Interactive: Campus Nights, ch. 5 (Patreon)

Ethan slowed his loping sprint to a slow jog, his chest heaving for breath.  He’d only gone half as far as he usually did, but already he was struggling.  Something in his stride felt different, throwing his normal rhythm out of sync.  He was having a hard time focusing on his breath and it felt like he was trying to swim upstream.  As he ran, he kept seeing Landon in his head, the image of the tall, muscular man standing in the hallway while jerking off seemingly burned into his brain.  

The longer he ran, the more he became convinced that memory felt wrong.  He hadn’t given it a second thought when it happened, but now it made him blush.  He was embarrassed for himself, and his friend, but thinking back on the sight still made him tingle.  Landon wasn’t usually that uninhibited.  None of them were, now that Ethan was thinking about it.  Yet Mark and Grady had started steadily wearing less and less, and he’d actually caught the two men going at it in the shower the other morning.  He’d shrugged it off then, but now it seemed impossible.  A part of his brain knew that things had gone well beyond his original plan of making Liam uncomfortable, but at the same time he felt fantastic.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this relaxed.  It was like a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying had been lifted.  

Or at least that’s how it had been.  Now, a few miles from the house, he was starting to worry.  He didn’t feel relaxed, he felt almost drugged, like he was fighting to stay awake.  Something was very wrong.  He could feel it staring him in the face, he just couldn’t see it.  

“What the hell,” he panted, his chest feeling large and heavy.  He slowed to a brisk walk, raising his chiseled arms above his head to relieve the stitch in his side, before stopping altogether.  He’d manage to catch sight of his reflection in a passing window and it froze him in his tracks.  The sandy haired young man stared at himself, feeling a sense of shock and fear without knowing why.  His eyes kept lingering on the prominent, almost oversized pecs bulging off his otherwise proportional body.  His shorts also looked odd.  His large bulge was outlined in explicit detail and his legs were entirely bare.  Turning to the side, he quickly saw why.  “Fuck!”  Ethan yelped, feeling an unexpected rush of embarrassment.  A pair of large, firm cheeks hung mostly exposed out of the too-small running shorts.  

His already racing heart started beating faster as his eyes kept darting back and forth between his plump chest and even plumper rear.  He couldn’t actually formulate the thought that something was wrong, but on some level his brain was ringing an alarm bell.  A bit of the old Ethan surfaced and he turned crimson at the thought of how far he’d run looking like he did, and how far he had to go to get back.  He started running again, this time acutely aware of the heavy bouncing on his chest, and the constant jiggling at his rear.  The evening air was warm on the bare parts of his ass and thighs, reminding him of just how exposed he was.  His humiliation driving him on, Ethan sprinted for home.  

**********

Detective Peterson turned the business card over and over absently in his hand as he sat in his car and stared at Doctor Willingham’s house.  Since their meeting the day before, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he was missing something.  His gut was telling him there was more to Willingham’s involvement than the man was letting on, he just needed to figure out what it was.  Having already met with him in his office, Peterson wanted to get the jump on him by making a surprise visit to his house.  He hoped that if he could catch him off guard the other man might slip up.  Despite what Willingham claimed, the detective didn’t buy it when the professor had said that he wasn’t worried about the statue.  He’d asked around, and other staff in the office all mentioned how careful he was of it.  There was no way its disappearance would just slip his mind.  

Peterson pulled his car up the long, winding driveway.  He had to give Willingham credit for his taste in real estate.  The professor’s house was a large tudor, sitting well back behind a row of trees that obscured the view from the street.  The detective noted that the house butted up against a forest, eliminating any neighbors on the backside.  The property was also so large that between the broad lawns and encroaching forest, the houses on either side were far in the distance.  This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where one would pop over to borrow a cup of sugar.  Peterson had been a detective long enough to know the kinds of things that really went on behind doors like these, but even that knowledge didn’t prepare him for what waited on the other side.  

