“I wish that Paul Jackson’s darkest desires would come true.”
There was a long pause. Ty exhaled and the impulsiveness of his wish came into focus. His mind cleared and he fully heard the words that he’d just spoken…
His heart raced. A sudden sense of anxiety overtook him. What had he just done? What was coming next? How could he have been so open ended, so unspecific with a wish? Who on earth knew what dark, twisted things went on in the mind of a sadistic bully. War? Genocide? World domination?
…He felt a sudden rush of excitement at that last one. He thought about it. A world ruled by one Alpha Male: God of Planet Earth. The vision flooded his mind and made him feel warm. His eyes still closed, he breathed in deeply, and realized that the smell was back, stronger than ever: the odor of men, of the locker room, of bros pumping iron in the gym. He brought Paul’s jockstrap up to his nostrils and inhaled. The soft scent of freshly laundered fabric filled his brain and broke his musky reverie. He opened his eyes and looked on in confusion at the object in his hands. Gone was the musky, XXL, quarterback jockstrap that he’d been holding just a moments before. In its place was a plain white pair of tighty-whities.
He squinted in confusion and looked inside: Extra Small. Only the tiniest, most pathetic of men would fit into these. Even he only wore a small. He laughed out loud and was shocked at the sound that escaped his mouth. Gone was the high-pitched chuckle that usually left his lips, and in its place, a low grumbling guffaw, a cocky, dominant laugh.
“What the fuck?” There it was again. Certaintly his voice, but lower and deeper than he’d ever heard it before. He suddenly realized that the masculine scent wasn’t coming from the jockstrap - it was coming from him.
He felt a heaviness in his pants, a tightness over his shoulders, a restrictive force across his back. He let out a yell of agony and looked down. He was getting bigger. His eyes bulged in excitement and surprise at what he was seeing. His tight little jeans, his nerdy t-shirt were straining against the force of the muscles growing and expanding underneath. He let out another groan of agony, and opened his mouth, ready to wish for relief - but, just before he did, there was a great ripping noise, and his body broke free. The shreds of his t-shirt and jeans fell to the floor, his body growing upward and outward all at once. Gigantic quads: two, three, four times the size that they had just been. His scrawny biceps expanding: golf ball, tennis ball, softball, volleyball in size. His back, lats, and shoulders expanding until he’d more than doubled in width. He could feel hair growing in across his face, down his legs, across his chest - feel the strain of his bones and his body shooting up, adding more than a foot, two feet, even more than that to his height…
“Fucccckkkk.” He growled, his voice somehow even deeper than it had just been.
And then - it came to an end.
He inhaled and exhaled, again and again. Unbelievable amounts of sweat poured down his body, gathering into a swampy mess in the carpeting around his new, sized 16 feet. He crouched over, hands on knees, feeling as though he’d just finished the workout of a lifetime (not as though he knew what a real workout felt like). When he finally caught his breathe, he staggered, half-dazed, light-headed, across the room to his full-length mirror.
There he was: The Beast. The manliest man that this world had ever seen. 6’10’, at least - bigger, stronger, faster, than any Mister Olympia, than any other athlete. He flexed and took it in. The sight of his 26 inch arms made him feel like a King - no - thee King. His quads were unbelievable. He imagined crushing some weakling in-between them. And as he looked down at his legs he finally saw it: the jockstrap (formerly, Paul Jackson’s jockstrap) covering his bulge, stretched out, the quarterback’s number “13” written in black marker - the XXL size expanded to XXXXXL to contain what lay beneath. A cocky grin spread across his face as he felt himself getting hard. He pulled the fabric back and found a 16 inch monster underneath, two, hairy, low-hanging, churning, testicles, each of them the size of tennis balls, just below.
He looked back up at the mirror and flexed. He flexed again and again in different poses, sniffing his pits, admiring his ass, seeing how wide he could spread his lats, putting himself fully on display.
“That fucking faggot,” he heard himself say, laughing as the truth of the situation set in.
The bullying, the confidence, the hard work at the gym - all of it had been a front, a desperate projection. Deep down, behind everything else, all that Paul Jackson secretly wanted was for someone weak to dominate him - and now - that desire had become a reality. Gone was Ty’s need to be submissive. Paul’s darkest desire had turned him into the this - the Ultimate Alpha Male, flooding his mind with the need to dominate Paul, to dominate Men and Women and Kings and Queens and Politicians and Countries and Distant Lands.
Ty laughed out loud, feeling something pulling him on…
There was more to come and he couldn’t stop it. There was no going back.
He would just have to ride the ride.
He glanced over at the tiny, abandoned, extra-small tighty-whities on the floor - the 'new' Paul’s underwear.
His pathetic, former bully’s, deepest desires would be fulfilled. And Ty was beyond excited to see what would come next…