The Path Forward

Nothing. No ideas. Stupid empty brain! Devin tossed his datapad onto his bed in disgust. Maybe this was a waste of his time anyway. After all, this wasn't his job, it was a hobby, something he did because he wanted to be creative. It wasn't even bringing in much in the way of money, at least not yet. Devin's job, reporting directly to the Librarian of the University at Cambridge, was management of Janus, the networking hub connecting the various archival collections at the university.

Quite the big job it was, too; before the world's transition to Cyberdream, the digitization project had been completed in a rush, and now even years later there were still plenty of connections needed to make every item across the hundreds of collections available. Devin was up to the task, he was a brilliant librarian; they hadn't requested him specifically for the project for no reason, after all. Lately, though, he hadn't been passionate about the job. He stayed up late on most nights, probably depriving himself of much-needed sleep, pursuing his real passion. It had begun with some unrelated insomnia...no, it began much earlier than that, and he knew exactly when.

It had begun that wonderful, unforgettable night a few years ago that he'd spent with Elena.

Before her, Devin had met with limited success romantically. It wasn't that he was particularly lacking in charm, nor was he unattractive; his wavy brown hair past his shoulders tied back for convenience, his hazel eyes rather uniquely flecked with gold, his body kept fit and trim from a love of swimming. No, the source of his problems was obvious, and obnoxious, and unavoidable. Devin was blessed, or cursed, with an almost ludicrously unwieldy penis.

Unobtrusive enough when soft, thankfully, a small miracle, but when aroused it bloated obscenely, filling out to 46 centimeters of throbbing, seam-straining cock. At least! Devin swore that under the right circumstances, when he was feeling particularly randy or a lovely lady was especially fit to his type, he could feel it getting longer and thicker, as though his lust demanded that he split a girl in half. The doctors were never quite sure what to make of it. He was perfectly healthy, no abnormalities, no genetic defects that they could find. There were no issues with the routines for his real image; they seemed to be accurately representing what they read from his genetics. He was just...really, really big. His parents hadn't been wealthy, and before taking the job at Cambridge, Devin had no particular prestige either, so data surgery to reduce in size what was basically a cosmetic inconvenience had been beyond him.

Before that fateful night, Devin's relationships had gone one of two ways as soon as things became sexual. The most common was that his girlfriends would stare at his dick as it rose and swelled into a huge pillar of need, become almost immediately terrified, call the whole thing off, and never go out with him again. Less commonly, but worse in their own way, were the women who weren't scared of his epic rod, but treated him like a toy, a mere thing to be used for their pleasure, an impossibly rare trinket that they could show off to impress their peers, a testament to their prowess that they could tame his titanic member. Those girlfriends, Devin left.

Oh, but Elena was different. He had contacted her on some hookup network or another, lonely and lost and almost irretrievably horny. He'd just scared off another girl, who mustered the courage to tease and stroke him but lost her nerve before he'd finished and literally fled from his apartment. Elena's profile had caught his eye, because she was beautiful and lushly curved, yes, but more importantly because her description said she wanted to be filled. Perhaps, he had thought, she would turn out to be just another of the selfish size queens, but at least if that were the case he could get off and treat the whole thing as a once-and-done hookup.

He went to her apartment, and she'd greeted him with a smile, and with an unexpected meal. She'd just ordered dinner, and they'd messed up the order and sent her another, so now she had two full English breakfasts and was happy to share. They'd chatted over the food, more of a date than the casual sex he'd been expecting. And then. Oh, and then, she awoke something in Devin that had slept for so long.

He'd said the words he'd repeated time and again: "I want to warn you, before we start, I'm quite large." It almost never helped, but he figured it was only polite. Elena had looked eager on hearing that, which he had rather expected, but what came next was new. She'd stripped for him, and she was so incredibly sexy, he undressed before he ripped something. When she saw his towering tool, she behaved differently than anyone before ever had. She was enraptured, like she'd just been handed the fulfillment of a life-long dream. No fear, no selfishness, but true desire.

