In Corpore Sano - Part Fifteen

[tekuno]

More rib-related craziness. I can't wait for this stupid thing to heal!

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In Corpore Sano
Part 15

This story has been completed. Content warnings and general description are included with the prologue, general commentary is in the comments following the epilogue.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Epilogue

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I finally fell asleep. I don't remember any dreams that night, although undoubtedly there must have been some. After about six hours, I woke up. I didn't believe I had seen the thing the night before. That wasn't possible -- and I had been having bad dreams occasionally. It must all have been just another one.

Except that there was a fedora on the back lawn, next to the bushes. And it certainly hadn't been there yesterday morning; I specifically remembered looking out as I had my coffee.

I couldn't quite decide what to do about it. The home security system had not been set off -- but then, it wouldn't. The things hadn't approached the house... yet. And the system's sole response if they did (and were detected) would be to contact the police. Would the police be able to do anything about those things? Would anyone? What were they, anyway?

I called the library's reference desk and asked if there were any mythological monsters which had human hands with mouths on them. Aside from a few descriptions which only matched in superficial ways, or were too modern and obviously-fictional to apply, there was nothing.

Time was passing, and I was scheduled to work the evening shift again. I decided that I might as well go. The money was great, and there might be safety in crowds. Besides, I had just taken a day off -- no sense in antagonizing the owner. Maybe after work I could find some other location with people in it -- a train station or something -- and stay there until morning. I shaved and showered and got dressed -- I was once again noticeably bigger, to the point where even the large shower stall I was using was a little constricting -- but I couldn't start jacking off without looking at my hands, and that made me remember the thing from last night.

The car was definitely getting too small for me. I was only barely able to steer without sticking my left arm out the window. That, combined with the handsome face looking back at me from the corner of the rear view mirror, turned me on, and I could feel my cock press against the fabric of my slacks, but -- on the steering wheel, right in plain sight, were my hands.

Work was a repetition of the previous day. Only more so. The bar was packed, and every seat with a view of the bar in the restaurant was full. The owner, never at a loss to capitalize on good fortune, brought more 2-top tables from storage and filled the bar area, probably far beyond the limits imposed by the fire code. For the first time since I could remember, there was adequate lighting behind the bar; he had also replaced every one of the 25-Watt bulbs in the ceiling lamps behind the counter with brighter wattages; my experience working retail identified them as alternating "full-spectrum" 60-Watt incandescents and 100-Watt-equivalent CFLs.

The money flowed like water -- or, perhaps more rewardingly, like alcohol. I was kept busy with the flow of orders, and the tips were, if anything, even better than the night before. Then again, I was definitely even bigger than I had been the night before. I counted over a thousand dollars in tips in my first half hour, which was certainly a speed record for me and strongly hinted the night would be an overall record when it was over.

More importantly, keeping my own hands busy and having to deal with a lot of other people's hands gradually wore away the revulsion I had been feeling. I stopped grimacing every time someone showed me their palm, although I half-expected to see the thing somewhere in the restaurant looming in the shadows.

The evening wore on. Maybe this had been planned by the owner, or maybe it was a coincidental side-effect of the unusually large crowd and the brighter lights, but by 5, when the dinner rush began, I was sweating.

This had a perceptible effect on my audience. Thanks to the new-and-improved lights, every bead of sweat gleamed visibly. As they rolled down my face, or into the cleavage between my massive pecs, or down my exposed forearms, people would lick their lips, almost in perfect synchronization with each other.

My boss looked in and disappeared for half an hour. When he reappeared, he dragged me off to the staff area again, and the sudden sound of cutlery as people realized they were in a restaurant with food in front of them was surprisingly loud.

"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"Take off the fucking shirt, Scott."

"What, you want me to work naked? What the hell are you thinking? The first time a police car passes by, they'll see me in the light of those sunlamps you put in and call the board of health!"

"No, idiot, take off the shirt! Hurry! Good! Now, let me put this stuff on you. Hold still."

With surprising speed, he rubbed tanning oil all over my torso. He had to stand on tiptoe to reach my head, which made me feel a little smug. He massaged it up into my hair above the hairline (thankfully, my hair was black, so the oil on my hair wasn't really noticeable) and had me go into the bathroom to take off my pants and oil up the area around my belt. Looking in the mirror, I could see that the effect was worth it. I looked like I was-- hell, I actually was impossibly big and strong and sexy. But everything was emphasized and focussed by the darker color. The owner wiped a little drool away, chuckled, and left me in front of a fan.

I could feel myself getting hard, looking at my reflection, so I deliberately looked down at my hands and thought about the previous night. Nevertheless, when I walked back to the bar, my cock was visibly half-hard, forming a bulge in my pants. The room went almost completely silent when I entered, and then there was a rush on the bar as though it were 11:45 on New Years' Eve.

At 10, my rolled-up sleeves burst. After consultation with the owner, I tore them off at the shoulders.

