**Lynch:** The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you had what it took.
**-Wall Street (1987)**


The first thing the businessman did was make sure the door was unlocked. 

This would be counter-intuitive, for what was coming next, unless you knew the whole thing was *about* the risk. 

He imagined the boss bursting in. The curl of her lip. The abrupt turn to get Security-

*Getting sidetracked. Need to focus.*

He moved his empty styrofoam teacup to the right, and made sure his mouse had enough room, that there was a document on the screen.

He reached for his phone, chose one of the seven proxies available. Then another. Just to be sure.

Then, and only then, did he load the app. Since he had force-closed it last time, it had to cold-boot. The dev's name came up first.

**SIEV**
**SILK INTERNATIONAL ELECTRONICS and VIRTUALITY**

*C'mon, c'mon.* The heel of his left Oxford drummed on the floor.

For a second, he heard - he could've *sworn* he heard - someone outside his office. But they couldn't see his phone, so even if they walked in, all he had to do was play it cool.

It was a little hotter. It felt hotter. The businessman took off his jacket, draped it over the back of the chair. Sat down. Calmed himself.

As soon as the app was open, he looked for someone with open messages. Male, female, it didn't really matter. He opened thir DMs, reached under the desk with his other hand.

Took a deep breath.

Another.

He unzipped his pants. Pulled his boxers down.

Another deep breath.

He snapped the picture, sent it. Immediately logged out, force closed the app, disconnected from the internet, and slammed the phone down on the desk.

And waited for the warmth, the tingles.

The app didn't require a phone number, just an email, and it didn't store the photos locally. Even if someone could get into his phone, they would never-

His phone rang.

In his ear.

Which was strange, because he didn't remember putting the headset in. Must've forgotten.

"Yello?"

Silence on the line, and then a woman's voice. "Is that it?"

Another woman's voice. "How is he that *small*?"

They sounded kind of like the girls from *Baby Got Back*. Or maybe the *Macarena*. He could probably think of some pop culture references from the current century if he really tried, but more importantly-

He looked down, past his phone. What were they *talking* about? He was just fi-

Wait. two women, not talking to him, but *about* him. Humiliating. Passive-aggressive. His cheeks burned. He had never thought about it, that particular scenario...but- 

*Kind of hot.*

Wait, no. He needed to focus. He had left the second SIM in the phone, that was it. Hackers or something traced his number. All he had to do was-

"Look at his tie!" one woman said.

*My tie?*

He reached up, fingered his perfectly normal tie. With his dick hand. Like an idiot. Was hand sanitizer good for silk? Would it damage i-

"Just a perfectly normal tie."

"Plain ol' red."

"It's not even striped."

Contempt in the voice. "It's not even *striped*."

Well, there was nothing wrong with going simple, going with the classics *how did they know what color his tie was?*

There was nobody outside, hovering five stories up. His tie wasn't visible from the phone's camera. The smoke detect-

"Aw, how cute. He's looking for a camera."

"But that doesn't make sense."

"Right! If we knew enough about him to install a camera in his office, then we knew enough to get into his phone before he even sent the dick pic."

"The tiny dick pic."

"The tiny dick pic, right."

His phone's screen lit up. 

He nearly dropped it. *Didn't I leave it on my de-*

The phone's screen showed a contact. THE WIFEY. Their private joke.

Out of nothing and out of nowhere, there was a sort of intense pressure, right between his eyes. His stomach did the rhumba, and his palms were sweating enough to end California's water restrictions.

A short, sharp syllable exploded from him.

"You know what I hate?" said the woman. "Swearing."

"Me too. But there are times when it might be appropriate."

"You're right. You're *so* right. Like when someone's about to call your wife and tell her you're a freak."

"A flasher."

"A pervert."

Despite himself, despite everything that was on the line, something kindled in the businessman's chest.

"Pervert."

The hot feeling got hotter.

"Perv."

The contact switched to BOSSLADY.

"Pervocrat."

A certain coworker.

"Pervalicious."

HR.

"E Pervibus Unum."

When had he started panting? Like a dog. Why did it feel like his chest was on fire? Like it was spreading toward his-

Oh *no*.

"We have a winner." The woman sounded even more smug than usual.

