Interactive: The House Made Me Gay! (Part 6)

Quinn was certain that the mirror was doing something to him. It wasn’t hard to figure out, of course, but while he was a bit…terrified, in all honesty, it felt so good to let go around his reflection that he was willing to just embrace it. He didn’t know whether the idea came to him on his own, or if it was planted in his mind like so many others, but he knew, somehow, that the easiest way to get Taylor into bed with him, would be to…to get him to look at the mirror himself. Get the mirror inside him, somehow, in the same way in was inside him.

Of course, Taylor spent most of his days working out, and he wasn’t particularly keen on being interrupted, so Quinn had to wait until the late afternoon, when he heard Taylor tromp up the stairs and towards the kitchen, probably to start making himself dinner. Quinn was ready though, and he intercepted him before he could get started.

“Hey man, could you come look at something in my room real quick? I just wanna know if I should ask the landlord about it.”

Taylor’s brow furrowed, “What’s up?”

“I think my window has a bad seal or something, I can hear some wind through it.”

“I’d just call him,” Taylor said, and continued into the kitchen, “Mr Woodrow’s a good guy, he’ll sort it out.”

“Just come listen real quick, would you? I don’t want to call him for nothing. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

Obviously annoyed at his routine getting disturbed, Taylor followed Quinn up the stairs and into his room. Taylor went over by the window to listen, while Taylor went and stood next to the mirror. After a moment, Taylor shook his head. “I don’t hear anything, but maybe we should call him just in…”

Taylor had looked back at where Quinn was standing, and ended up looking right into the mirror next to him. Quinn knew it must have worked–he could see that same…shimmer in his eyes that he saw in his own reflection, when the mirror…had him too. He cautiously walked over to his muscular roommate, laid his hands on him, feeling his body still clammy with sweat from his workout, and Quinn shuddered. This close to him, he could…smell him now, and fuck, he smelled rank, but it wasn’t…bad. It was just strong, and heady, and Quinn’s cock got hard just from leaning into Taylor’s pits for a sniff.

“You ok Taylor? Don’t worry, we’ll…we’re going to have lots of fun this evening, isn’t that right?”

Taylor nodded.

“See…the mirror is…is mine, Taylor. And as long as you’re in it, that means you’re mine too, doesn’t it? You have to do everything I say. It will feel good to do everything I say.”

Taylor nodded, and moaned now, his own cock tenting out the front of his shorts, leaking a bit.

“Get on your knees boy, suck me off.”

The voice that came out of his throat surprised Quinn. It was gruff and…and deeper. Not quite his own, but it was…his. Taylor got down, pulled down the sweatpants Quinn was wearing, and started sucking on his cock, hungrily, and Quinn had to lean on the wall to stay standing, his eyes drifting over to the mirror, seeing himself there, his burly, fat, hairy body getting serviced by this hot, musky jock…there was a twinkle in his eye, just a suggestion really…

“Get up,” Quinn said, “Go down into the kitchen, bring me some snacks. Daddy’s hungry boy.”

“Yes…daddy,” Taylor said, and stood up, leaving the room and heading for the kitchen. Quinn worried that being away from him and the mirror might snap him out of it, but a few minutes later, Taylor arrived back in the room, eyes still shining, arms loaded with beer, and snacks, and Quinn’s mouth started watering at the sight.

Quinn ordered Taylor to feed him for a while, while he just relaxed on his bed, telling Taylor in between mouthfuls how much he was enjoying this. How he wanted his daddy to be happy, how he loved feeding him, how serving him in whatever way he needed just felt so good to him, made his cock hard, made him want to service him more and more. Quinn took over his own eating, and ordered Taylor to start worshiping his body–especially his belly. Told him that Taylor loved being muscular, but that servicing fat men like daddy was what he was born to do, what made him feel complete. 

The mirror was getting…restless. It wanted to be fed, as much as Quinn did. He ordered Taylor up, told him to face the mirror, brace himself and bend over–daddy was going to breed his boy for the first time of many. They had no lube, but Taylor’s hole was hungry and wet, Quinn’s thick cock was leaking profusely, and they slid together like it was all part of some larger design. “Oh fuck, jockboy, fuckin’ hell you feel real nice around daddy’s cock…” Quinn moaned, and started fucking him long and deep. “Yeah, stupid fucking jockboy–good thing you have a nice daddy around here to keep you in line. You love doing everything daddy says, it makes everything so much easier for you, doesn’t it? Easy, and you get to feel good too. You just let all those complicated thoughts drain away, right there into the mirror. From now on, you just need to worry about getting bigger, and keeping daddy as happy as can be, you fucking got it? Oh fuck boy, here it fucking comes!”

