Macrosmia moment

by pkak2k12

You live in a world where maybe one in ten million people suffer from what you do. Macrosmia can hit at anytime, and when it does you get big. Sounds great, but in a world where it is shunned, what can you do when you feel it begin during a great date?

Added: Aug 2022 1,683 words 4,239 views 5.0 stars (1 vote)


It always happens to you at inopportune moments. There you are, on a first date, getting along fine. Charming, witty, and great on the eyes, you couldn’t ask for more. Then you feel the changes beginning. It had only happened to you a handful of times in the past, but they were never manageable. If you don’t do anything immediately then you’ll cause a lot of damage, both monetary and physically.

You apologise for having to call the date short, but you have to leave. Your date tries asking you to stay longer, but you flat refuse, offering to call them sometime. Your shirt feels tight on your chest as you can feel your muscles swelling, the faintest cracks in your bones ring in your ears as they elongate. As only one of around three hundred people that suffer from macrosmia, it is something of a social stigma. With an unknown origin, and the only process is to wait out the effects, you take to a run. The date was too far from your home to be able to get anywhere near there, but there was a forest close by. Your shoes begin to strain as your feet threaten to burst them open, you know it won’t be long now.

Fortunately you’re quite a fit and athletic man. Mid-twenties, six foot two, two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle, you could be considered to have a dream body, except for when this happens. When you last changed, you ended up nearly fifty feet tall! The embarrassment of it still haunts you, though there is a hidden desire to be even bigger. You remember reading that the largest record of macrosmia capped out at seventy six feet and lasted for a whole five days. You’d never admit it, but the want to meet someone else like you, and to reach those heights, was in your late night fantasies.

The buttons on your shirt pop as you reach the forest’s edge, you push off of the floor as you feel an immense strength in your already buff legs, leaping over ten feet in the air and over the fence preventing your passage. You feel the ripping of the tight jeans around your huge calves, turning to tatters as the remnants of your shoes are left on the concrete of the street corner.

You feel glad that you’ve taken to wearing special spandex boxer briefs to get at least some modesty whilst you retreat from the eye of society. A normal man would be proud of what lay beneath the belt and probably flaunt the ten and a half inches, but with the risk of your impressive endowments growing alongside you in the heat of the moment, your magnum dong still hasn’t felt the touch of another’s insides. Even now, it strains for release as you can feel yourself getting hard, partially from the blood pumping through your veins as macrosmia settles in, but also from the faint arousal that comes with it.

The pants won’t survive you if you grow to your largest size again, so as soon as you are a minute’s run into the forest you stop. The shoulders of your shirt have torn as your pecs swell forward, before a heft pair of muscular slabs, now positively enormous. Macromasia seems to affect people slightly differently, and yours ends up with some fairly impressive gains. Maybe in another world you’d be admired for it, but here the normal people shun those who grow too big to fit into society.

You tear through the remnants of your shirt and pants, leaving you in just the strained stretchy undergarments. You look for somewhere to stash them as you pull them off, letting your semi hard cock release. Even at this size, perhaps nearing ten feet, your cock was getting bigger proportionally than normal. It must be at least two feet long, and getting really thick too. There’s a tree with an interesting twist in its roots, somewhere you think you’ll remember when this is over, and stuff the pants, alongside your torn pants with your phone and wallets, there to recover when at a more normal size. Being seen as a muscular guy in just spandex shorts is probably better than a macrosmia sufferer.

You then lay down on the dry forest ground and wait, hoping that this is only a minor change this time. Trying to get your heart rate down you take some controlled breaths, something you were recommended to do by your doctor when talking about how to handle macrosmia. You try to relax more, thinking about calm beaches, clear skies, anything that takes your mind away from the current problem.

Then your foot kicks a tree root. You were certain your legs were aimed away from any trees. You open your eyes and glance down. Your vision is obscured by your swollen pecs, pure muscle stacked upon your well-earned buffness from years of gym work. Silently cursing your strength you leaned up a little, only to notice your head brush up and past the tree branches. That couldn’t be right, these trees are a good forty or so feet tall, and your move to sit up cleared them. Now sat upright, you see your feet aren’t hitting tree roots, but whole trees themselves, uprooted casually by your expansion.

The tallest nearby tree must be close to reaching your pecs, your huge muscletits and head now poking up and above the trees. You look to the side and can see the glow of the evening lights of the city. Somewhere your date would be headed home, probably disappointed in you. Your car with your emergency change of clothes would also be there, but what you realise is that if someone looked over this way they would see the face of a macrosmia sufferer staring back.

How tall must you be now? Judging from your eye level over the trees and looking at some of the taller buildings, you think that just sitting down you’d be at least seventy feet tall. You are a record breaking macrosmia now. If your maths is correct you are over a hundred feet tall, easily. Should you try and get someone’s attention? You remember the last record of someone getting so big they stayed that way for five days. Would you be like this for that long? You couldn’t lie down in this forest for all that time. However, it is late in the evening and overcast, and doesn’t look like it will rain, so you lie back down and hope it passes. Maybe it is a dream, your subconscious wanting you to give into the macrosmia. You close your eyes again and try to rest.

The next time you open your eyes it is still very dark. It must be midnight or later, as most of the faint noise of the city has died down. What hasn’t died down is the aching in your loins. You move your hand to readjust yourself, perhaps the cool night air was just agitating you, but when you grab ahold of yourself, you feel something very odd.

Your big cock now feels impossibly huge, your hand barely able to get halfway around the mighty girth of your manhood. You glance down and even with the huge muscle shelf of your chest in the way, you see the enormous mushroom-like head of your cock towering up above you. Your eyes go wide as you gather how big it must be, it would probably reach past your pecs and maybe beyond your face if pressed against you. The diamond hardness of your nighttime boner was too difficult even for your improved giant form to budge.

You realise there is only one way you can get rid of this problem as your other hand comes to meet you first. Between them, you manage to just about encircle the base of your shaft and slowly begin pumping. Up and down your hands go, reaching far with each stroke. If you were your normal height, you would still be over twice the size of anyone you’d ever seen in porn. You begin to fantasise, thinking of another giant coming to service you. This erection must be bigger than anyone on the planet, macrosmia or not. The thought of being the biggest in all of history makes your cock throb again, you feel the release already coming.

Then you hear some noise off to the side. You look over in shock, but your actions are already too late. You wince as you feel yourself begin to come, spotting that someone is in the shadows of the treeline. You try to process what you see, but your brain can only focus on the release. Five, six, seven shots, and no sign of stopping. They must have gone two hundred feet into the air before coming back down around you. You think you hear the person say something, and is that a phone? Your heart sinks as much as it races, the pure bliss of jacking off as a giant mixed with the realisation they must be recording you. The figure is so small compared to you, they could easily be squashed by your hand if you reached out for them.

A puddle of your jizz, gallons if compared to normal people, splashes nearby them as they yelp and begin to run. Your mind panics. If you get up to give chase, you will definitely be seen by the city. If you stay where you are, they’ll get away and you’ll be posted everywhere online in no time. The stress of it all coalesces in your mind then you get a strange feeling deep down. Your mind stops thinking as you realise what this feeling is. But it can’t be, you already are in macrosmia, how could it be happening a second time in a row?


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