Helpless Muscle - Tumblr Posts

Trey didn’t notice anything was different until he hit his third pose--his arms seemed stiff, legs seemed heavy for some reasons. He was starting to get kind of inflexible, and as he tried to hit a side chest he noticed his mobility was impeded--by his own body. The audience watched as Trey’s body started to swell like rising dough. In minutes his 4% contest physique had swollen out to a thick, bulky off-season body--well over 300 pounds, and counting. Trey tried to play it off, trying not to at least finish his routine, but he knew by the look on the judges’ faces and the shocked gasps of the audience that something was seriously going on. And his body just kept swelling... ...400 pounds came and went quickly, and still his body gained mass. His massive quads pushed his legs apart. Soon he wobbled awkwardly, his feet so far apart that he worried he’d loose his balance and topple over. His arms had swollen so much that they now stood out straight, resting on the massive swollen lats that kept spreading, making the already gigantic frame even wider. Trey’s terrified face was soon swallowed up as his traps engulfed his head. Only his panicked eyes were visible around the mass of muscle, and he stood with his limbs out straight like a grossly exaggerated anatomy chart. The only movement he could manage was the wiggling of his fingertips, the only sound he could make past the traps and pecs that had swollen around his head was a faint whimpering, and still his body kept growing... And offstage, Cody, who was in second after prejudging, slipped the woman with the spray-tun gun $500 for adding his special additive before giving Trey his final spray.

Mr. O-blimpia

               Some people theorized that Kai Greene was behind what happened at the Olympia. Barred from competing this year, he certainly had the motive, and maybe some of the chemists at his supplement company could’ve cooked up the bizarre chemical. But after extensive investigations, police said that there was no evidence Kai was behind it. What they did know was that the chemical was gaseous, fed into the arena through the vents through the whole competition, finally reaching a dangerous concentration just before they revealed the top 10.

               People watched, anticipating the winners of that year’s competition, when the chemical suddenly had a visible effect. Cameras were right on Dennis Wolf when it affected him. His whole body flexed at once, but the shocked look in his eyes suggested that wasn’t an intentional display of his physique. All of a sudden, Dennis’ body began to compress, slowly getting shorter without losing any of its mass. He looked around in a panic as his fellow competitors seemed to grow around him.

               Dexter Jackson was the next. People couldn’t believe what they were seeing as the big bodybuilder’s height reduced, the rest of his dense musculature compressed into a now-shrunken frame.

               In seconds, every bodybuilder onstage was suddenly sinking toward the floor. When the changes stopped, ten men stood on stage, all around three feet tall but with every ounce of muscle still on them. They waddled around on stumped legs, tried to wave their arms, now rendered useless by their incredible thickness. Their posing trunks struggled to contain the new girth of their bulges, which bobbed and wobbled provocatively as they stumbled around on their new stumpy legs. Big Ramy got it the worst, compressed into a little meat blimp, a panicked wiggling of his fingers the only thing he could move as he slowly tipped backward and landed on his back, immobile like an upended turtle.

               The audience was silent at first, until the changes spread to them. Suddenly, every man in the room with any performance enhancing drug residue in his system felt the effects of the gas filling the arena. Big, massive bodybuilders suddenly found themselves compressed into chunky little meatplugs, limbs so thick they could barely bend. Gargantuan powerlifters squealed with their new helium-high voices as they found themselves cut down to the height of children, immobilized by their own bulk.

               Onstage, a cartoonishly proportioned Phil Heath struggled to get out of the view of the cameras. Every second of his frustrated waddle off the stage was captured, however, and went viral the next day, blasted across every sports website in existence. Pictures of Flex Lewis, squashed down to mini-fridge size, being airlifted to the hospital, his body almost a perfectly muscular sphere, giant traps and a mammoth upper chest nearly swallowing up his entire face.

