#cw inflation

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 19: Four Seasons Landscaping

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: dubcon; noncon; tentacles; cumflation; plant-fucking; creampie;

A/N: Apologies if this one feels rushed. It is. Today's been remarkably busy for a Sunday so I bashed this one out quick. I left the CWs on for dubcon and noncon because fem!reader isn't into it at first, even if she gets into it pretty fast. Read at your own discretion, but this is much nicer than yesterday's

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Another day, another job. You checked your docket, this sure was the address. You sighed heavily, was this another case of them giving the only woman at the firm the shitty job again, or did someone seriously see the half acre of bramble and overgrown hedges and call it "light weeding"

You may never know

First off was the perimeter hedge, where it overhung the street. Your trimmers made short work of the overhang, even if you did need the long ladder to get to the top of them. Whoever owned this plot really liked their privacy to have planted ten-foot hedges around the entire property line. You weren't sure how the neighbours felt about it, but you're only being paid for the street-side so you couldn't care less.

At least the pavement was clear now, and working inside such a private plot really limits how much randos from the street can catcall you. That's one plus, at least.

The docket specified no weedkillers, so you can't just put on a rubber suit and salt the earth with glyphosate and a cocktail of other chemicals adorned with fun-looking warning triangles. You pulled on your overalls and stocked your toolbelt with an array of trowels, secateurs, shears, forks, strimmer wire, a trusty multitool, and a pair of heavier gloves, just in case. Armed with the tools of your profession, girded in denim dungarees, safety specs, and ear defenders, you started your mechanised assault on the wilderness.

You cut your path into the tangle of weeds and vines. Foliage piled high upon itself on wither side of you as you hacked inwards. You wondered if a machete would be a better tool when you remembered: you actually have one in the van! You'd been given it as a joke when you started, but a quirk of the law let you keep it around so it lived in a cubby in the centre console. You turned to make your way back.

Your path had closed behind you. The piles of plant matter leaning on each other and blocking your way. You shrugged and revved your strimmer. Cutting out should be as easy as cutting in.

In theory.

As soon as the wire hit the brambles, it snarled up. You heard the engine struggle, then stall entirely. Damn. You couldn't pull the machine free. The secateurs came out, and you leant down to cut it out.

Big mistake.

You hadn't noticed the vines that had wrapped themselves around your ankles when you turned, and tripped, falling into a bank of thorny vines. You felt the brambles piercing your gloves and long sleeves. Your hands wouldn't pull free. Your legs were rooted to the ground. You struggled against your bonds, thorns biting deeper with every movement.

You start to panic.

Plants don't act like this.

Plants don't do this.

You felt the briars start to pull at your ankles. Plant's definitely don't do this. You called out as you watched the entrance recede from you as you were hauled over the cutting barbs, deeper into the tangle.

Nobody came.

The vines were pulling you on, you could tell you were going downhill, though the plot should be level. A sinkhole perhaps? It didn't matter, down you went. You craned your neck to look behind you. Trying to get a glimpse of where you were going. That's when you saw it.

A flower. Huge and angry pink. You were going straight towards it.

You felt the petals close around your waist. Your hands were free now, but you couldn't wriggle them between your flesh and the opening of the plant. Each ankle was being pulled a different direction, holding you spreadeagled within the plant. You felt something strange within the flower, like your clothes being moved around on you. Something was... rubbing your legs? For some reason your skin felt wet

Wait

Those overalls were waxed. Waterproof. Nothing should be getting on your skin unless... Oh shit.

Your clothes are being digested. The plant must be carnivorous, which made sense, why else would it have vines that drag you into it? It didn't hurt though, which was strange. Whatever the plant was using to so rapidly eat away at your clothing didn't seem to damage your skin, or even sting when it hit the scratches the vines were still leaving on you.

