Some Shrinking May Occur
By: Giantguy
Late Friday night and you finally take a break from
studying. You look at the digital alarm on the small table
by your dorm bed. 1 am. Fuck. Another night of hitting
the books when the rest of the guys from the dorm were out
on dates or just partying. It would probably be another
hour before your roommate was home. Fine. There was no
way you could concentrate with him around anyway. He
seemed to fill the room. Only a freshman but he was huge,
some sports scholarship. He talked all the time about
getting an apartment off campus with his buddies from the
team. Couldn’t be soon enough for you. You look around at
the piles of clothes on the floor, some of them weeks old.
The place was getting rank. Fast food wrappers and empty
cans of coke and beer were scattered around under his bed,
from weeks of midnight snacks. The last corner of space in
the tiny room was taken up with his weight bench, where he
pumped out set after set of bench presses and barbell curls
when he wasn’t at practice or the gym.
Okay, enough studying. Got to get some sleep. Maybe a
shower before you hit the sack. You look through your
dresser for a clean pair of underwear. Dammit. Nothing in
there. You could have sworn there was at least a pair or
two left. Usually you just packed it all up and dragged it
over to your girlfriend’s house on the weekend, where she
let you use the machine while the two of you caught up on
studying and maybe a quick fuck if you weren’t too
exhausted. Okay, no underwear. No big deal, you could
sleep naked, although your self esteem took a beating when
Greg would heave his six foot four muscular bulk into bed,
his fat cock (fuck, don’t STARE at it, jesus) swinging
between his legs. A towel, how bout a towel… it wasn’t on
the hook behind the door. You purposely had bought an ugly
neon green towel so nobody would ever confuse yours with
theirs. Well, where was the damn thing? A quick look
around – there it was: draped over the weight bench. Even
just picking it up you could tell it smelled like sweat.
GodDAMmit. Greg just used whatever the fuck was in the
room as if it was his – not like he was doing it to piss
you off, he just didn’t fucking notice.
All right. 1 am or not, it was gonna have to be laundry
time. You dig into your desk drawer, looking for the key
the R.A. gave you in exchange for help on a research paper.
There was a little known laundry room in the basement –
really just a beat up old washer and dryer stuck in what
probably used to be a janitorial closet. It was for R.A.s
only, and the best kept secret in the dorm. Trick was, you
could never be caught using it, so you only snuck down
there when it was pretty sure that you would be
undisturbed.
You grab through your laundry bag – didn’t have to do it
all tonight, just enough for maybe one load. A couple of
quarters from the jar of change on the dresser – great.
You stuff the towel in, too, when a pair of underwear
catches your eye on one of the piles of Greg’s dirty
laundry. It was a pair of briefs, the elastic stretched so
far that it was almost snapped. Thing is, you recognized
the “World’s Greatest Boyfriend” pattern across the crotch
– that fucking bastard, he had swiped the pair of briefs
your fucking girlfriend gave you as a joke gift. How the
hell had he not ripped them when he squeezed in? Jesus, so
fucking lazy he was stealing your underwear.
You stick them in the bag without thinking. You should
probably just toss em – sure as fuck don’t want to wear em
after he’s been in ‘em – but maybe you could just throw
them in the wash and keep them in the drawer in case she
ever looks to see if you have them. She did stuff like
that, checking up on you.
The dorm is almost silent as you trudge down the concrete
stairs to the basement. The one yellowish bulb barely
lights your way to the beaten-in metal door of the
washroom. You look around one more time – there’s some
noise from the stairwell – probably somebody coming down to
stash their bike – so you quickly stick the key in, yank
the heavy door open and go inside.
There is another bulb hanging here off a wire. You shove
the quarters in the washer slot, push it in, and dump whats
left of a box of Gain in as it starts filling with hot
water. In goes the towel, some t-shirts, some socks, some
underwear … and then the briefs. You hold them for a
second. Yep, the elastic is gone. They were even a little
large for you the one time you wore them – you looked at
the label “WASH SEPARATELY. SOME SHRINKING MAY OCCUR.”
Well, maybe the hot water would bring them back down to
wearable size.
