Alan the Soccer God I
By: Half Inch High

Alan was a soccer player in his mid thirties, with an incredible playing history. He’d won every cup, medal and league in Europe, and was arrogant to boot. OK, his boyish good looks had gone, but now there was a muscular brutish rogue with a god-like physique, and an attractive square jaw, who loved to be worshipped by his all his fans, and new team members when they were signed.

He worked out much harder than all his team mates; they were younger, and needed less time to recover from all the knocks. They were also intimidated by him, as were all the referees on the soccer pitch, he’d often dominated them before or after a match, forcing a blow job once they got down on their knees to worship him. Alan was just a walking piece of human attitude. Everything was his by right; his only secret was his sexuality. Of course men were also his by right, and the many thousands of conquests proved it. One look from Alan and you knew he owned you. You also knew he’d screwed you, as his physical strength was unsurpassed, as was his legendary stamina.

There was really nothing for which Alan wanted. He had the fame, the money, the fitness, the adoration and the sex; all on tap, or at the click of a finger. When he guested on television, people would throw themselves and their money at him, and sometimes he kept the money, and sometimes he kept the occasional guy for a while as a slave. He just felt something missing. Owning a guy for a while wasn’t enough. Alan knew that eventually he’d be forced to let them go, and then the newspapers would write it up, and websites would be full of how he’d tortured the poor guy. No-one believed the stories, Alan was Mr Perfect, he was infallible to them.

As he was chatting in a web-room anonymously one night, he admitted that he’d love to own a guy, totally; completely dominate every moment of that guy’s life, and even have the power to end it, without fear of ever being caught. The guy at the other end wrote back saying that this was possible……for a price. Alan didn’t reply, thinking the writer was another crank playing games, but he couldn’t help wondering, and over the next few weeks the thought played on his mind.

Late one night he went back to the chat room, and as he entered it the writer was there with the question ‘What kept you? I knew you’d be back to ask me more!’

Alan asked how it was possible, what was the cost, when could it happen, why wouldn’t he be caught? All in good time was the mysterious reply. Alan for the first time in his life felt uneasy. He usually had bags of self confidence, and swaggered everywhere he walked. A date, place and time were set. He counted the days to his meeting with this faceless oracle.

Sure enough there under a bridge of the Thames in London, Alan sat that night, and a small figure crept up to him, whispering. ‘You seek to own another man, control his life, his every move, his being, and his end?’ ‘Yes!’ was Alan’s singular reply.

He couldn’t see the face of the figure, but a tiny hand stretched out from beneath a dark velvet coat, ‘Money!’ was the utterance. The arranged fee was £100,000 (about $165,000); Alan passed a large plastic bag full of notes across, and received a small gilded box, about four inches high. The voice whispered again as the figure began to creep away, ‘Use this wisely or your undoing will begin’. Alan opened the box to find a beautiful rock crystal bottle inside. It contained a yellow liquid, which shimmered. There was tiny writing carved into the bottle which Alan could hardly read in the darkness, but fearing he’d been conned, he called out. A gust of wind carried another whisper, ‘Size matters my friend, read carefully’. Then silence fell, and Alan went home puzzled.

Once at home he deciphered the inscription, which read, ‘one drops low, two drops high’. What riddle was this? He guessed quickly and called a friend who immediately came running over thinking Alan wanted to fuck him. Alan waited by the door and as his friend entered, Alan sprinkled a drop of the yellow liquid onto him; his friend began to fizz. In less than ten seconds, the said friend was reduced to about an inch tall and was running in circles at Alan’s feet, and tickling them. In fact he wasn’t tickling at all, he was punching, but to Alan it was tickling and he laughed.

His friend was horrified, and terrified at this sudden change in height, and screamed his loudest; the pitch though was far too high for Alan to hear. Alan stooped down and picked his friend up and knew that now he really did own a guy. He could do whatever he wanted, he could stroke him and poke him, lick him, stuff him down his jock, jerk off holding him to his cock, stuff him in his ear, piss on him, the list was endless. Alan’s mind was awash with things to do, how to dominate his new pet. He also realised that the new pet would rely on him for everything, from food, to protection from marauding spiders, and other creatures. Alan began to savour his role as God, and also as torturer.

Alan knew that in his shiny black shorts there was a pouch on the inside, just above his cock. He’d never known what it was for, but he’d an idea now, and tomorrow was Saturday, match day, so for now, he put his little pet under an upturned heavy glass and went to bed.

