Superiority Complex Part 2

Bart woke early and refreshed the next morning. He vaguely recalled dreams of muscular men kneeling his feet (or was he squashing them underfoot?) but they faded quickly as he hopped from his bed. He was teeming with energy! He jogged to the shower and whistled as he washed. In the kitchen, he grabbed his normal breakfast (a pop tart) and felt his stomach turn. He tossed the metallic pouch back on the counter and opened the cabinet where Derrick kept his protein shake.

Traffic didn’t bother him that morning. He smiled at the other deadlocked drivers, shaking the “borrowed” protein shaker he’d filled with six scoops of Derrick’s Gainer Shake 3000. He took another healthy gulp, letting out a loud burp. Even the thick chocolatey nutrient-dense shake wasn’t taking the edge off his hunger. Maybe he would stop on the way to work and get some protein bars?

Bart wheeled the mail cart around the office with an unfamiliar ease. He noticed Calvin slumped over his keyboard around 10 o’clock, his headset askew. Bart nudged the athletic salesman with his bundle of mail.

“Man, you sick or something?” Bart asked. Calvin woke with a start, rubbing his eyes and looking around bleary-eyed.

“Just… Feeling, a little run-down,” he said. “Tough workout today…” Calvin dragged himself to his feet and grabbed his coffee mug with both hands, slinking toward the breakroom in hopes of a full pot.

As Bart approached Trevor’s desk, he saw a single folder flop lazily through the air and land at his feet. Trevor looked disappointed.

“You were aiming for my face with that, weren’t you?” Bart asked Trevor, whose usually well-tailored suit looked a little baggy on him. Bart couldn’t believe it; he wasn’t even angry! Who cares if the guys wanted to bully him? He couldn’t imagine those massive guys at the gym ever gave a shit what people thought about them. Why should he?

Trevor shrugged weakly. “Guess I worked out a little too hard today,” he said. “Jeez, Bart, are you putting on weight? Your shirt looks a little…”

Trevor was right--except, “tight” wasn’t exactly accurate. Rather, Bart’s usually slightly oversized shirt now fit snugly. Bart ran a hand over the smooth fabric, surprised at the feeling of the hard muscle underneath. Maybe he was just unaccustomed to having good weight on his body, but he could have sworn he was even more muscular than that morning. Must be working out at the new gym, Bart thought. But then again, he suddenly recalled that he’d never actually worked out at the new gym!

“I’ll get this mailed out for you, big man,” Bart said as he passed Trevor, giving the blank-eyed salesman a punch in the shoulder. Trevor winced and grabbed his delt--which, if Bart was being honest, felt a little soft when his fist had connected.

Bart chuckled as he glanced at his coworkers, who both looked like they were feeling ill. Those monstrous behemoths at the gym had seemed to be spouting nonsense, but could it be true? Was he really leeching the muscle and vitality from the other men nearby? Looking at a pile of mail for his boss, he decided to put the theory to the test.

“Hey, Clint?” Bart said with a confidence he’d never had in Clint’s office before. His boss’ chair was turned around, Clint slumped over so much Bart could barely see him. “Got your mail here.”

“Just… put it on my desk…” Clint groaned.

“Hey, I was wondering…” Bart said, looking down to see that his shirt looked even tighter. As he strutted across the office the bottom of the shirt popped from the waistband, the buttons squeezed to their capacity. “So I started at the gym, and I was looking for some workout tips. You’re always doing pullups in here… I was wondering if you could show me the proper form?”

Clint let out an exhausted sigh. “It’s a pullup, Bart. You just… pull up…”

“How many pullups can you do?” Bart said, feeling his pants starting to get too tight. His whole body was tingling, and as he glanced down at his hands he saw they looked leaner, veins starting to stand out on his forearms.

“A bunch, but… I’m a little rundown, today…”

“C’mon, boss,” Bart said, grabbing the arm of the desk chair and spinning it around. “It’s just a pullup. You just… PULL UP.”

