Shrink Files

A Shrinking Jock

Ethan Miller stood before the full-length mirror in his bedroom, admiring the magnificent physique he'd spent the last three years perfecting. At twenty-one, he was in the prime of his life—a third-year university student with the body of a Greek god and the confidence to match. He flexed his biceps, watching the peaked mound of muscle rise beneath his tanned skin, veins snaking across the surface like rivers on a topographical map.

"Twenty inches," he muttered to himself with satisfaction, giving his arm a kiss before turning to check his profile.

His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, creating the perfect V-shape that dominated the university gym. Every morning ritual began this way: five minutes of pure self-admiration before he'd even brush his teeth. Some might call it narcissistic, but Ethan preferred to think of it as "appreciating his investment". After all, bodies like his didn't come without sacrifice.

The room itself was a shrine to his accomplishments—rugby trophies lined the shelves, photos of him mid-game adorned the walls, and supplement containers crowded his desk where textbooks should have been. Education was secondary; his body was his true project.

He flexed again, this time watching his pectoral muscles dance under his tight-fitting vest. The movement sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. There was something about the control—the ability to command every fibre of his being—that gave him an intoxicating rush of power.

His mobile phone buzzed on the bedside table. Megan. His girlfriend of eight months whose primary attraction to him was, as she'd drunkenly admitted once, "those bloody magnificent muscles". He smirked at the memory. She wasn't the first girl to fall for his physique, and she certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Morning, babe," he answered, voice deliberately deep. "Missing me already?"

He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued posing, admiring the thickness of his thighs through his shorts.

"Just checking you're still coming to my place tonight," Megan's voice came through, a hint of neediness that Ethan found both irritating and affirming.

"Course I am. After the gym." He switched the phone to his other ear. "Got a massive session planned today. Going for a new bench press record."

"That's nice," she replied, clearly not interested in the details. "Just don't be late like last time. My flatmates are going out, so we'll have the place to ourselves."

Ethan grinned. "I'll be there. Looking bigger than ever." He ended the call before she could respond and tossed the phone onto his bed.

The sound of movement in the hallway drew his attention. His younger brother Tyler would be heading to his early morning lecture. The thought of Tyler—eighteen years old but still looking like a schoolboy—made Ethan chuckle. Despite now attending the same university, they couldn't be more different. While Ethan dominated the social scene and athletics department, Tyler blended into the background with his books and odd friends.

Ethan pulled his door open just as Tyler was passing, deliberately timing it to make his brother flinch.

"Christ, Ethan," Tyler mumbled, clutching his textbooks closer to his chest.

"Morning, runt," Ethan replied, leaning his massive frame against the doorway, effectively blocking the passage. "Off to your little witch classes?"

Tyler's jaw tightened. "It's Ancient Civilisations, actually."

"Same thing, isn't it? Bunch of mumbo jumbo about dead people and magic spells." Ethan flexed one arm casually. "Meanwhile, some of us are building something that matters."

Tyler's eyes darted to the flexed bicep—a quick, almost imperceptible glance that carried years of comparison and inadequacy. Ethan didn't miss it. He never missed those looks.

"At least I'll have something to fall back on when your body gives out," Tyler muttered, attempting to squeeze past.

Ethan's hand shot out, grabbing his brother's thin shoulder. "What was that?" He squeezed just enough to make Tyler wince.

"Nothing. I'm late for class."

"That's what I thought." Ethan released him with a little shove. "Make yourself useful and mix my pre-workout before you go. The new stuff in the red container."

Tyler hesitated, something flashing behind his eyes that Ethan couldn't quite read. Was it defiance? Whatever it was, it disappeared quickly.

"Fine," Tyler said, heading toward the kitchen.

Ethan returned to his mirror, running his hands over his abs. Six perfectly defined blocks of muscle protruded under his skin. He'd been bullying Tyler for as long as he could remember—it was almost instinctual now. Ever since they were children, it had been clear which brother received the superior genetics. Where Tyler was bookish and slight, Ethan was athletic and powerful. Their parents had always favoured Ethan's sporting achievements over Tyler's academic ones, and Ethan had made sure his brother never forgot the natural hierarchy between them.

A memory flashed in his mind: fourteen-year-old Tyler crying after Ethan had held him down and farted on his face in front of his friends. Another: sixteen-year-old Tyler trembling as Ethan dangled his homework over the toilet. The recollections brought a smirk to Ethan's face. Establishing dominance was just part of brotherhood, wasn't it?

Tyler appeared at the door, holding a shaker bottle filled with fluorescent blue liquid.

"Here," he said, his voice flat. "Just like you asked."

Ethan grabbed it without thanks and took a long swig, grimacing at the taste. "This tastes different. What did you do to it?"

For a split second, something like satisfaction crossed Tyler's face. "I just mixed it exactly how the directions say. Maybe they changed the formula."

Ethan shrugged and took another gulp. "Whatever. It tastes like shit, but so does everything that works." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't wait up tonight. I'll be at Megan's."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tyler replied, and Ethan thought he detected a hint of a smile as his brother turned away.

Downing the rest of the pre-workout, Ethan felt the familiar tingling as the stimulants hit his system. He grabbed his gym bag and headed out, shoulders so wide he had to turn slightly to pass through the doorframe. The day stretched before him—gym, protein shake, lectures he'd barely pay attention to, more gym, then Megan. The perfect day in the perfect life of a perfect specimen.

If only he knew it would be the last day he'd ever see from his current impressive height.

-2-

Tyler Miller slipped into the lecture hall and found his usual seat at the back, heart still pounding from the morning's encounter with his brother. He'd spent the entire walk to campus questioning whether he'd gone through with the right plan. But then the memory of Ethan's thick fingers digging into his shoulder just minutes ago—the casual cruelty, the smirk on his face—solidified his resolve.

The lecturer's voice faded into background noise as Tyler opened his notebook, pretending to take notes while his mind replayed the moment he'd added the potion to Ethan's pre-workout mix. Three drops, just as instructed. Colourless, odourless, but supposedly potent enough to bring even the mightiest man down to size—literally.

"Are you actually going to go through with it?"

The whispered question came from his left. Samantha Chen, her dark hair streaked with purple, leaned toward him. One of the three self-described "Wicca girls" who'd provided him with the solution to his Ethan problem.

Tyler gave a subtle nod, not trusting himself to speak.

"Did you use all three drops?" she pressed, dark eyes intense beneath heavily lined lids.

"Just like you said," he whispered back. "He's already drunk it."

Samantha's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Then it's done. By this time tomorrow, big brother won't be so big anymore."

Tyler swallowed hard. When he'd first approached Samantha and her friends—Lily and Nadia—three weeks ago, he'd been desperate but skeptical. The three young women were known around campus for their interest in the occult, herbal remedies, and what most dismissed as "new age nonsense." But they were also rumoured to have helped others with problems that conventional solutions couldn't touch.

His problem definitely fell into that category.

"What if it doesn't work?" he whispered, anxiety creeping into his voice.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "It'll work. Lily's grandmother's recipe has never failed. The question is whether you're ready for what comes next." She studied his face. "Once he starts shrinking, there's no going back. Are you prepared for that responsibility?"

Was he? Tyler had spent years fantasising about turning the tables on his tormentor of a brother. The stolen girlfriends, the constant humiliation, the way Ethan would casually display his physical superiority at every opportunity—flexing when girls were around, using Tyler as an armrest, "playfully" putting him in headlocks until he nearly passed out.

Even now at university, where Tyler had hoped for a fresh start, Ethan's presence loomed large. They'd ended up at the same school because their parents would only pay for accommodation for one flat, insisting the brothers live together to "save money." In reality, it meant Tyler had no escape.

"I'm ready," he said with more conviction than he felt.

Samantha nodded, satisfied. "The effects will begin subtly—loss of strength first, then height. Each time he becomes..." she paused, searching for the right word, "...excited by his diminishment, the process accelerates."

Tyler's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'excited'?"

A knowing smirk crossed Samantha's face. "The potion works with the subject's hidden desires, Tyler. It doesn't create anything that isn't already there. If your brother shrinks faster at certain... moments, that tells you something about what he truly wants deep down."

Tyler's eyes widened slightly, trying to process the implication. "You're saying Ethan might actually... enjoy shrinking?"

"The subconscious is a complicated thing," Samantha replied with a shrug. "Many who appear to crave power actually fantasise about its loss. Those who dominate others often secretly wish to be dominated themselves."

The thought had never occurred to Tyler. He'd always seen Ethan as one-dimensional: the arrogant jock who lived to assert his superiority. The idea that his brother might harbour hidden desires to be small, weak, or dominated was both bizarre and somehow fitting.

"How small will he get?" Tyler asked, already imagining the possibilities.

"That depends on him. The formula reacts to arousal and humiliation. The more he experiences, the smaller he becomes." She leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower. "If he becomes excited enough by his new... diminished status, he could theoretically shrink away to nothing."

The lecturer's voice suddenly rose, drawing their attention momentarily to the front of the hall. Something about Mesopotamian farming practices. Tyler pretended to take notes before returning to their hushed conversation.

"What do I need to do?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just watch and wait." Samantha tore a page from her notebook and passed it to him. "But if you want to accelerate the process, this list might help. Situations that could... intensify his response."

Tyler glanced down at the handwritten notes:

• Force him to acknowledge his shrinking openly
• Create situations where his smallness is displayed to others
• Compare his diminished size to others (especially to you)
• Take things that were once his (possessions, status, relationships)
• Make him beg for help with simple tasks

The list made Tyler's pulse quicken. He folded the paper carefully and tucked it into his pocket.

"There's one more thing," Samantha added. "The three of us didn't do this for free."

Tyler nodded. They'd been clear about their price from the beginning: access to his brother's university rugby team. Specifically, the after-party following next month's championship match, typically a strictly exclusive affair where the athletes celebrated with their chosen companions.

"I'll get you all invitations," Tyler promised, though he wasn't entirely sure how he'd manage it. Perhaps his brother's phone would provide access once Ethan was too small to protect it.

"See that you do," Samantha replied. "And one last thing—we're not the only ones who've used such methods at this university. Your brother's friend Joe from the gym? Let's just say he's... sympathetic to our work."

Tyler's eyebrows shot up. "Joe? The massive bodybuilder?" He tried to reconcile the image of the hulking, 6'4" mountain of muscle with someone who would associate with Samantha and her friends.

"We helped his ex-girlfriend with a similar situation last year," Samantha explained with a wicked smile. "Joe found the results... fascinating. He's been a friend to our cause ever since."

The lecture was wrapping up, students around them packing away laptops and notebooks. Samantha stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Keep me updated," she said. "I want to hear how it progresses."

As she walked away, Tyler remained seated, mind racing. He pulled out his mobile and checked the time. Ethan would be well into his morning workout by now. The potion would be circulating through his system, beginning its work.

He opened his text messages and hesitated before typing:

How's the workout going, big brother?

He hit send, a small smile playing across his lips. After years of torment, Tyler was about to witness his brother's long fall from his pedestal of physical perfection. And if Samantha was right about Ethan's hidden desires, his brother might just enjoy the journey down.

His phone buzzed with a reply:

Feeling off today. Weights seem heavier. Must be coming down with something.

Tyler's smile widened. It had begun.

-3-

Ethan scowled at his phone before shoving it back into his gym bag. The last thing he needed was Tyler checking up on him. Something was definitely off today—his usual warm-up weights felt like his max, and a strange tingling sensation had been spreading through his muscles for the past half hour.

"Must be that new pre-workout," he muttered to himself, rubbing his bicep, which felt somehow softer beneath his fingers.

The university gym was busy, as it always was at this hour. The serious lifters claimed the free weight section, while cardio bunnies populated the treadmills and ellipticals along the window wall. Ethan's arrival typically drew attention—heads turning to watch him stride in like he owned the place. Today was no exception, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about the looks he was receiving.

"Miller! What's happening, mate?" called Oliver Barnes, a fellow rugby player, as Ethan approached the bench press.

"Just the usual," Ethan replied, trying to sound confident despite the unsettling sensations coursing through his body. "Going for a new max today."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious for a Tuesday morning. What are you pushing for?"

"One-sixty for reps," Ethan said, referring to 160 kilograms—a weight he'd managed comfortably the previous week.

"Beast!" Oliver clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll spot you."

Ethan nodded his thanks and began loading the barbell. Each plate felt unusually heavy in his hands. Had they changed the equipment? These 20-kilo plates felt more like 25s.

He positioned himself on the bench, gripping the bar above him with his usual certainty. Oliver stood ready at the head of the bench, hands hovering beneath the bar without touching—a courtesy spot for a lift Ethan normally wouldn't need help with.

"Ready when you are," Oliver said.

Ethan took a deep breath and unracked the bar. Immediately, he felt the full weight bearing down on him—much heavier than it should have been. His arms trembled slightly as he lowered the bar to his chest.

What the hell? he thought, panic rising as the bar touched his pecs. With enormous effort, he pressed upward, arms shaking violently now. Oliver's hands moved closer, clearly concerned.