Double knock on the door. Then the knob turned, and it swung open. By the time the colleague walked in, the businessman had both hands on the keyboard. He paused, looked up.

"We're goin' down to that bar on 5th for lunch and cocktails. You wanna come?"

The businessman grimaced. "Sorry. I gotta-" He waves his hand at the screen. "There's this proposal. Time-sensitive. You know how it is."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Rain check, then."

"Rain check."

"Let me just-" The colleague leaned in, grabbed the cup off the table. "See ya later."

"Bye."

The door clicked shut.

There was a way to fix this, whatever this was. *Turn off my phone. Zip up. Go to the little businessman's room. And-*

He reached for the waistband of his briefs with his left hand, which brushed his junk. He half-expected - well, quarter-expected - to get first degree burns.

*-hope my dick doesn't ignite before I get there.*

Something changed on his phone screen.

In his defense, the human eye is drawn to motion. Sudden changes. So it was quite natural for him to look.

There was a stock photo of an ice cube on the screen.

*Huh?*

His brow crinkled. He ran a thumb over the screen. It was remarkably cool.

The ice cube started to spin.

Faster and faster.

The image darkened, broke apart. Spread outward and inward, into-

*A spiral?*

There was a strange noise coming out of the headset. Like those binaural sounds he used to get to sleep sometimes. He needed to turn it down. He reached for the phone.

The buttons on the side did nothing. He swiped up. Nothing happened. Unless you count the voice coming in over the binaural audio, softly mocking.

"I think he's having technical issues."

He snarled "What did you *do* to my phone?"

Silence, except for the music. But it was a smug silence. A patronizing silence. He knew, he *knew*, that if he could see the girls, they'd be pointing at the camera and snickering at him.

He held the phone up to eye level, glared at it. Tapped the lock button. Still nothing. He could take the battery out, except it wasn't that kind of phone.

*Great choice, genius.*

He blinked.

His arm hurt.

His eyes hurt.

How long had he been staring at the swirl?

Hypnosis wasn't real. Not like in the cartoons. Weird noises and swirls couldn't make you do stuff.

"Not against your will," one of the women said.

"Quiet, you," the businessman said.

He...he needed to put his phone down. So he could zip up. Then he could put the phone in his pocket.

He put the phone down.

And down.

And down.

Past the desk, until it was right next to his crotch.

The anticipation in his ears was deafening. No, wait, that was his heartbeat. Not the girls.

*Am I really going to do-*

His cock rested on the screen.

He didn't actually remember putting it there. He just had his phone in his right hand, and his dick in his left. The screen was cool, where the underside rested on it.

A giggle escaped. *This is crazy. This is insane.*

*This...feels good.*

He rested his thumb on his cockhead. His breaths shallowed. He pushed down.

And the screen gave.

Not very much. It was like squeezing a bottle of bottled water, but before you opened it.

He pushed harder.

A little more. When you opened the lid for the first time, and the bottle gave under the pressure of your grip.

Harder.

Nothing.

He frowned.

*Maybe-*

He drew his cock back, and rubbed it along the smooth, flat surface. *Was that- was it moving?* He tried again. *Yes, definitely moving.*

His thumb slipped off, and hit the screen. No give, no movement. But the phone's screen was pushing in under his cock. It didn't make any sense. He didn't care. Didn't care about anything but-

Relief.

When he was little, he didn't know the difference between a Jalapeno and a bell pepper. He had been at a picnic, and bitten down, hard. There was a brief moment when he felt the funny tingle, realized something was wrong, and then something kicked him in the tongue.

Luckily, there had been a nice, cool, iced glass of soda on the table. It hadn't been his. He didn't care. And when he tried to get the coolness down his throat, there had been a blessed moment of relief, much like the one he had when his dick broke through.

At least, for a few seconds. Until he learned that soda actually made spicy food worse.

This was like that moment of relief. Except better.

The woman in his ear said "You think he walks down the street like that?"

"With the hard-on?"

"Just bulging all the time."

"Trying to hide it."

A shiver ran down the man's back. And he wriggled a little in his chair.

"I don't know, maybe he likes people staring."

"Because he's such a perv."

His wool pants squeaked against the chair in a way wool is not widely known to do. Nor did it look much like wool. Not with the way it clung to the thick handfuls of his rear.

