Just ignore it

by body beyond   

David is teaching a course on identifying and managing magical anomalies, and begins to suspect there may be a reality-warper in class... largely because everyone’s butt looks too good to believe.

Btw, this is inspired by one of my favorite TF stories, “Jackpot! Bubble butt!” by Nutiper.

“Now the point of these journals is to start recognizing energetic and temporal anomalies, better attuning yourselves to…”

I paused mid-sentence, feeling that something was off, taking a beat before I continued with the lecture. I was hoping to have some time to settle into the Fall semester before having to deal with an inevitable minor metaphysical crisis, but a reality warper a few weeks in was not what I saw coming.

Having a job that includes resolving paranormal wrinkles in spacetime seems exciting until you realize that somehow they’ve found a way to turn it into yet another 9 to 5. People often expect some sort of imposing mansion or gothic structure whenever they hear “Center of Supernatural Sciences,” but it’s actually a squat concrete block cobbled together by a regional college in the 70s. The scariest thing for visitors is figuring out how to connect to the WiFi, though if you’re rude to Seema at the front desk, she will put a hex on you and that’s just your own fault. It’s been a mainstay on this campus for decades, but for how much longer was unclear, as administration has been defunding us relentlessly for as long as I’ve been here. The university doesn’t see our value in light of its own investments in mass surveillance technology and a more ‘hard science’ study of spookiness, but the work we do is still important. Supernatural phenomena are much more common than a lot of people realize—it’s just a matter of actually paying attention—and our work is split between teaching, research, and service, addressing issues locally and regionally as they arise.

And no, we’re not magic cops. We’re not out to punish or control, fist-bumping each other as we shoot silver bullets first and ask questions later. That’s archaic. We investigate, mitigate, and remediate, stepping in whenever the fabric of reality gets a little too bunched or frayed and mending as best we can.

I teach a class called “Investigating Supernatural Threats” almost every semester, which is a title that I absolutely despise—I think it’s an insult to our more than human neighbors—but the department is worried that if we change it we’ll end up losing funding to the criminal justice program, and it’s a hill I’m only willing to get bruised on. But it’s a survey of identifying and responding to paranormal, metaphysical, and magical shenanigans, so it tends to get all kinds. It’s usually a relatively small group, a smattering of grad students from occult history to crypto-zoology, museum curators and archivists needing a refresher on what to be cautious of, and often—which I’m personally delighted by—new forest rangers sent by the state’s Department of Natural Resources who are doing overnights for the first time.

But back to the issue at hand. It’s my job to stay observant across multiple temporal and dimensional planes, so I’m known for picking up on minor phenomena and patterns that at first glance may not seem significant. So around week 3, I couldn’t help but notice that most, if not all, of the men in the class had near-perfect, juicy butts, yet all unique in their own ways. I was used to commanding attention with a round booty sitting pretty on my 6’1” frame, looking downright disproportionate against my lean swimmer’s build—a blessing and a curse, really—but some of them were giving me a run for my money. Which isn’t really an issue, squats are en vogue and there are plenty of male leg day enthusiasts thanks to social media trends, not that I’m complaining, but in week 4, I picked up on the fact that all of their pants fit so well. Too well. Like not just fitted but custom made for each of their unique and sizeable proportions, as if carefully crafted to emphasize and display their bubble butts. A telltale sign.

During class, I kept my extrasensory eyes and ears open, seeing if I could pick up on any novel energetic shifts. And I felt something odd. Something deep and subsonic, pressing tentatively against the borders of our reality, like a sperm whale floating up to a kayak without making a sound. I could feel an energy seeping into local space, something building to some sort of threshold, before, with a submerged *pop* that I could ‘hear’ elsewhere, it was gone. It was like nothing had happened. In fact, nothing had happened. I turned to the board to continue writing something that I had forgotten, only realizing after class had ended that I had been writing about two inches above where I had left off. I did a somatic check, quickly scanning my body from toes to head to fingertips. I felt fine, had all ten fingers, only two eyes, an ass that could stop traffic, still a strapping 6’3”. But had that been true an hour ago? Doubt was setting in.

As someone who teaches the detection and mitigation of magical fuckery, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a potential situation like this. You’d be surprised how often some horny gay warlock has a little too much fun and needs to be reined in, or someone’s chaos magic manifests without them realizing—even worse, with them fully realizing. If you’ve ever had to neutralize an entire college dorm (and a frat house to boot) you would understand why we need more funding and support in magical education, but this isn’t the time for my soap box. A mystery’s afoot.

My most important piece of advice: Just ignore it. The thing is, a reality warper is a serious matter. If you call someone out, you better come correct and prepared for anything. Even just them knowing that you know—or that you’re on the hunt—can get real messy real fast. So you have to act casual. Don’t let them know you’re on to them, and don’t let them know that you know that something is seriously off. This is why I always introduce an extended project around tracking anomalies in the fabric of spacetime, having my students keep journals of anything weird, unusual, or metaphysically wobbly. Don’t react in real time, just on paper and in private, keeping a record of things as they happen. But it seemed like whoever was behind this was influencing the passage of time in very subtle ways, and everyone’s memories, for the most part, were adjusting accordingly. Which is why no one in class has batted an eye at the fact that the asses in this room look like they were expertly morphed to near-comical proportions. After all, what else is new? So I took a different strategy and laid a trap.

The donk on my 6’4” frame (hmm…) was a sight to behold. All muscle with a healthy layer of padding ballooning out from my otherwise lithe form. It was leaps and bounds my best feature, had been for as long as I could remember. I was used to men staring dumbfounded in public as my cheeks swished back and forth, including my own students whenever I turned to the blackboard, pushing it out ever so slightly as I leaned forward to write, the globes of my ass encased in one of many perfectly tailored pairs of tweed slacks. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, seeing as any pants off the rack would either be way to loose in the waist or far too tight in the glutes, risking catastrophic failure. So I got my pants carefully fitted, but the thing was, so did everyone else. All the men in the class, from muscle butts to perky, round ones, to jiggly booties and wide hips, always had expertly fitted pants without fail. So we know what the focus of the shifts was, but it seemed like it was an expert reworking of time, and with that, memory. The phenomenon of unusually juicy asses in class pinged on my paranormal radar, but mine had always been this way. Right?

The thing is, the fit of everyone’s pants wasn’t just good, it was too good. Perfect, even. Yes, I had memories of having all my slacks tailored but they fit like they had been hand sewn on a lifelike model of my bulbous glutes with millimeter scale precision, not too little and not too much. So I found a pair that I didn’t much care for and took a razor to the back seam to weaken it just so. I squeezed into my form-fitting pants and made my way to campus, careful not to stress the stitches too much and too fast, waddling into the room early and looking forward to this ordeal being over. Before anyone showed up, I cast a spell of detection around the space. Not detection of magical activities, which would’ve risked tripping any alarms that my possible warper may have already had in place, not to mention the possibility of interfering chaotically with their own spell whose function I was still unsure of. It was more of an emotional and energetic heat map, tipping me off to any sudden shifts in people’s auras.

Class began like normal as I offered some further thoughts inspired by the previous week’s discussion of AI programs as a potential tool of revealing and visualizing temporal anomalies. The discipline, in order to stay relevant, had been getting into the implications of digital technologies and new media for magical phenomena, so I figured we should spend a little more time on the topic. Also I was genuinely interested in hearing people’s thoughts, albeit distracted by the ticking time bomb of my basketball buns putting catastrophic pressure on my pants as I sometimes too excitedly paced across the front of the room.

Per usual, I could feel the crescendo of strange, unfamiliar power rubbing almost playfully along the barrier between worlds, but everyone’s auras seemed fine. There was no corresponding wave of connected energy from any one person, beyond the general simmer of erotic activation (i.e. horniness) that spiked every time I turned my back to the class. I had become familiar with the exact threshold that this power would hit before it seemingly reset everything to a new, slightly more enhanced normal, and I was counting on the regularity of that threshold with the timing of this next move.

The previous, and now continuing, discussion of new media had led me to realize that the enhanced asses in the room really did look like expertly done morphs and the perfect fit of every pair of pants, no matter the material, was simply improbable. Whoever this was, whatever this was, was operating along the edges of possibility, letting fantasy seep into what we generally regard as the real (or what we think is the real). So I figured, why not use one of my favorite tropes and see what happens.

My tweed slacks were impeccable but not indestructible and as the energetic threshold was reached I just happened to drop my chalk, quickly bending down to retrieve it. The spike in erotic attention from the view of my ballooning backside paled in comparison to what followed, as the seam of my pants finally gave way, my cheeks spilling into view along with a pair of pink and purple polka dotted bikini briefs that did nothing to cover the shelf of my ass.

I played it off with my expert acting skills (this wasn’t the first time I had to feign surprise from some magical mishap), performing a practiced mixture of embarrassment and humor that I assumed the reality-shifter would expect. From the men in class was a mix of nodding in understanding and whispers of It’s even bigger than I thought and How did those pants even fit. I felt a wave of erotic energy move through the room, but there was a spike of something else in the back corner. Something sharper, a tendril of fantastical power peeking into our dimension, concentrated around Logan, who I found staring directly at me with a look of surprise and mild confusion.

I knew of Logan. He was an archivist based in the college’s paranormal artifacts collection, and I think he had signed up for my class as a refresher for methods and safety when investigating and collecting potentially powerful and chaotic objects. He was skinny all around, topping out at no more than 5’7”, his thick, hexagonal rimmed glasses sitting below a mop of bouncy curls with an undercut. He usually came in wearing a pair of loose, flowy drop crotch pants, a surprisingly bohemian look with his otherwise reserved demeanor and sensible button downs. He was demure and unassuming, not seeming like the kind of person to cause this kind of trouble. But at this point he was the only dude in class that didn’t have an absolute dump truck.

The following week, I wondered why I had even hatched that plan in the first place, seeing as I always wear a skirt over tasteful leggings. I had given up on wearing pants years ago because it was just too much of a hassle, opting instead to let the globes of my ass bounce back and forth with more freeform bottomwear. Slacks were constricting enough in the back, but I was also tired of my donkey dick being suffocated in the crotch. A blessing and a curse. It looked like a couple of the guys in class had followed suit, perched on their round glutes as they let some thick bulges snake down leggings or compression shorts.