"You alright, mate?" Oliver asked.

Ethan didn't answer, focusing all his energy on finishing the rep. The bar inched upward at an agonisingly slow pace until finally his arms locked out. Before he could attempt a second rep, Oliver helped him guide the bar back to the rack.

"What was that?" Oliver asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. "You usually bang those out like nothing."

Ethan sat up, breathing heavily. "Must be coming down with something," he said, the same excuse he'd texted Tyler. "Felt like I was pushing two hundred."

Oliver's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your arms look... different."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked sharply.

"I dunno, just..." Oliver seemed uncomfortable pointing it out. "Less defined, maybe? Like you're holding water or something."

Ethan immediately flexed his arm, staring down at his bicep. The familiar peak was there, but Oliver was right—it lacked the striated definition he'd admired in the mirror just hours ago. The veins that typically popped along his forearms were barely visible.

"It's nothing," he insisted, standing up. "Probably just need to dial in my diet again."

But as he moved to the dumbbell rack for his next exercise, an unsettling awareness crept over him. His vest, normally tight around his chest and shoulders, now hung just a bit looser. His shorts, which typically stretched across his quads, felt roomier.

Get a grip, he told himself. You're imagining things.

He selected his usual 40-kilo dumbbells for shoulder presses and carried them to an open space before the mirror wall. The weights felt wrong in his hands—overwhelmingly heavy. With growing concern, he watched his reflection as he struggled to press the dumbbells overhead for even a single rep.

Several heads turned in his direction. Ethan Miller struggling with 40-kilo dumbbells? It was unheard of.

He set the weights down harder than intended, the thud drawing more unwanted attention.

"You sure you're good, Ethan?" came a deep voice from behind him. Joe Reynolds, the massive postgraduate bodybuilder who practically lived in the gym, stood observing him with an unreadable expression. At 28, Joe was older than most university gym-goers and impossibly huge—his 6'4" frame carrying over 120 kilos of muscle. Ethan had always respected Joe, occasionally seeking advice from the larger man while secretly aspiring to reach his dimensions someday.

Today, however, Joe looked even more imposing than usual. Had he grown overnight?

"I'm fine," Ethan snapped, then immediately regretted his tone. Joe wasn't someone you wanted to offend. "Just feeling a bit off."

Joe nodded slowly, his eyes travelling over Ethan's body with analytical precision.

"Maybe try lighter weights today," he suggested, a strange hint of knowing in his voice. "No shame in taking a deload week if your body's telling you to."

Something about Joe's tone made Ethan uneasy, as if the bigger man knew something he didn't. Still, his pride wouldn't allow him to acknowledge weakness.

"I can handle it," Ethan insisted, though even to his own ears, his voice lacked its usual confidence.

Joe shrugged his massive shoulders. "Suit yourself. I'll be over there if you need a spot." He walked away, but Ethan noticed him glancing back occasionally, watching.

Determined to prove himself, Ethan returned to his workout, selecting slightly lighter weights. But each set became more difficult than the last. His strength was draining away like water from a tub, and worse, he could actually see the change happening. Between sets, he checked his reflection, noticing with growing horror that his muscles seemed to be deflating before his eyes.

By the time he reached his final exercise—typically his strongest, the deadlift—Ethan could barely manage half his usual weight. His vest, which had started the session skin-tight, now hung loosely around his diminishing frame. Even his shorts required occasional adjustment to keep them from slipping down his narrowing waist.

The whispers had become impossible to ignore. His fellow gym-goers—people who had admired and envied him just yesterday—now stared with a mixture of confusion and, worst of all, pity.

"Maybe you should call it a day," suggested a well-meaning gym attendant who had noticed his struggles.

Ethan nodded numbly, unable to formulate a good excuse. He stumbled toward the dumbbell rack to replace the pathetically light weights he'd been reduced to using. As he approached the rack, his eyes fell on a set of pink dumbbells—the lightest in the gym at just 2.5 kilos each, typically used by beginners or for rehabilitation.

A sudden urge to test himself overcame him. Surely he could still manage proper form with these, at least?

He picked up the pink dumbbells, their light weight almost comical in his hands. Even these felt substantial now. With growing desperation, he began a set of bicep curls, using all his remaining strength to execute the movement properly.

From across the gym, he heard a snicker. Then another. Eyes burning with humiliation, he continued the exercise, watching his once-impressive arms struggle with weights designed for elderly women's fitness classes.

Joe appeared beside him again, his massive presence now almost overwhelming. Had Joe always been this much taller than him? Ethan could have sworn they were closer in height before.

"I think you should head to the locker room," Joe said quietly, his deep voice carrying a note of something Ethan couldn't quite identify. Was it concern? Amusement? "Take a shower, clear your head."

Ethan glanced up—definitely up now—at Joe's face and saw an intensity in the bigger man's eyes that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.

"Yeah," Ethan agreed weakly, replacing the pink dumbbells on the rack. "Think I need to call it a day."

As he walked toward the locker room, he felt dozens of eyes following him—the fallen king of the university gym, suddenly stripped of his glory. His clothes, once form-fitting to show off his physique, now hung awkwardly on a frame that was noticeably smaller than when he'd entered the building.

But what disturbed him most wasn't the stares or the whispers or even the mysterious loss of his hard-earned muscle. It was the inexplicable tightening in his groin, a peculiar arousal building as he experienced the unfamiliar sensation of feeling small, weak, and exposed.

What the hell was happening to him?

-4-

The heavy door to the men's locker room swung shut behind Ethan with a dull thud, muffling the sounds of clanking weights and throbbing music from the gym floor. Here, at least, he could escape the stares and whispers—though not the bewildering changes overtaking his body.

He made his way to his locker, legs feeling strangely unsteady beneath him. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that seemed to emphasise his diminishing stature. Was the room larger than he remembered? The benches seemed higher, the ceiling more distant.

Get a grip, he told himself again. You're imagining things.

When he reached his locker—top row, prime position as befitted his status—Ethan froze. Something was wrong. His locker seemed... higher than usual. He reached up automatically, fingers stretching toward the combination lock, but his hand fell short by several inches.

"What the—?" he muttered, standing on his tiptoes. Even then, he could barely graze the bottom of the lock with his fingertips.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. This wasn't possible. He'd used this same locker every day for two years, never once having to stretch to reach it.

He glanced around quickly, relieved to find the locker room momentarily empty. Jumping slightly, he managed to catch hold of the lock, but he couldn't maintain enough grip to turn the dial. After three futile attempts, he slumped against the lockers, heart pounding in his chest.

"This can't be happening," he whispered, looking down at his body. His gym vest, which had hugged his torso like a second skin that morning, now hung loosely around a significantly smaller chest. His shorts, designed to showcase his massive quads, sagged around diminished thighs.

The sound of the door opening sent a jolt of panic through him. He straightened quickly, trying to appear normal despite the surreal situation. Joe Reynolds walked in, his massive frame seeming even more gigantic in the confined space of the locker room. Had Joe always ducked his head slightly when passing through doorways?

"Still here, Miller?" Joe asked, his deep voice reverberating off the tiled walls. "Thought you'd have cleared off by now."

Ethan swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. "Just, uh, getting my stuff."

Joe's eyes flicked to Ethan's locker, then back to Ethan himself, taking in the obvious height difference between man and storage unit. A knowing smile spread across his face.

"Having some trouble there?"

The question hung in the air, loaded with implications. Ethan felt his face flush with humiliation.

"I'm fine," he insisted, though they both knew it was a lie.

Joe approached slowly, each step bringing his overwhelming presence closer. Ethan found himself backing up against the lockers, an unfamiliar feeling of physical intimidation washing over him. Joe had always been bigger, but now the difference was staggering. The bodybuilder seemed to tower over him like a colossus.

"Doesn't look like you're fine," Joe observed, stopping uncomfortably close. "Looks like you need some help."

The last word carried a weight that made Ethan's stomach knot. Help. He, Ethan Miller, campus alpha male and rugby star, needed help reaching his locker. The thought was so absurd, so humiliating, that he almost laughed—except there was nothing funny about the very real predicament he found himself in.

"I can manage," he said, trying to inject confidence into his voice.

Joe crossed his massive arms, biceps bulging against the sleeves of his stretched t-shirt. "Go on, then. I'll wait."

The challenge was clear. Ethan turned back to his locker, painfully aware of Joe's eyes on him. He jumped again, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the lock, but it was even harder to reach now. Had it moved higher in the last few minutes? Or was he still—impossibly—shrinking?

After his third attempt ended with him stumbling backwards, nearly falling, Joe's deep chuckle filled the room.

"Need a hand, little man?"

Little man. The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. Nobody—nobody—had ever called him that before. He'd always been "big guy," "mate," "champ." Never "little man."

The strangest part was the effect those two simple words had on his body. Despite the horror of his situation, despite the crushing embarrassment, he felt a twitch in his groin—a warm, unexpected stirring of arousal that both confused and terrified him.

"I..." Ethan began, then stopped, the words catching in his throat. Asking for help went against everything he stood for. But what choice did he have?

"Could you..." he tried again, voice smaller than before. "Could you get my lock for me?"

Joe's smile widened. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that. What do you need?"

The bastard was enjoying this. Ethan could feel his face burning hotter, but the persistent, inexplicable arousal was growing too.

"I need help," he said, louder this time, each word painful. "With my locker. I can't... I can't reach it anymore."

"That's better," Joe said, stepping forward. "But we can do even better than that. Try asking nicely."

Ethan stared up at him in disbelief. "You're taking the piss."

"Am I?" Joe replied calmly. "Think about how many freshers you've bullied in this very locker room, Miller. How many smaller guys you've made feel like nothing. Maybe it's time you learned some manners."

The accusation stung, partly because it was true. Ethan had never thought twice about asserting his dominance in the gym, especially over smaller men who dared to use "his" equipment or occupy "his" space.

"Please," he finally said, the word alien on his tongue. "Please help me with my locker... Joe."

Joe nodded, satisfied. "Good boy."

The condescending praise sent another inexplicable wave of arousal through Ethan's diminishing body. What was wrong with him? Why was this humiliation affecting him this way?

With casual ease, Joe reached up and spun the combination lock. "What's your code?"

"22-14-07," Ethan replied, feeling strangely vulnerable sharing even this small piece of information.

Joe opened the locker and looked inside. "What do you need?"

"Everything," Ethan admitted. "My phone, wallet, clothes... all of it."

One by one, Joe handed him his possessions, each transaction reinforcing Ethan's new, diminished status. When Joe held out Ethan's phone, he deliberately lifted it just out of reach, making Ethan stretch uncomfortably to take it.

"Thanks," Ethan muttered, shoving everything into his gym bag.

"Don't mention it, shrimp," Joe replied, emphasising the nickname. "Happy to help the vertically challenged."

The locker room door opened again as three more gym-goers entered—all members of Ethan's rugby team. They stopped short at the scene: their captain standing like a child beside the towering bodybuilder.

"Ethan?" one of them asked, confusion evident in his voice. "You alright, mate?"

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, to reassure them that everything was fine, but the words died in his throat as he realised how he must appear to them. Their fearless captain, now barely clearing Joe's pectorals in height, swimming in clothes that had fit perfectly hours earlier.

"He's having a bit of a growth problem," Joe answered for him, placing a massive hand on Ethan's shoulder. The weight of it seemed to push him down, making him feel even smaller. "Or should I say, a shrinking problem."

There it was—the reality of his situation spoken aloud, impossible to deny any longer. Ethan felt a rush of blood to his face... and to his groin. To his horror, he was becoming visibly aroused by his public humiliation, the front of his loose shorts beginning to tent despite his best efforts to control it.

"What's happening to him?" asked another teammate, stepping closer with morbid fascination.

"Hard to say," Joe replied with mock concern. "But I'd estimate he's lost what... three, four inches of height already? And quite a bit of muscle mass too." He squeezed Ethan's shoulder, fingers easily wrapping around what had once been a broad, powerful deltoid. "Not so impressive anymore, are you, Miller?"

Ethan wanted to disappear, to run, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot. The combination of shame and inexplicable arousal paralysed him.

"Why don't you stand back to back with him, Chris?" Joe suggested to the tallest of the rugby players. "Let's see how much our captain has shrunk."

Before Ethan could object, he found himself being positioned back-to-back with his teammate. He'd always been slightly taller than Chris—a fact he'd frequently mentioned during team practices. Now, as they stood comparing heights, the difference was stark in the opposite direction.

"Bloody hell," Chris exclaimed. "I've got at least two inches on you now, Ethan. Maybe more."

The evidence was undeniable. Ethan Miller, once 6'2" of prime athletic masculinity, was now shorter than a teammate who had always looked up to him—literally and figuratively. The realisation sent another shameful wave of arousal through him.

"I need to shower," Ethan mumbled, desperate to escape the growing audience. He grabbed his toiletry bag from his gym bag and turned toward the shower area.

"Don't wash yourself away down the drain," Joe called after him, eliciting laughter from the rugby players. "You're small enough already!"

