Prompt of the Week - Week 42

TAGS: Growth, Macro, Hyper, Terrible Movie Titles

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Getting half the city evacuated just for the shoot was such a pain in the ass that it was made very clear to the crew that they had one chance at getting the sequence done properly, even if it meant splurging out on so many more cameras and equipment than usual that it probably would’ve been cheaper to just try and acquire the permits and the amount of land needed a second time. The cast and crew, however, were insistent that they could get things done in one go, after having spent months practicing out in the desert and preparing the main star of their newest production to such a high degree of perfection that he could probably run through the whole thing with his eyes closed… and probably would at times, if only to avoid falling prey to what his own body would become.

“Cockzilla, King of the Monster-Cocks” was the working name of the production, one that no one involved quite knew whether to absolutely adore or cringe at whenever someone spoke it aloud, mostly compromising by waving their hands and assuming someone else would come up with something that was genuinely marketable and not just memeable when the time was right. The title itself was nothing if not entirely accurate however, especially considering the person chose to fill the very big shoes of the titular monster: Marshall Wallace, a dragon and “long-standing sufferer” of Acute Growth Syndrome. On the outside, he looked like any other draconid, taller than most people around him but not too much that it looked out of place; besides, those of his species had a tendency to grow at least a head above just about anyone else, so on first inspection the only thing that truly stood out was a lower half with above-average curves that only served to add to his overall harmless-looking way of being. One glance at Marshall and anyone could tell that he wouldn’t hurt a fly even if his life depended on it, and with a personality to match, it was hard to believe that what he had lurking inside of him was so… immense.

Unbeknownst to most people, the dragon they saw was not the dragon as he was, but rather a much more “simplified” and shrunken-down version, courtesy of the myriad of compressor equipment he kept on his person at all times. They were expertly disguised as just items of clothing, but contained millions of dollars’ worth of spatial distortion gear woven into the fabric, built into his glasses and even inlaid in the soles of his boots; the government had gone to great lengths to keep Marshall at the size that he was in his everyday life, sparing no expense in getting him the best possible compressors, purely so that the dragon wouldn’t cost them even more money in damages as a daily or near-daily occurrence. Because Marshall, regardless of what his relatively unassuming exterior might say to passers-by, was nothing if not an absolute giant, big enough to quite genuinely threaten entire cities if he ever went on a rampage, and possessed of a body that would nonetheless make those who should want to evacuate instead turn back around and throw themselves into the embrace of their new draconic god. Not that he’d actually do any of those things, given that his placid personality was entirely genuine, but it was always a good idea to try and curb his own impulses whenever he had the chance; his conscious self might not want to bring harm to anything, but whenever he got going and didn’t have anyone there with a whole load of tranquilizer, it was hard to bring himself back from the edge of lust-filled insanity and return to a more sensible, sane, some might say sentient state.

Which was precisely why the preparation for the shoot was perhaps even more important than actually getting the damned shot done right. While most of the movie was written in such a way that they could go around only having him walk around the countryside or emerging from the water, the script called for a climax that would involve him thrashing through a city as hundreds of extras tried and failed to keep him from carrying on with his “rampage”, before ultimately giving themselves up to… again, the title of the movie was probably going to undergo some changes, so no point thinking about it too much. The important part was that he was supposed to emerge from the harbor, climb onto the docks and then make his way inland, destroying buildings along the way; thankfully, it just so happened that the local building authority had a whole slew of abandoned warehouses that they rather conveniently needed to get rid of, so at least they could get a couple of good angles on it and then milk the few seconds they filmed for all that they were worth in post. It wouldn’t be the most artistic of things, but then again, people wouldn’t buy a movie called Cockzilla for its integrity and dedication to the artistry of the craft. They did it because they wanted to see a huge cock on an even bigger monster.

