Chapter Text
Across the face of all televisions tuned to channel ‘4’ was a suited representative from Jump City’s news broadcasting team.
Who he was exactly was difficult to determine at a glance. Somehow, he seemed to be both an individual and an automaton at the same time; a common affliction for men in the profession of delivering the ‘news’. Nevertheless, his presence was one very well suited for the delivery of information to half-invested viewers in the midst of getting on with their days.
Conversely, the ‘content’ that he delivered to said viewers concerned a subject that most—particularly those willing to sit and attempt to attend to a colored newscast— were likely to find alienating.
“And so, based on current financial trends, we can look forward to a steady economic upturn inside Jump City relative to our neighbours, and provided the national bank inflation rate is held within the range I mentioned earlier, that may just apply to the entire country. Of course, our currency has been bearish for the past—”
Suddenly, the suited male’s presence on the screen was replaced with that of another, more familiar suited male.
Unlike his predecessor, this one was much more willing to give his viewers what they wanted:
Easily digestible content.
“Aight, going to have to cut you off there, my nigg*. That was our economics specialist Ray Matthews with an update on current financial trends and the best ways that you can stretch that dollar here in the city this summer.”
“Speaking of summer, our eyes on the street have reported no shortage of fun in the sun this weekend as well. What do you have for us down there, Gregg?”
Cued to the second male’s words, the broadcast feed shifted for a second time. This time, the interior of the newsroom was replaced with live footage captured on the streets of Jump City.
Following it, the sun-bathed grandeur of the inner city was presented in full. Though out of focus and peripheral, stretches of sidewalk littered with individuals in the midst of enjoying a cloudless day could be found if one could be bothered to devote attention to them.
Relative to what the shot captured in focus, these pockets of quaintness were almost certain to be ignored by the average viewer.
To the immediate left of the shot was a more casually-dressed newscaster equipped with a handheld microphone. To its right was Starfire—perhaps the second most prominent female Teen Titan—standing hand-in-hand with a young boy directing a starry-eyed stare straight into the lens pointed at them.
Despite her status as a role model for youthful justice and relatively upright behavior, Starfire’s current appearance, both in terms of clothing and proportion, was that of a modern young woman...to a point.
Of course, this was not to say that her alien features had somehow become less noticeable than before. If anything, the hearty orange complexion of her skin and the redness of her hair were accentuated as a consequence of the ‘differences’ visible in her frame.
Fundamentally, what separated the current Starfire from the ‘image’ she had established within the minds of the public was a replacement of her figure’s girlish litheness with a much more eye-catching distribution of fat and flesh. Though equally covered and compressed, the fatty bloat visible in both of her breasts suggested a surge in her cup size from a modest B to an unthinkably healthy F. Devoid of the rigidity and stagnancy to be expected of implants, the rounded, fabric-drawn melons instead offered a visible ‘squishiness’ of a far more tempting nature. In spite of this, they did not sag over her chest and midsection. Perky and self-sustained, they hung where they ought’ve, and allowed her bare midsection a (relatively) unobscured presentation. Better still, the undersized and stretchy nature of the clothing suckling to her upper body resulted in a great deal of orange, sweat-spritzed cleavage to be visible at the midsection of her chest.
These breasts were not, and yet somehow were the breasts of a ‘teen’—a rather oblivious and endearing one at that.
The same growth that her breasts had enjoyed could be seen in the lower half of her frame as well. From the ‘filled out’ span of her waist—a visible increase in muscle definition gilded on all sides by additional fat and curvature— bled a hip structure wide enough to put the elastic material that clothed this half of her frame to the test. Not so wide as to make her new stomach seem disproportionate, the obtuse ‘V’ instead formed the perfect joining point for her upper and lower body. With it as it was, the new swell visible in her thighs fit right in with the rest of her frame.
As if these features were not apparent enough in themselves, all of them were packaged within clothing that only made them seem more obscene. From her shoulders down to the middle of her abdominals, a near skin-tight, muted-white hoodie comprised of a material blended to project expensive and comfort kept ‘too much’ of her orange skin from exposure to the naked eye. Divided to either side of its miniature zipper were the words “BABY” and “f*ckER”, in a font too thick and black to be missed.
Below her exposed abdominal section, the white, name-branded rim of what was likely a pair of narrow-backed athletic panties could be seen pressed into her hips. Below them, a pair of jet black yoga pants curiously thin for the task set out for them left the inward slanting of her crotch just barely visible to the naked eye. Further downward, the pliant material enveloped her thighs as a second skin, and in doing so conveyed the torso width thickness they had acquired such that one could imagine the soothing warmth of sinking a hand into them by simply looking at them.
Oddly, Starfire’s appearance was not verbally scrutinized by the male reporter following the screen transition. What was commented on as she came into view was her presence and the reason for it.
Initially, of course.
“I’ve got that real sh*t for you here, Michael. Everybody, and I do mean everybody, is out enjoying this great weather downtown—superheroes included!”
“Nice to see you out and about enjoying yourself, Starfire. I see you’ve got a little friend with you today, too. Leave it to a Teen Titan to kill two birds with one stone, huh?”
Unaffected by the underlined meaning of Gregg’s introduction, Starfire replied just as a resident of Jump City might expect her to.
“I do not kill birds for sport, Reporter Gregg, and I certainly would not do so in the presence of my Husband.” she replied. “You are otherwise correct, however. Corentin and I are outside doing the ‘Couples-bonding’ recommended by the young women on the internet. I have been inseminated very recently, so we are celebrating also.”
No jovial retort sprang from Gregg’s lips behind her reprisal. What occurred instead was a silent ‘drop’ of sorts. Non-plussed and deadpan, Starfire stared at Gregg as though all was well, and Gregg slanted his gaze between Starfire and his camera man in search of aid that would not come.
