This was a short prompt about rapid ass expansion. Kit, a college gym goer tries a protein shake that promises to boost his glutes. As he moves through his leg day routine, his posterior chain kicks into overdrive, giving him an out of control pump that proves to be much more than he--or his gym crush--expected.
In some divine timing, I just this morning finally talked to my thiccest gym crush lol. Thanks to @futuristicscissorsbatpainter for sending the idea!
[ ass expansion ]
2210 words
+ + + + +
Kit grunted through his last set of deadlifts, enjoying the stretch and pull of his glutes and hamstrings as he fought gravity with each rep. With a relieved sigh, he let the weights crash back to the ground and followed suit, plopping down onto the bench and wincing as a tight muscle spasm went through his posterior chain. As he took a moment to breathe, he reveled in the burn throughout his lower half, yet as he turned to grab his phone and log the last set, he found himself doubled over in abdominal pain. The device clattered to the ground as his stomach gurgled and cramped, the discomfort worsened by another intense spasm from his glutes.
Need to stop working out on an empty stomach, he thought. Or maybe I’m just adjusting to whatever was in that protein shake.
He knew that rolling into the gym on nothing but preworkout and a dream was a mistake. But he was in a hurry that morning, not least because he was acutely aware of the timeframe in which his latest gym crush was usually working out. So as he was heading out the door, he grabbed a bottle from the case of protein shakes that had just arrived the day before, figuring it would have to do as some form of sustenance.
To his knowledge, they had been discontinued a few years ago with some recall or warning about adverse health effects or whatever. It was a protein supplement that promised to target glute growth, which he knew was nonsense, but with his pancake ass and skinny legs, he was in the mood to give anything a try. And when he’d found a small distributor online selling a case of them for next to nothing, he jumped on it. As he chugged most of the surprisingly thick substance on his way to the gym, he reasoned that this would be an experiment, a baseline data point to see if the supplement did anything meaningful for his tragically mediocre leg days. So far, all it promised was a progressively worsening upset stomach and an annoyingly woozy workout.
“You okay?” came a familiar voice right behind him, followed by a firm hand on his shoulder, which managed to add a horde of butterflies to his already topsy turvy belly.
Oh, fuck me, he thought, looking up to see his crush in the mirror displaying a look of concern. He’s supposed to catch me with glowing skin and perfect deadlift form, not sweaty and nauseous from some mystery product I got from a .net address.
“Oh yeah, I–I’m good,” Kit stammered. His breath hitched as the muscles of his backside seized again, but at least his stomach was calming down. “Just, uh, went too hard on legs,” he added with an unconvincing laugh.
“Nice,” his crush responded. “You’re using those tips I gave you?” he asked, referring to the moment a few weeks previous when he’d given Kit an impromptu, up close and personal tutorial on how to really get deep and hit your glutes on a barbell squat. Kit still didn’t understand how he didn’t spontaneously combust when his crush rested his hands on his hips and guided him through an entire set.
“Uh, oh, yeah!” Kit exclaimed with a little too much enthusiasm, thinking less of his squat form and more of the heavy bulge that had burned against his cheeks for ten unforgettable reps. “I think I’m seeing some gains.”
“I know I’m seeing ‘em,” he winked. “You’re gonna have to give me the leg routine one of these days.”
Kit could only reflect on the absurdity of that statement as he watched his crush walk away, eyes resting longingly on the perky bubble swishing back and forth in his tiny gym shorts. His glutes contracted again, in agreement or mockery, he couldn’t tell.
Fuck it, he thought, and decided to throw in a quick drop set to make sure he got a good pump. He sprang off the bench, fighting his light dizziness as he adjusted the weight on either side of the bar. As he moved to rerack the plates, he caught himself in the mirror, pausing at the sight of the cute buns behind him. Having started regularly working out in college, he was pleased with how his upper body was becoming decently well defined, but was constantly embarrassed by the way his posterior chain refused to put on mass. So while the perky cheeks poking in his shorts were nothing major, barely worthy of a gym thirst trap, it was more than nothing. Maybe it’s working after all, he joked with himself, imagining the protein shake being digested into peach-shaped particles and magically heading straight to his glutes.
He felt a second wind as he ended the extra set, following it up with the circuit he’d been using to really hit his posterior chain. He moved through split squats with a renewed vigor, enjoying the satisfying burn of an exercise he usually dreaded, opting to add more and more weight but somehow not getting fatigued. His stomach was still uneasy, but he was much more interested in how he felt his ass jiggle on every rep of the lying leg curl machine. His hamstrings convulsed with surprising strength, bringing the bar to slam against his butt much more forcefully than he usually managed, but his ass readily absorbed the shocks, feeling unexpectedly well padded.
The pump was becoming more and more obvious with each set, his cheeks twitching back and forth as he moved between exercises and machines. He couldn’t help but steal glances at himself posing in the mirror, even snapping a few pics when no one was looking. On the hip thrust machine, he was delighted to see the underside of his bum was noticeably plump, not even noticing how he was pushing double the weight of his heaviest sets. As he finished with a few sets of barbell good mornings, he felt downright sensual, hinging his hips back slowly with each rep, pushing the seams of his shorts to the limit. He even caught a few people stealing glances at his suddenly luscious cakes, an opportunity he refused to waste as he strutted on the treadmill for a little bit of cardio.
His leg day ran twice as long as usual because his muscles just didn’t seem to fatigue. He found himself moving through every isolation and compound movement he knew, chasing the high of the burn in his glutes and the resultant pump that just wouldn’t seem to go down. As he headed back to the locker room, he met the eyes of his crush again, who, like a number of other gymgoers, were watching his bouncing bubble butt fight for space in his too tight shorts. As he self-consciously pulled at the hems of his shorts digging into his thighs, he felt like the wagon behind him was actually throwing him off balance.
