Synchronisation - Part 2 (Patreon Commission+ for Joducus) (Patreon)

TAGS: Growth/Expansion, Multi/Multi Growth, Hyper/Hyper Growth, TF/TG

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And if she could still use the sliders, then clearly there was a ways to go before she was left so utterly unrecognisable that there was a good chance her real self would be affected by proxy; hell, if nothing else, she was going to wake up and wonder why her “true” body lacked the overload of sensations that came with her dream one. A hell of a thought, given what that meant going forward, but the alternative was simply never experiencing excess on that level, so better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

But the raccoon gal needed something different, something more than just… more. Sure, she could make herself bigger still; the sliders were right back in the middle, meaning it was just as easy as before to pull them over to the right and let fate take the wheel, but, she had something else in mind. A devious little idea, one that had come to her multiple times in the past, but one that, alas, even that game couldn’t model accurately, no matter how many times she sent emails to the developers under a variety of aliases.

Granted, there was no guarantee she could do it then; the synchronisation menu could very well not have the option she was looking for, but having a bed of tits to lie upon and nothing better to do, the transformed Jeremy had naught but time to look through all the opportunities made available. There were even some that she hadn’t thought of before, number-based and mind-bending to imagine, some she bookmarked to come back to later, after she was done with the main attraction.

It was odd. The longer she scrolled through the menu, the more options appeared, even though the sidebar seemed to be close enough to the bottom that she should’ve found an end to it all some time prior. But as she thought of it, as she considered what she might want, there it was, laid bare in front of her virginal, pure little eyes, ready to corrupt them and the mind that lay behind, ready to infiltrate her thoughts and bring them to heel at the foot of some unseen, eldritch entity of pure lust. That, or she was just horny, that was a distinct possibility.

Regardless of what the case may be, the raccoon scrolled through the options until she found what she was looking for: modifications for that plump, couch-smothering rear of hers. Not just any mods though; if she just wanted her rump to be larger, those were all the way near the top, along with all the other basic alterations that she’d forgotten about already. No, these ones were more esoteric, more personalised; it made sense that they should be near the bottom, needing a full minute of scrolling just to access them.

If anyone were to ask her if she often fantasised about… that, she would’ve said no. In fact, she would’ve blushed badly enough to stain her fur red near-permanently, and then said no, multiple times, in quick succession, trying to convince herself in order to convince whoever asked. It wasn’t something that civilised people admitted to, hell, it wasn’t something anyone admitted to if they wanted to be accepted in polite society; it made sense that she would deny it then, but there? In her dream world?

It was nonsensical for her not to explore that side of herself.

Instead of a slider, she had a box with arrows on either side of it. There was a one, printed out on the screen in the game’s standard font, with the left arrow greyed out, and the right one an enticing orange bordered in red; she knew what it meant, her dream knew what it meant, and all that was left was for her to take the mouse, slide the cursor over, and just give herself more of it. The best part was that it didn’t even happen all at once, nor immediately; she managed to get a few clicks in before the effects became noticeable.

Some would say that giving herself extra tailholes would’ve been too much. Indeed, the raccoon herself would’ve admitted to exactly that, along with a nervous laugh as she proclaimed she totally didn’t think about having multiple points of entry back there, all puffy and engorged and ready to be stuffed by an equally oversized lover. Preposterous, she would’ve proclaimed, the deranged ravings of a lunatic in serious need of some mental reconditioning, not at all the sort of material she had saved up in a few encrypted folders.

But she felt it. Pushing against both cheeks from within, blooming as their number was made to rise, as their size accompanied that of her rump, the donuts swelling until they were just barely visible, poking out from the gargantuan crevice between her pillowy mounds, one after another in a vertical arrangement, practically daring anyone that saw them to anchor their fingers in her rump and pound away until they grew too tired to do so.

It was… too much. At that exact moment, the combined sensory overload of her transformed self with the realisation of what was happening to her was enough to break through some form of limit, some kind of line that even her dream self couldn’t ignore. It was a wonder she hadn’t crossed it already, to be fair; given the way she looked, the raccoon gal could only assume her subconscious psyche was far more resilient than her conscious one.

Not that it mattered, when all of her gushed in unison.