No wonder those pants ripped, I thought. I probably haven’t worn those in***

Ah ha. Another bread crumb. And an added wrinkle. Time hadn’t been totally rewritten and my memory hadn’t been totally wiped, just altered in the most efficient way in that moment. In fact, I was still mentally very much on the case and making progress. It wasn’t the sort of loose thread that a reality warper this competent would leave, and by now they must realize that I of all people would be on to them. I began to surmise that Logan wasn’t the one pulling the strings, but was actually some sort of conduit. Maybe for a bored trickster god playing an erotic prank—which, frankly, happens much more often than you’d think.

That week, through irony or serendipity, we actually were discussing strategies for navigating the psychological and emotional games that tricksters love to play, but as the supernatural energy began building on schedule, that previous playfulness had hints of… irritation? The power was a little discordant and I could feel it somatically in a way that I hadn’t before; it seemed everyone else could too. We continued on like normal as my leggings felt fuller and tighter in the glutes, my shoes feeling uncomfortably snug as more of my ankles revealed themselves, my dick inexorably snaking its way towards my hip while staying totally soft.

This was new. And potentially a game changer. But I, along with my students, followed the central mantra of my profession: Note it. Track it. But until you have a plan in place, just ignore it.

“I can only imagine the teaching reviews at the end of the semester. ‘Dr. Palmer had great hands-on pedagogy but a reality-warper gave a bunch of us comically fat asses and he said to just be chill about it.’”

“Well we’ve both seen worse,” said Lee, nursing a gin and tonic across from me.

Lee was my closest friend and colleague at the Center, he specialized more in the ‘lab’ side of things. A few times a week, we would do happy hour at a gay bar a comfortable distance from campus, allegedly to strategize around whatever problems we were currently trying to solve but mostly just to vent over a few rounds of overly strong and suspiciously cheap drinks.

I had changed into some stretchy leisure shorts that looked painted on over the hemispheres of my ass cheeks, hoping they could handle any ‘aftershocks’ of growth that may arise. Still thinking about the incident during class, I wondered who else may have noted and identified it as such. While I felt bad for not having alerted my students yet, word getting out or someone taking action would not help the situation. At least not until I had more info.

Noah was a creative writing MFA whose skinny arms and svelte torso flared out into jiggly, wide hips. He had seemed to be adjusting himself to sit up straighter at first, but I surmised that it was actually his butt inflating enough to lift him up in his seat. As class ended, he had trouble extricating himself from his desk, his ballooning backside drawing more than a few stares as it nearly sent him off-balance. Blake, by contrast, was one of the forest guys, a rectangle of muscle and one of the leg day enthusiast types that I mentioned earlier. His khaki shorts, already stuffed to capacity, split along the side seams as his glutes and quads expanded with muscle, thankfully not reaching catastrophic failure. He definitely noticed, but didn’t seem to mention it, at least not during class, instead opting to power walk his way out of the room right after we wrapped up, his squat butt bouncing ludicrously in his shorts.

“The thing is,” I began, “shifting the threads of time and genetics to retcon someone into a fantastical, juicy derriere is a delicate process. It takes a lot of training, precision, and skill. But matter manipulation in real time? It’s powerful, brute force, carefully controlled chaos magic. And this guy can not only do both, but he’s getting clumsy. This is worrying, right?”

“It’s exciting!” exclaimed Lee. “Imagine the implications if we could study this, it would push the Center’s research agenda years forward.” He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, focusing on the space between his hands as if trying to materialize a slideshow. “And yes, yes, we should be very concerned,” he added, noticing my stern look. “But you have to admit, right now it just seems like this guy’s staying in the realm of erotic fantasy.”

“Yeah, but until when? Then what does he move on to? And how long is this going to continue?” I asked, grabbing a handful of my left butt cheek.

“Hmm, you said you’re the most serious case, right? I mean, the others who have been changed are still within the realm of possibility?”

“They’re starting to push at the edges,” I said, rolling my eyes in frustration. “They’ve noticed but I don’t think they’ve noticed. See for yourself,” I added, nodding towards the door.

As if on cue, Blake walked in and sat at the bar, drawing surreptitious glances and outright stares. And who could blame them with those globes of muscle perched on top of a barstool, spilling out of a pair of workout shorts that were pulled taut against his tree-trunk quads. I guessed he had actually gone to the gym after class by the looks of the sweat running down his back to his deep ass crack. I couldn’t imagine the show he must’ve put on doing deadlifts with that recently enhanced posterior. Were the magical changes just visible, or could he lift more? What could I squat with this wagon? Maybe not the most pressing questions, but ones that needed answers nonetheless.

“Okay, well, not not inside the realm of possibility,” said Lee, looking visibly pained to avert his gaze back to me, maybe remembering that my bubble booty was somehow even better.

We went through our respective repertoires of spells, spirits, and metaphysical conceptual formations, and nothing seemed to quite make sense for the situation. While we don’t usually talk shop this deeply after hours, this was a pernicious problem with no easy solution, and if I didn’t address it soon, the higher ups would inevitably catch wind of it and step in. And who knows where that would lead. As we talked, things began heating up at our little corner booth. Partially because of the subject matter and partially because with my recent changes, I was rendered acutely horny easily and often. I could feel a deep, yawning need gathering around my pelvis, a yearning. I was practically squirming in my seat, feeling a growing vortex of hunger. Eventually, Lee finally broke the tension.

“Do you feel that, too?” he asked. Any magic sensitive person in the establishment could probably tell that my hole needed a good thrashing, but I really keep forgetting that Lee’s senses are often more sharply attuned than mine.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I said, and before you knew it we were closing out and heading back to my place.

Lee could barely keep his hands off my bubble butt as we speed walked through the crisp night air. We almost caused a scene on the way up to my apartment as he stopped me on the stairs, bending me over slightly to bury his face in my crack, his hands gripping the flesh of my cheeks like he might fall off the face of the earth. When we made it to my bedroom, I turned around and held his eager hands at his sides, taking a moment to relish in his hungry, impatient gaze as I towered over him before leaning in for an indulgent kiss, our tongues urgently searching each other’s mouths.

With a flourish, I whipped his shirt off, revealing his trim torso and hairy chest. While I thought he was about to return the favor, he instead spun me around, looping his thumbs into the waistband of my overstuffed shorts and beginning to pull. What began as an over-dramatic act became a real struggle as he started to put some elbow grease into it, fighting to peel the fabric over my monster booty. Eventually I joined in, willing my shorts over the curve of my ass and ignoring the small pops of fabric tearing. Aftershocks, I said to myself sarcastically. When the pants finally came off, he let out a sigh of disbelief, caressing my glutes with something like reverence, before pushing me onto the bed and burying his face all the way down to my waiting hole.

He was an expert ass eater and was sending me into waves of pleasure, but I needed something else. Something deeper. Reaching into the nightstand, I pulled out a dildo of blended blues and greens that had to be no less than fifteen inches. A toy that, at least in this timeline, I was very familiar with. And apparently so was he. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, at least in this version of events. Lee, ever the reliable friend, had come through on a regular basis to help scratch my unrelenting itch. After we lubed up the toy, I began working it farther and farther inside of me as I got to work on Lee’s juicy cock, which would have been impressive had it not paled in comparison to my recent enhancements.

Afterward, Lee cuddled into my chest as I lay on my side, tracing lazy figure eights across his back and planting small kisses on his forehead.

“I guess whatever this is has its perks,” I offered with a wry smile, reveling in the afterglow of yet another powerful orgasm.

Lee perked up at this, that familiar look on his face reminding me that the gears are always turning. “That might be it, actually,” he said. “Like these erotic changes might not be a byproduct or any sort of trickery. They might themselves be the point. They might be leading to some sort of goal.”

“A goal for what?” I asked, imagining everything from a bubble butted harem to world domination.

“That’s the question,” said Lee, pursing his lips in thought. “More research is still needed on this, but extra-dimensional beings don’t really move through or perceive spacetime in anything resembling the way we do. So all they need is a conduit in this dimension to work through. Either way,” he continued, giving my ass an indulgent caress, “this thing really is something else. Just excellent work. And even if it might be a curse doesn’t mean you can’t still treat it like a blessing.”

That night I had a dream that may have offered some clues. Being trained in lucid dreaming is one of the introductory facets of this work, and it can be an effective tool for receiving and processing sensitive information as well as exploring things hidden in your personal corner of the astral plane. But it was especially useful as a liminal space in which one could encounter beings on the edges of our realm, like our primary suspect.

I was walking into the paranormal artifacts collection, the archive that Logan works in, hoping no one was there yet because I had finally figured out the delicate matter of confronting Logan about the situation, and needed to make sure the meeting was one-on-one. What my strategy was was unclear, but in the dream I felt confident. As I approached the entryway, I noticed that the double doors had been removed, yet something else seemed off. My eyes were level with the top of the frame, which was disorienting enough, but as I ducked my head through I realized that I was already in a full crouch. In fact, I was crawling through the entryway on hands and knees, my shoulders bumping lightly against the edges of the frame. Thankfully, it was just Logan in the collection, standing over a table of ancient tomes, scrolls, and even a hologram, all arranged around some object that I couldn’t look directly at. He glanced toward me with chromatic rainbow pattern glasses, a noted difference from his usual look, but otherwise nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He looked…lonely? No, solitary, he was missing something. I was about to call to him, but was stopped in my tracks by someone holding me back, gripping my waist to keep me from progressing farther into the room. I initially registered this as a warning or some sort of invisible barrier, but when I turned around, I didn’t see anything or anyone. I tried again, still stuck by some unknown force. With mild annoyance, I realized that not only did my hips and butt take up the entire doorway, they were too big to fit through. As I continued trying to squeeze the flesh of my colossal backside into the room, I could hear the frame audibly straining, but still had no luck.

Then came a familiar force pushing from behind. What felt like massive hands were digging into the underside of my glutes, eagerly kneading and squeezing my cheeks to massage them through. As I glanced back at Logan, still patiently watching, I realized why he seemed so alone. Whatever power had been seeping into my life wasn’t doing it through him in this instance, it was right behind me. I guess in the liminal dreamspace, this being had less need of a human gateway. With a final shove, I cleared the doorway, my giant form tumbling into the room, trying to get my bearings without starting a chain reaction by knocking over shelves and shelves of magical artifacts. Before I could get a clear look at whatever, whoever that was behind me, I felt those hands again, parting my ass cheeks and slipping in a tongue that felt nothing short of massive, even at these proportions. As they hungrily tossed my salad I was driven to higher and higher levels of ecstasy, my body following suit by expanding with every wave of pleasure. Getting back through the door frame was a lost cause as I became more worried about the approaching ceiling, my gargantuan hands and feet pushing aside bookcases, tables, and crates of identified ephemera as I grew relentlessly, looming over Logan as he tried to move his carefully arranged spread out of the way, eventually giving up and staring at the sight of my behemoth cock rising taller than his entire body, pulsing with the coming release—before I lazily woke up in the early morning sun.