He chuckled at the idea as he pulled the shake out of his backpack and downed the rest. He was just thrilled to finally have a decent pump, he thought, but as he checked himself out in the full length mirror, his eyes bulged in shock. His ass wasn’t just pumped it was…big. Like disproportionately big. He had always wanted a bubble butt, but this was starting to look comical. He marveled at the dump truck behind him as he turned from side to side, lifting each hefty cheek in turn to make sure they were real. He shuddered with the now familiar pang of unease in his stomach and he could swear he saw his ass stretching the fabric of his shorts just a little more, the curve of his shelf slightly more pronounced, the heft in each hand just a little bit meatier, slowly spreading his fingers apart as he unconsciously kept shifting his stance to accommodate. He didn’t think it was possible to have a pump like this, especially for someone whose cheeks looked deflated on any given day. His glutes were still rounding out and inflating long after his last set. Maybe the muscles just needed to be activated in the right way? He thought. Or my workouts are finally paying off and I didn’t notice until now? Or–
“Hey, great work out there!” came that familiar, butterfly-inducing voice. “You were gettin’ it in.”
“Uh, wow, thanks,” said Kit, suddenly embarrassed to notice his crush standing a few feet away while he was lost in the sight of his voluptuous buns. “I tried this new supplement. It’s been kind of fucking up my stomach, though.”
“Oh I remember those!” his crush exclaimed, noticing the empty bottle still clutched in his hand. “I thought they were banned, right? And how’d you find some from concentrate?”
“Yeah, I found it through, um…wait, concentrate?”
His crush pointed at the label of the protein shake. Kit, brows knitted in confusion, actually read the information on the shake for the first time, noticing that it did in fact say Concentrate, followed by a guide on how to dilute the solution for all 40 servings.
“40…servings,” Kit whispered to himself, just loud enough for his crush to hear.
“Wait, did you chug that whole thing today? Dude, I need to get on your level, that’s impressive.”
“I, uh…” Kit’s stomach growled loud enough to reverberate throughout the locker room. Rivulets of sweat started running down his forehead as his belly twisted in knots. He felt a stab of cold terror as he realized that his stomach had been actively trying to process a sudden massive overload of this discontinued and dubious supplement. Goosebumps erupted across his skin, his gym shorts feeling intensely constricting as they dug into his rump, looking more and more like booty shorts as they revealed the bottom of his curvaceous cheeks. He didn’t know the side effects of taking too much or the threshold for medical intervention. But he could feel something major coming. Maybe I should throw up, he thought. Or get my stomach pumped, or– “Ughhh!” He doubled over in pain, his stomach gurgling as it processed the last of the shake and the full force of 40 servings began to work on his body.
“Hey bro, are you okay?” that firm hand on his shoulder again, drawn away quickly as if he had touched a stove.
Kit’s entire body felt white hot and electric, but he was more concerned about a sensation he hadn’t experienced before. It was sickening and exciting, his knees buckling as acute pain met rolling waves of pleasure. He could feel it this time. He could feel his ass growing. Not a pump, not the satisfying burn following a deep squat, no, he could feel his ass cheeks expanding with mass and taking up more space, flexing and twitching and growing relentlessly as they ballooned behind him. When the pinch of his shorts, now rendered into little more than bikini briefs, became unbearable, the seams finally gave way, exploding off of his derriere with a loud rip. His relief at being free of the constraining fabric was short lived, as he felt his ass continuing its growth in the cool air of the locker room, expanding outward without concern for his whimpers and gasps, finally slowing down with a few final lurches in size.
Kit turned his head with trepidation, sending a jiggle through his huge ass as he turned it slightly towards the mirror. His gym shorts were torn to shreds, strewn like an afterthought over the pair of beach ball sized buns that his previously inconsequential ass had suddenly morphed into. He rested his hands on his monumental cheeks carefully, as if he was afraid the overstuffed bubbles might pop. He was dumbfounded as he saw how small his hands looked against the expanse of his new buns. He gave it a tentative slap and watched them shake and wobble uncontrollably. He imagined his colossal cakes rippling and bouncing with every movement, as if the laws of physics were more of a set of guidelines for the planetoids now hovering behind him.
He was at a loss for words. It was embarrassing enough that his stupid impulse purchase had left him with a pants splitting pair of cheeks, but he couldn’t believe who it had happened right in front of. Kit was fraught with the sudden image of his crush trying to assist with his squat form, failing to hold on to Kit’s bulbous, juicy hips, and being smothered under his wild expanse of ass flesh. His globular globes were probably too oversized to use many of the machines in the gym, let alone squat properly. They’ll probably end up kicking me out for the inevitable property damage from these boulders, he sighed to himself. I was just about to learn his name, too.
“So,” said his crush, bringing Kit’s eyes back to meet him. To Kit’s surprise, he hadn’t run away in terror after witnessing Kit’s backside expand into a cartoonish morph. Instead, he continued to stare at the gravity defying orbs ballooning from Kit’s lower back, looking slackjawed at the mirror with a mix of hunger and awe. “Do you have any more of those shakes?”
a coach with midas touch, every good game swat on the ass makes his player’s butts grow three sizes
I'm trying to avoid doing actual work this holiday weekend so enjoy this prompt from six months ago!!
[ ass expansion // muscle growth ]
1180 words
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"Bro, you have to let us know what supplements you're on, quit gatekeeping!"
"I already gave you my leg routine the first five thousand times you asked," I said, rolling my eyes at my friend Kev's constant questioning. I pulled back as he leaned in closer amid the din of the house party, one hand on my shoulder and the other on the railing of the back porch. "It's bulking season, coach has us training...really hard."
"That much is readily apparent," he said, stumbling closer towards me and letting a hand rest on the small of my back. His fingers brushed against the elastic waistband of the loose joggers that I had quickly thrown on, opting for modesty and comfort only to realize that like every other pair of pants I owned, they were way too tight in the seat and did nothing to hide the impressive curve of my posterior. "You're captain of the wrestling team, so you have to have the fattest ass on campus, but you could at least give the rest of us some tips for getting a monster dumpy."
He wasn't totally wrong. Our small liberal arts college wasn't widely known for its athletic prowess, but the wrestling team was an anomaly. The team had been famously whipped into shape when a recent alum, Coach Barnes, came back to run things, promising results through some experimental strength training program. It seemed to me like the normal routine of squat, hip thrust, and deadlift variations espoused by any leg day enthusiast personal trainer, nothing special really, but the results did speak for themselves. We had been ranked top 10 nationally for a decade running, known off campus for holding multiple championship trophies and taking no prisoners on the mat. But on campus, we were better known for...I guess...the signature 'monster dumpy.'
