A cocky knight visits a tavern serving rather questionable ale, though the brew grows on him (and vice versa).
3,115 words Added Apr 2024 5,429 views 4.1 stars (7 votes)
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Sir Egbert of Gryffe strode into the Cock’s Crow tavern expecting to draw stares and murmurs. After all, he was a striking, square-jawed specimen of the nobility, six solid feet of man and dressed in the finest full chain mail with his helmet under his arm to boot. He strode about thus encumbered not because there were enemies nigh, but because it suited his look, and advertised his wealth and standing. The weight of the mail was good exercise for his lady-pleasing physique, too (especially his thighs, which were much appreciated by damsels and peasant girls alike). It probably did his surly horse, Gytras, a world of good as well, not that the steed was likely to start expressing his gratitude and obeisance anytime soon.
This time, however, Sir Egbert was denied the little spine-tingle that came with general notice and comment. The tavern was large enough inside to service a tournament, were one to be held nearby in whatever market town this might be (Egbert had lost track, and his horse was no help). But the hour was not far past the dawn, and the Cock’s Crow was doing next to no custom. In the desolate place there was only to be found a single cluster of five fit-looking lads, aged maybe twenty winters, crowded together at the far end of the bar and dressed no better than the urchin he’d handed Gytras to in the tavern’s stables. There was also the barkeep, of course, an older man with a bald pate, a trailing snowy beard, and a keen gaze peering from under his white, bristly eyebrows. It was a look that might have gotten him mistaken for a retired mage despite his apron and coarse innkeeper’s garb, if the viewer didn’t know better.
Chuckling at the ridiculous idea, Egbert noisily took a seat at a large, round oaken table at the very center of the room, thunking his helmet on the table for good measure. “Get noticed” was Sir Egbert’s motto, and he lived it every day and everywhere he went. Idly, he glanced over at the cluster of men by the bar. They’d been entreating the barkeep when he’d come in, something about finding them work, but now they’d fallen silent, watching him. The old drink-seller gave the five men an appeasing gesture and came around the end of the bar to stand before Egbert with his hands clasped before him, eyeing him so intently that the knight began to feel slightly uneasy and a bit defensive.
“Yes?” the old man drawled calmly. His accent unexpectedly West Country, despite this… wherever this was… being well to the north.
Egbert swallowed and gathered his dignity. “I am Sir Egbert of Gryffe,” he announced haughtily.
The old barkeep eyed him patiently. “And?” he said after a moment.
Egbert cleared his throat. “And I require sustenance. Meat and drink,” he clarified.
The old barkeep nodded. “Wise choice,” he commented shrewdly.
Egbert grew indignant. “Well? Will you get it for me?”
The barkeep’s eyes twinkled. “Right away, surrrr.” He turned and exited through a dark doorway into the back, hopefully to prepare his meal.
As he waited he felt the broad-shouldered lads’ eyes on him, and when he glanced in their direction he got the collective impression of… anticipation? One fellow, a shade handsomer than the others, actually licked his lips as he gazed Egbert’s way.
Egbert quickly turned his back on them, ignoring the physical reaction five young men staring at him had garnered in his armor-warmed nether regions. He wasn’t above a tumble with a strapping young fellow—in fact, he rather preferred it, not that he would ever tell a soul. Certainly an open response in this situation, an invitation to wrestle, say, was out of the question. He had his reputation as a hero and a lady’s man to uphold, after all. A modern Galahad must do certain things, and rolling around with a knot of base, if comely, townsmen was not among them.
Several uncomfortable moments later the barkeep returned with a bowl of hearty beef stew and a very large tankard of ale. The ale looked slightly green and almost seemed to glow against the dark interior of the tankard, but Egbert was thirsty and dismissed these as unimportant. The truth of an ale, like a woman, was in the tasting, as his lordly father had always said; and when he brought this one to his lips and sampled the brew, he found it was actually quite satisfying. He consumed his meal with gusto, the barkeep gladly refilling his tankard when he asked for more, and soon he fell back in his chair feeling heavy and sated, his meal complete. He felt an unseemly belch burbling up and felt relaxed enough to let it out, the sound filling the nearly empty room. Egbert smiled in his contentment, sure the barkeep would proudly accept this sign of his approval.
As he sat, aware of the food digesting and burbling in his belly, he couldn’t escape the feeling that something was wrong with his, well, everything. He squirmed, feeling his hauberk tugging him across the shoulders, chest, and upper arms. The rings seemed to be pulling against each other, almost as though he’d worn the wrong mail shirt today and his body was too big for the metal mesh to hold in. He felt heavier and heavier, like he’d eaten an ox and not an ordinary bowl of meaty stew. His mind was clouded by the strangely strong mead, but he knew none of this made sense. On top of everything else he was even feeling flushed and aroused, his manhood growing thick and turgid for no reason at all.
