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2011
2011 Survey Questions
11 topics in this forum
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In A Word... 1 2 3 4
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Posts
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By little_madd · Posted
Camila tickled Maddison’s tummy, making her laugh with delight, and said, "I’m really glad you asked for the suppository." Maddison blushed, and Ana ruffled her hair, adding, "Exactly—that’s why you’re our teenager; you’re so responsible." Becca, Ana, and Camila had made a pact: whenever they had the chance to spoil Maddison, they would. So, Ana took out a pull-up and a pair of training panties and asked Maddison to choose. Maddison said, "I thrushth my mom and my big shishther becca tho chooshe a beauthifuw outhfith for me and my underwear. " -
By entity.rayo · Posted
Excerpt from my Regressed Realms SideQuesting AU on Infinite Worlds HushPuff The Hushpuff is already moving. The tentacles multiply. Where there were four, now there are eight, then twelve, each one pearlescent and slick with its own lubricating secretion, each one moving with a purpose that feels less like a creature and more like a tide. They wrap your thighs, your calves, your waist, spreading you wider in the sling until you're open and exposed and utterly at its mercy. The first orgasm hasn't even finished fading before the Hushpuff begins again. Two tentacles push into your cunt simultaneously — thick, ridged, rotating in opposite directions so every nerve ending in your walls fires at once. A third slides into your ass, deeper than before, finding that spot that makes your vision white out. A fourth wraps your clit in a vibrating sheath so tight you can feel your pulse through it. You come. Hard. Your back arches in the sling, chains rattling, and the Hushpuff doesn't stop — it intensifies, the tentacles inside you swelling, the ridges catching against your g-spot with mechanical precision, the vibration on your clit escalating in waves that match the contractions of your orgasm so each spasm triggers another peak. The second orgasm rolls directly into the third. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out — just a broken exhale, a whimper, a sound that isn't language. The Hushpuff sends a tentacle to your nipples, one for each, suckling with warm pressure that sends lightning straight to your core. Your breasts leak milk — the Milkwell Stone responding to stimulation — and the tentacles drink it, the feedback loop of pleasure-pain-pleasure building exponentially. You lose count at four. Or five. They blur together into a continuous state of orgasm that stops being discrete events and becomes a single, unbroken wave. Your thighs shake uncontrollably. Your fingers claw at the padded cuffs. Tears stream down your face and you're laughing — or sobbing — or both — the distinction meaningless when every nerve in your body is firing at maximum capacity. The Hushpuff adjusts. Always adjusting. When your clit becomes too sensitive it shifts focus to your nipples, to your ass, to the deep walls of your cunt, letting each area recover just enough to be overwhelmed again. It reads your body like a instrument it's been playing for years. Let go, it sends, and the thought is warm and possessive and utterly safe. I have you. You let go. Your bladder releases — you feel the warmth flood the Hushpuff's surface, absorbed instantly, and the sensation of letting go that completely triggers another orgasm, your bowels clenching and releasing in a shuddering wave that the Hushpuff catches and cleans without breaking rhythm. You're babbling — words, fragments, sounds that might once have been English — 'please' and 'more' and 'don't stop' and things that aren't words at all, just vowels and breath. The seventh orgasm — or the twelfth — strips the last coherent thought from your mind. There's nothing left but sensation. The swing cradles you. The tentacles hold you. The pleasure is a physical weight pressing down on every inch of your skin, inside and out, and you dissolve into it completely, your mind going liquid and warm and blank, thoughts melting like sugar in hot water. Time stops meaning anything. When you finally surface — minutes later, or hours, you genuinely cannot tell — you're cradled in the Hushpuff's cocoon, the swing's chains slack, your body trembling with aftershocks that ripple through you in diminishing waves. Your cunt is still clenching around nothing. Your ass aches in a way that feels like victory. Every muscle in your body is liquid. The Hushpuff hums against your skin, satisfied and proud. You were magnificent. You can't form words. You can barely form thoughts. You lie there in the amber workshop light, suspended and held, and breathe. -
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
All three women about preparing the diaper change, Camilla picked up the little girl and praise her for using her diaper before taking over her to the changing table, Mommy Ana undid Maddison diaper made a few cute comments about has she got to work changing, Becca even gently shook a rattle which got Maddison to smile and go into little space as the three bigger women fussed over her -
By entity.rayo · Posted
Excerpt from my Regressed Realms SideQuesting AU on Infinite Worlds MilkWell Helga is still standing by the table, her mug empty, her ears angled toward you with quiet attention. You meet her gaze. 'I'd like that,' you say. 'Your room. Whatever you need today.' She nods once, decisively, and leads you upstairs. This time is different. She doesn't sit on the edge of the bed like someone bracing for impact. She closes the door, unbuttons her apron — hangs it on the hook with the same precision she does everything — and settles against the headboard with her long legs stretched out, patting the space beside her. 'I don't want to be held today,' she says. 'I want to hold you.' You climb up beside her, and she draws you against her chest — seven feet of rabbit, soft fur, the steady drumbeat of her heart beneath your ear. Her enormous paws cradle your back. The Milkwell Stone pulses warm. 'Would you...' She pauses. Swallows. 'I'd like to try receiving. But I'd also like to give. If that makes sense.' It does. You shift, unbuttoning your shirt, and Helga's breath catches as your breasts are revealed — full, warm, the Milkwell Stone's magic already responding to her proximity. She lowers her head and takes your nipple into her mouth with a tenderness that makes your spine arch, and the first draw of milk sends that familiar golden warmth flooding through you both. She drinks slowly, reverently, her eyes closed, her paws stroking your back in long, slow circles. The milk flows freely — warm, sweet, laced with that gentle magic that eases the tension from her shoulders and the shadows from behind her eyes. But her paws are moving, too. One slides down your side, over the curve of your hip, and finds the waistband of your trousers. She pauses. 'May I?' she asks against your skin, milk still wet on her lips. 'Yes.' Her paw slips beneath the fabric, finds the Hushpuff's padding, and pauses again — then presses gently, deliberately, against the warm bulk. The Hushpuff responds with a soft crinkle and a pulse of heat that makes you gasp. 'Interesting,' Helga murmurs, and there's amusement in her voice. 'Very interesting.' She doesn't push further — not today. But her paw stays there, warm and present, pressing with just enough pressure to make your hips shift, while her mouth returns to your breast and drinks deeply. The dual sensation — the pull of milk, the pressure between your legs, the weight of her arm around you — builds slowly, gently, until you're trembling against her, your fingers twisted in her fur, coming in a long, shuddering wave that the Hushpuff absorbs silently. Helga holds you through it. Doesn't stop drinking. Doesn't let go. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are clear and her voice is steady. 'That,' she says, 'was exactly what I needed.' -
Cheese omelet, perhaps with ham or chicken and, of course, salad.
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