Brod: Growing Unrest Pt. 01

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Sarkopheros Says:

This is the first new Brod story where he’s grown some from his previous size. He’s going to get slightly bigger though—the next story will take place some time after this one, and in that one, he’ll be at his final size. You guys voted on it, I said I’d do it, and I did it.

If you’re not familiar with my Brod series, expect ludicrous, unrealistic proportions. He has a titanic cock better suited for use as a battering ram and nuts bigger than his head. There will be cum inflation, absurd sex, and a host of other things. This story also features some light incest between two sisters and a little lactation thrown in for good measure. I almost always focus on asses, so I thought I’d focus more on tits in this one.

Anyway, enough from me. Enjoy the story. And please let me know if it was a fun read.

Also, I’m always open to constructive criticism, please let me know if you have any.

***

You may have noticed in my stories that I’m often vague when I talk about how big I am right now, and that I leave most of my accounts in a nebulous time frame. This is why. While I have not lied, I have omitted facts. And the fact I omitted was that I grew more. By a lot. And quite frankly, I wasn’t sure how believable it would be.

See, most of the stories you’ve read up until now occurred years ago. And it’s true, I was 19.5 inches during those stories. But that changed. And it took me far too long to notice how much bigger I’d gotten.

You might be saying, “How can you not notice your cock growing by several inches, Brod?” Well, the answer is two things. First, it happened over a long period of time—years. My cock stopped growing at the age of 26. When I measured it the next year, and the year after that, nothing had changed. So naturally I assumed I was done growing. But I was wrong.

Second, a few inches is not immediately noticeable at my size. Sure, if you have an average cock, two or three inches is a huge change. But when your cock is longer than your thigh and you can weigh it in kilograms, things are different. I started to notice during the rare occasions when I opted for a real pair of pants instead of basketball shorts. My slacks were starting to feel tighter, and even my custom-cut jeans were becoming a task to put on. I never liked wearing pants, but it was getting ridiculous.

At first, I thought I was gaining weight. And according to Yara, I was. Which just made things stranger. My body fat percentage stayed the same, so we assumed I was putting on muscle and fat equally.

A few girls had commented that I seemed larger, but I didn’t believe them. I assumed it was just the fact that they had to sate themselves with normal-sized cocks between our encounters. But I got proven very wrong when I went to the bank one day.

I had woken up at the crack of noon after spending the previous day and night entertaining the members of a local women’s club. I slept extremely well when I got back. It’s so nice going to bed feeling spent and not horny.

It’s an interesting thing. The point of this particular club is the same as a men’s club—to avoid the opposite sex. Or at least, that’s what I assume people do at those clubs. I’ve never had any desire to find out. The women generally want to avoid judgment and men acting like idiots. It’s a space where they get to do whatever they want. When I entertain, they’re still very much in charge. While you may be saying, “But Brod, aren’t you still the main attraction?” Yes and no. My purpose there is to get them off, and while it’s mutually beneficial, I’m there to cater to their needs.

I may write a story about this later, but basically, the club’s owner knows me through Yara. And she knows that I don’t tend to do or say judgmental or sexist things, and that I can be trusted.

They put me in the middle of a big ballroom with a bed and some furniture. I’m blindfolded, and only talk when they address me, mostly just to get a feel for what they want. Some of the women are embarrassed even in a place like that, so Yara is there to play middlewoman and relay commands for any women who don’t want to tell me what they want directly.

Then I start fucking. Or licking. I’m a glorified sybian. I’m not sure how many women were there. I was fucking off and on for well over 24 hours as women came and went. I stopped only to eat, rehydrate, stretch, and generally keep myself in fighting form.

So it was interesting that when I walked into my bank I encountered one of the women who I had fucked without knowing it.

Schloof. The door slid closed behind me. I was there to deposit the check from that night.

Even though the folks at the bank were used to seeing me bulging, I figured I’d dress up in more than basketball shirts and an old t-shirt with a nerdy reference on it. I was once again dressed in my not-looking-like-a-bum clothes, meaning that I was dressed like Raymond Reddington, casino oyna minus the glasses and overcoat.

Granted, I’d rocked the waistcoat and dress shirt since before Blacklist came out. But after seeing the show I added a custom-matched fedora to the mix—not one of those twelve-dollar trilbies from Target that nice guys wear. I also wished I could have gotten arrested by agent Malik or Navabi, but that’s completely unrelated. These hats were bespoke.

