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  1. DreamerLuxan

    Big Wishes, Bigger Changes

    Hey Guys, it was time that i write a Growth-Story myself... and i think that i should post it here. I hope it isn't too bad, in grammar AND story, because 1: I am German but i write in English and 2: i am a bit hesitant what to write in a story because i don't want to drag the chapters XD Big Wishes, Bigger Changes Chapter 1: A Change It was a Friday like any other. Tyler Howards, an average Nerd was working his normal Routine in a Restaurant he got a job a year ago. He thought that the work was hard, but he didn't mind, since he had nice and funny coworkers that he was already friends with and could relate to. Hours passed until he was called by his Boss. Tyler went to the Office of his Boss directly. [Tyler]: „Mr Goodman, you wanted to see me?“ Tylers Boss looked at him with a mix of sadness and confidence. [Mr. Goodman]: „Yes, please take a seat, i need to talk to you now…“ Tyler took a seat on a chair and his heart started to beat faster and faster. [Tyler]: „Oh, everytime someone says that, its something bad… so Boss, what‘s up?“ His Boss let out a sigh before he started talking. [Mr. Goodman]: „It's… i dont know... if I need you in our Restaurant anymore… you aren't slow or lazy in any way, dont get me wrong here. But I think you don't… represent our Business that well, you know?“ Tylers eyes became wide in shock and sadness. [Tyler]: „You… are fireing me? Why? I worked overtime every day since i got here… and now you tell me that i don't represent the Business? For Real?“ Tylers Boss looked at him. [Mr. Goodman]: „I can understand that you are mad… but i have to do this…“ Tyler looked tot he ground and responded in a cold and sad voice. [Tyler]: „Oh don't worry i get it… somehow i had the feeling this would happen… since a few weeks you looked at me… like a father would look at his son when he made a mistake… dissapointed…“ Tyler stood up and signed the papers his Boss prepared and headed back to his Workmates. He let out a sigh and tried not to start crying, but his feelings did get the better of him. His Workmates and Friends Ronald and Stacy ran to him immediatly. [Stacy]: „Tyler! What the hell happened?!“ Stacy shouted in a worried and caring tone. [Tyler]: „I… i guess we don't see each other that often anymore… Mr. Goodman just fired me… Because he thinks i dont represent the Business…“ Ronald and Stacy looked at each other and then back at Tyler. [Ronald]: „This Asshole! He always thought that Guys that don't fit in this „Manly Stereotype“ arent worth it. I heard he wants his Workers to are Buff, Handsome and all that… it's only a matter of time untill he fires me as well.“ Tyler looked at his Buddy. [Tyler]: „Oh, yeah… THAT… i heard it as well… good to know that im not good enough for him…“ Tyler chuckled. [Stacy]: „Ty, don‘t say that. You work overtime every day, and when you are gone, no one would do that anymore, i think Mr. Goodman will see that he needs you in no time…“ They gave each other a Group Hug and went to their lockers. [Ronald]: „Hey Man, why dont we three go on a party this weekend? To cheer you up and all that…“ Tyler noded with a bit of a blush on his face. Suddenly Stacys Voice was hearable through the entire Room. [Stacy]: „Did i hear that correctly?! Party? I’m IN!“ The three laughed and parted fort he evening. Tyler arrived at home and threw his Bag in the nearest corner of his bedroom. [Tyler]: „F that Guy… just because im not as strong or handsome as other Guys…“ Tears started to fill his eyes once more. He looked on his smartphone and opened Instagram. He chuckeled to himself as he thought about something, [Tyler]: „Yeah, i have nothing to lose so, yeah, i make a Post about this day…“ He made a Post about everything that happened and put his phone away. He lay down in bed and soon after he fell asleep. The next morning he woke up with a smile on his face and he blushed. [Tyler]: „Oh My… that was a dream… all these Buff Guys and…“ Tyler noticed that he got hard just by thinking of his dream. He grabbed his Phone and opened a Picture of a very handsome and muscular guy and jerked off. He felt so good during it, so he didn't notice that he got a message from Ronald. After 10 Minutes he saw the message. [Ronald]: „Hey Ty, we meet at the Club at 9 p.m. See you there!“ Tyler chuckled and answered. [Tyler]: „Great, see you there Guys! Thanks for that… im very happy to have you.“ Ronald and Stacy answered with some happy Emojis. The Day passed and in no time it was time fort he party. Tyler left his house and arrived at the Club half an hour later. [Ronald]: „Hey Man, great that you really arrived here!“ They hugged and entered the club. The Three spent the evening together and parted around midnight. On his way home Tyler got lost in thought. [Tyler]: „That was an amazing evening, they really managed to cheer me up…“ He got home and lay down in bed, not tired at all. He let out a sigh and looked at the ceiling. Until he saw a new Message, of someone he hasn‘t texted with in months: His old Friend from High School, Rex...
