The Alien Domination Of Earth Didnt Take Too Long--they Had Superior Technology, Certainly, And The Fact

The alien domination of Earth didn’t take too long--they had superior technology, certainly, and the fact that the human race constantly warred with itself made the take-over effortless.

The grey bug-eyed aliens considered themselves kind rulers: they had no desire to enslave anyone, nor did they want to cause any harm. With their technology they repaired the environment and cured diseases. The human race was given food and medicine. Life expectancy was doubled almost immediately, and because of the confiscation of all weapons, war and violence ended as well.

Some things, the aliens decided, seemed a little excessive: many of these humans were simply too large to be feasible members of this new harmonious society. Bodybuilders, strongmen, football players--these were unnecessary professions, and the cost to feed these gargantuan humans was unreasonable and their muscle mass was unnecessary.

Still, the kind alien rulers offered a compromise: a simple process using a device no human had ever seen before to allow these members of society to continue to excessively expand their musculatures, or a reduced diet, intended to slim them down to average proportions within months, allowing them to live normal lives.

The device, a gleaming ray-gun that gave off an unearthly hum even when it was powered down, terrified most people, especially when they were told that the process was permanent: not even the aliens could undo it once it had been done. Most of the men deemed “excessively developed” took the second offer, ate their little freeze-dried alien-designed meals until they blended in with normal society. Big linemen became tall skinny guys. Bodybuilders were just skinny average guys with chests the same size their legs used to be. With time, they forgot what it was like to be big, forgot that it was something they ever wanted.

 Some humans were stubborn, as humans are known to be, and chose the irreversible ray-gun. Leo, a world-record holding strongman, had worked too hard to achieve what he had. He wasn’t born to be anything else, he’d argued when the aliens allowed him to choose his fate. “I was built to lift things and that’s it,” he argued. So the aliens pointed the ray gun at him and bathed him in purple light. Most people on hand thought he’d been disintegrated, but the aliens approached him shortly after, lost in a pile of the clothes he’d been wearing, and placed him in a tiny glass jar.

His girlfriend Jeannie had protested the whole thing, screamed when the ray hit him, and stared at her now-tiny boyfriend in his little glass prison, wondering what she was going to do now. “He’ll need to be processed,” the aliens explained. “Henceforth he will always need a sponsor, as he can take care of himself no longer. You will be eligible to be his sponsor if you wish after his processing.” They walked away as naked little Leo beat against the sides of the jar.

 Only about ten percent of the oversized population chose the reduction process. The football players kept their jobs, of course--the mini-NFL took awhile to catch on, of course. Micro-cameras eliminated perspective enough that people watching at home could barely tell anything was different, although ticket sales plummeted for awhile. Watching professional athletes battle on a field smaller than a foosball table became a novelty, but eventually people got used to it, and the spectacle of the whole thing garnered great attention. The first mini-Super Bowl broke viewing records. Other than the accident in Texas, when a fan burst past guards and smashed his hand down on the field, things went smoothly (and security has been appropriately beefed up since then).

 Bodybuilding shows continued, judges wearing jeweler’s monocles to inspect the tiny athletes’ physiques--which, after the reduction, became monstrous proportional to their six-inch frames. Super-heavyweight bodybuilders in the mini-IFBB (10.1-11.0 ounces) waddled around like super-vascular pincushions of muscle. Who knew the human body could expand to such amazing sizes when it was shrunk down to a height of only half a foot?

 Lastly, the World’s Strongest Man competition continued--rebranded the World’s Strongest Mite--with competitors hoisting up regular-sized objects, dragging around Barbie’s dreamcar and Transformers, and trying to lift regular 12-ounce cans of soda overhead. Halfthor Bjornssen--nicknamed “the Molehill” since he reached his new height of 7-inches, leaving him still a giant among the reduced men--still competes and still acts, although much camera-trickery was needed to make it seem like he wasn’t a mere fraction of his former self.

