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Terry Hollands Week--CALL FOR ARTISTS

Anybody remember when I wrote stories about a transformed Richie Incognito every day for a week awhile ago? I’ve chosen a new victim. This big slab of meat, Terry Hollands, is going to be the new subject of a series of transformation stories, in all of which he’s going to end up on the short end of the deal (very literally in some cases). Because I lack any sort of visual artistic skill, I’d love it if anyone could offer any sort of pic (no matter the medium, no matter the transformation) for me to write a story about.

I’m open to just about any scenario in which Terry is changed in a way that puts him lower on the food chain--shrinking, twinkification, muscle drain/theft, inanimate, animal transformation, muscle inflation/immobilization, trait swap, age regression/progression, blueberry transformation... Am I leaving anything out? If any of you talented deviant-minded folks could whip something up, that would be AMAZING. In the meantime I’m going to try to cobble out 7 or more stories where this big fella ends up losing his strongman status. Please please please shoot me a line if you’re interested in collaborating in any way (and if any writers have any ideas to pitch at me, speak up!).

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...

————-

BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”

New content every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

https://www.voreplay.com/oldsite/stories/hardpuc/Oiled%20Down.html

HARDPUC’S AMAZING STORY: OILED DOWN Good god, I dunno who Hardpuc is but every story I can find of his is top-notch. This tale of a little guy using posing oil to steal the size of a champion bodybuilder is everything I want out of a TF story, and more. Every time I see Phil Heath I like to imagine he was once the skinny guy at the beginning of this story, and he stole the mass of some gorgeous super-heavy we’ve all since forgotten about. Warning: there’s relatively PG-rated vore in here (shrinking, oral), so if that’s not your thing, maybe don’t read this (or don’t read until the end).

I wish my best friend could stop being bullied for being a little runt. Would also be great to have a big sexy boyfriend out of him too

You whispered your wish under your breath when you and your best friend, Ethan, went to the beach. You felt a little bad for him when you saw that he refused to remove his t-shirt despite how hot it was.

“You gonna leave your shirt on?” you asked him, giving him the up-down.

He shrugged his slender shoulders. “Yeah,” he shyly admitted, taking a hesitant glance around the beach at the other guys who were there. They were all muscled up, looking like models straight out of a porno. then he held his slender arms up as if to illustrate his point.

Ethan had always been skinny, something that he was irritated with the older he got. He’d tried to bulk up and put on some muscle, but it never seemed to work. You’d taken him to the gym plenty of times too since you had a lot of muscle on your body, so you knew the exact workout plans and diets to follow; but no matter what the two of you did, Ethan remained skinny.

You moved to reassuringly pat your friend on the shoulder, however, the moment the two of you made contact, there was a little shock that you felt. You instinctively moved to recoil, but found you couldn’t. It was as if your hand was superglued to him.

You gritted your teeth as you tried with all of your might to pull away, but it was futile.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Ethan panicked.

Then the two of you noticed something else happening.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Ethan’s body rapidly inflating. It was as if someone had attached an air hose to him, and started to pump him up with muscle. His traps inflated and started to slowly engulf his widening neck to the point where it looked like he lacked a neck at all. The growth traveled down to his arms which packed on meat and bulged like crazy, making his biceps look like the size of melons. His pecs ballooned out in front of him, completely obscuring his view of the lower part of his body.

“Holy shit!” Ethan gasped in shock.

“I know! You’re getting huge!” you breathed, unable to take your eyes off him.

“No,” Ethan shook his head as best as he could with his lack of a neck. “You’re getting smaller.”

“What?” you wondered, looking down at yourself before screaming. 

All of the hard-earned muscles in your body were deflating, becoming flat. Your biceps grew smaller and smaller until your arms were stick-thin and shapeless. Your pecs flattened against your chest and left your torso entirely undefined and slender. 

You fought hard to remove your hand from Ethan’s broadening frame when you realized that your friend wasn’t so much as growing, but he was stealing all of your muscles.

Ethan’s shirt exploded off his growing frame, exposing his thick roid gut and mountainous pecs that should’ve been yours. Your bathing suit fell to the ground the more muscle you lost, your thin legs looking tiny and unimpressive. With your free hand, you struggled to hold them up.

When you finally managed to pull your hand free, Ethan was left as a large over-muscled bodybuilder and you were a skinny twink.

“What the fuck happened?!” you panicked, looking down at your slender frame, figuring that you had to have lost at least sixty pounds, leaving you small and boyish. You were so busy freaking out that you barely noticed it when Ethan waddled over towards you.

“I dunno,” he said, staring down at you hungrily. “But I have to admit that you look really cute like that.” He wrapped his barely-flexible arms around you and shoved you into his massive muscletits that should have been on your body, not his.

Despite how freaked out you were, you couldn’t help but melt into the new muscle man’s bulky body. Your horniness clouded over your fear and you ran your slender fingers over Ethan’s massive pecs, enjoying how his bulky muscles twitched with want as you did so.

“So what now?” you asked him.

He smirked down at you. “Let’s go to my place and you can worship these big muscles of mine,” he laughed, literally throwing you over his broadened shoulder and carrying you to the parking lot.

TF Therapy: Ivan

“Walking has helped… I guess.  After everything that’s happened, I can at least say the weather has been nice. Spring is right around the corner.” Ivan says adjusting his glasses. Though optimistic in wording, the tone Ivan conveyed still felt more somber. 

Dr. Eric Chang nods, taking note of this. “Well exercise of any caliber can assist in many aspects of mental health. I’m glad you remembered that from out last session. However, I’m guessing you’re still feeling a bit out of sorts. Might I ask if you have anything specific on your mind?”

