The House Made Me Gay (Finale)

Phil went to the door and unlocked it, and in came a young man, probably in his mid twenties. He was…well, he didn’t look particularly clean, for one thing. He was chubby and greasy, his clothes covered in food stains–and probably more than a few cumstains, from the shape and placement. The young man ran over to where Ethan was strapped to the chair, cigar lodged in his mouth, and he looked extremely pleased. “Fuck man, he looks so fucking good! I knew you could do it.”

“I know it can’t really replace what you lost, but I think he’ll do you just fine.”

“No way man, I think he’s even better.”

The young man’s name was Josh, and since he was eighteen, he had been in love with his father. He’d learned how to be a dirty pervert from him, sitting around all day, jacking off, swapping cum and spit and piss–and sometimes, if they got a bit drunk, even more than that. But tragically, Josh’s father had passed away–a heart attack–the year before, though he’d left his son a sizable life insurance policy. A good chunk of that was now invested in Ethan–who was going to be Josh’s replacement slobby father.

Josh ran his hands over Ethan’s massive cock, watching the older man shudder, his eyes fearful, and Josh…felt bad for a moment, but he was so turned on by the man Phil had created–and he knew that, before too long, his new daddy would love him just as much as his old one had. He went around and gave him a sniff–and wrinkled his nose. “He smells too clean still.”

“I was going to wait on that until you got here. He still needs a few more tatts before he’s really done,” Phil said, “But first–you still want those rings we talked about?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Josh said, “That sounded so hot.”

“Alright–then let’s get those in you both first.”

Phil worked quickly. With a box of matched rings, he quickly pierced both of them in the septum, in both their nipples. “That’s all we need to start, I think,” Phil said, “Why don’t you climb on and give daddy’s cock a ride boy? Then we can see how those work while I finish daddy up.”

Ethan struggled as Josh climbed up, and started lowering his ass down onto his massive cock. Josh’s first daddy had always loved opening up his son’s hole over the course of an afternoon, before sliding in his fists–but his cock had always been too small to really fuck his son. This new daddy though–he was going to be perfect in every way. Josh groaned as he felt his hole open around Ethan’s massive cock, taking it slow–but Ethan’s cum was the perfect lube now, helping stretch the boy’s hole. When he was halfway on, Phil took the cigar from Ethan’s mouth, and Josh leaned forward–Ethan heard the click of their septum piercings–and Josh kissed him, the boy’s rank mouth tasting of beer and cigarettes. He tried to pull away, but felt a tug on his nose when he did–their piercings had…merged. Josh leaned in closer, pressing their chests together, and their nipples stuck in the same way–Josh was now impaled on his cock, and latched to him, slowly sliding lower onto his massive cock, as Ethan panicked.

“Calm down now,” Phil said, as he got his tattoo needle ready again, “They come apart once you both cum. Just enjoy being close to your son, Ethan.”

“He’s not my son!” Ethan shouted through Josh’s mouth, and Phil just smiled, and got started on his arm, quickly sketching out a classic heart with “My Son” in the middle–and an arrow through it–or a cock, really, a cock spewing cum and piss down the rest of his arm. Josh could…feel this ink differently. Each little prick seemed to shift something in his mind, and as it took form…he found he could remember Josh–because Josh was…his son. His real son, and he…he loved him so much, didn’t he? Josh moaned, his ass now resting on the base of Ethan’s massive cock. “Fuck son, dadd’s so fuckin’ proud of you!” he said into Jason’s mouth between kisses. “Ride daddy’s big tool boy–I wanna see that hole gape.”

“Oh daddy…I…I missed you so much,” Josh moaned, and started sliding up and down on his new daddy’s cock, both of them kissing more passionately and Phil kept working, moving over to his other arm now. First, some lettering at the top of the shoulder– “Months Since Daddy’s Last Shower:”–and then below it, Phil started making hash marks, and after each one, Ethan started getting dirtier, and dirtier, and dirtier, as his memories of showers, of any hygiene really, faded further and further into the past. It…His son had wanted him to stop bathing, he said he wanted to see just how nasty his daddy could be. So they’d agreed on a tattoo to…to keep track. But that had been…months, no a year, no two years, no…no almost five years ago now, right? The hash marks ran down the outside of his arm, almost to his wrist–marking off four and a half years since his last shower–and Ethan stank to high heaven of musk, and smoke, and cum, and piss–but it was only driving Josh into a frenzy. With a roar, Ethan came, flooding his boy’s hole with his massive load of cum, feeling it drain out around his cock and into his lap–and that was enough for Josh to cum as well, shooting a much smaller load all over his daddy’s belly. They kept kissing for a moment, and then pulled apart–their rings separating again like magic.

“Fuck man, you…really outdid yourself. He’s fucking perfect,” Josh said to Phil, cum running down the inside of his legs. “Really…I know…I paid, but I…”

“It’s ok–what you had was special, and I’m happy I could give it to you again.”

“T-Thanks…we talked about some other stuff, can we…”

Phil laughed. It’s been a long day for your dad in that chair–why don’t you take him home for a while? When he comes in next month for his update–we can talk then, alright? I might even do those pro bono–you two are fucking hot to watch.”

Josh beamed, went over, and undid the straps holding his father to the chair, and Ethan stumbled up out of it, trying to figure out what, and who he was. Josh got him dressed in some of his filthy whities and a scummy tanktop crispy with cum, and then pulled his daddy out of the shop and to their little truck. By the time they got home to their little stinking trailer, Ethan was feeling almost normal again–that, and he was already horny as hell for his son’s hole. Josh was only too happy to ride his dad’s massive cock again of course–and by morning, neither of them could remember that their lives had ever been different from this.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 12)

“Please, why…why are you doing this? I…just…just change me back, I didn’t want to be some…old fuck!” Ethan said.

