Sleep and grow
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 18
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Verosika hurled the last of her satin pillows against the far wall with enough force to crack the reinforced concrete. They exploded in a puff of down feathers like a defeated enemy. She reclined back against the pile of bedding she’d turned into an impromptu throne, legs spread wide, one massive hand idly stroking Loona’s silver hair while her bodyguard nuzzled deeper between breasts the size of beanbag chairs.
“Mmm, that’s right, Loony-Toony,” she purred, voice thick with smug venom. “Keep worshipping. Mommy’s got big plans and you get front-row seats.”
Loona moaned—long, broken, shameless—hips twitching as Verosika’s talons scratched behind one pointed ear.
Verosika flexed one bicep casually; the peak rose so high it nearly brushed her own chin. Veins like lightning bolts pulsed under golden-orange skin stretched drum-tight over cartoonish muscle.
“The tour? Oh honey, it’s not a tour anymore. It’s a coronation. Picture this—” She gestured grandly with her free hand, making the air whoosh from the sheer mass of her arm. “Massive open-air stadium. Hydraulic platforms. Giant LED screens showing close-ups of these—” she bounced her pecs; the breasts jiggled like tectonic events “—while I deadlift the entire lighting rig. With one hand. While singing. And then I bench-press the tour bus. Full. With the backup dancers still inside. They’ll scream. The crowd will cream. And every single peasant in the nosebleeds will know they’re watching a literal goddess.”
She giggled—high, cruel, expecting applause that didn’t come fast enough.
“What, no laughter? No gasps of awe? Wow, tough room. Guess I’ll just have to keep being hilarious until your tiny brains catch up.”
Loona whimpered in adoration, tongue lolling.
Verosika yawned—dramatic, jaw-cracking—and sank deeper into the ruined bedding. “Enough planning. Even deities need beauty sleep. Come here, puppy.”
She scooped Loona fully between her breasts like slipping a phone into cleavage. Loona sighed in bliss, curling up, face buried in warm, sweat-scented skin as Verosika’s breathing slowed.
Darkness took her.
In the dream she was sixty feet tall.
A shredded silk micro-dress clung to her like wet tissue—barely covering nipple and crotch, every hypertrophied curve on obscene display. Ruined skyscrapers came up to her knees. Tiny humans scattered like ants below, screaming, worshipping, fleeing.
Verosika threw her head back and laughed—earthquake laughter that shattered every remaining window for blocks.
She lifted one bare foot and brought it down on a ten-story office building. Concrete and steel crumpled like tinfoil under her sole. She ground her heel for good measure, moaning at the crunch.
“Bow,” she commanded, voice booming across the city like thunder wrapped in sex. “Bow to your Empress.”
Her staff—Charlie, Lute, Cherri, all shrunken and frantic—cracked whips at the crowds, forcing them to their knees, chanting her name.
“Verosika! Verosika! Verosika!”
Heat pooled between her thighs. Nipples diamond-hard against silk. She leaned against another skyscraper—glass exploding against her back—and slid one massive hand down her body. Fingers plunged between her legs. She fucked herself shamelessly, eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out like a panting dog.
Splurge…
Spluurge…
Spluuurge…
Thick ropes of cum erupted—gallons, tidal waves—flooding streets, coating screaming worshippers, turning avenues into sticky rivers. She laughed through the orgasm, power and pleasure fusing into something godlike.
“Loona…?”
The voice was small. Tiny.
Verosika blinked.
Reality snapped back.
Loona—normal-sized Loona—was standing on her chest, tiny hands shaking Verosika’s collarbone, yelling up at her.
“Mistress! Wake up! You—fuck—you grew again!”
Verosika sat up slowly.
The bed was matchsticks. The ceiling was much closer. She had to hunch to keep from punching through it. Fifteen feet? Sixteen? Her biceps were beach balls even unflexed. Breasts like small cars. Thighs that could crush sedans.
She raised one arm and flexed.
The bicep rose into a grotesque, glorious mountain—peak splitting, veins like fire hoses, striations deep enough to lose fingers in.
She stared.
Then she laughed—slow at first, then loud, manic, triumphant.
“Oh my god. Oh my actual god. Look at me. I’m not just a goddess anymore. I’m the whole fucking pantheon.”
The double doors exploded inward—Charlie bursting through, panting.
“Verosika! We heard crashing and—”
She froze.
Verosika looked down at her manager—now the size of a Barbie doll from this angle—and smiled the most unbearable, smug, tyrannical smile imaginable.
“Well hello, tiny Charlie. Come to worship? Or are you just here to be my footrest?”