I walked down the monolithic hall, stone rising on either side of me. I couldn’t help but imagine that this hallway was specifically put here to serve as a choke point for any would-be thieves. My oxfords stepped audibly on marble, but curiously, there was a sound missing. Usually, the klok-klok-klok of my shoes was mixed with the meaty slap-slap-slap of my nuts bouncing against my thighs.

I knew something was wrong, as well, because my legs weren’t moving as easily as they should have been, like the cloth was pulling at them. I was very much aware of the sensation of cloth slipping and sliding tightly against the flesh of my nuts and cock.

As I entered the main room of the bank, tellers waiting behind their reinforced windows, I thought back to waking up.

After showering and scraping the gunk left by a platoon of pussies out of the folds of my sack, I came back out to assemble an outfit.

I couldn’t help but interrupt my maid as she changed my slimy sheets. We both figured that we should get things out of the way before she put a fresh set on. As I’ve said before, I have a very hard time resisting a pussy. And I could see Meg’s puffy mound pushing up against her shorts. She could smell the funk from last night. One thing lead to another.

After another shower, I smiled at her as she laid, twitching and groaning in the pile of discarded sheets, her cunt gushing into a pool on the floor, her yard-wide belly jiggling and pinning her down.

I finally started to get dressed, pulling my custom-cut slacks on. Most men put their pants on one leg at a time, and I’m no exception—except I also put my pants on one nut at a time. My pants are designed with a large pouch expansion in front to hold my package. The fly is situated along the middle of this. It’s strange-looking, but necessary; there’s no way to fit my bulge into normal slacks.

I grabbed one half of my open pants, stepped away from the spreading, musky puddle, and hefted one of my gigantic nuts in. Okay, that was kind of snug. I adjusted the cloth, to no avail. Weird. I also noticed it seemed to be engulfing more of my hand than usual—I figured that was just my imagination. I eased the other ball into the pouch. That was awfully tight, too. Then, I slipped my cock back into my boxers and tried to zip up.

I grunted and struggled. The zipper didn’t want to hold! It was cinching the cloth tight around my enormous package. It just would not! Pull! Up! I grabbed a handful of cock and adjusted it. Tried again. Adjusted my sack. Tried again. I yelled at the ceiling. Yara was in the next room and came in, her bare feet stepping through squishy sperm. She shoved my cock and nuts down. Finally, with her help, I managed to zip up my slacks and do the button. But my nuts were struggling with the cloth the whole time, wool stretching and digging in. I should have known right then.

But I got into the car and went on my way.

And now I was walking into the bank. I was taking weird little short steps as I strode. I felt like a penguin. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice. I’d seen most of these faces before, so my bulge was not new to them. I only got six or seven weird glances.

The main chamber was paneled with dark wood and had a coffered ceiling. A hushed murmur was audible from the people milling about. Many were getting some free coffee and cookies, and/or bullshitting.

A pale, middle-aged brunette with high cheekbones passed by, having concluded her business. Her tits bounced under a calf-length dress that showed off her hips. She pressed one hand to her belly and groaned as she walked by, her legs bowed outward. Taking a moment to compose herself, she cleared her throat and straightened up before smiling at me.

But my package pulled her eyes downward, she gasped, and her eyes grew large. “Guh. H-hi. It’s. Wow,” she said.

“Hey there,” I said, taking a familiar tone. I had no idea who she was, but … well, it would hardly be the first time I met a random person I’d fucked without knowing who they were.

“Mph,” she bit her lower lip, staring at my bulge for a long moment. “I was there last night,” she finally said.

I chuckled, rubbing a hand up her stomach. “You were? I hope you went home satisfied.”

“I didn’t know people could stretch that way!” she panted, licking her lips. “Do uh. Do you make house calls?”

“Well, I’m busy right now, but I do,” I said, putting my hands on her waist. She shuddered and drew canlı casino closer. I noticed a ring on her finger. “You could come to my place, too.”

“I didn’t mean now, anyway,” she said. “I can’t take another pounding like that for another month, at least! And I still have. I. Ooh,” the brunette shuddered again, and I heard a splat! We looked down. A pancake-sized white disk was on the tiles between her feet. Flecks of white decorated her shoes, stripes of white down her legs. Her mouth fell open, her face filled with red. “I need to go!” she squeaked before clicking away on her heels. I looked around. A few people looked over, but they were looking at our faces, not the floor.

