#cw interspecies

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 8: Concerning Portals

Here's the list of stories! There's lots!

CWs: noncon; dubcon; public exposure; implied interspecies; creampie; implied cumwalk; portal panties; portal sex; more fem!reader having a very bad time

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You weren't sure where the package came from. It arrived at your door, no signature, no courier. Just a knock and a parcel on the floor, addressed to you.

Curiosity got the better of you, you opened it and revealed a set of lingerie. You shrugged and put it on. Whoever bought it for you knew you intimately, it was the best fitting set of underwear you owned, not to mention the most comfortable.

You got into the habit of wearing them. Whenever you were doing something important or just felt like you didn't want your pants to bother you.

So it could have been worse, if you're honest.

You were just going to the shops, get some veg for dinner, maybe some eggs, and come home. You dread to think how it would've ended had you been at work.

You were on the bus into town when it started. All of a sudden you felt a strange warmth between your legs. You didn't think anything of it, until you realised it wasn't just warm, you could sworn someone was breathing on your pussy.

You closed your legs tighter, hoping to stop the sensations.

Then you felt it. Something just licked you, despite your closed legs. Long and slow, starting from your asshole and going all the way to your clit. You shuddered with the feel of the tongue gliding over you.

A finger was next, gently tracing your lips. You crossed your legs, not wanting to help whatever was happening, but the fingers weren't dissuaded. The first one crept inside you. You could feel it probing you, feeling your warmth and slowly moving inside. It curled up and pushed against your g-spot. You nearly gasped, setting your jaw to avoid the attention of the people around you, but you could still feel your breath catch and quicken.

Another finger joined the first, rubbing your spot and making it harder to keep control. You could feel yourself getting red and you were starting to make noises. Small ones now, but you could feel your release building in you. Another finger entered, then another, stretching you.

Then the rest of the hand. You couldn't hold back this gasp. The sharp intake of air turned heads, and a man in the row in front looked at you quizzically.

You looked away, hoping he wouldn't figure out what was happening, but you could feel the fist pushing deeper into you.

As quickly as it went in, it pulled out. You felt suddenly empty as your pussy was suddenly open, with nothing inside.

Then something took its place. Long and thick, but flatter on top. You'd cared for enough horses as a teen to guess the shape, similar to the shape you'd seen dangling from the underside of the prize stallion. It must be some sort of dildo, though you're still not sure how this is happening.

The shape rested in you for a second, then rammed forwards. The sudden length and the sheer force of it drove your breath out of you in a yelp.

It didn't stop.

The flared *thing* inside you was pushing forward again, slamming against your cervix again and again, each time making you yip and yelp.

Now the whole bus was watching you. You couldn't help the noises you were making, or how each thrust made you jump up. You couldn't help sweating so hard. You couldn't help it when you cried out your orgasm right as the thick rod inside you started pumping hot fluids past your bruised and battered cervix into your womb. You could smell cum as it leaked out of the you. You knew the people watching could too.

It pulled out, you were empty again. The strange heat faded from your underwear and you were left sat in a growing wet patch as the cum came oozing out of you and through your jeans.

The bus stopped. You wasted no time getting up, disregarding the strands of sticky slime that pulled away as you did, and ran off the bus before anyone could say anything.

You're miles away from home here, and the bus only goes one way on this stretch.

Legs shaking and bowed, you haven't got any choice but to walk the rest of the way.

You set off, each movement allowing more of the stinking seed to flow out of you, further soaking through the seat of your jeans and down your legs.

You managed to make it about a hundred yards. You felt that heat again.

This is going to be a long walk

[dead-dove-orchid]

Kiss~

[aloyslaststand]

Ishuzoku reviewers is like leading a d&d campaign full of people who won't stop asking "can I fuck it?"

Meanwhile dungeon meshi is like leading a d&d campaign with people who won't stop asking "can I eat it?"

[naughtybg3confessions]

I'm seeing surprisingly few wildshape confessions and I can only conclude that y'all're cowards.

Bring me that bear dick.

[ms-scarletwings]

Irken senses, and other ponderings

You know, every time I start to wonder if I’ve finally run out of things to coherently say on the whole “speculating about irken biology” matter, a whole something more is induced to hatch out of the dehydrated floam inside my skull. Between you and me, I think the eggs are triggered by ironic timing.

Anywho, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the world hypothetically through Irken eyes, and other sensory organs. Think I’ll go down them piece by piece, and to follow the pattern I’ve kept through my other Irken brain dumps, I will be drawing a huge amount of inspiration from real life arthropods. Yes, I’m very aware that realistically, any resemblance to earth insects would be coincidental from an alien species, and there’s plenty of room to make up whatever somewhat plausible explanation you can for any faucet of their anatomy. Personally, I like to run from the convergent evolution angle, since I find it no less grounded, full of potential connections the show itself all but begs me to draw, and just plain fun. Let’s get into it.

Also like towards the end there’s a whole section on the hypothetical edibility of Irkens because why not

Prelude: If you want to hear a little more behind my theory about the Irken diet revolving around sugar and a small portion of minerals, you can zip onto this analysis I did, in which I touch on some ideas of mine regarding the composition of Irken skin, their reaction to meat, etc. that works from the assumption that Irkens evolved out of an arthropod-like ancestor. Not necessary to get the gist of this one, but it is background context behind my thought process.

Sight

The Irken oculus is perhaps the most striking feature of the species, very much resembling those tiny crawling things they have been inspired by; however, it’s tougher to say exactly how far the similarity of their insides go. The eyes of most arthropods are in fact along the more simple branches of the evolutionary tree. We know that Irkens are not likely to possess compound eyes, like those found in flies and most other insects, because compound eyes are specialized for wide FOV ranges at the sacrifice of visual resolution quality. Instead, I see a much closer match to a fascinating exception or two found in Earth’s arachnids.

