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!

Lost Boy (2 of 2)

“Oh, you look so much better with that beard trimmed down short like that. Much more presentable and cute, boy.”

“Thank you sir! I’m…glad you like it.”

“Now now, what did we talk about? Sir’s what I used to be, but what am I now?”

“Oh–sorry, d-daddy…” Part of Lee fought that word, tried to keep it from getting out from between his teeth and lips, but it got out anyway, and it felt good, saying that. It always felt good doing what daddy said.

Daddy had found his lost boy at the grocery store–he’d been so scared there without his daddy!–and brought him back to the motel room where he was staying, gotten his boy out of those adult clothes he’d been wearing, gotten him cleaned up and into his new boygear–a leather harness and jockstrap, before trimming down his beard nice and short. Now daddy was shearing the hair off his head, and after that, he would shave him bald, so he’d look like a proper, slutty little cub. The whole time, he’d been talking to his boy, and his boy had been paying good attention. Telling him how much he’d missed his daddy, how happy he was to be back with him, and how terrible he felt for running off like that and getting lost for so long.

“You were a very, very bad boy, you know that, right?”

“Yes daddy…I’m…s-sorr–” but he couldn’t quite finish the word.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re very sorry to me. I think daddy’s going to have to punish his naughty boy, for running off like that. Maybe you don’t really deserve to be daddy’s boy after all, if you can’t even apologize for running off.”

“No daddy! Don’t send me away! I want to be a good boy, I do!”

“Well, let’s get this head of yours cleaned up, and then we’ll hit the bed, and see how much of a good boy you can be. Because if you can’t–then we’ll see how you like being daddy’s dirty piggy for a month or two, and try again after that.”

Hypno Me Please (Part 2)

Well? What do you think? What a difference a year makes, right?

Heh, it took two months of baby steps before I dared take him out for his first test drive–that is, before I made him take the first step down the path I’d been designing for him in my head, a path he would have never agreed to in his life. So what did I make him do? I made him cut his hair. He knew exactly what he was doing, as he went into the bathroom, powered up his razor and shaved off those beautiful locks–I watched on the cam of course, pleased beyond the belief, even if he was sobbing and furious by the end of it. I told him it made him look better, and he told me he’d never chat with me again–as if he could help it.

No, he found himself unable to resist replying to me, and if I sent a hypno file to him, he’d find himself unable to resist opening it up and watching it. He tried to tell me the files weren’t working–but the fact was, he simply hadn’t noticed what they were doing to him. He’d stopped going to the gym a month later, and look at him now–that new gut of his, those flabby arms. I’ve been considering making him gain…but I’ve had other priorities. 

See–he’s starting to like it. He won’t admit it easily, but I’m wearing him down, bit by bit. Being forced to do public cam shows for anyone who wants to watch, those new tattoos of his–and the diapers of course. I made him wear them once as punishment, and his reaction was so extreme–he sobbed for hours–that I had to make them part of his wardrobe permanently. Yes, permanently. He knows he has to wear them, but what I don’t quite think he’s noticed is how much control he’s lost over the last few months–but when I make him go a month without them, and he pisses and shits himself at work–well, he’ll be begging to be back in them soon enough. 

Still, I have a flight to catch. A little one year anniversary surprise–he gets to meet his master in person for the first time. We’re going to have so much fun for the next week, and for years to come. Oh yeah–years. What can I say? He’s worth the commitment, whether he wants it or not.

Gino’s New Job (Part 2)

Winston led Gino out of the office, the bartender giving the nude, zonked out stud a sly smile, remembering his interview with the boss all too clearly himself. They stopped in front of a small closet, the boss pawed through the gear inside, on shelves and hanging on rods, before pulling out a collection of rubber gear and shoving it at Gino, who just stared at it. He…he couldn’t really wear something like this, could he?

It turns out, after some encouragement from the boss, he was more than happy to pull on the gear. The rubber body suit clung to his muscles, and the whole crotch was exposed, giving him, and anyone else, easy access to both his cock and his ass. Lastly came the waders, which were a bit big on him, but the boss said Gino would be able to use his first earnings on a new set for himself, which he liked. The boss set him down in a chair, told Gino to play with his cock, and fetched an electric razor, buzzing his hair down to the scalp, and then shearing away his beard as well, leaving him with just a light stubble.

“Yes, that’s better–can’t have a bathroom boy looking too old, can we?”

“B-Bathroom boy?”

“That’s your new position, Gino. The one you applied for? You told me how much you love drinking piss, and licking toilets clean back in the office, right? I thought this would be perfect for you.”

Gino shook his head no, but the memories were already filling in, and after both his boss, and the bartender, fed him their loads of piss, the craving was real, and aching. Since the bar was still slow, they fucked him at both ends, and the boss sent him to the bathroom to get ready for the evening. 

His duties were to clean the urinals out, lick the toilet seats clean, serve the customers as a urinal himself, unless he was busy as a cumdump at either end. His first night, the Gino, the real Gino, fought hard, where he was locked away in this new identity, but the next night was easier, and the night after that too. Boss says if he keeps it up, he might even get a promotion one day, but Gino doesn’t really need one. Being a bathroom boy is everything he’s ever wanted, after all–why would he ever want to do anything else?

