Temptations into the Excessive (Patreon)

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Ceran & Langley THE FUNNEL -|- Adderton Verse (Original Setting)

My bud pitched this and god damn it IT'S TIME FOR THE FUNNEL. There's something about tube feeding that just so specifically intensely shamelessly lewd, it's so DIRECT, so PROVOCATIVE! Hard for the character to mentally debate themselves around what's actually happening, what they're engaging in. WHAT FUN! I decided that, while I was finally feeling in the zone, this one deserves a quick mini fic! I am a creature that must flip flop between character driven narratives and setting lore, but then also absolutely going all-in on some classic kink.

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“You promise all this here is gonna’ be temporary, yeah?”

“All things in life are.”

“That’s not an answer.”

But that never stopped Ceran from going along with whatever the scheming demon wished to conduct. Langley was the go-to purveyor of all things lurid and scandalous in the enchanted artifact field— or at the very least, a decent enough smut peddler with an aptitude for kink-magic. He’d often claim that his ability to craft such impeccable potions came from his real world hands-on experience, because surely, how can one claim to bind sexual-spells if they haven’t the seasoned status to know them?

Be my glorious gluttonous guinea pig for me. I know you want to.

The extended offer was hard to decline for a curious kinkster such as Ceran, whose pupils expanded with mounting curiosity as he slyly eyed the man’s wares with all their entrancing multi-colored hues. There were bottles that sparkled and glittered as their contents perpetually shifted, vials that swirled with a mysterious smokiness one couldn’t help but linger at, shapely jars that provided promises of larger busts, fuller hips, perfect hair, perfect teeth, whatever your desperate little pervert heart desired.

So Ceran agreed, and Langley took advantage of that.
Precious fool, fantastic oaf, utterly charming goonis of the most malleable caliber!
The dangers of making deals with demons, some dullards never learn!

But perhaps there was some underestimation. On Langley’s part. Or perhaps both? Por que no los dos! Ceran hadn’t the foggiest of the depths in which the demon would press him, nor did Langley anticipate just how much he’d adore it. So many things he wanted to try, and so much canvas to work with! Seven feet of well-fed Isklen beef, all for HIS gratification. Greedily Langley’s long slender fingers curled their grip around the elf’s sturdy jawline and uptipped his full plump lips to meet the nozzle of an invading hose. It was a special substance he claimed to be working on. New mind-blowing elixir, experimental stuff! Ignore the cartoonish graphic of vanilla soft serve printed on the front! That’s just the flavoring selection! At some point Langley grew bored of maintaining the charade and allowed himself the luxury of descending whole hog into the fetishistic opportunity that was this bound and exposed hunk of well-meaning man.

It was such a raw and vulgar thing to stuff a stud’s face with a full-on funnel and watch them contend with the results. There’s that initial apprehension followed by the this-isn’t-so-bad expression that lights their quizzical features, but it’s hardly long before that mounting worry returns. They gulp, and they swallow, and they reflexively glut the never-ending deluge of sweet churning cream that sloshes and swells out their gradually distending middle. Ceran’s thickset arms began to squirm in their bondaged bindings, pushing the cords to stress and sigh as his bulbous biceps flex apprehensively amid the amassing fullness that’s leaving him ever more concerned. It aches and heaves, bloating with an audible watery roll of motion as Langley impishly slaps his hand atop the globular grandeur. The older man’s body tenses up, toes curling into the sheets twisted up beneath them as the impact sends the aching swollen belly bounding against the trapped mound of his cock. It feels inappropriately amazing, further edging away the elf’s restraints. Langley merely gives a knowing smirk as he leans in close, skin to skin, body pressing warmly into his steadily swelling concubine as he snakes a hand around the man’s brick-like chin.

“Now now, let’s keep that good and fastened! Can’t have the tube popping free and you missing out on a single calorie. Though I suppose I needn’t worry, you’re quite good at keeping your mouth full, aren’t you?”

The demon purred into the long angle of the man’s ear. His hands absently kneaded at Ceran’s expanding softness, testing the ever-bloating belly for its volume; it’s weightiness spilling out of his squeezing jostling hands, its affirming fullness dominating the better part of the elf’s lap. Ceran’s jaw clenched as Langley playfully scooped up as much cream-stuffed gut as he could muster and rhythmically let it drop with ample underscoring wobble. The sounds were obscene in their presence, so distinct in their gurgles and straining sloshes. The fullness was sharp in its throbbing ache at this point, and yet? The pain never dipped TOO far, never straying far enough from pleasure to let him spit out that hose in better judgment.

“Well now, aren’t you just becoming my personal waterbed boyfriend, how thoughtful!” Langley sighed, smooching the side of the Ceran’s steadily softening cheek where the man could do little more than rumble-moan from his chest in weak protest. The demon had SUCH a full night planned for his new favorite test subject.