A Brand New Approach - Part 2 (Patreon Commission for ShrapnelTheWolf)

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

---===---

Shrapnel closed his eyes again, letting out a long sigh as he tried his best not to think about what was about to happen. He wouldn’t be leaving until he had to literally drag his cock and balls ahead of him, that much he knew, that much he was certain Elizabeth would force upon him; and though part of him wanted to resist this, he knew better than to do so, seeing as the last time he tried he ended up larger than what the serval intended (at least, according to the serval herself) as a result of needing to be “taught a lesson” in “good manners”. He knew better than to push that line, not unless he wanted to be left an immobile little piece of wolf atop a throne of nutflesh and cum.

The best he could do was keep going and wait for Liz to tell him to stop. At that point, his one “out” was to do whatever it was his beloved wanted and hope to the heavens above that she’d be satisfied before he was too large to walk properly, though Shrapnel seriously doubted that would ever be the case; with her being so close to him, so overbearing in how she loomed over him, there was no doubt in his mind that she fully intended to stretch him out as far as he went, then a little bit more for good measure as well.

Good that he was lying down then, because he was more than certain he wouldn’t have been able to stay upright with how weak his legs already felt; honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle that he could even lift anything at all, given how his whole body was like a wet noodle with how weak and frail he was at that time. The only thing keeping him going was the realisation that, if he didn’t, then something worse might happen; this was enough to force strength from nothing, to get his arms and upper body to use whatever power they had left to get that bar up, just so Elizabeth would be satisfied. And in doing so, he forced his lower half to become increasingly disproportionate, though in a way that all-but commanded him to moan from how much it made his pleasure centres flare up.

It was automatic at that point, and there wasn’t much Shrapnel could do to stop himself from feeling like he was about to explode at any moment. Considerations on agency were fine and dandy, but once the hormones started flowing and his brain began making happy juice, the wolf wasn’t really in a position where he could afford to spend any time thinking about anything in particular. He’d rather just feel, letting his instincts take over as his bodily control was overruled by muscle memory; by then, the reps barely felt like they cost him any energy at all, though it might very well be a case where he was slowly wearing himself down and just wasn’t aware of it thanks to his mind blocking the pain.

The side of him that insisted on resistance was dying off as well. It was still there, still trying to make itself known despite how pointless it was, still doing its damned best to get Shrapnel away from the darkest pits of self-indulgence, seeing as it knew where they led to; but Elizabeth was also there, and she was big enough that she very easily blocked off all sight of the rest of the gym, leaving the wolf with nothing to look at but her. Nothing but her gargantuan bust, with a pair of nipples so puffy and engorged that they made her enormous top stretch and groan, nothing but her inviting, warm, soft thighs and that colossal rump jutting out the back. Nothing but the promise of what was waiting for him once he was done, if only he was a good boy and did what he was told to do.

It got easier with time. The first rep had indeed been the worse, the second just slightly better, but from there it was merely a case of finding a rhythm and sticking to it. The wolf still didn’t go full tilt; not only would this cause his growth to go completely out of control, but he knew full well that if he unleashed everything he had, he’d just burn out completely and then have to deal with a very annoyed Elizabeth who still wanted (and needed, really) her daily stuffing, forcing him to drag himself through the wringer just to keep her satisfied. It was better for the both of them if he paced himself somewhat, and, seeing as the serval didn’t say anything to this, the wolf figured he had stumbled onto what his better half deemed to be the “correct” pace.

Now, this still meant he was growing, that much he couldn’t get away from. Even doing everything he could to maintain a constant rate of pushing the weights up and letting them fall back down, the growth still happened, with enough of it that Shrapnel began to see it encroach upon his field of view. The first sign of it was when Liz actually backed off for once; Shrap assumed she was simply getting ready to do something, but no, she was actually giving him more room, the reason for which became evident when he saw his cock’s tip rising from below without him having to move his head from where it was. He dared not make the mental calculations needed to understand just how enormous it had to be; all he needed to know was that it was big enough that, even with him lying down on the bench, looking straight up, he could still see the tip of it… and he was very much certain that he’d be seeing a lot more as well in short order.

The noises, too, had begun in earnest, and those weren’t something that Shrapnel could just filter out. Not only did they relentlessly assault his ears, but the fact was, noises were made by something, and this something just happened to be attached to him… or, well, multiple somethings, split into two main sources of auditory stimulation.