Bart’s eyes went wide as he saw Clint looking deflated in an ill-fitting suit that looked several sizes to big. Clint’s normally chiseled facial features looked softer. Narrow wrists poked out of the sleeves, revealing withered hands that weakly batted Bart’s hand away.

“Wow. You sure dropped some pounds…” Bart said with a smile. It looked like Clint was still losing weight; as he stared down at his formerly muscular boss, he seemed to be wasting away right before Bart’s eyes.

“Wh-who…” Clint stammered. His eyes went wide in his gaunt head when he recognized the strapping man standing before him, muscular chest thrust out proudly. “Holy shit--Bart? Bart… you got…”

Clint fell silent, so Bart finished the sentence for him: “Big? Hardly. You should see some of the guys at my new gym. MONSTERS. This ain’t nothing.” He patted his newly fit physique confidently. “I was just thinking… Remember my performance review? The one before you DEMOTED ME?” Bart walked over to the filing cabinet and yanked a drawer so hard it launched to the floor, spilling his contents. “Damn,” Bart said as he shrugged. He heard some small rips and tears in his sleeves, feeling cool air on his elbows all of a sudden. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

He easily fished his file from the mess on the floor and sat against the desk without asking. Meanwhile, Clint continued to shrivel away in his seat, looking now like a little kid who had tried on his dad’s clothing. The oversized suit pooled around him.

“Says here--’Generally impotent in every way. Lacks confidence. Far less qualified than Calvin to be assistant supervisor.” Bart’s tongue darted out the left side of his mouth as he came to the end of the report, reading the final line with glee: “I can’t have an assistant supervisor who couldn’t even arm-wrestle his subordinates.”

“Look, Bart, maybe…” Clint looked panicked as he grabbed his belt and weakly stood from his chair. His trunk had wasted away so much, his little hands were the only thing holding the still-belted pants up. “Maybe we reconsider your review.”

“Or maybe… maybe we should see if Calvin can arm-wrestle his subordinates?” Bart said, strutting confidently to the office door. “Let’s say, if Calvin can’t beat me and Trevor arm-wrestling, you reassign the position. Only fair, right?” Bart kicked open the door. “Yo, Calvin! Trevor! Boss wants to see you!”

The two men slunk weakly to the door, each of them looking like an over-cooked noodle. They hadn’t lost as much muscle as Clint, but their clothes were baggy, their limbs a shadow of their formerly built and bulging self. Bart looked down at his own physique--he was slightly bigger than any of the men had been the day before, he was sure of it--and looked down at the two others, shaking his head.

“Obviously, slacking off at the gym is going to get you nowhere,” Bart said. Bart shrugged, causing his shirt to rip down the neck.

“Clint, is that you?” Calvin asked of the scrawny pipsqueak behind the desk.

“Bart, bro, you look like freakin’ John Cena!” Trevor said, his jaw hanging in awe.

“And you look like Harry friggin Potter,” Bart said with a nod. “You two. Arm-wrestle.”

Trevor and Calvin looked at each other, then at Clint, who just gestured at Bart as if to silently tell them to do as they were told.

Bart slapped a lamp off a small table in the corner of the room, then slammed it down between the two still-shriveling men. “Clint believes an assistant supervisor should be strong. Prove that you’re strong, Calvin.”

Both men gulped before rolling up their incredibly spacious sleeves and wiping their sweat-covered brows. Fists locked together, their arms wobbled back and forth. What little muscle remained on them melted away as Bart watched. He could actually feel it reappearing on his own frame, his abdomen knotting up into an incredibly chiseled 8-pack he could feel through his shirt.

At first Calvin looked like he was going to win, then Trevor seemed to gain the other hand. Whoever Bart focused on seemed to lose muscle more quickly. Finally, Trevor let out a howl and slammed Calvin’s fist down.

Trevor stumbled away, gasping for breath. “I think I tore my rotator cuff,” he whimpered as he held his arm. Meanwhile, Calvin stood there, stunned.

