Trio of TFs: Tyler and Tony Part 2

This story is inspired by the picture you can find here.

After the blonde woman handed Tyler the little shoes, he took a furtive peek inside: size 6. He wondered about the shoes he had put on before he went out that night--size 16, which he’d worn since he was 18 years old. He wondered if the club owners had his old clothes, and if they were going to give them back after all this was over.

The woman bent at the waist as she handed him more clothes: a folded pair of khakis, a button-down shirt, and suspenders. “Time to get rid of that ill-fitting thing,” she said to the dress shirt that fit him like a night shirt, going all the way to the floor. It seemed impossible that it used to fit his big torso snugly when he put it on earlier in the evening. 

“Arms up!” the woman said, yanking the shirt upward without waiting for Tyler to brace himself. Without the shirt, he stood there naked, his two hands slapping down instinctively to cover his manhood--or what was left of it anyway. He couldn’t bear to look at it, but what he felt under his fingers didn’t seem like very much. The big piece of meat he’d always swung around was long gone for now, as his lemon-sized balls which were now no more than mere marbles.

Tyler shivered, horrified by the sight of his new body. He couldn’t have weighed more than 90 pounds, and with narrow shoulders and all of his muscles gone he looked squat and soft. He glanced around the back room where other diminutive men were being dressed by patronizing women who, hours earlier, were fawning over their big athletic bodies and serving them drinks while they smiled shook their tits for the athletes’ enjoyment. Tyler’s feelings of shyness and shame were mirrored on the pained expressions of the other little guys in the room. Nobody seemed willing to meet anyone else’s gaze.

“Our club has a strict dress code,” the blonde said, shaking the tie in his face. “Are you sure you know how to tie this?”

Tyler snatched the tie out of her hand, his best attempt at defiance. “I’m a grown man,” he said, but his thin, high-pitched voice did little to support his point. The blonde snickered as she looked him up and down.

“Well, we don’t have all day. Get dressed. You’re due back out in the club soon.”

“Due for what?” Tyler wondered, but he said nothing as he pulled on the little outfit and studied himself in the mirrored wall behind the blonde woman. He didn’t recognize the pudgy little guy he saw, a doughy little man who looked like he’d never lifted a weight in his life.

The other waitresses were now gathering the dressed little men together in a group. Next to Tyler was a sad looking blonde man who looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over. Tyler noticed the man’s thin neck and the prominent adam’s apple that bobbed every time he swallowed. Tyler didn’t recognize the guy but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

“J.J.?” Tyler asked. The guy nodded sadly but didn’t say anything. Tyler reached out and put a hand gently on his shoulder. Earlier, he and J.J. Watt had bumped muscular chests and slugged back bourbon, two powerful overgrown beasts. Now it looked like each of them would lose an arm-wrestling match with a twelve year old.

“All right you little twerps,” said a beefy tattooed bouncer wearing a headset. He folded his arms and looked down at the dozen men, each of whom would have to stand on their tiptoes to look him in the chest. “We normally don’t left scrawny little nobodies into our clubs, so you’re going to have to earn your keep tonight.”

“But you did this to us!” said one of the little guys, a frail-looking caramel-skinned gentleman. Tyler wasn’t sure, but if he had to guess, it would have been Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson, who had shared a cigar with him earlier and, no doubt, befell the same fate as Tyler had. “You made us like this! You can’t make us work now too!”

The bouncer grinned, revealing a gap-toothed sneer. “Oh, you bet your ass we can you little shit. If you ever want to get back what you lost, you’re going to work your little asses off to make sure our clientele is happy.”

“What clientele?” little J.J. asked, but Tyler had an idea who they’d be serving.

“You, you, you, you and you,” the bouncer said, pointing at five of the little guys, the last of which was Dwayne Johnson. He wagged his middle finger, motioning for them to approach. The little guys did so cautiously, still obviously unsettled in their new shrunken bodies and shifting uncomfortably in their club-issued clothes. The bouncer grinned down at “the Rock” with a smirk: “Think I’m gonna start calling you ‘The Pebble,’” he chuckled. The newly christened pebbled fumed quietly but showed no other signs of defiance. “You little fucks are going to be Group 1, bussing tables tonight. You’ll find an apron and some bustubs this way,” he said, motioning toward a sideroom behind them. “You run around, you grab empty glasses, you clean ashtrays, and you keep your scrawny little asses moving.”