It was the first load that Quinn hadn’t shot into the mirror since arriving at the house. It felt explosive, and bright, like he was firing hot light right into Taylor’s body. His boy groaned, reared up, and shot his own load all over the glassy surface, where it shimmered for a moment, and then melted into the surface, and both of them felt the mirror’s hold over them ebb away, Taylor turning around, holding his aching head.

Quinn was…nervous. Would he remember, or would he not? “Fuck daddy, thanks! You’re dirty jockboy needed that real fuckin’ bad…” Taylor said, leaned in and gave Quinn a deep kiss, massaging his big belly as he did, and Quinn melted into him, pulling his boy close, knowing he was his from now on. His…and the mirror’s. “Alright boy, that’s enough for now–get down there and make daddy some dinner.”

Taylor gave him a wide, and kind of stupid, grin. “Sure thing daddy! I love cookin’ for you!” Then he was gone, and Taylor relaxed, snacking on the food his boy had brought him, but already hungry for dinner–and for another round with his boy’s hole after that.

***

Mr Woodrow was more than happy to accomodate the two of them a few days later, when they suggested that they move into the basement together, converting the larger space down there into a studio apartment for them both, the mirror hanging on the wall within easy view of the entire room. It was a few days after that, when Marcus, the third member of the house arrived to move in, a week before school started. 

Mr. Woodrow was there, waiting for him, ready to give him the tour. It was a beautiful house…but Marcus struggled a bit, when Taylor came bouncing up from the basement to give him a hug, and tell him how excited he was for him to be living there with him and his daddy. Marcus…couldn’t really recall who this was at all, at least not right away. Mr. Woodrow helped talk him down, and when Quinn got home from his job later that evening, working as the foreman for a construction company, everything made a bit more sense…kind of. He’d met Taylor at school, and been introduced to his boyfriend, Quinn, not long after that. Quinn was in his early 30’s–and hadn’t gone to college, but they were…well, love was a weird word for what they had, but it seemed to work for both of them. Taylor was studying exercise science–badly, really, but he was good enough to graduate and probably find work. But for the life of him…Marcus found it had to believe he would be friends with them…for some reason.

But Marcus settled into one of the rooms upstairs, and started unpacking–and like Taylor and Marcus before him, he too, discovered something…odd in his room as he did.


Alright, so what’s Marcus going to stumble upon in his room? As always, you get two choices in the poll. The patron only poll is over here, and votes are weighted five times as much!

Nothing but distant memories now, more like stories that happened to friends of friends. How I used to be different. Slimmer–no, not just slimmer–muscular. Yeah, I used to work out, the stories say. I chuckle as the captain’s hands reach around and pull me closer, gripping my fat, and I moan. So far away now, so far away it might as well have never happened, and as far as the captain is concerned, it never did. “How are you feeling slave? Good?” he whispers into my ear, and I shiver.

A captain, a guide, a navigator. A man who helps people who are lost in their lives. A captain. He’d claimed to be all of these things, when I’d met him. All I’d claimed to need was directions, but he’d known better, he’d brought be here, he’d redirected and rerouted my entire life to this moment, but we still weren’t at the destination. Close though–so close. “Are we there yet?” I ask anyway.

“Not yet slave, we still have a few changes to make in your route. Are you ready for one last trip?” the captain said into my ear.

I nod eagerly, but it’s already happening, he’s already guiding me through my life again. As we pass them, I can see some of the detours and intersections I had been down before. Briefly, I glimpse the moment I’d first decided to work out, when I was twelve, but I can’t go down that path anymore–instead, I fell in love with my fat, obese uncle, and decided to be as big as him when I grow up. Much of the new changes are subtle ones now–the radical changes are all behind me, the captain is only fine tuning my directions now. I’m bullied much more through school, and become a loner, engrossed with the conversations I have with older men online, about how much I want to serve them. I grow to dislike myself, I find myself worthless, and crave service as a way to make myself useful to someone. This in turn leads me into deep masochism, and by the time we reach the present time, I can already feel the changes ricocheting through me, and I pull away from his embrace–I’m not worthy of it.

Instead, I get down and clean his boots, showing the captain that I know my place–I understand where I belong in the world now. I’m not lost anymore–I’m just a boot worshiping, obese piece of scum, barely worthy of serving my betters. There is a sharp pain on my chest where the captain’s mark appears on me, naming me his slave and property, and I am honored that he has given me the privilege of serving him. I have found my place now, and I know in my heart that I will never leave this new path.