Brandon Twice
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Chaotic
🕑 Added 2020-10-14 06:13:39 +0000 UTC[6 word request: Testing Assorted Potions on Fraternity House]
Yar scanned the musty campus bookstore for Perry, the hot fratguy who had managed the store since his freshman year. Perry was one of the yummy Beta boys--their vice-president, if Yar remembered his hot fratboy statistics correctly--and, other than the fact that he needed The Tempest for an assignment due in two days, was the only reason Yar ever set foot inside the cramped little building. The only guy working was some no-neck cro-magnon barely wearing any clothing.
Yar whistled as the door slammed shut behind him, causing the little bell to tinkle. The guy had a massive box hoisted up on one shoulder and a twenty-book-high stack on his chest. The big hulk leaned back, keeping the books balanced against his bulging physique, as he hustled past. “Be with you in a minute,” he said in a low, husky voice. Yar licked his lips. His disappointment about missing Perry was gone as soon as he saw the big blow-up-doll looking dude.
It wasn’t the guy’s round, full muscles, or his shiny tanned skin that caught Yar’s eyes; it was the fact that he only wore a skimpy pink stringer tee and tiny purple shorts that looked tattooed onto his bulging glutes. The expanse of veiny quad sweep as the brute hoisted his haul up overhead, placing the box, and then the stack of books, on high shelves, had Yar transfixed. It took Yar a moment to tuck his tongue back into his mouth before the musclehead turned to help him.
“What can I, uh… get for you, uh, sir?”
It looked like the big beast--who adorably slid his glasses up his nose as he spoke--had to concentrate to get past every third word. There was nothing better than a bulging, brain-challenged stud asking Yar what he needed.
“The Tempest,” Yar said, his mouth disturbingly dry. “Used if you can…”
The big hunk found the book almost immediately--as if, despite his clearly sluggish synapses, he knew the store well. Yar locked his gaze on the big hunk’s eyes as he ran the transaction through the register. They were an icy blue, just like Perry’s--although the thick bicep that bulged every time the stud rang the register began to erase Perry from Yar’s mind.
“Here you go,” the stud said, bagging the book and handing it over. Their fingertips touched. Yar got tingles.
“Thanks, uh…” Yar scanned the brute for his nametag. There wasn’t much material for it to pin to, and the stringer tank strap it hung from had twisted around. The big man had to flip it around to show it.
It said Perry.
Yar felt like he’d been slapped. “Perry? Your name’s Perry?”
The big dope narrowed his eyes. “Y’know, you look familiar,” he said in his deep voice. “You ever hang out at Beta house? That’s probably where I’ve seen you.”
Yar left the store with his stomach clenched. The last time he had hung out at the Beta house was three weeks ago. He had seen Perry that night, looking stunning as usual in a dress shirt with a bow-tie. That same shirt might just barely fit around the new Perry’s massive quads, if he squeezed it tightly.
The only thing that could turn pretty, studious Perry into a hulking smoothbrain was a potion Yar was actually familiar with; one he’d mixed himself. Usually he kept a small quantity in a green vial in the back of his closet. Just that morning he’d discovered the vial was missing.
***
--Hey Clint bro what’s up listen how fucked up was I at Beta house last time I was there
--YAR BUDDY DUDE wassup wait which night
--Hawaiian party. You guys had sand on the party room floor and the place stunk like seaweed
--Oh shit yea forgot about that. That was awhile ago. Yeah you were slammered
--Listen I remember selling a bunch of weed at your house that night but did I bring anything else over
--LOL U seriuz?
--Kinda deadly serious, yeah
--Fuck you don’t remember giving me those bottles? I still can’t thank you enough bro you should have charged me way more
--Drop what you’re doing. I’m on my way over.
***
An upperclassman Yar didn’t recognize--a lanky blonde guy--answered the door. Usually that was the job of a pledge. Yar was relieved he wasn’t also made foggy-headed and rippling with muscle from Yar’s “Himbo Potion.”
“I’m here to see Clint,” Yar said. He couldn’t remember Clint’s stupid pledge name--Swizzle? Swoosh? Something dumb that made no sense. He hoped his real name would be enough.
The blonde bowed his head and stepped aside. “Right this way, sir,” he said. “He’s been expecting you.”
Yar passed by a heavyset Beta brother on the floor, scrubbing the tiles by hand. He wasn’t a pledge Yar recognized. When the brother looked up, he realized it wasn’t a pledge at all--but another upperclassmen.
