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About Maximilian

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  2. Maximilian

    Away Game: Chapter 1

    Dude I just came for an hour straight Lovin it. Great job keep it up
  3. First thing I do is jack off. Then I call in sick. Then I jack off again. I'm hoping this lasts forever, but I'm going to assume all I have is today. Go to the gayest gym in town, test my strength. While I'm working out, scope out the biggest guy there, make eyes. Meet up in the locker room, let him worship my muscles and blow me. Tell him to meet up at a club later. He leaves, and I jack off again. Hit the mall for a shopping spree, find the store with the hottest sales guy and get him to help me find clothes that will be exactly tight enough to show off every corner of my bod. Jack off in the change room. Hot sales guy hears me, I open the door and yank him in; get another blowjob. Tell him to meet me at the club later. Get a coffee, jack off in the bathroom, fuck the hottest barista in the back alley. Tell him to meet up at the club later. Go home, cruise on Grindr, invite a guy over and fuck for hours. He leaves, I shower, jack off, squeeze into my new clothes and go to the club. Flirt with a handsome older rich daddy, let him fuck me in the bathroom. Gather up the gym rat, the sales guy, the barista, and we all head over to rich daddy's luxury condo and have an all night orgy. Go to sleep hoping I get to do the same thing tomorrow
  4. Maximilian

    Magic: The Growthering

    Great one off. Hot growth, original setting. Well done
  5. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 15: Adrian The Master pulled his boot away and the sight turned Rodrigo's stomach. A crimson mess of gore stained Russell's crumpled shirt on the floor. “No…” he whimpered. “You didn't have to… he was only…” “You!” the Master shoved a meaty finger in Rodrigo's face and the tiny man stumbled backward with a start. “I knew you were going to be a problem eventually. I should've just added you to my gallery. Those clueless fucking douchebags can't save you, you pathetic little shit! They come at me they'll end up just like this shitstain.” “You're a fucking psycho!” Rodrigo suddenly exploded. “You need to turn people into toys just so you can… I don't even know! Feel like a big tough guy?” The Master shook his head in disbelief. “Oh you are fucking dead, roach…” “What difference does it make? When's it ever going to be enough for you you fucking pathetic loser! Can't even get a guy to come home with you unless you can fit him in your hand!” “Roddy, stop! Please!” Blake begged from the corner. “You're so fucking stupid,” Rodrigo went on. “No one notices? No one cares?” Rodrigo pointed at the pile of clothing. “He cared. His friends care. And when they come looking for him… god are you fucked.” “No one's coming for him,” the Master growled. “No one's coming for any of you, you dumb fucking bugs. Fuck…” he bent down and scooped up the pile of clothing, tossing the articles one by one in the garbage bin by the door. “I've protected you. Fed you. Cleaned up your piss and shit. And all I ever get from you is fucking grief. You think anyone out there gives a shit about some nobody ‘spic from buttfuck nowhere?” He returned to the cage, grabbed the water bottle from its side, and yanked it off, pouring the water out with a loud splatter onto the cement floor before tossing the empty bottle in the garbage. “Good fucking luck, dumbass.” “Master please!” Phil ran up to the bars. “Don't leave me! You know I'd never…” “Shut up!” shouted the Master. He reached out and unhooked the door of the cage. Rodrigo's eyes widened and he scrambled to the far side. But the Master reached inside and grabbed Phil around his waist, pulling him out and roughly depositing him in the front pocket of his shirt. Phil fumbled around to right himself. “Oh THANK you, Master! I…” “I said shut the fuck up!” the Master shouted again, and Phil clamped his hands on his ears, wincing. “Still looks a bit crowded in there,” said the Master, a crooked grin on his round face. He thrust his hand through the opening. Blake tried to dart to the other side but the Master's hand moved quickly, knocking Rodrigo to the floor as it did, and grabbed Blake by the leg. He pulled him to the ground, dragged him into the middle of the cage, then gripped him around the waist. “No!” Blake cried. “Please just leave me alone!” “If you say so,” said the Master as he pulled Blake clear of the opening. He turned, slid the door of the terrarium open, and dropped Blake inside. “No!” Rodrigo scrambled to his feet and rushed to the bars. “Please! Master I'm… I'm sorry! I didn't know what I was saying! Blake wanted me to stop! He respects you!” “Blake?” asked the Master as the terrarium door slid closed with a snap. “Who the fuck is Blake?” “Master I'm sorry!” Rodrigo pleaded. “I didn't mean it! Please take him out of there, I'll do whatever you want!” “All I want you to do is starve to fuckin death,” said the Master with a shrug. He turned and walked towards the door. “And it looks like that's pretty in the bag.” He flicked off the light and slammed the door behind him. Rodrigo raced to the side that faced the terrarium, already dizzy from the stress of the last few minutes, praying that Blake could at least hold out until help came. When had Penny been fed last? His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness and he couldn't see much of anything. “Roddy?” he weakly heard the quavering voice of Blake through the glass. “Be quiet!” Roddy hissed. “Where is she?” “Blake shut up, seriously!” said Roddy. “I can't see her. Don't say anything and don't move!” Would it help? Would it at least delay her? He had to believe someone would come for Russell. If Blake could hold out long enough, he might be saved. But how long? After all this time living inches away from her, Rodrigo still had little idea what Penny was capable of. He didn't really know how she hunted, or how often she needed to feed. He didn't know much of anything about tarantulas. *** Adrian’s heart skipped a beat. He could never really tell what that meant. His pursuits had been problematic from the start. He'd wanted to be able to see everything - to KNOW everything, but it had always been an issue trying to sort out what his spellcraft was telling him, and what his imagination was piecing together. Adrian had tried to supplement his magic with technology. He was fairly proud of his progress, though his innovations had been unsung by the majority of his peers. He had hoped his talents would award him favour with Harry; maybe gain him access to more resources, but only Russell and Mahtab seemed to take note of his value, and their involving him in their clandestine investigation had been more of a compliment to Adrian than the two of them likely realized. Adrian didn't know any details. His powers never laid it all out for him. All he ever got were feelings. Strange, instinctual spikes in his subconscious that were difficult to describe to others. And his instincts were telling him that something bad had happened. Something horrible, awful, and evil. And it had something to do with Russell. WHAT it had to do with Russell, he couldn't articulate. But the general feeling of unease he had had the whole day had intensified, and Adrian knew there had to be something more to it than just his imagination playing tricks on him. Adrian stared at Google Maps application he had modded. At the black square on Boardwalk Drive; the dead zone he had sent Russell into. Something had gone wrong. Adrian picked up his phone and dialled Russell. It went straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. Russell had said his phone was dying… maybe it was nothing to worry about. But that's not what Adrian’s gut was telling him. He called Liam. “Hey Adrian,” Liam greeted. “How's it goin’?” “Not good,” Adrian replied. “I think Russell's in trouble. Can you pick me up?” Liam stuttered a bit. “Of… yeah, of course. Is… what's going on? What happened?” “I don't know,” said Adrian. “I just got a bad feeling.” *** The Master reached into his pocket and pulled out Phil, depositing him nonchalantly on the kitchen counter. Phil climbed to his feet. He wanted to express his gratitude for sparing him; reiterate his devotion to the living god, but he was wary of the Master's warning to keep quiet, so he stood still and watched in silence. The Master tore a square of paper towel from a roll hanging off the underside of a cupboard, wiping blood from his nose as he moved into the living room. He stood there a moment, looking around the room. “Fuck,” he swore quietly to himself. “Fuckin dicks.” “What's wrong, Master?” Phil ventured. “What can I do to help?” The Master rolled his eyes. “He's right. They're gonna come after him. I have to leave.” “Take me with you, Master!” Phil pleaded. The Master turned to look at Phil, and a slow, fiendish grin crept onto his face. “No.” “But Master, I-” “You've served me well, insect,” said the Master as he approached the counter. “Now is your chance to show me just how grateful to me you are. Prove yourself and I will show you power you've never imagined.” Phil felt giddy with joy. “Anything, Master.” “He's right. People are gonna come looking for them,” the Master pointed with his thumb at the door to the garage. “But you're going to be here waiting for them.” His grin widened. “And you're going to kill them all.” *** Mahtab stood in the crowded club with her arms crossed across her chest, scowling at Adam as he leaned across the bar, showing the servers a picture of Cassidy on his phone. This was the fourth bar on Church Street they had been into, and she'd already gotten hit on twice; once by a lesbian and once by a guy who thought she was in drag. Normally she was liberal-minded enough to not let any of that bother her, but she'd been irritated all day and it was not helping. Finally he turned, scowling into empty space as opposed to making eye contact with her, and stormed past her on his way out of the bar. Mahtab wriggled through the crowd and followed him outside, where he stood awkwardly in the middle of the street - closed for Pride - with his hands on his hips and his shoulders hunched, staring at the pavement. Mahtab walked up beside him, swivelling to face him, her hands in her jacket pockets, one fiddling with the fraying threads from the rip Adam had inflicted earlier. Adam stood up straight, craning his neck, grunting as he stretched his back. “He hasn't seen him,” he mumbled. “That's getting progressively less shocking with every bar,” Mahtab retorted. She glanced around. “Look the crowd’s starting to pick up. Pretty soon there'll be way too many people here.” “You go then,” Adam spat. “I'll stay here and actually…” “Adam - Christ - listen to me,” Mahtab waved a hand across his face. “I need to find Cassidy. We're on the same side here. We both want the same thing.” She folded her arms and sucked her teeth. “For the moment anyway.” “Then help me,” Adam waved his arms. “Don't just…” “I AM helping you you fucking doofus,” Mahtab hissed. “You're just too hopped up on adrenaline to give a shit. You just want to feel like you're doing something as opposed to something USEFUL.” “Hey, this is the only plan I got!” “Are you kidding me? This is barely even a plan.” Mahtab sighed. “Let's assume you're right and the idea was to stay away from YOU, he wouldn't go to the first place you'd go looking for him. His parents live in Toronto, right?” Adam rolled his eyes. “He wouldn't just show up there.” “Well he had to spend the night somewhere,” Mahtab shrugged. “Let's at least rule them out. We'll call them. You got their number?” “How am I supposed to call them without tipping them off?” asked Adam impatiently. “If he's not there and they know he's missing they'll lose their shit. They're lawyers. They're fucking nuts.” Mahtab rolled her eyes. “You can be such a fucking retard sometimes I can't even believe it.” She pulled out her phone. “Give me their number.” Adam just looked at her for a moment before sighing and pulling out his phone. She held out her hand and he shook his head. “Just look. We’re not doing all that again.” Mahtab snorted a derisive chuckle but didn’t touch his phone. She put hers to her ear and held up her finger for silence. “... Hi there, my name’s Shannon Ginsberg I’m calling from the office of York University alumni… affairs. I’d like to speak to Cassidy Hamilton, please?... Oh! Well of course I’m so sorry!” She pursed her lips and shook her head at Adam. “Uh huh?... Y-... Yes please; go ahead… uh huh… ok great. We’ll update our information; sorry to bother you… Uh huh? Ok great, thanks… Yes, you too… Uh huh, I will thanks.” She turned to Adam and rolled her eyes. “Ok great take care now!” She quickly hung up the phone. “Shannon Ginsberg?” Adam crossed his arms and arched his eyebrow. She shrugged, and glanced at her phone. “Oh shit! I missed a call from Adrian!” she exclaimed, quickly dialling again and holding the phone to her ear, sticking a finger in the other. “Hey, Mahtab?” asked Adrian from the other end of the line. “Yeah Adrian what's up? Have you heard from Russell?” Mahtab made her way to an empty driveway to get away from the crowd, and Adam followed. “No but…” Adrian hesitated. “His phone was dying… I… I went out to find him. Liam’s with me. We… we found Russell's car.” “Where are you?” asked Mahtab. “Boardwalk Drive. Around Queen and Woodbine. Russell was going to check it out. Cassidy’s trail ended here but it's… it's really weird, Mahtab. Something’s wrong I… I'm kind of… I just have a really bad feeling.” Mahtab nodded, suddenly feeling a cold heavy lump in her stomach. “I'll be there in just a second. I'm bringing Adam.” “You can't slip here, Maddy, it's a dead zone!” Adrian protested. “I'll figure it out, just wait for me!” Mahtab hung up and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She grabbed Adam by the elbow and pulled him down the alley. “Come on.” Adam yanked his arm up out of her grip. “I'm coming. Jeez!” “You're going to feel a little winded,” Mahtab explained. “You didn't eat much today right? That's good; sometimes people crap themselves their first time.” “I'll be sure to clench,” Adam quipped. “Don't get distracted, either,” Mahtab continued. “It’s… it's difficult to describe but… you'll know what I am, or like, you'll know what's me. I'll be holding on to you so it should all be fine but try to stay focused on me.” “Or… what?” asked Adam, dubious. “Well I don't know, no one's ever fallen out of a slip on me before but I'm not exactly itching to find out,” she sighed. “Like I don't have enough shit to deal with today.” They rounded a corner and found a trio of dumpsters stinking of rancid urine. She stopped Adam, waited for someone to pass them, then turned and grabbed him by both shoulders. “All right,” she nodded. “On three we both need to jump at the same time. It's way easier.” “So like; one two three jump or…” Mahtab rolled her eyes. “One two jump, Adam. That's what ‘on three’ means.” Adam nodded. “Okay… can we do one two three jump? I feel like I'm gonna screw it up.” Mahtab threw up her arms. “I… fine whatever.” She clamped back down on his shoulders. “All right. One, two, three…” And they jumped. *** “...and this slow cooker has literally changed our lives,” Wes spread his arms to the ceiling, his wine glass dangerously close to spilling. Jamie nodded. “Oh yeah.” “And I have to say I mean,” Wes paused and smiled mischievously. “I know it's not the best thing for you, but Grant and I have been putting bacon into everything lately. We just started experimenting with bacon and it just took right off!” he laughed, sipping his wine. Jamie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Bacon.” “Honestly, whatever the recipe is, you should add bacon,” Wes assured him. “You won't ever regret it. Do you do much cooking yourself?” Jamie tapped his foot. “Hm? Yeah all the time.” Wes put his hand on his chest and shook his head emphatically, “I just think it's so rewarding and it’s, y'know, I think it's important as just, like, a life skill? And so many people just don't know their way around the kitchen these days, I just…” The bathroom door in front of Jamie opened and Drew slid out. “Hey babe,” he greeted Jamie with a smile. Jamie, however, was already on the move, ushering Drew back inside and following him in, closing the door behind them both. Drew regarded him quizzically. “What the hell was that?” “This is for your own good,” Jamie assured him as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock in front of the toilet. “Wes is looking for anyone to talk at. About fucking… like he's a terrible cook, right?” he asked as he started urinating. Drew leaned against the closed door, taking out his phone. “He's actually gotten worse.” “I'm like; there's only one recipe for guacamole. I don't need to see yours. And what big secret ingredient could you possibly…” “It's bacon bits,” said Drew idly. “I can't imagine it's very good.” He sighed with defeat. “Ryan bailed.” “Called it,” said Jamie. Drew put his phone back in his pocket. “Congrats, you win!” he waved his hands with dramatic sarcasm. “Have you heard from Adam at all?” Jamie shook his head. “No. He never even got back to me about last night.” Drew sighed, moving in behind Jamie as he peed, rubbing his shoulders through his shirt. “When do you want to do that ecstasy?” Jamie shook the last dribbles of piss from his tool. “I was gonna wait til we get down there. Or like… are we TTCing down or what?” “Stan was gonna get an uber,” Drew shrugged. “Which… I guess yeah, I don't wanna be lovin’ out on the way down.” He released Jamie's shoulders as Jamie zipped up and sidestepped to the sink. “Man. Frank’s already blasted, eh?” Jamie noted. Drew nodded in agreement. “And he smells like a fuckin grow-op.” “Let's be in the middle of talking when we leave so Wes won't ambush us,” Jamie suggested. Drew snapped his finger and pointed at him. “Good plan. What do we talk about?” The bathroom door opened and Drew exited finishing a sentence. “...just be so cheesey if they killed Jon Snow and then immediately bring him back.” Jamie followed. “But Melisandre is like right there!” “I don't give a shit,” Drew shook his head adamantly. “If he's back in season six I am off the show for good.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You said that when they killed Roz.” Wes had paused in the bathroom doorway, to the annoyance of Stan who was next in line. “Are you guys talking about Game of…?” “In or out, Wes. C’mon man.” They entered the living room of Stan’s condo and Thanh, draped over the arm of the couch and leaning against his boyfriend Elliot, wagged a finger at them. “One to a stall, ladies,” he chided, followed up by one of his trademark, deep-throated chuckles. “Whatever, Thanh,” Drew countered. “Everyone knows you two have been sneaking handies when you think nobody's looking. News flash: they ARE.” “Lies!” Elliot shook his fist in the air. “Liza Minnelli!” Hasan, on the other side of Elliot, leaned forward and waved his hand. “Guys, Jamie's getting uncomfortable. Quick we gotta butch it up!” he curled his lip with a growl and flexed his arm. “Grrr! Hockey jargon! Car engines!” Thanh joined in though he sounded more like a pirate. “Grr! Home repair!” “Entourage!” Elliot chimed in. Jamie pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. “Christ, they should give you idiots a sitcom.” He jostled his phone. “Sorry just a sec,” he added, and turned away to walk into the foyer. “Oh great now he's a sadsack,” Hasan gestured to Jamie. Drew rolled his eyes. “You guys gonna be this bitchy all night?” Thanh nodded matter-of-factly. “It'll probably get worse.” Jamie leaned against the wall and put his phone to his ear. “Hey Adam, we were just-” “Look I don't have a lot of time,” came a harsh, whispered voice over the line. Jamie barely recognized it as Adam. “Jamie…” he said, then after a pause. “Jamie I'm in trouble. I need your help.” “Adam?” Jamie stood up off the wall, lowering his voice. “What's wrong? What's going on?” “I can't get into it right now,” Jamie whispered. “It's Cassidy. And… some of the people we used to work with. I don't…” there was a windy rustling over the line. “I need you to come to me. I'm in the Beaches, but…” he took a couple of heavy breaths. “I don't know what's gonna happen. They're like… they're dangerous.” “Do you…” Jamie asked quietly and slowly. “Should I call the cops?” “No,” Adam answered quickly. “No cops, not yet. Just be careful and keep your distance until I can… shit. Look I gotta go. I'll text you the address. Can you come?” “Yeah,” said Jamie with a nod, and the other end hung up. Jamie shoved his phone into his pocket as he searched for his shoes in the pile at the foyer, an excuse to leave already taking form in his head until he realized… Drew. Drew would want to go with him. Drew would see through the bullshit he fed Thanh and the others. They had agreed: no more secrets, no more lies. The last one had nearly ruined them. But he couldn't let Drew tag along into this. Jamie had no idea what was going on, but Adam sounded afraid, and Adam had never been afraid of anything. He was Jamie's friend, not Drew’s. He was Jamie's responsibility, not Drew’s, and Jamie wasn't going to let Drew put himself in harm’s way for the sake of someone he had met two nights ago. Jamie found his shoes and stood up, exhaling slowly, trying to calm himself down. He relaxed his shoulders, rehearsed a couple of casual hand gestures; nonchalant facial expressions. He took another deep breath, and sauntered back into the room. Jamie walked up next to Drew and put a hand on his shoulder. “You're gonna hate me.” Drew turned to him with a sigh. “What.” “That was JC. There's some disaster at work. I gotta bail.” He shrugged powerlessly. “I'm really sorry.” “It's like eight-thirty on a Friday!” Drew protested. “The client’s in Tokyo and it's nine-thirty AM there. They're just seeing a presentation. They're freaking out.” “Well…” Drew’s shoulders drooped with dismay. “You're just a contractor. Can't they get someone else to handle this? Come on man, it's Pride!” “I know, and I'm sorry, but I gotta take care of this.” Jamie felt his voice quaver a bit, so he leaned in and kissed Drew on the cheek. “Sorry.” He gave a quick wave to the room. “See you around guys,” he called, and went back to the door. He was dismayed to see Drew following him. “Tokyo’s AHEAD of us, Jamie. It's Saturday morning there!” he complained as Jamie put on his shoes. “Can't they wait til Monday?” Jamie hadn't realized that. “Look, I don't know the details. But it's red alert and all hands on deck. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.” Done tying his laces, he stood up and gave Drew a kiss. Drew wrapped his arms around Jamie, and made a quick goodbye peck into a long and sensual one. Jamie thought he was going to break. He withdrew, forcing a smile. “I'll text you later,” he chirped, and quickly exited the apartment. Drew heaved a disappointed sigh and turned back to the party. *** Adam quietly slipped his phone into his pocket and loudly faked a cough, wetting his mouth with spit. He stood up and wiped it off again. “Sorry,” he croaked hoarsely. “God, Adam,” Mahtab spat, “You have any organs left?” “I'm sorry that fucking teleporting doesn't agree with me,” he fired back. “Whatever. Let's go,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and smoldered down the sidewalk. Liam and Adrian were waiting awkwardly on the corner of Boardwalk Drive, a residential side street, populated by a row of nearly identical houses. Adrian spotted the two as they approached and waved his hand needlessly, as the street was otherwise deserted. Mahtab gave them a nod as they met. “Hey,” she muttered. Adam drew up beside her. “Hey guys.” Adrian hadn't changed much since he saw him last. Rail thin, straight black hair down to his shoulders, small black spacers in both ears. It looked like his arm has acquired a few more tattoos but Adam couldn't really remember. “Adam,” he greeted him with a note of uncertainty. “Been a while.” Adam shrugged. “Yeah.” “No sign of Russell, huh,” Mahtab noted, glancing at Russell’s car parked across the street. Adrian pointed. “It's up here,” he started up the sidewalk, and Mahtab fell in beside him. He started discussing his tracking spell, and the difficulty he'd had with the dead zone. Adam hung back, quickly entering the address in a text message and sending it before anyone could notice. But it looked like Liam saw him putting the phone away. “How's… how was hanging out with Maddy?” he asked quietly. Adam sighed. “It's been a stressful day for both of us.” “Yeah,” said Liam. “You know how she is. She's just worried. And now with Russell…” “Honestly, Liam?” Adam raised his hand to cut him off. “I'm past giving a shit. I'm here to find Cass and then I'm not dealing with any of this ever again.” “C'mon man don't be like that…” Liam protested. Adam bit his lip. “Seriously? Everything was fine until this bullshit came back into our lives. And even if we prove Cass has nothing to do with all this garbage, it's not like Maddy’s gonna apologize for being such a psycho. I'm done. For good.” Liam looked down at the sidewalk, saying nothing. Mahtab led them up the walkway to the house, a nondescript two-storey, distinguished from its neighbours only by its clay-brown colour. Adrian glanced around to see if anyone was watching while Mahtab glanced in the windows. “I can’t see anything,” she reported quietly. Adam stepped up onto the narrow cement slab that served as a porch. He stood in front of the door for a moment, and turned the handle. Unlocked. The door swung inward with a soft creak. “Is that a good sign or a bad sign?” Liam whispered. They all crowded around the doorway and peered inside. All the lights were off and all the curtains drawn, but even then it seemed unusually dark, and it was hard to see. Adam could make out a dark doorway on the left, a staircase, and an open room on the right with an outline of furniture. He took the initiative and stepped inside. He paused once he crossed the threshold, listening carefully, hearing only silence. He took another slow step within, and heard the others follow behind him. Hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs, Phil watched the four, silhouettes in the light of the doorway, creep into the house. His lips curled into an unseen smile. The time had come to prove himself.
