Collectible Bumstead

Chris Bumstead stumbled out of the shower, suddenly short of breath. He placed a hand on his meaty pec, counting his pounding heartbeats. “I’m fine,” he thought to himself. “Just a tough workout. Preworkout… just tired…” He was barely able to wrap a towel around his waist before he stumbled forward and collapsed onto the nearby bench. He sat there breathing deeply, unable to move. All the strength had left his body. He opened his mouth to scream for help but only a soft squeak came out of his mouth.

Trey, the gym’s portly night-time janitor, wheeled his mop bucket into the room. He cocked his head to the side as he examined the Olympian athlete. “Hey, big guy. You feeling okay?”

“H-h-help…” Chris was able to force from his lips.

Trey approached and placed a hand on Chris’ head. “You don’t feel feverish, big man. You sure you’re okay?” He swept his greasy bangs out of his face and squatted down in front of the massive bodybuilder. “What a shame. All those muscles but you look weak as a kitten.” He snapped his fingers in Chris’ face but the athlete didn’t even flinch. He raised a thick hand, reaching out for Trey, but the janitor just slapped it aside.

“Wow. Wanna arm-wrestle, Chris?” he said, chuckling. Chris couldn’t understand why Trey was acting so casually. This was serious--he needed a doctor! He started to slump to the side and was unable to stop himself. His head felt like it weighed a million pounds. Trey reached out and caught Chris’ beautiful face, gently guiding it down to the bench.

“That’s it, big fella. Just relax and let my formula do its work.”

Chris blinked, unable to react in any other way. What formula? His lips barely moved as he failed to form a sentence.

“Perfect. Enjoy the ride, Chris. Things are going to change for you, big man.”

*

Trey examined his face in the mirror. “Acne’s gone,” he said with a smirk. “Holy shit, it’s better than any cream.” He ran a hand over his smooth skin, devoid of the irritated pimples he normally had. “Hair’s looking better too.” Just minutes before, his hair had been scraggly, greasy, desperately in need of a haircut. Now his hair looked significantly shorter. It looked like he’d just gotten a shampoo, condition and haircut at a salon. “Wow. This shit is really working!”

Bumstead was still breathing, his body still warm, but he was completely unresponsive. Trey knew that inside that massive, exquisitely shaped body, the powerful athlete was trapped, helpless, probably screaming for help, but his body didn’t make a sound except for an occasional soft sigh. Trey grabbed a handful of the man’s massive delts and squeezed. “Fuck. That thing is solid… feels… so good.” He’d never touched a muscle like that before, let alone one of the finest muscles in the world. Bumstead was practically a pile of $80 steaks, and Trey felt hungry as hell!

He ran his hands over Bumstead’s cobbled abs, digging his fingers into the crevices between each knotted block before yanking the towel off. “Of course your fucking cock is massive,” Trey remarked as he grabbed the champion’s soft dong, lifting it to test its heft. He crouched down and sniffed deeply of the Olympian’s crotch. “Fuck, fresh from the shower and still a little sweaty. That is some quality musk.”

Soon, all of this elite athlete’s best qualities would be Trey’s. Despite months of preparing for this night, it still didn’t seem like it was really happening despite the fact that Trey’s gut had already reduced so much that his pants were starting to fall down. He tightened his belt and left the locker room, quickly doing a lap around the gym floor to make sure they were alone.

“Hello?” he called out as he checked that the front door was locked. Mr. Drago, the gym’s owner, would be back in thirty minutes to lock up for the night, having left Bumstead alone in the place so the big guy could get in his late-night workout. Trey’s shift had ended hours ago, so he just hid in the utility closet until he was sure he and Bumstead were the only ones there. Then, it was a simple case of spiking the big guy’s body wash with the elixir while Bumstead benched a dump truck’s worth of weight with his big bulging muscles.

