[WIP] Untitled

Hey all, I thought that since I do want to offer more than just stories every month (digital art incoming, fingers crossed), I might as well show you what I'm working on right now. This is more or less the first half of the current working draft for a recovered story. I'm planning to have it completed by Sunday. Also note I'm trying to be more complete with tagging, especially on Patreon and with darker stories.

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Mitchell woke in the fourth floor lab of the new science building, eyes blinded by the overhead lights and his hands and legs bound by what felt like sweaty handkerchiefs. Squinting until his vision cleared, his gaze eventually focused on a figure turned away from him, digging through a bag on the ground several feet away from him. He realized at that moment he was on top of a table, his head pressing against the wall, his feet bumping against the spout of a metal sink. His head was pounding, fuzzy and thick like he had a hangover, and his mouth had a dry, sour taste.

What the fuck was going on?

He had no idea how he had gotten here, or what he had been doing before apparently losing consciousness. But he had to get out. Whatever this was, it was not good.

As he ground his teeth together and tried to pull his hands out of the binds, he saw the stranger out of the corner of his eye standing and turning around. “Fuck!” he hissed, pushing himself slightly into a sitting position against the wall. Though his pulls became more frantic, and rubbed painfully against the skin on his wrists, he couldn’t seem to loosen the cloth. “Fuck fuck fuck! Not good!”

“Hello, Mitchell,” came a very familiar voice, and Mitchell looked up, frozen, with wide eyes.

“Gareth?” His voice already wavered, as much as he wished it didn’t. The slim, inauspicious young man before him smiled, his mouth a thin, curved line. His stringy, overgrown hair fell over his forehead and hung limply behind his ears, shiny in the overhead lights. Mitchell pushed himself back against the wall, his knees drawn up in front of him, as Gareth drew nearer. His piercing, ice blue eyes, once harmless, did not look quite so innocent now. “What are yo—” His voice cut off as his pitch squeaked upwards with growing fear. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” Gareth began, his smile growing behind his unshaven, wiry beard. All at once, he looked a portrait of antagonism, where before there had only been a shy, reserved student. If it hadn’t been for his greasy hair and his threadbare red t-shirt over a hunched form, almost a constant, Mitchell might not have even recognized him. “It won’t hurt.”

In one swift movement, Gareth rushed him, knocking Mitchell’s head back with his fist and grabbing his arm. Shooting, intense pain rushed through Mitchell’s head, completely blinding him with agony as Gareth pushed a large syringe deftly into his arm and injected an amber-colored liquid. Mitchell’s body slid a couple inches down the wall when released, his head lolling over his chest. His short, dark hair was ruffled by sleep, his dark eyes half open, and his caramel-toned skin flushed with fear. Mitchell didn’t move right away when Gareth released him, dizzy and groaning with pain, but let his forehead slide against his knees.

When he finally shook his head and wiped the involuntary tears from his eyes, he raised his head to find Gareth had been staring oddly at him from several steps away the entire time. “What?” Mitchell snapped, tenderly pressing his fingers against the back of his head. “What the…what the fuck did you do to me?”

Gareth shrugged, a smug smile playing on his face as he took a single step backward. “A little hormone concoction I cooked up.”

“Huh?” Mitchell asked, completely lost, but Gareth didn’t answer. “Hormones?”

“A very specific combination. Very fragile, if I do say so myself,” the man continued as he began to pace around the room. He was acting as if he knew something Mitchell didn’t, as if Mitchell wasn’t just as good a student as him. His stained jeans dragged against the ground, holes already tearing in the denim. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked for this, Mitchell. You couldn’t dream of it. And I think I’ve finally got it perfected. Who better to finally try it on but my one academic rival remaining?”

“What kind of hormones?” Mitchell asked, rubbing the injection site on his inner arm, just below his elbow. He had no idea what Gareth was talking about, or even what he wanted. To be frank, the man’s sudden onset superiority complex was starting to piss him off.

