Trash Talk (Patreon)

Normally this place--an arena of sorts, for these human gladiators--was a hotbed of strength and confidence. Vidras couldn’t look directly at it, it shone so bright. All those big powerful men,  suiting up and striking each other with all of the force in their huge, durable bodies… Everything  Vidras was summoned to this dimension to eliminate, in such massive quantities that it made  his head hurt and his nose bleed. He was still adapting to having a flesh body, couldn’t wait to  get back to the ephemeral planes where he had true power--having to consume food, expel it as  horrifying waste, slip into a fugue each night to recharge… all of it was too much. But he had a  job to do.

The air had grown cold, the skies unforgiving with their regular crystallized assaults that stung  Vidras’ face, accumulating in harsh piles that made travel by foot--which he was still getting  used to--ludicrously difficult. He could fly if he wanted to, but it was an unnecessary waste of his  finite power. If he drained his abilities too early he’d be trapped here for longer than necessary,  a most undesirable fate. He would find his targets, strike quickly, and then escape this mortal  coil as quickly as he could.

His summoner was a powerful female soul, a young woman who’d left her home and family to  come here to this place of “education”--a University, they called it--to mature into a more  powerful form. The entire process seemed clunky and slow, especially for a being with as much  power as this young woman held. The spell which brought Vidras here had been rough, fueled  mostly by raw emotion, wielded clumsily and without any skill. There was a good chance this  summoner had no idea the power she held, or what she’d unleashed. Regardless, after her soul  cried out with rage, Vidras had appeared in his--by human standards--attractive, dark-haired  form with a clear task at hand: grant this summoner peace by punishing two young men who  victimized her. Of the two men, one was powerful (in a brutish meat-machine sort of way) and  the other was beautiful.

The summoner had felt love for the beautiful one, blindly drank his lies (and the cheap wine he  fed her) and then, in a moment of intoxicated weakness, fell prey to the man and his roommate  who took advantage of her physically, stripping her of her dignity and her innocence, callously  kicking her out the next day.

Vidras didn’t consider these beings anything more than lesser organisms, slightly organized  animals, inconsequential in the great scheme of existence, but the emotions that had brought  him forth imprinted upon him. He couldn’t escape the summoner’s pain; it stained him. He  loathed these men and wished to give them exactly what they deserved.

Their names had been imprinted upon Vidras’ mind as soon as he’d been called forth; they  echoed in his head whenever it was quiet. He could always sense them, seeing their tainted

purplish spirits even with his eyes closed.

Now, most of the “students” in this place were gone, the other powerful gladiators with them, but  for some reason the two targets stuck behind. Eager to go home, Vidras went to them that  night--they were staying in place, repeating pointless movements in an effort to increase their  physical prowess like the unevolved imbeciles that they were--and gathered his power for a  most fitting justice. He couldn’t wait to be rid of this disgusting form, their uninhabitable plane,  the fetid stink of his summoner’s grief and rage and the putrid taste of these men’s essences.  Thankfully he’d be going home soon, and these targets would be suffering in a prison of their  own making.

*

Derrick set the team’s squat record that night: 767 pounds in one clean effortless press. Sadly  their strength coach wasn’t present, nor were any of their teammates, so the achievement  wouldn’t be recorded. “No fucking sweat,” Derrick said when his roommate Lukas, their team’s  quarterback, pointed this fact out. “I’ll do all that plus 10 pounds when they’re all back.”

Derrick couldn’t wait to see the look on the big overfed linemen when they got back and saw  what he could do. As a linebacker, Derrick’s athleticism relied on both his strength and his  speed, while the porky linemen literally made a career out of being heavy and tough to move.  Squat records were linemen territory, and Derrick was proud to have taken it over. In fact he  was strutting around the nearly empty gym despite the screaming in his thick legs, flexing his  big body in the mirrors in a celebration of his own strength and size.

