AN- This is part one of a two part piece.  Part Two will be a detailed look at disposing of any characters other than the narrator who are still alive by the end of Part One.  While a few of the tinies are described in detail here, the remaining tinies will receive their turn at description in part two.  
Beefcake: Sweet Revenge
I went on campus in search of an after-dinner snack.  I wasn’t planning on a full dessert or anything like that; after all, a meal of peppers, onions, and an entire fraternity wrapped in sausage casings was enough to fill even me up.  But Dionysus must have been having a good night and wanted his flock to do the same.  
[Side note- I’ve come to the realization that none of the newer monotheistic gods would want any part in the rampant destruction of the modern day giant.]
[[Side note to the side note- I use the word “giant” loosely here, to describe any of my rare tribe who contain the power of changing sizes of themselves or others.]]
[Back to the first side note- A behemoth who cares nothing for the morality encoded in mankind, but driven strictly from the id, could only pray to an old-world god.  And what other god is a better example of the id at work?  I use my powers to fulfill the two F’s: food and... sex.  Every one of my holes must be filled with struggling meat, my feet must be massaged by the quivering masses of flesh, my cock must be- and etc. etc. etc.  What other god could one pray to when you only care about the pleasure principle, the hedonistic values so long lost, thinking nothing of morality or the lives of mortals except how they can be used to appease one’s appetites- sexually or otherwise.  So Dionysus, god of wine and having a good time, receives my prayers as my chosen deity.]
It didn’t take me long, serpentining through the sport fields, trying to find the perfect acquisitions to sate my hunger for something sweet.  Behind the bleachers of the football stadium sat two couples of adorable twinky delights, kissing passionately.  My cock swelled and my stomach growled.  Walking a little bit closer, like a lion stalking a gazelle through the tall grass of the savannah, I noticed that I was not the only predator to have smelled this sweet meat.  From around the other side of the bleachers, on long legs and with heavy footfalls, smashed a smorgasbord of young jocks.  Clearly this was the popular crowd, and yet I had somehow never snatched them up myself after years of procuring fresh flesh from this school.  
They were the most mouthwatering display of prime beef I’ve ever witnessed. They weren’t too meaty, but were tall enough for basketball, quick enough for soccer, buff enough for wrestling, football, and lacrosse, yet fit enough for swimming.  Every body type one could hope for from a  jock was present.  And from the way the twink couples screamed I could tell they had run into this familiar crowd before.
Not wanting to waste my serendipity of bumping into such a delectable spread, I shrank the whole lot before one of the jocks was able to finish yelling to the shrieking and fleeing twinks, “shut the fuck up you faggo-”
Catching them at their current size was child’s play and I shoved the struggling masses of sweaty prime beef flesh into a small pouch I had been keeping in my pocket.  The twinks, the only four tiny cuties to remain motionless, stared in awe of me as I snatched up the last of their bullies.  My shadow overtook them, and their legs trembled, but still they couldn’t look away or turn to run.  The small tent in their pants told me how they felt about my powerful body, each couple grasping at each other as though their partner would be able to protect them.  Gingerly I plucked them up in one hand and placed them softly into my pocket, carrying the pouch at my side.
On the way back my homemade jockstrap started riding up, but a quick pluck loosened it a bit, at least enough until I made it home.  I knew that all of the bending over to catch my quarry must have been straining the strap.  So as soon as I emptied the satchel into a deep, clear bowl and stood the hugging boyfriends on top of the counter (clutching each other in both fear and ecstasy), I dropped my pants.
