#inserts and nozzles

[sbnkalny]

Step 5 - unroll the balloon and Prepare it for inflation. before you start to learn who's capable and who isn't a rainbow unicorn floating around in camp!

[genderqueerdykes]

i know this won't be available everywhere, but especially if you live in a larger city where a lot of folks are affected by opioid use/addiction, it's a really good idea to ask local pharmacies, and even food banks if they are giving out free narcan (naloxone). this can also be found at certain behavioral health offices as well, my case manager is able to get them for me for free. narcan is a life saving medication that can temporarily halt an opioid (oxycodone, hydrocodone, heroin, fentanyl, codeine, morphine, etc.) overdose while you wait for emergency medical services to arrive.

opioid overdose is distress of the respiratory system, meaning that the person overdosing likely is struggling to, or can't breathe at all. it's very important to watch to see if the person is dealing with labored or shallow breathing.

here the official use guide:

[Image ID start: Two screenshots from the FDA's Narcan (Naloxone HCl) Quick Start Guide infographic. It reads:

"Narcan (Naloxone HCl) Nasal spray quick start guide. Opioid Overdose Response Instructions.

Use NARCAN Nasal Spray (naloxone hydrochloride) for known or suspected opioid overdose in adults and children.

Important: For use in the nose only.

Do not remove or test the NARCAN Nasal Spray until ready to use.

1.) Identify Opioid Overdose and Check for Response Ask the person if they are okay and shout name.

Shake shoulders firmly and rub the middle of their chest.

Check for signs of Opioid Overdose:

Will not wake up or respond to your voice or touch

Breathing is very slow, irregular, or has stopped

Center part of their eye is very small, sometimes called "pinpoint pupils".

Lay the person on their back to receive a dose of NARCAN nasal spray.

2.) Give NARCAN nasal spray

Remove NARCAN nasal spray from the box. Peel back the tab with the circle to open the NARCAN nasal spray.

Hold the NARCAN nasal spray with your thumb at the bottom of the plunger and your first and middle fingers on either side of the nozzle.

Gently insert the tip of the nozzle into either nostril.

Tilt the person's head back and provide support under the neck with your hand. Gently insert the tip of the nozzel into one nostril, until your fingers on either side of the nozzle are against the bottom of the person's nose.

Press the plunger firmly to give the dose of NARCAN nasal spray.

Remove the NARCAN Nasal Spray from the nostril after giving the dose.

3.) Call for emergency medical help, Evaluate, and Support

Get emergency medical help right away.

Move the person on their side (recovery position) after giving NARCAN Nasal Spray

Watch the person closely.

If the person does not respond by waking up, to voice or touch, or breathing normally another dose may be given. NARCAN Nasal Spray may be dosed every 2 - 3 minutes, if available.

Repeat Step 2 using a new NARCAN Nasal Spray to give another dose in the other nostril. If additional NARCAN Nasal Sprays are available, repeat step 2 every 2 to 3 minutes until he person responds or emergency medical help is received.

For more information about NARCAN Nasal Spray go to www.narcannasalspray.com, or call 1-844-4NARCAN (1-844-462-7226)."

End image ID.]

[ae-azile]

Untitled Fadel/Style Fic Preview: Post 1x07

Style meant it when he said he deserved to die at Fadel’s hands. He never wanted any of this to happen. He could have told Fadel that he never personally spoke to the cop and didn't even know about Kant being coerced into becoming an informant or Fadel being a hitman until after they started dating. He could say that he simply agreed to seduce Fadel in exchange for a car.

Somehow, that sounds just as bad. And if he puts all the blame on Kant, that makes him more of a snitch. Style never even wanted to be a snitch.

“I really do love you,” Style says to him, keeping his eyes on the road, “Even when you point your gun at me, my heart flutters in my chest-”

“Shut up,” Fadel says, pressing the gun further into his side.

Style rolls his eyes at the order. As if Fadel would shoot him when he's the one in control of the car.

“I can't be quiet on car rides,” Style says, “It makes them go by too slowly. The music is great, but we already established that we have different tastes. Let's talk-”

“Style-”

“Fadel,” Style counters, “I’m bored. Let's talk.”

“I'm not going to talk to some fucking snitch.”

Style groans at that, “Whatever you tell me will die with me! You’ll make sure of that!”

“No.”

Apparently, Style will just have to deal with Fadel’s decision, so he focuses on the road until sunset. It's only when they are running on fumes that he pulls over.

“Did I say you could stop?” Fadel asks as Style pulls into the parking lot of a fuel station.

“I'm sorry,” Style says, hopping out, “I didn't realize your car runs on psychological, emotional, and sexual tension! You should have told me you were this environmentally friendly.”

“Get back in the car.”

“I'm serious. I'm proud of you,” Style says as he pulls his card out. He is a gentleman, after all. He is going to pay for everything on this impromptu trip, “Regular, right? Some people think they are pampering their car by getting a higher quality than they need. It's truly unnecessary. Please tell me you're not one of those people.”

Fadel says nothing. Maybe he is that kind of person and is just embarrassed. Style won't call his boyfriend out on it.

“I got you,” Style says with a grin, “You just relax!”

“Do not use your card.”

Style lets out a scoff, “I am a gentleman! I want to pay, I mean it-”

“So that your location can be tracked through your purchases?” Fadel asks suspiciously.

Oh. Style truly didn't think of that. This is another reason he loves Fadel. He's smart.

“Well, then how else am I supposed to take care of you?” Style asks, “I mean it, Fadel! I am a mechanic! Masculine and tough. A true man! It’s in my nature to take charge-”

“I have cash,” Fadel says, getting out as well, “Walk into the store. I am right behind you. Don’t think of doing anything stupid to try and get away from me.”

“That would be stupid because that's the last thing I want to do,” Style says, putting a hand on his hip. Despite this being the honest truth, Fadel looks unimpressed and continues to look that way until they pay in cash and go back to the car. Then, Fadel gets back in the passenger seat so that Style can take control as every higher being in existence intended. He presses Regular Unleaded, lifts the nozzle, and inserts it into the jeep. He then flicks the lever so it will automatically fill the tank and walks over and rests his arms on the rolled down window before smiling at Fadel adoringly. Because that's what he truly feels. Adoration and love, even now.

Maybe especially now.

“I really do love you,” Style says gently, “I'm sorry if my initially uninformed involvement in spying on you broke your heart and made you think otherwise. This is why I wanted you to tell me about your real career yourself! I wanted to help you out of whatever life you found yourself in! We could have run away together. Fled the country. I think Japan would have been good. I could work for Toyota there. You think they’d hire me?”

