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Going Niche (Complete Story) [Bonus Material Added 8/29/23]


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Chapter 47

            I raced out of the basement, back upstairs.  The whole way there, I repeated to myself, “Don’t say your name.”

            I was through the hole I’d made in the wall and back in the training room.  “Don’t say your name.”

            I was out of the basement and back in the freight elevator.  “Don’t say your name.”

            I was out of the elevator and back in the hallways, mowing down anyone who stood in my way.  “Don’t say your name.”

            I was back in my dorm room with the door closed behind me.  “Don’t say your name.”

            Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

            Onyx and Slate came into my room, Slate carrying my leftovers from breakfast.

            “We bring you provisions,” Slate said jokingly.

            I was breathing hard and deathly pale.

            “You okay?” Onyx asked.

            “I remembered my name,” I said in a panicky tone.  “My actual, honest-to-goodness, real name.”

            “That’s good,” Slate said.  “It’s proof that the green menace is finally, completely out of your system.”

            “It’s bad,” I insisted.  “I want to say my name.  I want to say my name so badly.  I want to say my name out loud.  I want to say my name to everyone.  I almost said my name to Olivia Hascombe.”

            “You’ve told us about the days of yore,” Slate said, plopping down on my bed.  “You were a rulebreaker.  You broke all the rules, including this one.  You have that hidey-hole full of contraband.”  Slate shook his head.  “I don’t see what makes this rule different.  Go ahead and break it now.”

            “Tony would never overlook this rule being broken,” I announced.  “He seems to think I’m out to ruin him.”  I remembered my conversation with Olivia, who also wanted me to ruin Tony.  “Too much is at stake.  I have less than six months left.  I will not let Tony deny me a full pension for breaking such a stupid rule.”

            “Tony can’t dismiss you,” Onyx said.  “You have that contract thing.”

            “Tony can’t dismiss me without cause,” I corrected.  “That’s what the contract he gave me said.  Saying your real name is cause for dismissal, and Tony has a bad habit of sneaking up on me and eavesdropping on my conversations.”  I breathed deeply to calm myself down.  “I’m trying my best not to even think my name.”

            “My name’s Lev Bahman,” Onyx said.

            “I’m Hugh Reece,” Slate said, opening my breakfast and stealing some eggs.

            “Stop it!” I said.  “Don’t tempt me like that.  Tony’s gunning for me.”  I put undue emphasis on the word “gun.”  “I will not say my name out loud until I get my full pension.”

            “Don’t you mean double pension?” Hugh asked.  No—Slate.  I have to continue thinking of him as Slate.

            “Only if I win the fourth round,” I reminded them.

            “From what you told us about your orgy last night,” Lev—no, Onyx!—said, “you’re going to win the fourth round."

            "You don’t get it,” I said.  “When Olivia publishes her next article, the sky might fall.”  I then explained everything from my conversation with Olivia.

            Onyx grew deathly silent.

            Slate began breathing heavily and looked like he was going to explode.

            “Next time I fuck him,” Slate said coldly, “I’ll wait until he’s pulled out his fucking gun, overpower him for fucking real, and fucking shoot the fucker in his fucking head.”

            “And go to jail?” I asked.

            “What jury would convict me?” Slate stood up so forcefully that my breakfast went flying.  “They’re stealing from us, Nile!  It’s a crime!”

            “I hate to get pedantic,” I said shamefacedly, “but what they’re doing is perfectly legal.  Shooting him in the head would be the crime.”  I put my hand on Slate’s shoulder to calm him down.  “We’re the ones who’d get in trouble if we sought revenge.”

            “So what are we going to do?” Onyx asked.  He clenched and unclenched his fists in impotent rage.  “I know you’ve got a plan cooking up.”

            “Be as normal as possible,” I assured them.  “You two still have to please some of the secret shoppers.” 

            “We’re not going to do anything?”  Slate looked like I’d slapped him in the face.

            I took my hand off Slate’s shoulder.  “The three of us aren’t doing anything.  I will let Adam and Quentin suggest exactly what I suspect they’ll suggest.”

            “You think those rich fucks with legacies will do anything for us?”  Slate was still furious.  “You’re their plaything, Nile.  They literally dressed you up like a dolly and showed you to all their friends at a fancy party.  They’ll pick Tony over you in a heartbeat because he has a legacy.”

            “Tony’s stealing their money too,” I pointed out aggressively.  “Even if you don’t think they care about me, they’ll care about that.”