Yar shivered. There were two bottles missing from his stash: along with the Himbo Formula was the Wyrmroot Philter, which suppressed the will of men--making them, for example, willing to do all the work of a pledge despite having been a brother for several years.
The room the blonde directed Yar to wasn’t where Clint usually stayed; it was upstairs, in the Senior Suites. Yar rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door. Perry and the President of the house, Luke Wilcox, used to live in this suite. Clearly, Clint had slipped them some Wyrmroot and told them to pack their shit.
Surprisingly, both Luke and Perry were still in the suite: while Clint sat in the center of the plush couch with his Nintendo Switch controllers in hand, Perry stood behind him, intently focused on massaging Clint’s shoulders. Luke, on the other hand, was on all fours on the floor, functioning as an ottoman. A broad-shouldered wrestler (who now paled in comparison to Perry’s bloated musclebod), Luke’s decently sturdy back probably made a great surface to rest against. His dark eyes stared at the wall, completely blank.
No one acknowledged Yar as he entered the room. “Clint, my boy,” Yar said. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, man! I mean, it’s all thanks to you!” Clint misjudged a jump in Mario Galaxy and tossed his controllers aside in frustration. “Hey, Perry, turn off the TV and go get me a sandwich, will you?” he said.
Perry did as he was told--not blindly, like a zombie, but with zeal, as if he couldn't wait to satisfy Clint. Clearly Perry had taken a hit of both of the formulas.
“So, y’know,” Yar began, although his voice trailed off as his eyes fell on Luke. “Can he go somewhere else? I don’t feel entirely comfortable having this conversation in front of him.”
Clint laughed, his chubby cheeks jiggling. “Dude, it’s so cool! I gave him a double dose, so whatever I say to him becomes real. He doesn’t just think he’s a stool right now--he really is!”
Yar shook his head. It was absurd watching normies play with his chaos magic tools, like watching a monkey mess around with a nuclear bomb. Truly, Luke WASN’T a stool, he’d just had his core essence shifted into one through aggressive force-of-will. If Clint wanted Luke to be a stool, Yar had a formula for that--not that he would be offering it up anytime soon.
“Watch this,” Clint said, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he stared at the immobile frat president. “Luke, you’re a carpet,” he stated. Luke’s rippling arms went limp instantly and the built Senior collapsed to the floor, his eyes somehow emptier than before.
“Look, Clint,” Yar said, taking a seat on the couch next to his husky friend. “I fucked up big time giving you those formulas. Chaos magic is… well, chaotic, and you can’t just be slinging it around your house like this.”
Clint thought for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “You told me when you gave them to me the point of chaos magic was to cause chaos.”
Yar shrugged. “True, but I was really drunk then. What I should have added is, only I am equipped to properly dole out the magnitude and the quality of that chaos. I can’t just have you enslaving your whole fraternity, or blowing up into super-sized fantasy dudes... “ He looked around. “Did you make anyone other than Perry a Himbo?”
Clint shook his head. “Nope. I wanted to use it on myself, but… Perry turned out really dumb, and I only used a drop, so…”
Yar nodded. “Yeah, that one’s potent. Anyway, I’ll refund your money and even throw in a bonus eighth of weed if you give those formulas back. We’ll just let the effects of what you’ve already done wear off, then… everything can go back to normal. Sound good?” Yar handed over the tightly-rolled back of dense greenery tucked into the wad of money. Clint considered both for a moment before rising from the couch and heading into his room, stepping over Luke on the floor.
“Well, I guess it was fun while it lasted,” Clint said from the other room. “I should get some serious deep cleaning done on the house before everyone regains their wills.”
“It doesn’t erase their memory if you only use one dose,” Yar advised. “So if I were you, I’d very certainly inform them that they are to feel okay about everything that happened or you’re going to have a mutiny on your hands.”
Clint approached with his fist held out. “Here’s the two bottles,” he said, placing them in Yar’s hands.
The green bottle, no bigger than a medicine dropper, was still nearly full (and thankfully tightly sealed). The Wyrmroot, a squat purple bottle, looked nearly empty.
“Damn, how much of this did you use?” Yar said, staring through the translucent glass bottle and shaking it.
By the time he noticed Clint’s other hand, which had been behind his back, it was too late: Clint pointed a small atomizer at his face and spritzed a puff of mist. Clint gasped, inhaling the mist, and swatted at the air. He choked, tasting the saccharine medicinal flavor of the Wyrmroot.
