u/After-Wishbone3303

My jaw ached as I knelt between your spread thighs, my tongue working steadily against your pussy. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since I first buried my face there, and the soreness had settled deep into the hinge of my mouth. You lounged back on the couch with the remote in one hand, eyes fixed on the television across the room.

The low murmur of your show filled the air while you barely glanced down at me. I kept thinking you would finish so much faster if you stopped getting distracted by the plot, but I kept that thought locked behind my busy mouth.

Then it happened. Your hips jerked forward and you ground yourself hard against my face. A hot rush of your juices flooded my mouth and chin, soaking my cheeks and matting the dark curls of your pubic hair. Your thighs trembled around my ears as the orgasm rolled through you. Even with the sharp burn in my jaw, a fresh wave of arousal pulsed between my own legs. Nothing turned me on more than feeling you come undone like that because of me.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, chest heaving with relief. Then you looked down at me with half-lidded eyes and asked, “Why did you stop?”

I blinked up at you. “Oh. I thought you were done.”

A disappointed look crossed your face. “Well, yeah, but I was hoping for at least a couple of orgasms tonight. You know. So I can really unwind.”

I tried not to let my own disappointment show. “Of course,” I said, forcing a small smile. “No problem. Maybe you want the wand for the next one?” I offered, hoping to give my sore jaw a break.

Your face lit up. “That’s a great idea,” you said, scooting forward on the couch until your hips rested right at the edge of the cushion. You spread your legs even wider, then added, “And now that your mouth is free, you can give my ass some attention.”

I swallowed and settled back into place, already bracing myself for how long the night might still last. You reached down and stroked my hair once, almost absentmindedly. “You’re the best, you know that?”

The praise landed warm in my chest, enough to make it tighten. Then you smiled and added, “You can touch yourself while you work, as long as you don’t slow down like last time.”

I whispered a grateful thank you, slipped one hand beneath the hem of my skirt, and started rubbing slow circles over my clit through my damp panties. By then, you had already turned your attention back to the television, rewinding your show to catch the part you missed while you were coming.

We stand beside the carriage while the rest of the crew finishes lashing down the last of the cargo. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small silver ring, holding it out to me with a casual smile.

“Here,” you say. “Put this on. It’ll handle your… waste while we’re traveling through the forest. The elves are extremely touchy about anyone desecrating their sacred woods. One leak on the wrong tree and you’ll wake up with a dagger between your ribs.”

“Oh! Okay.” I take the ring and slide it onto my finger. It shrinks instantly, fitting perfectly. I give it a curious tug, but it doesn’t budge. “Honey… I can’t take it off. Are you sure this is the right one? It looks different from everyone else’s.

You rub the back of your neck, eyes sliding away from mine. “Yeah… it’s the right one. It’s just, uh… a safety precaution. Yours is a little different from ours.”

I wait. You hesitate, then keep going.

“The rings don’t destroy the urine. They just teleport it. We can’t move things very far with commodity magic, and we sure as hell can’t haul barrels of piss around in the cargo. It’d take up half the wagon.”

I stare at you, confused. “Then… where does it go?”

You clear your throat. “It goes to you. Your body processes it.

I blink, still not understanding. Then the meaning hits me like cold water. “It teleports into my stomach?” I ask, voice rising. “Like… straight into me?”

“Yeah. Well… eventually. It has to go through your mouth first. Teleporting something that deep inside a person is apparently too advanced for these basic rings.”

“B-but… why me?” My eyes are already stinging. “Why do I have to—”

“You’re the only woman on the trip,” you say gently. “Marida and Aleya both backed out at the last minute. Normally it gets split between a few women, but this time… it’s just you.”

Tears spill over before I can stop them. You step closer, voice low and reassuring.

“I know this is a lot to drop on you on your first journey outside the village. Every woman who travels does this. They just… don’t talk about it. You understand.”

You brush a tear from my cheek with your thumb.

“But hey, it’s not all bad. Since you’re handling all of our… contributions, you get to ride in the carriage the whole way. The rest of us walk. Come on, no more crying. You’ll get used to it faster than you think.” You offer your hand, voice softening. “Let me help you up. We need to get moving.”

 

Later that night...

We settle into the small tent, the canvas glowing faintly from the lantern outside. I’m curled on my side, arms wrapped protectively around my bloated stomach, while you sit across from me rubbing your aching feet with a tired groan.