               They ventilated the arena immediately, but the gaseous chemical had already done its damage. They estimated thousands of men were affected, now the height of children with bodies so thick they were considered disabled. None of them could bend their arms enough to grab a steering wheel, or even climb into a normal vehicle. The tops of most counters were now off-limits to these dwarfed musclemen, and shelves were completely out of the question. Regular-sized men regarded the squished-down musclemen with mockery and disdain. They had nothing to fear from these little guys now. All that muscle, but one good shove to the head and they’d fall to the ground and squirm like a beetle.

               Months later, neither a culprit nor a cure found, they revealed the top 10 standings and awarded a blimped-out mini Phil Heath with the title of Mr. Olympia. As he accepted it from the man twice his height, wobbling on his unsteady legs, he started to thank God and his fans when a figure stepped out from the crowd.

               “Looking thick there, Phil, but you sound like a damned chipmunk.” It was Kai, and while security approached him, Phil squeaked out that it was fine. Phil’s eyes went wide as he stared up… up… up at Kai, who had never seemed so massive to him before. “Congrats,” said Kai, holding out a hand. Phil wobbled, awkwardly contorting himself to meet the outstretched hand without toppling over.

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)

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.

Nobody saw me swap the spray tanner out for my own little concoction, but they sure saw the effects: on stage, Victor’s shiny mass seemed to get an extra pump, seeming to expand under the heat of the lights. Victor was all too aware of the boost in mass, and even though he didn’t understand the source he had no intentions of being shy with the extra size, newly added inches flexing in crowd-pleasing bulges. The size should’ve weighed him down but he felt even lighter somehow, like he could leap three feet off the ground if he wanted to. Even his lips felt more full and supple, his mouth swollen into a big flirty pucker, but he just went with it, and the crowd loved it.

It was the swelling in his dick that finally distracted him enough to think something was wrong, then the stiffness that spread across his limbs. Victor had just shifted into relaxed pose when the formula hit its final stages: his eyes froze into a thousand-yard stare, mouth surprised into an O, then his whole body froze in place--and then slowly toppled backward where it bounced around the stage like a rubber toy.

Victor was still conscious in there, still alive (and yes, it WOULD wear off eventually), but he’d been transformed wholly into a living blow-up doll, one that would feel massively magnified pleasure with every touch. Standing backstage, watching Victor lying back, his perfectly bloated form rubbery and helpless, I knew my formula was going to put Real Dolls out of business.

---

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

New content every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

Joey lay back across the cushioned seats, flexing his big arms and flashing his signature duck-face before snapping a selfie. He posted the pic immediately, captioning it, “Bout to check out an acupuncturist thanks to @wannabebulky’s generous gift certificate! Gotta love holistic treatment! I’ll let you all know how it goes.”

He didn’t actually believe in acupuncture, only stopped into this place because one of his client gifted him a free session as a tip, but since it was just a couple needles, what was there to lose by stopping in?

He was shocked when the door opened and a skinny little white guy with a combover and a bad moustache stumbled in. Thanks to movies and TV, Joey’d imagined his needles would be getting inserted from an old Asian woman. He’d planned on flashing some charm and wowing her with his muscles to pass the time until this was all over. He didn’t know what he was going to do with this little nerdy guy--until the guy got a look at him, his eyes widening in a way Joey wasn’t unfamiliar with.

“Y-y-you’re…” The guy took a step back as he took in the big bodybuilder’s impressive mass.

“Huge, yeah, I know,” Joey said. Maybe “wowing with muscles” wasn’t off the table after all.

The little guy’s hands trembled as he wheeled a tray up to the side of the table and set up what looked like an ornate tacklebox on top of it. “I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never worked on someone so… big… before!”

“Just treat me like anybody else,” Joey said. “What’s the clothing situation here? Shirt off, shorts on?”

“To be able to get the most of this treatment, it’s best that you strip down completely,” the man said, focusing on the tacklebox as he opened it. The guy seemed anxious, like he was afraid to look directly at the pile of beef on his table.