The jocks stifled their screams as they saw what my jockstrap was composed of.  A thin piece of mesh acted as my waistband, wrapping itself completely around my muscular pelvis.  But here is where any semblance of traditional garb faded.  Cupping my mammoth cock, in lieu of fabric, was a shrunken young man.  His arms were spread eagle as though he was attempting to wrap his appendages around the giant dick before him.  But they were suspended- tied with thread onto the lower portion of the mesh, keeping him perpetually outspread like a religious leader welcoming his congregation.  This was Jordan .  Unlike 99% of the boys I’ve procured over the years, Jordan was one who has lived with me for a long time.  I originally found him on CoiledFist, and knew I had to make him mine, helping both of our sexual dreams come true at once.  He wasn’t eaten or squashed, but rather saved nearest to the love of his life; my sweaty cockhead which was eternally pushing into his face.  When we were chatting online I once asked him how he’d feel being worn like a piece of fucking underwear, cradling my cock with his body and my balls with his legs- every breath taken being mixed with ball sweat and precome, drinking it straight from the source.  He seemed excited from the prospect.  So I took away his size and free will, and helped him live out the only life worthy of an insect who appreciated my powers.  
Jordan’s feet curved under my balls a bit, his toes tied against the fingers of the other component of my jockstrap.  Andrew, another recruit from Coiledfist, had been so infatuated with my bubbly ass that I helped him to kiss it for all eternally.  His face was lined up perfectly with my ravenous hole, allowing him to lick the inner ring and stuff his entire head inside whenever I sat down.  Flossing my crack, his entire body convulsed with sexual elation several times each day, causing my entire jockstrap to be foul smelling, eternally wet, and constantly dirty.  Unfortunately, as it was my only pair, I had to wash it every day before going to sleep, allowing the boys to marinate in the stew of ass sweat, ball sweat, and the come of all three of us.  Without even thinking about the farting, I still can’t imagine how the two of them could possibly enjoy their lives.  Yet after the first week I never heard a complaint from either of them… just moans of pleasurable ecstasy.  While others would undoubtedly find their plight a waking nightmare, they saw it as a permanent wet dream.
I had a lot of work to do before I could enjoy my dessert so I wasted no time stripping my jockstrap off and flinging it roughly into the sink where I heard a sharp intake of pained breath.  With the same speed, pressed for time, I took out a pair of poultry shears and began stripping away at the wrapping encasing my jock treats.  I couldn’t resist the usual prodding, rubbing, and poking at their gorgeously meaty yet nubile bodies.  Every inch of them was massaged by my large rough fingers like a butcher inspecting his meat. Yet I definitely went overboard, rubbing, fondling, and occasionally licking their glistening nude forms.  Every part of them was exceptional, from their beefy toes to their scowling, screaming faces.  I deposited them back one at a time into a quivering mound of pulsating sweaty flesh in the center of the bowl.  Their homophobia notwithstanding, anyone would be miserable in my clutches.  Despite it all- no matter how many young men I’ve had in my clutches, toyed with and consumed- the initial scrutiny and playing with their bodies is something I will never get over.  It’s just such an incredible feeling, having so much power over another person; feeling their slight weight; smelling all the different scents of their bodies; experiencing the moistness of their recently liberated feet; exploring every ridge of detail of these anatomically correct toys.  Even had I been married to one of them at full size, I’d never be able to inspect them so closely, or scrutinize the details for so long.  
Finally, finished with the inspection, I was deeply satisfied.  Yet after several minutes of screaming, crying, and the plethora of questions ranging from who do I think I am to what am I going to do with them, I turned on the training video just to shut them up.  I wanted to let them see all of the terrible things I could be doing to them, physically, emotionally, etc. before they saw what would actually be done to them.  The methods of torture and consumption in that video are enough to make the strongest man scream in fear and cry in horrified understanding.
After the first few minutes of the video I saw that the twinks were still quaking with fear, even more now that they saw what was in store for their tormentors.  “Don’t worry cuties,” I said to their wide-eyed terrified faces, the tears streaming down in torrents.  “They won’t ever hurt you again.  Want to know what we’re going to do with them?”  As though I was talking to four young children they nodded without speaking, brightening at my dolcett tone, my cheerfully calming words, and my use of the word “we”.  
