long-form Hard at Work [Part 13c added - April 29, '23]

[scarletic]

17 hours ago, citizenies said:

Hot as always ~~ thanks for continuing

Wonder when froy needs to use his powers again 

6 hours ago, spacevlad said:

Also, like, I know this isn't likely to happen and isn't how he grows, but there's a big part of me that wants Wes to get out that massive, uncontrollable cock and pound Dory with it. Maybe after he slurps another load out of Dory and is getting his growth spurt, swelling bigger inside of the smaller man.

[DawnFire98]

Great to see this story return and what a twist of events. Am excited for more 

[hugeman2]

This may be problematic, but I'm rooting for Wes to be the biggest...

[Felix]

Yeees! Growing cocky men growing bigger!

Amazing as always!!!

[scarletic]

Part 13c

I loved a classic sitcom gag — just not when I was the gag character.

The record now stood at twice in one day that Marcus and I got involved in men’s room antics (even if he didn’t realize it was me the first time), so I was winded coming back from what was supposed to be a quick trip to the toilet. He and Froy were still inside recuperating.

I doubt I was in there very long. Yet, the party’s atmosphere before and after reminded me of the madness trapped within Pandora’s Box.

Froy and I worked so hard to scent the centralized cooling with Wes’ favourite almond scent. But when I returned, the overwhelming aroma of fountain liquor kissed my nose like ambrosia.

Wes and Sammy were (or should’ve been) waiting for me back at our table.

Instead, there was an ancient human ritual.

Lying on his back atop our long, rectangular table was Wes; both his legs were two mounding hills folded along the stretch of tablecloth, his feet exposed, and his black pants rolled up to his knees.

Somehow, even sprawled on a flat surface, his body still took up so much space, more than it looked like it really should’ve.

 The tightly tucked button-down that struggled to contain Wes’ upper body all day was granted relief. It was unbuttoned from the bottom-up, binding Wes’ plump pec humps against his broad expanse of chest. The guests and dinner platings had been cleared out, giving Wes full control over the table’s territorial reach. He was guffawing, resting his handsome head back on his hands, his mammoth arms fully exposed and the torn remains of the sleeves limp on the ground. He was chewing something and doing it so loudly.

It was unbecoming of my manager, especially when there were other board members and the CEO around. The Wes I knew could never let himself be caught in public being so unprofessional.

Then I saw Sammy, standing on top of a conference chair, holding an overloaded mini buffet of a platter, dumping food by hand into Wes’ overeager mouth. And I realized it was the CEO himself enabling Wes’ piggish behaviour.

“More!” Wes yelled; his mouth still half-full, already fully drunk. “Keep stuffing me up bigger, Sammy! Your big lil’ daddy’s fucking starving!”

I didn’t know what was happening, but I felt I needed to stop it. By the time I got close enough, though, it was too late.

Because, on the floor, lost in the pile of silk sleeves and leather shoes, was the unmistakable sheen of a meteor shard necklace.

And Act 2 of Wes’ birthday began to unfold before me, kicked off with a monstrous rumble in Wes’ belly.

I needed to start from the beginning. I was never going to find a solution that still worked in my favour if I couldn’t grasp the chain of events by retracing my careless steps.

Enough compromises with me pulling the short end of the stick.

The second the clock ticked 5:00pm, the work week officially ended, and the party — along with the mess that came with it — finally kicked off.

Everyone working in Human Resources had coalesced into an ocean of pastel dress shirts and heels from window to window of the 7^th floor. Wes’ favourite nightclub beats from the ‘90s were blasted to 120%, yet the non-stop hurricane of conversation somehow matched them in volume.

Britney Spears didn’t stand a chance.

Anyone without a bat’s eyesight was left to navigate a labyrinth of neon outlines and solid shadows; the long built-in ceiling lights were either inactive or covered in cellophane, and multicoloured disco lights and stage lamps were stationed at strategic traffic-heavy hotspots. Obviously intentional to leave corners and less-populated corridors in the dark.

I had only just arrived an hour past 5:00, and already there were intoxicated men and women claiming corners for themselves.

There was a pang of jealousy, worsened by knowing Froy wouldn’t be around much longer.

It wasn’t only HR staff at the party, so I went scouting. A lot of names and faces passed me by, but none I knew whose salaries matched their skills.

What made it unbearable was trying to recall a time I was happy at my desk before Froy or without Marcus. Because there wasn’t one. Wes was my friend, but how far did our friendship really go outside work? Outside bar nights?

I caught Sammy by the catering tables mingling with older men in overpriced suits. Within his vicinity, he was the only one I could recognize since he was the only one tall enough to be seen above the crowd. He was wearing a grin, but I knew what a corporate slave’s diplomatic smile looked like.

Before I could approach, a bear-like paw grabbed me from behind.

“Hey, where are you going?” Wes’ voice asked.

I turned and faced the enormous man, his youthful brown face beaming at the sight of the much smaller me.

“I was just about to look for you.”

It was difficult to explain, but there was fear — the perpetual dread of inferiority that came from being around Wes.

“I’m flattered. Come, let’s go sit at our table. Sammy’s reserved a table for the three of us. I’m starving!”

He pulled me closer, encompassing my body in the space beneath his armpit where his relaxed arm could no longer reach because of his lats’ bulk. It was intoxicatingly warm, so close to him, with his pine tree cologne and matching deodorant.

“Who’s ‘just the three of us’?”

It was almost comical how Wes’ casual gait through the crowd could part it without a word. I’d seen it before, but not with this many people, and especially not when there was already hardly any room to make space for. We were shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back, but — like a hive-mind — not one person wanted to get in Wes’ way.

They knew who he was; they knew the power he had. He wasn’t just our manager, and he wasn’t just the birthday boy — he was a bona fide giant-in-the-making.

“You, me, and Sammy,” Wes replied. “I tried convincing Sam to give Marcus and Froy a seat with us, but he didn’t want the board members we’re sitting with to see the people they’re firing, and he didn’t want those two knowing who fired them.”

The way people would look up to see Wes’ face, then so far back down just to notice me — it was strange. It was probably the first time I felt handheld since I was a kid, the same way a parent protects their child.

With Froy, I felt I still held the reins; and Marcus never really dangled his size in front of me the same way Wes could — if anything, despite his physique, Marcus made me feel like an equal. Like his brother.

“Can’t I go sit with them instead? I’d rather not be within knife’s reach of those psychopaths.”

“Don’t ruin my birthday, Dor’. Let’s just go along with it for now, okay? Sammy says he has something planned for us, so we might as well hear him out before you go stabbing anyone.”

At least the new height and muscle didn’t affect Wes’ head the same way it did Marcus. If anything, Wes’ head was still very much normal-sized for a 6’10” man — it was his ridiculously big body that was impractically over-muscled. I’d heard from a few coworkers that Wes’ head looked almost shrunken on top of so much mass. His clothes were holding on for dear life, and it wasn’t his unflexed sacks of muscle feeling constrained.

