I'm The Stud (Short Story)

I’m The Stud

Written By SteeleBlazer

            My boyfriend thinks he's a real stud. But then I found out it was all a lie, a scam when I discovered a bottle of Insta-Stud pills hidden in his sock drawer. At first, I thought those pills were an insta-scam because, I mean, come on, stud pills? That sounds so stupid. But, they're real... and they really work. I know... because I tried them. And now... I'm the stud. So, listen to my story about how I became a stud and swept my stud-muffin boyfriend off his feet. 

            It all started innocently enough, a mundane Saturday afternoon while I was tidying up our place and I was going through his sock drawer... And what do I find hidden amongst his socks...Not porn thankfully—but the Insta-Stud pills I already told you about! And at first I didn’t know what to make of these pills, I’d never heard of them. I mean just what the heck are Insta-Stud pills anyway?! 

            Looking at that half-empty bottle of Insta-Stud pills, I tried to discern just what kind of pills these were. I’d never heard of them, but then again, from the labeling on the bottle, it looked like they were for men. Heck there was even a warning label on it that read, “Not Recommended For Women.”

            At first, I laughed. "Insta-Stud? What is this, some kind of joke?" The label was so cheesy—the name alone was silly and stupid, and what it promised seemed impossible. Right on the bottle, in big bold letters, were both the literal and figurative bold claims that it promised instant muscle growth, virility, and all the trappings of masculinity in a single gulp. "These have to be a scam," I muttered, shaking my head. And while I wish I could say I couldn’t believe my boyfriend could fall for such an obvious scam—he is a man... and men fall for the stupidest stuff, especially where their masculinity is concerned. And hey, concerning men, they all want to be studs. 

            Yes, it had to be a scam, but as I turned the bottle in my hands, curiosity got the better of me... 

            Naturally, I did what anyone would do—I pulled out my phone and started googling studs... I mean Insta-Stud pills. And yeah, I got a lot of NSFW pictures at first, but after a few queries and page clicks, I found it!—and down the rabbit hole, or should I say the stud hole. Yeah, that sounds as gross as it is, but it’s kind of more accurate than rabbit hole... Anyway, down whatever hole you prefer, I went, and what I saw was some of the most shocking, strangest, but also studliest—if that’s a word—videos I’ve ever seen. I know I probably shouldn’t have clicked on those videos—but I couldn’t help it; I had to know more. 

            Selfies, webcam vids, countless posts of guys popping these pills and turning into hulking studs. Muscles swelling, shirts stretching to their limits, pecs puffing out like they were about to burst from their skin—every part of them growing thick, hard, and undeniably studly. Click after click, I watched video after video of some small scrawny scrub turning into some strong, sexy stud. I’m not gonna lie, watching those transformations got me more than a little worked up. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for my own stud-muffin to come home so I could butter him up, if you catch my drift. 

            And just thinking about my own stud got me even more worked up... but not in the way that you think. It was then that it dawned on me—we’d been together for over a year, and in that time, I’d watched him morph from a gangly, sweet boy-next-door type to this hulking, hunky... stud. That transformation had always puzzled me. Sure, he hit the gym regularly, but not even Charles Atlas himself could have transformed him into a studly, musclebound beach Adonis any faster. 

            Could these pills actually work? I thought to myself, still unclear on what to think. And so I clicked on a few more of those Insta-Stud selfie promos and watched small, shrimpy men get all swole and studly... Alright, so maybe I watched a few dozen more of those videos—I couldn’t help myself. There was something both appealing and intoxicating about watching those men grow stronger with harder muscles... I found it strangely sensual. 

            As I watched those men swell with muscle, an idea started to form in my mind...  

            Why love a stud when I could be the stud?  

            I mean, those muscles looked fun—fun to flex, fun to show off, and fun to be admired and worshiped. The way those girls (and sometimes other guys) fawned over the newly minted—or grown I guess—studs, groping, pinching, squeezing, and kneading those hard-earned—well, pill-earned—rock-hard muscles, it was like they were kneading dough, and suddenly, I was needing that kind of attention, too. 

            I didn’t just want those muscles for myself, I needed them! It wasn’t enough to admire them—I needed to be admired... to be worshiped not just as a stud, but as a muscle goddess, to be the one who turned heads and made jaws drop—while I lift, curl, press all the biggest and heaviest weights in the gym... It looked fun to be strong, and I never in my life had a stronger feeling about being strong and powerful. I wanted to be the one doing all the heavy lifting, the opening of pickle jars, the one sweeping my boyfriend off his feet—literally. 

            It sounded fantastic, but it also sounded too good to be true... Still, as I held that Insta-Stud bottle in my hands, I couldn’t help but think—maybe, just maybe, I might be crazy, but if it works, I’d be a STUD! 

            That’s when I made up my mind. If those pills could turn him into a stud, they could do the same for me. And I was ready to see just how studly I could become. 

            Warning label be damned—as I wasn’t going to let some small fine print keep me from getting big, fine studly muscles.

            So, I made a decision. I shook out a few pills—okay, four—and stared at them for a second, maybe two... Most guys in the videos only took one or two, but I was no guy. I was going to out-stud them all. Then, without another thought, I swallowed them down, grinning as I imagined what was about to happen. And oh, did it happen.  

