Chris | 33 | they/them I write smutty, kinky, gay TF and fantasy stories. I love hearing from people, feel free to chat! email: [email protected] 🦋: bodybeyond.bsky.social Hope you enjoy! NSFW | 18+
Here's some sort of guide that I promise to keep updated. I really enjoy getting people's feedback, questions, and ideas, so feel free to shoot me a message or email [email protected]
😘
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Short prompts
Casual writing practice. Feel free to submit!
A college gym goer tries a protein shake that's supposed to boost his glutes, but during his leg routine his intense pump rapidly becomes much more than he can handle. 2.22.2026
A caked up influencer's comical struggle with pants becomes all too real when his ass starts to expand to impossible proportions. 2.15.2026
A magic hot tub at a resort that promises you the 'body of your dreams.' 12.6.2025
A college wrestling coach causes his players' asses to grow every time he gives them a pat on the butt. 11.30.2025
Two men are stranded on an island and begin to suspect that the local fruit (coconuts, bananas, etc) may be causing changes in their bodies. 11.27.2025
It's allergy season, and Ryan's dick seems to grow with every sneeze. Shrinking in height is only making things worse. 4.7.2025
A love of protein brownies results in far more mass than expected. 3.12.2025
A l'il coffee shop dick growth poem. 3.6.2025
There's an ass expanding medical mystery hitting men across the city. Most cases are supposed to be mild. This one isn't. 1.24.2025
Witchy gays at the beach have a little too much fun with body mod magic and end up wreaking havoc. 12.9.2024
Someone hexes their ex to cause literal "Ego" based dick growth. 12.1.2024
A new brand of jockstrap starts producing bubble butts of ridiculous proportions. 11.28.2024
A tailor enchants a pair of pants for a friend and causes out of control ass expansion. 11.27.2024
Until recently, Myron was oblivious to the fact that dicks would get mysteriously bigger the longer someone hung out with him. He begins putting the pieces together as his boss, Miguel, and roommate, Ty, start going through all too familiar changes below the belt.
A magic boombox in a dance studio causes random changes to unsuspecting victims.
Ass Expansion | Dick Growth | Self Suck
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Rapid Expansion Mechanism
1 | 2 (updated 12.30.24)
Amir signs up for an experimental sleep study to make some extra cash, then starts having strange dreams about people around him growing wildly out of control. He's not all that concerned, but he should be.
Ass Expansion | Dick Growth | Huge Cock
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Just Ignore It
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 (updated 4.22.24)
David is teaching a course on identifying and managing magical anomalies, and begins to suspect there may be a reality-warper in class. Largely because everyone's butt looks too good to believe. One thing leads to another and it's a full blown horny supernatural mystery.
Ass Expansion | Dick Growth | Height | Huge Cock | Hyper Cock | Macro | Muscle Growth
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Gifted
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (updated 4.14.24)
Matt, who has a mysterious power to change the male physique, starts dealing with a cascade of voluntary and involuntary changes to those around him.
Ass Expansion | Dick Growth | Growth | Height | Hyper Cock
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Growth Notes
Omar | Trevor | Sky (updated 1.9.24)
A growth/macro series of short one-offs and vignettes told through the perspective of a therapist. Don't really need to be read in order.
Ass Expansion | Dick Growth | Growth | Height | Hyper Cock | Macro
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Star Player
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (updated 6.11.23)
Marc, a former college soccer star and now casual local league player, gets a booty building workout supplement from his best friend to train for an upcoming exhibition match. The side effects are more than either of them expect.
Ass Expansion | Dick Growth | Muscle Growth
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nice ass, bro
1 | 2 (updated 7.9.22)
Dylan finds an ironic text baseball cap in the mail one morning which seems to fulfill the booty dreams of whoever's (un)fortunate enough to look at it...
After Myron's growth spurt, Miguel takes him to his tailor for a wardrobe update. Late for work, and still pent up from their recent activities, Miguel finds a surprise piece of Myron's clothing in his bag, and just like Ty, he faces explosive consequences.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 (Previous) | 9 (Next)
Also on Metabods
male TF // growth // dick growth // pec growth // bubble butt // nsfw
4908 words
(I was inspired to play around with some pec growth by this ask a little while back. It was fun!)
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“Do these make my butt look big?”
I struggled for words. “I think we left ‘big’ behind a long time ago,” I said, watching Myron check himself out in the dressing room stall, clad in a pair of chinos with a cartoonishly oversized waist that still managed to strain against his cartoonishly oversized butt cheeks. His curvy form being reproduced three times in the tri-fold mirror lent itself to a funhouse effect, as if he could step out and instantly return to the sensible, pert bubble he once had. Not that I would ever want that to happen. Having his already ridiculous monster booty inflate in real time while I was inside him was one of the greatest things that’s ever happened to me personally. It took everything in my power to extricate myself from between those cheeks this morning and my dick jumped against its triple security confines at the thought of once again getting to bury my face in that posterior. I knew I was an ass man but even this was beyond my wildest dreams. I was addicted.
Myron wore his stretchiest–and really only–option out of the house, a pair of plaid leggings that didn’t so much hug his curves as fight for dear life against the beach ball buns spilling out of the waistband more and more with each step. He tied a light hoodie around his waist to at least hide the top of his pink bikini briefs, though it didn’t do much to mitigate his ass from being on display. He even had a minor struggle fitting into my car, adjusting and readjusting the passenger seat to accommodate his long legs, tree trunk thighs, and voluptuous bottom. Another potential problem to solve.
“I’m seeing a lot of elastic waistbands in your future,” said Val, studying Myron’s physique with a scientific eye. Val had been my go to tailor for years, long before these changes had made it nigh impossible to shop for pants at a normal department store. She ran what she called a ‘gender expansive menswear experience,’ always looked the definition of dapper, and specialized in catering to a plethora of unique body types. She was also very down to give us some special attention on this slow morning after I explained Myron’s situation. “Oh I love a challenge!” she had exclaimed over the phone.
And Myron was a challenge she jumped to as soon as we walked in. As he suffered through a stack of ill-fitting slacks, jeans, trunks, and at least one asymmetrical short skirt that worked surprisingly well, she vocalized an ongoing calculus of fabric amounts, hip to waist ratios, and design patterns that might emphasize or de-emphasize his wild proportions. She was in the zone, whipping around her tape measure with a professional flair and handling Myron’s body with a gentle, open intimacy that he seemed like he grew to appreciate.
As we left the store, with not exactly success, but at least some options–and a set of new tailoring projects for Val to dig into–I noticed more confidence in his walk. I couldn’t tell if it was the awkwardness of his sudden growth spurt or the weight of open stares from onlookers, but he had seemed deeply self conscious on our way in that was thankfully fading on our way out. Between his wildly upsized lower body and my freakish bulge, we were both letting go of the luxury of blending in. We held hands and rolled with it.
We got back to his place with just enough time to make some coffee and get me into some professional clothes before running off to the office. I had barely shut the door before Myron spun around and planted his hands on the wall on either side of my head, looking hungrily down at me. It was weird seeing him from this new angle, his gentle, inquisitive gaze falling over me like a protective cloak. I was already liking this new dynamic. “Thanks again,” he said, and leaned down for an indulgent kiss.
“It’s the least I could do with all the trouble I’ve caused,” I said, then returned the favor and pressed my lips against his. My hands rested on his hips like they were always meant to be there. I caressed the expanse of one ass cheek, still marveling at its sheer size, while he cupped one of my pecs and gave it a hearty squeeze. I moaned, louder than I meant to. They were so sensitive lately, and felt uncomfortable in my shirt. “But,” reluctantly breaking the kiss, “We’re both late for work. You want coffee?”
He waddled off in mock dejection as I slipped into his room to get dressed. I had a few versatile options stashed away in his wardrobe. Did my clothes really occupy an entire drawer? When did that happen? I was already running late, so I arranged something basic and reasonably business casual, though all my shirts felt a little tighter than I usually liked. I guess I wasn’t the only one making some gains in the gym.
By the time I returned to the kitchen to get beans grinding and the kettle on, Myron had whipped off everything except for his bikini briefs and proceeded to station himself at his standing desk and boot up his laptop. I envied whatever work from home contract gig he had most recently stumbled into and his resultant freedom from spending the rest of the day with multiple layers of constrictive fabric. But really my eyes rested longingly on the briefs stretched tight against his prodigious ass, my dick jumping in my sweats as he hinged his hips back and rested on his elbows.
“Just coffee?” he asked. “You’re not hungry?” We locked eyes and he gave his ass just enough of a shake to set off a tremor of jiggling cheek.
“...Well I’m already late.”
—
I moseyed into my office already dreaming of the next time I would have the privilege of eating the juiciest peach on the planet. I settled onto my exercise ball and opened my email, seeing if anything was on fire in my absence.
A lazy knock on the door was followed by the shaggy auburn mane of Wes peeking in.
“Missed you earlier,” he said, with that easy smile.
“Right, you were washing today! Yeah, I had kind of an emergency with my…” What were Myron and I? I don't think we'd had a chance to discuss it yet. “... with my, um–”
“Oh dude, don't worry about that,” he laughed. “That's not why I'm here. I actually just need your old key to the maintenance rooms in the basement. I'm updating the locks. I don't know if you saw my email.”
There it was on my screen, fourth from the top. I was one of the lucky few to be trusted with maintenance access, a responsibility I held sacred and never actually used.
“Of course, yeah yeah yeah,” I said, digging through my bag and pulling out not a key but a pair of very familiar crumpled underwear. I shoved them into a drawer before Wes could notice. How did those get in there? I continued digging until I finally produced the item in question.
“Thanks man.” He grabbed the key and gave me a fist bump. His knuckle tatts spelled out R-E-A-L. I wondered what the other hand said. “I'll, uh, see you out there,” he said, glancing towards the windows, then winked and slipped out the door.
These days, my dick turns into a faucet at the slightest hint of arousal, which truth be told is effectively all the time, so I usually pack a backup or two of my specially-fitted underwear to slip into so I don’t end up awkwardly cleaning precum off my desk chair. But I guess with all the weirdness that morning, I had accidentally grabbed Myron’s used briefs from yesterday’s incident at the gym. Which was weird because I didn’t remember rooting around in his hamper for this specific piece of clothing.
Just like I didn’t remember pulling them back out of my desk drawer and holding them just close enough to my face to catch a whiff of Myron’s compelling musk. Ty really did have a point, I couldn’t help but admit. My face had just been buried in Myron’s ass, but there was something magnetic about these residual pheromones. My dick jumped in anticipation.
Too early for this, I thought. I dropped his drawls in the bottom drawer, the one full of miscellaneous files with the janky handle, and closed it with finality, resolving to get through the rest of the day without distraction. I only had my one outfit to last me through the rest of the workday, and I wasn’t in the mood to sneak out with my pants soaked in my homemade lube (again). The realization that I missed my usual ‘appointment’ with Wes came with the realization that after all the festivities last night and this morning, I still hadn't cum. As much as I enjoyed servicing Myron and the Giant Peach, I was pent up, and so used to my exhibitionist dynamic with Wes that I felt I couldn't clear the pipes unless he was out there washing the windows. I had missed that opportunity. My balls began to churn with overproduction, frustrated at being teased multiple times in the past twelve hours with no relief. My dick felt heavy. Heavier than usual.
My whole body felt pressurized. My crotch had grown hot and constricted, but my shirt had followed suit. It felt so tight across my chest, my extra sensitive nipples delighting in the increased friction. I got up to stretch and clear my hand, pacing around my office and taking in the view of the surrounding high rises reflecting a clear sky belied by herds of thunderclouds rolling across the landscape miles away. I looked down to check my phone and instead saw that I had Myron’s underwear twirling between my fingers, just inches from my nose. When had I pulled these out of the drawer? But I turned around to see it apparently untouched. I unconsciously brought them closer to my face. They had a scent that was magnetic and threatened to occupy all my sensory attention. I breathed deep, indulging in the smell of him, warmth resonating across my body as I fantasized about the next time I could bury my face between those cheeks.
I know. I should've seen this coming.
I was jolted back to reality by a short, staccato knock on the door. Not fully closed by my last visitor, it drifted open to allow Josh, our comms specialist, to lean in with one quick motion into a scene, not of me working at my desk, but meandering around my office with my nose in his former co-worker’s panties. In the half second I had available, I snatched them from my face, and, with no other immediate options, shoved them into my pants.
“The intern workshop is starting now, almost out of donuts,” he said with a wink. Intern workshop was an out of date misnomer from when Josh first started with us and was mistakenly referred to as the intern far too often. Largely because of a youthful, eager demeanor and the crime of being chronically online. Occasionally, we start our all-team meetings early with a social media, marketing, and PR update from him. He tells us what's trending that month and I bring my basket full memes that I need explained. I had forgotten that this was one of those days and relented at his insistence that I tag along with him to the conference room, following him into the hall with Myron’s briefs hidden in my pants, a light tingle beginning to spread across my groin.
Hindsight. 20/20.
“Dude,” he continued in the hallway. “You've got to tell me your routine, your chest is looking great. Wish I could fit a workout in before work.”
“Oh, I didn't make it to–” I self-consciously grabbed my right pec, “--the gym this morning…” It felt noticeably juicier. Like I had a good pump. A great pump.
I dutifully followed Josh's perky bottom to the conference room, eyes fixed on the swish of his hips in his fitted pants. Everyone in the office had an oddly nice ass, for reasons unknown to anyone but obvious for me, but Josh's tight, perfectly round posterior was always a sight to behold, and always showcased in expertly tailored pants that fit like a glove on his short, svelte frame. I've always wondered if he also frequented Val's doorstep.
Everyone was already settled in the conference room (they were out of donuts), and I grabbed the last seat around the table, toward the back, right near the door. Josh did his thing about the latest social media strategy and I tried to maintain some semblance of professional decorum, keeping my gaze on the slides on screen and not just the bubble butt flitting back and forth at the front of the room. But I was still pent up, my balls churning with stronger intensity and my dick feeling heavier and heavier in my pants, not like it was getting hard but just gaining a deeper, stronger presence. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, leaning forward and hinging my hips back to provide more space along my leg. My midsection began to cramp as the tingle in my crotch turned into a generalized heat. My chest felt packed against my shirt, my nipples sending little shocks of pleasure with the slightest movements against the fabric. I felt overstimulated, hit by a full body malaise with an undercurrent of sticky sweet pleasure.
Then it clicked. I had seen the clip of Ty's latest growth spurt and got to witness Myron’s incident up close and personal. My heart pounded with the realization that Myron’s powerful pheromones were likely incubating in the warmth between my thighs. I began to have anxious visions of what that meant, of what could happen in the chaos of having an episode in the middle of the office. I imagined myself bursting out of my clothes, my chair collapsing under me, the table being flipped by the force of a superhuman monster cock.
The cramps got stronger as I became increasingly hot and uncomfortable in my own skin, fighting against every item of clothing constricting my body. I tried to wait it out, think peaceful thoughts, hold myself energetically together. I thought I could psychically wrestle my dick into stasis until the meeting ended and I could triage the situation. But what is Bruce Banner to the Hulk?
My dick lurched. Didn't get harder, just took up a bit more space. I bit down angrily on my pen to keep from letting out a moan as I felt, vividly, the head sliding against the fabric of the pouch. My pants felt like they were shrinking around my crotch. My body was so uncomfortably hot, eliciting shivers down my spine and along my limbs. And why was my shirt so tight?
But Josh was rolling with his presentation (and that ass was keeping me enthralled). I reasoned that I could at least relieve some pressure for the time being. I reached up and undid the first button at my collar as casually as possible, only to find the second locked in place by the pull of the fabric. When did this shirt become so small?? I awkwardly finagled it while trying to put on my best active listener face, but right when I was finally about to succeed, it was simply gone. The relief from a slight decrease in pressure along my chest mixed with terror as I saw the button sail across the room and land in someone's coffee.
I froze. Josh froze. Miraculously, no one else noticed. He continued with his presentation and I resolved to form an escape as quickly as possible. My mind was filled with visions of what had happened to Ty and Myron, and as hot as it is to see someone grow in real time, this situation truly was not safe for work. Something serious was brewing, and by the pressure building in my balls, it was going to be messy. I had to find a bathroom or risk a scandal.
I carefully closed my laptop, mentally rehearsing my graceful exit in which I stand up, surreptitiously cover my bulge with my computer, and moonwalk out of there to take care of business. As I rose to my feet, I came to the chilling realization that I had underestimated the sheer size of the appendage distending my pants, hurrying to cover as much as possible with my modestly sized laptop, but not before Josh’s eyes locked on.
“So I really think this target audience could make for a good pipeline to…um…a pipeline…a pipe…” he stammered, on the verge of speaking in tongues as his eyes widened in disbelief, coming dangerously close to bringing the attention of the rest of the conference room to my predicament.
“You’re doing great!” I exclaimed, cutting him off and turning smoothly toward the exit. “Can’t wait to discuss implementing all of this, soon as I get back.”
I sped through the door and down the hallway, stopping abruptly at the makeshift signs printed and taped to the bathroom doors. “Out of order,” I whispered, anxiety spiking as the crotch of my pants bulged outward a little more.
Downstairs! I thought. The single stalls on the ground floor materialized in my mind. I whipped around to find the elevators and slipped through the doors with my laptop still awkwardly situated in front of my overpacked crotch. To my dismay, a gaggle of interns scrambled on one floor below. I squeezed as far as I could into the back corner, and pressed my laptop against the furious bulge that was steadily becoming impossible to hide. It had to be at least five degrees warmer in there from the heat radiating off my overexcited dick. It lurched again. My hair stood on edge, pecs strained against my shirt as I fought back a moan of arousal and dismay.
By the time they got off on the ground floor, I was too terrified to move, convinced that the slightest increase in friction could send me over the edge.
“You heading back up?” asked Larry, the bright eyed receptionist who appeared from around the doorframe.
“No, I, uh, need to go check something downstairs,” I lied. “We’ve been having some electrical hiccups in the office.”
“Oh that’s the worst,” he said, holding his hand against the elevator door frame as he continued to recount the building’s litany of outages and anomalies. He was effectively holding me hostage.
“Oooof,” I whispered as my dick surged forward yet again. I was heading towards a nuclear meltdown.
“Right, right, duty calls,” he said, finally relinquishing his hold and letting the doors close in front of him.
I nearly collapsed out of blessed solitude. I let one hand drift down to investigate the area, eliciting a groan of shock and pleasure. My dick felt big. I mean yes, it’s painfully obvious to myself and the general public that I’m packing something serious down there. But it felt bigger than it should. Bigger than it felt less than an hour ago. Like it was echoing the essence of bigness on some metaphysical plane, gathering energy around it across multiple dimensions to emerge like Godzilla from the ocean and lay waste to the–
What the fuck am I talking about? My blood circulation must be cut off. I needed to get out of those pants. The slow drop of the elevator seemed to go on and on, what felt like far beyond the actual height of the building. The walls were closing in, the metal box shrinking around me as it fell through space, the seams of my shirt straining against my chest as what felt like every bit of fabric shrunk with it.
The elevator doors opened on the brutalist liminal space of the basement. I was pretty sure there was a bathroom down here, likely one significantly, dearly private. The only person I knew of who had any reason to be down here was–
“Wes!” I exclaimed at the cloud of auburn hair that popped up seemingly out of nowhere, toolbox in hand.
“Funny running into you here,” he beamed, giving the scruff on his chin a scratch. “Welcome to my office!” He splayed his arms wide, gesturing warmly to the concrete and fluorescent lights.
“Happy to be here,” I managed, attempting a gracious smile as the beads of sweat on my forehead hinted at the crisis at hand.
“Where you headed?” He asked, sidling next to me and hovering one finger over the number pad.
“Look, Wes, I actually need to run to the bathroom, the ones upstairs were all–”
“Out of order, yeah. Whole building is. It’s the issue with the plumbing, did you read the rest of my email? Folks have been heading to the coffee shop next door, I think.”
“Aughh,” I whispered, bracing a hand against the wall. My dick lurched again. Angry and boiling hot, it was all I could think about. That and the feeling of my shirt having somehow shrunk several sizes too small. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe. I barely string words together. My nipples perked up in response to a cool sensation. I looked down to see two wet spots spreading slowly. Fuck, my chest was swollen, what was going on? I looked like I had the greatest pump of my life. What usually could pass for decently toned pecs were starting to resemble disproportionately juicy slabs of muscle. I could’ve sworn they were inflating slightly with each breath, each involuntarily twitch of muscle. But I didn’t have time to speculate further as my abs contracted hard and I doubled over in pain.
I wasn’t going to make it to the coffee shop. I wasn’t going to make it to the useless basement bathroom. I wasn’t going to make it off this elevator.
“Yeah, sorry dude. If it’s an emergency, maybe I can–oh…”
“It’s…it’s too late,” I eked out as my dick lurched even farther down my leg, the sound of stitches popping filling the space of Wes’s stunned silence and my heavy breathing. My shirt grew tighter and tighter with every heartbeat. I felt air against my midsection as it slowly revealed my treasure trail, heard the slow tearing of seams along my shoulders, the periodic ping of buttons flying off and hitting the metal walls. I gripped the door frame with inhuman force. “It’s happening.”
“Wh-what’s happening?” Wes had grown visibly concerned. “What can I do?”
“I can’t…hold it…” my face a contortion of pleasure and pain.
“Can’t hold what?? Should I call someone, or do something, or…” He stepped closer, his eyes entranced by the dark circles against my shirt. My pecs had swollen so large they were blocking the view of the baseball bat tearing apart the stitches of my pants. He held out his hands in support. “Maybe if I just–”
“Wait, don’t–” My head lolled back as the pressure along my leg finally became too much to bear and was suddenly replaced with lovely, catastrophic release. The seams gave way and my ungodly beast was freed from its cage, swinging up in a diagonal and catching Wes’s cheek with a mean left hook. He spun around like a ragdoll, landing unceremoniously against the wall.