  6. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 14: Hugo His world was dark and cold. He felt constricted, strangled, as if buried under a mound of soil. Panic had subsided into an otherworldly calm. He couldn't see or hear, but there was a certain degree of perception he couldn't completely explain. He had a strange series of… he wouldn't exactly call them sensations, but he concluded that he was being moved; was moving; had moved. How, by what, and where to, he couldn't say. It was clear that although his body was now beyond his means to manipulate, his mind appeared to be intact. He couldn't really perceive time accurately, but he was sure it was passing. You have power here, he assured himself. There must be some way to use it. There were others who had managed to separate their body and mind, project their thoughts elsewhere; observe, even communicate with people halfway across the world. But this was never something he had learned to do, and he doubted he could teach it to himself with nothing to go on. Except… it wasn't nothing, was it? Something had touched him that night at WAYLA. Some entity had drilled into his mind and he had felt its presence. It had been confusing and unclear at the time but in retrospect - perhaps freed from the distractions of his biology - he understood what had happened. He had been overwhelmed by his memories, relived two years of ordeals and triumphs all at once. He swam through the darkness back to that moment. Was it… yes. There was someone else there. A thin, delicate thread connected them to each other. He reached out. Took careful hold of it, grasped it tight, and pulled. If Will had any substance here; if Thought and Memory were no longer abstract in this bodiless void, then he focused them and all other forces he could muster on a single, simple idea. He pushed it away from him. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was all he could do to try. Cassidy called out: I need your help. *** Brent dozed lazily through the afternoon while Nate wet-vacced up the mess. Nate fed him pizza pockets and beer after he had the place mostly cleaned up, and afterwards Brent drifted in and out of naps. He would awake to mild alarm at being barely able to move, but then would settle into revelling at his size. He felt so heavy, so thick, and it was all he could do to keep his gargantuan cock from getting hard again, not wanting to burden Nate with another sea of jizz to clean up. They began to shrink back to normal in the evening. The process was much more subtle. As his overblown muscles began to deflate he felt his limbs aching, probably just from lying still for so long. He rose to his feet when he decided he had returned to normal, but a big thick cock flopping against his knees suggested he still had a bit of a ways to go. He lumbered out of his room and down the hall, finding Nate almost back to his usual height lying across the couch playing with his phone, wearing the shorts he'd arrived in and a borrowed shirt of Brent's. Nate looked up and his face blossomed into a wide smile. “Hey man! How you feelin?” Brent shrugged. “A little out of it,” he mumbled. He leaned back and stretched with a loud yawn. “But feelin’ good. Amazing, actually.” He shook his head, massaging his neck. “I still can’t believe this actually happened.” He looked down at his body. Even diminished, his muscles were still pretty thick. “Is STILL happening!” he added with a chuckle. Nate sat upright. “Yeah. S’pretty wild.” He nodded. He glanced down at his phone, then back up at Brent. “‘Know you wanted to hang out more with Pride an’ shit, but I’s out learnin’ how ‘a do this.” Brent plopped down on the couch next to Nate. His flaccid dick had receded up his thigh and he figured he was nearly back to his normal size. “How DID you learn all this?” Nate grinned. “Sorry man, can’ really tell.” “So… that night at the Black Eagle. You knew? Did you know the whole time?” Nate paused. “I…” he hesitated. “Guy I learned it from s’the same guy who pumped you up,” he admitted. “Serious though, man. S’all I can say.” “But like… he told you?” Brent pressed. “Is this someone who knows me?” He paused. “It’s not Luke or Jayson, is it?” “I put it together,” Nate mumbled. “S’all m’gonna say, brah. Period.” Brent nodded, leaning back. “This is nuts.” “THESE‘re nuts,” Nate reached over and tickled Brent's balls. Brent giggled and swatted him away. “It's just… wow… y'know?” Nate rolled his eyes. “Fuck, bro, will you get over it ‘lready?” “Come on, man, this is a big deal!” Brent protested. “Magic? It's fucking world-changing.” “Nah man, s’not,” Nate shook his head. “Jus’ cuz you didn’ know ‘bout it doesn’ mean s’never there, right?” He shrugged. “Sides, you did know ‘bout it. What ya think ‘at was at th’ Eagle?” Brent raised his eyebrows. “Yeah good point.” He paused a moment. “Hey. Do you know Mahtab Nilan… uhh, Nil… I can never remember her last name. It's long and Indian.” “Huh?” Nate looked at him. “Who?” “Mahtab. She… well we hung out a lot first semester. She's at York too. And she told me… well she started telling me about this group she was a part of, and how they were like… doing magic. Like real magic and I was… like at first I thought it was just a prank or something but when it… like she seriously believed it. I just thought she was legit psycho. So after the Christmas break I just kinda cut her off. I didn't want to deal with her. After the Eagle…” he dropped his gaze. “I wanted to say sorry but I didn't know, like, what would happen, y'know? And I just had been like, ‘don't tell anyone about it.’ Especially after the drug test and all that shit with Tyler and Farhan.” “I’unno man… thi’ shit’s all…” Nate shook his head vigorously. “Naw man fuck all ‘at. No mopin’, got me?” The finger he pointed in Brent’s face was stern, but the smile behind it was impish as ever. “Didn’ come here t’hang wi’ a downer all day. S’exciting. Get excited, y’fuckin dumbass.” Brent's smile returned. “Sorry. You're right. This IS exciting.” “‘Can make it permanent too, bro,” said Nate, putting his arm around Brent and rubbing his shoulder. “Big s’you want. Twenny-four-seven.” “Yeah?” Brent raised an eyebrow. “Jesus…” “Yeah, man. Gon’ get some shit sorted out an’en YOU might be the short one,” Nate winked. Brent's brow furrowed. “Huh?” “Think I'd go t’all the trouble an’ not use this on me?” Nate chuckled and shook his head. “Always knew I’s destined for bigger things.” “Wait… seriously?” Brent turned to him. “What'll you tell people?” “I’unno,” Nate shrugged. “Who gives a shit?” “Well like…” Brent stammered, “how big are we talking about?” “Stop worryin’, man!” Nate chided laboriously, squeezing his shoulder. “S’gonna be great. Ev’thing’s gon’ be fine.” He leaned his head on Brent's shoulder. “Jus’ got… gotta…” he voice drawled off. Brent felt Nate's grip on his shoulder go limp. “Nate?” he shook him by the knee. “What is it?” Nate sat upright, then stood. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable and confused. “I… jus’ hol’ on a sec.” Nate darted to the washroom. Brent sat forward as Nate shut the door behind him. “Nate? What the hell? Are you okay?” “S’fine!” Nate called through the door. Brent stood up, confused and not really sure what to do. He stood close to the door and held his breath, listening for anything from within, but there was only silence. He exhaled and plodded back to his room, the potential crisis making him suddenly and acutely aware of his nudity. He returned in boxers and a thin white undershirt, and was briefly relieved when he saw Nate emerge from the bathroom. But when he saw his face, Brent began to worry again. Nate wasn't smiling. He seemed pale and stressed and maybe even… afraid. “Nate?” Nate turned to him, and for a brief fraction of a moment he looked back at Brent with a strange longing, fear, and helplessness. But it was just a flash, like an errant frame on a movie reel. His grin returned, he shrugged, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry man, I jus’ forgot some’in,” he chuckled. “I act’ly gotta split.” He reached out and pulled Brent's neck down, craning up to kiss him. It was a short, affectionate kiss - not his usual sloppy tongue-thrash. And as their lips parted, Nate held Brent's head close and pressed their foreheads against each other. It was nice, but it was weird. Brent could see that something had changed. The fluffy cartoon clouds of excitement for the future seemed to have suddenly turned into a lingering putrid smoke of doubt that they even had a future. Brent knew it had happened. He knew it. But as Nate drew away from him he giggled and smirked bashfully like he always did. Nate was trying to make Brent think that change hadn't occurred; Brent was too scared and confused to just call out the bullshit. They might as well had BOTH been mind-readers. “Nate…” Brent took a faltering step forward as Nate slipped into his shoes. “I… you know if there's ever something wrong that I'm… I'd have your back. I'd want to help. I…” he stammered. “Like, you get that, right?” Another brief break in the facade. The smile twitched, betraying its deceit, his eyes trembled with uncharted depths of understanding and… maybe regret. Depths Brent hadn't realized Nate possessed. And just like before, it fell away into the practiced casual, easy-going charm he always exhibited. He cupped one hand at the side of his mouth, called out “Gayyyyyy!” and disappeared out the door. *** As Nate rounded the corner and Brent's house dropped out of view, his brow furrowed, his grin hardened into a frown. He glanced around for somewhere he could focus. He'd tried in the bathroom but Brent was too distracting. He needed something nice and serene. There was an old folks’ home at the intersection. In the middle of a sparsely populated parking lot was a small island of thin yellowing sod inhabited by a gangly red maple sapling and a cracked cement garbage bin. It'd do. He jogged over to it, sat down with his back against the garbage bin, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sky was still mostly overcast but even through his eyelids he could see the light of the sun shifting behind the clouds. A cicada was keening nearby. The sounds of motors and horns and reverberating bass beats from Finch Steet rattled like stones in a dryer, and there was a distant echo of playground noise; an incoherent rabble of childish shrieks and shouts. This was better. This could work. Nate pulled himself out of all that and listened for what he had heard before. Yes, there it was. Someone had tried to present an idea. But it was all crumpled up like a wad of paper. He had to peel it apart very carefully, lest it slip through his fingers and he lose it again. Whoever had sent this had no clue what they were doing. Nate had been reading thoughts for a while, and had arrived at a number of insights. First and most importantly: every human mind was unique. While there was overlap in shared experiences everyone generally had their own set of interpretations, associations, and representations for even very basic and simple ideas. Reading surface thoughts, probing memories, and digging through someone’s knowledge was one thing. It was like looking through a library or a computer database - albeit without the help of a card catalogue or logically nested folders - but once you found what you were looking for, you were set. But someone was trying to send him an idea or an instruction, and it was so loaded with subtext and abstractions that it essentially had to be decoded. When it had hit him, he immediately felt a rush of adrenaline, which - coming on while lazily dozing next to Brent - had confused and alarmed him. He felt like he was being attacked. Even now he found this concept cloaked with desperation and dripping with panic. Whatever was going on, it was dangerous, maybe even deadly. Things began to align themselves in a way Nate found recognizable. He realized it had come from Cassidy, but the particulars were still muddled. He tried to follow the line back and… everything sort of exploded, beyond even a scope that Cassidy understood. Cassidy had unwittingly provided Nate with what amounted to a phone line in an otherwise locked room; a room in which Cassidy was not alone. It all unloaded on Nate so fast he was immediately flooded with memories and emotions and experiences. His heart started to race, stars speckled the inside of his eyelids, there was a tenebrous pitch rising in his ears, and pain lanced through his brain from every direction at once. Nate pulled himself out with a gasp and after a momentary reprieve, a sharp ache seeped into his head. He held the bridge of his nose and cringed, waiting for it to pass, too distracted by agony to sort out everything he had seen. But as the eye-popping migraine subsided into a dull, mild hangover headache, it all became very clear. Nate had never wanted this kind of thing. Drama and danger. His preferred genre of adventure was whimsical jaunt, not harrowing quests. Lives on the line? What kind of masochist wants to deal with that shit? Nate had a burly, growth-hungry beefcake a literal five minute walk from where he sat. A beefcake that LIKED him. Liked him a lot. He could go back there, he knew. He could just ignore all this bullshit and let nature take its course. He didn't know these people; what did he care? This didn't involve him. He didn't owe any of these people the time of day. He owed something to Brent. He owed it to Brent to stay alive, and not risk his life for a bunch of strangers… Right…? A mixed blessing of being a telepath was that more often than not you had a better idea of what kind of person one was than they did themselves. He'd always thought that skill had given him some insight into what kind of person he was: someone who didn't get involved if he didn't have an angle. He could go back to Brent, never mention any of it, and no one could ever give him any shit over it. He could leave all those people to whatever fate had in store for them. He could. That was an option. It was a decision he could make. It didn't matter that he was their only hope. It didn't matter that if he didn't try to help them, nobody else would. Fuck. Nate stood up and dusted off his shorts. He was just wasting time trying to convince himself. In reality, he already knew that he was about to do something incredibly heroic. He kicked dejectedly at the grass. “Aww, maaaaaan…” *** Just as Adam and Mahtab were retreating down the alleyway, Nate was walking up the street behind them. Everyone around him was buzzed and horny, so he had closed off his senses to them. There wasn't much point to scanning anyone; he had a pretty complete picture of what was going on. He wasn't there on recon anyway. He wasn't familiar with many of the active players, and how they might react to his involvement was just a guess. He'd decided he needed to get some backup that was more predictable. Even with the cloud cover it was still light out but the Black Eagle already had a line. Nate sighed and sidled up at the back, eavesdropping on a trio of twentysomething bears and cubs in front of him. “... but dude, look at the fuckin bouncer!” The larger of the bears was saying. “He was big but never THAT big.” “Lookit, jus’ cuz it's a good hoax don't make it any less a hoax,” countered a blonde bearded guy who looked like he had just started bulking up. “I saw a thing on Facebook that said it's a publicity stunt for Magic Mike.” “I dunno, man, that's pretty thorough,” replied a shorter tanned cub. “Like there's a bunch of Youtube vids, all from different accounts… and if they're fake I've never seen anything like that before.” “So what,” the blonde dropped his shoulders. “What, it's all real? Bunch o’ guys - at the fuckin Eagle - spontaneously turn into bodybuilders an’ pornstars an’ supermodels? For no reason? Got any ‘splanation for that?” “Hey man, I'm not sayin’ I can explain it,” the cub shrugged his thick shoulders. “But… well yeah. Look at that bouncer. How do YOU explain it?” Nate turned away, suppressing a chuckle, before realizing he'd been standing there for five minutes and the line hadn't moved. A quick read of Daniel - the freakishly overmuscled bouncer who was attracting so much attention - revealed that they were keeping their numbers low until more staff showed up. Until then, no one else was getting in before people inside left. Nate was surprised Daniel was thinking so clearly with all these guys flirting with him - feeling his arms and chest; asking for selfies with him; or just staring at him with shameless lust. The second bouncer, Hugo, was a bit peevish. While Daniel had had this job for years and was a loyal friend to the owner, Hugo only came in every now and then, and only did it so he could pick up guys at the bar. Hugo had already been in good shape, and the previous night Nate had grown him nearly a foot taller to a respectable six-foot-four, which he seemed happy with but was upset at all the attention Daniel was getting. Christ, Nate thought to himself. I make this guy taller overnight and he still finds something to bitch about. Still, it gave Nate a decent idea on how to kill two birds with one stone. “Off the stairs,” Daniel grumbled softly at the next couple of guys in line - two middle aged bears with tasseled leather jackets hanging open over their otherwise bare chests. The one in the cowboy hat took a step back. “I tell ya, man. Wasn't sure I believed it. Didn’ think you could get any bigger.” “Hmm,” Daniel acknowledged mirthlessly, and turned his gaze to the rest of the line. Hugo rolled his eyes. It had been like this all night. All these guys fawning over Daniel, whose stoic, joyless responses only seemed to drive them even crazier for him. That, and Daniel hadn't bothered to buy a new shirt and showed up for his shift bare-chested. Meanwhile no one even bothered to bat an eye at Hugo. Sure, he'd gotten considerably taller but he worked there so sporadically no one had retained a mental “before” image to compare him to. The dark-eyed blonde leaned against the wall with a sigh. He had imagined the life of a Church Street bouncer would be much more glamorous - though as the thought occurred to him now it seemed a bit silly. He was probably just exhausted. All the excitement from the night before had made for a restless sleep, not to mention a couple rails of coke. The novelty of all that weirdness was more than enough to keep him happy. But he felt something strange beyond that. He'd been so high last night it had been difficult so sort out one from the other. But he was stone sober, and there was a strange tautness in his guts that went far deeper than the run-of-the-mill anxiety he sometimes experienced at this job. He furrowed his brow. It felt familiar. Was it happening again? He got his answer as his clothes began to get extra snug around his frame. He looked down and saw his chest puffing out under his shirt. He spread his arms, glancing back and forth between them. “Uhh...Daniel?” “Mmm,” Daniel replied, nodding slowly as he looked out at the crowd, attempting (not for the first time) to fold his arms across his chest before realizing his arms were too big and settling for resting them on his hips. One of the leather clad cowboys was the first to notice, his eyes bugging out and his mouth hanging open. He pointed, trying to get his friend’s attention but apparently at a loss for words. Daniel turned to see what had him so agitated, and his eyes shot wide open. “Muddasic!” he exclaimed, reaching for his walkie. He had a little trouble finding an angle that would get it close to his mouth. “Code green! We gotta code green out front. I'll be needin some support out here on the double!” Hugo was already starting to feel the shirt straining to contain him. His feet were getting cramped in the converse hi-tops he had had to buy today to make up for his feet jumping three sizes last night. And it looked like he'd be making another trip tomorrow. He looked to Daniel for some help but Daniel had his hands full containing the line, which had begun to notice Hugo’s ongoing gains and were swarming the velvet rope to get a better look. Hugo was so wrapped up in his muscles bulging bigger that it wasn't until the cuffs of his jeans started riding up his swelling calves that he realized he was getting taller again as well. He couldn't be too far from seven feet. Two out of three guys in the gathering crowd had their phones out taking videos, and the clamour of disbelief was becoming deafening. “Take it off!” he heard someone yell. His collar was nearly strangling his neck and he was pretty sure a seam had split over one shoulder. “I don't think I can!” Hugo shouted back with a grin. “Show off your guns!” someone else called, and a chorus of hoots and cheers followed. Daniel’s gigantic frame was a literal wall at the base of the stairs, but he seemed to be struggling to keep people from climbing over him. Hugo, basking in the attention, raised both arms up, clenched his fists, and flexed. Immediately another wave of growth radiated through his body. His sleeves popped open as his biceps ballooned to the size of bowling balls. His shirt split right down the middle, revealing his hairless, gargantuan pecs atop a cut, bulging eight-pack. The seams of his jeans popped, yielding to his expanding buttocks and thighs thick as columns, all as he felt himself getting bigger everywhere. EVERYwhere. He opened his mouth and gasped as the fly of his jeans blew open and his inflating dick forced the zipper apart. The door opened and Carl and Darcy emerged, each holding a beach towel. They rushed down the stairs and both immediately took a step back as they looked up at Hugo. The growth seemed to have ended, and Hugo panted for breath as he looked down at himself, his destroyed jeans sliding down his legs. His T-shirt had become a miniscule vest, his new shoes had split open, and his CK underwear was barely holding on around his thick bubble butt and strangled cock and balls. The crowd cheered, and camera flashes sparkled through the street. He felt like he was headlining a rock concert. He had to be almost 8 feet tall, built like a mac truck, and only a quickly diminishing sense of modesty kept him from reaching down right there and jacking off his huge cock in front of all his adoring fans. “Do I…” Darcy tentatively raised his towel. “Should I cover him up?” “Nah,” Carlos sighed. “He's into it.” He brushed past a passerby who had skipped the line and was trying to get at Hugo, arranging himself opposite Daniel on the sidewalk. The crowd was losing their minds. People were roiling against Daniel trying to shout at Hugo. “Take it off!” “Do a lat spread!” “Show us your cock!” “Beefier!” “Are you on Grindr?” “Beefier!” Somehow the crowd had latched onto it, and were chanting “Beef-i-er! Beef-i-er!” over and over in unison. Hugo chuckled, spreading his hands helplessly. “I don't think it works that way, guys,” he said apologetically, pleased at the lower octave rumbling out of his throat. “Uhh…” Darcy had to intone loudly to be heard over the crowd. “Hugo? It might…” Hugo felt his face bristling, and put a hand up to feel a short but full and even beard covering his formerly clean-shaven face. The sensation seemed to be travelling down his body, and he watched a carpet of thick blonde fur unfurl down his chest, narrowing into a thinner trail as it loped through his abs. But just as it crawled under his tight undies and into his pubes - which he felt getting bushier - his newly acquired eight-pack disappeared under a generous layer of fat. “Whoa,” Hugo’s eyed widened at the belly ballooning into view from under his thick furry pecs. He put both hands on it and felt it expanding under his palms. It was soft but sturdy, and he gave it a few experimental bounces as it settled into a sizeable musclegut. Another splash of warmth burst outward from his belly. His pecs jutted out further, his arms thickened even more, his ass swelled against the wall, sliding up as he grew yet a few more inches taller, and finally his cock and balls grew too big for his underwear to handle, and they split open, spilling out his half-hard, two-foot chubby manhood, and allowing his softball ball-sized testicles to hang free. A flurry of camera flashes urged Daniel to check in on Hugo, and the big man’s stoicism faltered into awe as he looked up at Hugo’s gigantic frame, larger than not only anyone’s gains from the previous night but larger than anyone Daniel had ever heard of. His moment of reverie was enough for one of the cowboys to push past Daniel and charge Hugo. Darcy moved to cover up Hugo with his beach towel but the burly cowboy shoved him into the stairwell and pressed up against Hugo’s round gut, his head not even coming up to his chest. “I'll do anything you want. Please. Let me do anything. Please.” Him getting through opened the floodgates, and soon the sidewalk was filled with guys pleading for Hugo’s attention. “Fuck,” Carlos was forced to back away, and surveyed the mounting chaos outside of his bar; at Daniel struggling to get guys off the steps while simultaneously trying to stop others from joining in. “Hey… hey guys come on,” Hugo warned. “I don't want to hurt anybody…” “Hurt me!” a big, thick, fully decked-out leather daddy shouted up at him. “I've been looking for a man who could for years!” Even light nudges were sending guys sprawling backward against the crowd. Hugo realized that if he wasn't careful he could easily kill someone. “Fuck!” Carlos swore as someone shoved him away. Oh shit, Hugo thought. Am I gonna be like this forever? Multiple men were pressing against him, hands groping everywhere. Hugo didn't know what to do. And then someone got a hold of his cock. Hugo was completely unprepared for the sensations his new genitals came equipped with. Suddenly his anxieties dissolved. He wasn't worried about tomorrow. He wasn't worried about an hour from then. All that he knew was the now. And right now someone had their thick, sweaty hands running up and down his shaft, and was slowly pressing a tongue into his urethra. He couldn't even see who it was, there were so many guys all over him - squeezing his huge arms, craning their necks to kiss and suck on his hard nipples, running their fingers through the hair on his big hard belly. He didn't care that he was huge and naked on a well lit street with dozens of people watching and filming him. Hadn't he always been? This had become his past present and future. “FUCK!” Carlos shouted, setting his jaw and shaking his head. He cupped his hands over his mouth and commanded Darcy: “Call the cops!” “Fuck,” Darcy observed, and turned to clamber up the stairs. “Yeah. Fuck.” Carlos agreed. Hugo was breathing hard, his chest heaving with every moan. Someone was working his balls now. Someone was licking his feet. Hugo’s hands fumbled limp through them like he was feeling his way through a dark room, until one short otter in a spiked collar and elaborate harness grabbed his hand and started sucking on his sausage-sized fingers. He felt someone trying to get as his asshole but his butt was pressed up against the wall, so he thrust his hips forward and leaned back with his shoulders. His flash-harem adjusted quickly, and immediately he had one pair of hands on each testicle, and after finding his gigantic ass too thick to rim, the denim-clad bear stuck his two middle fingers in Hugo’s asshole. Why is everyone in love with me? thought Hugo. Why am I so much bigger and stronger than everyone else? Why am I so huge and powerful? Why am I being worshipped? I must be God. His newly-minted cult did nothing to discourage this theory. Further away there were panicked shouts, frantic conversations, a dull white noise of chatter. His immediate vicinity was awash with the sounds of pleasure. Moans, groans, gasps, slurps, kisses; the odd whispered promise of servitude to him. Every inch of him felt amazing, and there were just so many inches. Giving up on attempting to deflate the situation, Carlos lumbered off the sidewalk through the gathering crowd. Maybe it… maybe it wasn’t so bad…? But as he got to the middle of Church Street and turned around, that small hope dissolved. Hugo stood two feet - at least - taller than the alcove leading up into the Black Eagle. Huge, nude, and being pleasured by a crowd of leather and denim daddies. He could see where this was going, and with at least thirty cameras filming the whole thing he couldn't imagine this not making the news. And while he appreciated the publicity, Carlos had a feeling this time would end up being more trouble than it was worth. Hugo felt sweat dripping down his body, greedily licked off by a dozen eager tongues. “Oh fuck,” he groaned into the air, looking up at the darkening twilit sky. He felt a strange sensation in his crotch; a familiar bubbling, but less like a pot on the stove than a volcano. He clenched his ass reflexively, and whoever had their hand up there sucked their teeth as they found it trapped between two cheeks of solid brawn. “I’m,” Hugo gasped. “I’m…” his voice trailed off. He felt that building pressure move from his groin at an aching crawl up his pulsing, iron-hard shaft. The hands stroking it seemed to sense this, increasing their pace and becoming more florid in their massage. None of them had ever given a hand job to a schlong they could share with multiple people, and evidently this new opportunity was bringing out a heretofore untapped creative side. Further and further he felt the pressure extend down his dick, over and over amazed at just how much cock he had. Finally it reached his head, and exploded. Carlos threw both hands to his face in shock, disbelief, and the thought “what the hell am I supposed to do about this” as Hugo’s twenty-six inch cock hosed down the crowd of ravenous adorers in front of him. The cowboy who had his tongue up his slit was bowled over onto his ass, a thick layer of jizz covering his face. As he fell away the torrent sprayed forth and struck Daniel in the back with such force he staggered forward to retain his footing. The remaining worshippers giggled like children playing in a sprinkler as they were splashed with Hugo’s hot cum. While for some, getting covered in a nine-foot tall giant’s semen pulled them out of the moment, for others it only drew them deeper. Men licked Hugo’s spunk off each other, rubbed it on their skin like it was lotion, shook it from their hair as if they had just taken a shower. Finally the geyser extinguished and Hugo leaned back, panting heavily as his chest heaved. He massaged his belly as he waited to catch his breath, dull post-coital fireworks still popping through his brain. Carlos glanced around at the onlookers on Church Street in an attempt to read their expressions. Equal parts confusion, disgust, arousal, and fascination. A generous puddle of jizm had amassed on the sidewalk. “Daniel!” he barked. “We need to get him off the street! Now!” “You outta your mind, man?” Daniel retorted. “No way dat boy fittin’ into the bar!” Carlos clenched his teeth. “That’s why I said ‘off the street.’ Come on!” *** Tyson drew up the bottle of tequila a foot and a half from the bar, letting the liquor splash as he filled five neatly arranged shot glasses. He expertly spun the bottle in his hand before depositing it back on the shelf behind him. He slid a slice of lemon into each glass and slammed a salt shaker next to them, spreading his arms as he leaned on the bar like he was presenting a piece of art. “That’ll be thirty, please,” he said, adding a wink for good measure. The fiftysomething waifish diva flitted his heavily mascaraed eyes and slid two twenties across the bar, letting his hand linger on the bills so that when Tyson went to pick them up, the diva ran his fingers over the back of his hand. “Keep the change, gorgeous,” he cooed with a (probably fake) southwestern American accent, and delicately picked up all five shots at once, disappearing into the crowd. Paul, who had finally started to enjoy himself, stifled a laugh. “Good lord, you are such a bloody trollop,” he chuckled. Paul always got more British when he was on M. Tyson, meanwhile, had decided to play the night sober. He had a lot more mass and had reasoned that he didn’t know his limits anymore. He had resolved to test them in a controlled environment, but maybe after the weekend. He was happy with that decision because he was making a goddamn killing. Tyson was a natural charmer to begin with. Suddenly being one of the beefiest guys in the room had upped his game to another level, and he was raking in tips he could scarcely believe. To Paul, he just spread his arms with a grin. “Don’t hate the player, man.” Paul cackled loudly - even though it hadn’t been that funny a joke - and turned to the newest patron approaching the bar. “What can I get you mate?” The short fit buzzed white kid pointed across the bar. “Need t’talk at Tyson.” Tyson glanced over, immediately recognizing him as the guy who had almost fainted a couple nights earlier. And he’d been in just the previous night, as well, right before all the chaos broke out. Paul shot his co-worker an impressed smirk, and the two maneuvered around each other - which had been much easier yesterday - and switched spots. Tyson motioned his hand in front of his chest. “If you want to ask about… all this, I don’t really…” The kid shook his head. “No. S’not about that.” He leaned forward. “Aight, look. Tyson, you gotta come wi’ me. Righ’ now.” Tyson paused, but his look of concern quickly melted into a bashful smile. “Look man, I'm flattered and… like, I mean you're a pretty cute guy I wouldn't even be against it it's just, y'know, I'm working and I can't just…” “No. No, I…” the kid interjected, shaking his head. He seemed to lose his place for a moment, and then sighed, leaning further across the bar. “It's Blake.” The colour drained from Tyson’s face. “How… who…” “Blake,” the kid reiterated with more force. “Th’same Blake. S’in trouble, man. ‘M tryin t’help him but I need your help, Tyson. An’ we gotta go righ’ fuckin’ now.” Tyson stared blankly at him, stood up from the bar and looked around for a moment, before leaning back down. “Who the fuck even are you?” he asked with exasperation. “Nate,” he replied quickly. He put a hand to his chest. “I'm Nate, you're Tyson, ‘e’s Blake.” he softly pounded his fist on the bar. “‘Can ‘splain everythin, but we runnin’ outa time. We gotta go now, man. Righ’ now.” Tyson had been having a weird couple of nights. There had to be a point where he put his foot down and said enough is enough, not get wrapped up in some more bullshit. But if it was true… if Blake hadn't been seen since the night they were together, and was in trouble, then maybe it had something to do with Tyson. “Jus’ gotta trus’ me, man,” Nate shrugged. “Make up your mind, though. S’if you ain’ comin’ I gotta go on my own.” Tyson stood up again. He took a deep breath and glanced back at Nate, who was tapping an imaginary wristwatch. “Shit,” Tyson whispered under his breath, and slid over next to Paul. “Paul I gotta take care of something. I gotta go.” Paul made a face. “Dude,” he protested, gesturing to the crowded bar. “It's an emergency,” Tyson pleaded. “Yeah an emergency shag,” Paul shot back with a roll of his eyes. “C'mon man you know I wouldn't do this to you if it wasn't a big deal,” said Tyson, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Paul shrugged the hand off but condeded with a sigh. “What'll I tell Carlos?” “Let me worry about that,” Tyson replied, already shimmying away. He swivelled out from behind the bar and slapped Nate on the shoulder. “Let's go.” As he led Nate out of the stairwell leading into the bar, Tyson was surprised to find Darcy hosing off the steps, with no sign of Daniel or Hugo. “Darcy?” Tyson raised his eyebrow, looking at the pile of torn clothes and men covered in jizz. “What the hell happened?” Darcy was about to answer when Nate grabbed Tyson’s wrist. “‘Ll tell you all abou’it on th’way.” He took off at a run still holding onto Tyson, who nearly toppled over, still unused to being so top-heavy. Nate dragged him through the crowd until finally they broke through and hurried down the street.
