Thom and the Mad Scientist

Author Unknown

Thom regularly combed the "Scientific Studies" column of the college paper. The tests were never rigorous-filling out a questionnaire, keeping track of sleep cycles for two weeks-and there was always money for his effort. This time, his eye was caught by an ad that appealed to him on two levels: the pay was high and the nature of the study was more vigorous and challenging.

"Shrink seeks exceptionally fit males, 18-26, for endurance study. $200.

Contact Dr. W. Stockwell at Science Lab A14."

Thrilled by the opportunity, Thom circled the ad. He reflected on his superior physical prowess. He stood 6'2" and possessed great strength, agility, and stamina. He swept aside a forelock of jet black hair from his brow, revealing a handsome, angular face and deep green Irish eyes lost in thought over the tests that might await him. A fast and furious runner and agile swimmer, Thom earned the respect and popularity of his teammates through his outstanding ability and good-natured competitiveness. This was his sophomore year in college.

Thom called the Science Lab and later received a message from the receptionist that Dr. Stockwell could see him Sunday morning at 9:00am. He was advised to get a good night's sleep and to dress comfortably. Thom had four days until the appointment. He made sure to work out and swim on alternating days so as to be in maximum physical condition. No point in letting the doctor down.

Thom set out for the Science Lab Sunday morning in a t-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes without socks. After all, this was an endurance study; work out clothes were most likely in order. It was late spring, and a sweet hazy warmth permeated the air.

The lab building was, predictably, deserted at such an hour. He made his way down to the basement to A14. He rapped on the door. Soft, rhythmic padding grew louder as a person on the other side approached the door and opened it. While Thom had expected a short, fatherly gentleman with horn-rimmed glasses and a rumpled suit, Dr. Stockwell presented quite a different image. He was probably in his early 30's, a few inches shorter than Thom. He possessed the demeanor of a sly cowboy out of an old western. Clad in a white lab coat over a short sleeve knit shirt, cuffed blue jeans, and old worn top-siders on his dusty tan bare feet, his stance was decidedly that of a man who sizes you up and gains your confidence with a friendly wink. The strength of his broad, rounded shoulders and thick limbs was not to be underestimated, yet his general appearance was softened by a vaguely defined suppleness. His bushy moustache was the same color as the disheveled, light brown locks that fell casually halfway down his neck. Doctor Stockwell fixed his warm chestnut eyes amicably on Thom and put him immediately at ease.

The doctor clamped one thick paw hardily on Thom's shoulder and shook hands with the other. "You must be Thom McGuire. I'm Doctor Wyatt Stockwell. I've been expectin' ya." The slow, reassuring drawl didn't surprise Thom at all.

"Nice to meet you, doc," replied Thom. The familiar tone emerged spontaneously and did not seem disrespectful. "I gotta say that I had quite a different picture of you in my head, being a shrink and all."

The doctor chuckled slightly, lowering his eyes and brushing the back of his free index finger back and forth under his moustache. "Truth is," he said, "my speciality's molecular biology, but fields overlap a good deal nowadays. Why don't ya step in and we'll get to know each other?"

Thom followed the doctor into a rather bare lab space. A freshly scrubbed white floor stretched out before him. A counter ran the length of the wall to the right, standard lab equipment spread out neatly on it. A small wire cage, now empty, stood at one end of the counter. There were also test tubes neatly lined up with varying levels of brightly colored fluids and a roll of masking tape. In the center of the room stood a rectangular island with a waist-high, Formica counter and cabinets below. Against the left wall was a carpeted area with built-in bookcases and a work desk flanked by two chairs. The doc pulled up one for Thom and took the other for himself.

"Get comfortable," said the doc. "Take off your shoes if you'd like. I always work better in my bare feet." And with that, he slipped his tawny feet out of his topsiders and pushed them to one side, wiggling his toes contentedly.

Thom's feet did feel a little warm and sweaty from his walk to the lab. He reached down and plucked at the laces on his sneakers. He wriggled his powerful size 12 feet free. He flexed his long, sturdy toes against the soft carpet and bounced on his broad, springy heels. "This guy's really cool," Thom thought. The rug material preserved the fine layer of moisture coating the sensitive soles of both men's feet.

"So, Thom, let's get some data on you first off. Is that McGuire with an M-c or an M-a?"

"M-c," answered Thom dutifully. "And it's Thom with a T-h."

