Balros caresses over those ultrabroad squirrelherm hips Sigil shakes her enormously wide bottom, while one head continues to floss and the other casts an adoring gaze over a shoulder and blows a kiss ~ Balros The bathroom is large - but feels small for how enlarged its occupants are. Balros presses his face close to the second head, meeting eyes and meeting lips, using his tongue to clean. Two paws on each side of your hips are needed just to encompass them and the globes of your ass; two squirrelcocks are needed for each of your pussies to fill them, stretch them, warm them comfortably full with good morning pumps of cum. Sigil pants two patches of steamy fog into the mirror ahead of her, finding herself hiked up onto the bathroom counter as you mount her heavy coozes, warm and velvet and inviting as you thrust into her. Her immediately heavy-laden belly ahead swells with virulent squirrel pregnancy, twinned-tongues hanging from her mouths as her eyes glaze and toothbrush hangs from one mouth. She kisses you urgently, lovingly, paw not tasked with anchoring herself against your slow thrust gripping your face while we make out. "mmnhhh~~you're,nnnnh, gonna be late to the daaance ~" she singsongs as you slide to the hilts, toes flexing in air as she fills with your seed so easily, so casually ~ Balros Mounting you up against the counter is a common, frequent, and fecund occurrence, the shape of the basins specifically supportive of the shapes you (or, when reversed, he) is stuffed against it. Cool to the touch in only the first instance; warmed by expansive curves adorned in silky fur and filled out with hot, hot flesh. Sturdy, the counter barely creaks even when your immensely rotund pregnant belly surges forward to drop upon it; instead it valiantly holds up your growing squirrel-girl-gut to display it back to you in the mirror; the sight of such fertility enough to impregnate all over again. Valiant gouts of squirrelspunk paint and paint and pouuuur into your wombs and flood every ovary, his shafts stiffening and thickening continuously with pumpsurges of growth and orgasm. Your warmth, your depth, your every square foot of self, feels too good to him to ever not cum forever. The eye-lidded expression on his face is testament to that; cumming harder with every kiss. THrusting, thrusting, thrusting slow and steady against your ass and sexes, a foursome of basketball-sized nuts whumping against your thighs and backsack. "H-have... fifteen... minutes... " he exhales, paws stroking up your sides and swells to cup your breasts and pull your nipples into penises. Sigil 's sweaty breastfur leave greasy smears in the mirror as she is pressed against, a shiver running up her back as her belly is soon fucked large and round enough to press against the cool mirror glass as it squirms and teams with new, developing litter to create a fresh apocalypse of SigRos while you are away. Her own shafts gutter thick ropes of squirrelspunk to overload the drains in our counter, balls churning out ample signs of delight as her surging nipplecocks thud against the mirror an she kisses you madly amidst the morning rutting. What she would give for this to be her every day, to see you off each morning in a maddening torrent of intense, mutating lovemaking. Her lips pluck off yours, wet and thick, pantingly nuzzling and smiling to you lovingly. Wet cunts slurp and suckle uhungrily off your cum-gushing cocks, desperate for every last gallon, slick and velvet and steamy hot. ~ ~ "I will be with you next time, at least... oh how we will -dance-." Balros There's a shudder in reality, and the mirror's reflections... become more of us. Another reality, aligned and adjusted to face its twin. Your gravid squirrel girth surging forward to mash with its identical twin. Sigil gasps, hugging her churning wombspace, flexing her toes ahead of her recline as she smiles and smiles at you. "Hello dear," One head sighs. "Welcome back!" Continues the other. "We hope you had a wonderful time ~" Balros & Echoen — 12/20/2022 9:08 PM You had been by yourselves - as alone as a pregnant multisquirrel could be - and Balros simply /births/ himself out of you. Your lounging posture in the recliner was lifted up as he pushes out butt-first... then torso and thighs... head, and four big paws, leaving only his erection left within the womb that grew it. His balls swell beneath yours and push them up, lift them high. "It was it was it waaas, so nice, so intimate with some and fantastic with others, but now we're back and here for -you-, Sigil." Sigil grunts as you emerge, mouths hanging open, flicking their cocktongues gently in the air in twin arcs of spittle. As you finishs liding out, she grunts, bringing her mattress-huge footpaws around to grip you behind, and push you back in to the hilt of your cock - making sure you keep her wildly overgrown cooze nice and stretched around your throb. Hands reach forward to caress and clean you somewhat, and keep you snuggled close and secure. "I look forward to joining in at your side next time. throw my draft in there so I can be myselves and have it ready with plenty of time." She sighs, other head fluttering lashes at your insinuation you're here for her. "You do know how to make our hearts skip a beat, dearest." Balros When his fluffy face nuzzles between your necks and rubs cheek-to-cheek with your twin heads, he smiles as the sight and spurting of your beautiful, plump tonguecocks. But looming just before him are... your... footpaws. Astoundingly huge, making his eyes widen in aroused shock, wringing him of orgasmic pumps of seed the moment they make contact with his body. Those -gargantuan- soles and huge, huge toes pressing against his back, butt, balls, and body... he creams and squealscreams from the potent force of that pawslut-activated pleasure, sheath slammed against your sex to hilt him all the way into you. Real spittle flinging past his lips as he practically whites-out from bliss for a long minute. When he finally comes to, mumbling and moaning against your inner necks, you've got one toe shoved up his butthole, and his hands glued to your belly from how damply sweatslathered we both are. He hasn't stopped ejaculating, only spurting more and more, coaxed further on each time a growth spurt pours into your body. "The.. the emotion is... hngg... m-mutual."He huffs out, his orgasms beginning to double as a second dick slliiiiides from his sheath to nuzzle, stuff, pumpfuck deep into your enormous ass.