  2. It happened while I was right in the middle of crossing the street. I was walking home from work, exactly halfway across the intersection when I felt it. At the time, I didn’t know what I was experiencing, but it felt like a fist had punched me in my heart while a snake wrapped around my lungs and a baseball bat slammed into my solar plexus. The pain was only momentary, but it was intense and unforgettable. I was a healthy man in my early 30s. I had never experienced sensations like this. I was worried I was having a heart attack or a stroke, or some strange cancer whose effects had snuck up on me all at once. Since the pain was gone as soon as I felt it, I finished crossing the street, and then leaned against a tree to stop and collect myself. Few, if any, of the other pedestrians marked me, and the cars kept whizzing by, no longer stymied by the red light. I was no longer in any pain. I was only five blocks from home. My husband Perry would likely be home. He is a heart surgeon, but he usually doesn’t work on Thursdays, so it would be a strong possibility he would be home. He would know what to do. Besides, it was probably all in my head. It was so quick that maybe I hadn’t felt anything—I’d just imagined it. My friends liked to tease me that I only married a surgeon because I'm a hypochondriac. They also had no idea how “a five like me had bagged a ten like him,” to quote my cattiest, bitchiest friend. True, I’m not much to look at. I’m just 5’9”, a sort of non-descript height, neither tall nor short. My face is also rather plain. Mud-brown eyes, mud-brown hair that I keep short-cropped, a nose that’s slightly too big for my face. I’m fit because I walk everywhere (two miles to work both ways), but my body isn’t particularly athletic. My dick is an average 6 inches. I have scattered body hair and a crooked smile. Nothing to look at. It’s also true that I come from a working class family and have a mid-level office job—it’s not like Perry married me for my money. It’s also true that I have no obvious demonstrable skills to land me a man: I have two left feet, I can barely draw stick figures, and I have a tin ear. Perry, meanwhile, is a dreamboat. He has naturally blond, thick wavy hair. His beard is always immaculately manicured. He’s 6’4” with a lithe, muscular body, just thick enough that his pecs and biceps visibly stretch his clothes. He also has a thick 8-inch dick, sings like an angel, and won multiple swing dance competitions as an undergrad. If this wasn’t enough, he came from money and has a surgeon’s income. My friends know that I’m kind, compassionate, and thoughtful. They see how much I make Perry laugh and how frequently he likes to kiss me, and they acknowledge we’re intellectual equals. Our marriage isn’t a complete mystery to them, just mostly a mystery. What they don’t know is my knack for sexual role play. I can spin a fantasy that will have Perry hard and leaking before I even touch him. Before me, all of Perry’s boyfriends had been sexually unadventurous pretty boys like him. Pretty boys often don’t have to try during sex—but us normies do. If I flatter myself, all my sexual panache did was get me a second date. My personality “bagged him.” As I laughed at myself for overreacting to one millisecond of pain, I calmed myself with the knowledge that Perry would know what to do. Reassured that I had a plan, I resumed my walk back home. It wasn’t two steps away from my resting tree that I realized things were different. My clothes were sitting on me wrong, pulling at me in odd and uncomfortable ways. When I looked down, I could see that more of my socks were showing than normal, and as I stared, a swath of shin appeared too. My sleeves also appeared to be rolling up a little bit, and the hem at the bottom of the shirt was trying to fight its way from behind my belt. My shoes also felt tighter. A few more steps later, I walked into a low-hanging tree branch. I walked this way 10 times a week: I knew this tree branch. It was low-hanging, sure, but it was only a hazard to me if I had an umbrella. On a day like today when the sun was shining warmly, the branch would pass over my head unaffected. The only explanation that made sense of everything was that I was getting taller. I looked around me, and, sure enough, it was plain as day that I was getting taller. The handful of people around me on the sidewalk seemed to be getting shorter, my strides were getting longer, each step was increasingly painful as my shoes grew tighter, and the tree branches were becoming more of obstacles. I felt a pleasant breeze tickle my stomach. My shirt had finally escaped my pants, and a large peek of my flat abs were on display. Similarly, a large flash of my shins was clearly visible. I slowed down as my impossibly tight shoes hobbled my progress. I stretched