The most prominent had to be the two cumtanks down below, hands down, no questions asked, no ifs, ands or buts. Shrapnel couldn’t yet see them from where he was looking, though he had no doubt this wouldn’t remain the case for long, but he could definitely hear and feel his nuts better than anything else on his body; in between the tightness, the rumbling, the churning, the sensations that came each time those things clenched in an effort to vent some of the pressure, all of it left him… on edge would be somewhat accurate, but perhaps a more on-point expression would be “maddened”, or perhaps even “driven insane”, something along those lines.

He was productive. He’d always been, and his virility didn’t help with matters either; it was almost as if he could sense his own potency, and in the process ended up being almost perfectly aware of just how hard he could breed Elizabeth at any given moment, a line of thought that wasn’t at all made easier to bear since the serval herself made sure to remind him of it through her just being there. He still remembered her back when she was person-sized, back before he’d filled her up so many times that it “stuck” and her size just kept getting larger and larger each time. He remembered each moment he was made to output more, every occasion where the feline demanded that he go further than he had the time before: the pressure he felt, the sense of overwhelming and impending doom that came with having a set of nuts so stuffed that they were practically on the verge of popping from internal strain alone.

So, naturally, it only made sense that his growth spurt would focus so much of itself between his legs and into his spunk reservoirs, two orbs of already large size encroaching upon the enormous, then onwards towards the gargantuan. It didn’t help that, the bigger they became, the more they produced as well, creating a vicious cycle where all Shrapnel could do was hope that his dick grew large enough to handle all the venting needed; if not, he was very much on track to having his sack burgeon outwards continuously, as the only way he had for him cum to be pumped out of his body was just not big enough to handle the load, creating a dangerous backlog in the process.

Then again, part of him wanted that to happen. He wanted to be so virile that he literally couldn’t cum properly anymore, he wanted to have so much of the stuff inside of him that his body was literally unable to get rid of it in time before he refilled and then some. It was dangerous, and to an extreme and unhealthy degree, but when one had to deal with that sort of sensory feedback for more than just a couple of seconds, ideas like safety and self-preservation ran secondary to more simple concerns such as horniness and arousal. Maybe he just wanted to be hard all the time and not have to worry about anything else; maybe he was tired of worrying at all, and felt like he’d earned the right to sit back and let Elizabeth use him like a fucktoy.

And there’d be plenty there for her to use, after his cock was done growing. Not much he could do to stop that thing now, not when it was already longer than he was tall, about as thick as he was wide, and still going strong the more he kept lifting. Sure, he could stop, but Liz didn’t tell him to, so it wasn’t like he could make that call on his own. Clearly, despite the fact that his dick was rapidly reaching a state where he couldn’t move it without literally having to hug it against him, the serval needed it to be even bigger, nevermind how this would consign her beloved pup to a life of near-immobility. And Shrapnel too knew this, and Shrapnel too couldn’t care anymore.

He was too horny, pure and simple. What little remained of his self-restraint and ability to hold back his urges had been vaporised by the tidal wave of serotonin bathing every square inch of his brain, leaving him lacking in even the most basic instinct of self-preservation, turning him into a machine fit only to lift, grow, and eventually rut. That was his purpose, made for him and only made to perform, and he was going to do so to the best of his ability, because Liz was asking him to do it; clearly, if the serval giantess expected him to do something, then he had no choice but to put his back into it and do it properly, which meant he had to stop fucking around with his lifting and actually start putting some effort into it.

More power, more energy, let his muscles do what they were meant to do, until he was drenched in sweat and smelling of… musk? Hard to notice at first in between the sensory overload caused by everything else, but the smell wafting from him was less the one expected from someone driving themselves to the brink through exercise and more that of pure, animalistic musk, the same kind of scent that would drive actual beasts mad with lust; hell, Liz herself was already wide-eyed and licking her lips, and Shrapnel wouldn’t be too far behind once his own nose was overwhelmed by it all. The smell grew more potent the more he lifted, heralding a brand new type of transformation, and the moment he felt his balls suddenly clench and heard the ceiling tiles shatter, well… nowhere to go but further out, now was there?

