TQuintA

July 28th - One Last Thing (Additional Material Added 8/4/20)

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TQuintA

Chapter 14 (Original Ending)

            “Where are you going?” Danny asked.

            “I’m leaving.”

            “Mr. Davis is coming here.  You don’t have to go anywhere.”

            “I’m leaving you,” I clarified without looking back.

            “What?”

            I stopped in my tracks.  “You’re one of them, Dan.  I want out.”

            “But you’re naked.”

            “Don’t care.  I just want to leave.”

            “But you’re not going to fit behind the steering wheel of your car at that size.”

            “Then I’ll walk until I get to Gina’s, and then she’ll help me.”

            “But if you get too far away from the phone, how can I turn you back?”

            “You’re not going to turn me back even if I stay.  You practically said as much yourself.  I’ll either learn to adapt to this body over time, or it will shrink back to something more human-sized over the next couple of months.”

            “Is this because I asked you to have sex with Mr. Davis?  Because…”

            I spun around violently.  Unused to my new width, my left side slammed into a wall, and the whole house shook.  “That’s part of it, yes.  But if you don’t see why I’m leaving then that’s just another reason I’m leaving.”

            “But if it’s the sex you object to, I can make it so you don’t even remember it.  Like you didn’t even do it.  There’s an option for that.”

            “So, you’d use your phone to force me to have sex with someone, and then use your phone to erase the crime from my memory.  Don’t you see what’s fucked up about that?”  I turned back around and started to leave again.

            “But we marched and we fought to get married.  You’re just going to throw that all away?”

            “I’ve been fighting for months to save this marriage.  Scratching and clawing and accommodating and compromising.  Now you plan on forcing me to have sex with another man so you can get a promotion at work.  You’re the one throwing it away.”

            “I thought you said ‘til death.”

            Calmly, coolly, without a trace of malice in my voice, I said, “The darling Danny I married is dead.  You killed him, Dan the Man.”

            As I reached for the doorknob, I heard him cry out, “Don’t go.”  I pulled open the door, the knob crumpling in my hands.  He added, “I’ll just make you stay!  I’ll make you want to stay!”

            Ignoring him, I continued to head out the door.  I heard Danny frantically tapping at the screen, but I just did not care.

            I’d barely taken one step outside when I turned around, walked back into the house, past Danny, and into the den.  Once there, I kneeled on the floor.  This felt right.  This felt like the best place to be.

            From the foyer, I heard Danny talking into his phone.  “Gary, can you come over?”

            Then, my Danny came into the den and sat on the chair nearest me, his phone in his right hand.  With his free hand, he stroked my shoulder and chest hair lovingly.

            “I don’t know why you keep trying to run away,” Danny said placidly.  “You should be happy.”

            For fifteen minutes, I kneeled on the floor, patiently waiting, saying nothing.  Danny kept stroking my shoulder and chest the whole time.

            When there was a knock at the front door, Danny got up to let the person in, and soon he and Gary were in the den.  I overheard their whole conversation, but I didn’t really have anything to say or any emotional connection to it.  Kneeling on the den floor and passively listening with no emotional reactions felt right.  It felt like the best course of action.

            “He tried to leave again,” Danny said.

            “This is the third time,” Gary responded.  “I’m almost impressed.”

            “Is this because he’s the first guy you’ve tested the app on?” Danny asked.

            “I doubt it.”

            “I don’t know what to do,” Danny complained.

            “You know exactly what to do,” Gary retorted.

            “But, do I really?  Do I really have to completely overwrite his whole personality?  I love him.  I still want him in there.”

            “He’ll still be in there in every way that matters to you.”

            “Can’t we just tweak his personality?”

            “When you tried deleting his independent streak while leaving the rest of his personality intact, he hid inside for four months,” Gary reminded him.  “And the second you gave his independence back to him?”

            “He confronted me at the office, and I had to tweak him for an hour to get him to stay with me.”

            “And wipe his memory of the whole affair.”

            “And wipe his memory,” Danny echoed.

            “If you let me go in and look at every line of personality code, I can keep all the things you love about him, but stop him from fighting back and running away.  Alan’s wife tried to run at first.  Now, she loves it here.”

