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: Hypno Time! (Part 2)

Sunday Morning

As far as Max could tell, one moment Johnny had the gun pointed at him, there was that…strange light that seemed to suffuse everything, and then he was back on the couch–if he hadn’t suddenly moved from one end to the other, he would have thought no time had passed at all. That…and he kinda felt like shit. He coughed and looked up at Johnny standing in front of him. “Happy Sunday,” he said with a big grin on his face–a grin that told Max he was probably in store for some surprises–especially since he couldn’t remember a thing from the past 24 hours. The gun seemed to wipe his memory from when he was in a trance, unless Johnny told him explicitly to be aware of something–even then, it was more like a dream than anything else, like the time in trance was spent outside of his body, or maybe deeper inside of himself. Not present in any case.

He moved his tongue around his mouth–there was a taste there, something he didn’t recognize immediately, but which he knew should be familiar…somehow. It was related to the smell in the room around them, and when he saw the haze, he realized what it was–it was cigarette smoke. He looked down at his hand then, realizing there was something between his fingers, and sure enough–it was a lit cigarette. He was fucking smoking–why in the hell was he smoking! He tried to snuff it out in the ashtray on the side table, but instead he took another drag off it, and saw Max’s eyes light up in delight.

“I had to figure out something that I knew you would never agree to if you were just pretending,” Max said, “And frankly, I’ve always liked guys who smoke–the more the better.”

“Wait…what the fuck, Johnny? This–you can’t just make me a fucking smoker! This…this shit is deadly.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve had this conversation already, a ton of times,” Johnny said, tapping a cigarette out into his fingers, and lighting one up himself like it was the most natural thing in the world–except Max, as far as he could recall, had never seen Johnny smoke before in their lives. “I know you hate my smoking, but I don’t think you’ll be objecting much in the future, which is good for me–besides, you think it’s sexy too, don’t you?” He lit the cigarette, and when Max saw the end flare to life…something in his chest skipped a beat, and he inhaled deep off his own cigarette, coughing a bit at the sudden desire. “Fuck, why…Johnny, you’re not a smoker, why the fuck did you do this to us?”

“Not a smoker? I’ve been smoking a pack a day since we started dating.”

“No…No, Johnny, you…what the fuck happened?”

“Take off your shirt, let’s see how those studs look today,” Johnny said, pushing the subject away from his own sudden shift in attitude towards some other changes he’d made to Max over the last day.

Max did as he was told, pulled off his shirt, and saw that his nipples had been pierced with two studs–that explained the pain he’d felt there when he woke up from the gun.

“Pants too–let’s see it.”

Afraid of what he would find, Max pulled down his pants, and saw that his cock was pierced through with a PA–nothing too large, but still, it was a shock.

“See” Now we match,” Johnny said, pulling down his own pants, revealing his own cock with a ring in it that Max couldn’t recall ever seeing before–and that looked like it had been there for quite a bit longer than his new one, one he could…almost recall feeling in his throat before this. “Come on, smoke your cigar for me.”

Like a trigger, Max sat forward of the couch and started sucking Johnny’s ringed cock, careful to keep it away from his teeth, as he’d…figured out to do before this…right? Even the smoking, that had seemed so strange a second ago, seemed more…normal to him now. Then Johnny ran a hand over Max’s head, he shuddered, and pulled away from his cock, running his own hands over his skull.

“I always like a cueball–it looks good on you,” Johnny said.

“God fucking–” Max said, got up and went into the bathroom, and sure enough, he was bald on top–smoothly shaved, and he saw on his face a full day’s worth of stubble. This, at least, he could fix. He grabbed his razor, but when he tried to shave his face, his arm went to his head automatically–he couldn’t manage to make his hands shave his stubble, no matter how he tried.

“Guess you’ll have to grow that beard out now.”

“Fuck you–Johnny, put…put me back.”


“What the fuck do you mean, no?”

“I like you this way–you’ll like yourself too, just give it a few days to get adjusted.”

“No–Johnny, something happened–not just to me, but to you too. Did…did you shoot yourself with the gun? What did you do with it?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I just used it on you. I’ve been awake all day. Now finish your cigar.”

Max tried to resist the command, but he couldn’t–he got back down and went back to sucking off his boyfriend’s cock, stroking his own–carefully minding his new ring, still smoking his cigarette, wondering if he was going insane. It felt like it–but on the other hand…it was all kind of sexy, wasn’t it?