Every spring, you could tell who were the new breakout stars of the wrestling team not by stats but by the overdeveloped glutes that became impossible to hide and the tree trunk legs to match. We told everyone that Coach had a gift for getting us into shape and let them believe that it was the workout routine or the heavy bulking diet, but among the team, we knew that Coach's 'gift' referred to something else. Something mysterious that we had yet to fully figure out.
Coach towered over us with a pair of massive paws for hands coated in a light dusting of fur that ran up his veiny forearms to a pair of oversized upper arms that looked like footballs threatening to rip his shirt sleeves. If we wasn't standing with his arms crossed and hands gripping his bulbous biceps, he kept them tucked into his back pockets, miraculously able to fit his meaty fingers against the hemispheres of a bubble butt that put all of ours to shame.
It was unspoken tradition not to warn the new guys, but they would notice it almost instantly during their first match. They were nervous enough heading out to the mat, but after an encouraging pat on the ass from Coach, there would be a pep in their step, a swish in their hips, and a powerful confidence that would jolt through their quads as the ref blew the whistle. If they won, which they usually did, they'd be welcomed back to the sidelines with a smattering of friendly slaps, notably from Coach himself.
When their pants didn't fit quite right afterwards, we would chalk it up to adrenaline and a healthy pump. When they were still tight at the next practice, that was just the bulk finally kicking in. When they were hitting crazy PRs during every single workout, that was just Coach's proven training method. But when they stuck it out with the team long enough to blow through the seams off every pair of shorts, slacks, joggers, and jeans they owned, they were officially one of us.
I remember ducking into practice in embarrassment after walking across campus in a borrowed pair of plaid tights that did nothing to downplay the wild jiggle of my cheeks and awkwardly explaining to Coach that all of my training gear was either too tight or in tatters. He laughed, said he would take care of it, and sent me out with some new digs, the official super stretchy slim fit practice sweats accented in our school colors. He gave me a pat on the bum and said to get changed and meet us on the floor. My ass looked huge as I checked myself out in the mirror but they were the comfiest pants I'd worn in a while. I immediately understood why the wrestling team seemed to wear these every day.
After practice, the guys let me know that that jolt of energy from Coach's firm pats on my glutes weren't just a phantom sensation that ran through my posterior chain, but something more substantial. I was part of the team and in on the secret, a shared experience that we all bonded over, even if we didn't fully understand what was going on.
Though we had our questions and suspicions, it was hard to quit the team once you were on it. Sure, we were concerned when the captain before me, Earl, had to step down for 'health reasons' and went back home to finish the semester virtually. I last saw him right after he moved out and he was struggling to fit into the drivers seat of his car. We slammed the door closed against his beach ball sized buns and hoped for the best.
When I brought it up with Coach, he said Earl 'needed a break' and that he had been 'too enthusiastic' with the training regimen, then slammed his mitts firmly against my shoulders and offered me the role. I could feel the energy crackling through them into my delts, already excited for my next workout as official team captain, already planning which of my t-shirts would soon have the sleeves cut off.
Those of us who kept with it all four years were gifted with a pair of metallic gold gym shorts with the school's logo on the back. Though they had a 5" inseam, on us they were little more than booty shorts painted across the globes of our powerful backsides. They weren't just a status symbol, but a reminder of hard work and dedication, even if I had thrown some ill fitting joggers over them before heading to this party. I could feel them straining against the heft of my disproportionate muscle butt, but at this point, I was used to it.
"...a monster dumpy?" I purred at Kev, chuckling in his face. I could feel his hand slip lower onto the upper shelf of my amazonian booty. Even through loose joggers, it was more than obvious I was on the team. I let him give one of my globular cheeks an indulgent squeeze, leaned my head against his shoulder.
"Trust me," I whispered. "You wouldn't know what to do with all this."
I don't know what to do with all this, I thought to myself, frowning as I caught my silhouette in the mirror. Not long ago I was captain of a nationally ranked wrestling team, practically a celebrity on our sleepy campus. Now I was just Earl back in my dad's basement, trying to smuggle two beach balls into some oversized work pants before I was late for the part-time contracting gig that he hooked me up with.
I was already in great shape when I started college. I had been recruited there for the wrestling team, they even gave me a scholarship. A lot of people thought I was already on it based on how nice my glutes were, but back then I was just an athletic gym rat who could easily put on lean muscle.
When you go to college and suddenly gain 30 pounds, it's not unheard of. When most of it goes straight to your ass, it's not really a concern as long as you keep bringing in awards, trophies, and the right kinds of attention. But when the growth continues and your posterior chain takes on a form that shouldn't be physically possible, the powers that be in collegiate sports end up taking an interest, and sometimes it's easier to let your star player be disqualified than try to explain that you have an ass expanding magic touch.
At least that's what we thought it was. Coach took our success seriously. We knew he cared about us and wanted to be a source of enthusiastic support, but I should've said something before it was too late. I was a break out star early on, I lived for Coach's praise, relishing his pats on the ass after every successful match and even some very productive practice bouts. We knew it was happening, even if we couldn't explain it. We knew why the wrestling team put the MAX in gluteus maximus, and honestly we loved it. It didn't matter that all we could wear were the loose practice sweats with the unusual cut that seemed to flatter our unique proportions. Or that wearing any other pants off the rack was simply out of the question. Or that we learned to always carry a backup pair of tights in case of emergency or just wear our golden gym shorts under everything. Or that some of us, myself especially, found it difficult squeezing our cakes into most desks and chairs. Some classrooms on campus kept a row of reinforced stools in the back just for us and we loved it. We were hooked.
When I made captain, Coach and I were practically joined at the hip. I felt like his protégé, basking in his attention and his grateful swats on the ass that came with every good idea or a useful critique that I offered in his office. Maybe it was the extra attention or maybe I was just predisposed to react strongly to Coach's gift, but my perky, muscular bubble butt steadily inflated into a pair of globes that defied the laws of physics, or at least that's what my teammates joked. We were all pretty stacked, but some more stacked than others, and it turned out I was especially gifted in that department. I didn't care about the longer term ramifications of the ballooning predicament behind me, I just liked being on the team.
