Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Hotch pulled out of her with a wet, tearing sound, his spent cock glistening under the streetlights. “On your back,” he commanded, his voice husky, and she obeyed, lowering her monumental body onto the ruined street with a groan of shifting asphalt. He knelt between her thighs, a colossus at worship, and buried his face in her swollen, dripping cunt. His tongue, thick and relentless, speared into her, licking over the stretched entrance where the team still moved. “Don’t stop,” Brittany gasped to the figures inside her, and Rossi answered by fucking his fist deeper into her g-spot. Hotch ate her with a ravenous hunger, his lips and tongue working her clit, his nose pressing against her, and with each lap, he focused that familiar, warming power. She began to grow again, a slow, inexorable expansion that made the pavement crack beneath her spreading shoulders. The enthralled crowd watched, their hands a frantic blur in their laps, as her hips widened, pushing parked cars aside with metallic shrieks. Her head rested against the crushed facade of a bank, her hair spilling into the intersection as her feet began to press against buildings down the block. Hotch’s tongue delved deeper, fucking her with it, and her growth accelerated, her body lengthening, her breasts swelling like rising hills. “Fuck yeah, look at her,” a man in the crowd choked out, his own hand a piston, as Brittany’s thigh eclipsed an entire storefront. Inside her, Morgan and Garcia worked in tandem on her cervix, their combined efforts making her cry out, the sound shaking windows. Hotch growled against her flesh, the vibration tingling through her clit, and she grew wider, her hips now spanning the street from curb to curb. The crowd had to scramble back, but they never stopped touching themselves, their eyes wide with devouring need. Her fingertips scraped brickwork, her ankles dented steel fire escapes, as Hotch’s feast continued, his devotion measured in her increasing scale. “You’re taking the whole city, baby,” he snarled, before his mouth sealed over her clit and sucked hard. The surge of pleasure triggered a corresponding surge in growth; she was filling the entire street now, a landscape of flesh, her immense cunt the center of the world. The team, compressed and feverish, rode the waves of her orgasm, their movements a frantic counterpoint to Hotch’s sucking mouth. He didn’t let up, and she didn’t stop expanding, a living, breathing territory of want owned by the crowd’s gaze, his tongue, and the trapped, wriggling figures within.
The concrete beneath her spine powdered, her widening shoulders shoving building foundations aside with a deep, grinding roar. “Holy shit, she’s pushing the block apart,” someone in the crowd yelled, their voice thin with awe. Hotch’s tongue lashed her clit in swift, demanding circles, and each pulse of pleasure translated directly into another foot of height, another ton of mass. She felt the team inside her scramble as their world stretched, Garcia’s gasped “Whoa!” echoing wetly. Her knee rose, a new hill of flesh crushing a streetlight, and she saw Hotch between her thighs, his form beginning to seem smaller, more concentrated. “Don’t you fucking stop,” she moaned, her voice now a low quake that vibrated in the chests of the watching people. He redoubled his efforts, his fingers joining his mouth, spearing into her alongside the wriggling, trapped bodies, and the growth surged. Now, when she looked down, the top of his head was level with her navel, his broad back no wider than one of her hips. The power dynamic shifted with her scale, a heady, intoxicating reversal. “Look at you,” he growled against her, his words muffled by her flesh, a hot vibration of pure worship. She was a leviathan, his entire body now just a devoted fixture between her colossal thighs, and the knowing laughter that bubbled from her shook windows for blocks. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathed, her hand, now large enough to palm his entire torso, settling possessively on his back. He groaned his answer into her cunt, his tongue stabbing deeper, urging her to become more. Her final growth spurt was a smooth, terrifying ascent, her body achieving a staggering, dominant proportion over his kneeling form. When he finally pulled his wet face back, gasping, he had to crane his neck up to see her face, a tiny, fierce figure in the canyon of her thighs. She was two-thirds bigger, a goddess of cracked asphalt and desire, and the city held its breath.
She looked down at the tiny, devoted figure between her thighs, his mouth glistening with her wetness. "You're going to need to catch up," she breathed, the words a low rumble that vibrated through his skull. She focused that deep, warm power, but this time she directed it outward, into him, through the intimate connection of his tongue on her clit.
A jolt went through him, a crackling surge that made his muscles seize. He groaned, the sound deepening as his bones began to creak and lengthen, his shoulders widening against the inside of her colossal thighs. "Fuck, yes," he snarled, his voice already louder, and he drove his tongue back into her with renewed ferocity, eating her pussy as if it were the source of his own expansion.
