#thefty-o

"Come in!" His bass rumble carried through the door. He turns from the bookshelf, and that same white button-down from the start of semester fits very differently now.

"Your partner couldn't make it again?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

"Chase texted. Still feeling drained." I close the door. "Third meeting he's missed."

Professor Mitchell frowns. "Poor kid. He was so energetic in September. Must have caught something." He gestures for me to sit. "Let me see the progress report."

I flip open the journal. Our "Biomass Redistribution Study" laid out in charts. Subject A declining, Subject B increasing.

"Fascinating," he murmurs, leaning close. "Subject B continues absorbing resources from Subject A. The passive transfer rate is remarkable."

"Yeah," I say carefully. "I theorize that it will keep accelerating until A has nothing left to offer."

He nods, tracing the projection chart. Week Ten shows completion—Subject A at 5'0", 110lbs; Subject B at 7'2", 300lbs.

"You know," he says, stretching, "I've always been lucky with my build. Never worked for it—just genetics. But this Subject B? Should be a monster by week ten."

"Right. Just... lucky genetics."

"Ha ha should be interesting seeing him next to Chase though, that kid was a beast when I last saw him, hope he starts feeling better soon."

I stand, moving beside him. "Yeah, I'm sure it will be interesting comparing them side by side when he recovers from his *shrinking* bug he has caught."

His chest casts a shadow over me, his face obscured behind straining fabric. His tie nestled deep between the globes.

"Will Chase make the final session?" He stumbles back against his desk. Even sitting, he's taller than me.

"I'll make sure he's there." My hand settles on his chest. "He needs to be present for the final measurements."

His breath catches. "Good. I'd hate for him to miss the conclusion—"

I pull his tie, guiding his back to the bookshelf. My other hand plants on his crotch for support. Something substantial and weighty beneath my palm. He groans as it pulses through the slacks. "Sorry," I say. "Your tie was bothering me."

"Oughhh…" He stiffens fully under my grip before catching himself. "Ahem—no apologies needed. Thank you for the… touch up."

"No problem," I whisper. "We'll hold the final session Thursday. We'll complete the project then."

I step back. He's flushed, breathing hard, glasses askew.

"Thursday," he echoes.

"Get a hold of yourself Mitch..." I can hear him mutter as I pack up. Meaty fingers trying to hide a pipe down his leg. "So damn sensitive lately. Swear it's bigger every day."

I smile as I step into the hallway before noticing a poster. Chase #12 in all his former glory—6'4", 245lbs of quarterback perfection.

One more session. Then Professor Mitchell will have everything Chase ever was and more.

Chase will barely have strength to walk into this office.

But he will. I'll make sure of it.

Unnnngh... feels so GOOD getting this BIG... flexes bicep and kisses it Who's the alpha male now, son?

grunts, smirking Oh, but you… you’re lookin’ a little… deflated, huh? Those ‘godly’ pecs of yours? Kinda flat now, ain’t they?

And don’t get me started on that bulge. Used to need custom jocks to tame that beast you were packin’. Bet those briefs are hangin’ loose now, huh?

Mmm… speakin’ of that cock… leans in, voice low Guess where all that size went, son? grabs crotch, grinning Right here. Daddy’s packin’ a fuckin’ cannon now. Feels so heavy, so goddamn thick… every inch’s a reminder of what I TOOK from you.

flexes again, Oughhh...fuck, I’m gettin’ BIGGER every day. You feel that? That rush when I swell up? That’s YOUR size floodin’ into me. Your strength. Your manhood. Nature’s fixin’ things—sons don’t outshine their fathers. Not in muscle, not in—ughhhh...equipment.

Look at your face, kid. That mix of shock and… somethin’ else. You gettin’ hard watchin’ your old man becoming the man of the house? Gahahaha, God, I love this.