Lukas finished his 100th situp on the incline bench and unhooked his legs, hopping to the gym’s  padded floor. “Seriously, bro,” he said, toweling some sweat from his handsome face. “If you  ditched some of that unnecessary size you’d be even better on the field. Scouts notice that shit,  buddy. You’re jeopardizing your own future.”

Derrick stood next to Lukas and faced the mirror with him, comparing their bodies. They were  the same height, 6’3”, but Derrick bulged in all directions with beautifully carved muscle. He had  the build of a bodybuilder despite the fact that his coaches and teammates told him less bulky  legs would let him move fast. “I don’t give a fuck,” Derrick said, stomping the floor and flexing  and wobbling his bulky quads. “Senior year, season’s almost over, I’m crossing over to  bodybuilding. Good luck getting tossed around a field--if you even make it to the pros.”

Lukas shrugged, unimpressed by Derrick’s size or strength. He was a skill player, and skill was  something he had in abundance. “Whatever, buddy. Chicks don’t want that some overblown  musclehead.” Lukas’ constant strut was fueled by massive amounts of confidence. He’d become  aware of his own beautiful features, curly brown hair, blue eyes with soft lashes and granite  cheekbones--when he was very young. Women swooned over him regularly and had his entire  life. Certainly he was muscular--a lifetime of athletics had given him that--but not in Derrick’s  absurd, cartoonish proportions. His body was solid, completely devoid of even an ounce of fat,  and aesthetically perfect and he knew it.

In the showers Derrick shouted over the sound of running water. “Dude, what was the name of  that dumb bitch we tagteamed?”

“Don’t remember,” Lukas said. He’d nearly forgotten the episode, a post-game drunken  escapade with a dumb girl he’d been stringing along and his horny-as-fuck roommate, but all of  a sudden he found himself trying to remember the girl’s face. And her name. This wasn’t right;  he plowed through women left and right and never gave them a second thought, but for some  reason her face was clearly in her head. He turned the faucet to cold, hoping the icy water on  his face would clear his head.

“Rebecca,” Lukas and Derrick suddenly said in tandem. Both of them were shocked to  remember, even more shocked that they couldn’t stop thinking about her. They were both silent  as they shut off the faucets and toweled off. Derrick and Lukas were each afraid to admit it, but  they were both feeling inescapably guilty. It was a feeling they couldn’t get away from, one they  each hated.

“Did you fucking hear that?” Derrick said after he’d pulled his boxer-briefs over his huge thighs  and his bulging ass. “Is someone else in the locker room?” His head craned around. “Anybody  here?” he called.

“We’re the only ones here,” Lukas said. “Tony gave me the key to lock up after we’re done.  Front door’s locked. Nobody’s getting in the front door without magic powers or something.”

Derrick, unsatisfied with the explanation and sure he heard something, stomped around the  locker room, trying to find the intruder he knew was there. He yanked open the door, peered out  into the gym: nobody.

“See?” Lukas said. “Relax.”

“Could’ve sworn somebody was here,” Derrick said, pulling a tight shirt over his bulky torso.  “Somebody spying on us or some shit.”

“What, you think somebody wants to see your overgrown ass and your little dick?” Lukas joked,  poking Derrick in a protruding pec. “Please. That whole frame needs some serious redistribution  of size--and maybe it wouldn’t kill you to quit chugging protein every 90 minutes.”

“Fuck you, pal,” Derrick said, shoving Lukas away. “If you ever touched heavy weights maybe  you could put some fucking muscle on that frame. Skinny bitch.”

“Overgrown fucking caveman.”

“You wish you could have some of this muscle, don’t you?”

“You wish you could see your dick when you look down,” Lukas said. It was true: Derrick  couldn’t see past the shelf of his pecs no matter how hard he tried, and he smirked as he  demonstrated it and flexed each pec separately, then in tandem.

