Don woke up feeling groggy, but healthier than the morning before. He gave a yawn, and felt something in his mouth–he opened his eyes and found himself faced with Don’s crotch, his cock down his throat. It felt bigger that before, but that couldn’t possibly be right. Cocks didn’t just spontaneously grow overnight. Still, he was thirsty. Don was still asleep, but Howie sucked another two loads out of him in rapid succession, grinding his own cock into the fluffy, warm sheets, feeling how wet they were. He worried that he might have pissed himself, but it was sticky and tacky like cum, which was almost more worrisome. Again, he was struck by the notion that something strange was going on, but it felt like something at the edge of his mind, easily forgotten if he didn’t stay focused on it.
He pulled his mouth off Don’s cock, deciding to take a break, wormed his way off the bed, couldn’t find the floor with his feet, and ended up falling off onto his ass, looking up at the edge of the bed looming over him.
The room was bigger?
He looked around, trying to decipher his lower vantage point. He stood up, finding it a bit harder than usual, and decided that it wasn’t that the world had grown, but that he had shrunk. A lot. He’d gone from six and a half feet to closer to three feet tall overnight.
He felt like he was going to be sick. He told himself this couldn’t be happening, that he was just dreaming. He slapped his face, which hurt, but nothing changed, and then looked back down at himself, and realized that he wasn’t just shorter–he was also fatter. The gut he’d had the day before was now an apron sagging down past his crotch. In fact, the “sheets” he’d been grinding his cock into hadn’t been sheets at all, but his new gunt and the underside of his gut. Now he really was feeling sick–he ran into the bathroom, something which took longer than it should have–and vomited his breakfast of cum into the toilet, before flushing it away, wiping his chin, feeling a mass of hair there that shouldn’t be. He waddled up to the counter but was too short to get a good look at himself in the mirror; he ended up scaling the toilet, and from there hefted himself up onto the counter next to it, where he huffed and puffed for a moment or two, not used to carting around so much weight.
Standing next to the sink, he got a full view of himself in the mirror, and the sight almost made him feel sick again. Shorter, much shorter. Between the loss in height and his gain in weight, he looked about as wide as he was tall. His gut had taken on the most weight, sagging down past his crotch to his thighs, which had eaten away the space between them and now pushed together all the way to his knees, down to his fat calves and ankles that looked like a solid mass balanced on rather small feet. He hefted his gut up, looking underneath it at his own cock that had sucked up into his fat body–it looked like it had shrunk even more than the rest of him. He could just reach the head with one of his hands, and even just brushing against it was enough to make him groan with pleasure. It had never been so sensitive, and now that he’d felt it, he kept going, unable to stop himself, rubbing the head with his fingers, pushing it down into his fat, getting closer until he was awarded with a burst of cum that covered his fingers…and in the mirror, he saw himself collapse in on himself ever so slightly, his gut grow out a bit heavier. He yanked his hand away; had cumming just made his shrink?
It made sense. He had no idea how much he’d cum over the last day–it felt like hundreds of times. How could he even have cum left in his balls? He…he could keep going. He could keep trying to empty them out, it felt so damn good…
He had his hand back under his gut again, but stopped himself. He had to stop, he had to. He couldn’t shrink anymore. To take his mind off his cock, he tried to take in everything else that had changed since the day before. The mass of hair he’d brushed his hand against was a beard. Marga hated facial hair, but Don had always wanted him to grow it out into a full beard. Now it didn’t seem like he had much choice–in a single day the beard had exploded in size. The hairs were only a few inches long, but with his smaller stature that was enough to reach down to his chest. Running his hand through it, the beard was stiff and crispy from dried cum, and he shivered, feeling the thirst growing in his throat. His beard wasn’t the only thing that had grown hairier either–his entire body had filled in with a mass of hair, so thick in some places that it was hard to see his skin. Almost all of it was grey, if not white. From what he could see of his face, he looked like he’d aged twenty years overnight, into his sixties, his forehead and eyes lined with wrinkles, his hairline receding back past the crown of his head.