“You… fucker…” Clint said, blinking. Had it been diluted too much? Would it even affect a chaos mage?
“You’re going to help me take down the Omega house,” Clint informed Yar.
Yar intended to shake his head--and tell Clint that he could go fuck himself--but he just blinked and felt his thoughts turning to ways to help his buddy out. “What did you have in mind?”
“We’re going back to your dorm and we’re going to get all your little potions and we’re going to go on a rampage.”
Yar was powerless to the Philter. “Let’s get going,” he said, his body seeming to pilot itself.
***
“So I just smear this stuff all over me?” Clint asked as he examined the Moonstone Poultice. His skin shimmered like he was wearing glitter. “How much do I have to coat myself?”
“Just a good layer all over you,” Yar said. The Wyrmroot was starting to wear off, and while he was still compelled to do as he was told, his thoughts were starting to free. He couldn’t stop helping Clint, but he was able to think about what a fucking asshole he was.
Night had fallen, and the two huddled behind a bush at the back door of the Omega House. Tryp Costanzo, the Omega’s resident musclehead, came back from the gym just on time. Legend had it that Tryp weighed all his meals, took 30 different supplements a day, and even woke up in the middle of the night to eat tilapia before heading back to bed. The bald-headed junior’s flawless, rippling physique (while nowhere near as impressive as Perry’s mystically augmented muscles) was evidence that his extreme tactics seemed to work.
Tryp fumbled in his gym bag for his keys at the back door when Clint struck. He ran from the bush, freezing as the short but intimidatingly built Tryp turned around--for a moment, it seemed Clint forgot he was covered in Moostone Poultice. Tryp flexed his upper torso, beginning a question--”The fuck are you--”
His sentence was cut off as Clint leapt forward, hugging the shredded bodybuilder. Clint’s body seemed to liquefy, washing around Tryp’s and congealing almost instantly. From within Clint’s reshaping form, Yar could see the muscled Omega brother trying to struggle, but his struggles waned as Clint’s form seemed to digest him, blowing out into a beefy, muscular solid form once again.
The form produced by the two men’s merging was a whole head taller than Yar now, and mountainous like an NFL lineman; Clint’s doughy physique had settled in over Tryp’s granite musculature. Now he looked like he could flip a car with one hand.
“Holy shit!” Clint said. “Wow, it’s like… our clothes merged too.” Tryp’s sweatpants had expanded to fit the bigger body, and now had Clint’s cargo shorts’ pockets built in. His sweatshirt had gotten thinner and stretchier, like Clint’s t-shirt, and had the same salsa stain down the middle as well. “And holy fuck! Looks like I got both of our dicks!” His eyes went wide as he peered down the front of his sweatpants.
“But most importantly,” Yar said, trying to keep them on task, “you got his keys. So let’s get in the back way without anyone noticing.”
Despite Yar’s urging that they still needed to be stealthy, Clint, in his massive new form, couldn’t resist the urge to stomp around and flex his new massive muscles. “I think I might be bigger than that Mountain guy from Game of Thrones!” Clint said loudly.
Yar shushed him as he peered around a corner into an empty hallway.
In a hushed voice, Clint continued: “Dude, I can still hear Tryp inside my head. It’s like… he’s trying to take over, but he can’t! But if I concentrate I can make him quiet…”
Yar tried to walk lightly, but big Clint--who had to weigh over 350 pounds now--couldn’t muffle his thudding footsteps.
“Oh shit!” Clint exclaimed, grabbing Yar so hard the mage yelped. “Oh, sorry, bro, I guess I’m strong as fuck now, right? Anyway, I was gonna say, I can make him say whatever I want! I just made him say, ‘I like guys’ butts!’ “
The doorway to their right popped open and a guy so tall he had to duck to step through it emerged. He was built like a rower on the crew team--and while Clint was now easily four times wider, this tower of a man stood a good inch taller than him.
“The fuck are you guys doing here?” he said, crossing his well-muscled arms across his chest. Yar winced; nearly the entire Omega house was built like they’d been slipped one of Yar’s potions. All the guys who didn’t get the athletic scholarships they’d hoped for ended up Omega brothers. Luckily, even this massive guy was no threat to Clint now.
But instead of using his powerful new body, Clint popped the cap off a small bottle and squirted his adversary in the face.
“Man, that’s becoming your signature move,” Yar sneered as the tall Omega brother winced and fell backward. He wiped at his face frantically, but not quickly enough: his eyes went wide as he heard a sound like a balloon being inflated. His flesh shifted to rubber and his limbs bulged out in tube shapes. His mouth turned into a perfect circle as the light faded from his eyes; a moment later, his entire face was just painted on.