I shrugged and went toward the counter. I gave the teller my check to deposit. I heard more clicking and felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, Brod,” said a sweet voice behind me. I turned to see a woman who came up to my chin. She had long brown hair almost dark enough to be mistaken for black. Her smart pencil skirt wrapped snugly around nice hips, and her suit jacket struggled to contain a pair of monstrous tits bigger than her head. It was a wonder she didn’t topple forward. Her hazel eyes looked up to my brown. The light from the skylight warmed her olive skin nicely.

“Well hello there, Aleta,” I purred.

“May we help you with anything else today, Mr. Kanayama?” asked the wizened, bespectacled man in the booth.

“No thanks, Arthur. Take care.”

He smiled and nodded. Aleta and I walked over to the side to chat. With every clicking step, her monstrous tits bounced and quivered, the white blouse giving me a view into that epic valley of flesh.

“So how are you, Mr. Kanayama?” asked Aleta, tucking the portfolio she was holding under her arm.

“I’m fine, Ms. Kontos. And how does this fine afternoon find you?”

“You fucked my sister,” she stated flatly.

“What, last night?”

She nodded, brushing her hair back. “Yeah.”

“Did she enjoy it?”

The woman gave me a mischievous grin. “She’s waddling around bow-legged in the back. I’m sorry I missed it,” answered Aleta, chuckling. Her tongue ran over her pink-lacquered lips as she looked down. “You’re looking swollen.” She patted one of my monstrous nuts.

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.

“I actually have an ulterior motive. I saw you come in and I wanted to talk to you about one of your investment accounts,” she said, moving the folder out before her. She almost had to hold it at arm’s length just to see into it. Damn, those things were huge! “I found a different mutual fund from the product you currently have under your Seraph account. This particular product has much better diversification, and it gives you a few more options to play with. For instance, I think that if you—”

I held up a hand. “Look, you know you’re speaking Greek to me.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Boró_ na milí_so_ kyriolektikí_ elli_niká, an protimáte.”

I laughed. “What?”

“Your puns are awful,” she said. “Would you prefer to have Mariam discuss this with me?”

I nodded. “Yeah, this really isn’t my area.”

“You’re going to have to learn to use more than one of your organs,” she teased.

“You love my organ usage, though,” I answered.

“Yeah. But you really should learn some of this financial language. What if Mariam goes away for some reason? Can you trust the next person?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t see her going somewhere else. But. I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“No, it couldn’t, Mister.” She poked me with her pen. “Anyway, you can take this folder, see? Show it to her. Have her explain it if you want.” When she opened the folder, the pen slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. It rolled to the edge of the puddle that the brunette had leaked. When Aleta saw it, she said, “Jesus, Brod, I didn’t know banking excited you so much.”

“That came from someone I fucked last night,” I chuckled.

“Oh.”

“Let me get that,” I said, squatting down, reaching for the pen, and—

SCHRIIIP. SMACK!

Cloth exploded. An avalanche of flesh. I felt cold against my sack and glans.

.

A woman nearby gasped. A man turned around and said, “What the hell is going on here?!”

I looked down.

My equipment pouch was shredded, hanging open, the seams sundered, my boxers in tatters. My heavy nuts rested on the marble below, my immense glans flopped on top of the pen. My pants had just failed catastrophically.

“Um,” I didn’t know what to do and looked up. I was greeted by dozens of stunned faces and several clicking phones.

“Come here!” Aleta grabbed my arm as I grabbed the pen, and she whisked me down a hall. My bulge bounced heavily atop my legs, bringing back the familiar slap-slap-slap. A girl carrying cups of coffee almost spilled them as she gasped at my bouncing nuts. I winked at her as my cock and I flopped by.

Aleta pulled me kaçak casino into a wood-paneled conference room with a view of the parking lot. There was a heavy wooden table with seating for a couple dozen.

“Brod, what the hell?!” she half-yelled.

“I don’t know!” I said. “Look, I wasn’t expecting that to happen, I don’t even know how that happened!”