“Honey… I don’t think I can handle any more of this,” I whisper, voice shaky. “Between all the guys, it’s been nonstop. I feel so full I can barely breathe.”

You set your boots aside and scoot closer, sliding a gentle hand into my hair. “Baby, there’s no other way. You’ll be alright. It’s only two weeks. Let me take your mind off it.”

Before I can answer, your other hand slips under the hem of my dress. Your fingers find my slit and start rubbing slow, deliberate circles. I turn my face away, cheeks burning with discomfort.

“Honey… do we have to tonight?” My voice is small. “I’m still trying to process everything. And I feel so bloated…”

You don’t stop. Instead you push the fabric higher, baring my hips, then slide both hands up to cup and squeeze my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples.

“Aw, baby,” you murmur, voice low and coaxing. “I know it’s been a rough day for you. But think about me, marching all day with these boots. I just want to relax. Don’t worry… I won’t take long.”

I stare down at the swollen curve of my belly, defeated. A soft, miserable sound slips out of me.

“Okay…”

“That’s my good girl.” You give my breast one last affectionate squeeze. “Now roll onto your stomach. I don’t want you facing me if one of the other guys needs to take a leak.”

You roll me onto my stomach without waiting for an answer, knees nudging my thighs apart as you settle between them. The tent is quiet except for the low rustle of fabric and your steady breathing. I feel the blunt head of your cock press against me, then push inside in one smooth thrust, stretching me open while my bloated belly presses uncomfortably into the thin bedroll.

You start moving right away. Slow at first, then deeper, hips slapping against my ass with a steady rhythm that makes my full stomach jostle. I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet, when it happens.

A sudden warm rush floods my mouth. Salty, bitter urine from one of the other men teleports straight onto my tongue. My eyes widen. I try to swallow on instinct, but there’s too much. I turn my head and spit hard, the stream splashing across your forearm.

You jerk back with a surprised grunt. “Whoa! Hey, baby, careful there,” Your hand fists roughly in my hair, yanking my head up and away from you, then shoving my face straight down into the dirt floor of the tent. “Don’t want any of that getting on me, alright?”

The moment my cheek hits the ground, the magic activates again. The piss I just spat out vanishes from your arm and the dirt, teleporting straight back into my mouth along with a fresh, heavier load from whoever is relieving himself outside right now. It fills me instantly, cheeks bulging, spilling past my lips before I can stop it. I spit again, coughing, and the warm liquid splatters into the soil right under my face, turning it to thick, gritty mud.

You don’t let up. You keep fucking me harder, one hand pinning my head down while the other grips my hip. Every time I spit, the mud and piss disappear from the ground and reappear in my mouth, thicker now, mixed with dirt. I choke, spit, choke again. The wet earth smears across my lips, up my nose, into my hair as you grind my face deeper. I can’t breathe properly*.* Every desperate gasp pulls in more mud and urine. The cycle repeats faster than I can keep up. Spit, teleport, flood, spit, until the spot beneath me is a small, sloppy crater.

I’m frantically digging my face into it now, trying to escape the endless flow, pushing my nose and mouth deeper into the hole I’m making while you pound into me from behind. My muffled whimpers are lost in the wet dirt.

Finally your rhythm stutters. You slam in deep one last time, groaning low as you come hard inside me, hips jerking. At the same moment another heavy rush hits my mouth and I shove my face as far into the muddy hole as it will go, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking under you while the magic keeps forcing everything back down my throat.

You stay buried in me for a long moment, panting, before you finally pull out and pat my dirt-streaked ass like nothing unusual just happened.

Sorry about the massive wall of text. It ended up taking a lot more writing than I thought it would to get this idea out, but I think this gives a good idea of what I'm looking for. I love the idea of societal degradation that is impersonal and just expected. I'd also like your character to degrade me as well, but I don't want you to be outwardly mean. Your character genuinely sees himself as a good person, and by this world's, standards he is. He just expects to be taken care of in a way that society has taught him he deserves.