The musky, spicy scent that was Greg reaches your nose from
the shorts. You look at them … the words across the crotch
were larger, almost like a cartoon, where the pouch was
stretched and ballooned out. Fuck… his dick must have done
that. You try not to think about it but you get an image
of his heavy, thick cock and softball-sized nutsack being
stuffed into the briefs… pulling the fabric down… making it
bulge outward … the scent seems to be getting stronger …
you can’t help it, you bring it a little closer to your
nose… up to your face …
“Hey man, caught ya!” Greg’s raspy voice makes you jump,
immediately pulling the briefs away from your face and
tossing them in the washer. You turn as he stands there,
hands on the sill above the door, his biceps bulging in his
t-shirt as he leans forward, grinning.
“Heard about this room. Fuckers got a laundry room right
here and they don’t tell us.”
You mumble, avoding eye contact as you quickly dump the
rest of the clothes in while the rusty gears lurch and the
cycle starts. “Just for the R.A.s I don’t even use it all
the time. Just for emergencies.”
“Some kinda secret, huh?” Greg grabs at his t-shirt,
pulling it off over his head. “Ya wanna toss this in too
bud? She really had me sweatin’ tonight, know what I
mean?” Before you can say anything, he throws it in your
face. The musky damp smell is all around you now. As you
pull it off, balling it up, his most white socks follow.
“Take those too man, I’m all outta socks.” He shucks off
his cutoffs, sliding them over his muscled, cut quads.
“And these. Even tho I barely been in em all night.” He
chuckles, pitching them dead on into the open washer. He
stands there in a ripped pair of briefs (his own, you
notice while you try not to look), gray from too many
washing. Still-wet cum stains spread across the front,
where the crotch bulges out, making the waistband sag a
little.
“Got real fuckin’ lucky tonight man, this hot chick AND her
girlfriend. Dude, they can SMELL it on me man, they come
sniffin’ around and then they just get so fuckin’ hot it’s
like I got ‘em in the palm of my hand.” He grabs his bulge
for emphasis. He pulls it away, wiping the wet cum off his
hand. “Hell man, do these too.” Greg pulls off his
briefs, and aims them like a slingshot right at you.
Once again the scent surrounds you and it’s overpowering.
Your nostrils are almost on fire and you come close to
blacking out for a second. You stumble backward against
the chugging machine, and the impact makes it start
overcranking into a spin. The grinding of gears is all you
can hear as the aroma floods your consciousness, like
needles penetrating your brain.
You open your eyes – what the fuck was that, some kind of
seizure? Damn, when was the last time you ate anything?
Been working too fucking hard… you’re wrapped in some kind
of soft towel … the smell still all around you … part of
the towel is soaked, sticky and warm. You blink your eyes,
trying to focus. You look up and almost piss yourself.
Greg looks down at you, nestled in the crotch of his cum-
stained underwear. “FUCK DUDE… I REALLY DO GOT YOU IN THE
PALM OF MY HAND.” He chuckles, the sound resonating
through your now-tiny body like a clap of thunder.
Before you can process what has happened to you, you are
being gripped in Greg’s moist palm. You are jerked up and
down – there is a sound of cloth sliding against skin and
elastic snapping against hard flesh.
“MAYBE I WONT WASH THESE ONES RIGHT YET” he whispers
hoarsely down at you, clutched in his right hand. “LET’S
GO UPSTAIRS HUH MAN…” He stretches the waistband out with
his other hand, and a second later you are in a sickening
freefall, landing on firm, rubbery, hot flesh.
You only have a second to realize that you are clutching
Greg’s enormous, half hard cock (shit you must be, what,
three inches high, what the FUCK??!!!) before the elastic
snaps back over you, cutting out most of the light.
You grab on for the bumpy ride as Greg climbs the stairs
(you guess), his cock and balls swaying between his thighs,
even stuffed up in his underwear. You can hear the slap of
his bare feet against the polished concrete floor, and then
the familiar creak of the door to your room.
The elastic stretches wide again, and two of Greg’s thick
fingers reach in for you, picking you up and dangling you
high. Don’t look down, you think, look anywhere but down.
Your heart feels like its racing at hundreds of beats per
minute. You bravely hold your eyes open and look straight
ahead. Greg is holding you up in front of the mirror he
uses for posing in… a grin is stretching wider and wider
across his square jawed face, dark with beard stubble.