 All of these men needed sponsors, of course, since they were helpless to survive in society without them. Many were adopted by their wives and girlfriends, while others (like Halfthor, for example) were sponsored by fans who passed an extreme security check and paid a hefty sum of money. (It’s illegal to consider these reduced men “property,” per the alien’s decree, but it was hard to deny that many of the sponsors acted like they “owned” their little men--like the gentleman who sponsored Halfthor, carrying him around in a birdcage most of the time.)

 As for little Leo, his girlfriend considered sponsoring him but passed on the idea (while he was being processed, she found another man--one of normal height--and passed on the idea of caring for her pet-sized ex-) but he was adopted by his coach, who pumped him full of steroids (one ampoule lasted forever with a six-inch powerlifter) and let him train and feed and grow as much as he wanted to. In shock after the process, Leo decided to quit competing (not wanting to be paraded around as an oddity). Instead, he just trains in his little aquarium, lifting heavier and heavier weights, swelling up with more muscle, ignoring everything but the call of the metal.

 His life is quite idyllic, in fact--except when he hears the door-creak, loud as a siren, followed by earth-shaking footsteps as his coach invites friends over to drink and watch him train. Plenty of his coach’s powerlifting clients chose the first option, the sensible reduction, and every one of them gets a charge out of coming over to watch Leo’s swollen little body lift meager weights while drinking beers, and, after a few too many, grabbing hold of Leo’s little body to feel how meaningless it was to have big massive muscles if a normal man could pop them like zits.

(via Strongman 26702 - MyMuscleVideo)

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.

He was friendly when I told him at the gym that I recognized him, that he was my favorite bodybuilder. He smiled when I asked for an autograph and signed my paper without hesitation, unaware that it’d been soaked in a chemical he was absorbing through his skin.

I got him later in the parking garage, just as he tossed his gym bag on his passenger seat. I told him it was nice to meet him, extended my hand (dusted with the potent reagent) to shake. He took it without a second thought.

The reaction was quick–he shrunk out of his clothes while I started filling up mine. The transfer of size wasn’t 1:1, but when he was done he was a barely visible lump in his collapsed compression tights, I pawed at my own new mass, filling out the tank top that had hung like a tent on me before.

Later, when he’d gotten used to the cage and my daily exploration of his tiny body (prodding his dick with a pencil eraser, gently licking the length of his hard lumpy body, swallowing him inch by inch and then spitting him back into my hand–all followed, always, with a gentle bath in the sink and gentle fingertip caressing until he’d fallen asleep on my palm), he recounted to me what the shrinking felt like:

“It was like falling, fast, but my feet were on the ground. I was naked but didn’t know how, stifled by humid heat, choked by a smell–it was my own smell, but magnified so much I didn’t recognize I until later.

"Then when light came in, when you pulled open my clothes to see me, I realized what had happened–and had to swallow the fact that the moist pocket my whole body fit in now used to house my dick. And I thought as I looked up at you–you looked different too, and I wouldn’t have known who you were if you weren’t wearing that tank top I made fun of earlier–that your grip wasn’t as rough or scary as I’d expected when your hand had approached me.”

He tells me these things as he lies, face down, on the hairy mounds of my newly ample chest, completely unaffected by the fact that its size was stolen from him. I gently draw lines with my fingertips up and down his back and he falls asleep in my warm cleavage–until he’s woken by my hot load raining down on him.

Troy’s Ex

[send me pics! cast this story!]

Troy hurried to finish the one drink he’d agreed to have with his ex, Barry, after which he planned on cutting off communication for good. He glanced down, unable to face Barry’s intense grey eyes which had been fixated on him, sizing him up, since he’d walked through the door. Barry motioned toward the bartender, snapping him out of his glass-polishing trance.

“We’ll have another round,” Barry said.

Troy shook his head. “Honestly, I really can only have the one.”

“But we’ve barely talked. I want to hear all about your life since we parted ways.”

