A Dinner Date - Part 1 (Patreon Commission+ for ShrapnelTheWolf)

TAGS: Hyper/Very Hyper, Growth/Expansion, Clothes Bursting

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It was stuffy, it was constricting, and by goodness gracious it was the worst abuse of his body he’d ever experienced, but Liz expected him to go through it, and if he managed to hold it in his pants for her, he could manage to wear a goddamn set of formal wear. It wasn’t easy; by the heavens above, Shrapnel hated every moment he spent wearing that tight shirt and even tighter suit pants, especially since the latter had only the bare minimum amount of space needed to cater to someone of his… dimensions. It was bad enough that he had to lug around a pair of nuts the size of watermelons with a dick to match, but now he had to do so when the cut of the cloth around them barely allotted enough room to keep him decent, let alone allow him to be comfortable; he was used to wearing loose jeans and sweatpants, so being forced into something more formal was nothing short of torture, doubly so considering what Elizabeth was wearing right in front of him. It almost seemed handpicked to tease him, and knowing the serval, that was probably exactly what she’d been thinking when she decided upon a little black dress with far too much side exposed to the world. She wasn’t exactly subtle about the way her body was endowed, nor was she at all shy about exposing herself in ways that many would consider inappropriate, perhaps even scandalous should one be inclined towards such verbiage. From her flared hips up to her waspish waistline before finally emerging into a set of tits big enough to have a good foot of backboob on either side of her, everything about Liz’s body seemed designed from the ground up to entice, to seduce, to call upon and demand to be worshipped… or, at least, that’s how Shrapnel chose to see it. Far as he could tell, there wasn’t a lot that he could do in the situation he was in, not without making an ass out of himself in public; the stipulation for Elizabeth getting them that reservation was precisely that he wouldn’t do what he usually did, because for once, the serval actually wanted to hold onto her ability to come back to the establishment a second time. More often than not, the two of them had to be strategic in their decisions for where to take their nights out, given their propensity towards making a mess regardless of where it was they went; it was stronger than they were, given the amount of pheromones in the air whenever either of them got horny enough, and with bodies like theirs, just being next to one another was more often than not the only thing needed for the arousal to start steadily climbing towards a peak. Now, for most places, this wasn’t much of a problem: why bother worrying about being banned from a random barbecue fifty miles out of town when they had so many other choices and used fake names to schedule ahead anyway? Why think twice about flooding an italian restaurant with spunk and milk when the staff had no clue who they were beyond them being paid customers who walked in not ten minutes prior to the explosion? It was all subsidized by the government anyway, on account of the two lovers being hypers and thus being “incapable” of containing their outbursts; there was always plenty of surveillance to prove that the unfortunate growth spurt had been entirely accidental, both Shrapnel and Liz spent a considerable amount of time training to make their act be as believable as possible. Alas, the same could not be held true for the restaurant they were in that night, because apparently the serval actually liked that one. It was a truly fancy place, the kind of establishment one would think of when one heard the words “Michelin star”: everything, from the odd and most certainly inexplicable architectural choices, to the menu being filled with items Shrapnel was too embarrassed to admit he didn’t know about, and all the extra cutlery that he was more than happy to let Elizabeth take the lead on; he felt entirely out of place, like he’d wandered in accidentally, a lost puppy off the leash looking for its master… or mistress, in this case. Hard to deny he was  dancing to her tune and doing whatever the hell she wanted, but then again, who wouldn’t? It wasn’t just the fact that her very presence was enough to utterly dominate whatever room she was in, Elizabeth just had a way about her that made it almost enrapturing to just be around her, especially considering how good she was at guessing what his buttons were; anyone else and Shrap might just have taken offense at having his kinks indulged so shamelessly, but the serval just made it feel so natural that it was almost ludicrous to think that he should do anything other than play along with it, even if this led the two of them down alleyways that couldn’t quite be backed out from. Occasionally, the wolf would raise the point that, perhaps, the two of them should maybe stop going to restaurants if they were just going to get kicked out? It wasn’t that he disliked being with her, but the fact was that they only had a limited amount of establishments they could go to, and it was only a matter of time before they started crosschecking with other incidents and they had their asses banned from every proper eatery in the city and its surroundings. Perhaps this was why Elizabeth had gone to such lengths to keep him under control for that night in particular; wasn’t every day that she slapped a