Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)


By Xyggurat

The next several weeks passed with disturbing swiftness. I never realized how good I had it when I was taller and more muscular. Classes resumed, and I was forced again to meet with the reality of my situation. At 6'1 and 185, I had been able to easily push through the crowds, and had a decent height advantage over others. Suddenly, I was getting jostled everywhere by my former peers in height and strength. I was an average-sized guy, even though my build was pretty awesome. Suddenly, most of the guys around were near my height or above it. I was shocked the first few times I saw girls as tall as me, or taller.

I took precautions to avoid meeting with my friends; even had Phil not commanded that I keep my silence about what had been done to me, they wouldn't have believed any excuses I offered. An inch or two in height was easily disguised, but three or four was an obvious gulf. The occasional casual acquaintance asked me if I was feeling all right despite my attempts at avoiding contact. One of the guys from the J.V. water polo team—I couldn't remember his name, but I thought it was James or Johnny—kept glancing at me suspiciously as we passed on the way to classes. Some of my classmates inspected me in passing, probably wondering if I had been wearing lifts all this time. I hoped they could not see how my musculature had wasted away under the thick autumn sweatshirts and cargo pants I wore.

At first, I found it strange that no one pursued that line of thought. Then I realized that even when I had been my normal size, I had not been a terribly social person on campus. I wondered how many people would really miss me if this madness with Phil continued. Lisa certainly hadn't. She had apparently taken my recent communications silence as a lack of interest. I'd noticed her on campus with several different guys from the varsity sports teams. She'd pointedly not noticed me. The bitch.

Phil did his part to ensure that my defeat was not too swift. He seemed to enjoy dragging out my misery by making me go to the gym every morning. He didn't even bother working out much, other than to demonstrate as the days passed his growing strength. I was barely able to hold my bench press at 180, but Phil's climbed from 150 to 160 in just three days and showed no signs of stopping. He was only 10 pounds below me on curls, and I saw him flirting with my 60 pounders in his mind's eye. His muscles were visibly larger as each day in the gym passed. The scale's numbers confirmed his growth, his weight rising to 155. My weight climbed a bit more slowly despite my frequent exercise and better diet, and I was able to regain my weight of 165. I was still 20 pounds lighter than I had been at 6'1.

One morning, exactly three weeks after the day I had made Jason grow, I awakened to find my roommate nowhere in sight. I didn't even bother going to the gym that day, opting instead to take my time of freedom to hike up to the campus early. It would be nice to get some studying done before classes. The autumn morning was chill and bright, the sky a luminous blue that soured my mood instantly: it reminded me of Phil's eyes, rising up toward mine on the day he had used me to make himself grow.

My mood further soured as I saw Jason standing outside the entrance to the science hall, smoking on a cigarette. His thick-soled boots lent him several extra inches of height, making him about half a foot taller than me. Disregarding the chill of the morning, he wore a black sleeveless shirt that left his perfectly-rounded delts and biceps bare. He was not flexing, but the muscles arced out of his arms. They bounced like something alive as he adjusted his cigarette in his mouth. As I mounted the stairs leading to the hall, I noticed he was wearing some tight sweat pants. Despite their dark color, they left none of his endowments—muscular or otherwise—to the imagination.

I approached the doors, and he leaned away from his perch, effectively blocking my path. I glanced around several times, hoping that someone was nearby. The futility of my situation struck me: I was on a college campus at just past 6:00 AM. Not a single self-respecting college student would be readying himself for classes. A thought flashed through my mind for a second: what if Phil had planned this meeting?

Jason dispelled that thought. “Surprised to see you up here, little guy,” he said. Without waiting for me to respond, he continued, “I was going to do some skating before my first class, but it’s a lot harder with all of this extra... uh, junk.” Jason glanced suggestively down at his pants. His dick stretched out to erectness in the passage of a few seconds. He looked back down at me, vivid green eyes framed by the wicked arch of his black brows.

It took most of my courage to ask, “What do you want?”

He punched me in the shoulder. I don’t think the gesture was meant to sway me, but I stumbled back, leaving him snickering over my weakness. His punch had felt like a baseball bat swing to my right side. I was shocked again by how strong he had become.

”Maybe you should start working out,” he offered coarsely. When I didn’t respond, he finally answered, “But I think you know what I want. Why don’t we go inside?”

I turned, and tried to bolt away. One of my feet left the ground, I was readied to sprint. I wasn’t counting on Jason’s speed. One big foot snaked out and knocked my other leg out from under me. I hit the pavement with a sharp crack, but the cold had already numbed me against pain. My book bag went flying.

I tried to voice my protest, but the fall had taken my voice and breath away. An instant later, I was lifted by two solid arms. Jason commented on how light I felt as he dragged us through the lobby doors and into the men's lavatory. My hopes for egress died as he forced the restroom's deadbolt into place. It took him a few tries to move the corroded lock.

His eyes were aflame with need. Jason’s lust was beyond anything sexual as he sat me down on the counter, large fingers fumbling with the button and then the zipper of my cargo pants. I was stunned by my fall, but clumsily flailed at his face, head, and neck. He ceased momentarily in his efforts in getting me unzipped to grab my arms and force them back behind my head with one hand. My resistance was utterly ignorable. I felt like a rag doll against his superior strength.

Then he was back at my trousers with his free hand, drawing them hurriedly down to my ankles. I savored a moment of true resistance as I realized that he could not force me to erection. He could not make me give him what he wanted. By this point, the snake in his trousers was pounding to escape its prison. He withdrew his hand from my legs and quickly jerked his sweatpants down, freeing his cock to swing pendulously about. I don’t think I’d ever seen one that big, except maybe in porn.

