Another Stroll, Another Juicing - Part 1 (Patreon Commission+ for Ehanu)

TAGS: Inflation/Juice Inflation, Hyper/Hyper Growth

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It had been a while since last Mitsuri got down to looking at his investment portfolio, but any excuse was as good as any when it came to him interacting with the mortal world.

After fashioning for himself a pocket dimension where he could reside without worrying about flooding this or that, it became harder for him to justify coming back down to “reality”, as it were, without some good reason for it. Not only was it a strain on the universe itself, but it was just so… mundane. Boring, even, compared to what he could do in his demesne.

Looking at himself in the nebula he used as a mirror, the divine dragon wondered whether he should really let loose, or go for more of a subdued approach, spread out his enjoyment rather than having it all at once. It was substantially harder for him to hold back from fulfilling his base urges as well; Mit’s ascension had taken such a tremendous toll on his mental balance that, were it not for the fact that he was a godlike being, he would’ve gone mad with power already!

As it stood though, when one actually did have the ability to back up one’s words with one’s actions, it was far easier to go a little bit crazy with the sort of theatrics used in everyday life. For Mitsuri in particular, he was the source of all magic now, and as such, he had every right in the world to act like it, even if people around him didn’t quite understand why the dragon was sloshing so much. For most, the idea of going around unmilked or unjuiced was scandalous at the absolute least; for Mitsuri, it was a regular day out and about, and a convenient way of exposing himself to the world.

Wrapping himself up in his juicing suit, the dragon took a final look at himself in the reflective cloud of gas. He remembered back when he wasn’t… himself. When he was still a babe, an innocent little thing that had no idea how important they would turn out to be, back when they thought turning into a dragon or developing tits was the most world-shattering thing that could happen to them. He couldn’t help but laugh now, his entire body wobbling and worbling with every chortle, even after being completely drained: that he managed to stand at nine feet tall and this was the least of him spoke volumes about him.

He could very easily have reshaped himself to be more “normal”; it was entirely within his purview and capacity, not to mention easy enough that Mitsuri could likely accomplish it by snapping his fingers and not even thinking too much about it. But what was the fun in that? Why be a font of magic and the source of all wonderment in the world if he couldn’t flaunt it in the most obscene, excessive way possible? What was the point of being himself if he couldn’t show off and let everyone know that he was, indeed, himself?

That was the logic that convinced him to keep his belly as massive as it was even when it was technically empty. It was capable of far more, but even in its resting state it was still something of beauty: slung out a good five feet in front of Mitsuri, the rounded mound of pudge was proportioned almost perfectly, such that, were he to expose it, the top half would practically curve towards a bellybutton plunging deep into his fat; directly below it, the lower portion jutted back out, two perfect, underhanging, plump pillows of pure dragon ready to either squish someone underneath them, or be handled by whatever lucky little one happened to be closest.

The best bit was that he made it be extra jiggly. There was no reason for it, nor did it make much sense given how dense it was, but of course he did; it wouldn’t do for him to have a gut that massive and not have it sway from one side to another with each step, inviting any who saw it to come close and touch it. Even when empty, there was still plenty of slorshing coming from within; Mitsuri had made sure the phantom noise was ever-present, adding onto anything real that might be there in order to create a beautiful cacophony.

Of course, the rest of him was no slouch either: his breasts were immense, easily the size of a small beanbag each, comfortably resting atop his belly and ready to produce enough juice to break most modern milking machines were they ever hooked up to a suction cup. Down below, his flared hips led back to a rump of such gargantuan proportions that one could be forgiven for thinking that Mitsuri just couldn’t use doors at all; in truth, he merely warped their proportions to walk through, and tried not to think too much about it.

This was him, the magical dragon-god, the source of all supernatural power… at his smallest. One of the most curious aspects of his transformation came in the form of his developing an unfortunate tendency to fill up, with his body developing some truly absurd quantities of blueberry-flavoured juice from… somewhere. He hadn’t quite figured out how that happened, he just knew the juice spontaneously appeared within him, and if he wasn’t properly drained, he’d end up immobilised and incapable of using his magic until someone came and helped him along.

It was for this reason that he had to walk around in a juicing suit of his own making. Mitsuri was quite proud of that one: he’d not only designed but also built it himself, and only had to resort to reality-warping magic a few times before giving up and willing it into existence! He considered it nothing short of a tremendous victory that he at least tried; most of the times, he found himself staring at a problem, snapping his fingers, then letting his magic do all of the work.

