Onion Hill Manor

By William Allen 
5 parts
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Part 1: Brian

Logging—sawmills and such—had been the dominant industry in town for almost two hundred years, but it was still surrounded by dense, pine-scented forests for miles around. The massive, gray, stone mansion, the subject of myriad urban legends and local folklore, could only be seen (and even then, only parts of it) from the neighboring hilltops, but from the long road which wound around the base of Onion Hill, all anyone could see were the old, wrought-iron gates, and the crest above them. Everyone in town knew the symbol of the Manor: A shield with three onions, flanked by a serpent on one side, and a stag on the other. The longer history of the enormous house, and the many stories I grew up hearing about it, could be elaborated on here, but that is not why I am telling this story and it is not why you are reading it.

My first-hand experiences began at the bar. I had been there with Barb, whom I had begun dating casually roughly two weeks before. A mutual friend had set us up and, while our chemistry was mostly physical, it was better than nothing. I had just ordered another drink, when Barb received an urgent call from work and had to leave. I was sitting alone with my beer, trying not to feel to dorky, when from the several seats down I heard: “Alex?”

I looked up at the patron calling my name. “Brian?” I said. “Brian, is that you?”

“Alex, jeez… how long has it been?”

“Since high-school—too long, man.” Brian came around to sit in Barb’s empty seat. Brian and I hadn’t really been friends in school, but friendly. He had always been a good-looking guy—strong jaw, dazzlingly blue eyes, taut swimmers build, and straw-colored hair that remained perfectly arranged without gooey product—but the ten years since we graduated had only made him more gorgeous… and built. I remembered him being fit, but not like this. His jeans were pulled to their extreme over his thick, swollen thighs, and the peak of each abdominal muscle was pressed clearly against his thin, cotton t-shirt, as were the nipples on his heavy, meaty chest. The fabric of his autumn jacket strained around his fat biceps and shoulders, impossibly wide atop a thirty-inch waist.

For a while we chatted about old times. Rather—he talked. I didn’t have much to say; I kept finding myself staring at his body, practically feeling it’s strength radiating across the mere eight inches between us. When I’d catch myself staring I’d try to look him in the eyes, but they were such a haunting, beautiful blue that they were just as provoking.

I had not aged poorly, but not nearly as well as him, either. When Brian knew me, I had been respectably fit, due pretty much entirely to a teenage metabolism. Now, no longer growing and having developed a deep and intense affection for beer in college, I had acquired a bit of squishy, shapeless mass around my stomach and ass. No one had ever called me fat, in fact I still received compliments on my build from time to time, but next to me, Brian looked like another species.

“But what about you, Bri?” I asked. I needed to keep him talking. I was so hypnotized by his body that I was struggling to put sentences together. “Last I heard, you were in med school.”

“Yeah?” Brian turned his tumbler around in his thick paw. “Wasn’t sure if that got around. I didn’t keep up much with anyone from back then.”

“So, you’re a doctor now?”

“Technically, I guess…” He was hiding something now. He smiled, knowingly, through shining, white, perfectly even teeth.

“Are you working in the hospital here?”

“Nahhh.”

“Where, then?” He pulled the lapel of his jacket away from the breast of his t-shirt, revealing a white stencil of a familiar crest against the charcoal fabric. “You work at the Onion Hill Manor?”

“Yeah.”

“What- like… as a servant? I didn’t think anyone actually lived there.”

“Nobody does… not really.” He said, pecs jumping a little as he fingered the crest. “But there’s a staff. Several guys, just taking care of the house. And they want to have a medical professional on hand. I guess ‘cause it’s so out-of-the-way and all.”

“Wow. So you’ve actually been inside? Isn’t it creepy?”

“You wanna see it?” Brian asked. I was taken aback. I’d grown up hearing all kinds of stories about the big spooky house on the hill, and then turning right around and telling them myself: of course I wanted to see it

“When?”

Brian shrugged his boulder-shoulders. “How ‘bout right now?”

It was after ten in the evening. “Is it open? Can we get in?”

Brian chuckled. “I can,” he said. “I live there.”

“You live in that house?”

“We all do,” he said. “It’s not as creepy as you might think; we take pretty good care of the place. We’re expected to live there, and we don’t get to leave very often. But the pay is great, and I get along well with the other guys. So, you wanna see it?” A few minutes later an Uber was dropping us off at the massive stone gates under the familiar serpent, stag, and onions.

“It’s a bit of a walk,” Brian said, fitting a massive key into the padlock on the gates. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I like a walk,” I said. As he pulled the gate shut behind us with a resounding clang, I realized that Brian was taller than I remembered. For some reason, in my memory, we were always eye to eye, but now, as we walked up the path through the woods, he was clearly several inches taller. Funny how memory works.

Eventually, the huge mansion loomed into view. It was impossibly large, stretching hundreds of feet in either direction as we headed up the wide stone steps to the massive, oak doors. “It’s big, alright,” Brian said, as if reading my mind. “I actually got lost a few times when I started here, so stick close.” The front door was so big it seemed to only have to open a crack for me to enter, and not much more for Brian, even though he was a head taller than me, and at three times as wide at the shoulders. Once inside we were in a dark, paneled entrance hall with thick pillars in the corners. Against one wall, a flame was slowly dying in an ornately carved fireplace with a jewel-encrusted clock built into the mantel. “Nice, right?” Brian’s voice came through the dark from somewhere above me, clapping his thick sausage fingers on my shoulders. It was the first time we’d actually touched, and I was struck by how warm his hands were, even after walking through the cool autumn night. “Here, let me show you around.”

Brian pulled aside a heavy emerald curtain at the far end of the hall, revealing a long, marble-floored corridor beyond. “The drawing room is this way.” At the far end of the corridor was another door. “See, it’s not so creepy.” He was right. I’d always imagined the inside of the Onion Hill Manor as a derelict haunted house. It was, admittedly, very nice and well kept, but there was something old-world and slightly sinister about the dark wood carvings, antique furniture, and grim portraits glaring down at us from the walls.

Brian’s tour continued, first through the games room with its pool tables and cocktail bar, then the trophy room, crowded with its menagerie of taxidermy-ed animals from all over the world. “And this,” Brian continued, maneuvering through a back hall to a decoratively framed door. “…is the library.” I’ve never been much of a reader, but the library was easily the most impressive room I’d ever seen. It was at least a hundred feet long, probably longer. At one end was another enormous fireplace with chairs and sofas crowded around it, and at the other an enormous window. Besides these two features, the walls were completely lined with bookcases. Above us was a gallery level, also lined with bookcases, accessed by two spiral staircases on either side of the window.

I was so in awe of the room that I didn’t even notice Brain sidle up next to me. “Huge, isn’t it?” I nodded in agreement, even as the word itself was being redefined. I really hadn’t appreciated how much taller Brian was than me—about a foot at least, which put him nearer seven than six feet tall. It must have been the house—I was so intrigued by it—that I hadn’t even really been paying attention. He stood there now in the moonlight, thick, meaty arms barely able to cross his round, protruding chest. He had shed his jacket back in the entrance hall and his thick tricep, deeply cut into a jagged angle, hung at exactly eye level, arms pushing his pecs together, forming a deep, sculpted valley. How could I have forgotten how tall he was?

“Through here,” he continued, leading me through the library into the hall beyond, “Is my office.” This room was quite different. Not only was it much smaller than the others I’d seen, it was easily more modern. It was still comfortable, with a wide desk and comfortable chair, but also had everything you might see in a normal doctors’ office.

“It’s nice,” I said.

Brian shrugged. “It’s enough.”

In the far corner of the room was another door. “What’s through there?” I asked.

Brian’s teeth gleamed through the dark in a wide Cheshire-cat grin. “Go take a look,” he said, pushing me towards the door with palm of his hand, which was nearly as wide as the widest part of my back. The door led into a tower bedroom that I realized was Brian’s. “Sit on the bed,” he said. “That’s a real feather mattress. Feels great.” I didn’t have to be asked twice; I flopped down on the king-sized bed, which was easily the most comfortable I’d ever known. Also in the room was a side table, bureau, and various personal items. Over at the doorway Brian had to turn sideways and duck his head to negotiate his way into the room. Between his massive, round shoulders and thick, slab-like pecs it was no simple task. He walked over to the bed and stood above me. He reached down with one finger and slowly massaged my soft stomach. “This wasn’t here before,” he chucked deeply.

“Well, neither was this,” I replied, tracing my own, tiny finger down the deep trench separating his lower abs. They were completely bare, sitting well below the hem of his shirt. “I think that shirt’s too small for you, big guy.”

“It’s the uniform,” he mumbled, looking away. I was scared I embarrassed him and he’d ask me to leave, but instead he just peeled off the skin-tight shirt. For a second I couldn’t say anything. Underneath his clothes his body was every bit as big as it had seemed. Not just big, but cut. Each swollen muscle, pulsing with strength, was deeply carved out, and fat, protruding veins crisscrossed his arms. I must have been staring because he looked away again, smiling sheepishly. “I’ve been working out a lot recently,” He said.

“You were always a big guy,” I said, staring up at him. “I mean, look how tall you are.”

Brian’s smiled faded a bit again, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he laid down on the bed next to me. Even in that big bed, his legs reached clear off the edge. His arm was between us, fingertips the size of golf-balls grazing my hair. Looking into his eyes—brilliantly blue, even in the dark—I took his last two fingers in my hand, and squeezed. It was years ago that I first realized I could be attracted to men. I had never thought I would act on it though—I just couldn’t see myself getting along with a man the way I got along with women, and I’d never thought about Brian that way when we were kids. But now, lying so close to him in the dark room, all I wanted was to feel his soft skin against me, squeeze his fat, round muscles, and be totally overpowered by his size.

I gave Brian’s fingers another squeeze, and his smile widened. I slowly moved my lips towards the side of his hand. For a split second, I thought of Barb. She was pretty great: gorgeous, great sense of humor, and even though we were only dating casually it seemed wrong to fool around with someone else, man or woman...

It was all over the second my lips touched his skin. Even the rough creases on the side of his hand held a warm, erotic energy, and as I ran my hand up and down the soft flesh and thick veins of his inner arm, I heard him sigh a deep sigh, welling up from deep within his massive frame. Wrapping his meaty hand around my entire shoulder, Brian moved me from my side to my back. It wasn’t a push, but a gentle guiding motion. I was only too eager to go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. He moved onto his hands and knees with me directly under him. For a brief moment, he stared down at me with his gorgeous eyes. Then, he lowered his anvil-sized head down for a kiss, pressing his plush lips against mine. For a long time, we kissed—his lips were so thick that I could kiss the upper while massaging the lower with my thumb. We just kissed for a while, as the soft skin of his firm chest bristled against mine, and every now and then he would buck his groin reflexively.

Suddenly, Brian sat up. The movement was so intense that the whole bed shook. Even in that massive bed, his knees nearly straddled the whole thing, and his head brushed the ceiling. “Let’s even this out,” He chuckled in an impossibly low voice and delicately pulling at my t-shirt.

I complied, holding up my arms for him to pull the garment off as if I were a child. I looked down at my own body. It was much smoother than his, and felt a twang of embarrassment and inferiority. Those feelings evaporated as he gently pushed me back down, and tried to kiss me along my chest and stomach. After a while he sat up again, and I took the opportunity to wriggle out of my jeans and briefs. I was eager to show him my penis. I might not have been competitive in the abdominal or arm department, but in the past if I’d been able to get far enough with a girl for her to see my dick, it almost always helped to seal the deal. It was big, and well proportioned, and accompanied by—if I may so myself—some seriously huge balls. I looked down proudly at my large, proud, rock-hard cock, and then back up at Brian. For a brief moment, I felt another surge of embarrassment; Brian was so tall that there was no way his dick and balls weren’t bigger than mine, much bigger, but even so he looked down at mine with a certain reverence. He was still for a moment. He reached down and let it lie along the width of his warm, left palm, and gently ran the hot, calloused tip of his right forefinger all along the vein of my hard dick. He gently stroked it, handling it as if it were a precious artifact, before planting a warm, wet kiss along it. Then, taking it gently, he rolled it about in the folds of his mammoth tongue, breathing in the musk of my bushy pubes with a deep inhale through the nose, pulling a blast of cool air against my groin.

At this I moaned involuntarily, eyes closed, and heard him let out another chuckle. When I opened my eyes, I saw him moving above me again—or rather I saw a ceiling of deep cut abs eclipsing everything else. They came crashing down on top of me. Brian was still supporting his own weight, thankfully as he might crush me, and ran the length of his deeply contoured, cobbled torso along my body. When the band of his low-riding boxers, stretched to the breaking point by the sheer size of even his narrow waist, came up to my navel he bucked back. Again, his swollen pec came crashing down to my face, and he repeated the motion.

After running his torso several times along the length of my body, Brian rolled onto his back and wriggled out of his jeans. Scooping one great steam-shovel hand under my back he pulled me up on top of him, face down on his hot, hard chest, gently expanding and contracting with each deep breath. His warm, firm muscles twitched involuntarily under me as he massaged my doughy ass-cheeks with his two forefingers. I sat up and scooted back. Straddling the smallest part of his waist, I reached up and capped my palms over his nipples. The second I did, he let out another guttural moan, which I returned. Under his fat nipples his chest was rock hard, thick and round, bristling involuntarily under my hands as I worked it.

Brian opened his eyes and grinned his mischievous grin. “Take a look at this,” He said, cocking his eyebrows at something behind me. Turning around I saw that he had pulled his dick—a full foot at least—out of his boxers. It was unflinchingly rigid. Almost hypnotized, I reached out and cupped my hand around it. Or rather, as much as I could. Even with both hands I couldn’t encircle it entirely. “Do you like it?” Brian asked. I didn’t answer. I scooted down off of his mammoth groin and moved around so that his dick was between me and his face. Looking him dead in his eyes, I took as much of his dick in my hands as possible, and gently pulled the head towards my face. I couldn’t fit his dick in my mouth—I couldn’t even fit the head of his dick in my mouth, but, drawing in a deep breath, I took what I could and furiously traced the edges of the slit with my tongue. Brian sighed again and closed his eyes, his incredibly large cock bucking against my mouth. It was hard work. My jaw began to ache as I tried to swallow the pre as it welled up. Suddenly, when I thought I could take no more, Brian let out a moan that shook the round room as sweet and bitter cum came shooting out into my face. I tried to take what I could, but it was too much and I was thrown violently back as Brian’s hips bucked, and long arcs of stringy cum were launched across the bed.