Something pushed up what was left of your trouser leg, tearing the weakened material away from you, leaving you almost completely bare inside the bell of the plant. Next came your underwear, the thin cotton didn't offer any resistance to the digestive juices daubed on it. Now those same tendrils were painting your bare crotch. You felt your cheeks flush with arousal, this plant felt pretty good. The tendrils kept going, lubricating you and running between the lips of your cunt, as though a lover tenderly licking you up and down.

Every stroke caught your clit, your hole, your ass, first one way, then the other. Your breathing was getting heavier as the rubbing edged you closer and closer. Your hands strayed to your tits, cupping and squeezing as you rolled your head back, delighting in the sensations until you reached your peak, crying out as your release simmered over you.

Another tendril was pressing against you now. This one was moving with more purpose, pressing against your pussy until it entered your well-lubricated hole. You whined as it filled you, anticipating another orgasm as it started to thrust in and out, worming around and stretching you out. The insistent thrusting and continued attentions on your clit drove you to another screaming finish before you felt a hot, thick liquid filling you up. More and more it pumped into you, your womb ached with the amount and you could feel your belly bloating, growing large and round with the sheer volume of the stuff.

As quickly as it began, it pulled away. The vines loosened from your ankles and the flower released you, leaving you to cut away the last tangled pieces of vine from you and start the slow climb out, leaking a thick golden sap from your cunt as you dragged yourself uphill.

It took you over an hour to get back up to your strimmer, which you cut out and dragged behind you as you wobbled back into the van. By some miracle, your toolbelt was still largely unharmed, and everything that was on it before was still there. Along with, tucked into one of the thick, heavy-duty gloves, the end of a vine.

You're no botanist, but you know how to propagate a plant.

[miasmaghoul]

Scenario: Aether filling Dewdrop with cum and plugging him up every time until he's visibly inflated and makes him go about his day like that

oh noooo his flat lil tummy would be just a little round and he'd be so full and everyone would touch him there and he would feel so w e i r d :((((((((

yeah im into it

HATE | No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |

[lunaexistslmao]

[apricorns-n-ribbons]

Oh, Guardians. Climate change is really something, alright.

With these changing temperatures apricorn production has been out of whack recently. The growing seasons are all off, there are now more hungry bug types active during their growing season and their range has shifted due to changes in temperature. Some of my closest providers have decided to just not bother with apricorns anymore and even prestigious apricorn farms up in the dry and cold Sinnoh have had a lot of duds in their latest harvests.

This is absolutely awful. If the climate itself doesn’t end with apriball making, the rising prices sure will.

[weiner-does-preg]

Rapid preg animation

[on-a-lucky-tide]

this is very specific but you’re british so i hope you can understand the. wow football is ingrained in british culture. and that im not just insane

have you got any headcanons for what football team different cod characters would support?

It is. I'm a Rugby player myself, but my stepdad is a huge football fan so I was around it by osmosis. Yeah, it's huge in British culture. Sometimes not a good thing.

Price: he's a Red. Liverpool through and through. Some of his few positive memories of the old man are when he used to attend the Merseyside Derby against Everton, or, controversially, on the anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster. Price was four when it happened so every year of his living memory he belted out "Never Walk Alone" and then stood in silence alongside a stadium of fans; his old man remained bloody sober as a "mark of respect". It was always a good day. He has a scarf on his office wall, and a signed-by-Jamie Redknapp copy of Shoot magazine that is probably worth a few quid. It's bittersweet because it was signed the same year his life kinda went to shit. He started playing Rugby at Sandhurst because it was a good way to ingratiate himself with the posh boys, and because he is Price he excelled at it. He became the best Fly Half the Army had ever had. But he still retains his love of football and he has a season ticket for Anfield that he insists on using at least a few times a year.

