Taking the Knead
An \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
commission
Authored by \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
An \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
| \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tUncleCarmine\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
Authored by \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
| \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tMilkie\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\tWhether the events of a day were boing and quiet or frantic and stressful, Milkie was always happy to step through his front door. Crossing that threshold sent a feeling of comfort though his little body, relief washed over him after a day of work or extended socializing, and his joints felt more at ease. When he got home from working at the Mouse Pad, he’d close the door behind him, take a big deep breath and let it all out in a sigh when his shoes came off and his sock feet were able to breathe. He relished in moments like that, especially lately.
\tSummer had come and passed. Overly hot days of the city made people sweat and the humidity could at times feel suffocating. Rainfall didn’t come overly often that year, and the sunny weather meant all the people on vacation were enjoying time outside. That made Milkie’s job all the more difficult, increasing the level of walk-in customers to his little game and hobby shop seemingly four-fold. The air conditioning broke down for a few days in the midst of it all, leading Milkie to ragged, sweaty exhaustion stocking shelves, taking inventory, placing orders, and cleaning up. He’d been so busy that summer had felt like anything but a vacation for him – something he often grumbled about when it came to students and their carefree attitudes. He was happy for it to be over; September promised a more easy-going time.
\tMilkie stepped into his apartment and peeled his socks off mid-stride to toss them carelessly into his bedroom. He desired comfort and relaxation, and his clothes were getting in the way of that. While normally rather constricting, Milkie’s pants had started feeling even more-so of late. It had brought upon constant tugging and adjusting to try and make the fabric mesh preferably with his build, but such frequent and frustrated actions weren’t really cutting it where they once did. As he stood in his living room area, he took the privacy to pull and tug with a more concentrated effort – the kind of picking of a wedgie one couldn’t get away with in public… though it had become less of a “picking” and more of an “excavation.”
\tThe mouse had been no stranger to tight pants. Ever since he hit puberty, the genetics of his family lineage had graced the chocolate-tan mouse with heavy, noticeable endowments. While not unusual for rodents, the round globes between his legs were especially big even with that taken into consideration. Disproportionate to a meager five-foot-three-inch body, there were elephants who had smaller nuts than him. For once in his life, however, those over-grown pants-knockers weren’t the problem. They had remained comfortably contained in his port jeans, the elastic inner lining showing no increased signs of strain since he’d bought them in July. Rather, it was every other part of the elastic-blended denim that felt uncomfortable.
\tHis hips then stretched the pants to their absolute give. The seams along the back that ran around and between his butt cheeks in a deliberate attempt to make it seem fuller when it had once been less so, were uncomfortably jammed in against his body; so taut that the strain started to become unbearable. Bending his knees became a struggle as his pants stretched over his thighs to the brink. The reasoning was clear – he’d gained mass in those areas. For a young man, Milkie had become curvaceous; pleasant enough to look at, but since it’d crept up on him he didn’t have the clothes on hand to deal with it.
\t“God… damnit…” Milkie sighed in annoyance, “How? Is it the soda? The chocolate? The nanos?”
\tEven if he stopped to consider the nanotech implants he’d graced his rear and thighs with sometime in the spring prior, he’d been toning them down as much as he could to stave off his discomfort. No, even with all settings on zero, he was still thick. This weight was natural – all the nanotech did at that point was tone his butt-fat just right.
\tHe flicked his attention to a closed package of Oreo cookies on the coffee table in his living room, and made a pointed gesture with two fingers and a narrowed glare that told them: this was their fault, and he was on to them.
\tMilkie stepped across the living room and into his bedroom, stopping in the middle of the doorway to undo the buttons on his jeans and start swinging his hips as he pushed and struggled to shove his pants down. It took some doing and audible grunts to work them at least down to his thighs, where he’d be able to sit his underwear-encased rear on his bed and lift his legs to pull them out of the garment rather than pulling the garment down. Once off, he lifted his pants to hold them out in front of him for study. Indeed, they’d been bought for a thinner mouse, but as he dropped a hand to his hip, he felt a little fat pillowing out from his seat.