“I can’t believe it. I got you into powerlifting,” Calvin said, shaking his head, looking at his much smaller fist in disgust. “I got you into juicing! I built you, and I’ve always been stronger than you! How the fuck did you beat me?”

As Bart began unbutton his own sleeve, he heard a few pops and tears. Shrugging his massive delts, he reached up and tore the shredding sleeves off in one quick yank, tossing them onto Clint’s desk. “You ready to defend your position, Cal?”

Calvin looked at Bart, who seemed to now weigh as much as the two scrawny men near him combined. “I’m not gonna… I mean, you’re huge! You’re gonna tear my arm right off!” His voice had gotten high and shrill, which made Bart chuckle. Bart’s shirt had finally had enough of his expanding torso, and the buttons burst off, one hitting Calvin square in the forehead.

“Get your shit out of your--now MY--office,” Bart commanded, punctuating it with a forceful poke into Calvin’s chest. “And Clint, I expect you to finalize the paperwork on this personnel change by the end of the day--including my raise. I’m gonna take the rest of the day off. Seeing you scrawny little fucks is making my stomach hurt.”

No one said a word as Bart headed for the door. He whistled as his much-wider shoulders brushed the door frame on each side.

“Good god,” he said. “If I get any bigger, doors are going to be a serious problem.”

Outside, he took a moment to examine his new form in the reflection of his driver’s side window. “Good god!” he said, flexing his big guns and patting them to make sure they were real. He had to be six feet tall now, and easily two-hundred and thirty pounds! His face was still there, still him--but it was solid and rugged with a square jawline. “What an upgrade,” he said. He truly WAS as big as John Cena--and soon he would be even bigger!

His stomach grumbled as he started his car, and he realized how hungry he was all of a sudden. He needed food, but a new need had begun to assert itself. He could still sense the three men in the office but he knew he had drained them dry. As he looked out at the city, he could feel all of the masculine men. Their essences seemed to glow brightly when he closed his eyes. He needed what they had.

Bart took note of a beefy bearded man walking a squat grey pitbull. Bart reached out with his newfound ability and tapped into the man’s virility. Bart felt an electric charge behind his eyes. Suddenly, he felt like he could smell, even taste, the man, despite being nowhere near him. Bart fed… and the powerful, sturdy brute dwindled to a skinny punk. The pitbull lurched forward and, without his strength or half his mass, the man was suddenly yanked off his feet and dragged down the sidewalk before he had even realized he had changed.

Bart could get used to this. But he needed more. And he knew exactly where he was going to get it.

Derrick’s truck was in his parking spot once again, but for the first time in a long time Bart realized he didn’t have to take it. He parked directly behind the truck blocking his son in, and hopped out with a skip in his step. He squatted behind hte truck’s rear bumper and grabbed it with both of his hands. With a loud grunt, his legs flexed, shredding his pants. The back of the truck lifted, but that was it. Bart had imagined hoisting the massive vehicle overhead, but he wasn’t quite that big--yet.

By the time Bart had arrived at his apartment door, he was wearing only his briefs (the rest of his clothes having torn to bits and fallen in a trail behind him) but even they had started to lose the battle with Bart’s huge glutes, flexing with each step. Soon he would be naked, he knew, but with a body like his, why not show it off?

Derrick was once again clad in only a jockstrap, this time doing pushups in the center of the living room, the furniture slid to the side. Bart had complained to Derrick not to turn their house into a gym, but here he was with dumbbells and weights strewn everywhere--weights Bart knew Derrick had no intention of cleaning up.

Derrick grunted out each rep: “78… 79… 80…”

Bart couldn’t help but admire his son’s physique. Where the hell did he get genetics like that, to carry so much mass on his frame? Even though he had swollen with size that day, he was still nowhere near as thickly built as his bodybuilder son.

At least, not at that moment.

“Son, how the hell are you going to build muscle doing bodyweight shit?” Bart said.

“Geez, dad… don’t… interrupt…” Derrick grunted, never noticing that his father had doubled in size since last he’d seen him.

Bart stood over his son, then sad down on the wide, muscular back. “There we go. Add a little resistance.”