Then something happened. The air felt electric. They became acutely aware of the sound of  dripping water--one of them had failed to turn a faucet completely off--and the rhythmic sound  slowed dramatically, then stopped. Neither of them could move. Each man felt like a prisoner in  his own flesh.

Then it was over. The faucet dripping began again, they could each move, and Lukas reached  in and shut the water completely off. “I’m beat,” he said. “Let’s get fed and get home. I’m gonna  pass right out I think.”

Derrick nodded his head, grabbed his gym bag and started to leave with his roommate, but  each of them had goosebumps he couldn’t explain or ignore.

Lukas shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. He felt… wrong. The seat belt was too tight… no, the steering wheel felt too close. He adjusted each, glanced over at Derrick (who seemed lost in thought), then focused on driving. “I’m… fucking starving,” he groaned, his stomach rumbling audibly to accentuate the thought. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead, an agonizing tickle that threatened his attempts to act like everything was fine. Everything was not fine, he knew, but the feelings of anxiety and doubt were foreign to him.

“Your fucking car’s too small,” Derrick grunted.

“You’re too fucking big, roidhead,” Lukas snapped back. He took comfort in the normality of shit-talking his buddy.

“No, it’s like… the ceiling’s too low,” Derrick said. After the words left his mouth, his eyes darted around in a panic. He wasn’t quite sure why he had said such a thing. The feeling that had elicited the response was so alien to him. “Just get home. Drive faster!”

Lukas did just that, screeching into the parking spot outside their apartment. He stumbled out the driver’s side door. Why the hell did he feel so clumsy? On the other side of the car, Derrick faced the same struggles, moving as if he were experiencing his body for the first time.

“I want some pizza,” Lukas blurted out. Derrick shook his head as they walked inside.

“I’m actually… not that hungry,” he said.

“I thought you had to, ‘eat big to get big,’” Lukas jeered.

“I’m full,” Derrick said, one hand moving to his muscled abdomen. “Protein shake… filled me up, I guess.” He looked just as surprised as Lukas when he said it.

Lukas rushed to the kitchen where he pulled out all of Derrick’s bulking meals–mashed potatoes, pasta, and rice in huge tupperware containers. He lined them all up on the kitchen table with no concern for the fact that they were his roommate’s. He had the impulse to eat with his hands, but resisted it and got a ladle from the drawer. “This’ll do,” he said, shoveling pasta into his mouth. Before he was done swallowing, he was already scanning the room for more. Derrick had oatmeal, he knew, and while it seemed too flimsy to satisfy his overwhelming hunger, he knew several scoops of gainer shake from the 5-gallon tub on the fridge would thicken it right up.

Upstairs, Derrick stripped down again and took a look at his bulging body in the mirror. Coach was right, he thought; all that muscle mass was unwieldy. Sure, his natural athleticism and years of experience and training had compensated for his thick, massive limbs, but imagine how much more agile he could be if he shed some of the bulk?

He chuckled, dismissing the thought. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Who fucking cares? I dominate on the field, and it’s only for a few more months anyway.” He flexed his lats, his mass spreading to fill the expanse of the mirror. “Bodybuilding career is ahead,” he thought. “That’s all I care about.” He couldn’t wait to fill his frame up with muscle, push the boundaries of the space a human body could take up… but one word kept popping into his head: “yoga.”

Stan, their strength coach, was constantly preaching the benefits of flexibility, shouting that foofy little word at them all the time. “Fuck,” Derrick thought. “I’m still flexible.” He bent at the waist, intending to touch the floor, but his bulky limbs got in the way. His hands stopped two feet from the floor. The thickly built man groaned and reached, his own body mass pressing against itself, his rock-hard hamstrings strong enough to move massive weights but unable to unclench.

“Dammit!” the athlete groaned, unaccustomed to failure. He took a deep breath and reached, hearing loud cracks from his legs and arms accompanied by sudden bursts of relief, as if a massive amount of pressure had just been lifted from his constantly aching body. Then, success! Not only had he touched the floor, but the tension in his body was gone. He felt loose as taffy, but as he stood up, he gasped as he realized his head was near the ceiling. He stared down at his body, its long, willowy parts looked wholly unfamiliar.

