Visiting Lemonade Stand of Trailer Town


Written by Septia.


“Why afternoon, Tilly. Mighty morn we're 'having.” 
	Tilly instinctively straightened her back at the call of Granny Belle's voice, despite the tentative hospitality in her tone. “Right you are. Seems fall might just be 'nother summer at this rate, feel like I'm fryin' out… ere…” She came to a hault once she turned, face to face with the big cheese of the Belle Heir Trailer Town park: white hair, silky smooth, sparkling in deep contrast to the tent of an overcoat she was enshrouding her body; a cascade of dark suede of an ovecoat padding Belle's proportions to that of a teddy bear's. Through the outline of the madam's bust protruded with a push up against the fabric, warping the chest to her recognizable girth. 
	Tilly's scanned the outfit. “Is the whole Belle Family's wardrobe 'aving a hissy fit now?” 
	“Goodness, Tilly, if yer so inclined on the nature of our wardrobe, I'm certain I can have something arranged,” she mused puckering of her lips. “But I an assure you, darlin', that I selected it with utmost deliberation.” 
	“An, what are those for? Leaving for somewhere?” Tilly asked with a gesture toward Belle's sides. Each one loaded with a duffle bag the size of a laundry basket, their insides cramped full to the brim with bloats and bumps protruding this way and that across the canvas fabric. 
	“Oh, I ain't leaving, it’s just a lil’ something fer the community,” she mused in satisfaction.
	“Sure, sure,” Tilly nodded, curious though she was keen to watch her tongue around Belle. 
	“Do ensure ta swing by the crossing come the hour”, she said while brushing a palm down her bust, “we'll, be puttin' everythin' on display, which ought to satiate that curious lil' mind a’ yers,” she declared and sauntered past the black haired woman, tightening the straps of her overcoat as she went along. 
	She unbuttoned the first two protrusions of the coat so the swell of cleavage mounted up out of her bust; pale mounds of blubber burgeoning up like juicy crowded mushroom caps. “Got quite a show to put on, an ah’ gotta have you in peak condition,” she mused and dipped her palm into to her cleavage. Her fist rummaging past pens, a notebook, and a flask of good ol' courage stashed away, to settle on a tuft of black scuff of hair, greasy tar black scuff; hair greasy from the compounding heat. 
	I could barely breathe. Each breath that did reach my lungs had to be siphoned through the leather, soaked though Belle's perspiration and chipping down my lungs in the gaps made by her breasts as they jiggled along her walk. The tits mashing against the side of my face and drumming over my head as she strolled through the park -Bbwtn- -Bwwtnng- a jostle of the meaty prison walls keeping me in place. 
	The rest of my form had grown stiff against the overcoat, I felt the back of the buttons digging into my naked skindown between my pecks and abs. With each leg slumped against her thighs, moving with her steps, the gait inflicted a warped sense of inertia and gravity over my form; I was walking, but my feet never hit the ground, moving while at the same time smothered under the tough canvas of her winter attire on a late summer's day. The beat of her heart pummelling against the back of my head through a deluge of scattered items tucked into the depths of her cleavage, a purse worth of knick-knacks bumping against the nape of my neck as it was sandwiched between taut, cured hide, and the cured musk of Belle's body sagging over my back. The hints of sobriety from the cocoon of body heat came whenever she brought her hand in to scrub through my hair, listening to the racking of her fingers through my lard laced hairdo brought clarity to how tropical my prison really was -Chhrrllgsh - Chhrglglsh-. Though I didn't call up to her, I didn't say anything, I couldn't… 


~ 1 ~


Belle arrived at the crossing near the center of the Trailer park. Where a plot had been laid out with carpets of faux grass and a collection of communally cared for potted plants, all from violets to palm trees; an oasis right smack dab in Belle Heir trailer park. 
	Belle wiped sweat off her brow. “Hoo, Lady'd be cooking in this weather. Then again, that's why we're putting on a show.” 
	She hauled out a wooden stand from behind the nearby lot, rolling it on a pair of back wheels into place by the oasis. She plonked down the both duffle bags beside it, and started unpacking. She fished up a Cooler bag, another, a handful of thermoses, and plastic cups, some curvaceous, sinuous pitchers as well, all lining the front of the wooden stand. Belle rounded up a selection of drinks ahead of the pitchers: soda, water, and thermoses of tea and coffee.
	Belle scratched the scuff of her overcoat while she gathered up the stand and unpacked the assortments of goods form her dufflebags. 
