Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 1)

“So like I said, we had a nice family living here for a while, but…well, I don’t really have the details,” Mr. Woodrow said, with a look that implied he did, in fact, have them, “but let’s just say that they ended up getting divorced, and neither of them could afford the rent on their own, so they found new places for themselves. It’s been vacant for a while, but I took the time to fix it up a bit, add some more furnishings, you know…”

Taylor was still so agog at the place that he was only half listening, as the landlord kept going on and on about the house during the tour. It was beautiful–big kitchen, spacious living areas, five bedrooms, a pool in the backyard, a little exercise room in the basement–it was unbelievable really, especially at the price Mr. Woodrow was offering–enough that Taylor and his four friends could actually afford it while they were going to school next year.

“Now, I do need a year lease. You said you wanted to rent it with your friends? That doesn’t bother me really, as long as all of your names are on it. Do you think you’d all be interested?”

“Hell yeah we are,” Taylor said, “I mean, I’ll check with them about it, but this…I mean, it’s a great place man, it really is.”

Mr. Woodrow beamed, “I put a lot of work into it, but I know around here, you students just need places to live. I like to know that I’m helping out some young men when I can.”

Taylor sent the listing to his friends, and all of them agreed that it looked like an amazing find. Taylor was the only one who was going to live there the whole summer, while he was doing a research project on campus. His other friends would join him closer to the school year starting in August and September–though Aaron said that for a place this nice, he might show up early. The lease could be signed electronically, and with a deposit–helpfully supplied by Taylor’s father, they were all set to go–they had the perfect fucking place, at a great bargain, and it didn’t look like there was a single catch anywhere.

At least, until Taylor was leaving the house, whistling in excitement and ready to start moving in, when someone came out from behind some bushes and hustled towards him. He was an older man, and he looked like he meant some sort of business. “Hey, kid! What were you doing in there?” he shouted at him.

Taylor just looked at him, confused, but assumed it was a neighbor. “Oh, uh, me and my friends are going to be renting it for the next year. You live around here?”

The guy’s face went a bit pale, and he came closer to him. “Don’t. Rip it up–don’t sign a lease with him. That place…it’s fucked man, you don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

“What? Why?”

The man hesitated, and then blurted out, “I lived there, and it made me gay.”

Taylor just stared at him, and then started laughing.

“I’m fucking serious! I was married, I had a kid. We started living there a year ago, and…and fuck, I don’t know how that fucker did it, some spell, or a curse, or who the fuck knows, but now…now I fucking love cock kid. I love cock more than fucking anything, and it’s fucking destroyed me. Killed my marriage, I lost my fucking job! Don’t…don’t do it, don’t move in there, you’ll fucking regret it.”

The guy moved closer to him, but Taylor swatted his hand away. “Whatever pervert–fuck off! It’s just a fucking house man, get a grip on yourself. If you wanna suck dicks, whatever, I don’t care, but I’m straight.”

He pushed past the stranger and got in his car, and the man just stared after him as he drove off, and shook his head. He wouldn’t be straight for long–not in that place.

It was a couple weeks later now, and TayLor finally felt like he had all of his stuff in the house, at least. Most of it was still in boxes, that that was a small problem now, after moving his stuff out of the dorm and across town in his small car. His friends had all seen the place by now and were thrilled with his luck–and a bit jealous that he was going to enjoy it by himself all summer long, since his rich father was willing to pay for the three months himself, before the rest of them moved in.

So, here he was–it was his, finally. So Taylor decided to take a break from unpacking, and decided to poke around a little. The pool in particular was enticing, especially since the weather was finally starting to heat up, but Mr. Woodrow told him it hadn’t been turned on yet, so he had to wait. Instead, he poked around the house itself, checking out the other rooms, peeking in the closets, up in the attic, and down in the basement–but something in particular caught his undivided attention for a while, but what was it?

My plan for this one is a bit more of a slow burn. We might have a few parts with just Taylor, and then add in the rest of his housemates to be corrupted as well, in turn. We’ll see how it goes! The first poll is below, and the bonus Patreon poll is over here too. You can make two selections each in the polls!

Straight Town

Last Updated – 8/12/19. It’s finished! Thanks all for your patience with this one. New stuff will be coming tomorrow.

NOTE: Click the “Continue Reading” button below first, before using the links in the table of contents, or else most won’t work!

Table of Contents

Arc One: Kevin and Steve
Supplemental Writings

Continue reading “Straight Town”

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.

