Size Changes Big And Small

It started with a random hookup after a night at the club. Angie found the texts. The fight was nuclear—screaming, thrown hair products, the whole Shore special. “You’re dead to me, you fuckin’ scumbag!” she yelled, slamming the door behind her. Mike shrugged it off at first. He’d win her back. He always did.

But then the symptoms hit. A weird “shifting STD” going around the clubs—some new strain that fucked with your body. Mike thought it was just the flu until the world started growing around him. After two miserable weeks quarantined in his apartment, the shrinking stopped. He was now a pathetic 2’6”. Tiny, muscular, still tanned, but stuck looking up at door handles. His ego was crushed harder than his new height.

Angie heard through the grapevine. Curiosity (and a little revenge) got the best of her. She showed up one afternoon dressed to destroy: a skin-tight black lace mini dress that hugged every curve of her massive tits and thick ass, long sleeves flaring out dramatically, and sky-high black platform heels that pushed her to a towering 5’10”. Her long black hair cascaded down her back like a dark waterfall. She looked like a goddess. Mike’s front door was cracked open from when he’d tried (and failed) to reach the handle earlier.

She stepped inside, heels clicking like thunder on the tile. Mike stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring up… way up. Her legs looked endless. Her cleavage blocked out the light.

“Well, well, well,” Angie purred, hands on her hips as she looked down at him with a wicked smile. “Look what the clap shrunk. My big tough guido boyfriend is now a fuckin’ action figure. 2’6”? Jesus, Mike. Even your ego couldn’t save you this time.”

Mike’s face burned, but his cock betrayed him instantly. She was a giantess now—curvy, dominant, smelling like vanilla and sin. He couldn’t stop staring at the way her huge breasts strained the lace, or how her thick thighs looked powerful enough to crush him. “Angie… baby… you look… fuckin’ incredible,” he stammered, voice small.

She laughed, loud and cruel, tossing her hair. “Aww, the little guy’s got a boner already? Pathetic.” She took a step closer, her platform heel landing inches from his tiny sneakers. “You cheated on me, got dumped, caught some freak disease, and now you’re a pocket-sized meathead begging for attention? This is better than any revenge I could’ve planned.”

Mike dropped to his knees without thinking, staring up at her massive body. “Please, Angie. Take me back. I’ll do anything. I swear on my spray tan—I learned my lesson.”

Angie smirked, clearly amused. She planted one heel firmly, posing like the queen she was. “Anything, huh?” She pulled out her phone and started recording, the camera angled down at him. “Prove it, tiny. Hump my leg like the desperate little dog you are. Beg while you do it. Loud. I want every neighbor to hear what a loser you’ve become.”

Mike didn’t hesitate. He crawled forward, pressing his tiny muscular body against her smooth, warm calf. The lace of her dress brushed his face as he started grinding, humping her leg frantically. His hard little cock rubbed against the shiny black strap of her heel. “Please, Angie! I’m nothing without you! I’m your tiny guido bitch now—take me back, I’ll worship you every day! I’ll clean your heels with my tongue! I’ll never even look at another girl again!”

Angie giggled, filming the whole thing—his pathetic thrusts, his desperate voice, the way his face pressed into her thigh. “Look at you. Mr. Gym-Tan-Laundry reduced to this. Humping my leg like a chihuahua in heat. Say it again, louder.”

“I’m yours! Your little 2’6” toy! Please, baby—fuck, you’re so hot like this!” Mike moaned, grinding faster. The humiliation mixed with raw lust was too much. His tiny body shuddered as he came hard in his pants, a wet spot forming on his black track pants. He kept humping through it, whimpering.

Angie burst out laughing, zooming in on the stain. “Oh my God, you actually came? In your pants? From my leg? That’s the funniest shit I’ve ever seen.” She stopped recording and saved it, still smiling down at him. “Alright, little man. I’ll think about taking you back… if you can prove your utter devotion. Whatever I want, whenever I want. No limits.”

Mike looked up at her towering form, chest heaving, cum cooling in his ruined pants. “Anything you say, Angie. I’m yours.”

She smiled wide, that familiar cocky Jersey grin. “Good boy.”

Brian’s heart hammered against his ribs as he climbed the stairs to Vanessa’s apartment, the spare key burning a hole in his pocket. He’d suspected for weeks. The late nights, the cryptic texts, the way she’d started locking her bedroom door even when he was over. But catching her? That was never supposed to happen. Not to him. Not to the guy who’d worshipped the ground she walked on for two years.

He pushed the door open quietly, the way he always did when he wanted to surprise her. The surprise was on him.

There she was—his nympho girlfriend, Vanessa, bent over the back of her white leather couch, skirt hiked up around her waist, black lace panties dangling from one ankle. A massive, tattooed stranger was balls-deep behind her, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, slamming into her with wet, obscene slaps that echoed through the open-plan living room. Vanessa’s long black hair swung like a curtain, her full red lips parted in a moan that didn’t sound like the ones she gave Brian. It was raw. Hungry. Endless.

“Fuck—yes—harder, you fucking animal,” she gasped, pushing back against him.

Brian’s keys hit the floor with a clatter.

Vanessa’s head snapped around. Her dark eyes widened for half a second, then narrowed into something dangerous and amused. The stranger didn’t even stop; he just grinned over her shoulder like Brian was the entertainment.

“Bri?” Vanessa purred, not even bothering to push the guy off. “You weren’t supposed to be here tonight.”

The argument exploded like a bomb. He screamed. She laughed at first, then screamed back—calling him boring, vanilla, a pathetic little boyfriend who couldn’t keep up with her appetite. The stranger zipped up and left without a word, chuckling. Brian turned to storm out, fists clenched, vision blurry with rage and hurt.

That’s when Vanessa stepped in front of the door, blocking him.

She was still flushed, thighs glistening, dress half-unzipped, but her smile was ice-cold. In her hand was something he’d seen only once before—a sleek silver device she’d called her “little science project.” An experimental shrink ray. She’d laughed it off as a joke from some underground lab she’d sweet-talked her way into. Brian had thought it was a prop.

It wasn’t.

“Vanessa—don’t—”

Too late. A bright blue flash. The world lurched. The floor rushed up like a tidal wave. Furniture swelled into skyscrapers. Vanessa’s black patent platform heels—those ridiculous 10-inch monsters she loved—became towering monoliths of glossy black. Her legs stretched endlessly above him, smooth tan skin disappearing under the hem of her tight black latex dress that now looked like a shiny skyscraper itself.

When the vertigo stopped, Brian was two inches tall, standing on the cold tile floor between her feet. The air smelled like her—sex, perfume, and warm skin.

Vanessa crouched slowly, the latex dress creaking, her massive thighs flexing. She rested her elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, and looked down at him like a cat discovering a new toy. Her huge face filled the sky, glossy lips curved in a wicked smile.

“You were gonna leave me?” she whispered, voice booming like distant thunder. “Cute. But you’re never leaving now, little Bri. You’re mine. Forever. Welcome to your new apartment.”

She didn’t pick him up. She simply stood, the motion sending a gust of air that nearly knocked him over, and walked away. The floor trembled with each step. Her heels clicked like thunderclaps. She left him there, tiny and trembling, while she went to shower and get ready for the rest of her night.

That was day one.

Brian learned fast. The apartment was now a vast, hostile wilderness. Dust bunnies became forests. Crumbs were boulders. The gap under the couch was a cave system he could hide in for hours. Vanessa didn’t baby him. She didn’t leave food out or create a little habitat. She simply lived her life, and he survived in the margins—scavenging dropped crumbs of takeout, sipping condensation from the fridge line, dodging the vacuum cleaner when she bothered to use it.

Most days he stayed out of sight, heart racing every time her footsteps approached. He watched her from the shadows like the voyeur she had accidentally turned him into.

He watched her strut around in nothing but a tiny thong and one of those massive platform heels, phone to her ear, arranging her next hookup. He watched her cook, hips swaying, the curve of her ass straining against whatever skimpy thing she wore. He watched her lounge on the couch, legs spread lazily, fingers idly circling her clit while she scrolled through dating apps, picking her next victim.

And then the nights came.

The first time a new guy showed up—some 6’4” gym rat named Marcus—Brian had been hiding near the baseboard under the TV stand. He couldn’t look away. Vanessa greeted the man at the door in that same glossy black latex mini-dress from the night she’d shrunk him, the one that hugged every dangerous curve like liquid sin. The same sky-high black platform heels that now looked like they could crush cities. She kissed Marcus hard, dragged him to the couch, and rode him right there in the living room, moaning loud enough to shake the floorboards.

Brian stood frozen between the couch legs, staring up at the colossal spectacle. Vanessa’s pussy swallowed the man’s thick cock again and again, her juices dripping down in glistening strands that splattered like warm rain near Brian’s hiding spot. Her heels planted on either side of the couch, one of them so close he could see the tiny scuff marks on the sole. Every time she slammed down, the impact sent vibrations through the floor that knocked him off his feet.

He hated how hard he was. He hated how beautiful she looked—head thrown back, black hair wild, red lips open in ecstasy. She was a goddess now. Untouchable. Devouring.

After Marcus left, Vanessa stayed sprawled on the couch, legs wide, cum leaking down her thigh. She didn’t clean up right away. Instead she lazily scanned the floor, searching.

“Little Bri… come out, come out wherever you are,” she sang softly. “Mommy needs a little cleanup.”

He didn’t move. She laughed, low and throaty, then stood. The hunt was on.

Some nights she was in the mood to play.

Those were the nights she wore the heels.

The sound of those massive platforms clicking across the tile was unmistakable—slow, deliberate, predatory. Brian would run, heart slamming, darting between furniture legs that rose like redwoods. Vanessa’s laughter boomed overhead.

“Come here, tiny… I know you’re watching me fuck those big cocks. I know it makes you so fucking hard.”

She’d crouch suddenly, dress riding up, and her fingers would sweep under the couch like a living crane. Sometimes he escaped. Sometimes he didn’t.

When she caught him, she was merciless in the most delicious way.

One night she pinned him gently between two manicured fingers and lifted him to her face. Her breath washed over him—sweet, smoky, laced with the scent of the stranger she’d just finished with.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “So small. So useless. And still mine.”

Then she lowered him.

She pressed his tiny body against her swollen, dripping clit, grinding him in slow, deliberate circles while she moaned. His arms and legs flailed uselessly against the slick, hot flesh. She used him like a living sex toy—rubbing him up and down her slit, dipping his head and shoulders just inside her entrance, coating him in her arousal and the cum of whatever man had just left. Her moans grew louder, hips bucking. When she came, the orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, flooding him in warm, sticky nectar that left him gasping and drenched.

She’d drop him back on the floor afterward, glistening and spent, while she went to shower. “Good boy,” she’d call over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Weeks blurred into months.

Brian stopped trying to escape. There was no point. The front door was a distant cliff face. The windowsills were unreachable mountains. And honestly… he didn’t want to leave anymore.

He started worshipping her.

He’d wait in the open sometimes, just to be seen. When she walked past in those heels, he’d kneel between the treads, staring up at the endless length of her legs, the way the latex dress clung to her ass like a second skin. He’d whisper her name like a prayer while she fucked yet another stranger on the couch above him—massive, hung men who could give her what he never could. He’d stroke himself frantically to the sight of her riding them reverse cowgirl, heels planted on the floor, toes flexing, while their huge cocks disappeared inside her over and over.

One night she caught him openly jerking off while she was getting railed by two guys at once. She laughed, delighted, and later hunted him down wearing nothing but the black platform heels and a fresh load dripping down her thighs.

This time when she caught him, she didn’t just use him. She brought him close to her lips and whispered, “My perfect little voyeur. My tiny god-worshipping pet.”

She pressed him against her clit again, but slower this time—almost tenderly—while she fingered herself to another orgasm, moaning his name for the first time since the shrinking.

Brian came harder than he ever had in his life, tiny body shuddering against her pulsing flesh.

Vanessa had gone from cheating girlfriend to cruel giantess to absolute goddess in his eyes. He lived for her now. For the thunder of her heels. For the earthquakes of her orgasms. For the casual, careless way she owned every inch of his world.

And every night, as the latest stranger left and Vanessa lounged on the couch in her glossy black dress and sky-high heels, Brian would crawl out from under the furniture, stand between her massive feet, and bow his head in silent, ecstatic devotion.

Bound by Size: The Giant and His Mini

Josh and Troy had been best friends since their freshman year at the local university. Josh, 6’1” with sandy-blond hair, a square jaw, and an easy, confident grin, had always been the bigger of the two—broad-shouldered, naturally strong, the kind of guy who turned heads in the campus gym without even trying. Troy, 5’10” with dark hair, sharp features, and a mischievous spark in his eyes, was leaner but fiercely determined, the one who dragged Josh through extra sets when motivation lagged. They bonded instantly over iron and protein shakes, spotting each other through grueling workouts, sharing late-night talks about their shared dream: one full year of total dedication to packing on as much muscle as humanly possible, then stepping onstage together in amateur bodybuilding competitions.

“We’ve got the drive,” Troy said one night, sweat still glistening on their chests after a brutal chest-and-back session in their cramped apartment gym. “But we need an edge. Something to fast-track this.”

That edge came in the form of a flyer pinned to the campus bulletin board: an experimental clinical trial at the university’s physiology lab. “Rapid Hypertrophy Peptide Serum”—a new injectable compound designed to supercharge muscle protein synthesis, promising gains that normally took years in mere months. Volunteers were needed, with full medical monitoring. Minimal side effects reported in early testing. Josh and Troy looked at each other, grinned, and signed the waivers the next day.

The results hit like a freight train. From the very first weekly injection, their bodies responded with shocking speed. Within two weeks, shirts that once fit loosely now stretched tight across swelling pecs and delts. By the end of month one, both had packed on twenty-five pounds of dense, striated muscle. Josh’s arms ballooned past 19 inches cold; Troy’s abs carved themselves into a deep eight-pack that looked photoshopped. Their workouts became almost orgasmic—the pumps so intense they’d flex in the locker room mirror afterward, veins popping like rivers across oiled skin, laughing and shoving each other while their cocks strained half-hard against their shorts from the testosterone flood.

Month two cranked it higher. They were both pushing 250+ pounds of pure muscle. Josh hit 6’2” and 280, his back a wide, sweeping V that made doorways feel narrow. Troy, still compact at 5’10” but now 225 pounds of shredded perfection, matched him in density. They outgrew every piece of clothing; seams ripped mid-set. Evenings turned into ritualistic admiration sessions. They’d oil each other up in the living room, hands sliding over hot, hard muscle, tracing striations and peaks. “Fuck, bro, feel this,” Troy would murmur, squeezing Josh’s thickening quad. Josh’s hands would linger on Troy’s carved obliques, the air thick with musk and unspoken heat. They jerked off side by side more than once after sessions—“just bros blowing off steam”—but their eyes locked longer each time, breaths syncing as they came.

By the start of month three, they looked like pros already. But something was… off.

It began during their weekly measurements. Josh’s pants were suddenly riding high on his ankles. “Dude, you’re taller,” Troy said, tape measure in hand. Josh had gained nearly three inches overnight. Troy, meanwhile, found his favorite gym shorts slipping down his hips, his shoes feeling loose. “And you’re… shrinking?” They laughed it off as measurement error or posture, but the changes accelerated fast.

Back at the lab, the doctors ran scans and looked alarmed. The serum had interacted unpredictably with their genetics. In Josh, it triggered a gigantism-like cascade: explosive vertical growth alongside even more extreme muscle hyperplasia. In Troy, the opposite—a rare proportional compression of skeletal structure and soft tissue, condensing his frame while preserving (and somehow densifying) every ounce of muscle. “It appears irreversible,” the lead researcher said gravely. “We’re terminating your participation immediately, but the effects will continue for a few more weeks as the compound clears.”

Josh and Troy sat in stunned silence on the drive home. Panic flickered—bodybuilding dreams, normal life, everything upended. But as the days passed and the changes locked in, something shifted between them. Josh stabilized at a towering 7’0”, 350+ pounds of colossal, vascular muscle. His thighs were thicker than most men’s waists, his pecs heavy slabs that jutted out like armor plates, arms peaking over 28 inches cold, hands big enough to cradle Troy’s entire torso. His voice dropped to a deep, rumbling bass that vibrated through the floor. Troy, meanwhile, dwindled steadily until he stood exactly 2 feet tall—a perfectly proportioned miniature bodybuilder, every muscle still ripped and dense, abs etched like a tiny washboard, biceps popping when he flexed, cock and balls proportionally impressive but now doll-sized.