He groaned again, and he reached down and scooped me up like a doll in his arms. I was tumbled about for a second but then found myself again pressed up against the muscles of his chest, held there by his strong arms. My own dick, still rigid, felt its way into the cleft between his engorged pecs, and with his biceps flexing involuntarily against my back I was overcome by muscle and soft, perfectly smooth skin. Feeling his hot breath down on my and his muscles around me I quickly came onto his chest. Brian, half asleep, rolled onto his back. He dipped the fingers of his free hand into the puddle of cum I’d left between his pecs, sighed again, and was asleep. Next to him I hugged my own arms around his monstrous bicep. As I did, my toes brushed against his fingertips, and my head was positioned to nuzzle into his full deltoid.

“How had I forgotten that Brian was the biggest kid in class?” I thought as I drifted off to sleep. “How could you ever forget someone so big…?”

“Brian! C’mon, get up!” The pounding on the door came abruptly and pulled me out of a dreamless sleep. “C’mon! You were supposed to help me set up the breakfast. Where were you?”

Next to me in bed, Brian stirred. “Sorry,” he muttered, stretching. He opened his eyes and looked into mine. We both smiled. At the bottom of the bed I felt his warm toes against mine. I remembered that last night I had the idea that he was taller than me. What had given me that idea?

The bedroom door burst open and in bounded a big, square-jawed man with fluffy, reddish hair and thick lips. He was also wearing a t-shirt with the Onion Hill Manor logo on it. “You were supposed to help me set up for breakfast, man!” he said to Brian.

“Sorry, Ed,” Brian muttered again as he stood up out of bed. “Alex, this is Edgar. He works here too.”

Edgar looked over at me. He was tall, with a thick body and a handsome, square face. He had thick eyebrows which gave him a slightly mischievous look, and a wide smile that gave him a very mischievous look. “Hey,” he said to me. Everything about his attitude suggested there was nothing unusual about finding a strange, naked man in Brian’s bed, and everything about Brian’s attitude suggested that there was nothing unusual about Edgar barging into his room even while he was naked.

Brian sidled out of the bed and went over to his bureau. His dick was still outside of his boxers. I stood up, trying to hold the sheets over me.

“Don’t worry about covering up,” Edgar said. “We’re not prudish here.” I wasn’t covering up because I was prudish: I was covering up because I was embarrassed! I’d never felt more ashamed to be so boringly average, standing between these two intimidatingly beautiful men, with their beefy, perfectly proportioned bodies. Brian turned back to me and winked. His eyes were perfectly level with mine. What made me think he was so much taller than me? I hadn’t been that drunk last night, had I? “As you can see, Bri loves letting his nine-incher dangle.” Nine inches, same as me. Why did it seem so big last night?

“You staying for breakfast?” Brian asked, pulling on his jeans and a tank-top. The tank top had the house crest in the dead center of the chest, and it was pulled wide and distorted by Brian’s pecs. The same thing was happening to Edgar’s t-shirt; his biceps—no less than twenty inches—filled the sleeves entirely.

I pulled myself from my stupor. “Sorry?”

“You should eat with us,” said Brian. “Ed makes great pancakes.”

“I gotta get to work,” I said, hurrying into my clothes. “Thanks, though.”

“It’s cool,” Brian said. “Ed, can you show him out?”

“No prob,” Edgar said, smiling wickedly.

“Thanks,” Brian said, digging out socks with tiny crests on the ankles. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“You too,” I said, and headed out.

Edgar moved quickly, gracefully even, for a guy his size. “You friends with Brian?” He asked, taking me back through the mansions rooms to the front door.

“High school friends,” I said.

“And more, from the looks of it,” Edgar smiled that same wicked smile, his green eyes glittering.

“I guess…” I wasn’t sure how to respond. There was something about Edgar. He was so good looking it was hard not to stare. But also, there was something a little scary about him, a little mysterious… alluringly dangerous, even.

“Hey, we don’t judge here,” he said. “Gotta live life. Well, see you around.”

“See ya,” I said as the heavy front door closed behind me. I was glad to get away from Edgar. There was something about him… almost inhuman.

I thought about Brian. It was my first sexual encounter with a man. Was it his? Why had it been so… what? Edgar had just called out his nine-inch cock. My own cock was nine-inches… why did his feel so much bigger in my hands? It had felt over a foot.

Brian was a big guy… big dick, big muscles—very big muscles—but last night his head had brushed the eight-foot-high ceiling before he crawled into bed—or at least it seemed to. I must have been really drunk. But I’d felt sober when we entered the house. And I wasn’t hung over this morning… but what other explanation could there be, really?

I didn’t think about Brian for most of the rest of that day. I thought about Edgar. I didn’t want to think about him, but I couldn’t stop. There had been something creepy about him. Something fascinatingly creepy. Something…

Part 2: Colton

The next morning, I had an email from TMitchell@OnionHillManor.org. It was from Brian’s boss up at the Manor. There was an opening for a new staff member, and apparently Brian had recommended me. He told me it was an unusual job, but it paid well, and if I was interested I should drop by the next day for an interview.

“Are you going to go?” Barb asked. I’d told her how I’d met Brian at the bar after she left, but not that I’d gone home with him.

“I dunno… it seems like a really weird place to work,” I said. “I don’t even know what I’d have to do.”

“Well you should go and find out,” Barb said. “Besides, you’re always complaining about how much you hate your job.” She was right about that, so the next day I found myself, again, heading up the long walk towards the creepy, imposing mansion.

I was trudging up the front line when, from a cluster of trees nearby I heard: “Alex! What are you doing here?”

I was confused. It wasn’t Brian’s voice. “I got an email… Colton? How have you been, man?”

“Great!” Colton had dated my sister for most of last year. They’d eventually broken up, but we’d gotten along so well we’d stayed friends, for a while anyway. I hadn’t spoken to him since before the summer. He was shorter than me, but only by about two or three inches. He was shirtless, in dark gray cargo-pants with the familiar crest stitched onto the back pocket. I’d never seen Colton shirtless before. His body was deeply tanned and toned; not built like as Brian or Edgar, but with deeply cut, well-shaped muscles. They were all perfectly visible and defined. His chest was truly gorgeous; each pec was plump but pert, not sagging but bouncing and twitching with every little movement.

I was also struck by how Colton, like Brian, was a good deal handsomer than I’d remembered. Brian had always been good looking; He could have been a four-hundred-pound shut-in with mold growing under his tits; he would have had a handsome face. But Colton had never struck me as anything more than… let’s say: symmetrical. But now, there was something about him that I found much more alluring than ever before.

“You work here? At Onion Hill Manor?”

“Yeah, I’m the groundskeeper,” He said, raising the leaf-blower. “I took the job for the summer to make some money… I was gonna start community college in September. But then, I was earning as much here as I’d wanted to with a degree anyway. So now that my probation period ended the other day…” He shrugged, smiling.

“Cool,” I said. “And you like it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I love working outdoors… it’s pretty great.”

“Getting a lot of color,” I said, and he grinned sheepishly, flexing his tan arms and shoulders, admiring the warm brownness of his own skin.

After showing off a bit he asked “What are you doing here?”

“I got an email from… your boss, I guess?” I said. “He wanted me to interview for a job.”

“My boss?” Colton looked suddenly confused. “You mean…”

“Well I was recommended,” I interrupted. “I don’t know if you know, I’m old friends with…”

“Right!” Now it was Colton’s turn to interrupt. “I forgot, you know…” Before he could continue, a shrill, digital musical phrase issued from his pocket. Colton reached in and pulled out a small, tablet-like device that was ringing and illuminated with some incomprehensible display. “Crud,” Colton sighed, looking at the display. “I gotta go deal with this. Hey! I’ll see you coming out, all right?”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. Don’t leave without saying ‘goodbye’.” With that, Colton bounded off into the trees, calf-muscles crumpling into rigid angles and then releasing into fat mounds of smooth flesh almost mechanically under his dark skin.

I approached the massive oak doors. There was a long, braided bell-pull, which I tugged. Shortly the door was opened by yet another handsome and muscular young man—what was with this place? Unlike Brian, Edgar, or Colton, this one had dark hair, thick and rope-y, and very dark eyes. These features, along with his pronounced cheek and jawbones, and the deep cleft in his chin, contributed to his somewhat intimidating, sexy-vampire look. His body was every bit as jacked as Brian’s, perhaps more so, and definitely taller. He had wide, round shoulders giving way to thick biceps, and heavy pecs overhanding his abdomen. He was dressed in black pants, with a tight-fitting black-and-gray plaid button-up shirt. The top several buttons were left open, exposing a tangle of cords under the skin of his thick neck, and a deep valley running down his pale chest before disappearing into V-neck of a black undershirt. “You are Alex?” His voice was deep, and sexy-raspy.

“I got an email inviting me to come today,” I said.

Sexy, built vampire guy smiled. “I know, I sent it. Come on in.” Again, I entered the walnut paneled entrance hall, lit now by murky oil lamps. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mitchell. Terrence Mitchell.”

“So do I call you Terrance or Mr. Mitchell?” I asked, following him again into the massive library.

“Just Mitchell is fine,” he replied. “I don’t care, but that’s how the owner would prefer it. He’s never around, but everyone else calls me Mitchell anyway.” He ducked into a long, low room with a wide desk at the far end. The walls were lined with display cases and shadow-boxes, containing everything from rare coins and artifact tools to preserved animal skeletons. “Take a seat.”

I sat in the plush, wing-backed chair in front of the desk, and he sat behind it. He shuffled through several papers and reached for a pen. Every slight motion sent in his forearms into a flutter of activity, as dozens of tiny muscles contracted and pulsed.

“I understand you know some of the workers here at Onion Hill Manor,” Mitchell said. His voice was low and monotone, and I could see, in another situation, being lulled to sleep by it. It didn’t help that his face was hard to see, silhouetted by the sunlight pouring in through the window behind him, highlighting the short, light hairs dancing along his arms.

“Well, yes, I knew Brian pretty well in high school, I guess,” I said. “And Colton. I know Colton.”

“Right,” Mitchell made a note on the paper before him. “How much do you know about this job?”

I shook my head. “I don’t really know anything.”

“Well, Onion Hill Manor has been owned by a prominent American family for over a hundred years,” Mitchell began. “They are almost never here, but, for reasons of their own, they like to make sure the house and grounds are taken care of. This requires a full-time staff to live at the house, which I manage. I also function as a butler when the family is here.”

“Interesting…” I wasn’t really sure what to say.

“I understand you’ve met some other members of the staff as well. Edgar is our cook and nutritionist, Colton the groundskeeper…”

“What would I be doing?” I asked. “I don’t really have any kind of training for anything like that.”

“What I’m looking for is a porter,” Mitchell said. “It’s basic security. Not even security. Just knowing who’s coming and going from the house, making occasional rounds. It’s not hard work, but we need someone full-time; and it pays well.”

“And I’d have to live here at the house to do it?” I asked.

“We’d need you on hand twenty-four-seven,” Mitchell nodded. “We’d set you up with a room, and meals are provided.”

“Seven days a week?”

“That’s the one rough part of this job. We only get one afternoon and night off a week. We rotate days. Then we get a full weekend off once a month, and a full week at Easter, July 4th, Thanksgiving, and Christmas-New Years. And at Hollow-week we get to pick our night off.”

“That’s… not a lot.”

“But it pays very well,” Mitchell said, showing me a contract. My eyebrows lifted—it was very generous. “It’s a good job,” Mitchell continued. “We’ve had some turnover this year. We had to replace our old groundskeeper earlier this summer. And then two weeks ago…” he trailed off. “You’d be on probation for a few weeks. Just to make sure it’s a good fit. But after that, if you like working here and I think it’s going well, the family will have to give you final approval.”

“All for basic security work? I mean, I don’t have any training in that, or…”

“It’s really fine,” Mitchell said. “It’s an easy job, and pretty idiot proof. But we need someone, and Brian thought you’d get along well with the rest of us. What are you doing now?”

“Nothing good,” I admitted.

“Well, why don’t you think about it tonight,” Mitchell said. “If you figure it’ll work out, come back tomorrow. If not, just shoot me an email.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

“Brian thinks you’d be a good fit,” Mitchell repeated, standing up from the desk. “And I gotta say, that means a lot to me. I think very highly of Brian.”

“Well that was nice of him to say,” I said. I was slightly embarrassed. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but also, when Mitchell stood up, I realized that he had an enormous bulge.

Walking back out of the front doors I turned the idea over in my mind. I’d love to get away from my current work situation, but the idea of spending six-and-a-half days a week at Onion Hill Manor was still really weird. And why had Brian thought I’d be a good fit? I’d met four people working here so far and what they’d all had in common was that they were inhumanly, gorgeously masculine, which I was not. And there was still something about this place that I couldn’t quite…

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that it took me a moment to realize that I had no idea how to get out of the manor. Mitchell had, presumably by accident, shown me out of the study through a different door than I had come in, leaving me in a strange, but somehow familiar corridor. Suddenly another door burst open and I realized why it was familiar—I was standing right outside Brian’s office. “So, it’ll all be fine,” Brian was saying, showing someone out. “There’s nothing to worry about—Oh, hi, Alex.” Brian waved as Colton, still in his boots and cargo shorts but now wearing a grass-stained, white V-neck, stepped out of the office.

Colton gave a wide smile when he saw me. “Hey, how’d the interview go?” he asked.

“I guess it went well,” I said, shrugging. “Mitchell told me the job was mine if I wanted it.”

“Then you’re working here!” Brian beamed widely. “Unless…” His face fell a little. “You do want the job, right?”

“I mean—and thanks for recommending me, I really appreciate it,” I said. “But it is a huge time commitment. Coming to live here, only a few hours off a week.”

“It’s an easy job,” Colton said. “There’s lots of down-time, actually. It’s just we only get a few hours off campus a week.”

“Even so…” I said. I felt bad. Brian had been so nice to recommend me, and now they both seemed disappointed I was going to turn it down. “I’ll definitely think about it,” I promised. “Just remind me, how do I get out of here?”

“You can go right through here,” Colton said, pointing to a door at the far end of the hall. “It’s actually easier. Closer to the road. I’ll show you out.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Bri, I’ll see you around.”

“Think hard about it,” Brian said, waving a thick paw good-bye. His other hand was buried in his pants pocket, and his bicep was fighting against his lats. “It’s a really fun job, really.”

“I will,” I promised.

