thescreamingmoist
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Spring Broken, pt. 2
🕑 Added 2024-03-25 19:00:05 +0000 UTCDylan was on his knees in a flash, his shrunken cock forgotten as he choked on Charlie’s. He bobbed his head with the same nimble grace as before, savoring every moment of the sensation until his friend’s spit-slick cock was lubed and glistening. He felt the same disembodied detachment he’d been wrestling with all day when he climbed back up onto the bed on all fours, but the idea of not going through with things never even occurred to him. Even when Charlie grabbed his hips to hold him in place and slowly worked inside, Dylan remained fully committed. The pain was excruciating at first, he’d never been penetrated before, but knowing whose cock it was that split him open, and feeling Charlie’s sculpted physique pressing down and draping against him, made it all worthwhile. “Ggnnhh…god…goddamn…” he grunted, his strong fingers practically tearing through the sheets.
“You good? Should I stop,” Charlie asked, kneading his friend’s tense shoulders.
“No!” Dylan barked, shaking his head. “It’s just…”
“Tight, bro,” Charlie laughed, mimicking the tone they’d use when frequently talking about women. “Never thought I’d be saying that about you.”
“Never thought you’d…have your dick…in me…” Dylan groaned, his shrunken cock throbbing at the words. A small voice in his head still told him it was wrong, but the penetrated pretty-boy knew he’d never be able to make the other man, or anyone, feel the same way with his smaller rod. Charlie had at least a pair of inches on him, as well as extra girth, which, at least to his lust-addled brain, felt like the universe’s way of supporting their decisions. Of course he’d be the one writhing at the end of his friend’s cock and not the other way around. It made perfect sense.
“Oh, just wait, bud,” Charlie boasted, giving Dylan’s ass a swat. “You’re in for a treat.”
The redhead wasn’t wrong. Dylan was grateful to find the discomfort rapidly fading with each of his friend’s thrusts, though that left room for the increasingly loud, desperate wails that slipped from his slack jaw. The dark-haired jock had never been overly vocal during sex, but he’d also never been on the receiving end of a dick before, rendering his ample experience in the bedroom over the years moot. Instead of a skilled stud he was back to being an inexperienced rookie, his brawny body putty in Charlie’s capable hands as the virile ginger brought him to the brink over and over. After a while, the sensation of his below-average package being easily swallowed in the thrusting hunk’s grasp stopped feeling odd altogether to Dylan, and when it finally erupted, the moaning jock once again thought it all made sense. Of course it was smaller. Of course it had less stamina. It wasn’t his cock that mattered, it was Charlie’s.
Dylan demonstrated his commitment to that priority all night. The sculpted stud used his perky bubble to pull load after load out of his friend, letting the other man take him in all manner of positions. Face down, flat on his back with legs in the air, twisted on his side, bent against the wall, bouncing on Charlie’s lap; Dylan’s battered hole was pummeled for hours. As with his confusingly sized, possibly shrunken endowment, by the time they’d finally worn each other out it all felt perfectly natural. Even the way Charlie had started talking about it like it was a regular occurrence stopped registering as odd for Dylan, who wasn’t sure why he kept thinking that was wrong. Drifting off to sleep in his friend’s arms certainly felt fantastic, as did waking up with his face nestled against the ginger’s chest, their legs tangled together beneath the sheets. In that groggy, blissful moment, Dylan knew everything was exactly as it should be.
And then he stood. His mouth parched from their exuberant activities the night before, Dylan reluctantly extricated himself from Charlie’s arms and rolled out of bed in search of a drink, only to stagger when his feet hit the floor. For a moment he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why everything felt so wrong, until he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.
“FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK?!” he yelped, his eyes going wide at the sight of his broadened body. Having already possessed an abundance of muscle, the changes likely wouldn’t have been as immediately noticeable to an outside observer, but Dylan felt like he was looking at a stranger. Instead of precision-sculpted, his body looked slightly bulky. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker, and the already-prominent pecs looked borderline bloated. The same went for the dark-haired hunk’s washboard, the trenches of which had deepend while his waist appeared to taper less overall. That extra width at his core was only magnified by a lower half that had similarly bulked, with his sturdy thighs and perky bubble both now bordering on “thick.” Worse, the expansion served to make his reduced endowment look even smaller, adding an ironic twist to what otherwise would have been an enviable build.
“What? What’s wrong?” Dylan spun as Charlie’s sleepy voice slurred from the bed, spreading his inflated arms wide. “Dude, not this again,” the ginger groaned before the panicked pretty-boy could say anything.