I really felt like with more time I could’ve gotten some answers, if not for the loud creak of Lee padding his huge feet to the bathroom to relieve himself. He had an earlier day than I did, so whenever he stayed over, I just had to deal with the hustle and bustle while still bleary eyed and emerging from a REM cycle. While he’s one of few people who would fully believe me if I told him I was just being eaten out by an ancient deity—and would feel especially bad for waking me—I had left the world of dreams with a sufficient amount of useful data. How could I even complain? I thought, as Lee re-entered the room, shooting me a sleepy wink as he ducked his head back through the doorway, absentmindedly petting the semisoft schlong that swung back and forth around his knees. He’s really the only one who can satisfy me, it’s like we’re made for each***

Ah. Interesting. While this was definitely the body I ‘remembered,’ and definitely the dick that had brought unending pleasure like few else could, I had a sneaking suspicion that this was not his form last night. At least not in this timeline. All you need is a conduit, his words echoed in my head. Whatever this being was had managed to link me and Logan through the astral plane, using me as a temporary conduit for its erotic power. And the results were towering next to my bed, stretching almost to the ceiling, all long graceful lines and sinewy muscle, trying to finagle a beautiful, golden brown, unbelievably long dick into some chinos.

Slowly becoming the manifestation of someone’s wildly fantastical wet dream didn’t mean I still didn’t have work to do. After another go round with my favorite silicone monster cock—the best I could do following Lee’s departure—I threw together a quick breakfast and hauled my big butt to the office, settling into a morning of paperwork and emails that I had been neglecting in light of this recent case.

Before long, I could feel the pressure building down below, and tried less and less effectively to stay focused and get some work done, convincing myself that once I found a good stopping point, I could run to the bathroom, whip out my extra long dick, and suck myself off as a late morning pick me up. The feeling was similar to the phenomenon during class, a rolling crescendo of erotic energy in desperate need of release. Except it just kept building, the pressure getting more and more intense, like some deep gravitational presence moving closer and closer. Then in walks Logan, placing himself slowly, carefully in the chair opposite my desk.

“I…need your help,” he said.

I decided to play it cool. I had surmised that Logan wasn’t fully aware that he—or more accurately his dick—was the source of all this foolishness, but if he was coming to that realization, I had to handle the situation with care.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” I asked with genuine concern, though I was fairly certain he also had a dream of me growing to monstrous proportions and having my salad tossed by a higher dimensional being.

“I don’t quite know how to explain it, but I think you might be able to offer some clarification. There’s something I need you to see,” he said, pulling out what looked like a polished stone phallus with glittery lavender streaks, and a few cracks here and there. It looked to be about eight inches tall standing upright, the base composed of two concave bowls that resembled, of course, a ballsack.

“We received this at the museum before the start of the semester. It was lost in the mix of boxes of stuff from a smaller archive that had shut down recently—budget cuts, ya know, and there weren’t many details to go on. So it seemed like some sort of ancient fertility artifact and I was doing some analysis to get an idea of where and when it came from and there was this…energy that I could feel around it, like it was calling to me, and…well…”

Don’t tell me, I thought with an internal groan.

“I, um…” he continued.

“You fucked the ancient dildo, didn’t you?” I asked, figuring it would be easier if we just cut to the chase.

He lowered his head slightly in affirmation, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

“You fucked the ancient dildo,” I repeated, pinching the bridge of my nose with two fingers, “and now you’re cursed by some fertility god or related deity or supernatural being.”

“...Yeah.”

“One whose name we don’t know.”

“Correct.”

“Who may have been hidden in that thing for millennia until very recently.”

“Very likely.”

“And who is now, through you, trying to run amok.”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. All right. At least we’ve figured that out.”

“I was really hoping you could help me,” Logan jumped in, his voice rising in pitch, “I don’t know how to control it and it’s so strong. And I’m sorry for the changes to everyone, but it keeps like, demanding to be released, but I don’t really know what it’s saying and with what it already did to my boyfriend—”

“Hey,” I interjected, my voice becoming slow and deliberate. As Logan was talking, his hand wandered to the artifact sitting on my desk, touching it absentmindedly, and being this close I could feel this being trying to ooze their way into the plane of our existence. As Logan got more visibly worried, I felt my bubble butt pushing against the arms of my chair, my feet and legs slowly lengthening, my shoulders stretching wider as my torso extended, my clothes becoming snug. Meanwhile, Logan’s adorable twinkish visage became more acute, the bouncing curls of his hair increasing in volume, his lips plumping amongst his scruff, his body shrinking slightly as an astounding bulge in his pants lengthened even further.

“Deep breaths,” I continued. “Deep, deep breaths. We got this, you’re in the right place.”

He relaxed his grip on the artifact as I took his hands in mine, intentionally ignoring the fact that my mitts looked massive compared to his. We were reaching that energetic threshold, but I was confident that I could handle it.

“What changes do you remember?” I asked. “With you specifically.”

“Well,” he started, “my boyfriend always liked being the bigger one in the relationship, and I…think that before I found this I was around average height, but I’m not sure. But I’m pretty sure I’ve shrunk several inches, which he’s loved, and he can’t keep his hands off my butt, he keeps commenting on how perky it is. And then there’s…this.”

With a sigh of resignation, he rose from his chair and dropped his pants in one swift motion. He wasn’t wearing underwear, because what would even be the point with a schlong that came straight from someone’s hyperdick fantasy. Revealed to the air, his cock felt like a metaphysical locus of energy in the room, a gravity well pulling everything toward it as it stretched over my desk, and, before I could intervene, dropped a thick glob of precum into one of the bowls of the artifact.

I felt a heavy pulse of energy reverberate through the room which would probably have been felt over this whole section of campus. While this power was too ancient for our contemporary defenses, it likely set off alarms with every magic sensitive person in the area.

“What…was that?” he asked.

“You gave it an offering,” I said, staring intently at the artifact for any changes on any plane that I had access to.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not good,” I responded curtly.

The dissipation of that energetic burst wasn’t followed by a feeling of relief, but dreadful anticipation. My stomach sank as I imagined the ocean flowing away from the beach before a tsunami. Whatever being this was was on its way, and it was tired of dealing with Logan as a conduit.

We had to act fast and I had an idea. A completely unhinged one, but the only one I could maintain amidst the torrent of hormones, pent up jizz, and the deep hunger of my hole.

The erotic is a powerful force, one that with training and knowhow, can be a useful facet of any mage’s skillset. But more importantly, orgasms are, for lack of a better term, portals. Brief openings between dimensions, moments of energetic possibility. Whoever this being was, they were coming, and I had a sneaking suspicion that they were powerful enough to enter our world through brute force, a tear in the fabric of reality that could have ramifications far beyond ripped pants seams and donkey dicks. But if I opened a door in a controlled way I could set the terms of engagement and minimize destruction. I hoped.

“I know this is less than professional, but I need you to fuck me,” I said. “This curse seemingly works through erotic energy and orgasms are powerful focal points. If you fuck me, I may be able to redirect it, at least temporarily.”

Logan didn’t have to be told twice. His member looked ridiculous on his slight frame, still leaking precum as it rose fully to attention, defying gravity as it bobbed in the air between us. I briefly wondered how I was going to take all that before realizing it looked mighty familiar, very much like a certain dildo of slightly smaller size, but very similar shape, even with that curve. Of course, I thought.

Logan didn’t waste time, and soon I found myself bent over my own desk, my monumental bubble butt arched in the air as Logan’s mushroom head slowly pushed my hole wider and wider before slipping in.

Logan slid in and out with agonizing slowness, his prodigious cock working its way farther and farther with each stroke, the pleasure of his thrusts simply unreal. He had seemingly lost the capacity for words, his hands gripping the flesh of my fat ass as he was lost in cosmic orgasmic pleasure. Getting inch after inch of his dick into me could only be accomplished with magical assistance, yet I was still filled to the brim, feeling his mammoth cock pulsing against my walls with every one of his heartbeats. His precum mixed with sweat produced a loud squelch with every thrust, and as more and more of him entered me, I was rendered speechless by this never ending, all encompassing cock, in disbelief that there could possibly be more. It felt like a fantasy, because in a sense it was.

Finally, somehow, he bottomed out, and as I felt his pubes press against my overstretched hole, I took my chance, positioning my own cock over the second small bowl of the artifact as a glob of precum slid up my long shaft and oozed out, dropping into place. Although no sound was made on this plane of existence, I sensed something like a bell tolling in the far off distance, as if the circuit had been completed, and Logan’s dick pumped up as he began shooting volleys of cum deep inside of me, my own dick following suit.

As we were brought over the edge of oblivion, time slowed to a crawl, and through my other sight I could finally see the being that had been causing all this trouble, straining against the threads of our reality and oozing through with chaotic, erotic possibility.

But orgasms are a portal. And I opened the door, pushing aside the beaded curtains of our world to meet our new—and very old—guest. Usually, in situations like these, one might whip out some sort of binding or banishment spell, but this was a being of deep magic, old magic, and it would burn even the best of us to a crisp. So there were no tricks or complicated grammars here, just my outstretched hand, fingers splayed and palm up. An invitation to a being who hadn’t yet figured out how to communicate in any recognizable modern language, apparently opting to manifest through erotic fantasy. And a recognition in return.

The sun was much lower in the sky when I came to, painting the sky from my window in the streaks of pink and purple of waning afternoon.

Logan had fallen back into the chair and passed out, visibly exhausted yet also relieved, the mushroom head of his soft dick drooling as it hung just over the chair’s edge. As he realized I had finally regained consciousness, he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on my right cheek in thanks, letting out an overdramatic Oof as I fell back into his lap.

“Let me know if you need help explaining this to your boyfriend,” I said.

“He’s open minded, I think he’ll get it. It’s not my first time encountering a magical artifact.”

After we awkwardly cleaned up and got dressed—I really was enjoying the skirt look—Logan turned to me and said, “Thanks so much for this. I guess I’ll…see you next week.”

“No problem,” I replied. “It’s literally my job, and the skirts are admittedly a nice touch. I’ll see about taking care of this before getting it back to the archive,” I added, gingerly placing the artifact in a drawer of my desk.