cockring on him, which, coupled with the already-uncomfortable formal wear he had on, made for quite the excitingly painful experience for Shrapnel, whose lower body in particular seemed to want to develop a mind of its own just so it could run away somewhere it wouldn’t have to be working under such (literal) pressure. But then Elizabeth smiled, and everything was fine; all she had to do was give him that look, that oddly sideways and twisted little stare where her flexibility was put on display, followed by the wide-open kitty-cat eyes with just the right amount of sparkle to them. It made his heart melt, and more than once he was beset by the sudden need to hug that adorable kitten and tell her she was “friend-shaped”, amongst other even less dignified things; he didn’t even care that it was blatant emotional manipulation, even more so when she went so far as to deliberately downplay the size of her assets and do that little cute twimsty thing with her head where she went almost lopsided but still somehow came out unbearably adorable the other end. Truly, a shameless mistress of manipulation, not afraid to use her natural abilities to their greatest extent just to get what she wanted, and Shrapnel loved every second of it; granted, it would’ve been significantly easier if he didn’t have his dick corralled and his libido told to sit in a corner and wait patiently while it was being fed at the same time, but if he managed to go through a whole day at home without losing his cool, there was no reason he couldn’t go a couple of hours at a fancy restaurant. That said, they really could afford to install some AC, or at least crack open a window; the wolf had no clue how no one else was as stuffy as he was, but he was certain the place was scorching hot, almost unhealthily so. Even worse was how Liz seemed entirely unaffected, having a pleasant chat with the waiter when the latter walked up to them to ask if they had decided upon their entrées. Shrap did what he could to try and keep himself decent while Elizabeth made the call for them, even managing to avoid squeaking or whining when the pleasure pangs began to strike him. It was an unfortunate reality for him, that no matter how hard he tried to keep himself under control, his body was always there to disappoint him, always ready to throw him under the bus and remind him of why wasn’t at all prepared for the sort of challenge he had thrown himself into. He wanted to hold back? He wanted to deny himself? Why, that was preposterous! Did the wolf not realize that he was meant to abide by his instincts and actually cum properly? Did he not stop to think that maybe he shouldn’t be keeping himself locked up, caged up, and forbidden from experiencing climax? Clearly, something had gone wrong there, because the last time his body had taken inventory of itself, it was still a damned breeding machine designed from the ground up to rut, not something to be put in a corner and told to wait like a good little boy. Unless, of course, Liz happened to call him a good boy, in which case it’d just be rude to not do what she asked him to; he was one, even if he blushed terribly hard whenever he admitted to being so, and he wasn’t about to tarnish that reputation by disregarding a polite request from the person he cared most about on that planet. That, and whenever she spoke those two words, it suddenly became very difficult for him to do anything other than stare directly at her with puppy-dog eyes and more or less just whine and beg for her to say them again; he wanted to earn that accolade, mostly so he could be given it again and again, so he could be called the two magical words that made his whole body feel like it was on fire and needed some urgent cooldown treatment… again, mostly because of what said treatment usually entailed. Why, he was blushing just thinking about it already; how could he not, when Elizabeth was leaning over the table towards him to ask for a smooch, revealed far too much spillage on either side of her dress? How could he remain even halfway decent when the love of his life was very deliberately trying to rile him up in front of onlookers, despite the fact that she claimed she wouldn’t do so? Part of him wanted to call her out on it, and the other ninety-nine percent of his brain was getting ready to call him an absolute idiot for even thinking about ruining a good thing. The end result was a very happy Shrapnel, with just the slightest sliver of doubt, reaching out to give Elizabeth a peck on the forehead, just like he did when they were alone and he felt like snuggling with Liz on his lap. None of those people staring at them would know; they judged, but they didn’t know, not like he did. They didn’t know the warmth, the softness, the pure love radiating from his precious kitten, nor would they ever have the right to refer to her in those terms. They didn’t know the sort of joy that radiated from her whenever she giggled, or whenever she smiled, or when she did that thing she was sitting on his lap and turned around to give him an upside-down smile; hell, Shrapnel could barely stop himself from grinning like an idiot just thinking about it, and he wasn’t even seeing it! He’d do anything to make that wonderful young woman smile, even if for just a little while, and frankly, being asked to give her a smooch ranked so low on the list of difficult that he couldn’t be bothered to spend more than a second deliberating on it before the discarding the possibility of ever not doing it. It’d