Oscar’s New Thug Slut

“I really appreciate you being so understanding about this Oscar,” Mr. Williams said, “I just never knew that our son was such a thug slut, or we would have done something about it sooner.”

“I know!” Mrs. Williams added, “I mean, I always thought he was such a nice boy, but if I had known…” she gave a little shudder before continuing, “Well, let’s just say that it was lucky you were here, so you could spot the warning signs! I mean, if we would have sent him off to college, it would have been a disaster.”

“A real disaster–could you imagine wasting all those college savings on a thug slut like Quint?”

The two of them laughed, but Oscar just smirked, “Yeah, it would have been bad, I’ll tell you that much. But don’t you two worry, I’ll take good care of Quint, and make sure he grows up into the proper thug slut we all know he is.”

The front door to the duplex opened, and Quint trundled in, carrying a small box. “Here’s all of the stuff you said to bring, Master–I loaded the rest of my things into the back of my dad’s truck, like you told me to.”

“That’s a good job thug slut,” Oscar said, and gave him a smack on the back, making Quint wince. He still hadn’t taken the large bandage off the back of his neck and shoulders yet, from the tattooists yesterday. He was so happy Oscar had shown him what a thug slut he was–his life is going to be so much better now, that he doesn’t have to worry about college, or reading, or thinking for that matter. From here on out, all he would be doing with his life is working out, sucking cock, and whatever else his thug master wants him to do. “Mr. Williams–you’ll be a good man and take the thug slut’s things to the dump, won’t you? I’m going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh, of course! Of course–I’d be happy to do that for you Oscar, you know we’ll do anything for you.”

“Yes, anything,” Mrs. Williams said, “all you have to do is ask.”

“Yep, just ask, and we’ll do it.”

“Sounds good,” Oscar said, “Fuck–slave, watching you cart all that shit around got me horny. Get down there and suck me off.”

“Yes sir!” Quint said, and got down on his knees, taking Oscar’s thick meat down his throat in a single thrust.

“Aw yeah slut, that’s good, real good…” Oscar said, puffing heavily on his cigar, and Mr. and Mrs. Williams were looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“You know, why don’t we just leave you two to it?” Mrs. Williams said, “Come on dear.”

“No, you fucking cunt, stay.” Oscar spat, “And you too fucker. We were having a nice conversation, weren’t we? And he’s just a thug slut, there’s no need to worry about him.”

“Oh…oh I guess so…” Mrs. Williams said, and the three of them chatted awkwardly about the neighbors and the neighborhood while Oscar smoked and rammed his cock down their son’s throat in front of them, finally tensing up and cumming all over Quint’s face.

“Alright, that’s good thug slut–head upstairs to the bathroom and wait for me,” Oscar said, and Quint got up, cum still plastered across his face, and went upstairs. Oscar turned back to his parents and said, “Alright, you two should probably be on your way now.”

“Alright,” Mr. Williams said, “And again, Oscar, thank you for helping us out with our thug slut son, you’ve been a great help.”

“Yes, we don’t know what we would have done without you.”

The two excused themselves and left Oscar’s side of the duplex they were renting to him, and he shook his head, smiling, and then bounded up the stairs after his slave, who was standing in the bathroom, waiting patiently. “Alright bitch, I’ve been wanting to do this for fucking weeks. That mop of yours has got to go–we need you looking like a proper thug scumbag, right?”

“Yes sir, whatever you say sir,” Quint said.

Oscar sat him down on the toilet and grabbed his shaver, and started working his way over Quint’s scalp, cutting away all of his shoulder length hair in long strokes. “This, thung slave, this feels good, doesn’t it? Me cutting away all the weight from your shoulders–I’m freeing you, I’m letting you be who you really, are, just a fucking thug slut–right?”

“Yes sir, I’m a fucking thug slut.”

“No bitch,” Oscar said, pausing in his shaving long enough to take the cigar from his mouth and stick it in Quint’s, “You’re not just a thug slut–you’re my thug slut–never fucking forget that.”

“Yes sir,” I won’t sir–I’m your fucking thug slut–no one else’s,” Quint said, taking a deep inhale off the cigar, and exhaling with a moan, his cock hard in his pants.

“That’s right slut–and we’re gonna have you all thugged out here soon enough. All that time you used to spend reading? Studying? Forget that–the only thing you care about now is working out–you’re gonna be one muscled thug by the end of the year, I promise you that–especially after I get those steroids from my buddy Zach–everyone is gonna want a piece of your bubble butt by the time I’m done with you. And that’s not the least of it–a new tattoo every week, and we’re gonna get you pierced too, starting with a fucking big ass PA through that cock head of yours. How does that sound, slut?”