Ghost: Manchester City. It was a toss up between United and City, but I chose City for a couple of reasons. I headcanon that Simon is from Longsight East, which is the most deprived area of Manchester. A 2012 survey demonstrated that there is a general east-south support for Manchester City, and north-west support for United. Longsight East is about three miles south of the city centre. Also, City are known for revelling in adversity, which fits Ghost. They have some of The Most Brutal chants, and they have a rivalry with Liverpool. So Price and Ghost will be at loggerheads in the lead up to a match, and then the loser has to wear the other team's colours under their carrier vest and/or shirt the next day. I also believe that his old man supported United and young Simon probably grew up having brawls in the street with drunk adult men who didn't care he was just a kid; there's a scar on his belly from a broken bottle that caught him when he was thirteen. He hates United.

Gaz: I think Gaz is from North London (projection, beloved) so he has to be a Gunner. Arsenal. He has a stuffed Gunnersaurus Rex that he takes with him in his duffel. It was gifted to him by one of his sisters to keep him safe when he enlisted and god fuckin' help the dozy cunt who tries to steal it for ransom. Soap made that mistake once and was looking over his shoulder for a full week after. Gaz grew up kicking about in the streets around his estate, and he was scouted for the academy before he decided his future belonged in the armed forces. Football kept him away from county lines and all that BS though, and focused him in on what mattered; school and sport. Gaz never got involved in any of the drinking or the hooliganism. For him, it's about the athleticism, the skill and the beauty of the game.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Love your work, new fan but big fan, I have an Idea for a centaur x fem criminal story

Basically she has a bounty on her head and can't go through the city gates to escape, a centaur offers her a way out, but she has to be strapped to his underbelly while he wears a centaur sized robe/coat/whatever to get past the guards.

Also she has to take her armor off so theres no sound of chainmail to give them away, so she's totally nude under there, nothing between her bare pussy and the centaurs cock. Which was exactly what the centaur wanted all along ;3

Kabr0z Writes episode 51: Daring Escape

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: dubcon; noncon; size difference; belly-riding; creampie; implied impregnation; cum inflation

A/N: This one looks like fun! I always love a centaur being involved, especially when I can make them as downright unpleasant as Hellenic myth depicts them.

They're meanies.

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The job went near flawlessly. You broke into the castle, cased the joint, got to the war room and learned which routes the army would be travelling. Once the rebellion gets that, they'll have the King by the balls and finally turn the tide. One problem: they saw your face on the way out. Now you're here, in a stinking cistern, propping up a thieves' guild bar. A head full of priceless intel, that you can't risk getting out, only a dwindling handful of copper to your name, and no way out of the city gates.

You could try sneaking out over a wall, but the wards would stop that short. Maybe try sneaking into a grain carriage? You shook your head, no faster way to get a spear thrust through you. You motioned for another drink. You're dead if you stay, dead if you try to leave. You might as well be dead with a bellyful of whatever pigswill grog they serve here.

A man sat on the stool next to you and spoke "Ever heard of the Wizard Porthos?"

The sign, you knew the response "He rules over Doissetep"

The man nodded, and got up. A piece of parchment lay where he was sat. You palmed it, casually finished your drink and went to an alcove, looking like just another drunk going for a piss.

The light was horrible here, but the enchanted ink glowed ever so subtly: "Seek the hunter under the moon"

You had another round, then left the cistern. It was already night out, but this wasn't the moon you needed. Picking your way across the city you found it. The temple of Luna. Empty at this time of night but for a figure, shrouded in dark. You slid through the door, chainmail clinking gently as you padded in on soft-soled shoes. Your turn to speak this time. "Ever heard of the Wizard Porthos?"

The figure rose. A centaur, the shape of a bow slung across his broad back. "He rules over Doissetep"

You relaxed. Either this centaur was in the resistance, or the whole operation had huge problems

"I hear you need a hand getting out of the city? I'll help, but it won't be easy, or particularly dignified"

You nodded at the centaur. What could you do but hear him out?

