Post-Olympia (a Story In The Omar Bell Universe)

Post-Olympia (a story in the Omar Bell universe)

[I wrote this story a long time ago. It takes place in the Omar Bell universe; if you're unfamiliar, just check out http://omarbelluniverse.blogspot.com. I first learned of it waaaay back from Chirenon's old site. The stories take place in a world where a scientist named Omar Bell released a chemical that transformed all white men into small, feminine "bois"--not only did they lose their physical stature and strength, but they also lost their mental resolve, becoming meek, flighty versions of themselves. The world becomes dominated by women and black men. I always liked to imagine what this would do to the bodybuilding world. Thus, this story was born. Check out @chirenon and @gendertransformation if any of this tickles your fancy; some of his stuff is fantastic, and his work is very well done.] Jay peeked cautiously through the curtains, careful not to let anyone get a glimpse of him. There was a big dais set up, probably for them to walk along. It was the Olympia expo, the gathering of professionals in the fitness industry before the legendary competition that night. A crowd of women, hard-bodied and tan, as well as two black men with the ripped proportions of physique competitors had gathered to the spectacle. Jay was used to walking around amongst that crowd, bathing in their adoration and respect, but now the attention seemed daunting. He pulled the belt on his robe tighter and backed away from the curtains anxiously. "You ready for this big Jay?" PJ said in his soft, high voice. He gave Jay a squeeze on his perky behind. Jay's whole body shuddered at the contact and he backed away from it. PJ winked and smiled. "Get ready, boi," he said, his yoga-pants clad rear-end swaying sensuously back and forth. "You're gonna be our show-stopper." That's what Jay was afraid of. This was the second Olympia since the Great Change, when Omar Bell's virus swept over the world and reduced white men to soft, feminine little bois. All men affected by the virus underwent a shocking change in status as their virility was stripped away over about a month. No one took the change harder than the bodybuilding community. While all white men had a lot to go through to get used to their new smaller bodies, bodybuilders, who'd marched around previously as pillars of masculine size and strength, lost so much more. Men who were used to weighing in at over 250 pounds--sometimes closer to 300--had a much harder time adjusting. Many tried to deny what was happening, frustrated by their waning strength and their loosening clothes. Jay remembered the day he finally accepted what had happened to him, sobbing into a now-gigantic XXXL tank top behind his couch as musculardevelopment.com reporters banged on his door, desperate to get a shot of Jay Cutler, the former four time Mr. Olympia, now smaller than his own wife. The first Olympia show after the virus came and went, all white competitors entirely absent while black athletes, the only real men still able to hold massive amounts of muscle, took over the sport. Jay's wife left him, his career had evaporated and sales for his supplement company plummeted. Then one day, after Jay had avoided his calls for weeks, PJ Braun showed up at his door. Jay was shocked to see him in person. The simpering little boi that introduced himself as PJ in no way resembled the massively muscled, good-looking man Jay remembered. He was now just over five-feet tall (still two whole inches taller than tiny Jay, a difference that seemed great to him) and just a smattering over 90 lbs. His formerly wide, bulging shoulders had compressed, his huge arms now slender and angular. Even more shocking to Jay, PJ had begun to wear the clothes that he'd seen bois wearing in the news: a tiny string tanktop that covered up his sensitive little nipples as well as stretch pants that accentuated his round rear end, the only part of him that wasn't slender. At one point he turned around and Jay saw the words "SLUTBOI" written in shiny gold across his plump backside. PJ was extending an offer to purchase what was left of Cutler Athletics--his own company, now called BlackstoneFit, had begun to offer fitness apparel for men, women, and now bois--but he had an even greater plan ahead of them, one that would involve Jay accepting an endorsement deal with his company. "We're going to change the face of the fitness world--again," PJ lilted in his high voice. Jay wasn't sure he believed what PJ was telling him, but it was the best offer he had going in a world of dwindling possibility, so Jay signed the papers. And now, staring out at the crowd at the Olympia expo, he was seriously starting to regret it. PJ strutted toward the curtain, taking one look back at Jay and the other athletes, and then walked out to the audience. Speaking into a (pink and glittery, Jay noted) microphone headset he projected his shrill voice confidently to the crowd. Knowing that the beginning of the presentation meant his time to go out there was rapidly approaching, and having heard PJ's spiel a hundred times, before, Jay retreated from the curtain, pacing around nervously, while the two other little boi "athletes" lined up to be presented to the crowd. "Many believe