Ill equipped, and frankly incapable of out stonewalling the woman opposite him, Gregg was the first to drag himself form out of the quagmire she had created.
“H-Hah. Haha! You Titans never disappoint with your jokes—marrying children is illegal here on earth, Starfire, haha...”
“Really, though, w-what brings you out with the little guy today?” in an attempt at pre-empting another potentially damning response, Gregg stepped inward to press his microphone down towards the enthralled child at Starfire’s side. “Your name’s Corentin, right kiddo? What kind of fun stuff have you done today?”
Being a half-year shy of infancy, an adorable “Fun!” from Corentin was all that Gregg received for his efforts. To make matters worse, Starfire was quick to take offensive to his understandable disbelief of her words.
“It is not very polite to imply that someone is a liar, Reporter Gregg. Corentin is not yet very good at conversations, but he would tell you the same things that I have if he could.”
“What, that you're married to a child?”
“Yes! Do you not see the hairs of public on my lips and the sem*n stains presented on my pants? Friend Raven informed me that these are the foremost symbols of a young woman’s bond with her Husband amongst humans—and I trust her!”
Set into a huff, Starfire matched her speech with gestures that removed all ambiguity from her meaning. After slapping her palms against her hips in a display of displeasure, she turned her face towards the camera trained on her and pointed to the stray wires of pubic hair glued to either side of her mouth, and the yet dried sem*n glossed to her exposed abdominal section.
By way of reflex, the camera operator responsible for capturing the scene angled his lens towards both of these areas in sequence. Made to watch the event from start to finish, Gregg’s frame slackened shortly after its completion.
There could be no sparing the station’s viewers now.
“Your expression still projects disbelief, Reporter Gregg. You leave me with no other choice…”
Reaching a hand out towards Gregg, an indignant Starfire dragged the microphone within his hand into her own, and drew it inward to a position just opposite her lips.
“I shall recount my insemination to all those watching at home. This will prove that I am being truthful, yes?”
Gregg did not confirm or deny this suggestion. Doing so wouldn’t make a difference; if Starfire wished to explain herself, there was nothing that he could say or do that would stop her.
This proved his first correct decision in dealing with the woman. In lieu of confirmation one way or another, Starfire turned to face the camera and began speaking as though she had intended to all along…
-
SOME HOUSE, SOMEWHERE
Much like the majority of his 3-4 year old peers, Corentin devoted a great deal of his time during the day to the satisfaction of whims. Free from responsibilities or larger, more concrete ‘goals’ to devote himself to, these whims were what gave his life meaning (as much as ‘meaning’ could be applied to the life of a virtual infant).
A great many of these whims concerned activities that he had found to be ‘fun’. His knowledge of the world and the activities that one could perform in it was hardly impressive, but what time he had spent alive thus far had still managed to endow him with a handful of preferences.
One of these preferences—hardly the largest, yet nevertheless significant— was drawing. At any given point throughout any given day, Corentin sometimes desired to collect his drawing paper and pencil crayons, crayons, and whatever 15 dollar crayola bs kids draw with, and descend to his stomach to draw pictures.
Post his usual ‘lunchtime’ on an afternoon of no consequence (presuming afternoons for 4 year olds even have consequences you esoteric f*ck), Corentin was struck with this whim, and happily devoted several hours to its satisfaction. Selecting the living room floor as the site for his work, he scribbled and sketched atop the paper that he had collected with all of the messy haphazardness that one could expect of a child. More often than not, the sheet of paper underneath his hands was discarded and replaced with a ‘canvas; untouched by his work. In time with this, the ‘mental image’ that he desired to produce was replaced by another generated by the idle ‘happy thoughts’ threaded into his brain.
Only after a solid hour of starting and stopping did the brown-haired youth produce a picture that he deemed worthwhile. Immediately afterwards, excitement consumed him. Popping to his feet with drawing in hand, he smoothly transitioned into a well-paced patter throughout his home that set his dense, front-parted mass of hair into a mild bounce.
On arrival opposite his destination, his enthusiasm only grew. Straight after nearly falling over at the mouth of the laundry room, he raised his right hand to present the face of his drawing to the individual inside it.
This individual was his destination—his ‘wife’ if the words of adults were as true as he believed them to be.
“Stawfwai, look! I drawed you!”
Heeding the sound of her husband’s voice by way of reflex, Starfire turned away from the folded squares of child-sized clothing ahead of her and immediately directed a smile towards the laundry room door. Awaiting her line of sight at the locale was not only her husband, but a piece of paper depicting an orange-skinned female figure. Above her head was an arrow that pointed at a grave, illegible misspelling of the name ‘Starfire’ (no backwards Es, though; he’s not retarded, come on), and to her side was a smaller, more fairly-skinned figure with brown hair.
Starfire’s eyes missed the finer details that identified her as the picture’s subject. Such was her perception of reality that she did not need to see them to recognize that her husband had drawn a stunning image of her.
Overtaken by a mixture of emotions, she discarded the tiny shirt pinched between her hands and lunged towards Corentin with both arms outspread. Dropping into a squat to scoop the boy off of his feet, she levelled his features with her own and immediately mashed the glossed exterior of her lips against his own.
Within seconds, the full length of her tongue began molesting the back of the near-infant’s throat. Spreading her lips wide enough to allow her saliva to drain into his mouth as she worked, she aggressively molested the flesh that surrounded her organ until she felt that her efforts had aptly conveyed a ‘wife’s intimacy’’. With this, she undid the affectionate smushing of her mouth against his own, and drew her skull backwards such that dense threads of the spittle she had poured into his mouth were elongated between their lips.
Unfatigued by the effort, speech from the voluptuous alien followed.
“Husband, the ART-WORK you have produced is most wonderful! On Tameran, such countenances are only produced by the most masterful of makers.” she applauded. “I am truly happy to have inspired you so! We should preserve this wondrous occasion with the ‘SELF-E’ and deliver it unto the ‘INSTAGRAM™’ for all to see!”