True to Johnny’s word, after a few days, Max had decided to give in and enjoy it, but something nagged at him all the same. Johnny…had changed too. He was sure of it. Not much, but enough that it was noticeable. Enough that he told Johnny he should stop using the gun, but Johnny dismissed his concerns, telling him the trance was probably messing with his memory. Besides, Johnny already had some new ideas percolating, which he broke to Max a couple of weeks later–this time, he wanted to trance him for a full weekend, Friday afternoon to Monday morning.

Max balked–and he demanded that Johnny tell him what he had in mind–and this time, Johnny did. There were a couple of guys that Johnny knew, and he’d decided that the three of them–Johnny and the two mystery men, would have the privilege of Max servicing them for a long weekend. Max asked him who the men were, but Johnny wouldn’t say–he wanted it to be a surprise. Again, Max was hesitant, but Johnny wore him down, and soon enough, he gave in, and plans were made.

Alright, here’s a broader sort of poll. Depending on the popularity of the replies, I’ll combine them together in various ways that make sense to me! You get three choices, so pick wisely! Here’s the bonus patron only poll as well.

Update: The public poll isn’t embedding properly! Please use this link to go vote! I’ll try to add the embedded one later if it stops acting up.

Interactive: Porno Virus (Part 12)

This is going to be the last entry in this series for the moment. I might revisit it at some point, but I have some other ideas I’d like to try for the moment. I’ll be starting a new interactive story of some sort next week!

As Tobias walked through the suburban streets, looking for someone to introduce to his new desires, to his new God, he saw, ahead of him, an older fellow walking a dog in the evening. He was most likely in his late thirties, wearing a shirt and slacks, looking tired from work and his home–and Tobias saw someone who could use a new…outlook on life. He followed along behind him for a few minutes, until they reached a dark stretch of the street, and Tobias pounced on him. The dog took off running, terrified at the strange smelling figure that had leapt out and tackled his master–and Eric, the man Tobias tackled, struggled with Tobias in the dim light, unable to understand what this man was–the clinking of metal, the rub of rope and leather against his skin, the sickening bulge of Tobias’ monstrous cock grinding against him. As he fought, however, he could feel…something happening to him, a strange sensation on his skin, like something was crawling on him, underneath his shirt, making him squirm and shudder in disgust. He managed, at last, to fight the man off and he ran down the street, but the sensation of…something on his skin didn’t go away. Wondering what the crazed freak might have had on him, he took off his shirt (which was feeling increasingly tight), and then pulled off his undershirt as well, and looking down, he gasped.

There were…tattoos crawling across his body. He scratched at them, trying to get them off, but they were already under his skin–the virus seeping into his body, infecting him and his desires with the images that Tobias had implanted in him. Across his chest he saw the words “Daddy Hog”, and he could…remember when he got it, at that seedy tattoo shop outside of Denver on one of his rides, the same time as that trucker had asked Eric to help him break in a new college boy he’d picked up hitchhiking…

Eric clutched his head, trying to resist the new memories, giving Tobias the opportunity he needed to grab Eric and drag him back into the darkness, groping him, covering him with still more tattoos, all over his arms and legs and belly–images of pigs, images of bikes and bikers, images of cigars and smoke. Eric tried to fight, but eventually, he forgot he was even trying to fight any of this, he forgot he’d ever been Eric at all–that Eric, from before.

They ended up fucking between two houses, Eric plowing the rubber and leather freak in the ass, at least until the side door of one of the houses opened, and a younger man emerged holding a bag of garbage, looking at the two freaks fucking by his fence, and gaped at them. Gaped long enough that Tobias could leap on him and together, they started tearing the young fellow’s clothes away, and Tobias’ cock started leaking–but it wasn’t cum that came out, but dark silicone.

It dribbled, and then poured all over the young man’s body, coating him in it, sliding into every crevice and orifice, the silicone beefing up his ass, filling his lips, covering his teeth and dissolving them, covering his hands and turning them into mitts, and then Tobias forced his freakish cock into the man’s ass–while Eric fucked the new gimp’s rubberized mouth. The silicone flooded his system, and the man could feel his cock and balls inflating into some bulbous mass, a freakish accessory, also coated in rubber–and that was the last think he felt, really. The last thing he thought, as the rubber invaded and choked out his mind, leaving him as nothing more than a freakish rubber gimp for the new biker to use as he desired. Tobias felt himself ready to cum, so he hauled his cock free, and blasted Eric with his silicone cum, watched it coalesce into rubber gear to replace his ripped in torn clothes, and admired his fat, thick bearded, heavily tattooed biker freak, and then sent them off–Eric once again walking something on a leash, but no longer a dog, looking for a bike to steal so he and his slave could get back on the road, spreading the infection everywhere they went.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 3) [Interactive]

Well, Setting B won the twitter poll, and setting C won the patreon poll, so why don’t we use them both?