* Sigil coos, alive with freshly grown nerve endings from her expansive hypersex and billowing, luxurious undertail. How they so wantonly accept you, feeling every inch of your cocks, coveting every throb and twitch, and with the musculature inside to match. How she embraces both of you, four eyes staring you down in bliss and adoration with every moment you share with her - eager to give as much as she is capable back. How she squeezes and teases at your twin insertions, rocking her monstrously overbuilt hips forward to slot and practically -dance- on your shafts. And inside, our unborn can be felt, squirming, teasing on their own, reaching around to stroke and kiss you from glans to root from the overcrowded swell of her wombspace. And around, above, below, her soft velvet footpads, massive as the rest of her overemphasized feet, keeping you here, keeping you teased, toeplunging under your own tail, massive beans touseling your hair and keeping you secure so she can move forward amidst our needy, constant pistoning and kiss you from both sides, to tonguefuck down your throat, to tug on your conciousness and greedily drink every bit she can. nudging open gaping nipplecunts for her teat-phalluses to ease in, to gush new warmth into your chest, and pump your chestnut fuzz larger and heavier into b reasts of their own right. Any further act of -penetration- and -LOVE- that she can coax into us to further enmesh us together in this moment, she dives happily towards. . . You are, all of you, so beautiful. ~ Balros Every point of contact between our bodies is bliss, and building, increasing sensitivity, nerves fluttering in pleasured excess as they grow and spread into new extensions. There's lovelust and the expression of it, embraced and cherished and stretched into the shape of squirrels. The giving of gorgeousness and the reciprocation of every gift sustaining these moments of hip-bucking breeding. He's thick, hefty and durable, enduring every new deluge of size and mass you produce or slam down atop him. His bulky boners squeezed inside your dual depths as more of you, and him, of us, filling you out further and clenching all around him with their growing bodies too. Everywhere your ass and body is not, your paws are. Surrounding him and you both in a display of hyperpaws and flexibility. His throat gulps and slurps deeply of your tonguecocks, drinking of your lipsperm with addicted diligence. The more of your mass and fluids he indulges in, the more his mind... flutterwavers, sprawling out into more squirrels for you, hopelessly in desire to give and produce more. Multiple effeminate squeakmoans flutter out from his heads as his chestpussies pop open, your nippleshafts sinking impossibly deep into his chestfloof and pectorals until your nippleballs kiss his tum. Warbling echoes fill his voices as breastflesh blooms beneath the fur and push boobs back against your breasts. THe three-headed squirrel climaxing fervently harder into your tailstar and sex... his gargantuan tailfloof erupting out the windows and doors, birthing squirrels from his tailpussies that spread through the neighborhood. Sigil parts with reluctance, but it's only so she can regard you. The malleability of your form, the excitement in your eyes - all three sets of them - as she in turn gazes at you from her own multitudes. We are a chorus, and you have no difficulty making her sing. Every admonishment for not being in her lives sooner are followed up with warm kisses, throbbing drags of her glans-ended tongues across your body. Her massive tail twines and joins your own in enormity, outsized handpaws and footpaws squeezing and working the gendershifted curves into yours as her own expression evens out to meet you somewhere in the middle. She stakes her claim in a bite to either of your outer necks, leaving her promise encircled by smears of purple lipstick. She withdraws reluctantly in stages, making good show of the way your cum-soaked shafts slither thickly from her overstretched mons and ass. While the sounds of our lovemaking continue around in our escalating clones, she slowly disengages, steaming, awash in your juices, awash in our sweat and musk. The same as you. Her hands remain clasped to yours, feet falling away to slap meatily on the floor and support her enormous, gravidly pregnant and cumsoaked form. She is prone to reaching this point, where she is sated with the trajectory of our squirrel growth, and running low on steam to carry it further. But the way she holds your paws as our neighbourhood crowds with more of us, and the way she just remains transfixed in your gaze as your throbs and hers comingle, thudding against each other body, tells you everything. She wants you bad, and needs to flex these muscles until it is second nature. To commune with her squirrel lover. Her bat companion. To tangle up all of you into all of her until no one can tell where one begins and the other ends. Balros Such is the bliss and desire he shares with you and receives from you is Truthspoken back into time, reshaping histories to bring forth bubbling memories of exquisite happiness, excessive entanglement, and the assurance of a future full of even more. One of his heads has merged with yours, sharing eyesight and soundwaves, even gray matter mingling to mash memories together of a shared existance. From birth to birth, life to life, many squirrels born also sharing these overlapping perspectives within their heads. The sensation of your withdrawal spurs a spurt of growth in each stage, to ensure good views of the displayed performance. He doesn't help - how could he? - as the only paws that rise to help you are with shared nervous systems. Touching you like he's touching himself, your own sensation of your body strong enough to elicit debilitating climaxes. But, eventually... through repeated attempts... you do manage to peel-unstick your enormity a measurable distance away from his squirrelbody, though frequently left disgorging bucketfulls of sweat, slime, and spurts of fluids, juice or cream. He cradles your collapsed form as you sprawl nakedly across his belly, as feminine and full as yours on a grander scale. Love in his eyes, affirmations from your own heads.