The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 9)

And we’re back! There will still probably be a few days this week without new updates, but hopefully it should be back to normal(ish) by next week. Bear with the upheaval–besides, it’s my birthday on Friday! You all have to cut me some slack, so there.

Rick gave a groan, and sat up in the booth where he’d been thrown by the gun, when it had gone shorted out. When he realized where he was, and who he was, he made a quick check of himself to see if anything about himself had changed when the gun had struck him–and to his surprise, he was still the same tall, thick leather clad biker bruiser he’d been after his tussle with Parker a few minutes ago, or at least, what he assumed had been a few minutes ago. He had no idea how long he’d been out, in all honesty.

The gun wasn’t where it had fallen, and he got up to look for it–but when he did, he heard a rather unsettling moan coming from under him, and his foot sank into something…squishy, and fleshy. He tumbled back down in alarm, and saw that both of his boots–were not quite boots any longer. They were still black, mostly, but the rim of the top of each of them were shaped like lips, and he could feel them sucking on his feet gently. The tongues of the boots were becoming more active and shrinking, becoming red instead of black, as fledgling limbs began to sprout on the sides and out the toe of the boot. The leather faded into flesh–though it remained quite leathery–he reached down and stroked one gently, and felt Anthony–he thought–shudder at his touch, and suck a bit harder, trying to stay on his foot even as his body was beginning to reform into a proper sort of form.

The foot of each boot began to grow, becoming a proper body–small at first, but becoming larger with each passing second. He could still feel his feet filling each man’s mouth, and down a bit of their throat, though it was becoming tighter and tighter. The men tried their best to keep his feet slammed in deep, but it proved hopeless as their human anatomy regained prominence. They each had to release the foot eventually, though their oversized tongues kept slathering Rick’s feet as hungrily as they had before.

As they grew larger, Rick noticed something else–that he couldn’t quite tell who was who. When he’d fired the gun at Anthony, by accident, he had been his father–wearing his soggy diaper, covered in shit from Parker’s eager fisting of Anthony’s hole, before he’d tried to grab the gun. But when he’d shot Parker, he’d been…normal, mostly. Now however, he was looking down at two versions of his dad–they looked…identical. Two massively fat old pigs, both of them eagerly sucking and feasting on his filthy feet.

As they both changed back, new memories were filling in his mind–and it wasn’t his father and a stranger sucking on his cock, but rather his uncle and father, twin brothers/, and both of them hungry for Rick’s filthy body more than anything else. They were mostly changed at this point, and Anthony noticed something else, that each of the brothers was actually a mirror image of the other–just like his boots of course.

After another few minutes, they were both back to their (new) old selves, their prior lives forgotten for the most part. Rick allowed the two of them to keep servicing his feet for a couple of minutes, lost in the pleasure of it until he recalled the gun, and kicked both of them off–they could take care of cleaning his feet later.

Rick surveyed they bar, and saw a couple of guys tussling over something by the dance floor. Sure enough, he caught sight of the gun between them, the pig turning the other man into a brutal looking rubber master, who proceeded to fuck the pig’s mouth right there on the floor–and the pig let the gun fall to the floor beside him, largely forgotten.

This was his chance–if he could get to the gun, it would be his again–and he could have some more fun with it before the night was through. Then again, the rubber redneck looked…pretty sexy. He might be amenable to joining forces, and families. There was always Davey too–and the odd, shifting bartender over there. He could find some way to get his hands on the gun again…probably.


So what should Rick’s plan be next?

  1. He tries to work out a deal with the rubber redneck, and sees what he might want to trade for the gun.
  2. He fights with him for the gun, causing some wild, unpredictable shots.
  3. He notices that the drinks poured by the bartender seem to be having strange effects, and wonders if that could help deal with the rubber redneck.
  4. He heads over to Davey instead, and sees if he wants to team up and get the gun back together.

The public poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Votes will be counted in two days!

The Fetish Gun is Loose (Part 8) [Interactive]

Well would you believe it was yet another perfect tie? This time, between the redneck dad and son, and the rubber gimp who has eyes on Davie. Looks like we’re going to have another struggle on our hands. Also, instead of running the free polls through twitter as I have been, I’m going to be using a different site instead. You shouldn’t need an account or anything, just click the link and vote!

The father and son looked at the gun, that was finally done sputtering sparks, and then headed towards it a bit cautiously–at least, until the two of them saw the man dressed head to toe in rubber gear heading right for it as well. All three of them rushed the gun, but none of them got their hands on it to claim it, sending it spinning across the floor again, the dial whirling around as it did [Randomized setting–C (Objectification)]. The person closest to it was the redneck father, who flung his body over it, grabbed it, rolled over onto his back, thankful for all the target practice he’d done as a kid on his father’s ranch way back when (at least, when he wasn’t sucking Pa’s cock, like his son sucked his now). He fired at the rubber gimp, not bothering to check the dial, and nailed the gimp right in the middle of his chest, or rather, nailed the rubber suit all over his body. He glowed momentarily, but nothing else seemed to happen, no matter how long the dad held down the trigger.

He released it, looked at the gun, confused, and then pointed it at the gimp and fired again, but this time, the gimp was ready. He didn’t have time to get the gun from the father, and so he just grabbed his son and pulled him in front, shielding him from the gun’s blast, as the father shot his son instead.

