Shrunken Bodybuilder - Tumblr Posts
Kirill and his weaselly little assistant caught Jay as he was sneaking to his hotel room from the Expo to get a break from the mob, a little quiet time to recenter himself before he went back out there and played Ambassador to Bodybuilding again. Jay smiled and shook Kirill’s hand--as big competitive athletes, they’d always been cordial before--but he made a point to make this little interaction short and sweet so he could get a little relaxation time before the long day ahead.
“Joel, take picture of us,” Kirill grunted to his assistant as he put an arm on Jay’s shoulder. Jay squared up next to the big powerlifter, a little suspicious of his aggressive tone and demeanor. There had always been a gentle beef between strength athletes and bodybuilders, and back in his Olympia heyday, when Jay had been the epitome of sculpted beef, he’d never worried about how tall or thick these strongmen were in comparison. But since his retirement, Jay always felt like these powerlifter guys had something they were trying to prove, trying to make him look small.
Or maybe he was just being paranoid. It had been a long weekend already, and he really needed to shut his eyes for about twenty minutes. Something about the way Kirill’s assistant Joel stared at him too made him uncomfortable. Jay knew that look: hungry admiration. The guy was a skinny average nobody, probably got the job working for Kirill because he had such a hard-on for size he had to be near it as much as he could. Joel pulled out a weird-looking camera and seemed to fiddle with it endlessly without producing a click or a flash.
“C’mon, bud, just take the damned picture will ya?” Jay said through a feigned grin, hoping to mask his annoyance as friendly teasing, but then he noticed something was wrong: he couldn’t move.
Worse, it felt like things around him were moving. Jay couldn’t turn his head but he peripherally witnessed Kirill rising up and away from him as the floor grew nearer. Jay’s fake smile lay plastered on his face, his body locked into his photo-friendly pose as it dawned on him that, somehow, his frame was compacting down in size.
Meanwhile, Kirill’s was expanding. Looking as far to the right as he could, Jay noticed he was now eye-level with Kirill’s knees… no, now his shins… and as Joel advanced menacingly, brandishing the wicked device, Jay realized that he was now half as tall as Joel, and less with every second.
“Man, look how fast it’s getting the smaller he gets!” Joel taunted.
It was true: Jay felt queasy as his perspective twisted into unfathomable dimensions: the room itself seemed to stretch on forever now, and the two men in the hallway with him were like buildings--Joel like a skyscraper, Kirill an impossible structure whose frame extended up against the ceiling which seemed miles away.
Then it all stopped and Jay collapsed. Relief at being able to move was erased by Joel’s giant fingers coming at him, snatching him before he could get away. His stomach lurched as the floor dropped out beneath him and he kicked his legs in the air as he was brought up to Joel’s giant face.
“I dunno if it’ll make you feel any better,” Joel said as he turned Jay this way and that, examining his shrunken frame, “but you weren’t our first choice here. We were gonna zap Morgan Aste, steal all of his size and put it on my boss’ body where it could do some good. But finding you back here, no bystanders, with all that bulk you’re just not doing anything with anymore… Right boss?”
Joel turned to face Kirill’s new stature. The size of the gargantuan powerlifter, impossible tall, huge and thick in all directions, made Jay’s whole body spasm.
“Hey boss, he just pissed himself!” Joel giggled. “Gross little shit! I oughtta squash you for that.”
“Put him in the bag!” Kirill commanded in a volcanic voice, pointing with a finger the size of a baguette.
“Yes sir!” Joel said, producing a net drawstring bag the size of his hand and dropping Jay’s tiny body into it. Jay struggled to no avail as he tumbled upside down into containment. He struggled but even the flimsy nylon netting was too strong for tiny Jay to battle with.
Arms pinned tightly to his sides in the bag, Jay felt Kirill’s footsteps rumbling the air as he headed back toward the expo. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening, but then Jay felt himself, nylon sack and all, stuffed upside down into Joel’s jeans pocket. A hand the size of Jay’s whole body patted him a few times. “Boss it gonna take all that size now, and I”m gonna take you, and we’re both going to have a lot of fun...
