Brandon Twice
patreon
Sales Trip
🕑 Added 2024-05-17 05:19:38 +0000 UTC[businessman gets a temporary new identity as a sexy roidgutted hulk]
Grant turned the knob of the restroom door before toppling into it, his unsteady feet failing to keep him fully upright. He grabbed the sides of the sink without checking the stalls to see if he was alone. He was going to throw up and he didn’t care who saw.
He keeled over, his stomach clenching. Splashing his face with cold water didn’t help, but the puke–which he knew would bring some relief–refused to bubble up. “Oh god oh god oh god…” he muttered as waves of heat poured off his body. He studied the mirror, unable to figure out what was wrong with his image.
The bartender Seth’s mysterious green shot was still bubbling in Grant’s belly. Was he poisoned? Drugged? Was he about to be robbed! His eyes grew bloodshot as he became aware of a pressure on his left hand.
It was his ring finger, where he wore a single silver band. He growled as he struggled to pull it off. It rolled around the sink when he finally pried it off, but he was too distracted to save it from plunking down the drain: his hands were swollen.
His slender hands (often remarked as “too soft for a man” by Gerald, his boss) had thickened. He gasped as he watched thick veins rising up along their surface; was this a heart attack symptom?
Hair sprouted along the back of his hands and traveled up his forearms, which had begun to swell as well. The buttons at his cuffs popped off one at a time. He pulled back his sleeves to see this was no allergic reaction: his forearms were filling with muscles he’d never had before.
“Fuck!” he said in a deeper voice as he felt pressure again, this time around his waist. He didn’t have time to get his belt off before it popped open, his pants splitting down the seams. One by one his dress shirt shed buttons, ricocheting off the mirror as they fired off. “Oh god, oh god,” he said as he watched his arms burst through the shirt’s sleeves, tan skin emerging as the cloth shredded.
Tan. Twenty minutes on the beach his first day of the trip had left him with a rosy sunburn on his face, arms and chest, but now he was evenly bronzed as if he lived in the sun.
His elbows and knees ached as he felt himself rising. Was he getting taller? Suddenly curly blonde hair burst from his head, falling around his face in soft layers. He grunted as he felt the last of his shirt and pants split away. It felt good to be free of them. His thick paws lowered to his underwear, the only thing left (popping stitches every time he moved).
He gasped as he watched the bulge in front start to plump up. Before his groin was done enlarging, his pecs had bloomed so large he could no longer see past them. A moment later, his abdomen forced itself further than his looming pecs. He worried he’d gotten fat, but as his hands went over the surface of the smooth belly, he found it firm and rippling, as solid as it was round. All of the below-his-nipple changes had to be observed in the mirror.
Gone was the thin, clean-shaven 5’8” salesman. The brute who stared back at him was unrecognizable: tall, wide, powerfully built with thick muscles, all of him covered with a golden blonde fur that matched the robust mane on his head. His body seemed to have stopped growing, but the changes weren’t final until a blonde beard emerged from his now-chiseled jaw.
Grant marveled at his ability to flex each melon-sized pec, one at a time, when the door opened. It never crossed his mind to cover up his exposed 300 pound body. He didn’t even flinch as the Seth walked in.
An hour earlier, Grant had taken a seat at the hotel bar just to spend some time gawking at the gym-pumped, blue-eyed hunk stretching his polo shirt to its limits with his big arms and thick chest. Grant towered over him now, easily twice the size of him.
“Ah! I see that shot did its magic,” Seth said. “You do remember the offer, right? I give you that shot and you do me a favor?”
Grant licked his lips. He stood to his full height, relishing the fact that Seth only came up to his shoulder now. Grant opened his mouth to ask what that shot was, what Seth had done to him, if it were permanent… but all that came out was, “You wanna feel?” He smirked, surprised at what he’d said but surprisingly comfortable. He stepped toward Seth, gripping his own hips as he thrust his mammoth pecs forward.
“Well of course I do,” Seth said, running his fingers through the soft blonde hair on Grant’s pecs. When Seth’s touch reached Grant’s cleavage, he squeezed his chest muscles as hard as he could, trapping Seth’s fingers between warm slabs of muscle. “FUCK…” Seth said, leaning forward and placing his head against Grant’s torso.
