Pec Enhancement

[Three Word Request: Pec Growth Accident]

The empty nightclub was eerily silent while Ethan counted the bartenders’ tips. He bristled as Cole, who was supposed to be working front bar alongside Ethan that night, emerged from the champagne room. Cole’s handsome face was sweaty and he walked unsteadily, his head bobbling with each step. The glassiness in his eyes gave away how drunk he was. Ethan exhaled loudly but ignored him.

Cole pulled up a stool next to Ethan and slapped a meaty hand on his shoulders. Big Cole was strong as hell, a factor he often forgot about while he was intoxicated. Ethan resisted the big lug’s assault and slid the pile of money away from him.

“How much did we make tonight?” Cole said as he ran his hands through his long, sweat-drenched hair.

“None of this is yours,” Ethan said firmly. “You’ve been upstairs with Luther all night.”

Cole hiccuped and licked his lips. “Hey, don’t be mad at me! Luther owns the club! Is it my fault he likes my big muscle-titties?” Cole grabbd one of Ethan’s hands and pressed it against his chest, making his huge pecs bounce and crunch beneath Ethan’s fingers.

“Fuckin’ get off me,” Ethan said, shoving Cole away. While he was nowhere near as big as the studly Italian, he was no slouch in the athleticism department either. “You’re not getting a cut. We got slammed tonight and Tucker and I had to handle it alone. What the hell were you doing up there, anyway?”

Cole’s eyes shut and his head bobbed. “Luther was appreciating my… assets…” He bounced his pecs frantically and then snickered. “But don’t worry. I don’t need your tips. Look at this!”

He pulled a wad of cash out of the pocket of his leather pants and waved it in front of Ethan’s face. It had to be thousands of dollars!

“You fucking whore,” Ethan snapped.

“You wish you were me,” Cole said, rising to his feet and lumbering away. “I have the best job in the fucking world!”

Ethan was still seething an hour later as he tried to enjoy his turkey reuben sandwich at Melinda’s Diner, where he and Tucker always went to decompress after work.

“Y’know, you used to be Luther’s favorite, too,” Tucker said as he chomped into his meatloaf sandwich. Their waitress checked in on them and the two men gave her a thumbs up.

“It’s not about being Luther’s favorite,” Ethan said, twisting a french fry between his fingers until it was pulp. “It’s about carrying your weight. I work so much harder because Luther’s always doing whatever he does with Cole on busy nights.”

Tucker sighed and stared into the distance. “He likes to lick pecs,” he instructed. “Likes to lick the cleavage and underneath… loves to get smothered by them, too.”

Ethan stared at the short, sturdily built barback for a moment. “How do you know?”

Tucker smiled, and thrust his own beefy chest forward. “Cuz I got big pecs too. Luther goes fucking nuts for them. That’s why I got the job.”

It was no surprise that Luther let his boner lead the way when it came to staffing his nightclub. At 6’5” tall, Ethan stood a whole head taller than Cole and towered a whole foot taller than Tucker. He had rowed on the crew team in college and was still built like a redwood. He didn’t have the round, bulky bodybuilder muscles that Cole and Tucker did, but it had never seemed to matter.

Just a year ago, Luther had bought Ethan a brand new car and flown him to Italy for a weekend. While he was their boss and well-known for his lecherousness, Ethan had always harbored a crush on the silver-haired, well-built man. Cole replacing him as Luther’s favorite really stung, above and beyond how it was affecting their work environment.

“Look, get some steroids, do chest twice a week,” Tucker suggested. “You build up that pec shelf and I guarantee Luther will come around again. Or don’t. Hey, we work harder without Cole, but splitting the tips two ways instead of three has been nice lately.”

“It’s just… how is ‘this’ not enough?” Ethan said, flexing his arm. Tucker smiled.

“It’s enough for most dudes. But Luther just has a taste for juicy muscleguys now. Especially dudes with a massive roid-rack. Seriously, last week he was jerking it to a slowed-down video of a pro bodybuilder jogging on a treadmill. He didn’t even stop when I walked into the back room with the beer delivery.”

“Maybe I should get pec implants,” Ethan mused.

“Well, if you’re serious,” Tucker said, jabbing Ethan’s rock-hard abs with his elbow, “there’s a guy I know who could help. It’s not exactly mainstream or legal, but… I’m pretty sure he could puff up those chesticles real quick.”

Ethan rubbed his firm chest muscles, sighed, and asked, “Exactly how ‘illegal’ are we talking?”

An hour later Tucker had led Ethan to a rundown building in a bad part of town. Ethan followed the stocky barback down a dark alley, shivering as Tucker gestured toward an unmarked door.

“There’s no handle,” Ethan said. “How do we open it?”

“Just knock,” Tucker said, bashing the door with a thick paw. “Yo Dr. P! It’s Tuck!”

The man who answered the door looked more like a tattoo artist than a doctor. A dozen facial piercings jingled every time he moved. He had a thick mohawk, died fuchsia, and was tattooed from the neck down. He nodded recognition at Tucker but looked up at Ethan suspiciously.

