Camshow

[6 word request: Tricked into shrinking for cam show]

Dirk’s door was wide open. Since they’d been living together, Harold had never seen the inside of his roommate’s room before and yet here it was, late in the afternoon, the door open and Dirk nowhere to be found. Harold peeked in, softly called Dirk’s name, then shut the door. He hurried downstairs as if just closing a door were a violation of Dirk’s privacy and he was terrified to get caught.

After he made a sandwich, he glanced out the window and noticed Dirk’s car behind the house. He sliced the sandwich in half diagonally, remembering a time a week ago when Dirk rolled his eyes at Harold for, “...still eating bread? Fucking garbage.”

He listened for his big roommate’s heavy footsteps upstairs but there was nothing. Dirk was a MAMMOTH man; his lightest footfall still sounded like an elephant was about.

Dirk didn’t work, either. Technically he was a “personal trainer” but Harold heard him admit to his boyfriend the week before that he had, “...only three clients, and I’m considering dropping one of them so I can have more time for more fruitful endeavors.” He mentioned that his instagram was close to being monetized. Harold followed Dirk in secret--admittedly, to jerk off to pictures of his muscular roommate in various states of undress bulging as he curled a weight or flashing his big melon ass as he pulled a barbell off the floor--but couldn’t figure out how gym photos and gratuitous pics wearing only a sheet draped over his crotch could be worth a steady income.

Still, his rent was always paid on time. Harold was just too afraid to ask.

Harold approached Dirk’s door once again, gently knocking a few times before calling Dirk’s name. No response. He grew bold and turned the handle, slowly opening it. He took a deep breath of the air inside--slightly stale, very sweaty, with a hint of Dirk’s cologne.

“Dirk? You around, buddy?” Harold said as he slowly padded into the room. The thrill of invading Dirk’s privacy--even if it was just three steps inside his room--gave Harold a charge he couldn’t deny. Harold reminded himself that a scent was a tiny piece of its source; the lingering smell of Dirk’s freshly gym-pumped body was actually tiny droplets that came out of the big man himself. Smelling him now was only a few steps removed from pressing his nose against Dirk’s warm skin, dragging it across the moist flesh, breathing deeply as he buried his face between those huge, smooth, bulging pecs…

Harold knew he should get out of that room immediately. The place was spotless, unsurprisingly. Harold imagined what Dirk’s underwear drawer looked like--no doubt tightly folded and pressed pairs of his brightly colored undies all arranged by hue. Dirk’s OCD tendencies meant he would know Harold had been there if he let anything amiss, so he avoided the urge to peek at Dirk’s unmentionables, although the idea of being so close to those things that were so close to Dirk’s big dick and balls was an unbelievable thrill!

Just as Harold turned to leave, he noticed Dirk’s desk chair slightly off-center. Harold approached it, about to slide it under the desk, when he saw a bright purple flash of fabric on the ground. He paused and knelt down next to it. He spun around once, almost expecting Dirk to barge in at that moment, before grabbing the silky little slip of fabric and picking it up.

It was one of Dirk’s thongs! Or, whatever he called them--”posing trunks”--that he wore in his instagram photos sometimes. He had seen this particular pair of shiny lilac trunks before in a pic Dirk had posted that featured his oiled muscles sitting proudly on a huge Harley. Harold’s little dick jerked a little at the memory of beating his meat to that pic about a hundred times. Then he reached out and grabbed them.

They felt so satiny in his hands! He shivered as he rubbed them between his fingers. He lamented that they weren’t still warm but balled them up in his fist, squeezing them tightly. God, he wondered what they smelled like… And as he sat there, fondling them and tingling all over, he noticed Dirk’s smartphone just a few feet away underneath his bed.

A banging from downstairs broke him from his fantasy. Instantly he raced for the door, slamming it behind him. He was halfway down the stairs when he realized he still had the trunks in his hand! He considered going back into Dirk’s room, but instead, darted into his own--it was closer--and put it on his bed, folding his quilt over it. Then he hurried to the front door.

Harold was still shaking as he answered the door. A good-looking blonde man--slight of build, about Harold’s height but incredibly beautiful--smiled at him. “Hi! You’re Dirk’s roommate, right?” the man asked.

Harold nodded and the man extended a hand. As he shook it, Harold luxuriated in the feel of the warm, soft skin.

“I’m Dirk’s buddy Luke,” he said. “You know where he is right now?”

Harold shook his head. “He doesn’t usually tell me too much,” he admitted, instantly regretting it after he said it. He felt a cold sweat starting to collect on the back of his neck. He rubbed his clammy palms on his hands.