“This isn’t the favor,” Seth said, muffled by Grant’s muscles. He tweaked Grant’s nipples, making the big man grunt, before stepping back. “I have a side gig,” Seth explained, throwing his hands behind his head, causing his thick arms to flare out. “We do private dances for hotel clients. My partner is off fucking some dude–or dudes, I’m not really sure–but tonight’s gig is for TWO guys.”
“I dunno if I know how to dance,” Grant said, flexing his hips and wiggling his huge glutes around. “Fuck, I’m so… fucking heavy… and big…” His body seemed to be everywhere now! Every movement brought with it a mass of flexing muscles. And the contents of his packed briefs… Good god, did he want to explore this body now! The feel of Seth’s fingers on his body just had Grant hungry for more.
“You’re gonna be perfect,” Seth said. “But we can’t have you stumbling around the hotel in ripped undies, so let me see if I can grab an outfit that’ll fit your size, big guy.”
Grant spent the time waiting for Seth to return by studying his new body in the mirror–lifting up an arm and sniffing the deep musclepit, turning around and trying to get a glimpse of his mountainous back.
*
Seth had told him he’d turn back before he got back to his room. Grant had just turned onto his hallways when he started to shiver. The size shed all at once; one moment he was so wide his elbows brushed against the walls, the next he was holding up a pair of shorts three sizes too big for his body, his tanktop hanging down past his knees..
He belched, his vision going blurry. He was drunk in an instant; clearly all the booze he’d guzzled when he was large hit him harder now that there was less of him.
The “gig” had been on the fourth floor, room 410: four gay men who had pulled their money for a stripper for the evening. Grant had shed a tank top and some shorts to reveal a jockstrap, but the tittering men weren’t able to pool enough money to get Grant to release his huge cock. He did let them suckle at his nipples, lick his biceps and dig deeply into the grooves in his quads with their desperate fingers.
As he stumbled back to his room, his bodyweight literally halved, he realized he recognized the men from room 410: the day before, as he’d sat on the beach, he’d seethed with jealousy as he watched them play volleyball. Hawaii really hits harder when you’re built like a stud, he’d thought. Must be nice to just strip off your shirt and have all eyes on you. But when he’d met them as their hired muscle talent and they’d thirsted for his massive muscles, he couldn’t help but think of them as just little playthings who were only barely worth his time. At one point he’d grabbed two of them by their belts, one in each hand, and curled them like they were dumbbells.
Was I a different person? He considered as his hotel room door slammed shut behind him. Or is that just who I am when I’m the biggest man in the room? He froze when he realized it was 6 am. He was supposed to meet the client in three hours!
He picked up the phone and groaned to room service for some coffee. He had dozed off before they arrived. When he woke, his heart sank as he recognized the late afternoon shadows stretching across the floor. The coffee was outside the door, now cold.
He could hear his phone vibrating on the floor. He turned it over for a moment, gasping when he saw 22 text messages and 11 voicemails. His head still bleary from the champagne he’d chugged during the gig (some as a bodyshot, poured right down Seth’s musky ass), he placed a pillow over the phone. He was no doubt in trouble with his boss now, if not fired, but no part of him cared to pursue that issue any further.
All he could think of was the way he smelled when he was big, a deep musky stench he’d encountered in locker rooms but his 150 pound body had never produced on its own. He craved it now the way the four twinks had craved it the night before. He rubbed a hand over his smooth belly, yearning for the hard turtle-shell gut he’d had just hours before. He couldn’t think of the job he’d probably lost, only the new job, where he got to be big, strong and desired.
He had to see Seth again.
*
“That’s a one-time deal,” Seth said as he set a bloody mary on a coaster and slid it to Grant. “I can only change you one time, then it doesn’t work anymore.”
Grant chewed on the celery stick garnish as he slurped the spicy vodka-laden tomato juice. “I have… a ton of questions though.”
“Ask away,” Seth said. “But I can’t make you big again. That’s all you get, just the one time.”
An elderly couple stopped into the bar and sat at the end opposite Grant. Seth blended some grasshoppers for them as Grant rapped his knuckles impatiently against the bar.
“Who did I turn into?” Grant asked the moment Seth returned.
“What? Who did you–”
“You said another guy was supposed to be on the job. Was I him? Did that shot make me into him?”
Seth grinned. “Actually, no. You were way bigger than he is. I was happy to see how much potential you had.”