The apartment became their sanctuary. Josh had to duck through every doorway, reinforced the furniture, and bought a custom king-plus bed that barely contained him. Troy’s world was now a landscape of giants: counters became cliffs, the couch a mountain range. But Josh adapted instantly, scooping his best friend up in one massive palm or letting him ride on his broad shoulder like a living accessory. “My little spotter,” Josh teased affectionately, his huge fingers gently adjusting Troy’s tiny tank top. Troy, never one to lose his fire, fired back: “Still the brains, big guy. Don’t drop me or I’ll kick your giant nuts.”

Practical life flipped. Josh quit his part-time retail job—his size made everything awkward—but started picking up strongman gigs and modeling work for niche fitness brands. Public stares were constant; people gawked, whispered, asked for photos. Troy, tucked safely in a custom harness inside Josh’s hoodie or perched on his shoulder, became the secret weapon—whispering form cues during lifts. Troy’s independence was gone, but he discovered a strange freedom: no more pressure to “be big enough.” Josh handled the heavy lifting (literally), while Troy’s sharp mind kept them organized, scheduling, planning content.

But the real transformation was inside their home—and between them.

The size difference ignited a raw, insatiable hunger they’d only hinted at before. One humid evening, after Josh had carried Troy through a sunset park walk (Troy nestled warm against his massive chest), they collapsed onto the oversized couch in the living room. Josh sprawled back in nothing but loose blue shorts that strained obscenely over his tree-trunk quads and the heavy bulge between them. Troy, shirtless in matching tiny blue shorts that hugged his miniature glutes and thighs, climbed up onto his friend’s lap—exactly as they’d later capture in their favorite private photo.

“Flex for me, big guy,” Troy breathed, eyes wide with lust as he stood on the warm, solid expanse of Josh’s thigh.

Josh grinned, that familiar cocky smile now framed by a jawline that could crush walnuts. He raised both arms into a massive double biceps pose. The peaks erupted like mountains—veins thick as ropes, skin stretched tight over striated perfection. Troy’s small but powerful hands couldn’t even span half the swell. He moaned openly, pressing his entire compact body against one bicep, grinding his tiny, rock-hard cock against the hot muscle while his face nuzzled into the peak. “Jesus… you’re a fucking god now,” he whispered, licking the salty skin, biting gently at the vein.

Josh’s breath hitched, his own enormous cock—now over a foot long and as thick as Troy’s forearm—stirring and thickening rapidly in his shorts, the head already peeking above the waistband like a blunt club. “And you’re perfect, little man. Every inch of you.” One of Josh’s huge hands came down, fingers thicker than Troy’s arms, gently cupping the smaller man’s back and ass, pressing him flush against the bicep. Troy humped harder, his whole torso sliding over the muscle, leaving a wet trail of pre-cum.

They kissed then—deep, hungry, Josh’s full lips enveloping Troy’s as he lifted him effortlessly toward his face. Troy’s hands roamed Josh’s neck and traps, then down to those massive pecs, sucking and biting at nipples the size of quarters while Josh’s free hand roamed lower, tugging Troy’s shorts off with careful precision.

Their sex became an art form of size and worship. Troy explored Josh’s body like a climber scaling a living mountain—crawling across the deep valleys of his abs, licking sweat from every ridge, burying his face between the heavy pecs until Josh’s moans shook the couch. Josh would lay back, shorts discarded, his colossal cock rising like a veiny pillar. Troy straddled it eagerly, wrapping his arms and legs around the shaft as best he could, rubbing his entire muscular little body along its throbbing length while Josh stroked himself slowly, the motion sliding Troy up and down like a living sleeve. Troy’s cock dragged against the hot skin, driving him wild.

“Fuck… use me,” Troy gasped, and Josh did—gently at first, then with growing confidence. He’d coat his palm in lube and slide Troy along his cock in long, full-body strokes, or position the tiny man between his pecs and thrust slowly, the friction and pressure making them both groan. For Troy’s pleasure, Josh was endlessly creative: his massive tongue lapping over Troy’s entire torso and groin in wet, hot strokes that made the smaller man shudder and cum within seconds; or a single thick finger, slicked and careful, teasing into Troy’s tight ass while Josh sucked gently on his tiny cock and balls at the same time.

Orgasms were explosive. Josh’s loads came in thick, ropey torrents—enough to cover Troy head to toe in hot, sticky cum that the smaller man would rub into his own skin like the world’s most expensive lotion, glistening and spent. Troy’s climaxes were smaller but no less intense, his whole body convulsing as he painted Josh’s abs or cock with his release.

Nights blurred into tender aftercare. Troy would curl up asleep between Josh’s pecs or nestled in the crook of one massive arm, the giant’s heartbeat a soothing drum. “I used to worry about being big enough for you—for anyone,” Troy confessed one night, voice soft against Josh’s skin. “Now… this feels right. Like we were always meant to fit together this way.”

Josh’s huge hand stroked down Troy’s back with impossible gentleness. “You’re my everything, little bro. Always were. The serum just made it obvious. I love carrying you. Protecting you. Feeling you worship me like this. We’re closer than any competition could ever make us.”

Publicly, they leaned into their new reality. Josh dominated local strongman events and oversized bodybuilding showcases, drawing crowds who cheered the 7-foot freak of nature. Troy perched proudly on his shoulder or lap during photos, flexing his own miniature physique, becoming an online sensation in size-contrast fitness content. Their bodybuilding dream evolved—they created a joint brand, “Giant & Mini,” with training videos, sponsorships, and private subscriber sessions that got very explicit. The money let them renovate: reinforced everything, custom everything, a life built around their sizes.

Months later, they recreated that perfect living-room moment on the couch for a private “photo shoot” that quickly turned filthy. Josh lounged back, blue shorts barely containing him, one arm flexed in a towering double biceps, the other supporting Troy who sat on his massive thigh, also shirtless and flexing, looking up at his giant lover with pure adoration and lust. Troy’s small hands traced Josh’s abs as the giant’s free hand slid down to cup his ass.

“Ready for round two, big guy?” Troy grinned, already grinding against the growing bulge beneath him.

Josh’s deep laugh filled the room. “Always, little man. Climb on up. We’ve got all night.”

Dan had always been a king of the iron jungle at Muscle Fitness. At 6’1” and 245 pounds of competition-grade muscle, he owned the free-weight section. His chest was a thick, striated shelf, his arms peaked like softballs, and his abs carved deep enough to cast shadows even under the harsh locker-room lights. But there was one man who made every head—including Dan’s—turn: Derek “The Beast” Harlan, the gym’s resident muscle bad boy. Derek was a walking monument of rebellion and raw power—6’4”, 285 pounds of vascular, tattooed perfection. His skin was perpetually bronzed and glistening, as if he’d been oiled up just for the mirrors. Ink covered him like a second skin: massive feathered wings stretched across his enormous pecs, the feathers detailed in black and fiery orange that seemed to ripple when he flexed. Tribal patterns and flames crawled down his boulder shoulders and sleeved his arms. Lower, just above the waistband of whatever he wore, a savage heart-and-flame tattoo pulsed over his ridged lower abs, the design disappearing teasingly into his crotch.

Dan had watched Derek for months—stealing glances during lifts, feeling that strange twist in his gut that was equal parts envy and something hotter, darker. Derek was cocky, loud, and merciless in the gym, grunting through sets like the weights owed him something. And tonight, the locker room was almost empty. Most guys had cleared out after the evening rush. Dan had just crushed a brutal chest-and-shoulder pump, veins popping like ropes under his skin, when he popped that new “nano-recovery” capsule he’d bought off some underground forum. Supposed to flood the muscles with growth factors. Instead, it hit like lightning.

A wave of vertigo slammed him. The floor rushed upward. Lockers soared into skyscrapers. Dan’s towel slipped off his shrinking body like a collapsing tent. In under sixty seconds he stood naked, one inch tall, heart hammering against his tiny ribs on the cold tile. “What the fuck… no, no, NO!” His voice was a pathetic squeak. He sprinted—bare feet slapping across the vast expanse—toward the benches, but every step felt like running through molasses. The world was too big, too loud. Footsteps thundered from the shower area.

Derek emerged, still damp from a quick rinse, water beads tracing the deep valleys between his pecs and rolling lazily over the wing tattoos. His cock hung heavy and thick between tree-trunk thighs, the head glistening faintly, balls low and full. He was naked except for the towel slung low on his hips, and he moved with that lazy, predatory swagger that made Dan’s stomach flip even at normal size.

Dan waved his arms like a madman. “Derek! Down here! It’s me—Dan! Help!” But the giant didn’t even glance down. Derek dropped his gym bag with a boom that vibrated through Dan’s bones, then yanked the towel free. His full, muscular glory filled Dan’s sky. The lower tattoo—flames licking up from a stylized heart—flexed as Derek reached into the bag and pulled out his favorite jockstrap: white with bold red-and-blue stripes across the wide waistband, the pouch already stretched and worn from countless savage workouts.

Dan saw his chance. The jockstrap landed on the bench edge, pouch facing up like a soft white hammock. He sprinted, scrambled up the fabric like a mountaineer, tiny hands gripping the weave. The material was still warm, faintly damp with Derek’s earlier sweat, carrying a thick, masculine musk that made Dan’s head spin and his own tiny cock twitch traitorously. “Derek, please—look down! I’m right here!”

But Derek was already stepping into the leg holes, massive thighs flexing like pistons. The world lurched. Dan tumbled headfirst into the pouch as the giant yanked the jock upward in one smooth motion. The stretchy fabric snapped into place, sealing Dan inside a humid, living prison. He was slammed face-first against the smooth, heavy weight of Derek’s balls—two massive, warm orbs that dwarfed him completely. The skin was velvet-soft yet taut, lightly dusted with short dark hair that prickled against Dan’s bare chest. Above him, Derek’s thick cock settled like a warm, heavy log, the shaft already half-hard from the casual handling, pinning Dan firmly between balls and dick.

“Fuck, this thing fits perfect,” Derek muttered, voice a deep rumble that vibrated through every inch of his body and straight into Dan’s bones. He gave the pouch a casual, possessive squeeze—huge fingers pressing the fabric tight. Dan was crushed deeper, his face buried in the crease where scrotum met thigh, the heat and scent exploding around him: pure Derek—salty sweat, musk, faint soap from the shower, and that underlying raw testosterone tang that made Dan’s lungs burn and his tiny erection throb painfully.

Derek didn’t notice the extra squirm. He just smirked at his reflection, adjusted the waistband so the red-and-blue stripes sat low on his hips, and strode out to the gym floor. Every step was an earthquake. Dan bounced and slid helplessly inside the pouch, rubbed relentlessly against the giant’s shifting balls and thickening cock. The heat built fast. Sweat already began to bead on Derek’s skin, trickling down the deep cuts of his abs and funneling straight into the jock.

The workout started with squats.

Derek loaded the bar heavy—four plates per side—and dropped into the first rep. Dan was smashed deeper into the pouch as those tree-trunk quads exploded with power. The pressure was immense, the giant’s balls tightening and rolling over him like living boulders. On the rise, Dan was lifted then slammed back down, grinding against the thickening base of Derek’s cock. “One… two… fuck yeah,” Derek growled, each grunt shaking the tiny man. Sweat poured. Salty rivers cascaded over Dan’s body, soaking him completely, filling his mouth when he gasped. He could taste Derek—pure, masculine, overwhelming. Despite the terror, Dan’s hips bucked involuntarily, his tiny cock sliding against the slick, heated skin.

Rep after rep. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Derek’s quads pumped huge, veins standing out like cables. Inside the pouch it was a sauna of motion and musk. Dan’s world narrowed to the relentless friction, the way Derek’s balls churned with every powerful thrust, the heavy cock now fully hard and throbbing against his back.

Next came bench press.

Derek lay back on the bench, massive pecs—those winged tattoos stretched gloriously—rising and falling like mountains. Dan felt every breath, every powerful press. The jockstrap strained as Derek’s core tightened, the lower flame tattoo flexing inches above the pouch. Sweat dripped from Derek’s chest in fat drops, splattering the fabric and soaking through. Dan was drowning in it, sliding helplessly up and down the length of the giant’s shaft as Derek powered through set after set. The cock pulsed, leaking a thick bead of pre-cum that smeared across Dan’s chest and belly like warm oil. The scent was intoxicating. Dan whimpered, grinding himself shamelessly against the slick, veined underside, lost in the overwhelming dominance of Derek’s body.

“Goddamn pump is stupid today,” Derek snarled to the empty gym, voice echoing. He didn’t know the tiny bodybuilder trapped in his crotch was the reason the sensation felt extra good—every tiny struggle, every frantic push of Dan’s hands against sensitive skin only made Derek’s cock twitch harder.

Shoulder presses. Cable flyes. Heavy rows. Each exercise turned the pouch into a washing machine of sweat, heat, and raw power. Dan lost track of time. His entire existence was Derek’s crotch: the heavy, rhythmic bounce of balls against his face, the thick cock sliding over his body like a living pillar, the endless flood of sweat that left him drenched and gasping. Fear had long since melted into something darker—pure, helpless lust. He came twice without even touching himself, tiny spurts lost in the flood of Derek’s pre-cum and sweat, his body shuddering in ecstasy against the giant’s balls.

Finally, after nearly an hour of brutal training, Derek’s body was a glistening, vascular masterpiece. The wing tattoos on his pecs looked alive, shining under the lights. He strode back to the locker room, each step sending fresh jolts through Dan’s exhausted, cum-slicked form.

Derek peeled the soaked jockstrap down his legs in one smooth motion. The fabric stretched, then released. Dan tumbled out, slick and gasping, landing on the crumpled white towel with its red-and-blue stripes—the same one in the corner of the locker room. He lay there, chest heaving, covered head to toe in Derek’s sweat and scent, staring up at the towering god who still hadn’t noticed him.

Derek stood naked, cock still half-hard and glistening, muscles pumped to the extreme. He reached for a fresh towel, massive foot hovering inches away like a descending cliff. Dan tried to crawl, to wave, to scream—but all that came out was a hoarse, broken moan of exhausted arousal.

Jared had always been the alpha in their relationship—the towering 6’0” bodybuilder with shoulders like boulders, a chest that strained every shirt, and quads that could crush watermelons. At 220 pounds of dense, veined muscle, he ruled their local gym like a king. Jesse, his 5’4” girlfriend of two years, was no slouch either. She was a compact powerhouse: thick, striated thighs that flexed like steel cables when she squatted, a carved midsection that popped under the gym lights, and arms that could curl heavy dumbbells with perfect form. Her blonde hair was usually pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her green eyes sparkled with competitive fire every time she matched him rep for rep. They were the golden couple of Iron Haven Fitness—him spotting her on bench, her cheering him through deadlifts, their sweat-slicked bodies grinding together in the locker room showers afterward for quick, hungry fucks that left them both breathless.

But everything changed the day they brought home the “Elixir.”

It was supposed to be the ultimate bodybuilding hack: an experimental serum from some underground lab that promised accelerated muscle hypertrophy, insane recovery, and—according to the shady website—height optimization for “proportional gains.” They’d laughed about it over protein shakes, teasing each other about finally hitting their dream physiques. Jared wanted to push past 230; Jesse wanted to fill out her 5’4” frame with even more curves and power. They both injected it that night—his dose calibrated for his larger body, hers for her smaller one. The first few days were electric. Jesse’s workouts exploded. She added 20 pounds to her squat like it was nothing. Her glutes rounded fuller, her delts capped harder, and her energy in the bedroom skyrocketed. She rode Jared with a new ferocity, pinning his wrists above his head and grinding down on his cock until he came so hard he saw stars.

