Four and a Half CCs

[twinkification, trait theft, muscle growth]

Calvin put a stopper in the vial and eyeballed the amount of fluid he’d collected. It looked to be about four and a half CCs–a far cry from the six was supposed to deliver. He held it up to the light and tilted it, watching the fluid shimmer like a sapphire. “Fuck,” he said. “Dammit, Rusty, I thought you’d produce more than that.”

Behind him, on the still-tucked hotel bed, lay naked Rusty (or at least, what was left of him). Now, Rusty was a scrawny hundred-and-twenty pound twig, running his hands over his smooth body and gently moaning. His little dick stood straight up, shrunk down from the big nine-incher he’d been swinging when he walked through the door to a measly two.

Calvin jerked around as he watched his phone lighting up. It was the client, of course, confirming their location. In twenty minutes, Calvin was supposed to meet in the parking lot behind a closed Chinese buffet with six CCs of a masculinity-boosting muscle-growth serum, drained from some unsuspecting stranger. That stranger was Rusty, and despite the size of his hirsute body before Calvin applied the “formula,” he hadn’t produced enough. Calvin quickly texted confirmation back to the client’s burner phone, then turned around. Maybe the grape still had some juice left in it, he thought.

“What… WAS that?” said the bubbly twink on the bed, grinding his perky buttocks into the scratchy motel comforter. “Shit was… fire!”

He talked and sounded like a guy twenty years younger. When Calvin had spotted Rusty, he was a beefy 300 pound trucker stopping off for a few beers. Thanks to Calvin, three brews turned into fifteen, and the horny bear was more than willing to accompany him back to the seedy motel he’d rented earlier in the evening. The guy had been a dense mass of furry beef, arm-wrestling guys in the bar and bragging about how he’d be crushing men in the NFL if he hadn’t blown out his knee almost breaking a squat world record. He’d had a lantern jaw, a receding hairline and forearms as thick as Calvin’s legs.

Now he had a hairless swimmer’s body, light enough that Calvin could easily have picked him up and thrown him across the room. The transformation had been delightful (as it always was): with the special formula coating Rusty’s balls, Calvin had gone to work giving him head. As he approached orgasm, the big brute’s body compressed down, shedding mass as his balls pumped up larger and larger. His balding head suddenly sprouted with big curls that framed his shrinking face. When he was ready to shoot, Calvin caught it in a plastic bag, careful not to waste a drop, as Rusty shrank down to a fraction of his former self. Gone forever were days of chugging brews after shaming other men with brute strength for Rusty.

“When does this wear off?” Rusty said, his hips bucking, licking his lips. This was different: usually guys got flustered once they’d cum. Calvin had expected to hold off (with one hand, of course) an upset little twig of a guy after he realized he’d never be stomping through life with his barrel chest held high again. His days of being a big, burly REAL man were over. His body would never put on mass gain, nor would it sprout a single hair, but his flexibility was through the roof. For some reason, that was never a comfort to Calvin’s victims.

And yet there was Rusty, fine with the change, desperate to cum again. Usually, losing a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and fat was enough to kill these guys’ sex drives (not to mention their gratuitously shrunken balls after they’d been drained) but Rusty flipped his legs back, grabbed Calvin’s hand and brought it down to Rusty’s quivering buttocks (which were still pretty plump on his wiry frame).

“Still in the mood?” Calvin said. He pulled his hand back (resulting in a sulking Rusty) and unzipped his suitcase, producing a separate bag. He pulled out a butt plug and a vibrator, tossing them to the little guy.

“FUck, I never would have used these before!” Rusty said, excited to slide the butt plug in. “Oh jesus… oh Christ! That’s… FUCK!” The massage-wand switched on and Rusty rubbed it relentlessly against his little nub. When he came, he shrieked several octaves higher than his deep voice had been earlier.

Two drops spilled out, despite Rusty’s ovation. They were regular cum-colored, not the glowing “man-fluid” he needed. Calvin sighed, then turned to his phone. Looks like he was going to the meet-up short. Maybe the client wouldn’t notice.

“You’re leaving?” Rusty said in a coquettish groan as he twisted one of his tiny nipples and ran the vibrator wand along the underside of his balls.

“Sorry, big guy,” Calvin said. “Gotta go.” Generally, the marks made a little scene at being abandoned as a skinny wuss, but Rusty seemed fine to continue masturbating. Calvin gathered up his suitcase, then hustled down the motel steps. He froze when he got to where his car had been. It was gone. This was what he got for coming to such a seedy part of town.

His phone lit up again. The client was five minutes away from the destination. Out of ideas, he ran back up to the hotel room. Rusty had just finished cumming again. He was snacking on a Snicker’s bar, with his other hand diddling around between his round asscheeks.

“Hey, Rusty, you think I could borrow your wheels?”

