You stumble into the parking lot, still pumping cum out the bottom of your shorts, where it’s running down your thick, hairy legs. There’s something wrong with you. Well, of course there is something wrong with you, you’re worthless, but this is different. You’d gone so long without cumming, for weeks–or maybe even months, you couldn’t quite remember, and now that the dam had been broken, your gut was churning, your balls are aching, you’re sweating from head to toe. People stare, no–gape at you plodding to your car, mouth open, snorting, eyes wild. You throw open the door and go to climb in, but hit your head on the frame, your knees scrunched under the wheel. It isn’t until you process the fact that the space is smaller than usual that you manage to reach under your seat, past your massive cock, and shove the seat as far back as it will go. Is this even your car? Your key worked, it…smells like you, but it doesn’t feel right. You shut the door and immediately feel claustrophobic, panting and panic rising in your chest, but you have to get home, you’ll be safe at home, you aren’t safe here.
It’s a fifteen minute drive to your home from the gym, and it’s harrowing. Your bones ache, muscles pulse. More than once, a sudden, full body spasm of growth sends you speeding forward or swerving into other lanes–the fact that you don’t end up in an accident or arrested is a minor miracle. You park, throw open the car door, and manage to squeeze yourself free of the confines of the car, whimpering and moaning. The exit is anything but graceful, and you end up toppling out face first onto the pavement, but you’re free, at least. you grab the car door to help yourself up, but when you pull on it, rather than gaining any leverage, you feel the car door bend down in the frame towards you instead, the car tipping slightly to the side as you drag yourself up. It’s so…small, like one of those clown cars at the circus. You abandon it, running for your apartment, and your shorts finally can’t bear the pressure of your package and thighs, bursting at the seams, your foot and a half long cock and massive balls flopping out into the open, your shirt following soon after–you tear away the tattered remains once you reach your door, crouching in the hallway, fumbling with the keys you’d kept in your hand, but they’re so small and you’ve grown so clumsy that you can’t fit the key in the lock–in frustration you simply start pounding on the door–and it opens.
Without worrying how, you start the next task of finding some way of squeezing through the doorway, the only thought you have is making it inside. You end up pushing yourself in sideways–you’ve grown much too tall to walk in, and your shoulders are too broad. It’s close, but you squeeze inside, heaving for breath, feeling your body continue growing as you do…and you realize you’ve trapped yourself. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to fit yourself back out–but why would you want to leave? Out there, all there are are people who will stare at you, look at you like you’re a freak–because you are a freak. You don’t want to go out there, you don’t want to leave. Your trainer, who’d opened the door for you, closes it behind you but doesn’t lock it–you don’t even notice that he’s there until he standing beside you, stoking one massive, hairy arm, talking to you, calming you down bit by bit, that buzzing sound returning, and soon you’re shivering at his touch, at his words–and you realize that you are sitting down on the ground–and he’s standing next to you–but he barely comes to your shoulder. How…how big are you, really? How big is your cock? It doesn’t seem real, hanging there between your legs. You must be at least ten feet tall–far too tall for your ceilings. The only way you’ll be able to move from room to room is by crawling…but is this even your apartment? Now that you’re more calm, this doesn’t…seem familiar. The floorplan is too open, there’s almost no furniture…where did you drive yourself, anyway? Where did you just trap yourself?
“Look at you, you’re a beast–a gigantic, disgusting beast,” he says, walking around you in a wide circle, taking all of you in–the hairy body, the long beard, the massive cock and balls, “You’re going to be so popular, so many people have been waiting for you to finally blow.”
You have no idea what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t elaborate. You try to talk, but words…don’t come easily to you anymore, and he has no interest in anything you might ask or want to know. He leaves you alone–but you don’t feel abandoned. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe. The the men begin arriving. You have several visitors each day, and all of them come for one reason–to abuse your massive cock. The ride it, they worship it, the suck it, they drink your cum by the gallon. None of them care about you, about the body attached to this marvelous beast of a cock–but then, why should they? You know you’re worthless, unworthy of anyone’s attention. You’re simply happy to know that there’s one part of you which is worthy of desire and that’s enough for your simple mind. The only person who sees you is your trainer–no, your owner now–when he visits. He comes every few weeks–you look forward to those visits more than any other, because finally, he has allowed you to serve him. You pull him close, gently, lick him clean from head to toe, worship his cock and balls with your mouth, letting him know how thankful you are. How thankful you are that he has given you purpose. How thankful you are that a hopeless, giant-cocked beast like you, could ever hope to be owned by a man like him.
Bracken's Corner 