He had given me a big bear hug as I was packing my things and getting ready to leave. I breathed in his musk one last time, could feel my lats pumping under his huge hands, then my glutes spasming as he gave me one last lazy pat. I could tell I had the best pump of my life. Now off the team and without the scholarship, I was back in my hometown finishing my last semester remotely, no longer the nationally known star player but just some contracting guy with a set of comically large bouncing buns.
I threw a shirt on and headed upstairs to the kitchen, careful to shimmy sideways through the narrow doorframe that led to the basement so I didn't have to awkwardly squeeze through. As I chowed down on a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, I couldn't help but notice my new work shirt was already getting tight. Without Coach's strict program in the gym, I was losing my (mostly) lean muscle look and enjoying a healthy layer of padding across my belly, chest, and arms. I was growing to like the new look, and hoped that being chubbier all around might downplay my gains in the back, but no luck. My ass was an even rounder, jigglier monstrosity than it had been the last time I'd seen Coach.
Oh well. I greeted my dad, who sat waiting in the truck, and swung around the back. I jumped into the truck bed and closed the gate behind me, settling on the cushion of my oversized cheeks. I'd been riding back there more often, it was just more comfortable. He promised to retrofit the seat up front so it was less awkward for me to squeeze into, but I wasn't in a hurry. Maybe I'd hit the gym after this with some work buds, send Coach of a pic of me squatting in the golden gym shorts that the guys had screen printed OVERSIZE LOAD onto the back of. Hopefully they still fit.
Story Prompt: men land on a deserted island and soon find (or don't realize that) the only food on the island causes them to grow in various ways. Coconuts grow that make their chests grow, bananas that make dick grow, etc.
This was cute and fun, and it's also giving me ideas for a growth scenario based on "Coconuts" by Kim Petras 😉
[ pec growth // dick growth // growth ]
Also on Metabods
1622 words
- - - - -
"You have to find the softest eye on top, line up the screwdriver, and..." Kal punched through the tough exterior of the tropical fruit with one swift motion, removed the tool, and tilted the coconut upside down, letting the juice pour into his waiting mouth. "Want some?" he asked, holding it out to me as an offering. "It's so fresh."
"I'm sure it is," I sighed. "But I still think we should stick to the rations until help arrives."
He rolled his eyes. "The food here is fine. Locally grown, organic, highly nutritious, you're always going on about that stuff."
"You don't think it's a little...too nutritious?" I asked. My eyes flitted down to the sizeable bulge stuffed into his mesh trunks that definitely hadn't been there when we set sail last week.
"What does that even mean?" he chuckled, causing his sun-kissed pecs to bounce with tantalizing heft.
"I don't know, it's just...something's up with this island, right? It wasn't on any of our maps, then we crashed on some random shoal, and all the plants seem...weird..."
"You're just not used to an impromptu camping in paradise situation," he said, spreading his legs as he squatted over a large rock and cracked the coconut in half, his powerful shoulders glistening in the sun. "Or fresh produce that hasn't been stored in a warehouse." His package distended the fabric of his shorts, threatening to fall out of one leg as he began scooping out the coconut flesh. "I know you're stressed, but you can't survive on those rations forever."
Ever since we found ourselves stranded on this island, I had taken it upon myself to carefully mete out what food and supplies we could salvage from the boat until help arrived. Kal, on the other hand, jumped enthusiastically into the local flavor, foraging for whatever fruits and nuts he recognized, and even experimenting with some he didn't. While I would occasionally partake in his ad hoc tropical spreads, something just seemed off about this whole situation. I tried to stick to my rations.
"We just need to survive until someone picks up our distress call," I said, reluctantly taking the handful of coconut meat that he presented to me on a large leaf. There was a strange aftertaste, some subtle note of sweetness that I couldn't quite place, but I had to admit it was delicious, just like everything here. "And besides," I continued with some trepidation, "you haven't noticed anything...weird?"
"What do you mean?" He caressed his pec absentmindedly. He hadn't worn a shirt in days, but I had to imagine that any of the muscle tees he loved so much would be straining at the seams when we got back to the mainland. Kal had been a dedicated gym rat for years, with some impressive results, but I had never seen the slabs of muscle that had suddenly appeared on his torso over the past few days.
"I mean...look at you!" I exclaimed.
That nonchalant chuckle again. "Yeah, dude, we're stuck in paradise," he said, peeling a freshly picked banana--his fourth one that afternoon--and eagerly biting into it. "We both look great!"
I glanced down at my own chest, which had also plumped up noticeably, but not to the extent of the rack that Kal was suddenly hauling around. My eyes continued to the unfamiliar bulge in my shorts, my lips twisting in worry. I had begun to notice a little more heft in my own junk, impressed by how my dick filled my hand as I furtively jerked off in some secluded spot away from camp, often thinking of Kal's increasingly disproportionate body. I had generally assumed he was decently endowed, but the wood he was sporting just that morning looked like it had to be over a foot of cock bobbing from his groin. Assuming I was still asleep, he had braced one hand against one of the coconut trees as he stroked himself with the other, grunts of pleasure mixing with grunts of frustration as his fingers struggled to meet around the girth of his soda can shaft.
"You don't think there's something up with..." I trailed off, my eyes resting on his crotch as he adjusted his bulge, guiding the length of his pipe along his waistband and out past his hip. His eyes locked onto mine as he stroked himself, biting his lip with vulnerable need. "Never mind," I muttered, as I got up and closed the space between us, my own package bouncing in my shorts as blood began to rush down south.
Though we had playfully and platonically made out plenty of times before, we had never really fooled around. But as we spent more time on this island, my lazy jack off sessions had become a necessity morning, noon, and night. The constant buzz of sexual need became another part of the ambient sound of the island, fitting in with the bird calls in the distance and waves lapping at the shore. I could only imagine what it was like for Kal, wandering off several times a day to clear the pipes, and seeming to lug around a baseline semi that never went fully soft.
So of course I wanted to help my friend out, I reminded myself as I began grinding against his crotch, a shiver of pleasure matching the heat of his monster meat. My lips met his as our ragged breath intermingled, his angry mushroom head springing up between us as we freed it from its textile prison, the combination of both of our hands and mouths necessary to tame the beast.
