Description A straight man realizes he's gay in the bathroom and that he's been hungry for cock all this time.
|Updated||08 Dec 2017|
I was in bathroom at the bank of urinals, doing my thing, when a wave of heat washed over me. I blinked and shook my head and looked around to see if anyone else noticed it. No one else reacted; it was the usual day, a bunch of guys in the restroom, everyone… hot as always?
I had to think about that. Guys being in the restroom is normal, but I guess so is thinking they’re hot. It’s weird, I didn’t always think that but now I always did? I decided to stop thinking too hard and get to business. I pulled my dick out and looked over at the guy next to me appraisingly (hadn’t there been dividers? guess not…) and gave him a nod. He nodded back, his big smile looked really good with his shoulders and his chest, strong but not overmuscled, showing well through his thin shirt. Lucky for me those semitransparent shirts were in fashion, among men and women I remembered. At that thought of commonly visible breasts in public, I felt a bit of a chubby starting, distracting me from my mission. But even more distracting was the cock next to me. Even peeing, watching a semi-hard cock (as most of the guys’ cocks were) always got me feeling hot (did it?). I turned my attention back to my own business and felt another wave of heat, making me stumble.
As it passed I felt the warmth of a strong chest against my bare back. I leaned into it with a sigh. “You okay?” the guy next to me asked as he held me up. I wanted to relax in his solid chest for a while, but it’d be weird in a bathroom like that. I turned and just smiled up at him, letting my hand fall down his chest and graze his semi-hard cock. “Thanks,” I said, “but I’m fine. Just stumbled a moment.” I straightened up and he rubbed my back, his large hand making me shiver slightly. The other guys in the restroom hadn’t noticed me, but they looked amazingly attractive. Not everyone was muscled, of course, there were plenty of twinks who looked really yummy, but everyone, young or old, looked good topless. Of course they were—everyone was. They had always been, right? Yeah. Always.
Another warm spell hit me and I shook my head and turned back to the urinal, sticking my semi-hard dick in his mouth, when a poster caught my eye. It was an ad for the local conversion center showing a naked man standing in a bathroom in front of another, kneeling man looking up at the first with hunger. His tongue was out with the tip of the man’s cock just resting on it. The sign said, “Conversion eliminates waste and hunger. Modifications available.” Below me, the urinal was licking and bobbing his head on my cock as it quickly hardened up. I put one hand on my bare waist and another on his head, petting his short black hair. He responded with enthusiasm and I looked over at my neighbor, but he was paying attention to his own urinal of course. Something felt off, like I wasn’t supposed to be getting a blowjob in a bathroom, but that was crazy. The conversion posters, all around the restroom, made that clear. This was how things had always been. My neighbor’s poster showed a splash of cum in an open mouth and read, “When you have to go: cum.” Across the way another poster showed a hungry twink looking at a pair of dicks saying, “Hungry? Eat a bag of dicks.”
Now I remembered, all these hot flashes had made me a bit confused, but reading the posters and watching the men around the restroom relieving themselves reminded me. The conversion happened when you were young, just starting puberty for both boys and girls. Your body was reworked so that instead of waste, it just produced cum. This meant you ate less, of course, but it also meant your body was more efficient, hence the lean profiles and easy muscles most people sported. And when you were hungry, you could just go down on someone. A few people was usually enough since people came a lot more than they used to. More? The procedure was kinda new, but “more” seemed wrong. More implied a before, and things had always been this way. I had to remember that. But that was easy as I was close to cumming now. I reached both hands down to my urinal’s face, stroking it and tousling his hair. He took me deep, bobbing up and down and then I started. Cumming slowly first, then faster. It always started in spurts and became almost a stream. As it started, suddenly I felt someone behind me, wrapping strong arms around my bare chest and a cock pressing into my ass. I started and turned my head. My neighbor leaned in and kissed me. Almost instinctively I raised my ass a bit and let him in.
