Y'move sixteen tons, whaddya get
Another day burger and deeper in debt
St. Ronald don't you call me, cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the rock n roll store
I'm an average American man. I put in my fifteen hours at the hamburger mine every day like everyone else. 'Course, a day's pay hasn't bought a rock and roll disc in years. Inflation, they tell us. I think anyone who calls that "inflation" needs to be reminded what pickle fumes will do to a man with a leak in his respirator.
That doesn't happen much any more. Not since we won a canary in the last strike. Now the main problem's loneliness. These are men who miss their wives. Men who miss their husbands. Men who miss each other's wives. Men who can't even grab their boyfriends' asses on the clock without their pay getting docked. It's enough to drive a guy up the wall. You grab a firm bun in your hand, feel that warm, greasy meat dripping down your wrist, you remember how good it feels to touch and be touched. You remember what you're leaving behind to be here. Your loins wake up and they're not going back down without a fight. We got men here with every kind of equipment down there you care to name, and you won't find one that doesn't feel the call sometimes. Sometimes it's a sex thing, sometimes you just get so goddamned touch starved you lay your pickaxe down right then and there.
I shouldn't have to tell you this, but buddy, they won't let us fuck the burgers. Between you and me, it's not even a particularly satisfying conclusion. The bun's all hot and warm and firm, sure, and the meat has that perfect consistency, but there's no friction. It'll fall apart in your hands and then you're just standing there with ketchup and mustard all over your work pants like a fool. All you have to show for it is that you're behind on your quota and still not thinkin' clear. Some of the guys swear by it, but I think it only works in the same way an old boot's a good meal when you're starving. Hunger is the best sauce and all.
That's where I come in, if you'll forgive the pun. I suppose you could call me the hamburger helper. It's my job to make sure all those hardworking folks out there keep their eyes on the prize. Don't let anyone tell you it ain't hard work or that it ain't a noble profession. Accidents went down by half my first year working here. I gotta keep track of everyone's preferences. Sal likes my mouth, Alex likes the puppet (Miss Trixie, I call her), and let's just say Gayle keeps my hands full.
It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it.
]]>With Apologies To Snargle Goldclaw.
(This one is Blergo's fault.)
Ah, Meatoberfest. The charr celebration of drink, food, and, you guessed it, meat. For Vishen Steelshot, there's nowhere better to be. From the crisp high frequency sizzling of sausage to the low glug-glug-glug of flowing ale, all four of her ears let her know she'd arrived. Of course, she already knows where she is. She'd had her first meat pie at the ripe old age of three weeks and never looked back. The wind blew through her charred auburn mane and teased her nose with the cocktail of carnivorous cuisine cooking all around her. She sits on the ground with a steak thicker than her longest claw is long, half a dozen pickled eggs, and a sausage soaking in some ale "guaranteed to be extra viscous, just like you like it".
She's merrily shredding some gristle between her back teeth when she hears a familiar cough. "I didn't think a little smoke would bother you. That tank of yours keeps spewing it in your face."
Ranoah sits down opposite her comrade-in-arms. "I'll have you know my baby runs on pure, clean steam." She proudly puffs out her chest. "The kind of steam I'll have to use to get this smoke out of my fur. I don't know how you deal with it."
"It brings back good memories! Next time we're trapped somewhere awful, all I gotta do is inhale to remember hanging out at Meatoberfest with the best engineer in the Blood Legion."
"You flirt." Ranoah rests her chin in her palm. A fang pokes out from between her lips when she smiles. "I suppose there's worse places to be if I have to take a break from rebuilding the harpoon retraction manifold." She makes a big show of looking around the festival, swishing her tail nonchalantly, and skewering one of Vishen's pickled eggs with a claw.
"Hey! Get your own."
"Make me." Without breaking eye contact, Ranoah opens her mouth wide, rolls her tongue out, and makes a big show of chewing the egg to bits. "You were right, that is pretty good. What else are you keeping from me?" She let her claws walk across the ground to grab a bite of steak this time. Well, that was the plan before Vishen kicks off the ground and vanishes into a snowy blur with her plate in hand. Ranoah turns around just in time to see Vishen standing on the other side of a big ol' rack of meat.
"Empty threats? Kinky."