  7. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 13: Mahtab It was a grey, overcast morning and the hotel room was dark. But the sun peeked out from its cloud cover and moved slowly across Mahtab’s face. When it reached her eyes she squinted and awoke groggily with a moan. She sat upright in the chair, rubbing her aching neck, and glanced over at Russell, playing on his phone in the desk chair on the other side of the room. Adam was asleep on the bed, full clothed and on top of the covers. “Still nothing,” said Russell quietly, shaking his head. “Fuck…” Mahtab whispered. She glanced at Adam. One hand was on his chest, rising and falling at a slow, measured rhythm. “You sure he didn't warn him somehow?” Russell nodded. “You still got his phone right?” Mahtab checked her pocket and felt Adam's iphone right where she had left it. “Yeah…” “So what now?” Russell asked. Mahtab sighed. “I dunno. See if Adrian has anything?” She paused. “We should keep an eye on Adam, though. For leverage if nothing else.” “What if…” Russell glanced at Adam and set his phone down, leaning toward her and lowering his voice further. “What if whoever's actually responsible has gotten him, too?” “Just as we're staking him out?” asked Mahtab. “Coincidence much?” “You said it yourself, Matty,” Russell countered. “Him coming to Toronto was the perfect chance to confront him. If someone else had been after him…” “But who?” Mahtab shook her head, and hoisted herself out of the chair, stretching. “All the most likely suspects are missing already. Unless you want to start looking at the Circle again.” “Look, it could be anyone,” Russell spread his hands. “One of our own, one of theirs… even a hedge mage. Or another organization is trying to weaken both of us before they let us know they're here.” He sighed and stood up. “I'm gonna see what Adrian has. If he’s still got a read on Cassidy it may lead us to whoever's been doing this, one way or another.” Mahtab nodded. “Okay. I'll stay with Adam, see what he has to say. But take Adrian with you if you're going to check it out, all right?” “I'll be fine.” “Suit or no suit you're not invincible,” Mahtab quietly reminded him. “Just be careful.” Russell rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah. I'll be in touch, okay?” Mahtab nodded as he made his way out the door. “See ya.” He grabbed a cold slice of pizza from the box on the desk and left, shutting the door behind him. Mahtab turned back to look at Adam sleeping on the bed. She sighed. “Fuck.” *** Tyson hit the snooze button on his alarm and turned onto his back. His big, broad, V-shaped back. He took a deep breath, feeling his heavy chest rise and fall, and ran a hand from his pecs down to his abs. Well, he thought to himself, I guess it wasn't a dream… Continuing down his body, his hand found its way around his cock - erect as usual at this time of the morning - and he gave it a lazy stroke. Oh wow… He had to sit up on his elbows to see over his pecs, and smiled at what he saw. It seemed that his muscles weren't the only part of him that had been upgraded. His schlong had grown from its usual six inches to a thick ten, at least. His testicles had fared similarly, bloated to the size of tennis balls. “Fuckin’ A,” he mumbled aloud, and lowered himself back down to lie on his back as he began to stroke himself. One hand pumped his cock while the other slid over his torso, tracing ridged abs, his pronounced obliques, and his big furry pecs, lingering on his nipples. His cock was primed and ready to go, already leaking pre just a few strokes in. Tyson closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the night before. As alarmingly weird as it had been, it had been so hot to watch. Not just the transformations themselves but the looks on everyone's faces - shocked, disbelieving, ecstatic, thrilled. It defied all explanation but by the end of it he didn't care. Either he was crazy and it wasn't happening at all, or it was happening and it was fucking amazing. He remembered again feeling the leather straps of his harness constricting around his bulging body, how the sound of it popping off was one of the sexiest things he'd ever heard. That, evidently, was enough to push him over, and with a loud, sultry grunt, his big balls pushed a big fountain of cum out of his big dick and he gasped and moaned and writhed on his mattress, feeling every bulging muscle through his whole body tense. When finally his cock was spent, he went limp on the bed, idly wiping his jizz-soaked hand on his covers, and dozed happily for another twenty minutes until his alarm went off again. He checked his phone. Text message from Carlos: Mandatory staff meeting 12pm sharp. BE THERE Gee, Tyson smiled. Wonder what that could be about. Tyson got up, his big flaccid dick flopping between his thick thighs, and made his way over to his bathroom. The tiny mirror over his sink was too small to get much of a complete picture of himself but he checked himself out one section at a time, flexing muscles he hadn't even realized existed. He was carved out of marble. He was huge and shredded. God it felt so good. He'd never given being this big any serious consideration, but now that he had this size he was almost amazed he had never tried to get there on his own. He had no trouble getting guys as it was; now he felt like he'd never sleep alone again. With some awkward maneuvering he squeezed into his standing shower and cleaned himself off, noting at one point that he'd be going through a lot more bodywash from here on in. Having favoured tight-fitting clothes his wardrobe options were fairly limited. He ended up going with a bright turquoise tank top that had once hung loose off his shoulders that he now had to squeeze himself into, and a similarly tight pair of large athletic shorts he wore to play basketball. He slipped into a pair of sandals, threw on his charcoal Puma ball cap and Oakley shades, and swaggered out the door. The second he got outside he saw how grey it was and hung his shades off his collar, where they nestled in his pec cleavage. People were staring at him on the streetcar. Some he recognized as familiar faces from his commute, probably trying to figure out whether it was him or not. Others were strangers who apparently just liked to look at him. It became a routine after a few stops; he'd catch people with their gaze locked on him and they'd bashfully avert their eyes, and then he'd grin. Tyson overshot Church Street so he could get a green tea frappucino and a bagel at the Starbucks on Yonge. He munched and sipped as he walked across Wellesley Street, still with plenty of time to spare. “Uhmm… Tyson?” came a voice from behind him, and he turned with his mouth full of bagel. It was a short guy of average build, with long black hair and a matching big bushy beard. Tyson wasn't sure who he was until he recognized the Guided By Voices band shirt. “Darcy? Is that you?” The guy grinned broadly, stroking his beard. “Yeah man.” He gave a laugh and fell in step next to him. “Last night, right?” Darcy was the occasional DJ at the Black Eagle, who had until now sported a bright red swoop and no facial hair whatsoever. “I always assumed you were a redhead,” Tyson noted. Darcy laughed. “Hah! Yeah. No, man. Been dying it for years.” He took a lock of his hair between his fingers. “Cut off the ends this morning. It looked retarded,” he confessed, then slapped Tyson on the back. “Shit, dude. You got huge!” Tyson felt himself blush a bit. “Yeah… well it was a very… strange shift last night.” “Fuck, man, tell me about it,” Darcy nodded. “Hey check this out.” He lifted the shirt to reveal a rug of dark dense body hair covering his chest and belly. “I was fuckin bare as a newborn before last night,” he announced with pride. Tyson took another sip of his frap. “Looks good on you, man,” he nodded. Darcy scoffed. “Yeah, so does the, like, hundred pounds of Schwarzenegger on you, man.” Tyson smirked. “Heh. Thanks,” he said, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. He stole a glance at Darcy’s crotch, noting with a chuckle that he was sporting a big bulge. “This is so trippy, man,” Darcy remarked. “I've never been able to grow decent facial hair and now I look like… like an extra from Vikings or something. Hey!” he smacked Tyson's arm. “Gay marriage in the States!” Tyson shrugged. “Yeah. Was gonna happen sooner later.” “Maybe,” Darcy conceded. “Still, though. Exciting times.” They entered the bar at ten minutes to noon, but pretty much everyone was there already. The room looked like a circus side show. Everyone was either gigantically tall, swollen with muscle, hugely fat or excessively hairy - all except Simon, who had had the night off and was staring around in bewildered shock. Chairs and barstools were arranged in a crooked circle, and a cardboard pot of Tim Hortons coffee was on a table next to an open box of timbits. Tyson and Darcy poured themselves cups and munched timbits while the last of the employees filed in. Tyson broke off from Darcy and sat next to Paul, who was wearing the same extra-large staff shirt he had taken to go home. Paul greeted him with a nod but said nothing, looking annoyed. Pretty much everyone was poorly dressed in worn out gym clothes or old clothing they didn't care about stretching out or ripping. Paul, who famously detested sandals, was wearing an old pair of too-small flipflops, which Tyson noted with a chuckle. “Hey,” Tyson nudged him and grinned. “What's your shoe size now?” Paul just looked at him. “I don't wanna talk about it.” Tyson shrugged and sipped his coffee. They waited til quarter after when they seemed to decide that anyone who hadn't arrived wasn't going to. When the cops had shown up Tyson’s instincts suggested to him his buzz was about to be killed, and he left as quickly and quietly as a guy his size could. In the chaos he had missed out on a few of his colleagues’ changes, among them the co-owner, Carlos. As he heard the heavy stomps coming up from the private rooms in the basement, Tyson assumed it was Daniel, but then saw him already standing by the bar. Daniel had decided - or perhaps had been forced - to forego wearing a shirt altogether, revealing the hugely muscled torso last night's antics had afforded him. Daniel had been hulked out into a giant swole freak, his vascular muscles snaking with veins even when he was relaxed. His neck had essentially disappeared beneath bulging traps that led right into massively thick shoulders and arms. He'd had to walk sideways through most doorways. So if Daniel was there, who was coming up the stairs, rattling the bottles behind the bar with every thudding step? Tyson gaped as he watched Carlos squeeze his bulk through the door with a bemused grin on his face. Carlos, who had formerly been shorter than Tyson and of a similar lean physique, had been rendered all but unrecognizable. He stood at least seven feet tall, and everything about him had gone from average to gargantuan. A huge belly stuck out nearly a foot in front of him, and his big thick arms were covered by a layer of fat that did little to soften the powerful muscles beneath it. In place of his neatly trimmed goatee was a huge bushy beard, and in place of his buzzcut was a thick mane of hair he had tied back into a tail that reached halfway down his back. While everyone else had apparently struggled to cobble together an outfit that would fit their new dimensions, it almost looked like Carlos had been prepared for this day, wearing a thin white muscle shirt under a black leather vest, tucked into dark blue jeans topped by a leather belt clasped with an ornate belt buckle of a goat's head overtop a pentagram. What really sold the whole piece was his thick leather boots ornamented with thin steel chains and spiked buckles. Where the hell had he found boots like that to fit his huge feet in the, what, six or seven hours since he had gone up a few sizes? Carlos was a pretty friendly, laidback guy, and his newfound gigantism hadn't dampened his attitude. With Daniel flanking him from behind, he sidled up onto a barstool, one boot resting flat on the floor. His ample package was plain to see as he sat down, and Tyson did a quick sweep of the room, noting that every man there - regardless of whatever other transformation he had undergone - had also been upgraded in the dick department. Carlos smiled with a note of bemusement. “First I just want to update you guys on Jorge. He’s fine, he got released from the ER and he’s sleeping at home. Second I want to thank everyone for coming out on such short notice,” he said with a bemused smile and a nod. “And I'll cut right to the chase. Obviously last night was… a bit of an event.” “A bit of an event?” came the incredulous query from Dennis, the barback who had gone from five-foot-eleven twig to six-foot-six bear. “Man I gained a hundred and fifty pounds in thirty seconds.” “Yeah,” Carlos agreed. “Well obviously a lot of us went through some significant changes.” “Okay seriously,” the patio bartender Rosharon held up her hand. “Does anyone have any notion what the fuck actually happened? Cuz this?” she gestured to her breasts which had blown up a few sizes, “makes no fuckin sense at all.” “Look, I don't know,” Carlos admitted, and was about to say something else when Paul cut him off. “That's not bloody good enough. This is impossible to explain!” Paul gestured around the whole room. “What am I supposed to tell people?” “All right hold on,” Carlos raised his hands defensively, “this is actually what I wanted to talk about. CP24 aired a piece on it this morning. They seem to think it's a hoax.” “Yeah so do the fuckin’ cops,” said Rosharon. “They were talkin’ about public mischief charges.” “Okay look,” said Carlos, “I've already spoken to my lawyer and we're gonna handle that. In the meantime though I need everyone to give no comment if you're approached by the media or the police.” “What if we get subpoenaed?” Carlos briefly pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Jesus christ Rosharon they're not gonna subpoena you for public mischief.” “Have you tried getting in touch with that cop that's always coming in?” asked Darcy. “Whatsisname… Vince something? He could vouch for us, right? At least confirm we aren't just making it all up.” “How’s that gonna go?” spat Paul. “‘Yeah no guys it's cool all these guys just spontaneously grew for no reason.’” “Vince is at L A pride and will be back in a week or so, I think,” said Carlos. “When he is I'll reach out to him but for now…” “So what are we supposed to do about all the customers we had?” asked Paul. “How are you gonna get them not to say anything?” “Obviously there's nothing we can do about them,” Carlos conceded. “Which is why it's so important we keep a unified front on a media blackout, all right? At least for the next few days.” He adjusted himself and brightened. “Now otherwise, I think we need to see the opportunity we had here. I know it was strange but I think we can all agree…” Carlos gestured to them gathered around the room. “This isn't such a bad thing.” “Are you bloody kidding me?” asked Paul incredulously. “Carlos we have absolutely zero idea how or why this happened. What if we all end up getting cancer or something?” “Aside from Jorge’s panic attack the paramedics said everyone checked out fine,” said Carlos, “and I realize thay doesn't cover everything but I mean, has anyone had any adverse effects? Me, I feel great.” “Adverse effects?” asked Paul, and began counting off on his fingers. “I'm too big for my bed, my entire wardrobe is rubbish…” “These bitches gon’ give me back problems before long, I'll tell you that,” Rosharon mumbled. “But c'mon, man,” said Darcy. “You gotta admit this is pretty fuckin cool, right?” “Pretty cool?!” Paul shouted at him. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Doesn't anyone care HOW this happened? Doesn't anyone care that this is bloody impossible?” “Magic,” Daniel suggested with a nonchalant shrug of his mighty shoulders. “Magic,” Paul repeated dryly, “that's the explanation we're goin’ with: magic.” “What else you got, sonny boy?” asked Daniel archly. “Look around. The short boys get tall. The skinny boys get big. The big boys get bigger.” - here he gestured to himself - “An’ I wager all your little tonkys got a nice growth spurt too, ah?” he tried to fold his arms over his chest but his huge biceps clashed with his giant pecs so he settled for putting his hands on his hips. “You got another word for wishes comin’ true, now?” Tyson raised an eyebrow. What the hell are tonkys? “Hey, I didn't wish for this,” said Paul. “Oh come on,” Carlos protested. “You're honestly telling me you never wanted to be taller?” Paul went to say something and then threw up his hands, sighed, and smoldered moodily in silence. “Okay,” Carlos said with a nod. “We don't know how it happened but it did. It's Pride Friday and the Internet is goin nuts over this thing. Tonight is gonna be a total shitshow, and I need all hands on deck. Even if you weren't scheduled. I've gone ahead and cancelled dirty bingo and we're not gonna open til six. And as far as your rubbish wardrobe goes, Paul, I've dipped into some discretionary funds and everyone is getting two hundred bucks so you can buy some new threads for the new you.” Tyson smiled. “Sweet.” Carlos continued. “I know two hundred bucks doesn't go too far but it's the best we can do for now. I know this is weird,” he chuckled with a nod. “It’s a goddamn mind-fuck. But we’re a family here and we got your backs. We'll have time to try and figure all this out later but we're primed to have one of our biggest weekends in history if we play our cards right.” He rose up off the stool, the floorboards creaking as he shifted his weight. “That's about it, then. If you can make it tonight let me know, and I'll see you all back here around five.” Everyone went past the bar to pick up their cash and then exited in single file, as only a handful of them could fit through the halls at the same time. Tyson said goodbye to Darcy and Simon and jogged to catch up with Paul, who was sulkily walking down the sidewalk. “Hey man,” he greeted. Paul responded with a halfhearted nod but didn't say anything, fishing a cigarette out of his pack. He offered the open pack to Tyson who slid out his own. “You… you seemed pretty angry in there,” Tyson noted as Paul lit his cigarette. “Everything okay?” Paul glanced at Tyson as he handed him the lighter, looking over his big beefy body, and shook his head. “It's just so fuckin’ weird.” Tyson lit his cigarette and handed back the lighter. “No argument there, man.” “I just…” Paul sighed. “I like to think I have some control over my life, and if something can just come along and… do THIS to me? I mean what else could happen?” “There's not some part of you that's happy about it though?” asked Tyson. “Oh well sure. The inner teenager in me is losing his shit,” Paul admitted. “But like, when I was younger I always wanted to be taller, and even in my twenties I was like, holdin’ out for a late growth spurt. But when it didn't come, I accepted it and came to terms with just bein’ a little guy. An’ now…” “You're a tall guy,” Tyson finished with a shrug. “Could be worse.” “Okay fine, but what if we all suddenly go back to normal?” said Paul. Tyson frowned. That hadn't occurred to him. “Why would that happen?” “Why would ANY of this happen, that's my bloody point,” Paul explained. “If I can spontaneously grow a foot and half taller, waking up one morning to find I'm back to five-foot-four wouldn't particularly surprise me.” He paused. “An’ even thinking about it now, I don't want that to happen. Which means I never really came to terms with being a little guy in the first place. An’ if I have to do it again…” he shook his head dejectedly and took a drag from his cigarette. “You're overthinking this,” said Tyson. “If you don't know what's gonna happen you're just gonna drive yourself crazy guessing. I feel like you gave me that advice yesterday.” “Well,” Paul rolled his eyes. “Yesterday was a very different day.” Tyson nodded, and they walked together in silence until they finished their smokes. “Hey,” Tyson nudged Paul. “Wanna go shopping?” Paul shrugged. “Yeah all right.” *** Brent stepped out of the shower to find a text waiting for him from Nate. It upset him a bit that he got so excited just to see the notice. You're falling too hard for this guy, he mentally reminded himself. You're just a summer fling to him. He resisted the temptation to pick up the phone right away, deciding instead to take his time toweling off and getting dressed. He'd really been looking forward to Pride this year. It was his first one in Toronto and his first one with a boyfriend - or, not-boyfriend, or whatever the hell was going on with Nate. But it was Friday and they still hadn't seen each other. Maybe Pride just wasn't Nate’s thing, or maybe he had legitimately become suddenly swamped with things he had to get done, but in Brent’s experience if you wanted to do something you made the time to do it, or at least explained yourself with more detail than “I'm too busy.” When he finally decided he had exercised an appropriate amount of restraint, Brent picked up the phone and checked the message. There were two. I wanna c u U home? Is ayush there Ayush was out for the day at some kind of panel at U of T, and had invited Brent to join him and his friends at Crew's and Tangos after dinner. He had given a wishy-washy, non-committal response; holding out, he later realized, for Nate to make plans with him. No Ayush is out U can come over, Brent sent back, and soon Nate replied: K omw He did a hurried survey of the house and a rudimentary tidying of his room. He laboured over what he should be in the middle of when Nate showed up, and settled on playing Far Cry 4. He'd just finished losing an Outpost match when he heard a knock on the front door. Brent did a quick mental inventory of his outfit. Hemp shorts, boxer-briefs, and his Patriots jersey. Just another day lazing around at home. What did he care if the guy he was totally into showed up at his door? Not much, was the message he hoped he was sending. He opened his door staring into the bare chest of some guy who was taller than the doorframe. “Uhhhhhh,” said Brent. “Sup, man?” the lanky body ducked under the frame, forcing Brent back a step. Who the hell was this guy? Was some gang of giants about to do a home invasion on him? How did - holy shit… “Nate?!” he shrieked. He was at least seven feet tall, probably with an inch or two to spare. He smirked down at Brent. “Somethin’ wrong, man?” he chuckled. “What… what the hell happened to you?” Bren sputtered. Nate shrugged nonchalantly. “Same thing that happened to you.” Brent was lost. “What?!” “That night at the Black Eagle?” Nate grinned. Brent's eyes somehow got even wider. How could he know? How could anyone know? He hadn't said a thing to a single person about it. “S’all right, man. Don' sweat it,” Nate slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I learned how to do it too.” “This… how… this doesn't make any sense!” Brent protested. Nate shut the door behind him. “S’only gon’ get worse, brah…” he laughed, his impish eyes twinkling. Brent suddenly felt a strange electric jolt in the pit of his stomach. It was the origin point of a swirling liquid warmth that pumped through his veins and quickly flowed through his whole body. He felt a bit lightheaded. “What… ooooh,” he moaned, staggering back a step as he felt his jersey sliding across his body. It felt like that night at the Eagle but so much more intense. Brent felt his pecs getting heavy with pure muscle, his shoulders widening and swelling with brawn up his neck, thickening up against the collar of his jersey, his biceps blowing up like balloons of meat. Soon the once-loose jersey was hugging tight to every contour of his expanding frame. The shorts which had been pretty snug on his already-thick thighs stretched to their limit around his inflating butt. Brent was overwhelmed by the sweet feeling of warmth and weight pumping through his body. His eyes fluttered in ecstasy and he felt his cock twitching with excitement. His rational thoughts were being smothered by a serotonin fog of bliss but as he looked down at himself and saw how huge he was getting he groaned. “No… no this is too much! What’ll…” His expansion seemed to subside. “Naw man don’ worry ‘bout it. You'll be back to your old self in a few hours,” Nate assured him with a smarmy wink. “S’just enjoy ourselves, aright? C’mere.” Nate took a step towards him and leaned down, lifting Brent's chin so their lips met in a kiss. Nate's long arms reached down and his hand cupped Brent's balls before sliding over his thigh and clutching his ass. Despite Nate leaning down, Brent had to stand on the balls of his feet to reach him. Nate released Brent from their kiss, standing again to his full, intimidating height. He chuckled. “Bet you don’ reach up to kiss anyone too often. Mmm…” he ran his hands from Brent's neck over his shoulders and down his arms. “Flex for me, big boy…” Brent raised his arm slowly, looking at it as if it was someone else’s, but feeling the push and pull of all the new muscles blown up under his skin. He made a fist and flexed, watching his bicep ball up and feeling the sleeve of his jersey tight around it. Nate ran his hand over its peak, first as a gentle caress then with a firm squeeze. To feel his hand against it was utter bliss. All that size resisting his grip, tight and hard and huge and hot. Brent felt so powerful, stronger than ever before. He puffed out his chest, felt the mesh fabric of the jersey taut across them, and envisioned Tyler seeing him like this. His imagination turned Tyler into a cartoon, jaw dropping down to the floor while his eyes bugged out of their sockets. Brent smirked to himself. Nate meanwhile was hard from not only watching Brent transform, but his telepathy allowed him to virtually experience it. Every sensation and thought that passed through Brent's conscious mind moaned its way over Nate's. It was all he could do to keep from creaming himself, and the peak of the tent in his sweat shorts was dark with a growing stain of pre. Nate shook his head. “Aright, gotta get ya to the bedroom.” He clapped Brent on the shoulders and pushed hjm in the direction of his bedroom. Brent felt heavy and thick as he trounced down the hallways, his bulging muscles rubbing against each other as we walked. His thighs were so big he couldn't walk normally, and staggered in front of Nate as he pushed him towards his room. “No it's… it's fine… Ayush won't be back for…” “Naw man, jus’ gettin’ you comfortable,” Nate explained with a chuckle, “cuz ‘fore long you gon’ be too big to fit through the doorway.” Brent gasped. “Wait, what?” Nate pushed him into his bedroom and he wavered to stay upright. Nate massaged his shoulders briefly with a moan, leaned down to peck him on the cheek, then circled around, pulling him around to the foot of his bedframe. It only took a nudge to push top-heavy Brent onto the mattress. Brent sat up with a giggle. “Jesus… Nate how big can you make people?” Nate’s grin widened. “Haven’ tested my limits yet, man. Sky's the limit s’far as I know.” To demonstrate, Nate stretched taller right before his eyes, his body growing in proportion, the cigarette pack, lighter, and wallet in his shorts bulging prominently in his pockets, along with his growing package. He averted his eyes upwards, taking a step to his right to avoid hitting the light fixture. “Or in this case the ceilin,” he added with a laugh. He grunted, adjusting his balls through his shorts, pulling the head of his cock out of the top of his waistband, dripping with a thick sheen of pre. “Christ man, you're huge!” Brent exclaimed, looking up and down Nate's body. He dwarfed the room around him, made Brent's desk, chair, and bookcase all seem like miniature movie props. “Damn right,” Nate agreed with a smug nod. “Think you like me now, jus’ wait man.” With a grunt, Nate bobbed his cock up and down, and Brent watched mesmerized as it stretched larger, lengthening up Nate's abs and fattening up nice and thick. His balls grew big and heavy, further weighing down his shorts. “Ah… mmmm,” Nate grunted again, then sighed. “Whoo! 