He had to get help. Don was still tall, he could drive. Howie didn’t think he’d even be able to see out the windshield, much less reach the pedals. He got back down off the counter the way he’d climbed up, and hurried back into the bedroom. Getting back onto the bed was a bit of a challenge, but he managed by hauling himself up with the sheets, crawled over and realized he wasn’t the only one who had changed substantially over the last few days.
Unable to help himself, Howie was captivated by Don’s balls. The sack had always been average, though it had looked a bit larger under Don’s shorter cock–now it was dwarfed in comparison. The balls inside each looked to be as large as his new fists, and cum was seeping from the head of his cock, dribbling down the shaft…no, he couldn’t look there, he couldn’t. He forced his eyes up, over the rest of Don, and saw that he wasn’t the only one who had changed overnight. Don had always been a bit on the chubby side, but now, like him, he’d grown massively fat, his gut sagging down and out into a thick apron, huge moobs with thick nipples covered with white hair, that flowed up to his neck, where a beard, thick and white, covered his multiple chins, and he saw Don was awake…and staring at him.
“What are you waiting for, lover? I got all this cum for you to lick up. You’re slacking off.” His voice was deeper than usual, more resonant, and…commanding. It took an effort of will to resist. He had to get Don to realize something was wrong. They had to get help, they had to do something.
“Don, you have to realize…look how short I am! We have to get out of here, we have to get to the hospital.”
Don laughed, his fat body shuddering in…in a somehow sexy way. Howie had never been interested in old men, and definitely not in fat ones, but he was so horny…no, even though he was horny, he just liked how Don looked. How big he was in every way. How old he was, the saggy fat, the wrinkly face, all the hair covering his body, the shiny pate of his head. But more than like…he loved him. He really did, he loved him more than he’d ever loved Marga. In fact, thinking of Marga now, all he could feel was a sense of disgust. He never wanted to see her again–the only person he wanted, who he could bear to be with, was…was Don. Don smiled at him, Howie’s heart fluttered. “Oh Howie, everything’s turning out exactly how it’s supposed to. Now get over here and drink some more cum–you’re still too big.”
“What…did you do this?”
Don reached out with one fat hand, but Howie ducked away, nearly tumbling off the bed again. “I said get over here and drink up.”
Again, Howie had to fight himself, his growing desire to do everything Don told him to do. Don rolled over and grabbed at him again, Howie jumped off the bed, scrambled up and ran for the bathroom, locking the door behind him as Don got up, stomping to the door. “What the fuck did you do to us?”
“I know you were gonna leave me!” Don shouted, “I know you were gonna ditch me, I could see how you look at other guys, but you’re mine, Howie, you’re fucking mine! Don’t you see how much I love you? I’ll take good care of you, you’ll be so happy, I promise. Now open the door, Howie, open up and drink some more delicious cum like a good old faggot.”
What in the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t get out with Don waiting, he couldn’t fight him off. He couldn’t even drive the truck–hell, he didn’t even know where he was. A weapon, he needed something to fight with. He looked up and saw the mirror. If he could break it, get a shard or something, maybe he’d have a chance. However, he only managed to climb up onto the toilet before he smelled it–cum. Don’s cum. Looking down, he saw a puddle growing under the door, he could hear Don huffing and grunting and moaning on the other side. It smelled so good, and he was so fucking thirsty. He grabbed a towel, meaning to stuff it under the door crack, but why use a towel when he could just…just lick it up? Yeah, he liked cum, he could just lick it up off the floor, lick up his lover’s cum and play with his cock, the first orgasm sending shivers through his shrinking body, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was cum. Drinking cum, shooting cum. Why was he so worried about shrinking anyway? He had Don to take care of him. He loved Don so much…
“Open the door, Howie…”
Yeah, he should do that. Why had he even locked it to begin with? It was suddenly a challenge to reach it, but he managed to turn it and pull it open. Don was on his knees outside the door, cum flowing down his gunt and dribbling onto the floor. He could see Don’s balls pumping as he twisted his nipples like faucets. He rushed over and started drinking as much as he could, feeling it coat his whole body as it flowed over him.
“See Howie? You’re mine now. You’re mine forever.”