Downstairs, Lukas sat back in his chair, hand resting on his stomach. He’d eaten everything, barely taking the edge off his hunger, but yet his stomach hadn’t distended as he’d expected. “Figured I’d have a big old food baby right now,” he said, patting his stomach, but if anything, it had merely gotten denser, the abs feeling more defined. “Fuck, am I getting ab veins?” he said, feeling a newfound vascularity even through his t-shirt.

When he hopped to his feet, he was horrified to see that he was barely tall enough to see over the counter… and his whole body felt so HEAVY! With every moment, he heard more fabric in his clothes tearing. Shockingly, while his legs were bursting the seams of his sweatpants, they hung far past his feet, simultaneously too long and too tight. His shirt was stretched to its limits, but as he reached down to pull it off, he let out a surprising belch that shook his whole body (and practically the kitchen too).

“L-lukas?” Derrick stammered from the hallway, his voice full of an uncertainty that had never been there before.

“Derrick… don’t come in here!” Lukas barked as he stared down at a pec shelf so prominent he could have balanced one of the empty tupperware containers on it with ease. He felt like a little meteor of man, as if someone had taken him and squashed him down… and then pumped him to capacity. THere was no mystery about where they smorgasbord he’d just devoured had gone; his whole body felt hard and inflexible, like he was wearing too many layers of clothes. He took a few steps, shocked about how dramatically the width of his quads had widened his stance.

Into the kitchen walked an incredibly tall and slender man. Lukas gasped and backed away until he realized the face at the top of it all was, without a doubt, Derrick–but the rest of him looked as if he’d been stretched like warm chewing gum. He had to duck just to get through the doorway! His stringer tank top ended midway down his long torso now, his shorts billowing around his withered legs. More shocking than Derrick’s change in form was the fact that Lukas had to stare nearly straight up to look his friend in the face. Just twenty minutes before, he’d been a full head taller than his teammate.

“I just… started to stretch… and kept stretching…” Derrick said, his voice wavering. “I look like a fucking basketball player!”

“You couldn’t play basketball,” Lukas said, his thick thighs forcing his gait into a waddle. He reached out and encircled his thumb and forefinger around Derrick’s bony leg. “You don’t have any muscle.”

“Quit it–” Derrick said, slapping at Lukas touch, but the hand lacked any strength. Earlier that day, Derrick had playfully shoved him and nearly sent him through the wall. Despite the discomfort of his compact little body, Lukas laughed at Derrick’s sudden weakness.

“How’d we get like this?” Lukas said. He struggled to pull of his shirt, but Derrick reached down and helped him peel it off. “HOLY FUCK!” Every small movement made the incredibly ripped mass bulge and crunch. As his left pec twitched, he was mystified by the fact that he could clearly see every individual muscle fiber–and it was all so HUGE! His arms were the same; he didn’t think he could tie his own shoes now, but they looked to be about 25 inches around. He was mystified by the massive peak of his biceps, so high he could touch it with his fingertips as he flexed.

“We’re fucking freaks now!” Derrick said, gawking at his gangly form. He’d been struggling to hold up his shorts, but he let them fall, revealing that his formerly stumpy, thick cock had stretched just like the rest of him. It dangled two-thirds of the way down his thigh now. Lukas found himself mystified by the pendulous addition to his form.

“Your fucking cock…” Lukas said, pointing a thickly muscled paw.

“Who fucking cares? Chicks don’t want a guy who looks like this!” Derrick said.

Lukas glanced down at his own body, suddenly hyperaware of his width. He glanced at the doorway, then tried to charge through it to test a theory. As he’d suspected, his massive delts scraped against its sides. “Fuck,” he said. “I can’t even get through doors. Chicks don’t want a guy who looks like this, either!”