My prodigious cock, furious and rock hard, bobbed in front of me at a distance that was hard to make sense of. I stared down in terror at a pipe that extended at least a few feet into the air, still managing a slight upward tilt despite its weight. It was too girthy to wrap both hands around. I felt my heart pounding through the massive vein that ran along the shaft. I briefly forgot about Wes lying unconscious on the floor as I gazed in shock at the tree trunk growing from my groin. With one final, monumental shudder, with the last dregs of my mental capacity, I wondered, Did I beat Ty? And came like a firehose.
The force of the first two blasts were enough to knock me off balance, my knees buckling as I fell on my ass. My hands gripped either side of my shaft as if I had any ability to mitigate the cum cannon bucking wildly from my crotch. I painted the ceiling as every muscle fiber of my body worked in unison to fire off each volley of jizz. I was dimly aware that my muscle tits jiggled with more and more heft as my body shook with every shot. I could feel the mass of them expanding across my torso, my sensitive nipples rubbing against what was left of my shirt before that too fell to tatters against my growing muscle tits. But I was gone in a deluge of orgasmic bliss, my brain burned hollow as some untapped reservoir of sexual energy sprung forth. As I lost any sort of mental coherence, I felt like my corporeal form might simply disintegrate into the pool of cum forming around me. I was moaning in sweet release and unrelenting ejaculation.
Countless ropes of cum painted the walls until my never ending orgasm finally let me go, and I collapsed next to Wes. After a minute, he came to, and turned to me with a dreamy smile on his face.
“Can we do that again?” He asked.
The elevator doors opened. And there was Josh.
—
“Hey Miguel, I was looking for…you…” he drifted off, taking in the scene. Me, sweaty and kneeling in my tattered pants, holding Wes’s shoulders to prop him up against the wall with what looked like a black eye on the way. I mused internally about how I should’ve reviewed the office first aid training materials for the exact protocol for a penis exploding so suddenly in size that it accidentally causes a potential concussion. I made a mental note to schedule a training for the entire office soon.
“Shit, uh, just wait outside for a sec?” I asked, putting on my best everything-is-totally-fine smile. It didn’t work.
“Woah, what happened?” asked Josh incredulously. “Were you attacked? What is this on the floor? What is…that…” He seemed to be mentally connecting the dots as he gazed horror struck at the semi-hard, adrenaline fueled dick resting on the floor between my legs.
I could hear footsteps and voices approaching. We’re back on the ground floor! Without any other recourse, I pulled him into the elevator and started smashing the button for the basement. The doors closed just in time.
“I'm so fired, I'm so unbelievably fired, no one has ever been more fired,” I said, my fingertips pressing into my temples as if I could telepathically will all of this away as a weird, horny dream. I began to rock back and forth until I was halted by a firm clasp against my bicep. I looked up to see Wes's meaty forearm, his sparkling green and gold eyes.
“Deep breath,” he said firmly. “In…” His eyes fluttered closed then looked into mine, imploring me to follow. I took a tentative breath in through my nose. “And hold.” He held. “And out.” I sighed through my mouth until my lungs felt deflated. “OK, again, you too,” he glances at Josh, who looked less terrified and more uncomfortable about the faux pas of stumbling into this intimate moment. “In.” Josh took large gulps through his mouth, chest heaving up. “And hold…and out. We'll work on your technique.”
He turned back to me. “I’ve seen weirder things, man. We'll get it sorted. And you,” looking pointedly at Josh, “can't tell anyone about this. Scout's honor.”
“H-hell yeah,” he said, flourishing an awkward salute. “Anything for the Window Wanker.”
“Did you just come up with that?” Wes chuckled. “That’s good.” Josh looked on in mild confusion.
“The last thing I need right now is a nickname, but we can workshop it,” I offered, trying to make light of the situation.
“No, it's just that…” his brows furrowed. “That's you, right? Window Wanker. Online.”
My spidey senses tingled. My hair stood on edge.
“What do you mean ‘online?'” Wes inquired, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Like, it's one of my favorite accounts,” said Josh. “I usually don't go for fake hidden camera scenario type stuff, but I've been hooked.” He perked up in enthusiasm. “The fact that from across the street, you can see how huge that monster is…” His utterance of monster was barely a whisper as his eyes turned to the up close monster laying between my legs. “Respectfully,” he added with a shy smile.
“Across the street…” I repeated, just as Wes said “...fake hidden camera…”
“I mean,” Josh continued, “I could tell you were packing for a while, I have no idea how no one else is talking about it. But I didn't know you were Double W.”
“Okay,” I blurted, wincing at the hitch in my voice and letting the elevator settle into a heavy silence, interrupted by the steady smack of globs of cum falling from the ceiling. “Okay. I need to know all about this now.”
The gang takes a field trip to the Marshlands to study the artifact that Blake brought in. As they get closer, David loses even more control over his reality warping imagination, and things get weird. Then they get weirder.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 (Previous) | 6 (Next)
Also on Metabods
MaleTF // Ass Expansion // Dick Growth // Growth // Macro // Suggestion // nsfw
5573 words
Author note: I was reflecting on how this series was originally supposed to end with part 2, but then @alias-miniature shared some words of encouragement and here we are. I think I wrote the climax of this chapter while I was still playing around with part 3, I've just been spending months finding excuses to wax poetic about some wobbly spacetime nonsense lol.
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“Ooo are we taking the Mystery Machine?” I asked, voice echoing off the concrete pillars of the parking garage.
“We really don’t need to call it that,” said Armand. He pushed a utility cart laden with equipment as he led our group towards a row of old vehicles that the Center for Supernatural Sciences had acquired used, offhand, or through some nefarious means over the years, the most recent of which being a blue and green SUV well suited for group field trips off the beaten path. The obvious nickname being to me–and most everyone else in my opinion–the Mystery Machine.
“But we are taking it,” Lee confirmed.
Armand opened the hatchback, revealing a spacious interior already pre-prepped for our little adventure. The entire second row had been removed, as well as all but one seat in the back. Packs of what looked like hiking supplies, snacks, and a cooler were arranged on the floor toward the front, leaving an open space just large enough for our pallet full of magical gizmos. Without thinking, I squatted down and picked it up, sliding it neatly into place.
“What?” I asked, noticing Armand’s stare. “Does it not go there?” I quickly remembered that lifting the entire pallet of whimsical yet heavy duty tools and gadgets like a sack of potatoes was not a normal thing that someone was supposed to be able to do. Even someone with my physique. I’d been having some hiccups in getting used to my new strength, evidenced by the similarly incredulous stares that morning as I was casually outpacing rush hour traffic on my bike to work.
“We’ll fill you in,” said Lee, patting Armand on the shoulder as he strolled past us to lounge in the lone third row seat, elegantly stretching his legs across the extra space.
Armand sighed in resignation, hopping into the driver's seat as I plopped down into the passenger. “We’re meeting Blake at the site in the Marshlands, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”
—
The Mystery Machine headed east along the interstate through the dignified gray hinterlands patiently awaiting a snow fall. Handing Lee the aux cord wasn’t the best idea, but at least he was trying to match the mood of the early winter landscape in between bubble gum pop hits, a welcome respite from Armand’s request for a locally produced, surprisingly dull, occult news podcast that he kept up with for “research.” I fell into the flow of rolling hills and stands of denuded trees, unable to fully drift off due to the magnetic tug coming from the back of the car.
I hadn’t gotten solid details about the artifact that Blake had brought in, and that we were now transporting back to where it came from. Admittedly, I had still been in a haze of post-coital bliss when Lee filled me in on the situation, more interested in the sight of him maneuvering his girthy snake back into his pants than the words that had been coming out of his mouth. But I got the gist.
The artifact had come from the Marshlands, but not from the Marshlands, so to speak. According to Blake, it had been sitting in a perfectly circular clearing on a patch of higher ground, waiting there long enough to become half buried in humus and partially coated in a fuzzy moss.
“Waiting is the important word here,” said Lee. “That’s how Blake mentioned it multiple times. Like it was waiting to be found.”
“But it hadn’t been there long?” I asked, pulling a backup pair of leggings out of a desk drawer after having torn my original pair like tissue paper trying to get them to cooperate with my glutes.
“Relatively speaking, no. We can’t quite pinpoint when it appeared there, but we don’t think it was placed by human hands. The physical and metaphysical signatures point to somewhere other than the Marshlands. Somewhere else. It was causing disturbances in the cleanroom that we hadn’t seen before.”
“Like how the sigils changed color?”
“Yeah. They turned into a lightshow after you left, you should’ve seen it.”
The actual artifact appeared to be some sort of device. A copper colored sphere about the size of a soccer ball, that felt like unglazed clay to the touch and was much heavier than it had any right to be. Patterns of some inscrutable design were inlaid across its surface in flowing lines of gold, teal and lavender that seemed to glow with their own passive light.
“We took a 3D scan and sent it over to archives to see if they had any reference to decode it,” said Lee. “But Logan said every time he opens the file it looks slightly different on his monitor. His tech can only figure it out partially, but never enough to crack the code. You remember Logan, right?”
“How could I forget,” I said with obvious sarcasm, looking forward to catching up with the archivist who inadvertently started all this mess.
“He thinks the only way to figure it out is to conduct experiments with it on site. He’s supposed to be out there with Blake, preparing the area. ”
That can’t be good, I thought, but reminded myself that it wasn’t all Logan’s fault. It’s not like he was planning on becoming the conduit for some ancient horny trickster deity, or was even trained to effectively deal with that scenario. This sort of thing was part of my job and even I was slowly crumbling under the pressure of Synt’s unrelenting power. It’s a miracle Logan lasted as long as he did. Sometimes it felt like the boundaries of my corporeal form were becoming thinner and thinner, my perception of mundane reality slowly beginning to fade into Synt’s casually multidimensional experience.
—
As we approached the Marshlands, the barriers between worlds began to blur even further. My senses kept expanding in weird directions in physical space and other space, the passing landscape enlivened with echoes and resonances of nearby timelines bumping up against our own. I could feel the artifact in the back of the Mystery Machine more strongly, but the blunt magnetic tug was slowly resolving into something more nuanced. Like a complex rhythm underneath Lee’s playlist, overlapping patterns of subsonic vibes that manifested in my head as the shifting glow of the lines across the sphere. As the mental image came together in increasing sharpness, the ball opened–not mechanically, but through some sort of phase change, its solid surface shifting into–
The van shuddered to a halt, bringing me back to reality as Armand turned the engine off. We had come off the interstate onto some county road and stopped at a nondescript gas station with no other vehicles in sight. Without the flow of the rolling highway landscape to distract me, I could almost taste how fuzzy reality was out here. There were whorls and eddies of chaotic possibility that were almost as iridescent as the puddles on the ground. Maybe it was something about the geography, maybe I was spending too much time in close proximity to the artifact, maybe the outlines of my form that identified me as a discrete being in this world were being erased from the inside out. Maybe all of the above. Regardless, I tried to tamp down the flutter of worry that sprung up in my stomach, shifting into the conspicuous ‘just act normal’ affect of someone who’s just realized they’ve misjudged an edible.
Armand chatted briefly with the station attendant, who seemed unable to decide if it was less rude to gawk at the anaconda running around Armand’s left hip or the sight of Lee stretching his arms up and towering over the SUV. He relented, keeping his attention pointedly directed at the task of filling up the tank. Armand headed inside to scope out snacks, a slight wobble in his gait as he maneuvered his dick into a more comfortable position, while Lee wandered off a little to admire the scenery and stretch his legs.
Without the distraction of my companions, and unwilling to try and settle back into a nap, I twisted around to rummage through the snack cooler, tossing the dried fruit and trail mix aside to snatch up the family size bag of some obscure brand of cheese puffs. The complex notes coming from the artifact (that seemingly no one else could hear) had settled into background noise, piquing my attention as they became slightly discordant, building in what felt like anticipation. As I angled myself back up, I paused, catching the gaze of the station attendant through the open rear window. He looked awestruck, and with one leg splayed across the driver's seat and my amazonian ass perched in the air, I could figure out why.
“I, uh, sorry,” he said, looking distraught as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the sight of my supernaturally round butt cheeks. He was adorable as he blushed, still biting into his lower lip.
“It’s cool,” I chuckled. “Cheese puffs?” I opened the bag of bright orange corn products, offering them in his direction.
“I’m good,” he said. “I’m trying to stop eating those. Pretty sure they’re going straight to my hips.”
He had this look on his face like he was surprised he even said that, which just added to how cute his visible embarrassment was. But as the words left his lips, the notes from the artifact began to crescendo ever so slightly, harmonizing with that all too familiar feeling of Synt’s power emerging into this realm, the anticipation building.
Oh, I thought. I see. It almost felt as if this scenario had been written for us, and with the wobbliness of my current perception of linear time, it was a little more clear that it kind of had. The notes had been laid out and all we had to do was hit them. So I already knew what to expect as I said my next line, “Then you must eat these all the time.”
And there it was. His stance shifted slightly as we settled into a timeline in which he had already had a bubble butt juicy enough to see from the front.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a problem,” he said with a nervous laugh, one hand resting on the shelf of his ass while the other moved the gas pump back into place. “Honestly, I was about to ask you for advice. Hard to find pants that fit my…shape, out here in the boonies.”
And it was obvious why. His khakis looked painted on, straining against the melons that ballooned from his lower back. I could practically hear the stitches screaming in terror from the dreaded cheese puffs that had been the downfall of so many of their predecessors, as if sheer proximity to the artificially flavored snack dust in the air risked pushing his bubble butt to a level of catastrophic stress, until–
I caught a glimpse of his cakes seeming to expand, not through the usual flipbook of timelines, but physically in ‘real’ time, growing bigger and rounder before my very eyes. He took notice too, turning his torso just in time to see the seat of his pants completely give way, falling apart as his ass cheeks expanded into open air, clad in only a pair of pink and white striped bikini briefs that barely covered the top of his shelf.
“Ah shit!” he exclaimed, trying and failing to pull the fabric back together over an ass that actually was bigger than it had been thirty seconds ago. “I think I’ve got some backups in my locker. Have a good one!”
“Oh, no problem,” I offered, watching the globes of his butt cheeks swish back and forth as he power walked back inside, mildly apologetic in the knowledge that whatever replacement pants he already had would bear the exact same fate.
That time, it had felt so familiar, yet slightly different. The nuances of Synt’s power were so much clearer out here, like I could taste the full complexity of the flavor profile, but with that, the barriers between their world and this one were much more porous. Or maybe I was just better at reading the cracks, tunnels, and pathways. Out here, it was more apparent that the mental, physical, and metaphysical coordination of vocal speech was just a way to channel short bursts of magic from one side of the divide to the other. And without the usual solidity of the barriers between worlds, maybe the unchecked power of imagination could slip through just as easily.
“That you?” asked Lee, who had apparently strolled back to the van just in time to see the attendant’s comically large ass split his pants wide open, letting his hand grab a handful of cheese puffs as he also indulged in the sight of the attendant’s purposeful stride back to the convenience store.
“Yup,” I muttered. “Be careful with those, I heard they go straight to your hips.” I had been joking, but was also genuinely concerned that I may have inadvertently cast a spell on this exact brand of junk food that was now creating bubble butted men across its distribution range. I made a mental note to look into that right after all the other magical calamities spawning off around me.
—
The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, encouraged by the fact that Armand had somehow gained control of the aux cord and was dragging us through an audiobook about spectral informatics that he was already half way into. I was still crammed up front, dutifully pretending to be asleep but actually fighting every urge not to phase accidentally out of the car. I shuddered with metaphysical tension, the weight of my cosmic companion eroding away any solid grasp on reality.
Lee, with his boundless patience and grace, humored his lab partner, asking lazy yet helpful questions while he lounged in the back, dinner plate size hands still dwarfed by the firehose bulge that he stroked absentmindedly. He looked like he could stretch to fill the entire length of the Mystery Machine if we wanted to, like he could indulgently take up more space as easily as yawning. The harmonics of the artifact sitting resolutely next to him seemed to resonate with his lithe form, and in my partial consciousness I couldn’t help but imagine his body slipping into semi-liquidity with the notes, stretching slightly with the rhythm but each time not quite returning all the way to where it began. He could really become the embodiment of grace if he wanted. If I wanted. As county roads turned to back roads and we passed the vine covered “Marshlands State Park” sign, the trees in the landscape seemed to stretch up with similar ease, yawning in the breeze. I imagined Lee strolling through the forest, towering over us as he stretched with them.
I could no longer keep up a convincing facade of unconsciousness as the van turned off the small forest road onto a poorly maintained gravel path that led to a patch of dirt currently occupied by a shiny new park ranger truck. Armand pulled up next to it as Lee and I scanned the area for our collaborators, seeing only a path through the trees that led down to an expanse of shallow water.
As I stepped out of the van, the satisfying crack of my back and shoulders preceded an indulgent yawn, breath sparkling in the crisp air as I took in our surroundings. My moment of idyll was interrupted by a surprised grunt as Lee whacked his head against the top of the passenger door, stumbling with a brief moment of uncharacteristic clumsiness. I quickly realized why as he rose to his full height, which was itself a full foot taller than it had been just a few hours before. He looked down at himself in mild confusion, which transitioned to a painful wince as, with a staccato of popping sounds, the threads of his shoes failed and his feet burst through, toes and heels spilling out from both ends.
“C’mon man,” Lee said, realization dawning in my direction. “Those were size nineteen.” His look of annoyance melted into one of mild worry. “You sure you’re holding it together?” he asked, coming in to pat my shoulder but jerking back at a sharp bolt of static shock.
“Just barely,” I said.
“Looks like someone had a growth spurt!” exclaimed Blake, who seemed to emerge out of nowhere as he walked up toward us.
“Speak for yourself,” Lee muttered, gazing down at him suspiciously.
Blake, once again, looked noticeably bigger than we had last seen him. His ranger uniform was pushed to the limit, inflated biceps and quads straining his sleeves and shorts. I got the sense that having his shirt unbuttoned down to his nipples wasn’t just an aesthetic choice, but the result of a struggle lost against his massive pecs. His muscle butt ballooned behind him, cheeks bouncing back and forth as he unloaded gear from the truck bed.
“He is getting bigger,” came a voice way too suddenly in our vicinity.
Lee reared back with an overdramatic flourish before finally noticing Logan standing several feet away, practically swimming in a pair of oversized waders.
“How?” I asked. “Because it’s definitely not me,” and shot a defensive glance at Lee.
“I, well–” said Logan.
“Maybe he met super dick,” quipped Armand, looking overly busy organizing equipment, as if to emphasize the fact that the rest of us were just standing around.
“No, I don’t think so, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about–”
“Do you think they’re each other’s type?” Lee asked with a look of genuine interest.
“There have been some developments with–”
“Let’s not get lost in the imaginary meet cute,” I said. “We’re here on magical nonsense business. We’re in the field. We’re setting up equipment. We’re wearing field gear. Logan’s wearing…waders for some reason.”
“...with the…well they’re–”
“The only thing that fits?” offered Armand with uncharacteristic sincerity. I guess as the two local monster dick twinks, they’ve exchanged fashion tips here and there. They looked extremely roomy, yet somehow still distended from the pressure of his prodigious wang, which looked like it had gone through some aftershocks of growth after his fateful visit to my office.
“Well it’s just that we’re taking the–”
“Airboat!” I exclaimed, suddenly noticing the watercraft parked off a short pier just down the hill. “We’re taking an airboat? You drive an airboat?” I asked, with no hint of even trying to cover my surprise.
“I pilot an airboat,” Blake corrected with an upbeat smile, his tree trunk quads swelling with muscle as he walked up toward us. “The wet season keeps lasting longer and longer, so unless you wanna wade over there…”
“That why Logan’s dressed to catch a catfish by hand?” asked Lee.
“Well these are the only gear that fit,” said Logan, as if suddenly remembering he was there.
Ah ha, I thought. “So you’re driving us to that…island.”
“I’m piloting you to the island,” said Blake, not so much to me as to the stand of cypress trees in the distance, his gaze lingering for a few seconds as the rest of us relented and shifted to the task of hauling the gear down to the airboat.
As I unloaded the apparatus from the van, prepared to repeat my feat of strength from that morning, I noticed it was significantly lighter. Still heavy, I imagined, by normal human standards, but easy enough to lug down to the boat with minimal strain, earning me an appreciative whoop and generous slap on the butt from Blake. Did I somehow get stronger or was the artifact behaving in some new, strange way?
The airboat looked like one of the big tourist-carrying models that had apparently been repurposed for the parks service. The residue of the old logo of some defunct swamp tour company still visible around the parks logo and info placed on top. The name, Swamp Hag, remained the same, still legible amid the wear and rust. Most of the rows of seating along the flat bottom hull had been removed in favor of storage space, now filled with all of our stuff, leaving us cozied up in the two rows at the back.
The whine of the engine was quickly outmatched by the roar of the propeller, overbearing even through earplugs, as Blake started us up and began ferrying us to the island in the distance. We cruised over golden brown fields of late season wetland grasses, passing clumps of cattails bursting with fluffy seed heads. I glanced up to see Blake behind and above us in the pilot seat, eyes locked intently ahead towards our destination, left hand nimbly controlling the rudder stick.
Seated in the middle, I was directly below him and positioned between his meaty quads. He always seemed to be on the verge of bursting out of his pants these days, which wasn’t helped by the massive pipe creeping slowly down his right leg, leaving dark spots of precum and even pulsing with an occasional lurch further and increase in girth. I couldn’t tell if that was just my imagination, but I wasn’t in any position to let my imagination wander, exemplified by the fact that the moon, visible in the daytime sky, seemed to keep switching between stationary object and figure-eight analemma. But with the neverending drone of the propeller, I needed a distraction, and couldn’t help but let Synt’s power slip out just a little, envisioning what might happen if that prodigious bulge–
A piercing, subsonic feedback ran through my skull as I had the distinct feeling of two of the same magnetic poles brought too close together. As the pain subsided, I glanced up again to see Blake smile down, give me a conspiratorial wink, and return to the task at hand.