Imagine a big wooden H, almost as tall as the human-and-a-half-sized charr's proud, furred frame, and with three roast dolyak legs hanging side-by-side on the crossbar. Now imagine that same powerful body, complete with all four of her ears and two pairs of horns, charging you with the rack. Imagine her with the same victorious gleam in her eye and the same eager, sharp-toothed grin she gets when she lines up a perfect headshot. Congratulations! You're now imagining what it's like to be Ranoah Grindsteel while her comrade pins her to the ground with a rack of meat. Picture the claw with the skewered steak stuck just a few inches from her mouth, if it helps.
Vishen towers over Ranoah. Snowy fur shining silver under the sun. Trusty rifle gleaming on her back. Clawed foot resting triumphantly atop the dolyak leg and, transitively, her comrade's chest. And, of course, holding her plate high and well out of a certain food thief's reach.
"Alright, alright. You win. Let me go and I'll fix my own plate. I'll even replace the egg!"
"Why would I do that? You're pinned, vulnerable, and totally helpless." She lays down atop the huge hunk of meat with her arms folded. She grins down at her pinned prey, taking the opportunity to bare every sharp tooth she has. Her knees rest on Ranoah's chest so she can idly rake her clawed feet against the body beneath her. Her golden eyes watch her comrade the same way she watches warthog bacon sizzle in a cast-iron skillet. "I mean, you can't even reach your tool belt like this."
"Jeez, Vishen, I've never seen you be this excited about, uh, meat before. I kinda like this side of you."
"I bet I can get you excited about meat, too." Vishen winks, sits up straight, and turns her back. She plucks the sausage from her flagon of ale, carefully positions it between Ranoah's legs, and slowly slides it between her thighs. "You know, you can only get these huge sausages at Meatoberfest." She waits to hear the "H-hey, what are you doing?" turn into moans and a "Yes! More!" behind her back, and she gets what she wants. "This thing must be at least as thick as your wrist."
The slab of dolyak resting on Ranoah's chest moves up and down as her breathing gets heavier. Her thighs clench around the sausage.
"I've got a surprise for you if you apologize." Vishen's tail swishes and swats her pinned prey across the nose.
"A-alright, Vishen. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Stealing your food."
"Mmm, close enough, but next time I want to hear you throw a few compliments in there." Vishen rifles through her ammo pouch and produces a violet crystal about the size of her thumb. That is, it's about the size of your thumb, if you're eight feet tall and a perfect picture of feline grace. "A little reactor fallout never hurt anyone, right? The Chaos Crystal Caverns are full of crystals that do all sorts of things. For example, this one makes meat bigger." By the time she tells a bound, blissful Ranoah that little tidbit, the sausage has already doubled in size.
Vishen skewers the sausage on one of her clawed toes and continues to tease. She rolls onto her belly and gazes into Ranoah's cool blue eyes. They're about the only cool thing about Ranoah right now. The rest of her is much more interested in grinding, moaning, and panting than having a conversation. Vishen lets her take one last look at the crystal before dropping it down the front of her own pants. She rolls the roast dolyak leg off Ranoah's chest with a swipe of her paw. Their chests press together. Vishen digs a claw into Ranoah's chin. The pain forces her to make eye contact.
Ranoah is a sweaty, pleasure-wracked mess. She pants and stares at those shining, sharp teeth and hungry golden eyes. She grinds against the sausage. She can feel the growing bulge pressing against her stomach. She can hear her comrade growl, "So, should I fuck you right here, in the middle of Meatoberfest?"
And she responds with a growling, panting, moaning, "What're you waiting for?"
"That." Vishen's claws make short work of Ranoah's tool belt. A few more swipes exposes everything below her waist. Vishen digs her claws into Ranoah's chest, pulls her crystal-enhanced, er, cattlepult out of her pants, and plucks the sausage off her claw to compare. "Mine's bigger." She smiles.
Vishen devours the sausage while she mounts and thrusts and moans. Ranoah meows and pants and purrs. Eyes roll back with bliss. Tongues refuse to be contained by mouths. Tails swish with reckless abandon. Maws bite. Claws scratch and rend. Lengths of chain bind arms and legs. Sweat glistens like dewdrops on fur. Paws grab horns for leverage into bites and kisses. Meat disappears by mouthfuls at a time.
And, finally, the bliss of orgasm washes over them both. Vishen first, then Ranoah after her comrade's claws rake down her chest one last time. Vishen collapses on top of her pinned prey. Both exhausted, bathing in afterglow, and picking at the last few tender scraps of the dolyak leg. Vishen eats the cube of steak off Ranoah's claw and kisses it into her comrade's mouth.