'At's always a rush.” Nate wormed his way out of his shorts until they were down around his ankles, and kicked them away, knocking his head against the light overhead with a blush and a chuckle. “Nate you gotta be pushing eight feet tall!” Brent shouted. “This is unreal!” Nate gave his huge hard cock a playful wag and stepped closer to the bed. “Naw man, s’all real,” he thrust his hips a little and his dick bobbed up and down. He nodded at it. “Touch it.” Brent put his meaty hands around the thick cock, feeling the heat coming off it, feeling the stickiness of his pre. “Fuck…” “Mmmm,” Nate moaned as Brent began to stroke the two-foot length of his shaft. “Yeah, man. We can do whatever we want now,” he cooed, running his hand from the crown of Brent's head down his burly neck to his huge shoulders. “Can make you as huge as you want, man. You deserve it…” “Can you make me as tall as you?” Brent looked up at him. “Nuh-uh,” Nate winked and shook his head. “Tonight I get to be the tall guy. An’ you…” - Brent felt that same kinetic warmth through his body and his jersey shifted across his skin - “...you get to be the big swole fuckin’ beast.” Again his body began to swell, already huge muscles bulging with even greater size. His felt his shorts straining against him until they burst, and he looked down in amazement as he watched the fabric tear away, revealing thighs that were getting massive with hard, heavy meat. The boxers underneath were still holding out but he didn't put much faith in them lasting long either. It was phenomenal. He was actually outgrowing his clothes. His jersey was beginning to succumb as well as his chest blew up with bulging muscle and his biceps inflated with brawn. He felt his traps stretching out the collar, his lats straining the back. Finally it began to give way, the tiny holes in the mesh stretching larger and larger until finally they opened up across his chest and back. “Oh god,” he moaned as his expanding body continued to rip the jersey apart. His muscles were growing larger than he'd ever seen on anyone before. The sounds coming from his body were almost hotter than the feel of it - skin and tendons stretching like rubber, muscles squelching against each other as they fought for space, bones popping as they thickened and lengthened to support the increasing weight of his frame. He clenched his pecs and they rose up against his chin. He flexed his arms and his biceps blew up to the size of watermelons . He flared out his lats and they obliterated what little remained of his jersey. “How much do I weigh?” Brent asked with a gasp. Nate laughed. “Fuck if I know, man,” he licked his lips. “Mmm… you're so goddamn hot, bro.” He leaned forward, putting his hands on Brent's shoulders, his ridiculous cock thrusting against the deep tight valley between Brent's pecs. Brent tried to reach forward to take it in his hand, but found with amazement his arms had actually become too thick to bend all the way. Nate laughed at his struggle. “Don' worry ‘bout me, man. These puppies -” he reached down and pinched each of Brent's nipples “- are doin all the work for you.” And Brent was only getting bigger. His growing arms forced his hands further from in front of him as his pecs surged forward and enveloped Nate's dick. Nate began to slowly buck his hips, and Brent felt his big thick cock sliding up and down between his pecs, unable to help but smile as Nate winced every time he flexed them. He could barely believe it. He was getting too huge to even move. He tried to stay upright but his giant thighs were growing into his lap, forcing his torso slowly onto its back. He could hear his bedframe whining in protest under his endlessly increasing mass. It was a strange contradiction to feel so empowered with strength and yet nearly immobilized by the giant muscles that were granting it to him. It didn't matter, though. Every time he attempted to sort out the logistics of his impossible size a jolt of pleasure would hit him, hit reset on his thought process, and he'd have to start over. Before long he simply abandoned the effort, letting sensation and bliss ooze into every corner of his mind. Nothing else mattered, just the feel of the throbbing cock lodged in his chest and the strength and size blossoming inside his body. Sweat dripped off Nate onto Brent's chest and abs. Nate’s breath was coming in heavy gasps accented with grunts and moans and mumbled cries of “Aww yeah.” Nate shuddered, groaned, and Brent felt a flood of hot cum gushing between his pecs. His continental shelf of a chest blocked his view he could feel the spunk oozing out from his sternum and down his abs. Nate braced himself on Brent's pecs and lowered let his head bob down, taking a moment to swallow a few breaths before he raised his grinning face, leaned forward across his chest and kissed him on the lips. Brent tried to reach forward to hug him close but his gargantuan arms wouldn't permit it. Nate stood up, his cock slurping out from between Brent's pecs, flopping against Nate's thighs as he went flaccid. “This s’ gon’ be so awesome man. Fuck. Can’ wait ‘til next season. We’re gon’ be so huge all the guys’ll be shittin’ emselves the second they see you strut out on the field. Tyler's head’s gon’ fuckin’ explode, man.” Brent closed his eyes as he felt his hard cock getting warmer and warmer til it was like it had become white hot. He shuddered and moaned as it began to expand, inflating bigger with every throbbing heartbeat. His balls groaned as his sack stretched larger, pressing against his thighs. He felt Nate's hands clasp around his shaft. He assumed Nate had bent over but when he opened his eyes he gasped in shock. Nate was still standing at his full height, and Brent's dick was already well past the four foot mark and still rising, still inflating thicker, throbbing veins getting fatter, pre issuing freely from the tip. “Oh my fucking god!” Brent cried. “YOU'RE a fuckin’ god, man,” Nate murmured as he ran his hands down either side of Brent's shaft. “Fuckin’ look at you, man. Wide as a fuckin’ truck.” The cock was still inching higher, bloating thicker, getting heavier on his crotch. “How…” Brent sucked in a lung full of air, “how big are you gonna… oooooooh.” Brent's query trailed off into a moan as he watched his cock surge another two feet taller before his eyes, and as it rose past Nate's head Brent realized with awestruck bewilderment that his own cock had gotten as long as Brent was tall. A tremor of pleasure quaked through his body as his pre-soaked tip pressed up against the ceiling. Make that: longER. Nate took a step forward and threw his arms around Brent's tremendous shaft, pressing his body against the underside of his cock, moaning and licking pre from the head. Brent shuddered and tried to reach up to stroke it but his cartoonishly swollen muscles prevented him from doing anything but grab clumpfuls of blanket from beneath him. “Holy fuck!” Brent coughed. It was amazing. It was beyond amazing. Every inch of his huge sweaty body and monstrous tree-trunk of a cock was alive, hot and electric. As Nate continued to work his shaft, jostling Brent's beachball-sized testicles with his knees, bringing him closer and closer to climax, Brent's reality outside that moment disappeared in a flood of blood cum and sweat. He had always been here, in this moment, gigantically swole and titanically hung, being serviced by an eight foot plus giant. York, the Fox, the Lions, his friends, his family, Far Cry 4 still on the main menu in the other room - it all melted away; had never been. The world ended beyond the door to his bedroom. This bed, this body, this cock, this man. That was all that was. His huge balls convulsed and he felt a geyser of cum bubbling up his pillar of a cock until it erupted out the tip, spraying back off thr ceiling and raining downon him with the force of a pressure washer. Nate was getting a similar onslaught, but had the disadvantage of being on his feet and at proportions he was unaccustomed to. He shielded his eyes and staggered back a couple steps, bumping his head on light fixture again before falling on his ass with a crash that shook the room and knocked a couple of books off their shelves. Brent's orgasm seemed to last for days. A torrential stream of jizz kept blasting out of his giant cock until finally he was spent, and he let his head fall back with a grunt, feeling the cum oozing across his body and dripping down in thick gobs from the ceiling. Nate climbed back to his feet, giggling maniacally and dripping with semen. He was still laughing as he climbed on top of Brent, the bedframe creaking in protest, his hands and knees slipping across the thick layer of cum. He settled face down on top of Brent, his long legs straddling the gargantuan cock that teetered unevenly as it slowly went soft, his pecs over Brent's face, rising and falling with every breath. “Aww fuck,” Nate squealed impishly, his own cock humping lazily against Brent's abs. “Fun, huh?” Brent could barely move he was so overblown with muscle, and his room was covered in a pool of cum he couldn't even begin to think about cleaning up. But he felt so good there, lying there with Nate, bigger than anything. All he could do was laugh back at him. “Heh. Yeah.” *** “Absolutely not.” Mahtab crossed her arms, firmly shaking her head. “Mahtab,” Adam growled. “This is getting ridiculous. Give me. My fucking. Phone.” “No,” she shrugged like it would settle the matter. “There's a lot of balls in the air here. I can't let you contact Cassidy.” Adam took a deep breath. “Mahtab…” “You think it's a coincidence we come to confront him and he never shows up?” she asked archly. “If by confront you mean fucking ambush,” Adam retorted. Mahtab rolled her eyes. “Don't be so dramatic.” “I'm…” Adam sputtered incredulously. “You come in here and accuse my husband of kidnapping - or worse - and I’M being fucking DRAMATIC?!” his voice rose to a shout. He was about to scream something else at her but fumed inwardly for a moment, before laying his hands open in front of him. “Look, either your ambush - which it fucking WAS - failed, or it didn't and Cassidy never came home last night for some other reason. Do you not get this?” Adam pointed at himself. “MY FUCKING HUSBAND DIDN'T COME HOME LAST NIGHT!” “Jesus christ, will you keep it down?” Mahtab hissed. “If Cassidy tries to contact you I'll let you know. But he hasn't responded to any of the texts I'm sending from your phone. What makes you think he'll reply with you at the keyboard?” “Call him,” Adam barked. Another shake of her head. “Absolutely not.” Adam lunged for her jacket and she clamped her hand down on her pocket. He tried to pry her hand off and she grabbed at his wrist, trying to wrench it away. They grappled for a few seconds more before she twisted out of his grip, hopping a few steps away and holding out her hand to ward him off. “Fuck you, man,” Mahtab glared at him. “You think this only goes one way? If Cassidy's on to us then we're all in danger, and Russell is out there right now. No way I am hanging him out to dry.” “Mahtab, seriously,” he massaged his forehead, “you have completely lost your fucking mind. I mean…” he cut off as he lunged at her again, this time fending off her hand with his left and jabbing into her pocket with the right. He ripped his iphone away, tearing her pocket and knocking her own cell phone to the floor. “You dick!” Mahtab cried, and jumped to grab it back out of his hand, but Adam held it out of reach. When she persisted, he put his free hand on her face and shoved her away. She stumbled backward, tripping over the armchair and slamming her shoulder into the desk. “Fuck,” she swore, wincing as she grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her feet. Adam glanced at her, a brief look of concern flashing across his face before he scowled, and hastily dialed on his phone, putting it up to his ear. “Adam…” Mahtab warned grimly, taking a step towards him. He pulled away and held his hand up. She sighed, picking up her phone. “You ripped my jacket you asshole.” Adam turned his palm around and flipped her off. “Bill me,” he spat. He stood glaring at her until he pulled the phone away from his face with a dejected sigh. “Just goes to voicemail.” Mahtab strode over to him. “Was it worth it, you dumb fuck?” she asked, and punched him in the jaw with her right, injured arm. He reeled back, swatting at her, as she winced and turned away, clutching at her shoulder as pain crackled down her arm. They stood there nursing their bruises, glowering at each other until finally Adam shoved his phone into his jeans. “Alright; fuck this and fuck you.” He grabbed his keys and wallet from off the bed. “I'm going to look for him.” Mahtab laughed. “Oh my god. Fucking where, you retard? You have any idea where he is?” “No but I'm not gonna stay here with you in this goddamn hotel while he's out there somewhere not answering his phone,” Adam replied. “Well I'm coming with you,” Mahtab insisted. “Until I see Cassidy I'm not letting you out of my sight.” “Good!” Adam spat. “I'm really looking forward to seeing the look on your face when you realize what a vindictive cunt you are.” Mahtab rolled her eyes and walked over to the door, holding her arm out. “After you, Captain Class-Act.” Adam gave her a sour glare but walked to the doorway. “You're too kind.” He heaved a sigh and turned to face her. “Look. We're both pissed and might be talking a lot of shit right now, so I wanna make something clear.” He nodded. “If I find out that you've been lying to me and that you took Cassidy, or hurt him in any way, I will fucking murder you.” He paused. “Understood?” Mahtab brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and returned his gaze with a subtle shake of her head. “Crystal clear.” “All right,” Adam walked out the door. “Let's go.” *** “Okay,” Adrian warbled through Russell's phone speaker, “I think I got him.” “You think?” Russell asked, turning off of Danforth and slowing his car to a crawl down a narrow residential street. “Yeah. I THINK,” Adrian curtly replied. “Look I told you; something happened downtown. He… it's different. But I'm pretty sure this is him.” Russell sighed. “Where?” “I'm still zeroing in…” said Adrian. “Somewhere in the Beaches.” “You think Cassidy is trying to hide from you?” asked Russell. “I'm… not sure,” Adrian stammered over the phone. “That's not what it feels like. I've never seen anything like this before.” Russell rolled his eyes. “So I'm just driving around hoping I run into him?” “I'm working on it!” Adrian replied peevishly. Russell kept the line open but drove wordlessly towards the Beaches, his phone obnoxiously beeping periodically to remind him it was low on power. The grey skies were darkening prematurely, and Russell resolved that if Adrian didn't get a break soon - preferably something more substantial than a gut feeling - he was going to give up and reconvene with Mahtab to plan their next move. The more he thought about it, though, the worse he felt. Mahtab insisted that things had changed; that they didn't know Adam or Cassidy anymore. And maybe they didn't. Cassidy had always been a bit of an unknown quantity, an unpredictable liability, but that was only because he was cavalier, not malicious. Russell couldn't believe what Mahtab kept trying to convince him. Cassidy didn't want to hurt anyone - and if he ever did, Adam wouldn't stand for it. In Russell's experience, people changed glacially, at tiptoeing steps at a time. That Cassidy had gone from well-meaning if reckless to insidious, plotting, and malevolent in such a short span of time just rang false to Russell. Maybe he was just being naive. He sighed. Magic had been supposed to make their lives easier, and now it felt like a constant headache. “Whoa…” came Adrian through the phone. “Okay, I definitely found something.” “Don't keep me in suspense, man,” Russell chimed. “There's a dead zone on Broadway Drive,” said Adrian. “It's a house.” A “dead zone” was Adrian’s term for an area that had been warded to prevent a scryer like him to see what was going on inside. The craft to maintain it wasn't too elaborate and many of the Coven had taken such precautions once things had started becoming tense with the Circle - Russell included. Cassidy had woven one around his own house in Caledon. Though it kept a curious scryer from seeing what was going on inside, it made it obvious that someone was trying to hide something. “Anyone we know?” asked Russell. “Don't think so,” Adrian replied. “Cassidy's trail is spotty but it leads to that area… it could be a coincidence.” “Yeah it COULD be,” Russell shook his head. “What's the address?” “I'm gonna pack up and meet you there,” Adrian announced. “I'll be at the corner of Woodbine and Queen in…” “No,” said Russell firmly. “You stay there and keep an eye on the area. If Cassidy is on the move again we have to know.” “Russell I don't like this, there's something… there's something strange about this one. I don't like it. Wait for me and we'll go in together.” “No,” Russell repeated. “Stay there and keep your eyes out.” “Russell…” “Adrian we don't have time for this,” Russell shouted at his phone. “We played our hand. If Cassidy goes off the grid we might lose him for good, and then we're all in danger. Give me the address. Tell Mahtab and she can back me up.” “Mahtab’s not gonna slip anywhere near a dead zone,” Adrian pointed out. Russell rolled his eyes. “Then she can back me up the old fashioned way. Adrian. Tell me where I need to go right fucking now.” Adrian paused, and let out an extended sigh. “You got a pen handy?” “I don't need one,” Russell shook his head. “Shoot.” *** Rodrigo sat in the middle of the birdcage while Phil and Blake snored quietly against opposite walls. The trouble that came with trying to breathe at this size, coupled with the blurring divide between night and day, made it difficult to maintain normal waking hours, but Rodrigo tried hard to fight the sleep that threatened to overtake him. Mostly the trouble was that he was so bored. There was nothing to read, no Internet to surf, no Netflix to binge, no music, no Xbox, no porn. The Master insisted they work out - he didn't want his toys going soft - and had arranged a crude set of weight fashioned from bolts and wingnuts, ball bearings, and thick rubber bands that smelled like broccoli. This helped to pass the time but anything that was physically exerting couldn't last too long at four inches tall. Even masturbating had him breathing too heavy and left him on the verge of fainting if he ever managed to get himself to completion. If the guys had been awake, Rodrigo would've sung to himself. Cesar had been in a band that did Spanish covers of the Doors. Singing “Jinetes sobre la tempestad” always afforded Rodrigo a sliver of comfort, and his gringo cellmates seemed to enjoy the familiar rhythm. Now he did sit-ups to perk himself back up whenever he felt himself begin to doze, but he could only manage five or six before he saw stars and had to stop. He heard fumbling around the door; more than usual. Rodrigo closed his eyes, praying the Master wasn't drunk. When he was drunk he was paranoid, unpredictable, impossible to assuage. He evidently liked Phil and Blake more than many of his earlier cellmates. They had lasted far longer than some of their predecessors, and the Master hadn't brought home anyone new since Blake. But if he was drunk, all bets were off. Rodrigo felt like even his own life was in danger. But the metallic clatter at the door continued. Rodrigo pulled himself to his feet and approached the wall of the cage, sliding his arms through the bars and leaning against them. What was going on? It had been over a minute now. As chaotic as his internment here had been, there was a level of routine to it. Something felt strange and different, and Rodrigo felt a cold fear sucking his chest in. Finally the lock turned with a loud clack, and the door swung in a few inches, hanging there a moment before a figure appeared in the doorway and entered with trepidation, taking small quiet steps and glancing around, as if afraid he was being watched. Rodrigo squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any details. It wasn't the tall, burly silhouette of the Master, but a shorter, skinnier figure. Was the Master being robbed? Rodrigo spent a few seconds guessing what a stranger might do if he found them, before he began to discern some familiar features. “Russell?” he whispered in disbelief, then raised his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Russell!” Phil started awake with a gasp. “Whuzzuh… what's going on?” Russell's ears perked and he glanced bewildered around the room. Rodrigo frantically grabbed one of the bolt-and-nut weights off the floor and clanged it against the bars. This roused Blake, who sat up groggily. Russell looked straight at the cage as Rodrigo clanged the weight again. Russell searched the wall for a lightswitch, and when he found it the fluorescent lights overhead flickered on. Rodrigo was briefly blinded but saw a shudder of motion in the terrarium and caught a glimpse of Penny's furry legs disappearing into the foliage. Russell approached the birdcage, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. It was so nice to see any face other than the Master's Rodrigo nearly burst into tears. Phil had backed up to the far side of the cage. “Who the fuck is that?” he hissed. “Holy shit…” Russell whispered. “Roddy? Holy shit…” he glanced around. “What the hell is this place? Who did this to you?” “Roddy what's going on?” Blake asked quietly. “Where's the Master?” Phil blurted. “Who are these guys?” asked Russell. “Russell…” saying his name; talking to anyone from his old life… Rodrigo felt suddenly like a person again. Everything was going to be all right. They were going to be free. But he shook his head. “Russell there's no time, you gotta get out of here.” “What?!” Blake shouted. “No! Dude, get US the fuck out of here!” “No,” Rodrigo was adamant. “He'll be back any minute. He might be in the house right now.” “Who?” asked Russell. Rodrigo shook his head. “I don't know who he is but he's more powerful than anything I've ever seen before.” “I'm not leaving without you,” said Russell, reaching to undo the clasp. “The Master's going to fucking kill him,” Phil mumbled darkly. “What the fuck, Phil?” Blake demanded. “Russell, no!” Rodrigo banged his hands against the bars. “Go get help! Come back with the rest of the Coven.” “I'm not leaving you!” said Russell again. “Russell I'm telling you: you cannot handle this guy. Get out. Right now.” He came out of nowhere. Materialized out of thin air. The Master appeared behind Russell with a hammer in an upraised hand. Rodrigo's eyes went wide and he tried to shout but already the hammer was falling. The Master struck at the back of Russell's head, and with a loud, electrical crack it deflected off the energy field Russell had learned to surround his body with. He called it his suit. The impact was absorbed by the suit but its force propelled him forward, and Russell stumbled with a loud “Fuck!”, bracing himself against the table. The birdcage rattled and its occupants were thrown to the floor. The Master looked dumbfounded at the hammer, then struck again as Russell turned to face him, landing the hammer soundly on his jaw. Rodrigo could see the energy disperse across the suit - a white electric ripple coating Russell's body like a second skin. Russell was prepared that time and barely flinched, swatting the hammer aside and delivering a swift punch to the Master - a left to the jaw, a right to the nose. The second jab sent the Master back a step with a grunt of pain. Russell rose to his full height, hopped away from the work table, and raised his fists in a practiced boxer's stance, light on his feet and waiting for an opening to strike. The Master held the hammer out defensively in front of him, his other hand going to his nose and finding blood dribbling down his face. “Oh you're… you fucking trash nigger asshole,” he licked blood from his upper lip. “You're fucking dead.” Russell prepared for another assault but the Master just stood there. He spat blood on the cement floor and tossed the hammer away with a loud clatter. Russell glanced at the hammer in the floor, then gasped sharply as he felt a strange, unnameable pull tugging at his insides. His clothes began to shift over his body, and he felt suddenly lightheaded. “No…” Rodrigo gaped. “No no no no no!” he slammed his hands on the bars and felt hot tears welling in his eyes. “Master no! PLEASE!” Russell looked in bewildered horror at his hands as his body began to contract. His sleeves slid down his arms as they shrank, his collar sank down his chest. He fumbled to grab at his pants as they fell off his hips but his now-billowing shirt got in the way, and he tripped over his shoes which were becoming three, four, five sizes too big for him and more. He swore and fell forward, finding himself swimming in his tent of a shirt, even the weight of it overpowering his quickly-diminishing body. The Master looked on, arms folded across his thick chest, a smug, victorious smile on his face. “You dumb fucking shit. You thought you could beat ME? Hurt ME? KILL ME?!” “Master!” Rodrigo banged his fist on the bars. “Master he doesn't know! Master PLEASE don't!” Russell fought his way out from under his shirt, and staggered to his feet. He looked up at the cavernous room, dizzy and disoriented, silently praying this was a vivid nightmare. The Master took a step towards him and the tremor he sent across the floor nearly threw Russell back on his knees. “You fucking stupid, tiny asshole,” the Master continued, ignoring Rodrigo's pleas. “You can't kill me. I can do anything. You dumb fucks think you're so fuckin great. I'm so far beyond you. You're just pathetic. Fucking pathetic.” He took another step towards Russell. Russell tried to back away but tripped over a fold in his shirt, falling back on his ass, gasping for breath. The Master closed the gap, towering over him like a skyscraper. “This is what happens,” the Master barked. “This is what you get when you try to take on fucking GOD.” He raised his workbooted foot aloft and held it there over Russell, its gargantuan shadow enveloping him. Blake had started to hyperventilate, and crouched low in the corner, closing his eyes covering his ears and shaking his head back and forth. “No! Master don't! Just put him in here with us!” Rodrigo rattled the bars of the birdcage, his voice getting hoarse. “Master please don't do this!” “Kill him, Master,” Phil had appeared next to Rodrigo at the bars, a strange, fanatical look in his face. “Show him how small he is. Show him how powerful you are.” “Phil shut the fuck up!” Rodrigo shrieked, pushing him away. “I might be persuaded to change my mind,” the Master grumbled, steadying himself on the workbench as he continued to hold his foot aloft. “I might spare you. Forgive your transgression.” He wiped blood from his lip with his hand and sniffed. “If you plead your case. Beg for your life. Show me you know that you belong to me now.” Russell opened his mouth to speak but he could barely breathe, and only managed a strangled squeak. The Master spat again. “Stupid fucking roach,” he grumbled, and the boot fell with a wet, sickening crunch.
  8. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Thanks, handsomegrad, and I will. My apologies for the delay to everyone who was reading. I know how frustrating it can be. I actually have the next chapter written but because we're amping up towards a finale I want to have more done so I can release the last few chapters on a more reliable schedule. Rest assured Public Relations WILL get finished.
  9. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    I've created a character guide to hopefully help sort out the many characters. I intend to keep it up to date as the story goes forward.