\t“Guh…” He grunted and let his posture hunch in surrender. He turned his bespectacled gaze down to his stomach and pinched off some fat there, wiggling it around. It was time to accept that he’d gotten a little doughy around the edges; especially around the lower edges – none too ironically because of cookie dough ice cream going on sale a lot over the summer. He dropped his pants on the floor and slumped, now having to plan for how he might circumvent his new development.
Yes, circumvent; because actual exercise was out of the question. When it came to builds, Milkie didn’t hate his, even with all the extra blubber… in fact, it was all the better for it in his mind. He stood and moved to his mirror to examine himself, shedding his t-shirt off on the way so he could get an unobstructed view of a mid-twenties mouse man standing in his underwear. His upper body still showed the tone of a respectably healthy man. His hips had an attractive flare, his thighs were padded and well-rounded, and when he turned profile his butt jut out behind him noticeably and kind of jiggled when he shook it. He liked that part; he just hated fitting into his clothes.
The only answer was new clothes. He didn’t want to eliminate the padding, so he’d have to embrace it.
He didn’t waste too much time, already casually feeling up his own cheeks with his hands stuffed down the back of his underwear. His moment was broken, however, when he lifted an ear to the sound of his cell phone’s ringtone going off from the pocket of his discarded jeans.
“Carmine” was the name on the screen, accompanied by a picture of a cross-eyed, goofy-looking bangaa. He didn’t always look like that, he just wasn’t reacting favourably to having his photo snapped at the time.
Milkie answered the call and lifted his phone to his ear. “Oh, it’s you,” He said, “Whaddya want?”
“Oh hello, Milkie! Yes I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Carmine applied the sarcasm with a heavy hand, “Grump much?”
“I’m having a crisis of the pant variety right now,” Milkie grumbled, “So what’s up?”
“I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out tonight,” Carmine answered rather directly, “You know, go outside, socialize; the sort of thing hermits don’t usually do.”
Milkie picked up on the implications of Carmine’s explanations, but ignored the jabs to his life choices. “Okay but this pants thing? I pretty much have no comfortable pants. Can we at least stop somewhere so I can get new pants?” He asked, finding a perfectly good excuse to leave his abode.
“So you can model them for me? Sure! As long as I get to pick some out,” Carmine agreed. Milkie could feel him grinning through the phone.
The mouse blushed and sighed. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” He said, “Just meet me at the mall?”
“I’m there,” Carmine smiled as he ended the call.
Sliding off the couch like a slippery noodle, Carmine hauled himself to his feet. “Boss!” he shouted, even though his employer was probably nowhere near the lounge where he spent most of his time not working, “I’m heading out!”
He turned his head to listen for a response. All he got was a very quiet voice that wasn’t his boss calling back through the corridors of the castle that said, “We don’t care!”
The four-eared reptilian shrugged his shoulders and made a break for the door, bare feet slapping the stone floor every frantic step of the way.
Along the way, Carmine had changed into normal, civilian clothes. As flattering and comfortable as the minion suit was from Baron von Zepp’s castle, it was less than subtle. By that point, the suit was synonymous with the Goof Troupe of villainy to just about everyone in the city. Carmine didn’t need that kind of attention when he was just out and about; fortunately in his regular clothes, nobody seemed to notice him. Admittedly, he did perhaps look just a little strange… there weren’t many reptiles like him with smooth green skin and a white underbelly; most were scalier to the touch, and certainly no one else had four floppy ears like he did.
The clothing he picked out was just bland and tasteless enough to blend in. He wore white shorts after Labor Day – a fashion no-no, supposedly – folded at his upper thigh. His maroon tank top was loose and airy, fluttering on the breeze as if it was a half-size too large for his slender torso. Flat, thin thong sandals kept his feet from getting dirty and continued his “open to the air” trend, and he accessorized with a most interesting golden bangle fixed to the base of his tail. It wasn’t polished to stand out, and avoided looking gaudy just barely. He made sure to bring his wallet and his phone, which made their presence known in the rear and right pockets of his shorts by presenting a square-shaped bulges against the fabric.
