Drink
by AKA
I don’t usually frequent bars, as a matter of course. I’m too old, now, to want to subject myself to some kind of “meat market” where everyone there is judging everyone else based solely on how they look that night, and whether they’ve been to the gym, and how much their haircut costs. I’m not a fan of sports, which is typically being broadcast on too many screens above the general din of the fans cheering on one team over another in a contest that couldn’t, in the grand scope of things, matter less. And beer just bores me.
On the other hand, I am a sucker for these so-called mixology places that take a list of mysterious, house-made ingredients and shake them all up together into some alcoholic brew that tickles your tongue and leaves you swimming in a haze of happiness. So it was with no small amount of anticipation and pleasure that I stood before the unadorned door to an establishment that had left hanging from my door an invitation to come by and try them out.
They were not in my neighborhood - one already overrun with shoe boutiques and cupcake stores and all manner of trendy little shoppes selling expensive wares - and were instead located some distance away in a section of the city that was, shall we say, less than optimal. Why they had chosen this particular spot was a bit mysterious, though with lease prices through the roof in most other areas, perhaps this was a more judicious choice than I gave credit for.
There was no sign, no windows, no outward indication at all that this was the place. The numbers of the street address, in fact, were nowhere in evidence and I had to deduce its location based on the neighboring properties.
It was called, simply, “Drink.” I liked that. It was all I really wanted from a bar. A good, stiff drink. The invitation itself was a plain white sheath of paper - more like an index card - with the name of the place, its address and hours of operation on one side (no phone number, I noted), and a hand-scrawled invitation on the other which read, “For those with discerning tastes. Ask for Rex.”
The name - Rex - looked to be a kind of signature, leading me to believe that whomever Rex was, he had written the note with his own hand. Seemed like a lot of work, to me, writing all these invitations and sticking them to doors all over the city, but who was I to judge someone else’s waste of time?
I was there early, hoping to avoid a crowd. The sun was just setting, causing a pink hue to color everything, and it made the outside of the building - normally a sort of indistinct beige color - to look very much like skin. I half-expected the place to start breathing.
There was no bell, and the handle wouldn’t turn, but it was at least an hour after the supposed opening time so I elected to knock.
A panel, which could not otherwise be observed, slide aside and a pair of dark eyes, rather remarkable in character, appeared there observing me. “Invitation?”
By the voice, it was a man who was addressing me, though the lashes surrounding the eyes appeared fairly dark and thick. “Invitation?” I echoed. I was unaware that any was required.
“Yes.”
“I, uh… Rex sent me?” It was a wager.
The eyes crinkled into what I expected was the reflection of the man’s smile.
The panel slid shut, the handle turned and the door slowly opened, showing only darkness beyond. It smelled a bit like sawdust inside, as well as whisky and leather. Very manly, in other words, but in all the good ways. I suppose there was a whiff of something else, but it disappeared or was masked by citrus and juniper. I stepped inside and the door closed after me, allowing my eyes to slowly adjust to the relative darkness inside.
Happily, there was no music playing and there were no screens mounted over the bar or anywhere else. The dimness was diminished by a series of sconces arrayed about the walls, that looked to be actual working gaslights. The floor was dark, bare wood, polished to a ruddy shine, and the walls were likewise covered in something like mahogany. It was a small space, and quiet, with three tables arrayed about the floor and a very long bar along the far wall.
“Welcome,” a man said. He was the same one who had allowed me entry, and I turned slightly to thank him when my voice caught in my throat and my pulse began to race.
He was, easily, one of the most striking looking gentlemen I had ever beheld, either in person or in print. Tallish - at least, taller than me - with a lick of slicked-back black hair on his head and a rather rakish and impressive mustache on his upper lip, his eyes were black coals set into a face that was, to be blunt, making my dick swell. He was certainly handsome, but it was something more than that, as if a kind of invisible shield of physical beauty and intense charisma surrounded him. He was smiling, a slim curve of his full lips, and it showed a set of dimples in his cheeks. He had a broad neck that was encircled by a high shirt collar buttoned to the top. He wore a thin, archaic tie that dangled over an impressive chest and the sleeves of that shirt were visibly straining to maintain their composure over what appeared to be 18-inch upper arms with thickly swollen biceps.
Perhaps he was used to this reaction, for he simply stood there looking at me until I said, at last, “Thank you,” before he gestured towards the bar and the man behind it mopping the surface with a white towel.