Also, I didn't include it for fear of ballooning out this post even more, but I love the idea that men will amuse themselves by occasionally pranking me. Doing things like pissing onto an ant hill, so some of the ants are transported along with their pee. Your character would comfort me and explain this is just a normal way to blow of steam for guys frustrated by a grueling march. Perhaps even sheepishly admitting to doing it himself on previous journeys. He would caution me not to make a big deal about it, as that would only lead to retribution. But would promise to do his best to convince them to stop. If you don't mind sharing, maybe his solution involves me using my mouth to help them "blow off steam," through a hole cut in the side of the carriage. Of course, my lower holes would stay exclusive to him.

If this sounds interesting, shoot me a message. I'd love to hear from you!

We stand beside the carriage while the rest of the crew finishes lashing down the last of the cargo. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small silver ring, holding it out to me with a casual smile.

“Here,” you say. “Put this on. It’ll handle your… waste while we’re traveling through the forest. The elves are extremely touchy about anyone desecrating their sacred woods. One leak on the wrong tree and you’ll wake up with a dagger between your ribs.”

“Oh! Okay.” I take the ring and slide it onto my finger. It shrinks instantly, fitting perfectly. I give it a curious tug, but it doesn’t budge. “Honey… I can’t take it off. Are you sure this is the right one? It looks different from everyone else’s.

You rub the back of your neck, eyes sliding away from mine. “Yeah… it’s the right one. It’s just, uh… a safety precaution. Yours is a little different from ours.”

I wait. You hesitate, then keep going.

“The rings don’t destroy the urine. They just teleport it. We can’t move things very far with commodity magic, and we sure as hell can’t haul barrels of piss around in the cargo. It’d take up half the wagon.”

I stare at you, confused. “Then… where does it go?”

You clear your throat. “It goes to you. Your body processes it.

I blink, still not understanding. Then the meaning hits me like cold water. “It teleports into my stomach?” I ask, voice rising. “Like… straight into me?”

“Yeah. Well… eventually. It has to go through your mouth first. Teleporting something that deep inside a person is apparently too advanced for these basic rings.”

“B-but… why me?” My eyes are already stinging. “Why do I have to—”

“You’re the only woman on the trip,” you say gently. “Marida and Aleya both backed out at the last minute. Normally it gets split between a few women, but this time… it’s just you.”

Tears spill over before I can stop them. You step closer, voice low and reassuring.

“I know this is a lot to drop on you on your first journey outside the village. Every woman who travels does this. They just… don’t talk about it. You understand.”

You brush a tear from my cheek with your thumb.

“But hey, it’s not all bad. Since you’re handling all of our… contributions, you get to ride in the carriage the whole way. The rest of us walk. Come on, no more crying. You’ll get used to it faster than you think.” You offer your hand, voice softening. “Let me help you up. We need to get moving.”

 

Later that night...

We settle into the small tent, the canvas glowing faintly from the lantern outside. I’m curled on my side, arms wrapped protectively around my bloated stomach, while you sit across from me rubbing your aching feet with a tired groan.

“Honey… I don’t think I can handle any more of this,” I whisper, voice shaky. “Between all the guys, it’s been nonstop. I feel so full I can barely breathe.”

You set your boots aside and scoot closer, sliding a gentle hand into my hair. “Baby, there’s no other way. You’ll be alright. It’s only two weeks. Let me take your mind off it.”

Before I can answer, your other hand slips under the hem of my dress. Your fingers find my slit and start rubbing slow, deliberate circles. I turn my face away, cheeks burning with discomfort.

“Honey… do we have to tonight?” My voice is small. “I’m still trying to process everything. And I feel so bloated…”

You don’t stop. Instead you push the fabric higher, baring my hips, then slide both hands up to cup and squeeze my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples.

“Aw, baby,” you murmur, voice low and coaxing. “I know it’s been a rough day for you. But think about me, marching all day with these boots. I just want to relax. Don’t worry… I won’t take long.”

I stare down at the swollen curve of my belly, defeated. A soft, miserable sound slips out of me.

“Okay…”

“That’s my good girl.” You give my breast one last affectionate squeeze. “Now roll onto your stomach. I don’t want you facing me if one of the other guys needs to take a leak.”

You roll me onto my stomach without waiting for an answer, knees nudging my thighs apart as you settle between them. The tent is quiet except for the low rustle of fabric and your steady breathing. I feel the blunt head of your cock press against me, then push inside in one smooth thrust, stretching me open while my bloated belly presses uncomfortably into the thin bedroll.

