Pixolya
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A wish come true
🕑 Added 2025-04-05 12:29:02 +0000 UTCChapter 1: The hunger that grows (5400 words)
Lara Ellis was a whisper in a world of shouts, a 22-year-old slipping through her final year at Crestwood University like a shadow on the edge of a spotlight. She stood just 5 feet 3 inches (1.6m) tall, her frame a lean, toned sketch, sleek muscle from restless jogs around campus, skin pale from too many hours indoors, and curves that flowed softly but never demanded notice. Her dark hair hung in a loose cascade past her shoulders, often tugged into a messy ponytail when she bent over textbooks in the library. Hazel eyes, sharp and searching, flickered behind lashes she kept lowered, her lips, soft, unpainted, rarely parting for more than a murmur. She was pretty, in a quiet, unassuming way, the kind of girl you’d pass in the hall without a second glance.
She was finishing a degree in environmental science, her days a blur of lectures on ecosystems and climate models, her nights spent hunched over lab reports in her cramped dorm room. To her classmates, she was the shy one, polite but distant, her voice soft when she answered questions, her presence fading into the hum of group projects. She liked it that way, the invisibility. It let her hide the storm beneath her skin, the secret she’d carried since she was old enough to understand desire, a fetish for women who grew into giants, their bodies swelling beyond human limits, their power shattering the world around them. It was a hunger she couldn’t explain, a pulse that quickened whenever she stumbled across a comic, a video, a story that fed it.
Tonight, she perched on the edge of her dorm bed, the mattress sagging under her slight weight, its faded blue cover rumpled from sleepless hours. The room was a cocoon of shadow, lit only by the harsh glow of her laptop screen and a thin shard of moonlight slicing through the blinds. She wore a threadbare thrift-store tank top, its gray fabric pocked with tiny holes, and tight cotton shorts that dug into her hips, the elastic frayed from too many washes. Her bare feet curled beneath her, toes brushing the cool floorboards, her slim legs taut with restless energy. On the screen, a comic flickered, one she’d memorized, one that never failed to sink its claws into her.
The story was an old obsession: a woman, fragile and forgettable, brushing a glowing crystal. Page by page, her body erupted—legs stretching into sleek columns, hips flaring wide, breasts surging until her blouse shredded like wet paper. By the end, she loomed over a city, a goddess of raw power and lust, her thighs straddling a skyscraper as her moans toppled buildings, tiny figures groveling at her feet. Lara’s pulse hammered, her nails digging into the meat of her thighs through the shorts, leaving faint crescent marks on her pale skin.
“Fuck, it’s perfect,” she rasped, her voice a low growl in the stillness, rougher than the soft tones she used in class. “Every damn time, it’s like I’m her.” Her breath shuddered as her mind seized the fantasy—not just watching, but living it. She saw herself in those ink-stained pages, her 5-foot-3-inch (1.6m) frame ripping free of its limits, thighs lengthening and firming, her pitiful A-cups ballooning until the tank top burst across her chest. She’d hit 33 feet (10m), 66 feet (20m)—her roar splitting the sky as she crushed the world beneath her heel. Heat stabbed through her, her shorts soaking at the crotch as her nipples puckered against the thin fabric, hard and aching.
Her hand clawed at the tank top’s hem, nails snagging the frayed edge. “This body—it’s nothing,” she thought, disgust and desire warring in her chest. “Too small, too weak—caged in this pathetic skin”. She’d always been this way—slipping through life unnoticed, her shy shell a mask for a mind that churned with hungers she’d never dare speak. Comics, videos, late-night scrolls through fetish sites—they were her lifeline, her drug. Women growing into giants, their bodies shattering nature’s rules—she craved it, and she’d learned to chase that high in her own rough way.
She shoved the laptop aside, its light glinting off the pile of cheap clothes in the corner—shirts, skirts, dresses, all scavenged from thrift bins for one purpose. “Let’s fucking do this, I need to simulate my growth, once again, let's make it more real!”, she snarled, standing with a jerk that sent the bedframe creaking. She took her tank top off, exposing her small breasts to the cool air, nipples already hard as pebbles, flushed pink against her pale skin. Her shorts hit the floor next, kicked aside with a grunt, leaving her in damp cotton panties that clung to her, the wet spot dark against the white fabric. She stalked to the pile, digging out a blouse—white, flimsy, a size too tight—and jammed her arms into it, the fabric stretching cruelly across her chest, buttons straining as she sucked in a breath, her ribs pressing against the constraint.
