Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)
|“Five feet, eleven inches,” said my doctor’s voice in my head as I worked on my Lit paper. My physical's results had not been encouraging, although there did not seem to be anything wrong with me. I shook my head, thinking that the squats I had been doing to strengthen my hamstrings might not have been so great for my spine. Then again, I hadn’t been sleeping much of late, or eating, and it showed. My posture had to have been affected by my change in habits. I hadn’t been to the gym in half a week. But I wasn’t kidding anyone. The biggest strain on my life was Phil. He stood at 5’7 now, if the mark on his measuring stick was true. He was also pushing 140, and was throwing himself into weightlifting. I had to admit, he was beginning to look pretty large. I caught him a few times flexing in the mirror, and even I—despite still dwarfing him—had to be impressed.
I didn’t tell him that, though. In fact, he had barely said a word to me in the two weeks since the shower incident. I was almost glad for that. I still had troubles getting the mental sensation of his body beneath mine out of my head. It was like the feelings had been seared into my memory. Sometimes, I caught him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, but when I looked over at him, he would look away.
There was something worrisome about Phil, though. I didn’t like his occasional and unprovoked chuckles over things, or the way he continued measuring me up when he thought I wasn’t noticing. I wondered if he was thinking about trying to get into a fight with me. But days came and went, and he didn’t. My bench stayed level at 225 despite the lessening of my health, and my biceps regained a little bit of size and strength. I was at something of a plateau, that was obvious, but at least I wasn’t allowing my stress and general poor standard of living to push me back any further.
One thing that I didn’t mention to anyone was that my erections were definitely not like they had been before. They certainly felt as hard and as heart-pounding as any hormone-drenched college student’s could be, but for some reason I just couldn’t break 9 inches on my ruler any more. I passed it off as stress. I kind of felt like a kid measuring myself. Then, one day, Phil walked in. I wish it hadn’t happened.
In my fluster to clear the evidence, I succeeded in tossing the ruler aside but left my overlarge tool hanging out of my pants. Phil monotonously said, “Guess it’s not just me.” I hurriedly tucked my cock away.
I stood up and stalked over to him, glaring down from my greater height. My bulge formed an obscene tent in my trousers. Phil glanced down at his own inflating groin. It looked bigger than normal; he must have been stuffing. Phil had never been able to manage much of a bulge. At a stir of echoes in my head from our encounter in the showers, I knew what I was going to do even as part of me protested against doing it. I backhanded him, hard, sending him sprawling.
Nose bloodied, eyes unfocused and hateful, Phil used his bed to pull himself up with one vein-choked if still slender arm. He was obviously tensing his muscles underneath his tank top to look as big as he did.
Phil hissed, “You’re going to regret that.” Then, leaving me surprised at his audacity—I don’t know why I was, after all he had done—he stormed out and slammed the door.
He didn’t return until that night. I couldn’t sleep, as usual. This time, it was the scratchiness of one of my new shirts. Then I took it off, and it was the coolness of the covers against my muscled chest and torso. I was awake when, at 3:14 AM, he stepped coolly into the room. His eyes were faintly lambent despite the utter lightlessness of the room, and his voice was ice as he said, “I know you’re awake. Things are about to change around here.”
I pushed myself out of bed and tightened my own muscles like a crowing rooster. With all the ominous deepness I could muster, I began, “You little fa—“
But I was cut short.
Phil barked, “Shut up, and stay there.”
I found myself obeying his order. And I did, as he stepped over to his desk and turned on the light. There was nothing wrong with my mouth, tongue, trachea... I knew I could still talk, I just had no motivation to do so. It was like my mind wouldn’t let me.
I stared at Phil. A slight bruise marred his fine Irish features, not so boyish now with his thickening neck and darkening stubble. I thought it strange that Phil needed to shave. He never had needed to since I’d known him. Inane though the thought was, I blamed puberty at the time.
“I bet you’d like to stand,” he said, “but you can’t. Everything is going to change tonight. Want to know why? Just ask.”
Suddenly, I could speak, and desperately wanted to. “What the hell is happening?”
“That’s enough, Dane,” Phil said, wry humor in his voice. Sure enough, I stopped talking again. “I’ll tell you. You remember that little spill I took in the sewage a few weeks back?”
