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@hornysin
stuffing you past your limits and then demanding you fuck me when you’re still way too full, so you’re resorted to grinding on my leg like a pathetic, needy animal while I’m able to grope and squeeze your heavy, swollen belly however I want
Thinking of a farming community that is thriving through a famine because the goddess of nature has blessed them to become pregnant with produce and give birth to their harvest.
All of the farmers become swollen with one kind of fruit or vegetable over the course of the season, some of them local and some from faraway lands. During the harvest, most will give birth to a humbly sized crop. But the extremely devout farmers push out so much that at feasts, they will recline on a table with their legs open for the townspeople to take fresh offerings straight from their holes, which drip with the delicious juices of whatever produce they carry.
No one ever risks going thirsty, either, as every pregnancy causes the chest to swell with water so pure that it doesn’t even need to be boiled before consumption. Many in the town are employed ‘milking’ the farmers to create a reservoir for all to use. The most faithful produce so much water that their tits sag heavily around their fertile bellies, full enough that each breast can be heard sloshing as they walk. They keep cups hanging on their belts so that they can send any thirsty passer-by on their way with a drink—that is, if they don’t have time to suckle straight from their teats.
And of course the pregnancies can manifest many interesting ways…
A farmer carrying grapes will feel like their womb is full of soft eggs, and if you gently push their belly around, you can feel all the bunches shifting. When they give birth, it comes as one long vine that they can’t push very hard if they want large bunches, so they often just labor passively for days and days as the vine coming out of them grows longer and longer.
Root vegetables with leafy tops start to poke out of the farmers’ holes when they’re ready, and in addition to pushing, they need the help of a second party to grip the stems and help pull them out of their womb.
Those growing butternut squashes end up with oblong bellies, and never know whether each squash will come out head-first—leaving them to struggle on the round base—of if they’ll crown around the base and the whole vegetable will shoot out of them.
Someone carrying oranges or apples might have a bumpy belly that tumbles around with their movements, needing often to be adjusted for their comfort, and ending up in lopsided shapes if they’re unattended.
While large bunches of bananas are preferred, some—the less experienced farmers, especially—cannot stretch far enough to admit very many at once, so a farmhand is required to carefully insert a tool deep inside them and break a few off the stem. A farmer who’s used to having their bananas broken into single deliveries must take care not to be caught alone when it’s time to push, because they’ll have no idea what to do when a bunch of 10 or more starts spreading them.
Those who grow watermelons and pumpkins can often be seen in the goddesses’ temple, nervously rubbing the discolored, paper thin skin of their bellies as their body struggles to contain their bounty. With enough prayer and meditation, they can achieve a trance state for the birth, where the goddess will only allow them to feel as much as they want. For some, this is only a fraction of the pressure, which is still enough to make their groans echo in the temple. For others, this is the full impact of the birth, their bodies tortured as they’re pushed past the edge of human ability, their hearts in rapture at the chance to show their goddess how much they are willing to do for her.
It’s always important to be sure the harvests are ripe, too, of course. A farmer must pay close attention to the first of their delivery, and if it’s still green, they must stop pushing immediately and force what they can back inside. It’s quite common, especially for less experienced farmers, to need to postpone their birth by a few days or even weeks. Several farmers in this tender state can usually be found at the temple, moaning and groaning in misery as they clutch their contracting bellies and pray to the goddess for relief. Every day, the faithful visit them to comfort and soothe them, massaging them, holding them, even pleasuring them or inserting blessed artifacts into their holes to keep them plugged, so that they can at least answer the urge to push.
When the day finally comes to empty their aching bellies of the ripe harvest, it is not uncommon for the farmers to feel so pent up that each thing they push out makes them moan and jerk, slowly pushed towards the edge of pleasure. Often, the faithful attending to them will take the last fruit and fuck the farmer with it, until finally rewarding them with an almost unbearable orgasm, and then a sleep so peaceful and deep that they don’t even notice being carried home and put to bed. They are then allowed to rest for several days, first to recover… and then to germinate the next clump of seeds that has appeared in their belly.
Of course, not all is as pleasant as it seems.
The sharp-minded traveler might realize, once they ask around, that no one seems to carry a harvest of grain, and yet the people have ample bread. They might have a glass of the incredible wine, but search the town and find no barrels it could have come from.
Down below the temple, these questions are answered.
Criminals and heretics—sinners—are held prisoner. All of them are gagged, their muffled cries a disturbing choir in the darkness. Shackled high on the wall with their knees bound up by their chests are those without wombs, who grow so much wheat in their guts that their bellies are round and dense with the crop, heavy between their restrained thighs. They wince and squirm at the strange sensation of the stalks inside of them, but a bit of tickling is nothing compared to the threshing.