“This is it—the start”, she thought, her hands shaking with savage need. She snatched a skirt next—black, cheap, the kind that ripped like a promise—and yanked it up her legs, the waistband biting into her hips, the hem riding high on her thighs, catching the faint sheen of sweat already beading there. Her breath came fast, ragged, as she turned back to the comic, the giantess’s transformation burning into her brain. Then her imagination started to race. “She grows—everything tears—her clothes can’t hold her”. Lara’s fingers clamped onto the blouse’s collar, nails digging in, and she pulled—hard. The first button flew off, pinging against the wall, and the fabric split with a wet, ripping snarl, baring her collarbone, her chest heaving beneath.
“Yes—fuck yes—” she gasped, tearing harder, the blouse shredding down the front, threads snapping like gunfire. The rough edges scraped her skin, raising red welts she barely felt, her breasts spilling free as the last scraps fell, the cool air kissing the heat of her flesh. Her hands clawed at the skirt next, seizing the hem and wrenching it upward, the cheap stitching giving way with a guttural rip—cloth parting over her thighs, the sound raw and violent. She staggered, half-naked, the torn remnants dangling from her hips, and sank her nails into the waistband, yanking until it shredded completely, fluttering to the floor in jagged strips, her legs trembling with the rush.
“If this was real—, that feeling, my body bursting out—” she growled, her voice thick with lust. Now bare but for her soaked panties, she stumbled back to the bed, hands roaming her flushed skin. One gripped a breast, squeezing hard enough to bruise, her thumb raking over a nipple until it throbbed, a sharp sting mingling with the ache. The other dove beneath her panties, fingers plunging into slick heat, curling deep as she bucked against them, her hips jerking with need. “Growing—my legs massive, my chest smashing this room apart—” She pictured it—her body surging, dorm walls cracking as she swelled, her hands groping a form too big to fathom. Her cries grew sharp, feral, pleasure spiking as she tore the panties aside, fabric ripping under her nails, and drove herself harder—faster—until she arched off the bed, a guttural scream breaking free as her orgasm hit like a storm, her body shaking, sweat dripping down her spine.
She collapsed, chest heaving, sweat beading on her skin, the torn clothes strewn around her like a battlefield. “Back to this—small, useless,” she thought, bitterness clawing at her throat. “It’s never enough. I need it for real.” She curled into herself, staring at the ceiling through damp lashes. “Something’s out there. It has to be.”
The next afternoon, Lara wandered the university halls after a lecture on carbon cycles, her sneakers scuffing the linoleum, her mind adrift. She’d meant to head to the library, but her feet pulled her elsewhere, down a stairwell she didn’t recognize, the air growing cooler with each step, tinged with a faint metallic bite. She frowned, glancing around at the dim, unmarked walls. “Where am I even going?” she wondered, her steps slowing. “This is dumb. I should turn back”. But a restless itch nagged at her—boredom, maybe, or the faint thrill of straying off the path she’d walked a hundred times. She’d always been quietly curious, drawn to the edges of things, even if she rarely acted on it.
A faded sign caught her eye—“Restricted Area: Accredited Personnel Only”—and she paused, her heart giving a small kick. Ahead, a door stood ajar, light spilling through the gap. “Someone forgot to lock it”, she thought, biting her lip. “Just a quick look. What’s the worst that could happen?” She wasn’t chasing anything wild—no grand ideas, just a flicker of intrigue about what lay beyond. She slipped through, her slim frame gliding past the threshold, her breath shallow with the simple rush of doing something she shouldn’t.
The corridor stretched out, lined with hulking machines that whirred and blinked, their purposes a mystery. Her sneakers padded softly, the sound swallowed by the hum of electronics. “This place is creepy,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself, her tight T-shirt clinging to her small breasts, jeans rubbing her thighs. “Like some sci-fi movie set. What do they even do down here?” She passed a row of steel cabinets, their labels smudged and unreadable, a faint tang of ozone tickling her nose. Her curiosity deepened, pulling her forward until she spotted a glow—a small window in a lab door up ahead.
