“More,” Drew groaned, flexing his biceps while his cock pulsed in his pants. He was hooked on the sensation—the heat coursing through his veins, the pressure of his muscles swelling.

A couple of points of IQ and pounds of meat ago, he might have still had the self-control and restraint to stop before he went too far but he’d squandered it all in the name of getting the body of his dreams. And now, he was paying the price.

“More?” said Andrea with a grin.

Drew nodded. More. He wanted more. Needed more. He didn’t even exactly remember why he just had to get bigger but he knew it was his dream—his ambition.

“You’ll have to give up everything else,” said Andrea.

Drew’s pants got tighter. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that he’d already given up so much. But the idea that his brain might melt even further, that he might get even dumber, made his cock surge.

He chewed on his lower lip and groaned as he rubbed a hand all over his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel the firm muscle underneath, his fingertips dipping into the cleft between his pecs. “More. Please!” he insisted.

Andrea chuckled. He tapped the tip of his baton on Drew’s taut stomach and said, “Alright, boy. You asked for this.” The corners of his mouth curled in a devilish little smirk. “We’ll leave you just enough to be functional, but the rest…”

Drew groaned, tossing his head back with a thump against the surface of the stage as the heat flooded into his body once again. He felt his clothes get tighter on his frame, the sleeves straining around his biceps, his legs filling his pants, the shirt growing taut over his pecs as they filled in with firm meat.

“Science. Politics. History… You don’t need any of that, do you?” said Andrea.

Drew shook his head. Pre-cum leaked out of his cock as knowledge leaked out of his head. Facts and figures, important dates and people, all frittered away to feed his transformation.

Andrea smirked. “Math… Who needs that? Definitely not you. You just need enough to count reps and track gains,” he said with a laugh as he leaned over Drew.

Drew groaned as Andrea palmed one of his pecs. It swelled in the older man’s grip pushing the shirt to its limits.

“Count for me, dumbass,” said Andrea, squeezing Drew’s tit with a leather-gloved hand.

“One… Two…” Drew’s brow furrowed. While he was never the smartest kid in class, he’d never been particularly dumb either. Right now, though, he could practically hear the gears in his head grinding.

“Three…” His chest rose and fell as the heat filled his lungs. His breaths became short and ragged, his cock raging against his leg.

“Four…” He was going cross-eyed from the effort. His cheeks were hot. His ears were hot. It shouldn’t have been so hard but he could feel his brain short-circuiting from the strain.

There was a quiet thump as Andrea placed the baton on the stage next to Drew. he moved his hands down to Drew’s knees and said, “Do crunches, boy. Count them for me.”

Drew folded his arms behind his head and did as he was told. “One crunch. Two crunch. Three crunch.” He’d always struggled with crunches before, but not anymore.

He felt strength pumping through his veins. It felt so good to put his muscles in motion. He grunted out the count in between every crunch and the tension in his head from earlier was gone. He managed to get up to 16 without even breaking a sweat.

Andrea released Drew’s legs. “Stop.”

Drew collapsed back against the stage with a grunt. It had felt good to get a mini-workout in. He wanted to keep going but the thought of going against Andrea’s order never even crossed his mind.

“What’s after 16?” said Andrea.

Drew opened his mouth. He was sure he knew what number it was. If he could count up to 16 with no problem, then he should have been able to say what was next, but no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn’t.

The longer his mouth hung open without a word, the harder his cock got. Without so much as touching his hog, he was getting closer and closer to the edge.

Andrea sneered derisively. “17, meathead,” he said.

How Drew didn’t lose his load right then and there, he didn’t know. He nearly did, though. His cock swelled and pulsed against his thigh, shooting pre-cum and whatever was left of his intelligence against his leg.

He felt so dumb, so empty in the head. It should have been alarming but it wasn’t. For some reason, it felt so good to have a skull stuffed with cotton. The haze of thoughtlessness was pleasant. More than that, it was arousing.

“Reading. Writing. Language…”

Andrea hadn’t even finished the sentence and already Drew could feel the words popping away. They were like stars falling from the sky, leaving the night darker and darker with each one that vanished.

