Paid Advertisement For MacroLeash

Paid Advertisement for MacroLeash

So you finally worked up the nerve to slip the shrinking formula in your beefy trainer’s water bottle, but now that he’s six inches tall he won’t do anything you tell him to.

Or:

You made a wish on the old amulet for a pocket-sized version of your favorite movie-star, only to end up with a whiny runt who won’t do what you tell him to because he’s, “not gay!”

Or:

You tracked down your high school bully and zapped him with your Reducto-ray, but he’s no longer the built stud you remember, having let himself go since graduation.

At MacroLeash, we hate all of these scenarios. Once you’ve gone through the trouble of defying the laws of physics to reduce a full-sized man to a living toy, you should be able to enjoy your status as the god-like giant master you are. Whether you’re a benevolent giant or a ruthless dominator, we’ve got the right training program to whip your tiny man into shape.

Here at MacroLeash we specialize in various programs of Man-Pet Behavior Modification. Meet Derek, one of our Man-Pet Wranglers:

“It’s always funny when they first show up, the kinds of guys who push me around at the gym shrunk down to a blubbering little nothing begging for me to let ‘em go–like that’s gonna happen! Even funnier is when they still have some stones and talk back to a guy who’s gotta look like a skyscraper to ‘em. A full day on the receiving end of my Hamster Prod gets them into a pliable shape, and then we start the hypno training and turn them into exactly what the clients want.”

While we’re molding your Mini mentally, we also do what we can to make him into the perfect physical specimen for you to own and dominate. Talk to Jayson, our resident nutritionist:

“We’ve got full gym facilities–like five Venice Beaches; all brand-new equipment, just miniature– and we keep our Man-Pets on competitive bodybuilding diets to keep them in pristine shape for our clients. You’d be surprised how far an amp of testosterone will go when you only need a drop! For those who prefer a heartier, beefier Man-Pet, we supplement with tiny doses of Dianabol and pure lard while they do World’s Strongest Man-type training. You should see them flip those little tires and then growl triumphantly afterward; it’s just adorable.”

Listen to some of our satisfied clients, like Peter, age 37:

“I thought my days of jerking myself off were never going to end, but then that weird comet hit our gym and my 300 pound bodybuilder gym-crush ended up scurrying around the locker room, smaller than my dick! But when I got him home, he wouldn’t do anything I told him to. Worse, since he couldn’t train or use steroids anymore, he started to deflate and get all saggy! Just when I was about to flush him, I found out about MacroLeash and they whipped him right into shape. Now he’s more jacked than he ever was at full-size, and he uses his whole body to get me off! I tell ya, how I lived this long without beefy arms around my cock and tiny feet kneading my balls, I’ll never know!”

Or Victor, age 28:

“Shrinking my cheating boyfriend Kyle seemed like the perfect solution to our situation: he’d never screw around again, and he’d be mine forever! But the reality was, he just cried all the time in that high-pitched squeaky voice. I thought I might get one good use out of him as a dildo–head-first y’know, all wriggling around down there!–but then I heard about MacroLeash, and sent Kyle away for a little bit. He came back more eager to please me than he’d ever been! He’d always been a little vanilla in the sack, but MacroLeash gave him world-class hooker skills! He’s game for anything, as long as it makes me happy! Thanks, MacroLeash!”

What are you waiting for? Turn your downsized little man into the scaled-down slave you’ve always dreamt of! Contact MacroLeash today!

————-

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

New content every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

My apologies for having been silent for so long. I'll be back producing new stories very soon. At the moment I'm working on a two-part story revisiting the Omar Bell universe (much thanks for the interest in my last story) focusing on NFL players. If anyone is interested in doing a photomanip to supplement it, hit me up. Also I'm working on setting up a way to do commissions. To those I've already promised commissions, just be patient; I'll be back with you soon. Can't wait to start producing work again. Thanks to everyone who expressed interest in my work so far.

Terry shuddered when the manila envelope showed up in his mailbox--nowadays, since his career was over, no news was good news. He’d become happy in his new life, keeping to himself, trying to forget how things used to be.

In the envelope was a stack of photos of what he used to look like--big, massive, powerful. The man in the photos looked unfamiliar. Had he ever been such a gigantic man? Now, he had to use a ladder to get dishes out of the cabinet. He needed help getting his groceries to his car.

