House Special
By: Giantguy
Wade leaned a little further over the bar. "Hey. HEY. HEY
ASSHOLE." He waved his hand with a twenty stuck between his
fingers. "Nother one. Over here." He jostled to keep his
place at the crowded bar and pushed his empty glass away.
Service was always fucking lousy in the hot clubs. They
figured you were just lucky to be in the goddamn place.
The shirtless bartender finally turned toward Wade, the "Club
VOR" fake-tattoo on his right pec glowing fluorescent in the
black light shining from the packed dance floor. He smoothly
glided the old glass into the bustub and began pulling
another draft for the sandy-haired frat type who was waving a
twenty like it was a freakin' hundred dollar bill. "Here ya
go. That's five." He whipped the twenty into the register
and gave the guy his change, giving him a lot of ones. So
far he hadn't seen anything go down on the bar for a tip.
And this was the guy's sixth -- no, seventh.
Wade chugged the beer. Fuck this place. He'd heard this
club was wild, but so far it was just packed and noisy and he
didn't see anything interesting. He couldn't make it onto
the dance floor, so he didn't know if the fog that rolled
over the crowd really blew your mind the way his friends had
said. He was just jammed in here, begging for drinks from
another beefed up bartender. Time to go.
He kept gulping the beer down, walking to the far end of the
bar, finishing the beer and slamming the glass down. The
bartender was there, grabbing the glass. Figures, thought
Wade. Now that I'm outta here.
"Nother one?" the bartender yelled over the thumping music.
Wade shook his head, and turned to go. Then he turned back.
He fished a crumpled dollar out of his jeans, and set it on
the bar, pushing it toward the bartender. That's about what
you're worth, ya fucking muscle head, he thought as the beer
surged through his brain. He watched the bartender,
expecting to see him at least get pissed off, but the guy
just tucked it into the tip canister and grinned. Probably
didn't see it was a fuckin' buck, Wade thought. Dumbass.
He turned to go, but the bartender waved and caught his eye,
setting a freshly poured draft down on the bar.
"One more. On the house." The bartender grinned and leaned
forward, resting his bulging arms on the bar.
Wade chuckled to himself. Man, this dude is dumber than I
thought. Hell, I'm not turning down any free drinks. He
picked up the beer and chugged, the cold brew fizzing as he
swallowed. Damn, this is better shit than what I was
drinking ... gotta find out what it is.
The bartender wiped a hand across his sweaty chest, grinning
wider as he watched the sandy-haired frat asshole gulping
down the free drink. Oh, this was gonna be good.
Wade finished the drink, slamming the glass down and wiping
foam off his mouth. The music seemed to be even louder than
before. He could hear the bass notes whumping in his chest.
He was gonna be fuckin' deaf when he got out of here. He
turned around, looking for the door, and was caught by a
sudden wave of dizziness. He clutched instinctively at the
bar, as a wave of vertigo made him sway. Shit. Was he
drunk? He'd had a lot more than seven or eight beers on
other nights and it never bothered him. Fuck ...
Wade grabbed onto the bar with both hands, steadying himself.
The music kept thumping, but now it sounded like he was
underwater, his ears plugged up, everything sounding muffled
and thick. He held himself up, looking at the bartender, who
was just watching him, leaning on his folded arms, the veins
in his thick biceps bulging out as he drummed his fingers on
the bar.
Wade began to feel a pressure building up in his gut, a
fizzing, churning feeling. He grabbed tighter onto the bar,
leaning in, his mouth dropping open as he tried to speak.
Instead, he let out a huge, wet belch, raspy and deep.
"uuuUUUUUuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh" The force of it surprised Wade.
His head was swimming, and he felt as if he were falling
forward. He put out his hands for balance, and blinked as
sweat fell into his eyes. Everything seemed out of
proportion, like he was looking through the wrong end of a
telescope. The bar seemed to spread out before him, and the
freefall sensation was intense, like the first long drop on a
rollercoaster. He saw the bartender reaching out his arm, in
slow motion, the man's hand seeming huge as it came toward
him. He felt as though he were simultaneously drenched in
sweat and burning up. His vision blacked out but he could
still hear the music, vibrating all through his body, deep
and booming, like cannon blasts. He was laying against a
cold, wet surface -- the floor? And then he heard a loud
clunk, like a door being slammed or a heavy object dropping.