“Well, in all honesty, it isn’t quite my thing either, though I think it does suit you quite well,” Phil said, as he fiddled with his stations. “But this is what the client asked for, and so, that’s what the client gets.”

“The…client? What?”

“Oh yes–the client. I’m making you for someone, you see? They were quite specific about what they were looking for.”

“What the fuck does that fucking Mr. Woodrow want,” Ethan said, “I knew that fuck was creepy, fucking hell.”

“Oh he isn’t the client–I merely contract with him to secure raw materials. In exchange, I give him a few tools of my own for the men he has living in that house of his. Really, you should be thankful–a few months in that place, and what I’m doing to you will seem like nothing. He’s the real freak.” Phil said, and then pulled some tubing down from where it was hanging above the chair. “That’s enough of a chat for now–the client will be here soon, and you’ll see for yourself what they want. For now though, we have a few more changes to make.”

He pushed a tube against Ethan’s mouth, who shut it tight against him–but the rubber tube came to live, forced its way into Ethan’s mouth and down his throat, settling in his stomach. Aa thick solution, almost like gruel, started to flow and he could feel it settling in his gut, making him feel…heavy, and full. Then, Phil brought down a second tube–enclosing the first–and the end of this one was a breathing mask, which he secured around Ethan’s nose, mouth, and most of his beard. Once that was in place, he could smell the smoke flooding the air–reeking of cheap tobacco, and he coughed, but soon it was all he could breathe, and he started to feel light headed, and laid back in the chair, while Phil went to work on his cock and balls.

Phil gave him some stimulation, and Ethan’s cock got hard–it was sizable, a good six inches and fairly thick, but not large enough for the client’s needs. He took a syringe, full of his enchanted silicone, and injected it into Ethan’s cock–along with a bit of will–and watched the shaft start to swell, the skin stretching to accommodate the new solution, Ethan groaning in pain, feeling his skin stretch around his cock uncomfortably. It took a few injections before it was large enough–thirteen inches long, as thick as a two liter soda bottle. The silicone maintained the sensitivity of the skin much better–and also stayed rigid–Ethan was going to have a permanent hard on for the rest of his life. Once he was satisfied with the size, he started adding the bling–making small incisions in the surface and sliding the various metal balls and bits underneath, giving the surface a brand new sort of texture, more like a living dildo than a real cock. He finished it off with a massive PA that could fit around a normal man’s wrist, and then worked on his balls–filling them with a similar solution, until the sack was about the size of a bowling ball, the freakish head already drooling precum from the stimulation.

Once finished with that, he took a little break–the feeding was going well, but wasn’t finished yet. Ethan would force his head up on occasion, and see he was, indeed, getting fatter at an impossible rate. Whatever he was being fed with, it was just as magical as the injections that had warped his cock into the monstrosity jutting from his crotch. His gut was getting most of the growth, but his chest was now sporting two sizable moobs, and his ass wasn’t quite as comfortable in the chair as it had been. Phil, at some point, decided he was ready, got out the tattoo needle, and went to work.

The tattoos weren’t painless, but they seemed to heal instantly. In fact, as Phil worked on one after another, the ones he did first seemed to almost fade–and after a few minutes, they looked to be years old. He started on his belly, quickly sketching and filling in the face of a cartoon pig on the top of his belly, giving a wink and smoking a thick cigar. Underneath his belly button were the words, “Smoke Pig”. From the cigar’s tip, Phil quickly filled in clouds of smoke across Ethan’s chest, which seemed to move and twist as his chest heaved and filled with more and more fat from the tube.

After checking that the piercings had healed on his cock, he tattooed that as well–on the top, were inch markings from head to base, and then on one side, the words Daddy’s fuck stick–on the other, the image of a cigar, the head filled in red and orange and yellow like the burning tip. Satisfied with his work, he pulled the mask free from Ethan’s mouth, allowing him to cough and breathe freely for a moment. Around the mask, all of Ethan’s grey hair had been stained a dingy yellow from the prolonged smoke–as had his teeth, like a man who’d been smoking cigars for fifty years. Then, out came the feeding tube as well–leaving Ethan at his new weight of 425 pounds.

“Fucking hell, you fucking…piece of shit,” Ethan said, his voice raspy and deep from the hours of smoke. Already, he could feel the withdrawl setting in–but Phil was ready, pulling out a sizable cigar, cutting it, lighting it, and pushing it into Ethan’s mouth, who inhaled it eagerly.

As he did, there was a knock on the door–and Phil went to the door of his little shop, where he allowed someone in–it was the client who had commissioned Ethan’s new body, but who was it, and what is Ethan’s final form going to be?

The next part is probably going to be the finale of this story! I’ll start a new, Halloween themed one next week probably. Patrons have their bonus poll over here! You get two votes–choose wisely!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 11)

It was the buzz of the razor that first sent Ethan into a little panic. He’d always liked having his hair at medium length or so. “Hold on, what are you shaving?” He asked.

Phil paused, and looked down at where Ethan was sitting in the chair. “What, don’t you trust me?” he asked, a bit coyly.

“I…I just usually like my hair longer is all.”

“Well, maybe when you were younger, but this bald spot isn’t going away anytime soon, Ethan. At some point, you’re just going to have to embrace it, and start looking your age. I mean, the combover can work for a time, but at some point…well, let’s just say you aren’t fooling anyone anymore.”

Ethan didn’t know what in the hell Phil was talking about, but before he could say anything, Phil took the hair on the top of his head, brushed it aside…and Ethan’s jaw dropped–the hair…it wasn’t growing from the top of his head, but from the side and the back, and when Phil pushed it aside, he saw a deep receding hairline pushing back to the crown of his head.