If he’s intimidated now, that sure isn’t gonna get any better with this,” Joey snickered as he tossed his hat and sunglasses aside, peeled off his tank top, then yanked off his shoes and socks. Hopping to his feet, he unbuckled his belt, letting his shorts fall to the ground. The whole time the little guy never looked up from whatever he was doing in his little tacklebox. Joey let the moment marinate a bit before digging a thumb into the waistband of his tightly packed boxerbriefs and yanking them down over his gargantuan legs. Then he stood there, naked and spewing bodyheat into the room, until the acupuncturist finally looked up.

He got the effect he was going for. The little guy’s jaw stared, stunned, at the sight in front of him: Joey, fists on his hips, 270 pounds of perfectly sculpted veiny muscle stripped bare, his soft, generous manhood gently swaying in the breeze of the air conditioner. The smaller man before him shook for a moment before stumbling backwards and knocking the wheeled tray over. The tacklebox crashed to the floor. Needles scattered everywhere.

Joey felt a little guilty as the embarrassed man fumbled to clean up the mess, but he never got tired of people falling apart at the sight of him. If his suspicions about this little guy were true--and he was rarely wrong when he picked up the “vibe”--he figured the little guy would be revisiting the memory of his free “show” in private later on. Consider it a tip, Joey thought as he kicked back on the table.

“I’m sorry, Mr... “

“Swole,” Joey said. “They call me Joey Swole. But now that you’ve seen every inch of me you can call me Joey.”

“Sure, Mr… Swole? Er--Joey, sir…”

“Look, buddy, if you’re gonna be sticking needles in me, you’re gonna have to relax, got it? I need a steady hand outta you, k? What’s your name anyway?”

“Seth,” the little man said.

“Well, take a deep breath, Seth, and when you’ve got yourself settled, I’d like to find out just what you acupuncturists can pull off.”

Seth held the bridge of his nose, breathed deeply several times, and then collected himself. He set the dishevelled tacklebox back on the tray and wheeled it back over.

“So, where would you like me to focus?” Seth said, producing a single needle and holding it a few inches above Joey’s chest. “Do you have any aches or ailments you’d like me to remedy?”

Joey shrugged. “I dunno bud. As you can see I’m pretty well put together. I keep my machine in perfect running order and all. Only thing I’m really suffering from is some general swelling, pretty much anywhere… although I wouldn’t call it suffering, exactly.” He looked up from the table at Seth, who didn’t even crack a smile at the joke.

“Well, I’d bet it’s not that easy carrying around all that mass,” Seth said, examining the mound of astoundingly solid flesh before him. “All the stress on your joints… I bet your knees are just dying for relief…”

Seth gently inserted a needle into Joey’s forehead, above his left eyebrow, and twisted.

“Ho-ly… jeez…” Joey was breathless for a second. He’d been unaware how much his knees had been aching until whatever Seth had done relieved it. He lifted his left leg from the table, bent and flexed the knee, astounded at how suddenly flexible he felt. A light sweat broke out over his body.

“See, most people are so accustomed to their own physical maladies that they don’t even notice them anymore. Let’s see… I’d bet your shoulders take a beating. Let’s see what we can do about that.” Seth inserted two needles above Joey’s right nipple, then gently tapped in a third. As Seth’s hand came away, Joey felt mounds of tension suddenly unwind from his shoulders. He didn’t even notice how much the joints had stung until he felt a cool, calming sensation over them. His shoulders had never felt so fucking good. He felt like he could easily press a jeep over his head.

“God damn,” Joey said, nearly breathless with relief.

“I bet a guy like you gets crazy sore after his workouts,” Seth said. “What’s the last bodypart you worked?”

“Had a huge back day today. Basically I deadlifted the equivalent of a mama elephant and then rowed her babies, one in each hand.”

Seth smiled, located a spot just above Joey’s navel, deep in the crease of Joey’s inanely carved-out abdomal muscles. Joey barely felt the needle go in, but suddenly all the ache in his back was gone, his obliterated muscles suddenly feeling rejuvenated. Even better, a sudden burst of bloodflow across his massive back gave him a considerable pump. He seemed to rise off the table as his back gently inflated.