“I really have to get going before Dylan starts to worry,” Troy said. He focused on the ice cubes clinking around in the bottom of his glass, afraid to see the look on Barry’s face when he mentioned his new boyfriend.

“Ah, yes,” Barry said, leaning in, his voice getting low. “The new boyfriend. I saw him in your Facebook pictures. He’s quite a large man, a weightlifter or something, right?”

“Powerlifter,” Troy said, clearing his throat, “and he owns his own--”

“I told you, when we were together,” Barry said, turning Troy to face him with one finger, “that I loved you, and also that when I love something, it is forever. Is that not true?”

Troy was silent. His stomach was clenched so tightly he had started to shake. Barry was a slight man, much smaller than Troy, but there was a gravity to him that Troy couldn’t ever face. He struggled to find the words to tell Barry what he’d come here to say, but he lacked the courage to speak them.

“When I let you go,” Barry said, yanking the empty glass from Troy’s hand and replacing it with the fresh Tito’s and Cran the bartender had poured, “it was to let you know how empty your life was without me. I know you know it, and this little charade with your big muscleman… You can’t even maintain it. Once a month I get lonely messages from you late at night, knocks on my door followed by sex that I’m sure you’ve never told your big gorilla about…”

“All that’s over,” Troy blurted out. “I came to let you know I couldn’t do it anymore. I want a life with Dylan. It’s nice and normal and… I don’t love you anymore.” Troy tried to still his shivering lip.

Barry leaned back on his barstool and gently stroked his chin, a look of smug certainty on his face. “If you want freedom to go play house with your big muscle toy,” he said, flicking his eyebrows, “you’ll have to buy it from me. There is a hotel around the corner. You spend one hour with me and I will grant you the freedom you claim you want so badly.”

“But… it’s Dylan’s birthday. I have to be home…” Troy’s voice was half the volume he’d wanted, and it cracked a little at the end. He’d never had power in front of Barry, and certainly didn’t now. “And I promised myself I wouldn’t do that anymore.”

Barry exhaled loudly. “This is your final chance; text that oversized child and tell him you’re going to be late, then spend your final evening with me, or… I will have to go to further lengths to prove that you belong to me. You know what I am capable of.”

Troy shivered. During his time with Barry he’d witnessed things he’d never dreamt of, things that made him question everything he’d believed. Why had he agreed to come see Barry again? Why hadn’t he just ended things over the phone?

Troy’s phone vibrated on the bar. Dylan’s name popped up: “Where u at babe?”

Barry clucked his ton. “Time’s up. I’m rescinding the offer. You made your choice.”

Troy waited for the other shoe to drop. “But… what does that mean?”

“It means go home to your little domestic charade. I can’t stand to look at you for the moment.”

Troy hated how this had gone but he jumped on his chance to get out. At the door, he turned to say goodbye, then changed his mind.

“For the moment!” emphasized Barry, who turned his back.

Troy headed out the door. He drove blindly, desperate to put distance between himself and his ex. After he was sure he was safe (although he never felt truly out of Barry’s presence) he sat down and tried to calm his racing heart. He texted Dylan to tell him he’d be right home, throwing three hearts at the end for good measure.

Troy could smell Dylan as soon as he walked in the door. His boyfriend had no doubt just returned from the gym, his body throwing off clouds of sweat and male hormones. He breathed in the delicious musk, thankful to be safely home again. “You home babe?”

“In here,” Dylan growled from their bedroom. “I found your birthday gift. Couldn’t wait to open it. I tried it on.”

At that, Troy hurried to the door and threw it open. Dylan stood proudly in front of their friend, the dense muscles of his torso squeezed sensually by the harness Troy had bought him. Dylan was 6’5” and nearly 300 dense pounds, covered in hair with a huge burly beard Troy loved to grab handfuls of while Dylan fucked him. Just the sight of him there, unshowered, muscles full and wrapped exquisitely in bands of leather, made Troy weak in the knees. His body was bloated from the massive weights he’d just deadlifted, his impossibly wide and rippling back flowing up into traps that swallowed his neck, legs so thick he had to waddle, thick arms bulging as he crossed them across the shelf of his chest over his firm keg-belly.