Early Access: Straight Town – Chapters 9 and 10

Alright, it’s fucking finished. Patrons at the $5 level and up can access chapter 9 and chapter 10 right now–everyone else has to wait a week. Prepare yourself, it was not easy to write, and I don’t think it will be easy to read. This is a tragedy after all.

I need a short break, after this thing. I still don’t quite know how I feel about it. This week will mostly be about getting the public version updated and posted, and I wouldn’t expect much else, aside from a conclusion to the interactive I’ve been neglecting. Next week, we’ll switch to something lighter, and move into short mode. Captions, flash fictions, odd little snippets of things. Coming up soon too, I think, will be the first round of commissions in a long while, so keep lookout for more details to come about that.

Metawriting: Straight Town Notes #4

It’s in the thick of these sorts of stories, barreling towards a climax and conclusion which has become clear, that I find myself wondering why I write these sorts of stories. The sort I am talking about is a broad category, but it doesn’t include all of my writing either. It also isn’t a category I feel like accepts an easy definition, either. “Straight Town” is in the category. “Into the Night of God” is another one. I would also say that parts of City of Bears, from the latter entries, would fall into this same category. There are other stories that contain elements of this category, but I think these are probably the most extreme examples of what I am trying to point out. It might not even be that the stories have all that much in common, beyond a sense that they contain a really deep, fundamental darkness that I try to isolate from my other writing as best I can. It is a darkness that makes it difficult to enjoy these stories in a conventional manner, I think–conventional in the sense that it gets my dick hard, and makes me want to jack off. 

It feels like punishment, in some ways. It feels like truth telling, in others. It feels like horror subsumes the pornography, coating it, keeping the form of it but corrupting it in a way that is no longer sexy, but now simply unsettling. I’ve called it anti-porn in the past, and I think that term still holds better than any other I can think up. The stories no longer feel like fantasies, but more like nightmares I am trying to dredge from some deep part of myself, but that sounds melodramatic. What I do know, is something separates these stories from the majority of my work. They are the stories I do not usually go back and read again, but they are the ones I remember writing, the characters I remember most, the ones that take the longest time to conceive and write, and the ones that I tend to mull over for a long while after the fact. But always, I find myself wondering why I write them.

They are not easy to write, for me. It is an exercise in (or exorcism of) some deep something inside myself, something I do not particularly enjoy accessing or acknowledging. Most readers–or at least the ones I hear back from, which is a small percentage of the total, I know, don’t seem to find them sexually stimulating, though some enjoy them on other levels, find that they resonate with themselves in ways they weren’t expecting. What I do not receive, are people telling me they found these stories “hot,” or “sexy,” or anything like that. They are hard to read, and they are hard to write, but I think they offer something more important than an orgasm–or at least, they feel that way to me. A more lasting sort of catharsis.

I’ve been thinking about flogging and pain play lately. It has been quite a while, since before I moved here to Portland, since I had any real intense pain play. It is not something that I ever really expected to enjoy, since my first experience with an abusive fellow was so negative–but with other, more caring doms, it is something—truly beautiful, what you feel under the paddle, or the flogger, or electro, or clamps, or whatever else. But one thing I do not do during pain play, is cum. Kills my erection, every time, for hours. Once I just accept this as something that happens to me, I discovered I didn’t particularly mind it–I was getting more catharsis from the pain/pleasure itself, a physical sense of pleasure that rose higher and lasted longer than any orgasm I’d ever had–so why should I complain about it, really? While not something I have done before, I’ve read anecdotal accounts that guys who are into fisting experience something similar. That orgasm is not the end of the play–the play itself creates sensations and pleasures beyond mere orgasm–the act of play itself is the pleasure and the release. 

This category of stories feels like that, when I write them. A sense of catharsis and release deeper and more resounding than an orgasm would be, a story that speaks to some deeper pain/pleasure inside me that requires satisfaction just as much as my cock might. I don’t know if this is something that readers experience–I imagine, from my conversations with some of them, that they do to an extent. 

So perhaps this story isn’t a blowjob, but a whipping. A really severe whipping. Or at least, it feels severe to me. The only story that has been harder to write than this one, I think, was “Into the Night of God,” and I am eager for it to be completed, so it can rest. So I can rest, for a while, before taking something like this up again. It also means that this story can’t be for everyone–because not everyone wants to get whipped, not everyone has the same pain/pleasure barrier than allows them to enjoy it, not everyone has the same emotional capacity and practice to sustain themselves against it–and I understand that, there’s no shame in not enjoying this. But I do, on some deeper level. I hope you can allow yourself a moment of catharsis too, as it comes to a climax, but if not, I understand.