As Ethan hurried away, he could hear Joe's voice dropping lower, speaking to his teammates: "Keep an eye on him in the showers. Something tells me our big man is about to get a lot smaller."

The words followed him like a curse, hanging in the steamy air as he pushed through the door into the shower room, desperately trying to understand why his body was betraying him—not just by shrinking, but by responding to his humiliation with unmistakable, shameful arousal.

-5-

The shower room was mercifully empty when Ethan entered, the sound of running water echoing off the tiled walls. He selected the furthest shower stall, desperate for privacy as his mind reeled from everything that had happened in the last hour. His hands trembled as he hung his towel on the hook and peeled off his loose-fitting gym clothes.

Naked, the changes to his body became even more apparent. His once-proud chest had lost definition, his six-pack abs fading to a soft four-pack. His thighs, previously thick and powerful from years of rugby, had diminished noticeably. But most disturbing of all was his semi-erect penis, responding to his humiliation in a way he couldn't understand or control.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered, turning on the shower and stepping under the hot spray. He closed his eyes, letting the water cascade over him, wishing it could wash away whatever curse had befallen him.

The sound of the door opening made his eyes snap open. Voices drifted through the steam—his teammates entering the shower room. Ethan turned to face the wall, hoping they would choose stalls far from his, give him the space he desperately needed.

No such luck.

"Look who it is," came Chris's voice as he selected the stall right next to Ethan's. "Our incredible shrinking captain."

The other two rugby players laughed, taking the stalls on Ethan's other side, effectively surrounding him. Ethan kept his back turned, pretending to be absorbed in washing his hair, but he could feel their eyes on him.

"You know," said Mark, another teammate, "from behind, you almost look like a girl now, Ethan. All slim and small."

More laughter. Ethan's face burned with humiliation, but the greater betrayal came from below—his cock stiffening further at their mocking words.

"Turn around, mate," Chris said. "Let's see what else has shrunk besides your height and muscles."

Ethan shook his head, water droplets flying from his now-flattened hair. "Just leave me alone," he muttered. "I'm not feeling well."

"Come on," Mark insisted. "We're teammates. No secrets in the shower, isn't that what you always say when the freshers try to be modest?"

It was true. Ethan had always been the first to mock any sign of shyness in the locker room, using his impressive physique to intimidate younger players who were uncomfortable with nudity. How many times had he forced nervous freshers to shower with the team, laughing at their discomfort?

Karma, it seemed, was a bitch.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, slowly turning to face them.

The reaction was immediate and brutal. All three teammates' eyes widened, then narrowed, then creased with barely suppressed laughter.

"Holy shit," breathed Chris. "Is that... is that all that's left?"

Ethan looked down at himself. His once-impressive manhood—a solid seven inches when erect and a respectable five when soft—had diminished along with the rest of him. Now, despite being partially aroused, he measured perhaps three inches at most.

"Must be the cold water," Ethan mumbled, though they all knew the showers were scalding hot.

"Mate," said Mark, making no attempt to hide his own considerably larger equipment, "that's not shrinkage. That's a tragedy."

The door to the shower room opened again, and to Ethan's horror, Joe walked in, his massive frame seeming to fill the entire doorway. Behind him came two more members of the rugby team, drawn by whatever narrative Joe had spun in the locker room about their captain's mysterious transformation.

"How's it going in here, boys?" Joe asked, his deep voice carrying over the sound of running water. "Our little friend still shrinking?"

Ethan wanted to disappear down the drain. Five naked men now stood in a loose semicircle around his shower stall, all of them bigger than him in every way, all of them staring at his diminished body with expressions ranging from amusement to pity to outright mockery.

"Check out his dick," Chris said, gesturing toward Ethan's groin. "It's like a bloody thumb now."

Joe stepped closer, his 6'4" frame towering over Ethan, who realised with a shock that he must now be under 5'10"—a height he hadn't been since he was fifteen years old.

"Well, well," Joe said, looking down at Ethan's shrunken member. "That's disappointing. And here I thought you were compensating for something with all that gym swagger, but it turns out you actually had something to swagger about... once upon a time."

The humiliation was complete. Ethan stood naked and diminishing before his peers, his authority as team captain disintegrating along with his physical stature. He should have been furious, should have been fighting back or fleeing. Instead, his traitorous body continued to respond with arousal, his shrunken penis now fully erect at a pathetic three and a half inches.

"Is he... is he getting hard from this?" asked one of the newcomers, disbelief in his voice.

"I think he is," Joe said, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Our big man likes being small. Don't you, Miller?"

"No," Ethan protested weakly, but his body told a different story. His erection bobbed slightly with his quickening pulse, a drop of pre-cum forming at the tip despite his mortification—or perhaps because of it.

"I think we need a comparison," Joe announced, stepping into the shower stall beside Ethan's and turning on the water. He made no attempt to hide his own impressive endowment as he rinsed the sweat from his massive body. "Everyone line up. Let's show Miller what real men are packing."

To Ethan's dismay, his teammates eagerly complied, each stepping under a showerhead and turning to display their equipment. Even the smallest among them now dwarfed Ethan by several inches, both in height and in genital size.

"Look at that," Joe said, gesturing to the lineup. "Five proper cocks and one baby dick. Which one doesn't belong?"

Laughter echoed off the tiled walls. Ethan's humiliation should have been complete—should have crushed him, sent him fleeing from the room. Instead, his arousal intensified, his tiny cock harder than it had ever been.

"He's getting off on this," Mark observed, disgusted and fascinated in equal measure. "Look at him—he loves being humiliated."

"Is that true, Miller?" Joe asked, stepping out of his shower and approaching Ethan's stall. Water cascaded down his mountain of muscle as he loomed over the shrinking jock. "Does being small and pathetic turn you on?"

"No," Ethan gasped, but his body betrayed him again as a visible shudder ran through him at Joe's words.

Joe reached out, placing one massive hand on Ethan's shoulder. The touch sent an electric current through Ethan's diminishing body.

"I think it does," Joe said softly, his voice somehow more terrifying for its gentleness. "I think deep down, you've always wanted this. To be small. Weak. Dominated."

The words struck something deep within Ethan, unlocking a truth he had never acknowledged even to himself. As captain, as alpha, as the big man on campus, he had always carried the burden of maintaining his status, of being the strongest, the most impressive. Now, as that burden lifted, a perverse freedom took its place—the freedom to be small, to be weak, to surrender control.

"Oh god," Ethan whimpered as Joe's hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, fingers easily encircling his throat.

"Look at you," Joe continued, his grip firm but not painful. "The mighty Ethan Miller, reduced to a tiny cock and trembling legs. And loving every second of it."

It was too much. The combination of physical transformation, public humiliation, and this new, terrifying self-awareness pushed Ethan over the edge. His body tensed, his breath caught, and without anyone touching his pitiful erection, he began to ejaculate.

The orgasm tore through him with unexpected intensity, his diminutive cock pulsing as spurts of cum hit the shower wall. His knees buckled, and only Joe's hand on his throat kept him from collapsing.

Silence fell in the shower room, broken only by the sound of running water and Ethan's ragged breathing. Then, slowly, the laughter began—incredulous at first, then mocking.

"Did he just...?" Chris asked, unable to finish the question.

"He did," Joe confirmed, removing his hand from Ethan's throat. "Our big man just came from being humiliated. Pathetic."

As the last waves of unwanted pleasure subsided, Ethan became aware of a new sensation—a tingling that spread from his groin throughout his entire body. The room seemed to shift around him, perspectives changing as objects appeared to grow larger. No, not growing—he was shrinking again, and rapidly.

His teammates' eyes widened as they witnessed the accelerated transformation. In the span of perhaps thirty seconds, Ethan lost another two inches of height before their eyes, his muscles diminishing proportionally. His now-flaccid penis retreated further, becoming almost childlike in its dimensions.

"Holy shit," breathed Mark. "He's getting even smaller!"

Panic gripped Ethan as he realised what was happening. The orgasm had triggered another reduction. Was this the pattern? Arousal, climax, shrink, repeat? Where would it end?

"I need to go," he gasped, pushing past Joe and grabbing his towel from the hook. The towel that had seemed regular-sized earlier now wrapped around him like a beach blanket.

"Running away?" Joe called after him. "Don't worry, little man. No matter how small you get, we'll always be able to see that tiny dick of yours!"

More laughter followed Ethan as he fled back into the locker room, the towel clutched around his diminishing frame. He dressed hurriedly, hands shaking as he pulled on clothes that now hung off him like a child playing dress-up in his father's wardrobe. His jeans, once snug around powerful thighs, now required him to roll the cuffs several times to avoid tripping. His t-shirt, once stretched across a broad chest, now hung like a tent.

As he gathered his belongings, he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror on the far wall. The reflection that stared back was both familiar and alien—still recognisably Ethan Miller, but diminished in every way. Where once stood a 6'2" rugby captain with the physique of a Greek statue, now stood a man of perhaps 5'7", his formerly impressive muscles reduced to the definition of an average, moderately fit person. His face, while still handsome, had lost the strong jawline and thick neck that had once made him so imposing.

And worst of all was the knowledge that this transformation wasn't over—that whatever curse had befallen him was linked to his own perverse arousal, an arousal he seemed powerless to control.

He had to get out of here, had to get home and figure out what was happening to him. With his gym bag clutched to his chest and his oversized clothes hanging loosely from his shrinking frame, Ethan made his escape from the locker room, unaware that his ordeal was only beginning.

-7-

The university car park shimmered under the midday sun as Ethan pushed through the gym's side exit, desperate to escape the humiliation he'd endured inside. The familiar surroundings seemed alien now—everything slightly larger, more imposing, as if the world itself had expanded around his diminishing form.

He fumbled with his car keys, nearly dropping them from hands that felt clumsy and unfamiliar. His fingers, once thick and strong, now appeared almost delicate, making the key fob seem oversized in his grip. The short walk to his prized black Audi—a twenty-first birthday gift from his parents—felt interminable, each step a reminder of his altered state as his shoes slid loosely on feet that no longer filled them properly.

When he finally reached his car, he had to stretch upward to grasp the door handle—a movement that had never been necessary before. The mundane action of opening his own car door had become a stark reminder of his transformation.

"Get in and go home," he muttered to himself, sliding into the driver's seat. "Figure this out there."

But the interior of his familiar vehicle only emphasised how much he had changed. The seat felt enormous beneath him, his feet barely reaching the pedals. The steering wheel, once at a perfect height for his broad chest, now sat uncomfortably high, forcing him to peer up at it like a teenager driving for the first time.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, reaching for the seat adjustment controls. He moved the seat forward several notches, then adjusted the height upward—modifications he'd never needed before. Even after these changes, he felt small in the driver's seat, the car seemingly designed for someone much larger than him.

His phone buzzed in the cup holder where he'd tossed it—a text from Megan:

Still coming over tonight? Got something special planned... 😘

Ethan stared at the message, a wave of panic washing over him. Megan. How could he face her like this? She'd been attracted to his size, his muscles, his dominance. What would she think of the diminished version of him slumped in this car seat?

The phone buzzed again:

Hello? Earth to Ethan?

His thumbs hovered over the screen, unsure how to respond. Before he could decide, a sharp rap on his window startled him. He looked up to see a police officer peering down at him, face stern beneath the brim of his hat.

Ethan's heart hammered in his chest as he lowered the window. The officer—tall, broad-shouldered, the very picture of authority—leaned down to look inside, his eyes narrowing as they took in Ethan's small frame swimming in oversized clothes.

"Good afternoon," the officer said, his voice deep and commanding. "Is this your vehicle, young man?"

Young man. The words hit Ethan like a slap. Not "sir" or even "mate"—terms officers typically used with adult men—but "young man," as if he were a teenager.

"Yes, officer," Ethan replied, wincing at how his voice sounded higher than usual. "It's my car."

The officer's expression remained skeptical. "I'll need to see your licence and registration, please."

Ethan fumbled for his wallet, extracting his driving licence with shaking fingers. He handed it over, along with the vehicle registration from his glove compartment.

The officer examined the documents, glancing repeatedly between the licence photo and Ethan's face. The contrast must have been striking—the photo showing a square-jawed, thick-necked rugby player, while the person seated before him appeared significantly smaller in every dimension.

"This doesn't look like you," the officer said finally.

"It is me," Ethan insisted, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "I've just... lost some weight recently."

"Lost weight?" The officer's eyebrows rose. "According to this, you're twenty-one years old, 6'2", and ninety-five kilos. You don't appear to be any of those things."

Ethan's mouth went dry. How could he explain what was happening when he didn't understand it himself?

"I can explain—" he began, but the officer cut him off.

"Step out of the vehicle, please."

Heart pounding, Ethan complied, opening the door and slipping out to stand beside his car. The difference in their heights was immediately apparent and deeply humiliating. The officer towered over him, standing at least 6'1", making Ethan crane his neck to meet his gaze. Based on this comparison, Ethan estimated he must now be around 5'5"—shorter than many women on campus.

"What's your date of birth?" the officer demanded.

Ethan recited it correctly, then his address, then his full name—all matching his licence. Yet the officer's skepticism only seemed to deepen.