  10. Maximilian

    Public Relations - Character Guide

    I've received some critiques that the number of characters in my series Public Relations has made reading it a tad cumbersome, especially at the staggered and unpredictable pace I release new chapters. In an effort to accommodate that, I will be maintaining a character reference guide to give readers a bit of a refresher on who everyone is and what their relationships are. I plan to update this with new parts as they are released, meaning the information here should be consistently one installment behind. It will therefore contain spoilers, and is intended only for people who have already read it. If anyone notices any omission, or if something is unclear, please let me know. Current Installment: Part 14: Hugo Jamie Dietrich 31 years old, 5'11", black hair, brown eyes, medium build but not in great shape. White and of English/Irish descent. Wears glasses. Former advertising account manager at J Walter Thompson who left his job out of principle, currently working as a freelance consultant and project manager. Longtime boyfriend of Drew. Was good friends with Adam at York University and has since reconnected. Grew up in Barrie, lives in a condo in Queen West he recently bought with Drew. Adam Fauvelle 31 years old, 6'2", black salt-and-pepper hair, grey eyes, lean build. White and of French and Eastern European descent. Post-secondary student trying to get his masters in linguistics while working as a waiter at Jack Astor's. Husband to Cassidy of seven years. His expertise in ancient languages allowed the Coven to make unprecedented strides in their research, giving them access to powers they had imagined impossible. Was good friends with Jamie as York University and has since reconnected. Grew up in Laval, Quebec, currently lives with Cassidy in Caledon in a house Cassidy's parents gave them as a wedding gift. Cassidy Hamilton 30 years old, 5'6", black hair, brown eyes, slim build. Mixed race, of Scottish and Chinese descent. Wears glasses. IT consultant working for Pearson Clinical Assessment. Husband to Adam of seven years. Comes from a wealthy family. Deeply involved in occult research with the Coven, which Adam's expertise allowed to flourish, and is now capable of spontaneously growing himself or others. Adam had a falling out with the leaders of the Coven and now works alone, though is still close with Liam. Grew up in the Beaches, currently lives with Adam in Caledon in a house his parents gave them as a wedding gift. Has been recently captured by Cliff, and turned to stone. Drew Faber 32 years old, 6'1", blonde hair, blue eyes, slim build but not in great shape. White, of Scandinavian descent. Financial adviser at Bank of Montreal with an academic background in social studies and business. Longtime boyfriend of Jamie. Formerly closeted macro fetishist. Close friends with co-worker Ryan. Grew up in Burlington, currently lives in a condo in Queen West he recently bought with Drew. Brent Malinowski 20 years old, 6'2", light brown hair, brown eyes, muscular build but lacks definition. White, of Polish descent. First year student at York University, currently undeclared but plans to go into kinesiology. Hopes to be a halfback or fullback on the university football team. Working as a busboy and barback at the Fox & Fiddle over the summer. Was permanently grown by 15 pounds of muscle, prompting a drug test of the team and trainees which resulted in two senior players being kicked from the team. Has engaged in an ongoing but ambiguous affair with Nate. Was friends with Mahtab, but distanced himself from her when she revealed her connections to the occult. Grew up in Thunder Bay, currently rents the ground floor of a house near Sheppard & Jane with Ayush. Nathaniel Sommerville 19 years old, 5'6", dirty blonde hair worn in a buzzcut, grey eyes, fit build. White, of English descent. Goes by "Nate." First year student at York University, majoring in philosophy. Hopes to be a running back on the university football team. Was taught magic by his au pair Sofia, and learned telepathy. Has since used his telepathy to learn Cassidy's power, using thoughts read from Tahar, Brent, and Tyson to track him down. Has been seeing Brent. Grew up in Louisville, Kentucky, currently living in Winters residence on York campus. Tyson Chandler 26 years old, 5'11", dark brown hair, blue eyes, muscular build. White, of English and French descent. Bartender at the Black Eagle and occasionally other bars. Part-time model. Academic background in literary theory. Has a reputation as a prolific lover. Hooked up with Blake at the bar and believes he was ghosted, Grew up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and currently lives in a small bachelor apartment in Regent Park. Was permanently given considerably more muscle mass by Nate. Cliff Esterez 32 years old, 5'7", black hair worn in a buzzcut, brown eyes, heavy build. Mixed race, of Mexican and Italian descent. Relatively new bouncer to at the Black Eagle. Is in fact the mysterious sorcerer calling himself the Master who has been shrinking men, kidnapping them, and subjecting them to humiliating sexual tortures, sometimes killing them in the process. Currently holds Blake, Phil, and Rodrigo as shrunken captives in a birdcage. Also holds a number of other people captive, having transformed them into stone statues, the latest of whom is Cassidy. Appears to be able to steal the powers of other magi. The Coven A band of fledgling sorcerers who have taken giant leaps in their research thanks to translation assistance from Adam. Mahtab Nilaanjana - 23 years old, 5'5", black hair, green eyes, medium build. South-asian, daughter of Indian immigrants. Pro-active member of the Coven, also studying business at Seneca. Has been investigating disappearances of Coven members over the past several months, and believes Cassidy is behind it. Was friends with Brent until she told him about her occult studies, and he distanced himself from her. Originally from Vancouver, British Columbia. Harry Kwan - 57 years old, 5'10", black greying hair, brown eyes, thin build. Taiwanese immigrant. Principal benefactor of the Coven. Senior Vice President for a manufacturing firm he co-founded. After a disagreement with Cassidy, he demanded Cassidy leave the Coven. Russell Dillion - 27 years old, 5'11", black hair, brown eyes, medium build. Black, son of Tobagonian immigrants. Has been working with Mahtab investigating disappearances of Coven members over the past several months, but disagrees on her conclusions. Originally from Calgary, Alberta. Rodrigo Valenzuela - 30 years old, 0'4" (formerly 6'1"), black hair, hazel eyes, lean build. Latino; Mexican immigrant. Goes by "Roddy." Coven member who used Adam's research to develop fantastic powers to heal others. Also works as a nurse at Princess Margaret Hospital. Has since been captured by the Master, shrunk, and is being used to keep the other captives alive after he injures them. Cesar & Angelica - Rodrigo's brother and sister-in-law, who still live in Mexico. Corey Arlington - 32 years old, 5'9", blonde hair, brown eyes, average build, a bit on the pudgy side. Freelance graphic designer and occasionally DJs under the handle "HardCorey." Worked briefly with and befriended Jamie when he was at JWT. Liam Chen - 30 years old, 6'0", black hair, brown eyes, chubby build. Asian, son of Chinese immigrants. Is the only Coven member to have retained ties with Cassidy and Adam. Erin - Liam's fiancee. Adrian Vand - as yet unseen member of the Coven, who allegedly advocated using magic to bring an end to the Syrian Civil War. Has also been assisting Mahtab and Russell. Capable of tracking people and a certain degree of clairvoyance. Robyn - Coven member who was apparently in talks with rival group called the Circle. One of the missing members being investigated. Sara - one of the missing Coven members; may have moved to Montreal. Hong - one of the missing coven members; may have followed Sara to Montreal. Dave & Mohan - missing coven members. The Circle A rival group of sorcerers operating out of the East End. Oded Hume - a member of the Circle who has gone missing. The Black Eagle Toronto's original leather/denim cruising bar, located in the heart of the Church and Wellesley village. Paul Stewart-Maskell - 27 years old, 6'4" (formerly 5'4"), light brown hair shaved bald, blue eyes, medium build. White, of British, French, and Spanish descent. Originally from Bristol, England. Bartender at the Black Eagle, good friends with Tyson. Was permanently grown a foot taller by Nate. Daniel Bodley - 38 years old, 6'5", black hair shaved bald, black eyes, extreme muscular build. Black, originally from Grenada. Longtime bouncer at the Black Eagle. Was permanently made considerably more muscular by Nate. Hugo Berg - 28 years old, 6'5" (formerly 5'9"), blonde hair, brown eyes eyes, medium build. A British immigrant of German descent. An occasional bouncer at the Black Eagle. Was permanently grown taller by Nate. Darcy Williams - 30 years old, 5'7", black hair, black eyes, average build, thick beard. White, of French descent. DJ and tech support at the Black Eagle. Was permanently made significantly hairier by Nate. Carlos Filetti - 39 years old, 7'1" (formerly 5'11"), black hair, brown eyes, heavy build, thick beard, long hair. A Brazilian immigrant. Co-owner and manager at the Black Eagle. Was grown permanently larger, beefier, brawnier, and hairier by Nate. Rosharon Ridley - 29 years old, 5'10", black hair, brown eyes, athletic build. Of African-American descent. Regular patio bartender at the Black Eagle. Had her breasts inflated a few bra sizes by Nate. Dennis Graham - 23 years old, 6'6" (formerly 5'10"), red hair, heavy build. Irish-Canadian. Regular barback at the Black Eagle. Was turned from a short twig into a tall bear by Nate. Simon Marshak - 27 years old, 6'0", black hair, thin build. White, son of Russian immigrants. Regular barback at the Black Eagle. Was absent during the night Nate grew everyone at the Black Eagle. Butch - ?? years old, 6'5", black hair and beard, brown eyes, muscular/obese build. Cassidy's giant bear alter-ego he would transform into to test his powers in the Gay Village. Tahar Mazoud - 44 years old, 6'1, black greying hair, green eyes, toned build. Middle-Eastern, originally from Lebanon. Attorney specializing in immigration and environmental law. Emigrated with his fiance Samuel, they have since broken up. Was a longtime romantic partner of Butch. Frequent patron of the Black Eagle. Andrew Washburn - 58 years old, 6'1", grey hair and beard, blue eyes, obese build. White, of Swedish and Scottish descent. Goes by "Andy." Frequent patron of the Black Eagle. Permanently grew a considerably larger belly courtesy of Nate. Kero Saguin - 45 years old, 5'5", bald, brown eyes, thick muscular build, Filipino. Frequent companion of Andy's, usually serving as his slave. Was permanently given considerably more muscle mass by Nate. Blake Ouillette - 24 years old, 0'4" (formerly 6'0"), blonde hair, brown eyes, slim build. White, of French descent, originally from Gatineau, Quebec. Third year psychology student at U of T, working part-time at Starbucks. Hooked up with Tyson his first night at the Black Eagle, was shrunk and kidnapped by the Master, has been held captive ever since. Nathalie & Kim - lesbian friends of Blake whom he ditched to go hang at the Black Eagle. Jorge - A heretorfore unseen employee of the Black Eagle who went to the hospital with a panic attack following Nate's antics. Bank of Montreal One of the larger Canadian banks. Drew works at the Dufferin & Eglinton branch. Ryan Pramazov - 28 years old, 5'8", black hair, blue eyes, slim build. Mixed race, of Chinese and Russian descent. Wears glasses Teller, file clerk, and receptionist at the Bank of Montreal. Chronically single. Also plays bass in a drone metal band called Titanomachy. Good friend of Drew's. Viola Bakatatatis - 51 years old, 5'10", black hair, black eyes, thin build. Mixed race, of African-American and Greek heritage. Originally from Athens, Greece. Branch manager at the Bank of Montreal, and on friendly terms with Drew. Sabine Schumacher - used to work at the branch in partnership with Drew, has recently been transferred to a branch downtown, and many of their mutual clients followed her. J. Walter Thompson An international advertising firm based out of New York City; Jamie used to work at the Toronto office. Harold Morris - Manager of the Toronto office, former colleague and friend of Jamie's for many years. It's since come out that he has spread rumours throughout the industry that Jamie left the company due to mental instability. Shiela Morris - Harold's wife. Abigail Morris - 15 years old, 5'3", brown hair dyed red, hazel eyes, slim build. Missing most of her right arm from a childhood accident. White, of Irish and German heritage. Goes by "Abbie." Daughter of Harold and Shiela. Grew up with Jamie around and they developed a close relationship until he left JWT, but a chance meeting has allowed them to reconnect. York University One of the larger Toronto-based universities, its main campus located in the north end of the city. Ayush Vishwakarma - 21 years old, 5'8", black hair, hazel eyes, medium build. South-Asian, son of Indian immigrants. Wears glasses. Second year biology student at York, currently renting the ground floor of a bungalow with Brent. Nate (in disguise) used his powers to permanently grow Ayush's 4" cock to 14". Tyler Freeman - 25 years old, 6'2", brown hair, blue eyes, muscular build. White, of Irish and British descent. Former fullback on the York Lions but was kicked off for his final year after testing positive for cocaine and anabolic steroids. Blames Brent's inexplicable growth spurt for his predicament, and resents him for it. Robert Cordle - 25 years old, 6'0", black hair, black eyes, muscular build. Black, of African-American descent. Halfback on the York Lions and friend of Tyler's. Farhan Singh Chugh - former running back for the York Lions, kicked off the team after testing positive for cocaine. Chantal Vandenberg - student living in Calumet res who was briefly seeing Tyler, and may-or-may-not have caught him doing something alone on a nanny-cam she had installed in her dorm. Jayson & Luke - trainees for the football team who had been close with Brent but derided his decision to go to the Black Eagle. They later joined the rest of the team in ostracizing him when Tyler and Farhan were suspended. Elsewhere in the Village Contessa Velveeta - 34 years old, 6'0", black hair, brown eyes, slim build, black. One of the most garish and glamorous drag queens of Church and Wellesley, frequent performer at Buddies, Woody's, O'Grady's, and other bars. Well acquainted with Butch. Raph - young, muscular, gino-type partyboy, frequenting Sailor, Crew's, and other gay bars in the neighbourhood. Well acquainted with Butch. Sung - young Korean clubgoer over Pride. Was permanently given a subtle but noticeable upsize to his muscles by Nate while at Steamworks. "Chinstrap" - young, slightly obnoxious bro-type who was at Steamworks over Pride. Was permanently given more definition to his abs, chest, and arms by Nate while at Steamworks. Real name currently unknown. Matt - a friend of Ayush who was hanging out with him during Pride but had to bail due to work in the morning. Toronto Police Services To serve and protect. In theory. Shannon Demuth - 42 years old, 5'10", black hair, brown eyes, heavy build, black. A plainclothes detective assigned to investigate Blake's disappearance. Richard Furyk - 33 years old, 5'7", black hair, black eyes, olive skin, of Polish/Portuguese descent. An aggressive constable partnered with Demuth. Others Josh Aldrin - 29 years old, 7'5" (formerly 6'2"), blonde hair, brown eyes, extreme heavyweight muscular build. Lives in Detroit, Michigan. Webcam entertainer and part-time model. Was permanently grown in height, muscularity, and cock size by Cassidy, the video of which has been making the rounds on muscle/growth fetish web communities. Shane - Josh's on-again/off-again fling, also a webcam entertainer. Philip Roessler - 33 years old, 0'4" (formerly 6'4"), brown hair, brown eyes, medium build. Has been shrunk and kidnapped by the Master, who holds him captive in a birdcage. Marie Yoon - 61 years old, 5'4", thin build, Korean. Tyson's busybody landlord. Grindr User - muscular, possibly Scandinavian webcam performer, whose dick Cassidy grew to a foot long as a prank. Keith - coworker of Jamie's at Jack Astor's and a close friend. Blair - some guy with a black eye who once went home with Tyson. Oprah - an affectionate orange tabby cat who lives with Drew & Jamie. Penny - ????????????????
  11. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 12: Tyson, Act III: Night The Black Eagle was fucking packed. Everyone was drunk, frenetic bass-heavy dance music reverberated through the bar, and a steady cacophony of gabbing queers had transcended into white noise. Tyson had entered into a state of mind where he was barely conscious of his actions, operating on a form of autopilot where thinking actively about anything had the potential to disrupt his rhythm and fuck up the whole rest of the night. He’d changed into his harness, but Paul had opted to stick to the black T-shirt. Hugo - bless him - had had the presence of mind to bring some coke, and the two of them and Paul did a line each in the keg room for a pickup earlier. It had been a real lifesaver, but it wasn’t that late and he was already beginning to feel burnt out. He’d been getting hit on all night and Paul had been encouraging him to take someone up on it, but at this rate Tyson suspected that by the end of his shift, an empty bed in his apartment would be the most exciting prospect on the table. After pouring a pitcher, mixing a pair of tequila sunrises, and serving five shots of Jager without missing a beat, he afforded himself a half-second to yawn. “Awww, feeling sleepy?” Andy teased with a laugh. His considerable girth had been stuffed into a large leather vest that even now strained to contain it. His on-and-off drinking buddy/slave Kero, wearing nothing but a codpiece and chaps and leashed to Andy’s belt by a spiked collar, chucked beside him. Christ Andy, don’t you ever fucking go home? Tyson thought to himself but shook his head cheerfully and leaned over the bar. “Nah just catching my breath. What can I get you?” “Don’t worry, Princess, Paul’s already got me,” Andy smirked, pointing with his elbow at Paul who was busy at the taps. Tyson resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded, turning to the next patron in line. He nodded at him but he didn’t place an order, just standing there smiling at him. He was short, a bit squirrelly, near-bald with a fine buzzcut, and wearing a smirk that seemed nailed onto his face. After a second, he recognized him as the guy from the night before. “Oh, hey man,” Tyson greeted. “You recover from last night?” He laughed. “Naw, man, s’all good. ’Ll have a shot of Jack Daniels.” Tyson nodded and grabbed a shot glass from under the bar and the bottle from behind him. “Ya seen Tahar here, man?” he asked. “Hmm? No I don’t think so,” Tyson replied. He smirked. “You guys hit it off?” The guy grinned, putting a bill on the bar as Tyson slid him the shot. “Naw man s’not like that. Jus’ wanted to thank him. You too, man.” “Me?” Tyson took the bill, grabbing him change as the guy downed the shot. “I didn’t do anything.” “More’n you know, guy,” the guy gave him a wink and left the change on the bar. “Have a good night,” he bid with a nod, and turned back into the crowd. “Fuck, Tyson,” Andy noted as Paul came back with his drinks. “You should get these guys to take a…” he trailed off as a look of tension crossed his face. His cheeks reddened. “Andy…?” asked Paul. “Andy, man, you okay?” Kero shook him by the shoulder. “Andy?” Suddenly, Andy’s vest began to pop open. Tyson raised an eyebrow, thinking for a second that Andy had forced his gut forward, but Andy’s already ample body was expanding outwards at all sides right in front of him. Kero released his shoulder and jumped back, exclaiming a profanity in some other language. Andy groaned as the pounds piled on, his jeans filling out with thickening thighs. The waist of his jeans blew out. Other patrons had begun to notice, and gasps of alarm and awe rippled through the crowd. “What the hell is this?” asked Paul. Tyson just stared and gaped. It had to be some trick… maybe an inflating bodysuit? But it looked way too real and was growing way too fast. Andy's face was shifting back and forth from worried to content and back again. He put his hands on his growing belly and gasped as it lurched out one last time. Andy had gone from big fat leather daddy to huge sumo wrestler squeezed into too-small clothing. He stood still for a moment, as if anticipating another expansion, then let his shoulders drop with a disoriented moan. Kero knocked on the bartop. “Hey! Hey! Call an ambulance!” he shouted at Tyson over the music still blaring before turning back to Andy. “Are you all right?” Andy was running his hands over his new size. “I'm… I....” “Argh!” Paul suddenly cried out, dropping a bottle of beer and Tyson looked over, eyes going wide as he watching Paul sprouting taller and taller, his shirt sliding up his torso. “What the fuck?!” he shouted, looking over to Tyson with panic in his eyes. No bodysuit could pull that off. Paul was staring at his hands, watching his fingers grow longer. The rest of his fit body seemed to be growing in proportion. As he surpassed Tyson's height - meaning he had grown at least a foot taller - he suddenly winced and stumbled, leaning against the bar, and a tearing sound from below drew Tyson’s rapt gaze to his feet under the cuffs of his jeans now hugging his calved, which were quickly tearing their way out of his shoes. “What the…” Paul panted. “What the fuck is happening?” Was he dreaming? Was he on a drug trip? Had Hugo cut the cocaine with like bath salts or something? Tyson shook the doubts from his head, and put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “I'm gonna call a… a…” he trailed off as a strange feeling began to flood his system. His muscles tensed. His whole body felt like it was on fire but it was almost soothing. Tyson felt flushed, aroused, and sensual. He took a sharp breath. What was happening to him? “Holy shit!” Paul exclaimed beside him, and Tyson glanced over to see Paul gaping at him. Tyson looked down just as everything began to feel tighter. His lean, toned physique was inflating with muscle. His slim-fit black jeans were quickly overwhelmed by thick, powerful thighs. His arms had already grown twice as big and still expanding. His hairy chest swelled, the sturdy leather harness digging into his torso as it surged thicker and heavier - the rising traps and broadening shoulders not helping in that regard. He winced as the buckles pinched his growing flesh, feeling almost strangled by the harness until finally his body became too huge for it to handle, snapping first one strap and then another, leaving dirty purple welts where they had been particularly constrictive. With his jeans split to shreds, and the harness in a heap at his feet, he felt the sensation subside, but the size he had gained remained. Panting, and suddenly exhausted, he looked over at Paul to see his reaction, but Paul was distracted, staring in shock out at the bar. Tyson followed his gaze. The blaring music had drowned out the noise but no longer distracted by his sudden growth spurt, Tyson heard the rabble of commotion accompanying the bizarre scene before him. All across the bar people were transforming before his eyes - regulars, first-timers, and staff alike. A pair of slim twinks swelled into amateur bodybuilders; big bald Hank suddenly sprouted a head of thick, luxurious hair that fell down past his shoulders; Mistress Gerta threw her hands to her chest as her inflating boobs threatened to pop out out of her bodice; a first-time skinny hipster kid suddenly blew out into a full-blown bear; Kero had gone from skinny short sub to wide, thick fireplug (his neck so big it broke his collar); pudgy little Walter had grown two feet taller and a thick dark beard… there was so much going on it was all impossible to take in. People were freaking out in every corner of the bar as the sounds of ripping jeans and stretching leather accented the pumping bass still blaring through the bar. He heard Paul shouting at people to calm down, announcing that paramedics were on the way. He heard Daniel trying to shout over the din. But for Tyson, the initial panic had subsided, and he found himself reveling in the absurdly impossible, totally chaotic, and erotically fantastic scene he had found himself in. If it was a dream or a trip, all he could do was ride it out. He sighed, leaning back against the bar, startled a little bit by the wider back he now possessed, but then he just sat back and watched the show. He looked around for familiar faces, to see what they had become, and as he catalogued the various changes - some minor, some rendered barely recognizable - he remembered the little guy from last night. The one who'd been asking about Tahar. Now he was probably twice as tall, maybe even more ripped than Tyson had become. But as he scanned the bar, he couldn't find him. Oh well, Tyson thought, there's plenty more to see. He grabbed himself a bottle of Tankhouse and cracked it open, sighed contentedly, and watched the Black Eagle explode. *** These were Drew's third favourite shorts, so he was very cautious as he drew his keys from his pocket, careful to stay as upright as possible. The journey home had taken twice as long in his effort to keep them intact, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he extracted his keys and carefully slid his card into the lock, and quickly slipped inside as he heard one of his neighbours coming down the hall, and didn’t want to have to pretend to be his own brother or something. “D?” Jamie called from the living room. “Yeah hey Jamie,” Drew replied, dropping the plastic bag and beginning to maneuver out of his shoes but feeling his shorts strain as he bent his leg. “D get in here!” Jamie shouted. “Umm… actually I could kinda use a hand here,” Drew called back. “Drew seriously get the fuck in here!” Jamie insisted. Drew opted to leave his shoes on and carefully picked his way over the pile of shoes and through the kitchen to the living room. Jamie was sitting on the couch watching CP24. Oprah was playing with the cat toy hanging off the third tier of her cat tree in the corner. “What’s the emergency?” “D, look at this!” Jamie glanced over and did a double take. “Whoa…” Drew blushed as he saw Jamie drink him in. “Yeah, I uhh, ran into Cassidy. We hung out for a while. Actually…” Jamie snapped back to the television. “That’s cool, but seriously, check this out.” He picked up the remote and turned up the volume. “Jamie can you help me out of these clothes? I don’t wanna lose these shorts.” “In a second. Look.” Jamie pointed, and Drew looked. President Barack Obama was leaning on the podium with those windows behind him, flanked by an American and presidential flag. He was in the middle of a speech. “...will end the patchwork system we currently have. It will end the uncertainty hundreds of thousands of same-sex couples face from not knowing whether their marriage, legitimate in the eyes of one state, will remain if they decide to move - or even visit - another. This ruling will strengthen all of our communities by offering to all loving same-sex couples the dignity of marriage across this great land.” Drew’s mouth dropped open. “Is this…?” Jamie shushed him as Obama continued: “In my second inaugural address, I said that if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well.” He paused. “It is gratifying, to see that principle enshrined into law by this decision. This ruling is a victory for Jim Oger...full” - he struggled briefly with the name - “and the other plaintiffs in the case.It's a victory for gay and lesbian couples who have fought so long for their basic civil rights. It’s a victory for their children, whose families will now be recognized as equal to any other. It’s a victory for the allies and friends and supporters who spent years, even decades, working and praying for change to come. And this ruling is a victory for America. This decision affirms what millions of Americans already believe in their hearts: when all Americans are treated as equal, we are all more free.” “Holy shit…” Drew whispered. Jamie turned it back down. “This morning, man,” Jamie grinned at Drew. “Gay marriage is legal from sea to shining sea.” He stood up and stepped over to Drew, throwing his arms around him. Drew leaned down to kiss him and they held each other, smelling each other’s familiar scents, Jamie tasting the whiskey and Ruffles on Drew’s tongue; Drew the green curry on Jamie’s. “We should celebrate,” Drew suggested as he broke away from Jamie’s lips. Jamie raised an eyebrow. “You really want to go out like that?” Drew hummed to himself in mock pensivity. “I can think of a few ways to celebrate right here…” he grinned rakishly. Jamie chuckled and leaned into Drew, nuzzling his pecs through his shirt. Drew paused awkwardly. “...Seriously, though, I need your help getting out of these clothes.” “Oh, uhh…” Jamie pulled back and looked Drew up and down. “All right. Suck in, buddy.” Drew took a deep breath. *** Cassidy groaned in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering, his head throbbing in agony with every heartbeat. Fuck, he thought, how much did I drink? He tried to roll over but found that he couldn’t. In fact, he wasn’t even in bed. He was sitting upright. His legs had been duct-taped together, and his arms had been duct-taped to his sides. In spite of the headache, he tried to concentrate on making himself big enough to shred the duct tape and pummel whoever had done this to him - Cliff, he remembered now - into a stain on the carpet. But… nothing happened. Nothing even started to happen. He tried to reach out with his mind, find those energies that had allowed him to work his magic before but they were just… gone. It was like he was falling through an endless void, and however far he could reach, he just grasped at empty space. “That’s not gonna work,” the gravelly voice of his captor came from behind him. Cassidy slowly cracked open his eyes. What little light there was in the room was glaring, and his entire field of vision was so blurry he may as well have been looking through gauze. “Where am I?” he mumbled incoherently, but Cliff, who had moved to his side, seemed to make it out anyway. “It doesn’t really matter,” he replied. “You won’t be going anywhere for a long time.” Cassidy tried again to grow himself, and Cliff laughed aloud. “I told you… that’s pointless,” he said, coming around to the front of the couch Cassidy was sitting on. His vision was starting to clear, and he looked up at the beefy form of Cliff looming over him. “See, that thing you do?” Cliff grinned down at him, and as Cassidy watched, he swelled larger, his bulk expanding to fill out his once-loose T-shirt. “It belongs to me. Now it’s the thing I do.” He chuckled, raising his arms and flexing them, feeling his thick chest through his shirt. As Cassidy’s periphery came into focus, he became aware of other figures in the room. Some standing, some sitting. There were quite a few of them, actually. All of them silent and still. It was too dark to make them out. “Y’see, Butch,” Cliff moaned as he bounced his pecs, “while the rest of you fucking idiots were out there, spending years learning one thing, the thing I learned was how to take that away from you, and now?” he grinned, “while all of you are bitchin at each other for scraps, I’ve gotten better than all of you put together. If you dumb pukes had any sense you’d get down on your knees and fucking worship me.” With a start, Cassidy realized someone was sitting next to him on the couch. He turned to look at him but in the darkness it was difficult to discern his features. His face was contorted in dismay, but he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing. “It wouldn’t matter, though. I can get anyone to worship me,” Cliff shrugged nonchalantly. “All of you? You’re all going to end up the same. Maybe here… though it’s beginning to get a bit crowded.” He sniffed, and wiped his nose. “I’m not worried, though. Won’t be long before no one can stop me.” Cassidy tried to elbow the guy next to him but ended up falling against him. Beneath his shirt though, the man was hard and stiff and cold. Like he was made of....stone. Cassidy looked around the room with horror. They were all stone. His vision had returned enough that he even recognized some of them. A stone statue of Mohan was tied to a chair across from him. Oded from the Circle was standing in the corner, looking back over his shoulder with a look of surprised. Robyn was handcuffed to a radiator, frozen in mid-struggle to break free, her face in the middle of shouting some profanity. “No…” Cassidy began to feel a deathly cold creeping up his legs. “Fraid so, Butch,” Cliff nodded in mock sympathy. “Y’know how thrilled I was when I realized what you did to me that night? I knew there was something about you. I could tell. And then you even made Daniel taller? Like I wouldn’t figure that out?” he shook his head. “Oh, and then, the next morning, I wake up and it’s all gone? What kind of fucking asshole does that?” The feeling had completely abandoned his legs. Cassidy took deep breaths, beginning to panic. “Please… you don’t have to do this, we can…” “But I CAN do this, don’t you get it?” Cliff asked. “Why would I negotiate with you when I can just take everything you’d offer me?” It had crept past his crotch. His fingers hung leaden off his hands. He felt his insides clanking against each other. Cliff chuckled down at him as Cassidy felt the cold climb up his chest, slither up his neck. “Thanks a lot, Butch,” he laughed. And then, all he felt was the cold.
