Tethered and Chained - Part 1 (Patreon Commission for ShrapnelTheWolf)

TAGS: Hyper/Hyper Growth, Restrained/Bondage, Extreme Growth, Multi

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It was too quiet.

Normally, their picnics ended in one of two ways: either Shrapnel got stuffed with milk, or he did the stuffing… then got stuffed with milk. For their day out to go by without anything of the sort happening was nothing if not suspicious, downright terrifying once the wolf got started thinking about the implications. It was even worse considering how Elizabeth herself had acted as well: perfectly normally.

It had been years since he’d seen the serval behave in such a manner. More often than not, it was a thin veneer of civility and decency plastered over an endlessly bubbling furnace of horny that no person could ever hope to control; he could tell the difference, too: the occasional swishing and puffing of her tail, the sly sideways glances, the way her fur stood on end whenever he made a particularly risqué comment.

This, of course, when she wasn’t being overtly lewd, at which point all bets were off. So for Liz to act in a perfectly normal fashion, and normal in the sense that it was actually normal rather than a pretense of it, was disconcerting, and not in a minor way. For the first hour, Shrapnel fully expected to be ambushed by something; he didn’t know what, nor did he care to find out, but he was on high alert with most of his brain function directed towards his senses, just to make sure nothing could sneak up on him.

That nothing happened threw him off. He kept expecting something to take place: maybe a word placed in the right spot for maximum effect, or a movement of her chest to make her breasts land on his lap, maybe even something more direct, like her literally sitting on him… but nothing happened. No matter how much he looked, how many processing schedules were dedicated to anticipating something, nothing happened, and that was absolutely terrifying.

Past a certain point, Shrapnel almost wanted to be ambushed. He would take the certainty of a loss over the complete lack of… anything, really, that he was experiencing at that time. Just himself, Elizabeth, a tarp, a beautiful day out, and some sandwiches; there were people around them, regular people going about their regular day, even a few that recognised them and rightfully gave the couple a wide berth to avoid being caught up in whatever ridiculous shenanigans they were definitely about to get up to. But there was nothing; just the two of them.

It took a while for Shrapnel to get used to this idea, which was, he presumed, the reason why Liz had suggested they have lunch outdoors and then stick around for the rest of the afternoon. If the first hour was spent expecting something to happen, the second and third served as the dénouement of sorts, only one absent a climax. There was no grandiose release, no growth spurt to cover the whole city, just… sandwiches. And a couple of ants, that as well; couldn’t have a picnic without ants.

“Enjoying yourself?” Liz eventually asked, her eyes denoting naught but absolute sincerity; surely a lie, given the way she normally acted, “It’s a great day out!”

“Yeah, yeah…” was Shrapnel’s non-answer, nodding along as he didn’t even bother to look directly at his own partner, “Yeah, it’s a good day. Not what I was expecting, actually.”

If Elizabeth caught on to what the wolf had attempted to say with that, she didn’t make it at all obvious. Her smile was still there, that little sparkle in her eyes as well, and when she offered him another sandwich, Shrapnel couldn’t help but notice that her shirt was still firmly on and lacking any obvious spillage from the bra underneath it. Truly, he’d gone completely insane, because there was no way in all the seven hells that Elizabeth would ever go that long without at least teasing him somewhat.

But, alas, she did, and he was stuck dealing with it as best as he could. The afternoon went by, and before he knew it, Shrapnel was answering back with words that meant something, actually chatting along with Liz whenever she brought something up. It should’ve been something of a wake-up call that he found this to be bizarre; after years of being together, the thought of just sitting down and discussing random stuff that came to mind was… weird. Like he should be doing something more, but… he couldn’t.

This was how other people lived. The people who didn’t have to worry about having a partner with a sex drive so hyperactive that it would bring shame upon most professional breeders; the people who could sit down and have a conversation without having to worry about being pounced or having a fuck-knows-how-big serval practically impaling themselves on the nearest cock. It was normal, and it wasn’t normal, because it wasn’t their normal.

But… he could come to like that. It had, in fact, been so long that he’d forgotten what it was like, but now that he had a whole afternoon where he didn’t have to do anything other than lounge about and waste time, it came back to him, especially the first days spent with Liz: back then, she hadn’t yet become the lust monster she would eventually turn out to be, and the budding couple could spend hours occupying themselves with mundane tasks, absent any kind of fear or trepidation or the need to obey a milking schedule.

