The thief and the amulet

by BRK   

A small, slightly-built thief with a bigger, hunkier lover who likes to tease him about his stature gets a chance at a bit of payback thanks to a magical amulet.

Theft is an art. It requires planning, talent, skill, and a sharp eye. The first rule of thievery is to prevent counterproductive results. Even when acting opportunistically, you don’t grab—you thieve. Grabbing produces random results; thieving produces planned results. As in war, you must know your terrain, your target, and your prize as intimately as possible, even if your knowledge is acquired at a glance before the plunge. 

And, like war, you must be prepared for the unexpected.

I thought I had left my thieving days long behind me along with my wretched birthplace, the stews of the slowly devolving capitol city, Amamor. At 19 I’d pried myself free of the manipulative master of my little gang of skinny street-urchin housebreakers and grimy-handed ne’er-do-wells, slipping away unnoticed during an all-hands robbery of the high priest’s ridiculously ornate second manor on the north edge of town where the land starts to rise and the streets are wide and white. Heart pounding with my own boldness, I flitted from shadow to shadow until I’d made the harbor. There I secreted myself aboard a vast trading ship headed for the farthest port I had heard of: Kho, a clean and cozy snowbound city far to the north. I told myself that my last act as an urban malefactor was the theft of my own liberty. 

I found honest work as a courier, and six months into my new life, on a delivery to a modest tailor’s shop, I met the first man I ever thought I might spend more than a night’s joy with.

The tailor’s son, Aurem, did not look like the kind of young man you’d expect to find hunched over a needle and broadcloth, diligently handling the simpler repairs so his father was freed to focus on the more skilled work that came his way from the local merchants and, occasionally, members of the (extremely minor) nobility. For a tailor’s apprentice he looked like remarkably a stevedore, though much more handsome than the pug-faced crate-haulers I knew. He towered a good head or more taller than I, well taller than anyone in Kho by a fair margin, elite guard included, and the spread of his chest and shoulders was almost twice as wide as my slight frame—though without the ugly bulk I was used to seeing from the stubby brawlers and bailiff’s men that had made my life difficult more than a few times in years past back in Amamor. 

Folks had called me the Ferret back then, for being as sleek as one and just as quick, and tireless to boot; but Aurem, though easily the breadth and height of a standard doorway, seemed hardly wider than I was at the waist, so that his torso resembled an almond-skinned tree erupting from his trousers, the lower reaches long and flat before abruptly expanding to the wider canopy above. His legs below were a match for the body above, so long and lithe he could probably run the whole ways from the frozen ice caves of the northern crags just beyond the city limits to the flats of the Tall Pillar market square in less time than I. That’s even should I have had the promise of Lelora’s delicious stewed-pork pastie as an incentive and reward waiting in the market stalls at the end of the race.

Aurem was hardworking and kind, and somewhere along the way he had learned how to kiss as good as he looked, a skill the demonstration of which I found great pleasure in eliciting at every possible opportunity. But he wasn’t perfect. 

For one thing, it seemed that experience with other boys had led him to believe that the bigger man always took charge, and it took me a good few weeks to disabuse him of this preconception. He was amenable to being trained, fortunately, and found unexpected joy in being dominated by a smaller man. My pulse tripped whenever I climbed on top of him and his mouth spread in that wide, beautiful grin and always-hungry stare that only I ever got to see, so much so I had to fight to keep my serious bossy-boy face in place. 

Then there was the teasing. Maybe it was as a side effect of his reeducation, but Aurem also liked to razz me about my comparatively diminutive proportions. It shouldn’t have bothered me. My size had always been an asset: being small and skinny had served me well as a thief, and even here in Kho I benefitted from being nimble and narrow enough to slip through the crowded streets and find narrow short-cuts up tiny stairs and hidden alleys too cramped for the brawny and bovine. Still, it was different hearing Aurem bait me, even in jest. He meant nothing by it, but my heart twinged, and it wasn’t long before wispy fantasies of comeuppance began drifting through my sleep and daydreams. I wanted to match him, face him, dominate him from strength of muscle as much as force of mind. I wanted to stare him in the eyes, push him hard against the nearest wall, and shut him up with my hard, fat dick.

All of that was nothing but an idle fancy until a series of queer events some months after Aurem and I got serious enough to be sharing meals and plays as well as time in the metaphorical hay. A harried shipmaster, rushing to complete his departure, had consigned me to deliver a package ordered prepaid from far overseas to a mage’s shop on the far side of the western spicemarket. An easy enough job, but impossible to complete: when I arrived at my destination the whole building was a smoking cinder. It took a while to gather together what had happened. Evidently the old mage who operated the shop had dropped exactly the wrong catalyst in his famous longevity potion and had, ironically, blown himself, his shop, and all his inventory straight to the nether realm in a series of loud and oddly-hued explosions. There were no partners and no heirs, or so the neighboring merchants said, at any rate. Supposedly, the fool was older than dirt and had proudly trumpeted no woman of Kho had ever been beautiful enough to tempt his prick out from his voluminous robes, much less to allow him to soberly contemplate the horrors of matrimony and childrearing. 

Now, if you want to call what I did next thievery, then I must as you—thievery from whom? The package was in my possession; there was no one to deliver it to, nor could it be returned to its sender. I might as well have found it lying in the street, only the situation was even better: it was already tucked away in my courier’s satchel, known to none in the city but me. I sifted through the crowd of gawkers watching the last chartreuse wisps of smoke rising from the unlucky magemporium and up Saltseller’s Street and thence in the direction of my tiny garret in the southdistrict, whistling the whole way. After all, as Mother Grasshopper says, they who find shall bask in gain, and they who lose lament in vain.

And gain I had. As soon as I opened the package and touched the emerald mounted on its fine gold chain within, I instantly understood its purpose (a handy magical feature, that!). With this talisman, I learned, I could steal whatever physical qualities another man possessed, and take them for myself. 

My eyes widened in wonder. This, I thought, was magic worth a blooddragon’s fortune. No doubt the mage had had a buyer willing to pay him enough gold to keep him in eyes of newt for uncounted centuries. For a long hour I pondered my prize by candlelight, tucked away in my cozy attic, as obscure and unremarkable (I imagined) as the unknown lord for whom this fancy gewgaw had been intended was famous and powerful.

I could not help but think of my lover’s playful taunts, and smile a wicked smile. Itchy for payback as I was, the temptation to think of this unclaimed amulet falling into my hands as a bit of serendipity was nearly impossible to resist.

The next day was a holiday. I’d arranged to meet him at the festival, at the second hour of the morning near the mermaid fountain off the main square; and when I saw him, sailing agilely past gaily dressed families and the stallsellers’ crowds, a radiant, auburn-haired god amongst the laughing, gossiping common folk, my heart melted as it always did while my hefty prick did the opposite, stiffening noticeably in my loose-but-stylish breeches. 

Then he saw me, a stationary figure amid the milling mob, and his face lit up in delight. I confess my knees weakened just a bit at the sight, though I kept my feet—and my cockstand—as he moved toward me. The crowd now seemed to part around him. All mercenary thoughts left me, and the designs I’d spun in my head around the amulet that lay cold against my chest under my sexiest form-fitting tunic evaporated like frost on a sunny spring morn. I would never steal anything from this beautiful, sweet—

Then he was upon me, and he took me up in his arms, squeezing me tight as my shoes dangled over the paving stones, my big hard cock pressed against his flat, firm belly. “There you are, Shrub!” he cooed, nuzzling that spot under my ear that always gave me shivers.

Momentarily woozy with pleasure, it took me a second to register what he had said. Awash in sudden umbrage, I took hold of myself, pushing back against his shoulders to face him. He still held me in his arms, feet well away from the ground, but I ignored that. “Shrub?!” I repeated indignantly. 

Aurem smiled wide, and there a glint of satisfaction in his eyes at having “gotten” me like this. He hummed and nodded. “You know that new merchant engaging Father for his household fitting and mending? The little jocular one? He’s started calling me Oak, because I’m so big and sturdy I suppose. So I figured, why, if I’m Oak, you must be my Shrub!” He seemed very pleased with himself at this. 

I was about to tell him off, informing him exactly where he could stick his shrub, when the sounds of cheers and pipers arose nearby. Aurem’s eyes widened with excitement as he looked northward toward the entrance of the square. “Hey, the festival procession is starting!” he said eagerly. He glanced back at me and winked. “You want to ride on my shoulders so you can see better?” he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Okay, maybe a little retribution wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Put me down, you oaf!”

Aurem laughed and set me on my feet, and we started toward the procession-way. As we shouldered through the throng, I started a tendril of thought weaving through the talisman on my chest. It awoke, warming against my skin, and I focused all my thoughts on a tiny tad of thievery. One last job, I told myself, to put my big, beautiful, smirking lover just that little bit in his place.

Aurem found a good spot just behind two twin bruisers standing in the front row on the edge of the crowd lining the procession-way. I looked them over with interest. They were ex-city watch by the look of them—tough-talking meat-heads like this pair were always joining the watch thinking they’d get to knock people around, then got indignant when they washed out for being bellicose, shit-heads. These two were generally meaty and ill-favored, with carefully shaved heads, hairy slablike hands, and, if I were to guess, permanent scowls. They were massive enough that in terms of stature Aurem only had them beat by a half a head or so, but his height was enough he could stand just behind them and get to watch the procession over well over their ox-like shoulders, his nose roughly in line with the tops of their shiny, sun-reflecting skulls.

