First Time For Everything

It was a special day for the citizens of the megalopolis, especially for the privileged few whose jobs required them to interact with their local Arca-god in any meaningful capacity. It was Bounty Day, the third one out of six that year alone, a special occasion whereby the giant fire-type was to provide his seed for all those who came seeking it, regardless of whether or not they had special permits or even a reason for it. Normally, access to the hunk’s hyper-potent spunk was reserved only for special cases of extreme infertility or the many broodmothers entrusted with being able to hold back their primal desires after being infused by it, but years of living next to, around, and sometimes on Garthol had made it so that everyone on the planet had gained a certain degree of “immunity”, for lack of a better word. The effects of his cum on others were still beyond most people’s ability to describe them, of that there was no doubt; a single drop was enough to impregnate the most barren of wombs with full litters, while anything on the level of a “regular” release was capable of giving even the manliest of males a hyper-fertile womb of their own! But long gone were the days where being exposed to the substance meant a certain descent into madness, where merely being near the damned thing was often all it took for people to go breed-crazy and spontaneously start orgies whenever they bumped into anyone. Nowadays, such drastic consequences were usually reserved for those whose bodies were abnormally frail, at which point a long course of being near Garthol was recommended to get them back on schedule.

Garthol himself had been looking forward to that day for some time, even going so far as to deliberately avoid emptying himself as effectively as normal just so he’d have more to give when it came down to doing so; he remembered the few occasions where he well and truly lost control, his climaxes having crossed state lines in how much landmass they flooded. The aftereffects were still being felt to that day, what with average breast and cock sizes having gone up dramatically in the affected areas, even without counting the incidence of hyper genes being activated; he remembered back in the day, what felt like decades before, where someone could be considered a hyper just because their shaft happened to hang down to their knees or their busts covered their torso. Nowadays, finding anyone that didn’t have to drag some part of their body along the ground was a rarity in and of itself, and that was with regular folks; any hyper running around was more a mound of delectable, supple pudge than anything else, all thanks to him!

Of course, Garthol was only vaguely aware of all this, operating on a scale so far above the tiny ones underneath him that, even if they weren’t exactly tiny at all, they still barely registered with the Arcanine. It probably helped that his head was stuck beneath his neckbulk, blocked from the outside world by a set of pecs so utterly colossal that each one could probably hold the entirety of the mega-city built around him; in fact, there had been attempts at constructing settlements on them, but it was found that such close contact to Garthol’s body on a daily basis would lead to far too many cases of “lust meltdown”, as they called it, and if there was one thing he couldn’t abide by, it was people suffering because of him. It was already enough that merely seeing him was often enough cause for others to kneel and start praising his very form, he didn’t need more of that.

Still, Bounty Day was special to him precisely because he could finally cut loose for a whole twenty-four hours. Itt was such a hassle to have to contain himself, especially given the effect it had on his body; it was bad enough that his regular pre dripping alone was so massive that it ran the risk of flooding the sewer system and had to be collected in a vast pump, he only ever managed to get it that small by forcibly redirecting most of his production back into his immense cumtanks, which had, over the years, ensured that they were by far the largest part of him. He still recalled a point where he could still walk without having to drag those things around, but now he mostly just hung about, sometimes lounging on the titanic wall of nutflesh that was the nearest part of his bulge; each one of his cum factories was already several miles across when empty, theoretically at least, leaving them substantially larger now that he had to constantly worry about potentially flooding whole chunks of the megalopolis if he wasn’t paying attention to how much precum was pouring out of him. That day, therefore, was an opportunity to vent some of that pressure, even if ultimately it wouldn’t do much to his overall size.

Besides, it was a special celebration, and people loved any excuse to drop what they were doing to come worship him; who was he to deny them that tiny pleasure, especially when most of them had to spend their lives away from the shadow of his muscular bulk? He knew full well that, if it weren’t for the need to keep the metaphorical trains running, everyone on the planet would be more than happy to spend their lives living somewhere on the thick forest of fur that coated most of his body, either succumbing to its softness and falling into a blissful sleep, or daring to make the climb all the way to his sun-obscuring pectorals, where legend had it the heroes of old made their residence. Garthol never did anything to dispel these notions; he found them too funny not to exploit, plus it gave people an incentive to do more than cling to him like sloths and actually try and improve themselves. On occasion, he’d take a look at some of the climbers, a few of which had even cleared his midriff and began the arduous, potentially years-long journey of climbing up the underside of his mighty pecs; he found their determination to be the most enjoyable part of the experience, especially given that, even if they did clear the curve (which most didn’t, they gave up and set up residence somewhere on it), they’d still need to walk all the way over to his head, and that was a trip he was certain no one would be able to make.