She sank to her knees in front of him, and lavished his cock with attention. Stroking, kissing, licking, sucking, telling him how wonderful he looked. Devin had never experienced anything like it. She didn't want to use him like a toy, she wanted to share pleasure with him. So when she pushed him down, straddled his face with her wide hips, and asked him to reciprocate while she loved on his dick some more, he set to the task with gusto, and within moments they shared their first orgasms of the night. He would have been satisfied, but the best was yet to come.

Elena had explained her mods to him, rather vaguely at first, hinting at a surprise that he would love. She wanted to ride him, "so you can get the best look at this" she'd said. She had slowly slid down his gargantuan pole, and as she did he watched her breasts slowly swell, growing noticeably larger by the time she hit bottom. Devin was fairly sure she explained in more detail later that evening, in between bouts of unbridled passion, but this first time all he knew was that he had to have more of this amazing woman.

She bounced joyously on his cock, reveling in the feeling of being filled beyond her normal capacity, her perfect breasts pulsing in size with every stroke. It was the most erotic, sensual display he'd ever seen, and he could feel his body trying with all its might to be harder, longer, thicker, so that she'd get ever so slightly larger herself. The night had been very long, and Devin learned what it was to really have a lover, for the first time in his life. Elena had noted how worked up he got over the growth that her mods enabled, and gently teased him about it a few times. She clearly thought he simply liked big boobs; she couldn't have known it was so much more than that. Only one other person knew about the dreams.

Devin had been having dreams about bigness since his early teens, and not just size but growth. It had been the first sexual dream he'd ever had; he never knew what had sparked the idea in his horny teenage brain, but the image had never left him. A young woman sitting in a lecture hall, learning about recent technological advances, whose breasts slowly outgrew her bra, then her shirt, then her desk, and eventually the entire enormous room, as the professor explained the sensual spectacle unfolding before the class in dry, technical terms. That one was the first, but only the beginning.

For years, Devin's sleeping hours had been regularly visited, sometimes overwhelmed, by ballooning asses, burgeoning bellies, cocks bloating to sizes even he found unbelievable, fattening lips, giantesses reaching to the heavens, but more than anything else, breasts. Warm and soft, enveloping him in their bosomy embrace, fat nipples filling his mouth, lovely huge tits wrapping around his giant cock, or around his body. He could never escape the dreams of growth. Maybe they were built into him, just like his own impressive equipment. They'd started before he got so big, after all.

The only person he'd ever told about the dreams was Angie, his first girlfriend. He had been so young, barely leaving childhood behind, she only a little older. They'd talked about their fantasies, and he shyly told her about the persistent, erotic dreams. She hadn't laughed, or teased him, or called him weird or sick. Even so, they broke up a few months later. She'd said that knowing what he dreamed, what he really desired, made her feel inadequate, even though they weren't even having sex; she had subconsciously been gaining weight to be bigger for him, and she said that it was probably not healthy for them to stay together. Probably just as well that they broke it off before things went any further, because not long after he told her, his own growth had begun in earnest. He never told anyone else his dark, secret dreams of expansion.

So Elena didn't know that it was more than just novelty, more than just big boobs. She didn't know that she was literally one of Devin's dreams brought to life, as though manifested from his mind into the 'Dream they all shared. She was kind and loving and generous, she wanted him so badly, and being the target of that from her healed wounds in his heart he hadn't even known were there, but it wasn't a relationship, it was a hookup, and Devin couldn't resist her. He found reserves of stamina he hadn't known were in him; every time he thought he was spent, the memory would hit him of her fantastic tits pushing outward as his cock slipped ever so deep inside her hungry, inviting body, and he stiffened again for another round. Who needed to sleep when the dreams that chased through his brain were right there for the taking?

When they finally said their goodbyes, they promised to keep in touch. Rather unexpectedly, they had, and Devin hoped maybe he could build something with her, be more than a fat cock to someone. Then, the call from Cambridge came, and he couldn't turn down one of the most prestigious libraries in the world specifically requesting his talents. He hadn't had a good excuse to go back to New York, or anywhere in BOMA, since. Devin hoped she was happy, hoped maybe she'd found someone to satisfy her hunger even better than he could. Maybe he should send her a note, he thought.

