Package growth potion

by John Smith

A gay teen asks a witch if she can make his package grow huge.

Added: Sep 2022 1,281 words 3,889 views 3.1 stars (15 votes)


One afternoon after school, Esme was practicing casting a tricky spell when her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. The incantation collapsed, and she was lucky to avoid an absolute catastrophe. Once the magic had dissipated, she turned her attention to her phone with an impulse to hex the person who had texted her, but she restrained herself until she had a chance to read the message.

“Is this Esme?” was all it said. It was an unfamiliar number.

“Who is this?” she replied.

“It’s Pete.”


“Peter Johnson from science class. I sit behind you.”

She vaguely remembered him, an unremarkably ordinary boy.

“What do you want?”

“Could you make something for me?”


“A spell?”

“What makes you think I could do that?”

“People talk.”

“What kind of spell?”

“Can you make me bigger?”

“Puberty should handle that all on its own.”

“Not all over.”


“Down there.”

“Your feet?”

He posted the emoji of an eggplant.

“You want help gardening?”

She was enjoying toying with him now.

“No. Higher.”

“Your legs?”

“Between them.”

“Ah. I see.”


“How big?”


“OK. But, you know girls really don’t care about that as much as boys think they do. Besides, you’re still a growing boy.”

“Can you do it?”

She was ready to refuse. But, then the budding businesswoman in her stepped in.

“If you pay me for it,” she wrote, “then I think I can.”




“When do you want me to come over to cast the enchantment?”

“Can’t you just make me a potion or something?”

“I can, but why?”

“I don’t want anyone to know that you did it to me. I can’t let them see us together.”

“That could take a while.”

“If you have it ready in a week, I’ll give you $20 more.”

She sighed. “Fine. Give me a week. l need to do some research. I will let you know when it is ready.”

“OK. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. Later”


Esme was breaking some rules, and she knew it. She was much too young and inexperienced to be selling her magic, especially to someone as random as Peter Johnson from science class. However, she had her eye on a new dress, and $160 would be enough to afford it. Anyways, she always enjoyed a magical challenge, and she had no doubt that some wizard at some point had devised a potion for just that purpose. She would just need to do some research, which would require a lot of traveling, and she would need to do a lot of spell casting once she found the knowledge she needed. A week might be a bit of an optimistic deadline, but she was confident she could be ready by then if she hurried. The money would be incentive enough for her to rush to get it done.

A week later, almost to the minute, Peter texted her again. The boy had not spoken to her once in school, not even made eye contact with her.

“Is it ready?” he wrote.

“Sort of,” she replied, now regretting her haste.

“Is something wrong?”

“I brewed up a potion to do what you want.”


“I would give it to you, but I must have made a miscalculation with my measurements.”

“What does that mean?”

“The potion is too potent.”

“I tested it on a mouse, and the results were pretty extreme.”


“I diluted it and tested it again, but it was still very strong. It might not be safe to use unless you are very careful with the dose.”

“Will it do what I want it to do?”


“I’ll take it.”

“Should I bring it to you at school?”



“Drop it in my mailbox tonight?”

He posted his address.

“Leave the money inside the mailbox.”


“Only use a teaspoon of it. There will be potion left over, but don’t take any more than that. You’ll notice the changes when you wake up the day after you take it.”

“What do I do with the rest of it?”

“Sell it? Do what you want with it, but DON’T overdose on it.”

“Is a teaspoon the small one?”


“OK, I’ll leave you the money. $160.”




Esme poured the purple potion into a glass phial about the size of a hot dog. She stopped it shut with a cork and tied a tag around it with a penciled note that read, “One teaspoon only.” Then, once the sun had gone down, she rode her bike over to Peter’s house. The autumn air was getting cooler, but it was still comfortably warm enough for her to go without a jacket. Peter lived in what could be considered a small mansion. Seeing it, Esme realized that she should have asked for even more money. The money they had agreed on was waiting in the mailbox. She counted it and then replaced it with the phial. As she rode home, she planned out her next shopping trip for that dress.

Peter texted her early in the morning:


“What happened?” she asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

“I grew huge!”

“How big did you get?”

“I got a sixteen inch long erection now! And my balls are the size of baseballs! I’m so proud of it now. Everyone is going to see my bulge. Hold on.”

Then, there was a long pause before his next message.

“My boyfriend just texted me. He is even bigger.”


“I gave him some of it to drink with me last night. He had two teaspoons of it.”

“How big?”

“He said his erection is a little over three feet long now and he loves it and so do I!”

“I see.”

Esme had to fight the temptation to make jokes about tripods and third legs.

“Hold on.”

Again, there was a long pause.

“Oh God! You’ve got to see this!”

“What is it?”

“I’m sending you a picture. My younger brother just woke up. He said he drank the rest of the bottle after overhearing me talk about it with my boyfriend. It’s even bigger than he is! I don’t think he can move on his own now! He says he is very proud of it.”

He send her a picture of his brother with his erection poking out over the end of his bed. It was even longer than his body was.



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