It was a partial truth. What Logan had thought to be a curse was actually a collaborator, and it had found someone more capable to play with. In the recesses of the metaphysical plane of my mind, I felt a newcomer making themself comfortable, finally finding the words to express themself in this world.

I’m not a linguist, but it sounded something like…Let’s have some fun.

A Tuesday night during Winter Break was not the liveliest time at our usual haunt, the Cockatrice, but Lee and I weren’t complaining. We could gossip and scheme in peace in our back corner booth, a spot we so consistently occupied that the bartender, Jaime, jokes that our butt prints are permanently in the seats—which, in light of recent events, is probably true. As Lee had pointed out to my chagrin, the hemispheres of my ass had successfully carved out a noticeable dip in the cushion that would set a normal man off balance. Yet another reason the back corner booth was consistently ours to occupy. With the semester having ended and most of our colleagues having fled town as soon as grades were submitted, it was especially sparse, except of course, for the new regular to our little booth chats, Blake.

I had given just the essential details to the class about the extra dimensional reality warper that was seemingly auditing for most of the term, winning their silence with automatic As, no term paper, and any reference or letter of rec for any reason. I made myself available as a resident expert if they wanted to learn more about this exciting new research opportunity tied to my being through the astral realm. And of course, if they needed guidance on any unintended side effects, from wardrobe malfunctions to unwanted attention. Noah, for one, had developed a similar level of insatiability as my own and was tearing through every available hung top in the city, but had also developed a knack for coming across progressively bigger and bigger dicks; a pattern that was verging on unrealistic. I made a note to investigate further, but encouraged him to just slow down before we had an epidemic of dicks just as unwieldy as my superhung fuckbuddy sitting across from me.

The rest of the semester was relatively uneventful after I explained the situation. I decided I might as well use it as a teaching tool, one of the more extreme examples of what one might encounter in this line of work. I didn’t name Logan, though, for the risk of him drawing the ire of his colleagues. However, after some initial discomfort and surprising ambivalence, they were mostly okay with the changes, even appreciative, though they may not admit it directly. But golden boy park ranger Blake was especially enthusiastic, not to mention deeply interested in all these magical happenings. To the point where his own disproportionately meaty butt was leaving its own comical imprint in the booth next to my own.

Blake became a fixture of our weeknight scene, eager for the latest updates from Lee’s lab, which had begun to research the power of my new mental roommate. Trying to understand the unfathomable deity living in my head was slow going, but I had figured out that while they don’t have a name for themself, or really a concept of naming that makes sense to us, they deigned to experiment with some sort of grammar of identification, a small part of which is interpretable in our dimension as Synt. Blake was usually in the field during the day, so would join us after hours to get caught up, even going so far as to jot down notes and ask questions we hadn’t even thought of. He was a de facto research assistant, and at the very least this whole ordeal had gotten someone actually interested in our little corner of the world. Apparently, he’d also been chatting with Logan about some mystical archival work (I really should pay more attention to what Logan actually does). But this evening he was getting excited about his own neck of woods (pun intended) with something brewing in a local forest reserve.

“It’s one of the old ones that got absorbed into the current system when they modernized it,” said Blake, leaning forward slightly with an air of playful conspiracy, his dense biceps straining against the cuffs of his sleeves. “Not entirely public property, but not really owned by anyone anymore either. We basically have de facto jurisdiction,” a phrase he pronounced with uncertainty, “over the Marshlands.”

I wasn’t familiar with this place—admittedly I didn’t get out enough—but I dissociated as a vague image popped up on my mental map of the region, carrying a resonance that felt like a string being plucked. As I sat with this, I was aware that Blake and Lee were carrying on a conversation without me but sound and light went slightly opaque as I tried to focus on this image of…a forest clearing? And some figures that looked suspiciously like***

“Palmer!” I was brought fully back to reality by a forceful slap on the shoulder from our park ranger friend sitting next to me. Blake quickly had an apologetic look on his face that said he hadn’t quite figured out his own strength.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Zoned out. What’d I miss? The forest?”

“Nah, we moved on to the BBL allegations,” said Lee, with a smirk.

“I’m just sayin’ my leg days are legendary these days,” said Blake, hands splayed in mock humility. “I don’t blame ’em for thinking something’s up. You know it’s real because I keep maxing out machines at the gym and having to scrounge up more and more plates. It’s starting to draw attention,” he chuckled.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know about the changes that Synt caused,” I offered, mentally putting on my researcher hat.

“Is still causing,” interjected Lee.

“Yes, still,” I said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. When I invited Synt to give Logan a break and join forces with me, I may have overestimated my ability to keep them reined in, and it was becoming a full-time project just to keep their power from leaking out into this world at a reasonable trickle. Most of the time, I could relieve little bits of pressure here and there, resulting in acquaintances and strangers getting a little boost in passing; something to fill their pants a little more that they wouldn’t complain about. This got tricky when it came to people I was not only intimate with, but vulnerable with. Hence why Lee’s lithe, muscular form not only filled the other side of the booth but looked downright ethereal. And yet another reason Blake enjoyed spending happy hours parked right next to me. He was, after all, enthusiastic about the situation.

“Not that I’m complaining,” said Blake. He leaned towards me slightly with a smile that was verging from friendly to flirtatious. “I look better than I ever have. Better than I thought was even possible, all thanks to our mutual friend.” He gave me (and Synt) a wink, allowing his ripped forearm to brush lightly against mine before pulling back at the static shock that visibly—and possibly audibly—jumped the centimeter between us.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no problem’,” he said, getting up and turning to the bar. “Y’all want anything?”

“I’m already at my limit,” I said, “but thanks.”

“Two-drink Tuesday,” added Lee, holding up his index and middle finger, as if that wasn’t something he had just made up. Nevertheless, I appreciated the support. Getting shlammered is no longer an option when you have immediate access to an unbelievable reservoir of chaos magic. Something Lee was constantly reminded of by the trouser snake bulging down the length of his left pant leg.

What didn’t help the situation was that Blake was really taking his time in getting to the bar, swishing his hips back and forth as he moseyed over to Jaime. The park ranger uniforms are a flattering, relaxed fit, but Blake was bursting out of his. The khakis were stretched tight across his bubble butt and quads and the button-up couldn’t be buttoned all the way against the mass of his pecs and shoulders. He was a wall of dense muscle, body so sculpted from the realm of fantasy that it was almost a crime for him to even try to wear clothes in the first pl***

I knew what he was doing. He, obviously, knew what he was doing. And most importantly, the reality-altering minor god that had tied themself to me knew full well what he was doing.

We can’t keep doing this, I said to my mental roommate. He’s getting hooked.

Hooked? came a voice like tectonic plates sliding against each other.

Like, he’s enjoying these changes too much. He keeps trying to grow more and more. I worry he might go too far.

Too far? It had become clear that they had no conceptualization of what this meant, but they were starting to figure out what one might call moderation. I felt a small nudge of encouragement as if right behind my shoulder blades, but a small nudge from Synt was like a cruise ship lightly tapping against a wooden pier.

Okay, but just a little, I thought. It’s about finesse, just like we practiced.

Synt was a powerhouse to say the least, and I wasn’t so much tapping into their reservoir of chaos magic as I was slightly loosening a small pressure valve. My fingertips sparked lightly as I felt the peculiar taste of raw possibility in my mouth, like a battery on the back of my tongue that crackled down around my vocal chords. I was focusing on Blake’s broad shoulders and muscular backside at the bar. His overdeveloped glutes defied gravity, perched like two globes above his hamstrings.

“Those could really do some damage,” I muttered under my breath. I imagined him at the gym, maxing out the machines as a warmup, having to stack weight after weight just to get a good pump. The blood rushing to his strained muscles as they repaired themselves supernaturally fast, swelling against the overstressed fabric until it couldn’t take anymore. At the bar, Blake was adjusting his waistband surreptitiously, his massive butt seeming to grow in real time to match my slapped together tipsy fantasy until finally his work pants began to give way, splitting open in a few spots to hint at a pair of bright green bikini briefs fighting for its life over his round cheeks. Much to his chagrin—but eventually to his delight—whoever he was chatting it up with failed to take notice of his sudden growth. His hand had left Blake’s hip to adjust his own crotch, which was displaying a surprising, and apparently uncomfortable, bulge.

I maybe shouldn’t have done this two drinks in. I was going for more juicy pump and less wardrobe malfunction. And I didn’t even predict the spillover effect in this new beau who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe I wasn’t being focused enough, maybe it was some sort of daisy chain from their erotic connection, maybe Blake was figuring out how to re-route the chaos magic with which I had touched him. But as he apparently took notice, he played it off, turning his fat ass to squish against the bar as he faced out, glancing my way with an appreciative wink.

“He can’t keep getting away with this,” said Lee, an amused tone entering his voice. Lee had caught on to Blake’s little trick early on and found it more funny than concerning. “He pulled a fast one on you again!” he laughed.

“He’s kind of doing me a favor,” I reasoned. At least I had a willing participant to let some of the pressure off while honing this new ability. “But he could just ask me directly.”

“Well where’s the fun in that?” asked Lee, his eyes dreamily following Blake’s ass as his new friend let him into the cool winter evening, presumably to explore their respective new assets at one of their places. His eyes flicked back to me as he danced across the word fun, and I tried to evade losing myself in the chocolate brown depths of his irises, captivated by a gaze that had become hypnotic. I didn’t get very far as I began to trace the curvature of his plump lips, the rightmost third of the bottom one lost behind a row of playfully biting teeth.

This was a game we had begun to play and one I would inevitably lose. He knew what he was doing. He knew I knew that he knew what he was doing. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that a side effect of the changes in Lee was that he was beginning to have a draw on people that was hard to resist. It hadn’t taken Lee long to realize that whenever I released Synt’s erotic power into the world, I needed to in turn release my own. Hot and bothered would be an understatement, the recent double whammy in tandem with the pheromones coming from my friend across the booth were sending me into overdrive. And judging by the way Lee kept shifting in his seat, he was in a similar state of excitement.

Apparently Two-drink Tuesday also gets its name from the fact that we can’t make it to a third round without fucking each other’s brains out. Soon enough, I’m plopping my fat ass onto a table in a half forgotten supply closet that makes for a decent hookup space if you’re cool enough with Jaime. It was one of the plastic folding ones that are always already old and whose supports were groaning under my weight. The ambient light from the bar that made it down the hallway framed Lee’s expansive form as he lumbered in behind me, round shoulders rising just past the level of the door frame as he ducked in. God he was massive. As he pushed the door closed behind him, sliding us into complete darkness, I could still feel his outline moving toward me, as if he produced his own luminescence just outside of the visible spectrum.