Sammy had been side-eyeing us from a distance as we approached, and he got increasingly jittery the closer we got.

The people chatting him up had noticed and did him a favour by walking away. Their cooperation was appreciated. Of course, their swift retreat wasn’t just out of generosity. How anyone couldn’t be intimidated by being in the presence of two of the most powerful people in the company was a mind-baffling thought to even consider — but I’d become such an exception to the rule that no one batted an eye anymore whenever they saw me in Wes’, Marcus’, or Froy’s shadow. It wasn’t a bad gig, though. The perks that came with being the accessory to someone respected outweighed the cons of dealing with the madness that came with said respect.

“There they are; there they are!” Sammy exclaimed through the music. “My two favourite menseses.”

He was enjoying a half-finished piña colada and holding his arms out to welcome us.

“Hey, it’s good to see another familiar face in here besides our resident babysitter,” Wes said, patting me on the back (though it felt more like a squash racket than a human palm).

“Hello again, Sammy.”

Sammy waved for a server. “Can I get you two a drink?” He glanced at Wes and smirked. “Or a barrel?”

“I’d love some sangria if you have it,” I said. The cool air was scented so woodsy and almondy, it was the first cocktail that came to mind.

“What’s on the menu?” Wes asked, his voice chipper with eagerness. “Did you get the Vietnam Rosé craft beers like I asked? I’m in the mood to get fucked tonight.”

Sammy and I both shot him an estranged look.

“Fucked ‘up,’ guys. I want to get fucked up. Get a grip. I’m not bottoming for anyone.” Then Wes secretly nudged me with his elbow behind my back. “Unless you’ve got some tasty bucketloads of cum, then I’ll make an exception.”

Some of the higher-earning coworkers around us had been eavesdropping and immediately distanced themselves from us. A win-win in disguise, really. Suddenly, the three of us were fenced off in our own little VIP section where Wes could get a chance to freely move.

And he stretched his inhuman bulk, raising his arms over his head. We watched him test his designer clothing to its limits. He’d never been one to care about brand labels before (growing up in the poorer cities of Malaysia had ingrained that mindset in him), but when Sammy ordered tailor-made clothes using the stretchiest silks available for him to wear on his big day, he hadn’t expected Wes to have so many disproportionate and unmalleable moving parts, and clearly neither did the tailor.

At least, it still fit him back then.

The pastel burgundy button-down had broken free of his belted waistline. The silk crept up his stomach — equal parts chub and abdominal muscle — and the overhead lights casted a waterfall of shadows that ran down his four-pack, each row encased in enough fat to add layers of prominent size without becoming a gut.

Two small holes had already formed in the stitch that connected his sleeves to his lats, directly under his armpits.

Not much was visible through the gaps, not that there was much to view at all. Because of his south-east asian heritage, any minute amounts of body hair were practically translucent if not non-existent. His western father was also a hairless man himself apart from his forearms and calves, so Wes’ only real fur was the thick five o’clock mini beard he was sporting.

No one complained, though. Wes was well-versed in compensating for anything he lacked.

Being a 6’10” department manager with the body of a mega-powerlifter didn’t leave him with much to lack anymore, of course — except, perhaps, some self-control. His smooth, soft body made it easy for anyone to appreciate running their fingers and making skin-to-skin contact.

I especially loved it. And I knew he enjoyed using me, precisely because I loved it.

In the dark of his office, stroking and cupping his engorged muscle tits and the crevices and wrinkles his body made whenever he moved, it was the titillating satisfaction of fondling a lubed-up air bed filled with liquid metal or fine, wet sand.

He didn’t need to be as cut or defined as Marcus, and Froy’s body was a good enough middle ground between the two — but, whenever I was with him, Wes’ body somehow just made me want to touch him, to relish in the way his body personified the word ‘more,’ to visit extremes I never knew the human body could go.

At every height, Wes was always the biggest, in muscle mass or body fat or weight, width, breadth, sheer volume.

I knew it. Wes knew it.

Even Froy and Marcus knew it. That’s why the other two were putting in such an effort to tower over him.

Because they knew they couldn’t compete with someone who would always end up with twice or four times the crude amount of mass Wes had on them.

And as he stretched, Sammy and I were unabashedly mesmerized by how we could see the stitches unraveling and silk being tugged all over his torso, twice as wide if not more than either me or Sammy. And again, just as broad sideways, from the cliff of his pectoral shelf to the arc of his back, as my own body from shoulder to shoulder.

With Marcus, I felt way too responsible. With Froy; immature. Whenever I spent time with Wes? Humbled might’ve been an understatement.

“That’s way better!” Wes exclaimed, raising his arms out to the side to twist his torso. “Kudos, Sammy. I’m surprised you found a guy who could make sleeves big enough to fit your legs!” He laughed. But we all knew he wasn’t joking.

“Anything and everything for my big, little man!”

Wes patted Sammy on the head, the 12-inch difference in height between them now almost completely reversed.

“I love it when you call me ‘small.’ it just reminds me that I’m not. And I never will be again.”

“You got a thing against being one of us ‘tiny people’?” I asked.

“Don’t talk crazy. Marcus told me something once, you know, and it’s probably the only time I’ll agree with him: He said that he loves that we’re the ones who grow around everyone and everything else. It just means that guys like you”—he pressed a meaty finger into Sammy and my lanky chests—“staying small and normal just makes us even bigger than we actually are. And I could not— I could not agree more. How could I not like being around my best buds when they’re the reason I feel so goddamn huge!”

Wes bunny-hopped into an explosive double-bicep pose that revealed the volleyballs he had for biceps and American footballs he had for triceps, creating upper arms with more girth than the most overweight people’s 40-plus-inch waistlines.

His sudden show of confidence was accompanied by fanfare, too — the worn-out stitches between his armpits finally gave in two very loud creaks.

Sammy and I were front row patrons. We couldn’t move or take our eyes away from the big muscle slabs that wrapped around his torso, from his pecs to his lats and then his traps, forming complex cavern walls that could’ve been used as storage in the nook under his arms.

“You just ruined a thousand-dollar shirt!” Sammy screeched, his voice cracking. “Wes— Oh, my god— You’re so beautiful, but you’re also so god-dang big!”

Wes rolled his eyes and pouted jokingly. “Yeah, well, it’s expensive to be big. And tu bank account es mi bank account. Right?”

“Don’t push your luck… you sexy asian meatloaf.”

The three of us motioned to take our seats at the dinner table reserved for the most important attendees of the night. It was unnerving. There was no way I would’ve been sat around so many old men and their wives if it wasn’t for who I was to Wes.

It was easy to forget I wasn’t as important as I thought I was.

No one at the table made conversation with me besides Wes and Sammy, since everyone else was pre-occupied discussing work-related mumbo-jumbo, they didn’t want the rest of the staff to know. I knew enough, though. Anyone could do what they’ve been doing — they just made sure no one had a chance to.