Without reason (or capacity) to do otherwise, Corentin took what he wished from Starfire’s response. Seeing that she was happy made him happy, and whilst happy, smiling, giggling, and swallowing the sweet spittle wadded at the back of his throat were amongst his favorite activities.
Starfire, however, had a very different means of managing her ‘happiness’ with the boy. Throughout her utterance and in the seconds that followed it, she paid close attention to the temperature of Corentin’s frame and the ‘overall ‘feel’ of his front’s impression against her breasts and upper abdominals. Well used to his body by this point, it came as no surprise to her when the warmth of his frame began to surge and the flatness of his crotch was progressively replaced by a heavy, serpent-like rigidity.
At the peak of these changes, Starfire began to walk. Cradling Corentin’s frame as a mother might a child, she departed from the laundry room and cut a short right from the door’s mouth into the bathroom adjacent to it. Inside, she proceeded as far inwards as its toilet before setting Corentin’s rear down atop it. Dropping down into a squat to keep her front (and the obscene swell of her breasts) poised towards him throughout, her hands’ position at his waist nevertheless remained consistent.
In short, Starfire did not wish to abandon contact with her husband. She was not yet finished poising his frame, but where she could help it, she preferred feeling the warmth of his skin to being without it.
“...Before that, though, I think that we should commemorate this occasion in another way, Husband.” Starfire began, pernicious lust now bleeding into her features.
“It has been sometime since friend Raven suggested that we marry one another. Please do not fret; these months have been as happy for me as those I spent with my companions after coming to this planet.”
“Nevertheless, it is quite...what is the Earth word for this?” pensive, Starfire rolled her eyes towards the left corners of their sockets and mined her mind for the words that she had learned. Her time on the planet allowed for her to find it rather quickly, but not without first exposing the miniature hearts perpetually pinned to the center of her irises.
“Ah, ‘IN-APPROPRIATE’. Yes, on Tameran, it is quite IN-APPROPRIATE for new brides to be without children months into a new marriage.” she explained, eyes slipping back into an endearing stare at the boy ahead of her. “I do feel your love for me, but as your wife and breeding object, I would like to do my utmost to rectify this.”
“So, let us begin!”
Endearingly naive as ever, some part of Starfire believed her Husband to be capable of adult comprehension. Per this belief, she smoothly drew the smiling boy from his seat atop the toilet to a standing position at its right. Hands still on his hips, she threaded fingers underneath the waistline of his fresh as f*ck trackies you nigg*s have never seen such fresh f*cking joggers on a three to four year old best believe Corentin makes grown men look like broke dusty fa*ggots, and gently peeled the garment down across the lower half of his frame. Stopping only when she could safely drop the material at his ankles, she subsequently motioned to move herself.
This motion was cut short by none other than Starfire herself. In dragging Corentin’s pants down, the orange-skinned princess exposed the semi-erect monstrosity that had been growing at his crotch to the open air.
As much as she loved her Husband for who he was, she loved his reeking, pike-log endowment equally. Compared to the body it was attached to, the foot-long + (and still growing) breeding instrument reminded her of the masculine ‘excess’ that she had been born to cherish. Carrying a pale girth that exceeded her mind’s interpretation of a contracted female quadricep and a sweaty, likely sem*n-infused gloss reticent of the last time that they had coupled, even its surface qualities were beyond reproach. When considered alongside the pungent humidity of the musk that it exuded and the co*ck-length, thumb-thick veins that zig-zagged from its root to its tip in a several simple, imposing trails, she could find only one word within her mind to describe the flesh loaf:
Perfect.
A half minute of attending to its arousing qualities with lips spread in wistful awe satisfied Starfire’s visual need for the organ. Once elapsed, she briefly hopped upright to draw the yoga pants gloving her hips off of her lower body, then descended back to the floor. Laying herself out back first ahead of the toilet, she made several inefficient attempts at adjusting her position further before falling back on the use of her flight ability. With this, she raised her lower back up into contact with the toilet’s front lip, and squished her thighs in against one another just far enough to avail the uncovered and honey-drenched mound of c*ntflesh drooling between her legs.
In her mind, the position that she had selected would accommodate her tiny lover whilst also allowing for her innards to be used more…’effectively’. Eager to be proven correct, she turned her gaze to stare upwards at her husband from the floor and plated yet more encouragement for him at the tip of her tongue.
Neither gesture accomplished anything with regard to her intent. When her eyes found Corentin’s face, it was no longer hovering above her left. Without being asked, the near-toddler had moved himself precisely where he needed to be. Tiny legs parted opposite both of her thighs, he needed only lean his torso forward and angle his crotch outwards to make the most of the position.
He did not need to be told how to do this, either. However inappropriate his frame and position, Corentin was not yet old enough to care about the consequences attached to his actions. In the past, Starfire’s presenting herself as she had typically resulted in pleasure for him. Thus, on yet another whim, he manipulated his frame to reproduce the actions that brought on this ‘pleasure’. Dropping his frame forward whilst hooking his crotch outwards, he unknowingly angled the reddened knob of glans flesh at his member’s tip directly opposite his wife’s leaking mound, then wrenched his lower body inwards to messily depress it, and several of the writhing co*ck inches behind it into a snug compression through her vagin*l canal.
The stinging, co*ck-wringing bliss that enveloped the beginnings of his co*ck assured Corentin that the actions he had produced were ‘appropriate’ for the situation that Starfire had created. This alone could have sufficed as motivation for him to dig the tips of his toes into the ground and beginning driving additional inches of his erection into the slobbering embrace of her womanhood, yet straight in time with its coursing up his spine, additional motivation beset him in the form of an exhalation from his wife.
