This story was inspired by a piece of artwork I stumbled across on Furaffinity.net. It’s a tad too mature for my standards, since I’m not exactly a fan of hyper, but the main intent of the brief two-panel sequence inspired me to do this story. I hope you all enjoy.
Eugene looked suspiciously at the strange metal cylinder
that had been shoved into his hand. One moment, he was looking at some old
mirror in Corona’s castle, definitely not
in a forbidden wing that he’d be in terrible trouble for stumbling into, if
the guards caught him. Then he was here, in this place. He remembered the dark
room and the dank smell of a forgotten dungeon well enough. It really was his
own fault for being too proud to ask some proper directions, but him being a
newly reformed thief and all, he wasn’t exactly willing to take any chances of
certain … misunderstandings that could potentially end his life, before he had
the chance to propose to Rapunzel. You only got so many passes for being the love
interest of the princess, after all.
He furrowed his brow in concentration as he continued to
think back on the events that had led him here. He’d dodged into the room to
avoid being caught by a guard patrol. He remembered that much. Enough light
shone through the bars of the from the torches in the hall to grant him at
least a dim view of the room. When the guards passed by, he quickly darted
behind the closest thing at hand, a broad wooden mannequin bedecked in the
strangest armor the former thief had ever seen. A thick cap made of hard leather
with two straps that dangled on either side of the ears sat snugly on the top; a
spacious garment not unlike chainmail hung from the shoulders, though it appeared
to have been made from cloth, rather than steel, and a strange set of worn characters
faded by the ravages of time and the nibbling of certain other creatures had
left the man wondering if the garb might not have been enchanted at one point. It
certain would explain the sheer size of the thing. The garment could have fit
Attilla or Vladimir no problem. It might have even been loose on them, and that was saying something. When the guards’
speech had faded enough, Eugene emerged from his hiding place to take a closer
look at the alien garb.
“Just who did you used to belong to?” Eugene had muttered to
himself. The tattered remains of what had once been a pair of pants hung from
the waist portion of the carved wooden frame, and the strangest pair of boots
he had ever laid eyes on sat on the broad wooden base. They looked almost like
shoes, with no sign of the usual high walls associated with the article, but
they had thick powerful soles attached to their bottoms with dark spikes that
would be great for traction and cause no end of pain to an enemy, if kicked or
stomped on. Next, he picked up a large metal tankard with a massive upside-down
horseshoe etched into its surface. As he ran his fingers along the etching, he
felt the contours of a large B, followed
by a capital N and finally a capital A. A set of dusty wooden placards sat
atop the shelf. Eugene removed each one in order, before returning it.
“LilBro, Fall, BigBro, Spring? What are these even supposed
to mean?” As he replaced the last of the items, unfortunately, his unique brand
of luck kicked in, and in true fashion, one of the supports of the shelf came
undone, sending everything falling to the floor. Eugene did his best to catch
what he could, but he couldn’t stop all of it. The clatter was defeaning. The shouts
of the suddenly alert guards and the steady clomp of their booted feet left
Eugene’s heart racing as he shook his head, muttering worriedly to himself, and
slowly backed up. That was his second
mistake. The old stand wobbled, then crashed to the floor thunderously as he
bumped into it. Now Eugene knew he was rightfully done for.
“Oh, come on!” Eugene wailed. “Give a guy a break.” As a
last resort, he rushed to the back of the room, where a great white sheet sat.
He whipped it up, ducked under it, and prayed the guards wouldn’t think to look
as he leaned back against a cool surface and promptly fell through.
The next thing he knew, he found himself here, in this … place.
It was a disorienting trip, but rather alarmed screaming, laughter and a
pleasure-filled shrieking had greeted him, instead. He stood in the middle of
one of the strangest manors he had ever encountered, and in his career as a thief,
he had seen his fair share. The furniture in this one was finely crafted, albeit
well used. The carpet was firm, almost rigid under the supple soles of his worn
leather boots, and young men and women rushed around in costumes, laughing and
partying to loud music that emanated magically from tiny boxes, yet somehow
filled the entire vaulted room with noise that blended with the general hubbub of
the crowd. More than one of the men came up to him, after he’d gotten his bearings
with the lowing compliment, “Sweet costume, bro.”
After about the tenth compliment, Eugene rubbed the back of
his head, his white shirt billowing slightly in the heated air. “Uh, thanks, …
bro?”
The man with the devil horns just smirked as he walked past.