You start moving right away. Slow at first, then deeper, hips slapping against my ass with a steady rhythm that makes my full stomach jostle. I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet, when it happens.

A sudden warm rush floods my mouth. Salty, bitter urine from one of the other men teleports straight onto my tongue. My eyes widen. I try to swallow on instinct, but there’s too much. I turn my head and spit hard, the stream splashing across your forearm.

You jerk back with a surprised grunt. “Whoa! Hey, baby, careful there,” Your hand fists roughly in my hair, yanking my head up and away from you, then shoving my face straight down into the dirt floor of the tent. “Don’t want any of that getting on me, alright?”

The moment my cheek hits the ground, the magic activates again. The piss I just spat out vanishes from your arm and the dirt, teleporting straight back into my mouth along with a fresh, heavier load from whoever is relieving himself outside right now. It fills me instantly, cheeks bulging, spilling past my lips before I can stop it. I spit again, coughing, and the warm liquid splatters into the soil right under my face, turning it to thick, gritty mud.

You don’t let up. You keep fucking me harder, one hand pinning my head down while the other grips my hip. Every time I spit, the mud and piss disappear from the ground and reappear in my mouth, thicker now, mixed with dirt. I choke, spit, choke again. The wet earth smears across my lips, up my nose, into my hair as you grind my face deeper. I can’t breathe properly*.* Every desperate gasp pulls in more mud and urine. The cycle repeats faster than I can keep up. Spit, teleport, flood, spit, until the spot beneath me is a small, sloppy crater.

I’m frantically digging my face into it now, trying to escape the endless flow, pushing my nose and mouth deeper into the hole I’m making while you pound into me from behind. My muffled whimpers are lost in the wet dirt.

Finally your rhythm stutters. You slam in deep one last time, groaning low as you come hard inside me, hips jerking. At the same moment another heavy rush hits my mouth and I shove my face as far into the muddy hole as it will go, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking under you while the magic keeps forcing everything back down my throat.

You stay buried in me for a long moment, panting, before you finally pull out and pat my dirt-streaked ass like nothing unusual just happened.

Sorry about the massive wall of text. It ended up taking a lot more writing than I thought it would to get this idea out, but I think this gives a good idea of what I'm looking for. I love the idea of societal degradation that is impersonal and just expected. I'd also like your character to degrade me as well, but I don't want you to be outwardly mean. Your character genuinely sees himself as a good person, and by this world's, standards he is. He just expects to be taken care of in a way that society has taught him he deserves.

Also, I didn't include it for fear of ballooning out this post even more, but I love the idea that men will amuse themselves by occasionally pranking me. Doing things like pissing onto an ant hill, so some of the ants are transported along with their pee. Your character would comfort me and explain this is just a normal way to blow of steam for guys frustrated by a grueling march. Perhaps even sheepishly admitting to doing it himself on previous journeys. He would caution me not to make a big deal about it, as that would only lead to retribution. But would promise to do his best to convince them to stop. If you don't mind sharing, maybe his solution involves me using my mouth to help them "blow off steam," through a hole cut in the side of the carriage. Of course, my lower holes would stay exclusive to him.

If this sounds interesting, shoot me a message. I'd love to hear from you!

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

We stand beside the carriage while the rest of the crew finishes lashing down the last of the cargo. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small silver ring, holding it out to me with a casual smile.

“Here,” you say. “Put this on. It’ll handle your… waste while we’re traveling through the forest. The elves are extremely touchy about anyone desecrating their sacred woods. One leak on the wrong tree and you’ll wake up with a dagger between your ribs.”

“Oh! Okay.” I take the ring and slide it onto my finger. It shrinks instantly, fitting perfectly. I give it a curious tug, but it doesn’t budge. “Honey… I can’t take it off. Are you sure this is the right one? It looks different from everyone else’s.

You rub the back of your neck, eyes sliding away from mine. “Yeah… it’s the right one. It’s just, uh… a safety precaution. Yours is a little different from ours.”

I wait. You hesitate, then keep going.

“The rings don’t destroy the urine. They just teleport it. We can’t move things very far with commodity magic, and we sure as hell can’t haul barrels of piss around in the cargo. It’d take up half the wagon.”

I stare at you, confused. “Then… where does it go?”

You clear your throat. “It goes to you. Your body processes it.

