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A Dinner Date - Part 2 (Patreon Commission+ for ShrapnelTheWolf)
🕑 Added 2022-02-28 16:58:06 +0000 UTCTAGS: Hyper/Very Hyper, Growth/Expansion, Clothes Bursting
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Cold reality, where he wasn’t floating in an ocean of rose petals, but instead struggling to keep himself together after having his libido spiked and his control board effortlessly shorted out by a serval that seemed to be spending a great deal of energy convincing a very concerned-looking waiter that everything was fine and her “little pup” was just having an “episode” that would clear itself out in due time. Not exactly convincing, but then again, the employee wasn’t being paid nearly enough to question the customers’ decisions, not when the sanitation and health regulations of the restaurant were on the line. Then again, everyone could tell that Shrapnel was about to blow, but he just so happened to be in that right spot where no one wanted to get near him, for fear of setting the wolf off. No one but Elizabeth, who seemed intent on pressing her mate’s buttons without even so much as grazing them, a near-supernatural talent when employed with the efficiency she usually did. Shrapnel himself was left not knowing what his fate was meant to be: was he just going to sit there and keep bloating? That seemed somewhat counter-productive to Elizabeth’s stated goal of keeping them from being banned from the restaurant, nevermind how much this wasn’t the case; then again, she was spending a great deal of energy trying to convince the waiter that nothing bad was going to happen, so who knew? Shrap certainly didn’t, stuck as he was looking down at himself while trying his best not to lose whatever little control he still had. He could barely even see anymore either, his vision having tunelled to the point where he could maybe glimpse part of his nuts as they swelled outwards, or a section of Elizabeth’s bust, jiggling so invitingly that it took everything he had in him not to reach out and touch… and even then he still learned forward, forcing the serval to bap him on the forehead while issuing multiple apologies to the poor unfortunate young man who was trying to ask why there was precum all over the floor. Shrapnel didn’t even offer the most token of resistance when he was pulled out of his seat and towards the door; he figured that, if Elizabeth was doing it, then had to have a reason for it, and he’d learned a long time prior that if the serval had a reason for something that involved him and his episodes, it was usually right on the money. Better to trust her and forgo agency than try and make a decision on his own and probably end up smashing his face against a wall somewhere while trying to hump a hole in it; at least this way he found himself out in the great outdoors where he could breathe again, even if there were a lot of people suddenly gasping and pointing at him… or at least a very specific part of him. He didn’t mind though; if anything, it’d be hard not to notice that his nuts were almost to the ground and his sheath was big enough he could probably plunge his entire upper body in there. The cockring had done its job wonderfully, enough so that he could barely even feel it anymore; whether it be numbness or the fact that it adapted to his body perfectly, Shrapnel didn’t know, nor particularly cared to find out. Now was the time for Elizabeth to come and drag him home, giggling as she walked through the crowd, pulling him by the end and deftly avoiding crashing into anyone. The wolf’s tunnel vision, at least, was still wide enough that he could keep track of where the serval was going, even if he did bump into multiple pedestrians along the way and failed to keep himself from stumbling on his own nutsack at least twice or thrice. It was hard to keep count when most of his blood was downstairs, or when his nose was being assaulted by the sheer density of the musk cloud emanating from below. It was an unfortunate reality that he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to get accustomed to, and one he sincerely hoped he would never once actually get used to. It’d be a crying shame, no longer taking a whiff and being driven absolutely insane by his own scent, to breathe in deeply and not lose his mind just from the pheromones wafting off of him. He knew Liz thought the same as well: he was right about her tail, buzzing around and all fluffed up as the serval did her best to get home as quickly as possible without just crossing the street in the middle of a massive traffic jam. Still, she deftly navigated her way through to the couple’s apartment, practically smashing her way through the front door and slamming it shut just behind Shrapnel when he came in, giving him a quick peck on the cheek and telling him to “be quiet” while she “got ready”. With that, Elizabeth vanished into their bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaving her mate to just… stand there. The absolute worst of fates, as far as he was concerned; if only she would’ve been kind enough to give him some manner of instructions, something to do while he waited, then perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe, if Elizabeth had told him what she was planning to do, then he wouldn’t feel like he’d just been abandoned, and would at least be able to do something other than stand around looking like an abandoned puppy. Then again, he was one, but that was hardly