The crowd gasped in unison as Hotch began to swell, his form enlarging within the cradle of her hips, his growth fueled by her command and his own ravenous hunger. He grew a foot, then two, his back broadening, his cock—still wet from their earlier fucking—beginning to thicken and rise against his stomach. "Faster," she commanded, grinding her enormous cunt against his face, and he obeyed, his tongue a relentless piston.
His hands, now larger, gripped the vast curves of her ass, his fingers sinking into flesh as firm as bedrock as he pulled her even tighter against his mouth. With each lap, each suck, he grew more, his size now proportionate to her monumental scale, a twin giant forming between her legs. The building facades trembled as his expanding shoulders pressed outwards, and the team inside her cried out, compressed between the new, internal pressure of his growth and the convulsing walls of her sex. "Don't stop," she screamed, her climax building, a tidal wave of pleasure that triggered another violent surge in him.
His spine elongated with a series of wet cracks, his shoulders splitting the asphalt as he swelled, yet his mouth never left her clit, sucking the throbbing nub deeper between his lips. “That’s it, grow for me,” she chanted, her hips lifting to grind against his face, each wet, sloppy sound of his tongue echoing around them. Inside her, Rossi and Morgan synchronized their thrusts against her g-spot, their bodies shoved together by the tightening walls, while Garcia cried out, “She’s fucking pulsating!” The crowd’s murmurs became a frenzied chorus, belts clinking, fabric rustling, as they watched the man become a giant again through the act of devouring her. Hotch’s fingers, now thick as tree limbs, dug into the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her cunt wider for his tongue, which plunged into her opening alongside the squirming team. He grew another ten feet, his knees cratering the street, his engorged cock rising like a siege weapon against his stomach, all while his tongue flicked rapidly over her exposed clit. “I can feel you getting bigger inside me,” Brittany moaned, her own voice a seismic rumble, and she meant both his tongue and the team’s frantic, trapped motions. A woman in the crowd stumbled backward, her hand jammed in her jeans, her breath coming in sharp hitches as she watched the spectacle of scale and submission. Hotch’s growth was a steady, muscular inflation now, each inch gained a testament to her power over him, his worship measured in the expanding shadow he cast over the ruined block. “Don’t you dare come up for air,” she ordered, and he obeyed, his nose buried in her, breathing her in, as his body strained upward past the fourth-story windows. The team was a compressed, slick knot of motion, each of their movements sending secondary shockwaves through her nerves, layering pleasure upon the brutal focus of his mouth. “God, look at him go,” a man gasped, his own rhythm faltering as awe overtook him, his eyes fixed on the expanding giant between the goddess’s thighs. Hotch’s tongue found a specific, brutal rhythm, a hard, pointed stabbing at her clit that made her vision whiten, and his growth surged in response, his shoulders shattering the marble facade of a bank. She screamed, a raw, tearing sound that dislodged chunks of concrete from buildings, her body bowing off the ground as the orgasm detonated through her, and he drank every convulsion, growing taller, wider, more massive with each tremor he swallowed.
His growth, fed by the swallowed climax, became exponential. Bones thickened with sounds like continental plates grinding, muscle sheaves expanding to eclipse the broken buildings around them. He rose from his knees, his now-gargantuan hands sliding under the immense curve of her back, fingers wider than traffic lanes splaying across her shoulder blades.
He lifted her.
The street fell away beneath her, a dizzying drop of several stories filled with tiny, gasping faces. “Holy fuck, he’s holding her up!” a voice shrilled from below. His mouth never left her cunt, his tongue now a broad, wet stripe lapping gently at her stretched entrance where the team squirmed in startled confusion.
“Aaron,” she breathed, the world tilting, her own colossal form cradled like a child’s against the vast expanse of his chest. His gentle, persistent licks sent shockwaves through her suspended body, a contrast to the terrifying, exhilarating scale of his new power over her. Inside her, Prentiss gasped, “We’re moving, we’re—oh god, the angle—”, as the shift in gravity rearranged them against her cervix.
The crowd’s self-pleasuring became a frenzied, silent ritual, hands moving in the shadow of the suspended goddess. He adjusted his grip, one hand fully supporting her back, the other cupping the monumental weight of her ass, his thumb casually resting near the puckered rim beneath her sopping cunt. His tongue delved deeper, fucking into her with slow, worshipful strokes that made her toes curl over empty air.