All in all, it was a good life to lead, albeit one where he had to worry about the safety of his little ones at every waking hour; all it took was a single moment of distraction and they’d all be drowning in his pre, to say nothing of the vanishingly rare occasions in which he was dumb enough to climax properly. Bounty Day was thus this complicated fusion of unbridled joy and celebratory lust, and panic-riddled anxiety at the slightest sign that something might go wrong. For many, this was part of the charm; for Garthol, it was a reminder of how far he’d come ever since he took up the role as that planet’s protector. He wasn’t entirely convinced that it was normal for him to be as unbelievably massive as he was, plus he was reasonably certain that he shouldn’t be able to selectively grow parts of himself just by thinking about how horny they made him, but his nuts were several miles wide each and gurgled so loudly they occasionally produced earthquakes, so who was he to complain?

The first ministrations of the day commenced when his priesthood, or at least that’s what he loved to call them just to poke fun, set the special pumps in motion. These were the ones brought out purely for Bounty Day, to replace the smaller machinery that kept him controlled on a daily basis; a long, glass tube dozens of feet wide and hundreds long was navigated through the avenue leading up to where Garthol sat on his throne of nutflesh, slowly inserted over his immense shaft while taking near-paranoid care not to brush up against even an inch of cockmeat. Everyone knew that any sort of undue stimulation would be enough to set off a chain of events that would doom them all to an untimely drowning; hell, just draining Garthol at all was often an exercise in poor gambling skills, as guessing whether or not their new and improved tanks would hold his production was mostly just educated guesswork. Entire chunks of the city had been converted into pressurized canisters, each taller than the largest skyscraper, while the pumps themselves were effectively big enough to be seen from space even during the day; maneuvering that thing through the city-scape that dominated their planet was a feat of engineering so grand that the only reason they ever got it done in time for Bounty Day was by starting work on it the moment the previous one ended. Coincidentally, this was also why the number of those celebrations was so widely variable from year to year; engineering projections on that scale had a tendency to break down where Garthol was involved.

The purest doses, the ones produced right after the draining began, would be given to the broodmothers working in the birthing centers, the blessed few whose bodies were made to be perpetually gravid under the influence of the Arca-god’s seed; the smallest of them had bellies so large that, from where they lay on top of them, they appeared flat rather than curved, with breasts so gigantic and stuffed with milk that being near them required protective headgear just to keep their attendants from going completely deaf. Many were in a state of constant delivery; the pregnancies may stack, but they carried to term regardless of how many others were around them, resulting in the oldest of the mothers needing an on-call team of specialists for a birthing process that never ended. Even being near them was enough to increase other people’s fertility, and it wouldn’t be at all unusual for a birth center employee to celebrate their fifth or sixth year anniversary working there by shedding their clothes and joining the ranks of the other baby makers.

A similar situation was present for the dairy farms, where the most “affected” of milk producers were carried off when they were no longer able to walk from place to place. Be they natural hypers or just those affected by second-hand influence from the myriad of potential corruptive sources, it was safe to say that the smallest among them would put even the broodmothers’ gravid wombs to shame in terms of size, so much so that the pumping systems used to keep them drained often went down for miles beneath the ground just so they’d have enough room to store all of the milk. Most of it was exported off-world to the colonies, just enough that the dairy farms could make room for the next batch, while a significant amount of the remainder went to feeding Garthol himself, thus completing the cycle and ensuring that the Arcanine would continue to grow for as long as he lived.

He liked this life of his, even if sometimes he felt a bit lonely. Billions of souls at his beck and call, ready to do whatever it took to please him, and yet somehow Garthol nearly always found himself struck by the existential ennui brought about from knowing he had peaked. At times he simply existed, allowing his mind to drift and wander through the vast and empty corners of his own imagination, only to come to days later whenever someone called for him or it happened to be Bounty Day. It was a reminder of his superiority, yes, but also dreadfully, terribly lonely for the hunky Arcanine.