Jared felt… off. At first it was subtle—a faint dizziness after heavy sets, a strange looseness in his shoes. “Must be the new pre-workout,” he muttered, shaking it off. But by day five, the scale lied to him. He’d dropped two pounds. Not fat—muscle. His favorite tank top hung a little looser across his pecs. Jesse noticed too, but she was too busy marveling at her own reflection. “Babe, look at these quads,” she purred one morning, flexing in the mirror. Her legs had thickened noticeably, the teardrop sweep of her vastus medialis popping like never before. She was already 5’5”—a full inch taller overnight. She pulled him close, her body pressing against his with a new solidity, and kissed him deep. “I feel unstoppable.”

The changes accelerated.

By the end of week two, Jesse had shot up to 5’8”. Her once-snug gym shorts now rode high on her thickening thighs, the denim of her favorite cutoff pair stretching taut across an ass that had ballooned into two perfect, striated globes. She’d gained fifteen pounds of pure, vascular muscle, her biceps peaking at a solid 15 inches when flexed. Jared, meanwhile, had shrunk to 5’10”. His 220 pounds had melted down to 205, but it wasn’t just weight loss—his frame was compressing, bones and all. His once-dominant height advantage had evaporated. When they stood face-to-face in the gym, her eyes were now level with his nose. She grinned, cupping his jaw. “You’re looking… compact, big guy.” Her voice had a husky edge, and when she backed him against the wall between sets, her hands roamed lower, squeezing his still-hard cock through his shorts. “But you’re still mine.”

Their sex that night was different. Jesse was stronger—noticeably. She lifted him onto the kitchen counter like he weighed nothing, wrapped her powerful legs around his waist, and fucked him standing up, her growing breasts—now fuller and heavier from the hormonal surge—bouncing against his chest. “Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” she moaned, but there was a new command in her tone. She came first, shuddering around him, then kept riding until he exploded, his hands gripping her ass that now overflowed his palms.

Week four brought the real shift. Jesse hit 6’2”. She was taller than Jared’s original height, her body exploding with growth. Her halter tops strained against D-cup tits that sat high and firm on a chest wider than his had ever been. Her shoulders were capped like bowling balls, her lats flaring out into a dramatic V-taper that made her waist look impossibly tiny. At the gym, heads turned. Guys who used to nod respectfully at Jared now stared openly at Jesse as she loaded 315 on the squat bar like it was warm-up weight. She moved with predatory grace, her 9-inch platform sneakers (she’d had to buy new ones) thudding across the floor.

Jared was down to 5’6”, 175 pounds of still-cut but noticeably smaller muscle. His shorts sagged at the waist; he had to cinch his belt two holes tighter. Spotting Jesse on bench now felt ridiculous—she pushed 225 for reps while he stood there, hands hovering uselessly because she didn’t need him. “I got this, babe,” she said, voice low and confident, racking the bar herself. Sweat glistened on her cleavage, which now hovered at his eye level. In the locker room afterward, she didn’t wait. She pinned him against the lockers, her massive hand wrapping around his cock—still impressive, but now dwarfed by her grip—and stroked him slow and firm. “You’re getting so cute and little,” she whispered, nipping his ear. “I love how I can just… take what I want now.” She dropped to her knees—something she rarely did before—and sucked him deep, her full lips stretching around him while her free hand massaged his shrinking balls. When he came down her throat, she swallowed every drop and stood up, towering over him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Good boy.”

The gym dynamic flipped completely by week six. Jesse was 7’4”, a towering goddess of muscle and curves. She had to duck under the pull-up bar now, her 9’0” target still months away but already unstoppable. Her green tank tops had been replaced by custom XXL stringers that barely contained her F-cup breasts and boulder-like shoulders. Her quads were monstrous—each one thicker than Jared’s entire waist—and when she walked, the ground seemed to tremble. She benched 405 for sets of eight, deadlifted 675 like it was a warm-up, and spotted the biggest guys in the gym while they struggled. People whispered. Some asked for photos. Jesse posed with them, flexing her 20-inch arms, her smile radiant and dominant.

Jared, now 4’8” and 130 pounds, looked like a fitness model who’d been shrunk in the wash. His once-heroic physique was still ripped, but proportionally tiny. He could barely reach the 45-pound plates on the rack anymore. When he tried to load the bar for squats, Jesse stepped in effortlessly, hoisting two plates at once with one hand. “Let me help you, little man,” she cooed, her voice a velvet rumble that made his cock twitch despite the humiliation. She spotted him on everything now—curling his entire bodyweight like it was a dumbbell during playful lifts. One night after closing, the gym empty, she stripped him naked on the bench and straddled him reverse cowgirl, her colossal ass eclipsing his view as she lowered herself onto his throbbing cock. She was so tall her feet planted flat on the floor while she rode him, her pussy—hot, wet, and impossibly tight despite her size—milking him with rhythmic squeezes. “Feel that? That’s all me now,” she growled, reaching back to grip his thighs and pull him deeper. “My little toy. My perfect, shrinking stud.” She came hard, flooding his lap, then flipped around to face him, lifting his entire body off the bench and fucking him in mid-air, her massive tits smothering his face until he exploded inside her with a desperate cry.

By month three, the transformation was nearly complete. Jesse stood at her full 9’0”—a literal giantess bodybuilder who had to custom-order everything. Her body was a masterpiece of erotic power: 280 pounds of dense, shredded muscle layered over feminine curves that made grown men weak. Her thighs were 40 inches around, her calves diamond-cut, her abs an eight-pack that flexed visibly when she breathed. She dominated the gym completely. She trained alone with Jared now; the other members gave them space, equal parts intimidated and aroused by the sight of this towering blonde goddess coaching her tiny, muscular boyfriend.

Jared had bottomed out at 3’6”, 85 pounds of perfectly sculpted miniature muscle. He looked like a living action figure—ripped, vascular, and utterly dwarfed. His head barely reached Jesse’s mid-thigh when they stood together. Clothes were impossible; he wore kids’ athletic gear she bought him, the fabric still loose on his shrunken frame. In the gym, he no longer lifted weights—he lifted her accessories. She’d set him on the cable machine pulley and have him do pull-ups using her resistance bands for added challenge. She could curl him one-handed for sets of twenty, his hard cock pressed against her forearm as she pumped.

Their sex life had become a full-blown size-fetish ritual. Jesse would carry him to the custom-reinforced bench she’d had installed, strip him slowly, and worship his tiny, rock-hard body with her tongue—licking every ridge of his abs, sucking his entire cock and balls into her mouth at once while her fingers teased his ass. Then she’d mount him, her 9’0” frame engulfing him completely. Her massive pussy swallowed his cock effortlessly, yet clenched with such control that he felt like he was fucking a velvet vice. She’d ride him for hours, her huge tits bouncing, one hand cupping his entire ass to control the depth, the other pinning his wrists above his head. “You’re my little alpha now,” she’d moan, voice husky with lust. “My perfect pocket-sized stud. Cum for your giantess goddess.” When she came, it was cataclysmic—her walls rippling around him, juices soaking his torso as she roared in ecstasy. Afterward, she’d cradle him against her chest like a doll, stroking his hair while he nursed at one massive nipple, both of them spent and perfectly content.

In the gym, Jesse was undisputed alpha. She’d hoist Jared onto her shoulder like a trophy while she did walking lunges with 500 pounds across her back. She’d let him stand between her feet for motivation during deadlifts, his face inches from her throbbing quads as they swelled with each rep. The few times other bodybuilders tried to challenge her, she’d simply pick them up—literally—and set them aside with a wink. “My man’s got the best view in the house,” she’d say, patting Jared’s head affectionately. He’d look up at her, eyes full of awe and raw desire, his tiny cock straining against his shorts. She was bigger, stronger, and in total control—and they both fucking loved it.

Some nights, after the gym, she’d carry him home in the crook of her arm, his face buried between her breasts, and whisper filthy promises. “Tomorrow I’m going to bench press you while you fuck my tits. Then I’ll sit on your face until you’re drowning in me.” Jared would moan against her skin, completely surrendered to his giantess girlfriend—the woman who had once looked up to him, now the towering, muscular goddess who owned every inch of his world.

Tyler had been home from Harvard for three weeks, and his parents barely saw him. At first they chalked it up to the usual post-semester exhaustion—long nights, too much screen time, the typical college-kid haze. But the silence from his bedroom grew heavier. No footsteps down the hall at night. No empty cereal bowls in the sink. Just the low, rhythmic creak of his bedframe and the occasional deep, guttural groan that made his mother, Laura, flush with secondhand embarrassment.

“Tyler? Honey, you okay in there?” she’d call through the closed door.

A muffled “Yeah, Mom. Studying,” was all she ever got.

But Tyler wasn’t studying.

He was naked, cross-legged on the floor of his childhood bedroom, thick cock in his fist, eyes glued to the laptop balanced on his knees. The Harvard sticker on the lid glowed faintly in the dim lamplight. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through his body, and every orgasm… changed him.

It had started small. A strange, warm rush after the first explosive load that left his arms feeling thicker, his chest broader. By the third day he had to duck through doorways. By the end of the first week he was six-foot-eight and growing fast, muscles swelling heavier with every pump of his fist. He loved it. Craved it. The bigger he got, the harder he got, the more he needed to cum.

Tonight the room felt smaller than ever.

Tyler’s massive shoulders brushed both walls when he shifted. His bare back pressed against the foot of his bed, which now looked like doll furniture behind him. His legs—thick, powerful thighs dusted with dark hair—stretched across most of the carpet, bare feet planted wide. His cock, already enormous, lay heavy against his abs, thick veins pulsing as he slowly stroked the veiny shaft with both hands. Pre-cum oozed in thick ropes, slicking his fingers.

“Fuck… bigger,” he growled under his breath, thumb swirling over the fat, leaking head. His balls hung low and heavy between his spread legs, churning visibly. He pictured the endless stream of filthy videos—giant men, growth fetish clips, the fantasy that had somehow become his reality—and his grip tightened.

His parents’ voices drifted faintly from downstairs, worried whispers, but Tyler didn’t care. He was too close.

He leaned forward, abs rippling into deep ridges, and pumped faster. The laptop screen flickered with yet another clip of a man swelling impossibly huge. Tyler’s breath hitched. His huge chest heaved. A low, animal moan escaped him as his cock surged in his hands—throbbing, lengthening, thickening even as he jerked it.

“Gonna… cum…”

The first thick rope blasted out so hard it splattered across his laptop screen. Tyler’s eyes rolled back. Pleasure exploded through every nerve. His body responded instantly.

Muscle swelled. Bones lengthened with deep, erotic cracks. His shoulders broadened another few inches, pushing against the walls hard enough to make the framed posters rattle. His chest ballooned outward, heavy pecs growing rounder, thicker, nipples hardening into sensitive points. His abs deepened into an obscene eight-pack as his torso stretched taller. His cock, still spurting, lengthened another full inch in his grip, veins bulging like ropes under the skin. Even his balls grew heavier, fuller, slapping wetly against his thighs with every pulse.

By the time the last jet of cum painted his abs and chest, Tyler was pushing nine feet tall, sitting on the floor. His head nearly brushed the ceiling fan. The room felt like a cage around his colossal, sweat-slick body.

He was still hard. Still hungry.

Downstairs, Laura’s patience finally snapped.

“Mark, I’m going up there. This isn’t normal.”

Mark followed, concern etched on his face. They climbed the stairs together. The floorboards groaned louder than usual under their feet—almost as if the whole house was straining.

Laura knocked once, then turned the knob.

The door swung open.

The sight that greeted them stole the air from both their lungs.

Tyler sat in the center of the room like a living statue of raw masculinity. Completely naked. Towering. His head—still devastatingly handsome, sharp jaw dusted with stubble, dark hair tousled—hovered just inches from the ceiling. Broad shoulders filled the space between walls. His chest was a mountain range of muscle, glistening with sweat and streaks of his own cum. One massive hand was still loosely wrapped around the base of his enormous, half-hard cock, which lay thick and heavy across his thigh like a third leg. The laptop, tiny in comparison, rested on the floor between his spread knees, screen still glowing with paused porn.

Tyler slowly lifted his gaze. His eyes—dark, lust-drunk—locked onto his parents. A lazy, cocky smirk tugged at his lips.

“Hey, Mom. Dad.” His voice was deeper now, a resonant bass that vibrated through the floor. “Told you I was studying.”

Laura’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock—and something else she couldn’t name. Mark stood frozen, staring at the giant, cum-smeared body of his son.

Tyler gave his still-leaking cock a slow, deliberate stroke, not even bothering to hide it. Another thick bead of cum welled at the tip and rolled down the shaft.

“Gonna need a bigger room soon,” he rumbled, voice thick with arousal. “Or maybe… I’ll just keep growing right here.”

Aaron stared at the front door of his childhood home, heart hammering in his chest. The Uber driver had given him a weird look when he’d climbed out—barely reaching the guy’s waist—but Aaron was used to it now. Six-foot-two and two-hundred-twenty pounds of college-jock muscle had been reduced to four feet even in the span of a single brutal month. The shrinking virus had hit him like a freight train: first the dizzy spells, then the terrifying shrinkage, clothes hanging off him like circus tents, teammates towering over him in the locker room until he couldn’t even reach the top shelf of his own dorm fridge. College had become a nightmare of stares and pity. So he’d packed a single duffel bag, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and come home to the one person who’d always made everything better: Mom.

He knocked. Heavy, deliberate footsteps answered—thud… thud… thud—each one vibrating through the porch boards like a small earthquake. The door swung open.

Beth stood there like a living goddess.

Ten feet tall. Maybe more in those sky-high black platform heels that made her calves flex like carved marble. The tight gray ribbed dress she wore clung to every exaggerated curve: massive, heavy breasts that strained the deep V-neckline, already leaking faint wet spots through the fabric, a waspish waist that flared into thick, powerful thighs thicker than Aaron’s entire torso, and an ass so round and firm it looked like it could crush a car. Her blonde hair was twisted up in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her smiling face. Those full lips parted in pure joy, blue eyes sparkling as they locked onto her tiny son.

“Aaron! Baby, you’re home!” Her voice was richer, deeper, laced with that same warm maternal tone he’d always loved—but now it rolled over him like thunder wrapped in velvet.

Aaron’s duffel slipped from his fingers and hit the welcome mat with a soft thump. He couldn’t speak. His mom—his mom—had always been pretty, fit, the kind of woman other guys at school joked about in the locker room. But this… this was something else entirely. The growth virus had turned her into a towering, voluptuous amazon, her breasts swollen even larger with milk that her body now produced in abundance. She filled the entire doorway, shoulders brushing the frame, head nearly scraping the transom. Sunlight poured in behind her from the open door, haloing her like some divine being. And the way she looked at him—pure, radiant love mixed with something hotter, hungrier—made his cock twitch traitorously in his shorts.

Beth’s smile widened, dimples flashing. “Oh my sweet little boy… look at you.” She bent at the waist, the motion making her enormous breasts sway heavily forward, a drop of milk beading at one nipple and soaking through the dress. “You’re so tiny and adorable. Come here.”

Before he could answer, her huge hands scooped him up—effortlessly, like he weighed nothing. One palm slid under his ass, the other cradling his back as she straightened to her full height. Aaron’s feet left the ground completely. His face pressed straight into the warm, pillowy valley of her cleavage, the soft, scented skin of her breasts enveloping him. The fabric of her dress was thin and damp; he could feel the heat radiating from her body, the steady thunder of her heartbeat, and the faint sweetness of her milk already leaking against his cheek.

“M-Mom…” he mumbled, voice muffled against her tits. His hands instinctively grabbed onto the sides of her breasts for balance—each one bigger than his head. They were so firm yet yielding, the deep cleavage hot and silky, already slick with milk. His cock, already half-hard from the sheer overwhelming sight of her, stiffened fully against her palm.

Beth let out a soft, throaty laugh that vibrated through her chest and into his bones. “Shhh, baby. I’ve got you. God, I missed you so much.” She hugged him tighter, one massive arm wrapping around his entire back while the other hand gently rubbed his thigh. “You’re still so muscular. My little jock. So cute and compact. And Mommy’s been making so much milk since I grew… just waiting for her baby boy to come home.”

She carried him inside, kicking the door shut behind her with one heel. The house looked the same—high ceilings, grand foyer, staircase—but everything felt miniature now compared to her. Aaron’s legs dangled uselessly as she walked, his face still buried between her breasts. Every step made them bounce and jiggle against his cheeks, warm milk seeping onto his skin. He could smell her perfume, the faint clean sweat of her skin, and the sweet, creamy scent of her lactation.