He made it to the mall fairly quickly despite having to take the bus. His job didn’t exactly provide him with a tremendous amount of wealth, or transportation for him to use, despite the fact that he worked in an honest-to-God Transylvanian castle.
The mall was typical, in a sense. While no two ever looked alike, there was everything one would expect to find in a mall. Shopping venues lined the various strips, a food court sat in a large, open area with tables placed strategically around the court. The mall contained two whole department stores which took up large sections all on their own, and escalators to a second level opened up a multitude of other shopping options ranging from handmade candy to seasonal fashion to electronics and more. It was a hive of activity, buzzing with hungry consumers with no shortage of money to spend. Carmine kept to himself, waiting at a bench not far from one of the mall’s two entrances for Milkie to show up.
Keeping in constant contact with Milkie using his phone, Carmine was able to direct the mouse to the right entrance so he wouldn’t be missed. Milkie arrived at the mall wearing a loose t-shirt embellished with a detailed screen printing of a Legend of Zelda illustration. That was all well and good but the attention-grabber were his jeans. He wore Port Jeans, which were jeans specifically designed with the hyper-endowed in mind. Specifically, they were worn almost like chaps, and had a stretchy, almost nylon lining over an opening in the front where someone like Milkie could push their balls through. The lining stretched over the otherwise exposed nuts, kept them covered, supported, and comfortable. The pants fastened at the middle of the waist like a normal pair, but with a stronger hook and clip to keep them from coming apart.
Milkie seemed to test the strength of that mechanism. He’d always had large balls, rivaling the size of his own head – each – if not slightly surpassing it; they were comfortably contained in the stretchy material. The hard denim of the outer layer, however, was so strained by the mouse’s buttocks and legs that the seams were starting to fray in places. There were visible tears over the knees of the blue jeans, and the mouse’s ass was barely contained, trying to bubble up over the edge of the garment. He walked uncomfortably to Carmine, sometimes tugging at places to try and keep comfortable.
Milkie stopped and adjusted his glasses as he stared at Carmine’s decidedly feminine attire and asked, “What the heck are you wearing?”
“Never mind that,” Carmine gawked, “How are you wearing? I can hear your pants creaking from here!”
Milkie’s eyes got furious for a moment before it subsided in a grumpy mutter. “I told you I don’t have any that fit,” He said, “Can we please go to We Hyper before I blow out of these? I feel like my ass is going to implode in these things.”
“Right then,” Carmine stood up with a big old grin, “Come on!”
He swept up to Milkie’s side and pushed a hand down to tuck it into the mouse’s back pocket. It rested there cupping the rodent’s sizable rear. Milkie shot his friend a little glare but sighed and walked with him, leaning against his taller friend a little.
We Hyper was exactly what it sounded like. Milkie theorized the name of the store was meant to be a play on “I, Robot,” but without the comma it just seemed a little silly. Silly name or no, the store was dedicated to those who toted endowments, male or female, bigger than the greater percentile of the population. Whether it was pants made for someone whose hips got stuck in chairs, or a bra for someone whose breasts mocked the typical measurement system, “any big and beautiful person will find their fit.” That was their slogan; not a very good slogan, but what it lacked in jingle it made up for in accuracy. Milkie had become a regular shopper there when he was sixteen, not unlike everyone else in his family.
They’d have the Port Jeans that Milkie found most comfortable, and by that time Milkie knew exactly where they were. He led Carmine through the store towards the proper section, but the bangaa seemed more interested in looking at everything and imagining the sorts of people who would wear them. It became Milkie’s task to keep Carmine focused, which was far from easy, while looking for a few pairs of pants that he’d make due with until the next time he was paid. It took some dragging, but Milkie made it to his section and browsed through the selection of elastic-denim options. He got Carmine to go ask for a measuring tape that he’d use on Milkie to find the rodent’s measurements.
