Swimming Lessons: Mike & Tim

We cut to Tim and his friend Mike sitting on the bleachers. Mike was fiddling with his phone, but his eyes kept drifting back to the pool deck where “Alison” was standing at the wall after another set.

“Dude… is it just me, or does Alison’s ass look bigger today?” Mike asked, tilting his head. “Like, I'm not going insane that it looks bigger, right? And she keeps adjusting her suit like it’s riding up bad.”

Tim’s stomach dropped. He had noticed it too — the way the tight one-piece was starting to strain across her rear, his GF's cheeks looking rounder and softer with every passing minute. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. Without another word, he hopped down from the bleachers and quickly wandered over to his dad, trying to look casual.

Walter-son was pretending to stretch, but the discomfort doing so was obvious. His posture had shifted slightly to accommodate the extra weight behind her, and (s)he was subtly tugging at the leg openings of the swimsuit every few seconds.

Tim stepped close, lowering his voice. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

Walter turned and did their best to appear like Alison. Standing posed and flirty with her boyfriend. His cheeks were flushed, and his voice came out in a hushed, urgent whisper.

“The iBod glitched,” (S)he said quickly. “My ass: it’s expanding. It's happening really slowly. It started during warm-ups and it’s getting worse. The suit’s already too tight and I can feel it pushing out more every few minutes. I can’t get home to fix it for at least five more hours.”

Tim’s eyes widened as he glanced down. Even from the front, the change was becoming impossible to hide. Alison’s normally athletic bubble butt had swollen into something noticeably thicker and plusher, the fabric stretched thin and starting to wedge between the growing globes. A tiny, soft jiggle accompanied every small shift of Walter-son's weight.

“Fuck… okay, okay,” Tim whispered, panicking. “What do we do? Can you hold it off until practice ends?”

Walter shook his head, biting their lip as another faint warm pulse rippled through his glutes. “Not if it keeps going at this rate. When I get to video review it’ll be obvious to everyone. We need a temporary fix now. And I have a solution."

"That is?" Tim asked.

"Sex gives out a bunch of hormones and chemicals, if I can be butt fucked, it can temporarily revert the growth. It won't be much but it'll stem the expansion until we can go home."

Tim’s face went beet red. He glanced around the pool deck frantically, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. Mike was still lingering near the bleachers, pretending to scroll on his phone but clearly watching “Alison” with way too much interest.

“Da— Alison,” Tim hissed, lowering his voice to a **** whisper, “you can’t be serious. You want someone to… to fuck you? In that body? My girlfriend’s body?”

Walter-son shifted his weight again, feeling another warm surge ripple through his swelling ass. The cheeks were definitely bigger now—plush, heavy, and starting to strain the competitive swimsuit in erotically sexy ways. The fabric had begun to crease and wedge deeply between the growing spheres, and (s)he could feel the material thinning dangerously over the expanding curves.

(S)he kept his voice low and urgent. “Listen to me, Tim. The growth is still happening. Slow, but it’s not stopping. If this keeps up for the next five hours, by video review my— I mean Alison’s— ass is going to be quadruple its normal size. People are already staring. Coach just asked if my form looked different. Do you want the real Alison’s reputation ruined because she suddenly had a porn-star booty in the team photos?”

Tim swallowed hard, eyes darting down involuntarily to Walter’s backside. Even from the front, the change was becoming obvious: the hips looked wider, the swimsuit stretched tighter across the rear, the once-athletic bubble now rounding out into something far softer and more exaggerated. A tiny jiggle accompanied every small shift of Walter’s stance.

“But… sex? Here? How the hell are we supposed to—”

“Not here, obviously,” Walter cut in, cheeks (both sets of them) flushing with red. “There’s the girls’ locker room. It’s mostly empty during practice—only a few people come in and out. If we’re quick and careful… one good, hard fuck from behind should flood the system with enough hormones and endorphins to revert the glitch. Hopefully long enough for me to take the photo and then afterwards get us back home."

Tim looked like he was about to pass out. “You’re asking me to let someone rail my girlfriend’s body while you’re inside it? Who? Mike? He’s been eyeing you—her—the whole time!”

Walter-son glanced over at Mike, who was now openly staring at the pair. Another slow wave of growth made Walter-son bite his lip to stifle a soft, involuntary sound. The tingling had turned warmer, almost pleasurable, which only made the situation more mortifying.

“It’s either that,” Walter-son whispered fiercely, “or your girlfriend’s ass ends up plastered all over the school newspaper with headlines like ‘Swim Team Star’s Mystery Booty Expansion.’ Your choice, son.”

Tim ran a hand through his hair; panic and mortified horror at this scenario played across his face. Mike started wandering closer, a curious grin on his features.

“Hey, Alison,” Mike called out casually, “you good? You’ve been fidgeting a lot. Need help with… anything?”

Walter shot Tim a pointed look that said “decide now.”

Tim hesitated, torn between horror and the **** need to protect Alison’s secret. Finally, he muttered under his breath, “Fine. But only Mike, and only if he swears to keep his mouth shut. And you— Dad— you owe me for this. Big time.”

Walter-son nodded, feeling another insidious swell push his ass cheeks fuller against the straining swimsuit. “Deal. Now go talk to your friend before this thing gets any worse.”

As Tim reluctantly waved Mike over for a hushed, awkward conversation, Walter turned slightly, discreetly trying to tug the swimsuit down over the growing expanse of soft, jiggling flesh. It was a losing battle. The expansion was still creeping forward, slow and steady, making every second on deck feel like sweet, humiliating ****.

The locker room was only twenty feet away.

And the clock was ticking.