Widowmaker VS Renamon (Match 25) (Patreon)

The goddesses of cock met at the end of the universe. Renamon and Widowmaker, the undefeated champions of size and erotic excess, finally joined in a contest that could have only one winner. 

Both approached with an earned swagger, secure in the knowledge that their loins had overwhelmed entire worlds, realities. One could hardly blame them for wanting to show off, and indeed they did; both digimon and assassin, showing up in all of their hyper-sexual glory: casual curves beyond the bounds of any attempt at clothing, graceful power rippling in their limbs. Renamon’s bust, big and shapely enough to hang just beyond her hips, was the larger of the pair (but only slightly), while Widowmaker’s infamous rear took point on the bottom side, her hips inspiring sin in whoever caught a glimpse of their soft, swaying movements.

And then, of course, there was the matter of manhoods. A fat, dangling cock between each set of legs. Of course they got bigger, even before their owners got close enough to address each other under the starry sky, swelling, widening, with the steady, rhythmic beat of their hearts. Really, the fact that both shestuds had elected to start off with a cock any smaller than their own legs was a sign of tremendous dicipline, but it didn’t last. Not when they locked eyes, smirking at each other across the distance, whilst galaxies collided in the background and the cosmos prepared itself for what was to come.

‘Third legs’ didn’t cut it for long. There they went, rising up hard and ready, eager to show off, to snap eternity in half on their ever-lasting orgasms, and to dominate the other. Renamon’s cock was the first to exceed the size of her body, bwoomphing forward with a throb that made the ground tremble, her balls bloating greedily as they swung behind her and filled out, ascending by the moment until they form a veritable wall, a backdrop for her aggressively sexual form.

But Widowmaker didn’t make her wait. The seductive sniper sported twice, thrice as much in the blink of an eye, her girth, elegant monster swaying to and fro as it led the way, spilling droplets of ludicrously potent pre as if she meant to seed the world itself with her potency. 

“Alors,” Widowmaker purred, “this is the best that the hyperfurs have to offer?”

“The best that anyone has to offer,” Renamon corrected her as she came to a stop beside the Frenchwoman and swung her, by now, 30 foot erection around to slap their weighty masses of cockmeat together. The world reeled from the impact of their collision, and they had only just started.

“Please. I’ve heard such words so many times. Don’t bore me with empty boasts.”

Renamon cracked a grin. “Fine. I’ll show you.” She ran a hand across the base of her cock and let out a breathy sigh; power welled up inside her, sheer, unbridled size pouring into her loins with nary a thought. If anything, she mused as the pleasures of her growing body flooded her mind, she had to hold them back. But this was a no holds barred competition, and restraint had no place here.

The ground they stood on was made of pure black, a featureless planetoid with a noticeably curving horizon. The heavens above, on the other hand, glittered like gemstones, a great army of stars dancing on the aetherial winds. They were the audience for Renamon and Widowmaker’s bout, gods new and old drawn to watch the impossibly hung dickgirls spar for honor and pleasure.

Renamon’s cock throbbed; with a surge, it shot through the half-formed reality of their surroundings, packing on mass so fast that it might as well have been a black hole. Her fat, fleshy length pulsed, enlarging with every passing moment, every little flicker of excitement passing through her brain. Dozens of feet became hundreds, then thousands, her penis growing from merely monumental to a literal monument of virility, a mile-long girlcock that reared above the obsidian landscape, breaking the amorphous scenery with her presence alone.

Widowmaker was not so easily impressed. She crossed her arms across her expansive bust and joined in, already well into the first of her infinite orgasms, painting the horizon with thick, potent cum, forming new seas with each gush and creating a whole new atmosphere from sexual musk and steam alone. She did not as much as bat an eyelid through it all—nor did she as she kept on cumming harder and harder, not only producing new oceans of ball-batter, but literally cumming more cock, adding miles and miles and miles of fresh, throbbing flesh with each pulse of her climax.

The planetoid arena could never have contained the pair for long. And yet, its end still came quicker than anyone could have known, Renamon’s balls easily outsizing it as they bloated towards the heavens with ever larger loads of cum, swiftly put to use in drowning even Widowmaker’s seas in her—at that second—far more potent seed.

So they went, one-upping each other. Space opened up as the ground beneath their feet failed and were replaced with their own skin, their astronomical packages easily acquiring the gravity that the faltering battleground lacked. Here, at the end of the universe, they had only each other to compare against; no planets, no stars, nothing but the ever-fattening penis of their rival. And so Renamon and Widowmaker went on, frotting their cosmic cocks together in a pleasurable bid for supremacy without deigning to notice each ill-fated milestone they passed through: thousands, millions, billions, it all blended together as the universe itself seemed to spin around them, drawn to the tremendous might of their cocks like a swarm of fireflies to a pair of particularly phallic flames.

But it was not, as it appeared, a stalemate. For as Renamon and Widowmaker’s cocks conquered the cosmos, Renamon revealed her trump card. With every throb, every gush, not only her package swelled; the rest of her did as well, her limber figure growing taller by degrees. At first it was barely noticeable, an inch or two at the time. Then came more drastic changes, the measures becoming feet, then miles, as the powerful digimon ascended; her cock still outsized her, yes, but she straddled her shaft and rode it like a bronco in comparison to Widowmaker, left as a diminutive pinprick atop her vast uni-scape of feminine penis.

She noticed that the stalemate was broken, and she was not happy. But it was too late; no curse nor miracle could let her overtake the omniversal giantess beside her, filling the empty void to completion with her powerful curves. Even as the limits of the universe crept up on the two of them, attempting—foolishly—to hold them in, Renamon’s greater size and need for free space overtook Widowmaker, too large to deny. 

“Zut alors!” Widowmaker cried, looking up at the titanic face of her rival. She showed no awe, not fear—only the petulant pout of a sore loser. “That’s a dirty trick.”

“I know. It’s why it’s so effective,” Renamon replied, her voice rumbling through the entirety of creation. The membrane of reality trying to restrain her felt sublime; a caress of her entire body at once, galaxies glittering in her fur as her body prepared to burst free and dominate the next layer of existence. Her cock bucked uncontrollably, as the universe deformed around it, a flimsy condom for her unstoppable godcock. That was all it took. A stroke, a pulse, a throb—and then she was through, flooding the multiverse with her wet, molten bounty.

The champions had met. A victor had risen. And Renamon felt too good to stop any time soon…