mavortheturnip
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Bad Call - Part 1 (Commission for sugnanayr)
🕑 Added 2021-09-26 12:08:04 +0000 UTCTAGS: Growth, Hyper, Growthlust, Heat/Heat Growth (not temperature)
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As it turned out, ignoring the problem didn’t make it go away. It was childish to think it’d do so, especially since it was a biological necessity in her species, but with the amount of work she had to do and the responsibilities placed on her, Samantha fooled herself into thinking that if she just didn’t think about it, if she just shunted those thoughts to the back of her head for once in her life, she could go through a mating season without having to worry about the possibility of actually getting knocked up. The vixen had so far avoided anything of the sort, though how exactly she was so lucky was anyone’s guess; her body was just as fertile as any other person, and it wasn’t as if she was taking any special precautions when most of her kind were too busy trying to find the nearest vulpine to rut in order to get the heat out of their system. That she had successfully dodged any pregnancies up until that point was nothing short of a miracle, but with every year that passed, and every season that came and went, Samantha was left increasingly terrified by the notion that this time would be the one, and her life would suddenly turn upside down, leaving her unable to reconcile her new family with her professional life… hence, deciding to ignore the incessant need to breed. It was far harder than she thought it would be, and every day she woke up thinking that her mind was going to snap in half from the strain; most of her private time back at home was spent trying to keep herself distracted, pleasuring herself in whatever way she could find just so her body would feel even halfway satisfied. It didn’t work, obviously; there was a stark difference between reaching climax using her fingers or a plastic phallus and doing so with the real, not to mention the fact that her reproductive system was hungry for some actual seed, copious amounts of in fact, leaving Samantha somehow even hungrier for physical stimulation after each time she reached climax. It was as if her mind was telling her that if she could do it on her own, then she should be going for the proper prize, while a small part of her, the one that the vixen clung onto, held out against the vast siege of her instinctual needs, trying to batter down the walls and take over the keep at the center of her mind. But she refused to give in; she had a promotion she needed to justify, even if keeping her focus during work hours had become all-but impossible, doubly so once the other foxes and vixens around the office were given leave to fuck one another in the bathroom just to get the horny out of their system. Many asked her why she wasn’t taking up that offer as well, and though Samantha always refused to give a response, the answer would soon become apparent in other, far more obvious ways. It didn’t even surprise her, at least not in the libido-overdriven state that she was, when she got up from bed one morning and felt something tugging at her back; it took a few seconds for her eyes to look down and realize that there was a lot more cleavage there than there had been the night before, and even longer for this reality to sink in and the vixen to click all the puzzle pieces in place. By the time it did, she was in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, wondering why her tits were suddenly several cup sizes larger and openly lactating, or why her hips had widened so much over the course of her eight hours of sleep that her underwear was in tatters. Of course, she didn’t spend any time actually thinking about the why or the how; as far as Samantha was concerned, this was just another trick her body was trying to play on her to force her to take up her species’ penchant for rampant fucking and go back to her old ways. At no point did she stop to consider that such growth wasn’t normal, not even when she had to spend a good twenty minutes stuffing her tits into an undersized bra and her thighs through a pair of jeans that ultimately still left half of her plump ass there for all to see. Not even when her coworkers began asking questions, clearly concerned about her safety, not even when her boss directly told her that she should be going home and “doing something” about her “needs”; for Samantha, this was the worst case scenario, truly evidence that she wasn’t doing her job right! She insisted on remaining, made a scene of it as well, to the point where her direct supervisor relented, and simply told her to use the bathroom whenever necessary; the vixen, still forcing herself to act as if things could be kept under control by not doing anything, nodded along and promptly memory hole’d the suggestion, content in the knowledge that everything would be fine… and then, nine hours later, Samantha had to be carted out of her workplace, having become unable to walk on her own. She’d burst out of her clothing just minutes after insisting on staying behind for the shift, and things didn’t get better over time either; all her coworkers could do was get a mobile milking station on her tits, and even then those things still insisted on bloating until, by the time she had a cab called for her, the vixen’s milktanks covered everything from her neckline to the ground. Sensing an impending disaster, a couple of her work friends followed the cab in their own