Spillage (Commission for Zygrado)

Another morning and Zyg was already feeling the weight of his mistakes from the previous night. Shouldn’t have listened to the lynx when they told them that it’d be perfectly fine to just forgo one one simple milking session, he’d just get it done in the morning, solve everything! The Lucario, being as sloshed as he was, didn’t think too much of it, and in fact thought it was a brilliant idea to just go to bed and try to get the drunkenness out of his system, not even thinking about the consequences when he left the door to his bedroom wide open with them still in the house. Upon waking up and not only feeling the sudden bloat, but also the three rings around some very sensitive parts of himself, Zyg began to reconsider his life priorities.

Or would, if he weren’t hungover as all hell.

Rushing to the bathroom was obviously a lot harder now that he had to contend with a sudden increase in weight both in front and below hm; moving in the morning was already a challenge even when he made sure to empty out before going to sleep, and given that he had been denied the sweet release of passive leaking during the night, in addition to a complete lack of milking, it was a wonder he could even move at all! Each step elicited so much sloshing from his body that anyone listening in might be mistaken for thinking he was playing around with person-sized water balloons… which honestly wasn’t that far off from the truth, all things considered.

A quick once-over as soon as his brain rebooted properly revealed that the damage done was not as severe as Zyg thought though, a wonder given how badly bloated he was already before going to bed. In fact, he distinctly remembered being larger than that several times before, though given what had been clamped over his nipples and cock, he was going to approach those sizes very quickly if he couldn’t find the person responsible. At least he could still walk through doors; not really that much of a consolation given that he couldn’t milk himself, but at least he was still mobile for the time being.

The house was empty, and he had to give the lynx credit for tidying up after himself; none of the bottles were where they had been and the occasional puddles of soda and piles of crumbs had been mopped and swept away, leaving behind a perfectly clean and shining floor, along with a small note attached to the fridge with a magnet. The handwriting on it was unmistakably theirs, and the message itself was so innocuous that Zyg didn’t know whether to laugh at it or be mad that the feline thought they could get away so easily.

“Cleaned floors, wiped windows. Left lunch in fridge, just heat up. You don’t have any more bleach, I’ve bought some and ordered delivery (will pay you later). TTYL!”

Talk to them later indeed. There’d be a lot more to it than just talking, to the point where the Lucario had to very carefully remove a lot of unhealthy thoughts from his mind. There was no point getting back at them; they were just doing what they were best at, and he was quite certain that he himself might’ve requested the clamps at some point during his drunken ramblings. If anything, Zyg should be mad at himself for emptying his fridge’s supply of alcohol with the feline next to him, knowing full well that while they would never take advantage of him in any meaningful way, they’d still be unable to resist a prompt as good as “Plug me up!” or whatever it was he said the night before.

Thus, there was very little left for the Luca to do but call them up and hope they were still at home. The phone rang for long enough that Zyg could feel his body swell up, a slow process that compensated by having no upper cap whatsoever; it might take him a while to reach truly ludicrous sizes, but while other people might stop there, he’d just keep going, the product of that unfortunate incident in the chemical plant several years prior. What’s worse, he’d just come back to normal after being drained, giving the lynx even more of an excuse to see how far they could go; Zyg would be back at their baseline size inevitably, after all.

“Hello, Tim speaking,” came a voice from the other end.

“Hello, clamp man speaking, could you please come back here and open these things up?”

There was a long period of silence where neither of them said anything, and judging by the lack of stifled giggling coming from the lynx’s side, Zyg had to wonder what was going through their mind.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Tim, I’m not kidding,” Zygrado insisted, losing control of his tone, “I’m not going to deal with having clamps over my nipples and dick, so get your ass here as quickly as possible and take these off!”

“Take what off, I didn’t put anything on you!”

Zyg’s reply was lost somewhere in the middle of his throat when he heard those words. They were impossible; it had to have been them that put those things on him. And yet, they sounded sincere; the lynx was usually unable to hide whenever they’d done something to indulge themselves or others, so for them to sound so genuinely confused must mean that, against all odds… they didn’t know about the clamps?

“Tim, if you’re pulling my leg here…”

“Zy, I swear to whatever you want me to swear, I don’t know anything about any clamps. Do you need help?”

The slight note of panic on their voice was enough to convince the Lucario that the lynx was completely innocent… at least of that particular crime. While he didn’t cherish the idea of having them grope his bloated form in search of a solution, there wasn’t a lot else he could realistically do.