The bass of his voice filled the room as he chuckled, coming in for a deep kiss and sliding his fingers under the waistband of my leggings as our tongues danced. He was hungry. He pushed me back onto the table as he pulled my thighs toward him. The radiant heat coming off of his crotch became all the more enticing in the chill of the back room, tingles of pleasure echoing from my hole in anticipation. I arched my back as his fingers from one hand traced along my spine, the other tenderly beginning to peel the waistband of my leggings down the curves of my hips. His hands, at this point, were the size of dinner plates but moved with surprising grace. I could feel him resisting the urge to tear the fabric clean off as he struggled to get it over my colossal cakes and tree trunk thighs. A performance of agonizing slowness that had become part of our usual foreplay.

With my hole finally exposed, he slid in one finger, then two, opting for nimbleness and dexterity in light of the brute force that I knew was coming. He worked with a light touch, loosening me up as he undid his pants and slowly slid them off, bending slightly to finagle his prodigious cock free. I regretted not having hit the lights. The slow reveal of his member was a sight to behold, even in the weak fluorescence of the storeroom. With a grunt, I heard his pants fall to the floor, followed by a thwack against the underside of the cheap plastic table. I briefly fantasized about Lee’s gargantuan cock lifting the entire table with me on it, entertaining the notion that I really could make that happen if I wanted to.

Don’t you? Came a deep rumble from my psyche, the familiar crescendo of energy as Synt’s attention was piqued.

Don’t you start, I warned, still thinking of Blake and his now very well-endowed friend. Finesse, subtlety, I added, knowing full well Synt cared nothing for the concept.

But didn’t I? In the haze of lust, I couldn’t shake the hypothetical of Lee with a truly impossible monster cock, and a corresponding body that shattered doorways rather than ducking through them. Was it Synt’s idea or my own? Was there a difference?

I was brought back to the present by a sudden absence. My hole ached with need as Lee’s meaty fingers were withdrawn, moving to caress my torso as he maneuvered his unwieldy dick into place, stroking up and down he pumped out a steady stream of slick precum. He was already starting to moan softly as he slowly worked inch after inch after inch of his schlong inside of me. Ever the scientist, he had last measured his growth at 15.25 inches, but personal experience told me it had definitely grown a little more since then. He settled into a steady pace, holding my body gingerly with his strong arms, leaning in periodically to nuzzle against my lips.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“Harder,” I muttered, the pleasure from his cock stretching my walls only leading to a deeper and deeper need.

“Like this?” he said, picking up the pace, letting more of his strength come through as he thrust into me.

“Harder,” I breathed, feeling the familiar taste of power, the crackle across my throat.

“Mmhm,” said Lee, audibly putting in some effort as he pounded into me, his gigantic hands digging into the globes of my ass cheeks, giving them a hard slap periodically.

“Harder,” I grunted, feeling some sort of release as I had the acute image of Lee’s pelvis corded with muscle, his hips and glutes flexing with vascularity as he pumped with inhuman power.

He made a sound that was some cross between confusion and pleasure, losing control as he jackhammered into me with animalistic lust. He dug his hands in under my thighs and lifted me up bodily, impaling me on his dick as his hips went into overdrive. He roared as both of us reached climax, shooting ropes of cum as his hips continued to buck involuntarily. After the last shudders of orgasmic release, he slowly came back to his senses, pulling his softening dick out of my hole.

“Was that…you?” he asked, his hands exploring a slightly more developed muscularity than what had been the reality earlier that night.

“...I think so.”

I found myself in Lee’s lab early the next morning reflecting on what exactly had developed last night. Of course, I was used to dipping into Synt’s power to change people, but this was different. More direct in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.

Lee was bouncing around with some extra pep in his step, his usual lumbering movements now imbued with much more grace and poise. One would find it hard to believe that just 12 hours previously he was rearranging my guts with wild abandon. His bubble butt filled out his form fitting khakis, glute and hip muscles becoming all the more apparent every time he squatted down to look at something more closely with his co-PI, Armand. At 5’6”, Armand was almost two feet shorter than the literal giant with whom he ran the paranormal research lab in the basement of the Center. I sat patiently, coffee in hand, watching them navigate the space and prep things for that morning’s procedures.

Lee and Armand had taken it upon themselves to help me study how Synt’s power worked and what kinds of research implications it might have. Lee was wildly enthusiastic about the possibilities presented by the deity in my head whose capabilities were seemingly only limited by the imagination of the host. Armand, if a little annoyed by being there earlier than the start of their usual workday, was more interested in how this development, if presented the right way, could secure some more reliable long-term research funding for the entire institute.

After all, the lab could use a makeover. It was kind of a drab, slapdash mix of alchemical and traditional scientific instruments, slowly cluttering into a maze of in-progress and semi-forgotten projects and experiments. One wall was an entire blackboard covered in a collage of equations, mathematical proofs, ancient grammars, bits of poetry, and a running list of takeout places that after many late night deliveries knew Lee and Armand by name. It at least drew the eye away from the rest of the color scheme, which consisted of specific shades of blue and sherbet-beige that one might see at a hospital or some sort of mystical DMV. But it was Lee’s high voltage magic lab. A cleanroom as he calls it.

I was crammed into an office chair at the center of a circle whose circumference featured sigils across multiple human and inhuman languages, each one glowing and fading lightly in slow sequence. I know a protective ward when I see one, and this formed an invisible, magically impermeable sphere. I sat in the middle of the snow globe, wondering what might get knocked loose were someone to come along and shake it, as Lee and Armand set about their final preparatory tasks. Lee was adjusting the angles of what looked like modified environmental sensors, following the wires back to his desktop to check that they were working. A cluster of wires ran not along the floor, but up to the ceiling and above the circle, dropping down and hooking into a brain scan helmet that sat lightly on my head. Armand was fiddling with what was certainly a decades-old fax machine, outputting a slow but continuous stream of paper while chittering softly to itself and occasionally jotting down little dots and symbols. According to Armand, it’s a device that “picks up magical grammars in ambient space and translates them into textual data for further analysis,” but I still think it just looks like a fax machine. He was not amused by this.

Our routine many mornings was me in the evil snow globe, relaying messages between Lee, Armand, and Synt as they tried to experiment with ways to activate, measure, or at least gather data on the texture of Synt’s magic. Bursts of erotic, body morphing energy were beyond impressive, but wildly unpredictable, and the research team wanted to start small and controlled. We had made little to no progress. It’s not exactly a thing that I can just turn on and off and Synt doesn’t particularly care or even see the point of all this. These little science experiments are a blip on their radar and we probably seem like anxious primates hitting things with sticks. Which to a certain extent is true.

This morning was no different than the others. After enough failed attempts and false positives, Lee sighed, shaking his head at the monitor perched on his modified standing desk.

“I need some caffeine,” he yawned, loping off toward the exit and, I assumed, the coffee shop on the ground floor upstairs.

I was left with Armand, standing hands on hips, staring intently at his fax machine as if, with enough silent pleading, it may just start speaking English. It continued its indecipherable chittering, spitting out snippets of static on the page.

“Did you get a fax?” I asked. “From the cosmos?” widening my eyes for emphasis.

“It’s not—we’re getting basically background radiation and ambient noise. Nothing that really tells us anything,” he said, turning to glance at Lee’s computer. Armand awkwardly adjusted his lab partner’s standing desk, waiting impatiently for it to lower to his height. Eventually, he relented and grabbed a step stool just so he could read the data, shooting me an annoyed glance at having to have an audience for what seemed like a daily ordeal between them.

“So you didn’t feel anything this whole session? No surges of otherworldly power?” he asked.

“I felt hungry,” I responded. “Haven’t heard much from Synt.”

“But Lee said yesterday evening you did it without even trying,” said Armand, scratching the scruff on his chin in thought.

My heart skipped a beat as I imagined Lee informing Armand about how he got his new power thrust pelvis as if it were anecdotal data, before I realized, “Oh, you mean Blake!”

“Yeah, that was his name. The park ranger guy. He’s been emailing me about some abandoned site out in the forest, I need to look into it. But you changed him just by what? Thinking about it?”

“Thinking isn’t really an apt descriptor of what Synt does,” I thought out loud. Armand had settled into a flat footed squat in front of the cosmic fax machine, on the edge of the ring of sigils. He was staring not quite at me, but at the space around me, as if Synt might materialize from my aura. “Sometimes it feels like the way their mind works is itself a sort of manipulation of space and time. Maybe the way all of our minds work, when you think about it.” The fax sputtered something out, but I couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or dissension. Armand’s eyes glanced at the printout then back at me.

“But you channeled that manipulation deliberately, right? Not just specifically to Blake, but specifically to his glutes.”

“Not just that, but yeah. I sort of focused the energy and…released.”

“And what did that feel like?”

“Like…singing?” The familiar feeling danced around my vocal chords. Synt perked up in anticipation.

“Singing. Okay.” Armand began to bounce slightly in his deep squat, which I’d come to realize meant he was on to something. As he mulled over this new bit of information, his eyes traced one of the sigils on the floor. Mine, however, were locked on to the bulge made more prominent by his stance. I could always tell Armand was packing something, and under ‘normal’ circumstances his bulge would be the focus of anyone’s attention, but it was an afterthought with Lee carrying around an unmistakable pipe in his pants.

“Have you done any work on metaphysical harmonics?” he asked.

“I’ve taught the basics, but it’s not something I deal with a lot in my research,” I said. “Bouncing different planes and dimensions off of each other by fiddling with the right frequencies and resonances, that sort of thing.”

“I’ll have to dust it off, but I think we do have the equipment for it,” said Armand. “Maybe instead of brute force reality shifting, Synt is actually doing something much more subtle and graceful, like moving through the pages of a higher dimensional flipbook. Which would explain why Lee, for one, is so good at carrying such big…changes.”

I don’t know why I said what I said next. I had that taste of possibility on my tongue and you know who was pushing at the back of my consciousness, dangling a small invitation to play with the warp of the universe, compelling me to blurt out, “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got him beat.” With a wink, no less.