	“Mfmg gmsgah,” I mumbled. The whole coat rattled, my fidgets warping the leather and suede outsides, the bumps in motion ever so slightly reminiscent of my body. 
	“Oh, hush it,” Belle said with a dainty swat across her chest, leaving her jugs jostling and bobbing to and fro, “Won't wanna spoil the surprise, now do we?”
	All her ruckus was gathering a bit of a crowd. Denizens of the trailer park paying the sight a gander, And once she'd garnered enough attention she brought out a megaphone to address the crowd. 
	“Good afternoon Belle Heir park. Ya'll know we got precious lil' summer left, but if fen ye still got a hankering fer some refreshments to quench the thirst and beat the heat, then come on down, as nanny Belle and grandson's beverages is 'aving a grand opening.” After the announcement she weaved her fingers in between the buttons on her overcoat. And as the crowd converged on the stand she flicked open one button after the other, clutching a hold of the jacket's hem and then cast off her coat with the sweep of a mantle, letting the husk dislodge from her skin in a creaking plaster of ripping off a sweaty bandaid -Chhrllrpsth- and letting it fall into a heap of folds behind her. 
	All at once, I was revealed to the Trailer park: My naked body, bound over Belle's form. A harness of belts and straps saddled me against her body. My lap and torso budging into her soft belly to swell up against my sides like a muffintop, arms pinned to my sides with my writs secured behind my back,  and face partially obscured in the welling form of bust sweeping up my cheeks and pinching them together. My face was rosy and damp from my time cooped up as Belle's undershirt, panting and heavily in the presence of the fresh air, or at least as much as I could behind the ball-gag lodged past my lips.
	“Everyone an' all be sure to give a werm welcome to our new grandson, Andrew,” she said patting down my head, “He'll be acting our dispenser for the evening.”


“Ah knew this'd happen,” A familiar voice called out, I saw Lisa Rose Belle cobble through the crowd to the front of the stand. “As soon as you'd find out about Andrew you'd hog him all ta ya self.” 
	“Whatever, are you implying', darlin' elle?,” she said as she lined up bottles and cans of soda from a cooler bag, “I'd be so bold as to say I'm being mighty generous in sharing the fruits of this dispenser's labor with the whole park.”
	“That's not what I… ah mean… yer still.” 
	“Hush, dear. Shhs, give ya ma’ a hand in loading' up the first batch,” she twisted the cap off of a bottle with a single sweep of her finger and pickled the ball gag out of my mouth. 
	“Phahagha, please just give me a minute to -ofofompgh-” I was cut off by my mouth being shut with the bottle and filled it straight up.” 
	“A'Scuse the wait, ladies an’ ’gents, we'll have a fissy batch o’ lemonade up and coming in just the blink of an eye, ‘cuss this lil’ dispenser's assured to be bone dry and ready ta process enough drinks to sate whatever ails ya,” she called out above me without looking, announcing my abilities as if I was a show piece in the circus, or… or more accurately, a telemarketer, boasting about her new product… Though, I hated to admit it, I had been without fluids all day, marinating in my own and Belle's collective sweat since morning, and I was parched. 
	I chugged down the sparkling clear soda. My throat bulging in reclusive dunes as I chugged down the fizzy drink. The bubbles sparked in the back of my throat, tearing down my gullet in an acidic crackle and pop, though it hardly mattered as I was quenching of that inherent need for fluids. The soft drink would do little to sate that need… My throat ached at the end of the bottle, but I lapped it up, reaching after it with my tongue as Belle pulled it away. 
	“Good boy,” she said with a pat, before Rose sauntered up with a can and shoved it in my face. I had barely a breath between them as I felt the tropical fruity carbonation wash down my tongue. I glugged and swallowed as best I could -Chhgllnhg- feeling the juice flush down my gullet. 
	“And a’ can handle more than that hoss, chop-chop, crowd's thirsty,” Lisa Rose commented, as she brought another can to my lips before I even finished the first.  
	My lungs contracted under my ribs, weighed down by the foaming torrent. I felt a contraction, a cough, a splutter of the soft drink as my lips slathering down my cheeks in rivers of prickling liquid. But Rose only tilted the cans further. My throat was vertical in line with the cans, tensing and undulating in the swallows -Gllfgmmng- wearing on my throat. All of it swathing down my gullet and filling my guts with a chilled broil. 
