Infusion (Patreon Commission for Rioku)

Many times before, when he was still firmly in the group of people that cared about what others thought about him, Patrick had asked his friends what they thought about saline infusions. Their reactions and opinions varied wildly depending on where the substance was supposed to go, giving the lynx plenty of surprises over the years; many of his friends were surprisingly fine with the idea of him suddenly implanting expander shells underneath his pecs in order to give himself a pair of plastic tits, and even more were positively giddy at the notion he might give his ass a boost. But none of them, absolutely none, would even remotely consider what he actually had in mind.

To be fair, it wasn’t even risky so much as it was outright dangerous and borderline insane; even if it was meant to be temporary, the health risks associated with doing it at the kind of scale he was thinking of were immense, to put it lightly. And yet Pat wasn’t at all deterred from the thought, and not once came to think that maybe he should set it aside; him asking others what their thoughts on the matter happened to be was his way of rationalizing away what he truly wanted, hiding it beneath a thin layer of pretend civility and social contract. As time went on and his interests grew wilder however, it also became increasingly harder for him to deny that saline infusions to his more private areas were something he not only wanted to experiment with, he needed to experiment with; it was no longer a life choice, but something that had to happen, most likely thanks to all the effort put behind repressing those very thoughts.

He went through countless doctors who were at first open to the idea, but inevitably turned him down when he revealed how far he wanted to take it. All of them were right in pointing out that what Patrick was asking for was so unbelievably unsafe that they’d lose their license even if nothing went wrong, forcing him to go through the list of potential helpers until eventually settling for someone that even he thought was too shady to be trusted. Point of order, this man didn’t even perform the procedure himself, instead selling Pat all the materials he needed along with a flimsy instruction booklet entitled “Recreational Infusions Enthusiast”, a publication the lynx doubted truly existed. Cost him a pretty penny too, which is why the vendor’s sudden disappearance when he went back to return everything in a moment of weakness and regret stung all that much harder.

Now stuck with a bunch of saline bags and suspiciously-clean medical equipment, it still took Patrick several days before he brought himself to do what had to be done. He couldn’t rely on anyone to come help him; the second he called on any of his friends, they’d just do the sane thing and try to talk him out of it. Thus, it took a significant amount of willpower to go through everything the number of times needed to make sure he knew how to perform the procedure with his eyes closed, and even then he still re-reread everything just to be absolutely, unquestionably certain. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly, as any misstep could mean serious damage to his body, making his constant nervousness itself a source of further mental stress; he would’ve assumed he’d be a lot more comfortable with it all than he truly was.

Still, he powered through it, swallowing his fears and focusing purely on doing what the manual told him to do. Sterilize the equipment, triple-check a whole number of minute things, quadruple-check the saline itself to make sure there were no outward signs of contamination. Everything was reduced to a series of steps, an algorithm that allowed him to take his mind away from what he was doing so he could focus entirely on the how; the reality of the situation only hit him once he had to strip down and apply the needles to his nethers, and even then he somehow managed to wrench his mind away from the meaning of it and back onto the mechanical act itself. Some spray applied to the affected areas, a few seconds of waiting for it to take effect, and soon enough he had every line he needed firmly in place; with his butt firmly on the chair and every other apparatus prepared around him, all it took was for him to connect everything and then open the bags, allowing the saline to start flowing into him.

Things… didn’t happen at first. Being far too familiar with the sort of high-concept pornographic material that involved the same kind of procedure he subjected himself to, Patrick had honestly hoped that the results might be immediate, perhaps even accompanied by non-insignificant amounts of creaking and groaning as his body struggled to deal with the sudden influx of fluids. As it stood… none of the sort. It was genuinely underwhelming, to say the least, and he only really kept going because he noticed a slight swelling and reddening of his nuts and shaft, indicating that the infusion was working, if incredibly slowly. Impatience took over from fear, leaving him fidgety and unable to wait, soon progressing into out-and-out anxiety; why was it taking so long? Maybe, he thought to himself, he could afford to grab the bags and start squeezing them, forcing the saline to be pumped into him; the lynx only barely managed to hold himself from doing something as stupid as that in the last moment, fingertips already touching the plastic and mind dead-set on trying that absolute idiocy.

“Patience. Patience, Pat,” he spoke aloud, “you’ve waited this long, you can wait for another hour if you need to. There’s no need to rush it.”

There was a need to rush it, he knew there was. Now that everything was in place, making him wait even longer felt like some kind of joke!

“Ok, no, it’s ok,” he kept on reassuring himself, “just put your hand on your knees and wait. It’ll be fine. You don’t need to rush it.”

Easier said than done, he immediately thought to himself afterwards, as his hands proceeded to ignore his own advice and head straight for his junk. There, at least, he found that his decisions had borne some fruit, seeing as he at least felt like he was getting bloated. It still wasn’t the kind of all-encompassing feeling of near-bursting that he craved, the one he imagined would make him feel all sorts of things he never thought possible… but it was a start. Besides, there were several more bags of saline right next to him, neatly stacked on top of a table he dragged to his side, so any matter of supply was automatically ruled out; assuming he could keep his mind in one peace and keep the saline flowing, he would eventually reach a point where he could no longer take anymore. And as soon as he did, as soon as he felt his body hit that invisible threshold, he could proceed to ignore it and keep going; stretching himself far past his limits and straight into dangerous territory, just so he could feel what it was like to be unnaturally big. This was his motivation, this was his goal, and he’d be damned if he was going to stop now that he was so close to it.