Colton showed me through the doors back onto the front lawn, about sixty feet down from the main entrance. “It’s an awesome job,” he said. He was looking at me with his cool, gray eyes, his thin brows dancing adorably above them. “I was also worried when I started, but after a while… and now that my probation period is over… well…” I realized I was staring. He had none of Brian or Mitchell’s mass, but in terms of definition he left them both behind. If their muscles were blown up with a pump, his were carved from oak. When he reached up to rest his hands against the porches overhang, his shoulders creased and I saw that deep cuts ran along the insides of his biceps. The pose pulled his tiny T-shirt up revealing his lower abdominals, each the size of an egg blistering under his beautifully tan, silky skin. The cords in his thin, jock-boy legs fluttered like those in Mitchell’s forearms, and his cargo shorts billowed like parachutes around his taut calves.

“I’ll definitely think about it,” I said, willing myself to look him in the face, just below mine.

“And if you’re the new porter, I guess I’ll still be the little guy around here,” he smiled—his smile was beautiful.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I said. I don’t know why, it was so unlike me. “See you later,” I bounded down the steps and only after a moment realized that I really did want to see him later. Him and Brian. And Edgar. And Mitchell…

That night I told Barb about the job. Quite literally the job, and not the gorgeous muscle-hunks I’d be working with.

“The money’s good,” I was saying for about the eightieth time. “And the guys seem nice, but…”

“Just take the job!” Barb finally barked. “We all know you’re going to take the job!” She wasn’t wrong, and the next night, when I pulled the braided cord to ring the doorbell for the second time, it was with a backpack and suitcase full of the things I would need to live at the manor.

Colton answered, every bit as adorable as ever, wearing the charcoal gray tank-top with the manor’s logo across his taut, carved chest, and a pair of black pants crumpled around his strong but wiry legs. “All right!” he cheered upon seeing me. “Mitchell said you’d decided to come work with us. He left all the papers in his study for you to sign.”

He guided me to the room in question and I sat down to go through the paperwork. “Is Mitchell not around?” I asked, filling out the small stack of forms that had been left on the desk.

“It’s his night off,” Colton answered. “He’ll have all this processed tomorrow. I’ll show you around.” He led me back out towards another part of the house. “This is the great hall,” he said, taking me into the single largest room I’d ever seen in my life. It was huge, all in marble and gilded, carved wood with a fireplace at one end almost the size of a room in of itself, with a huge staircase looping around and up to the first gallery level circling the upper parts of a hall, moonlight streaming through the glass ceiling high above. Several sofas and chairs, even a piano, was gathered by the fireplace at the far end. “It’s pretty big,” Colton said, noticing my surprise. “But it can be pretty cozy. This is where we hang out most of the time.”

“You hang out a lot?”

“The work’s not hard,” his eyebrows continued to dance; it was so cute. “Or very demanding. We’re only allowed to leave the house one afternoon and night as week, but we’re hardly working the whole time we’re here.” He showed me into a back hallway. “This is the other place we spend a lot of time.” It was a gym. Really it was a conservatory, or at least had been in a previous life of the manor: A stone-floored, glass-walled and ceilinged room almost as big as the great hall, lined with planter-boxes. But instead of patio furniture it was filled with top-of-the-line exercise equipment.

“No wonder you’re all in such good shape,” I muttered.

“The owners want everyone working here on a regular work-out regimen,” Colton said. “That’s one of the things Brian will work on with you; finding the right workout for your body type.” Colton looked down, grinning sheepishly at his own lithe frame. “Guess I’m just supposed to be a small guy, unlike all the giants here.”

“You look better than I probably ever will,” I said. “You guys must be in here six hours a day.”

“Brian knows what he’s doing,” Colton replied. “I didn’t think I’d ever get this kind of definition. And you should’ve seen…” he trailed off. “Also, Edgar’s a certified nutritionist,” he added as an afterthought. “So he’ll have a meal plan to go along with whatever Brian has you doing in here.”

Next, he led me down a back hallway lined with smaller, sparser rooms where I guessed servants had worked once upon a time. “This is where the footmen used to keep their liveries,” he said, pulling me into a small room lined with cupboards. “But now it’s where we keep the uniforms. All the laundry is sent out, but you’ll wanna grab some stuff to put in your room.” He opened up some cupboards revealing a large collection of black denim pants and shorts, as well as charcoal t-shirts, tank-tops, button-ups and black jackets emblazoned with the familiar three onions. “There are also socks and boots, and winter apparel.” I wasn’t listening; I had grabbed two shirts, a medium and a large, off the hangers and was trying to tell the difference. My weird body was anywhere from a small to a large depending on the manufacturer, but there was no discernable difference between any of the shirts. “No one can tell the difference worth a damn,” Colton said, grabbing four shirts at random. “Besides, everything stretches like crazy. Look,” He demonstrated, the small, scarcely smaller than an extra-large, stretch the length of his own arm-span before snapping back into shape, taught as ever. “Just grab a whole lot, and I’ll show you your room.”

I followed Colton to my room on the third floor, his head bobbing up and down just below mine down a long, bust-lined corridor off the great hall. “It’s not much,” Colton said. “We don’t get the best bedrooms, since we’re technically servants. But at least we don’t have to stay in the actual servants’ wing.” I wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t a huge room, but it was nicer than any dorm I’d lived at in college, with antique furniture including a king-sized bed, full-sized private bathroom, and sweeping view of the densely-wooded mountains surrounding the manor. “And here’s something important,” Colton said. He went over the chest-of-drawers and picked up from a charging port a black tablet-like device, identical to the one I’d seen him use the previous day. “We each get one of these. It’s got everything.”

“Everything?” I asked.

“Everything for the job,” Colton explained. “You can communicate with the others—set up appointments with Brian, put in work orders, log your exercise… And for you, you’ll do must of your job with it. Log visitors, check in during security rounds… see, it gives you a digital blueprint of the whole house.” I looked over the layout of the floor we were on, and found my room. In it were two dots labeled ‘Colton’ and ‘Alex’. “Each tablet has a chip in it. The chips are also in visitors’ badges. When visitors come in you gotta give them a badge from the cupboard in the entrance hall.”

“It’s like a Marauders’ Map,” I laughed.

Colton nodded, and raised his eyebrows as if he hadn’t considered the similarity. “Basically, yeah.”

For a while we sat on the bed, him showing me the ins and outs of the tablet. “See, it’s not that complicated,” Colton said. “You’ll get the hang of it.” He put his small, dark hand on my shoulder in a sort of comforting way. Even at night, in this dark, drafty mansion, his hand was very warm on me.

“I know,” I said, absently, putting my hand on his thin but firm thigh. As I did so he lay down on his back, arms above his head, exposing the deep grooves separating his biceps and triceps. With a sudden mental jolt, I realized just how tiny he was; in that position, his feet dangled off the edge of the low bed, kicking like a child’s. “God, you’re tiny,” I blurted out, fingering—and then gripping—the loose fabric of his tank-top as it bloused around his lithe torso.

“I’m pretty small,” he agreed, flashing a wicked, dazzlingly white smile. “Here, let me”. He pulled off the tank top, exposing his long, slinky abs and heavy, round pecs. “But you’re a pretty big guy, from what I hear,” he said, crawling across the bed towards me. “From what Brian’s told me,” he continued. He placed his open hand gingerly on the crotch of my jeans, lightly fluttering his fingertips against the thick, unyielding denim. “Brian says it’s a real sight.”

“You wanna see?” I asked. I still couldn’t believe that now this second gorgeous guy, even such a small gorgeous guy, would be so aggressively interested in my soft body. I was equally shocked at my own boldness, and could feel a shit-eating grin spread across my own face. “You can take a look if you want.” I undid my belt, and had made it to the button before Colton stopped me.

“No, let me,” he said, pushing my hand away with his own, significantly darker and more shapely, but only two thirds of the size at most. “Just lie down,” he said.

I complied while moved onto his muscled stomach, nestled himself between my legs and, gripping the sides of my pants, gently pulled them down and off. “Woah,” he let out an involuntary utterance, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, as his eyes grew wide at the sight of my slowly enlarging cock, pulsating bigger and bigger, stiffer and stiffer in the warmth radiating from his body.

“Don’t tell me it’s too big for a little guy like you,” I said.

“Nothing’s too big for me,” Colton said. For a half-second he seemed seriously upset, as if I’d said it as a serious challenge to his abilities rather than as a light-hearted joke, but then he smiled again, and worked me in his little hands—and then his little mouth.

Now it was my turn to whimper, and I involuntarily grabbed the back of his head and he inched me further and further into him. To my amazement, I was almost able to cup his entire head in my hand. How was he able to fit so much of me inside of him? I leaned back as my dick rolled around his roiling mouth, when suddenly he released. I looked down into his tiny face. He spoke up in a tiny voice, “Can I do something?” he asked.

“What?”

“I want to see what it’s like,” he said, slowly crawling up and into my lap. “I want to know what it’s like to be so big…” He sat down with his back, dimpled with pulsating muscles, burning hot against my chest.

“It’s not that big…” I muttered. I was starting to feel a little embarrassed.

“It is to me,” Colton said in a breathless voice. “It is when you’re this tiny.” Even leaning against my torso, he was so small that the top of his head barely scraped into my field of vision. I nuzzled at his round shoulders as he took my rock-hard cock in his doll-like hands and pulled it up between his own two wiry legs. He was so small, so short (how had I never realized how short he was?) but perfectly proportioned. If I’d seen a picture of him against a white background I’d have guessed he was six feet tall, but in reality, he was barely half of that—and his tiny body made my dick look even bigger. If it had been his he could have sucked himself dry without so much as getting a stiff neck.

I clasped my hands around his shoulders—tiny in my hands but big on his body—thick, and round as globes, with visible creases where they met his biceps. His perky butt flexed and undulated against my lower stomach. Suddenly, with a squeak of a moan, his head bucked back into my chest—his toes curled and knees bent, sending the steely cords in his calves into a frenzy of undulation under tanned skin and fine, sun-bleached hair. Instinctively,

I grabbed for my crotch but of course my hand landed on his, every big of his miniscule balls and dick—even erect, no bigger than my second toe—encased in my grip as he lurched, spurting cum.

After a few moments, his tiny, toned body spasming against mine, he lay still. I lay back again and pulled him up along my chest. He nuzzled his tiny face into the heft of my own shapeless chest. “Eat it,” I whispered, raising my semen-covered fingers to him. “Lick it all up, little guy.” Obediently, eyes half-closed with exhaustion, Colton raised his head to my fingers and deftly licked them clean—his tongue no wider than a cat’s. As he did I could feel his breath quickening again, as his tiny chest—barely fifteen inches around, rose and fell against mine as his action-figure hands rustled through my own body hair.

Almost against my will, my own head tilted back, and my eyes closed. I was dreaming, all of a sudden—I must have been because that was the only way what happened next could have. “It’s your turn,” Colton squeaked, and he scooted—along his butt, he scooted down my torso. He wasn’t this tiny—no one was. No one was only the size of a Ken-doll, certainly not someone who I’d just seen using a leaf-blower the previous day

I opened my eyes when I felt his hands—hands that would hold a drinking straw like I would a baseball bat—along my still unrelentingly hard—so hard in almost hurt—dick. My eyes focused on Colton, now shorter than my erect penis was long, steady himself on my hip, and, placing his hands gingerly on my cock, begin to dance with it. Not just dancing—grinding. He pressed as much of his own tiny-yet-sexy and burningly hot body against my stiffness as he could. He was beautiful doing it, the moonlight through the window glistening off the contours and creases of his svelte but perfectly defined musculature, his face glistening with a light sweat and erotic ecstasy—he was the worlds tiniest pole-dancer, and had turned my dick into the worlds thickest pole. Suddenly, with an adorable little hop, he wrapped his arms and legs around the shaft, pulling as much of the taught skin as possible (not much at all) into his mouth. That was enough to have me suddenly bucking as great spurts of cum came rocketing out of me. It was an amazing feeling, especially for a dream, magnified by the unbelievably real feeling of the tiny guy, scarcely bigger than a lego minifig, holding on for dear life as if he were riding a bull.

As the orgasm ended and my body grew still again, I scooted up into a seating position. I reached down and picked up the tiny, sun-kissed jock-boy out of my lap. For a few moments, I just held him in my hand, fingers easily closing around him, lightly tracing the outline of his muscle with my fingertip. Even in this strangely real dream state it was hard to remember that this was Colton, someone I’d once known well. I turned him over in my hands a few times before remembering he was not just a toy, but when I steadied him he sat in my palm, grinning up at me. I lay back down, placing him on the pillow next to my face. He scooted in towards me, moving his hands up and down my face—first against my chin, then cheeks, then lips…

Even in a dream I was getting a little scared to touch him for risk of injury, but dragging my finger up between his legs, I managed to scoot him up along the pillow. At this he gave a high-pitched, almost inaudible giggle, and steadied himself against my forehead. I pushed the side of my face deeper into the pillow, causing his tiny body to roll into me so that his own dick, no bigger than the point of a ballpoint pen, against my lips, and it was in that moment that I fell asleep.

When I woke up it was still dark, with only the faintest hint of blue dawn visible in the sky outside the window. I heard the rustle of fabric and saw that Colton was pulling his pants back on. ”Oh, hey,” he said, seeing me move in the bed. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, groggily, sitting up in bed. “Should we be getting up?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Colton said, zipping up his fly with gusto. “There’s an alarm on your tablet to get you up at 7:30… then breakfast is at 8:30. I just woke up anyway ‘cause I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” I said, getting up. “Are you going back to your room, then?”

“Yeah,” Colton said. There must have been a flash of disappointment in my face that he had seen even in the dark, because he went on to say: “It’s not personal; Mitchell doesn’t mind if we fool around with each other but doesn’t like us sharing beds. He says it’s ‘cause it makes it awkward if he needed one of us in the middle of the night. If there were an emergency or something. I wouldn’t have stayed as long as I did if I hadn’t fallen asleep.”

“I’ll see you at breakfast, then?” I asked. After I did, there was a twang of embarrassment. God, was I needy.