While most of them have utterly piss-poor vision, the hunting styles of jumping spiders necessitated a great deal of further specialization of the organs for depth perception, color differentiation, and sharp images. These are the purpose of those two huge shiners at the front (the other 6 boosting their range for detecting blurry peripheral movement and threats), and these are what bring their effective vision on a level much closer to that of familiar binocular mammals than their own six legged prey. Now I really think we are working with the base of what Irken peepers likely developed out of. One of the ways they have really diverged off is in the fact that while jumping spiders can only move their retinas, irkens seem as though they are able to move the lens of the eye themselves- or at the very least, Zim does, else the false pupils in his disguise contacts would not behave quite so convincingly. To speak about the lenses themselves, their eyes are not dry and exposed like most arthropods, speaking to a vulnerable sensitivity. They clearly have blinking eyelids, shed tears, and Zim even complains about the “scratchy” feeling of getting used to that part of his kid disguise.

(Funny sidenote: I’m like 90% sure that Zim did not have those contact lenses designed correctly for himself. Usually, if contacts feel that uncomfortable and keep falling off of the eye as easily as his do, it’s a sign of them being poorly fitted. This could be another symptom of his outdated/lower quality invader tech.)

Not only do Irkens have an assumed base vision resolution that seems more or less on par with human beings, but Invader elites are fitted with ocular implants that grant them a significantly greater advantage in this realm. We don’t know to a certainty how well improved an Irken soldier’s vision is, but Zim was confidently able, within seconds and under pressure, to pick out the area of town he lived in from what was miles away under night hours.

On the topic of night vision, I have a hunch that even without the cybernetics, these guys are adapted to see much better than we in dim to dark environments as well. Most of the early part of their life cycle is lived out in subterranean crèches. On the surface, daytime Irk is cast in a sunset red atmosphere. Oddly, a massive portion of their fashion and architectural aesthetics show a preference for these dark, warmer tones. Ruby is far and away the most common eye color in their kind. All of these facts suggest that warm-spectrum hues and pigments were incredibly common in the homeworld’s history, to point of indicating something about a cultural attraction to them- kind of like how humans put the color blue all over so much corporate branding and elsewhere. Zim’s favorite color has also been revealed to be purple. Most of all, given what I’ve seen of Irk’s, Blorch’s, and Devastis’s surface skies, AND Zim’s reaction to staring directly at the sun for more than a few seconds, I’m assuming that most Irkens are wholly unfamiliar with living in an environment as brightly lit as midday Earth.

I do think Irken eyes “glow” in the dark, but not in the emitting sense. Just more in the reflective one. This they would owe to a well developed tapetum lucidum, as seen in cats and deer and pretty much any animal to give off an eerie eye shine under the right lighting. To point back to arachnids, wolf spiders are speedy nocturnal murder machines with highly developed tapetum lucida, in their secondary eyes, at least. What I love the most about that is it makes it very easy to tell if you’re looking at a mother spider because her babies will give off the same eyeshine if you take a pic of one with the flash on.

Additionally, I won’t forget that sleep is no longer a necessity for our alien subjects. This alone gives them a major edge over any dinural race such as humanity. While Zim has his appearances to keep up during the day, the nighttime on Earth is actually when he is allowed the most free rein to work on his endeavors uninterrupted.

Sound

Ah, so this is the part where I rattle off the common theories we’ve collectively formed about Irken antennae as the replacement for an external ear, eh? Yes, but actually no…. jokes aside, it’s just no. I’ll get to the deal with antennae, but as you might imagine, hearing ability also varies all over the place in the insect world.

It is true that antennae play a large role in the hearing of some critters, such as mosquitoes, whose males use them to pick out the high frequency wing beats of nearby females in a swarm. Crickets, on the other hand, use sensory organs on their legs tuned to much lower sound ranges. There’s no one way to evolutionarily put together a sort-of ear, as well proven by the sheer amount of times it convergently happened in bugs and in how many creative ways.

They literally be designing themselves like me playing around in spore. If we’re not talking about that mosquito or honeybee example, then what we are referring to as an ear and most hearing insects is going to be an external tympanic organ. Most people who have passed high school biology would be able to recognize a visible tympanum in frogs- that circular thing right behind the eyes in most species, and understand it as their version of an ear drum. Many bugs’ tympanums are likewise thin chitinous membranes situated… potentially just about anywhere on the body (again, see above). This is what I think Irkens use as a primary hearing organ, in his case, probably situated on their heads in addition to the feelers. The latter organs I think would also be sensitive to general vibrations and subtler environmental cues, like wind direction and pressure changes, but the bulk of their hearing would be owed to the tympanum.

As far as the quality of their hearing, well, there’s not any sign it differs much from the human experience. Like us, they communicate through verbal language, and the existence of the “Dancing Arcade Game (but for aliens)” confirms at least a similar cultural propensity for music as an entertainment form. Zim is an outlier for the fact that he seems genuinely a little hard of hearing next to his kin, screaming as naturally as he talks and repeatedly mishearing (if hearing at all) people who are speaking directly at him. It’s clear something’s up with his hearing, but there’s no clear answer what and why. At first I was tempted to suggest something about sound passing much differently through the medium of earth’s atmosphere (kind of like how noise on Mars would sound muffled to us), but neither Tak nor Skoodge seemed to pick up the problem when they arrived. It really could be as simple as some kind of birth defect, or even glitches in how his corrupted PAK is processing the inputs it receives. Like many others, I want to imagine that his wig could be interfering too, since it covers the whole top portion of his head; as well, I noticed he has more of those incidents with it on than not.