A thick arm suddenly wrapped itself around Eugene’s shoulders,
and he looked up in utter shock at the massive minotaur that now held him
bound. His eyes shrunk to pinpricks as his mouth dropped open, before the monster
pulled its own head off to reveal a heavily muscled boy with golden hair cut
into a tight buzz in a flat along the top of his head. His jaw was thick and
square, and a carefully groomed layer of golden shadow rimmed his jaw like sand.
“You look lost, LilBro,” the big man chuckled. “First time
at the frat?”
“Frat?” Eugene returned, completely confused.
“Omega Beta Nu Alpha. Biggest fraternity in the world.” He
chuckled. “Only one with its own brewery, too,” he added with a wink. “You try
our Alpha Brew yet?”
“Alpha … Brew?” Alpha Brew. Why did that sound so familiar?
“It’s good shit. Makes a real
man of you in no time at all.” The hulk shoved a metal can into his hands. “Here.
Have a cold one on me.” He grinned as he lumbered away. “And enjoy the party,
bro! I’ll see you later!”
And so Eugene found himself back up to the present, examining
the cylinder again. “Alpha Brew. Alpha Brew. Alpha Berew….” Eugene’s eyes
widened. “Alpha Beru!” he snapped his free fingers. The place was supposed to
be a myth, a land where just a short time in its borders would leave you a
warrior among warriors. That explained why the armor on that mannequin had been
so flimsy. A warrior must have come through from Alpha Beru at some point in
the kingdom’s history. He wouldn’t have needed metal to stop an opponent. His strength
would have been enough. Eugene tried to worm his way back towards the mirror
again, but by this point, the room had been packed. There was hardly any space
to maneuver, with all the thick muscled bodies surrounding him. And … actually,
was it just him, or was he shrinking? Or … was it just everyone else was
growing? More and more, he had to crane his neck to look up at a titan in a
costume. The legends definitely seemed justified, but … why wasn’t he effected,
then? Why was he still so small?
Suddenly, Eugene felt a thick set of knuckles bunched up
around the collar of his shirt and he gulped as he was hoisted into the air.
“Hey, we’ve got a pansy here!” a deep voice bellowed over
the crowd. Eugene’s eyes darted left and right. There was a veritable sea of
testosterone turning as one to stare at him. “What should we do with him?”
The crowd roared. “Chugfest!”
Eugene gulped as the brute of a man hauled him over to a
raised platform and plopped him down unceremoniously.
“You heard ‘em, pledge,” he sneered. “You ready to play?”
“I, uh … don’t know if that’s a good idea. You see, I’ve got
this appointment with my girlfriend, and–.” The brute cracked his knuckles menacingly.
“–Okay, I can play,” Eugene said quickly. Anything to avoid getting beaten up. “But,
uh … what’s a pledge?”
The big man grinned predatorily. “You’ll see, LilBro.” He
turned to the crowd and spread his vascular arms wide in the air. “Now let’s
get this hazing started!” he bellowed. The crowd erupted into cheers.
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” they cried.
Eugene didn’t see any sign of the women from earlier, just a
pack of burly men sloshing their cups and hooting for him to drink. He turned
to look nervously at the man who had lifted him out of the crowd. His familiar
black horns curled over his head as his significantly enhanced body tensed and
flexed. He easily reached down, guiding Eugene’s hand to the tab resting atop
the metal. “Like this. LilBro,” he said. The container fizzed and bubbled,
after the tab popped the lid open.
The smell of fresh hops, honey, and a hint of fruit danced
under Eugene’s nose. “This smells almost like mead,” he said, surprised.
“Take a sip,” the man urged. The crowd continued to chant,
exerting their collective wills in that single repetitive word.
Eugene gulped, then, seeing no other way out of his
situation, took the plunge. The taste as he tipped the strange container up to dump
the brew into his mouth was surprisingly mellow. The earthiness from the hops
mixed with the sweetness from the honey to mellow the bitter flavor and leave
just a hint of a pleasant aftertaste that clung to the palette. A dull tingle
spread through his system as a slight flush rose in his cheeks. “You know what?
This stuff isn’t half bad.”
“That’s right. Now drink up, pledge. Take a nice long pull.”
The behemoth of a man yanked Eugene’s head back, then upended the can, with
Eugene’s hand still wrapped around it. Eugene sputtered and gasped as the liquid
flowed down his gullet. He had no choice but to swallow or choke, so he did the
one that would keep him alive and well. The tingling increased as his heart
rate picked up and his shirt and vest began to feel taut. He gasped for air as
the hulking muscle man finally let him go to breathe. “So, what’s your name,
Pledge? We haven’t had someone come from Corona in decades.”