“Ha! A fucking blow-up doll!” Clint barked, kicking the now powerless inflatable man around the hall. “This guy’s name is Wendell. Dumb name for such a big dude! It’s funny how I know that. He and Tryp used to workout sometimes!” Clint yanked the plug out of Wendell’s inflation stem and snickered at the hiss of air as the now-inanimate man’s body collapsed into a flattened pile of painted rubber on the floor. Clint rolled up the deflated man slowly, starting with the feet, seeming to savor it as Wendell’s painted-on expression seemed truly shocked at what was happening with his body.
“You know, you could have probably punched him or something,” Yar said to his over-sized accomplice.
“You’re the one who said we needed to be quiet!” Clint said as he opened Wendell’s bedroom door and tossed the rolled-up stud back inside. “Next stop, the showers! It’s fucked, I know the whole layout of this house like I’ve lived here for years! It’s one floor up.”
“Let’s keep the blow-up dolls to a minimum, shall we?” Yar said.
Clint’s mischievous face got serious all of a sudden. “You’re getting a little mouthy, aren’t you?” he said, his hand reaching into his pocket.
Yar forced a smile. “C’mon, man, you didn’t tell me I couldn’t joke around!” That seemed enough for Clint, who continued down the hallway. Yar resolved to keep his commentary to himself. It was important Clint didn’t realize when the Wyrmwood wore off.
“Where is everyone?” Yar asked as they arrived at the showers without running into another Omega brother.
“They have mandatory library hours,” Clint said as he stomped into the big bathroom. Past the urinals was a massive shower stall with eight shower heads pointed in. “Tryp’s excused for them because of his GPA… Would you believe this fucking bodybuilder freak is actually wicked smart? Man, the ideas going through my head right now…”
Yar grimaced; the last thing Clint needed is intellect with which to steer his ideas.
“Same with Wendell,” Clint said as he slid on a rubber glove and opened up a jar. He scooped out two fingerfulls of a thick gel and started smearing it over a showerhead. “Although you can’t be too fucking smart if you end up an inanimate object!”
Yar couldn’t believe the way his casual use of chaos magic was starting to warp Clint’s personality. Before all of this, he’d been a pretty warm-hearted--but rather exceptionally bullied--freshman who just liked to drink a lot.
Yar stood by the door, listening for sounds outside. “So why is it you want vengeance on the Omegas so badly?” he asked.
“I wanted to pledge here,” Clint explained as he smeared another shower head with the viscous mystical jelly. “They told me I was a shoo-in. The night we were supposed to be inducted, they made us all do pushups. Really shit on me for only doing two.” He paused, as if reliving the memory. His newly thick, blocky facial features quivered. It looked strange seeing such a bull of a man so near tears. “Like, they didn’t have to be as fucking cruel as they were. Why not just show me the door and tell me to leave? It was like two hours of humiliation. And I put up with it because I thought it was a test, and if I go through it, I’d be in.”
“That’s one of about a dozen reasons I never got into this frat shit,” Yar explained. He heard footsteps in the hallway. “Much better to just sell drugs to them. You get all the benefits and none of the pain. Anyway, it sounds like some guys are coming. You about finished?”
Clint was searching the massive shower stall as he peeled off the glove. He found a closet door. Inside was a wet-dry vacuum and a mop. “Think we can fit in here?” he asked. “I want to watch.”
Yar shrugged. “Well, we could’ve if you hadn’t merged with Tryp. But we can squeeze.”
They did fit, but Yar ended up with Clint’s massive pecs sitting on his head. Clint’s big bulge was behind his shoulder blades. Yar couldn’t believe the heat coming off that massive package! “As long as I have to be here,” Yar thought, “I may as well enjoy myself.” He nestled back against Clint’s rock-solid belly. For a moment, he thought he could hear Tryp’s echoing cries behind Clint’s turtle-shell abs.
Clint sprayed an elixir called “Tirer La Couverture” on the inside of the door and rubbed it with his sleeve. Lied poured through the door and Clint and Yar were given a perfect view of the showers--one-way, of course. Three stocky Omega brothers burst into the bathroom, wearing only their towels.
“Jesus,” Yar whispered. “They are all built as fuck.”