Fadel still says nothing. He's a man of such few words. Then again, Style likes that. If Fadel talked as much as he did, they would be interrupting each other all the time. He wishes Fadel would talk a little more though. Share things with him. Be vulnerable with him. Fadel might need a good cry. Once that thought enters his brain, Style knows it to be true. Maybe that should be his mission, to get Fadel to have a cathartic sob-fest where Style comforts him and tries his absolute best not to crack jokes.

“I think they would hire me,” Style continues, “Pa, too. I would need to bring him with us. He really likes you, you know! He likes you better than any other guy I’ve dated and he has happened to cross paths with. I mean…it's not hard. I’ve dated a couple of assholes. But he recognizes a good person when he sees one. He even told me he approved of you and wanted you around more often. He thinks you're a good influence and that you balance me out.”

In response, Fadel points the gun at Style’s face. Style smiles and kisses the tip of it sweetly. It's only then that Fadel jerks the gun back and looks at Style as if he has lost it.

He has lost it. For Fadel. This hiccup isn't going to get in the way of what he feels. He was afraid when he woke up by the pool, but now he has come to a decision. He's spending this trip with three goals in mind.

1. Find Kant - preferably not dead or seriously injured - and ensure he makes it home safe.

2. Find Bison and talk him down. He's pretty sure Bison is more dangerous than Fadel is. His prettiness and petite stature are both incredibly disarming and work in his favor. Style respects it.

3. Make it clear to Fadel that Style is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him, like Bella was in love with Edward in Twilight. Their relationship probably isn't even as toxic as theirs. There is no creepy, Italian vampire council or ninety year age gap, although Fadel may currently thirst for his blood. But that doesn't matter. If Bella and Edward can overcome all those things and magically conceive a child, then Style and Fadel can too.

“Why are you just staring at me? Why did you kiss my gun? What is wrong with you?”

Style snaps out of his dreamy thoughts and ambitions as he meets Fadel’s glare.

“I was just thinking of us magically conceiving a baby.”

Fadel’s glare turns into a bewildered, slightly disturbed gawk. He's warming up to him again. Style is sure of it.

[theother456-stories]

The bathroom was thick with steam, the tiles warm beneath Jake’s feet as he stepped into the shower. His skin still glistened from his workout, chest rising and falling with anticipation. But the only weight he was focused on now wasn’t in his muscles—it was what he was about to become.

His eyes dropped to the thick rubber hose coiled neatly beside the drain. Just looking at it made his heart race. He knelt down, gently inserting the hose as he twisted the valve open. A low hiss answered him, the nozzle humming gently in his hand.

“This is gonna be so good,” he murmured.

With a breathless groan, Jake eased the nozzle into place. The warmth started slow—a soft pressure, a gentle stretch—but it bloomed quickly. He gasped, bracing himself against the tile wall as his belly began to rise, swelling outward with a quiet, steady glorp.

“Oh god, yes…”

His hands slid over his skin, tracing the swell as it pushed forward. The heat of the water seeped into him, spreading deep, stretching his insides, making his whole body buzz. Inch by inch, his belly grew tighter, rounder. The pressure turned to pleasure—overwhelming, consuming. His cock twitched, already half-hard and pinned by the growing weight of his gut.

“I’m getting huge,” he panted. “So full already… but I want more.”

Jake turned the valve up.

The flow surged.

His belly pushed out in response, swelling into a firm, sloshing globe that jutted from his hips and pulled at his spine. He dropped to his knees, groaning as the mass of his gut pulled forward, heavy and tight and utterly immense. It gurgled and churned, water sloshing inside him, loud and obscene. He was panting now, struggling to breathe deep under the sheer size of himself.

He slapped his belly lightly, watching it wobble. “Mmph… gonna pop…”

The hiss of the hose echoed around him as he reached down, cradling the underside of his massive stomach. His thighs spread to make room, his cock dripping against the tile, untouched but aching from the fullness alone.

That’s when the door creaked open.

Jake didn’t even hear it at first—not until a voice cut through the haze, low and stunned.

“…Holy fuck.”

Jake turned his head, breath hitching. His roommate Liam stood in the doorway, towel slung over his neck, gym shorts tented hard in an instant. His eyes were glued to Jake’s ballooned-out gut, taking in every inch of stretched, heaving fullness.

Liam stepped closer like he was hypnotized. “You’re massive.”

Jake blushed, but didn’t hide. Couldn’t. “Couldn’t stop,” he groaned. “Started small… but it just felt so good…”

Liam dropped to his knees beside him, one hand reaching out to touch the taut dome. His fingers grazed the skin and he shuddered, visibly, hand already drifting to the bulge in his shorts.

“God, you’re hot like this,” he whispered. “So full. So tight. I can’t believe you did this to yourself…”

Jake moaned under his breath. “I’m not done. I wanna see how big I can really get.”

Liam’s eyes darkened. His hand found the valve.

“Then let me help you.”

The water surged again. Jake cried out, belly swelling even further—painfully tight, yet addictively perfect. Liam’s hand slid over the surface, worshiping every inch, while his other hand slipped beneath his waistband. He groaned, openly stroking himself now, watching Jake’s body stretch and shift with each added gallon.

Jake trembled. “I can’t take much more…”

“You can,” Liam growled. “You will. You were made for this.”

Then, with a fluid motion, Liam reached behind Jake and slid the hose free. Jake gasped at the sudden shift—his belly still heaving, still stretched to the edge—and before he could recover, he felt Liam’s hands grip his hips, pressing hard against him.

Jake turned his head, panting. “You’re gonna—?”

Liam’s voice was a growl against his ear. “Oh yeah.”

Jake moaned deep in his throat as Liam pushed into him, slowly, savoring the heat, the pressure, the sheer obscene size of Jake’s body beneath him. His swollen belly sloshed and shifted with every thrust, resting heavy against the tile, pressed between them like a third body.

Liam wrapped his arms around Jake, pressing his chest against the taut swell of his stomach, riding each motion as if it were a wave. Jake was melting beneath him—groaning, begging, trembling.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” Jake gasped. “Too full, Liam—I’m gonna lose it—”

“Do it,” Liam panted. “Let go. Spill over. Take me with you.”

Jake cried out, his whole body locking as his climax tore through him—violent, overwhelming, massive. His cock throbbed untouched beneath his belly, spilling hard against the floor as he convulsed. Behind him, Liam grunted and buried himself deep, climaxing with a full-body shudder.