“FUCK MAN. LOOK AT WHAT I FUCKIN’ DID TO YOU”
You can’t answer, your body weak with panic and
disorientation. You see in the reflection that Greg’s
sense of power has reached his cock… the head of it pokes
over the waistband of his stained shorts as it becomes
rigidly, painfully swollen and hard. “FUUUUCK YEAH” He
almost absentmindedly gropes it with one hand while holding
you in the air with the other.
His widening grin suddenly drops when there is a hurried
knocking on the door.
“Hey. Hey. I know you’re in there.” It was Brad, the
R.A. who slipped you the key. You try to fill your lungs
to – to what, call for help? but you can’t even catch a
breath. Brad keeps talking through the door.
“I found the door to the you-know-what open. You know
you’re supposed to stay there till the you-know-what is
done or everybody’s gonna find out.” Greg stands,
listening to Brad and still holding you up in one hand, as
you start to squirm wildly in his grip, not caring if he
drops you, just trying to get away, to get loose.
“Open up. Open up RIGHT NOW. Okay fine, I’m using my
key.” You hear the sound of Brad fumbling with his keys
and then twisting at the lock. You struggle even more
fiercely, adrenaline pumping through your body. Looking
up, you catch Greg’s eye. He looks down, holding his
shorts open as though ready to drop you in again. Hearing
the deadbolt turn, the expression on his face changes … a
sneer … a look of grim determination … he quickly flips you
into his palm. You flail on the damp skin, trying to get
your balance. You see his mouth stretch open wide, wide,
wide as a garage door, surrounded by his bristly stubble.
His hand moves like a catapult and you are flying through
the air, speeding toward the dark opening of his mouth …
landing on the sticky, fleshy, spongy surface of his
tongue. His lips close and the light turns to darkness.
Saliva begins to pour over you.
Brads finally pushes the door open on his stiff hinges.
“Now, when I say open the door, I mean open the – Oh. It’s
you,” he splutters, seeing Greg standing in front of the
mirror (fuck, they were right, the guy does have a horse
cock, fuck!) looking like he had been caught in the middle
of a jackoff session.
“Uh, sorry. Sorry.” Brad frowns. “Where’s Jake? He
here?” Greg just shrugs, shaking his head.
“No? You see him leave?” Another shrug from Greg.
You are swimming in saliva, a pool of it collecting at the
back of Greg’s mouth. The wall of his mouth where it leads
to his throat are hot and slick. You can just barely hear
Brad’s voice. The heat and damp are suffocating. Which
way is out, fuck…
Brad looks down and sees the beercans littering the floor
under Greg’s bed. He looks up sharply. “You been drinking
in here? Huh? I’ll get your ass kicked outta here so fast
man… I know you’re not legal yet. Out with a fake ID?”
Greg again just shakes his head.
The saliva is washing over you, and Greg’s throat flexes
involuntarily. Fuck, this is like when you’re at the
dentist … your mouth open … saliva pooling up more and more
… and all you want to do is… SWALLOW.
“Let me smell your breath! Come on, asshole, open up!”
Brad pokes him in the chest, not caring that he is six
inches shorter than Greg, who is almost panting, breathing
through his nose. Brad slaps him on the chest. “NOW!”
Greg takes a step back, and swallows. Hard. He gulps
again as though something is stuck in his throat. He
smiles, leaning down and opening his mouth wide, sticking
his tongue out and exhaling into Brad’s face.
You grab wildly for a handhold as Greg’s throat squeezes
around you, pulling you down, all light gone, only feeling
the overheated, slippery wetness of his stomach…
“Sheesh man, what the hell you been eating?” Brad steps
back, disappointed at not catching one of the residents
actually drunk.
Greg laughs, his hand scratching his belly, feeling you
squirm.
“You think this is funny man? I still caught ya with the
beer cans. I should write you up. I think maybe I’m gonna
do that. Who they gonna believe, you or me?”
Greg starts fingering the waistband of his shorts, the cum
spots still moist, joined by new stains where his dick is
leaking precum. He starts to slide them off, as Brad
stares. He aims them like a slingshot…
“I think they’re gonna believe me,” he says, as he fires on
target.