“Yo, Pip. You up to anything interesting today?”

Pipsqueak startled, nearly spilling his orange juice. He set the glass back down on the table. He coughed, glanced back over his shoulder. “Sorry?”

Rumble was rummaging through the fridge. His wings were closed tightly against his back, though with his wingspan, even “closed” they were still larger than most. He leaned down, pushed aside some jugs, then evidently found what he was looking for. “Aha!”

He turned around, closed the fridge, and leaned against the door. He had the orange juice carton in hand, easily palming it. “I asked,” he said, idly unscrewing the top of the carton, “whether you were doing anything fun today.”

“Ah,” Pip said. His eyes roved over Rumble’s wide shoulders. His housemate was wearing a tight black muscle shirt today, and his broad shoulders had stretched the fabric to its limit. His thick, beefy pecs jutted out a good few inches away from his chest, and the tight shirt all but outlined his perfectly cut six-pack. As Rumble finished unscrewing the top and set it aside, Pipsqueak saw the muscles on his abdomen idly flexing, rising and falling with his every breath. “Not as such, no.”

“Too bad.” Rumble considered the jug in his hand for a second, then tossed it back without even getting a glass. Pipsqueak watched with no small amount of interest as Rumble gulped down almost a gallon of orange juice, his thick Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.

Pip’s eyes darted back down to the glass of juice he’d poured for himself. Almost a whole cup of juice. Just the right amount, he’d calculated, to provide his body with the right amount of nutrients and energy for the day! His growing body, he’d hoped.

Rumble slammed the empty carton down onto the counter and sighed happily. “Man,” he said, wiping his mouth, “that’s good stuff.”

Pipsqueak subtly nudged his glass behind his wrist. “Um. Yes. Wonderful.”

Rumble grinned down at him. At over six and a half feet of thick, built muscle, the pegasus was definitely one impressive specimen of stallionhood. His biceps, each one as large as Pipsqueak’s head, flexed idly as he stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the counter. Pipsqueak watched with envy as Rumble’s sleeves rode up on his arms, obviously too small for his size. It was even worse because he’d tried on one of those shirts once, and had been absolutely swimming in it.

“I’ve got a pretty cool day,” Rumble said. He stared up at the ceiling, and so didn’t catch Pipsqueak’s flash of envy. He stuck out his hand and started counting on his fingers. “I’ve got a late morning at work, and the boss is bringing in pizza for all the guys. And,” he said, suddenly sounding sly, “I’ve even got a hot date tonight. Right after the gym.”

“Oh.” Pipsqueak moistened his lips with his tongue. “That sounds...lovely.”

“Definitely, right?” Rumble grinned down at him. “Might even have some ‘fun’ later, if y’know what I mean.”

“O-oh, right,” Pip stuttered. “That.”

“If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Of course not,” Pip said quickly. A bit too quickly, at that, but Rumble didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t mind.”

Rumble slapped the inside of his thigh. Each one of his legs was built like a tree trunk, all rippling, corded muscle. Either one was nearly as wide around as Pip’s slender, almost effeminate waist. Pip could even see a long, thick bulge snaking down Rumble’s leg. It reached almost halfway down to his knee, and didn’t even look hard. He flushed furiously and turned back to his juice.

“Awesome,” Rumble said. He glanced at the clock. “Well, I’m gonna head out. Grab some breakfast on the way. Want me to pick up any groceries?”

When Pipsqueak shook his head, Rumble’s grin widened. “Cool. Welp, see you later!” He turned and—this was the part that got Pipsqueak really blushing—had to duck slightly to fit through the door leading out of the kitchen. He heard the front door open, then slam closed.

It took a moment for Pipsqueak to notice the bulge in his own pants.

Well, lump, really. It was a pitiful thing; barely even qualified to be called a tent. Still, he let his left hand wander down to his crotch, rubbing idly at the bump his little prick made in the fabric. He imagined that instead of his own small bump, he was rubbing the long, thick bulge that Rumble’s schlong always left in his pants. But it wasn’t Rumble’s stallionhood—it was Pip’s, now, and he was groaning, panting lightly as he rubbed his massive, throbbing shaft—

Pip flushed and quickly let his hoof fall to the side. The illusion vanished just as quickly. Of course, Rumble was gone, but the diminutive stallion didn’t even want to think of how it’d sound if he had to explain to his roommate what, exactly, he’d been imagining.

Still, though… Pipsqueak bit his lip, and let his hoof creep up his thigh again. It was almost a pity that Rumble was straight, because if he’d swung the other way, Pip knew exactly what he’d like to do with him. Or what he’d like Rumble to do with him.

Then again, a lifetime of living up to his name hadn’t given Pipsqueak the most confidence. Rumble would be way out of his league if he’d been gay, and since he only went for mares, that pipe dream went right to impossibility instead.