By midnight, my torso had grown so large that my shirttails would no longer stay tucked into my pants if I had to lean over or reach out. Patrons suddenly developed an interest in drinks that required the fancy bottles along the top of the bar.

At about 1:15, I was handing a customer who had been there since 5 another expensive bottle of water (and receiving his sixth tip, which was large enough all by itself to pay for everything he had ordered since arriving) when my cell phone started vibrating. The owner had a policy on cell phones -- staff should never even look at their phones while in sight of the public. But the owner had also quietly informed me that revenues dipped by a quarter when I was out of sight, so I answered.

It was Paul. He sounded drunk.

"Hey, Scott, I'm h-having a party. You wanna come over?"

After everything which had happened -- and the way I was practically coining money -- I was in no mood to listen to Paul. "No. I'm at work. Goodbye."

I hung up and put the phone back in my pocket. Within 5 seconds it buzzed again, but I didn't answer. Paul called five times over the next fifteen minutes, but I refused to pick up. Aside from everything else, every second away from the bar was losing me vast sums of money.

The restaurant closed at 2. I could see the owner hesitate about closing. It was like blowing up a gold mine. But the liquor licensing laws absolutely forbad the sale of alcohol after 2 AM, and more than one bar in the city had been closed for infractions as small as two minutes. And it was pretty obvious that the minute I wasn't serving drinks, the restaurant would change from a massive revenue stream to a nuisance.

My tips came, this time, to an absolutely staggering $38,520, if you counted the thousand that one of the patrons had tried to tuck into my back pocket. A new car wasn't going to be a problem, after all. The other staff were variously jealous and awestruck, although apparently my presence also had a halo effect -- even the busboys, who usually barely made enough to live on, took home more in cash from tips that day than I had made in tips and wages combined any week of my first month working bar.

I stayed to help the owner lock up -- as closing time had approached, I was more and more hesitant to return home, where hissing nightmare things might be lurking. I was just trying to decide where I would go next when an SUV with tinted windows came roaring into the lot, tires squealing as it came within inches of running me over and then dragged to a halt.

Paul got out. He had to sort of unfold himself, he was now so big. His proportions were monstrous, titanic, gigantic; next to him the SUV looked like an oversized toy. He was so large that he looked like he could probably drag the SUV with him one-handed if it broke down -- which might very well have been true, given how impossible his body had become. He was now tall enough that his abs would have been visible over the top of the car if his pecs hadn't been so incredibly huge that they kept most of his abs in shadow. They were gigantic, and thick, and wide. His shoulders were like basketballs, or maybe bigger. His head was almost swallowed by the most swollen trap and neck muscles I've ever seen -- but the effect was incredibly sexy and masculine. Overall, the effect was like a particularly realistic CGI effect in a movie. Paul was too large to be real, but here he was in front of us.

His face was red with anger, and his torso was rhythmically inflating and deflating as he huffed and puffed with rage.

"Get in the car, Gwinnett."

"No."

Scott stalked around the front of the SUV. At first I thought he would be naked, but he was wearing sandals and a pair of workout shorts. He might as well not have bothered, because the shorts not only left nothing to the imagination but weren't long enough to contain his cock, which stuck out the bottom of the right leg by about three quarters of a foot. It too was gigantic, and even redder than his face.

"I said, get in the fucking car."

He grabbed me, pulled open the passenger-side door, and pushed me in. Then he grunted and ran back around and got back in, himself. As we drove away, he rolled down the windows and shouted out "Scott quits!"

I quickly yelled out "No I don't!"

Paul smacked me with one hand. The blow was just casual -- a wave of the arm -- but it threw me sideways in my seat, and left me in pain. "Shut up, cocksucker. You fucking embarrassed me. When I tell you to come to my party, you come to my party."

We raced through town and pulled up to Paul's house. There were cars parked up and down the street and in the driveway, the lights were on, and I could hear loud music. Paul dragged me out of the car and inside the house.

The interior was... well, if I was filming a movie and wanted to suggest a degenerate gay orgy, I might have come up with something like it, with a couple of differences.

First off, I didn't see any drugs -- which was odd; even in the plain old high school parties I used to go to in my youth, there was usually someone doing something, smoking a joint in a corner or out in the back yard. Here, though, the house was just filled with men having sex, in twos and threes and a few writhing masses of bodies. There were guys dressed normally -- or, more often, just naked -- but there were also men in various costumes; guys in leather and chains, guys in various fantasy outfits (I almost thought that a couple of them were actual cops until I remembered that the local police uniform had a khaki shirt, rather than a blue one), and a sprinkling of men who were even bound and wearing gimp masks, much to my personal revulsion.

The other thing which I probably would not have been able to duplicate on film was the fact that every single guy in sight was massive. Even the smallest, slimmest guys would have been at least light-heavyweights in a bodybuilding competition. And the sizes ranged up from there to, well, me and Paul.

