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31. FeralWings - Unusual toys - Living Insertion

Virion squirmed within his bonds, the dragon's arms chained up over his head and his legs spread apart around a long, rigid bar hooked to each ankle. He hung away from the wall behind him underneath his own weight, all slack in the chains gone taut beneath the strain; again and again he tried to unfurl his wings, though found those bound against himself too, great bands of thick metal set and sealed around his chest and his belly, each one locked with a different key and further chained together.

Despite his predicament, though, or perhaps even because_of it, his arousal stirred full and strong between his spread legs, the sun dragon's double-sack resting out across the cool stone floor underneath him. He swallowed through a mouth held open around a ring gag wide enough that any of the attendants could likely stick their entire muzzle into his throat without touching his teeth; every time he tried to move, his strained nerves reminded him of his situation, his posture, his _vulnerability, and his hard cock throbbed all over again, ridges growing along the underside and the blunted flare of his head briefly swelling up and out.

They had worked him up like this, two pairs of paws working at his two pairs of balls, muzzles and tongues and lips nosing, nuzzling, slurping, licking across his hard shaft, his growing knot, each and every of the multiple piercings decorating his impressive length. They had gathered his spurts and squirts of loose, heavy pre in buckets and carried it away for purposes only they knew - but now the dragon's senses tingled and he lifted his head, looking over just in time to see one of those attendants coming back with one of the buckets clutched in both paws.

The coyote's sharp emerald eyes flashed up at him as he approached, belying his interest and excitement about as much as the visible tent beneath his loincloth, the apex of which had already soaked through with his own dribbling warmth. With a sigh the lupine dropped the bucket before Virion and stepped forward, paws already glistening with thick slickness; the prisoner squirmed again, working against his chains to tilt his head and look, and couldn't quite make out just what it was the coyote had brought. Whether it was some kind of dark lubricant in there, or dye or paint, or-

Warm paws slid in across his balls, cupping the lower pair and then moving to the upper, then continuing from there. The coyote rubbed his palm along Virion's knot, danced his fingerpads over each of the knobs of the ladder piercing, tapped at the stud nestled right underneath the rim of his head, then actually tugged right here to angle the dragon's large shaft down towards him. Virion sucked in a gasp through his gag, expecting the coyote to lean forward and close the distance... and he quickly found out that he was right, the lupine's jaws parting, his lips coming forward to press against the dragon's blunted head, his tongue swirling out across hot, sensitive flesh. Back and forth, sweet and gentle, enough to make him wriggle and strain in his bonds, chains clattering.

Then, though, the coyote swallowed, tilted his head, and poked his tongue forward - and in, and Virion's nerves tightened with the sensation of the deft muscle nudging its way down into his cock. Barely a quarter inch at first, then a half, then a whole... and then a second, the attendant now opening his mouth wider, drawing the dragon's length into his maw so that he could worm his tongue deeper. Virion groaned as the hot, slick flesh pressed down into him, squishing up against the inner tubing of his shaft, rolling and roiling behind the bars of his ladder, squeezing back against flesh already tight with arousal.

As quickly as he had started did the coyote draw back, though, with Virion able to see him pull his tongue back out of his cock. A thick glob of saliva hung between his mouth and the dragon's slightly-gaped tip, purple flesh showing a deeper, richer glistening wetness inside. The sensation sizzled out through Virion's abdomen like a sweet, delicious flame; he panted through the open ring, watching as the coyote slid his palm over his half-flared head, teased two fingers at the parted opening, sank one down to the first knuckle, then the second just the same; then both to the next knuckle, and finally to the base, while he reached for the bucket with his other paw.

Chains jangled as Virion trembled around the fingers shoved to the base inside of his cock. Every time he throbbed he felt his flesh tightening around them, and the coyote wiggling side to side, swirling around inside of him, pushing his saliva deeper. So wrapped up was the captured dragon in the mixed discomfort and pleasure of the treatment that for a moment he didn't notice just what it was the lupine held in his other paw, clutched tender between a forefinger and a thumb, writhing, wriggling, glistening wet, slimy.