For most of the dinner, Wes’ non-existent weightlifting routine and Sammy’s hostile takeover were big topics.

Wes used to lift, but his outdated numbers weren’t making a lick of sense. He hadn’t gone to the gym in a while, so he never got to check how strong he was.

One tap on my shoulder, and it was on our calendars for next week after my date with Froy.

Bored to death with the nothing happening at the table, I left to go to the men’s room.

My phone had been ringing all night. A million and one texts from Froy, asking me where I was. Even at his dominant size, he was still so glued to me at the hip.

There were footsteps coming from inside the men’s room, so I knew I wouldn’t be unaccompanied.

When I opened the door an inch, I recognized Froy’s mumbling, as if he were practicing a four-count beat. He didn’t notice me approach from around the corner to catch him dancing in front of the mirror, pretending to hold someone two feet shorter than he was. The kid had no sense of rhythm. The visible strain on his face from struggling to keep up with his own beat was adorable to watch. There wasn’t an ounce of confidence left in him from that morning; his arms flailed limply, his immense torso was slouched over, and his feet were barely lifting off the ground. I wasn’t even sure why it looked like he was performing ballroom — Britney Spears was literally blasting outside.

“What’re you practicing for, buddy?” I asked.

He yelled in surprise and fell back against the sinks. The marble counter attached to the wall groaned loudly in protest.

“Don’t scare me like that!” he said, gasping for air. “I almost ruined my outfit…”

And what a look it was. My 7’6” college behemoth was in a cream V-neck shirt that hugged and accentuated his curves. His muscles stretched the fabric around his upper torso while it elegantly hugged his midsection, teasing glimpses of his soft bed of abs as he moved. He was also wearing a detachable black collar that Chippendale strippers wore. No doubt because there weren’t any actual collared shirts that fit him since hardly any of them stretched.

The rest of him was fitted just as insane, but I was mostly distracted by the fact that I was eye-level with the shadow that wrapped under his pecs. He found skintight polyester slacks for someone half his weight in fat and deceptive office shoes made of rubber (disclaimer: not Crocs).

My neck ached from looking up at him so often. At least the men’s room was eight-feet tall, so he could stand upright.

“You looked like you had a ball to attend, sweet prince.”

He pinched his face in guilt. “I didn’t want to embarrass you… if you asked me to dance.”

I looked up at his bashful eyes and recalled the day I first met him, when he came in soaking wet from the rain in a black button-down that stuck to his skin. His face had hardly changed since, but his body had been blown up to ridiculous proportions. How far my intern had come.

“You thought I’d get embarrassed if you didn’t know how to dance?”

He nodded meekly. “Yeah.”

Froy shuffled his feet over to one of the three cubicles and offered me the sinks. I’d never noticed before how Froy had become so broad that the ends of his shoulders were flying well-past the cubicle divider walls; he wouldn’t have been able to stand inside if he wasn’t sideways — even then, he still wouldn’t’ve had much room considering his pec shelf and back were grazing the dividers, too. Not to mention his bazooka of a penis.

“I’m too big to still be so bad at dancing. What if I hurt you?” He walked up to me and pulled me in with a firm hand against my back. “See? I can barely see you under my chest!”

I squeezed the thick nipple that poked through his shirt. “Are you complaining about being big?”

Froy squeaked, and I saw a balloon emerge from his pants’ zipper. “No, sir, I like being big for you. I know how big you like me, and I still want to get even bigger for you.”

“Good. Because I’ll find a way to grow you again. And if you’re so worried about hurting me while dancing”—I stepped onto his feet and wrapped my arms around his waist—“We could just do this, right?”

I felt him laugh against my torso, and his hands were patting me inquisitively. “Sir, I— I can’t even see you! Where are your shoulders?”

“Hold me anywhere you like. You know I like it when you touch me.”

“You’re so tiny…” he chuckled to himself. “You make me feel so huge. I can’t believe I used to think I was tall!”—he lifted an arm and casually pressed against the ceiling, not able to fully stretch—“Now I’m almost as tall as every ceiling in the world!”

“And you’re still only 20 years old. Who knows, bubby, you might just be starting a second puberty!”

“Or my first.” He giggled. “My other brother is gonna freak when he sees how small he is now next to me. He was always the shortest, but he might hurt his neck to see my face when he gets out of prison.”

“He might even hurt himself trying to hurt you, period.”

Froy grinned at that, and he bent over to lift me by the waist. “You’re so light.” And he carried me over to the sinks where he let me stand on the marble countertop.

My hair was grazing the ceiling, being just two inches under the maximum height, but for the first time I was actually looking down at Froy, even if by a measly four inches. His giddiness was infectious; despite the embarrassment, I couldn’t help but enjoy the size difference with him. He could’ve easily taken those four inches away, but he chose not to.

“Look at you now!” he said. “I’ve never had to look up to see your little head before. You look so much cuter this close to my face.” He gently grabbed my jaw and pulled me in for a kiss.

“I can’t believe you’re the one calling me cute now.”

“How could I not? You’re like the old stuffed animals I used to have when I was a kid.” His hands were wrapping down my sides. “I used to sleep with them in my arms. And I pretended they were little people who loved me, and they told me I was the perfect size.”

“Do you think you’re the perfect size?” I asked.

Froy tiptoed and pecked me on the lips again. “Whatever size you want me will be the perfect size for me. And I know how you like your boyfriends.”

The two of us took a moment to sink into one another’s eyes, savouring the seconds we spent together, and the world spun on our axis. It had only been just over a month since we met, but I could already tell that Froy was made for me. There was no doubt I was never going to find anyone like him again — not without everything that brought Froy and I together. The cutest guy in the office was into someone as mundane as me, and he was younger by four years, and smarter than I was, and bigger than I was. But he chose me. And he made me feel like he was never going to choose anyone else, either.

“I love you, Mister Dory,” he said, giving me his wet puppy eyes.

“I love you, too, Mister Froy.”

I leaned in to kiss him again.

But we stopped. We heard someone’s drunken slurring approaching the men’s room door and flailed in panic.

For a second, we thought it was a false alarm. Then I heard Marcus’ voice, and he was drunk. “I’ve gotta pee!” he yelled.

“Shit, you need to hide,” I instructed, pushing Froy away from me. I’d completely forgotten I was still on the countertop.

Froy haphazardly dove into the far-most cubicle, damaging its hinges and integrity in the process. The crackling wood and metal supports were terrifyingly loud. It distracted me from the sound of Marcus’ delirious stomping just outside the door. The toilet roll holder inside had been broken off, and the heavy plastic rattled on the ground and sent rolls of unused tissue spilling all over the floor.

Froy shuffled and squeezed himself into a blob of muscle, squishing his face against his pecs — or his knees — but he got one arm free to lock the door behind him. From where I was, he was invisible to everyone shorter than the six-and-a-half-foot tall stall doors. It was a magic show, watching Froy compress so much of his mass into a small cube. Whatever he was doing to maintain his flexibility at his immensity, I made a note to get in on it.