Or should he saw that mares went for him? Pip couldn’t blame them. At just under three hundred pounds, and without an ounce of fat on him, Rumble was six and a half feet of pure power, muscle, and sexuality. Pip had never even seen him hard, but from the nine-inch bulge he’d seen in Rumble’s pants soft, he guessed that the other stallion was far, far larger hard than his own pitiful four-inch stallionhood.

The mares just went wild for that physique. And Rumble just loved feeling bigger than the ponies he brought home, just savored the feeling of filling up a mare’s tight cunt with his massive, bursting cock.

He hadn’t said so in as many words, but that was the impression that Pip had gotten after listening to countless tales of Rumble’s exploits over breakfast. Pipsqueak felt a throb of jealousy in his chest. He would be happy to be filled up by Rumble’s dick. He was, at least in some ways, effeminate enough to pass for a mare. With a slender waist and an (un)fortunately wide pair of hips, he’d been mistaken for one often enough. And, the kicker, he’d be more than happy to feel small and insignificant next to Rumble, letting the other stallion’s pure size and virility swallow his little body up.

Or...would he? Pipsqueak licked his lips as his tiny cock gave another sympathetic throb. He loved the size, alright...but did he really like it on Rumble? Or did he want it himself? He pictured it for a moment: Pipsqueak in name only, a towering stallion so huge he had to duck through doorways to fit, who could sometimes only fit the head of his massive cock into his partner, his rippling muscles covered every inch of his body, rippling, flexing with unbridled power as he grew and grew and grew—

Pipsqueak’s hips jerked suddenly. He let out a soft cry, then bit it back and winced when he bit down on his tongue. He felt a warm, sticky dampness spreading across his shorts. With a grimace, he withdrew his hand from his pants. He hadn’t even realized he’d been jacking off to that mental image. He couldn’t help it. It’d been incredible. Suddenly, all he wanted was to grow, to get bigger, to get huge. And, just as suddenly, he felt he wanted to look down on Rumble, to see becoming the real Pipsqueak as Pip himself grew into a massive, well-endowed hunk of a stallion—

He cut off that train of thought, quick. He needed to swap out these shorts before the cum dried. Groaning mentally, Pip got up from his chair and ambled awkwardly out of the kitchen. He’d forgotten that they did need groceries after all, and now he’d have to shower and change, and that’d delay his whole schedule by a good half hour—

Still, he reflected, at least it had been a good daydream. He summoned up that mental image and smiled to himself. Wouldn’t that be great, he asked himself. Pipsqueak no more.

As if that’d ever happen.

He went upstairs, showered, and changed his clothes. Twenty minutes later, he was out the door and heading toward the Ponyville Marketplace.

Pipsqueak’s nostrils flared as he took in the scents of Ponyville Square. Today the farmer’s market was in full swing, and he was more than ready to take advantage of all of the fresh produce for sale.

After picking up a good-sized order with the Apples, Pip swung around Carrot Top’s stand and bought a bundle of carrots for a stew he was planning on making later. After picking up a few biscuits from the Cakes (Pinkie Pie had insisted he call them “cookies”, but he’d be damned before he debased himself like that), he was just about ready to head back home. He would have, too, if a strange, deep voice hadn’t called out his name.

“Huh?” He spun around, blinking. Nopony around was looking at him.

He heard it again. Nopony so much as twitched toward him. Suddenly, though, Pipsqueak found himself staring at a lonely looking stall set off to the side of the market. Without knowing quite why, he found himself walking over, his full grocery bag swinging at his side.

The stall wasn’t quite as cheery or clean as the others around it; if anything, it looked in downright disarray. The wood looked old and stained, and the cloth was a slightly dusty shade of milky white. The interior of the stall was cast in shadow from the awning hanging above, but as Pip stepped closer, he could make out the outline of a hooded pony sitting inside, a cloak covering the rest of their body.

Unsure of what exactly to say, and unsure of why, exactly, he’d come over here in the first place, Pip just stood somewhat awkwardly in front of the stall and pretended to inspect its wares.

What little was there was interesting, admittedly. There was an odd-looking figurine of a minotaur that looked like it’d been sculpted from gold. There was a wooden plaque, etched with words in a language he could neither read nor understand. Beside it was a collection of glass beads, each one glittering with a different color of the rainbow, and shifting every time he moved his head. And beside those...

Pipsqueak found himself leaning over the stall, hand outstretched. A strange necklace, made of buffed silver and bearing a fake-looking emerald pendant, shone dully from its carved wood stand. When he turned his head, he could just barely make out a pair of squiggly arrows, curved around their middle and pointing in different directions, etched into the emerald.

