Chapter 9: The Second Pool Party Begins
The air in Candy’s backyard didn’t just hum with bass from the speakers; it pulsed with a low, vegetative heat, thick with the smell of coconut oil, chlorine, and the sweet, musky scent of bodies that had grown beyond ordinary limits. One week after the grocery run, a new kind of normal had been cemented, and it was holding court from a custom-built throne of weather-resistant wicker and memory foam.
One week after the grocery run, a new kind of normal had been cemented, and it was holding court from a custom-built throne of weather-resistant wicker and memory foam. Candy lounged back, the structure groaning softly under her eight-foot frame, her skin emitting a soft, pearlescent glow that seemed to swallow the harsh afternoon sun. She sipped something clear and cold through a bendy straw, watching.
Below her, on a towel spread across the aching deck boards, Roxy and Lena knelt. They didn’t speak. Their bodies, still thick and heavy from the change, were nonetheless dwarfed by the reality of Candy’s new scale. Roxy, her fiery hair a stark contrast to the subdued obedience in her eyes, ran a practiced hand along Candy’s colossal calf. “The glow is different today,” Roxy murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Kinda… warmer.”
“It’s the satisfaction,” Candy said, her voice a honeyed rumble that vibrated in their chests. She wiggled the toes of her right foot, each one nearly the size of a banana. “You two are starting to get it. Real appreciation.” Lena, usually the quiet one, didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward and took Candy’s big toe into her mouth, her eyes fluttering closed not in disgust, but in a kind of focused reverence. Candy let out a contented sigh, her head lolling back against the throne. This was the order of things. This was right.
From the pool, a sound like a slab of meat hitting concrete echoed, followed by a sharp, stifled yelp. Candy’s serene smile didn’t falter. She simply turned her head, the motion lazy and omnipotent, to observe her kingdom’s other pillar.
Jimmy stood in the shallow end, the water lapping just above his kneecaps. At nine feet tall and closing in on a thousand pounds, he was less a man and more a geological formation of muscle and vascularity. The sheer mass of him displaced water in heavy, sluggish waves that sloshed over the pool’s reinforced edges. His erection, a monstrous, veined thing, curved upwards like the prow of a ship, and beneath it, his testicles, truly the size of honeydew melons, rested heavily in the chlorinated water.
He wasn’t alone. Beth and Stacey were with him. Beth, her blonde bob plastered to her skull, was trying to stay afloat near his hip, her hands skimming the granite-like surface of his quadricep as if for stability. Stacey, darker and curvier, clung to the pool’s edge a few feet away, watching Jimmy with wide, uncertain eyes. He was grinning, that vacant, sun-bleached grin that showed all his teeth.
“C’mon, Bethy,” Jimmy boomed, his voice shredding the humid air. “You said you wanted a ride last week. During the mojito thing.” He shifted, sending another mini-tidal wave across the pool. “Get on.”
“Jimmy, I can’t…” Beth stammered, her eyes darting from his face to the intimidating girth of his shoulders. “I can’t climb up there. The physics don’t…”
“Physics,” Jimmy snorted, the sound like a bus letting out its air brakes. He reached down, his hand engulfing her entire torso. His fingers wrapped around her ribcage, thumb pressing into the swell of her breast. He lifted her from the water as if she were made of balsa wood, her legs kicking feebly. “I am physics now, babe.” He plopped her unceremoniously onto the broad shelf of his right shoulder. She squealed, clutching at his neck, her legs dangling over the dense mound of his pectoral muscle. From her perch, she looked like a child sitting on a statue.
Candy watched, sipping her drink. Lena was now gently nibbling the arch of her foot, and Candy absently ran her fingers through Roxy’s red hair. “He’s so direct,” Candy mused, not with jealousy, but with the cool analysis of a curator. “No subtlety. Just… application.”
Roxy followed her gaze, a complex twist in her gut. She remembered her own defiance, how it had evaporated under the relentless, pleasurable pressure of the change. “He’s gonna break her,” Roxy whispered, more to herself.
“He might,” Candy agreed, her tone light. “But she’ll heal. You all heal so fast now. And she wanted to be close to the power, didn’t she?” She scratched Roxy’s scalp, and Roxy leaned into the touch despite herself.
In the pool, Jimmy began to move. He took slow, earth-shaking steps through the water, Beth bouncing and jostling on his shoulder with each stride. She was crying, little gasping sobs of disorientation and fear, but also something else—a raw, electrifying awe at the sheer, unstoppable force beneath her. “See?” Jimmy yelled to no one and everyone. “Scenic tour! Best seat in the house!” He reached up with his other hand and patted Beth’s ass, the smack echoing. She flinched, then moaned, her head dropping against his neck.
His vacant blue eyes then landed on Stacey, still clinging to the edge. “You’re lookin’ lonely, Stace.” He waded over, the water churning. “Holding up the wall. That’s not party behavior.” Before she could protest, his free hand—the one not steadying Beth—dipped below the surface. He slid it between Stacey and the pool wall, his fingers finding the small of her back, then lower, cupping the full, heavy curve of her backside. He lifted her, too, peeling her from the tile like a piece of fruit.