the point; no, what mattered was that Liz said she’d be back, so she’d be back, end of story, and it wasn’t important that he felt like he was about to pop, nor that his nutsack was swelling so quickly that Shrapnel found himself having to spread his legs far sooner than usual. There was definitely something in that drink she gave him, but he couldn’t just up and ask her what it was, not when he was so busy growing; half of him even wanted to take the cockring off, but the other half was kind enough to remind him that the damned thing came off when Liz said it did, and not a moment too soon. Granted, not a lot that could happen without the serval being there to help relieve some of the pressure, but what else was he supposed to do beyond fantasize about what was going to happen next? It was either that or just stand around feeling himself growing fuller, and while he definitely felt that much in his soul, he had better things to do to pass the time. Or did he? Hard to tell; hard to think when he was having to lean back against the nearest wall just to keep from collapsing, or when his legs were trembling so much that the two cumtanks underneath him started to look like a pretty decent throne for him to sit upon. Of course, he couldn’t just sit on him, that ran a terrible risk of setting him off, and then who was going to clean the walls after he was done? Certainly not Elizabeth, who was doing whatever it was she was doing off in the bedroom; certainly not himself, he’d be too busy spending several hours in his refractory period after flooding the whole building again. No, what he needed was the serval by his side to come and help him deal with what had to be the biggest case of blue balls that side of wherever he was; really, just the fact that he was even expected to remain conscious when both of his nuts put together were rapidly outsizing the two’s couch in the living room was preposterous, to say the least. Even worse, his cock had still not emerged, a product of his sheath being very much firmly plugged and unable to let the monster through. Shrapnel could hear his nuts gurgling, could hear the cum production rising in an endless crescendo; he knew that noise, knew how much that meant he was in for a great time… assuming Elizabeth got there before something bad happened. She hadn’t at times; on occasion, the serval’s teasing was so good that she didn’t catch him before the floodgates were opened, which was likely to be the real reason she was so insistent on using a cockring that night. He got maybe a couple of steps in the direction of that thought process when he heard the door to the couple’s bedroom open at his side, revealing the interior to be… empty. Elizabeth liked to do that: she adored those moments in the limelight, where her more theatrical streak could be brought to bear and used to its utmost. There was no reason for her to delay her entry beside tantalizing Shrapnel further, but as far as she was concerned, that was reason enough: as long as it made the wolf hornier, then she would gleefully do it, even if it cost her precious time and resources. And do it she did, at least judging from the way she looked when Elizabeth finally came into frame, barely fitting through the door and causing Shrapnel’s blood pressure to skyrocket to levels that could charitably be described as dangerous. She was always a big woman, always one to exaggerate her proportions whenever possible and then turn around to dress in a way that would only leave them even more accentuated; she wasn’t one to hide, though the serval had learned the valuable lesson of not fully exposing her abilities unless absolutely necessary. For she was that most rare type of hyper, not just someone who was big by nature, but also one of the select few that could actively choose to make parts of herself larger or smaller on a whim. Technically speaking, she could walk around as a perfectly flat and utterly featureless gracious young woman, as perhaps befitting her species; it wasn’t exactly normal to see a serval with those sorts of proportions, and yet, for some reason, Liz always managed to make them look perfectly natural, even if slightly strained at times. What few people knew, and what she worked hard to keep them from knowing, is that what she looked like in public was nothing but a fraction of what she was capable of. Truth be told, even Shrapnel had no clue how big the cat could get, not when she often refused to stop growing past the point where he could remain conscious underneath the advance of her bust or rump. It could be that there was no limit, and the serval could just keep going until there was no more room left to fill; it was unlikely, given that even other growers had hard caps to how far they could go, but he hadn’t spotted Liz’s yet, and she was very adamant in stretching her limits when the two of them were home alone… just like then. He couldn’t come up with an adequate comparison; hell, it felt to him that trying to do so would be a waste of time, since nothing could ever truly compare. Indeed, when he looked at Elizabeth, all he saw were her tits, completely covering everything from her collarbone down to the ground, squishing against the soft carpet and making it impossible for the serval to get through the door to where he was waiting. Yet, she did it anyway; maybe it was her natural flexibility, maybe it was a supernatural power, but whatever she did, Elizabeth somehow squeezed through and popped out the other end, slorshing