The noise around him seemed more muffled, although his head
was still pounding. The air seemed still. He pushed
himself up on his forearms, and slowly opened his eyes. He
was still for a moment, and then he began yelling.
The bartender, Kurt, looked down where he'd clapped the glass
upside down on the bar. He congratulated himself on a good
catch. You had to see exactly when the shrinking kicked in
and grab them then, otherwise you had to root through the
pile of clothes and they had a good chance of running away
across the floor, if they weren't too dizzy. This guy had
almost fallen right into his hand, pitching forward as he
shrank from five-ten down to two inches. And now there he
was, lying naked under the glass on the bar, his clothes in a
heap on the floor where they had fallen.
Kurt watched as the frat guy slowly woke up inside the glass.
Yep, looked like he was yelling his head off, like some of
them did. Lessee, a buck on a thirty-five dollar total --
yep, about three percent. And two inches -- about three
percent of his full size height. Kurt only gave the "house
special" to assholes who really pissed him off, although he
knew Giancarlo would hand it out if somebody coughed up less
than fifteen percent. And business was so good they didn't
have to worry about losing a customer here or there ....
Kurt laughed. The little frat boy was awake, and standing
up. Nice bod on the guy. Bet his dick was decent, too, when
he'd been normal size. Now Kurt watched as the guy pounded
on the inside of the glass, his mouth open wide as he
bellowed at the top of his tiny lungs, no sound reaching to
the outside.
"--FUCKING ASSHOLE FUCKING CRAZY WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!!!"
Wade screamed as he hammered his fists against the cold, cold
glass. He could feel drops of sweat all over his naked body.
How had they gotten his clothes off him? Where was he? Was
this some kind of giant virtual-reality game? An Imax
screen? Something like that 3-D movie ride at Disneyland he
went on at spring break? All he could see was the warped
image of that fucking bartender, looking ten stories tall,
leering down at him. Now the bartender was reaching down,
now he was holding something up, and now he was dropping it.
Wade stopped beating the hard glass surface, and stepped
back, looking up. The crumpled shape landed just outside the
glass.
It was an enormous dollar bill. Where it was touching the
glass, Wade could see it clearly. The paper surface was
rough, but he could see every fine line of the engraving.
The bartender's hand reached down, wrapping around the glass.
Wade could see the outline of fingerprints.
He began to shiver with cold as the reality went through him.
No fucking way. No fucking way. No FUCKING WAY ...
Kurt began to slide the glass carefully down the bar. He'd
learned from experience that you couldn't slide it too fast
or else you could really fuck them up. As he came closer to
the middle of the bar, he reached up and rang the brass
ship's bell that hung near one of the registers. A buzz went
through the crowd close to the bar. The regulars knew what
the bell meant: bartender's challenge.
Kurt pumped his arm in the air, grinning at the cheers from
the guys pressing up to the bar. The two other bartenders,
Giancarlo and Andy, both shirtless like Kurt, passed off the
drinks they were making, and came sauntering down to meet
Kurt. Kurt unwrapped his hand from around the glass, and
gestured. More cheers erupted as everyone leaned in, gaping
at the two-inch tall man trapped under the glass.
Giancarlo, lean and dark, put three metal cups on the bar.
This was a game they had been playing when someone got the
"house special". Andy, with a tan darker than his blond
hair, poured beer into each of the cups while Kurt carefully
slid a cardboard coaster under the glass.
Wade stared at the gigantic faces he could see through the
glass. He was winded from jogging along as the glass was
relentless pushed along for what seemed like a mile. He
could hear laughing and whooping as people leaned in for a
closer look, their faces magnified gigantically, the curve of
the glass making them look warped and distorted. He didn't
even think to try and hide his nakedness. He was in shock,
but some part of his brain was still thinking rationally,
processing the fact that somehow he had shrunk small enough
to be trapped underneath a glass on a bar. He stumbled as a
thick piece of board was shoved under the glass. He could
see the Club VOR logo printed across it ... a goddamn bar
coaster.
He lurched to one side as the glass was suddenly lifted, like
an express elevator. He fell to his knees, trying to grab at
the cardboard surface. Suddenly the bottom was gone, and he
fell.
Kurt led the crowd in another cheer as he unceremoniously
dumped the two-inch guy into one of the beer-filled cups. He
watched for a second to make sure the frat guy had come to
the surface and was treading water -- well, beer -- before
putting a coaster over each of the cups.