Nevertheless, he had an excuse to go down to Earth, and any excuse was a good one. Suit on, prepare whatever else was needed, then cut open a rift and deliver himself to the middle of his old home city’s downtown area. It was just his luck that people had begun to get used to such things happening; the first few months of magic being a thing that just existed were absolute hell, with attempts at regulating it backfiring spectacularly and a couple of meltdowns needing Mit’s direct intervention.

He hadn’t expected to serve as a mediator either. By creating a pocket dimension to reside within, the dragon fully intended to remove himself from worldly affairs and let the little ones do whatever they decided; he might be their god, but it was his responsibility not to overstep his bounds and do something he’d regret later. He existed as the font of magic, not the arbiter of it… but, when asked, it would be rude of him not to answer, especially when he risked a few more people ascending to his level when he very much wanted to keep that power to himself.

Still, a year later and things had begun to stabilise, though mostly because of his own actions; Mitsuri doubted the mortal world would be able to withstand the transition without him being there, but, then again, them needing said transition was only possible due to him being the source of all magical power so… complex conditions and recursive temporal lines aside, he preferred not to think about it too much. It got done, that was what mattered; anything else was secondary.

Luckily for the dragon, few people recognised his face. Unluckily for him, even with plenty of world-changing power to go around, bodily alteration was still far away from most people’s grasps, so the sudden appearance of a hyper-sized, nine-foot tall dragon in the middle of a bustling city was, if nothing else, odd enough to be noticed. Combine that with most folks’ keen sense for detecting the presence of heavy magical concentrations, and it didn’t really take long before the first few heads were bowed and the first few pairs of hands were firmly on the ground.

He… wanted to hate it. On some level, Mitsuri recognised that having the ground he walked on be literally worshipped was not something that should happen; on the other hand, being treated like a god hit enough buttons with him that he didn’t really care at the end of the day, and just as long as people remembered their place, he wasn’t one to start rocking the boat. If they wanted to praise and exalt him, they were more than welcome to do so; if not, well… they’d eventually come around to it. Everyone did, after all.

Every once in a while, rifts would appear in midair, the result of more adept practitioners breaking the bounds of space and time to teleport themselves instead of walking. A few were even good enough at the craft to have begun changing their bodies to better fit their idea of a dream self; plenty of exaggerated proportions to go around, but others went in the exact opposite direction, while a handful, small enough to be counted on one hand, went for the artistic or downright bizarre.

For Mitsuri, nothing could be better. To see others warp and shift their reality to better fit their whims was proof positive that something good had come out of the whole thing; the dragon had to appreciate how his little ones took so eagerly to using the gifts he bestowed upon them, and while there were certainly still plenty of hiccups to go around, the world was definitely a better place now that most problems could be solved with the snap of a finger. Still ample inertia keeping old and outdated systems running, but that would be solved in due time.

Such as, annoyingly enough, any service that required paperwork.

One would think that the ability to rework existence itself such that signatures wouldn’t be needed would lead to signatures not being needed, but alas, whenever Mitsuri wanted to get anything done, he still had to come down and do things the old-fashioned way. Granted, he didn’t really have to, but he did impose a rule on himself not to use magic in a way that would befuddle the little ones too much; not only was it rude, but they’d be able to tell anyway, and the last thing Mit needed was the mortal realm deciding to wage war against their god.

They wouldn’t win, but it’d still be a hassle.

Thus, the dragon wobbled down the street, having to pay attention to every direction, lest he accidentally bump into multiple someones and cause a series of compound fractures he’d then have to spend time healing. It was here that he came to notice something strange: his juices were building up.

They shouldn’t be; he had his suit on, and that thing was graded to keep him nice and dry for days on end without needing to be emptied. There could have been an internal readjustment so he produced faster, but Mitsuri was reasonably certain that he’d know… plus, a quick look at himself revealed his production rates were still the same, though it did also reveal that what he had on was not at all what he thought he did.

Looking sideways into the closest window, Mitsuri examined his reflection and almost immediately felt like slapping himself for having been so stupid as to not check. He had two suits back home: the good one, and the shit one he kept around just in case he needed a stopgap in the event of a catastrophic juicing failure. He wasn’t meant to wear the latter unless everything went wrong; alas, it looked like he was saddled with it for the foreseeable future, and that meant he was going to have to deal with his juice build-up.