“But…but…look at me!” Dylan sputtered. “I’m fucking huge!”
“Yeah, I know, bro,” Charlie laughed. “Everyone knows. We get it. You’re overcompensating but we love you anyway,” he yawned, lazily scraping himself from the bed and stretching.
There was a moment of stunned silence as Dylan gawked at his naked friend. Specifically, as he gawked UP at the groggy redhead. Instead of looking Charlie in the eye as he should have, he now looked the other man in the chin. “Wait…did…did I…? Did you…?”
Charlie gave his sputtering friend a quick peck on the forehead. “Fuck your brains out last night? Sure looks like it,” the now-taller man laughed. “I’ve gotta take a piss, bud. I’ll help you figure out whatever…this…is in a second.”
Dylan’s head spun as he watched Charlie saunter into the bathroom. Nothing that had happened over the course of the last twenty-four hours made sense. It shouldn’t even have been possible. Once again, the hirsute hunk was certain that changes were happening, knew without a doubt that, so far, he’d lost four inches off his dick. And now he appeared to have lost that same amount in height, if not weight, leaving him headed squarely for “stocky” territory. His heart raced as he ran the numbers through his head again and again, the color draining from his face when he finally realized why they seemed familiar. “Oh…oh no…no no no…” he stammered, stumbling over to the ratty dresser and plucking the crumpled slip of paper wadded on top. It was the slip he’d received from the supposedly broken fortune teller on the boardwalk, only now the message seemed far less nonsensical. “Hungry for more…guess we know what that means,” he said, his shrunken cock twitching. “But this part…one equals two, and two equals four? So those numbers at the bottom…the pair of ones would explain why my dick is suddenly four inches shorter. And that two must be talking about my height. But that means…” he trailed off, feeling like he was trapped in a nightmare as he looked at the remaining digits. There was still a “2” and a “1”, which, if he was correct, meant he’d be spending the rest of his days not as a tapering, hung, six-foot stud, but as a burly, 5’4” meathead with a two-inch dick. And that didn’t even take into account the behavioral changes, and how Charlie kept talking like everyone already knew about this new person he was becoming.
“You good now?” Charlie asked, startling the now-shorter man as he wrapped his arms around him from behind.
Dylan wanted to say that no, he was as far from good as possible, but already he wanted to melt into the other man’s embrace. The sensation of Charlie suddenly standing taller made the dark-haired hunk quiver, and he had to consciously struggle to retain his grip on the knowledge of what was happening. “Yeah…I was just, uh, out of it for a second there. Probably ‘cause I’m fucking starving. Why don’t we hit the boardwalk and find some breakfast,” he suggested, trying his best to sound casual despite being desperate to find the mechanical fortune teller again. It was his only lead and only hope for salvation, if any existed.
“Looks like you’ve got something to take care of first,” Charlie said, his hand sliding down Dylan’s thickened abs to wrap around the other man’s shrunken cock. “I got you.”
The shrunken jock could only stand and whimper as Charlie started pumping, his friend’s free hand clutching one of his thickened pecs. The sensation was jarring as the ginger’s hand felt larger than it should have, but so did the muscle it clutched, leaving Dylan dizzy as he rapidly rocketed towards the edge. He tried not to think about how different this experience would soon be, about how much larger Charlie would seem and how his friend would likely only need a pair of fingers instead of a fist, a thought at the forefront of his brain as he erupted after only a few moments. Dylan was mortified both at the speed with which he reached climax as well as the cracking wail that came with it, but neither diminished the lingering ecstasy. “Whoooooooo,” he sighed, shaking his head with a dazed grin. “Thanks for that,” he laughed, his smile fading and his stomach dropping when he realized he’d momentarily forgotten what was happening. He pulled himself from Charlie's grasp and hurried over to his speedo, the already-skimpy swimwear appearing even more so as it stretched around his thickened lower half.
“That wasn’t a freebie,” Charlie said, his eyes glued to Dylan’s plumped rear as portions of it now spilled from the small swimwear. “It was just an advance. You owe me later.”
“With interest, I’m sure,” Dylan chuckled, forcing a laugh as he looked down at his unimpressive bulge. The small lump was barely visible between his thickened thighs, landing at the opposite end of the spectrum from his now-ample rear that struggled to be contained. The vain hunk was humiliated at the thought of lumbering around in such a state, but he was more interested in finding the fortune teller than in maintaining his ego.