His pants squeezed his wallet out of one pocket. His keys out of the other. He didn't even notice when they hit the floor.

The door swung open. The man looked up, as casual as you please, eyebrows raised in polite, neutral, professional interest. 

His colleague stuck his head in. "Hey, two of the guys from Legal say they want to come. Sure you're still busy?"

The businessman managed a smile. He hoped. "Nah. Got the proposal almost done, but I'm waiting on a callback."

"Can't you take it on your cell?"

"It's Tokyo, so-"

The colleague nodded. "They like the personal touch. Got it. Bye." He shut the door behind him with a click. 

The businessman waited. A minute. Two. Three. Thanked whoever was responsible for decorating the offices. For not buying glass desks.

*Right.*

*Dick in my phone.*

He pulled it out very, very slowly. It didn't seem to have fallen off. He had trouble when he reached the head. The screen didn't want to let it go, and he felt it pull at his head, like honey or glue or soap. Something sticky. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling-

And then his dick was loose. *Good.* He exhaled. *Good.*

It was coated in something. A thin layer of...something squishy. Clear. Clear-ish, a little dark. Didn't come off on his hand. *Okay.*

All he had to do was get up. Put his dick in his pants. And go to the bathroom. Simplest thing in the world.

*Get up.*

He got up.

*Put it away.*

He rested his dick on the screen. It gave a little. Like it was waiting for him.

*Go to the bathroom.*

He shoved it in.

"Think there's some kind of perv community?" the woman said.

"They probably have perv forums and stuff."

"Twitter hashtags."

"There's probably a subreddit."

Imagine, if you will, a bowl of soup in the winter. Imagine sticking your finger into it, and then pulling it out, letting it freeze. Then you stick your finger in again, and pull it out, and let it freeze again. And you run through the cycle until you have several coats of soup, and your finger is unrecognizable.

Under normal circumstances, the man might've been concerned by the slow transformation of his cock. The way whatever was on the other side of his phone's screen congealed whenever he pulled out. He might've thought about the slick, dark coating, the widening girth, the increasing length.

He might've.

If it didn't feel so *good*.

"Maybe he goes to a meeting."

"A meeting?"

"A *big* meeting."

"A *very* big meeting. Makes him sweaty. Makes his shirt feel tight."

The legs of his slacks tightened around his socks. The socks lost their pattern, their lines. 

The pants lost their creases, their softness. 

The sensible Oxfords became decidedly less sensible. Less practical. Especially with those heels. The spikes coming directly out of the middle of the foot. It would, perhaps, be possible to walk on them. With training. With pain.

Soon there wasn't much difference between the shoes and the socks, and the socks and the pants. They all became one - well, two - long limbs of dark, slick curves.

Limbs which kicked away from the desk. Spun around. The chair rolled across the floor, until he could plant his feet on the window. The heels, somehow, didn't scrape on the glass.

It took more effort to shove his dick into the screen. To get its massive girth past the edges of the frame. He was close. He was *very* close.

"How does he keep his hands off himself long enough to write the presentation? Much less give it?"

"I bet he doesn't. I bet he had to take breaks."

It was sort of like watching someone swim up from the bottom of the pool. Except the pool was slick and shiny black. and instead of a lovely woman's head breaching the water in cinematic fashion, what breaches is the white of the shirt, one triangle down each leg.

"The meeting's in that conference room down the hall."

"Room 12-16CF."

*How do they kn-*

"And what if-"

"-during that meeting-"

The belt has long become nothing but a buckle, and even that decided to flatten, to melt, to lighten, to flow down his thighs and up the length of hisdick between thrusts. It started as a straight line, but if you were there, if you paid close attention, you might've seen the text grow out of the line, like icicles melting in reverse.

**tiny**

The head of his dick was still visible. Whatever force was reshaping the businessman wanted some kind of reminder of his original form, some evidence that the creature he was becoming wasn't just some weird sex doll, or erotic prank.

"-he straightens his tie before he gets up."

If anyone had been around, they might've noticed his shirt changing. How it lost slack, drew closer to his skin, outlined every curve and muscle. Which, admittedly, wasn't much.

His tie was red. It darkened a little. Indented into the valley of his swelling chest.

His waist cinched in a few inches. Then a few inches more.

"What's the presentation about?"

"Does it matter?"