 Underneath the envelope was a package--he knew he shouldn’t open it, but he had to know what was in it. He sobbed when he unrolled a pair of his old boxers: holding the waistband above his nipples, they hung down past his knees. He knew who was sending him these things--the same guy who did this to him--but how had he gotten a pair of his old boxers, still ripe with the sent of his big sweaty body? And how had he been able to elude the police for so long?

 He remembered the night it had happened--ESPN had sent a crew to his gym to interview him about the upcoming World’s Strongest Man competition. Terry was in the best shape of his life, stronger than he’d ever been, poised to shatter world records. He was the last one to leave the gym that night, so confident (what would a man his size and ability have to be afraid of?) that he never suspected he’d have anything to worry about.

 He’d barely noticed the little guy standing next to his car--thought it was a child at first: black trenchcoat, bowl cut, thick glasses, whip-thin, gently shaking. “You okay?” Terry called.

 “No, I’m not okay,” the little guy said.

 “Look, buddy, I need to get home and get my 8 hours or else--”

 “Or else what? You won’t be the strongest guy around? You know how stupid that is? What a stupid goal? Physical strength is useless in today’s world. Intellect rules, you fucking caveman.”

 Even the namecalling didn’t raise Terry’s ire--he could’ve one-handed this little man through a wall. Basically, the guy was nothing to him. It may have been that attitude, he thought for years later, that invited what happened to him.

 Terry had had enough, though, so he just stepped toward the car, edging the little guy out of the way with his big body. Without even meaning to, he knocked the little guy to the ground.

“Oh, you think you can just bully people who are smaller than you?” the man shrieked. “Let me show you how physical strength matches up with my brainpower!”

 Terry flinched as the man whipped out the ray-gun--he’d expected to get shot by a bullet (and for years would wish it had been). When the man clicked the trigger, nothing happened at first--then Terry’s whole body collapsed like a balloon. His shorts fell to the ground. His shirt hung around him like a tent--in an instant, he’d gotten so small and skinny that he could fit through his neckhole. He stumbled around in way-too-big sneakers, tripping over the bottom of his shirt and tumbling to the ground.

 As he stared up at the night sky, the little man--now his size, maybe even bigger--loomed over him. “Look at you now. Not so big and strong now, are you?”

 Terry, still in shock, quivered in his oversized tee and stared up at the man, wondering what was next--but then the man took off, leaving him there, a fraction of the man he’d once been, wondering what to do next.

 Doctors couldn’t explain what had happened--fingerprints identified him, but he’d lost over two-hundred pounds in an instant. Not only that, but his potential to gain muscle had been entirely sapped on a genetic level. His early statements to the press were that he wouldn’t let this keep him down, that he’d come back, but his body seemed to resist physical exercise. No matter how he tried, no matter how much he ate or trained or shot steroids into his ass, he never gained a pound. Soon he was nothing but a novelty, laughed at on ESPN and mocked in public.

 Turns out the guy who’d done this to him wasn’t alone in resenting him for his size. Now that he was tiny and weak, fans who’d heard about what had happened to him were all too eager to shove him around, lord over his reduced stature. The worst was, after each of these terrifying experiences, looking back on the men and realizing they would’ve been scrawny nobodies next to his old body.

 Still, his assailant continued to assault him with reminders of what he used to be, how much size he had lost, what a massive man he had been--and what an insignificant bug he’d become. One day he came home to a life-size cutout of his old, gigantic body. He barely came up to the crotch on it. “Your strength is nothing compared to my brainpower,” said the card attached.

Terry Hollands

Jesse had the guys at the underground club thirsting for his body as he danced from atop the dais, his blue jumpsuit unzipped and stripped to his waist. These kind of gigs paid his bills--Jessi would stride into some bear bar, offer to dance, get paid by the club and walk away with his rent in tips, and if he was lucky, some built-like-a-mac-truck fella to go home with.

Tonight it was a little invite-only place called the Bear Trap. There wasn’t much to see in this crowd--for a bear bar, there was a surprising number of cubs and twinks, no real muscle in the house. That was fine--Jesse was muscle enough for everybody.

 While he was dancing, a little lost in the music (and the feeling that came along with pumping his powerful body while man reach in, desperate to get a feel) he barely heard over the music someone calling for him. He turned around to see a young, smooth blond boy motioning for him to lean down to him. Jesse smirked at the little twink and bent at the waist, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He’d expected some bills--kid like that, getting a kiss from a bull like him was worth at least a twenty. But instead, faster than Jesse could react, he slapped a chain around his neck and locked the padlock on the end.