my feet one by one in hopes of relieving some of the pressure. It worked, after a fashion. My toes burst through the front of my shoes. Again, any pain I felt from this was only momentary. Since I was squarely in the residential district by this point, there were fewer pedestrians out and about. The few there were all had looks of astonishment as they stared at me. They could tell I had gotten taller. One middle aged man (a neighbor named Jack) had even taken out his phone and was filming me, which encouraged me to get home faster. At the same time my shoes gave up, I stopped growing taller. It was a good thing too, as my clothes were overburdened and threatening to join my shoes. And I still had three blocks left to walk. None of this made any sense. Perry would know what to do. Suddenly, a new sensation seized me, and it too slowed me down. I felt heavier. I don’t have other words for this. My body didn’t look particularly different, but I felt significantly heavier, and growing heavier by the second. I rubbed my stomach, and suddenly I could tell why I was heavier. My muscles, while they hadn’t gotten any bigger, were all getting denser, harder, and—yes—heavier. I could feel the strength coursing through me, trying to keep up with my staggering weight increase. I didn't have the mental capacity to try to understand this anymore; I was now just accepting my reality. It was a matter of fact that I had gotten taller; I was now just as inexplicably getting heavier. Just when I thought I could get no heavier, my clothes felt tighter again. Jack had started following me, keeping time with my ever-changing pace, and I could see a lascivious leer light up his face. I didn’t need to look down to know why he was staring. My muscles had started to swell larger. I pressed my hands into my abs. Not only did I now have a blossoming 6-pack, but I could tell my hands were bigger, and I could also feel that the density and hardness I’d recently developed was keeping up with the swelling musculature. In other words, my muscles were even harder, denser, and heavier, and only blowing up larger. My shirt was uncomfortably tight as my chest bloomed outwards. I was having a little trouble breathing until the top three buttons all gave way at once. It was then that I realized my neck had also been thickening. I reached up to feel just how thick it was, when I heard a tearing sound. My biceps, flexing as I reached towards my throat, rent both sleeves simultaneously. I looked over to Jack only to find that a small cadre of college-aged boys had joined him, staring at me, most with their own phones out as well. I realized I had to get home before I became even more of a spectacle. Perry would know what to do. I tried to pick up my pace, but that was easier said than done. My thighs had thickened into mighty columns of muscle, thicker than my waist. My growing weight didn’t help matters either. I had to throw my legs around each other in an awkward waddle, a walking method not conducive to speed. In my rush, and unaccustomed to this growing body, I tripped over my own mass and fell face-first into the sidewalk. My fans across the street cried out in shock, worried I’d hurt myself. Of course, by this point my chest had thickened so incredibly big that it took the full brunt of the impact—my face never made contact with the cement. However, I am pretty sure I cracked the concrete. I can’t say for certain there wasn’t a crack before I landed, but then I stood up, my pants shredding off my large, growing, flexing ass). I examined where I had just landed: there was a crack in the pavement, something like an impact crater. It took me a while to regain my balance. My shoulders were freakishly wide and capped with dense, thick muscle that were infiltrating my peripheral vision. My gigantic pec shelf and the overhanging ridge of my ass cantilevered out at odd angles. My biceps fought for space against my widening lats. My continually expanding quads made my stance need frequent readjustment. But, when I did regain my balance, my fans cheered. Slowly, deliberately, I continued my trek home. My shoes burst from my feet. My shirt, belt, and pants followed soon after. The few last vestiges of my clothes that clung to me were in tatters around me. Most of my torso—including my gigantic, round, pert, and still-growing pecs— and legs were completely exposed to my fans. I was pleased that my boxers were miraculously still holding on. Then I felt a new sensation. My cock and balls were feeling heavier. They were starting to grow too. My fans must have realized it at the same time I did, for the one or two who hadn’t been filming me pulled out their phones to film my newest bout of growth. By this point, my pecs were such gigantic protuberances that I couldn’t look past them to my growing crotch bulge