Unfortunately, after a pair of laps up and down the boardwalk, it appeared that both fronts were destined for failure. The mechanical booth wasn’t where it had been the day before, and when he’d asked the barista at the coffee stand when buying breakfast, Dylan learned that the antique attraction had been permanently removed after breaking down yet again. The understandably confused barista was unable to tell the surprisingly distraught stud where it had been taken, leaving the exposed Adonis feeling like a man condemned.
Dylan did his best to hide the defeat from Charlie as they largely replayed the previous day. He knew the other man wouldn’t believe him, and, even if his friend did, there was nothing either of them could do to stop what was happening. Dylan didn’t know where to even start looking for possible solutions since none of it should have been remotely possible to begin with, and, like the previous day, he was having a hard time reminding himself that anything was happening at all. He kept getting distracted by Charlie’s glistening frame splashing around in the waves, and by just about every other man that passed by. As the fortune stated, Dylan wasn’t just “hungry” for more, he was desperate, driven by that very need. A part of him was stunned to realize that he would have done whatever any of the men wanted him to without question, but a larger part was eager at the thought. It was why, just as Charlie had stated earlier, he started to remember himself flaunting his body and wearing as little as possible. He was simply advertising his interest and what he had to offer.
After romping in the surf with Charlie, Dylan discovered that his marketing strategy had been taken up a notch. It had been hard to tell while bobbing in the waves, but as soon as they reached solid ground and stumbled to shore, Dylan realized there was now only one number remaining from the fortune. Instead of looking at Charlie’s chin, the shortened stud was eye-level with the ginger’s chest, his bulky new body now feeling heavy and awkward under the weight of unmitigated gravity. His shoulders had become broad cannonballs while his arms hung like pistons next to the juicy slab that was his chest, all of which rested on a solid, cresting gut that looked lumpy and overstuffed with muscle. Dylan shivered as he felt everything rub together, especially the massive, meaty thighs and granite pumpkins that rendered the speedo pointless. The straining swimwear was little more than a strip of fabric around his hefty new lower half, leaving more of Dylan’s backside exposed than covered. Had his once-proud package not shrunk there was no way the girthy equipment could have been contained, but as it stood the speedo expertly accentuated the small cock and modest balls. Dylan knew it wouldn’t be long until the pouch’s job became even easier, though he also doubted it would make much difference. Considering the mass of his thighs and the burly gut above, his bulge already appeared miniscule, even with the waist of the speedo coming to a stop just above the base of his below-average cock.
Dylan wanted to be horrified. He knew he should be distraught over his warped, disproportionate new bulk, but, as they made their way back to the crowded boardwalk, all he could think about was how thrilled he was. He loved the way all the men towered over his new 5’4” frame, even the ones he would have regarded as “short” before, relishing the way they all looked down on him. And look they did. Dylan was used to turning heads as a tall, tapering pretty-boy, but that was nothing compared to the attention he got as a scantily clad, micro-dicked muscle-daddy. His stocky new proportions accentuated the masculine features he’d already possessed, like his wide, stubble-covered jaw and dusting of raven hair, twisting them to an almost comical degree. And when those features were contrasted with the barely-present bulge between his massive thighs, Dylan caught half the men staring with condescending amusement and the other half with genuine hunger.
Both suited him just fine. Dylan was so caught up in his new exhibitionist ecstasy that he didn’t even notice when the last number was ticked off the list. He and Charlie were at one of the many bars on the boardwalk, buzzed from their activities taking a turn towards the alcoholic, and he’d hopped off the stool that now left his stubby legs dangling to relieve himself. The bathroom only had a communal, trough-style urinal, but Dylan didn’t think twice about pulling his speedo open with a man towering over him on either side.
When he looked down and discovered that he could no longer see his new nub over his jutting pecs and prominent muscle gut, all he did was chuckle. He could feel the men next to him looking, just as he scoped their comparatively massive members out of the corner of his own inquisitive eyes. They were guys like himself, like he used to be, like the ones he couldn’t wait to reintroduce himself to when he returned to campus after spring break. They could look and laugh all they wanted; his button cock wasn’t what he had to offer them anyway, not when he carted around the pair of plump pumpkins at his back.
Dylan still didn’t understand how any of it was happening, or why Charlie seemed to accept each new phase as entirely natural. As with all the other changes, the redheaded hunk didn’t even bat an eye when Dylan emerged from the bathroom with an almost-empty speedo. The miniature new meathead wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or horrified by the idea that everyone just accepted this new person he’d become, but as the rest of the day passed he found himself caring less and less. He was only clinging to the notion that something was “wrong” out of instinct since it certainly didn’t feel that way. It was the old Dylan who felt all the embarrassment and anxiety, not the new one, and since that former version of himself technically didn’t exist anymore, the current one saw less and less reason to hang onto him. If everyone remembered him as a cock hungry, horny little bodybuilder, he’d happily fill that role as long as it meant that someone would inevitably be filling him.