Carmine casually looped the measuring tape around Milkie’s body as the mouse browsed. “Jesus, your hips are like forty inches around, buuuuut most of that’s just ass,” Carmine muttered, “How do you even do that?”
“I dunno but it makes shopping for pants a bitch,” Milkie huffed.
Carmine squat down and held the tape taut up along Milkie’s inner leg. “Well, you’re looking for thirty inch legs,” He said, “You think they have a second for the big n’ short?”
Carmine laughed, and Milkie paused in his browsing of the pants rack to push his rear back quickly enough to make his friend choke on that laughter as the rodent’s ass smothered his face. With a bump, Carmine tumbled back onto the floor and he blinked a few times rapidly to collect himself again. He shook his head, ears flopping around, then looked up at Milkie who turned with several pairs of pants slung over his arm. “I dunno,” The mouse smiled, “I feel pretty big from up here!”
“Heh…” Carmine rubbed his snout and collected himself off the floor. People were staring.
Milkie disappeared into the changing booths where he struggled out of his pants. It was literally a struggle, the mouse barely able to peel them off with a bit of jumping around, thumping around the inside of the booth as Carmine stared at the door in concern. It took twenty minutes to try on each pair, but eventually Milkie stepped out of the booth wearing a pair of red denim jeans. His heavy balls settled in black fabric that stretched to fit comfortably over the enormous globes. Carmine whistled, approaching Milkie to hook a finger in the waist of the pants and give them a tug.
“Not bad!” He said, slipping that finger around Milkie’s waist and tugging at the back of his friend’s pants. Carmine stepped around to follow his wandering finger, finding the fit to be sufficiently roomy, even if Milkie looked like he was stretching the jeans to second-skin levels. Carmine ended it with a hug against Milkie’s back, the taller reptile looming over the little mouse and pressing firmly up against his back. Carmine’s fingers teased over the front of Milkie’s pants, “testing” the elastic fit over the crotch.
“Hey, hey!” Milkie smacked at Carmine’s hands, “Hands off the goods!”
“Aw…” Carmine smiled, “So, can we go now?”
Milkie looked at the pants he’d picked out and said, “I gotta put these back and grab a few more in the right size, but sure. What do you want to do?”
Milkie got his answer when he found himself sitting in an ice cream parlor not fifteen minutes later, an absolutely massive banana split placed on the table between him and Carmine. Milkie stared at the pile of dairy, meticulously scooped and placed, carefully drizzled in chocolate, strawberry, and caramel icing. It loomed in its glass dish and stood several inches tall, framed by to while bananas and topped with whipped cream and a cherry. The light, bright confectionery colours didn’t do a thing to make the treat look any less intimidating, and just over its looming mass peeked Carmine. He smiled at Milkie and lifted his little red plastic spoon and announced happily: “Ice cream~!”
Carmine quickly took a spoonful and popped it into his mouth with a delighted tail wag.
“Uh, this thing’s a little… big, isn’t it?” Milkie blinked.
“Sh’o’re yoo. Shoube fun,” Carmine managed past a mouthful.
Milkie furrowed his brow. “What?”
Carmine swallowed and said, “So’re you, should be fine. So… Do anything, uh… cool lately?”
“Cool… like what?” Milkie asked, shrugging as he joined carmine in picking away at the ice cream between them. He ate slowly, slower than Carmine anyway – the ice cream didn’t really co-operate with his teeth. “Just working, mostly, and… well, I guess that and slacking off whenever I’m not working.”
“Haven’t gotten together with any hotties?” Carmine asked.
Milkie paused, “Well, no…”
“Do you want to?” Carmine tried on a flirty look.
Milkie laughed and asked pointedly, “Oh, and I suppose you’d know one?”
“Ha,” Carmine forced a sarcastic syllable, breathing a sigh as he ate his ice cream. His foot nudged Milkie’s under the table.
