Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)


By Xyggurat

I fell to the floor, awakening with a thud of flesh against hard carpet and its echo, pain answering from within my right side. What my circadian rhythms had failed to do, the fall from my bed had managed quite nicely: I was well and truly awake. Despite the gunk in my eyes I could see two pale feet in front of me. Big feet. From the heat in the room, it was probably about midday.

”Get up, you loser,” Phil’s voice came from several feet above me. I didn’t have much time to notice that it was deeper and more resonant than it had been last night, as my body was already forcing itself to its feet.

My shirtless roommate looked golden. His muscles were swollen and tangled in vivid blue veins, only slightly darker in hue than his eyes. He looked bigger than he had even before I passed out the previous night. I hoped most of that was from his pump—two of my 40 pound dumbbells had been left haphazardly on the floor behind him—but a good bit of it was obviously from the muscle he had siphoned from my juice. I felt a momentary sickness in my stomach as I glanced down at his tool, which was barely concealed by a pair of my plaid boxers. He had outgrown his own clothes, then. The shaft and head twitched visibly through the fabric, once, a further threat to the height and muscle remaining to me.

After that, I was ready to face the music. I looked up, expecting to see him towering over me by a foot or more, but in reality he was still just a bit shorter than I was. This fact was confirmed as he took our measurements: 5’9 for me, 5’8 for Phil. Maybe it had been the swimming of my vision from the night before that had made me perceive him growing more than he had.

I hoped, deep down, that he was having trouble retaining the muscles and height. After all, this was all mystical to me. My mind tore through false hopes. He was still an inch shorter than me, a fact that I clung to with quiet desperation. Still, I knew full well how precarious my state was: any minute, Phil could demand more from my cock, or command me to drink from his. At any rate, my physical advantage over him was negligible.

Our bodies were not similar, but his would approach mine in weeks even if he did not use his powers somehow. Phil managed still to convey an image of lithe wiriness, although he was getting muscled like a track jock who had spent too many hours in the weight room. I was thicker, a little less ripped up, with veins a little more swollen and prominent despite a fine layer of body fat. The tightness of my six-pack was bisected by a trail of coarse dark hair that led to my still-considerable package. I was glad I still had my abs: they had been one of my favorite muscle groups for as long as I could remember. Phil’s were unusually perfect, a cobbling of eight squared bricks marching into his—my—low-slung boxers.

He pulled those down, and ordered me to do the same. Phil was already rampantly erect. I was beginning to think that whatever had been done to him by that sewage made him permanently so, but he had always been horny. His chiseled hip flexors heralded the length of his proud, throbbing cock. It looked to be seven inches and very thick. Worse, it looked ready to cum. I quickly complied with his orders, drawing my boxers down. My cock was already hard from looking at Phil’s. Not that I felt guilty: I was pretty sure by this point that my reactions to his body were part of the changes his cum had wrought within me. It helped me not start sobbing right there.

In the mirror, I assessed last night’s damages to my manhood. Phil might have been understating when he had measured it at eight inches the morning before, but it was definitely a little under now. I took a moment of rueful pride at the fact that, even after shrinking, I was still hung. Then I realized what I was doing. I was adapting to this, a situation I ought to have been fighting with all my strength. An instant of total self-loathing washed through me, mitigated only by the knowledge that any noncompliance toward Phil would lead to a hastened loss of all that I was.

“Flex your chest,” he told me. On cue, I tightened my arms before me, causing my pecs to ripple and striate. I definitely wasn’t as large as I once was. “Stay flexed, and look at me,“ said my roommate.

He turned me away from the mirror so I could look at him. I had always thought he was pale, but his skin was lightly gilded this morning, a pale amber in hue. Up close, I could see tiny spikes of coppery hair pushing out of the skin on his chin and jaw. That was definitely new. The beard was darker in hue than the hair on his head, which was so light an orange as to be almost unsullied strawberry blond. I tried to stop looking at him, but his command was everything in my ears and mind. Worse, despite the terror I expected and wanted to feel, my heart rate was fast with the pulsing of desire. My cock was perilously close to letting go another load. It felt like I had been masturbating for hours without a climax.