Andrea smirked. “You don’t need any of those big boy words. You need just enough to tell people what you want.”

Drew groaned. His body was growing heavy with muscle and meat. The feeling of lightness that had come with his newfound strength was beginning to subside, replaced by the reassuring weight of all the bulk packed onto his body.

“Muscle. Feel. Good. Need. Bigger!” he said as he rubbed his hands all over his body, feeling his swollen physique underneath the clothes that were on the verge of splitting at the seams.

“Bigger?” Andrea laughed. “What more do you have to give? Your privilege? Your history?”

Drew groaned. His mind was filled with a single compelling need. He wanted to be bigger. He needed to grow. He craved more muscle. “Give. Anything!”

“That’s what I like, boy,” said Andrea.

This time, as Drew’s body, grew to even larger proportions, more than just his size changed. His complexion darkened from pasty and pale to dark and rich. His blond hair never lost its luster, but the gold tarnished to jet black.

The core points of his experience didn’t change, but the substance of his memories did. He still had a single father and an absent mother, but they’d grown up poor. Comics were still important to him, but because they were some of the only entertainment he and his father could afford.

His stomach swelled. The sculpted definition of his abs faded but not entirely, the ridges and valleys smoothed out by the bloat characteristic of steroid abuse. At the same time, his facial features shifted—not to the point that he became unrecognizable, but certainly to the extent that no reasonable person would think he was anything but Latino.

Drew’s clothes were beginning to creak as they strained around his engorged musculature. But it still wasn’t enough. “More!” he bellowed, his voice low and utterly devoid of intelligence.

Andrea laughed. “It’s your heterosexuality that’s going next,” he said.

“Word. Big. No. Understand. More. More!” Drew insisted. Though the sentiment was simple, the effort of stringing together so many words was making Drew’s head hurt. He didn’t care, anyway. He just wanted to be even bigger.

A fresh wave of heat washed over him and he briefly closed his eyes to savor the sensation. His body grew bigger. His chest swelled. His ass filled out his pants. His clothes were strained so far beyond their limits that the slightest provocation was bound to tear them to shreds but somehow they held on.

Drew’s memories of his past continued to reshape themselves. Little by little, his old life faded, replaced by a new life. A new identity. A new name.

Fresh heat rose from his chest to his head. His thoughts scattered to static as his mind melted in the heat. He tried to remember the name he used to have but had no luck. The only one in his head was Bruno.

Bruno remembered his father. A good man. A strong man. He’d singlehandedly raised and supported Bruno. But the career man that Bruno used to know was gone, replaced by a man that was no less hardworking, but that had chosen a different path in life.

His dad was a big man—that much hadn’t changed—and earned a little from weightlifting and bodybuilding competitions. But every meal, every birthday cake, and every Christmas present he’d gotten over the years had been paid for with the money his father had made selling himself.

Bruno moaned out loud. His body felt so hot. His cock felt so hard. More and more meat packed onto his body as he remembered why he’d wanted to grow so big in the first place: he wanted to make his dad proud.

The growth this time was focused on two areas of Bruno’s body: his ass and his tits. His tits in particular were huge. They were bigger than anything reasonable or natural. Looking down at his body, he couldn’t see past the shelf of meat welded onto his chest.

Bruno’s tits bordered on the obscene. The grotesque. They were so heavy on his chest they would have made breathing difficult for a weaker man, but Bruno was big and strong and he’d never heard a peep of complaint from his clients.

The way his tits felt when they were being groped—and especially when they were being fucked—was like nothing else. He loved his tits and not just because he thought they looked good on him, but also because they were proof of how much effort he put into being the best whore he could be. They made his dad proud.

Bruno’s stretched-out shirt shifted.. The bottom hem pulled up over his bloated roid gut, stopping just short of his impressive rack. The fabric tightened up until his nipples were visible through the fabric—not that they needed any help.

The heat in his chest concentrated around his nipples. The nubs expanded, growing so large they were difficult to miss.

As Bruno’s nipples grew, they got hotter and hotter too. It got to the point that the heat was uncomfortable. He felt like his nipples were going to burst into flame. Then, without warning, a sharp pain lanced through his chest.