Aurem watched for the approaching celebrants with obvious anticipation, then suddenly glanced down at me. “Can you see?” he asked, concerned. 

I nodded, pointing at the gap between the left-hand ox twin and a sturdy lady standing next to him. “No worries,” I told him. At the same time, I was taking careful note of our relative positions. Aurem was taller than I by a head and a neck, such that from the start I knew the smell of his manly, hair-curled breast and the feel of his firm, heavy pectorals against my cheeks better than any other part of him. Today he was wearing soft boots, but so was I, and I confirmed that the tufts of my dark, messy hair barely reached the breadth of that beautiful collarbone peeking so enticingly from the V of his lace-up blouse. My tongue twitched, wanting to taste his salty flesh.

“You sure?” Aurem pressed, nodding toward the twins. “We could push through these two—”

The bruiser twins turned in unison to glare at up him over their brawny shoulders. “You what?” one of them growled.

“I’m fine,” I assured Aurem calmly. 

Just then the first stage of the procession appeared. This was, as dictated by ancient tradition, a squad of twenty young priests performing a naked ritualized dance in honor of our founding demigod, the origins of which were long lost to history. They were accompanied by a quartet of double-flutists and a lyre-strummer following behind, also naked. The bronze-and-azure-painted sacred monks began twisting and tumbling in their complicated rite, and the attention of the crowd, Aurem and the twin lunk-heads included, was completely absorbed. Now was my chance.

A hand’s breadth and that’s it, I coached myself as I shifted my position, sliding around just behind Aurem. No one noticed. The amulet was already primed—I could feel it was rife with magical potency, waiting for the release of the spell it held within. All I had to do was fix my attention on my target.

I stared up at Aurem as he watched the dancers, visibly delighted at the chance at observing such a rare and evocative public spectacle. The longer I stared at this hunk of a man, of course, the more I was flooded with love and lust, as always. My blood rushed through my veins like river rapids, hot and reckless, and I was so aroused I felt as though my cock might tear free of my trousers at any moment. 

Focus, I told myself. You can do this. You’re a thief. Take what you want! 

“Just a hand’s breadth,” I whispered, my voice lost in the din of the square and the entrancing music of the priests’ pipers. I set my gaze on a spot between Aurem’s shoulder blades. Now! I thought, and pushed a surge of my will through the amulet.

What the next few seconds taught me was that I hadn’t thought about what to expect for the actual process of transformation. I had trusted in the amulet’s magic implicitly, so I had known that there would be change; but how it would happen I hadn’t considered. If pressed I would probably have guessed there would have been either a sudden change or a slow growth over several minutes, but it wasn’t either of those. 

My initial reaction was confusion at the feeling of being rapidly compressed in the space of a few seconds. I instantly grew very alarmed, as compression was the opposite of my intent. Shit, had the amulet betrayed me? Was it in truth an agent of malicious magic, cruelly turning its user’s wishes back upon himself? 

I barely had time to harbor these thoughts before the pressure turned to pain and nausea. My vision swam, and my skin felt impossibly tight—literally to the point of bursting. Then, still within seconds of the spell’s activation, I heard long rips of fine fabric and I realized, it wasn’t my skin—it was my clothes. I was tearing like a mythical brute through my best tailored tunic as it strained against—against—

Noise surrounded me, swarming my thoughts. I may have said something garbled, maybe even cried out, but no one heard me. I couldn’t orient myself. My brain was in total disarray, barely operating at an animal level—but it seems there was enough thought-process ticking over for me to instinctively pull the shreds of my shirt off and toss them forgotten to the cobbles underfoot. 

I felt clumsy and massive, but everything was still disjointed. I remember seeing my feet and thinking, not that they were mine and didn’t look right, but just that they were big and amazing feet. My soft boots had torn, I realized, as if to show off how big these two pale dogs below me had become. I got my feet out of them somehow as well. Miraculously, my pants were still intact, though they were now incredibly tight and uncomfortable, the fibers of the expensive breeches pushed to the limit—especially across my ass and up the reaches of my balls and taint, and just above where my thick erection was flailing against the unwanted construction. My prick might just tear through this fabric for real, I thought in a wobbly daze. 

Then, my ability to focus slowly returning, I forgot about all of that as my vision steadied on what was in front of me, which was… the air above Aurem’s thick, sweet-smelling auburn tresses. 

I looked down in wonder. Even climbing over him and fucking him from every angle I hadn’t seen the top of Aurem’s head, not until now.

I stood there, transformed and half-naked in the noisy crowd a few inches behind him, panting incredulously as I tried to make sense of what my senses were telling me. Aurem, easily the tallest man in Kho, was now shorter than I was. 

My head hurt—this didn’t make sense. It should not have happened this way. I had stolen a hand’s breadth from him—only that. Hadn’t I? This I had to check before my brain could go further. 

I struggled to delineate exactly what I was seeing. Aurem was standing directly in front of me, still obliviously watching the nude priests conducting their dervish ritual; only the picture was different from a moment before. Then, he had been looming over the twin thugs, able to see everything. Now, the two voluntarily bald ox-men were exactly the same height as Aurem, and he was struggling to see past them as they leaned toward each other, whispering and trading jokes. Aurem’s body was tense, and also… not quite as muscular? His shoulders were still broad, but not quite as broad and lickably bulgy as they had been, and that yummy V-necked lace-up shirt was hanging a little more loosely than it had before. 

This observation prompted a look down at myself, and I suppressed a gasp. I was, in short, a demigod. Not only was I much taller than before, but in my shirtless state I could see I had packed on a considerable quantity of powerful muscle. It looked weird on me, at least at first blush, and not just because I was still pale and mostly hairless compared to my sun-warmed, strategically fuzzy lover. I hadn’t even asked for brawn, just height, but…

My cock flexed, and now I really did gasp. My manhood was huge, both incredibly wide and uncannily long. When it flexed again, I felt more than heard an actual tiny rip in the straining fabric of my painfully tight trousers.

What in the name of the hell-king of Amamor had happened? I couldn’t put it together. Aurem had indeed lost the hand’s breadth in height I had asked for, judging by his new parity with the idiots in front of us, as well as, with that, a proportionate percentage of beef—and possibly cock, though that remained to be verified. That wasn’t part of the plan—I’d never have stolen even a smidge of the big, beautiful prick with which Aurem produced so much mutual pleasure. 

Where I had gotten it most wrong though, apparently, was in assuming there would a straight one-to-one trade between target and acquirer. He’d lost a hand’s breadth in height, as intended, but towering over Aurem as I now was, his still-wide shoulders just reaching where my amulet lay against my bare sternum between the mounds of my marble-sculpted, suddenly swollen gladiator’s chest, it appeared that my gain in height was a good three times what Aurem had surrendered. 

The same held for strength and mass. At a guess Aurem might have lost half a stone in brawn, but I’d taken on at least three times that, the extra mass filling out my body in all the right places.

All of this flash of realization took a heartbeat, two at the most. While my mind was busy putting the pieces together, Aurem was growing increasingly exasperated with the gossiping brutes now preventing him from fully enjoying the procession. Like any big man, Aurem was used to getting what he wanted. 

“Excuse me,” he said pointedly, and they turned their mutual glare on him again. “Would you get out of the way, please? You’re blocking the—”

The bruiser twins turned fully to face him, anger written all over their faces. “What you say?” they seethed.

Startled, Aurem seemed to realize belatedly that he had managed to tick off two violent men over whom he had an advantage in neither height nor mass. Looking between them as if he wanted to ask them how they had gotten so big, he backed up a step in confusion, immediately bumping into me. He looked up in alarm, and then gaped up at me in even greater befuddlement. “Ferret?” he asked.

I smiled apologetically at him. “I think we had better run,” I said. Then, as if I’d been doing it all my life, I brought my hands up lightning fast on either side of Aurem and used my newfound strength to knock the two bruisers’ heads together with the loud thunk of unripe melons colliding even as they were reaching for Aurem, no doubt intending to tear him to shreds. 

“C’mon,” I shouted, grabbing Aurem’s hand. He took it willingly and we bolted through the mob, threading out way pell-mell out of the crowded square at the greatest possible speed.

My heart was in my throat, but at the same time I was also feeling the sudden, delirious rush of being big and strong. How would Aurem react? Would he love it? My cock was crazy hard, wrenching against my too-tight pants as I steered us down an alley I knew as a shortcut to the fisherman’s quarter. Finally free of the crowd we ran at full speed, or as close as I could manage with a small man’s trousers crimping my ass. Behind us growls of inarticulate rage and thundering workboots told us that the thug brothers were not far behind.

The alley turned, and we pulled up short—the way was blocked by a huge pile of crates. We turned with twisting stomachs just as the twins appeared, evil grins spreading across their faces. They advanced slowly now, relishing the coming beat-down.

Aurem gathered his confidence and got a hard look on his face. He put up his fists, ready to fight. He looked dangerous enough, but Aurem was not a fighter, and something about his handsome looks and long, loose locks must have failed to intimidate. The twins only smiled wider. 

I was no fighter either—not with my fists; but I knew how to make use of an advantage. I focused on the amulet lying against my bare chest, and felt it gather warmth against my slightly sweat-damp skin. I put on the most feral Ferret face I had as I unleashed the spell. “Hey assholes,” I shouted at them, “what happened to your cocks and balls?”