Doing his best not to rub his temple too hard, Mitsuri sighed and carried on. Not much using turning around now; he was already in the mortal realms, so trying to return to his pocket dimension so quickly ran the risk of destabilising local reality, and that would need clean-up on a scale too great for him to bother, especially now that he was already too concerned about having screwed up with his suit choices. No, he had little choice but to carry on and hope for the best… and, presumably, try his best to deal with the juices while using a subpar suit meant only for emergencies.

Didn’t take long before the first signs of filling showed themselves, though to Mitsuri’s credit, he was so used to it by then that he managed to ignore them for a few minutes; maybe his old self would’ve immediately panicked at having his belly slorsh so aggressively with so little stuffing, but after countless eons spent living with himself (or a year, it was difficult to know for certain), his perspective had been altered somewhat.

It was… desirable, in a way. Mit knew it shouldn’t be, on account of his own lust and complete lack of self-control; he knew he shouldn’t want to be filled with juice, if only because whenever he was, he would only want more, and whenever he actually wanted something, there weren’t a lot of people that could stop him beyond himself. He constantly teetered on the edge of an arousal-driven meltdown, and it was only him having his juicing suit on at home that stopped him from fully overruning the entirety of reality within a day or two.

Now though, he had nothing holding him back, and this was slightly worrying. For others, of course, not for him; even if he did splurge out and end up coating the planet in himself (again), Mitsuri knew he could just as easily put everything back and start over, even if he had to weave the timeline in order to accomplish this. He shouldn’t do it, since it’d just make more work for him down the line, but he could, and it was this tiny window, kept permanently open and impossible to shut, that left the dragon wondering why he shouldn’t just let himself fill.

It didn’t help that he deliberately took the long route to the bank; he teleported in on the other side of the downtown area precisely so he could show himself off to as many people as possible, back when he still thought he had the proper suit on. Then again, even now, this served its own purpose: he wasn’t merely putting his body on display, but his ability to fill, his capacity for stuffing, his intense need to be an enormous, all-consuming ball whose roiling internal currents were powerful enough to wash away entire oceans.

One step at a time. He couldn’t actually make himself fill faster, that was the best bit; without the suit on, he’d definitely be capable of such, but even the shitty one was designed to hold back whatever powers Mitsuri could wield. A relic, and an unfortunate one, of when he was still somewhat sane and capable of considering such concepts as “consequences” or “collateral damage”, and one he had to deal with on a constant basis; while he could just take the suit off, there was also a certain element of enjoyment to it: by denying himself a full release now, he could get a better one later. An investment, really; droll, considering where he was headed.

Of course, for most people on the street, none of this would matter in the slightest, as most people weren’t a nine-foot dragon with a belly bigger than most of them were and a penchant for growing wider with every step they took. Indeed, one could make the argument that Mitsuri stood out quite a bit, and doubly so the bigger he became; five minutes was all it took for him to thoroughly dominate whatever street he happened to be in, no matter how noisy it used to be. Cars, trucks, pile-ups caused by drivers paying too much attention to him and not the road, nothing could compare to the sounds emanating from within his entire form… and he was just getting started as well.

If his little ones thought that what they were seeing was their god’s full potential, or even a fraction of it, they were so deliciously wrong. Hell, what they were seeing was nothing if not a projection, a small-scale avatar meant to contain the soul of a being much greater than reality could hold; an approximation, of sorts, of Mitsuri’s proper body, even if a faithful scale replica of it.

Thus, all Mit could do was smile when he saw everyone gawking up at him, their mouths as open as their eyes; he knew what was coming, and his only regret was that he couldn’t make it happen faster… or that he could make it happen to other people either, as for some reason he never seemed able to replicate the effects outside of himself.

No matter. He was filling, and that was what mattered; didn’t take more than a few more minutes before he felt his centre of gravity shift heavily enough for him to be incapable of walking properly, forced into a wide, semi-circular waddle where he had to use his arms to keep himself in a semi-straight line. He didn’t even bother getting out of people’s way anymore; trying to do so would leave him paralyzed: he was quickly reaching a point where, if he attempted to avoid one person, he’d slam into two others.