The door swung open, and I hopped down from the countertop as Marcus turned the corner.

His eyes met mine, then glanced at the roll of tissue at my foot and cocked his head. “What… what were you doing in here?” he asked, slurring his words.

I struggled to make eye contact without vividly remembering what had happened in the men’s room on our floor only hours  before. Any time my gaze left his handsome face, it beelined for his overstuffed crotch.

He was even taller than I remembered. But I wasn’t surprised; I was on my knees when he had his growth spurt in the glory hole, so I was back to craning my neck to meet his handsome face. He’d once again blasted past the four-inch difference we had, now definitely taller than Sammy’s 6’3”.

The clothes that barely contained him that morning were simultaneously hanging loose on his burgeoning frame while skintight. Nothing fit him anymore. The floral shirt he was wearing had shrunk into a kid’s shirt that literally covered nothing — it was coiled around his bowling ball shoulders and draped across the upper side of his back, and absolutely nothing else. Even standing still, his perky nipples stared down at anyone who stole a look. The khaki capris that fit him hours earlier were replaced with exploded daisy dukes that didn’t fit past his rotund upper legs. I didn’t doubt for a second that all he did was flex and the fabric burst into rags. Instead of khaki, I found tan skin rippling with corded striations that showed visible divisions between each muscle. How he planned on getting the glorified loincloth off was wet dream fodder.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” he asked, leaning against the wall for support. “Are you thinking dirty thoughts about lil’ ol’ me? How—hic—how forward of you, Dory.” He rested his head on the perfect dome of an unflexed bicep that put exercise balls to shame.

He smelled like vodka, and I could still see the dried hazel streams that ran down his abs and thighs. It was shockingly dark. Not even the slightest bit diluted.

Every time he opened his mouth to speak or breathe felt like inhaling a shot.

And he was smiling — a lot.

Marcus must’ve seen the gears in my eyes and shimmied over with the grace of a newborn calf. Lips puckered, then bitten lips and back again. He was dancing like someone’s dad at a disco, tucking his arms close to his chest and bunching up his muscles into bouncing sacks of beef.

“Please tell me you aren’t trying to court me, Marcus.”

I worried about Froy who was still crunched inside the undersized cubicle next to me. He knew I was his; still— I didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt me.

But, fuck, was I tempted. Wes and Marcus were making it excruciatingly difficult to stay faithful. Damn my inner slut.

Marcus bobbed his head, lost in a rhythm I couldn’t hear, and jived ever closer till he was breaching my personal space. Before I realized what was happening, I was being ground against the wall. He was alternating between pecs, bopping them against my face, then his abs, and his semi-hard penis that knocked into me like a knee. He was only a year out of university, so he still had a lot of blackout-drunk party boy wildebeest in him. A leg-sized arm propped him up against the wall. He must’ve gotten a metric truckload of action if he had the moves he used on me. I was losing control over my faculties. It was less of a drop and more of a nosedive.

He opened his mouth again, and I felt the warm alcohol-rich mist of his breath seep into my nose and travel down my neck into my clothes.

“I used to court ladies back in my uni days, y’know? Just. Like.” He lifted my chin with a finger. “This.” And he sucked in my lower lip, chewing on it before letting go and smirking. “You’re so easy! Look at you, man. You’re all hard for a pretty boy like me. I bet you wanna see how big my cock is, right? Don’t you think I’m a fucking treat?” He laughed.

I blamed it on the alcohol, but my first instinct was to shove him away.

Not that that did anything. How was I supposed to move a man who looked like he weighed three of me?

“Did you just push me?” He cocked an eyebrow and grinned, flashing me his pearly whites. “I’m barely giving an effort to stand here, Dor’. There’s no way I’m remembering any of this in the morning, y’know… if you wanted to have your way with me, right here, right now, I wouldn’t say no. I’m straight— like, super-mega-straight, but if I close my eyes, it’s like you’ve got the dainty lil’ hands of a woman. And I’m reaaally in the mood for a handie.”

I felt the words clog in my throat as heat flushed my cheeks, burned to a crisp in his gaze. Helplessness took over.

He was relentless in his advances. Any time I dared to blink, I’d feel a rock-hard marble of a nipple bump into me, or a pec that felt like a soft basketball. It was taking all I could not to move. If I closed my eyes, I thought, he’d disappear — but he only took that as a signal to lean in close and exhale into my mouth, and he would chuckle, and I’d know he still thought it was a game.

“Play along, Dor’, won’t you? I’m so horned up; you’ve got no idea.” His fingers unbuttoned my collar. “If I were Froy, what would you do to me? Hm? Or… yeah, what would you want that kid doing to a man like you?”

The stall door burst open in the seconds before my next breath.

I blinked, and suddenly Froy had exploded into my frame of vision. His hands were wrapped around Marcus’ neck, lifting him and slamming him against the opposite wall like a rogue forklift. The impact made the walls rumble around us.

“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like he’s some toy!” Froy yelled. “He’s mine!”

Marcus choked out a laugh as he wriggled a foot in the air. “Froy? When’d you get in here? I didn’t even notice your big ass feet stomping around with your ballerina steps!”

“What were you trying to make him do?” Froy asked. But we both knew the answer. He just wanted Marcus to admit it.

The size difference between both men was unbelievable, one being a 7’6” musclebound college kid and the other a 6’4” oversized model bodybuilder. From where I was, it was a battle of the titans. Froy was handling Marcus’ admittedly smaller body like he was a pillow. But there was no strain on Marcus’ face. Instead, there was a grin that hinted at something more. He’d stopped writhing and let Froy’s hands prop him up against the wall by the neck as if it were nothing.

“What kind of question is that, puppy?” Marcus said. “You know what I was trying to do, if you were just hiding in that small-ass stall, watching me flirt with Dor’ like some pervy voyeur.”

I gave pause, not wanting to get involved in their quarrel — even if I was at the centre of it. There was already too much responsibility on my shoulders; I didn’t want to be part of the reason my boyfriend or my best friend got hurt.

“Answer the question!” Froy yelled, his voice cracking. His hands were shaking, a sharp contrast to Marcus’ calm demeanour.

Marcus ignored his plea. Instead, he latched onto Froy’s forearms with his hands. “What’s there to say?” he teased.

“You know what I want you to say!” Froy persisted.

Marcus taunted Froy by bobbing his head to the sides. “Do I, though? Come on, Froy. Did you already forget you tackled me into the wall and have your mitts around my neck? I thought we were pals, but I guess I didn’t know you enough. Friends don’t normally attack each other like this, you know?”

Froy leaned closer, his thighs blocking him from shrinking the distance further. “We’re not friends. I don’t know if I can call you my friend.”

“What are you so scared of? Did you think I was doing something Dory wouldn’t like?” Marcus smirked.

