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A Shift In Priorities - Part 1 (Commission for bassman97)
🕑 Added 2022-01-07 13:49:06 +0000 UTCTAGS: Lycanroc, Growth/Expansion, Pent-Up/Pent-Up Growth, Muscle Growth, Hyper, Hyper Cock/Balls
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It was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but then again, it was entirely his choice to do so. For years he’d heard about that challenge, and for years he wondered whether he should just buckle up, give up trying to come up with excuses, and just do it. Granted, there was a good reason not to, given his unfortunate tendency to go completely out of control whenever he was dumb enough to deny himself, but what was life without some measure of risk? What would his existence be if he didn’t deliberately throw in a few monkey wrenches into the machine, hoping it would cause enough chaos that it would lead to the whole thing falling apart within moments? At least, that’s what he kept telling himself when he woke up on the first and decided that it would be a fantastic idea to flip the proverbial switch and undergo a long, arduous, and potentially hyper-destructive period of orgasm denial, purely to celebrate the festivity of a month which he wasn’t even certain of the origins of. Trent knew, and not even on a particularly deep level, that doing this was beyond idiotic; he was built to cum, and to do so on a very regular basis, to the point where merely willing himself not to almost immediately caused intense discomfort before it melted away into a kind of half-formed pleasure mixed with a sense of overbearing pressure. Still, it was early enough that he could afford not to think too much about it, nevermind the fact that even on getting out of bed, the Lycanroc could already feel a slight difference; it wasn’t enough to be noticeable, or indeed enough for it to be visible, but he knew. He knew his body better than anyone else, and the second he decided he was going to use his considerable willpower to keep himself from cumming for an entire month, that’s when his balls began overproducing, his cock started to stretch out, and his entire body decided to pack on additional mass. The best part of it all, however, was that it was slow… at first, at least. This allowed the Lycanroc to carry on with the polite fiction that everything was fine, that he could just go around his house doing chores all day while nothing interesting at all took place; meanwhile, his body was busy dialing up the decimals (or millesimals, as the case may be) while the clock ticking down to midnight carried on with its inexorable advance. It was an interesting state of affairs, especially since, by the time he reached lunch, Trent was already noticeably larger than before: his head was closer to the tops of doorframes in his home, and the weight he had slung between his legs was… somewhat harder to ignore, for lack of a better word. Yet, still he carried on; despite the very clear evidence that he wouldn’t get past a day, much less an entire month, Trent insisted that he at least give it a good try. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone wild a couple of times before, enough that he knew exactly when to stop if he ever needed to; not that he felt like he did, what with the sense of power overwhelming making it supremely difficult to turn around and say no when his libido began demanding he go further and further with how far his “line” was drawn. It got to the point where, effectively, there was no line; he would do whatever he damn well wanted, with no excuses, no reasoning, no nothing beyond how good it felt at any given time, even when he became so large that it was genuinely impeditive to him functioning on a daily basis. This was, ultimately, his cross to bear; just after he was done with lunch, getting up from his chair was… quite a bit harder than before, enough so that he had to anchor one hand on the wall and another on the table, nearly tipping the latter with how much force he was putting into it. He couldn’t help himself though; it was either do that, or remain seated at the dinner table for the rest of the day, what with how complicated it was to walk around with a pair of weights like his nuts to make his day so much worse (better?). He didn’t even try to make out how large they were already, figuring that going around nude the whole day was the best option; Trent believed, not without reason, that looking down would only do more bad than good, that he should keep his mind focused on going forward, rather than whatever was happening just below his peripheral vision. That this caused significant distress to his libido was entirely unimportant. It only mattered that he kept going, and if at any point he stopped, no matter how good it felt, it was doubtful that he’d ever be able to keep moving again. Not that he was immobilized… yet, at least. It would happen eventually, that much he knew, but as he did his best to get comfortable on the couch, spreading his legs wide after making sure all that creaking wasn’t going to destroy the springs, it almost felt like he could just… be. Even when his body’s weight was such that the upholstery loudly complained