Jason caressed his a few times, then fished through my silk boxers and withdrew mine. Against my will, the touch called it to attention. With every beat of my heart, my penis swelled a bit more in his grip. It looked small against his big paw. That huge hand was defter than I had expected, knowing exactly how to bring me to full mast. As his other hand beat off my struggles, Jason’s right beat off my prong expertly, arousing me despite my quiet horror at this situation. Everything was piling up on me: Phil’s transformation, my shrinking, Jason’s huge size. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t even realize in my inner torment that I was coming quickly to the edge of my sexual endurance. He was a master with his hand. I began to squirm. All the muscles in my body were clenching and unclenching in the ecstasy of the situation. Jason, obviously an authority on pleasing men, saw an opening and took me fully into his mouth. The resulting explosion tore down his throat with a force that surprised even him, but my trembling fear at the consequences kept my orgasm short and relatively unproductive. I barely felt the power of the climax, which left my toes curling and vision blurring for just a few seconds.

Jason straightened, glowering at me with disappointment as he withdrew his grip from my arms. He wiped his mouth, even as his body rocked with new growth. I saw his cock expand alarmingly, engorging to a thickness greater than that of my wrist. Its length reeled out, jerking past ten inches before running out of fuel to grow on. The rest of his body continued building upon itself, muscles distending with new size. He was feeling at his chest passionately as it expanded, and only the elasticity of the fabric kept it from splitting asunder at the press of his emergent muscles.

The squeaking of overstressed leather drew his eyes down to his feet, which barely avoided bursting his boots. I stared down at the massive boots, but only until the movement of his sweatpants caught my attention. They were down around his thighs, and the waistline was straining to keep those masses in check. Slowly, the elastic cuffs of the sweatpants climbed away from his ankles, revealing an inch or two of his bared leg.

I gazed back up at Jason, who was busy staring at his cannonball deltoids. They led down to arms that had to be nineteen inches around, unblemished by the presence of fat. My head’s movement must have caught his attention, because he looked back down at me.

Awe in his voice, he gasped, “You look so damn short.” Then, breathlessly, “More.”

He moved toward me, and I knew for certainty that there was no way I could resist him now. He would be almost 6’4 without his boots, and had possibly eighty pounds of muscle on me at this point. I had never seen someone so tall look so well-proportioned. By my judgment, he had to have been 235 pounds of massed and swollen symmetry. As Jason’s hands made contact with my skin, a resounding thud echoed from outside the bathroom.

A voice ordered, “Open the door.”

My heart melted with joy. It wasn’t Phil’s voice. Jason pulled up his trousers, his erection wilting away as far as it could go—even fully soft, it would be bigger than an average man’s. I wished that all of the man-made muscle that rippled through his arms, his broad chest and oversized shoulders, could do the same. He looked impatiently at me, and I drew up both boxers and trousers over my spent cock. As I forced myself down off the counter, I realized how much taller he was, 6’5 or more in his booted feet. His sheer mass dwarfed mine.

Jason lumbered over to the door once I was fully dressed, effortlessly undoing the lock that had challenged him just minutes ago. As soon as it was undone, the door swung open.

A fairly short man, 5’6 or 5’7, stood in the doorway. His hair was dark red, hallmarking Irish or Scottish descent. Like Jason, his eyes were green, but they were rich and dark like emeralds. He wore a brown woolen sweater and corduroys of a slightly lighter hue. The newcomer’s voice was surprisingly commanding as he ordered Jason, “Get out of here.”

The huge former slacker must have been surprised. He stood there for a moment, staring dumbly, but to my complete amazement he left without a word, taking obvious care not to get in the way of the shorter man.

This freed my savior to come to my side. He looked up at me slightly, frowning as he asked, “Are you all right?”

I nodded my head, but the scrapes from my fall must have convinced him differently. His green eyes bored into mine, and I looked away. Before I knew it, I changed my mind and shook my head. “No, not really.”

“I’m Professor McTague,” he said, offering a hand. I shook it. My wrists hurt from their abuse. I was distracted from that by my surprise: he had struck me as being around my age. Then again, we had a lot of associate professors who liked to throw around their titles.

“I know this isn’t much consolation,” began the professor, “but I’m pretty sure I know exactly what you’re going through.”

I blushed. He thought I had been getting abused by—well, in a way, I was, but not in the manner he suspected. Phil’s command rang through me, and I struggled to keep from visibly staggering at its potency. I couldn’t tell anyone what my roommate was doing to me, not that anyone would believe anyway.

Taking my silence for unwillingness to discuss the situation, the shorter man gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “If you need to talk, even if it’s about something you’d rather not tell anyone else, feel free to come by my office on the second floor. Completely confidential. You look like you could use a friend…”

He stopped expectantly. I took the cue. “Dane,” I told him.

”You can call me Liam, if you like.” At my second silence, he shrugged, turned, and walked toward the door. I was actually just gratified that he wasn’t one of those people who wore their educations as a badge. Stopping where he was framed by the breaking light of day, Professor McTague smiled again at me. I almost felt like taking him up on that friendship offer. My mind rejected the idea, but I was still feeling better than I had in months as I looked at him. He broke his spell by saying, “I really do understand what you’re up against. It’s in you to fight what’s going on in your life. So fight it.”

He turned and walked away. Suddenly, the entire room felt colder, darker. Maybe I was just so unused to anyone being kind to me that small bit of friendliness went a long way. •

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