...there's a knock on the door.
Your entire body tenses and you resist the urge to jump. It's a good thing, too, since your head (both of them) are getting dangerously near the ten-foot ceilings of your apartment.
You try to keep quiet, to slow your breathing. Your ears twist on top of your head towards the door, but there's no more sound coming from it. All you can hear is your own heavy breathing and the odd sound of your pelt rubbing against itself as you move and flex. Pound after pound of heavy, unyielding muscle keeps stretching it with every breath, and you can feel your skin tightening over even bigger thighs, a wider chest, arms that keep thickening relentlessly...
The feeling is so strange, but so pleasurable. You can feel your mammoth footpaws creeping along the carpet as they grow to hold your weight, and the floor under them starts to sag and creak under your bulk. Your growing balls radiate heat you can feel clear down to your ankles, and your monstrous shaft is a beacon of musk and heat that seems to fill your 'cozy' apartment with a powerful scent, exotic but familiar just the same.
Your paws curl over the tip of your shaft, which almost immediately leaps up and splashes what must be a few gallons of pre on the ceiling. You moan softly, your voice shaking lamps and mugs on the furniture nearest to you, and that just seems to stoke your arousal further...
The knocking again. You freeze in your tracks, your body tensing up. All of those muscles squeeze against themselves, and you feel uncomfortably cramped. You reluctantly tear your paws away from your cock and widen your stance a bit. There's a thump and a tremor, and another one, as your footpaws rest several inches apart from where they were. You notice the shuddering of your apartment with a detached fascination. How much do you weigh?
"Kellen?" This time, there's a voice that accompanies the knock. Immediately your ears swivel towards the door, your brain racing through its haze of lust to place the voice with a face. "Are you in there? What's going on? What's that smell?" There's a pause while you try to get your excuses straight.
"Hey, man, let me in. I need those DVDs back."
Try as you might, you can't get yourself under control. Your shaft is throbbing needfully, leaking pre in a constant river now that soaks the carpet between your feet. Your body grows relentlessly, and in just a few moments it'll start crowding on itself again. That ceiling isn't getting any higher. And to top it off, your friend Elan is nattering about something you've borrowed for months at the worst possible time!
"Look...man, go away. I'm busy right now." Your voice sounds inhumanly deep, the apartment shaking with each syllable.
There's a pause, but your keen ears don't pick up the sounds of Elan walking away. Your heart keeps beating in your barreled chest, and you feel your immense bulk only growing more so. More gallons of pre rain down onto your coffee table with an audible splash, knocking over a candy bowl and scattering drenched magazines.
"Who...who is that?" You hear Elan's voice timidly rising through the door. "Who are you, what have you done with Kellan?"
"Elan..." You lower your voice to a level that doesn't rattle the walls, but you're still surprised at its depth and boom. At this point, there's nothing about you that doesn't point to the power you now wield. "It's me. Kellan. Look, it's a really bad time, man. Why don't you come back tomorrow?"
"That's not Kellan," comes the reply. "Tell me who you are and what you're doing in his apartment, or I'm calling the cops." Your ears pick up the rattle of his keys and the faint, metallic click of Elan flipping open his cell phone. Your heart starts thudding even harder, which in turn seems to speed your growth. Your tail slips under a chair, its growth nudging it aside slowly but surely.
You can hear a beep, and then another. Elan apparently doesn't believe in waiting for an answer. You have to think fast!
"Elan!" Your voice thunders a lot more than you mean it to, the living room window to your right vibrating so much it cracks. "It's me, I swear. There's a key...under the gnnngh!" Your shaft thumps against the ceiling finally, your ears close behind. The brush sends a riot of sensation through you, the heaviest spurt yet fanning across the ceiling and dripping down the far wall, drenching everything in the room in your thick scent. It takes a moment, but your vision unblurs and you get a hold of yourself. By then, your ears are flattened against the top of your head and your impossibly-sized erection is threatening to punch a hole in the ceiling.
"There's a key under the carpet, that goes to the lockbox next to the door." Your arousal builds with every thump of your cock, which is now cracking the plaster on the ceiling. "Open the lockbox and dig around at the bottom. There you'll find a little...piece of brick. Lift that and you'll find the key to the door." You're having to bend your neck and shoulders now; a rough guess would put you at eleven feet high, and still growing. The floor is bending more than ever, more than half the floor, walls and ceiling wettened severely by your copious spurting. You can feel yourself starting to retreat into your lust once more, the raw, heady sensation of power threatening to overwhelm you completely.
Your ear drags across the ceiling as you strain to hear if Elan is following your instructions. Maybe he'll know how to get this suit off of you (if that's even possible anymore). Maybe the embarrassment of someone else seeing you coating your apartment with musk will snap you out of your lust-craze. Something certainly has to happen; with the way both the ceiling and the floor are beginning to bend against you, something's going to give sooner than later...