Brandon Twice
patreon
Trio of TFs: Brad
🕑 Added 2018-11-20 23:49:09 +0000 UTC [This story is inspired by the photo you can see here.]I’d been doing this so long that I could recognize the sound of an over-sized fist, propelled by a bloated inhumanly huge bicep, banging on my (reinforced, thankfully) front door just by the intensity of the knocking sound. Brad had blown up my phone all day. Of course I had noticed his calls and his clumsily mashed out e-mails. I could imagine that, as the day went on and his body continued to swell in all directions, his hands growing so big and unwieldy that he probably couldn’t even pick up his phone anymore.
That he would get so terrified by the growth, frustrated by my inaccessibility, that he would venture out of the safety of his house, marching his freakishly massive, nearly musclebound body through public, past the gawking, the shouted jeers and the humiliating judgments of the normal world, was inevitable. He told me the last time that a young man, maybe fourteen years old, called him a freak to his face and kicked him in his swollen balls. He just toppled to the ground and rolled around there as the kid ran away. Nobody helped him right himself. It took him two hours to roll himself to a position he could get up from.
Most people would be terrified that the most insanely huge bodybuilder in the world was enraged and on his way to his house. I’m not most people. I know that Brad needs me, and so does he.
He banged again on my door and I took my time getting there. I could hear his gravelly voice growling out my name but I was barely phased. I’d seen this show before, had his meaty finger poked into my chest, heard the threats of being ripped limb from limb or squashed in his powerful hands. It may have intimidated me a little bit the first time (I honestly don’t remember) but it certainly wasn’t effective anymore.
I could only see about a third of his body when I opened the door. His head seemed the same size but it seemed ridiculously small on his overgrown body. His normal size and shape (the body he wore when we first met) was that of an impressive superheavyweight bodybuilder. What I’d done to him made him look more like a human tick. His muscles were so thick and full that they were nearly useless. I had to chuckle at his awkwardly wide stance, his feet far apart thanks to legs as big around as barrels forcing them apart. He was wearing one of the 7XL shirts I had bought him, intending them to fit like a muu-muu but this one looked skin-tight on him. His obscenely massive junk was barely contained. Every single step must have chaffed that giant cock to no end. Poor guy. Or maybe he liked it, who knows?
He was the size of a dumpster, and I had to admit I was breathless at the sight of him, though I did my best not to let on. To think he’d begged for this. He must have doubted what I was capable of when I’d first offered to blow his body up beyond his wildest imaginations. He was clearly displeased that I’d granted his wish.
He lunged for me, but of course he couldn’t begin to fit through the door. Spittle sprayed at me but I calmly wiped it away. “Well, hello Brad! You’re looking impressive today.”
“Where the fuck have you been?” he raged. “You can’t just fucking ignore me like this! You fucking did this to me you fucking psycho! You’ve got to help me!”
I let out a disaffected sigh. “Do I, Brad? Exactly why do I have to help you?”
Here came the theatrics: “Because I’ll fucking crush you like the fucking insect you are! You’re a fucking bug next to me, you insignificant little nothing!”
Brad was impressive in many ways, but he was not an intelligent man. His outbursts had become exhausting. Learn some new words, peabrain. As I slowly closed the door, his tone immediately shifted: “Wait! Wait, you’ve got to help me! You’ve got to! This is too much. Make it stop. Make it stop, please…”
I took a moment to study his suddenly terrified expression, watching the giant chest rising and falling like a raft in a wave pool, and I made him wait a few quiet, tense moments before finally nodding my head. “Head over to the garage. You certainly can’t fit in here. We’ll get you taken care of.”
I’d modified my garage into a massive elevator, a sort of dumb waiter for these overblown meat balloons I couldn’t help creating, that led into my lab. Brad had grown so much he only barely squeezed through the doors. He had to crouch down to get all the way in. Admittedly I had never let anyone go as far as I’d let Brad go before, and I’d never dealt with such a massive specimen to begin with either.
