Rebound (Patreon)

Brandon groaned, his stomach dropping when the baggy joggers split down the back.  The elastic waist hung loose around his trim midsection, but the thighs and rear had finally been stretched beyond capacity.  The tattered, heather trousers had been his largest pair of pants, the result of an online order gone wrong that he’d been too lazy to return. They’d also been the last item of his original wardrobe to still fit, but, despite his frantic hopes, he’d outgrown even them.

“This is fucking garbage,” the lean brunette spat, hating the shiver that ran through him as the tear grew.  He reached around and winced as he palmed the pillowy globes spilling free through the opening, fondly remembering the days when he’d had a perky, proportional bubble, when his oversized thighs hadn’t rubbed incessantly.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Brandon couldn’t help but think of his new curves as freakish.  He’d always been meticulous about his appearance.  Every chocolate strand on his wavy scalp had its place.  His features were sharp, smooth and moisturized, his plump lips expertly framed by razor cheeks and seductive stubble, while the body below mirrored the same dedication.  Tight, toned and tanned, Brandon kept his athletic frame firm and defined, maintaining a smooth, shredded build that never crossed into bulky territory.

The young hunk had never been interested in getting big.  With an impressively long, thick cock and hefty balls acting as the girthy cherry on top of his enviable physique, he had nothing to compensate for.  And if his naturally superior looks weren’t enough, he had plenty of money to fill in the gaps.  He’d made millions off a lucky startup, and smart investments afterwards had left him set for life by twenty seven.  He had it all - a luxury apartment overlooking the city, a car that cost more than most peoples’ annual salaries, a cluster of legitimate friends from his younger days that liked him for more than his money, and all the women, or men, he could ever possibly desire.  It was perfect.

It was boring.  Brandon quickly grew tired of the endless, ordinary pleasures, discovering that, when anything could be his, there was little to be excited about.  He’d never appreciated how much satisfaction came from the act of desiring something, of going after it, and of being denied, even if only for a moment.  With his looks and money, everything and everyone was on the table at all times.  It was always a guarantee, always a sure bet.

Even when he’d finally turned to gambling, Brandon had to search for the extraordinary.  There was no thrill when the stakes were purely financial; he needed something more. Something primal.  Something impossible.  He’d struggled to put it into words, but the frustrated young man knew he’d finally found what he’d been looking for the second he saw the dice.  He’d been out on a meandering walk through the city, his absent wanderings carrying him to a corner he couldn’t ever remember visiting in the past.  Thinking about it later, Brandon couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there in the first place or where it was.  He wasn’t sure now if it had ever existed at all.

All he remembered clearly was the strange little shop and the strange little dice.  Carved from bone in the shapes of small pyramids, Brandon had no idea what the intricate engravings at each point meant, and neither did the wrinkled, spindly man behind the counter.  The weathered stranger had simply stated that he was their keeper, and that fate decided what a person won and lost.  He’d explained that both always happened, that neither would be mundane or simply material, which was all Brandon had needed to hear.  Not fully believing any of it, but hoping it was true all the same, he’d paid the small fee and gave them a toss, the hollow clattering still ringing in his ears as he’d stumbled away in a daze.  The man had explained that it wouldn’t be instantaneous, and while Brandon had felt an immediate wave of vertigo and a light tingling sensation, he’d never imagined winding up as he was.

“Everything okay,” a groggy voice asked from the bed behind him.  In the mirror, Brandon watched Sam sit up and stretch, absently scratching at his plump, perfect pecs.  “What’s…oh…wow,” the sleepy blonde said, his drooping eyes going wide when he saw the results of the brunette’s latest growth spurt.  He hopped out of bed and trotted over, the sight of his naked, strapping frame hitting Brandon like a punch in the gut.  The tall blonde was a handsome mix of corn-fed farm boy and model-caliber features, hung like a horse with big arms, big hands, and a big heart.  That last one was fortunate for Brandon, who’d known the brawny hunk since childhood.  Sam was one of those in his inner circle, who’d never once shown an interest in his wealth, or treated him any differently because of it.  “Guess it’s still growing after all.  You’re, uh…that’s…wow,” he whistled.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Brandon sighed, leaning back against the blonde wall of muscle.  He wrapped Sam’s sturdy arms around him like a blanket, shivering as his inflated rear squished between them.  “Sorry…I’m just cranky this morning.”

“You’ve always been a bitch in the morning,” Sam laughed, giving Brandon a kiss on the neck.  “Considering the circumstances, I think you’re allowed.”

The lean brunette blushed, feeling like he was melting in his friend’s embrace.  Brandon had fooled around with plenty of men over the years, as had Sam, but until recently they’d never crossed that line with each other.  There had always been a flirtatious competitiveness to their friendship, especially when it came to the blonde’s legendary reputation in the bedroom, though Brandon never imagined a time when he’d be so desperate to experience it himself.  “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned, his jaw dropping when Sam’s lubed girder slipped effortlessly inside.  The blonde was just slightly longer and wider than his own impressive, seven-inch log, which instantly sprang to life now that his friend was inside.  Prior to entry, the swaying snake was slumbering and lifeless no matter how much Brandon would try to rouse it, but as soon as someone, or something, was inside, it became a beacon.