vehicles, then were all-but forced to spend nearly an hour tugging her out of the backseat and then pushing Sam up the stairs to her apartment before finally leaving, and even then only after forcing the horned-up vulpine into her bathroom and heaving her tits onto the side of the bathtub, figuring that, at least that way, instincts would kick in. As for Samantha herself, there weren’t a lot of thoughts left in her head after the sort of day she had; at that point, all she saw were her tits begging for a good milking, and though her nipples were just barely reachable, that was a good, nice, empty tub to fill, letting her focus entirely on reaching climax through breast stimulation alone. It was only at the very end, when she finally felt the last drops leave her sore, engorged nipples, that Sam allowed herself to fall back onto the sopping wet floor, realizing at that moment that her breasts were still absolutely titanic in size compared to before; despite being empty, they were still big enough to nearly graze against the floor anyway… and judging from how loudly they gurgled, they were about to start filling up soon enough. This was a problem, but not one that the vixen registered; her decision to ignore mating season had progressed into a full-blown self-delusion, and though it took her a good two minutes to even get back on her feet, still she convinced herself that things would sort themselves if she just pretended they would, the last line of defense her psyche could put up. Did it matter that her tits were already feeling full again? Did it matter that she couldn’t leave the bathroom the way she thought she could, on account of her ballooned ass getting stuck on the door; hell, not so much her ass as just a portion of her cheeks, because the actual dumptruck of a butt she had behind her had fattened enough that it nearly squished against the opposite wall! Did it matter that her belly felt oddly warm, that her womb itself was screaming in pain at how empty it was? What even were those two lumps on the sides of it, in fact? None of this registered in the vixen’s mind, or at least not in the part of it that still held control over their conscious decisions; with the roles reversed, and the instinctual need to breed now being the sane option, there was no other way for Samantha to go but further down, all while the vulpine herself continued to repeat the same mantra, again and again: just ignore it, and it’ll go away. That night was filled with the sort of dreams that one might expect from someone in Sam’s position, the kind of fantasies that only someone as sex-starved as herself could ever cook up when under siege by a veritable grand army of hormonal maelstroms on one end, and a rapidly-growing body on the other. She must’ve fucked the world’s population in her time of rest… or, at the very least, gotten bred by billions’ worth of males in quick succession, all while pleading for them to stuff her even more and turn her into a baby factory. It was utterly undignified, and certainly not something that she’d ever do in the real world, but that still didn’t stop her from deliberately prolonging the dream even after her mind snapped into position and realized that it was nothing but its own creation; after all, lucid dreaming meant she could experience all those urges she absolutely didn’t want to experience in full, glorious detail.
She woke up an indeterminate amount of time later, in that it was impossible to tell just when in the morning, afternoon or perhaps even night it might be, on account of Sam’s head being buried underneath… something. It was soft, slightly pliable, if extremely warm and prone to shaking and quaking as whatever was inside of it roiled about loudly enough to make the vixen’s ears hurt from exposure. It took her a while to realize that she had her face stuffed into her tits, and even longer before it dawned on her that it was a single breast rather than her cleavage; as soon as her brain made the connection, however, the rest of it came tumbling right afterwards, as the signals her body had been trying to get through to her brain during the night finally crossed the threshold and let the vixen know how screwed she was. It was hard to put into words, but Samantha was reasonably convinced that her room wasn’t even there anymore; or, if it was, all of its contents had been flattened and replaced entirely by a body that had bloated and swelled so much as to take up the entirety of her living space. Paying attention, she could just barely make out the sounds of crumbling underneath the interminable sloshing of milk, the occasional crack on the wall sounding out to let her know how close she was to breaking free from her home. At literally any other point in her life, this would’ve been the line; beyond it would lie only panic and desperation as Sam tried everything she could to satisfy whatever desires she might have, if only so that she could go back to normal… but that wasn’t any point in her life, nor was the vixen in any fit state of mind to make such a decision. In fact, as far as Samantha was concerned, there was a perfectly reasonable way to get out of that situation, and that was by putting her hands to good use; she’d gotten all of her milk out the day before just by tugging at her teats for hours on end, so obviously all she needed to do then was rub herself and moan whorishly loudly in the hopes that her body would listen and start to empty out. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense for her to do such a thing, but with her brain awash in serotonin and her body screaming for any form of stimulation, it was the one solution the vixen could come up with; so powerful was this need that it even overpowered the vixen’s fixation on her job, with her outright telling herself that whatever they needed her to do could wait, because she certainly wasn’t going to the office looking like that. An odd motivation, but a motivation nonetheless, and one that Samantha would definitely need going forward, as there was plenty there for her to empty out; (presumably) eight hours of sleep had left her with a set of tits so colossal and stuffed that, even before they shrunk down enough for Sam to be able to move her head around, she could already feel the pool of milk climbing to lap at the edges of her bed, which had miraculously held itself together despite the weight mounted on top of it. The more she spurted, the more her milkers seemed to produce; the lactic storm that ensued every touch left her feeling emptier, sure, but it didn’t take long before the vixen realized it wasn’t doing anywhere near as much damage to her overall size, leaving her still so gigantic that the possibility of her being stuck there began to sound more and more plausible with each passing moment, with each gout of cream that ripped a chunk off the ceiling before splashing down… because how was she supposed to get fucked if she couldn’t move? It didn’t occur to her that her priorities were supposed to lie elsewhere, that she wasn’t supposed to want to get bred just because she felt horny; in just a second, her mind had flipped over, even if Samantha herself wasn’t entirely aware of it, and even then only in a base level that determined the why, rather than anything else. Of course she had to be mobile again, because only then could she go find a boytoy who could stick his dick inside of her and make the heat go away; maybe then all of that swelling would go down and she could get back to work, assuming she didn’t get lucky and end up bloated in an entirely different manner. Really, the vixen would be happy to take a pregnancy at that point; it felt like draining her tits of all their contents took the better part of a whole morning, and the worst part was that her phone was somewhere in the lake of cream that had risen to about knee height all around her house, keeping her in the dark as to just how late it was. Worse still, it was hard to tell just what the biggest obstacle was anymore: whether it be the titanic set of breasts she had attached to her chest, which had all-but refused to shrink down more than a foot or so and were still far too large to fit through doors, a set of hips, cheeks and thighs so unbelievably engorged that Samantha figured she could sit on and flatten a car if she felt like it… or whatever those things were on her belly. At first she assumed that it was her gut, having presumably inflated as well because why not really, but after fumbling around with her hands, it became clear that whatever those lumps were, there were definitely two of them, set apart from one another symmetrically on her sides. It felt… not good, but right to brush her hands against them, to rub and knead them carefully, but not like her tits or ass; rather, doing so left her feeling calm, soothed, her body temperature actually going down, even if her eyes and mind both went hazy the longer she allowed her hands to run freely over what she was desperately trying to pretend weren’t a set of hyperactive ovaries. To think, that all it took for her body to completely lose control was for her to just tell it to quiet down for a single mating season; if Samantha had known that she had such potential inside of her all along, she might’ve actually denied herself a long while before, if only so that the ultimate release would be that much better. Who knew just what sort of body she’d be left with after her heat was handled? Maybe she wouldn’t so much walk into her office anymore as she’d be carted in, turned into a permanent fixture as an egregiously overendowed body resting atop an eternally gravid, constantly-swelling belly; the thought warmed her, and in more ways than one, but it still didn’t hold a candle to the principal, core motivation that forced her to get out of bed and brave the milk flood in the first place. Control rapidly slipped away, the with mere thought that she could ever be the one to initiate anything at all bleeding out of her faster than Sam could even realize it was happening; all she wanted was to stumble outside and waddle to the nearest cock that could leave her insides painted whiter than her house had been, and if that meant having to tear down walls and incur in thousands upon thousands of dollars in debt, that’s exactly what Sam was going to do. The time for restraint was over; she might have tits the size of a bedroom and an ass bigger than a bus, she might have ovaries that were the size of couches and a libido to match, but what she also had was a job to do, and in some bizarre, insane, twisted way, plowing straight through the side of her apartment and tumbling down the stairs towards the ground level was the easiest way to achieve that goal. All she could think of as she struggled to get back up on her feet was how many kits she was going to be pumped full of, how many loads she would turn into litters, and how many lovers she’d have throwing themselves at her in a bid to be the one to breed the most gorgeous vixen they’d ever laid eyes on. And Sam would take it, gleefully, gladly, begging for more all the while.