“Yeah, of course,” Colton said. “See you then,” He clapped me on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” I said. “See you then,” I clapped back, gripping his shoulder. It was bare, practically popping out of the narrow opening of his tank top, still thick, round, and warm, but I held on to it. It was… big. Muscular, as it had been last night, but last night his body had felt so small next to mine. He wasn’t a big guy—cut, yes, but not big the way Brian or Edgar or Mitchell were big—and was a few inches shorter than me, and no one ever singled me out as being tall…

I realized I’d been gripping his beefy shoulder for a while now as I’d drifted into my thoughts and suddenly recoiled, embarrassed. At this, he led out a deep chuckle. “You’ll want to get that last hour-and-a-half of sleep,” he said, ducking out the door. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

I did crawl back into bed, even though now dawn was solidly on me. I was taller than Colton, that was a fact. Not in a way that made a difference (neither of us was destined for the NBA) but I was undeniably taller. Last night I had to have been dreaming. How, but in a dream, could Colton have been so small to fit in my hand? To dance with my cock? But he had seemed smaller than he really was long before that. He had woken up in the room; he really had been here so something must have happened. If it had started in reality, when had it transitioned to a dream? Was there another possibility?

The next thing I knew, the alarm on my tablet was buzzing and sunlight was blazing into the room.

Part 3: Mac

Turning off my alarm, I bolted out of bed and into the bathroom, nervous but excited for my first day of work here at Onion Hill Manor. I ruffled through the stacks of clothes that Colton had picked out for me the previous evening. All of it was black or dark gray, and had the mansion’s crest somewhere. I settled on a black, long sleeve waffle crew-neck and loose-fitting charcoal jeans, with black socks and the requisite steel-toed black boots. My hope was to achieve something slimming, something to hide my body while working next to the muscle-gods I’d met here, but it was not particularly effective.

I nearly got lost on the trip from my bedroom to the massive great hall, and I wondered if everyone being in such great shape was at all attributable to the simple task of walking back and forth throughout this ridiculously massive house. Finally, I found the grand staircase and, walking down, heard deep voices and booming laughter coming through a nearby door. I entered to find a small sitting room, dominated by a dining table set for seven complete with four diners. “Hey, good to see you!” Brian beamed at me from his seat near the fireplace. “Glad you found us ok.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Colton between swigs from a coffee mug. “I was gonna show you the way. I forgot.”

“No worries,” I said, taking a seat.

“We eat breakfast in lunch here in the small dining room,” Mitchell said in his voice like boulders crashing together. “Dinner is in the main dining room.” I looked around the “small” dining room, which was in dark wood with very expensive but very dated furnishings. My eye was caught by the painting above the fireplace. It was depicting something reminiscent of Greek mythology and profoundly disturbing.

“It’s called The Rape of Persephone,” the fourth diner, a stranger to me, said. “Say what you will about the owners of this place; they’ve got hella-weird taste in art.” Like Mitchell the speaker was tall and had thick dark hair, but he wasn’t pale, rather he had a very warm and rosy tan. Not as dark as Colton, but a closer second than anyone else in the room.

“Mm…” Mitchell grunted, wiping coffee from his lips with his meaty forearm and its dusting of fine black hairs. “Have you—”

Brian interrupted him. “Have you met Mac?” Mac, the unfamiliar young man sitting across the table from me, gave a small, playful wave and smiled, causing dimples to pool in the depths of his otherwise angular cheeks. His small, elfin features came together into a face that was more cute or pretty than handsome. A face that might have been an attractive woman’s except for the thickness of his expressive eyebrows and wisp of stubble on his chin. Somewhat incongruously, that delicate face grew out of a body thick with contoured, bronzed muscle. Sitting down he was still noticeably taller than the others. While Brian and Mitchell wore the gray flannel button-ups and Colton a black V-neck tee, Mac’s basketball-sized deltoids and fleshy brown biceps erupted from the sleeves of a black tank-top that fit like a second skin, pushing twin mounds of pectoral meat together, deepening the crease running down the center of his chest, diamond-hard nipples distinctly visible beneath the strained fabric. He was simply massive, not in the sense that he was more built or developed than any of the others; just all around bigger. Basically, if Colton was the small one in the crew, Mac was the big one. Hell, Brian could’ve been the small one and Mac the big one.

“Good to know ya,” Mac said, flashing a brilliantly white smile and extending a wide, thick paw for a handshake.

“Likewise,” I said, taking it. “What do you do here?”

“Caretaker,” Mac said, standing to refill his coffee mug from a samovar on a nearby table, revealing comically thick calves poking out of shorts. He was at least six and a half feet tall, with perfectly round ass that seemed to defy gravity. “General maintenance, housekeeping, that kind of stuff.”

“The maid, basically,” Brian joked.

“You know it,” Mac bellowed with pride. “Best in the business.”

“In terms of day-to-day S.O.P., a handyman,” Mitchell said, killing the joke. “If you need him to fix anything, you can put in a work order through your tablet.”

At that moment, another door flew open and Edgar came in, wheeling a trolley stacked with dishes. “Come and get yo’ vittles!” he barked through is wicked, toothy grin. He was wearing a pale gray apron, seemingly as a joke, but the front panel and tie-ribbon were perfect for highlighting the disparity between his wide chest and narrow waist. “Eat up,” he said, dropping a plate of eggs, yogurt, and clapping me on the back. The warmth of his long, freckled fingers sent a sudden charge through my body. “It takes all kind’a critters to make Uncle Edgar’s fritters!” The others all had more or less the same thing except for Mac, before whom was placed a towering stack of pancakes and pork sausages, complete with a sticky pitcher of syrup.

“Tonight’s Mac’s night off,” Brian explained between mouthfuls of egg. “Which means it’s also his cheat day. Ed’ll make you whatever you want.”

“You can put in special orders through your tablet,” Edgar said, sitting down to his own plate. “Otherwise, I just go off the plan.”

“We’ll run a couple of tests today or tomorrow,” Brian said. “Based on that we’ll put together a workout regimen and diet.”

“Also, the coffee, tea, and water are in here all day,” Edgar said, gesturing to the samovars and carafes on the nearby table. “And that armoire is actually a fridge full of anytime-snacks.”

At that, Colton popped up out of his seat and opened the doors of an antique looking armoire. The inside looked exactly like a typical refrigerator full of healthy snacks, but from the outside it was indistinguishable from a hundred-year old antique bureau.

“The family likes to keep a certain aesthetic.” Mitchell said.

“Why?” I asked. Suddenly all motion ground to a halt. For a second I was afraid I’d been insulting, but the others looked more confused than offended. “I mean, why is this place so old fashioned? It looks like nobody’s lived here since the twenties at least.”

“It’s a very old family,” Brian said at last in a hushed tone. “And they’ve owned this place for a very long time…”

“But don’t they want to update it?” I asked. “How often are they even here?”

Brian and Colton looked at Mitchell. Mitchell looked at Mac. Mac and Edgar looked at Brian. “Christmas time,” Brian said at last. “Sometimes in the spring or early summer…”

Mitchell interrupted him. “Ed where are the vitamins?”

“Oh, I got you,” Ed scuttled beck to the cart, and pulled out from its lower shelves several cups of pills. “Just part of the health plan,” he said to me. Then Mac started in on having to fix some of the balustrades in the east foyer, about which Mitchell had some very specific opinions and the conversation never resumed.

Colton was the first to leave, followed shortly by Brian, who reminded me that we’d need to make an appointment to set up my health plan. For a while I sat with the others, Mitchell telling me about my job, which sounded easier and easier the more I learned about it, and Edgar asking me about foods I liked and what he could make. They couldn’t have been nicer, more friendly, more easy-going, and I never felt judged for being so average around these other young men with faces like fallen angels and bodies like Norse gods. No one had ever gone so far to make me feel at home, but there was still something about this whole environment that was just so undeniably… creepy. There was no other word for it. Yes, the house was big and old and dark—every time I turned a corner I expected a statue to start singing “Grim, Grinning Ghosts”—but these other guys, something about them just filled me with a strange… what was the word I was looking for? Anxiety? Vulnerability? No, it was…

I was pulled from my deeper thoughts by another figure, another mound of trim, taut muscle, walking through the door and realized that a seventh seat at the table had gone unoccupied all morning.

“Sorry I’m late,” The newcomer brushed past me, a warm, tangy musk of B.O. in his wake. “I was hit the gym early and lost track of time,” he said, as if to explain the pungent cloud of masculinity hanging about him.

“No worries,” Edgar said. “Can’t promise your breakfast is still warm.”

“S’not your fault,” the new guy said. “I’m go’n take this in…” His mumbles trailed off as he left the room again.

For the first time, Mitchell grinned. “Aiden’s not a morning person.”

“He’s a good guy, though,” Mac said. “You’ll like him.”

“Aiden?” I asked. “What’s his last name?” Mitchell told me his name. “Oh my god, I know that guy!” I thought I’d recognized him. “I should go say ‘hi’ properly.”

“He’s probably in the library,” Edgar said, leading me back out into the Great Hall. “Through that door, there,” he pointed.

“Thanks,” I said and headed back into the massive, two-story library.

“Aiden,” I said. “Aiden, it’s Alex! Remember, from when we were kids?”

Aiden’s face glimmered with recognition. “Oh, wow,” he said, coming back over to shake my hand. “You’re the new porter? Brian said it was a friend of his.”

“We met in high school,” I said. “After you moved away.” I hadn’t seen Aiden since the fifth grade, and he’d changed dramatically of course in the fifteen years since, but there was still something oddly familiar in his handsome face—yes, he too was a specimen of masculine beauty. His skin was every bit as fare as Colton was dark, with light and wispy blond hair. His eyes were deep, and dark, his lips full. He was still in his workout clothes, a loose-fitting tank top and shorts, revealing yet another tall, built body. His thick, milky-white neck giving way to wide, round shoulders and pecs that extended so far beyond his narrow, cobbled core that it seemed like he might’ve been wearing a corset. His arms were thick and round with a post-work-out pump, with rivers of veins snaking down his biceps and the inside of his forearms. Even in the billowing, silky gym-shorts his quads were thick and meaty, with a softball sized bulge suspended, almost in defiance of gravity, just below the draw-strings. “So what do you do here?” I asked.

Aiden raised his thick, club-like arms out to his sides, gesturing with slab-like hands to the massive room around him. “I’m the librarian,” he said.

“Onion Hill Manor needs a full-time librarian?” I asked, incredulous.

Aiden shook his head, seeming almost sad. “Onion Hill Manor doesn’t need a full time anything,” he said, scratching the cleft of his chin with a wide thumb. “We get paid all this money to make sure the house is ready for when someone comes, but we’re the only ones ever here.”

“Can’t really complain,” I said. “Have you enjoyed it?”

Aiden shrugged. “I’ve only been here a few weeks; I’m still on probation.”

“You sound like you don’t like it.”

“I like it,” Aiden said. “I like it, it’s just…” Whatever it was that bugged him, I wasn’t going to find out anytime soon, because my tablet buzzed, telling me to go meet Brian for my company physical.

“We’ll catch up later,” I said. “It’s good to see you.” For a second, Aiden looked like he was going to say something, but then just nodded his head, looking out the window at the mountain and woods beyond.

In his office Brian measured just about every part of my body you could imagine. “Don’t bother telling me,” I said as he stood behind me, pulling his tape-measure taught around my soft chest. “I’ve got nothing to brag about.”

“You’re not in bad shape at all,” Brian said behind me. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. “Besides, if you’ve fallen off the exercise boat, we’re gonna get you right back on.” He moved to my left quad. His thick, sausage fingers brushing the bare skin of the back of my leg, radiating heat and strength and sending shivers up my body. I think Brian noticed, because he let out a low chuckle.

“Sorry.” I wasn’t sure of what else to say.

“Don’t worry about it,” Brian said, walking around to my front. His shirt had been riding up, and he had to pull it back down over deep crevices forming his abs.

After all of the measurements he started plugging the numbers into an equation, explaining how it was calculating my BMI. I wasn’t able to follow any of it. Next, he took some blood, and some various other samples. “I need to run these through the machine,” he explained. “Then I’ll have an idea of how your metabolism works, and we’ll build off of that.”

“So I’m done for now?”

“You’re done for now,” he said, walking me to his office door. There was a slight waddle to his walk and the sound of fabric rubbing together. I realized his pants were so tight as to look painted on, straining against the heft of his wide, beefy thighs. “We’ll go over the results at lunch. I think Ed’s making chicken.”

And so passed my first morning at Onion Hill Manor. The days turned to weeks. The job itself was far from demanding. Several times a day I’d have to make some rounds of the house—my tablet would send me on a little chase to several randomized locations just to make sure I was moving around, checking for irregularities, of which there never were any. On the few occasions we did have visitors—usually someone delivering groceries or something like that—I had to check them in and keep an eye on them on the map. It was an easy job.

In the evenings, we’d have dinner in the Manor’s huge dining room, laughing and talking about things we’d read or seen that day, what adventures had been had by whomever had been off the previous night, and what whomever had an off-night coming up planned on doing. After that we’d sometimes hang out in our rooms, or gather to watch a movie or play some pool in the games room. If it was warm we might go for a walk in the woods, or play basketball in front of the house with some hoops that Mac had built.

Twice a week the trainer came, and worked with each of us in turn. I didn’t know much about him, a fit, bald man with a long nose who only ever introduced himself as “The Trainer”. He had a long print out that Brian had given him, and based on that had put together an intense, two-hour workout for me that I was expected to do six days a week in the huge, glass-ceilinged gym. I didn’t complain about the time or the intensity, considering how much I was making to do a relatively easy job, but even I was surprised at the efficacy of the exercise. After just two weeks I’d lost almost all the fat on my body, and went to meet Barb on my night off in the tightest uniform V-neck I could get my hands on.

“Wow,” Barb had gasped, fingering the rigid indentation where my shoulder met the side of my bicep. “Those are some intense workouts.”

“I know,” I said. “I still don’t hold a candle to those other guys.”

“I’m not complaining,” Barb said, placing her hands on my side and gently fingering the abs I hadn’t seen since high school with her thumb.

“Me neither,” I said.

I returned home late that night to find the oil lamps that usually illuminated the entrance hall turned down low—all but off—a sign that everyone else had gone to bed. I began to trudge up the wide marble staircase of the great hall when a heard a booming voice behind me. “Hey.”

I turned around and the sight made me weak at the knees. Mac, tall and dark, stood in the darkness of the drawing room doorway. His dark hair was wetted back, a few loose locks matted to his temples. The wore only a pair of pale gray boxer-briefs, riding high over his wide, tree-trunk quads and low on his high, perfectly round ass. He eclipsed the door entirely, holding onto the sides of the doorway with his massive hands. The effect was to widen his paving-stone pecs and draw out his abdominals, which were shaped with military perfection, sitting in perfect, geometric evenness and harmony. Even just standing still, his body seemed to undulate as different muscles twitched and jumped, bloated and round from working out.