"Look," the officer said, placing his hands on his utility belt, "driving without a valid licence is a serious offence. Taking someone else's car is even more serious. Now, I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm going to need you to level with me. How old are you really? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"I'm twenty-one!" Ethan protested, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "That's my licence, my car! I know I look... different... but I'm telling you the truth!"

A small crowd of students had begun to gather at a distance, watching the spectacle of what appeared to be a police officer confronting a teenager in oversized clothes. Ethan spotted several phone cameras pointed in their direction—his humiliation was likely being recorded for posterity, perhaps even livestreamed to social media.

"I'm going to need you to call your parents," the officer said, his tone softening slightly but becoming more condescending. "I can't allow you to drive this vehicle, and I need to speak with a responsible adult about how you came to be in possession of it."

"My parents?" Ethan repeated incredulously. "I don't need to call my parents. I'm an adult!"

The officer sighed, clearly losing patience. "You appear to be a minor in possession of an expensive vehicle with identification that couldn't possibly be yours. Now, what's your mother's phone number?"

Ethan's face burned with humiliation. Not only was he shrinking, losing his hard-earned physique and status, but now he was being treated like a child who needed his mummy. Worse still was the familiar stirring in his groin—that same inexplicable arousal triggered by his own humiliation.

"What seems to be the problem here, officer?"

The deep voice came from behind Ethan, and he didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to. Joe Reynolds approached with confident strides, his massive frame making even the police officer look average-sized by comparison.

"This doesn't concern you, sir," the officer responded professionally, though his eyes widened slightly at Joe's imposing physique. "I'm dealing with a potential case of underage driving and possibly stolen property."

Joe let out a rich laugh, placing a heavy hand on Ethan's shoulder. The weight of it seemed to push Ethan down, emphasising the height difference between them.

"There's been a misunderstanding," Joe said smoothly. "This is my little brother, Ethan. He's got a hormonal condition that makes him look younger than he is. He's actually twenty-one, just like his licence says."

Ethan stiffened under Joe's grip, both grateful for the intervention and mortified by the lie. Little brother? Hormonal condition? Yet he remained silent, recognising that Joe might be his only way out of this situation.

The officer looked doubtful. "Your brother?"

"Half-brother," Joe amended with practiced ease. "Different fathers, obviously." He gestured to his own towering frame, then to Ethan's diminutive stature, inviting comparison. "Our mum has a type, but his dad was... vertically challenged."

A few snickers came from the gathered crowd. Ethan's humiliation deepened, along with his unwanted arousal. The pressure of Joe's hand on his shoulder felt both restraining and oddly comforting.

"He really is twenty-one?" the officer asked, still skeptical but wavering.

"Absolutely," Joe confirmed. "Call the university administration if you need verification—he's a student here, captain of the rugby team." He paused, then added with a smirk, "Well, was captain. Might be time to reconsider that position given recent... developments."

The officer studied them both for a long moment, then reluctantly handed back Ethan's licence and registration. "I still have concerns about his ability to operate this vehicle safely at his current size. The seat adjustments only go so far."

"That's a fair point," Joe agreed before Ethan could protest. "Tell you what, I'll drive him home myself. Come back for his car later when we've sorted out some... adaptations." He squeezed Ethan's shoulder meaningfully.

The officer considered this, then nodded. "That seems reasonable. But I'd suggest looking into getting your licence updated with your current... dimensions," he added to Ethan. "For future reference."

With that, the officer returned to his patrol car, leaving Ethan standing beside Joe, acutely aware of the crowd still watching them, phones still recording.

"Thank you," Ethan managed through gritted teeth once the officer was out of earshot.

"Don't mention it, little brother," Joe replied, loud enough for nearby onlookers to hear. Then, leaning down to speak directly into Ethan's ear, he whispered, "Your cock getting hard from this too? Being treated like a child in public? Being rescued by a real man?"

Ethan recoiled, but Joe's grip on his shoulder tightened, keeping him close.

"How did you know?" Ethan hissed, terrified that his shameful arousal might be visible through his loose jeans. "What's happening to me?"

"Let's just say I've seen this before," Joe replied cryptically. "Come on, I'll drive you home. You can barely see over the steering wheel now anyway."

Before Ethan could protest, Joe was guiding him away from his Audi and toward the other end of the car park, where Joe's massive pickup truck waited. The crowd parted before them, students whispering and pointing as the once-mighty Ethan Miller was led away like a child by the giant bodybuilder.

"My gym bag," Ethan remembered suddenly, trying to turn back.

"I'll get it," Joe said, pushing Ethan gently toward the truck. "Wait here."

Ethan stood beside the passenger door of the truck, feeling exposed and vulnerable as Joe jogged back to retrieve his bag from the Audi. The truck seemed even more enormous than Joe's usual vehicle—a true monster of a machine, lifted on oversized tyres with a cab that sat high off the ground.

When Joe returned with the bag, he tossed it into the truck bed and then opened the passenger door for Ethan.

"Hop in, shorty," he said with a grin.

Ethan approached the step-up to the cab and realised with dismay that it came nearly to his waist. He would have to climb to get in—another humiliation in a day full of them.

"Need a boost?" Joe offered, not waiting for an answer before placing his hands on Ethan's waist and lifting him effortlessly into the passenger seat.

The casual display of strength—Joe handling him as if he weighed nothing—sent another unwanted surge of arousal through Ethan's body. He shifted uncomfortably in the enormous seat, his feet dangling several inches above the floor mat.

Joe climbed into the driver's side with practiced ease, his head nearly touching the cab's roof despite the vehicle's size. He started the engine, which roared to life with a deep, powerful rumble that Ethan could feel vibrating through his diminished body.

"Let's get you home, little man," Joe said, putting the truck in gear. "Though something tells me your problems are just beginning."

As they pulled out of the university car park, Ethan caught sight of his reflection in the side mirror—a small, almost childlike figure swallowed up by the passenger seat of a massive truck, being driven home like a schoolboy after getting into trouble.

What Joe said next only confirmed his growing fears.

"By the way," the bodybuilder added casually as they turned onto the main road, "I hope you don't have any plans tonight. Based on what I've seen before... you've got a lot more shrinking to do."

-7-

Joe's enormous pickup truck thundered down the road, its powerful engine growling beneath them. Ethan sat in uncomfortable silence, his diminished body hardly filling the passenger seat designed for someone twice his size. His feet dangled above the floor mat, forcing him to sit with his back pressed firmly against the seat to avoid sliding forward—a posture that made him feel even more childlike.

"You might as well ask," Joe said finally, breaking the silence without taking his eyes off the road.

"Ask what?" Ethan replied, his voice sounding unnaturally high to his own ears.

Joe chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to fill the cab. "How I know what's happening to you. Why I'm not surprised to see a university rugby captain shrinking like Alice in bloody Wonderland."

Ethan swallowed hard. He'd been avoiding the question, partly from fear of the answer. "Fine. How do you know? What's happening to me?"

Instead of answering immediately, Joe reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. With practiced ease, he shook a cigarette free, placed it between his lips, and lit it one-handed, the other still on the steering wheel.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, though he was already exhaling a plume of grey that filled the cab.

"It's your truck," Ethan muttered, waving away the smoke irritably.

Joe took another long drag, then glanced sideways at Ethan with an appraising look. "You know Samantha Chen? Goth girl, purple in her hair, hangs around with two other spooky-looking birds?"

Ethan frowned. "Tyler's weird friend? What's she got to do with this?"

"Everything," Joe replied, tapping ash into the truck's ashtray. "Sam and her friends—the 'Wicca girls,' as they're known—they've got certain... skills. Special brews. Potions, if you want to call them that."

"Potions," Ethan repeated flatly. "You're taking the piss."

Joe shrugged his massive shoulders. "Believe what you want, but you're sitting there a foot shorter than you were this morning, aren't you? Shrinking out of your clothes, getting hard when people notice. That sound like normal biological functioning to you?"

Put that way, it was difficult to argue. Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the smoke now irritating his eyes and throat. As if sensing his discomfort, Joe deliberately exhaled another cloud in his direction.

"Don't like the smoke, little man?" Joe asked, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Too bad. In my truck, we play by my rules. And right now, I feel like smoking."

Ethan coughed, trying to wave away the thickening cloud. "Just tell me what's happening. How do you know about this... potion?"

Joe took another deep drag, seeming to consider how much to reveal. "Let's just say you're not the first bloke at our university to experience this. Remember Dean Sullivan? Rugby fullback, about your size, graduated last year?"

Ethan nodded slowly. Dean had been a senior when Ethan was a freshman—another dominant physical specimen on the rugby pitch, respected and feared in equal measure.

"What about him?" Ethan asked, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.

"He dated Nadia—one of Sam's friends—for about three months. Treated her like shit, cheated on her, dumped her publicly at a party." Joe tapped more ash into the ashtray. "Two weeks later, he started shrinking during a match. By the time the final whistle blew, his uniform was hanging off him like a kid playing dress-up."

A chill ran down Ethan's spine. "What happened to him?"

Joe shrugged again. "Officially? He withdrew from the university for 'personal reasons.' Unofficially? Last I heard, he was living with Nadia, barely four feet tall, serving as her personal... well, let's call it 'companion.'"

The implication hung in the smoky air between them. Ethan struggled to process what he was hearing. "That's insane. That can't be real."

"Says the man who just came untouched in a public shower because his cock shrank to the size of my thumb," Joe retorted, taking a final drag before flicking the cigarette butt out the window. "Face it, Miller. Someone slipped you the potion, and now you're on the incredible shrinking man ride whether you believe in it or not."

Ethan's mind raced, trying to recall who might have had access to his food or drink over the past day. Then a terrible suspicion formed.

"Tyler," he whispered, the realisation dawning. "This morning he made my pre-workout. It tasted different."

Joe nodded, unsurprised. "Your brother's been hanging around with Sam and her friends for months now. I've seen them huddled together in the library, whispering. Wouldn't be surprised if he finally decided to do something about big brother's bullying."

The truck hit a pothole, causing Ethan to bounce in his seat. His seatbelt, designed for a much larger frame, did little to secure him, and he had to grab the door handle to steady himself. The simple act of being jostled around like a rag doll in the passenger seat—something that would never have happened to him at his former size—sent another humiliating wave of arousal through him.

Joe noticed his reaction and laughed. "There it is again. Getting excited by your own helplessness." He reached into his pocket for another cigarette. "That's part of the potion too, you know. It doesn't just shrink you—it makes you enjoy it. The more aroused you get by your diminishment, the faster you shrink."

"That's sick," Ethan protested, though his body was betraying him even as he spoke.

"Is it?" Joe asked, lighting his second cigarette. "Or is it justice? How many smaller blokes have you bullied, Miller? How many freshmen have you humiliated in the locker room? How many women have you used and discarded? The potion doesn't create desires that aren't already there—it just brings them to the surface."

Ethan wanted to argue, to deny everything Joe was saying, but the evidence of his own body's reactions was undeniable. Every time he'd been humiliated today—struggling with weights, unable to reach his locker, being mistaken for a child—his cock had stiffened despite his conscious horror.

"Is there a cure?" he asked finally, his voice small and defeated.

Joe exhaled a fresh cloud of smoke directly at Ethan's face. "Depends who you ask. Sam might know, but I doubt she'd tell you. Not without a significant... incentive."

The truck slowed, pulling into a petrol station forecourt. Joe parked beside one of the pumps and turned to Ethan, his massive frame seeming even larger in the confined space.

"I need to fill up," he said. "You stay put."

"I need the loo," Ethan replied, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Joe's large hand shot out, pressing Ethan back into his seat with casual strength. "I said, stay put. You really want to walk into that petrol station looking like that? Drowning in clothes that don't fit, barely reaching the counter? What if there's someone from uni in there?"

Ethan hesitated, recognising the logic despite his discomfort. "Fine. But hurry up."

Joe grinned, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. "Good boy. Learning your place already."

The condescending praise sent another treacherous wave of arousal through Ethan's body. He squirmed in his seat, hating himself for responding this way.

Joe climbed out of the truck, his exit causing the entire vehicle to rise slightly as it was relieved of his substantial weight. Before closing his door, he leaned back into the cab.

"Roll down your window," he instructed. "Let some fresh air in. You look flushed."

Reluctantly, Ethan complied, pressing the button to lower his window halfway. The cool autumn air flowed in, carrying with it the scent of petrol and wet asphalt from a recent rain shower.

As Joe began filling the truck's massive tank, Ethan pulled out his phone, checking the time. Only two hours had passed since he'd entered the gym that morning—two hours that had completely upended his reality. He had several unread messages: three more from Megan, two from teammates, and one from Tyler that simply read:

How's the weather down there?

Rage and humiliation washed over him in equal measure. His brother knew. Had planned this. Had reduced the mighty Ethan Miller to a diminishing shell of himself with a few drops of some witch's brew.

The sound of the pump clicking off interrupted his thoughts. Joe hung up the nozzle and secured the fuel cap, then walked around to Ethan's side of the truck instead of returning to the driver's seat.

