Rule #1 (Patreon)

When I got to the door, I saw nobody through the peephole. Turns out whoever was frantically jabbing at my doorbell was so short I couldn’t see him.

I opened the door and didn’t recognize the ridiculously dressed little guy standing there. He wore a Gold’s Gym sweatshirt that looked like a dress on him and a hat pulled low over his head. It looked like a kid wearing adult’s clothes, but when he pulled back his hat and looked up at me, I saw he was a man, just one with an eyeline at my belly button.

“And you might be?” I asked.

“Are you kidding me?” he chirped at me. Little guy had an annoying voice, but now that I could see his face I noticed very pretty blue eyes. He pulled the hat off and long blond hair fell down past his shoulders.

“Sorry, bud,” I said. “You’re going to have to identify yourself, because clearly I don’t hang with dudes who look like…” I gestured to his body, then back at my broad-shouldered physique competitor build, just a hair under 6’2”. I mean, I knew who he was, and I could figure out what happened, but I was just dozing off on the couch when my doorbell went nuts so I had no problem giving this little shit a hard time.

“It’s me! Brent!”

My eyes went wide with feigned surprise. “Brent BROCKMAIER? Instagram-famous bodybuilding-dreamboat up-and-coming-superheavyweight-titan Brent Brockmaier? Cuz you don’t look like you could even fill out Brent’s jockstrap with your whole damned body.”

The little squit clenched his fists but I think he knew that, at this size, throwing his weight around wouldn’t do much.

“Yeah I’m fucking Brent! You’re… shit… did this to me!”

I rolled my eyes and thumbed in the house. Brent wasn’t the first beefcake-turned-shrimp to come to my door in a huff, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t be the last. I made sure to lock the door behind me--didn’t want any surprise visitors--but the sound made the little twerp jump.

“Relax, ‘big guy’--now stand over here. Lemme get a look at you.” I had a tape measure and a digital scale still sitting out from the last miniaturized bodybuilder who had come banging at my door earlier that day. “Sweatshirt and hat off,” I ordered.

Little Brent hesitated. I’m guessing the big stud’s underwear wouldn’t even begin to fit him in this underdeveloped state, so he was going commando in that ludicrously large sweatshirt. “But… really?” He eyed the drawn shades and the otherwise empty apartment, still not comfortable.

“If I can’t measure you I can’t fix you.” This was bullshit of course. I just wanted to see Brent looking smaller than my left leg.

Stripped down, it was clear all the muscle was gone from this dude. Before he’d hit me up for some of my “special blend” gear, he’d been tipping the scales at a solid and beefy 250 pounds. People called him “Thor” because of his romance-novel-cover-stud locks and his superhuman size, but that nickname would have just seemed ironic now. Now he was a measly 81 pounds and barely 5 feet (the little fuck stood on his tiptoes a little when I measured).

Dangling between his toothpick legs, however, was a completely unreduced Brent Brockmaier-sized package which looked massive on his newly tiny frame. I may have drooled a little bit when I saw it swinging there like a big old pendulum. God, I wanted to get it in my hand and just heft it, feel the weight of those full cock and balls in my hands. I restrained the impulse, but I had to at least comment on them. “Man, these balls look like testosterone factories but it doesn’t look like it’s affecting the rest of you, hunh?”

Brent winced. I had to admit, even though he would get knocked over by a strong breeze, he was a beautiful little guy, especially with this monster cock he had swinging around there.

“Well?” he said impatiently, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Well what?”

“Are you gonna fix this or what?”

I didn’t like his tone, so I gave him a firm shove. He flew backward like I’d hit him with a car.

“Listen you little fuck, you’re not the big man around here right now, and if you don’t watch your fucking mouth, I’m gonna leave you like this and 12 year olds are gonna be beating the shit out of you and taking your wallet for the rest of your life. Got it?”

From the floor, shocked by my outburst, little Brent gulped and nodded weakly.

“Glad to know your brain didn’t shrink too much too,” I said. “Now my gear is a next level formula and it is FUCKING FLAWLESS. It works perfectly every time, IF YOU FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS.”

“But I did!” Brent shrieked. I rolled my eyes. I’d heard it before.

“What was the one thing I said you couldn’t do?”

Brent pretended to think. He knew what I was referring to. “Uh, you said… not to take any other steroids while I was on it…”

“What else did I say? The cardinal rule. What’s the one thing you can’t do on my gear?” Of course the little shit was too ashamed to answer so I helped him along: “I said you can’t cum. Not ever. I warned you a dozen times before I ever gave you the stuff, didn’t I?”

Runty Brent put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry… I tried! It’s just… it was so hard after I took the shot!”

Of course it was. I never told the guys about this little detail, but minutes after taking my gear a wave of horniess stronger than most men have ever felt sets in. With every inch their muscles swell that horniness gets stronger too. Their new muscles vibrate with sexual energy. Every inch of their stretching skin becomes ultra-sensitive and desperate for touch. The entire swollen body becomes a dick: a light rainstorm on the skin would be enough to make most guys fire. After the cum, all those gains go away--and then some.

“But here’s the thing, Scrawny: one shot of my gear wouldn’t shrink you this much. You’d end up 10 pounds, maybe 20 lighter than you started but that’s it. So you wanna explain how you ended this fucking tiny?”

Brent sobbed. “I thought if I took another shot I could get back to my old size! But then I came again. I didn’t even touch my dick, it just happened! And I was even smaller.”

“So you did it again,” I said. Of course he did. That was what they all did. “So what, you want me to make you normal again?”

“PLEASE!” begged Brent.

“Well, let’s make a deal. You want me to turn you back to normal? Cuz I can do that. OR: I can make you a fucking monster. Grow you up into a massive muscleblimp just waddling around all veiny and gigantic, stronger than anyone you’ve ever seen, big enough to turn Mr. Olympia’s head and strike fear into the hearts of anyone who ever sees you strutting your hyperdeveloped ass into a gym. Which one do you want?”

Brent’s pea-sized brain was in a spin, clearly. He blinked and struggled to think. “Is there… a catch?” he asked.

“Of course there’s a catch,” I said. “There’s always a catch. When’s the last time gigantic muscles came for free?”

“You told me you could make me gigantic before. You said I’d be bigger than ever… You said!”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I also said you had to keep those big healthy balls in line. But you couldn’t handle that. This time, though, I can make sure you get the size you want without any fear of cumming. I promise.”

Brent scrambled to his feet. “Make me huge! Huger than ever! Do it!”

Just like they all did.

I came back from my bedroom with a hypo-gun and a ray-gun. He eyed the latter as I set it on the coffee-table. It was white plastic with a silver trigger and concentric telescoping rings where the “barrel” should have been. His suspicious glare was reasonable. I knew it looked like a toy.

“What’s that thing?” he asked.

“It’s a fucking mad-scientist ray, dummy,’ I said as I swabbed his spindly arm with alcohol. “The fuck does it look like?”

I raised the hypo gun to his arm and he clearly recognize the syrupy blue liquid in the chamber.

“But that’s… Isn’t that the same stuff?” he said, inching away.

“Sure is,” I said. “But didn’t I promise you that you wouldn’t cum?”

He sighed and I jabbed the gun to his arm. One click of the trigger and the whole amp emptied itself into his emaciated body. He winced--fucking pussy--and slapped a hand over the spot.

“Now, we wait,” I said. “It won’t take long.” And it didn’t. Brent eyed his body incredulously as it started to slowly fill up with size once again. His shoulders broadened, his arms started to inflate and bulge, his trunk getting wider by the second. He kept patting his hands over his body as every inch filled in with muscle.

“I’d keep your hands off for a bit if I were you,” I said. With a start Brent raised his thickening arms straight out, which only gave me a better view of his slowly enlarging body.

Muscles spread and expanded all over his body. Soon he was back at eye level with me. His body had a layer of sweat on it now and I could hear from his ragged breathing that his voice had dropped back to its original depth. The quivering in each breath meant that he was being overpowered by lust, that every molecule in his huge-again body was steering him toward an inevitable orgasm. I could even see it in his eyes that the horniness had cast a haze over his intellect. His hands started shaking and he reached back for his big dick. I tried to slap them away but he shoved me back. Had he still been wearing the sweatshirt that had looked like a dress to him before, it would have split open now. His body was massive and hulking, easily a good 20 pounds heavier than before my strange brew had ever entered his bloodstream.

I knew he didn’t have long before he shot (and deflated like a balloon) so I grabbed the ray gun and aimed it at his cock. Rings of green energy fired out as his manhood was subsumed in an unearthly green glow. He groaned at the feeling (I knew it wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar). That’s when I reached forward, grabbed his dick and twisted. It slid away from his body leaving a smooth spot behind as if it had never been there.

He gawked in disbelief at his dickless pelvis now as I finally got to get as close to his junk as I’d wanted to before. It was just as heavy as I’d hoped as I hefted it from hand to hand, juggling the lemon-sized balls between my fingers. I inhaled the concentrated manly scent and almost started buzzing from the musk. Then, just to creep out my once-again-massive buddy, I held his disembodied package in front of his face, giving him a view that had never been possible before. I rubbed it against his face and he flinched.

“C’mon, big guy! Don’t you want to suck your own cock? You can now, you know.”

While I toyed with him, he was still growing. If I had to guess I would’ve said he was at 350 pounds and about 6’ 6” tall, and the weight just kept coming. This is the point most guys, on their own, never get to: as the gear does its thing, they always cum and interrupt the process. But now, with no cock to cum from, the gear continued to do its thing, causing him to bloat like a tick.