Even with his feet a good foot off the ground and dangling by his head against the wall, Marcus seemed disconcertingly unfazed. No blood was rushing into his head. It was as if all the strength in Froy’s enormous arms was still somehow weaker than Marcus’ neck alone. It was the first time I questioned what Marcus had become, what were my coworkers becoming?

“Please… Just answer the question.”

“I still can’t believe you’re still trying to choke me! What happened to being a good subordinate? Didn’t you want to share your blessings? Dory didn’t stop me. And did you already forget how you got so big in the first place?”

“I didn’t forget,” Froy said. “ I— I could shrink you back into nothing and keep you small forever.”

Marcus leaned forward, challenging Froy’s grip with surprising ease. “Would you, though? I mean, could you really? Froy?” he taunted. “Come on; don’t act like you would.”

The direction the conversation was going sent me into a fear.

Froy’s grip loosened around Marcus’ neck further. “What are you talking about? I did it once. I can do it again.”

“You were drunk, Fro-yo! Drunk like a wet fish, just like me. We all do things we wouldn’t while we’re sober, and we’re not gonna remember any of this in the morning. And you haven’t had a sip of alcohol. I can smell it in your breath: your mango-strawberry mouthwash. So, you wouldn’t drain me like I’m Wes. I know you won’t. You know why? Why I know?”

Marcus’ lips quivered in suppressed laughter. “Because I know you’ve got the hots for me, buddy. I see the way you’ve been eyeing me. You’ve had a big ol’ crush on me since that first rainy day. Remember that? When you came over and asked me for a shirt, and you realized you were too big for my shirt? I know it excited you. Right? Exciting? You were always a pretty tall kid, but I bet you never really realized how fun it is to really show off how much bigger you are than other people.”

“What— What are you trying to say?” Froy asked.

He should’ve been more defensive, I felt. But there wasn’t any of the aggression or hostility I saw when he attacked Marcus barely moments ago. There was nothing.

Froy’d softened, as if Marcus’ words got through to him, resounding in him. An invitation to say more. Welcoming Marcus’ attempts at stroking his ego. And I could see the face he made. He only made it working at my desk, lost in focus. Thought.

“And now you’ve got this… this… ability to just take that size and make sure you’re always the biggest one in the room. And you just love taking up space, don’t you? You love how your feet thud with every step. That never happened before, back when you were small. You love that feeling of your hair scraping the tops of doorways, or in your case I guess the ceiling. I’ve never been big enough to hit the ceiling. But you are. And you love how you can just hold me up like this, just by my neck up on this shitty bathroom mirror. I could just… swing my itty-bitty foot out forward like this”—Marcus swung his foot, bumping his toes into the swell that was fast forming in Froy’s crotch—“and just tippity-tap your big jalopy, and it’d make you get all nice and hard for me. Can you admit that? I see it, you know? I could feel it with my toes. You’re getting hard for me. Just like Dory does.” He glanced my way. “Isn’t that right, little buddy?”

Froy’s breathing grew weighted.

And so was mine. Slow. Intentional.

The case wasn’t the same for Marcus; his chest was huffing exasperated, adrenaline. I could see the subtle twitches in his coy grinning. The drunken fool he came in as was masked by the face of someone in full control of his effect on those who admired him.

There was still almost a foot in height difference between the two — it was obvious, however, who the biggest man among the three of us was.

The guy who held the strongest presence. Someone who got what they wanted, knew how to get it, and never doubted himself. I wondered what being that person felt like; but I never did feel it. All I could do was live vicariously through someone who lived that privilege. Enjoyed the things in life someone like me never could.

I had always been an enabler. But that was my problem — I never knew when to stop; I never knew when enough was enough, because it wasn’t my thresholds being tested.

“You got so used to being the guy everyone looked up to. But that’s not who you wanted to be, right? You’re just a boy. You haven’t even graduated from college yet. You grew up following other people’s orders, letting other people control you. Or would you call it protecting yourself? You might love tossing Dory around in bed and acting like the big man, but you’re just an overgrown schoolboy out here. And I know how much you loved it when I was suddenly as tall as you one day. Right? Then taller than you and bigger than you the next. You’d never seen anyone as big as me before who didn’t look like their mom got their looks from a compost bin. So, you just love how strong I am, huh? You love that I could always grow bigger than you. How I’m still going to grow bigger than you. Even as gigantic as you are now. You still can’t believe how you’re holding me up by my neck, and I can still talk at you like this.”

The room buzzed with tense anticipation, offering heavy silence for Marcus to continue prodding Froy’s unspoken thoughts. It was hard to believe that Marcus of all people could articulate all my boyfriend’s subconscious static noise into words. I wondered where he’d been hiding that side of him. Marcus sober was a far cry from the indulgent freak he was when drunk.

Froy hadn’t uttered a word since Marcus breathed life into a shadow I was afraid would consume me.

Had he really been crushing on Marcus the whole time we’d been dating? Even if he was, I wasn’t as upset as I expected — and that was an unsettling realization, and I refused to acknowledge the whys. It wasn’t anger or betrayal welling up inside me. It was worse: It was envy. Lost, confused, and unable to land on a target to focus on.

“Now carry me up to your face, Fro-yo,” Marcus said, strumming Froy’s forearm like guitar strings.

As ordered, Froy lifted Marcus up to his face, close enough for Marcus to whisper in his ear. The 6’4” meathead smiled wider as he floated upward. Again, he was getting what he wanted.

“You asked me what I was trying to make Dory do? Do you still want the answer to that question, big boy?”

Froy bobbed his head in a half-hearted nod.

Marcus pounced in the next heartbeat and engulfed my boyfriend’s mouth with his liquor-soaked lips.

They were kissing, and Froy’s panic went up in steam, now putty in Marcus’ capable hands. He’d broken his neck out of Froy’s hold. Keeping him propped up high enough to prolong his vigorous lip action were his elbows, stabilized high on Froy’s diagonal traps. A foot off the ground. There were no hands on his waist or foothold beneath him. Their mouths were melded in concrete, and Froy’s consciousness was enmeshed in Marcus’ web.

I wanted it to end. But things never went my way — it was never going to be easy.

The kiss evolved into a full-blown make-our session, tongues locked and tied between moist lips. Moans escaped their mouths as they lost themselves in the fury of one another’s heat.

Then Froy glanced at me. And his body froze, all the while Marcus continued ramming his mouth against his face.

“What’s the matter? Isn’t this what you guys want?” Marcus teased, slurring his speech.

A million words bounced between the glint in my and Froy’s eyes. There was no judgment, but there was scrutiny. We were testing the waters that stirred between us, wondering which word or thought would tip the boat and send us drowning.

I didn’t want to believe there was any malice in his intentions. He was young enough still to have a libido that could supercharge a reactor; what his primal instinct drove him to do was out of my control. There was no way a guy like me was going to satisfy all his needs by myself, after all. It was eventually going to lead to compromise, and he wasn’t oblivious to what I thought of Marcus. If there had to be ignorance between us, the fault fell on me: What else hadn’t Froy told me, I wondered. That indirect betrayal stung more than I realized at the time. The wound it left behind never really closed.