“No, I wasn’t asking,” the stranger said. “I was segueing to telling you: he’s go-go dancing at a bar called Silver Streak downtown. It’s already packed! If you’re going to go, I would go early. There’s going to be a line pretty soon.”

Harold glanced at his watch; it was just after 6, a little too early to start drinking--the first of a few dozen reasons why Harold wouldn’t be heading to a trendy new bar. “Maybe,” he said. Had this beautiful stranger been inviting him? It was so hard for Harold to read signals from other gay men. He always just assumed they weren’t interested.

“Anyway he’s all oiled up and ready to get onstage but he forgot his phone in his room… he sent me here to get it.”

Harold paused. He had never met any of Dirk’s friends before. “I dunno,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s okay if I--”

“I can call his boyfriend if that’ll help,” Luke said, pulling out his phone. “Have you talk to him.”

Harold froze at the image of Dirk’s boyfriend. Where Dirk was a giant beauty, his boyfriend Tanner was a giant beast: hairy, thick, built to flip trucks one-handed. Tanner looked like he was half-sasquatch, the only person Harold had ever seen that made Dirk seem (comparatively) small. Some nights, as Harold listened to them fuck like rhinos down the hall, he imagined the two titans crashing through the floor, continuing to fuck, entirely unaware that they were in a different room with a massive hole in the ceiling.

“No no no,” Harold said. “You’re more than welcome to head up there.” He would be glad if he never saw Tanner again, especially not without Dirk as a buffer. Harold had a feeling the mountainous man had little patience for him. He liked to imagine the brute found Harold’s small stature infuriating, as if he couldn’t understand how a man could survive in this world without being a huge pile of hard muscles.

Harold gestured toward the stairs, then followed Luke as he ascended. “You take a right at the top, and it’s the second door--” Harold began.

“Yeah, I know,” Luke said. “I’ve been over before. Never when you’re here though.”

Harold froze in place, neutralized by the comment. In some other universe, he imagined, there was a Harold who had a response to every statement, who didn’t shut-down every time he was addressed directly, who didn’t think of the perfect statement hours after or days before it would ever be useful.

He still had a sandwich in the kitchen, of course, but Harold’s peaceful evening seemed suddenly insufficient. Why wasn’t he out with other like-minded men on a perfectly appropriate night to be social? He wasn’t much of a dancer but could bop his head and move enough to mesh with a crowd. Would being the roommate of a go-go dancer be a kind of clout he could use as an ice-breaker? Harold bit his lip and climbed the stairs to his room.

A quick perusal of his clothes and he regretted prioritizing professional button-downs with the “garment” portion of his budget. Everything looked either “cubicle jockey” or “librarian”--maybe tonight wouldn’t be the night he headed out to “the club” but he would make it a point to work toward it in the future.

As he passed by his bed he remembered the prize he had hidden there. He peeked down the hallway--Luke was in Dirk’s room, the door closed--and shut his door. He uncovered the beautiful little pair of “panties”--something about that term for a garment slipped over the enormous body of his beautiful testosterone factory of a roommate gave him a charge--and slowly lowered his face to them.

It felt sneaky, for some reason, to touch the trunks with any part of his body that wasn’t his hands. He rubbed his nose across it, voraciously inhaling the tiny droplets of Dirk’s masculine essence, and then ran a toe over it. He shivered at the sensation.

He paused to listen for Luke. He heard nothing, and was happy that Luke had let himself out; the man’s beauty made Harold self-conscious about a dozen different qualities about himself. Then he dropped his pants. His little cock was rock-hard, bouncing as he leaned forward to rub the head of his dick across those silky little… he sighed as he thought the word… PANTIES…

He grabbed his dick as he lay down on his bed, rubbing his cheek against the skimpy little garment, imagining how ludicrous such a miniscule piece of clothing would look on such a gigantic, muscular man…

Then he heard Dirk. He froze. Was Dirk downstairs? He listened for the thudding footsteps of the big bodybuilder anywhere in the house but heard nothing. But Harold could have sworn he heard Dirk somewhere in the distance, yelling. (When had Dirk ever yelled before? The huge man never needed to raise his voice. Every time he coughed, people immediately let him have his way.)

Harold stroked his cheek against the trunks, slowly twisting his fist around his dick, when he heard it again. It was unmistakably Dirk’s voice; Harold wasn’t hearing things.

“HAROLD! DOWN HERE! LOOK DOWN HERE!”