One gelatinous eyestalk extended from the body, and then a second. The slug waved its eyes around like appendages, taking in everything around it; the coyote smiled, loincloth twitching between his legs, and finally slid his finger back out of Virion's cock, leaving the dragon again with that simmering sensation of emptiness. Not for long, though: paw keeping the prisoner's length angled towards him, he brought the slug close, lined its tapered tail up with the gaping hole in the middle of his blunted head, nudged it against the lip... and then prodded it slowly, smoothly in.

At first Virion couldn't feel much beyond the shock, horror, and deep, bubbling curiosity at witnessing the act. Then the second slug went in, and a small, cool pressure welled up right in the root of his shaft, where his sheath met his body; then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, each time with the coyote slipping his finger into his maw first and the dragon's shaft second, pressing the small, wriggling creatures deeper inside of him. The pressure just continued to grow, as though he had let loose to unload his bladder but had some of these attendants squeezing around him so tight that nothing could come out: Virion squirmed, wriggled, thrashed in his bonds, flare growing towards its apex again and again yet never quite making it, hard shaft slapping against his belly and out of the coyote's grasp time and time again, occasionally flicking a slug up against his scaled body or out across the floor, the bulge of his urethra along the underside now visibly writhing, the pinpoints of his piercings rolling side to side, up and down.

Scintillating, invigorating, infuriating, exhilarating, the coyote continued to press the slugs down into him, each one taking a little bit more focus, a little bit more force to squeeze in. Distant buried nerves within Virion's body tingled, things that he had never consciously felt before: gradually he became aware of a tingling itch down in the root of his sheath, and a steadily growing pressure within his bladder that seemed to rumble and roil and slosh around, pushing him close to the edge of losing control. Then, finally, the coyote wiped his paws off on the dragon's four balls, looked up at him, made sure the two made eye contact, and stood up to leave.

Virion thrashed again, chains clattering. He pulled against his bonds, so close to finishing, the constant, ceaseless writhing of the countless slugs inside of him keeping his hypersensitive nerves on edge: if he throbbed, clenched, squeezed as hard as he could, one or two of the slimy brown critters oozed out of the end of his shaft, rolled across his flare, and then plopped to the tiles underneath him, leaving a thick, discolored rope of sludge as they went. They kept him right there on the edge, but never pushed him over - and, he noticed, their wriggling was actually visible in his swollen belly, distended belly filled like a balloon pushing out at the flesh from underneath, simmering beneath smooth scales as the creatures rolled back and forth over themselves, again and again.

He bit his lip, thumped his head back against the wall, and strained against his bonds, desperate for the attendant to return again.

32. FeralWings - Prolapse

Still the shackles jangled behind and around him, the metal now warmed with the heat of his body and the sunlight slanting through the windows, feeling tighter than ever before. Virion's jaw ached from how viciously he gritted his teeth, the dragon's lips curled back in a constant silent snarl. He knew that drool dribbled down his chin and across his bared chest; he knew that his throat twinged with hot breath and low, rumbling growls of urgent need, the attendants having left him alone after his _last_treatment; he knew that every nerve in his body tingled right at the edge of overstimulation, yet to his great chagrin, annoyance, and _desperation,_had never been able to actually hit that peak.

Again and again the sun dragon's body lurched within his bonds, lifting up, pushing forward, and sinking back down, the breath pumping slowly out of him as it did so, delicious sensation swelling inside of him. It had taken quite a bit of doing, but after that damned coyote had come along and worked him up like this, paws and tongue and fingers and slugs which he could still feel slithering down within his deepest, most sensitive recesses - after all of this Virion had managed to loop his long tail around underneath himself, press it up against his bared tailhole coated with saliva and slug slime and saliva from when the attendants had first chained him up here, and then slowly worked it up inside of himself, in an attempt to combat this constantly burgeoning, never peaking arousal that still boiled within his abdomen.