            The effects were almost immediate. I felt a heat rising in my chest, spreading through my limbs like wildfire. My muscles began to twitch, then swell, as if they were being inflated from the inside. My shirt tightened across my chest, my sleeves straining as my biceps bulged and my pecs lifted, pushing my breasts higher as my torso expanded. I watched in awe as my arms thickened, my shoulders broadened, and I could feel my back growing wider and wider with thick, powerful muscles. My shirt was suddenly way too small for me, and as my body grew bigger and thicker, the bottom of my shirt started rising up my belly. I felt my core tighten as muscles rose up on the surface of my stomach, my abs hardening into a solid wall of muscle. I wasn’t just growing bigger and stronger; it was like my entire body was being forged out of iron—and it felt so damn good! 

            I was still growing as the door swung open. There stood my boyfriend, looking at me mid-transformation, but I was already so big that my muscles already rivaled his, and second by second, I was growing bigger and bigger, and soon my muscles began to dwarf his own. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of me—and as I grew bigger, so too did his eyes, widening in shock as he witnessed his studly girlfriend now out-studding and outmuscling him in every way. 

            “What did you do?” he stammered, his voice a mix of shock and awe. 

            I could feel the last waves of growth surging through me, my body still expanding, my muscles continuing to swell until they reached their full, powerful potential—peak studdom, as I like to say. As I finished growing, I realized I was now towering over my boyfriend, looking down on him from a height that made him seem almost small in comparison. I could see the shock in his eyes as he craned his neck to take in the full scope of my transformation. 

            My shirt and jeans clung to my body with desperate tightness, the fabric straining to contain the massive muscles erupting beneath. Every movement sent threads snapping, and I knew they were holding on by threads—not figuratively, but literally. I could hear the seams groaning, the fabric on the brink of surrender. 

            With a smirk, I brought my arms up in a powerful flex. “Hey stud... guess what? You’re not the only stud around here now. In fact, next to me, you’re more of a dud!” 

            The motion was the final straw. My shirt tore away completely, the scraps flying off like confetti, while my quads quaked with power and burst free from my jeans, the shredded denim falling in tatters. 

            Now, I wasn’t just a studly muscle goddess standing in front of my boyfriend—I was a mostly naked studly muscle goddess standing in front of my shocked and surprised boyfriend. 

            “Y-you t-took my p-pills,” he stammered. 

            “Yep,” I calmly answered, giving him another mind-blowing flex, my muscles erupting all over my body and swelling to sensational levels of striated sensual power. 

            He started to protest, babbling about how those were his pills. But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy flexing, feeling the power coursing through me, marveling at my muscular might and majesty. With a grin, I grabbed him, and with my brawny arms, I swept him off his feet—literally and no doubt figuratively as well. I cradled him and spun us around and around in circles. He let out a squeal of surprise, and I silenced him with a deep, passionate kiss, leaving him breathless in more ways than one. 

            In my arms, my boyfriend didn’t look so studly. Don’t get me wrong, he was still cute—just not as studly, more of a stud-muffin than a stud... And looking at him, I was hungry. So, I carried him to the bed, ready to show him just how much of a stud I’d become. I carried him with an ease that belied the fact that he tipped the scales well over 200 pounds, but as I climbed the stairs, I needn’t worry about tipping over, as my own studly muscles were up to the task. In fact, in my arms, my baby felt like—well, a baby. 

            With a wicked grin, I dropped him on the bed, flexed for him one last time, and we had ourselves some bed-breaking fun. And thanks to my mega-muscular figure, I don’t mean that figuratively—if you know what I mean... 

            After the most intense lovemaking of our lives—thanks to the stud-making Insta-Stud pills—I spooned with my boyfriend, and of course, I was the big spoon. Gawd, it felt so good snuggling up with my cute stud-muffin while I was the sexy, strong, swole stud! As we lay there, him exhausted and wiped out, he looked up at me, his voice weak and spent. 

            “Can I have one of the stud pills?” he asked, almost pleading. 

            With a grin, I squeezed him tight in my arms, feeling his smaller, softer body against my own powerful frame. “There’s only room in this house for one stud,” I said, flexing my biceps in a show of power. 

            And with a kiss on my biceps—his kiss—I considered the matter settled! Although that kiss rekindled the passion, and let’s just say that bed was reduced to kindling... Fitting, and lucky it didn’t burst into flames, given the heat and fire of our passion. 

            In the weeks and months that followed, his studly muscles began to dwindle, despite his efforts to keep up his gym routine. No amount of weightlifting could compete with the power of those pills, and slowly but surely, he went from being a stud-muffin to my cute little cupcake. Sometimes he’d complain about me using up the rest of his Insta-Stud pills, but I’d just shrug and remind him, “Look on the bright side. You used about half of them. Don’t be a glass half-empty kind of guy.” 

            As I glanced at the nearly empty bottle, I knew I’d have to reorder soon. Sure, they were expensive, but that’s just the cost of being a stud. And believe me, I’m worth every penny, because I’m the Stud!