This time, the gun had a definite effect. The boy froze, and the father watched in shock as he fell back into the gimp, his face apparently melting as his entire body became rubber, blackening until it was the same color as the gimp’s suit–and then, his boy simply merged into him, the gimp feeling the suit around him quiver and spasm as the boy’s consciousness inhabited the garment, his now simple, rubberized mind delighting in how good it felt to be clinging to this man’s body. After a few moments it was done–the boy was completely gone, and the father just stared, slack jawed, unable to believe what had just happened to his boy.

The gimp, however, saw his opportunity. He grabbed the gun from the father’s hands, the dial spinning again as he did [Randomized setting–E (Absorbtion)] turned it around, and shot it right into the father’s chest. Nothing happened, as he held the trigger down–at least for a moment. Then, he noticed that the father’s denim and flannel were changing, merging down the front and becoming a set of rubber overalls. It wasn’t quite what the gimp had in mind, he supposed, but it was still sexy as hell. He let go of the trigger, but the father didn’t stop changing–he stepped closer to the gimp, unsure of what he was feeling, and the closer he got, the more of the gimp’s fetish he absorbed–and the more the man in the suit began to reassert his own identity. He tugged off the gasmask, gasping for breath, and flung it to the ground. The father stared at it, and found himself consumed with the idea of wearing it–he picked it up, and the mask shuddered and changed into a rubber pig hood–he pulled it on, and he realized what he was now–he was a rubber pig, a gimp meant for the farm, just a submissive animal hungry to serve some burly, redneck farmer. He gave a snort and rubbed his piggy cock through the front of his overalls, and watched the man in front of him struggle with the rubber suit he was wearing.

It refused to come off him, for some reason. With some horror, the ex-gimp realized that the boy inside the rubber was refusing to come off him–it wanted to be on him, it needed to be on him more than anything, and so he was determined to remain right where he was. While he struggled, he didn’t notice the rubber pig looking at the gun in his hands, turning the dial, not certain what all of the settings meant. In the end, he turned it to setting A, fetishization, pointed at the struggling man, and pulled the trigger.

The man stopped struggling almost immediately, and the rubber he was wearing began to quiver. It didn’t want to change right away, but the boy in them relented to the force of the gun, and after a moment, they became a set of rubber overall waders, much like what the pig was wearing. The man changed in other ways too, however. His mind slowed, and turned cruel, thinking about the son he had trapped in his overalls, marinating in his sweat and musk–and with a grin, he started pissing in them as well, the boy absorbing the filth, growing hungry for his master’s–his daddy’s–piss. Meanwhile, the pig got down on all fours, thick rubber mitts appearing on his hands, and nuzzled at it’s master’s–once upon a time, his brother’s–cock, until Master hauled out his nine inch, uncut member and fed it to the hungry pig, letting him eat the cheese out, and taste the last of the piss he’d held back. The pig let the gun drop, no longer needing it, and the man pushed the pig off his cock long enough to pick it up–and then looked over at Davey, still being worshiped by his horde of eager disciples, begging him to inflate their cocks and bodies as large as his was.

Still, it had been a long, and rather wild night. Maybe it was time for the gun to shut off, store it’s data, and wait for it’s creator to collect it.


So, what would you like to see happen next?

Davey sends his posse after the gun, and the rubber redneck has to fight them off it.

The rubber redneck plans a sneak attack on Davey, though it might backfire.

Rick wakes up as his boots shift back into some (changed) men, and then they go after the gun.

The gun shuts off and shuts down; we wrap up the story here. (10% chance, vote for this to increase it)

Here’s the general poll

Here’s the Patron only bonus poll

I’ll be tabulating the votes in a couple of days!

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 4) [Interactive]

Looks like the winner was out older bear into diapers, humiliation, and watersports. Let’s see what he does when he gets hold of the gun…

Earlier, in the club…

Had Anthony really seen, what he’d just seen? Even now, it was almost impossible to believe it, even though it had happened, right there across the upper floor of the bar. He had been stashed back in a dark corner, watching that man pick up and toy around with that odd gun he’d found in that booth. Then, he’d shot himself with it, and after…he’d been different. Really different, but Anthony hadn’t really been able to remember how different–it was like the earlier version of the man had been scrubbed from reality, and replaced by the freak in the booth–massively hung, wearing a singlet…but that had just been the start of the insanity. He’d just…eaten someone, with his fucking cock. He pulled himself further back as the man stood up, hauling along the heavy, monstrous thing hanging from the front of the singlet, and went down to the dance floor–he was so taken with the sight, he didn’t realize, for a moment, that the man had left the gun behind in the booth.

He moved quick–grabbed the gun and retreated back to the booth where he’d been, stopping only to grab the piece of paper that had fallen from the table to the floor, which turned out to be a summary of the gun–and it’s five features. It would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t just witnessed it in action. The shit he could do with this thing–the possibilities already had him hard in the front of his pants.

Anthony had a few quirks of his own–though they mostly had to do with other people, than himself. He loved humiliating guys more than pretty much anything–but most of all, he loved forcing guys into diapers and making them piss themselves. He didn’t get to enjoy his fetish very often, because finding guys to go along with it was…difficult. But with the gun, it wasn’t going to be a struggle at all. He turned the setting to A, and then went to the edge of the balcony, where he could look down at the crowd below.

The silicone guy was down there, with half a dozen guys clambering for his attention. He must have used setting B–and as tempting as it was to shoot him…he set his sights on someone else instead, as he dragged his obsessive group of hanger ons away from the dance floor and towards the dark back of the bar. Instead, he spotted someone better–someone he knew. Rick was an “A Gay”, always muscled, always on trend, and always desired. He was in the middle of the dance floor now, wearing just a skimpy thong showing off his substantial junk bouncing as he danced to the music. Anthony leveled the gun at him, held an idea of what he wanted in his mind, and shot him with a ray of yellow, watching it sink into his skin, the thong shuddering…and growing into a thick diaper.