*

Rusty crossed his arms in the passenger seat of the truck cab, staring out the window with a soft smile on his face. Calvin put the keys in the ignition, then stopped. “You sure you’re okay with me driving your truck?” he asked. Rusty was surprisingly casual for someone who’d just shrunk to less than half his size.

“I don’t remember how to drive it,” Rusty said. He was wearing one of his t-shirts belted around the waist and some flip-flops he’d found outside one of the other motel room doors. Nothing else would fit. “Must have disappeared with all those muscles and that icky bodyhair.”

“The formula does NOT erase memories,” Calvin corrected. “It doesn’t change a damn thing about your thinking, really. Why are you acting like this turned you into a brand new person?”

“Because it DID!” Rusty said, cocking his head to the side and snapping his hand. “You have any idea the pressure I was under being built like a freaking gorilla? When you’re big, it’s like… you gotta be mean, and pushy, and act like an ALPHA ALL THE TIME…” He dropped his voice for the last few words, miming a flexing muscleman with his spindly arms. “Now I get to just… take it easy. Let other guys take control for once.”

Calvin nodded. “Hunh,” he said. “You think a lot of guys would be interested in this service?”

Rusty shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno. I didn’t know it was a thing until I saw the hotel room growing, and you towering over me…” He raised an eyebrow, his hand casually crossing the truck cab, landing on Calvin’s thigh. “We have time for a quickie?”

Calvin moved Rusty’s hand back to his side of the truck. “Fuck no,” he said. “You have any idea how much trouble I’m going to be in if I don’t make this exchange?”

“No,” Rusty said. “I still don’t get why you’re doing all this. Selling my muscles and… like, manliness, and stuff…”

Calvin eyed up Rusty, who had pulled a pack of gum from the seat of the truck and started chomping wildly on it, his bright red curls bouncing with every chew. “Your personality just… flipped. Like a light switch. This isn’t normal.”

Rusty shrugged and winked. “Buddy, this is how I get when I’m drunk and there’s no macho straight guys around. Now that I look like this, I say… Fuck it!”

Calvin shook his head. He made a note to report these findings to his superiors. Maybe the batch he used had corrupted. Perhaps that was why the output was so low. (Or maybe Rusty was telling the truth!)

“You’re lucky I can drive a truck,” Calvin said, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

“So, like, is the guy who gets this stuff gonna get all my muscles?” Rusty said, his hand moving toward the black case on Calvin’s lap. The invading fingers got slapped away. “Is he going to look like I used to?”

“He’ll be his own genetic approximation,” Calvin said. Rusty blew a bubble, considering what Calvin had just said. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he decided to continue explaining: “It’s like, let’s say your genetics were at a level 10 for physical mass, bodyhair, cock size, ability to synthesize muscle… well, now you’re about a 3 in all those areas. So the guy who takes this will go up 7 in all those areas. Of course, the numbers aren’t all that even, so this analogy is a little flawed…” He turned to see Rusty holding a balled up pair of underwear to his face.

“Horniness certainly isn’t at a level 3!” Rusty said. “I feel like it increased, if anything.” He unfurled the balled up garment and held it up; it was his own underwear, now far too large for him to wear. “God, imagining that my DICK used to go in this basket up here… and this manly smell used to be MINE! Is it normal to want to be fucked by my old self?”

“I don’t know if any of what you’re going through is ‘normal’ at all,” Calvin said. “Nobody has ever reacted like this. But I’m guessing this has something to do with… releasing the real you? Does that make sense?”

Rusty just giggled and changed the subject. “So who gets my muscles?” he said, rubbing the dirty underwear across his chest and sighing.

“His name is…” Calvin stopped himself. “Anonymous. An anonymous client, who you will NOT see because you’re going to duck down in the truck and keep yourself hidden.”

“Or what?”

“Or the organization I work for will hunt me down and do something FAR worse than turning me into a little twink for failing my assignment,” Calvin said, his tone suddenly harsh. “I have strict orders and they do NASTY things to people who fail so they never get found out. I heard of guys who got aged to a hundred years old, or turned into a dung beetle…”

“I’d change your diapers if you turned out old,” Rusty said softly. “I’d feed you mashed carrots and sponge bathe you. And if you were a bug, I’d put you in a jar with a leafy twig and poke holes…”

“You might have to,” Calvin said as he parked the truck two-hundred feet from the meeting spot. He could see the closed buffet across the street. There was a single car in its lot, lights off. “Because I’m supposed to deliver 6 CCs of this…” He opened the case and produced the vial. “And I came up WAY short…”

Rusty suddenly launched an open palm at Calvin, so quickly he had no time to react. He swatted the vial against Calvin’s chest. It broke, the iridescent liquid soaking into Calvin’s shirt, drooling down to the groin of his pants.

“Fuck–FUCK!” Calvin said in a panic. He swatted at the liquid uselessly; as soon as he touched it, his skin absorbed it. “Wh-why did you do that?”

