Author’s note: This story contains themes of timestop, mind/body control, penis reduction, and shrinking . . . all largely nonconsensual. It contains no violence, but there are scenes of moderate humiliation and, of course, lots of male/male sex. If you are under the legal age for viewing adult material in your locality, please read no further. This story is copyright 2001 by the author and may not be reposted or archived without permission. The characters herein are fictional products of the author’s admittedly warped imagination. If you like the story, let me know. Other examples of my writing can be found at www.shrinking.org/quark.
The Mayor, Part 1
By Martin
I had the day off, so I decided to work out. I’m usually so busy that this was a rare opportunity for me . . . and unfortunately, it showed. Standing five foot ten, I was only 133 scrawny pounds. Thank god I didn’t run to fat, or else it would be a real disaster on such a small frame. As it was, I just wore a lot of thick clothes and relied on my cute face to get me through life.
I was on an incline bench, wavering through a set of chest presses, when the mayor came in and started working out next to me. I didn’t recognize him at first, even though I personally think that my city has the hottest mayor in the U.S. I had even worked on his campaign in a minor role. But you don’t expect the mayor to just show up at the gym, do you? And besides, I’d never seen him without a suit and tie before, and MAN, did a suit hide a lot of him. That day, he wore a sleeveless shirt and spandex shorts so tight they might as well have been another layer of skin. His body was beefy and, from what I could see, hairless . . . the perfect accent to his cute, boyish face. I wasn’t looking at his face anymore though . . . not after I saw his ass! Damn, all I could say was baby had back! And it was showing up just fine in those shorts. I slowed my reps down just to have an excuse to stay nearby.
The mayor wasn’t alone, though. As he came in and lay his towel down on a bench, another guy came up, carrying a gym bag and a folder. They were about the same age (about 35 or 36) and from their faces, looked as if they could be brothers. They had the same unassuming boy-next-door good looks. Their bodies were totally different, though. This guy had a lot of body hair, a thicker, less defined body, and a bigger bulge in his clingy (but not AS tight) shorts.
I tried not to be obvious in my glances at them. In fact, at that point, I was sure they didn’t suspect I was taking in their every move. While the mayor referred to the folder they’d brought, his workout buddy went for some heavy dumbbells and lugged them back to their workout bench. Then they both consulted the folder (it must have contained some sort of workout routine) while I perused their beautiful, round asses. Damn, I should never go to the gym without jerking off first. Even though I work out in a largely gay gym, I’m nowhere near the league of anyone else there and can’t afford to be caught staring like a horny schoolboy. ESPECIALLY at the most powerful man in the city. As they began their exercise (the same one I was doing, only with four times as much weight), the mayor spotting his friend, I tried to pay attention to my own workout. Only the sight of their muscles starting to bulge and strain, the veins in their arms popping out, their masculine grunts and heavy breathing kept recapturing my interest. Jesus!
I pretended to rest as they switched positions after a quick set. This time, the mayor took his place on the incline bench, his buddy behind him, spotting. I discovered that, in the mirrored wall, I had a fine view of the mayor’s stuffed crotch as he struggled to lift the heavy weights. Man, he was strong. No wonder crime had gone down since he took office!
They switched again, and I realized I had once again been staring for too long. The mayor’s workout partner glared at me as he took his position on the bench. Self-consciously, I once again began lifting my 30-pound dumbbells, but I was getting tired, and I knew I couldn’t keep this up for much longer. And it’s even harder to work out when you’re staring at the mayor’s butt, which jutted out as he helped his friend with the heavy weights. I broke my gaze away, trying to get as good a look at the lifter’s crotch as I’d had of the mayor’s, which I did. But suddenly, his legs slammed together, and he abruptly lowered the weights to the floor. I darted my eyes up to see that he was glaring right at me in the mirror. I’d been caught!
My face flushed crimson as I dropped my small weights to the mat and stood up. Well, enough of that! I’d just move on and assume I’d never see either of these guys again. Even then, I suspected I’d eventually get past the embarrassment and have a good story for my friends, but right now I was too mortified to stay around. But I was too late.
