Prompt of the Week - Week 7

One could be excused for thinking that a Fire-Type would be able to deal with heat waves without much worry, and for the most part, one would be entirely correct. Unfortunately for Brad, he wasn’t like most Fire-Types, at least not when it came to tolerance to his own element. Whenever wielding his powers and abilities, the Arcanine was as comfortable as could be, surrounded by flame and fire and ready to reduce whoever threatened him to a smouldering heap of ash. But assaulted on all sides with constant, unrelenting ambient heat left him a complete mess, and not necessarily for the reasons one might initially assume.

Brad had a problem, one that only reared its ugly head when the hunk was exposed to high temperatures for more than just a few minutes. Funnily enough (or not, depending on one’s perspective), it was derived precisely from his ability to withstand said temperatures in the first place; in fact, one could make the case that his body was simply too good at handling them, seeing as he could not only ignore the heat completely, but actively make use of it in a way no one else he knew could. It was more of an embarrassment than it was a boon, but at least his partner Clara helped get him through the day… whenever she was around. While he could get a special dispensation from work, she most certainly could not, leaving him to deal with his unique biological quirk on his own.

Inside his living room, he had hooked up five different fans to the one free wall socket they still had, making sure to turn everything else off so as to not overload the house’s grid. Brad himself was lying back on his couch, completely naked, huffing and puffing and desperate for relief as even those five appliances weren’t enough to bring him anything but a temporary reprieve; he went so far as to duct tape them so they wouldn’t swivel from side to side, just so he could consistently point all of them at his body… or rather, at a specific part of said body.

The male Arcanine was very good at processing heat, and that gasping and struggling for air didn’t come from how stuffy he was, but rather from how utterly gigantic and bloated his balls happened to be. He still had no idea how or why his body translated excess thermal energy into increased productivity, but it was a given that whenever his part of the country went through a spike in temperature, he’d be left grounded and unable to move, much too busy outputting cum at maddening rates to do anything else. Any attempts at cooling down were nothing if not a stopgap in between explosive bursts of both growth and seed, nighttime being the only part of the day where he had any kind of rest whatsoever. Whenever those hot spells lasted for merely a few days, he could at least power through it; it took him a while before reaching sizes that truly made moving around prohibitive, to the point where the previous year he just kept on working through a three-day spike. That day, however, marked a full two weeks of high-above-average warmth, which had left him in such a state that he hadn’t even uttered a single word for about four days, left to moan and mindlessly plead to be emptied out… in heavy groans, of course.

He’d long since gone over the mobility line, and though he could still drag himself from place to place if he absolutely had to, the effort involved was far higher than any possible pay-off. He no longer cared if he couldn’t feed himself; the Arcanine would rather go hungry than risk moving around, knowing full well that any kind of stimulation, no matter how small, was enough to set him off. Without proper drains installed in the living room, he wasn’t about to risk doing something that might very well damage the upholstery; it was bad enough he wasn’t making any money while at home, neither him nor Clara needed more expenses in their life.

Nonetheless, it was hard to ignore the need for release. He had reached a size that could only adequately be described when in comparison to the couch he was sitting on; by all means, the room now had two of those things, though one was suspiciously organic-looking and seemed to throb every other second, not to mention was incredibly loud and sounded like two colossal water balloons overfilled to the point of bursting. For Brad, this was exactly how it felt; each second he spent sitting there was one he was convinced would be his last, right before some kind of invisible threshold would be crossed and his skin failed to contain the oceans of cum building up inside of him. His body, however, had different plans, choosing to keep itself just in front of its own limits in order to give the overstuffed pupper something to worry about.

It was genuinely impressive how much he could produce as well; even with his girlfriend there each night to help him through the day’s stuffing, even with a clogged bathtub drain and a bathroom that looked more and more like some kind of deranged Jackson Pollock painting in all-white tones, it still wasn’t enough to fully relieve him. His “normal” size was nothing to scoff at, what with him usually carrying around a pair of watermelon-sized orbs and a cock that strained any set of pants he tried to put on, but he’d been going to bed with yoga balls and a small electrical pole attached to him, to the point where he hadn’t even used his bedroom in nearly a week; the bed itself wouldn’t be able to deal with his size, and the only reason the sofa was holding on was because the floor was doing most of the work there.