Slowly at first, and then steadily faster, harder, deeper, until now the dragon rocked in his bonds with his head leaning back and jaw hanging open, breath coming and going through a throat already ragged with strain, chest heaving, belly already swollen with the presence of the slimy, writhing creatures filling out his bladder, still squirming up inside his cock each time he throbbed - that was the worst part, and at the same time the best - with the curve of his tail braced along the floor while he pumped it up inside of himself. Being another part of him, Virion could feel the twisting curves and tight inner rings of his lower bowels squeezing and sucking around the appendage, wet fleshy walls slurping around, smearing him in natural slickness, sensations just driving him further along.

The dragon spread his legs, once more right there at the edge of a delightful, intoxicating peak... but just couldn't make it. He swallowed, mouth dry, and slurped his tail back down out of himself... and down... and down further, until finally the sizable bulb punctuating the last few joints at least as wide around as his own knot strained at the inner rim of his tailhole. Again he gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring with tension: that had been the most difficult part to work up inside himself, and he had had to take some ten minutes to himself after doing so to wait for all of his nerves to calm back down from the sharp, fiery tingling of the immense stretch.

Now that stretch came at him again from inside, pulling at his rim, straining the smooth, scaled skin around it. Virion gasped, reflexively clenched, felt the bulb suck right back up inside of himself, and couldn't help but shudder and grind and buck with the firm nudge across his prostate, already worked into a froth from the presence of the slugs caught down within his inner tubing. Every time he shifted or adjusted his position he could feel them there inside of him, like so many long, slick fingers poking and prodding at him, gently caressing, driving him to the edge of orgasm as well as desperation from the fervent need.

For a moment Virion wondered how he even got this section of his tail in in the first place. Slowly, luxuriously, he let his weight settle back down onto the appendage, body trembling as he did so: with his eyes closed and lip between his teeth, with his still fully hard cock constantly twitching and throbbing against his belly, soaked in a coating of his own pre mixed with the slime from the slugs inside of him. That dense, thick pressure sloshed around inside of him, palpably shifting and shaping his guts around it, pressing against his bladder from inside, making him shiver, squeeze, push again in attempts to empty out some of his not-unwelcome visitors, but still come to nothing.

Still, though, the pushing pressed against, around his tail's bulb, nudging it back down towards his tailhole. Virion took in a breath, swallowed again, gritted his teeth again, pushed harder, harder; the blood swelled in his neck and muzzle, he spread his legs further, he tugged down on his tail just as he pushed. Bit by bit there was the familiar strain as his rim began to part open around it, the oozing slickness from inside, that infuriating sensation of being right on the edge of his finish - and then finally he popped free from himself, the wet, spluttering squelch echoing out through the room.

His entire body trembled, legs shaking, chains and bonds jangling fervently. Virion tossed his head to one side and then the other, now clenching every muscle in his abdomen, now pushing with all his force: he felt the thick, slimy bumps of the slugs being forced up out of his cock like gelatinous globs of semi-solid piss, welling up from deep inside; he felt his gaping rim part open, suck at the air, then splutter right back out when he pushed again. Already he knew that he had ejected some of that natural inner lubrication with this push, warm sticky ropes of it spattering out across his legs and thighs, and - now that sensation of pressure seemed to suck at him from inside, as though one of the attendants had closed their mouth around his tailhole and suckled at him with everything they had.

It was a strange sensation, this feeling of a vacuum inside of him, as though there were... less of him inside his belly than there should be. Panting, shaking, dribbling wet warmth from his stuffed shaft, Virion slowly relaxed in his bonds, and then even more slowly came to be aware of a faint, distant chill at once inside of him as well as a few inches down between his legs. Confused, trying to identify this part of his body that had not been there before, the sun dragon twisted in his confinement, tilted his head forward, looked down - and saw resting there across the tile a good few inches of rich, wet red internal flesh made external, the lower section of his bowels fully yanked out from inside of himself after the stretch of his tail.