“Nothing to worry yourself about,” Gareth replied, as if it were an afterthought to respond to him. “But like I said, Mitchell, soon enough you won’t even be smart enough to care, and I’ll get to be head of the class.”

With an offended noise, Mitchell grit his teeth and tried once more to pull his hands out of his handkerchief binds, to no end. “What the fuck are you talking about? Head of the class? There’s no head of class. How do you even know I’m doing better than you? W-what does it even matter if you’re getting an A? Let me out of these god damn ropes!”

“I’m going to need you to stop swearing at me, okay, Mitchie?” Gareth’s voice was unnaturally high, almost mocking him. He tucked a stray, greasy strand of hair behind his ear and watched Mitchell expectantly.

Mitchell narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to offer a barrage of offensive words, but found that his throat had closed up and refused to let him talk. “Ah—!” he attempted, but found his voice cut off again. His hand shot to his throat, his mouth opening and closing as he tried over and over to say something—anything to this freak. He could picture the words in his head: fuck, shit, damn. But the moment he tried to curl his mouth around their shape, he suddenly felt like he was choking, his throat sealed and his breath cut off. He looked up at Gareth, that constant all-knowing smile still painted across his face, and growled angrily.

“What are you doing to me,” he demanded, his words slow and pointed.

“Nothing you don’t deserve.”

“I don’t even know you!” He genuinely had no idea why Gareth had targeted him. He knew Gareth’s name from repetition, but he knew hardly anything else about him. “We’ve spoken—what, three times in four months? We’re in three classes together, but I don’t know you, man! I thought you were the shy smart kid in the corner!”

“You’re the reason people like me never have a chance.”

“What the—” Mitchell groaned as his throat caught again, forcing him to start over without swearing. “What have I ever done to you?” He scratched absently at the injection site, unaware of how red his skin had become, or how warm it was. He didn’t know how Gareth had dragged him all the way here, or how dangerous he truly was, but he didn’t really want to find out. His first goal was getting untied, and then maybe he could escape.

Gareth laughed once, an empty sound that made Mitchell shiver. He leaned against a table halfway across the room, watching Mitchell closely, before letting that infuriating smile return to his face. “You’re getting in my way of success.”

“No I’m n—”

“And anyway,” he continued, smoothly interrupting Mitchell and shutting him down. “I’m more interested in the other reason anyway. Who wouldn’t be? You are going to be the most beautiful—”

Mitchell had stopped listening the moment he realized there was no hope of getting through to Gareth. He felt gross underneath the man’s gaze, bared open and vulnerable like he had never been before. He was supposed to be the strong, macho one, and still this loser had somehow gotten him into the lab and injected him with an unknown cocktail of drugs. Hormones? What did he even mean by that? With a sigh, he straightened his legs against the lab table, trying to slow his rapidly-beating heart. He could be smart about this, and maybe he could even outsmart Gareth. Maybe…maybe he would get further if he tried another way.

With a cautious look upwards, and a pained grimace as he realized Gareth was still staring—almost hungrily—at him, Mitchell took a long breath. “Could I—have some water at least? My mouth is dry.”

Gareth thought for a moment. Mitchell watched the gears turning behind his vivid eyes, trying to figure out if he meant to escape through the water somehow. “Why not,” he said at last, and reached down into his backpack to grab a metal water bottle. “You’ve been mostly good so far.”

“Is that all you want?” Mitchell asked as Gareth walked forward and tentatively handed the bottle to him. He snatched it bitterly and unscrewed it quickly, letting the cold water pour down his throat for several uninterrupted seconds. His gulps were loud and greedy, the liquid sating. He really was thirsty, like maybe whatever had been in the syringe was giving him a dry mouth. “You want me to listen to you, a-and then you’ll let me go?”

Gareth grinned, and it made Mitchell shiver. “Maybe. But I don’t think you’ll want to leave.”