Back in their ratty motel room, Charlie was that someone. Dylan had his now-taller friend pinned beneath him, his meaty thighs straddling the ginger’s tight waist as he bounced and writhed on the other man’s lap. He still couldn’t see his shrunken cock over his meaty new frame, but Charlie clearly could as the grinning ginger would occasionally tweak the sensitive nub with a pair of fingers. However, doing so meant the other man had to let go of the dense little hunk’s massive cheeks, which the prone jock appeared reluctant to do. That suited Dylan just fine. He’d been horrified at first, but he’d already grown to love how easily the inflated globes bounced and rippled, and how it felt to have them groped and kneaded. He loved how his jutting pecs bounced and how he constantly rubbed together, and how, though Charlie was taller, he sat like a beefy boulder on the other man’s lap, and that contrast between his lack of height and abundance of mass only added to his excessive arousal as he learned how his squished new body worked.
“Looks like you snapped out of whatever funk you were in,” Charlie grunted, his fingers biting into the bouncing beefcake’s ample cheeks.
Dylan shrugged, folding his wide, stubby arms behind his head as he rolled his hips. “No sense letting it ruin the trip.”
“Dude, I’m so glad we came together. Having you here saves me the trouble of hunting for pussy. Now we can just chill on the beach, get fucked up, and relax,” Charlie sighed. “Kinda weird how you managed to pack someone else’s clothes, but it’s not like you’re going to need them for a few more days.”
Dylan only grinned in response. It was easier to go along with the idea that his old clothes belonged to someone else instead of trying to explain the impossible. And, technically, they did. He knew he’d have to figure something out when they made it back home, but he was viewing it as an exciting opportunity. His previously modest style certainly didn’t suit the person he’d become, and he wasn’t going to need nearly as large a wardrobe since he planned on wearing as little as possible, as often as possible.
His stomach also fluttered at the idea of his friend so casually using him, that he was simply an eager hole for the primarily-straight stud to take advantage of. The old Dylan would have been mortified, but the new one was happy to help since he also got something out of it. And it wasn’t as if their existing friendship had ended or that Charlie was suddenly cruel. Their relationship, along with the majority of Dylan’s social interactions, had simply evolved. For the most part it was still business as usual, but if one of his male friends wanted to get off without putting in the effort of landing a hookup, he had something to offer. His short stature and tiny cock made it easy since the combination resulted in Dylan no longer being seen as a “peer” by most of them, but the shrunken stud didn’t care how he was viewed as long as the viewer ended up inside him.
“How about tomorrow I buy you a new speedo,” Charlie continued. “I think we got the wrong size before. That one place had some thongs that would probably fit these guys better,” he said, giving the plump cheeks another squeeze before letting go and zeroing in on his friend’s oozing nub. “Or, fuck it…this little thing’ll probably fit into a bikini bottom, and there’s plenty of those.”
“NNNNNGGHHHH…!” Dylan blasted at the combined sensation of Charlie’s fingers tweaking his tiny cock and the image of his wide little frame spilling out of a tied-on bikini bottom. He knew he should hate the idea of his formerly eight-inch beast fitting snugly inside such skimpy swimwear, but all he could think about was how much attention it would bring him.
“Dude…a little warning next time,” Charlie laughed, wiping the small splashes of cum from his face. The meager eruption was nothing like the ones Dylan formerly produced, but the resulting euphoria was every bit as intense.
“Sorry, took me by surprise,” the dark-haired hunk panted, his massive pecs heaving. He leaned forward and popped off Charlie’s throbbing pole before scooting back, leaving the primed pump pointed directly at his face as he wrapped a hand around it and started stroking. It only took a few passes to push the ginger over the edge, launching a warm, sticky deluge all over Dylan’s waiting face. “There. Now we’re even,” he purred, loving how it felt to have his handsome features coated in the other man’s warm release.
Before the shorter hulk could wipe his face clean, Charlie grabbed him and rolled over, leaving the wide little meathead pinned. “Aren’t you forgetting something,” the ginger jock asked, hefting Dylan’s meaty legs into the air and slipping a pair of fingers into the battered hole. “You still owe me one from this morning.”
