mavortheturnip
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Prompt of the Week - Week 40
🕑 Added 2021-03-27 13:21:25 +0000 UTCTAGS: Growth, Hyper, Multi, Milk/Lactation, Cum, Macro/City Macro, Uncontrollable Growth, Compressor/Compressor Failure
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For all intents and purposes, it was a perfectly normal day for Sam, who had gotten up from bed and gone through their whole morning routine just like she usually did. Adjusting her nightwear to prevent any accidental spillage, the lizardess lazily made her way to the bathroom to splash some water on her face before initiating the arduous task of exchanging her nighttime compressors for her daytime ones, something that had been made significantly harder than it used to be thanks to her latest growth spurts. It used to be that she could make do with only set of compressor clothing, but after her third row of breasts grew in and all three of them bloated so much that a single tit could compete with the rest of her body for size, more was needed… and that had been several months prior, with her body not having stopped since.
It was an issue that affected most of the world’s hyper population, and once that modern science had yet to really come up with an explanation for. Not only did the incidence of the gene shoot up in the previous few decades, but the amount of growth that each hyper individual went through also inexplicably increased, leading to an ever-higher reliance on dimensional distortion clothing and high-grade compressors. Granted, this did have the knock-on effect of revolutionizing physics in a very short amount of time, but it also put a serious strain on supply chains; it used to be that hypers could go their entire lives with just a couple of changes in their compressor wear, but nowadays very few of them could go a whole year without having to exchange them at least three, four, sometimes five or more times. Sam was one such person, perhaps one of those most “blessed”; it was only September and she was already on her tenth set; her only saving grace was that she worked at one of the biggest manufacturers for the damned things, and they at least gave her plenty of free stuff if only she agreed to serve as a “display model” for them every once in a while.
As she turned around to go back to her bedroom, however, the lizardess stopped in her tracks when she felt it: the rubbing. Somewhere within that immense dimensional bubble that housed the bodies of all those who wore compressor clothing, something, or someone, was rubbing up against her tits, something that had been worrying both her and pretty much every other hyper on the planet for the past several weeks. It was a new phenomenon, and one that none of the manufacturers could really explain; the dimension to which all the excess size was shunted to was about as large as the entire universe that the hypers themselves resided in, making it a literal mathematical impossibility for there to be any space issues. A few investigative reports suggested that these rubbing incidents were the result of cost-cutting measures, where different bits of compressor wear would accidentally “synch up” if they were in close proximity to one another thanks to their electronics not being manufactured with the level of exacting precision they were supposed to be; it certainly made some sense, given the prevalence of hypers in modern society. Sam just wished it didn’t have to feel so ungodly arousing each time she had a nipple brush up against one of her own.
Still, she had a job to do, and that meant getting her clothes off and putting a new set back on via a complex series of acrobatics, knot-tyings and careful gambles; if she ever let any of her real size slip out into the outside world, she’d immediately go from flat-chested to big enough to barrel through the entirety of her apartment building and probably beyond, not to mention the possibility of kickstarting a “compressor metastability event”, where the shockwaves created by the spatial distortions failing around her gear would slam into other hypers, thus causing theirs to falter, ad infinitum until the whole world was buried underneath curves. It was hard to tell whether she was supposed to be scared of that or use it as fodder for her private time self-exploration, but whatever the case, care was needed to make sure things didn’t fall apart just because she felt lazy.
Alarmingly though, she wouldn’t remain flat-chested for much longer. Just as Sam had everything ready for the exchange, the three bras already hooked and in place to receive the onslaught of breastflesh that’d be unleashed once she pulled off the ones she kept during the night, the lizardess felt something… odd. It wasn’t a growing pain, but rather the sense that something was physically pushing her from the other side of the compressor gear, and strongly enough that she felt the need to take a few steps back as if to react to being shoved; believing this to be some kind of equipment failure, she rushed to remove her nighttime attire and threw the three pieces onto the ground, quickly activating the daytime equipment’s emergency size reduction mode… and promptly gaining several cup sizes in the process.