“Fuck your client!” Rusty said, his eyes wild. “Those are MY muscles and I want to decide who gets them!” His tense body relaxed. “And I choose you, Calvin.”

“Rusty,” Calvin said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Don’t you get it? I’m totally fucked now. My superiors…”

“Will have to find you first,” Rusty said. “Let’s both get the fuck out of here. Go to some island. Fuck like crazy for years.”

“Rusty, I don’t…” Calvin stopped as he felt the warmth spreading through his body, tingling across his chest. He felt the prickles of hairs suddenly sprouting on his otherwise smooth body. He gasped as he realized his belt felt tight. “Fuck…” He opened the truck door and hopped out to give his body room to do what it had to.

Calvin paced as he watched his smooth fingers suddenly thickening, veins plumping along the surface of his skin as they snaked up his swelling forearms into the sleeves of his shirt. “SHit… Fuck…” he groaned as he felt his shoes compressing his feet. He reached down to unlace them, but he couldn’t get his hands to cooperate. In a moment, it didn’t matter. In a burst, Calvin’s shoes split open, his larger feet bursting out.

Calvin’s body kept seizing, like every muscle was flexing at once. He gasped for air, pulling oxygen into his lungs. His chest swelled… and kept swelling. “Oh shit…” he said in a deeper voice as he felt his shirt split down the back. He felt so wide from behind–like he’d sprouted wings, although he knew it was just two meaty lats he’d never had before. Rusty watched the whole transformation, rubbing his hands together with a look of glee on his face.

In one flex Calvin burst through the shirt. He pulled off the tatters as his pants followed suit, falling to shreds on their own. He placed a big hand on his bloated thigh, blown away by its size. How the fuck was he going to buy pants now?

Suddenly Calvin belched and his abdomen swelled out. “Oh god, no,” he moaned as his formerly smooth belly thickened and became rounder until he looked like he was nine-months pregnant. The keg-sized gut was rock solid, as his hands thumping against its sides suddenly proved. Another belch and his ass spread out wider as well… he looked like a pro wrestler! He turned his neck to look behind him but found it harder to maneuver now that it had thickened up considerably.

The final change came when his boxer-briefs finally gave way to the swelling bulge within. A nine-inch soft cock flopped free, swinging between his legs above two orange-sized balls. He grabbed the big hose with a look of despair on his face. All other worries aside, what the hell was he going to do with such a big dick!

“You’re WAY bigger than I used to be!” Rusty said, launching himself at the chubby musclesman, running his hands through the thick whirls of dark hair across his chest and over his bulging delts. Calvin moaned softly as a beard sprouted, growing to four inches long. Rusty ran his fingers through it and moaned.

Calvin looked around in a panic. The car in the buffet parking lot had turned on its lights. Had the client seen what had happened to him? If that were the case, it would only be a matter of time before his bosses launched a team to dispatch him.

Back in the cab of the truck, Calvin had to move the seat all the way back. Still, his gut remained wedged up against the wheel. Rusty kept pawing at him as he drove, sizing up his bulky arm and drumming against his firm gut.

“Fuck, that worked out so fucking well,” Rusty said.

“Rusty, I am fucked,” Calvin said in his deep, almost bovine growl of a voice. “Rusty, you don’t understand. If they ever find me…”

“So they won’t,” Rusty said. “Let’s get gone, you and me.”

Calvin’s oversized heart pounded in his beefy chest. Fuck, his nipples were hard. He wished he could give them attention now, but there were more pressing issues to deal with.

“We can’t…”

“You got any more of that formula?” Rusty said with a wink. “How about we cut across the country, make a few more twinky friends for me and blow you up even BIGGER? Who’s gonna stop you when you’re the size of a truck?”

“That’s absurd,” Calvin said. “Even one more CC would make me so big I couldn’t even move…”

Rusty’s eyebrows shot up at the proposition.

“But it might help us make some money if we could score some formula to sell. Maybe blow up a few guys to be our personal bodyguards, too…”

Rusty clapped his hands. “Plus twinky friends for me! I’ll need more hands to cover ALL this beef!” he said, rubbing his face against Calvin’s gut. “There’s WAY to much of you to try to take on all by myself!”

Calvin saw his cell phone light up. Without a thought, he pitched it from the truck. He had six more applications of the formula, some cash from a prior transaction, and his car (which had a tracking device in it) had been stolen. It would take time for his bosses to find him, and by then… maybe he could be running a hardware store in Wisconsin with a little harem of willing house-husbands, all big guys like Rusty looking for a new life without the pressures of being an alpha.

It seemed crazy, but it could work. Fuck, it COULD work! Rusty purred as he stroked Calvin’s bloated body. He put a thick arm around the much smaller man and pulled him close. He knew the formula couldn’t possibly change someone’s mind, but it was amazing how a massive shift in physical form could change one’s perspective so dramatically.