“Please,” he said. A man of few words, apparently, but with a voice as deep and beautiful as that, perhaps few were necessary. I nodded acquiescence and turned towards the other end of the room, walking with as much composure as I could manage - I could literally feel the man behind me - to the bar. The barkeeper looked up and smiled, and I stumbled slightly at the sight of him.
Where did they find these men? The man behind the bar was every bit as beautiful and imposing as his workmate. He stood up, now, to a towering figure and, again like his friend, he was a collection of perfectly arranged and massively developed muscles encased inside a long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt and tie. His hair was a shock of red-blonde waves that wanted to slide over a pair of sea-green eyes. He was sporting a full beard, impressive in its size and fullness, and his smile was filled with intensely white teeth. His neck was at least as wide as his head, or perhaps it was the way his ears stuck out in a most attractive way.
It made me think of grabbing them as his mouth sucked on my still-throbbing cock, like handles.
He nodded to me and I perched on a stool. The other man leaned his muscled bulk on the edge of the bar and nodded to the barkeep before casting his dark gaze at me.
“Rex?” I asked, at a loss for words.
The barkeep’s smile increased in wattage. “He’ll be in later tonight.” He offered his hand and I took it, feeling the cool, dry skin and rough, hard grip as he said, “I’m Ivan, and this is Jon.” Jon nodded again, and Ivan said, “He’s the strong silent type.”
“So I gathered,” I said. Curiously, I didn’t feel at all self-conscious under the close scrutiny of the man. I wanted him to look at me, and the way he was doing it made me feel...good, as if he was quietly complimentary without saying anything at all. Certainly I was being stared at, but it felt more like I was some piece of art to be cherished and admired, rather than some animal in a zoo. “Interesting place.”
“We like to think so.” He had an odd accent, one I couldn’t quite place, and his consonants seemed slightly soft as if they drifted into his vowels. “Can I make you the house special?”
I looked for a blackboard or some other notice of what that might be, but there was nothing at all around - and no menu was offered, either. But something in his manner and his voice made me instantly trust him, and I answered, “Yes, please.”
“Coming right up,” he said, and he pulled a couple of recognizable liquor bottles and a few unlabeled ones up onto the dark wood of the bar and started mixing. “You… from around here?” he asked, looking up at one point in his pouring.
I nodded. “It’s interesting, I didn’t even see anything happening in here. It’s like it sprung up overnight.”
Ivan smiled. “We like keeping a low profile,” he explained.
“Seems like a bit of a poor business decision, though.”
He shrugged one shoulder. It was like watching a mountain swell. “We’re a bit particular about our clientele,” he explained. “We like to know they’re fully enjoying what we do here.”
I looked at Jon and asked, “And what do you do here?”
Jon’s handlebar mustaches curled upwards and he said, “Magic.”
I smiled back, trying to appear that I understood. “When do things start to pick up?”
“Things?” Jon asked.
“People. When do the crowds turn up?”
“There are never any crowds,” Ivan said, holding a silver mixer in one hand while he twirled the heavily iced concoction with the other. “As I said, we’re a bit particular.”
“I feel honored,” I said, because in a way I did. Having this personal attention was nice. One normally has to flag down a bartender just to get a gin and tonic. And here I was, alone, getting such amazing and personal service. “By the way, why did I get an invitation?”
“Why?” Jon asked. His voice nearly rattled the glasses.
I looked over and nodded. “Just curious.”
Jon looked at Ivan, his dark eyebrows rising slightly. Ivan poured the house special into a coupe glass and said, “You’d need to ask Rex. He’ll be here later, if you’d care to wait.”
“With such amazing service, why wouldn’t I?” I looked at the drink. It was slightly filmy, with a foamy layer on top. “Egg white?”, I asked.
Ivan smiled. “You wouldn’t want me to give away our secret recipe, would you?”
“I suppose not.? I lifted the cold glass in my fingers and took a whiff. Gin? Maybe? And something like nutmeg, or long pepper. A definite citrus tone, and something I couldn’t place, the same scent that I thought I smelled when I first entered. “What do you call it?”
“The same as the bar,” He said. “It’s just called The Drink.”
I laughed slightly. Very simple, though the drink itself looked to be anything but. “Skål,” I said, using the traditional Danish toast, and brought it to my lips.
