Couldn't stop thinking about it after the first part. The thought of you growing bigger and bigger with your neighbors brood. Breasts growing into proper prize-winning udders. Just as she promised, she takes great care of you, and in turn, you help take care of her needs. Whenever she gets too backed up, she empties her swollen cumtanks into her perfect little breeder. Of course, with that comes its own challenge, cause after the first brood, her seed immediately takes root in your boiwomb, growing the next brood.

I can do another ramble when the idea is being a frat bro breeder/husband for a hung oversized breeding cock having lady. 🫡 [Hyperpreg, mpreg, cumflation]

It's not like they were any good at it, two teenagers fucking around with each other, pretending to be hypnotized and then giggling about the stupid things that they "made" the other one do.

It was like collecting stickers or learning archery or going on a quest to find the best little black dress: a thing she did with her sister-in-all-but-name for a few weeks or months or years and then moved on from.

Except they're 29 now and Jenny just said a word that Sarah already can't remember, and now Sarah is masturbating furiously, needing so desperately to cum that she can hardly even think about the fact that her best friend just--

She just--

"I wasn't even sure it would still work," Jenny tells her. She's lazily rubbing her own pussy, but not with the same singleminded desperation consuming Sarah. "I know you don't remember, just like you won't remember this time, but you used to drop so well for me when we were growing up. I'd spend hours implanting all sorts of suggestions in you, or sometimes just having you play with yourself and cementing the idea that dropping feels so good."

Jenny says another word, and Sarah opens her mouth and starts drooling, wetness spilling down onto her chest.

"It's not like I ever really lied," Jenny tells her. "You knew I was hypnotizing you. You were just convinced that I was as bad at it as you were." She laughs. "You know, during one of those sleepover weekends when my parents left us alone all weekend, I kept you dropped the entire weekend, wandering naked around my house thinking you were fully dressed. You were so turned on I had to make you sit on a towel whenever you sat down, so you didn't make a mess."

Sarah keeps rubbing, frantically, desperately, needing to cum.

"I had you steal some clothes pins once," Jenny continues, "and had you use them on your tits and then send me pictures of the results. Remember that month when you kept complaining about how sensitive your nipples were? I even showed you some of the pictures, and you laughed at the idea of someone putting clothes pins on their tits."

Jenny comes with a gasp, then says, "I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed this. So keep rubbing for another hour, then make yourself cum and forget that this ever happened. And when you come back to yourself, I want you to spend the rest of the day curious and embarrassed about why your panties are such a mess, but you won't think to change them. And text me about it eventually, humiliated that you made such a mess of yourself and turned on that you're telling me something so humiliating."

With that, Jenny stands up and walks away.

Usually she knows pretty immediately, but Karen plays at normal for a couple of weeks before revealing her true self as a vindictive, holier-than-thou shrew.

And, honestly, she catches Dr. Welton on a bad day.

The first thing Dr. Welton makes Karen do is strip and then point out every part of her body that she hates. Her breasts, for being too big. Her lips, for being too small. Her nose, for not being a perfect button nose. Her labia for being too small and her clit for being too long, so it's visible when Karen stands there, peeking out like it's begging to be rubbed.

Dr. Welton sticks Karen on a strict regimen of nipple and clit pumping, to make them not only more sensitive but also bigger, always puffy and so present that Karen can't even ignore them.

She has Karen wear only unlined bras, so her swollen nipples are visible through the thin fabric. Sometimes she has Karen just wear cupless shelf bras, to make everything even more evident.

That pumping is the only stimulation she lets Karen have for the next couple months--other than the constant stimulation of her clothing against her sensitive nipples and clit--until Karen craves it just because it's something.

Eventually, Dr. Welton works out that Karen hates her big clit because she's a virulent transphobe who's afraid it makes her less of a woman, so Dr. Welton has Karen start calling it her cock, start stroking it instead of rubbing it. She brings 'therapy aides' in to suck it and says that they're giving Karen blowjobs, and it's the only time she lets Karen cum.