It pulsed with the beat of his heart, swelled like a balloon when he pushed, wriggled and sucked back in towards his tailhole kept stretched open around its own innards when he clenched, like a juicy cut of steak ready to be devoured. Streaked with its own juices, bubbles and ropes and strands of mucus tinted to a slight off-color, thicker stretches of the stuff angling between the tip of his new second tail and where his actual tail still rested across the floor, similarly smeared in the same slickness.

Disbelief sizzled through him, though this was quickly stifled by the constant barrage of hyperstimulation and intoxicating arousal. Virion swallowed, tilted the tip of his tail forward, and poked and prodded and teased at this limp extension of himself, rich red meat stirring with the faintest impression of touch both inside and outside of him as he did so. The feeling made him shudder, which made him throb, which made those few inches of wrinkled bowel-meat swell up again; he poked the tip of his tail down into the lip at the end, the inside of his tailhole without having to actually push through the rim itself; he watched and felt as the slack, wet meat easily sleeved around the tip of his tail, then bunched up against his distended rim with the pressure of his knot-sized bulb... and then he shuddered, shifted, groaned as everything smushed back into place inside of him, ring of muscle pulling around the layers of flesh guided back in, walls sucking and slurping.

Dizzy with arousal, Virion held there for a moment, then took in another breath, swallowed yet again, and this time tried to draw his tail back out without pushing - and even before he pulled it free he noticed the sleeve of slick red clinging to the girth of the bulb, pulling out from inside. Perhaps it had been on purpose, then, the attendants leaving him on his own like this. Knowing that he would just work himself up further, that he would come ever closer to his peak, that he would drive himself deeper than ever before into indulgent debauchery, that he would go to such extreme lengths.

Virion groaned. The idea just turned him on even _more_so.

33. FeralWings - Corruption

Sensation surged through him, folding in over itself again and again so that Virion could barely recognize just what was happening to him. Still he felt the chains at it arms and legs, the spreader bar pushing his ankles apart, the bonds keeping his wings down against his back; still he was kept viciously, tantalizing aware of his urgent, throbbing arousal, of the presence of the bucketful of slugs still filling his bladder, for nearly two hours now keeping him yanked between the urgent need to piss and the irresistible imminence of cumming, though neither could ever quite come to fruition; still he felt his stretched, gaping tailhole yawn open underneath him after plying his tail away at himself so many times and so fervently, the ring of muscle now slack and limp, the wet interior flesh sagging out if he were to ever relax or push.

So, naturally, he did so again, tightening the muscles in his lower body, emptying out from inside. There was that high, sloppy spluttering out into the air, the feeling of warm air caught in between bubbles of mucus as the first several inches of his bowels unfolded from inside of him, smearing out towards the floor; like a second tail his own guts everted out of deep, intense pleasure waggled underneath him, and then with another twist of the muscles that loose tubing sucked right back up into him.

Then again, and again, and again. Each cycle pushed the other muscles in his abdomen as well, guts shifting and sloshing around, bladder tightening, teasing at the still-wriggling creatures inside of him, occasionally plopping one free from the end of his still hard cock. By now the dragon's jaw hung limply open, breaths coming and going in a slow, steady, but still somewhat shaky rhythm; he had closed his eyes and retreated into himself, focusing on the pace of the sensations, the pulse, the twitch, the rolling waves of pleasure the depths of which he had never so fully plumbed. Already he knew that this repeated straining had pushed his bladder beyond its already stretched limits: anything that would or should have come out of him already had, and he squeezed around it like a filled balloon, pressing slug and piss further along his length only for everything to then suck right back up into him.

Like a spark the center of all of these indulgent, intoxicating feelings simmered inside of him, and then like a flame it suddenly burst and began to spread. The sizzle seared straight through him, rebounding up along his chest, out through his arms, into his wings; Virion groaned, then howled out into the air as his legs kicked, his tail lashed, his skin and flesh roiled and bubbled. The transformation flowed across him as the shifting tides along the seashore, cloud-white scales shifting smoothly to black, warm gold to rich, deep violet; manacles strained, stretched, and burst; the bar between his legs bent and broke; the chains binding him to the wall and ceiling jangled around him as they were yanked from their posts.

