The colossal space that was his living room provided the housefly with plenty of hiding places and Brad wasted little time settling atop a dusty book shelved on the top tier of a four-shelf book shelf.
Although conditions were hardly as bad as he had experienced beneath the refrigerator, the space atop the book had a layer of dust and other debris.
“I’ve really got to do some cleaning,” Brad told himself.
At that second, though, something tiny, elongated and silvery wiggled through the layer of dust, disturbing particles that floated in the air in the creature’s wake. Its six legs revealed the other bug’s shared affinity with Brad in his current housefly form.
With some whimsical nostalgia, Brad actually recognised this bug. “It’s a silverfish,” he realised. He remembered as a child being fascinated by the tiny creatures, which he often found around the sink or tub during nocturnal visits to the bathroom. The little creatures usually scattered quickly after the lights came on, which made them seem all the more magical. Captured in a kid’s hand, their tiny bodies shed dry, silvery scales that more resembled dust.
He didn’t recall much else, but considering he had the size advantage, he figured he didn’t have much to fear from the creature which had already disappeared into a parchment canyon in a fold in the pages of the book.
Brad was still perched on the book when his husband passed through the room, a seismic encounter as Mark’s enormous size sent tremors through the floor and then through the structure of the book shelf. He moved with a weird slowness, like a slow-moving avalanche of bone and muscle and flesh wrapped up together in the miles of fabric that formed his clothes.
Mark was wearing less, currently carrying his shirt in his left hand. Brad felt vastly inferior now as his strong, awe-inspiring spouse simply undertook a slow, determined passage through the room. He no longer seemed to be hunting him, which brought a small measure of relief.
Although he appeared to move slowly, he was moving, and he soon exited the room and began traveling along the corridor that led deeper into the house and the bedroom, utility room and bathroom.
Brad followed, but used some caution and kept a distance so the ever-present buzzing of his wings wouldn’t set Mark off again.
Mark entered the bathroom, opening the door and giving Brad only a split-second to decide whether to follow.
Decision made, he zipped inside the huge bathroom just ahead of Mark closing off the massive door. Now, whether he liked it or not, he might as well try to communicate with Mark.
But he paused in his intent when Mark began to strip after dropping his shirt into the laundry hamper. His pants, his socks and finally his boxers found their way into the structure-sized wicker hamper.
Hovering near a gleaming tower that held an artistic assortment of tree-length twigs and boulder-sized pebbles, Brad slowly surveyed his huge, all-powerful husband as Mark stood their in his deity-like glory.
In the back of his mind, he knew that Mark was preparing to take a shower, but all he could focus on, for the moment, was that soft but still huge cock hanging below a jungle of darkly auburn pubes.
Competing with his horned-up thoughts was a growing hunger. He had burned through the fly’s reserves and now needed to re-fuel but, as he flitted around the bathroom, he doubted he would find much to help in that department.
He could not have been more wrong. The fly’s senses began to exert a tug on some automatic commands that soon had Brad spiralling down into the depths of the toilet bowl. The housefly taste receptors in his feet went haywire when he landed in a filmy zone that ringed the sea of water in the porcelain bowl.
He sank his proboscis into the slimy film and found himself in heaven as he began guzzling up all sorts of nutrients, minerals and salts. He knew that the film could only have been formed by two substances, but he tried his best not to think about them.
As he feasted, Mark stepped into the shower, turned the faucet and stepped beneath a warm spray of water that grew even more heated as he luxuriated in his shower. Brad heard the rushing water and soon began to detect the warm moisture that saturated the room.
By the time he has satisfied his hunger and flown out of the toilet bowl, a condensation of steam had covered the mirror over the sink. The air was so dense with steam that Brad bumped the glass. He backed off, hovered, and studied the blurred indention his fuzzy form had made on the steamed surface of the glass.
Thinking better after his “meal,” he had a sudden flash of inspiration. Mark had unwittingly provided his transformed husband the perfect opportunity for communicating with him.
“I can write a message!” Brad thoroughly jubilantly and buzzed enthusiastically.
But how much time did he have? Mark enjoyed long showers, but he didn’t have time to delay. He needed a direct, concise message, but he began rubbing his tiny fly form against the steamy glass as he improvides on the go.
He began with a H for “Help,” which seemed a logical first step. As he worked hard to fashion an H, he began to be distracted by titanic moans and groans from the shower.
“Is he…he’s jerking off!”
One look through the steam-frosted shower door confirmed it. Brad watched, spellbound, as Mark stroked a now enormous cock that looked more like some ancient and monumental obelisk.
But he dared not stop to enjoy the show… he needed desperately to convey a message that would secure Mark’s help in reversing his ill-conceived transformation.