"Do they even care?"

"They're not really paying attention."

There was no seam between the black tie and his shirt, and his shirt hardly deserved the name. It was skintight. Or perhaps skin.

The vest underneath was gone. Or perhaps absorbed.

"They're all looking at him."

"They're staring."

"They know."

Every time he breathed, parts of his chest didn't...quite come back with the rest. The tie - the tie-shape - was a black strip down the middle of his chest, where the buttons had been. It ended at his stomach. There was a light spot over the navel.

"Then the boss says his presentation is nice and all, but we've heard some concerning rumors."

The businessman had a watch. It's gone now.

"And then the perv blinks and goes 'Rumors?'"

"'Yes, rumors.' The boss leans, forward, points with the frame of their glasses. 'About your...'"

"My...?"

"The boss sighs. 'Look, I'm just going to say it. We've heard your cock is tiny.'"

His chest was mostly white, like his shirt had been, except for black palms and nails. And the dark strip, of course.

Well, maybe more of a white-silver. Except it was just dark enough to see the reflected light glinting off its curves. It wrapped around the man's wrist, palm, hands. Receded a little, leaving his palm, fingerprints, and long nails a midnight black.

He didn't notice. Didn't even realize when he shifted his grip on his cock, on his phone, with his new, slimmer fingers.

"Someone else goes 'Absolutely minuscule.'"

"Probably Park. That suck-up."

"Someone else goes 'Lilliputian.'"

"And the boss goes 'There's rumors - feel free to deny it - that you send pictures of your humiliatingly tiny micropenis to complete strangers. Now, if it was me, I'd want to hide my shame. I wouldn't broadcast it.' The boss puts their hands together on the table, and then opens them. 'We'd like you to dispel those rumors.'"

"And then, of course, the pervert feels all hot. Especially in his neck."

The businessman bit his lip. Hard. Enough to break through the skin. For his lip to start leaking black.

"Pervert probably goes-" The woman's voice dropped, like a stereotypical idiot. "*'Uh, I can assure you, I would never do anything like that.'*"

*I **would** sound like that.*

"And the boss says 'Not that type of dispelling.'"

"Pervert almost reaches for his pocket, where his phone is. 'You want to see my-?'"

"Boss nods. 'Yes. We want to see your dick.'"

"Of course he doesn't want to."

"Of course."

"But the boss puts the boot down. Says if the perv doesn't show his dick he'll 'never work in this company again.'"

"'You'll never work in this *industry* again!'"

"Doesn't leave the perv much of a choice, does it?"

The businessman breathed a little harder, thrust his phone in and out a little faster.

"I think he's into it."

"Really?"

"He likes it."

"He *likes* the shame. He *likes* the hallucination."

"You mean humiliation?"

"Yes, humiliation."

"He gets off on it?"

"He *so* gets off on it."

"So..."

"So what?"

"Which would be better? For him?"

"What do you mean?"

"If he likes being humiliated..."

"Yeah?"

"Does he want to be humiliated now, or later?"

"Oh, you mean like...being humiliated because he pulled his dick out-"

"-Or the long-term humiliation from being fired."

"Because he's a pervert."

"Because he's a pervert, right. Everyone would know he's a pervert."

"He sends his resume to a company, and they go 'Isn't this that pervert?'"

"Probably have a secret pervert blacklist."

"I think that's called the sex offender registry."

"Wife files for divorce. Tells everyone she didn't know she was married to a pervert."

*Why aren't I married in this story?* thought the man. He even opened his mouth-

"But that would make them stop, wouldn't it?"

He left his mouth open, and the women went on. 

"Licked his lips, didn't notice how they were thicker."

The man licked his lips.

"So he's in the meeting..."

"Right."

"He's about to reach for his belt..."

"Right."

"So he swallows again. puts the presentation-remote-thingie down, and he goes 'Do you all want this?'"

"Everyone looks at each other, makes eye contact, kinda nods their heads."

The man's tongue spilled out of his mouth. And out, and out. It was flesh-colored near the root, like normal, faded to dark in the middle, and was tipped with white.

Also, someone had printed "**tiny**" straight down the middle, vertically.

"He bites his lip, puts one hand on his belt, and the other on his zipper."

"Probably thinking 'Am I really gonna do this?'"

