Subscription Serviced: Lustscroller, Now with Goth Fashion and Twink Cocksucking Action!
by time_to_occur
Co-authored with Evan Jackson, who was there every step of the way.
Consent is paramount in real life. I do not condone non-consensual acts.
Do you remember going back that day for your laser level at that fancy mansion with the queer owner?
You caught my client's eye while you were renovating one of his properties. The rest of your crew laughed childishly at the art pieces celebrating the male form that you had to clear out of the rooms you were to work on, but not you.
You stared and blushed a little, eyes roaming over nude chests and asses, flirtatiously positioned legs and knees. Then, you forgot your level. While the rest of the crew went off to drink beer and eat onion rings after a long day's work, you wandered back into the mansion to find it. Strangely, you didn't want to leave it there overnight even though you would be right back tomorrow. As you looked, you paused in front of some of the paintings, wrapped up in clear plastic, and stared some more.
My client was very curious about that.
Did you look at yourself in the mirror, later? Trace your hands over your lightly-furred pecs, your nice, strong construction worker muscles, softened by that delightful layer of fat overtop? Did you know that we call people like you 'otters', in my line of work?
My line of work? Sex toys. Some of the best. For some, my toys are life-changing. I'm the lead designer for Lustcraft, and you, dear otter, are the raw material for my latest custom design.
This particular client has a taste for the transformation process itself. He likes to watch it happen. When he met you at his house, he saw a yearning in you but he also saw your fear. You are worried that your desires make you...less-than, somehow. Your generous benefactor decided to help rid you of those worries by transforming you into his willing toy.
You aren't his first. The farther away you are from the final form he has chosen for you at the start, the better he'll like it. Don't worry. At Lustcraft, everyone comes away satisfied.
When your job finishes at the mansion with your usual crew, the owner hires you on as a general handyman, having you work evenings for him. You do a bit of plumbing in a bathroom or two, run a couple of wires for fairy lights on his patio, and things of that nature. The pay is more than generous.
Then, one day, your employer comes up to you and says that, as a thank-you for doing such good work, he's supplementing your pay with a small token of his appreciation. A subscription box, pre-paid for six months, that'll send gadgets and toys for grownups right to your door.
Although it makes you feel awkward, you aren't sure how to refuse and it would be more trouble to cancel than it would be to just accept. You can probably regift anything that you don't want.
Then the first box comes, and it's fucking awesome. You don't even notice the Lustcraft logo on the box, and when you open it, a delicious scent wafts out. What's odd about that is that there isn't anything edible in there. You pull out a new phone (with the Lustcraft app pre-installed, full camera and microphone permissions granted), a pair of fancy Bluetooth earbuds, and a new webcam with an integrated ring light (and a very special firmware).
You know that your employer is loaded, but the stuff in this box probably costs at least a thousand dollars, and this is just the first one. You decide that he knew what he was getting into, and immediately transfer your data over to your new phone, which has an amazing camera to boot.
You go about your life. You use your new smartphone and earbuds, play games with your friends over the internet using your webcam, and all the while, Lustcraft installs itself as a constant feature of your existence without you even knowing our name.
For example, you start taking more selfies. Your new phone camera is great — it makes you look hotter than ever. The first time you share a selfie on our social media network, it's by accident (or so you think), but the overwhelmingly positive response from the men on the site is a hit of dopamine like no other to you. Over time, it becomes a habit.
Your selfie game could use some work. You are secretly delighted when your next fancy subscription box contains a selfie stick with a built-in ring light and timer. It also contains moisturizer with added sunscreen, which is odd because you thought it was a tech subscription box based on the first box. But, you have noticed a bit of dryness on your face and hands, working in construction like you do, so you decide to use it up since it's free.
Over the course of the next few weeks, your skin becomes silkier and your tan fades. The men on the Lustcraft app all compliment you, telling you how youthful you're looking and how good self-care is for a man like you. Well, actually, they use the word 'boy', but it's just a friendly term you all have for each other on there — you're one of the boys. Lustcraft boys.
It feels good to be a Lustcraft boy.
In the next few weeks, you start to notice a trend. Your friends on the app are starting to show more than just their faces. Using hashtags like #peach and #bubble, there's a real shift toward full-body selfies, especially taken from behind with a coy, over-the-shoulder glance.
At first, you pay no attention. It's just a trend. Social media is full of those and you don't usually jump on the bandwagon. But then it starts to feel as though the other boys are commenting and liking those pictures much more than yours.
So you decide to give it a shot. Their acknowledgement and recognition are powerful, especially now that you're so used to relying on them. You push out your ass to try and make it look nice and round and wink over your shoulder. It feels ridiculous, but you post it anyway.
The adulation is immediate. In the comments, the boys say things like, "Was wondering when we were going to get to see that peach!" and "That bubble looks like it needs popping!" You giggle a little at that thought, not really knowing what that particular boy means.
When your next box comes, it has, among other things, a dark red jockstrap in it that you immediately know will stand out beautifully against your now-pale skin. This time, you decide to be the trendsetter. You take a photo of yourself with your creamy cheeks contrasted with the red band of the jockstrap. You caption it "#FreeThePeach".
Soon, all your friends are showing off their own jockstraps, each in a different colour. One peach has a lime green jockstrap against dark brown skin. Another is lacy pink on tawny, tanned skin. Then, there's the one in the full rubber shorts. Some have patterns and funny words — 'JOCK SLUT', 'HIMBO', 'HIGH FEMME'. When you check yours, it says 'GOTH TWINK', which is funny, because you are the furthest thing from a twink. It must be the name of the company. Still, it's fantastic to see the diversity of Lustcraft Boys in their jockstraps.