“You’re a goddamned miracle man…” Joey said. “Can you do that all over? Give me a pump like that?”

Seth seemed to be getting a little giddy from satisfying the  mountain of muscle before him. “I sure can! Just watch.”

He stuck a few needles into the soles of Joey’s feet and watched as the big man’s traps swelled up, swallowing his neck. A few more needles below Joey’s Adam’s apple and his arms expanded into veiny cannons. More needles in his left shoulder and his chest and shoulders rose like baking dough. A few more in his elbow and Joey’s already insanely thick legs got even wider.

“This is… fuck, I feel like I’m twice the size I was when I walked in here…” Joey said, flexing his warm, pumped muscles.

“Please, don’t move while the needles are in,” Seth said, nervously swiping his thumb and forefinger along his moustache.

“Whatever you say, buddy! Just keep those magic needles coming!”

Suddenly Seth’s eyes lit up. “Oh man, if you like all that, you’ll love this!” Seth pressed two needles into Joey’s smooth, hard groin, and the big man growled.

“Oooohhhhhh fuuuuuuuuck--” he moaned, suddenly overcome by waves of pleasure emanating from the exact spot Seth had stuck, traveling the length of his body, into his fingertips and toes and scalp, then back down to his groin. His dick sprang up, hard as a lead pipe in second. Joey saw stars and breathed like he’d just run a marathon, his heart pounding, sweat pouring from him in buckets. So wrapped in his own ecstasy, he barely noticed as cum spewed from his cock, splattering over his face and chest with the first few volleys. Joey’s growl rose in pitch as his orgasm continued, longer than anything he’d ever felt jerking off or fucking women before. His dick emptied itself over his midsection, less cum each time until his twitching balls finally ran dry. The big organ just stood there throbbing while Joey squealed, the gentle movement of the air conditioner feeling like a sensual massage over every inch of his bare skin.

It subsided slowly and it was minutes before Joey could gather his thoughts enough to realize what had happened--he’d just blown his biggest load ever on an acupuncturist’s table after getting a few pins in his groin. He wasn’t even embarrassed as he looked down over his wide expanse of muscles, frosted with what looked like a gallon of his own load.

“I-I-I-I’ll get you a towel,” Seth stammered. Even he seemed surprised at what he had done for the gargantuan man.

“Dude… that… oh god… I…” Joey tried to pull himself together. He lay one hand on Seth’s shoulder as an expression of gratitude. “Th-th-th-thank you… That was… Man…”

Seth relaxed his posture and leaned into Joey’s big palm. “Let me just get these needles out,” Starting with the ones on Joey’s faced, he gently pulled the pins out.

Joey was thankful his bodily pains didn’t return when the needles were removed. His mind was also still a little hazy from the mindblowing orgasm he still barely felt the effects of--so hazy in fact that he didn’t notice the faint, high-pitched whistling sound, like rushing air, that has suddenly started. As more needles came out, however, it got louder.

“What’s that sound?” Joey asked as he started to come to his senses. The shrill squeak became more noticeable with every second. As Seth dropped his handful of semen-sticky needles back in the tacklebox, he raised an eyebrow. He seemed to hear it too.

“Uh-oh,” Seth said, placing an ear on Joey’s cum-spattered chest. “Oh, jeez, I can’t believe I did it again…”

Joey’s blood-pressure spiked. Something about this kid’s demeanor, the way he was all clenched up and shaking again, had Joey worried. The sound seemed to be coming from all around him--fuck, was it coming FROM him?--and a cold numbness had started to spread across his skin. He sat up and grabbed a handful of Seth’s shirt, yanking him in close.

“What the fuck is that fucking noise? Why’s my whole body feel like I just got anesthesia?” Joey barked.