“FUCK!” Bruno roared, thumping both fists against the top of the stage he was lying on. Gradually, the pain faded, leaving him with sore nipples and the outlines of a pair of huge, heavy-gauge ring piercings pressing up against his shirt.

His sleeves contracted until his bulging shoulders were exposed in their entirety. The shirt had shrunk into what was essentially a crop top, but his chest was so large it looked as if he was wearing a training bra, instead.

Little by little, the forest green of the shirt faded into bubblegum pink. The collar and hems took on a pastel blue hue. Across the front, large lettering appeared that said “HIMBO HOOTERS”, though the first O and the loop in the R in “HOOTERS” were replaced by the outlines of Bruno’s nipple rings.

His pants weren’t spared the transformation. They turned into very short runner shorts in bubblegum pink and pastel blue. They were wholly inadequate to cover his obscenely round ass, the bottoms of his ass cheeks practically hanging out of the back of the shorts.

A low groan escaped Bruno as his underwear changed as well. His boxer briefs pulled up tight against his body, his cock and balls stuffed into the overfull pouch of a bright pink jock. The straps framed his ass beautifully, visible under the bottom hem of the short shorts.

Even his shoes were swept up in the transformation. From tasteful black sneakers, they turned into bubblegum pink and pastel blue high-tops—perfect footwear for emptyheaded himbo whores.

When the transformations finally subsided, Bruno lay panting on top of the stage. His heart was racing, hammering against his ribs. In the back of his head was a tiny voice that told him something was wrong, that his name wasn’t really Bruno, that he wasn’t supposed to be this big.

The voice hurt to listen to. And besides, it didn’t make much sense. How was he supposed to be the best whore he could be if he didn’t look like a blown-up, muscular fuck doll? He didn’t understand and he didn’t really care to understand.

Bruno shoved the voice down and looked up at Andrea. Arousal flushed through his body at the sight of the gruff, older leather cop. He raised his legs into the air, his ass practically exposed even though he was still wearing his shorts.

He licked his lips and arched his back, wiggling his ass in an attempt to entice Andrea. “Need. Dick. Papi,” he rumbled. Somehow, hearing the sultry tone in the low dullness of his voice made his own cock twitch.

Andrea laughed. He rubbed his thumb over Bruno’s hole through the fabric of Bruno’s short shorts, eliciting a low moan. “You don’t want bigger tits? A bigger ass?”

The small voice in the back of Bruno’s head told him that he didn’t. That his body was already grotesque enough. It screeched that he was destroying himself.

He shoved the voice down yet again. Crushed it. His body wasn’t gross. It was beautiful. And bigger was always better. He nodded. “More. Bigger. Please!”

Andrea chuckled. “Good thing there’s one more thing you can give up, huh?” he said. He rubbed his other hand over the bulge in the front of Bruno’s shorts. “You don’t really need this, don’t you, fuckslut? The only dick you’re interested in is the dick that goes down your whore throat and your hungry muscle cunt, isn’t that right?”

Arousal flooded through Bruno’s body. “No. Need,” he said. “Want. Dick. Cum. Throat. Pound. Pussy!” As soon as the words had left his mouth, his cock throbbed. His arousal strained, pushing hard against the tight confines of his jock and short shorts.

He was harder than he had ever been in his life. His cock felt bigger than ever before. But only for a moment. His whole body went rigid, his muscles tensing as a wave of impossible pleasure surged through him.

A long, low groan spilled from his lips. Pleasure coiled like a spring in his stomach. His balls pulled up against his body, twitching and throbbing as his cock pulsed.

A mind-shattering orgasm slammed into him. His cock practically exploded with spurt after spurt of thick cum. Waves of heat washed over him with every shot, his tits and ass swelling even more. At the same time, his cock shrank, every pulse of cum draining inches from his erection until it could barely even be called a nub.

By the time it was over, the few remaining dregs of the person Bruno had been before were gone. They were seeping into the cotton of his jockstrap, along with that stupid little voice that didn’t make any sense.

