Hard as a Rock

Decker tugged against the restraints. He was bound to a pedestal in the middle of a garden he had tried to steal from; suffice to say he failed. He had been told it would be an easy job. Take a fistful of flowers from a rich man who wouldn’t notice he was short a few roses. There would be no victim, and anyone bothered by the absence of a couple flowers was probably not worth worrying about. He felt stupid now. It took the owner of the garden seconds to knock him flat and render him unconscious. The last thing he remembered before his world faded to black was the smell of gasoline and smoke.

“Wakey wakey cat boy,” the owner of the garden stood in front of Decker, wearing nothing but a shiny black G-string. In the dark of night Decker had presumed the man was wearing a tight bodysuit against his skin. In the daytime, he could see now that he was under the watchful gaze of a borderline nudist. His muscles were obscenely huge, and full looking. Not vascular, or carved in the way you would expect a bodybuilder to be; he was overblown like an inflatable mascot. The sort of thing you would see at a used car dealership, or a bad parade. Stitched, cut, and pumped full of helium to be a parody of muscularity. He grinned toothily and flexed his fingers, drawing attention to his thick white gloves.

“What am I going to do with you?” He twirled his moustache. In the same way he was muscular, without having true to life muscles, he looked like a dog, but no specific species came to mind. He had little pointed ears, a powerful snout, and little beady eyes like a cartoon. When Decker thought the word ‘cartoon’ to himself, his synapses fired on all fronts, and everything made sense.

“You’re a toon,” Decker said. He looked around and saw that everything had a faint outline to it. A black border to contain the colour of the objects and people within. He looked up and saw the sun was a yellow disc with little points that rotated clockwise. The clouds were too simplistic to be real, and a handful of flying machines darted in absurd patterns that couldn’t be replicated with actual planes. The most telling sign that he had crossed into the toon world was the way the buildings leaned, or had faces, something he had also missed in the dark. He was starting to question his natural ability to see in the dark. But it was the toon world, things didn’t have to make sense here; they only had to be entertaining.

“Yup. You can call me Boss. That’s my name, my title, my profession. Saves a bunch of money on business cards,” he grabbed Decker’s chin and examined thoroughly. “You’re a chunky one, aren’t you?” He gave Decker’s stomach a slap with his free hand. Decker suddenly realized he was naked, excluding a G-string identical to the one Boss sported. “I could pump you up, use you for ad space. Been needing a new blimpy boy ever since my last one went and popped himself. That’s the problem with those shut-ins with the expansion kinks, always so eager to go boom or go too big. He’ll be out for another month...”

“Or you could let me go,” Decker hissed, defiant. He was never good with taking orders. Being chained to a pedestal while a brutish cartoon monologued in his face, it triggered his fighting instincts. He was a tiger, and tigers were proud. That was usually his downfall. He wasn’t a habitual thief, but someone kept goading him, saying he couldn’t do it; saying he didn’t have any feline grace because of his weight. He had a wide, fat belly and his thighs were too powerful for most underwear, that was true. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be agile, although this probably wasn’t the best time to boast.

“You have a fire in you, kitty cat.” Boss waddled over to a nearby bush, replete with the flowers Decker had tried to steal. They were a lurid shade of green with black stems. Boss picked one and crushed it. A pulpy black liquid dripped from his glove. “You know what these do?”

“Just tell me and get it over with,” Decker sighed.

Boss laughed. It was a throaty smoker laugh, deep enough to make something in Decker rumble. He felt the black ooze slap against the ivory fur of his bare stomach. Boss just grinned at him, as the ooze spread across his stomach, encroaching on his teal patterned fur, and made him feel tingly all over. Despite the immediate cooling effect it had on impact, a heady warmth was making it hard for Decker to form coherent thought. He tried to string a sentence together but all he could manage was a mess of vowels. When he looked up, ready to shoot the muscular parade float another defiant glare, two green and black vortexes stared back where his eyes should be.

“Relax,” Boss commanded. Decker grit his teeth and arched his back, he tried to resist, but an invisible force held his eyelids in place. He was forced to stare deeper into the swirls, losing his train of thought. He tried to think of something which could help him out of the situation, but his mind was blank and growing wobbly. Like pudding. The black ooze had coated his entire stomach and worked to coat his broad chest, slipping over his nipples and eliciting a soft moan from his lips.

“That’s a good kitty,” Boss rubbed Decker’s chin. He purred. Why was he purring? He wanted to escape, to get away from this beast. If he could just get one paw free, he could flick a claw at the dog and probably puncture him. Deflate his muscles, and run away. Deflate those big, wide, cartoon muscles. So overblown and shiny, he would have to push so hard to make a dent. He would have to embrace them, sensually and lovingly. Like a good kitty.

Boss crushed another flower and dripped it over Decker’s limbs. The goop hardened whenever it covered a section of the teal tiger’s body. Whenever the stiffened black material finished its transformation, it was hard as stone. Almost as hard as his cock. Which ached, packed tightly into the G-string, now bulging obscenely like a latex balloon underneath the curve of his hardened belly. As the immobilization spread, Decker realized something. The stiffness of his body was like the stiffness in his crotch.

He moaned, softly. Mewling while the black goo covered his mouth and spread over his eyes. If immobility was the price to pay for the permanency of feeling this way. Like a cock at the apex of arousal, rigid and ready to erupt. Then he would submit to it, fully.

Boss laughed. “Ah, there we go.” He ran a hand over the shiny black marble which had the likeness of a tiger. The bulge had swelled bigger than he was expecting, but it didn’t ruin the overall composition of his new art piece. “What a beautiful statue, I can’t wait to show you off to the neighbours.” He grinned. “Now I just need to decide if I want to make you a water feature, or if I just want you sitting pretty like a kitty in the centre.”

Boss stomped inside his mansion, ready to give attention to one of his less defiant subs.

When the wind blew across the tiger statue’s mouth, a moan filled the air.