For a second, their faces contorted in new levels of rage. Then, they suddenly looked aghast as they felt their dicks shrinking away right there in their pants. In a panic, they pulled open their waistbands, as if they could see some kind of explanation for the terrifying amelioration of their gods-given wangs. Then one of them looked back up at me and shouted, “What the fuck?!”

I didn’t even look down as the fabric of my overtaxed trousers finally gave way, shredding loudly as not one but two giant erections tore themselves free. The shrinking cocks and testicles of our assailants were fueling the size of my own equipment threefold—maybe more. Fuck, they must’ve been hung, I thought, a little awed at the level of growth I was experiencing this time around. Whatever their previous status, they sure weren’t anymore. 

Pale and alarmed, they gibbered at me, and as soon as I took a decisive step toward them, my monstrous, angry-red manhoods leading the way, the humiliated bullies broke and ran, pelting around the corner and out of sight. The echoes of their footfalls down the long alley finally melted into the noise of the celebrations beyond, and we were alone.

I turned hesitantly toward Aurem, not sure what to expect now that I had changed things. Our physical situation had been completely recast. I currently had half a head in height on him and more, thanks to an act of thievery that had stolen stature, brawn, and a bit of cock from him. How would he react to that?

When I finished turning I was relieved to see that he wasn’t boiling with rage, or limp with dejection, or spasming out mentally, any of which might have been justified. Certainly I’d seen all of those reactions plenty of times in my former career, when people had been relieved of things that were important to them. Instead, he seemed energized. He was vibrant and excited, saturated with life. I stared at him in awe.

He eyed the talisman on my chest shrewdly, and I knew I didn’t even have to explain. He got me, this man, better than I thought he did.

He lifted his gaze to meet mine and smirked. “I guess you’re not the Shrub anymore,” he said. 

I looked down pointedly at my massive cocks, both at least the size of my forearms, then back up at him. “Clearly not,” I said in the same light, slightly smarmy tone. “The question is, what are you going to do about it, pretty man?”

Aurem lifted a hand and pushed back his auburn hair—it actually looked longer than before, though my attention was on the movement of his biceps. They weren’t quite as big as they had been, but they still stole my gaze whenever he moved his arms like that. He knew it, too. 

“What am I going to do?” he repeated as closed the space between us, his eyes dark with lust. “I am going to put everything I’ve learned to good use.” He spread his warm hands on the flats of my newly thickened, iron-hard chest and shoved, rocking my bare shoulder blades up against the painted brick wall I hadn’t realized was behind me. My tools thrust between his long, well-honed legs, flexing and impatient.

“And the very first lesson I learned,” he continued, sidling closer to me and dragging his mouth across my hard pecs, eyes locked onto mine, “is that the little guy is always in charge.” 

He slid a hand around my nape and pulled our faces close. “Isn’t that right, Meat?”

I gulped. “Yes, sir,” I said, smiling against his lips. He kissed me, aggressively and with the most arousing passion, and I gladly let him take charge of everything I had become.

Aurem set our tankards on the heavy wooden table between us and sat down across from me, eyeing me with an arched brow and a measuring gaze. I sat as still as I could in the corner booth and focused on my man, ignoring all the glances and stares I wasn’t used to getting from the bargoers around us.

We were seated in the third-best tavern in the snug, peaceable city of Kho, an icy, half-forgotten haven on the fringes of the Morian Federation, far from its dissolute capital, Amamor. I’d escaped here as a fugitive from a gang of boy-thieves under the tight fist of a cruel master; found honest work as a free-lance courier; and fell into lusty long-term companionship with the hottest godling in the northern reach, the tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered tailor’s apprentice currently giving me the kind of look normally reserved for ranchers sizing up which bull to slaughter. I’d been set, content, even looking forward to the future for the first time, as far as I could remember. And then an undeliverable package from a distant land, casually and instinctively purloined, had turned out to contain a mysterious amulet—a small, green-gemmed magical device that, like a violent drunk in a rowdy inn, had overturned everything around it in a single moment of mayhem.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, tucking a lock of his distractingly lush reddish-brown hair behind his ear. When it came to things I liked about Aurem, his long, silky-thick hair was one of my favorite features—though the race was close, and with many contenders. He glanced at my chest where the amulet lay hidden under my tunic, hanging on its chain, and then met my eyes again. “That talisman,” he continued carefully, using the quiet voice he mostly saved for me, “steals physical attributes from whomever you target. Then it gives them to you, only… amplified?”

I shrugged my now ox-like shoulders, feeling the tightness of the fabric straining against the heavy muscle. My borrowed trousers were even tighter, especially in the overpacked crotch but also across the butt and my newly thickened thighs. After the incident in the alley, we’d slipped back to his rooms so I could borrow some of his clothing—my own would hardly fit me now. The truth, though, was that in my current state I was a measure or two larger than Aurem had been across every dimension, and he was the biggest (and handsomest) man I knew, myself excluded.

It was taking some getting used to, if I’m honest. I felt heavy, lumbering even, in a way that made me uncharacteristically uneasy. As a street thief who’d made a living sifting through crowds and sliding through windows and transoms, my whole identity for nearly twelve years had been built around my being small, slight, and nimble, able to slip in and dash away. My new life as a courier traded on the same attributes, if towards more legitimate ends. However sexy it was to me and my hot-blooded lover, I was uncomfortable in my new skin, in ways that went beyond straining tunics and painfully tight breeches.

Aurem was not in a much better position, clothes-wise. His favorite lace-up tunic hung limply across his slightly narrowed shoulders, and his previously well-suited breeches had nearly fallen off his ass more than once in the scurry back to his place. Both of us needed to be fitted for new garb as soon as we could manage it. Fortunately, I had an in with a certain unusually attractive tailor’s apprentice, though I winced inwardly at the amount of time and coin my new outfits might require. That was a lot of fabric that would be needed to cover what was now the new biggest body in town.

Aurem was waiting. “The amplification…” I began, then hesitated. He watched me, his gaze intent and focused. I glanced down at his lips, wanting to see his calming, always-infectious smile instead of the straight line I found there. He didn’t seem upset at losing a portion of size—if anything, I was sure it was a relief to him. But he was methodical by nature, and didn’t like not knowing the particulars of a new situation.

I sighed, following my finger as I traced a round water-stain on the table surface. “When I first touched the amulet, it revealed its spell to me. It’s supposed to take a physical attribute from one person and give it to the person in possession of the amulet.” I looked up at Aurem again. “There wasn’t anything about it being multiplied.”

Aurem nodded. “What about the eyes?” he asked.

I frowned. “Eyes?” I hadn’t touched Aurem’s eyes with my theft, nor would I have wanted to. Sure, my eyes were a boring dark chestnut color, not nearly as pretty as Aurem’s golden brown; but I liked his eyes, and they certainly seemed the same as before.

A party of warehouse-men entered, earning boisterous greetings from their mates across the tavern. Aurem was giving me an intense look, not even noticing the newcomers. “Your eyes changed,” he said. “They’re, like, this vivid violet amethyst now.”

I stared back at him, open-mouthed. I’d never known anyone with purple eyes, though I remembered it had come up in stories and fables I’d heard from the elder days, back when I was a kid. For it to have happened to me, in real life, was just… bizarre.

The discovery of yet another side-effect not included in the spell reveal was actually making me a little miffed. “What the heck is the deal with this amulet?” I grumbled, taking a quaff of the heady ale from the cold metal tankard Aurem had set in front of me.

My sexy lover shook his head, as baffled as I was, as I set down my ale. The movement of his head made his hair shift along his upper back, drawing my attention. I was sure it was longer than it had been that morning, and, nice as that was, the subtle lengthening of Aurem’s hair was even more mysterious than the unexpected tripling of size I’d received. It was beautiful, though. I badly wanted to run my fingers through it, hopefully while Aurem held me close and I could feel all of him against me. The thought was erotic enough I felt the barely quiescent giant cocks I’d stolen from the twin bruisers we’d angered at the festival stir in my overtight pantaloons, the taut fabric pushing them uncomfortably against my enlarged, densely packed testicles.

Aurem sighed. “I wish I knew something about magic,” he muttered idly, taking a swig from his tankard and wiping his mouth. I knew he wasn’t really interested in the occult, practical fellow to the core as he was. Anything that concerned us had him going, though.

He looked up at me. “What do you think it means? The tripling?”

“I dunno. The spell reveal must have been incomplete,” I guessed. “For some reason, the amulet kept part of the spell secret from me.”

“Hmm,” Aurem said thoughtfully. “Or… it’s something to do with you.”

I blinked at him. “Huh?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “You’re… I’ve never met anyone like you, Ferret,” he said. “Maybe you’re peculiar in some way. Something about you made the spell, I dunno, blow up.” He tapped his lips. “If only there were a way to test that theory…”

I squinted at my slightly downsized hunk across our ales, his pecs and shoulders still teased by his loose tunic. His golden eyes were glinting. “You’re not using the amulet,” I told him firmly. “I don’t want you any bigger or smaller than you are right now, pretty muscle man.”

Aurem winked and gave me and my larger form a deliberate once over, raking over my newly bulky shoulders and upper body and then continuing downward, as if his gaze could penetrate the scarred, heavy oak table to take in the uncommon assets hidden below it. He glanced up again with a wicked leer that made my cocks swell downright painfully against their confines. “I am in full agreement about not changing anything… too much,” he assured me in the littler-guy-takes-control voice he’d just discovered that very afternoon. I gulped. “But… what if, just for a test, we stole something other than size?”