But I was too distracted by his round, almost lychee-shaped eyes, to pin down my feelings. Instead, I almost felt his eyes pleading into mine. In the split second he happened to glance my way. As if he were asking for permission. Wrapped in regret.

Who was I to be mad? How could I have been?

Marcus and Froy were two of my biggest fantasies given life and delivered to my doorstep. There were as many stars in the night sky as the number of times I finished jacking off to the thought of either of them playing their roles in my head. And one of them was my boyfriend — or at least someone I was meant to be dating. It couldn’t have been any more perfect: me, a voyeur, witness to two walking behemoth manifestations of a fetish I’d grown up with my whole life. And one I helped awaken in them.

A part of me instinctively wanted to say no. The lingering sentiment in the back of my head afraid of being left behind, being left alone. Tossed to the side.

Because how was I going to ever be enough for two growing muscle-hungry men? A big man needed a big partner. And, knowing Marcus, Froy, even Wes, there was no better person to help emphasize the abominable size difference they lorded over the common folk than someone they trusted. But would them growing till their heads exploded out of ceilings while I shrunk in the palm of their hands be enough to keep me a part of the fantasy I ached to help create? Or would me enabling them be the reason I lost them?

Going against my gut, I gave Froy a subtle nod. Despite everything, the shit happening in that men’s room was mutating my desire to watch them fuck into a need as essential as breathing.

Marcus caught on. He shot me a wink.

With my blessing, Froy went feral.

He tore away Marcus’ shirt, or whatever rags of it hid what little skin was still unexposed. All that remained were his daisy dukes and the black shard necklace that wrapped around his neck like a choker. Marcus’ unflexed muscles jounced ferociously as the fabric clung to his overly muscled mounds in desperation. His great fleshy pecs that shared two halves of a melon bounced twice in the violence. And as if his body had been freed of its prison, there was almost a visible swell in his already volleyball-sized shoulders that broadened the horizon of his mugshot even wider. There was scarcely a pinky finger’s worth of space between Froy’s and Marcus’ pecs, unbelievable if not obscene at an average height but monstrous on theirs.

With a mighty huff, Froy tossed Marcus up towards the ceiling, catching him by the waist. A thud boomed in the men’s room as Marcus’ head broke through the ceiling.

“Hey, don’t play so rough, buddy,” Marcus droned. “My brain’s not exactly my biggest muscle.”

A muffled ‘sorry’ later, and Froy spun on his heel, slamming Marcus’ back against a closed toilet stall door. The hinges were newly installed. Plus, the doors opened outwards. But no wood could hold fast against Marcus’ almost 300-pound 6’4” frame.

His V-taper had always been as broad as his torso was long; packed with enough ever-growing beef to feed a family’s week’s worth of food, it wouldn’t have been long until his pecs and back jutted far enough to turn his upper body into a perfect pyramid, his 33-inch waist being the point of convergence.

A screw was dislodged the second Marcus collided with the stall door, and I saw it roll out toward me. There were still splinters and fragments of wood surrounding it.

Reinvigorated by my consent, Froy mauled Marcus’ face with the ferocity of a wild dog. I was worried at first that he’d lost interest in me — but I caught him darting his eyes my way, scanning my face with dilated pupils, then glancing back at Marcus, as if imprinting my façade onto the blonde mini-giant. That was what I wanted to believe. It happened too often to be just him worrying about how I felt.

“Do you mind…?” Marcus asked, exasperated. “I’ve gotta nut real’ bad, dude. Fuck me.”

Froy drove Marcus’ body further up against the stall door and squatted. There was now just enough room for Froy to hold Marcus’ entire body up, still pinned against the weakening stall door.

I still vividly remembered the events of that afternoon — how I nearly suffocated trying to get Marcus’ growing enormity out of my mouth before it exploded my throat. He still didn’t know it was me; and he wouldn’t, not until he ever got his glory hole-busting manhood lodged back in my esophagus.

But he was growing way too fast for that to ever happen again.

Froy bit into Marcus’ last piece of clothing and tore it clean off, releasing the over-foot-long fleshy pipe that flopped down Marcus’ right thigh. The thing didn’t look human — just perceiving it from the short distance between us caused my ass to clench. How I ever got that thing in (much less out of) my throat was a miracle and a half. Marcus’ cock wasn’t even fully hard, I could tell. It was still snaking longer ever so slightly, fattening more so as blood rushed into it.

In their intense shared awe of the monolith of white flesh between them, both Marcus and Froy caused another screw to come loose.

As the penis neared full hardness, another explosive sound caught me off-guard. It came from below Marcus, black fabric floating down as another white erection double the girth of Marcus’ rocketed up towards Marcus’ plump ass cheeks. Froy’s erection then stopped at the entrance to my coworker’s anus — the head had become too big to fit into an average person’s sphincter. So it remained hard as steel, propping up Marcus by the ass, while Froy continued holding him by the muscled wings that wrapped around his torso.

Froy’s nudity didn’t seem to register. Once Marcus was at full mast, my boyfriend engulfed the entirety of Marcus’ impossible cock in one go. His nose was buried in Marcus’ day-old-shaven crotch. It was impossible not to hear a heavy tongue slapping against and coiling around Marcus’ penis.

Marcus and I shared surprised looks — but he was the one smiling.

I was more in shock at the hunger that Froy had for a disco stick that challenged his in size. Because he never had that energy whenever it was my turn, whenever we had fun. My inferiority insecurities were bubbling to the surface like scum, and they were flaring up something fierce.

Froy had never been more driven by lust than he was giving Marcus the blowjob of a lifetime, in front of his supposed boyfriend.

“Fuck me! Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” Marcus moaned, gritting his teeth, chewing his lower lip to temper his hormones.

And Froy would still glance at me, and Marcus would catch us sharing looks, and the mega-buff corporate gym rat would smirk.

“I’m gonna cum, Froy! Oh, fuck, pup’. I’m gonna pump out the fucking load of a lifetime!” Marcus yelled, erratically. “O-Open wide…!”

Marcus groaned loud enough to be heard from outside. And both he and Froy jerked their heads back, displaced by the recoil of a nuclear orgasm I could hear from where I was standing. Visible clumps of cum were sinking down Froy’s throat, dripping down his chin, landing on his cock in waterfall splatter.

It continued for a solid minute.

And as it reached its tail-end, the fragile illusion of peace was upended.

My ears heard nothing else. The same went for my eyes; the obscene pornography I got to watch for free didn’t matter, not when I felt the world shrink into a small little black pebble on the ground — the high-pitched clink of a meteor shard falling onto the tiled bathroom floor.

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled.

The future I’d envisioned had sublimated into nothing. It happened in an instant; all the messy possibilities I’d tried so hard to avoid had suddenly returned to the foray with a vengeance.

“Oh… fuck…” Marcus’ muffled voice said.