“You … know where I’m from?” Eugene asked. His head was
starting to feel a little fuzzy and a strange sort of euphoria began to well up
in his chest and stomach. He barely managed to keep the muscles in check as a
twitch pulled incessantly at the corners of his lips.
The … frat(?) boy sneered down at him. “Yeah. Coach
Henderson’s an old resident, one of the last to pass through, before people
stopped coming. We still keep an eye for new pledges to pass through, just in
case. Now come on. Tell us your name. Everyone’s dying to know.”
“It’s … Eugene,” the reformed thief said. “Eugene
Fitzherbert.”
“Lame,” the man
jeered as the rest of the crowd joined in. “Come on, man. Give us something to work with here.”
That stung his pride a bit. It was the old village all over
again. “I … I used to go by Flynn,” he mumbled.
“What was that, pledge?”
Eugene took a deep breath, then set his shoulders. The heat was
somewhat stifling, so he took another swig of the brew. The shimmering gold
substance trickled down the side of his chin and the edge of the can from the
last forced “pull,” as the behemoth had called it. “I said you could call me Flynn. Flynn Rider.”
“Now that’s a
name!” The muscle man grinned as he smacked Eugene heavily on the back. A popping
sound echoed in Eugene’s ears as he watched a series of familiar dark button go
flying off his torso piece by piece.
“What the…?” He looked down at himself and gasped at the
sight of two thick round globes straining against the confines of his vest and
shirt. His grip tightened on the can, causing the metal to crinkle somewhat as his
bicep tensed and began to tear ever so slowly through the material around it. Eugene’s
blush deepened at the sight.
“There it is,” the
frat boy said with a grin. “All right, Flynn,
it’s time to chug.” He reached over to the edge of the stage, where a thick
metal keg was easily passed into his hands and he dropped it onto the platform,
like it were little more than a pebble. He handed a thick hose to Eugene,
shoving it in the man’s chest, and causing a shudder of pleasure to pass
through the former thief as he grabbed the extension out of reflex and stumbled
back a step or two.
“But I … I just want to–.”
“Chug,” came the first call from somewhere on the floor in
front. A thick meaty fist stood out in the air as the costume goer, a kid in a
greaser outfit with a hat textured to blend into his hair at the back, began
the chant.
“No, no, seriously. This has been fun and all. And … I do
admit I like the muscles,” Flynn said as he raised his hands placatingly and
absently flexed on of his arms. “It, uh … it really feels nice and all, really. I just–.”
“Chug,” came the call as the voices doubled, then redoubled,
slowly spreading back as more of these frat boys picked up the call.
“No, guys. Really. I just need to–.”
Half the room was roaring at him now, and the rest would
soon follow. “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”
Eugene breathed heavily as a faint dusting of hairs began to
grow along the backs of his hands and his pupils began to fluctuate. The call
banged like a hammer on an anvil as he struggled to keep his thoughts in focus.
All the while, the titans continued to crow in bovid ecstasy as their eyes
began to glow.
“I … I need to–.”
“CHUG!”
Eugene shook his head. “Have to–.”
“CHUG!”
“I … I….”
“CHUG!”
Eugene looked up almost pleadingly at the leader of the mob.
The devil simply grinned as his own eyes began to glow. “Chug, Flynn. You know
you want to.” Then he sneered as he cupped one massive hand around Eugene’s two
and raised the hose to the man’s lips. “Let me help you get started.” He towered
over Eugene’s back as he leaned over the man and brought the hose to the man’s
lips. “Now listen to the crowd, Flynn. Listen, and start chugging.”
It all came in a whirl. One moment, nothing. Then he tasted
the flow of the brew as his cheeks sucked in. He swallowed once, and then he
was like a machine, sucking as fast as his body would let him, accompanied by
the supportive cheers of the fraternity. His cheeks flushed even more as his
body began to pack on the pounds and his irises began to change from a rich
brown to a golden amber. The buckles along his vest burst apart, while the
sleeves and remaining material continued to shred under his rapidly
swelling muscles. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as the memories of
Rapunzel’s flaxen golden hair shifted to cascades of the rich golden lager
flowing down his gullet. Thoughts of old heists were replaced with memories of
manning the pullies. Instead of getting thrown out of pubs, he was the one
doing the tossing.