  12. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 12: Tyson, Act II: Noon “Wait a second…” Paul looked up from the keg, “this is the guy with the black eye?” he fastened the line into place and rose to his modest height, dusting his hands off. Tyson stood a foot taller than him. “No, you weren't working that night. And it was his only time here.” They navigated around each other in the cramped cellar and climbed the stairs back up to the bar. “I mentioned him… at the time.” Thanks to Pride, the bar was busier than usual for a Thursday afternoon but was still pretty quiet. Paul had plugged in his ipod and was playing early nineties easy listening. Paul washed his hands thoughtfully. “Who had the black eye, then?” Tyson sighed. “Blair.” “Ahh,” Paul smiled wistfully. “Lord he was ever cute.” “Paul…” Tyson whined. “Okay so Blake… riiiiiiight, little miss Frank and Oak. The hookup to end all hookups,” Paul got them back on track. “...is missin'.” “Is, like, POLICE missing,” Tyson stressed. “I've been thinking about him all day. I know it's so stupid to…” “All right now stop it,” Paul chided, “you're not being stupid it's just… d'ya know anything about this guy? What's he do?” Tyson shook his head, feeling embarrassed. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “All right, well,” Paul gesticulated. “Look, you're not being foolish to worry about 'im. I mean, obviously. I'm just sayin, maybe he's the kind of guy who, y'know… goes missing.” “What does that even mean?” Tyson protested. Paul was about to answer when Daniel strode up to the bar. “How's me boys?” “Good,” Paul smiled politely, grabbing him a bottle of Keith’s. “I'm so tired, but pretty good.” He twisted off the cap and set the bottle down in front of him. “An’ Tyson?” Daniel nodded at Tyson, picking up the bottle. “Seem a bit gloomy.” He shrugged. “Yeah I just… got some bad news.” He pushed himself off the wall and jerked his bangs out from his eyes. He managed a civil grin. “I'm fine. Cliff running late?” “Called in sick,” Daniel growled. “Shit,” Paul shook his head. “So it's just you tonight?” Daniel sighed. “Left message with that boy Hugo. Won't be no trouble neither way.” He took a swig of beer, nodding to Paul. “Thanks,” he grumbled, and went back towards the patio. “Look Ty, I'm not trying to give you a hard time but I mean, y'know… it was a hookup,” Paul shrugged uneasily. “I know it can…” “I know, man, I know,” Tyson silenced him impatiently. “I just… it felt… more important and like, sincere.” “Well, maybe it was,” Paul proposed quietly. “Things… aren't always that… I dunno. Straightforward.” He sighed. “Look either way it sounds like you were a total gentleman or whatever… I'm just sayin’ whatever happened you didn't do anything wrong. I hate to say it like this but y’know… maybe you should just, y'know… forget about 'im.” Tyson groaned. “Don't say that, man…” “Well I mean bloody look at you,” said Paul, gesturing at Tyson. He had raised his voice and a couple of patrons glanced over at them, so Paul moved in closer and said quietly. “I'm just sayin, you're beating yourself up over… I don't even know, love. It's just not healthy.” Tyson nodded. “I guess…” “It's Pride, man,” said Paul. He grabbed Tyson’s shoulder and shook him vigorously. “It's fuckin’ Pride!” he grinned. “And you're the hottest bartender at the coolest bar in the city.” “Don't say that…” Tyson rolled his eyes. Paul held up his hands. “Hey, I'm doin fine but you've got a good foot on me and all the, y'know, hair.” He gestured to Tyson’s chest. “Honestly some days I'm amazed they even hired me.” He clapped his hands together. “Anyway. All I'm sayin is it's a time for celebration, you shouldn't be sulking.” Tyson grimaced. “I'm not sulking.” “Oh please,” Paul rolled his eyes, “you're the bloody… mayor of Sulk City.” Tyson grinned bashfully, and Paul returned the smile. “That's more like it.” He slapped the bartop and slipped past Tyson towards the bathroom. “I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead.” Paul was helping, and he was right. Whatever happened to Blake or wherever he was now likely had very little to do with Tyson. The cops were dealing with it, there wasn't anything Tyson could do about it, and worrying about it, or wondering what he could have done differently, or wondering if everything he had felt had all been unfounded - all of that was pointless. All it did was make him miserable. If Blake ever showed up again… well, he wasn't really sure what he would do. But that was beginning to seem less and less likely, and he wasn't going to - he couldn't - just wait around wondering what the proper reaction would be. He had to get over the whole thing. That was becoming clear. “Hey… Hey Tyson! You with us, buddy?” Andy, the big burly leather daddy regular, had materialized in front of him and was tapping on the bar. Tyson took a breath, adopted the same smarmy smile that had become reflexive, and set his hands on the bar. “Hey,” he grinned, “what'll it be?” *** After what seemed to Cassidy to be too long a time, they arrived at the restaurant/bar Drew had been aiming at, which was a place called Java House. Cassidy would have assumed it was a coffee joint but it turned out to be some sort of bohemian, vaguely Mexican pseudo-dive. Drew presented the place like a wizbang salesman, waving his arns dramatically at the banner that was painted over the entrance. “No one's gonna give you a second glance here, man. You're all set.” The walk over, however, had raised Cassidy's spirits somewhat, and he gestured to the door. “After you.” Drew looked a bit uncertain. “If you like… want to be alone it's cool. I'm not…” “Oh my god,” Cassidy rolled his eyes. “Shut up and come drink with me.” Drew shrugged and led him inside. It was sparsely populated, and looked like it had one bartender and two servers. The hostess told them to sit anywhere and they slid into a booth opposite each other. “The food’s pretty good, if you're hungry,” said Drew with a shrug. “Yeah maybe…” Cassidy slid the laminated menu in front of him. “We got room service but I didn't finish my breakfast.” Drew nodded but didn't respond, and after a few seconds a waiter showed up. They ordered a pitcher and a thing of nachos. “So…” Drew said slowly. “Is everything… sorry, it's none of my business.” Cassidy sighed. “It's fine it was… I dunno, it's no big deal. Like, it was just about last night with Corey… Or, fuck. Maybe it wasn't.” He rubbed his temple and grimaced. “Yeah… I guess this is, y'know… uncharted relationship issue territory,” Drew surmised grimly. “He just… he's like this with everything. My god, he can be so impressionable. Like, I don't even think he realizes it. But he totally is.” Drew shrugged. “Nobody's perfect.” “But I'm like… he wants something impossible, and I'm GIVING it to him. And I'm happy to do it. Like, I'm excited to do it, but then he's not sure anymore or like, he starts thinking about what other people think and…” Cassidy sighed. “No offense to Jamie. I mean I'm glad they reconnected, totally, but like - oh my god - he's so afraid that this has… like, that Jamie doesn't respect him or… thinks he's being silly. And then he second guesses himself.” “Yeah…” Drew nodded slowly, “I think…” he paused as the pitcher came in the hands of a lanky, scruffy, olive-skinned waiter with a spiky mess of artfully tousled hair atop a crisp fade. He poured two pints as they sat in silence, then set down two side plates with a neat pile of napkins atop them. “Nachos on the way, guys,” he said, winking at Drew before departing. “Man,” Drew watched him go. “What is it with waiters winking at me?” Cassidy grinned. “Oh my god he winked at you?” Drew waved the query aside. “Nevermind. Okay, so you know how Jamie and I… like I went and stayed with my friend for a bit. Okay, wait. Some backstory. So like…” he paused. “I… I've kind of always had this… I guess attraction… you could call it a fetish, for like, growing into a huge muscle freak.” Cassidy smirked. “Since I was a kid,” Drew continued. “Like, I didn't even equate it with anything sexual but like, I found that exciting even before I realized I was into dudes. But…” he paused bashfully. “So I never told Jamie about any of this but like, I found websites for people who were into the same thing and I'd like, roleplay with them and… it was just like this other thing I was doing and I guess… I dunno, I thought about bringing it up to Jamie but it felt like… juvenile, I guess. And like, Jamie's retarded too about a bunch of stuff but I still felt like the same thing as Adam. He'd think I was being silly or shallow or whatever.” He sighed. “So when he told me what happened that night, up at your place, I thought he'd like, gotten into my browsing history and come up with this ridiculous story just to… I mean I don't even know. But I felt like he had violated my privacy and was using this secret I had against me.” Drew shook his head. “It seems so… I said some really awful shit to him.” Cassidy shrugged. “Well, like… like you said it's pretty uncharted territory.” “I know but still…” Drew paused. “He isn't holding it against me and every time I apologize he like, won't even let me but I felt so betrayed. Trust has never been easy for me - for either of us - but once we had it between us…” Drew paused mid-sentence, and smiled abashedly. “Sorry I shouldn't be unloading all this.” Cassidy waved his hands. “Oh my god, it's fine. Seriously.” “Hey guys,” the waiter returned with a platter of nachos. They cleared space on the table and he set them down. “There we go. Enjoy!” he chirped before sauntering off again. “Did he wink again?” asked Cassidy. Drew shook his head. “Must be losing my touch.” He peeled a cheesey nacho off the top of the pile. “Okay my point is: ever since that night we reconciled, I've been opening up more about it. We've played around with size fantasies and… I guess what I'm saying is, Jamie's getting into it now too. I mean last night after you, y'know,” he mimed a flex with a grin, “we had a really great time, and Jamie couldn't get enough of it.” He sipped his beer. “If Adam talked to Jamie about it now? I feel like he'd get a very different impression.” “Really,” Cassidy sounded dubious. “Well Jamie can be difficult to predict sometimes so I can't say for sure,” Drew admitted, then shrugged. “But yeah.” Cassidy leaned forward. “You like the waiter?” Drew casually turned his head back to glance at the server who was leaning against a doorframe talking to another employee. He shrugged. “Yeah he's all right.” “He'll be better the next time around,” Cassidy winked. Drew grinned, his eyes lighting up, and he leaned in. “Seriously?” he asked quietly. “You just like, go around pumping up strangers?” Cassidy shrugged, wary of disapproval after everything had been going so well. “Yeah…” Drew giggled. “Man that is so fuckin cool!” Cassidy smiled in relief. It was fun being able to talk to someone about it who wasn't constantly riding him to tone it down. “Y'know… if you ever wanted something more permanent,” he shrugged again. “I'm game. Just say the word.” “Oh man,” Drew shook his head with a wide smile. “You cannot do that to me.” “Oh my god I'm totally serious,” Cassidy protested. Drew exaggerated a nod, laughing. “Oh I know. You just don't understand what you're getting into, saying that to me.” “Jamie told you I can do it so it's permanent right?” Cassidy raised an eyebrow. He held up a cautionary finger. “Oh my god, BUT if it's permanent it's permanent. I don't even know how to reverse it. Yet, at least.” “Dude, shut up. Seriously,” Drew held up his hand. “You’re giving me an erection.” Cassidy laughed. “Sounds like a yes to me.” Drew chuckled, then grew a bit more serious. “… I mean I should probably run it by Jamie…” Cassidy rolled his eyes. “God. Like, Jamie's a great guy and all but he's really ruining all my fun.” Drew shrugged apologetically. “Have you ever… like, done it to anyone before? Made them, like, permanently huge?” Cassidy's grin widened, and he dug his phone out of his pocket. He swiped through a few menus before he found what he was looking for, then passed the phone to Drew. “Keep the sound off,” he advised. “It sounds like a porno.” Drew chuckled as he hit play on the video, but almost immediately his brow furrowed. “Wait a minute, I've…” his eyes widened. “Holy shit this is real?” Cassidy beamed. “Yup.” “I've seen clips of it all over the forums I go to,” Drew explained. “I just thought it was a really good effects job.” Drew watched the video of clothes tearing off Josh as he grew too swollen with muscle to be contained, fighting the urge to turn on the sound so he could hear the groans of pure ecstasy evident on his expression. Drew hastily shoved the phone back across the table, nearly pitching it into the nachos as he went. “If I watch any more I'll jizz myself, guaranteed,” he chuckled under his breath. Cassidy smiled as he put his phone back in his pocket. He shrugged. “Anyway. You want something similar you know where to find me.” Drew shook his head. “Man, I still can't get over it. Magic and shit. It's so fucked up.” Cassidy shrugged. “I dunno. You get used to it.” Drew laughed. “If you say so.” The waiter sidled up next to their table, sleeves now hugging thicker arms and pants tight around a modest bubble butt. “Everything all right here, guys?” They nodded. “All good, thanks,” Cassidy said with a thumbs up. “Great,” said the waiter, and turned to leave, his ass bouncing along behind him. Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “You like?” Drew chuckled and nodded. “Very nice.” *** Adam lazed around the hotel room trying to distract himself. He played on his phone, watched TV, and perused his Facebook wall but kept wondering what he was supposed to do. Go looking for Cassidy? Send him texts? Just forget about him and do his own thing? He thought about seeing a movie, grabbing a drink, or just going for a walk around the city, but didn't really feel like doing anything. Instead he just killed time and waited for Cassidy to come back, rehearsing lectures and apologies in equal measure. Fuck, he thought, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Maybe I AM wishy-washy. When Adam had first proposed going big full-time, it had seemed like such a fantastic idea. He felt so good when he was gigantic. It felt so natural. When he'd wake up after shrinking down to normal he felt so crestfallen, and missed it immediately. Cassidy had been taken aback at first but once he got on board there was no talking him down. But all these factors that hadn't seemed like a big deal… he'd have to quit his job, and wasn't sure where, if anywhere, he could get a new one. They'd probably have to move. They'd have to get his entire wardrobe - not to mention utensils, computers, hell even his phone - custom made… Cassidy kept insisting that funds were no issue but he'd grown up a rich kid and had a fucked up idea of money and virtually NO idea how much things actually cost. Becoming a giant was an incredibly expensive prospect, aside from all the other practical problems it would entail, and aside from all the attention he would inevitably get that he didn't want. There was a knock at the door and he glanced over at it. “Cass?” he shouted. Maybe he'd forgotten his key. Adam rolled off the bed and padded barefoot over to the door. He opened it to find two people standing outside and thought for a split second they were hotel staff inexplicably dressed in casual clothing but then he recognized them. “Mahtab? Russell?” he frowned. “What- hey!” Mahtab roughly shoved him back in his room and Russell closed the door behind them. Adam rubbed his chest where she had hit him. “What the fuck, Mahtab?” “Is he here?” asked Mahtab. Russell pushed by him and checked the room, peeking his head in the bathroom. “Cassidy?” asked Adam, bewildered. “No, he…” Adam shook his head. “Look, whatever. Get out of my fucking room, you psycho!” “Adam, we are not fucking around. Where is Cassidy?” Mahtab asked again. Russell had stepped up next to her, arms folded and head raised archly. Adam glanced back and forth at them, agape. “Look… I don't…” he thought back to that last day at the dojo, with Harry fuming at Cassidy and Adam briefly scared he was going to kill him. He shook his head. “I'm not telling you shit. Get out of my room. What… who do you think you are?” “We have to talk to Cassidy,” said Russell. “Just talk. For now, anyway.” “Oh yeah, THAT sounds encouraging,” Adam spat. “Hey!” Mahtab pointed a finger at him so close to his face he leaned back. “This is serious!” Adam was at a momentary loss for words before he managed to clumsily blurt out: “Why?” Russell glanced apprehensively at Mahtab, who vigorously shook her head. Russell seemed to protest, raising his arms in supplication, but Mahtab was apparently not budging, and folded her arms with an arch glare. Russell sighed, and turned to Adam. “Look, lives are on the line.” Mahtab batted him across the arm. “Jesus, Russell!” “Well what are we supposed to do here?” asked Russell. “Let's assume for a second that we're right about Cassidy. Either Adam is in on it or he's in the dark.” “You guys know I'm standing right in front of you, right?” Adam raised an eyebrow. Mahtab sighed with annoyance. “Look… people have been going missing, and… well things ended badly between Cassidy and the rest of the coven so....” “Wait what?” Adam blinked. “Who's missing?” “Roddy, Mohan, Sarah…” Russell listed them off. Adam shook his head. “Roddy’s in Mexico for the summer.” Mahtab clenched her teeth. “No he's not! Look we've been looking into this for a while now and…” “What about the Circle?” asked Adam. “It's the fucking Circle. Leave us alone.” Russell sighed. “It's not the Circle, they've been losing people too.” “Then what…” Adam stopped, and sat down on the bed. He paused for a moment, then looked up at them. “Is Liam alright?” Mahtab looked dubiously at Russell. “Yeah. He's fine.” “I just…” Adam looked between them. “I mean I know things got… strained, but… I mean c'mon guys. You really think Cassidy would do anything to hurt any of you? After everything?” “According to Corey he was pretty brazen about practicing in public.” Mahtab put a hand on her hip and gestured with the other. “Like he doesn't give a shit about any of our codes.” “Well sure he doesn't,” Adam shot her a glare, “but that's on Harry. You guys kicked him out; why should he have to follow all your rules?” “What?!” Mahtab shouted. “Adam, if you guys went public it would put us all at risk. It can't be a decision you make on your own.” “So instead it's a decision the rest of you get to make for us?” Adam pointed a finger at her. “Y'know, Cassidy would sit down with Harry if he came to him. But there's been no outreach, no peace offering, there's been dick all. It's almost a year now.” “I don't see anything come out of your camp,” Mahtab countered. Adam ignored that and continued. “We're on our own. That's pretty clear. You don't want to have anything to do with us, that's fine. Whatever. But don't come to us asking for our dues.” Mahtab sneered and was about to shout back at him but Russell intervened. “Okay wait. Calm down. This isn't what we're here for.” Adam shook his head. “What's it say about you that you think your friends turn into psychos and monsters the moment your back is turned?” Mahtab’s expression softened. “It's been a while, Adam. This wasn't just… I dunno, a little spat. We thought if Cassidy felt he was in danger he might… protect himself.” “IS he in danger?” asked Adam pointedly. “No. Well I don't know,” Russell admitted. “But the only people who would be moving against our coven AND the Circle would be someone working outside both of them.” He crossed his arms. “You know any other practitioners who are?” “What about Robyn?” asked Adam. “I mean she never made it official but she was definitely talking about going out on her own.” “She's gone missing too,” Mahtab reported. Adam grimaced. “Doesn't rule her out.” “Then help us rule HIM out,” said Russell. “If he's not involved then he should be aware of all this anyway.” Adam paused, biting his lips, glancing between them, before he sighed dejectedly. “Look I don't know where he is,” he admitted. Mahtab rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh?” “I'm serious,” Adam insisted. “We had a bit of a fight and he stormed out.” “What about?” asked Mahtab. “Well we got into a pretty heated discussion of none of your fucking business,” said Adam, throwing up his middle finger at her. Russell got between them. “Do you know where he went?” Adam sighed, looked at him flatly. “Do you normally give people your itinerary before you storm off in a huff?” Russell held up his hands. “All right, I think you need to cut back on some of this sass.” “Fuck it,” Mahtab shrugged. “We're staying here until Cassidy gets back.” “Cuz that's not awkward at all!” Adam threw up his arms. Russell pointed at him. “What'd I just say about sass?” Mahtab strode over to a chair, scooped some clothing off it, throwing it on the floor, and sat down, defiantly crossing her arms. Adam shook his head. “Fucking god,” he grumbled, and lay down on the bed. Russell leaned against the desk, and the three of them sat there in silence for a minute until finally he proposed: “You guys wanna order a pizza?” Mahtab and Adam exchanged glances. They shrugged in unison. “I guess.” “Yeah sure.” *** Cassidy leaned against the wall of an alleyway that led to a complex of back entrances to shitty-looking apartments attached to buildings with storefronts on the streets. The odd passerby shot him a curious glance but generally he was ignored. He was too preoccupied with his phone to care one way or the other. im so hard right now, one of Cassidy's Grindr chat partner reported. Cassidy sighed, and dutifully replied: Hot. The Grindr guy operating under the handle “Amigo” continued: im so thick U want to watxh me jerk it?? Cassidy made a face. Who the hell says “jerk it”? Nevertheless, that was the response he'd been hoping for so he typed with a grin: Fuck yeah “Any luck?” Drew called as he approached from down the alley, a plastic grocery bag swinging from his hand. Cassidy grinned. “Oh my god! Plenty! Grindr is like, clearly experiencing the Pride effect. This one guy's about to send me a link, I'm pretty sure.” Sure enough, the next message was a hyperlink, which Cassidy triumphantly followed to a video chat invite, but first he had to create an account with the website and it needed his credit card information. Drew made a face as he fished a mickey of Canadian Club out of the bag. “Fuck that.” “Right?” Cassidy agreed. “It's okay I had another guy… yeah here.” Drew took a swig from the mickey and passed it to Cassidy, then opened a bag of all dressed Ruffles chips and offered them to Cassidy. luv showin off my big cock, Grindr User informed him. Cassidy took a shot from the mickey, typing: I bet a stud like you puts on quite a show Like nothing u ever seen, Grindr User confidently replied. Cassidy smirked. “And away we go!” he chirped, typing: Show me Drew munched a handful of chips as they waited for Grindr User to respond. “Go to his profile?... Whoa. Holy abs.” “Right?” Cassidy rolled his eyes. “I totally would've preferred the last guy with a face pic but like, y'know,” he shrugged. “Grindr be grindin’.” Drew chuckled. “Oh my god, jackpot!” Cassidy exclaimed as a hyperlink popped up. He followed it to a still shot of a familiar set of abs and a countdown on the expiration of their invite to join the video chat. He needed to set up an account first but this one didn't require any credit card information. Before long they were signed in and ready to go. The blurry image of Grindr User’s chest came into focus before he turned the webcam up to his face. “Yeah you want a show, huh? Mmm,” he licked his lips theatrically. He had some kind of Scandinavian accent, though it was fairly mild. He was sitting naked in what looked like a dimly lit basement apartment. There was a Death Becomes Her poster next to what looked like a Green Bay Packers calendar on the wall behind him. Cassidy typed: Dazzle me Peering over his shoulder, Drew laughed. “Dazzle me?” “Yeah I'll dazzle you,” he said breathily, then he image shuddered as he adjusted the webcam down then rolled backward on his desk chair so they could see him splayed across his desk chair stroking his erect cock. “This has fireworks going off in your crotch, yeah?” Cassidy smirked, typing: Yeah it's not bad, I guess “Ha! Not bad?” Grindr User laughed, holding his cock against his abs and letting his hand continue past the tip and along his abs. He smirked confidently, licking his lips again. “Admit it. This is the most beautiful cock you've ever seen.” He waved his hand at his five inch cock like he was presenting a work of art. “Jesus, this guy really gets into it,” Drew noted. Cassidy held up his finger. “Okay now pay attention,” he said, typing: It could use some work Gindr User’s expression faltered for a moment before he laughed again. “You want me to work my cock, eh?” He shifted in his chair, stroking his shaft slowly. “You… you want…” he paused, looking down at his cock, and it suddenly throbbed larger in his hand. His eyes widened as it lengthened to nearly a foot long and grew as thick as a beer can. “What the shit?!” he exclaimed. Drew covered his mouth with his hand as he laughed aloud. now THATs a beutiful cock, Cassidy typed, and quickly shut down the browser and Grindr before he could respond. Drew glanced down, “Fuck, well, now I’m hard,” he observed. He laughed again. “Man that is so hot! You must do that all the time!” Cassidy chuckled, shaking his head. “Like, only when I’m in a real good mood.” “Thought you were in a bad mood,” Drew winked at him. “The afternoon really turned things around,” Cassidy smiled. “Yeah man it's been fun hanging out with you,” Drew nodded, then tilted his head. “On that note though I should probably get going. As much as I'd love to watch you blow up guys all day.” “Aww,” Cassidy pouted. “You guys doing anything tonight?” “Nah we got Fit Primpin tomorrow so we're gonna take it easy tonight. Stay in, smoke a joint, watch a movie,” Drew shrugged. “Hope to cap it off with a nice dirty fucking.” Cassidy laughed. “How romantic.” He sighed. “Well, like, thanks for cheering me up. You've got, like, a very refreshing attitude.” “Add me on Facebook man, we should hang out again sometime.” “Oh my god totally!” Cassidy opened his arms for a hug. Drew came in for it but as he went to put his chin over Cassidy's shoulder, Cassidy suddenly moved to intercept and their lips locked in a kiss. Cassidy moved his hand down to Drew's crotch, feeling the hardon under his shorts. Drew shuddered as he felt his cock grow heavier and snake down his thigh. He drew his lips away. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “Don't worry,” Cassidy assured him, glancing around the alley. “Jamie will be fine with it.” Drew leaned back with a moan, dropping the plastic bag as he felt his torso thicken, arms tightening up into guns that stretched his T-shirt, thighs inflating with beef, chest heaving into two slabs of muscle. Cassidy seemed to dwindle in front of him as he felt his vertebrae rubbing against each other as they stretched longer, inching him taller. His feet strained the straps of his sandals. His growth subsided just as he was about to burst out of his clothes, leaving him dressed in a far too small T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts that looked almost like posers painted over a supple bubble butt and a slightly obscene bulge. He was even bigger than he'd been the night before. “Wow,” he breathed. “I never get tired of that feeling.” he ran his hands down his newly formed abs, exposed an inch or two at his midriff. “Glad you like it,” Cassidy smirked. “Though, like, try not to bend over or flex too hard on the way home,” he added. “Good advice,” Drew agreed. “Umm… with that in mind could you grab that bag?” Cassidy chuckled as he scooped up the bag, pausing to help himself to one last hit from the mickey and a final handful of chips. “There's totally Skittles in here!” he noted as he handed it back to Drew. “Shit I forgot the Skittles,” Drew frowned. He looked himself over again. “Glad I don't have far to go. Thanks a ton, man.” “Oh, my pleasure,” Cassidy purred. “Have a good night.” “Later, Cass.” Drew resisted the urge to wave and instead just nodded, then turned and walked stiffly out of the alley, feeling his clothing ready to give out with nearly every move he made. Cassidy chuckled to himself as he watched him go, congratulating himself on his handiwork, but severing the link as he found himself tempted to give him another boost. He had to keep a leash on things when he'd had so much to drink. It was so nice to just hang around someone who was as into his abilities as he was. He leaned against the wall and glanced back at his phone. Noting the time, he realized he'd been gone from the hotel since the morning. Adam was probably worried but didn't want to be the first to break radio silence. Cassidy sighed. Frustrating as he was, Adam didn't deserve that. He decided to be the bigger man. Hey We'll talk when i get back I'll be like an hour or so He sent the texts one handed, finishing the remaining chips in his other hand as he did. He waited a few moments staring at his phone, and just as he went to put it away it buzzed in his hand. Cool, Adam replied. Cassidy rolled his eyes and put his phone in his pocket. “God like don't gush or anything, Adam,” he muttered, clapping all dressed flavour dust from his hands. “Hey Butch.” Cassidy froze, feeling a chill run up his spine. He turned to see a big burly guy wearing a huge white shirt that draped loosely over his thick muscles cushioned by a fair layer of flab. one hand was in his pocket and the other was smoking a cigarette. Cassidy recognized him but couldn't quite place him. He called him Butch. Cassidy had already been staring at him too long. “Like, are you talkin to me?” he asked, tapping himself in the chest. The big man took another sidling step towards him, the hint of a grin on his otherwise glowering face, equal parts mischievous and triumphant. “‘Course I am, Butch. You don't remember me?” It was that bouncer from the Black Eagle. It came to him suddenly. Cliff. How could he know? It was impossible. He couldn't know. “Like, sorry man,” Cassidy forced a chuckle. “Think you got me mistaken for someone else.” “Naw man don't be like that,” Cliff took another step closer, flicking his half-finished cigarette away. “Let’s catch up, man. You remember what you did to me that night we met? Cuz fuck, man. I sure as hell do.” The alley was beginning to feel very claustrophobic. Cassidy shrugged. “Sorry man. Like, I don't know what you're talkin about.” He turned and headed for the street as evenly as he could, the booze suddenly hitting him harder than he'd anticipated. He felt a thick hand clasp around his arm, and before he could twist free, a second hand clamped a rag over his nose and mouth and pressed him tightly against the burly body.Panic set in immediately, but the chemical fumes flooding his lungs plunged him into a haze. Cassidy tried to collect his energies, make himself bigger so he could escape, but already consciousness was slipping away from him. He tried to fight it but the strength left his limbs and he felt his body go limp in the grasp of his captor before sensation left him entirely.