Rick noticed, and was horrified, but he couldn’t stop dancing. People were noticing, pointing, laughing–and then he started pissing himself. He couldn’t stop the flow, and there was so much of it–it overflowed the diaper and ran down the insides of his thighs…and he was so turned on, by becoming the laughing stock of the entire club, that he started groping the front of his diaper, his cock hard, milking himself to orgasm in the warm, saggy diaper. Anthony shot him again as he did, and Rick’s perfect body began to melt and distort. He wasn’t muscled anymore–now he was more chub than anything else, his perfect hair lank and greasy, crooked teeth leering around him at the men laughing, groping harder, loving how everyone could see just how much of a loser he was now, and he came, loudly and obviously, before a bouncer dragged him off the dance floor–but Anthony intervened before they could kick him out, and pulled the much changed Rick into a corner, shoved the loser down to his knees, and soaked him down with his own piss, before making him suck him off right there in the club.

“What do you think now, hotshot? Think you’re the coolest fucker in the club now? Can you even remember was a hot piece of meat you were before?” Anthony said.

Could he? Rick could remember, vaguely, who he’d been–but thinking about that only made him even hotter, knowing that he’d fallen so far, into this nasty piece of shit, stuck in diapers, humiliating himself in the hottest gay bar in town. “No sir, I’m a filthy, diaper wearing loser. Can…can I suck your cock sir?”

Anthony made Rick beg for his cum, plead for it, tell him exactly what a loser he was and how much he loved it, making sure everyone around them knew exactly what kind of pervert he was, and what he wanted–and Anthony finally milked his load onto Rick’s face, and told him to leave it. Then he grabbed the gun and twisted the dial–he wasn’t done with Rick yet, not by a ways.

This time around, we have a bit of a twist! There are three standard options, but the fourth one is special–the more people who vote for backfire, the more likely it is that the tables will end up turned against Anthony next chapter, in different ways, depending on which one of the top three gets the most votes. So mind your vote!

  1. Uses setting C to turn his diaper man into a literal, corruptive diaper he forces another jock to wear.
  2. He uses setting A to add more humiliating fetishes to Rick’s mind.
  3. He uses setting D to create an incestual relationship between them, with Anthony as Rick’s domineering father.
  4. Backfire! – The ending total percentage of this option (combined between both polls, not averaged) is the possibility of the top option among the other three backfiring on Anthony.

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Voting ends on Thursday!

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 1) [Interactive]

He considered it to be his greatest creation, at least so far. He called it the fetish gun–whoever held it could warp the people around him in whatever was his sickest fantasies could imagine. However, its creator (who prefers to remain anonymous) hasn’t had much opportunity to test it. He himself is a rather nondescript fellow, at least of the outside, but despite his technological genius, he has any number of interests. He knows well enough, however, from previous tests with the device. On one memorable occasion, he recalled fetching the thing from one of the filthier bathhouses in the city, one that he was certain hadn’t existed the day before, and he saw one of the stranger sights of his life, a short, overmuscled pig with two obese men clinging to his tits, milk puddling around them on the floor…he’d jacked off more than a few times, remembering that. He was an exhibitionist, yes, but he had no interest in losing himself to his invention–or at least, not yet. There was still work to be done on it, kinks to work out, new settings to test.

He’d flown into this city in the afternoon–he always selected a new destination for each test, and had looked up the local gay bars around town. He didn’t want one with too specific a flavor–those tests tended to be rather…uninteresting, or at least, not as unpredictable as he usually prefered. He’d settled on a moderately sized bar called The Boneyard. It had a fairly well established reputation as a good place to hang out. Not too sleazy, not too focused on dancing–it attracted a broad swath of people, just the kind of test subjects he prefered. Men who thought they were normal, but who wouldn’t be for much longer. He stepped inside, bought himself a drink from the twinkish bartender, and took a seat where he could get a good feel for the place, the gun in his lap.

The gun had five settings, labeled A through E. He always wrapped an explainer sheet around the grip, so at least the first person who picked it up would know what to do with it. This time, he’d programmed the gun as follows.

Setting A – This one would change the target’s fetishes to match whatever the shooter was thinking about when he held the trigger. The longer the shooter holds the trigger, the more extreme the fetishes become.

Setting B – This setting will make the target’s fetishes contagious. Any man in close proximity to the person would find themselves becoming more and more turned on by the target’s fetishes, though the changes are only mental–it won’t affect their bodies or reality.

Setting C – This setting must target an object first. Then, it can be used to target a person. Anyone shot after the gun shoots an object acquires the qualities (and associated fetishes) of that object. So, if someone shoots, say, a urinal, and then shoots someone, that person will become more and more urinal-like. The longer the trigger is suppressed, the less human they become. This will expire naturally over time, though when they change back, they will often find themselves longing to be used like that object, or turned into that object, again.

Setting D – This setting targets at least two people, and can target up to five. If the shooter only has one person in mind, the gun will use the shooter as the second person. This setting causes both people to change into a couple. If they have different fetishes, they adopt each others and warp accordingly. The first person struck is always the most dominant–each successive person struck is more submissive than the last. The shooter has to shoot themselves first if they want to be the dom.

