Brandon Twice
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Traditional Prank War
🕑 Added 2020-10-30 03:55:02 +0000 UTC[6 word request: Fraternity prank inflates and shrinks wrestlers]
Niner, SigEp’s president, was the only one awake Sunday morning when thick-fisting banging on the front door disturbed the otherwise silent fraternity house. Niner slipped on his flip-flops and walked lightly through the booze-spattered and beer-can-littered floors before kicking enough debris out of the way of the front door to pull it open. Two well-muscled men filled the doorway. One was nearly as tall as the door itself; the other looked like a smooshed-down version of the taller one: thicker, denser, wider, but just about as much meat as his companion.
Niner eyed up the thickly-built men before sipping on his freshly cracked morning IPA and smiling calmly at the two men.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”
The short wide one pushed his way in. Niner stumbled back, his food sliding on an empty 12-pack box that had somehow become wet and mushy. The two beefy guys surveyed the entryway: the posed pictures of the brothers in shirts and ties along the wall contrasted with the dozens of crushed red solo cups on the floor and the viscous unidentifiable puddles collecting in the corners of the room.
Niner, who was less than half the bodyweight of either of these ogres, just smiled. “I can’t happen to notice your abundance of muscle mass. Are you gentlemen athletes, by chance?”
The shorter one spoke: “My name’s Grady. This is Milton.” He gestured at the taller one, who cricked his neck and then nodded while rolling his big shoulders. Niner paused a moment to consider if he was being given their first or last names. “One of the guys on the team stopped by here last night. He didn’t show up for practice this morning. Coach is pissed. We’re pissed. We want to know what he got up to.”
Niner nodded. “Honestly, boys, we had over 500 people last night--even if you showed me a picture of your friend, there’s no way I could identify him.”
“You mind if we look around?” Milton said. He started up a hallway, pressing his ear against the first bedroom door he encountered.
“Actually, I do,” Niner said. “If your buddy didn’t come home, he sure as hell isn’t here. Why don’t you start banging on some sorority house doors? I bet he’s got one, two--maybe three women draped over him right now. You big athletes do tend to attract little harems of sex-positive women just by walking in with a tight t-shirt on.”
Grady started up the hallway without waiting for Niner’s permission. The President hustled past the muscular man, having to squeeze by his wide lats just to get around him in the narrow passage. Grady stopped in front of the Chapter room, his hand on the doorknob. Niner put himself between Grady and the door.
“I SAID,” Niner said more forcefully, “that your buddy isn’t here. Time to leave.” Grady smirked, casually grabbing a handful of Niner’s shirt.
Halfway down the hallway, a bedroom door popped open. Skeet, one of the seniors, stepped out shrouded by weed smoke. He blinked his lazy-lidded eyes and sluggishly approached the confrontation, where Milton had posted up, looming down on Niner as backup.
“Oh, wow, Niner, man,” Skeet said sluggishly. “Oh, shit, bro, what’s going on here?”
“These guys are trying to just stomp around our house like their goddamned scholarship means anything within these walls,” Niner said, barely reacting to Grady’s flexing torso.
“Man, are they wrestlers, man?” Skeet said, speaking to Niner as if the two brawny athletes weren’t even in the hallway with them. “Because I heard the wrestling team picked our house for the Greek/athlete prank wars this year.”
Niner smiled. “Oh, really? Where’d you hear that?” the President asked.
Skeet started giggling, leaking tears from the side of his squeezed-shut eyes. “Man, I got a, uh… HAHAHAHA… sorry, I mean, uh… a buddy of mine is on the wrestling team. Yeah.”
Niner shook his head. “You fucking neanderthals were just going to muscle your way in here and pull your prank?” He eyed the two men, who carried nothing but their powerful bodies. “What were you going to do? Punch holes in the walls?”
“They were probably gonna steal something,” Skeet offered. “I mean, if I were gonna steal something big, I’d send two of my biggest guys over to take it. What do we have that’s big?”
Niner shrugged as the two athletes’ deflated, a sign of their guilt, as far as Niner could see. “There’s big things in the Chapter room, like our fraternity altar, maybe?”