So he relaxed… eventually. Shrapnel couldn’t just deprogram years of his life in a heartbeat, especially not when part of him was still convinced Elizabeth was pulling a fast one on him, but he eventually relented; maybe, he thought to himself, he should just shut up and appreciate what he had while it still lasted. If they were destined to go back to the usual anyway, he might as well make the best out of his time there while the normalcy was still alive and well, rather than have to look back later and bemoan the fact that he threw the opportunity down the drain.

Indeed, he even went so far as to ask for extra ketchup for one of his sandwiches, something he rarely ever did on account of what Elizabeth liked to do with squirtable condiments whenever she got her hands on literally any of them. And she passed it over, with no repercussions, with no unseen consequences, without even a sly look; just some ketchup, in a bottle, and the most beautiful serval that Shrapnel had ever seen.

A few seconds later, he would wake up somewhere with no light, and no sound. The shock was enough to keep him silent for several minutes, as he tried to ascertain whether he had suddenly and inexplicably fallen asleep, or if his conscious experience had been shot and he lost several hours or days. He couldn’t move either; when he tried, it felt like his arms and legs were restrained by the wrists and ankles. At least he had arms and legs; he was definitely alive, even if the shock of transition was enough to make him doubt it.

He tried to speak, but it came out muffled, and it was then that he realised his mouth was plugged with something… and not a ball gag either. It was long, hard, tasted distinctly of plastic, and it didn’t stop in his mouth, being very much stuck further down his throat; bright flashes of red erupted on Shrapnel’s cheeks as he came to understand just what he’d been gagged with, followed by a handful of moans that unfortunately escaped from him before he had the chance to stop it.

A few more experimental twists and pulls revealed to him that he was fully stuck; there was some give to his restraints, which appeared to be some sort of bracelets connected to wires or ropes, but only just enough to let him writhe about a few inches in any direction. With his hands and feet held above him, he was in the worst possible position to free himself, barring some incredible feat of gymnastics he had no chance of pulling off. He was vulnerable, just there in midair, hanging from what he could only assume was a ceiling.

Though he had missed it initially, the more he woke up, and the more he familiarised himself with how he was tied up, the more Shrapnel came to notice there was another part of him that was definitely “tied up” and definitely incapable of moving around as freely as it used to be able to… and almost immediately, he realised why Elizabeth had been so nice and well-behaved during their picnic.

How foolish of him to think he could have a day out without anything like this happening.

He couldn’t tell what sort of machine was plugged into his sheath, but he could tell said sheath was significantly bigger than normal and it had some sort of cup attached to it; the suction variety, perhaps, though he couldn’t see where the tubes went. The wolf had a small moment of panic when he thought he saw the glint of plastic leading out of his mouth and downwards, but… surely even Elizabeth wouldn’t go that far; there were limits to decency that even the serval wouldn’t cross, he was sure of it.

Then again, if there were, they definitely didn’t include chemical warfare. The pheromone levels in that room had to be several times higher than normal, and Shrapnel had zero ability to measure them; he just knew Elizabeth by scent, and knew for a fact that this was hers wafting all over the place from all over the place. It was as if she was everywhere, her presence felt in every direction, her body there, next to him, pressing against his form, his nostrils, his brain, his inner mind, until she was all that Shrapnel could think about it.

He closed his eyes. Trapped as he was, Shrapnel knew exactly what was going to happen… sort of. He had plenty of options for what might happen, specifically, but he reasonably certain he could think of every single one of them; for all that Elizabeth was a boundless source of energy, she did like to keep her repertoire limited, her logic being that she might as well learn to do one thing really well rather than split herself between a hundred different things and be mediocre at best at them.

Then again, it wasn’t like Shrapnel needed anything fancy. Just her scent alone was enough to drive him wild, doubly so given the get-up he was dressed up in. If he were free to walk around, then at least he’d be able to rationalise away his instinctive need to fuck something and try to pretend like he wasn’t inevitably going to break down and give in to his primal side; there though, he was hanging from up above and unable to do anything other than contemplate his own desires, leaving him with very little recourse but to turn inwards.

And that was never a good idea.

All it took was a single horny thought getting through for all the rest to come following. It wasn’t a dam being broken so much as a door being pulled open by a very polite stranger who didn’t mind letting everyone else in, nevermind the opsec risks involved. One idea after another, creating a single train of thought linking together to give Shrapnel plenty to think about, all without Elizabeth even having to be present! Such was her power that the mere hint of her existence was often more than enough for Shrapnel to lose himself almost completely, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course, it’d be naive of him to think that the serval would ever leave him in such a state and not be close by to take advantage of him; it was entirely unsurprising that she would step out of the shadows and appear in front of him, fully nude and with the widest grin on her face. Also entirely unsurprising that she allowed her body to grow in excess to what it had been like… whenever the picnic had taken place; Shrapnel had a slight moment of panic when he realised he couldn’t remember when last he’d seen the sun, everything before the point of his awakening covered in a thick haze that refused to be dispelled regardless of how much effort he put into trying to do so.