without risking toppling over again. I could, however, both hear and feel the growth. I heard if when my boxers snapped clean off me, leaving me stark naked. I felt it when my mighty ass, gigantic balls, and free-swinging cock bounded free, gently caressed by the spring breeze. My balls were down to the tops of my thighs, still surging larger. Blessedly, I was finally in front of my house. However, I knew I was far too wide and thick to fit through the front door. Hell, I was so heavy by this point, I’d likely demolish the front porch just by stepping on it. From the shed out back, I heard grunting and loud, heavy clinking sounds. Perry was working out in his personal gym. When we bought this house, there had been a mowing shed in the backyard, but Perry had converted it into his personal gym. Because the previous owners had owned a riding mower, the door to the shed opened like a garage door: it was a wall that slid up. My fans followed me as I toddled and waddled around the side of the house to shed out back. I did my best to pull up the door, but unfamiliar with my new strength, I ended up just tearing it off the shed. That act of wanton destruction caused my fans to disperse. Inside his now three-walled shed, Perry was in his workout clothes, his face red from exertion, all his hair slick with sweat. He paused mid-curl and stared at me. I felt my muscles continuing to enlarge, my cock continuing to lengthen, and my balls continuing to swell. At that moment, my balls reached past my knees, the cock large enough and thick enough to match it. My muscles were now so big as to have surpassed inhumanly large a hundred pounds ago. When Perry saw me, he looked instantly aroused. But not surprised. “Hello, Dirk,” he said to me sweetly. “Has it finished yet?” “Has what finished?” I asked. We were both impressed at how low, resonant, and sexy my voice had become. “The body hair hasn’t grown in yet, so I don’t think so,” he said, ignoring my question. As if he had invoked it, my face, chest, and abs erupted in a thick carpet of hair. Lush and luxurious, so thick you could grab it by the fistful, I was now a furry, hairy fuck. Soon on top of that, I felt what I could only describe as my skin shrinking—my muscles now showed more definition, veins forced their way to the surface. “You are so hot,” Perry said, nearly drooling. “What’s going on?” I thundered. “No, seriously,” Perry said. He put down his weight and pointed over to the floor-length mirror. I hadn’t felt any of the changes to my face, but it had clearly changed. I was model handsome with a sleek new nose, intense cheekbones, a prominent jaw, and a thick but maintained beard. My hair was no longer mud-brown; it was charcoal black. My eyes were no longer mud-brown; they were amber. As I looked in the mirror, I surveyed the rest of the changes. My chest was giant, prodigious—two hairy globes of muscle hanging gravity-defyingly above a taut, tiny waist of cobbled six-pack and cum gutters. My thighs were cabled, veiny, striated columns of thick brawn. My arms were so thick as to dwarf Perry’s thick, muscular legs—pushed out even further by sinewy deltoids and wide, cobra-like lats. My ass was so intensely large and muscular it was visible from the front. My cock was as thick as Perry’s forearm and hung down to my knees, soft. My balls were the size of basketballs in a sac that hanging even lower. As I stood there, absorbing my breathtaking glory, my cock hardened, growing larger, thicker, huger, more rigid and veiny, and the slight breeze in the air stroked it, stimulating it beautifully. Perry’s phone chirped. “That’ll be Jack sending me the film he took.” “What the fuck, Perry?” I asked. “Well, Dirk,” he responded, “if you recall, there was that very complicated heart surgery I performed last month. It was sixteen hours long, and the patient was touch-and-go the whole time. But, she pulled through and made a full recovery. In record time, mind you. It was like magic. She should've been recuperating, nearly bedridden, for months. But, she came to my office yesterday. She offered to have sex with me as thanks. When I explained she was still recovering and should take it easy, she told me she'd jogged almost ten miles to my office. When I explained it was inappropriate for a doctor to have sex with their patients, she insisted we have sex anyways, as I technically no longer was her doctor. When I explained I was happily married to a man, she then offered to make a sexual fantasy come true.” “What?” “Turns out, fae folk have very similar cardiovascular systems to humans. And, among her people, a debt cannot be repaid with money alone. She proved her fae powers to me, but, when she uses them on humans, they are limited to sexual magic. She asked what fantasy of mine she could fulfill to repay her debt.” Perry paused