A week pass
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 19
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Verosika woke up every single morning the same way: with a wicked, self-satisfied grin already plastered across her face.
She stretched — slowly, luxuriously — and the reinforced warehouse ceiling groaned in protest as her colossal arms pushed upward. Another night, another glorious growth spurt. She was now thirty feet tall, a living mountain of cartoonishly exaggerated, hyper-feminine muscle. Her biceps were bigger than most cars. Her breasts — steel-hard, gravity-defying spheres the size of small houses — rested proudly on a chest so thick it could stop a freight train. Her abs looked like cobblestone streets carved by a god with a sense of humor. Her golden-orange skin stretched drum-tight over every ridiculous ridge and valley, and her platinum-pink hair spilled across the floor in a silky avalanche that took three staff members to brush.
She sat up. The reinforced bed — specially built last week — cracked like cheap plywood.
“Another day, another inch of perfection,” she announced to no one in particular, voice booming through the warehouse like a sultry earthquake. “You’re welcome, universe.”
Her ego had not merely grown — it had achieved sentience and declared war on humility.
She no longer considered herself human. Humans were tiny, breakable things that existed to serve. She was Verosika Mayday — Empress, Goddess, walking monument to superiority. And she expected everyone around her to laugh at her jokes, applaud her wit, and thank her for the privilege of breathing the same air she exhaled.
“Loony-Toony!” she called in that sickeningly sweet baby-talk she now used constantly. “Come to Mommy!”
Loona — still “only” six-and-a-half feet tall — came scampering on all fours like an eager dog. She leaped into Verosika’s open palm and was lifted until she could nuzzle happily between breasts the size of boulders.
“Good puppy,” Verosika cooed, scratching behind Loona’s ear with a fingernail longer than a surfboard. “Who’s my favorite little murder-mutt? Yes you are!”
Loona whimpered in bliss and came on the spot, soaking Verosika’s palm.
The team had learned very quickly that the bigger Verosika grew, the meaner, smugger, and more tyrannical she became.
Clothes were a running joke. Seamstresses worked around the clock, but every morning the new outfits were already too small. Verosika would rip them off with one finger, laughing.
“These rags again? Darling, I asked for couture, not doll clothes. Do better, or I’ll use you as thread.”
Food was another disaster. At thirty feet she ate like a small army. The team tried hiding the orders behind fake events until Odette discovered that straight milk — gallons upon gallons of it — acted like super-fuel for Verosika’s growth. Now every morning a tanker truck delivered fresh milk straight to her quarters. Verosika would drink it from a repurposed swimming pool while Loona lapped from a bowl at her feet.
The compound had been frantically expanded. Ceilings raised, doors widened, an Olympic-sized swimming pool installed inside her private quarters so she could bathe without flooding the entire mountain. Everything was pink, everything was reinforced, and everything still felt too small to Verosika.
She had become a control freak on a cosmic scale.
Tiny squabbles among the crew were now brought before her for “divine judgment.”
One morning two staffers argued over who got to drive the milk truck.
Verosika listened from her mountain of pillows, Loona curled in her lap.
“Hmm. You,” she pointed at one, “called the other one slow. That’s very mean. As punishment, you will now lick the other one’s boots clean every morning for a week. And you —” she pointed at the second “— will thank her for the privilege. Next!”
Another day, two girls were caught fighting over a crush.
Verosika rolled her eyes so hard the chandeliers rattled.
“Both of you are pathetic. Clearly neither of you deserves him. New ruling: he now belongs to me. You two will hold hands and skip around the compound singing ‘We are not worthy’ for the next three days. Chop chop.”
No one dared argue. Not when she could flick a finger and send someone flying across the courtyard.
Her intelligence had skyrocketed too, but she kept that secret. While everyone else scrambled, Verosika’s mind worked on levels they couldn’t comprehend. She solved logistical nightmares in seconds, then pretended the solutions were obvious and that the team was simply slow.
Charlie, Lute, and Cherri had been given more power just so Verosika wouldn’t have to deal with every tiny detail herself — but she still demanded daily briefings, during which she mostly insulted their ideas and expected roaring laughter at her own.
One afternoon, during the now-daily “strategy meeting,” Charlie nervously suggested they might need to delay the tour.
Verosika gasped theatrically, pressing one massive hand to her chest.
“Delay? Darling, the only thing we’re delaying is your promotion to ‘useful.’ The tour is happening. I will be the main attraction. Giant stages. Giant screens. Giant me. The fans will literally look up to me — finally, the correct perspective.”
Cherri cackled. “Hell yeah! We’ll call it ‘Verosika: Size Matters’!”
Verosika pointed at her. “See? Cherri gets it. The rest of you are background noise.”
Charlie looked like she wanted to cry. Sallie May just sighed in her thick Texan drawl, “Well shit, y’all, this is gettin’ ridiculous.”
Verosika clapped her hands — the sound like thunder — and grinned.
“Ridiculous? No, darling. This is destiny. Now laugh at my joke or I’ll sit on you.”
Everyone forced laughter. Even Charlie.
At night Verosika would lean back on her mountain of reinforced pillows, Loona curled happily between her enormous breasts, and whisper her grandest dreams.
“Soon, puppy… soon the whole world will look up at me and know exactly who owns them.”
She fell asleep every night excited for morning — excited to wake up even bigger.
And every single morning… she did.
What happens next?