My feet sprinted to the bathroom door without my instruction. The rest of my body on autopilot, my brain in the aether. It was too much in one go. I was only one man. But inexplicably, I didn’t leave. I wanted to flee, and hide, and pretend I had nothing to do with what was bound to happen behind me. I didn’t want to have to keep being the guy who did all the babysitting — responsibility never fit my lifestyle.

Instead, I realized why I’d run to the door in the first place: Someone was approaching, so I locked the door.

The knocking on the door snapped me out of my stupor.

“It’s occupied!” I yelled.

A man’s voice came from outside. “What’s going on in there? We’ve been getting complaints about yelling.”

“We’re dealing with some fucking problems right now, alright?! Go use the toilet across the hall or something!”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the stall door holding Marcus up had torn off its hinges and fell against the toilet. “Oh, fuck… me… my ass!” Marcus yelled. I could hear his elbows colliding with the surrounding walls, tight on space. And Froy trying to help him out wasn’t making things any less difficult.

“Sir, this is security. If you’re involved in damage of property, drugs, violence, or sexual acts, I’ll need to write you up in my office for a report!”

“I said it’s nothing! Just go away already! Can’t I take a dump in peace?”

“Sir, are you defecating at the entrance to the men’s room?! Sir! Open the door!”

“I said fuck off!”

“Sir!” The knocking turned into banging, thudding my body against the heavy wood. “Sir!”

Ignoring the man outside, I glanced at Froy to hurry up with the cleanup. But he was too preoccupied to understand as fast as he usually did.

Unable to control my worry, I abandoned my post at the door.

Froy’s far-reaching mountain range of a back was blocking my view of Marcus. He maneuvered to let me through. A body as large as his was a beacon of flame, and the air around him had warped into a heatsink, making it difficult to see. And the hot mist emanating from both men burned my nose.

I lost my breath the instant I saw my best friend.

He was barely seated on the black porcelain toilet. The wrecked stall door was pinned under his mammoth legs — and the two dividers at either side barely left a finger of space from his shoulders. The big guy was delirious, his deliberately tousled locks now soaked with sweat, frayed, and hanging down his face. Panting had replaced his usual calm breathing, and his smile was quivering in surprising weakness. I had never seen him look so animalistic before. This wasn’t the usual man-child who pestered me every waking moment — it was a beast of a man who’d had a taste of carnal sex.

Marcus’ crazed eyes settled on me as he slammed his fists into the dividers holding him in. The wood crackled; the air cracked with the force of thunder.

And then he laughed. His voice carried like a maniac.

It caught me off-guard, the power in his volume, and I stepped back, lodging my neck into the trench between Froy’s supple chest. I reminded myself to thank my boyfriend for his airbag tits. It wasn’t the first time those beach balls saved my life.

I didn’t feel Froy’s hands hoist me up by my sides a second later; I was absorbed in what Marcus was experiencing. His boisterous laughter never faltered. I’d never seen him so unhinged before — it was the overloaded energy of a kid being tickled into an aneurysm.

 His long legs were jackhammers that pounded the tiles close to my feet, and I feared my polished shoes were in danger of being struck by a mallet.

“Fuuuck! Fuck, fuck… What the hell is going on?!” Marcus moaned, his sanity floating back to him. Still, his chest pounded erratically with the influence of lingering emotion.

I forced myself to speak. My tongue felt unnatural in my mouth. “Are you alright?””

“Did I do something wrong?” Froy asked, the hands at my sides now trembling. “Marcus, did I hurt you? I—”

“Pup. I don’t think being blown is supposed to feel like I’m being tickled with—ungh—electricity from the inside out. You wouldn’t believe the blowjob I got earlier; like, it was something out of a porno or something. If I was going to get tazed like this after getting sucked with a vacuum, I think I would’ve noticed.”

 “Are you feeling alright?” I asked. “Do you need help getting to the infirmary?” My body tensed at the thought of carrying someone over twice my weight in dense muscle.

“I’ll carry him,” Froy said to me. “I’m the biggest one here, so you don’t need to worry about him, sir.”

Marcus waved us away and softened further on the toilet seat. “I don’t need help! What makes you guys think I’m in pain?”

Froy looked down at me from his vantage point, his face only visible through the slit of his chest. Even from the poor angle, I could see the concern in his eyes.

“Do you have any idea what this feels like? You wouldn’t, Dory, but your giant dunce should.” Marcus twiddled his fingers, play-flexing his swollen arms with zero effort. “The little buzz that hums and makes your muscles feel alive, like a little fire that sparks your nerves with ten billion little jolts of energy. It always came just before I would end up growing, like a drug.”

I didn’t know what it was about getting drunk that made him so talkative, but I couldn’t predict what he’d say next. The Marcus in my head was predictable. Sober.

It terrified me how much hold over the situation I was losing through the gaps in my fingers. What was worse was how I was just letting it happen.

My constant whining about losing control never fully sunk in — not until I realized how afraid I was of loosening the leash I held on Marcus. I was witness to his metamorphosis from attractive office guy to musclebound porn star; with it came the understanding that his transformation was as much in my control as it was in his. A belief I let myself believe. I didn’t like being wrong. It was always Marcus somehow proving me wrong.

“But this buzz is hitting times a fucking thousand right now! This is crazy. You guys should probably get out of the splash zone! I can feel it, man. Oh, yeah, it’s fucking coming and it’s coming hard and fast and oh, shit—”

Marcus moaned with the savage intensity of a pregnant delivery.

He slammed his palms into the dividers at his side as he splayed his brutish legs out to either side. I was trapped in his field of vision, backed against Froy’s immovable abdomen.

Then it happened, faster than I expected. More than I expected. More than it had ever happened before.

I caught it first in his fingers. Vascular appendages that extended from vein-riddled calloused hands. Minuscule changes at first but quickly picking up speed as the rest of his body followed.

His feet in my peripheral vision readjusted every few seconds, stretching further and further away again from the gourd of beef that spilled out from the toilet, obscured from vision.

The rest of Marcus’ body was evolving dramatically, unleashing a humid heatwave that drew out sweat from inside me. I was spectator to the live inflation of a blimp shaped as one of my best friends.

My eyes were drawn to the bounce and jiggle in Marcus’ spherical pecs as they rhythmically pulsed outward. Bigger, then bigger again. Two domes that flared out wider than his ribcage. Each second that passed forced them to swell further outward and sideward. Darkening shadows that wrapped around each voluptuous breast, rounding out into a deepening trench that cut between. His tan, pink nipples enlarged to compete against a chest that threatened to consume his torso with pecs and obliques that bordered on godlike. Each areola now hovered further out than my shoulders were wide; and though Marcus remained seated, I braced myself for the incoming reality that I would seen be looked down upon by his tits’ plump nubs that begged to be suckled.

Abs that were never hidden to begin with were rising from his core with the fury of yeast in the oven. Calves that had more muscle in either leg than I did in my whole body, and comically small knees that gave each leg its own hourglass figure, now edging closer to me than I was comfortable with.