Smell

Alrighty, NOW we can round back to focusing on the antennae, because this is actually the main thing our insects fine tuned theirs for. And when I say fine tuned- I mean fine tuned. Blood suckers that find their prey through the CO2 of their breath, flies that can pick up on potential food sources from miles away; In the land of the little, scent is everything. Beyond it being their main tool for exploring the environment for what to eat and what to avoid, chemical messages are the backbone of bug-to-bug communication. Pheromones are the divining rod of lonely spiders looking for a mate. They are the bugle of yellow jackets when rallying the nest to attack a threat, and they are the signals that govern about every single action an ant takes from adulthood until death. Obviously, Irkens are much more sight & hearing dependent than these comparisons, but they still have much more bodily specialization dedicated to this sense than we can relate to. For one, they are fastidiously hygienic. Like, “the care-bots from that really creepy episode of the Buzz lightyear cartoon” hygienic. We have yet to see any livable surface of Irk that is not sky to underground terraformed over in all-consuming metal infrastructure. There’s less than no sign of visible life besides the Irkens; ffs, there’s not even soil in sight. Not on Devastis, either. The Organic Sweep sounds like such a nice and pretty euphemism in the face of the actual horror of Blorch’s fate, and all to spare the boots of their military from touching even a speck of “unsavory alien filth”. They live in such a controlled and purified environment that I can’t even imagine the absolute assault on the senses Zim’s every day on our barbaric ball of dirt is. Over and over again he gives off the impression that the constant stink of this place is in fact his chief complaint about living among us. The majority of insults he throws toward humans relate to how they smell or the fact that he finds them “filthy”. We’re flat out nasty to him and I don’t blame him. Even relative to other animals, humans are especially RANK due to the combination of sweat, oils, and bacteria that coat our skin.

And believe it or not, I do think Irkens are in a position to talk shit in this regard. Zim is a really sweaty boi; however, I posed an idea back in that write up about Irken skin before- to summarize- that his kind maintain remarkably sterile cuticles due to the presence of a toxic chemical in their skin. This, I said then, could have been the key to Zim’s lice repelling trait, but I wasn’t so specific at the time about more than that. I got the idea from a group of millipedes that, when disturbed, can secrete hydrogen cyanide as a deterrent to predators. I like to imagine that Irkens can do a similar thing via sweating, not to thermoregulate like us, but as a stress response. It would at least explain why Zim seems like a very nervous sweater. Fun fact if you didn’t know, cyanide’s smell is similar to almonds.

I’m deadass telling you I think Irkens just smell like almond extract. Do with that what you will.

Touch

So, in writing this whole whatever it be, this part was the trickiest to come up with any productive analysis on. I’ve already guessed at what I think Irken skin feels most like (spoiler: hairless caterpillars) in the analysis I referenced up top. Zim being able to pass himself off as a human under the examination of the Skool nurse points to an average body temperature somewhere around our own. What I did find interesting while rewatching the series though was the sheer amount of pain tolerance on these invaders, except in one way. Can I extrapolate this fortitude to Irkens universally? Probably not! Zim is a member of the most elite of the most highly trained members of Irk’s military. I wouldn’t take what a seasoned veteran can handle and assume that’s the human floor in a nutshell, but our invaders CAN tell us quite a bit about their ceiling… starting with the fact that these bastards are ridiculously heat resistant. Irkens are a durable race broadly, but their reactions to extreme temperatures strike me as jaw-droppingly underwhelming, if anything.

Irkens DON’T like being engulfed in flames. It’s still a painful experience to them, but seemingly the kind they can pretty much walk off as soon as it’s over. Through explosions and fire we have seen Zim (and Skoodge) survive in one piece. We’ve seen The Massive take a whole dip into a burning star with no ill effects to the crew within. Most amazing to me was the time in Battle of the Planets when Zim willingly piloted Mars into grazing by the Sun at close range while trying to evade Dib. Totally exposed driver’s seat and he was no worse for wear after this.

Further in the comics we see this touched on in the Zimvoid arc. Zib’s favorite method of torturing the Zims under his training program was to torch them at random for sadistic amusement. Quite interestingly, though, Number 2 implies that their bodies do actually adapt to this treatment over time! Theoretically, Zims further along in the program have become all but invulnerable to fire entirely.

On the other hand, one of the truly most painful things Zim has been shown to experience is to have his skin chemically burned. It’s a strange sort of irony that Earth’s water would prove to be an incapacitating force to them in place of any inferno. He’ll smash his skull into the Voot’s windshield with enough force to pop out an eyeball and it’s whatever. Plenty of other things hurt, but he can power through. You turn a shaken can of soda or a bottle of bbq sauce on him and he’s just left screaming on the ground or screaming and running away. Whatever brutal sort of training he had to go through off world, it didn’t prepare him for this.

Taste

The perceptive side of this I think may not be too hard to figure out. Irken food, as alien as its actual composition could be, has been shown to be heavily analogous to human junk food. I hesitate to call what Irkens are scarfing down “meals” in the proper sense, because I’ve noticed that neither Zim nor his kin intrinsically understand the concept. When he’s trying to blend in as a human being, he puts a LOT of bizarre effort into convincing us that he, just like you inferior creatures, TOTALLY eats “food” on a regular basis like a normal person. When Irkens eat their own products, it’s all and only “snacks”. What follows is the conclusion that their eating habits are not structured into any schedule and that Irkens instead graze throughout the day as they please- and even possibly that eating altogether is more a recreation to them, instead of a necessary function to sustain life. Some fans have speculated that the PAK could provide an Irken with all of the necessary energy to survive absent of nutrition. I kind of want to contest this, given that caloric energy is only one purpose of taking in food… but it’s definitely the most immediate one. Nonetheless, they still eat constantly on screen and it all has to be going somewhere. Whether they need it or not, they still readily digest snacks (and presumably use those chemical building blocks to regenerate tissue damage) with a terrifying metabolic efficiency. Assuming that the resemblance of their snack foods and our leisure treats are not purely coincidental, one gathers that sweetness is the largest dimension of Irken cuisine. They are drawn most enthusiastically to carb-dense synthetic, plant, and possibly fungal matter in the same way that the human brain lights up at the prospect of fat and sugar-loaded meals. The flexible tongues of Irkens to me also resemble the nectar catching, segmented mouthparts of some bees. I would be willing to bet that they can taste salt, but jury’s out if it is something they crave, like us, or are repulsed by, like ants. That would have to come down to the scarcity (or not) of the resource on their home planet and whether or not desiccation was a serious threat in their natural history. In other regards, Zim shows strong negative reactions to most Earth foods, if not physically, than in his expressions. They definitely have powerful vulnerabilities to many human ingredients, and so are very sensitive to the presence of these toxins. I can’t imagine acidic or bitter substances are at all pleasant to them.

