A wave of disbelief and cups slamming against a table filled the air at the statement. Twenty-five minutes? Most men were lucky to last ten!
“I call bullshit on that one.” Another man in a lime-green tuxedo and an eyepatch said while shaking his head. “Fuck you Jeremy. Why bother comparing if you're just gonna lie?”
“Now now, hold on there Mark.” A third man wearing no shirt and a pair of swim trunks said. “Before we call Jeremy out on his obvious lie... we should get some clarification.” He said, trying to remain the voice of reason at the now-tense table.
“It's true!” Jeremy objected. “Ask her when she gets back! She'll tell you!” He whined as he folded his arms over his chest. He knew they wouldn't ask. They were all too scared of each others owners to do such a thing.
“Twenty-five minutes.” Ben began, ignoring Jeremy's suggestion. “Twenty-five minutes, with no break?”
“Of course there was a break!” Jeremy shouted. “I'm not some kind of superman or something!”
Another wave of groans from the three men sitting at the table, this time in disappointment.
“Having a break makes it too easy. Hell, one time, my girl shoved me up her cooter for two hours if we're counting times with breaks!” Ben bragged smugly as he lay back in his seat and kicked his legs up onto the table.
“Cooter? What are you, twelve?” Mark asked, shaking his head. “Lemme tell you somethin'. I once spent three hours between two girls if we're counting times with breaks!” Mark laughed, before taking a swig of his drink.
“Five hours. Three girls. All anal.”
The three men turned to the source of the new voice, and raised an eyebrow at the sight before them. A portly man, with a scraggly beard and a trenchcoat was walking up to their table. With a polite nod, he tipped the fedora doffing his head, and took a seat.
“I don't know who you are man, but I know this much. You are full of shit.” Jeremy laughed, as he handed the trenchcoat-wearing liar a thimble. With another polite tip of the fedora, the stranger took the makeshift cup, and carefully scooped up a drop of wine with it.
“'Fraid not. I've been at the center of some amazing escapades with m'lady.” He said, taking a sip of the drink and kicking his sock-clad sandal-wearing feet onto the table.
“That so?” Jeremy asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the unusual stranger. “Well then please, regale us with some tales your excellency.” He laughed.
“Yeah. Feel free to be as dirty, raunchy, and graphic as you'd like.” Ben added as he leaned forward.
“Yeah. And tell us why you're dressed like a fuckin' nerd too.” Mark said, eying the man's outfit suspiciously.
“Oh? I'm dressed oddly?” The stranger asked, looking over the other three men. “Tell me, you, in the putrid green outfit. When your lady came home with that outfit, did you object at all?”
“What?” Mark asked, turning his head to the side and blushing. “I-I... no. No I didn't. Of course I didn't! I respect my lady's wishes, and I do what she asks!” He admitted quickly.
“But does your lady respect your wishes?” The fedora wearing sage asked.
Tears began to well up in Mark's eyes as he knew the answer to that. He may have liked to brag to the guys about what he could and had done, but the woman who owned him was very domineering. She liked forcing him to dress ridiculously, knowing he couldn't do a damned thing to stop her.
Even his earlier point of bragging was largely fabricated. Yes he'd spent a combined total of three hours in a sexual roller coaster with her, but she did little ensure his safety. In and out he'd gone from her and her girlfriend's orifices, treated less like a person and more like a common toy. Sure, she was legally in the right to do anything she wished with him, but sometimes, well, he wished it were different. After all was said and done he'd just been dumped on the carpet, and had to avoid their giant feet for the next hour or so. He didn't feel safe around her anymore, and had a feeling his days were numbered.
“Mm. As I thought.” The wise man spoke, noting Mark had curled up slightly and turned away. “And you, in the trunks. Why are you dressed that way, if you don't mind me asking?”
“I...” Ben began, knowing full well what the answer was. He had been forcibly dressed this way by his owner because he spent most of his time wet. Whether she was sucking on him like a candy, or shoving him inside of her unmentionables, he was near-constantly wet and had learned to savor these few moments where he could experience being dry, and warm. They were the only things he lived for these days, and he'd been glad to find a few other men to chum around with while she was doing her shopping in the building their table stood outside of.