Grady shook his head, looking at Milton, then back at Niner. “Uh, look, man… we were just… you know, it’s tradition!” The bald-headed wrestler had a hand on his bulging trap as he explained. “I mean, honestly, two of our guys stopped by here last night and didn’t come back, so we just figured we’d swing by and finish the job.”
“Obviously, we’ve just gotta be sneakier,” Milton said, running a hand through his short read hair. “Our bad. It’s our first year doing this shit.”
Niner shook his head as the two big men shuffled out the door. Then he turned to Skeet once they were alone. “So, I’ve got about a dozen questions for you, but number one is: how the fuck did you know the wrestling team is gonna be pranking us this year?”
Skeet burst into giggles. He barely composed himself enough to respond: “I told you, a guy on the wrestling team told me!”
“You’ve never said more than half a sentence to a student athlete on this campus before, Skeet, and you know it.” Niner’s expression grew stern, staring down at Skeet like a disapproving father.
“Okay! Okay, well… I’m just being a little shady about it because, y’know, it wasn’t entirely fraternity sanctioned, is all,” Skeet said, taking half-steps toward his bedroom as he spoke. “I mean, I know the guys will vote on it at the meeting tonight and they’ll be fine with it, I’m sure, it’s just… I didn’t want you to lecture me about ‘going through the proper channels’ and all…”
He threw open his bedroom door. Smoke once again poured out like dense fog. Niner shook his head as he walked in.
As Skeet fanned through the clouds with his hands, the room slowly came into focus. Skeet gestured to a shimmering crystal bong on the table. It took a moment before Niner noticed it was shaped like a muscular man; the built man’s head opened up into the mouthpiece, while the bowl slid into the space where his dick should have been.
Niner ran a hand over the incredibly detailed bong, tracing every sinewy muscle, then examining the horrified expression on the little glass man’s face. “So,” Niner said, turning the bong so it’s frozen expression was fixed at his eyeline. “I guess they really did have a couple of brothers stopping by last night, eh?”
“See,” Skeet said, gently taking the bong from Niner’s hands and cradling it like it was a pet, “during the party last night I caught these two guys jimmying the window lock for the back hallway. They snuck into the chapter room and I think they were gonna start stealing shit, so… Since I was that close to the altar anyway, I invoked the fraternity’s power and shit… and brought down mystical vengeance, and shit…”
Niner smiled. He reached out and rubbed a thumb over the glass pectoral muscle of the hollow bong-man. “I’m guessing this little guy can still see, hear and feel?”
“Oh hell yeah,” Skeet said excitedly. “And I made it so that burning the bowl feels like getting the best head of this guy’s life! Of course, his insides are filling with smoke at the same time, so I’d imagine that’s a pretty fucked up sensation too…”
Niner smiled. “You said there were two? What’d you do to the other one?”
Skeet gestured toward the couch, where Niner spotted a brown blanket, folded neatly in the center. Niner approached the blanket slowly. It was incredibly soft to the touch, but seemed to have details worked into its fabric that Niner couldn’t quite make out. It wasn’t until he shook the blanket out and saw that it was in the shape of a two-dimensional man that he finally understood. The details on the cloth were the lines of each of the man’s muscles, as well as his hefty genitals and his pleading face.
NIner smirked as he rubbed a hand over the crotch of the blanket, where the “man’s” well-endowed manhood was depicted. “Delicious,” Niner said, pulling the blanket to his face and giving it a vigorous rub. “God, it’s so soft!”
“And warm,” Skeet added. “I spent the whole morning wrapped in him--I think his name is Tompkins--and taking bong rips out of him. He’s named Boston but I’ve been calling him Bongston.”
Niner was pleased. Skeet’s anxiety lessened at his president’s smile. “I-I thought you were gonna be angry, and all,” he said. “That’s the only reason I didn’t tell you about it first thing in the morning…”
“And you were being lazy doing bong rips,” Niner added. “But don’t sweat it. I’m not that angry. Just remember, fraternity tradition is that only the president has access to the core essence of our letters. Everyone else can only summon the essence after a unanimous fraternity vote with a quorum.”
