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Triple Threat - Part 1 (Patreon Commission for Shrapnelthewolf)
🕑 Added 2022-06-23 14:06:02 +0000 UTCTAGS: Hyper, Growth/Expansion, F/M
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It was quite common for the neighbors to have to bring out the earplugs at around that time of day. What wasn’t common was for the noises to carry on past the three hour mark, but it wasn’t so rare that anyone would dare ask any questions; everyone knew the two people living in the tenth floor penthouse were insatiable to the point of absurdity, and everyone knew they had a chance of moving out when they first moved in, so it wasn’t as if they could complain now.
Still, there was always that sling twinge of annoyance at the couple for not trying to keep it down, at the very least. Considerations on property value aside, very few people wanted to be bombarded by the sounds of high-energy lovemaking on the daily, especially when there was a chorus of four voices turning the cacophony up to nearly unbearable levels. Really, it was on them for no getting the hell out of dodge the moment they were told they’d be subsidised if they so chose to do it; everyone assumed it had to be a trick, as opposed to a genuine offer of assistance.
So now everyone in the building had to deal with the rhythmic thumping, the throaty moaning, the constant calls for more, for faster, for whatever else came to the serval’s mind, all coupled with the occasional begging for help from the wolf that she was keeping captive between her thighs. All normal stuff really; the two of them had been going at it like rabid bunnies ever since they first met, and it wouldn’t be them being forced out of their home because of “water” damage that stopped them losing control on a regular basis.
If anything, having a fresh set of pumps and floor grates only gave them more of a reason to stress test their new domicile! Granted, this was mostly Liz’s idea than it was Shrapnel’s, but what was the wolf going to do, say no? When he had someone like her to share a house with? He’d sooner throw himself off a cliff, at least that had a chance at survival compared to denying that amazon’s sex drive.
Things had never been the same ever since that slight incident with the cursed artifact, and not just because it left Elizabeth so much bigger than her hubby that she could easily keep him pinned down using a single paw; fact was, if it had only been that, then the wolf would’ve been perfectly fine with the changes, enough so to try and stand his ground every once in a while… but the problem was, there were three Elizabeths now.
Or, technically, one Elizabeth with three brains attached, courtesy of her having developed two extra heads and becoming some sort of Cerberus cat. Both her and Shrapnel’s first reaction to the transformation was a mix of shock and absolute terror; neither of them quite knew what to make of the fact that the serval’s body now had three minds to it, each one perfectly independent of the other, yet incapable of moving the rest of their form unless a consensus was reached. Even worse was how, as far as any of the three Elizabeths knew, they were the “real” one, and not one of them could convince the others that they weren’t.
It took a while before the serval(s) reached a state of equilibrium, and even that much was only accomplished by taking a great deal of shortcuts that they were sure would bite them in the ass eventually; there wasn’t really a balance there as much as there was a tenuous agreement between the three of them to belay the “discussion”, as it was called, until such a point as they were ready to make the call on who would be the boss going forward.
Of course, all this did was give each head time to develop a sense of familiarity with their shared body, with the longer things went on leaving each mind more and more at home, more and more unwilling to step aside and let either of the other two take over completely. Plus, it wasn’t as if they could just go away; they were there now, and even in the unlikely event that all three of them agreed that one of them was the “real” Liz, that wouldn’t make the other two not exist.
For Shrapnel, this was the equivalent of watching someone audibly argue with themselves, with the unfortunate difference that their other selves actually replied, and in different tones of voices as well. He didn’t know how or why Elizabeth didn’t notice, but it seemed like her personality had been split almost evenly between the three heads; almost Freudian in nature, if he was so inclined to describe it, it appeared that one head had remained the voice of so-called reason (a word that did a great deal of work when dealing with Liz), while the other two took up the mantle of the extremes.
With one head being almost excessively lewd and overt, and the other far more reserved and conservative with her displays of affection, the former going out of her way to be playfully confrontational and the latter practically bending over backwards to coo over Shrapnel at every opportunity, things quickly became… confusing. The wolf never truly knew whether to treat any one of the heads as being the Elizabeth, or a Elizabeth, or whether to address any one head at all rather than the collective.
It didn’t help that the one thing all three servals agreed on was that they must confuse their wolf at every available opportunity. In spite of everything else, if there was one thing they unequivocally agreed was of the utmost necessity, it was keeping Shrapnel on the backfoot, wondering how to even deal with the entire situation to begin with… mostly because it left the wolf in such a state that their cheeks were nearly stained permanently red, his speech reduced to a stutter as he tried to come up with words where there were only confusing emotions.