It couldn’t be real. Ethan wasn’t balding! His dad had a full head a of hair–hell, even his grandpas had full heads of hair! He reached up, trying to figure out what was wrong, but he could feel it, the smooth skin of his scalp where all of the hair had disappeared. He tried to smooth his hair back down, but now that he’d seen it…he couldn’t unsee it. He was balding–and he wasn’t prepared for the confusion and distress it caused him, when he saw it. “I’m…I can’t be balding like that, not this young.”

Phil just chuckled behind him, “Yeah? How old are you, Ethan? Between this dye job and that combover, you can fool most, but not me.” Phil leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Just trust me, Ethan. Looking your age can be…really freeing. You won’t have to pretend anymore. You won’t have to hide. Won’t that be nice?”

It…did sound nice, somehow. Ethan didn’t object again, as Phil started up the razor, and began cutting into the long hair that had been his combover, Ethan watching it all fall away, his baldness now open and obvious…and the more he looked at it, the less it terrified him, somehow. It did feel good, showing everyone his…his age. He could embrace it. Phil just kept talking and encouraging him the whole time, assuring Ethan how good he would look once he was done with him. Once the hair was cleaned up a bit, he stood him up and led him over to a second chair in the back by a sink, leaned him back, and told him it was time to wash the dye out too. Of course, Ethan couldn’t quite remember dying his hair, but Phil hadn’t been wrong yet–and he did trust him, almost more than he trusted himself. Phil washed his hair out, and then while it was soaking, he told Ethan he was going to strip his beard too. Ethan had let his beard grow out over the summer–but had he dyed it too? Phil applied more of the soap to it, scrubbing it into the hairs, but there seemed to me…more of it, somehow. He could feel Phil tugging on it, pulling it down–it hurt a bit, but it also felt kind of good, in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

After a thorough rinsing, Phil stood Ethan back up, and moved him back into the main chair, and started cleaning up the rest of his hairline. For the most part, Ethan was pointed away from the mirror, so he couldn’t see the results–and while he was desperately curious, he could be patient, and just let Phil work. It wasn’t long before he spun the chair around again, and Ethan gave a little gasp at the face looking back at him.

He…really was old, wasn’t he? The balding was even more severe than he’d thought, pushing back past the crown now, leaving just a thin horseshoe of hair–no more than a couple inches, around the back and sides. Without the dye, it was a greyish white–and his beard. It was huge, stretching down past his chest, curly and thick and a stark white. Part of Ethan was struggling with what he was looking at, certain there had to be a mistake. He wasn’t this old! He was going to college, wasn’t he? Why did he feel so dang confused all of a sudden?

He could see the age elsewhere though–in the creases around his eyes, the jowls only mostly hidden by his beard. Phil told him how good he looked, now that he was ready to act his age, and Ethan had to concede that he was right. He did look good…but he still felt…empty, somehow.

“I guess…I’m having a hard time…remembering, Sir,” Ethan said to the barber. “I don’t even…” he was at a loss, trying to explain what he meant.

“I know what you’re trying to say, Ethan. You’ve been hiding in there for so long, that you don’t even remember what you really look like–or who you even are. But I think you’re done hiding, from now on–we can make sure you never forget who you really are, from now on–in fact, why don’t we write it down, so you don’t forget?”

Phil’s eyes glistened a bit cruelly, and before Ethan could do anything, straps appeared around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the chair, as Phil cut away his clothes, Ethan asking him what the hell he was doing. It became clear soon enough–this was, after all, more than a barber shop. Ethan started setting up his tattoo equipment and his piercing station, while Ethan protested–but there wasn’t anything he was going to be able to do about it. Ethan was going to be a brand new man–but what sort of mods does Phil have in mind for his old bearish customer?

Here’s the next poll! I’ll be mixing and matching from the results, so there will be a few winners chosen from this poll. You can make up to four choices! The bonus patron poll is over here as well.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 10)

Ethan arrived, and was given a little tour by Mr. Woodrow, and the entire experience was a bit…surreal for him. Sure, the house was beautiful, but the other guys living here…well, it wasn’t quite what Ethan was expecting, for some reason. He was sure he’d been planning on living here with his friends from school, but the guys here were…well, two of them were way too old for college, and Taylor…Ethan knew Taylor, but not…this Taylor, walking around in just a filthy jockstrap while the two older men ogle him, like if Ethan wasn’t here, they’d be all over his ass.

Ethan opted to stay in his room and unpack, turning up the music he was playing to drown out…whatever was happening below, in the basement. It then that he found a little something tucked on the top of the dresser, with a little note from his landlord. The thing was a coupon–offering a discount on a haircut at a little shop not too far from the house. The note from Mr. Woodrow was written in gentle script, telling him that he was good friends with the owner, and that he knew he would be able to give Ethan a good trim before school started the next week.

It read like a bit of a dig, honestly, but when Ethan looked at himself in the mirror, he could understand it. He hadn’t really done much this summer other than smoke pot and play video games–his hair was too long, with a scruffy little beard he hadn’t bothered shaving for the last month or so, just to try growing it out. None of it looked all that…thought out, and maybe he could use a little trim, at least to get the year started. Besides, it would get him out of this crazy place tomorrow–Ethan could already tell that he was going to be spending a whole lot of time on campus, once school started–he can’t believe he signed a one year lease with these crazy fucks!

So the next morning, after breakfast, he got out of the house and walked over to the shop a few streets over, coupon in hand. When he got there, he knew he shouldn’t be that surprised–but it wasn’t exactly one of those clean, sleek, modern barbershops popping up all over the place. It was a hole in the wall, and the sign overhead proudly announced that they also did body piercings and tattoos as well. Ethan would be skipping that–he hated needles. Still, he was here, and the haircut was cheap. He ran his hand through his hair in the shop window, feeling a bit self-conscious, but stepped inside.