It was slow, but I wasn’t oblivious.

Marcus was growing so fast that the space I had to move was being invaded by the explosive birth of a man-sized planet. His knees (or more accurately his hamstrings) collided with the dividers simultaneously with two half-pumped beach balls he carried as shoulders.

As the outer edges of Marcus’ jugs neared the stall dividers, I failed to notice why his egregiously massive arms were slowly eating into his pecs’ space.

The original reason he always appeared stronger than he really was, the seedbed of his perfectly triangular upper body — his most defining asset, his crowning glory: two colossal shoulders that challenged every shirt with sleeves he dared to wear. Bowling balls wrapped in smooth flesh warping the dividers holding him in. His shoulders squeezed forward, caging his engorged pecs between two upper arms. I hadn’t noticed the space there was for him to maneuver inside the stall had been overtaken by his expanding musculature until the dividers creaked in pain.

“Fuck me; I can’t move! Big. So big. I can’t—ungh—move my damn arms!” His pecs were getting compressed into two impossible globes that glowed pink with pressure.

I reached out to help him. But I was stopped by one of his lengthening toes steadily crawling up my shoe.

Marcus needed no support; despite his drunken incoherence, he managed to shuffle his burgeoning arms up the dividers and lift himself off the toilet.

Taller and taller, then taller again, he rose.

His face visibly strained as he toiled away in his great escape, atop a volcanic neck that added to the illusion of a red-hot body escaping from its prison.

It was obvious from the way he continued to wiggle upwards that he was rising more than he did before. 6’4” was the height he came in at, already taller than most men in the world.

Even Froy was increasingly intimidated at the behemoth forming in front of us. 6’7”, maybe 8” — or 9” — was an estimate. But every passing second proved me wrong as the numbers, each measurement, climbed ever higher.

Up and up his coy handsomeness rose until his head-sized shoulders finally escaped their wooden confines.

Two beanbags of shoulder muscle spilled out into the other two stalls, looming close enough to make 7’6” Froy somehow look weak in comparison. He groaned in sore relief, but his celebration was short-lived. Marcus had grown big enough to lift his arms up and over the stall dividers, but the next problem was all too apparent as I stared, eye-level, into the slit between his pecs where I could fit my hand. I was living in a 5’10” body — but I was eye-level with two pink saucers that within the next second were pointing down at me. Nipples.

“Shit, finally, some space. More room to grooow!”

I’d lost track of how big he was becoming. His obliques rippled like ocean waves, ceaselessly pulling his torso impossibly wider with every passing swell.

I couldn’t see his face anymore. Not unless I parted his pecs the same way someone would trying to explore a jungle. But I knew he was grinning like a psychopath from his view so close to the ceiling.

“Froy…” he mumbled from somewhere above me. “Feeling scared yet? Are you ready to feel small again? ‘Cause I can feel it. It’s coming. I’m gonna be bigger than you like I should’ve been from the beginning!”

As if his words triggered something, his growth exploded in ferocity, filling his frame with countless pound after pound of soft, unflexed muscle. Tough as lead. Unstoppable power.

He was bigger, stronger, taller, wider, and whatever other -er there was to describe the musclebound megalomaniac than he ever was before. Even back at the La Vida Resort, he’d never been so immense. If the staff from back then could see him in that toilet stall, their hearts would’ve probably burst at once.

His barrel-shaped thighs and pyramidal obliques collided with the divider walls in a synchronized attempt at destruction.

I peered at Froy to gauge his reaction. And I noticed something nightmarish.

My little head was stuck in a shrinking valley between two mountain range chests at what was equal level well above my hair — but one of them was still noticeably rising over the other.

“Where the hell’d you go, Dor’? I can’t see you past my tatas.”

Marcus was still growing, and I could hear him chuckling, and the wooden dividers were being forced off their hinges by a torso that made doorways look slim, no matter how he rotated. It would’ve been impossible for anyone his size — Froy’s size — to jimmy themselves into a claustrophobic cell. Getting out was a different problem altogether. His legs needed one behind the other just to fit inside the stall.

That was when I realized there was really only one way out.

The lethal cock cradled by two pendulous softball testicles made me understand what a man’s penis the size of a baseball bat would’ve looked like.

“Holy fuuuck, you guys. I can’t breathe fast enough. I’ve never grown so much before! And I’m still growing! Look at me go, Dory.”

My brain stopped registering when the stall finally filled with Marcus’ supersized muscles.

Froy tugged me back and tucked me safely in his arms. He was more acutely aware of what was happening than I ever was in the moment, and it should’ve been obvious: the dividers weren’t going to hold much longer.

Marcus, using his mountainous girth of his torso, took a deep breath, flexed, and exploded the divider walls off their hinges, collapsing the thick wooden panels into the vacant stalls at either side. His massive body was no longer held up by the dividers, propping him up by the armpits. He fell back down onto the toilet. The combined force of gravity on his mass together with his body’s unyielding rigour fractured a part of the black ceramic. All at once — the dividers, the ceramic, the damaged plumbing, and Marcus — the men’s room erupted in a hundred noises at once, and I couldn’t help but notice Marcus was still grinning and laughing. At me. He was still looking at me in the eyes, level, even half-seated.

His body had grown too big for a single stall to contain, and the growth flooded into his body, forcing him to fit into three.

As he rose to his feet, wet from the waist down with clean toilet water, the air shook with fear.

His messy blonde hair was tickling the underside of the ceiling. The eight-foot-tall ceiling. He was taller than Froy. Bigger than Froy. 7’6”, 600-pound Froy. Larger than any man had any right being.

He leaned way forward, just to gloat and smirk down at my much littler face. “Looks like prime beef’s back on the menu, boys! So, how do you like me now, Dor’?”

[Lutz]

So....fucking....HOT

[citizenies]

Yes!!!! An update and its Hot Hot Hot ~ 

Very hapoy to see a small favour also got an update ~ hope the other gets one too

[Bic3pLover]

By the goddess, that was one hell of a chapter. Expertly written like always

[ploder4]

How much you want to bet Marcus ends up taking two floors... or busting through a few below as he weakens the building?

[DawnFire98]

When I started reading the chapter, I had no idea that it would pan/play out this way. It was very interesting to see how the conflict in here slowly escalated. 

1) I am kind of suprised by Marcus' manipulative streak there (the speech he gives to Froy). But I also can't really say that he's wrong. 

2) You also brought a new conflict to the forefront of my mind: for whom does Dory's heart truly beat? Froy or Marcus? Now, that his ever-growing attraction of the two hunks is out in the open, it will be interesting to see the fallout of this. (Marcus and Froy making out infront of our protagonist doesn't make the situation any easier.) 

3) Marcus' growth must have grave consequences. I mean, he might not be able to go to work, let alone fit into any of the rooms. 

Not sure if I articulated my thoughts clear enough, but oh well. In terms of plot and character development, a solid 10 out of 10 from me, @scarletic