As the days went on, we settled into our surreal routine. Me sticking to my steadily depleting rations and occasionally partaking in the feasts of foraged foods that Kal was constantly coming up with as he explored the island. Through our new arrangement, we lost any pretense around modesty, opting to remain nude for comfort and access. And besides, it had become virtually impossible for Kal to fit his oversized bait and tackle in any of his shorts. The length of his thick pipe bounced back and forth between his knees, thrust forward by the oranges that filled his ball sack.
Though he still maintained an air of casual obliviousness, I think it was starting to get through to him that something was up. I tried to keep track of what he was harvesting and where, attempting to match it to the ongoing changes in his body. He had taken to coconuts and bananas early on, probably out of familiarity, which explained not only his new party trick of simply bending his head to suck himself off, but also why that strategy was soon negated by the ballooning muscle tits that prevented his cock from reaching his mouth with ease.
As our rations began to run out, I became increasingly dependent on the natural bounty of the island, and as our bodies continued to change, we became increasingly dependent on each other to release the unending pressure of constant, overwhelming, orgasmic need. I became intimately familiar with every contour of his comically massive baseball bat of a meat stick, wondering by what miracle I was able to take it every time, swallowing inch after inch after inch into my constantly hungry hole.
Sometimes he would complain of back spasms, leaning over with the weight of his massive balloon tits, but as we diversified our diet, he began to pack on enough muscle to compensate. We lost track of the days or even whatever baseline of normality we had had before this accidental adventure, yet as Kal began simply reaching up to pick coconuts from the shorter trees with ease and I began cracking them between my hands with moderate effort, it was starting to become apparent that even if we got rescued soon, we wouldn't be able to function in normal society ever again.
Kal seemed far less concerned about this than I did, opting to enjoy our time together while we had it. It became normal for us to playfully lap up the never ending streams of precum that drooled out of our dicks from some extradimensional endless reservoir. One lazy afternoon, on day whatever, I found myself sucking idly on his monster manhood as I rested my head on the king size pillows of his pecs. One of his huge hands tenderly caressed my ass. Lately, he couldn't keep his hands off my cheeks, and by the gush of precum that suddenly entered my mouth, he was ready for round 4 that day. I followed it up with a bite from the pile of coconut meat laying on the expanse of his chest.
"See?" he teased, "I knew you would like it."
"Well we're just about of rations from the boat," I muttered. "Except for the peaches."
"There are peaches from the boat?"
"Not anymore," I said. "I'm glad you thought to pack them before we left, they're my favorite."
"No, those are from a peach tree at the top of that overlook," he gestured to a cliff in the distance. "I didn't even know those could grow out here."
"Oh shit," I groaned, suddenly realizing why the imprints I left in the sand were starting to look like yoga balls. "This is so ridiculous. At this rate, I can't even get back into my apartment."
"We can install a garage door," he laughed, giving me an enthusiastic slap on the ass. "And if rescue never comes, I think we've got sufficient flotation devices to get back home."
"Just...shut up," I said, sighing into his juicy chest. Begrudgingly, I decided I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
Story prompt: a guy asks his ex to meet him to talk about the end of their relationship (the person who asked the date was cheated on by him and wants revenge), before asking for the meeting he cast a curse on him, every time he says the word "ego" his dick and balls will swell, the goal is to make him become a human parade balloon. ;)
If I were a better writer, I would've worked in a runaway growth scene triggered by someone blasting a mashup of Ego (Beyoncé) and Alter Ego (Doechii). Alas!
And PSA: Please try and talk things through with your significant other before resorting to chaos magic. You will be held responsible by municipal services.
Also on Metabods
1010 words
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"Look, I know endless apologizing and groveling won't make things right, but I'm here to listen and put aside my ego-ooof..."
"Hm? Your what?"
"Sorry, I'm just really...um...uncomfortable, in these--"
"I'd be uncomfortable too, trying to set aside an ego that big."
"I--aughhh--meant these pants. They're really--don't give me that look."
"Oh don't worry, everyone in the park has seen how great your legs are. You got your daily ego massage."
"That's not fair. What's that supposed to...to...mean...sorry is it hotter out here? It's hotter, right? I feel very..."
"Stuffy?"
"Stuffed. Look, I'm really trying to be present, but I have a little bit of a...situation developing."
"Yet another 'situation,' of course. My mistake to take up a whole five minutes of your time. I thought you were putting down the ego--"
"Ego, ego ego! Yes, I am, I just mean--AUGHHH!"
"Shit, are you okay?! What's...what's that sound."
"I think it's my zipper."
"Your...oh wow, that's a lot to stuff."
"It won't...stop...growing. I don't know what's going on."
"A lot more..."
"I feel like my pants are about to bur--wait, what?"
"...A lot more than I expected..."
"You've got to be kidding me. You did this didn't you?"
"It--it was just supposed to be a small hex."
"This doesn't look very small."
"I mean it was just supposed to manifest by a certain percentage when activated by the trigger word. So whenever someone says--"
"Don't."
"--ego."
"Fuck! There goes the zipper. Was the goal to get me in trouble for public indecency? My briefs don't have much longer, and they're already soaked through. Was that also part of the curse?"
"Not even a full curse! Just a hex. A small hex. I wanted to teach you a lesson and make your most prized possession reflect your ego."
"Fuck, that was a big one. These pants are done for, they're in tatters."
"You know I'm still learning spell craft. I just maybe got the order of operations wrong."
"Yeah, maybe. Jesus, this thing's huge. It's not even fully hard and it's pulling my underwear apart. Can you please pause whatever this is? I can't even wear normal clothes at this point."
"Ok, um, maybe I can fix this. I just updated my spellbook app, there should be a straightforward reversal incantation. What's the opposite of ego? Oh shit."
"Ughhhh. It's...it's so big...it's not stopping."
"Are you actually getting hard?"
"I can't help it. It feels so good. It reaches up to my lips, that's so hot. I wonder what I taste like."
"You actually found a way to flip this in your favor."
"I'm already a freak, thanks to you. Just let me enjoy this."
"It's...just...massive..."