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ll want to leave,” he mocked, because it was obvious, but he winced when his voice cracked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“D’you know, I’ve always wanted a Latina girlfriend?”

The question caught him off guard, but the way that Gareth kept looking at him, silent after that single statement, was enough to make him shiver again. He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. What did Gareth’s fetishes have to do with him? Was he expecting Mitchell to introduce him to someone, like some sort of Mexican matchmaker? This was not what he had come to college for.

With a grunt, he swung his legs over the edge of the table. The cloth cuffs, loosened somehow, slid off his ankles onto the ground as he hopped off, coming to a heavy, unsteady landing as he fell further than he should have. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong. Spinning around, Mitchell found the black lab table came all the way up to his stomach, where previously it only came up to his hips. Was he…shorter? As he raised his hands to investigate further, the handkerchief slipped easily off his wrists as well, and Mitchell gasped when he saw the small, almost delicate hand connected to a significantly thinner wrist. Up his arm, and it went further. All the way to the shapely bend of his elbow and the reddened injection site.

“What the f-fff—” Mitchell whined as his throat closed again and his voice failed him, and then groaned as his shoulders cracked and shrank to match his new height. He stood at nearly a foot shorter than before, his hands and feet already diminutive, his spine tickling slightly as it disappeared slightly into itself. “What did you do to me?”

“God, you haven’t figured it out yet?”

Mitchell stared at him, that smug, superior look on his face. Gareth’s eyes scanned him with an expression of disgust, before the look disappeared behind his eyes and he wrapped his face into a smile again. It was so…infuriating. Mitchell crossed his arms, his bare foot stomping on the tiled floor. “Ugh, you are so annoying! So smug! So I don’t know. So what? I guess it just means you’re smarter than me doesn’t it? Then problem solved! Let me go!”

Gareth took a breath, paused, and a more interested expression crossed his face for a moment. “Are you pouting?” he asked, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“Why do you care?” Mitchell pouted, crossing his arms, before shaking himself out of it and dropping the handkerchief which had served as cuffs. “Nevermind. I’m leaving.” He shivered and brushed himself off, telling himself there was nothing to worry about. He was just, like, tripping or something. That freak had given him drugs, something that was making everything around him feel a little bit too big. He could just go back to his room and sleep it off, or if that didn’t work, he could get Tracy to drive him to the hospital. Anything but stay in this room with his kidnapper any longer than needed. Mitchell kept his distance as he rounded Gareth, walking on unsteady feet toward the door. A strand of hair fell into his face and he brushed it behind his ear, not noticing as it curled longer toward his chin.

“I don’t want you to go.” Gareth’s voice was small and almost quavered.

Against his own better judgment, he found himself stopping. He turned, rolling his eyes as he asked, “And why don’t you want me to go?”

A small smile played on Gareth’s thin lips, gentler than it had been before. Something about it was almost…believable. Gareth cleared his throat, and Mitchell took a step forward. Whatever he needed to say, it was important, and Mitchell kind of wanted to hear what it was. It felt like—there was something genuine happening, something that was letting Gareth open up when he couldn’t before.

Beneath his blue t-shirt, Mitchell’s nipples hardened slowly, aroused by the nervous excitement of the night. The tiniest fat deposits formed beneath them, pushing them forward, barely fare enough to notice. His shirt was already loose beneath his smaller frame, but the material began to rub uncomfortably against his chest.

“Mitchell, I…” Gareth began, but faltered. His voice was unsteady and quiet, and Mitchell took another step forward. His heart was beating faster. What the hell was Gareth going to say? What was he so nervous about? Mitchell’s breath caught for a moment as he considered the man might be attempting some kind of admission. Was he…? But that didn’t make sense! Hadn’t he just said something about a girlfriend? Still… Mitchell felt his face warming slightly as naughty thoughts swirled distantly around in his brain. He wasn’t normally so horny, but—

Mitchell grunted and shook his head, feeling unmoored. What had he just been thinking about? He cleared his throat and looked up to meet Gareth’s stare.