The whole room was filled with him, either physically or indirectly as his musk grew stronger and more potent, capable of overwhelming the senses of even those most entirely detached from anything resembling a sex drive. It was the sort of highly volatile chemical cocktail that would make anyone trying to catalogue it rip their hair out from frustration alone, seeing as, by all means, Shrapnel really shouldn’t be able to produce it; nothing had changed, nothing had happened, he hadn’t eaten anything to help him develop that much, and yet there he was, packing on mass from nowhere and somehow capable of outputting enough musk that everyone in the gym was suddenly left thinking about how they really, really wanted to either fuck him or be fucked by him.

No such luck for anyone though… well, no one but Elizabeth. From the expression she carried, one would be hard-pressed to find any explanation other than assuming the serval had fully expected this to happen, and had been waiting for it ever since walking into the gym a few minutes prior; maybe the growth had never been the real goal, and the serval just wanted to be drunk off of her lover’s scent, who knew? Shrapnel certainly didn’t, and he lacked the willpower to want to find out after what happened to him; he was slightly too busy being incapable of thinking about anything other than rutting his mate, which, given the size of him, he was now fully prepared to do.

He couldn’t see it, in that, while his eyes were certainly able to pick up on it, his brain refused to process the information: from the truck-sized nuts to a cock reaching a good thirty feet in length, the rest of his body looked to be almost comically tiny next to a package that was fit only to service a behemoth like Elizabeth. He wasn’t thinking about how he was supposed to get back home; for the wolf, all that mattered was that Liz was there, and surely she would come up with a solution. He didn’t question her when she bent down and grabbed his midriff with both hands, nor did he raise a finger to do anything when she unceremoniously jammed his dick in between her gargantuan tits, ripping through her top in the process. He was nice and stuck there, meaning he didn’t have to worry about falling off when the titaness got up and walked out of the gym.

Of course they couldn’t just do it there of all places; what they were about to do was going to cause enough collateral damage that it would be downright irresponsible of them to engage in it anywhere outside their own home, where at least they had safety mechanisms to keep it all from spilling out too much. It didn’t register with Shrapnel that Elizabeth was clearly having trouble carrying him and all of his weight, and not just because of it as well; though he didn’t notice, or at least was incapable of noticing it, the serval’s nips had been hardening with every step she took towards their house, until they were tenting her now-tube top hard enough that the fabric was starting to rip apart much like Shrapnel’s own sweatpants had.

She was clearly struggling, and the reason why would be apparent had the wolf managed to hold onto what remained of his consciousness and sentience: she was growing, and not voluntarily either. The serval had made a good show of being fully in control back at the gym, but as she huffed and gasped for breath, as she struggled to take a single step when she knew she had to take so much more, the façade crumbled more and more, until it was less a covering and more of a tattered mask no one would be fooled by. There was churning coming from her, as her tits filled and then swelled outwards with milk; there was ample slapping, as her rotund cheeks crashed against one another. There was plenty of groaning, as her thighs rubbed against one another and her whole form was made to stretch outwards, and plenty of moaning as well, with the serval’s pleasure centres being assaulted with such force that she could barely think either.

Every step she took, she felt her breasts swelling, a good cup size at a time, then a good foot, until each motion risked inching on a full yard. Her whole body seemed to be jiggling like gelatin, less substantial than ever, almost like it had been melted down to be reformed and remade, bigger and better than ever before. Her arousal was such that she wasn’t even thinking about Shrapnel anymore: just his cock, shoved between a pair of milktanks that grew larger with every passing moment, just herself, becoming taller and more colossal whenever she dared do anything other than stand still. Every motion made her larger, pushed her outer boundaries in every direction until she wasn’t merely stacked, but tall as well, until the ground was so far below her that part of Elizabeth began feeling vertigo.

Of course, in the middle of it all, Shrapnel wasn’t merely hanging there letting it happen. As the tits surrounding his cock grew bigger, so too did his package have to grow to accommodate for it, lest the serval end up anything less than thoroughly and completely satisfied. As Elizabeth became bigger and more overwhelmingly huge, then so too must his nuts gurgle and churn louder, their cum production skyrocketing in preparation for what would be the biggest filling of a lifetime. And as there was more of the big cat to go around, so too must there be more musk to fill her nostrils, to overpower her brain, to thoroughly inundate her mind, until neither of the two could really think about getting home anymore.