I decided to deal with that later as we pulled up to the island and began carrying things through the wall of cypress trees towards the interior. Vegetation was dense, but a winding footpath had been carved in previous visits, aided by the fact that much of the underbrush had died back. The trees seemed to whisper among themselves in some conversation that we weren’t a part of but were fine to listen in on, the low lying sounds of the forest becoming more complex until we stepped into the relative silence of a moss-covered clearing in the middle.
“This is where you found it?” asked Armand, eyes scanning the ground for any clues or disturbances. “It looks…untouched.”
“It’s where it found us,” Blake joked in a tone that wasn’t especially humorous. “And yeah, it just sort of appeared. Right there in the middle.”
Armand and Lee set to work setting up a makeshift cleanroom, moving around the perimeter of the circular clearing to lay down plexiglass panels featuring the familiar protective sigils from the lab. I opened the apparatus to remove the artifact, which practically sang in recognition, complex linework of lavender and gold forming and reforming across its surface. It felt as light as styrofoam as I lifted it and carried it across the space. As we reached the center, it simply stopped moving. In fact, as I let my hands slip away, it simply remained stationary. Just hovered in the air, rotating slowly.
“Now that’s cool,” said Blake, walking up to the artifact. “It wasn’t doing that before.” He lifted a finger and brought it up to the surface, hovering a few centimeters away. The curls, diagrams, and fractals covering the sphere seemed to converge around Blake’s fingertip in a multicolored spiral before sending a visible jolt of electricity across the short distance.
“Are you okay?” asked Logan, walking up behind him, responding to Blake’s quiet yelp.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “It felt…great, actually.” His eyes seemed lost in the patterns of the artifact as it seemed to dematerialize into a loose amalgamation of strings, a facsimile of a solid sphere, singing in complex harmonies, rising in a slow crescendo.
“Are y’all picking this up?” I asked Lee and Armand, who were just getting the monitoring equipment online.
“Picking what up?” asked Lee.
Before we could answer, a pulse of iridescent energy shot out from the artifact, passing through us and stopping a few feet before the perimeter, forming a dome that resembled a giant soap bubble.
“Oh wow, it worked,” whispered Blake.
“What worked?” I asked, squinting my eyes at him. “What’s happening?”
“It’s a force field, they made a force field,” called Lee, motioning to the layer of shimmering air directly in front of him.
“I did not think that would work,” said Blake.
“Didn’t think what would work?” I asked with increasing suspicion.
“You gotta trust me,” said Blake, hands splayed apologetically yet his eyes showing a touch of overexcitement. “We’ve been talking about your situation and–”
“Situation? Who? You and Logan?”
“And…our cosmic deity mutual friend.”
“You’ve been talking to Synt,” I snapped. How? I thought. “Through Logan?”
“Well, they’re still connected in certain ways. I guess they were always connected or whatever?”
“Of course. Of course,” I drummed against the nook between my eyebrows.
“Synt didn’t tell you?” Blake asked.
“Didn’t tell me what?”
“About completing the ritual. We need to complete the ritual,” he said with growing intensity.
“What ritual?” My tone annoyed and mildly incredulous.
“The one we started with the artifact in your office,” offered Logan, as if explaining an email I ignored. “We opened the portal but we need to let it close behind them.”
“Oh is their presence weakening the fabric of spacetime in a localized area?” asked Armand, tapping nonchalantly on the force field like a thick pane of glass. “I guess that makes sense.”
“A little more concern would be nice. Blake’s getting pretty antsy in here,” I said.
“We’re getting you out, bud! We’re on it,” said Lee, turning to dig around in one of the totes full of equipment while Armand continued to inspect the perimeter.
“I don’t know what sweet nothings Synt has been whispering in your ears,” I said to Blake, “but I promise you they’re just fucking with all of us.”
“No, no, I think it’s about resonance,” said Blake. “We’ve only heard one chord in a cosmic symphony! We just have to let them finish.”
“Finish what–”
I was cut off as everything seemed to shift into some sort of non-space, Blake, Lee, Armand, and Logan no longer visible but the forcefield now hyperreal as a solid structure of what looked like glowing golden wires in hexagonal patterns. There was no longer the soft solidity of the mossy clearing, and the forcefield was revealed as not a dome but a sphere, surrounding me on all sides. I hovered stationary in space, rotating slowly around the smaller sphere of the artifact, which pulsed with harmonics and rhythms within and without the color spectrum, seeming to flow in tandem with the structure surrounding us.
It absorbed my attention and I had the sinking sensation of falling perpetually towards it, plummeting through strata of timelines, tangling and untangling through interwoven threads of possibilities and fractal perception, catching small glimpses here and there of moments in space time, some that I could recall from memory and some that were wildly unfamiliar. I saw Synt talking with me at the bar and simultaneously with Logan in my class weeks before. I realized that for them, there was no linear time, and the best approximation for someone in my three-dimensional existence was cosmic terror and confusion as I fell through the complex dimensional framework of strings that they were delicately pulling. They had been building to something, I realized. Were always building to something. Are currently building to something that in this thread of spacetime is finally coming together.
I had the sensation of breathing in and zooming out, seeing a birds eye view in unnatural clarity of the wetland clearing, the artifact in the exact center spinning wildly and sending multicolored pulses of light, the surrounding trees murmuring amongst themselves, and beyond that the unseasonal expanse of placid water in a symmetrical ovoid shape that came to a point at both ends. It looked unmistakably like an eye.
With a resounding thud in my mind, I came back to this place in this timeline–or more accurately I had never left and was never there–and noticed Blake standing there wide eyed. I could taste the lust and excitement pouring off of him like a snake flicking the air. He had only gotten tastes here and there of what he could become and he was starving, unapologetically dreaming about ridiculous, indulgent size. Who was I to deny the full extent of what he could be? Why would I have ever held back this power?
I fell to my knees as another wave of Synt’s untapped chaos magic took over my being, reverberating through the space. I was dimly aware of rings of multicolored, iridescent mushrooms rising and falling in concentric waves around us. For a second I lost my physical senses, overwhelmed by Synt’s ability to see seamlessly across planes of existence and temporal strata. As my body struggled to make sense of this metaphysical tsunami, I could see the perspective of every cell ringing out simultaneously. I could see every possibility in every timeline. It was beautiful and terrible, threads waving, trailing, breaking, weaving into each other with chaos and grace. In this other sense, I felt the cleansing surge of a deluge following a dam break as my guard finally went down and Synt stepped fully into my being in this world. I had been holding them back for so long, letting go was a welcome relief.
I heard the strangely familiar sound of a string being plucked.
Blake, ever the gentleman, snapped out of his enraptured fascination to try and help me up, jumping back as a visible bolt of electricity shot into his hand from my left bicep. I was an energetic livewire, and Blake’s eyes widened further in glee as he watched the muscles throughout his arm flex with a sickening pump, settling down as a wave of subtle growth spread throughout the rest of his body. Maybe this was due to my supercharged supernatural senses, but I noticed that his musculature was incredibly, unnaturally dense. He must’ve been somehow stronger than even the veritable wall of shredded muscle implied.
Still feeling his juicier pecs, he mused to the others, “that was just one touch. Imagine what you could do,” he added, turning to me.
“Yes,” I grunted through gritted teeth. “Imagine.” I grabbed his arm with lightning fast quickness. In fact, I don’t even remember moving my body at all. My hand was simply wrapped around his bicep because I willed it with a thought.
His head lolled back in euphoria as I poured into him. He was a willing participant, an enthusiastic receptacle of possibility powered by a vivid imagination of what his body could be and do. A deep, hungry wish that I happily granted. And then some. As he came back to his senses, his eyes took in a seemingly smaller space, his head inching farther from the ground as his massive feet took up more and more surface area. A look of worry replaced one of triumph as he realized how much he dwarfed even Lee’s eight and a half feet on the other side of the dome, with no signs of stopping.
“Wait,” he groaned through waves of orgasmic pleasure. “Slow down. It’s…too much.” My hands had drifted to the slabs of his pecs, trailing onto his cobblestone abs as he continued to stretch and grow in all directions. He grabbed my hands with his massive paws, but the additional contact only sent a pulse of growth through his already gargantuan body, several feet of cock tearing through whatever fabric his quads and glutes hadn’t already shredded and thwacking onto the ground.
“What’s…happening…won’t…stop,” he eked out, falling to all fours and breathing heavily as his mega dick spurted globs of precum that puddled below him. He was a larger than life behemoth of glistening, shredded muscle, except of course for the huge globes of his impossibly fat ass, which seemed to keep widening and ballooning as the rest of his growth slowed down.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off the overinflated glutes in front of me, caressing each, my otherwise huge hands dwarfed by the sheer size of them, falling into the heft of each pillowy cheek. Blake’s pride and joy, the unmissable bubble booty that could stop traffic and pull anyone at the bar, had blown up beyond comical proportions, each cheek large enough to crush the truck he drove here in. I felt my hands growing to monstrous proportions just to handle the boulders of blubber whose expansion was finally slowing to a stop as he panted in exhaustion, arching his back in insatiable need.
It all felt oddly reminiscent of the dream I had had of being eaten out by Synt while growing impossibly huge in the archives. Having just gotten a glimpse of Synt’s perception out of the bounds of linear time, I realized Of course. It was--for lack of a better concept, and from my meager three dimensional perspective--prophetic.
Brock has some awkward encounters at work, including with a mysterious stranger who's oddly excited about his condition. At the bar later, things take a turn for the better as Kel stumbles into a meet cute with a gentleman admirer
“Yes, I've received treatment for the virus,” Brock grumbled into his phone. “No, I'm not at high risk of rapid expansion. Not–not to my knowledge.” He sighed, swiveling his head around to make sure he wasn’t overheard in the maze of cubicles. “Have I been in contact with anyone who popped recently? Yeah I’m trying to reach him– yes, I'll hold.”
[Sai’s still not picking up his phone] he texted the groupchat from his tablet. [Tried getting through to his office at Phantasy Labs, no luck].
As if the mysterious scientific compound on the edge of town picked up on their name being mentioned in the digital ether (Which they probably were, Brock mused), the hold music was replaced by the saccharine voice of yet another part of Phantasy Labs’s seemingly endless bureaucracy.
“Yes, this is Brock,” he began, his face displaying a hope that was quickly crushed. “Why do you need the circumference of my–” He turned back to his desktop as he heard footsteps approaching, pulling up his email inbox as he let his phone clatter face down on his desk. The hold music once again started leaking into the air.
“Brock, my man!” The masculine rasp of his supervisor, Jeff, who had materialized just outside his cubicle, brought him back to the muted earth tones of the small nonprofit. “You missed Susan’s going away party in the conference room. I snuck you some donuts,” he winked, holding out a small stack of glazed goodness wrapped loosely in brown paper towel.
“Uh, thanks,” he stammered, awkwardly scooting his chair in Jeff’s direction to receive the pastries. As much as he was glad to be free of Susan’s perpetual smirk of disgust and office wide ‘public health updates’ which were little more than conspiracy theories and thinly veiled cyberbulling, she did have great taste in local bakeries. “I was just…busy with a project. And anyways I’m trying to watch my weight these days.”
His attempt at a friendly chuckle only produced a frown of concern on his boss’s face, and a hyperawareness of the cheeks audibly straining against the plastic of his office chair. He had never been enthusiastic about professional camaraderie, but office wide gatherings in the cozy conference room had become a nightmare thanks to his overinflated glutes. If he wasn’t squished awkwardly into a corner, he was practically knocking his co-workers over with his bulbous cheeks just to refill his coffee, producing a minefield of apologetic grunts as everyone pointedly tried not to acknowledge the recent developments in his posterior. No, it was easier just to work from home or, when he had to come to the office, spend most of his time in his increasingly cramped cubicle. So of course Jeff took it upon himself to check on Brock’s morale at every opportunity.
“Heyyyy,” Jeff’s head tilted to the side as he drew out the syllable. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know all bodies belong here. If anyone’s making you feel like your…” he leaned in conspiratorially, “condition is, uh, not welcome in this workplace then–”
“It’s fine,” Brock blurted with an attempt at a disarming smile.
“Not that anyone here has raised any concerns–”
“Really, I’m good,” Brock tried again as his eyes flitted to his phone.
“Because at the last all-team meeting I did cover the appropriate ways to share public health information over the listserv–”
“Much appreciated,” Brock muttered.
“Of course! As always, anything you need, my door is–”
“Well actually,” Brock interjected, “I was wondering where you were at with my accommodation requests?”
“You’re accomo–oh right!” Jeff seemed to suddenly become aware of how the cushions of Brock’s bubble butt were bursting out of his chair in a way that couldn’t be remotely comfortable. “You know, I’m pretty sure I just saw an email about those, uh, requests. It was a whole thing that had to go through HR and you know it takes the facilities guys forever just to acquire a, uh, double-wide chair or whatever.” He guffawed at his own joke, holding out a fist for Brock to reluctantly bump.
Works like a charm, Brock smirked to himself as his boss power-walked away. The one surefire way to get a break from Jeff's incessant check-ins and self-aggrandizing nonprofit inclusivity speak was to ask for actual material accommodations for your workplace.
Not that those accommodations weren't still an acute necessity. Though at this point he worked mostly from home, he liked spending some time in the office, but things were feeling more cramped and less accessible. As Brock wrapped up his tasks for the day and prepared to leave, he turned in a tight, practiced rotation around his small cubicle, careful not to send office supplies and stacks of folders tumbling to the floor or knock down the flimsy shared wall with Susan's old cubicle next door (a recurrence that had only worsened her office-wide health ‘concerns’). He gingerly shuffled sideways through the narrow opening, the generous curves of his spandex wrapped posterior threatening to take the whole cubicle with him. The nuBum ‘business casual’ slacks were little more than tights pretending to be a neutral tone corduroy, but they did the trick and kept the higher ups satisfied (and word in the HR world was that no one wanted to tackle a fight about dress code for the increasing numbers of unnaturally curvy men).
With a parting glance at his workspace his eyes fell on his office chair, damaged beyond repair, the back and armrests permanently blown outward from the seat. Maybe I should switch to a medicine ball chair, he mused, one hand resting on a heavy cheek. Or just start sitting on the floor.
Most of his co-workers had cleared out early after the office party, and he released a sigh of thanks to the universe when the sliding doors of the elevator revealed an empty space inside. He let his shoulders drop as he leaned back against the far wall, the round muscle of his glutes squishing across the metal bar while the rest of him stood closer to the middle of the metal cube. He whipped his phone out from his shoulder bag to check the groupchat, stopping short when a thin figure slipped through the closing doors, knocking the device out of his hands as they collided.
“Oh sorry,” he said to the disoriented looking man. He crouched down to grab his phone, stumbling slightly as the elevator rattled into its descent. He tried awkwardly to shuffle his huge bubble into the corner but found himself still standing more or less in the middle, the stranger settling into the corner opposite.
“Nah, you’re good,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I need to watch where I’m going, I could’ve taken you out.”
Brock smiled to himself, fully aware that his massive dump truck was much more of a hazard to errant pedestrians than they were to him. Not to mention the guy looked to be 130lbs soaking wet, swimming in a solid black hoodie and jeans. Probably one of the tech bros from that new startup down the hall.
“Doubtful,” he quipped, trying to shift into a more comfortable stance in the cramped space. “I guess I got used to having the elevator to myself.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, uh,” Brock muttered through a flash of embarrassment. “People usually…clear out when they see…me.”
“Interesting,” he said, with the appearance of gears turning in his head. “Wasn't there that guy a couple weeks ago that popped in the elevator in that building across the street?”
“Yeah, his name's Phil,” Brock chuckled with a sarcastic smile. “I don’t think it was as bad as they say, but apparently he…grew too fast for the other occupants to escape and then the doors were blocked and the fire department had to get involved, so of course EMTs showed up, and people always freak out with that stuff. It was a whole thing.”
“Wow,” the hoodied man murmured. “Wish I could’ve been there.”
“Uh, okay,” Brock laughed nervously. “The other people involved were not…enthusiastic about the situation.”
“They were all okay though, right?”
“Three hours later, yeah,” Brock rolled his eyes. He remembered Phil stumbling in late to the MGHD+ meeting that day looking sweaty and disheveled, his bare buns ballooning out of a pair of joggers that might as well have been assless chaps. “No one mentions it of course, but when they see me coming, they’re suddenly more inclined to take the stairs.”
“Huh. That must be so cool.”
“Hm?” Brock asked.
“Taking up space like that,” his eyes lit up as they connected with Brock’s questioning gaze. “Do you know how it feels?”
“How…what feels?”
“When it happens.” His hands were busy in the pocket of his hoodie, like they were searching for something. “It must be incredible becoming so powerful, just…growing and expanding and–”
The ding of the elevator cut him off. The doors opened on the third floor to a gaggle of people waiting to get on. While they couldn’t see Brock’s new acquaintance from their perspective, their eyes immediately locked onto him. More specifically, the bodacious buns that were taking up a full third of the space. They stood in heavy, awkward silence, as if each was hoping for someone else in their group to be the first to make a move. It was broken by the ding of warning for the closing of the doors, which Brock took as a last minute excuse to leave. He barely noticed as the doors bounced off of his hefty cheeks, the gaggle of office workers hopping out of the way as he strode purposely through them, uncaring if they were bowled over by the momentum of his hips.
I think I’ll take the stairs.
—
“They’re still talking ‘bout that ass, Phil,” Brock teased as he plopped down on a cushion next to Kel. The search for Sai’s whereabouts had moved out of the MGHD+ groupchat to their current watering hole, Randi’s.
“Ugh, the elevator thing?” Kel sighed. “Didn’t they set some new policy after that?”
“Can confirm, unofficial occupancy rules are very much in place,” said Brock. His lonely elevator rides and cramped cubicle corral at work was a stark contrast to the sunkissed warmth of the breezy patio they found themselves in. Their options for social establishments were limited–for a number of reasons–and not only did Randi’s have a spacious outdoor section and garage doors but also went out of their way to make the space amenable for more expansive body types, from a diversity of seating options to strategically placed empty spaces where those with more severe cases could park themselves comfortably.
“That can’t be legal,” Kel surmised, his mountainous cheeks shifting as he crossed his legs in thought. “Can we push for infrastructural improvements?”
“It’s a historic building,” Phil groaned into his beer. “And the elevator was technically undersized and overdue on regular maintenance–”
“According to current municipal codes,” finished Brock, lightly mocking his friend’s practiced line. “Not that they bother to even retrofit the newer buildings.”
Unfortunately, a place like Randi’s was an exception to the unspoken rule. It was an oasis in a desert of ‘fire hazard’ concerns, ‘max circumference guidelines,’ and ‘modified occupancy calculations’ that were making it hard for men affected by the virus to find welcoming places to share a pint. Randi’s had become known as the spot for guys like them, and even with the hypervisibility of gawkers and onlookers, it was a crucial community space.
“At least we have the mayor’s new ‘bubble’ cars on the subway,” Phil said sarcastically. “So we can get to work–”
“But not in the building!” A number of them exclaimed in unison, bursting into laughter.
“And speaking of, still no word from Sai?”
“Nada,” Brock sighed, leaning against the well cushioned wall of Kel’s ass. “My guess is that he’s probably crashing at work, but they keep making up some excuse about confidential employee information and suddenly I’m rerouted to some other vaguely humanoid customer service voice.”
“Hmm,” said a vaguely distracted Kel. “It’s a rough transition, he just needs time.”
“But he only has a limited time frame for accessing the city’s relocation funds since he most likely can’t get back into his current place. And I’m sure he’ll need help with moving and–”
“I know, I know, we’ll get through to him.”
Brock couldn’t help but notice that Kel seemed uncharacteristically detached. As the group continued scheming about how to get a hold of their friend, his attention kept drifting to the other side of the patio. Brock put his weight behind a sharp elbow to his friend’s hip, which for Kel felt more like a playful nudge, just enough to catch his attention and bring his gaze down to the knowing twitch of Brock’s eyebrow. Kel blushed, wordlessly refocused on the task at hand, but his gaze kept drifting over to, Brock surmised, the distractingly buff daddy sitting across the patio with his buds.
Nestled among some couches in the corner, the salt and pepper hunk was squeezed into his work clothes, looking like he had just gotten off a construction shift. He had a generous layer of padding over what looked like solid muscle, the cords of his forearms and biceps flexing across juicy pecs, his belly jiggling as he guffawed at some comment from one of his friends. He was massive, seeming to tower over the group even while sitting down. He was the center of their attention, looking like he was holding court as he leaned back and draped his powerful arms over the backs of his buds’ seats. Yet even though he was engaged with conversation with his immediate circle, he seemed to only have eyes for Kel.
“So are you just eye fucking or what’s the move?” Brock’s overly direct question shook Kel from the longing gaze he had fallen back into with the well built man across the patio.
“I, uh, what?” Kel said nervously.
“Dude, go talk to him,” Brock leaned in conspiratorially. “Make a move, it’ll be good for you.”
“No,” Kel laughed. “He’s not actually…”
“Into you? He actually is.”
“You know people just like to stare,” Kel rolled his eyes.
“Sometimes for good reason.”
“Not all the time.”
“But this time.” Brock emphasized his comment with a firm slap against the side of Kel’s cheek.
“I don’t know,” Kel bemoaned, his voice catching as he caught the man’s eyes yet again. “It’s been so long since I’ve even…you know…like what would I even say?”