An immediate and unexpected tingling sensation tickled my tongue. Was it effervescent and I hadn’t noticed? Perhaps a champagne float, but then how to explain the egg white foam? It was shockingly good, though! Both refreshing and soothing. I felt it slip down my throat and branch out like mercury inside me, cooling threads that lead everywhere. “Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed and pleased. “This is amazing.”
Ivan said, “Thank you,” and looked at Jon with a wink. Jon moved a bit closer to me, watching me with even more intent than before. I looked over and met his smile, and he set his hand on my shoulder and squeezed firmly.
“Good,” he said.
It didn’t sound like a question, but I answered, “Very good!” And I drank some more. The tingling dissipated on the second sip, and other flavors became more pronounced. I looked at the bottles, still on the bar, and said, “I can taste the lime and ginger, but there’s something….” I licked my lips and drank again. “Something so unique.”
Ivan nodded. “Yes, it’s something unique. We make it ourselves.”
“Like, bitters? Or a tincture?”
“Something like that.” I downed the last of the drink, slightly abashed that I had finished it so quickly, and set the empty glass on the bar, looking at it longingly. Ivan asked, “Would you care for another?”
“Perhaps I should wait a minute or two. I’m feeling a bit giddy.”
He smiled as he took the empty glass. “Understood, sir. No problem.” He looked at Jon. “What about you?” he asked.
“Sure,” the dark man answered, and he straightened now but did not move an inch away from me.
I thought it a bit off that the employees were going to partake, but then perhaps knowing their product was important. “The usual?” Ivan asked him.
“Please,” he answered. Now that I listened to him, Jon seemed to possess the same unusual accent as Ivan, though a bit more pronounced. Perhaps his reticence to speak was an indication of a lack of command over the English language, though it was hard to fathom that the man would be embarrassed about anything whatsoever.
I glanced down and noticed, now, a rather prodigious and impressive bulge. He was wearing a pair of wool slacks, with the shirt tucked in tightly, and it appeared, from the side, that the man was either keeping an extra pair of socks in his groin, or that he was gifted with one of the biggest sets of sexual equipment in the state - or the country. I was honestly shocked at the prominence, and realized a tad too late that I was staring quite openly at it.
But Jon turned slightly to face me, as if to showcase his assets proudly, and when I managed to pull my eyes from the hugeness of his bulge, I found him smiling back at me with a knowing gaze. I said, “Sorry,” because that was all I could think to say.
“It’s all right,” Ivan said beside me, “everyone has the same reaction.”
I looked down again at his bulging pride, and now it seemed to me that details I hadn’t seen before were emerging. The shape of his cock. The ridge of the helmet. The length of the shaft. I turned back around to face Ivan, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “Jesus,” I said, quietly.
“He gets that a lot,” Ivan explained. “I’ve told him that perhaps he shouldn’t wear his pants so tightly, but it doesn’t seem to matter.”
Looking down, there was another Drink on the bar before me. Looking over, I noticed that Jon was partaking of something different, more milky and thicker than my own, like a Gin Fizz with cream and crushed ice - without the ice. He gulped it down in a single quaff, and set the empty glass on the bar, closing his eyes in apparent appreciation of its taste. I took the opportunity to cast my gaze south again and could clearly, now, make out exactly how long his cock was, and its girth, and the size of the head that pushed with insistence against his trousers. The man had nine inches, easily, and I watched a miraculous and wonderful movement.
Was he growing aroused? Was he growing bigger as I watched? Lengthening along his thigh, stretching and swelling, engorged on his own masculine beauty?
I looked up and he was watching me again, and he said, “Good.”
“I guess so,” I agreed, reaching now for my own drink. The tingling was back, stronger now. I looked at the drink to see if the mix had changed. “Is this the same?”
Ivan smiled. “I added a bit,” he explained. “You seemed to like it so much. We tend to go lighter at first, but I think Rex was right about you.”
“Who is Rex? The owner?” I sipped again. Damn, it tasted so good! My head was starting to feel a bit fuzzy, though. I needed to slow down a bit.
“We all own the place together, Rex and Jon and I. Rex is more of a...recruiter. He finds me….people who would be likely to…understand what we do here.”
Was Jon standing closer, still? I didn’t look over, but it felt as if he was almost touch my arm, brushing it with his own. But his arm was so big, so...overwhelmed with muscle, perhaps it only seemed that way.
“He’ll be in later,” Ivan said, drawing my attention back to the conversation.
“Rex?”
He nodded, then looked at Jon and asked, “How are you doing?”
“More,” the dark-eyed man growled. It sounded like an order, rather than a request.