You wear your wine-red jockstrap as you scroll through the photos. When you stop, you notice that there's a tingle on your skin. Maybe you should have washed it before pulling it on for a photoshoot. When you check in the mirror, there don't seem to be any hives or skin reactions, but your whole ass looks swollen.
At first, the guys on your team kept their mouths shut about the way that your fine wrinkles have disappeared along with your tan, along with how you've started to take way more selfies. They probably assumed you were chasing some new tail or something like that. But when your ass grows basically overnight and you persist in pouring yourself into your work jeans, the comments start.
"Fuck, he fills out those jeans better than my wife..." mutters your boss after you give him eyeful after eyeful all day as you walk by, your hips swaying without your conscious thought.
"Looks like every day is leg day with our guy," says one of your friends, good-naturedly but still leering. "You don't get an ass like that by accident."
"Gonna have to build extra scaffolding just for that rump of yours, buddy."
Their words strum something deep in your belly that you had never realized was there before, warming you until you feel so hot that you take breaks on-site to masturbate to their words. The first time, you take your dick in hand and feel it jump and squirt a bit of pre at the merest touch. All those eyes on your ass...You collect the clear stuff and coat your shaft in it, the slickness of your hand so warm and welcoming. Your cheeks are hot with the humiliation of getting off to people making fun of your butt. You know there's lots more they'd probably love to do to it behind those joking facades. Construction workers are pigs. You should know.
Eventually, as you sit there holding back your moans, you hit some of the sensitive spots on your dick just right with your hand and trigger the inevitable. The cum splashes over the bottom of your shirt, all the way up to your pecs. You clean it off as best you can, but you can tell that everyone knows what the stains are.
It's a real cum-shed moment for you.
From here, things really start to change.
For one, you can't stop touching yourself. It gets to be a problem because your coworkers are starting to catch wise. With your ass and cock being so much more sensitive now, you can barely hold back your noises in the bathroom stalls. More and more, they eyefuck you when you pass, their nostrils flaring slightly because you've begun to emit a strong scent when you're aroused and your cock is leaking freely in your jeans.
Fuck, you're almost grateful when you see what's in your next box. A cage to stop you from touching yourself. You don't even question what kind of subscription box would send you something like that. It's exactly what you need to take back control over your urges. At least, that's what the Lustcraft boys who are locking themselves are saying on the app. You scroll through their messages as you prepare to put it on.
"#locked #CageTheCockFreeTheMind #SlutsDontNut LMAO ever since I locked my dick I can finally concentrate on the important things again. Down, boi!"
"#lockitup #locked Really been getting my pump on since I caged the cobra. Don't remember needing it so badly but I guess looking at all you hot sluts is bound to turn a boi on!"
"#CagedButFree #WeGotThisOnLock #locked #lustlocked Love how my cage looks through my jockstrap!"
You decide to mark the moment by going live on the Lustcraft app, too. You haven't seen anyone you follow show live footage of the moment that they put theirs on. The video of you putting on the cage is just a minute or so long, but you love the subtle humour of the chorus of AFI's Silver and Cold looping in the background, 'Your sins into me, oh my beautiful one...', as you lock yourself into the cold, silver cage and wink at your viewers.
Now that you have it on, the urge to touch your cock slowly dissipates as your body learns that you can't stimulate yourself at all through the metal. Even vibrations don't seem to transfer. You realize that one when you're working the jackhammer on-site to change the foundation of some rich guy's pool.
But you do discover somewhere along the line that the vibrations feel very nice. Your ass jiggles at high speeds in time with the jackhammer and you very nearly fall over before you're able to hit the emergency switch. It feels as though the rapid movement is stroking the inside of your ass in a way that you've never felt before.
But touching yourself there clearly feels like a bridge too far. Through your camera, I can see how curious you are about the sensations and how your locked cock is driving you toward experimenting with your ass. That's by design, of course. I'm surprised by how long you hold out.
In the end, it's the combination of the subliminal messages in the app along with subtle peer pressure from the other Lustcraft boys that does it for you. Although most of our tech has evolved past the need for direct intervention, I cook up something special for you. A little guided meditation about self-acceptance and body positivity.
Once you've been pulled under by the familiar music playing just a little more loudly than usual on the app, the recording instructs you to repeat what you hear.
[ALL BODIES ARE GOOD BODIES.
ALL COCKS ARE GOOD COCKS.
ALL ASSES NEED TO BE FILLED.]
[YOUR BODY IS A GOOD BODY.
YOUR BODY IS A HOT BODY.
YOUR BODY NEEDS TO BE FILLED.]
[LOCKED COCKS ARE GOOD COCKS.
LOCKED COCKS ARE OBEDIENT COCKS.
YOUR COCK OBEYS. YOUR MIND FOLLOWS.]
[YOUR ASS NEEDS TO BE FILLED.
THERE IS A VOID IN YOUR MIND
THAT CAN BE FILLED IN YOUR ASS.]
[YOU NEED TO BE FILLED.
YOU NEED TO FOLLOW.
YOU NEED TO OBEY.]
After you run through the meditation for a few hours, as it continues to play in the background, you find yourself thinking about how all the others in your cohort on the app are making not-so-subtle references to the anal training that they've been doing. That's when you finally realize that the cage wasn't the only thing in your last subscription box. You had been so relieved at the thought of locking up your cock that you barely checked the rest of the contents: a butt plug and tickets to your new favourite band, Velvet Condom.
To slip the reality of the toy by the last remnants of your compulsory heterosexuality and gay panic fears, the plug is elegantly shaped and looks nothing like a dick. It looks almost plant-like, with a little curlicue that you can pull it out by under the flared edges that's reminiscent of a plant shoot or maybe a treble clef.
