A Brand New Approach - Part 1 (Patreon Commission for ShrapnelTheWolf)

TAGS: F/M, Growth/Expansion, Hyper/Hyper Growth, Musk

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It was a common sight by then: the (relatively) small wolf walking into the gym with the positively gargantuan serval by his side, having forced the establishment to install compression equipment on the doors just for her to be able to move inside. Even then, she had to use specialized equipment in order to fit; it made for a somewhat visually confusing experience, given that the way Elizabeth distorted reality around it made it so that she simultaneously fit into a standard-sized gym room, yet was easily about ten times as tall as anyone in there and possessed of assets that made that look tiny.

The sounds coming from her were enough to set everyone on edge, though none of the gym rats dared speak up for fear that they might be the next ones to be smothered; not that they wouldn’t love to be crushed underneath a tit big enough to flatten a large truck, but they’d have hospital bills to pay afterwards, and the serval made it quite clear she didn’t appreciate anyone getting handsy or looksy beyond her “precious pup” Shrapnel. Shrapnel, who went in looking like he wanted to be just about anywhere but in the gym, staring at everyone around him as if apologising for what was happening, before being prodded forward by Elizabeth.

Their constant visits were a calculated move on the serval’s part. She was already colossal; at no point did she need to become even bigger, seeing as she could easily do so if she wanted to. Hell, she already was bigger than what she looked like; everyone simply assumed that her “big” size visible through the distortions provided by her clothes was what she really looked like, as opposed to just a fraction of an approximation of how gargantuan she had truly become as a result of Shrapnel’s generous contributions. And it was precisely for him that the two of them were there, because despite everything, the wolf was still not big enough.

He certainly believed he was, and more than once made it clear that he didn’t understand why Elizabeth didn’t think so: his cock and balls were girthy to the point where they dragged around the ground unless he wore special supportive underwear, and that was them empty; leave him to fill up and get blue-balled for a few hours and he’d barely be able to walk at all! But that wasn’t enough for Elizabeth, oh no; the serval was insatiable, and figured that he needed to go further and further still, hence why she’d spent a considerable amount of time and effort trying to convince him to do a great number of things which were supposed to increase his virility and size, driving him to the breaking point and beyond in her quest for bigger fillings.

The gym outing that day was, in many regards, meant as a break. The two of them had frequented that establishment for a while, and though mostly it was used as a means for them to keep their fitness up, critically important for a hyper like Liz, that day was special: it was meant for Shrapnel only, for him to “relax and unwind”, as the serval put it, such that he could ignore her constant demands and just do whatever he wanted for a while. In fact, she even promised to spot for him, setting aside all demands for the sake of letting her little one enjoy some much-needed respite from his endless hunger for bigger sizes.

That she packed him a sandwich and got him some homemade energy drink was not at all suspicious, and not something Shrapnel should ever think twice about, nor even that weird, orange-like taste on what was meant to be an apple-pear combo. Everything was absolutely fine, and no concerns were needed of him, especially not after Elizabeth was surprisingly calm and quiet throughout the whole day and not once demanded that he fuck her or fill her up or any other manner of lewd atrocity to be commited upon her person.

Instead, she simply sat besides Shrapnel, shaking the whole building in the process and distorting so much of the local fabric of spacetime that it genuinely began feeling as if the whole universe would collapse in on her; standard stuff really, and not much for anyone to worry about all things considered. While the newer customers might be slightly concerned about the geometrically impossible giantess making a mockery of Euclidean space sitting right next to them, the older ones knew better than to ask questions; this left her and her “precious” Shrapnel to make good use of whatever equipment they felt like using, which the wolf immediately took as an opportunity to start lifting weights.

He never got to do it; most of his exercise was endurance-based, mostly by necessity: he needed good cardio if he even wanted to survive the sort of workouts that Elizabeth put him through, and given the ridiculous extents to which she went just to see how much she could extract from him, it was no wonder that even with adequate training, he still felt winded every single time she got going. That day, however, was an off day: he was there to relax and do what he felt like doing, not train for further encounters, and for that, he was going to lift.