He looked over at something across the lamplit room, and turned to follow his gaze. Not far from us a game of darts was taking place among various ale-lubricated regulars, muleteers by the look of them. Aurem was focused on one in particular: a sturdily built, beardy fellow at the center of the little group. He had a fair look, a stocky, well-proportioned build shaped by a life of labor, and, most notably, a cacophony of dark chest hair spilling out of the V of his shirt.

I glanced back at Aurem, lips quirking in a small smile. I was suddenly very curious to see where Aurem’s use of the amulet might take us.

I was a little surprised at how easy it was to hand over the amulet. Weren’t magical artifacts supposed to cleave to their users, inspiring insidious protective instincts like jealousy and paranoia? I guess my stolen charm wasn’t the clingy type. Maybe it helped that I knew I was probably getting it back—Aurem was neither a schemer nor a magician. I pulled the chain over my head and handed the necklace to Aurem with barely a qualm of concern.

He looked the pendant over wordlessly, eyebrows lifting as he touched the smooth emerald set into its oval. Clearly he was experiencing the spell reveal I’d told him about, the one that dropped information about how to use the amulet directly into the possessor’s mind. It was the best recommendation for a life of magery in the whole deal. Imagine if they did that with something complicated, like a sailing ship! A minute’s communion with a magical prow and I could realize my boyhood dreams, plying the oceans of the world with ease and seeing everything there was to see. Sure, vested as I was in Kho and its handsomest, hunkiest apprentice artisan, these days I had no desire to range anywhere further afield than the markets of the city northdistrict; but there were plenty of other ways magic could make Aurem’s and my lives better, if a spell reveal told us instantly how to make it all happen.

Satisfied with his understanding of the amulet, Aurem confidently slipped the silky chain over his head, tucking the links under his hair. The necklace suited him, somehow. Pausing only to hide the conspicuous emerald under the slack fabric of his lace-up tunic, with a wink he got up from the table and started heading across the crowded tavern toward our provocatively hirsute target. I scurried to follow, almost knocking over the bench as I misjudged my size for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

As we crossed the noisy room I continued to consciously blank out the variously startled, fearful, and admiring stares of the taverngoers, especially those I passed closest to who could see how tall and huge I was. Instead, I considered possible outcomes. Aurem’s beautiful chest was no immaculate and empty expanse: the firm, sculpted muscle layered there was graced with a fine dusting of reddish-brown hair, sworling sparsely outward from his sternum until it subsided gradually into empty, hairless plains by the time the shoulders and flanks were reached. It was nice to look at, especially catching the sunlight or glistening with a light sheen of honestly earned sweat, and it certainly offered a fine, subtle pleasure to feel under my hands. As exhibitions of virility went, though, even I had this faint, scattered spray beat; though mine, darkly smeared between my mounds and spreading over my hulking pectorals in patches of varying thickness like fungus, was hardly the delicate, stare-worthy, reddish-gold work of art he possessed (and showed off at every opportunity).

Cheers went up as our mark won the round of darts he was playing against a pair of similar-looking fellows I assumed were his mates. Seeing his opportunity, Aurem stepped in and offered himself as a challenger for the next series of throws, with a round of ale to the victor. I hung back in the shadows, finding the edge of an idle crowd around the gaming circle and watching with interest. Quite apart from the unanswered questions we had about the amulet, I had no idea how well Aurem played darts and was eager to find out. Was this one of those many natural physical skills he’d been born with, like effortless stone-wall climbing or running a mile with barely a bead of sweat on his brow? Or would this be one of his blind spots, like his clumsy and uneven meat-carving, or his stubborn cluelessness at whist? The fact that his proficiency at darts didn’t matter to the scam made it a nice, pleasantly low-stakes curiosity to assuage as the game progressed.

Amusingly, our sturdily muscled, hairy-chested mark turned out to be named Kassar. I knew from my days of thieving in Amamor that the name meant “bear-fur” in our master’s obscure native language of Erutsta, which we had used as a kind of cant. I wondered if anyone here was the wiser. Kassar was a rough but jovial sort, happily accepting the challenge and pumping Aurem’s hand in welcome. I knew his type, though, and was confident that in his current lubricated state he’d be quick to anger if things turned against him.

I remembered my newfound size and smiled. I might not be able to duck through crowds and vanish like I used to, but the compensation was I no longer had to fear the blows of hard-fisted bullies and enraged drunken brawlers as I once had. It wasn’t an even trade, but there were other benefits, too.

Aurem threw first, thunking five darts in quick succession into the board. He scored well but hit neither the triple nor the bull. His expression was one of amiable chagrin as he pulled the darts and handed them over to our challenger. It seemed genuine, but my gut told me he was holding back, and I placed a bet with myself that he was a better player than he seemed. Kassar, friendly but smug, clearly had no such suspicions. He went next.

As he threw, I felt my skin prickle as Aurem stared at Kassar’s manly, work-thickened chest. With each thunk, uncanny magic brushed faintly against my skin, raising tingly gooseflesh all up my arms and legs. Was I feeling this whisper of magic because I was a previous user of the amulet, already primed to its spell? Or was I somehow latently adept, as Aurem had hinted? I had no idea, but that was a question for later. Right now, we had to establish whether Aurem could use the amulet as I had, and with the same factoring up of stolen attributes that had transformed me from a ferret into an ox.

I stared at the open V of the blouse exposing the upper reaches of Kassar’s abundantly hairy chest, looking for signs it was thinning. It was hard to tell in the lamplight, but I thought it might be. Then I looked at Aurem, still concentrating on his spell, and my breath caught. Behind the loose laces of his tunic an auburn forest was emerging little by little, as though the rise of a wide reddish-brown forest were being condensed from sowing to fruition into the space of a few dozen heartbeats. I smiled, feeling aroused at the thought of my lover being so innocently and subtly altered. That it was by a process we didn’t fully understand or control somehow only added to the heat. Weird.

Was the increase triple, though? I thought so, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. Kassar, having easily edged out Aurem despite clearly being no master of the game in his own right, offered the darts to Aurem for the next throw. He glanced at me and I nodded. I wanted to see how far we could push this, and from the eager glint in Aurem’s golden gaze I knew he felt exactly the same way.

I had to laugh. Who knew my straight-laced tailor’s apprentice and I would make the perfect partners in crime?

As Aurem took up his position and prepared to throw I looked around, checking to see if anyone was cottoning on to our little scam. Kassar, unsurprisingly, was oblivious to the decimation of his own pectoral crop, smirking behind his scraggly beard as he watched Aurem toss the first of his darts; the crowd watching for the mild entertainment value seemed content, with no sign of alarm. One of Kassar’s buddies, though, a swarthy bellow with a heavy beard and a bald head, had lowered his tankard and was appraising Aurem’s chest with a frown, as though he’d noticed it was now bristling with hair that had not been there before. I made a mental note to keep an eye on him during Kassar’s next turn, and returned my attention to the game.

As before, Aurem scored decently but not spectacularly, and Kassar was swaggering as he took the darts and readied himself to throw. As he went, Aurem focused on his chest, and I felt the ghostly prickle of magic on my skin, stronger than before. Baldy was watching Aurem with naked suspicion in his beady black eyes. I tensed, ready to escape the moment we had to. Fuck, I might not be as fast anymore, but if it came to it I’d make a hole for us in the tavern wall if it meant Aurem got out safe and unharmed.

Then, on Kassar’s fifth and final throw, I felt something in the magic slip and give way. I gaped in amazement as Kassar’s firm chest suddenly flattened completely like an ineptly-built caravanserai, with the barest layer of muscle left and all the dark chest hair completely gone, leaving only white skin behind. At the same time, Aurem’s chest popped outward, loudly ripping open his tunic and exposing ludicrously thick pecs that were absolutely carpeted with thick, reddish-brown hair. Aurem looked surprised, and I heard him mutter a giddy “Oops!” under the noise of the inn.

I gaped at him, flushed with heat. The sudden transformation, complete with instant, catastrophic shirt failure, was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, and my cocks swelled and bucked in my pants, threatening to do to my lower garments what Aurem had just done to his favorite top. But I didn’t have time to enjoy it, because at that moment Baldy leaped triumphantly to his feet and stabbed a stubby finger at Aurem, bellowing “Sorcerer!” like an enraged bull with the slaughter of his entire kind to avenge.

As Aurem seemed to be just standing there, grinning, I jumped forward, grabbing his hand to pull him with me out of the tavern. As I did so I felt a new rush of magic, only this time it was not just faintly brushing my skin but coursing powerfully through me—through us. I had mere seconds to glimpse Baldy’s beard vanishing off his face, followed by his comically outraged “Hey!”, before dragging Aurem from the mob and bolting free of the tavern into the city twilight, the two of us laughing like maniacs through our stolen triple-thick beards as we pelted through the zigzag streets and alleys of lower Kho, the chasing crowd of confused and angry muleteers left far behind.