"Get out," Joe said, opening Ethan's door without preamble.

"What? Why?" Ethan asked, suddenly anxious.

"Just do as you're told," Joe replied, his tone brooking no argument.

Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt and reluctantly slid forward until his feet could reach the step below. Even then, the drop seemed substantial to his reduced height. He climbed down awkwardly, feeling Joe's eyes on him the entire time.

Standing beside the massive truck, Ethan felt even smaller than before. The vehicle's hood came up to his chest now, and Joe—standing with his arms crossed—looked like a giant from a fairy tale, impossibly large and imposing.

"Stand by my foot," Joe instructed, pointing to the ground beside his massive training shoe.

"What? No," Ethan protested, looking around nervously. They were in full view of the petrol station shop, where several customers could be seen through the windows.

"Stand. By. My. Foot," Joe repeated, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Or I drive off and leave you here to explain to everyone why you look like a child wearing his dad's clothes."

Defeated, Ethan shuffled over and stood beside Joe's foot as instructed. The comparison was stark and humiliating. Joe's training shoe—size 14 at least—seemed almost comically large next to Ethan's now-undersized feet. The top of Ethan's head barely reached the midpoint of Joe's chest, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at the bodybuilder's face.

"Perfect," Joe said, pulling out his phone. Before Ethan could react, Joe snapped a photo of them both—capturing the dramatic size difference for posterity.

"What the hell?" Ethan hissed, reaching for the phone, but Joe easily held it out of his reach.

"Insurance," Joe explained with a smirk. "In case you get any ideas about causing trouble when we reach your flat. Now get back in the truck."

Climbing back into the passenger seat was even more difficult than getting out had been. Ethan had to use both arms to pull himself up, his diminished strength making the simple action a struggle. By the time he was seated again, his face was flushed with exertion and humiliation—and his traitorous cock was straining against his oversized jeans.

Joe returned to the driver's seat, immediately lighting another cigarette. "Getting excited again, I see," he commented, nodding toward the visible bulge in Ethan's lap. "Must have enjoyed standing next to my boot like a little toy soldier."

Ethan said nothing, turning to look out the window as they pulled back onto the road. They drove in silence for several minutes, Joe smoking contentedly while Ethan tried to process everything he'd learned. Finally, as they approached the turning for his neighbourhood, Ethan spoke up.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked. "You clearly enjoy watching me shrink. Why not just leave me stranded at the gym?"

Joe considered the question, taking a long drag of his cigarette before answering. "Let's call it professional courtesy. I've been where you are, in a manner of speaking."

Ethan turned to stare at him in disbelief. "What? You?"

Joe nodded, a strange smile playing across his face. "Two years ago, I was a skinny postgrad student with a chip on my shoulder. Five-ten, seventy kilos soaking wet. Then I met the Wicca girls through a mutual friend."

"They gave you a potion too?" Ethan asked, trying to reconcile the massive man beside him with the description of a skinny student.

"Not exactly," Joe replied cryptically. "Let's just say they offered me an opportunity. A transfer of... attributes. Someone was shrinking, and I received what they lost."

The implication struck Ethan like a physical blow. "You mean... you got bigger because someone else got smaller?"

Joe's smile widened. "Magic has to balance out somewhere, doesn't it? For every action, an equal and opposite reaction. Basic physics."

A horrible thought occurred to Ethan. "Is that what's happening now? Is someone else getting what I'm losing?"

Before Joe could answer, the truck turned onto Ethan's street and pulled up outside his flat. Joe cut the engine and turned to face him fully.

"Ask your brother," he said, reaching behind the seats to extract a child safety seat—the kind designed for toddlers—that Ethan hadn't noticed before. "This is for my nephew when I drive him around," Joe explained, seeing Ethan's confusion. "But I think you'll be needing it next time you get in a car."

The casual cruelty of the statement, the assumption that Ethan would continue shrinking to the size of a small child, sent a final shameful thrill through his diminished body. He felt the now-familiar tingling sensation spreading through his limbs—the precursor to another reduction in size.

"It's happening again," he gasped, looking down at his hands as they visibly lost mass before his eyes.

"Better get inside quickly," Joe advised, seemingly unperturbed by the supernatural sight of a man shrinking in his passenger seat. "Unless you want to be found on your doorstep the size of a primary school kid."

Ethan fumbled with the door handle, pushing it open with effort that should have been effortless hours earlier. He jumped down, landing awkwardly as his body continued to diminish. His jeans slipped dangerously low on his hips, and he had to grab them to prevent them from falling altogether.

"Thanks for the ride," he muttered, unable to meet Joe's eyes as he grabbed his gym bag from the truck bed.

"Don't mention it," Joe replied, leaning across the cab to look down at him through the passenger window. "And Ethan? When you see Tyler, ask him about the transfer. Ask him who's getting all that lovely height and muscle you're losing."

With that cryptic parting shot, Joe revved the engine and pulled away, leaving Ethan standing on the pavement outside his flat, clothes hanging off his diminishing frame, faced with the prospect of confronting the brother who had quite literally cut him down to size.

-8-

Ethan stood on the pavement watching Joe's truck disappear around the corner, a sense of foreboding settling over him like a physical weight. His clothes hung from his diminished frame like sails in a dying wind—his jeans bunched at his ankles where he'd hurriedly rolled them up, his t-shirt more resembling a dress than athletic wear. The sleeves that once strained against his biceps now hung past his elbows.

The family home he shared with Tyler loomed before him—a modest semi-detached house their parents had purchased as an investment when both boys began attending university. What once felt like a privilege—living away from halls but still having independence from their parents—now felt like a trap. Tyler would be inside, waiting.

The tingling sensation that had begun in Joe's truck had subsided, but Ethan knew it would return. Each time it did, he lost more of himself. Based on how his clothes fit now, he estimated he had shrunk to around 5'2"—nearly a foot shorter than his original height.

With a deep breath, he approached the front door, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The door itself seemed larger than it had that morning, the handle positioned slightly higher than was comfortable. He fumbled with his keys, struggling to reach the lock and work the mechanism with fingers that felt weak and unfamiliar.

After the third failed attempt, he swore under his breath, frustration mounting. Finally, the key caught, and the lock turned with a satisfying click. Pushing the door open required more effort than it should have, as if the hinges were resisting his diminished strength. He stepped into the hallway, dropping his gym bag by the door.

"Hello?" he called out, hearing the higher pitch of his voice echo in the quiet house. "Tyler?"

Silence answered him.

Ethan moved cautiously through the ground floor, checking the kitchen and living room, finding both empty. A half-finished mug of tea sat on the coffee table—still warm, judging by the faint wisp of steam rising from it. Tyler was here somewhere.

The staircase to the bedrooms above seemed steeper and taller than he remembered, each step requiring a slightly higher lift of his legs. Halfway up, he heard a sound from above—a suppressed laugh, quickly silenced.

Anger flared in his chest, momentarily overwhelming his fear and confusion. He took the remaining stairs two at a time, ignoring the strain it put on his reduced muscles, and marched toward Tyler's bedroom door.

Without knocking, he pushed it open.

Tyler sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop open before him, a textbook at his side. At twenty-one, Ethan had always been the bigger brother—three years older and, until today, significantly larger in every dimension. Now, as Tyler looked up from his screen with a smile that was equal parts satisfaction and malice, Ethan realised with a jolt that the physical hierarchy between them had been completely reversed.

"Welcome home, big brother," Tyler said, emphasising the now-ironic title. "Or should I say... little brother?"

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching to his full height of 5'11"—a height that had once seemed unimpressive next to Ethan's towering 6'2". Now, as Tyler approached, Ethan had to tilt his head back to meet his younger brother's gaze.

"What have you done to me?" Ethan demanded, his voice cracking with emotion.

Tyler circled him slowly, like a predator assessing prey, eyes travelling up and down Ethan's diminished form with undisguised pleasure.

"I've evened the playing field," Tyler replied simply. "Or rather, I've tipped it in my favour. How does it feel to be the small one for a change, Ethan?"

"This isn't funny," Ethan said, trying to sound authoritative but hearing only desperation in his voice. "Whatever you've done, whatever... potion you put in my drink, you need to reverse it."

Tyler laughed, the sound sharp and unfamiliar—lacking the nervous edge that had characterised his laughter for years. "Potion? How medieval of you. Let's call it a formula. An experimental compound with fascinating properties." He took another step closer, now looming over Ethan. "And no, I don't think I will reverse it. I'm quite enjoying the new you."

Ethan backed away until he hit the wall, suddenly feeling cornered. "This is insane. You can't just... shrink people! It's not possible!"

"And yet, here you are," Tyler replied, gesturing to Ethan's diminutive form. "Getting smaller by the hour. How tall are you now? Five-one? Five feet even? Quite a fall from your lofty perch, isn't it?"

The casual assessment of his height loss sent an unwanted shiver of arousal through Ethan's body. He pressed his back harder against the wall, trying to put even a few more centimetres between himself and his now-larger brother.

"Joe told me about the transfer," Ethan said, recalling the bodybuilder's parting words. "He said to ask you who's getting what I'm losing. Is it you? Are you taking my height, my muscle?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Tyler's face at the mention of Joe's name, quickly replaced by a calculating smile. "Joe's involved, is he? Interesting. I hadn't planned on him becoming part of this, but it makes sense. He does have experience with the process."

"Answer the question," Ethan pressed, trying to regain some semblance of control over the conversation.

Tyler stepped back and raised his arms in a theatrical shrug. "Look at me, Ethan. Do I appear to have gained a foot in height since this morning? Am I suddenly bursting with newfound muscle?"

It was true—Tyler looked exactly as he always had: average height, slim but not scrawny, with the build of someone who occasionally visited the gym but didn't make it a priority.

"Then who?" Ethan asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"No one," Tyler replied. "At least, not directly. This particular formula doesn't require a recipient. It simply... reduces. The mass has to go somewhere, of course—basic conservation of matter—but it dissipates into the environment. Background energy, if you will."

Ethan shook his head, struggling to understand. "This is mad. All of it. You're talking about magic like it's science."

"Who says they're different?" Tyler countered. "Sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic, isn't that the saying? The Wicca girls have simply discovered principles that conventional science hasn't catalogued yet."

He took a step closer again, forcing Ethan to press himself against the wall to maintain what little distance he could.

"But we're getting off track," Tyler continued. "The important question isn't how it works, but why I did it. Care to venture a guess, brother dear?"

The answer was obvious, hanging between them like an unacknowledged ghost. Years of bullying, of casual cruelty, of Ethan using his superior size and strength to dominate and humiliate his younger brother. The flashbacks came unbidden to Ethan's mind: holding Tyler down to fart on his face, dunking his head in the toilet, throwing his homework in the bath, stealing his clothes while he showered, leaving him naked and shivering at school.

"I was just... it was just brotherly stuff," Ethan said weakly. "Everyone does that kind of thing."

Tyler's face hardened. "No, Ethan. Everyone does not do 'that kind of thing.' What you did was systematic abuse, year after year. You made my life hell because you could, because you were bigger and stronger and everyone—even our parents—thought the sun shone out of your arse."

The words struck home with painful accuracy. Ethan had always been the golden child—the athletic one, the popular one, the one who brought home trophies and glory. Tyler, with his books and quiet achievements, had been an afterthought in their family dynamic.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said, and was surprised to find he meant it. "I didn't realise—"

"Save it," Tyler cut him off. "Your apologies mean nothing now. This isn't about forgiveness, Ethan. It's about justice. It's about you finally understanding what it feels like to be small, to be vulnerable, to have power wielded over you by someone bigger."

As if to emphasise his point, Tyler placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder and pushed down slightly—not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to demonstrate their new physical reality. Ethan's knees buckled slightly under the pressure, a reaction that would have been impossible just hours earlier.

"How long will this last?" Ethan asked, his voice small even to his own ears.

Tyler tilted his head, considering. "That depends on several factors. The formula works with the subject's hidden desires, you see. The more you secretly enjoy your diminishment, the faster and more dramatic the effects."

"I don't enjoy this!" Ethan protested, though the stirring in his loose jeans contradicted his words.

"Your body suggests otherwise," Tyler observed, glancing down at the telltale bulge. "Joe mentioned you had an... incident in the showers at the gym. Got excited by your own humiliation, did you? Came untouched while the rugby lads mocked your shrinking cock?"

Ethan's face burned with shame. "How did you—"

"Group chat," Tyler replied simply, holding up his phone. "Your teammates have been quite detailed in their descriptions of your transformation. The video's already making the rounds."

"Video?" Ethan's voice was barely a whisper now.

"Oh yes. Quite the show you put on." Tyler's smile was cruel in a way Ethan had never seen before. "The mighty Ethan Miller, reduced to a tiny-dicked midget getting off on his own humiliation. It's poetic, really."

The knowledge that his most vulnerable moment had been captured and shared sent another wave of conflicting emotions through Ethan—humiliation, anger, and that persistent, inexplicable arousal. The tingling sensation returned to his limbs, stronger this time.