“Well good morning, big guy,” Sam cooed, slipping a hand into the front of his friend’s tattered joggers.  He grinned at the way Brandon tensed and gasped as he gave the aching organ a few gentle tugs, still finding his friend’s embarrassment adorable.  “Holy shit, man.  I don’t know if it was just this latest growth spurt or what, but you feel incredible,” the handsome blonde sighed, slowly pumping his hips.

“Glad you…like…it…” Brandon hissed, fighting to maintain control with every ounce of willpower he could muster.  He could feel the pressure building, could feel the dam about to burst, but he was determined to hold on for as long as he could.

Sam’s tone was gentle as he watched his friend’s struggle.  “I don’t know why you fight it like that,” he said, one hand clamped to Brandon’s toned pecs while the other still clung to his friend’s throbbing cock.  “Doesn’t it make it worse?  That shit’s hot as hell, man.  Just let it out.”

The blonde’s comforting words pushed Brandon over the edge.  His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as a low, wordless groan slipped out, steadily building in both volume and intensity until it was a bellowing cry that echoed off the clear glass walls overlooking the city.  Normally a stoic grunter during sex, Brandon had become a wailing beast.  Eyes wide, jaw slack, nostrils flared; he huffed and howled, his expression a constantly shifting mask of pained ecstasy.  He begged.  He whimpered.  He pleaded for more, harder, and faster over the loud clapping of his colossal cakes, and the more he futilely fought for control, the more exaggerated the results became.  He knew Sam loved it, and with the blonde beefcake he could let himself forget about what was happening, unlike the first few times he’d found himself on the receiving end.

His very first encounter had been shortly after rolling the dice.  He’d stopped off at one of his regular cocktail spots, hoping a drink would clear his head, but it had become quickly apparent that something odd was already happening.  Brandon had been insatiably horny.  As soon as he’d sat down, his eyes had begun searching the crowd, confusingly focusing on the men, and only the men, in the room.  He could see several of them returning his hungry stares, and while he had no doubt that he could have flirted his way into bed with any of them, he didn’t have time.  His need had become painful and all-consuming.  His clothes felt like they’d been shrunk and dipped in acid, burning his skin while simultaneously suffocating him.  Before he fully realized what he was doing, Brandon had walked over to the first man he’d caught eyeing him, shoving a hundred dollar bill in the stranger’s hand in exchange for being taken right then and there.  A few minutes later and Brandon was pressed against a wall in the alley behind the bar, a nearby dumpster obscuring them from view as his virgin hole was relentlessly pummeled by the beefy stranger’s stout log.  He didn’t know the man’s name.  He didn’t know anything about him.  All he knew was that he’d never felt anything like it.  The freedom from having his terrible pants around his ankles and his shirt up at his shoulders was intoxicating, nearly as overwhelming as the sensation of having another man inside himself for the first time.  A part of him had been well aware that he was being ridden like a bucking bronco by a stranger in a grimy alley, but Brandon couldn’t bring himself to care.  With the man’s hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his helpless cries, he’d experienced a kind of bliss he’d never thought possible, an entirely new sensation.  It wasn’t just the penetration; it was the lack of control.  It was the burning, helpless need.  It was the dependence on another.  It was the forced exposure.  In that moment, none of Brandon’s wealth or status mattered.  He was just a desperate, hungry hole getting stripped and stuffed in an alley by the first dick he could find.

At first, Brandon had thought it was just a fluke.  But then it happened again the next morning at the gym.  And then again that same afternoon when he’d gone out for a walk.  While he’d been fortunate enough to find a studly stranger in the locker room to bring him the relief he so desperately needed, he’d been on his own that afternoon.  He’d come home in a daze, tearing out of his clothes and desperately fingering himself on the floor until he remembered the vibrator that one of his former flings had left.  Without the slightest hesitation, Brandon had jammed it in deep, losing himself for agonizing hours as the silicone savior slowly did its job.  It was nothing like the real thing, but, eventually, he found release.

He’d started to experiment after that, gradually discovering the new rules of his altered existence.  The more he wore, the worse the rebound.  He could linger in a pair of boxer briefs nearly all day without losing control, and even longer in a jockstrap or smaller briefs, but things would spiral as soon as he began to layer.  A tank-top and briefs were bearable for a good chunk of the day, but add in shorts and that window was reduced significantly.  Adding in pants and longer sleeves would cut it to a couple hours, maximum, and the more Brandon resisted when that window began to close, the more intense and uncontrollable his need became.

Once he’d started to piece it together, Sam had been the first person he’d called.  Brandon knew this was a result of the strange dice he’d rolled, but he couldn’t remember the name of the shop, or even where it was.  Nor could he go searching for it with his limited window of control.  He needed his friend’s help, but first he had to convince the brawny blonde that any of it was really happening in the first place.  Sam had naturally been skeptical, thinking that Brandon’s new and expansive collection of vibrators was all a simple prank, until he saw the results for himself.