            That line of reasoning seemed to finally quell Slate to a point where he wasn’t about to murder Tony.

            “I’m going to go lift heavy things angrily,” Slate said with a snarl as he left the room.

            “You okay, buddy?” I asked Onyx.  “You’ve gotten awful quiet.”

            He nodded wordlessly. 

            We all swallowed our rage and went back to normal. 

            Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. 

            Don’t say my name out loud. 

            Don’t even think it.

            At my next appointment with Quentin and Nathan, as soon as I got in the room, Quentin showed me Olivia’s newest article while saying, “I’ve already drafted legislation to outlaw housing expense fees in this state.  In addition to my earlier law limiting the number of niche houses, we can put a stop to exploitive practices like this.  At least, in our state.”

            “You know I’m still not allowed to read this, right?” I asked.

            “Nonsense.  I’m still the governor,” Quentin said, and then read me the whole article.  When he had finished, he handed me the tablet so I could re-read it.  Olivia never mentioned me once by name but made it clear that people needed to think twice before using or working at a pleasure house.

            “Legislation, huh?” I said, handing him back his tablet.  “Do you actually think it will pass?”

            “It already has,” he said cockily, handing his tablet to Nathan so he could put it away.  “The state legislature does anything I ask.  Expect your tips to significantly increase next month when it goes into effect.”

            I nodded, impressed.

            Nathan smiled and unzipped my pants.  “Let’s fuck to celebrate.”

            Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. 

            Don’t say my name out loud. 

            Don’t even think it.

            “I saw 17 last night,” Onyx said, horning in on our conversation.  “He could not stop feeling up my pecs.”

            “Sounds like him,” I said.  Then, I made them lean in and quietly told them my even better news.

            Slate and Onyx screamed with joy when I told them what Quentin had done. 

            “Thank you,” Slate said, obviously releasing a lot of pent-up stress.  Then, he pointed at my bulging crotch and asked, “Or should I be thanking him?”

            Relieved and overjoyed, they renewed themselves to pleasing the secret shoppers.  I also was impressed how well they were doing with the added pressure of not calling each other by their real names.  Slate would occasionally slip and call Onyx “Lev,” and Onyx would occasionally slip and call Slate “Hugh,” but their intense emotions reinvigorated and fueled their workouts. 

            At our week five weigh-in, Slate rocked the scales at 393.5 and 16.5 inches.  Remembering chubby, cute Slate of less than a year ago practically gave me double vision.  This man had severe edges and angles in his brutishly masculine face.  His pecs heaved mightily.  His biceps were dense, strong, and thick.  His shoulders and lats made him look impossibly wide, tapering down to a tiny waist.  His ass and legs stretched his pants to capacity, and his ever-hard dick bulged obscenely in whatever he wore.  His balls took up whatever room he had left.  He was a titan of virility and erotic excess.

            Onyx had ballooned into an inhuman 485.5, and his cock had finally crossed the footlong marker.  Whereas Slate gave me double vision, Onyx made me doubt my eyes.  His pecs were so thick that he had stopped wearing shirts with buttons, tired of bursting them when he sneezed, yawned, or breathed in too deeply.  As such, when he dressed for his clients, his shirts were always pulled so tight by his shoulders, lats, and pecs that his thick, black chest hair always bristled through, especially when he wore white.  Around us, he always wore skimpy tank tops or just went shirtless.  His neck was thicker than his head, his beautifully brawny biceps were thicker than most men’s torsos, and his legs were so curved with muscle that they looked like ornate marble columns hewn by a master craftsman.  His every footfall was an earthquake, his every step a choreography of muscle crashing into muscle.  It was all capped off with an obscene and delicious-looking bulge.  His cock had gotten so big that I could no longer take the whole thing up my ass.  A lot of it still fit, but he overfilled me—part of it always remained outside.  He was a behemoth dripping with sex and maleness.

            And I, I was even more gigantic.  I was running out of words for how big I was.  The numbers—584 pounds and 15 inches—did not do any justice to the real world experience.  I could feel the Earth try to pull me down with each and every step.  I stuck out in all directions.  Even the new furniture that was purchased to suit men of our daunting sizes was beginning to be too small, especially in the salon.  My shoulders were so wide that I couldn’t get both onto my bed at the same time—one or both always hung off the edges.  The white-haired mass of brawn in the mirror gave me an erection every time I saw that neck, corded with muscle, thicker than Onyx’s, or I saw how far his pecs jutted out over his six-pack, obscuring the top row and casting a deep shadow over the other two.  His cock was needlessly huge and thick, requiring more than two hands to pleasure it.  My two meaty, massive hands were beginning to fall short of the task; if my pecs weren’t entirely in the way, I’d try fellating myself.  But my pecs were in the way.  All of me was in the way.  Even just sitting in a relaxed posture, my biceps fought with my lats and pecs, my thighs fought with each other, and my chin collided into my pecs.  I was the biggest man who’d ever been.  And I was just getting bigger.