Beth stopped in the middle of the foyer rug, still holding him like a cherished doll. She bent her head, nuzzling the top of his hair. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Is it too much?” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Or… does my big, milky body turn you on a little?”

Aaron’s face burned. He tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go—her cleavage was a warm, inescapable pillow soaked with her milk. “Mom… you’re… you’re huge. Like a fucking goddess. Your tits… they’re leaking. I—I can’t stop looking at you.”

Her laugh was low and pleased. She shifted him higher, one hand sliding under his ass to lift him until his face was level with hers. Their eyes locked. Hers were dark with lust now, pupils blown wide. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Tell Mommy the truth. Does this make your little cock hard?” One of her fingers—thick as one of his wrists—brushed deliberately over the bulge in his shorts. Aaron gasped, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, Mom… you’re so hot. I want… I want to taste you.”

Beth’s smile turned wicked and maternal all at once. “That’s my good little man.” She kissed his forehead, then his nose, then—slowly, deliberately—pressed her full lips to his in a deep, hungry kiss that swallowed his entire mouth. Her tongue traced his lips, teasing, claiming. When she pulled back, a string of saliva connected them. “I’ve been so lonely in this big body. Touching myself every night thinking about my strong son coming home and drinking from Mommy again… and now here you are, so small and perfect and mine.”

She carried him to the large mirror in the foyer, turning so he could see them both reflected. The size contrast was obscene and intoxicating. Her ten-foot frame dwarfed him completely; her muscular thighs looked powerful enough to snap him in half, yet she held him with infinite gentleness. Aaron’s hands roamed freely now, squeezing her breasts, feeling warm milk spray lightly against his palms as he kneaded them.

Beth moaned softly. “That’s it, baby. Explore Mommy.” She lowered him again, yanking the neckline of her dress down with one hand and freeing both massive, leaking breasts. The nipples were huge, pink, and already dripping streams of sweet milk down her toned abs. “Come here, sweetheart. Nurse from Mommy like you need it.”

Aaron latched on immediately, sucking hard on one thick nipple. Rich, warm breast milk flooded his mouth—sweet, creamy, and addictive. He drank greedily, gulping down mouthful after mouthful while his hands massaged the heavy tit, encouraging more flow. Beth’s knees actually buckled for a second; she braced one hand against the wall, the other cradling the back of his head, pressing him deeper into her breast.

“Ohhh fuck, Aaron… yes, just like that. Drink Mommy’s milk. That’s what my big, strong boy needs.” Her free hand slid down, cupping his entire crotch, massaging his throbbing cock through his shorts. “You’re so hard for Mommy while you suckle. So small and eager.”

She carried him upstairs effortlessly, each step making her breasts bounce and spray more milk across his face as he continued nursing. In her bedroom she finally set him down on the edge of her enormous king bed—now more like a vast plain to him. But she didn’t let him go far. Beth knelt in front of the bed, still towering over him even on her knees, switching him to her other breast so he could keep drinking while she peeled the gray dress off completely. Her naked body glistened: rippling abs, a shaved, puffy pussy already slick with arousal, and those massive lactating tits that continued to leak even as he suckled.

Aaron’s shorts were yanked down next. His cock sprang free—still impressive for his new size, but laughably small compared to the giantess before him. Beth licked her lips, stroking him slowly with two fingers while he nursed, her milk running down his chin and chest.

“Look at my little man drinking Mommy’s milk while his cock throbs,” she cooed. “So perfect.”

They spent the next hour like that—her lifting him, positioning him, using her size and her flowing breasts to overwhelm him with pleasure. She sat on the bed and pulled him into her lap, straddling one massive thigh so his cock rubbed against the slick heat of her pussy while he alternated sucking from both nipples, swallowing load after load of her warm milk. Beth’s fingers tangled in his hair, rocking him gently as she fed him, moaning every time he swallowed.

When he begged for more, she lay back, legs spread wide, and lowered him onto her body like a living toy. She held his hips with both hands and slid him inside her—inch by inch, her massive pussy stretching around his cock until he was buried to the hilt. All the while, she kept one heavy breast pressed to his mouth so he could keep nursing as he fucked her.

“Fuck Mommy while you drink, baby,” she growled, voice thick with lust. “Use that little cock on your giantess mother and fill up on her milk.”

Aaron thrust wildly, tiny hips slapping against her enormous clit, sucking hard as her milk flowed in rhythmic spurts with every thrust. Beth’s fingers dug into his ass, helping him, lifting him, slamming him deeper. Her massive breasts bounced with every movement, milk spraying across them both. She came first—hard—walls clamping down around him like a velvet vice, a gush of wetness soaking his thighs and the sheets as she cried out in ecstasy. The sight and feel of his goddess mother orgasming while feeding him pushed Aaron over the edge. He came with a muffled groan against her nipple, pumping rope after rope of cum deep inside her while swallowing the last sweet gulps of her milk.

They collapsed together, her massive arms wrapping around his tiny frame, cradling him against her heaving, still-leaking chest. Beth kissed the top of his head, stroking his back with one finger as a final trickle of milk ran down his cheek.

“My perfect little boy,” she whispered, voice soft and loving again. “You’re home now. And Mommy’s never letting you go. Every day you’ll drink from these big tits, fuck your giant Mommy, and let her take care of you completely.”

Aaron nuzzled between her breasts, already feeling his cock twitch again against her thigh as another bead of milk touched his lips. He was tiny, helpless, completely owned by the most beautiful, powerful, and maternal woman in the world—his mother.

The kitchen light cast a warm glow over the two friends as they stood in Jim’s apartment, the air thick with the faint scent of protein powder and something electric—something neither could quite name yet. Jim, at 5’10” and carrying a hefty, soft build that spoke of comfort and indulgence, leaned against the counter with his shirt riding up over the curve of his substantial gut. Steve, shorter at 5’6” and carrying a little extra padding himself, couldn’t stop stealing glances upward. He’d always loved the way Jim towered just enough to make him feel small, loved the way that heavy belly strained against Jim’s shirts after a big meal. But tonight, Steve had a secret.

“Drink it,” Steve said, pushing the oversized shaker toward Jim. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled with anticipation. “It’s… special. I mixed in something I’ve been working on.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, his thick beard twitching with a skeptical laugh. “You’re fucking with me, right? Some weird supplement that’s gonna make me huge overnight?” He patted his belly, the soft flesh jiggling under his palm. “I’m already big enough, man.”

Steve’s eyes darkened with hunger. “You’re perfect. But I want you bigger. I’ve wanted it for years.” He stepped closer, tilting his head back to meet Jim’s gaze. “I’m gay, Jim. And I’m into… this. Big bears. You. I’ve been obsessed with watching you grow that gut. And I found a way to help it happen.”

Jim stared, stunned. He’d had no idea. Steve had always been the quiet, supportive friend—spotting him at the gym, cooking massive meals together, teasing him about his appetite. But this? The confession hung heavy between them. Jim’s cock twitched unexpectedly in his shorts at the raw honesty in Steve’s eyes.

“You’re serious,” Jim muttered, then shrugged with a grin. “Fuck it. If it works, I’m game. I’ve always liked being… substantial.”

Steve watched with wide eyes as Jim downed the shake. The change started slow—a warm flush spreading through Jim’s body, then a sudden surge. Jim gasped, gripping the counter as his bones lengthened with audible creaks. His shoulders broadened, his chest barreled out, and that already impressive gut ballooned forward, rounder and heavier. Inch after inch stacked on. Steve felt it too—a dizzying pull, like his own mass was draining away. He shrank, clothes loosening, the world growing taller around him.

When it stopped, Jim stood at a towering 7’4”, his body a massive, powerful bear of a man. His black shorts clung desperately to tree-trunk thighs, the waistband digging into the vast, overhanging shelf of his belly. Steve, now barely 4’0”, stared up in awe, his head level with the bottom of Jim’s enormous gut.

“Holy shit,” Jim rumbled, his deep voice vibrating through the room. He looked down at his hands—huge now—and then at Steve, a mix of shock and delight spreading across his bearded face. “You… you actually did it. Look at you, little guy.”

Steve’s heart hammered. The height difference was intoxicating. Jim’s belly loomed over him like a warm, soft wall. Without hesitation, Steve stepped forward, his small hands grabbing the hem of Jim’s shorts and yanking them down. Jim’s thick, fat cock sprang free—semi-hard already, easily as long as Steve’s forearm and girthy enough to make the smaller man’s mouth water.

“Steve, what the—oh fuck,” Jim groaned as Steve wrapped both hands around the base and lifted the heavy shaft toward his face. Steve stood on tiptoes, then pressed his lips to the plump head, kissing it reverently before opening wide. He had to stretch his jaw to take it, but he did, sucking greedily on the first few inches while stroking the rest with eager hands. Jim’s cock swelled fully in his mouth, veins pulsing against Steve’s tongue.

Jim’s massive hand settled gently on the back of Steve’s head, not forcing, just guiding. “That’s it… good boy. You’ve been wanting this, huh?” His belly rested heavily on Steve’s shoulders and the top of his head as he leaned forward slightly, feeding more of his fat dick into the eager mouth. Steve moaned around the girth, saliva dripping down his chin, eyes watering with effort and lust. He bobbed as best he could, worshipping every inch, his own smaller cock tenting his shorts painfully.

The sight was obscene and perfect: the towering giant being serviced by his shrunken friend right there in the kitchen. Jim’s balls, heavy and full, swayed against Steve’s chest with every suck.

After several long, sloppy minutes, Jim pulled back with a wet pop, his cock glistening. “Couch. Now.”

He lumbered to the living room, the floor creaking under his new weight, and dropped onto the wide sofa. His belly spilled forward between his spread thighs, a massive, soft dome that rose and fell with his breathing. Steve approached, stripping off his own clothes, his smaller but still eager dick bobbing free—now perfectly proportioned for what he had in mind.

“Can I… fuck your belly button?” Steve asked, voice husky with need. He climbed up onto Jim’s lap, straddling the lower part of that enormous gut. Jim chuckled, the sound a low rumble, and leaned back, lifting his belly slightly with both hands to expose the deep, inviting navel.

“Fuck yes. Use me, little man.”

Steve pressed the head of his cock against the soft, warm indent. It slid in easily—Jim’s belly button was deep and accommodating now, like a tight, fleshy sleeve. Steve groaned loudly as he pushed inside, the heat and give of Jim’s fat surrounding him. He thrust shallowly at first, then harder, hips slapping against the yielding belly flesh. Jim moaned, the sensation strange but intensely pleasurable, his own massive cock twitching and leaking precum onto his gut.

“That’s so fucking weird… and hot,” Jim growled, watching the tiny Steve hump his navel like it was the best pussy he’d ever had. Steve’s hands sank into the soft overhang of Jim’s belly for leverage, kneading the warm fat as he fucked faster, lost in the fantasy.

After a few minutes of desperate thrusting, Steve pulled out, panting. “Need more. Need you inside me.”

Jim’s eyes gleamed with dominant hunger. He lifted Steve effortlessly with one huge hand, positioning the smaller man over his throbbing erection. “You sure you can take it, shortstack?”

Steve nodded frantically. “Please.”

Jim lowered him slowly. The fat head of his cock pressed against Steve’s tight hole, stretching him open inch by inch. Steve cried out in pleasure-pain as he was impaled, his body sliding down the thick shaft until he was nearly halfway seated, belly bulging visibly from the intrusion. Jim’s gut pressed warmly against Steve’s chest and face, smothering him in soft, heavy flesh.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Jim grunted. He began to pump, strong hips thrusting upward, bouncing the tiny man on his cock like a living toy. Steve’s legs dangled, feet kicking helplessly in the air as he was fucked senseless. Each powerful stroke made his own smaller dick slap against Jim’s belly, precum smearing across the vast expanse.

Jim fed him more—holding Steve down deeper, grinding that massive gut against him, letting the weight pin him in place while the huge cock rearranged his insides. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping, wet squelching, and their mingled moans.

Steve came first, shooting ropes of cum across Jim’s belly, the sight pushing the giant over the edge. Jim roared, flooding Steve’s insides with thick, hot loads that overflowed and dripped down.

They stayed like that for a long while afterward—Steve draped limply over Jim’s heaving gut, still impaled, while Jim stroked his back with one enormous hand.

“I could get used to this,” Jim murmured, a satisfied smile on his face as he looked down at his shrunken, cum-drunk friend.

Cassie had always been the outsider at Evergreen College. With her wild cascade of teal hair that fell in loose waves down to her waist, oversized black-rimmed glasses perched on her freckled nose, and a body that curved generously in all the right places—especially the heavy, pendulous swell of her breasts that strained against whatever vintage band tee or ribbed sweater she happened to be wearing—she was a walking target. She was the art major who spent her nights sketching in the library or hunched over her grimoire, whispering incantations under her breath while the rest of campus partied. Dean and Missy, the golden power couple of the Greek scene, made sure everyone knew it.

Dean was the star quarterback—tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline carved from marble and a smirk that could melt panties or destroy egos. Missy was his perfect match: leggy, blonde, with perky tits that she loved to shove into low-cut tops and an ass that turned heads in every hallway. They ruled the social hierarchy like royalty, and Cassie was their favorite peasant to torment.

It started small. Snickers in the quad when she walked by in her thrift-store skirts and fishnets. “Freak show’s here,” Dean would call out, loud enough for everyone to hear. Missy would toss her hair and laugh that high, cruel trill. “God, look at those udders. Bet she milks them herself in that creepy witch shack she calls a dorm room.” They’d mock her drawings—posters of her occult-inspired art that she hung around campus for a project—calling them “virgin sacrifice porn” or worse. One afternoon in the student center, Dean had “accidentally” spilled his protein shake all over her sketchbook while Missy filmed it for their joint socials. “Oops, sorry, witch bitch. Maybe cast a spell to clean it up?”

Cassie took it all in silence, her cheeks burning, but inside she seethed. She’d been dabbling in witchcraft since high school—real stuff, or so she hoped. Dried herbs, moon-charged crystals, handwritten spells in a leather-bound journal she kept hidden under her mattress. Most of it never worked. A love charm once made her roommate’s cat obsessively cuddle her instead. A prosperity ritual just left her with an extra twenty in her wallet from a found ATM receipt. But the shrinking spell? That one felt different. She’d found it in an old, yellowed book at a dusty occult shop downtown: “To diminish the mighty and elevate the meek. Chant under the light of their scorn, and they shall fall to your mercy.” She’d spent weeks perfecting the pronunciation, mixing the potion of crushed mandrake, nightshade essence, and her own spit under a blood moon. She carried a tiny vial of it in her bra, right between her massive tits, like a secret weapon.

The day it happened, Cassie was in the campus coffee shop, nursing a vanilla latte and doodling in her sketchpad. Dean and Missy sauntered in like they owned the place, arm-in-arm, drawing every eye. They spotted her immediately.

“Oh my god, it’s the titty witch,” Missy sneered, loud enough for the barista to smirk. She leaned over Cassie’s table, her perfect cleavage on full display in a tight crop top. “Still drawing your little fantasy dicks? Or are those supposed to be spells? Bet no one’s ever seen yours in real life.”

Dean chuckled, sliding into the seat across from her without invitation. His muscular thigh brushed hers under the table, but it was all mockery. “Come on, Cassie. Why don’t you show us some real magic? Make my dick grow or something. Wait, too late—you’d probably shrink it instead with those sausage fingers.”

The whole shop tittered. Cassie’s face flushed hot, but this time, something snapped. Her hand slipped into her bra, fingers closing around the vial. She uncorked it under the table and let three drops fall onto her fingertip. Then she stood up slowly, towering over them in her platform boots, her teal hair swaying like a banner of defiance. Her red ribbed cardigan—unbuttoned just enough to reveal the black lace bra beneath—hugged her enormous breasts, the soft pale flesh spilling over the cups.

“You want magic?” she whispered, voice low and steady. “Fine.”