But Ivan just smiled through his thick beard and started to make another drink for the man looming so closely besides me.
Not that I was complaining. Something about Jon felt safe, as if I needed him there, close to me. Again, a palpable sense of his size, his bulk, his power, seemed to wash over me in a sudden wave. I looked over...and up, into his eyes. He seemed taller than ever, but perhaps I was only slumped on my stool, enjoying the stupefying effects of the Drink.
Then his hand was on my shoulder again. He leaned into me. I could feel the strong, hard muscle of his chest pressing against me. I could… smell him. That odd scent on his breath, distilled and pungent. Something sour and sweet, but not altogether unpleasant. His other hand, I now noticed, was cupping his crotch, and he was kneading the meat swelling there.
I knew I should’ve been shocked by this development - not to mention the ongoing and alarming development of the meat in his pants. The bulge was swelling at an amazing rate, and it was very clear that the man’s arousal was not abating in the least. But rather than being embarrassed or taken aback by his outright and overt fondling, it was turning me on.
My cock was showing renewed signs of life, and I could feel the head pushing against my jeans and the whole of it was throbbing with hard, dull pulses.
I swallowed hard and my mouth felt dry. My pulse quickened and the room started to feel hot. I looked at Ivan and said, “Those things pack quite a punch. I think I had better slow down a little.”
“Feeling okay?” His head tilted. So did the room.
I stuck a finger in my collar and said, “Feels kind of hot.”
Jon’s hand squeezed my flesh. A tingle of something like sex echoed through my entire body. “Good,” he said, his favorite word. Then he lifted his hand from me - I immediately missed its weight and heat - and started to undo his tie. His fingers were big and meaty, and his neck was too.
I looked at Ivan to see if he was going to object, but he was only looking at me in the same way, to see if I would. And I didn’t.
Then Ivan was joining the two of us in our cups, pouring something thick and white into a heavy-bottomed glass and pulling that his lips. I watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed the whole drink in a long, luxurious gulp. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then used his fingers to gingerly straighten his impressive mustaches.
He stood there for a heartbeat looking at me. He seemed to take a deep inhalation, his nostrils flaring and his chest rising and spreading, stretching the material of his tight shirt into sun rays. But he did not seem to exhale. His shirt - and his chest - stayed that way. Swollen and stretched and larger than before.
I looked back at Jon and he was unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it open. His chest was as broad and muscular as the shirt had hinted, with a wealth of manly curls dusting his ruddy skin. I noticed that the whiskers on his chin and cheeks extended down his neck, in an almost unbroken forest of fur leading to his chest.
He pulled the shirt open and out of his tight slacks, and his undone tie hung between the brawny hemispheres of his meaty pecs. He reached over and took the glass of filmy liquid in his large hand and downed it. His eyes never left mine as he drank with evident gusto and thirst, sighing with contentment as he placed the empty glass on the bar’s dark wood.
“Good,” he said. Then his hand was inside his shirt, and he was rubbing his own nipple with his middle finger.
I watched him with an odd sense of detachment. I realized that he was watching me as he pleasured his nipple. His eyes, dark and sparking with sexuality, were scanning my face and my body as his rough finger plucked at his fat nipple. He was breathing slowly, but it seemed that it was only the sound I could hear. The sound of his breathing, accompanied by the swell of his chest. His chest, made up of two hard globes of meat. Two hard globes of muscle, swelling outward.
I looked down at the man’s obscene and unavoidable crotch. His other hand was cupping the bulging basket, kneading and squeezing what it contained to ever expanding extents. The whole of the man’s insanely sized shaft was now quite easy to discern. It was inches long, thick as a broom handle and extending sideways as it insistently pushed longer and longer.
I felt a bit dizzy, as if the blood was leaving my brain for parts further south. My own cock felt heavy and hot.
I opened my mouth to speak, and suddenly Jon’s mouth was there instead, his lips pressed to mine, and he was kissing me with a passionate intensity that made my heart beat faster. Heat suffused me, the heat of desire and sex, and I kissed him back greedily.
His hand was on the back of my head, now, pulling me to him. His lips and tongue worked magic in the kiss, showing me his need, telling me everything I needed to know without words. My hand drifted down his body, over the sleek and beautiful muscle on his torso, the broad, thick pecs and the...oh my god...heart-pounding six-pack that bulged along his slim belly, and I found the swelling center of his passion, rubbing my palm along the heat of his cock.
