Brocaine

“I know you want a sniff of this, slut. C’mon, put your face right in there.”

If I would’ve known that this was going to happen, I would’ve never started spiking Duncan’s drinks with brocaine. He was just such a prick. The nerd was always getting in my face about being pristine, studying my material more often, actually “taking care of my future” or whatever. The shrimp was so obnoxious about his intelligence that I had to do something so he'd stop interfering with my studies. So when one of my colleagues suggested I start dosing him with brocaine, I didn’t even think twice about buying the product.

Now, mind you I had no idea what was actually in brocaine. It was definitely underground, and doing any research on it was near impossible. I couldn’t even find any of the side effects or ingredients in the stuff, let alone suggested dosage amounts. But my colleague eagerly set me up with his dealer, who happened to be one of the head coaches at the university. Apparently, they used the stuff all the time to help promote more kids to athletics. Yet, as the coach had chuckled about, it was rare that a professor actually supported this action.

“Trust me,” I grumbled. “If brocaine will really help solve my problems, then I’m willing to sacrifice a student for one of your teams.”

The coach only replied with one of those maniacal grins that you see in Hollywood. You know, the types where the audience knows that this person is a villain and the victim doesn’t, so that nasty smirk is really for those beyond the fourth wall. But as I have already mentioned multiple times, I didn’t care what was going to happen to Duncan. I was being bullied by a short, friendless, way-too-involved academic who needed to let go of some tension. And I hadn’t gotten a doctorate for some four-eyes to mess with my life.

I already knew it was going to be easy to start dosing Duncan, but I could have never predicted how simple the whole process would actually be. Duncan and I had bi-weekly 1-on-1 labs together for an independent study, just the two of us in the room together for an hour every Tuesday and Thursday. The plan itself wasn’t really a plan. Duncan always carried around the same metallic water bottle, so all I had to do was sneak in a dosage of brocaine whenever the opportunity presented itself. After the first tablespoon, I didn’t see any actual effects. But it was after the second–when the dosages had the weekend to start incorporating into Duncan’s system–that progress became visible.

“Hey, Prof!” Duncan cheerily entered the room as usual next Tuesday. But immediately, I was able to register two changes to Duncan. First, the kid had never once called me “Prof,” always opting for a full title. Secondly, his button-up was untucked. Not only was this unheard of, but after a few minutes I realized it actually couldn’t be tucked. The tails were not long enough to be able to reach underneath Duncan’s khakis, which meant he must have stretched a little over the past few days.

The rest of the lab was usual. I made sure to give Duncan another dosing, but otherwise nothing stuck out to me regarding any further progress. Thursday came and went fairly similar. Duncan’s usual set of clothes was once again just a tad too small, and I noticed his demeanor was barely more casual. But looking at it scientifically, there was nothing significant to report on. There was no serious proof that the brocaine was having some form of effect.

The beginning of the third week instantly brought the evidence I had been searching for. When Duncan entered the room, I suddenly felt as if I had to monitor my eyes to make sure they didn’t widen. Duncan entered the room with his new “Hey, Prof!” just like before, but his attire was what distracted me more. His button-up was untucked and now showed the beginning of his torso along with a crack of abs–something I would swear on my grave had never existed before. The sleeves were a little taut around his upper arms, and his trousers exposed his ankles completely. Even standing next to him, I could tell he was now definitely the average male height.

But that wasn’t all. As we began studying, a few more things became apparent. Duncan was beginning to actually emit his presence. Not as in conversationally like he usually did with his bratty, know-all behavior. Duncan was physically discharging his mass. To put it in less scientific language, the kid was making himself known. 

Sitting next to Duncan for a long period of time, I was able to pick up on the lightest body odor. He was also holding a more relaxed posture, taking up a little more space than his usual rigid position did. And speaking of bratty, know-all behavior, there was a new hesitance in Duncan’s intellect. Not once, but a remarkable three times did Duncan not immediately know the answer, something that brought me so much glee I had to stop myself from bouncing in my seat.