You stare at it with increasing hunger. You need to be filled. You've repressed yourself for so long. A lifetime.
That's a curious thought. The more you think about it, the more it takes hold. In fact, it isn't even Lustcraft's influence that calls to mind the moment right when all of this started. You find yourself standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, remembering the plastic-wrapped paintings in the mansion that had drawn your attention. The ones that your friends had made fun of. The ones that you had later stopped to look at more closely when you came back for your forgotten tool.
Your face runs hot with shame and need for a moment. There's a kinship between you and those portraits now that you hadn't been able to see before. You don't exactly look like them, but you understand them in a different light. They are unabashed objects of desire. They are meant to be gazed at and they accept those looks with pride. Most of all, they are queer, just like you now understand yourself to be.
That's why you're going to, for the very first time, press your new toy into your hot hole and show it off to your sexy friends.
You have built up this moment so much in your mind that it feels like you're about to undertake one of Hercules' Twelve Labours — or maybe more like take one of the beasts that he faced up your generous ass. You imagine the pain of it and find yourself clenching tight, but as soon as the Lustcraft toy touches the Lustcraft boy, something changes.
Your muscles quiver with warmth as your caged cock stirs against its confines. You feel your hole pulsate as you reach back. You only belatedly realize that you probably shouldn't try for the toy first thing, but it doesn't seem to matter. Although you do not know it, the touch of the enchanted toy has triggered a transformation in your existing secretion glands. It is my latest gift to you and your future owner: context-appropriate auto-lubrication. It is triggered by your need to be filled when the possibility is at hand.
The hunger in you flares as the pheromones in your own slick waft through your bathroom. You remember how forbidden the idea of putting anything up your ass had once been. How, even a few hours ago, it had made your stomach clench. But you cannot call up those feelings anymore. Instead, there's just urgency. You find yourself breathing faster in anticipation, your hole still leaking and fluttering.
I can see the moment in your eyes when you finally say, 'fuck it', forgetting all about the preparation and going slow for your first time, and let your ass swallow up the first inches of the toy as you press the outer ring of muscle around it. Your formerly chaste hole stretches with a pleasurable tingle. As you press the toy in at different angles, the mindfulness features of the Lustcraft app send slow pulsations to your fitness tracker watch, reminding you to breathe. You exhale in gusts as your channel accepts more and more of the toy inside.
As you move to your bed, a curious sensation makes you pause. You feel as though the toy is shifting and reshaping itself inside of you. It makes you squirm as the toy's soft silicon seems to grow hefty nubs in a circular pattern near its base, about an inch or so inside of you.
There's a tender pad of flesh around that spot that those nubs make you suddenly and achingly aware of. It almost feels as though you have to pee but in a good way. There's an increase in pressure that makes you want to grind against the toy and you're well past holding back. You grind rhythmically against the toy, which seems to be fucking you and pulsating even though your hand is nowhere near it. Your locked dick leaks just a little as you thrust back and squeeze around the new nubs.
With your hands now free, you feel compelled to share an update with your Lustcraft followers. Your face is flushed, your eyes lidded, and your lips turned up in a blissed-out smile. The tip of the toy is just peeking out from over the mounds of your ass as you lean on one arm on your bed.
Once you choose the hottest photo, you use an oil paint filter over top to make yourself look even more like the models in the paintings at the mansion. Your accompanying message is from the heart.
"#P_is_4_Prostate ;) LOL The Cure said it best in Mint Car:
'The sun is up / I'm so fizzy I could burst! / Yeah you wet through and me headfirst / Into this is perfect / It's all I ever wanted / Ow! It feels so big it almost hurts!'
Never felt so full of joy at all the new experiences I'm having! Never felt so free! Love you all!"
Once you post, you feel a mounting pressure as the toy keeps fucking you. There's a deep, almost aching sensation that thrums through your body before you lose yourself to the bliss that floods through your whole body, making your legs shake and your back arch. At first, your instinct is to bear down and take control, but the more that you relax into it, the better it feels.
Soon, as you give in and let it happen, it intensifies for a few seconds longer before fading into a pleasurable full-body glow of relaxation and goodness. You fall asleep with some of your juices still glistening on your cage, the aching need in your cock as strong as ever, but under control now with you unable to touch it.
A few hours later, when you wake up, you log into a social media app other than the Lustcraft app. It's been weeks but nobody seems to have noticed your absence. You keep the post simple, the tension in your body making you fumble a little as you type out the words.
"There's a part of myself that I need to let come up for air. No better time to start living my truth or whatever, I guess. I love you all. I wanted to let you know that I am bisexual. I always have been. I just finally stopped being scared of myself. If you have a problem with that, feel free to unfriend and unfollow. But what I want to focus on right now is queer joy! I'm so ready to find out who I am now that I have stopped being afraid."
Of course, all of us at Lustcraft are delighted for you. Your open use of the word 'queer', once said with derision and disdain and now said with joyful defiance, is something that our design team takes special note of. Personally, I consider your newfound comfort with that vocabulary a sign that exposure to the Lustcraft app is having positive unintended consequences. You are blossoming into a very good boy indeed.
Of course, we still have a ways to go, but I can see that it won't be a problem for you. Now that we have a strong foundation, we can work further toward customization.
What happens next is that you win a contest on the Lustcraft app. himbo_classic_massage asks his followers to film a video of themselves answering the question "Where do you hold tension in your body?"
In your video, you are sure to show off your round peach of an ass as you explain how much you would just love a glute release maneuver. Giggling at your own joke, you rub at your own cheeks, asking rhetorically about whether this is the best way to warm up the muscles. Your performance could have probably won the contest on its own merits if it weren't for the fact that you are already slated to have this particular treatment. Known as Lustcraft is for our artisanal goods, we can't leave anything totally to chance.