“I dress like this by choice! I'm the... I'm the m-man of the house, after all!” Ben shouted unconvincingly. He couldn't bear to look the stranger in the eye though, and turned his head down to his thimble of wine, swishing it around silently.
“Right. And you.”
“M-Me?” Jeremy asked, suddenly worried if he could be as easily read as his friends.
“You're dressed awfully nice. Those clothes seem like they'd work better... for display purposes. If you catch my drift?”
Jeremy froze, and laughed nervously. Sure enough, the fedora-wearing stranger had seen right through him. His own owner was a bit of a shut-in, and consistently had him dressed in exorbitantly expensive custom-made outfits. Most of his life was spent in a glass case, and he'd spend every waking moment hoping she'd decide to take him out for the day. Time and time he'd been passed over, and this was one of the rare occasions he got to experience life outside of a case. Life outside of being ogled and fawned over like a figurine.
“You know I lost a hat once.” Jeremy said, not afraid of opening up to the stranger. “I'm lucky to even be here!” He shouted, before regressing back into his memories. He'd been punished severely for losing an expensive accessory, and had been stripped of all his nice clothes, and forced to spend a day in her back pocket. If her seat hadn't been so soft he knew his life would have ended beneath that colossal rear just like all the others...
“Mm. Right. I suppose I'd call that an intellectual checkmate gentlemen.” The fedora-wearing man said, before placing his thimble on the makeshift table and standing up. “I enjoyed your company, but I only had a few moments to spare, as my beautiful ride will be showing up soon.” He bragged.
The three other men looked around uncomfortably, shifting in their seats while the ground began to rumble. After a few seconds the sky around them went dark as a towering woman appeared overhead. More groans came from the three men as they were instantly jealous. Sure, their own owners were varying degrees of cute, but this strange man's owner was, well, gorgeous. From her shapely hips to her exaggerated bust, she was the kind of thing they'd fantasized about, and knew they'd never get.
“It was nice talking with you.” The stranger said, giving another polite tip of his fedora, and waiting for the huge, soft hand to lower itself to the desk.
“SORRY IT TOOK MOMMY SO LONG SWEETIE. THE LINE WAS LONGER THAN EXPECTED.” The giantess said apologetically.
Immediately a peal of laughter came from the little table as the fedora-wearing man blushed an intense, bright red. He didn't turn back to face them, but he could certainly hear their derisive cackles.
“Hey man!” Jeremy shouted between cupped hands. “We may have our own problems, but at least we're not MOTHER-FUCKERS!” he taunted.
“HEY! DON'T YOU BOYS MAKE FUN OF MY MAURICE!” The giantess suddenly shouted, and raised her other fist high over the three laughing men. With a look of pure anger, she brought the fist down like a hammer, and crushed them before they could even toss an insult over the name 'Maurice'.
“Hmph.” She said, wiping the bottom of her fist against the table. It was frowned upon to crush tinies that didn't belong to you, but she certainly wasn't going to let people insult her own son right in front of her! Their owners would just have to come back to a bunch of stains when they were done shopping!
“Were those mean boys making fun of you?” She asked her son in her palm.
“Yes, but you handled it quite nicely m'lady.” Maurice said, tipping his fedora. “I'd say that's a solid, You:1 and Them:0.” He said, confidently sitting back down in her palm. Only a few steps later he overheard a loud, screeching voice ask who crushed her toy and ruined his custom tuxedo. The realization that he would've been the dead man if his mother was but a few seconds later weighed on his mind, and he began to ask himself a question he'd never let his mother know he asked.
Would it have been worth it? Getting himself intentionally crushed, that is?
“Oh by the way honey, Mommy's going to have her friends over for a bit of... fun tonight. You think you can beat your previous record?” She giggled, nuzzling her son's head and knocking his fedora off her palm and into the wind.
Yes. Yes it would have been worth it.