Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 4)

Quinn was about to hang his clothes up in the closet, when he noticed that something was still in there, leaning against the back wall, with a sheet hanging over it. It was large–easily five feet by two feet, and when he leaned it out, discovered it was pretty damn heavy too. He dragged it out on his own and got the sheet off, and found himself looking at an ornately framed mirror. It was a little…gaudy, sure, but the more Quinn looked at the frame, at the intricate swirls of the darkly stained wood, the more…he wanted to see what it looked like, hanging on the wall, just out of curiosity.

He looked around, and saw what he figured there had to be–a couple of nails in the wall where it must have been hanging before. Funny–Mr. Woodrow didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would be so careless as to leave the nails there after taking it down–but it saved him the effort he supposed. Still, the mirror was heavy! He tried to lift it up on his own, and nearly crashed backwards with it. He might as well get help.

“Hey Taylor!” he shouted, “Could you help me out for a sec?”

He listened, but didn’t hear a response–so he went down and decided to see if he was still in the basement, and just couldn’t hear him. He made his way down the stairs, turned the corner, froze, and quickly turned back around the corner of the stairs, cheeks blushing red. Nervously, he looked around the corner again, and sure enough, there Taylor was…jacking off.

Jacking off, with one of his arms thrown up, snorting up his own musk as he stroked off, spandex shorts down around his thighs, wearing one of the nastiest looking jocks Quinn had ever seen.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Taylor had never lifted a weight in his life, and now, one summer after living here, he was…what, some stinking, musky bodybuilder now? It didn’t make any sense, and yet…he found himself watching him, unable to look away, until with a few loud snorts, Taylor came, shooting his load into his jockstrap, and then pulling his shorts right back up.

Quinn decided he might as well do it now–he stomped on the stairs a couple times, like he was just coming down, and then turned the corner. “Hey Taylor, think you could help me with something real quick?”

Taylor smiled at him, “Sure man, I was just finishing up–what do you need?”

They went up to Quinn’s room together, and Taylor helped him get the mirror up on the wall. He was still covered in fresh sweat from his workout, and the musk rolling off him, and the smell of cum, was making Quinn gag a bit–but the mirror was there. “Hey, are you, uh…feeling alright?” Quinn asked him.

“Sure–why do you ask?”

“I just…I mean, I didn’t know you were into weightlifting, I guess.”

Taylor shrugged, like it was no big deal, and didn’t really see why Quinn was asking. “I’m gonna go eat something–want me to make you some too?”

“Yeah, sure–thanks.”

Taylor left then, and left Quinn alone. Or almost alone. He was with the mirror, after all.

He looked at himself in it, and he was…amazed at the clarity. It seemed more like a window, than a mirror, and looking at himself, and thinking about Taylor, he didn’t really have much to compare to. Still, there was something about him, in the mirror, something that seemed…off. It took him a moment to realize that what was off, was that his reflection’s pants were tented with an erection.

He blushed, looked down, and sure enough, he was hard! Had Taylor noticed? How long had he been like that? He looked back up, and this time caught his own eyes in the mirror…and they weren’t his eyes. They sparkled, like crystal. They were beautiful, and terrifying, and he couldn’t look away, as his reflection opened his pants, pulled out his cock, and started jacking off–Quinn doing the same thing, not quite sure who was leading who.

He lasted for a couple of minutes, his eyes never leaving his reflection, and came–the cum flying out and splattering across the surface of the mirror, where it…was absorbed, but Quinn didn’t notice that. He as still lost in those eyes–they were so much larger, all consuming, like they…wanted to devour him. At last, shaking, he could look away, and when he looked back at himself after a moment, his reflection was normal. The eyes were normal too…but then, as he looked, something else seemed off, but he couldn’t quite place it. He thought about taking the mirror down, but he’d have to ask Taylor again…and things were awkward enough. Instead, he kept unpacking, and then joined his housemate for dinner.

Little did he know, his reflection had changed, somehow–but what was different?

Alright, here’s the next poll! The possibilities below can all be a bit mixed and matched, so there will probably two or maybe three that get used together, to determine what happens to Quinn over the next few weeks. You can choose two options! Patrons have their bonus poll, worth five times as much, over here!

The Morning After – Owen Part 3

His reflection was simply watching him and standing there, as Owen kept masturbating in front of the mirror. His young body completely forgotten, and the mirror was smiling broadly, teeth bared. It came forward to the counter in the mirror and climbed up onto it. Owen doubted he’d have been able to get up there as heavy as he was, but his reflection seemed to manage the climb perfectly well…and then if crawled forward, right through the glass, like the hand had done with the rearview mirror earlier. The recollection was enough to shock him from his masturbation, and he backed up against the tub behind him, nearly falling in, as his reflection climbed back down onto his side of the counter.

