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CHAPTER FOUR In relatively short order, the nurse had come and taken his IV out, noticing Jacob's flinching when he saw the actual needle. He dressed himself, checked out at the front desk, and headed to work with a note detailing the doctor's orders in his hand. He was late, of course, and his boss made sure to give his ass a thorough chewing for that. The light duty order went over as well as a vegan in a tribe of cannibals. More yelling, questions about what Jacob thought he actually did here? How do you get any lighter duty than cleaning toilets? Was this some sort of prank? A sick joke on God, perhaps, was what Jacob was. Once he finally got out of that conversation, he stopped and turned, asking how he was going to do his job. The answer: "We'll get you a step stool to sit on." Fair enough. So here he was, scrubbing the toilets, wincing when he moved wrong. Just a bit more pain to the same routine he had been doing every week since he started this job. Blitz Burger's dining room was a depressing, cloying mixture of beige and muted maroon. Lending the impression that a customer had just stepped back in time: To a restaurant that hadn't been painted in colors considered chic since the early 1950's. The menu, despite the name of the place, was a mash of greasy burgers, even greasier chicken, and whatever food the manager considered to be 'hot' that week. This week was deep-fried tacos with imitation crab meat. That thought by itself, let alone actually trying to put such an abomination in one's mouth, was usually enough to send people hurtling towards the toilets. Jacob's domain. In stark contrast to the ancient dining room, the bathrooms were painted more like what one would expect from a modern burger shop. A deep gem-tone sapphire with abstract geometric triangles of industrial yellow. Stone trough sinks meant to mimic streams and good old fashioned porcelain toilets with brown floor tiles. Even if it wasn't the most pleasant of color schemes, it was at least more inviting. More than once it had been joked that customers would rather spend their time in here than the main store. And that meant more work for Jacob. Which would have been fine if his job trusted him with anything other than the bathrooms. Or offered paid overtime. Or paid more than just above minimum wage. As it was, his day usually involved scrubbing the tiles, cleaning and polishing the mirrors, changing light bulbs, filling soap and paper towel dispensers, and scrubbing the stinking, oily after effects of the place's meals out of the bowls. He was elbow deep in just such a job, the disaster thick enough he wished he had a hose. Or a high pressure sprayer. Whoever the poor bastard was that did this, even Jacob hoped they weren't laying in a hospital somewhere with massive damage to their colon. He sat back on the stool and tried to breathe as little as possible through his nose. Both because of the break and the stench. His ribs were killing him, the bending killing him even with the step stool. He knew he probably should have asked for the time off, but he knew he would never get it. Besides, this was his only source of income aside from hustling, unless he dipped into his savings or somehow convinced his parents to unlock his trust fund for him. Neither choice appealed to him. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the door opening or the hesitating, stumbling steps coming towards the stall he was working in, stool pushed in as far as it would go so as to not block the path. Making it nigh invisible if one wasn't paying complete attention. The short jingle of a belt and the quick ZZT! Of a zipper being pulled were his only warning before a hot rain began to fall upon him. With a sputtered curse he stood up, reflex taking over and causing him to kick out. Only to hit the other guy in the chest and send him sprawling out of the stall and against the wall. The hazed look on his face as he tried to focus said he was more than just three sheets to the wind. As the drunk made it to his elbows, he finally got his head clear enough to register the massive form of his unintentional target. "Oh shit, hey! I didn't see ya there, man. Sorry if I scared ya." He gave a giggle, sounding a bit more crazy than just toasted. But Jacob was not amused. "Scared? You fuckin' pissed on me!" He snapped, tossing the toilet brush behind him and grabbing paper towels from the cart. He snatched some hand sanitizer as well, trying to clean himself up as best he could. "The hell you doing, comin' in here plastered off your ass anyways?" This, apparently, was a grave insult to the booze gremlin. "Me? What the hell are you doing, squattin' in a stall with the door wide open like that? Just askin' for trouble, you ask me. And why'd you have to go and