Setting E – This setting causes the target to absorb the fetishes of those around him. This will also make the fetishes of those around him less extreme, though the individual targeted will often become…rather prolific in their tastes, rather quickly.

As he sat there, the creator turned the gun to setting A, and started shooting little blasts into the crowd around him–nothing extreme, just enough to give a few men around him some…rather more interesting compulsions than they may have had when they walked into the bar that evening. When the crowd was decently sized, and he felt he had a good chance of some good test results, he abandoned the gun as his table, instructions included, got up and left. In 24 hours, he would deactivate the gun remotely, turn on the tracking device, and fetch it from whoever ended up with it in the end–whenever he did these tests, the first person to get the gun was almost never the person who ended up with it at the end.

It wasn’t long before another patron noticed the left behind object, and wandered over to inspect it. As the man would have wanted, it was one of the men he’d given…a suggestion to earlier, but who was it who got hold of the gun first tonight?

Alright, so who gets a hold of the fetish gun?

  1. A young muscular man, who now has fetishes for body modifications, silicone injections, exhibitionism and giants?
  2. A middle aged chub, who now has fetishes for rubber, bondage, and gimps, and fisting?
  3. An older bear, who now has fetishes for watersports, diapers, chastity and public humiliation?
  4. A younger twink, who now has fetishes for boots, smoking, pain play and uniforms?

The twitter poll is here!

The patron only poll is here!

Voting ends on Tuesday!

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 9)

What did he remember? Everything was so hazy now, it seemed impossible to remember a world beyond this basement, beyond the torture and rape he was subjected to daily, which he’d grown to crave…but there had been something else. He thought about the sun. He could remember it, the sensation of it on his skin, and he clung to that, trying to piece together when he’d last felt it. Sound came next, the sound of hammer and machinery. The smell of pouring concrete and sawdust. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and he clung to it, reached for it, even as the spirit in his mind tried to tempt him away from it, tried to tell him he didn’t really want that, that what he really craved was down here, in the dark. Evan was tenacious, and the spirit was…not angry, but perturbed that he refused to give into its darkness, and so it opened up a bit further, the memory, and more came to him in a flurry.

The smell of cigars. He remembered that for sure. They were cheap ones–he didn’t make enough for anything fancy after all, and at the rate he smoked them, he cared more about quantity than quality. Other smells too–mostly his own. His unwashed pits, dirty socks and underwear, his farts and belches, and just thinking about them was getting him horny–but then, he loved the smell of a dirty man more than pretty much anything else. But something else too–or maybe…someone else. They were a bit blurry, but getting clearer, the more he thought about them, the more he could smell them, and see them, and–


Evan gave a start, and flung an arm up as he woke up from a nightmare he’d been having in his grungy armchair, with Robbie inches from his face, mouth still open from the belch he’d launched right into Evan’s face. He could smell it–and he could smell Robbie too, and he felt his cock shudder underneath his heavy gut, hanging over his crotch in the recliner. “Fuckin’ hell Robbie, I was sleepin’!”

“Ya were snorin’ so dang loud I couldn’t hear the damn TV is what ya were doin’!” Robbie said, and then leaned in closer and kissed him, his mouth tasting of beer, salty snacks…and something else that Evan recognized, but couldn’t quite name for some reason. He was more than happy to kiss him back of course–he loved his little sleazebag of a roommate, or boyfriend, or whatever they were.

They’d met on a construction job a few years prior, and hit it off as friends until one drunken night, they’d come onto one another. It had only been a matter of time before they moved in together, and while they were on the down low, everyone could guess what the two of them were up to. No one gave them too much shit for it, though neither of them had been a very good influence on the other. Robbie now smoked cigars like a chimney, just like Evan, and Robbie had introduced Evan to other, filthier delights. Food, for one thing. He was a hundred pounds heavier now, than when he’d met Robbie, and he hadn’t been small before. Now he was 375 pounds, and while it made work hard, having Robbie clean out all of his filthy rolls every night in bed more than made up for it.

Then, Evan felt a flash in his mind. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. He hadn’t been this person, had he? Robbie pulled away, and Evan hauled himself out of the recliner, trying to piece together his memories, but it was a struggle. “Ya alright man?”

“Yeah, just…just gimmie a minute,” Evan said, “Just…gonna get a snack.”

“I can get one for ya.”

“I’d rather stretch my legs a sec.”

Robbie shrugged, and plopped back down on the sofa with a loud fart, and Evan retreated behind him, not to the kitchen, but to the bathroom to look at himself–but when he got there, he was…horrified. The shower didn’t have a shower head, and didn’t look like it had been turned on in ages. The toilet–there simply wasn’t one. He found himself sliding back, remembering how Robbie had convinced him, finally, to just…take it out. They didn’t need one, after all, they had each other.

In the mirror, he saw himself–sloppily shaved head with a thick beard hiding three chins. He was wearing a grubby, heavily stained wife beater and some no longer white briefs…and he thought he looked…hot. The spirit was pushing harder now–and Evan could sense it wasn’t just trying to get him to accept this life–but forget everything else. More than anything else, though, he was tired. Maybe he should stop. Maybe he should just…accept this, and live with it. HIs gut growled, and he thought about having a snack, and then Robbie would feed him one of his special weight gain shakes before bed, always with his favorite ingredients…

Evan slapped himself, trying to force himself out of it. The curse was still active, he could get out of this. All he had to do was find someone to insult him. After all, anything would be better than this, right? He went to the bedroom, found a pair of overalls and some boots, and threw them on as quick as he  could, before Robbie noticed what he was doing. He couldn’t explain this after all–Robbie would never believe him. So he slipped out of the apartment Without an explanation, and didn’t dare stop once he hit the sidewalk, even though he was winded by the time he got to the corner.