There was no question that Paul was the biggest guy there in every way, and that I was in second place. Paul dragged me to the second floor, past room after room of men of all descriptions fucking. Some of it was actually pretty disgusting to me (I've always been fairly plain-vanilla when it comes to sexual fetishes), but the men were all incredibly hot, and I couldn't help getting aroused as we went upstairs.

The room which was apparently Paul's destination was the first we saw which was not filled with men having sex, somewhat to my disappointment. It was a large room with a plain table in the center, surrounded by heavy-duty chairs. There were about a dozen men standing and sitting around the table. Every single one of them was huge, even compared to the general standards on display throughout the house. The largest of them was only a little bit inferior to me. But he was still my inferior; in my increasingly aroused state, that really made me feel good. All of them had clothing on, and some of them were even fully-dressed.

The other thing they all had in common was that they were all obviously bored or waiting for Paul. They variously sat and looked up as he entered the room, and when I followed a few of them whistled, or licked their lips.

Paul dragged me to the head of the table, where there was an empty seat, and sat down, leaving me standing slightly behind him. He scanned the room. "Where's Matt? And Apu? ...and Jay?"

The man to Paul's left answered. "Jay's around, somewhere. Kid's a nympho. Said he didn't want to waste any opportunities, and we should find him when you got back. Matt and Apu got tired of waiting and left."

Paul frowned. "Maybe it's time to cut Jay off for a while. But Matt and Apu are out. You can tell them not to bother coming back."

"What the fuck, man? You're the one who fucked up!" If the man had been speaking to almost anyone else at all, his tone would have been understandable. He was one of the five biggest men in the room, which probably made him one of the biggest men in the world. He was clearly used to intimidating people with his size. I suspected that he was suffering from a bit of testosterone-driven rage -- I could see the outlines of his testicles through his shorts, and they were almost as large as mine, even though he was, overall, noticeably smaller than me. His cock wasn't anything special, though. Then again, his upper body was pretty spectacular, and he had a nice, well-trimmed beard and good cheekbones. My horniness was increasing, and in the silence which followed his comment, I imagined fucking him senseless.

When Paul's reply finally came, it was dangerously calm. "You think I fucked up?"

The other men in the room were on edge. The man's nearest other neighbor edged his seat away. But the bearded guy either wasn't paying attention or didn't care. "Yeah, shithead, I think you fucked up. You said you had this guy under control, but he wouldn't even show up when you called him! And the damn observers have been back again!"

Paul clicked his tongue. "I was the one who warned you about them in the first place. Don't worry, they can't do a thing to you while I'm in charge. Do you think they're going to call the police or something? What would they even charge you with -- you're drug-free, you know that."

The bearded man made a gesture. "Yeah, so you say. How the fuck do we even know you're doing it right? And now you're giving some fucking boy toy a free ride, and you're fucking making him bigger than the rest of us! What are we even paying you for?"

Paul gave the man a long, cold stare. "Oh? You think I've made a mistake? Maybe you'd like to try taking care of everything yourself?"

The man suddenly seemed to realize what he had been saying. "Well, maybe. I think we should just get a second opinion about--"

Paul muttered something under his breath, and suddenly the man collapsed. Paul smirked. "I think that's all for tonight, gentlemen. You and you--" he nodded to two of the other men "--can drop Andy off somewhere."

One of them raised a hand, and Paul looked at him. "When will we get our--"

Paul cut the man off. "If you're all starting to think I'm doing this wrong, maybe I don't want to give you anything. Certainly not tonight."

There was a general outcry. Paul swept the room with a glare. "I'm not in a forgiving mood right now. We'll have another party in a few days, and if you haven't fucked up dealing with Andy or Matt or Apu, we'll talk then. And don't forget to tell Jay he's cut off for this week. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other business."

With that, Paul stood up again and grabbed my wrist, pulling me out the door at the other end of the room. As we passed, I glanced down to look at Andy's rear end, to see if it was as good as his chest and arms.

The man was gone. On the floor where his body had been was a sort of skin-wrapped puddle. Bones bulged out here and there, and liquid was oozing out from holes which were probably once eye sockets. I narrowly avoided throwing up. The two men who had been charged with Andy's disposal began to lift the mass up from the edges, which flopped and drooped unpleasantly; the others made a beeline for the door.

Paul pulled me into another room, and slammed the door behind him. With one hand he tore the clothes off my body, and then pushed me into the opposite corner from the door while he removed his own clothing. Once he was naked, he turned to face me. His face was twisted into the angriest expression I had ever seen, and a muscle in his left cheek was twitching.

"Okay, fucktoy, it's time for a little payback. Thanks to you, I just lost face with my clients, and I had to get rid of three of them. Not that they'll be hard to replace, but that fucking does not happen to me. Next time, you're going to remember whose bitch you are."

His cock inflated larger and larger as he walked towards me. It rose until it the tip was almost as high as my chin. It had to be at least 3 feet long now, and was as big around as a coffee can. My fantasies of the previous morning seemed terribly naive; if I survived it at all, this was going to hurt.

Part 16

[convolution]

Does Paul needs a sacrifice ? .... eew