Harold sat up suddenly. He shamefully yanked up his pants and fastened his belt as he rushed to the window, expecting to see Dirk outside--maybe locked out? Then he went to his door and opened it. He heard nothing.

He looked down at the lump in his pants, willing it to go down before he felt safe wandering through the house, just in case he wasn’t hearing things and Dirk did happen to come home.

Then there was banging on the door again. He had told the landlord about the busted doorbell a whole week ago and they had yet to see a repairman.

Harold almost cried out when he opened the door to see Tanner’s massive bulk filling the doorframe.

“Dirk!” he yelled. “Where’s Dirk! Have you seen him?” he shouted.

Harold took a step back. Tanner looked frantic. It was unnerving to see a man built like a buffalo so upset without knowing exactly why, or how to appease him.

“H-he’s at a bar,” Harold stammered. “The silver something. I thought you were there with him!”

Tanner shook his head. “Bar? He’s not at a fucking bar! He was at home. I was watching his camshow, then I stepped away, and when I got back he was just… gone! Disappeared. And he’s not answering his phone, either.”

“It’s under his bed,” Harold said, starting to put things together. Camshow. He had heard about them before, and loathed the fact that Dirk had been strutting his big muscles for a camera Harold could have secretly accessed (and recorded!) and he had never known it. That did explain why Dirk was often talking aloud when there was no one else in his room--and why he was always flush with cash! “Wait, Luke got it! He was just here.”

“Who the FUCK is Luke?” Tanner roared so loud Harold was fairly certain he’d been lifted off the floor a few inches by the big man’s intensity.

Harold stood there, confused, until Tanner shoved him out of the way and thundered up the stairs. “DIRK!” he boomed. “DIRK, WHERE ARE YOU BABY?”

He heard Tanner burst through the door upstairs, heard it slam, then heard Tanner shout, “WHAT THE FU--” before everything went silent.

Harold stared up the staircase, afraid to be on the same floor as that agitated beast. He wanted to go back to his room--wanted to go back to the safe bliss of that silky little piece of underwear (“Good lord how good must it feel when it’s on his body!” he thought), but feared being smashed to pieces by Tanner exploding with rage at… whatever it was that got big men like him upset.

This--feeling like a pet in his own home--had become far too normal for Harold, who really never left the house except to go to work. When Dirk and Tanner were in good moods, he had nothing to fear, but he was at the mercy of their whims. If Dirk wanted to do lunges up and down the stairs, Harold was stuck on whatever floor he was on. When Harold’s couch was too small to seat the two bulky men, he came home to find it on the corner with the garbage and a giant leather monstrosity (that went with absolutely nothing in the living room!) in its place.

Harold went to the kitchen, grabbed the remains of his sandwich, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs. He passed by Dirk’s room slowly--it was silent in there--and continued to his room, proud of himself for fearlessly passing by a danger zone.

As he took a bite, he wondered--why was it silent in there?

“Three theories,” he said aloud as he closed his door. “First, he located Dirk… somehow… and was basking in relief… Second, he hadn’t located Dirk, but was patiently waiting for him to return... “ Both were unlikely. “Third,” he said as he eyed the his shiny purple treasure on his bed, “he got home while I was jerking it to this beautiful thing, and I didn’t notice, and I’m about to hear them noisily fuck…”

As he sat on his bed, he tapped into his phone, “DIRK MAYHEW CAMSHOW” but got no results. He crammed the last corner of bread into his mouth as he recalled Dirk’s “stage name”--”LOGAN DANGER CAMSHOW”--and got a website! He tapped on it, his whole body pulsing when he saw a still image from one of Dirk’s performances--the giant man flexing, showing his deep, shiny musclepit, his tongue stuck out.

“Perfect,” he said, trying to absorb every detail of the picture as he fondled his dick and rubbed his face on the silky poser again, trying to sniff it. The website said “Logan Danger” was currently broadcasting a camshow. His thumb hovered over the link before he grew daring and tapped it. An image of Dirk’s room--just the other side of the door--appeared. Nothing was happening. Maybe it was frozen or something. He glanced down at the purple trunks and saw… something.

At first he thought it was an insect. Maybe a flea, or a bedbug? Something tiny, light brown, moved across the shiny cloth. He jerked away from it, disgusted. Maybe Dirk had crabs, he wondered. Had he caught them? Was his bed infested?

Then he leaned in to see. He blinked, adjusted his glasses, and leaned in closer. It didn’t look like an insect exactly. It looked like a little man.