She began the chant. Soft at first, in an ancient tongue that rolled off her tongue like velvet thunder: “Minuere magnos, cadere superbos, ad pedes meos humiliari.” The words vibrated in the air, ancient and heavy. Dean and Missy burst out laughing, louder than before, clutching each other like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

“Holy shit, she’s actually doing it!” Dean howled, slapping the table. “Look at her face—total nutjob!”

Missy doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down her flawless cheeks. “Oh my god, stop, I can’t breathe—Cassie the crazy cow is casting spells!”

But then their laughter faltered. A strange tingling spread through their bodies, like pins and needles after a deep sleep. Dean’s broad shoulders twitched. Missy’s long legs wobbled. The world around them seemed to… expand. The table grew taller. Cassie’s hips, already generous, loomed larger. Her breasts, those heavy, hypnotic orbs that had been the butt of so many jokes, now swelled in their vision like twin mountains.

“What the fuck—” Dean started, but his voice cracked higher as he shrank. Missy grabbed his arm, her manicured nails digging in, but she was shrinking too, faster now. Clothes pooled around them like collapsing tents. The coffee shop patrons gasped, but Cassie just smiled—a slow, wicked, triumphant smile that made her full lips curve beautifully.

In under a minute, it was done. Dean and Missy stood no taller than an inch, naked and trembling on the seat of the chair where they’d been sitting. Their perfect bodies were miniaturized to doll-like perfection: Dean’s once-impressive cock now a tiny, helpless nub; Missy’s perky tits reduced to minuscule handfuls. The vial’s residue on Cassie’s finger had sealed it.

Cassie couldn’t believe it. One of her spells had worked. Her heart raced with dark glee. She scooped them up gently in her palm—her soft, warm skin feeling like an earthquake to them—and slipped them into the deep valley of her cleavage, right against the lace of her bra. Their tiny bodies pressed into the plush, yielding flesh, surrounded by the faint scent of her vanilla lotion and the steady thump of her heartbeat.

“Shhh,” she cooed, buttoning her cardigan just enough to trap them there. “You’re mine now, pets. All those mean things you said? You’re going to make up for every single one.”

She left the coffee shop without a backward glance, the tiny couple squirming helplessly between her massive breasts. The walk back to her dorm was pure bliss for Cassie. Every step made her tits jiggle, rubbing their naked forms against her sensitive skin. She could feel Dean’s tiny hands pushing desperately against the warm wall of flesh, Missy’s squeaky protests muffled by the soft give of her cleavage.

In her room—cluttered with sketchpads, candles, crystals, and half-finished paintings of voluptuous goddesses—Cassie stripped down to her black lace bra and panties. She stood before her full-length mirror, admiring the way her body filled the frame: thick thighs, wide hips, and those glorious, heavy breasts that hung full and natural, nipples already hardening at the thought of what came next.

She plucked Dean and Missy out, setting them on her desk. They stared up at her like she was a goddess of flesh and vengeance—teal hair framing her face, glasses glinting, lips parted in wicked delight.

“Strip wasn’t necessary,” she purred, “since you’re already naked. But now you serve me. My little inch-tall toys. You’re going to worship every inch of this body you mocked. Starting with these.” She cupped her breasts, lifting them and letting them drop with a heavy bounce that made the desk tremble. “You called them udders? Now they’re your whole world.”

She laid back on her bed, propping herself up on pillows, and placed them directly on the upper swell of her left breast. The skin was warm, silky, faintly scented with her natural musk. Dean stumbled, sinking slightly into the soft give. Missy tried to run toward the edge, but Cassie’s finger—bigger than their entire bodies—gently nudged her back.

“Lick,” Cassie commanded, voice husky with arousal. “Clean every freckle. Make me feel good, or I’ll squash you between them like the bugs you are.”

They hesitated. She pinched her nipple lightly, rolling it until it stiffened into a thick peak the size of their heads. The motion made her breast quake beneath them. “Now.”

Fear and the sheer overwhelming scale of her body broke them. Dean dropped to his knees first, pressing his tiny mouth to the warm flesh and dragging his tongue across it in desperate strokes. Missy followed, her smaller licks more frantic. Cassie moaned, low and throaty, her free hand sliding down her belly to dip between her thighs. Their tongues felt like the softest feathers, teasing her nerves in ways no full-sized lover ever had. She ground her hips slowly, feeling her pussy grow slick.

For hours that afternoon, she played with them. She tucked Dean between her breasts and squeezed them together lightly—just enough to trap him in heavenly, suffocating warmth while Missy was made to straddle her nipple and hump it like a desperate little slut. “That’s right,” Cassie gasped, fingers circling her clit faster. “You used to laugh at these tits. Now you’re fucking them.”

When she came the first time, it was explosive—her body shuddering, breasts quaking violently around her tiny captives. Dean and Missy were drenched in the faint sheen of her sweat, clinging to her skin as she panted.

But she wasn’t done. She fashioned the necklace that very night.

From her jewelry box, she took a delicate silver chain and a small, ornate pendant frame she’d bought for a crystal once. With careful fingers and a bit of wire from her art supplies, she created two tiny loops—comfortable harnesses, really—that she slipped over their heads and around their waists like microscopic leashes. Dean and Missy dangled side-by-side from the pendant, naked and glistening, their bodies pressed close enough to feel each other’s frantic heat. Cassie admired her work in the mirror, then settled the necklace around her neck.

The pendant nestled perfectly in the deep, inviting valley of her cleavage. The tiny couple hung right between her breasts, their feet brushing the soft inner curves, their faces inches from the warm, pillowy flesh. Every breath she took made her chest rise and fall, rocking them gently. Every movement sent them swaying against her.

“Perfect,” she whispered, tracing a fingertip along the chain. “You’ll stay right here. All the time. Close to the tits you hated so much. You can lick and squirm and serve me while I paint, while I sleep, while I fuck myself thinking about how far you’ve fallen.”

The next weeks were a haze of erotic domination. Cassie wore them everywhere. To class, where she’d casually adjust her cardigan and feel their tiny struggles against her nipples. During her art critiques, she’d lean forward, letting her breasts rest on the desk so they could “help” by licking the sensitive undersides. At night, she’d lie naked on her bed, the necklace still on, and use them directly on her clit—positioning Dean’s whole body against the swollen nub while Missy licked lower, their combined efforts driving her to shattering orgasms that left them soaked in her juices.

She even made them clean her after showers—tiny tongues lapping at the water droplets clinging to her areolas. Once, in a particularly wicked mood, she slipped them lower, under the waistband of her panties, and rode the edge of her pleasure while they thrashed helplessly against her dripping folds.

Dean and Missy broke completely. Their tiny voices—barely audible squeaks—begged for mercy at first, then for more. They lived for the heat of her skin, the sway of her breasts, the taste of her arousal. The popular power couple was gone. All that remained were Cassie’s devoted inch-tall pets, forever dangling between her massive, beautiful tits on their custom necklace.

And Cassie? She had never felt more powerful, more desired, or more artistically inspired. Her new sketches were bolder, darker, erotic masterpieces of giantesses and tiny worshippers. Every time she glanced down at the pendant nestled in her cleavage, she smiled.

The spell had worked perfectly. They had paid for every cruel word—with their freedom, their dignity, and their eternal service to her body.

Sandra had always been a fierce protector of her only son. At 5’4” with a thick, curvaceous body she’d earned from years of hard work and motherhood, she’d raised Andre alone after his father disappeared. Andre, now 19 and towering at 6’2”, had been her pride—athletic, smart, full of potential. But then the streets called. Gang tattoos started appearing on his arms, late nights turned into disappearances, and the smell of weed and gun oil clung to his clothes.

“Baby, you stop this right now,” Sandra had begged him one night, her voice cracking as she stood in their tiny apartment kitchen. “I’m not burying my only son. I won’t lose you to these fools.”

Andre had just smirked, kissed her forehead like she was the child, and walked out. Two weeks later, the call came: aggravated assault. He’d beaten a rival so badly the boy was in the ICU. The lawyers saw an opportunity in a brand-new experimental program—something about “rehabilitation through scale adjustment.” The criminal would be shrunk to a manageable size, making it physically impossible to return to the old life, while the trusted guardian was enlarged for total control. Andre’s only living relative was Sandra. She signed the papers without hesitation.

The procedure was swift and irreversible. When Andre woke up in the sterile white room, the world had exploded around him. He was 3’2” now—barely taller than a toddler. His clothes hung off him like tents. The door opened, and in stepped his mother.

Or rather, the giantess who used to be his mother.

Sandra had been grown to 7’4”. Her once-average height now made her a towering goddess of curves. Her black leggings—stretched impossibly tight over hips that had widened dramatically—clung to an ass so massive it swayed like a pendulum with every step. Each cheek was easily wider than Andre’s entire torso. Her heavy breasts, already generous before, had ballooned into head-crushing melons that strained against her long-sleeve top, the deep valley of cleavage visible even from below. She looked down at her tiny son with a mix of love, relief, and something darker—something hungry.

“Mom…?” Andre’s voice came out small and high.

Sandra’s full lips curved into a smile. She bent down, her enormous ass flexing as she scooped him up effortlessly with one hand under his butt like he weighed nothing. “My little man,” she purred, her voice deeper and richer now. “You’re never leaving my sight again. And you’re going to learn how to listen.”

That first day back home, the rules were laid out. No phone. No friends. No leaving the apartment without her. He slept in her bed—her massive king now felt like an ocean to him. She dressed him in clothes she’d bought from the toddler section, soft onesies that made him blush with humiliation. And every time he talked back, every time he tried to act like the gangster he used to be, she bent him over her thick thigh and spanked his bare little ass until it glowed red. Her palm was bigger than both his cheeks combined; the smacks echoed like thunder.

“You think you’re tough?” she’d growl, holding him down with one hand while the other delivered precise, stinging swats. “Look at you now, baby. This fat ass of mine could smother you without trying. You belong to Mommy now.”

The breastfeeding started on the third night. Andre had thrown a tantrum about dinner, calling her a controlling bitch. Sandra’s eyes darkened. She lifted her shirt, unhooked her nursing bra, and pulled out one massive, dark nipple already leaking milk from the hormone treatments.

“Open,” she commanded, pressing his face into the warm, pillowy flesh. He struggled, but her hand on the back of his head was iron. The nipple filled his mouth completely. Sweet, warm milk flooded his tongue. He tried to pull away, but she just cooed, rocking him gently against her chest. “That’s it, suckle for Mommy. You used to be my big strong boy. Now you’re my little baby again. Drink.”

The humiliation burned hotter than the spanking. But her breast was so soft, so overwhelming, and the rhythmic sucking soon had him whimpering against her skin. Sandra’s breathing grew heavy. Her free hand slipped between her own thighs, rubbing slow circles over the damp crotch of her leggings.

Later that night, when the apartment was quiet and the lights were low, Sandra’s arousal became impossible to ignore. She stripped Andre naked and laid him on the bed between her spread legs. Her pussy was a dripping, swollen monument—plump lips glistening, the scent thick and musky.

“Fist me,” she ordered, voice husky.

Andre’s eyes widened. His entire forearm was smaller than her thigh, but he obeyed. He pushed his small hand inside her, then his wrist, then halfway up his forearm. Sandra moaned loud enough to shake the walls, her giant hips bucking. Her walls clenched around him like a velvet vice, soaking his arm to the elbow.

“Good boy… deeper… that’s it.”

When she came—shuddering, squirting around his arm—she pulled him up and trapped his tiny, rock-hard cock between her enormous tits. The head barely peeked out from the deep, warm canyon of cleavage. She squeezed her breasts together, smothering him completely, and began to slide them up and down. The soft, heavy flesh engulfed his entire length and more.

“Look at that little dick,” she teased, voice dripping with dominance. “Can’t even fill Mommy’s tits. But it’s so cute when it throbs like that.” She licked the tip every time it appeared, sucking lightly until Andre was crying out, humping helplessly between the massive globes. He came hard, painting the inside of her cleavage with pathetic spurts that disappeared into her skin. Sandra just smiled, scooping the mess up with a finger and feeding it to him.

They slept like that every night—Andre curled against her colossal body. Sometimes he’d wake up completely buried under one of her huge, soft ass cheeks, the weight pressing him into the mattress, her heat and scent everywhere. Other times he’d find himself face-first between her breasts, smothered in warm titflesh, her heartbeat thumping around him like a lullaby.

One afternoon they went to Walmart. Sandra wore the same tight black outfit she’d bought after the growth—leggings that looked painted on, her ass so big it brushed against the checkout counter when she leaned in. Andre walked beside her, his tiny hand swallowed in hers. He had to crane his neck just to look up at her face. She was a giant compared to everyone, but especially to him. Her ass swayed hypnotically with every step, each cheek half his height. People stared. Andre’s face burned with shame and unwanted arousal.

At the register, Sandra casually reached down and patted his head like he was a good puppy. “Behave, baby,” she whispered, loud enough for the cashier to hear. “Or Mommy’s gonna have to spank that little butt right here in the store.”

That night, after another feeding and another session of her using his whole arm to fuck herself senseless, Sandra pulled him close under the covers. Her massive body curled protectively—and possessively—around his tiny frame.

“You’re mine now,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction as she felt his small cock twitch against her thigh. “No more gangs. No more streets. Just Mommy’s little boy… forever.”

James had always been the king of Sigma Phi House back at State—6’2”, ripped from endless bench presses, and cocky enough to make it look effortless. Spring break in Malta was supposed to be the ultimate victory lap: beaches by day, clubs by night, and enough Instagram thirst traps to keep the pledges worshipping him all semester. He and the boys had rented a villa overlooking the harbor in Valletta, and James was already three days deep into his usual routine—chugging local beer, flirting with every tourist in a bikini, and flexing shirtless on every ancient stone wall he could find.

Then he met Luca.

The guy was a local dive instructor with a jawline that could cut glass and a grin that said he knew secrets the rest of the world wasn’t ready for. They’d been drinking limoncello on a moonlit rooftop when Luca leaned in close. “You ever feel like you’re meant for more, bro? Like the world’s too small for you?” He pressed a small glass vial into James’s palm—something glowing faintly blue. “Alpha virus. One drop and you become what you were always supposed to be. No more pretending to be the biggest fish in a tiny pond.”

James laughed it off as some Euro party drug and knocked it back like a shot. Big mistake. Huge.

The change hit him that night in the villa. He woke up drenched in sweat, muscles burning like he’d done a thousand deadlifts. His chest swelled first—pecs ballooning outward, abs carving themselves deeper into an eight-pack that looked airbrushed. Then the height started. His feet burst through the end of the bed. His head smacked the ceiling. By the time he stumbled outside onto the balcony, he was already eight feet tall and still climbing. Bones lengthened with wet, cracking sounds. Shoulders widened until his Sigma Phi tank top shredded like tissue paper. His shorts—those ridiculous yellow pineapple-print board shorts he’d bought as a joke—stretched but somehow held on, now riding high on thighs thicker than tree trunks.

By sunrise he was twelve feet of pure, god-tier alpha. Every inch of him had been upgraded: veins like rivers across boulder-sized biceps, a cocky smirk permanently etched on a face that could launch a thousand thirst tweets, and a body so obscenely perfect it looked like it had been sculpted by horny ancient gods. The virus hadn’t just made him big—it had rewired his brain. Gone was the frat guy who posed for likes. In his place stood a giant who needed to be seen. Needed to be worshipped.

He didn’t even bother with a shirt. Just grabbed the torn pink tank top that had been his favorite club shirt, slung it over one massive shoulder like a victory sash, and jammed his white baseball cap on backwards. Barefoot, he strode down the narrow Maltese streets, each step shaking cobblestones. Tourists screamed, then stopped and stared. Phones came out in droves.

James loved it.

He stopped at the Upper Barrakka Gardens overlook, right where the old stone bastions met the sky. The ancient walls that had once looked imposing now came up to his waist. A crowd gathered fast—families, couples, backpackers—all gawking up at the living colossus in pineapple shorts.

“Yo!” James boomed, voice deep enough to rattle windows. He hit a double biceps pose, veins popping, tongue hanging out in that perfect cocky frat-bro expression. “Twelve feet of pure alpha, baby! Who wants a selfie with the biggest dude on the planet?”