“I’m not bussing any tables!” the Pebble said. His new voice was just as reedy as the rest of him, high-pitched and weak the way all of them surely felt.

The bouncer folded his arms and bent at the waist, leaning in until he was nose-to-nose with the defiant Pebble, who, to his credit, didn’t back away. Then the bouncer held up two fingers and gave the Pebble a shove. The little guy flew and yelped when he hit the ground. “For the record, that took no effort at all. You wanna see what happens when I actually put some muscle into motivating you?” He casually flexed a bicep and, as he collected himself from the floor, the Pebble eyed the big arm jealously, glancing sadly down at his own bony frame. He walked off with the other five toward their new jobs for the evening.

The bouncer then pointed out five more shrunken guys, one of whom was Tyler, and called them forward. “Group 2! You fucks are gonna be waiters. You think you can handle taking an order and carrying a drink without fucking it up?”

Tyler gritted his teeth. When they’d walked in the door, the bouncer had been a foot shorter than him. Little muscleheads like that always got antsy when actual giants like Tyler, who was 6’6” and 325 pounds until his size was stolen from him, were around. Guys like this bouncer were last picked in gym class, overlooked when guys like Tyler basked in adoration as football celebs in high school, and buried their feelings of inadequacy with a gym membership and some roids. He remembered the way the bouncer shifted his feet uncomfortably when Tyler had given him a head nod and a fist bump back when he was big. Now that the tables had been turned, the bouncer was clearly getting off on it.

“I’m not serving drinks. You can’t make us do this,” Tyler said. The bouncer grinned again, entirely unthreatened. He casually strode up to Tyler, hands on his hips, then grabbed a handful of Tyler’s shirt, sending him for a ride as he started curling the former lineman easily as if he were barely a warmup. Then he dropped little Tyler in a heap.

“I’m pretty sure you’re gonna do exactly what I fucking tell you to, you little worm,” the bouncer said. “Follow Daphne here, she’ll give you your trays and if you ever want to be a big man again, you’d better be flawless out there. Got it?”

As he followed Daphne out of the room, Tyler looked back at J.J., who was in the remaining group. The bouncer addressed the last five little guys. “You unlucky little twerps are gonna be group 3, and let me tell you… You’re going to be having more fun than anybody tonight!” Daphne led them through a swinging door, so Tyler never got to hear what the third group would be doing.

With a tray in his hand and a towel over his arm, Tyler gulped hard as he prepared himself to walk back out to the club where this had been done to him to work as an actual employee. He kept tripping over his own feet and bumping into things, which seemed ridiculous considering he took up about a fifth of the space he used to. He’d never felt so clumsy in his life, and he wondered if, with his size, his athletic prowess had been siphoned away too.

One of the other guys in group 2 turned to Tyler after they’d been given their instructions. He spoke with a thick Russian-sounding accent and had an undeniably pretty face despite being built like a tiny bird. “My name is Alexey,” he said, extending a wispy hand. “I was… I am, that is, a bodybuilder.”

Tyler nodded. He remembered Alexey introducing himself earlier, a freakish display of perfectly carved muscular mass. He remembered seeing Alexey’s hugeness bulging even through his suit. Despite being much shorter than Tyler, he had still been undeniably massive, albeit in a different way, and Tyler had been momentarily awed by the man’s size. Now the two of them combined probably weighed as much as the busty woman giving them condescending instructions about how to carry martini glasses on a tray.

“I’m Tyler,” he replied quietly. “I play in the NFL. We met before.”

Alexey’s eyes went wide as he eyed the little man before him. Tyler’s self-consciousness spiked and he tried to hide behind his tray.

“Hopefully they end up putting you back the way you were before,” Alexey whispered as he side-eyed Daphne’s lesson in bottle service. “You won’t be playing football against school-children with that body, let alone full grown men.”