“Nnyuuughghh ♥♥. M-Most splendid, H-Husband~! Y-Your breeding i-instrument i-is invading your wife’s meat!” Starfire cooed. “Please do not stop! D-Drive yourself forward to your heart’s content
Feeling her lower lips split by the monstrous weight of her Husband’s shaft and her inner walls parted to accommodate its brutish dimensions sent an org*smic groan barrelling out of Starfire’s throat before she could moderate into something more modest sounding. Throughout its release, her eyes rolled up towards the peaks of their sockets, and her teeth were grit against one another as though her frame had endured some sort of intolerable stimuli.
Contrary to the implications of her behavior, the release of this groan did not result in an abrupt degradation of her ability to think. Relatively accustomed to her husband’s endowment, Starfire curtailed its release to a fleeting few seconds before regaining, and injecting herself into proceedings as she believed a wife ought.
Yet again, the actions that she produced came a step behind further escalation from Corentin.
Unsurprisingly, the uniquely-textured congestion of Starfire’s c*nt was not something that he could manage with grace. The fact that only a fraction of his co*ck had been stabbed into it was irrelevant; his mind was neither developed enough nor ‘adjusted’ enough to avoid a momentary addiction to the pleasure that her folds offered.
Consequently, the basal instincts installed in him by birth assumed complete control of his frame. Per their instruction, Corentin mushed his right cheek flat against the lower fraction of Starfire’s cleavage and devoted the entirety of his frame to plugging every inch of his engorged shaft into the warmth of her c*nt. No sooner were Starfire’s inner walls allowed their syrup-basted suckle to the fattened veins coiled atop his length did he wrench the beginnings of his co*ck from her folds, then viciously skewer them (and several inches beneath them) back into the canal as though they had robbed him.
This done, the boy committed himself to a thrusting pattern better suited for a feral dog. Grinding the tips of his cutely sock-clad toes into the tiled floor beneath them, he repeatedly swung his crotch back and forth along an obtuse, crescent-moon shaped angle with hardly a second between ingress and retraction. With his upper body ‘supported’ against Starfire’s torso, each thrust that he produced was one backed by gravity and the entirety of his body mass. Contrastively, the break-neck retractions that served as their compliment saw the musculature of his thighs and crotch taxed well beyond what was appropriate for a child. Granted their blinding speed as a result of his inability to draw more than a few sex-slogged inches out from Starfire’s depths at a time, the ‘effectiveness’ of the backswings he produced was limited to a masturbatory grinding of his erection through stretches of already-subjugated c*ntmeat.
Appearances aside, the bestial pattern gave his instincts precisely what they wanted. As the first minute of Corentin’s gravity-backed jackhammering elapsed, the final, blood-vessel gilded inches of his member (the root from which the rest of his co*ck and the steeled veins threaded through it spread) were depressed into Starfire’s c*nt to the tune of a sodden *PLORP*. Perceived by a trained ear, this noise represented a strenuous depression of greasy glans flesh against a battered cervix, and the inundation of a sodden c*nt with a co*ck well suited to tax it.
Motionless and ineffective throughout the entirety of her Husband’s efforts, Starfire was left with no other choice but to regard her impromptu hug as an example of an unflattering human idiom.
“Awhhh♥. It seems I am the ‘too late, too little’...” Starfire exhaled. “You have plugged everything inside all by yourself, Husband. You truly are most knowledgeable about how best to skewer the insides of a female.”
“Please continue and inseminate me as much as you please. I will do my utmost to support yoooOOUGHH♥♥♥.”
Yet again, Corentin’s instincts did not need more than a few seconds to acclimate to his member’s envelopment within Starfire’s c*nt. Ignorant to the fact that Starfire herself was speaking, they unknowingly willed the youth’s frame into producing the very actions that she had suggested.
Without warning, Corentin flung his crotch outwards. Drawing both the syrup-glazed sac of softball-sized testicl*s and the ruggedly vascular root of his co*ck from out of his wife’s spread folds, he supported the extraction until his miniature frame could no longer manage it.
With this, his thrusting began anew—albeit this time with far more punishing consequences for the alien pedophile that he drove himself into....
-
WHY DIDN’T THOSE NEWCASTERS JUST WALK AWAY? SEEMS LIKE A PLOT HOLE IF YOU ASK ME, nigg*
Corentin’s being without a concrete sense of shame or discomfort allowed for him to pleasure himself with Starfire’s body in a manner typically ‘restricted’ to the most brutish and genetically-gifted of adult males.
Upon beginning his thrusting pattern anew, he leveraged everything to do with the position that he had assumed to his advantage. Again did he favor a short skewer-flogging of his shaft through Starfire’s congealed womanhood, and again did he squeeze the nubile tips of his toes against the ground like a hound seconds away from knotting its bitch. This time, however, the punishing thrusting pattern enjoyed benefits wrought from the hilting of his shaft minutes prior.
In a word, his efforts became more graphic. Each blindingly short swing of his hips mashed the ambiguously hairless exterior of his crotch against the face of her c*nt to the tune of a gluey *PLORP!*. Visible splatters of mixed precum and c*nt-syrup burst into sluggish smears across the face of Starfire’s gaped mound, and were steadily plastered atop one another such that their combined volume sent several murky rivulets of the substance down across the face of Starfire’s stomach.
Appropriately, the depressions themselves were equally graphic. Whereas only a fraction of his co*ck was stamped back inside Starfire’s depths following one of these thrusts, every inch of depression mashed his strain-reddened member through a congested swamp of c*ntflesh fattened for the purpose of matching his shaft’s excess. Once through the seemingly never-ending swamp, further pleasured followed. A vein-sandwiching grind of co*ckmeat through the starved bloat of her cervix ended with a firm thudding of his glans against the roof of her womb, and the pendulum motion of his thrusts squarely slammed the hairless bloat of his testicl*s against the lower reaches of Starfire’s c*nt.