“Th-th-th-the numbness will fade!” Seth whimpered. “You’ll get feeling back in twenty minutes or so. Just hold still and let me see if I can undo what I did…”

“Fuck that,” Joey said, shoving Seth back. “Get these fucking needles out of me.” He reached down and clumsily yanked the protruding little metal points from the soles of his feet and from his abs. The sound just got louder, and Joey started to feel seriously dizzy.

“Stop! Leave the needles in!” Seth begged, but Joey had already reached for the last pins--the two above his groin.

A burst of air rushed from the hole above his groin--the whistling, of course, was the sound of air escaping from every little hole in his body. He watched, horrified, as the pecs that normally obscured the view of his feet slowly sank. He looked down as his arms collapsed, felt himself sinking as the mass emptied out of his back and his big ass.

Then it was over. Joey lay there, in shock. It felt strange to move his head, but when he touched around his face with his fingers he realized why: there was no thick neck underneath it, massive traps on either side.

Joey hopped off the table and looked down at himself--all his muscles were gone, leaving behind just skin and bones. The skin hadn’t exactly shrunk, still sagging off his body in long, ugly strips, flapping around as he moved.

“Oh man… I thought I had that groin thing down, but if you don’t do it just perfectly it makes your whole body shed its mass…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Joey shrieked. He shoved Seth, surprised at his resistance. “The fuck--how’d you get so heavy?”

“Jeez, it looks like you got shorter, too,” Seth said, holding a hand above his hand and extending it forward. It hung inches above Joey’s head.

“Fucking fix it!” Joey yelped.

“L-l-let me get you a towel, first, and I’ll have you fill out a customer complaint card… I’ll try to get you some comped return visits, too…” Seth ran to the open door. “Diane! I did it again!”

—

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

New content every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

He didn’t believe I could make good on what I’d offered until he heard the sound of rubber stretching as mass poured onto his frame. His eyes got wide as he saw himself in the mirror, already huge muscles expanding like rising bread.

“Holy shit… You fucking serious?” he said, bringing two titanic arms up into a double biceps pose, pausing to fully acknowledge their new girth. “How is this even fucking possible?” he asked.

“Do you care?” I snapped as I walked a semi-circle around him, admiring my work. “One snap of my fingers and you’ll double in size. Sound good?”

He bounced two big mounds of pec beneath his cut-off. “Fuck, dude, what’s the catch?”

Walking up beside him I ran the palm of my hand up his lats, my fingers resting in his deep muscle-pits. I could see him struggling to resist the tickle. “Who said anything about catch? You wanna be the biggest dude in this state or what?”

He looked down on his widened frame and quietly moaned, “Yes, please…”

Then the real change happened. Shoulders and traps swelled, swallowing his head. Arms blew up on lats getting wider by the second. He had to adjust his stance to adjust the doubled diameter of his broadening thighs. “Fuck,” he said. Even the muscles in his face had grown, squeezing his mouth into a grimace. “I’m fucking… huge…” he said through clenched teeth. “Wonder how much I weigh?”

There, of course, was the catch, but I wasn’t about to ruin the surprise for him just yet.

“There’s a scale behind us,” I said. “Go check it out.”

It took him a full minute just to get his blimp-sized body turned around. It took even longer to get any momentum going. His new legs were so engorged with muscle he could only move a few inches at a time. “Shit… fuck... “ he said, his fingers wiggling in frustration (the only movement he could really manage).

He started building up speed about halfway across the room (long minutes later, of course). Then he took a step and suddenly lifted off the floor, floating a few feet before touching down like he’d walked on the moon. “What was that?” he said. He took another step and went even further, drifting a few inches above the ground before gently touching down again. “What’s goin’ on?” he said as the last of his new mass settled into place. He was nearly spherical now, solid bulging muscle, arms and legs out straight. Movement for the poor guy was now impossible--but that wasn’t the last change to be had. He gasped loudly as his feet suddenly lifted from the ground.