Only the fear of Phil being even more muscled, even taller, gave me the strength to hold back. It took all my will as he extended his long-boned hands and began to carelessly peruse my tensed musculature, pinching and feeling it like a dealer might inspect a horse.

He pressed his hands into the crevasse that delineated my pectorals, and I felt his pendulous cock jerk up and smack my thigh with a fleshy thump. He quickly stepped back a bit, leaving a minuscule amount of pre-cum that nonetheless caused the world to shift about me for a moment. Phil did not look any bit taller, relatively, but I knew even that brief contact had taken something away from me.

Phil made me flex my biceps with a soft, irresistible command, and the muscles mounded up. Just like he had the night before, he moved close again—this time, he was careful not to touch me with his drooling prong—and made muscle explode out of the taut length of his arms. I did not need mirrors or measuring tapes to see that Phil’s biceps were almost as large and full-bellied as mine, maybe 14.5 inches to my 15. A shudder went through me as my balls unexpectedly churned. Somehow, I held back from the point of orgasm, even as he tightened his vise-like grip around my right arm and made my small softball of muscle resist him. I nearly didn’t manage to continue my resistance to orgasm when he made me do the same to him. He could not crush my muscle; it took all the strength in my grip to crush his.

He withdrew his arm and whispered a promise to me, “Just wait awhile, and you’ll wish you could even get your hand around my arm.”

Once he was done with my chest, my roommate ran his fingers down the valleys between my abs. They were sheened with a mist of sweat from his intimacy and my close brush with disaster. His forefinger was unusually warm as it ran along each of the three horizontal lines, then crossed its path vertically. I shuddered at how close to orgasm that touch was bringing me, and gasped in ecstasy as his hand continued its path to my cock.

And then he stopped, and chuckled.

“No, I don’t want to have a repeat of last night just yet,” Phil murmured. “After all, if you get too small, this won’t be any challenge. I think I’m going to try a bit of an experiment, instead.”

With that, he stuffed his venomous snake of flesh away into his stolen boxers and led me over to my bed. I was painfully erect, begging for release. He could see this.

”Just give me a little while, and I’ll make sure you get exactly what you need. You don’t want to disappoint me, do you? And if this works, it’ll change everything. Don’t make too much noise, and don’t cum, under any circumstances.” Phil sat me down on my bed, and I doubt I could have resisted him for long without either creaming or getting hurt. From his grip, I could tell he was still not quite as strong as I was. In my state, that didn’t give me much hope.

Phil turned away, giving me a glimpse of his muscularly rounded buttocks through the clinging silk of his boxers. I might have erupted right there had it not been for his command. He grabbed my cell phone off of the desk. I was terrified for a moment that he was going to call one of my friends over to see me in my diminished state, or even begin torturing them like he was abusing me. He started dialing a number.

He held the phone up to his ear, flexing his biceps for me as he did. My cock throbbed painfully, even while I told myself it was just him making me be interested in him. I wasn’t gay. There had been a few times when I thought about experimenting, but I had never enjoyed it enough to drop women. This was wrong, so wrong and disgusting and...

...holy shit, his back was tapered and buffed. I lurched again, balls producing more and more semen at the demands of my body. They had never felt this overfull, but I could not ejaculate.

“Jason?” Phil’s voice cut through me. His slacker friend Jason. He was going to bring Jason over here and ruin my reputation forever. My mind raced with possibilities: would he take pictures of Dane the jock, all bound up and boned? Make me suck Jason? Phil’s words to one of his few acquaintances cut an eerie duet through my mind. “I know you’re not driving. You’re in your room. It’s a minute away from ours. Don’t lie to me, Jason. Good. Be over here as fast as you can.”

As preoccupied as I was with the burning pleasure and pain flourishing throughout my groin, that minute seemed to pass by in hurried seconds. My hand kept racing to my cock, furiously jerking it for a few strokes, but I couldn’t get it to do anything. Then Jason burst through the door without a knock or an announcement. He was wearing, despite the heat of the day, a black sweatshirt and massively oversized jeans which were hung low so as not to conceal his blue polka-dotted white boxers. As he turned away from shutting the door and faced us, he let out a loud laugh.

”Holy shit, man! What the fuck are you doing, Dane?” He barely managed it through his laughter.