It was a dream of his, a silly one, that maybe one day he’d be buff. Hunky. Muscular. Beefy really, the sort of bod that he absolutely didn’t fantasize about at times with perhaps too much arousal than was necessary. He knew that Elizabeth adored that aesthetic as well, and while she would never trade him for even the biggest slab of man meat this side of the Pacific, he couldn’t help but feel like he could make things even more enjoyable for her if only he was a bit… bigger.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he lied down on the bench and asked Elizabeth to pick a set of weights for him to start with. He half-expected her to drop the biggest set she could find, and was pleasantly surprised when she instead moved a couple of disks over and attached them to a medium-sized metal bar; as she explained it, she was quite certain he was stronger than the average wolf, on account of all the “heavy lifting” he had to do on a regular basis, but this was still a day out for him, she wasn’t about to “press him”, whatever that was supposed to mean. Smiling, Shrap raised his hands, closed his fingers around the bar, and then finally, after so long, finally got to push upwards.

Admittedly, everyone else he’d seen doing it made it look a lot easier than it was. He was used to weights, sure, but not the sort that just dumped that much mass onto him on such a perilous position; he felt his muscles screaming at him to let go, to just give up even trying and throw himself down into the very maws of oblivion, for to not be, to not exist, would be better than the horrific pain in which he found himself in that moment.

And then a second ticked by, everyone was fine, and Shrapnel found himself staring up at an Elizabeth who had a single eyebrow raised and the most knowing, smug grin stamped on her face. All the wolf could do was let out a meek “Shut up” before he resumed his first rep, finding that, after the first impact was over, it wasn’t all that bad; sure, it still felt like his body was going to collapse on him at any given moment, but at least least he wasn’t staring down the jaws of death and wishing they’d take him. Rather, he had Liz there, looking down at him, a warm smile across her lips… whenever they were visible, of course.

Such was the issue with being beneath a giantess like her: it didn’t really matter how much he wanted to see her face, Shrapnel still had to contend with enough tit to fill up a whole house being in the way. Not that he’d want it any other way, but it did make the less lewd, more wholesome intimate moments automatically a dozen times more scandalous than they really should be just by necessity alone; still, he was there because of her, and he was going to put his all into the exercise, even if he was reasonably certain he was going to walk out of the gym with a thrown back and enough complaints to last for a lifetime.

The first rep was always the hardest one. That was what the gym rats kept telling him whenever he bothered to ask, and that’s what Shrapnel told himself when he started thinking he wouldn’t be able to lift the bar after letting it slowly fall near to his chest. Elizabeth, to his side, appeared worried enough that she leaned forward, hand at the ready to pluck the whole thing off of her beloved if it went wrong; Shrapnel, meanwhile, was determined to at least get one done on his own, and though it felt as if he was ripping tendon from muscle and tearing muscle from bone, he pushed the bar up.

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, and he fucked Elizabeth on a regular basis. Every inch gained was an inch suffered, but for every moment of agony, Shrapnel reminded himself that the next one would be better, the next one would come easier; he just had to go through the wall that was the first rep, and then everything would fall into place, the following ones would roll around, and soon enough, he’d be bulking up and being a big hunk of wolf for Liz to drool over. It was this mental image, and the significance of it, that kept him going, and gave him the energy needed to power through those last few inches where he finally outstretched his arms, lifting the bar completely and earning himself a short round of clapping from a very excited Elizabeth.

At first, Shrapnel deluded himself into thinking his mate was simply encouraging him because of his actual accomplishment. He genuinely believed that the serval beside him was letting him know she was proud of him for having gotten that far, and was about to give him the time of his life by way of smothering him in boob or sitting on his face until he could barely breathe. He shouldn’t have believed it, but he did, because he really wanted to think like Elizabeth hadn’t just dragged him out there to fool him into thinking he had a chance in hell of getting away from her lust.

But it was folly. Looking down at himself, it was impossible not to notice how his cock and balls had grown bigger, how his bulge was, while not immensely larger, still noticeably so compared to what it used to be, enough so that he felt like he at least had some brand new weights to lift once he actually got back up. And up above him, with an expression that betrayed how everything had gone just according to plan, Elizabeth was smiling down at him, so desperately wanting to say something, yet knowing better than to do so.

He didn’t say anything either, mostly because he knew that doing so would be inviting disaster upon his home, his family, and his entire lineage; inviting Elizabeth even further into his life, where she could corrupt it even more and leave him begging for greater stimulation in the process, whimpering and mewling like a lost pop as she teased him to the point of climax and then just left him there. He’d grown again, and seeing as how Liz was seemingly encouraging him to do another rep, he was likely to grow once more if he tried lifting… but he couldn’t say no.