A girl in a sun hat gasped and pointed. A dude in a straw hat started filming vertically like his life depended on it. James flexed harder, laughing as flashes went off like fireworks. He casually adjusted the pink tank top so it draped perfectly across his massive chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle. “Used to be just another frat guy,” he called out, voice carrying across the harbor. “Now? I’m the main event. The virus gave me everything… and I’m never going back.”

He dropped into a most-muscular pose, roaring with laughter as a tourist kid pointed up at him in pure awe. Another girl in a floral dress clutched her boyfriend’s arm, mouth open. James winked at her, then at the camera phones, and struck the exact pose the whole crowd was waiting for—arms pumped, tongue out, abs glistening under the Maltese sun.

The alpha virus hadn’t just made him huge. It had set him free.

Shawn flexed in the mirror of the college gym, his 6’4” frame a sculpted masterpiece of rippling muscle. At 28, he was the star personal trainer on campus—broad shoulders, boulder-like delts, a chest that could bench a small car, and abs carved deep enough to lose fingers in. Veins snaked over his arms like rivers on a map, and his quads strained every pair of shorts he owned. He lived for the pump, the stares, the raw power thrumming through his veins.

When the art department email popped up asking for a “life model with exceptional physique” for a special session, he jumped at it. Show off for a room full of students? Hell yeah. He showed up in loose sweats and a tank that barely contained him, already half-hard at the thought of stripping down and holding poses while eyes traced every inch of him.

The studio was the usual—high ceilings, easels in a semicircle, soft lighting from overhead lamps. But the chalkboard stopped him cold:

LIFE DRAWING: GIANT MODEL

Macro Session – Temporary Growth Protocol

The professor, a sharp-eyed woman in her forties, smiled. “Shawn, right? We use a special compound for these advanced classes. Completely safe, reversible in two hours. You’ll grow to twenty feet. Think you can handle it?”

His cock twitched hard in his sweats. Grow? The fantasy hit him like a freight train—towering, unstoppable, every muscle magnified to godlike proportions. “Fuck yes,” he grinned, already peeling off his tank.

They gave him the injection in his thick glute—cool fire spreading through his veins. Then the students filed in, sketchbooks ready, a mix of wide-eyed undergrads who clearly hadn’t expected the model to be this built even before the growth.

It started slow. A deep, throbbing heat in his core. Shawn stepped onto the low platform, dropping his sweats and wrapping a white sheet low around his hips like a classical statue. His cock was already thickening, half-hard and heavy against his thigh. Then the surge hit.

“Oh… shit,” he groaned, voice dropping deeper as his body expanded. Bones lengthened with wet, powerful cracks. Muscles ballooned outward, fibers splitting and reforming thicker, denser. His chest surged forward, pecs becoming massive slabs that cast shadows over the room. Abs deepened into an armored eight-pack. Arms thickened to the size of tree trunks, biceps peaking like mountains. His legs exploded with size—quads and hamstrings swelling until the sheet strained and tore at the seams, barely clinging to his now enormous, muscular ass and thickening cock.

The students gasped as Shawn shot upward. Ten feet. Fifteen. Twenty. The platform groaned beneath his massive bare feet. His head nearly brushed the high ceiling, and the sheet finally gave way, fluttering down like a surrendered flag. His cock—now a veiny, throbbing monster the size of a grown man’s arm—swung free, heavy and semi-erect, pulsing with every heartbeat. Pre-cum already beaded at the tip, thick as honey.

“Fuuuuck…” Shawn’s voice boomed, low and resonant. He struck the pose from the demonstration photo—right arm flexed high, left extended in a powerful reach, one thick leg forward. Every movement sent ripples across his hypertrophied physique. His traps rose like cliffs beside his neck. Lats flared so wide they blocked light from the windows. The deep cuts of his obliques pointed like arrows toward the base of his colossal dick, which now hung heavily between thighs thicker than the students’ waists.

The class went silent except for the frantic scratch of charcoal. Eyes darted from his boulder-sized calves up the endless columns of his legs, over the ridged landscape of his abs, across the vast expanse of his chest. A few students were flushed, shifting in their seats. One girl in the front row bit her lip so hard Shawn noticed.

“Like what you see?” he rumbled, voice vibrating through the floor. He adjusted his stance, flexing his pecs so they bounced with heavy, powerful weight. His cock twitched visibly, lifting slightly as blood rushed in. Being this huge felt incredible—every nerve ending amplified, the cool studio air kissing his hyper-sensitive skin, the weight of his own muscles pressing down on him like the ultimate pump.

One brave student, a lean guy with a beanie, raised his hand. “Can… can you do a different pose? Something more… dynamic?”

Shawn smirked down at them. At twenty feet, they looked like dolls. He dropped into a side chest pose, turning slightly so the striations across his pecs and the sweep of his delts caught the light. His massive cock swayed with the motion, now fully hard and pointing upward like a weapon, the head glistening. He reached down with one enormous hand and gave it a slow, lazy stroke—fingers barely able to wrap around the girth. A low, erotic groan escaped him, echoing off the walls.

The students drew faster. Some were openly staring now, sketchbooks forgotten for moments at a time. Shawn could smell their arousal mixing with the scent of charcoal and linseed oil. He posed for them—crab most muscular, hitting every angle, letting his body dominate the room. Sweat gleamed across the vast planes of his muscles. His balls hung heavy and full beneath his shaft, churning visibly.

“God, you’re fucking huge,” someone whispered.

Shawn’s cock throbbed at the words. He was leaking steadily now, thick drops falling to the platform with audible plaps. The power rush was intoxicating—being a living colossus, worshipped by dozens of eyes while his body screamed with erotic energy. He flexed his biceps again, watching the peak rise like a volcano, and felt his orgasm building from the sheer intensity of it all.

When the professor finally announced the reversal was coming, Shawn was panting, muscles pumped to their absolute limit, cock still rock-hard and aching. As he slowly shrank back down—muscles deflating but still enormous by normal standards—he caught the hungry looks from the class.

“Same time next week?” he asked, voice husky, wrapping the ruined sheet around his waist again.

The entire room nodded.

Derek had always been obsessed with size. At 6’4” and pushing 280 pounds of pure, competition-ready muscle, he was already a god among men in the real world. But “already” was never enough. Every morning he woke up before dawn, chugged a protein shake thick enough to coat his throat, and hit the gym like it owed him something. He trained with a ferocity that made other bodybuilders whisper behind his back. Veins like ropes, lats like wings, quads that could crush steel—he sculpted himself bigger, harder, more impossible every single day.

The attention was his drug. At the gym, eyes followed him like magnets. Men stared with open envy, women with raw hunger. He loved it when someone asked to feel his arm, their fingers barely spanning the peak of his bicep. He loved the way they gasped when he flexed, the way their breath hitched, the way their pupils blew wide with worship. But even that wasn’t enough. Derek craved something deeper. Something absolute. Something that made him feel like the only god in existence.

That something lived behind a reinforced steel door at the back of his sprawling loft apartment—a door that looked like an ordinary storage closet to anyone who might visit. Inside was Derekville.

Five thousand tiny lives, all his.

He had found them—or rather, they had found him—two years ago after a freak accident involving an experimental growth serum he’d been testing in secret. One moment they were a quiet suburban town of twenty thousand; the next, every building, every car, every person had shrunk to the scale of a detailed model village. Derek had been the only giant left in their world. He could have crushed them. Instead, he had smiled, lowered himself to one knee, and made them an offer.

Food. Water. Protection. Electricity rerouted from his own grid. In return, they would worship him. Not as a man. As their god.

They had agreed within minutes.

Now the town lived on the floor of a specially converted Japanese-style room he’d built just for them: tatami mats replaced by meticulously detailed streets, cherry-blossom wallpaper climbing the walls, shoji-style windows letting in soft daylight. An air-conditioning unit hummed high on the wall to keep their miniature climate perfect. Tiny solar-powered streetlights glowed at night like fireflies. And in the center of it all, Derekville’s five thousand citizens went about their shrunken lives—knowing that at any moment their god might descend.

Tonight, Derek was feeling particularly big.

He had just come from the gym, skin still glistening with a fresh pump. His tank top clung to him like a second skin, soaked dark across the deep valley between his pecs. The fabric stretched obscenely over the shelf of his chest and the ridged eight-pack that disappeared into his waistband. His shorts—barely more than compression underwear—strained against thighs thicker than most men’s waists. He locked the heavy door behind him with a soft click, then peeled the tank top off slowly, letting it drop to the floor outside the town’s perimeter.

The citizens of Derekville already knew he was coming. A low, reverent murmur rose from the streets as thousands of tiny faces turned upward. Phones and tablets livestreamed his arrival to every screen in town. Children were ushered inside, but most adults stayed out, drawn like moths to the living mountain that was their god.

Derek stepped over the low wooden barrier that marked the edge of their world. His bare feet—each one larger than a city block—settled into the miniature landscape with deliberate care. The ground trembled. Streetlights flickered. A few cars skidded to a halt as the warm, slightly calloused sole of his right foot descended like a fleshy skyscraper, hovering for a teasing second before planting itself between two neighborhoods. The impact sent a gentle earthquake rolling outward. People staggered, then dropped to their knees in the streets, in parks, on rooftops.

“Derek-sama…” the chant began, soft at first, then swelling until it vibrated through the floorboards. “Derek-sama… Derek-sama…”

He grinned, slow and predatory, and rolled his massive shoulders. The motion made his traps rise like mountains and his delts flare wide. “That’s right,” he rumbled, voice deep enough to rattle windows across the entire town. “Your god is home.”

He lifted both arms into a double biceps pose, the peaks rising so high they nearly brushed the wooden ceiling beams. Veins snaked over the swollen muscle like rivers on a topographical map. The citizens below gasped in unison. Some fell prostrate. Others simply stared, mouths open, hands reaching upward as if they could touch him from miles below.

Derek loved this part. He loved feeling their eyes on every inch of him. He flexed harder, grunting with pleasure as the pump surged through his arms. His cock, already half-hard from the walk home and the knowledge of what waited inside this room, thickened visibly inside the tight grey boxer-briefs that barely contained it. The massive bulge shifted, the heavy head pressing against the fabric like a living creature seeking worship of its own.

He took another step, this time deliberately placing his left foot closer to the downtown district. The ball of his foot settled over a cluster of apartment buildings, the warmth of his skin radiating down. Tiny people poured onto balconies and rooftops, pressing their hands to the warm flesh that loomed above them like a living sky. Some brave souls actually climbed onto the slight ridges of his toes, hugging them, kissing the skin, murmuring prayers of gratitude.

“Thank you for the supplies, my Lord,” one tiny voice called through a megaphone. “The water tanks are full again. The grain shipment was perfect.”

Derek chuckled, the sound rolling like thunder. “Good. Keep worshipping and I’ll keep you fed.” He shifted his weight, letting the pressure of his sole press gently down—not enough to harm, just enough to remind them who owned the very ground they stood on. A collective moan rose from the crowd beneath his foot.

He lowered his arms and began to peel off his boxer-briefs, sliding them down the thick columns of his quads until they pooled at his ankles. His cock sprang free, heavy and half-hard, swinging like a pendulum above the city. It was already longer than most of their streets, the thick vein along the underside pulsing visibly. A bead of precum glistened at the slit, catching the light of a thousand tiny streetlamps.

The worship intensified.

“Derek-sama’s cock… so big… so perfect…”

He wrapped one huge hand around the base and gave himself a slow, lazy stroke, letting the massive shaft sway over the town like a living monument. The motion sent a fresh drop of precum falling—plummeting like a warm, sticky comet. It landed squarely in the central park, splattering across lawns and sidewalks. People rushed forward, dipping their hands into the thick fluid, rubbing it over their bodies like holy oil. Some knelt and licked the ground clean, eyes glazed with devotion and lust.

Derek groaned, the sound vibrating through every building. “That’s it… show your god how grateful you are.”

He dropped to one knee, the impact sending tremors that toppled a few carefully arranged model trees. Now his massive torso hovered directly over the city center. Sweat from his workout still clung to the deep cuts between his abs; it dripped in fat beads onto rooftops and streets below. Citizens scrambled to collect every drop, cupping their hands, pressing their faces to the warm, salty rain that tasted like pure power.

He reached down with two fingers—each thicker than a city bus—and gently scooped up a small group of worshippers from the main square. They didn’t resist. They never did. He lifted them slowly, reverently, until they stood in the center of his palm like offerings. Their tiny bodies trembled with awe as they stared up at the god who held them.

“Look at you,” Derek murmured, voice husky. “So small. So devoted.” He brought his palm closer to his chest and dragged the tiny group across the vast, striated expanse of his left pec. Their hands and faces pressed into the hot, sweat-slick muscle, massaging the firm flesh as best they could. One woman actually straddled the thick nipple, grinding against it with shameless need.

Derek’s cock throbbed harder, rising fully now, the head nudging against the underside of his own abs. He wrapped his free hand around the shaft again, stroking faster while the citizens in his palm continued their desperate, loving worship. He could feel their tiny tongues, their hands, their entire bodies trying to please him.

“Fuck… yes…” he growled. “Worship every inch of your god.”

He set the group back down—gently, always gently—then rose to his full height again. The entire town watched as he began to thrust into his fist, hips rolling with powerful, controlled movements that made every muscle in his body flex and ripple. His balls, heavy and full, swung low over the outskirts of town like twin wrecking balls. A few particularly devoted citizens had built a small shrine directly beneath them; they knelt there now, chanting louder than ever as the god’s sack swayed above their heads.

Derek’s breathing grew ragged. The power rush was overwhelming—the knowledge that five thousand people existed only to adore him, to live in the shadow of his body, to thank him for every crumb he dropped from his table. He felt huge. He felt divine.

His strokes grew faster, wet sounds echoing through the room. Precum rained down in steady drops now, coating entire neighborhoods in slick, glistening tribute. People slipped and slid in it, laughing, moaning, covering themselves completely. Some stripped naked right there in the streets, rubbing the god’s essence into their skin like the ultimate blessing.

Derek’s abs tightened, the deep ridges glistening. His quads flexed into diamond-hard relief. He threw his head back, roaring as the orgasm hit him like a freight train.

Thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, arcing high before crashing down across Derekville like a warm, sticky deluge. The first shot landed across the business district, painting rooftops white. The second splattered over the residential blocks, flooding streets in pearly rivers. The third and fourth coated the park and the shrine beneath his balls, drenching the worshippers who had waited so patiently.

The town erupted in ecstatic cheers. “Thank you, Derek-sama! Thank you, our God!”

He milked the last few spurts out, letting them fall wherever they wanted, then stood there panting, chest heaving, body shining with sweat and the afterglow of release. Cum pooled in miniature rivers between the tiny buildings. Citizens waded through it, scooping it up, bathing in it, some even fucking right there in the warm, godly seed.

Derek smiled down at his creation, his perfect little world.

“Clean it up,” he said softly, voice still rough with pleasure. “And tomorrow… I’ll bring you more supplies. Maybe I’ll even let some of you climb higher next time.”

He stepped carefully out of the town, leaving massive footprints in the sticky aftermath, and pulled his boxer-briefs back on. The fabric clung obscenely to his still-sensitive cock, outlining every vein.

As he locked the door behind him, he could already hear the distant, joyous chanting rising from Derekville.

“Derek-sama… our god… our everything…”

He flexed one last time in the hallway mirror, admiring the godlike body that ruled an entire civilization, and smiled.

Tomorrow, he would be even bigger.

Sabrina had always been the perfect little plaything. At just 5’0” tall, with a body that defied physics—massive, heavy tits that strained against any top she wore and an ass so thick and juicy it jiggled with every step—she was built for one thing: getting used. Men saw her and immediately pictured her on her knees, bent over, or pinned beneath them. Her height made it easy. She was pocket-sized, easy to toss around, easy to manhandle, easy to fuck senseless while she moaned and begged for more. And she loved it. Or at least, she had… until the repetition started to bore her.

By twenty-three, Sabrina was a verified porn sensation in the giantess and size-fetish underground. Her fans couldn’t get enough of the tiny, curvy Latina firecracker getting absolutely wrecked by huge cocks. She’d done solo stuff, boy/girl, girl/girl, and plenty of group scenes, but today was supposed to be special: her first official gangbang video with four of the biggest, blackest, most ripped studs the agency could book. The set was a sleek, modern apartment—light wood floors, a gray sectional sofa, a wooden dining table in the background, recessed lighting glowing softly overhead. The kind of place that looked expensive and neutral, perfect for filming.