            “Your cock didn’t get any bigger,” Slate said when I expressed how massively big I felt.

            “I stopped taking dimefidone,” I said flatly.  “I’ll never catch up to you, I’ve finished the fourth round, and this cock is already three or four handfuls for Gavin to play with.”

            “Thanks,” Slate said as if my decision had been a personal favor to him.

            Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. 

            Don’t say my name out loud. 

            Don’t even think it.

            At my next session with Adam and Edward, Adam was fuming. 

            “You look bigger,” I said, trying to calm him down.  He did.  His long-sleeve white business shirt was struggling to contain his mass—it barely obscured the beefy hunk he had become.  His legs also overfilled his dress pants.  Normally, Adam liked to have a stark crease in his pants, but his thighs were so large that there was no room for creased fabric.  Adam’s pants were so tightly wrapped around his thick thighs and ass that f he did a deep enough squat, he’d tear the seams and blow out the seat.

            “220, thanks,” he replied dismissively.  He was so angry I could see his veins twitch in his temples.  “I read Miss Hascombe’s latest article.”

            “And?” I asked.

            “I have introduced a bill to make housing expense fees illegal nationwide,” he steamed.  “These greedy fucks have been stealing from everyone.”

            “Thank you,” I soothed.

            “You don’t get it,” Edward said.  “He’s probably going to lose his re-election.”


            “Because I let the side down,” Adam spat.  “I dared to make it illegal for the rich to get richer in this one specific way.”  He was bouncing off the walls, angry.  “Not even that.  The bill hasn’t even passed yet.  I doubt it ever will.  What I did, the unforgivable sin I committed, was dared to suggest it be illegal for the rich to get richer in this one specific way.”

            “He’s been too angry to fuck all week,” Edward said.

            “I’m too strong and heavy to have sex with him angry anymore,” Adam said.  “Were I to try right now, I would pulverize his bones to dust.”

            “How have you not burst?” I asked.

            “A lot of furious masturbation,” he answered.  “It’s barely taken the edge off.”

            “Care to rage fuck me?” I offered.

            “Please,” Adam said, ripping off his pants in one clean motion.  The dramatic disrobing, the thick and meaty thighs, the undeniable libido—he was looking and acting like a pleasure boy.  It was hot.

            Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. 

            Don’t say my name out loud. 

            Don’t even think it.

            It had been almost two full weeks since Olivia dropped the bomb about our tips.  Especially knowing that Quentin had made the fees illegal in our state, the sting had gone down, and life had largely returned to normal inside the pleasure house, especially since Onyx and Slate still each had one secret shopper left.  I knew Tony’s wrath would manifest itself somehow, but I would cross that bridge when I came to it.  Until then, I’d follow his lead and avoid eye contact.

            At our week six weigh-in, Slate triumphantly screamed atop the scale.  “401!  I did it!” he jumped off the scale.  The room shook a little when he landed.  “And 17 inches!”  Every aspect of his masculinity, muscularity, and massiveness had intensified just that little bit more this week.

            “Way to go, Hugh!” Onyx said, quickly adding, “-ge fucker.  Way to go, Huge Fucker.”

            With that faux pas behind him, Onyx stepped on the scale.  “496.”  And, oh, did he look it.  “And 12.25 inches.”  He grabbed his crotch.  “This thing is ridiculously big.”

            “I know what you mean, Lev,” Onyx said, quickly adding, “-iathan.  I know what you mean, Leviathan.  Having a giant cock makes it hard to fuck our clients.”

            They should count themselves lucky they were fucking the boss.  Rule-breaking this obvious would get them dismissed if they weren’t, especially as livid as Tony must be.

            “Nile,” Onyx said, clearing the path to the scale for me.

            “597,” I said.  “I could’ve sworn I’d broken the 600-pound barrier.”  I flexed my pecs idly, almost reflexively.  “I feel like 600 pounds.”