If Mr. Drago came back early, the plan would be completely mucked up, the same as if another bodybuilder was still hanging around somewhere. “Hello?” he asked again, but his voice sounded different--deeper. Trey smiled. “Holy shit, I sound like him…” he said in Bumstead’s voice. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His chubby cheeks had melted away. His man-tits were gone. He tightened his belt to the last hole, but his paint-stained pants still hung low on his hips. A grin spread across his face.

Back in the locker room, Trey was happy to see that Bumstead had begun to stump down in height. He looked to be only about four and a half feet tall now, his whole herculean frame barely filling the bench. Trey studied the diminishing man, fascinated by the process. Bumstead looked exactly as he always had except littler now--not so much a midget as just a short man. Still, even at this reduced height, his body was still breathtaking.

Meanwhile, Trey looked down to see that the fat had almost entirely melted off his frame. Muscles were beginning to form. He let his pants fall off completely, thrilled to see legs that looked like htey belonged to a football quarterback. “Holy shit,” he said, flexing his arms. He’d never had muscles in his life, and yet nice little bumps of hard flesh rose as he crunched his arms. “Fuck, I gotta pick him up,” Trey said, squatting next to Bumstead who lay motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The sound of Bumstead’s phone ringing snapped Trey out of his daze. He gave Bumstead a gentle pat on the cheek before running over to the big man’s locker. It was locked, but holding it in front of Bumstead’s face fixed that.

It was Mr. Drago calling. Trey cleared his throat and smirked as he realized he was going to get away with this.

“Hey, Chris, you still at the gym?” Mr. Drago asked.

“Yeah,” Trey said, his heart racing as he realized he was a perfect soundalike now. “But honestly, I’m really into my groove. Just hit a new PR and I don’t want to quit soon. If you want, I can lock the place up. You don’t have to come back.”

“Damn, that’d be great,” Mr. Drago said. “Just keep the key on you. You can give it back to me tomorrow. I’m gonna head home. Have a good one, big man--get those gains!”

Trey smiled. “Oh, I will. Believe me, I will.”

It was time to lose his shirt, Trey decided. He stripped nude and walked into the shower room, pausing in front of the sink. Here he could watch the ttransformation in real time as his shoulders widened, his limbs lengthened. He had to be six feet tall now--no, taller than that, he estimated as he measured himself against the door frame. His shoulders were widening, his waist narrowing, as his muscles inflated. It was happening so quickly!

“That’s right, big man, grow--grow… GROW!” Trey cheered himself on as his body inflated to Mr. Olympia proportions. He felt a tickle across his face as his features changed in a million imperceptible ways. He examined his new visage from every angle as it settled into its new shape. He was a spiting image of Chris Bumstead. “Holy shit,” he said. He sounded like Bumstead and looked like him.

He was massive now. He’d seen Bumstead flexing and strutting around the gym for years, but he couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be IN that body. For fuck’s sake, every time he moved another mass of twisted, hyperdeveloped sinew bulged and flexed. His eyes popped as he flexed his new lats for the first time, suddenly looking six inches wider on each side. He turned and gave his new ass a slap, loud as a thunderclap. That thing was rock hard!

Back on the bench, Bumstead wasn’t faring quite as well. He still looked like himself, although he was about the size of a dog now, only about three feet tall. Trey scooped up the little guy with one arm and tossed him over his shoulder. “I wanna was this big body,” he said, pounding his flexed pecs with a fist, “but I also want to see you finish into YOUR new form, too.”

After the short walk to the showers, Bumstead had shrunk so much that he could easily fit in a grocery bag. “You look like a damned marionette,” Trey chuckled as he worked a pinky into Bumstead’s little mouth, making his jaw flap as he spoke in a gruff, mocking voice: “Look at me, I’m just a little shit now! Please don’t flush me down the toilet.”

Trey froze as he realized that Bumstead was still in there, still aware, and he had no idea what was happening. “Don’t worry, big guy,” Trey said. He wondered what the athlete was thinking in there, looking UP at his own massive face, knowing it was Trey who had stolen it, as he continued to get smaller and smaller. “I’m not gonna flush you. I’m gonna keep you around. Come watch me soap up this big sexy body!”