As the bay doors to my lab slid open, he waddled forward. “I… I think I’ve gotten bigger since I got here,” he groaned. The shirt, which left the bottom few inches of his stationwagon-wide ass exposed, had begun to tear in places. I estimated about a forty pound bloat since he had arrived, which was impressive to me, and obviously terrifying to him. “Quick, you’ve got to juice me. Please.”
I smirked at his slang term. I had never pictured the process like that before, like squeezing an overripe berry, but the first time Brad said it I had to admit it was a fitting (albeit scientifically inaccurate) reference. He eyed the “juicing machine” (as I’d begun to call it) desperately. He was bigger now than the last time he had been here. It didn’t look like he would fit his massive limbs inside the stirrups.
“Don’t fret, my impressive friend,” I said, patting him on the bloated turtleshell his belly had become. I had to admit, despite its roundness, that the cobbled flesh had a pleasingly dense feel to it. I could leave my hands there all day, I thought to myself. “Let me just adjust things and we’ll get you back to a size you can manage, hm?”
He sighed, a blast of warm air over my face, and I set to adjusting the machine, widening the restraints and detaching the manacles for a large pair. Luckily I had planned for this size when I had designed the machine, although I had thought it something I’d never see in person when I had.
When I was done, he stood, arms and legs splayed wide, on what essentially looked like a massive dolly. I clamped his neck in place (couldn’t have him thrashing his head around when I started draining him) and grabbed the handles to wheel him around to the processing station.
It was a machine-assisted transport, so I clearly wasn’t propelling it solely on my own strength, but I was still very aware of the massive weight I was carting around. He moaned as his body swelled again, decimating the t-shirt which fell to the floor in tatters. He was now literally twice my height and tilted backward over me as I rolled him along the floor. Droplets of hot sweat fell like rain around me. I licked my lips and tasted the salty musk.
Once he was in place I gave him some comforting pats on the underside of his massive heaving pec. I took a moment to savor the feel of it, like warm smooth granite with a drumbeat behind it. Brad let out a sigh of relief as I started attaching the draining cups to his swollen, sensitive nipples. I had to adjust the strap that held them in place since the circumference of his torso had gotten so ridiculous.
Next I approached him with the big tube that would fit around his cock. I was using the largest size I had available and I could still only fit it over its grapefruit-sized head. The straps looped around the underside of his balls. He flinched when my hand gently touched his plump sack. I ran a finger along it and he shivered. Those babies were big as dodgeballs and sat close his body. They looked like they were ready to burst (as did Brad).
“Turn it on,” he moaned. “Please. I think it’s happening again. I’m getting bigger again…”
I put a finger to my lips and softly shushed him. Such a gentle reaction to his pleading infuriated him. I had to wheel around a ladder to reach him now. At the top rung I could just reach the head that looked like a plum atop this massive pile of muscle. I had in my hand something he didn’t recognize. He eyed it suspiciously: a ball with a small hole through the center and a strap attached.
“Close your eyes, big fella,” I cooed. As he did so, I slipped the strap around his head and jammed the ball into his mouth, tightening it. When it was secure, he moaned through the gag--the hole in the center allowed him to breathe, but other than muffled whimpers I wouldn’t have to listen to any sounds from him.
Gagging him was a new addition, so I’m certain at that point he had figured out I had something up my sleeve. Then again, with my reinforced shackles holding him in place, it didn’t matter what he thought. I stepped down the ladder, walked into a dark corner of the lab and wheeled out a new apparatus, something that looked like a football on the end of a probe. Brad’s eyes went wide as I wheeled it behind him; I think he must have seen it coming.
With a couple of keystrokes the probe sprang to life. The football on the end started pulsing and vibrating as the hole probe rotated. Luckily the whole contraption was on a retractable arm so I could raise it up behind his massive glutes and aim it directly at his quivering asshole. Of course he clenched as it approached, but I pushed a button and the football started drooling a silky lube from a number of tiny pores along its surface. He struggled to fight it, his huge bulky glutes squeezing as tightly as it could, but the sensation eventually won out as it slipped in.
