Prompt of the Month - December 2021

TAGS: F/M, Pokés!, Growth/Expansion, Room-Filling (Literally), Hyper, Size Difference

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The club was always full on Friday nights, but that one was especially crowded, mostly by young twenty-somethings celebrating the end of the finals with enough alcohol to ensure the neurons responsible for remembering all that information were dead and buried, never to make the return. As the proprietress, Ezmerelda couldn’t be happier: money in the bank and shot got to play the part of the mysterious shadow mistress looking down upon the crowd from on high, her silhouette just barely visible from beneath the entirely unnecessary set of blinds she installed in her office window. It tickled her in a way that nothing else did, and no matter how many times her staff told her she was being immature, the Typhlosian gave precisely null shits about whatever it was they thought. It brought her joy and that’s what mattered… plus, it was a convenient way of actually spying on people without anyone being able to tell just who she was looking for, especially since, unbeknownst to everyone, the window was actually tintable and could very easily be turned into a one-way observation panel of sorts. There was, however, an entirely different motivation, one that Ezmerelda kept close to herself at all times and worked overtime to ensure no one caught on. It was deeply personal, not meant to be shared with anyone she didn’t personally agree to disclose it to, and above all, could very easily get her in trouble with all manner of people if it came out; there was, ultimately, a reason why she called her club her “hunting grounds”. Everyone thought it was a joke, given how she was significantly bigger than just about anyone else around her wherever she might go, and with a physique like hers, one would expect her to be overbearingly seductive, almost overwhelmingly so, in her role as an “insatiable momdom”, whatever that was supposed to mean. Ezmerelda herself went to great lengths to encourage these rumours, since at the very least they remained that way: rumours. They were things said about her, rather than accusations levied at her, and as long as that remained the case, then she was happy to be the butt of jokes about how interminably horny she always was, or how she had a secret room full of toys. They were entirely true after all; it’s just that the people who often spoke them had no clue that was the case. Such it was that, on that particular night, the Typhlosion looked down upon her demesne, scanning the room for anyone that might peak her curiosity. There were plenty of boytoys to choose from, but alas, she was one of… refined tastes. Not just anyone, not just anybody, not just any random person who had enough money to burn that they thought getting sloshed on a Friday night was a perfectly reasonable way to spend a few hours. She might not exactly fit one half of the requirements for “momdom”, but she certainly filled the other, especially whenever she spent enough time without getting anything on the side that her arousal began spiraling out of control, much like it had been doing for a few days by then. No fun, no action, no anyone who she could dote on and teach the ropes, and in between having to readjust the budget following one of their investors having to declare bankruptcy and one of their best bartenders suffering an unfortunate ethanol accident during a talent show, Ezmerelda was at her wit’s end when it came to dealing with business issues. She needed that release, and given what sort of responsibilities fell on her shoulders, everyone else needed her to get it as well, less she wake up cranky enough one day to start spitting fire at everything around her the moment anything went remotely wrong. She considered it an “investment in safety”, the safety of others and her business of course, with the ultimate goal being to, put simply, find someone who she felt could live up to the challenge. Hence, her staring down at the crowd, doing her best to pick faces out from it, yet coming up disappointed every single time. There was a very good reason for her exacting standards: herself. Not to brag too much nor toot her own horn so excessively as to need help for it, but she wasn’t like most people, and quite literally at that. Breaking the eight foot height line was already bad enough, but having a set of cheeks down below that could wreck doors unless they were wide enough for her was only a portion of the problems for her surroundings; her tits, while not yet so big as to go over her waist, were nonetheless close to such a point, to say nothing of the obscene amount of backboob on display whenever she came home and practically ripped her business attire off of herself. The last thing she wanted, however, was some dumb brute who figured that the best that could be done was to pick her up and treat her like some kind of animal to be fucked and mated with; similarly, while appreciated, she wouldn’t merely settle for an energetic lover who knew all of her physical hotspots, because that just missed out on what she was truly looking for: a power dynamic. Call it freudian in nature, but the fact was, she had to crawl and bite and kick her way up the ladder to where she was nowadays, and this left her with two things: a deep understanding of business practices coupled with an iron will and a set of unflinching morals on merit… and a raging dominance kink that she very rarely got to indulge in. Everyone looked at her and assumed she wanted someone of equal stature and girth to “fight with” in the bedroom; everyone assumed her monstrous physique meant that she appreciated a struggle for said dominance, rather than the simpler truth that all she wanted was a lithe, little precious thing for her to dote on. She wanted someone to sit on her lap so she could smother them in boob, or just sit down, period, so she could do the same to them. She wanted someone so much smaller than her that she needed to take care not to accidentally hip-check them against a wall when they weren’t looking, and she wanted someone who could be like this yet also possessed the strength and energy needed to keep up with her whenever it was time to get serious. Perhaps it was selfish to want the best of both worlds: submissive and bashful out of the bedroom, leading the charge while inside it, but really, her payment was herself. Who wouldn’t want unfettered access to a body like