“...the fuck are you?” he snapped.

“He’s with me,” Tucker offered. “Candidate for ‘the procedure’ and a good buddy of mine. Think you can help?”

“What do you need help with, your freakish height?” the “doctor” sassed. Ethan was ready to turn away, but Tucker interrupted.

“Just needs a little muscle boost. Nothing outside your capabilities. You down?”

“He trustworthy?”

“Close friend,” Tucker said. “He’ll be really grateful, I promise.”

The “doctor” thought about it for a moment before allowing the two to enter.

Ethan followed as the doctor led them down a series of serpentine corridors. The hallways that weren’t completely dark were only lit by flickering fluorescents. The air stunk of mildew. The deeper they went, the more Ethan regretted coming to this weirdo.

The room they arrived in had a large platform and dozens of screens flashing inscrutable data. The “doctor” ordered Ethan up on the platform before jabbing a needle into Ethan’s leg.

“Ow--HEY!”

“I need DNA, dumbass,” he said coldly.

Tucker had a seat, unbothered by the “lab’s” dank conditions or his friend’s off-putting appearance. “Dr. Praetorious is pretty fuckin amazing. I’ve seen him do amazing work.”

Dr. P had inserted Ethan’s blood into a device and was scanning results that flashed on a nearby screen. “I’m a fucking miracle-worker. Okay, now, your DNA’s fully analyzed. What am I tweaking here? You want to change your eye color? Get hairier--or hairless? How about something really freaky, like making you a fucking centaur? I’ve got some quality horse genes here!”

Ethan shuddered at the idea. Was all of this really possible? “Just a bigger chest, please.”

“You want big milky titties? Like a stripper? I can give you massive mammary glands that produce a ton--”

“Just bigger pecs, please!” Ethan insisted. He shot Tucker a pleading glance. The short bodybuilder just shrugged back.

Dr. P attached electrodes to Ethan’s bare chest. “You’re gonna love this. I got a genetic sample from a guy whose pecs were the biggest I’d ever seen! He was short as hell, just about four feet, and those big muscletits were HUGE! Perfect template for you.”

Ethan tugged at the electrodes, firmly attached to him now, as Dr. P. prattled on. “Hey, yo, wait…” he protested. “I don’t know if I’m into this. Four feet tall? That’s not the perfect template at all!”

Dr. P. was completely enthralled with throwing levers and tapping on screens. “Don’t worry. I’ll just suppress the height properties of the sample as it takes hold. You’ll just get the pec part.”

Before Ethan could speak up, Dr. P. threw a massive switch and the platform Ethan stood on lit up. Waves of warmth passed through him and his hair stood on end. At first he thought he’d made a grave error, but then he noticed his chest had plumped a bit. His pecs were actually getting bigger!

“FREEZE!” came a shockingly loud voice. Four cops burst into the room, guns drawn. Dr. P. and Tucker put their hands in the air. Ethan, locked in the platform’s energy, couldn’t move.

“You’re under arrest for stealing government property! Hands in the air!”

Dr. P. dropped to his knees, hands behind his head. “Fuck,” he said. “I knew you’d get me one of these days.”

The cop in charge motioned toward Ethan, subsumed in white light. “What is that thing? Turn it off!”

“I can’t do that with my hands in the air, officer,” he replied smugly.

“Just do it!” the cop ordered.

Dr. P. went up and slowly approached the main switch. Ethan couldn’t speak–he couldn’t even move–but he silently pleaded for someone to do SOMEthing. Something felt wrong, although he felt so bizarre that he couldn’t tell what.

Dr. P. turned off the device and Ethan fell forward… and landed on his massive chest. He shivered as his shoes and pants slid right off.

“What the fuck?” he said as cops immediately handcuffed him as well. His pecs were so blown up that, even with his nipples pressed to the floor, he was only leaning at a 45 degree angle. He glanced around at the room, shocked when he realized the cops seemed enormous.

Then a cop dragged a handcuffed Tucker past him. Ethan did a doubletake when he realized Tucker was staring down at him. Tucker’s eyes were wide, and despite the fact that he was under arrest, he seemed to be delighted at something.

Ethan’s eyes fell down on his own chest muscles, so massive he thought he might fall over. Each looked like a massive watermelon had been stuffed under his skin. He was amazed when he flexed his own chest and watched the huge mounds respond to his mental commands.

“Let’s go, Jumbo Tits,” a cop said, roughly dragging Ethan away.

“Hey! Wait!” Ethan protested. “I had nothing to do with any of this! I don’t even know this–” Ethan tripped and fell forward. With his hands cuffed behind him, he had nothing to break his fall… but he didn’t fall far before his chest struck the floor. It was an effort to pull himself back on his feet.

“Jesus, bud, do less bench presses,” said another cop. Ethan estimated the guy had to be at least eight feet tall when he realized the cops’ crotch was at eye level–that is, until he passed through the door and stared directly into the knob.