He strained to touch his toes to the floor again but they got further away. I had to surpress the urge to laugh at his expression as gentle air currents caused him to tilt, slowly rotating him until he was upside.

“If you’re curious,” I taunted, squatting down so I could be face to face with him, “you’re practically weightless, and soon to be less than that. All that mass? Full of helium. You’re now a big old muscle balloon. I collect them, you see.” Out of my gym bag I pulled out a heavy metal ball attached by chain to a collar I fit around his neck. “Can’t having you float away on me now. You’re going to love it in my garden. You’ll be my eighth bodybuilder balloon. All swaying in the wind, whimpering and moaning. Hopefully those nasty raccoons don’t get back in again with those sharp claws.”

His eyes darted around wildly and I couldn’t resist so I kissed him, knowing he couldn’t do anything but accept it. “Just like Spider-man, hunh?” I said, giving his over-muscled cheeks a gentle pat.

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

New content every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

You’d expect it to be cool to the touch, but my statue still gives off heat. The sensation’s a little unnerving when you place your hand on it. Put your ear on its chest and you can still hear a heart beating. But a few raps with your fist will disabuse any admirer of the idea that this little art installation is anything more than a clever art project made with some interesting tricks.

No one ever does ouf course, but if you were to place your lips against the statue’s, a connection would made. Inside your head you’d hear a man’s frantic, breathy voice panting like he just biked up a mountainside. He’d desperately tell you that he’s not a statue, that he has a name--Allen--and some lunatic (me) lured him here with a modeling contract and coated him with a spray that turned him into living stone. And if you were to pull down the still-warm posing trunks and place your tongue on its solid stone penis, you’d create another connection. See, this statue that used to be a man still possesses the ability to feel, magnified a thousand times. Since it’s made of stone, no sensation ever truly fades away. “Allen” as the statue used to be called still feels every sensation from every touch since he assumed that position with exponential intensity. Place your whole warm wet mouth around his stone penis and you’d hear that same breathy voice moan and scream in ecstasy no human man has ever felt. It must be an exquisite torture, I’d imagine. But no one ever does, of course. No one except the artist.

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

New content every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

Allen Richards

NEW ***FREE-TO-READ*** STORY AT MY PATREON ““I make parade blimps,” the shady gear dealer had said, stroking his greasy moustache. “Big bloated muscle monsters--huge everywhere except for in their shorts.” He snickered and Lyric, Alexey’s manager, nodded: immense size was what Alexey needed to take his career to the next level. He was known for being a pretty face and an offseason monster; it was time to take things to the next level. A shrunken manhood would be the price he had to pay--or perhaps it would be the cherry on top, depending on your perspective.” Read more (free!) here:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/17229803 (Feeling generous? Thursday and Saturday posts will be Patrons-only--why not toss a little in the tip jar?)

NEW PATRONS-ONLY CONTENT ON PATREON

“Muscle Bull Cowed”

A story about a cocky muscle-bull who finds himself at the mercies of a mysterious patron with terrifying powers... “But I… I don’t…” Vance paused, considering his options. “I don’t usually go full nude.” Inside he screamed at himself: this is five grand! Take off the pants! But he had standards he had to abide by, even with this much money on the line. Fuck that up and the cash flow goes dry. He’d seen it happen to dozens of other guys, giving it all up too easily one day, old news the next. Still, this whole scene--his rising ire at his unimpressed patron, the amount of money casually dropped into his account--had his hand moving for the drawstring on the front of his shorts.

Want to see how the story ends up for this big meaty stud? Come see me at my Patreon! (Spoilers in the tags) $3 gets you access to all stories. Higher pledges get better perks--and who doesn’t like perks, boys? Come get it!

www.patreon.com/brandedx2

NEW STORY ON PATREON *FREE FOR EVERYONE* “Fully Articulated Joey”

Fans of Joey Swoll, shrunken bodybuilders and inanimate transformations will all love this new story. Here’s a little taste:

“Is Petrov’s own special blend,” Petrov had said, digging his fingers into Joey’s delts and relieving pain and tension he didn’t even know was there. “Is many herbs. Ancient recipe, gypsy secrets, you know…” After his fingers had, according to Petrov, “worked out the toxins,” Joey glanced over to watch his delts swelling with revitalized bloodflow. The same had happened with his pecs, which ballooned even bigger than before after Petrov had worked them, and his big wide back.