“What happens if you drink it?”
Seth shrugged. “Don’t know. I don’t need to. I look like this.” Grant grimaced at Seth’s narrow waist and wide-shoulders, recalling that Seth didn’t look quite as impressive since Grant had spent an evening double his size. He was right, though: he didn’t need some magic potion to look perfect. Some guys had all the luck.
“Why did you choose me?” Grant asked as he nudged his empty drink toward Seth.
Seth grinned back. “We’re in paradise and all you did was complain–about the sun, about the job. I flirted with you and you didn’t have the confidence to flirt back. I figured, if Hawaii itself wasn’t a vacation, maybe you just needed a break from being you.” He poured orange juice into a glass, then splashed it with champagne. He placed the mimosa directly into Grant’s hands. “Plus, I needed another guy to dance with and I figured you’d turn out hot.” He shrugged.
“I think I got fired,” Grant said. He glanced at the mirror behind the bar, resenting his short black hair, his thick eyebrows, his slender everything. “Because of you.”
Seth wagged a finger at him. “You made your own choices last night. Notice how I didn’t drink while I was on the job? It’s not my fault your big cock did all the thinking for you. It happens, though. A body like that tends to call all the shots on its own.”
“I need it again,” Grant pleaded. “Look, I can’t go back to… this…” He held up his thin hands to demonstrate what he meant. “Please. It’s cruel to give me all that for a few hours and then–”
“It’s too early to be this drunk, even on vacation,” Seth said. “Take your drink back to your room. Sleep it off. Your tab’s on me, this time. Just savor the nice memories of being the big guy and take them home with you. Use it to fuel you! Go to the gym. I can introduce you to a guy who can get you steroids. Build some of that muscle on your own.”
Grant shook his head, wincing from the throbbing behind his eyes. All he could remember was the weight of that body, the way his massive junk shifted around every time he swung his big quads around each other.
He wanted to grab Seth by the throat and demand to be made big again. Last night he would have done exactly that. Drenched in all that testosterone, how could he resist the urge to stomp through the world and take whatever he wanted?
Now, he was left with only the memory of that thick haze of masculinity–and a massive hangover.
*
Grant checked his reflection in the elevator's chrome doors. A cold shower and more coffee had cleared some of his brain fog, but did nothing for the dark circles under his eyes or the general fatigue in his slumped posture. He huffed into his hand and gave it a sniff, easily detecting the booze still digesting in his gut.
This was a bad idea, he told himself, but after finally listening to the voicemails from John, his boss, he realized he had to do something. He wasn’t yet fired–John had threatened it if Grant wasn’t able to fix his mistake before the trip was over. If he could still land the sale, even after blowing off the client that morning…
“I should quit,” he said out loud as the elevator, now on the eighth floor, dinged and the doors slid open. But if he did quit, what would he do? All he could think about was swiveling his hips and flexing his muscles while men drooled over the stink of his crotch, a career path that would sadly never be for his slender, underdeveloped body.
The client’s name was Quentin Trace. His hand shook as he knocked on the door. For a tense moment, no one answered.
When Quentin threw open the door, Grant gasped: Quentin was a muscular bald man who towered over him. Grant’s eyes traveled the length of Quentin’s chiseled body clad tightly in silky black dress pants and a purple shirt unbuttoned to his chest. How the hell did every other guy here win the genetic lottery?
“Not interested,” Quentin barked when Grant made his pitch. Despite Grant’s foot being in the way, he forced his door shut. “You don’t leave me waiting when there’s this much money on the line. No deal.”
Grant sighed, sinking down the cold wooden door. He was fired now, for sure, but maybe it was a blessing. Maybe his evening as a muscled giant was meant to show him how badly he needed a change. The thought didn’t quell the icy feeling in his gut.
Then he burped. His eyes snapped open as he tasted something murky and medicinal. He cringed at the familiar flavor: Seth’s magical elixir, somehow still in his system.
In an instant his head had cleared. He felt invigorated, standing up straight as he braced himself for what he knew would happen. This time, it went faster: with a grunt, his clothes burst apart and he felt himself rising as his limbs stretched, instantly thickening. He grinned as he watched his pecs bloat up, felt his back widen until it lifted his arms. With a belch, his rock-hard musclegut sprang forth. He grabbed it with both hands, unable to restrain his smile.