It was late in the evening now, and the streets weren’t too busy–but beggers couldn’t be choosers. He’d have to find some way to make someone insult him quick, or he could already tell, he’d lose himself again, wander back up to that apartment, and find himself living the filthy life with Robbie for the rest of his days. However, he also knew he didn’t exactly pass for a faggot at the moment, so he was going to have to try pretty hard to get someone’s attention.

Alright, let’s see how this round goes for Evan, and if he can escape his current fate.

  1. He remembers one of his neighbors is an elderly homophobe
  2. He hits on a beefy cop he passes on the street.
  3. He hits on some wealthy businessmen downtown.
  4. He gives in and goes home to Robbie (END)

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the Patron poll

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Curse of the Homophobe (Part 6)

It was over a week, before Evan’s curse activated. A week he actually found himself enjoying, despite the fact that everything he knew about himself told him he should hate this. He should hate being filthy, never showering, never using deodorant, always stinking. He should hate what he did to Curtis, how he fucked him mercilessly, abused him, raped him–though Curtis always begged for more. This Curtis. Was the other Curtis in there somewhere? The jock? When he thought about that, once, he swore he heard the voice in his mind chuckle…and that gave him the most likely answer. The next weekend, Robbie begged him to come over again, offered to pay him double the usual fee if he’d let him be his toilet for a day. Evan felt like a whore, but this new Evan didn’t care. Money was money after all, and watching the pig worship him all day long? It was worth it, in its own way too. Brought back…memories of them in that trailer, how close he’d been to giving it all up for a life of filth. He imagined that if he propositioned the pig, he could give up his football career, dropout of college, move right in with him…and it would be like nothing had changed at all…in fact, he could sense that the curse would always leave that door ajar for him, a little trap and temptation that made the whole thing feel even more sick.

But what was there to do, beyond live? He couldn’t go back, and the more days that past without anyone harassing him, the more certain he felt that the curse was beginning to fade from him, bit by bit, growing a bit bored and uninterested, pondering abandoning him entirely, if he wasn’t going to be a good little victim again. Until that Tuesday afternoon, after practice. He’d forgotten something in the locker room, and had slipped back in to grab it real quickly, only to hear two of the teams coaches–Hawke, the offensive coach, and Jerry, the head coach–talking. Talking about him.

“You didn’t tell him the scouts are coming?” Hawke asked, “I mean, I know you don’t like the guy, but he’s fucking good at what he does.”

“Please–I know these scouts, and I know what they’re looking for. He ain’t what they want. I’ve already…discussed it with them. No–as far as I’m concerned, the only guy worth scouting on this team is Everett.”

Everett was a receiver, a year than Evan was now. Good. Good enough to go pro, if he lost some of the ego and trained harder, or got a bit more charisma and could sell himself better as a property.

“That’s pretty fucking cold man.”

“You know as well as I do that nasty faggot is a fucking embarrassment to this school and this team. You think I’m gonna let someone like that go pro?”

Evan felt his guts twist. It wasn’t him. They weren’t talking about him, were they? No–no, of course they were, and he was fairly certain that even if they hadn’t been, it wouldn’t have mattered to the curse. His body was starting to heat up, he could feel himself starting to shift, and he backed out of the locker room before either of them could see him.

He stumbled into the laundry room, which was unoccupied, and gave into the curse, feeling it wash over him as he shifted. He lost some height, but not a whole lot–but his muscular build diminished quite a bit, and he found himself with a hefty beer gut stretching out his shirt, which was changing from a sleeveless tee into the same red polo as the rest of the coaching staff wore, his gym shorts turning into khakis. He cleaned up substantially as well, losing some of his musk, though not all of it by any means, his beard shortening into something a bit more professional, and picking up a smattering of grey–as did his receding hairline underneath the team cap he was wearing.

As the change completed, Evan’s old life faded away as well. Now, he was one of the teams assistant coaches, and an alumni from the school who had been decent, but not nearly dedicated enough to go pro. Instead, he had tried to settle down with his college girlfriend and they had a son together, but Evan had never really been able to control his temper, or his disdain for her, and all women, really. They’d been divorced for years now–his son, Will, was a senior in high school now and planning to attend here, and would be on the team if Evan had anything to say about it.

He hadn’t managed to settle down with anyone else, and told everyone that he was happier with the bachelor life–but in reality, he lived in denial of his own feelings, that the people he really wanted to fuck were the students and coaches on the team. He’d always gotten such a…thrill, ramming into guys on the field, dominating them, roughing them up…his wife had never taken to that much, but women couldn’t take shit. He couldn’t handle the idea of being a faggot though, so he bottled them up–and was as much of, if not more so, of a homophobe as Jerry.

But Evan–the real Evan, was clinging on all the same. If he was quick, and got back to the locker room, he might be able to change Jerry before he succumbed to this new life entirely, and get things back to normal quickly. However, when he got there, both Jerry and Hawke had gone home, and Evan, now fully lost to the coach, headed home himself to his dingy bachelor’s apartment, drank too much beer, watched some unsatisfying straight porn, and then went to bed. He’d have other opportunities soon to get back at Jerry–and maybe some other homophobes as well–but when?

Here are you options!