The lactation is an unexpected side effect of all that pumping, but a fun one, Karen always having to scramble to keep the milk from leaking through her thin bras to her shirt, making her even more conscious of her big swollen tits.

"Dont let me cum, please dont let me cum. Fuck, edging feels so good!"

Oh that is wonderful that you say that. But what made you change your mind?

"What? No! I dont know why I said that! I want to cum! Fuck, I am so horny. Please! You did something!"

Oh come on, of course I did something. I am not even denying it. What was your plan? To guilt-trip me so I let you cum?

"Uhm, yes? Please, please, I didnt cum for so long!"

I know you didnt. I am the reason for that. But to help you with that attitude, I put something fun inside your mind.

A clearly visible shiver of pleasure was rushing through her whole being as I said that. Even sitting with spreads legs didnt prevent her legs from becoming wobbly and weak. Her rubbing fingers are now pressing onto her pleasure button between her legs.

"Fuck, what did you do?"

Oh, nothing special. Ask me if you can cum.

"Please, please can I edge? Please, please! Dont let me cum! Wait, no! That is not right! I want to edge! I dont want to cum!"

Her fingers keep going faster while she is rubbing harder as well. Hearing herself asking for the exact opposite even though she is just saying that.

"Fuck, I am going to edge! No, to edge! No, no, to edge! I dont want to cum! Please, please!"

Alright, if you say so. Then you only get to edge. Until I want to see you cum. Maybe. I really like you horny like that.

"Fuck, please, gosh, please, let me edge! Please! I am so fucking horny, I cant think. Please dont let me cum!"

Oh, I wont. But I would be careful how much you are begging like that.

Even though she can barely think at the moment her eyes open wider as she hears that.

If you beg too much for.... an edge, you will come up with further ideas to deny yourself better even more. I hope it will happen anyway. I am curious what your cunt is going to think of.

"What?!"

A sly grin vrosses my face.

She thinks she should know, that something on her own body that gets this wet and needy is something she would have noticed before, but she can't quite remember.

"Do you know what it is?" she asks, looking up at her friend. Her friend is so, so smart, so much smarter than her.

"That's a clitty," her friend tells her, because her friend knows everything. Her friend tugs her forward until only the edge of her butt is still on the seat, spreading her legs so they're wide enough for her friend to lean in between them.

And then her friend reaches forward and drags a finger between her legs, the edge of a nail catching against her drippy clitty. She squeals, her body jolting at the sensation.

"Stupid little sluts like you," her friend says, "get big swollen clitties like that, and they push all the thoughts out of your head until they're all you can think about." Her friend presses down on her clitty, sending pleasure rushing through her body. "Now, I can help you, but it's just going to happen again and again, because that's the type of slut you are."

"What do I do, then?" she asks.

"Well," her friend says, her thumb rolling in distracting circles around her clitty, "how about this. Every morning and every night, you come to me and you show me how big and swollen your clitty is, and if it looks like it'll be a problem, I'll take care of it. Does that sound good?"

She nods enthusiastically. She's so glad she has a friend like this.

"But if you forget," her friend says, "because you're too dumb to keep too many thoughts in your head at one time, I'll have to take more serious measures. Like right now, your clitty is just too big and has pushed too many thoughts out of your head, for me to do this the easy way. It might even take a few days, this time, to get you back to the way you should be. So here's what you need to do."

Mina is humping the corner of the living room dresser.

She didn't plan to be, but she--

She is, legs spread and skirt hiked up so the only thing between her cunt and the dresser corner is the lace of her panties, long soaked through with her own arousal.

She knows people are watching her, laughing at her, but the only thing she can do is keep humping it with desperate little jerks of her hips, feeling the drag of the rounded point up and down and up and down against her swollen clit.

The night goes on.

Oh god the visual of this is so humiliating and so hot at the same time.

Ah you’re so so mean!!

The idea of you laughing at me for how much my fat pussy looks like and acts like a sex toy makes me embarrassingly wet.