That day, however, he had a feeling something would change, something that he… didn’t know how to put into words. It was foreboding at least, almost like whatever it was would happen on a scale so monumental as to fundamentally change everything he knew about everything else, a true paradigm shift if ever there was one. He didn’t know how or why, but he had learned to pay attention to his instincts when they flared up so much… even if they did so almost every Bounty Day and it turned out to be nothing more than his latent arousal peaking again. Still, he could afford to dream!

His faith in himself was well-rewarded, however. Most of the day carried on as usual, with the regular procession of supplicants making their way to him from all across the globe, singing and dancing and offering him all sorts of gifts he couldn’t even pick up without destroying, the usual fare. But there was a presence, a pressure coming from above him, far beyond the veil of even his incredibly acute eyesight. Garthol felt it before he saw it, and when he did, his eyes shot wide open and his jaw dropped onto his own neck; surely the legends couldn’t be true… and even if they were, they would certainly not come to him of all people, would they?

The population below him began to sense it as well, with the crowd’s cheers falling deathly quiet and being replaced by fearful murmuring. Rumours ran wild in the throngs of mortals underneath, with some even going so far as to suggest that a second Garthol, or at least some sort of divine consort of the same species, was heading their way, a sort of second awakening that would elevate their golden age even higher. To some level, they were absolutely right, though their speculation was way off-mark when it came to who exactly was headed their way.

The sky opened, the pale blue ripped open and replaced by a ragged edge, as if it had been torn apart like a sheet of paper. It occupied the entirety of the horizon, only sparing the city from darkness by virtue of the sheets of milky-white light falling down like concentrated starlight. Everyone, Garthol included, got a good view of what was coming through that portal: it was so vast, so immeasurably immense, that even the Arcanine had trouble trying to understand what it was he was seeing. Organic? Yes, absolutely, but colossal on a scale that made Garthol look tiny by comparison. It glimmered with the same colour as the light around it, twitched slightly on a rhythm that betrayed the presence of a heart that was probably as big as the planet, if not bigger! It was covered in a thin layer of fur, one carrying a dazzlingly beautiful pattern of colours that drove most who gazed upon it catatonic.

It took Garthol several seconds to realize that what was bearing down on them, covering the sky from one edge to the other, was a single, solitary nipple, only the faintest hint of the breast it was attached to visible above it. The planet itself quaked underneath the mere presence of that things, its gravity well distorted for a few moments before whatever creature was pouring out from the portal manually readjusted it, an anomaly of proportions so incomprehensible that even the Arcanine was only barely aware of its presence; whatever thing had made that rip in the sky, it was clearly powerful on a level that he wasn’t ready to face up to… and for some reason, that left him both incredibly excited and unbelievably aroused, as if the mere concept of there being something, or hopefully someone out there that he could look up to as a peer and equal was enough to send his loins into overdrive.

While the rest of his little ones scrambled around looking for cover, the tear in the heavens grew larger still; Garthol could feel it extending over the whole planet, a colossal rip in spacetime just above low orbit, ready to drag the planet inside of it. Rather than eldritch tentacle monsters, however, what emerged from within the portal was a creature of such utter magnificence, a thing of beauty so refined and impossibly perfect, that for the first time in what felt like forever, the Arca-god felt downright puny compared to it. After years and years of being at the literal top of his game, looking at everything that happened around him as mere routine, even when he knew that it wasn’t, Garthol was finally reminded of what it was like to be normal again, to look up at something and be completely unable to explain it. There was mystery again, there was wonder, and it took the form of a goddess so vast in scale that he could feel the megalopolis crumble around his shaft as it grew fully turgid, wrecking its way through miles of buildings.

The portal itself was closed after a few minutes, the time it took for this divine beauty to emerge from it completely. Garthol could just barely make out the faintest inklings of a body, more sensing it than anything else; most of their form was dominated by a pair of breasts that could each comfortably hold a few multiples of his home planet, a cosmic-sized ass that was somehow even larger than that, and a pair of hips that just screamed at him to grab them and use them as leverage for his manic thrusting. Not that he would ever be able to do such a thing of course; someone as powerful as that titan was so far out of his league that, surely, even he couldn’t be the reason it came down to the mortal realm.