that bois have no place in the fitness industry, but today you'll see that the athletic spirit, so ferociously displayed by us when we were men, is still present today! By next year we will see boi competitions across the country--and soon enough, here at the Olympia as well!" Mike O'hearn was the first to walk out. Gone was the huge body that had earned him the nickname Titan, as well as the chiseled jaw he had been known for. Now a tan, lithe little boi, he still had his big curly romance-novel cover stud hair--only now the loose, curvy locks looked even more feminine atop his delicate facial features and long, flirty eyelashes. He strutted out toward the crowd wearing BlackstoneFit's proposed "competition suit" for bois, if the International Federation of Bodybuilding approved their proposal for a Boi category in the sport. Tiny strings looped over his narrow shoulders, holding a small rectangle of shiny purple of fabric against his pert little nipples. The bottom resembled a miniature version of the posing trunks they'd all competed in when they'd been men, but reduced in the rear to show more curvy buttocks, and pulled taut in the front to fit tightly against their tiny boy-nubs. Mike's little top had his name written in glittery letters across it. "It's important everyone recognizes who you are. We're selling your names out there, your reputations. We're not gonna pull this off with your little bodies." Still, it was so small on the tiny piece of fabric that the audience had to lean in just to make it out. Mike walked confidently out against the crowd, ignoring the whispers and giggles. One of the big men in the audience whistled. "Work it, little boi!" he said, and Mike blushed and turned around to present his perky little glutes. Jay shuddered; having heard scary stories about the way bois and men reacted to each other's pheromones, he'd tried his best to avoid having to see any real men since the change. Obviously it couldn't be totally avoided, but he'd never had to face a man the size of these big black behemoths in the crowd. He'd brought this up to PJ beforehand, only to have it casually dismissed. "Well, if they're turned on by you, mission accomplished," PJ had said. "And if you're turned on by them, work it. We've always been pros at working a crowd that's excited by us." Next up was Alexey Lesukov, whose baby-face had remained post-transformation, making him look barely twelve. "I assure you, folks, this boi is of legal age, even though that cute little face doesn't look a day past ten!" Alexey's freakish genetics, which had blessed him with a dense frame stuffed with bloated muscle as a man, still asserted themselves post-change. His bottom was, relative to his slight, thin body, a set of twin melons. His boi-trunks disappeared into its curvature. He walked with a sexy Ursula-esque sway, and as soon as he sauntered out along the dais, the crowd was abuzz with his fantastic behind. "Show 'em what you can do, Al!" PJ said. Alexey smiled a cute, toothy grin and then lithely lifted his right leg straight up in the air, gripping his dainty foot and holding the position. Then he gently lowered his leg back down to the ground and slid to the ground in a perfect split, his big caboose preventing him from sliding all the way down to the ground. The audience tittered. A few people clapped. Alexey rose and took his spot on the stage opposite Mike. Jay noticed PJ's wife, Celeste, casually walking the perimeter of the booth talking on her cell phone, completely uninterested in the show on the BlackstoneFit stage. As she passed PJ she casually patted him on the head without looking at him. He leaned into the contact, nuzzling her hand. In her heels she was easily ten inches taller than her little boi husband. From what Jay had heard, despite the fact that they remained married, PJ and Celeste now had an open sexual relationship. The whispered stories were that Celeste would invite over large black men whose dicks would find a way into both Celeste and PJ. Jay had been horrified to hear that when Celeste and PJ did have sex together, it was with PJ on the receiving end of the strap-on. Rumor had it that PJ's high-pitched squeals could be heard by all of their neighbors. Despite PJ's role as figurehead, Celeste seemed to be the one running the shots for BlackstoneFit, and it was Celeste who Jay was worried about crossing. If he violated his contract, he'd have to deal with her, and he'd seen the forceful way he'd ordered PJ around. Worse, Jay didn't believe he had it in himself anymore to stand up to her. He was going to have to walk out in front of that crowd. "And now," PJ introduced, and Jay loosened the belt on his robe, "the king himself, four time Mr. Olympia--Jay Cutler!" Jay walked out, remembering PJ's orders: "Sway that ass, walk like you own yourself, and look like you're loving it." Jay was wearing a little set of gold boi-trunks, as well as a tiny little top with his name written in white sequins. His hair was still his trademark blonde, still spiked high, and he was as tan as anyone remembered him, but the similarities ended there. His physique was still perfect, but by boi standards: slender shoulders, perfectly thin arms, toned legs and a wide, pear-shaped ass. PJ had smeared glitter along