It turned out to be a one man shop–clean and organized, if a bit rundown. The owner, Phil, was waiting for him in the chair, reading the paper–he put it down as Ethan stepped into the shop. He was…huge. When he stood up, he towered over the five foot eight Ethan by nearly a foot, body packed with fat and muscle, head shaved, a thick grey beard, every inch of his body covered in tattoos–and plenty of piercings as well. “Hey man, welcome in! What can I do for you today?” Phil said, face beaming. He seemed…a lot nicer than his look would suggest.

“Oh, hey. My…landlord gave me this, and I could use a cut before school starts next week,” Ethan said, and handed him the coupon.

“Ah, Woodrow. Was wondering when he’d send someone by–been promising me all summer long! Well come on then, hop in the chair fella, and we’ll get you sorted out right away.”

Ethan got into the chair, and Phil started small talk as he got the cape around his neck, asking him about school, what year he was in, what he was studying. The conversation was nice and relaxing–Ethan found that he really liked listening to Phil talk, something about his deep voice was just…relaxing, somehow. He heard the clip of scissors and the buzz of a razor, and realized that Phil hadn’t even asked him what kind of haircut he wanted. He tried to rouse himself and explain that he just wanted a trim, but Phil put a hand on his shoulder, and calmed him down. Phil was the expert after all–he knew just what sort of style Ethan needed. It sounded like a reasonable sort of assumption. He laid back in the chair and let Phil get to work, the barber talking the whole time in a soothing voice, helping Ethan get more and more relaxed, as the young man’s new haircut started to take shape.

Here’s the next poll! Here’s the patron only bonus poll to go with it. You get two selections!

The House Made Me Gay (Part 9)

Marcus sobbed, in the circle, looking down at his fat body, covered in hair, stinking, unable to believe what had just happened to him. Mr. Woodrow, confident that the changes were finished, and that Marcus most likely posed no threat to him, broke the circle, stepped forward, wiped a bit of cum up on his finger and gave in a taste. Musky, yes, but most certainly entirely human. A pity really–a little bit of demon can go a long way, in his interests. Still, unless he wanted to call the demon back–a very risky endeavor, Marcus was just this now–a fat, hairy, stinking pig of a man. Not a terrible outcome, by any measure.

“Oh god, what the fuck happened to me? How…Can you change me back? Please tell me you can change me back!” Marcus said, sobbing up at Mr. Woodrow.

“You go messing around in one of my workshops, boy, and this is getting off lightly, as far as I’m concerned,” Mr. Woodrow said, with a grin, “Besides, why should I change you back? Maybe I like the way you look now. Maybe it’s an improvement.”

Marcus froze, and looked at him. “Please, I just want to be normal again, that’s all.”

“Normal, eh? I think we can manage that at least,” Mr. Woodrow said, and before Marcus could ask what he meant by that exactly, a little beam of light shot out of his finger, pierced Marcus’ head, and he went a bit limp, eyes glazed over, in a hypnotic stupor.

“Come on then, let’s get you home.”

Marcus followed Mr. Woodrow out of the workshop, unlooking and unaware of everything going on around him, as they made their way into the house, upstairs to his room, where he was still in the process of unpacking, and Mr. Woodrow shut the door behind them. “Now, you’re going to forget all about the last two hours, Marcus,” he said, plucking the key from his head, “You no longer see the shed, and from now on, everything is going to seem normal–but here’s what normal is, from now on…”

And so, Mr. Woodrow filled Marcus in on his new normal. He’d been living with Mr. Woodrow for most of the summer now, in his memory, and he loved it here, naturally. He was no longer going to college–he was too stupid for school, and he’d dropped out, opting to get a job as a trucker and delivery driver instead–something that allowed him to pursue his more…piggy interests–and what piggy interests he had.

With a wave of his hand, most of Marcus’s things disappeared from his room, and were replaced by, well, a mess. The floor was littered with filthy clothing, most of it Marcus’s, but much of the gear was from other trucker buddies–as well as Taylor and Quinn. There was also an older computer in the room, and an old TV, a stack of old VHS tapes next to it. After all, so much porn these days seems sanitized to Marcus…but he’s an old hand at this sort of thing now.

The hair on his body is turning grey now, wrinkles lining his face. Before long, Marcus is no longer college aged at all, but in his mid-fifties, with decades of knowledge and experience packed in his piggy mind, crowding out all of his other concerns. Satisfied that Marcus would me more than satisfied with his new normal, Mr. Woodrow snapped his finger, the daze lifting from Marcus’s eyes with a little spark, and then, without warning, Mr. Woodrow shoved him over the side of the filthy bed and gave him a rough fuck.

Marcus didn’t mind–after all, Mr. Woodrow gave him a discount on the rent, on the condition he could use his piggy hole anytime he wanted. Marcus usually…topped, in his mind, but for the right fellow, he was more than happy to roll over. Mr. Woodrow filled him up, told his piggy to be good, and Marcus leered at him over his shoulder. After Mr. Woodrow left, Marcus was feeling frisky–it wasn’t long before he sniffed his way downstairs, to where Taylor was working out. When he saw the fat, hairy, stinking fellow come down the stairs, Taylor knew what to expect of course–Quinn had an arrangement with their other housemate, that he could use his boy’s hole whenever he wasn’t home, and Taylor wasn’t going to object one bit…he liked how rough Marcus was.

He pinned Taylor on the floor, drove his massive cock into him with a few thrusts, and rutted with him for half an hour, until he pumped one of his massive loads up Taylor’s well used hole, then slid down and ate the young man out as well, flipping him over and sucking him off. Just another happy member of the house–and another was due to arrive the next day, as well.

That fellow was Ethan. Like Marcus, he had a hard time believing that he had someone agreed to lease a place with these three disgusting, horny, perverse fellows, but Mr. Woodrow seemed so kind, that maybe…maybe he’d been mistaken, and he found his way to his room, and started unpacking. But what was waiting for him in his room, when he got there?