“Get over here,” Dylan ordered, and Troy was naked three steps later. He leapt at his lover, who easily hoisted him up and latched on for a kiss as Troy wrapped his legs around him, humping emphatically as he kissed with anxious desperation. Dylan turned around and tossed Troy, who had a larger-than-average gym-built body but was barely a wisp next to Dylan’s bulk, down on the bed.

Dylan was on top of him in a moment, pinning him in the bed, flicking his tongue and using his beard to tease and tickle. Troy felt all 300 pounds on top of him, felt surrounded by his lover’s mass, breathed nothing but his smell, and felt lost in ecstasy, overwhelmed by the moment.

He didn’t even hear the bedroom door open.

“Stop right there, my large fellow,” said a voice that tore Troy from his rapture. It couldn’t be, he thought--Barry wouldn’t come to their house, would he? Yanked from his lusty haze, Troy panicked, reassured only slightly by the idea that his gigantic boyfriend was there to keep them both safe.

But Dylan’s gaze was blank and frozen, his face locked from the moment Barry had spoken. He didn’t seem to be breathing; the thumping heartbeat Troy had felt pounding against him moments before had ceased.

“The metaphor’s a little on the nose,” Barry said, “but it seems you’ve gotten yourself trapped by this excessively large human being.”

Troy couldn’t move an inch; Dylan was frozen, and because of that, Troy was pinned to the bed, unable to wriggle at all. He felt claustrophobic, and worse, he had no idea what else Barry had in store for him. He felt even more helpless that he couldn’t even see Barry; all he could see was Dylan’s hauntingly time-stopped face.

“In case you’re wondering, it’s the harness,” Barry said. Troy could hear his footsteps pacing in half-circles around the bed. “Before our little get-together today I made a stop by here to take a look at this life you made. A few runes carved into this sexy little leather number you got for the big lug, plus an anointing with some oils, and now your beloved is completely in my power.”

“Please, Barry,” Troy begged. “Please leave him alone. I’ll do anything, I promise.”

“You’ll do anything anyway,” Barry said. “You’re mine. You always have been. And now I’ve claimed this elephantine lad as well. He certainly is impressive, if you were a big game hunter.” Troy heard the clap of Barry’s hand slapping Dylan’s massive glutes. “So much unnecessary muscle mass. Must cost a fortune to feed him. And all so he can lift heavy things for a living. You can’t love someone like this. He’s nothing more than an over-sized sex-doll to you.”

Troy felt a moment of relief as Dylan’s mass seemed to move again; it was replaced again by fear as he saw Dylan’s live-again face suddenly contort into a look of pure surprise, his mouth in a cartoonish ‘O.’ Dylan’s weight seemed to fade as the sound of expanding rubber filled the air. Warm flesh was replaced by cold plastic, facial features and nipples and hair and the harness all suddenly became painted-on decorations, Dylan’s mouth now a vacant circular crevice. Dylan’s weight was almost entirely gone, but any feeling of freedom was overwhelmed by the sight of his boyfriend turning into an unliving thing.

With one hand Barry grabbed the Dylan-doll by the shoulder and tossed it at the wall. It floated awkwardly, barely making noise as it bounced off the wall and across the floor. “Not quite as intimidating as he was before I got here, is he?” Barry said, his arms crossed. He stood up the inflatable giant; it was still over a foot taller than him. He bopped it in its face with a playful fist, laughing as it flopped away like it was nothing.

Troy lay on the bed, afraid to move. He had no idea how to debate with his ex, how to get him to turn Dylan back into flesh, and he knew the wrong word would only make things worse.