It looked like Dirk--barely a quarter of an inch tall, waving his big arms.

Harold rubbed his eyes. It was lint, he thought, or maybe an actual insect. He extended a finger to just squash it--then considered a magnifying glass. He walked to his desk, only pausing when he heard a noise from his phone.

It was Luke’s voice. “There we go, now I caught you, you tiny little fuck.” Magnifying glass in hand, Harold wanted to stay focused on the--whatever--he had seen on the posers, but… was Luke still in their house? He turned to the phone.

He could see Luke crouched down, barely in frame, talking in a gentle voice to something by his feet. Harold saw the chat buzzing by--it looked like there were over 200 users in the room, and the cash tally was in the tens of thousands and steadily climbing--as well as a poll on the right: “How small should Dirk’s boyfriend be?” followed by the options, “1 foot tall, 6 inches tall, 2 inches tall, .0001 millimeters tall,” with the third option winning with 53% of the vote.

Harold stared at the posers, at the phone, then at his closed bedroom door--WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?

Luke spoke in a gentle voice to the camera. “Well, folks, look like I caught that little bug. Good thing I saw all his texts and heard him downstairs! I wouldn't have been able to shrink him if I hadn’t gotten that poll started. Pretty soon those of you slinging appropriate amounts of cash will be able to vote on what I do to him, but before that, we still have to find that little webcam star, wherever he ended up!”

Harold suddenly realized he hadn’t breathed in over a minute. He was shaking. He set down the phone, unable to process everything that was going on--shrink? Was this a roleplay thing? Was Dirk in on any of this?--but when he leaned down to the posers, magnifying glass, he clearly saw Dirk’s massive form at an incredibly tiny scale, waving his arms, desperate to be noticed.

“Dirk?” Harold said gently, but the tiny man slapped his hands over his ears. “Oops! I’m sorry!” he said in a whisper that still seemed too loud. Harold was afraid to touch him.

On the webcam, Harold watched Luke folding Tanner’s clothing, taking a deep sniff of his boxers and socks as he put them in a pile on Dirk’s desk chair. Then he leaned over, scooping his hands under an overturned protein shaker, lifting whatever he had trapped underneath up to the camera. “Now, little bug, let’s see if you’re willing to cooperate!” He held the open palm up to the webcam as the poll changed.

The new options available for voting: “FLUSHED,” “MICROWAVE,” “SHOVED IN MY PEEHOLE,” “SWALLOWED WHOLE.” There, in Luke’s hand, was burly Tanner’s hirsute body, muscles pumping as the tiny man ineffectively beat on the huge fingers daring to wrap around him.

“NO!” Harold shouted, clapping his hands over his mouth. Luke, on the video, snapped his head to the side.

“Well,” Luke said with a grin, “I guess we won’t find our little webcam stud until we find those sexy purple trunks he was wearing, right? And I have a feeling Dirk’s pervy roommate knows something about where those trunks might be…”

Harold watched in horror as the poll changed. “How small should the roommate shrink?” In a panic he grabbed for the posers, pausing when he realized he was just about to smoosh the micro-man hiding in them. Very gently he lifted them, peering in to make sure Dirk was still there--the big stud was tumbling around wildly, struggling to keep from flying out--and then turned to the door. He opened it quietly, wondering if he should tiptoe by Dirk’s room or just sprint out.

Before he had made up his mind, Harold suddenly felt terribly hot. He moaned as tingling spread all over his body. He cried out as his pants fell down, the world rising up around him. His head disappeared into the neckhole of his shirt, suddenly rendering everything much darker as his clothes expanded around him, looming above like a massive tent. Then, with no body to hold them up, they collapsed downward. Still, Harold continued to shrink.

Through it all, he struggled to hold on to the posing trunks, but at a certain point they slipped from his fingers. When it was over, he crawled out of his sleeve, crying out as he looked up at the cavernous expanse above him. The massive shapes in the distance, too big to fully take in, had to be his furniture, he assumed. He looked down to see the purple posing trunks, now as big as a tarp. He hurried over them to find Dirk, now clearly visible,.

To Harold’s perspective, Dirk was now the size of a big action figure. Harold threw his hands over his privates, suddenly ashamed to be nude in front of the stunning representation of the masculine form (who only came up to Harold’s mid-shin).

“I… I found you!” Harold said, immediately berating himself for saying something so stupid.

“Why didn’t you run?” Dirk said, balling up his fists and swinging them wildly. Such an aggressive act, from such a tiny being, was undeniably adorable.