The young athletes were mesmerized by the screen in a large jumble of pulsating, writhing jock flesh with a tangle of arms and legs poking through, so they couldn’t overhear us.  But they occasionally looked over at me whispering to the four twinks as though we were old friends, the five of us giggling at what we had in store for their former tormentors.
Once the twinks were comfortable, although still quite nervous as they were in the presence of a gigantic hunk of a man, they began to strip.  All of this was part of the plan I had whispered to them.  The horny fuckers were in no position to refuse as it was, but there wasn’t a shred of hesitation on their cute faces.  Each one of them was as hard as a rock, either from the knowledge of what they were about to do, or from being in the shadow of my muscular form.  Based on our quick conversation I was able to figure out the basic relationship of the quartet, but it wasn’t until the clothing slipped off of their smooth young skin that I really formed their sexy story in my mind.
All four of them had been friends for a number of years, constantly being tormented by jocks, not just including those in the bowl.  First there was Tyler.  His hair was so damaged from his frequent dying of different colors that he almost didn’t need to style it.  The top was a shade or two darker than platinum blond and gelled down to form a quaff of messy spikes which covered his forehead.  His face was long, pale, and oval shaped with cute almond shaped eyes, a slender nose, and two adorable ears both with earrings.  He had luscious beautifully pale lips, and was undoubtedly the most androgynous of the group.  Despite his small stature and thin frame he had long fingers ending in perfectly manicured nails.  When he removed his shirt I saw that he was lithe, almost toothpick thin.  There wasn’t a speck of muscle on him, which was in stark contrast to his bullies who had muscles on their own muscles.  His long arms and legs, but tiny torso with small, pert nipples made the waifish boy perfectly beautiful.  Even his cute little feet with long toes piqued my interest.
Tyler’s boyfriend was Dillon.  The perfect emo twink, Dillon had longer dirty blond hair which almost came down to his eyes.  He had a small lip ring and smaller nose ring which Tyler occasionally played with.  Even paler than Tyler, Dillon was shorter with longer fingers, wide eyes, and a fat nose.  But while the former’s slight frame has no definition, the latter had a strong looking chest and a chiseled six pack. He also had the only pronounced jaw of the group and thick bushy eyebrows.       
Tyler had a younger brother, Peter, who looked a bit more skaterish.  His hair was shorter than his sibling, but the soft, chestnut brown waves were worn higher on his head.  Peter’s ears stuck to the side of his head, behind the bushel of hair, and his face was longer, but more rectangular than the others.  His family resemblance was obvious in every aspect of his face except for the kinder, softer hazel eyes.  Like his brother he had a pronounced chest and a beautiful eight pack.  He was shorter than Dillon, but his long stiff dick was almost double the size of the others, (who weren’t really lacking in the size department themselves).  Whereas Dillon had a plump bubbly butt, Peter’s was firmer and more muscular.  It looked like a ripe peach complete with small tufts of peach fuzz.  All four boys were completely hairless below their heads, with the exception of Peter.  He had the tufts on his ass, and some very slight small brown wires on his muscular legs.  Still, each looked as smooth and soft as any of the porn star twinks one sees online.
Dan was dating Peter.  He was perfection incarnate.  The shortest of all, Dan had a bit of color in his supple skin.  He had the tiny face of an angel, and everything about him screamed adorable pocket twink.  Even at regular size I wouldn’t be surprised to find a guy pulling Dan out of a back pocket.  Literally every speck of the little guy was so cute I wanted to eat him up right then and there, forgetting the plan I had cut them in on.  I know the others wouldn’t have wanted to work with me after gobbling up their doe-eyed friend.  Dan’s features were sharp, but tiny.  He had a tiny button nose, tiny ears poking out jarringly, with a tiny mouth that looked too small to even use properly.  His dirty blond hair was pushed back into a tiny flip.  He had a tiny frame with cute tiny arms.  His hands and feet were tiny.  His fingers and toes were stubby, adorable, and… you guessed it... tiny.  He had a cute cock that was probably average sized, but looked like a little acorn at his current size and compared to his friends.  His ass was too petite to call pert, bubbly, or muscular.  His nipples were almost impossible to see they were so small, and his bony arms ended in a torso where every bone and rib was visible.  Yet he didn’t look anemic or anorexic or sickly… just… tiny.  If I had looked up “adorable” in the dictionary back then, I’m pretty sure a picture of Dan would have taken up residence on the page.