hers, especially since she was more or less constantly horny and in need of stimulation? Who wouldn’t want to be able to share a home with a gorgeous giantess such as herself, doubly so since, well, she was a businesswoman, and all physicality aside, Ezmerelda was reasonably certain she was a halfway-interesting person to interact with on an intellectual level. The problem, unfortunately, lay in actually finding someone like that, because most people who fit that description didn’t come to a bar to get drunk because their finals were done and they weren’t using that part of their ocular cortex anyway. It was, in her mind at least, a waste of time to carry on doing this, yet she did it anyway on the off-chance that maybe, some day, she would get lucky… that, and her continued presence was required at the establishment, so it wasn’t as if she could afford to be elsewhere entirely. Her eyes thus skimmed the crowd, occasionally narrowing whenever the Typhlosion spotted someone she felt would be a good candidate, only to end up rolling along with a sigh when Ezmerelda saw something that left a sour taste in her mouth: too much outward flirting, too much aggression, too much testosterone, too much of themselves in their own heads to consider what anyone else wanted. Not that they were entirely to blame, given the copious amounts of alcohol flowing freely from glass to mouth, but still, in vino veritas and all that. Ezmerelda was about ready to give up for the night and go back to her desk when she spotted something off the corner of her eye; while initially not important enough to qualify for a proper look, it was somehow so strange that her brain, despite only having peripheral vision to work off of, gave out an instruction for the proprietress’ entire body to swivel so she could best see what was happening. Indeed, there in the distance she spotted something, or someone to be more precise, that set off every alarm she had in her head. Someone who was doing something that no one should do when inside an establishment like hers: actually use the tables. Now, of course, the tables were there for a reason; no one wanted people to drop their drinks on top of the bar counter, that was both unhygienic, downright dangerous, and would lead to a great many moments of confusion without using tags on the glasses. The tables were, of course, there to be used, technically… if only as less-temporary coasters. People weren’t meant to sit at them, nor use the couches, they were just there for decoration; the money flowed best when folks were standing up and consuming, and they couldn’t quite do that if they were sat at a table looking nervously all around them as if they didn’t know what exactly they were doing. And yet, that Obstagoon was doing just that: looking entirely out of place with a button-up shirt, a pair of jeans that weren’t ripped and a perfectly combed head of luxuriously long hair, that man could not be a bigger fish out of water if he tried. And that… that interested her. Ezmerelda’s eyes narrowed once more, though that time they didn’t open back up; rather, she moved her head closer to the window instead, enough that she could see her face reflected on it, her hot breath on the glass. She saw him, and inside her, there was a voice, a voice telling her that she needed him. Now, how she was going to get him in her office without him needing a change of underwear was anyone’s guess, but that’s precisely why she hired bouncers; was she expected to do all of her dirty work? There was enough of it as it was in her accountancy records, she didn’t need to add entirely unnecessary assault charges to that future headline with her name on it. No, the best way was to tilt her head gently to the side, gently speaking into her lapelled microphone:

“Richard, can you be a dear and go fetch that young man in table… seven? No, eight, table eight. Obstagoon, twenty-something, looks like he got dragged here by someone else? Oh, and be a dear and don’t scare the poor thing, I’m afraid they might have a heart attack if you pull your usual routine. Thank you, honey.”

Now, to wait. To wait, and observe how one of her best employees, an absolutely enormous Raichu whose mere presence was often enough to break up fights before they happened, effortlessly waded through the crowd to get near to the Typhlosion’s target, who looked up to see that behemoth of a man approach and very nearly went completely white as a result. The look on their face had to be seen to be believed, and it was entirely unsurprising that he offered no resistance whatsoever when asked to get up and follow the bouncer. At least, from a distance, Richard appeared to have been cordial enough; he’d learn to be if this turned out not to be true, because no one touched a hair on her precious little thing’s hair except for her. He was hers, not anyone else’s! It was a stroke of luck that, when the door leading out was open and the Raichu came walking in, the smaller Obstagoon looked to be just fine, even if definitely frazzled and wondering why he had been called in like that when he had done nothing wrong; a quick stare was enough for Richard to know that his job was done, the giant backing off slowly so the bigger-still Typhlosion wouldn’t get any ideas about breaking him in half through glaring at him alone, closing door on the way out. Once the lock clicked, and it was made clear that there would be no running away via Ezmerelda taking a step forward and all-but pressing the Obstagoon against a wall… silence fell. The sounds of the club were still audible coming from the outside, but apart from it, there was nothing else to fill the air; just the muffled beats of the same tune that had blasted out of the sound system a thousand times before, the garbled voices of dozens of souls eager for more libations, and the occasional wave of excited shouting on account of something or other happening that caught the drunken attention of the crowd for long enough that they could react. The usual, really, and the perfect opposite side of the coin to the dreadful nothingness permeating Ezmerelda’s office, where the proprietress of that fine establishment stared down the eager young thing in front of her in an attempt at getting them to calm down and accept their fate. Not necessarily the best approach, but it was the only one she really had; the giantess wasn’t exactly renowned for her ability to be subtle, and having someone in her office for the first time in so long had left her lacking