Robert was a rare case concerning the Foundation and its clientele.
Most customers make only one visit, becoming either permanent fixtures of the facility from the aftermath of their transformation. Sometimes its due to some element of addiction the the pleasure that we can only we can provide them, and sometimes they stay simply because they’ve been set so firmly under our thumb that they can’t conceive of a life outside of Foundation walls. Some stay as employees. Others take up residence. Some just return frequently enough that they might as well be staying with us, often leading to one of the former living arrangements, but very few leave without returning for more. Like ambrosia of the gods, many fall victim to the intoxicating components of our heavenly transformation, but some lucky few ascend to godhood by our hand without paying the price, just as Robert had.
Robert had first come in wanting to be more muscular, and I, seeing the opportunity for a servile muscle-himbo, pointed him towards a transformation within the Foundation. Unfortunately, I hadn’t accounted for Rob’s sense in moderation, and not seeking to become the biggest hunk he could be like most men that come here for a change in physique, he’d merely stopped when he felt his muscles had grown enough. Much to my chagrin, he accredited me personally for this success, coming in nearly everyday and thanking me for my help. My true motives were entirely lost on the man, my attempt earning me the title of “best bro for life” instead of the beefy plaything I’d hoped for, and what was worse, Foundation management had actually begun to suspect me of expressing favoritism by letting him walk.
I quickly recognized that something had to be done to correct my mistake, so I invited Rob to come with me to one of the Foundation’s old storage rooms, a cluttered mess of transformative artifacts collected from around the world. In the center of it all was an antique pool table, the mess from around it pushed back so as to allow for play. Robert marveled at the piece, and it took very little to coax my “best bro” into a game.
He scrambled past the golden plaque adhered to the far side of table, instead seizing the implements to rack up the balls. I allowed him to break, and the fun promptly began when Rob managed to stick a striped ball in the pocket. Seeing the green orb within the net, I allowed myself a small smile. Robert gloatingly grinned in return as he leaned over the table, ready to take his next shot, but he froze as a sudden light sprinkling of hair rained down on the cue ball he was focusing on. Puzzled, he felt the top of his head and gasped. In the time it had taken for Robert to line up his next shot, he’d rapidly aged by what appeared to be at least twenty years. His long, stylish hair had disappeared, a diminished and diminishing crop taking its place. On the rest of his body, however, hair sprouted to an unruly degree.The forty-something man left leaning over the table in a state of shock then felt the first twinges of a newly constant back-pain as he slowly straightened himself up.
Of course, Rob was fairly upset by the development, demanding to know what I’d done, but he abated when I instituted that I had no idea what had happened. Gazing frantically about, it was then that Robert spotted the golden plaque. Examining it, he gasped. It detailed a series of rules that went with the table, explaining that each ball represented a “loss of character” and that the only way to revert the changes was to win the game. The loser would be left with all his losses, however, a notion that upset Robert greatly. He seized me by my collar, demanding I fix his situation, but I again calmed him, reminding him that he had to win the game. If I didn’t play, he couldn’t win. He let me go, looking quite defeated, but I laughed. I explained that I’d simply have to lose without knocking any of the balls in, and then both of us could walk free.
Robert was hesitant to accept my plan at first, but seeing as it was his only option, he realigned his shot and knocked the blue stripe in. The moment it disappeared from the table’s surface, Rob’s muscle tone vanished with it. In place of the former, tightly sculpted body that he’d thanked me so profusely for was a huge mess. His thighs expanded to be as big as his head. Each cheek on his gargantuan ass rivaled the size of a watermelon. His biceps stretched the limits of his shirt sleeves, and though enviably scaled, none of it was pure muscle. Every part of his body was now layered with a substantial layer of fat as well, make him more sizable at the cost of the refined physique he held so dear.