“Go sit on his lap, let him do the talking.”
Kel responded with an exasperated laugh.
“What? Live a little!”
“You know that’s a catastrophic idea. And besides, I’m more in the mood to just chill any…ways…”
Kel was suddenly lost for words as the man stood up to walk to the bar, a path that conveniently led right by their group. He was urgently trying not to stare, though it seemed like the occupants of the entire establishment had already failed at that effort.
Brock’s face broke into a beaming smile as he, and the rest of their crew, quickly realized that the blue collar daddy’s corner seat wasn’t a section of a couch but actually a pair of boulders that on a more normal frame might be considered extremely well developed glutes. The planetoids stuffed into his heavy duty khaki work pants switched back and forth with enough heft to make patrons clear a wide path of tables of chairs lest they end up with a concussion. His bulging hamstrings and tree trunk quads flexed through the material with every step, threatening to burst through his pants with barely restrained power.
“Looks like a pretty strong lap,” Brock mused.
Kel shifted nervously as butterflies emanated from deep within his core. He allowed his eyes to catch the mystery man’s warm smile before dancing down to the name patch embroidered onto the work polo stretched taut across his powerful pecs and shoulders. Calvin…he mouthed, reading the stylized cursive lettering bouncing across his field of vision.
His mammoth cheeks seemed uncaring of the force of gravity as they hovered behind him at the bar. They practically blocked the walking path as he slowly hinged his hips back and leaned over to rest his arms on the counter. He glanced over a boulder shoulder to send a playful wink in Kel’s direction.
“He’s…cute,” admitted Kel. Desperately trying to play it cool, he reached for his drink only to grasp at the empty space where his glass had just been. He looked up to see Brock gulping the last of it down with a trickster smile on his face. “You’re not letting me sit this one out, are you?”
“I need a win today,” Brock answered.
“No promises,” Kel sighed as he coordinated his limbs to lift his bulk into a standing position. His massive cheeks trembled over the group as he shifted toward the bar, Brock reaching up to quickly brush off a flattened ornamental plant that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now it was Kel’s turn to part the sea of gawkers as he awkwardly moseyed to his gentleman admirer.
There was no point in pretending that anything else was worth looking at. The tall, overly stacked men reoriented the gravitational pull of the space. Calvin far outweighed him with his magnitude of well padded muscle, yet his powerful glutes still paled in comparison to Kel’s cheeks, which looked even more comically disproportionate on his lanky frame. They seemed to take up half the bar, casually unaware of the dumbfounded patrons trying to get the attention of the bartender without being blocked by a wall of ass.
But Brock was more interested in the tenuous conversation that turned to playful smiles that turned to belly laughs with light, friendly touches. They’re really hitting it off, he thought, as Kel went so far as to cheekily squeeze one of Calvin’s massive biceps. One could swear the burly, middle aged man was starting to swoon. Before long, both their glasses were empty and their hands were instead filled with their phones in the familiar choreography of contact information exchange. Calvin rested a hand on Kel’s lower back as he escorted him back to his seat and proceeded to return to his friends with an unmistakable pep in his step, his glutes bouncing back and forth with renewed vigor.
“Well??” Brock demanded on behalf of the group before Kel had even settled his gargantuan globes back on the ground.
“Well what?” Kel teased, his cheeks blushing. “We set a date–”
“A date?!”
“--to get to know each other better. Somewhere with a little more…room to breathe,” he smiled.
The group practically cheered, peppering Kel with questions about this meet cute and the date to follow. As they settled into dreaming up Kel’s first date look, Brock’s phone lit up with an incoming call, which caller ID listed as simply ‘PL.’
“Hello?” he answered, hoping it was exactly who he thought it was, but preparing for another round of customer service musical chairs.
“Brock?” came a blessedly familiar voice. “It’s Sai. Sorry I’ve been missing your calls, things have gotten…weird.”
“Weird is okay,” Brock stammered, his heart quickening. “Where are you? How are you? Are you hungry? Are you safe? What do you need?”
“That’s, well, complicated,” Sai laughed nervously. “Can we talk?”
You’re a master at creating authentic feeling growth-focused slice of life scenes! Loved hearing about the roommate’s experience and the little details that added life to each scene, like the couple talking about Cooper’s pants. Not to mention the sexy yet subtle details in things like Brad lying on his stomach and only being able to see Cooper’s hair over his glutes… Really puts into perspective how massive these guys are!
Thank you!! With that story I was worried that there wasn't really a plot with significant things happening, which is a pattern that I've noticed in my writing, but I really enjoy crafting slice of life scenarios with subtle details that deepen the overall worldbuilding. Like logically we know that Cooper and his housemates are dealing with this very absurd situation but it's the little things like a passing comment or the small shifts in how they navigate the world that really makes it click. And MOCAM especially is so fruitful for dropping into little vignettes across the city, I just want to do a bunch of 'day in the life' episodes with various characters in which nothing really happens lol
story prompt: mysterious virus is sweeping through a city. emergency rooms are filled with men with mysteriously swollen glutes. i’m imagining hospital beds with men laying face down, cheeks so big that hospital gowns won’t close over them. maybe it’s highly contagious and some doctors and nurses rip through their scrubs
[Description: Devon finally goes to the clinic and is given an experimental treatment that he hopes will bring some relief, but gets much more than he bargained for.]
[Note: This is the short writing prompt that I initially wrote then ended up building the larger series around! In case it reads a little wonky lol]
Series: 1 | 2 | 3 (previous) | 4 (next)
Also on Metabods
1361 words
Someone out there has to be working on some scholarly or critical writing about the viral/contagious tf trope and it's development over the past five years, I would love to read it. But I also love this prompt! You had me at the hospital gowns (which reminded me of Medical Mishap). Lately I've been thinking of a very similar spontaneous growth scenario, I had fun with this one
-----
"The majority of cases are mild," came a prerecorded message over the sound system, repeating a litany of facts, updates, known symptoms, unknown symptoms, processes, procedures, and support groups for the eleventh time since Devon had entered the clinic. That's what the pamphlet repeated on every page, he noticed, gripping the cover in his hands, his thumb millimeters away from a stock photo model with obvious butt pads listening attentively to a stock photo nurse.
The majority of cases are mild, he repeated to himself, like a mantra. He'd seen the more extreme ones on social media. Men laying face down, pinned to hospital beds by planetoid ass cheeks, or trying to return to their normal lives with buns that looked like overindulgent morphs. But he didn't think it would happen to him.
He looked around at the scattering of men in the lobby, some with partners, some with friends, some, like him, simply alone. All carefully avoiding making eye contact with anyone else. All sitting awkwardly on the pleather cushions and shifting slightly every few seconds. All having assumed--hoped--that they would be in the majority of cases.
I should've caught it sooner, Devon thought, rubbing his fingertips against his temples. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal, I--
"Devon?" called a nurse leaning through the doorway.
"Uh, yeah!" He jumped up, feeling an odd weight around his hips that he realized too late was the chair rising with him, its arms stuck around an ass that looked comical against his otherwise lanky frame. If the entire lobby didn't already have their eyes on him, he definitely caught their attention--and a few gasps of awe and pity--as the chair clattered back to the floor, leaving his basketball sized butt cheeks hovering behind him. "S-sorry," he stammered, shrinking into himself as he walked toward the nurse.
"Happens all the time," he said with a practiced, reassuring smile, leading Devon through the main floor.
He let his eyes dance across the curvature of the nurse's wide shoulders, the v-taper of his back still noticeable in loose scrubs, and the pert bubble butt that brought a pang of envy. When he finally accepted that he might have caught whatever syndrome was causing "uncontrolled gluteal development" across the city, his ass had already jumped from frisbee to volleyball. He'd always wanted a cute butt, spent countless hours on the squat rack with little success, but suddenly he had two globes ballooning from his lower back, getting bigger and rounder by the day, until his roommate finally convinced him that maybe the over the counter treatment didn't work.
So now he was at the ad hoc clinic set up in recent weeks for this outbreak, trying--and failing--to tie his hospital gown behind him.
"You can leave it open," the nurse waved his hand dismissively. "We had to special order some more of the, uh, larger sizes because we keep running out."
"No, it's cool," said Devon, growing increasingly frustrated. "I almost got it."
"No, really, a lot of the patients don't even bother at this point."
Devon sighed. He had convinced himself that his own "mild" case just needed whatever the advanced level treatment was and then he'd be on his way. He had convinced himself that he wouldn't end up like the patients he'd seen on the way to his bed who had no hope of closing their hospital gowns or fitting into normal clothes again, flashing back to the brief, nervous eye contact with the guy laying awkwardly on his side with beachball sized butt cheeks. But he was already there, wasn't he?
"Between you and me," said the nurse with a twinge of anxiety. "We're running low on supplies. Whatever this thing is, it's moving fast. You're getting the last of the experimental drug," he said, handing him a pair of translucent patches. "One on each cheek," he added with a smile.
"And this will make the swelling go down?" Devon asked, eagerly slapping each patch onto his bare ass and plopping onto the bed with sudden drowsiness.
"We're still getting some mixed results with this batch," he answered carefully. "How does it feel?"
"Hot," Devon mumbled, as a burning sensation rolled across his oversized glutes, followed by a low, steady throb around his hole. "Really hot." He twisted around to caress one cheek, uncaring in his delirium about the hungry attention of the nurse but laser focused on the sizable bulge growing in his scrubs. "Feels like…I'm..." his eyes widened in shock as he felt his ass expand against in his hand.
"That's okay," said the nurse quickly. "Maybe it's something with the dosage. I think you're just a really good test subject."
"Test subject?" Devon repeated. "What do you mean 'test subject?'" He was interrupted by that rolling burn and bloom of pleasure, both more intense this time as his ass swelled further. "What was in that? What did you do?" his anxious questions dropped to a whisper as he sunk further into drowsiness, falling back onto the bed, his gargantuan ass jiggling with the sudden movement.
"I, um, I mean the majority of cases are mild, right? But you were ideal."
"Ideal for...what?" Devon closed his eyes as another wave of growth crashed over him, his cakes twitching even larger.
"This might be a...special case," the nurse said, eyeing Devon's monster booty. "Let me go find one of the guys from the lab--"
He backed into the counter sooner than he expected to, knocking a jar of tongue depressors to the floor and freezing in terror.
"No...no," he whispered, his eyes widening as his hand grabbed behind him. "It's accelerating, it wasn't supposed to move like this."
"What do you mean wasn't supposed to?" Devon asked, slowly turning his head to see the nurse shuffling through supply cabinets, his ass jiggling with his hurried movements, no longer the pert bubble Devon envied but now disproportionately large with an all too perfect, all too familiar roundness filling his scrubs to the limit. "Whoa, when did you get diagnosed?"
"I didn't. I was fine this morning, I thought I had more time, I should've had more time." His face contorted in discomfort as tears formed along the sides of his scrubs, his ass slowly inflating behind him.
"Yeah but most cases are mild, right?"
"Ugh, we just...made that up for the experiment."
"What? What experiment..."
But he couldn't answer, he was doubled over in pain, the swelling progressing so strongly he lost his balance, crashing against the counter and sending ripples through his cheeks. The tears along the side seams accelerated until his ass suddenly tore through the back, ripping his scrubs to shreds.
"Need to find...the extra doses," he muttered, knocking over medical equipment as he turned to head to the door. He opened it to see his path blocked by a pair of gargantuan ass cheeks being wheeled through the hall, a patient lying face down under them, surrounded by a crew of panicked nurses. "They're locking down the city!" One of them exclaimed. "It's spreading faster than the containment plan could've predicted, we need to--" their eyes locked on to the tell tale scraps of clothing hanging off his waistband, the bubble butt that was big enough to see clearly from the front.
"It's fine, I'm fine. It's just a mild case." His gravity defying globes looked comical as they continued to expand behind him, filling the space of the doorway.
"You know there's no such thing," they said, eyes softening.
No such thing? Devon squeezed his ass, at least as much of it as he could reach. His hole twitched with waves of pleasure and longing.
"I just need them to synthesize more doses and I can slow the growth down. I can...I can..." the nurse was grunting with effort as he struggled to get through the doorway, cheeks steadily inflating behind him, the muscles in his arms popping with exertion. "I can't. I'm stuck. It's not stopping."
"The majority of cases are mild," came the saccharine voice over the sound system. "But you should seek treatment as soon as possible."
Cooper and his housemates have had to deal with big adjustments as they keep getting hit by waves of re-infection. When the latest one starts, he can't help but express his frustration over feeling like the only one taking their growing predicament seriously.
[Another interlude as I try to figure out what I'm doing with the main storyline. I love a slice of life moment lol]
+ + + + +
“There's something up with Cooper.”
“I’m fine!”
“What’s wrong with Coop?”
“Nothing! Everything’s fine!”
“He’s deep cleaning again!”
“I thought we just did that.”
“I’m doing it again!” Cooper yelled more at the kitchen floor than at anyone in particular, his voice muffled by the surgical mask strung tight across his face. He groaned internally at the sound of lumbering footsteps approaching.
“Hey bud!” Claude’s beaming smile appeared over the counter above Cooper, his short locs catching the ambient light to form a halo around his face. “I see you finally gave up on those ugly sweats.”
“I didn’t give up on the–”
“He did what?” came another voice from a couple of rooms over.
“He stopped wearing pants!” Claude’s voice boomed back across the house.
“Oh dude, finally,” came an excited voice from the garage.
“I didn’t…” Cooper began. “It’s just that all my clean pairs of pants, um…”
“Ripped?” Claude offered, levering himself onto his elbows to get a better angle.
“...I suppose, yes,” Cooper sighed in frustration. He took a break from scrubbing the floor to rest his thong framed ass on the balls of his feet. “Look, I don’t want to freak anyone out, but I think I might be infected again, so I’m sanitizing all the shared spaces.”
When they’d all moved in together a little under a year ago, Cooper had been thrilled. The crew of grad students had been fast friends since orientation, but it was Cooper’s incessant prodding, ideating, planning, searching, and negotiating that had secured the lease on this cute, if somewhat disheveled, historic house. It was creaky but quaint, boasting an abundance of natural lighting through oversized windows that highlighted how cozy it was inside. There was just enough space for the lot of them, and although at first it felt like they were constantly in each other’s way, they had settled into a collective flow that enlivened the space. That is, until the first infection.
“Mmmm,” Claude intoned with a knowing smile, “we coulda told you that.”
“Told him what?” Brad’s mop of red hair caught the glow of the lava lamp behind him as he peeked out of his doorway.
“Infected again,” Claude answered before Cooper could pipe up.
“Mmmm,” Brad agreed. “Yeah dude, we thought you knew.”
Brad had been the first to test positive. Cooper had been dutifully following the news of the outbreak, and knew that when Brad’s lanky 6’4” frame had suddenly gone from pancake butt to bursting through every pair of pants he owned, it was more than just his new leg day routine. He resolved that they needed to nip this in the bud before things got too severe. He had seen the news coverage, online forum discussions, and even clips of the ‘rapid expansion events’ that he still didn’t fully believe were real. The over the counter meds seemed to be working at first, but as the rest of the house fell ill, it was as if the combined viral load of the group was too much for any form of treatment they sought. When they thought they were finally out of the woods with each wave of infection, the next was right around the corner. He didn’t know what to do, and was too overwhelmed by coursework, teaching, and research commitments to get a handle on the situation.
So when someone from Phantasy Labs reached out, Cooper was relieved. They were conducting a study on ‘group infection dynamics and possibilities for small scale herd immunity’ or somesuch, and said that their humble abode was an ideal test case. Cooper, ever the information nerd, jumped at the opportunity, coordinating data collection from the entire group in the hopes that the lab might come up with something useful. And the hefty participant stipends certainly sweetened the pot, bringing much needed financial assistance for dealing with this crisis on their meager grad student funding. But that was two months ago, and after multiple waves of re-infection with no helpful answers, Cooper was again losing hope.
“I wasn’t paying close enough attention, I guess,” said Cooper, reaching up to grab the bottle of heavy duty disinfectant wipes. “You know the symptoms are always mild for me.”
For whatever reason, the virus’s impact had been the most manageable for him. By the second infection, his perky glutes had inflated into the unmistakable bubble of those touched by the virus, but he never had it nearly as bad as his housemates. While he could get away with sizing up his pants and switching to loose sweats, everyone else had made the transition to foregoing bottoms altogether around the house and investing in the latest releases from nuBum’s specialty clothing line, the nB logo displayed visibly whenever they were out and about.
As conditions worsened, Cooper’s role as de facto house mother had taken on a new valence as he took on new and unexpected forms of care work for his friends, from mending seams to reinforcing chairs to switching rooms when Aiden was no longer able to make it up their narrow staircase without breaking the banister (again). He was fine with taking care of his friends. He just wished they would take the situation a little more seriously. As he emerged from the kitchen floor to do another once over across the countertops, he was met with a whistle of appreciation from Brad.
“Nothin’ mild about that, big dog,” said Brad, his head tucked against the top of the doorframe.
“I know right?” quipped Claude. He sent a conspiratorial wink in Brad’s direction as he climbed onto one of the stools stationed along the kitchen island, causing a light splintering sound to emanate from the wood as his bulbous cheeks completely smothered the seat. “You really didn’t notice all that?” He pointed to the pair of beach balls that ballooned from Cooper’s lower back, wobbling uncontrollably as he put more elbow grease into his cleaning project.
“I don’t know,” Cooper sighed. “I’ve been swamped all week. One of the postdocs had some huge dataset that he wanted me to clean up before we–I mean, they, all left for field work today, and it’s one of very few tasks I can actually do right now because they’re so concerned with lab safety and research travel liability whatever whatever.” They had all heard different versions of this rant from each other. Though they were in different fields, the virus was impacting their respective professional commitments and professional futures in ways that they couldn’t predict.
“Well you look great,” said Brad, giving Cooper a thumbs up as he let an arm droop across the top of the door.
“Thanks.” Cooper rolled his eyes, stripping off his rubber gloves. He warily eyed Brad’s bodacious buns framed by the soft ambience of his gaming setup and strip lights along the ceiling. “I need to get out of here and run to the pharmacy before this situation gets any worse.”
“Here, take my old running shorts,” said Brad, grunting with soft frustration as he tried to squeeze through his doorway. He had always been somewhat of a recluse, but in recent weeks had become even more of a hermit, and it didn't take long to figure out that the multiple waves of infection had made it difficult for Brad to comfortably navigate their home space. As his form emerged from the darkness of his room, he loomed over them, ducking his head and shoulders through before using his dinner plate size hands to push himself into the living room, his prodigious lower half steadily resisting. Cooper couldn't help but notice the worsening cracks around a doorframe that was never meant to facilitate anything resembling Brad's double wide posterior.
“Didn't we talk at the last house meeting about it being a good idea for you to move into the garage?” Cooper recalled in his most generous house mother tone.
“It's full,” Brad grunted, the muscles of his forearms and triceps straining with effort.
“What do you mean ‘full’? It's just Aiden and Dion in there, right?”
“Yeah, it's full of Aiden and Dion,” Claude chuckled.
Cooper could only groan in dismay, echoed by the sound of the house itself struggling against their growing bodies. How much longer could this go on?
“Don't worry, bud…” Brad muttered. “We'll figure…something…out.” After a minute of strained effort and multiple refusals of his housemates’ offers of help, Brad stumbled through, rising back to his full height, which seemed damn near close to the ceiling. He was definitely taller than the last time Cooper had really laid eyes on him, but he was more concerned about the cheeks filling more space behind him than a sleeper sofa. Brad held out the shorts with an encouraging smile. “They're nuBum, I think they should still fit you.”
Still fit? Cooper wondered with confusion as he gingerly accepted the crumpled silver fabric. “I don't think I need these,” he said, more to himself than anyone else in the room. “I still have some sweats somewhere that are an XXXL, I don't think the specialty brands would–”
“They might fit just right,” Claude interrupted. He laid his hands on either side of Cooper's round hips and gave his bubble butt a playful jiggle. They had all become naturally handsy out of necessity for maneuvering around each others’ voluptuous forms, but Cooper in particular appreciated how a casual caress helped him re-regulate in just the right way. “Besides, I need kitchen time to make my supp stack.”
Claude swung around the kitchen island and authoritatively used his hips to bump Cooper out of the way of the supplement cabinet. They had settled into a one-at-a-time rule in the kitchen out of spatial necessity with a de facto hierarchy based on whose cheeks were heaviest. Even with Cooper’s recent growth, Claude’s behemoth buns easily had him beat, in no small part because his workout routine had only become more relentless with each infection, and his exhibitionist tendencies only more eager. He was an early adopter of nuBum’s fitness line, rolling up to the gym in booty shorts bursting around a comically muscular posterior chain that looked powerful enough to push a city bus up a hill. So Cooper dutifully gave him the kitchen for fear of being accidentally bumped into the next room.
“...Fine.” He relented, waddled over to Brad, and stepped into each leg of the half tights with some trepidation. “But if they're Brad's old ones, they’ll be hanging…off…my…” he trailed off as the waistband was stopped in its tracks halfway up his backside, followed by his housemate’s strong hands peeling them up the rest of the way. Finally, the shorts snapped into place, fitting snugly around his waist and cradling his cheeks with a mix of comfort and support he realized he hadn't enjoyed in a while.
“They're perfect!” Brad exclaimed. “Keep ‘em.”
“No, I don't think I need–” Cooper caught himself in the full length mirror left leaning against a wall. His heart sank as he realized they did fit perfectly. Much better, he thought with dismay, then any pair of normal pants ever would again.
“No, for real, you look great,” said Brad, giving one of Cooper's cheeks an enthusiastic, full palm slap, which he knew would send a shiver of pleasure up his friend's spine.
