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Bare Minimum Cosplay

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“I knew you wouldn’t wear anything” Craig your buddy complained

He and your other buddies were all dressed up in various superhero costumes. Craig having crammed his hefty girth into a Superman costume. You though wore normal clothes. Jeans, shirt and a cap. Your buddies were all very ready for this convention, you weren’t, it wasn’t really your thing. You’d have rather gone to the gaming expo last month, but it wouldn’t have been all that fun without your friends. So you’d submitted and brought a ticket for the comic book convention.

“You know this isn’t my thing” You shrugged

Craig tossed you a grey shirt as you passed through the door and entered the convention.

“Good thing I brought a backup incase you didn’t do anything, go put that on” He ordered

It was a simple grey shirt with a black bat emblem on it, a Batman shirt. You grunted in annoyance and left your friends. They had already faded into the crowds, with awe on their faces at the sight of the booths and stalls. You moved into the restrooms, you quickly ducked into one of the stalls.

The toilets seat was down and you gingerly placed your cap and headphones onto it, your music still blaring out of them.

You pulled your shirt off, unlike most of your friends you didn’t have much meat on your bones. But you were by no way athletic, just skin and bone. You gave the Batman shirt another quick look before pulling it on.

The tag on the collar was of a make you didn’t recognise, there wasn’t even a DC logo on it. Just some plain logo of some mega corporation, FLD.

The shirt was smooth to the touch and actually sat on you pretty well, even if it was a few sizes too big. The neck hole showed off your slim neck and the beginning of your boney chest. The short sleeves hung around your elbows even though they should be ending nearer to your shoulders.

You pulled it down, its hem hovered somewhere just below your crotch. All in all it wasn’t a bad shirt, you’d actually keep it if Craig doesn’t mind you having it.

You picked up your cap and headphones, and went to leave the stall, your old shirt in hand. But you stop, your heart suddenly racing. The shirt isn’t smooth and soft anymore, it is itchy, painfully itchy. As you try to remove the shirt you arms seize up, the sleeves of the shirt tightening. Your chest feels compressed as the shirt appears to shrink.

You look down, your neck muscles fighting against your movements. The shirt isn’t shrinking, you’re growing. Your arms are throbbing, each heart beat meeting with each throb of your arm muscles. Each time your arms slowly grow, the sleeves of the shirt tight.

Your chest isn’t being compressed, it is inflating, straining against the shirt. Pulling the batman symbol taunt over your pumped up pec shelf.

The beat from your music matches that of your heart, your muscles matching it too. But as the music slows your muscles don’t. Your body is going beyond the size of the shirt, but your legs have already gone far beyond the size that your jeans can handle. They looked painted on, your ass hanging out like a shelf, your thighs pressing together.

The itching subsides and your heart slows, you take a few deep breaths. Your pecs inflating and deflating, straining the shirt. The thick chords of muscle in your shoulders and arms are crammed in the stall, pressed up against the walls of it.

You pull the door open, dropping your old shirt. Stepping on it with shoes that look full and at places beginning to split, like your feet are too big.

You stand open mouthed in shock as you see yourself in the mirror. You’re immense, pure muscle having been poured into a shirt and jeans. As you go to get your phone out of a too tight back pocket your pecs bounce involuntary. You can feel the weight of them as they bounce.

Both of your meaty nipples harden and you take the phone up and snap a few photos. A cocky smirk spreads over your strengthened jaw. You turn and leave the restroom, off to find your friends and thank Craig for the shirt.

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