The rodent blushed, “So that’s what you wanted? A date? Why didn’t you just ask that?”
“You would’ve said no,” Carmine shrugged, “I figured you didn’t wanna go on a date.”
“So you lured me on one instead,” Milkie couldn’t hide a smirk, “Yeah, that’s reasonable.”
“Well, what do you say?” Carmine asked, “You wanna maybe go see a movie or something? Maybe go home and riff on something really bad?”
“We’re on a date! Right this second!” Milkie shook his head, but smiled all the same, “It’s too late to ask!”
Carmine could hardly hide some sense of dastardly glee; the expression was plastered all over his face. Milkie sighed and nodded a few times as he mulled over his possible options. “Mm, I guess we can go to my place, I have some bad movies,” He said, “And we’ll… see where it goes from there.”
Carmine’s icy blue eyes gleamed when he noticed the mouse’s retreating blush. “Then it’s a date. Let’s finish this and go then,” He said.
Carmine dug into the ice cream until he was forced to tend to a splitting brain freeze. Milkie rolled his eyes and did his best to help Carmine finish at a more respectable and less painful pace. Once they were finished and all nice and full of sugar and sweets, the two left to head back to Milkie’s apartment. It wasn’t too far from the mall, but given that Milkie didn’t drive there, it called for public transportation – by far the least enjoyable form of transportation: the city bus.
They made it back though, stepping off at a bust stop a block from Milkie’s apartment complex and making their way over. When they got off the elevator on Milkie’s floor, they were bemoaning Milkie’s lack of car, and when they got into the apartment they had already shrugged it off. They took turns using the bathroom, then they got settled to start their watching of a bad film. Milkie wasn’t one to watch movies a lot, he didn’t even remember all the movies he had, so he had to go searching for them. Carmine just sat back on Milkie’s comfortable sofa while he waiting, lounging into the corner between the backrest and the armrest. Milkie had to look through the bottom of his television stand, so Carmine had a pretty nice view of the mouse’s backside as he rummaged around on his hands and knees.
“So… I’ve got The Medallion,” Milkie said.
Carmine sat up and leaned forward a little. He really wanted to see the movie’s box as Milkie pulled it from the shelf, but he got distracted by the wobble of Milkie’s ported nuts and quickly forgot about it. “What’s that?” He asked.
“Jackie Chan,” Milkie said, sitting back on his knees and passed a glance back at Carmine over his shoulder. His rear flattened all bubbly-like against his ankles.
“Aw you can’t hate Jackie Chan even if he’s in a bad movie,” Carmine shook his head, “What else you got?”
“Mm, I got…” Milkie went back to looking, hiking up on his knees again. His tail flittered about while he looked, “Your Highness? That one’s super bad, it’s James Franco and… uh… and… Well I forget the other guy.”
“Hm,” Carmine hummed. He was stalling so he could get off the couch and move in behind Milkie all quiet-like. He took a round-about route, sliding off the couch and slinking under Milkie’s mismatched coffee table to lay out on his back behind the mouse. Looking straight up, Carmine could see Milkie’s tail above him waving around. The bangaa wiggled on his shoulders until he was right up close to Milkie, nearly – but just short of – touching the mouse’s feet with his head. When the mouse went to sit back like before, Carmine grabbed the rodent’s hips and pulled him back. The act was met with an alarmed and adorable squeak.
Milkie fell backward to land on Carmine’s face, none too gently. He was too surprised however to be concerned for Carmine’s well-being. That damn reptile, he wasted no time applying his tongue to Milkie’s new pants. Carmine had to tilt his head back, arching his back to find a good angle to push his face against Milkie’s enormous balls, still covered in the Port Jeans’ lining as they were. Carmine licked and lapped at them like they were giant candy jawbreakers and he was trying to reach their center as quickly as he could; that is to say, roughly and rampantly.