Giancarlo took over, sliding the cups in and out and around
like a game of three-card monte. The crowd watched, eagle-
eyed, as he wove the cups deftly over the bar.
Wade thrashed in the foaming beer, swimming up to the side,
trying to hang on. He was in darkness, and the slick, cold
metal side gave him nothing to grab. He kept his head out of
the beer, spitting as it splashed over him. What the hell
was going on?
Giancarlo stepped back, his part done. Immediately the crowd
started yelling in a frenzy, ones and fives being thrown at
the bar, landing in piles in front of each of the three cups.
The three bartenders each stood behind one, Giancarlo in the
middle, Kurt and Andy on either side. To a huge roar from
the crowd, they each grabbed a cup, tossed the coasters
aside, and began chugging.
Wade was ducked under the beer as he felt the cup being
lifted and tilted, completely disorienting him again as he
flailed through the foam, literally not knowing which way was
up. The beer was flowing, pulling him downward... into ...
into ...
Into someone's mouth.
The bartenders held up their empty cups in unison, each of
them standing with puffed out cheeks, teasing the crowd. Two
had mouths full of beer -- one with a mouth full of beer, and
something more. Like contestants on a game show, they each
made a move as if to grab something out of their mouths, the
crowd delirious, screaming. Andy choked a bit and swallowed,
stepping back and grinning, opening his mouth wide and
shrugging. Giancarlo and Kurt stepped closer together,
Giancarlo jerking back as Kurt jokingly made a move as if to
grab his cheeks and make him spit out his mouthful.
Wade was gasping for breath as he was rolled across a rough,
wet surface that moved under him, sloshing him around in now-
warm beer. Somebody's tongue.
Giancarlo now pushed a finger between his lips, swallowing
carefully. He opened his mouth, displaying it to the crowd,
pushing up against the bar five deep.
On his tongue was the guy, a frat rat by the look of him,
drenched and limp, two inches tall, framed by Giancarlo's
white teeth. The crowd cheered as Kurt swallowed his own
mouthful of beer, grinning as he shook his head, admitting
defeat. Now Giancarlo would get the prize...
Wade opened his eyes, burning from the beer. He could dimly
see the crowd, the sound deafening. He looked up at the
cavernous mouth he was in, the arching red roof, the blocky,
thick teeth, the quivering tongue against his naked body.
He began to crawl toward the opening, toward freedom. Surely
the game had to be over now? He wouldn't allow himself to
think about what might happen ... if he were to slip
backwards ... or if anything were to push him ...
Suddenly Giancarlo got a glint in his eye. He reached out
and grabbed Kurt by the back of the neck, drawing his face
close. Keeping his mouth wide, he suddenly jammed his face
onto Kurt's, drawing him into a powerful, deep kiss, his
tongue thrusting into Kurt's mouth.
The crowd went insane, guys climbing on top of each other as
the two bartenders writhed together, Giancarlo pushing the
shrunken man into Kurt's mouth.
Wade was nearly unconscious as he felt himself being pushed
between two battling tongues. He rolled from one onto the
other, the slick walls of the mouth sucking against him. He
was being forced down, into the throat, trying to grip the
tongue, holding on to anything, scrabbling to keep from being
swallowed.
Giancarlo pulled away, opening his mouth again, showing it
empty to the crowd. Now Kurt climbed onto the bar, on his
haunches as he tipped his head backward, his throat muscles
working as he gulped. The crowd fell silent.
Wade felt himself dangling into empty space, the throat
flexing around him. He gasped for air one more time, and let
go. He slid downward, like going down a luge track, feeling
the hot flesh surround him on all sides.
Kurt slowly brought his head forward, surveying the crowd.
He opened his mouth. It was empty.
The crowd howled with delight as Kurt threw himself forward.
They carried him, hands rubbing his throat, chest and
abdomen, Kurt's skin flushing, his body surging with energy
and power.
A surly faced jock in a muscle shirt pushed his way to the
end of the bar. He leaned over the bar far enough to poke
Giancarlo in the shoulder. "What the fuck is goin' on? Can
I get a fuckin' drink? What's so fuckin important down
there?"
Giancarlo turned and looked at him. "Just a bar bet.
Nothing big." He smiled. "Now what can I get you? House
special?"