Maybe by the end of the dream, she’d wake up and try to clean up; the amount of spillage around her was sure to cause some impression upon her psyche, even if one that would vanish just a few minutes after returning to the waking world. But in there, in her dream, where none could see her but herself, it was an absolute, glorious mess of an orgasm; there was no way around it, she’d just climaxed, and done so with enough force that her muscles felt like they’d been torn at with industrial vices, her whole body straining to deal with the sheer amount of energy unleashed in that one moment.

A boobgasm mixed with the regular stuff, leaving the raccoon gal gasping for breath as she tried to understand just what had happened and why her body had reacted the way that it did. Coming up with coherent thoughts was surprisingly difficult now that she’d reached a state of such high activation; for once, she felt like she was in a dream, like her mind couldn’t quite focus on any one thing, as all sensations were transient and churned together into an indistinct mess.

It could be that she’d just cum her brains out and thus couldn’t really think of anything else, but she liked to think it was the dream thing; if nothing else, it served as a convenient insulant, letting her think that what was happening to her wasn’t real, that she wasn’t actually giving herself more holes or that her bed-sized tits hadn’t just erupted with goodness know how many gallons of milk. It couldn’t be real, but by then, it was less a matter of possibility and more one of merit.

It couldn’t be real, because it couldn’t possibly be that she could ever be given her dream self. At no point did she deserve it; what had she done, apart from buying a five dollar DLC? There was no reason there, no logic behind it all, so of course it couldn’t be real; if it were, then it meant she had just modified her body, perhaps even permanently, such that she couldn’t even walk, let alone do anything that she had to do in order to lead a semi-normal life. If it were real, she was lying atop six tits, each of which were big enough that her old body could fit inside them, with an ass bigger than all three racks and what were likely to be at least six tailholes gaping and ready to have cocks plunged into them.

And if that were the case… well, then she needed more, then didn’t she?

It was such an obvious step to take, that it was almost terrifying how she hadn’t had it sooner: in for a penny, in for a pound. If this was a dream, then it stood to reason that Jeremy had no reason not to go all-in: it would all reset itself once he woke up, so why bother keeping to any standard of decency?

But if it was all real, if what he was staring at was not some deranged product of an insane, sleeping mind, but the result of a very real transformation brought about by a very real purchase, then there was a tough question to be asked there: did she want to go back to normal, or was she fine the way she was?

Oddly enough the answer to both of those questions was the same: a big, resounding “no”. She wasn’t going to go back to normal; after what she’d experienced, the raccoon gal practically cackled at the notion that she’d ever abandon such heavenly delights, the very idea of it so laughable that it bordered on the farcical… but she wasn’t fine the way she was, not by a longshot. Indeed, even as she stared down at a trio of racks that each outsized most people she knew, the raccoon had a simple thought: she could finally let loose.

The game had allowed her to explore some of her kinks. It went a great deal in the right direction, but practical limitations, as well as some guidelines of what was acceptable to sell to even those who were over eighteen, made it impossible for the experience to truly reach the heights that Jeremy had wanted to be at. There were always ideas he could never bring to fruition, thoughts that were doomed to remain as such… but now, with the synchronisation menu, he could bring those ideas to life.

If he could think them, they could be made manifest. This much he was certain of: whenever he had a stray thought, sure enough, there it was, made real in the endlessly-scrolling menu thanks to the magical power of a scroll bar that never seemed to end. And if that was the case, then it only made sense that he try and push this to its very limit; it was ridiculous to think that she could be given such a gift and not proceed to abuse it to the fullest extent.

It was with a smile that the raccoon, by then having shed her old identity like a snakeskin, pulled back to the top of the menu. There was something she had to do to herself, something she recalled seeing next to the option to make her tits bigger; the developers themselves had been teasing it for a long while, but had never gotten around to actually implementing it: a tauric form for anyone playing.

There were equines, of course, but once one’s race was chosen, it was common knowledge that changing it was entirely up to the administration. Transformative potions did exist, but were always temporary; while there existed rumours of exceedingly rare formulas that allowed one to permanently change into a different model, the dev team behind the game assured the playerbase that these weren’t real, and that the difficulty in keeping track of every possible permutation would never let them be real.

The raccoon, however, didn’t care: she wasn’t in the game anymore, controlling an avatar constrained by code, but there in the real world, where physics could suck it and go cry in a corner while she violated conservation of mass. She was there, and being there, she was going to make it patently clear to the world that there were no limits.