Davie looked down at his oversized, silicone filled cock, bulging against the spandex of his singlet…and wondered if it would count as an object, as far as the gun was concerned…and if it did work, what would happen to someone he shot with it afterwards? It was insane that he was even thinking about it, and yet he got so damn horny, wondering what might happen, that he threw caution to the wind, slid deep into the booth and pulled down his singlet, letting his cock and balls free. They were…fucking massive. Easily twice the size they had been before (though he was having a harder and harder time even recalling he’d ever been different–this just felt so…natural to him now) he hefted them in his hand, feeling the weight of all the silicone he’d been pumping into them for years now. Then he grabbed the gun, checked the setting was on C, and shot his cock.

The same light as before washed over his cock and balls, but didn’t extend further around him, like it had before, when he used setting A on himself. After a moment, the light faded, but nothing seemed different–he waited until someone came nearby his booth–a young twinkish fellow, like he’d always enjoyed before, and shot him with the gun. The light enveloped him, and he held the trigger for a couple of seconds, and then released it. The guy shook the shot off, turned towards him, saw his massive cock hanging free, licked his lips and made a beeline for it, licking at the head, drooling profusely…but beyond that, he didn’t seem…that different. Something had changed about him though–Davey figured he might just have to shoot him for longer. He aimed and shot him again, holding down the trigger for as long as he needed…and then he felt it, his cock shudder, open wide, and swallow the man’s entire head down the shaft.

He released the trigger, horrified by what he was looking at, as his cock shuddered again, and drew more of the man into him, and he seemed to be shrinking, as Davey’s cock ate him. The pleasure hit him then, as the man squirmed, sliding deeper inside him, his body diffusing into silicone and joining the rest of the substance merged with the flesh of Davey’s cock and balls. After a moment, the man was gone entirely, clothes and all, and Davey’s already mutant cock and balls were even larger–the cock nearly a foot and a half long and as thick as his own fat thigh, his balls lost in the mass of silicone that had become his sack, hanging like a wrecking ball from his body.

It was so fucking hot–he had to jack off then and there, though it was hard feeling much of anything with his cock and balls inflated like this. He was going to need some help. He grabbed the gun again, turned it to setting B, and shot himself for a minute, before pulling the singlet back up, his monstruous cock hanging free, and he went back downstairs. All he had to do was approach someone, and they were on him, worshiping his cock and balls right there in the open, and no one questioned a thing. When he had half a dozen guys enraptured by his junk, he retreated back away from the crowd and allowed them to please him, eventually milking a few loads out of him over the next few hours–until with a massive orgasm, he felt the man inside his junk reform slowly, and push his way out of the head of his cock.

He didn’t come out the same as he’d gone in. He was smaller than before, almost shorter than five feet tall, and skinny as a rail. It only served to make the man’s own, gigantic member even more obvious–where he’d had a modest five inch cock before, now it was nearly as large as Davey’s. The rest of him was off too–his clothes had been replaced by a full body latex suit, flesh colored, and the look in his eyes was utterly vacant. As soon as he was out, his hands gravitated right to his own cock, and he crawled over, back to Davey’s, and tried to force his way back in.

He wanted to be a cock now. A gigantic, silicone cock–it was all he desired in the world. He’d made his own cock larger, turned it into the dominant force of his entire world–that, and worshiping the cock of his master Davey, who was taking him on this path deeper into his fetish. As horrified as Davey was…he wanted his slave back inside him, but he realized, in his haste, he had left the gun upstairs, unattended. Cursing, he rushed up the stairs, his giant cock and balls heaving and bouncing, but when he got to the booth…it was gone. Someone else in the bar had already gotten hold of it, and was using it for their own devices–but who was it?

Don’t fret too hard, Davey might get another turn with the gun later in the night. For now, let’s give someone else a turn. There’s the two fairly popular options from before, as well as two other possibilities. 

  1. An older bear, who now has fetishes for watersports, diapers, chastity and public humiliation?
  2. A younger twink, who now has fetishes for boots, smoking, pain play and uniforms?
  3. A bouncer who now has a fetish for voyeurism, public masturbation, pornography, and gloryholes.
  4. A young cub with a fetish for extreme age progression, businessmen, and father/son incest.