meaningfully. Everything that had just happened did seem magic, so I accepted it. If Perry was convinced, that was enough for me. “A sexual fantasy of mine that I wanted to come true? That was tempting. I told her I’m already married to the man of my dreams, but what if he had the body of my dreams? So, I showed her our first role play. From our first date.” I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple bobbing thickly. “That was so long ago,” I said. “You don’t remember the details, then?” he asked. “I don’t remember the broad strokes,” I admitted. “What are the details?” “You created such a world, Dirk. You should just reread it.” “The gist?” I implored. Perry suggestively raised and lowered his eyebrows. “You’re now 6’9”. Ninety inch chest, forty-two inch thighs, thirty-six inch biceps, forty-inch waist. Your muscles are also five times denser than a normal man’s, so you probably weigh over 1,000 pounds and are five times stronger than you look. And you look stronger than the Hulk. Also, it’s now ten times easier for you to gain muscle than a normal man, supplements and PEDs are three times more effective. You barely need to do anything to maintain this masculine edifice. I could keep going.” By this point, my dick was hard as a girder and leaking a river of pre. “What about this?” I said, pointing to my gargantuan erection. “30 inches soft, 48 inches hard. Super sensitive with twice as many nerve endings. A super-shooter. And the amount of testosterone you produce.” Perry whistled, impressed. “So, I’m never gonna top again,” I said pointedly. “We both prefer it when I top,” Perry said. “But our role play gave me five triggers. Five sentences I could say to temporarily alter your body.” “Meaning what?” I asked. “Ride ‘em cowboy,” Perry said. As soon as he finished speaking, my dick somehow got harder. Oddly, as it hardened, it got smaller and smaller until it was only 9 inches and proportionately thick. However, it was diamond hard, blazingly hot, and just as sensitive as it had been. I could see my heartbeat as my cock pulsed in sync. “In the role play, you called it an atomic erection. The same number of nerve endings, the same amount of blood. So, that tool,” he pointed, “is exponentially harder than its four foot counterpart, but just as sensitive, and conveniently fits it my mouth, hands, or ass.” It was painfully hard. But the pain was somehow pleasant. “What’s the trigger to make it go back to its four-foot size?” “No trigger. You just have to come.” “My body’s impossibly huge,” I said, trying to reach my dick, but failing because my biceps and pecs continuously collided into each other. “Clark Kent,” Perry said. And as soon as it was uttered, my body compacted into itself. My height and body hair remained what they were, but my musculature condensed. I looked like an impossibly ripped 320-pound bodybuilder with something like 2% body fat, but I could tell I had lost no strength or weight—I had just become even denser. But I was small and nimble enough to reach my aching cock. My balls had also condensed. They were still tantalizingly large and absurdly heavy, but I could fit one in the palm of my hand. I began stroking my cock, delighting in the lightning fire of delight emanating from my ministrations. Perry said, “Your soft cock would be appropriately scaled down, too. With your body this way, you can still go to work, hang out with friends, and seemingly live a normal life. But I wouldn’t go swimming at that density, unless the water’s shallow. I bet you can guess what trigger will turn you back.” “You’re not going to trick me into saying it,” I said, blissing out on my masturbation. “At least, not until I climax.” “Say it all you want. Wouldn’t accomplish anything,” Perry said. “The role play gives me and me alone control.” “The other two triggers?” I asked. “One makes you go into a mindless rut for a full day and night. The other makes you obsessed with putting on another 50 pounds of muscle mass. The scenario you wrote has you start at this size with potential to grow so much bigger. As long as we have access to heavy enough weights, like construction equipment and commercial airplanes.” I took in everything he was saying, but I masturbated more frenetically as he spoke. I could feel an orgasm inch closer, but I couldn’t cross the threshold. “Jerk off all you want,” Perry teased. “While your dick’s this small,” he said of my nine-inch monstrosity, “only I can get you off.” I stopped masturbating, and locked eyes with Parry. I was panting heavily, my thick, hairy chest rising and falling. “I know what to do,” Perry said. “We should both play hooky from work tomorrow, and we spend the next 24 hours in a mindless rut. What do you say?” I nodded, my eyes practically begging him to say it. With a smirk, Perry said, “Heigh-ho, Silver.”