“How are you?” I managed to squeak out.

“Comin’ from the gym,” Mac said, stepping into the hall. “Really had at it today,” he said, showing off his biceps like footballs.

“Lookin’ good,” I said.

“Not bad,” Mac nodded.

“No, really,” I said. “Good for you. I know that two hours a day is really kicking my ass.”

Mac shrugged. “I played football in high school, so I’m used to it.” He said. “But Brian really knows what he’s doing. I’ve always been big. Did some amateur body-building, even. But this plan’s got me bigger than ever.”

“It’s got me smaller than ever,” I said, lifting up my shirt to expose my newly lean and shapely stomach. “I thought that beer gut was here to stay.”

“You weren’t fat,” Mac said. He was now standing right in front of me, but he was so big and tall it felt more like he was on top of me.

“I wasn’t thin, either,” I said.

“What do you weigh?” Mac asked, almost suspiciously. I told him. “Wow, you’re a shrimp,” he teased. “I’ll bet I could bench you.” Then, without another word, Mac grabbed me in his big, meaty arms and lifted me clean over his head. No—not lifted—tossed.

I laughed at this, but was a little shocked at the ease and force with which he had rocketed me up nearly eight feet off the ground, “Whoa, whoa! Don’t drop me!” I instinctively blurted out.

He caught me with his wide, hard hands under the armpits. “Don’t worry, little guy. I got you.” Putting one hand under my butt he brought me in to his bare, heaving chest. A smell was coming off of him. Not a reek like from most guys after the gym, but a sweet, heavy sort of musk, like coffee or dark chocolate.

“I’m not little,” I said, looking down into his dark eyes. “You’re just a big, hulking freak.” This had been meant—and clearly taken—as a compliment, given the lascivious smile that flashed across his face. He held me there, against his chest. His warm, bulging arms pressing into my sides, hand under my bottom. I placed my left hand on his enormous shoulder, my forearm, resting on his mammoth bicep. His skin was impossibly smooth and soft, and almost without thinking I began dragging my fingers in lazy circles across the great bulges and valleys of his chest.

“You like a big, hulking freak, don’t you?” Mac asked in a guttural whisper as he began to carry me up the stairs. “You like ‘em big, little guy?”

A dim memory passed through my mind of two weeks before, lying on Brian’s bed, squeezing and fingering his hard body and perceiving him, presumably through the lens of some drunken, dormant fetish, to be ten feet tall. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I like ‘em big.”

We got to the top of the stairs and Mac shifted his grip on me, causing me to drop down several inches. My eye level was now closer to his neck, which I nuzzled under his sharp chin. The smell was stronger, and something about the convergence of the thick corded neck and sculpted, square pectorals really drove home just how powerful his body really was. Below, I could feel something shifting at his crotch.

“‘Cause I like ‘em little,” he said. His voice boomed around me. With his bloated, strained tricep he pushed open a door into a bedroom—given the stronger scent within, his bedroom. “Wanna come in here with me?” He wasn’t giving me much choice, but I still moaned in affirmation. Shifting sideways, he scuttled into the room like a crab, with me still in his arms. “Why don’t we just sit down here,” he sat on the bed, me in his lap. “And I’ll be good and big for you; you just gotta be nice and small for me.”

With him sitting I was once again higher than him. His twitching quads, deep creases outlining teardrops of muscle just above the knee, were pressed together in a way that caused the bulge in his shorts to sit on top of them, gently beginning to stir against me. His legs were so big that I couldn’t properly straddle them. Even with my knees way out at his hips only my toes touched the bed.

Mac flopped down, lying on his back, and shifted into position to put his head on the pillows, keeping me on top of him the entire time. With every tiny movement, a hundred muscles pulled and stretched and strained under his warm, smooth skin. Just watching him shift his weight to his elbow was like watching his whole body writhe in a beautiful dance, which I devoured with my eyes and fingertips. For a while he lay there, me straddling his still narrow but very big waist, grinning up at me with shining eyes, enjoying watching me worship his huge body. Feeling its weight and power under me, it was hard to believe he didn’t snap the legs of his chair in the breakfast room every morning. Hell, it was hard to believe he could sit! How he could do his job, manipulating hand tools and all, was beyond me; his arms and back were so broad he couldn’t hold them at his side. Now as he lay there, one hand was on the thigh of a crooked leg, the other splayed out above him, showing the knotted contours of his inner arm and fat, bulging bicep, causing his lats to flare out like batwings. A gentle stirring that was becoming less gentle alerted me to the fat head of his dick, which was inching its way closer and closer to my butthole, sending a familiar charge through my body.

“Wanna play with it?” He asked, reading the alerted look on my face.

“I wanna do this first,” I responded, removing my own shorts and letting my hard, nine inches, gently wobbling to-and-fro, fall down like a pendulous salami onto his warm, stomach. Lying on his back now, the muscles of his gut were just beginning to bow outwards. I could see his eyebrows shoot up in admiration.

“I thought you were a little guy,” he said.

“Not so little,” I scooted up along his buff, mountainous torso until my erect penis, pointing dead ahead, was nestled in the valley between his pillow-sized pecs, and began to gently thrust. I had always dreamed of pec-fucking a guy, and now I was doing it with the plumpest, perkiest, strongest pair I’d ever seen. Warmth underneath me, it seemed to swell bigger with each intake of breath. This guy’s chest could’ve been the back of a couch. Letting out an involuntary, guttural moan, Mac instinctively grabbed the sides of his bloated muscle tits, forefinger tips locked firmly on brown nipples, and pushed them together, forming the mounds to ride up along the sides of my dribbling cock. He was clearly enjoying the feeling of his muscle rising like bread dough all around me, but started to grunt at the effort of holding his ham-sized forearms to close against his wide body. He was struggling to touch his own chest. “I got you, big-guy, I whispered, as I took the warm, hard mounds into my own open palms.

He let out a sigh of relief and let his arms flop out to the sides and then began to moan with pleasure as I kneaded away at his thick muscle and pulled them up and around me.

After a while of that I sat up and pushed back to again admire his body. It was massive. It had almost eclipsed the bed. His belly bowed out in a dimpled, rock-hard muscle gut, and his arms and legs were forced out like a starfish. I couldn’t recall of ever paying close attention, watching Mac walk around the house, but he could scarcely have more than waddled. Lost in erotic pleasure, it took him a while to notice I’d stopped. After a moment he opened his eyes, and beamed me a great smile from the toy-like head perched atop a parade-balloon body. “God, I want you,” he giggled.

“You have me,” I said. “Small as I am.”

“Tiny,” he said.

“Minuscule.”

“Microscopic.” He made an almost involuntary lunge at me with his titanic arms, but couldn’t bring them down to where I sat at his waist.

“Let me,” I said, gently freeing his own fat, white-hot cock from the folds of the tight-to-bursting shorts. Rubbing it down with a handful of my own ejaculate scooped from the plains of his chest, lubed myself up. As I gently worked myself down around him, Mac let out a sound somewhere between a yell and a giggle. I was tight, and he was huge. Everywhere he was huge. Whole landscapes of mountains and valleys extended from his neck to the drop-offs of his rounded shoulders, heavy veins criss-crossing arms as big around as telephone poles, deep valleys gridding his round belly, chest enormous and firm as sofa-cushions. And I rode him for what felt like hours, him beaming up a tiny smile, arms and legs flapping and waving in tiny circles.

When he finally exploded inside me I collapsed back down onto his massive frame. A hazy thought came and went of him rolling on top of me, smothering me, crushing me with his monstrous weight, but was so muscle bound and exhausted from erotic frenzy that he could barely move except to bring his arm down as far as he could around me. I curled up next to him, nuzzling my face into his musky armpit, and attempted to put my arm around him but could only reach the center of his impossibly wide chest. In that position, we drifted off.

When I woke up, I realized that I had rolled away from him in the night. I was right at the edge of the wide bed where I’d fallen asleep, but he was far on the other side. I’d thought I’d been right next to him when I dozed off, but there was a good foot—more—between us. That was of course the reason I’d only been able to reach the center of his chest. It had made him seem five feet wide, but of course that wasn’t’ the case. We’d hung out before, played basketball even, of course he could bend his arms and legs.

As I got dressed in the dark his eyes fluttered open. “See you at breakfast?” He asked through a sleepy stupor.

“Sure,” I said. “See you at breakfast.” He rolled over and I left the room. I knew that by the time I’d walked back to my own room I’d be too awake for that last hour of sleep, so I decided to get my work-out for the day over with early.

I threw on some gym clothes and headed to the conservatory. Aiden was already there, glistening under a dew of sweat and looking for all the world like some kind of angelic warrior. “How are you?” he asked glumly.

“Good,” I said. “I feel bad; we don’t get to hang out much.”

Aiden nodded. ”I wish I’d known you were the Alex-friend-of-Brian’s who was interviewing to be the new porter,” he said as we toweled off in the small sitting room next door. “I’d’ve wanted to talk before you signed. Officially, I mean.”

“Why?”

Aiden looked down and away. “I’m not sure this is the job for you,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked. I was suddenly feeling very defensive. “I know I’m not the kind of Adonis that seems to usually gets a job here, but—”

“You think I looked like this four weeks ago?” Aiden blurted out. “You think I was this big in college?” As if to illustrate he began to flex, sending his puffed-up muscles into a riot of activity. Almost immediately my dick started to shift and harden, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to squeeze those quivering mounds of smooth flesh.

“I haven’t seen you since we were little,” I said. “I have no idea who you grew up to be.”

“It’s this place… this house…” he said. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?” I asked.

“There’s something about this place. Why we’re here. Why we have to keep this house running even though no one is ever around to enjoy it. Look,” he said, purposefully spilling some almonds, a post work-out protein boost, onto the floor. Immediately a panel in the floor shifted to the side, invisible until it moved, and a short length of hose hoovered up the spill before disappearing, along with the secret panel, again into the carpet. I couldn’t even tell where it had been.

“This house is made to look old-fashioned, but it’s a technological miracle. And we have to stay here all the time, even though nobody lives here, we get paid way too much to do almost no work.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“It’s not just that,” Aiden went on. “This house…”

“Yeah?”

“It changes you.” Aiden said at last. “It makes you…”

“What?”

“This.” Was this a complaint? Coming to work here, as part of the job made you a beautiful, beefy, muscle hunk? “I just think I would’ve told you not to take the job.” Aiden said. “It’s hard to explain.”

“If you’ve got such a problem with it, quit.” I said.

“I can’t,” Aiden said.

“You’re on probation still,” I reminded him. “You can walk away.”

“I don’t know if they’d let me,” he said, almost cryptically.

I tsked. “It’s not a cult,” I said.

“As far as you know,” Aiden shot back. “This place is weird. I’ve seen… weird things here. I need to at least try to figure out what’s going on, I’m going to go crazy if I don’t.” I wanted to point out that he sounded overly dramatic, but he seemed really hurt. And he was an old friend. “I’m scared if I never get any answers it’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I just wish I’d been able to keep you from getting all mixed up in it.” There was an awkward silence before he mumbled an apology and headed back to his room to wash and change for breakfast.

I turned his words over in my mind as I washed. Stepping out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror. The saggy flesh that had clung to my chest for years was gone completely, replaced with the unmistakable outlines of taut musculature, a shallow but visible crease running down the length of my torso, veins snaking down my now wiry arms, hard muscle separating the bottom of my abdomen from the top of my quads. I looked good—it had been years since I was even close to looking this good. Even my face and hair seemed somehow more handsome than usual—possibly a side-effect of the multi-vitamins and other pills that accompanied my meals.

I grabbed my dick—even that felt longer and fatter in my hands—and quickly began to jack it. I couldn’t help myself. Almost as if it had a mind of it’s own it raised away from my hand standing almost upright against my newly flat stomach, rosy head flaring. I bent over, finding that the searing hot skin of my warm, wet torso all along the length of the shaft sent through me that familiar charge, and a ropy shot of cup splattered across the mirror. I stood on my tip-toes to wipe it off, and felt the muscles in my calves condense and separate into rock-hard formations, coiled and tensed with strength and energy.

Aiden had said that weird things went on in this house, presumably weirder than it being a comically massive mansion that time forgot. The idea that in two weeks I’d had sex with three men was bizarre enough. The fact that all three were miles out of my league, and that my perception of all three encounters had been foggy enough to seem so unreal was another story. I’d burnt a lot of bridges to quit my job and take this one with so little notice, I wasn’t going to leave Onion Hill Manor now. The job was easy and the money good, but that wasn’t why I wanted to be here anymore. Even with the creeping uneasiness and feelings of inferiority. Aiden was right: This place was making me something. It was making me something different from what I was, but something that I desperately wanted to be. He could give that up if he wanted, but I wasn’t going to just yet.

Part 4: Edgar

After wiping down the leg-press in the conservatory, hamstrings still tingling, I started down the long corridor lined with portraits back to the main part of the house. The paintings were all in ornate wooden frames and flanked with gas lamps, and they all depicted eccentric looking ancestors of the family that owned the house. They always made me think of the myriad cousins and uncles constantly mentioned in the old Addams Family show.

At the end of the corridor I took a sharp turn into the low-ceilinged smoking room, full of overstuffed leather chairs and sofas, permeated by the smell of generations of cigars and tobacco pipes. I walked over to the bar unit, the contents of which were under a glass dome. I pulled up the app for my diet plan on my tablet, and typed in ‘double scotch’. After the program calculated the drink against my caloric intake for the day, there was a beep and the glass dome elevated, allowing me to make my drink, which I took into the great hall.

A fire crackled in the massive fireplace at the far end of the room, and on the couches near it sat Brian and Edgar playing cards while Mac watched. The fire was merely decorative; although you’d never guess it to look at the old house, the most state-of-the-art heating system hummed invisibly, proof against the oncoming autumn chills. “Hot in here,” I muttered between sips of my drink. As if in response, Mac pulled out his tablet and remotely dropped the level of the blaze. Edgar on his was changing the Spotify station playing through the remote speakers.

“You coming from the gym?” Brian asked, drawing a card from the deck.

“Your mom’s house,” I joked, wandering over to the game. Edgar giggled.

“I thought it was your night off,” Brian continued.

“Nah, it’s Colton’s,” Mac said.

“Did he say when he’d be back?” I asked.

“Eleven-ish at the latest,” Edgar said. I pulled out my own tablet again and set the house to lockdown for the night at eleven-thirty.

