James used to really like coffee.
After being sent on his twelfth coffee run of the week, and promptly either spilling a cup all over himselfâor, in this case, getting the coffee spilt on him by the person heâd delivered it to, James decided he never wanted to have a drop of it ever again.
He stood in the bathroom, the cheap dress shirt heâd bought from Walmart soaked in the running water of the sink, biting his lip hard. The faucet and soap dispenser were activated by sensors, making his task take much longer than it should have as he kept having to reactivate the damn water every half a second. The stains were not coming off, all he had else to wear was a blazer and the hoodie heâd worn into work. James could feel his eyes begin to sting, and he tried not to look at himself in the mirror.
What stood before him was a rather pathetic looking young man whose frustration was practically etched into his face. The dark auburn waves heâd styled so nicely in the morning had become frizzy and disheveled, and his green eyes were glassy and miserable. He didnât know where his glasses had goneâand at this point, he hardly cared. They were cheap pieces of plastic crap he got online that barely helped his eyesight in the first place.
He was shivering, but not from the cold. The smell of coffee and milk and sugar from his partially soaked binder wafted up his nose and it took everything in him not to rip it off and start cleaning it, too, just to get rid of the nauseating reminder of how he got in this predicament. James had already made a little scene when the coffee got thrown at him, running off into the bathroom as he had, the last thing he needed was for one of his coworkers to walk on him fucking bare-chested.
The stain wouldnât come out, and with no car to drive home with and change into something else, he was stuck at the office to make a fool of himself.
Heâd been hired a month ago. Bright-eyed, and bushy tailed, the spunkiest intern anyone had ever seen. He liked to believe he still had that enthusiasmâhe did, justâŚfor the right things. For the right people. The company made jewelryâsome of the best, the things that cost more than the entire block his crummy apartment building stood upon. James was hired to intern in the Marketing departmentâhe had no real fashion sense, and the most jewelry he himself wore was an old pair of gold hoops his grandmother had gifted him several years agoâbut he did enjoy the art of the deal. The persuasiveness, the trend in the economy, advertisementsâŚAppealing to others, to make them want something, to be desirable, thatâs the sort of thing he could be good at.
It was the sort of thing he naively expected to be doing, instead of acting as an underpaid delivery boy. He fetched papers, stood by printers, relayed messages and yesâgot his haughty senior coworkers their damn coffees.
James exhaled a sigh. He wanted to be them. He wanted to be more than them, the sort of person that got to look down at them, someone likeâ
âUm. Hey, Jimmy?â
James whipped around. Another intern, someone who had been at the company a little longer than him, stood at the bathroom door. He seemed to be trying not to stare, and James tried not to snap at him. He didnât like being called Jimmy, or Jim, or whatever other stupid name the other guys around the office had decided to call him. No one ever listened, the other workers liked to egg it on, and after a certain point James had given up trying to correct them.
âSorry, Mike, umâŚNowâs not a great time. I know youâve got a lot on your plate, but I really want to get this stuff off before I go back out there.â James said. Mike squirmed nervously in his spot.
âMr. Cherevaughnt wants you to come to his office.â Mike said. Jamesâ blood went ice cold.
Anthony Cherevaughnt was the CEO of the company. Richer than God, a man that already came from money that decided to make even more money when he started his jewelry empire. James had seen the man in real life exactly twiceâonce during orientation, and the other after a chance meeting in the breakroom just last week.
He wasâŚeverything James wanted to be. Successful, confident, with enough power to do whatever he wanted without fear.
And now he wanted to see James. His day couldnât have gotten worseâthat asshole Perkins probably bitched and moaned to Anthony about how much of a useless intern he was, and he was being called up to the fucking CEOâs office to get fired so hard itâll blacklist him from the entire industry. James could feel his body begin to tremble again, but he pulled himself together.
âOh, okay!â He said, in his most chipper voice, cringing at the way it cracked. James started to wring out the soaked shirt. Mike had this awful look on his face, the sort of expression you give to a baby bird that just fell out of the nest. Pity, but an unwillingness to actually help it.