“... please.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

The call was over, leaving Zyg to chuckle to himself about the lynx’s command. Where the hell was he supposed to go looking like that? None of his shirts or pants fit, and he wasn’t about to use a bunch of rags to make himself decent if his body was just going to keep bloating like that. In the short time since he woke up his bust had already gained a good half a foot in every direction, while his balls had inflated to gently brush against the ground. The three metal ringlets holding his flow back, strategically placed around both his teats and at the base of his shaft, should hurt; they were strapped on tightly and had no give whatsoever, yet Zyg found them to be as comfortable as something like them could possibly be, even more so, oddly enough. Rather than overbearing pressure and tightness, they invited him to stroke at the affected areas, trying to override his survival instincts and knowledge that doing so would just lead to further swelling.

It was a game he played with himself while he waited, slowly watching his assets expand as their backed-up production forced his body to make room while simultaneously having to keep his hands away from so many places that demanded their attention. The moment his focus broke and his fingers sunk into his soft flesh was the moment the battle was lost and his house was turned into a municipal pool; and as much as Zygrado wanted to cut loose and enjoy himself for once in his life, he couldn’t do that inside of his own home. He wouldn’t.

This raised the question of whether or not he’d be comfortable doing it somewhere else, something Zyg felt it best not to think about, given it had a non-zero chance of causing his bloating to worsen from the arousal alone; last thing he needed was for his already spiked production to take a turn for the hyperactive.

Ten minutes to the second, he heard someone knock at the door, leaving him to fight with his own body when trying to get up from the couch and cursing his decision to sit down in the first place. With a heavy dose of incredibly loud noises, the Lucario dragged his swollen self over to the other side of his house, opening the door just slowly enough that he could immediately close it should the lynx turn out to have pulled a fast one on him. Contrary to expectations, however, Tim remained on the other side of the threshold, patiently waiting until Zygrado gave him the go-ahead, only to visibly wince once they saw what had happened to his friend.

“Zy, I know what this looks like, but I swear this wasn’t me,” they rattled off, closing the door behind them and squeezing past the Lucario’s assets, “when I left the house yesterday you were perfectly fine, I don’t know what happened!”

“And I don’t know if I should trust you,” Zygrado replied, finding it hard to believe that himself, “but you seem surprised enough, so… I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Can you help me or not?”

The lynx nodded, helping Zyg back into the living room while his eyes conspicuously avoided looking at any part of him that might be particularly bouncy. As soon as the Lucario was seated again, the feline knelt down and began inspecting the cockring, seemingly able to maintain a perfectly clinical look about their face, even if it was getting suspiciously red. They tugged at it, pulled it, even tapped on its surface a few times before moving in to get a better look, unceremoniously shoving Zyg’s cock off to the side so he could lean in closer.

“I don’t like the look of this,” they mumbled, clearly being affected by the constant and very loud churning coming from both spherical mounds above and below him. It was a wonder their voice wasn’t even muffled, “because I recognize these, and I think it may be my fault after all.”

“Tim,” Zyg growled.

“No, no, hear me out! Remember the present I gave you for your birthday?”

Zyg did remember. He remembered it so well that he felt like slapping himself for not having taken better precautions to keep those damned things locked away where he couldn’t get to them in a moment of madness or weakness.

“How long?” he asked of the feline.

“One week, apparently,” came the reply, with Tim having a quick look at the nipple clamps to confirm their suspicions, “there’s no size limitations on these things either, so you’re just going to have to wait.”

“Remind me again why you gave me these things?”

“You asked for them, dummy.”

“I-”

… well, it was true, he did. Which just made the whole thing worse, really; Zyg couldn’t quite blame the lynx when the only reason he had to do so was his own fault to begin with. It left him in an awkward position of not knowing what to do or where to go, because with those clamps on him for the next week, there was only one direction his body could take, and it’d claim his ability to function until they came off.

“Will yo-”

“Yes,” Tim instantly responded, leaning in to give Zyg a smooch on the forehead, “I’ll go get started on smoothing out any sharp edges. You focus on resting and calling your workplace, alright? And don’t worry about lunch or dinner, I’ll get that for you!”

With those words, Tim turned around and left the living room, presumably to go find enough rubber that he could use to coat every bit of the upholstery. Zy had to smile at how quickly the feline offered to help; push come to shove, they might be an incorrigibly lewd piece of work, but at least they’d do their best to fix the problems they helped create. Not exactly the highest standard to pass, in all honesty, but it was better than nothing; better them than anyone else who wouldn’t have a fraction of the willpower needed.