“The Amulet of Acquisition.” Pip nearly jumped right out of his clothes. The pony sitting in the stall had spoken, and his voice was surprisingly deep, if not downright gravelly. “A most useful artifact. And a quite desirable one...for the right price.”

“Useful?” Pip didn’t realize he’d spoken until the word had already slipped out. “How?”

“For many things.” Though the stallion’s face wasn’t visible beneath his hood, Pip could swear that he was smiling. “It can be used to borrow, or even to steal. To bestow upon its owner the gifts of others. One thing is certain for its user: a transformation is always inevitable.”

The stallion paused, then continued. “Tell me, young Pipsqueak. Has another pony ever had anything you desired? Something you craved, something you envied?” His tone was smug, almost cocky, but Pipsqueak wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was watching the emerald.

In its depths, he suddenly saw an image staring back at him—his own face. But the image rippled, and now it was Rumble there—but no, that was Pipsqueak, wearing Rumble’s body. Pipsqueak, flexing lightly, his muscles threatening to rip right through his sleeves, a massive bulge slithering down his leg. Pipsqueak, tall and proud and strong, a self-assured grin on his face as he felt his bulging bicep…

Pip shook his head. The vision disappeared. But the memory didn’t. “It...it can really do that?” he said. “You’re sure?”

“Will the Sun rise in the morning? I am very sure, young Pip.”

“How much?” His mouth was dry. He was already scraping in his pockets for some coins.

The pony told him. Pip’s mouth went even drier. Still, he managed to scrounge out enough coins to cover the cost, and then some. When he reached for the necklace, the stallion held up a hoof.

“You’ll require its companion, of course,” he said in his gravelly voice. He reached beneath the stall, then removed a smaller, ruby-centered pendant and placed it on the table. “Give this to the pony who holds the thing you desire. The proximity of the amulets will allow it to pass that gift to you. Physical contact”—Pip would have sworn he could see the shadow of a smirk beneath that hood—“will hasten the process.”

“Thank you,” Pip said. He stowed both in his bag.

“Thank you,” the stallion said. “A pleasure doing business.” He leaned back in his seat and fell silent.

Pipsqueak turned and headed home, a hazy fuzz covering his mind. He didn’t turn around to check, but if he had, he would have seen the stall flicker, and then slowly fade into the shadows.

All the way home, Pipsqueak felt the possibilities wash over him. He could be big. As big as Rumble. Bigger than Rumble…

After he’d put away most of the groceries—carrying that heavy bag had completely wiped him out, though he didn’t doubt that Rumble would’ve been able to carry it for five miles without even breaking a sweat—Pip unpacked the two necklaces he’d gotten from the strange vendor and set them onto the kitchen table. He sat down and stared at them.

This couldn’t be serious, right? There was no way this was real. Dangerous magical artifacts like this didn’t fall into anypony’s hands, right?

His hands were trembling. This was dangerous, right? Maybe he should turn it in to someone. Twilight Sparkle, maybe. Or...he could keep it for himself and put it to work.

But what about Rumble? This was his size he was stealing. Pipsqueak stared at the necklaces, then packed them up, took them upstairs, and stowed them under his bed. He’d sleep on it, he told himself. And they might not even work.

Two hours later, Rumble got home, sweaty and buff and musky from the gym. Pipsqueak had to visibly restrain himself from mentioning anything while his roommate showered, snacked, and left. Two hours after that, and Rumble had returned from dinner, bringing some pretty mare from town with a big chest and a wider rump.

Pipsqueak lay on his bed, eyes closed, and pillow over his head. It didn’t help. He could hear the cries of pleasure, could feel every thump and vibration through the wall. He imagined Rumble, the mare so small beneath him, filling her up, his cock dominating her, swelling her with his seed as every muscle of his body flexed to incredible sizes—

Pip didn’t even notice that he’d been masturbating until he was biting down on his lip with sweat pouring down his forehead. Two pathetic spurts of cum splashed out onto his scrawny belly. He lay there, panting for a moment. He could still hear the groans and thuds from the next room over.

He realized, then, that he hadn’t been picturing Rumble and the mare in his mind. He’d been imagining himself: big, buff, larger-than-life. He’d swapped the mare out for Rumble instead: weak, effeminate, scrawny next to his own incredible masculinity. He felt the wall shake as Rumble (he imagined) plunged his member deep inside of his partner, their mixing cries of pleasure so loud that surely the whole neighborhood could hear them.

Something clicked in Pip’s mind. He narrowed his eyes, turned over, and tried to go back to bed. When he finally fell back asleep, he dreamed of muscles, oversized bulges, and a world three sizes too small.

When he woke up, he immediately threw on a bathrobe, retrieved the package from under his bed, and carried it to the kitchen. Rumble was there, waiting for him.

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