Only the bands around the captured dragon's chest remained, and even then only for a few moments longer. The great, majestic wings that the attendants had kept so unceremoniously squeezed against his chest shifted and twisted away, membranes curling back, spokes shifting as well, first tightening and then rippling out into long, gelatinous tentacles instead. As his transformation continued on, Virion's pleasure only continued to grow: he squeezed every muscle in his body again, deliberately pushing those few inches of his guts outside of his tailhole, now finally freed and able to lean forward, to run his blunted nose back and forth over the revealed inner flesh also turned from the rich red of wet meat to sweet simmering purple, his suddenly forked tongue flicking out, smearing in between the creases of his fleshy folds, sucking the limp tube of his lower bowels up into his maw.

A rich, satisfied growl burbled from deep within the dragon's chest as he finally tasted himself, tongue swirling in, maw filling with flesh and slime and the gathered mucus from so many hours of pumping away at himself to no avail. With a wet shlop he pulled free, of course sucking as he went to draw his bowels even further out from his tailhole, then lifted up to shift his attention: vaguely he could recall the paws and muzzles of the missing attendants working at his double-sack, massaging and nudging and licking, but of course they couldn't hope to treat him as well as he could himself. With his freshly altered snout, the dragon's form just now starting to settle into its final shifted, corrupted, proper form, Virion sucked and slurped away at his own balls, cleaning off the dribbled ooze from the slugs inside of him and the dried trails of piss and pre and whatever else... and then he continued up.

His own scent nearly overwhelmed him with eager exhilaration. The shape of his shaft had of course altered as well, now much broader and thicker, better used for depositing thick, coherent nodules rather than the loose spurts that he previous form would have. This worked perfectly for his current predicament: wrapped in his own breath and musk, Virion parted his lips and closed his mouth around his cock, easily slipping down until his nose nudged into the parted flesh of his genital slit, where his scent clung the strongest.

And there he gave himself the same treatment the coyote had, seemingly so long ago: he tightened his tongue together, lined it up with his urethra, and plunged it right in. Instead of pressing the slugs deeper down into himself, though, Virion curled the forked muscle around them and sucked them back out, deliberately drawing from inside himself as he did so. He spread his legs further, thrust up into his muzzle, both sucked at as well as inside_his cock, and finally, _finally felt himself begin to tumble over the edge of his needed finish.

With otherworldly snarl his twisted, deformed body jerked, thrashed, and thrashed again, arms spreading out at his sides, hindlegs pounding at the ground, claws shattering the tile where they impacted. He jerked, and bucked again, and felt that pleasure continue to inflate, hotter and higher and richer, more, more, more - but still nothing came. Now half a second, now a quarter-second, now right at the start of orgasm, yet still so far away: for a moment he thought his heart might burst from the way it pounded in his great chest. Yet again Virion clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack - and then suddenly, thankfully, the hours-long sensation burst out of him.

As did so many of those slugs riding the spurts of rich white, thick ropes pouring out of him with the slimy critters borne like gelatinous eggs, again and again. Virion thrashed his head to the other side, tightened, squeezed, pushed - and still feeling the pulse of his pleasure lancing through him, felt the sudden swelling heat and much-needed relief of his bladder emptying even further, both of the slugs as well as whatever piss had boiled down inside of him. Unbelieving at first, the dragon lifted his head,, still unable to resist the thrusting of his hips, and now saw each thick white rope spurting out from inside of him ending in a loose spray tinted with the warm yellow, inner valves shoved open around extended abuse and the presence of the slugs, juices mixing and melding, everything coming out at the same time, the sensations of each making the other that much sharper.

