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Happy World Cup holiday!

So it's been almost four days since FIFA World Cup 2022 (Copa Mundial dé fútbol), has started in Qatar. During these days, the world has seen some fascinating goals and a few shocking matches (we love you Messi). In these moments, there's a match between the Canda and Belgium teams. Now stop doin whatever you're doin and let me tell you about two Belgian eye-catching stars... EDEN HAZARD and KEVIN DE BRUYNE. I swear to god, I'm ready to spread my ass and let these two players dp my h**e. I would let them spit in my mouth and look right into their bright eyes while they are slapping me. Eden & Kevin, you can score as many goals as you want here.

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)

JR was in the locker room with his teammates, celebrating their win, when he got the text:

“Great game fella. It was nice to watch you play again. Care to meet up with an old buddy?”

The number wasn’t saved in his contacts (he’d deleted it when he thought he was finally rid of him) but he knew the number by heart: Thad. He also knew there was no way to say no. An address showed up seconds later, a sports bar nearby, and JR knew he had to go, and soon.

Thad came outside at JR’s texted request; an NFL player walking in an hour after a big win would attract too much attention. Luckily Thad was merciful and met him outside. He strode confidently up to the passenger side and hopped into the car. Not a tall man, Thad had to build some momentum to hoist himself up into the lifted truck. JR clenched when he found the man’s gaze on him.

“Great to see you again buddy!” Thad said giving him a slap on the shoulder followed by a squeeze that lingered. Thad looked him up and down. “Jesus, even sitting down you look big. Way bigger than in college. The NFL sure is doing wonders for you!”

“Yes sir,” JR responded, ashamed that he’d snapped back to subservience to Thad without thinking. He couldn’t even look the smaller man in the face.

“Did you miss me?” Thad asked. JR nodded slowly like a scolded child. “Be honest.”

“No…” JR said quietly.

“I’ve got a hotel room. We’re headed there. Let’s go. I’ll tell you the directions on the way.”

JR shook his head. “I have a wife, kids… a life. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Wasn’t asking, big man.” Thad’s tone made JR shiver. “Call them. Tell them you’re meeting up with an old buddy.”

Hands shaking, JR lifted his phone and dialed his wife. Of course she protested, but when Thad told JR, he just hung up. Once he’d gotten through this, he’d tell her some lie, take her on a vacation. He was far more afraid of Thad than of his wife.

Back in college Thad was a shrimpy weirdo who sat next to JR in a philosophy class. JR could tell right away the little guy had eyes for him--women and men had been swooning for his big football player body and confident swagger since he hit early puberty at age 14 and was bigger than most men--so he knew he could get what he wanted. Thad took notes for JR, let him cheat during tests, did all of his work. Then one day Thad approached JR with self-confidence he’d never had before. He told JR to come to his dorm room to pick up his midterm essay rather than just bringing it to class. And when JR got there, Thad revealed the mystical little tricks he’d learned from an old Tibetan book he’d found at the library.

Now, JR just did as he told, driving to the skeevy little motel on the edge of town. Luckily the door to Thad’s room opened right to the parking lot so JR Sweezy wouldn’t be seen dragged through a lobby by a feminine little queer.

Once inside the door, JR quickly locked it and pulled the shades. Thad just snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot in the middle of the room. JR took his spot, sweat pouring from his brow.

“You know all this mass is just too damned much…” Thad said feeling JR up, grabbing his ass, poking his belly, grabbing his massive arms. “And this hair,” he said running a hand up JR’s shirt, running his fingers through the coat of fur up there. “Ew. Plus, what’s a guy like you gonna do with a cock this size?” Thad’s other hand fished JR’s sizeable dick out of his pants and swatted it back and forth. JR flinched.

“You know what type of guys I like,” Thad said, crossing his bony arms over his insignificant chest. Then he winked and it happened.

Suddenly JR felt like he was sinking although he hadn’t moved an inch. The room around him seemed to rise as his gaze fell to below Thad’s chest. Thad was 5’5”; JR tried not to do the math for his own new height.

As he shrunk, JR felt his body getting more compact. His gut reduced, replaced by abs. Veins snaked up his arms as his skin tightened. Worst of all his big dick shrank away to a little nub and his ass firmed up--and deep within his ass, JR felt a sudden hypersensitivity, an itch, growing in intensity, he was desperate to scratch.

Meanwhile JR’s clothes shifted like warm wax. His pants melted away while his boxer briefs pulled up into a speedo with a drawstring and net panels over his hips. His shirt receded, the shoulders hardening, until it assumed its new form: a minimalist set of football pads with the words “American Football” on the front--probably as a joke. Thad reached out a hand and ran it over JR’s new muscletwink body, tracing along his abs. With every touch, JR’s mind went wild--he could barely think, and if one finger could do that much…

With little effort Thad hoisted little JR up and tossed him on the bed. “That’s how I like my men. Ripped and easy to throw around.” Instinctively JR flipped over and his ass rose into the air. Thad put his face over it, inhaled deeply, and traced JR’s crack with an invasive tongue.

“You smell good, JR… taste even better…”

Hours later, Thad shoved little JR off. He’d done something, made it so JR couldn’t cum. Every time Thad had pounded JR’s little ass, he’d gotten even more lost in a haze of horniness and sensation he hadn’t felt in years--since college. While Thad headed to the bathroom to piss, JR lay on the bed, wriggling uncomfortably. His body was desperate to get fucked again.

“Don’t worry little man,” Thad called from the bathroom over the sound of his peeing. “I’m gonna call for a pizza and see if the delivery boy won’t fuck you. Then we’re gonna parade you around to every other room in this place and see if anybody else wants a turn on that ass.”

When Thad came back to the bed he licked a finger and probed JR’s ass for fun, making the little man squirm. “Man, did I miss this… It could be days before I get tired of playing with you at this size, if ever!”

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

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[Special thanks to @matter-master​ for this AMAZING COMMISSION. Support this artist! Hit him up for your own twisted muscle fantasy.] Todd would have had a clear shot at a touchdown if Rex Rundgren, the brick wall of Defensive Lineman muscle, hadn’t lumbered into his path. Maybe I can juke around him, Todd thought, praying he had speed and dexterity the massive man couldn’t keep up with--otherwise, he was looking at a collision with a VERY solid object, followed by the ground. Seconds before he had to decide--zig, zag or pass--there was a gentle POP and Rundgren seemed to have disappeared. Upon closer inspection Todd saw the lineman had just miniaturized, standing about a foot tall but with the proportions of his muscular body blown out to cartoonish size. Todd took a moment to watch the suddenly-nude Rex waddle around and flail his nearly-useless pumped-up limbs before snatching him up. Not only had he scored a touchdown, but Todd now had a nice warm throw-pillow for his bed (that could double as a little foot-slave as well, at least until he had him trained for “other chores”).

Montanaboyz🏝🔥