 “Did this little twenty-year old just lock me?” Jesse thought with a smirk, admiring the way the big padlock looked sitting on his thick hairy pecs. “I think I might be a little too much man for you!” he said. “Thanks for the gift, though.” He had bolt-cutters in his truck, he could take care of it later. A wide smile spread across the blond twink’s face. He snapped his fingers--somehow, over the music, Jesse heard it like a thunderclap. Something about that snap grabbed hold of his senses--he was focused on nothing else but the twink’s fingers.

 The twink motioned toward the door and Jesse hopped off the dais obediently. The crowd grabbed at him, tried to pull him back, but Jesse roughly shoved them aside. He barely thought about what he was doing until he got outside.

“Who… who are you?” he said, still keeping up with the twink’s long strides.

 “Your new owner,” the twink said. His voice was shrill and high--kid seemed like he should be singing soprano in an a capella group, not ordering around a big musclebull.

 “Look, kid, I don’t know what went on in there, but I--”

 The twink snapped. Jesse stopped mid-sentence.

 “No talking. Only barking. Good pups bark. Got it?”

 Jesse tried to form words--they were perfect in his head--but when they got to his mouth, all that came out were barks.

 “You’re driving,” the twink ordered, and Jesse headed toward his truck, actually walking to the passenger side and opening the door to let the twink in. He wondered where they were going--when he tried to ask, all that came out were barks and whimpers--but the twink snapped his fingers again. “We’re going to your hotel room. You’ll be moving me into your permanent residence soon--it’s now my permanent residence, by the way.” Jesse couldn’t argue--could barely voice his dissension through dog-sounds even if he tried, and was too nervous to attempt it anyway.

The hotel was a cheap place, the kind where your room door opened up to the parking lot, so they headed in without having to pass a front desk. Part of Jesse was thankful--he would’ve hated to be seen in this compromised position--but part of him wished there was someone he could try to ask for help from. “Get on the bed,” the twink ordered once the door was closed. “All fours,” he said, and Jesse obeyed. The twink climbed up on the bed and inspected him like he was property, slapping his ass, squeezing his pecs and his thick lats, sniffing and tasting his pits.

 “Take my dick like a champion, got it?” the twink ordered, and Jesse arched his back without thinking--he’d never bottomed in his life, there was no way he’d do it now! But once the twink mounted him it was all he could think about--his rational mind still fought, but another instinct took over, a desire to please his master, to satisfy him with his body as his property. The twink fucked him hard and mercilessly--and as much as he didn’t want to, Jesse loved it.

 After dumping a load into Jesse’s virgin ass, the twink shoved the big musclebear onto his side. “You just got fucked like the bitch you are. It’s time you looked the part.” He reached out and placed a hand on Jesse’s tattoos. “I’ll take those, thank you.” The tattoos suddenly swirled around Jesse’s flesh, traveling along the skin onto the twink, where they settled into brand new patterns.

 “This hair doesn’t suit you either. Little bitch like you better be smooth.” A prickling traveled along Jesse’s skin as his hair visibly receded, leaving behind bare, soft flesh--not even pubes were left behind. He patted the baby-soft skin of the bare face in horror. His muscles had been covered with hair since he was 14--he shivered in the cold air, his body looking somewhat childlike despite its muscle. Meanwhile thick blond hair sprouted over the twink’s body, as well as a thick beard and moustache on the twink’s face. Their size differences aside, the twink now looked like the older man, while something about Jesse seemed adolescent.

 “What use is all that brawn and strength on a little bitch like you?” the twink asked, and Jesse stared as his body deflated, muscles he’d had for years waned and smoothing out until he was as thin as the twink--or at least, as thin as the twink was. In seconds, the twink’s body swole with powerful masculine muscles, he groaned as his voice deepened and flexed and inspected his new body, seeming satisfied with the results.

“Bitch like you looks up to a master like me,” the twink said, and Jesse felt his body compress while the twink--no, his master’s limbs expanded. Jesse started to cower, looking up at the huge, hairy tattooed blonde man crossing his arms in front of him.

 “What use is a big dick like that on a little bitch like you?” Master said, and Jesse watched as the big tool swinging between his legs dwindled to a little nub. The master’s cock slowly snaked down from his groin--and Jesse became entranced by it.