He rang the bell and took a step back, hearing thudding footsteps come running towards the door.  When it swung open, instead of Willingham, Peterson found himself face to face with a mostly naked adonis.  The young man was like a statue come to life.  His tapering torso was covered in thick, sculpted muscle and his tanned body was clad only in a precariously straining speedo.  The bright green material popped against his golden skin, drawing even more attention to the massive bulge it barely contained.  Whoever he was, his face could only be described as beautiful, with its perfect symmetry and sharp features.  He currently wore a broad grin beneath the head of platinum blonde hair.  

“Hi!” he chirped.  Willingham immediately got the impression that there wasn’t much going on behind the other man’s sparkling eyes.  

“Uh, hi.  I’m Detective Peterson,” he said, sticking out a hand that was quickly swallowed in a meaty grip.  “Is Professor Willingham around? I didn’t have an appointment, but he told me to stop by if I had any more questions.”  

“Sure! I’m Randy,” the buff blonde said, seeming proud that he knew that bit of information.  Peterson smiled encouragingly as he was pulled inside, his eyes going wide when the young man turned and bounded off down the hall, giving him a full view of his mountainous, barely covered backside.  The detective only had a moment to take in the large, open foyer before he heard Willingham’s voice.  

“Detective!  Nice to see you again.”  

Peterson turned and saw a similarly dressed Willingham toweling himself off as he walked towards him.  The older professor was nowhere near as built as the young blonde, but Peterson silently noted the other man’s rugged build.  Willingham’s hairy chest sported a set of broad, firm pecs that sat on top of equally firm abs.  As he toweled himself off, Peterson saw how much the older man’s arms inflated as they moved.  The same went for his wide, sturdy legs.  It was clear that the professor didn’t spend all of his time sitting at a desk.  Peterson couldn’t help but see the heavy lump in Willingham’s speedo just before the other man wrapped the towel around his waist.  

“Sorry to drop in like this,” Peterson said as they shook hands.  

“Not at all!” Willingham waved a hand dismissively.  “Please excuse the towel...you caught Randy and I out in the pool.”  He turned to the blonde and nodded towards the door.  “You can go back out.  The detective and I have some talking to do.”  

“Okay!” Randy chirped again, eagerly scampering down the hall and out of.  

“He’s certainly….impressive,” Peterson said, watching until the blonde stud was out of sight.  

Willingham laughed and ran a hand through his damp, salt and pepper hair.  “That he is.  His strong points are mainly from the neck down, but he’s got a big heart.” 

“Amongst other things,” Peterson laughed, before quickly adding, “don’t get the wrong impression...I’m not here to judge.  I just had a few more questions about the Martin case.”  

Willingham just smiled.  “Of course.  Here, we don’t need to stand in the hallway.  Let’s go into my office.”  he motioned for Peterson to follow and led the younger detective into a large, shelf-lined room with an expensive looking mahogany desk at one end.  A pair of leather, wingback chairs sat in front of the desk, giving the room even more of a library feel.  Peterson watched Willingham walk over to a large curio cabinet filled with all manner of strange looking objects.  The professor pulled out an ornately shaped glass decanter and a pair of rocks glasses.  He filled the bottom of both glasses and held one out for the detective.  “Are you allowed to drink on the clock?”  

Peterson took the glass and shrugged, already smelling the peaty scotch.  “Anything in the line of duty,” he laughed.  “So, Professor Willingham…” 

The older man laughed and took a sip of the scotch, motioning to the towel around his waist with the other hand.  “Please, given the circumstances you can call me Carter.”  

“Nick,” the detective said, nodding back.  “So, Carter, tell me more about this statue.  Where did it come from and more importantly, who would want it?”

Carter set his drink down and leaned back against his desk, his burly arms flexing as they held him upright.  “The first part of that question is a bit of a long story.  As for the second, your guess is as good as mine.  It’s valuable, true, but there’s not much of a black market for that sort of thing.”  

