9 - Grower

Asenth selected another candle. It was one of the larger ones, six inches tall, an inch thick. A dribble of wax ran down the pale shaft, onto her hand.

"Phallic," she pronounced, with a smile. "Most men and women come to accept their bodies. What they have, and what they don't. Not everyone is satisfied with what nature has given them, however. Who turns to supernature when what they want isn't just what is on display. When they want a...

GROWER

Friday night, and the party was just getting started. Dagon's Hollow was big enough to have maybe one real club and a couple bars, but for young people who wanted to score—be that ****, pussy, cock, or a bartender that wouldn't card you—there were little pop-up venues in basements and burned-out buildings. The kind of party that would last for a night, be gone the next day.

Marcus paid his cover charge, the doorman making a black swirl on his left hand with a sharpie, and took the steps down to the basement with the easy confidence of a young man who knew, without a doubt, that he had the biggest dick in the room. Statistically, eight inches was porn star territory, a length that meant he had to be careful not to hurt most of the women he entertained, because cervices were sensitive and nothing ruined a night faster than hearing a woman gasp in pain.

His mother had made that sound too many times at home, when Marcus' stepfather came home drunk.

He shook off the memories and headed toward the makeshift bar. It was time to get his dick wet.

"Shot and a beer," he said, with a smile at the femme-looking young man in a mesh shirt and baggy jeans pouring drinks.

The red plastic cups were perfect for these parties. The shot went in first, a clear liquid that might have come from a bathtub still. The beer, somebody's microbrew. It tasted like wheatgrass and fire. Marcus took a sip and turned to scan the room.

It was mostly a community college crowd tonight. A local band, the Walpoles, with a Gothic flavor. Lot of young men and women in a thousand shades of black. One of them caught his eye. Taller, with a man's shirtcoat and tails, a tophat over her dark kinky hair, and a flash of real gold at her septum ring. The bodice did wonders for her cleavage, and if her hips were wide and full, which made her dark fluted skirt swish with each shift of her waist.

"Hey," Marcus said. "I'm Marcus. Buy you a drink?"

She looked him up and down. Marcus smiled easily. His best feature wasn't on display.

"No pencil dicks need apply," she said firmly.

Marcus smiled wider. "No problem. I'm hung like a horse."

That caught her attention. She leaned in close and grabbed his crotch. Marcus didn't move back. There was a challenge in those dark brown eyes.

"Doesn't feel like a horse," she said.

"I'm a grower," Marcus told her.

"Alright, stud," she said. Then the band started, a wall of noise laced with poetry, and she leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Marcus couldn't make it out. Couldn't even have sworn it was English. But she glanced toward the back room, and tugged his jeans. Marcus got the hint and followed her.

Once, it had been a semi-finished bedroom. There was still a plastic-wrapped mattress on a boxspring, and a door with a lock on it. She sat on the bed and pulled open his pants with an almost frantic eagerness.

"What's your name?" Marcus asked, as he pulled an XL condom from a pocket.

"Sheol," she said, and grimaced as she pulled his boxers down. With a sigh that suggested a mixture of need and determination, she took it in her hand and gave the circumcised prick a long kiss, her tongue playing over the pisshole. With care, she sucked on the head and stroked the swelling shaft. Blood rushed into the dick and Marcus moaned softly, as a familiar stiffness caused the cock to rise and grow hard...almost painfully so.

Sheol broke off her blowjob to look at the dick, a strand of saliva connecting the tip to her lips. He couldn't see her eyes because of the brim of her hat, but she laid down on the bed, thick thighs spread, and lifted her skirt.

Marcus felt a twinge of irritation intrude on his easygoing nature as he slid the glove on his cock. Most women were intimidated; Marcus was bigger soft than most guys were hard. He thought for a moment that maybe Sheol was a size queen. Then he saw her pussy.

Most cunnies looked more or less the same. A soft crease framed by the thighs, hip bones, buttocks. Some labia were more protuberant and darker than others, but Marcus had found that no matter what race or how old a woman was, the anatomy was pretty much the same—and felt good, no matter if she was 18 or 80.