            “I really thought, once he saw everything I could offer him, that he’d choose this.  He used to fantasize about being a bodybuilder, and I just gave it to him.  He ogles the guys with the big cocks in porn, and I gave him the biggest cock ever.  He’s so ungrateful.”

            “Maybe if you’d let him remember all the times he fucked you senseless, he’d appreciate that thing swinging between his legs.  He doesn’t even think he fits.”

            “I tried to let him remember topping, the first time I made him bigger.  It made him over-confident.  Rather than stay home and develop that mighty body of his, he wanted to do ridiculous things like garden and get a degree.  So, I took away his independence, and then he was half as much fun as he used to be.  So, I gave him back his independence.  I even let him go out and make friends, and he still wants to leave me.  And he’s too smart to keep lying to.  I’m surprised the doctored logs fooled him for even a second.  No matter what I give him, he still wants more.  I just want to take care of him, pay him back for everything he did for me, and he’s never content.”  Danny sighed.  “He’s never going to choose this life, is he?  I’m going to have to force it on him, aren’t I?”

            “It took most of us a few months to get our wives to where we like them.  I’m more than happy to go through line by line…”

            Danny interrupted him.  “Fine,” he handed Gary his phone.  “Just don’t make him so violent this time.  He almost bruised my jaw yesterday.”

            “I told you that was a bad idea, but you didn’t listen.”

            “It was my birthday.  I was feeling adventurous. If he’d just gone to the football game like I wanted so he could dominate some linebackers and let me watch…” Danny trailed off.

            “You could have just made him go.”

            Sighing, Danny said, “I know.  I know.”

            Gary’s voice grew impatient.  “If I’m going to finish everything before Mr. Davis gets here, you’re going to have to let me get started.”

            “Right!” Danny said.  He walked up behind me, and bent over.  He stroked the back of my neck with his chin, kissing it gently.  “Hey, tiger,” Danny cooed.  “This will hurt for a second, but it’s the last thing.  When it’s all over, you’ll finally be happy here.”

            I love it when Danny kisses the back of my neck.  I fucking love it.  I fell asleep to Danny’s kisses all along the back of my neck.

 

 

Epilogue

            “Marshall!” Elliot called out.

            Marshall snapped back to attention.  He’d spaced out looking at the giant ChorrTek building.  “Are you kidding?  This is where you’re going to work?”

            “Sure is.  I’ll be up on the 8th floor with the other junior executives.”

            A man in a gray suit, the same color gray as Elliot’s, came out and offered his hand.  “You’re the new executive, right?”

            “Yes,” Elliot said, grabbing the man’s hand firmly and shaking it up and down.  Marshall thought it was silly how much Elliot cared about things like suit colors and handshakes, but this was Elliot’s world, not his.  Besides, Elliot was from a different generation.  All of Marshall’s friends had told him not to marry a man old enough to be his father, but Marshall had always had a thing for older men.  Besides, 46 isn’t that old.  When it’s love, who cares what the age gap is?  The last two years had been great.

            “I’m Elliot Hendry, new head of coding and hardware,” he said, finishing the handshake with a stiff up-and-down.

            “Call me Gary,” the man said, smiling unctuously.  “The head of product testing.  And this is?” he asked, pointing to Marshall.

            “Marshall Hendry,” he said, giving a brief, perfunctory handshake.  “I’m Elliot’s husband.”

            “Strong grip you have there, young man.”  Gary’s tone was one of condescension, as though he was only humoring Marshall.

            Marshall internally riled.  He was 24.  There was no reason to talk to him like a child.  He gave a wan smile because he knew better than to make his complaints vocal.

            Elliot threw his arm around Marshall’s shoulders and smiled his dopey, lovable, Elliot smile.  “Everything about Marshall is strong,” he bragged.

            Marshall flashed another half-committed smile.  He hated when Elliot embarrassed him like this. 

            “Marshall was in a few teen bodybuilding contests,” Elliott continued.