"As in 'thumb?'" Thom thought he detected a fleeting, mischievous sparkle in Stockwell's eyes. Now why would that be? He nonetheless chalked it up to the doctor's generally playful manner.

"Uh, yeah, sure, as in 'thumb.'"

The grin on Doc Stockwell's smile seemed to broaden as he continued writing. The usual: age, year in school, any medical problems, etc. As he took Thom's blood pressure, height, weight and similar measurements, he managed to engage the young man in comfortable, breezy conversation about sports, college life, and Thom's pursuits. He was especially pleased to find in Thom a balanced, healthy specimen.

"Heck, Thom," drawled the doctor. "Yer in mighty fine shape. It's a pleasure to see young people take care of themselves the way you do."

Thom, satisfied with the doctor's comment, puffed out his chest and stood up straighter. A warm surge of energy seemed to rush through him.

The doctor had Thom hop up on to the counter in the middle of the lab. "Now, just sit tight and take a few deep breaths for me." As Thom began taking slow, rhythmic breaths, the doc produced a stethoscope from a lower drawer. Planting the rubber cup on strategic places across Thom's chest confirmed the young man's outstanding vascularity. At one point, Thom twitched slightly when the instrument was flattened against the taut muscles encircling his lower ribcage. A good sign, mused Stockwell to himself. He had no doubt that Thom's endurance would be put to the test.

"Just your reflexes, and we're done with the preliminaries." The doc pulled out a small rubber hammer from his labcoat breast pocket. He tapped lightly below the knee of each muscular leg. Involuntarily, Thom jerked the corresponding leg forward just slightly. Grasping Thom's thick left ankle, Stockwell, with a brisk motion, grazed the tender sole of Thom's left foot with his thumbnail.

"Yeeeoow!" yelled Thom, his thick toes curling back from the convulsion that shot through him. Thom broke free from the doctor's grip, his reaction being even more violent than Stockwell had anticipated. "Sorry about that, doc. I'm pretty ticklish." Stockwell flashed him his reassuring smile. "Heck, I'll say! I wouldn't have expected it from a strong guy like you."

Thom blushed. "When I was younger," he said "my brothers used to like to pin me down and tickle me 'cause I was smaller then. Geez! It would drive me absolutely up the wall! But then I grew a lot and got into working out, so nobody messes with me anymore, 'cause they know I'll deck 'em." Again, Thom straightened up to accentuate his protective strength. But Doc Stockwell knew that beneath that powerful, sinewy exterior lay the same vulnerable-and deliciously ticklish-boy.

"That so?" mused the doc. "Well, well..." He trailed off.

"OK, Master McGuire." The doc's eyes got that funny twinkle again. "We're all set for the endurance part. I'll need you to take off your shirt and shorts."

There was no reason for Thom not to comply. He crossed his powerful arms over his chest and pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing a smooth, agile torso, defined by a delicate vertical ridge descending from his firm, rounded pectorals. His biceps showed thick bulges from weight training. No less developed was his upper back, a broad stretch of firm muscle. Years of having showered in gym erased any self-consciousness about his body. He loosened the waistband of his briefs and lowered them passed his firm, rounded calves to shin level, at which point he lifted up each bare foot and stepped out of them. Proportional to the rest of him, his heavy member extended down and slightly outward.

"Thom, my boy, I think I've got you all sized up." Again, that mysterious glint appeared in his eyes. Doc Stockwell picked up a beaker from the counter and carefully poured several ounces of a punch-like liquid into a clear plastic cup. "Before we start, you'll want to drink this down. All the way down."

It didn't even occur to Thom to question the nature of the drink. Doc Stockwell had gained his complete confidence. Thom tipped back the cup and drank down its contents. As he had expected, it reminded of one of those sports drinks, like Gatorade. Sweet and refreshing. Thom blinked at Doc Stockwell and awaited further instructions.

The doc grinned at Thom and nodded his head almost imperceptibly as if waiting for some reaction. Perplexed, Thom furrowed his brow. At that moment, a sudden light-headedness overcame him. A painless spasm shot through him and nearly knocked him off balance. Thom opened his mouth as if to speak but was too disoriented. He began to tremble violently. A tugging sensation in his gut, mild at first, grew ever more pulsating and seemed to be drawing the rest of his body toward that center, like an imploding star. His head swam. The room seemed to expand around him. He was unable to focus his eyes or thoughts on anything.