The comment stung, and Tyler momentarily imagined a group of backpack-wearing twelve-year-olds accosting Alexey and him, in their new weakling bodies, on the street. He imagined getting shoved around by kids who hadn’t even hit puberty yet and being unable to do anything about it. He shuddered and redirected his attention on Daphne, determined to do whatever he had to to get back to normal.

The rooftop club was now hazy with cigar smoke, which caused Tyler to grimace before remembering Daphne’s command to, “Smile! At all times!” Cigars were what got them into this situation.

Earlier in the evening, Tyler and his older brother Tony (who was half his size) were offered cigars by one of the waitresses (was it Daphne? Tyler hadn’t even paid her any attention). The woman had specifically handed one to Tyler and a different one to Tony. He’d gotten a buzz of the smoke almost immediately, and a few puffs later wondered if it had been laced with something as his heart pounded and every inch of him tingled. Then smoke started pouring out of his mouth, even after he’d set the cigar down. Tyler choked and burped and as more smoke billowed from him, his body just deflated. He hadn’t been able to believe what was happening, could barely see anything through the thick plumes, but his pants fell to the ground, his still-buckled belt clanking loudly.

He had heard his brother next to him, barely visible through the fog, huffing desperately like he was out of breath. Now Tyler knew what was going on: the smoke had been his size, and Tony had been trying to breathe it in. He heard Tyler’s clothes tearing to shreds and hadn’t recognize the goliath next to him until he smiled, and he knew it was a gigantic, uber-muscular version of his brother grinning at him.

Tyler felt foolish, now, that he hadn’t suspected anything had been up, from the mysterious invitation to the club (specifically naming Tony, his relatively unknown brother) to the fact that the only guests to the club were men in pairs.

As Tyler headed to table 32 (as he’d been directed) Tyler glanced up at a gigantic black man whose chiseled muscular frame bulged out of a tight black v-neck. The body looked unfamiliar, but the face was absolutely Kevin Hart, who had been accompanying the Rock when they’d shown up. Tyler watched as the now huge Kevin patted his shrunken buddy, now known as the Pebble, as he patiently emptied an ashtray and retrieved a napkin from the ground.

On his way he passed by Alexey who was pouring champagne for a behemoth of a man who Tyler guessed was probably the short older gentleman Alexey had introduced as his coach earlier in the evening. The coach yanked Alexey’s tray out of his hand and held it up out of the diminutive former bodybuilder’s reach. A busty redhead fawned over the coach’s swollen frame, petting his meaty balloon pecs as he alternated bouncing them.

Tyler knew who was going to be at table 32, even though he didn’t recognize the absolute brick shithouse waiting there when he arrived: it was his brother Tony, having added all of Tyler’s stolen brawn to his own body. The two women snuggled up to him in his private booth would have never given him a second glance an hour ago. Tony didn’t even look up as Tyler approached.

“Can I get you something to drink,” said Tyler too quietly; none of the trio reacted. Tyler cleared his throat and tried again.

“Sorry little fella,” Tony chuckled at him. His voice had dropped an octave in the transformation, now an intimidating rumble. “What are you thinking, ladies? Shots?”

Tyler stood there as the woman ran their hands over Tony’s massive physique. Tyler couldn’t be sure (from his new size, literally everyone he had seen seemed humongous outside of the shrunken athletes) but he thought Tony may have been considerably bigger than even Tyler had been before. He had never seen a human so large and dense, and being near someone so massive felt so troublingly unfamiliar that the hair on the back of Tyler’s neck stood up.

“Tony!” Tyler said indignantly. “What the fuck!”

Tony turned from the beautiful woman nibbling on his ear, his mouth dropping open. “Shit, Tyler, is that YOU?” He stood up so quickly his wide frame nearly flipped the table.

Staring up at Tony, Tyler felt his knees going weak. Tony had to be at least 6’8” tall, and if Tyler had to estimate he would have clocked the beast in at nearly 400 pounds. The smile on Tony’s face was playful and mocking, and Tyler quietly seethed.