So, himbo_classic_massage turns up at your door with a duffel bag full of stuff and a big folding massage table over one hunky shoulder. He's a tan, beefy blond in a red tank top. He looks like he's good with his hands, which is a blessing since he is otherwise, exactly as advertised, a total himbo.
Once the table is set up and you're nude and ready on it, the himbo starts by pressing your shoulders, lower back and legs into the table. You feel your body settle and then his slick, warm hands begin spreading a cool substance over your skin. It tingles pleasurably everywhere that it touches.
As those strong, smooth hands glide over your body, the tingle intensifies. It's almost like having one of those muscle balms on your skin. It seems to really penetrate deep into your tissues.
"Gonna feel like a new man when I'm done with you, bro. Just gonna turn all those tense muscles into jelly for you just like you wanted. Relax and enjoy," says the himbo.
Although you had asked for a glute release, the massage therapist barely touches your bubble butt. Later on, it becomes very clear why. But for now, you lie on the table and enter into a trance-like state of relaxation.
Mid-massage, you flip over, and it feels as though your muscles are made of spaghetti. You're so relaxed that it's much harder than usual to get yourself moving and lift yourself for the flip. Eventually, you pull yourself together enough to manage it, and you can finally see your hot massage therapist as he works. You don't feel too embarrassed when your cock fills its cage, but you do wish that you were still face-down and that this guy could be massaging the inner lining of your hungry love channel.
Your body responds to the massage therapist's firm pressure by eagerly giving in to his every touch. Everywhere that he spreads the lotion with what he tells you is called "effleurage", though he pronounces it so that it sounds more like "eff-flow-rage", your muscles seem to melt like butter. All too soon, he stops with one last firm press into your shoulders and ankles.
"All right, little dude, massage is done. Normally I'd, like, stroke your cock or something, but you've got that sweet cage on, so I guess you wouldn't be into that," says the himbo with a friendly smile, patting you gently on the head. "If you think I did a good job, maybe you and I could film a little testimonial?"
Still in a bit of a daze, you agree.
"Probably best if you take a shower first, though — you're covered in massage lotion and it's like, messing up your hair," says your massage therapist, smoothing down your hair a little more. "While you do that, I can pack up my stuff."
It doesn't take you very long to grab a towel and head to the shower. You notice that the himbo was right. Your body hair seems to be matted down into whorls by the massage lotion. You would have looked pretty funny if you had filmed the testimonial like that.
As you step into the shower, you notice that your muscles are still tingling from the massage. The hot water seems to activate even more tingling. You close your eyes and enjoy it, which is how I watch you miss almost all of your body hair below the eyebrows run swirling down the drain. When you finally open your eyes to grab some shampoo, you notice that there's more hair collected near the drain than usual, but you chalk that up to the friction of the massage pulling a few more hairs loose that you would have otherwise lost a little later. You are so used to rationalizing the changes in your life now. Frankly, it's adorable.
After you happily wash and condition your hair with the same enthusiasm that I brainwash and condition your mind on the daily, you finally step out of the shower. The mirror is fogged up, so you don't see your body as you dry yourself off and brush your hair quickly before going out to meet your guest again in just your towel.
"Wow, that's a cute look on you, buddy," says the himbo. He sits down on your couch and pats his monstrous big thighs. You blush a little, smiling at the compliment, and seat yourself in his lap. The towel catches and his hard-on immediately slides between your cheeks like a hotdog in a bun. You gasp softly, but the himbo just holds you close, innocent-like, and pulls out his phone, pointing it at the pair of you.
And that's when you see yourself for the first time since before the massage. You let out a half-horrified, half-aroused gasp at the sight of your completely bare skin. Thinking that it might be a phone touch-up filter or something that bodybuilder guys like the himbo use, you run your hands up and down your arms. On top of your muscles still tingling, the touch feels fucking amazing. So smooth and slick, so soft and well-moisturized...
"Hey, my dude, ready to film that testimonial for my Lustcraft channel?" says the himbo, ruffling your just-brushed hair playfully as he smiles at your reflection in the camera.
You take another moment to look at yourself, looking so soft and sleek, before you nod.
"Hey, guys, this is Himbo Classic Massage coming to you from our contest winner's apartment where he just had what I hope was a life-changing massage. But rather than me talking myself up, I thought you should hear it from him. Say hi, dude!"
The himbo's sweet smile is dazzling as he turns the camera so that you're centred in the frame, resting his other hand casually on your thigh beneath the towel. Flustered, it takes you a second to figure out what to say.
"H-hi! Uhm, I've never had a massage like that before. All of you Lustcraft boys are missing out on Himbo Classic Massage's magic fingers right now. Honestly, my muscles are still tingling with how good and relaxing it felt," you say, smiling shyly and speaking with increasing confidence.
"You heard the bro! So anyway, links in bio for making a booking with me, and my schedule fills up pretty early, so definitely get on that if you want my hands on your body. Don't forget to like and suck-scribe!"
The himbo stops filming and hugs his big, meaty arms around your frame. "That was so sweet, bro. Thanks. I gotta go for my next appointment now, but you should totally book again — I'll email you a repeat customer discount code."
You just stare as he gathers up all his gear and leaves you standing there with no body hair. I can see you wondering why you didn't bring it up with him, but you don't have any urge to call him back. After all, you definitely look hot like this.
You take a ton of selfies, telling yourself that this is the best way to make sure that you see every angle to assess what has happened. You know that lots of guys would be at the very least perturbed about a massage therapist using some kind of depilatory lotion on them, but having met himbo_classic_massage*, you think it might have honestly been a genuine mistake.