The boys noticed my watering mouth and trembled a bit until I reassuringly told them it was time to get started and that they were absolutely beautiful.  They were used to other guys looking at their cute little bodies, so this calmed them a bit.  
As the video was over I moved over to the bowl and smiled down at the powerful jocks, now reduced to quivering jelly.  They had just witnessed the most disturbing thing their puny minds had ever beheld and didn’t know what fate had in store for them, but were certain it would be terrifying barbaric.  While I worked on mixing the ingredients into the bowl, I ignored their screams and cries and begging, acting as though they were just more ingredients to be turned into a delicious desert… which they were.  All the while I joked with the twinks, poking them, prodding them, petting them.  They began warming up some, as they were already used to being treated like toys by their exes.  
The jocks finally stopped their incessant noises when the dry ingredients got in their eyes and noses, making them sneeze and cough.  Then the wet ingredients had them making grossed out faces while they shivered in the cold egg yolks and sweet milk.  Before they could start up again with their annoying sounds I used a large mixing spoon to batter their bodies together, mixing them and the batter up as one. When I was done I poured the whole mixture into a pan, mixed it a bit more to keep the cake extra airy so that none of them suffocated within, and then pushed them into the oven without arranging them in any order.  They were a jumble of body parts and a large amount of chocolate cake batter as I closed the door behind them, silencing their moans.
While the beef cake baked I played a bit more with the twink’s smooth young bodies.  My finger probed every inch of them, and despite their initial fear, now that they felt comfortable that I was on their side, they seemed to enjoy the attention.  Being used and abused by a giant hunk turned them on to no end, as evidenced by their raging hardons.  Tyler’s nipples swelled, and the others grinded against my padded finger tip.  However I was careful not to provide them with too much pleasure, lest our cumulative revenge on the bullies need be postponed.
When the timer sounded and the oven opened we were assaulted to the heavenly aroma of a bakery mixed with the mouthwatering scent of lightly baked jock meat.  Scooping the chocolate beef cake out of the pan, and plopping it on a large plate, I saw that everything had gone perfectly according to plan.  The jocks were encased in the hardened batter, unable to move anything that wasn’t on the outside.  As anticipated, the airiness of the cake allowed the lads to survive the process of being baked, and were still alive beneath the surface.  The collective moans of pain from having their skin tanned in the heated oven was evidence enough for that.  
The finished product was not pretty, nor was it supposed to be.  As I purposely hadn’t arranged the jocks in any particular way, they remained a jumble of flesh poking from each side of the cake.  Here and there a head dangled out, too pained to scream or beg.  Mostly, however, the bent over mound of bullies had meaty hairy asses, flaccid dicks, muscley arms, and toned legs poking through the surface.  Some were on the top, some on the sides.  Overall I estimated that each tasty athlete had at least two body parts exposed, which was exactly what we wanted. 
Seeing the mound of beefy young meat encased in their chocolate prison was enough force precome to come dribbling out of my cock.  “Do you boys mind helping me out a bit while I ice the cake?” I winked at the twinks.  A few minutes later I was using a baking spatula to coat the cake with vanilla icing, while avoiding spreading the sweet concoction on the errant body parts jutting from the cake.  While I was doing that, Dan and Peter were taking turns shoving as much of their bodies as they could up my bubbly ass as Tyler and Dillon rubbed themselves all over my rigid dick.  Their lithe bodies tickling my insides and cock head were enough to get me to spurt around the same time as I was finished with the frosting.  Meanwhile, the few heads remaining on the outside of the cake seemed even more terrorized by the horniess the twinks and I had at their dilemma than they did at their dilemma itself.