Alright, I think this will be the last fellow to join the house. After this, I’ll move onto a Halloween something for October! I have a few ideas, so we’ll see what happens. As always, my patrons have a bonus poll over here!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 8)

Marcus crawled forward, but before he could reach Mr. Woodrow near the ladder leading up, something appeared around him–a circle not unlike the one that had surrounded the demon before, except now he was on the inside. He tried to cross the barrier, but it was like some sort of forcefield–he could hammer on it all he wanted, but he couldn’t cross the line, no matter how hard he tried. He was panting, his whole body getting hot, and without really thinking about it, he stripped off his clothes, sweat pouring off his body, head spinning, and all he could do was croak at Mr. Woodrow, begging him to help him, to do something, that everything hurt.

Mr. Woodrow just watched. Demon seed could be…tempermental, and while one dose was rarely enough to cause the full corruption of a man’s soul, it certainly wouldn’t be without repercussions–some of them more dangerous than others. Until he saw how the seed affected Marcus, he was going to keep him in the circle, just to be safe. He could already see the changes starting, the hair beginning to sprout across Marcus’s shoulders and down his chest, the slight swelling in his gut. It was only a matter of moments before Marcus noticed them as well, but he was feeling too weak to do anything about it. Instead, he sat back on the floor in the circle, lying on his clothes, and just watched as the changes began to warp and corrupt his body.

It was the stench that he noticed first. As his body heated up and started to sweat, the smell that came with it was something entirely unlike anything he had smelled before–aside from the demon he had just sucked off. But that had been…pungent, and also…also pure somehow. This didn’t smell like that, it smelled like…like something inside him was rotting, like his soul was rotting, and pouring out of him in a heady musk that…fuck, the more he smelled it, the hornier he was getting somehow. It didn’t make the smell any more pleasant–but he couldn’t stop himself as he reached down and started working his cock, throwing up an arm and snorting up the scent from his pit, all as the rest of his body started to grow and expand.

He was getting fatter. Not just a little fatter, but piling on the pounds rapidly–so much so that with a bit of will, Mr. Woodrow expanded the circle around him, just to give him some additional space. His body grew out and softened, a full, heavy apron that grew down and over his crotch, making it harder for him to work his cock, but Marcus couldn’t stop himself. His arms and legs grew thick, their own rolls hanging off of them, his ass spreading out underneath him like a puddle. And all over the larger surface, hair was sprouting, the same coarse, bristly hair as the demon’s hand been, so thick that it looked more like a pelt.

Marcus had to put his other arm down, and use it to hoist up his new fat to keep working his cock–but there was another reason he was struggling. His cock was bigger–easily nine inches long and thicker than a beer can. It was his balls though, that had grown the most. Each was around the size of a large grapefruit, and precum was gouting from the head, soaking the inside of his thighs and pooling on the ground, as Marcus got closer and closer to orgasm. He came, expelling a chunk of his humanity, and as he did, Mr. Woodrow watched his face contort, nose turning up and growing wider, ears longer and nearly flopping, a wider mouth, his teeth looking a bit sharper, especially the small tusks that were beginning to sprout where his canines had been.

The load was massive, and marcus found himself sitting in a shallow puddle of his own semen, heaving for breath, stuck in a magic circle in a new body he barely understood, more tired than he could really imagine–and he passed out, with a bit of help from Mr. Woodrow, who figured the young man had suffered enough. Now, he just had to decide what to do with him. He wasn’t abnormal enough that a human life was impossible for him–though it would require some editing to get him to accept it. On the other hand, looking at the fat, hairy pig…Mr. Woodrow wondered if he might not push him a little further in his own way–either for the benefit of the men moving into his house, or even for his own research. After all, he had never had the chance to document corruption like this before…and maybe this was too good of an opportunity to pass on.

Here’s the poll! You can make up to two selections. Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 7)

He almost missed it, lying there on the floor under the desk. Marcus had to get down on all fours and crawl under to grab it, but he managed to fish out the odd little key he found there, and held it in his hand. It was quite small–most likely the key to a padlock, or perhaps a little chest. It was also quite old, looking a bit rusted, though not rusted enough to be unusable. He figured he should probably ask Mr. Woodrow about it, but decided against it–he was nice, but there was something…off about him. Of course, there was something off about Taylor and Quinn too, but that was harder to sort out. Marcus was certain that something strange was going on here, but didn’t know what exactly–he had his doubts that a little key would answer the questions for him, but it wasn’t like it would hurt, right?

So he left his unpacking for a while, absorbed in his mystery, and started snooping around. None of the doors had locks on them, so that was a bust. Quinn and Taylor were…busy down in the basement, from the occasional moans rising up from the stairwell, but he didn’t know what would be down there anyway to unlock. Instead, he checked the attic, but there wasn’t anything up there at all, much to his surprise. He was about to give up, looking out his window, when he noticed something in the yard he hadn’t before–back behind a row of overgrown hedges, there was a small roof–probably a shed of some sort, out behind the pool–but not the pool house itself. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to look, he went out into the backyard, and found his way through the garden to the door of the shed.

Sure enough, it was secured with a padlock. He tested the key in it, and while the lock was about as rusty as the key, it did finally give way and pop open, letting Marcus undo the hook, and swing open the door…and he let out a little gasp.

It wasn’t a shed…exactly. It looked more like, well, a workshop. Something he might imagine out of a fantasy novel, if anything. There were flasks and vials on shelves all over the walls, several benches with papers strewn across them, most of it looking like no one had been out here in quite a long time. He poked around, carefully, looking at the books laid out–most of them grimoires written in languages he didn’t even recognize…and that kernel of doubt and suspicion that had been rising in him was getting larger. Something was going on here–he was sure of it–but even for him, with the evidence looking him in the face…magic seemed a bit far fetched for an explanation.