every inch of him, and he felt like the little guy on top of the Olympia statue as he marched in front of the crowd. For a tense moment, the crowd was silent, but then they began to Ooooh and Aaaah. People applauded. He felt a surge of adrenaline, a micron of confidence rising through him, and extended his waifish arms and curled them into what would, on a man or a fit woman, be known as a Double Biceps pose. His biceps barely existed anymore, but the presentation caused a surge in excitement in the crowd. Jay did a turn, presenting every inch of himself, satisfied by their appraisal. Without even looking, Jay sensed real men approaching--the air smelled different, somehow, and he felt a tingling down his spine and in his little nips and boy-nub. He felt a growing warmth and moistness in his ass, a side-effect of the change he wasn't used to--it all felt mildly intoxicating. He watched as Mike and Alexey showed the same signs of arousal, heard PJ's voice start to trail off lazily as well. Then Jay turned and saw them coming. For a moment he felt like he'd never seen any living thing as big as the three gigantic men walking toward him, but then he recognized them, tall and wide and stuffed with pure, bulging, veiny black muscle, and he realized that there was once a time when he was the same size as they were, when he competed alongside all of them and held his own: Phil Heath, Kai Greene and Ronnie Coleman all approached, the crowd parting around them, each of them seeming to generate gravity with their massive size. Jay tried to still his fluttering little heart. He felt his stance start to wobble as his eyes tried to take in what seemed like miles of hard black skin. "Gentlemen!" PJ said, cautiously approaching. "So glad to see some--" "Quiet," ordered Phil without even looking. PJ immediately fell silent--in fact, seemed physically unable to speak, now. "Shoo," Kai said, waving a hand in PJ's direction. The little boi backed away slowly, then tittered into the crowd, while the three huge bodybuilders approached the little bois arranged like trophies on the stage. "Look at this one," Phil said, stroking Mike's big curls with a thick paw. Mike shuddered in ecstasy, his eyes glazing with a far-away look. "What a pretty little boy," he said. "Show me that booty, boi!" Kai said, snapping a finger in Alexey's face. The little boi turned around and bent at the waist, presenting his voluptuous rear for inspection. Kai traced the boi's dramatic curves with his finger, sliding up the ample crack. Alexey let out a shrill yip. Kai tugged at one of Alexey's ears, then scooped the boi up with one hand, tossing him over his shoulder. Phil did the same with Mike, and the two gigantic men strode away, barely encumbered by their little prizes. Jay took in Ronnie's huge proportions as he approached. He was like a brick wall of human, so wide and tall. Jay had a feeling of vertigo as he struggled to take in all of the giant man. Ronnie leaned in and inhaled deeply, the path of his nose starting at Jay's face and slowly trailing down to the little gold boi-trunks covering his tiny little nub. "Mmmm," Ronnie groaned with a sound so rich it vibrated Jay's little nips. "Look at you, little thing," he said. He dug a finger under Jay's shiny top and gave it a twang. "You ain't nothin' but a peanut!" Ronnie turned around and nodded his head away from the stage. He crouched down a bit. It took Jay a minute to realize that Ronnie was prompting him to climb on his back! Very cautiously he looped his little arms around Ronnie's big neck, and then they were off, Jay bouncing against the thick coiled snakes of Ronnie's immensely muscled back, his arms barely able to clear Ronnie's wide traps and non-existent neck. With every powerful stride, Jay felt himself slide back and forth against the wall of muscle, his boynub stimulated to the point that he feared he couldn't hold on much longer, his ass so moist he worried people could see it. The crowd had dispersed at this point, BlackstoneFit's booth completely abandoned. As he watched it disappear behind him, he worried about what would become of him. As crowds parted at the sight of Ronnie Coleman with a little blonde boi on his back, Ronnie extended his big arms to them. "Hey folks, check out four time Mr. Olympia Jay Cutler!" he declared. Jay's cheeks burned with humiliation, but deeper he felt something smoldering, a sexual charge in the background that grew stronger the more Ronnie put him on display. The embarrassment ended when Ronnie approached his hotel room, unlocking the door with his card and then plopping Jay on the bed with one hand. The door swung closed loudly, and Ronnie pulled off his t-shirt with one hand. Jay couldn't help but moan at the display of musculature, still nearly as obscenely large and veiny as when Jay had taken the Olympia title away from him. Ronnie yanked down his pants and Jay's eyes bugged out when he saw the massive python underneath. "Strip," Ronnie ordered, and Jay shyly slid out of his revealing little outfit. Ronnie grabbed the shiny little tank and the teeny trunks and tossed them in the trash. "You won't be needing these anymore, little boi," he said. Despite his anxiety, Jay felt his desire spike dramatically as Ronnie's massive dick started to rise.

