04-21 / admin bot / 2 Comments

Office politics

“Your golden boy is a walking lawsuit.”

Jules Wexler dropped the thick personnel file onto Landon Shaw’s desk with the dramatic flair of someone who had earned the right to make it land like a gavel. The manila folder splayed open, exposing a collage of typed complaints, red-ink annotations, and HR bleeding red flags.

Landon didn’t flinch. He glanced down, uninterested. His espresso was still steaming, untouched, beside a single Montblanc pen that cost more than some of his junior associates made in a month.