We ended up at the closed and shuttered tailor’s shop. Aurem let us in, the two of us still snickering and hyped on adrenaline as he locked the door again behind us, and when we got a good look at each other we started howling anew. Our stolen, triple-sized facial hair was truly, utterly ridiculous—it was as though we’d pasted funny false beards on our faces as part of some pageant honoring hairy heroes of yore. Of course, Aurem’s was lush and silky, flowing copiously off his face and onto his chest like a red-tinged waterfall, while mine was as wiry and disordered as a cave-dweller’s, a match for the dark, messy mop I had falling in my eyes and down my neck. We chuckled helplessly, trying to keep still as we pruned away swaths of each other’s lengths with his father’s fabric shears until we had whiskers short enough to shave at our leisure.

Hacking away Aurem’s beard exposed another ludicrous sight that made me collapse in a sturdy oak chair, pointing and laughing all over again. “Your chest, Aur!” I hooted, a little light-headed from the excitement and too much hilarity. “Look at your chest!”

Aurem looked down and grinned. Aurem had been impressively muscled before, a natural part of his growth (he’d added easy strength and mass from the simplest exertions from puberty onward, he’d told me); when I had stolen a hand’s breadth of height from him I’d taken some of his brawn as well. Both were tripled when applied to me. I’d ended up a hulking beast a half a head taller than his marginally abridged stature. Aurem, on the other hand, was now altogether sleeker and more refined in his physique. He was still taller than almost all of Kho, and he was still deliciously muscular, but in the manner of a sculpture anthropomorphically depicting the concept of justice or valor, as might be witnessed on any given day outside the council-halls of Amamor. He reminded me of Pira from the fables of Urrha—an ordinary shoemaker’s son gifted by a sprite trapped in a small book with the beauty and strength necessary to save his kingdom from an evil viceroy. His lines and swells were so graceful as to be almost luxurious, the design of an artist who turned momentarily to the crafting of the most ideal and elegant man the world had ever known.

…Except for his massive pecs, which were not only as densely hairy as a bear pelt but disproportionately huge to boot. They were so large they had literally burst out of his tunic, the fabric of which was torn and flapping around his chest like a sack of barley had exploded. The furry muscle stood out from his chest as though pumpkins had suddenly and violently come into season, all at once in the space of half an afternoon. The oval amulet, amusingly, had fallen sideways into his substantial cleavage. Its nearer side stuck out halfway at an odd angle, like a cart that had partially gotten trapped in a narrow crevasse.

Aurem was still smiling as he gazed down at them, not minding my cackling ridicule in the slightest. He cupped one of the furry masses in his hand and hefted experimentally. The muscle seemed dense, more so than he was accustomed to, and he lifted a salacious eyebrow at me as my laughter subsided to a happy grin. “I kind of like it,” he said.

I shook my head. “You’re enjoying this magical theft lark a little too much.”

Aurem’s dark-gold gaze was smoldering hot. Dark gold—his eyes hadn’t changed color like mine. Did that mean anything? Another question for later.

Aurem’s voice was layered with smarm. “As long as I get to be the little guy,” he said, lips curling in anticipation.

I knew a cue when I heard one. I stood, looming over him, and heard his breath catch. I slid my fingers into his lush hair like I’d been longing to all afternoon, my cocks twitching impatiently as he stared ardently up at me, the whiskers of his clumsily shorn red-brown beard making him look almost absurdly handsome. “This big enough for you, pretty man?” I rumbled, leaning close.

Aurem’s golden eyes glinted. “Maybe,” he whispered playfully.

Fuck. My cocks couldn’t stand their confinement anymore. They flexed hard, and their iron strength finally tore a gaping rent in my sturdy, too-small pantaloons. “Oh, you bastard,” I moaned. I spread my arms wide and urgently flexed every part of my cooped-up ox-body, my eyes never leaving Aurem’s. More fabric tore as my borrowed, Aurem-sized clothes gave up any pretense of holding me in.

“That’s right, show me how big you are!” Aurem commanded. He grabbed the torn seam of my shirt at the shoulder and yanked, ripping the garment apart more, and then we were tearing my clothes off me—and off him, too. Well, his pecs had already started it.

Then we were naked, and there was nothing but us and our fantastic, magically altered bodies. Aurem grinned, wasted no time in claiming me for his own. As he pounced on the nearest of my mighty cocks, jerking the other with a skilled and powerful hand, I cried out loud enough to be heard in the streets outside—I swear the thread spools quivered in their little organized nooks on the wall behind us. The last thought I had before we descended into a night of endless, decadent gratification was that I now had nothing at all to wear until Aurem made new clothes from me. Assuming my lover decided I should be allowed to cover my oversized brawn and manhood at all, ever again…

That hectic first day was like a dream. The sustained adrenaline rush of finding the amulet and being transformed by it, not once but three times, was surreal and fantastic, a lurid moment detached from meaning or consequence. It was a wild fireside tale spun by a quirky grandfather with a pint of heady ale and too much imagination, his rapt audience a wide-eyed, small-boned child eager to be transported to impossible places and do impossible things.

Waking up in my too-small bed, feeling my own weight stressing the joints and slats as the mundane morning noises and smells of a simple merchant city on the icy northern fringes of the world drifted through the battered window-shutters of my tiny southdistrict garret, was like waking up from a dream you had brought with you into the real world.

I sat up carefully, wincing as the bed creaked and moaned. Before, the narrow frame had barely noticed my presence. I’d come by the name “Ferret” honestly… unlike most of the things I possessed, I thought wryly. Including this body, and the sorcerous amulet that had not only let me steal it but amplified my theft threefold.

Carefully, I swung long, beefy legs off the side of the bed, earning another ominous groan from the bedframe, and planted feet on my floor much bigger than the nimble ones I had entrusted with my life back when speed and stealth meant another day surviving the thief-infested stews of Amamor. Heat stole through me as I examined myself in the dusty shafts of morning light seeping more and more aggressively through the old garret shutters.

My form was almost familiar, but expanded beyond recognition. I had only meant to steal a little stature from my sweet, broad-shouldered, auburn-haired lover, Aurem, a tailor’s apprentice I’d been dating long enough to risk hoping for more. Aurem was, at that point, the tallest, largest, and handsomest man in Kho. I’d wanted just a morsel of his delicious and (to my thinking) overabundant height; but it seems that some subconscious wish had made me steal a whole banquet of all the ways he was beyond the ordinary—and the secret magic of the amulet had multiplied my ill-gotten spoils beyond reason. Now I was the tallest man in Kho—me!—and the broadest, and the most heavily muscled. I had even gained in beauty, unintentionally filching a taste of Aurem’s perfect proportions and godly aspect, only for them to be subtly propagated, like the rest, to near irresistibility.

Then, as if that weren’t enough, in a moment of desperate self-defense I’d deliberately lashed out with the amulet’s magic at two brutish attackers, annihilating the size and potency of their man-parts. This, too, had rebounded on me threefold, and as the ogres fled in humiliated terror I was left with a twinned set of ludicrously enormous cocks and, barely hidden behind their impressive girth, an augmented set of cum-churning balls bigger and more relentlessly productive than I was frankly prepared to handle. I could feel them tensing and ramping up as arousal flooded through me, and as I stared down at my oversized pecs and chiseled abs and long, tree-trunk legs, feeling the beauty of its proportions and the strength coursing through every muscle, my tireless cocks twitch and began their slow rise to a demanding, almost unslakable stiffness.

I was my own wet dream. I knew how to stare at a body like this, to dream of climbing it like a tree and bringing it to climax like the legendary pint-sized prince Woryo wrestling the Great Bear of Oruoa into whimpering submission a thousand years past. What I did not know, I conceded with a shaky breath, was how to own and operate such a cumbersome and comely vehicle as this.

I wished Aurem were here. He was still tall and strong and beyond attractive in face and physique, maybe more so with his vivid reddish-brown hair pouring onto his sun-bronzed, bulging shoulders and the rough, heavy beard we’d both ripped off yet another angry pursuer the night before—not to mention the wildly disproportionate, hand’s-breadth-thick, fur-carpeted pectorals he’d accidentally acquired while innocently testing the amulet on an unsuspecting stranger.

He was confident and breathtaking. More than that, he loved this new body of mine, loved taking charge of it. I needed him here, but there was no room for me in his tiny room above the shop; and however kind his father, the master tailor, might be, his affections did not extend to allowing his apprentice to lose his much-needed sleep to long nights of loud and athletic fucking.

My pulse pounded and my muscles burned as I watched my heavy cocks rise and grow, arcing toward me in a long, curving approach like two fearless thieves creeping brazenly but silently toward their target. The fire roared higher within me, and a feral smile spread across my bearded face. I might not know how to be a Great Bear of Oruoa… but I knew how to be little prince Woryo and grapple this beast-body into utter submission. Grasping my beautiful, ox-thick pecs with a single meaty hand, I let my cocks stiffen to desperate, leaden hardness before opening my mouth wide and bending over the few inches necessary to take the weeping heads all the way into my eager mouth.

The instant I tasted the salty ooze seeping from the wide slits and smeared across the wide, ruddy heads I wanted to cum, my balls begging to send an avalanche of seed down my throat before I’d even gotten started. I squeezed my eyes closed and shoved down deeper onto my shafts, feeling the utter delight of two sensitive glans juddering along my palate and across my wide, inadequate tongue as they sought passage down my quivering throat. I knew that was an impossibility even for one of them, but I was a determined cuss. I’d practice on these monsters until I could swallow both of them and cum torrents down my own fucking throat.