  1. At the next coach poker game, they become cigar smoking bears.
  2. At the next practice, he turns the coaches into dirty, gay football players.
  3. Cuckolds the head coach, fucks his wife and makes him love the humiliation.
  4. Confronts him in the locker room, makes him a piss drinking janitor.

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Curse of the Homophobe (Part 5)

No–no, this isn’t him. This isn’t his life! He was younger, he was younger and he…he lived in the city, and he was going to school…but so many of the details were missing. This life seemed so much more real than that one–he’d let himself get sucked in too far. The pig was sucking on his foot, and he kicked it off, making it squeal, and ran to the bathroom. He needed to be alone, he needed some time to think. The bathroom was filthy, filthier than anything he’d seen before in his life, but he felt so…comfortable in it. He looked at himself, at the hulking, stinking man he’d become, hair everywhere, and he…hated himself. He hated that he’d let himself become this disgusting thing, this thing he’d never wanted to be, and he wanted out.

But do you remember?

Was that his voice? No–he remembered that voice. Is was that darkness, from that night in his room, a room he couldn’t remember, but the darkness he knew very well. It terrified him, the searing laughter in the question. It knew he couldn’t remember, not all of it.

You can’t go back if you don’t remember–just forget it all. Wouldn’t it be easier to stay?

He shook his head, hair flying. He focused on what he could remember. On youth, on…school, of some sort, on sports…he could remember something about sports, and being a jock…or had that been another life? It all seemed so muddled together in his memory, and trying to pull any of it apart only made it seem like it would crumble at any moment. It was working, though. He could feel his body shifting–shrinking somewhat, his mind clearing, the redneck pig farmer slipping away into the dark, back into the spirit that had conjured it. His memory was becoming clearer now. He could remember school–college. College? Hadn’t he been going to high school?

He opened his eyes and saw his face. A face he could recognize better, without all of the hair around him. Younger, but still grungy. He had a short beard now, mostly because he was too lazy to bother with shaving, or really much hygiene at all…right? Hadn’t he been cleaner? It was too hard to remember, and resisting the spirit was too much of a struggle. This wasn’t…right, but it was better. It was what he had. He splashed some water on his face, and the room around him started to twist as well. Still a bathroom, but not the bathroom from the trailer…but also not his own bathroom in the dorm where he lived. Where…was he?

There was a knock on the door. “Hey, sexy fucker–I’ll throw in another 200 if you…leave me something in that toilet.”

His guts twisted–it was Robbie, the filthy construction worker he’d sleep with on occasion because he’d pay him 500 for a fuck–and honesty…Evan did kind of like how much of a filthy pig he was. Didn’t like him enough that he’d fuck him for free of course, but he couldn’t get sex like this from anyone else. Robbie would do anything to lick Evan clean after football practice, among other things…and 200 hundred extra dollars couldn’t hurt. He sat down, did his business, didn’t flush, and then left. Robbie took a look, shoved the 700 into his hand and pushed him out of the apartment, barely giving Evan a chance to get his shorts and shirt back on, and then he was out, his life sorting itself out in his mind as he left the shoddy apartment building where Robbie lived a few blocks from campus, and headed for his dorm.

His memory was clearer now–he could remember better who he’d been–Evan the slender twink, a senior in high school–but the opportunity to get back there had closed. Who he was now was…substantially different, especially physically. His body was packed with muscle and fat, the perfect build for an offensive lineman. He’d aged up, and was a junior in college, on track for a potential pro career, if his sexuality didn’t torpedo things for him. He was also out of the closet–a rarity, and the team kind of hated him for it, but he was so good, no one gave him shit…usually. In fact, walking back to campus, it was the first time he could remember walking anywhere in the city, and no one called him a queer, or a faggot…or even really noticed him much at all. It was a relief in some ways. It meant that the curse was less likely to trigger, if nothing else.

He got a text on his phone, and saw, with some surprise, it was from Curtis. He, apparently, was going to college now too, and had sent him a pic of him naked, bent over, ass to the camera–one of his standard booty calls. Evan’s cock jumped to attention, tenting out the front of his mesh shorts. Even though he’d just plowed Robbie’s fat ass…he could always use a round with Curtis. No one had a hole like his…but he couldn’t. He needed help–someone somewhere had to know about this curse, and how to get rid of it, but where could he go? He didn’t know anything about this stuff, after all. Maybe it would be best to try and forget about it, if there was nothing he could do about it. So he headed for Curtis’ dorm instead, let himself in, and spent the next half hour fucking the twink’s tight hole until it was nice and loose, loving how high the bitch could moan, loving how he could make him beg–loving the power he had. The power he had over both of them now, he supposed, since Robbie was the same…just with different inclinations. No one was going to talk shit about him, not to his face at least. Maybe…maybe he could be safe like this, if he just kept his head down, and didn’t make waves. Maybe the spirit would get tired of him, and go away on its own, if he refused to give it what it wanted.

He did his best, for a few days. He went to practice, and went to class, fucked Curtis regularly, finding the rhythm of this new life. Not once in that time did he hear a slur…and he was beginning to have hope that he might be normal enough now to get through this. The curse was willing to be patient though, because it knew he would hear something soon enough–not even something necessarily directed at him. Someone would be talking about him behind his back–or he would hear a slur directed at someone else he was with. It wouldn’t matter–he’d change again, and the spirit would have its satisfaction.


Alright, who’s going to insult him this time?