about being forced to handle him, even with he truly had to keep his legs as far apart as possible just to prevent them from rubbing against a pair of oversized nuts begging for release and stimulation, it was still possible for him to pretend like he wasn’t on the cusp of losing it entirely. That much was for midnight, he kept fooling himself, that much was for his more bestial self, not the civilized and polite young Lycanroc who happened to be watching television while completely naked, slowly growing out to fill his couch, one hand perpetually stuck in midair as it subconsciously fought against its own desire to grab onto Trent’s cock to give it exactly what it wanted and needed. He wasn’t even aware of this; he only noticed when his arm grew tired and attracted his eyes, at which point he was left perplexed as to why part of him would move like that without him noticing or ordering it to. Shrugging, he fought off the instinctive reaction to know that it was entirely wrong and shouldn’t have happened, believing it to be better, safer that way; if he kept pretending that everything was fine, that he wasn’t slowly becoming a monstrous version of himself that would most likely bring the whole house down, then he could enjoy some quality television, even if he had no idea what was actually on. It was, after all, difficult to think about anything when most of his brain’s processing power was being used up in the ungodly amount of pleasure he was receiving from just about everywhere on him, with the rest of it being spent masking this state of affairs and maintaining Trent’s appearance of normality. No, he wasn’t edging on the brink of orgasm now that he’d pushed past six meters in height with a cock large enough to serve as a body pillow and a pair of nuts that could compete with a beanbag for size; he was absolutely fine, and not at all just a second or two away from completely losing control of himself, his urges, his motor control, and whatever else passed for his ability to restrain his more primal impulses. Worse yet, there would be no reprieve; there was no “thankfully” anything, on account of his condition only having one way to go now that he had set his mind on his course: worse. He would only get bigger, he would only get fuller, he would only get more productive, and the longer he carried on with this foolish desire to deny himself a release that he was biologically programmed to require, the more disastrous the consequences were going to be. Yet, as he felt his body begin to stretch in earnest, his frame expanding in every direction as a result of his complete lack of regard for his own safety, Trent couldn’t help but feel like this was a wonderful idea; that somehow, against all logic and good sense, forcing himself to not cum for a whole month wasn’t entirely stupid and pointless, but a desirable outcome, even if reality very violently disagreed. His precum alone would already put most males to shame, and he wasn’t even trying; Trent, above all others, knew very well just how much he could output when his body got serious about things, so for him, looking on as his cock produced a wave of spunk with each twitch, where each heartbeat resulted in enough pre being spurted out that it smeared against the wall in front of him, was nothing if not… well, not normal, per se, but mundane, expectable in fact. It was nothing if not the direct result of his actions, nothing if not his just comeuppance after he decided to do something as nonsensical as not cumming for the sake of a challenge no one truly cared about beyond internet brownie points. And yet, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it, something that made it worth the time, if not necessarily the effort; it was likely just his other self, the midnight form already taking shape as night approached and Trent’s body was prepared for the change. That beast never knew when to give up, and would sooner find itself dead or dying over a roasting fire than giving up a chance at rapturous pleasure if one was offered. The Lycanroc had seldom felt his other side impose itself in such a manner outside of its active hours; indeed, he was genuinely somewhat scared that he was falling prey to those impulses without necessarily being in his altered state… at least, for a few seconds. The pleasure highs were getting harder to ignore as time passed and his body continuously improved, again and again, with the serotonin hits reaching levels that weren’t technically possible, yet his brain insisted on providing regardless. It made it all-but impossible for him to think about anything other than how to best improve each and every “hit”, how to make the enjoyment last longer, be more powerful, affect more of him; before long, he was openly growling, his tongue lolling out of a mouth that hadn’t been closed in a good hour, with a trickle of drool running over neckbulk so well-defined that it was less a support strut for his head and more a gargantuan tree trunk keeping his braincase nice and perched atop it. All the way down, of course, to a set of pecs of such heft that one could probably use them as a shelf, and it was only the start; the rest of him was about as buff, but Trent more than