“So much easier to fit through this time–such a large mirror too! That means we can have so much fun together, Owen,” the reflection said, licking it’s lips as it walked up to him in the bathroom.

“What…what are you?”

The reflection laughed. “Oh Owen, you don’t need to worry about a silly little thing like that, do you?” It grinned wide, it’s shard teeth shining in the dim bathroom light like hundreds of gleaming crystals. They’d never been so bright before in the mirror, but now that he was this close to them, he was amazed at how they caught the light. In fact, he couldn’t look away from them. It was like the the teeth had wiped away the rest of the world, sharp and cutting right into his mind. It took him a few moments to realize that the reflection was speaking to him, the teeth opening and gnashing and rattling. Behind them was some dark void, impossible to penetrate. He couldn’t quite follow what was being said, but he could…see pictures and scenes in the teeth, hundreds of them. Memories, desires, fantasies. All of them his, reflected back at him, piercing into his mind.

At first, the images didn’t make sense together. There was nothing to hold them all in place. There were hotel rooms, and he was in them. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. There was a home, but most of his life was spent away from it, travelling. What was he doing? The images showed nothing specific. It didn’t seem important. He was a businessman–his suitcases were full of wrinkled suits, most of which were a bit too small on him. What he felt, more than anything else, looking at these hundreds of scenes, was loneliness. He was always alone. Alone eating room service. Alone watching movies on HBO. Alone masturbating. Alone staring at himself in the mirror. Alone getting dressed for another sales convention like all of the other sales conventions. It felt like it was going to crush him at any moment, like he’d simply cease to exist without anyone else noticing him for so long.

“You don’t want to be alone.”

He didn’t. He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“You don’t have to be alone, Owen. We can be together, can’t we? And I’m sure we can find others to help keep you company here.”

The reflection stepped back from him, and Owen heard a knock at the hotel door. He turned, still naked, and walked to the door. In the hallway, through the peephole, he could see a distorted young man on the otherside. Had…had he been expecting someone? It felt like he had. He opened the door, and the man stepped inside. He looked too young to drink. He was taller than Owen, not necessarily muscular, but lithe.

“Hey Daddy,” he said, “I see someone’s ready for me already.”

Owen took a step back, and stumbled into his reflection, which had followed him out into the short hallway. “You’re ready, aren’t you Owen? You’ve been waiting for him, thinking about him, about his profile, about that dirty chat you were doing earlier?”

The young man pulled off his tight shirt slowly as the reflection spoke, and Owen’s eyes traced his smooth abs and chest with as much attention as he’d given the shards. But something…something seemed off. How if he moved quickly around the young man, he’d turn out to be flat. How there were a few too many sharp angles at his elbows and shoulders. How when he smiled at Owen, there was that same empty void behind those shiny white, jagged teeth. “Right Owen? Aren’t you excited to see me?”

The Morning After – Owen Part 2

As he walked across town, he felt increasingly silly, and before too long, he would have returned to the car if the walk back hadn’t become longer than the distance to the hotel. Luckily Owen had stayed in good shape since college–unlike any number of other reunion attendees, including some of his close friends. Still, if there was one thing to know about Owen, it was that appearance was more important to him than substance. He’d made his living off his looks–he’d learned at a young age that if you were cute enough, and confident enough, then you could get anywhere, and he’d spent the last few years proving it, rising high in the PR department of a major technology firm. Better than Billy, who was stuck working for his father at the family business back home–no room to grow there, but he’d always been too much of a coward to go out on his own. It was hard to believe they’d been friends this long–even before college. Still, they’d grown further apart now than ever before, and both Carl and Tim were largely after thoughts. It was enough for him to know that he looked better than them, even if they might be a bit more successful. A few times he thought about checking his reflection in a window along the street, but always decided against it. Dream or not, that episode earlier had freaked the shit out of him. He did love mirrors too much to stay away for long, but he could primp once he’d gotten back and had a proper shower.

The reunion attendees were staying at a hotel a few blocks away from campus, the Nettywood Suites. It was a small but decent independently owned hotel. His room was on the first floor–he’d bought one entire room for himself, because he hated sharing space with other people. He let himself in, planning on taking a shower, having a nap, and then reporting the car stolen with the rental company, before going and joining the reunion festivities. He stripped out of the clothes he’d worn for the pub crawl and then went in the bathroom, but before he started the water in the shower, he stopped in front of the mirror to preen, without much thought, and stared at the reflection in shock.