He kicked the latch, before he knew what it was–a trapdoor set in concrete floor of the shed. He hauled it open, and peered down into the dim light below…but he wasn’t sure exactly where the light was coming from. Still, he climbed down the ladder, hit the ground, and heard the snorting behind him–he turned around, and just…stared at the thing there, across the room, also staring at him.

It…was a pig? It was a man? No–it was something between them, standing on hind legs, cruel, yellow tusks pushing out, with two equally vicious horns pushing from the things forehead. It’s eyes were bright red, and…and the air stank. It stank of piss, and shit, and musk, and manure, and all sorts of vile things. He was staring at Marcus is calm, measured silence, and then it spoke.

“Come closer, boy–let me get a look at you.”

It wasn’t…speech exactly, and Marcus took a few steps forward, the smell intensifying…and the terror mounted as well, when he saw the thing’s cock slip from its sheath, a massive, twelve inch member with massive hairy balls below it…he wanted to run, but something…had him, was forcing him forward, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely, it’s been so long since I’ve had company. You want my company, don’t you boy? Yes, of course you do, you can’t stop staring at it, can you?”

There was…a circle on the ground. A foot away. He tried to stop himself, tried to hold back, but…but that cock, it was fascinating to him, he…he needed it. He crossed the circle, felt the power it held collapse, and then he was on his knees, worshiping the demon’s filthy cock, and the beast laughed, and snorted, and grunted–free at last!

He rutted against Marcus’s face, and came, his vile, yellow grey cum filling the boy’s mouth, spewing from his nose, forcing its way down into his guts, filling him up with the demon’s corrupt seed, and Marcus sat back, dazed and horrified at what he’d just done, but unable to stop it. “Good boy–you’ll be my first. A few more loads, and we’ll be ready to show that warlock a thing or two of our own, don’t you–”

There was a bright flash, and then the demon was gone–banished, back to where he’d come from, leaving Marcus groaning on the floor, as Mr. Woodrow stepped forward, shaking his head, looking at all of the demon seed absorbing into Marcus’ body. It was too late now, he knew–he would just have to wait and see what sort of corruption spread through the boy’s body–then, maybe, he could come up with a solution for him. He cursed himself for losing the key in the first place! Still, at least it had been found, in the end.

Marcus moaned, feeling his body shifting and aching as the seed spread inside him, begging the older man for help as he began to change…

Here’s the next poll! I’ll be mixing and matching a few of the more popular options from the selections below. You get three choices in the poll. My patrons get an extra bonus poll over here as well, which is weighted five times heavier!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 6)

Quinn was certain that the mirror was doing something to him. It wasn’t hard to figure out, of course, but while he was a bit…terrified, in all honesty, it felt so good to let go around his reflection that he was willing to just embrace it. He didn’t know whether the idea came to him on his own, or if it was planted in his mind like so many others, but he knew, somehow, that the easiest way to get Taylor into bed with him, would be to…to get him to look at the mirror himself. Get the mirror inside him, somehow, in the same way in was inside him.

Of course, Taylor spent most of his days working out, and he wasn’t particularly keen on being interrupted, so Quinn had to wait until the late afternoon, when he heard Taylor tromp up the stairs and towards the kitchen, probably to start making himself dinner. Quinn was ready though, and he intercepted him before he could get started.

“Hey man, could you come look at something in my room real quick? I just wanna know if I should ask the landlord about it.”

Taylor’s brow furrowed, “What’s up?”

“I think my window has a bad seal or something, I can hear some wind through it.”

“I’d just call him,” Taylor said, and continued into the kitchen, “Mr Woodrow’s a good guy, he’ll sort it out.”

“Just come listen real quick, would you? I don’t want to call him for nothing. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

Obviously annoyed at his routine getting disturbed, Taylor followed Quinn up the stairs and into his room. Taylor went over by the window to listen, while Taylor went and stood next to the mirror. After a moment, Taylor shook his head. “I don’t hear anything, but maybe we should call him just in…”

Taylor had looked back at where Quinn was standing, and ended up looking right into the mirror next to him. Quinn knew it must have worked–he could see that same…shimmer in his eyes that he saw in his own reflection, when the mirror…had him too. He cautiously walked over to his muscular roommate, laid his hands on him, feeling his body still clammy with sweat from his workout, and Quinn shuddered. This close to him, he could…smell him now, and fuck, he smelled rank, but it wasn’t…bad. It was just strong, and heady, and Quinn’s cock got hard just from leaning into Taylor’s pits for a sniff.

“You ok Taylor? Don’t worry, we’ll…we’re going to have lots of fun this evening, isn’t that right?”

Taylor nodded.

“See…the mirror is…is mine, Taylor. And as long as you’re in it, that means you’re mine too, doesn’t it? You have to do everything I say. It will feel good to do everything I say.”

Taylor nodded, and moaned now, his own cock tenting out the front of his shorts, leaking a bit.

“Get on your knees boy, suck me off.”

The voice that came out of his throat surprised Quinn. It was gruff and…and deeper. Not quite his own, but it was…his. Taylor got down, pulled down the sweatpants Quinn was wearing, and started sucking on his cock, hungrily, and Quinn had to lean on the wall to stay standing, his eyes drifting over to the mirror, seeing himself there, his burly, fat, hairy body getting serviced by this hot, musky jock…there was a twinkle in his eye, just a suggestion really…

“Get up,” Quinn said, “Go down into the kitchen, bring me some snacks. Daddy’s hungry boy.”

“Yes…daddy,” Taylor said, and stood up, leaving the room and heading for the kitchen. Quinn worried that being away from him and the mirror might snap him out of it, but a few minutes later, Taylor arrived back in the room, eyes still shining, arms loaded with beer, and snacks, and Quinn’s mouth started watering at the sight.