Robert groaned, clearly frustrated with his new loss, as he aimed for the next ball. Unused to the sheer size of his newly swollen arms, the cue ball flew past its target, crashing deep among the clutter on the far side. He wasted no time in retrieving it, but due to his pants growing so tight, barely holding together at the seams, he had to waddle for some time before returning it to the table, huffing and panting from the exertion. He wheezed for me to take my turn. I did so with an understanding smile, blatantly missing the solids but lining him up perfectly for a shot at the orange-striped ball. Once he’d recovered, Robert aimed successfully this time and sent it careening home.
Suddenly a deep guffaw of laughter shook the room. Rob’s head was tilted back in a cocky smile, looking like a wistful alumnus reliving the good old days at his former fraternity house. He seemed almost inebriated, disproportionately intoxicated from his small victory despite being entirely in control of his faculties. He began boasting about how easy this was and how he was going to handily win.
He was waddling back around the table for his next shot when he froze, regarding his pants with an expression of deep thought. He stayed that way for only a brief moment before quickly unbuttoning them and awkwardly peeling them from his massive legs. In his zeal for removing his trousers, he had also accidentally seized his underwear, yanking them to the floor as well, yet he didn’t acknowledge the loss as his genitals hung free between his large thighs, impotent chode and low-hanging balls now on full display. He only laughed that same, stupid guffaw, remarking how much better the air felt on his undercarriage, his loss of shame totally disregarded.
His next shot saw the yellow-striped ball went in, and Rob began to shift uncomfortably. Easing from one leg to another, a strange look came into the older man’s eyes. He idly reached backwards, scratching his ass as he eyed the table’s layout. I watched with a bemused grin while Robert’s itching grasp traveled ever closer to the crack of his sizable bottom before slowly inching inside. With a mind of his own, his hand steadily began toying with his hole, and even as Robert’s eyes continued to flick between the balls, his breath became unconsciously heavy.
Then the exploring fingers suddenly pressed inside, the entirety of his hand disappearing into the crack of Rob’s massive rear. Robert gasped at the sudden intrusion, looking backwards upon becoming aware of his actions. His hand slowly pistoned in and out of his hole, eliciting pleasured moans from his gaping mouth. His bulky legs quaked, buckling under the pressure of this intense, newfound euphoria. Before he even realized what was happening, he’d thrusted himself over the table, madly playing with his hole without even realizing his massive pecs had sent the eight ball soaring into the far pocket, losing him the game.
Instead of acknowledging his new, permanent mode of life however, he cried out to me, his attractive baritone voice taking on a whiny, needy tone that comically undercut it. He begged for me to fuck him, pleading for help in sating the new, intense urge to fill his hole. I took my time thinking about it, taking pleasure in watching him squirm. He appealed to me as his “best bro”, saying bros help each other out, a notion that struck me as particularly hilarious coming out of the mouth of a forty-something daddy sort.
However, I relented. I said I’d offer my assistance if I was “winner bro” from now on. He quickly agreed. Then I added the stipulation that he’d be the “loser bro”. He conceded again, begging for me to hurry. Finally, I asked that, since he was such a loser, he obey the every word of winners like me. With tears of desperation in his eyes, he pleadingly assured me that anything I wanted from him was mine to take.
Once that was settled, I approached Loser Bro from behind. Grabbing his scrambling hands, I shoved them to the small of his back, and though he could’ve easily resisted, he simply continued his whimpered begging. I pressed my groin against his luscious ass, his hole vigorously winking between the massive cheeks, and leaned forward until my torso was against his back. He moaned pathetically, grinding his needy ass against the front of my pants in sexual frustration. He huffed and groaned impotently as I eased forward even further. My breath tickled the back of his neck as I reached past him. I brought my lips within inches of his ear.
“Go fuck yourself,” I breathily whispered before letting his pool cue clatter on the table in front of him.
As I left, I heard Loser obeying just as we had agreed, frantically screwing himself with the stick’s handle like the joke he now was. Panting and moaning, he looked like a perfect fool, and with a final groan, he slightly soiled the table’s green felt surface with the minute dribble of cum that was his orgasm. I smiled, basking in the glory of my victory and leaving Loser to pick up the pieces of his new, shattered existence.