Phil’s smile was sickly sweet. “He won’t answer you,” he said, cutting me off from a grunted explanation. My hand worked mechanically over my cock. I felt like my balls were going to burst, but still they kept producing. “And that’s not all,” he announced. “Dane, stand up, and go and stand in front of Jason.”

I got ice in the pit of my stomach as I realized what my roommate wanted to showcase. I had always towered a bit over Jason, who stood at a bit over 5’10. I stood in front of him and tilted my head back. Jason's crystal green eyes looked malevolently down into mine. I looked up at him, watching as he took off his back-turned navy baseball cap and brushed his silken black hair back. It was unruly despite an evident attempt to spike it earlier in the day. He kept his distance from my major boner, but he kept looking at it with surprise.

Then he shifted his gaze to Phil. His eyes widened as he took in Phil’s developments. I noticed again as his eyes sparked over one development in particular: the seven inches of meat that Phil’s boxers could hardly constrain in its turgid state. His attention was drawn back to me by the frantic movements of my left hand over my dry pole.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked Jason, dumbstruck.

Phil calmly said, “I really don’t have much time to explain, Jay. Dane’s all ready to go, and I’m worried about him hurting himself if you don’t do something about it.”

Jason recoiled from Phil suddenly. “What do you mean?”

My roommate’s smile turned a bit sinister, and I wondered between the jolts of sensual electricity roaring from my cock to my head what he had planned. He did not keep me in suspense long.

As if through a haze, I heard him tell Jason, “I take care of my friends, Jay. Remember all those times you told me about how much you’d like to suck Dane off, while you made me gag on you?” I guess he had given blow jobs before. The thought of how boring they must have been for Jay didn’t raise any humor for me in my current state. “You used to fantasize about him giving himself to you, but you hated what a huge jock he was. Well, look at him now. Take of your shirt and pants, Jay.”

Staring directly at me with those piercing green eyes, Jay drew his black sweatshirt over his head to reveal a ribbed white wifebeater clinging to his slim physique. He was muscled like a skinny skateboarder, but what muscles he did have were emphasized by the skin-tightness of his shirt. He kicked off his sandals, dropped his jeans, and revealed his crisp boxers. They were straining with a package that had to be as large as Phil’s, if not quite as thick or appetizing to my altered sensibilities.

“Now you drop your boxers, Dane. We don’t want them to get in the way.” Phil ordered. My junk was in sickly agony, blue balls worse than I had ever gotten. This was only made better by the shocking flow of pleasure through me, intensifying with every heartbeat even though I still had not cum. As I dropped my boxers, my cock snagged on them. When I finally forced them down to my feet, my cock leapt up onto my abs—lower than I was used to—with a hearty smack.

Jason didn’t need to be ordered. He fell to his knees before me and took me entirely into his mouth, parting his jaws with the expert grace of a long-planned maneuver. Disappointment flashed in his eyes as he took me with ease; perhaps he had expected me to be bigger than this. I had been, once. My balls roiled with their internal torture.

It was the best head that I had ever had, a fact that nearly escaped me through the haze of pain and pleasure roaring down my veins. I felt sick and energized at the same time as Jason guided himself over my shaft and tickled my balls with one finger. It did not take long for me to start bucking violently into his mouth, but still I did not ejaculate. He looked up reproachfully, his green eyes reminding me of my first girlfriend when I had gotten a little too enthusiastic.

The reproach meant nothing, because at that moment Phil decided to make his next order. “It’s time for you to have the biggest orgasm of your life, Dane. Cum.”

I did. My balls forced their seed out into Jason’s mouth with a geyser’s force. It was unnatural, the amount of cum that they expelled in that first hurried rush, but I had not a care in the world. I didn’t think Jason could take it. I expected to see spunk pouring out of his nose and ears as my second gush came, and almost pulled out. To my surprise, his hands were clamped around the spasming muscles of my buttocks. He forced me in even deeper, and I rocketed a third blast down his throat.

He was doing everything he could to suppress gagging. The ecstasy was so great for me that I was crying, and Phil, watching over the scene, was laughing like a madman. After the fourth eruption, I heard myself shout, “Is this what you’ve wanted? Take it like a bitch!” I started face-fucking him harder and harder, not letting my diminished size getting in the way of the testosterone tearing through me like a tidal wave. At the fifth explosion of semen, Jason’s grip began to falter. The sixth hit him so hard that he finally fell away from my cock, dazed and shivering, but I wasn’t yet done. I raised my hand to my dick and forced out three more shots onto his face and chest. Not a drop missed him.