Still, it was about the one thing the heads could agree on… that, and absolutely ruining the wolf whenever all four of them locked the door to the bedroom and spent a few hours going at it with an intensity that bordered on the outright feverish. It was easy to fall back to muscle memory in that case; three heads or not, the motions were burned into the serval’s motor neurons and muscles, requiring little to no conscious input in order for them to be carried out as they usually were. The heads may not agree on how to do it, but they didn’t need to, for there was nothing to agree on; there was one good way of fucking Shrapnel, and they’d uncovered it years prior.
Uncovered and exploited to their heart’s content as well. Even before the artifact, Elizabeth’s body had already undergone multiple changes from what had once been a perfectly reasonable set of proportions. She used to be people-sized, before constant exposure to Shrapnel’s spunk left her increasingly bigger and more unwieldy, until she couldn’t even go through doors without breaking the frames, or enter rooms without causing them to shake with every step.
Really, the extra heads were the cherry on top of the proverbial shake as far those two were concerned; having three sources of noise, three mouths to moan whenever the wolf’s gargantuan shaft pierced the serval’s lower lips, was exactly what they both needed to lose themselves in further into mindless lust than they normally did… to the point where they oftentimes just forgot about the fact that the growth-inducing sex hadn’t actually stopped just because Elizabeth had three heads now.
In fact, if anything, she seemed to be growing faster as of late; maybe it was the curse energies involved, maybe it was her reaching a point of exponential expansion, hell, it could be Shrapnel’s own infatuation for the new body plan that did it. Whatever it was, Elizabeth’s form had grown more and more excessive as of late, enough so that the wolf was beginning to feel as if he didn’t have enough on him to satisfy all of her demands.
This had never been a problem… until then. Until he was done one night and the serval kept prodding at him to keep going; until he was thoroughly spent and Elizabeth just… wasn’t. Embarrassing, to say the least, but she at least understood the issue when Shrapnel did his best to explain that, for once, he was actually spent. Unfortunately for him, this had only emboldened the big cat further, as she resolved to “fix” this issue by driving him to such extremes of endurance testing that his body was forced to compensate.
By all means, it had worked: he was bigger than ever before, his nuts were so productive that he often couldn’t even walk without being drained, and his libido had been spiked to such an extent that the mere notion of going without Elizabeth next to him for any length of time was as close to physically unbearable as any emotion could be. Of course, this did leave him as little more than an overproductive package with a wolf attached to it, but he couldn’t complain; he liked it that way, especially whenever Elizabeth climbed onto him and he got to hear her three voices crying out for his name in unison.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to last. His body had limits, and unless they were actively pushed, say, by a colossus such as Elizabeth, he had no choice but to obey them. As much as his nuts were slorshing so loudly that they practically hurt his ears, as much as each bassy thoom that came each time Liz slammed down on him left him feeling weaker than the actual impact, he could only do so much… and that meant he had to be coaxed into doing more.
The maths was simple: the serval wanted more, therefore, she should get more. This was one of the vanishingly few things the heads all agreed on, and even though they couldn’t come to a consensus on how best to approach bedside manner, all three of them recognised that their precious Shrapnel was in desperate need of another upgrade, and it was their job to provide one.
“Come on, runt!” the leftmost head practically snarled, bearing her teeth as the serval giantess’ left hand rushed to grab Shrapnel’s chest fluff, “I thought you were better than this! I thought you could do more!”
“Oh, let go of him, you’re scaring him!” came the immediate reply from the right head, drawing an extended sigh and a rolling of the eyes from the middle one, “We do this like last time, we just push him along until we’re done and then we’re fine!”
“I don’t wanna wait for five hours again, I wanna be stuffed now!”
“And I’d like for you two to shut up and focus on what’s important here!” the middle head intervened, just short of a shout, “We’re clearly in need of more here, so why don’t we cut the chatter and get our little pup to start producing like he should be, hmm?”
There was a certain tone to the way that sentence was uttered that utterly terrified the wolf. There, looming above him, was a three-headed cat who could probably crush him into a thin, fine powder if she so wanted it, and there wasn’t much he could do to prevent it if Elizabeth was so inclined. Such powerlessness should have left him trembling from head to toe… but instead, it drove him to whine instead, and not in a way he normally would either. He almost wanted it to happen, if for no other reason than to see what that giantess was truly capable of when motivated properly.