Trey propped little Bumstead--now only about eighteen inches tall--against the tiled wall as he turned on the shower. Trey lost himself in the joy of working up a sudsy lather against his chiseled, rock-hard physique. Every inch of him was mind-blowing. “I can’t believe… this is MY body now!” he said, especially elated when his hands got down to his big swinging cock. Nine inches soft--and it wouuldn’t stay soft for long, especially when he looked over and saw that the “Real” Bumstead was only about eight inches tall.

“Home stretch!” Trey said, jerking his big coke-can thick cock with one powerful hand. “Almost done changing, too!” His upper lip tingled as he felt Bumstead’s facial hair sprout in. “Fuck, yeah,” he shouted as he felt up his own enorjmous pecs and ran his fingers up and down his sudsy ass crack. His toes curled as he finally blew his load, launched like a cannon across teh room, splattering all over little Bumstead.

After he’d rinsed himself clean, Trey stomped his massive new body across the wet floor to the man whose life he’d just stolen. Bumstead looked like his transformation was complete; he was only six inches tall now. Trey scooped him up in one hand, still marveling at the fact that the captive he could slip in his pocket had towered over him hours before. All men had been in awe of him… and now he was just a tiny little thing.

Trey was even more amazed when he realized that Bumstead’s body had turned entirely to plastic. His facial expression was now painted on, his muscles now hard molded features. His body was segmented at each joint. Trey posed the fully-articulated little guy. “Man, you sure changed a lot, didn’t you big man?”

Bumstead was just an action figure now! Trey pressed his thumb into one of the toy’s hard pecs and a buzzing voice came from a speaker within: “HOW ARE YOU SO BIG?” Trey laughed at the little guy’s predicament. His voice sounded like it was a prerecorded saying now. He squeezed the pec again. “WHY CAN’T I MOVE? I DON’T UNDERSTAND…”

Trey couldn’t help himself. He licked up and down the well-detailed toy. If the spell worked as he’d planned--and so far, every detail had--then Bumstead’s plastic skin was now hypersenstive. Every touch would send little Bumstead into orgasmic overload, but with no release. Just by rubbing Trey’s fingers along the action figure’s naked little body, he could send the trapped athlete into the throes of ecstasy far more intensely than he’d experienced as a man (and, since Bumstead had been one of the most incredibly sought-after studs in the world, that was saying quite a bit).

And yet the trapped bodybuilder would only climb to greater and greater heights. The tension would never break.

“Well, let’s get you home,” Trey said, dragging the action figure along his beautiful body, making sure to shove its head between his big glutes. “That’s right, Mr. Olympia--get up in your own ass!” he taunted.

But little Bumstead couldn’t react. He only stared forward with an empty expression and a slight smile.

*

Chris screamed, to no avail, for the giant fingers to quit touching his body. It was a mixed blessing; every gentle caress set off fireworks in his head and he found himself lost in sensations so great he thought he might die… but it was like a wave that never crested. He thought he might go insane as his brain short-circuited from his giant captor’s administrations of his frozen body, but the moment he pulled his hands away, Chris found himself desperate to be touched again.

To be touched was torture, but to be left alone, motionless, only able to stare out at the giant room, was almost too much to bear.

“Now, let’s see how you look in this one,” the giant man who wore his face said, booming down at Chris in his own voice. Chris found himself stood up in front of the handheld mirror again. He wished he could cringe or cry out at his reflection: dressed in a little sailor’s suit, the white pants cropped to the top of his plastic--but still very muscular--legs.

“Now this is a man who’s used to being surrounded by seamen!” Trey joked, his voice so loud Chris worried he might go deaf. “I like it. I love how you’re anatomically correct, too. These doll shorts weren’t meant for someone with such a big hog!” Trey nudged the obvious bulge in his Chris’ shorts. Once again, he found himself screaming for release while hoping it never ended.