“You’re looking pretty good there,” Mac said, eyeballing me. I looked down. I couldn’t disagree. I was wearing a deep-necked tank-top, which gave a great view of my own rapidly developing man-cleavage, which I myself could barely stop fingering. “Your arms are really coming along,” he said. I was a little embarrassed, but gave him a double-bi shot. I had been thinking the same thing when I was on the treadmill, warming up. I could feel my round shoulders, biceps and triceps bouncing up and down with ever step. They’d never been big enough for me to notice it before, and it felt unbelievably sexy.

“Definitely coming along,” Brian affirmed. “Did his check-up today. Alex is moving fast.” Brian rattled off some measurements, telling everyone how much bigger I’d gotten in just a week.

Barb had noticed it too at dinner on our last night off. “Do you just work out all day?” she had asked. “Are you paid to just… body-build?”

“I’m in charge of security,” I’d said.

“Which means what?” she asked. “I mean, what exactly did you do today besides workout? What did you do that was job-related?”

“I had to check out the south-wing attics,” I said. “And I put in a work-order to have a leak fixed, and then helped Colton move some sacks of manure. But that was more of a personal favor.”

“And for that you’re paid how much?” I told her. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “And you have to be there six-and-a-half days a week? There’s something not right about this whole thing.” This had started a fight, and I’d ended up going home early. I’d already been in a bad mood. We’d gone to my favorite gastropub for dinner, but the French-dip sandwich I’d had wasn’t as good as the stuff Edgar made.

“So, Colton’s got his night off,” I said to the others now.

“And Mitchell’s in his office,” Brian said. “Putting next week’s schedule together.”

“So where’s Aiden?” I asked. The other three looked at each other.

“Probably in the library,” Brian said, scooping up the cards and shuffling them in his thick, meaty hands. “I think he wants to read his way through the whole thing.”

“It’ll take him a million years,” Mac muttered.

“Aiden doesn’t hang out with the rest of us a lot, does he?” The others looked at each other again.

“I guess not,” Brian said.

“No, he doesn’t,” Edgar said. There was a twinge of—something—in his voice. What? Resentment? Fear? “He doesn’t hang out much at all anymore. And his probation is over in another week.”

“Is that going to be a problem for him?” I asked.

“No,” Brian said.

“Yes,” Edgar said at the same time.

“It doesn’t have to be, anyway,” Brian said, glaring at Edgar. “Aiden’s a good guy, he gets his work done and is really nice. When he does hang out, anyway. He’s not acting that weird.”

“But he never hangs out anymore,” Edgar said.

“So do you think…?” I began.

Mac interrupted. “The last few weeks of probation can be…” He trailed off.

“Challenging,” Brian finished for him. “Aiden wouldn’t be the first guy to get all solitary right before the final interview with the boss.”

“Is that what’s coming up for him?” I asked, and then: “Is that what’s coming up for me?”

“How are the abs coming along?” Edgar asked. He himself was leaning way back on the couch, quite deliberately allowing his shirt to ride up on his own cobbled stomach, gently fingering the short, ginger hairs below his navel.

“Not bad,” I said, hoisting up my shirt to show. For the first time, I had a real six-pack. Not just a flat stomach, not just a few contours visible when the light hit them just right, but a real honest-to-god six pack, even when I bent over.

“Lemme get a look at that!” Brian said, patting the sofa cushion next to him with his thick hands. I took a seat and he leaned over to place his fat, warm fingertips on my freshly worked muscles.

“Not so fast,” Edgar said, kicking Brian’s size-eleven from where it rested on the coffee table. “Alex isn’t gonna just take his shirt off for you. You gotta make him take it off.”

Brian and I looked at each other. “How’s he supposed to do that?” I asked.

Edgar flashed his trademark wicked grin, hunching up his boulder shoulders, leaning his thick, veiny forearms on his bulbous quads, visibly creased even through his jeans. “He’s gotta win it from you,” he said. With that, Edgar dealt us all a hand of five. Strip poker had officially begun.

I’ve always been garbage at cards, and I was quickly down to just my socks and underwear. It was funny to think that just a month ago I would have been mortified at such a thought, even if I weren’t playing with a trio of hot, beefy, pretty-boys, but now, as each time I shed a garment I was rewarded with lascivious laughter and admiring glances, I was kind of happy to be losing. “That is one tight butt,” Mac had said when my gym shorts came off. “Let me give that a feel.” Eagerly, I walked over to where he sat on an ottoman, standing between his thick, warm legs. Placing my open palms on his broad shoulders, I let him knead my ass. His hands were big, and strong, rhythmic squeezing each cheek in turn.

“His legs are really coming along too,” Brian said, moving his hand gently up my calves, squeezing every few centimeters.

“Yours are nicer,” I said to Brian, who, a few hands in, was sitting in just his t-shirt and briefs.

“Yeah, but have you seen mine?” Mac asked, beginning to roll up the cuffs of his pants.

“Nuh-uh,” said Edgar, sitting in a black cotton wife-beater and boxers, slapping his hand away. “Not until you lose them!”

“I wanna get naked too,” Mac whined. “I’m too good at poker.”

“That’s what you get for starting the game in a hoodie,” Brain laughed. From then on it because a game of who could lose the fastest. Nobody wanted a winning hand. I still managed to be naked first.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I asked after I was completely naked. Brian and Edgar were each down to their underwear now, and Mac only had his pants left. “What happens when I lose again?”

“We’ll see when it happens,” Edgar said, but then I lost the very next hand. “How ‘bout you do me a favor, then?”

“Like what?”

Edgar thought for a moment. “Come sit in my lap.” I immediately popped up without a moments delay, causing the others to laugh. I plopped my firm little but down on Edgar’s bare quad, feeling it flex dramatically in response to my weight. He reached a thick arm around me. The soft flesh of his inner arm was warm against my back, and his long, freckled fingers squeezed my deltoid.

“How long am I here for?” I asked, resting my head against his shoulder where it met his long neck.

“I’ll let you know,” he said, breathing into my face. His breath was warm but smelled somehow sweet, and pleasant. Mac dealt out the cards again. In two more hands, Edgar was completely naked.

“You owe me now,” I whispered into his neck.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, deliberately scratching his five o’clock shadow against my cheekbone. “Let you leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I think you should massage me.” Edgar said nothing, but grinned widely, placing his big, warm hands on my bloated shoulders.

“Like that?” He asked after a while.

“That’s not bad,” I said. “But how about this?” I shifted off of his leg and in between them, my back against his broad chest. I could feel his pecs against my back and his groin against my butt, with a discernable absence of flesh between the two where his tight stomach shrunk inward. I took in my hands his two larger ones, with their thick, bolt-sized, freckled knuckles and placed their palms directly over my nipples. Edgar knew what to do, slowly but firmly kneading away at my growing, hardening pectoral flesh. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his arms on my body and his shallow breath on my neck. Slowly, he moved his right hand down to my stomach, fingering the creases between my abs and they contracted and expanded with every breath, and then pulled it back up to my chest while the left dropped to my hardening nine-inches, holding it delicately in his hot, calloused palm, thumb deftly brushing against the pulsing, purple head.

Pressure was building up in Edgar’s crotch, his own dick growing and hardening, bigger and bigger.

I opened my eyes to see that on the couch across from us, Brian and Mac were busy too. Both had shed the last of their clothes, and Mac was burying his pretty-boy face in Brian’s massive pecs while Brian squeezed and stretched Mac’s bubbly ass. Brian opened his eyes to see me staring, and he grinned broadly. “I think Mac and I will move to the drawing room,” he said, tapping Mac on a shoulder that looked like a rosy-skinned medicine ball. “C’mon, Mac.”

Mac was slurping away at Brian’s left nipple, but finally pulled away and rose to his feet, legs forced apart by the inhuman thickness of his thighs. “Will you have enough room in there?” Edgar asked.

“I suppose that’s half the fun,” Brian responded. “C’mon, buddy,” he said to Mac, throwing his arm around the wider man’s shoulders as Mac waddled off towards the door at the far end of the room, laboriously shifting each bloated thigh around the other.

When we were alone, Edgar crossed his arms over my chest, pulling my ear to his mouth. “Now that we’re alone,” he said, his dick inching its way up my back. “I have something to show you.” Gently, as if I were a little child, he pulled me back onto his right knee, balancing me in place with his big right hand. With his left, he gently lifted his own, half-flaccid cock. Slowly but surely it was expanding, pulsing its way to a hard, shaft, sticking out from a tangle of ginger pubes as defiant as the prow of a ship. It was not a true erection yet, but even in this in-between state is was the fattest, longest dick I’d ever seen, easily a foot long and probably more, no thinner than a beer can. I gasped, and reached out to take it in one hand, the other on Edgar’s knobbled, muscled back. Holding that massive cock, I suddenly felt very childlike, cocooned in the hollow formed by Edgar’s chest, pillar arms, heavy with male strength, on all sides, his thick, pillow-y lips pressing into my cheek, temple, forehead…

“You’re going to love being here,” he whispered between kisses. “You’re going to love being one of us.”

“I am one of you,” I purred back, gently rubbing my lips around a fist-sized cock head that I barely had to lean over to reach.

“You will be soon,” Edgar said, beginning to kiss me down my neck, broad hand shifting down to my lower back. “And you’re going to love it.” Edgar gently leaned back on the couch, pulling me down on top of him, his enormous log of a dick sandwiched between us. His big hand moved from my lower back to the wide part of my wider-than-ever ass, and I gripped his twenty-two inch biceps to brace myself against what was coming. With my mouth, the heat from his oversized cock-head pressed into my chest. He slipped his thick, square-tipped finger into my ass, and then another. He slowly inched them further and further into me until they could go no further. It was a searing but no less spectacular pain, and I bit harder as he, guiding me from the inside, moved my body up and down along his—my new body, my new, muscled body, growing stronger and more beautiful every day.

After a while the rhythm of Edgar inside of me grew more erratic, and he started to giggle. I got up, gently pushing him out from inside of me. As I did, his dick, impossibly large, flopped between us. I gave an involuntary shout of surprise; Edgar’s nearly erect cock was at least five feet long, and so thick around that he could hold it has he had been holding me, caressing it like a lover with both of his thick, built arms. I pulled away, standing up over him on the couch where he spread out, a blissful smile on his face, gently caressing a penis nearly the size of a grown man, seemingly unaware that it wasn’t me. For a moment, he nibbled around the bottom of the head, pre issuing forth in droplets big enough to overflow teacups. As if in a half-dream state, he sighed again: “love being one of us…” with that he released his massive cock, which flopped dramatically down between his legs as he splayed one thick arms up over his head, nuzzling at his own, thick and veiny wrist, giggling sleepily. With his other hand, he pressed his splayed fingers into the base of his massive organ. From there my eyes were drawn to his balls, each the size of grapefruit in a distended sack that was still disproportionately small under a long, half-hard penis that now extended well past the balls of his feet. Its twitching head, the size of a beach-ball now, dangled off the side of the sofa. He gave it one or two squeezes with his thighs, giggling as he did, and then seemed to drift off to sleep at last, even as his mammoth cock continued to flop and undulate, big enough around that I could only maybe get my arms around it entirely. “Edgar?” I said. “Ed, c’mon, wake up.” He didn’t budge. “C’mon, get up,” I said again. Unable to resist, I reached out with my hand and outstretched fingers and pressed against the shaft. It gave a little, but didn’t budge, and in his sleep Edgar let out another giggle. “Ed!” I shouted.

Hearing me, Brian came hurrying out from the drawing room, pulling on his T-shirt. “What’s going on out here?” he asked. “I heard shouting.”

“It’s Ed,” I said. “I… you’d better come and look.” Brian, in only his shirt and boxers, came around the couch to see his friend and friend-sized dick. “He won’t wake up.”

The warm light coming from the drawing room was suddenly eclipsed by the tall and broad frame of Mac as he came hurrying out as well. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Ed’s gone and… you know.” Brian said. Mac’s eyes widened as he came around. As I had, Brian ran his fingers along the shaft as thick as a bar-stool and twice as long, again evoking a child-like giggle from the sleeping muscleman. “There’s not enough blood getting to his brain,” Brian muttered. “It’s all…” he gestured in a way that explained nothing, but it was obvious.

Mac looked both excited and worried, and began pacing back and forth. His walk seemed to be turning into a familiar waddle, causing his whole body to tilt to-and-fro. He tried to cross his arms but his chest was too big, and he only succeeded in getting each hand to touch its opposites forearm.

“Can you do anything for him?” I asked.

“Yes, I have it under control,” Brian said. “Alex, I think you ought to go to bed.”

“But what—”

“It’s allergies,” Mac blurted from across the room, rubbing his bare, bowed-out belly.

“It’s an allergic reaction, yes,” Brian said in his most doctorly voice. “Nothing you can do; I have it under control.”

“What was he allergic to? The cards?” I was incredulous. “Should we carry him to your office?”

Brian, for the first time in all the years I’d known him, seemed angry. He stepped closer to me, bulbous, cotton-covered chest nearly bumping my chin as he looked down at me. “Alex, this isn’t something that more hands will help,” he said, placing a wide, warm hand on my shoulder, fingers like bananas. “So I suggest you go leave us alone.” He turned back towards poor Edgar, seven-foot long dick still twitching and pulsing along the cold marble floor. In the shadows behind him. Mac stood, bulging with round muscles and lats so wide that his arms hung out at forty-five degree angles, good for little more than flexing and flapping. Without any idea of what else to do I left the hall and headed into the library. Brian was not taller than me!

The library was dark except for a small fire in the fireplace and a lamp on the long, oak worktable. Aiden sat at the table, hunched over, dimpled, lantern-jaw between forward thrusting, plump, round shoulders, crossed forearms giving way to powerful, alabaster hands. His forearms were like elongated pyramids, wide and flat at the elbow where they met his biceps, almost spherical went ben as they were, and coming along in straight, rigid plains converging into narrow but powerful, sinewy wrists. I didn’t think he’d noticed me at first, but then his soft lips parted and in a voice barely more than a whisper he said, “How are you, Alex?”

“I don’t know,” I said. My hand reached up almost reflexively to half scratch, half massage my own blossoming chest muscle. “I’d been feeling good about myself for a while…”

“You look good,” Aiden said, not looking up from his book. We were both silent for a moment.

“Your probation is up next week,” I suddenly blurted out. “The others are talking about it.”

Aiden finally looked up. “Are you talking about it?”

