Chapter 10: Measuring Up
The cold metal bench bit into Josh’s thigh through his sweatpants, a sharp counterpoint to the humid, thick air of the campus gym locker room. It smelled of stale sweat, disinfectant, and something else… a faint, cloying sweetness that seemed out of place. Seraphina’s perfume. The scent wormed its way into his awareness, triggering a fresh pulse of heat low in his belly. He shifted, the movement causing the fabric of his looser-than-usual hoodie to brush against his chest. A jolt, sharp and sensitive, made him suck in a breath.
His phone felt heavy, illicit in his hand. The locker room was mostly empty, just distant clanks from the weight area and the low hum of a treadmill. His reflection in the long mirror opposite the lockers was a stranger. Soft brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a frantic mix of shame and desperate need. And below his neck, beneath the baggy grey hoodie, the undeniable swell.
Fingers trembling, Josh angled the phone, the camera pointing at the mirror. He unzipped the hoodie just enough, his other hand slipping inside his t-shirt. The touch of his own fingers on the sensitive flesh sent another electric shiver through him. He squeezed, gently at first, then with more pressure, feeling the yielding fullness. He focused the camera on the cleavage he was forcing upwards, pale skin contrasting with the dark fabric. His breath hitched. Bigger? He fumbled, pulling his other hand out, opening his phone gallery with slick fingers.
Scrolling frantically past mundane screenshots, he found it: Seraphina’s latest post. Her in a tiny, lace-trimmed bralette, her enormous, gravity-defying breasts spilling gloriously over the top and sides. He zoomed in, his thumb trembling against the screen. Back to the camera view. Back to his own reflection, squeezing his meager curve. Back to Seraphina’s impossible bounty.
Not enough. Not yet. The thought wasn't just observation; it was a gnawing hunger, a command echoing from the depths of the hypnosis. His cock, already half-hard since he’d first slipped his hand under his shirt, throbbed insistently against the seam of his sweatpants. The ache was almost painful, a tight, demanding pressure. He needed… he needed to see the difference. To feel the potential.
He squeezed harder on his left breast, mimicking the way Seraphina posed, pushing it upwards, feeling the nipple stiffen painfully against his palm. His other hand drifted down, pressing the heel against the bulge in his pants, a low groan escaping his lips before he could stifle it.
The harsh clang of a locker door slamming shut nearby shattered the fragile isolation. Josh flinched violently, nearly dropping the phone. He yanked his hand out of his shirt and shoved the phone deep into his hoodie pocket, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Yo, Josh! Hiding from the gains, dude?" Carter’s voice, loud and gratingly cheerful, bounced off the tiles. He swaggered over, flanked by Marcus, both still glistening from the showers, towels slung around their waists.
"Just… cooling down," Josh mumbled, pulling his hoodie tighter, praying it concealed the tremor in his hands and the betraying outline beneath his sweatpants.
Carter plopped down on the bench next to him, too close. Marcus leaned against the lockers, crossing his arms over a broad chest. "Cooling down? Looked like you were checking yourself out pretty hard there," Carter smirked, nudging Josh with his elbow. "See something you like?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Nah, man. Just…" Josh trailed off, heat flooding his face. He stared at the scuffed floor tiles. Don’t look at them. Don’t move.
"Or maybe," Marcus drawled, his voice a low rumble, "he was checking out some content." He chuckled, a deep, unpleasant sound. "Whatcha got hidden on that phone, Josh? Something… juicy?" He cocked his head, his gaze lingering slightly too long on Josh’s chest area. "Been noticing you wearing baggier stuff lately. Trying to hide the bulk?"
Josh froze. Had they noticed? Could they see the shape beneath the hoodie? The scent of Seraphina’s perfume seemed suddenly overwhelming, mixing with the sweat and steam. He felt horribly exposed, his secret swelling threatening to burst out of its confines.
"Seriously, Josh," Carter pressed, leaning in conspiratorially, his breath warm and damp. "You get into some weird shit online? Like…" He lowered his voice theatrically. "…tits? Big ones?"
The word, crude and direct, slammed into Josh. Big ones. Like Seraphina’s. Like… like the ones he craved. The implanted desire flared, hot and urgent, warring violently with the crippling shame. His cock gave another painful throb. He squeezed his legs together, trying to control it, but it was too late. He felt the dampness blooming at the tip, a humiliating betrayal.
"Whoa, easy there!" Carter laughed, noticing the subtle shift, the flush deepening on Josh’s neck. "Just asking! No need to pitch a tent over it!" He elbowed Marcus. "Guess we hit a nerve, huh? Dude gets flustered just talking about tits."
"Maybe he's got a little secret admirer," Marcus rumbled, his eyes still fixed on Josh with unnerving intensity. "Someone feeding him pics? Making him all… twitchy?"
"Or," Carter’s grin turned sharp, "maybe he’s dreaming about growing his own?" He let out a bark of laughter. "Wouldn't that be a trip? Good ol' Josh, rocking double Ds!"
The image Carter painted – grotesque, impossible – sent a jolt through Josh that wasn't purely horror. Beneath the terror of exposure, a sliver of the hypnosis’s insidious promise thrummed. Big and beautiful. For Mommy. His nipples tightened painfully under the hoodie. He could almost feel the phantom slickness of the cream, the deep massage that made them grow.
He couldn’t breathe. Their laughter, Carter’s crude speculation, Marcus’s watchful stare, the relentless scent of perfume and his own trapped sweat, the aching fullness in his chest, the insistent, leaking pressure in his groin – it was too much. He stood up abruptly, the movement jerky, avoiding their eyes.
"Gotta go," he choked out, his voice barely audible over their renewed chuckling. He fumbled with his locker combination, fingers numb.
"Running away, Princess?" Carter called after him as he finally yanked the locker open and grabbed his bag. The new nickname, thrown like a grenade, landed with devastating force. Princess. It echoed the fragmented whispers in his mind. Sweet pea. Good girl.
Josh didn't look back. He slammed the locker shut, the metallic crash echoing harshly, and practically ran for the exit, head down, the bag clutched to his chest like a shield. The sound of their laughter chased him down the tiled corridor, morphing into the remembered, possessive whisper buried deep in his rewritten memories: Rub it in deep. Right into the muscle. Make them grow, sweet pea.
The chemical scent of the estrogen cream seemed to cling to him, stronger than sweat, stronger than Seraphina’s perfume, as he burst out into the cooler air of the campus walkway. He felt raw, exposed, his body humming with conflicting signals – the shame a cold wash, the implanted desire a deep, persistent burn, and the phantom sensation of his own hands, kneading, promising growth, felt smoother, more necessary, than ever before.