She stared at herself, looking down at a single cleavage while sensing the presence of two more beneath the one blocking her view. She didn’t really know what to expect; it had been the first time her compressors had failed at all, much less in a way that she couldn’t set them back. No matter how many times she tried to increase the compression scale, her tits refused to go down, and in fact, if she dared to turn off the emergency mode, the lizardess’ three busts immediately began to billow outwards, size that, distressingly enough, was not removed once she re-engaged the safety mechanisms. In the end, her experimentation had cost her dearly enough that she was stuck unable to wear anything above the waist, thanks to the absolutely enormous sets of tits that, for some reason, her compressors seemed unable to shrink back down; big enough that the bottommost row hung just above her knees while the topmost one made it difficult for her to see, leaving Sam in a state that could be described as a mixture of equal parts tittilation, panic and existential dread, because the emergency mode didn’t last for more than a couple of hours.
She was now racing against the clock. Hoping beyond hope that what she was going through was just some exotic glitch that she’d never heard before, Sam rushed to get everything she needed for work, even going as far as forgoing her typical breakfast, choosing instead to eat a couple of energy bars while quickly checking the news for any signs of large traffic jams. So worried was she that, as soon as she saw nothing of interest, Sam turned back around to run out to her car, in the process missing what would’ve been a very good reason for why she should never have left the house to begin with.
Getting to work would prove to be the hardest part of her day so far, given that the lizard was not used to having to use a vehicle while being that enormous, and indeed would eventually have to give up entirely; she couldn’t even see past her tits when sitting down on the driver’s seat, much less operate the steering wheel properly, so her only hope lay with calling a taxi… which took significantly longer than expected, owing to there being a “higher than usual” amount of activity on the network, according to the canned speech on the other end. What was even happening? Had compressors decided to just stop working altogether, all at the same time? A cursory glance around her didn’t reveal anything to Sam aside from a completely empty street in the suburbs… which was itself slightly worrying, because there was usually a lot more activity around that place in that time of day. If it wasn’t folks leaving for work, it was those going out for a jog or cycling; instead, the lizardess saw nothing but a barren, empty road, with only the faintest hints of frantic, perhaps panicked shouting coming from all around her.
By that point properly scared, all Sam could think to do was try and keep her voice stable enough to give the taxi company instructions on where she lived, only to be told that she might be stuck waiting for transport for roughly half an hour, as there had been a sudden surge of requests from all over the city and its outlying suburbs. The man refused to explain why, though judging by the way they were speaking, it was clear they were at least as terrified as Sam herself was, giving the lizardess at least some reason to drop the subject and hope that she could push the dreadful realization to the back of her head. Didn’t help that the rubbing was getting worse on the other side of the dimensional wall; it was as if miles of herself were being pushed on all sides by flesh as soft as her own, growing in every direction as another size spurt kicked in, perhaps the worse time for it to happen. Perhaps this is why the rubbing was even happening at all; her neighbors were hypers, so clearly they had to have compressors on, and maybe they were growing too, so that was ok, it was normal. There wasn’t any sort of large-scale meltdown disaster happening, it was probably just some software glitch that would be patched out soon enough; if anything, it only meant she’d have a lot of work to do softening things up with all the complaints that would eventually roll in from all the terrified and dissatisfied customers. Was it a likely scenario? Probably not; but it was a useful fiction to have that kept her from losing her head completely, so Sam held onto it for dear life.
As she waited for the taxi, still she grew… and not entirely within the dimensional pocket either. It was slow, but it was still noticeable: her bustline was ballooning outwards, one inch at a time, that colossal cleavage she was sporting becoming deeper and longer with each passing minute, until she could feel the ground beneath her feet tickling the underside of her bottommost bust. Sam lacked the words to describe how out of her mind scared this made her, even when she refused to give up the fantasy that everything was fine, that things would be fine, that the company and other manufacturers of compressors would fix things and no one would have to worry. Even when the rubbing got worse and it began feeling like she was being encased in a tomb of warm bodies on the other side of her compressor gear, Sam continued to believe that things could be fixed… and then the milk began flowing.
The next thing she knew, she was on her knees and leaning against her titstack, the widest smile on her face as her hands moved of their own accord to rub and squeeze at those things, the churning of liquids filling Sam’s ears as her lactic production, normally kept in check by the same attire she used to hide her size, kicked back into gear; it was powerful enough to have a stream of cream fall from each teat within a couple of minutes as well, leaving a large puddle to form on the ground around her as the milk factories she was attached to continued to expand in every direction. It was hard to want it to stop; though the lizardess knew that this was an alarming development, and she should be frantically attempting to hold it back by any means necessary, it also tickled her buttons in ways that she’d forgotten about, leaving her wide open to the endless pleasure waves that were to inevitably crash into her as soon as she grew to a “critical” size.
