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.

4,780 words Added Mar 2024 4,156 views 5.0 stars (13 votes)

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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.

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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. He 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 this 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 browny 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 of confusion at a 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 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 then 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.

4,780 words Added Mar 2024 4,156 views 5.0 stars (13 votes)

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