He was just thinking that the bowl and tankard, his helmet, and even the heavy oak table looked oddly smaller than they should, like they had been slowly shrinking in front of him, when all at once his body expanded all over—like a trickle through a dam giving way to a gush and then a break. The heavy rings of his mail shirt violently pulled apart from the pressure and audibly snapped, tearing great rents in the straining mesh. Even as he was taking this in, the sturdy chair suddenly broke apart under his weight, and he fell to the ground with a crash, knocking over the little table as he went, the poor knight staring at himself in incomprehension as his body expanded out of control.
Everything about him swelled in size and potency. His chest (he’d been strong but trim, as befit a noble) expanded rapidly, from the slightest rise to boulders pushing the ripped mail and measly shreds of his undertunic aside like a bull tearing through a plaster wall. He felt a rush of giddiness as he saw it protruding more, its rounded expanses noticeably harder and thicker with every thump of his strengthening heart. His arms were nothing short of immense, the upper reaches like small barrels snapping the remaining rings of his sleeves one by one as he flexed, producing little mountains of masculine power; below them his forearms were like hams, and the breadth and thickness of his hands pumped larger as he gaped. His thighs, those wondrous thighs, grew long and enormous with iron-hard, bulging muscle, and the calves below kept pace, swelling and intensifying. His feet, he saw, had long since burst through his boots without him even noticing, becoming massive slabs with toes the size of sausages, the whole of them still inflating like the rest of him. Even his belly was rounding slowly, shadowed by the titanic pectorals above.
Egbert’s confusion and awe rapidly gave way to arousal as he grasped his own enormous size and potency. He was magnificent—a giant, no, a wonder of the age. Heat flooded through him, and he knew his balls were spreading and expanding to outpace his still-increasing size, forcing lust and need through him. He straightened and splayed his legs, giving them room as he felt them grow and feverishly churn, welcoming the carnal flood.
And then there was his true center, the embodiment of his manhood. His cock, most gratifyingly, had been pouring on mass this whole time at a rate much faster than the rest of him, and now that it was getting hard Egbert, in this state of louche, irrational intoxication, felt no fear at the impracticality of his hulking size or his massive organ—only pride and lust at how his godly prick would teach the world the meaning of colossal.
Even as he thought this, his leg-thick hardening manhood burst through the remains of his now-tiny codpiece, instantly lengthening as it hardened at an absurd rate until it was well past his heels and still going. Egbert felt every inch—every foot—of its inhumanly majestic potency, his febrile, all-consuming arousal overwhelming his brain and seeming to drive him to even greater animal passion.
His balls quickened and his uncanny erection throbbed and grew, suffusing him with even more need and swelling his muscles and body hair even further. He could not even see his hefty testicles thanks to the enormity of the burgeoning pecs that seemed to be growing toward him as well as forward and outward, but he could see the slab of his impossible, pulsing erection pushing further and further across the room, receding away from him like a stone-covered Roman aqueduct.
Soon he felt the growth ebbing, though it hadn’t quite stopped yet. Egbert felt agitated and slightly alarmed by his need to cum and the way his size was working perversely against his doing so. He wanted to stand, but the room was barely large enough to contain him as he sat, trapped like an ogre in a pit. He wanted to pull off the remaining shreds of his mail and clothes, but his overgrown muscles were so big and bulky that he couldn’t easily grasp even his own shoulders. He had to get off—releasing the seed building up steadily and relentlessly in him was more important than anything!—but even if he were the most limber contortionist at the grandest royal faire, most of his man-thick cock was far beyond his touch…!
“Need a little help there, Sir Egbert?” a voice said.
Egbert looked down, panting and flushed with urgent need. The five strapping lads were standing around him, with the leader, the one a touch handsomer than the others, with a small scar on his tanned jaw. He was slightly taller, too, though still laughably small compared to him. Even with Egbert as he was, sitting on his butt in the middle of the too-small pub with the remains of his broken chair digging into his bare ass, the sexy man only came up to the middle of Egbert’s cumbersomely large biceps.
“I have to release my—my—I have to release,” Egbert admitted, breathing heavily. A bead of sweat trickled down his temples. The pressure was unbearable, even with the infinite pleasure he was experiencing.
“Seems to me you’re going to need some assistance with that from now on,” the man advised sagely. As he spoke, Egbert felt hands all around his torso, removing the last fragments of mail and clothing and stroking the hard expanses of bare skin underneath.
Egbert suppressed a moan and tried to glare at the handsome scapegrace. “What is your name, knave, and how dare you hold my own—my own pleasure to ransom?” he huffed. More heated ecstasy surged through him as his cockhead reached its final growth pressed firmly against the far wall, thrumming with desperate need.
“My name is Elias, and I’m merely offering a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the man said amiably, folding his arms over his firm, hairy chest. Wait—when had the knaves removed their shirts? “You provide for us—generously, mind you—and for the rest of our lives, and we’ll give you service in turn for the same duration.”
Egbert frowned. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to find the strength to resist. Every touch of the eight hands stroking his wall-sized, tapered back and tree-trunk arms seemed to catalyze his arousal, clouding his resolve. He wanted to shout for them to stop stroking his muscles and get to work on his cock—but the latter clearly required some sort of deal be struck.