Week four was probably when I could’ve stopped the dosages, or at least slowed down until perfection. By Tuesday, the compounding effects of brocaine had really started to set in. Duncan was now getting closer to my even six feet, and some decent definition was beginning to show. Not to mention his style as well, his clothing now mimicking a name-brands rather than a cheap catalogue. The lowering intelligence came as a sigh of relief as well, allowing me to actually teach Duncan rather than just watch him blow through the lessons.

The fifth week is when I should’ve started taking caution. By now, Duncan had reached my height and by Thursday passed it. His frame had started to finally bulk up, the muscles definitely pushing him past the athletic realm and into a more sports-heavy orientation. That switch also meant less focus on academics, which had become even more apparent in our lessons. But now, Duncan was not only struggling with the work due to his decreasing intelligence. The brocaine had started to affect his mindset too.

Just like I had barely observed in the first few doses, Duncan had been relaxing more and more. Now however, this translated into caring less about his education. The brocaine was not only affecting his higher motor-functional abilities, but also Duncan’s actual desire to learn. The Duncan the brocaine had been creating didn’t care as much about learning as he used too. His new sights were displayed elsewhere.

By the time the sixth week came around, I was providing dosages of brocaine more out of habit rather than truly taking notice of the situation. Duncan now had the body of a top college jock, and a matching frat boy personality to go along with it. Instead of focusing on the lab work, Duncan droned on and on about his new life in the frat house he’d rushed over the weekend. The nightly sex, the drunken parties, and even thinking about switching his major to business with the other bros.

“It’s so much easier, dude,” Duncan guffawed. “Plus, this stuff sucks. Only nerds want to work with this crap.”

Duncan didn’t even think about apologizing, his new attitude prohibiting him from making himself vulnerable. The brocaine had developed an alpha male complex within him. Now, not only did Duncan wear the most stereotypical expensive jockish outfits, but he acted like one too. Belching and farting whenever he wanted, deeming hygiene as optional, casually manspreading and airing out “his boys” as he pleased. And to my surprise, “his boys” were more like men–giant men filled with thick potent seed.

It was that seventh Tuesday I decided to finally stop dosing Duncan’s drinks with brocaine, but it was too late. Duncan didn’t even show up to class, and after making a few calls, I finally found out from the coach where I could find him. A short drive later, I found Duncan with all the other jocks on the football team in their almost-identical golf fits. Each of them wore the polo-and-patterned shorts combo that screamed arrogant privilege.

“Hey, Duncan!” I shouted from across the green. He immediately noticed me and, after exchanging a crude joke with his bros, grabbed a golf cart and drove over.

“What’s up, dorkus?” Duncan greeted me in what I assumed would become typical behavior.

“I just noticed you weren’t in class today.”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart?” Duncan questioned, leaning back and kicking his legs apart in the seat. “I dropped your class and degree. Thanks to Coach I’m full-on sports management.”

Something clicked within me, causing my eye to twitch as I began to feel like I had been set up.

“Aww, is the little nerd mad?” Duncan taunted. I wanted to retort back, but I realized he was right. To him now, I was little. Duncan was now broad, muscular, and a few inches taller than me. He claimed space with his constant cloud of funk, his demoralizing comments, and his massive pouch. Even through the shorts, I could see the outline of the gigantic, girthy cock underneath. And to my dismay, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

“Yeah, Coach said this would happen,” Duncan snickered. “He told me everything about you and the brocaine, how you helped make me into the man I deserved to be.”

I gulped, but not at the exposed truth. I was hungry.

“He said you probably gave me too much,” Duncan continued. “I’ve got so much brocaine in my system that apparently I’ve started to become addictive to ‘weaker minds’.”

I don’t know what I feared more, the monster I had created or the craving for it emerging from inside me. My eyes glazed over as Duncan kicked off one of his dirty, smelly shoes and presented me with a Size 15 sole.

“I didn’t believe him, but maybe you’ll change my mind.”

Duncan merely took a swig of his beer as I started passionately worshiping his foot.