“Now all you need is a firm little ass to fuck, little pup, and you’re all ready.” Jesse felt his ass slowly rise into two soft pillows that wobbled sensuously as he moved.

 Jesse shivered as he took his new Master in--masculinity came off him in waves. It was intoxicating. Jesse just wanted to swallow gulps of the Master’s scent, bury his nose in Master’s pits, nuzzle his face between Master’s two big pecs…

 “Now you’re my pup, period. My bitch. I’ll breed you when I want to but other than that, you stay locked and plugged.”

 Suddenly he couldn’t remember his name--he was Pup, or Bitch… Pup-Bitch. Master wasted no time getting his little cock locked up tight and plugging his pup-hole with a tail. Then he pulled a rubber pup-hole over his face. Pup-Bitch felt complete. In the deepest part of his mind, something screamed that this wasn’t right--but then it faded away, and Pup-Bitch wagged his tail.

Master went through the things in the hotel room that were now his--digging cash from the wallet left behind, grabbing the keys to the truck, pulling on the jumpsuit which was a little snug on his big body. Then he snapped his fingers--Pup-Bitch hopped to attention--and headed to the truck. Pup-Bitch rode shotgun, hanging his head out the window the whole way.

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.

If @jakelandry keeps writing stories like this, I just might fall in love with him. (Tons of great other stories on his Tumblr. Guarantee you'll rub out at least two nuts your first visit. Check him out!)

Just a Prank Bro

“It’s just a prank bro.” Lance had no idea how many times his roommate had said that to him. It was like every time Blake ‘played a prank’ that’s all he would say. It’s not like putting flour in the shower was super annoying and hard to clean off. Or how changing his shampoo and soap to motor oil wasn’t super annoying. Or when he decided to place all of the cups of water throughout his room while Lance was sleeping and then sleep with his buddies. No. None of that was annoying at all.

However, now Lance had a way to get back at him. It was going to put that ‘bro’ in his place. There were a few times he thought that he might be going a bit too far but when he found his entire history book glued shut he knew it had to happen. These weren’t even “pranks” anymore. It was practically vandalism.

It was still going to be about a half hour before Blake got back from his class. Lance planned on putting “the prank” in his pre-workout. All he had to do was make sure he was close enough to actually see it happen. Lance knew he would enjoy watching every minute of it.

Lance patiently waited the half hour and asked if he could join Blake in the gym. “Little guy wants to watch me train?” Blake threw up a double bicep pose. Lance couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The jock was far too into admiring himself to even notice Lance’s contempt.

“Yes. I want to watch you train.” It was so sarcastic and monotone Lance thought he almost ruined his chance.

“Awesome bro!” with a slap on the back the two headed for the gym. Blake quickly downed his pre-workout and went through all the different machines. He was showing everything in the college’s gym off. It was probably close to an hour before Blake made any indication that something was off. Lance could actually feel it too.

The jock looked himself up and down in the mirror in front of him. He could have sworn that something was different. It quickly became obvious as his XL shirt started to drape over his body. The thin straps slid to the sides of his thinning shoulders. His thick muscular arms were losing their hard definition.  He was completely in shock as he turned around realizing he was Lance’s height. Everything on him was so much smaller.

“What did you do?” he threatened.

“It’s just a prank bro,” Lance smirked. Blake was furious as he grabbed Lance by the collar. So many thoughts flew threw his head he didn’t even know where to start. Even if they were the same size Blake knew he could beat up Lance. That wasn’t going to be a problem.

All of a sudden a heat wave filled Lance’s body. Everything about him felt completely different. He didn’t know what was happening. His entire body started to flex as Blake’s grip tightened.

“Wha…” Blake muttered. His head leaned back as Lance grew several inches taller. Blake couldn’t help but think that he was about an inch or two taller than his former 6’1”. He kept staring in awe as Lance’s arms thickened in front of him tearing apart the sleeves of his shirt. The rest of the shirt fell into his hands as the thick pecs and solid stomach pushed out of his body. There were dense strong muscles growing all over him.

Lance couldn’t help but laugh at Blake’s tiny body standing in front of him. Blake’s face instantly went sour knowing that all of that weight was his. To make it worse it looked like Lance weighed even more than the former jock.

“You know I didn’t know this would affect me too,” Lance flexed his arm. He watched Blake squirm uncomfortably in his weaker body. “But I can’t say I don’t like it.”