Soon the tube wasn’t enough. He needed that lager pouring down his throat. No pauses in between to
pull more. He wanted to shower with it. He lumbered past the devilish frat boy,
hardly even noticing how he didn’t have to look up so much anymore to match his
gaze. He didn’t care when he heard the seams shredding apart on his pants or felt
the breeze along his bare chest and back. All he saw, all he knew, all he
needed was right there in front of him, sitting, waiting, and he had to have it. “Ch–chuuuuuug,” he said
slowly as his voice warbled unsteadily.
“What was that, Flynn?” the muscle man asked with a knowing
sneer.
“Chug,” Eugene said again, and his feet burst out of his
boots.
“That’s right, Flynn. Chug.”
Eugene clenched his hands a few times and watched as they
cracked and swelled into powerful mitts that easily tore the hose out of the
opening to the keg. “Chug,” he repeated a second time, this time with more enthusiasm. His
voice cracked, then dropped as what little remained of his pants strained to
contain the bulge swelling at his crotch.
“Chug, Flynn. Chug,” the devil whispered as the crowd of
spectators hooted, hollered, and whistled, still sounding their cry.
The former thief couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but
listen to that constant march of orders. A dopey grin rose on his face as he
hefted the massive can and then opened his mouth wide. “CHUG!” he said more assertively as his deep voice rolled over the
spectators, causing them to roar in excitement. He upended the keg, surprised
at how light it was, but happy with the heavy slosh he could hear inside of it.
He squeezed, and the metal began to give way, sending a high-pressure jet of
the rich, mind-numbing substance into his mouth and down his throat. His body
swelled to titanic proportions as he nursed the last drop, hardly even noticing
the new thick red cap that had been plopped onto his head, then twisted backwards.
Two massive wrist bands had been snapped into place on either wrist, and there
was the devil, grinning wickedly as he raised the drunken man’s arm triumphantly.
“Congratulations to Flynn Rider, the newest member of Omega
Beta Nu Alpha!”
Flynn grinned, then let out the loudest belch he’d ever done
in his life, before grinning dopily, letting out a low dimwitted chuckle, and
finally saying, “Let’s party, Bros!”
The devil sneered as he watched a tattoo with the frat’s
symbols engrave itself along Flynn’s massive neck. “Score another one for us,”
he muttered, then chuckled.
Flynn grunted as he heaved the last of the massive kegs into
place on the delivery truck. He wiped away at the sweat that had formed along
his brow, even as he flashed a cocky smirk at the women he knew were watching
from across the street. They wanted him, he knew, but he wasn’t that easy to
bed. He still couldn’t remember how he got to OBNA, but he was glad he had.
Things were simple here. All he had to do was work his muscles, drink his lager,
help with the beer shipments, and play the occasional football game. His
powerful body strained against the tight compression shorts and sleeveless muscle
tee that made his fraternity work uniform. It clung in all the right places,
leaving nothing to the imagination as he followed his fellow newly inducted laborers in the shipping
department to a long countertop filled with beer taps. He couldn’t help but
smile as he styled his perfectly coiffed pair of bangs sprawling flawlessly out the gap in the back of his twisted cap. “Man, if only I could bring Rapunzel here,” he said. Then he frowned and
furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who’s … Rapunzel?” A brief flash of flaxen gold
passed though his mind, followed by a … castle? What the…?
“Next!” the barman cried, snapping Flynn out of his thoughts
as he approached the tap. A frosty glass soon sat in front of him, filled to
the brim with his favorite drink. He guzzled the Alpha Brew and waited as that
familiar tingle immersed him and washed away his worries. “Fuck yeah,” he
groaned in pleasure as he flashed his free hand up with his middle and ring
fingers bent over against his palm. “OBNA for life, Bro.”
A burly arm rested across Flynn’s broad shoulders and he
grinned wider at the sight of the frat’s president, the man who had inducted
him just a little over a week ago. His short cropped red hair shone like red
gold in the afternoon sun and his eyes glowed that same fiery gold as he peered
intently into Flynn’s eyes. Flynn’s irises reciprocated the flicker, and the
president sneered triumphantly as he watched that little spark of intelligence
and memory get smothered. The ones who were in love were always the hardest to
keep, but it seemed this love was still relatively new. A couple more weeks,
and Flynn wouldn’t think of Corona ever again, and Alpha Beru would have a new permanent
resident.
“That’s right, Flynn,” the president said. “OBNA for life.”
Himbo, Muscle Growth and Dumbing Down Stories 