Now comes the much more interesting question I’ve thought way too long and hard about in the shower a time or two. Knowing that Irkens are likely a herbivorous breed, ergo, thankfully would have no interest in the consumption of the human race… what about the vise versa??? I don’t just want to know what they taste, but what would they taste like?

So, you’ve decided to mix it up for the thanksgiving dinner and forgo the same boring old bird for an Irken you have vanquished (via what I can only imagine was a freaking miracle of luck). What should you come to expect? Most importantly and I must emphasize this, the secret to preparing their meat is the same as Tolkien dwarves, you have to skin them before anything else. The separation of edible tissues from the cuticle is necessary to avoid ingesting the defensive toxins it contains. Even if the concentration is not enough to provide a danger to you, it could end up contributing an unpleasant, bitter flavor to the final product.

That done, discard the head and digestive organs. True as it may be that Irkens are wholly free of parasites, with a chance that the viscera could be edible, it’s not likely to taste that great and besides, do you really want to take chances with exposing yourself to an entirely foreign gut biome you have no immune adaptations to? And don’t even think about the brain- I don’t care how rare the infection rates are, alien prions are a big no. If you happen to run into any cybernetic implants during the cleaning, however, set them aside! They could be worth a small fortune in the right circles. But, for the purpose of eating we’re really concerned with the muscle tissues, a delicate white meat with a texture similar to fresh crab. The bones need not be wasted, and are fine to leave in, or can be boiled on their own to make a flavorful stock which can be added to soups or a delightful gravy. A surprisingly practical use of Irken bone could also be in the compost bin, being rich in chitosan and other powerful garden fertilizers. The flesh can do well fried, or roasted to a crispy exterior. The oven rule is the same as chicken, low and slow, to prevent drying out. Don’t be afraid to experiment with the gravy idea or marinades. The flavor profile of the meat itself would be utterly unique from what most of us are used to, comparable to a nutty crayfish. Savory, a bit of a sweetness, and a mineral hint that pairs quite well with mushrooms or rice.

I can’t recommend serving this to any guests with shellfish allergies in good conscience. If they insist, do so in caution and with knowledge of the risk of cross reactivity.

And there you have …. certainly a thing I did write and queue up for y’all!

[scifigirlsblog]

Prologue- Dakota and the hostile world.

Warnings include Violence, swearing, Chaos and more!!

Summary- Dakota Reyes arrives on a distant planet with her Strict captain and crew on a spaceship which took them three years to get to. They start their journey to discovery but soon learn that this planet was not meant to be discovered for a reason.

Dakota Reyes was on board a ship travelling around the stars, she was one of many scientists but was also the youngest there.

She had her intelligence, wit and stamina working for her so she wasn't at much of a disadvantage. However, she had a cruel strict boss who had to take her on as a favour to her father.

"Science Officer Reyes!" Dakota captain shouts." Yes sir!" She says standing up quickly.

"We'll be landing soon so get your kit together and spare oxygen tank as we won't come back to the ship till at least four days!" The Captain tells her.

"And for fuck sake people make sure your bloody radios are on and loud enough for you to hear it!!" The captain shouts to the entire brigade.

"Yes sir!!" They shout before getting on with their work as the ship heads towards the planet in preparation for landing.

Dakota got her Exo pack on her back and her science equipment and got ready to leave the ship when suddenly the spaceship began to shake and alarms began to blare.

"Science Officer Reyes! What the fuck is going on?!" The Captain snaps slapping her making her wince in surprise.

"I don't know what it is sir," Dakota says shakily." It's the atmosphere causing the spaceship to shake as we enter the planet," She whispers as the spaceship began to descend onto the planet.

The spaceship landed on the deadlands which were next to thick and grim looking forests. Once the ship had landed, everyone apart from the pilot and his second command was given their final instructions.

Dakota was last to come out as she dealt with the bruising look on her face before leaving the spaceship ship.

She jumps off the ship with her exopack and her science equipment and heads off to the others when she was stopped by the Captain who had a harden look on his face.

"Officer Reyes! You're coming with me," The Captain snaps." Y-yes sir," Dakota says shakily holding her equipment close." What's this planet called? Is it toxic or have dangerous creatures or people here?" He questions her sharply.

"No sir, it's not toxic and this planet has been named the Old Earth 78 but the creatures are fifty/fifty dangerous and non-dangerous. No humans have lived here in over twenty thousand years," She says as they walk towards the forest across from the deadlands.

"This planet does it have oxygen or not? As I'm not wasting these exo packs?" He questions her." It doesn't sir, the air is full of carbon monoxide," She states firmly.

The Captain grasps her arms breaking her wrists making her gasp in pain."You watch your fucking tone!" He snaps." Stop! You're hurting me!" She yelps and looks around for help but no one would help her.

The Captain let go of her and they continued their journey into the thick and grim forest where the floor was full of slimy grounds and thick branches dripping with slime and gunk.

"Keep a look out for the animals, the predators of this destitute wastelands," The Captain states as Dakota was putting her wrists back into place and wrapping them up the best she could as she walked.

They kept walking for miles not realising they had awoken the Xenomorphs, the face huggers that have now taken residence on Old Earth 78.

At the same time as this, an elite Yautja warrior Kal'tei and his son De'keti come to Old Earth 78 to hunt for the Xenomorphs and face-huggers as a bonding trip and a first lesson in hunting.

Little did Kal'tei know he'd meet a woman who was protecting his pup from his prey and he'd end up having to repay a debt. Dakota wasn't expecting to meet a Yautja pup or his dad and didn't expect them to form an attachment to her.

Part One is here!

[doodleferp]

Man that’s a late-ass Valentimes

[wildskissed]

Don't ask me why I was looking into Elves and their fertility...but I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that they're pregnant for two years...then it takes them a year or two after that to even be able to conceive again at all, with the same low chances...has to go double check the ages of Eve's siblings...

[kittyshipper]

butch/butch animals

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 9: Farm Work

Find the rest of the stories here!