“I don’t know,” I said again, suddenly embarrassed. “I guess it’s just that they were saying that they don’t know if you’ll be asked to stay on permanently.” Aiden finally stood up and walked over to me, hulking body rigid and tight with beautifully sculpted muscles. He stood half a head taller than me, and came close enough that I could see his beautiful face even in the dim light. “I mean, you said you didn’t want to stay here anyway,” I said. “You said you thought you’d quit, even if you get offered the job.”

“You’ve seen things happen here, haven’t you?” Aiden said. “You’ve seen things happen in this house… because of these people?”

I thought about everything I’d seen in my month at Onion Hill Manor. Brian growing to ten feet tall, Colton shrinking to the size of my thumb, Mac’s muscles bloating up until he resembled a great, fleshy balloon, and now Edgar. How could any of it be real? “I don’t…” Suddenly the fire flared up, bathing Aiden’s face in a split second of flickering yellow light and I saw in Aiden’s face a sadness, a desperation to have his deepest suspicions confirmed. “I have,” I said at last. “I’ve seen… things I thought were impossible. I don’t know—”

“I want to know,” Aiden interrupted. “But I don’t think I’m going to know really for a while now. I’ve been reading and I have some thoughts. But I can’t leave here until I really, really have the full story.” We were both breathing deeply in the heavy air, dried out by the heating and perfumed by the ancient paper and leather cramming the shelves. Looking down to the gray T-shirt pulled tight as a drum around his wide chest, I couldn’t resist placing a hand on it, feeling it rise and fall with shallow breaths under my calloused fingertips. In response, Aiden cupped his big hands around my triceps. In the back of my head I felt a surge of pride at their heft, filling up his massive hands, but more than that I was enjoying the heat of his breath on my forehead.

Suddenly, a strange cry echoed through the house. I realized after a moment it was Edgar, who had released a strange, mindless holler in response to some unknown stimulus, presumably applied in response to his rapidly inflating dick. “I don’t think they’re human,” Aiden said at last.

“Of course, they’re human!” I said. I’ve known Colton for years; I’ve known Brian since we were kids! I met his parents!”

“Well then, maybe they’re not human any more,” Aiden said. “I think they’ve turned in to something… something else.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden said, seemingly embarrassed at the melodrama he was creating. “Something. But whatever that something is, I think they’re making us that thing too.”

“You sound like a little kid!” I said. “Making us something…”

“They are!” Aiden nearly shouted. “Look at us! Look at me! This isn’t me!” Aiden held aloft his huge bulky arms. “I’m not a big guy! I’ve never been a big guy! Tall, maybe, but not like this!” He thrusted his arms towards me, wrists upwards, showing the soft valley of his inner arm and the cross of veins inside of his elbows. I couldn’t resist but grab the one closest to my face, trying to snake my fingers all the way around the bicep, using both hands to encircle it completely, but it couldn’t be done at well over twenty inches. I gave it a gently squeeze and rubbed my fingers against the thick, swollen veins. Aiden sighed. He was mad at me. He was trying to make a point and all I could do was ogle and grope his beautiful muscle. Giving up, he placed his other enormous hand against the back of my head pulled me closer to the inside of his elbow, kissing me on the forehead as he did so. I continued to feel the inside of his arm, moving up and to the chest where finally we dropped to our knees, me kneading his great, round chest, him holding my head in both hands as he pulled my lips up to his. “This isn’t my body,” Aiden said again softly when he finally pulled away, lying in glow of the fire as it flickered against the infinite darkness of the enormous room.

“I’ve gotten taller since coming here too,” he went on. “Brian hasn’t said anything but I’ve measured. I’m taller! Look at me, look at my chest,” almost effortlessly he bounced his wide chest, weighed down with muscle, overhanging his ribs. “I don’t fit into any of my old clothes anymore,” I tried to stay focused, but just those words were incredibly sexy. “In just two months I’ve shot up three shirt sizes; my arms don’t even fit into my shirtsleeves anymore.” He bent over, flexing his heavy bicep. “Feel it!” He said. I cupped my palms around it, it was so thick, and heavy and warm. “It’s like a fucking beach ball! And my thighs,” His thighs strained against the fabric of his jeans, each contour clearly visible even through the thick material. “My thighs, my back, my butt…” mentioning each part of his body he proffered it to me, flexing and straining, showing me just how big and beautifully sculpted, as is if by a master craftsman, it was. Gently I ran my hands over each, his legs, his back, his butt, as he showed them to me. I was prepared, right there, to worship each in turn, but that was not his purpose. “This isn’t my body,” he said at last.

“Of course, it is,” I said, dragging my fingers in lazy circles over his abs. “And this is mine. For weeks now we’ve been undergoing personalized, balls-to-the-wall workouts.”

“No, I haven’t,” Aiden said.

“Of course you have; you weren’t working out like this before you got here, I know you weren’t.” I said. “And there’s the aggressive diets specifically designed for this. Not to mention all the horse pills we’ve got to take every morning. Our bodies should have changed.”

“No, I haven’t,” Aiden said again, a little more defiantly. “I’ve stopped doing the workouts. I say I’m going first thing in the morning or super late at night while everyone else is in bed, but really, I’ve stopped going.”

“What?”

“I don’t take the vitamin pills either anymore,” Aiden went on. “I’ve got them all in my desk drawer, just to prove it—to myself if no one else.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I still eat the food Ed makes of course, and I don’t deviate from the plan on my cheat days just for control, but other than that I’ve been ignoring my health plan altogether. And I’m still growing.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I’m still getting bigger. Way bigger, according to Brian at my last check-up.” He rattled off his weight and a list of measurements, and what they’d all been only a week before. “Nobody gets this huge just watching what they eat,” he concluded. “Especially when they eat like someone training for the Olympics. And not actually training, I mean.”

“What you’re talking about is bullshit!” I shouted at last. “It’s dumb-ass, little-kid, Are-You-Afraid-of-the-Dark bullshit! People don’t ‘turn in to’ things!” Aiden looked at me pleadingly, but I was done. “I’m going to bed!” I shouted, and stormed towards the library door. Before I got there Edgar rushed in wearing briefs and a wife-beater. Tall, handsome, and muscular, but otherwise perfectly normal.

“Hey, Alex,” he said, then as an afterthought: “Aiden.” Aiden nodded in greeting. “I just wanted to apologize. I had this crazy-ass allergic reaction. It happens sometimes.” In the darkness of the doorway I saw Brian appear, silently as a sexy ghost. Behind me I heard Aiden sigh and slump into a chair. I could tell he knew exactly what had happened between me and Edgar. Resisting every instinct in my body I refused to look at him.

“Of course, Ed,” I said, loudly. “I get it. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m off to bed.” I brushed past him and headed to the door. As I passed Brian we looked at each other, again at eye level. He patted me on the shoulder with a meaty paw, as if to say ‘good boy’.

I went to bed. Lying there, naked, I gently massaged my own penis. Even half-flaccid in my hand it felt bigger than it should, heavier and fatter, the head swollen, lightning-bolts of ecstasy rocketing all through it with every tiny movement of my calloused hands against it. Snippets of the evening ran through my mind—my palms flat on Mac’s globe-like shoulders as he kneaded my butt-cheeks, Brian’s massive arms, Aiden’s heavy pecs, all their hands on my own abs… and of course, Ed’s five-foot long penis. And lastly, the vision of him taking his own engorged member in his long, muscled arms and elegant, freckled fingers and gently nuzzling its basketball-sized head, an adorable smile playing along his mischievous face, fluffy red hair dancing above his heavy brow.

These thoughts had pushed the gentle stroking to full on jacking, and at this last one I spurted ribbons of hot cum all over my chest. Ducking into the bathroom I thought about what Aiden had said about the others: That they weren’t human. Rather, that they weren’t human anymore. It was ridiculous. As I washed up, I thought about what Edgar had said when we were fooling around: You’re going to love being one of us he had said. You will be, soon.

Before climbing into bed, I took a pencil from on top of my chest-of-drawers and made a small mark in the doorway at the level of my height. I climbed into bed where my dick almost immediately again began to get hard.

Part 5: Mitchell

Nothing is dark like the entrance hall of Onion Hill Manor after coming home from a night off. It’s a windowless room with paneled, oak walls and a low, vaulted ceiling. With the lights out, fire extinguished, and the heavy curtain pulled across the archway leading into the great hall, it was almost impossible to make it from one end to the other. Coming home drunk, with everyone else in bed, it could be damned near impossible to even remember that all it took was two seconds on your tablet to light up the room like the sky on the fourth of July.

This week I’d been out far later and had a lot more to drink than usual. I had jogged into town. Not because I was in a hurry, but when I was out of the house—had far enough to go that I could jog—it was hard not to. Ever since I’d arrived at the manor, my stamina had shot up. I suddenly felt like I could run for miles without getting winded, but it was more than that. My bulked-up arms now strained the sleeves of even the extra-large uniform shirts, and I loved the way they felt against my pecs as they bounced up and down.

Brian had been taking measurements at my weekly check-ups, but having never been into body-building or anything, the numbers didn’t mean much. I’d gauged my own progress by how my body fit into the Manor’s uniforms, moving, almost week to week, from small up to XL, and then the increasing tightness of that size. My neck had become so thick that I couldn’t button the collars, and whenever I stood up I had to pull down my pant-legs as they would ride up on my widening, hairy calves. Every small movement sent whole muscle groups into flutters of spasmodic activity, and I was always picking my underwear out from between my perfectly round ass cheeks and readjusting my lengthening, thickening tool and balls as they swelled in proportion. After the conversation I’d had with Aiden about growth—growth that couldn’t be the result of even the most rigorous exercise—I’d asked Brian about post-pubescent genital growth. He’d shrugged it off, not even looking up from my chart. “I’d bet it’s just your imagination,” he had said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I’m just starting to feel really awkward,” I’d said. “I just feel like everyone can see, and…” I trailed off as Brian turned towards me, the front of his own pants distended and strained around a lump that sat—big, round, and heavy as a shotput—in the front of his pants. It was getting harder and harder to ignore these other, inexplicable changes to me, and I knew that Aiden was right to wonder what caused them and I should be worried, but at the same time I was just excited to be so fit and big, in more ways than one.

So I jogged into town, loving my shifting packs of muscle brushing against one another, and by the time I’d gotten there I was incredibly horny, swept Barb up in my enormous arms, and carried her upstairs. We went at it like animals for a while before Barb cut it short, and asked if we could go to the bar to get a drink. “I’m just not comfortable doing it with you anymore,” she said. “It’s not fun for me anymore.”

“What’s changed?” I asked.

“What do you think has changed?” she asked, incredulously. “You’re huge. I’m scared you’re going to crush me.”

For some reason, this proclamation in and of itself sent an unexpected quiver through my dick. “That’s ridiculous…” I said.

“What’s ridiculous is your body,” Barb interrupted. “Nobody should be getting that big that quickly. Nobody should even be able to get bigger down there…”

And a short argument later we were done. I demanded that Barb explain why she was dumping me. Not because I cared, I wasn’t really bothered at all, but I liked hearing her go on and on about how I’d gotten so big so fast. I hadn’t expected it, but hearing someone talk about my body was an incredible turn-on. By the time she left, I was so horny that I immediately paid my bill, walked down the street to the gay bar, and proceeded to spend the evening getting shit-faced in the bathroom while a pageant of twinks climbed me like a tree, enjoying the feel of my shoulders against the cool metal of the toilet stall walls.

I had never really done it with a guy outside of the manor, and I realized that I loved doing it with small guys. Not small like Colton, but lithe and thin, worshipping my bulk, and the round contours of my muscled chest and arms. They brought me shots, half of which went into me and half of which went on to me; rubbed into my hair, dripping down my face and neck before mingling with the other fluids glazing my firm, shiny torso and beading off my pubic hair.

When I had gotten back to Onion Hill Manor I was so drunk I could barely open the door and didn’t want to talk to anyone, so instead of trying to cross the whole house to the grand staircase, I ducked into the service stairwell directly off the entrance which spiraled up to the third floor, nearest the corridor where my room was. When I did though, I saw from the upper gallery that a fire was still burning in the fireplace of the otherwise darkened great hall. Two large figures were sitting near it on a settee. It wasn’t unusual to walk into just about any room in the manor and see two musclebound men sucking or fucking, but they were only talking. Their voices were little more than whispers, but the room was so large and echo-y I could hear most of what they were saying. After a few moments, it became clear that the two figures were Brian and Mitchell.

“…be down by the end of the week at the latest,” Mitchell was saying. “So by Saturday Aiden’s probation will be over.”

“Time enough,” Brian responded. “Do you think we’re gonna keep him?”

Mitchell shrugged his bowling-ball shoulders. “I don’t know,” He said. “I don’t see any reason why not. Unless he wants to walk; I don’t think we can stop him.”

“That’s what I mean,” Brian said. “I think he might.”

“No one has before,” Mitchell said.

“He’s a nice guy,” Brian said. “but he’s been spending time on his own more and more.”

“Some guys are like that,” Mitchell said. “At this part in the process, it’s hard not to notice somethings up. Might have him freaked out.”

“Well if that’s the case, then yeah, we’d better get it all over with,” Brian said. “One way or the other.”

“No kidding,” Mitchell said. “But it would be so much easier if the boss approves him.” He took a long sip of something from a tumbler clinking with ice. “Once we get him settled and then Alex, we can finally take a breath.”

At this point I was sitting with my back against the balustrades overhanging the hall, listening. Slowly I turned around to look down onto the dark room. The light of the fire was feeble, especially from so high up, but was thrown far enough that I could see the two guys, but not as I had imagined them. I had pictured the two burly men sitting next to each other on the settee, but it had been pushed far back into the shadows. Brian, all twelve feet and seven hundred pounds of him, lay on the ground, clothed only in a throw blanket laying over his crotch. This display of modesty was ridiculous given how insufficient it was, and the rest of his mammoth body was clearly visible, each swollen muscle clear as day even in the feeble firelight, jagged rivers of veins running down his arms and neck.

I expected that the outline of his flaccid dick, over a foot long, would have been seen clearly through the thin blanket, but it was hidden in the shadows formed by Mitchell, who lay across Brian’s body. Normally a huge guy at nearly six-and-a-half feet tall and well over two hundred pounds, Mitchell seemed child-sized compared to the enormous doctor, resting his head on Brian’s great right pec like the puffy, square pillow it was shaped like, and using his pale hand to draw lazy circles along his abs.