Cooper cut him a playfully annoyed sideways glance as he turned this way and that to get a good look. It was hard to get his whole circumference in the mirror, but he had to admit they did look good. At first he was terrified to see how the athletic shorts emphasized his enormous bubbles rather than downplayed them, but that anxiety was mixed with a tenuous excitement.
“I just didn't know it had gotten this, um…” he started carefully, using both hands to jiggle his globular buns in the mirror.
“Bad?” Brad offered with a wry smile.
“Well…severe,” Cooper corrected.
“Yeah, dude, your ass like doubled in size since Monday,” Claude laughed.
“We thought you knew,” Brad repeated with a more empathetic tone.
“Guys, I thought we had a protocol for when we think a new wave of infection is starting,” Cooper sighed. “I’d just like us to take this more seriously.”
“Can we take it more seriously after the gym?” Claude asked innocently as he sent a hefty scoop of protein powder into his shaker bottle. “To which, by the way, you never go with me anymore.”
“And here I remember you being banned from the gym,” Brad teased. He took a seat on the floor by falling back onto his mammoth cheeks, chuckling to himself as the force of his posterior seemed to shake the creaky old house down to its foundations.
“Just from the squat racks and leg machines,” Claude replied with a roll of his eyes. “And the outdoor turf area during the busier times.”
“...And the sauna,” Brad reminded.
Claude scoffed, “You accidentally sit on one person…”
“Two people,” Cooper corrected.
“And not exactly an accident,” Brad clarified.
“They wanted to experience this lusciousness up close and personal. Now suddenly I'm the ‘safety hazard’ who almost ‘smothered the other members.’” The plastic scoop lolled in Claude’s fingers as he mimed dramatic air quotes.
“Which is a reputation I’m trying not to cultivate,” Cooper quipped, moseying towards the door.
“I think that ship has sailed, brochacho.” Brad gave a comical wince as Cooper turned sideways to shuffle awkwardly through the door, earning a death stare from his departing housemate.
“Looks like you're one of us now,” Claude called after him, eyes still glued to the ridiculous bubble stuffed into too tight shorts.
Cooper realized how real Claude's comment was as he walked to the pharmacy. For a long time, he had tried to get away with the illusion of normalcy, downplaying his growing posterior with all manner of fabric illusions and off hand comments about stress eating and weight fluctuation. He had convinced himself that his roommates’ fates wouldn't be his. That however chill they were about the situation, he would face it head on. He wouldn't end up like his friends who had allowed themselves to grow out of any expectation of a normal life.
Yet each wave of re-infection chipped away at that hope, and he found himself adjusting to the shift in his center of gravity as his cheeks switched back and forth, threatening to knock pedestrians off the sidewalk if they weren't already inclined to give him a very wide berth. He could feel the flow of foot traffic parting around him like an island in a stream. Tried to convince himself that he was just imagining the cars and cyclists slowing down to gawk at the oversized orbs jiggling wildly behind him. His normal neighborhood path to the pharmacy had taken on a decidedly abnormal dynamic, a clumsy dance of navigating unaccommodating urban space and mitigating unwanted visibility. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed some sort of threshold, and had no intention of seeing how far things could go.
—
“We’re all out of the OTC meds, you might want to try the clinic a few blocks down.”
“Well…good afternoon to you, too,” Cooper replied sarcastically, still processing the pharmacist’s dismissive comment before he had even made it ten feet into the establishment.
“Sorry,” said the mildly exasperated person behind the counter. “We’ve had a lot of requests for them lately and I just…assumed.”
You assumed right, Cooper moped to himself, turning to leave before the pharmacist gestured to pause.
“Actually,” he muttered, rubbing the scruff of his chin, “We may have just received our restock, if the delivery guys were actually on time today.”
Cooper could only answer with a pleading wave of his hands.
“Be right back,” the pharmacist sighed before disappearing into the stacks of pill bottles and paper bags.
Without the over the counter interaction to keep his focus, Cooper became acutely aware that the wagon he was draggin’ had become the center of attention as soon as he walked in. Arms crossed, he stood awkwardly waiting, trying to avoid the gazes of the other patrons raking across every curve of his excessively inflated cakes.
“Babe, those are those special pants I told you about,” came the voice of one half of a couple breezing by on his right. “Cute, right?”
The other half forced a loud guffaw, going so far as to slap one hand onto his belly while the other slid protectively across his girlfriend’s shoulders.
“Babe, I told you,” he drawled, performing a masculine reassurance, “I’m not gonna need those.”
“I don’t know, they’d look good on you, and you wouldn’t have to keep bringing extra pants for your wardrobe malfunctions at work and we need to get you new gym shorts anyways and–”
“You’re so cute when you worry,” he laughed, cutting her off with a peck on the cheek. He steered them out of Cooper’s line of sight as he steered their conversation elsewhere. As they turned a corner, he glanced furtively back over his shoulder and made accidental eye contact with Cooper. His intense, worried stare quickly returned forward as he disappeared into the dark, oversized hoodie that did nothing to mitigate the sight of the pair of basketballs bouncing back and forth in his visibly strained sweats.
Sounds about right. The corner of Cooper’s lip twitched up in an ironic smirk. He had always enjoyed the attention garnered by his bubble butt, and even in the early stages of the virus the novelty of his round cheeks earned a satisfying amount of appreciation. But now he felt like some sort of failed science experiment as people gawked openly at his monstrous cakes, their eyes betraying a mix of fascination and fear. Is this how my housemates have felt for weeks? he thought, realizing Aiden and Dion would probably have trouble getting through the automatic doors. Maybe I should go easier on them, he resolved. We’re all doing the best we can, all things considered.
“No luck,” said the pharmacist, materializing behind the counter with a look of genuine disappointment. “Was that all?” Which was a thinly veiled invitation for Cooper to clear out of the tight space in front of his humble kiosk.
“Yeah, thanks anyways,” Cooper said. He turned to leave, trying to affect some confidence in his exit, but only succeeding in knocking over a shelf of rapid tests and high filtration masks. “Oh fuck, sorry, I can get those,” he stammered. As he bent over to pick up the scattered items, the globes jutting behind him collided with a tower of reading glasses and pill organizers, filling the store with the sound of plastic packaging clattering across the floor.
“I got it, you’re fine,” said a store attendant swooping in to prevent any further damage.
“Yeah, it happens…all the time these days,” added the pharmacist with a wry smile. “It can take some time to adjust.”
“...right,” Cooper muttered. Having become the undisputed main attraction for the other store patrons, he carefully navigated his way to the exit, hyperaware of the visual noise of shelved and hanging goods at risk of being knocked loose with every swish of his hips. Even a run of the mill trip to the store was becoming a claustrophobic ordeal, he realized, still wondering just how much time and how many re-adjustments it would take when all was said and done.
—
“Give me a hand?” Brad asked, holding out a silver tube of ointment that had been just about rolled and crumpled into oblivion.
Cooper, having just shuffled back in through their front door empty handed, had planned to mope quietly in his room and catch up on work, but came face to face with Brad’s mountainous backside as he contorted himself in the too small mirror trying to trace the contours of a fresh set of stretch marks.
“Sure,” said Coop. He grabbed the tube, squirted a generous dollop in one hand, and got to work. Peer to peer skincare had become another normal part of their distressingly abnormal lives. Brad’s colossal cakes filled Cooper’s field of vision, wobbling back and forth as he laid flat on his belly and rested his head on his hands. He waited patiently as his housemate applied the cream like he was making sure his back didn’t get sunburnt at the beach. “Is Claude still at the gym? I just realized I should test everyone to be safe.”
“Came back early,” said Brad. “Something about one too many ‘dress code violations.’”
“Sounds about right,” Cooper said sarcastically, channeling his frustration into his hands as he massaged the expanse of soft, jiggly ass flesh before him. “I just don’t get how we’re supposed to deal with all this, you know?”
“Hey bud, we’re gonna be fine,” Brad answered. He peered over his shoulder to better address his friend but saw only the top of Cooper’s curls over his own prodigious mounds. “Always remember rule number one.” He pointed to a whiteboard on the wall that listed their ‘Community Agreements,’ the first and most emphasized reading ‘Good vibes ONLY.’
“Should’ve vetoed that when I had the chance,” muttered Cooper, his smoldering worry settling into a prickling sensation along the constricting waistband of his shorts. He finally understood why all his housemates preferred the freedom of a pantsless existence, and felt himself yearning for that same groove of chill positivity. He hadn’t given up hope that they’d get some relief from their shared predicament, but the super stretchy reinforced seat only felt tighter and tighter as the days wore on.
Marc, a former college soccer star and now casual local league player, gets a booty building workout supplement from his best friend to train for an upcoming exhibition match. The side effects are more than either of them expect.
Part 2 (Next)
Also on Metabods
[ ass expansion // muscle growth ]
3867 words
-----
“You’re sure this stuff works? You know a lot of these are fake, right? Just snake oil type stuff and repackaged mineral supplements from the last performance enhancing supplement that went into overproduction.”
Marc was a natural skeptic. As a legal analyst, he was trained to read between the lines and leave no stone unturned. Not to mention having seen plenty of just this type of misleading health products hit the market and get tied up court. As he held the sparsely labeled pill bottle gingerly in his hand, his face held a bemused expression as he settled on the pastel pink block letters surrounded by sharp lines of neon blue: “GluteMax.”
In their decade-long friendship, he had watched with open amusement as Brian, tall, broad-shouldered bodybuilder-turned-fitness-coach that he was, fell head over heels for one ‘natural’ supplement after another. Not to stay that they didn’t work—the guy looked like a fitness model even in his off days. But this was a little on the nose, even for him.
“No, really!” said Brian, his hands splayed out as he moved toward Marc in obvious excitement. “It’s totally legit. It targets your glutes and legs somehow? Some nanotech stuff, I don’t know, I forgot all the science, but dude, my leg days have been phenomenal.”
With sudden grace, he straightened up to full height and spun around, hitting a rear pose, flashing an award-winning smile over his shoulder as he looked back at Marc, presenting his overdeveloped glutes for his best friend’s inspection.
“Oh I’ve noticed,” returned Marc, “all the gays at the Carabiner have definitely been noticing, too. But your ass is professionally important, and mine just gets me in trouble,” he said with a soft chuckle.
Marc’s perky bubble butt and shapely thighs had gotten him into more than a few kinds of trouble at their local gay watering hole, and he was used to the prolonged glances and even occasional uninvited grope. In fact, he kind of liked it. But more than that trouble was on his mind, and he was once again dwelling on a story that Brian knew all too well.
When they had first met in college, Marc was kind of a soccer star. Co-captain of the team, lead forward, and a serious contender for going pro. He had been training for this for years and as a college senior, was already being courted by sponsors and coaches. He not only had talent and drive, but boyfriend good looks and an ass that wouldn’t—and still won’t—quit. He was the full package, but that dream would be deferred by one fateful game.
They way Marc remembers it, his shorts had felt weird that day, but then again, they would often fit a little tight over his bubble butt. A teammate had offered an extra pair a size up from his usual, but he demurred, casually pulling the seam out of his crack as he headed out the locker room. He liked the feel of a close fit—and liked even more giving his fans something to enjoy—but this game was important and he couldn’t have any last minute changes.
With both teams 1-1 with five minutes left in the game, it was down to him to pull out just one goal against all odds. He had a way of dancing with the ball to get around the other team’s defense before using his powerful glutes to take a chance against the goalie. This defender in particular was known for being preternaturally deft on his feet, parrying every one of Marc’s plays with ease and coming dangerously close to getting the ball away from him entirely. He’d been dealing with this dude the entire game, and while he seemed to be just as spry as ever, Marc was slowing down, growing tired, desperate, and increasingly distracted by the weird feel of his shorts. The stars weren’t aligning as he had hoped, but as his moment came, he had to take it. It all may come down to this. As a sliver of space opened up, he made a move for one powerful shot, yet as he made contact with the ball, his follow through was interrupted by the sound of a soft rip, followed by the feel of a cool breeze on his suddenly exposed cheeks.
The entire seam down the back of his pants had seemed to give up all at once, as if his ass cheeks had thrust them open, refusing to be contained. They had all dealt with plenty of wardrobe malfunctions in plenty of soccer matches, but this was almost comical, not to mention embarrassing in a pivotal moment of his sports career. Coach called him off the field as a laugh went up through the crowd, along with more than a few pics snapped and cameras set to record. His most iconic moment was not at all what he had hoped.
His co-captain, Henri, jumped in from the sidelines as Marc rushed back to the locker room for a replacement pair, yet he emerged back toward the field, he was met by a roar from his team’s side of the field, and a bittersweet feeling in the pit of his stomach.
They had pulled it off. Henri had scored the winning goal. And with Marc’s current notoriety consisting of his bubble butt bouncing around the Internet, Henri also landed the pro soccer deal that they both had been working for.
Brian, however, had always vocally maintained a corollary to this fashion faux pas: sabotage.
“I saw Henri in the locker rooms before the game, tampering with your shorts. He was weakening the back seam, I know it!”
Nevertheless, college ended and years passed and Marc had largely gotten over the whole situation. He landed a decent paying, flexible job that he admittedly enjoyed. Kept playing in a local league for fun, but also to stay in shape, but would still get that pang of What if whenever he saw some bus ad plastered with Henri’s face. He of course was still known for his perky bubble butt, which only got juicier as his body softened up. It had famously gotten him in trouble in college, but now got him in trouble in much more fun ways.
So he was doing good. That is, until he found out about the exhibition match. Some charity thing coming up between the pro team and the local league.
“You should go out for this, you’d definitely qualify,” said his teammate Felix in the locker room, as he thrust a flier toward Marc, with none other than Henri’s face featured front and center.
Of course he and Henri had encountered each other a few times over the years, Henri was practically a local gay celebrity. Yet their lives, predictably, had drifted apart after that fateful match in college. There was a sore spot very deep within him, and that small voice saying What if…
After all, he was still good, still great, even. He did stand a very strong chance of making onto the team for the exhibition match, and if he trained his ass off—no pun intended—maybe it’d be one last chance to prove himself.
Marc snapped back to reality, laser focused on the GluteMax bottle still held in his hand.
“Okay,” he said. “Why not?”
---
For the first couple of weeks, he didn’t really notice anything, other than a streak of really good gym sessions, all with a respectable pump. He chalked it up to a placebo effect but wasn’t complaining about the increased performance. That is, until he noticed how his PRs kept going up and up and up. Marc had always been bottom-dominant and a leg day enthusiast, but this was something else. It was like his legs needed to keep working, and were getting surprisingly, disproportionately strong. They practically got him out of bed and into the gym every morning of their own accord. Usually, having a workout session on the same day as soccer practice would leave him tired and sore, but soon it was like he needed both just to feel satisfied.
Not only did he have this constant need to burn off energy but fell into the habit of flexing his posterior chain even while sitting or standing still. He switched to a standing desk, which he’d been meaning to do for a while, but soon upgraded to include an exercise bike. And the workday was just too long to go without at least a few sets of kettlebell hinges to tide him over.
He started taking the stairs at work without a hint of fatigue as he entered his office on the 11th floor, at one point bounding out of the stairwell and running head long into his work crush Devin. Marc was thrown slightly off balance in the encounter, but maybe not enough to merit the eagerness with which Devin seemed to scoop him and set him back on his feet, one hand catching Marc’s shoulder and the other—for some reason—stabilizing his waist and resting just a little too long on Marc’s hip.
“Man, you’ve really been active lately,” said Devin, finally breaking his hold. “You on a new workout routine?”
“Oh, it’s this new supplement my friend’s got me on. I’m training to qualify for this charity soccer match coming up.”
“Well you’ve got to let me in on the details sometime,” replied Devin, leaning in with a bright, appreciative smile.
“I think that could be arranged,” mused Marc, unsure if this was flirting or work banter or just wishful thinking. “Talk later,” he said, turning to head to his office.
“Totally,” replied Devin, not so subtly continuing to appreciate Marc’s recent gains as he walked down the hall, cheeks perfectly encased in his slacks.
With much less ambiguity than his co-worker, Marc’s teammates were openly appreciative of his boosted performance on the field, not to mention increasingly vocal about his shapely posterior. He had already been the butt of many lighthearted locker room jokes, but as his ass got noticeably juicier, light ribbing became bolder and bolder, as collegial pats and touches turned into slaps and even gropes as his ass grew disproportionately large, his body fat seeming to concentrate even more around his overdeveloped glutes.
Exacerbating the issue was another side effect he didn’t remember hearing about: his ass was getting increasingly sensitive. He was starting to enjoy the attention from his teammates, especially when someone’s hand lingered a little longer than usual, or even when someone was bold enough to let their supportive tap settle into a brief caress. Not only did he get a thrill from the added heft of his cheeks as they swayed and jiggled, sometimes fighting for space in his always tight pants, but he had sudden need to invest in better and better vibrators. He was already an enthusiastic bottom, but now it’s like his hole was yearning for attention. This was somewhat embarrassing, but he started taking breaks at work just to scratch that itch. He always made sure no one was around, but a few times was almost caught in the act by Devin, who more and more often would pop into Marc’s office unannounced—for the most random and esoteric reasons—not to mention how his bathroom rhythms seemed to mysteriously synchronize with his co-worker’s.
This isn’t to say that Marc was at a loss for getting that itch scratched the old-fashioned way. In fact, his popular ass had only gained in notoriety, and a steady stream of trouble, good and bad. A few weeks later, at the Carabiner to meet an on again off again flame Eli, Marc was dressed to impress. Seated on a bar stool, nursing a French 75 (which both Eli and Brian would constantly rib him about), his collarless, short sleeve, black top made a tantalizing stretch over his upper traps and well-formed shoulders, a thin gold chain partially and tastefully hidden. But that’s not what stayed in anyone’s mind as soon as their eyes would lock on to the serious bubble butt stretching his tight leather pants to the limit. They used to be well formed to his backside, framing his perky cheeks perfectly, but now they were holding on for everything they were worth, unable to cover the upper curve of his growing shelf or the top of his olive green bikini briefs.
He got a slight thrill as a hand rested on his shoulder, turning to see not Eli’s deep brown eyes, but the piercing blue of some blond twunk who stumbled into him, with his equally blond and indistinguishable friends standing a few steps away.
“Maybe lay off leg day, dude,” he laughed into Marc’s ear, just loud enough for his friends to hear, before turning to rejoin them.
Before Marc could respond, a familiar voice intervened. “Did you come up with that one yourself or have you and the axis of evil been workshopping it?” mocked Eli, just loud enough for the crowd to cackle, grabbing Marc’s hand so they could make their escape.
“That was so hot back there. Clapping back and skipping on the tab?” chuckled Marc as he nibbled on one of Eli’s earrings, safely back at their place, fooling around on the couch.
“I pick up shifts there on occasion, I’ll take care of it. Besides, they all know I live for drama,” said Eli with a wistful flick of the wrist, getting up to strut across the room. Rustling around for a comically long time in a drawer, they pulled out a strap-on and a seven inch, neon pink dildo. Turning to Marc with a sly smile, “But anyways, the usual?”
A little over an hour later, having moved to the bed, Eli leaned onto Marc’s shoulder with an exhausted sigh. “The next one?” they asked.
“Yeah, just need to go deeper this time. I don’t know what it is,” replied Marc, glancing at the small pile of sex toys now thrown together on a table nearby. Eli always liked to joke about how they could switch up dick sizes on a whim when hooking up, but they had nearly gone through their entire collection.
“I don’t even think this fits in the harness, but I got this gag gift for my birthday last week!” exclaimed Eli, reaching into a discreet box to pull out a comically oversized dildo, before proceeding to flail it around like a lime green lightsaber, fake sound effects and all.
“Honestly? Fuck it,” said Marc. His hole had been through it this evening, but was barely tired. As Eli slid the toy in, Marc gasped at its surprising girth, feeling his walls cry out in indignation, followed by a relieved, satisfied fullness. His muscles began to contract harder and harder, almost entirely taking over from Eli’s ministrations rocking the dildo in and out of his tight hole. Their harness still on, Eli ground into Marc’s crotch while fingering themself, guiding Marc’s hand to their pussy.
“Dude,” said Marc, feeling the toy slide in and out, hitting just the right spot, “this rhythm is so good, don’t stop.”
“What? That’s all you,” replied Eli, “I’m hands free.” As if to prove their point, they settled their hands on Marc’s biceps, sliding one down to his forearm to help him get more leverage as Eli ground their crotch in sync with Marc’s now autonomous sphincter muscles.
Marc was surprised, and more than a little turned on, to realize that he was working the dildo in and out all on his own, a talent he didn’t think he had before. Was his hole getting more dexterous?
---
As they cuddled after, Eli looked up into Marc’s eyes to ask, “So…I’m guessing GluteMax?”
“Yeah,” responded Marc. “Brian put me onto it. How’d you know?”
In a mocking voice, their head lilting back and forth slightly, “And then the Grinch’s ass grew three sizes that day,” said Eli as they gave a playful pat to Marc’s posterior, settling into a lazy caress.
“Is it really that noticeable?” said Marc with a look of slight worry.
Eli internally slapped himself for ruining the mood. Marc was probably still sore about that douchebag at the Carabiner. “I mean I’m obviously a fan,” they said casually, their eyes rising toward the ceiling. “As were 70% of the people on our walk over here. Besides, if you like it, that’s all that matters.”
With a thoughtful look, Marc said, “Hmm, I do,” nuzzling into Eli’s chin stubble.
“But actually! Don’t go overboard with that stuff. It’s been hitting some of the bodybuilding and body mod queer circles pretty hard. They essentially ‘OD’ on the pills to push themselves even further. It’s called glutemaxxing,” they explained with a roll of their eyes.