“Fuck,” Derrick groaned as his arms nearly gave way under the additional weight. It only took him a few seconds to adjust before Derrick was back to blasting out reps, despite the muscular man on his back. For a moment, Bart almost felt pride.

Then his hunger set in. Derrick’s reps slowed as Bart felt his body starting to swell again. With a glance down, he watched as his son’s cannons began to slowly shed size, his back growing less and dense with each second. Bart clenched his fists and growled as he felt his body bulging out with the muscle he had stolen from his son. He felt incredible!

Derrick’s arms finally gave out, and Derrick gasped for breath as his father’s weight crushed down on him. “Geez, dad… GET… OFF… FUCK…”

“C’mon, son,” Bart said, wiggling his massive glutes, knowing his size was just grinding his son into the floor. “You’re a goddamned bodybuilder. Can’t you push me off yourself?”

Finally, Bart rose to his full height, satisfied to see everything in the room looked a bit smaller. With a snap, his briefs finally popped off, allowing a big cock to swing free between massive legs. Despite his sudden nudity, Bart extended a powerful limb to his son. He yanked Derrick off the floor like the man weighed nothing.

Now on his feet, Derrick cried out as his workout shorts fell down around his feet. His tank top hung down to his knees. He looked like he weighed nothing! And the sight of his now 300 pound father flexing his new superheavyweight bodybuilder body nearby was enough to make him even smaller.

“How do I look?” Bart boomed in a much deeper voice. He flexed his arm, then presented Derrick with an arm bigger than the younger man’s head.

“Dad, what did you do to me?” Derrick squeaked, examining his deflated physique. Gone were the competition-winning muscles, the wide frame, the thick muscle-bellies he’d spent the last decade inflating to ludicrous size. Bart knew Derrick’s identity was defined by being the largest man in the room, of being a spectacle of size. He wondered how his son would cope with being the same size as everyone else--or smaller.

“Let’s just say… you’ve owed me for living here rent-free for a long time,” Bart said, bouncing each of his melon-sized pecs one at a time. “And today I came to collect. Hey, don’t look so sad! I left you a little bit of muscle.” Truthfully, he had; Derrick looked like an underwear model, but it was a far cry from the XXXL-wearing form he’d had just minutes earlier.

“I’m gonna need some clothes,” Bart said, putting a massive hand over his big swinging dick. “I can’t stand here butt-naked in front of my son like this. I’m thinking, maybe, we switch wardrobes?” Bart’s footfalls were thunderous as he stomped toward Derrick’s room, a formerly “off-limits” space. He kicked in the door and strode in without asking.

“Let’s see…” Bart said, yanking a compression top from Derrick’s bureau. He pulled it over his enormous torso and stood there, admiring how his hard nipples poked out of the purple spandex-material. His chest was so big, he wasn’t sure he could clap his hands together without straining. “Not bad, but… damn, why build all this size if I have to cover it up?”

“Try this,” Derrick said sheepishly, holding up a tank top he’d gotten from his closet. Bart smiled at his son. This was the kindest Derrick had been to him in the 25 years he’d been alive.

“Thanks, squirt,” Bart said, cherishing how Derrick winced at the knock at his reduced size. But as he pulled on hot pink stringer tank, admiring how skimpy the little straps looked stretched over his gigantic muscletits, he couldn’t help but notice his son’s eyes glued to his physique. “Oh, you like dad’s muscles, little guy?”

Derrick turned away, blushing, but Bart hit some poses, grunting as he flexed his biceps, then thrust his arm down to make his triceps popped out. A few grunts later, Derrick had turned, seeming to soak up his father’s expanded body.

“You’ll have to teach me how to do all that stuff,” Bart said, pulling out a pair of shiny purple posing trunks from the rack in Derrick’s closet and pulling them up his tree-trunk legs. “Wow. Look at this. I’m wearing less than a handkerchief and still fully-clothed. Being huge is the best!”