Although the experience had only lasted some 30 seconds, it seemed interminable to Thom. He remembered the reeling and jerking coming to an abrupt end and falling backwards onto his rear. He sat bolt upright, stretching his arms out behind him and pressing his palms to the floor. Clearly, his vision had not yet fully returned, as the white linoleum seemed to him an endless expanse. What looked like a billowy parachute lay behind him. (It was actually his discarded clothing.) Turning his head to the left, his eyes widened with bewilderment: two gargantuan bare feet rested before him, each measuring easily one and a half times the present length of Thom's body. One meaty and bronzed foot slowly lifted itself from the floor and hovered over Thom. The heady scent issuing from that foot enveloped Thom. He was in awe of the tremendous size of the pliant sole that threatened to trap him, or worse. The moist, slightly acrid sweat had caused a fine layer of dirt to highlight the underside of the giant foot.

Thom recoiled in fear of being crushed to death under the giant's bare foot. With gentle pressure, Stockwell slowly splayed his great toes against Thom's heaving chest. Thom swallowed hard. Stockwell could just make out the tiny young man's heartbeat he had gauged only minutes before with his stethoscope.

"Well, little fella, how ya holdin' up?"

Thom looked up past the huge protruding toes. Upward loomed the rest of Doc Stockwell's mighty frame, to a height both dizzying and terrifying. He ran his eyes up both towering, blue jean-clad stalks, a monstrous bulge swelling visibly at the point of convergence. His arms akimbo accentuated the breadth of Stockwell's muscular body under the labcoat. That impish grin poised high above the lab floor seemed to take on an ominous mien.

Although fully aware that attempts to pry himself free were futile, Thom's nature was such that he exerted his muscles in vain struggle anyway. Stockwell increased his pressure the smallest bit. Thom was quick to cease his movements.

"Don't be foolish; save your strength. You're going to need it."

"Let me go, you sonuvabitch!" he screamed. "What have you done to me?! Let me go! Make me normal again!" All of his aborted muscular energy had been transformed into delirium.

The giant slowly crouched down. He unpressed his massive, sweaty foot from the diminutive body of the young athlete, freeing him for a brief instant. Before Thom could fully regularize his breathing, he felt his naked body caught in the grip of Doc Stockwell's thick fingers. The floor fell away quickly beneath him as he was raised opposite the doc's leering visage.

Stockwell's huge fingers encircled the boy's entire torso and upper legs. Thom squirmed helplessly. His bare legs flailing in mid-air, Thom pounded his fists against the edge of the giant's mighty thumb and forefinger. "How could you do this to me, man! Let me go!"

With a sinister grin, the giant gently ran the tip of his index finger along the sole of Thom's dangling naked feet. Thom's cries for mercy redoubled and became choked with uncontrollable laughter, echoing the laughs emitted by the doctor. The tickling made Thom's dick grow hard and lodge itself in a fleshy recess at the base of one of the giant's fingers.

"Who's the 'Big Man on Campus' now?" joked Doc Stockwell. "I've got you in the palm of my hand, and I'm gonna have some fun with this ticklish little body of yours."

Thom thrashed violently as the giant lowered him onto the Formica counter. "No! No! No!" he cried.

"How 'bout simmering down a little bit," smirked the Doc. "Or am I gonna have to hose ya down now?" Stockwell's stretched open his free hand and suggestively gripped the bulge in his crotch.

Thom's eyes widened in fear and his body stiffened at the horrible thought of being doused by a torrential flood of the giant's urine. He remained still.

With one hand pinning Thom down, Stockwell reached over with the other to the nearby counter and picked up the roll of masking tape. He deftly tore off four pieces of tape about three inches each in length and adhered them across Thom's wrists and ankles. The boy now lay on his back, spread-eagle, defenseless and exposed to whatever diabolical tickle-torture the doc might devise. Try as he might to break free, the tape held fast to the countertop. Even if he did get wriggle out of the adhesive, what could he possibly do then? He realized he was completely at the giant's mercy. His breathing was deep and labored.

"Yessiree," crooned the doc. "I'm going to take you on the ride of your life."

Stockwell slipped off his labcoat and peeled of his knit shirt, revealing a mighty wrestler's physique covered in a hazy dusting of light brown hair. The doc flexed his muscles in eager anticipation of the fun (for him) that was about to begin. Thom lay in awe of the giant's musculature, which intensified his own feelings of helplessness.