Getting his boss to listen to what he had to say, however, was slightly more difficult, seeing as the Lucario had to come up with a better excuse than “I clamped my tits and balls shut” if he wanted to secure medical leave. He eventually settled on some made-up story about a sudden productivity spike as a result of tainted dairy, something that made absolutely no sense, wouldn’t pass muster in any court of law, and was nonetheless completely believed by his non-hyper supervisor, one of the perks of having someone in charge who knew very little of anomalous biology.

He had a week for himself. Normally this meant buying a new game and then forgetting about what time was, but he doubted he’d be able to even use the desk at all by day’s end; in fact, if he could even fit in the living room by the end of the week he’d have to call that a victory, since the last time he went so long without milking himself he needed construction equipment to get him out, and he had the luxury of leaking from passive pressure. Now that all of his “vents” were blocked, nothing remained but to wait out the storm, hoping that it wouldn’t be so bad as to need him to move by the time he was done.

The one thing that made that day bearable was the lynx, in all honesty. As soon as the pressure began to build, so too did Zyg’s stress start to spike to nearly unbearable levels, as not only did the knowledge of what he did to himself constitute enough of a pain in the neck to make him want to shout, but the realization that he was stuck on the couch naturally led to the implication that he’d have to buy a new one by the time this was all over. More expenses at a time where he needed none, especially after he told Tim he didn’t want any of their money; this whole fiasco was his own doing and he’d deal with it himself.

This was obviously easier said than done; much as he tried to put on a brave face, Zyg had very little of his willpower left by the end of the day. As opposed to the perpetual grumpiness that characterized most of that morning and afternoon, the evening hours were filled by soft, muffled moaning and heavy breathing, the Lucario quietly asking for his feline attendant to rub his breasts as softly as possible to help relieve some of the pressure. The actual effect of touching those things was the exact opposite, and they both knew it; but rather than sitting there watching their friend slowly succumb to insanity, the lynx did what any good buddy would: give those milky udders a good rubdown with some lotion.

This had two effects, one of which they both knew about and one that surprised only one of them. As they expected, giving them attention caused Zyg’s breasts to swell a lot faster than they would if just left well enough alone, to the point where just before they went to “bed”, each milktank was already grazing the ground despite having a couch to spill over from. The rubbing took hours before they got to that size, but with multiple bottles to go through and endless enthusiasm between the two of them, anything could be achieved, leaving the Lucario completely pinned down and no longer caring about whether or not they destroyed their couch with sheer titty weight.

What truly caught the lynx unprepared was the noise. It was a given that Zygrado’s body was incredibly loud, especially when his production kicked into gear, but Tim hadn’t expected them to make such a racket, even at sizes like those; it was a curious quirk that Zy had “neglected” inform his friend about, more out of fear of what might happen if he hadn’t: the more stimulated his bosom was, the louder it became. On the surface, it was a simple enough change, so much so that, given the prevalence of hypers in society, no one would bother to think twice about it. But Zyg wasn’t your regular, everyday hyper; far from it, in fact.

With his production kept firmly inside of him thanks to the self-subjected clamping, he was already incredibly noisy, even while sitting down; neither of them wanted to imagine what it would be like if he dared to stand up and walk, the currents of milk and cum crashing into one another probably being enough to shake the windows out of their frames. But the Lucario being on the couch was the one thing the lynx could count on to keep their sanity from breaking completely; sure, those mammaries still sloshed about and churned quietly, but that was just it, they did so quietly. It was a constant, yet gentle reminder of what was going on inside of their friend’s body, something they’d have to focus in order to be able to hear, much less pay attention to. And this is how it always had been for as far as they could both remember.

On giving those tits a good rubbing, though, all of that was thrown out the window, leaving Tim feeling both incredibly aroused and beyond terrified at the prospect of having to stick around Zyg’s place in order to take care of them. They had thought that a couple of earplugs and a closed door would be enough for them to get some rest; even if the Lucario moved around in the night, the sounds wouldn’t bother them too much. Now that they gave in and provided the massage their friend so desperately needed, there would be no rest for them, not now, not during the night, not until those clamps came off.