“Mitchie.” Gareth’s voice was almost disbelieving as he spoke. Mitchell stared at him, waiting to see what he wanted. Gareth swallowed, and his gaze moved downward slowly. He seemed rather disgusted at the same time, equally horrified and enchanted. Then he laughed, the sound harsh and cruel. “You’re hard.”

Looking down at himself, Mitchell moaned as he realized Gareth was right. He could feel it now, see it pressing against the thin material of his boxers. Now that he was giving it attention, he was almost painfully hard.

“W-What the f—mmmghh—shoot! Shoot! D—darn, dang. Fudge?” Distracted by exploring the alternatives for swearing that he could still access, he didn’t notice as Gareth moved closer. The man inched along the edge of the tables, moving smoothly and quietly as Mitchell blinked and pouted again. As he spoke every single alternative he could remember, he also failed to realize the fat spreading to his hips and ass and rounding them until they were smooth, full, and pert. He grimaced as his underwear, pulled tighter against his hips, started forming a wedgie in his ass, but only noticed that he had come to the end of the list. “Gosh. I can’t remember any others.”

“Still a lot,” Gareth said quietly, his eyes locked on Mitchell’s new hips.

“I guess so,” Mitchell grumbled, and sighed to himself. Then he stared at Gareth until the man raised his eyes and began to whine. “Are you gonna let me go?”

Gareth smiled. Gosh, he was doing a lot of smiling. If he didn’t have such a nice smile, it would have been annoying. Wait—did he really think it was nice? “I wanna talk, Mitchie.”

Mitchie sighed and crossed his arms again, shivering when his thumb flicked against his swollen nipple. This neediness was starting to get annoying. “Talk about what, Gareth?” he asked, the pitch of his voice slightly higher than normal. He coughed and cleared his throat, rubbing his neck quickly, though his voice remained at the same pitch when he continued, “What on earth do you have to say to me?”

“So defensive,” Gareth almost crooned. “I only wanted to tell you how pretty I think you are.”

Mitchie flushed and turned his face away, partly to hide the smile creeping across her lips. He hadn’t really just said that, had he? Did he really think Mitchie—Mitchie? Had he really just thought of himself as Mitchie? Mitchell recoiled and gagged slightly at the thought of it; gosh, Gareth had definitely found some way into his head. He had to make sure it didn’t happen again.

“Get away from me!” Mitchell spat, choking on his words as he tripped backwards and fell, landing hard on his pillowy ass. “Ouch! Don’t you see what you’re doing?” he whined, making no move to get up from the floor. He stared up at Gareth’s even expression, his lips swelling as the number of nerves beneath the skin doubled. Then he cried out as his bones cracked and shrank again, pulling his shoulders closer together as his pelvis widened. His rich, caramel skin was smooth, his body hair having fallen off completely, and the blemishes on his body—acne scars, moles, scars and stitches from a few too many trips to the tops of trees—began to smooth. His shirt was massive on his tiny frame, barely showing his heaving chest beneath the folds of fabric.

“Turning you into a girl?” Gareth asked smoothly.

“No!” Mitchell whined, feeling tears at the back of his eyes. “You made me fall over and now everything hurts! W-Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” the man said, stepping toward Mitchell as he scooted backward on his ass. Gareth caught up to him quickly, gripping him by the shoulders and stopping him. Mitchell was so much smaller than him now, it was more like he was a giant. Was this—was this what girls felt like all the time? The thought vanished from his head as Gareth reached down and began to lift his shirt off, but he squealed and tried to pull away.

“No no, don’t do that! Plea—!”

“Shut up,” Gareth said, not even lifting his voice, and Mitchell gasped as he choked on his words again. As Gareth pulled the bottom of his shirt up over his head, forcing his arms up as well, he tried multiple times to no end to say anything at all. The best he could do was a pathetic whimper, at which point Gareth paused to give him a withering look. Then he pulled the sleeves off Mitchell’s arms and tossed the shirt into the corner.