"I have a sealskin, when the weather looks bad I wear it. It comes down to about my knees"

You could see where this was going "So you strap me to your belly, and we just walk out?" It was genius in its way. Centaurs hate passengers at the best of times, so checking underneath one's cloak for a fugitive just seems silly. Hopefully the guards would have the same thought process, and even if they didn't, you'd have a four hoofed companion to help run you out of danger.

"One snag though. I heard your armour when you walked in, that'll only be worse when you're under me. I can get it smuggled out separately, but it won't be on you."

"I didn't exactly bring a change of clothes" you weren't supposed to be in the city more than a couple of hours, so luggage wasn't a consideration, besides, travelling light made more sense in the wilderness.

"So you'll be naked. Suck it up, Buttercup. And get some sleep, you've got a big day tomorrow."

You couldn't afford not to take his offer. Laying down next to him, you got as much rest as you could.

It was raining the next morning, the cold predawn light seeping in through the windows. The man from the cistern was there, carrying several loops of rope, a hessian sack and a sealskin. Everything you'd need.

You started to strip. Months in the resistance had beaten any bashfulness out of you, and so you didn't mind the two men seeing your naked body. You could still feel their eyes on you, your boyish hips, slim waist, small tits, not to mention your long, muscular limbs. You glared at them as you stood in the chilly air, feeling your nipples harden in the cold as they started fastening ropes around the centaur's chestnut-furred torso

At last it was time for the finishing touches. You, then the sealskin to hide everything.

"Face up or down?" The cistern man looked over at you "I reckon down, it's a little less comfortable on the limbs, but you won't have a faceful of fur."

You nodded. You've never done this before, but if smuggling resistance members was these people's trade, they probably knew that they're about. Climbing under the centaur you allowed yourself to be tied into place.

The ropes were rough, and itched as they strung around you. Your arms were bound backwards, bent to follow the contours of the equine body, your legs open and lifted behind you, knees bent and ankles secured above. The rest of you was held on with loops of rope, keeping you tight to the centaur and taking some weight off your limbs.

Finally came the sealskin. It hid you entirely, padding disguising your silhouette and the skirts preventing you seeing anything but the flagstones below you.

You heard the cistern man say something to the centaur, but couldn't hear what. They both laughed then the centaur started to walk. He wasn't wrong about your armour. Even trussed up as tight as you were to the horse belly, you were being fiercely shaken. Chain would have been so noisy you might as well have given yourself up.

So you watched the cobbles pass below you. The sound of the rain echoing in your ears as it got heavier. At least you were staying dry under here.

You noticed something. Hanging down from between the centaur's back legs. You stifled a gasp to look at it, his huge semi-hard member dangling down. It swung to and fro with the movement of the trotting centaur, occasionally rearing up to be perilously close to your vulnerable crotch. You could smell it. The warm, tangy scent of his unsheathed member invading your nostrils, moistening your lower lips. It wasn't going down. It gathered length with every swing.

It swung up, pressing against your cunt. Again and again. It pressed hard against the entrance. You felt yourself moving, the centaur was shaking himself, shimmying you down. The expertly tied knots allowing you to slide towards his crotch, cinching tighter and stopping you going the other way. Little by little the flare of his cock was pressing harder and harder against your opening, the steady trickle of precum lubing your hole.

It went in. You stifled a yelp. Who knows what was around you, alerting a guard would be lethal.

Still, the shaking pressed you down. Inch by inch the cock pushing in, your cunt not having a choice but to accept it. You bit your tongue, desperate to stay silent as the cock twitched and pulsed in you. You could feel the flare on the end growing, pressing outwards inside you.

The centaur's chest tightened. His cock stiffened and his hips bucked. Hot liquid started flowing into you in waves. The flare held it in as your womb filled. He stayed hard. You could feel it stuck in you. The flare was receding, but the thickness of it let the cum inside.

You shuddered, the feeling of fullness was sending waves of pleasure up your body. The taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down harder, cutting your tongue on your teeth, desperately trying not to moan.