in the ability to be remotely gentle about things. Indeed, with the Obstagoon so close to her, it only stoked her further, given that she could properly see how cute he was; never did Ezmerelda expect to think about anything in those terms, not her of all people, but looking at that adorable fuzzball brought to mind no word other than that one: cute. So cute, in fact, that her first instinct was to bend down and lift him up into her arms, having to fight back the urge to coo as she did so; not that this did much good for the poor guy, who suddenly found himself enveloped on all sides by so much supple flesh that he didn’t know whether to scream out for help or start moaning as his body melted into the embrace. It was the closest he’d gotten to saying anything ever since coming into the office, which still wasn’t actually saying anything on account of him having his mouth stuffed with tit. Not intentionally, for once; it just so happened that his head was at the right level to have the Obstagoon’s face entirely muffled by the Typhlosion’s ample bust, making it impossible for him to utter a single word without either having to do so through breastflesh, or pulling his head back to breathe properly… and since he wasn’t about to do the former, and absolutely refused to do the latter, he was stuck there with no clear direction on where to go, paralyzed with indecision. As for Ezemerelda herself, things couldn’t have gone better if she tried; for a moment there, the Typhlosion feared she’d lost her touch, what with being too intimidating to be that inviting, but as soon as she felt her little boytoy go soft in her arms, she knew she had him; she’d have to work double time to mould him into a proper shape, and no doubt there would be plentiful resistance on the young man’s part, but it was a good start… good enough for her to turn around and walk to the sofa set around one of the office’s corners, pulling on the blinds to block out the sights and sounds of the club as much as possible. There, in the relative silence, she sat, letting the Obstagoon take as much time as needed to be the first one to make a move; for there would be no mistake, it was him who was going to take initiative going forward. She might’ve fallen prey to her instincts before, but Ezmerelda knew better than to spoil her toys; the last time she decided to take the lead, it ended with her “beloved” deciding that his job was to lie there and do nothing at all for hours on end, preferring to be pampered and “loved” than to do anything remotely stimulating. The giantess learned her lesson well, and though it pained her to have to just sit there and do nothing, she knew it was for the best; at some point the Obstagoon was going to wake up, realize what was happening, and finally give her what she wanted and needed, whether or not he damn well liked it. And he would like it, because in the end, they all did; they might squirm and moan and beg and writhe and do all manner of things that seemed to indicate they wanted no part in Ezmerelda’s little scheme, but in the end, they all broke. Faced with someone like her, how could they not, especially when she made it as apparently as she could that she was open to experimentation and letting them take the reins; indeed, even for the Obstagoon, it only took about five minutes before he began moving around on the Typhlosion’s lap, more so than usual, with him producing a handful of undignified noises before finally going quiet with one final squeak. Only the beginning though; as soon as he understood that such a display wouldn’t get him anywhere, that was all the encouragement he required to start trying harder, even if, for him, this just meant squirming especially hard on the soft seat that was the giantess with the lung-crushing bear hug. That said, all he managed was to extricate himself from the hug to begin with, though given how powerful it was, and the amount of size that Ezmerelda had on him, one could potentially call it a genuine achievement. His confused expression, ruffled hair, and the amount of sweat running down his brow, however, just made the whole picture come together as far as the Typhlosion was concerned, making it that much harder to avoid doting on her guest; there was, however, one thing she could do.

“What’s your name, hon?” Ezmerelda attempted with her sweetest, most non-threatening tone.

“P-Paul,” came the surprisingly rapid reply, even if delivered shakily, “name’s Paul. I d-don’t know what I did, but uh, I’m sorry if I did anything it’s just that I wasn’t reallyplanningoncoming heretonighta-”

“Hush” - the Typhlosion raised a finger and placed it over the young man’s lips, trying her hardest not to break into open smothering from that display of glorious awkwardness - “I didn’t call you in because you did something wrong, I called you in because I wanted to have a good time and you looked like just the person I wanted to be with.”

It was hard to tell what the reaction to the upfront honesty was. Surprise? Confusion? Utmost terror? Some sort of combination of all three, along with several other emotions that just didn’t make the slightest amount of sense given the context, yet the Obstagoon’s brain insisted on trying just to check if they worked? Perhaps even something else entirely, a brand new emotion that the young man hadn’t experienced at any point, unearthed by the ridiculous notion that this gargantuan woman actually wanted to be with him. The words “Why me?” were etched over his face as clearly as they could possibly be, and with them, an expression that left Ezmerelda unable to resist any light; fighting against her baser impulses, she instead channelled this energy into cupping her soon-to-be-lover’s cheeks and bringing the two into a deep kiss, making sure to dive in with her tongue as well for good measure. The wide-open eyes, the muffled yelp, the tensing of muscles followed by yet another limp body melting into hers, it was all she wanted and more out of any lover that walked through those doors, and exactly what she was getting… or, rather, half of what she wanted. The other half was still to come, though given what was happening at that point, she was going to need to be inventive in order to bring the train back on the tracks.

“Undress me,” she commanded, making it very clear that this wasn’t just a request, “if you want to receive your just reward, of course. You’re free to leave if you’d rather not put any work in, plenty of other boytoys to pick from tonight.”