I turned my head toward the ceiling and heaved a mighty sigh. It felt good to have triumphed.

For about thirty seconds.

Then, Jason sat up. He looked down at himself, apparently questing for the semen I had just expended over him. I panted, gazing down in shock at him as well. His belly should have been distended, his face and chest absolutely drenched in my fluids. None of this was true. It was almost all gone, except for a little wisp of whiteness at the edge of his mouth that vanished as I watched.

Phil clapped his hands and stared on with anticipation, and suddenly I knew what I had done. Jason was standing up, flexing a scrawny arm. He stared at it with utter amazement. A little ball of muscle had popped out of the surface, concealed though it was by a thin layering of fat. Even as we three stared, the muscle crested higher, and that fat receded, giving way to skeletal leanness. That did not last long. He pumped his arm, and with each successive flexion the muscle exploded higher and higher. We were distracted in unison as a tearing sound came from the chest of his wife-beater.

His chest was getting larger, thicker enough already to have created a slight gash right down its center. He already had pectorals upraised from his flat stomach like pancakes where before they were barely present. Moment by moment, they pulsed larger, creating a deepening valley between the two. I could see the bricks of his six-pack being laid under the shirt, but these were concealed as he brought his thickening arms in for a flex. The shirt cried out another rip of protest, and the furrow between his pecs was revealed as their burgeoning size pulled the shirt apart. His arms did the rest, and Jason stood bare-chested and growing before me.

As he straightened, I realized that he was definitely over 5’10 now. With every second, the distance in our heights increased, until he was standing noticeably higher than 5’11. Even then, his growth did not stop, only slowed.

His legs, too, were growing, cut calves pushing out where slim smoothness had been, the thighs putting layer upon layer of thick, craggy muscle to fill out the legs of his boxers. One of them creaked in complaint, but did not quite split.

Jason decided it was time to show off his biceps again, and I watched in awe at how much they had grown in between investigations. They were clearly larger than Phil’s, and, like Jason’s chest, showed no signs of stopping until they had swollen far past mine. Jason’s growth slowed to a crawl, but as it did he flexed one arm in front of my face. There was no question as to who was more muscled, now. The lightning motion of his arm giving birth to a seventeen plus inch monster of muscle, absolutely choked in jagged veins, drew my cock back to hardness.

The motion drew his attention down to his own monster, which was chomping at the bit to be released from his strained boxers. He readily obliged it, extending a hand to Phil. My roommate had obviously anticipated this: the damnable ruler was ready at hand.

Quivering with anticipation, the nearly six foot tall stud placed the flat steel bar beneath his cock and smiled. The massive head, almost as large as mine had been at its height, concealed the eight inch mark of the ruler completely. I wanted to hate him, but instead my cock just let out another massive torrent of jism across his midsection. That one shot was more than all Phil had taken from me the night before, but it absorbed into Jason’s skin with disturbing speed.

He stood straight, and I saw him swell another inch or two in height. My eyes were at Jason’s lips, now. His chest swelled a bit more, puffing out until it looked like it had, flexed, even though he was completely relaxed. His pecs were squared and massive to my eyes, forming a perfect inch-deep shelf over his brick-like abs. But I could barely pay attention to those, as his cock crawled even higher up the ruler, finally surpassing the nine inch mark and thickening to a point that would have put mine to shame.

I gasped, realizing how much weaker I really had become only as Jason forced me to my knees. Standing straight as he was before me, the man was twice my kneeling height. His cock looked massive, and it was jerking in the air with anticipation.

“I guess it worked,” said Phil. “Looks like you’re going to be in demand, Dane,” he mocked me.

I tried to get up, but Jason’s arm was like a steel girder holding me down. I scrabbled at it with my hands, but his muscles were taut. Even the veins felt hard as granite to my touch. Jason let out a gasp of pleasure.

And then, as Jason’s cock twitched violently and exploded, my world dissolved in the seed of the god I had inadvertently created. •

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