Brandon Twice
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Game Show
🕑 Added 2020-08-04 03:08:49 +0000 UTC[Commission: as former frat-boy types compete on a dating show, everyone finds themselves growing bigger muscles and cocks and becoming more successful as they all crave the main contestant's dick]
Welcome to everyone’s favorite dating show, TOP TO BOTTOM, where eligible bachelors at the top of their game compete to win the affections of one lucky man. To win, these men will have to use charm, confidence, and they’ll have to get to know the contestant from TOP to BOTTOM! Now let’s welcome our next candidate, Markus Rutherford, to the show!
Even after the makeup team pummeled him just off-stage, Markus felt silly going on television wearing khaki pants and a white polo shirt. As soon as the cameras pivoted toward him and he heard the music rise, he started to blush. He waved as the audience--all men--erupted with applause, then turned left when he should have turned right.
“Your seat’s over here, buddy!” hissed the host, Chevy Owens, whose blonde hair had a six-man team fluffing it and freezing it in place before the show and during commercial breaks.
Markus followed the directions, awkwardly shook Chevy’s hand (Chevy crushed his limp handshake) and rushed to the large golden throne as cameras swung around to focus on him. He glanced to the green wall to his white, knowing that three men sitting on the other side would be trying to win a date with him.
“So, Markus, let’s get to know you…” Chevy began, flipping through some index cards on his podium. “It says here you’re a grocery bagger from Carbondale.”
Markus glanced at the little microphone pointing at his face from the armrest of his throne. “Yes,” he said, running a hand anxiously over his bald head. In the silence that followed, Markus noticed the director, a chubby, balding man named Skip, making some wild gestures toward him. “Oh, yeah, and I also just started making my own soap.”
Chevy’s eyes went wide and he shrugged. “Okay, then! Well, let’s get to meet your potential dates. Bachelor 1, introduce yourself to Markus and describe yourself for him!”
“My name’s Brock, I’m a former division 1 football player, and I’m now a financial advisor in New York CIty. I have a house on each coast and vacation homes all over the world. Physically, I basically look like if Jason Statham were taller and had brown hair.”
Markus’ palms began to sweat as soon as he heard Brock’s deep, resonant voice. “Nice to meet you Brock!” Markus said, his voice cracking.
“Contestant 2?” Chevy said. “Says here you’re a former marine--thank you for your service!”
“That’s right,” said another voice, slightly deeper than Brock’s with a hint of a southern accent. “My name’s Erik and I’m a retired marine, a former competitive bodybuilder, and I now run a successful fitness supplement company that’s been dominating sales worldwide for the past ten years.”
“What he’s not telling you,” Chevy said, leaning toward Markus’ throne, “is that he has one hell of a beard. Red like the Camaro he drove here in!”
Markus blushed and he heard Erik chuckle from the other side of the wall--a soft, low rumble. Markus glanced down to make sure no one in the audience could see the raging boner he was getting.
“And contestant 3?” Chevy began. “You’ve got quite a mane of hair on you--almost as impressive as mine! Tell us about yourself.”
“My name’s Terrence, and I run a law firm in Los Angeles. Right now I’m on sabbatical to work on my work-life balance. Hoping I can get to do some living with Markus here…”
The audience let out a long, “Ooooooooh!” and Markus shrank down in his chair. What in the world did these three men want with him? How had he even gotten himself to this position? Fifteen minutes into their first date and whichever man who won would be headed right out the door.
“Contestant 1,” Markus said, reading off the cue cards the stage manager had handed him. “What’s your idea of our dream date?”
“Well,” Brock began, “I’d send a limo to your house to pick you up. I’d be waiting inside with a bottle of chilled champagne. We’d drive around for hours talking and getting a nice champagne buzz before we stopped at a seaside restaurant for some appetizers. When the sun set, we’d be on our way to a private Italian restaurant that I’d rented out entirely. We’d end the night driving around the city with the limo’s sunroof open, just basking in the beauty of the city--and each other’s.”
The audience went crazy.
Markus sat there, stunned for a moment, before he moved on.
“Contestant 2, what’s your idea of the perfect family?”