The noises as well were beginning to get to him. As long as he was still mobile he could make an effort to ignore the constant churning between his legs, but the bigger he got, the louder his package became as well; and at the size he was right there, it was hard to describe how much the cacophony of slorshing was affecting him without resorting to some incredibly colourful language that would most likely leave him both blushing brightly and stammering while coming up with an excuse for being so crude. These were the thoughts that kept flashing in his mind whenever he pulled himself together for long enough to think; most of the time he just sat there, taking in the sounds and smells and trying very hard not to completely lose it.

On occasion, he would focus for long enough that he could feel himself growing… or, filling, to be more precise. While his cock was indeed gaining mass at a proportional rate to whatever was happening with his nuts, those cum tanks themselves were nothing if not an increasingly-thinner covering of skin and fur over a burgeoning lake of fluids that were just barely contained by their organic receptacles. Barely, because the pressure inside of them was high enough to force spurts out of his tip; even if he wasn’t in full flow, that didn’t mean he didn’t make a complete mess of the living room, with the Arcanine being entirely incapable of holding back completely. Both him and Clara accepted this as an inevitability, and had already given up trying to clean it, postponing that terrible chore for whenever the heat wave was over. Granted, most of it ended up on Brad himself; the way his manhood was angled meant that it hit the ceiling and curved towards him, keeping him constantly covered in a thick sheen of his own pre, oozing onto him in strands bigger than his own torso. As could be imagined, this didn’t help with the heat problem; not only were those fluids already hot on their own, but they made for some amazing insulation, keeping him constantly on edge and unable to do anything about it. Cleaning himself off required moving from where he was, and doing that was… not an option.

Thus, the fans. They didn’t really do much apart from slowing down his growth. They used to, back when he could still put his feet on the ground without sitting on a sofa, back when his balls weren’t as tall as he was and several times wider. Now, all they accomplished was giving him a vague sense of control that didn’t really mean anything, something that his lust-addled mind couldn’t even think about properly, being too busy trying to process the flood of sensations assaulting it in every waking second. It wasn’t even endorphins anymore; the Arcanine didn’t feel rapturous joy as much as he was just exhausted from the whole ordeal. If he could, he would immediately put it all away just so he could return to normalcy. If not for one thing.

Or one person.

Clara was his world, in so many ways that it was hard to count. He met his other Arcanine half some time ago during lunch at work, and by “met” he of course meant he powered through the awkwardness of getting to know her and actually sat down besides the gorgeous Fire-Type to try and strike up some conversation. It was entirely genuine; Brad was far too much of an introverted soul to ever think about anything beyond simple contact, which is why her open-mindedness and quite upfront attitude about intimacy left him feeling like he was getting hit by a freight train whenever she got friskier than usual.

It wasn’t that much of a stretch to assume he was the bottom half of their relationship, given that his complete inability to do anything that wasn’t beg for release at times like those went wonderfully with a generally submissive and unassuming attitude that lent itself terrifyingly well to the kind of bedroom antics Clara roped him into. It was almost unbelievable how much stamina that amazon had, at points leaving Brad so utterly exhausted that she had to basically do everything on her own, and though he felt awful for failing to live up to expectations, not once did his partner even so much as grumble; if anything, being given full freedom to do whatever she wanted seemed to make her even happier, which was… slightly concerning, to say the least.

She was a few minutes away, judging from her preemptive call that Brad was happy to ignore, being too busy melting both within and without. Whatever remained of his ability to think worried itself with what Clara might think on opening the door, inadvertently giving herself a front row seat to the kind of sight that would best be left for the imagination of porn artists; a quick look at the ground revealed the precum to have pooled all the way to the other end of the room, invading the corridor and part of the kitchen. In that moment, Brad felt an intense regret at failing to install drains properly, having reasoned that AC would be more than enough; at no point did he expect it to stop working at the exact same time a heat wave of that magnitude struck.

Minutes passed. Or hours. Or days, really; it was difficult to tell when his mind was busy trying to keep up with what his nuts were telling it to do. All Brad could see was his own body, glazed in his fluids and begging for someone to help it out of its misery, at least until a loud slam drew his eyes away from himself and towards the front door, in which stood his beautiful, one-of-a-king gal. The other Arcanine was already licking her lips at the sight she beheld, cooing and murring her lover’s name while unceremoniously throwing her things onto the nearest couch, shirt included, fully exposing her and only making Brad’s problem all that much worse.