“You’re so fucking big now,” she moaned, her head lolling back, seeing the city lights smear into streaks. He hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight through her clit and into the squirming bundle of her team. “Feels different,” Morgan grunted inside her, his voice muffled but clear, “like we’re in a hot air balloon that’s getting licked.”
Hotch’s gentle, absolute control, the sheer casualness of his immense strength holding her aloft while he feasted, unraveled her completely. Each tender, wet caress of his tongue was a claim stamped over the earlier, frantic pounding. She came again, a softer, deeper unraveling that made her shudder in his palms, and he drank that too, his size making her climax feel intimate, secret, even as the city watched.
He felt the change begin in his marrow, a tectonic shift of scale that had nothing to do with her power and everything to do with his own will. As he lowered her gently back to the ruined ground, his body continued to expand, a silent, unstoppable inflation that made the earlier growth seem quaint. Buildings that had once scraped his shoulders now barely reached his knees, their windows reflecting the impossible girth of his calves.
“Aaron?” Her voice, once a quake, now sounded distant, a melody played on a tiny instrument. He looked down, his gaze traveling an ever-lengthening distance to where she lay sprawled on the cracked plaza, her magnificent body now just a delicate landscape in the center of his vision. The crowd were specks, insects moving in the dust, but he could still see the frantic glint of their hands working between their legs.
He knelt, the impact of his knees hitting earth felt for blocks, and reached for her. His fingers, each one now longer than her entire torso, slid with impossible delicacy beneath her back and thighs. He lifted her, and the world fell away from her completely. She was cradled now, utterly enclosed in the warm, immense bowl of his palms, her body barely spanning their width. He could feel the minute vibrations of the team moving inside her, a frantic, trapped hummingbird pulse against his skin.
“The show isn’t for me anymore,” he rumbled, his voice the deep, slow roll of distant thunder, and he focused his will not on his own size, but on the tiny world within hers. Inside Brittany, the air crackled with a sudden, oppressive pressure. Rossi gasped, “What the hell—” before a foreign, commanding heat flooded their confined space, seizing their muscles.
It was a compulsion, absolute and filthy, wired directly into their nervous systems. Their own wills dissolved into a singular, burning directive: pleasure her. Morgan’s fingers, of their own volition, drove back into her g-spot with a brutal, rhythmic punching. Garcia’s mouth latched onto her cervix and sucked, a wet, unrelishing vacuum, while Prentiss and JJ used their nails to scrape lightning-bolts of sensation along her most tender inner walls.
Brittany arched in his hands, a tiny, exquisite convulsion, a scream too high and sharp for him to hear as the amplified, involuntary assault of her own team detonated inside her. Below, the speck-like crowd shuddered in a mirrored, silent orgasm, their collective release a faint, salty mist in the air he now breathed. He simply watched, a god holding a trembling, overstimulated world in his palms, as she came apart again and again, each ripple against his skin a perfect, contained earthquake.
He watched the tiny, exquisite convulsions ripple through her form, a fascinating spectacle of involuntary response. A new, darker curiosity uncoiled within him, a desire to not just observe her reaction, but to architect it from the molecular level upwards. He focused his will, that deep, commanding heat, but this time he directed it outward, not to compel the team, but to alter the very woman cradled in his hands.
"Grow," he whispered, the single word a seismic command that vibrated through the air and into her bones.
It began as a deep, internal warmth, a cellular unlocking that she instantly recognized yet had never received from him before. Her body responded not with the violent, cracking expansion of before, but with a smooth, terrifyingly fluid inflation. The sensation was profoundly different; it was not her own power unfurling, but his will being imposed upon her substance, a violation so complete it felt like worship.
She felt her skin tighten, then stretch, her form expanding against the confines of his cupped palms. "Aaron?" she gasped, her voice already deeper, richer, as her lengthening legs began to spill over the edges of his fingers.
Inside her, the team cried out as their world suddenly, violently widened, the walls of her cunt pulling away from them with a wet, tearing suction. "Christ, she's stretching!" Rossi yelled, his voice echoing in the new, cavernous space.
Hotch watched, enthralled, as she swelled, her curves filling out his palms, then beginning to push against them with steady, inexorable pressure. He let her grow, feeding more of that commanding heat into her, making her larger, heavier, more substantial in his grasp. Her moans deepened into groans of overwhelmed pleasure, the growth amplifying every nerve ending, every internal friction from the team's frantic motions.