others knew than this was only step one. These sorts of sizes were only the beginning, as he normally developed them as his midnight self regardless of how much growth he had undergone already; for him to be that big and that strong before his body switched over to its truly animalistic state, well… one could only imagine how things would be like. Not that it would have to remain within the halls of imagination for much longer; night was fast approaching, and with it, his descent into complete and utter madness, into the sort of breeding and growth potential that only someone as blessed by genetics as he was could truly experience. None knew what it was like… but, given what sort of process he was undergoing, Trent was certain he was about to make everyone else find out, whether they liked to or not. Just as soon as he flipped, of course; no point waiting for his regular form to do something it wasn’t (yet) capable of. Of course, he wasn’t that far off; just a couple of hours at most, if even that much, before his body reached the threshold and went flying right past it; he could only imagine what it would be like, when he finally transformed into a shape that was at once so much more powerful, yet so much more primal than the one he already had. It almost felt unthinkable for that to be the case; with him already as muscular as he was, and his package having engorged to the point where it was doubtful he’d be capable of moving around even if he wanted to, the idea that he might get even bigger was, if nothing else, then downright fantasy. Yet, Trent knew this wasn’t the case; no matter how outlandish it seemed, he knew full well that the moment he flipped, even his already-prodigious size would look downright puny in comparison to what he was capable of, a terrifying thought to be sure… yet one that left him trembling at the possibilities, knowing as he did that it was only the beginning. He was, at the end of the day, naught but a biological machine; everyone was, to some extent, but it just so happened that his mechanisms were far more fine-tuned than most. While the vast majority of males had to contend with a body that produced only as much as it technically “needed”, for a given meaning of that word, the Lycanroc’s biology knew no such limitations; not only did it just keep going, but it increased the rate of production itself as time went along, placing Trent very much between a rock and a hard place: he either achieved climax, releasing his pent-up seed but renouncing the challenge and his exercise in willpower… or he kept going, only making the situation worse. Such was the issue with exponentials: even if they started out small, they had a way of building up over time, such that even a point-oh-oh-one percent addition over time eventually turned itself into something with a similar number of digits, yet none of the decimals. Indeed, Trent was already seeing it happen right in front of him: not only was his dick about as thick as he was wide (quite the feat considering the width of his shoulders), but it was longer than he was tall, an accomplishment mirrored only by the positively gargantuan set of cumtanks he had underneath him, which had effectively outsized his couch already… each. He couldn’t even see the television anymore; there was a great big wall of fur and taut skin in between himself and the monitor, one that rumbled and grumbled and roiled and slorshed with the impossible amounts of spunk it was hiding just beneath the surface, with the pressure being so much that his precum alone far surpassed the full release of even the biggest of hypers. It was his cross to bear though, no one else’s, though “cross” might be overdoing it slightly; it wasn’t as if Trent in any way disliked going through the experience (far from it, actually), but more so a realization that no one else on the planet had this level of productivity at their beck and call. It wasn’t outright impossible for other hypers to experience temporary spurts that would lead to them potentially outstripping him in raw productivity, but these were just that: temporary. Usually, they required ample amounts of chemicals being pumped through their veins, as well as a frankly absurd amount of secondary requirements, such as the right genetic sequence or the correct manifestation of specific mutations; it was always a transformation that others had to work for, rather than simply being gifted with it like Trent was… and Trent was very much aware of this, and dangerously proud of this fact. So much so that, when the tip of his cock bumped against the ceiling, and the shaft had to start bending over ever so slightly, thus leading to him being bathed in his own pre, the Lycanroc did nothing to stop it; even when he saw the moon rising through his window, heralding the start of his transformation into his midnight form, he didn’t lift a single finger to make the whole thing even remotely safe or sane. By then, all he could think of was how to maximize his enjoyment, how to feel more pleasure and in ever greater and more powerful quantities, and if that meant abusing his kind’s transformative abilities in order to give himself additional size, then that was just what had to happen.