Voices "Off out today, are we?"

"Hunting. I expect to be back before nightfall"

"Damn poor weather for it"

The cock pulsed in you again. You clenched your body against the urge to moan

"Best time for it. Scent doesn't travel as well in the rain"

"Very well. Wait here."

Another twitch of your cunt, another throb of that cock. Every time you moved, it moved. Every time it moved, your cunt clenched on it. You could feel your eager body trying to milk the huge cock inside you, even as you desperately tried to think of something, anything else.

You ran over the battle plans in your head. The cock throbbed, and you couldn't focus. You planned your travel once you got away. The centaur shuddered, and your thoughts became phallic. You tried to remember the faces of your family back home. Your cunt clenched. The flare surged outwards. Again, cum flowed into you. You felt your skin stretching. The cock plugging you stopped it flowing out. Your belly grew slightly, over-full of hot equine cum.

The centaur's orgasm passed, and the flare receded again. He still wasn't moving, waiting as the guards checked and double checked his papers.

You could feel your belly pushing, trying to force the excess cum out. It was going to start leaking out, if it pooled on the ground, the guards might check under the sealskin.

You didn't have a choice.

You clenched your jaw. Squeezing your cunt as tightly as you could, you rocked your hips. You could hear yourself starting to pant with exertion, you hoped the guards couldn't over the rain. You felt the cock throb and twitch in you, but it had already came twice. It was in danger of going soft, pulling out as it did. You couldn't let that happen.

You quickened your pace, rolling your hips up and down, clenching strategically. You fucked him hard, rubbing the engorged head of his cock against your cervix. His back hoof was clopping on the ground. You could feel his cock thicken. It was nearly there. The flare expanded again

"All in order, you can go"

The centaur staggered on. Steps as regular as he could manage while riding the cusp of pumping another load into you. The cobbles gave way to dirt path. You heard him grunt loudly above you.

He came less this time, but it was still enough to push your belly out further. You allowed yourself a moan, taking deep, racking breaths as the last of the centaur's cum was forced in.

On he walked, the cock softening and dropping out, followed by a jet of cum pouring from your cunt. It left a trail on the road behind you, a thick puddle on the already sodden ground

You made it to the rendezvous with the man from the cistern, who cut your ropes.

You fell to the muddy ground. Limbs tingling as feeling returned.

"She give you any trouble?"

"No" the centaur replied "she knew what was good for her, even got desperate enough for it to get me off all on her own"

They laughed as they walked off together. You lay there, oozing. Your kit was piled in the grass next to you, probably minus whatever money you had.

At least you got out

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As we approach the end of February and volume 1 of Kabr0z Writes, I remind you all that commissions are free and open, just be aware there is a queue, so it may be some time until you see your request.

Most people send requests anonymously, so do feel free to send as many as you like! (I'm also loving how many people are sending in requests for bad things to happen to the Chitinids. I'm so happy I've made villains people love to hate ♥️)

[cloud-kaiju]

Doing some Question and Answers for fun!

Next, my favorite inflatable gal, the big were-salamander Sally!

[squeakwave]

o o

[weiner-does-preg]

Beira mistook Fulmine’s Preg potion stash for ale and has drank the lot of them.

Oooh I love this

That’s a big un’

[moldfur]

hey dj helium over here wants to know if u wanna try the new shit he just got in

[kabr0ztrousers]

Just read episode 51 and that was hot as hell. Especially the way she fucked herself on his cock and ground that flare into her cervix to stop him going soft and his cum leaking out of her.

Thank you so much!

Would love to see something where she ends up being strapped to him again as a breeding bitch for him or other centaurs, and eventually with her pregnant belly hanging down too.

Kabr0z Writes Episode 81: Alternative ending

This story won't make sense if you haven't read episode 51!

And here's the rest of the anthology!