"It's happening again," he gasped, looking down at his hands as they visibly lost mass before his eyes.

Tyler stepped back, watching with clinical interest as Ethan shrank further—losing perhaps another inch of height in the space of thirty seconds. His clothes grew looser still, the neckline of his t-shirt slipping off one shoulder, his jeans threatening to fall despite being cinched tight at the waist.

"Fascinating," Tyler murmured. "The emotional trigger is so effective. Just talking about your public humiliation accelerated the process."

When the shrinking finally stopped, Ethan felt dizzy and disoriented, as if the world had expanded around him in a rush. He looked up—definitely up now—at his younger brother, who seemed to have grown even taller during the brief transformation.

"Let me help you with those," Tyler said, gesturing to Ethan's precariously hanging jeans. Before Ethan could protest, Tyler had reached down and yanked them in one swift motion, pulling them completely off and leaving Ethan standing in just his boxers and oversized t-shirt.

"Give those back!" Ethan demanded, lunging for the jeans, but Tyler easily held them out of reach.

"You won't be needing adult clothes much longer," Tyler said matter-of-factly. "I've prepared some alternatives that should fit your... diminishing stature."

He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a shopping bag, tossing it at Ethan's feet. "Go on, have a look."

With trembling hands, Ethan opened the bag. Inside were clothes that might fit a young teenager—small t-shirts, jeans with a 26-inch waist, socks that would barely cover his now-tiny feet.

"You planned this," Ethan said, looking up from the bag in disbelief. "You knew exactly what would happen."

"Of course I did," Tyler replied, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I've been planning this for months. Researching, preparing, waiting for the perfect moment. The formula required specific timing to reach its full potential."

"And what is its full potential?" Ethan asked, dreading the answer. "How small will I get?"

Tyler's smile widened. "That's the beautiful part. There's no predetermined endpoint. You'll shrink as much as your subconscious desires. Based on your reactions so far, I'd say you've got quite a journey ahead of you."

He stood again, towering over Ethan who remained kneeling beside the bag of clothes. "Now put those on. I don't fancy explaining to the neighbours why my adult brother is wandering around in his underwear looking like he's playing dress-up in my clothes."

Ethan clutched the bag to his chest, a gesture that felt pathetically defensive. "I want to go to my room. I need time to process this."

"Your room?" Tyler repeated with mock confusion. "Oh, you mean my new room? I don't think so. The master bedroom belongs to the master of the house now, and that's clearly no longer you."

The casual appropriation of his personal space—the final stripping of his status within their shared home—hit Ethan like a physical blow. He had always claimed the larger bedroom by right of being the elder, larger brother. Now that natural order, like everything else today, had been inverted.

"Where am I supposed to sleep, then?" he asked, hating how plaintive his voice sounded.

Tyler gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "The box room will suit you fine. It's all made up for you—I took the liberty of moving some of your things while you were out shrinking yourself at the gym."

The box room—barely three metres square, originally intended as a study or perhaps a nursery—had always been used for storage. The thought of being relegated to this space, while Tyler took over his bedroom, was a final humiliation that Ethan couldn't even begin to process.

"This isn't right," he said, standing and trying to muster what dignity he could while drowning in an oversized t-shirt, his boxers slipping down his narrowing hips. "You can't just... rearrange our lives like this. What about uni? What about the rugby team? What about Megan?"

At the mention of Megan's name, Tyler's expression changed subtly—a flash of something predatory crossing his features.

"Megan," he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, we should definitely discuss her. But first, let's get you measured. I'm curious exactly how much you've lost so far."

Ethan backed toward the door, suddenly afraid of what might come next. "No. I don't want to be measured."

"I don't recall asking what you want," Tyler replied, his voice hardening as he advanced on his diminutive brother. "It's time you understood your new position in this household, Ethan. You no longer give orders—you take them."

Tyler's hand shot out, grabbing Ethan's wrist with a strength that would have been impossible to resist even if Ethan had been at his full size. Now, with his reduced stature and diminished muscles, it was like being held by an iron vice.

"Let's find out exactly how far the mighty have fallen," Tyler said, dragging Ethan toward the door. "And then we can have that chat about your girlfriend."

-9-

Ethan stumbled as Tyler dragged him from the bedroom into the hallway, his bare feet slipping on the wooden flooring. The t-shirt that had once fitted his muscular torso now hung to his knees like a nightshirt, and his boxers threatened to slide down his diminishing hips with each jerky step.

"Let go of me!" he protested, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he tried to wrench his wrist from Tyler's grip.

Tyler merely tightened his hold, not even bothering to look back as he marched toward the bathroom. "Stop struggling. You'll only make it worse for yourself."

The bathroom, like everything else in the house, seemed to have grown larger since that morning. The sink appeared higher, the toilet more imposing, the bathtub deeper. Tyler pushed Ethan inside, finally releasing his wrist only to close and lock the door behind them.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked, rubbing his wrist where Tyler's fingers had left red marks.

Tyler didn't answer immediately. Instead, he opened the cabinet beneath the sink and extracted a measuring tape—the retractable metal kind used for DIY projects—and a notebook. He flipped the notebook open, revealing a page with dates and numbers already recorded in Tyler's neat handwriting.

"I've been documenting your original measurements for weeks," Tyler explained, seeing Ethan's confusion. "Height, weight, chest, waist, inseam... everything. Now we'll see exactly how much you've lost."

Ethan backed away until he hit the bathtub. "This is sick. I'm not going to stand here while you—"

"Yes, you are," Tyler interrupted, his voice suddenly cold and commanding in a way Ethan had never heard before. "You're going to stand there and be measured like a good little boy, or I'm going to call Joe and tell him you need another lesson in your new place in the world. I'm sure he'd be happy to come back and help you understand."

The threat hung in the air between them. Ethan swallowed hard, recalling Joe's casual strength, his knowing smile, the ease with which he had dominated and humiliated him. The memory sent another unwanted stirring through his groin, and he silently cursed his body's betrayal.

"Fine," he muttered, defeated. "Just get it over with."

Tyler smiled, satisfied with his compliance. "Take off the shirt. I need accurate measurements."

Ethan hesitated, then reluctantly pulled the oversized t-shirt over his head, leaving him standing in just his loose boxers. The cool bathroom air raised goosebumps on his exposed skin, making him feel even more vulnerable.

"Against the wall," Tyler instructed, extending the measuring tape. "Stand up straight."

Ethan moved to the wall as directed, pressing his back against the cool tiles and lifting his chin defiantly. Tyler approached with the measuring tape, extending it upward along the wall beside Ethan's diminished frame.

"Five feet exactly," Tyler announced, making a note in his book. "You've lost fourteen inches of height in less than six hours. That must be some kind of record."

The clinical assessment of his reduction sent a fresh wave of humiliation through Ethan. Five feet tall—shorter than most women, shorter than any adult man he knew. A height that would have made him the smallest person in any room at university, a height that would render him physically insignificant in any confrontation.

"Arms out to the sides," Tyler continued, moving on to the next measurement.

Ethan complied woodenly, extending his arms as Tyler wrapped the tape around his chest.

"Thirty-four inches," Tyler noted, writing it down. "You've lost ten inches here. No more massive pecs to flex for the girls, eh?"

He moved the tape down to Ethan's waist. "Twenty-eight inches. Biceps... ten inches. Thighs... seventeen inches." Each measurement was recorded methodically, each loss announced with barely concealed satisfaction.

Then Tyler paused, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "One more measurement to go."

Before Ethan could protest, Tyler had hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down, leaving him completely exposed.

"What the hell?" Ethan gasped, hands instinctively moving to cover himself.

"Hands at your sides," Tyler ordered. "Or I start taking photos for the rugby group chat."

Reluctantly, Ethan lowered his hands, face burning with shame as his younger brother examined his exposed genitals with clinical detachment.

"Well, well," Tyler said, crouching down for a closer look. "The mighty Ethan Miller reduced to this. What would Megan say if she could see her well-endowed boyfriend now?"

Ethan's penis, once a source of pride at a thick seven inches when erect, had diminished along with the rest of him. Now it nestled between his thighs, barely two inches long in its flaccid state, looking almost childlike in proportion to even his reduced body.

"Let's get an accurate measurement," Tyler said, extending a small plastic ruler he'd pulled from his pocket. He placed it alongside Ethan's penis, the cold plastic making him flinch. "Two and a quarter inches soft. Care to get it hard so we can measure that too?"

"Fuck you," Ethan spat, the words lacking any real force given his compromised position.

Tyler shrugged, putting the ruler away. "No matter. Based on the proportional reduction so far, I'd estimate you're now sporting a mighty three and a half inches when fully erect. Barely enough to satisfy anyone, wouldn't you say?"

Despite the humiliation—or perhaps because of it—Ethan felt his penis beginning to stiffen under his brother's mocking gaze. The familiar tingling sensation returned to his limbs, heralding another reduction.

"Ah, there it is," Tyler observed, stepping back with scientific interest. "Getting excited by your own inadequacy again. Let's see how much more you lose this time."

Ethan watched in helpless horror as his limbs visibly shortened, his entire body seeming to contract inward. The sensation lasted longer this time—perhaps a full minute—and when it finally stopped, he felt significantly smaller than before. His eye level, which had previously been at Tyler's chin, now barely reached the middle of his chest.

"Fascinating," Tyler murmured, extending the measuring tape again. "Four feet nine inches. You've lost another three inches just from getting aroused by having your tiny cock measured." He made a new note in his book. "At this rate, you'll be child-sized by dinner time."

Ethan stood naked and shivering, too shocked to even attempt to cover himself. The bathroom seemed cavernous now, the fixtures towering above him like monuments. Tyler, who had always been the smaller brother, now loomed over him like a giant.

"Please," Ethan whispered, his voice small with dejection. "Give me some clothes."

Something like pity flashed briefly in Tyler's eyes. He reached behind the door where a bathrobe hung on a hook—Ethan's own robe, though it would be far too large for him now.

"Put this on for now," Tyler said, handing him the robe. "We'll sort out proper clothes for you after we discuss one more important matter."

Ethan wrapped the plush robe around himself gratefully, tying the belt tight to keep it from slipping off his shoulders. Even so, it pooled around his feet, the sleeves hanging well past his hands. He had to roll the cuffs several times just to free his fingers.

"What matter?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Megan," Tyler replied, leaning against the sink and folding his arms across his chest. "Your girlfriend. The one who's expecting you at her flat tonight for a special evening."

Ethan's stomach dropped. In the chaos of his transformation, he'd almost forgotten about his plans with Megan. "What about her?"

"You're obviously in no condition to satisfy her," Tyler said bluntly. "Look at you—you're smaller than she is in every way now. What do you think she'd say if you showed up at her door like this? Four-foot-nine with a three-inch cock?"

The crude assessment stung all the more for its accuracy. Megan had always been attracted to Ethan's size and strength. At 5'7" herself, she had loved having to look up at him, had delighted in how easily he could lift her, how his broad shoulders and muscular arms had made her feel delicate and feminine by comparison. Now she would tower over him, outweigh him, probably outmuscle him too.

"I'll cancel," Ethan said quietly. "Tell her I'm ill."

Tyler shook his head, pulling out his phone. "No need for that. I've already texted her from your phone."

"You what?" Ethan lunged forward, trying to grab the phone, but Tyler easily held it out of reach.

"Relax," Tyler said, pushing Ethan back with one hand while scrolling through messages with the other. "I just told her you weren't feeling well and sent me to cancel in person. She invited me in for a drink. We got to talking. She's actually quite interesting when she's not hanging off your arm like a trophy."

A sick feeling spread through Ethan's stomach as he processed what Tyler was saying. "When did this happen?"

"This afternoon, while you were having your shower room adventure at the gym," Tyler replied casually. "I dropped by her flat, explained you were under the weather, and we had a lovely chat. She's coming over here tonight instead. Says she wants to 'look after you' in your time of need." His smile turned predatory. "Though I suspect she'll be looking after me once she sees what's become of her boyfriend."

"You can't," Ethan protested, panic rising in his chest. "You can't let her see me like this!"

"Oh, but I can," Tyler countered. "And I will. In fact, I'm counting on her reaction. Think about it, Ethan—your girlfriend, seeing you reduced to a tiny, weak shadow of yourself. Her pity, her shock, her inevitable disgust when she realises you can't satisfy her anymore. Just imagine what that will do to your already fragile self-image."

Ethan shook his head frantically. "Please, Tyler. Not this. You've made your point. You've humiliated me enough."

"Have I?" Tyler asked, his voice hardening again. "Have I humiliated you as much as you humiliated me all those years? Made you feel as small, as insignificant, as worthless as you made me feel?" He stepped closer, towering over Ethan's diminutive form. "This isn't just about teaching you a lesson, brother. It's about taking everything you took for granted—your height, your strength, your girlfriend, your status. Everything."

The intensity in Tyler's eyes was frightening. This wasn't just revenge; it was a complete reversal of their life positions. Tyler wasn't simply punishing Ethan—he was replacing him.