CWs: Noncon; kidnap; lactation play; transformation; restraints; corruption; forced impregnation; forced tf; bondage; probably a dozen things I've missed

Author's note: I'm really not kidding when I say you can help by giving me ideas! Want me to write about something? Drop me an ask or a DM! I'll probably get around to it in the next 350+ days!

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Maybe you stayed out a little late? Maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time? All you know is you got jumped.

It was on the way home after work, you hadn't noticed them get off the train behind you, hadn't heard them gaining on you. You only noticed them when the chemical-smelling rag was pressed against your face, and the world went dark.

You woke up already naked and sweaty. Your arms were bound down your back, forcing your chest to push out, showing off your tits in the half-light. You could hear shouting in the next room, then everyone went quiet quiet as a voice called out 

"Next is lot 35, female, mid 20's, recently acquired"

They pushed you forwards and you stumbled, your ankles tied so you could only take small, hobbling steps, your bare feet numb on the cold concrete floor.

You emerged through the door into a spotlight. Blinking against the light you could see the room was full of people but you couldn't see any faces. 

Everyone could see you, bare, glistening, unable to cover yourself. You cowered away from their gaze, and yelped when a man hit you across the buttocks with a cane.

The auctioneer started the bidding, calling out numbers and taking bids faster than your addled, panicking brain could follow them. All the while, the man with the cane was watching. If you slouched? Whack. If you looked down? Whack. If you tried to hide any part of you? Whack.

The gavel went down. You're not sure how much you sold for. You were led off into another room, then into the back of a van.

You weren't sure how long you were in there, gradually coming down from whatever they used to knock you out. When they opened the doors you were somewhere else.

A large man, bald and scarred, manhandled you up and tightened a collar around your neck. He attached a long pole to it and started to manoeuvre you out. You were pulled through a maze of corridors, into a room with dozens of other women restrained to the floor and groaning. A smaller man waited, dressed in riding gear and carrying a crop.

"Ah, the new arrival." He pulled out a torch and examined you by the light, prodding and poking, feeling your tits and forcing open your mouth to see inside "All her own teeth, reasonable build, looks perfectly adequate. Get her settled." He left the room by the door you came in. 

The large man pushed you to a space between two other women and attached your collar to the floor with a short length of chain before going behind you and connecting your ankles to the floor. 

You were stuck there, knelt down with your naked ass in the air, face inches from the floor. 

That's when you heard it. Something was being led up behind you. Something huge and snarling. You could feel it's breath on your behind as it got to you. It was smelling you. Then it was upon you. 

It was heavy on your back, driving your face and chest into the floor as it thrust it's cock over your ass. It felt huge on your back, already oozing fluids. You cried out as it found its mark and started pressing against your pussy. It slid off again and again as it thrust madly, over and under you, until it didn't.

The pain almost made you black out. It was bigger than anything you'd had down there, and it wasn't letting up. Again and again it pounded into you until you couldn't see for tears and your screams turned to hoarse whispers.

Only then did it slow. One. Two. Three last mighty pumps into your quivering, punished pussy before it held in its throbbing cock. How breath on the back of your neck, stale and damp. You could feel the cum filling you up, pooling in your womb. It pulled out, your pose stopping any from spilling out despite your loosened hole. Whatever it was was being pulled away from you. Drawn sullenly back to wherever it was kept. 

You didn't move for the rest of the day. Not that you had much choice.

You woke to a bowl in front of you, filled with a tasteless beige slop. You tried not to eat, the food making your stomach turn. You weren't given a choice. You had your face pushed down into it, forced to eat just to make enough space to breathe.

This continued for weeks.

You thought it was just the food at first, making you sick when you woke up. Then you realised you hadn't had a period yet. Then you felt yourself start to grow. Your belly and your tits both getting larger. You couldn't not notice it. They couldn't either.

You woke to someone hefting your tits. They were manhandling them into plastic cups, suctioned on around your growing nipples. Then they turned the machine on.

You groaned. The machine was suckling you. Gently pulsing the suction up and down to start milking your tits. It lasted for hours. Days. Eventually you felt yourself starting to give milk, you saw it flowing down the tubes leading from your body. 

The food changed. It wasn't just flavourless any more. Now there was something different about it, something strange that made your tits and clit tingle and throb. 

It didn't stop. All day and all night the machine would pump out milk, more and more as the drugs and your own body did their work. You felt something else as well. Your clit kept tingling and buzzing, the drugs and the unending stimulation keeping you on edge, always ready to orgasm at any moment. But the moment never came.

The handlers don't touch you now. You hadn't had the creature since the first night. You're nothing but a whimpering cow, mooing and braying on the machines.

Until you aren't.

The handlers are taking notice of you again. You're hearing them talking about you. You're almost ready. 

You wake to someone behind you. You wiggle your ass to get some attention, and feel something strange between your thighs. Your clit feels big and hard against your legs. It must be at least an inch long after all the drugs and the edging. You feel it. Another tube suctioned over your clit. You hear a button clicking on the machine milking you. The cup on your clit starts pulsing in time with the others.

It's too much.

You cum immediately, the orgasm causing your swollen pussy to contract and throb, begging to be filled with something, anything. You moaned and begged for the man behind you to just fuck you already, you didn't care any more, you just wanted him inside you. 

He walked away. 

You don't know how long the orgasm lasts. By the time you can think straight again you're face down in a puddle of drool, your hips still bucking in time with the suckling on your tits and your swollen clit.

The strange taste is still in your food. It feels like every few days your tits grow another size, your clit another inch. 

Then it happens. You can feel something welling up from within you, pulsing through you. It feels like something is travelling up the length of your distended clit, coming closer and closer until inch by tortuous inch it starts.

You cum. Your pussy cleanches and squirts, your body convulses and you thrust your hips forward reflexively.

You can feel something coming out of your clit. Thick, hot cum is flowing out of you in a steady stream, each pulse makes you cry out in ecstasy. 

The drugs, the humiliating position you'd been stuck in for months, the beast growing in your belly, all forgotten.

This is all you want. To kneel here. To be milked for everything you have. To be knocked back up whenever you finally give birth to whatever it is in your belly.