The moment he looked away, Mitchell grunted and kicked up between Gareth’s legs as hard as possible. Then, without looking back, he pushed himself up and fled through the classroom door. Automated hallway lights flicked on when he slid into the hallway, though he would have preferred darkness, and he made his way for the nearest corner. He rounded it, turning to the right, and slipped quietly into the first room. He kept the door open and shut off the room’s automatic light, hoping Gareth would pass by thinking it empty. He crouched and made his way into the far corner, hiding behind a small podium.

He would not have been able to get into this small a space if everything was normal. He was pretty sure of that now. It was still possible he was on some weird mixture of drugs, but part of him was starting to think this was all very real. His body did feel smaller, more delicate, humming on a new level of arousal. Arousal… He was starting to feel really horny. He could still feel his dick pressing against his stomach now he was curled into a ball, something he hadn’t been able to focus on before.

It was really sensitive.

Mitchell clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from whimpering, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing every other muscle he could feel to try to make his erection go down. Then he heard movement and froze; echoing footsteps began moving closer.

“Mitchie!” a voice sang, muffled by the walls in between them, but Mitchell could hear the smugness dripping from Gareth’s voice. “Oh, Mitchie! Wherever could you be?”

He took slow, careful breaths, making sure he was completely silent. His heart was pounding like a tin drum in his chest, but he knew no one could hear it but him. He just had to make it until Gareth turned the corner, kept searching elsewhere, and then he could sneak back to the staircase and get out. There was no way he could outrun anyone if it came to being chased; he could feel how reduced his lung capacity was, how much smaller his breaths were as he tried to fill his chest.

It was odd, he thought, absently rubbing his swollen nipples to help soothe himself. Realistically, he knew he should be feeling a lot more scared. And he was, there was no denying that. But he also felt…a little good? Like, he knew he wasn’t supposed to like the changes that were happening, and he definitely didn’t want them to progress anymore, but, like, he didn’t mind how he felt right now. It was actually kind of nice being able to squeeze into small spaces. Imagine how it might feel if that were a person, a really big person who could wrap long, warm arms around his small, petite body. It might…it might feel nice?

Mitchie bit his lip, hand still over his mouth, and blushed furiously as he tried to push the thought away. It would not feel nice. He was supposed to be the big one. What on earth was wrong with him?

“Mitchie, I’m sorry,” Gareth apologized, his voice closer than it was before. His voice was gentler than it had been before, which did a lot to soothe Mitchie’s nerves. “I’ve been a real bully, haven’t I? Would you—would you come out so I can apologize properly?”

Mitchie thought about it; he really, seriously considered leaving the safety of his corner and confronting Gareth head on. He was pretty sure that Gareth didn’t want to actually apologize, but part of him wanted to believe the best in him. He wasn’t…that bad, after all. Sure, he had been so jealous of Mitchie that he had resorted to abduction and threatening, but maybe he had a mom who was, like, a total bitch about his grades or whatever. Maybe he really needed to be first in the class so she wouldn’t be mean to him. That was fair, right?

His hair curled down the back of his neck, tickling the peaks of his shoulders as it grew longer. Mitchie cocked his head, feeling like he was missing something. Wasn’t there something else that Gareth had done? It felt as though there were something just beyond the reached of his mind, but for some reason, he couldn’t remember. Well, whatever it was, if he had forgotten, then it must not have been so bad.

With a long, bored sigh, Mitchie rubbed his face, licking his plump lips and blinking behind long, dark eyelashes. His face, even in the dark, was curiously androgynous, completely lacking any of the overnight stubble he had begun to grow. His eyes seemed larger, accented by his soft cheekbones and his shrinking nose. As his arms crossed together in front of his chest to keep himself small, a tiny line of cleavage formed where the faint deposits of fat had begun to grow beneath his nipples. He shivered in the chilly air of the unheated building, wishing he could go back for his shirt... (to be continued)