By themselves, the pleasure offered by these happenings (especially considering the speed at which Corentin subjected himself to them) completely waranted the agape, sex-warped expression currently plastered to his face. Presently, though, what the boy experienced was even more potent than usual. Alongside the sensations that he created for himself, the downward angle of his thrusts and gravity’s weighing down on his frame resulted in additional depth for the stabs he completed and a more strenuous spreading of Starfire’s squirming onahole flesh.
At a glance, Corentin’s complete addiction to the breakneck motions seemed liable to bring his breeding session with Starfire to an abrupt end whether he inseminated her or not.
Starfire did not intend to endure such failure.
“YES♥-YES♥-YES♥ HUSBAND! S-STIR UP Y-YOUR GREASY co*ck INSIDE MY M-MOST PERVERSE INSIDES!!”
Relative to the stimulation that caused them, the strained squeals that she produced as her insides were rutted by Corentin’s co*ck were fairly mild. Since the redoubling of his efforts, all of the extraterrestrial sturdiness installed within her frame was put on full display. The phallic log’s rifling through her c*nt and uterus repeatedly (and quite vigorously) bloated her midsection with a massive arc of distended abdominal flesh. Appearing and disappearing in time with each depression and retraction the boy produced, the size and span of the ghastly surges (an obese baseball bat’s tenting of dough or cloth) were readily apparent as something that the average female frame was not meant to withstand.
But then again, Starfire’s frame was far from ‘average’. Well into the feral peak of her Husband’s efforts, Starfire’s midsection had yet to acquire a single bruise—internally or externally. Similarly, whereas her c*nt had quickly been reduced to a squirting, pressurized sinkhole for the mass of Corentin’s co*ck, her mind had not yet deteriorated in mimicry of it. Stimulation remained apparent across her face and in her voice, but at a severity that limited it to perpetual competition with another factor:
Bizarre, alien adoration.
“A-All of your disregard for my squirting h-hole is most splendid, Husband. There i-is no need for you to hold yourself back for the sake of my stimulation, however. I-I would much prefer if you u-used…”
Getting through a sentence without interruption by the sodden *PLAP-PLAP-PLAP* that constantly sounded out from her c*nt was impressive in itself. Regrettably, this opened the door for Starfire to interrupt herself with the occasional throaty moan.
“Mnnngh~. Sex with one’s husband is so very nice ♥.” she exhaled, eyes fluttering into an iris-accentuating stare up at the ground. “O-Oh, but do not mind me. No matter the odd noises I make, please continue blending the meat of my c*nt as the onahole. According to the Japanese p*rnography, we are much more likely to make a child if you do~!”
However delirious and preoccupied, Starfire made certain to back her suggestions with sufficient motivation for her miniature husband to make use of them. Raising both of her arms, she engaged both in an embrace of his lower back that laid her forearms horizontally across its width. Larger and stronger than the boy in every aspect unrelated to sex, she needed only a fraction of her inane physical prowess and a hugging gesture to see the weight of his latest thrust intensified to new, nausea-inducing peak. Once applied, the size of the co*ck bulge induced at her midsection began to mimic the actual dimensions of Corentin’s length, and a distinctly juvenile squeak of bliss erupted from the back of the boy’s throat.
Much to her surprise (and tooth-chipping pleasure), the gesture did not slow Corentin’s thrusts any. After the brief instance wherein her strength prevented him from drawing his crotch backwards, Corentin’s thrusts resumed as they had left off seconds prior. Senseless and unsustainable, the boy seemed all too happy to work at the new, uterus-tenting depth that he had been squeezed down to. Hints of distress could be seen in his manic jack-hammering, but if the drool leaking from the corner of his mouth and the disjointed smile plastered to his face were any indication, this distress was precisely what he wished to feel.
Empathetic to a fault, Starfire’s perception of his experience was not far off from the reality of it. Right from the resumption of his thrusts, what little agency remained within Corentin’s mind was snuffed out by raw stimulation. And for good reason; without a moment’s notice, the puffy uterus flesh that his co*ck had so often bounced against became an organ-sized condom for the tip of his glans.
Measured to match the inches gained in the distensions of her stomach, the pliant hood of uterus-meat teased his sex-worn glans with repeated reminders as to how much stimulation they had endured thus far. Combined with the sensations wrought as his shaft was floored into its embrace—this being his member’s nerve endings ploughing through a thickened swamp of needy canal lining— it could be fairly stated that Corentin had been ‘fed’ more than he could chew where his wife’s seeding was concerned.
But this wouldn’t stop him. More specifically, it couldn’t…
Corentin did not care how much squirting c*ntmeat was folded around his co*ck at a given moment. He did not care that his testicl*s had become thoroughly drenched in his wife’s lubrication, nor did he seem to mind that the palm-plants he had smothered into her breasts had become an adorably ‘vicious’ pair of vicegrips. As he was presently, his body’s sole concern was its own satiation and the achievement of the biological consequent that came alongside it:
An org*sm.
“♥♥♥♥♥!” without words or expletives to summarize his experience, groans belabored by desperation began leaping from his throat one after another. Devoid of meaning in and of themselves, their quality was such that one familiar with the noises—perhaps the woman who so often dragged the exhalations from him, for example—might be tempted to understand them as something more than the pleasure-drunk groans of a child.
Their timing; their quality; their heady competition with the torrid *GLRSH(s)* f*cked from an ideal set of female innards and the slimy *PLAP* of sem*n-swelled testicl*s against the crotch to which they were mounted—everything about them suggested that something far more significant was responsible for guiding them out of Corentin’s throat.
Starfire did not need to pose the questions of ‘what’ or ‘when’ to herself. After recognizing her Husband’s exhalations for what they were, further thought became unnecessary.