When she spoke, it was the sound of strings, ringing throughout the atmosphere; melodious, harmonic, drawn at just the right tightness. It was a song more than anything else, and it instantly calmed the panicking crowds throughout Garthol’s world, soothing their fear with the knowledge that she was as benevolent as their beloved, giant hunk, if not more so; in fact, it was for him that she had descended from the heavens, and thus they need not worry. This angelic music surrounded the Arcanine, almost physical in nature as it pressed on him from every direction, leaving him feeling lighter and lighter until he believed himself capable of simply lifting off into their air. It was a wonderfully ticklish sensation, giving him just the right amount of distraction not to notice he was, indeed, slowly getting off the ground. By the time he saw his feet dangling downwards, he began to wonder if his nuts were swelling up that fast after exposure to the goddess, and it took until those enormous tankers left two craters beneath them for him to fully understand just what was going on. Had she come down to whisk him off to paradise? If so, then that giantess better be ready to have someone take his place, because there was no way he was about to leave his world unattended!

His ascension by itself was also mind-bending in all the right and wrong ways, as the city seemed to be getting further and further away from him at accelerating speeds while the goddess herself, or at least the parts of her he could see, didn’t seem to be moving at all! He couldn’t say no to her, and yet felt like he should… but by the time he found the courage to do so, the planet had vanished into the aether, and the two of them were floating in near-infinite, inky darkness, not even starlight there to illuminate them. Had she opened a new portal? There was none of that milky white light present there, and yet he could see her nonetheless, just as glorious as before, just as impossibly gigantic, just as… full? Goodness, now he understood why he felt the light was milky; it… probably wasn’t light at all to begin with, now that he bothered to think about it.

When she spoke again, they weren’t words, but intentions, ideas, compacted into sounds that resonated within him. It took a lot of effort to hear them without losing himself in the song, and even more to begin to understand them properly; decoding what the goddess wanted was a puzzle of such complexity that every single letter took him several minutes… at least at first. As time went on, and his body was exposed to more of her presence, uncovering what she meant seemed to get easier, more instinctual, until finally he was hearing whole words hidden in the melody, sounds that made sense, sounds that strung together to form sentences.

“I’ve been watching you for some time, my love,” she spoke to him, her voice silky smooth and inviting, “and I’ve finally come for you, at long last.”

“Who… who are you?” Garthol dared to ask back, feeling like he should probably know the answer to that question.

“Do you not recognize me?” - the goddess’ body seemed to inflate in every direction, her planet-sized nipples suddenly so large that a single pore on their surface became bigger than she had been in her entirety mere moments before - “I am Arceus, creator, ruler, progenitress. I am all. I am that I am.”

The words blew through him like high-speed wind, seeming to rip his skin, muscle and bone from him in sequence, until all that was left was his innermost essence, his soul laid bare. He had heard legends with that name, spoken in hushed tones by those who believed themselves to know the secrets of the cosmos, of the One Above that had made all things in their image. Garthol had found himself wondering about their existence many times before, but never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that they would turn out to be so… like that. At least the whole “made in their image” thing made a lot of sense; assuming that the universe was a reflection of them, then clearly the goddess was as given to obscene sizes and proportions as everyone else the Arcanine knew. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more everyone’s emphasis on virility and bigness seemed to click; of course it made sense!

“What do you need of me?” - Garthol would bow, but the lack of proper footing made it difficult for him to find where ‘down’ was - “I will do whatever you ask… so long as you allow me to return to my home to care for my people.”

“Your people will be taken care of,” Arceus answered dismissively, probably waving a hand behind all of that boobflesh of hers, “a new chosen will be selected from among them, and the cycle will continue. For now, I wish to partake of your bounty; it has been far too long since last I have tasted of something as sweet as you, and I wish to rectify that.”

Surely she couldn’t be serious. He was big, but he wasn’t that big; Garthol could barely even see past a single one of her nipples, and that thing just seemed to be getting even larger the more he looked at it! A curious thought to have, considering his own body was producing something of a size that was, at the very least, comparable to hers; something that he hadn’t really noticed until then due to the conspicuous lack of weight he was subjected to, allowing a special portion of his body to grow outwards at such an insane speed that, by the time he looked down to see how gigantic his cock was, he couldn’t even see anything else. Just a vast expanse of his own shaft, with the “bottom” of the universe completely smothered by a pair of balls that stretched the imagination just to be remotely comprehensible. Garthol stared at himself, trying to make sense of what was going on, before he felt something in the far distance, where he assumed most of his dick was: two enormous mounds, softer than the most comfortable of sheets, wrapping themselves around his length and working it at such a speed that it should be physically impossible.