aggressively as she promptly got stuck when trying to get her rear end through as well. It was, after all, about as large as her tits were, and that was saying something given how utterly colossal she had made them. Yet, there was something else that was patently obvious about her and made the rest of her exaggerated proportions look downright contained by comparison, something that Liz very rarely brought out, but whenever she did, made Shrapnel completely lose his mind, to an even greater extent than he usually did. It was somewhat hidden away, what with her tits out in front and her ass in the back providing ample cover, but it was there; he could see bits of it, but above all, he could smell it, the powerful scent of femcum as it gushed down in horribly vast quantities, so terribly excessive, downright obscene really, and yet just exactly what the doctor ordered for the wolf. It must be a special night indeed for the serval to make her muff that large, and to throw out even extra lubrication on top of it; then again, she was dressed in a set of lingerie he’d never seen before, so it was likely the cat had been planning for that night for a while already, only making the deception at the restaurant that much more ridiculous, and that much more enticing on top of it. He didn’t know why, but being played like that just made it better, doubly so when Elizabeth opened her mouth and the first words out of it were calling him all manner of synonyms for gullible, with a tone that made it more than obvious that she was enjoying the experience far more than she had any right to. It was beautiful, and when she approached him, when she forced her way through the doorframe after cracking it in several spots, he knew he was in good hands… and literally so, seeing as the first thing that Liz did was throw herself at his nuts with his arms wide open. It didn’t quite work as intended, seeing as her tits were in the way; each one was bigger than the whole serval had been before going into the couple’s room, each one was stuffed to the nines and heavier than Shrapnel ever remembered them being, and, perhaps most importantly, each one was capped by a nipple that was both bigger than his head, and had an areola of such colossal girth that it nearly covered the entire front half of the tit itself! Really, the lingerie was nothing if not a pointless formality, one that Liz most likely had brought out purely so she could tease him further… and, if so, she definitely succeeded there. He wasn’t thinking about anything other than her, couldn’t think of anything other than her, and if not for the fact that he was very much rooted in place thanks to his own weight, he would’ve bent the serval in half and been rutting her from the moment she plopped out of their room. Alas, he was too big, too full, too ridiculously overproductive to do such a thing; he could certainly try, for all the good it would do to him, but that hardly meant anything when he had both his own weight pinning him down and that of Elizabeth’s keeping him from going anywhere by way of her tight, almost constricting hold over his still-swell sack. It would’ve been painful, were it not for who was doing it; the serval knew exactly how far she could go before things went from merely being on the edge to actually tipping over it, and while she enjoyed toeing that line perhaps a bit too much for Shrapnel’s liking, he had to admit that at no point had Liz ever breached that trust. She came close, and multiple times in fact, but never quite that far… and each time, Shrap was nonetheless left wondering what it would’ve been like if his beloved had taken the extra step, if she had gone through and done something to him that she couldn’t take back. Not thoughts he ever saw himself having, but when having tits bigger than people shoved into his face became the norm, suddenly regular perspectives stopped making any sense whatsoever. Better that he go with the flow, especially considering the “flow” coming from Elizabeth herself; one wondered where exactly she found the energy and water levels needed to gush with so much femcum of her own, the thick carpeting of the stuff enough to beat out Shrapnel’s own pre production. Granted, he still had the cockring on him, so the trickle coming out from his exposed sheath was but a fraction of a fraction of what he was actually capable of, but still, impressive for someone whose main factories were located on her chest, not between her legs. Perhaps that was the point: get his nose so overwhelmed by the scent of it all that he would incapable of processing any thought that wasn’t that of rutting, aided along by having a pair of breasts of such colossal caliber being used to massage his nuts like it was the most normal thing on the planet, all while a fat rump bigger than a whole triple-wide sofa wiggled in the air behind the serval, swaying with each of her motions. It made him want to reach out, want to bring his grabby, greedy hands over so he could sink his fingers into the soft pudge until he couldn’t see them anymore, gone and vanished all the way up to the wrists like he was kneading dough. He wanted to grab into it, use it to plow into his mate until muscle memory took over and he gradually lost sight of his own sentience, traded in for pure animalistic and bestial energy. He wanted to give himself up to it all, and he couldn’t do it while sitting down… but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t move from where he was without