The End has No End

Two figures walk by cleared blitz site

Liverpool, 21 November 1949

The Shrinking Virus had rewritten the rules for Chris and Chad two weeks earlier, and neither of them had stopped being painfully, gloriously hard since.

Chris had gone to bed a normal 5’10” college junior and woken up 18 inches tall, his clothes pooled around him like abandoned tents. The virus was rare, bizarre, and apparently designed by some bored god with a size kink. His muscles had stayed proportional—still defined, still athletic—but the rest of the world had become a landscape of giants. His roommate and best friend since freshman year, Chad, had taken one look at the tiny man standing on the dorm desk and simply said, “Okay. I’ve got you.”

Chad was 6’4” of pure linebacker: thick thighs, broad chest, heavy shoulders, and a presence that filled every room. He’d built Chris a secure little platform in their dorm with ramps, railings, and a padded “bed” the size of a shoebox. He fed him, protected him, carried him everywhere in a padded pocket or the front of his hoodie. And because the virus had one very specific side effect—both of them were now in a constant, throbbing state of arousal—the “caring” had quickly become something much more intimate.

Chris couldn’t get enough of how big everything about Chad had become. The man’s voice was a low, rolling thunder that vibrated through Chris’s tiny chest. His scent—clean sweat, musk, the faint leather of his flip-flops—was overwhelming. His body was a living mountain range of muscle and heat. Chris spent hours climbing it, worshipping it, grinding his tiny, perpetually hard cock against whatever part of Chad he could reach while the giant watched with dark, possessive eyes.

Chad, for his part, had discovered he loved the power. Having his best friend look up at him like he was a god, feeling that tiny weight against his skin, knowing Chris was completely at his mercy yet trusted him completely—it was addictive. He was careful, always careful, but he also loved pushing the edges. A flex of his toes that pinned Chris gently. A slow shift of his hips that pressed the little guy against his thickening cock. The way Chris moaned when Chad’s voice dropped and said, “Be good for me, tiny.”

Today Chad had brought him to Kinesiology lecture.

“Stay in the backpack pocket,” Chad had warned with a smirk as they walked across campus, his massive flip-flop-clad feet eating up the sidewalk. “I mean it, Chris. No mischief.”

Chris had just grinned up at him from the padded compartment, already half-hard at the thought of being this close to Chad’s body in public.

The lecture hall was the usual mix of bored students and fluorescent lighting. Chad took a seat toward the back, long legs sprawled under the desk, khaki shorts stretched tight over his thick quads. He wore a faded red t-shirt and his favorite worn brown flip-flops, size 14 feet resting flat on the linoleum. The backpack went on the floor beside his chair.

Ten minutes into the lecture on muscle groups, Chris made his move.

He slipped out of the backpack, dropped silently to the floor, and crawled between chair legs and backpacks like a tiny, determined explorer. The world was enormous. Other students’ feet looked like parked cars. The underside of the desks formed low, shadowy ceilings. He reached Chad’s desk and stood up to his full 18-inch height, hands on his hips, heart pounding.

The view was obscene.

Chad’s legs rose like two massive, hairy pillars on either side of him. The left leg was extended, the brown flip-flop a broad raft on the floor, the big toe alone nearly as long as Chris’s entire body. The right leg was closer, khaki fabric pulled taut over the huge quad. Between them, in the warm, shadowed space under the desk, hung the heavy, already-thickening bulge of Chad’s cock and balls. Even soft it had been impressive. Now, with Chad clearly aware his tiny roommate was loose, it was starting to push insistently against the fabric.

Chris’s own tiny cock gave a hard twitch inside his little blue athletic shorts. He was shirtless—had ditched the tiny tank top earlier because he knew how much Chad liked seeing his miniature but still-muscular torso—and the cool air of the lecture hall pebbled his skin.

He moved toward the nearest flip-flop.

The sole was warm from Chad’s foot, slightly damp with sweat. The scent hit him like a drug: rich, masculine, amplified by the virus until it made his head spin. Chris climbed onto the edge of the sandal, pressed his entire body against the side of Chad’s big toe, and wrapped his arms around it as far as they would go. The skin was rough, warm, alive. He ground his hips forward, rubbing his aching little cock along the curve of the toe while he pressed his face to it and inhaled.

Chad felt the tiny, insistent pressure immediately.

A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. He didn’t look down—he couldn’t, not without drawing attention—but he flexed his toes deliberately, the big one pressing gently against Chris’s back and pinning him to the flip-flop. The control was exquisite. Chris was completely at his mercy, and they both knew it.

“Fuck…” Chris breathed, voice tiny and trembling with lust. He licked the side of the toe, tasting salt and musk, and kept grinding. His hand slipped into his shorts, stroking his tiny erection in time with the slow, possessive rub of Chad’s foot.