"Maybe the biggest cock ever. And it's all mine."
"A little egotistical, don't you think?"
"Wait, please, stop!"
"Whoa, it's past your head now."
"I noticed. It's not...it's not stopping. Why is it not stopping?"
"I don't know! I didn't say ego--"
"Fuck, that was the biggest spurt yet. My dick is about to rival my entire body, we have to hide somewhere until I can get this down."
"I don't think we're going anywhere. Look at your balls."
"Why? I can't even see them. Help me up--oof!"
"Careful, careful, they're weighing you down. They're already the size of beanbag chairs."
"Please, babe, you have to reverse this. I don't think it's stopping!"
"Okay, okay, I'm checking the app and...well there may be not be an easy fix."
"Are you fucking kidding me?! You're always doing reckless shit like this. Always half assing, not thinking anything through."
"Oh so now it's about me?"
"Yes, per usual, you have successfully managed to make it about you. Congratulations, yet again."
"God, you were always so insufferable, what was I ever thinking falling in love with a massive, throbbing--"
"Do not say it--"
"Ego!"
"Oof, I'm pinned to the ground. This thing's taller than me. This is messy even by your standards. I can feel it pulsing, it feels so good, so full."
"Messy?! I think it was pretty messy to hook up with your boyfriend's coworker at the holiday party!"
"Look, please, it was just the one time, there was the mistletoe over the doorway and we were being cute--"
"You should see how cute he is now. I don't think he'll be able to fit those cheeks through a typical doorway ever again. Oh, did that turn you on? You'll drown in your own precum, it's like a broken faucet up there. Maybe your boy toy around the corner can help clean up?"
"Please, that was just a fling, I made a mistake, I thought we already worked through that."
"Or the hunk from the moving company can help ferry you around with those balls."
"C'mon, were we even exclusive at that point?"
"Actually, they might soon be bigger than his truck. Looks like you're really enjoying this, huh? I can almost hear the eruption building."
"I, I, I can't help it. It's...too much...my dick is a monstrosity, just like my actions, I think you've made your point. C'mon, it's the size of a flagpole."
"Not quite, but almost! Maybe we can rush things a bit since you keep trying to rush closure. Maybe the whole world should see the manifestation of your egocentric--"
'Wait, no!"
"Egotistical,"
"Can we please just talk about this--"
"Ego--um--ist behavior!"
"Ooo I can feel it stretching, my balls are churning they're so full. It's...it's too much, I can't think, I'm...I'm losing control."
"Now you know how it feels. Your cockhead can probably be seen across half the city, and these balls are the size of SUVs. You want to be community dick, go ahead and flood the neighborhood with jizz."
"Can't, can't move. Gonna...cum..."
"I can already hear sirens a few blocks away. And looks like some news trucks beat them to it. We're gonna put on a show. So everyone can see how big that ego really is."
don’t know if you’re taking prompts at the moment, but here’s one i thought you’d nail: a smutty influencer is recording one of those poorly acted “i can’t get my pants over my fat ass” videos, but to his disbelief and chagrin, his ass starts growing until he genuinely can’t put his pants on and it doesn’t stop there
ok so I actually love this trope!!! There's a similar one that someone sent a while ago about a streamer experiencing out of control growth induced by tips. I couldn't quite get an idea formed, but this sparked immediately. I liked doing the little backstory, I'm a big fan of coming into your own body by being playfully slutty online
2022 words
[ ass expansion // bubble butt ]
+ + + + +
[my daily struggle 😭]
For anyone casually perusing their algorithmically provided content, the Live feed of Ben in nothing but a tank top and some designer briefs would be enough to cause at least a temporary pause in someone's morning scroll. For his followers, the short, telling description at the bottom promised something much more titillating.
A few times a week, when he had a cute outfit in the works and was in the mood for a boost in attention, Ben would do a Live of him getting dressed, inviting the audience into a group conversation about the fashion choices for that day as he coyly showed off his thicc build, starting, of course, in nothing but his undergarments. This morning's bikini briefs were sponsored by a gay athleisure brand who specialized in emphasizing the curvature of the male form.
"I think these are still on sale," he said to his burgeoning audience as he turned his backside to the camera. "Y'all behave, okay?" he smirked at the camera, peering at the growing stream of comments. "Don't want to get banned from Live again," he winked. "But they make your butt look great, right?" He laughed.
The fit of the briefs really were flattering. But as thousands of viewers were coming to realize, and many more thousands of followers were already aware, Ben's butt would look great wrapped in a loose trash bag. It wasn't so much that the fabric accentuated his curves, but struggled for dear life against a pair of round melons that had stretched out, torn through, and otherwise bested all manner of menswear on and off camera. He was stacked.
Ben, for the longest time, had hated his big ass. Disproportionately large and delectably bubbly, it was the first thing you noticed about him and the last thing that stayed on your mind. His cheeks had ballooned into a massive muscle butt in his college wrestling days, making him the constant target of mockery, lust, or some mix of the two. Things only got worse through his 20s, as his comfortable nonprofit accountant job with a generous work from home policy caused him to pack on some pounds, forming a slight chubbiness that seemed to concentrate more than anywhere else in his already intimidating posterior. His otherwise athletic frame had taken on a flattering layer of padding that emphasized the curves of his musculature, none more so than in the dumptruck he was cursed with lugging around behind him.
His ass was a nuisance, if not a constant point of self-conscious frustration. It hadn't occurred to him that he might actually enjoy the attention his caked up backside drew until he started posting online. His page was mainly short slice of life videos, cute photo sets, and progress updates on creative projects for his friends and whoever else wandered into his meager following. It was never meant to be anything special, until, during a sped up video of him assembling a limited edition model kit of a decades-old giant robot anime, he forgot to fully crop the part where he got up to run to the bathroom, leaving his small viewership with an accidentally revealing angle of him in a pair of skimpy gym shorts hugging a divine peach that filled the screen for barely a second.