Up until then, Garthol believed he knew pleasure, thought himself in possession of that particular bit of knowledge; sure, no one was as big as he was, but he rubbed his own nuts with his legs and feet, he worked his manhood, he knew what it was like to experience climax and feel his mind break in half from the strain. But he was wrong. Everything up until that exact point was nothing if not a prelude to true pleasure, a mere preparation for the sort of carnal ecstasy that only a goddess like Arceus could show him. How foolish of him to assume that he knew anything about anything at all, when the mere existence of that goddess was enough to prove that he knew nothing at all; he could barely form coherent thoughts at all now that his parsecs of cockmeat were being masterfully played with, the rest of his body shutting down to focus on this one, divine act!

His surprise wasn’t alone though. Arceus, in her immense wisdom and self-assured superiority, believed herself to be at the top of the food chain, mostly since she built it herself out of nothing. It made sense for her to be utterly unassailable, thus her decision to simply take Garthol for herself and turn his universe-spanning rod as her plaything; she had spent years observing him back on his homeworld, and thought she knew how much he could produce. Even in the largest of climaxes, all he managed was to flood countries with his seed, a paltry achievement compared to her own ability to produce milk on such scales that whole galactic superclusters could fit in a single droplet if she so desired. But it was only after she got started, when the precum began to flow in ever-escalating quantities, that Arceus began to realize what a mistake she had made. In her folly, she assumed that she knew Garthol, that she understood his limits, not understanding that there were no limitations at all. She had created the universe and everything within it, and yet somehow that beast, that hunky fire-type, had surprised her with something she didn’t know:

It was all precum. Always had been.

It hit her like a sack of bricks the size of whole universes, the moment she tasted his supposed seed and found that it contained barely any seed at all. It wasn’t cum that he was producing, ejected from his tip at above-lightspeed and forcing her to get out of the way or have the colour blasted from her fur, but slick pre instead; Garthol had never once in his life truly experienced a climax, he just thought he did. Those pseudo-orgasms may have wracked his brain and made it hard for him to control himself, but that thick layer of spunk that he coated whole countries with beforehand was nothing if not a slightly denser version of the same slick fluids that constantly oozed from his cock on a regular basis. His balls weren’t as big as they were because he was holding back, they were like it because they were never emptied before in his life. She knew that now.

And thanks to the mental link the two shared, so did he.

Arceus got maybe a couple of seconds of warning before her mouth was stretched wide open by that length shoving itself into it, barreling down her throat and bulging her torso out as it deposited itself just above her stomach. Garthol couldn’t help himself, it was in his nature to succumb to his primal instincts unless he was given a reason to hold back; and seeing as the goddess wanted the exact opposite, he figured he should give her his all, especially now that he knew what was waiting for him. Even without a full, “proper” orgasm to power him, the multiverse-drowning quantities of precum firing from his tip were so immense that even Arceus had trouble handling them all; all she could do was reprocess the fluids into more of her body, but even that wasn’t enough to take care of it all. Every moment that passed engorged her assets to the point where comparisons barely even worked; a gulp was enough to make each breast so much larger that a single percentage point of a fraction of another percentage was itself a billion times larger that her whole body had been before she drank it, with her asscheeks doubling that effect and her thighs following suit. Every drop was enough to send her milkiness into overdrive, until each teat was constantly flowing with enough cream that an infinite amount of universes coalesced around it.

And yet still Garthol grew, still his cock continued to stretch her out even more, still the aftershock rebounded onto him and allowed the Arca-god himself to burgeon outwards until his body put Arceus’ to shame. In mere minutes, what had once been a goddess, the true ruler of creation, had been reduced to little more than a living condom, wrapped around the immense girth of the true god’s shaft, even while the fire-type begged for her to grow larger. She had kickstarted a process that neither of them knew how to end, and now that Arceus, the only entity in existence that could even remotely hope to take Garthol at his fullest, had demonstrated herself to be wholly unable to do so… who was going to do it?

Limits were no longer a factor; after a while, the goddess was about the same size as Garthol again, courtesy of him filling her so much that she caught up, yet was still firmly lodged onto his cock, impaled upon its full length. The potency of his fluids was exponentially higher with each second that passed, the edges of reality fraying as he continued to grow outwards in every non-direction. All of existence was him, him and his goddess, forevermore and always.

And that’s when he felt it.

His climax was about to begin.