            “You’ll get there,” Slate encouraged.

            “If Tony doesn’t kill me first,” I murmured to myself.

            “You essentially already have,” Onyx reassured me.

            The seldom used P.A. crackled into life.

            Tony’s voice called out.  “Nile.  Come to my office right this second.”

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2 hours ago, TQuintA said:

“They’re stealing from us, Nile!  It’s a crime!”

I had to reread this a few times. Olivia tells Nile. Nile goes upstairs to his room and then slate and onyx already know? Just nitpicking. This was a great chapter. Tho I wish we had gotten some more from Adam’s rage fuck. 

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5 hours ago, TQuintA said:

"You don’t get it,” I said.  “When Olivia publishes her next article, the sky might fall.”  I then explained everything from my conversation with Olivia.

Ahhh I totally missed this. I’ve become spoiled by the typical onyx - slate - Nile tea spilling

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On 8/18/2023 at 8:09 PM, arpeejay said:





Inquiring minds, doncha know! 

I'm thinking "ex-ploh-DE!"

For 3 syllables of "explode"! 

Edit: As I read on further, I see that you explained it:  "Ex-plo-de"


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The logic here

“You don’t understand,” I insisted.  “Tony’s not a moron.  If I were to allow you to do this, it would be the same thing as if I did it myself.  People with legacies can break the rules because they can just rewrite the rules.  People without legacies can’t break the rules because we have to survive within them.  I’m not destroying myself this close to being free.  I’m so close to getting everything I wanted, and I’ve worked 50 years to get it.  As tempted as I am, I’m not going to give you any ammo on any individual person.”


:is truly maddening. 

This society is SO corrupt, and SO stacked in favor of the wealthy, WHY isn't the general public rising up and storming the place?  The pleasure boys are workers just like everyone else, and they are the most well known example of worker abuse by management in this society.

I GUESS the typical worker bee here doesn't identify or feel sorry for the pleasure boys because they have enough to eat, a place to sleep and relatively agreeable work to do to live. 

ALSO, usually revolutions are lead by the more privileged of the oppressed classes.  Niles' comments to the reporter are quite a spark to all the tinder there. 

I hope we see the revolution before this series ends!


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28 minutes ago, Mdlftr said:

This society is SO corrupt, and SO stacked in favor of the wealthy, WHY isn't the general public rising up and storming the place?

I think any current western society would show you exactly how this happened in the going niche world. The only difference here being that the working class believe it is their only fate. Where in most of the west, they believe it’s just a temporary one.

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The backdrop of this story is, as I said earlier, eerily reminiscent, to the periode around the 1900s were the top 1%, depending the country, accounted up to 70% of the countries wealth (i.e. UK). Which is insane. Over time from people like Olivia (our intrepid reporter, and likely very rich), appaled by the conditions of the downtrodden, advocated for better wages, better working conditions (things like a 5 day work week), et cetera. And around the late seventies, early eighties, wealth and income equality reached its prime peak. And ever since it's nicely reverting back to favour the more wealthy. 

Again it's the backdrop, however on the front we have several scintillating muscular behemoths, ah, lev-iathans. I can imagine a 400 lbs man, especially as they are tall. Slate, at 400lbs, is still imaginable, a sight for sore eyes for sure. Onyx at 500lbs, I'm trying to imagine, but that's where my imagination is starting to fail. He'll be so restricted in his movements, and he must have a waddle that will make me drool. And then there's Nile. Simply unfathomable. 600lbs, mostly muscle, on a 6'2" tall body. It's the discription of a morphed image. And the guy has brains. Which really, is the sexiest muscle of them all. 

TQuintA, I don't know if there is any more room left for more smoke up your arse, but truly wonderfull. You're a gifted writer. I only wished the story wasn't about to end. 

Now back to my day dreams where I'd book a session with Nile and Onyx, to be wedged between the two of them ... 🤤 

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It kinda makes me want to know how laborers like construction workers and other really gritty workers fare through this.  Since their work requires more physical strain, would the have access to the same drugs?  It would be a rude awakening for some of the wealthy who may have never seen these workers find themselves half the workers size.

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Still loving this story. Truly Remarkable! I too like the idea of turning the tables. Perhaps with Edward, Adam and Quentin, they help Nile and Gavin create the perfect new pleasure house with true profit sharing luxurious environment. Nurturing and growing the best of the best. 
i know whatever direction It will be good. Love Adam growing so much. 

Many thanks ! 

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