Which Marshall was more than happy to provide. In fact, while Cockzilla was only the latest incarnation of his “character”, he’d been involved in the movie industry for a few years already, consistently in roles that required him to play to his rather unique strengths, be it through outright giant rampages or more exploratory, introspective parts where his “inner beast” would constantly try and fight its way to the surface; it was almost always smut though, and even the most cerebral of plots only required him to put on a serious face for a handful of minutes (on screen, at least) before they got to the real meat of the movie: his meat, a thought that always made him chuckle, precisely because of how stupid the wordplay was. Granted, he wasn’t a one-trick pony; despite the working name for the latest movie, he had more to offer than just his dick and a pair of balls: he had his ass too, and hips wide enough to hick-check small hills, both things that he personally enjoyed far more than his package, hence why he’d gone out of his way to ensure that some part of them still shone through even with the compressors on. He liked all that junk in his trunk; it made him inherently squishable, and more often than not he actively encouraged people to slap him on the ass playfully whenever he was around, only partially because he knew they wanted to do it anyway. That said, if anyone asked if he enjoyed it personally, he would deny it, without fail, every single time.

Thoughts for later though. For the time being, with the shoot ready to go, the equipment in place and a large chunk of the city’s harbor district and downtown area properly evacuated for the next couple of hours, it was time for him to be put in place: inside a diving cage, suspended just off the harbor proper at the right depth that, when he deactivated his compressor gear, his feet would slam into the shallow seafloor and lift him just enough that he would be visible from the waist up… only to then walk forward, revealing both his fat-bottomed self and his immensely girthy rod to the world for all to see, triggering a monstrous rampage where he would make short work of a handful of storage warehouses before the National Guard was called and told to stop him, yada yada yada, and then everyone got bathed in cum once Cockzilla had enough of the interlopers and decided to get rid of them. To say that the script was minimalist would be an understatement; there were entire sections of it that quite literally read only “Wallace Does Monster Stuff”, leaving it up to him to decide what to do and how to do it. Not that he bothered to prepare anything in advance, with the dragon knowing for a fact that his best work came when he improvised on the spot and didn’t stop to think. So, as he placed the diving mask on and opened the valve on the oxygen tank on his back, giving the crew the thumbs up to lower him below the surface, he was instead far more concerned with clearing his mind of any errant thoughts; if he truly wanted to give the best performance of his life yet, he’d need it to be completely blank.

Minutes passed, with the only sound being that of his breathing, coming in magnified by the scuba gear he had on him. He could only barely hear the quiet churning of the water around him, it being a rather calm stretch of the coast, with the occasional fish swimming by the cage before deciding against it; there, in the center of it, he waited for the signal to come in, via a series of lights wrapped around the metal cable lowering him into the depths. With the cage itself lurching to a halt in just the right spot that he could just barely make out the bottom, Marshall suddenly felt… not alone. He knew he should, as there was nothing there around him, but when he looked around, back towards the ocean depths where the shallower coast gave way to the continental shelf before plunging into the darkness below, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was looking back at him; thalassophobia was a hell of a thing to feel at that moment, so he figured it’d be best to look back in the direction of the city and hope that it had just been a momentary lapse in judgement. It was just fantasy, nothing was looking at him from the depths. Surely.

Minutes more passed, and thankfully the lights were turned on, bright white and red, letting him know that his time to shine had come. Exhaling one last time, he moved his hands to two hidden control panels located on his shirt and pants, which he had to keep on at all times even underwater, and promptly shut down the compressor field keeping him person-sized; this would effectively send the pieces of clothing into the pocket dimension where his real self was kept, to be recalled at any point if he so wanted, while his real body came through in the opposite direction. The results were as spectacular as they were immediate, because those things weren’t at all interested in slow, methodical growth meant to titillate and allure; the distortions maintained by the equipment, the outright dimensional fuckery keeping him small was constantly hanging on by a thread, a mockery of physics as everyone knew it which the universe was more than happy to dismantle at earliest convenience. Thus, when his clothes vanished, it didn’t take more than a second before he felt his head plow through countless gallons of water in its ascent to the surface, a second more before he emerged from the surface while simultaneously his feet landed so heavily on the seafloor below that the impact created rippling waves on the surface.

With months of practice and years of experience behind him, and hoping that the cameras were both rolling and pointed in the right direction, Marshall turned his face to the sky, opened his mouth, and let loose a mighty roar, one so powerful that the very waters around his waist began to bow downwards as the shockwaves crashed into him! It travelled through the air, rattling windows and shattering glass, serving as the harbinger of destruction for this, the city that had the misfortune of being in the way when he showed up, the target for Cockzilla, King of Monster-Cocks! He wasn’t even bothered by the title anymore; it was just nice to be able to let loose for a bit and enjoy himself with the same kind of childish glee one might play around in a miniature model city… albeit with plenty more meat to get in the way. As had been planned, his ascension hadn’t fully revealed what he had underneath the surface of the water, but as he took a step forward, then another step, emerging more and more from the ocean, something else began to appear from beneath the waves: something long and wide, a shadow beneath the surface, one that would slowly rise up from the depths at around the same time as the giant dragon received confirmation from off to his side that the cameras were, indeed, rolling.