  3. Part 1 – The High School Hero Chapter 1 I’ve never embraced the spotlight. I’ve had many chances at having the center of attention all to myself, but that’s not who I am as a person. I like to be just on the outskirts of the spotlight—close enough that I can feel its warmth and people can see me, but not so close that it blinds me. If I wanted to be magnificently famous, it would have happened. I had many opportunities. Instead, though, I stayed on those outskirts. My life has changed drastically depending on whose outskirts I was staying on. The high school hero, the college con-artist, the West California wild card, the Hollywood hunk—they each changed me in very different ways. But I don’t want to tell my whole life story—every grocery trip, every load of laundry, every DMV line. I do want to give the highlights, though. Because, oh, have I had some highlights. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. I guess I should really start by explaining my nickname. My name is Gerald P. Vaughn, but it’s my most intimate nickname that really matters. I’ve had many casual nicknames throughout my life, but only a select few have ever called me The Repository. My high school boyfriend gave that particular nickname to me. I didn’t know then why Gregg picked me. He was the hunky hero of the football team. I was the editor of yearbook who spent my weekends writing fan-fic of Spider-man and The Hunger Games. He had firm, taut muscles and dazzlingly blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. I had a somewhat slight frame, and mud-brown hair and eyes. He was well over six feet tall. I was a slightly more than average 6’, my only really distinguishing feature being my height. He came from money and was super popular. I worked at a deli part time to help the family expenses and had a small but tight-knit circle of friends. Gregg and I only met because we had the same AP English class. I’d noticed him freshman year, but I don’t think he even knew my name until we had that English class together. At our little high school in Illinois, any student taking an AP class senior year had to take a special one-day seminar at the end of their junior years to give us our summer assignments so we could hit the ground running come September. That’s where Gregg and I officially met. He asked me out, and we dated in secret all summer. He was still closeted, so we couldn’t date openly, but I was still a teenager—so I didn’t really care. I liked having him as my secret. We would spend muggy summer afternoons in my attic bedroom in each other’s embrace. We didn’t do a lot of talking, but we spent a lot of time together. I couldn’t get enough of his athletic torso and pert pecs. He couldn’t get enough of my kisses. Gregg told me I was an amazing kisser. He wouldn’t be the last. A few months into our relationship, a week after my 18th birthday, we finally decided it was time to go beyond the heavy petting and hand jobs and try some serious sex. After the dance of condoms and lube, Gregg prepared to top me. He pounded me dutifully with his girthy 5 inches, but lasted all of two minutes. Apparently, Mr. Football Hotshot was a virgin before he started dating me. He’d had girlfriends, he'd told me, but I guess none of those girls had gotten as far with him as I had. I wasn’t going to hold it against him; I was a virgin before I started dating him too. When he finished, he told me it was my turn. My head was so filled with stereotypes about gay sex and who tops who that I actually didn’t expect he’d give me a turn topping, and I was so excited to try. I put the condom on my eager (and perfectly average) 6 inch dick, and I began working myself into him. I wanted to fuck him hard and good, but given the disparity in our bodies, I didn’t think I could. Then, instinctively, it occurred to me. “Lend me ten pounds,” I said. “What?” he asked in a fog of sex and confusion. “Lend me ten pounds of muscle,” I repeated, adding, “Please.” Perhaps thinking it was some kind of role play, he meekly said, “Okay. You can borrow ten pounds of muscle.” As soon as he said it, his muscles diminished a little. He was still firm and big, but nowhere near as big as he had just been. At the same time, I felt my body become more solid, stronger, taking up more space. My flat chest blossomed a little, my arms thickened, my abs tightened, my ass firmed. His ten pounds were in my body, and I used them to start fucking him harder and more thoroughly. Gregg looked at our bodies, and a look of joy spread over his face as I picked up the pace of my fucking. “You can borrow another ten, as long as you fuck me senseless,” he said, giving into the passion. Ten more pounds melted off his physique. He still looked fit and healthy with a trim midsection, but he looked more like an up-and-coming football player rather than a football star. I, meanwhile, now looked like I’d been working out for years, building my body up to teenaged muscular perfection. My chest was thick and proud, my arms were strong and solid, and my ass flexed into round relief as I plowed Gregg thoroughly. He came for the second time before I came once. But when I did climax, the might I had in my borrowed muscles flexed and tensed, drawing up close to the surface. Looking down at my reduced boyfriend, my body was thicker and meatier than his, a realization that spurred my orgasm to greater heights. I pulled out and rolled over so we could spoon, and as soon as he had his arms around me, I said, “Okay. You can have them back now.” When I said it, my form returned to its normal state, and the arms around me grew strong and burly, Gregg’s arms as I had come to know them.