â...Hey, have you seen Brett? He hasnât shown up back to work since that thing with the donutsââ
âI really need to get myself ready here, Mike. Can we talk later?â James cut him off, the meager hold he had on his temper already starting to slip. Mike mustâve seen the sharp look in his eye and the shortness of his tone surely got to him, because he just nodded and left without even a single goodbye.
James put his soaking wet, wrinkled, coffee-stained dress shirt back on. He tried to straighten out his hair, he tried to do anything to look presentableâŚBut what was the point? He was going to get fired anyway. He looked at himself one last time in the mirror, that sad little man about to lose the job that wouldâve been the start of a wonderful, explosive career in the business sphere, and stalked out of the bathroom.
The CEOâs office was on the very top floor. In fact, it took up the entirety of the top floor. There was a very meager reception area, but a distinct lack of a secretary. Mr. Cherevaughnt was not a very social manâhe enjoyed the spotlight, the man was sort of like a peacock in that way, but he also liked to stay mysterious. A little closed off, even. People know about him, his face was on the cover of magazines and tabloids and plastered up on the newsâŚBut nobody knew him.
James could feel his heart pounding, and there was a distinct ringing in his ears as he approached the ornate doors that led to Anthonyâs office proper. Honestly, he thought about turning tail and running. Attempt to catch a bus, and then another bus, and then another to get remotely back home. His career was done for, what was the point in getting it told to his face? But he supposed if he wanted a slim chance of escaping retail hell, he had to make an outstanding final impression on the CEO.
He lifted his hand to knock, but found that the door swung open before his knuckles could grace the wood, and before him stood Anthony Cherevaughnt.
He was about two heads taller than James, but much more thin and languid compared to Jamesâ more stocky, stronger physique. If there were a contest for anyone to embody the word âregalâ, Mr. Cherevaughnt would have won it five times over. His brown hair was kept in a neat plait that rested over his shoulder, the curls that framed his dark-skinned face much more artfully disheveled than the sheer mess that Jamesâ was. He wore a pair of gilded glasses against his own pair of deep green eyes that probably cost more than the collective salary of everyone in the building, slim fingers adorned with many of the rings he had designed.
He was a beautiful man. It was almost enough to distract James from his doom.
Anthony gave him a kind smile.
âMr. FosterâŚCome in, wonât you? Take a seat. Iâve already sent someone out to get some replacement clothes for youâpoor thing, you must feel awful.â
James blinked, confused at the sympathy? Wasnât this where he was meant to be chewed out? Then spit out on the side of the road? He struggled to find his voice, unable to keep a nervous stutter out.
âIâYes, M-Mr. Cherevaughnt. Thank you, sir.â He hastily spoke, trying not to meet the eyes of the man who would decide his fate. As he moved to go through the door, he noted how Mr. Cherevaughnt wouldnât step aside to make room for him. He may have been a slight man, but he more than made up for it with his ratherâŚOh, there was no polite way to put this, Anthony had one of the finest asses the intern had ever seenâfirm, but round, and he seemed to wear clothes tailored perfectly to accentuate it.
James found himself having to squeeze past the CEOâs plush hips just to get into his office, and he swore up and down he was pushed into the room by a playful hip-check against his back. Was that a chuckle he heard, or a trick of his frazzled state of mind?
The inside of his office was one of the most elegant places heâd been to in an already opulent building. Marble floors, a gigantic hardwood desk, and several pieces of expensive artwork, furniture, and sculptures that made Jamesâ head spin. If this was how Anthony decorated his office, what was his home like? Hell, there was even a goddamn bar!
James slunk into the chair across the desk, while Anthony went to his ownâit looked far more like a throne, especially when he sat in it not unlike an old noble.
Jesus Christ, some stupid part of him thought. He can hardly fit his ass in the seat.
âI want to say how truly sorry I am for the treatment youâve received today.â Anthony began, and though a part of James thought he should have known better, the young intern believed that he meant it. âYou work hard here. Iâve seen it. Mr. Perkins had no right to embarrass you for doing what he asked of you.â
James squirmed uneasily in his seat, feeling small under Anthonyâs gaze. He immediately jumped in to try and defend the man who had belittled him, almost on instinct. Years and years of sucking up ingrained into his system.