That was all it took for the video to go viral, followed by a spike in views for every other video in which he inadvertently flaunted his bubble butt. He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't see himself as any sort of influencer model type, especially not with the oversized wagon he was draggin'. But as comments flooded in, he decided to have fun with it, making response videos of him jokingly turning around in all manner of shorts, slacks, and jeans, racking up more views that he ever imagined. What performed better than anything else was a running gag in which he struggled to pull his pants up over his substantial glutes, frowning behind him as he comically yanked the over-stressed waistband, causing his cheeks to jiggle uncontrollably in front of the camera as they bubbled out of the fabric.
If people liked his butt, so be it, he thought. As his following grew into the thousands, then hundreds of thousands, his content coyly flashing his bodacious buns began to get more bold, more playful. He became more comfortable showing off his body, experimenting with cute dances, self-deprecating yet body positive leg day workout voiceovers, unboxings of menswear that turned into sponsorship deals, even a line designed for men with his particular disproportions, and eventually, smutty content that hinted at even smuttier paths through the link in his bio. So one lazy morning, he had some time before he had to head to the office and some conflicting outfit ideas, and decided to jump on Live and pretend to be a fashion influencer for a quick #GRWM.
"Okay, are we thinking the polo or the button down?" he asked, holding two options in front of the camera. "I've been really into collarless tops lately."
"Ain't nobody thinkin' about that shirt," he muttered aloud from the comments before bursting into laughter. "Y'all are impatient today," he teased, tossing the shirts aside. Checking that viewer numbers were sufficiently high for the main attraction, he snatched another sponsorship deal from off camera, this time from a menswear brand pushing their super stretchy business casual athletic fit slacks.
"You remember what happened last time we tried those 'super stretchy' jeans," he rolled his eyes, "but these are actually so dope. Super comfy and they fit like a glove."
His brief-clad bubble butt ballooned towards the camera as he bent over to slip into each leg. His cheeks wobbled and shook in protest as he tried to get them on, the seat of his pants slowly making its way upward. He made a show of jumping up and down, which only served to send waves of reverberation across his oversized ass. As promised, they hugged his prodigious backside like a second skin.
"These look great!" he exclaimed, turning to each side profile to see his meaty cheeks and tree trunk thighs from multiple angles. "Looks heavy," he read from the comments as he turned back to face the screen. "And getting heavier," he chuckled, playfully jutting one of his globes toward the camera.
"Soooo thicc, you can see it from the front..." he read another. He laughed it off, innocently holding his arms out as he backed away to get more of his body in frame. "It's way too early for this..." he trailed off, his eyes bulging as he noticed the curves of plum colored fabric expanding on either side of his hips. "I, um..." he stammered, his face tilted in confusion as, even though he was standing perfectly still, the globes of his ass looked like they were slowly filling more of the space behind him. An anxious twitch of his glutes brought him back to reality, his pants suddenly feeling acutely, uncomfortably tight. "...went way too hard on leg d--" he was cut off by the soft staccato of seams failing and the sudden presence of cool air across his cheeks.
"Ughhh, these barely made it thirty seconds," he groaned, turning his back to the camera to show the tattered remains of the seat of his pants, his ass bubbling out between them. Comments, tips, and rewards flooded in at the incredible sight, but Ben couldn't keep his eyes off the pair of beach balls he called an ass that was reflected back to him on camera. It wasn't just that his butt looked big (this wasn't the first fashion faux pas he'd had on camera), it looked too big. Bigger than anything that could've fit in those pants while still obeying the laws of physics. And it looked like it was getting bigger still. "I...think they sent some larger pairs!" he suddenly remembered. His gait seemed off as he strolled to the other side of the room, cheeks wobbling back and forth heavily enough to throw him off.
He kept talking about his day as he searched his closet for the backup slacks. He was thankful he remembered to clip his mic so he could fill time with his big presentation coming up at work, his latest takes on the shows he was watching, upcoming brand deals and collabs. Yet all anyone watching the Live could pay attention to were the gargantuan globes steadily ballooning from his lower back. They swallowed his briefs completely and pushed his ripped pants aside like an afterthought, the absurdity of the situation only becoming more apparent as their growth picked up speed.
"Found 'em!" Ben exclaimed. He held up a similar looking pair of plum colored stretchy slacks as he turned around and headed back to the phone mounted on his desk. "I always have them send some larger pairs just in case. You know how...it..." his jaw dropped at the sight before him. If his ass had been visible from the front, it was now undeniable. He looked awestruck as he turned to the side, unable to process the fact that his cheeks had somehow tripled in size since he'd started the Live. "What the fuck," he whispered, leaning in to read the deluge of comments, as if some random person out there might have some ideas as to how his ass had grown to a size that shouldn't be physically possible and wasn't showing signs of slowing down.
"No...it's not AI," he muttered, responding to what comments he could glimpse before they were swept away. "No, there's no filter on. I don't know what's happening, okay?!"
He felt dizzy. His composure was breaking. He grabbed the arms of his gaming chair and guided it behind him, struggling to shove himself into the seat as the chair groaned in terror. He kept adjusting and readjusting his position, grimacing as his cheeks spilled out behind him, growing more massive than anything the chair was designed to hold.
"Guys, this is serious!" he yelled, frantically typing on his laptop while keeping on eye on his phone. He felt himself starting to panic, tentatively touching his growing backside to verify that it was real, wincing every time he felt his globes lurch to an even larger size. How could this be happening. How was this possible? "No really, it's not a prank, I don't know what's--OOF!"
The chair failed catastrophically under his monumental cakes and he hit the ground with a thud loud enough to be picked up through his mic and heavy enough to knock his phone out of its mount.
The Live was still going. Now angled from the floor, viewers were treated to the sight of Ben struggling to stand, his sofa sized cheeks swishing wildly back and forth as he attempted to run out of the room, only to get stuck in the doorway, the massive bubbles of his glutes producing webs of cracks around the door frame.
Eventually he gave up and stumbled backward. As he frantically scanned the room for his phone, his cheeks were knocking things off of shelves, which only served to worsen his anxiety. He was too big, with no explanation and no means of escape. He fell to the floor as he reached for his phone. He clutched it in his hands for dear life, hoping to call for help but instead getting caught up in the sight before him.
Reflected back to him was the still active Live showing his terror struck face. He was framed by mountains of blubber buns expanding behind him. He wouldn't have been able to accept the monstrosity as his own ass if not for the feeling of his cheeks pushing against furniture and the sounds across the room of wood and plaster cracking and warping under the relentless pressure of his growing booty.