They collapsed into a heap of steam, skin, and sweat. Jake’s belly still dominated the space between them—heavy, distended, sated.

Liam kissed the tight curve gently, both of them breathing hard, bodies still trembling.

“You really went for it,” he murmured.

Jake let out a sleepy grin. “Told you I wanted to see how big I could get…”

Liam chuckled, hands resting on that warm, swollen dome. “Next time,” he whispered, “let me start the filling.”

Jake shivered at the thought—and smiled wider.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

[declisteribus3]

Enema Butterflies

You were hoping to get out of it but then heard the water in the bathroom running and knew it was going to happen. Your stomach then had that weird feeling. It knows what is coming. Soon, you will be naked lying over the stool. The nozzle will be inserted and then CLICK. After a pause, you’ll feel the hot, soapy water invade your guts and fill them up. You’ll feel full and maybe cramp. You’ll pray it’s over fast and hope the bag empties quickly. Only then will you be allowed to expel, and when you do, it will be everything. As you finish expelling, as tough as it may have been you will secretly hope you are told that you are getting another enema.

[riddled-with-fear]

May I request Pusher fucking a reagent after drugging them. I can’t stop thinking about his voice likes where he calls the player baby and bitch

ANON! giving you a forehead kiss, of course you can have a Pusher x reader fucking fic! ahhh Pusher *twirls hair* my favorite Ex-Pop.

I also cannot stop thinking about the little pet names he calls you while chasing you haha.

This was so fun to write, thank you for your patience while I wrote this lmao.

WC: 1257

CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Extreme Dubcon, psychosis drug use leading to drugged fucking, PIV, heavy use of pet names (Baby) Derogatory name calling (Pusher calling reader Bitch), graphic descriptions of smut, Female implied Reader, The Outlast Trials is it's own warning tbh.

NSFW under the cut

Chemical Halo

The deafening siren emitting from the insertion gates blared out into the Toy Factory. The amber light flashed blindingly, further illuminating the dim room.

You had just barely escaped Mother Gooseberry and Doctor Futterman not even minutes ago, surely they wouldn’t send another Prime Asset in so soon…Right? You quickly slid under a desk, panting, your mind going over every possibility. 

Then you heard it. The unmistakable hissing of Pusher’s fumigator, “Oh Baby! The places you’re gonna go…”

Fuck…You squeezed your eyes shut, silently cursing to yourself. Your mind was racing with so much adrenaline of nearly being drilled to death by Futterman you didn’t even think about the Ex-Pops. 

Another series of hisses. “I’m here to snuff out the vermin!” Pusher rambled off to himself. 

You heard him shuffle down the hall, and figured he was far enough away you could sneak out from under the desk and run to your next objective. You were really regretting soloing this trial.

You turned on the night vision in the goggles screwed into your skull, and as quietly as you could, you crawled out from under the desk. 

You stood by the desk, listening for any signs of Pusher, Mother Gooseberry, or god forbid another Prime Asset. 

Nothing. 

You calmed your nerves and made your way down the hall back to the garbage compactor. You still had two boxes of sex toys to crush. That meant finding two more generators. You quickly ran to the generator you were working on and cranked it.

Once. It sputtered.

Twice. It roared.

Three-

You felt an arm grab yours, yanking you away from the generator before you could fully pull the ripcord for a third time, “I’m your Lawyer, your Doctor, and your Priest baby!”

Pusher. FUCK! 

You had no antidote left on you.

“Get ready, I’m gonna screw you three different ways!” He raised his nozzle towards you, “You’re pretty cute, baby! Maybe I’ll screw you four different ways.” 

He gassed you with the psychosis drugs from his fumigators tank. 

You dropped to the ground, coughing and sputtering from the noxious and nauseating fumes that invaded your nose. Immediately the room began to spin. You were lightheaded. Screams and whispers filled your ears in an auditory hallucination. You looked up, seeing the Skinner Man standing down the hall. You crawled away from Pusher, desperately trying to remember where you saw antidote laying around. 

“Aw, don’t be a little bitch!” Pusher walked over to you. 

You grabbed a brick laying on the floor, and threw it behind you hoping it would hit him or at least distract him. 

It didn’t. In fact, it missed. Horribly.

“Tryna hurt me? Come on baby, let's have some fun!” 

You felt two hands grab your waist, dragging you back to where the generator was. 

“It’s been a while since I've got my dick wet, baby! Indulge me a little!” Pusher raised his nozzle and gassed you again. 

You fought against him, kicking and flailing your arms. Your bare foot barely made contact with the metal leg braces that were screwed into his calves. It hurt your exposed foot more than it had any effect on Pusher.

“Baby, relax! Don’t be a little cock-block!”

Between your struggle to get away, and your struggle to breathe, you didn’t notice how fast Pusher yanked your pants down to your ankles.

“You like being manhandled like this you dirty bitch?” 

You tried shaking your head at him–not willing to give any sort of satisfaction–but as soon as you looked up from the floor, the Skinner Man rushed at you. You quickly looked back to the floor, letting out a pathetic gasp as you bent forward covering your head with your arms. In doing so, you only angled your hips out and up towards Pusher.

“Be cool, Baby. Be cool!” Pusher lined himself up with you and thrust into your aching cunt, “No one’s gonna hurt ya while you’re using my drugs!”

You weren’t worried about being hurt by Gooseberry. You were worried about being killed by Gooseberry. If Gooseberry caught you two, she would most assuredly have Dr. Futterman drill you a new one. Literally. And it wouldn’t stop until all the blood spilled out of you.

You moaned out at the feeling of his cock inside you as your walls burned at the stretch to accommodate the size of him, “Wait, wait!”

“Shh baby, you don’t wanna get caught now do ya? Do I gotta shove the nozzle of my sprayer down your throat and suffocate you with my gas to get you to be quiet? Cause I will, and I’ll keep fuckin ya, breathing or not.”

“No, no!” You answered him through broken moans. “Not that, please.” 

“Oh, I see! Filthy bitch wants my cock down her throat to pacify her!” Pusher laughed above you. “Not yet baby, I wanna drown my cock in your soaking cunt.”

Pusher picked up his pace, spearing you open on his cock. Every rough thrust he gave you rocked your body back and forth, grating the bare skin of your arms and face against the bloody concrete floor of the Toy Factory. 