The four men were already there when she arrived, shirtless in some shots but dressed casually for the “behind the scenes” vibe the director wanted. There was Marcus, the bald, bearded beast in the light blue Nike tee and black shorts, his massive arms crossed as he eyed her like fresh meat. Next to him stood Jamal, dreads hanging loose, wearing a maroon tee that clung to his chiseled chest and white shorts that did nothing to hide the heavy bulge between his legs. Then came Tyrone in the crisp white tee, arms flexed, staring with that intense, hungry gaze. And finally, DeShawn in the forest-green shirt, the tallest of the four at 6’4”, smirking as he adjusted the waistband of his black shorts.

Sabrina stood in the middle of them in her signature outfit: a tight pink crop top that barely contained her overflowing tits, the fabric stretched so thin her dark nipples were faintly visible, and matching pink leopard-print pants that looked painted onto her enormous ass and thick thighs. Her long, dark hair with hot-pink highlights cascaded down her back, and she held up her gold iPhone, already recording a teaser selfie for the fans.

“Ready to get destroyed, little mama?” Marcus rumbled, stepping close enough that his crotch was level with her chest. The others chuckled, closing in, hands already reaching—Jamal’s palm sliding down to squeeze her ass, Tyrone’s fingers brushing the underside of one heavy tit, DeShawn tilting her chin up so she had to crane her neck to look at him.

“Born ready,” Sabrina purred, flashing her camera a wicked smile. But inside, something had shifted. She was tired of being the tiny one. Tired of being lifted, tossed, and filled like a living sex toy. Today she wanted control. She wanted to tower.

While the guys were still laughing and groping, she slipped a small, unmarked pill from the hidden pocket in her waistband—the one she’d bought off a shady black-market contact who swore it was experimental growth serum. “For when you want to flip the script,” the seller had whispered. She popped it dry, swallowing it fast before anyone noticed.

The director called action. The guys moved in like wolves.

Marcus lifted her effortlessly onto the dining table, spreading her legs wide. Jamal dropped to his knees, yanking her leopard pants down just enough to expose her soaked pussy. Tyrone and DeShawn freed their massive black cocks—each one thicker than her wrist—and started stroking them inches from her face. Sabrina moaned theatrically for the camera, arching her back so her tits bounced, but she could already feel it starting.

Heat bloomed in her stomach. Then her chest. Then everywhere.

“Oh… fuck…” she gasped, voice cracking.

The men thought it was just good acting. Marcus pushed two thick fingers inside her, grinning. “That’s it, baby, get wet for us—”

But Sabrina’s eyes rolled back. Her body surged.

Her tits swelled first, ballooning outward so fast the pink crop top ripped down the front with a loud rrrrrip. Her nipples, now the size of silver dollars, hardened into stiff peaks. Her ass exploded outward, the leopard pants splitting along the seams as her cheeks grew rounder, heavier, impossibly fatter. Her thighs thickened, her calves lengthened, and her spine stretched with audible pops.

The guys froze.

“What the—?”

Sabrina shot upward. Five feet became six in seconds. Her head rose past their chests. Then seven. Eight. The table groaned beneath her growing weight. Her sneakers—bright pink and orange Nikes—burst at the seams as her feet elongated, toes lengthening into powerful digits that could crush a man’s skull if she wanted.

Nine feet. Ten. The ceiling was getting closer.

By the time the growth finally slowed, Sabrina stood at a towering thirteen feet tall. Her head nearly brushed the apartment’s high ceiling. Her body was a goddess of curves on an inhuman scale—tits the size of beach balls, each one heavier than a grown man, nipples thick and dark and begging to be sucked. Her ass was a shelf of pure power, cheeks so massive they cast shadows over the men below. Her leopard-print pants hung in tatters around her colossal thighs, the remnants of her crop top dangling like a torn banner between her heaving breasts.

The four men stared up at her in stunned silence, their huge cocks still hard but now looking comically small.

Sabrina smirked down at them, voice now a deep, resonant purr that vibrated through the floor. “Well, well… looks like the little toy just became the giantess.”

She didn’t give them time to react.

Her massive hand shot down and scooped Marcus up like a doll, lifting the 250-pound bodybuilder until he was level with her face. “You were gonna fuck me, right?” she teased, then pressed him face-first between her enormous tits. His whole head disappeared into the soft, warm canyon of cleavage. He groaned, muffled, arms flailing as she squeezed her breasts together around him, smothering him in titflesh.

Jamal tried to run. Sabrina’s other hand snatched him mid-stride, yanking his shorts down with one finger. His thick cock sprang free—still impressive by normal standards, but now no bigger than her pinky. She brought him to her mouth, tongue sliding out to lap at his entire shaft in one slow, wet stroke. “Mmm. Cute,” she murmured, then sucked him between her lips like a lollipop, cheeks hollowing as she bobbed her head, easily taking his whole body from the waist down.

Tyrone and DeShawn backed toward the couch, but Sabrina stepped forward, the floor shaking beneath her bare feet. She dropped to her knees—still taller than any of them even then—and grabbed both men in one hand, pinning them against her massive left thigh. Her skin was hot, smooth, and unyielding. She ground her pussy against the edge of the couch, the wet lips alone bigger than their torsos, and dragged them across her clit.

“You boys wanted a gangbang?” she laughed, voice echoing off the walls. “Now you’re my toys.”

She laid all four of them on the floor in a row, then lowered herself over them. Her gigantic ass descended like a pink leopard-print avalanche, cheeks spreading wide enough to cover all four men at once. She sat down slowly, carefully, letting their bodies sink into the impossibly soft, warm flesh. Marcus and Jamal disappeared completely under one cheek. Tyrone and DeShawn were trapped under the other, faces pressed against her dripping pussy and tight asshole.

Sabrina rocked her hips, moaning loud enough to rattle the windows. “That’s it… worship your giant goddess. Lick. Suck. Fuck whatever you can reach.”

She felt tiny tongues and hands desperately working her clit, her folds, even pushing against her asshole. The sensation was electric. Her pussy clenched, flooding their faces with sweet nectar. She reached down and plucked DeShawn out from under her ass, holding him by the waist and lowering him feet-first into her cunt. He slid in easily—her entrance stretched wide around his entire lower body. Sabrina used him like a living dildo, pumping him in and out while he thrashed and moaned.

Jamal got the same treatment next, his dreads tickling her inner walls as she fucked herself with him. Marcus and Tyrone were pressed together, faces smashed against her clit, forced to lick and suck while she rode their heads.

The power rush was intoxicating. Sabrina’s free hand roamed her own body, pinching her massive nipples, squeezing her tits until milk-white beads of sweat rolled down the curves. She came hard—once, twice, three times—each orgasm shaking the floor and soaking the men beneath her in gallons of her juices.

Finally, she stood up, glistening and triumphant. The four exhausted, cum-covered studs lay sprawled on the floor, chests heaving, cocks spent and twitching. Sabrina towered over them, phone still in her giant hand, recording every second.

“Best. Gangbang. Ever,” she purred, zooming in on their dazed faces. Then she looked straight into the lens, smiling wickedly. “Who wants to see what I do with them next round? Comment below, babies… because this giantess is just getting started.”

She blew a kiss that could have knocked them over, then ended the recording.

The director was speechless in the corner. The crew stared in awe.

Sabrina just laughed, deep and satisfied, already feeling the serum’s effects lingering. Thirteen feet of dominant, horny, unstoppable curves… and she had four very willing (and very used) playthings at her feet.

She scooped them all up gently in her arms, cradling the four muscular men against her massive breasts like a bouquet of living sex toys.

“Round two in the bedroom, boys,” she whispered. “And this time, I’m the one doing the fucking.”

The apartment door clicked shut behind her as she carried them away, already planning exactly how she’d use every inch of her new giant body on them for the rest of the night—and every night after. Sabrina wasn’t anyone’s little plaything anymore.

The three of them had been best friends for years—Choi, Zen, and Kai—tight as brothers, the kind of crew that finished each other’s sentences and shared every secret. They were in their mid-twenties now, living together in a cramped but comfortable apartment on the edge of the city, the kind of place where the garage had been converted into a makeshift home lab because all three were low-key chemistry nerds. Choi, the shortest at 5’4”, was the firecracker of the group: compact, cocky, always pushing boundaries with that sharp jawline and mischievous grin. Zen, 5’7”, was the playful artist, lean and wiry with a constant smirk, the one who turned everything into a joke. Kai, the tallest at 5’9”, was the steady one—broad-shouldered, reserved, the voice of reason who somehow always ended up going along with their wild ideas anyway.

They’d been messing around with chemicals for weeks. It started as a stupid bet: some shady online forum had diagrams for a “metabolic modulator” that supposedly tweaked human growth factors. They’d cobbled it together in the garage lab—beakers bubbling, tubes snaking everywhere—half science project, half dare. “What’s the worst that could happen?” Choi had laughed, shaking the pressurized canister like it was a can of spray paint. Zen and Kai had rolled their eyes but leaned in close anyway, the three of them crowded around the workbench in nothing but gym shorts and tank tops, bodies glistening from the summer heat.

The canister slipped.

A fine mist exploded outward in a hissing cloud, coating their skin, soaking into their pores. They coughed, staggered back, eyes watering. At first it felt like fire—pins and needles racing across every inch of them, muscles twitching, bones aching. Then the changes hit.

Choi dropped to his knees first, but not from weakness. A deep groan tore from his throat as his body surged upward. His tank top ripped down the front like tissue paper. Shoulders broadening, chest exploding outward into thick, striated slabs of muscle that heaved with every breath. His arms ballooned, veins snaking over biceps the size of softballs, forearms corded like steel cables. His legs lengthened with audible pops, thighs swelling into tree-trunk pillars, calves diamond-hard. By the time the growth stopped, he towered at 7’6”, a sweat-slicked, hyper-muscular god. His gym shorts had shredded completely; the massive, heavy cock that now hung between his legs—thick as a wrist even soft—swung low against thighs that could crush stone. His abs were an eight-pack carved from marble, glistening under the garage lights. He flexed one massive arm experimentally, and the power that rippled through him made his cock twitch with sudden, hungry interest.

Zen and Kai weren’t so lucky.

Zen let out a high-pitched yelp as the world rushed upward around him. His body compacted, shrinking fast—5’7” collapsing inward like a balloon deflating. Muscles stayed toned, but everything grew miniature: 5’4”… 4’2”… down to 2’8”. His shorts pooled around his tiny ankles. He stared up in horror at his friends, now giants from his new perspective, heart hammering in his doll-sized chest.

Kai fared only slightly better. He shrank slower, fighting it, but the mist won. 5’9” dwindled to 3’2”. Still proportional, still fit, but pathetically small next to Choi’s new frame. His clothes hung off him like circus tents.

For a long minute, the garage was silent except for their ragged breathing.

“What the fuck…” Zen squeaked, voice tiny and high.

Kai tried to stand, wobbled, and fell back against a workbench leg that now felt like a redwood. “Choi… you’re… holy shit, you’re enormous.”

Choi rose slowly. The ceiling felt low now; he had to duck his head. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face as he looked down at his two shrunken best friends. The power rush was intoxicating. His massive cock stirred again, thickening visibly. “Yeah,” he rumbled, voice deeper, commanding. “I am.”

The first day was chaos—panic, measuring tapes, frantic attempts to recreate the formula. But nothing worked. The changes seemed permanent, or at least long-term. Choi’s new height and muscle made everything different. He could lift both of them at once with one hand. Doors were too small. Furniture creaked under his weight. And every time Zen or Kai tried to argue or problem-solve, Choi’s sheer physical dominance shut them down. He started small: “Hey, little guys, grab me a beer from the fridge. I can’t fit down there anymore.” Then it escalated. “Massage my shoulders, Zen. They’re killing me after all this growth.” Kai was ordered to fetch towels, cook meals that now looked like snacks on Choi’s plate.

The friendship cracked somewhere around day three.

Choi lounged on the oversized couch they’d dragged in, legs spread wide, wearing nothing but a towel that barely contained his heavy package. Zen and Kai stood between his massive feet like action figures. “You two are mine now,” Choi said casually, flexing his pecs so they bounced. “Best friends? Sure. But look at you. Tiny. Useless on your own. I own this body. I own the apartment. And I own you.”

Zen swallowed hard, cheeks flushing. Kai looked away, but his tiny cock had tented the front of his makeshift loincloth—a scrap of towel they’d cut down for him.

They resisted at first. But resistance melted under Choi’s new rules. He made them call him “Sir.” He made them sleep at the foot of his bed like pets. He made them oil his massive muscles every morning, their small hands sliding over acres of warm, veined flesh. The erotic charge was impossible to ignore. Choi’s cock would harden during these sessions, rising like a third leg—thick, veined, easily two feet long now, the head as big as Zen’s fist. Pre-cum would bead at the slit, dripping in heavy strands that the little men were ordered to lap up.

“Clean it,” Choi growled one evening, voice thick with lust. He wrapped one huge hand around Zen’s waist and lifted him effortlessly, pressing the tiny man’s face against the underside of his throbbing shaft. Zen’s legs dangled as he instinctively licked, tongue tracing the pulsing vein. Kai was shoved between Choi’s thighs, forced to worship the heavy balls that hung like ripe fruit. The taste was salty, masculine, overwhelming. Choi’s low moans filled the room as he used them like living sex toys.

The real turning point came when they decided they needed somewhere private to “figure shit out” without neighbors noticing a seven-and-a-half-foot giant. A private traditional sauna on the outskirts of town—wood-paneled, steamy, discreet. They booked it for the night under a fake name. Choi drove, the car groaning under his weight while Zen and Kai sat in the passenger seat like children, legs swinging.

Inside the sauna, the heat hit like a drug. Wooden benches, dim lantern light, a stone heater glowing with coals in the corner. Buckets of water and wooden ladles waited. Steam rose in thick clouds. Choi stripped off his clothes immediately, his colossal body gleaming with instant sweat. At 7’6”, he had to sit on the top bench just to fit comfortably, legs spread wide, towel draped loosely over his lap like a small blanket.

“Strip,” he ordered.

Zen and Kai obeyed, their tiny bodies—still toned, still handsome in miniature—looking almost fragile in the humid air. They wore only white towels now, wrapped around their waists like the image of some ancient ritual.

Choi leaned back against the warm wood, one massive arm draped along the back of the bench. “You know what I want. Worship your god.”

Zen climbed up first, small hands pressing into the thick slabs of Choi’s left pec. He kneaded the muscle, thumbs digging into the deep cleft between them, feeling the power thrum beneath the slick skin. Choi’s nipple hardened under his palm; Zen leaned in and licked it, sucking gently. Choi groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest like thunder.

Kai dropped to his knees on the lower bench between Choi’s spread thighs. His hands looked comically small as they gripped the massive quad, fingers barely spanning the vast expanse of muscle. He massaged upward, sliding over the inner thigh, inching closer to the towel that was already tenting obscenely. Choi’s cock had grown fully hard, the head pushing the towel aside, a thick rope of pre-cum drooling down the shaft and pooling on the wooden bench.

“Both of you,” Choi commanded, voice husky. “Serve me properly.”

Zen moved to Choi’s right arm, climbing onto the bicep like it was a tree branch. He wrapped his entire body around the muscle, grinding his tiny, aching cock against the warm skin while his hands and mouth worked the shoulder and trap. The size difference made him feel helpless, owned—exactly what Choi wanted.

Kai pulled the towel away entirely. The giant cock sprang free, slapping heavily against Choi’s abs with a wet sound. At full hardness it was monstrous: over two feet long, wrist-thick, the head flared and glistening. Kai could barely get both hands around the base. He stroked upward, using his whole upper body, pressing his chest against the shaft as he licked and sucked at the frenulum. Pre-cum coated his face and torso in sticky ropes.

Choi’s hand came down, fingers wrapping around Kai’s waist like a living cock ring. He guided the smaller man’s body up and down the length of his shaft, using him to jerk himself off. “That’s it, little slut. Feel how much bigger I am? This is your new life.”