This story is free for everyone! Just pop over to my Patreon and have a read. Let me know how you like it!

www.patreon.com/brandedx2

NEW STORY AT MY PATREON

Need a story to get through your Saturday? This one’s about a superheavyweight pro-bodybuilder mass-monster who’s got it all--freakish size, a massive frame, at the top of his sport, except he’s got one little handicap: a curse put on him by his ex-girlfriend. This one’s a mental TF. If you’re into helpless powerhouses or infantilism, this one’s for you! Not a patron? There will be a new story for you on Monday. Or you can just toss some money in the jar and enjoy! Here’s a little something to whet your whistle:

Ronny, in his compression tights and stretched-to-the-limit XXXL shirt, impresses while he presses, to put it mildly. Especially in the offseason he’s just a huge mass of muscle, dense freakish development most people have never seen in person. When he stacks five plates on each side and gets under the bar to squat, all 320 pounds of him, jaws hit the floor and pulses start pounding. He’s a beast, a genetic freak born to dominate the bodybuilding stage, and outside of his one little “handicap” he’s set to be king of the gym-world for a long time to come.

www.patreon.com/brandedx2

Eddie Bracamontes

NEW PATREON STORY

“A Good Tan Is Worth Ten Workouts”

Get those palms warmed up, boys! New PATRONS ONLY story at Patreon! Like cocky muscle getting cut down to size? You’ll love this! Here’s a taste:

Trevor took a look at himself in the locker room mirror. His whole body had a considerable pump, like he’d just done the most intense total-body workout of his life. He marveled in the mirror at the way his abs looked even more chiseled, the increased size of his legs (with even deeper cuts!), the fuel lines on his thicker arms that had appeared out of nowhere. He even seemed to have an extra half-inch swinging from his groin.

“Was that it?” he asked aloud. “I look good but I don’t look any tanner…” Seemingly in response to his question the pic of the big Italian guy--not so intimidating now that Trevor had this little physique boost--slid aside to reveal another room. Inside was just a wide open tanning bed that looked no different from any model Trevor had ever been in before. Before walking in he grabbed his phone from his pants pocket and hopped in.

Come check out the story! $3 a month and you get eight stories! $6 and you can vote on what comes next.

www.patreon.com/brandedx2

NEW ***FREE FOR EVERYONE*** POST AT PATREON

Rock-Hard Muscles

Something strange is in the pre-made meals all the athletes at Global Gym are eating! If you like ASFR, male petrification or helpless bodybuilders, you’ll absolutely love this story. Come check it out! www.patreon.com/brandedx2

Himbo turns to stone - Transformation

Tim worked out constantly to keep his body rock hard. Now he doesn’t need to worry anymore.

***NEW STORY AT PATREON***

FRATERNITY MAGIC

Tristan is a senior fratboy with healthy mystical abilities he’s not shy about using for his own personal gain--and to twist the fates of others. Wayne, a dedicated bodybuilder, makes a series of deals with Tristan to get ahead, but they all come with a price. Like muscle growth? Cock theft? You’ll love this story. Just $3 to get access to all my stories, past present and future. Come check it out! www.patreon.com/brandedx2

TRANSFORMATION STORY THREE PACK

What’s happening to the stud in this pic? Over on my Patreon I’m going to write three different transformation stories that go along with the pic above. The first goes up today, then one tomorrow and one Monday. All three stories will feature the poor hapless hunk above getting TF’d in a different way.

Pop over to the Patreon and check it out! Only $3 a month to become a Patron and you get access to every current, past and future story I post (and there are a ton!)

www.patreon.com/brandedx2