“Wah! What are you doing?!” Milkie dropped the DVD case he had been holding and tried to wrest himself from Carmine’s grip now locked around his thighs, “Forget that, I know what you’re doing!”
The stretchy lining of the Port Jeans was thin, to say the least, and airy. Every lick from Carmine’s roughly-textured tongue may as well have been dragged over Milkie’s bare fur. The mouse could feel the warmth from every lick and the trails of saliva left behind each clear as day. The pleasure that ignited in his loins seems to shoot right into the base of his dick, which rapidly responded in earnest to the sensations as if addicted. The clasp that held Milkie’s jeans on caused the denim fabric to creak as it was pushed out from the rising pressure of a more-than-sizable erection. Carmine’s shorts fared no better, sporting an even larger tent pole holding up the fabric.
“Fuck, doing whatever you want…” Milkie huffed, but his hands moved to his pants’ strained clasp and, with a practiced motion, unclasped it with a flick of the wrist. His fly burst outward given the freedom, his thick pink shaft bounding into the open. It remained pressed against his tummy slightly by how the inner lining rested against its base; and now that it was free, it was growing plenty larger as it throbbed and stiffened. Milkie had surrendered to Carmine’s obvious intentions. Honestly, it was charming and exciting that he’d taken matters into his own hands.
Carmine, having paid attention to Milkie’s sounds and movements, knew that the mouse was stripping; so he released Milkie to allow him to finish. Milkie did just that, rising from Carmine to tug his new pants down. They came down much more easily than his old, too-small pair did. Milkie stood, kicked his pants off, and was bottomless before Carmine, who stared up at him from the floor. Milkie’s thick thighs and wide hips looked even better when Carmine could see all of their chocolatey-brown goodness, offset by the creamed-coffee of the mouse’s head-sized nuts. The Bangaa didn’t stay laying for long; he flipped himself over to scramble out from under the coffee table and onto his knees. He attacked Milkie’s heavy, over-stuffed scrotum… in the most affectionate way possible, of course. He courted it with kisses and tender licks, all while using his hands to coax Milkie’s erection into its full stiffness.
Milkie couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle. He’d seen guys mash their heads into a woman’s cleavage before – some people called that a “marshmallow hell.” Carmine was more than prone to doing that to Milkie’s nuts though… so what would he call that?
“Always the nuts,” Milkie pat Carmine on the head and was more than a little condescending… Carmine didn’t seem to mind though. His tail thump-thump-thumped off the coffee table as it wagged around like a puppy’s in his delight. Milkie tsk’d, “You gonna suck it again then? Is that what you want?”
Carmine was loathed to pull away from the hot, heavy pair, but did just to make his intentions clear. “I was thinking something a little more…” Carmine stopped, looking for the words.
“You want me to fuck you in the ass,” Milkie finished, and not at all in a question.
Carmine nodded. Milkie rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers then, gesturing to his open bedroom door. “Alright then,” the mouse said, “Get in there; get on the bed. Chop-chop.”
Carmine didn’t bother to chastise Milkie about his tone; rather he instead jumped to his feet and hurried to the bedroom, throwing his clothes around the apartment along the way. There wasn’t much stripping to be done, and it took Carmine no time at all to be naked, on Milkie’s double bed, position assumed. Milkie laughed at the energetic antics and followed along at a lazier pace, his erection bouncing and bobbing with every step. He stripped too, making Carmine wait impatiently for the main event to begin.
“Speed it up, mouse,” Carmine bothered, shaking his hips left and right to wave his booty around.
“You’ll sit there and wait like a good boy,” Milkie huffed, climbing onto the bed once he was naked, “It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to be; and if Milkette comes home she sure isn’t going to stop us. So relax, for Pete’s sake.”
Carmine folded his arms over Milkie’s pillows and rested his chin on them to raise his butt up all the higher. He couldn’t have been more presented, his posture being decidedly slinky, as reptiles are wont to be. “Excuse me for being excited,” He said, “You pretty much never wanna bone me.”