She crept closer, pressing herself against the wall, and peered through the glass. Inside, Professor Grayson fiddled with his glasses, his wiry frame hunched over a console. Beside him stood David—tall, dark-haired, a biology classmate whose easy grin always made her stomach flutter. Now, though, his face was tight with focus as he operated a robotic arm, its claw extending into a sealed chamber. It held a stone—small, shimmering, faintly metallic. A box nearby screamed in red letters: “Dangerous Material – Space Exploration Satellite.”
Lara tilted her head, brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to be?” she thought, her nose brushing the glass. “Some weird experiment? Looks expensive.” The arm maneuvered the stone toward a white mouse in the chamber, stopping at 16 inches (40 cm) from the mouse. The mouse twitched—and then it grew. Just a little, maybe 10%, but enough to make its fur stretch and its eyes widen. Lara’s hand flew to her mouth, a gasp slipping out. “What the—did it just… grow?”
“No way—this can’t be real!”, she thought, her heart thudding. But then it hit her—a jolt of recognition, sharp and electric. “Wait. That’s… that’s like the comics” Her breath caught, her mind flashing to every story, every video she’d consumed—women swelling, towering, unstoppable. “Oh God—what if—” Heat flared in her core, sudden and fierce, her panties dampening as her nipples stiffened against her bra. Her hand twitched, hovering near her skirt. “Not yet—not here—” she hissed to herself, but the urge was too strong. Her fingers brushed her thigh, then slipped beneath the fabric, grazing the edge of her panties as she stared, transfixed.
Grayson muttered something, and David adjusted the controls, bringing the stone to 8 inches (20 cm) from the mouse. The mouse swelled again, its body doubling over a slow, creeping minute—legs lengthening, torso bloating, a tiny squeak ringing out. Lara’s knees wobbled, her fingers trembling as they slid fully into her panties, brushing slick heat. “It’s growing—it’s really growing” Her other hand darted under her T-shirt, cupping her small breast, rolling a nipple between her fingers as her breath hitched. “Fuck, look at it—bigger, stronger” She pictured herself in its place, her slim frame stretching, jeans tightening, her body surging with power.
The stone moved closer—4 inches (10 cm) now—and the mouse ballooned further, hitting three times its original size, its cage creaking as it filled the space, a hulking thing scrabbling at the walls. Lara’s arousal spiked, her fingers circling faster, hips rocking subtly against her hand. “Three times—God, if that was me” Her fantasies erupted—her at 10 feet (3m), then 16 feet (5m), her clothes shredding as her breasts swelled, her thighs thickened, the lab shrinking beneath her. “I’d be massive—tearing free, crushing everything” Her nipple hardened under her touch, her moans barely stifled as pleasure coiled tight inside her. The mouse stopped growing, its tripled form twitching in the chamber, but Lara’s mind raced on—she saw herself towering, a goddess, the world at her mercy.
Her climax almost hit hard, a shudder ripping through her, and a moan slipped out—too loud, echoing in the corridor. Grayson’s head jerked up. “Did you hear that?” he said, stepping toward the door. David paused, frowning. Lara yanked her hands free, skirt falling as she stumbled back, panic flooding her. “Shit—they heard me” She dove behind a crate stack, thighs slick and trembling, as Grayson peered into the hall. “Probably the vents”, he grumbled, retreating. David secured the stone in its box, and Lara seized the chance, bolting through the corridors until she burst into the open air, her mind a chaotic swirl of lust and fear.