Only one thing ever followed his adorable grunting. It warranted the depression of her right incisor into the right corner of her mouth, a widening of her legs spread to better present her cratered c*nt to the sledgehammer-depressions he produced, and where her uterus was concerned, a sex-triggered regurgitation of its most fertile ovum through her female tubing and into her womb.
Insufficient preparation, but preparation on all the same.
“K-KYUMMIN !”
When this slurred groan burst from Corentin’s throat, Starfire believed that she was ready. All the same, the hilt-depth thrust that he produced and the monstrous squirming of the obscene vein-system mounted to his member injected her brain with so much narcotic stimulation that the strain placed on the organ flushed a healthy expulsion of blood out of her right nostril.
In spite of this, she remained completely conscious. When the clotted jelly-sludge that served as Corentin’s reproductive fluid erupted out against the distended peak of her uterus, a second debilitating burst of euphoria exploded within the core of her being.
This one was even more appropriate than the last. ‘Teased’ by the pressurized ascent of a chunked glue through Corentin’s urethra and the healthy squirming of his seed such they the tadpoles could be felt (or imagined, whatever nigg*) through the underside of his co*ck, a moment’s notice saw a putrid and grossly voluminous ‘thread’ of co*ck juice caked, then firmly smothered atop her uterus’ inner lining. Only mildly discolored for its thickness and excess, the steaming slime could be recognized as a largely-melted cheese thoroughly infused with a skin-staining adhesive or plaster. Forced onto the comparatively ‘’insufficient’ surface area of Starfire’s uterus, the substance’s overlapping atop itself resulted in the simulation of a sludgy, papier-mâché-like quality following delivery.
Chunked and chewable, the passage of time saw these nauseating qualities exacerbated, and reproduced throughout the entirety of Starfire’s womb. ‘Described’ to the world at large by way of repeated, saturated *GLORPS* timed to the release of each rope of nut expelled from Corentin’s member, the conditions one might imagine for the inside of Starfire’s babymaker were exacerbated beyond the scope of a simple creampie. In less than a minute, the wadded ropes upchucked by Corentin’s member exceeded the organ’s basal capacity for sem*n. Seconds past this, they demanded that it expand, and continue gulping down the virile muck like water. Later, after its sem*n-packed bloat forced Starfire’s midsection through the projection of several lumpy, garbage-bag-like trimesters of pregnancy, the requirements set by the overfed eruptions exceeded even Starfire’s propensity for compliance.
“Oooough♥♥. Y-You’re as healthy as e-ever, aren’t you Husband?” Starfire suggested nasally. “T-The, um…t-the ‘baby juice’ you’re pouring i-inside my womb is most vigorous. So very squirmy and active ♥. If I am not mistaken, t-this is the most you’ve released into me at once as well!”
On producing this utterance, the ‘natural’ expression on her face (natural in this case meaning becomingly sweaty and bloody where her upper lip was concerned) became bashfully love-struck. Seemingly overcome by an uncomfortable amount of adoration, she slanted her gaze up at the boy panting against her breasts and addressed him as though she had been pampered by him more so than she deserved.
“…I-I am very spoiled by you Husband. My desire for a child is what created this opportunity, but feeling you squeeze out a volume of ‘co*ck’s juice’ large enough to fatten my stomach and submerge my ovaries in its sludge makes me feel as the spoiled princess who must always have her way to be happy.” She continued, sheepishly. “I-It does makes me very happy, but I do hope that you have not exhausted yourself on my account. A wife who is not pleasant to breed is no wife at all…”
Modest and selfless to a fault, Starfire was more concerned with how she had presented herself than she was with the pudgy bloat of her ballooned uterus and the co*ck still throbbing within her core combined. Without the wherewithal to recall that the boy she was speaking to was barely capable of producing a handful of words at a time, she all too readily accepted his wordlessness as proof of her greed.
“Oh, you need not scold me so. From this point onward, I-I shall try to be less…”
“L-Less…
“Sphohiiillled ♥.”
The cells squirming within Starfire’s uterus did not believe her utterance for an instant. Rather than let her complete her pledge with a semblance of dignity, the entire back half of her utterance was slurred and sexualized by the simultaneously depression of a portly pair of sperm cells into the eggs flushed into her uterus.
Yes—not egg, but egg(s). In response to the inhuman volume of sperm cells made to quiver and writhe amongst one another within her baby-maker, the alien genetics that had sculpted the organ decided that the release of a second ovum was necessary to make the most of her suitor’s org*sm. To this end, a second healthy cell was harmlessly fed through her female tubing whilst the sensations induced by its movement were dulled by the perpetual motion of the tadpoles within Corentin’s clotted nut.
The piercing of this second ovum with a sperm cell in time with its predecessor was a simple coincidence. Or perhaps not—but really, who gives a f*ck nigg*, come on.
Not long after this did it became apparent that both of the porous cells were far too sturdy to succumb to a single cell each. No less attractive to the hoard of squishy swimmers that surrounded them, several other tadpoles leapt into the crater creases made by their predecessors and worked in unison to turn the interior of both reproductive bulbs into a pair of useless, sperm-riddled husks.
Try as they might, the half-dozen or so cells (per ovum) that approached the task failed to make even the slightest of inroads towards completing it. However outnumbered, the difference between human and Tameranian biology remained distinct. When taxed, Starfire’s eggs did not falter, and instead happily consumed their assailants as a needlessly long body of descriptive text consumes attention that could otherwise be directed towards the digestion of a mediocre narrative.
It was this sensation—the sensation of two of her eggs becoming portly ji*zz containers that rivalled her stomach (relatively speaking)—that rolled Starfire’s eyes into the peaks of their sockets and warped the end of her sentence into a pleasure starved coo.
While potent, her debilitation did not consume her for long. Much like a bubbly elastic band, her thoughts returned to her, and thereafter recognized cause for celebration.