---
The next week, Marc got a text from Eli at work, saying As I mentioned… with a link to a TikTok. It was some muscle twink explaining how to get GluteMax to hit your system with more speed and intensity, but Marc quickly lost track of anything being said when he caught sight of this dude’s gargantuan cheeks. The video switched to a recording of him at the gym maxing out on deadlifts, his ass ballooning behind him as it threatened to rip his pastel lavender lycra tights on every rep. Marc and Brian had a friend date at Brian’s place that evening, so he decided to bring it up then. Brian usually kept track of weird bodybuilding and fitness fads, but Marc also wondered if he’d been having these weird side effects, too.
“No, but I’ve had some other issues,” said Brian with a brief look of slight consternation. “Well…my dick’s been kind of in overdrive lately, not to mention it’s been getting harder than it’s ever been. And maybe it’s the added muscle mass in my glutes, but my stroke game’s been out of control. Honestly, I’ve had to start holding back, I’ve been afraid I might hurt someone. My hookups lately have been really sore but haven’t complained…yet. In fact, they keep coming back for more, but I have to be really careful about taking it easy,” he added as he rubbed his palms with concern.
Brian was notoriously oblivious, and while he was saying this, Marc was gradually losing composure, his hole growing wet and hungry. He slid a finger back involuntarily, letting out a soft, unexpected moan, which cut Brian off from continuing his accidentally horny description of GluteMax side effects. Brian, not realizing the extent to which he’d been getting himself hot and bothered, asked, “You need some help with that?”
Marc practically collapsed onto Brian’s meaty pecs as Brian gingerly slid his hands across Marc’s juicy backside. In the back of his mind, he loosely recalled his head usually reaching Brian’s shoulder, but he almost came right then and there as Brian practically ripped through his pants to get to his hungry hole.
“You’re so wet, I need you so bad, dude,” muttered Brian.
“Well. Don’t hold back,” returned Marc.
He wasn’t attached to those work chinos, which was good seeing as Brian popped stitches getting them off with his recent gains in strength. He scooped Marc up effortlessly, bringing them face to face as they began to make out ravenously. As Brian stomped to his bedroom, Marc wasted no time, and began grinding on his crotch as their tongues danced across each other’s mouths.
Marc found himself thrown disrespectfully onto the bed, looking up to see Brian’s playful expression with a tinge of deep hunger. His bikini briefs were gone faster than his pants, forgotten in the next room.
With sudden grace, Brian ran his fingertips along the undersides of Marc’s thighs, as he lifted his legs to expose his waiting hole.
“Oh, what’s this?” he asked, taking notice of a small butt plug, hearing its soft hum for the first time.
“Oh yeah, needed something to tide me over,” responded Marc with a dreamy look.
Brian’s fingers wrapped around the flared base, and with torturous slowness pulled the plug just far enough out before shoving it back in with a soft squelch.
“God you’re wet,” teased Brian, as Marc head fell back in pleasure, not to mention anticipation of what was to come.
The small void of visceral need left behind by Marc’s butt plug was soon filled by Brian’s powerful tongue, as he ate his hole with abandon.
Previously, all this could have been enough to send Marc over the edge, but now he needed more. Much more. In a moment of respite from Brian’s rimming, he hoped, with slight worry, that this intense horniness was just a temporary side effect of the supplement. He enjoyed it, but he could imagine getting tired of the increased sensitivity of his bubble butt and unrelenting need of his hole.
This was immediately shelved for later contemplation as he felt Brian’s cock push softly, playfully, against his sphincter. A soft rocking in, and out, and in, and out, getting farther and farther in every time. They hadn’t hooked up since college, but he was familiar with Brian’s dick, but this was…something else. His schlong move through Marc’s colon much farther than he had anticipated, rivaling Eli’s mega dildo. More than that, it seemed to push against his walls more and more with each pulse.
“Dude,” whispered Marc between breaths, “you’re huge…”
In the back of his mind, he was mildly alarmed about taking this much dick this quickly, but his hole was surprisingly pliable, and still strong as ever, as he began to flex with superhuman power. Brian responded in turn, finally unleashing the jackhammer he’d been so careful to hold back, his prodigious cakes flexing with each powerful thrust.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” they said in unison, working in a rhythm that they’d both been yearning for. After what seemed like an eternity, they came together in mind numbing bliss, Brian’s head falling against the stubble of Marc’s chin as his strong hands caressed his shoulders.
“I guess it really works,” crooned Brian into Marc’s ear, as they fell together into deep, deep slumber.
---
As Marc woke the next morning, he took notice of two things. One, across the mountainous expanse of Brian’s shoulders rising ever so slightly up and down with his soft breaths, the rays of the morning sun were of an angle and indulgent golden hue as to imply a severe lateness for work. And two, Brian’s cock was definitely bigger than he remembered it. What he had assumed to be some sort of exaggeration of the imagination in his unbelievably horny delirium was proven false as Brian’s dick stirred to life, leaving a trail of sticky precum farther and farther up the crevices of Marc’s abs. Maybe it was a side effect of the hormonal shift from GluteMax. Didn’t Brian mention something about nanotech? And how was his now satiated hole now able to produce its own lube in copious amounts? He made a mental note to do some investigating right after he called out of work. But for the time being, with Brian’s corded arms and tree trunk thighs wrapped tightly around him, he was fine right where he was.
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 ]
Also on Metabods
+ + + + +
[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.
Olly and Amir start their new assignment as extension agents for the Center for Supernatural Sciences. Their first house call is for a couple who didn't realize their 'lifting and enhancing' underwear was very much literal, and the effects don't seem to be stopping.
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Also on Metabods
[ ball growth // dick growth ]
3905 words
Note: This idea is the confluence of a few things: wanting to bounce around more between sudden tf/growth ideas; wanting to dip back into the world of Just Ignore It, which you'll recognize from the opening scenes; and wanting to play around with tf writing ideas that are also ironic commentaries on the genre (a great example is Camp Friends on GSS). Also, you'll recognize Olly and Amir from a short prompt several months ago that I really enjoyed.
- - - - -
Olly grimaced as his muck boot squelched into an unexpectedly soft patch of earth.
“Did they have to send us to the middle of a swamp for our first assignment?” he complained. “Wasn't there supposed to be some onboarding process? An internship or something?”
“Be careful, this ecosystem is still recovering from a spacetime disturbance. Some spots might be shifting back to a previous state. It’s a–”
“Temporal ecotone, I skimmed the report.”
“Also, it’s a marsh with tree islands, if you want to be technical about it,” said Amir. “And all the associate agents are slammed with case loads, apparently. CSS just went through another round of budget cuts, they had to pull back on the training program.”
“What do you mean?” Olly's voice dripped with sarcasm. “I was thrilled to be the guinea pig for the innovative Co-Leadership Field Immersion Program.”
“There ya go!” exclaimed Amir, matching Olly's energy beat for beat. “We're officially Extension Agents for the Center for Supernatural Sciences.” He spread his arms wide, stepping dangerously close to the multicolored, iridescent sphere half buried in the humus.
“We're on damage control,” Olly quipped. “Fixing time holes and grabbing weird little orbs out of the muck.”
“It's better than a desk job,” Amir responded. He held up a thin translucent TemPad, surveying the area and lightly tapping the screen. The clearing formed a perfect circle around the sphere. Grasses, tree branches, and ephemeral flowers seemed to sway with the waves of green, purple, and gold linework flowing around its surface. “Besides, we're lucky to end up here after that beach incident. Which was your idea, by the way.”
“CSS deals with shit like that all the time,” Olly groaned. “That was experimental, on the ground training. Where else were we supposed to practice corporeal transformation magic?”
“We gave someone an ankle-length dick that ripped through his speedo.”
“Okay, well did he die?”
“He got a public indecency charge!”
“But we got that expunged because everyone ended up nude–”
“Also our fault.”
“--so the legal team at CSS retroactively got a temporary nude beach permit. No harm no foul.”
“And the lifeguard we had to track down because his ass was inflating out of control?”
“Bubble butts are in. People love a dumpy.”
“He was trapped in his car…”
“Okay,” Olly rolled his eyes. “True enough.”
“Not to mention we turned multiple people into 20 foot tall giants, one of whom proceeded to smash the life guard tower.”
Olly sighed. He snapped on a pair of lavender gloves and bent down to pull the orb out of the muck. He gently brushed off some of the ground cover that had crept over it, giving it a hard yank when the ground cover fought back. “It was pretty hot though, right?”
Amir deadpanned a stare at his friend as he coaxed a semi-sentient vine into a small containment box. “It was,” he relented.
—
“I just mean there are cooler assignments than mysterious orb in a time swamp or novelty hat that causes fat asses,” said Olly, holding the door open for Amir.
“And we’ll work our way up,” said Amir. “But for now we’re on…damage control.”
The gas station convenience store was empty except for the cashier behind the counter. He gave a cheery wave, causing the wooden stool he was perched on to creak in complaint. Olly gave a cheerier wave back.
“Howdy…Kes,” he said, reading the attendant’s nametag.
“Afternoon,” Kes responded. “You need a fill up?”
“No, just some snacks,” answered Amir.
“We were out in the Marshlands all day,” Olly added with a wink.
“By the looks of it, I imagine more for business than pleasure,” said Kes, gesturing to the university van parked out front.
“Tragically.” Olly rolled his eyes and mock fainted at the exhaustion of holding down a job.
Kes chuckled, glancing around to pick out something the weary travelers might like. “Those cheese puffs are buy one get one. You won’t have to share.”
“These were recalled, weren’t they?” asked Amir, grabbing a bag of the neon orange exploded corn material.
“Technically they stopped production for some alleged…nonharmful cosmetic health impacts or whatever,” Kes shrugged, coming from behind the counter to chat it up with probably the afternoon’s only in-store visitors. “But we can still sell ‘em.”
“Then we’ll buy ‘em!” said Olly, grabbing two bags, eager to get back on the road.
“You sure?” asked Amir. “We could still look ar–”
He stopped short as Kes turned to head back to the counter and ring Olly up. Any consideration of the various kinds of health impacts of the snacks in that convenience store–recall or no–were launched out the window as Amir took notice of one of the juiciest bubble butts he had ever seen switching back and forth with the cashier’s spry walk across the store. Kes’s purple spandex shorts had a few deliberate aesthetic tears, yet his ass stretched the material to ridiculous proportions. Amir couldn’t imagine those bulbous buns fitting into any other kind of material.
“Amir!” said Olly, with the intonation that it was not the first, second, or third time he had tried to get his partner’s attention in the quiet store. “You sure you don’t want anything else?”
“Oh, uh, no, I’m good,” said Amir, visibly embarrassed.
“We finally out of those recalled cheesy poofs?” came a lighthearted voice from the back. “I hear they go straight to your hips.”
Kes rolled his eyes. “Then maybe you should try ‘em,” he called back. “That’s Zac, he’s allegedly in charge around here.”
“Only on paper,” said Zac, emerging from the storage room. Olly couldn’t help but notice that Zac didn’t quite reach the top of the doorframe but it felt like he stretched well beyond it, like an optical illusion being interpreted through some slightly higher dimension. He felt waves of some kind of temporal distortion that dissipated as soon as they appeared. He tried to remember offhand how to engage his Sight to do a closer scan, but was immediately distracted by the pipe snaking down Zac’s pant leg.
“Oh, sorry,” Zac chuckled, taking notice of the trouser snake threatening to flop out of his shorts. “These are an old pair…I guess.”
Olly made quick eye contact with Amir, who was also picking up on a mysterious ambient energy in the space. “You two haven’t heard about any…weird happenings around these parts have you?” Amir asked the pair.
“What, like Bigfoot here?” Kes quipped, pointing his thumb to his manager’s sandals. They looked massive, big enough that they had to have been special ordered. Yet his toes still noticeably extended past the edge.
“I, uh,” Amir laughed nervously, trying to refocus. He had managed to recall how to switch to his Sight, but it didn’t seem to work. “We’re extension agents with CSS,” he continued. He briefly removed his glasses, trying to surreptitiously squint between Zac and Kes. “Patching up that spacetime disturbance out in the Marshlands.” He put his glasses back on with a professional smile.
“Oh, that business,” said Zac. “Haven’t heard a peep from there in months, I don’t think.”
“All kinds of weird stuff happens out here,” Kes shrugged. “We’re used to it, I guess.”
“Maybe we could swap stories some time,” said Olly, not to Kes but to Zac, who he eyed with a mix of lust and analytical curiosity. Amir wondered if he was also having trouble switching on his Sight beyond the veil of energy in the convenience store.
“Maybe,” Kes answered, a smile flickering across his face. “But there must be all kinds of wackiness keeping you busy back in the city.”
Amir’s Sight may have been malfunctioning, but he definitely picked up on the dimensional subsonics in Kes’s voice, carrying with them the feeling of a slightly discordant tune. Before he could follow that question mark, Olly’s TemPad started emitted an insistent ding.
“Speak of the devil,” he said to Amir. “We got a situation back in town.”
—
“There was something…off in that gas station, don’t you think?”
“I guess, but there’s a lot of weird stuff out there,” Olly responded, as they pulled in front of a squat, brick apartment building in the city. “And in there, apparently.”
CSS had gotten a call through their hotline about a potential out of control transformation event and relayed the location to the duo. Details were scarce, but from the looks of things, the situation was still contained within the walls of this cozy apartment.
“I don’t know, I can’t get my mind off of it,” said Amir, as they climbed up the exterior stairs. “I tried to do a quick metaphysical scan, but something kept blocking me.”
“Maybe they had a ward against the Sight. You can just get those online these days. They have subscription services.”
“Yeah, but it was something else. Like I was being redirected, or like something was covering its tracks in real time or–”
“I think we’re here,” Olly interrupted.
“Unit…317?” Amir said, tapping on his TemPad to verify.
“...Definitely,” confirmed Olly, standing in front of the door. “You can tell by the–”
“Ughh!” Amir had a very sensitive nose, which, to his chagrin, came in handy fairly often in their line of work. But even someone with nasal passages sealed shut by a gnarly seasonal cold would get a good whiff of the telltale dank mixture of musk, sweat, and cum that was emanating several feet past the entrance to 317. “They should’ve warned us,” he groaned.
“We should’ve seen it coming,” Olly smirked. “They’re not exactly setting us up for success, are they?” He gave the door a few sharp raps to announce their presence.
“If it’s this bad, there might be a pheromonal component to whatever this incident is,” said Amir, eyes narrowing. “Gloves on, masks on.”
Olly was snapping his translucent lavender face mask over his ears as the door opened, releasing a wave of musk that threatened to bowl them over physically. On the other side of the threshold was a demure, slim man who looked to be in his mid twenties. He appeared to be on the tail end of a marathon of exhaustion and anxiety, managing a weak smile that said he had paused his nervous breakdown just to come greet his guests. Under a mop of curly hair, he was clad in nothing but a sleeveless crop top and a thong with a very oversized and even more so overstuffed pouch.
“Hi,” he smiled, relief breaking across his face. “You must be the emergency response, I’m–”
“Kyle, I assume?” said Olly. His eyes were laser focused on the strained pouch that bobbed between the man’s legs, themselves positioned wide just to accommodate the size of his package. Oblivious to the outstretched hand that he did not reciprocate, Olly kneeled down to eye level with his crotch. His bulge looked comical. One would assume he had stuffed a couple pairs of crew socks in a novelty pouch if not for the unmistakable shape of a sizable cockhead and an even more disproportionate set of balls threatening to spill out the sides. “Well, that’s not so bad, all things considered. We’ve seen much worse. By the sound of it, it seemed like–”
He was cut off by a low, rumbling groan from the next room. In the silence that followed, the three could hear a slow rhythm of squelching starting to build.
“Uh, I’m Gil, actually” the man muttered. “That’s Kyle,” he added, gesturing down the hall as his face flushed with foreboding. “Sounds like he’s getting started again.” He sighed, flexing his hands and rotating his wrists, as if in preparation for some dextrous task.
“Hi, Gil!” said Amir. In place of Olly, he shook Gil’s hand, still extended in the air. “I’m Amir and my enthusiastic friend here is Olly. We’re from CSS. How about you introduce us to Kyle?”
The smell only grew in intensity as Gil led them through the apartment, trying to explain the situation to the best of his ability. “We got this underwear as a joke, ya know? They were supposed to ‘lift and enhance’ or whatever…” Gil said. “And there are all these like, gay urban legends about them.” Amir hmm’ed along to confirm he was listening, while getting an eyeful of Gil’s perky, round posterior. “But we didn’t think they would do…this to us.”
The sight in the bedroom at the back of the unit was hard to comprehend at first. The air was heavy with spunk, as were the sheets of their king size bed, soaked through with what looked like multiple layers of unending jizz, pooling and oozing across the hardwood floor. It was almost as if a Dionysian sex party of historic magnitude had just taken place in the cozy bedroom and the dozens and dozens of horny denizens had snuck out, leaving only Kyle splayed across the bed, still wriggling in pleasure among gallons of cum.
“Mmmmm heh behh,” he muttered, taking notice of Gil through half lidded eyes.
“Babe, your mouth is full,” said Gil. He gingerly sat on the side of the bed, cradling his partner’s sticky, matted head.
“...Oh,” mumbled Kyle, as if suddenly realizing that his jaw was overextended by the beer can thick two foot tube of flesh that began at his crotch and ended between his lips. “Hey babe,” he repeated, briefly and reluctantly removing his collarbone cock from his exhausted mouth. A river of precum continued to drool from his huge slit onto his chin. He lapped it up eagerly, one hand holding up the weight of his dick while the other caressed an ungodly set of balls. His sack looked heavy, soccer ball sized testes resting on the sheets, too massive to allow his legs to lay comfortably flat. “Did you bring some extra hands?” he asked, perking up at the sight of Olly and Amir, standing rapt in the doorway. “You always know how to help. I’m so pent up…it’s been so long since I’ve cum…like…”
“Around fifteen minutes,” said Gil, giving his partner a gentle kiss on the forehead. “They’re from CSS. Remember you called about our…emergency?”
“Oh right,” said Kyle. “Because of the…the briefs…right?”
“Mmhm! They’re gonna help us figure out what’s wrong.”
“What’s…wrong…” Kyle’s eyes drifted from Gil to Olly to Amir, who was frantically tapping notes into his TemPad as his partner stared in fascination. Finally they settled on the massive cockhead hovering just above his lips, its siren call becoming irresistible. “Wait, wait,” he said, with a moment of clarity through a fog of unrelenting lust. “What…happened…what’s happening to me??”
“We’re here to find out,” said Olly, approaching the bed with awe.
“What did we do?” Kyle wrestled his prodigious cock out of the way to get a better look at the wildly oversized cum factory churning away, radiating heat between his legs. “I…I’m a freak!”
“Oh, don’t say that! You look incredible, really.”
“Yeah, you can probably still walk for now, so that’s good,” said Amir from across the room, carefully inspecting the cum soaked underwear that had once fit Kyle’s gargantuan bait and tackle. “...Sorry,” he added, taking note of Olly’s death stare. “The question is why you’re having such a strong reaction. Have you consumed any unusual, magical, or elicit substances in the past 48 hours?”
“We’re not cops,” Olly added with a helpful smile.
“Do you have any other pairs of these?” Amir asked, holding up the briefs.
“Just the ones I’m wearing,” said Gil.
“Hmm can I see the tag?”
Gil thought for a second, then shrugged and whipped off his thong. His own comically large member and orange sized balls flopped down between his legs, still dwarfed in comparison to Kyle’s behemoth. While relieved to be rid of the constricting pouch, he was suddenly all the more self-conscious to have his embarrassingly large junk on display to the two extension agents. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said. “They’re kind of the only thing that…fits, right now.”
“It’s so…big,” Kyle muttered, not at his partner but with eyes wide in terror at a pair of nuts that had already left soccer balls behind. “So full…please, you have to help. I think it’s…starting.” He moaned, head rolling back onto his shoulders as his balls churned and swelled, taking up more and more space on the ruined bed.
“Shit, it’s happening again,” said Gil. “We have to get him off before they get too big.”
“This isn’t already too big?” Olly asked, his eyes alight with glee.
“We’ve seen much worse.” Gil climbed on top of his partner and began stroking the length of Kyle’s shaft with both hands. “God, you’re massive,” he muttered.
“Mmhm?” Kyle purred. His dick sprung to attention, sending globs of precum through the air. It twitched with every heartbeat, huge vein pulsing along the ridge.
“So fucking huge,” Gil reiterated. He reached around to massage Kyle’s balls as they inexorably inflated, coming to rival watermelons attached to his crotch. He gave them a hard squeeze, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. Kyle’s entire body tensed, his dick spurting more pre from the neverending well of his sack. Gil’s hands were pushed apart as Kyle’s dick swelled even further, his face a contortion of pleasure and pain.
“Wait, I…I can’t…” Kyle looked up in dismay as the head of his dick reached eye level and continued beyond, now out of reach of his eagerly waiting lips.
“You’re gonna make me work for it, huh?” Gil mocked. He climbed onto his lover, parked his bubble butt on top of Kyle’s face, and proceeded to lap up the faucet of precum before trying to fit the glans into his mouth. They both ate gleefully, Kyle moaning between Gil’s perfect cheeks and stroking the length of his footlong.
“I think I’ve got it!” Amir declared, barely garnering Olly’s attention. “There’s a sigil stitched into the waistband, which, from the looks of it, is supposed to cause the lifting and enhancing, but only enough to fill the pouch.”
“...Okay,” said Olly, reluctantly remembering he was at work. “But…”
“But! Kyle’s pair has a break in the circle right here, probably due to a malfunction in the machine causing a float stitch. So reading the broken sigil, the spell should still cause expansion...”
“Well yeah we’ve got that,” said Olly.
“But enough to fill any…available…space…” Amir trailed off, looking with mounting concern at the ball sack that now covered most of the bed, complimented by the tower of cock that was forcing Gil to kneel rather than sit comfortably on his lover’s face. “Oh.”