It was unsurprising, then, that she found an option tucked near the top of the menu, where it definitely hadn’t been before, labelled “Body Plans”; a drop-down menu, clicking it open revealed a multitude of available transformations, most of which were a bit too exotic for the raccoon’s taste. She didn’t want to become some sort of weird hybrid creature, she just wanted four legs with a tauric body; made more room for tits and… other, assorted bits, once she got down to it.

Thankfully, such an option was available, and indeed second on the list, right below the standard bipedal one. She only hesitated for a few moments, mostly out of fear that it might genuinely hurt; she was, ultimately, still reforming her entire skeletal structure and extending her body out to over twice of its size, and that was without counting all the additional mass in the form of breasts she had slung out in front and beneath her. But it had to happen, was the thing; it had to happen, and thus, she clicked it.

Blacking out was, perhaps, the most merciful thing that could’ve happened to her. Overloaded with sensory feedback, her brain was simply unable to handle the stress and preemptively shut down to keep itself from melting into slag, allowing the raccoon to bypass the worst parts of the change and wake up when they were done; this way, she could “skip” over to the good bits, ignoring all the unfortunate nastiness in the middle.

It would’ve been merciful, had it happened.

To describe what she went through in those five minutes would be impossible. Pain and pleasure mixed together in something that had no business being experienced by a mortal mind, made to swirl and mix with one another in an unholy combination that strained the transformed Jeremy’s ability to comprehend. It wasn’t something mortals were designed to go through; perhaps divinities, in a realm of existence far above the raccoon’s own, were the sort of entities who could make sense of it, but not her.

She had to go through five minutes of what could only be called excruciating ecstasy, at the end of which her eyes were overflowing with tears, her muscles ached and cramped up from the convulsions, her lungs felt like a knife had been run through them from the effort of keeping her supply with oxygen, and her now-four legs were shaking too much to hold the raccoon up… but she was still there. Despite it all, despite the pain, the agony, the copious quantities of milk spilled onto the floor in the succession of boobgasms that wracked her form, she was still there, and she was finally a taur.

Getting up to appreciate this new reality was significantly harder than expected initially, though, given what had to happen to make it true, the raccoon gal couldn’t blame herself for being sluggish. Just moving at all, no matter if it was nothing but a little, inconsequential twitch, made her wince at the mere thought; surely it would hurt, she repeated to herself, and she should remain still, lest her body scream in mindless, sanity-shattering agony.

But she had to get up, if for no other reason than, if she did not, her tits would either force her to anyway, or crush her underneath their weight. Hard to tell if it was a direct result of the last transformation or if she’d accidentally moved a slider in between thrashing around when undergoing the change, but her many, many udders were not only more numerous, but far larger as well.

In fact, trying to get a good look at them was all-but impossible, given that they all seemed to melt into one another and refused to stay at any one given size; the closest the raccoon-taur could get to was assuming that they were each bigger than she was and leave it at that, since even numbers were hard to come by on account of more and more busts sprouting whenever she had a particularly strong orgasm.

Down below, she could also feel something else snaking its way between her racks; or rather, many somethings, in a return to her more masculine traits. Of course one cock wasn’t enough, not now that she had a tauric underside that could fit several of them, not now that she could throw in even more nuts on top of the ones she used to have! Plus, she was a raccoon now; there was a joke to be made about tanuki in there, somewhere, even if she herself was too horny to think it up.

Plus, with so many tits in the way, it made for a perfect form of constant stimulation, one that, no matter how much she wanted it to stop, it never would… assuming of course she did want it to stop, as opposed to merely construing it as a hypothetical to then discard as being nonsensical. What mattered was she sprouted a multitude of dicks that each were put to work titfucking herself, all while dragging behind enough nuts that she could probably take care of the nation’s sperm bank supplies for several years in a row if she was given ten minutes alone by herself.

Add to that how her many assholes were very much still there, if moved all the way to the back by her haunches, as well as a pair of cheeks that, despite her new body plan, were still positively gargantuan, and one could call her… excessive. The raccoon-taur certainly thought so, which was, really, the entire point: she’d done all of that for the sake of excess, purely to see if it was possible, and, in it being so, to revel in the absurdity of it all.