Nick took up a spot in one of the chairs when Carter motioned for him to sit, taking another sip of his scotch.  “So you can’t think of anyone who’d want to…” 

Carter grinned evilly as he stared at the frozen detective.  Nick was standing with his drink in hand and a blank expression on his slack-jawed face.  In his head, the younger man was sitting and drinking while he and Carter were having a discussion about the investigation, but in reality, the detective was doing nothing of the sort.  The special ink and parchment that Carter had used planted the first seed, and the “scotch” did the rest.  It wasn’t as flashy as the kind of power that the statue could wield, but Carter knew there was always a time and place for more subtle methods.  

“What do we do with you,” he said, tapping his lips with a finger as he dropped his towel and paced around the frozen man.  He took the glass from Nick and downed the rest of the scotch.  “It IS expensive, after all,” he laughed to himself.  “If it’s any consolation, as far as your brain is concerned you’re actually drinking it.  So there’s that.  For now though, Nick, do me a favor and take your clothes off.”  

Robotically, the younger detective began unbuttoning his fitted shirt, steadily exposing his toned pecs and flat stomach.  He untucked it from his tight slacks and shucked it completely before undoing the fly and letting his pants drop.  The black boxer briefs he wore didn’t last long before they joined the pants around his ankles.  He worked his feet out of his shoes and stepped free from the bundle of clothes, showing his tight hole to Carter as he bent and pulled his socks off.  

The older man stepped back and nodded admiringly.  His initial impression of Nick had been correct.  The detective was covered in lean, ample muscle, a combination of bulk that had been acquired on the job and defined muscle maintained regularly in the gym.  With his thick brown hair, the younger detective was handsome, going on distinguished as he aged.  Carter slinked around behind and gave Nick’s firm bubble a squeeze before reaching in front and hefting the heavy package.  The detective had a short, thick cock sprouting from a trimmed, dark brown bush.  As Carter tugged, he felt it start to twitch and harden until the entranced man reached his full, wide six inches.  He ground his speedo-clad bulge against the younger man’s firm cheeks, resisting the urge to give in to temptation.  

Carter eventually stepped back and left Nick standing naked and erect while he thought about what to do with him.  The detective would have no memory of this.  Whenever Carter chose, Nick would snap out of his trance, fully believing that the conversation in his head had taken place.  Any other sensory input that he experienced wouldn’t be retained.  The older man had done this enough times with the earnest young frat boys in his undergraduate classes to know that it worked perfectly.  They left with memories of regular, office hour meetings, while in reality Carter had been working over their virile young bodies.  

He knew he needed to be careful.  He couldn’t just make a detective disappear without raising too many eyebrows.  It would be much simpler if he had the statue, but even without it he had plenty of resources at his disposal.  

“This could work…” he muttered under his breath.  The more he thought about it, the younger detective could be just what he needed.  He’d already been trying to work out a way to deal with the local police.  His plans for the statue didn’t involve interference from law enforcement, and Nick could be his way in.  

Carter walked back to his cabinet and pulled out a tiny glass jar filled with a dark crimson powder.  He very gently tapped some out into a wide wooden bowl, careful not to spill any of the precious powder.  The creatures who made it weren’t ones he wanted to interact with unless absolutely necessary.  The wretched beings lurked underground in sewers and lived in filth, but he couldn’t argue with their results.  They had been experimenting on hapless victims for thousands of years and had plenty of time to perfect their craft.  If you knew how to protect yourself around them and brought a worthy trade, usually in the form of a young man, you could walk away with powerful artifacts.  

Holding the bowl in position, Carter methodically tugged on Nick’s rigid pole until the frozen man gave a short gasp and sprayed into the bowl with the powder.  The older man milked out every last drop before swirling it all together into a thick, purplish liquid.  Taking a short, intricately carved piece of bone, Carter began drawing sigils on Nick’s body with the viscous ink.  As soon as it touched his skin it was absorbed and disappeared, leaving no trace that it had ever been there.  

“Time to spread the good word,” Carter said, tracing more and more of the sigils all over Nick’s body.