Eric felt like his whole life was being stolen from him; his name, his job, his sexuality, everything he held dear was being taken and made into that disgusting ‘Ric’. If he could keep one thing he held dear and protect it… well, he felt he at least had to try. In a tiny voice, choked with tears, the only thing he could say was…
“Y-yes. I’ll do it. If it means Pete will be happy, I’ll give up and be… straight.” Eric spat out the last word.
If the voice had a face it had a face would be grinning.
“Peter will be happy. Maybe one day he will even be able to thank you. Now let us begin.”
Eric once again felt a shudder travel through him, and his modest dick began to stiffen and rise to attention. Somehow, Eric knew exactly what was expected of him and reluctantly reached out to grab himself and began to stroke. No matter how much he tried to think about things that normally turned him on, his mind kept wandering and imagining fantasies that his gay mind found offensive.
“Repeat after me: Only fags don’t love tits.”
In his fantasy, Eric saw his own hands, thick with muscles, roughly grabbing and groping the biggest pair of breasts he’d ever seen. He tried to look away, but his eyes kept snapping to attention, focusing on the way those giant tits bounced, the perfect size and shape of their nipples, and the feeling of his rough hands on smooth skin. That’s when he realized it; he loved tits.
“I love tits. Only fags don’t love tits.”
As the words left his lips, a part of his fantasy became reality; his hands and arms swelled up with thick, ripped muscles and a need to grope every pair of tits he could etched itself onto his mind and soul. He pumped the cock in his hand a few times, feeling aroused but unsatisfied… why was he wasting his time jacking off when he could be groping a hot pair? But, deep down he felt really sick using the word ‘fag’ like that…
“Repeat after me: I hate when fags stare at my perfect body.”
Eric’s next fantasy was different. He saw himself back in the gym, going through his daily routine, but surrounding him were men he knew deep down were lusting after him. Instead of feeling flattered, he felt deep disgust rising up in his chest. How dare those freaks look at him! In his fantasy, he dropped the weights he was holding began to hurl abuse at the men surrounding him, feeling his vocabulary filling up with diverse new ways to do so. Fags! Queers! Fairies! Homos! At each word, he felt his body growing more muscular, his chest growing thick with muscles and his legs becoming trunks of pure muscle.
“I hate it so much when fags look at me… My body’s for the ladies only!” Eric muttered as he snapped out of his fantasy. He looked down and saw the familiar body of Ric, and felt a wave of pride at all the hard work that went into keeping it so perfectly fit. There was still one things that seemed off…
“There’s only one more thing to do.” The voice taunted him. “Look at that pathetic little dick of yours… A faggot’s dick. That won’t do for a straight breeder like you, will it ‘Ric’?”
“Fuck no! Give me my dick back!” Eric shouted out. He wanted to be Ric, damn it, but every time he saw that wimpy dick sticking out of his crotch he was reminded of the last bit of homosexuality that his was unconsciously clinging to. The part of him that still loved Pete and wanted to protect him.
“I’m sorry, but that will be up to you, my breeder. The only way for you to reclaim that part of you and banish the last vestige of your curse of homosexuality is to claim a woman the only way a man can. Search her out, fuck her, and you will find yourself forever trapped in this body… And that’s what you want, isn’t it, Ric?”
Eric leapt to his feet, his cock still rock hard. His soul had nearly been completed converted to a straight breeder, and his entire purpose was to seal his own fate by willingly having sex with a woman… Only then would he truly become Ric forever…
Speaking of which…
________________________________________________________________________
“…Do this, and I promise that Mary will be safe from you and any of the other were-breeders.” The Voice made the same offer to Sharon that it had to Eric. However…
“You said that… Mary will be safe?” Sharon felt like something was off. Her girlfriend never went by Mary… her family called her that when she was growing up, and part of severing from their toxic attitudes about her sexuality included never letting anyone call her ‘Mary’.
“…Marilyn will be safe. Of course.” The voice cursed itself for its carelessness.
However, Sharon had made up her mind. She couldn’t trust anything this voice was telling her; maybe she could break this curse, maybe Marilyn was already safe…
“Get out of my head! I won’t let you trick me!”
Sharon jumped to her feet, grabbed some of the clothes strewn around Ric and Shari’s bathroom and threw them on, and peeked out the door. She saw that man, Ric, pulling on his own clothes and muttering to himself. Seeing her chance, she quietly snuck out of the front door of the apartment, leaving the building and walking out to the street. She’d escaped… but for how long would she be safe? And what could she do to fight this horrible curse?