Robbing Ricky

[muscle theft]

Ricky wrapped his still-oily body in a trenchcoat and slipped out the back door of Ironworks, the club where he stripped. Chipper, the head of security, escorted him down the back alley. Chipper was massively built, his physique wrapped in skin-tight black t-shirt with the word “SECURITY” printed across the front. Ricky gently nudged one of Chipper’s big pecs and gave him a wink.

“You on cycle or something?” Ricky asked, placing a hand on Chipper’s rock hard lower back. “You’re big as FUCK right now.” Ricky took a step forward, placing his jockstrap-clad bulge on Ricky’s thigh (albeit with the trenchcoat between them).  Chipper rolled his eyes.

“You trying to get money or dick from me, big guy?” Chipper said, gently pushing Ricky back. “You know I’m up to fuck around ONLY when I don’t have a boyfriend. The two men were nearly identically built–six feet tall, broad shoulders, with massively pumped up muscles that made them twice as thick as normal men–distinctly differing in their hairstyles: a shaved head for Chipper, curly blond locks for Ricky.

“Why can’t I be your boyfriend?” Ricky asked, getting close enough to rub his pecs against Chipper’s.

“Because you’re not a one-man kinda guy,” Chipper said. “You want me to walk you all the way to your car?”

“You think anybody’s gonna fuck with THIS?” Ricky said, rolling up the trenchcoat sleeve and flexing his 20-inch bicep.

“About forty horny dudes from our club tonight would LOVE to fuck with that,” Chipper pointed out.

Ricky blew a kiss. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

Ricky’s BMW wasn’t parked far from the end of the alley where he left Chipper behind. Had he not been distracted by the wad of bills tucked next to his junk in the sweaty warmth of his jockstrap, he might have noticed that his door was already unlocked when he approached. He climbed into his car, grunting as he squeezed behind the wheel.

“Damn,” he said aloud as he realized his pecs were touching the steering wheel. “I’m way too big for this car.”

“That won’t be a problem for long,” said a voice from the back seat. Ricky felt a gloved hand clap over his mouth. The bulky stripper held up his hands, suspecting a weapon. He went cold when he saw the balding man in the back seat wore a purple amulet on a long gold chain around his neck.

Ricky grabbed the man’s wrist, planning on twisting it and pulling the man forward, but the amulet had already begun to glow. Ricky was bathed in purple light. He seemed to sink into his seat as his muscles dwindled away. Without his big glutes beneath him, his wide lats behind him and the massive pecs touching the steering wheel, he felt like he was in an entirely different–and much roomier–car.

Ricky’s attempt to restrain his attacker was entirely in vein; there was simply no strength in his arm. The man easily shook him off as the purple light shifted to him. The 5 foot tall 160 pound man grunted as his body inflated with Ricky’s stolen muscles. His clothing “hulked” into shreds as massive muscles burst through them.

“Ow, FUCK,” grunted the man after it was done. “Fucking shoes HURT!” His feet must have grown with the rest of him, painfully destroying his footwear. The now-massive man in the back seat threw open the door and leapt from the car, standing to his full height. “Dammit, LOOK at me!” He observed himself in reflection of the driver’s side window.

Meanwhile, Ricky was fumbling around for his phone. It had been tucked into the waistband of his jockstrap when he was large, but when he deflated out of it the phone must have tumbled down near the peddles. He gasped when the driver door opened and the brand new giant yanked Ricky from the car.

Ricky’s entire night’s earnings tumbled from the far-too-large jockstrap, scattering around the ground. The little man was now swimming in his trenchcoat. The bottom third of it gathered around his feet while the sleeves hung far past his hands. He stood about pec-high to the brute in front of him (who, despite his still balding head, was INCREDIBLY hot with his new muscles and the big swinging cock–also stolen from Ricky–between his massive legs).

“Wow, the cash is a nice bonus,” the brute said, gathering up the scattered bills. Ricky turned around, ready to run, but the brute grabbed him by the trenchcoat and yanked him back.

“Y-you got what you wanted!” Ricky said, wincing when he heard his new shrill voice. “J-just lemme go!”

The big man beat on his chest, then flexed his muscles and bounced his pecs. “I want YOU to know what it’s like,” he said, stepping forward. “I want YOU to feel what it’s like to be so small with all these big muscles towering over you.”

Ricky blushed as the man threw his beefy arm in the air and pressed Ricky’s face into it. The shrunken stripper, still traumatized from his change, wasted no time burying his face into the muscle pit, licking deep into its crevices and savoring the scent.

“What the… you’re ENJOYING this?!” The big man shoved Ricky back. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. “You are seriously twisted!”

“I’m… sorry…” Ricky groaned, holding a hand to his chest. “You’re hot!”

“I’ve seen you at your club so many times,” the big man said, his fists clenched as his chest rose and fell. “I PILED bills on your stage and you NEVER gave me any attention!”

Ricky shrugged. “Sorry, babe! You have my attention now! For free, too.”

“You little shit!” the big man, raising a foot in the air. He stomped down hard, but Ricky rolled out of the way. The musclehead yelped as his bare foot struck pavement. “Dammit dammit dammit!”

“Hey, man, look,” Ricky said, gingerly approaching. “Maybe you just sorta… swap things back, and I give you the private show you wanted? Hm? Maybe break a couple of the club’s rules about nudity, too…”

The big man shook his head. “Are you serious? You don’t have anything I want anymore.” He brought his arms up into a triumphant double-biceps pose, his torso thickening triumphantly. “I’ve got EVERYTHING I need! I’ll find a guy ten times hotter than you ever were and make him my little bitch!”

With a fistful of Ricky’s money, the man bounded away. Ricky slowly rose to his feet, collecting his jockstrap and the few bills that remained. He smiled when he noticed the big man’s wallet on the pavement with his ID still in it.

“Chester Kazmaier,” Ricky said aloud. “Well, Chester, I hope you’re enjoying twenty years of bodybuilding and roids, plus my primo genetics.” The trenchcoat was almost too heavy to drag around at this size. He glanced back at the club, regretting Chipper’s offer to walk him the whole way to his car.

[to be continued]