Of course, some of the selfies wind up on the Lustcraft app. You have to show your friends your new look. Of course, they approve wholeheartedly, #SilkySlut. You tell yourself that you can always grow it back if you decide you don't like it. But we both know it won't be coming back.
Meanwhile, your muscles continue to tingle. The feeling is distractingly good. Back at work, things had settled down for a while with your cage to keep you under control. But now, your coworkers are starting to notice a new problem.
"Never going to finish on time if you keep bringing that crushed rock one bag at a time, man. Dude, what are they, thirty pounds a piece? Get the fucking wheelbarrow if you've got a sore back from taking it up the ass, man," sneers one of your colleagues.
At first, you blush at the mention of sex and the images of getting fucked that go through your head. Then, there's the underlying shame and anger. Clearly, they've been developing opinions about you. Opinions that you used to share with them about other guys you thought of as weak, effeminate, or gay. Not to mention other words that you don't even want to say anymore. You feel disgusted with your past self and with your coworkers. Fucking jerks.
This time, at least, your foreman steps in. "Hey, I don't want to hear nothing like that out of you again, bucko."
"I'm just concerned for my coworker's wellbeing, boss. If his lower back is injured, he should use a work adaptation. I didn't say anal was bad or anything — ask your sister, she loves it when I come by."
"That's strike two, buddy..."
But then, you're also forced to confront the other part of what that asshole said. The foreman comes up to you after he finishes giving your coworker a talking-to and nods to the bag in your arms. "You have seemed a little under the weather lately, you know. I ain't never seen you carry less than three bags at a time, even the fifty-pounders."
It is so adorable how your face contorts in confusion. You've been carrying as much as you can, just like you always have.
"If you are injured, we gotta file a report. If it's something else, you can tell me. I know you've been going through some...changes. You've always been a hard worker and I see that. You don't cut corners. I like that. Do you maybe need some time off?"
In the end, the foreman helps you file a request for medical leave and, bless him, even forges the details of an accident report to help you get better benefits while you're off.
When you get home that afternoon, I watch you strip off and examine your body, comparing them to the many selfies you took when himbo_classic_massage accidentally rid you of your body hair.
"Holy fuck," you whisper.
Your muscles have shrunk. A lot.
You used to be a bit of an otter, but now you don't have any fur or bulk to speak of. Your biceps were maybe fifteen inches before, not that you ever really measured. You weren't a gym bunny, you just worked hard every day and had the endurance and muscle to show for it. Now, the cloth tape places them at about twelve and a half. You reassure yourself that they still have a nice shape, but they make your arms look so small.
Your chest, quads and calves have shrunk, too. The only part of you that hasn't is your ass, which looks even more enormous by comparison. Your eyes are drawn to it in the mirror, just like everyone else's will be, now.
There's only one word for someone who looks like you, now, as your Lustcraft app friends are quick to tell you when you post dismayed selfies, your plump peach of an ass peeking out from behind you.
"Werk that Twink ass, sweetheart!"
"OMG, you look so cute as a twink. Is that a filter or what?"
"How did you get rid of all that bulky man muscle so fast? HOOOT!!!"
You decide to go live on Lustcraft. As they tune in, you tell all your friends about how you're feeling.
As you tearfully listen to The Cure's Boys Don't Cry*, you tell them how their words aren't really cheering you up, this time. You share all the nasty comments from your coworkers. You explain how you're about to lose your livelihood since you won't be able to physically meet your job requirements. Looking back, your life has gotten so much better these past few months, even though there were lots of surprises. You've come through a lot with the support of the Lustcraft community and you are so grateful, you say, tearful.
But that little pocket of acceptance and goodness can't erase all the toxic fucking masculinity in the world that surrounds you. All your life, you had been too scared to do anything but go along with the bullying that you saw, the comments against the very sort of people that are now closest to you, who you share your most intimate moments and new experiences with. You felt the need to add to it all so that they wouldn't look at you.
"Fuck those assholes," your audience says. "Your existence is an act of queer resistance. You are part of a tradition of non-tradition. Your difference can be your strength."
They say it in lots of different ways, an outpouring of support that you couldn't have dreamed of before you became a Lustcraft boy, but that's what you take away from it. After the live, you do a little research and read about some of the movements they mention. You read about drag and ballroom culture. You read about pride movements and protests, about collective action and solidarity. You learn, "Not gay as in happy, but queer as in fuck you!"
You decide that you want to be a part of it all. You want those asshole guys to look at you and doubt their own sexuality. You want to wear your queerness like a suit of armour.
So you go to Sephora.
The makeup specialist there tells you that you have very nice skin. She immediately recommends a foundation to match that has 60 SPF sunblock in it so that you don't sunburn. As you talk with her, she is totally on board with the idea of queer self-expression as an act of resistance, and then, looking you over, tells you that you would make an adorable goth. She then goes on to explain a little bit about androgynous fashion movements in goth subcultures as she introduces you to the Urban Decay section.
You buy eyeshadows in black, purple, blood red and midnight blue, with liquid lipsticks to match, the kind that are meant to stay on through anything without smudging. You get eyeliner and a contour palette, and you learn about blending with your new makeup brushes, guided by the kind specialist.
I only know this because you went live on Lustcraft to show off your purchases afterwards, blasting Siouxsie and the Banshees. I thought that I would have to send you a box full of your first goth makeup, but you came to the conclusion all on your own. Perfection.
The transition to hot goth twink isn't without its challenges. The first time that you put your makeup on yourself, you freeze at your door, afraid to go out in public. You delay by snapping a few photos, waiting for the validation from your friends on the app that you know will come, hoping it'll lend you courage. When it does, that gives you enough of a boost to go out your front door. But every time that you pass someone in the street, you feel as though they're staring at you. Your foundation hides your fierce blushing.