Erik cleared his throat. Somehow Markus could hear the man grinning. “Well, you wouldn’t have to work anymore. If you wanted kids we could adopt or find a surrogate--I’d want to use your sperm to make the baby, so I could have a little ‘you’ to carry around--but if being a househusband didn’t suit you I’d give you any capital you wanted to be start a business, and I’d support you the whole way. To put it simply, the perfect family could be many things as long as it has you and I together.”
“Awwwww!” the audience cooed. Markus’ heart skipped a beat.
“Contestant 3,” Markus said, “which do you prefer: a week in Vegas, a week exploring Europe, or a week at a Bed & Breakfast in Maine?”
“Well, this one’s easy, I’d--” Terrence began, but Markus heard an audible POP. Terrence chuckled. “Whoops. Looks like my button just popped off my shirt.”
“Jeez, get a tailor,” Brock said dryly.
“I have a tailor,” Terrence explained, “but my problem is this narrow waist and these massive pecs. I just can’t get all this muscle stuffed into a shirt when I’ve got a midsection as ripped as mine. Can I just go over there and show Markus what’s going on?”
Markus looked up at Chevy, who shrugged. The director was looking at whatever was happening on the other side of the divider between Markus and the contestants.
Markus’ eyes went wide as he saw a man strut around the divider, headed his way. Based on the cascade of beautiful blonde hair flowing over his broad shoulders, Markus assumed it was Terrence. He really did have huge pecs and a tiny waist; his red silk button-down shirt was straining to contain all that muscle. His black dress pants also seemed to be having a hard time maintaining their integrity around Terrence’s huge legs and ample glutes.
“See? Fuck the wall, let’s just have Markus take a look and decide from here.” Terrence did a turn; before he’d rotated the whole way around, two of his shirt buttons had popped off. “C’mon, I’ve got some nice shoulders too,” Terrence said, pulling his hair back with both hands. More buttons popped and his sleeves split open. “Damn, this shirt fit like a glove before I came out here.”
“Let’s go to commercial!” shouted Skip.
“And we’ll be right back!” Chevy said to the camera.
“What are you doing?” Skip said, rushing the stage. “You’re supposed to stay over there!” Skip’s eyes went wide as Terrence’s pants split down the seams. The separations showed his tan, muscular skin--at first just a sliver of it, but then an inch-wide strip, from hip to knee. Earlier, Skip and Terrence had been the same height, but now the gorgeous blonde-haired lawyer was easily an inch taller.
From around the divider, too other handsome and well-built man came hurtling to the area of the stage before Markus. “If blondey-McGee here gets to let Markus see him, it’s only fair he gets to see all of us before he makes his decision!” The man Markus assumed was Brock had a shaved head and a chiseled jaw with a five o’clock shadow. All 6’3” of him looked poured into an exquisite Italian suit. Behind him was Erik, who looked like a redheaded lumberjack in designer clothes.
Brock held up his hands. On each finger was a thick gold ring, glittering with an expensive gemstone. “Take a look at these, Markus!” he bragged, waggling his fingers. “I’m not much of a jewelry guy but it definitely sends a message about how much you’re worth--which is way more than these chumps!”
As Markus’ eyes lit up at the luxurious display of wealth, Skip rubbed the few wisps of hair swirling around his head. “He wasn’t wearing that stuff when he came out on stage! I’m sure of it!”
“Oh yeah?” Erik said. “Big feet, big--you know…” Erik raised an eyebrow confidently and slammed down an enormous dress shoe, polished so well Markus could see his face reflected in it.
“What shoe size do you wear?” Markus exclaimed aloud, wondering what Erik’s huge feet meant about the size of his other bodyparts.
“15,” Erik bragged, puffing out his chest.
“That’s nothing,” Terrence said with a grunt. He winced as he pried his own Paris loafer off his foot. He let out a sigh when his big foot was finally released. He slid his bare foot next to Erik’s shoe and wiggled his toes; Terrence’s foot was clearly bigger!
“No fucking way,” Erik said as he looked down. “Your feet weren’t that big a second ago!” Erik groaned, his white shirt looking skin-tight on his sculpted torso. As he shifted uncomfortably, Markus could hear tiny fibers across it shredding. His pants were now filled to overflowing as well, his rear sticking out straight behind him and slowly getting larger while his basket up front had swollen to absurd size.
