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.

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!

Caption: Arctos Influencers

“Ok, look cute–not too cute though. Don’t want anyone thinking we’re too snotty.”

“I know dear.”

“Good…not good enough. Look away, over at something.”

“At what?”

“I don’t care, just–look like there’s something interesting going on, over to the side there. You’re with me, you love it, but there’s stuff going on too. Mystery gets likes.”

“Alright, fine.”

Good…yeah, that looks great.”

It was the closest Nate had gotten to an actual admission that he was in a relationship with Mark–well, with Mark and his instagram account. Everything had to be documented–and staged just right so he could keep building his followers. He’d spent an hour on Nate’s wardrobe just this morning–and he was already exhausted, and wondering if this was what he really wanted. Sure, he was hot, and internet famous…

Nate sighed, while Mark uploaded the photo. When it was done, Nate watched the likes, and follows, rack up on his own page something fierce. It did feel good, didn’t it? Then, much to his surprise, an email popped up in his inbox, from some company named Arctos. He asked Mark about it.

“Oh, some weird as company, keeps trying to get me to be an influencer for them. Don’t know why–I am so not their aesthetic. Go take a look.”

Nate went to the site–and sure enough, the page was full of big, hairy, bearded men–the exact opposite of them in most every way. Nate laughed, but couldn’t help but be a bit curious. A little later, while Mark was watching TV, he got back on his phone, and clicked the offer–just to see what they wanted. The screen changed into a swirling pattern of red and black-like flannel, but…so much more than that. It was fascinating, and Nate couldn’t look away from it, no matter how hard he tried.

“What the–who the fuck are you?” 

Something shook Nate out of his focus on his screen, and Mark was standing there, looking at him with utter disgust…but he just didn’t understand. “I…Look at this offer man, I think…I think we could do this,” Nate said, his voice…deep, gravelly, and so sensual all of a sudden. He turned the phone towards Mark, and as soon as he saw the swirl of pattern, he too went blank…and Nate watched his twinky boyfriend start to grow, packing on muscle, packing on hair, a thick beard pushing out of his chin and cheeks…and fuck, did he look sexy as a bear.

Needless to say, Nate and Mark have never been happier, and the influencer deal with Arctos has been working out great. Of course, a lot of Mark’s followers were confused at first, how they went from following a slim twink to a burly, hairy, bearded bear…but the flannel he was wearing smoothed out their concerns quickly–and lots of them used the link provided to purchase the shirts for themselves. After all, who…wouldn’t want to be just like them, those two sexy bears in the photo?

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!

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.

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”