Each time, it gets a little easier, until you begin to experiment further with your clothing, too, even buying a cute black pleated skirt and suspenders to wear over a tight black tee that highlights the curves of your remaining muscle, along with a pair of knee-high leather boots with just a bit of a heel to them that lace all the way up.
There is just one item left to tick off the client's requisition form: you need an oral fixation.
You receive a request from your rich odd-jobs client to come by about some changes at his place. You like working for him. He is respectful and pays well, not to mention that with your newfound appreciation for queer culture, you would sort of like to have another look at his painting gallery. You accept enthusiastically.
Out of a sense of professionalism, Lustcraft sends encouragement and programming over the app to make you more receptive to what is about to happen, but it is hardly necessary. You have been leading the way for some time now, embracing the changes and the freedom from shame that they've brought.
The other thing you receive in your latest subscription box, in addition to some more makeup and a few articles of clothing, is a supply of Lustcraft Throat GOAT gum.
You see, fixations are tricky. They aren't just about accepting changes and being willing to give the occasional blowjob. They're about forming habits and obsessions. And creating the ideal cocksucker means equipping your mouth and throat to handle all comers, so to speak.
At this point, you always try everything that you are sent in your subscription box, so when your throat feels a little dry on your way to see the client, you pop in a piece of gum to help you make a bit of saliva.
You almost immediately notice the tingle that often seems to accompany changes in your life these days, but these days, it just excites you, and you leak through your cage until a wet spot shows through your black shorts. Meanwhile, your self-lubing ass is kept under control by your now-usual plug.
As soon as you step into the foyer, you can feel his eyes on you. You know you look a little different than the last time you came over to fix up some lighting. You also know you're worth staring at because all the other Lustcraft boys say so. So, instead of demurring, you stand with your hands on your hips, ass jutting out, head tilted, and turn your gaze back on your client.
You can see him in a different light now. He looks surprised but not unhappy at your newfound confidence. You had thought him a fancy queer when you had first met him and those thoughts had not been complimentary. Now, you realize that he knows how to dress to accentuate his best features. You're ashamed of how you used to think but you try to have empathy for the closeted guy that you were who thought he had to push away anything remotely gay to protect himself.
The client speaks first.
"Your new look suits you better than I could have anticipated."
You chuckle at the thought of him anticipating your coming out and your changes in fashion. The thought is ridiculous...until it isn't. You are reminded of who gave you the subscription box.
He has an almost shy, hopeful expression on his face. "I hope you are enjoying all this. I did ask them to make it pleasurable for you. Even faced with the inevitable, there's no need to be cruel. Are you? Enjoying yourself, I mean."
You aren't sure what to say. Your expression says that it's all so obvious to you in hindsight, but I hope you don't feel too bad. The Lustcraft App programmed you to accept the changes and ignore anything that could cause too much cognitive dissonance.
Plus, you have enjoyed it, haven't you?
You think back to all the new experiences you've had, each of them surprising and sensual, each of them giving you a little more freedom even as they shaped you for an owner. You think of all the Lustcraft boys and how you've supported each other through it all. You think of the first time that you used the word "queer" for yourself, and how you look with a freshly applied coat of dark lipstick.
You nod at the client. You explain how good it feels to feel so free.
"Good," says the client, taking a step forward. "Full disclosure, I could tell that you were so far into the closet that you were convinced that there wasn't anything outside of it. That's why I chose you. But...I'm not that altruistic."
He chose you to be his goth twink fucktoy. He hasn't worked himself up to saying it aloud, but you can feel it like a pull in your chest. You say so.
"That's right. You're my toy. How do you feel about it?"
You ask if it matters, your cock trying to harden in its cage, your hole pulsating around its plug.
"Yeah, it does. I don't want you to suffer. Lustcraft can fix it if you aren't happy."
But despite how it should feel to have been controlled and transformed this way, you feel a bloom of relief in your chest that there's someone who wants to use you and take care of you. You know he can afford to. You shake your head and tell him that nothing needs fixing. Except...you ask what the gum is for.
"Ah, smart boy. That's improving the elasticity and flexibility of your throat tissues, jaw muscles, and tongue. Along with whatever else Lustcraft has put in to make you physically capable of taking more cock for longer," your owner says as he smiles and places a hand on your shoulder.
He walks away briefly and returns with a plush round cushion, which he places on the floor in front of him. Taking you by the hand, he leads you to it and helps you kneel on it. He caresses your dark hair and pale cheek.
"I'm going to give you an oral fixation. Lustcraft and I agreed that it would be fun if I finished off this last step myself. Doesn't that sound nice?"
The gum is making you salivate. Or maybe it's the thought of being given an addiction to having things put in your mouth. You nod and say yes.
Your owner runs a meticulously cared-for digit along your soft, black-painted lips, then presses it inward. Your lips part and you accept it in, allowing him to explore your mouth, rubbing at the roof of your mouth and gently running his finger along your teeth and gums.
He comes across the bit of Throat GOAT gum and grins. "You can swallow that. It'll dissolve safely in your stomach. I asked what would happen if I pushed it down your throat with my cock."
An aroused heat spreads through you. You swallow the gum and the tingle follows down your esophagus.
As your owner continues to tease your mouth with his finger, he uses his other hand to free his cock. It hangs there, swaying slightly, and you feel an eagerness as you imagine yourself helplessly addicted to it, needing it in your mouth. But your owner doesn't bring it any nearer.
This will be your first. You find yourself staring at it as the man standing over you continues to play with your mouth with his fingers. You salivate around them.
"Aww, needy little suckhole. Keep watching that cock and imagine it in your mouth. I'm going to pull my fingers out and I want you to say, 'Please, Weston, sir, let me suck your cock.'"