You won't leave here, not for anything

[dead-dove-orchid]

[Part Two of Our New Normal]

[This Comic is SFW. My blog is not. Do not interact beyond this comic if you are a minor and/or an anti]

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[olddirtybadfic]

if this ship sinks, i won't blame the mermaids for eating my fingers off

I may have blueshipped too close to the vortex. Now I'm spiraling in a whirlpool of horny Gyarados and the submarine really isn't helping matters.

-O-o-O-o-O-

Meowth was a sucker for round things. In his gravid state, James fit the description to a “T.”

He gazed across the bed. James was laid out on his back, the moonlight from the window falling on the rise of his kitten bump. His hair fanned out over the pillow like so much blue silk. A slender hand nestled against his lower belly. A moon-pale, delicate foot poked out from under the sheets.

He let his eyes rest on that foot, with its finely shaped arch and soft toes. James often complained about the appearance of his swollen feet, but Meowth saw things differently. The few harsh angles were softened, emphasizing the smoothness of James’s skin. But maybe he was just so attracted to James, it didn’t matter what his feet looked like.

Meowth remembered the experiment that started this whole thing. They’d been asked by Team Rocket labs to participate in a special breeding experiment to determine if humans and Pokémon could interbreed. Since their team wasn’t exactly bringing in the powerful Pokémon, the higher-ups figured they could at least be useful as test subjects.

The fact that Meowth and James had already started a Pokébestial relationship was merely a bonus.

He let his mind drift back to their first breeding attempt. His Jimmy had been a virgin before the relationship, but he learned quick (at least when it came to sex). Within a few tries, Meowth had him squealing so loud, they probably woke the whole forest. Jessie invested in a comfortable set of earplugs after the first few times.

Meowth could hear the falsetto moan James had let out when he slid into him. He could almost get drunk on the memory of that potent perfume of roses, Victreebel saliva, and human pheromones that made up James’s signature scent. As James rolled his hips, the sides of his entrance caressed Meowth’s dick in a warm, wet embrace.

He remembered how James had gripped the sheets as he plunged deeper. James was panting like he’d pedaled the Magikarp sub around the entire Orange Archipelago. The pheromones radiated from hair as blue and wet as any ocean while Meowth plumbed James’s depths.

“Blast me off, Meowth,” James was moaning. “Blast me sky high so I can fall pregnant back to earth!”

So Meowth just started blasting.

That seemed to send James into orbit. His eyelashes fluttered and he twitched all over like he was getting shocked by Pikachu. Meowth vaguely remembered James biting the back of his fingers, as if he needed to balance the pleasure with pain. Meowth couldn’t be sure that was what was happening, though. He was wrapped up in his own climax as he planted his seed in James.

In that moment, he understood completely why Victreebel always wanted a taste of James. The smells coming off of James were sweeter than any Sweet Scent he’d faced in battle (not that he’d been in many battles; Meowth considered himself a different kind of Pokémon).

The scent reminded Meowth that it was now his cue to grab James’s dick and roll it between his paws. Gently, of course—his Jimmy was very sensitive. Just a few swivels were enough to push him over the edge.

Cats excelled at pushing things over the edge.

James’s rocket blasted off spectacularly. The ropes shot out like he’d just deployed a Poké-napping net. By the time he was spent, it looked like a Spinarak shot web across his stomach.

Meowth fell into the spot beside James as both of them basked in the afterglow. Meowth was purring. James was purring. Meowth grabbed James’s hand in his paw. James let out a barely audible sigh.

After they’d calmed down a bit, James had looked down at his stomach. “I made such a mess,” he said in mock remorse.

Meowth had rolled over to watch James clenchingly make his way to the bathroom. He didn’t know why, but he fixated on the pearls of jism rolling down James’s thigh. Probably because they, too, were round. Meowth was always a sucker for round things.

Over the next few weeks, it took them a few more tries, but eventually Meowth knocked James up. And here they were now.

Meowth was brought out of his reverie by a soft yawn. James shifted in his sleep, then opened his eyes and gave Meowth a smoldering half-smile. The half-mast eyelids and pheromone cocktail fanned the two green flames.

His Jimmy was rustled.

-O-o-O-

The heat was rising within James. The urge was upon him again.

James knew he wasn’t really in heat, of course. He was still pregnant, and humans didn’t go into heat, anyway. But as of late, he’d been feeling as though he might start caterwauling if Meowth didn’t stick him right then and there.

Ever since James had entered the latter weeks of his pregnancy, his hormones had been driving him mad. He and Meowth hadn’t copulated since it started and James had discovered quickly that certain desires did not wane, even after they’d served their purpose. His libido was somewhat dampened in the early stages, however. It was hard to get in the mood when one was virtually a vomit fountain.

Fortunately for him, his morning sickness subsided as the gestation wore on. Now his only issue was that he was too sleepy to think about sex.

No…. That wasn’t quite right. James had enjoyed a number of erotic dreams over the past few weeks. They ran the gamut from simple but sweet (James, clapping his buttocks on Meowth’s cock in a sort of anal applause) to stimulating and steamy.

One such fantasy transpired thus. James had washed up, sans raiment, on an unknown shore. The population appeared to consist entirely of tiny talking Meowths. Their Lilliputian leader was a hot air balloonist and announced that he wished to welcome the nude giant. He climbed into a hot air balloon with a phallus affixed to the basket. Just as he was about to dock it in the cave on James’s backside, a tidal wave sprang up from the ocean. James had woken up drenched in sweat. He also needed to change the sheets.

Another saw him as a fiery Moltres, soaring high above the earth. Meowth bounded after him in hot pursuit. James swooped down, flames trailing behind, and landed in a circle of flaming stones. There, he waited and watched as Meowth caught up to him. Meowth marched right into the ring of fire, the words “I am the unburnt,” on his lips. He rode James the Moltres, but not through the sky. James woke from that one feeling very flaming indeed.

Yet another flight of fancy put him in a hall of mirrors in front of a Jack-in-the-Box. Though the reflections were distorted, James could make out that he was sporting pigtails and a clown nose. In place of a crank, the Jack-in-the-Box bore a perfect replica of Meowth’s penis. James instinctively knew to massage the penis on the box. Out popped Meowth, dressed in a harlequin print jester costume. 