kick me, anyways? I wasn't doin' you no harm!" Finally on his feet, he shoved a finger in Jacob's face. "Matter of fact, I'm makin' sure the manager hears about this!" and off he went in a flat run. Kicking the stall wall, Jacob tore off after him, only to find him already talking to the manager, having apparently run into him on the floor. He hadn't noticed in the bathroom the sharp business suit the man was wearing. He was about to tear his mane out when he was beckoned over. He made his way there, already well aware what was going to happen. "Jacob. I have just received a complaint from this guest regarding your behavior. Would you please accompany us to my office?" The pudgy badger spun on his heel and walked off without another word, obviously not expecting any argument from his employee. Off they went through the dining room, behind the front line, and into the kitchen. It was a blatant power move. The path he chose to take went right past the bulk of the staff, each and every one staring at Jacob with knowing eyes. The man, being a guest, had no way to know where the office was, or that there was a much more direct route to it. Nor would he be allowed back here without the manager anyways. Jacob, being an employee with no title, couldn't hang back or speed ahead unless he wanted to make himself worse and embarrass his boss in the process. It was a walk of shame, and he had no choice but to suffer it. And it worked, too, the horse's belly squirming with heated embarrassment as he felt a bit nauseous. The feeling only grew with each ring of his hooves on the floor following the click of the drunk's oxfords and the soft shuffle of his boss' industry standard shoes. Finally, they reached the cramped, dingy office at the back of the store and his boss invited the guest to sit. Jacob, he left standing so he wasn't able to relax as he closed the door with an ominous click. "Now as I understand the situation, sir; you say Mr. Stantz here accosted you in the restrooms without provocation? Can you walk me through that encounter one more time, please?" The smooth tone the badger used while taking his seat was too practiced, too perfect. It was the same one he used at corporate meetings to suck up to the owners, and Jacob knew it. As he pulled out a notebook and a pen, the disheveled male went into his version. "As I said,: I was in the restroom attending to my business. When suddenly your brute here grabbed me, threatened me, and then assaulted me." His voice wasn't slurred or wavering anymore, causing Jacob's eyebrows to rise in surprise. This wasn't good. The guy knew how to put on a convincing sober act. That meant trouble. Meanwhile, the badger nodded. "I see. And can you describe the threat, the attack?" He was buying it, and the words slowly appearing from his pen onto that blank page could only be one thing: A death sentence. One well dressed leg swung over the other and the other man continued. "Well. As I was at the urinal, he appeared behind me and began commenting on my manner of dress. He suggested I was only here to "flaunt my wealth". He even insinuated that I had been drinking, and entered this fine establishment while intoxicated! He said he should 'teach me a lesson'. Of course I denied such wild and insulting allegations, which seemed to only aggravate him further." There was something about the way he spoke that was tripping alarm bells in Jacob's brain. It wasn't just the ease he said the words, it was the choice of them. Something about him was nagging at the horse, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The man continued. "The next thing I knew, he had grabbed my by the shoulders and manhandled me into the stall, throwing me down. I was lucky enough to escape, but not before he managed to land a kick to my chest. And...well, shamefully I must admit that I had not finished urinating, and out of both necessity and fear, I continued as we struggled. It seems to have ended up on him. A small bit of karmic justice, I suppose." Jacob could not believe the stream of lies he was hearing. It almost put him to shame, really. He was about to protest when he was cut off by the badger once more. "I see. I can only offer my sincerest, most profuse apologies. This matter will be handled accordingly, and in the swiftest possible manner, I assure you. I will also see that you are compensated for your meal today and that you receive a free dessert. I hope this is acceptable?" The man, who Jacob had decided to call Smug McSmartass, nodded and stood up to shake the manager's hand. As he left, he flashed Jacob a smirk of supreme self-satisfaction. Which left only the badger closing the door and turning to him. Jacob took his chance to talk while also grabbing a chair. "You can't seriously believe that horseshit. Trust me, I'm an expert when it comes