“Please, my clothes–” Ethan said, ashamed to be naked in front of these cops. One of the men made a joke about Ethan’s “tiny weenie” but he couldn’t see past his chest to evaluate if it were an exaggeration or not. Judging by his shorter limbs, he had to assume his cock had reduced as well. The men chuckled as they picked up Ethan’s discarded garments. None of them would fit him now–the pants were too big and the shirt, ironically, was no far too small. One of them tied the shirt around his waist and gave his bare as a spank as they dragged him away.

“How… how is this even possible?” Ethan moaned as he was roughly shoved into the back of a squad car. His feet didn’t reach the floor but his pecs were squeezed tight against the seat in front of him. The rumbling of the car made his nipples vibrate. He moaned as he realized how sensitive his new big pecs were. His dick was ramrod hard as the car hummed along. Every bump made him moan. There was nothing he could do when his dick finally shot his load all over the back seat. He couldn’t see the mess past his pecs, but he felt the sticky mess. He blushed silently, drowning in shame, when the cops popped the door open and realized what had happened. It took two of them to pry his giant chest mounds out of the car.

Ethan’s heart sank as he walked forward for his mugshot, gauging his height against the markings on the wall at four feet tall. His pecs seemed to make up nearly half his bodyweight! It was exhausting just carrying them around. He tried to explain that he had never met the Doctor before, that he was only along for the ride, but they weren’t willing to listen to him. He was tossed into a cell next to Tucker.

Every so often, another uniformed officer would approach to take pictures of Ethan. He was humiliated that they took so much joy in his disfigurement. “I’m the victim here!” he shouted.

“According to the Doctor, this is what you wanted,” one of the cops said with a smirk. Ethan just turned away and buried his face in his huge pecs.

Tucker put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, but the big-tittied man jerked away. Tucker had always been shorter than he was; he seemed HUGE now!

“Look, buddy, that wasn’t supposed to go like that,” Tucker said. He reached out and tweaked one of Ethan’s nipples. The little man moaned, the mounds of muscle bunching up as Ethan’s knees wobbled. “Wow, these things are sensitive as FUCK, hunh?”

“Don’t touch me!” Ethan shouted. He’d meant it as a command but it sounded like a flimsy plea. He felt pathetic, now pint-sized next to the thickly built barback.

“Just imagine how much you’re going to be able to bench now!” Tucker said. He gave the hefty pecs a slap. Ethan jerked from the contact and faced the wall, but the idea suddenly occurred to him–his pecs WERE huge. Maybe they were massively strong? However, his arms weren’t long enough to reach around them. A barbell would just sit on his pecs while his stumpy limbs struggled, and failed, to reach it. He couldn’t even do a pushup with all that muscle in the way.

It seemed like an eternity before someone approached their cell with news that they’d been bailed out. When they emerged to find Cole waiting for them, Ethan considered heading back to the cell.

Cole seemed as big as a building to Ethan now. He had to crane his neck up to see the man, who patted his head condescendingly. “Oh, wow, Ethan!” Cole cooed. “I love what you’ve done! Look at those juicy pecs.” He tweaked one of Ethan’s fat nipples and the transmogrified man moaned despite himself.

“Yeah, that’s kinda my fault,” Tucker said, as if what had happened to Ethan were just a casual prank and not a complete overhaul of his body. “Turns out the guy who I went to had stolen all his equipment from the government, which is why we were in the clink…”

As they approached Cole’s car, Ethan headed for the back seat, but Cole shook his head and licked his lips. “No way, Juggs! You’re sitting up front with me.” Tucker whistled as Ethan reluctantly got in the front seat. The seat belt slipped between the deep cleavage between his pecs.

“Man, I love these things,” Cole said as he removed his hand from the stick shift and grabbed a palmful of Ethan’s gargantuan chest. Ethan tried to push his hand away but his smaller body had no strength in it, despite the muscular addition in his chest. But as Cole fingers dug into his muscles, Ethan suddenly realized he didn’t want the contact to stop. It was like his brain was rewired, and his pecs were now his primary sexual organ.

Weeks later, Ethan found himself struggling through a packed crowd at the nightclub as guests grabbed drinks off the tray resting on his big chest. Much bigger men–men who would have been intimidated by Ethan’s size before the change–tweaked his cheeks and cooed at him like he was a little cherub. Meanwhile, men weren’t shy about grabbing his nipples or copping a feel whenever they wanted.

Ethan just took it. The humiliation faded after a bit, and when he realized he would never be his original size again, he leaned into his new role as a dwarfed man with a giant chest.

At least, at the end of the night, he knew he had Luther to look forward to. He was grateful to have reclaimed his boss’ favor, even if it was only as a third wheel to his sexcapades with Cole. As the two men went at it, Ethan would offer his pecs for them to slap, lick, feel, and even fuck. The most dick Ethan would ever be offered again was slid between his pecs, but in his new form, it was the kind of attention he enjoyed the most.