"More?" he rumbled, not as a question, but as a tease.
"Yes," she begged, her word a gust of wind, her body already doubling in scale within his hold, the delicious, frightening fullness of his control making her slick. "Don't stop making me grow."
He fed the power into her, a relentless current of will that made her cells ignite and multiply. Her skin strained against the nothingness, her bones singing as they lengthened, her form pushing outward against the cage of his fingers with a terrifying, silent strength. Inside her, the team tumbled through the sudden new space, their cries lost in the vast, wet expansion of her internal landscape.
“Fucking hell, it’s endless,” Morgan’s voice echoed, unmoored, as the familiar ridges of her g-spot stretched into a distant, rolling plain.
Hotch watched her spill over his palms, her thighs now thick as redwoods, her breasts swelling into pale, moon-like orbs that rose past his knuckles. The feeling of her yielding, heavy weight, this act of creation under his absolute command, hardened his cock to an aching monument against his stomach. He shifted his grip, his thumbs sliding under her ass to cradle her fully, the tips now brushing the wet, split seam of her cunt where his team was housed.
“You’re so perfect like this,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating through her very skeleton. “A perfect, growing toy.”
He lowered his head, his breath a hot gale over her body, and his tongue—a broad, wet promontory of flesh—emerged to drag a slow, devastating path up from her navel to the throbbing swell of her clit. The contact was cataclysmic, a seismic event that made her back arch, a scream tearing from her throat that rolled over the city like thunder. His tongue was not gentle; it was a possessive, crude instrument, flattening against her, then spearing roughly into her dripping entrance, fucking into the vast channel alongside the microscopic team.
“Can’t—Aaron, it’s too much—!” she gasped, but her body betrayed her, hips grinding against the brutal muscle of his tongue, each flick sending fresh, cracking expansion through her hips and ribs.
“You don’t get to decide what’s too much,” he growled into her flesh, the words a physical pressure. He sucked her clit between his lips, applying a vacuum that seemed to pull at her very soul, and at that same moment, he forced another surge of growth into her.
She exploded in scale, her body lifting from his hands not of its own accord, but because she could no longer be contained. Her shoulders slammed into the sides of buildings, shattering them, as her head rose toward his. She was his size again, maybe larger, colliding with him in a tangle of limbs and a clash of titanic flesh that leveled city blocks beneath them. He caught her, his arms wrapping around her colossal back, and she felt the hot, insistent press of his cock against her belly.
“Now,” he snarled, his eyes locking onto hers, “you take all of me.” He guided himself down, the swollen head of his cock notching against her stretched, fluid-slick entrance, a pressure so immense it blotted out the sky. Then he drove up into her, a single, shearing thrust that filled the universe.
The invasion was absolute, a scalding fullness that redefined her center of gravity. She screamed, a raw sound of rupturing pleasure, and her body answered it by expanding, not away from him, but around him, swallowing his girth in a relentless, wet ascent. “Fucking grow, take it all,” he grunted into the hollow of her throat, each piston-hard thrust up into her triggering another vertical lurch in her scale. Buildings crumbled under her broadening shoulders as she rose, his cock a fixed, devastating axis inside her while the city sank away below. “She’s… she’s going past him,” a voice from the crowd carried up, choked with awe, as her head eclipsed his, her breasts swelling above his face like impending clouds. Inside the vast, wet chamber of her, the team, tossed in the turbulent slipstream, collided—Morgan’s back met Rossi’s chest, Garcia’s mouth found JJ’s neck—and a frantic, shared need ignited in the dark. “Fuck me, just fuck me,” Rossi barked, his hands finding Garcia’s hips, pulling her onto him as Morgan drove into Prentiss from behind, their own gasping congress a mirrored, miniature echo of the giants above. Hotch, his face now level with her pounding heart, saw the crowd’s ant-like devotion and smirked, then spat a wad of thick saliva onto his fingers. He reached down, past where his body joined hers, and shoved two slick fingers deep into her ass alongside his driving cock. “Christ!” she wailed, the sudden, filthy penetration sending a seismic jolt through her expanding form, her height surging until his head nestled between her colossal breasts. He fucked her with a brutal, grounding rhythm, his fingers working in her ass, his cock splitting her cunt, the team moving inside her—a symphony of invasions that made her vision bleed white at the edges. She was twice his size now, a trembling skyscraper of flesh, every nerve singing a chorus of yes as the tiny, enthralled city came in its pants below.