"She'll be here at seven," Tyler continued, checking his watch. "That gives us about three hours to get you properly prepared. I think a shower is in order, followed by some appropriate clothing. Can't have you meeting your girlfriend looking like a child playing dress-up in daddy's bathrobe, can we?"

Ethan clutched the oversized robe tighter around himself, as if it could somehow protect him from what was coming. "And then what? What happens after she sees me? After you've taken everything?"

Tyler considered the question, head tilted thoughtfully. "That depends on you, I suppose. On how much smaller you get. On whether there's anything left of the mighty Ethan Miller by the time the night is over." He reached out, ruffling Ethan's hair in a patronising gesture that would have been unthinkable just hours earlier. "Now be a good little brother and get yourself cleaned up. Your girlfriend will be here soon, and we want you looking your diminutive best."

As Tyler turned to leave the bathroom, Ethan caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink. A small, frightened face peered back at him from within the folds of the too-large robe, barely recognisable as the confident young man who had admired his impressive physique in the mirror that morning. His once-strong jaw seemed softer, his neck thinner, his shoulders narrower. Even his facial features seemed to have softened slightly, giving him a younger appearance to match his reduced stature.

"Oh, and Ethan?" Tyler paused at the door, looking back with a smile that sent chills down Ethan's spine. "Try not to get too excited in the shower. Every time you cum, you shrink more. And we wouldn't want you to disappear completely before Megan arrives, would we? Although..." he added with a thoughtful expression, "that might solve all our problems."

With that parting shot, Tyler left, closing the door behind him and leaving Ethan alone with his reflection and the terrifying knowledge that his transformation was far from complete.

-10-

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house, each chime sending a fresh wave of dread through Ethan's diminished body. He sat perched on the edge of the bed in the box room—his new bedroom according to Tyler's decree—dressed in the smallest clothes his brother had been able to find. Even these hung loosely on his frame: a t-shirt meant for a twelve-year-old boy draped over his shoulders like a tent, and shorts with a drawstring pulled tight around his narrow waist.

After his shower, Tyler had measured him again: four feet seven inches, another two inches lost despite his best efforts to control his treacherous arousal. His body seemed determined to betray him at every turn, shrinking further with each new humiliation, each reminder of his diminishing status.

"Ethan!" Tyler's voice called from downstairs. "Come down and greet your girlfriend!"

Ethan's stomach twisted into knots. Megan was here. Megan, who had never seen him as anything but tall, strong, and dominant. Megan, who was about to discover that her boyfriend had been reduced to a size smaller than the average child.

With shaking legs, he slid off the bed, his bare feet hitting the floor with barely a sound. The journey down the stairs felt like a march to the gallows, each step emphasising his new reality—the handrail too high, the steps too deep, the world expanded to accommodate giants while he continued to shrink.

Voices drifted from the living room—Tyler's, now deep and commanding, and Megan's, her familiar laugh sending conflicting emotions through Ethan's chest. Would she laugh at him, too, when she saw what had become of him?

He paused at the living room doorway, momentarily hidden from view, gathering what little courage remained in his diminished frame. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

The conversation stopped abruptly. Tyler, lounging comfortably on the sofa with a glass of wine, turned to look at him with barely disguised amusement. Beside him sat Megan, her expression transforming from confusion to shock as she took in the tiny figure before her.

"Oh my God," she breathed, setting down her wine glass with a shaking hand. "Ethan? Is that... is that really you?"

Ethan tried to stand tall, but even at his full height, he barely reached Megan's shoulder. At 5'7", she had always been tall for a woman, but now she seemed Amazonian by comparison.

"Hi, Megan," he said, his voice higher and softer than she'd ever heard it.

"What happened to you?" she asked, rising from the sofa and approaching him cautiously, as if he might disappear if she moved too quickly. "Tyler said you weren't feeling well, but this... this isn't illness. This is..."

"Incredible, isn't it?" Tyler supplied, watching the scene unfold with evident satisfaction. "The incredible shrinking jock. Five inches of height lost for every inch of ego deflated."

Megan ignored him, focusing entirely on Ethan as she reached him. She stood before him, her eyes level with the top of his head, forcing him to look up to meet her gaze. Tentatively, she reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to confirm he was real and not some elaborate prank.

"How is this possible?" she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Ask him," Ethan replied bitterly, jerking his head toward Tyler, who raised his wine glass in mock salute.

"Let's just say I found a way to cut my brother down to size," Tyler said, rising from the sofa to join them. Standing beside Megan, the two of them towered over Ethan like titans. "A little formula courtesy of some friends with unique skills. Turns out the bigger they are, the harder—and faster—they fall."

Megan looked between the brothers, trying to process what she was hearing. "You... you did this to him? On purpose?"

"After twenty-one years of torment, I'd say it was justified," Tyler replied coolly. "Besides, he's not entirely an unwilling participant. The formula works with his subconscious desires. The more he secretly enjoys being small and humiliated, the smaller he gets."

"That's not true," Ethan protested, though his voice lacked conviction.

"No?" Tyler raised an eyebrow, turning to Megan. "Ask him about what happened in the gym showers today. Ask him why he keeps shrinking faster every time someone points out how small and pathetic he's become."

Megan's eyes returned to Ethan, a new wariness in her gaze. "Is that true? You're... enjoying this?"

"No!" Ethan insisted, but even as he denied it, he felt the familiar stirring of arousal. Megan's towering presence, her questioning gaze looking down at him, the reversal of their usual physical dynamic—all of it was affecting him in ways he couldn't control.

"Your body suggests otherwise," Tyler observed, nodding toward the visible tenting in Ethan's shorts. "See, Megan? Your once-mighty boyfriend gets excited by being small and weak. By being looked down upon—literally—by the woman he used to throw around like a rag doll."

Megan's expression shifted from confusion to something more complex—disgust mingled with fascination. She took a step back, creating distance between herself and the unfamiliar creature her boyfriend had become.

"How small will he get?" she asked, directing the question to Tyler rather than Ethan, as if he were no longer capable of answering for himself.

"That depends," Tyler replied, moving closer to Megan with casual confidence. "The formula reacts to arousal and humiliation. The more he experiences, the smaller he becomes. Based on his reactions so far..." he paused, glancing down at Ethan with a calculating expression, "I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up small enough to fit in the palm of my hand."

The image—Ethan reduced to a tiny, helpless figure in his brother's palm—sent a visible shudder through Megan's body. Ethan couldn't tell if it was revulsion or something else, but the effect on his own body was immediate. The tingling sensation returned to his limbs, stronger than before, and he felt himself beginning to shrink again.

"It's happening," he gasped, looking down at his hands as they visibly lost mass before his eyes. "No, not again!"

Megan stepped back further, a hand rising to cover her mouth as she witnessed the supernatural transformation. Tyler, by contrast, moved closer, watching with scientific interest as Ethan lost inch after inch in real-time.

This reduction was more dramatic than the previous ones, perhaps accelerated by the presence of Megan—the woman who had known him only as strong, tall, and dominant now watching him diminish into insignificance. When the tingling finally stopped, Ethan found himself standing at less than four feet tall, the clothes that had been loose before now hanging off him like sails on a becalmed ship.

"Fascinating," Tyler murmured, reaching out to grasp Ethan's wrist between his thumb and forefinger, lifting his arm as if examining a specimen. "You must have lost at least eight inches in one go. The presence of your girlfriend is quite the catalyst, it seems."

Ethan jerked his arm away, but the movement had none of the strength or authority it would have had hours earlier. He was now smaller than a ten-year-old child, looking up at his brother and girlfriend as if they were giants from another species.

"What am I supposed to do with... this?" Megan asked, gesturing toward Ethan as if he were an object rather than a person. "He's hardly my boyfriend anymore. I can't even... I mean, look at him!"

The dismissal cut deeper than Ethan would have thought possible. From the beginning of their relationship, Megan had been attracted to his physical dominance, his ability to make her feel small and protected. Now, with those attributes reversed, she was looking at him not with love or even pity, but with something closer to revulsion.

"You're right," Tyler agreed, placing a comforting hand on Megan's shoulder. "He's not much use to anyone at this size. But you came here expecting to spend the evening with a real man, and I don't see why those plans should change."

The implication hung in the air, electric with possibility. Ethan watched in horror as Tyler's hand moved from Megan's shoulder to the small of her back, a gesture of possession so subtle yet so definitive that it might as well have been a flag planted in conquered territory.

"What are you suggesting?" Megan asked, though the hint of interest in her voice suggested she already knew.

Tyler smiled, the expression carrying none of the nervousness or uncertainty that had characterised his interactions with women before. "Simply that there's still a Miller man in this house capable of showing you a good time. One who isn't shrinking by the minute."

To Ethan's dismay, Megan didn't pull away from Tyler's touch. Instead, she seemed to lean into it slightly, her eyes travelling over his brother's form with new consideration. Tyler wasn't as tall as Ethan had been, nor as broadly built, but he was still a respectable 5'11", and next to Ethan's current state, he might as well have been a colossus.

"This is sick," Ethan protested, his voice sounding childishly high even to his own ears. "Megan, you can't seriously be considering—"

"Be quiet, Ethan," Megan cut him off, her tone dismissive in a way she had never spoken to him before. "The adults are talking."

The casual dismissal, the infantilisation of being silenced like a child interrupting a grown-up conversation, sent another unwanted wave of arousal through Ethan's diminishing body. He felt the tingling begin again, milder this time but persistent.

Tyler noticed immediately. "Look at that, Megan. Even being told to shut up by his girlfriend is getting him excited. I don't think there's any humiliation too small for our little man here."

Megan's eyes dropped to Ethan's midsection, where his arousal was evident despite the oversized shorts. "That's... disturbing."

"I prefer to think of it as convenient," Tyler replied smoothly. "It means we don't need to worry about him while we... get to know each other better. Each time he gets excited by his own insignificance, he gets smaller. By the time we're done, he might be too tiny to cause any trouble at all."

As if to emphasise his point, Tyler slid his arm around Megan's waist and drew her closer. She didn't resist, allowing herself to be pulled against his side in a parody of the way Ethan had once held her.

"What do you say, Megan?" Tyler asked, his voice low and intimate. "Want to see if the younger Miller brother can satisfy you in ways that the older one clearly can't anymore?"

Ethan wanted to protest, to fight, to do something to stop the betrayal unfolding before his eyes. But what could he do? At barely four feet tall, with the strength of a child and shrinking further by the minute, he was physically incapable of preventing anything.

"What about him?" Megan asked, nodding toward Ethan. "What happens to him?"

Tyler considered the question, then walked over to a nearby shelf and picked up an empty shoebox that had been placed there. He set it on the coffee table, removing the lid.

"This will be his new accommodation," Tyler explained, as if discussing a pet hamster rather than his brother. "Appropriate for his diminishing stature, don't you think?"

The shoebox—perhaps twelve inches long and eight inches wide—seemed impossibly small to contain a person. Yet as Ethan continued to shrink, losing another half-inch even as they spoke, the possibility seemed less and less absurd.

"You can't be serious," Ethan said, backing away until he hit the wall. "Tyler, this has gone far enough. You've made your point. You've humiliated me. You've taken my girlfriend. Just stop the shrinking now."

Tyler approached him slowly, each step emphasising the growing disparity in their sizes. When he reached Ethan, he crouched down to eye level, though even kneeling he still towered over his diminutive brother.

"I can't stop it," he said, and for a brief moment, something like genuine regret flashed across his features. "The formula doesn't have an antidote. It runs its course until it reaches equilibrium with your subconscious desires. And based on how you keep responding to each new humiliation..." he gestured toward Ethan's persistent arousal, "I'd say your subconscious is far from satisfied."

"Please," Ethan begged, his eyes filling with tears. "There must be something you can do."

Tyler shook his head. "The time for that was years ago, when I begged you to stop bullying me. When I pleaded with you to leave me alone, to let me have some dignity." His expression hardened. "You didn't listen then. Why should I listen now?"

Before Ethan could respond, Tyler's hand shot out, grasping him around the torso. With shocking ease, he lifted Ethan off the ground, carrying him like a doll over to the coffee table where the shoebox waited.

"Let me go!" Ethan cried, struggling against Tyler's grip, but his diminished strength was no match for even his brother's casual hold.

"Megan," Tyler called over his shoulder. "Come see your boyfriend's new home."

Megan approached cautiously, her eyes wide as she took in the scene—Tyler holding the struggling, miniature version of Ethan over an empty shoebox like a child about to imprison an insect.

"This is insane," she whispered, but she made no move to intervene.

Tyler lowered Ethan into the box, releasing him only when he was safely contained within its cardboard walls. From this new vantage point, Ethan looked up at two towering figures peering down at him—his brother and his girlfriend, now appearing as giants from his perspective.

"I have to say, the box suits you," Tyler observed, his voice booming from above. "Much more appropriate accommodation for someone of your stature."

"Get me out of here!" Ethan demanded, but his voice sounded tiny and ineffectual, even to his own ears.

Tyler ignored him, turning to Megan instead. "What do you think? Is he more appealing now that he's been properly... downsized?"