Skeet nodded sheepishly, then smiled when Niner handed back the man-blanket and left the man-bong with him. “This is wonderful,” Niner continued. “To think, we didn’t even realize we were in the prankwar this year and we’ve already got a head start!”
He headed back to his room, where he found a six-pack of beer sitting out on his bureau. “Damn,” he said. “Must have forgotton to put those back in the fridge before I passed out last night.” Niner placed a hand on the six-pack and mumbled a few arcane words. His brown eyes flashed with silver light for a moment--and then the beers were lightly frosted. Niner twisted off a cap and took a sip of the refreshingly cold beer within.
“Contact high from Skeet’s room has me fucking starved,” he said to himself, pulling off his t-shirt and changing into a polo and some shorts. “I think I need like… five breakfast sandwiches.”
As he left his room, he saw some of the brothers rejoining the ranks of the living. It was still a whole twenty minutes before it was time to clean the house for the day; not quite enough time for most to enjoy breakfast, but Niner could easily warp time so that he could quell his hunger with time to spare. He hustled toward the back door (there was a path behind the house that led through the woods to the best breakfast spot on campus) and slid out quietly, chanting the words that would make the next twenty minutes last for two hours.
Just as the fraternity’s back door slammed shut, Niner felt thick hands grabbing him, hoisting him off the ground. He kicked his feet in the air as he twisted around to see big Milton, face alight with rage, lifting Niner overhead. He hurled the President with all his might toward a tree. A moment before Niner struck it, he finished the time-warping chant he had begun.
Everything seemed to freeze. He was horizontal, hovering several feet above the ground. The tree was mere inches away. While he seemed to be motionless, in reality he was still hurtling toward the tree, just very, very slowly.
Luckily he had plenty of time to magick himself to the ground. He then calmly approached the 6’5” wrestler. “Good god,” Niner said as he examined the man’s time-frozen features. “Don’t wrestlers go by weight class? Who can wrestle a big lug like you? Do you just win by default ever time?” He slid his hands up under the big man’s shirt, running his fingers along rippling, veiny abs and cradling thick, meaty pecs. “Mmm, I could have fun with you all day,” he said, undoing the big man’s belt and running his fingers under the waistband of his tight boxer-briefs. He yanked down the pants and cradled Milton’s big bulge in his hand.
“You fucking animal,” Niner said as he leaned in and gently kissed Milton’s soft, pillowy lips. “You’re an absolute pee-on. You’re like a dog chasing a bus; you have no idea what you’re going to do when you catch it. And let me tell you, big man, you have caught far more than you can handle.”
Niner stepped back, imagining the possibilities of the punishment he was going to exact upon the oversized wrestler. Above them, the overcast sky started to billow and ripple. Dark clouds swirled overhead. “Do you have any idea the history of the athletes vs. Greeks prank war?” Niner said as he summoned enough power to cast a sufficient curse. “It was wizards versus paladins back in the day. I bet you don’t even have any connection to your paladin heritage, you smooth-brained ape. Sadly for you, we’ve never lost touch with our mystical ancestors.” Then he snapped his fingers.
From Milton’s perspective, he saw Niner hurtling toward the tree, then in a blink, he was draped in shadow. He looked around at the walls that rose up around him--holy shit, were those… arms? Above him, Niner’s big face loomed down. Milton panicked as he started to process that somehow, Niner had become a giant--or worse, he had become tiny. Either way, he was in a world of trouble.
“Little shit,” Niner said, poking the miniaturized man with a pinkie that sent him flying. “See? That’s the thing with you meatheads. All your strength is in your body. Take the body away--which, by the way, we can do with a thought--and you’ve got nothing!” He grabbed the five-inch tall man by the leg, hoisting him up with his thumb and forefinger to dangle him over Niner’s looming mouth. Milton screamed as he realized he had gone from being the most powerful man on campus to getting swallowed by a fratboy like a goldfish. Big Milton hadn’t felt powerless in decades--now, powerless was all he was.
“FUCK YOU!” said a deep voice, and Niner took a kick right to his gut. The fraternity president grunted and clutched his abdomen as little Milton bounced off his lips and rolled away. Niner looked up, shocked, to see Grady approaching, his hulking shoulders heaving.