be insane to hold out on Liz like that, fuck the fact that they were in a public restaurant; everyone could suck it, he had his perfect Liz to make happy. Unfortunately, it happened to be that making her happy meant staying perfectly quiet (at least in comparison to his usual self) and behaving like a functioning adult, for once; problem being, of course, that Elizabeth saw fit to disregard this completely when it came to herself, and not only had begun to adjust her seating position to further accentuate her ample bust, mostly by moving forward and having it be plopped on the table, but she even went so far as to perform that most heinous of acts: giving him the silent treatment. One would think and perhaps quite justifiably, that the absence of verbal teasing would be worse than literally anything else, and indeed, that was exactly true; unfortunately, there not being something there only made it worse, since now there was no stimulus to keep Shrapnel from becoming lost in that most dreadful of places: his imagination. Normally, he had Elizabeth there to curtail him, to keep things on the up and up, or at least as much as they could be given what sort of person he was. She knew which buttons to push, in what order, and with just how much intensity to make him squirm and beg for more, but always within known, acceptable ranges; ultimately, she knew how best to keep him under control via careful application of horny in just the right amounts, to the point that Shrapnel had more or less become dependent on this odd form of stimulation in order to even begin to function properly. Without it, he had no means of defending himself from… well, himself. Perhaps once he had, back before he met Liz, back when he still had to rely on his own protective measures to go through a day without blowing several dozen loads; back when he was still young and ignorant of the wide world around him and how full of wondrous dangers it was, back when his ego could still hold itself up against the onslaught of his id. Nowadays, not even forcefully conscripting the superego into the cause managed to keep things from blowing up the moment he had a stray horny thought, not just because of his overdependence on Elizabeth to bring him back down to normal, but… well, also because of Elizabeth, but this time due to the effect that long-term exposure to her had on his body. She was like an anomaly all by herself, her raw energy enough to drive him to do things he hadn’t thought possible before, which unfortunately had a tendency to lead to the wolf overexerting himself, causing his body to adapt as a result. As it turned out, he had an exceedingly malleable form, and one that seemed eager to find any excuse it could to pack on a couple of extra pounds where it mattered; while he hadn’t ever been small between the legs, he certainly hadn’t been as large as he was that night when he entered adulthood: that much had been Liz’s doing. Along with this came a commensurate increase to his libido, which, of course, could only ever truly be sated by a certain serval, locking Shrapnel in an endless spiral from which he, while technically he could escape from, lacked the willpower to do so. Even if he didn’t, it was doubtful he’d step back, not when he was the happiest he’d ever been; it wasn’t as if things got in the way of him working from home, given how his employers didn’t insist on a webcam connection and never asked questions so long as work was done in time every day, letting him enjoy the finer things in life without sacrificing his income. Couple that with an ecstatic and overenthusiastic serval sharing his living space, and was it any wonder that Shrapnel was utterly unable to control himself when he got going? Frankly, it was a wonder he even managed to behave at the best of times, rather than constantly be on the lookout for any opportunity to jump Liz’s bones and find himself railing a serv with such gusto that it bordered on the downright obscene. And that night, while initially set up to be different from usual, was quickly shaping up to go down the exact same route, thanks, again, to Liz not saying anything. Absent the serval’s leash around his neck (and the literal one as well), there was nowhere for Shrapnel to go but inwards, and as soon as he began wondering what he’d do to her once the two of them were back home, it was all over. There was no doubt Elizabeth knew exactly what she was doing by being quiet in the way she was; coupled with the way she was deliberately putting her assets on display, she was clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, and succeeding with zero effort whatsoever. Hell, he was already filling up, which was… not good, now that he stopped to think about it. He hadn’t noticed it amidst all the rest, but as soon as the first pressure spike went up his spine, Shrapnel’s brain issued a general panic notice that left him so thoroughly frazzled that he actually came back to reality and to full alertness, even if for only a few seconds. He wasn’t supposed to be filling up, that was only for after he… well, started. And he hadn’t started, last he checked, nor was he in any position to start, given that Liz hadn’t even been playing with balls under the table. It would’ve been nice, but she hadn’t; in fact, the only thing she’d done the whole night is hand him a glass with water after the waiter was polite enough to bring one for the “overheating gentleman”, at which point Shrap put the pieces together and stopped thinking. He