Not necessarily false, though misleading all the same; Ezmerelda doubted whether anyone out there would even remotely qualify for her attention, not with her exacting standards. It took the right combination of traits to get her to demonstrate any sort of interest, and the Obstagoon had just nailed every single one of them in one go… but he didn’t need to know that. All he needed was to believe that he was replaceable, and that the proprietress was daring him to prove that he wasn’t. To his credit, he did genuinely look offended at the mere notion that might be a subpar lover, which was quite surprising given how he had behaved thus far; perhaps, Ezmerelda surmised, the young man might be an awkward little thing in large drunken gatherings, but still had his dignity outside of them, behind the cover of a closed, preferably locked door. Indeed, no sooner had she suggested that he could leave than her suitor seemed to hold her even tighter than before, digging his fingers into her plush self with such strength that it almost made her feel like he actually wanted to fuck her like an animal. There was the spirit she was looking for, there was the raging beast who needed to be drawn out with almost as much effort as it would take to shove it back into the pits from whence it came; there was her lover, in his truest form, and the one that she desired above all others. It was with a smile that the Typhlosion happily let go of Paul, who took the opportunity to start pulling and tugging at the business suit his soon-to-be-mate was wearing. A good effort, maybe even a decent one, but it quickly became apparent that the poor thing had no clue how to work around the buttons without causing far too much damage for something that had taken such a heavy toll on Ezmerelda’s wallet; nevertheless, it was the thought that counted, not the outcome, so thus convinced that she had made the right choice in singling him out of the crowd, even if it would take some work. She took his hands into hers, guiding him as best as she could while making it seem like he was the one running the show; the Obstagoon certainly didn’t seem to notice, not when his brow was so furrowed that it bordered on the comical. But he kept trying, and that’s what mattered; and as far as Ezmerelda cared, good boys who tried deserved a gift, and what better gift was there than the gift of herself? What best way to go than to make more of her that Paul may sink his hands into? She certainly felt this was true, so much so that, when the shirt was finally undone, the last button conquered and her tits spilled onto the outside world, they slapped loudly against her chest… and kept on going until they loudly spilled onto her lap, as a result of her pouring extra mass into them. A trick she’d learned, and not a particularly imaginative one, but effective nonetheless; why, just look at his face! He could barely even think, let alone formulate words to try and express what he was feeling! He’d gone all the way to places he’d probably never dared go before, and not only was he given exactly what he’d been looking for, but so much more in the process, leaving him unable to choose between being thankful, or just losing his mind completely; perhaps, had the two of them been more acquainted before this happened, then the Obstagoon would’ve been capable of producing a sound other than a long, steady whimper, but alas, there was no time for pleasantries or introductions beyond the ones already provided, and if he wanted to get the full prize, the young man was just going to have to work for it. Surprisingly enough, however, he would; this caught even Ezmerelda off-guard, who had assumed that, all enthusiasm aside, her little boytoy would need some time to recover from the shock of being shown a grower like herself, perhaps even needing her to pull some of her own weight in order to get things back on track. In reality, after having a few seconds to recenter himself, Paul instead dove right in, not just sinking his hands into Typhlosion plush, but throwing his face directly into the middle of the giantess’ tits, causing her to almost flinch backwards with how startled she was. So many of her lovers turned out to have so much more bark than bite that she’d grown accustomed to needing to push things along whenever she revealed any of her tricks, and was in fact fine with this having to happen; she wouldn’t have held it against the Obstagoon if he was so paralyzed by the sight of her bust expanding that he couldn’t perform properly for a few seconds, but instead, there she was getting her tits squished and massaged while an eager tongue found its way to the warm inner folds between her two colossal breasts, making her quiver for once! There was no telling how nervous her newest suitor was; his own body was shaking so much that it was genuinely hard to tell whether he was having an adverse physical reaction or if he was just excited and horny, but given how he energetically threw himself into worshipping his goddess, one could safely presume it was the latter. Indeed, he wouldn’t emerge from Ezmerelda’s cleavage until the Typhlosion herself pulled him out, and even this was about ten minutes and a whole lot of moaning on Ezmerelda’s part later, who had grown to understand that perhaps the Obstagoon wasn’t nearly as harmless and inexperienced as she thought he was. Or, perhaps, they were just a quick learner; either way, the fact of the matter was that the end result was the same, and nothing else was quite as important as the proprietress getting her rocks off on account of someone who actually knew what they were doing. Hell, it made her think that maybe she’d been wasting her time deliberately going after the obvious choices, since clearly it took her picking someone outside her usual range for anything new and exciting to happen, and in the time it took her to formulate this thought, the little guy had already put of his hands to good use. It snuck up on her, so much so that the short period of cold contact between finger and nipple was barely allowed to exist before the pleasure crash eliminated it from Ezmerelda’s mind; the ensuing moan was most likely heard throughout the building, though she couldn’t care less about whether or not people knew the owner of the establishment was being expertly serviced where no one could see her. In fact, she was quite convinced Richard was waiting right outside her door just in case she had to call him, which only made the experience that much more delectable; Ezmerelda knew for a fact that the big lug wanted desperately to taste of the sweet nectar that her Obstagoon toy was gorging himself with, yet would never get it until it struck his employer’s fancy. Maybe one day, when she felt like being bent over a table and fucked like an animal, the Typhlosion might reort to it, but in the meantime, she had cute little Paul to keep her company… company with entertainment, as it ware, given how enthusiastic the young man was; how exactly they’d learned to read bodies so well could only be speculated upon, but he did get every single one of Ezmerelda’s proverbial pressure points right, so much that the giantess was left squirming in her seat, and oddly incapable of controlling her next size