The ground shook, mini-earthquakes that Harold knew had to be Luke coming toward them. “Let’s run now!” he shouted. They both cried out as the door swung open. Harold threw himself flat, shivering as the door barely grazed him as it passed. Luke looked like Godzilla--no, bigger. He looked like a skyscraper had come to life. Harold couldn’t crane his head high enough to see the gigantic man’s face.

Harold broke into a sprint--immediately winded, immediately regretting the fact that he had never valued running as a form of fitness--only freezing when he heard little Dirk screaming from behind him. Harold spun around, grabbed the tiny bodybuilder, and held the little musclefreak against his chest as he kept running. Despite the level of danger they were both in, he was thrilled by the feeling of those plump muscles flexing and bulging under his hand. DIrk’s muscles felt like swollen insect bites; Harold was suddenly overcome with the urge to squeeze them until they popped.

A huge foot slammed down in front of them and Harold immediately turned to run, sweaty Dirk suddenly sliding from his grip. Unfortunately, behind him was a massive card coming at them. Luke had a debit card in his hand--twice as long as Harold was tall--and he was scraping it across the floor so quickly Harold had barely registered what it was before it scooped him up.

A moment later Harold felt himself tumbling into a giant hand. He bumped along it slippery smooth surface, the grooves of the fingerprints rubbing across Harold’s naked body like corduroy.

“There we are,” Luke said, his voice sounding like it was blasting through a massive soundsystem. “Two for one! Good lord am I tired of Nancy Drewing the whereabouts of the roided-out camsluts I shrink. You, Poindexter,” he said, jabbing Harold with a massive index finger, “you’re not usually the type of guy I get for my shows, but I have a great idea for you.”

The hand bounced and lurched as Luke walked. Harold did his best to keep little Dirk from slipping through the fingers and tumbling to his death. Finally, the palm tilted and Harold cradled little Dirk against him as they tumbled out, trying to be a cushion for the tiny meathead’s fall.

It took a moment for their location to register with Harold, but he finally realized it was Dirk’s desk. Dirk’s webcam was pointed right at them. Luke lowered tiny naked Tanner to the desk, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Tanner only came up to Harold’s waist; meanwhile, Dirk was about knee-high to Tanner.

Harold felt an incredible charge from seeing these two hulks literally cut down to size before him. He almost forgot the fact that he was only about two inches tall now, staring down at the two men who used to tower over him.

“Oh, look at Poindexter!” Luke boomed, pointing at Harold’s erect cock. “Folks, he’s LOVING this!” Harold went to cover his dick, but then, remembering they were on camera, he reconsidered. To show his embarrassment would be even more embarrassing; it was a complex emotion he would contemplate some other time, he told himself.

“Now, just to get us all on the same page,” Luke began theatrically, performing for the webcam, “Mr. Logan Danger--a.k.a. Dirk Mayhew--made a big mistake when he said he would do absolutely anything if we raised a thousand dollars today, and with his shitty security defenses it was nothing to hack into his system and apply my resizing matrix to the webcam software. Don’t worry about the sciience, mini-men--not that your tiny brains could comprehend it that is--but if your cam fans vote on it, I can make it happen. And right now, they want to see you three fuck.”

Luke stood, casting a massive shadow that threw the three of them into darkness. Dirk waddled his big musclebod over to Tanner’s hairy leg, huddling behind his calf. Harold stepped in front of Tanner, as if he could do anything to protect the tiny men behind him.

“Your fans want you shoved in Poindexter’s ass, Dirk!”

Tanner immediately grabbed Dirk off the ground and cradled him in his arms protectively, backing away from Harold.

“And they also want Poindexter to be balls deep in big burly Captain Caveman here!” Luke poked Tanner so hard in the chest that the hirsute man, tiny bodybuilder in arms and all, toppled over.

“And if you don’t, I have a hungry cat in a cage in the car that I’m going to let loose in here. You have thirty seconds to decide, little men--and no matter what you pick, your fans are getting a great show, and I’m going to get a FORTUNE!”

Harold turned to the tiny men, already erect, as if there was no question what they were going to do. Luke had produced a bottle of lube and was squeezing out dollops on the tiny musclemen, who shivered and moaned as they slipped in the slick puddles it made.

“Well, nothing’s worse than getting eaten by a cat, right?” Harold offered.

Tanner, soaked in shiny lube, looked down at his tiny lover, grabbed him roughly around the waist, and started trudging toward Harold.

“He’s gonna fight it,” Tanner said as Harold bent over, “but that’ll make it even more fun. Just try not to clench to much.”