“I have to say, it took you a while,” Elizabeth cooed, her voice far too sweet for someone in the nude and carrying what looked to be a riding crop, “I thought a drop would do, but you ended up needing the whole thing! Cost me a pretty penny, you know? Not like I can find those things over the counter, big boy.”

And there came the words. It was unfair; Elizabeth knew that he couldn’t resist those combinations of sounds, knew that he melted almost immediately on hearing them. Most of the time he’d be ecstatic to be called as such, but given present circumstances, the last thing he needed was for his whole body to shiver and tremble as the words “I am a big boy” coursed through his head like some sort of mantra. A pity, since that was exactly what happened; by the time he was done with himself, he could only catch Liz mid-sentence.

“-and then dragging you in, that was a pain,” the serval mused aloud as if having failed to notice her prisoner hadn’t been listening, “but now you’re here! And now I get to have you all for myself, where you can’t just leave the room whenever it gets too hot.”

Oh, now he was screwed. Shrapnel’s eyes went wide as he came to remember when last he’d heard Elizabeth complain about that exact same thing, back when she suggested doing something that left him so red in the face that one could be forgiven for thinking he wasn’t himself. He recalled exactly what she wanted to do, and now the overabundance of her scent made perfect sense.

The serval took a step forward, her body barely visible in the gloom. There had to be some light coming from somewhere, but it was likely to be a lone window or a subpar ceiling lamp; all Shrapnel could properly make out from Liz were her breasts, and those were hardly difficult to miss: large enough to cover most of her front, leaving only the waistline visible, and packed with enough milk to defy their teardrop shape and retain a more spherical one, those were exactly what Shrapnel wanted, and he couldn’t avoid formulating that thought even if he tried.

Whimpering, the wolf did his best to release himself from his binds, resulting only in him getting his wrists and ankles chafed and sore by the end of his pitiful attempt. He had to hand it to Elizabeth: she did know her knots. A cackle coursed through him, muffled by the… thing in his mouth and throat, the last hurrah and form of agency he still had; the closer the serval got to him, the more powerful the cloud of mind-warping pheromones, and the less of him there was to go around. Soon enough, there would be no Shrapnel, the person, only Shrapnel, the mindless wolf breeder with a single thought in his head.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, I truly am,” Elizabeth lied, her face barely containing a grin, “but you have to understand, I needed to prepare to give you what you wanted! It’s not like I can just magic up a whole warehouse whenever I want to, and it wasn’t exactly cheap! You should be thankful, pup, I went through a lot of trouble for this!”

As much as Shrapnel wanted to protest, or at least ask what Elizabeth meant by warehouse, he couldn’t, and not just because he had what he presumed was a rubber dick in his mouth. There was truth in her words, the kind that he couldn’t refute, because heavens knew he absolutely wanted to be there, and had spent years by that point pretending he didn’t.

It was a game the two of them played: he claimed he didn’t want to be tied up, and Elizabeth pretended that she didn’t know better. Rinse and repeat until the number of awkward situations reached a critical tipping point, the serval made a particularly lewd comment, and the two of them had to externalise some of the horny energy in the only way they knew how; return to step one. They’d been at it almost since their sex life had began, and despite his best efforts, Shrapnel still hadn’t been able to make the leap from sheepishly acting like he wasn’t desperate for this opportunity, to actually asking for it.

Elizabeth, as it seemed, got tired of waiting, and the wolf couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of gratitude for it. The method was unorthodox, potentially damaging as well, but at least it freed him from the burden of choice; this way, he didn’t have to sit down and explicitly tell Liz exactly how he wanted her to turn him into her literal fucktoy, nor would he have to give instructions either. He trusted her enough to know what his buttons were, and knew better than to interrupt when she was practicing her craft; plus, he had a muzzle keeping him quiet, so there was that as well.

The serval finished talking somewhere during this introspective moment, with Shrapnel tuning back in at just the right moment to see her take a few steps back and clap her hands twice. What followed was a blinding flash of light that caused him to instinctively close his eyes and scream into the plastic mould keeping him well and quiet, at least until the bright spots in his vision went away and he managed to see where he even was… and promptly went wide-eyed yet again.