When your mouth is free, you repeat after him.
"No," Weston answers, ruffling your hair and thrusting his crotch forward so that you can smell his cock, can see the way the tip glistens with untasted pre-cum. "I think I can make you need it more than that. So I will."
Your owner gestures for you to get up and follow him. He picks up your cushion and carries it with him as he leads you to a part of the mansion that you haven't seen before. Someone has put work into setting up the dungeon that he leads you into just for today.
The room is a display of oral delights. Projected onto the wall are all sorts of phallic treats: dripping popsicles, bulbous lollipops, bananas, and all manner of dildos. Standing on a pedestal is a pair of blood-red noise-cancelling headphones. On display next to that is an inflatable cock gag and, beside that, a black rubber ring gag larger in diameter than you have ever seen before.
"Your choice here will tell me something about your personality, dear heart," says Weston, extending an arm toward the display of objects. "The headphones are an easy fix. If you choose them, they will induct you within seconds, habituated as you are to the Lustcraft app. For six hours, you will be subjected to a wall of sound telling you how addicted to cocksucking you are, how much you love sucking and serving with your mouth, how you cannot resist the sight of a hard cock. The resulting fixation will be so strong that your mouth will never be empty again."
Your owner moves on to the inflatable gag. "If you choose this inflatable gag, you won't suck a real cock for a good month or more. Your mouth will be sealed with this instead. You'll even take your meals from it. You will slowly grow used to the way that it changes shape and size in your mouth as we steadily reinforce your need with praise and patience. You will earn your first cock this way with devotion to your cocksucking practice."
The third object, the rubber ring gag, he picks up and lays against his face as he speaks to show you just how big it is. Could anyone's mouth stretch so wide for any real length of time? You think of the tingling in your mouth and throat from the gum.
"If you choose this ring gag, I'll be able to shove anything that I want to down your throat, any time that I choose. But so will anyone else. Your mouth will be a hole for indiscriminate free use, and I assure you that I can find plenty of reasons to send you out into the world on errands that will take you all over the city. I'm sure you'll learn to take what you're given quickly enough. But no matter how quickly you grow accustomed to it, it won't come off until I decide. You'll be a communal cocksucker, not even able to form the words to tell anyone 'no', with your mouth kept open like that."
Each option has its own appeal. You kneel on your cushion and think. Weston comes up behind you and lays his hands on your shoulders.
You love the idea of letting Lustcraft reshape your mind further. The app has made sure of that. To be powerless as new needs imprint themselves on your brain at a pace that your thoughts can't even keep up with...it's a tantalizing idea. It would be so easy to give in...
But maybe that would make your new owner think that you're not willing to put in the work to be a good fucktoy for him. The inflatable gag would show exactly how devoted and patient you can be. How much you want to prove yourself to him. It would be hot, too, being classically trained day by day, until your behaviour toward cock is to automatically drool and open your throat wide.
At the same time, you need to be used by your owner now. If you choose the ring gag, he might decide to use his hard cock on your throat today. He might give you your first taste of someone else's cum. Then maybe he'll send you out to find men to service somewhere public, like a local park or even back to your old work. You don't think your coworkers would resist your warm, wet hole, no matter how straight they say they are.
Then again, he might not. He might leave you waiting with nothing, maybe mist your mouth with a spray bottle from time to time so your throat doesn't dry out too badly. Weston seems kind enough to do that.
You close your eyes to think, trying to shut out all the flashy distractions, the projections and the toys, and take a deep breath. A subtle scent tickles the edges of your awareness. As you wonder what you should do, you find yourself focusing on the smell and shift a little on your knees, your cock trying to harden in response to whatever it is, your tight cage helping you keep things under control.
You feel ashamed. Instead of thinking about what choice to take as your new owner waits behind you, you're squirming uselessly and thinking of your locked cock. The only thing that you can think of is to apologize and tell him that you're not responsible enough to make this decision.
You turn toward him as he moves his hands away from your shoulders in surprise. The smell grows stronger and you realize that it's Weston's long, dripping cock. You lower your head to the ground, staring up at it with longing, Weston's face smiling at you from beyond it.
"What is it?"
You close your eyes and swallow your drool enough to speak. "Please, Weston, sir, all of it sounds good to me. I don't know what to choose."
Weston puts a finger to his lips, still smiling. "Hmm, indecisive, are we? No, I think maybe you're worried about what I'll think about you. Want to give up total control to me and let me make your decisions for you? Tell me, fucktoy."
"I need my owner to make my decisions, sir. I want you to choose for me," you say, and the relief is palpable. You feel a thrill pass through your body at the idea of submitting so completely. With another deep breath of Weston's scent, your mouth falls open and drool floods your mouth again.
"Good toy. Even just thinking of your oral training has got you fixated, doesn't it?" says Weston, his hands running through your hair.
"Yes, sir," you say, swallowing. Staring. The cock bobs in the air, the leaking head so close to your face that you could snake out your tongue and touch it.
"You want to feed your fascination with cock, don't you?" Weston suggests, collecting the pre-cum from his cock onto his fingers and spreading it across your upper lip, right under your nose where you can smell it stronger than ever.
"Yes, sir," you reply, holding yourself back from licking your lip. You have to keep swallowing to keep your salivation under control. You imagine what it would be like for your owner's cock to stretch your slutty, untouched throat.
"You're so trainable. You've got a budding oral fixation and you haven't even tasted your first real cock. But you know that as soon as you do, you'll be a cock addict, isn't that right?"
"Y-yes, sir," you say, leaning forward almost imperceptibly toward the cock that takes up your whole awareness. Just to be nearer to it. Your desperation is growing, leaking out of your confined cock and down your smooth, creamy thighs.