“My bad,” he said as he felt the blood pooling in the bruises in his gut. It was hard to breathe through the pain. He couldn’t concentrate enough to cast a spell. “I should have remembered there were two of you,” he groaned.
“You fucking freak!” Grady said, searching the ground for his teammate. “How the fuck did you do that to him?” He was on his hands and knees, immediately, patting through the grass. “Milton? Buddy? It’s me! Come out, bro! Don’t get stepped on! I’ll keep you safe!”
“That is… just adorable,” wheezed Niner as he rose to his feet. “You realize,” he said, coughing between words, “that with a word, I could have every guy in my house out here to beat the absolute shit out of you?”
“You fucking pansies!” Grady said as he leapt to his feet, cradling tiny Milton against his barrel chest. “I’ll fucking snap you fuckers in half with one hand!”
Niner charged at Grady, who planted his feet, squared his shoulders, and thrust a palm right at Niner’s chest, reversing his velocity and sending the fraternity president sailing into the air. Niner landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him again.
“See, now, if you don’t want me to stomp your head into the ground,” Grady said as he approached, Miltons head poking out of his fist, “you’re gonna turn my buddy here back to full-size, AND you’re gonna undo whatever you did to my other teammates who were here last night too!” Grady planted a face on Niner’s face.
The president was still breathing with difficulty as Grady applied pressure. “See,” Niner said, “the spell I cast required contact to engage,” he explained. “So you punching me just now was sufficient to trigger the magic, but you continuing to touch me is just hurrying things along.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Grady said. His face went blank as they all heard what sounded like a balloon inflating. He grabbed at his gut as pressure started to build inside him.
Niner casually rose from the ground, realizing that Grady was no longer a threat. He smirked at the bulky athlete, whose muscles were starting to bulge more with every moment.
“What the fuck? What did you do?” Grady said, panicked as his abdomen bloated out like a ball. “Undo it! Make it stop, bro!”
“Sorry,” Niner shrugged as he dusted himself off. “You’re gonna learn the same thing the football team did last year, same as the hockey team learned the year before that.” Grady’s muscles were now visibly swelling. His widening quads pushed his feet apart. Bloating lats pushed his arms out perpendicular from his body. Big traps and pecs blew up until only the upper half of Grady’s face was visible above them.
As Grady’s sweatsuit burst apart, his pale muscles rising like bread dough, tiny Milton squealed. THe hand clutching him starting to swell too, until the fingers were too fat to bend. Milton found himself dangling precariously from a quivering pinky that was now thicker around than he was.
When it was finished, Grady was just an overblown muscular balloon of a man, quivering and whimpering. Niner slapped the bare meaty chest of the man that stood out like a shelf, then went around to observe the watermelon-sized glutes that twitched and flexed as Grady struggled to move any part of him more than a quarter of an inch.
“What a nice new statue we have,” Niner said, plucking tiny Milton from Grady’s hand. He examined the shrunken man before balling up his fist and huffing a breath into it. When he opened his hand, Grady’s body was rigid and vibrating, beefy-athlete-shaped-butt-plug with every detail of his body still visible.
“Let’s see now,” Niner said as he ran a finger between the twin globes of Grady’s ass. “Sorry about the roughness, because there’s no lube nearby,” Niner said, jamming the plug in. It slid in with a pop, the vibrating now muffled as Grady’s already panicked eyes went wide with the new sensations buzzing within his gigantic (iand incredibly sensitive, now) ass.
“I think our backyard needs a new fountain,” Niner said as a concrete ring rose from the ground around Grady’s twitching feet. The athlete’s massive cock suddenly sprang up, a geyser of water bursting forth and showering down on him as his body turned to marble. “Perfect,” Niner said. He checked his watch. “Damn,” he said, “looks like I only have four minutes to enjoy my breakfast sandwiches. Not enough juice left to warp time,” he said, examining the electricity crackling from his hands, “but damn, I can’t believe we already won the prank war before 24 hours is even up!”
Officially, the wrestling team could still mount a counterattack, but no athlete ever did after Niner did his thing.