“You should, uh…” Derrick said, trying to be casual as he ran a hand over Bart’s massive quad sweep. “...maybe, put on some… oil…”

“Oh, you want to see your old man pose, do you?” Bart said. Somehow, he knew just what his son was reacting to: all his new muscle had come directly from Derrick’s body. Now, the much smaller man could still sense his lost size. Being close to Derrick must have been comforting, as if admiring the pilfered muscle would remedy the pain of having lost it. “First things first, though,” Bart said, stomping a foot so heavily the whole apartment shook. He wobbled his quad back and forth, elated at being able to do something he’d only ever seen giants do on the internet. “Move your goddamned truck before I flip it upside down.”

Derrick hurried from the room but Bart snapped a finger. Obediently, Derrick returned. “Nope. Nevermind. What we’ll do is… you’ll take my car. I’ll take the truck. Only appropriating seeing our new physiques… we should each drive something that matches our bodies, right? But first, go get some clothes on. You can have anything in my old closet. Now that I think about it, you can have my old room. I’ll be taking yours.”

Bart loved how his son--who used to loom massively over him, but now was less than half his size--did what he was told without question. Bart spied an 80-pound dumbbell on the floor and chuckled as he lifted it. It felt so light! He curled it with ease, then tossed it to the floor. He couldn’t wait to go back to the gym to show his sponsors how much size he’d gained!

His heart pounded as he heard the front door open. “Yo, Derrick? You home? I’ve got your new posing routine worked out.”

Bart stomped to the door of Derrick’s--now his--room. He saw Derrick stumble into the hallway in some of Bart’s khakis and a t-shirt, now appropriately sized for his new shape. As Derrick looked to Bart for instruction, the bigger man took note of a look of dismay--something his normally overconfident son had never shown before.

“Go,” Bart commanded. “Say hello to your coach, son.”

Derrick swallowed and started to back way, but Bart snapped his fingers and his son had to acquiesce. Bart stayed back, peering through the door as Derrick approached Jerry, head hung shamefully.

“Hey, Bart is that--HOLY SHIT, DERRICK!”

“Uh, hey… coach…” Derrick shifted uncomfortably as Jerry walked around him, taking in just how small he’d become. Just to drive the point home more, Bart reached out with his power and slurped the last bit of size off Derrick’s frame. What little bit of pec and glute still remained on his son deflated, his shirt and pants now hanging limply over his newly gangly torso.

“What, you got a tapeworm or something?” Jerry said, backing toward the door. “It ain’t contagious or anything, is it?”

Bart decided it was time to make his appearance. He was thrilled to realize he had to turn sideways just to get all of his bulk through the doorway. Standing to his full height, he put his hands on his hips and stared over the jutting shelf of his pecs. He couldn’t believe he used to think Jerry was big! The landlord barely came up to Bart’s thick deltoid.

“F-f-f-FUCK!” Jerry exclaimed, his legs going limp. “Bart, how the fuck… you’re HUGE!”

Jerry turned to run for the door, but Bart grabbed the landlord’s arm and gently pulled backward, causing the smaller man to yelp in pain.

“Don’t hurt him, dad!” Derrick begged.

“Why not, son? He’s been eating my food for years… overcharging me for rent… stealing from us…”

Jerry spun around and threw a punch--but Bart batted it away easily. Grabbing Jerry by both shoulders, he forced him roughly to his knees, then thrust his hip forward, smashing Jerry in the face with his massive, purple-poser-clad bulge. Jerry fell back, stunned like he’d been hit by a boxing glove.

“Don’t shrink him, dad!” Derrick begged, grabbing onto Bart’s massive arm. Bart casually nudged Derrick aside, hoisting Jerry aloft with ease. Jerry’s boots kicked at the air as the landlord struggled. It all seemed too easy for Bart now. Plus, his hunger raged. Jerry had what he wanted. No, Bart thought; Jerry didn’t have anything. All muscle in the world was Bart’s for the taking now.

“I don’t think I’ll be paying rent for at least a year,” Bart ordered.