I nodded, dumbly.
Phil smiled, icily. “It just so happens that something in that water changed my whole outlook on life. Since then, everything’s turned around. You had to notice how good everything was.
“I’ve been getting bigger. Sort of a second puberty, feels like. And you’ve noticed.” With a yank, he pulled down his pants, revealing his plaid boxers. I guess he wasn’t stuffing after all. The bulge in his underpants wasn’t that sizable, but it was larger than it had been before, and quite authentic. “I’ve had so much more energy, and I’d never gotten gains like this before when I used to work out in high school. Before I gave up on everything.
”But the best changes of all aren’t what you’d call normal. People just seem compelled to obey whatever I say. Want to see? Watch yourself flex those big old biceps of yours. Slowly, now, so you can savor them before we start our new relationship.”
I complied, quite willingly. Even after I had brushed away the warm layer of platitudes my mind was feeding itself—it couldn’t hurt, he just wanted to see, I’d been planning to do this anyway—I saw the thickly muscled arm rise and slowly tense, its mound of muscle growing until it reached a certain point. Then, it leapt into stern relief on my arm, going from flat to baseball-mounded. My body flexed harder, sending veins popping across its surface, and pushing the muscle up to its fullest height.
Phil said, “That’s enough.” And it was. I dropped my arm and faced him again. “You're so hot. I must admit, that was an impressive sight.” His cock agreed, bouncing in his boxers. He glanced down patiently at it. “At least, it is for now. Once I’m done with you... well. Let’s just say that I found the weirdest thing. A few weeks ago, I noticed you picking up one of the tissues I had cum into. I was just waiting for you to get to sleep so I could get back to business. You picked it up, threw it in the trash, left to go wash your hands, and when you came back… you were just a bit smaller. I barely noticed, and I’ve been watching you for awhile.
“So then we had our little situation in the showers. You thought you were pretty cool, big jock beating up on the little fag lusting after you, right? But I managed to get some more semen on you, and, well, I’m just aching to see what a full dose will do, aren’t you? Soon, I won’t even need to use my voice to control you. I want you to know what it’s like to be the little guy. Now, don’t say a word.” Panic flared in my mind, although I didn’t fully believe at this point what was happening.
He tugged his shirt over his head and flexed his thickening shoulders, sending their striations into awesome relief under the lamplight. He really was getting bigger by the day. He had to have been over 5’7 by now. As he pulled down his boxers, his inch-thick cock swung up to meet the treasure trail on his rippling abs. It was already wet with the stuff of my downfall.
Even he looked surprised at his size. He bent down and picked up the cast-off ruler, holding it against his tool. After a few moments of adjustments and a break to run his hand over the livid shaft a few times, Phil stepped closer so he could show me. His swollen head met the 6 inch mark. My boner leapt up and hit me in the abs.
“Lie down, and flex what you can without moving too much,” he ordered, dropping the ruler. I lay down, flat on my bed, and he just stood there as I tensed and relaxed my considerable muscles. His hands began to work the shaft of his cock, slowly at first, and then with growing fierceness. All the while, he stared at me like I was sex on display for his eyes only.
One of his hands traveled up his treasure trail, feeling each individual abdominal muscle on its way up to his chest. Phil moaned with pleasure, bucking his hips into his hand as he massaged the head and shaft. At last, he opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost in a wave of orgasmic, moaning laughter. I saw his cock swell, and would have shut my eyes but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.
Anticipation hung in the air for a sick, burning moment. I felt like my entire body was awakening from poor circulation, tiny ants crawling under my skin. The sheets were slick with sweat. Phil was standing above me, backlit by his desk lamp, larger than I had ever seen him. He stretched his arms out and raised them into the air, a triumphant flex filling them out to their fullest size.
His seed exploded forth in a wet hot rush, more than I ever thought could have come from his smaller-than-average balls. It sprayed across my chest and face aimlessly, but not a drop missed my skin. He was groaning in pleasure, laughing when he had the breath. The sheets were shifting under me, a soft susurrus against my skin. I knew I was shrinking, but my humiliation at having been used by my roommate was almost as strong as my horror. Even worse, my own tool was spurting wildly in my boxers. I couldn’t be enjoying this! Luckily, I was saved from further thoughts by the dark rush of unconsciousness.
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