That wasn’t him.

That couldn’t be him.

And yet, the reflection was in the same position as he was, about two feet from the counter, staring straight at him. The man was older, probably about ten or fifteen years older than Owen was, with a short beard covering his round face, and extending quite a ways down his neck. It looked unkempt, but helped hide the double chin underneath the flabby face, in the same way that it helped his jowls look like cheeks. The nose was too broad, the mouth small and thin lipped, the ears too big and sticking out too far, the eyes close together like marbles on the wide head. His hair was either too long or too short. He was balding, but the hair had been brushed over into a combover that only emphasized his hair loss. It was silver at the temples, and salt and pepper throughout. The reflection was smiling, and the teeth…the teeth were like shards of glass, and unable to help himself, Owen discovered he was smiling with him.

“Much better,” the reflection said. Owen felt his mouth form the words, though no sound came out. “Much, much bigger, much more fun to be had here, I think, don’t you, Owen?”

He saw the reflection’s hands run down the older man’s body, starting at his chest before descending down over his massive gut, grabbing hold of the flab and giving it a shake. Unable to break his eyes away, Owen could only feel his stomach twist as his hands did the same, running over soft, hairy moobs, then meeting the gut, soft. He grabbed hold and it shook. It shook like it was real. The man in the mirror was one of the hairiest men Owen had ever seen, a thick coating all over his gut, thickest in the center, so thick he could just barely make out pale skin beneath, running up onto his shoulders and (he assumed) all over his back as well. He had to be close to 400 pounds, and judging from where his perspective, he had to be quite a bit shorter than Owen’s previous six foot one.

“Yes, so much fun, I think,” the reflection continued, “What do you think? It feels good, doesn’t it? Feeling your fat jiggle like that? Watching your fat body shake in the mirror? Let’s see if you like it or not…eh?”

One hand drifted lower, under the gut, digging beneath, finding the short cock there amidst the mass of fat, gunt, and hair. It was hard, but a weak kind of hard. Flimsy, and yet pleasure shot through him all the same.

“Goodness, someone does like what they see, don’t they?”

His other hand had moved up and was tweaking a nipple. His fingers, unable to grip his shaft, instead ran their way over and around the head of his cock, feeling it turn slick with precum. He was breathing hard, beneath all this fat, and yet it felt good, it felt really good.

“You like looking at yourself don’t you? I know this isn’t the first time you’ve jacked off while looking at yourself in the mirror, Owen.”

“Fuck…” Owen said, the first word he’d been able to manage. It was true–he considered it something between a vice and a bad habit…but he did like jacking off in front of the mirror. But he hadn’t looked like this…had he? Hadn’t he looked different? Younger? Thinner? The exact appearance was fading before he could grab hold of it, but his hand never stopped working his stubby cock, his eyes never drifted from his bouncing gut, his free hand kept running its way through his hairy chest and belly…and he realized his reflection was no longer copying him. Or was it that he’d been copying his reflection?

“You like how you look, don’t you?”

““Fuck…yeah. Such a fat, hairy daddy bear…” his voice was strange to his ears. Deeper and older, but also attractive in its own way. Part of him still knew he should stop. That something was wrong, that he’d been changed. But looking at himself there, how could…how could he not want to jack off? He just looked so…damn sexy.

The Morning After – Owen Part 1

Can’t stop looking, can you?

He couldn’t, he couldn’t stop, but what was he looking at? Where was he? He could see the room, but it was like he was just gone, gone from the reflection entirely.

I’ll keep it safe, don’t worry. Still, we can’t have you reflecting nothing, right?

There was something there now, something black and dark in the mirror, and it was smiling at him, it was smiling wide, and every tooth was a shard, and every shard had his face, and every face was screaming, and–

Owen flung himself back with a scream, and he looked around in a panic. He was in a car, in the driver’s seat. What had he just dreamed? He took a moment to try and calm himself down, to keep his breathing even. He was in his rental car, and his rental car was parked on some quiet side street, where he’d left it when they’d all started their pub crawl from the night before. He could remember the start of it, but…but then it all just faded away after the first few bars. He hadn’t gotten that drunk, had he? Sure, he couldn’t quite handle his liquor like when he’d been in college, but still, he hadn’t blacked out like this…ever. He sat up, and saw the clock read a little after nine in the morning. Had he just been sleeping here that long? Everyone else was probably back on campus for more reunion festivities, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was rub shoulders with a bunch of old classmates, most of whom he couldn’t stand anyway. Besides, he ached, and had a terrible headache. He might as well head to the hotel, get changed, have a shower and then maybe join up with the reunion in the afternoon. He should probably find Billy, Tim or Carl too, and see what exactly happened last night.