Sheol's cunny, though, was different. The labia wasn't just thick, they were black, almost rubbery, and slightly protuberant, dwarfing any pussy he'd ever seen. He could see the swollen mass of the clitoris extend beneath the skin, the bulge of the flesh visible even beneath the dark, curly hair that glistened wetly. She reached down with both hands and spread her lips, revealing a bright, vivid red interior and a smell that triggered something primal in Marcus' brain. His cock was almost painfully hard now, the veins standing out against the condom.

"Go on, stick it in," she said. "Maybe I'll feel it."

Marcus dropped to his knees. Her first real surprise of the evening was when she felt his tongue run up along the inside lips of her labia. She said nothing, but he could feel the bristly hairs of her shaven thighs against his cheeks as she squirmed, hear the sharp gasp of pleasure as he sucked on that knob-like clit. Marcus slid his tongue up and down, over and over, his hands resting on her legs and thumbs striking her soft inner thighs. Waiting for her juices to run easily, dripping down onto the plastic-covered mattress beneath.

Then, and only then, did he stick it in. He had intended to go slow, but to his shock the walls seemed to recede. It was like sticking his cock into a glory hole, the massive man-meat hanging in a hot, moist tunnel, unable to touch the sides, much less the back. Only the entrance gripped and held him.

"The fuck?" Marcus muttered aloud. Beneath him, Sheol simply stared, utterly unimpressed.

Marcus pressed his hand down on her lower abdomen, thumb on Sheol's crotch. That surprised her. He began to move, to thrust. Not sure how she had so much space inside of her, but locked in a battle of wills now as his hips slammed forward, causing his balls to slap against that meaty ass, then dragging it back out, fighting the strange, terrible suction of that pussy. There was a look in her eyes, almost of respect, as Marcus went all out. No longer afraid of hurting her, he put his back into it, levering his entire body into his thrusts, never once letting up on her clit with his thumb.

The music blared through the door. Sweat dripped down his face and his ribs. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Her breathing grew ragged. No longer lying listless on the bed, she moved with him a little now, lips peeled back into a savage smile as if daring him to finish. When he did...with a vertebrae-cracking arch to his back as he exploded inside, the end of the condom swelling like a balloon...he pulled it out, his monster already dwindling. Sometimes he was good for a second round, but it would take a while tonight.

"Sorry," he said. "Want me to eat you out? Finish you off?"

The offer was sincere. Her feral smile turned into something more natural.

"I appreciate the offer—and the effort—but not tonight," Sheol said. She drew a card and felt-tip pen from a jacket pocket, and wrote something on it. When she handed it to him, Marcus saw it was a phone number, an email address—and a line of what looked like runes.

"Call me," she said, and then was on her feet and out the door, back into the crowd while Marcus was still getting his pants on.

The swelling was what Marcus noticed when he woke up the next day, along with a headache and a touch of fever. Not painful, exactly, but there was definitely a certain girth to his soft prick that hadn't been there the night before. Sheol's number was in his wallet, and for a brief moment he hoped he hadn't caught anything from her. That sort of thing happened, even with condoms. He resolved to keep an eye on it, make an appointment at the clinic later this week.

Saturday and Sunday were Marcus' nights off. Instead of haunting the club and parties, he spent the hours in his apartment, in his boxers, alternately applying packs of ice to his swollen and sensitive manhood. What had started as a notable bit of growth had become something else. Every time he looked at his dick, it seemed a little bigger than last time. At first, he chalked it up to imagination, or maybe a hallucination from the fever. The ice seemed to help, but he couldn't keep it on for more than a few minutes at a time, and then a flush of heat would fill his groin that was almost maddening.

By Sunday evening his cock, limp, hung out of the bottom of his boxers. Worse than that, the veins had gone blue-black, and the head, normally the cover of raw liver, was almost as black as coal.

Dagon's Hollow emergency room had seen its share of sex-related trauma. It was a small college town after all. On a Sunday night, Marcus was sharing space with a young woman who had gotten a bottle lodged in her ass, sitting sideways on the seat with a jacket draped over her; and a guy who had fought a rail fence and lost to the tune of 18 stitches to the face. Understandably, they took Marcus last.