Oh, the whining and whimpering when it did! Locked into place there was no way big Brad could escape the sensations tormenting his huge ass from the inside. All those sensitive spots up that big ass had been cranked up to 11, I knew, and driving the freakish man as close to the edge as he could without allowing him release.
I walked back around to his front and climbed the ladder again. Sweat poured from him now as he gasped for breath. No doubt, what was coming would take a lot out of him. “Now now, Brad. We discuss this every single time. You don’t tell me when it’s time to, as you say, ‘juice’ you. I tell you. You’re on a very strict schedule, for a reason, and for this phase of your procedure you still have some growing left to do.” I’m not sure if it was the meaning of my words or the insane amount of pleasure lighting up his insides that made him wince and reel so much. “You’ll get ‘juiced’ of course, when you’re finished. Let’s let my sweet berry ripen, shall we?”
And with that I left the lab, pausing at the door to click a button on the remote in my pocket to set Vivaldi blasting out of hidden speakers loud enough to drown out Brad’s squealing. I left the poor musclehead there just like that for hours.
When I came back, the entire lab stunk like a packed locker room. The air was humid with Brad’s sweat, thick with his funk. I felt like I got a testosterone buzz from every breath.
Brad barely looked human at that point. His head was a mere in the center of a mass of muscle so huge that he couldn’t even see where his flesh began. I estimated his weight somewhere around two tons.
Of course, the devices I had strapped on to his nipples and cock had popped off, but the shackles (which I had specifically designed to expand as he did) held fast.
Rivers of milky fluid drooled from his nipples and burped from his huge cock, but I knew he wasn’t lactating. The same biological processes that were expanding his body like this were also producing an anabolic agent the likes of which the world outside my lab had never seen. There was so much of it in him, I couldn’t let it go to waste.
I rolled out a makeshift sleeve I had devised overnight from some parachute material and slid it over his cock (which was now as big as I was, and as such a rather frightening appendage as it throbbed and pulsed and spewed its valuable liquid). With the sleeve attached, I took one last look at Brad’s unbelievable body and knew it was time.
When I clicked the remote in my pocket, the sleeve seemed to spring to life, tightening around his cock with a loud suction. Brad had no voice left to scream at this, nor did he have any stamina to withstand the release. Every unbelievable muscle in his amazing body squeezed up tight as he came, and I heard gallons of cum pouring through the slurping sleeve as it went. His nipples sprayed liquid as well, but since I hadn’t figured out a way to save it, I just had to let it go.
With each blast of liquid from his giant cock, his body deflated like a leaky balloon. Within seconds he was half the size. A minute later he was back to the size he had been when he had shown up earlier. His hands and legs had slipped from his shackles, but the restraint around his neck held fast. Soon he was back to his original size. The first day we’d met he’d seemed massive, but after seeing him blown out to the size of a small moon, it was hard to look at 280 pounds of muscle as “impressive” anymore. He dwindled past that size, shriveling more and more until what was left was just a skinny little bald man, panting for breath.
When it stopped, I removed the ballgag, undid the neck shackle and helped him down. He hung limply in my arms, drooling into my shoulder, head lolling back and forth. I laid him carefully on the floor of my lab and inspected his bony body, his narrow frame, the little nub of a cock and the tic-tac balls that stuck out of his thin groin.
“That was impressive,” I said to him, although, despite his half-open eyes, I was sure he couldn’t hear me. “I didn’t realize I could get you to that size. Don’t stress about the unexpected weight loss.” I wrapped a thumb and forefinger around his arm. When they touched, there was room to spare. “In a few days your body will have grown back to the size you’re comfortable with. You’ll be back slamming weights at the gym and intimidating little guys. But for a few days you’ll be the little guy. Don’t worry. If anyone bullies you, you’ll be big enough to fight back soon enough.”
I stood up, ready to go process the gallons of liquid I had just drained from him. “And soon enough, we’ll get to see if I can make you even bigger.”