"H-help...?" his voice cracked as his ass filled the screen, dropping the room into darkness as it eclipsed the windows, leaving only the steady stream of confused and enthusiastic viewer engagement.
Idk if you're taking bimbofication requests, but I know a certain boymoding trans fem girlie who really needs it.
A kinky and perverted girl with burgeoning starter boobs a pretty big(not big enough) butt, the poor thing surrounded by medical textbooks, going to labs, doing presentations. Everything a high IQ academic should. Wasting all of those perverted thoughts and so much potential sex appeal on being... Productive 🤢
Would you kindly let m her let loose?
~Uh, I wasn't sure about keeping the cock, so the trans fem in this story has a cock. Also, I know it's not fleshed out but I enjoyed writing this!~
For the hundredth time you sat in the library, but this time was different.
As you stared bleakly as the book, the words slowly became a puzzle, you tried to focus but your head began to hurt. Redoubling your efforts, eyes squinted as all your attention went onto the book, sexual images appeared.
Startled, you flung the book away as if it was a cursed object, although scared your body reacted in the opposite. Between your thick thighs your little girl cock pulsed to life, the little thing that you refused to touch since your transition became… irresistible. Without a thought you shifted down your charcoal pleated skirt, then your thong, fingers wrapped around your peg, so happy to be touched it dribbled with translucent goop, but something was missing.
That’s right! Porn! Porn that you could goon to!
With no hesitation you grabbed your phone, playedporn out loud, and jerked till completion. The once sacred palace of study was desecrated by your act, you should’ve been embarrassed, but you wanted to share your experience and body.
-
You totally forgot about your presentation, how could you remember after your little escapade. You barged into the office room, a group of nerds sighed in relief, they should have been way more anxious.
Drool seeped from your lips, button after button popped from your blouse as your already weighted boobs expanded bigger, more rounded. “Well boys…” You slurred as your mouth felt clogged by your lips, as they looked to be bee stung.
Unclipping your skirt, you bent over, tits hugged the whiteboard smudging black ink all over them. “We’re gonna see the effects of your cocks in me…”
your 2nd person pov is always so good! could you do one for some inconvenient bimbo changes?
Inconvenient bimbo changes? What could possibly be inconvenient about turning into a big, bubbly, plastic fuckdoll bimbo?
You probably won't even notice a difference with the first few rounds of lip filler. A day or two to adjust to the swelling and you'll be fine! You might find yourself idly playing with them or casually sucking on things, but that's perfectly natural. As you keep pumping them bigger, they might start to get a little unwieldy, giving you an adorable little speech impediment. If anything, it'd make you cuter to watch the airheaded bimbo try to say big words with her big, withping wipth! If we're being totally honest, once you reach that size, you really don't have much to say that's very important, do you? Eventually, you'll reach a point where it takes concerted and constant effort to keep them closed so you'll spend most of your time with your lips parted, drooling through the keyhole gap, but is that really inconvenient? At that point, your mouth is really only good for one thing, so keeping your bee-stung, overfilled, fuckhole lips constantly lubricated would be a huge benefit!
Of course, some of that drool might wind up dripping down your chin and into your cleavage, but you could always use some lubrication there, too, right? Your huge, round tits really wouldn't be a source of inconvenience either. You'll need new bras and a new wardrobe, but you would have wanted those things anyway! Your old clothes were too drab, not nearly enough pink and not nearly enough deep necklines. Each progressive surgery means new clothes, but you could easily have an internal bra installed so that means one less thing to worry about! It's all about trade-offs. Would it be inconvenient for your boobs to be so big that you can't see past them, that you can barely reach your arms all the way around them, that constantly weigh you down and bump into things and become the entire center of your being? Maybe. Would you enjoy the attention, the gawks and stares, the looks of lust and envy of everybody you bounce past, leaving a wake of turned heads behind you? Absolutely. And the benefits of being an overinflated bimbo doll far outweigh any consequences.
One might think it inconvenient to wind up being owned, to be taken in as someone's personal blow-up doll, with all of your decisions and autonomy taken away, reduced to a singular purpose: pleasure. When you're finally there, though, I'm sure you'll have a different perspective. You'll think about how easy it is. You'll think about how wonderful to have a true purpose. You'll think about how all you have to do is sit there and let yourself be used. And that's assuming that you think at all.
Hmmph! M-maybe if I get stronger people won’t push me around!
*billy thinks to himself after another day of being a small, curvy femboy*
I’ll n-need to start lifting! That new gym opened across the way and I’ve seen so much buff people there, they’ll for sure help me out!
*billy starts walking to the new gym, seeing a very tall, muscular guy. In complete contrast to Billy’s small, curvy frame*
I.. would like a membership.
*billy says excitedly to the buff guy*
“Heh.. first day is free, then you see if you like it or not”
*billy couldn’t help but take a picture of him, his pecs were giant!*
Th-thank you! I’ll be sure to come back tomorrow for an official sign up!
*billy thinks to himself as he walks into the main area*
Was there this many buff people around town before? They all seem new..
*billy lays down on the weight bench and starts to work out, he’s never felt this pumped before about this. It feels as if his muscles are going into overdrive. His chest is burning with how much he’s done. He doesn’t notice immediately, he walks to the mirror and sees it, then hears it. A loud POP! As his buttons come flying off of his chest. Revealing massive breast like pecs*
Adore the concept for hypnotism that physically changes you. Stuck staring at spirals not noticing your cup size is increasing by the minute. Chanting mantras until your drooling over now full puffy lips, ass filling out and pussy stupidly wet. Once you come to you're near unrecognizable, but a perfect fuckdoll ready to be used for your true potential.
Guy who you know showing up to see you with huge fat fucking milk jug tits stretching out his shirt. His nipples start poking through the fabric mid way through convo, and they are not possible to ignore. Only they start leaking milk through his shirt and now you gotta fight to not get caught gawking and biting your bottom lip. While thinking about just grabbing his fat fucking milk jugs and shaking them. Sloshing who knows how many gallons of milk around and wondering how much bigger his nipples would be if you used them as stim toys for the next few hours.
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