            Marshall was a respectable 180 pounds of solid muscle, a decent weight for his 5’8” height.  He was especially proud of his chest, but he hid it under oversized shirts.  A person looking closely could still tell he was muscular, but only someone looking closely.  Any public discussion of his physique made Marshall uncomfortable.  Doing those contests had brought him such happiness in the moment, but then nothing but shame from his family and ridicule from his friends afterwards.  He was glad he and Elliot had moved far away from all of that.  Part of what drew Marshall to Elliot was that Elliot actually encouraged Marshall’s bodybuilding. 

            Elliot finished his spiel, “but he put that aside to finish his degree.”

            “Really now?” Gary said.  “What are you studying there, Marshall?”

            “I studied,” Marshall put a little emphasis on the past tense, “physical therapy.”

            “That explains why you kept up the physique,” Gary said.

            “He gave that up too, though, because, although he is the love of my life, school was unfortunately not the right setting for him,” Elliot said, shaking Marshall a little bit.

            Marshall’s fake smile was failing him, but he politely said, “He’s being polite.  I flunked out.”

            Glossing over Marshall’s confession, Gary asked, “Shall we go up to your office, Elliot?”

            Elliot took his arm off Marshall’s shoulder, and the group moved inside. In the main lobby, there were a group of executives, all wearing gray suits, waiting to greet them.  Elliot shook each one’s hand in turn.  Marshall waited a few steps behind.  He knew better than to pull focus.

            One of the men, after shaking hands with Elliot announced, “Nice to meet you; I’m Dan Eberhart, VP of sales.  So glad there’s finally another gay executive.”

            “I’d heard I wasn’t the only gay guy,” Elliot cheered.  “This is my husband Marshall.”

            Marshall half-smiled and gave a non-committal wave.

            “We’re going to talk about a bunch of boring office stuff,” Dan said.  “If you want, you can hang out with my husband instead.”

            “If it’ll get me out of this tour, I’ll do anything,” Marshall thought to himself.  Out loud, he said, “Sure.  Where is he?”

            “He practically lives in the gym.  As the spouse of an executive, you can use our facilities for free,” Dan pointed to a hall at the far side of the lobby.

            “Hear that, Marshall?  You might just have yourself a workout buddy,” Elliot said, smiling.

            “Sounds great,” Marshall said.  He turned around to leave, but before he could leave, Elliott stopped him by gently grabbing his shoulder.

            “Be good.  Have fun,” Elliot said, kissing Marshall on the back of the neck.

            Marshall loved it when Elliott kissed him on the back of the neck.

            Once he got to the gym, Marshall was impressed to see state-of-the-art equipment and enough weights to be a serious, hardcore gym.  He had expected a row of 30 treadmills and stationary bikes.  Those were there too, but there was a legit weightlifting section.

            A woman who looked like a photoshopped model was working with some of the free weights in the front corner.  She looked fit enough to be a trainer, so, taking the risk, Marshall approached her.

            “Excuse me, miss,” he said, just loudly enough to be heard, “is Mr. Eberhart here?”

            “You mean Rip?” she asked, obviously confused. As she looked up at him, Marshall was unnerved by how glassy and hollow her stare was.

            “I guess,” he said, looking down at his feet so he wouldn’t have to look into her eyes. 

            “Rip’s in the back,” she said, pointing.

            Marshall walked back to the place she pointed, dragging his feet a little bit.  Just because he and this Rip guy were both gay and both liked working out doesn’t mean they were going to be friends.  What kind of a name was Rip, anyway?  “Rip” sounded like the name of some effeminate little twink who did Pilates or jazzercise or something like that, not an actual bodybuilder like him.

            When he got to the back of the gym, though, Marshall’s jaw practically hit the floor.  There was a bearded behemoth of a man, covered in hair, bench pressing more weight than Marshall ever thought possible.

            Marshall almost turned around and ran, but the muscle man saw him in a mirror, put the bar back on the stand, and walked over.  The man had absurd proportions—absurd but beyond hot.  This guy had a chest that stuck out a foot from an impossibly small waist with thighs that exploded out into twin columns of strength.  He’d heard of men having a V-shape (Marshall kind of had one himself), but this man was X-shaped.  His black gym shorts barely went down his thighs halfway, pushed up by gigantic, striated quads.  The top half of the man was barely covered by an orange and black striped tank top.  It didn’t even go all the way down his torso—it dangled off his enormous pecs, his furry, taut, cobbled 8-pack out on full display.