Their friend did ask them what was wrong when the lynx excused themselves in order to go to the bathroom, hoping to find some measure of peace and quiet by closing every door on the way there. Truth be told, Zyg knew exactly what was going on and relished in the opportunity to turn the tables on his guest-slash-caretaker; he would’ve sloshed his tits about if he had the strength to move them around at all, instead settling for trying to shake his torso and hoping it’d have some kind of effect on his jiggliness down the line.

For the lynx, it was nothing short of torture. For once in their life, they did genuinely want to help Zyg without any kind of expectations for sexual favours or smothering or anything of the sort; their offer had (initially) been borne entirely out of their platonic friendship, with the sudden rubdown being more a consequence of both of them being living, thinking creatures with wants, needs and personal limits. Now that they had to contend with the noises, though? A lot harder to keep their mind off of things better left unsaid.

There were three walls and two doors between the two of them. By all means, it should be impossible for the lynx to hear anything, much less the soft slorshing of fluids inside of their friend’s tits. Instead, the sounds reverberated inside of the feline’s head, crashing through and into them as they bounced off the polished linoleum and the immaculately-kept walls. The whole bathroom was a resonator, helping to magnify what amounted to a small lake churning over itself every half-second. They couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much!

But where would they run to?

Any attempts at muffling it quickly turned out to be worth nothing; cotton in their ears only made them itchy, while a towel wrapped around their head only made the sounds echo even harder… somehow. After half an hour of failed attempts and some very tight pants, the lynx gave up and went back to the living room, having to stifle a moan when they saw how large the Lucario was.

“Something the matter~?” Zygrado asked, knowing the answer to the question they just posed.

That was it. That was the threshold. Tim didn’t even bother coming up with an excuse that time, choosing to turn around and head into the kitchen so they could prepare dinner, serving it on a large plastic tray and telling Zyg that they’d come back to get it in the morning. There would be no tucking in the Lucario that night; he’d just have to get comfortable in his own wobbliness somehow.

The morning came after a sleepless night, the single wall between the living room and bedroom not being nearly enough to give the lynx even the tiniest modicum of protection from the roiling waves of milk and cum that continuously crashed against one another inside of Zygrado. The latter, meanwhile, slept like a baby, his brain already adapted to dealing with those kinds of noises and thus taking surprisingly well to an uptick in volume. He would wake up just after sunrise to see his vision completely blocked by his tits, which ballooned to a size so colossal that they were halfway to the ceiling… though the balls they rested on certainly did help.

The pressure, meanwhile, had spiked to levels that even he found uncomfortable, a direct consequence of the ludicrous amount of fluid build-up taking place beneath the three rings holding him back from flooding his apartment. If he barely kept himself composed the day before, now he was wondering how exactly he was supposed to last the rest of the week, considering he already felt like he was about to burst at the slightest provocation.

At the very least, he didn’t look as terrible as Tim did; the lynx emerged from Zyg’s bedroom looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks, even their shapeshifting powers insufficient to hide the bags under their eyes and the obvious tired look they sported. Knowing what caused it made the Lucario shrink away in fear of what the feline might say if he pushed their buttons, even playfully, which is why he sighed in relief when Tim dropped themselves onto their engorged assets… though he was left confused as to why they did that.

“Maybe if I stay here long enough my brain will get used to it,” they replied once asked, heavily muffled from the other side of those gigantic mounds of stuffed flesh, “couldn’t sleep the whole night. Need to get used to this.”

It was a silly prospect, but at least it carried a non-zero chance of working; besides, it felt surprisingly comfortable to have the furball attached to his body like that, so much so that neither of them moved until Zyg’s belly growled loudly enough to be heard even from behind the churning, prompting the lynx to sigh and loudly declare they were going to make breakfast for the both of them. This would take the form of some buttered toast and some juice, just the bare basics of what could even be called a snack, purposefully designed to be eaten quickly in order to give both of them time to appreciate one another’s company.

In the absence of any better ideas, the lynx figured it was best to just enjoy themselves while it lasted. Neither of them could stop or slow down the swelling, only speed it up or make it more noticeable, so why fight against a literal ocean? At least by turning Zyg’s tits and balls into a room-sized bed, the two of them could find some comfort in an otherwise difficult situation: the Lucario got a soft, fuzzy little plaything to help relieve some stress, while Tim in return had access to the best waterbed money couldn’t buy.

It’d be a win-win scenario if they didn’t both know how close they were to completely wrecking the whole building.