Well, he could, and part of him definitely wanted to, but Elizabeth was there, and he couldn’t well argue with her. No one could, given that the serval could just as easily sit on them and end the discussion there and then, no questions asked; still, there was a smidgeon of Shrapnel who insisted that he voice his concerns, if for no other reason than the fact that his shorts were compressor-capable, and if he grew large enough to break through the fabric, he wouldn’t have anything to keep him decent.

Unfortunately for the wolf, he couldn’t quite get the words out. Liz was looking directly at him now, her eyes fixed on his, that wide, predatory grin stamped on her face and letting him know he was no longer in control. Whenever he tried opening his mouth, he found that his lips seemed to be glued shut; in the few times he succeeded at parting them, the one noise that came out was a whimper, malformed and barely audible, instead of any of the words he fully intended to use. It was as if by being there, through sheer presence alone, Elizabeth made it impossible to argue with her… but he still had to try.

“I… d-don’t think this is a good idea,” Shrapnel began, his successful attempt at starting a sentence giving him just enough motivation and energy to muster up a second third of one, “if I keep going, then I’ll…”

He trailed off. It was inevitable, with the sheer strength of the stare Elizabeth was giving him; it was like staring directly at the sun, except this one had orbs attached to it that were even larger than it was, and somehow managed to make a seemingly innocent giggle sound like the most threatening noise in existence. Elizabeth herself didn’t say anything; she just sat there, the tiny chuckle more than enough to let her little pup know that he was going to be in very deep trouble if he backed off at that moment.

He was in it for the long haul now. No one in the gym was going to save him from his fate, no one was going to step in and politely ask Elizabeth to back off, and no one was going to drop by and yank him out of it before it was too late. Liz had blocked off all access, ensured no one would have the willpower to ask her to do anything at all, and now, after months of preparation, she finally had what she wanted: a whole gym full of people who wouldn’t lift a finger to help as she moulded her precious Shrapnel into the perfect breeder.

Not that he wasn’t already far better at it than most people could ever hope to be, but there was… something more missing. He could be bigger, she thought to herself, he could be fuller, he could be so much more productive that he’d be able to fill her to capacity with a single load; hell, the wolf had been a lot smaller when they first began dating, so clearly his present size was proof positive that he had room to grow, and Liz was determined to find just how much of it there was. Thus, her sitting there, staring down her little pup, silently instructing him to carry on.

Shrapnel, meanwhile, lay there looking up at both the metal bar on his hands and Elizabeth, alternating between the two as he measured himself and his options. Down below, he could feel the tightness of his sweatpants, as even the stretchy fabric was having a hard time dealing with everything it was being made to contain. Soon enough, assuming the whole exercise thing was meant to make him grow the more he “performed”, as it were, he was going to be bursting free from it all, showing himself off for the world to see… and Liz would still demand more, as if him having a package big enough to rip through a pair of sweatpants wasn’t already more than enough for their needs.

Eventually, however, his sight focused entirely on the metal bar, if only because looking at Liz and wordlessly begging with her to let him stop wasn’t really doing anything. If she wanted him to set aside the weights and take a break, she wouldn’t even say it: the serval would just effortlessly pick the bar up and place it on the ground, satisfied with the results. That she hadn’t could only mean she wanted for him to keep going, and despite Shrapnel knowing he really, really shouldn’t, he felt as if he had no other option… well, no other option that didn’t involve getting into a shouting match, which wasn’t really an option as far as he was concerned. Not with Liz. Not against Liz.

He sighed, hands closing around the cold metal of the weight bar, the wolf breathing in, filling his lungs as much as he could. There was going to be one huge moment of growth ahead of him, and he was most likely going to end up big enough downstairs that he wouldn’t be able to move properly, but maybe, just maybe, if he made himself just large enough to be noticeable, yet didn’t cross the line into outright immobility, he should be able to satisfy the serval’s insatiable hunger… surely.

Maybe he just needed to keep going, and whatever happened happened. Maybe he just needed to keep pushing and let fate take the wheel, come what may. He opened his eyes again, letting his muscles do all the work, finding that indeed, the second rep was significantly easier than the first one. He was still halfway to death and felt like he was one bad motion away from having his spine snap in half, but at least he was pretty certain he could finish it that time around; of course, he was also going to grow even further, but he tried not to think about it too much, mostly because if he did, he’d find himself growing blushier by the second and incapable of doing anything beyond wishing himself larger.