Brian’s thick paw was under the back of his head, the fleshy underside of his fat bicep flexed. He now shifted to bring the entire tree-trunk arm down, gripping Mitchell by the ass. Even his enormous, bubbled ass was eclipsed completely by Brian’s enormous, slab-like hand. In a swift, one handed motion, Brian pulled Mitchell up to straddle him, but he was so big that his bottom, straining his boxer-briefs, sat across Brian’s topmost abdominals. Mitchell’s bare back was wide and fare, and the light of the fire flickered against every contour of muscle, which writhed with every slight motion of his round shoulders and thick arms. Even at half Brian’s height, his arms seemed almost as thick.

“Do you like being big?” Mitchell asked.

“I love it,” Brian said, wide smile shining a glimmering white through the dim firelight. “I love…” he trailed off, hands running up and down Mitchell’s wide thighs and up to his thick lower back.

“Bigger…?” Mitchell said in a half-moan. “You wanna get bigger?”

“Mmm… bigger…” Brian moaned back. Mitchell began to rock back and forth. Brian’s penis, now poking out from below the throw blanket, slowly lengthened towards knee-caps the size softballs. His legs stretched and flexed as his size-twenty feet pushed even further away from the two of them, putting another foot—maybe eighteen inches—onto his freakish hight.

Watching this, my own hand drifted to my own dick, pulsing bigger and bigger, and I realized that my other hand had, almost subconsciously, had moved up under my shirt and was massaging my own puffy chest, tweaking my thick nipple. I was also suddenly very aware of smell of whiskey on me.

“We’re gonna get you so big,” Mitchell went on, bucking back and forth further. “You’re gonna fill this room…” Brian was in a state of euphoria. Mitchell was pushing his partner’s massive pecs up and down and around, but couldn’t get anywhere near his genitals, several feet away. Brian took his lengthening hose into his own hand, the pre-oozing head filling it like an apple would a normal sized one.

The muscles in Mitchell’s back continued to shift and undulate in an unreal way. He bent over, reaching his arms up to Brian’s neck, now wide as a garbage can. When he sat back up his arms were somehow bigger, disproportionately so. Each one was almost as thick as his own broad torso. They looked more than just thick, they looked… wrong, somehow. As if his muscles had grown out of their natural shapes, or even multiplied.

“…Big…” Brian moaned again. “And you? You like those?”

“Like what?” Mitchell asked playfully, as if he knew full well what Brian meant.

“Like these…” Brian took a pre-soaked thumb the size of a deli salami and brought it right up between Mitchell’s ass cheeks. Mitchell let out an involuntary, guttural moan, almost a shout, as his hugely wide arms flew out to his side and then… split in two! Almost before I could process what I had seen Mitchell had four arms, each thick with toned, vascular muscle, two reaching forward to massage Brian’s pecs and two held closer to himself, one on the lower abs and one on his own dick. His back muscles were dancing wildly, looking like a mass of snakes fighting under his skin. In another moment, his back had burst open as a third pair of arms reached out, fingers flexing wildly before reaching back. Mitchell put one of these new forefingers into his own ass. The other hand reached back wantingly, as Brian guided the beach ball size head of his cock up towards it.

“That feel better?” Brian asked.

Mitchell let out a deep chuckle before bringing his topmost pair of arms up into a double bi. “Feels good,” he said. “It’s funny—I can’t remember what it’s like to have them when they’re gone, but now I can’t imagine not having them.”

I continued to tug on my rigid cock—thumb fingering my slit—with one hand, while the other caressed my swollen, sweaty pecs and abs. I closed my eyes, the moans of the two transforming freaks below moving me closer and closer to the edge before the rush of an orgasm, hot cum bursting out of my thick, bloated cock and me clenching a fist full of my own t-shirt over the tingling head. Seconds later I heard Brian and Mitchell let out simultaneous moans; this time moans of release rather than arousal. Knowing their heads would be spinning with post-orgasm bliss, I crawled through the archway into the corridor that would take me from the great hall to my room.

I had sobered up a great deal and tried to walk down the hall while wiping myself clean of my own rapidly cooling semen. There was no denying it now. Something was wrong here. I had seen, from a distance, Brian slowly grow to over thirty, maybe even closer to forty, feet tall. And even as he had, Mitchell’s body had produced four extra arms. This was happening. Mac hadn’t seemed bigger up close, Colton had not shrunk in a dream, Edgar hadn’t had an allergic reaction.

I was so lost in thought that I almost walked right in to Aiden’s bristling, bare chest. “Woah,” he said, holding up his thick hands. “Everything ok?” I was completely sober by now, but in light of what I had seen, it took me a moment to gather my thoughts. The sight of Aiden’s naked pecs up close, flexing and jumping involuntarily with every move, didn’t help.

“You were right,” I said. “Something’s wrong here. These guys…” I wasn’t sure what to say. “You were right.”

Aiden’s beautiful eyebrows knit as he looked off into the distance. Damn, could this guy brood! “What did you see?”

I told him. “That’s not all,” I finished. “The boss, I guess, is coming this week. Your probation will be over Saturday at the latest.”

“I figured,” Aiden said, brushing his thumb against the cleft of his chin before placing it between his gleaming teeth. “And then… who knows?”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I guess I have to ride this out. I can’t run away. Not until I know the whole story.”

“But how are you going to find out?”

For the first time, Aiden looked me directly in the eyes. His eyes were a shimmering, silvery blue and looking into them directly sent a tingle from my knees directly into my asshole.

“If I had a plan,” he asked. “Would you help me out?”

At breakfast the next morning, Mitchell announced that the boss would be at the Manor late that night and he would have his final meeting with Aiden first thing the next morning to determine if he would stay on as Onion Hill Manor’s librarian.

“Don’t stress it,” Mac had said through a mouthful of yogurt. “I’ve never seen anyone not get the job.”

“Yeah,” Colton chimed in. “Even Ed got it.” Edgar, whose cheat day it was and whose mouth was full of bacon, gave Colton a not-so-playful sock on the shoulder. Everyone laughed except for Aiden, who gave me a knowing glance from across the table.

“I’m pretty sure if I can just get at the owner’s files and papers, that’d be the last piece of the puzzle,” Aiden said as we took our coffee into the game room. “But they’re in the study. No one’s allowed in there.”

“You mean Mitchell’s office?” I said. “That’s where I interviewed; he had me fill out the paperwork there. It’s never come up on my security rounds for some reason.” The rounds were randomly generated every day and took me all over the house. That room had never been on them.

Aiden shook his head. He was gently opening and closing his thick fingers against his chest. “That’s because it’s not Mitchell’s office. That’s the boss’s office and nobody’s allowed in there. Well, nobody except Mitchell, because he deals with employment paperwork. But his is the only tablet that’ll unlock the door.”

“Mitchell’s in the gym,” I said, watching him move around the conservatory on my own tablet.

“Let’s go,” Aiden said.

There was a small sitting room between the garden foyer and the conservatory. In a private home, the room didn’t seem to have any earthly purpose outside of supporting the upper floors of the house. Now, with the conservatory having been turned into a state-of-the-art home gym, the room had been filled with cabinets and functioned as a locker room.

“Mitchell always leaves his tablet on the top shelf of his cabinet,” Aiden said. “But I don’t know how much time I’m going to need in there.”

“I’ll keep him distracted as long as I can,” I said, quickly changing into my gym clothes. “But try to be quick. No promises.”

Aiden, hiding the tablet under his shirt, disappeared and I headed out into the enormous, glass-walled room. It was a beautiful day, and the blue sky and brilliant sunlight made it easy to forget that wasn’t outside. The sunlight on the back of my widening neck felt amazing, and the tight black tank-top I was wearing pushed my pecs together, forming deep man-cleavage that I couldn’t help but stop and finger. At the far end of the room, Mitchell was pumping free-weights up and down, grunting wildly.

When I’d first come to Onion Hill Manor, I’d been a little worried about the large role that physical exercise played in the job. I’ve never been able to stand “gym” guys, guys who can never stop talking about reps and protein supplements, guys who feel the need to toss dumbbells and free-weights when they’re done with them, or do anything else to force themselves to be the center of attention somehow. Seeing how fit everyone was I thought for sure that’s who I was dealing with, but I was pleasantly surprised. Everyone loved being big and strong and toned, but nobody saw it as anything more than part of the job. None of them were “gym” guys, except maybe Mac, who it turned out had played college football and high school everything, and even he didn’t talk about it a whole lot.

Now, as Mitchell went through his workout routine, I worked to keep him in my sight in case it looked like he was going to leave. I thought it would be a chore to watch him, but it was hard to look away. As he moved from one machine to another, his skin glistened with sweat, stretching tighter and tighter over thick veins, snaking jaggedly over thick, pumped muscle. Finally, after blasting out about seventy hanging sit ups, he seemed to be done. He bent over, throwing his thick arms behind him and tearing animalistic-ly at the back of his charcoal-colored shirt, ripping it up over his head as his blooming muscles burst free. His chest and shoulders heaved up and down as he tried to catch his breath. He walked over to the large fountain before dipping his entire head into it. He came back up, tossing his freshly wet hair behind him, and sat on a nearby stone bench, staring into the distance while continuing to catch his breath. His jet-black hair, now wet with sweat and water, clumped into thick black strands, some of which dangled in front of his eyes. As his breathing slowed, he looked down at his body. He lowered his head and gently nuzzled the crease where his deltoid met his chest. Then, clearly unaware I was watching, he gave it a lick.

I walked up to Mitchell, who was so dazed from the intense workout that he didn’t notice me until I was almost right on top of him. “How you doing?” He asked when he finally noticed me.

“I think pretty good,” I said. “You?”

“Good,” he huffed. “Gonna hit the shower in a sec. Just gotta catch my breath.” This was not what I wanted to hear. There was no sign that Aiden had returned his tablet.

“You’re really getting your time’s worth out of this place,” I said. “You’re looking great.” I reached out and squeezed his wide, veined bicep. “Damn, that’s big.” Mitchell looked down at his arm where I’d grabbed it, and then back at me, flashing a rare smile.

“Now it is,” he said. “I gotta hell of a pump on.”

“I don’t think it’s just that,” I said. “Seriously, I’m jealous of your arms. I’d love to get another inch or two on mine, but I feel like I’ve capped out.”

Mitchell looked at my arms, scratching the dark stubble that was emerging on his pronounced jaw-bone. “Maybe it’s about form,” he said. “Lemme see.”

Feeling a little foolish, I mimed bicep curls.

“That’s it, then,” Mitchell said. “You wanna keep your elbows in more.”

“Like this?” I asked, pushing my elbows out.

“No, you gotta… like this, here.” Mitchell waved me in to the hollow of his chest, inviting me to sit on the bench in front of him, between his legs with my back against his chest. Only a few weeks ago I would have been completely cocooned by his mass. I was bigger now, too big to curl up in his lap like I might have once upon a time, but he was still bigger than me. A heavy, intoxicating musk hung about him, and made me a little dizzy. “Here’s what you do,” Mitchell held his massive arms, already twice as big as they had seemed just a second ago, against mine. The gently quivered and flexed involuntarily as they cooled from the intense workout. “Do it like this,” he murmured. Just feeling Mitchell’s breath on my neck, and his arms against mine, caused my dick to chub visibly in my thin gym shorts.

“I think it would be easier like this…” I said, placing my hands directly over his. “That’s better.” I felt a dull pressing in the base of my spine, and realized that Mitchell was getting hard too.

“Feel what my hands are doing?” Mitchell asked. Damn, this guy couldn’t take a hint!

“It feels nice,” I said, looking over my shoulder to stare into Mitchell’s piercingly dark eyes. I could feel his breath getting shallower, but he still didn’t seem to understand that I was trying to initiate something. Fuck it, I thought, and I gently gripped his wrists and brought his left hand to my pec, and his right over to my lower abs, making sure the fleshy side of his hand grazed my swelling cock. As I did I felt his gently pulsate. He shifted his weight from one butt cheek to the other, and leaned in to gently kiss me behind me left ear, and then my right.

“You’re getting big,” he said, running his hand down my crotch between my thighs. Slowly, I shifted my body around until I was on my knees, straddling him, placing my fingertips where his shoulders met his biceps. Under my balls I could feel his cock pulsating bigger and bigger, and under my hands his arms did the same.

“I could be bigger,” I whispered, placing my lips against his jaw. “Bigger like you.”

Mitchell gave a little, involuntary yell as his arms split in two, and one of his new hands immediately worked its way under the elastic waistband of my shorts and pulled my dick free, gently stroking it, pulling its flared head into the deep divides of his abs.

I sat up a little straighter, allowing the other new hand to work my asshole, massaging it, relaxing it so it would widen to accommodate his thick, warm digits. I was now high enough to kiss his eyelashes, which I did, continuing to praise his size and beautifully toned arms. With another grunt, a fifth and sixth arm came around from his broad upper back. Mitchell’s hands were wide and fair, with square tips and knuckles like bolts. And now six of them were on my body—my dick, my asshole, my pecs, my shoulders, my back…

Mitchell’s eyes closed as a smile gently crossed his face and I started bouncing up and down on him, kissing his lips, his cheeks, everywhere. His fingers were up my asshole while my penis rubbed against his abs. His own throbbing cock burned and bucked under my ball sack. I tried to speak, but all I could get out was: “Your arms, your arms…” over and over again. They continued to grow—all six of them—and swell under my hands, but when he let out another grunt there were no more arms. Instead two more legs shot out of his hips, so each of my bent knees was squeezed between two bloated, white-hot thighs.

Mitchell slowly, lazily opened his eyes. “Squeez’em,” He said. “Now.” I grabbed the two new thighs, the outside ones, and gave them a firm squeeze. “Harder.” I squeezed harder, and a deep rumble came from somewhere deep inside Mitchell. “Harder,” He said again. I squeezed hard, hard enough to hurt. There was a louder, less controlled moan, and I felt a shudder run through all ten of his limbs. I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. As fantastic as his new arms and legs were, I couldn’t take my eyes off is beautiful torso, especially as my own pulsing cock head inched into his pecs. My balls were churning, and his cock was twitching under them like an errant firehose. “Harder!” he nearly shouted, and I squeezed his new legs as hard as possible while pressing a deep kiss into his mouth. His tongue raged against mine as a deep moan within him sent vibrations all through my own body. I felt a blast of hot come against my balls and taint, and Mitchell slowly fell away from me.

The next thing I remember was slowly coming back to consciousness, and when I did Mitchell had no more than two arms and two legs. I looked up to the conservatory doorway where Aiden stood, and gave me a covert thumbs-up before silently disappearing again back into the house.


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