He felt whole. He felt satisfied. Fulfilled. He finally had the body he’d always wanted. A body that men would trip over themselves to touch and worship.

Bruno’s nub twitched. As he caught his breath, his horniness returned. He was hot for dick. Desperate, even. “Need. Cock. Papi!” he said.

Andrea laughed. “Much better,” he said. “You’ll get plenty of dick later when your friends join us, boy. But for now, why don’t you get up on that stage and do what you were meant to? Entertain us.”

Although Bruno was disappointed that he wasn’t going to be dicked down right away, the promise of plenty of dick was more than enough to satisfy him.

He got up on stage. For a moment, he was convinced that he didn’t know what to do, but as his hips moved, gyrating while he seductively drew his hands down the front of his body, he remembered that he’d been doing this all his life.

A sharp, quick pain pricked his skin just below and to the right of his navel. Bruno couldn’t see it past his tits—nor would he have recognized it—but peeking out of the waistband of his short shorts, just above his Adonis lines, was a tattoo of a syringe penetrating the male symbol and spewing its glittering rainbow and cum-white contents inside the bulb of the male symbol.

Fresh arousal surged through Bruno’s body as a pole rose from the middle of the stage. He grabbed it, sliding it between his tits as he rolled his body and ground his hips against it. Oh, yes. He remembered now. He was born for this. A roided fuckslut to make his father proud.

---

Terror had frozen the words Lyle wanted to say in his throat. He’d watched, wide-eyed, as Bruno blew up even bigger than Andrea. He could scarcely look away, rooted to his seat while he watched the man that had once been his friend dry hump the pole on the stage.

He was inexplicably hard and hornier than he had ever been, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying what he was seeing. His inability to look away was just morbid fascination. Bruno had swelled into a meat blimp. It was obscene.

Bruno used to have another name but as he watched the cock-hungry whore shake his tits at him, Lyle couldn’t remember it. That, more than anything, scared him. The complete and utter rewriting of his friend’s identities and the seemingly unavoidable possibility of it happening to him too was petrifying.

And it looked like it was going to happen sooner than he’d thought. Lyle’s eyes widened when he saw out of the corner of his eye that Andrea’s attention had turned to him.

He wanted to scramble away, to run, to do something to save himself but he just couldn’t. His body wouldn’t listen to him. “No,” he said, shaking his head as he was finally able to tear his gaze from Bruno’s dance. “Please, no. I don’t want to change!”

Andrea chuckled, his voice dark and rich with danger. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice,” he said. “But that’s okay. You won’t be ‘cute’ for long.”

“Nnnh…” Lyle clutched the edge of the couch as heat surged through his body. It was only slightly uncomfortable to start with but before long, he felt like his insides were beginning to melt.

He leaned forward, sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down the sides of his face. “No. Please. No…” he groaned weakly.

Lyle wasn’t the biggest guy—not that he’d ever minded. He actually quite liked the way that he looked. Not so thin that he resembled a stick, but also not so huge he looked more like a slab of beef than a person.

His lifestyle had suited him just fine. He’d never shown much interest in sports. Video games were more of his thing. He liked to take things easy, so he’d never seen the point of going through all the effort just to look jacked.

Lyle could concede that having a body like Tag’s would have made picking women up easier, but it wasn’t like he’d never gotten lucky. He was attractive in his own way and had never had problems hooking up when he wanted to.

He was comfortable in his skin. Or at least, he had been. As the heat built to intolerable levels, he could feel his body shifting, his muscles straining all over as they swelled with new bulk.

“No. Stop. I don’t want this!” Lyle cried out. He grabbed his biceps and squeezed as if the pressure would somehow stymie the transformation that had already begun to take hold of him.

“I think you should stop lying to yourself,” said Andrea. He grabbed Lyle’s arm by the wrist and stopped him from squeezing his bicep. “Deep down, you want this.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Lyle’s face as the heat burning him up from the inside doubled in intensity. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Every gasp felt like he was filling his lungs with hot soup. “No. No, I don—Guh!”