There was never any reason to go there anyway aside from what they would do to their surroundings, and they only truly cared about it because they still had functioning brains that could understand the concept of consequences. Both Shrapnel and Elizabeth, for all that they didn’t personally give a rat’s ass about whether or not they were going to pave over entire city blocks, still comprehended the idea that, if they did such a thing, people might get mad and demand compensation; while Liz would no doubt have the cash, the legal headaches alone wouldn’t be worth the time.

There, however, no such thing was thought of, since no such thing really mattered anymore. What was the point of worrying about buildings and razing them, what was the point of spending any amount of time thinking about how many city blocks would have to go before Elizabeth was satisfied? For Shrapnel, the one true important thing was whether or not his dick was big enough (it wasn’t, he made it bigger) and whether his nuts were producing enough spunk to fill that gorgeous giantess until she was ready to pop (they weren’t, he made them produce faster). For Shrapnel, only pleasuring his mate was important, and even then only in a way that Liz herself wanted it; he was little more than an instrument, a literal and figurative tool to be put to use, while the serval was his mistress, deciding upon how, when and how he was best made to rut her until he couldn’t move a muscle on his body anymore.

He didn’t mind… mostly because he couldn’t, on account of no longer having enough blood flow to the brain to keep it functioning properly. Most of it had been diverted downwards, though perhaps “down” wasn’t much of a descriptor given that he was hanging off his cock rather than the other way around. He was more so an extra bit of meat attached to a package far too large for him to control anymore, it wasn’t like he could move almost fifty feet of dick and half a house’s worth of weight in nutflesh and spunk, so really, it was all up to Elizabeth… whenever she decided to stop moaning and mewling and got back to using him like a fucktoy again.

Easy for him to say though. The cloud of musk around him had become thick enough that it quite literally clouded Liz’s judgement, feeling like a thick curtain had been placed in between her conscious self and the primal urges lying in wait just on the other side. There was no control being exercised, no communication being held; just as her sentient half was busy trying to break through the bounds of its pheromone cage, the bestial side of her was running rampant where no one and nothing could stop it, leaving the giantess feeling increasingly unhinged as time went on. She was no longer thinking about being fucked or bred; hell, at that point, she wasn’t even thinking about Shrapnel anymore, a rarity when it came to her. No, she was thinking about dick, and what she could do with it.

Why, there was a perfectly good one just there, stuck between her… four tits? Did she always have four? The serval distinctly recalled a point in time when she only had two, but it felt like so long ago that it might as well not have been real; or, perhaps, it literally just happened, it was hard to tell when her brain was acting the way that it was. Better for her to focus on what really mattered: the sixty feet of wolf cock shoved between her twin busts, ready for her to fall to her knees, cause everything for half a mile around to shake in their boots, create one hell of a jiggling shockwave on her ass, then get down to business doing what she did best.

Now, this was a slight issue, given that, usually, she had a conscious wolf to plough her with enough strength to make her legs shake and her knees wobbly. And, as much as Shrapnel was still technically awake, it was hard to call his current state “conscious” when so much of his brainpower had been reduced to backlog processing, leaving only the bare minimum required to keep his body functioning; it was her fault, and on some level Elizabeth was aware of it, but it was still… inefficient. Still, she wasn’t going to let something as seemingly insurmountable as that get in the way, because the cock was still there, and that’s what mattered; though it pained her to do so, the serval had to pull Shrapnel from between her three lines of milk-stuffed udders, placing him gently on the ground such that his shaft was pointed directly upwards. From there, it was simple enough to position herself directly above the tip, already bubbling with gallons of pre, begging for a chance to release something else.

And then, gravity did what gravity did.

To say the quake was powerful would be an understatement’s understatement, given that it quite literally rocked the foundations of every building in the downtown area they were in, and was still felt in the suburbs, albeit not as powerfully. Half a dozen structures outright collapsed as a result of the first impact, the dust cloud coating Liz and Shrapnel just when the former was getting ready to get back up… only to find it far more difficult than expected.

There was only so much she could do, and after having a dick that big smashed into her through her own idiotic actions, her repertoire was reduced to more or less choosing between whimpering and moaning and little else. With a bulge almost as big as her torso stretching her out, and enough cum being pumped into her to permanently stain her insides white, all Liz wanted to do was sit there and take it, forever… but if she only put some energy into it, she could get so much more; she just needed to try.