To prove his point, the toned brunette had forced himself into a button-down, chinos and boxer briefs, an outfit that would only give him a pair of hours at the most.  Sam still thought it was all a joke when things began to take a turn, but as Brandon began to sweat, and squirm, and whimper, it gradually dawned on him that his friend had been telling the truth.  Sam knew the other man wasn’t anywhere near a good enough actor to pull off such desperation, and he’d known Brandon long enough to recognize the burning need in the brunette’s eyes as entirely genuine.

So, biting down on the alarming amount of awkwardness that followed, Sam did what he’d always done and helped his friend out.  Luckily for Brandon, the burly blonde was a physical creature, happy to get off with just about anyone, anywhere.  The handsome hunk had nothing to prove, no arrogance to reinforce, fucking purely for fun.  For his part, Brandon couldn’t believe how different things felt with someone he knew.  Having been fucked by half a dozen strangers in half as many days, the desperate young stud wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like to be taken by someone who wasn’t just using him as an eager hole.

And it was Sam who noticed the growth.  After becoming quickly acquainted with Brandon’s intimate proportions, the stunned stud had been the first to point out that the brunette’s perky rear and toned thighs seemed to be expanding.  He’d been the one to insist on taking measurements even as his friend tried to deny it, and he was proven right only a few hours later when Brandon’s thighs had put on an inch and his bubble began to bounce.

A frantic, futile flight followed.  Brandon was mortified as he sat in the passenger seat of Sam’s SUV, naked from the waist down while they searched the city in vain for the old man and the shop with the dice.  They had to take occasional breaks so that Sam could fuck Brandon back to his senses in the backseat, at which point they discovered the tradeoff the brunette seemed to be making.  The more his backside ballooned, the less responsive his dangling cock became, until it was entirely lifeless without something splitting him open.

Brandon wanted to be upset when they finally gave up the search.  He wanted to be devastated over the following days as he watched his perfectly proportional frame warp and grow.  He wanted to be humiliated at his limited ability to cover those increasingly drastic curves.  But he wasn’t.  Not really.  He was overwhelmed and frustrated, and he was embarrassed on a surface level, but just below that was a kind of thrill he’d never even imagined.  He was well aware that he’d soon be walking around with cheeks like basketballs strapped to his lower back, a perfect complement to the rebound he experienced when trying to cover them.  He knew that his future had been shifted in a wildly different direction; he just wasn’t sure how much he cared.  He resisted on a reflexive level, his instincts telling him that a lifetime of bottom-heavy exhibitionism, of power-bottom bliss, should be seen as a negative, not a positive.  But with Sam steadily slamming against his inflated bumper, Brandon had a hard time holding onto that anxiety.

“What…what’re you doing?  Why’re you stopping,” the brunette sputtered when Sam slowed down and pulled out, his voice hoarse from howling.

“I want to try something,” the blonde grinned, his own ample cheeks bouncing as he hurried over to the nightstand to retrieve a hefty vibrator.  He lubed it up before tearing the remains of Brandon’s joggers free and slipping it inside, eliciting a low, satisfied moan.  “Feel good?”

The brunette nodded, a puzzled look on his face.  “Yeah, but what’re youuOOUUUHH…!”  He tensed and spasmed when Sam unexpectedly dropped to his knees and swallowed his oozing log, his stomach fluttering at the sight of the blonde’s broad shoulders flexing as his friend clung to his pillowy rear.  “Oh…oh fuck…dude…that’s…that’s…” Until now, their activities had been limited to the bigger blonde riding Brandon.  In his frenzy, the brunette had blown Sam in order to get him ready, but he’d never expected the kneeling hunk to want to reciprocate.

Sam grinned when he paused and pulled his face away, giving Brandon’s slick cock a long, slow lick.  “Feel like it should?”

Brandon swallowed hard and nodded, his toned pecs heaving.  “Feels fuckin’ great,” he said, lit up from within by the vibrator and from without by Sam’s soft lips.

“Figured you were probably missing it,” Sam shrugged.  “Been a minute since I blew a dude, but it’s like riding a bike, right?”

“No…no complaints,” Brandon grunted, running his hands through his friend’s golden mop.

“If this works, maybe we can try switching it up sometime?  You make it look like so much fun…I’m curious,” Sam said, blushing.

Brandon couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Throughout it all, his friend had barely batted an eye.  Whether it was becoming Brandon’s live-in boy-toy, eagerly sharing in the brunette’s nudity, or helping the bottom-heavy hunk through the emotional journey of his warped new body, Sam had just rolled with it.  And now there he was on his knees, offering up his own muscled rear for the taking.  “What…whatever you want,” Brandon stammered, wondering if the old man hadn’t been wrong when he’d explained how the dice worked.  It had been a wild pair of weeks, but despite his initial shock and surprise over what his mammoth rear had gained, the bottom-heavy brunette wasn’t sure he’d lost anything at all.