The couch under Lyle groaned as his body packed on a few more pounds of meat. Unlike Andrea and Bruno before him, his transformation was going by much faster. In less than a minute, he’d already swelled to the point that his clothes were getting stretched over his new mass.

“I don’t want to be big!” Lyle insisted once he finally managed to compose himself enough to get the words out.

Andrea laughed. “You do! You want to be huge!”

A fresh wave of growth rippled out through Lyle’s body. He couldn’t help but moan as however horrible the situation was, he had to admit that feeling his body swell with muscle felt fucking amazing.

The hems of his shirt sleeves bit into the meat of his growing biceps. His shoes compressed his swelling feet. His pants legs practically felt like tourniquets around his thighs, stretching to the limit at the seams.

“N-no more. Please. I don’t want any more muscles!” Lyle groaned.

Andrea snorted derisively. “Bullshit,” he said.

The sound of creaking rubber filled the air as Lyle grew again. He couldn’t help but groan from the pain, his feet cramped inside his expensive, limited-edition sneakers. Something had to give and it was unlikely to be him.

There was a loud popping sound as Lyle’s feet burst out of his shoes. And even though his heart sank at the waste of so much money, he couldn’t help but sigh in relief that the pressure had finally relented.

“I-it’s not bullshit!” Lyle managed through gritted teeth as his thighs swelled hard with muscle. He could feel the seams of his pants pressing against his skin, the waistband digging into his flesh. They’d soon go the way of his shoes if this didn’t stop soon.

“What kind of man doesn’t want to grow stronger?” said Andrea, the corner of his mouth curling in a little smirk. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Lyle might have said something but he was distracted by his body’s continued growth. His arms bulged. The hems of his sleeves bit into his skin. And then, with an almighty roar, the stitching blew to bits.

“Poor little nerdy Lyle.”

Lyle’s heart sank. His eyes widened. He didn’t think Andrea would remember, given how much had changed. “Stop,” he said.

Andrea just smirked. “Bullied for being the quiet, scrawny kid who always had his nose in a book.”

A twinge of anger went through Lyle. “Stop!” he insisted.

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled out of Andrea. “He had good grades, but few good memories. The teachers were his only friends.”

Lyle’s cheeks turned red. No one enjoyed having their past thrown in their face. Him, least of all. These were things he’d told his friends in confidence and now the monsters that had taken over their bodies were using them against him.

“Stop! Stop! I don’t fucking want to hear this!” he said. He’d have covered his ears if he could. He didn’t want to listen to this. But he felt compelled to, his stomach twisting into knots whenever he thought about just tuning it out.

“It’d have carried on if he hadn’t made friends with the kid no one would talk shit about,” said Andrea with a grin.

Lyle’s shoulders trembled. It was true. If not for the friends he’d made, two of the biggest boys in their grade and the one that not even the teachers wanted to cross, he doubted the bullies would have stopped.

Andrea’s voice dropped an octave. “Poor little nerdy Lyle…” he said, mocking evident in his tone. “Too timid. Too weak. Too cowardly to stand up for himself. So what did he do? He hid behind the bigger, scarier boys.”

Embarrassment and shame shook through Lyle’s shoulders. The heat in his cheeks spread to the tips of his ears, so intense he felt as if they might burst into flames. “Y-you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about…” he said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be stronger?” said Andrea as he traced the bulge of Lyle’s swollen new biceps with the tip of his baton.

“I-I don’t!” said Lyle. Not if it meant going through the same thing as Bruno and Andrea had gone through.

Andrea smirked. “Are you sure you don’t want to be… larger?”

Lyle shook his head. The cost was too high. He was happy with who he was. He didn’t want to lose himself just to be bigger.

“Don’t you want to be braver?” Andrea tapped the end of his baton on Lyle’s left breast.

Lyle gulped audibly. “I-I don’t want to change!”

Andrea laughed. “You really don’t want to become bigger? Badder? Scarier?”

Lyle shook his head.

“You have no interest at all in showing those bullies that no one fucks with you and gets away with it?”

Lyle’s voice wavered. “I-I don’t,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound particularly convincing when he said it.

“Bullshit,” said Andrea with a wide, toothy grin.