spurt. It came too quickly for her to do anything about it, and by the time she found her bearings again, her body had already fallen prey to the process and couldn’t really be changed back… at least, not for a couple of hours. But it wasn’t her bust that swelled outwards, no; she’d already done that, and if there was one thing the giantess appreciated, it was a good show. And for a good show, one needed to have a proper line-up, not just one thing repeated ad nauseum, hence why after her bust, the next thing to come had of course to be her ass. Nothing too fancy, just a few extra handfuls for the Obstagoon to hold onto once he decided to split his attention downwards; wouldn’t want him to get too spoiled, lest the young man start thinking that he was just being given things, rather than earning them! It took a bit of control for Ezmerelda to hold back anything further, and even then she had to make sure her thighs and hips went along with it, seeing as she wasn’t quite the fan of the “bubble butt” aesthetic; still, by the end, she was left with a positively rotund and deliciously fat rump, leading to her sitting upon her throne and waiting for Paul to realize what had just happened. To his credit, he only took about ten or so more minutes before extricating himself from within his titty prison, and entirely self-inflicted incarceration that had left him red-faced and clearly weak at the knee, judging from all the trembling. He was very obviously ready to throw himself back in when his eyes chanced to look down and he saw what was waiting for him beyond the cleavage line, his pupils widening as if desperate to take in as much of the sight as possible; Ezmerelda herself could only chuckle as she felt greedy fingers sinking into her delectably soft pudge, pulling her lover closer to herself as if to encourage him to go all in. It did certainly help that, by then, her tits were big enough to envelop his entire body, letting the proprietress fully immerse her customer-turned-boytoy in a massage running from collarbone down to his legs; the poor guy had to angle his arms underneath the Typhlosian’s breasts just to get to her ass, seeing as the giantess herself wasn’t about to make it easy for him. She felt, perhaps not without reason, that it would be better if the Obstagoon learned the value of what he was trying to get, thus making it all the more rewarding once he finally managed to get there. Hence, she made him work for his handful of ass, knowing that he would appreciate it that much more than if it was simply given away for free… and listening to those moans, only partially muffled by the tit that he was nomfing down, Ezmerelda knew she’d made the right choice. Well, that, and how having her rear massaged in such a manner was a positively heavenly experience; few things outside of herself could truly compare, especially with how good the Obstagoon was. It bordered on the ridiculous, that someone so seemingly unassuming could turn out to be something of an expert in identifying the best possible locations to get the most out of any movement, every motion, every ounce of energy he put into things; clearly, something about reading books from covers or whatever it was, it was slightly difficult to think straight when one was so busy with the little ones that one forgot to do basic things, like breathing., It was almost like the experience had reset Ezmerelda, forcing her to relearn how to perform tasks that would normally be handled by subconscious processing. Even breathing seemed to come harder than normal, though in her case, it might very well be because the temperature in the room was growing increasingly hotter as a result of her actually being aroused for once, rather than just horny. Desirous of sex was one thing, but having a partner who somewhat knew what they were doing and took initiative, letting her be on the receiving end for once? Why, a better combination could never be found, and her body knew that very, very well. It was all she could do to stop herself from becoming putty in the Obstagoon’s hands, mostly since she knew that, at some point, all that moxy and energy would falter and he’d need her to be there to help him along; beginner’s luck and enthusiasm only went so far, and the Typhlosion was still convinced that Paul would, at some point in the near future, realize what was actually happening and trip over himself as a result. Yet, the longer it went on, the less likely this seemed to be as an option; no matter how much Ezmerelda assumed she’d have to intervene at any given moment, her lover boy found some other way to surprise her, be it through a rolling, circular massage on a particularly sensitive area, to bringing his thumbs and index fingers back to her nips to give them some proper attention, even occasionally locking lips that they may experience a moment of true and profound intimacy. For once, she genuinely had to do nothing, and didn’t have to feel bad about leaving her partner to flounder; if anything, she was veering straight into the opposite camp, with the giantess wondering whether or not she was imposing when her lover seemed so happy to just do everything for her. But… no, this was why she’d been looking for someone, wasn’t it? She was bored and tired of having to do all the work herself, so she figured that it was about time that someone took up the role. She wasn’t there because she wants an equal, she was there because she wanted to get fucked rather than fuck someone, and for whatever reason no one ever seemed to able to live up to her expectations. Yet this pipsqueak, this absolutely irrelevant Obstagon, somehow succeeded where everyone else had failed; whether it be through sheer, blind luck, or the possession of skills that he locked up inside and refused to let slip out into the outside world like everyone else down on the dance floor, Ezmerelda didn’t know, and to some extent, it hardly mattered at all. Worrying about constraints and limitations was the sort of thing people did when they were too afraid to go the whole mile and actually try; for people like them, there would be nothing holding them back, not even themselves. Maybe in some hypothetical reality where they still retained something resembling a sense of self-restraint, but certainly not in this one, where Ezmerelda was still moaning loudly enough that Richard outside was shuffling about awkwardly, and the only reason no one heard a peep from the Obstagoon was because he spent most of his time with his face buried in her cleavage. It was an interesting conundrum to consider: was she still in charge? Did she still call the shots? Or had she given of herself to such an extent that it was now easy for the young man to take advantage of it? Only time would tell; time, and a hell of a lot more growth, since there was still plenty of room left in there. Wouldn’t be the first time the Typhlosion quite literally took up the entirety of her own office, though if she were being honest with herself, she’d admit it’d just be the second one; it wasn’t every day that she found someone who could satisfy her properly, so to have that and for that lucky little one to bring her to the edge like that was… rare, to say the least. It had been years since last