The noises ripping from your throat were caught between moans of pleasure, and screams of terror. You had never been exposed to this much of the psychosis drugs in one go, and it was taking a toll on your sanity, and your health. 

“Come on, Baby, those noises you’re making? Driving me fuckin’ crazy! But you gotta be quiet.” 

You couldn’t be quiet. Between the embarrassingly arousing way you were getting fucked, and the drugs flooding your system, you were the opposite of coherent. Pusher didn’t ease up on his pace or the intensity of his thrusts, in fact, he only seemed to get faster and rougher. 

The tip of his cock was undoubtedly bruising your cervix, any harder and you swear he would rip it open and fuck his cock directly into your womb. Your G-spot was rubbed raw at his brutalizing thrusts. Yet, your cunt was gushing arousal. You could feel it soaking your thighs. You couldn’t help but just give in and moan like a cheap whore.

“Fuck! Whiny bitch.” Pusher reached around and stuffed two of his fingers into your mouth, “Suck on these baby and keep quiet!”

You did. You closed your mouth around his grimy fingers and began sucking. You shut your eyes, and let go of everything. Every moral, every sense of self preservation, everything. 

“Yeah baby, I’m almost there!” Pusher stuffed his cock into your tight cunt.

Your nerves were dancing with ecstasy, your own orgasm was approaching and it was approaching fast. Pusher fucked into you at a devastating pace. He finally snapped his hips one last time burying his cock deep in you, flooding your sloppy hole with his cum. 

Your orgasm overtook you, your cunt spasmed around Pusher’s sensitive cock, squeezing every last drop out of him. You groaned out in pure bliss, drool spittling out of the side of your mouth. Pusher pulled out of you, dropping you onto the concrete floor. You were too fucked out, and too doped up on his psychosis drugs to keep yourself upright. 

“Here, I’m feeling generous since you were such a good fuck.” 

You barely turned your head at the object that was tossed down in front of your face.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya baby!” Pusher limped off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable on the floor.

You pulled the object further to you, examining it.

Antidote.

[missleamori]

“Madonna, please, I implore you, I’m very-”

You turn on the tub faucet, face impassive as you ignore Copia’s fluttering. He swallows a noise, clenching his hands together. “I am telling you, I did not eat the entire cake that was intended for the children, I simply-”

“Ate over half of it with your hands.” You finish, shooting a glare his way. “And you should know better than that, frankly, but the way you INTERRUPTED ME giving the apology to insist it was your-”

“It is not my right as Papa.” Copia cringes bodily. “But isn’t this a little-”

“No, Copino, it is not too much. You’re going to remember this punishment the next time you think to steal sweets, much less to steal sweets from children, and you’ll certainly remember how you feel with this inside you the next time you think to talk back to me like that. You are not above anything just because you are Papa, and that confidence and bluster will be WASHED OUT OF YOU.”

He shrinks, wincing. “.....Yes, Madonna, I understand.”

You point at the tub. “In.”

He begins to remove his clothing slowly, lower lip sticking out slightly. You roll your eyes, standing erect to put the soap into the enema bag, which he watches with desperation. You attach the nozzle in one motion and scoff as you hang the bag on the shower rod. “Faster, this is not your execution. Take your punishment like a man.”

He frowns a little, but hurries along with his buttons until he’s in nothing but his sock garters. You motion for them to come off and he bites his lip, awkwardly stooping to remove them. 

“Copino, I better not find any skidmarks on your underwear either. If I am to be back there, you will have wiped.”

Copia’s shoulders nearly touch his ears. “I will wipe before the nozzle to make sure.”

You sigh, pulling on the latex gloves with a snapping noise. He scuttles over to the toilet, looking at you nervously as you lower your eyebrows, annoyed. “Copia, I have things to do today other than watch you squirm. Hurry along.”

He wipes, flushes, and shuffles over to the shower. He remembers your instructions from the last time, clearly, and kneels on the tub floor while bending over on his arms, moving his arm back to pull his asscheek to the side to expose himself.

You examine his asshole, lips pursed.

He seems to be holding his breath. “At least you’re clean. You’re about to be a whole lot cleaner.”

“Yes Madonna…” He whines. “I’m sorry….”

“You’re gonna be a whole lot sorrier. You’re taking the full bag.”

He hangs his head, whimpering. 

You bend, spreading the lube on your fingers to hook one into his asshole. His breath hitches, and you frown. “If you get hard during your punishment, I will not let you cum.”

“Understood, Madonna.” He swallows quietly. 

“Good. Stay still for me, no wiggling.”

You insert the nozzle slowly, pushing it up to the fourth inch before you inflate the small bulb on the end, ensuring it will stay inside him. He’s still and silent, even as you open the nozzle and the water begins to flow. It’s soapy enough he’ll be cramping the whole time, but you have no intention of letting him let it out at the 15 minute mark. 

As he stays there, head lowered, you begin to lube the slender plug you’ll be inserting in him next. You hum under your breath, and eventually, his head turns slowly to look.

“.....Madonna….?”

“Safeword?”

“.........No, I-”

“Safeword.”

Copia squirms under your gaze. “.....Pope.” “Good.”

You finish lubing the plug with a few deft strokes, sitting on the edge of the tub to gently check the bag. He grunts just a bit as you open the nozzle wider, but lets his eyes fall shut as he adjusts to the flow. 

It’s not too much longer before he’s done. You deflate the bulb with a firm instruction to him to clench, and then slide the nozzle out. A small trickle of soapy water follows, but you push the tapered plug in until his ass greedily takes it, settling around the flared base easily. 

“You’re being very good for me.”

Copia grunts again, quieter this time. 

“Can you sit up? I’m going to keep you in the tub. No phone.”

“....Y..Yes Madonna…”

Copia makes a noise of effort as he adjusts to sitting on his ass. When he sits on the plug, his eyes flutter just a little bit, and you give another sigh. 

“Copino.”

“Madonna?” He cracks open one eye.

“You will take your hand off your cock before I mitt both of your hands and chain them above your head for the duration of you potty dancing in this bathtub.”

Copia’s hand flies off his erection, which bounces up quickly. It’s still nothing special- he’s never fucked YOU with it, it would barely reach your hole at any angle- but he’s still erect. 

“What did I say?”

“I will not cum, Madonna.”

“At least you heard me. That means no touching as well.”

“Yes, Madonna, of course.”

You give him a hard stare, which he answers with a sheepish smile.

You hold it for a long moment. There’s a ominous gurgle from Copia’s stomach, and he makes a bit of a face. “Ah, how long-”

“Until I say, ragazzo. Now sit.”