  1. His preppy, conservative roommate complains about him.
  2. He overhears two coaches talking shit about him after practice.
  3. He and Curtis get stopped by cops after going to a gay bar.
  4. Some ROTC members gossip about him nearby.

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Voting ends on Tuesday!

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 1) [Interactive]

Evan was tired of it. Tired of the insults, of being shoved into lockers at school, of guys shouting “faggot” and “queer” at him from the windows of passing cars. All of it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though–and in his opinion, there wasn’t even anything that “faggy” about him–not like some of the guys he’d seen, or some of the guys in the porn he liked to watch, he supposed. Yeah, he had a bit of a lisp, and he tended to sashay slightly–that, and he definitely loved sucking dick. Still, where the insults would have reduced most people to tears and depression, Evan reacted differently. He was angry. Angry all of the time, so angry, he barely even noticed it anymore, it was just a constant, seething, bubbling mass in his guts that never went away. He’d have fantasies though. Fantasies about the men who bullied him, about beating them, humiliating them, doing what they did to him right back, but tenfold. Maybe it was that, which drew the spirit to him–but in any case, he never really knew why it appeared to him that night in his bedroom, after one particularly cruel fantasy, thinking about some jocks he had a run in with earlier that day. He’d wiped up his cum, and there it had been, a massive, hulking shadow glued to his wall, two bright, gem-like eyes where it’s head was, staring at him.

The terror in him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, as it slid along the wall, closer to him. Then, he saw something. A powerful vision overtook him, similar to the fantasy he’d just had, but far more powerful. Bending over Curtis Barrister, the top jock of the school, and Evan raping his hole while he rained abuse down on him–but it was so vivid…like it really was happening. Then, it was gone, and he heard a voice in his mind.

I can give you the power. You can have your revenge on all of them, if you so desire it.

For real? Was this just some hallucination? A nightmare? If it was, then does it really matter? He did want it. He had a feeling this thing wouldn’t have come to him, if he hadn’t known he would accept its offer. The darkness slid closer to him, and then slid over him, and everything went dark, and he couldn’t move his body. The darkness was more inside him, and he could feel it, in that anger in his stomach, changing it, changing…him somehow, and he came again, the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had, and then fell right asleep, the spirit chuckling in the dark, as it faded away. Evan would have his revenge, certainly, but it likely wouldn’t be the sort of revenge he was expecting. Anger could twist people in strange ways, after all–and vengeance was never kind to the avenger.

Evan woke up the next morning, certain it had been a dream, and nothing more. He got up and got ready for school, but he still couldn’t shake the sensation that something about him was different. He was still angry, but it…tasted different, when he felt it, but that didn’t make sense even to him, when he experienced it. There was a definite sense, too, that things would be different today, like how he felt when a thunderstorm was on the way. He said goodbye to his mother, left the apartment and hit the street, walking to school…wondering when the first insult would hit. But the anticipation was different too, in his guts. Usually he just felt fear and anger as he braced himself, but today, part of him was almost…excited. Eager to experience it, and that terrified the rest of him even more. Still, who knew what the day would hold? Maybe everything would be fine. The spirit in him knew better, though–and it was eager to see the curse it had laid on Evan work for the first time.

He made it all the way to school, however, before the first insult came his way–and sure enough, it was none other than Curtis Barrister himself, and his posse of football friends, calling him a faggot. His face burned red…but he felt that same heat infusing the rest of him too, and he was feeling a bit…sick. He went to the bathroom near the entrance of the school and ducked into one of the stalls–and as soon as he was alone, he looked down, and saw his body was…changing. He grew six inches taller, body filling out with muscle, his skinny jeans and tank top became gym shorts and a t-shirt bearing the mascot of the high school–along with word football. No–he tried to fight it, but there was nothing he could do–when he stumbled out a minute later, Evan was gone–or at least, he wasn’t the Evan he should be. He was…a jock. Strong jaw, flat top, cocky grin, and worst of all, he knew he was best friends with Curtis.

His head throbbed, and Evan–the gay Evan, receded. In his place, someone else took control of his body, a very, very straight Evan–sort of. He was, still gay, actually–but this version of him was deeply in the closet, barely able to admit it to himself. Still, this new version of himself would know exactly how to act around his straight jock friends–and with his girlfriend, Stephanie Hawkins. The whole day was torture, hanging out with his new jock buddies, kissing his girlfriend, making fun of nerds and even throwing a few barbs at his friends…but as he did, Evan noticed something else. Whenever he threw a casual insult at Curtis or one of the other jocks…they changed. Not much, but enough that he began to understand what this curse was–and what the spirit was offering him.

After practice, he and Curtis happened to hang back chatting a bit, and showered alone together. He accused Curtis of looking at his cock, and called him a faggot, and watched as his bully started to get hard–and so Evan decided to have his way with him, shoving him up against the shower wall and fucking his loose hole, calling him a faggy sissy, a weak little cocksucker, and watched as his words came to life. When he finally came, it was a very different Curtis who fled the locker room–barely 150 pounds, short, ass and mouth hungry for cock all the time–the exact kind of faggot Curtis had always seen him as. He was horrified by what he’d done–but even more horrified when he saw himself in the mirror of the locker room. He was…massive. Thick with muscle, hairy all over, the exact kind of alpha jock he’d always detested–and feared. This…he wasn’t stuck like this, was he? He could…sense that the curse would, now that he’d dealt with his primary target, let him change back, or he could visit a few of the other jocks on the team too. But if he did…who would he become then? Would he even remember who he’d been before? No–he wanted to change back–he pushed his way forward, and saw the hulking frame in the mirror begin to recede at last.