âItâŚI mean, I took too getting back from Dunkinâ, and the ice melted, so I-Iâd be pretty upset too if my coffee tasted watered downââ
âJames.â
Hearing his name out of Mr. Cherevaughntâs mouth made a shiver go down his spine. It made him sit straight, and he finally looked his boss in the eyes.
âYou have too much potential to waste your time bending over backwards for people like Mr. Perkins, dear. And Mr. Perkins has far too little potential to be a part of this company any longer.â Anthony said, and rummaged around in his desk for something. He pulled out a little wooden box, closed with a silver clasp in the center, which he carefully slid across the desk until it rested just in front of James. Anthony watched him carefully, much like a hawk, through half-lidded eyes.
âCould you open that for me?â
James swallowed a lump in his throat. He had just barely gotten over the fact that Mr. Cherevaughnt had told him he had potential, and that Perkins had been fired. He gladly took the distraction of the little box, and nodded, taking it gently into his hands as he popped the clasp open and peered inside.
Sitting on a bed of satin, there was a tiny man. No bigger than a ring that would normally occupy such a space. Without his glasses, it was hard to see the fact of this little man, but when James peered closer he could see exactly who it wasâPerkins. His eyes went wide, and he expected the shrunken Perkins to begin screaming expletives at him once moreâbut instead, the man stared up at him in a mixture of awe and fear.
âS-Sir? What is this?â
Anthony raised his brow.
âJames, letâs not play this game. Youâve no need to act so scared. I know who youâve got with youâBrett must feel like heâs in a vice. It still hasnât worn off for him, has it?â
James swallowed hard, and shut the wooden box. His gaze went down, not to the floorâŚbut to the darkness under his shirt, where his coffee-soaked binder lay.
Where he could feel the wriggling of a man just as tiny as Perkins.
Last week, in Jamesâ department, there had been an incident that became colloquially known as âthat donut thingâ. The interns had been told they needed to work late, tidy up the floor for the next day, the sort of grunt work that nobody else really wanted to do. Much to the collective delight of his twelve coworkers, there were a dozen powdered donuts sitting in the breakroom for them.
James had declined having one, instead opting to allow the rest of his coworkers to have one for themselves.
A half an hour later, all of his coworkers had shrunk. Some were the size of dolls, others no bigger than a finger, and poor BrettâwellâŚBrett had become the smallest of them all.
Only James was spared, and it was how they deduced the donuts were to blame. It wasnât too uncommon for people to spike foods with size altering drugs, of course, but James had never really encountered the effects of them in person. They were expensive, very expensive, so of course their senior coworkers who made much more than the rest of them would have been able to get their hands on it. The interns, James included, all rolled their eyes and bitched and moaned about the petty prank.
They had decided to group up in the break room together, and it was here, as James towered over men and women who had at one point loomed over himself, that he felt something stir in his gut. He didnât know exactly what it wasâthisâŚwarmth, this joy, at watching them crane their necks up at him. It made him sad that in a few hours time, the effects of the drug would wear off, and theyâd all be back to normal.
As the night progressed and the interns slowly regained their size, James couldnât help but focus on Brett. He was so small that he had decided to put him on a table just to make sure they wouldnât lose track of himâand the electric thrill of literally holding a man in his fingers was hard to get out of his mind. While others grew, Brett stayed the sameâfor some, the drug could last days. Weeks. Forever.
While the others talked amongst themselves and got their clothes back on, Jamesâoverlooked as alwaysâput Brett into the pocket of his dress shirt. Surely, he thought, someone would need to look after him until he was back to normal?
Everyone left once they were big enough to drive, filing out of the building and to the parking lot, until only James remained. He pulled Brett out of his pocket, trying to see if he had grown even a few more millimeters, but stillânothing. He remained just as small as he was a few hours ago. Brett was screaming at him to put him down, to get him to his phoneâŚJames ignored him. He dangled the little man in front of his face with a smile, feeling for the first time in his life like he was in charge. Like he was powerful.