Zen was lifted next, placed straddling Choi’s chest. The giant’s abs flexed beneath him like living steel. Zen rode the ridges, humping desperately while Choi’s free hand explored his tiny ass, a single thick finger pressing inside him, stretching him open. Zen moaned, tiny cock leaking against Choi’s sternum.

The steam thickened. Sweat poured off all three bodies. The sauna smelled of cedar, heat, and raw male lust.

Choi stood suddenly, towering over them both. He positioned Zen on the bench at eye level with his cock and Kai on his knees below. “Open your mouths.”

They did. Choi stroked himself with one hand while the other held their heads steady. He painted their faces and tongues with heavy spurts of pre-cum, then pushed forward. Zen took the head into his mouth—barely—and sucked greedily while Kai licked and sucked the balls and shaft from underneath. Choi’s hips rocked gently, fucking their faces with careful power, never hurting them but making it clear who was in charge.

When he finally came, it was volcanic. Thick, hot ropes of cum blasted across their bodies, painting Zen’s chest and face, dripping down Kai’s back in heavy globs. The smell was overwhelming. Choi roared with pleasure, muscles flexing in the lantern light.

Panting, he sat back down, pulling his two tiny servants into his lap. Zen curled against one massive pec, Kai nestled between his thighs, both of them sticky, spent, and utterly claimed. Choi’s hand stroked their backs possessively.

“Best friends,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied. “But now you’re my servants. My toys. My little pets. And you’re going to love every second of it.”

In the steamy heat of the sauna, with the giant’s body still radiating power and the taste of him lingering on their tongues, Zen and Kai didn’t argue. They simply pressed closer, small hands tracing the endless landscape of muscle, ready to serve again whenever their master demanded.

The house was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning fighting the summer heat. Jessica stood in the doorway of what used to be her childhood bedroom, now repurposed as a guest room with a low platform bed built specially for her new height. At 3’6”, everything felt enormous again—like she was a kid playing house in a giant’s world. The shrinking virus had come out of nowhere six months ago. One week she was a confident 5’6” fitness instructor with her own apartment and a string of casual lovers; the next she was barely tall enough to reach the kitchen counters without a step stool. Doctors had no cure. Her parents had insisted she move home until she figured out “next steps.”

What they hadn’t mentioned—what they couldn’t have prepared her for—was how much her stepbrother Chris had changed.

Chris had always been tall, even as a gangly teenager, but the last six years had turned him into something out of a fever dream. At twenty he stood an impossible 7’6”, every inch carved from dense, vascular muscle. Broad shoulders that could block doorways, pecs like armored plates, arms thicker than her waist, and legs like tree trunks wrapped in striated steel. He still lived at home, training full-time for some underground bodybuilding circuit their parents quietly funded. When Jessica had first walked through the front door two weeks ago, suitcase wheels dragging behind her, Chris had been coming down the stairs in nothing but gray compression shorts.

She’d stopped dead.

He’d looked down at her—way, way down—and his dark eyes had widened. The size difference was obscene. Her head barely reached the middle of his thigh. One of his legs was literally taller than she was now. She’d felt heat bloom low in her belly, a filthy, immediate rush of want that shocked her. This was Chris. Her stepbrother. The kid she used to ignore while she snuck out to parties. But the kid was gone. In his place was a towering, sweat-glistened god who stared at her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

The tension had only grown since then.

During the day they circled each other like predators. Jessica caught herself staring when he moved through the kitchen, the way his massive quads flexed with every step, the heavy swing of the thick bulge in those gray shorts. Chris, for his part, couldn’t stop touching her—gentle, careful touches that still made her feel tiny and helpless in the best way. He’d lift her onto the counter so she could reach the top shelf. His hands would span her entire ribcage. Once, when she’d tried to climb the stairs on her own, he’d simply scooped her up, cradling her against the warm, hard wall of his chest like she weighed nothing. She’d felt his heartbeat thunder against her cheek and had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.

Tonight the house was empty. Their parents were at some weekend couples’ retreat. The hallway light was off. Jessica sat on the edge of her low bed wearing the same black sports bra and tiny gray booty shorts she’d had on in the photo she’d sent him earlier that day—a deliberate choice. Her blonde ponytail hung down her back, still slightly damp from the shower. She’d left the door cracked open on purpose.

She heard the floorboards creak long before she saw him. Then the door swung wider and there he was.

Chris filled the entire doorway exactly like the image burned into her mind: one massive hand gripping the top of the frame, the other loose at his side, fingers thick as her wrists. He wore nothing but those same low-slung gray shorts that hugged the impossible swell of his quads and the heavy, half-hard outline of his cock. His dark hair was tousled, stubble shadowing his sharp jaw. Sweat already glistened across the deep cuts of his abs and the heavy slabs of his pecs, as if he’d been pacing his room for hours, fighting the same urge she had.

“Jess,” he rumbled, voice low and rough. Even his voice was bigger now. “I… I couldn’t sleep.”

She looked up at him—had to tilt her head all the way back—and smiled, slow and wicked. “I was waiting for you.”

Chris’s breath hitched. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room seemed to shrink around his massive frame. He crossed to the bed in two strides and dropped to his knees so they were closer to eye level—though she still had to look up. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide.

“You’re so fucking small,” he whispered, almost reverent. One huge hand reached out, hesitating, then cupped her cheek. His palm covered the entire side of her head. “I can’t stop thinking about it. You’re the size of my fucking leg, Jess. My little stepsister… and all I want to do is pick you up and—”

“And what?” she breathed, leaning into his touch. She placed both her small hands on his wrist, feeling the thick cords of muscle and veins pulsing under her fingers. “Tell me, Chris. I want to hear it.”

He groaned, deep in his chest. “I want to explore every inch of you with my hands. I want you to climb me like I’m your personal jungle gym. I want to feel how tiny you are when I’m inside you.”

Jessica’s pussy clenched at his words. She’d been wet since dinner, imagining exactly this. She rose up on her knees on the bed, still barely reaching his collarbone even with him kneeling. “Then do it. I’ve wanted to touch you since the second I saw you. You’re a goddamn giant now, Chris. My giant.”

His hands moved with surprising gentleness for their size. He lifted her easily, setting her on her feet on the mattress so she stood between his spread thighs. Now her face was level with the deep cleft between his pecs. She pressed both palms to the warm, firm muscle and pushed, feeling the impossible density. His nipples were hard little points under her thumbs. She leaned in and dragged her tongue across one, tasting salt and skin.

“Fuck, Jess…” Chris’s hand slid down her back, fingers splaying across her entire ass and lower back at once. He pulled her closer until her body was flush against the hot wall of his abs. She could feel his cock thickening rapidly against her stomach—already longer and thicker than her forearm.

She kissed her way across his chest, nipping at the heavy muscle, then dragged her hands down the ridged eight-pack until her fingers hooked into the waistband of his shorts. “Off,” she ordered, voice husky. “I want to see all of you.”

Chris stood up, towering over her again, and shoved the shorts down. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, and already leaking. It bobbed heavily in front of her face, the head glistening, easily as long as her forearm and thicker than her wrist. Jessica’s mouth watered. She wrapped both hands around the shaft—her fingers didn’t meet—and stroked slowly, marveling at the heat and the way it jumped in her grip.

“Jesus, you’re huge everywhere,” she whispered in awe. She leaned forward and licked a broad stripe up the underside, tasting the salty pre-cum. Chris’s hand tangled gently in her ponytail, not forcing, just holding.

She worshipped him like that for long minutes—kissing, licking, stroking with both arms while he stood there like a statue of raw power, muscles flexing and twitching under her touch. Then he lifted her again, this time cradling her against his chest as he climbed onto her bed. The mattress dipped dangerously under his weight. He laid back, propping himself against the headboard, and settled her straddling his massive thigh.

The muscle under her was rock-hard and warm, easily wider than her hips. She ground down on it instinctively, her tiny shorts already soaked through. Chris’s hands spanned her waist completely.

“Ride my leg, baby,” he growled. “Let me feel how wet you are.”

Jessica moaned and obeyed, rolling her hips, dragging her aching pussy along the thick ridge of his quad. The friction was perfect. She braced her hands on his abs for balance and rocked faster, staring up at his face—his dark eyes locked on her, lips parted, chest heaving. Every time she moved, her whole body shifted against the unyielding muscle. It felt like she was humping a warm marble pillar.

Chris’s thumb slipped under the waistband of her shorts and tugged them down her legs with one easy motion. Then his finger—God, even one finger was thick—parted her folds and circled her clit. She cried out, grinding harder against his thigh while he fingered her with careful, devastating strokes.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “So small and perfect. I don’t know if I’ll even fit, Jess, but I need to try.”

She came suddenly, shuddering and soaking his thigh, a high-pitched whine escaping her throat. He didn’t stop, just kept stroking her through it until she was trembling.

When she finally caught her breath, she looked down at his cock—now fully hard and resting against his abs, the head nearly reaching the bottom of his sternum. She crawled forward on all fours, tiny hands and knees sinking into the grooves of his muscle, until she was straddling his hips. His cock lay between them like a thick, hot bar.

Jessica rose up on her knees, gripped him with both hands, and pressed the fat head against her dripping entrance. “I want it,” she whispered. “I want my giant stepbrother to stretch me open.”

Chris’s hands settled on her hips, steadying her. “Slow, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She sank down anyway, inch by careful inch. The stretch was insane—burning, overwhelming, perfect. Her pussy lips stretched obscenely around his girth. She only managed to take the head and a few inches before she had to pause, panting, sweat sliding down her spine. Chris’s thumbs stroked soothing circles on her waist, but his eyes were glued to where they were joined, pupils blown with lust.

“You’re doing so good,” he praised, voice hoarse. “Look at you… taking my cock like a good little stepsister.”

The dirty words sent another gush of wetness down his shaft. She worked herself lower, taking more, until nearly half of him was buried inside her. The bulge was visible on her lower belly—his cock so big it distorted her tiny frame. She placed one hand over the outline and pressed, feeling him throb inside her.

Chris groaned like he was dying. Then he sat up, curling his massive body around her, and captured her mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue was huge against hers. One arm wrapped around her back, the other slid under her ass, and he began to move—gentle, shallow thrusts that still made her see stars.

They found a rhythm. Jessica rode him as best she could, tiny body bouncing on his enormous cock while he held her steady, guiding her up and down. Every thrust pushed the air from her lungs. She could feel every vein, every ridge dragging along her inner walls. Her clit rubbed against the base of his shaft on every downstroke.

“Chris—fuck—I’m gonna come again,” she gasped against his neck.

“Do it,” he growled. “Come on my cock, Jess. Let me feel it.”

She shattered, clenching hard around him, nails digging uselessly into the thick slabs of his pecs. Chris’s hips stuttered. With a deep, guttural moan he followed her over the edge, flooding her with pulse after pulse of hot cum. There was so much it leaked out around his shaft, dripping down his balls and onto the sheets.

They stayed locked together for a long time afterward, his cock still half-hard inside her, twitching with aftershocks. Chris stroked her back with one huge hand, the other cradling her head against his chest. She felt tiny, protected, and completely owned in the best possible way.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered, kissing the center of his sternum.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her entire body. “Baby, I’m never letting you out of my sight again. Not when you fit me this perfectly.”

Outside, the house remained quiet. Inside the little guest room, the giant stepbrother and his shrunken stepsister held each other close, already hungry for round two. The age gap, the virus, the years they’d spent apart—it all melted away under the heat of something far more primal.

They had the whole weekend.

Kristi adjusted her leopard-print leggings, the fabric hugging every sculpted curve of her ass and thighs like a second skin. The yoga studio glowed with morning light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline glittering beyond. She was already the fantasy every student secretly craved—toned abs, full breasts straining against her black sports bra, long honey-brown hair cascading down her back, and a smile that promised both serenity and sin. At 5’8”, she moved with effortless grace, demonstrating the deep stretch of a forward fold while her boyfriend Jeff watched from the back row.

Jeff. Sweet, devoted Jeff. He was fit, sure—broad shoulders, strong arms, the kind of man who could keep up in the bedroom on a good night. But lately, even that had become a challenge. Kristi’s libido had been insatiable, her body demanding more, harder, longer. She’d started experimenting with herbal teas from a discreet little shop downtown, blends promising “inner vitality” and “feminine empowerment.” This morning’s brew tasted like wild honey and spice. She downed the entire thermos between classes, feeling a warm flush spread through her veins.

The change began during her private cooldown session with Jeff.

At first it was just heat. Delicious, liquid heat blooming low in her belly, radiating outward. Kristi arched into a deep cobra pose on her mat, moaning softly as her nipples tightened against the fabric. “Mmm… Jeff, baby, come spot me,” she purred, voice already huskier.

He knelt behind her, hands on her hips to help with alignment. Then she gasped. Her spine lengthened with a sudden, pleasurable crack. Her leggings stretched taut as her ass swelled rounder, firmer, the leopard pattern distorting over expanding cheeks. Jeff’s eyes widened. “Kristi? What the—?”

Another wave hit. She shot upward, five inches in a heartbeat, then ten. Her thighs thickened with powerful muscle while staying impossibly smooth and soft. Her breasts surged forward, heavy and perfect, straining the sports bra until the straps snapped with a soft ping. Kristi laughed, low and throaty, as she rose onto all fours, now eye-level with Jeff even while kneeling.

“Oh fuck, this feels good,” she breathed. The tea’s magic poured through her like liquid fire. Her arms lengthened, toned biceps and shoulders rounding out. Her waist stayed tiny, creating an exaggerated hourglass that would make any goddess jealous. Inch after inch, foot after foot, she grew. The mat creaked beneath her. Her long hair spilled across the floor like a golden river. By the time the surge slowed, Kristi towered at fifteen feet tall, her body a perfected masterpiece—every curve amplified, skin glowing, pussy visibly throbbing beneath the ruined remains of her leggings.

She rolled onto her back, legs spread, one massive hand sliding down her abs to cup her swollen sex. “Jeff… look at me.”

He stared up at her in awe and raw lust. Her face alone was breathtaking—full lips, bedroom eyes, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. But her body… Christ. Those endless legs, the mountainous swell of her breasts, the glistening pink folds peeking between thighs thicker than his torso. His cock strained painfully against his shorts.

Kristi reached down, gentle despite her size, and plucked him up like a doll. She peeled his clothes off with two fingers, then set him on her bare stomach, the heat of her skin like sun-warmed silk. “I need you,” she whispered, voice vibrating through him. “All of you.”

Jeff tried. God, he tried. He crawled between her breasts, kissing and licking the soft, heavy flesh while she moaned loud enough to rattle the studio windows. Her nipples were bigger than his hands; he sucked one desperately, grinding his cock against the underside. Kristi’s fingers guided him lower, pressing him against the slick heat of her pussy. She was soaked, arousal dripping down her thighs in shiny rivulets.

He thrust into her folds, surrounded by velvety, pulsing walls that gripped him like a fist. Kristi’s hips rolled, slow at first, then faster. Each movement nearly bucked him off. “Harder, baby,” she gasped, one finger circling her clit right beside him. The scent of her—sweet, musky, intoxicating—filled his lungs. He fucked her with everything he had, tongue and cock working her swollen clit while she grew wetter, hotter.

But she was too much. Her pleasure built like a tidal wave. Kristi’s massive thighs trembled. She cupped him against her with one hand, grinding shamelessly, using his entire body to chase her orgasm. “Yes—fuck, Jeff, I’m so close—”

She came with a cry that shook the room. Her pussy flooded, soaking him completely as powerful contractions rippled around his trapped form. Jeff came too, helplessly, his load lost against her vast, perfect sex.

When the aftershocks faded, Kristi lifted him gently to her lips and kissed him, tasting herself on his skin. “Mmm. Good boy.” Her eyes sparkled with wicked hunger. “But I’m not even close to done. This new body… I need more. Much more.”

Jeff panted, spent and dazed, staring up at his fifteen-foot goddess. Her free hand was already sliding back between her thighs, fingers plunging deep with wet, obscene sounds. She smiled down at him, licking her lips.

“Round two, baby. And this time… I want you inside me while I grow even more.”

She took a second sip from the thermos, eyes glowing with promise. Jeff’s cock twitched again despite exhaustion. He couldn’t keep up.