“Look at this!” Barry said, pointing at the large sex toy’s backside. It was still round and ample as it had been as flesh, but now a bit blockier in shape and lined with crinkly seams. In its center was a port identical to the mouth-hole. Barry playfully fingered it, Then his hands wandered over to the cartoonishly shaped phallis on the front, giving it a few wags, then up to the waist where he thumbed the air-nozzle that had sprouted there. “Again with the spot-on metaphors, but your boyfriend really is nothing more than a lot of air. Suppose I let it all out, rolled him up and set him in a closet. He can still see, hear and feel, you know. All of this plastic ‘skin’ is now tremendously sensitive.” He stroked the inflated “cock” a few more times. “Goodness that must be overwhelming.”

“Barry, turn him back,” Troy begged. The bedroom door was still open; for a moment, knowing what Barry was capable of, he considered making a run for it, but there was no way he could leave Dylan to whatever Barry had in mind.

“You have always lacked imagination and whimsy,” Barry said, setting the Dylan doll upright and leaning it against the wall. “All right, let him be flesh again.” The plastic’s odd skin-tone darkened back into Dylan’s tan, his beard and harness emerging from the plastic as the humanesque shape resolidified into the powerlifter’s massive bulk. He breathed again in one desperate gasp and grabbed the wall to hold himself from collapsing. His chest heaved and his eyes looked around in shock.

“Oh my God, thank you,” Troy said. He ran to Dylan, throwing his arms around him.

“Hold him there, big man,” Barry said, and Dylan’s loving embrace suddenly tightened, his hands clasping tight around Troy’s arms.

“The fuck are you doing?” Dylan said. “Babe, I… I can’t move!” Troy was trapped in his lover’s hold.

“Of course you can,” Barry said as he approached them. “But only when I say, as I say.” Something cold and metal clicked around Troy’s neck. “There we are. Now that you’re collared, I don’t have to worry about you trying to run. And just so you know, my large friend, he considered it for a moment there, almost left you there with me too.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Dylan shouted.

“No, you shut yours!” Barry said. Dylan’s teeth clacked shut, his lips squeezed together. His face contorted but his mouth remained close, muffling him and preventing him to do anything other than groan. It sounded like he was wearing a ball-gag. Troy sobbed into his lover’s huge heaving chest, full of regret.

“Let Troy go,” Barry commanded, and Dylan did so. “Now, Troy, you remember that collar, don’t you? Go sit on the bed like a good boy while I deal with this big beast here.” Troy felt a familiar tingle spread across his chin as his body operated on its own. Before he realized it was sitting on the bed, hands crossed on his lap.

“Now,” Barry said, “big fellow, you can speak only in response to my questions and only in pure honesty. Do you know who I am?”

Dylan’s lips came apart: “You’re Troy’s abusive piece-of-shit ex-boyfriend, you looney motherfucker!” Then his mouth closed again. His eyes scanned the room nervously, the only piece of him able to move. Troy whimpered.

“And do you know how many times your beloved has made love to me since you the two of you have been together?”

“None?” Dylan said. He didn’t sound sure, and Barry’s smile grew slowly.

“Troy, tell Dylan the correct answer,” Barry commanded.

“Seven times,” Troy said. “Babe, I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t do anything…”

“What do you say now, of your precious Troy, hmm? What do you want to do now that you know the truth?” Barry taunted.

“I want… I want to smash your scrawny little ass… and sweep the pieces out the front door…” Dylan said resolutely, sneering when he again lost the ability to speak.

“How loyal. Like a dog, aren’t you?”

Then Dylan barked. He looked surprised that he had done it, seemed to struggle against barking again, but failed. “Roof! Roof-roof-rooooo!” He growled through gritted teeth. Barry snickered.

“That’s exactly what you’ll be to me, big fellow. My pet dog. He’ll be a nice pet, won’t he Troy?”

“No, Barry, you can’t,” Troy protested.

Barry inspected Dylan’s huge frame, tracing a finger idly along Dylan’s huge solid gut, over the bulges in his huge arms, down the cleavage between his meaty pecs, along the length of the six flaccid inches hanging between his legs atop two lemon-sized balls. “You’re right, I certainly can’t keep an animal this size. No, I’ve always preferred my dogs to be lap-sized.”

