Brandon Twice
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Careful What You Catch at the Seedy Motel
🕑 Added 2020-08-23 23:58:07 +0000 UTC[6 word request: Curse Enlarges Clumsy Hands Feet Freak]
The hotel was in a seedy part of town. In a beat-up car in the parking lot Mac saw a guy shooting up heroin while a prostitute with a crooked wig gave him an overzealous blow job. “Room 42,” Mac said, careful to pull the drawstrings on his hoodie tight to hide his face from anyone staying in the Comfort Spot beyond the train station with the hourly rate.
Mac had promised his boyfriend Evan that this stuff was over, but personal training wasn’t paying the bills lately. Evan had assured Mac things were fine financially; that his new gig as a soap opera hunk would take care of them both until things picked up, but Mac hated being taken care of like he was some kind of chick. Evan was the pretty one; Mac had the muscles. It only made sense that Mac brought home some bread.
As Mac passed by each door he smelled weed, cigarettes or strong B.O. (Mac pondered how filthy one would have to be to have their own stink pour out from under a closed door). Outside one room Mac encountered a funk he could only guess was a combination of crystal meth and sweaty sex. But Room 42 had its own unique stink; it was earthy, like lawn clippings, mixed with the cloying stink of an old woman’s nostril-tingling perfume. Mac shivered as he wondered what the hell was on the other side of that door in this darkened hotel room.
He hoped there was no one there. The guy had offered a grand, but there was no way someone with that kind of money would be hiding out in a filthy crevice like this place.
And yet he heard the lock click. The door opened just a crack. The room beyond was still dark. “Hold the handle and count to 10. Don’t come in until you’re finished,” growled a voice that made Mac’s freshly shaven skin shiver. He did as he was told. Whoever had croaked out the command retreated back into the hotel. Mac’s gut said to let go of the handle and sprint for his car, but for some reason he did as he was told. A concentrated blend of the stink poured from the open door.
“TEN!” Mac said loudly as he walked into the room. When the door shut behind him, he struggled to see. “Are you in here?” He reached for a lightswitch but heard a shout from the bathroom.
“No lights yet!” groaned the voice. Mac stood there awkwardly. He wasn’t about to give a strip show in the dark--unless he got paid up front.
“So, before we get started,” Mac said, pacing around the hotel room awkwardly, “I just gotta say the rate’s gone up a little bit. I know we agreed on a grand, but… I’m gonna need an extra two-hundred for… consider it hazard pay. Because I don’t feel great about being here.” He peered through the Venetian blinds at his car, grateful it was as yet untouched.
“That’s fine,” said the voice. The guy sounded muffled, like he was talking through a ski mask, and his voice was incredibly low and dopey-sounding.
“And I’m going to need it all upfront,” Mac said. Maybe if he were pushy and jacked up the price, the guy would ask him to leave; if not, bonus two-hundo!
“Stand still,” said the creepy low voice. Mac heard heavy footfalls as a tall man--at least 6’8” tall--stooped low to step out of the bathroom. He was enormous! His limbs were long and spindly, and his hands and feet were massive. Mac stared down at what had to be size 20s as each clown-shoe-sized foot loudly slapped at the floor. Hands the size of a dinner plate reached forward, tucking a wad of cash into Mac’s hand. Mac struggled to make out the man’s face through the darkness but it looked like he was wearing some sort of burlap sack. Luckily the man retreated to the bathroom as soon as he handed off the money; Mac had felt the urge to flee rising every second he had to be near the freak.
“So, you want me to just… dance in the dark?” Mac asked as he counted out the money. $1200 in cash. What nasty thing had this guy done to have this kind of money on him? Mac had to get out soon.
“Turn on the lamp near you,” said the voice again. Mac turned and switched on the single lamp on the dresser. There was a large steamer trunk on the bed, but otherwise the room looked untouched, as if the man had shown up minutes before Mac had arrived.