Quinn ordered Taylor to feed him for a while, while he just relaxed on his bed, telling Taylor in between mouthfuls how much he was enjoying this. How he wanted his daddy to be happy, how he loved feeding him, how serving him in whatever way he needed just felt so good to him, made his cock hard, made him want to service him more and more. Quinn took over his own eating, and ordered Taylor to start worshiping his body–especially his belly. Told him that Taylor loved being muscular, but that servicing fat men like daddy was what he was born to do, what made him feel complete.

The mirror was getting…restless. It wanted to be fed, as much as Quinn did. He ordered Taylor up, told him to face the mirror, brace himself and bend over–daddy was going to breed his boy for the first time of many. They had no lube, but Taylor’s hole was hungry and wet, Quinn’s thick cock was leaking profusely, and they slid together like it was all part of some larger design. “Oh fuck, jockboy, fuckin’ hell you feel real nice around daddy’s cock…” Quinn moaned, and started fucking him long and deep. “Yeah, stupid fucking jockboy–good thing you have a nice daddy around here to keep you in line. You love doing everything daddy says, it makes everything so much easier for you, doesn’t it? Easy, and you get to feel good too. You just let all those complicated thoughts drain away, right there into the mirror. From now on, you just need to worry about getting bigger, and keeping daddy as happy as can be, you fucking got it? Oh fuck boy, here it fucking comes!”

It was the first load that Quinn hadn’t shot into the mirror since arriving at the house. It felt explosive, and bright, like he was firing hot light right into Taylor’s body. His boy groaned, reared up, and shot his own load all over the glassy surface, where it shimmered for a moment, and then melted into the surface, and both of them felt the mirror’s hold over them ebb away, Taylor turning around, holding his aching head.

Quinn was…nervous. Would he remember, or would he not? “Fuck daddy, thanks! You’re dirty jockboy needed that real fuckin’ bad…” Taylor said, leaned in and gave Quinn a deep kiss, massaging his big belly as he did, and Quinn melted into him, pulling his boy close, knowing he was his from now on. His…and the mirror’s. “Alright boy, that’s enough for now–get down there and make daddy some dinner.”

Taylor gave him a wide, and kind of stupid, grin. “Sure thing daddy! I love cookin’ for you!” Then he was gone, and Taylor relaxed, snacking on the food his boy had brought him, but already hungry for dinner–and for another round with his boy’s hole after that.

***

Mr Woodrow was more than happy to accomodate the two of them a few days later, when they suggested that they move into the basement together, converting the larger space down there into a studio apartment for them both, the mirror hanging on the wall within easy view of the entire room. It was a few days after that, when Marcus, the third member of the house arrived to move in, a week before school started.

Mr. Woodrow was there, waiting for him, ready to give him the tour. It was a beautiful house…but Marcus struggled a bit, when Taylor came bouncing up from the basement to give him a hug, and tell him how excited he was for him to be living there with him and his daddy. Marcus…couldn’t really recall who this was at all, at least not right away. Mr. Woodrow helped talk him down, and when Quinn got home from his job later that evening, working as the foreman for a construction company, everything made a bit more sense…kind of. He’d met Taylor at school, and been introduced to his boyfriend, Quinn, not long after that. Quinn was in his early 30’s–and hadn’t gone to college, but they were…well, love was a weird word for what they had, but it seemed to work for both of them. Taylor was studying exercise science–badly, really, but he was good enough to graduate and probably find work. But for the life of him…Marcus found it had to believe he would be friends with them…for some reason.

But Marcus settled into one of the rooms upstairs, and started unpacking–and like Taylor and Marcus before him, he too, discovered something…odd in his room as he did.

Alright, so what’s Marcus going to stumble upon in his room? As always, you get two choices in the poll. The patron only poll is over here, and votes are weighted five times as much!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 5)

Dinner was good, but boring. In line with his new look, Taylor made a simple dinner–chicken breast, brown rice, a side of vegetables–high protein for his growing physique, but for Quinn…it just wasn’t quite enough, or what he was really feeling like. They chatted a bit, Quinn trying to ask about Taylor’s research, but not really getting anywhere with him. Taylor mostly wanted to talk about his workouts, and about how nice their landlord was, and how much he liked living here so far. He was sure that Quinn would feel the same way soon enough.

After dinner, Quinn ran to the store to get some food of his own, and to get a few things on Taylor’s list. Things would have gone fine, probably, if he hadn’t caught sight of his reflection in the doors of one of the freezer cases…and seen those same, shining eyes from the mirror in his bedroom. Quinn just stared at them for a moment, popping an erection right there in the grocery aisle, and then he went back out into the parking lot, grabbed a cart, and started filling it. Ice cream, chips, cookies, soda–things Quinn usually never bought all just sounded so good to him all of a sudden–and what was wrong with enjoying himself, really? It wasn’t like he was going to be able to mooch off Taylor, since he was on such a health kick. He checked out, loaded everything into his car, and then drove home. Taylor was in his room, presumably studying, and so Quinn was left to his own devices–he put the groceries away, and then tore into some chips, still ravenous after the meager dinner Taylor had made. He took the chips with him back to his room, planning on playing a computer game or something, but he never made it that far–his reflection caught his eyes, and he just sat in front of the mirror for the rest of the evening, only leaving his room to go down and get more food, and the rest of the time he spent jacking off, feeding load after load of cum to the mirror–before collapsing into bed, exhausted.

The next morning, Quinn woke up hungry–but before that, he needed to take care of something in the bathroom. After taking a piss, he looked at himself in the mirror–and he was certain something was off. His stubble seemed too thick for one thing. He usually only had to shave a couple of days a week, but it was coming in thick, and dark after just two. He thought about shaving it for a moment, but the eyes of his reflection sparkled for a moment, and he changed his mind. It looked…good, didn’t it? He admired himself in the mirror, the slight paunch that hadn’t been there a few days ago looked nice too…but it might look better if it was even bigger…

No, wait, why had he thought that?