Back in her dorm, Lara kicked the door shut, her body thrumming with unspent heat, her jeans and T-shirt clinging to her sweat-damp skin. She’d been interrupted—cut off mid-rush of her orgasm by the scientists’ voices—and the mouse’s growth looped in her head, three times its size, real, alive. “Fuck, I was so close to finish myself,” she growled, pacing, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. “That was it—growth, real growth—and I couldn’t finish”. Her core ached, her panties soaked through, her nipples straining against her bra. Her mind raced, in excitement she tore off her T-shirt, flinging it aside, then shoved her jeans down, kicking them into a heap, but it wasn’t enough. “I need it—need to feel it, to feel the growth”
She lunged for the pile of cheap clothes, her breath ragged, her hands shaking with need. “If I can’t have the real thing yet, I’ll make it real here”, she thought, grabbing a tight tank top—red, stretchy, barely her size—and yanking it over her head, the fabric biting into her shoulders, hugging her A-cups until they ached. She layered a flimsy sundress over it, yellow and thin, the hem catching her thighs, then a pair of leggings, gray and worn, stretching taut over her toned legs. “Grow—tear—burst—”. She seized the sundress, ripping upward, the fabric splitting with a sharp snarl, remembering what had happened to the mouse, the sensation sharp and electric. “Yes—fuck, yes—”
Her fingers dove into her panties, circling fast as she clawed at the tank top’s hem, tearing it from the neck down, the thin cotton shredding over her stomach, threads grazing her skin as her breasts spilled free, scraps fluttering to the floor. “Bigger—I’d be bigger—” She pictured the mouse, then herself—legs stretching, clothes ripping as she swelled. The leggings went next, her nails sinking into the waistband, yanking until they tore at the crotch, the fabric peeling apart with a wet rip, her thighs trembling as she exposed herself. “Ten feet (3m)—more—” Her other hand gripped a breast, squeezing hard, her moans rough and loud now, echoing in the small room. She grabbed a final skirt—denim, stiff—and pulled it on, and again tearing it off almost instantly, the zipper snapping, the rough edges scraping her hips as pleasure spiked. “This is it—me, growing—” Her fingers thrust deeper, her body arching, and she finished herself—hard, shuddering, a scream ripping free as she collapsed amidst the shredded clothes, panting, satisfied at last.
“It’s real out there,” she thought, sprawled in her bra and tattered panties, sweat slicking her skin. “That stone—I need it.” She sat up, hair sticking to her neck. “Did the mouse survive? Did it shrink back?” The lab was locked now, but then it hit her—a student party tonight. David would be there, with his access card. “I’ll get it—I’ll make it real.” She smirked, a rare edge of boldness flaring, and rummaged for her red dress—tight, low-cut, perfect.
The party pulsed with noise, bodies crammed into a sweaty lounge lit by flickering string lights. Lara wove through the crowd, the bass thumping in her chest, her red dress clinging to her slim frame, the hem riding high on her thighs. She spotted David by the keg, his tall frame slouched against the wall, a plastic cup of beer sloshing in his hand—his fourth, she guessed, from the flush on his cheeks and the glaze in his dark eyes. His hair was tousled, his grin loose as he laughed with a group of guys, oblivious to her approach. “There he is”, she thought, her pulse quickening. “The card’s in his pocket—I just need to get close”.
“Hey, Lara!”, he slurred as she stepped into his orbit, his eyes widening, raking over her from head to toe, lingering on the dress’s plunging neckline and the way it hugged her hips. “You look—damn, you look good. Didn’t expect you here”.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft but edged with intent, a calculated shift from her usual timid murmur. She forced a smile, tilting her head, letting her hair spill over one shoulder—a move she’d seen in movies but never dared try. “Keep him talking—keep him distracted,” she thought, stepping closer, the heat of his body brushing hers in the cramped space—so close she could feel the faint vibration of his laugh, smell the hops on his breath. “Thought I’d stop by. How’s your night?”
“Better now,” he said, his grin widening, beer sloshing as he gestured vaguely, liquid spilling onto his sneakers. “You never come to these things. What’s up with you tonight?” His tone was playful, but his eyes were hungry, tracing her curves with a sloppy intensity, and she felt a flicker of power—something new, something she’d buried under years of averted gazes and quiet apologies.
“He’s into me—good. Use it”, she thought, her stomach twisting with nerves and exhilaration. She laughed—a light, practiced sound she didn’t recognize as her own—and let her hand brush his arm, fingers grazing the warm skin above his wrist, lingering just long enough to feel his pulse jump. “Just felt like a change,” she said, leaning in, her breath warm against his ear, close enough to catch the faint musk of his cologne beneath the beer. “Closer—almost there—” Her heart hammered, her shy self screaming to pull back—“What are you doing? This isn’t you!”—but the image of the stone, the mouse tripling, drove her forward, drowning out the old Lara with a whisper of something fiercer: “Yes, it is.”
