The kid yelped as his phone hit the floor, but Larry didn't care. He grabbed him by the naked shoulder and hauled him off the floor before shoving him back until he stumbled against the wall, manhandling the kid without a second thought.
"Get off the phone you little bitch," Larry growled, slamming the door shut behind him.
I yelped, flinching as my phone hit the floor, but, with Larry staring at me, sweatpants bulging with his monstrous erection, I didn't dare look away.
"I-I...I'm sorry," I stammered, momentarily forgetting that it was Larry who'd barged into my apartment uninvited, "I mean– It was important, I was calling–"
"Greg, I know. Fucking figures, you wanted another limp dicked fairy to whine to. But I need answers. What the fuck did you do to my TV?"
"I, he wasn't–" I began, but then stopped, eyes wide, "Wh...your TV?" I finished helplessly. What was Larry talking about?
The bull of a man growled, reaching forward to grab my still naked shoulder and yank me off the ground. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shoved me backwards until he was pinning me against the wall. Despite myself, I felt my dick stir at the feeling of being manhandled. I fought the feeling down, and forced myself to meet his eyes with a defiant look of my own.
"I don't know what you're talking about. What happened to your TV?"
Larry's hold on me didn't relax. Instead, he took a step closer.
"I know you did something, slut. It's all full of fairy shit, dudes with their cocks hanging out like some sort of fucking gay porno. You're the only fairy in my building, so you're gonna fix it, or you're gonna be in trouble."
The words came out in a low growl, and I whimpered.
"I-I swear it wasn't me," I managed, voice pleading.
Larry's hand tightened against my shoulder.
"Do you think I'm an idiot, boy?" he bellowed, face inches from mine.
For a moment I tensed with fear and arousal. What was he going to do to me? To my relief — and a twinge of disappointment — he backed away from me then, and snatched up my remote from the cheap coffee table where it sat. With a dangerous look my way, he pointed it at the TV, and pressed the power button. I watched.
For a few moments, everything seemed normal. I'd left my TV on mute, but the last time I'd had it on I'd just been checking the weather. As the screen flared to life, I saw that it was split between two cameras: one one I saw what looked like a normal new room, with a well dressed man and a woman sitting behind a desk. On the other was the weatherman, smiling and chatting back and forth with the news anchors in a gray pinstripe suit. I was about to say that I didn't know what Larry was talking about, but then the split-screen ended, and the camera cut to the weatherman. Now, seeing his full body, I understood.
The man's suit wasn't particularly tight, at least not around his legs and chest, but the crotch was a different story. The crotch of his slacks was stretched to its breaking point, almost dissented, by the clear outline of a massive dick. This wasn't just a "visual penis line" — I could see every inch of his cock in almost vivid detail, curved to the left as if he'd worn tight briefs and had to tuck it to the side. Next to it I could clearly make out two bulbous impressions in the fabric, each easily the size of a tennis ball. The pinstripe fabric made it all the more obscene, the print rippling over the man's bulge as it pressed against the cloth, pushing out the expensive, well tailored slacks until I could clearly see the zipper pushing towards the camera. As the weatherman turned to point out something on the map, his cock shifted in his pants, and the zipper started to give out, inching downwards as it strained to keep his package in.
"See?" Larry growled, "It's on your TV too, so it must have been you. I don't care whatever sick gay porno you watch on your own time, but you're gonna take it off of my TV. Now."
As he spoke, Larry flipped through a few more channels as if to emphasize his words. I saw a sitcom where the running gag was that the main character's pants kept ripping open every time he saw a hot girl, an ad for cat food that juxtaposed images of a tabby going crazy over kibble with a scantily clad twink moaning when he saw a straight man's massive bulge, a trailer for a superhero movie where tight spandex uniforms left nothing to the imagination. At the end of his sentence, Larry settled on a sports channel — basketball. Each seven foot adonis had a bulge big enough to rival the basketballs themselves, and they swayed and bounced as they dribbled across the field. Finally, one man leaped up to dunk the ball, and, as he did, accidentally pressed his junk into another man's face, nearly obscuring it and sending the other player staggering backwards. At that moment, Larry cut the power on the TV.
"Heh. You really do get off on seeing men with bigger dicks than you, don't you, pussy boy."
Larry was staring at me, but not at my face. It took me a moment to realize what he meant.
My dick was rock hard, twitching in the air as it pulsed with need. Even now, so hard I almost felt light headed, it wasn't even an inch long.
"Fuck, you're even punier than before," Larry said, slowly walking towards me, "Did you do that to yourself? Do you get off that much on having such a pathetic, useless little nub?"
I whimpered at his words as my dick began to stream pre, but, even then, nearly overwhelmed by lust, I noticed what he'd said.
"D-did it to myself?" I repeated, eyes wide.
Larry barked a laugh.
"What, didn't think I'd notice what you did to mine? Dunno how you did it, but I'm not complaining. Guess you wanted to see how big a real man can really get..."
As he spoke, he reached down into his sweats, and pulled out inch after inch of the biggest cock I'd ever seen. I'd spent the last hour sucking the dicks of every man on the floor, but, even compared to them, Larry was a monster. He wasn't even fully hard yet, but his dick was nearly as long as his forearm, and noticeably thicker. With one final tug, he freed his balls from their confinement, and I watched, hypnotized as they swung lazily below him. They were nearly the size of oranges, bulging out from his sack.
Suddenly, I remembered what Gred had said. "How big is he *now?*"...fuck. He must have made Larry even bigger. And, in that moment, I had another realization. Larry thought I'd done something to grow his cock. He knew, too. Whatever had happened when he'd smeared his cum across the book's pages, he was no longer oblivious when the world changed. Before I had I chance to think about what this meant, Larry took another step forward, and my mind went blank as I felt his cock press against me.
"Now, the way I see it, you have two options," he said darkly, "Either you fix whatever you did to my TV, and fast, or..."
He reached down, and wrapped a thick hand around the bass of his cock. His fingers didn't even touch. He grinned.
"Or you make it up to me."
My breathing was heavy in my throat, and it took all my self control not to get on my knees right there. Whatever Greg had done, even if Larry knew what was happening, he somehow had no qualms about using me to get himself off. Still, what was the alternative? Tell him about the book? There's no telling what he'd do if he got his hands on it himself...
"D-do..." I said, then licked my suddenly dry lips, "Do you want me to blow you again?"