Stockwell brought his face to within a few inches of the young man's body. He flashed that friendly smile that had so won Thom over at the beginning. He hovered there a few minutes lost in thought and deliberately tormenting the young man further by not taking any action. Thom could not bring himself to imagine what lay ahead. He only knew it would be unendurable. Stockwell lowered his head still further and slowly began to skim his bushy moustache across Thom's sinewy abs. Thom's head jerked back as he emitted a sharp guffaw. He began to buck wildly.

The moustache came to an abrupt halt and pulled back. "My, my. You're even more delicate than I thought. Guess we'll have to start a little more slowly."

The next thing Thom knew, giant fingers grazed lightly over his underarms with painstaking slowness. Against his will, Thom let out a moan. Ever so gently, the doc's fingertips drew circles on his triceps and armpits. Thom writhed in slow motion, finding the sensation mildly unnerving and overwhelmingly stimulating. Stockwell's smile broadened at the sight of the tiny young man's hardening penis.

"Good boy, Thom."

A good fifteen minutes were spent teasing Thom in this fashion. The huge, rubbery fingertips glided over Thom's neck, chest, ribs, and lower abdomen. They moved on to caress his inner thighs, the backs of his knees, and of course the delectably sensitive soles of his bare feet. All the while, Thom could not help but be transported by the erotic sensation. The giant's stop-and-start technique managed to keep both victim and tormentor a prudent distance from orgasm.

Feeling encumbered by his tightening underwear and pants, Stockwell stepped back for a moment to relieve himself of the constraining garments. Thom found himself staring up into the giant's colossal member, a veritable loaded cannon. The realization that the flood might not be urine struck him sharply.

"You ready to get good and wet?"

Thom quickly regained his composure and struggled futilely against the tape.

"It'll make ya more sensitive if I getcha wet," said the doc with a wink.


Stockwell flattened his tongue against the bare soles of Thom's feet and, with painstaking care, ran it over the entire surface of his body, savoring the pleasant traces of salt in Thom's sweat. He let his tongue linger along Thom's inner thigh and hips, which made Thom heave and thrash vehemently. The giant's wet tongue sent shudders of ecstasy through Thom. The giant, with pursed lips, gave a few gentle tugs on Thom's diminutive, rigid dick. Thom's eyes rolled back into his head as he prepared himself for imminent ejaculation. But the sucking and licking stopped just shy of that point. A glistening coat of saliva now covered Thom from head to toe.

"Seems to me like you could cum," drawled Stockwell.

Thom fought for his voice. "Oh, God! Don't leave me like this! I beg you!"

"Well, that's all fine and dandy, but if you get to blow, then so do I.

'Sonly fair."

Before the boy could protest, Stockwell grazed his thumbnail along the boy's tender, swollen scrotum. Thom's eyes slammed shut and his back arched up sharply as he splashed obscene amounts of thick, milky liquid all over his body. Thom groaned long and deep, as if he were exhaling more air than those tiny lungs of his could possibly hold.

Stockwell gave him a couple of minutes to recover. As Thom lay there depleted, the giant lifted himself onto the counter by his burly arms and hunkered down over him. He rolled his immense, swaggering dick in the pool of jism on Thom's chest. Thom could not find the strength to repel it. The giant cupped his manly hand around his wet, sticky dick and began stroking slowly. Thom could see the doc's arm and chest muscles bulge with each movement. But Stockwell was taking his time, perversely, so that his captive could regain his composure and be fully aware of his plight. The fear of drowning in an immense flood of giant juice sent sickening shivers down Thom's spine. He imagined himself submerged in a pool of salty cream, unable to breathe.

A rap on the door jolted both men. The little energy Thom had was suddenly focused on the potential of being rescued. The interruption clearly did not seize the doctor at the most opportune moment. "Whaddya want!" he bellowed.

"Frank. Facilities Maintenance," intoned a burly voice. "I'm here to check the ventilation system."

A smile of intrigue lit up Stockwell's face at the thought of adding a third to this affair. Especially since the sound of the voice had an alluring, resonant quality.

"Be right with you, Frank!" he said with an improved disposition.

Thom still considered hope possible.

Stockwell fixed his ominous smile on Thom. "Don't you go tryin' to run away on me now, Thom Thumb." He cruelly ran his index finger across Thom's semen-splashed, hypersensitive pecs. "Kootchie, kootchie, koo," he murmured as Thom emitted a hoarse laugh. "Say anything and I'll squash you like a bug under my bare foot, understand?" Thom lolled his head forward in assent.