“O-okay, look… that’s fair! That’s fair man. I overcharged a bunch…”

“AND stole,” Bart said, giving Jerry a shake. The husky former powerlifter already looked about thirty pounds lighter, but he hadn’t noticed. Bart’s bloating muscles were unmistakable, however. As Bart’s body grew bigger in all directions, Jerry rose even further off the floor.

“A-a-and I stole, you’re right!” Jerry said. “I’ve been a real piece of shit, man!”

“So I think you should keep our fridge stocked. And our place clean. As a courtesy. How’s that sound?”

Bart’s body was 6’7” tall now and well over 400 pounds. Meanwhile, CHet’s boots fell to the floor, followed shortly after by his pants, as all the thickness and brawn of his body faded away.

“S-sounds good, boss! Anything you say!”

That was all Bart needed to hear. He tossed the now petite-sized landlord aside and flexed his massive new body. His new tank top split immediately. Then with a pop, his posing trunks finally gave way, another huge cock flopping free. “Damn!” Bart roared as the two much smaller men crawled toward him, staring up with worship in their eyes. “I’m gonna need to find some clothes to fit this frame!” Standing to his full height, he was nearly to the ceiling. He’d have to stoop to get through doorways now, not to mention turning sideways and squeezing a bit. He had to be one of the biggest men alive.

“One of you needs to go find some clothes that fit my new body,” Bart commanded. Derrick immediately rushed to the door. “And the other one better start cooking. I’m hungry as fuck, and you two are starting to look like little appetizers.” In a panic, little Jerry stumbled to the kitchen, whimpering as he had to jump to reach some of the cabinets. He began frying eggs and preparing a massive gainer shake.

Bart licked his lips and sat on the couch, chuckling as it collapsed into splinters beneath his giant form. “Good god, this dinky little furniture is no good for me now. Yo, little man!” Bart shouted to Jerry. “After you’re done feeding me, you’re going out to buy me new furniture! Something I can fit this new big ass in.” He gave his gigantic glutes a smack, and flexed. The way Jerry’s eyes popped at the sight of his titanic physique just made Bart’s dick jump.

*

Steven finished applying oil to Bart’s 500 pound physique. “Damn, bro,” he said. “Almost ran out of oil. Takes a lot to cover a body this big.”

Bart, chuckled, remembering how he’d once thought Steven was the biggest man he’d ever seen; now, Bart’s enormous body eclipsed him. “Damn right it does,” Bart said, hitting a most muscular that made Steven howl and clap his hands. “The spray-tanners said they had to use six gallons just to get a good coverage of all this mass.”

“Pink posing trunks look amazing on you,” Steven said, giving Bart’s massive bulge a nudge. “I saw your son out in the crowd.”

Bart chuckled. “Yeah, little pipsqueak is there ready to cheer me on, with his former coach. Little runts.”

Steven smiled. “I saw them earlier. You should see how skittish they are being around actual bodybuilders now. The smallest guys were bigger than them. I swear to god, they were holding each other’s hands as they walked around all the athletes.”

Bart smiled. He watched a few competitors walking by backstage. Bart had about 200 pounds on the next biggest man there. This “contest” was merely a formality. Bart would be walking out of there with every trophy they had. “Funny thing is, this is the competition my son hoped to win. No weight class small enough for him now though!”

Steven and Bart laughed together before Steven’s eyes beamed with pride. “I have to say, we had no idea how well your body would take to this process. You’re the most impressive specimen the program has ever encountered. You should be very proud of yourself.”

Bart nodded. He knew, with a snap of his fingers, he could drain the muscle from every athlete back there. (If he were feeling generous, he could leave half of them for Steven to feed on as well.) But he wanted to win the show first, before turning them all into skinny wimps. He licked his lips, then looked down at Steven.

“Feeling a real superiority complex right now, aren’t you?” Steven said with a chuckle.

Bart just nodded and made his pecs bounce. Maybe later on, he’d grab one of the superheavyweights and stuff him between his chest muscles, try to squeeze him as he drained the size out of him. But for now, he had a show to win.