Better to let the little ones learn to get out of his way instead. He was their god after all; it was only natural to expect his worshippers to at least give him some room to walk, even if they didn’t quite know what or who he was. He was clearly not any old person, not when his entire form wobbled in rhythmic waves, every step he took causing his form to undulate almost hypnotically. Others might have attempted this aesthetic, but only he could nail it down perfectly while still growing on top of it; for anyone watching, it’d be a test of their willpower, to check if what they suspected was true: was that giant actually bloating, or was it just their imagination?

Mitsuri welcomed confirmations: the more eyes on him, the better. The more people were actively staring at him, the more he felt their growing adoration, feeding him, nurturing him, helping along with his juice production until he could practically hear himself stretch as his insides were filled to the bursting point and beyond. It was much like when he first emerged as the font of all magic, except far less metaphorical that time around; he was literally filling up, an enormous balloon filled with juice that would never pop, only grow bigger, rounder, louder, more eager to become even bigger.

Meanwhile, the poor suit he had on himself… tried its best. The proper one, the one Mit left back home, wouldn’t have struggled nearly as much in the same scenario; hell, it wouldn’t have even allowed the dragon to reach that point to begin with, let alone have to worry about it. A wonder of engineering and magic, welded together into something that shouldn’t exist, yet still worked perfectly… and there he was, using the cheap knock-off he hammered out in an afternoon for the “just in case” scenarios he insisted would never happen.

Even worse was where it was storing it: itself. With the other suit, at least the damned juice would be siphoned out to a secondary pocket dimension where it was allowed to sit and evaporate back into raw magical energy; with the bad one, it remained within the suit in a compressed state, progressively knocking down the absorption efficiency until such a point as the whole thing was saturated and couldn’t take any more.

In retrospect, perhaps he’d been a bit too horny when designing the replacement. That was a distinct possibility.

Regardless, now was not the time for him to be wondering about his intentions. He was filling, and filling quickly, so he was better off doing whatever he excused himself to come do and then worry about finding someplace to be in where he’d have plenty of room to bloat in; there was no chance he’d be able to open a portal back home before his juicing suit became overloaded, so his best chance at that point was to pick a spot and hope he’d have enough people around willing to bring their hands to bear to drain him out.

Judging from the looks he was getting though, that… shouldn’t be a problem. Luridness was one thing, attractiveness quite another, but what he was getting was pure lust: the carnal need to jump someone’s bones and do unspeakable things to them, regardless of if anyone was watching, all of it directed at himself. It was flattering, and if not for him being who he was, Mitsuri would’ve taken the many offers he saw around him in a heartbeat; sadly, being a bit too high up on the ladder compared to most people left him in a state where just one person would find themselves overwhelmed. It was terrible, really, absolutely dreadful as a state of affairs, that a body like his needed several eager attendants to take care of rather than just one; honestly, he regretted it every single day, and certainly didn’t make it so it only got worse over time.

Moving, as usual, became a chore. Back home he could just will himself from place to place, and even there in the mortal world Mitsuri could feasibly levitate himself and use that as a means of transport… but when his juice-filled belly had reached seven feet of width and was already dragging along the ground, the gurgling from inside of it growing to overpower the sounds of the city itself, taking the easy way out felt like a downright waste. When his asscheeks had bloated with juice to the point where he could feasibly just crush a bus if he sat on one, why shouldn’t he walk, making those things clap loudly enough to create miniature sonic shockwaves? And with his whole body expanding in every direction, bringing him close to ten feet and then beyond, why shouldn’t he take the chance to loom over his little ones whenever possible?

The answer was simple, the intent even more so, and if not for momentum and inertia, then Mitsuri would’ve happily just stopped there and allowed himself to grow in the middle of the street. Alas, with so much mass inside of him, stopping had become harder than carrying on walking, as paradoxical as that was to him; there was just too much of him for even the dragon to command to halt, too much for the universe to deal with without having to resort to drastic, reality-breaking measures. And he’d already done that once, he didn’t need to do so again.

On the other hand, there was something beautiful about being so big that reality itself couldn’t understand him. There was a beauty in being the living embodiment of the violation of the laws of physics, even if, perhaps, “beauty” was not the correct word; it was power in its most fundamental form, the ability to will something into being, regardless of whether or not it should be “possible” by mortal Law. Now, sure, Mitsuri did use this to grow big and full of juice, but really, to each their own; what, did the multiverse expect him to suddenly become a tyrant? It should be happy that all the dragon wanted was to be huge and wobbly and sloshy and squirting juice from both tits like they were open faucets!