I blink, still not understanding. Then the meaning hits me like cold water. “It teleports into my stomach?” I ask, voice rising. “Like… straight into me?”

“Yeah. Well… eventually. It has to go through your mouth first. Teleporting something that deep inside a person is apparently too advanced for these basic rings.”

“B-but… why me?” My eyes are already stinging. “Why do I have to—”

“You’re the only woman on the trip,” you say gently. “Marida and Aleya both backed out at the last minute. Normally it gets split between a few women, but this time… it’s just you.”

Tears spill over before I can stop them. You step closer, voice low and reassuring.

“I know this is a lot to drop on you on your first journey outside the village. Every woman who travels does this. They just… don’t talk about it. You understand.”

You brush a tear from my cheek with your thumb.

“But hey, it’s not all bad. Since you’re handling all of our… contributions, you get to ride in the carriage the whole way. The rest of us walk. Come on, no more crying. You’ll get used to it faster than you think.” You offer your hand, voice softening. “Let me help you up. We need to get moving.”

 

Later that night...

We settle into the small tent, the canvas glowing faintly from the lantern outside. I’m curled on my side, arms wrapped protectively around my bloated stomach, while you sit across from me rubbing your aching feet with a tired groan.

“Honey… I don’t think I can handle any more of this,” I whisper, voice shaky. “Between all the guys, it’s been nonstop. I feel so full I can barely breathe.”

You set your boots aside and scoot closer, sliding a gentle hand into my hair. “Baby, there’s no other way. You’ll be alright. It’s only two weeks. Let me take your mind off it.”

Before I can answer, your other hand slips under the hem of my dress. Your fingers find my slit and start rubbing slow, deliberate circles. I turn my face away, cheeks burning with discomfort.

“Honey… do we have to tonight?” My voice is small. “I’m still trying to process everything. And I feel so bloated…”

You don’t stop. Instead you push the fabric higher, baring my hips, then slide both hands up to cup and squeeze my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples.

“Aw, baby,” you murmur, voice low and coaxing. “I know it’s been a rough day for you. But think about me, marching all day with these boots. I just want to relax. Don’t worry… I won’t take long.”

I stare down at the swollen curve of my belly, defeated. A soft, miserable sound slips out of me.

“Okay…”

“That’s my good girl.” You give my breast one last affectionate squeeze. “Now roll onto your stomach. I don’t want you facing me if one of the other guys needs to take a leak.”

You roll me onto my stomach without waiting for an answer, knees nudging my thighs apart as you settle between them. The tent is quiet except for the low rustle of fabric and your steady breathing. I feel the blunt head of your cock press against me, then push inside in one smooth thrust, stretching me open while my bloated belly presses uncomfortably into the thin bedroll.

You start moving right away. Slow at first, then deeper, hips slapping against my ass with a steady rhythm that makes my full stomach jostle. I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet, when it happens.

A sudden warm rush floods my mouth. Salty, bitter urine from one of the other men teleports straight onto my tongue. My eyes widen. I try to swallow on instinct, but there’s too much. I turn my head and spit hard, the stream splashing across your forearm.

You jerk back with a surprised grunt. “Whoa! Hey, baby, careful there,” Your hand fists roughly in my hair, yanking my head up and away from you, then shoving my face straight down into the dirt floor of the tent. “Don’t want any of that getting on me, alright?”

The moment my cheek hits the ground, the magic activates again. The piss I just spat out vanishes from your arm and the dirt, teleporting straight back into my mouth along with a fresh, heavier load from whoever is relieving himself outside right now. It fills me instantly, cheeks bulging, spilling past my lips before I can stop it. I spit again, coughing, and the warm liquid splatters into the soil right under my face, turning it to thick, gritty mud.

You don’t let up. You keep fucking me harder, one hand pinning my head down while the other grips my hip. Every time I spit, the mud and piss disappear from the ground and reappear in my mouth, thicker now, mixed with dirt. I choke, spit, choke again. The wet earth smears across my lips, up my nose, into my hair as you grind my face deeper. I can’t breathe properly*.* Every desperate gasp pulls in more mud and urine. The cycle repeats faster than I can keep up. Spit, teleport, flood, spit, until the spot beneath me is a small, sloppy crater.

I’m frantically digging my face into it now, trying to escape the endless flow, pushing my nose and mouth deeper into the hole I’m making while you pound into me from behind. My muffled whimpers are lost in the wet dirt.