Because there was no more thought paid towards the notion that this might be a dream. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t; ultimately, it didn’t matter anymore, because the sensations were very much real, regardless of whether or not it was actually happening. Even if it were just a fabrication on the part of an overtaxed brain, she absolutely felt the transformation, and now the pressure, the weight, the mass, the sense of countless tits jostling against one another, the plump, plush donuts wanting to puff out further; the cocks bumping into one another, the churning balls, the sheer immenseness of herself… and the fact that it still wasn’t over.

How could it be? She could still move, and that was the clearest sign that she had work left to do; she could still think, so obvious she could go further; the game had served as a springboard for so much of Jeremy’s sexual exploration that, at points, they had forgotten that the whole point was for them to shut their brain off and enjoy some mindless fun. And now, given the body of their dreams and the ability to modify it on the fly, he could make that be as literal as possible.

Why should he be thinking? Why bother with the unnecessary action of having thoughts and thinking things through when he could just… not? When through her self-indulgence, her conscious self could melt into the nothingness of beyond, where she could just live in the moment and not have any part of herself even cognizant of what came before or after? It was certainly a thought, possibly the last one she’d ever have; there was a grin there, wider than before, as the realisation dawned on her that she didn’t have to think about anything, if only she threw herself fully into the transformative madness.

There was no doubt it had to be a dream now; reality just didn’t operate by the laws of horny, and her body was… too much to be real. Did she take up most of the room she was in? Probably more, honestly; there was a good chance she was sprouting extra heads as well, given the confusing flow of thoughts she was not having still going through her mind, but it was practically impossible for her to know for certain: too much tit in the way. That and the amount of dick she had made it hard to really focus on anything, though… this was the point, wasn’t it?

To achieve a state of such heightened arousal that it overloaded everything else and made it literally, physically impossible for her to think about anything other than achieving an apotheosis of pleasure? To become the very embodiment of excess and self-indulgence, nothing more than the absolute pinnacle of sexual desire made manifest? To throw herself at the computer and move the sliders all the way to the right, once, thrice, again and again until she lost track of how many times she’d done it and the whole system was crushed by the mounting weight of her many mammaries?

She definitely assumed as much. Assume, of course, because thinking was a thing of the past; what the raccoon-taur had now was little more than instinct, working off of a base, almost subconscious understanding of how things “should” work, how the world was “supposed” to operate. There was no logic there, beyond the twisted sense of wanting to suffer more at the hands of her own transformative whims; no thoughts beyond the barebones needed to formulate a mental construct in the first place.

There was just herself, being made bigger, more numerous, more productive, until the room she was in felt so cramped that the only way forward was to keep going. Until she heard panicked screaming coming from all around her as she tried her best to walk in any given direction; it was a miracle her paws even reached the ground, in between having to splay out to the sides to make room for her dicks and needing to be pressed in between busts.. But she did feel the ground, albeit in a distant manner, as if she wasn’t truly touching it.

It was there, but… not there. It was, in fact, a dream; the rest of the “world”, not being necessary beyond the need to create ambiance, was ethereal and half-formed, not truly solid like the real world outside of her head was. Thus, when she moved, she was more so gliding over a surface that wasn’t truly there, rather than doing anything remotely “real”; she was simply going from point A to point B in a way that her brain understood it, and it being a dream, it wasn’t surprising that walls didn’t really stop her.

What did matter was the way her body was. What mattered was being able to look back and see her puffy donuts bulging out from between her cheeks. What mattered was having enough tit to make it difficult to glide even through this not-realm of her own creation. What mattered was being so laden and productive that one could be forgiven for assuming she was something created in a laboratory, rather than a flesh and blood creature of her own making.

And, in the process, achieve something of a sexual apotheosis. She was no longer herself; rather, her old “self” was subsumed into this new, grandiose form, the one that needed no such silly things as worries or thoughts or concerns. The one that didn’t, and wouldn’t waste time with rent or food or anything other than the purest pursuit of pleasure in its raw, unadulterated form. The form that was better, the form that had achieved perfection in a way that could never truly be explained.

She liked that. And all for the low, low price of a five dollar piece of DLC. Well, she said that; not like it was real, was it? She was going to wake up any time now, her dream having reached a critical point where it could no longer sustain itself. Any minute now, it would come tumbling down, ejecting her back into the cold embrace of mundane, everyday reality.

Any minute now.