David swayed toward her, unsteady, his free hand hovering near her waist, hesitating as if testing the waters. “You’re different tonight,” he mumbled, his voice thick, eyes locking on hers with a drunken focus that made her skin prickle. “I like it.” She seized the moment, pressing her lips to his—quick, firm, a jolt of heat as her tongue teased him, tasting beer and salt, her chest brushing his as she angled closer. His groan vibrated against her mouth, his hand settling on her hip, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, pulling her in as she slid her fingers into his pocket, brushing denim, then the cool edge of the card. “Got it!” She deepened the kiss, distracting him, her tongue flicking deeper, her free hand resting lightly on his chest—feeling his heartbeat quicken—as she slipped the card free, tucking it into her palm with a deft twist of her wrist. His grip tightened, his breath hitching, and for a fleeting second, she felt a pang of something—guilt? desire?—before she shoved it down. “This is for the stone—for me!”
She pulled back, breathless, her lips tingling, his hand still gripping her hip as if reluctant to let go. “I’m wiped,” she lied, stepping away, her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest, the card burning against her palm. “Gonna crash.”
“Night,” he mumbled, dazed, his hand dropping as he blinked at her retreating form, too drunk to notice the theft, his eyes still glazed with want. She slipped through the crowd, heart pounding with triumph and a strange, wild thrill—a rush she’d never known as the quiet girl who’d blushed and stammered around him in class. “I did that—me, shy little Lara!” she thought, smirking as she hit the cool night air, the card a solid promise in her hand.
Back at her dorm, she stripped, skepticism warring with a desperate hope. “It won’t work—can’t work,” she thought, but the mouse’s growth gnawed at her, a siren call to the hunger she’d buried deep. “If it does—I want to feel it all. I want to feel the clothes tear under the power of my body, for real this time! Let's put on more clothes to intensify this feeling if it works!” She layered up—tight black leggings that hugged her toned legs, a stretchy blue tank top clinging to her A-cups, a thin white crop top over it, a loose denim skirt with a stiff zipper, and a flimsy red scarf knotted loosely around her neck. She added a tight sports bra beneath, a pair of sheer panties that bit into her hips, and a faded gray hoodie—extra layers to tear if it happened, each piece chosen for the thrill of its potential destruction. Then the accessories—a cheap metal watch, its band already snug on her wrist, a black choker that pressed her throat, three rings pinching her fingers—things she couldn’t fake breaking but would snap gloriously if she grew, amplifying the sensation she craved. “God, I need this—clothes ripping, breaking on me—feeling it for real—” She slipped on sneakers, grabbed the card, and headed to the lab, impatience burning like a fever in her veins, her breath quick and shallow with every step.
The campus was silent as she swiped through the doors, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears that drowned out the night’s stillness. She reached the chamber, found the other animals—enlarged, alive, 1.5 to 3 times their normal size, their cages strained but intact. “It’s real—I could be next,” she thought, hands trembling as they brushed her layered clothes, the watch ticking against her wrist, the choker a tight promise around her neck. She activated the arm, the stone gleaming as it emerged, its shimmer a beacon in the dim light. “Now or never!”
She stepped in, the stone at 16 inches (40 cm), and the tingle hit—wild, electric, a storm of sparks racing up her spine, igniting every nerve. She stretched to 5 feet 11 inches (1.8m), her sneakers creaking as her feet lengthened, toes pressing the rubber taut, the laces straining with a faint whine. Her leggings loosened at the calves, then tightened higher, outlining her firming thighs—sleek, toned, not bulky—seams whispering as they stretched to their limit. The tank top hugged her chest, her A-cups nudging to B, nipples hardening into sharp peaks that scraped the fabric, sending jolts of raw sensation through her core. The crop tank creased over her ribs, the scarf fluttered against her quickening breath, her hips ached faintly as they widened, denim skirt shifting with a soft groan of fabric. The watchband bit into her wrist, a delicious pinch, rings cutting into her swelling fingers, choker pressing tight—small, intoxicating warnings of what was to come. “It’s real—oh God, it’s happening—” Her breath hitched, her shy facade—years of polite nods and quiet steps—crumbling under a surge of something primal, something she’d always known but never dared face. “I was never that girl—not deep down—this is me, this is my soul waking up—” Her hands shook, brushing her stomach, feeling the subtle tautness beneath her skin, her mind reeling with the truth she’d buried under layers of meekness.