The faithful bring long tools and force them into the sinners’ holes, and thresh the wheat inside them with no care for how the sinner feels. The sinners scream until they injure their throats, then keep thrashing in their bonds as the tools torture their insides. They find no purpose or meaning in this suffering, only sobbing and shaking their heads as more tools are produced to gather the wheat, chaff, and other debris from inside them. Every little bit must be gathered, so they endure hours of cruel tools tirelessly searching their guts, sometimes going so deep that the tips tent their deflated bellies. They think no agony could be worse, but they will miss the tools if they ever try to push out the wheat on their own…
Those with wombs require no restraint. They could never get far with their bellies like this. Each one grows enormous yields of grapes, but when it comes time to birth them, they’re plugged up. Then, their contractions come, and in the course of the cramping and their desperate pushing, the grapes are crushed inside of them. Of course, a member of the faithful visits them to make sure every grape is squished, roughly pressing and squeezing their belly until it’s clear no grapes are left intact.
Then comes the fermenting.
Wombs that were once shaped by the weight of the plant matter within begin to grow in every direction, stretching and stretching as carbon dioxide fills them. Their bellies end up ballooning out, unbearably taut, their abdomens and pelvises and hips all screaming with constant pressure that only grows worse and worse. They shriek into the gags that they’re going to burst, but the faithful just chuckle as they walk by.
The joke, of course, is the evidence that they’ll never burst, even if the wine ferments in their bellies for years to come. The proof of this lies further into the chamber, where the worst of the criminals and the most blasphemous heretics groan constantly, their wombs so tight with gas that a pin’s head probably could pop them. Their spines are bowed, their lungs crushed and hearts slowed, rib cages and pelvises both forced back to make room for the fullness of their bellies. With every tortured breath, the audible sound of sloshing echoes within, wine beyond value growing rich inside them.
Even if they could walk, they’re in no state to escape. Years of wine on their membranes has left them completely saturated, every waking moment now spent effectively blackout drunk. Alcohol poisoning should have killed them a long time ago if the misuse of their organs didn’t, but the goddess’s blessing is for the survival of the people; though it may strain the body, it may not kill it. She meant this as a mercy.
For those whose wombs are reduced to wine barrels, death would be the mercy.
But they are hardly aware of their own situation anymore. One chosen from the group—a criminal, who can’t recall their crime or their name—doesn’t even notice when the faithful inserts a tool thin tool, and then the neck of a wine bottle into their pussy. A deft action with the tool, and the seal that’s kept their cervix plugged for years is removed. Air hisses quietly out, a sound not nearly dramatic enough for the sudden change in pressure inside their body. They have a moment of lucidity as the feeling of falling accompanies their wilting spine. Still, they aren’t even conscious enough to feel the relief.
Wine glugs into the bottle until it fills, then another, then another, deft hands switching them out, though precious drops still splatter on the floor. All told, it takes less than a minute to drain their womb, but in a lifetime, their belly would never return to its original shape. It remains massive and strangely round, but drooping now, like their whole frame does without the gas to hold it up. They look like a broken scarecrow, and it almost makes the faithful sad as they seal the wine bottles.
The criminal, for a fleeting moment of consciousness, misses being full.
But they don’t have to worry. The goddess will make another bounty in their belly in no time.
when you palm a man’s clothed bulge and he spreads his legs wider for you giving access to his balls too and pushes his hips up against your hand and lets out that throaty little groan ………
tdick inspections for bottom growth😵💫💖
"good boy, you're growing so big for me!" black latex gloved hands stroking and prodding and spreading your wet pussy, "let me get a better look at it," them moving in close n watching you get harder, framing your tdick with their fingers so you whine and try to rock your hips into their touch, earning u the withdrawal of their hand til a sudden little cunt slap 💖 you whine until they coo and shush u and start stroking ur tdick, "now let’s see how big you can get, baby" 😵💫😵💫😵💫💕
‘redditors need to know this’, ‘twitterinas need to know that’… no. you need to know one thing and that is that you are not allowed to complain about werewolf fuckers. this is the werewolf fucking website. grow up and go fuck a werewolf.
What does this gif have to do with werewolves?
if you have to ask you’re not ready
can you explain? i don’t get it
This is like someone just informed the newcomers about the devils sacrament taking place every full moon and the devil itself popped up asking “what sacrament?” with a cheshire grin.
ovipositors where the eggs hatch inside you and continue to grow so you have to birth a bunch of slimy creatures
There’s something so hot about the aftermath of being beat when you’re sensitive and in pain and flinching at every touch, and your dom is just over you shushing you and reassuring you that it’s over now, even as they’re reaching between your legs and oh—you really enjoyed that, didn’t you? Enjoyed being scared and hurt, even when you were crying and apologizing and asking them to stop. You must’ve really enjoyed it, to be so turned on, even as they wipe away your tears and swipe their nails over your bruised ass. And then they fuck you about it <3
artist rendition of what happens when tgey see and hear a feedee
Absolutely disgusting that aphrodisiac pollen, nectar, pills, gels, etc aren't real. I want to pop a pill and become so horny that my cunt is gushing slick and my cock is throbbing and I grind on anything in sight just to get some friction. I want to fuck for hours, over and over and over and still be insatiable afterward. I want powerful aphrodisiacs to be real.