âDonât worry.â James cooed. âIâll keep you safe until youâre back to normalââ
There was a small knock on the open breakroom door to get his attention, and James yelped, nearly dropping Brett as he scrambled to hide him in pocket once again. There stood Mr. Cherevaughnt, his brow raised but an amused look on his face. With a nod of his head, he gestured to the empty donut box.
âI see you got my present. Did you enjoy them?â He asked.
âI, umâŚdidnât have any. Sir.â James admitted sheepishly, praying to any God out there that his boss didnât see what he was doing.
âNot a fan of sweets, dear?â Anthony asked, crossing his arms over his chest, scrutinizing him.
âNot a fan of powdered donuts, sir.â
The CEO hummed thoughtfully to himself, before bidding James a goodnight.
James didnât speak a word of his encounter to the other interns, and allowed them to believe that perhaps someone else had spiked the donuts. And much more importantly, he never mentioned Brett, who he had promptly brought home with him.
It was weird. He knew it was weird. It was the sort of fucked up shit people with the sort of power and influence to buy the shrinking pills in the first place would doâand he tried so hard to convince himself he was doing it because he cared. Did he care about Brett? Fuck no. He was kind of obnoxious, always called him âJamieâ, and had a really bad haircut.
Maybe thatâs what made it so easy to do something like this to him, since he had that distaste for the man. He couldnât leave him back at his apartmentâJames didnât want to think about what would happen were Brett to contact one of his neighbors, or worse, the authorities. He had already been spinning up a story about how he was trying to look out for his coworker, where heâd give the cops big sad eyes once Brett grew back. He didnât need the little man twisting the story up with the truth.
So, heâd been bringing Brett to work the whole week, tucked nicely in his binder every morning, pressed tight enough between his breasts to keep him from running off and to muffle his little voiceâbut not enough to hurt him.
He was stupid to think Anthony hadnât noticed him playing with the little man. Had he seen the ways he kept looking down his shirt as he ran around the office? The subtle ways he would put pressure upon his chest just to feel Brett writhe? Jamesâ felt his cheeks burn, and he refused to look up again, his hands balled into fists.
Anthony rose from his chair, sauntering over to the intern not unlike a lion stalking its prey. He spun Jamesâ chair around, used his long fingers to tilt his head up by the chin. James shivered again, and the CEO smiled at him. He was not upsetâit was that same look of amusement he held on his face in the breakroom.
âIt feels nice, doesnât it?â He murmured. âI certainly think it does. Though, I donât have the benefit of yourâŚparticular assets, letâs call them, to keep mine. I make do, though, with what Iâve gotâŚâ Anthony let out a rueful little laugh, giving his ass a slight shake that made it quake and quiver.
âTell me, dear, do you remember the last thing I said to all the new hires during the orientation assembly?â
James felt feverish. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and he could barely hear Anthony over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. His mouth felt pitifully dry, and he had to lick his lips before he spoke.
âY-You said, umâŚâ He struggled to remember, and when he did, his eyes widened like a deer in headlights. âYou said this business could eat us alive, sir.â
With his free hand, Mr. Cherevaughnt reached for the wooden box containing Perkins. Deftly he opened it with a quick flick of his wrist, barely acknowledging the tiny man within. Before letting go of Jamesâ chin, he ran his thumb over his cheekâa gentle caress that nearly made James pass out on the spot, it was so unexpected.
âWhat a good memory you have. Yes, thatâs right. The thing is, nobody understood I meant that quite literally."
He plucked Perkins out of the box by his leg, dangling him just above the internâs face.
âNow, usually Iâd have him, butâŚoh, you know what they say about how your snacks go right to your hips.â Anthony said with a little wink, but the intern had the distinct feeling that that was exactly the sort of thing his boss wanted to happen after a meal.
