#huge package

The afternoon sun hung over the college baseball field. On first base stood Tyler — tall, athletic, and clean-cut. His uniform clung to a toned but not overly muscular frame. Navy blue and gold. Number 17.

He was quick, lean, with a tight jawline and a fast glove. Not much of a hitter, but reliable on defense.

High in the bleachers sat Amber and Kira, sipping from iced coffee cups that definitely didn’t contain coffee.

Kira leaned forward, watching Tyler stretch his legs at first base. “I like this one. He’s cute.”

Amber smirked. “He could use a little more… power.”

Kira snapped her fingers and murmured a short phrase.

On the field, Tyler shifted his stance.

Then he froze.

His pants pulled tight across his backside — tighter than before. He reached back, subtly pulling at the waistband. But his ass had grown, rapidly thickening into two perfect round glutes, filling out the uniform completely. The fabric squeaked as it stretched.

He shifted again, clearly uncomfortable, adjusting his stance repeatedly.

From the dugout, a teammate whistled. “Damn, Ty! Squats been working overtime?”

Tyler flushed, cheeks red. “Shut up,” he muttered, bending over slightly — only making it worse.

Amber whispered the second enchantment.

Tyler winced.

A strange pressure built in his jock. His cup shifted, lifted, then cramped. He adjusted his crotch — once, then again — and finally had to grab his waistband and subtly shift everything inside.

“Ugh,” he muttered, stepping off the base. His bulge was clearly more prominent now — round and heavy.

It was getting hard to focus.

Coach waved for him to swap out. Tyler jogged off the field, eyes darting to the ground.

A teammate slapped his ass as he passed. “Lookin’ thick today, slugger.”

Tyler forced a laugh but didn’t answer.

Inside the locker room, he pulled off his belt and peeled down his pants. His eyes widened.

His balls were enormous. Hanging, round, warm — like someone had pumped them up. He lifted his jockstrap and stared, unsure what to do.

Rip.

He gasped.

The seat of his pants split — his glutes now massive, too wide for the seams. He looked up in the mirror and gasped again.

His shirt buttons strained, and one popped off. His arms bulged, traps rose, and his chest heaved out — inches thicker in seconds.

Within moments, Tyler looked like a baseball player on steroids. Thick, veiny arms. Deep chest. Thighs like tree trunks. His neck looked thicker. Even his jawline seemed squarer.

He reached for backup gear — an XL jersey and larger pants — and slid them on.

The fit? Perfect.

He stood in front of the mirror, breathing heavy, staring at the beast he’d become.

“Damn,” he muttered. “I look... good.”

Back in the dugout, heads turned.

“There he is — our heavy hitter!” the coach said with a clap. “Get up there, Tyler. Let’s see that bat in action.”

Tyler blinked. Heavy hitter? He’d barely been in the batting rotation before…

But as he stepped onto the plate, something clicked. His stance felt perfect. His body lined up like a pro. The bat felt like part of him.

The pitch came.

Crack!

The ball soared over the fence.

The crowd roared.

He jogged the bases, chest puffed out, jock bouncing inside his cup, thick ass swaying. When he reached home, the team swarmed him.

Tyler smiled wide. “Guess I’ve always been the big guy, huh?”

In the stands, Amber leaned back. “Next.”