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Bobsled Hostage's Quick Fic Orphanarium

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Before the game one of the many, many things that you would have gladly exchanged were your malformed sex organs.

Your diminutive twin-bulges, all but useless for inserting into waiting orifices, would ordinarily have placed you firmly in the category of nook troll.  Unfortunately, in keeping with your consistently grotesque set of mutations, your bifurcated nook guaranteed that in the supremely unlikely event someone ever expressed mating fondness for you, the most you’d be able to take would be the tip of their bulge.  Orally your prospects weren’t looking much better, with your snaggly mess of foreteeth functioning as a veritable abatis to any intruding genitals.  You hoped to whatever cruel deity had seen fit to spawn you that if you ever did find yourself a concupiscent partner, they’d be content with either your hands, your waste chute (a fantasy you regularly fondled yourself to) or watching your pail yourself with your undersized, bifurcated bulge, the only thing you could reasonably accommodate.

Little did you know fate had other plans for you.

 

You sit, naked and blind, listening to AA shimmy out of her skirt.  The room is warm and humid the way you like it, the pile soft (and maybe a little pale, but then your relationship always blurred the lines in that regard).  The air smells like horny rustblood (in both senses of the word).  Past you would be crackling with static and nervous energy, thinking of two thousand ways this could go wrong and inevitably making one a reality.  Present you sits placidly, waiting for his matesprit to make him useful.

open wide!

Lips parted, mouth wide open, you lean forward and let her push her bulge past your empty gums, all the way back into your throat.  No useless fangs getting in the way.  No voices of the soon-to-be-dead howling in your ears.   The room is mercifully quiet save for her soft cooing and the wet sounds of you guzzling bulge.  Tiny yellow tears seep out of the corners of your scorched ducts, the blasted sockets of your empty ganderbulbs scrunching up.  She digs a blunt claw into the base of one of your horns and you hum contentedly around her fat, red tentacle.  With a free hand you push your bulges down, lining them up to penetrate your very-excited double cunt.  You press something like a kiss to her sheathe.

 

When it’s over she bundles you up against her, face pillowed on her heavy rumblespheres.  You’ve got a belly full of her material (hot and bitter as always, but then you didn’t have to taste most of it) and a genesac full of your own.  You feel very full.  Very relaxed.

D0 I get t0 pick when I die?  Because if s0 I’d be 0k with right n0w

She laughs.  Strokes the back of your neck.

shoosh, sollux -u-

You can hear the smile in her voice.