to knowing it. I was just cleaning the toilet when he came in and pissed all over me." With a sigh, his boss flopped back into the chair, causing it to squeal dangerously. His face was the picture of exhaustion underneath his black and white fur, eyes ringed with harsh circles and shot with red. Stress lines carving canyons around his temples and mouth. He shook his head as he interrupted yet again. "Save it. I know he was lying. But I can't keep you on either. You're fired, Stantz." "What!? You can't fire me over th-" "First off: I can fire you over whatever I damn well please! And don't try to act like I wouldn't have cause. I've got enough complaints from customers alone to fill an entire drawer of my desk. And trust me, these are some deep drawers. That's the reason you were stuck in that shitter in the first place." Jacob stopped, the amount of anger and force behind the words enough to physically push him back into his chair, stunned. Paired with the glare and the redness of the face turned to him, and his counterargument died on his tongue and slid down to become a lump in his throat. "Second, I've been giving you more chances than any half-competent manager would give even the least harmful screw-up. Your co-workers can't stand you, you walk in whenever you please acting like the lord of the manor, cock of the walk. That is, when you're not too hungover or shit-faced to stand. You even half-ass cleaning the bathrooms. All of that alone is enough to boot you out on your ass, but I felt sorry for you. I really wanted to see you succeed and turn your life around. But this has gone too far. I cannot have employee assault of a guest on this store's record. And definitely not one that goes unpunished. But the real kicker on this whole shitshow is who you did it to. That man is one of the most successful, notorious, and vicious lawyers in the city. The amount of shit I would have on my ass if he came after Blitz Burger is astronomical. And definitely not worth going up to bat for someone as ungrateful, disgraceful, and spoiled as you. So; you're gone. Don't bother finishing out shift, don't argue. Just go change, get your shit, and leave." Every word slammed into Jacob's aching skull with leaded finality. There was no room to argue even if he had still wanted to, so he did exactly as he was told. Leaving his uniform in his locker, he changed and left. Giving only the barest glance as Blitz Burger faded into the rear view mirror. His condo's door smacked heavily against the wall when he got home, slamming it shut behind him. Walking in and throwing his bag to the floor, before quickly following its path, he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. And found himself questioning how everything had gone so wrong so fast. In just three days, he had hustled one of the biggest marks of his life, managed to piss off his dealer, his landlord, a random salesman, gotten new clothes that had lead to him embarrassing himself and being mistaken for gay twice, shot down multiple times by multiple women, laughed out of Haven, gotten into a fight with an entire bar full of drunk and armed humans, been hospitalized, gotten pissed on, and now fired. His ribs sent an extra shot of pain up to his brain, as if to emphasize all that. If this was karma, as the stranger had suggested, she was on her period. He struggled to sit up, breathing as best he could as he screwed his eyes shut to fight through the pain. He was feeling raw, almost to rock bottom. He wasn't quite there yet, but he definitely needed something other than drugs or liquor to get him through this hellfest. He turned around and began crawling his way to the bedroom, towards the closet door. When his hand was on the knob, he hesitated. Was he really about to go through with this? He'd gone so long without it, he thought he was over it. Done with it. But..he couldn't deny he was feeling low enough that he couldn't come up with any better options, or any reason not to. He could feel the ball of nerves in his stomach, dry heaves appearing again as shakes of phantom cold wracked him. Mouth suddenly dry and muscles clenching almost like rigor. Even his anus clenched as his cock subconsciously started to leak, shame and fear battling need and arousal. Finally, with as deep a breath as he could manage and a gulp, he pushed himself to open the door. He made his way inside and pushed aside the pile of shit at the back to expose the wall panel. He stood up, right hand reaching to the shelf above him as his left ran over the bottom of the panel's molding. His right hand found the small black toolbox hidden on the shelf and opened it, diving inside. Papers, vials, syringes, pills...and the smooth cylinder of a barrel-lock key. This he grabbed, along with a small square of paper that he examined before going back to