tipping over in the process and ending up covered on all sides by his nuts, nor could he try and do anything to Liz, given the state he was in. Hell, even if he could, the serval was too busy climbing all over him for the wolf to get a single opening; much as he might want to move, there was something to be said about just sitting there, waiting for things to come to him, waiting for Elizabeth to do what she did best and just play him like a fiddle. He’d long-since stopped trying to make any sense of how she even began to be as elastic and flexible as she was; it was the sort of question one did not ask, lest one be given an answer one didn’t particularly enjoy. It was black magic of the highest caliber, and that was exactly how Shrapnel liked it: inexplicable, and yet delightful, though “delightful” might be underselling what he felt when the touch of the serval’s hands on his body was such that he almost climaxed from it alone… though, to be fair, that was likely to be due mostly to how close to the edge he already was rather than any magically transient property, but he preferred to think the latter was true, it made it even better than what it already was. She was Elizabeth, her magical little kitten (for a given meaning of “little”, at least), and she was going to break him in half upon her knee with no more effort than she would swat a fly. Hell, just looking at him was enough to make him quiver, that deep and piercing stare that felt like it punched straight through him and down to his very soul. Yet, unlike so many others whose similar expressions would transmit nothing but murderous intent or hatred, what Shrapnel saw in those deep purple pits of hers was naught but love and adoration… and a little bit of protectiveness as well, just enough to make Liz turn around and proclaim him to be “her puppy” or other such appelations should anyone try to make a pass at him. It always made him jumpy; whenever he heard those words attached to him or his name, it made his spine tingle and his body warm up to an almost unhealthy degree, enough so that he often had to tug at her shirt and quietly beg her to let him go back home before he exploded all over the place. But he never once asked her to stop; to do so would be to deprive himself of one of the greatest sources of joy in his life, the ability to listen as someone called him a “good boy”, or any number of words for “pup” that he absolutely refused to admit made him hornier than tits did at times. It was all mood-based, obviously, but when it hit, it hit, and hard enough that Elizabeth would very quickly find herself pinned against a wall and then bent over in a mating press she wouldn’t be able to break free from even if she tried. But there, there in their foyer, right after the serval showed herself with her new gargantuan proportions, there was nothing of the sort; all control was in Liz’s hands, and if Shrap wanted any agency, no matter how tiny a scrap of it, he was going to have to work for it, rip it from his beloved’s hands so that it meant something. She would not allow him to merely take the lead, he had to earn it, he had to fight for it, and that meant powering through the haze of horny keeping him half-unconscious and actually doing something with himself, rather than sitting there moaning as his truck-sized nuts took over most of the house around him. The two of them were lucky they were subsidized and covered by a state-provided insurance program; wouldn’t be the first time they had to leave their house in ruins behind before moving to a new one on account of them being incapable of keeping it in their pants for more than an hour or two. How exactly no one thought to preemptively put a stop to it through copious amounts of libido suppressants was anyone’s guess, but as long as they didn’t, the disasters were just gonna keep happening. Nothing anyone could do but watch as both Elizabeth and Shrapnel once again rose up to a climax and then kept on going, not particularly caring about whether or not they “should” have stopped or if their biological impossibility had reached a point where it had to start collapsing reality just so it could work. They were horny, they were big, they were growing, and that was all that mattered, frankly; anything else were just meaningless details that no one had any real right to quibble about, and the two lovers had no intention of paying attention to. Liz had milk to make and an ass to grow, not to mention a muff that only became bigger and meatier the more aroused she became, while Shrapnel was busy overproducing spunk at such an enormous rate that, were he to actually pay attention to what his body was telling him, he’d be able to tell his balls were touching opposite ends of the foyer and crushing the walls into thin plaster powder already. If he were to pay attention, he would’ve heard the roof start to groan, the whole structure of the house begin to creak as he, once again, became too big for mere buildings to hold him down. He was going to be outside in a few minutes whether or not he liked it, and the rest of the world was going to see him as well… at least, for a few seconds, before they turned around and ran if they knew what was good for them. That is, unless they wanted to be buried underneath an avalanche of nutflesh big enough to topple entire city blocks, which, to be fair, might actually include a few people, some of whom had an odd tendency of being around wherever Liz and Shrapnel were; maybe coincidence… maybe.