He was huge. A side effect of the procedure was larger cocks but as a poster on the far wall said, modifications were available. My ass was self-lubricating and as the procedure generally simplified digestive systems, it easily accommodated big cocks. My neighbor was big, probably modified beyond the procedure, and it felt really good. Right there in the restroom, getting fucked while getting a really good blowjob. It interrupted my cumming for a moment, but then I felt hands on either side of my hips and in one smooth motion my neighbor lifted me and settled me on his own hips, no longer thrusting but just using me to masturbate, just as I was using the urinal boy. It felt really good, not just physically, but I liked being used like this. I remembered topping men, and women, in the past (most women were lesbians now? always?) but this bottoming felt really good, like his cock reached something deep inside me, that feeling of being used even deeper a penetration than his enormous dick. I barely even registered that he had just cum once and now was hard in me. “Finish up,” he said and I nodded and with a few more spurts I was done. My urinal opened his mouth to show me the cum proudly, but I barely noticed and he swallowed. I didn’t care. I sighed and looked back at my neighbor, my impaler. Even though I had just cum, I was still hard. He turned me around on his dick to face him and kissed me. I wrapped my legs around him and after a moment rested my head on his shoulder. He walked out of the restroom carrying me, his dick thrusting up in rhythm with his legs, my cock rubbing against his stomach.
He carried me back to his place like that. I couldn’t catch a break, the whole way I was hard with the stimulation. We were making out as he carried me to his bathroom. I was confused at first until I saw he didn’t have a toilet at all. He lifted me off his cock and set me down in its place and I looked up at him and smiled. He said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” I wondered where he was going but a quick wave of warmth made that go away. I just hoped I would be useful. I wanted to look down at my cock, but he said don’t move, so I couldn’t even if I wanted to. And then I realized I couldn’t want to, and that made me feel good. He came back a moment later with a small box and knelt down in front of me. First he attached a collar around my neck, with a short chain to anchor it right against the wall. It was helpful because the collar also had a metal towel bar attached. Then he took my arms and pulled them up and pushed them into two depressions in the wall. My legs he spread slightly so they lay correctly in the floor depressions. I was a little confused, but then he pulled out a putty knife and a bucket and I realized what he was about to do. It made me feel good that he wanted to keep me in place. Opening the bucket he began scooping out cement and began filling in the depressions in the wall, covering my arms up to the elbow and legs up to the knees. My breathing quickened and I realized how fulfilling it was to be an object. I was going to be a piece of furniture for the rest of my life, now. I wondered if he’d ever let me cum because my cock was harder than it had ever been and I was starting to need to go. He was finished with the cement and pulled out a large butt plug from the box, modeled exactly after his dick. He reached around and stuck it in my ass; I wanted to quiver and moan, but I couldn’t. Objects didn’t move.
He stood and smiled, admiring his handiwork. “Alright, Toilet, don’t move for a little while and let that set. I know it’ll be a bit tough, but you can’t cum anymore. Not unless I let you.” He nudged my cock with his foot to illustrate his point and a little bit of cum leaked out. I would never cum unless he touched me and got me off. I was so glad. “Here, open your mouth, Toilet. Don’t worry, it won’t dry out.” He started putting things back in the box. “I thought you were really cute back in the bathroom, stumbling and forgetting how to pee like that. I was going to bring you home as a date for the night, but when I started fucking you I realized you would be much better as an object than a person, and I haven’t had a toilet in a while, usually just a guy I keep for a day or two. But now I don’t have to worry about that. You’ll get to service me and, who knows, maybe even my family some day. What do you think of that?”
I couldn’t say anything. Toilets didn’t speak, after all, but I wanted to say how much I loved being an object, how I just wanted to be useful for my new owner. How I wanted him to have company and a husband and kids who would all get to use me. He smiled and understood. “Alright, you can talk just this once.”
“Thank you, Owner. I—”
He cut me off with a hand signal and a stern look. “None of that, Toilet. You aren’t a person anymore; there’s no ‘you’. So you don’t get to use words like ‘I’ or ‘me’ or even think them. It’s third person only for you. Now try again.”
“Thank you so much, Owner. Toilet knows it is only an object and just wants—”
“No. No wants. Try again.”
“Of course, Owner. Toilet will be a good toilet. Toilet will be useful to you and your family. The more use the better. Please use the toilet, Owner.” The toilet could feel the cement around its arms and legs hardening up, making it ever more excited.
“I will. Now, any last words? Make them good, you’ll never get to make noise or speak ever again.”
“Thank you, Owner.” With that, the toilet’s mouth stayed open, tongue slightly out. It’s owner nodded, rubbed his cock on the toilet’s face, turned the lights off, and left. Over the hours the cement hardened and the toilet could only feel more fulfilled to be an object. Later, the toilet’s owner came in and used it, the only time the toilet could move, just enough to service it’s owner. The toilet’s owner came back later, once the cement had fully hardened, and painted it over to match the bathroom. He laid some towels on the toilet’s collar and a washrag on the toilet’s cock. Finally, toilet felt fulfilled. It was a real object. Just what it had always wanted. Always. And now, it was hungry.