A few things happened. One, I did manage to catch the feeling of that spark of power in my throat being released in a very specific direction, straight to the crotch which I had been trying to not look at in my early morning haze. Two, the fax machine printed out what looked like a poem of some mix of text, symbols, and glyphs before proceeding to rewind the spool of paper on its own and carry on printing blanks like nothing happened.

And three, while Armand was watching his precious sensor apparatus misbehave yet again, the bulge in his slacks began to bulge even more. Like, really bulge, unspooling down his leg. To the naked eye, it looked like he was somehow oblivious to the fact that his dick was expanding in real time to over twice the amount of space it had just been taking up in his chinos, the mushroom head becoming distinct against the fabric and his balls alone putting catastrophic pressure on the stitching along the seam. Except, if one were to look closer—though that would be rude—they might notice the seam continuously adjusting on its own.

I watched his package inflate as he seemingly didn’t register the changes at all. But through the other sight of Synt’s perspective, it was as if the area around his crotch, and to a lesser extent the area around his body was pixelating, shifting, and falling back into place piece by piece over and over again, resulting in a visibly larger and larger bulge until…what?

You’ve got him beat, said Synt, quoting my earlier comment with what felt like a sly smile. I had been through enough by now to know that the next move was not to investigate the prodigious member in front of me but instead reflect on the timeline—New? Altered? Unclear—that I now found myself in.

“I guess you’re right,” said Armand, “but Lee still wears it better.”

I guess I had gotten relatively used to it because we were co-workers, but Armand has by far one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever seen. Not that I had ever actually seen it, but the bulge snaking down his leg was obscene on his small frame. Even with what I assume were tailored pants, it was unavoidable and unwieldy, drawing stares and even comments in public, much to introverted Armand’s annoyance. I kind of felt bad for the guy. Rumor has it that when fully erect it’s a whopping 16 inches, somehow just slightly bigger than Lee’s schlong, which though impossible to miss, still blended in better on a frame that was two feet taller.

If what Armand had surmised was true, and Synt had let their hands play across a multidimensional keyboard, then we had been moving through proximal dimensions in which Armand wasn’t actually growing, but simply had a bigger and bigger dick for whatever reason, following the path of least resistance until he arrived at a size that beat Lee’s, and my offhand comment proved true. I loosely wondered when Noah would get his hands on him, if he hadn’t already.

Armand rose out of his squat to head to the board and add the metaphysical harmonics angle to the parking lot of working hypotheses. His gait was wider and a little awkward, but he wasn’t adjusting to his new size so much as he had already been used to it for years. Had I progressed to what Synt had been doing in my class this past semester? Moving beyond brute force changes and reworking the time stream itself? What else had I inadvertently changed about Armand’s life? What other elements of his social, romantic, or work lives had been altered in unpredictable ways by his inexplicably massive cock?

I needed more caffeine. As Lee came strolling back into the lab, I rushed past him, bounding up the side stairwell to the ground floor and the conveniently placed coffee shop. This wasn’t the most high-traffic part of campus, so even during the morning rush, the baristas were bleary eyed and underwhelmed, snapping awake as I lumbered up to the counter.

“Oh, hi, what can I, uh, get started for you?” asked a barista across the counter who was not one of the usuals, made obvious by the fact that he clearly did not expect to be staring up at a man in leggings and a plaid skirt who loomed a full head taller than him.

“Just a dirty chai, and can you throw in an extra espresso shot…Jamal?” I asked, leaning awkwardly to read his nametag.

“Gotcha!”

I still felt disoriented, standing in a sleepy coffee shop having just manipulated space and time through the power of horniness. We may have finally cracked the code for at least a piece of the mechanism of what Logan had been doing originally on accident. The implications were staggering for our understandings of physics, metaphysics, reality itself. I had no idea how far the possibilities went and it sent a chill down to spine to think of what could happen on accident, let alone on purpose, but to be honest I felt powerful. And incredibly horny.

The familiar aftershock of arousal finally hit me, a deep, tingly, insatiable hunger that I quickly realized I would need to find some way to take care of this morning. Lee was right downstairs and this wouldn’t be the first time we fucked in some back corner of the basement. I wondered if Armand might want to prove the rumors true and hit a spot even his lab partner couldn’t reach. I shivered at the thought of almost a foot and a half of rock hard cock jutting off his slim, twinkish body, a completely absurd image of it bobbed in the air as he walked towards me.

“Um, excuse me?” Jamal, with an intonation that implied that hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to get my attention in the past 30 seconds, and he didn’t much care but a line was starting to form. “Can I get a name for that?”

“Oh! Um, sorry. David,” I said. “The only giant in the coffee shop. Can’t miss me,” I added with an awkward laugh.

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised. There was just a guy in here who had to be like seven and a half feet, I don’t even know. Like freak show tall,” eyes widened and hands splayed out.

“Not nearly as tall as you, right?” I responded without missing a beat. “You’ve got what, a foot and a half on him?”

In my defense I was horny. And in an experimental mood. And a little annoyed at the quip about my friend. And in retrospect, starting to get drunk on power.

But Synt got the message loud and clear, and I watched the fabric of spacetime pixelating and refocusing around Jamal as I craned my neck up and up and up to his wire-rimmed glasses catching the reflection of mid morning light.

A blush across his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, with a slight smile and a roll of his eyes. “That chai will be right up.”

“You transformed Jamal? The new barista upstairs?” asked Lee.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” added Armand, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s already like nine feet tall or something.”

“Well yeah, he is now,” I said, exasperated by the disappointed-parents routine I was getting back in the cleanroom. “But he wasn’t an hour ago. Or he was, in a different…timeline or whatever. Which is now this timeline. Or I was in a different timeline. Or the universe just sort of shifted or something, I don’t know.”

Jamal, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, was a possibly genetic, possibly magical anomaly who really did top out at just over nine feet. Why he insisted on keeping his barista job was even more of a mystery, but he was obviously a local attraction wherever he went, leading the coffee chain that managed multiple shops in town to rotate him around location to location, a boon to underperforming and under-trafficked franchises like the one in our building. The line was out the door whenever he was working, with people wanting a selfie, wanting to see him bumble behind the counter with surprising grace in spite of hands that made the espresso machine look like a toy, or just wanting a glimpse at the pipe running down his khakis that was conveniently around eye level and impossible to miss. If you were lucky, he liked you, and the timing was right, you could get an up close and personal experience. I was proud to say I was one of the lucky few ‘regulars,’ and in my recent metaphysically horny state, he had hit just the spot in one of the backrooms. Though it still, somehow, didn’t quite measure up to what Lee could throw down.

But now I was back in the evil snowglobe, feeling like I was facing punishment from sharing what I thought would be exciting new data.

“So, you just talked, and Synt followed suit?” asked Armand, jotting hurriedly into a notepad.

“Sort of? There was kind of a crescendo, maybe. Like Synt found a conduit through my vocal chords and we had to get into the groove. But I don’t think it’s automatic, like I couldn’t just say Armand grew—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, let’s slow down,” Armand cut in, hands splayed in caution. “Before you put a whammy on me, too.”

“I mean,” I gestured to his overstuffed crotch, “I kind of already did.”

“Oh! Oh wow,” Lee cut in, rubbing his chin as Armand stood speechless and gaped at his prodigious bulge. “But from your perspective, Armand, from both of our perspectives, it’s…”

“Always been that way,” Armand finished, cheeks reddening. “Or at least my entire adult life. It would make sense. I’ve never had a medical professional successfully explain my…condition. I just sort of got used to it, I guess. Or I was always used to it.”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands. “So we’re getting it now. It’s all about multiplicities of temporal perspectives. We’re all just cosmic threads weavin’ around each other.” I tried to visualize this with a rushed jumble of hand motions, which unfortunately didn’t land with the other two. “But I could probably fix it. I think. Maybe. I don’t think Synt would be on board for a reduction of any sort, so we may have to strategize.”

“No, there’s nothing to fix. I mean, it’s a lot to deal with, but I really am cool with it. My dating life is a mess anyways, and once you get known as that guy with the sixteen-inch dick, the luster kind of wears off. I don’t really know what it’s like being…normal.”

“The methods are messy to say the least,” said Lee, “but we may be starting to get somewhere. As much as we would love to keep investigating, further tests might have to wait. The park ranger guys are sending over some artifact they found and I think they’re due any minute.”

As if on cue, a nervous tap on the door reminded the three of us that as much as we would like to play around with my shiny new body morphing, reality shifting chaos magic we all had other work to do. I was getting up to take the back exit and head upstairs when I felt a tug in the direction of our visitor. My attention was pulled by some strong magnetic force toward the door as whoever was trying to enter awkwardly began pushing it open. Unconsciously, my footsteps shifted direction as the attraction felt stronger and deeper. And oddly familiar. Eventually, I recognized this feeling as Synt having their interest piqued enough to guide me to physically move in that direction. I was not a fan of this new development in our dynamic, but decided to see where it led.

“You need some help?” I offered, trying to play it off as me moving to give them a hand with the door rather than me being compelled for yet another mysterious reason.

“Nah, I’m good,” came a familiar voice, and as the door fully opened, I recognized Blake’s ass as it entered the room before the rest of him. “It’s just hard to maneuver this thing.”

It took me a second to realize he didn’t mean the globes of his ridiculous bubble butt, becoming the undeniable center of attention as he backed through the doorway, but actually the cart he was pulling with him. As the door swung back and he casually bounced it away with one hip, I couldn’t stop staring. I thought at this point I would be used to comically ballooning backsides, his most of all, but it looked even bigger than it had last night. In fact, as he entered the room the rest of him looked bigger too. If the seams of his pants and shirt sleeves had been strained beyond all reason last night, then now he was one strong sneeze away from public nudity. I thought maybe it was just the change of scenery, like how fitness influencers will take advantage of good lighting to show off a juicy pump, but I was pretty sure he was…bigger. Lee and I exchanged glances as if to wordlessly reassure each other that we weren’t just imagining that Blake was noticeably taller than he had been last night. The subtle accusatory squint of his eyelids was returned by a sharp look of denial from me. This wasn’t me, I thought. Unless, possibly it was. Maybe the growth last night had a slow release function, or some sort of chain reaction.

I mentally relayed Lee’s suspicious squint to Synt, who responded with a deep rumble of appreciation. They had a fixation on Blake, I now realized, and those two teaming up could be a disastrous combination.

“You want this in the uh, special circle?” Blake gestured to the circumference of sigils which were now glowing with an even higher brightness and frequency. That can’t be good, I thought.