"I can see how much you need it. Just waiting for permission to addict yourself to your owner's cock. If you want it, you have to take this last step yourself. I give you permission. Choose to submit to your needs, to become an orally fixated goth twink fucktoy," come Weston's words from somewhere above you, but your whole world is that firm shaft, the shining plum head, the silky-looking skin.
You perform perfectly.
If you were anyone else, you might have taken one last moment to look around, to evaluate your choices and maybe think about whether this is the life that you want for yourself. But you are a Lustcraft boy, remade to order with such exacting perfection that you have taken yourself further than we ever could have without your now-willing participation.
Your dark-painted lips part and you push your head forward onto your prize. It slides down your throat with no resistance, stretching you open like you've never felt before, in a way that would have been impossible before today. You feel the fixation take hold; a craving somewhere deep in your belly that you know will be with you from now on, only even partway sated when your mouth is being used.
Weston pulls partway out so that the tip is resting against your tongue. He jerks himself into your mouth and a jet of pre-cum splashes against your tongue. To your surprise, it tastes just like Lustcraft Throat GOAT gum.
Your owner keeps stroking his cock, letting it rest there as your cravings increase. Having a cock in your mouth is great, but now that your thrussy has been adequately stretched, what you really want is to have it back down your throat as deep as it can go.
You whine a little and look up into his eyes. The need that he sees there does something to him and he grabs the back of your head, feeding his length back down your throat excruciatingly slowly. The sight of your oral addiction having taken such firm hold of you makes him hot but he's in control and he knows how much the leisurely pace teases you. He wants to drive you mad with need and it's working.
All of it just reinforces that you're a toy for his use. After he finally hilts himself in you, Weston stands there for almost a minute, pressing his pubic bone against your nose so you can inhale his scent. "This is what you wanted, right? This scent? This feeling of having your throat stretched and filled?"
You make an unintelligible noise of fuckdrunk assent and he finally pulls back for you to breathe. Then, he pushes forward again, not quite slamming his cock back down into you. Some deeply buried instinct keeps your throat relaxed, swallowing steadily to pulsate around your owner's unrelenting shaft.
Finally, his hips still and he rests his corona against your lower lip. "Show me what a Lustcraft boy can do. Make me cum."
Although it's your first time, you are a Lustcraft boy and that means something. Those same instincts, implanted via the Lustcraft app, take over. You grip the base of his dick with one hand and start to roll his balls around in the other, stroking and caressing them, as you kiss the cockhead, probing the slit of his urethra with your tongue. He hisses at how sensitive it is but stays still.
You lick around the rim of the glans before pulling it into your hot, wet mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He groans when you nibble at the flange and you soothe over the spot with small, soft licks. Bit by bit, you learn about your owner's delicious dick and its preferences.
Then you start in on trying to make your owner cum for real. You've barely got him halfway down your throat when a muscle spasm makes the entire channel constrict around him all at once. His eyes roll back and he groans, hot semen pouring across your tongue. As it splatters against the walls of your throat, your cock throbs in its tight cage and you cum, too.
Weston pulls out and rubs his softening semi against your cheek, the spit and cum glistening on your skin. Cum-drunk, you sort of lose track of things for a while, trusting your owner to take care of you. You let him lead you to a nest of pillows and blankets in the next room over and close your eyes.
When you wake up, Weston calls you to the gallery.
"I did have an actual need for your handyman services, dear slut," he says, rubbing your shoulders affectionately. He points to a large brown paper package and a toolbox. "I need this painting hung."
You waste no time getting to work on your owner's orders as he watches you. To protect the front of the painting in case of any accidents, you only expose the back enough to get at the picture wire and hardware secured to the back of the frame. You work quickly, wasting no time in grabbing your laser level and finding a beam in the wall to anchor the painting.
About fifteen minutes later, the portrait hangs perfectly evenly in the gallery. All that's left is to pull away the protective brown paper. Weston takes one side and you take the other, tearing it away like you're opening a present.
Your mouth falls open in surprise and admiration. It's a painting in the same style as the rest of the collection of sensual male bodies.
The latest portrait in the gallery is you, likely based on one of your Lustcraft app selfies. You're glancing over your shoulder, your full lips painted onyx black, your eyes, their intensity dialled up by your dark purple eyeshadow, seeking the viewer alluringly. The pose puts your ass on full display in tight leather shorts, an elaborate corset and harness decorating your torso. There is an unashamed, proud masculinity to it that you wouldn't have expected from a guy in full makeup. You've never seen yourself this way before and it's euphoric.
As you both step down from your ladders to look at it further, your owner puts an arm around your shoulders. "Look at yourself, the perfect poster-slut. The Lustcraft quality guarantee delivers yet again."
All he has to do is give a little push and you're on your knees, nuzzling his crotch as you take a selfie with the painting above you to show all the other Lustcraft boys in your cohort.
"Is it weird that I'm attracted to my own ass? #LustcraftBoy #SelfPortraitWithMyPortrait #GothTwinkWithAnOralFixation"
I wish that I could say that this was all Lustcraft's doing, but at the end of the day, you really embraced what it meant to be a Lustcraft boy and took your training into your own hands. I guess that, this time around, the Lustcraft seal of approval comes in the form of you sealing your lips around your owner's cock as the likes and comments roll in.
While you and your new owner enjoy all the benefits of being Lustcraft patrons together, I return to my workshop. At Lustcraft, there are always more toys to design and products to test. Our next round of subscription boxes will be shipping soon. I think I saw one of your coworker's names on our list. I'm sure he'll enjoy our products just as much as you've enjoyed becoming one of them.
Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought!
For more of my work, check out https://kinkymind.games and follow me on Twitter!