What you described about making me your experiment is so hot I’ll be thinking about it for a long time. . .

Fuck just take me and make my pussy yours to play with and change as you see fit.

Meri was so distracted by the sight of the young woman humping the corner of a table that she didn't even notice Mrs. Hollum walk in. The governor's wife is as impeccably dressed as ever, this time in a pencil skirt and a blouse that probably each cost more than Meri's entire outfit combined, her icy blonde hair curled perfectly and cascading down her back.

"She's--" Meri looks back at the woman, who hasn't reacted to either of them. On second look, Meri recognizes her as one of the women Mrs. Hollum is rumored to be having a torrid affair with, the whole reason why Meri is here in the first place. "What--"

"Don't worry about her," Mrs. Hollum says, striding towards Meri on dangerously high and wildly expensive heels. "I know you're here for an interview, but we can fuss about all of that nonsense later."

Meri stiffens her spine, insulted by the insinuation. "Mrs. Hollum--"

"What a mess you must be making of your panties," Mrs. Hollum says, stopping right in front of Meri and undoing the front of her pants before Meri even realizes what's happening. Mrs. Hollum slides her long-fingered hand inside Meri's pants, and Meri realizes just as she presses up against Meri's panties just how sodden they are. "Just as I thought," Mrs. Hollum drawls, rubbing Meri's clit through the soaked fabric. "A journalist like you can't help but make a mess of herself."

Meri feels her face burning, more because she can't even argue than because of Mrs. Hollum's words themselves. "I--"

"You should know that I don't put up with this sort of mess in the governor's mansion," Mrs. Hollum says. She pulls her hand away, saying, "Take them off--those sopping wet panties and those pants, too."

Meri does, face hot.

"Well," Mrs. Hollum says impatiently, "fold them, too, and don't just leave a mess on my floor."

Meri crouches down and folds her pants, then puts her panties on top and picks them both up.

"You should go join Chrissy at the table," Mrs. Hollum tells her. "Leave your clothing there, then find a corner and rub your need out on it until you are ready to hold a conversation without making a mess of yourself. Only then will I let you interview me."

Meri goes.

How much pasta did you make? Five boxes? Six? Seven? You didn’t even measure as you made the sauce, dumping ingredients in the huge stock pot in ratios you know by heart.

How much pasta is swirling in you now? The pot still has a quarter left, but your stomach is rebelling. You pant as you clutch at your distended stomach, it’s curves visible where it hangs from your ribs. You can feel the contents sloshing and churning, and you whine through the belches as you massage it. You’re so fucking full, so heavy with pasta and creamy sauce that is so so delicious. You can’t fit anything else but you’re not full yet, there’s still room, you know there must still be room.

You struggle to reach the pot, unable to sit up around the enormous belly hanging off you. You pull it into your lap and shove both your hands deep into the pile of still warm pasta. Your face is flushed the same red as your gut, every inch of you hot with arousal, digestion, and effort. Every swallow makes your stomach tighter, tighter, tighter but you can’t stop yourself. It’s too good, it’s not enough, it’s too much it’s too much. Ohhhhhhmmmmmmm you’re so stuffed but you can’t stop eating. Your belly heaves with the force of every swallow, no stretch left and only pressure. Building pressure, it’s so fucking tight oh god you’re going to burst but it’s still not enough.

The pot is empty and you let it fall to the ground in your desperate scrabble for the nearly untouched liter of soda. Each gulp feels like a shove to get down, but you’re so thirsty. Your stomach shakes with growls and whines, and you moan with it as you drain more into its depths. The skin is shiny and hard and you feel like you swallowed concrete and it’s so gooood. It’s so full, oh god you’re so full, you can’t believe how enormous you are. You gulp desperately. You need to be bigger, heavier, tighter. Ahhhhhmmmmm you’re so tight. Pain lances across your stomach but you keep drinking, the pressure keeps growing, it’s hard to breathe. It’s unbearable but it’s incredible.