He expected to be in their basement; even with talk of warehouses, he earnestly believed Elizabeth had merely dragged him home, hung him from the ceiling, and called it a day. Unfortunately for him, only one of those was true, and given how high up the damned thing was, one wondered how much “preparation” went into readying his restraints for his limp self to be hoisted up.

Shrapnel was, indeed, inside a warehouse, and not a small one either. Were he still capable of stopping to think about such trivialities, the wolf might’ve figured he was inside a storage area for a shipping company, or a hangar designed for larger aircraft. There were no crates there, though, only glass tubes: enormous ones, presumably built out of a reinforced version of their base material, sitting in several neat rows on one end of the warehouse, with a vast array of machinery right in front of them.

He knew what those things were, and were it not for him having that damned blockage in his throat, would’ve gulped loudly at the sight. How exactly Elizabeth found the money to buy, or at least rent out so many milking pumps, he’d rather not know; he was certain he’d get to the end of the month and see a beautifully enormous expense tagged on his credit card statement somewhere. Still, it was necessary, given what was about to happen; the way he was restrained, how his sheath was covered by what was unmistakably a clear plastic suction cup, and how Elizabeth had nothing on but a wide, toothy smile, he knew what her plan was.

Still took her a while before she took the first step, and when the initial droplets of milk splattered on the floor below her, Shrapnel knew why. Of course she wouldn’t just tease him, she was Elizabeth; everything she did had to be done excessively, otherwise it wouldn’t be her, now would it? She had to go above and beyond, and that meant letting her tits bloat with even more dairy, until they weren’t just covering her upper half. It meant dragging those things across the floor until one of her nipples, by that point covering most of her breast’s front and with a bud larger than Shrapnel’s head, was mere inches away from the wolf.

She, again, said nothing. There was no intention for him to drink there; if there was, the serval would’ve kept the damned things small enough to fit in his mouth. No, they were there for him to watch, for his eyes to feast upon, as that was all he had; letting him touch would mean freeing him, and that just wasn’t possible, not until he gave Elizabeth what she was looking for… whatever that was. All Shrapnel wanted was to ask what the point of it all was, but something told him he’d know sooner rather than later; and indeed, after a few minutes of trying to hold himself back from climaxing on sight alone, Elizabeth actually did something: she turned up the pheromones.

There was no snapping of fingers or statement of intent. One moment the air was merely thick with her scent, the next it was so immensely overloaded that Shrapnel was worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe properly, with Liz’s natural scent replacing the ambient oxygen supply. That’d be a hell of a way to go though: literally choking on Elizabeth’s presence. Maybe it was the restraining, maybe it was his own latent kinks surfacing once again, but the thought was significantly hotter than it really should be.

Mercifully for the wolf, Elizabeth had other ideas. She did still drive her pheromone supply to levels that would’ve been considered impossible for most people, but she had no intention of literally drowning him in it; rather, she did it to drive him towards a peak. It had been her intention from the beginning: get the wolf to be tied down as she edged him on her scent alone, and then mould him into the breeder of her dreams.

Or, as the case may be, plug him and let the pumps have their way with him.

“Now, I’m expecting you to fill all of those,” she finally spoke up, waving one hand towards the myriad of containers in front of her little prisoners, “and don’t worry, they’re extra-strength, you shouldn’t be able to crack one in the time it takes to divert the flow to the next one. You know, unless you’re feeling like putting in some effort, big boy~”

Elizabeth could, of course, have merely said this. She could’ve avoided the small lilt at the end where her voice went softer and the tone shifted to that of near-maternal love. She could’ve done all of this and still refrained from bending forwards so she was lying atop of her breasts like some sort of throne. But she didn’t, because she was Elizabeth, and the Elizabeth that Shrapnel knew didn’t do things by half-measures; it was either full-on debauchery or nothing, and she never picked the latter.

“Now, I’m gonna need you to start producing, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to turn up the heat a bit,” Liz carried on, almost immediately increasing her scent’s strength, “not by much, but you should be noticing a difference soon enough; if you feel the need to fuck something, just make sure not to buck your hips too much, the machine isn’t rated for the sort of stuff you get up to. Just… you know, stay there. And let it happen!”

Easy for her to say. She didn’t have a cock already emerging from its sheath, easily twice as big as it normally would be; of course that damned growth was contagious, it always was, he could never get away with just growing temporarily! Not that he’d want to, but… what was he thinking again?