  13. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 12: Tyson, Act I: Morning Tyson awoke from a mediocre dream to a loud banging on his front door. His bedside clock informed him in angry red digits that it was 9:37 AM; nearly an hour before his alarm was set to go off. He grabbed his phone off the table next to it. In what had become a regular morning ritual for him he checked his messages. One from work, one from a hook-up, but nothing from the only guy he really wanted to hear from. He sighed, and tossed it back on the table. There was a banging at his door again, accompanied by the shrill voice of his landlord. “Mister Tyson? You home?” Tyson rolled his eyes. His rent was paid so whatever it was could wait. “Fuck off, Marie,” he grumbled quietly, pulling his sheets up and turning over, ignoring another harsh knock on the door. The sound of a key turning in his lock, however, got his eyes wide open. “What the fuck, Marie?” he shouted, scrambling out of his mattress and quickly slipping into yesterday's underwear still hanging off the arm of his couch. The door opened and he heard footsteps coming into his apartment. “Marie,” he yelled. “I was slee…” he stopped short. Marie was there, but was standing on her toes to peek over the shoulders of the two people in front of her. The man was a uniformed cop, kinda short and skinny but bulked out some by the kevlar vest over his shirt. The woman wasn't in uniform but he could've guessed she was a cop even before she started fishing her badge out of her pocket. She stood a head taller than the man, was a bit heavyset, and dressed in a clean cut business suit under a light jacket. “Tyson Chandler?” she asked, opening her wallet but holding it against her side as if it was going to be a big surprise. “Uhh…” Tyson glanced back at his room and the cocaine dust all over his bedside table. “What are you doing in my home?” he asked. “So you are Tyson Chandler?” the uniform asked in a more irritated tone. The woman held up her hand to silence him and cleared her throat. “Mister Chandler I'm Detective Shannon Demuth and this is Officer Richard Furyk,” she showed her credentials. “You're not in any trouble we'd just like to ask you some questions.” She turned to Marie. “Thanks Miss Yoon but you can wait outside.” Marie looked disappointed and shot Tyson a suspicious scowl but did as she was told, closing the door behind her. Detective Demuth turned back to him with a sigh. “Would you like to get dressed, Mister Chandler?” Tyson finished hooking up the blanket which served as a divider for his bed from the living room. “Why, am I goin’ somewhere?” he asked, sitting down on the couch. The two cops exchanged irritated looks. Demuth took out a notepad and produced an expensive-looking pen from her jacket. “Are you familiar with a young man named Blake Ouilette?” Tyson shook his head. “Nope… Oh,” he started, feeling his cheeks get hot. He looked up at the detective. “Blake?” “So you do know him,” Furyk retorted. “I... I didn't know his last name,” Tsyon mumbled. Furyk chuckled to himself and shook his head at the floor. Tyson knew he should be indignant but his imagination was spiraling out of control. “What… why are you…” Demuth flipped a page backwards and reviewed her notes. “You were seen leaving your place of work with him the night of... April twenty-second. Is that accurate?” Was he dead? Tyson put a hand over his mouth and felt tears welling up. “How would you characterize your relationship with Blake Ouilette?” Demuth pressed. “How did you meet him?” “Is he…” Tyson felt a hot tear slip out of his eye and down his cheek. All those awful things he'd thought; Blake was a phony and he'd just been another lay. In spite of everything he felt. He had felt so betrayed. “Did you…” “Mister Ouilette didn't show up for his scheduled shift at his place of business the following day,” Demuth explained. “His parents later filed a missing person report. Have you had any contact with him since the twenty-second of April?” Tyson shook his head, his mouth still clamped over his mouth. “Can you describe your encounter the night of the twenty-second?” asked Demuth. He nodded, but didn't say anything, sitting in silence for a moment. “Mister Chandler?” “We met at the bar,” Tyson whispered through his hand. “Could you repeat that?” Demuth flipped back to an empty page. Tyson took his hand away and sniffed, folding his arms across his chest. “He… he had ditched his friends or… they had ditched him I'm not sure.” “Do you remember their names?” asked Demuth. Tyson shook his head. “He hung around til my shift was over…” “This is at the Black Eagle?” Demuth clarified. “Yeah. Then we came back here - we took a cab - and we... “ he shrugged, “y’know…” Furyk frowned but Demuth was unfazed. “He stayed through the night?” Tyson nodded. “it was starting to get light out when he left. Maybe six?” “Did you walk him out or…?” “No…” but he should have. “Did anyone else see you two together?” asked Furyk. “I… a couple of people living in the building, I guess. I… don't know their names.” “He didn't leave anything behind? Maybe something you found later?” Demuth suggested. “No,” Tyson replied. “He… didn't have much with him, I don't think.” “Did he say anything about leaving town?” asked Furyk. Tyson shook his head. Demuth looked up from scribbling on her pad. “Did you make plans to see each other again?” Tyson shrugged. “Yeah… well no. Kind of. It was kinda up in the air.” “Is there anything else you can think of that might indicate his current whereabouts?” His current whereabouts… oh god, Blake, PLEASE be all right. “No,” Tyson croaked, “nothing.” “I'd like to get your phone number,” said Demuth. “In case we have to contact you again. Is that all right?” Tyson nodded and mumbled his number offhandedly while Demuth jotted it down. “Thank you, Mister Chandler,” Demuth gave him a stern nod and pulled a business card out of her wallet. She set it on the coffee table. “If you think of anything else please give me a call.” She turned to leave and Furyk gave her a nod. “We good?” Demuth sighed impatiently. “Yes, Rick,” she gestured pointedly at the door. Tyson heard them shuffle out and the door close behind them. It was nearly two months. Blake had been missing for two months. Tyson had been so pissed off at him for weeks, to the point that he had wanted Blake to send him a text just so Tyson could tell him off. The anger had gone away, mostly, and that void just got filled with melancholy. Tyson reached through the edge of the divider and picked his phone up. He scrolled through two months of messages until he found Blake's contact, and a single text: Get home safe. It was so creepy Tyson dropped his phone. He curled up on his couch, hugged his knees to his chest, and stared at the business card on his coffee table. Demuth and Furyk were meanwhile delayed in the lobby while Marie listed off all the tenants she was convinced were drug dealers, pimps, and what she called “e-pirates.” Demuth diplomatically assured her they'd look into it and they made a hasty retreat. “He's definitely hiding something,” Furyk grumbled. Demuth sighed as she got in the car. “Rick, we barged into his apartment while he had drugs all over the place. I think you're misreading him.” “So, wait - he's not a suspect?” asked Furyk, starting the car. “We don't have a crime yet,” Demuth reminded him. “But I severely doubt he had anything to do with it.” “He got pretty nervous when you mentioned Blake,” Furyk noted as he pulled out of the lot. "He was upset, Rick. He just found out his friend has been missing for weeks.” Furyk chuckled. “‘Friend,’” he mused. “They knew each other for what, three hours?” Demuth shook her head. “Don't get distracted by him. He's just a kid.” “He's what, twenty-five?” Furyk stopped for a red light. “Plenty old enough for murder.” Demuth rolled her eyes. “Let's take that word out of our vocabulary until there's a body, all right? This is a missing person.” Furyk nodded. “Two months, Shan.” “It's a missing person, Rick. Work the case we have.” Furyk grumbled something and stepped on the gas as the light turned green. *** Mahtab brushed hair out of her face and poured a cup of coffee for herself. You need to start getting more sleep, she reminded herself, as she often did. But her progress had been so slow going every hour she could squeeze out of the day made a difference. She plodded back to her office, setting down her coffee. There was a Facebook message waiting for her. Guess who I ran into last night, it read next to Corey's irritating glamour shot. Oh right, it was Pride, she remembered. She typed back: Someone i’ve never heard of from big brother She took a small sip of coffee and had burned her tongue when she saw the response. Lol I wish Cassidy fuckn hamilton Mahtab put the cup on her desk and spilled hot coffee on her hand. She sucked her teeth and wiped it off with a kleenex, anxiously watching the animated ellipsis that followed “Corey is typing…” Finally it popped up: Omg hes so fuckd hr was being such a duche She quickly typed out: wat happened??? I'll tell you later, he replied. Fuck that, Mahtab thought, and spent the next few minutes frantically searching for her phone, which she found next to the coffee machine. She found Corey in her contacts and dialed. The first try went to voicemail so she hung up, darted back into the office to type: pick up your fuckin phone!!!!, and tried again. “What are you, on fire or something?” asked Corey after answering the call. “What happened with Cassidy?” Mahtab barked. “Whoa! What -” “It's important, Corey!” she stressed. “I need you to tell me. What did he say?” Corey sighed. “It turns out we have a mutual friend. Or Adam does, I guess. God you should've seen him. He looked ridiculous. It was embarrassing.” “Be specific, Corey.” “Cassidy had done his thing on him. Oh fuck, and then? He did it to this other guy AT THE BAR.” Mahtab rested her phone on her shoulder and searched for Russell on Facebook. “Cassidy was using his powers in public?” “Ugh, don't say ‘powers' it sounds so retarded.” “Corey!” “YES! Oh my god!” Corey shrieked. “I let him have it, though. I told him he was being a total tool. Him and his little club. It's so stupid.” “What do you mean, ‘club?’” asked Mahtab as she typed a message to Russell: Cass is practicing in public “Oh well they told this other couple. Civies. He was doing his thing on them and I'd be amazed if it was the first time.” Has already told civilians, she typed to Russell. “Where was this, at a Pride thing?” she asked. “Yeah a bar in the east end. I was doing a show… which I invited you to,” Corey acidly reminded her. “So it was in the city,” Mahtab noted. “Do you know if he stayed with his friends?” “No, I dunno… oh wait. He was supposed to but they got a hotel…” Corey paused. “What's with you why do you care?” Mahtab stopped typing mid-message and picked her phone back up in her hand. “Okay look,” she started, “Corey I know how this is going to sound but I need you to listen to me.” “Oh my god can you seriously lose the drama?” “Corey I'm serious. Cassidy is dangerous. If you see him, avoid him. If he comes to your house do not let him in, and call me. If you know any wards, use them. Do not tell anyone else about this… or have you already?” “No. Is…” Corey seemed at a miraculous loss for words. “Mahtab you're scaring me.” “Everything's going to be all right I just need you to do what I'm telling you, all right?” Mahtab said as calmly as she could. “Yeah okay,” Corey finally answered. “Look I have to go,” said Mahtab. “I'm not trying to freak you out. If you think you need help just tell me where you are and I'll be there.” “Okay…” said Corey. “Bye.” “See ya,” Mahtab hung up. Russell still hadn't seen or responded to her messages. She quickly sent all the pertinent information. He's staying at a hotel maybe Corey knows something's up but i didnt get specific Mahtab took a sip from her coffee, hoping Russell was available. If they were at a hotel it was a perfect chance they might not get for a long time. Her computer chirped announcing a new message from Russell. Get here asap Mahtab wondered if she could take the half pot of coffee she had just made but figured it was probably a bad call. Instead she took an unpleasant gulp from her mug and quickly got dressed, grabbed her jacket from off a hook on the wall, made sure her wallet was still in there, put her phone in her pocket and took a step back. She put her hands in her coat pockets and closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped into the air. And with a gusty snap, she was gone. *** Adam scrabbled through the pile of clothes next to the bed until he heard coins jingling. Is three dollars a good tip? He wondered to himself. It didn't sound like one in his head. But if you're at a fancy hotel are you expected to tip more, or less? He fished out a five dollar bill and returned to the bellman. He'd try to read his face and then maybe he'd know for next time. The bellman, however, was no help, as he was confused and distracted by a uniform that fit more snugly than it had a minute ago. It took him a second to notice the offered bill. “Oh!” he took it with a smile and nod. “Thank you, sir!” “Thanks,” Adam replied, and closed the door as the bellman departed. Cassidy was inspecting the plates on the trolley. “This one's yours,” he tapped one plate cover and took the other. “Yeah…” Adam slowly approached the cart. “Did you, umm…” he pointed at the door with his thumb, “beef up the bellboy?” Cassidy held his plate aloft as he climbed back into bed. He chuckled. “If I had a dollar every time I got asked that…” “Seriously, Cass,” said Adam uncertainly, taking the cover off his own plate. Cassidy shrugged, munching a bite of toast. “He was cute… thought I'd give him an extra tip,” he winked. “Cass…” Adam chided. “I think you might be going a little overboard…” Casidy rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, seriously? Is this because of Corey last night?” “No,” Adam retorted, annoyed. “Look, it's one thing to do it with our friends and people who already know, but total strangers? Shouldn't we be keeping a low profile? I feel like it's bad enough we keep coming and going at different sizes.” Cassidy curled his lip. “Y'know what, Adam? I gotta say I'm kinda getting a bit tired of this bullshit.” Adam raised his eyebrow. “Excuse me?” Cass shook his head, held the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god. Sorry. Nevermind. Look I'm just hungover. I don't want to get into a thing.” Adam sighed. “All right… but let's just rein it in some, okay?” “Fuck!” Cassidy tossed his fork down on his plate with a clatter. “Can you not? Seriously?” “Cass, come on! We can't just go around…” Cassidy threw up his hands. “Oh my god! Whenever it's just you and me you can’t get enough and you're like totally on board, but the second someone comes along and is all like ‘oh I don't know’ it’s like you can't change your tune fast enough.” Adam held up his hands defensively. “I'm still on board, Cass. I'm just saying we gotta take it easy.” “Oh my god. Adam,” Cassidy shifted on the bed so he could look at him more directly, “what do you think is gonna happen?” “What do mean what's gonna happen?” Adam snapped. “People will find out! We'll get caught!” “And then we get arrested for, like, being too awesome?” Cassidy shrugged. “We're not doing anything wrong!” “Cass, jesus, it doesn't matter whether it's right or wrong, it's just…” Adam floundered. “Look I don't know what would happen but neither do you! What's the big deal with flying under the radar like we've been doing?” “Fucking god, Adam!” Cass snapped. “What happened to being big full time? It's what you want!” “I don't know what I want!” Adam protested. “It's a big decision, Cass, and it's my life that'll be all fucked up, not yours.” “That is such fucking bullshit - I can't even…” Cassidy shook his head. “Y'know what? I need some air.” He hopped to his feet and slipped out of his bathrobe, angrily dressing himself. Adam sighed. “Cass, c'mon. Let's talk about this. Don't be such a fucking child.” Cassidy stood up straight with his pants halfway up his legs. “All right, look. We're not talking we're just shouting at each other. We can pick it up later if you still like, have your head up your ass.” “You're so fucking ridiculous sometimes,” Adam grimaced at him. Cassidy buckled up his belt and grabbed his wallet from the dresser. “Well,” he skirted past Adam and opened the door, “life can be sometimes ridiculous,” he quipped, and slammed the door behind him. *** Ayush groaned through a headache. The light shining through his eyelids was glaring enough, so he refused to open them. He drew his blankets up to his face. Wait… those weren’t his blankets. Ayush carefully peeled his eyes open and let the Gaussian blur harden into a discernible image. He was in somebody else’s bedroom - someone who had never bothered to get curtains. He closed his eyes again and tried to think back to the night before. Drinking, fucking, drinking, smoking pot, fucking, drinking, fucking, fucking. There may have been a bump of coke in there somewhere too. It was hard to separate them all or develop a coherent timeline, especially since so much of it must’ve been a dream, since obviously his cock didn’t grow into a footlong fuckrod in the span of one blowjob. That’s just silly. Ayush groaned and turned onto his side, trying to escape the light coming in from the window, and felt something slap against his thigh. His eyes shot open, staring at the wall. He slowly turned onto his back again, and felt it slide up his leg. He took a breath, gulped, and lifted the covers to look down at himself. His soft cock lolled lazily against his stomach, longer than he had ever seen it hard (before last night) and thick as a salami. He dropped the covers back and stared at the ceiling. It had all been real? It didn’t make any sense. What was happening to him? Ayush was startled by a groan coming from beside him, and turned to see a form stirring under the covers. Who had taken him home? He got his answer as the form turned over and greeted him with a smirk. “Sup, bro?” Ayush tried to hide his disappointment. It was fucking Chinstrap. “Hey…” he forced a smile. “Uhh… morning.” “Mmm…” Chinstrap (oh fuck what was his name?) slipped his hand over Ayush’s chest, and pulled himself closer, kissing him on the cheek. “S’good to see you.” He moaned and ran his hand down Ayush’s abs til he felt his cock in his hand. “Fuck dude. I still can’t get over this dong… you’re so fuckin big, bro. It’s fuckin epic.” As bad as he felt both for going home with Chinstrap and forgetting his name, it was hot to hear someone talk about how big he was without it dripping with sarcasm. You’re a big guy now, Ayush, he told himself. However it happened - who cares how it happened? - it happened, so own it. Ayush stretched an arm up, putting his hand behind his head. “Yeah it’s… pretty great.” “Pretty great? Fuck dude. Legit. You ever been with anyone bigger? That’s thing’s a fuckin monster,” Chinstrap lifted the cover and peered down at it. “Fuck… how big does it get?” “I’m, uhh… not sure,” Ayush replied sincerely. His memories were so jumbled from last night. Chinstrap grinned like a doofus and began stroking Ayush’s cock. “Let’s figure it out, bro.” Ayush was about to protest but it already felt so good and he had to admit he was curious too. So instead he pushed himself back up the bed, until he was in a sitting position with his back against the wall. “Go for it, bro,” he said with a smirk. Chinstrap returned the smirk, throwing the covers off and sliding up next to Ayush. Even without his glasses Ayush could tell this guy was in incredible shape. He wasn't that big but he was cut like glass, and as he moved his body up against Ayush's he could feel how hard it was. He'd never been with someone with that kind of physique before and it was actually kind of weird. A hot brodude built like a marble statue was giving him a sloppy hicky while getting his cartoonishly oversized cock to full mast. Ayush felt like he must be dreaming or in a coma or… drugged or trapped in a virtual reality porno. It was so absurd but it felt so real and SO good. Ayush brought his arm up and put his hand on Chinstrap’s back, felt the grooves of his ripped lats. He grunted and pushed his head back, looking up at the ceiling but as he felt Chinstrap's hand over his unsheathed head he glanced back down and his eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. His cock had engorged to ridiculous proportions. It was rigid enough to make Ayush think it was done but given the kind of day he was having it wouldn't have surprised him if it got even bigger. Chinstrap chuckled. “Fuck bro when's it funna let up?” Funna? Ayush thought briefly, before his hot pulsating cock got his attention again. “It's as big as it's gonna get,” he grunted with only moderate confidence. “It's plenty,” Chinstrap assured him with a laugh. He marveled again at the pillar sticking up from Ayush's crotch. “Here…” Chinstrap pulled Ayush's hand from his back and set it on his own cock. “Just a sec.” Chinstrap rolled out of bed and rummaged around his messy room, occasionally giving a stroke to his own erect cock sticking a respectable five or six inches from his crotch. Ayush wondered what he was looking for but only for a brief moment before his attention was once again commandeered. Fuck this cock felt so fantastic. Was it the larger cock or the bigger balls that made everything seem so much more electric, he wondered. Every stroke and squeeze sent bliss seeping up his spine and through his veins. He wasn't sure how long he could hold out before spraying jizz all over this guy's room. Chinstrap hopped back into bed equipped with a plastic ruler. He held it up next to Ayush's erect dick, briefly alarming him with its edge. Ayush had to stop himself from scoffing. The ruler was a foot long and his cock stretched beyond its length. Well beyond; by at least an inch and maybe two. Chinstrap was less compelled to hide his awe. “Holy effin’ shit!” he gaped, tossing the ruler aside and going back to stroking his cock. “Bro how do you even go out in public?” “Good question,” said Ayush, and Chinstrap laughed. He did recall several instances from last night of his junk being crushed by too-tight undies and jeans. Whatever. He'd deal with it. Maybe there was a big dick equivalent of a big and tall shop. Ayush breathed out a moan and clamped his hand onto Chinstrap's shoulder. Chinstrap was smiling. “How's that?” he asked quietly. Ayush nodded. “Good. That feels real fucking good.” “Dude I can't believe this wang,” Chinstrap continued to marvel. “Legit, bro. And on a guy your size? I mean, y'know. No offense, bro,” he shrugged apologetically, then smiled. “Must give guys heart attacks.” Ayush moaned and slid his hand up Chinstrap's back until he reached his neck, and gently pushed him down onto his cock. Still working the shaft with his hand, Chinstrap took the head in his mouth and puckered his lips at the corona. Ayush gasped and clawed at a clump of blankets as he felt pre running down his shaft. Chinstrap scooped it up in his hand and used it for lube. Ayush couldn't help but grin as he noticed Chinstrap couldn't close his hand around his penis. I'm such a fucking stud, he thought to himself with a smirk, and leaned his head back against the wall. “I'm gonna… fuck…” Ayush moaned. “Keep going…” Chinstrap bobbed his head up and down and Ayush felt the pressure building throughout his cock. Either Chinstrap was a blowjob savant or Ayush's cock had improved in more ways than just size. The pleasure was almost paralyzing. His whispered announcement of “I'm coming” came out a second after it was already wetly obvious. He looked down and saw Chinstrap gagging on the biggest load he'd ever seen. He released in three overflowing loads, each accompanied by an enthusiastic grunt. There was jizz everywhere. Chinstrap was trying to keep the mess contained but there was too much for him and it ended up all over his chest and arms. “Fuck, bro!” he giggled as the final torrent subsided. He hopped off the bed with his arms held up and grabbed a towel from out of his closet. “Dude where's it all come from?” Ayush didn't reply; he wasn't really listening. He let himself sink back against the bed, putting his hands up to his face and exhaling as he felt his cock sink back against his crotch like a coiling python. “You got any plans today, bro?” asked Chinstrap after tossing the cumsoaked towel in his hamper. “Like, you feel like getting some food? There's this legit brunch place just down…” “Y'know I uhh… do. Have some things to do, I mean,” Ayush answered. “I'm good to just lie here for a bit.” “Oh…” Chinstrap looked a bit confused, then softened into a grin as he fell into bed next to Ayush, snuggling close against him. Ayush put his arm around his shoulder. It wasn't totally what he had in mind, but whatever. *** Cassidy set the empty flute back on the bar and watched the yellow bubbles slide down the side of the glass. He swiveled his eyes towards the middle-aged bartender, who probably noticed him looking over at her but went on inspecting wine glasses coming out of the dishwasher and hanging them upside down on racks above the bar. He sighed and leaned in, smiling politely. “Excuse me?” She nodded in his direction but finished another glass before coming over. She said nothing, but stood there expectantly. “Another mimosa please?” he asked, sliding the empty glass towards her. She collected the empty. “Sure thing. Think you might wanna get something to eat? It's, like, twelve-thirty. Might wanna…” she trailed off and shrugged. Cassidy resisted the urge to heave an exaggerated sigh, and nodded. “Yeah… y'know what I think I'll just grab the bill.” She smiled. “Sure thing, hon,” she sauntered back to the till. A good rule of thumb he had learned from an alcoholic ex was when the bar begins hinting you've had enough it's time to find a new bar. Besides, the hotel lounge didn't even have taps going til after four. She gave him a sincere but self-satisfied smile as she handed him his receipt, like she had prevented him from making a big mistake. Shows what you know, he thought to himself as he plugged his PIN into the card machine. Cassidy wasn't wasted by any means but was pleasantly buzzed as he left the hotel bar, hands in his pockets, making his way to Church Street where the bartenders were hopefully more lax on their half-lectures; particularly to guys who looked like they just had an argument with their boyfriend-and/or-husband. “Cassidy? Hey! Cassidy?” The shout came from the other side of the street and Cassidy looked over at the blonde guy waving at him. He was in the middle of asking himself Who the fuck are you supposed to be? when he realized it was Drew with a slightly different hairstyle. He waited for a break in traffic before jogging across the street. Cassidy sighed, and paused to wait for him. “Hey man,” Drew greeted him with a smile. “How was your night?” Cassidy shrugged. “I dunno. Like, fine.” He shrugged, and nodded east, starting to walk. “We just got back to our room and went to bed.” Drew fell into step next to him. “Cool. Us too, pretty much.” He paused, then added: “I just got a haircut.” “Looks great,” Cassidy mumbled. “Where…” Drew stopped himself. “Is, uhh… everything okay?” “Hmm? Yeah… Like, I dunno. Probably.” Cassidy sighed. “Adam and me just had, like, I dunno… a bit of a thing.” “Oh. Do you…” Drew floundered a bit. “Like, you want me to…” he stuck his thumb out in the air behind him. “Oh no - like, I'm sure it's fine. He just gets like, agitated at Pride.” Cassidy rolled his eyes. “Apparently.” “Are you…” Drew glanced up ahead. “Where are you going?” Cassidy shrugged again. “Dunno. Was gonna just like, go to Church and get a drink.” “Ah,” Drew nodded amicably, then shook his head. “Nope; look,” he grabbed Cassidy's arm and yanked him in the opposite direction, gesturing with a nod. “Church is a circus. This way.” Cassidy paused. “Look, like, I'm not really, y'know.” He sighed. “Like, no offense? I just kinda wanted to be alone.” “For sure dude,” Drew nodded. “Okay look. You go to Church, alone, during pride, you will get hit on. Even if you look glum and brooding… actually, especially if you look glum and brooding.” Cassidy began walking west as indicated. “All right, well like, lead on I guess.” They walked together without words for a few blocks when Drew decided to fill the silence. “So I just got my haircut, right? And like, I don't really know what to do there. As far as like, talking goes. Mostly I just sit there and do as I'm told and like, I answer questions they have about what I'm after and that's pretty much it. I'm not super into small talk. And I can never read the stylist. I'm like, is it a chore to have to do this all the time? Just… construct these, like, single-serving relationships with people just cuz they happen to be attached to the hair you're trying to fix. Or are they INTO that?” Cassidy shrugged. “It varies, I imagine.” “Probably true,” Drew nodded. “So anyway: I'm at this place today and it's like, a big salon and my hairdresser takes me to her chair, and as she starts in on my hair she starts talking to one of the other stylists about her very recent very big deal break up with her boyfriend. I think.” “Oh my god details,” Cassidy pressed.Drew shook his head. “Well it was old news, the other stylist already knew all about it. But like, the whole time I'm just sitting there and she's all: ‘I just wanna go home and slit my wrists.’” “Cheery,” Cassidy chuckled. “And it just goes on, right?” Drew continued. “And like, it sounds like this guy did something on Facebook or… I dunno. Something public. Like, he broadcasted it before she wanted everyone to know. And I'm like, do I weigh in? Is this... medium-talk that I'm supposed to engage with or am I just like, furniture in this scenario?” “Sounds awkward,” Cassidy observed. “Yes. Very,” Drew agreed. “So I'm sitting there, just listening, and I start preparing like, a chime-in… like, nothing even specific just some kind of sassy… ‘Mmmm-hmm!’ or like ‘Preach, sister!’ or some shit like that.” Cassidy grinned. “Like, some foxy black momma one-liner.” Drew nodded judiciously. “Yes. Well they're the masters, you might as well go for the gold.” He sighed. “Anyway the story ends with me just chickening out and not even saying that.” “Oh my god what a punchline,” Cassidy laughed. “Okay but my question is this,” Drew raised his finger. “Is she an unprofessional hairdresser or am I an unaccommodating… hairdressee?” Cassidy shrugged. “Probably both.” Drew smiled. “Yeah that's the kind of thing Jamie says. If you're asking who was awful between the two of you the answer is probably both of you because everyone is awful all the time.” “Oh wow. Zen.” Cassidy chuckled. Drew put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah well… he sure likes saying words, that Jamie.” They fell silent again and continued along the sidewalk.