“The two who look like underwear models are Shane and Aaron,” Clint said. Yar wasn’t sure if he knew their identities because Tryp knew them, or from his short stint as an Omega candidate, or both. “The guy who looks like a tight end from the football team is their fucking president--Brock Danzig, by a longshot the biggest fucking asshole that’s ever walked the planet.”
Clint’s descriptions were pretty spot on: two of the men were broad shouldered with big arms, narrow waists, 8-packs and big bouncy glutes; one was a redhead, the other sporting a brown mohawk. The third, obviously their president, was much taller than the others and built to withstand tackles. Yar wondered if that one, obviously Brock, had a history on the football field of if Clint was just summing up his physique.
Yar licked his lips as the three men started to soap up their bodies. This was the stuff 80s comedies were made of! He felt Clint’s huge bulge starting to swell behind him. Despite the fact that Yar was merely a helpless pawn, and chaos magic running wild on this campus was something he would need to put a stop to at some point, he couldn’t resist his pleasure at the spectacle he was about to witness.
The redhead--Yar wasn’t sure if it was Shane or Aaron--paused as he rinsed off, leaning against the shower wall. “Fuck,” he said. He was rock-hard. He glanced back at his two brothers, turning the shower handles to douse his sudden erection in cold water before anyone noticed.
Neither of the others would have, however: each of them found themselves staring down at their own boners. The mohawked stud turned his bouncing dick toward the wall, peering across the room to his towel near the door, clearly pondering a quick sprint to its safety. But it was Brock, who reached up to knead his own shoulder, who gasped as milky white drool poured from his mouth.
Clint had grabbed Yar in his powerful paws in anticipation. Yar jabbed an elbow back into his big balls to get him to lessen the pressure.
Brock turned around, stunned to see red and brown hair swirling around the drain in the center of the room. He brushed a hand over his own face and moaned as his eyebrows painlessly wiped away. He moaned again and another milky white gob poured from his mouth.
All three, now hairless, tried to voice their confusion, but now they were all leaking from their mouths. They clapped hands over them to surprise the thick white drool, but as it collected inside, all three of them knew what it was they were tasting: it was cum. Cum was pouring from their mouths.
Brock turned to run but found his legs wobbly and weak. A moment later he was on the floor, gazing down at his arms and legs as they shrank away. He looked at the two others; it was no longer clear who was who, but their limbs were now tiny compared to the rest of their bodies. Brock was most horrified as each of their rock-hard dicks seemed to melt into their bodies, leaving them smooth behind.
Brock turned toward the door, desperate to get to freedom, even with his tiny arms and legs, but a moment later he found his own cock had melted into his body. The moment after that, his arms and legs were gone.
To Brock, it must have seemed like the whole bathroom was expanding around him, but in reality his body, which looked less and less human with every passing second, was shrinking away.
Yar and Clint emerged at that moment. Yar collected SHane and Aaron--or at least, all that was left of them: two warm, wiggling, disembodied cocks. Brock’s transformation wasn’t yet complete: he was a cock, but his eyes still stared at them from the cock head, blinking.
“Ssshhh, little guy,” Clint said with a surprisingly gentle tone. He gently rubbed the cock with sausage-sized fingers. “Just let go. You’re just a cock now. It’s all you ever were.”
Brock’s eyes went wide as his body suddenly went rigid, pulsating--firing out his first load as a disembodied dick. When the cock was done throbbing, Clint examined it: no evidence of the tall well-built stud remained.
It was as if all three of the studs had vanished, leaving just their cocks behind.
“Cool,” Clint said, careful not to let the still running showerheads spray on him. “Let’s collect these, and… I guess we can get out of here. We’ll let them all turn into cocks or whatever, but I got my prize.” He squeezed the Brock dick and licked slowly up its length, finally swallowing and savoring the balls. “He’s in there, right? He can still feel all this, right? He knows he’s just a cock and there’s nothing he can do about it.”
Yar stared at the oversized freshman, then past him to the shower sprays. If Clint were just to take two steps backward, the water from the showerheads would turn him into a dick as well. Sadly, he knew that, and wouldn’t be doing it by accident.
But what if, Yar wondered, Clint were pushed back into them? All that would be left would be one huge meaty dick, and Yar would be free to undo the messes Clint had made. If he did nothing, Clint was likely to reapply the Wyrmwood Philter, once again subjugating Yar’s will and allowing Clint to use Yar’s near unlimited powers to his whim.
But had he regained enough of his will to rebel against the man who had enslaved him? And would he be able to push the gargantuan man with enough force to knock him into the water, or would he bounce off the muscle, possibly into the spray himself?