Breathing heavily, the four young men and I smiled in our- well really my- post-coital bliss.  “You’re turn,” I whispered to them gently before placing them at the base of the beef cake.  Like kids in a candy store, or in this case gay guys at an all the jock you can fuck buffet, they immediately initiated the final step in their revenge.  All four ran around to a different side of the cake, and immediately began to climb.  They used the hanging body parts like rocks in a rock wall to ascent to the top, grabbing hands, feet, and dicks, while stepping on jock heads until they reached the peak.  Each step they took was met with muffled moans of pain from the meaty boys within the chocolate tomb.  As soon as they reached the top, they began fucking.  Dan bent Peter over one jocks screaming head and shoved his dribbling cock straight into his boyfriend’s tight hole without the pretense of fourplay.  They were too hot and bothered to waste time with that.  Dillon spread Tyler’s legs wide and pushed him onto his back.  The four took turns giving and receiving, never changing partners, rolling around and hitting their nude bodies into those of the stuck jocks.  I salivated at the sight of their nubile hairless bodies at work and bent down to lick the sweat and frosting off of their exhausted bodies.  Unafraid, the twinks shivered in ecstasy at the feeling.
For their part, the homophobic bullies were disgusted by what they were forced to watch and even feel, as they kept getting forced to participate whenever a twink rolled into them.  After a few minutes of this, the real fun began.  With a wet plop the boys disentangled from each other and, covered in frosting, went their separate ways to enact the final torture on their former torturers.  The predators had indeed become the prey and vice versa as the twinks stalked around, picking their first victims.  Then it began.  Dillon grabbed a jock’s head by the hair and shoved his tongue into the boy’s mouth, kissing him deeply.  “Anyone who fights back will have whatever parts of their body are outside of the cake bitten off” I announce loudly, ensuring that even the boys who had their heads in the deepest portion of the cake would hear my warning.
The homophobes were terrified.  Peter shoved his long dribbling dick into the mouth of another jock while Dan spread his cheeks wide and forced a rimjob from yet another.  Tyler, meanwhile, was busy sucking a limp cock into rigidity.  Once it was hard, Tyler began fucking himself with it like a dildo.  When the raped jock finally came, against his will, Tyler moved over to a head and leaked the cream into the mouth of his teammate.  “Anyone who doesn’t swallow will get the same treatment,” I boom.  Closing his eyes in disgust I see the jock force it down his throat.  
The revenge continued for quite some.  No outlying body part was spared.  Mouths were kissed passionately and filled with twink dicks.  A few times Peter sucked a jock’s dick, kept the come in his mouth, and kissed/spit it into the mouth of a teammate, forcing him to swallow it down.  Dan fucked himself with every big, veiny cock he came in contact with, after sucking on them until fully erect.  He used their dicks, their fingers, and even their toes as dildos up his tight ass.  The beefy, muscular, occasionally hair jock butts received rimjobs, and then, using the frosting as lube, found themselves filled with twink spunk.  Their virgin holes stretched against the twink dicks.  At once point Dillon found a position where he was fucking himself in the ass with one jock’s entire fist, while sucking on the toes of another, and plowing his dick deep into the ass of a third all at the same time.  Every body part was fucked, forced to fuck, licked all over, sucked on, etc.  Yet despite the pain, it seemed the jocks feared having their faces, asses, toes, dicks, and fingers sucked and nibbled on far more than being fucked.  Perhaps it acted as a reminder about what awaited them when I used my own mouth.  