his task. His left hand also found it's target, said lock hidden on the molding. When he had moved in, Petyr had gone over the blueprints with his father, since Oliver was a contractor turned real-estate power turned stock market force. Petyr had mentioned that the blueprints seemed to be inaccurate, as they showed the units being much larger than they really were. Jacob had brushed off the comment at the time, until Oliver had mentioned that it could only mean the walls had been moved. That led to the discovery that certain units had large hollow spaces between the walls, with wood planks running the length, as if someone had planned to make the building a speakeasy or hideaway. Which in turn led Jacob to choose his particular unit, and secretly fashion a smaller room behind the closet. The key slid into the lock, and with a twist, the panel slid back to the pop of springs. Jacob pushed it back onto it's track and off to the left before ducking into the space and replacing the panel. Sealing himself inside his private world. Muscle memory dictated his actions in the pitch black, he knew this place as well as he did every inch of his own body. His hand found the book of matches in front of him, and when he struck one, the flaring glow revealed two tower candles on either side of a makeshift altar, with rows and rows of smaller votive all around. He lit the larger candles, then used them to light the others as he flicked the match into a bowl. More of the space was visible in the sea of soft firelight, showing off Jacob's hard work. Despite being brought up in a Christian household and attending a heavily Catholic influenced school in Texas of all places, Jacob was an atheist. He still had some spiritual leanings from those days, however, and had eventually found an idol with which to use them. When he had built this space, he had made it his own private church. He kept his eyes closed as he went through his preparations, always wanting to be fully ready before he dared lay eyes on the center of the altar. He already felt like he was desecrating it by doing this while still filthy and covered in piss, but he needed it. First, the paper was placed on his tongue to dissolve. His clothes, stripped and placed aside to let him sit bare. His hands found the bottle of aged bourbon he kept just for this ritual, pouring a glass to keep until the end. He waited until the LSD began to kick in, then finally opened his eyes to look upon the one thing on this Earth Jacob Ulysses Stantz would ever worship: The cock of Austin "Crush" Rivera. The picture that dominated the center of the altar had been one he had captured at just the right moment. It had been the night of a rager they had attended, and had crashed there afterwards. Because of his size, Austin usually had a hard time getting buzzed, let alone anywhere near drunk. But that night he had gone whole hog and somehow ended up absolutely tanked. Jacob had helped him upstairs to the room they were sharing that night, slightly less drunk but still not his usual self. They agreed that since they were teammates, they would simply strip down and sleep naked that night. At some point during the night, Jacob had woken up and went out to piss and grab a glass of water for his hangover. He had come back to find that Crush was apparently having a very good dream. At the sight of his hard cock, something inside Jacob had shifted. He fell in love, not with Crush, not with the cock, but with everything it represented. At the same time, he utterly hated himself for ever thinking of anything like that in regards to something like his teammate's cock. He wasn't gay, and he most definitely didn't want to be with Crush. It was the size. The power. That penis was a monument to strength, confidence, pride...raw masculinity. And Jacob wanted it for his own. He wanted that cock to be hanging from between his thighs. His own was impressive, but this one dwarfed it. Jacob was pretty sure Crush even dwarfed most bulls. Jacob stood at 8 inches fully erect, but Crush was at a staggering 12 with balls the size of lemons. Before he could think, Jacob had grabbed his phone and started taking pictures. His pride and joy was the one he put in the place of honor, taken at the perfect moment. Crush's dream had peaked, and as Jacob watched, the obelisk of pulsing meat had become a volcano. Cum spewing everywhere from the pointed tip, covering both of them in a heavy white glaze. The picture showed the last burst, firing into the air even as Crush's pecs, abs, and thighs were already adorned with the milky pearls and gooey splatters. It was beautiful. Of course, standing so close and slack jawed, some had landed in Jacob's mouth, the taste searing itself onto his tongue before he absentmindedly swallowed it. This shameful part of him blazing in ecstasy as