The idea thrilled me. With my free hand I grabbed my oversized balls, slowly mauling them to a state of tantalized hyper-awareness. Moans and whimpers escaped around my massive shafts as I pulled, fondled, and stretched the three apple-sized nuts almost beyond endurance. At the same time I found my nipple and twisted, forcing a cry past my cocks that made me shiver from the vibration alone.

I was close. So close. My arousal was beyond reason, soaring so high in me a single orgasm would barely stand a chance of slaking my need. Whatever. Like Woryo I would wipe the floor with my animal libido, even if it took me all morning.

I started moving up and down on my greedy cocks, mouthing and sucking and licking as I worked my pecs and balls, forcing myself to the edge. Every inch of me tingled, responsive and ready. My anus twitched and suddenly I imagined Aurem seated under me, his stiff, wide cock shoving rudely past the ring of muscle and deep into my tight insides. All at once I was cumming hard, gushing with crazy amounts of spooge as unspeakable pleasure ripped through me like the claws of a lion.

I choked, unable to keep up with the raging torrents of cum. Pulling off my cocks I let my face be battered with hot cum like a seaside house in a hurricane as I panted and gasped, the sheer euphoria almost unminding me. As my orgasm reluctantly subsided I tried to bend forward and lean on my arms, feeling used and half-spent—except my darn cocks were still there, hard and spurting their last arcs of seed, and I almost took my eyes out with my own blunt, spitting cockheads.

Instead I fell back on my inadequate bed, ignoring the moan of the overtaxed bedframe as I lay there, feet on the floor, boneless apart from remaining indefatigably aroused, and let the world spin wondrously around me.

I was pretty sure I’d still need to orgasm at least once more before my cocks would relax enough for me to move on to the other, more petty concerns of my humdrum life. I threw a heavy arm over my eyes and smiled mindlessly, the afterglow burning pleasantly through my stolen muscles and seeping into my bones and balls. My beast body could wait a moment or two before prince Ferret was ready for another round.

It wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that I found myself out and about, practicing being a normal guy who happened to loom head and shoulders over every porter and guardsman in Kho. My own personal tailor apprentice was still working on my new outfits, but he’d managed to furnish me with smallclothes and a pair of his old trousers that he’d made a little loose, and which no longer fit his smaller form. The dark brown duds didn’t quite fit me either, though the issue was mainly in the inseam, and they were sturdy and comfortable enough to stroll around in. Shoes were more of a problem, as my feet were now significantly larger than Aurem’s had been even before I’d knocked him down a peg size-wise; but I’d been shoeless most of my life, and my soles were tough.

I must have made rather a spectacle as I wandered self-consciously around the southdistrict: a towering, bare-chested fellow two men wide and built like he hauled cattle around on his shoulders, with trousers too short to reach his ankles and bare feet each the size of a piglet. I’d never be inconspicuous at this size, and that was enough of an adjustment for a little guy used to vanishing into the crowd; but that day I looked like I’d suddenly exploded in size and had nothing to wear as a result. Which, to be fair, was entirely true and accurate, but I’d come to regret not waiting for more suitable attire.

Aurem had gamely offered to hold onto the amulet, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable having a magical artifact in his living space—especially one that was known to keep secrets from its users about what it could and could not do. His dad, too, was no friend of magic; people like the mage who’d ordered this very talisman to cheat people with right before blowing up his shop (and himself with it) had given sorcery a bad rep in Kho lately, as the angry tavern-goers we’d ended up running from the night before had reminded us. So, I had the thing with me. Normally I’d have worn it on its chain around my neck, but I had no shirt to hide it under and it seemed unwise to display it openly, so the amulet was secreted in my pocket. I didn’t think of myself as superstitious, but having the thing so near my junk did make me slightly nervous.

I perambulated slowly through the streets, ignoring the stares and whispers as I poked through stallsellers’ wares and perused window displays in the various shops near the strands that catered to the ordinary folk of the quarter. My thief’s instincts didn’t desert me; I was aware of every individual that moved toward me or in parallel with my meanderings. This turned out to be a good thing when the teenage boy I thought was following me in awed wonder slipped in slyly and made a move just as I seemed to be distracted talking ginger roots with a spice-seller. I grabbed the boy’s wrist just as he was reaching into my pocket for whatever might be found there—he knew there was something, even if he could have no idea it was a magic talisman from beyond the seas.

With my newfound strength, it was easy to lift the scrappy thief over my head and dangle him from his wrist. “Let me down!” he said, trying to kick me with his flailing feet. His fact was long and pointy but not unpleasing. I’d thought he was a teenager, like I’d been when I was on the streets cutting purses and finding marks for later, more organized burgling, but on closer inspection I saw he was my age, with a thin, fine beard and green-gold eyes that glared with hostility.

“Look at the feisty rats they have here in Kho!” I said, playing up my old Amamor accent. “None too bright, though, if they go for men with trousers as tight as mine!”

“Yeah, and where are you from, purple-eyes?” he shot back loudly, and a few browsers nearby started in alarm at his harsh, braying cant. “Ox Island? Behemoth Bay?”

I laughed. I felt an odd affinity for the little pilferer. Maybe he reminded me of myself, back when I was small and defiant and dependent on the bits and pieces I could steal from others for my bread and safety. I almost felt bad preventing him from robbing from me. Maybe I could do something nice for him.

Then an odd thought struck me. Could I steal… from myself?

“Well, giant?” the rat prodded, trying to kick me again. “Are you letting me go, or do I be calling the guards for abduction and abuse?”

Oh, this one was scrappy. Holding him up was not even tiring my arm—he was even wirier than I had been and weighed next to nothing. If I could steal from myself, a little meat on his bones might not go amiss—but then I knew the importance of being small and lightfooted in a trade such as ours. Instead, as I made contact with the amulet in my pocket I focused on my left cock. It was slightly longer than the other by a thumb’s breadth or so, and was so long and massive in any even that if I robbed myself of a few inches I’d barely notice the loss.

The now-familiar surge of power coursed through me, and I felt, for the first time, the sensation shrinking… slightly. Almost negligibly, in fact. My street rat, on the other hand—

He stilled suddenly, eyes widening like a shocked numble-fairy as he looked down at his own cheaply made trousers. I did the same, and gaped as a fat bulge suddenly appeared, as thick as his spindly arm and snaking rapidly past his knee toward his ankle. Ooops!

Hastily, I disconnected from the amulet, and the ridiculous phallus bulge slowed and stopped at mid-shin. He looked back up at me in comical horror, and we stared at each other. “What have ye done! What have you fucking done?”

“Um… sorry?” I grimaced and set him down on his feet. Now that he was no longer suspended from his arm, the bulge looked even more bizarre. We both looked at it in shocked dismay. “What the hell is Roger supposed to do with this, now?” he demanded, glaring up at me like a small dog whose rope toy had been taken away. “Fix it, Behemoth!”

I backed away from him a step. How to tell him I didn’t dare? The amplification rule seemed more complex than we’d thought—stealing from myself and giving to another clearly involved a lot more than a threefold increase in what was stolen, if Rat here was any indication, and with little loss on my part. If I tried taking that back, some other booby trap might be triggered and we’d end up with cocks for arms or something equally alarming.

Rat’s green-gold eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he said, advancing toward me. I made a rapid assessment of my surroundings and picked up a bogey: an older man, watching me with shrewd scorn from the root-spice baskets near where I’d been browsing. He was in his mid-fifties but with a lined face and strange clothing that marked him as from the southern plains, and he seemed to be staring right into my eyes. A feeling prickled from an unfamiliar part of my mind, brushing the fringes of the man’s thoughts, or maybe his perceptions. Purple, he was thinking. Purple… eyes.

That meant something to him, something that marked me as prey and him as hunter. My heart sank. He knew. He knew that I had touched magic. Maybe this magic, the magic in my pocket. Was it know to him? All at once I was sure there could be no reason for his interest in me other than that he had come here following the amulet, intent on taking it back at any cost.

I let my eyes slide away before they met his, but he was moving. I backed away faster, bumping into a stall behind me. Rat had been shouting at me the whole time, grabbing his ludicrous cock through his pants, but I’d tuned him out. Now he was marching toward me. “Whatever you’ve done, I’ll force you to undo it, you mark my words!” he shouted, advancing on me with dire intent.

Was he for real? I spread my arms. “Dude, it’s a big cock! Enjoy it!” I called, then turned and bolted.

I wasn’t so good at bolting as I’d used to be. Melting into the press of humans was a lot tougher when you towered huge and shirtless over everyone in sight and your shoulders were a third the width of the whole street. I made a go of it, though, earning a lot of scowls and curses as I plowed awkwardly into various pedestrians. Fortunately I knew this city I’d adopted from days of delivering packages and seeking out its secrets from sheer curiosity. Seeing my chance, I managed to pretend to dart down a long and twisty alleyway, then dive behind a slow-trundling cart piled with wine barrels, vanishing from sight. From there I snuck back up the city to find a sheltered spot to scan for pursuit behind an old brick wall on a shallow rise. I sat a long while, unmoving, until I was sure the amulet-hunter and my cock-gifted thief had lost my trail.

Not that there was much solace in giving either of them the slip. They were both undoubtedly resourceful in their own distinctive ways, and I was probably the easiest man to find in all of Kho. I needed advice—magic advice. For that, I’d have to do the one thing I’d avoided doing since I’d first liberated this amulet and learned its power.

I’d have to talk to a fucking mage.