Stockwell leapt off the counter and pulled his clothes on, wiping the damp finger on his pantleg. He sauntered over to the door, unlocked it and drew it open. He was quite pleased by the sight that lay before him. Lantern-jawed and squarely built, Frank possessed the type of strong bodytype thought invincible, until Stockwell delighted in proving otherwise with his itchy fingers. Stockwell looked him up and down, from his blond crew-cut to his sturdy splayed feet. He was ushered in.

Frank furrowed his brow perplexed. The profusion of male hormones was not lost on him, although he was hard pressed to identify what it was. "Ah...yeah...I'm, uh, here to check out a...Jesus Christ! What the fuck...!" He had caught a glimpse of the 7 1/2" boy taped to the table in a post-orgasmic stupor. "What the fuck happened to him!? How did he..." Stockwell's open palm sliced the air and struck Frank on the nape of his neck. The burly man crumpled to the floor.


When he came to, Frank found he had been stripped of his boots and blue workman's uniform. His rugged, naked body was bound with rope by the wrists and ankles to steel rings protruding through the carpet near the desk. Writhing against the shackles merely increased the headache from the blow. So he desisted physically and voiced his outrage.

"What the fuck is going on here! Get me out of here, faggot, or I'll beat the shit out of you!" Stockwell stood over him, also naked. He had opted not to shrink this one, yet. While Frank had been unconscious, Stockwell had given Thom a gentle bath in the sink, tickled him all over with a light scrub brush, dried him off and lashed him to the belly of the unsuspecting workman.

At first, Frank thought the cotton strips across his midsection were meant to restrain him. When he focused his eyes, he saw that the tiny young man was buried face up in his abdominal fur, wrists caught up in the band tied across his upper chest, ankles attached to the band at navel level.

Stockwell didn't say a word. He stood over his prey, watching with a sinister glint in his eye as fear crept over him.

"You ticklish?" murmured the doc softly.

"What!? What shit is this!? Let me outta here!"

"That ain't no answer, but this is." Stockwell knelt down and stroked Frank's ripe, unbooted feet. Frank immediately launched into howls of uproarious laughter. The doc intensified his efforts, inserting his fingers in between Frank's thick, square toes. Frank roared, his body shaking from side to side. Poor Thom bounced violently, as if strapped to a runaway horse. Stockwell let him recover for a moment. Frank had relaxed, and though still angry, was smiling painfully.

"Please, man, I can't take it!"

"But you're gonna have to. I'm gonna tickle all the cum out of you, no matter how many times it takes." Frank's eyes widened in disbelief. His dick was already swelling with the intensity of the sensation.

Thom knew he had to muster all the strength he had to get out of this one. Slightly raising his head, he saw Frank's colossal penis poised and potentially ready to drown him in jiz. But all his struggling did little more than jab Frank superficially in the chest and stomach. Frank seemed more concerned with self-preservation, although the awful thought did flash across his mind that he would ejaculate brutally all over this poor kid who may already have suffered unspeakable torment.

Opening his mouth wide with eager anticipation, Stockwell deep-throated the workman's thick foot, riding it up and down and bathing it in slobber. He relished the funky taste and scent. Frank pleaded and bucked wildly as his tender soles were licked mercilessly. Then he did the other foot. In between licks, Stockwell would graze his bushy moustache across the base of the workman's toes, making for an even more intolerable sensation. Insensible as Frank was from all this, he remained mindful of the fact that Thom was strapped to his taut chest. Even if he did manage to get loose, rolling over on his stomach was not an option, as Thom would be squashed.

The doc went on to tickle-torture Frank with the tips of his fingers. He tapped them against the balls of Frank's feet and then, ever so deviously, traced swirling circles over the entire surface of his soles. Frank was laughing up a storm and wriggling helplessly. The doc thought he should be given a brief reprieve.

"Hey, there, tickle-buddy," crooned the doctor. "Yer probably wantin' an explanation of what all is goin' on here. Well, I'm gonna tell ya."

Stockwell went on to tell Frank how, for as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a giant. Not just tall, but towering and all-powerful, like he'd read in fairy tales. As a kid, he fantasized obsessively, reluctant to share his secret with anyone. The more he concealed it, the more it intensified. He voraciously dedicated himself to science to realize his aim. Now he had finally perfected a liquid that miniaturized whoever imbibed it. He knew his discovery could benefit mankind in many constructive ways, but that it could also be used in hurtful ways on a massive scale. So he decided to keep his recent findings to himself and live his fantasy.