The ER doc was magnanimous about taking a look at Marcus' prick. The beast hung between his legs nearly twelve inches soft now, and had gone a uniform dark color, like an unhealed bruise.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I mean, my balls are a little sore, but it's not painful."

"Any trouble getting an erection?" she continued.

"No," he had to admit.

"Sex lately?" she asked.

"Last night."

"Unprotected?"

"I wore a condom."

"Have you ever used a vacuum pump?" she said at last.

That made Marcus blink. "I...what?"

"Many men, in an effort to increase their size or to obtain an erection, use a vacuum pump. The lower pressure forces blood into the veins and tissues. I can't recommend it. Any increase is temporary, and use can weaken the veins at the base of the penis, making erection impossible. Extensive use can lead to permanent damage. I'd recommend that you cease what you're doing, wear loose clothing, avoid sex and maturbation, and give your body time to heal."

"But I didn't—" Marcus began. Then he saw her eyes. The doctor who had heard, and seen, it all before. She didn't believe Marcus, any more than she believed the last girl had been hanging a picture when she fell and a bottle of wine had nearly perforated her colon.

"Yes, ma'am," Marcus said.

His morning wood had slapped against his chest, and left a trail of precum against the underside of his chin. Marcus had almost been late for work, waiting for the stupid cock to go down, remembering the doctor's advice. An ice-cold shower had finally calmed the beast, though it brought with it sobering thoughts. For the first time in his life, Marcus saw his dick as more of a curse than a blessing. If this wasn't temporary—what was he going to do? At his old size, he had been too big for most women. Now, there was no way he could get with anyone. He was a freak. Probably one that could make some money in porn, but no way could he have sex again with this beast.

Marcus was still thinking that as he re-shelved books at the Dagon's Hollow College Library, working his shift. His normal slacks had been switched out for baggy sweat pants—which were the only options he had to accommodate his cock comfortably, as it now hung nearly three inches thick and almost to his knees.

The sight of a top hat through the stacks caught his attention. He thought of Sheol. The timing of their encounter and his growing junk seemed impossible to ignore. Either she had done something to him, or—or he had to let her know that maybe he'd given something to her. He followed the top hat as it made its way through the stacks, turned the cart around a corner—and she was gone. A couple books lay on the floor.

He bent down to pick them up. They were in the occult section. The ‘Malleus Maleficarum‘ and the Construction of Witchcraft. Magic and Impotence in the Middle Ages. With a sigh, he re-shelved the books. Definitely not the kind of thing he needed to be reading, with his not-so-little problem.

During his lunch break, he stepped out behind the library to call Sheol.

"Hey, lover," she said. "How's it hanging?"

Marcus grimaced at her choice of words.

"Low and to the left. That's what I'm calling to tell you about. I've been experiencing some...swelling. I've got an appointment later this week, standard STI test, but I wanted to let you know..."

Her laughter caught him by surprise. It echoed through the phone, but he also heard it right behind him. Sheol stepped around the corner, her cellphone in her hand. She was still wearing the suit coat and tophat, but now it was over a yellow flower-print dress that seemed oddly incongruous.

"You are sweet," she said with a smile, and leaned in to him as brazenly as the night they had first met. He almost grabbed her when she pulled the waistband on his pants away, to look at the dark trunk of his prick between his thighs. "That was the one thing I liked about you. It made up for your...shortcomings."

Marcus' mouth went dry. He wasn't stupid. She saw it in his eyes. The hurt. The distrust.

"Don't be that way," she said, her voice husky. Sheol leaned against him, and the heat of her crotch pressed against his cock, making it stir and swell. "You need someone who can take this dick. And I need someone to give it to me. It can be as simple as that—or I can show you what else I can do to you."

The word of Marcus' new girlfriend got around. Some of the women of Dagon's Hollow were brokenhearted. The biggest dick in town had been claimed at last. Nor did Marcus ever say a word against her, even when his eyes got that strange, haunted look, like an animal caught in a trap.

Asenath blew out the candle with a wistful sigh.