it hit his belly, deciding right then and there that anything this cock or it's magnificent orbs offered would be a blessing. From then on, his journey of desperation continued. He would try to get pictures or video whenever possible, in whatever state he might find his new god. He would try to convince Crush to have threesomes with him, filming them in secret. He only had one such video that Crush had agreed to when he was at a low point, and even then he focused more on that cock and it's work than anything else. He lied to Crush after, saying he had recorded over it with one of the Central Lake highlight reels. Those pictures adorned every inch of the walls around that perfect shot, the videos held in a drawer underneath a portable disc player with a built in screen. More "relics" were scattered around the room: Some of Crush's old jocks, the cups from inside them. Shorts, a couple of pairs of underwear. All of them had held the stink of his crotch for ages, and Jacob had sniffed them regularly until it faded. There were some used condoms he had fished out of the trash, feeling his self-hate growing and burning him when he found himself sucking the cum out of them. More pictures and videos of the majesty of that cock pissing, cumming when they jerked off together. As he let the acid take him on a trip and admired his collection, he relaxed and laid back. Hand traveling down to stroke himself with slow, deliberate pulls. Each one sinking him further into the feeling and bringing out more and more colors and images. As he stared at the various pictures of his obsession, he would swear he could feel his cock growing and reshaping itself into Crush's twin. He groaned and closed his eyes again, spreading his thighs to make room for the phantom of the added size as his fingers teased the slit. The drug made pleasure harder, since it dulled the sensations and made it nigh impossible to keep an erection, but that was what drove Jacob to use it. The sensations of having that cock as his own, giving himself over to the mammoth thing, is what would make him cum harder than anything else. Instinct guided him, drove his hands to squeeze his balls, his shaft. Spread the slit and rub inside it as he used the dribbling pre as lube. The need growing, pushing his hips into motion as he started to actively fuck his hand, continuing to pump that hallucinatory glory. The weight, the smell, every detail perfect as far as Jacob's drugged mind was concerned. Washing away the pain. The humiliation. The mistakes and the weakness. With this cock, he was perfect. No one could ever make him feel bad about himself again, no one could hate him or make him feel wrong. So long as he felt like this, everyone would learn to worship him; just as he had learned. He heard himself whining, the same sound he had often heard from a bitch he was fucking, from the others he bullied. But it barely registered, it didn't matter. All that mattered was finishing, giving the beast it's due. Showing his idol that he was worthy of claiming it as his own. He deserved that redwood cock and all it represented. Him, not Austin. Not that weak, shy shit of a bull. That cock was made for someone like Jacob. Made to show the world what a real man was. And so the cycle went, occasionally pausing as the friction got to be too much, but never stopping or letting himself go entirely soft. Then a more intense round of jerking as he let himself fall into the fantasy again, washing away everything in white hot lust. By the time he got close to climax, his balls felt like they were holding back several dams worth of cum, the pressure a freight train at full speed as it exploded finally. Thick, pungent stallion seed coated everything around him as he listened to the wet plaps, muscles locked into place and a high keening sound escaping him. As best he could, he writhed and struggled through the orgasm, breath hitched and frozen into his lungs as he did. This was the payoff, this vaguely horrifying dance of ecstasy as the fire ripped through him and burned away anything he considered impure, unclean. It reignited his pride, his ego, reminded him that he was Jacob Stantz, the best there was, the man that all should aspire to be! But...the high never lasted. Seconds later he crashed just as hard, fire in his lungs as he gulped down fresh air and his muscles drew in on themselves in pain and exhaustion. The realization that he would never have that cock, that he had just cum to another man's dick. He rolled onto his side and everything broke through. He wept, no pride or ego anymore. No one to see him as his shame took over and he began to scream at himself for giving into this sick, twisted fantasy. Tears rolled down in fat drops and he let them this time, slowly fading into sleep. His heart broken and his soul scoured clean.