she had the opportunity to cut loose, and there was a solid argument to be made that everything since then had been one long attempt at recapturing that moment, one exceedingly prolonged chase for the same sensations that had driven her mad with lust and arousal for an entire afternoon. Disappointments, one after another, disappointments who could barely hope to one day dream to reach a fraction of the power that mystical lover had shown her that day… that day, and never again. He was young, he had plans, and though the two of them spent a wonderful day together, Ezmerelda had a business to run and the Feraligatr had a high-flying corporate position halfway across the world, so while fate had them cross paths at just the right point that they could experience true Heaven, it never went beyond that; she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever match that moment, but at the same time the giantess refused to accept that she would never feel as happy as she did that day. It was insane to think that she was now doomed to a slow decline, that she’d peaked by pure random chance; she refused to accept this, and was going to prove the universe wrong no matter how many times it proved itself beyond right. And there, right there, right in front of her, was the answer to her prayers: an unassuming, seemingly meek and utterly inexperienced Obstagoon with the look of someone who was a few dozen fashion trends out of date, who turned out to be one of the most energetic mates she had ever had the pleasure of getting involved with. He wasn’t even flinching at the sudden growth; one would assume that having one’s lover burgeon outwards with phantom mass mid-coitus would at least cause some degree of confusion, but apart from the initial few seconds of perplexed staring, Paul had apparently taken quite well to whatever it was Ezmerelda could throw at him. Either that, or he was exceedingly good at improvising, given that he somehow managed to move from one part of her to another without skipping a beat or taking a misstep, one hell of an accomplishment given how much of “her” there was… and how much more was created with each passing second. Ezmerelda had initially assumed that she’d get maybe a few cup sizes and a handfuls of fat to her ass and thighs, little more than a reward for a job somewhat-well-sorta-kinda-done, which was already far more than most of her lovers got. She had assumed, in her ignorance, that she wouldn’t have to bring out her full abilities, for her lover was certainly going to be worth the effort. Yet now, she found herself adding inch after inch of breastflesh to her bust, inch after inch of hand-filling pudge to her rump and legs, the sofa she sat upon creaking, practically screaming for help as it was slowly broken under the weight of the growing giantess. But she didn’t care; or rather, she did, but only so far as it allowed her to recognize that it was happening at all. To the Typhlosion, the fact that the couch was finally breaking down was proof positive that whatever was happening, it was the right choice; amidst everything else, she knew that if the upholstery was being broken down, then she was on the proper path. She could very easily replace the couch, especially with how much money she’d probably made that night alone, but someone like the Obstagoon? Someone who knew exactly how to push his hands deep into her pudge just in the right way to make her pleasure centers beg for mercy from the overstimulation? She was going to sink her fingers into him and never let go, because an opportunity like that had already slipped from between them and Ezmerelda was not going to let that happen again. She was going to keep that wonderful loverboy next to her, close to her, glued to her, and they were going to love every second of it just as much as she was. Hell, given how much energy he was putting into it, it was doubtful whether the Typhlosion’s decisions even mattered anymore; could she stop even if she wanted to, or would Paul do something so ludicrous, so off-the-wall and unexpected, that the giantess would be forced to her knees? Or, perhaps, was this all just her trying to rationalize away what was a profoundly emotional experience that she had spent so long searching for, yet had no real framework for how to deal with? Maybe; maybe she should just worry about what mattered, that being the wonderful Obstagoon with one hand deep into one of her breasts, and another… cupping her cheek, just as the two once more pressed their lips together in a deep and intimate, albeit unashamedly tongue-filled kiss. Meanwhile, the Typhlosion kept on billowing out over the proprietress’ office, the sofa finally collapsing underneath the weight of a gargantuan giantess whose weight had reached a critical tipping point; there was no going back now, not until she climaxed and got it all out of her system, and who knew when that would be. Sure, Paul was good, but she was much bigger than him, and despite him clearly knowing what he was doing, the Typhlosion was reasonably convinced she had a hell of a lot more experience than anyone else in the building. Yes, those encounters might not have been nearly as satisfying as the one she was going through right there and then, but there were a lot of them, and she’d gained a certain amount of resistance and endurance in the process. Not that it mattered; Ezmerelda knew for a fact that Paul would get her there, and would succeed where so many had failed before, it just being a matter of time as to when that happened. And in the meantime, he was given everything he could possibly want, in the form of a seemingly endlessly-growing giantess who had absolutely no qualms in utterly destroying everything in her office if it just meant squeezing that one extra ounce of enjoyment out of it. To a certain extent, the Obstagoon wasn’t really sitting on a lap as much as he was resting on a bed made of his own lover, a bed that grew ever greater, ever softer, ever warmer; the atmosphere within the room had grown to near scalding, the two of them sweating profusely and the air being suffused with a mixture of pheromones and their own natural scent, driving them wilder and wilder with every passing second. To poor Richard, waiting outside the office, what this meant was that the cleaning crew was going to have one hell of a morning the day after, but he chose not to intervene; the last time he had, he was lucky to have kept his job, and as long as the newest loverboy didn’t start banging at the door begging to be let out, then it really wasn’t his place to say what was and wasn’t acceptable. Thus, Paul was eventually completely surrounded by pudge on every direction, and the best part of it all was that he couldn’t tell which part of the Typhlosion he was even looking at: was it her bust? Her ass? Part of her thighs? Who knew, really, and who really cared? Just as long as she was there, just as long as she moaned and whined and begged and screamed for his name? Then he was absolutely doing his job properly, and if that was true, then his one task was to just keep doing it, adding more and more energy into it whenever he did anything at all; to be frank, he had no clue what he was doing, and was running almost entirely