The following morning, he woke his little pet, and took him into the kitchen where he put the little guy in his own cereal bowl and let the tiny man eat and drink alongside him, but inside the bowl. The vision made Alan hot and gave him a hard on. He also pretended to pick the protesting guy up in his spoon and lower him into his mouth. How the little man trembled on that spoon. Alan rather liked doing this and did it more than once. He’d quickly realised that this was the way to dispose of any evidence.

Once they’d taken their fill, Alan grabbed his pet, stuffed him inside the ‘cock pouch’ in his shorts and drove off to the stadium for the match. He felt all powerful, and was particularly brutal towards his coach, manager and team mates. His arrogance shocked them, and as he sat listening to the match strategy, he could feel his little pet squirming around on his cock. The match started, and in seconds Alan was running up the pitch with the ball, feeling the little man inside his shorts banging against his cock and balls, the feeling was so overwhelming that as he struck the ball towards the goal his power was immense, and as it hit the goalkeeper, it knocked him over and into unconsciousness, and the first goal was scored. Alan screamed and roared with satisfaction, the crowds screamed in adoration, and referee looked on in awe while the goalkeeper was carried away and his replacement walked on. Alan grabbed his crotch and yanked at it. The little pet inside was terrified, bruised and wondering what he’d done to deserve such a fate. He knew how brutal Alan was, and knew that his new master didn’t really care how he was. He was only there for Alan’s pleasure, and that pleasure was growing.

Alan throughout the next ninety minutes of play was ruthless, scoring an English record of nine goals, reducing two goalkeepers to being carried off, and had one very scared referee. All through this, Alan was scheming. He could reduce any of his opposition, and decided to start from now. Every match he won, he’d shrink a player or two and do what he wanted with them. He paid a visit to the first aid room, where the two injured goalkeepers were. They were laying there groaning, and when they saw him, they shrank away. He grinned, produced a certain rock crystal bottle and sprinkled one drop on each. In seconds they fizzed and shrank to an inch tall, and Alan picked them casually up, and inspected them closely. One had pissed himself. Alan licked him clean, then sucked him into his mouth, threw his head back and gulped.

The little goalkeeper had felt something like a huge wet mattress drop onto him then it went dark, he couldn’t imagine what was happening, and was still dazed from his injuries and from the shrinking. As his world suddenly went dark and warm, he felt constricted, and thought he might be falling. What were those gurgling noises? Was he dreaming? Had he dreamt the match, and the injuries? Was Alan really hundreds of feet tall? The gurgling noises were growing louder, and he couldn’t move. He could hear laughter, and deep rumbling. It must be a dream; he relaxed and began to drift. Of course he never woke, the lack of oxygen had kicked in, and Alan felt the satisfying plop as the goalkeeper reached his destination.

There was the second goalkeeper to deal with, but as a nice kind fan had suddenly offered a strawberry milkshake in return for an autograph, Alan had his solution, and in front of tens of thousands of fans, he plopped the other goalkeeper into the milkshake and lifted it up. He could see the tiny man struggling in the froth, and gave an evil grin as he began to swallow. The little guy was more awake than his colleague and began to pray. This couldn’t be happening. How could Alan have this power? He didn’t get long to pray as the cup tilted higher and higher, until feet first he began sliding towards a darkening cavern. He tried to hold on to something but the waxy sides of the cup were unforgiving, and he slid into Alan’s welcoming and hungry mouth. Alan swallowed the milkshake, but held the tiny prisoner under his tongue, he tasted the sweaty little man, and rolled him around like a piece of chewing gum. All this time he was parading around the stadium grinning, and clapping, enjoying the adoration, and the new found power. He was a god.

Inside Alan’s mouth the second goalkeeper was thrown around, from cheek to cheek, towards the back of the throat, knowing his end was near. He clung on to something hard but soon saw in the dimness that it was a tooth. He let go and fell backwards, screaming, and writhing. The tickling produced a reflex from Alan who swallowed hard. He felt the little lump go down this throat and belched. And far down inside the cock pouch his pet was almost unconscious from the fumes of sweat, the heat and the constant knocks he received from his master’s balls and cock.

It didn’t matter though because as soon as Alan got home he plopped his pet into a glass of beer and looked down at him. The terrified little guy knew that Alan could drink a pint in five seconds, and saw that his life was about to end in Alan’s stomach. He pleaded, he swam around, he looked up at Alan and saw a huge gaping mouth advancing. There was a rush, a waterfall of beer, and the shrunken morsel flew into Alan’s mouth straight down his gullet in five seconds without touching the sides.

Alan belched again, his pet never heard it as he’d already drowned on the way down. Alan sat and jerked off, he’d swallowed three little guys, had plenty of yellow liquid left, and knew that he could buy more. What a weekend he’d had already, what power, what status, he could destroy or own anyone. Who should he tackle next?

To be continued…….