“A surreal, impressionistic treat. ‘Leave the smallness’ is my favorite line. Very evocative smut-language. Memorable giant cock. The submissive narrator voice is both relatable and vivid. This payday was earned.”
I’m proud to share “Trick, Treat,” my entry for the Cocktober 2019 SizeRiot Erotica Contest, hosted by the hardworking and talented Aborigen-gts. I’m also proud to share that there’s a secret trick to this story! See if you can guess what it is, and check the link at the end to find out.
I appreciate the feedback I received for this story. As always, I’m deeply grateful to my beta readers and everyone who read my work and reviewed it.
The story placed in five of the seven categories:
- “Grabbed Attention from the Start” – tied for 1st place
- “Surprised by Interpretation of Theme” – 2nd place
- “Most Arousing” – tied for 3rd
- “Challenged You” – tied for 2nd
- “Best Represented Cocktober Theme” – 3rd place
What did people enjoy most about this story? Here’s what the readers had to say:
“Fantastic mastery of language. Big fucking, growing giants. Nice touch. “Leviathan cock.” Beautiful. You are a mouth… Beautiful metaphor. Nice work. One of my top three favs.”
“Felt unique, I like this approach as it gave readers something a bit different.”“Trippy and novel. Definitely a story that I’d read more of.”
“Translated almost directly into images in the mind; lots of beautiful language used to describe terrible destruction.”
“Awesome story from beginning to end filled with a tense energy.”“A signature storyteller at heart here.”
Ready for more? You have two options to enjoy:
AUDIO VERSION: Listen to a 20-minute author-read version of the story here.
Thanks to Dick, The Micro Giant, for Audio Engineering this piece! Please give him a follow on Twitter, as I wouldn’t be able to do this without his expertise. He takes commissions for anyone else interested in doing audio work, too!
TEXT VERSION: Read the full story behind the cut.
By Elle Largesse
Copyright 2019, all rights reserved.
Submission for SizeRiot’s Cocktober 2019 Erotica Contest
Content warnings: Themes include macrophilia/growing, sex work, objectification, building and city destruction (no graphic violence), mild Domination/submission, oral sex, anal sex, masturbation, and bukkake
Disclaimer: This short story is intended for mature audiences. If you’re under 18 and are seeking sex positive resources, stop now and visit scarleteen.com. All characters depicted are above the age of 18 and exist only in fiction.
You are a mouth.
You know you are the one with the mouth but on working nights like this—especially working on Halloween, the fuck were you thinking—it pays to shrink your mind, mute your body and become just a mouth, just lips that cover your teeth, just a tongue that tastes salt, sweat, musk, butter, cream, sour, pungent, copper.
Hope, regret. Shame. Lust.
You taste lust most of all. The common denominator, the bottom line. It’s what you’re selling.
Only one trick ever notices that you do this. You’re kneeling at his denim, unzipping him as if to say a cynical prayer to the gods of capitalism, and as you look up his lanky long body you begin folding your mind down, inward, folding yourself into a tidy, tiny space where you’ll wait for the flavors, then the feeling of paper in your hand, then the solitude to unfold again into yourself.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” he says, pulling out. You frown, draw him back inside, showing him without speaking. Tongue sliding along the velvet skin of his semi-erect cock.
He leaves you again, does something no trick has ever done in a moment like this. He crouches down next to you. Eye to eye. Your mouth is as empty of thoughts as it is empty of cock, but confusion registers. Irritated, your mind struggles to unfold, to climb back up to the surface enough to think and speak.
“You like it, what’s the problem?” You don’t know what to do with this crouching man, and wonder as you run your hands down his body if this unpredictable behavior is a red flag. Should you leave? Can you? He catches your hands before you reach his prick. It’s the first time he has deliberately touched any part of you besides your mouth.
“Where did you learn to make yourself small like that?”
Licking lips, you stare up at the unnatural spark of energy in his eyes. This is lust plus something else. Something powerful. Your mind craves the simplicity of smallness, of being just a warm wet receptacle for sucking and swallowing. You look down.