The twitter poll is here

The patron only poll is here

Voting ends on Monday afternoon

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 2) [Interactive]

Davie took a break from the dance floor, got a bottle of water from the bar, and went to take a seat on the upper floor, where he could get a good view of the rest of the bar for a bit. It was…weird. Usually he would be having a better time here, or at least, he remembered usually having a better time here, but he hadn’t really been able to find anyone who, well, interested him that much. Of course, Davie didn’t have much trouble finding plenty of men interested in him–and the men he could remember going home with before were similar to him. Muscled, young, nicely hung…but tonight, no one seemed…big enough for him. Even the guys who were his usual fuckbuddies weren’t piquing his interest. They were all shorter than him, too…too normal.

He wanted a freak, is what he wanted. Some massive brute, seven feet tall, tattoos and piercings all over his body, cock and balls injected full of silicone until they were impossibly large…but why in the fucking hell did he want that? He…shouldn’t want that, right? It wasn’t what he could recall wanting, at least, at any point before this, but for some reason, it was the only thing he could think about, and every time he thought about it, his cock got rock hard. He looked over at a nearby empty table, and saw something there that looked…suspiciously like a gun. He went over to it, and saw it wasn’t a normal gun, but more like a toy gun of some sort–thought when he picked it up, the thing was surprisingly heavy. There was a sheet of paper wrapped around the narrow barrell of the gun. He unfurled it, and saw that it was a list of instructions–but when he read through them…there was no way the thing could be real, right?

It was, allegedly, called the fetish gun. It had five settings, which he skimmed through, but there was no way this could possibly be a thing. He looked around, and there were a few people chatting as well, he moved into a booth, set the gun to A, and shot it at the ground. A yellow beam shot out of the tip of the gun, hit the floor, and spread out–doing nothing, but it was…a pretty effect if nothing else.

Could it really be true? He thought about the…obsessions that had gripped him over the course of the evening, and figured there was nothing he would lose if it didn’t work. He pointed the gun at his thigh, thought about the fetishes he’d been obsessing over, and fired. This time, instead of just dispersing, the light infused him, spreading from where it hit his body, all around him, and he felt his skin…tingle. He let the gun go for five seconds or so, let it go, and when he looked at himself…he definitely wasn’t the same person he’d been a moment before.

He was bigger for one thing. Not just more muscular, but taller as well, by a couple of inches. Of course, the steroids he’d been using for most of a year now were helping with that. The memory surprised him–he’d never used steroids before, right? But he had new memories now, how he’d grown so disappointed with his progress (as good as it had been) that he’d decided to throw caution to the wind, and make himself the body he wanted, no matter what it took. That included…silicone. Lots of it.

He’d started with his cock and balls. Now, they were twice the size they’d been before, and he loved how they bulged in the front of the tight spandex singlet he’d worn to the bar tonight. He hadn’t been able to stop there though–he’d started injecting his pecs as well, making them bigger and puffier, as well as his ass, filling out the back of the singlet with a wide bubble butt. He looked…strange. Not quite right, but he didn’t care–he loved it. He loved that people stared at him like he was a freak, and he loved how many men wanted to be with him, because he was a bit fucked up. The tattoos and piercings were just the icing on the cake really–thick blackwork lines running all over his arms and legs. He was going to fill in the rest of him eventually, but shit, it was expensive. He’d also been pumping and stretching his nipples, and just put in new zero gauge door knockers tonight. He loved how it felt, feeling them pulling down on his chest, just like the bull ring he kept in his nose all the time now.

He knew this wasn’t right, but it was what he’d fucking wanted, and now it was true! He looked down at the gun in his hand, which seemed…smaller now, and at the dial on the side. The slip of paper with the instructions had disappeared, but he remembered well enough what they all did. A would make him or anyone else match the fetish he was thinking about, B would make his fetishes contagious, C would…do something with an object and make someone else like that same object, D would make people into couples or groups, and E would cause someone to absorb the fetishes of the people around him. He gave it a spin, before settling on one of them. This would be fun, he thought, and then he could always try out something else later–probably.

So, what’s Davey’s first move with the gun?

  1. He uses setting B to make people in the bar obsess over his changes.
  2. He uses setting C on his silicone filled cock and balls, wondering what night happen if he shoots someone afterward.
  3. He uses setting D on a big leatherman in the bar, to make them fuckbuddies.
  4. He uses setting E to absorb different fetishes from other men on the dance floor.

Here’s the twitter poll

Here’s the patron only poll

Voting ends in two days on Friday!

Movie Night (Part 1)

“I guess I just wish you wanted to watch movies with me as much as you want to watch with them,” Jess said to Matt. She had a playful tone, but he could tell she was hurt a bit, “and you always come back so late.”