He shifts awkwardly.

It’s not 15 minutes before he starts to beg. 

“Ah, Madonna, please, have some mercy on me, I apologized, I am certain I will - I will gift them a better cake regardless, yes, I can spend some time there-”

“Enough.” You lean in close, hand posed to slap him. “I will hear none of it. You made your grave.”

He lets out a reedy whine, squirming in place. He’s got one hand on his stomach, and sweat has begun to break out on his brow. “Ah, kind Madonna-”

“You know better than to call me kind. What will you do, then? You’ll give them more cake? You’ll volunteer down there?”

“I will apologize, I will apologize to the Matron and I will be sure to include that I interrupted you, Maaadonna, ah, ah- I, please, I cannot hold it.”

“Good. Ten more minutes.”

Copia lets out a deep sob, hanging his head dramatically. “I am in, Madonna, please, to have the full 2L- I am so swollen with liquid, I need to-”

“You won’t be going until I take that plug out, will you? Something says to me that you should be thanking me that it was not my strap and I was having you hold it all.”

“Thank you-” He’s babbling now, hands coming to clutch your thigh. “Oh, please- Madonna, I cannot-”

“You can, no? You will, for me.”

“Mistress.” He sobs out, a broken note in his voice. “Some mercy on me.”

“You will do what?” You examine your nails. 

“Kiss your feet, massage you, never interrupt again, I am your meek and humble servant before y-”

“Very good.” You smile down at him. “You needed to be shamed, did you not? Walking around saying you could do anything as Papa? And now you are here, begging me to let you go to the potty?”

“Phhh-” Copia makes a sound like a deflating balloon. “Pleeease……”

“Very well. Turn over for me.”

He immediately flips, pushing his ass into the air. You dip your fingers, taking hold of the plug and pulling it free. He clenches immediately, whimpering, and you sigh. 

“I will be outside. I don’t want to smell you doing something so pathetic.”

Copia jolts up, hopping out of the tub with his lip between his teeth. He makes a beeline for the toilet.

You close the door, rolling your eyes again.

[qualityparentinganimeknight]

The Watermelon Dare – Part II: Airborne

Amara lay back against the pillows, her breath slow and deep. Her belly was massive — stretched high and wide, smooth as polished stone and glowing under the soft bedroom light. The four watermelons inside her were packed tightly, stacked and settled deep into her swollen stomach, pushing against each other like giant stones in a velvet sack.

Her skin was stretched to its limit. Every inch of it shimmered with oil, veins faintly visible beneath the taut surface. Stretch marks traced her sides like natural lightning bolts, mapping her growth. When she moved, even slightly, the weight shifted like a full globe inside her.

Leo sat beside her, his hands moving lovingly over her tight belly, pressing gently, feeling the firmness beneath. “Still full?” he asked with a smirk.

“Stuffed,” Amara breathed, “but…”

He tilted his head. “But?”

“…I want to feel even more.”

Leo’s heart thudded in his chest. He leaned in and whispered, “Are you sure?”

“In this world,” she murmured, licking her lips, “I was made for this.”

From the drawer beside the bed, Leo pulled out something they’d only talked about before — an experimental setup: a soft rubber tube attached to a hand-controlled air pump. It was meant for harmless, fantasy play — and in this world, Amara’s body could handle it. Safely. Magically.

He fitted the soft nozzle carefully. The other end of the tubing was already attached to a carefully inserted valve — not visible, but perfectly sealed into place within her, leading into her intestines. A place where the air would flow and gradually fill the spaces between the watermelons, pushing outward, stretching her even more.

“You ready?” he asked, hovering his hand over the pump.

Amara nodded slowly, resting both hands on the dome of her belly. “Fill me.”

With a steady rhythm, Leo began to squeeze the pump. With each hiss of air, her belly responded — almost immediately. The pressure began to build around the watermelons. Her stomach shifted, swelling slightly, then more… the air seeping into the gaps, pushing her walls outward.

Amara moaned softly, a mix of fullness and pleasure. The feeling was different — not heavy like the melons, but light and pressing, a deep tightness from the inside out.

Her belly began to rise higher. The skin, already stretched tight, somehow smoothed even further, like satin drawn across a balloon. Her navel had long since popped out, and now it stretched further still, pulsing slightly with the pressure. She rubbed it slowly, hypnotized by how full she felt — yet how her body just kept making room.

“More,” she whispered.

Leo pumped again. The air hissed in, steady and patient, and her belly grew. It rounded out farther in every direction, lifting upward like a moon caught in slow motion. The watermelons shifted slightly inside her, packed tight like a sculpted core, but now suspended in pressurized fullness — the air cushioning them, expanding her from within.

Her skin was flawless and glassy, every muscle stretched, but still comfortable, warm, and safe. No pain. Just pressure — and power.

By the time Leo paused, her belly was truly massive — rising from her lap like a dome, so tight it barely moved when touched. She couldn’t sit forward if she tried; her belly had claimed all the space in front of her. She breathed slow and deep, her chest rising just above the curve of her belly, utterly consumed by the sensation.

“Look at you,” Leo whispered, unable to hide his awe. “You’re… incredible.”

“I feel like I’m floating,” Amara murmured. “Like I’m made of air and fruit.”

Leo leaned in and kissed her belly, which barely yielded under his lips. “And you’re not done yet, are you?”

She smirked, still flushed and glowing. “Not even close.”

[thecglcatalog]

Medical Punishments for Bad Baby-Sub Behavior

Nothing impresses the seriousness of a misdeed on your ageplay slave like a trip to the doctor for a very special punishment.

Special-ordered for the occasion or stowed on the top shelf of the closet as a warning of what’s to come, these Medical Punishment Sets come in threateningly simple storage boxes upholstered in white quilted nylon.  Molded and lacquered card holds each tool in a sturdy purpose-built hollow.

Cocklet Milking Punishment Set.  Scary shiny medical implements all in stainless steel include a simple wire cock cage that holds the little dingle straight forward for Doctor’s convenience in sounding (it has a small wingnut that adjusts the length with an alarming series of loud clicks).  Vibrating hooked anal probe allows targeted prostate stimulation; hollow urethral dilator set opens up the little cumhole; and vibrating bullet has hardware to attach to the base of the cock cage.  Or swap out the cage to help stroke out little one’s cummy-come into the Veterinary Semen Collection Sleeve.