"He's getting hard."

"*So* hard."

"No matter what he does, he's going to be embarrassed."

"Maybe he could ask to show it off in private?"

"He could but...he won't."

"Doesn't want to."

"Because he's a pervert."

"A freak."

"Totally gross."

The white collar rose up to just under his jawline, curved along his jaw, up the side of his head, and forward, for **tiny** branding on his temples. 

"Belt unbuckles in a second. Just leaves the button."

"I bet his hands are shaking. But not because he's afraid."

"He's totally getting off on it."

The darkness has spread from his mouth, covered his facial features, even his expensive haircut. All of that stuff was smoothed over into a vague headlike shape with vague indents, except for the big, shiny, dark lips.

"Did everyone just lean forward?"

"Is this whole thing a setup? Did they set him up so they could ruin him? Humiliate him?"

"Wait."

"Wait?"

"Wait."

"Wait? wait for wh-oh."

"Oh."

"Darn."

"Yeah."

He moaned. One last time. 

"Sorry, that's all we have time for today."

"But we left you a little souvenir."

A giggle. "And we *know* you'll never forget it."

The phone slipped off the end of his cock. The end naturally sprang up, toward the window.

And just when the phone hit the ground, he came.

Warmth.

Tingling.

And a firehose.

When it was over, when he was finished, his hands flopped off the side of the chair. He let his legs slide off the window, hit the ground, *thump*. A lazy smile spread over his face. 

Well, his lips.

"You know the funny thing?"

"What?"

"The little perv is so busy jerking off he didn't even notice what happened to his dick."

*My-?*

He blinked.

He bent over.

All the way over. Until his shoulders rested on his thighs, and he looked at his crotch upside down.

His dick was huge, and it said **tiny** on the side.
He blinked.

He...was bent double, reading his dick. No blood rushing to his head, no dizziness.

And then, quite naturally, he noticed his thighs. His legs. His feet. His hands. His chest-

*Forget my dick, what happened to **me**?*

His phone.

He grabbed it, hit selfie mode.

Tried not to scream.

His head was a smooth, dark oval. No eyes, no nose, no ears, no features at all. Except for the fat lips. And maybe-

He stuck out his tongue. It was a swirl of dark and light. Almost hypnotic.

*How am I seeing?*

From the neck to his hips, he was a pale silvery almost-white color. Mostly. The nipples on his fat tits were dark. There was also the palms of his hands, and the dark shape that went down the center of his chest and outlined his belly button, like a printed-on tie.

From the hips down, he was an expanse of dark curves, except for the white along his thights, cupping his balls, and curving into text along the length

**tiny**

and his cockhead was still human, still his original skin color

**tiny**

but still huge, grotesque. He bent over as far as he could, squeezed-

And more of that dark and light stuff glooped out, landed on the carpet.

**tiny**

The 

*(branding)*

text had an interesting pattern. If he looked close enough, he could see a pattern made up of smaller **tiny**s, and then smaller still. Smaller and 

**tiny**

smaller

**tiny**

and smalle

**tiny**

He bl

**tiny**

inked.

Something in his ear went *Bloop.* Call complete.

How long had he been staring?

Right. Didn't matter. He needed to...do something. Anything. Assess the problem. Triage. Start with the worst part.

The window was the worst part. 

They could cut hum out of the suit. It *had* to be a suit. His waist was in a corset or something, it couldn't be real.

Did he have enough napkins in his bottom-left drawer? No, no, a few paper plies from Pretzelmaker weren't gonna cut it. Anyone could come by and see him. A news chopper, a window cleaner, the door-

*The door-!*

Someone pushed the door open. 

"Hey, I got held up by Accounting, you still working on that-"

The coworker saw the massive dick, the...fluid spattered in stark white and black across the window. Sun shone through the thin spots in the gunk, gleamed off the shiny curves and points of the businessman. 

The businessman looked like the wet dream of a pervert and a nightmare for HR. Along with the cleaning lady.

The coworker's mouth dropped open.

For a long, long moment, they just looked at each other. The clock ticked on the wall. The AC kept blowing. The computer hummed. The city outside the window passed by.

The coworker cleared his throat. "What *kind* of proposal?"

#"tiny"
2021 Nequ
CC By-SA-NC
Fan stories/fanart welcome