He sat up, found the keys in his pocket, and then noticed something–the rearview mirror was missing. It looked like it had been ripped off entirely. He looked around for it, and as he did, he noticed that the side view mirrors were also broken out entirely. “Fuck,” he said. How much was that going to cost? At least he had insurance on the rental car, hopefully it covered vandalism. Still, seeing those empty holes where the mirrors had been…he shivered, and remembered his dream again, and he realized something. If it had been vandalism…then why was the rearview mirror missing?

He looked around. All the doors were closed, and even locked. Had he left the car unlocked last night? Then why had they just destroyed the mirrors?

“Look at me.”

He froze. Had he just heard that? It sounded muffled, from behind him in the backseat. He whirled around, half expecting to find some stranger in the backseat, watching him, but the seat was empty. His heart was pounding again. That voice sounded so familiar, but whose voice was it?

“Look at me.”

He hadn’t imagined it. There was someone in the car with him, talking to him. He scrambled for the door handle and got out of the car, backing away into the street.

“Look at me, you fucker!”

It was shouting. But where in the hell was it coming from? He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He crept closer to the car again, and this time looked in the backseat again, this time through the window. The only thing he could see out of place, was the rearview mirror on the floor, mirror side down.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. He opened the back door of the car, reached down for the mirror. He grabbed it by the back and picked it up, turning it over so the mirror faced him. He held it up, and he could see himself, and then without him moving the mirror, his reflection shifted showing his mouth, a mouth like the one from his dream, a black hole filled with jagged teeth, “That’s better,” it said, “and then moved its eyes back into frame, “Now I can see you properly.”

He wanted to scream. He wanted to smash the mirror to the ground, but he was frozen in place.

The face disappeared, and there were hands now at the frame, clutching at the frame, reaching out from inside the glass, and he felt them run over his hand where he was holding the mirror. “Hmmph, too small, much too small. This is no good at all, I can’t get out here.” His frozen body returned to his control, and he dropped the mirror back onto the car seat, slammed the door, and backed away. He could hear it laughing muffled against the floor of the car, and Owen turned and sprinted off down the street as fast as he could, the sound chasing him until he turned a corner, panting and exhausted.

What the fuck was that? He had no idea what he’d just seen. It couldn’t have been real, could it? He peeked back around the corner, to the car with the busted mirrors, the driver door still wide open. They’d driven over here to begin with so they could end up back by the hotel after the crawl and avoid driving–it would take him close to an hour to walk back to the hotel on his own. Still, he wasn’t going anywhere near that car again, not if he could help it. He had his phone, wallet and keys at least, so there wasn’t anything to go back for. As far as he was concerned, he’d just call the police and report the car stolen–let the rental company deal with it–he just wanted to get back to the hotel and go to sleep, and hope all of this was just some strange hallucination.

There are spirits that live in mirrors–the beings which mimic us as our reflections, and as of late, they have become rather intrigued by this new love of people taking pictures of themselves with the little hand held devices they call smartphones. These spirits, though, while usually friendly, aren’t above being a bit meddlesome. They’ve found that, by twisting the image that gets sent back to the lens, they can radically alter the world outside their mirror, and Max was unlucky enough to be their next victim.

They’d watched him for weeks now, berating the black men who came into the locker room to change, especially the larger, out of shape ones, and the mirror spirits thought he might deserve a lesson. He’d snapped the picture, planning on sending it to a bitch he was trying to get laid with, but the image that showed up on his phone was all wrong. The man was fat, for one thing–very fat–like “having no business ever stepping into a gym” fat. There were other details that were strange too, like a tattoo across the man’s chest reading “I ❤ BBC.” What in the world was BBC? Even the case of his phone was different–where the confederate flag had been, there was now that faggoty rainbow one.

“Aww yeah, there’s my bitch–you been waiting all this time, just for me?” a voice said behind him, and he spun around. It was Ned, one of the heavy set men Max had teased regularly, but when he saw the fat black man now–and the big cock he had in his hand, Max’s mouth watered.

“Yes sir–you know I can’t leave without serving my black masters.”

What did he just say? Max barely had time to register the words that had come out of his mouth, before he was on his knees, Ned’s massive cock rammed down his throat, and he realized the strange picture was now truth. On the outside he was the fat pig, a fag desperate for black cock, but inside, he was still the same–for the moment at least.

Source: thelockerroom