CWs: Noncon; kidnap; forced impregnation; freeuse; belly riding; Lots of the same issues as the first iteration. Please look that one over, if it's too heavy this one will be too

A/N: Think of this as a "What If..?" for episode 51. I'm not sure which will wind up being canon if I agglomerate a universe around this, but it doesn't really matter either way

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You solicited the help of a centaur to escape a city. It was a desperate gambit, strapped to the underside of a half-horse half-man to slip by the gatehouse through the one un-warded route out.

He never met back up with his partner, diverting South into the woodlands. He ran for miles with you suspended under him, his gargantuan cock softening and slipping out of you within minutes of leaving the city walls. A trail of cum leaked from you as you struggled under his belly. The knots were tight, the ropes stout. Every move you made only served to bind you tighter.

Eventually he stopped running, alighting on a stand of dark oak trees, sheets strung from tree to tree making up awnings. His home. He never bothered to remove you.

Day after day, he'd take you. Every time would start the same, that cock would start dangling below you. You were helpless to do anything but watch as it slid out to its full length, dangling below the centaur's knees. He'd let it hang there a moment, steaming in the cold winter air.

Slowly, it would harden. Thickening from the base downwards. Swinging up towards you over and over, slapping against your belly. Every swing hit your cunt, slinging a thread of sticky precum at you as it slapped your flesh. Over and over it would swing, the flared tip engorging with each stroke. Sometimes he's get too stimulated from just slapping his cock against you and a gout of cum would erupt from him, covering you and dripping onto the dirt floor.

Today was not one of those days. Today he wouldn't be satisfied with anything but your cunt. You felt him grab the ropes, leaning back to haul you towards his front legs so when the pendulous cock swung up the tip threatened your hole, slicking it with precum. He stepped up to a fallen log, bracing you against it as he swung into you again, pushing the flare into you. You were well-used to the thickness of it by now. That didn't stop it making you gasp as you felt it wedge you open. It wasn't as hard as the actual shaft of his cock, but it was as thick as both of your fists held together. Firm, with just enough give to avoid doing serious harm to you, the flare held him into you. He thrust. The weight of his body pressing you down into the rough bark of the log. The cock forced itself deeper into you. You stifled a sob as it bottomed out on your cervix, then pushed harder, sliding past and into the fornix. Here he rested a moment. The flare pressing into the very back wall of your pussy.

You tried to catch your breath, feeling the cock stretching you, pressing into your guts. The centaur shuddered slightly, the wobbling motion shaking him inside you. You whined as the cock shook you to the core. He grunted, seemingly taking your noise as a challenge as he pressed you back against the log, bracing your chest into it as he thrust in harder, forcing you back down towards his hips. You felt him stretching you, pushing the limits of your depth.

You felt his sheath. The very base of his cock. He started galloping. The movement shook you, rubbing his member against your insides. Faster and faster he ran, leaping boughs and streams until he stopped.

With a howl, he came. You felt it, the familiar pressure of the cum flooding you. You could feel yourself bloating. The force of the cum fought the still almost-hard cock occupying your quim. He flopped out of you, the cock still standing strong as it pointed instead at your dangling face. A rope hit you, painting you in the strong smelling seminal fluids of your kidnapper. He wasn't done yet. More came, painting your belly, then still more, squirting onto the ground before the dripping mass of cockmeat started to recede back into him.

Weeks passed, every day bringing more attempts to flood you with his seed, some more successful than others. One day you could deny it no more, your belly was growing. He didn't feed you enough to grow fat, even with your now sedantary lifestyle. There was only one explanation.

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One of these days, I'll get the drop on these things. Until then, I'm gonna be pulling more late nights.

Semi-unrelated, if you're in the UK and have £10 to spare, you can get a subscription to the National Theatre's streaming service. It's pretty good

[vultursvolans]

the way my boobs are bouncing in this rocky car ride rn

[seventeenshitpiles]

BANDETTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO