Be careful what you wish for. By now it’s a bit of a literary cliché, an overplayed trope that’s more predictable than it is exciting. But if there’s anything one can learn from the story of Ben, it’s that it’s a saying for a reason.

It’s always tempting to take an easier route, especially when you’re particularly familiar with the harder route. But you should probably draw the line at petitioning ancient, capricious, cosmic powers for help with your personal endeavors. More than likely they have their own agenda, and you’ll end up with far more than you bargained for.

Ben, to begin with, wasn’t your average, every day straight guy. He worked hard on his body, and it showed. He was also proud of the way that he looked, of his cut abs and his bulging muscles. For good reason. He had earned them. But he had been bitten by the bodybuilder bug, and there was no escape from that.

Things didn’t really start to get ugly until Ben hit his plateau. Any normal person would have accepted that growth from thereon would be a lot harder, and a lot more time consuming, but Ben always wanted to get bigger. Wanted to get stronger.

Ben had always been a bit of a spendthrift, but with his body’s increasing demand for protein and supplements, and a steadily declining economy, he needed an alternative source of income. That’s where gay men came in.

Make no mistake, Ben was straight as an arrow. But he knew that his body was sex on a stick, and was more than willing to take advantage of the opportunity afforded him when one of his gym buddies, a gay guy who had harbored a secret crush on him for the longest time, offered to pay him to touch his muscles in a private session.

That was only the start. Ben started working at the local gay bar. At first he just did a bit of bartending, giving the customers a chance to touch and marvel at his muscles in exchange for better tips. But the pull to show off was great, and it eventually dragged him onto stage for the men who were more than willing to shower him with money.

There was also the occasional client who paid extra to have a private session with Ben, like the gym buddy that had introduced him to the whole world of male body worship. He enjoyed it, getting off on the idea that other men loved his body almost as much as he did, willing to lay an offering of cold hard cash at the altar of his swollen, bulging muscles.

It was a point of contention for many a prospective girlfriend that Ben had. But Ben was unwilling to give up the financial comfort that his gig provided him. Gay men were more than willing to throw money at him, and he was more than happy to take it. The only catch was that they couldn’t touch his cock, but even that turned into a money-making machine when someone offered him even more money to see his cock.

But through the good times, Ben didn’t grow nearly as much as he wanted. It was a niggling thought in the back of his head. That he needed to get bigger, but didn’t know how.

It wasn’t until Ben overheard, in a conversation between two of the dancers backstage during one of his gigs, that the seeds of a certifiably bad idea began to take root in his mind. Maybe if he had had the wherewithal to ask about this Purple Fairy that the guys had been talking about, he would have known to be a bit more precise in his wording for his petition. But alas, when his initial skepticism passed and his desire to grow ever bigger turned into desperation, he flung the words to the wind, damning the consequences.

Ben never expected the wish to work, but it did. Eventually. He didn’t notice the initial effects, but after a week he realized that he had grown more in those few days than in the month leading up.

The transformation, the growth, filled Ben with a surge of strength. Of confidence. Of libido. But none of that energy was directed toward women. Instead, with an aching dick, he put even more effort into the gym, getting even better of a burn, striding into the shower room glistening with and stinking of sweat.

At the bar, Ben’s clientele nearly doubled as they watched his transformation. He was getting bigger, his torso tightening, his muscles becoming more defined. He was cut. He was strong. He was big. He was powerful. Not only that, but his cock was also getting bigger. And he was goddamn horny.

Ben had always told his clients that he would break them in half if they dared to touch his cock, but he had never told them anything about him touching his cock during a session. At one point, he was so high on the size of his body, on the new strength coursing through his veins, that he grabbed his pud and blasted a load all over the face of his client.

Ben had almost apologized, but then the client had begged him to do it again, and had offered to pay double. Just like that, his income hit an incredible peak.

For some time, Ben was on cloud nine. He had his ideal body. He had the worship of his gay peers. They were paying him to spray them with his cum, and he got off on the way that they debased themselves to worship his body.

But paradise didn’t last forever. Ben didn’t stop growing. Not even when he stopped going to the gym altogether. His body continued to swell, his muscles growing to the point that his old clothes stopped fitting and he needed to get a new wardrobe altogether.

Unfortunately, Ben’s growth only continued to accelerate from there. For some time he could keep up with his growth, but eventually he was ripping through clothes in the space of a day, his body continuing to bloat with pure muscle.

His fans loved it, but Ben didn’t. He was a freak. Nowadays he could barely reach his cock and balls to stroke off during his worship sessions. He couldn’t fit behind the bar. Not only could the stage barely bear his bulk, he could hardly lift himself onto the wooden platform. Dancing was entirely out of the question.

Slowly, Ben’s only income was worship. But as he grew bigger, so did the flow of money through that side of the business. He had more time to dedicate to it, more body to be worshipped. But as his body, his cock, his balls, as every part of him grew, he enjoyed it less and less.

Months passed and Ben bit his tongue, unable to admit that despite how fucking aroused, how fucking horny he was, his body had become a prison. He couldn’t reach his cock, and it was much too big to ever grow erect. He hadn’t gotten off in months and he was desperate.

It wasn’t long before Ben was begging his clients to help him get off. They were more than happy to, now able to touch his "straight" cock. And for sure every touch by a man was electric. It was ecstasy, now that he couldn’t touch himself. No woman would come close to him, finding him grotesque, but his clients just kept coming.

Ben’s growth only finally slowed, and then stopped, when some of the more fetishistic of his clients bought him out of his lease and helped him into a house that had been customized for him and his special needs. He was helpless. Powerless. He relied on these men to take care of his needs, both physical and sexual.

Ben had wanted to grow, to have the body of his dreams, but he had only ever asked to grow. And he had received exactly what he had asked for. Now he was lashed into a prison, bound into a body much too big to function.