Megan leaned closer, studying Ethan as if he were a curious specimen in a museum exhibit. "It's hard to believe this is the same man I was with this morning. He's so... small."

"And getting smaller," Tyler added, nodding toward Ethan's form. "Look."

The tingling had returned, more intense than ever. Ethan felt his body contracting, shrinking at an alarming rate as the ultimate humiliation—being placed in a shoebox while his brother and girlfriend discussed him like an interesting insect—triggered whatever mechanism controlled the transformation.

He was losing inches by the second now, his clothes becoming absurdly large, pooling around him like collapsed tents. When the shrinking finally stopped, he found himself standing perhaps eight inches tall, drowning in fabric that had once been child-sized shorts and a t-shirt.

"My God," Megan breathed, her face now so large from Ethan's perspective that it filled his entire field of vision when she leaned over the box. "He's tiny. Like a living doll."

"Less than a doll, I'd say," Tyler replied, reaching into the box.

His massive hand descended, fingers wrapping around Ethan's entire body. With casual ease, Tyler lifted him out of his clothes, leaving them behind in the box as he raised the now-naked miniature Ethan to eye level.

"Look at that," Tyler said, turning his hand so Megan could see clearly. "Even his cock has shrunk proportionally. Must be microscopic by now."

Ethan's humiliation was complete. Naked, helpless, held in his brother's palm while his girlfriend stared at his diminutive form with a mixture of disgust and fascination. And still—still—his traitorous body responded with arousal, his tiny penis stiffening despite everything.

"He's getting hard again," Megan observed, leaning closer. "Even now, he's excited by this."

"Of course he is," Tyler replied. "It's what he's always wanted, deep down. To be small, helpless, dominated. To have all responsibility, all expectation, all pressure stripped away along with his size."

There was an uncomfortable ring of truth to Tyler's words. As horrifying as his transformation had been, with each reduction Ethan had felt a strange sense of liberation—a weight lifting as his physical stature diminished. No more being team captain, no more being the alpha male, no more living up to the endless expectations that came with being the big man on campus.

"What will you do with him now?" Megan asked, reaching out a finger to poke gently at Ethan's tiny form.

Tyler shrugged, the motion sending Ethan tumbling across his palm. "Keep him as a reminder, I suppose. A little trophy to commemorate the reversal of our fortunes."

"And what about us?" Megan's voice had taken on a sultry quality that Ethan recognised all too well—the tone she had once used with him when she wanted intimacy.

Tyler's free hand reached out, drawing Megan closer. "I think we have much to discuss on that front. Perhaps in my new bedroom? The one with the larger bed?"

Megan smiled, casting a final glance at the miniature Ethan lying naked in Tyler's palm. "What about him?"

"He can watch if he wants," Tyler replied with a cruel smile. "Given his reactions so far, he might even enjoy it. Though I suspect he'll shrink himself into non-existence if he gets too excited."

With that, Tyler lowered Ethan back into the shoebox, this time placing him on top of the discarded clothes that now formed a fabric mountain around him. From this vantage point, Ethan watched helplessly as Tyler took Megan's hand and led her toward the doorway.

"Don't leave me here!" he called out, his voice now so small it was barely audible.

Tyler paused at the door, looking back at the shoebox on the coffee table. "Don't worry, little brother. We'll come check on you later—if there's anything left to check on."

The last thing Ethan saw before they disappeared from view was Megan pressing herself against Tyler's side, her hand sliding across his chest in a gesture of possession that had once been reserved for him alone.

Left alone in his cardboard prison, Ethan slumped back against the wall of the box, his naked body dwarfed by the now-enormous clothes that had been too small for him just hours earlier. From upstairs came the sound of a door closing, followed by muffled voices and laughter.

Despite everything—the humiliation, the betrayal, the complete reversal of his life circumstances—he felt his miniature cock hardening again at the thought of what was happening in his former bedroom. His brother and his girlfriend, together in his bed, while he sat naked and tiny in a shoebox.

As the familiar tingling sensation began to spread through his diminutive frame once more, Ethan closed his eyes and surrendered to the inevitable final reduction, wondering if there would be anything left of him by morning.

Epilogue

Six weeks later, Tyler Miller adjusted his tie in the mirror, admiring how well the tailored blazer fit his shoulders. He'd grown into his confidence in the past month and a half, his posture straighter, his movements more assured. The change hadn't gone unnoticed. Professors who had once overlooked him in class now called on him regularly, peers who had dismissed him now sought his company, and the rugby team—after some initial resistance—had grudgingly accepted him as their new fitness coordinator.

Life had changed dramatically in the Miller household since that fateful day when Ethan had begun his incredible shrinking journey.

"Have you seen my grey jumper?" Megan called from the bedroom—formerly Ethan's room, now shared by Tyler and his new girlfriend. The transition had been surprisingly seamless. After that first night together, Megan had simply never left, gradually moving her things from her flat into what she now considered their shared space.

"Second drawer on the left," Tyler replied, giving his reflection a final appraising look before turning away from the mirror.

He made his way downstairs, pausing briefly by the shelf in the living room where a shoebox sat, its lid slightly ajar to allow air circulation. Tyler approached it cautiously, peering inside with a mixture of curiosity and something like concern.

The interior of the box had been furnished with doll's house accessories—a tiny bed made from a matchbox and scraps of fabric, a table fashioned from a bottle cap, even miniature books created from folded paper. In the corner sat a thimble filled with water and a small dish containing crumbs that appeared enormous next to the box's inhabitant.

For there, barely visible at first glance, sat a diminutive figure no larger than a thumb. Ethan Miller, once 6'2" of rippling muscle and towering confidence, now reduced to less than two inches in height. His final shrinking had stopped just short of disappearance, leaving him tiny but intact—a living reminder of the reversal of fortunes between the brothers.

"Morning, little brother," Tyler said softly, watching as the tiny figure stirred at the sound of his voice. "Sleep well?"

Ethan looked up, his miniature features barely discernible but clearly showing resignation as he nodded in response. At this size, his voice was too small to be heard without pressing one's ear directly to the box, so communication had become largely one-sided unless Tyler used the magnifying glass and listening tube he'd fashioned for their occasional "conversations."

"Got a busy day ahead," Tyler continued, reaching into the box to adjust the water thimble which had tipped slightly overnight. His finger, now giant-like in proportion to his brother, gently righted the makeshift cup. "Rugby team meeting this morning, then lunch with Megan's parents. They're quite keen to meet the man who's made their daughter so happy these past few weeks."

From his vantage point, Tyler could see Ethan's shoulders slump slightly at the mention of Megan. Despite everything, that particular wound remained raw. The memory of lying in the shoebox, listening to the sounds of pleasure from upstairs that first night—and several nights thereafter—had triggered Ethan's final major shrinking episode. By morning, he had been reduced to his current size, too small to escape the cardboard walls that now formed the boundaries of his world.

"I've left you fresh water and some food," Tyler said, dropping a few bread crumbs and a tiny piece of cheese into the box. To Ethan, these morsels would be a substantial meal, the equivalent of large loaves and wheels in his diminished perception.

Ethan approached the offering cautiously, looking up at Tyler with an expression that remained unreadable at this scale. Had there been gratitude in that tiny face? Resentment? Perhaps both. Their relationship had evolved into something complex and unclassifiable in the weeks since Ethan's transformation.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Tyler added, reaching into his pocket. "I've got something to show you."

He extracted his phone and held it over the box, angling the screen so Ethan could see. On display was an email from the university administration, confirming Tyler's application for a leadership position in student government—a role Ethan had once held.

"They accepted my nomination," Tyler explained, watching for his brother's reaction. "Apparently, the previous candidate's unexpected withdrawal from university created an opening. Lucky me, right?"

The official story was that Ethan Miller had suffered a family emergency requiring his immediate withdrawal from studies. A few eyebrows had been raised at his sudden disappearance, but the explanation, backed by doctored emails from "Ethan" himself, had been accepted without much question. In the fast-paced world of university life, even a campus celebrity could be forgotten surprisingly quickly.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Megan's approach. Tyler quickly pocketed his phone and stepped back from the shoebox as she entered the living room, radiant in a fitted dress that accentuated her figure.

"Ready to go?" she asked, adjusting her earrings. Her eyes briefly flicked to the shoebox on the shelf, a momentary acknowledgement of its occupant before returning to Tyler's face. "We'll be late for the meeting if we don't leave soon."

"Just saying good morning to our little flatmate," Tyler replied with a casual gesture toward the box.

Megan's lips curved in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Unlike Tyler, who had developed an oddly protective attitude toward his miniaturised brother, she preferred to pretend Ethan didn't exist—or at least, to interact with him as little as possible. The tiny figure in the shoebox was an uncomfortable reminder of the boyfriend she had so easily replaced, and of her own complicity in his final humiliation.

"Is he still... you know, getting smaller?" she asked, keeping her distance from the box.

Tyler shook his head. "Stabilised at this size weeks ago. I think he's found his equilibrium, as Sam would say."

The mention of Samantha Chen brought another dimension to their complicated situation. The Wicca girls had been paid their due—exclusive invitations to the rugby team's end-of-season party, delivered by Tyler in his new capacity as team coordinator. But their involvement hadn't ended there. Samantha, in particular, had taken a keen interest in Ethan's fate, visiting occasionally to check on the "experiment" and offering Tyler advice on caring for his miniaturised brother.

"The potion worked exactly as intended," she had told Tyler during her last visit, peering into the shoebox with scientific curiosity. "His subconscious desires determined his final size. If he'd truly wanted to return to normal, he would have stopped shrinking much sooner."

The implication—that Ethan had, on some level, wanted this outcome—remained a source of fascination for Tyler. Had his brother truly harboured a secret desire to be small, weak, dominated? Or had the potion itself created those desires, a self-fulfilling prophecy that ensured its own success? It was a question that kept Tyler awake some nights, watching the tiny figure sleeping in its matchbox bed, wondering about the true nature of desire and retribution.

"We should go," Megan insisted, breaking Tyler from his reverie. "I've left some cucumber cut up in the fridge for him. You can give it to him when we get back."

Tyler nodded, moving away from the shelf. At the doorway, he paused for a final look at the shoebox and its tiny occupant.

"See you this afternoon, Ethan," he called. "Behave yourself while we're gone."

As they left the house, Tyler's hand found the small vial in his jacket pocket—a parting gift from Samantha, delivered with a knowing smile.

"Just in case you ever want to reverse the process," she had said, pressing the glowing blue liquid into his palm. "But use it wisely. The formula works both ways. What was lost can be restored... and what was gained can be taken away."

Tyler hadn't told Megan about the vial. Hadn't told anyone. It remained his secret, a physical manifestation of the power he now held over his brother's fate. Ethan could be restored to his former glory with a few drops of the reversal potion—or kept in his diminished state indefinitely. The choice was entirely Tyler's to make.

As they climbed into Ethan's former car—now legally transferred to Tyler's ownership—Megan glanced at him curiously.

"You're smiling," she observed. "What are you thinking about?"

Tyler started the engine, considering his response. "Just reflecting on how quickly life can change," he said finally. "Six weeks ago, I was the forgotten Miller brother. Now look at us."

Megan reached across to squeeze his thigh, her touch both possessive and affectionate. "You were never forgotten. Just overlooked. Now everyone sees what I see."

As they drove away, Tyler's thoughts returned to the tiny figure in the shoebox. Tomorrow was the two-month anniversary of Ethan's transformation. Perhaps it was time for a conversation—a real one, using the listening tube and magnifying glass to truly hear his brother's perspective for the first time since his final shrinking.

Perhaps it was time to discuss the blue vial and the possibility of restoration. Or perhaps not. There was something satisfying about the current arrangement, a poetic justice that Tyler wasn't quite ready to relinquish.

Back in the shoebox, Ethan watched from his miniature window as the car carrying his brother and former girlfriend disappeared from view. His tiny hands gripped the cardboard sill, his diminutive face a mask of complex emotions too small to be read by human eyes.

Two months in the box had given him ample time to reflect on his fall from greatness—on the pride that had preceded it and the unexpected liberation that had followed. In his reduced state, stripped of all pretence and power, he had discovered truths about himself that might otherwise have remained buried forever.

He turned away from the window, surveying his tiny domain. The matchbox bed, the bottle cap table, the thimble of water, and the enormous crumbs that would be his breakfast—this was his world now, small yet somehow sufficient. From the mightiest jock on campus to a living doll, dependent on his brother's care and mercy.

And the strangest part? Sometimes, in the quiet moments when no one was watching, he found himself grateful for the transformation—for the weight of expectations lifted along with his physical mass, for the freedom found in the ultimate restriction.

As he settled down to break his fast with crumbs that seemed like boulders in his tiny hands, Ethan Miller—once the big man on campus, now the smallest resident of his own home—reflected on the twisted path that had led him here and wondered what further transformations might lie ahead in his miniaturised existence.

For in a world where potions could shrink a man from giant to speck, where fortunes could reverse in the span of a day, who could say what might happen next?

The shoebox was his universe now. But perhaps, it was exactly where he was meant to be.

---

If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.

---