He was huge. And he sighed and groaned when I touched him there.
He broke the kiss and ours eyes met and he said, “Drink.”
A cup was at my lips. I drank the liquid into my mouth. A shock like electricity coated my tongue and I gulped the thick, tangy drink down my throat. Then he was kissing me again, and his hand was on my prick, kneading the growth and pushing the heat higher and higher.
Ivan said something, but my ears were ringing and my vision went black and all I could feel, the only thing happening, was that kiss and that hand on my swelling, hot cock. It felt like I was going to explode, like I was going to grow so big so fast that I would rip through my jeans, and then Jon was opening my fly and digging my prick free and his hand stroked and squeezed and coaxed me to grow bigger and longer and fatter and harder.
I wanted more. My thirst was unquenchable. Stars were dancing in my vision. My body felt heavy and thick. Jon was on his knees before me, his mouth was wrapped around my cock. I was pushing the shirt from his body as he pulled me effortlessly towards orgasmic release. Throbbing tingles of sex shook me and I could feel my load building towards explosion.
“Drink.”
A glass was at my lips. I swallowed as it was poured into my mouth, trickling along the edges and down my chin and neck. A heat accompanied the liquid inside me. It seemed to penetrate me, to travel through me, from my mouth directly to my heavy, throbbing balls. My clothing felt tight and restrictive. My cock was so hard it hurt. I wanted to cum very badly, and Jon was making it clear that he wanted that, too.
“Drink.”
I looked at Ivan through the haze of my bliss. He was shirtless now - perhaps entirely naked behind the bar. His body was magnificent. He lifted the glass to my lips and poured it inside me. He lifted another glass to his own mouth and drank it down. I closed my eyes as the heat grew intense, and my cock was screaming for release, and I balled my hands into fists and felt my shirt tearing along the shoulders and chest. I looked down at Jon’s massive shoulders and watched him bobbing on my cock, holding the shank in his rough grip and sucking with steady, insistent need.
“Drink.”
It tasted magnificent. I craved it, whatever it was. It was entering me and branching out, as if part of my blood, or part of my bones. I could feel myself grow heavy with its infusion. I was drinking hot metal, and it was infusing itself with me. I was so close. So, so close.
“Come.”
I shot a fat rope of cream into Jon’s mouth. It felt like I was releasing a gallon of cum out of my cock. I regrouped and shot again, feeling it shooting through the inches of my heavy, hot, hard prick and deliver its heat and sweetness into Jon’s mouth. He gagged on me, and his eyes teared up. I was giving him everything.
Another shot. A fat gout of thick white honey. And then another. I kept coming and coming.
And with every ejaculation, with every release of cream, with every fat fountain of my delicious cum, I felt myself grow lighter.
I looked down.
Jon. Jon was growing. I could see him grow. His muscles. His muscles were swelling beneath his skin. He stroked me and I came again. I shot myself into him and he suddenly swelled with brawn. The lobes on his shoulders separated and expanded. His neck thickened. His arms swelled with new brawn.
He stroked and sucked. I gasped and came again. Fuck, I came again, as hard as ever. Shoving myself into the man on his knees in worship to my cock. I came into him and he was growing bigger and bigger.
“Drink.”
A glass at my lips. Its smell intoxicated. Its taste made me swoon and gulp. It became me and Jon stroked me and I shoved my hips forward and delivered another full, hearty, amazing, overwhelming flood of cum from my heavy, swollen balls and up the thick, hard inches of my cock and he drank it all and grew.
I came again.
He grew.
“Drink.”
I came again.
Again.
Again.
“Drink.”
Jon stood up. His naked body was now swollen huge with muscle. He stood an inch or two taller. His prodigious cock, released from its cage, was at least ten inches long and rose to its magnificence between his thick and powerful thighs. He was smiling as he wiped the remnants of my cum from the corner of his mouth. His chest had expanded so thick and wide and firm that his fat nipples had started to point towards the floor. A heavy forest of dark fur covered his body. Cords of muscle stood out on his neck and his shoulders and arms were swollen with fat balls and thick cables of raw brawn.
He put his hands on my shoulders and forced me to my knees.
His cock rose before my eyes. It was glistening and red and hot. I could feel its heat. I could smell the man's essence from his balls and his ass.
I looked up towards him, towards his eyes, past all the bulging glory of his muscular body.
He smiled as he grabbed his cock and guided the swollen helmet towards my lips.
"Drink."