on whatever the primal part of his brain told him would “work”, choosing not to question why his instincts told him to do more or less anything. Ezmerelda seemed to like it, going by how much she was growing and all the sounds she was making, so who was he to say or do otherwise? Keep it going, his lizard brain told him, keep kneading and kissing and massaging and rolling his hips, and occasionally moaning as well for good measure, until he was left with nothing but the tactile feedback, the serotonin storm that left him open to the whimsy of his own libido. He’d occasionally look back, at what was happening to the rest of the office, and would get a good luck at just how enormous the Typhlosion had become, and just how much bigger she was getting whenever he did anything at all; he would squeeze one breast and suddenly both of them would gain about a foot in every direction, he would sink his fingers into ass or thigh and find the flesh below overflowing, burying him up to the wrist. He would try to smooch that gorgeous titaness, only to end up having to deal with open flames when she responded by openly moaning into him, and that was just the start of it. To try and describe what he was feeling, Paul would need significantly more vocabulary than he had at his disposal, because it was no longer purely a physical thing. It was no longer restricted to it being two consenting adults having some fun together in an unorthodox situation, it was about two kindred spirits having found one another in the most unlikely of circumstances and making the best of it; at that point, he could probably stop and start discussing some inane shared interest and Ezmerelda would nod along and drink every word that came out of his mouth, with the reverse more than applying as well. But to do so would be a waste, a waste of a night, a waste of an encounter, a waste of arousal and libido that could be better spent in exploring the limits of what they were capable of. If nothing else, Paul was dejected that he couldn’t grow as much as his lover could; whereas Ezmerelda had by that point taken up the majority of the office space’s floor, and had already begun to climb up the walls, he was… still a relatively diminutive Obstagoon who looked barely able to lift a twig, let alone be capable of tackling a monstress like the swelling Typhlosion he was enveloped by. And that left him in a strange position, in that while he knew, intellectually, that he was doing a fantastic job, it was hard to accept this when the size difference between the two of them were only becoming greater the longer their liaison carried on. No amount of giggling, of moaning, of lewd and aroused yelling could truly convince him that he was on the right path, and really, it wasn’t until he finally took his pants off and got down to business properly that he finally stopped worrying about it; though, by that point, it was less a case of having found an answer and more that Ezmerelda was surprisingly hot, surprisingly tight, and immensely enthusiastic where it counted, resulting in him having his cock worked perfectly and so expertly that he could barely bring himself to think about anything at all. It was a blank, a beautiful blank, and he wanted for nothing more than to let his body be take over fully by instinct, an experience that he’d never had the pleasure of going through before in his life. It was always some worry about something, and at no point did the young Obstagoon get to just stop and wonder about what he wanted out of things; whenever he had the time, it was as if something conspired to take it away from him, and perhaps the greatest of all ironies was that going to the club that evening was supposed to have been one of those selfsame situations. He didn’t want to be there, at least not initially; heavens above, if there was one place he couldn’t imagine himself being, it was in a crowded bar full of people, and sweat, and weird, gross words that he couldn’t quite parse without having to tap into his seldom-used sense for debauchery. He was only there because his friends practically begged him to come, insisting as he did that everything was perfectly fine and he didn’t need to go anywhere right up until the moment where he was handed a small card and told he was expected to cough up at least twenty bucks before the bouncer let him back out. He couldn’t have possibly imagined that he’d end up surrounded by Typhlosion on (literally) all sides, struggling for breath in a room whose ambient temperature only rose higher and higher the longer he kept giving the burgeoning giantess a reason to do so; took him a long while before Paul actually realized what it was that Ezmerelda was looking for, and even then he was supremely confused on account of it. Looking around, there was no office; the Typhlosion had more or less grown all over it, her curvaceous self adapting to its contours and turning the interior into a paradise of soft bosom, even softer lap, and occasionally butt for good measure. He had assumed, perhaps not without reason, that the giantess had already climax, and plenty of times already; that she was still yearning for release resulted in a confusing mixture of emotions, chief among which was… determination. An odd sentiment to have, all things considered, but there was something about that precise scenario that awoke in him a sense of overwhelming, almost incapacitating power; like a beast had been awoken inside of his very soul, leaving him filled with a fire that could not be seen, could not be felt, but whose effects were very clear in anyone paying the slightest amount of attention. For Paul, this was nothing short of a grand revelation, a spiritual awakening that left him reeling from the raw power contained within him that he had never once expected to be real. For Ezmerelda… well, suffice it to say she was being filled  in a manner she had never been before, and this was enough to leave her airheaded and mostly unable to think straight. Her being as big as her entire office hadn’t been on purpose; fact of the matter was, past a certain point, she was simply no longer capable of controlling herself in any meaningful manner, with her instincts taking over so thoroughly that it was a wonder she could even think in those terms at all. But for the Typhlosion, it just added to the experience; let other people have “regular” sex with “regular” growth, she was going to dive straight off the deep end into the murkiest part of the pool, where looking down yielded nothing but a yawning, cavernous abyss ready to swallow her and never let go. She would gleefully swim down and maroon herself at the very bottom, surrounded on all sides by a pressure so immense that her body would feel like it was bursting, and somewhere along the line, she completely lost track of that metaphor. Basic point being: she was horny, and that Obstagoon was doing a surprisingly good job of taking care of that, to the point where she felt half-obligated to verbally commend him. Alas, her throat was already busy with other noises, ones that didn’t quite make a whole lot of grammatical sense, but were dreadfully necessary regardless, lest the room not be filled with the sort of sounds that only a horned-up, sex-starved