Virion writhed along the floor in the swiftly growing pool of his own seed and piss, more of the slugs squirming around him, when a noise across the room caught his attention. With difficulty he lifted his head, winced as the echoes of his still ongoing orgasm still pounded through him, and saw the coyote attendant shuffle back in with another bucket held in his paws.

Green eyes flashed across the dragon, completely different yet still the same, literally soaking in the products of his own body; then the bucket clattered to the floor in a spray of water and soap bubbles. Virion smirked to himself, struggled to stand up, shuddered as another pulse of his mixed fluids jetted out of him, and swirled his tongue out across his chops

He was just getting started.

34. 1tiamat1 - Scat

The rumbling roil deep within her guts shocked Cynder awake, both from the sensation as well as the sound. Sweat beading out on her forehead through her fur already, the kitsune grimaced, took in a breath, swallowed, and sat up, the sheets falling away from her body; across the room only the barest glimmer of light had started to filter in through the window, and when she reached over to tap her phone she saw that she still had a good two hours before she would have to get up.

Before either of them would have to get up. Already deliberately clamping herself down, shifting where she now sat so that her tails spilled out around her side and off the edge of the bed, Cynder saw that Silver still slept peacefully beside her. That made sense: for once Cynder had only laced her own glass of water at bedtime with the extra-strength laxatives, and even as she had drifted off she could already feel the boiling froth inside of her. In the depths of dreams all of this had pushed at her from a great distance, but now that she was awake... the kitsune glanced up towards the door to the bathroom all the way on the other side of the room, and then at Silver's muzzle parted open in gentle snoring right here, barely a foot and a half away from her.

The kitsune swallowed, relaxed for a moment, then immediately regretted it and clenched back again, pressure squeezing out at her already-strained tailhole from inside like hot semi-molten magma, like a piston pushing out from inside her guts. The longer she waited the more urgent the need became, until her heart thumped in her throat, her jaw ached from how she gritted and ground her teeth, and she just couldn't keep still.

But the bathroom was too far away. She knew this. With less care than was likely proper Cynder pulled herself out from the sheets, swiftly tugged her panties down her legs - it looked like the back already bore a slight discolored stain in back, a preamble from when she slept - and then without turning moved to straddle the snow leopard's muzzle. Luckily Silver slept on her back, and often did so with her mouth open: shifting her weight as slowly as she could bear so as not to jostle the mattress too much, Cynder braced her knees on either side of the feline's chest, kept all of her tails hoisted while she looked back, adjusted from side to side... rested her sack across Silver's chin, briefly indulged in rubbing the hefty weights forward and back, and then felt another bursting wave of urgency shoot that need back into the distance for now.

The trembling, searing need pulsed through her guts with such intensity and pressure that Cynder nearly burst before she could get into position. Paws on her knees, panties stretching between her thighs with her sack hanging down across Silver's chin and her sheath resting on her own belly, the kitsune swallowed again, let out a shuddering breath, and rested her weight back until the gentle tickle of the sleeping snow leopard's breath puffed up across her straining tailhole, warm and damp and so, so soft. Then again, and again; Cynder dropped back a little bit further, settling her puckered rim _into_Silver's opened mouth, leaning back until the feline's lips brushed and then sealed against the skin and fur of her rump. That rhythm continued as gentle suction around her tailhole for a few breaths, then paused, and then Silver shifted and huffed through her nose with enough force to tickle at the underside of Cynder's tails, where her fur was the most sensitive.

At that point the kitsune could no longer hold herself back... so she didn't. She swallowed again, shifted her paws to a spot in between her own legs, arched her back, gritted her teeth - and instead of relaxing, she _pushed_from deep inside. Her guts squeezed and roiled among themselves, welling up, swelling out, and then finally bursting free, the rim of her tailhole spluttering easily open around the night's load carried inside of herself: relief mixed with discomfort and urgent, searing heat burst out of her and directly into Silver's sleeping maw, quickly filling the feline's mouth to brimming. To her relief and moderate surprise, though, the snow leopard just gave a small shiver and squirm where she lay and then dutifully swallowed, well accustomed to this process in her waking hours.