Mac tossed his duffel bag to the floor and unzipped it, pulling out his boom box.
“No music!” shouted the freak.
“O-okay…” Mac said. He considered maybe upping his charge another two hundred for the request, but he just wanted to finish up and get out of here. “Twenty minutes of me stripping with no music, coming up.”
Mac strutted toward the bathroom confidently, dropping into a wide-stance squat as he bounced his big pecs beneath his sweatshirt. His frame’s densely packed musculature was evident even through the baggy outerwear. Mac yanked up the bottom of the sweatshirt to show off his abs, licking a finger and tracing a line down his 8-pack to the waistband of his sweats.
A few steps closer to the bathroom and another command boomed back at him: “No! Stay out there. Don’t come near me.”
Mac sighed and turned around, grabbing the chair from the desk and setting it in the middle of the room. He could dance to that, pretending there was someone in it. Normally he would tease a little longer before the sweatshirt came off, but he wasn’t in any mood to delay the end of this show. With the payment already in his possession, he could leave a little early without sweating it.
He held his sweatshirt up to his face and took a deep breath of it before tossing it onto the chair as if a horny dude were sitting in it. He flexed his big arms, licking each of his biceps, before grabbing the sides of the chair and starting to hump it. “You like that?” he said to the chair, but also to the man hiding twenty feet away. It was hard to dance to no one. There was no response. “I asked if you like that!” he repeated as he undid his belt.
“Good. Keep going,” came the response.
Mac chuckled, and looped the belt around an imaginary person’s neck before grabbing their invisible hands and placing them on his ass. Then he twerked until his sweats slid down his big legs, revealing his skin-tight orange speedo.
“That’s 250 pounds of grade A meat you’ve got here!” Mac said to the empty chair--but again, to the man in the next room, but he got no response. He leaned forward with a hand behind his head. Then he grabbed the air and mimed pulling a head into his pit. “Smell that, baby. A guy my size with this kind of muscle sweats through his deodorant quick. You smell that? I showered right before I came. I start stinking like a locker room seconds after I towel off every day.”
“That’s perfect,” the voice in the bathroom said, and Mac continued. He grabbed his tank top by the color and gave it a sharp tear before slowly shredding the fabric, revealing his massive torso inch by inch. Then he wadded up the torn shirt and dabbed at his sweaty pits and wiping the light sheen of sweat forming over his muscular torso. Then he balled it up, took a deep sniff of it, and tossed it at the bathroom. He saw a massive hand grab it and pull it in.
“There you go,” Mac said, hands on either side of the decent-sized bulge in his silky orange undies as he dropped his big booty down on the chair as if he were giving some horny sap the time of his life with his hefty glutes.
Then he dropped down in a split, leaning forward into a one-armed pushup as he snapped his legs together. It wasn’t until he was there, pressing his bodyweight with one beefy arm, that he saw something on the floor.
It looked like chalk, drawn right over the carpet. He hadn’t seen it when he came in because he had his shoes on. It seemed to form a circle with a bunch of weird designs running around its rim. Mac, doing his one-armed pushups, was in the exact center of that circle.
“What the fuck?” he said, rising to his feet. His first thought was that some freaky voodoo shit must have gone on before and the maids were lazy as hell. Then he heard the low chanting from the bathroom. “What are you saying?” he asked, but the freak wasn’t saying words he recognized. This was it, Mac resolved; the weirdness had hit its peak and he was out of there. He reached out to grab his discarded sweatpants. They were just out of reach.
He heard a crack. He groaned as his reaching arm flashed with pain. He heard what sounded like rubber stretching--and then his arm was long enough to grab the sweats. He stared, confused, as he pulled his pants closer to him. His arm had just stretched like taffy--and it wasn’t stretching back! He examined the limb, still muscular but now long and noodly. How the fuck was that even possible?