	“Don't clog the pipes, Rose,” Belle said and clicked the cap of a two liter bottle, “gotta feed it in smooth so the carbonation holds up,” she said and plugged a darker drink that I was forced to suckle down, gravity plying the liquid past the grasp of my muscles. 
	With the occasional tilts from Belle allowing myself a gasp for breath between being smothered by the drink. I could feel the strain in my neck as the pop flushed down. Weary and panting between glugs, feeling as if I was swallowing a dumbelle, before she removed it from my lips. A heavy grasp of air plugged by the mouth-gag -Cslptth-.
	“MMFPf fmpfhw.” I grunted through as Belle shuffled up: “Ladies an ets, how'd you like the first batch? Want it, shaken?” she asked and I bouncedin place, my abdomen being hoisted up along with her boobs, feeling her breasts clap against my face and the swirls churning through my gut. “Or, stirred,” she mused and let her fingers find a secure grasp on my dick, digits digging onto it. I felt it swell in her grasp, moulding into the shape of her fingers coiling around my meat, just to feel her jerk it back with a wag of her hips to the crowd. 
	The caress was firm, deliberate, rousing my shaft to pump in her palm to the tune of my heartbeat, keeping me on the cusp of pleasure whilst the soda flushed through my system and pooled down my bladder. I felt the pressure increase with the counterbalance of Belle's fingers holding my dick hostage as she showed off for the crowd. Until her assistant daughter handed her a decanter, which she gyrated up against, grinding it against my body before holding my it over my dick. 
	“Just gotta twist the old faucet on,” she mused and clutched harder. 
	For a moment I felt the sting of withheld relief, for the soda to gather, build, until she eased the hold of my dick, one finger unwrapping at a time. I felt the building relief surging through me, first in droplets and then rushing out in a full streaks. The splattering of raw amber holding me in suspensebefore the flood coursed free, the relief enough to make me forget the carbonation, though as the decanter filled, my thoughts cleared all the more and the surge of raw carbonation roared though my dick. A cold chill through my shaft made it feel like I was passing a whole cooler, with the carbonation rending through my tip as it spurted free. The fizz was still there, surviving my guts and escaping in a haze of prickly suds. The trickleing storm of piss crashing into the rounded bottom of the decanter and fracturing into a cloud of particles pooling together along with a burgeoning form, sculpting the shape atop the fluids as it roared out. I could feel the scents slice through the atmosphere of tit-musk and my nostrils sampled the piquant aroma of burnished syrup with a tang of pungency through it with a buried hint of freshness, like a cotton candy dissolved in cream and vinegar. 
	“Granny Belle's own, mostly organic, sweet lemonade ,” she announced as she stirred my dick down the decanter and slapped it up on the stand's counter. Grabbing a fresh container and rubbing her fingers along the underside of my shaft to coax out more, stream trickling up, low and slow,foam sputtering  along the stream as the speed kept steady whilst she served up a glasses of my homegrown lemonade. Panting to the tricke of, my bladder draining as I stared head-on to the crowd gathered to get their own cup-full.
	“You outdid yourself with this one, Belle.” 
	“Phew, just the cool pick me up I needed.”
	“Yeha, guess it pretty good, But-” Rose admitted after a swig, “still wanna talk later, mom.”
	“If we've got sum thin to discuss, yes,” Belle responded. 
	But in all of them, none of them would address me, few eyes even given the luxury to rest on me for a moment. All the conversation was happening above me, face to face, while I was relegated to a dispenser. 
	


“Oh, so that is shy,” Tilly commented as she made her way up to the booth. “Tilly, glad you'd come. Lookin' parched perchance, how'd you like some freshly squeezed lemonade?” 
	“Could more be in need of a pick-me up, if ya got any.” 
	“Comin' right up,” she mused and twisted open a thermos to replace the ball-gag with its brim. A sizzling brew scortching my tongue and draining down my neck, I chocked back the first mouthful, but Belle screwed the thermos securely into my maw like a giant metal teet. Bitter bean juice chugging down my neck and converting in my bladder. Everything happening so quickly that I could feel the heat ravishing through me as one long cobra of coffee. “Mgmpghaa phaha,” I wheezed out at the first change of a breath. She rose up on the tips of her toes, displaying the lot of me with my dick pointing down in a cup on the stand’s counter. “Keep an eye for the right temper,” she instructed as she wrapped finger after finger around my dick, wrangling it like the reins on a bull, choking back. 