The eyes of his reflection sparkled a bit brighter now, and Quinn went a little blank, hauled out his cock, and started masturbating right there in the bathroom, looking at himself. He looked good. Hot, really. He liked masturbating to himself, liked admiring himself, wanted…yeah, wanted to get fatter, and hairier, and…

He didn’t cum–but he came back to himself at the edge, and pulled back. He could…cum in his room, but first he needed breakfast. He went down to the kitchen and stuffed himself, then went back up to his room, where much of his day was spent the same way–sitting there in front of the mirror, masturbating, and the changes continued.

A week later, Quinn was hardly the same young man who had moved into the house. The scrawny, five foot six inch fellow was now nearly six feet tall, and had packed on close to 100 pounds in just a few days. His once hairless skin was now covered with a thick layer of body hair, across his chest and shoulders, down his forearms–and across his sizable gut. He was also balding–enough to make him look a few years older at least. It had distressed him, when he’d first noticed it, but after some time in front of the mirror, admiring it, he realized it just made him look even more manly. He liked looking manly. He liked men.

That was a thought that had been occurring to him more and more lately. He liked men–and since the only man he was around regularly was Taylor, Quinn found himself liking him more and more. He would fantasize about how he had caught him masturbating after that workout, think about what he could have done if he’d been more of a man at the time, and not so scared. Then again, he was a man now, wasn’t he? He stroked his larger, seven inch cock…and started to wonder if there wasn’t a way he might get the two of them to do a little exploring together.

Alright, how are we going to bring these two together? You can choose two of the four options. The bonus patreon poll is over here–as always, patron votes count five times more than votes in the regular poll!

Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 4)

Quinn was about to hang his clothes up in the closet, when he noticed that something was still in there, leaning against the back wall, with a sheet hanging over it. It was large–easily five feet by two feet, and when he leaned it out, discovered it was pretty damn heavy too. He dragged it out on his own and got the sheet off, and found himself looking at an ornately framed mirror. It was a little…gaudy, sure, but the more Quinn looked at the frame, at the intricate swirls of the darkly stained wood, the more…he wanted to see what it looked like, hanging on the wall, just out of curiosity.

He looked around, and saw what he figured there had to be–a couple of nails in the wall where it must have been hanging before. Funny–Mr. Woodrow didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would be so careless as to leave the nails there after taking it down–but it saved him the effort he supposed. Still, the mirror was heavy! He tried to lift it up on his own, and nearly crashed backwards with it. He might as well get help.

“Hey Taylor!” he shouted, “Could you help me out for a sec?”

He listened, but didn’t hear a response–so he went down and decided to see if he was still in the basement, and just couldn’t hear him. He made his way down the stairs, turned the corner, froze, and quickly turned back around the corner of the stairs, cheeks blushing red. Nervously, he looked around the corner again, and sure enough, there Taylor was…jacking off.

Jacking off, with one of his arms thrown up, snorting up his own musk as he stroked off, spandex shorts down around his thighs, wearing one of the nastiest looking jocks Quinn had ever seen.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Taylor had never lifted a weight in his life, and now, one summer after living here, he was…what, some stinking, musky bodybuilder now? It didn’t make any sense, and yet…he found himself watching him, unable to look away, until with a few loud snorts, Taylor came, shooting his load into his jockstrap, and then pulling his shorts right back up.

Quinn decided he might as well do it now–he stomped on the stairs a couple times, like he was just coming down, and then turned the corner. “Hey Taylor, think you could help me with something real quick?”

Taylor smiled at him, “Sure man, I was just finishing up–what do you need?”

They went up to Quinn’s room together, and Taylor helped him get the mirror up on the wall. He was still covered in fresh sweat from his workout, and the musk rolling off him, and the smell of cum, was making Quinn gag a bit–but the mirror was there. “Hey, are you, uh…feeling alright?” Quinn asked him.

“Sure–why do you ask?”

“I just…I mean, I didn’t know you were into weightlifting, I guess.”

Taylor shrugged, like it was no big deal, and didn’t really see why Quinn was asking. “I’m gonna go eat something–want me to make you some too?”

“Yeah, sure–thanks.”

Taylor left then, and left Quinn alone. Or almost alone. He was with the mirror, after all.

He looked at himself in it, and he was…amazed at the clarity. It seemed more like a window, than a mirror, and looking at himself, and thinking about Taylor, he didn’t really have much to compare to. Still, there was something about him, in the mirror, something that seemed…off. It took him a moment to realize that what was off, was that his reflection’s pants were tented with an erection.

He blushed, looked down, and sure enough, he was hard! Had Taylor noticed? How long had he been like that? He looked back up, and this time caught his own eyes in the mirror…and they weren’t his eyes. They sparkled, like crystal. They were beautiful, and terrifying, and he couldn’t look away, as his reflection opened his pants, pulled out his cock, and started jacking off–Quinn doing the same thing, not quite sure who was leading who.

He lasted for a couple of minutes, his eyes never leaving his reflection, and came–the cum flying out and splattering across the surface of the mirror, where it…was absorbed, but Quinn didn’t notice that. He as still lost in those eyes–they were so much larger, all consuming, like they…wanted to devour him. At last, shaking, he could look away, and when he looked back at himself after a moment, his reflection was normal. The eyes were normal too…but then, as he looked, something else seemed off, but he couldn’t quite place it. He thought about taking the mirror down, but he’d have to ask Taylor again…and things were awkward enough. Instead, he kept unpacking, and then joined his housemate for dinner.

Little did he know, his reflection had changed, somehow–but what was different?

Alright, here’s the next poll! The possibilities below can all be a bit mixed and matched, so there will probably two or maybe three that get used together, to determine what happens to Quinn over the next few weeks. You can choose two options! Patrons have their bonus poll, worth five times as much, over here!