“More—give me more!!” she growled, her voice cracking with a hunger she’d suppressed for too long, stepping to 12 inches (30 cm). The tingle exploded into a wildfire, a searing rush that roared through her veins, and she hit 6 feet 7 inches (2m), her legs stretching with a slow, relentless pull—bones grinding faintly, tendons flexing, her sneakers splitting at the seams with a sharp crack, rubber snapping as her feet burst free, toes splaying wide across the tiles, cool and jagged against her bare soles. The leggings groaned, threads popping along her thighs—now sleek and defined, a dancer’s strength without bulk—the fabric clinging like a second skin before it tore at the knees, peeling back in jagged strips that fluttered to the floor. Her tank top stretched taut across her chest, B-cups swelling fuller, nipples throbbing as the sports bra beneath creaked, its elastic biting her ribs with a sharp sting that fueled her arousal. The tank top rode up, exposing her toned midriff, smooth and firm, the denim skirt’s zipper straining, metal teeth grinding audibly. “Fuck—look at me—I’m breaking free—” The watchband creaked louder, a high-pitched whine as it dug deeper, rings cutting into her swelling fingers until they ached, choker digging so tight she felt her pulse throb against it, the scarf fluttering wildly in her ragged breaths. “No more shy Lara—no more nice girl—this is my nature, my truth, clawing out—” She slid a hand beneath the the first shreds of clothing, gasping at her B cup breast’s heat, thumb raking a nipple as pleasure flared—sharp, electric—her other hand diving into the leggings, fingers brushing slickness through the tearing fabric, hips rocking with a need she’d never let loose before.
At the stone at 8 inches (20 cm) from her, she surged to 8 feet 2 inches (2.5m), the growth a chaotic rush that shook her to her core—her legs lengthening into sleek pillars, the leggings shredding completely, threads snapping like gunfire, fluttering like confetti as her thighs flexed, toned and powerful yet smooth, her calves curving into elegant lines. The tank top almost split down the front with a wet rip, her C-cup breasts bouncing almost free, nipples dark and hypersensitive, the sports bra snapping at the straps—elastic whipping her skin with a sting that made her gasp, falling in tatters. The crop top finally tore across her chest, ragged edges scraping her swelling curves, a delicious friction as it shredded, the denim skirt’s zipper bursting with a guttural snap, the fabric peeling apart, seams popping as her hips flared wider, toned and perfect, the skirt falling in strips. “Yes—God, yes—it’s tearing—I’m tearing them—” The watchband snapped with a metallic ping, flying off her wrist to clatter against the wall, rings cracking apart, metal shards skittering across the floor like tiny bells, the choker tightening until it broke with a sharp crack, whipping her neck with a sting that sent a shiver down her spine, the scarf tangling in her wild, sweat-damp hair. “This—THIS—is who I am—fuck hiding, fuck being small—I’ve always been this, waiting—” Her voice deepened, a growl that rumbled in her chest, shaking the air, her hands frantic—one kneading a breast, nails digging into the soft flesh, drawing a gasp, the other thrusting deeper through the ruins of her leggings, pleasure spiking as she roared, the lab trembling under her rising power.
With the stone at 4 inches (10 cm) from her, she exploded to 9 feet 10 inches (3m), a wild, unstoppable tide that rewrote her very being—her legs stretching further, feet smashing tiles with a crunch as they widened, her soles grinding the debris into dust, her hips flaring into a perfect, toned curve that cracked the floor beneath her growing weight, her ass rounding, lifting her higher with a smooth swell over firm muscle. Her D-cup breasts swayed, heavy and full, every scrap of clothing gone—leggings tatters, tank and crop top rags, skirt and scarf shredded into oblivion—her naked form bare and gleaming, sweat slicking her pale skin, glistening in the lab’s harsh light. The last ring burst with a pop, the choker’s remnants fell like confetti, her body free of all restraint, a sculpture of sleek power and unleashed desire. “Ten feet (3m)—I’m a fucking goddess—look at me!!—” Her roar echoed, a sonic boom that rattled the chamber, the shy girl who’d blushed at David’s smiles obliterated—burned away in the fire of her true self, a primal force that had simmered beneath her meek exterior since she first dreamed of towering over the world, crushing it beneath her heels, demanding worship from those who’d ignored her. “This is my life now—no more cowering—I’ll dominate—I’ve always wanted to dominate—” She sank to her knees, her first orgasm crashing through, a tidal wave of pleasure that buckled her, her cries shaking the walls—deep, guttural, a sound no quiet student could ever make—her 9-foot-10-inch (3m) frame sprawled amidst the ruins of her clothes, the wreckage a testament to her awakening.