“Much worse,” Gil reminded, urgently working to get his partner off before his bean bag chair nutsack threatened to crush them all against the walls.
“Okay!” said Olly. “Okay. We know the problem, and it’s an easy one because we’ve certainly dealt with plenty of sigils. We just remove it and destroy it, and we should be good. Right?”
“Sort of…” said Amir.
“Sort of??” asked Olly.
“Saht uh?” mumbled Kyle.
“The growth would stop, but I don’t know if it would…reverse…”
“Isn’t that…like…your entire job?” Gil asked.
“Well shrinking is admittedly not our forte,” Amir offered.
“We’re new,” added Olly, with an upbeat smile.
“But I have a theory!” exclaimed Amir.
“We’ve got a plan!” Olly reassured.
“If we get Gil’s pair onto Kyle and then get him to cum, it might reset the spell, bringing Kyle back to a manageable size.”
Kyle and Gil exchanged a lengthy look, then reluctantly paused their fornication to put this new plan into action. It took all four of them to hoist Kyle’s monstrous sack over the edge of the bed. It settled on the floor with a thud, his feet still dangling on either side. He could practically use it as his personal fleshy couch, which was quickly becoming a reality with the rate of expansion.
Getting the briefs over his feet and up most of his legs was the easy part. Olly grabbed his hands and guided him into a standing position, narrowly avoiding being taken out by the baseball bat schlong that swung wide under its own momentum.
“Okay, I think if we just get the pouch under his balls and the waistband all the way up, the spell should acti…vate…” Amir trailed off at the sight of the latest complication, and his biggest weakness. As he should’ve realized when he met Gil, the ‘lifting and enhancing’ didn’t just apply to genitals. As Kyle stood up, he was followed by a pair of ass cheeks that were two jiggly globes of unbelievable proportions comically ballooning from his lower back. “I, uh…”
“It’s not that bad, is it?” asked Kyle, trying to turn around to see the hemispheres hovering behind him.
“It’s…much worse,” Amir muttered.
“Hey!” snapped Olly. “Focus! We’re almost there.”
They struggled to pull the waistband over Kyle’s mountainous cheeks. Amir didn’t want to think about what would happen if they snapped and the sigil broke mid-spell, but as Kyle’s ass wobbled and shook with increasing mass, Amir was losing any ability to think at all.
Gil kept Kyle occupied by slowly ministrating on his cock head. He knew just how to slow his partner down and prolong his pleasure, even if he was wrestling over a yardstick of dong.
When the waistband fell into place with a loud snap, the energy in the room shifted. Kyle’s balls tensed up in anticipation of orgasmic release, his legs struggling to remain upright. With one final, monumental pulse, his dick lurched forward, giving a wet, heavy slap to Gil’s cheek and knocking him to the floor.
“Oh fuck,” whispered Kyle through ragged breaths. “Sorry, babe, I…I…”
The first jet of cum shot through the window and smacked into some unsuspecting neighbor’s windshield. The rest managed to stay inside, knocking pictures off the walls, plants off of shelves, and ruining any hope that Kyle and Gil may have had in getting their security deposit back. It went on for an eternity, Kyle howling in pleasure as Olly, Amir, and a very dazed Gil took cover behind a dresser, trying to avoid any head on exposure to the cum cannon shooting wildly around the room. Kyle lost himself in orgasmic bliss, his dick a furnace of firepower that he could scarcely control, his brain burning inside out as he shot rope after rope of unending jizz.
Finally, the torrent turned to a gush and the series of thuds against the walls turned to sporadic splats. When all was said and done, the others peeked out from behind the dresser to find Kyle passed out on the floor. An 8 inch softie hung out of his briefs, the pouch stuffed with a pair of nuts that more resembled mangoes than melons. His ass was still nothing short of colossal, not that Amir was complaining.
“Well,” said Gil, surveying the thick splatters of spunk that seemed to coat every available surface. “Thanks…I guess.”
“No problem!” Olly clapped him on the shoulder. His face became an image of regret at the squelching sound his hand made against Gil’s jizz-covered delt.
“And remember,” said Amir, “it’s always better to get handmade magical items. You never know what can go wrong with this mass produced stuff.”
Gil sighed at his sleeping partner. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
Do you also write male breast expansion, by any chance? Or you prefer to focus on ass expansion?
I contain multitudes 😅
I have a sticky note deep in my brain reminding me to write more pec growth, but I think there are some juicy man tiddies sprinkled here and there. A fun one that comes to mind is Miguel's growth arc in DKGAM, especially starting around Chapter 8 (which itself was inspired by an ask about pec growth lol)
EDIT: see also this deserted island short prompt with coconut-based breast expansion!
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 ]
Also on Metabods
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 prequel to the Jizzer story from years ago. This story follows Lewis, the so-called Patient Zero in this scenario.
Lewis was setting up camp for a relaxing weekend in the wilderness when he encounters a strange entity...
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Lewis loved the great outdoors. He loved camping. He loved to just get away from it all. He barely got cell signal out here, and his friends all knew to leave him alone unless it was an emergency. This was a vacation not just from his job but from the hustle and bustle of modern life.
As Lewis stepped out from the woods and into the clearing, he quickly downed the last of his beer and then chucked it onto the nearby pile. This was it. This was his favorite place – a small clearing in the forest known only to him.
The clearing had signs of his previous visits. There was a patch of dirt that had significantly less plant growth due to him repeatedly setting up his tent there. There was a small pile of rusted cans that he kept telling himself he’d clean up but had so far not felt the need. There was even a ring of stones marking the spot he typically set up his campfire.
There were a few differences since last he had been here. The clearing was damp and muddy. There was a layer of some sort of white, goopy substance spread across the grass. It looked and smelled like jizz, but there was far too much of it to be that. Most likely it was some kind of fungus that had started to take over the forest floor. However, it didn’t match any fungus that Lewis was aware of. He just had to assume that it was harmless. After all, he was up to date on all the poisonous flora and fauna in the region and this slime-like substance was not on that list.
Lewis dropped his pack and sat down on a nearby stump. He was just about to crack open another cold one when he heard something rustling in the bushes nearby. He didn’t think there was anything dangerous in these woods, and most wildlife had enough sense to leave people alone. He had half a mind to ignore it, but it sounded close and getting closer. He figured, just to be safe, he should take a look.
He crept closer to where he had heard the noise. As he approached, the rustling stopped. He had half a mind to leave things well enough alone, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. Just what was it that was hiding in that brush? Most likely it was something harmless like a frog or a badger, but what if it was something dangerous? If it was a snake, he would need to nip it in the bud before the thing decided to jump him as he slept.
He grabbed a nearby stick and used it to poke through the underbrush from a safe distance. His jabbing didn’t seem to have any effect. If there was something in the bushes, he either was not poking in the right area, or whatever it was knew enough to not lash out at the stick.
Lewis was just about to call off the search, but just before he could, his stick seemed to poke something soft. It didn’t feel like dirt. It felt squishy in a fleshy sort of way.
Lewis balked for a moment as he tried to parse what this could mean, but before he could decide on the next course of action, the thing he had just poked decided to make an appearance. The thing moved with blinding speed. It leapt from the bushes and launched itself straight at Lewis’s face. Lewis opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His mouth was completely plugged by the strange creature.
Lewis could feel the thing trying to force its way through his mouth and down his throat. He had no idea what its end goal was, but he knew he did not want that thing inside him. He grabbed at the long. Fleshy tail and struggled to pull it. All the while, the constant pressure against the back of the tongue threatened to trigger his gag reflex. He thought for sure he’d either pull the thing out or barf it up, but before that could happen, the slippery, slimy tail slid from his grasp and the creature wriggled past his tongue and down his throat.
Lewis immediately doubled over and pressed his fingers against the back of his tongue to try and force himself to puke, but his gag reflex had never been the most pronounced. Try as he might, he just could not force the thing up. That meant he had to find some other option.
If his gag reflex didn’t work, he did know something else that tended to make him puke – beer, and lots of it! He quickly opened his backpack and pulled out a six pack and began quickly slamming beer after beer, but by the time the third beer was down his throat, he started to feel very weird, and not in the way he expected from over-indulging. He felt light-headed and extremely warm. His clothes felt stifling. The fabric clung awkwardly to his damp, sweaty flesh, but it wasn’t just the sticky sweat that made his clothes feel so weird. It was almost as if his clothes were a size too small.
Lewis grabbed at the front of his shirt. He tugged at the flannel causing the buttons on the front to burst. His shirt fell open in the front which gave him a little bit more breathing room, but even through the odd haze that now clouded his senses, his chest and abs seemed off to him. He liked to hike. He was pretty fit, but he wasn’t that kind of fit. He wasn’t a gym rat. He had a low BMI but low muscle mass as well. Today, however, he had a nice set of pecs above a defined set of abs. When had he gotten so fit?
Lewis didn’t have time to ponder this though. He felt hot and feverish. He knew he needed to get some help.
He pulled his phone out of his pack and quickly tried to text his friends, but of course, there was no signal out here. He’d have to get closer to the edge of the woods before he got signal.
Lewis took a step towards the edge of the clearing. As he did so, he felt a pain in his feet. It wasn’t a sharp pain. It wasn’t like he had stepped on something. Rather, it was an intense pressure that threatened to crush the bones of his foot!
It took him but a second to clock what he was feeling. His shoes were so tight that they were squeezing his feet like vice grips!
Lewis was just about to bend down and untie his shoes, but before he could, he heard the telltale sound of leather stretching to its breaking point. The tough leather of his hiking boots groaned and creaked. The stitches holding the shoes together popped and frayed, and then, like a roll of store-bought cinnamon rolls in an air-tight cylinder, the leather on his shoes burst, revealing the sock-clad feet that had swollen inside.
Lewis could do nothing but stare down at his feet and the wreckage that were his boots. How had his feet swollen so much? Was this some kind of allergic reaction? It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. Now that he no longer had his leather hiking boots clenching down around his feet, they didn’t feel swollen. They didn’t feel itchy or anything like that that would indicate an allergic reaction. If anything, his feet felt kinda nice. The removal of the intense pressure was a godsend.
More than the release of his feet, though. Lewis was feeling pretty great overall. His cock had stiffened in the tight fabric of his denim jeans. His head was fuzzy. His cheeks burned red with arousal. He was horny as hell! But he knew enough to know that this was not a good thing. He had nothing to be horny about. This was probably an effect of whatever it was he had just swallowed. Many poisonous plants or fungi caused euphoric feelings or hallucinations. That had to be it. He wasn’t growing – he was tripping balls!
Lewis tried to clear his head and march towards where he knew the edge of the forest was. He was dazed, but he still knew the region well enough to know that there was an old farmstead not too far from here. He didn’t know if it was still occupied, but at the very least, it was a known landmark, and cell service would probably be better there.
He turned and started to stagger off into the woods towards the old farm. With each step, his skin burned hotter and his clothes clung tighter to his body. At first, he thought it was just the sweat that caused his clothes to cling to him, but as he staggered along, he could tell there was something else at play.
His muscles strained against his shirt. The front was open, but his bulging biceps pressed so hard against the sleeves that they threatened to burst, and his jeans were similarly stuffed. His quads strained audibly against the seams of his pant legs, but perhaps more shockingly was how hard his cock strained against the front of his jeans.
It wasn’t just that his cock was rock hard. His cock seemed impossibly large. Even through the tight fabric of his jeans, he could see the outline of his cock and balls. His package looked obscene! He had to have a cock that would make even a porn star blush.
Lewis had no idea what was happening. Some part of him wanted to stop his trek and take a moment to take stock of his transformation, but something spurred him on. Call it instinct. Call it terror. Whatever it was, he knew he needed to keep going. He knew he needed to find help.
As Lewis staggered through the woods, his body kept swelling. It wasn’t long before he was so thick that the sleeves of his shirt burst against the swelling mass of his beefy biceps and triceps.
Lewis knew he needed to keep moving. He knew he needed to get help, but the sheer act of bursting out of his shirt was so jarring that he couldn’t help but stop and gawk. It was like he was in a trance. He was absolutely transfixed by how huge and hunky he had become. His biceps now bulged like softballs, and his triceps were equally swole. His delts bumped up against his ears. His chest jutted out in front of him like a shelf. His abs were so dense and so defined that there were deep trenches between each individual muscle of his rippling eight pack.
Lewi’s dick gave a lurch of delight within his overstuffed pants. How had he gotten so huge? This was amazing? He was so huge! He was so hot!
Lewis hands began to grope and grip his sculpted muscles as if they had minds of their own. He could feel the dense muscle beneath his fingertips. That still didn’t fully rule out a hallucination, but they felt so damn real! They felt so damn good!
Lewis’s hands drifted lower, across his pecs, down his abs, over the dense V-shaped bulge of his Adonis belt, and towards the button at the top of his fly. If felt so good to let his pecs out… he could only imagine how great it would feel to let his cock air out too… after all, his cock was feeling so cramped in the tight confines of his denim jeans. He wanted to get that out too. He needed to get that out too. He wanted nothing more than to just whip his dick out and stroke it with both hands as he continued to grow and grow and grow…
Lewis managed to fight the urge, but he could feel his resolve slipping. It was getting harder to think about anything other than how huge and horny he was, but something in the back of his mind spurred him to keep moving. If these euphoric feelings were the result of some sort of toxin, he needed to do everything in his power to not give in!
He forced himself to move on. He gritted his teeth and struggled to clear his head as he lumbered awkwardly into the forest. He was dazed and borderline delirious, but his years in the forest still served him well. He was headed the right way… he was sure of it… he had to be…
As Lewis lumbered awkwardly forward, he could feel himself getting bigger. He could more than feel it, he could hear it! His jeans were tearing. The seams along the pant legs were so thoroughly strained that large swaths of bare flesh poked through. It wasn’t going to be long before his quads burst through his jeans in much the same way his biceps had burst through his sleeves. Some part of him wanted to stand there and watch as that happened, but he knew he needed to keep moving.
It didn’t take much longer. After only a handful of steps, his quads and calves burst through his overstuffed jeans. He quickly reached down and tugged the few remaining bits of denim away from his swole form and continued his march in just his underoos.
Lewis took a few more steps, but he just couldn’t resist the siren song of his own enhanced body. He needed to stop and take stock of his bod. He just felt so good. He wanted to drop onto the floor right then and there and whip his dick out and begin stroking.
As he took stock of his body, his rock-hard dick gave a lurch of delight inside his overflowing boxers. His boxers had previously been very loose, but now, his quads and glutes strained against them, but more shockingly was how his enormous cock and balls filled the front of his boxers. His nuts were each the size of grapefruit. His cock was as long as his forearm and just as thick. His dick jutted out so far in front of him that it caused the waistband of his boxers to be pulled back several inches from his midriff giving him a direct line of site to his thick shaft and heavy nuts.
Lewis balked. His jaw dropped. His dick lurched. He was so huge. He was so hung. He was so hot!
He tried to resist. He tried to fight back, but he couldn’t. He felt too good!
Cum erupted from his cock with such force that it sprayed through the damp layer of cotton that covered his dick. He came again and again. With each spurt, his dick swelled and his muscles surged. His boxers strained after the first spurt. They frayed after the second, and they burst completely after the third. The tattered ribbons of his boxers fluttered to the ground like confetti leaving him completely nude.
Lewis’s nuts now hung down past his knees. His cock was so huge that it would have hung to his shins had it been soft, but now that it was fully hard, it jutted out in front of him like a battering ram. Had he been his old size, the beast would have been nearly as wide as his hips, but he had packed on so much muscle mass that he was easily twice as wide as he had been this morning.
Lewis wanted to stop right then and there and just rub one out until he got ahead of his hard on, but something in the back of his mind told him he had to move. He would never be able to get ahead of his rager. Whatever had infected him would keep him in a permanent stage of euphoric, hormonal ecstasy. He would always be hard. He would always be horny. At least, until he got rid of whatever it was that had crawled inside of him. His only hope was to get out of the woods and get to where there was enough of a signal to call for help.
He forced himself to move, but not before reaching down and picking his cellphone out from the wreckage of his jeans. The screen was cracked, but the device seemed to still work… aside from the fact that there was no signal. He just had to hope that he’d get service as he trekked away from the heart of the forest.
Lewis staggered in a daze. One step in front of the other. Left foot. Right foot. Walking was all he could do. He could barely think. His mind was clouded by the sheer intensity of his own arousal and the knowledge that with each step he took his muscles and cock and balls continued to grow. His huge cock drooled pre unceasingly. His massive, heavy nuts swung between his shins.
At some point, Lewis heard the telltale chime of multiple text messages coming through. It wasn’t that everyone was trying to get ahold of him at once. It was that every message he had missed over the past several hours had all come through at once.
Lewis didn’t even look to see who he was texting. He clicked pop up after pop up and texted gibberish. He didn’t care who he reached out to. He didn’t care what he typed. He just needed to blanket as many people as possible with as much bullshit as possible for them to realize something was wrong and come get him.
It didn’t take long for his phone to start buzzing with an incoming call. Lewis instantly answered. He heard a familiar voice on the other are.
“Lewis? What the fuck? Are you ok?” the familiar voice asked.
Lewis opened his mouth to respond. He tried to formulate words, but all he could do was moan and gasp and writhe as cum spurted forth from his cock.
“Dude. What the fuck?” the voice on the other end said.
“S-sorry… I’m… I’m just… so horny…” Lewis croaked between cumshots.
“It’s way too early to be this drunk…” his friend grumbled before hanging up.
Lewis groaned in frustration, but his groan gave way to a moan as he came again. He gritted his teeth and started hitting random contacts on his list. Each time, the phone would ring. He’d either get a person or a voice box, and each time, he’d croak out the same warning.
“I’m just so horny…”
With each failed attempt at contact, Lewis got more and more frustrated. Eventually, he reached a breaking point. He flung his phone aside and continued his staggering march towards the old farm on the outskirts of the woods.
By the time he cleared the trees, he was so huge that he couldn’t even lower his arms. His nuts were so massive that they dragged along the ground at his feet. His cock was so huge that it was nearly twice as long as he was tall. All he could do was waddle awkwardly from the sheer size of his muscles and balls, but he was close now. He could see the old barn. He just had to make it there. If nothing else, he’d have protection from the elements until someone found him. He just had to hope that his growth stopped soon.
He couldn’t imagine it was possible to get much larger, but he never should have gotten this large to begin with. This was clearly not natural, but despite the fact that he knew he should be disgusted at the changes, his cock was as hard as ever. Pre oozed so heavily from his colossal cock that it turned the dirt to mud at his feet. He was just so huge. He was just so hot. He was just so hung. He was just… so… horny!
Lewis staggered forward and managed to slam his way through the doorway of the barn. He was fortunate that the doors were already open. He shuddered to think how he would undo the cross bar in his current state. Sure, he had massive muscles. In theory, he was strong. He was powerful, but he was also nearly immobilized by his own cock and brawn!
The trek was so tiring that once in the barn, Lewis collapsed. He fell face first into his own cock. The behemoth was wider than even his massive, muscular body, and his nuts were quickly reaching as large as his whole body! It was just so surreal… it was so unnatural… it was so… sexy!
Lewis came hard all over again. With each massive spurt of cum, he felt his muscles ripple and his cock lurch and his balls swell. He was getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger… and bigger… and he loved every second of it!
He moaned and writhed and groaned and flexed. All the while, he could feel himself growing. He knew he should stop. He knew that he shouldn’t give in. He knew he should fight it, but it felt so good. How would he even fight it anyway? His whole body was working against him! Every pound of his ton of muscles wanted more. Every inch of his several yards of cock wanted more. Every ounce of the thousands of gallons of spunk swelling in his sack craved release. All he could do was cum and grow and grow and cum and hope that someday… someone found him.
Until recently, Myron was oblivious to the fact that dicks would get mysteriously bigger the longer someone hung out with him. He begins putting the pieces together as his boss, Miguel, starts going through all too familiar changes below the belt.
2 - Next
Also on Metabods
dick growth // huge cock
2222 words
(I couldn't get this phrase out of my head and I thought it was funny, so I'm seeing where it leads)
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“Dicks keep growing around you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Or at least I think. It’s not exactly an airtight theory, but there are some examples.”
“And it just…happens,” responded my supervisor Miguel.
“Apparently.”
“And it’s happening to me?”
“Pretty sure.”
So I have a theory. Maybe just a hunch, I don’t know. And I’m not doing it on purpose, but I’m pretty sure I’m the cause. For lack of a better way of saying, dicks keep growing around me. And I don’t mean chubbing up, I mean literally growing. Like adding on real, tangible inches with no end in sight. It’s very slow, and I think it comes down to how often we’re in close proximity, but if you spend enough time around me, you may end up with more, sometimes much more, below the belt. I don’t have any idea how this works, but I wish I did. I’m still just piecing clues together.
So I guess Exhibit A would be my boss, Miguel. I do a lot of temporary contract work, which isn’t ideal, but allows me to string together rent while working on some of my own creative freelance stuff. I was hired onto this project six months ago to restructure the data management system of a small, local startup and they miscalculated the resultant shift in office space. After a series of awkward corners and at least one broom closet, they decided to just stick me in Miguel’s office. Miguel requested it actually. He figured I would be of more use working in tandem with him than I would blocking everyone’s path to the bathroom.
I was less than pleased to look like his makeshift corner secretary, and honestly I’ve dealt with much worse, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he seemed to welcome the company. Miguel kept a tight beard and even tighter fade, always perfectly put together in what looked like one-step-below-designer business casual, with the cherry on top being the neon purple and green barefoot shoes he tended to wear to work. I would’ve been annoyed if not for the fact that he was a genuinely nice, thoughtful guy, and more than just a captivating smile. Plus, I came around on his use of a balance ball chair once I was introduced to his tight butt clad in well fitting slacks. Not that I ever really thought about him that way.