“What do you think you’re looking at!” the workout partner demanded. He rose to his feet and easily blocked my path. I couldn’t leave the area without climbing over a bench, and I would lose FAR too much face if I backed down that way.
“I was, uh, just looking to see if that really was the mayor,” I managed to get out.
The mayor smiled at this, but his friend glowered even more. “The mayor,” he growled, “is NOT in my crotch.” He paused a beat and then winked the most menacing wink I’d ever seen. “Usually,” he whispered with a leer.
“Roger!” said the mayor. “Honestly!” He did not seem at all upset by Roger’s implication, and I briefly wondered if I’d discovered the secret behind his positive record on gay rights, trophy wife or not. But this was getting too weird for me, and I wanted to get out of there fast. I saw my chance when the man named Roger stepped aside and leaned over to reach into his gym bag. Damn, he had a nice ass! I willed myself not to look as I edged by him, but naturally I couldn’t stop myself, and naturally I got caught again as he whipped around. In his hand was a small electronic device that looked like a cross between a Palm Pilot and a cell phone. Was he calling in the guards to have me kicked out? Or worse? No thanks. I doubled my speed, dignity be damned, and ended up slamming right into another big bruiser. In fact, it was Bruiser himself . . . at least, that’s what I called him.
Unlike the mayor and his friend, this was a man I saw at the gym almost every time I bothered to go. He was much older than I was—maybe in his mid-forties—but he looked like he could be much younger than his true age except for his graying hair, which was trimmed close to accentuate his receding hairline. A real hunk, although his aggressive attitude made me positive he was straight. And here I was slamming into him. He rocked on his feet while I literally bounced backward.
“Uh, sorry,” I muttered, but he didn’t reply. We were in the narrow aisle between the benches and the racks of dumbbells, so there wasn’t any room to go around. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. I waited for him to step aside, but he didn’t. I waited for him to move at all, but he didn’t. In the uncomfortable silence, I was very conscious of the mayor and Roger behind me—and that same uncomfortable silence also made me aware of the absolute quiet that had descended over the gym. The background music had stopped. The sound of weights slamming around had stopped. The whir of the treadmills and stair climbers had stopped. The grunts and pants of the straining clientele had stopped. I was convinced that the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to see what embarrassing thing would happen to me next. Only if that was the case, the world could hold its breath for an awful long time. It seemed like a minute passed with nobody saying anything, nobody moving, nobody making a sound, except for Roger’s snickering. Not wanting to have an angry bodybuilder at my back, I slowly turned around to face him and the mayor.
Roger was still holding the device, and the mayor looked from him to me, half amused, half appraising the situation. “So, runt,” said Roger, “are you going to tell me what you were looking at?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. I didn’t know what kept me talking to these people when I could easily climb over the benches, circle the motionless bodybuilder, and make my escape.
“No?” said Roger. He pushed a button on the device he was holding, and I felt a small buzzing in my head, almost as if in response. But that was silly, I thought. Or, at least, I thought that until Roger said, “Tell me what you were looking at when I caught you.” That’s when I responded, “I was looking at your crotch.”
My eyes widened, and I blushed furiously again. Why had I said that? I would have thought it would take a lot of torture to get me to reveal that, but instead I said it in my normal tone of voice, just because he asked me.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, his face twisting cruelly. “You see?” he asked the mayor.
The mayor shrugged. “So what? You have a nice crotch, and you know it. Why shouldn’t people look? Why would you wear those shorts if you didn’t WANT people to look?”
“I want YOU to look,” muttered Roger, but the mayor didn’t seem to notice his tone.
“Well,” said the mayor brightly, a stark contrast to his friend’s sullen attitude. “Are you going to let him go or are we going to play? My vote is we play, as long as you’ve bothered to stop time. And it doesn’t seem like HE will mind,” he said, nodding toward me.
Let me go? Play? Stop time? ME mind WHAT?!? What was going on here? I was seriously freaked out, and at the time, I couldn’t have told you why it didn’t occur to me just to leave. Well, it OCCURRED to me, but the decision didn’t seem to get from my head to my feet. I just stood tensely, silently staring at these two men.