At that point in the dream, James’s nipples began to throb; he looked down and saw that they had transformed into bright red orbs, a funhouse mirror image of his clown nose. Meowth seemed intrigued by this; he put his paws on James’s nipples and gently squeezed. Each squeeze produced a honking sound and an arc of milk that Meowth caught in his mouth. James’s nethers were a flower squirting a liquid that was decidedly not seltzer. James awakened from that one with a tent in his pajamas and his teats tender and leaking.

He also had a craving for cream pie and Meowth was the only chef with the recipe.

Back in the present, James felt a flush rise on his face. He was hit by a sudden rush of shame at his loss of mental control, their failure to capture Pikachu, even his dreadful lack of sexual knowledge before the experiment. Meowth practically had to explain sex to him, since his parents hadn’t seen fit to. So many shames; it rhymed with James.

Meowth must have read it on his face. “No, Jimmy,” he said, placing a comforting set of paws on James’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You got needs, too.” Meowth’s voice was gentle, but James could hear undertones of reciprocal rut. The timing was perfect.

“I need you, Meowth. Right now.”

James didn’t need to ask twice. Meowth helped him out of his pajamas—no easy feat, considering how swollen James was at the moment, even with the lubricious luster his lust did muster. Verily, the sweat might have hindered Meowth’s removal of James’s clothing. Waiting only made James more randy. In his delirium, he found himself half whispering, half chanting, “Come, kitty. Come, kitty.”

Meowth chuckled. “We’ll get dere, Jimmy. Don’t getcha panties in a knot.”

“Growlithes have knots,” James thought. “But Meowth has a French tickler dick.” He’d learnt that the first time they coupled. He wondered if Meowth could control each individual nodule, like a Tentacruel and its tentacles. He could never quite remember to ask.

He couldn’t very well ask with Meowth’s lips pressing against his. And as soon as Meowth’s musk wafted into his nose, he forgot completely. The human sense of smell was not as strong as a Meowth’s, but the pregnancy hormones had sharpened James’s nose. Notes of catnip stood out in a scent stream sweeter than that tree sap Victreebel and Heracross loved.

“Like da taste?” Meowth asked, lapping at James’s chin.

“Yes,” James breathed. Baked tuna: James had cooked it for their dinner that evening.

Meowth worked his way down, giving ample attention to James’s nipples. No honking resulted; the only sounds were Meowth’s sucking and James’s low moaning as Meowth’s tongue nodules dandled James's dugs.

“Like the taste?” James drawled.

Meowth grinned. “Your milk’s comin’ in early.”

Meowth moved ever southward, brushing over the great dome that housed their five kittens. James giggled as Meowth rubbed himself all over the sensitive swelling.

“Oh, James, you’re so round.” Meowth swirled his tail around James’s sides. He tongued James’s navel, the nodules tracing the feathery white stretch marks.

James barely heard him. “Goodness gracious….”

“You ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.” Meowth slid himself into James’s crotch. He lifted James’s penis and nudged a feline finger into the orifice beneath. Those kitty beans on his pork sword were getting James nice and marinated.

Meowth noticed instantly. “You’re soaked. Lucky for you, I love dis kinda wet.”

Meowth dove in headfirst. James let out a cry of pleasure as he felt the nodules on his inner walls. He rolled his hips as much as his condition would allow. Meowth gyrated his own hips, causing his penis to stir inside of James like a spoon in cake batter. James kegeled on Meowth’s cock. Would that he had grippers in his nethers; he could massage every node on Meowth’s dick.

Meowth threw his head back, his whiskers fanning around his face. “I’m comin’, Jimmy!” he declared to the stars above. “I think it’s time!” His tail whipped around like a helicopter’s blade.

James was too far-gone to stay quiet. “Fill me with your white tomorrow!” he cried.

Meowth filled James like a cream pastry. James nipped at the back of his forefinger joints. It did little to curb his enthusiasm. He hoped Jessie’s earplugs held up.

But, oh. Oh no. His own cannoli was about to go explody. He’d forgotten to put on protection; he’d have such a mess to clean up and, in his state, he didn’t know if he’d have the energy.

Meowth seemed to notice his mild distress. “Don’t worry, Jimmy. I gotcha.” He pulled out of James and disappeared below the bump.

“Bless him,” James thought, tears misting his eyes. “He’s going to save me the cleanup.” 

Meowth closed his mouth around James’s penis and commenced the fellatio. He was always such a sucker for round things.

-O-o-O-o-O-

*puts on clown nose, walks plank, lands in James and Meowth's sex sweat* TONIGHT WE DINE ON DOVE

[naughtybg3confessions]

Amazing that this Dammon ooze train keeps on truckin! Love it!

Based on a fic by @theycallmeratt which was in turn based on a confession to @naughtybg3confessions

Zladdy (Zlorb, the Strange Ox) has rewritten my neural pathways forever

FULL NSFW BELOW THE CUT BYEEEEE

[naughtybg3confessions]

You know the strange ox that if you kill it Dammon dies? I bet that thing has the infernal hots for him. I want to watch its ooze body slip over Dammon and plug all his holes. Have him so udderly (huehue, pun) debauched by being inside of it that he fills it with pockets of his hot splurts of cum until he's completely drained.

[symbiomancy]

speed dating —minotaur

—summary: a speed dating event brings you together with a minotaur // AO3

—cw: minotaur x human, smut (p in v sex), praise, size kink/size difference, creampie, semi-public sex

—wc: 1,2k

Speed dating.

It’s not like interspecies speed dating is anything new. Or interspecies dating in general. Because it isn’t.

It just… has a bad reputation when humans are involved.

You bristle when the fifth monster in your speed dating roster tonight brushes you off and opts to stare at their phone for the duration of your allotted time. Embarrassment nags in the back of your mind, heats up your cheeks, and you let your eyes do a subtle sweep of the room. Everyone else seems to be having a fun time, talking animatedly, wildly gesturing, giggling with their partner.