“Could you do the opposite?” he asks eagerly. “Could you push your mind to grow?”
“You’re asking if I can imagine myself… bigger?” Is this fool asking you to dominate him? “I don’t top. And don’t ask how much, it’s not on the menu.”
“What I want is never on any menu,” he says, then sighs. “But it might actually be on yours. I’ll pay five times your going rate if you grow with me tonight. Let me top you. Show the world how sexy you are.” Power sparks in his eyes again. You’ve never seen lust this electric. “I promise tomorrow it’ll all go back to normal. But you have to promise you’ll do what I say. I’ll pay you. Ten times.”
Fucking Halloween. You bite your lip, contemplating enough money to buy yourself a decent cam setup and stay safe at home, not out here with freaks. “Show me the cash first.”
He produces a roll of bills thicker than his dick. Your mouth says yes.
“When I say grow, you grow.” You nod.
He orders you to strip. You strip. Clothes folding into a tidy stack.
He orders you to kneel. You kneel. His uncut cock stiffening right before your eyes as if on command, foreskin sliding back eagerly. Larger than it was before.
He orders you to grow. You expect your mind to disobey him, expect it to begin narrowing itself down like usual.
Body bigger with each breath, mind unfolding in ways you never knew you knew how to unfold.
He grows, too. Your eyes lock, your breath syncs, each inhalation, bigger, bigger, his hands rough in your hair as he pulls you closer to his cock. You can’t seem to break your gaze, as if the current of electricity between you is magnetic, sensational, Earth rotational.
He throws his head back, breaking your eye contact but you already know he’s got you in his power, something one part lust and one part joy and two parts sheer, unadulterated presence. Your bodies begin to fill the room and as he pushes his arms upward, you see his palms press against the ceiling and wonder if you’ve sold your body for the night to a demigod.
Whoever he is, he’s pulling you out of the sunken, shrunken safety of your memories. Your mind tingles with new horizons, dimensions of possibility and excess and something beyond safety.
“Grow,” he groans, and you do. All parts of you obey this command.
You’re more than a mouth now. You’re lips, mouth, tongue, warm as you take him inside, you’re throat and stifled reflex, angling him inside and out again, as you shudder breaths in through your nose quickly, quickly, then pull him deep again. You are arms, hands, fingertips, nails digging into the denim shredding over his ass, pulling him closer.
“Grow,” he says, straining against the limits of the four walls that contain you both. You can feel other limits inside yourself, eggshell fine and as valuable as the paper he showed you earlier. It’s starting to tear, along with your hesitation.
Reality matches the dream inside you. His clothes tear and unravel and dissolve like a laugh gone serious. The south wall and roof of your efficiency apartment crumble outward in a burst of dust, cinder block, and orange light from the streetlamp that’s disconcertingly close.
With a free hand, he shields you from the worst of the rubble, but you can still taste it, dusty stone mixing with the sweat of him, the savory static current of his skin. Each breath of ragged air pushes you larger together.
Even kneeling, you’re taller than the street lamp now, large enough to see the cars swerving in the street, but too large to see the expressions of the people throwing open the doors of those cars to stare up at you. It’s hard to watch as you move your mouth and head as you work this trick for all he’s worth.
“Leave the smallness,” he says impatiently, wrenching your attention back to his eyes. “Grow. GROW.”
If his hands are pulling your head back to his cock, his will is pulling you larger. You feel like the limits you felt before are almost achingly close, like a poorly tied knot, like a blindfold ready to be ripped from your eyes. Paper-thin.
You pull away from him to free your mouth, to gasp in the cold night air, to expand your lungs, to expand your body, larger, larger.
No more limits.
You’re not unfolding from smallness anymore. You’ve torn through the simple paper metaphors of money, identity. You turn to see the city spread out before you, both smaller and larger than you’ve ever seen it before, because at your new height you can see for miles.
He pulls you to your feet in the middle of the highway by your home. Headlights illuminate your bare feet on the asphalt, moonlight shows the rest. Sirens sound in the distance.
“I want…” the words leave your mouth before you know how to finish the sentence.