A doorbell rang--Chris’ doorbell, he recognized. The room looked strange at this size, but he knew he was in his own house, in his own bedroom. Having his life stolen was one thing, but to be carted around his own belongings, unable to take them back, was almost more than the little hunk could bear.

Chris watched Trey leave the room, heard him chatting with someone at the front door. Who the fuck was this guy inviting over? He was humiliated at the prospect that he’d be seen in this little sailor suit. It was strange how, above all things, that was his biggest concern at the moment. He truly had fallen far that night.

The door to the bedroom opened slowly and Chris struggled to see, damning his inability to even turn his head.

“Holy shit, what’s that little thing?” asked a voice--one that Chris recognized, although he couldn’t place it. The guest was only partially reflected in the mirror Chris faced; someone big, muscular, an elite bodybuilder, but Chris couldn’t look up at his face.

“Oh, it’s just a little thing a fan sent me,” Trey said, knocking Chris over with one finger. “Cute, hunh?”

“A fan made that for you?” It was pro bodybuilder Ryan Terry. What the fuck was Ryan Terry doing in Chris’ house--with his imposter?

“Yeah, someone who’s apparently obsessed with me,” Trey said, lifting Chris’ body and turning it around in his hands. Ryan grabbed him. Chris couldn’t believe how incredible it felt to be clutched in Ryan’s muscular hand. He had never been more turned-on--or more ashamed of himself.

Ryan held him up and Chris was blown away at how huge the bodybuilder’s face looked. More shocking to Chris was the fact that his little plastic dick pulsed and throbbed at the sight of the beautiful man--beautiful? Chris had always been a hundred percent straight, but now, staring up at this GIANT man who held him like a little toy, Chris wanted the big guy to swallow him. He wanted to be… shoved up his ass. He was losing himself, drowning in his newfound feelings.

Ryan set him back down and Chris felt he might go crazy with yearning--he wanted to be held… no, he NEEDED it. He silently begged the giant man to pick him up again, to hold him, to caress him, to rub his little plastic cock. The frustration of his forced silence intensified it all.

*

Ryan turned toward Trey and licked his lips. “I have to admit,” he said, gazing around the room at Bumstead’s trophies on the wall. Ryan ran his hands over the silky sheets on the bed and smiled. “When you first got in touch with me, I thought I was getting catfished.”

Trey smiled and gently ran his hand under his own shirt, lifting it to expose his flawless abs. He delighted in the way Ryan’s eyes darted down suddenly. It was still mindblowing to believe that this beautiful musclegod could be into him. True, he was actually only into Chris Bumstead, but from now on, Trey was the only real Chris Bumstead.

“What, you didn’t think a guy like me could like a guy like you?” Trey said, taking a step toward the beautiful bodybuilder. He pulled Ryan in for a kiss and as their rock-hard bodies pressed together, Trey was careful to angle their bodies so that the little action figure got a front row shot of it.

Trey grabbed Ryan’s hands and dragged them down to his ass. Ryan squeezed so hard Trey moaned. “You ready to fill this big ass up?” Trey said loud enough for the action figure to hear.

Ryan’s eyes went wide. He probably hadn’t expected to top the Olympian competitor--but Trey shed his clothing easily and fell back on the bed, hoisting his powerful legs up to expose his virgin hole. He reached out and snatched the action figure and held it up as Ryan climbed into the bed.

“What, you want me to fuck that little guy too?” Ryan said as he rubbed his big cock against Trey’s crack.

“I want you to suck on him,” Trey said, handing him the little sailor-suited plastic man. “Suck him like you’re sucking my cock while you fuck me.”

Ryan seemed delighted by this suggestion, licking the little plastic body slowly, from head to hard plastic toe. Trey prepared to be fucked by one of the biggest studs in the world--and what made it all the better was knowing that the real Chris Bumstead had a front row seat.