“What… what happened to YOUR cock?” Derrick conjectured. The anxiety he’d felt at his sudden nudity, the exposure of his horrifying new body, had lifted. As much as he hated looking like this (and feeling so WEAK!) he was happy to let Lukas see it. And he wanted to see Lukas’ new body, too. All of it.

“I… I dunno,” Lukas said, fumbling with the drawstring on his sweatpants. It was so hard to maneuver at this size! He had to twist his nearly inflexible midsection just to reach, and then only with one hand. The stumpy little fingers were too clumsy to untie the knot, as well.

“Let me,” Derrick said, yanking the sweats down. From behind, Derrick basked in the two massive globes of perfect muscle Lukas’ ass had turned into, two beautiful masses of absurdly pumped-up muscle that he suddenly… he couldn’t believe he was thinking this… wanted to sink his face into.

“Fuck… FUCK!” Lukas said as he struggled to see his own dick. His pecs were too massive, and his arms couldn’t reach it, either. Hell, he couldn’t even clap his hands if he wanted to now! He flashed on an image of his body earlier in the day–tall, lean, the picture of athleticism and all-American good looks. Now he was squashed down into this little… muscle dwarf! And he couldn’t even see his own cock!

“What happened to it?” Derrick asked as he watched his buddy stress, admiring the back msucles that undulated and rippled as Lukas clenched his upper body in frustration.

“I can’t… I can’t even see it!” he exploded as he spun around (or at least, wobbled around, his melon-sized pecs bouncing with each footstep).

Derrick was silent a moment, then he burst out with laughter at Lukas’ thick cudgel of a dick, only barely protruding from his blonde bush of hair. He remembered countless times that Lukas had strutted around hte locker rooms after a game, swinging his hips, proudly brandishing his huge, beautiful tool. Now it, like the rest of him, had compressed down to a monstrous little thing.

“Aw, it’s cute,” Derrick said, reaching out with his wispy arm, tickling it with his skeletal fingers. Lukas’ body shuddered at the contact, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Don’t… fuck, don’t…” Lukas suddenly toppled backward, his back and glutes cushioning his fall. He struggled to right himself like a toppled turtle. “Hey… hey, help me up!”

“Oh, I’ll help you,” Derrick said, rubbing his thumb over the squat head of Lukas cock. The muscular little body flexed and shook as Lukas’ face became one of absolute ecstasy. “You like that, little man?”

Lukas tried to reach for Derrick’s hand but couldn’t maneuver enough to do so. “We gotta… we gotta figure out what happened…” Something else distracted him. “Fuck, my glutes… they’re really… sensitive…” Just lying with them pressed against the floor was enough to stimulate his aching, hungry body… but now the hunger was lower, deeper, in a place he’d never thought of before.

*

Vidras sighed as he felt relief for the first time upon assuming this mortal form. He sat outside the two cursed athletes’ abode, and while he coudln’t physically see them, he could sense what was happening: the tall, stretched one was now mounting the thick, compressed one. Each of them was horriifed at the sensations they were reveling in, but loving them more with every moment that passed. Hours later, the two former paragons of masculinity would find themselves drenched in each others’ sweat, and other fluids, sticky and exhausted and craving each other’s transmogrified body.

In the following weeks, the two freaks would have to approach their teammates–one staring down at them, horrified at his fragility; the other eye-level with their navels, getting pats on the head like a little muscular pet. Their coaches would dismiss them from the team, and in time they’d forget their lives as powerful men, finding comfort only in each other.

The summoner’s wish was granted; her name, of course, was wiped from their memory. In time, they’d come to invite other men into their escapades. These men, attractive and uncursed, would laugh at the two freaks, but that would make their time together altogether sweeter. So important was it that the two “tag team” the summoner; now, they got to spend the rest of their lives finding solace only sexual acts they performed together. And the only cure either would ever find for the disgust at his own form lay in the form of the cursed man next to him.