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BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”
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He was doing a set of dumbbell pullovers--lats pumped out like crazy--when I hit him with the dart. It was tiny, smaller than the insulin needle he no doubt used to deliver growth hormone to that thick abdomen--so he never noticed it. If I’d had the technology I would’ve frozen him right in this moment, dropped down on my knees and got my hands on those big bloated quads--really dug my fingers into those overdeveloped muscles, deep-tissue style, while I went to town on the shriveled dick and shrunken little nuts he’d withered almost out of existence with his roid addiction. What I wouldn’t give to bury my face into those muscle pits and cram my tongue into their deepest crevice, taste him so hard I never forgot the flavor. But alas, I hadn’t developed that kind of technology yet. Someday. Of course, what was about to happen was pretty damned fantastic too, and soon enough that body would be in my power--what was left of it, anyway.
He trained right to failure, as always, and dropped the dumbbell when he felt the elixir starting to take effect. I’d witnessed the effects in the lab before: his whole body was going to get warm and he’d be swept up in a euphoria he wasn’t expecting. That pump in his lats was going to start spreading everywhere as his oversized heart blasted the elixir to every inch of that oversized frame.
Oversized for now, that is. It all happened so quick nobody else in the gym noticed (thank god): he moaned, but the pitch started to rise from his deep growl to something much higher, then it disappeared--much like his body did, all of a sudden, dropping out of sight as his gym clothes collapsed, empty. Almost empty, that is. I scooped up his shirt--still soaked and warm, score!--into my gym bag, then did the same with the shorts, pausing, of course, to check their contents. Sure enough, a diminished little muscle man, action-figure sized, was writhing in the now tent-sized (to him) fabric. Taking care not to damage him I dropped everything in my bag and zipped it up. As I walked away one of his gym buddies bitched aloud about the discarded dumbbell--”Fucking rookies, not putting their damned weights away.” I made a beeline for the door, my prize in tow.
Back in my hotel room I hurried to my room, locked and deadbolted the door, then unveiled my little catch. He was still dazed and hadn’t completely processed what had happened to him. I pulled him out--gently, unlike the first few guys I’d done this two--and held him in my hand.
Muscles have always felt amazing to me. Once back in high school a gym class bully shoved me so I shoved him back, and at the moment of contact with my hands he flexed his pecs. The way that warm flesh went impossibly hard all of a sudden stuck with me, long after he ended up kicking the shit out of me. I jerked off to that feeling for months after, and suddenly there was an itch I had to scratch.
It wasn’t exactly the same holding the plump muscles of a 6 inch man in your hand. They felt like swollen insect bites but the hairless skin, at its reduced size, was silky soft. That combination--firm and smooth--was so perfectly analogous to a dick that I couldn’t help but think of my new little captive as one: my own swollen dick, only here for my pleasure and my relief.
I put on my jeweler’s eye to inspect my new catch. As I’d suspected, he had an embarrassingly tiny dick between those tree trunks, a little nub poking out over a nearly empty scrotum pulled tight underneath. With a Q-tip dipped in vaseline I probed his tiny dick, delighting in his shrill squeals as he writhed around.
The elixir always had that side effect. It was hard to explain why in laymen’s terms, but just imagine a big swollen juice-monkey shrunk down to dick-sized, all that testosterone now crammed into a much tinier vessel. (Not exactly scientifically accurate but good enough.) So he’d be my own little muscle whore from pretty much now on, constantly in rutting mode, unable to ever find satiation. Of course a part of his mind would be freaking out about what had happened to him, trying to fight back, but that would be overwhelmed by his turbo-boosted reptile brain, plus my rough tongue driving him crazy as it lapped him from head to toe, exploring every crevice. A lifetime in a lab had left me without the skills to score a mate of my own, but luckily I’d been blessed with the ability to build toys for my own satisfaction. And this little guy--dammit, I never got his name--was my new favorite toy... for now.
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.
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A GOOD TAN IS WORTH TEN WORKOUTS (continued)
Next part of this story is up at my Patreon! If you liked the first three chapters, and you’re a fan of shrunken muscle studs, check it out! Here’s a taste.
Suddenly Trevor realized where he recognized Grady from: the life-sized murals in the tanning place. He’d sneered at Grady’s picture before, threatened to take his job. Now Trevor wished he could take it back. Grady was even bigger than the picture, looking like he’d trained with maximum intensity for half a decade since then, but that couldn’t be possible--he looked about the same age. Trevor felt dizzy with confusion, trying to escape the images of giant Dr. Betty he kept flashing back to.
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Pietro Boselli