What happens next?
1. A week of growth passes and Verosika reaches a height of 30 feet.
2. A month passes and Verosika reaches a height of 60 feet.
“Mmm, that’s right, Loony-Toony,” she purred, voice thick with smug venom. “Keep worshipping. Mommy’s got big plans and you get front-row seats.”
Loona moaned—long, broken, shameless—hips twitching as Verosika’s talons scratched behind one pointed ear.
Verosika flexed one bicep casually; the peak rose so high it nearly brushed her own chin. Veins like lightning bolts pulsed under golden-orange skin stretched drum-tight over cartoonish muscle.
“The tour? Oh honey, it’s not a tour anymore. It’s a coronation. Picture this—” She gestured grandly with her free hand, making the air whoosh from the sheer mass of her arm. “Massive open-air stadium. Hydraulic platforms. Giant LED screens showing close-ups of these—” she bounced her pecs; the breasts jiggled like tectonic events “—while I deadlift the entire lighting rig. With one hand. While singing. And then I bench-press the tour bus. Full. With the backup dancers still inside. They’ll scream. The crowd will cream. And every single peasant in the nosebleeds will know they’re watching a literal goddess.”
She giggled—high, cruel, expecting applause that didn’t come fast enough.
“What, no laughter? No gasps of awe? Wow, tough room. Guess I’ll just have to keep being hilarious until your tiny brains catch up.”
Loona whimpered in adoration, tongue lolling.
Verosika yawned—dramatic, jaw-cracking—and sank deeper into the ruined bedding. “Enough planning. Even deities need beauty sleep. Come here, puppy.”
She scooped Loona fully between her breasts like slipping a phone into cleavage. Loona sighed in bliss, curling up, face buried in warm, sweat-scented skin as Verosika’s breathing slowed.
Darkness took her.
In the dream she was sixty feet tall.
A shredded silk micro-dress clung to her like wet tissue—barely covering nipple and crotch, every hypertrophied curve on obscene display. Ruined skyscrapers came up to her knees. Tiny humans scattered like ants below, screaming, worshipping, fleeing.
Verosika threw her head back and laughed—earthquake laughter that shattered every remaining window for blocks.
She lifted one bare foot and brought it down on a ten-story office building. Concrete and steel crumpled like tinfoil under her sole. She ground her heel for good measure, moaning at the crunch.
“Bow,” she commanded, voice booming across the city like thunder wrapped in sex. “Bow to your Empress.”
Her staff—Charlie, Lute, Cherri, all shrunken and frantic—cracked whips at the crowds, forcing them to their knees, chanting her name.
“Verosika! Verosika! Verosika!”
Heat pooled between her thighs. Nipples diamond-hard against silk. She leaned against another skyscraper—glass exploding against her back—and slid one massive hand down her body. Fingers plunged between her legs. She fucked herself shamelessly, eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out like a panting dog.
Splurge…
Spluurge…
Spluuurge…
Thick ropes of cum erupted—gallons, tidal waves—flooding streets, coating screaming worshippers, turning avenues into sticky rivers. She laughed through the orgasm, power and pleasure fusing into something godlike.
“Loona…?”
The voice was small. Tiny.
Verosika blinked.
Reality snapped back.
Loona—normal-sized Loona—was standing on her chest, tiny hands shaking Verosika’s collarbone, yelling up at her.
“Mistress! Wake up! You—fuck—you grew again!”
Verosika sat up slowly.
The bed was matchsticks. The ceiling was much closer. She had to hunch to keep from punching through it. Fifteen feet? Sixteen? Her biceps were beach balls even unflexed. Breasts like small cars. Thighs that could crush sedans.
She raised one arm and flexed.
The bicep rose into a grotesque, glorious mountain—peak splitting, veins like fire hoses, striations deep enough to lose fingers in.
She stared.
Then she laughed—slow at first, then loud, manic, triumphant.
“Oh my god. Oh my actual god. Look at me. I’m not just a goddess anymore. I’m the whole fucking pantheon.”
The double doors exploded inward—Charlie bursting through, panting.
“Verosika! We heard crashing and—”
She froze.
Verosika looked down at her manager—now the size of a Barbie doll from this angle—and smiled the most unbearable, smug, tyrannical smile imaginable.
“Well hello, tiny Charlie. Come to worship? Or are you just here to be my footrest?”
What happens next?
1. A week of growth passes and Verosika reaches a height of 30 feet.
2. A month passes and Verosika reaches a height of 60 feet.
13 views
·
June 13
Log in to comment