1. Verosika stops growing, staying at 35 feet tall.
2. Verosika continues to grow, stopping at 50 feet.
She stretched — slowly, luxuriously — and the reinforced warehouse ceiling groaned in protest as her colossal arms pushed upward. Another night, another glorious growth spurt. She was now thirty feet tall, a living mountain of cartoonishly exaggerated, hyper-feminine muscle. Her biceps were bigger than most cars. Her breasts — steel-hard, gravity-defying spheres the size of small houses — rested proudly on a chest so thick it could stop a freight train. Her abs looked like cobblestone streets carved by a god with a sense of humor. Her golden-orange skin stretched drum-tight over every ridiculous ridge and valley, and her platinum-pink hair spilled across the floor in a silky avalanche that took three staff members to brush.
She sat up. The reinforced bed — specially built last week — cracked like cheap plywood.
“Another day, another inch of perfection,” she announced to no one in particular, voice booming through the warehouse like a sultry earthquake. “You’re welcome, universe.”
Her ego had not merely grown — it had achieved sentience and declared war on humility.
She no longer considered herself human. Humans were tiny, breakable things that existed to serve. She was Verosika Mayday — Empress, Goddess, walking monument to superiority. And she expected everyone around her to laugh at her jokes, applaud her wit, and thank her for the privilege of breathing the same air she exhaled.
“Loony-Toony!” she called in that sickeningly sweet baby-talk she now used constantly. “Come to Mommy!”
Loona — still “only” six-and-a-half feet tall — came scampering on all fours like an eager dog. She leaped into Verosika’s open palm and was lifted until she could nuzzle happily between breasts the size of boulders.
“Good puppy,” Verosika cooed, scratching behind Loona’s ear with a fingernail longer than a surfboard. “Who’s my favorite little murder-mutt? Yes you are!”
Loona whimpered in bliss and came on the spot, soaking Verosika’s palm.
The team had learned very quickly that the bigger Verosika grew, the meaner, smugger, and more tyrannical she became.
Clothes were a running joke. Seamstresses worked around the clock, but every morning the new outfits were already too small. Verosika would rip them off with one finger, laughing.
“These rags again? Darling, I asked for couture, not doll clothes. Do better, or I’ll use you as thread.”
Food was another disaster. At thirty feet she ate like a small army. The team tried hiding the orders behind fake events until Odette discovered that straight milk — gallons upon gallons of it — acted like super-fuel for Verosika’s growth. Now every morning a tanker truck delivered fresh milk straight to her quarters. Verosika would drink it from a repurposed swimming pool while Loona lapped from a bowl at her feet.
The compound had been frantically expanded. Ceilings raised, doors widened, an Olympic-sized swimming pool installed inside her private quarters so she could bathe without flooding the entire mountain. Everything was pink, everything was reinforced, and everything still felt too small to Verosika.
She had become a control freak on a cosmic scale.
Tiny squabbles among the crew were now brought before her for “divine judgment.”
One morning two staffers argued over who got to drive the milk truck.
Verosika listened from her mountain of pillows, Loona curled in her lap.
“Hmm. You,” she pointed at one, “called the other one slow. That’s very mean. As punishment, you will now lick the other one’s boots clean every morning for a week. And you —” she pointed at the second “— will thank her for the privilege. Next!”
Another day, two girls were caught fighting over a crush.
Verosika rolled her eyes so hard the chandeliers rattled.
“Both of you are pathetic. Clearly neither of you deserves him. New ruling: he now belongs to me. You two will hold hands and skip around the compound singing ‘We are not worthy’ for the next three days. Chop chop.”
No one dared argue. Not when she could flick a finger and send someone flying across the courtyard.
Her intelligence had skyrocketed too, but she kept that secret. While everyone else scrambled, Verosika’s mind worked on levels they couldn’t comprehend. She solved logistical nightmares in seconds, then pretended the solutions were obvious and that the team was simply slow.
Charlie, Lute, and Cherri had been given more power just so Verosika wouldn’t have to deal with every tiny detail herself — but she still demanded daily briefings, during which she mostly insulted their ideas and expected roaring laughter at her own.
One afternoon, during the now-daily “strategy meeting,” Charlie nervously suggested they might need to delay the tour.
Verosika gasped theatrically, pressing one massive hand to her chest.
“Delay? Darling, the only thing we’re delaying is your promotion to ‘useful.’ The tour is happening. I will be the main attraction. Giant stages. Giant screens. Giant me. The fans will literally look up to me — finally, the correct perspective.”
Cherri cackled. “Hell yeah! We’ll call it ‘Verosika: Size Matters’!”
Verosika pointed at her. “See? Cherri gets it. The rest of you are background noise.”
Charlie looked like she wanted to cry. Sallie May just sighed in her thick Texan drawl, “Well shit, y’all, this is gettin’ ridiculous.”
Verosika clapped her hands — the sound like thunder — and grinned.
“Ridiculous? No, darling. This is destiny. Now laugh at my joke or I’ll sit on you.”
Everyone forced laughter. Even Charlie.
At night Verosika would lean back on her mountain of reinforced pillows, Loona curled happily between her enormous breasts, and whisper her grandest dreams.
“Soon, puppy… soon the whole world will look up at me and know exactly who owns them.”
She fell asleep every night excited for morning — excited to wake up even bigger.
And every single morning… she did.
What happens next?
1. Verosika stops growing, staying at 35 feet tall.
2. Verosika continues to grow, stopping at 50 feet.
13 views
·
June 13
Log in to comment