  4. Chapter 1 As I slid the white chinos over my ass, I had to struggle a little bit. These were my favorite dress pants because they were tight in that sexy way that hugged my ass, but they’d never quite strangled my ass like this before. I walked over to the full-sized mirror on the closet door and looked at my ass in the pants as best I could. I looked a little thick, like my workouts had been returning some serious dividends. “Danny,” I cried out, turning from one side to the other, “come in here.” My husband came into the bedroom, frantically adjusting his tie and looking a little miffed that I’d called him in. “We’re going to be late,” he said, kicking a half-empty box aside. We’d just moved into this house five days ago from an apartment halfway across California, and we hadn’t finished unpacking yet. He’d just gotten a new job at ChorrTek, a multinational corporation, and they’d paid for us to relocate to the planned community just outside their Palo Alto headquarters. As far as I was aware, the community didn’t even have an actual name: everyone just called it the ChorrTek planned community. I had been sad to leave behind the small number of friends I had in LA—it takes me forever to warm up to new people—but it was the right move for both of us. Besides, the house was beautiful, if gigantic. In addition to two guest bedrooms, there were just a lot of rooms. It had a living room, and a den, and a TV room. When I was growing up, all three of those were the same room. I was pretty sure we didn’t own enough furniture to fill it. “Did these pants shrink, or did my ass get bigger?” I asked, turning around slowly in a complete circle and sticking out my rear end to give him every possible vantage. When I was facing him again, I stopped and held my hands out to the sides for his assessment. “You’re not even dressed yet?” he asked. He picked my long-sleeved blue pullover off the bed where I had put it and threw it at me. Laughing, I caught the shirt and slung it over one shoulder. “You didn’t answer the question.” Danny rolled his eyes in frustration and made a face of pure consternation. “Your ass looks great, RT. It always looks great.” “Still not answering the question,” I teased in a sing-song. “Okay, yes, your ass looks bigger. Keep up the good work, tiger. Now will you get dressed? I don’t want to be late.” I zipped up my pants and put on my shirt. “Get over here,” I said, beckoning him with my hand. “I want to make sure we match.” “What?” he asked, trudging over like a toddler who’s been told to pick up his toys. I put my arm around his shoulder, and held him close to me. He had spent hours trying to wheedle me into a suit and tie, and the only way I’d gotten him to give up was to promise that my outfit would match his. He was wearing a tan suit with a bright blue tie. “Look at us,” I said, pointing in the mirror. Danny was slightly taller than me—an inch at most—and had classic Mediterranean features he inherited from his mother’s side of the family, complete with curly black hair on the top of his head that he spent a lot of haircuts and grooming products to keep as flat as possible, thick facial hair that needed twice-daily shaving to keep him as smooth as he wanted, deep chestnut eyes that shined a little behind contact lenses (because he was too vain to wear glasses), and the appearance of a year-round tan. My Danny was thin, but wiry, with soft, delicate features like a Botticelli. He looked model handsome in his suit. I, on the other hand, had gotten everything from the British Isles courtesy of my father: straight brown hair that I kept cut close to my head, a beard that took two weeks to fully come in, pale blue eyes, and skin that only ever burned, never tanned. However, I was naturally stocky and had a chiseled face and broad jaw, and I’d dedicated the last month and a half trying to get back into the top-notch shape I’d had when I played college baseball. As we looked at ourselves in the mirror, Danny softened a little, and added, “We’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.” “Just let me splash on some cologne,” I said as Danny groaned in impatience, “and then we can head out.” “You’re stalling on purpose,” Danny said, half-jokingly. “It’s your work thing, darling. I