Enema Punishment Set.  It’s a classic for a reason!  Two nozzles – a chilly stainless steel one and a stay-put inflatable – join stark white silicone enema bags in pint and quart sizes.  Two silicone bulb syringes, one white and one translucent, provide a quick shallow refresh or help fill the bags.  A large white bar of harsh extra-lathering soap comes with a special steel blade for flaking off a punitive quantity, a pouch of Bulk-Up Enema Solution ensures painfully heavy “contents” to wash out, and a jar of Humble Bumble Backdoor Douche Concentrate gives a numbing flush to the entrance for a scary sensation in the pucker to go with the interior burning and cramping.  Mark appropriate punishment severities on the chalkboard timer to monitor baby’s sentence.

Lactation Punishment Set.  Lactating breasts get heavy, achy, and leaky – making them an uncomfortable long-term punishment and an imposition that increases a slave’s dependence on caregiver’s hands.  In this box, find a pair of battery-operated pulsing suction bulbs, plus a pair of manual rotating lever suction tubes.  Menacing little jar of Prolactin Plus Bosom Ointment should be applied with gloves two to four times a day.  Herbal Lactation Tonic builds up in the body to increase engorgement once milk comes in; a clear plastic dosing spoon allows you to administer a just-right amount.

Nipple Engorgement Punishment Set.  Sore titties that rub against clothing and bedding are an appropriate punishment on their own – and reddened, inflated sensitivity makes an easier target for ongoing disciplinary whacks.  Start by swabbing the nipples with Bottom Blusher – a rub-in cream that promotes sensitivity and blood flow – then draw them into the clear plastic syringe nipple suckers while you prepare the injections.  Large amber glass bottle of safe-to-inject saline sits in a light red insulator sleeve.  Inject manually with the large syringe and pack of fine hypodermic needles – or set up drips with the pair of reusable silicone hanging bags, each with a forked tube for letting saline flow slowly under the skin from either one or two needle insertions.  Caramel-colored elastic nipple enhancers wait in a screw-top prescription bottle to keep fluids in.

Tattoo Punishment Set.  Set of single-use tattoo punches place an agonizing stick-poke design all at once!  Sterile-packaged tongue depressors spread thick ink over sterilized skin, then the punch is placed on top and rapidly depressed twice, followed by a second layer of ink and a thorough wash.  Box includes rubbing alcohol for sterilizing, clear-window dressings for covering, and beeswax-based, powder-scented balm for care. The punches sit in two ominous rows in the package, each depression labeled with the design: BAD BABY, BAD KITTY, BAD PUPPY, CAREFUL IT BITES, CUMSLUT, DIRTY MOUTH, FUCKTOY, NAUGHTY, STUCK UP SLUT, TANTRUM THROWER, UNGRATEFUL, a pacifier, a diaper, and a buttplug with keyhole.  Specify three ink colors: black, brown, pink, blue, green.

Medicinal Refills

Bulk packages are available to keep your nursery, dungeon, or exam-room well stocked.  We carry rubbing alcohol, safe injectable saline, lathering enema soap, Bulk-Up Enema Solution, Humble Bumble Backdoor Douche Concentrate, Prolactin Plus Bosom Ointment, Herbal Lactation Tonic, Bottom Blusher, tattoo inks, sterile tongue depressors, sterile cotton pads, and sterile needles in minimally-packaged bulk quantities for your medical discipline, medical play.

[declisteribus3]

For the reluctant or resistant boy

If you anticipate a reluctant or resistant boy, choose a balloon retention nozzle when giving him his enema. Once the nozzle is inserted, the balloon is inflated, ensuring the rectum is sealed. It will ensure he takes and holds the full enema. No more fussing. He can complain and fuss as much as he wants. Job completed.

[valveplugconfessions]

I’m not even into the shit I come up with but consider: any alt mode with like a gas cap where a nozzle would insert to fill a gas tank on a normal human vehicle. and then. a second bot jorks they shit into that. as fuel. then they idk close the cap and give em a lil pat on the quarter panel. all fueled up!!

This is a cry for help /j

.

[mychlapci]

https://www.tumblr.com/mychlapci/765243169932705792/tarantulas-carrying-his-and-prowls-tiny-spider

Sexualising this by making the spiderbabies nurse from the back. Prowl or Tarantulas either have to open gaps in their armour for the babies to nibble and suckle from their energon lines, or they have to insert little silver nozzles that look like piercings through the plating. Itty bitty spiderlings getting sippies while riding around on mommy and daddy's backs... I bet it's especially tingly for Prowl, esp when they nibble on his doorwings. Tarantulas should mass shift and join the babies in suckling on Prowl's blood-🔌

ohoho,,,, very inchresting, very nasty. Prowl can probably never really get used to the feeling of his spider babies clinging to his back and siphoning at his energon...

[shousetsubangbang]

by Fil-in-the-blank

Ziran wrinkles his nose behind his face mask, rubber-gloved fingers catching against each other as he pulls a few pieces of HoloHype™ DynaPop™ popcorn out of the fuckhole and drops them into his waste bucket before he inserts the nozzle of his spray cleaner and flushes out any deeper debris. He will never understand why people feel the need to shove anything and everything into the fuckhole, any more than he understands why they want to leave gum on the holotheater carpet or bodily fluids just… everywhere.

At least bodily fluids are meant to be in the fuckhole. Not that it makes him like cleaning it any more to know that. He swaps the spray nozzle for a soft cloth and wipes down the outer folds of the pussy, the membrane-coated skin soft and responsive beneath his fingers. He hates cleaning up these messes, and everyone knows he hates it, so he also knows that’s why he always ends up having to do it. Also, nobody else does it right.

“Are you nearly done?”

Ziran looks up from his crouched position at the hip-height fuckhole, squinting at the customer fidgeting anxiously, clearly annoyed to be delayed in his intended use of the facility.

“Nearly. One moment.”

He gives the pussy one last wipe, collecting up his cleaning materials and stepping back out of the way. The mallgoer doesn’t bother to say thank you or anything else to Ziran, cock already out and pushing between the shiny pink lips of the public pussy with a grunt.

Ziran doesn’t stay any longer than he needs to, scowling face hidden by his mask as he returns to the holotheater to make his next cleaning rounds. With the traffic they get right near the mall entrance he has to swing past the hole twice a shift anyway, as well as after close, so he certainly doesn’t want to hang around and watch the messes being made.