Massive traps swallowed his head as his gut bowed out into a thick sexy turtleshell of an 8-pack. I saw thick jowels emerge over a new lantern jaw. He blinked at the sensation of his face reshaping. I wished I had a mirror to show him just how apelike he looked now.

With the blonde hair cascading over his gigantic new body, he looked like Tarzan and a pincushion had a baby. I watched him flex his new hands, stomp his big feet, flexing the quads which were each easily as wide as my waist. He widened his stance without even noticing, adding to the simian vibe he was giving off.

I couldn’t have gotten him on my digital scale if I’d wanted to (there’s no way he’d ever get his feet together with that amount of muscle between them) but I had to guess he was about 450 now, and the creaking floorboards as he struggled to get used to his new waddle, swinging his huge arms over his bloated-out lats just to get enough momentum to propel his bulk around. He tried to look down at himself but his veiny traps wouldn’t let him, nor would the solid roidgut he’d sprouted let him bend at the waist to look down.

“I’d get you a mirror,” I said, “but I don’t want you barking at what you think is another bodybuilder like a dumb fucking dog.”

He blinked as he tried to process my words. He wobbled unsteadily, his legs so wide his center of gravity was different. The last thing I needed was him falling over, having to try to get 500 pounds of manflesh back on its feet as he flayed his limbs helplessly like an upside-down turtle.

“This is it, exactly what I promised,” I said.

His expression oscillated between panic and a dopey stupor. “See, the horniess that comes from the gear never goes away. It’s pretty overwhelming, I know, but you’ll get used to it. Makes it pretty hard to think though. You’ll be struggling to spell your name from here on out, but all you’ve got to use your brains for now is just lifting, eating and staying huge.”

“Huge…” he moaned, gently pawing at him, flexing beneath his own exploring fingers.

“Let me get you a sheet or something you can use as a loincloth,” I said. “Can’t have you showing off that ken-doll crotch for everyone. Don’t want to make all the boys jealous, do we?” I winked at him and he blinked, obviously struggling to string two thoughts together.

“My… cock…” he moaned, reaching toward his dick.

“Ah-ah-ah,” I said. “I’m keeping this. That’s the price of all this hugeness! We don’t want you accidentally reconnecting it and blowing your load too early,” I said. To tease him I casually stroked a finger along the length of his cock, watching it throb and stiffen in my hand as he moaned, sweat pouring down his forehead. “Weird, right? You can still feel everything. But if you came now, you’d fit comfortably in a shoe-box for the rest of your days, so we don’t want that, do we?”

He grimaced as I walked away with his cock, a pout forming on his apeish face. Almost broke my heart. Back in my bedroom, I tossed his cock in on the pile of cocks I kept in my closet and closed and locked it behind me. Couldn’t let anyone getting in there! Under my bed was a wand massager, which I knew might be just what Brent needed now.

When I got back out into my living room I saw Brent doing squats with my couch on his back, clearly mystified at his own unbelievable strength (and probably trying to get his mind off his growing--and insatiable--urge to cum). When he saw me he let the couch crash to the ground and ambled toward me.

“Now now, big guy, don’t think I’m going to leave you hanging all night.” The wand massager was about two feet long. As I switched it on the peach-sized head started to spin. “Push ups, big man!”

Brent was on the floor in an instant, easily pressing his own massive body up and down. I took one look at those gigantic, juicy glutes and went to town with the massager. His whole body shook as I slid between those granite cheeks, ragged growls emerging when I finally hit his pleasure button in there. The pushups got faster as I went to town on his engorged prostate, grinding the pleasure out of him. He started doing them one-handed, punching the floor furiously with the other as he reached what normally would have been an orgasm--but with no cock, he couldn’t cum. The sexual stimulation went beyond that, to a level Brent had never been to before.

When I was finished with him he and the floor were soaked in his sweat. He looked at me, his eyes unable to focus and drool pouring from his mouth. I rubbed his big muscular jowls lovingly.

“Aw, big fella, you can’t ever cum again. But don’t be sad! With a little work we’ll have you up to 600 pounds! I mean you can’t do simple math or fit in a normal sized car ever again, but I have a buddy who pays good money for oversized men just like you. You’ll get LOTS of attention--lots of greedy fingers wanted to dig through every inch of this beautiful example of masculine greed and excess--and the whole time you’ll never have to worry about cumming because I’ll have your cock nice and safe here. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Brent just growled and rubbed at the smooth space where his cock used to be while I marveled at what had become the biggest man I’d made in awhile. I wondered if I’d be able to get him out the front door or if he would fit in my flatbed truck. Maybe for a little while I could just keep him here as a pet?