The molly kicked in just as Richie strapped on the big Deadmau5 mask the promoter gave him. He couldn’t wait to go wild at this show–blow off some steam from last season’s hard work–and dance up on some hot slutty women.

“Feel okay in there?” the promoter asked, giving the unwieldy mask a thump.

“Feels great!” Richie replied, flexing his beefy arms. No way had anyone seen a dude his size party they way he planned–and with this mask on, he’d be the perfect spectacle. Fucked up raver chicks would be all over him.

The mask seemed to be have some kind of speakers in it, broadcasting the live music directly to his ears. As he started dancing, he noticed some cool flashy colors swirling and spiraling in front of his eyes. They made his head feel… nice and soft. He could almost hear a soft voice behind the music but they were too faint to make out. Soon his thoughts felt like warm cotton and he lost himself in the music… and what was that smell? Fragrant, delicious cheese.

Hours passed with Richie going into autopilot, bouncing from one hot sweaty whore to another. He was rock fucking hard and at one point a chick huddled up against him gave a hard squeeze of his throbbing tool, jerking him off while messed up people danced crazily around him, none the wiser.

His cock had never been more sensitive! Richie couldn’t form a thought beyond the sensations overwhelming him. He was hungry… getting tired… needed to cum, bad. Yet no matter how expertly the girl worked his dong, it was almost like he couldn’t cum.

He reached up to yank off the mask but it wouldn’t budge. Panic snapped him out of his daze enough to realize something was wrong. Still hornier than he’d ever been, desperate to cum and collapse into an exhausted pile, Richie stumbled around searching for the promoter.

When he found him, he grabbed the guy and demanded to have the mask removed.

“Easy, easy big fella… lemme take a look.” Richie’s heart pounded as the guy inspected the outside of the mask. “Okay, let’s see now… there we go.” Richie heard a click and the speakers and lights inside the mask went black. When the mask came off, Richie desperately gulped in air.

“Thanks,” he said, his mind still dull.

“No worries big man. The mask isn’t programmed to release until the full chemical dose is delivered.”

“Chemicals? Wha–” Richie froze as he felt a tingling in his mouth. His front teeth suddenly expanded somehow, sticking out from his lips, a nice buck-toothed overbite. Confused, he traced the outline of his clunky new teeth with his tongue.

Then his pants fell down, and Richie realized he was standing eye to eye with the promoter who’d been a half foot shorter than he was earlier. No, now the promoter was taller; Richie had to look up!

“You see, we run a very secret after party–unbelievably cutting edge, of course. Our guests are into the bizarre, and tonight they’re going to watch a bunch of former athletes try to navigate a maze. Hope you find the cheese before the others do!”

Richie could barely listen. Suddenly whiskers sprouted from his nose, overwhelming his brain with sensory stimulation. An insane itching above his ass grew to an unbearable degree before he suddenly felt a painful release–and whirled around to find a tail growing from his rear.

“That’s right,” the now huge promoter said to little Richie, whose shrinking slowed just as he found himself eye to eye with the promoter’s shoelaces. “We’ve got a nice little outfit for you to wear, too!” Richie turned to run but a giant hand snagged him by his new tail. He dangled painfully above the promoter’s giant face while another giant hand slid a leather harness on his body before dropping him into a plastic cage.

The changes had more or less stopped. He was halfway between human and mouse, animal features on his thick NFL-built body. He was unable to organize his awkward new mouth enough to communicate with anything other than squeaks. The giant world outside the cage made Richie queasy with fear, an emotion he wasn’t used to. The cage shook as the promoter walked and Richie wanted desperately to know where he would end up. He also desperately wanted some cheese.

————-

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Deflated Athletes

I would kill for a pic (3D art or drawing) of a football player (some big brick-shithouse lineman) or a super-heavyweight bodybuilder (a massive Dallas McCarver type) with their size suddenly deflated from their big body--suddenly their pads/jerseys are huge on their skinny frame, or in the case of bodybuilders, they’re desperately holding up their now-gigantic poser to cover up their shame. Before/after would of course be the coolest, but I dig the idea that the size of the equipment/posing trunks suggests how big they used to be in a one-shot. If anyone could whip that up, I’d be really grateful (and would gladly write a story to your specs). Alternatively, if anyone could point me in the direction of someone who could help me out, that would be great too.