“How did—” She looked down. “Wait.” Aleta put the folder on the table and knelt in front of me. Her dainty hands rubbed over one of my immense balls. “I swear, they look as big as my tits. Brod, you’ve grown! They’re like volleyballs!” Then, with both hands, she grabbed the swinging slab of meat between my nuts and grunted as she hefted it. “Fuck, you feel as heavy as you used to be erect! This is way heavier than it should be.” Then she made a fist and put her forearm up against my swinging slap of meat. It almost reached my knees. It dwarfed her forearm and fist, even flaccid. “God damn! Mmmm….” She smacked her lips.

“Fuck, I was hoping I wasn’t growing…,” I sighed.

“Huh?”

“Well, we noticed I was gaining weight, but my body fat hadn’t changed,” I explained. “We thought I was gaining muscle.”

“You gained weight, alright, but you gained it downstairs,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. Aleta looked up at me and smirked. “The most important muscle.”

I grinned down at her. “You know, you did say you were feeling jealous of those ladies last night.”

Aleta bit her lip before pressing kissing my cock’s hot skin, leaving a pink print on the skin. “Be right back.” She stood and hustled out of the room. A moment later, she came back in, holding a yardstick. Aleta poked one of my immense nuts with the cool metal. “You know, I was being literal when I said they’re about volleyball sized,” she said. “But I know that cause I’ve played. Let’s see how big that cock is,” chuckled the banker.

I nodded down to where my junk hung from my shredded pants. “Better get to work.”

“Oh, no, lay that fat thing on the table. I want to see how big you are soft.” She tapped the wood with her yardstick, jostling those ludicrous teats.

I pulled a chair away and grabbed my cock, pressing my hips to the edge. Smack! My slab of meat flopped heavily onto the smooth surface. She came up to me and laid the ruler along the top of my organ. Both of us gasped, our eyes growing till we looked like a couple of owls.

“Fuck!” she said. “You really did grow!”

My jaw hung slack for a long moment. “God dammit,” I said. “Why didn’t we measure earlier?” The reading, for my completely flaccid cock, was slightly over 16.5 inches. Aleta turned the ruler sideways. My organ measured over four and a quarter inches in width. “Jesus.”

“Oh, oh fuck,” Aleta moaned, pressing her knees together. “I need need to see it hard!” She put the yardstick down and licked her lips eagerly. I could see her breaths becoming heavier and heavier, her epic bosom bouncing with every heady gasp.

I turned the chair I had just pulled out and grabbed the halves of my pants. I pulled. Schriiip! Now I had enough space to dangle freely with no discomfort. Granted, I felt like I was wearing a pair of chaps, but I was comfortable. My gargantuan, fleshy volleyballs brushed against the soft carpet when I sat, sweeping along it, but not quite sitting on it yet. My crown rested against the floor.

Aleta made a little moan in her throat at the sight. “Oh. Oh, my,” she panted.

“Get that thing nice and hard,” I said. “Come here and show me those titties.”

The banker stood up, licking her lips. With a roll of her shoulders, she slipped her jacket off and tossed it onto the table. I opened my legs as she approached. Aleta slipped between my thighs with a sway of her hips. Her stocking-sheathed calves rubbed against my hot, sensitive balls, and she shifted until she got my cock between them as well. My fat organ was hot against her legs.

I ran my meaty hands up along her ass, pulling her in closer as her dainty hands undid the buttons struggling against her vast, fleshy melons. Pop. Pop. Pop. One by one, they came undone, and more and more teat-flesh was exposed. With every button, her bust bounced, and the weight of those breasts pulled the halves apart even further.

Then the halves came away completely. The white cloth slipped away. I saw two great mounds of jiggling flesh, barely held at bay by an over-burdened black bra. Her tits muffined over the top. I reached up behind her and deftly undid her bra. She smiled and slipped out of it, sighing in relief as the cups came away from the enormous olive-complected orbs. “Oh, this is much more comfortable,” she cooed.

“How do you think I feel all day?” I asked. “People are way more offended by cocks than tits.”

“Yeah, I bet I get stared at as much as you do,” she said, hefting her tits, her hands almost disappearing into them as she jiggled them at me. “Look at them!” They bounced gelatinously, her nipples tracing circles in the air. Each was the size of the last joint of my finger, thick and begging to be sucked.

“I’m gonna do more than look,” I said. “Come here.” I patted my thigh.

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