From the pelagic darkness came rising a mast, a rod, an enormous manhood of such colossal girth and length that, as it rose to meet the sunlight, even its owner had a hard time resisting the allure of it. Despite his best efforts, Marshall still felt the pull on the back of his head, still wondered what it would be like if he just gave in, if he well and truly listened to his own libido and gave up even trying to pretend he was anything other than a godlike colossus… but he had a job to do, a film to shoot, and that meant pulling himself together and seeing it through, regardless of whether or not he became so horny as to nearly have that shaft bop him on the head without him even realizing it. Thus, he looked towards the harbor, surreptitiously attempting to locate where the cameras were in order to set up the best possible shot, only to realize that every single one of them was pointed not at him, not at his glorious form, but towards the ocean.

A single drop of dread fell onto him, the realization that he might not have imagined that phantom observer coming into full view of his conscious self when he too turned around to look at what was happening behind him. There, just a mile off or so into the Atlantic, he saw it: a head. Or rather, the top of one, approaching the crew and film location at a disturbingly quick pace, more and more of its body being revealed to them as it got closer: it too looked reptilian in nature, yet far more lizardlike than draconic, covered in seaweed-green scales that shone brightly under the light of the sun, giving way to duller skin as its neck was exposed. This was clearly some form of gigantic sea creature, not unlike the kind that Marshall was playing at that exact moment, yet apparently one that was both very much real… and plenty aroused on their own as well, apparently, at least given the fact that their cocktip became visible before half their torso even emerged from the water, twitching and throbbing and firing off spurts of pre that landed dangerously close to the other giant. For a moment, Marshall wondered whether this was supposed to be some kind of plot twist, one that he hadn’t been informed of for the sake of ensuring a genuine reaction; it wouldn’t have been the first time that director did it, nor would it be the last, but there was something about the way that the film crews were moving around, frantic and flailing, shouting at one another over megaphones without care nor concern for the filming, that let him know that this wasn’t part of the plan. A second giant had risen, come to challenge him perhaps, for the title of dominant macro.

And honestly? He was fine with that.

With a toothy grin stamped on his face, the dragon stood firm, letting the newcomer come closer still; they’d need all the room they could get on the shallower end of the harbor if they wanted to properly engage in some thorough exploration of their bodies. All for the cameras of course, Marshall’s main concern was there, as always, to act his heart out for the sake of making the movie the best it could be; it just so happened that they were gifted the best possible surprise that a smut production could hope to receive, in an… admittedly odd way. From how the other beast was looking at him, the way that they swivelled around to look at the camera with a mixture of imposing might and uncaring apathy, how their movements appeared slow and calculated for maximum effect, it was clear that whoever this titan was, they had a knack for putting on airs; either that or they’d been in a movie before, though Marshall had no recollection of ever seeing a lizard that big in any production before. Nevertheless, they picked up on the fact that they were being filmed, almost astoundingly so, and continued their relentless advance towards the city, for now the tables had turned: Cockzilla, formerly a harbinger of death and destruction, had been challenged by another monster with a cock as big as his own!

As the two drew nearer, it was clear what was going to have to happen. This lizard, this insignificant upstart, would try to claim the title of King of all Monster-Cocks, forcefully if need be, by imposing himself upon the true bearer of the crown, presumably relying on their larger, bulkier physique, in a long, drawn-out and incredibly destructive sex scene. But Marshall, as Cockzilla, would win out in the end! No matter who might come to dethrone him, he alone would rule as the ruler of all monsterkind, and when the two of them were deep in their passionate rutting, when his own shaft was ready and waiting to bloat out the newcomer until they turned into something resembling more a cum blimp than a living being, then the crew would have their money shot.

The dragon couldn’t help but smile widely, his teeth glinting in the light of the sun. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but hey, that was a massive cock coming his way, and it had been some time since he'd had the opportunity to engage in that level of macro-sized debauchery.

The city best be ready.