My most recent progress pics. Anybody who wants to do some morphing (of ANY type, although I'd probably object to TG or AR), I'd love to see it.

After a successful meet, the three powerlifters lumbered back to the locker room and shed their jumpsuits, squeezing their huge frames through the door to the sauna for a long, relaxing steam.

Little did they know that their opponents had futzed with the steam room controls. The three gorillas dozed off... And when they woke up, they each saw two skinny little chess-nerds sitting next to them where their teammates had been, and discovered a bony ribcage and bird-arms as they looked down over their once ample-frames.

They had no hope of fitting back into their jumpsuits, so they zippered up the shirts and wondered how they were going to explain to their girlfriends (who now towered over them) who they really were.

It was lucky for both of us that Terry stepped away from the railing just as my “camera’s” mass-reducing flash went off. Poor guy would’ve ended up dangling from the railing, ending up a tiny splatter on the sidewalk. (I wish I could say it had never happened before to other unlucky fellas I decided to turn my camera upon.)

Instead, he seemed to vanish, his compression pants collapsing to the ground in a heap. I took great pleasure in watching the little lump writhing around under there. As usual, I poked him gently through the fabric, confusing the hell out of the little guy as some unseen force immobilized his powerful body with ease. Then I reached in and fished out Terry’s new body--from head to toe, his body had been reduced to four inches tall (while perfectly preserving his beautiful shape) with one exception: his cock and balls had remained the size they were at full height.

 From the still-warm compression shorts I plucked my new little sex-toy. His now-enormous (to him, that is) dick was like an anchor, a cumbersome appendage that now made up more than half of his meager bodymass. Like all the others, Terry was horrified at the monstrous thing--horrified more when he realized he recognized it, that it was connected to him--but before he could start to freak out, I slid his dick into my mouth and sucked it, slow and hard.

He went silent and limp, overwhelmed by impulses his tiny brain couldn’t handle, but I only gave him a little taste. This was broad daylight, and to an onlooker I was walking around with what looked like a realistic sextoy (not far from the truth, of course). Holding the compression pants up to my face for a long, deep inhale (I love the look on their faces when they see me doing this), I then wrapped him up in them, slipped them in my backpack and headed on my way.

 Back home I unwrapped my new little prize and took a look at him. Terry’s body was fucking perfect--now that he was weighed down by that beautiful dick of his, I took the time to explore it. With my pinky finger I got into the grooves of his abdomen as much as I could, traced the soft firm expanse of his ass, wiggling into his miniscule-grundle, causing his still-human-sized dick to shoot to attention. He got breathless--I’m not sure how bloodflow works after the transformation, how he can have enough juice to inflate a cock as big as his body while still keeping his brain working, but they always seem to get a little woozy when they get hard.

 Then, of course, it’s all about delicious little sensuous tortures. I loved to blow gently against his big juicy cock, tongue his peehole teasingly, slurp his balls into my mouth (causing his whole body to go rigid and quiet). Of course when I’d worked him into a frenzy I’d swallow his dick to the hilt, leaning my head back while the rest of his body rested on my face. I loved to feel them beat uselessly against my nose, squirming their beefy little legs against my chin while I cheerfully hummed a tune.

 After I gave Terry a full workout I let him sleep on a little cushion--a solid thirty minutes without me bothering him, which was hard (I mean, look at him--how can I keep my hands off that perfect body, especially at its modified size, shaped like it’s made just for my pleasure?). But that was all.

Afterwards I woke him up by getting his cock hard and slick with some silky lube while I cocked my heels back and aimed him at my hole--holding them by the root of their dicks, I’m usually able to fuck myself without hurting them too badly. I’ve gotten pretty good since the first few accidents, and with Terry, I got a good rhythm down. His little squirming back there was just icing on the cake--and when I felt him tense up, his cock throbbing as he filled me up with his seed, I came myself, splattering all over my chest.

Afterward I let him unwind next to the puddles of load he’d made me shoot, gently massaging him with a finger while he tried to cope with the earthshattering orgasm he’d just experienced. When the post-cum haze wore off, I noticed him checking out his surroundings, taking a good look at me, at his body, and the relative size of his monster dick.

“If you’re wondering, you are bigger,” I said. “You’ll regain one inch every time you cum in me.” For a moment, I see a flash of hope--until he does the math, and I smile.