She had finally been inseminated—not once, but twice in the same sitting.
“Husband, what a joyous occasion~! You have finally implanted life into my eggs! On earth, this is called ‘Breeding the Retarded Sow’ yes?” again, Starfire posed this question solely for the purpose of reaffirming what she already knew to be the truth. “We must celebrate! Once you are finished emptying yourself within me, we shall go out and procure Ice-cream together! This will be a fitting way for us to celebrate out togetherness as well ♥.”
Despite having spent the past few minutes panting in the aftermath of his body’s mindless breeding of Starfire’s c*nt, Corentin was motivated to respond to Starfire’s latest utterance in particular. He didn’t understand it entirely, but, as any child would, he like the sound of it.
“Icecweam?” started Corentin, head rolling into a chin-to-cleavage compression against Starfire’s clothed breasts.
“Yes, ice-cream! As much as you desire!”
This was the only question that the boy needed answered. Donning an excited smile, all of his earlier fatigue disappeared. In sequence, he pushed his chest off Starfire’s breasts and reeled his c*nt-sunk member backwards at the behest of innumerable muddy, pressurized backdrafts of sem*n through her slogged c*nt…
All of this solely for the purpose of driving every sex-mired inch straight back down to a crotch-drenching hilt into her guts and nastily displacing a fraction of his org*sm’s contents from her ballooned womb.
“Icecweam’s tasty!”
That it is, my nigg*.
That it is.
-
REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING
“And that is the story of how I was inseminated several hours prior! I thank all citizens of Jump City who were so kind as to sit and listen!”
“With that, I believe the time for frowning and story-telling is over .Please, rejoice! If not for myself and my Husband, then in commemoration of this beautiful day. It is my hope that all of you watching on the other side of this magical box will be able to enjoy it to the fullest ♥.”
Finally finished with her graphic, minutes long explanation of how life had been implanted into her stomach, Starfire bowed cordially, and calmly extended the microphone she had wrested from from Gregg back towards him.
Reaching out to meet her offering as though his life depended on it, Gregg briskly re-equipped himself with the device and swung his torso such that his face and chest would consume the shot captured by his hapless assistant.
Why he had bothered to force himself back into the spotlight so quickly was unclear. Like his cameraman, the contents of Starfire’s story had offered an appeal both enthralling and degenerate enough to consume his attention. Now free from it, the reality of his situation—the reality of having unwittingly broadcasted a graphic description of pedophilia—took up the task of tying his tongue and saw thoughts as to his ruined career repeatedly funnelled to the forefront of his mind.
He did find his voice eventually, however...albeit not in the manner that his earlier behavior might’ve alluded to.
However charismatic or seasoned in their trade, all men have a breaking point. His just so happened to revolve around disgusting descriptions of illegal sex.
“Thanks for that...uh…”
“f*ck.”
“Well, thanks for that, Starfire.” he replied, unoccupied hand idly dragging smears of sweat from one side of his forehead to the other. “I know you just had your big finale there, but is there anything you’d like to say to the people at home before we take things back to the studio? Something about the Tit—”
“Oh f*ck no, nigg*, it’s my turn to ask questions, bitch.”
From seemingly out of nowhere, Dalauan Williams, the sole remaining silent party among the group injected himself into proceedings in a manner unlikely to be ignored.
“Dalauan!! What’re you doing!!” hissed Gregg.
“f*ck you, nigg*. Anyway, Starfire—that story about you getting f*cked was pretty aight, but before that, you mentioned some sh*t ‘bout those pubes on your lips.” Dalauan inquired, calmly. “Can you tell us how those got there real quick? Jus’ a couple seconds should be aight.”
No less detached from the circ*mstance that she had created than she had been prior to her speech, Dalauan’s question saw another smile drawn across Starfire’s lips. Behind its presentation, she turned towards Corentin, and dropped down into a wide, thigh-parted squat ahead of him. Taking hold of his hips with both hands once in position, she again created an irresistibly suggestive sight for broadcast’s the growing audience.
“Certainly, Cameraman Dalaun! In fact, I shall demonstrate to you what happened here and now."
"You'll assist me, won't you, husband?"
Perpetually taken with his wife's voice and behavior, Corentin took the adjustment of his body in stride, and to the surprise of basically no one, consented.
“Okay!”
Taking his youthful chirp to mean something far more heartfelt, Starfire threaded fingers from both of her hands underneath his shorts and deftly peeled his mammoth length out from underneath it. First threading out the gleaming, sex-reddened tip before moving down to the jarring, vein-layered bloat of its root, her hands did not stop until its entirety was dragged out into an imposing, musk-baked flop ahead of his pants.
As promised, she opted to ‘show’ rather than tell. With eyes bent towards the camera lens now conveniently situated to the left of her skull, she took hold of Corentin’s co*cktip with both hands, parted her lips, and jammed her skull inwards as though the ‘meat’ set ahead of her mouth was not a sweaty, sem*n-plastered co*cktip granted a striated appearance by excess sex.
Subsequently, her husband made good on his own promise. Having f*cked his co*ck to a state of ‘emptiness’ an hour prior, the warm plush of Starfire’s lips as ground across the beginnings of his member alongside the slimy wetness of her mouth’s interior became a far more stimulating experience than usual. Devoid of any sort of desire to reject this pleasure, he responded to it by thrusting his hands into an innocuous plant atop Starfire’s skull and ramming his crotch inwards to see additional inches of his hole-ruining member messily squeezed into his wife’s ‘facec*nt’.
Like the throbbing sleeve between her legs, he made certain to use the twitching hole to the fullest. Behind the first inward punch of his co*ck, he took to flinging his hips inwards and outwards on a plane directly in line with where Starfire had set her mouth. Between the size of his member and the force that he put behind these thrusts, the violent motions regularly (and effectively) sunk additional inches of his mast between Starfire’s lips.