A gentle slurping sound, like the end of a milkshake, filled the air. Dylan’s big body began to slowly compress, his muscles reversing development as his size began to evaporate from his frame. His eyes went their widest then as the room seemed to grow around him and he was overwhelmed by a mindblowing sensation. All of the hair on his body seemed to retract into little wisps and then nothing, his beard the last to go. Troy kept expecting it to stop, but still Dylan lost size, his harnessing remaining tight to his frame as it dwindled, until he was barely four feet tall, his body a narrow wisp of pale flesh. His huge swinging dick was now a little nub, a little slip of nearly empty scrotum clinging tightly underneath.

“Much better,” Barry said, looking down on the man who’d towered over him before. “Now we can crate train him. Speak, doggie!” Barry burst into giggles at the high-pitched yelps that came from the reduced little man.

Dylan looked terrified, both at the helium nature of his voice and at his own helplessness, now by far the tiniest man in the room (a feeling he’d practically never had in his life).

“I’m guessing,” Barry said, licking his lips, “that you’ve always been on the receiving end of this gargantuan man’s sex, am I correct?” Barry reached up and stroked Dylan behind the head. Dylan leaned into the touch and whimpered, and seemed surprised to be doing so. “And I’m sure nobody has ever been man enough to top this big old beast, am I right?”

Barry merely motioned--that was all it took--and Troy’s body, operating on its own, got to its feet. Meanwhile, Dylan fell forward to all fours, arching his back and looking behind him with wide, worried eyes. Barry snapped his fingers and Troy’s dick was instantly rock hard, and he thrust into what was left of his giant boyfriend without any lube or restraint.

Barry sat back and watched as Troy pounded on the tiny man his boyfriend had become. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t protest, but the worst part of it all was… he loved it. His entire body was rocked by waves of pleasure with each thrust, and from the little Dylan’s wild-eyed glaze and the dollops of drool swinging from his jaw, he was in the same situation.

“You know, watching you right now, I really do see that you were right: you’re not meant to be with me. You’re not my equal. You’re meant for this little lap dog. You’re perfectly matched, and I think you should look the part.”

Troy was only vaguely aware of Barry’s words over his own brain-shattering ecstasy. Sure enough, as Barry commanded, Troy’s body began to reduce too. He never stopped fucking little Dylan as he shrank, his muscles draining away with the same soft slurping sound until he was as short and scrawny as the shrimp he was fucking. Or, that is, trying to fuck: by the end, Troy’s dick had also shrunk to a nearly useless nub, and he rubbed it ineffectively against Dylan’s now-gaping hole, struggling to get the right friction he needed to push him over the edge to his desperately-sought release.

“No, little Troy,” Barry said pulling the two little men apart. Each was now a foot shorter than Barry. Even their combined strength in these tiny forms was nothing to him now. Troy panted, desperate for an orgasm that wasn’t coming. “See, it’s just as I worried. Big Dylan here,” he said, affixing a leash to tiny Dylan’s harness, “walked around convinced of his own power, confused about his role as a powerful top, with you, his bottom, but in reality you’re both a matched pair.” Barry clipped a leash onto Troy’s collar and yanked the two of them toward the door. They followed on all fours. “Two weak little pups is all you are. Now your outsides match your insides, and I assure you, you’ll be happier for it. For as long as I allow you to be, that is.”

Troy looked around at their house as they were led helplessly out the front door. Little Dylan looked back, and licked Troy’s cheek and whimpered. “That’s enough,” Barry said, yanking them apart.

Outside Barry led them to his van in the driveway. He loaded each of the tiny men into a dog crate, clipping them shut. Troy sadly slumped to the floor, listening to Dylan scratch pathetically at the walls of his cage. “Now, Dylan, settle down. If you think this is bad, you have no idea how creative I can get. After we get home and I get you two settled in, you’ll be begging to return to this form.”

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.

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.