A sudden shock in his other arm made him cry out. He fell to his knees and whimpered as that arm, too, elongated an extra foot. He heard cracking in his legs; it was his knees and tendons rearranging and stretching as they, too, got longer.
When Mac stood again his head was against the ceiling. “What the fuck!” he cried out to no one in particular as he tried to comprehend his new body, with its long spindly limbs. His hands and feet were tingling, and he watched in horror as his fingers plumped and lengthened, his palms widening. When it was over he flexed the freakish appendages; each one was as big as a foam, “Number 1” souvenir. “What the fuck is happening?” Mac cried out as he watched his feet start to stretch and widen as well--and his voice dropped an octave lower, making him sound dumb and bestial.
The foot growth wasn’t painful, though. It felt… good! He wiggled his long toes and examined feet that were double the size they were when he walked in. There was no way he was getting those things in his shoes now. They looked like waterskis!
He turned to look at the mirror on the bureau as tingling rippled through his face, like dozens of tiny fingers were tweaking and prodding it. He could only cry out as he watched his nose swell up until it dominated his face, his ears growing until they were nearly the size of his head. His jaw seemed to lengthen as well, and when he opened his mouth he saw his teeth looked jagged and twisted, like someone had clumsily rearranged them.
“The last change is the best,” said a voice from the bathroom; but it couldn’t be the freak from before. This voice was higher; it sounded normal… almost sexy!
Mac was patting down his freakish form, desperate to squash his features back to their original size, when his cock and balls started radiating a pleasant warmth. His neck moan was one of pure ecstasy as the bulge in his speedo tripled in size, filling the speedo to capacity. Mac felt like his cock was in a stranglehold until the speedo snapped, letting his massive dong flop free. He groaned at the relief, then shivered at the horrifying new appendage he was looking at; it was so massive, there was no way he was fitting it inside someone else.
“That’s all,” said the new voice, and a pretty blonde guy of average height stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry about this, really, but you earned your money… and keep the extra as a tip!”
“What did you…” Mac began, in a voice like a donkey braying. “What’s wrong with me? Undo this now!”
“It’s a curse,” the pretty blonde man said, pausing to examine his beautiful features in the mirror. “No idea when it started or why. I had it for about four years. I had to search forever for a way to figure out how to get rid of it. Turns out you have to pass it on to someone else. I’ll do you a favor, too. The ritual to pass it on is in that trunk! Just find your new hapless victim and move it along. Good luck!”
Mac started toward the man, tripping over his gigantic new feet and faceplanting the bed. He hopped up, his massive dong slapping his abs on its upswing, and reached for the man, but once again lost his footing as the thick swinging cock threw off his balance. He tumbled to the ground, sniveling.
“Yeah, it’s tough to walk on those things,” the blonde man said. “If I were you, I’d get rid of that curse fast. It’s a real drag, and that big dick gets very very demanding! Within a few hours you’re only going to be able to think about jerking off. You’ll get a good sixty second window of clear thought when you cum before those big balls start controlling your thoughts again…” Mac reached for the man as he stood in the doorway. “Feel lucky! I just told you way more than anyone ever told me. Good luck ditching the curse, dude!”
Now alone, Mac stared at his freakish body. There was no way he was going to fit into his clothes. He looked like a cross between a very ugly basketball player and a very ugly mule. And the blonde wasn’t lying; he could feel his big grapefruit-sized balls starting to tingle, his own thoughts going to the idea of bending Evan over and splitting him in two with a dick bigger than his arm used to be.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Evan…” He examined the symbol on the floor and then examined the trunk. One hand started jerking his dick as he undid the latches and flipped it open. It couldn’t take that long to figure out the ritual, he thought, and the symbol on the floor was already there!
But before he was able to read the first line of the arcane book within, he found himself squatting on the filthy hotel room floor, jacking his cartoonish dick with both hands, imagining dancing on a stage while everyone in the audience mocked his hideous face and his ludicrous body with its uselessly massive cock.