“Foot size isn’t going to win this,” Brock said, shoving the other two out of the way. “He wants to be taken care of. This all comes down to who’s the wealthiest of us!”
Terrence slid between the other two studs and dropped down to one knee, reaching out to kiss Markus’ hand slowly and sensuously, following up by rubbing Markus’ fingers along his smooth face. “Romance is going to win this, my friends, and you two boys have no idea how to handle someone like this guy. You don’t know how a man should be treated!”
Terrence grunted as his body suddenly hulked out of his shirt and pants, leaving behind just tatters. He brushed the shredded clothing off his body. Behind him, Erik and Brock were swelling out of their clothes as well. Erik had kicked off his shoes just before his feet blasted up to size 17s and beyond. Brock pried off the rings, leaving them in a glittery pile on the armrest of Markus’ throne, as his fingers grew to bratwurst size.
The three men were now just wearing tight boxer briefs (Terrence wore a shiny red thong, and was quickly outgrowing it). “I know what’s going to make the difference here,” Brock said, digging a thick muscular thumb into the waistband of his underwear. He pried it down and his dick flopped out, nine inches and half hard. Markus’ eyes went wide at the side of it. The audience cheered.
Skip started to protest but paused, looking around like he was following a fly buzzing around his head. With no one to stop them, the other two contestants pressed their groins forward to present their huge bulges. Erik grabbed his underwear with two paws and tore it in half easily. His dick bounced out, almost erect and a full inch longer than Brock’s--no, two inches!
Terrence rolled his eyes at the junk of the other man. He put two bulging arms behind his head, flexed his ripped abdomen, and POP--his speedo straps snapped, letting a huge piece of meat flop free. When it finished bounding up and down, Markus took a look to find that Terrence was easily the biggest of the three!
Actually, he thought after comparing them again, Brock’s was the biggest. No, he reconsidered, Erik was the biggest.
“If you think what’s up there is impressive,” Chevy said, starting to sweat in his silver suit as he adjusted his tie to make room for a thickening neck, “you should see what they have back here!”
All three contestants turned around and suddenly Markus was looking at a wall of glute meat. He stared at the huge bubble butts before him--huge and muscular, but (as he learned when he reached out a hand to prod each like he was testing fruit) soft enough to sink his hands into. The three men starting bouncing their glutes like most men bounce their pecs.
“What do you say?” Chevy asked the audience. “Should we get on with the game show?” His body had swollen just like the contestants’ (although not quite as far along as the hulking hunks, who now were on all fours to make their 7’ tall bodies manageable for the object of their desires). He had already torn off his shirt and his legs were busting out of his pants. He had tied his tie around his head, looking like an overly coiffed Rambo with perfect teeth and bone structure. From they way he kept adjusting his groin, it was clear he didn’t have much space for his manhood in those pants either.
Skip tossed his clipboard over his shoulder. “I guess for the next event he should take one of those fine asses for a ride, right Chevy?”
Chevy’s eyes had gone wide as he stared into the distance. “Holy shit--I just got signed for a multimillion dollar contract for a spinoff game show I’ll be producing!” He flexed his newfound bodybuilder physique and stood up, his pants shredding as his plumped up leg muscles spread out to their new width. His leopard-print bikini briefs didn’t look like they were going to last long either. “Fuck yeah, Markus! Who do you want to fuck?!”
Markus stared at the wiggling cabooses. Despite his rising anxiety (was he really going to fuck one of these beautiful beasts? Would he really do it onstage with so many witnesses?) his hands absentmindedly slid down to his belt and undid the buckle.
Rising to his feet, Markus finally caught a glimpse of Skip beyond the prone clydesdales preparing to be mounted. He looked like a circus strongman now, with a full, lustrous moustache on his face but stuffed with large muscles on his now herculean frame, big fists jabbed into his sides as his clothes tore under the stress of his enlarging body. He turned around and waved his burly, hairy arms at the audience. “We’ll do it by applause! Who wants Markus to fuck contestant 1?”