            “Rip Everhard,” the man said in a smooth, ultra-deep bass, putting out his hand for a handshake. His arms were phenomenal.  “It’s about time we got another muscle guy here.  You a new hire?”

            “N-n-no, sir,” Marshall stammered.  “My husband Elliot just got hired here.  I’m Marshall Hendry.”

            “Even better,” Rip said.  The handshake had ended, but Rip continued to hold his hand.  He even put his other hand on Marshall’s shoulder.  The guy towered over Marshall, practically a foot taller than him.  “More time for us to work out together.”

            “Are you kidding me?” Marshall said.  “I’m in great shape, but you…  you are in a class all by yourself.”

            Rip slid his hand down Marshall’s shirt, feeling him up.  Marshall knew he should’ve stopped him, but it was just so flattering to be felt up by such a muscular man.  “You’re in excellent starting shape,” Rip announced. 

            “Starting shape?” Marshall thought to himself, a little offended.

            “We’ll get you really big in no time,” Rip added, patting Marshall’s shoulder.

            “In a place like this, I don’t doubt it.”

            “I love rich guys.  They keep this place well stocked.  My husband Danny saw to it that this place was top of the line.  Danny takes good care of me.”

            Marshall asked, “This equipment is all for you?  With all this awesome equipment, aren’t there a whole lot of other serious lifters here?”

            “There’s you now,” Rip joked.

            “Other than me?”

            “Nah,” Rip responded.  “With the exception of the occasional bored housewife, most of the people who use the gym are middle-aged guys trying to recapture their youth.  Or who just want to stare at me.”  Rip flexed his bicep, and Marshall nearly fainted.  It was significantly bigger than Rip’s head.  With a cocky sneer, Rip added, “Of course, given how big I am, who wouldn’t want to stare?”

            “How big are you?” Marshall dared to ask.

            “16 inches since Christmas,” Rip announced, stroking his crotch right in front of Marshall.  It was only then Marshall noticed just how huge Rip’s nuts were.  And if his nuts were huge, the man’s dick looked like an arm sticking out of his crotch.  A thick arm with a large, powerful fist at the end of it.  He’d heard of guys who got erections during workouts, but this was absurd.  Marshall had no idea how the shorts fit over anything so gigantic.  The man was huge everywhere.

            “I meant your muscles,” Marshall said, a little shocked he had to spell it out.  His tone of voice indicated just how intimidated he was.  “You have the biggest muscles I’ve ever seen.”

            “These days?  I’ve been hovering just below 500.  The last 50 pounds have been all me,” Rip said proudly.  Marshall had no idea what that meant, but 50 pounds, especially on a body that big, is always impressive.  Rip continued, “Danny says when I break 500, he has a present for me.”  Rip sounded like an eager child on his birthday.  He let go of Marshall and pointed to the locker room.  “Get changed.  We might as well start working out together right now."

            “I didn’t bring any gym clothes because…” Marshall stopped what he was saying and looked dead ahead.  Suddenly, his over-large shirt wasn’t quite so over-large.  It was still big for his frame, but it no longer swallowed him.  Marshall felt up his pecs—his prides and glories.  They felt bigger.  Substantially bigger.  His biceps and quads also felt significantly bigger.  And did he have a stiffy, or was his dick bigger too?  Or both?  He had no idea what was going on.

            “We’ll work out when you get back.  You should go.  Your husband’s calling you.”

            “What?” Marshall said, looking up.

            “Your husband’s calling you,” Rip repeated.  “He probably wants you to meet Mr. Davis.  Mr. Davis is going to absolutely love you,” Rip said, smiling mysteriously.

            Uncertain exactly what was going on, Marshall started to leave the gym to find his husband.

            “Hey, Marshall,” Rip called, stopping Marshall in his tracks.  “One last thing before you go.”

            Marshall turned around to look at Rip.  It was then that he noticed Rip had the same glassy, hollow stare as the woman working out by the entrance.

            “Welcome to ChorrTek,” Rip said, smiling.  “You’ll never want to leave.”

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goremeridian

What a ride! I have to admit, I prefer the darker ending :) A terrific story, TQuintA. Thank you so much for this!

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