-

Read the rest of this story in the full issue, Shousetsu Bang*Bang Issue 114: Quantum Entanglement

[dark-dips]

Mr. Jenkins' office was a stark contrast to the bustling warehouse outside. The walls were painted a cold, industrial grey, and the air had the scent of stale cigars and old leather. The only splash of color came from the framed picture of his trophy wife, smiling vacantly from her position above his desk. Tim had always found the room intimidating, but today it was suffocating.

"Take a seat,"

Mr. Jenkins said, gesturing to the chair across from him. His tone was softer now, but no less unnerving. Tim did as he was told, his eyes darting to the fridge in the corner of the room. He knew what was coming.

Mr. Jenkins leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Now, Tim," he began, "you know the rules."

Tim nodded, his throat dry. "I'll get changed right away."

"Good boy," Mr. Jenkins said, a smug smile playing on his lips. "But first, I think we need to discuss your punishment for your little transgression."

The fridge's hum grew louder in Tim's ears as Mr. Jenkins' smile widened. The anticipation of what was to come was almost unbearable.

"An extra large enema, I think. With an inflatable plug retention plug. Vibrating. And then you're getting locked in your ass eating chair and I'm going to smother you for a long time."

Tim's stomach churned at the thought. The smothering chair was his least favorite piece of punishment furniture. It forced his legs apart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable, and the vibrating plugs were particularly unpleasant. He nodded meekly and began to strip out of his work clothes, his hands shaking. He knew better than to argue with Mr. Jenkins. The older man had a penchant for creative punishments, and Tim had learned that it was best to just get them over with. As he pulled on the thick, plastic diaper, the coldness of it sent shivers down his spine. It was a stark reminder of his position in this twisted dynamic. He was the diaper slave, and Mr. Jenkins was his master.

Mr. Jenkins stood and approached the fridge, pulling out a bottle filled with a murky brown solution. Tim gulped as he saw the size of the nozzle attached. It was going to be a rough night. He laid down on the chair, his cheeks pressing into the cold, hard plastic. The chair was designed to keep his legs bent at the knees and his feet in stirrups, which made it impossible for him to close his legs. Mr. Jenkins lubed up the nozzle and pushed it into Tim's tight hole.

"This is going to be a good one," he said, his voice thick with anticipation. Tim tensed as the nozzle was inserted, his body fighting against the intrusion. The liquid was cold and uncomfortable as it filled him up, stretching his insides in a way that was both painful and humiliating. Mr. Jenkins worked the nozzle in and out, the sound of the fluid sloshing in Tim's gut echoing through the room. The pressure built until Tim felt like he would burst. And then, the inflation began. The plug expanded inside him, filling his ass completely. The vibrations started low, sending waves of pleasure and pain through his body.

Tim's moans grew louder as Mr. Jenkins attached a mask to his face, sealing him in. He could feel the air being pushed out of the room, and his vision began to blur. Mr. Jenkins took a seat on Tim's chest, his weight pressing down on the diapered man. The smell of his sweat and the sound of his heavy breathing filled the space around Tim's face. Tim's struggle grew weaker as the lack of oxygen made his limbs feel like lead. His thoughts swirled around the edge of consciousness, a mix of fear, arousal, and defeat. Mr. Jenkins leaned in close, his breath hot against Tim's ear.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a dark promise of what was to come. The vibrations grew stronger, and Tim's body responded despite his fear. He could feel his cock swelling beneath the plastic, trapped and helpless. As the pressure in the plug grew unbearable, Tim's body began to spasm. He knew what was happening. He was going to cum, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The orgasm hit him like a sledgehammer, tearing through him with a force that left him gasping for breath. The chair beneath him was soaked with his release, a testament to his body's betrayal. Mr. Jenkins chuckled, his weight still pi ing Tim to the chair.

"Good boy," he said, patting Tim's head like a pet. "Now, let's see how long you can hold that in for me."

Tim's breathing grew rapid, his chest heaving against the chair's restraint. The panic set in as he realized that the enema was still being pumped into him, filling him beyond capacity. He writhed beneath Mr. Jenkins, trying to find some relief from the overwhelming pressure. But his master just sat there, watching with a sadistic glee. Tim's eyes watered, and his vision grew darker as the oxygen continued to be denied to him. He could feel the warmth of his own piss spreading through the diaper, adding to the mess beneath him. The vibrations didn't stop, and neither did the influx of liquid. Tim's mind raced, desperately trying to find a way out of this nightmare.

Finally his master ripped off the mask and moved him from the chair to the floor where he had his head locked in a queening stool. The top had a section cut out for his master to sit on and force Tim to eat his ass and scat. The enema was replenished and Tim's arms and legs were tied down before his master settled his ass onto the seat, blocking out Tim's light. He let out a long fart and ordered Tim to start licking.

Tim's tongue tentatively touched the wrinkled, shit-stained flesh, gagging at the taste. The smell was overpowering, a mix of sweat, shit, and the bitter scent of fear. But he knew better than to protest. He had to do as he was told. Mr. Jenkins leaned back, his hands gripping the chair's arms tightly as he began to push. Tim could feel the warmth of his master's asshole against his face, and he knew what was coming next. He braced himself as the first wave of shit spilled out, coating his tongue and filling his mouth. The taste was vile, like nothing he had ever experienced. He swallowed, his throat tight with revulsion, as he continued to clean Mr. Jenkins' asshole. The vibrations from the plug inside him grew stronger, and Tim couldn't help but moan around the thick, foul flesh.

Mr. Jenkins chuckled darkly, obviously enjoying the display of his power. He pushed again, and more shit filled Tim's mouth. He had to fight the urge to spit it out, to rebel against the degradation. But he knew that would only make things worse. Tim's eyes watered as he worked his tongue, trying to ignore the gag reflex that threatened to overwhelm him. He focused on his breathing, on the feel of the plastic digging into his wrists and ankles, and on the steady beat of his own heart. The minutes ticked by, turning into an eternity of servitude and humiliation. The vibrations grew stronger still, and Tim felt his own body betraying him once again. He was hard, his cock straining against the confines of the soaked diaper. Mr. Jenkins noticed and grunted in approval. He leaned forward, his hand reaching down to stroke Tim's erection.

"Good boy," he murmured. "You're really getting into it."

The vibrations grew unbearable, and Tim could feel another orgasm approaching. His body tensed, and he tried to hold it back, not wanting to give his master the satisfaction of watching him cum again. But it was no use. His body was not his own, and as Mr. Jenkins continued to push his shit into Tim's mouth, he felt the release building. He came hard, the diaper filling with his seed as his body spasmed in pleasure and disgust. Jenkins stood and retrieved a spider gag, forcing it into Tim's mouth.