There were five mages in Kho—four, actually, now that the old Spicemarket Warlock had blown himself up in a fit of instantly rewarded incompetence. None of the survivors was an attractive prospect for me in my current predicament, and I’m not just saying that because sorcerers tend to end up uglier than a steaming pile of ogre’s alimentum. Maybe it was all the contact with the metaphysical plane, or a progressive moralistic corruption caused by decades of power used with malicious intent, but “the ugly sorcerer” was as consistent a trope in every legend I’d ever heard as venal landlords or scheming queens. It was a wonder anyone ever made use of their services, given that doing so presumably involved looking them in their rheumy eyes and smelling their fetid breath.

Unfortunately, as I cautiously crept along the unaccustomed streets and alleyways of the western fishmarkets, driven from my usual haunts by a stranger I had no doubt was hunting me, it was becoming more and more clear to me that it was a mage’s services I sorely needed. For one thing, I was way too big to be inconspicuous, which was the current necessity. Even my once overlarge, now slightly ensmallened golden bull Aurem was still so statuesque (and handsome) he couldn’t hide in a crowd of clowns, as my old thieves’-master used to say; and I was three sizes bigger than him in every way. I was used to being able to melt into shadows, but the tricky tripled growth the amulet had piled on me had ended up neutralizing a whole lifetime’s worth of skills and instincts in a single afternoon. Looming over everyone by at least a head, with hairy shoulders wider than half the doors in town and a crotch that looked big enough to look like I might be smuggling puppies, made the disappearing my jangling nerves wanted me to be getting on with kind of impossible.

That wasn’t even the half of it. Something had changed in me since connecting with the amulet’s magic, and I don’t mean my massively doubled junk or this beard I can’t keep off my face. (At least it was soft, or so Aurem says, in that take-charge voice he loved to use now that he was the little guy.) Somewhere in my heart was a chink that hadn’t been there before—a hidden fault that allowed awareness of uncanny dimensions to mundane things. Out of the corner of my eye, as it were, I sensed currents I did not want to see and feelings I did not want to feel.

I knew what Aurem thought, without him having had to say it aloud. The eyes were the give-away, and we both knew it. We had each used the amulet, yet where his eyes had remained a compelling golden-brown—so beautiful framed by his long, lush auburn hair and beard—mine had turned a vivid amethyst purple otherwise unknown among mortal men. My fear was that using the amulet hadn’t altered my soul so much as awakened an innate capacity that had hitherto lain shrouded and dormant.

My fear was that I was a sorcerer, or was fated to become one.

Honestly, I’d rather have been a street rat. It was so much simpler, and you met all kinds of interesting people. And you could touch their butts as you robbed them, if you liked. The only good thing about being big was that the boy I’d stolen my size from really enjoyed dominating a burly, bulging lover twice his size. I was pretty into it, too. But was all the hot sexplay worth ending up hated, hook-nosed, and halitotic?

If it was true and my fate was all full of wands and potions, being an untrained mage was even scarier. I’d thought I’d known what I was doing with this amulet that had fallen in my lap (okay, with a little help from my ten sticky fingers)—but the tricky thing kept blind-siding me with secret clauses and hidden extra effects. I felt vulnerable. And angry, too. Left out, like the boy at the keyhole straining to hear the secret truths I’d been deemed unworthy of knowing by virtue of my lowly birth and unconventional education and upbringing.

None of the famed mystics of Kho would welcome the custom of someone like me with open arms, even without the rumors that insisted each of the four was gifted with a personality as inviting as the Sawtoothed Caves of Eeefe. Nelro the Fey, high counselor to the baron who held the city and its more-or-less frozen surrounds, was said to consider his work mitigating the sleetstorms of Farbay and mystically fostering the frustratingly stunted fertility of the mountain yakpacas whose wool constituted our most lucrative export too important to bother with the petty concerns even of the nobility, much less the common folk like me. Pangun the Great was entirely mercenary (even more than the self-immolated Spicemarket Warlock); for him magic was solely a means of acquiring profit. Leoleyn of Qya, once comely and prone to romantic entanglements, was seldom seen these days and supposedly impossibly old; her white hair as long as her brittle temper was short, or so the gasbag gossips in the teashops averred. Antowin the Ursine had once been a popular figure in Kho, telling boisterous stories in the taverns and offering his help to all and sundry; but everyone said he had withdrawn to the ice caves to the east and had lived a hermit’s life for longer than any could remember.

Pretending to be part of a small crowd of gabbling merchants on their way to a scorpionfight, I ducked silently around a corner onto a shady side-street, attracting the eyes of a few idlers but otherwise unmarked, I hoped. I frowned to myself as I moved casually along the gently curving stoneway, slowing my step to separate from the knot of fightgoers. My predicament was more than frustrating. The mages were all forbidding and terrible, and, anyway, I had nothing to offer them in exchange for the knowledge I needed. If I hadn’t been raised a thief—

I stopped short with a sudden realization. Unfortunately this caused a man walking behind me to plow right into my back with a curse. “Out of the road, oaf!” the skinny man groused, moving around me with ill grace and stomping down the road with the occasional hateful look tossed back at me over his shoulder. “Go plow a field!” he shouted, before finally giving up on me and disappearing into a furniture shop.

I ignored him, too excited by my epiphany. Why was I even thinking about approaching the mages as a customer? That wasn’t me. I wasn’t good at being normal. The art of thievery was invented in order to supply those who mastered it with the things they needed, and relieve of their burdens those who didn’t deserve their wealth and power. I wasn’t just born to thieve—I was well trained for it.

Grinning to myself, I turned on my heel and marched back down the side street toward the square I’d just left, thrilling with a new determination. I was who I was, and no magic necklace or weird body resize was going to undo that. Passing a shadowy alcove, I tossed a wink at my footpad, noting with amusement as I sauntered by that he’d managed to find a couple of rags to hastily tie down his now leg-length dangler at the knee and the ankle as he’d trailed me through the city. “Coming, Rat?” I taunted as I went by.

“Fuck you, Behemoth!” he shouted, slinking out of the nook after me.

I laughed. Maybe I’d wangle a little help for my thiefly protégé, and he might get his reversal of fortune, too; though I knew already that the temptation to leave him stuck with a floor-dragging wang was going to be very difficult to resist.

I reached the mansion of Nelro the Fey as the westering sun was flirting with the seaside walls and the cold, glimmering port-harbor beyond. Once the plan changed and I was free to ignore the mages’ personal accessibility, the choice of Nelro had become obvious: it was knowledge I needed, and Baron Wakat’s high mage had the grandest library of anyone in the city. I didn’t know a lot about the sorcerer’s art or how it was studied, but there had to be tomes in there on transformation magic and troublesome talismans. No one would be in the library at night, so I’d have hours to find what I needed, and I could come back; last resort, I could snatch anything that looked promising and bring it back whenever. Always have a bolt-hole, as my thief-master used to say.

My thinking was that a heist was a lot like sex: get in, get out, and make sure everyone’s happy.

Casing the building from the safety of the hashish shop across the street while the evening lowered, I thought through various scenarios and waited for my moment. Finally, I shouldered the small leather rucksack filled with the supplies I’d nicked on the way up to the nobles’ quarter and slipped across the wide cobbled road just as the gloaming came in and all eyes were adjusting to the growing night, making for the entrance to the kitchens I’d spotted earlier well along the sloping side alley on the north side of the manse. I didn’t look for my three-legged rat, though I was confident he was nearby, flitting along the shadows somewhere in my wake. He’d caught on I was involved in a caper, and between his natural curiosity and the need to keep me in sight I knew he’d stay close and quiet.

I ducked through the wide doorway and strode boldly into the busy kitchen, immediately catching the beady eye of the matronly master cook. She’d been supervising a skinny apprentice loading bread into an oven, and the frown she turned on me was thunderous.

I gave her a dopey smile, giving off a “simpleton” vibe with well-trained ease. “Evening, missus!” I greeted her in my roughest Amamor accent, which, out here in the fringes of the Morian Federation, tended to be heard mostly among newcomers in the docklands and low city. “I heard you needed something shifted?”

She seemed to relax at this, though her expression soured even further. “Finally! I only asked three days ago!” she griped. She thrust out a hand and pointed as another cook tried to hurry past her, almost giving the poor fellow a black eye. “See that cask? I want you to march it right back down to the cellar and out of my kitchens! If the seneschal wants to keep Kigurian ale handy just in case the baron’s drunkard of a husband drops in, he can keep it in his own rooms—not here where my cooks will trip over it every chance they get!”

I looked where directed and saw there was indeed a large iron-banded cask imperfectly shoved into a small alcove. It did indeed seem to be both oversized and in the way. Once I would have quailed even at the idea of trying to move the thing, but at least now I didn’t have to worry about whether I was strong enough. I was always strong enough, it seemed. It was weird, but I was getting used to it.

I smiled back at the master cook and gave her a cheery “Right away, missus.” She hmphed and turned back to her work. Keeping my smile, I hefted the cask onto my bare shoulder and left the kitchens for the quiet of the servants’ corridors. My smile became a grin. Penetration achieved.

I paid for my smugness soon enough. I’d just rid myself of the cask in a large boot cupboard and was standing in a torchlit side corridor trying to reason out where the library might be in the mansion floorplan I was slowly constructing when a loud voice cried out from behind me, “There you are!”