"I'll get around to shrinking you, too, Frank," said Stockwell with a wink. "You'll look very hot in a small cage. Oh, yeah. I'd love to cut a tough guy like you down to size and make you squirm in the palm of my hand. Right now, I'm just usin' you to help me squeeze the most out of Thom. That's the only way to make him big again--all the shrinking serum is stored up in his reproductive glands. He needs to cum three times to get it all out and grow back to his normal size. So far it's only been one time. So let's help him out."

Stockwell plunked himself down in between Frank's outstretched legs. Extending his legs up toward Frank's upper body, he burrowed his hunky toes into both sides of the workman's rib cage and armpits, causing the victim to resume his uncontainable roaring. Stockwell went on to cruelly massage Frank's face and force-feed him his slippery feet. As he struggled for breath, the maintenance man found himself gobbling on the doc's tan feet, sending Stockwell into peals of ecstasy. After several minutes, the doctor wrenched his feet away from Frank's greedy mouth and slid them up and down over Thom's secured, writhing body, down to Frank's iron-hard cock. The drool-lubed soles glided relentlessly over tiny Thom and the workman's buff midsection as Stockwell used his fingers to poke and prod Frank's spit-sensitized feet.

Thom tensed and struggled in agony as the huge wet foot passed over him and pressed into him again and again. Sometimes the giant would grind the heel of his foot into Frank's palm-tree of a dick and graze Thom's diminutive genitals with his big toe. During this ordeal, Thom had another round of cum pumped out of him.

Frank knew he could no longer hold back his load. When Stockwell thought there was the slightest chance that he might suppress it, he furiously jammed his juice-greased big toe into Frank's sphincter, eliciting a sharp groan and an upward, pulsating shower of thick, milky blobs. Stockwell followed close behind, blowing his own load in the same direction.

It was if Thom were under siege. The liquid globs fell from the sky and slapped and splattered against him without ceasing. The giant cum bombs rained on him and around him, some smacking him directly in his face. He was afraid to open his sea-green eyes, which had become caked in a viscous goop. In the bleary darkness, he could sense the deep breathing and heaving movements of the two spent giants.

While Frank lay exhausted, with his head thrown back, Stockwell slowly got to his feet. He used his big toe to take a swipe at the workman's exposed sole. Jolted by the shock, Frank coughed and shuddered.

Stockwell made his way over to the counter with the colored fluids. Thom's empty cup still sat on the counter, a light ring of red residue encircling the inside. The doctor began mixing another batch. Frank's hoarse throat clearly indicated that he needed a drink, and Stockwell was anxious to shrink him before he recovered his strength and resisted.

At the same time, Thom managed to wriggle his right hand free from the cotton strip that wound around the base of the giant workman's pecs. He wiped away the salty, stinging ooze from his eyes. This partial freedom was an immense relief to him. He realized that, if he could wring another load of cum out of himself, depleted as he was, that would be his third time shooting, and he would grow again.

Stockwell continued to measure and hum to himself, without a care in the world.

With his left hand still tied over his head, Thom rubbed his semen-flooded dick with all his might and as quickly as possible. The glut of manjuice surrounding and covering him got him hard fast, and he managed to spew in just about a minute.

As soon as he did, his entrails began to rumble violently. It was as if a monster had been released inside of him and was expanding outward from his groin. His limbs pushed outward, becoming enlarged. His wrist and ankles quickly ripped through the bonds, and he quickly found himself restored to his normal hunky proportions, lying on top of the dazed and astonished Frank.

Stockwell wheeled around and hurried over with the fresh batch of shrinking fluid, hoping to administer some to each man. Thom shot up and hurled his cum-soaked body into the doctor. Before throwing Stockwell to the ground, he deftly caught the cup of red liquid and tossed its contents down the gullet of the open-mouthed and wide-eyed doctor.

Within a minute, Stockwell found himself thrashing wildly in the grip of Thom's young, sinewy athletic hand. Now the tables were turned. Thom stared fiendishly into the eyes of his tiny captive and squeezed harder, causing Stockwell to wince and holler for mercy. Thom securely taped Stockwell spread-eagle to the countertop and went over to untie Frank.

The workman felt sheepish and apologetic at the sight of the cum-drenched young man. He certainly hadn't intended to ejaculate all over his poor helpless body when he was small. Thom was certainly willing to let bygones be bygones. He was now more eager to enlist Frank's aid in exacting revenge from the now-reduced mad doctor.

How they did it is another story.

Author Unknown