Of course, things wouldn’t be nearly as simple. Not for him. Not for the two of them.
In many ways, Shrapnel was not in full control of his body. He certainly liked to think that he was, but if that were the case, then he wouldn’t be there, in desperate need of release, yet unable to achieve it, now wouldn’t he? If he were in control, he’d be riding Elizabeth and stuffing her with enough seed to turn her into a cumblimp, rather than on the ground, his cock throbbing hard enough for it to be visible, and not a lick of pre to be seen.
Something else was in control there, though the wolf had no clue as to what it might be. Some kind of inner “him”, one that refused to surface yet reserved the right to control every aspect of his subconscious self? A primal Shrapnel, concerned mostly with maximising pleasure in the most painful of ways, one that remained hidden from the conscious Shrapnel, no matter how much the latter tried looking for it. Something that lurked deep down below in his animal brain, that decided when and how he could achieve release, that made sense.
Or, at least, as much sense as anything could make given the circumstances. The wolf was well aware that in any other circumstances, he would’ve blown already: a cock big enough to go from ground to ceiling and a pair of nuts to match, as well as a three-headed giantess of a serval there to keep him on the edge through visual stimulation alone; frankly, it was a miracle how he was still dry!
A miracle and a curse, given how his balls weren’t just going to sit pretty and refuse to overproduce just because they weren’t being vented. If anything, them being as pressurised as they were left them under so much stress that they appeared to be going on overdrive; unaware that their owner couldn’t achieve climax, perhaps they believed that, if they forced the issue hard enough, then Shrapnel would have to cum. They couldn’t know that he was incapable of such a thing; how could they, being a mindless part of him?
Thoughts like this ran through the wolf’s mind, presumably as its own way of defending itself from the onslaught of sensory overload that came from having a body like his denied for so long, and for no discernible reason. He could try and come up with an explanation for it, but ultimately, would it even matter? Whether or not he could explain why it was happening was pointless, because it was still happening and he couldn’t get away from that; as long as he didn’t find a solution, then he was well and truly screwed.
Even more so considering Liz wasn’t going to stop trying to get him to cum. With three heads to think and not one of them willing to consider the possibility that their precious pup might be clogged, the serval had one goal: force open the floodgates and get Shrapnel to stuff them as hard as he could. There would be no other option; the wolf would either give them what they wanted, or he would give them what they wanted.
Thus, it stood to reason that they should keep doing what they always did, that much the heads were in agreement. If it wasn’t broken, there was no point in fixing it: Shrapnel had always reacted well to having his bountiful feline splay herself all over his shaft, so there was no reason not to do so again; if anything, with his package being so engorged that it took up a significant chunk of the living room, all three Elizabeths recognised the need to get started as quickly as possible, since clearly the poor pup was in desperate need of good draining!
And they weren’t wrong, was the worst part: he did need a good draining, seeing as, without one, there was a reasonable chance he might just burst, and then something bad would definitely happen. What, he had no idea, but the last time he went for long without getting some release… suffice it to say, there used to be a large stadium downtown, and it used to be the pride and joy of the local baseball team. Used to being the keywords there.
Shrapnel couldn’t afford another episode like that one (and quite literally so), but, at the same time, what was he expected to do? He couldn’t just tell his body to start cooperating; it wasn’t as if he was voice-activated and could cum on command if only the correct sequence of words was spoken aloud. He needed something, or someone in this case, to bring him to the edge and then further beyond, the problem being he was far past that and still hadn’t blown his load, despite all indication that he should’ve.
Elizabeth did not take this well. In a way, it was exactly what Shrapnel had been looking for: all three heads were definitely in full agreement with one another, seeing as the one thought that permeated them was the all-consuming need to get their pup to cum. Nothing else mattered; so long as both sides were dry, then clearly there were more important things to do. Sadly, the wellspring of energy that was the serval could only go so far when the door it was trying to power through was no door at all, but a wall; it could certainly do its best to break through it, but without a lock, how was the key to work?
It was only then that Elizabeth realised how spoiled she’d been all that time. Years spent with Shrapnel had “taught” her that the wolf could be set off with the smallest of gestures, “taught” her that all she needed to do was wiggle her ass in front of his face, or shove said face into her tits, for the wolf to lose control over himself. That this was only made easier as she grew larger didn’t help; now that she was stuck in a position where none of her old tricks worked, she had no idea what to do next.