He kept himself silent in order to enjoy the process, only succeeding in drawing attention to the clock somewhere behind him. The saline itself made no noise, the dripping and sloshing of it too low for him to hear it, leaving his mind to focus entirely on the seconds literally ticking by as he waited for something exciting to happen. The need for maintenance arrived sooner than that did, with Patrick only realizing the bag he was draining was empty after a few minutes of not feeling any tighter; this was fine, he thought to himself, it was normal to have to change saline bags, that was why he brought them over to that table and set them out neatly in order of smallest to largest. It didn’t take much effort, and that in itself was… confusing to him. He had expected things to take a turn for the fantastical almost immediately, so the mundanity of it all, the complete lack of an explosive payoff, made the experience feel immense underwhelming. He could only hope that everything would turn on its head and give him what he wanted sooner rather than later, because otherwise he was probably going to break a few things and feel really bad about himself afterwards.

Even so, he couldn’t just stop. With the rhythmic noises of the clock being the only thing in his mind, all the lynx could do was sit there and slowly watch as his package reddened and swelled up, just enough to confirm that it was indeed happening, but nowhere close to what he wanted. He was fidgety, wanting to tap his feet but knowing that doing so would leave him feeling sore thanks to all the weight; he couldn’t deny he did feel significantly girthier down there, even if it wasn’t to the point he wanted to, making it at least some consolation. Another bag went down, a replacement placed, and before he knew it, Pat was already doing that again, and again, and again, the empty, crumpled plastic thrown into a growing pile behind his chair. The clock kept making its noises, he kept replacing the source of saline, and his mind fell into a sort of fugue state; there was nothing else to do but go forward, to continue to press on regardless of how much he felt it wasn’t going to help. After so long, he had to keep going, even if he was convinced the end result would be disappointing. He barely noticed as the pile of bags to his side grew increasingly tinier, but there was one thing that was sure to tune him right back into reality: another noise.

It was faint at first, barely audible, and even after Pat thought he heard it his ears still insisted on keeping him out of the loop until they could confirm it was truly there. How long had it been? An hour? Three? It was hard to tell given that it was the middle of day, but he felt like he’d been sitting there for too long; which is why he jumped at the slightest opportunity to break the monotony once he finally heard his body creak. He could barely believe it; after so many years, after so many wasted visits to clinics that refused to cater to his needs, and now finally after who knows how many hours hooked up to several saline bags’ worth of disappointment, he finally heard it: his body, reaching its limits, straining at the seams and being loud enough in doing so that he could hear it. His body, warning him that he was going to do something very stupid, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he should turn back immediately and never try that again.

He looked aside, seeing several bags still there, waiting to be dripped into his body. He looked down, to a shaft that was by that point nearly a foot and a half in length and a pair of nuts that rivalled it in size. The lynx closed his eyes, allowing his mind to take in what he was feeling and hearing: pressure, uncomfortably high pressure, fullness, a sense that he was close to breaking something. In the air, trembling, floating, the sounds of groaning as his skin was made to expand, creaking as it failed to do so satisfactorily. A wide, toothy grin spread on his face, lips parting to give his tongue something to lick while his mind raced with the possibilities.

Patrick’s eyes shot back open, and now there was no turning back. Having confirmed that his body could technically do what he wanted it to, it was only a matter of time before he completely lost control and threw himself into the maws of his own destruction. There would be no waiting for the dripping, only two hands grabbing the saline bag and squeezing it as hard as they could without making it rupture, forcing as much of its delicious contents into the several tubes before it was left empty. Crumple it up, throw it away, grab the next one over, repeat. Repeat until the only bags left were the biggest ones, deliberately left for last so he could enjoy himself, feel his junk grow to sizes and weights that were once the exclusive purview of his fantasies and wet dreams. Pat saw himself grow faster than ever before, his deliberate attempts at speeding the process along working surprisingly well, biology be damned; the creaking became worse and worse as it went on, growing so loud that it managed to worry the lynx just the tiniest bit… before he convinced himself that everything was fine and he could just keep going.

Two feet were reached before he even knew it, then two and a half followed by three. He was turgid, full mast, and yet he didn’t feel like it; most likely it was all the saline simulating an erection, because as far as the lynx cared, he still had plenty to go before he was anywhere close to fully aroused. Down below, those nuts dangling over the edge of the chair were starting to weigh down so much that Pat felt the need to lean forward just so he could have them anchored on the ground, a thought that by itself left his cheeks so red that he began wondering if that size of his wasn’t actually his largest one. The noises were getting unbearable, sounding more like plastic being rubbed against itself (appropriately enough) rather than anything organic, but there were still bags to go. There was still saline to be pumped into him, even if he could feel his body stretching beyond its own capacity. He was going to burst, he knew it, but he didn’t care; only size mattered, only size was important, and now that he had it, he wouldn’t let go.

He held onto this notion for what felt like an eternity, forever standing on the brink of oblivion but never quite taking the extra step needed to plunge into it. Again and again he sunk his fingers into those bags, until in the end, with a final gurgle, the last remaining one was emptied out and thrown behind him, Patrick leaning back on the chair with his chest heaving with every breath. The room was filled with the low groaning of a tree trunk being bent in the wind, a creaking that couldn’t be described, all coming from that colossal package he was carrying between his legs. Five feet of cock. An equal diameter for each nut somehow… and yet he wanted more.

He needed more.

He needed it.