“Jimmy, no, please—” Stacey started.
“Shhh,” he whispered, his breath hot and damp against her ear. He brought her close, pressing her body against the slick, hot wall of his side. He held her there, pinned, her feet dangling in the water. “Just be a floatie. A sexy, little floatie.” He moved his hand, groping, kneading the flesh of her ass with a kind of idle, possessive curiosity. Stacey went rigid, then limp, her face buried against his lat muscle. Her shoulders shook.
Candy observed all of this from her throne. A warm, golden feeling spread through her chest, brighter than the glow on her skin. This was the view. This was control. Not the frantic, anxious possession of before, trying to police Jimmy’s eyes, but this calm, absolute dominion. They were all here, in her yard, because of her. They were all changing, because of her. And he, her magnificent, destructive engine of id, was putting on a show for her, even if he was too dumb to realize it.
“Tiffany,” Candy called out, her voice cutting through the scene without raising. “My shoulders feel tight. From the growth spurt.”
Tiffany, who had been sitting quietly on a reinforced lounger, applying more sunscreen to her own amplified curves, immediately stood. She walked over, her steps careful on the groaning deck. Without a word, she climbed onto the throne behind Candy, settling her knees on the wide wicker arms. Her hands, slick with coconut oil, began to knead the impossible, corded muscles of Candy’s trapezius. The scent of tropical vacation bloomed in the air.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Candy purred, her eyes sliding back to the pool. The sensory overload was divine: the skilled pressure on her shoulders, the wet, warm suction on her toes, the gentle tug on her scalp, and the spectacle before her.
Jimmy had now combined his toys. He’d placed Beth down in the water, standing her before him, and pulled Stacey around to his front. He held Stacey under her arms, her back to his chest, her body suspended. He used her. He used her like a living, breathing scrub-brush, sliding her plush, soap-slicked body over his own mountainous torso, over the ridges of his abs, across the vast expanse of his chest. Stacey’s head lolled, her eyes glazed, a continuous, low whimper escaping her lips. Beth, waist-deep in water, was crying openly, but her hands were on Jimmy’s thighs, steadying herself, as if she needed to touch him too.
“He doesn’t see them as people at all anymore, does he?” Roxy mumbled against Candy’s ankle, the realization a cold stone in her stomach that somehow felt feverishly hot.
“People are boring,” Candy replied, her voice thick with pleasure. “People have opinions. People say no. This is better. They’re… functions. Beautiful, loyal functions.” She arched her back into Tiffany’s massage, a soft groan escaping her pouty lips. “And you, my dear first follower, are my hands. And Lena is my mouth. And they are his… playthings.”
The sounds from the pool grew wetter, louder. Jimmy was getting more creative, more careless. A sharp cry cut the air—Stacey’s—as he adjusted his grip, his fingers digging in too hard. Candy didn’t flinch. She watched as Jimmy lifted Stacey again, bringing her close to his face, murmuring something they couldn’t hear. Stacey nodded, frantically, her hands coming up to frame his jaw in a pathetic mimicry of a lover’s caress.
The afternoon sun baked down on the surreal tableau. The ice sculpture mermaid in the kitchen had long since melted, but a new one existed here: a living, breathing, panting monument to appetite and devotion. Candy felt a flicker of that original magic—not the chaotic burst from the first party, but a focused, humming current running through her own swollen veins, connecting her to the kneeling women, to the sobbing ones in the water, even to Jimmy’s brutish, simplified soul. She was the source. The plug in the socket.
She shifted on her throne, causing Lena to release her foot with a soft, wet pop. “Roxy,” Candy said, her tone leaving no room for anything but compliance. “My drink is empty. Be a darling.”
Roxy pulled back, her lips slick. She looked up at Candy’s face, bathed in its otherworldly light, then over at the pool where her friends were being used as living bath accessories. The conflict that had been simmering in her since the first change finally evaporated, burned away by the sheer, non-negotiable reality of Candy’s presence. A strange peace, heavy and deep, settled in its place.
“Yeah, okay,” Roxy said, her raspy voice flat. She pushed herself up, her own generous body feeling small and grounded. She took the empty glass from Candy’s giant, graceful hand. Their fingers brushed, and a jolt of that warm, golden energy shot up Roxy’s arm. She walked towards the kitchen, her gait a slow, accepting waddle.
Candy returned her full attention to the pool. Jimmy had Stacey pressed against the pool wall now, his body hemming her in, his hips moving in a slow, grinding rhythm against her. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back in simple, animal pleasure. Beth was hugging his leg underwater, her face pressed against his knee, her body shuddering.
Candy smiled. It was a serene, boundless smile. She had everything she’d ever wanted, just in a shape she’d never dared to imagine. The worship at her feet was quiet, adoring. The chaos in her pool was loud, obedient. And the next party, she already knew, would need a bigger guest list.