It was a fight he fought against himself whenever he was made to push his limits, mostly on account of him being of two minds on the subject. Yes, he felt like he was being pressured into it by Elizabeth, and yes, he didn’t appreciate that she all-but forced him to grow when he was already quite comfortable at his current size; on the other hand, he absolutely was not comfortable at his current size, the idea of swelling further left him weak at the knee, and if it weren’t for Elizabeth being Elizabeth, he never would’ve found happiness like the one he experienced every day, when he woke up, looked to the side, and saw her there.

Really, it was about agency. He wanted to want to grow, but every time it came packaged with it being forced by Liz, which more or less soured things… at least, until the growth itself happened and Shrapnel couldn’t quite think of anything at all that wasn’t becoming bigger and more virile. Stuck between two worlds, he was thus cursed to do whatever the serval asked him to do, it being the one option that scratched off the most points on the to-do bullet list he had inside his head.

So he pushed the bar up, feeling the burn of his muscles aching underneath the strain, then let it fall down towards him at a controlled rate; in between the rest of him protesting such a ridiculous thing, Shrapnel practically missed how his balls swelled outwards, not just filling but actually growing as well. A curious point in how his body worked, honestly: other hypers might just stretch out whenever they produced more, but he found that his capacity and baseline went up whenever his body was made to become larger, which naturally drove both himself and the serval completely crazy and threw all sense of caution out the window. Shrapnel actually had to be the sensible one at times, lest he end up a behemoth like Liz did.

Then again, looking up at her as he started his third rip, cock already ripping through his sweatpants, Shrap couldn’t help but feel like he could’ve had it worse. Honestly, Elizabeth had never been happier than when she started strutting around with a body too big to fit into most places; not that she had been small before, but the way she was now… it beggared belief, and not in the bad way either, seeing as she was very much real, no matter what the graphs and the physicians and theoretical physicists said.

Getting around was practically impossible without the use of heavy-duty compression equipment, and everything in their home had to be either shrunk down or spatially stretched to allow for the serval to move without pulverising everything the couple owned. The amount of money spent on it would’ve been prohibitive, had Liz not taken to putting her talents to good use; unbeknownst to most people who never bothered reading labels, most of the milk in the state came directly from her, pumped out on the regular in order to keep her size and dairy production rates stable. If she wasn’t constantly emptied out, the serval risked going into lactic overdrive, and nobody wanted that.

Well, Elizabeth did, but the government overrode her on that particular kink.

Still, she was the happiest she’d ever been, and it all came from her embracing who she was and letting go of her concerns. As far as Shrapnel knew, all it took (for a given value of that expression) was for the serval to simply stop caring, and from then on, she always seemed to have a smile on her face. Granted, some of these were more so a result of her deliberately trying to grow other people out or encourage behaviours that would lead to people around her putting on several dozen extra pounds, but it still counted; ultimately, Shrapnel was entirely certain she wasn’t doing it for her own sake, but rather entirely for others: Elizabeth wanted other people to feel like she did, to feel the warmth and joy and “happy ecstasy”, as she put it, of just being massive.

Hence why the two of them were there that day.

Still, he would’ve preferred it if Elizabeth just asked him first, because then at least he’d have some plausible deniability. As it stood, he was left looking up at the giantess and wondering whether he shouldn’t press the issue further: really speak up and say no, not the garbage nonsense non-excuse he was trying to put up before. Hell, he’d gotten three reps in already, he could see his dick ripping through the cloth in his pants, and he needed to stop, so he was going to tell her just that!

“Ok, we’ve had enough,” he attempted, believing that if he included the both of them in the sentence, Elizabeth might be compelled to empathise, “we can have fun back at home, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drop this thing and we can go ho-”

He was stopped. Shrapnel tried lifting the bar to place it on its proper rest, but there was something there keeping him from doing so; only after looking down did he realise that Elizabeth had placed a single finger on it, the force exerted by this singular digit being enough to keep him pinned in place. The grin on her face grew wider, her lips parting to reveal her pearly, sharp whites, and suddenly, Shrapnel didn’t feel quite so safe anymore.

“We’re done when I say we’re done, honey,” Liz replied in a tone that sounded entirely out of place for someone that big, “so, if you don’t mind~?”

Well, he couldn’t really argue with that, now could he?