“Maybe because you’re so damn impatient!” Milkie moved around Carmine to open his night stand and find a plastic bottle full of warming lubricant. With that in hand the mouse took his place behind carmine and squeezed out that liquid slick over his cock like ketchup over a hotdog, then discarded the bottle to rub the stuff in an even coat over every bit of his bare, erect flesh. Everything was quiet, save for the sloppy ministrations of the lube and the dull whirr of Milkie’s nearby PC’s fan. Carmine stretched with a groan as he waited, finally feeling the fat tip of Milkie’s cock “kiss” his butthole after what felt like minutes.
Milkie pushed a hand up against Carmine’s butt cheek and used his thumb to spread the Bangaa into an uncomfortable stretch. His other hand kept his soaped-up sausage from sliding around as he pushed and applied pressure to pass through that muscled ring and into the waiting hole. Carmine made a sound; discomfort and excitement blended into one noise as even with all the lubricant Milkie’s dick had a tough time pushing in. The centimeters crawled on the increase, the penetration being slow, deliberate, and appropriately forceful without coming off as too frantic.
“Ungh, I keep forgetting how big your dick is,” Carmine panted. He kept his head down to hide his tightly clenched eyes.
“And I’m surprised your butt is this tight!” Milkie grinned, rapidly smacking Carmine’s butt cheeks a few times to make him yelp and then clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “Alright,” He said before smacking his hands back down on Carmine’s hips, “Let’s try for serious.”
Milkie reared back and wrenched forward, plowing as much as he could fit into Carmine’s rear in one go as the bangaa’s tight hole would allow. It was a lot, but not the whole thing before Carmine hoarsely groaned and clenched back so hard it stopped Milkie dead in his tracks. To have something about as fat as a soda can invade seven inches into one’s butt almost all at once was no gentle task – lube or no lube, it elicited the kind of hurt that was part exciting and part just painful. The friction-based warming elements of Milkie’s lubricant would go far to soothe the ebbs and throbs from Carmine’s poor pucker, and Milkie would push the last couple inches inside in a slow and much more thoughtful plunge that made Carmine sigh in pleasure. Before long, the reptile’s tail was waggling around again.
Milkie clenched and shuddered. Carmine’s butt really was tight, all teasing aside. It applied the sort of squeeze that made him feel eager to reach climax. “You sure about this now?” Milkie asked as he flopped Carmine’s tail over his shoulder and draped one arm around it like it was a prized shoulder piece, “I mean, you know what’s going to happen at the end of this.”
Carmine was so excited that his own cock was drooling sticky pre onto Milkie’s bed. “Yeah, I’m aware!” Carmine answered, no hint of concern in his tone.
“If you say so,” Milkie shrugged.
Milkie resumed in earnest, pumping his hips back and forth with just enough power to smack his enormous balls off Carmine’s thighs and fill the room with a heavy clapping sound. The vocals sounded as pleasant grunts and huffs of exertion and pleasure, and the percussion played as the creaking of the bed’s frame and the bumping of the headboard against the back wall. Milkie had a padded stopper installed on the wall just for such an occasion, to avoid damage. The pair found the rhythm quickly, with Carmine doing his best to remain receptive while he drooled over his forearms. Every thrust sent a shiver all up his spine starting somewhere in his tailbone and ending in his brain. His expression, if either of them could have seen it, was dumb and blissful.
Milkie on the other hand was the portrait of effort. His face had flushed and he began to pant as he worked his hips against the power of a resisting, clenching hole that made neither insertion nor withdraw an easy task. Carmine’s muscled ring squeezed better than any fist however, and even better than some other orifices Milkie had enjoyed in the past. His coming climax felt like it was bubbling in his gigantic nuts, prepping for a messy release that never stopped being impressive. It made Milkie’s loins buzz and tingle in anticipation and made his cock feel harder than ever; as if it were trying to flex so much it’d break. Feeling this, Milkie reached over Carmine’s body to take hold of the reptile’s ears. He grabbed them roughly, bunching two in a fist and pulled back on them a little like reigns. It hurt at first, Carmine having been unprepared for such a sudden yanking, but when he threw his head back to offer some slack the only thing the gesture did was add to the excitement. Carmine did love being used that way.