The four minutes drag and drag and drag.

The bell dings and the naga across from you tucks away their phone, stands, fixes their jacket lapels, and saunters over to the next table without even looking at you. You swallow the bitter taste of tears in the back of your throat and reach for your purse, tuck your phone inside, and swing it onto your shoulder.

When you sidestep the table, you nearly smack into another body.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a voice says and you have to crane your neck to get a good look at the owner. A minotaur. He stands tall, biceps bulging in his white dress shirt, the topmost two buttons undone, tucked into a nice pair of pants. His horns curl towards the heavens. “Were you leaving?” You nod. “Ah, too bad, I’ve been waiting the whole evening for my turn.”

You pause, glance around the room, then raise a finger to point at yourself. “Me?”

“Yeah. But if you want to leave, that’s okay.”

“I haven’t exactly been the biggest hit with folks here tonight. Human reputation is hard to shake.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, glance up at him, and then at the small table with an LED candle in the middle of it and your half-finished drink. Then, you drop your purse and take your seat again. “I can stay for one more round, I guess.”

He’s unexpectedly fun. A good conversationalist. He doesn’t talk over you, actually engages with you, unlike pretty much everyone else you’re been paired with.

When the bell dings and he stands, something in your chest withers, but you offer him a smile and thank him for the company.

How you end up in the bathroom of the bar with him after the crowd for the speed-dating event dissipates, you’re not sure but —

You’re not complaining.

The minotaur lifts you off the floor with ease, muscles bulging against his tight shirt, and settles your back against the stall wall. It’s a tight fit and so you open your legs, lock them around his hips. His torso is wide and your toes barely meet behind his back. The bulge in his pants presses against your underwear, sopping, ruined underwear and you stifle the moan when you realize how big he is.

“Please, please, please.”

He shushes you, hastily unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other finding purchase on your clothed cunt. He runs a thick finger across the fabric, presses it over your hole. In the next moment, you hear fabric rip and feel the cool caress of air against your bottom. He bunches the sad excuse for fabric up and tucks it into his back pocket.

His cock springs free from his pants and it’s huge, thick, veiny, dribbling precum. You nearly salivate at the sight, consider fighting your way down to take it into your mouth even if it doesn’t fit — you’ll make it fit.

The minotaur pulls back, angles your body, firm hands on your ass — Christ, his hand nearly wraps around your entire thigh — and slides inside you in one smooth move. You moan, gasp for breath when he keeps going, stretching, intruding, until he’s buried to the hilt. He’s large, so large, so thick you can barely clench around him and he’s stretching your poor pussy to its limit but it’s so good, so full. You let your head tip back, rest it against the wall, try to gather your thoughts, and close your gaping mouth but your thoughts keep circling back to his cock, and how good he feels.

“So wet,” he mutters and jerks his hips experimentally, too shallow to give you any relief. You open your mouth again to beg him for some friction when he pulls out and thrusts back in roughly and firmly and you cannot stifle the lewd moan that escapes you, bounces off the bathroom walls. Heat rushes to your cheeks, sets your whole body alight because if someone hears —

The minotaur snaps his hips again and your composure begins to crumble, your mouth drops because he’s deep, so deep he could rearrange your guts and you’d thank him for the experience. You clench around him, barely, but you manage and he grunts, huffs a hot breath against the crook of your neck.

“Hot, so hot.” The tail end of his words dissipate into a groan. He sets a pace, his cock dragging so deliciously against your walls you swear you can feel every single vein and ridge, his hands on your waist, pulling you forward with every thrust to meet him halfway. “You take it so well,” he says, words slurring.

“M-More. More.” You can barely form the words. He thrusts up, hits the spot that has you seeing stars. Fuck, you’re close, so close. You put more weight onto your back, putting all your trust into the flimsy stall wall, and push back against the minotaur’s frantic thrusting. He’s so deep, so big, your pussy might just be ruined after this.

He pauses and you almost want to cry out, to beg for him to continue, as he moves his hands to adjust his grip on your ass. When he thrusts forward again, he pulls you flush against his pelvis and you nearly shriek as the blunt tip of his cock touches your cervix. His pace is brutal, the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy echoes in the small confined room. The pressure in your stomach coils, your hips desperately thrusting back against him, matching his frenzied pace, drilling into your cunt faster, deeper.

You come with a half-choked moan, clench around him, try to escape his grip, and press yourself into it at the same time. White-hot pleasure rolls under your skin, leaves your ears ringing. The minotaur speeds up, thrusts once, twice, and buries himself into your hot, wet pussy to the hilt. He spills inside with a low groan and a full-body shudder.

You press your back flush against the bathroom stall wall and attempt to regain control of your breathing. A sheen of sweat coats your skin, making the already scratchy top cling to your torso.

The minotaur is silent, hot, heavy breaths fanning the side of your neck, his chest heaving.

A lazy smile drags onto your lips and you look down at him through your bleary gaze, and tap him on the shoulder. He grunts against your skin. “You wanna do this again sometime? You owe me a new pair of underwear.”

“Yeah?” He asks as he raises his eyes to meet yours. You press your lips together to fight the smile that stretches farther.

“It’s only fair.”

part 2

banners by @/cafekitsune

[scifigirlsblog]

Post Apocalyptic Earth- Nico's Adventures.

Summary-Nico age 22 lives in a secluded human village in the year 3014 where all sorts of monsters are now out of the dark and humans are now living in small villages. Some have werewolf kings, vampire kings or Orcs, Nico lives in the orcs sector of the world but is further away from Orc Central and finds a small Orc baby in the woods and no sign of any other orcs around and picks the youngling up cares for him over the next four months when the father comes back angry.

Warnings- None pure fluff

Orc x Oc Orc Child x Oc Female

There are six parts to this story plus a prologue and epilogue ❤️ No minors interact this is pure fluff, smut, and not real ❤️ This is purely for fun and for entertainment😎

Prologue here

Part one here

Part two here

Part three here

Part four here

Part five here

Part six here

Epilogue here

I own my OCs, not the face claims ❤️ Please enjoy 🙂