"I want to hear you gurgling on my shit." He lowered the diaper and pulled out the plug in his ass but before Tim could expel anything he had shoved a massive horse dildo an inch or two inside. The entire thing was a foot long or more and hooked up to a fucking machine. Jenkins turned it on slow as he began pissing in Tim's open gagged mouth.

"A long drink before you get back to smelling my farts and eating my ass. Don't worry if you can't swallow it all the chair has a basin designed to catch everything and force it into you. Say thank you slave. If you can with that gag in your mouth."

Tim mumbled something that might have been a "Thank you," his eyes watering from the stench of his master's urine and the pain of the gag.

Jenkins chuckled, then sat back down, his pants around his ankles, his cock now erect.

"Now, let's get to the main event." He reached over to the fucking machine and cranked it up. The dildo began to pump in and out of Tim's ass, stretching him even further, mixing with the remnants of the enema and his own cum. The gag filled with piss, and Tim had to swallow to keep from drowning, the taste of his master's piss filling his mouth. As the machine did its work, Jenkins began to fuck Tim's face, his cock sliding in and out of the gag's openings. Tim's eyes bulged, and his throat convulsed around the thick, veiny shaft, but he couldn't escape the relentless pace. The sensation of being used, of being nothing more than a hole for his master's pleasure, was both terrifying and strangely exhilarating. Jenkins' grunts grew louder, and Tim could feel the man's climax approaching. He braced himself, knowing that he was about to be flooded with hot cum. The first spurt hit the back of his throat, and he had no choice but to swallow. The taste was bitter, but it was a small price to pay for the temporary reprieve from the gag's stench. Jenkins pulled out, his cock still hard and dripping. He grabbed Tim's hair and forced his face closer to his ass.

"Now, clean me up," he ordered, his voice thick with satisfaction. Tim's tongue darted out, licking at the puckered hole and the surrounding flesh. He could feel the vibrations from the dildo growing stronger, and his own orgasm was dangerously close. The room was filled with the sound of the fucking machine's rhythmic pumping and the wet, squelching noises of his master's asshole. Tim's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but he knew he had to endure. This was his punishment, and he would take it until he was told otherwise. As he continued to lick and clean, Mr. Jenkins began to play with Tim's cock, stroking it roughly through the sodden diaper.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted. "You're such a good little slut."

Tim couldn't deny it. The combination of pain, humiliation, and arousal was like nothing he had ever felt before. And as his master's hand grew more insistent, he knew that he was going to cum again, right there on the floor of the cold, grey office. The orgasm ripped through him, leaving him trembling and gasping for air. The dildo continued its assault, and the gag filled with more piss. Tim's body was a mess of sensations, all of them revolving around his degradation and the sickening pleasure it brought him. Jenkins brought over a tube and forced one end into the gag, the other end he jammed into Tim's ass.

"Go ahead and release the enema now." He taunted. Tim's body responded immediately, his bowels releasing the putrid mixture into the tube. He could feel it being sucked into his throat, filling him up even more, but the gag prevented him from spitting it out. Mr. Jenkins watched with a twisted smile as Tim's face contorted with disgust and submission.

"That's it, baby," he said, his hand stroking Tim's cheek. "Swallow it all down for me." The diaper slave's throat muscles worked overtime as he choked down the vile brew. The taste of shit and piss coated his mouth, mixing with the bitterness of his own cum. He gagged, his eyes watering, but he managed to keep it down, the suction from the tube ensuring every last drop was consumed. As the flow slowed, Mr. Jenkins turned his attention back to the fucking machine. He cranked up the speed, watching with sadistic glee as Tim's body was pummeled by the massive dildo. Tim's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth still filled with the taste of his own degradation. He could feel his asshole stretching to accommodate the relentless assault, the pain a constant reminder of his place. Jenkins leaned in, his breath hot and sour.

"You're going to take this until I say stop," he whispered, his voice a dark promise in Tim's ear. "And if you're a good boy, maybe I'll let you clean me up again." Tim whimpered around the gag, his body trembling with exhaustion and arousal. He didn't know how much more he could take, but he also knew that he had no choice. He was Mr. Jenkins' plaything, and he would endure whatever was dished out to him. The machine's tempo increased, the dildo slamming into him with a ferocity that made the chair shake. The room was filled with the sounds of wet flesh slapping against flesh, the whir of the machine, and Tim's muffled cries. He felt the pressure in his bowels build once more, and knew he was going to shit himself. The thought brought on a wave of fear and shame, but also a perverse excitement. He was powerless to stop it, and that was what made it so erotic. As the shit began to fill his diaper, Mr. Jenkins reached down and began to squeeze his stomach, pushing more of the filth out of him. Tim's body convulsed, his muscles clenching around the invading object as he came again, the orgasm tearing through him like a storm. Jenkins chuckled, watching the spectacle before him.

"Look at you," he said, his voice filled with mock admiration. "Such a good little shit eater." Tim's mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, his thoughts consumed by the need to please his master. He was lost in the depravity of the moment, his own identity all but forgotten. The fucking continued, the dildo moving faster and faster, the pressure in Tim's gut growing unbearable. He was sobbing now, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to block out the reality of his situation. But it was no use. The world outside Mr. Jenkins' office didn't exist anymore. All that mattered was the man above him, the smell of his shit, and the feeling of being used in the most degrading way imaginable. Tim was Mr. Jenkins' diaper slave, and he would serve him until he was told otherwise. And in that moment, as the dildo reached a crescendo of speed and his bowels emptied once again, he realized that he didn't want it any other way.

[siiinfully]

starter for @night-stalker-joe’s w.esker from a.da

News of the Raccoon C.ity incident were plastered all over the newspapers and televisions by the time she got home. The survival rate was inaccurate: there were far less than what the media was led to believe. However, she wasn’t too concerned with what the public thought of that event. For Ada, it was just another job done, and the virus sample she’d retrieved was safely in the steel briefcase, foam inserts keeping it in place.

She strolled out of the bathroom, a red bathrobe wrapped around her form, and a similar towel around her head to dry her hair. Ada removed the latter to further squeeze the water out of her hair as she wandered over the bed…only to swiftly reach under her pillow and retrieve the gun she always kept there. The nozzle was aimed at one of the dark spots in her room, the safety clicking off. “…I thought the meeting was tomorrow,” she said coolly, her hand raised and steady, and her finger curled over the trigger.