giantess like herself could produce. It was imperative that those be maintained, as they were scientifically proven to be the single most effective way of improving arousal in her lovers; she should know, she fudged the results herself! In between that and having a body that left very little wiggle room, so much so that poor Richard was starting to hear cracks forming in the walls behind him, it was little surprise that Typhlosion had somewhat misplaced her sense of decency and self-restraint; the only rule left in her head was thus: do not break free of the office. It was the one thing that she drilled into herself over the years, the one line that she had conditioned herself never to cross, as surely, if she ignored it and went flying past, there was no telling what might happen; one thing led to another, and if she broke free of one room, there was no doubt the serotonin high would cause her to want to break free of another, and who knew how far she would go after being released into the great outdoors? No, it was better that she create an artificial limit to keep herself from going too far… not that she was in any way truly limited in what she could do while within it. Indeed, to a certain extent, being forced to work within certain constraints made it all the more delicious when she did manage to break through a qualitative barrier, achieving some heretofore unseen level of sexual apotheosis that made it difficult, if not outright impossible, to call everything that came before it “pleasurable”. And it was a process that stacked upon itself, again and again, until even this ridiculous string of thoughts was frayed and ripped into tiny little shreds, leaving nothing of the Typhlosion behind but her primal self, the lizard brain hiding underneath everything else. Yet, nothing more was truly needed; for both her and her lover, the line began and ended with their body’s natural endurance, its ability to keep going after a pounding, and just how much pressure and heat they were willing to withstand if it meant carrying with a passionate lovemaking session that really should have ended several minutes prior. Given that neither side seemed willing to budge, it was likely that the end result would be something akin to the complete destruction of the workspace they were using in a most unorthodox manner; hell, most of it already was wrecked beyond repair, given how much pressure had been placed on the upholstery, cabinets, and the beautiful mahogany desk that had long-since been turned into a broken pile of lumber underneath a single one of Ezmerelda’s asscheeks. It was a race to see who cracked first: the tiny Obstagoon, pistoning into the giantess surrounding and slowly enveloping him in a cocoon of her own flesh, or the Typhlosion herself, whose ability to hold onto herself slipped further and further the bigger she became. It would stabilize, at least eventually, when she reached a point where she mustn’t grow any more, and most of her mental faculties would thus have to be diverted towards keeping her body from infringing on that limit; this would leave the rest of her vulnerable to attack from her arousal, and as soon as that point was reached, well… suffice it to say, the rest of the club was about to get an earful of what it sounded like when someone actually knew what they were doing, a very rare occurrence in those parts. Most of the time she just did a half-hearted impression of what a female such as herself was “expected” to sound like in the minds of the macho man fuck machines who could barely last five minutes with her; she had no obligation towards it, but even though her choices were usually piss poor when it came to satisfying her, she at least tried to spare their feelings when it came to that. Not that time around though; if she’d ever had any intention of faking it, it was blown clean out of the building when the Obstagoon, by then thoroughly spent and running on fumes, finally reached the end of his rope. He certainly tried to keep going, but it was no use; one final thrust, and he bottomed out entirely, practically sucked in as his body lost all motor control over itself in the precise moment of climax. By all accounts, it wasn’t even that big; Ezmerelda had certainly seen and felt bigger loads, but there was something special about that one that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe it was sentimental in nature, in that she’d actually grown to care somewhat for that fuzzy goofball trying his best to pretend like he was in charge; maybe she was just so desperate for a man who knew how to push her buttons that it didn’t really matter if said man happened to be a fraction of her size and looked to be like a fish out of water. What mattered was the moment, that singular instant where their carnal passion crystalized and became something greater than the sum of its parts, where the couple, now united in the most physical of consummations, overcame their own limitations and achieved a state of near-Nirvana… if one was feeling particularly generous. In truth, were one to be purely objective about things, the only thing that really happened was that both Ezmerelda and Paul were irredeemably horny and just happened to be at the right place, at the right time, with the right people to make the most of it. They fed off one another until the whole room rumbled, leaving the bouncer outside the door wondering whether he shouldn’t just turn around and try to figure out what was happening, at least until the door to the office cracked a whole lot of Typhlosion plush came bulging out, accompanied by the muffled throaty noises that Richard clearly identified as belonging to his employer. Him and just about everyone else in the club as well; even if most didn’t know whose voice it was by sound alone, after a handful of cracked glass shards rained on the folks directly underneath the window to the proprietress’ office, it became exceedingly obvious just who was making those noises, and just how little the muffling was doing to keep them from being heard. It wasn’t Ezmerelda’s fault, of course; she was merely reacting to what she’d been given in the normal, appropriate form, that being to let her partner know in no uncertain terms just how she felt about the whole ordeal. It just so happened that this involved a great deal of screaming and begging for more, even as she felt her insides being plastered and her whole body bloating uncontrollably as a result of her climax, leading to quite a bit of spillage that she just couldn’t avoid. That was fine though; a good price to pay, for one of the greatest lays she’d ever gotten in who knew how many days (or weeks, once she was done giggling at the rhyming). Sure, she was technically stuck, and knowing how her own body worked, she was likely to need several hours before she even began to shrink back down, to say nothing of whatever happened to the poor Obstagoon now that he was stuck inside a living oven. But for some reason, she didn’t seem to care, and given how little Paul was moving outside of caressing her and still bucking his hips, he didn’t seem to care either. Hence, the best thing either of them could do was just… live, right there, in that moment. Savouring it.

Before the next one.