After what must have seemed like hours for the terrified, pained jocks, the twinks collapsed on a mound in the center of the cake.  They were coated in frosting, filled with jock cream, and dripping with sweat.  I brought my nose close to their panting smooth bodies.  They smelled of sex and sweetness.  Each twink had come into a jock’s orifice no less than three times and was filled with the come of at least three others.  It pooled around their asses, dribbling out of their stretched holes very slowly.  “Now that you’re filled with cream… it’s finally time for my dessert,” I announced.  The jocks regained enough of their strength to offer, what they assumed, was their final scream.  But they silenced themselves as soon as they realized who I was talking to.
Dan was first.  He had to be.  Everything about his was adorable.  I lowered my head down onto the writhing pile of twink flesh and slurped him inside before any of them realized what was happening.  They still seemed to think I was playing, which I actually was.  I played with Dan in my mouth, battering him around, sucking every cute little detail, rubbing his face against my tastebuds, slurping off the frosting and sweat and sex, nibbling on his tiny toes.  I sucked the cream from out of his hole and rolled him around like the piece of candy that he now was.  Finally, all of his flavor gone, I got tired of his screaming and swallowed him down.  
Peter noticed the bulge in my throat and was about to scream out when he found himself grabbed roughly and tossed back into my mouth.  “They get to fuck in there?” Dillon asked between ragged breaths, clearly envious.  But Tyler had realized something was up and whispered fervently to Dillon.  Meanwhile Peter was having a rough go of it.  My invading tongue snaked along every ridge of his slightly muscular body, digging deep into his ass to slurp out the cream filling.  He too was swallowed down.  Dillon and Tyler looked up in fear, Dillon finally working up the nerve to ask, “Where’s my brother… and Dan?”   
Instead of answering I opened up my mouth to show that it was empty.  The boys were too tired to rise or fight back so they just screamed in terror.  “They’re the same place you sick fucks are headed…” moaned one of the jocks who had just gone through the first half of the worst night of his life, “and where we’re headed soon after I’m sure.”  
I winked down at the lot and then bent over to give both remaining twinks a long lick.  Tyler’s entire back, from ass to head was brushed with my tongue, followed by Dillon’s whole front.  Despite everything they were both still hard.  I knew that my usual trick of making them screw each other while in my mouth, or while one is in my mouth and the other shoves his dick through my lips into the ass/mouth of the other, wouldn’t work as they were both too exhausted and too filled with horror.  So instead of sucked them both inside together and battered them around.  I manipulated them with my tongue so that they couldn’t decide for themselves, and forced them to fuck one final time.  “You wanted this,” I reminded Dillon, as he had spoken with jealousy only minutes earlier.  I could tell that Dillon was the one flat against my tongue, as I could feel his muscles.  His tiny prick pushed into the spongey, giving muscle, and I tasted each inch of him being forced down.  Above him, Tyler’s ass was pushed against the roof of my mouth, forcing his cock in and out of his boyfriend again and again with every rise and fall of my tongue.  The fetid odor and humid air, filled with the moisture of my salivating tongue and the heat of my own body, must have surely been hellish.  But they were both still able to come one final time, as I felt four pairs of feet digging into my tongue, toes curling as one.  They went rigid in climax, and then their stiffness was replaced with complete relaxation.  I got a tiny tinge of flavor, but they were running on empty.  So, with a final taste, they plunged down, screaming, in each other’s embrace.
Smiling and smacking my lips I glared down at the cake before me.  “I was far too full for a whole dessert.  I just wanted a snack.  But finding you boys there was too fortunate for me to ignore.  Such prime beefy meat,” I drooled a bit like Homer Simpson thinking of a donut, as I caressed the asses, legs, and muscular arms of the trapped athletes.  “But I’ll have a lighter dinner tomorrow so I can have you all for a wonderful desert.” I said the last bit as the door to the refrigerator was opened, giving their flaking skin a momentary cooling relief.  I placed the cake down and just before the door closed I added, “of course, nothing starts a day like a slice of cake with breakfast.”  They were left in cold blackness.