“Yeah, that’s fine until we figure out what to do with it,” said Armand. “What is it, by the way? The report they sent in was kind of muddled. But then again, so is everything from the Marshlands.”

That place again. I was transported back to some spot on the map that I couldn’t identify, felt pushed out of space and time. Threads weaving, fraying, overlapping, forming fractal patterns down to quantum scales, building higher dimensional frameworks of cross-temporal superpositions, all coming together right there***

“...so we couldn’t really even tell how old it is, which is where we hoped you guys would come in,” Blake was saying. “Palmer, you got any tips?”

I snapped back to reality at the mention of my name. I had spaced out again, unclear for how long.

“I, uh, need to get back to my office,” I said. “I can look into it once I have the preliminary analysis from Lee and Armand.”

“You sure?” Blake asked, in that way that wasn’t so much a question but an unspoken invitation. I found my shoulders relaxing and my mind wandering. His easy smile was so intoxicating, but there was also a glint in his eyes. A hunger, as he seemed to casually look me up and down, almost as if he was seeing through me. Synt was laser focused on Blake, a low pressure system of gathering power causing the sigils to change color, which I didn’t even know they could do. He clapped a strong hand against my bicep (when had he gotten that close) and said, “Anyways, always good running into you. Let me know what you find.”

Again, I felt that electric thrill run from his body into mine, except it was more like neurons firing. I had more clarity than last night and I could feel a complex undercurrent beneath that hunger, a need for something more, a vision of something bigger. The dam was once again threatening to burst, but I now had solid control over my own legs and began briskly heading to the door with a terse “Yep, I’ll keep you posted.”

I practically sprinted back up to my office, terrified of accidentally touching anyone for fear of producing another ten foot freakshow in the building for the second time that morning. My mind was a whirlwind of my own ever present horniness, mixed with Synt’s unrelenting power, and their clear frustration at being taken away from their favorite willing subject. Blake was becoming their muse, in some weird way, and we both needed a pressure valve. But underneath Synt’s frustration was something else. My own itch of power and possibility and the knowledge that I could so easily scratch it.

I tried to be productive at my desk that morning. My muscles would clench periodically as I held in waves of Synt’s magic, my body and mind fatiguing in the face of an unstoppable force. Taunting me, Synt would dangle images of possibilities so close within reach. How easy it would be for Blake to expand into a wall of juicy muscle, having to turn his body to get his shoulders through the doorway but having his bubble butt get stuck anyways. Armand was already cool with having a monster cock, maybe he’d appreciate an even twenty inches. That’d look amazing. And would it hurt to give Jamal a few more inches in height? Maybe even a foot? I imagined him walking into my office growing steadily taller, head bumping against the ceiling then punching through as plaster rained down***

I slammed my palms firmly on the table and stared for as long as possible at a wall of unread emails, comprehending not a single one.

“I need to get some air.”

I took the stairs and headed to the bike rack around the back of the building. Walking around aimlessly felt too risky in the state I was in. Too much proximity, too many opportunities for accidental direct contact. I had felt like I could see into Blake’s soul when he grabbed my arm, like I could’ve granted his wildest, horniest fantasies with a thought. I shivered at the knowledge that Synt would co-sign exactly this brand of recklessness. I felt like I was burning with static. I could practically see it dancing along my skin. I was in no condition to be milling about in a crowd until I got around to relieving even a fraction of this pressure.

“David!” hailed a voice nearby as I was squeezing on my helmet. I looked over to see Noah, my former student who had been blessed (or cursed) by Synt in more ways than one. Not only did he end up with a set of hips and ass cheeks that comically ballooned from his otherwise thin frame, but had also fallen into a pattern of stumbling into bigger and bigger dicks around town. I reasoned that the man with him was likely his latest beau, due not just to the hand wrapped around Noah’s tight waist, but the snake smuggled into his right pant leg. The spell, apparently, had not yet been broken.

“Noah!” I responded, “looks like you’re doing as well as possible after this last semester.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This reminds me, I need to chat with you again about that…positive feedback loop I’ve been dealing with.”

“I can imagine,” I winked, pretending not to notice the twitch of his acquaintance’s massive bulge as he shifted his hand down to rest on Noah’s round booty. Was Noah just magically happening on these already huge dicks or was he unknowingly bending reality every time he set his eyes on a new crush? Was there an upper limit? To any of this? Much to investigate, I thought, but resolved to cut the conversation short before my imagination once again got the best of me. “Shoot me an email, I’ve got plenty of time this week,” I said, speeding off away from campus.

I hadn’t had time to change into my cycling gear, not that those lycra shorts did anything to mitigate the size of my ass. I had made peace with the fact that my bodacious buns were simply always on display, in this instance encased in a skirt and tights, the bike seat completely disappearing beneath them. There wasn’t much I could do about it, and honestly, I liked the attention.

I felt free weaving through the city streets, regardless of the fact that I was fighting for my life against late morning traffic. It was a welcome respite from the stifling air of my office, the wind cooling me down and alleviating at least some of the magical irritation covering my entire body. I didn’t know where I was going, and didn’t really care. Plus, I was moving too fast to focus on any one person for long enough to give them an impromptu BBL. Instead, the cityscape just felt like waves of passing static, tiny glimpses of people’s fantasies and desires that were gone as soon as they were detected, with the occasional ping of attention from a pair of eyes that had locked on to my bubble butt as it cruised through their field of vision.

For the length of a few city blocks, one of these pings of focus didn’t seem to leave me, and as I came up at a stoplight I turned around to see another cyclist flashing me an awkward and quickly thrown together smile of greeting, as if to insist that he hadn’t just been ogling me up and down.

“Can’t blame ya,” I said with a smile and nod, plus a wink for good measure. He was cute. He looked like he was a bike messenger by the rectangular pack balanced behind his shoulders, the well developed forearms and quads, and a look of practiced exertion that said he wasn’t just out here for the endorphins. I was sure he was perpetually in a hurry, so I figured I should literally get out of his lane while on my metaphysically horny break from work.

I meandered right as he continued straight, letting my eyes linger on his meaty calves just long enough to almost crash headlong into a sporty coupe in a mediocre attempt at parallel parking. I swerved out of the way as he honked and yelled “Dick!” just loud enough for me to hear through the half rolled down driver’s side window.

What I said in response was not my wittiest comeback or even the most well thought out public interaction, but I had to offer a counter while still within earshot. But as I yelled “Super dick!” back at the finance bro emerging from his car, I immediately regretted the decision, feeling Synt’s power slip through the ether.

“You know I didn’t mean that!” I said aloud to the otherworldly being in my head. “You don’t understand epithets? Metaphors and what not?”

They sent the impression of a lazy shrug.

“What does super dick even mean? Like what did that do?”

Another shrug.

I was worried. What did I just accidently curse this guy with? Should I go investigate? What would that even mean? I thought maybe I could fix whatever it was. Use some string of words to undo whatever it is I just did.

I circled the block, parking my bike in front of the fancy building my unsuspecting victim had presumably been about to enter. It looked like it probably had moderate security and I had no plan of entry, and was definitely not dressed like I had any important business downtown. Entering through the big glass revolving doors, I locked eyes with the security desk, trying to look as casual as possible on my approach while they gave me a bored once over. In my performance of nonchalance, I glanced to the left and breathed a sigh of relief as I spotted my mark at the register of a lunch place on the bottom floor. With a curt smile to security, I changed direction, slipping into the line of the sandwich shop.

In the bustle of the lunch rush, I spotted him sitting on a stool at the bar along the window, drinking a green smoothie, scrolling on his phone, and pulling out a small laptop. I kept my eyes on him as the line progressed, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but he was the image of business class normalcy, perched on his stool in a designer suit and tapping away at some spreadsheet.

I picked up my sparkling green tea and bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich (I actually was hungry) and found that one of the few available seats left was, luckily, right next to him.

Incredibly, he seemed to be unaware that I was the person who had almost taken off his side mirror with my right hip, studiously ignoring me as I ate my sandwich and glanced at my phone to see multiple texts from Lee. I opened the latest one but was interrupted by a grunt of discomfort from my new friend. He shifted in his seat and glanced briefly at me, his cheeks reddening slightly as he continued working. A few minutes later, another shift in position, chugging the rest of his smoothie before folding his hands into each other and resting his head against them. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he glanced around quickly and held himself in a tense position, trying to focus on his laptop screen.

When I was just about to return to whatever it was Lee felt the need to triple text about, he let out a heavy sigh as his breathing deepened, then glancing around again, carefully got up and turned towards me.

“Watch my stuff?” he asked tersely, the sheen of sweat on his face turning to visible beads.

That’s when I felt it. The now familiar resonant strum of reality warping magic that told me Synt’s power was at work.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled through bites of my sandwich, my eyes flitting down as I noticed a jump of movement along his pant leg.

“Thanks,” he grunted, turning to power walk to the bathroom, his bubble butt—which I didn’t remember being there before—swishing back and forth in his slacks.

I waited a solid twenty minutes—okay, more like fifteen—before following him to investigate further.

As I entered the bathroom, it was empty except for one occupied stall, the lemony scent of cleaning products overlaid with something musky and slightly metallic. There had been a soft moan coming from the occupied stall, which seemed to self-consciously quiet down in response to the sound of the door closing and my footsteps heading to one of the urinals. I did my business like normal as the moans slowly increased in intensity, interspersed with grunts and low utterances.

“Oof, fuck,” I heard a whisper, recognizing what little I had heard of the finance bro’s voice.

“Is everything okay in there?” I asked innocently with a light knock on the stall, knowing good and well some supernatural fuckery that I had personally caused was well underway.

“All good, I just—augghhhh!”

You’ll have to believe me when I say the stall door opened on its own.

My new friend was sitting on the toilet with his pants up and his fly open. He was breathing heavy and drenched in sweat, eyes widened in surprise as he saw me standing there, which shifted to a look of lust and urgent need as he drank me in. He seemed in visible distress, which probably had something to do with the rock hard dick that was reaching into the air just past his left shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” he was cut off as it seemed to jump up another inch, spurting a glob of precum that fell to the floor. His hands slid desperately up and down the length of his shaft, each one barely able to reach halfway around. With another spurt of pre, I noticed his fingers slightly pushed farther apart.

“It…it won’t stop until I…”

“Not my first rodeo,” I cut him off, entering the stall fully and closing the door behind me. “Do you mind if I help?” I asked, gesturing to his angry purple cockhead.