Your body pulses with a long-dormant lust, but you are no longer just your body. “You promised tomorrow it would all be back to normal,” you say, hoarse with some emotion that doesn’t fit into your words.
His eyes watch you as he strokes himself, an afterthought of a show for the mortals below. “You have my word,” he says. “What does that make you want to do?”
“I want you to fuck me. And I want…” The flavor of the lust you feel pulsing electric through your veins is entirely new to you. “I want to watch you grow so big that I feel small again, even as tall as I am now.”
Moonlight shows you a glimpse of the ecstasy in his face, some relief, some deep loneliness satisfied in the impossibility of the night. He takes your hand, grips it hard, and pulls.
You have never felt more powerful as a sub as you feel when he throws you against a twenty-story building, bends you over it, and pushes the tip of his cock against your tight asshole. He needs you, genuinely needs what you can offer. “Relax,” he says, spitting into his hand and reaching between your bodies. “Grow for me.”
You relax. You grow. The stone of the building is rough under the bare skin of your stomach, but so fine that it’s like running your fingertips against a sugarcube. Your hands scramble for purchase in the balconies and windows below, glass shattering like thin candy beneath your grip. You grow and relax and moan loud enough for the whole city to hear as his enormous shaft pulses and pushes painfully inside. Your hips move with him as he thrusts gently, then more firmly, then with urgency that threatens to knock down the building as it dwindles beneath you. Ten good thrusts and the building has become almost too small for you to brace yourself against.
He tops you like many men have topped you, and that feels good and familiar, even without lube. But this time, you wanted something, you asked for it, and now, somehow, that deep hole of an ache within you has some slim chance of being filled. You need him, too.
He’s fucking you hard now, the slap-slap-slap of your flesh echoing down the city streets, your moans drowning the sirens. You know from experience that he’s shuddering in a way that means he’ll release soon, and you pull yourself away from him with an effort. You slip and fall to the road below. He groans, cupping his cock with one hand, and glares down at you.
“Make me feel small again?” you ask with some courage. “Show me how big you can get.”
He laughs, glare giving way to delight. With one clear inhalation he pushes himself to grow many times faster than you had moments before. You shiver with pure arousal as his size pushes him upwards like a dream. His legs and thighs knock into buildings like they’re sandcastles. Larger and larger. It’s breathtaking to see his enormity looming over the city.
In moments, he’s reached such titan, god-llike proportions that his head breaks through clouds. He sinks to his knees, then, launching an earthquake that shatters glass and cement far beyond the city limits. His balls dangle between massive thighs, each testicle so huge it could be cupped in its own stadium. The largest skyscraper in the city wouldn’t even compare to the diameter of his girth. You lay in the rubble where he’d left you, one hand on the remains of a cafe, the other hand at your mouth in a gesture of awe. You’re aroused beyond all logic to feel simultaneously large and small, powerful and humbled. His cock is easily five times your own giant height, and as he looks down at you, you tremble with lust.
“Stand up,” he says. “I want to knock you off your feet with the orgasm you denied me.”
You’re on your feet before you know it, face to face with a leviathan cock so huge it defies understanding. His slit is longer than your face, dribbling precum in the cool night air even as the heat of his body radiates heavy warmth. Eye to eye.
You watch his strokes with a hypnotic need that electrifies your whole body. It would be dreamlike, if it weren’t so visceral. He grunts and the sound of flesh on flesh fills the air for miles. When he climaxes, the force of his milky white cum blasts from him like an avalanche of sticky sweet intensity, like the power of his will breaking past your limits.
You become a body once more, sensual, staggered, insensible with sensation. A mouth tasting salt, cream, electricity, freedom.
Did you guess the secret trick in this story? I announced it here for my followers on Twitter.
It was a pleasure to give this feedback, Elle, and I’m very happy of this opportunity to hear your voice again.
“Each breath of ragged air pushes you larger together.” This really evokes how his will has subsumed hers, how she’s letting inflate them both.
“Eye to eye.” I can see her waiting face. Still the best representation of the spirit of Cocktober. Brava.