But Chris had come here for mischief.

He climbed off the flip-flop and moved deeper between Chad’s spread thighs, right into the warm, shadowed space under the desk. From this angle the view was even better. Chad’s package was a thick, heavy mound above him, the khaki shorts starting to tent as his cock swelled. Chris could see the faint outline of the head, the way the fabric stretched. A small dark spot was already forming where precum had begun to soak through.

Chris reached up, grabbed the hem of the shorts, and hauled himself onto Chad’s inner thigh. The muscle twitched under his hands—thick, powerful, lightly dusted with dark hair. He crawled higher, the heat increasing, the scent growing richer and more intimate. When he reached the leg opening of the shorts he slipped inside without hesitation.

It was like crawling into a warm, musky cave. The fabric of Chad’s boxer briefs was right there, stretched tight over the massive shaft. Chris pressed his face to it and moaned. Even through the cotton he could feel the heat, the pulse, the sheer size of it. From 18 inches tall, Chad’s cock looked like a battering ram—thick, veiny, and already leaking.

He started humping against it immediately, tiny hips working in desperate little thrusts while his hands kneaded the heavy shape of Chad’s balls beneath the fabric. Precum soaked through and coated Chris’s chest and face. He licked at it greedily, tasting Chad directly now, and the flavor made his own cock jerk hard.

Above him, Chad’s breathing had changed.

The big man’s hand gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. His thighs flexed, the movement squeezing Chris more firmly against his throbbing erection. The lecture was background noise now. All Chad could focus on was the tiny, frantic movements of his best friend inside his shorts, the wet little licks, the way Chris was worshipping him in the middle of class like he couldn’t help himself.

Chad loved it. The power. The secrecy. The knowledge that this tiny, horny little man belonged to him—trusted him, needed him, got off on how fucking big he was.

He shifted in his seat, spreading his legs a fraction wider under the desk—an invitation.

Chris took it.

He worked his way along the length of the shaft until he reached the head. It had shifted in the shorts, the flared crown now pressing against the fabric right in front of him. Chris mouthed at it through the cotton, sucking as best his tiny mouth could, while he ground his own cock against the thick ridge below. The dual sensation—worshipping and being worshipped in return by Chad’s body—was too much.

Chad felt the tiny vibrations against his cockhead and nearly lost it.

His free hand dropped casually under the desk, pretending to adjust something. Thick fingers found Chris’s small form through the fabric and pressed—gentle, but firm—pushing the little guy more firmly against his leaking cock. Chris moaned against him, the sound lost in the lecture, and Chad felt the tiny body shudder with approaching orgasm.

That was all it took.

Chad came with a low, controlled exhale, his massive cock pulsing hard inside his shorts. Thick ropes of cum flooded the fabric, hot and copious from two weeks of constant, denied arousal. The wet heat soaked through immediately, drenching Chris where he clung to the shaft. The tiny man gasped as the flood hit him, the sheer volume of it coating his chest, his face, his own tiny cock—and then Chris was coming too, his little body jerking in helpless spasms against Chad’s still-twitching erection, adding his own small load to the mess.

For a long moment they stayed like that—Chad slumped slightly in his chair, breathing hard through his nose, Chris clinging to the giant’s softening but still-enormous cock, both of them trembling in the afterglow.

Chad glanced around. No one had noticed. The girl with glasses two rows over was still reading her notes. The lecture droned on.

With careful fingers he reached under the desk, found Chris’s cum-slick little body, and gently extracted him from his shorts. He brought the tiny man up into his lap, hidden by the desk, and used a tissue from his bag to clean him with surprising tenderness. Chris looked up at him, eyes glassy with satisfaction, a mischievous little grin on his cum-streaked face.

“Worth it?” Chad whispered, voice rough.

“Every fucking second,” Chris answered, tiny voice full of adoration. “You’re even bigger when you’re trying not to moan in class.”

Chad’s low chuckle vibrated through his chest. He tucked Chris carefully into the front pocket of his red t-shirt, right against the warm skin over his heart. The tiny man settled in with a contented sigh, one small hand resting possessively on Chad’s chest.

The rest of the lecture passed in a haze. Chad’s shorts were sticky and damp, his cock still giving occasional twitches against the mess. Chris dozed against his chest, occasionally pressing a tiny kiss to the skin he could reach.

When class finally ended, Chad gathered his things with careful movements, feeling the pleasant weight of his tiny best friend in his pocket and the sticky evidence of their shared orgasm cooling in his shorts.

He had the rest of the day ahead of him.

And Chris, he knew, was already planning his next round of mischief.

Chad smiled to himself as he walked out of the lecture hall, one large hand resting protectively over the pocket where his tiny roommate slept.

Horse Head

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