  14. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Sorry to hear that. Could you elaborate?
  15. Maximilian

    Public Relations

    Part 11: Rodrigo Some time ago… Rodrigo felt himself being shaken awake, and looked up groggily into the wide frightened eyes of Phil, on his knees next to him. “Roddy! RODDY!” he hissed. With the windows covered it was difficult to guess what time of day it was. He could only figure day or night. It was still dark out. “I'm awake. What's wrong?” Rodrigo sat up. “He's coming back!” Phil warned, pointing. Even after all these weeks it was still disorienting to see the dimensions. He heard rattling keys in the door, and sighed. Phil was new, it was all very strange to him. “It's gonna be fine.” “He's gonna kill me!” Phil whispered in a panic. “I can't do anything he's gonna fucking kill me!” “You need to calm down, all right?” Rodrigo put a hand on his shoulder. “You're going to hyperventilate and we have no paper bags. Okay? It's going to be fine.” The door swung open and the light shone in from the hallway, casting a looming shadow against the wall. Phil scurried away from Rodrigo. There wasn't a great deal of space in the birdcage that served as their prison, and soon he was pressed up against the bars of the opposite wall, the crisscrossing shadows of the bars fluttering across his face. Rodrigo stood up, wrapping the cut up face towel around his waist like a skirt. Some movement in the terrarium next to the birdcage caught his attention for a moment. He saw a leaf shuddering in the light from the door. It was probably the wind. She rarely moved when she didn't have to. She liked to hide in the dark and stay very still. The door slammed shut and he only saw the hulking outline of their warden. He had applied a thin layer of cologne but it did little to cover his sweaty musk. “What do you say?” it was a low grumble but in the silence of the room they heard it loud and clear. Rodrigo sighed, but took a deep breath and called. “Welcome home, Master.” “I can't hear you, slave!” Rodrigo glanced at Phil. “He's terrified, Master. He's still learning.” “He'd better learn fuckin fast,” the figure growled and approached the workbench. Rodrigo’s ears perked at muffled cries. He saw a shape in the Master's hand. He didn't need the light to know it was the same velvet Crown Royale bag he had seen the inside of his first night here. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. “Meet your need roommate, roaches,” the Master chuckled. He flicked on the swingarm lamp and Rodrigo blinked at the glare, only briefly seeing the round, grinning face looking over them before the Master turned the lamp to shine more directly on the birdcage, so as not to disturb the darkness in the terrarium. Rodrigo shadowed his eyes with his hand, holding the blanket with the other. The Master pulled open the drawstring on the bag and an immediate hoarse cry of “What the fuck!” came out, followed by coughing and some indecipherable swearing. The Master reached inside and the cries intensified. “No! NO! Get the fuck off me you fucking… NO!” The thick hand withdrew from the bag awkwardly holding a struggling man about the torso, the same four inches tall that Rodrigo and Phil were. He was older than the Master's usual choices, probably in his fifties, he had a short beard and a crew cut that looked like he had dyed it black, if only from the white hair on his body. He was heavier too, an ample belly hanging out the bottom of the Master's hand. His one arm was restrained in the Master's grip, the other flailed about wildly along with the two legs hanging out under the hand, dick flopping about crazily. “Be careful!” Rodrigo called. “Master!” The Master opened up the birdcage and his captive began freaking out even more. “No! No fucking way!” he squirmed in vain against the Master's hand. “Do not put me in there! Swear to fucking god!” “Stop struggling!” Rodrigo shouted. “Just relax you'll be fine! Master, please!” The man kept screaming “NO NO NO!” punching at the Master's fingers with his free hand but he may as well have been punching the sidewalk. But as the Master began to lower him towards the door, the man bit into the fleshy curve between his thumb and finger. The Master recoiled and reflexively opened his hand. The man fell out of his fingers towards the opening. The Master tried to catch him with the other hand but it happened so quickly. His arm slammed into the bar surrounding the doorway with a crunch and he screamed in pain, spinning over as he fell through the opening. Rodrigo dropped the towel and jumped out of the way to avoid him as he landed face-first on his clavicle before the rest of his body slammed down against the floor. The scream stopped abruptly. Rodrigo sat staring at him for a split second before lunging to his side. The man's arm was shattered, bent impossibly backward at the elbow and already bruised and swollen. “Oh fuck please don't be dead…” Rodrigo prayed. But his eyes stared off into nothing and when Rodrigo put his hand to his neck to feel for a pulse he felt the broken spine shift under his flesh. Phil suddenly vomited behind him, a streak of sickly ochre splattering across the particle board floor that had once been a clipboard. The Master slapped the side of the cage, knocking Rodrigo backward. “Don't puke on the fucking clipboard that's what the space on the side is for you fucking idiot!” the Master snapped. “Oh god oh god,” Phil groaned, rocking back and forth, staring at the corpse. “You fucking killed him!” Rodrigo protested. “HEY!” the Master pointed his meaty finger through the opening and Rodrigo flinched reflexively. “It's his own fault, you even warned him.” “That doesn't…” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the Master bellowed. “You are fuckin NOTHING. I could smash you both into fuckin paste and no one would know or even care.” Phil collapsed reared back, covering his face with his hands. “Oh god!” “I said shut the FUCK up!” the Master repeated, and reached into the cage to give Phil an effortless swat to the chest. Phil fell to the ground, winded and coughing, grunting in pain. The Master took the dead man’s unbroken arm and lifted him out of the birdcage, dangling like a rag doll from his fingers. He slid open the top of the terrarium and unceremoniously dropped the tiny corpse inside, closing it up afterwards. It landed with a soft thud on the potting soil in the middle of the terrarium. “You're mine,” the Master spat through his teeth. “I can do whatever I want to you. You stupid fucks. You do what I tell you and be fucking GRATEFUL for the HONOUR of being my slaves or you'll end up in the same place as that dumb fuckin douche.” The Master switched off the lamp and stomped out towards the door, muttering to himself. The light shone in from the other side of the door before the Master slammed it shut behind him. Rodrigo crawled over to Phil, and put a hand to his chest. Phil winced and moaned. “Nothing broken,” Rodrigo assured him. “We'll get it fixed.” He pressed his hand against Phil's chest. He could sense his pain, which was different then feeling it but it wasn't very pleasant. He felt the swelling go down, the pain recede, the wound disappear. If only he'd survived the fall, Rodrigo could've saved him. That was the only reason the Master kept him around this long; to repair his favourite toys when he broke them. But sooner or later he'd go too far, play too hard, damage them beyond repair. And then… Rodrigo stood up from Phil and padded across the clipboard to the other side of the cage. He peered into the terrarium. The outline of the corpse still lay in the middle of the stillness and silence. She hadn't come to claim him yet, but she would. She was content to sit in the dark, waiting and watching. *** Some time later… Phil thought back. “... so then, Ed Harris is like 'we got you at an elevated position, no one needs to die,' but the military guy starts shouting up to the soldiers 'you all swore oaths as United States marines! And I know the Pentagon shits all over us sometimes but that doesn't give you the right to mutiny!' But Ed Harris is all 'order your men to safety their weapons and drop them on the floor' and he's like 'I will not give that order!' and then they just keep shouting at each other 'give the order!' 'I will not give that order!'” “Shit!” Rodrigo chuckled. “Yeah,” Phil grinned. He glanced to the side and nodded towards the other end of the cage. “Hey. Think he's waking up.” The prone form lying facedown in the corner groaned as if on cue. He was trying to get himself upright but finding it difficult. It was always like that at first. Rodrigo sighed and crawled up next to him. He rubbed his back gently. “Hey… take it easy okay? Things may be a bit of a shock.” The guy was blonde, in decent shape. When he'd been deposited Rodrigo had thought his ass looked amazing though in the light of morning it looked only okay. He was gasping. “I… I can't breathe…” “Try and take slow long breaths,” Rodrigo suggested. “It takes a few days for your lungs to adjust to breathing air at this size.” “Size? What…?” the blonde guy looked up. There wasn't a lot of light coming in through the cracks around the wooden slates nailed around the windows but it was enough to illuminate a handsome, young face. His eyes went wide as he glanced frantically around the room. “Oh fuck the… where....” he pushed himself to his knees and saw that he was naked which only seemed to panic him more. “Look seriously if you don't calm down you could pass out,” Rodrigo advised. “I'm Roddy. What's your name?” The kid was still in shock, and shook his head. “Look just tell me your name, okay?” Rodrigo persisted. “It'll help.” He opened his mouth to speak but just gasped deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head, and fainted, collapsing onto Rodrigo. “Shit,” he sighed. Phil clapped his hands together. “So anyway, Nick Cage is all like…” It was twenty more minutes before he came to. Rodrigo had stayed next to him and rubbed his back as he sat up. “You gotta try and keep calm, all right?” Rodrigo advised softly. “I know it all seems crazy but put all that aside. Close your eyes and focus on your breathing, okay? You have to try and stay awake. Passing out like that is so bad for you.” The kid raised his head with his eyes squeezed shut so hard it looked like he was wincing. “I have a headache.” Rodrigo nodded. “It's the oxygen adjustment problem. You're gonna feel like shit for a couple days. Just don't exert yourself, keep yourself hydrated.” He paused. “I'm Roddy. Do you remember me telling you that?” The kid nodded, then shook his head. “It seems like a dream.” “The other guy in here is Phil,” Rodrigo continued. “Hey,” Phil called idly from the other end of the cage. Rodrigo smiled. “What's your name?” “Blake…” he answered weakly. “Where… what's happening to me?” “Well…” Rodrigo sighed. “Let's see. You've been kidnapped. We all have… and that's kind of the good news.” “What?” “We've been shrunk to I think like four inches tall,” Rodrigo explained. “That's just a guess I'm not totally sure. He doesn't let us measure ourselves.” “How…” he looked up, opening his eyes and blinking, scanning the cage and the room outside it. “No. No. Fuck. This is just a nightmare.” Rodrigo shook his head. “Nononono. Look at me, okay?” he shifted onto his knees in front of Blake. “Listen to me. You are wide awake and this isn't a dream. You need to accept that, because Blake? I'm not gonna lie. Our lives are in danger here and we have to keep it together.” “Danger? Wait what?” Blake gripped Rodrigo’s arm. He could see the muscles in Blake's neck tightening up, his jaw going rigid. “Yes,” Rodrigo put his hands on Blake's shoulders. “I need you to try and stay calm but this is too important to keep from you. Okay? Breathe.” Blake had started to freak out again, and winced in pain as it aggravated his headache. “Fuck…” he mumbled. “What… what's gonna happen to me?” There were so many options. Stomped on; smothered in an asshole; eaten alive; drowned in a toilet bowl… or left for Penny. The Master enjoyed subjecting his slaves to a variety of gruesome ends but lately he took an increasingly sadistic glee in watching them try to escape her, hide from her, even fend her off. Rodrigo had seen one tiny little man actually beg for mercy from her, but she had none to give. She regarded him with the same predatory indifference with which she saw everything that entered her domain. Rodrigo's face had darkened and this did little to console Blake. He brought his knees up and put his head down, sobbing quietly. “Look…” Rodrigo confided quietly, “I can't… he… just call him ‘Master' all the time. Do what he says. Don't try to be cute; don't make fun of him. He'll try to turn us against each other but you can't let him. He's a liar and a douchebag and a bully. We have GOT to trust each other or we'll all just go insane.” “I've already gone insane,” Blake mumbled. “You're not insane, Blake,” Rodrigo shook his head, “just unlucky.” *** Some time even later but not quite at the present yet… Phil had his hands clamped over his ears and was curled up in one corner of the cage, humming a monotone to himself as loud as he could muster. It was really grating but Rodrigo was willing to bear it. He was never in the same kind of danger that Phil or Blake were in. Rodrigo was the toy the Master could never replace. There was a limit to the extent he could leverage that but still… The dimensions of the building they were in remained a mystery to them, but they were almost certainly in a garage or a workshed attached to a house. It was at least two stories tall and the Master's favourite room seemed to be directly above them, and the walls dividing them did little to mute his grunts and groans nor the banging of his headboard against the wall. Phil had mostly adjusted to his new tiny life but the sounds from the Master's room always threw him into a nearly catatonic state. Maybe it was the memories it conjured of his own tortures, for the Master had inflicted damage upon his little frame in the past that Rodrigo had barely been able to pull him back from. Or maybe it was the same uncertainty that weighed on Rodrigo’s mind: the uncertainty of whether or not Blake would come back at all. So many of them hadn't, or had returned so mangled all Rodrigo could do was watch them die. There hadn't been any deaths since the older man, but that had been an accident. An optimist might think the Master was finally getting over his bloodlust but Rodrigo knew better. The Master was never sated for long. A loud cry announced the Master's climax, then there was more stomping around for a while. Rodrigo shook Phil out of his autohypnosis and the two waited on opposite sides of the birdcage for the Master to return. “So you're a wizard too right?” asked Phil. Rodrigo grimaced. “Not the kind of term I like to throw around, but okay, yeah.” He shrugged. “I can do magic.” “Can you learn how to do what he does?” Phil tilted his head. Rodrigo shook his head. “No. Not without help. Most of us can only focus on one… field, I guess. I only know how to heal people.” “Do you think you could ever, like… turn it around? Like…” Phil made some strange hand gestures. “It's still the same idea, right? Just instead of giving something back you're taking it away.” Rodrigo narrowed his gaze. “I don't hurt people, Phil.” “Not even him?” Phil persisted. “After everything you've seen him do? Not even if it meant saving me or Blake?” “You're not thinking this through,” said Rodrigo flatly. “Let's say we somehow managed to kill him. We're still stuck in this cage except now nobody's getting us food or water or cleaning the tray.” He sighed. “I've been here longer than you have and there's been smarter guys here before you. Smart guys don't last very long.” “What if we…” Phil hesitated. “Has anyone tried talking to him? Maybe we could convince him to…” “Look I don't know what goes on when he takes them away,” Rodrigo cut him off, “but if anyone's tried it it didn't go too well. Like… he's insane. You get that, right? He's a fucking psychopathic murderer.” “But if the Master-” “Don't!” Rodrigo pointed at him. “Don't fucking call him that when he's not here. He's not the master of fucking anything. Not you or me, not Blake, not even fucking Penny. I don't care how…” The door swung open and the burly silhouette of the Master lumbered inside. Rodrigo and Phil shuffled to opposite corners. Sex only ever made the smell of the Master stronger. Even overwhelming at times; a sour onion smell of sweat and cum. It preceded him as he stomped over to the workbench, opened the cage, and carefully deposited the Crown Royale bag inside. “Good luck,” he grunted, shrugging and wiping his nose as he turned to leave. Rodrigo rushed up to the bag and fiddled with the drawstring. Phil had to help him pull the bag open and they could barely make him out, lying inside in the velvet shadows, twitching and moaning. “His arm is arm is broken - the right arm,” warned Rodrigo. “You take his feet. Careful. Ready? One, two, and…” the two grunted and Blake whimpered as they lifted him out of the bag and onto the floor. His arm was dark purple and a sickly yellow, bending in strange ways. A similar bruise covered the whole right side of his torso and much of his thigh. One eye was swollen shut. Rodrigo could sense that some ribs were at least fractured and maybe broken, and his hip had been dislocated. Luckily there was no direct damage to his spine or his skull, which were the trouble spots. Rodrigo prognosed a full recovery but…there was still a long way to go. He bit his lip. Blake was whining and trying very hard to stay still, but would twitch every now and then and let out a piercing wail. Rodrigo took Phil aside and explained what had to be done. “...no matter how bad he screams, do not let him go,” Rodrigo reminded him. Phil nodded. “I know.” Rodrigo took a deep breath. “Okay. Let's do it.” Phil got down in his knees at Blake's head, pressing down gently on his shoulders. Blake winced at the touch but remained mostly still. Rodrigo gently moved Blake's legs apart so he could straddle Blake's right thigh. He gripped Blake tightly around his left hip, grit his teeth, and gave a forceful punch to the left. Blake's good eye shot open and he screamed in agony. He tried to sit up but Phil held him down. His first attempt having failed, Rodrigo gave the right hip a second punch with a little more power behind it, and exhaled with relief as he heard it chock back into place. Blake was less relieved, screaming through bloody, clenched teeth as he spasmed on the floor. “Almost there, Blake,” Rodrigo assured him, squeezing the leg between his knees. He nodded at Phil, who pressed down harder, and Rodrigo grabbed Blake's wrist. The ulna had broken but wasn’t too far out of place. The big problem was the humerus, which had broken clean away in one spot and cracked in another. The break was diagonal and the sharp pointed end of the bone had poked a hole in his tendon and threatened to pierce the skin from within. His powers to heal were formidable and anything short of death itself was within his ability to repair - including broken bones, but he couldn't compel them to right themselves. If he used his skills before setting a break, he could cause permanent damage that would need conventional surgery. And that meant… Rodrigo yanked back on Blake's wrist as hard as he could and Blake screamed in furious pain until he was hoarse. With the arm stretched as far as he could pull it, he felt for the tip of the break with his fingertips and wriggled it back into place. Blake continued screaming until his eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out. Phil looked up at Rodrigo in alarm, but he was more relieved than worried. “Check his pulse,” he said, more to reassure Phil han anything. An unconscious patient was much easier to work with. “Get some water,” Rodrigo told Phil as he checked over Blake's body for anything he missed. Phil got up and went over to the hamster bottle hanging off the cage and filled one of the thimbles piled beneath it. Technically speaking, Blake was dying, and his injuries were severe enough that even a trip to the ER (at regular size) was no guarantee. But Rodrigo was better than a fully-staffed state of the art hospital. Rodrigo had actually done more tissue damage setting his bones but wasn't that concerned. Tissue damage was no big thing. He could cure infections and draw toxins out of the system. Even major organs were becoming quick fixes (though collapsed lungs still confounded him). He supposed he had the Master to “thank” for that. There was a trick to getting water from the dispenser. You put your finger in the nozzle and point your elbow down, holding the thimble beneath it. There were four thimbles and Phil filled all four, setting the first two on the clipboard next to Blake then handing Rodrigo one and keeping the last for himself. When Rodrigo was confident he had righted all the broken bones, he took a big gulp of water and began healing him, occasionally scooping water out of a thimble to clean off some blood. The bones stitched themselves back together. The bruises grew lighter and finally disappeared. As Rodrigo finished by making the swelling go down around Blake's eye, he looked him over and allowed himself a moment of self-congratulatory pride. It looked like nothing had even happened to him. Expending those energies tool a lot out of him, and Rodrigo was overcome with a wave of exhaustion. By that point Phil had already wrapped himself in the torn facecloth and was curled up in a corner. Rodrigo pulled two of the makeshift blankets from where they hung between bars, and laid one over Blake. He refilled the thimbles and left them nearby. The crumpled velvet bag looked inviting but it smelled awful and conjured memories of his first night there. He instead laid down next to Blake, and tried to get to sleep. Rodrigo had a fitful sleep though, which was frustrating considering how tired he was. He kept drifting in and out of dreams and groggy half-awake visions of the dark room. He used these moments to glance at Blake and make sure he was still okay. At one point though, he awoke and found Blake missing from beside him, and heard some strained grunting in the darkness. He managed to make the outline of Blake at the bars, trying to wrench them apart. Rodrigo lifted his head. “Blake… it's no good, man. You need to sleep.” He paused, and heard Blake grunt as he made another attempt. “Blake, seriously, all you're gonna do is pull a muscle.” Blake stopped, and whispered something but Rodrigo couldn't hear it. He rolled out from under the covers and stood, walking over to Blake. He touched his shoulder. “C’mon.” “I can't do it anymore,” Blake whispered back. “I'm sorry. I can't. It just… I have to get out.” He yanked on the bars again. Rodrigo put his hand on Blake's shoulder and tugged him away from the bars but Blake swatted him off and pulled at the bars again. “Blake, seriously, you're just gonna hurt yourself.” “He told me he'd make me normal again,” Blake muttered. His hands still gripped the bars but his arms had relaxed. “He said he liked me and he'd make me normal and let me go if that's what I wanted. He asked…” he choked, and leaned his head against the bars. Rodrigo had heard this story before. Warning them was no help. After all they'd gone through, who could deny the offer even knowing it was a lie? “I thought I was gonna die…” Blake was shaking, his jaw shuddering, tears welling up in bloodshot eyes. “I can't do it again. I have to get out. What if…” he turned to Rodrigo. “I'll break enough bones to fit through the bars,” he leaned in, whispering. “You can heal me when I'm on the other side.” Rodrigo shook his head. “No. There's so much that could go wrong and I have to set bones before I can heal them.” “It's a bigger risk than staying?” Blake hissed. “Roddy I'm gonna fucking die here.” “What'll you do on the other side?” Rodrigo gestured to the bars. “You think you'll make it far outside this house? We don't even know where we are. How will you even make it off the workbench?” “Fucking christ, Roddy!” Blake's voice began to rise. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Just wait?” he fell to his knees. “I'm gonna fuckin die here.” Rodrigo lowered himself to his knees and threw his arms around Blake, holding his head on his shoulder as he convulsed in quiet sobs. He rubbed Blake's back in silence, feeling his heartbeat through his chest. He saw Phil curled up in the corner. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like he had his eyes opened, and was staring at them. “Don't bring me back,” Blake croaked hoarsely. “Blake…” Blake put his arms around Rodrigo and squeezed him close. “No, I can't. I can't,” he whispered frantically. “Next time just let it happen. Just let me go.” Rodrigo's mouth hung open. “I…” “You have to promise me.” “I'm not gonna promise you that,” said Rodrigo quietly. “I'm sorry, I… you can't ask me to do that.” “Roddy… please…” Rodrigo rubbed his back. “Go to sleep, Blake. You need to rest.” Blake returned to softly weeping as Rodrigo massaged his back. He looked down at Phil, who pulled up his blanket and turned away from them. *** “They don't understand your superiority, Master. They don't want to be here.” The Master lowered his gaze over his bulk to the tiny man sitting with his back against the Master's thick, stubby cock. Phil gyrated his back and ass against it, reaching his arms behind him to rub the shaft. “You know I'm smarter than you, right?” the Master growled. “You know your brain’s like the size of a jellybean? You can't lie to me.” “Master I'm not!” Phil implored, his eyes wide as he vigorously shook his head. “I wouldn't! I…” Phil was smothered by a thick gigantic hand that wrapped around the shaft and squeezed Phil against the cock that was bigger than his whole body. “You think this is some power struggle for roaches? You think I have one of you I like best? You're all the same. Nothing. Lower than scum. I could fuckin… I could fuckin toss you in the garbage or… or put you in the toaster! You'd pop like a corn kernel.” He lifted his hand off, leaving Phil coughing and gasping for breath. He sputtered for a moment but soon regained himself. “Master I know! I know what I am now. What we all are to you. The whole world should be yours to play with. Whole civilizations should strive to pleasure you!” To emphasize his point Phil climbed to his feet, rubbing his ass along the Master's rigid dick. The Master groaned, his cock twitching in response, and Phil shuddered with delight. “They're still stuck in their old lives, Master. They haven't seen.” The Master narrowed his eyes, his jaw protruding with suspicion. “What are they saying?” “Blake wants to leave. It's all he talks about,” Phil reported. “Roddy discourages him. He's very practical, like you said.” The Master nodded. “You asked him what I told you to?” Phil nodded vigorously. “Of course, Master! I do everything you tell me too?” “Well…?” the Master asked impatiently. Phil shook his head. “He can't use his powers to hurt you. But he says he would never hurt anyone, including you.” The Master nodded. “Good, good…” the Master laid back contentedly, adjusting his bulk in his worn leather chair. Phil fell over into the carpet of his pubic hair from the treasure, but righted himself. The Master sighed. “I like you,” he noted nonchalantly, much of the harsh edge gone from his voice. Phil looked up at him, beaming though a bit flustered. “I'm… honoured, Master!” “You know I have great powers, don't you?” the Master asked. “I can do almost anything.” “I… well I…” Phil stammered. “I never knew for certain but I always believed. You're like a god, Master!” The Master chuckled with amusement. “I could return you to normal,” he said. “I might even release you. You've served me so well, perhaps you DO deserve a reward. Would you like that? Is that what you want?” Phil blanched. “Wait, but don't I… don't I still please you? I mean…” he shook his head. “Do I… are you bored with me?” The mirth drizzled out from the Master's eyes. “I've offered you a reward. You'd deny it?” “I… Master of course you…” Phil struggled to find words, his breath coming in panicked gasps. “Master, you know better than I do and… and if you think I could serve you better at my… in my old life… then I will do it for you but…” he shook his head. “I know now that this is where I was meant to be! I never want to leave you, Master… I wouldn't know what to do!” The Master smiled across his round face. “I'm so happy to hear that.”