In any case, the passion he'd experienced with Elena added a new dimension to his dreams, and made them more vivid and explicit than ever. It was that night, he was sure, that had set him down the path he was on now. Without her giving him so much that night, he never would have turned his vague disquiet with his job and his occasional insomnia into a creative delve into the world of smut. It began with watching holoporn, hoping that post-orgasmic languor would lead to sleep. Almost inevitably, his desire for more interactive entertainment and the expansion fantasies burned deep into his psyche led him to find an entire community of like-minded people, creating stories and art and holos and games about transformation and size and growth.

He'd known he wasn't alone, he'd come across this kind of thing before, but the extent of the community stunned him. It was like a second world (or would that be third?) that he inhabited in the night. He knew he wanted to be a bigger part of it, so he taught himself to create interactive holoporn stories, and tried putting a few of his dreams into coded experiences that he could share. It wasn't easy, but working on Janus had honed his coding skills on top of his already highly capable abilities at working with and connecting large volumes of data. Soon, he had a small but enthusiastic audience; nothing special, his works were viewed hundreds of times, not tens of thousands, but that didn't matter. He wasn't trying to get rich or famous, he was just trying to share his smutty thoughts with people who found them exciting.

Which led to now, when he'd convinced himself he had an infinite supply of expansion stories waiting in his mind to be poured out into his chosen art form, when he needed the dreams that had haunted his rest for so long, but he found nothing. He couldn't think of any story to tell. It was a ridiculous thing to worry about, anyway. He didn't have to create anything. He wasn't on a schedule, there were no deadlines, he hadn't committed to anything. Still, he wanted to tell a story, he just didn't know where to begin. No characters, no plot, no starting hook on which to hang a beginning, middle, and end. It was kind of a ridiculous thing to be troubled by, really. Nobody would blame him if he just...didn't make any smut for a few days.

He wasn't doing it because he had to, though, he was creating these stories because he wanted to, and a bit of writers' block didn't stop him from wanting to create. Devin stared at his datapad, the blank document for the script taunting him. He closed his eyes and sat back, thinking of sexy scenarios. Did it already; too derivative; did it already; not actually sexy; boring; did it already; literally played that one last week. His conscious mind was just...done. Only one thing for it, then: sleep on it, and hope he dreamed up something new that he could start on in the morning. Devin set his datapad on his bedside table, stripped down to his usual nighttime wear of nothing, and tucked in under the blankets, begging his brain for inspiration. Sleep, at least, came easily.

He woke in the middle of the night, not uncommon for him. It was often a chance to jot down something from a dream before the images faded, but tonight there was nothing to write. His rest had been deep and dreamless so far. He padded to the kitchen, had a drink of water, and laid back down. He'd used these biphasic breaks for writing before, but he knew that picking up his datapad would just be frustrating this time, and he'd never get back to sleep. Maybe what his mind needed was a little...incentive to come up with some smut. Devin tossed back the blankets and prepared himself for a little self-love.

With his hefty endowment, he couldn't just jack it like he'd done as a newly horny, inexpert teen, back when he was "just" 22 centimeters and his growth had barely begun. No, there was a process now. He called to mind the last scenario he'd published, just to provide the initial spark. If your own work didn't turn you on, why create it? That was merely to get him swelling a bit, so he could get out of his own way.

The trick was to barely even touch it until it was nearly at its peak, so as his still-soft shaft reached a size most men would be proud to stop at, he gently nudged it into the liminal space between his thigh and pelvis, and focused his attention slightly below. His testicles, thankfully, hadn't gotten the full brunt of whatever hormonal assault had enhanced his cock; were they similarly outsized, he feared he would have had a pair of grapefruits that necessitated custom tailoring. Luckily, the large hens' eggs he'd ended up with let him be noticeably endowed enough to attract only those who were looking while still buying pants off the rack. Well, when he wasn't aroused, anyway.