“I’m just next door, Jess–they’re our neighbors, and it’s only once a week,” he said. “You have your girl’s night out don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s just…I don’t have my girl’s night with a couple of lesbians, ok? It’s weird that you hang out with them so much.”

Matt rolled his eyes, “You’re so paranoid. They’re just nice guys!”

“And they obviously want to have sex with you. They look at you like I do,” Jess said.

“Whatever–I’m going over there, and you can work out your paranoia alone, how about that?” he said, properly angry now. He left the house without saying goodbye, headed down the driveway and over to Wade and Phil’s house next door. So what if they were gay? They were just guys like him. And honestly, sometimes he preferred spending time with them to his nagging wife, not that he’d ever tell her that. Besides, they were always perfect gentlemen–he’d never even been hit on by either of them. They knew he was straight, and they were all just friends. He knocked on the door, and pushed the anger aside. He was just going to have a good movie night, and not let Jess ruin it for him. Wade opened the door a moment later, and he stepped inside, the usual wave of relaxation washing over him. He just…always felt so good, when he was here. The house was so clean and organized, everything in it’s place. He didn’t even notice as he was taking his clothes off, stripping naked before taking his usual place between them on the couch, the two of them still fully clothed. “Alright guys, what are we watching this week?” Matt asked.

“Heh, this is one of my favorites, Matt. Ready Wade?”

Wade nodded, and they started the movie. It opened in some dark dungeon, where two guys dressed in rubber were working over a third in between them, and the guy was a fucking freak. His entire body was covered in tattoos, from the neck down, and he had a ton of metal pierced in his face. His head was shaved, and he looked like he was drugged out of his mind, as the other two bent him over and started fisting his hole.

Matt just zoned out, working his cock, oblivious to the tattoos that were starting to snake their way over his body. Wade pulled up one of his legs, giving him access to Matt’s ass, and he started working it with a couple of fingers, his hole already starting to loosen. “Yeah Matt, this is definitely one of your hottest movies, I think. You really liked having those two freaks fist your holes, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, Mate,” Matt said, drooling a bit as he stared at the TV, “I was…real fuckin’ hot in this one, for fuckin’ sure.”

Every Pig in His Place (2 of 2)

My personal life started to suffer. I couldn’t get any work done, normal clothes no longer felt normal. Friends who had known me for years couldn’t even recognize me, passing them in the street. I wasn’t even sure I knew who I was anymore. Membership in our little club swelled and diminished over the weeks, and I found myself in a new role–now I was the person looking for a place there, now I was the one looking to stay, and these new men joining us, thinking they could just fly forever. Now I was the one smiling at them, knowing how fucking wrong they were too, how wrong I’d been myself.

Every night now, I went straight to the bar. It was the only place I felt alive anymore, the only place where I felt like I belonged/ I’d stopped looking at myself in mirrors months ago, whenever possible…after the tattoos had started to appear, after I couldn’t even see anything human in my eyes any longer. I started dressing in rubber, preferably with a mask. I felt more comfortable that way, without a face, without a name. In the bar, I was just an object–I’d gone from a big dicked fucker to a servicer. Drinking cum and piss, everyone helping themselves to my holes whenever they wanted me. I got to know the man I’d seen that first night, watching me–that, was Rod. The owner, the ringmaster, the warden. He never used me, but he did watch me, and every night, he’d take the pleasure of 86-ing me onto the street, personally, telling me I couldn’t stay, that I still wasn’t ready!

And I would slink back out, sucking as much cock on the way out as I could, thrown back up into the air from the pond again, but I was losing momentum fast. So one night, I found Rod first, and I begged him. I begged him to find a place for me, to let me stay, that I couldn’t live out there anymore, that I didn’t belong out there–I belonged here now, and he knew it as well as I did. So he found a place for me alright–right here, where I’ve been for…well, a good long time.

I tried to deny it, I tried to take it back. I wasn’t supposed to be here, in the bathroom, I wasn’t a toilet…was I? He had to chain me down for a while, keep me in place, until I understood, until I felt it in my bones. Until the time he let me try to leave, and the thought of leaving…terrified me. I wasn’t worthy of leaving, this is where I belong–and it’s where you belong too. Yeah, you can struggle against those chains all you want, but they aren’t what’s really keeping you here–it’s you, pig. It’s who you are. Who we both are. Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of fun together. It’s been lonely, all by myself, and Rod promised me I’d have a friend soon…and now I do! I have you.