The one thing they agreed on was that no further stimulation would be allowed; as much as they both wanted it to happen, it was clear that giving Zyg’s body any more reasons to produce at a faster rate would quickly end up with him being homeless by the time the clamps came off. In fact, just his growth rate at the time of that arrangement was already elevated enough to make the two friends wonder if there was enough room left to keep the Lucario contained for the duration. It was the source of the only argument they ever had, with Zy wanting to stay put while Tim insisted on calling in a few favours to get the growing blob out somewhere where they wouldn’t have to worry. In the end, Zyg won, leaving the feline feeling both defeated and incredibly frustrated, given that structural damage to the house was now an inevitability.

The only thing they could do was wait and hope that it didn’t turn out to be as severe as they both knew it was going to be. For Zygrado, the experience could be best described as a slow descent into darkness, as his bust continued to occupy an increasingly larger share of his field of view until, at one point, he just stopped seeing the sun; he could feel it, somewhere off in the distance as it warmed up an insignificant part of himself, but his entire life had been turned into a constant cycle of darkness and deafening sloshing, encased as he was on all sides by his body, and broken only whenever the lynx showed up to give him his meals. Even after the couch broke down, not once did he feel the floor, with his cum factories instead taking the place of the upholstery.

For Tim, the whole affair was… significantly different. While their friend was off somewhere in the middle of all that wobbling flesh, enjoying himself without a single care for anything, they had to take over for everything that needed to be done around the house, a task that was made incredibly hard by way of the ever-present sloshing that had already made several of the neighbors issue noise complaints before learning to appreciate it like the lynx had. This was to say nothing of the sheer difficulty in keeping their libido in check whenever they caught the slightest glimpse of those blimped-out tits or cumstuffed nuts, driving the feline closer to the edge every time they dared to go near the living room.

That they had to do it at least three times a day so their friend could be fed properly didn’t make it better, especially when Tim had to squeeze through a mountain of soft pudge just to get at the Lucario’s mouth while contending with the gurgling, the churning and, above all, the moaning. It was incessant, Zyg’s throat somehow still going after days and days of that constant, droning noise. The lynx assumed they’d get used to it at some point, but never did; every time their ears tuned in to it, it still made their fur stand on edge and their ears shoot upwards. It got to the point where Tim gave up and just started marking the days on a calendar, then sitting in front of it whenever they needed to concentrate, counting the time until they were finally free from that “torture”.

In any other set of circumstances, they’d be all over Zyg, especially with them as bloated as they were. With the clamps on though, as well as their productivity being already as high as it was, any further stimulation was akin to playing with fire on a hot summer’s day… in the middle of a dry forest. Anything could set the Lucario off and cause them to break free from their confines, especially after their tits started to push against the ceiling and dust regularly came down in small clouds whenever those mounds pulsated particularly badly.

Four days turned to three, then two and finally one, with the entirety of the living room now being occupied by Zygrado’s assets. The door had long-since been blocked by a single breast, requiring Tim to use the outside window just so they could have the slightest hope of reaching their friend during lunch and dinner. Even so, the Lucario hadn’t eaten anything in a solid day, their complaints falling on deaf ears as they didn’t manage to travel that far through his own body.

Besides, Tim knew that Zyg’s greatest meal was yet to come. Like clockwork, the clamps gave their three-hour warning at around the time the both of them estimated it should, causing Zygrado to panic and telling Tim to go fetch their raincoat and umbrella. Armed with a high-pressure pump and enough impermeable gear to withstand a Category Five hurricane, the feline readied themselves for the oncoming storm.

It was highly doubtful that the house would remain standing after those clamps came off. Hell, it’d be a miracle if the walls didn’t have several holes punched into them, or if the upstairs neighbour didn’t get a jet of cum piercing through their floor. All of Zyg was throbbing, eager to have its bounty released, while Tim waited with a phone in one hand.

One hour and things were getting worse. As if on cue, the Lucario’s body was quickly approaching a soft cap as it struggled against the house it was stuck inside, the whole building groaning almost as loudly as Zyg himself was, while Tim backed away gently from the engorging nipple in front of them, wary of the possibility that the clamp might hit them square in the head.

Half an hour and the lynx called the local emergency services, revealing to them the full extent of what was about to happen. Took a bit to convince them, but after a quick photo of the boob-blocked doorway, there were no further questions.

At five minutes, Tim gulped.

At two, they silently prayed for things to not go to hell.

At one, they were convinced all was lost.

And then the clamps came off.