Opening his eyes, he regarded the man with all faint slivers of coolness left in him, not much considering how on fire he felt with desperate lust. Deciding he was tired of looking down sideways at him of the sides of his ridiculous pectorals, Egbert reached down and wrapped his hand around Elias, lifting him easily, and held the sexy man now one-third his size in front of him. Elias, commendably, showed no sign of dismay, settling happily into Egbert’s grasp, and a brush of Egbert’s thumb revealed a long hardness that betrayed his approval of the difference in size between them. “It seems you would receive pleasure in return, knave Elias,” he said.
Unfolding his arms, Elias used his hands to casually stroke the hairy fist holding him up in front of Egbert’s rounded, insanely mountainous chest. Even that touch felt like overstimulation, but Egbert waited for the villein to speak.
“My companions and I,” Elias emphasized, “will receive coin in plenty for our diligent and thorough service. The rest of what comes,” he added, glancing down meaningfully at where Egbert was stroking his hardness through his breeches with his thumb, “is merely a bonus—for us all.”
Egbert could not wait any longer. “Agreed!” he shouted. Elias nodded to his men. Instantly the other four hustled forward and took up strategic positions along the monstrous length of Egbert’s cock. As they started touching, stroking and licking him he cried out, shaking the rafters near at hand. His manhood seemed to harden even further and surged suddenly through the far wall with a small crash, exposing half his glans to the empty air as his new servants set about giving him the greatest possible pleasure.
Overwhelmed, Egbert tore Elias’s breeches open and brought the man’s thick cock to his mouth, seeking to gain additional pleasure from Elias’s pleasure. It was the strangest feeling, a well-made fellow a third his size in his hand, but Egbert barely felt the weight of him as he licked and pleasured and kissed the much smaller hunk of a man. The whole while, Elias shamelessly moaned his pleasure and appreciation.
Close to release this whole time, Egbert suddenly felt himself losing control. “I’m going to come!” he whimpered, and the announcement spurred Elias’s instant release. Spunk spattered the giant’s face and mouth. Egbert was about to pull him in to suck down the last of it when his climax hit like a jouster’s lance. He roared in pleasure, blasting out cum down his incredible cock, through the hole in the wall and out into the alley beyond, quickly filling the narrow cobblestones with untold quantities of seed as he came and came and came, some of it spattering onto the four men helping him cum, their orgasms part of the flow of seed that seemed to swallow the whole of the world. Even his nipples seemed to cum, savagely spraying his hot spunk all over himself and his new cockservant, too.
His consciousness wavered, and he seemed to come to a while later. He had released Elias at some point and now leaned back on his hands, the tavern being too small for him to lie down as he wanted. Elias now stood smugly on the plane of Egbert’s thigh, naked and covered in spunk, his arms again folded over his chest. He looked… slightly larger? The other four were naked and grinning, covered in his cum like their leader. They were sitting on legs or atop his now-soft, still-enormous cock, which ran the full length of the tavern like a pink, fleshy snake-god. They, too, looked handsomer than before, and more muscled than he’d thought. The one perched cheekily on Egbert’s left knee sported a hefty tool of his own, he noticed, almost the length of his thigh soft and as thick as a swordhilt. The wizened barkeep, stood unchanged to one side by the entrance, which definitely had not been a set of barn-sized double-doors he could crawl out through when he’d arrived.
“Did you find the service satisfactory, then, Sir Egbert?” Elias asked, and the other men chuckled.
Egbert sighed and gave Elias a grudging smile. “You have established a high bar to live up to, Master Elias.”
An hour later, Egbert and his men stood outside the Cock’s Crow, Egbert towering above it like a creature of myth. At twenty-five feet tall, and with a flaccid cock half again that length and thicker than Egbert’s fat uncle Ethan, Egbert knew he was, at last, suitably unique—unquestionably and incontrovertibly the greatest knight of the realm. A crowd had gathered, curious but keeping its distance, and Egbert registered the attention while pretending to pay them no mind.
Instead, he looked down at his new squire. Elias, too, was naked, as were the others, all of the men’s clothes having unaccountably shrunken slightly during the sexual release in the tavern; and anyway, Egbert was naked, so being without clothes was like a coat of arms for the men in his service. “Where shall we go next, Sir Egbert?” Elias asked.
Egbert lifted his chin. “I am like the wind, Master Elias. I go where my fate takes me.”
Elias nodded. “Wind’s in the east, Sir,” he observed blandly, a smile playing at his lips.
Egbert looked down at him fondly. “Then east we shall go. Onward!”
Accepting the command, the four naked, well-muscled servitors lifted Egnert’s heavy, flaccid cock onto the hay wagon they had procured for this purpose. They left the square with Gytras, Egbert’s trusty steed, gamely pulling the cart. He led the way contentedly out of the town and into the bucolic countryside, secretly glad to finally have that conceited oaf off his back once and for all.
3,115 words Added Apr 2024 5,429 views 4.1 stars (7 votes)
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