Finally your rhythm stutters. You slam in deep one last time, groaning low as you come hard inside me, hips jerking. At the same moment another heavy rush hits my mouth and I shove my face as far into the muddy hole as it will go, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking under you while the magic keeps forcing everything back down my throat.

You stay buried in me for a long moment, panting, before you finally pull out and pat my dirt-streaked ass like nothing unusual just happened.

Sorry about the massive wall of text. It ended up taking a lot more writing than I thought it would to get this idea out, but I think this gives a good idea of what I'm looking for. I love the idea of societal degradation that is impersonal and just expected. I'd also like your character to degrade me as well, but I don't want you to be outwardly mean. Your character genuinely sees himself as a good person, and by this world's, standards he is. He just expects to be taken care of in a way that society has taught him he deserves.

Also, I didn't include it for fear of ballooning out this post even more, but I love the idea that men will amuse themselves by occasionally pranking me. Doing things like pissing onto an ant hill, so some of the ants are transported along with their pee. Your character would comfort me and explain this is just a normal way to blow of steam for guys frustrated by a grueling march. Perhaps even sheepishly admitting to doing it himself on previous journeys. He would caution me not to make a big deal about it, as that would only lead to retribution. But would promise to do his best to convince them to stop. If you don't mind sharing, maybe his solution involves me using my mouth to help them "blow off steam," through a hole cut in the side of the carriage. Of course, my lower holes would stay exclusive to him.

If this sounds interesting, shoot me a message. I'd love to hear from you!

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

We stand beside the carriage while the rest of the crew finishes lashing down the last of the cargo. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small silver ring, holding it out to me with a casual smile.

“Here,” you say. “Put this on. It’ll handle your… waste while we’re traveling through the forest. The elves are extremely touchy about anyone desecrating their sacred woods. One leak on the wrong tree and you’ll wake up with a dagger between your ribs.”

“Oh! Okay.” I take the ring and slide it onto my finger. It shrinks instantly, fitting perfectly. I give it a curious tug, but it doesn’t budge. “Honey… I can’t take it off. Are you sure this is the right one? It looks different from everyone else’s.

You rub the back of your neck, eyes sliding away from mine. “Yeah… it’s the right one. It’s just, uh… a safety precaution. Yours is a little different from ours.”

I wait. You hesitate, then keep going.

“The rings don’t destroy the urine. They just teleport it. We can’t move things very far with commodity magic, and we sure as hell can’t haul barrels of piss around in the cargo. It’d take up half the wagon.”

I stare at you, confused. “Then… where does it go?”

You clear your throat. “It goes to you. Your body processes it.

I blink, still not understanding. Then the meaning hits me like cold water. “It teleports into my stomach?” I ask, voice rising. “Like… straight into me?”

“Yeah. Well… eventually. It has to go through your mouth first. Teleporting something that deep inside a person is apparently too advanced for these basic rings.”

“B-but… why me?” My eyes are already stinging. “Why do I have to—”

“You’re the only woman on the trip,” you say gently. “Marida and Aleya both backed out at the last minute. Normally it gets split between a few women, but this time… it’s just you.”

Tears spill over before I can stop them. You step closer, voice low and reassuring.

“I know this is a lot to drop on you on your first journey outside the village. Every woman who travels does this. They just… don’t talk about it. You understand.”

You brush a tear from my cheek with your thumb.

“But hey, it’s not all bad. Since you’re handling all of our… contributions, you get to ride in the carriage the whole way. The rest of us walk. Come on, no more crying. You’ll get used to it faster than you think.” You offer your hand, voice softening. “Let me help you up. We need to get moving.”

 

Later that night...

We settle into the small tent, the canvas glowing faintly from the lantern outside. I’m curled on my side, arms wrapped protectively around my bloated stomach, while you sit across from me rubbing your aching feet with a tired groan.

“Honey… I don’t think I can handle any more of this,” I whisper, voice shaky. “Between all the guys, it’s been nonstop. I feel so full I can barely breathe.”

You set your boots aside and scoot closer, sliding a gentle hand into my hair. “Baby, there’s no other way. You’ll be alright. It’s only two weeks. Let me take your mind off it.”