There was no way that Cynder would be able to stop or slow down. Sweat now rolling down her muzzle as well, she pressed herself more firmly back on Silver's muzzle, tailhole stretching open around the volume of the mass dumping out from inside: the spluttering pops, wet squelching, and thick, viscous crackling of her urgent load pouring out from bowels swollen around its presence all came muted through Silver's closed mouth, the feline serving surprisingly well as Cynder's impromptu toilet.

As she pushed the kitsune strained a little bit, body trembling, belly flattening as she emptied herself out, a thin trickle of piss dribbling out from the tip of her sheath and down her fur to pool between Silver's breasts on her chest. Cynder paused to catch her breath, then reached back, spread her fingers through Silver's luxurious hair, tugged her more firmly up against her again, and then began pushing again, the flow once more kicking into gear from deeper within her guts. As Cynder's belly emptied, Silver's visibly grew: when she looked forward she could see the slow growth beneath the blankets, volume filling out with Cynder's fresh waste. Even though her mouth remained lightly clamped around the kitsune's tailhole as she unconsciously swallowed down what she was fed, when Cynder turned her head she could still smell her own mark wafting out through Silver's nostrils with each exhalation, thick and dank and heavy.

Again and again she pushed until, finally, there was no more to give: Cynder strained and worked, pressing herself down, letting the forced piss trickle down the front of her now dampened sheath, as her smeared, sticky tailhole blossomed within Silver's mouth and against her tongue. Then the kitsune relaxed again with a heaving sigh, grinded her rump against the snow leopard's sleeping mouth and lips, lifted herself up, and then carefully rolled back over to once again take her place beside her.

Greatly relieved, Cynder already felt the grasp of sleep start to tug her back under even before she had rolled onto her side. She leaned in, pulled Silver against her, grimaced at the scent wafting from the leopard's still-open maw - Silver paused again, swallowed, spluttered quietly, sniffed, then resumed sleeping - and rested an arm around her swollen, rumbling belly. If she squeezed in, she could just barely make out the lumpy, semi-firm shapes of her own load there within Silver's stomach. Cynder smiled, sighed, nuzzled into place... and then grimaced as her own belly stirred again.

It had been a double dose of the extra-strength laxative she had taken.

35. 1tiamat1 - Scat

Cynder reached forward as far as she could without actually shifting her body or changing her posture in any way, and yet still felt the resulting pressure in her swollen guts, her bowels filled beyond brimming, her urgent, imminent need. The kitsune couldn't help but grit her teeth and swallow down a groan as her paw wrapped around the small, single-serve bottle plastered with warning labels and bright text there at the edge of the table, one of her last two: this stuff was so potent that she had to special order it from overseas, and had to pay extra on it as well.

But after countless other varieties tried, tested, and tasted, this one had come out head and shoulders as her favorite. She cracked the top, spun it off, and tilted it back, letting the foul, pungent liquid ooze out onto her tongue, her breath still thick with the previous serving; one of those labels noted do not exceed one per person per day, and yet as Cynder finished it off, swallowed down the sludge, and dropped the empty bottle into the trash at the edge of the couch's arm, the plastic clattered against some seven or eight of its fellows. It had been difficult to find a laxative that worked so well, so quick, and so reliably, but now that she had found it she made sure to put it to regular use.

The sensation that it stirred inside of her was deeply uncomfortable, yet at the same time just as deeply arousing. This was clearly evidenced by her hard shaft twitching up against her belly noticeably distended out around the volume held inside of her, with each throb pushing up against her and sending another trembling wave of discomfort through her packed bowels, which in turn just made her shudder and throb all over again, which repeated the cycle again and again.

With a sly, slightly sickened smile, the kitsune looked over at the lion sitting beside her. "Think I'm approaching my limit. I'm surprised you're still hanging on..."