“You fucking did this to me!” Tyler said.

“Just for a little bit!” Tony said. “Check me out, I’m fucking gigantic!”

Tyler dropped his tray and clenched his fists but a combination of rage and fear muzzled him.

“Ladies, this is my little bro, Tyler,” Tony said, gesturing to the women who shifted in their seats, waiting for their herculean mountain of masculinity to get back within range. “He plays in the NFL!” Tony said. Then he shrugged. “Well, not lately, clearly!”

“Is he gonna get us something to drink or what?” one of the women asked.

“Tony are you fucking kidding me? Were you in on this the whole time?”

Tony shrugged his shoulders, which seemed nearly four feet wide. “Dude, it’s no big deal! I didn’t really think it was real at first, but… dude, they’ll put everything back later! Just let me have a little fun first!” He pounded his fists on his broad chest eliciting some dense meaty thumps. “Listen, Tyler, buddy, I gotta tell you,” Tony said, lowering his voice, “right now things are kind of out of my hands. They said if you don’t cooperate you’re not getting turned back. So just do what they ask and it’ll all be over soon. Can’t be too hard, right?”

Hands shaking, Tyler picked up his tray and took their order (three glasses of champagne and three shots of Fernet) and walked back toward the bar. Tyler kept his eyes down, aware that all around him men who were a quarter of their usual size were being bullied by men whose forms were swollen with pilfered mass.

Tyler nearly ran into Daphne, who had stepped into his path. “It appears we have gotten a complaint about you!” she said, grabbing Tyler’s shirt collar and dragging him through a side door. He was helpless to resist, his feet barely touching the ground.

“I thought we made this easy for you,” she said once the door slammed behind them. Tyler looked around. Wherever they were looked like a long hallway lined with a series of black curtains. “You had one of the easier jobs and you couldn’t even handle that. I’m afraid we have a two strike policy, and this was strike one. One more time and you’d better get used to looking the way you do now!”

Tyler shuddered at the thought.

“Head down that hall. Open the curtain and go in there. It looks like you’ll be joining Group 3 from now on.”

Tyler did as he was told and was shocked to enter a darkened room. When his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn’t alone: J.J. stood there, his bony frame clad only in a pair of tiny briefs. He was out of breath and sweating profusely.

“Tyler? That you?” he said. The two hugged, something they never would have done at their fully-grown sizes.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asked. “What’s Group 3 do?”

J.J. shivered. “You gotta get undressed,” he said. “Just down to your skivvies. Then some guys are gonna come in. I guess all that testosterone in their systems--what they had before plus what they stole--makes these guys extra… horny…” J.J. made a reviled face as he shared the info, his voice just a whisper. “We have to take care of them,” J.J. said. “It’s best to get it done quickly. You hesitate and they get demanding.”

Tyler stood there, unblinking, not believing what he was expected to do.

“Get undressed! Quick! You only get two strikes!” J.J. said. “I already got one. Man, I can’t be stuck like this!”

Tyler hurriedly undressed, ashamed of his blubbery body. The briefs left nothing to the imagination, not that there was much inside them anymore.

Tyler couldn’t believe it when a door on the opposite wall opened up. His massive brother stomped in. Each footstep made Tyler’s teeth shatter.

“All right guys,” Tony said as he undressed hastily. “Feel like I’m gonna have to fire off two, so get to working.” As his pants dropped, an impossibly huge dick sprang out: well over a foot, much thicker around than Tyler’s arm now. Undressed Tony looked even bigger. Every inch of him was rock-solid and hairy, every muscle rippling and bulging with the slightest movement. It seemed like an entire lap around his hugeness would be a quarter of a mile.

“Oh, izzat you Tyler?” Tony said, obviously drunk and absent-mindedly stroking his massive cock into a steel pole. “Man, this will be easy for you! Just remember all the times we used to jerk off together way back.”

J.J. and Tyler exchanged anxious glances. Neither of them wanted another strike, but neither of them knew how they were going to be able to satiate the appetites of the musclebull before them.