He was back in his old body, but not everything was back to normal. He was more muscular for one thing, and he remembered, now, that he was on the track and field team, when he’d never played sports once in his life. He was hairier too–was this all because of what he’d done to Curtis? He got home as quickly as he could, but struggled to fall asleep–and got a text from a number he didn’t know late at night–it was Curtis, looking for a fuck. He had new memories now of Curtis, a hopeless sex addict, as a frequent fuckbuddy at school, and his stomach turned into knots all over again. He could hear the spirit laughing in his very soul, and Evan knew all he could do was wait until someone else insulted him–and he’d be forced to change them as well.

Alright, so for those of you who visit CYOC, this is loosely inspired by the branch of straight TF and “were-breeder” stories that are somewhat popular (and which I have contributed to in the past). I’ve always found an appeal in them, but also found some of them super uncomfortable, so I want to push them in a slightly different direction with this interactive. This intro is a bit longer than usual, just to give an overview of how the curse functions, but for clarity’s sake, Here’s an explanation:

First, when Evan hears a homophobic insult directed at him, he will find himself helplessly transforming into someone similar to the person who insulted him. For example, if it’s a jock, he becomes a jock too, or a redneck, or a skinhead, or whatever it might be. Evan is still present, but his body’s new persona is doing most of the driving–that is, he can’t really act out of his new “straight” character. That said, his personas are all still, technically, gay–but deep in the closet.

Then, in his straight-acting persona, reality shifts so that he is friends with the person who insulted him–and he discovers that whenever he insults him (and people around him who share his views) those insults are capable of changing them.

However, the more he changes them, the more he changes as well, the persona becoming more and more extreme, and the more danger he is in of forgetting about his real self, and the persona taking over for good. He can only change back after he turns the original insulter gay and has sex with them (he can be bottom or top, but will usually tend towards top in this scenario), but he can remain in the persona longer if there are other people he wants to change–at the risk of losing more of himself. When he changes back, he keeps some of the qualities of the persona he had before–the more extreme he became, the more likely the changes will stick.

So, with that out of the way–what sort of person is going to insult Evan next?

  1. A gang of skinheads threaten him on the street.
  2. Some gaming nerds at school being edgelords.
  3. Some middle-aged construction workers on his way to school.
  4. A prudish, older conservative christian neighbor.

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The Carnival (Part 8) [Interactive]

“I don’t really feel like going down with strangers,” one of the frat brothers, Dylan, said, “That sounds really awkward.”

“Yeah, the whole point was to go together anyway,” Garth added.

They all agreed, then, to try their luck and go as one big group together, but it wasn’t until they were in line a bit further on that all three of them got a little self-conscious. All around them were heterosexual couples, most of them younger, but a few older married couples from town too, and then there was the three of them together. None of them were the least bit gay, but the looks they were getting from others were making them second guess their idea. The line wasn’t long though, and they got to the ride entrance before any of them lost their nerve. The inside was all decorated in garish pinks and reds, and the air smelt of flowers. It was cloying, and all three of them were already rolling their eyes at the kitchy setup, as they stepped up to the next boat, and the carny minding the ride, gave them a look.

“All three of us want to go together,” Finn said, the other two suppressing a chuckle. To their surprise, however, the man just shrugged, and told them that he’d unhook one of the three’s company boats they kept for special requests. Where the other, two seater boats were all bench like, the larger boat was designed in a circle, with a small table in the middle and high sides giving a bit more privacy than they were really comfortable with. Still, they all climbed in, the carny secured the door, and sent them off floating into the pink light, the dock disappearing as they rounded the first corner.

There was no sound–no music, and not even the sound of other people ahead or behind them, even though they couldn’t have been that distant from them. It was a little unnerving, and the surroundings were rather uninteresting. Some flowering plants on the rock walls, the occasional small waterfall giving off a bit of sound, and just the sound of them all breathing, wondering what they should say. They knew they should be making fun of it, but now it seemed heavy and serious, none of them able to look one another in the eye as a mist began to rise from the water around them, and spill over the sides of the boat. It had the same scent as earlier, but much more pungent–strong enough that all three of them began to feel lightheaded. Garth looked out, trying to see the walls and the way forward, but he couldn’t see anything at all through the fog. He sat back down, only to find Finn had leaned over, and was kissing Dylan–gently, but it was growing more passionate, Dylan leaning into it, hungry for it, and all Garth felt was an immediate, desperate horniness.

Those two…how had he never seen them like this before? In the locker room, out on the field, in the bathroom showers…He scooched around and started feeling Dylan’s body, and he turned away from Finn to kiss him instead, while Finn reached over, toying with their cocks and nipples gently, and then leaning over and stealing Garth’s mouth from Dylan. Time seemed to slow down as their desires intensified, the water still, the whole space quiet aside from their gentle moans and soft sighs into one another’s mouths. However, the boat kept moving on, deeper into the tunnel, the light growing dimmer and dimmer as they reached the heart, all three of them feeling new memories, desires, and most of all, love, filing their minds and their souls until they thought they might burst–until they did burst, in fact, all three of them cumming together, and then arriving at the other end of the tunnel. In the light, they could see that more had changed than just their desires…but this was normal now. The three of them would be together for as long as they live–though what kind of relationship do they have now?

So, what does the boys’ new relationship look like?

  1. Two daddy bears with a diapered boy
  2. An incestuous redneck family
  3. A leather master and two slaves

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