So we shared a space and had a congenial enough dynamic. We both had similar tastes in some of the experimental music scene locally and would even go out to some shows together. Also he’s a self professed menswear expert and started systemically giving my wardrobe a much needed overhaul. So I found it odd when his usual form fitting, modern pants began to lose their flair.
At one point, he chalked it up to seasonal shifts, trying out some new, looser looks for the spring. Not to mention baggier, boxier styles had been taking the place of slim fit jeans and tight shirts, at least according to him. A few times he texted me in the morning, saying he was running late because of a ‘wardrobe malfunction,’ which I never thought much of. I had come to expect him cycling through three or four outfit changes before he finally made it out.
For a while it seemed like he might’ve just been getting the wrong fit, since he developed a habit of adjusting his crotch often, or even wincing slightly when he sat down too hard. And I had had multiple friends and partners with similar issues, so offered some tailoring tips, but he didn’t want to dwell on it.
I got a good idea why when we went to a show together one evening. A DJ we both liked was playing a set at a warehouse on a Thursday night, and we figured we had to go. We’d bring a change of clothes, work late on Thursday, then roll into the office late Friday morning. We could even call it a team meeting or professional development or something.
The show was euphoric. I felt like I was rising up and outside of myself as our bodies bounced on the packed dance floor, in so small part due to the haze of surprisingly strong drinks and party drugs. While Miguel seemed to be enjoying it, he was still preoccupied with the constant need to readjust his crotch. I had seen him in this pair of skinny leather pants–his ass alone was unforgettable–but they seemed especially constricting.
“Told you you’d look great in those pants,” came Miguel’s familiar voice in my ear. He never missed an opportunity to brag about being my personal stylist, but I had to admit I looked better than expected. However, I didn’t expect Miguel’s strong hands to linger on my hips, nor did I expect myself to close the rest of the gap between us. I’d been catching guys checking us out all night and I was feeling myself, so I thought Fuck it, as we began grinding to the rhythm. Maybe it was the fantasy of the moment or whatever I was on, but the bulge in Miguel’s pants felt major, and his crotch was radiating heat.
Suddenly, Miguel’s hands tensed up and he pulled away, his hand trailing against my lower back as he turned to leave. I asked if he was doing alright and he sputtered something about needing to piss, quickly disappearing into the crowd. I didn’t think much of it, and quickly got lost in the crush of moving bodies, and more than a few lingering caresses just below my hips. To say I was getting hot and bothered was an understatement and eventually I realized that I also needed to relieve myself, aiming in the vague direction of the bathroom but quickly getting lost in the crush of the crowd. Eventually I stumbled into a back alley, a rush of chill spring night air hitting my lungs as the party thumped through the wall behind me.
I turned my head at the sound of a deep sigh of visceral relief, looking to the left to see Miguel, eyes closed and head thrown back as he pissed loudly against the side of the wall. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind, and didn’t stop myself from glancing at his cock, which, semisoft, was hanging halfway down to his knees, jiggling comically as he shook off the last drops. It wasn’t just massive, it was beautiful, majestic under the streetlight, draped in shadow by Miguel’s outstretched arm, other hand bracing against the wall.
“Sorry,” he said, making me quickly realize that while my eyes were hyperfocused on his schlong, his were on me watching me hyperfocus on his schlong. “There was a line to the bathroom and it was about to be a photo finish,” a slight smile turning up his lips as he saw me finally draw my eyes away from his stunning dick.
“I, uh, was just about to join you,” I replied, deliberately keeping my eyes on his as he struggled to fit his prodigious cock back into his pants, by some miracle getting the zipper up after a few tries.
The awkwardness must’ve been my own anxious imagination, as the next day at work he actually seemed more relaxed than he had in a while, his bubble butt perched on his exercise ball chair as he sat with a leisurely spread, his bulge plainly visible. I guess the secret’s out, I thought. At least between us.
—
When the summer sun had come to stay, and my contract was wrapping up, he proposed an office hiking trip at one of his favorite trails, a moderately strenuous 3.5 mile track that led to an impressive waterfall tucked away just outside the city. I hadn’t been, but was familiar with it because my roommate, Ty, worked in the kitchen at a bar nearby that was kind of the post-hike spot. My apartment, according to Miguel, was “on the way” to the trailhead. I begged to differ, but he insisted on the kind gesture of giving me a lift, until we reached the compromise of me getting a ride home with Ty when their shift ended. So Miguel picked me up from my place, decked out in hiking boots, thick socks, a breezy short sleeve button down, and some five inch linen shorts with a sizable bulge. I had already caught a glimpse of his dick, so I wasn’t surprised by what looked like rolled up tube socks tucked into his crotch, but this looked bigger than I remembered.
And I don’t think I was the only one who noticed either. Miguel was certainly the center of attention when we met up with the others at the trailhead, albeit delightfully oblivious in his excitement to take us on this outing. And it looked like I may have missed the memo about the dress code. All the other guys were wearing similar short shorts, showing off their own respectable bulges–though not as impressive as Miguel’s.
As we set off down the trail, Miguel took an early lead, looking like he had no intention of slowing down. As we settled into a rhythm, I found myself consistently a few steps behind him–admiring more than the view of the scenery–with the rest of the group farther back but still within earshot. I began to think that Miguel should’ve stuck to the breezy bottoms he had fallen into wearing, because he was constantly adjusting the hem of his shorts as they dug into his meaty quads. At times, he seemed visibly uncomfortable.
As we reached a bend in the trail with a makeshift bench, we decided to take a breather and let the others catch up. Miguel’s shirt was glued to the middle of his back by a trail of sweat that ran down to his butt crack. I had trouble noticing anything else as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, pushing his tight butt in my direction as he caught his breath.
From behind, the crotch of his pants looked overstuffed and straining at the seams. I thought it must have been my exhausted brain and overactive imagination until with a soft rip, the crotch of his shorts gave out, his dick gracefully bobbing two thirds of the way to his knees, definitely bigger than before and paired with some proportionately huge nuts. Miguel, his cock now freed of its constraints, let out a sigh of relief before apparently coming to the realization of the cool breeze on his oversized genitals.
Hearing the others approaching, I sprang into action, pushing him off the trail and just behind a stand of bushes, hoping passers by would assume he was relieving himself and keep moving.
“Sorry,” he said. “I brought up a backup pair just in case, give me one second.”
“A backup pair?” I asked, wanting to respect his privacy but also betraying my own fascination with this super dick that I had now been introduced to twice.
“Yeah, I thought I wouldn’t have an issue yet with these pants, but wanted to be careful.”
“What do you mean issue?” I asked. “And what do you mean yet?”
“I don’t know, I think I need to see somebody about this, it’s like–” he was cut off by one of their co-workers catching up to them on the trail. He quickly finished changing and stuffed his cock back in his shorts, shooting me a brief look of thanks.
—
Thankfully, the rest of the outing passed without incident. We actually had a great time, and Miguel was certainly correct about the waterfall being worth the aggravation. A few of the guys even waded in to cool off, inadvertently revealing some very heavy bulges through the thin, wet fabric of their shorts. Miguel hung back.
We got drinks afterward and it was obvious Miguel was a post-hike usual. As the afternoon wore on to evening, everyone fell away slowly, until it was just the two of us. He insisted on hanging around until Ty could take me home, and I would’ve staunchly refused if not for how much I enjoyed his company–and how he would’ve stayed against my wishes anyways.
He hadn’t really been drinking–concerned about everyone else having a good time, in typical Miguel fashion–but I had maybe had more than I should. During a lull in the conversation, he leaned in slightly and said “Thanks for the save back there. Would’ve never lived it down at work.”
“To be honest, I was not expecting all that,” I said, trying to be careful not to push boundaries too far too fast.
“Honestly, me neither,” Miguel responded, his eyes widening slightly as he glanced into the distance. “TMI, but I’ve been kind of having a late growth spurt the last six months. Or something.”
And well, this is when the pieces finally started to come together. I had had hunches and musings over the years about my propensity to meet some truly noteworthy cocks, but something deep in my brain felt compelled to ask “When did it start?”
With a thoughtful look in his eye, he glanced at me and said, “Around when you showed up. You might be my lucky charm.”
A special jacuzzi with a warning at an all male resort that gives some guys the body but most importantly the bubble butt of their dreams! One young college naive new gym rat goes in with some swim shorts and comes out butt naked with the cake hes always wanted, getting lots of attention from the other men at the pool
I was really keyed into the mental image of someone emerging from the water with a suddenly gargantuan ass like a leviathan rising from the depths. And quick PSA, you need to let the attendants know if you have a hyper kink before entering the magic body mod hot tub. You never know what can happen.
[ ass expansion // dick growth ]
Also on Metabods
1506 words
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Phil had a problem.
As he sat in the froth of bubbles and jets, he read and re-read the sign for the umpteenth time.
"All transformations final," he read aloud to himself. "The resort is not responsible for impacts to daily life, health, wardrobe, or employment following exposure to the hot tub. Any club members with known or potential transformation or hyper kinks PLEASE see resort staff before entering for your own safety and that of fellow guests..."
Of course he had read the warning in bold lettering. And skimmed the liability release form. And half-listened to the resort attendant. He just hadn't taken it seriously. He'd wanted to see what all the fuss was about but had sort of assumed that the gimmick was in the fantasy itself. Like a sexy role playing situation. He didn't think "Body of Your Dreams" would be so literal.
"Phil, let's go!" his friend Omar called. "I wanna hit up the poolside bar on the roof before happy hour ends. Not that we'll be buying any of our own drinks," he laughed.
"Just a sec!" Phil called, displacing a much larger amount of water as he got to his feet than he had when he'd gingerly stepped in. Shit, he thought. He watched his tattered swim shorts float in the opposite corner of the hot tub, briefly wondering if they could still be used in a pinch to at least cover his junk as he made a mad dash back to their room. Not that anything he packed would make it more than five seconds against the bulbous butt cheeks that hovered behind him.
"You need me to get you a new pair of speedos?" Omar asked, peeking through the gate of the bamboo and palm tree privacy fencing that designated the Body of Your Dreams rejuvenation suite. "They have some at the kiosk around the corner, I went up like three sizes..." His eyes went wide as he took in his best friend's body.
"Don't laugh," Phil warned, his voice trembling. He couldn't tell if the flush of tingling sensation across his form was from embarrassment or residual effects of the magic hot tub. He hoped it was the former, since the rejuvenation had already done more than enough. "Just give me a second to...um...figure this out."
Omar stepped fully into view as he gawked at his friend, more specifically at the curvature of gravity defying cakes that could now be seen clearly from the front. He awkwardly adjusted the overstuffed pouch of the resort's loaner swim briefs, wincing slightly as his sizeable bulge slapped against his well defined thighs. It had been his idea to reserve the rejuvenation suite on the first night of their weekend stay. Phil had been so excited for them both to show off their hard earned gains while blowing off steam at this niche gay resort, but Omar pulled some strings to get them that extra boost. Just 30 minutes in the reality shifting hot tub and they'd be the center of attention for the rest of the weekend.
They had found it odd that the magical body transformation rejuvenation suite was buried at the bottom of the list of amenities, and that they'd had to bug three different staff members just to find where it was. But as they settled into the steamy water and turned on the jets, all that evaporated. It felt magical. The bewitched waters tingled across every surface, nook, and crevice of their bodies as they decompressed, gossiped, and made plans for what they'd be doing and who they'd be doing for the rest of their weekend. Their eyes played over each other's torsos as the changes gradually became apparent. Phil's already well padded pecs and shoulders slowly inflating far past what could've been written off as a juicy pump; the top rows of Omar's cobblestone abs becoming visible as he stretched his corded forearms skyward, his feet brushing playfully against Phil's burgeoning tree trunk legs as he took up more space. They both laughed as one swim suit then the other lost its struggle to contain their inflating mass and floated to the top of the hot tub, neither of them having sufficiently planned ahead for, or even fully believed, what would happen.
Omar was the first to get out. He tried to cover his manhood with his dinner plate hands, but they still proved insufficient for the top few inches of shaft that glistened in the soft rainbow mood lighting, let alone the orange sized balls that comically tumbled through his fingers. As he turned to exit the tub and grab a towel, Phil's eyes locked onto to the perfect muscle butt that protruded from his backside, giving a perky jiggle with even the most minute movements as he dried himself off.
Phil moved to follow suit then paused, his lips scrunching in concern. As Omar loved to point out, he was a leg day enthusiast, proud of having already built up a bubble butt that rivaled the one Omar was rocking now. He had always been self conscious about his disproportionate assets, but still enjoyed the attention they brought. When Omar had told him about adding the magic hot tub to their itinerary, he jokingly fantasized with himself about turning into one of the many stories and morphs that he would consume online of hyper assed men with butts that were far beyond the realm of human possibility. For a long time, he had secretly wondered what it must be like to lug around two yoga balls behind him that had to be shimmied and squeezed through normal doorways. Or to have a built-in bean bag chair wherever he went. His blood ran cold as he began to realize that as the suite promised, that dream was becoming a reality.
As they hung out in the hot tub, he had been delighted to feel his quads and hamstrings bulking up with size. He was looking forward to the attention he would soon receive from the other resort goers, but maybe moreso to the dumbfounded stares as he shut down the gym on leg day. But a pang of worry crept into his excitement as he felt his glutes jiggling and inflating in the warm water, the sides of his ass coming to press up against the edges of his corner of the tub. His heart hammered in his chest as his ass completely filled his corner seat and continued to expand. By the time the growth finally stopped, the top shelf of his cheeks had surfaced above the water like his own personal flotation device. Even as he stood facing his friend, they were so massive that they were still partially submerged, sloshing water out of the tub with every movement.
"I am...certainly...not laughing," said Omar as he circled the tub. "But I have so many questions."
Phil's hands shook as he felt the expanse of his unbelievable buns. He lifted one cheek, then the other, mortified by the heft of the globes ballooning from his lower back, yet indulging in the shivers of pleasure from each caress. He moaned just loud enough to catch Omar's attention, taking note of how even Omar's oversized new swim suit couldn't hide his ruler breaking semi. He was acutely aware of the inadequacy of just his two hands in properly servicing the lusciously large surface area of his new booty. Just as he was sure Omar was aware of the inadequacy of his own mitts for properly servicing the pipe that extended from his groin.
How were either of them going to wear regular clothes again? Phil wondered. How was he supposed to explain to everyone that he not only had an ass expansion fetish but became one? How was he even going to fit into his seat on the flight home? How was Omar going to wrestle that kielbasa when it inevitably tore through his pants with the slightest titillation?
Problems for another time, he figured. His ass quaked with each tenuous step from the tub. Just as Omar was having to re-learn how to stand properly with his suddenly pendulous cock, Phil was getting used to a whole new center of gravity dictating his every move. He waddled over to his friend, marveling at how far he had to look up to meet Omar's deep brown eyes. He let a hand caress his strained pouch as Omar, in turn, explored the hemispheres of his ass, rendered speechless by Phil's globular cheeks.
"Do you," Omar began, gasping as his dick lurched in Phil's hand, "still want me to get you some--" he winced as his new swim suit snapped, drifting forgotten to the ground as his cock sprang to life and slapped against his muscle tits.
"I think maybe we should take advantage of the clothing optional policy this weekend," said Phil, his eyes flicking upward to the music bumping from the rooftop pool. "We can figure the rest out on Monday."
This input is about allergy, shrinking, dick growth .
A couple is walking in the park in the middle of the afternoon, when one of them starts to sneeze, every time he sneezes he gets shorter in height and his dick starts to grow.
I'm not usually a fan of anything getting smaller, or of bodily functions, but it's good to try new things! This was a fun thought experiment, I fell into it more than I thought I would. Dick growth I'll jump at any day, but I have almost no frame of reference for what makes a good shrinking fic (or a good sneezing fic if that's a thing, idk). But I made an attempt lol
Also on Metabods
1161 words
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"No, ok, like touch your tongue to the roof of your mouth," Juan mumbled, tilting his head back to demo the technique to the taller man. "It's supposed to trick some nerve pathway that goes to your brain and cancels the sneeze."
Ryan squinted in concentration as his tongue prodded incessantly along the ridges of his mouth. "Wait, tilt your head back down," he said to his partner. "I need to--choo!" His face whipped into his elbow on cue as he sneezed twice.
He felt his entire body clench. A shiver spread through his nervous system, centered around his crotch, his balls contracting with each convulsion. Through a haze of disorientation, his underwear felt as oddly stuffed as his sinuses.
"Your allergies aren't usually this bad," Juan muttered, cradling his boyfriend's head in concern. Pollen season was in full swing, but they had been cooped up all winter, and, like half the city, had been itching to spend some time in the expansive nature preserve in the middle of town as soon as it got above 65 degrees.
"I think there's more pollen now, or it's coming earlier in the season, or it's evolving or something. I think I read something about it. You know, some effect from climate change I--I--CHOO!" Ryan sneezed hard enough to send him slightly off balance. He reached for where Juan's hand was supposed to be, instead bumping awkwardly into his elbow.
Juan got the message and steadied his partner. "Maybe let's head home until the plants end whatever this vendetta is against you. Looks like spring is in full attack mode, you're all hunched over."
"What do you mean?" asked Ryan, sniffling. He was standing straight but did seem to be slouching into his shoulders, his hands on his waistline, self consciously readjusting his shorts. They felt weirdly loose in the waist and weirdly tight in the crotch. "I don't know, maybe I lost some weight over the winter. But why you're almost eye level...are those new sh--choo!"
Ryan held his arm up to sneeze into his elbow, letting go of his shorts, which slipped low enough on his hips to reveal the top of his jockstrap. Should've worn a belt, he thought, as he came out of the full body shiver and back to his senses. He tried to surreptitiously adjust the pouch, which had progressed from stuffy to constricting. His eyes widening in surprise as he brushed against a sizeable--and unexpected--bulge. His dick felt totally soft, yet strangely heavy, twitching with unusual sensitivity.
"What's wrong?" asked Juan, holding the back of his hand up to Ryan's forehead. "You look emaciated, you need some rest."
They turned to head back home, Ryan's face a contortion of congestion and confusion. He was having to adjust his gait to keep up with Juan's speedy tempo, which usually wasn't a problem for Ryan thanks to his long legs. As he picked up the pace, he become acutely aware of the engorged member overfilling the pouch of his jock, bouncing back and forth between his legs enough to catch the attention of more than a few passers by. Even through the fabric of his baggy clothes.
"Hold on," Ryan said, squeezing his boyfriend's hand. His voice had taken on a heavier quality, and he frowned through the pressure in his sinuses. "Can we slow down a bit? I'm a little..."
His eyes rolled back with a full body convulsion, then he whipped forward and bent over, sneezing three times in quick succession.
"Ugh, sorry," he muttered, resting a hand on his Juan's shoulder. "I'm a little woozy..." He trailed off, staring dumbfounded at his boyfriend's face, whose eye level was now above his own. "What are you..." he looked down to see Juan's feet flat on the ground in the same old kicks he always wore. "Did you get...taller?"
"Uh, no," Juan whispered. He returned his partner's dumbfounded stare, yet focused mainly on the sausage that Ryan had apparently been smuggling in his underwear, revealed in broad daylight by the shorts that had fallen to the ground. It was more than impressive on its own, but looked massive on his small frame.
Juan was very familiar with his boyfriend's dick and very familiar with his boyfriend's underwear choices. And he was certain that this morning Ryan had not had a donkey dick heavy enough to reveal the top few inches of shaft. "Babe, what is happening?" he stammered, bending down and yanking Ryan's shorts back up before too much of the general public got a show.
"Well I can't be..." Ryan's voice dropped to a whisper of perplexion, "...shrinking..."
"Well that certainly isn't," Juan quipped, eyes wide at the ridiculous bulge in Ryan's shorts. "Are you on something? A new medication?"
"No, nothing," said Ryan. "I just can't stop...sneezing."
They kept walking back toward home, Juan racking his brain for some sort of explanation as Ryan stuffed his hands in his pockets to distract from the comical bulge swinging wildly with each step. He widened his gait, trying to not make it too obvious he was accommodating some disproportionately large balls.
"Maybe it's something you ate recently?" asked Juan. "This sort of thing doesn't just happen."
"I don't know!" Ryan said with exasperation, grimacing at the pull of his sudden monster cock from his crotch. "I mean, I feel fine...mostly."
"Let's go to Urgent Care later."
"What are they gonna do about...this situation?" Ryan asked with nervous laughter.
"I don't know, at least bring the swelling down," Juan offered, gesturing at the prodigious bulge tucked against Ryan's leg.
"I don't think this thing is swollen. It feels...feels...ahh...CHOO!"
He stop in his tracks. Felt the fabric of his jock as his cock strained against the pouch with even more length, pushed forward by his steadily expanding balls. He looked up at his partner to confirm his fears, noticing Juan's eyes slightly farther away then they had been thirty seconds ago. His gaze shifted to the treeline around them, the pollen meandering in the breeze.
"I know this sounds crazy," said Ryan, "but do you think it's ah...ah..."
"Roof of your mouth," Juan reminded.
Ryan was able to catch most of the sneeze, except for a small hic that repeated several more times. His blood ran cold as he heard fabric popping. Then the rip of seams tearing away from his jockstrap. Then the brief relief of his cock set free in the fabric of his shorts, falling down until it dangled out of his right pant leg, bobbing just below his knee.
"...do you think it's...allergies?" he muttered, staring at the unrecognizable python whose mushroom head was being tickled by the rivulets of spring breeze, sending shivers of pleasure up his spine, followed by the telltale irritation in his nasal mucosa. "Oh fuck," he whispered, looking up at his boyfriend in panic.
He felt a big one coming on.
---
Read what happens next
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