There would never be a taxi to come get her, for despite the fact that most of the company’s drivers weren’t supposed to be hypers, or at least were screened out of having the gene, they nonetheless began growing as well. Off in the distance, in Sam’s workplace, her employing company had a good couple of hours of extreme panic as multiple alarms were set off before the first morning shift was supposed to start working, and with that came an influx of technicians called in to deal with what had been an unprecedented dimensional breach… but there wasn’t anything that they, or really anyone else, could really do. Regardless of how many people they threw at the problem, how much information they traded with competitors or how many desperate calls they made to governments the world over to help them in this time of crisis, the process by which their entire business model would come crashing down around them had already started, and could only accelerate going forward. Two steps forward, three steps forward, ten steps forward; never backwards.
Really, the rubbing incidents should’ve been the first indicator that something was dreadfully wrong with the way they were going about things, but in true hyper fashion, most of the people involved in the project simply assumed that it was the end result of having so many people in close proximity grow to immense sizes; after all, though the production lines made sure to program each piece of compressor gear so that it would shunt excess mass to vastly disparate places in the pocket dimension they used to store away the curves they hid, some hypers in the past few years had grown to proportions so absurd and bloated that, honestly, it wasn’t all that surprising that a few of them would end up meeting one another. Dimensional distortions were still cutting-edge technology, and though the companies responsible for employing them in their clothing lines did their best to get rid of the kinks, sometimes the unexpected happened anyway.
Now, however, they saw just how wrong they were. As the buildings they used for headquarters, research, and production all became home to out-of-control growth spurts, as the structures designed to withstand even the greatest of hyper individuals began to crumble underneath the mounting weight, as the gene was awoken even in those that simply did not possess it, those few who held onto their senses realized what had happened: they’d run out of room. It was almost silly to think about as a concept, seeing as they were supposed to be using an entire universe to store people’s sizes in, and those were, at least in theory, supposed to have an infinite amount of space; there was no chance in a million years that somehow every hyper on the planet had begun expanding faster than the speed of light, especially not when so many of them were on growth suppressants… and yet, they had run out of room.
The alarms, the error messages, the software failures and endless bug reports, they all pointed towards that one conclusion, and as everyone on the planet suddenly surged outwards with renewed proportions, it was clear that it was the only possibility that made the slightest amount of sense. Now, whether or not every single theoretical physicist had seriously underestimated the size of the pocket dimension used by compressor gear, or the people storing their tits and cocks and asses in it had begun to grow by several orders of magnitude faster than c was still up in the air; then again, judging by what was happening around the globe, it was doubtful whether anyone would ever be able to figure out the real reason. All anyone could tell was that the rubbing was getting worse, and even those with the highest-grade compressors had to deal with a sense of pressure that went far beyond anything they’d ever experienced before… like Sam.
The lizardess was stuck in front of her house, by that point having tipped forward onto a bed of tits big enough that her compressor bras were literally hanging on by a thread. They still fought back valiantly against her growth spurt, but it was clear that they would eventually falter; each of her three rows alone had grown to the point where they could compete with her entire home for size, and judging from the amount of people having outgrown their own residences all around her, she wasn’t alone in this unexplained growth spurt. Sam was stuck, unable to really think about anything at all, with every inch of her tits that was still hidden away in the compressors’ pocket dimension (and there were a lot of inches to go around) being pressed on by something else: more sets of tits, cocks, butts, hips, nipples, anything really, as those unfortunate souls that still held onto their own distortion equipment refused to let go. How could they, when they knew that they’d grown so much that letting loose would spell disaster for the entire planet? How could they let go, when the results would be of a literal apocalyptic scale?
The answer was, obviously, that they couldn’t, but that was hardly something they could control anymore. Their growth had increased exponentially, to a point where nothing, not even the most powerful of medication, could be relied upon to even slow it down at all, much less stop it. And as the final bits of cloth were torn apart, as Sam and so many others looked up to the sight of breasts and dicks rising from the horizon as torrents of milk and cum more powerful than the greatest of rivers were fired into low orbit, they understood that this was it. Everything was done, everything was over, and there wouldn’t be a damned thing that anyone could think to do that would save reality itself from their bodies. Soon enough, every compressor would fail.
And their dimension would be turned into the storage one.