Devin began with light, almost tickling strokes of his fingertips across his balls, giving him shivers and causing them to tense and roil; while not huge, they were dense, and he'd surprised more than one partner with his productivity. He gently cupped himself, rolling those eggs in his hand, then squeezing just a little. Being only half awake, he felt particularly sensitive, like his package was floating suspended in a warm, thick pool of liquid. It wasn't going to take him long to get himself worked up at this rate. His second hand joined the first, partly on instinct because it felt so good, and partly because he knew what came next was not a one-handed job.

He wrapped his thumbs and index fingers around the thick base of his now mostly hard cock, while his remaining fingers draped downwards and continued massaging his cum factories. This redirected the shaft from its comfortable resting place more centrally up over his belly, and when the fat head bumped his sternum, he couldn't resist any more. Slowly, almost as though afraid of its power, his hands slid up and up and up his dick, coaxing it that last little bit to full hardness, and stopping just barely shy of the head before taking the long journey back down to the base. He took care not to grip, just to touch, lest he be overwhelmed by the sensation, and with drowsy hunger he gently stroked his nearly half-meter of manhood.

He rarely admitted it to himself, choosing instead to think of his penis in terms of it being a burden, but in his soul Devin loved the size of his cock, the heavy weight of it in his hands, the heat that poured off it as his heart beat harder to stiffen its immensity, the way it went from reasonable when ignored to nearly dominating his entire body when aroused. Fuck it felt so good to be big. It wasn't safe to admit that he liked it, otherwise the mere thought of how huge his dick was would turn him on so much he'd always be hard. Talking down about it to himself was the only way to save his trouser seams.

In this moment, securely nude, he could indulge in the throbbing mass of his ludicrous endowment, and even almost, almost, wish it would get bigger still. That was insane, of course, but what was rationality in the face of a size enthusiast engaged in self-worship of his own enormous schlong? His hands were moving faster, holding a little tighter, brushing the head every time they reached the top. He wanted to explode, he could feel the pleasure building to a peak, the need to come with all his might making its presence known.

He slowed, controlled himself, and regretfully denied his member the release it craved. This was for a purpose, and the purpose wasn't pleasure, it was inspiration. Surely this would spur his subconscious to envision something inspiring in an effort to finish the job. Tired by his exertions, now feeling too hot to pull his blankets back up, still achingly hard, Devin slipped back into slumber.

He was surrounded by soft pillows, lying on a bed far larger and more richly appointed than his own. And he was naked, and hugely aroused, and though he couldn't see anyone in the darkness that kept him from seeing much past the edge of the bed, he could sense that he was not alone. "Who's there?" The obvious question. She stepped from the darkness, a dream woman he'd never seen before. He knew he was dreaming; that was new.

"Greetings, young one. I've been waiting for you for a long time."

She was undeniably gorgeous, her eyes large and luminous green, her face a model of feminine beauty. Her breasts were large but not exceedingly so, a lovely handful in a perfect teardrop shape. The curve of her hips invited imaginings that she was a mother and an experienced lover. Auburn hair cascaded in waves down her back. None of that, though, matched two things that struck Devin about her. The first were her less typical features; parting her hair on top of her head were pointed ears covered in fur the same reddish shade as her hair, and behind her waved two, no three fluffy fox tails. The second was that, despite her rich curves, she seemed thin somehow, like she'd missed a few too many meals and wasn't carrying the weight she was used to.

"Waiting for me? Well then I'm glad I had this dream, I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

"Oh, my Dreamer-to-be, I expect great things from you. You've come far to find me. Tell me why." She had a strange manner of speaking, he couldn't quite place anything about her.

"I want to tell a story, but I don't know where to begin. I need inspiration, and my dreams have always given me that."

"Ah, so I am to be your muse, then?" She seemed to find this amusing. "Well then, let me take the offering you've so thoughtfully prepared for me, and you shall have your...inspiration."

She climbed onto the bed and crawled towards him on all fours, her tails making the motion seem more natural than it normally would be for a human. Devin smiled at his mysterious, foxy muse, knowing that something very special was coming. This was a new and very intriguing place his dreams had gone to, and he looked forward to finding out just how much he could experience in this strangely lucid state. Her smile became more lascivious as she looked hungrily as his pulsing member, but when she reached him, she started lower, just as Devin had done earlier. Except she didn't use her hands.