don’t exactly relish going.” “It’s just this one last thing, and then you’re free,” he said. “Yeah, yeah,” I responded, closing the bathroom door before me. At least a dozen different events had been “one last thing.” There was so much schmoozing involved in getting him this job at ChorrTek. It was on the cutting edge of technology, but it was such a boy’s club. I hadn’t seen a single female executive at any of the meetings or functions, and there certainly weren’t any on its website. Danny had to basically swindle them into hiring their first out gay executive. “It’s a welcome party.” “You’re not the only new employee,” I reminded him. “I’m the only new executive,” he chimed back. “They’re essentially throwing the party for me,” Danny explained for the tenth time. “They expect my husband to be there.” Only mildly annoyed, I called through the door, “I’m going to spend the night making small talk with strangers while you try to ingratiate yourself with your new coworkers and bosses. No part of that is fun for me.” “I’m the first gay executive at this company, ever, and they hired me from the outside rather than promote one of their own. It’s a big deal,” he repeated. “Is that so?” I said half under my breath as though this were new information. As I was putting on the cologne, looking at myself in the harsh, overhead bathroom lighting, I looked at myself again. My arms looked thicker, my chest looked thicker, my neck looked thicker, my shoulders even looked a little broader. I looked like I’d put on some mass. I decided to step on the scale. 176. This morning I was just over 170. What the hell? “Is this scale broken?” I asked Danny. I could hear that he’d been pacing in the bedroom because his footsteps suddenly stopped. “What are you on about now?” he asked, his footsteps starting up again. He came into the bathroom without even knocking. When he saw me on the scale, I could see the effort he exerted to prevent himself from making an exasperated grimace. “Why are you on the scale?” “I know I’ve been working out a lot, but this scale says I put on five pounds today. Today. In one day. That doesn’t happen.” I flexed my forearm and bicep of my left arm in front of me, turning it one way and then the other. I looked thicker. Danny grunted. “I should’ve waited until after the party, but I was impatient and I wanted to make a good impression.” That was a confusing response. “I don’t follow.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed it to me. There was a new app that had ChorrTek’s logo on it. “All the executives get this app. It’s in-house only, though. They never plan to take it to the general market. It’s the latest in body mod technology. They swear it’s super-scientific. But I’m just the ad guy, so it sounds like magic to me.” “A body mod app?” “It’s the ultimate employee perk. It allows you to make some tweaks.” “And so you tweaked my body?” “Well, it’s tuned to your body. At your check-up to switch over to my employee healthcare, that shot you got was the corresponding hardware. My app can only make tweaks on you. No one else.” “I again say, so you tweaked my body?” “All of the execs at the company have this app and use it to tweak their wives. It’s like real-life Face Tune.” “But you didn’t tweak my face,” I reminded him. “I want to put my best foot forward. I had to use the app eventually, or they’d see it as an insult. It could’ve waited until after the party, yeah, but I got impatient. They’ve only ever used it on their wives. They’re curious to see how it works on a man. It’s not my fault their spouses were doorstops and you’re drop dead sexy. You left very little room for improvement.” I looked back in the mirror and flexed. “I look good with five more pounds of mass.” “Hot as hell,” he said. “With all the working out you’ve been doing, I figured you wouldn’t mind a little boost.” He stood behind me and began kissing the back of my neck and behind my ears. Even though he’d shaved an hour ago, I could already feel some of his facial hair starting to scratch my soft, tender skin. “Dammit,” I said, falling back into his waiting arms. “Can we go to the party now.” I turned my neck and head to kiss him on the cheek. “Alright.”
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