A tease, and both of them knew it. Leo looked like he had already gone past his limit, every muscle in his body tense, paws clamping down on his knees, paintbrush tail held up at an angle over the holes specially cut in the rear of the couch to allow the feeding pumps to slide into place. Just a friendly challenge between the two of them, the kind that Cynder quite loved taking on with those close to her: let's both chug lax and see which one of us can handle it better, and then when it's time, just switch these pumps on and - slurp - it'll suck everything out of us.

"Everything?" Leo had asked, eyes wide. The idea enticed him: Cynder had been able to smell the sudden, sharp shift in his scent as arousal plumbed through his system.

"Everything. I'll show you."

The kitsune shifted where she sat, then immediately regretted it. Industrial-grade slurry pumps stood behind the couch, flexible tubing looping around and around themselves and then up, into modified rubber pressure heads to keep the "mouths" of the tubes sealed against each of their bared tailholes. That had been a bit of an extra, unintentional challenge: Cynder herself was no stranger to the sensation of a hungry mouth sucking and slurping at her pucker, and this felt quite a bit like that with the added difficulty of her tailhole protruding slightly out from her body for the sheer mass and pressure swirling behind it.

Leo swallowed again, paws shaking. He straightened up, spread his legs, then grimaced; Cynder grinned at seeing his full arousal as well, pulsing with the beat of his heart, occasionally lifting up into his swollen belly as well. "Cynder, I-"

"Come on, Leo. Go for it. No shame. Think about how _good_it'll feel."

He winced and looked at her without turning his head. "You're not upset?"

"Of course not! How many did you do?"

He paused to catch his breath again. Behind him the pump stuttered, the pressure valves inside of it sensing the imminent change. "Uh. T-three."

"Impressive for your third time. But, you know what, Leo?"

"W-what?"

Cynder reached over, carefully rested her arm around his shoulder... "I'm proud of you." ...then winked, dropped her arm further - and pressed her spread paw into his swollen belly.

The result was immediate. Leo's eyes widened and his mouth fell open, and then if not for the extra straps they had affixed around their legs for the pump mouth, the tubing would very likely have blasted out and away from him. He physically jumped with his bowels' release, the immense volume, mass, heat of his pulped, laxative-ridden load exploding out of him and into the piping nearly before the machine could accommodate. Then came the whirring of gears, the shifting of pressure, the hissing of machinery - and then all of this disappeared beneath the rumbling roils and thick, liquid splatters and spurts of Leo dumping the contents of his guts out into the tubing, the slurry pump hungrily sucking, as Cynder had said, everything out of him.

Then hers juddered and shifted to life as well, and finally the kitsune gave in and relaxed. Just like all of those other times, the mouth squeezed around her tailhole, slurped, sucked, peeled her open, and drew out the waiting mess inside; unlike those times, though, this mouth never needed to pause to breathe or swallow. It was a strange sensation, the deep, intense relief of emptying out such a massive load combined with the odd, distant, deep feeling of suction, as though it reached up inside of her and tried to pull the meat of her innards down into the tubing itself. Equally strange was the feeling of emptying out like this, where the volume pulled itself out of her body, slurping and sloshing through the twists and turns of her intestines, belly flattening out like a balloon with the spout recently opened; she leaned back onto the piping and enjoyed the feeling, eyes closed, mouth open.

Beside her Leo squirmed and gasped as the device worked at him, the adjusting valves inside rhythmically pulsing and pumping at him, drawing deeply from within his bowels. Cynder half-opened her eyes and looked over just in time to see him shifting, lurching, thrusting back against the mouth and up again, back and up - until he gasped and bucked again, claws pricking into the fabric of the couch while his hard cock pulsed and jumped against his belly, painting the lion's fur in streaks of white forced out from so much semi-solid heat searing through inside of him.

Cynder smirked and once again closed her eyes, similarly clenching in rhythm with the suction. I'll be sitting here longer than him,_she thought, remembering how many more she had downed. _We'll see if he can get to a second finish before I hit my first. Or, hell, I bet he'll get a third, at this rate - looks like here's the second, right now...