âSay âahâ, James.â
He blinked a few times in shock. James stayed completely still for a while, trying to decipher whether or not Anthony was jokingâbut he wasnât. The CEO wanted him to eat Perkins. He was deadly serious, with a smug confidence about him. He could hear Perkins scream and beg for his life, pleading, apologizing to James for what he did.
James looked to Anthony, then to PerkinsâŚand opened his mouth wide, letting out a little âahâ just as he was told. Anthony chuckled.
âThatâs it. Donât tense up, alright dear? The first oneâs always difficult.â
Slowly, the CEO lowered Perkins onto Jamesâ tongue. When his fingers were out of his mouth, James quickly closed his mouth, scared that the tiny man would jump out. He could taste salt on his tongue, and for the first time in his life, something heâd eaten had begun to move. Every instinct told him to spit Perkins out, but he resisted, moving him around on his tongue. Tasting him. It wasnât the most pleasant thingâonce the salty tang of his skin had vanished, there wasnât much left, sort of like keeping a piece of meat in oneâs mouthâŚSo under Anthonyâs approving gaze, James decided it was time to finally swallow him.
It was hard. His body was firmly rejecting this wriggling little thing, and he could feel his gag reflex rear its ugly head a few times. James shut his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himselfâdonât tense up, heâd said.
The gulp when he swallowed Perkins was loud. So, so loud. He could feel the tiny man traveling down his throat, and his hand immediately went to his neck, trying to see if he could feel a lump.
Mr. Cherevaughnt, who he had almost forgotten was even in the same room as him, thrust a cold glass of ice water into his hand. James chugged it gratefully, feeling himself slowly returning to normal with each sip, though his body was now wracked with the mental and emotional exhaustion he had experienced from the past hour.
âVery, very well done, James.â He praised. Anthony bent down at the hip, pressing a warm kiss against Jamesâ cheek. When he pulled back, James could feel how the spot where he was kissed seemed to tingle and burn.
Anthony then knelt down in front of the chair, taking the internâs clammy hands into his own and slowly unworking the tight fists James had made out of them.
âIâm moving you out of Marketing.â The CEO began, very matter-of-factly, as if nothing had just happened. âYouâre being wasted down there. I want you here, with me, as my intern. Youâll get to learn from the very best. Is that all agreeable to you, dear?â
James wished this proposal had come tomorrow. Or even in another hour, after heâd had even a brief breather after the whirlwind of a day he was having. But still, he knew that he could have all the time in the world to mull this decision over, and heâd still come to the same answer. For the first time since heâd arrived in the CEOâs office, he smiled.
âOf course, Mr. Cherevaughnt. Thank you very much for this opportunity.â
The CEO gave him a fond pat on the cheek.
âGood boy. Now, your new clothes should be here. Go ahead and change, and then come right back up here. Weâve got a lot to discuss.â
James nodded enthusiastically, rising so fast out of his seat he gave himself whiplash. He all but sprinted to the elevator, feeling a manic glee overtake him as he leaned up against the walls of Anthonyâs reception area.
He reached down into his shirt, moving away what to little Brett must have been tons and tons of titflesh, until he found him there. Naked, shellshocked, and blinking up in the light of day. He was sticky from both Jamesâ sweat and the coffee that had soaked through. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the fact he hadnât even gotten lunch yet, or maybe it was the delightful feeling of Perkins finally descending into his stomachâJames licked his lips hungrily down at Brett, ignoring his pleas as he lifted the shrunken intern up to his eyes.
âJamie, câmon, donât do thisâI wonât tell a soul! You can put me back with your boobs if you want, man, I donât care! Jamie, Jamie, Jaââ
âMy name is James.â He said, and unceremoniously threw Brett into his mouth.
He tasted different. Still salty, but covered in something sweet and bitter. The coffee. Perkinsâ damned coffee. James had to stifle a giggle. Suddenly, coffee didnât seem so repulsive to him anymore. He licked and savored the flavor all over his tiny morsel until he could taste it no longer, and just as the elevator finally finished the long journey up to the top floor, James swallowed Brett with far less struggle than he had before, relishing in the sensation of another body traveling down his throat.
This business could eat them alive, huh? Well, James was looking forward to a feast.