Brock hopped to his feet and strutted around the stage, his big dong flopping back and forth with every stride. He threw his hands on his hips and threw out his huge, juicy pecs, much to the delight of the crowd.
Skip’s clothes had shredded to the point of him looking like he was just wearing a loincloth and a headset. He stretched his longer, thicker arms and thumbed at Erik. “Who wants to see Markus fuck contestant 2?”
Erik fell forward, catching himself on his big palms and doing one-handed pushups, clapping in midair and switching hands each time. His body thickened with each pushup, but by the twentieth his huge cock was so big and swollen he couldn’t get close to the floor anymore. The audience lost their minds. Some of them had started making out, others tearing their own clothes off.
Skip’s eyes glazed over for a moment. The director suddenly remembered how stock options he’d been sitting on for years had suddenly skyrocketed. He’d be a millionaire by the end of the day! He would definitely quit this job and retire, maybe head to Fort Lauderdale to get fucked by hung little twinks--but first, he wanted to see Markus skewer one of these sides of beef!
“How about contestant 3?” Skip said, now completely naked, his big dick slowly arching upward, his body a pile of huge sweaty muscles.
Terrence strutted across the stage, shoving the other two monstrous hunks out of the way, then turned his huge ass around and dropped into a squat. As the audience went wild, Terrence did bodyweight squats to their delight before sliding his feet apart into a full split. As he bounced his huge booty on the stage, the massive cock in front of him slapped between his pecs repeatedly.
There was no doubt who the audience had chosen, but Chevy, who was twisting his nipple with one hand and grabbing his ass with the other, moaned out, “YEah, FUCK TERRENCE! Fucking do it!”
Markus was out of the throne in a moment. He kicked off his shoes in the first two steps, shimmied out of his unbuttoned pants in the next to and yanked off his briefs as he approached the now 7’5” god. Markus stared up at the massive man wide-eyed, then just laid a head on one of Terrence’s pecs, listening to the huge heart jackhammering inside. Terrence swept his long blonde hair out of his face first, then tore off Markus’ shirt with a single swipe of his pinky.
Terrence spun around and dropped to all fours, but Markus still had to struggle to mount this massive man. He glanced up at the audience, who were all devolving in the same ways all them men on stage had--muscles swelling, asses and bulges blowing up, minds getting hornier with every second--and that, combined with Terrence’s deep-voiced begging and pleading, gave him the push he needed. He reared back and plowed into Terrence’s gigantic muscle butt.
The beautiful blonde beast’s arms gave way; if not for his huge, pecs, his face would have probably smashed against the floor as his upper body went lip. He moaned and kicked his feet as soon as Markus was inside him, pounding his fists in ecstasy. Markus glanced down to see Terrence’s massive feet kicking, toes curling.
As soon as Markus built up a rhythm, propped up by the massive muscle pillows beneath him, he felt a prodding behind him. Markus turned around to see Brock licking a finger and teasing Markus’ hole with it. “What do you think?” Brock cooed. “Think I can be runner up?” Brock leaned forward and lapped at Markus’ perky ass. The giant’s tongue was huge, and as it traveled the length of Markus’ hole, the little man ROARED!
A puddle of drool was forming beneath Terrence’s face as Markus began to fuck the beast brainless. Just went Markus thought he would be lost in the torrent of ecstasy, he turned his face--and found Erik backing his huge muscle cheeks up to him. With barely enough energy to coordinate the effort, Markus starting lapping at Erik’s hole while Markus feasted upon Erik’s.
Meanwhile Chevy had left his podium to claim Skip, who had dropped on all fours as well, beckoning the star to claim him. And beyond, in the stands, a frenzy of horny muscle bottoms erupted forth.
Even as Markus pounded away on a man built from his fantasies (surrounded by his fantasies’ two closest runners up!) he knew that one he was done with this big man, he’d be making the rounds of everyone in the studio.
When Markus came, all three contestants roared and spurted in sync, collapsing into a sticky and sweat-soaked pile of muscles, with Markus on top. The exhausted man looked up at the horny bottom beasts making their way to him--and somehow felt invigorated again.
