My ex-boyfriend/behemoth Doug began stroking his cock, eyes fixed upon us.
Although I was both terrified and appalled at the thought of what might happen next, I couldn't take my eyes from Doug's pendulous balls and his expanding mega-cock, rearing at what appeared to be 25 feet overhead.
It's hard to describe, but the feelings I included the unholy mixture of horror and awe that makes it impossible to look away when watching an explosion or car wreck. And these were combined with another type of fascination that shocked me, appalled me, intense voyeuristic lust. In spite of my fear, I blushed, afraid that Matthew would somehow intuit my feelings.
I tried to turn away from the sight, but those huge balls, that thick cock rapidly swelling to my own size, and Doug's incredibly muscular ass, always an attraction, but now billboard sized in 3-
D!, drew my eyes back. And to add to my horror, embarrassment, and excitement, I felt the rush of blood into my own cock, which was stirring, stiffening, lengthening, rising, beginning to tent my pants.
I had to think of something to keep Doug and Matthew from seeing it. So I addressed the awful, magnificent behemoth: "Wh..wh..what are y..you doing?"
"WH...WHAT.... THE FUCK....DOES....IT....LOOK.....LIKE....LITTLE MAN?" Doug grunted out the sentence through heavy, labored breathing. His sighs, stroking motion, and the rocking of his impossibly tall, tree-trunk legs and even thicker torso actually created a breeze, which soon carried the overpoweringly pungent smell of sweat...and the unmistakable odor of precum.
Matthew and I scrambled to a corner of the room and huddled there, clinging to each other near a dust ball that, on our diminished scale, looked more like a tumbleweed.
"DON'T TRY...TO ESCAPE.... FROM.... ME!" Doug grunt-bellowed menacingly. "GET...YOUR....SORRY LITTLE.... ASSES....BACK HERE!!"
But Matthew and I held still, too terrified and spellbound to move, and hoping against hope that an opportunity to escape might somehow present itself.
If we could only find a way out of the bathroom to freedom, then we could deal with the whole size thing later. Maybe the size changer's effects were dependent on distance from the device....Or maybe their effects would wear off over time....Or maybe we could find someone to help us reverse the effects.
This might be our only chance: Doug's huge, tentlike pants were piled at his shoes, which would make it difficult for him to follow us, at least at the moment.
"STOP!!....DAMN....IT!!!....STOP...NOW!!...." Doug screamed so loud that the reverberations shook Matthew and me.
In his angry frustration, Doug stopped stroking his cock. It immediately began to deflate, intensifying his rage.
With the instinct of a huge cat stalking his prey, Doug tried to pursue us, but he was totally devoid of the feline stealth and grace to accomplish goal. On his first attempted step, he lurched forward, feet entangled in his fallen pants. Matthew and I might have laughed at this display of Vaudevillian clumsiness had we not been in the direct path of Doug's tumbling torso falling toward us like a five-story building!
We scrambled out of the way just in time to escape Doug's huge, outstretched right hand half-falling, half-grasping at us. We ran to the opposite corner of the room near the toilet, hoping to escape detection behind the white toilet brush and its baby blue plastic holder.
"AAARRRRRHHHHHHH!!!.....DAMN IT!!!" Doug groaned, wincing in pain as he toppled unsupported to the ground, striking his right wrist and knee hard. Bellowing like a beached whale, Doug held his injured wrist and knee to his chest, flailing his feet and left leg in an effort to kick free from his pants.
As Matthew and I huddled behind the toilet brush, struggling to catch our breath, we suddenly were faced with another challenge, a large, rectangular object spinning toward us like a huge, out-of-control hockey puck.
We jumped just in time to avoid the collision between the toilet brush and holder, which tumbled to the floor, and this mystery object, which ricocheted off the wall and then spun to a stop just 20 feet (on our scale) away.
Peering from behind the toilet, we saw Doug still groaning and flailing, yelling obscenities at the top of his lungs. I hoped his screams would draw the attention of other partyers, but knew that the blaring music outside made this unlikely.
With the fallen beast Doug thus preoccupied, we dared to venture from our hiding place and look at the mystery rectangular object, After a moment of puzzlement, we realized that it was in fact Doug's Palm-Pilot-like transformation device, evidently kicked out of Doug's pocket during his failed struggle with his pants!
As the realization dawned on us, Matthew and I hugged each other, celebrating our anticipated good fortune.
"This could be our way out of...!" I laughed, unable to contain my joy. But I halted midsentence when I saw Matthew's gesture: He held a finger to his lips, warning me to be quiet. Then Matthew motioned for me to grab one end of the device and move it to a corner for safe-keeping. It was heavy, but a reasonable load for two 8-inch men to drag.
"I....HEAR YOU!!" Doug bellowed, and then turned his head toward the sound of my voice. When he saw us dragging away his precious device, the intense physical pain in Doug's face was exacerbated by a mixture of horror, and fear!