Alarmed, I swiveled to find a handsome, slight-statured man no older than 25, with dark shoulder-length hair and a wispy mustache he probably wished were rather thicker than it was. Even without his fine lavender tunic, the well-combed hair, and not least the knot of four po-faced guards behind him, I could tell he was some kind of a noble snot just from his self-satisfied air. “Let me see those eyes!” he demanded.

My stomach fell. These Elpech-damned purple eyes. I lifted my gaze, trying for a submissive air. At least I’d had some practice in that lately. I said nothing. The talisman hidden in my pocket seemed to call to me, wanting me to use magic against him. I ignored it.

The snot’s expression was triumphant. “As I thought,” he crowed. “Come with me, Master Ferret. You were expected!”

I was led into a large, well-lit windowed room with cathedral ceilings and wall after wall of leather-clad books—the library. It figured.

I forgot all about the storehold of knowledge I’d been seeking when I saw Aurem, well-dressed and with his wrists very conspicuously chained to a ring set in the polished wood floor near the center of the room.

I rushed to him, and he smiled up at me as I cupped his cheek. “Aurem!” I said, distressed. “What have they done to you?”

He eyed me fondly. His cool, collected demeanor was almost as much of a shock as finding him here. “Nothing,” my size-reduced lover said, holding my gaze imperiously. “And they won’t. Because you’re going to set this right.” It wasn’t an encouragement so much as a command, and I responded instantly, my cocks swelling with arousal at the pretty boy’s natural dominance.

“Am I?” I asked demurely, stroking his chin with my thumb. We both knew he was amping up his tone deliberately in order to get a certain reaction from me, but honestly seeing that level of wiliness and craft from my straight-laced tailor’s apprentice was a turn-on all on its own.

Aurem’s smile became a smirk, transforming his comely golden-boy allure into something deliciously wicked. “Absolutely,” he drawled.

“I have many questions for you, Ferret, Mage of Amamor,” the mustachioed snot broke in grandly from someplace behind me. He’s not used to being ignored, I thought. “And the first is: when you came to steal knowledge from me, how did you not take into account that the best mages are also seers?”

I held Aurem’s commanding stare a moment longer, then bent my head and turned to face the little man. He stood straight-backed and proud, chin high and entirely at ease in this room, and it dawned on me belatedly that this good-looking but annoying twerp was none other than the high counselor, Nelro the Fey. I was a little taken aback, having expected someone much older, and made a note to berate myself later for making the rookie mistake of not researching my mark thoroughly enough.

I kept my submissive tone and posture, wanting him to believe he held the advantage. “What do you mean?” I asked, using my lowered eyes to mark the positions of the guards. They were stationed by the wide door we’d entered through, two to either side. Another, smaller door could be seen toward the back, past the half-dozen rows of bookshelves occupying the back half of the room. Good to know there was a secondary egress, though as I knew what lay beyond the main door I’d try to get us out that way if I could.

I could feel Nelro’s arousal ramp up as he relished our tableau. The size-difference kink wasn’t unique to me and Aurem, it seemed. He sneered, gesturing with his arms wide. “I saw it all coming!” he proclaimed. “I saw your theft of your lover’s size before it even happened! Tell me, did you come to Kho intending to find the largest man you could to use your size-stealing powers on?”

I blinked at him, half inclined to laugh and spoil my rise of subservience. For all his “sight” he had a very skewed and incomplete picture of what was going on with me. Nelro clearly thought my magic was innate and under my control, and that everything I’d done since coming here was toward some magely nefarious end. What a joke! Not that I was much relieved; as Mother Grasshopper says, the ignorant man is often deadlier than he who girds himself with a hundred swords of knowledge.

He barreled on without giving me a chance to respond, suggesting his questions, at least for now, were all rhetorical. “I see all that happens without these walls,” he said, gesturing to the manse around him. “I saw your theft of size from the ogres in the alley, and your very hairy adventures in the tavern, too. I even saw that you would come here to me—and that your choice would be to approach from the side at nightfall. Like a common thief!” he said this last as though he expected me to be insulted. I was mostly annoyed. He didn’t understand most thieves were smarter than he was, because they had to be. “After that, preparing the trap for my mighty, amethyst-eyed Amamorian prize was child’s play.”

I moved toward, shoulders low in supplication. He took this as an invitation and closed the distance between us, reaching up to run his fingers possessively through my wiry chest hair, stroking the curved expanse of my pecs. In his mind, I was already a toy for him to play with. “What do you want of me, my lord?” I asked.

He looked up at me, a fire in his eyes. “Size,” he said, He spoke the word with relish, as though it tasted of raspberries and cream. “You will give me size. Size and power!”

I knit my brows in unfeigned confusion. “Power, my lord? But you are already a great wizard.”

“I am,” he agreed haughtily. He tweaked my nipples, sending a thrill through my whole system, then wandered away from me, declaiming. “But my magic isn’t as showy as yours. Of course, I save the barony of Kho every year from starvation, but asking a rainstorm to choose a new path now and then or casting spells to encourage the fertility of a few smelly yakpacas is hardly the crowd-pleasing spectacle, is it?”

He was warming to his topic as he paced in a large circle, letting his emotions get the better of his smooth façade. “Meanwhile,” he went on, working up to a full-blown rant, “that simpering ass Wakat gets all the state dinners and all the festivals and takes all the credit. He’s all tall and hunky, and I have to stand behind him, runty and ignored, while the dignitaries coo at his feet and the merchants purr in his ear. The baron,” he scoffed disgustedly. “The servants love him, his husband adores him, the military worships him. The best of the guards line up for chamber duty so they can watch him change his clothes, and I’m left with these fools who don’t know a dick from a dirk!”

Head still down, I stole a glance at the four guards, who were busy trying to keep a straight face. Nelro rounded on me, and I made sure to remain composed. “And you will change all of that!” he said, jabbing a finger at me. “You will steal the size from your own lover and give it to me as you did yourself, threefold. Then I will stand tall. Taller than Wakat. Twice as tall! More! All will love me and revere me! I will taste true power at last!”

Nelro was caught up momentarily in his vision. I exchanged a look with Aurem, who seemed as stunned as I was by the high mage’s stupidity. This joker had a lot to learn about size and power.

The mage came out of his reverie, his face quickly hardening. “I have your beloved tailor hostage,” he said coldly. “You must do what I say.” He planted his feet facing me from a few feet away and spread his arms stiffly with his head thrown back, like a man inviting a lightning strike. “Do it!” he cried. “Do it now!!”

I glanced back at Aurem. His eyes were glinting. “You heard the man,” he said softly, his lips quirking. You’re going to set this right.

Okay, then. I looked past Nelro, quivering with anticipation as he waited to grow, and spotted a familiar pair of eyes in the shadows cast by the furthest row of bookshelves.

They widened in alarm as I fixed on them. Don’t do it! they seemed to shout.

Too late, Rat, I thought. With the meagerest of efforts, I connected mentally with the talisman in my pocket and started trying to steal all of my size and throw it at the nimble and very canny urchin who’d followed me in here. Immediately he started growing so fast and so violently that first the rows of shelves, then the whole far wall covered in books were compromised. “Gods damn it!” he yelled as he grew, swelling with muscle as his cock unspooled onto the ground at his feet. His voice was getting deeper, too. “Gods fucking damn it! Behemoth, you are so dead!”

The guards, alarmed, grabbed Nelro and hustled him out of the room before the ceiling (and/or the giant) fell on him. The mage resisted them, shouting for the guards to release him and go and stab Aurem instead, but they ignored him and got their lord and themselves the hell out of there. Meanwhile, as soon as Rat’s head reached the extra-high ceiling I cut off the growth, rushing back to Aurem and snapping the chain that bound him to the floor. I immediately caught him up in a tight hug. “How was that?” I asked, nuzzling his neck with my bristly chin.

“Worthy of a very special reward,” Aurem promised in my ear, in a tone that got me instantly half-hard despite the chaos.

Rat plowed destructively through the bookshelves, his young face full of outrage. He was quite a sight, massively muscled but so tall he looked like an athlete, not an ox. When he noticed his dick was trailing comically after him he bent to gather it up in his arm, seething the whole time. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled at me.

“I’ll fix it, Rat, I promise,” I said, wanting to laugh, though as Aurem and I looked him over I knew we were both thinking that we might not be in a hurry to shrink Rat back down to a more manageable size.

The doors being meant for more normal-sized folk, it took busting through a few more walls to get Rat and the two of us out of the building and into the open air. In the end, we emerged out in the wide front garden where Nelro and the rest of the household were gathered, taking in the damage. Nelro started shouting the moment he saw us, shaking his fist like a greengrocer yelling at the kids stealing his mangos. “You’re going to regret this, you cur!” the mage screamed at me. “You’re going to give what I want, or—”

Rat was already fed up. The giant, very naked street thief stomped up to the mage and glared furiously down at him. “Enough out of you!” he bellowed in his new, sexy basso voice. Nelro immediately clammed up, eyes as round as saucers. “You’re going to leave Ferret and us alone,” he instructed, hefting the heavy loops of cock he had draped over his arm, “or else I’ll come back and fuck you with this!”

Nelro fell back on his ass in horror, while the guards and servants tried not to snicker. Most of them were unsuccessful. Rat stormed off in a huff, stepping over the low side wall and stomping down the street toward the lower city. Aurem and I followed after him, laughing our asses off the whole way.

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