Ivan let out a long sigh as he looked down at his body. Large firm pecs centered between two powerful arms that were even bigger when flexed. A set of abs beside a tattoo he never even got. “It’s just the guilt doctor…I know that every time I walk down the street, talk to a person, or even look in the mirror… I’m just using something that doesn’t belong to me. I didn’t workout to get these muscles. I didn’t feel the pain getting this tattoo. I didn’t spend the hours needed to become a male model. I’m just using a collection of stolen parts… and I feel terrible.”

The doctor nodded solemnly placing his pencil and paper down. “I appreciate the self awareness you have to the scenario you are in Ivan. However, I fear you’re mistaken at a few parts. Namely. You did not steal anything. Let me ask you. Were you the one that created that myserious fog that passed through your small town?”

Ivan shook his head no.

“And were you the one that selected Mr. Bromare’s musculature to be added to your form?”

Ivan shook his head again.

“Or Mr. Mendacina’s racial features? Or Angelo Vera’s facial structure?”

“No…” Ivan replied tiredly.

“Correct. The legal definition for theft is the taking of another person’s property with the intent of depriving that person of it. You lack the intention behind such a crime. So I’ll ask that you not refer to yourself as a thief.” Dr. Chang requests.

A brief nod escapes Ivan’s head as he continues to look down and not meet the doctor’s eyes.

“Can you help me understand why you feel these moments of guilt? I understand that you experienced  body dysphoria issues and a frustration with weight loss. Are these feelings grounded in fear? Insecurity?”

Ivan shrugs his broad shoulders. “I… I don’t know Doctor Chang. I don’t understand it all that well myself I guess. I feel guilty that I got all these good qualities for one. I know the people who examined me said the traits that were swapped between all the people were random, but I feel bad being one of the only lucky ones here. Not only that, the doctors tell me that these changes are permanent. Not just irreversible but permanent. So no matter how much I eat or don’t workout I’ll still have this same general form. Same goes for the others who can’t build their bodies back to what they once were. And here I am just reaping the benefits and i don’t deserve any of this. None of us do…”

“Thank you for sharing all of this with me Ivan. Changes as drastic as yours certainly carry their fair share of traumatic episodes. And the sensations you describe are very akin to survivor’s guilt… with another exception. All the people who were involved in the Trait Storm are still alive. Yes. Many of their standards of livings have changed. Yes we had to move everyone from your town to different cities to assist with a decontamination of the area.  But no one was physically hurt by the exchanging of traits and attributes. I can assure you many I have mentioned today are seeking out therapy, while others are simply adapting to their new lives. The burden of responsibility here does not lie with you or your guilt, but of the individuals responsible. This is all to say the internal struggles many like yourself are going through, do not fall on your shoulders. Your feelings of guilt and inadequacy don’t serve them or any form of penance.”

The young man nods. “I… guess that makes sense… Logically I know it makes sense. I still can’t get the feelings to go away. And I hate myself for that. Like I hate myself and feel guilty and then I also hate myself for feeling guilty.”

Eric smiles. “As mentioned before, I appreciate your self awareness in this regard. That gives us a good starting point on how to approach your issue. Negative self talk can be a harmful and persistent challenge many face even out side of TF Therapy. However, there are a multitude of ways to tackle it. Mindfulness, meditation, and self-compassion. We actually have an entire book that covers self talk and how we communicate with ourselves. Would that be something you were interested in looking into?”

“I… I think it would be thank you.” Ivan says as Dr. Chang hands him a book. He takes a minute to read through its pages and survey all the relateable anecdotes. And after a few minutes of reading stories with accompanied exercises he smiles, and nods more.

“Thank you Dr. Chang… can I keep this? It’ll be nice to read… I found a good place to read outside at the park I’ve been walking to. I can return it and-”

“By all means Ivan. Keep it. I’m glad I can help. Now. We only have a few more minutes left, is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

Ivan’s disposition shifts again. Looking less sad and more embarrassed. “Well… it’s not as big as the other stuff. But I still feel… weird about it… I was seeing someone before the Trait Storm. His name was Larson Price. Well… they recently allowed intercommunication between people we once knew… and… well he was telling me about some of his changes. He got a little taller, finally got that beard he wanted to grow, and even got a deeper voice… However, he said that when he saw a picture of the new me… he wasn’t… attracted to it. We think maybe his sexuality shifted? Is that a thing for these kinds of changes? The doctor only told us about physical changes nothing like this… can… will we? I mean do we have a chance?”

Eric paused for a second. He knew all too well the struggles of trying to maintain a relationship after one’s sexuality was altered. Before he could respond a small alarm went off.

“I’m sorry Ivan. I don’t know much on the subject of the Trait Storm effecting sexuality. I’ll be sure to research this topic and next week we can discuss more. Does that sound alright?”

“Of course. Thanks again Dr. Chang. I’ll see you next week.”

The two waved goodbye as Eric sighed. He hated lying to his patients. 

-

Dr. Evan’s Chang’s Notes on patient: Ivan Antonova

Age:(32) 32

Height: (5′9) 6′2

Weight (190lbs) 225lbs

Race: (Caucasian) Mixed South American and South Asian

Patient  appears to experience issues regarding self esteem manifesting in guilt and negative mindsets. Severity unknown at this time, but strong likelihood for a non pharmaceutical approach. Prognosis: high chance of recovery and coping. 

I’m hoping my expressions didn’t betray me when discussing significant others and sexuality changes. With any luck and further studies I can put my own personal problems to rest on this matter and hopefully help others along the way. If that is the case, then my time working for this agency may be coming to a close. I wonder if this is the right thing to do. I have a responsibility to my patients as well as the future individuals I can help… but I also have a responsibility to me and to my own life/happiness… I’ll consider all angles before I act.