Clara was… endowed. Very well-endowed, as the case may be, enough that if it weren’t for her genial attitude and uncanny ability to roll with the punches, then a lot more people would be getting fired for inappropriate comments back at the office. As it stood, she wore her size with pride, so much so that it was one of the reasons Brad approached her in the first place; there was something inherently attractive and appealing about someone, anyone who was so at peace with their own body that they exuded some kind of aura made of pure confidence. Plus, he was reasonably certain she enjoyed messing with people’s heads by deliberately wearing her shirts a size or two too small, a suspicion that was eventually confirmed once the two moved in together.

That day, she was even bigger. It was something she often experimented with, having her own heat absorption powers (albeit far more controlled ones than his), and given the state of the outside world, it was only normal she took it as an excuse to try out a new look for herself. Not only was her bust big enough to cover most of her front, but her bottom curves were flared out and accentuated as well, providing the perfect hourglass figure for the male Arcanine to look at, thoroughly enjoy, and then lose control of his leakage as a result. There would be no saving him from the grasp of that temptress, and yet he felt nothing if not absolute, mindless elation at the prospect.

Clara didn’t even bother saying anything, apart from calling out his name and moaning throatily, leaving Brad a blushing, confused ball of matted fur whose base instincts had just awakened in full force. His nuts were gurgling even louder than before, his cock twitching and bloating as each pre pump was made thicker than the last; it was an “unfortunate” side effects of his colossal fluid back-up, the ability to start dumping loads upon loads of his seed without achieving climax, purely from the insane amounts of overpressure inside of his nuts. And of course, his partner didn’t make it any easier by climbing onto the couch-sized orbs he sported and then straddling the base of his rod, letting it grind all over her enormous rear and the soft, silken fur on her back. She wasted no time moving her body to the same rhythm as her boyfriend’s heartbeat, letting it course through those vast cum factories and then straight through her. It was a “dance”, as she liked to call it, and one that Clara had rehearsed well during their time together, enough that each motion added inches to Brad’s already prodigious length, and literal gallons to his maximum capacity; within minutes he was going to blow, but until that moment came… there was nothing left to do but enjoy himself.

The ground didn’t agree, seeing as it began to crack under the rhythmic slamming of Clara’s ass onto Brad’s immense cumtanks, much like the ceiling was protesting at the strength of the jets being forced out of the male Arcanine’s cock. It was frankly insulting how little preparation or warning he was given before his partner decided to start riding him dry, but given how he was pretty much stuck on the edge of losing his mind already, anything that might work to offer him some relief was, frankly, more than welcome. That the walls were getting a brand new paint job was a secondary concern when compared to postponing the inevitable explosion building up inside Brad’s body, thus why Clara seemed wholly unfazed by the amount of damage her partner was inflicting upon the upholstery.

This couldn’t last for long, and so it didn’t; the male Arcanine wasn’t possessed of any supernatural stamina to begin with, and after a full day of holding back what had to be a large pool’s worth of cum inside of him, it was no surprise that his limit was reached and then pounded into dust just seconds after Clara began to put her engorged body to good use. Then again, for a body like his, climax alone wasn’t the end; not even by a wide mile.

His cum flowed as freely as it possibly could, no longer coming in spurts but in a near-continuous stream of such power that it began ripping the wallpaper off and rebounded off the walls and ceiling with enough strength to genuinely hurt Brad whenever it glanced his shoulders. His nuts were practically screaming, sounding like some colossal whirlpool eating up the entirety of an ocean, while his cock’s twitches and throbs were effectively a second, significantly-louder heartbeat, all of it combining to fill the sound’s airspace with enough noise as to make Clara’s own orgasm go by completely unnoticed. The thin layer of pre that had once covered the living room just minutes before had been completely replaced by a thick covering of Brad’s spunk, enough of it that both him and his partner wouldn’t be able to see their feet should they decide to walk anywhere. All the while, the heat in the room merely kept increasing, worsening the absorption issues and serving as a perfect counterpoint to what Clara’s nominal goal was.

For in truth, the female Arcanine never intended to give him relief, not then at least. This happy welcome, this hello after work, was nothing if not her way of telling him that he wasn’t big enough. There was no malice there, only a genuine desire to see him grow and bloat to sizes that he hadn’t dreamed of before, now that nature had given him an opportunity; for a size queen like her, nothing short of room-filling would be satisfactory, and even then Brad had to pray she wasn’t expecting both of his balls to be at that size.

One thing was certain, though: he wasn’t emptying out.

He was growing.