Before I can answer, your other hand slips under the hem of my dress. Your fingers find my slit and start rubbing slow, deliberate circles. I turn my face away, cheeks burning with discomfort.

“Honey… do we have to tonight?” My voice is small. “I’m still trying to process everything. And I feel so bloated…”

You don’t stop. Instead you push the fabric higher, baring my hips, then slide both hands up to cup and squeeze my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples.

“Aw, baby,” you murmur, voice low and coaxing. “I know it’s been a rough day for you. But think about me, marching all day with these boots. I just want to relax. Don’t worry… I won’t take long.”

I stare down at the swollen curve of my belly, defeated. A soft, miserable sound slips out of me.

“Okay…”

“That’s my good girl.” You give my breast one last affectionate squeeze. “Now roll onto your stomach. I don’t want you facing me if one of the other guys needs to take a leak.”

You roll me onto my stomach without waiting for an answer, knees nudging my thighs apart as you settle between them. The tent is quiet except for the low rustle of fabric and your steady breathing. I feel the blunt head of your cock press against me, then push inside in one smooth thrust, stretching me open while my bloated belly presses uncomfortably into the thin bedroll.

You start moving right away. Slow at first, then deeper, hips slapping against my ass with a steady rhythm that makes my full stomach jostle. I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet, when it happens.

A sudden warm rush floods my mouth. Salty, bitter urine from one of the other men teleports straight onto my tongue. My eyes widen. I try to swallow on instinct, but there’s too much. I turn my head and spit hard, the stream splashing across your forearm.

You jerk back with a surprised grunt. “Whoa! Hey, baby, careful there,” Your hand fists roughly in my hair, yanking my head up and away from you, then shoving my face straight down into the dirt floor of the tent. “Don’t want any of that getting on me, alright?”

The moment my cheek hits the ground, the magic activates again. The piss I just spat out vanishes from your arm and the dirt, teleporting straight back into my mouth along with a fresh, heavier load from whoever is relieving himself outside right now. It fills me instantly, cheeks bulging, spilling past my lips before I can stop it. I spit again, coughing, and the warm liquid splatters into the soil right under my face, turning it to thick, gritty mud.

You don’t let up. You keep fucking me harder, one hand pinning my head down while the other grips my hip. Every time I spit, the mud and piss disappear from the ground and reappear in my mouth, thicker now, mixed with dirt. I choke, spit, choke again. The wet earth smears across my lips, up my nose, into my hair as you grind my face deeper. I can’t breathe properly*.* Every desperate gasp pulls in more mud and urine. The cycle repeats faster than I can keep up. Spit, teleport, flood, spit, until the spot beneath me is a small, sloppy crater.

I’m frantically digging my face into it now, trying to escape the endless flow, pushing my nose and mouth deeper into the hole I’m making while you pound into me from behind. My muffled whimpers are lost in the wet dirt.

Finally your rhythm stutters. You slam in deep one last time, groaning low as you come hard inside me, hips jerking. At the same moment another heavy rush hits my mouth and I shove my face as far into the muddy hole as it will go, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking under you while the magic keeps forcing everything back down my throat.

You stay buried in me for a long moment, panting, before you finally pull out and pat my dirt-streaked ass like nothing unusual just happened.

Sorry about the massive wall of text. It ended up taking a lot more writing than I thought it would to get this idea out, but I think this gives a good idea of what I'm looking for. I love the idea of societal degradation that is impersonal and just expected. I'd also like your character to degrade me as well, but I don't want you to be outwardly mean. Your character genuinely sees himself as a good person, and by this world's, standards he is. He just expects to be taken care of in a way that society has taught him he deserves.

Also, I didn't include it for fear of ballooning out this post even more, but I love the idea that men will amuse themselves by occasionally pranking me. Doing things like pissing onto an ant hill, so some of the ants are transported along with their pee. Your character would comfort me and explain this is just a normal way to blow of steam for guys frustrated by a grueling march. Perhaps even sheepishly admitting to doing it himself on previous journeys. He would caution me not to make a big deal about it, as that would only lead to retribution. But would promise to do his best to convince them to stop. If you don't mind sharing, maybe his solution involves me using my mouth to help them "blow off steam," through a hole cut in the side of the carriage. Of course, my lower holes would stay exclusive to him.

If this sounds interesting, shoot me a message. I'd love to hear from you!