Panting, she grabbed the stone, her toned body trembling, D-cups rising with each heaving breath, sweat dripping from her brow to pool on the cracked tiles. “Sixteen feet (5m)—thirty-three feet (10m)—sixty-six feet (20m)—I’ll take it all!!”, she snarled, her hazel eyes blazing with a fire that had smoldered beneath her shy mask since childhood, her mind a storm of comics—giantesses crushing cities, their power hers now, the fantasies she’d buried under politeness and restraint erupting into reality. “This is my change—my awakening—the real Lara breaking free—” She rolled onto her back, tiles shattering beneath her with a crack, her naked skin hot against the cool debris, and parted her thighs wide—long, sleek, powerful—sliding the stone down, brushing her swollen lips, a gasp tearing free as the tingle reignited—wilder, fiercer, a promise of more.
She pressed the stone inside of her, fingers plunging with it, and her body erupted—surging to 13 feet 1 inch (4m) in a chaotic, shuddering wave that rocked the lab. Her legs stretched, long and sleek, toes curling as they smashed a console with a crash, sparks flying in a shower of light, her thighs thickening into sculpted curves—firm yet smooth, a predator’s grace—her calves flexing as they lengthened, her feet grinding metal into twisted scraps. Her hips flared wider, a perfect arc of toned flesh, her ass lifting with a soft swell over iron muscle, the floor splitting beneath her with a groan as her weight doubled, tripled. Her breasts swelled to E-cups, spilling across her chest like ripe fruit, heavy and flawless, their weight tugging as she arched, nipples throbbing—dark, raw, hypersensitive—each pulse a jolt of ecstasy that made her gasp. “Yes—fuck, YES—I’m growing—unstoppable—” Her mind shattered, the shy Lara—nice, quiet, invisible—gone, vaporized in the inferno of her true self, a goddess roaring to life with a ferocity she’d suppressed every time she’d smiled politely, ducked her head, let the world pass her by. “I’ve always wanted this—deep down, every comic, every rip—I’m free—I’m alive—” Her free hand clawed her breast, nails raking red lines across the pale skin, the sting fueling her as she thrust the stone deeper, her hips bucking hard enough to shake the chamber, her roar a low, primal bellow that cracked the walls, dust raining down as the lab groaned in submission to her power.
At 16 feet 5 inches (5m), her growth peaked, a 16-foot-5-inch (5m) titan sprawled across the lab—her legs stretching to the chamber’s edge, feet—now the size of small tables—shattering equipment with a boom, metal twisting and sparking beneath her soles, her hips splitting the floor with a crunch that echoed like thunder, her ass a wide altar of toned power lifting her higher. Her E-cup breasts rose like mountains, nipples scraping the air as she writhed, every sensation magnified—her skin alive with heat, sweat pooling around her in a shimmering lake, her naked form a testament to her unleashed nature. “Sixteen feet (5m)—I’m massive—fucking divine—” She yanked the stone free, her second orgasm hitting like a cataclysm—her body convulsing, every muscle tensing and releasing, her roar a thunderclap that cracked the walls wide open, fissures spidering through steel and concrete as she collapsed, panting, the lab trembling on the edge of collapse. “More—I need more—this is just the start—I’ll crush it all—” Her voice boomed, a deep, resonant command that shook the air, her shy past reduced to ash, her true nature—a dominant, insatiable force—unleashed at last, a goddess born anew in the wreckage of her old life.
Comments
Pixolya
Thanks a lot for the feedback! Next chapter should come soon :)
Animal
This is really well done. The growth sequences are perfectly worded out too. I'm looking forward to any new stories you do.