“It sounds so fucking hot sir…”

“Damn right it does,” Oscar said, rubbing his hand over Quint’s buzzed scalp, and then grabbed a razor and some shaving cream, smeared it all over his his slut’s head and started taking the hair down to the scalp. “You know slave, you’re gonna learn something real soon, you’re gonna learn how fucking vulnerable it feels to have not a lick of hair on your head. You’re gonna learn what it feels to have some butch motherfucker grab your smooth head in his hands, and ram his big cock down your throat. You’re gonna learn what it feels like to be a real bitch, and you’re gonna keep this dome smooth for me, right? You’re gonna love the feel of a hand on your scalp pushing you down onto your knees so much, that you’re never gonna grow your hair out again.”

Quint couldn’t reply. He’d tranced out completely off the smoke from Oscar’s cigar, that his eyes had sagged half closed, but he was listening to every word–Oscar could tell, because he could see his thug slut’s hard on through the jeans he had on. Those were gonna have to go, he figured–even though he hadn’t settled on a uniform for his slut yet. Jockstraps? Gym shorts? Shirtless was a give in, of course, but he just wasn’t sure about the lower half yet–still, he had months to settle on a good look for his new thug.

He stripped Quint down, took the cigar back, and then had him hose his head off in the shower–no soap though–thug sluts smell like sex and musk and sweat–Quint was going to have to get used to stinking like his master did. He climbed out, and Oscar decided it was time to take the bandage off, and take a look at his slut’s first tattoo of many. He pulled it off and smiled–it was perfect–”Property of Oscar” in big letters that Quint would never hide–not that he’d want to. He was proud to be a thug slut–Oscar had made sure of that, as he ran his fingers along the still sore back, feeling Quint stiffen–and Oscar’s cock was stiffening again too.

Oscar bent the still wet Quint over the counter, one hand on his newly shaven head, and he worked his cock into Quint’s hole. the bathroom filling up with smoke–Quint roaring in pain at first, but he loosened up soon enough, and started moaning in pleasure. His master was right, the sensation, the vulnerability of that hand on his smooth head–it felt like his master could crush his skull in his hand, or palm it like a basketball–he could do anything he wanted with him, and Quint would accept it, would beg for it–he needed his master so bad–he’d do anything for him.

Oscar, grunting and snorting, started pounding his cock in as hard as he could, and then unloaded deep in the slut’s hole, both of them wet now, and he pulled Quint close–you’re mine bitch–mine for as long as I want.”

“Keep me forever sir, please–I’m yours,” Quint said, but Oscar pulled out his cock, keeping his distance. After all, he can’t get too attached to a thug slut–he’ll get sold off eventually anyway, after his hole can’t get tight anymore. Some whore house will end up with him, usually down in Mexico–if he got close to a thug slut, he might actually start feeling bad about it.

“Come on bitch, let’s get you started on a workout,” he said, and the rest of the afternoon was spent getting Quint up to speed on the workout equipment that dominated the living room in Oscar’s place. After a massive protein heavy dinner, it was back to working out, and Quint could almost feel his head draining, his thoughts moving slower, but maybe it was just his master talking to him the whole time, telling him how stupid he was, how he can’t even read, how he flunked out of middle school, how he can’t even remember where he lives–how he depends on his master for everything, how his master is everything to him–he couldn’t live without him.

It was around eleven at night when there was a knock at the door, and Oscar went over and answered it–it was Mr. Williams. “Hey…uh…the wife kind of gave me the cold shoulder tonight, and…well….I was wondering if–”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred? Isn’t–isn’t that a bit pricy?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Mr. Williams looked a bit annoyed, then pulled out a wad of cash, counted out Oscar’s money, and then walked over to where his son–no, where Oscar’s thug slut was working out. He wasn’t his son anymore–he didn’t have a son, Oscar had made that perfectly clear, that when Quint moved in with him, he’d have no relation to the Williams anymore.

“Hey Quint–you got a customer. Sit up and give him what he’s looking for.”

“Yes sir!” Quint said, sitting up from where he was pressing, and saw the man looming over him…he looked familiar, didn’t he? He tried to place the face for a moment, but his head just wasn’t working fast enough, and finally he forgot it, and started sucking his cock, listening to the older man moan. He didn’t last long–less than a minute, and then he came, Quint swallowed, and he left, giving Oscar a nod as he went, but Quint was already back down, returning to his bench press. He had to get big for his master. He was just a dumb thug slut after all–his hot body was the only thing he had going for him. Well, that and his hot mouth and ass. He was going to be a good thug slut for his master–the best thug slut Oscar had ever had.

Boys these days have no discipline. I mean, our nation faces great peril every day, and they’re far more interested in their smartpads and jpods. Well not the boys who come to my shop–they all leave with a different outlook on life. 

My special lather makes them all willing to learn how they’ve been wasting their lives, how they should respect their elders and serve their nation. I’m not sure who’ll end up recruiting this one–maybe I’ll see whether he sucks cock more like a marine or a sailor before telling him where to enlist. It sure is easier now that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is gone–all my army boys can suck as much cock as they want. The ones who’ve come back from service tell me that sucking their mates off definitely increases cohesion and camaraderie, and men in the service don’t need women back home distracting them. Their entire focus should be on making our country the greatest world power history has ever seen. Is it a sacrifice? Sure, but it’s one I make sure they’re willing to make.