Posts that be like “If I were a monster that had to eat people, i would just eat horrible people~” are so absurd to me. How often do you see Known Criminals on the street? Billionaires out for a nightly stroll around town? Effectively fucking never. If I have to drag myself to the grocery store, you think it’s gonna be any easier for me to hunt Bezos and Co. every time my stomach growls? I can’t bother to plan meals more than a day in advance, how am i gonna perform whole ass detective work to confirm someone’s a serial killer before i eat them? Ya’ll got that much time on your hands? Planning 5 course meals every night of the week? Don’t make me laugh. Eat a pedestrian and tragically wrestle with guilt like the rest of us, idiot.
Experienced people eater weighing in with the most galaxy brain option
Stupid dare between friends, few bucks to earn, nothing to lose.
'Hi, can I get some pregnancy?' he says to the befuddled cashier.
His friends wait outside, fully expecting him to chicken out.
Moments later, he walks out, whimpering through a painfully proud smile, hands clung to his new heavy and squirming gut.
Looks like he won the dare.
I hope everyone who had a very specific fetish before they even knew what sex was has a very good day. The isolation you embody as a child because of some innate sense that there's something in you that is Wrong and Gross and Different is deeply traumatizing but I promise you are a full human being deserving of love, healing, and happiness.
Putting a condom on his strap so he can't get me pregnant
This is even better
I think I found a new kink I didn't know I had
handing out flyers to transmascs about estradiol cream (can be used to keep your pussy wet and healthy but without triggering periods or having any feminizing effects) and transfemmes about Cialis (works even post-orchi)
and then telling both to start prep too
new blog same sexual health advocate. since making this post i’ve switched from cialis to topical testosterone cream though.
you can take both. i do both now. testosterone cream once a week, Cialis as needed. might start taking the cialis on a regular schedule too.
Would like to add on about the estrogen for transmascs; if you get dysphoric of the feeling of your vagina getting wet, there isultra-low doses of estrogen suppositories. I take a 10 microgram suppository of estrogen twice a week. It’s enough to make it easier for me to pee, but not enough to cause me to get wet. ✌️
I know a lot of guys skip looking into estrogen suppositories bc they don’t do vaginal penetration, but even if you are a top or only do anal penetration it’s still important to consider it as an option if you’re experiencing issues. Pelvic floor dysfunction caused by vaginal atrophy can make it hard to relax the muscles in the pelvis, making it hard to pee and make it hard to relax the anus. If you find yourself having trouble peeing or trouble relaxing for anal, talk to your doctor about your options for treatments. Once I started 10 micrograms biweekly I had a lot easier time prepping for anal.
I also originally didn't like doing the estrogen cream because, at the dose I was taking, it made me feel like I was on my period all the time (it didn't trigger a period, just made me feel crampy and sick), but then I used a non-hormonal alternative vaginal moisturizer for awhile which worked really well, but I just so happened to be using a small amount of the estrogen for dryness stone my urethra and that small dose also worked for my vaginal atrophy as well with none of the side effects.
THERE IS SOMETHING OUT THERE FOR YOU!
Adding along for transfemme folks that in addition to an ED medication to encourage continued use and bloodflow, that topical t-gel is not masculinizing, and helps protect the tissue and reduce atrophy, and help keeps the tissue healthy both pre and post-op. It's the same tissue being repurposed post-op, so it's still at risk of atrophy, so the same stuff can help reduce tissue atrophy. That's right, t-gel is helpful even if you plan on getting a neovagina, because "If you're asking a doctor to fold an origami cat, it's best to bring them the highest quality paper." Healthier tissue is easier to work with and more likely to result in a successful surgery. Similarly, as much as a lot of people find it gender affirming, please think carefully about deliberate long-term use of cock-cages -- those kinds that result in substantial shrinkage. If you're looking to get a neovagina, you'll want to avoid prolonged cock cage use for the same reasons-- less tissue, thinner tissue, atrophied tissue, unhealthy tissue, will have poorer outcomes for surgery. Cock cages and the associated shrinking are GREAT for transfemme folks who want to KEEP their bits/don't want surgery, but want to minimize them, keep them small, and to reduce the dysphoria of a larger, more prominent penis. But they can be a setup for FAILURE if one is trying to get a neovagina constructed. Please be safe, and good luck and much love. World may be spooky, but we're all in this shit together. Rooting for you.
where is the breeding without misgendering/detrans. yes i’m a man. yes i need you to be tucked fully against my cervix as you cum. what of it.
being fattened up to be eaten is hot as fuck btw.
you have to tie her to the support in your basement. less moving is better marbling. stuff her constantly. control her diet so her organs are fatty and her fat is sweet. you have to keep reminding her of this. remind her that becoming this for you is more important than anything else she could have done with her life.
who said that.
sorry but this video is like a parasitic species to me