Frenzied excitement build as Milkie’s orgasm did. The thrusting, lunging fuck they had engaged in was becoming a struggle to hold off on the inevitable climax in favour of yet more fucking. The two of them could only do so much to that end, their bodies betraying their desires in favour of instinct. Rut, and nut; the proclivity was clear and as the pace mounted into a headboard-slamming concerto of creaking and fur-on-scale slapping, there became little use in trying to deny what their bodies wanted. Milkie had already dumped enough precum into Carmine for it to feel like a sloppy mess the likes of which lesser men could only wish to achieve in a full orgasm. The real party hadn’t even started yet, but with how Milkie began to pant and squeak, Carmine knew it wouldn’t be long. He did everything he could to prepare himself for what would come.
Of course, there wasn’t much one could do against the sheer force of nature that was a Souris orgasm. It came in what felt like a rumble when Milkie put one final thrust in and held Carmine by his waist to make sure he didn’t go anywhere when he erupted like a volcano. That was an apt comparison, as Milkie’s cock popped off rather suddenly after a dragging seconds-long delay of his body tensing up for release. What came was cups of cum, all pouring out of Milkie’s dick at once. The flow crowded that fuckstick and bloated it up, swelling out the underside like a tube and making Milkie’s urethra yawn open wide to let it all out. Carmine let out a mute cry, his mouth opening to no sound as he felt that creamy heat flood in rapidly, piling into his body to fill what space was available. His tummy began to swell.
He swelled and swelled, his middle bloating out like a bulbous balloon as Milkie bucked and ground in his lusty bout. The feeling of his skin stretching sent Carmine over the edge, and he blanked out as his own cock shot off in appreciation of the load he was receiving, shooting thick ropes of cum over Milkie’s sheets. Failure to make a mess was futile, as what didn’t flood Carmine’s inside with roiling heat gushed from his stretched rear and down his own thighs onto the bed as well. Thoughts of this came unsurprisingly sparse, however, as the two young men focused their minds entirely on the warm, swimming sensation of a heavy climax shared between one another. Carmine thought he could taste Milkie’s semen when his bloated tummy began to beach him on the bed, his curvy frame giving way to something more round with a few choice bumps here and there.
Milkie kept him pinned during the whole ordeal. Carmine did say, after all, that he was willing to receive it. Cups had turned to pints and pints turned to liters, and liters turned to gallons. Carmine had at some point met capacity and became a lewd vision of cum-stuffed blowback. Milkie crotched and Carmine’s entire back end became awash with thick white spooge that pooled and piled like hot pudding on the bed, while yet more was stuffed into Carmine’s body, hopeless to escape. It wasn’t until the bed began to look like a Christmas-time mural that things would slow down to a trickling halt, but by then the two were slumped in a veritable pool of jizz that had been churned out by heavy, full balls that hadn’t gotten any lighter.
The room smelled of salty spunk and sweaty sex, the feelings of lying in a well of sperm became as gross as they were exciting – and flattering, for Milkie, ever-so-impressed with his loads as he was. Every breath got that hot, thick air stuck in their mouths and noses. Still, they panted as they lay in a heap, Carmine pinned by the weight of his own fattened tummy and Milkie ensuring the reptile remained sandwiched there by draping himself over-top him. For a while, they basked in the afterglow of the moment. Occasionally they stirred or their legs might shake, but they made little movements otherwise.
Finally, Milkie spoke. His voice was a coo of an affection he was helpless to feel. “Now look what you made me do,” He said, “I hope you know you’re cleaning this up.”
Carmine wheezed through a smirk. “Yeah,” He said, “On it. Later.”
“You better do it, too!” Milkie huffed, “Or the next thing I do to your ass, you won’t like!”