stared down into the glass, wondering if the water looked any different from usual: was it any murkier, thicker? Did it have any trace remnants akin to that of an aspirin dissolving? Or was it just a glass of water, one that looked exactly like any other would, lacking even the faintest signs of being tampered with? The latter option seemed to hold true, yet when Shrapnel looked up from it and back at Elizabeth, what he saw was a perfect cat smile staring back at him, her head tilted slightly and her ears seemingly vibrating at a frequency high enough to leave afterimages. Though he couldn’t be certain, as it was unfortunately hidden away, the wolf wouldn’t be surprised if the serval’s tail had puffed up and began shaking as well, just like it always did when Liz was excited about something terrible she’d done and gotten away with, absent any consequences… well, for herself, at least. Judging from how much pressure he felt down there, Shrap could only assume that he was about to start bloating very soon indeed, and though he couldn’t ever know for certain just how quickly it would happen, he knew his pants were going to survive for more than five minutes after the timer started. Already he could feel his sheat pushing outwards, swelling in preparation for his cock forcing its way out through the ring holding it back; though none could see it under the table (at least for the time being), Shrapnel was certain that if anyone were to look, they’d be able to perfectly make out the shape of the bulge, down to the “hole” in the middle where the fabric no doubt plunged into in an effort to try and keep itself in one piece. But seconds were all it took for the first signs of tearing to make themselves known, and a few seconds more before the first gashes were ripped open as a result of his package growing with additional seed and mass, blood pumping down to his shaft as Shrapnel’s cum production rates started their steady climb upwards. And still Elizabeth did nothing but sit there and smile at him, even if her body language made it clear that she knew what she did, and was exceedingly proud of it for someone who had claimed to want a perfectly uneventful night out. Shrapnel should’ve known better; in those fleeting moments of lucidity before the pleasure became too much for him to think straight anymore, he kicked himself for ever thinking that Liz could hold herself back, for thinking, even if for just a moment, that the serval was capable of any degree of restraint or self-control. She was a bigger horndog than he was, and that was saying something given how much of his life revolved around that one precise topic and nothing else. To think, that he had ever begun to believe that nonsense spiel about her wanting to “keep this one” and “act natural for once”; how could he have failed to notice the sly smile, the little grin at the corner of her lips, making it oh-so clear that everything she was saying was complete and utter horseshit? Oh, and how could he ever want anything else, how could he ever desire for any other Elizabeth than the one right there in front of him, the same one who had tricked him without a moment’s hesitation, yet did so in a manner that left him wanting for more? How silly of him to ever believe that he, too, could hold back, that he could go for even a couple of hours without acting in the way that he was built to act; really, it was all his fault for being willfully blind to something he had no right not to know and understand, but that just made the whole thing even more enjoyable as far as he was concerned. It was the novelty that got to him; if it had been the same-old same-old, sure, it’d be nice, but it’d be nice in the same way that all the other times the two of them ruined entire restaurants had been. And while it would be enjoyable, it’d just be another entry in an increasingly longer list that had no end in sight and no means of slowing down. In a way, Elizabeth going out of her way to keep up the deception until just the right point that it was no longer needed made it feel special, almost like a surprise gift on his birthday, or a random blowjob when he wasn’t looking and the serval somehow managed to sneak in under his desk. Or a great other number of things, he wasn’t even thinking anymore; all he could feel was the strain below the table, between his legs, as his unfortunately expensive suit pants were torn to shreds by an advancing sheat, its hole perfectly visible outlined against what remained of the fabric… at least, until the whole thing collapsed, its structural integrity became naught, and the wolf was finally released upon the world. Shrapnel’s tongue immediately lolled out of his mouth, with him taking long, deep breaths now that he was finally free; it felt like he’d just run a marathon and had been allowed to sit down and take a rest, a weight off his shoulders and the grip around his heart finally gone. He loved that moment. That singular moment where there were no worries, no concerns, no nothing beyond him just being there, savoring his existence about as serenely as he ever could. It would only last for but a fleeting instant, after which he was doomed to go back to the same old routine of losing his absolute shit at the slightest touch by Elizabeth, but while it was there… it was nice. It was… homely. Even if he wasn’t at home, he still felt comfy, like he could just go to sleep and wake up the next day, refreshed and restored.

Then the moment passed. And it was back to reality for him.