He nodded enthusiastically in relief and anticipation, his face contorting as another spasm hit.

Even with my repertoire of accidental and deliberate magical augmentations, I could only extend my jaw so far, struggling to make it several inches down his massive member, starting slow and building with intensity.

A little help here? I asked Synt, who responded with gusto, my mouth and throat suddenly seeming to defy the laws of physics as I eased farther and farther down the shaft. Finance bro was blissfully unaware of the pocket dimension that his dick had now fully disappeared into as his head lolled back in ecstasy.

“No one’s…been able to do this…in so long,” he muttered as his breath became erratic and he began involuntarily thrusting into me.

I worked my way diligently up and down, now moaning along with him in pleasure as I swallowed his impossible schlong. His whole body began to spasm with burgeoning orgasm, blasting several shots of jizz directly into my throat that I hungrily gulped, hoping whatever this pocket dimension situation was could also handle his huge load.

I pulled myself off his dick, his mushroom head emerging from my lips with a pop. But as his eyes rolled back and his breathing continued to crescendo, I realized he wasn’t done. Those had actually been the initial volleys to what turned into a geyser of cum, gushing uncontrollably against the wall for at least another thirty seconds, rope after rope splattering behind him as he tried desperately to bite back a primal scream that would have definitely alerted the rest of the establishment (and maybe even the offices above).

Finally, he spent his load, visibly exhausted. He leaned his head back as his dick began to mercifully deflate, landing softly on his face and leaving a trail of slime as it shrank to a much smaller, but massive by any other standards, flaccid state.

I heard a loud gurgle emanate from my belly full of jizz, along with a wave of disorientation that left me leaning against the wall for support. Noticing this, he came back to his senses, his blissed out grin fading into self-conscious clarity.

“This uh, happens sometimes,” he said, with an air of comically misplaced masculine professional decorum that was so out of place I may have actually laughed out loud.

“Sometimes?” I repeated, as he carefully maneuvered his donkey dick back into what looked like a specially made pouch running along his pant leg. My stomach gurgled again, louder this time, and the wave of disorientation came along with a full body spasm. I felt my muscles tensing and becoming denser with muscle as my body stretched against the fabric of my carefully fitted clothes, my ass expanding to press up against the door behind me. When I came back to my senses, I recognized the wave of disorientation as a sudden growth spurt, leaving me a couple inches taller. This might as well happen, I thought, taking note of how the top edge of the stall was now right at eye level. During my brief ordeal, finance bro had jumped up to support me with arms that were much stronger than they looked, a bold move seeing as I had already towered over him.

“...Yeah, no idea,” he said, as if referring to a WiFi outage and not a magnitude jumping jizz volcano baseball bat dick that also apparently had its own growth powers. “Hey, uh, text me sometime,” he added, then materialized a business card in his hand, and slipped it into my pocket. “You were amazing.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and a jocular pat on my butt, then turned to stroll out of the bathroom like he hadn’t just painted the wall with cum.

Men. I managed to be exasperated in spite of being wildly horny, not to mention mildly worried about the magic mega wang that I had accidentally set loose on the city. Maybe I should follow up with him, just to fill him in on this whole situation, I thought. But it seems like he’s actually doing fine.

Mmhm, came a self-satisfied smirk from my companion.

I cleaned myself up as best I could, debating whether I should leave a tip with a note attached apologizing for the large puddle of jizz in the middle stall. As I looked myself over in the mirror, I noticed that while I had grown, it hadn’t been by that much in terms of basic physical metrics, but I seemed…more powerful. Like inherently I knew my musculature was much more capable than it looked—and it looked like I was verging on pro bodybuilder. “Super dick,” I mused, with a wry smile.

I came out to see my bathroom dalliance strolling coolly down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the window, heading back to the pretentious coupe that started all this. I tossed what was left of my lunch, walked out, grabbed my bike, and resolved to make it back to the office without incident.

Incident came ten minutes later as I pulled up to a stoplight and found myself parked behind my cyclist friend. Now it was my turn to fall into a trance at the sight of his toned, heart shaped bubble butt.

“Can’t blame ya,” he said with a wink.

And now it was my turn to blush as I was caught staring. My encounter with the finance bro had left me even more riled up with still no release, and I was losing any cool I thought I had.

“We’ve, uh, gotta stop meeting like this,” I said with a nervous chuckle as I caught his gaze.

“No, we can definitely keep meeting like this,” he retorted.

“Cute and confident,” I said. So it was a meet-cute. “Aren’t you at work right now?” I teased. “Or is the messenger bag just for show?”

“For you, I’m on break,” he said with a defiant smile.

“Oh so this is just your workout,” I replied, deciding to test the waters for a little fun. “You’re not skipping leg day apparently.”

“Look who’s talking!” he exclaimed with mock surprise. “You sure you’re not an Olympic cyclist with those yams?”

“Yams? It’s all aesthetic, you’ve definitely got me beat.”

And there it was. I felt Synt’s power slip out, my eyes widening in realization. How did I not catch that? I thought.

Time—the relative timespace of this conversation between me and my bike messenger crush—seemed to slow down and shift textures. Through Synt’s extrasensory abilities, I could again see timelines breaking, shifting, and reforming in the space around the cyclist’s lower half. His quads, hams, and glutes—especially glutes, I noticed—seemed to pixelate and come back together as they found the path of least resistance to match Synt’s interpretation of my command. I stared, awestruck, as his musculature seemed to inflate in real time as it moved through temporal lenses, his cargo pants adjusting along with the growing shelf of ass overtaking his bike seat, until suddenly they were replaced with lycra, stretched tight across a colossal booty. Still the same heart shaped ass, just scaled up and disproportionately juicy on top of some serious hamstrings.

“Haha, guess so,” he said, with the air of someone used to people staring blankly at his huge cakes. “Honestly, I thought this bike gig would slim me down some, but it just seemed to make things worse.” He patted one round cheek, sending a jiggle through his lycra shorts that could stop traffic.

The light changed, signaling that the meet-cute was drawing to a close.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said. “Name’s Devon.”

“Uh, David,” I responded, as he kicked off and cruised through the green light. I stood entranced by the ass I had just magically inflated, before I got myself together and headed off in a different direction back towards my office.

You know I didn’t mean that, I said to Synt, who didn’t seem to care.

I did feel somewhat relieved as I jogged up the stairs of my building, yet still in persistent need of some sort of relief. Finding the door slightly open, I was pleasantly surprised to find just the person who could tide me over.

“Lee!” I exclaimed. “Thank god you’re here. You down for a quickie?”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he responded. “But, I mean, yeah,” he followed up, long dick jumping down his pant leg in anticipation. Lee lounged against my desk, his lithe body posted up casually as he flipped through some book that he had happened to grab off the shelf, probably bored waiting for my return. Instead of the usual easy smile with an undercurrent of indulgent lust, he looked all business, like he had an important message. “Did you get my emails? My texts?” he asked. “We had some…interesting preliminary findings from the artifact that Blake brought in. Wait, are you taller?”

“Interesting how?” I asked, stripping off my leggings before remembering to kick the door closed behind me. “And yes, I’ll fill you in on the latest.”

He shut the book, leveling a look of tentative excitement in my direction, briefly obscured as he whipped his shirt off. “We need to go do some fieldwork.”

(More to come)

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A growing family by OneLuckyGuy89 Tyler Sánchez and his friends are going to prove the Zhao transformation website is a hoax. His father Julian gets home to find a manly musk has filled their home. Just what happened while he was at work? 7,041 words Added Jun 2024 22k views 4.7 stars (9 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Female to Male•Straight to Gay•Muscle Growth•Muscle Gut•Muscle/Strength•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Belly Growth•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Transformation•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Forced Growth•Size Increase•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Incest•Brothers•Father/Son•Nonconsensual change•Hyper Pheromones•Supernatural•Immortality •M/M•M/M/M

The roommate retcon by Jasper Slate Blake lives with Andrew. Andrew has invented a reality-changing device. Blake can think of a million ways this could go wrong. Andrew has other ideas. Blake decides to steal the device from Andrew. If Blake deletes the device from existence, Andrew’s never gonna know. Blake finds that even the best-laid plans still often go wrong. 19k words Added Aug 2024 14k views 4.6 stars (20 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Muscle Growth•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Gradual Change•Transformation•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•App•Retcon•First Time/Virgin•Dom/Sub•Nonconsensual change•Complete •M/M

Body for bargain by MegaMaker Lance wants to get bigger and is willing to make a deal with the devil to make it happen, despite his best friend in the whole world, Jude, telling him that's him that's a terrible idea. 7,837 words Added Dec 2024 19k views 4.3 stars (9 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Hyper Cum•Public Orgasm•Multi-abs•Other Mental Changes•Straight to Gay•Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Hyper Strength•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Public Nudity•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Lycra/Spandex•Demons•Witch/Warlock/Wizard•Supernatural•Complete•College/University •M•M/M

Bartholomew learns to relax by Dream Big An uptight college boy wakes up after a Halloween party with a couple of changes he wasn’t expecting. 10 parts 23k words Added Nov 2024 Updated 4 Jan 2025 16k views 5.0 stars (25 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Self-suck•Muscle Growth•Increased Libido•Gradual Change•Getting Taller•Human to Animal/Anthro•Retcon•Nonconsensual change•Anthro/Furry•Supernatural•Halloween•Complete•College/University •M/M

Meeting the family by OneLuckyGuy89 Christian and Kasim wake up a few days later and continue to adjust to their new life. In Zhao’s dream, he and Priapus go to meet Priapus’s family. When you meet a bunch of slutty male gods, you know it’ll be a good time. 9,682 words Added Aug 2024 17k views No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Public Orgasm•Wings•Female to Male•Straight to Gay•Hyper Muscle•Muscle Growth•Muscle Gut•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Foot Growth•Getting Handsomer•Transformation•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Giants•Forced Growth•Size Increase•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Misogyny•Incest•Brothers•Father/Son•Twins•Destruction/Violence•Hyper Pheromones•Fantasy Realm•Supernatural•Immortality •M/M•M/M/M/...

A Barber story: The Titan Brothers by Ogrebear Two men from opposite ends of life get a world-changing haircut.  5,252 words Added Dec 2022 19k views 5.0 stars (11 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Huge Cock•Public Orgasm•Hyper Strength•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Getting Handsomer•Getting Taller•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Age Regression•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Retcon•Suggestion•Incest•Brothers•Twins •M/M