"I love Meatoberfest."
]]>You come home from work and throw your bag onto the couch. "Princess, is there still dinner left over?"
"I thought we'd skip straight to dessert tonight~" Grace calls. You follow the intoxicating scent of fruit and whipped cream into the kitchen.
As soon as you cross the threshold, Grace whips a dollop of hand-whipped cream at you. It smears across your eyes and turns them a seductive, delicious pink.
"Princess!" You scoff. "What the h-" You feel it sinking into your face. You feel… looser. More gelatinous.
Your brain even easier for Princess to sculpt.
She opens the oven and pulls out a golden brown, baked to perfection copy of her hair. There's even a jelly streak over one eye. Princess places it on your head and tops it with a healthy dollop of whipped cream.
"You're a good little trifle twin." She teases. "Demanding, domineering, and teasing to a tee." Her words stick in your semisolid brain. Your tongue pokes out of your mouth. "But it only takes a nibble to send you spiraling back to submission."
She bites off a bit of your nose and promptly replaces it. Your eyes roll back in your head from bliss. "Yes, Princess~" You moan. You stain the front of your pants with whipped cream.
You refuse to strip, but you find it hard to talk back when she eats your tongue. "Good girls can't talk back~" The dommy part of your brain wants to cross your arms and stomp your foot.
The part of your brain melting with pleasure takes your clothes off and watches layers of jelly and cake replace your body.
"About time." You say when she attaches your big, cream-filled dick. Just an inch or two shy of her own, of course.
She wipes some of the pre-cream off the tip and spreads it on your tongue. You look cute when your brain goes all wild with pleasure and you have to clench your big, jiggly thighs~
Before long, you can barely remember your silly old flesh body, and you're over the moon with how much you love being Grace's trifle twin. Especially when she makes you wear the maid outfit and serve snacks to her friends. <3
]]>You come home from work and throw your bag onto the couch. "Princess, is there still dinner left over?"
"I thought we'd skip straight to dessert tonight~" Grace calls. You follow the intoxicating scent of fruit and whipped cream into the kitchen.
In there sits, not just your girlfriend/hypnodomme, but your girlfriend/hypnodomme/dessert holding a spoon as big as she is.
You have questions. She puts her toe in your mouth and lets you bite it off.
She pokes her tongue out, knowing that'll shut you up for a while. "First bite's free." She teases. Your pupils shrink. Your mouth waters. Near-orgasmic bliss washes all over your body through your mouth. You pant.
You always find it hard to look away from Grace, but this is something else. You need her. You need her so bad you barely notice the jelly sticking to your brain and gumming up the works. She notices your mouth watering and her mouth curls into a smile.
"You're lucky you're cute."
You almost don't notice your feet growing to match Grace's or some of her thoughts swirling around your head.
"Good girls wash the dishes." She taps the side of the sink with her spoon. You swallow and open the dishwasher.
Princess slaps it closed. "By hand." You nod. She pokes one of her spongy ankles into your mouth. You scrub the plates and sink into orgasmic bliss.
When the dishes are washed, you've been fed both of her legs. You're wearing Grace's long striped socks and her heavy boots.
As a reward, she lets you eat her sweet, sweet bulge, and you feel the real deal pressing against your new skirt.
Your thoughts roll slowly through your head. Your drool dribbles onto the ground, because Princess Grace tastes so good it's rewiring your brain.
One of your hands is now permanently busy stroking your new cock and pushing pleasure into your brain. "Good girls can't cum until they finish~"
Your stomach shrinks into Grace's toned midriff. Your chest expands to match her breasts and then some.
She tickles your tongue with her fingers until you eat those, too, and are rewarded with the same circuit traces she paints on her fingers. Her power glove binds with your body and connects with your pastry-caked brain. Your thighs clench and glow.
Your brain's being rewired and absorbed by Princess Grace, and all you can do is drool and dribble.
You kiss her head, and before you know it, your eyes combine into that green blue swirl. Your hair curls into a brilliant blonde. Grace curls your hands into a fist.
You're still there, but she's in charge. You feel the kind of bliss you only get when Princess has taken complete control of your body and made it hers.
"Let's go break this in." Princess swivels her new hips and walks you to the bedroom to see how much pleasure it takes to make the subby voice in her head overload with bliss.
]]>