Though he couldn’t see it past all his mass, the sudden weight at his groin let him know that his large manhood had returned with the rest of him. He flexed his hips from side to side, licking his lips as his big hose, stiffening even in the cold hallway, slapped against each of his redwood-thick thighs.
Fearlessly naked in the hotel hallway he suddenly felt too big to be in, he returned to Quentin’s door. His fist hit like thunder and he grinned as he realized he could probably bash through if he really wanted to. When the door opened Quentin’s imposing posturing dissolved immediately. His jaw fell open and he stumbled back from the door. Grant pushed his way in.
“Wh-who… who the fuck…” Quentin said as he stumbled backward.
Grant just grinned, crossing his arms around his wide barrel chest as best he could. “You say the word–or even say nothing… and I leave, got it? But if you see anything here you like…” He flexed an arm and winked. “And I’ll stay and make it worth your while.”
“Who… did Bryce send you?” Quentin asked, still prone on the floor.
“Yeah, sure,” Grant said, not caring who Bryce was. He extended a meaty paw toward Quentin, yanking him off the floor when he grasped it. Grant couldn’t believe how light this formerly intimidating client was.
The word rang out through his head: CLIENT. He had a deal to close! It felt so easy to disregard that, to forget about work and his job and savor the moment. He was here, he was huge, and he was going to enjoy this while he had it. Thoughts of his boss’ voicemails echoed thinly in his memory before fading away, drowned out by the lusty haze overwhelming him.
On his feet, Quentin’s gaze seemed tethered to Grant’s wrist-thick cock. Grant tilted his waist to the left and right, chuckling as Grant’s eyes followed. “Eyes up here,” Grant barked, slapping his big pecs and making them bounce.
“Y-yes… sir…” Quentin said, nodding weakly. What a change from the confident man who had turned him away just minutes before!
“Get over here,” Grant said, throwing his hand behind his head, exposing his deep armpit, surrounded on all sides by bulging muscle. Quentin placed both hands on Grant’ lat as he leaned into the pit, gasping and moaning. Grant helped him out by placing a hand on the back of his head, nudging him in deeper. “Taste it,” he offered, then smiled as he felt Quentin’s tongue sensuously plumbing the musky crevice.
“Good boy,” Grant barked. Grasping the back of Quentin’s head, he guided the bald man into the center of his pecs, pulling him in. Quentin placed both hands on the rock-solid pecs and pressed his face between them. With a laugh, Grant flexed. Quentin muffled between the clenching muscles, then gasped gratefully when Grant released him.
Grabbing him by the waist, Grant lifted Quentin until they were eye-to-eye. Grant leaned in so close his beard brushed against Quentin’s face. He leaned in, their lips so close it seemed Grant was about to kiss him. Quentin breathlessly waited to accept, but just before contact Grant pulled his face away. He shoved Quentin back between his pecs and slowly let him slide down, over the bow of his distended muscle-gut until his feet were back on the floor.
Grant let the businessman slurp at his navel, massaging his deep abs as he nuzzled his face against the solid, furry keg-belly. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, his voice a gentle rumble he was sure Quentin felt vibrating through him. “Now, if you want to keep playing, it’s gonna cost you…”
“Anything,” Quentin whimpered, his hands starting to desperately paw at Grant’s muscles. “Anything you want, please…”
Grant smiled. This wasn’t how he’d hoped to close this deal, but he knew it was good as done now. “Now that’s what I wanted to hear,” he said. He scooped Quentin up under one massive arm like a teddy bear, then carried him over to the room’s phone. “Room service,” he barked into it. “I want two ice cream sundaes… extra whipped cream, stat.” He turned back to Quentin with a grin as he slammed the phone down. “Now I’ll put one sundae here,” he said, cupping his left pec in his hand, “and the other here,” he said, cupping his right, “and you can have yourself a little snack. Sound good?” He squeezed both of his pecs, his hands nowhere near enough to contain all their mass.
“Oh yes,” Quentin said, pulling off his belt in a mad pitch to release the boner tenting his pants.
“AH AH!” Grant barked as Quentin’s hands went toward his cock. “You touch yourself when I tell you to only. I want to see how long you can worship all of this without shooting. The minute you shoot, I leave, got it?”
Quentin’s face contorted with need, but he nodded his head.