So, clearly, she had to get inventive.
It wasn’t enough for her to be big, she had to put in some effort in getting Shrapnel to blow. Plus, she had three perfectly functional heads to think up new ideas, three heads united in their one goal of getting their precious pup to cum already; surely, if they just took a step back and actually thought things through, they should be able to come up with something.
Should being the operating word, because, as it turned out, there weren’t a lot of ideas rolling around in Elizabeth’s heads that weren’t a variation of “rub against Shrapnel” or “make him bigger”; one-trick ponies, perhaps, but could she be blamed at all? The wolf was still growing, so clearly there was something else wrong there; if she wasn’t supposed to rub herself all over that shaft, then maybe said shaft shouldn’t be getting bigger every time squeezed it or ran her tits from top to bottom! Maybe, if she wasn’t supposed to be doing it, then it should stop responding!
Clearly, the problem lay elsewhere… though where was a very good question. The only thing Elizabeth’s many heads could think of was to try and keep digging that hole: surely, if they kept going, they’d eventually tunnel out the other end and circle back to making it work; there had to be an upper limit to how much punishment Shrapnel’s body could take, and with him being on the ground gasping for breath already, they were definitely close enough to this limit that all the serval had to do was have some patience.
Patience and perseverance. The wolf’s knot was bulging outwards so much that it was a wonder it remained dry at all; normally, with it at that size, it was slick with at least enough pre to fill up a whole swimming pool, and that was during Shrapnel’s low days. It was an interesting opportunity for Elizabeth’s heads to observe their pup’s anatomy without having enough spunk in the way that it became a full canvas of white; not that she was going to take it, being more interested in drawing out said canvas of white, but still.
Imposing, that’s what she figured the right word would be. Imposing, and definitely oversized for the poor guy who had to handle it; Shrapnel looked so tiny next to his own package that it bordered on the comical: a little wolf, attached to a package several times his size, having to spread his legs just so he could make room for a fraction of his balls’ volume. A diminutive male, whose apparatus was so much larger than they were that said male could hardly be said to be the dominant half at all.
And yet, no matter how much the three heads tried their best to entice that cock into giving them its sweet, thick filling, nothing happened. Or rather, plenty of things happened… internally. There was still the ever-present groaning and stretching of skin, as Shrapnel’s balls were stuffed beyond measure and forced to grow to accomodate for all the backed-up seed; there was still the creaking of leather as that already-gargantuan shaft was made to grow even bigger, having to bend when next to the ceiling after running out of room.
There was still Shrapnel himself moaning and whining, begging for her to get on with it and please finish him off, and there was still herself, panting, mumbling her three breaths, straining her already-overtaxed lungs even further as the atmosphere in the room grew hotter still. Yet, no matter how far any of this was taken, there was never any true release; no matter how close Shrapnel came to climax, he never achieved it, leaving him to lie there in his misery as he tried to mentally process what was happening to him and failed miserably at doing so.
But that wasn’t going to stop Elizabeth; it wouldn’t have done so when she had one head, and it definitely wasn’t going to now that she had three to psych herself up with. Whenever one of her selves showed any sign of faltering, the other two stepped in, reminding them of what was waiting for them at the end of the tunnel if only they kept going. If they kept rubbing themselves against that shaft, it would eventually blow; if they kept kneading those balls, they’d eventually clench and release their bounty. If they kept moaning themselves, they’d eventually activate the right neuron sequence to get Shrapnel’s brain to open the floodgates.
But for Shrapnel, none of this seemed to work… at first. While easy at first to miss in an ocean of horrid sensations that seemed designed to bring him to the edge of madness rather than pleasure, there was eventually something there that resembled what he used to feel in those situations; a reminder, perhaps, of what he’d lost, ready to be pushed to the forefront of his mind if only he knew exactly how to draw it out.
He saw, there, his release, his climax, what he needed more than just wanted, a way for his battered self to achieve the sexual nirvana that had been denied to him for so long. Just there, right in front of his eyes, ready to be plucked from the aether… but how? The whole world seemed to spin and vanish before him, leaving him locked in the dark with nothing but his own mind and this distant light, beckoning, taunting, insulting him with its existence. He was inside himself, with even Elizabeth’s cries and calls too distant for him to care about, and in that moment, the one thing that mattered was getting to that finish line.
It no longer mattered how he did it, so long as he did; Shrapnel would happily take a deal with the literal devil if it meant he could finally cum.