Throughout, Starfire’s face projected complete comfort. Gifted with a non-conventional gag reflex, the neck-reddening compression of co*ckmeat between her lips was no different to her than perpetually swallowing some innocuous bolus of food. Even when the bloating of her esophagus drew expulsions of dense mucus from her lips and nostrils, she continued to stare into the camera at her side as if nothing had changed.
Her sole ‘emote’ for the event came when Corentin’s ambiguously hairless and slop-drenched crotch was mushed up against her face. With this, she smiled with her eyes, and allowed the tears welled within them by reflex to stream down onto the peaks of her cheeks.
Impressively, this smile remained visible well after Corentin began driving his esophagus-plugged member in and out of her face. What surrounded it was made a sweaty, slop-caked mess of its former self with time, but what it conveyed went unchanged:
She loved her position and the boy in control of it.
Her abnormal affection for Corentin aside, a ‘reasonable’ explanation for this love could be inferred from Corentin’s thrusting pattern.
Right from the beginning of the boy’s metronome did it become apparent that he would not be able to manage masturbating with her esophagus for long. Whether swung inward or driven outwards, hardly a few inches of his shaft escaped the quivering contractions of her facec*nt per thrust.
But this was to be expected—he did not have any say in the matter.
Each time he flicked his crotch inward, the vascular bulk carried by his shaft saw copious amounts of throatslop and mucus messily ejected onto his co*ck. These expulsions hardly affected the rate at which he drove himself inward, but the warm goo’s compilation atop his nubile crotch represented an unnecessary ‘extra helping’ of stimulation.
Invisible to those that observed his thrusts was the steamrolling of his erection’s surface by the alien composition of Starfire’s G.T track. Dense, licorice red, and riddled with innumerable, penny-width bulbs of flesh, the slightest shift of his erection’s position down her throat saw the oozing tract’s surface area ground across his member as backed by debilitating amounts of pressure. Subjected to their ideal match, even the sturdy tree-roots strewn out along its length were made to shudder and shift to the whims of her esophagus lining.
It was as a direct result of the sleeve’s co*ck-milking composition that his thrusts were kept short in the first place. Dogged by its bulbous, multi-faceted embrace, simply extracting his co*ck from its grasp became an extremely trying task for Corentin. And, just as his thrusts incited constriction from it, so too did his attempts at retraction see its flesh squeezed down onto his co*ck’s worn exterior.
Relative to the stinging weight mashed into sex-rawed endowment, his repeatedly drawing himself inwards and outwards by a few inches was not very impressive.
Naturally, none privy to his efforts actually viewed them this way. What the network’s viewers took away from the famished brutality of his thrusts was akin to the dissonance evoked by a child attempting to do the work of an adult.
To them, he never had a chance at surviving Starfire’s throat to begin with. Thusly, it came as no surprise to any of them when, not 5 minutes into his greasy facef*cking, a definitive stamp of his crotch brought the event to an end.
“♥♥♥♥”
As euphoria erupted from the boy’s throat, erratically chained *GLORP* noises consumed the airspace nearest Starfire’s skull. Produced one after another in varying lengths and severities, those who perceived the noises were granted just enough exposure to their quality to liken them to what a jellied sludge might sound like whilst upchucked into a compact basin. Seconds later, these noises were joined by succinct and far more frequent *PLRUPS* recognizable as the sound produced as one chugged some repulsively dense fluid.
For a time, these noises competed with one another in harmony. Eventually, though, their shared ‘cause’ overcame Starfire’s ability to manage it. Slowly but surely, her incessant gulping became ineffective. For every *GLORP* that sounded out of her neck, the concave smoothness of her cheeks was disrupted by the encapsulation of a lumpy semi-solid. Made to mimic a pair of sludge-packed balloons more closely with each second that passed, their growth soon exceeded her mouth’s ability to accommodate them.
With nowhere else to go, the fluid responsible for their engorgement sought release. Following a miniature eternity of hastily chugging down the same nutrient-riddled reproductive vomit that had inseminated her, sem*n mirroring a jellied yogurt erupted from the corners of her lips and her crotch-compressed nostrils in unison
Upon exposure to the open air, the fact that Starfire had managed to push it down her throat (much less maintain it within her stomach) became that much more impressive. Distinctly fluid, yet unwilling to run as such, Corentin’s battered nut was every bit as bestial as the shaft that had produced it. The sight of it smeared in layered patches on both sides of Starfire’s face—patches continually fed volume as a result of her unwillingness to drag her lips off the base of his crotch—was primed to evoke mental images of the substance clinging to the lower reaches of her esophagus and congealing at the base of her stomach. Separately, its progressive irritation of Starfire’s eyes (both left fully exposed before the volume of her regurgitation drew her eyelids half-way across them) left nothing to the imagination as to how ripe and heated it was.
In spite of these things, Starfire did not appear discontent with her situation. Rather than continue trying to gulp Corentin’s sem*n strands through her increasingly clogged esophagus, she allowed her face to be submerged under a layered blanket of regurgitated sem*n, and subsequently began drawing her lips backwards along his member. Well aware of the fact that cum was still surging from the tip of his shaft, she nevertheless dislodged him from her depths and popped his swollen glans out of her mouth entirely.
Then, whilst strands of nut were lazily caked to her features one after another, she spoke.
“Like that! If I am not mistaken, this is how the hairs of pubic ended up on my face. It was quite a bit messier last time, though!” she affirmed, voice congested. “I do not think you’ll be able to see them now, unfortunately…”
For the second time in as many admonishments, Starfire’s apology fell on deaf ears. Mesmerized by her display, Dalaun failed to perceive the contents of her utterance and instead focused
“Aight, cool. Uh…”
“Back to you in the studio, Michael.”