	When I felt the heat pumping through my urethra, its presence was locked from getting any further, but the urge to relieve it was still there, simmering, roiling to an itching oil the longer she manhandled my cock to hamper the flow. A trickle of deep chestnut amber leaked one droplet at a time, each droplet searing from my dick, sweltering all but the repulsion to my shaft but the aching relief so satisfying. It had me tossing and squirming under the harness that accomplished little more than making some of Belle's pudge vibrate. Sweat was drooling down my face. Another drop, another, and then, a drop that sizzled and steamed with a puff of steam rising along it. 
	“And perfect temperature,” Belle mused and unwrapped my dick, finger by finger like a parting rib cage, letting the flood of urine filtered coffee flood through my mast and billowing into the up. Soon, streaks of white vapor were swimming up through the air around the freed stimulant coursing down free. 
	Soon as the cup was filled she hoisted my dick up and stuffed it into an empty thermos. My shaft pulsed against the cool aluminium walls, in each throb I felt the clutch of the metal hamper my dick. The swelling of my dick compressing around it felt like I was stuck in a sausage maker, contained and choked under its own pulsing relief. 
	Belle withdrew my dick from the thermos and dunked it on the stand, a splash of golden tinged coffee splashing out, caught up in a mug she held out just in time, bringing it up to give it a sniff. A tart cloud of vapors infested with a musky brine whipping past my nose on the way up. 
	“That ought to put a real pep in your step,” she ensured. 
	Tilly took a curious sip. “Mmmh, whooa, hoo, that's strong as a troll. You'd be able to squirrel away a cup extra for me later.” 
	“You keep staying on top of contributions,” Belle said and brushed back her hair, “and I'll see what ‘ah can do.” 
	A brunette with a similar stature to Lisa wandered up and slammed her fists on the stand. “Well I'll be, if it isn't Vira. How's holding you up?” 
	Vira grumbled. “Been better,” she sniffed and shuddered. “Coffee… Ah, I see what's going on…” 
	“You'd like a cup?” 
	“Mnehye…” Vira said with a shake of her hand, and reached forward, delving her arm down the cleavage behind me, rummaging around until she fished up a flask. “But make mine Irish.” 
	“Vira…” Belle grumbled in reply, but the woman had already plied the flask open and was jamming it in my face, budging it around the ball-gag rather than taking it out. The coffee burned, this had my throat on fire, liquid flames torching through the muscles and singeing its wrath through my depths. It wasn't any alcohol I'd' been used to, it was too dark to be vodka, but too pure to be rum. I couldn't process it and took a side seat to the sheer pace of stomaching the stuff. 
	“Drink up, up…” 
	“I recon’ that't's plenty,” she scoffed and smacked her flask back to tuck it in the clutch of her boobs. “Just need ta moment for our distiller her to-.” 
	“I ain't waiting,” Vira informed, shuffling behind the stand, going down on all fours, and squatting in front of me, lips parted to a gape of humid darkness -Shhrrlp-. 
	Her lips swathed and enveloped my shaft with a slurp -Shhhvvll-. At once an external head to rival the internal flood that had passed through me earlier. I felt my cock serviced by her tongue, clutched in her maw, kneaded by her teeth, my eyelids twitching as I couldn't help but feel excitement overtake, coaxed out by blunt, rough thrusts and bobs of her face down my dick. She was so large, and her motions, so efficient, mechanical, direct and dominating, but less in search of pleasure, more suckling on me like the nozzle of a keg to get at her prize. My meat throbbing as the flood of burning, liquid fire seeped down my bladder, joined by own fresh brew… 
	“Ah, that's how ya'll get a contaminated brew,” Belle pinched a finger and thumb at the base of my dick, pinching off the cum tubes so precisely, just as I approached climax, the budding lust breaching its boiling point, and blocked by her grasp, the prickly dick was assailed by an assault of a thousand needles of stained desire, of an ache searching for relief, only for the flood of lust to pool back, chugging down my balls… -Chbgllgpgh- -Bllgpghsh-. I felt my sack grow heavy, clogged fresh in the wretch of my own would-be ejaculation, leaving me wringing and straining in raw emotion, all as the liquid courage fizzled through my shaft, draining down Vira's neck as she chugged the torched batch of urine-filtered alcohol. 
	The glugs siphoned through my faucet, straight to her developing beer gut. She smacked her lips over my dick, spitting it out like a used toothpick and rising up, letting out a burp as she passed my face -Bhrhuauarap- loaded with a distilled intoxication I had felt singing my throat through a marinade of dried saliva. “Tphaa, yeah that did it,” she slurped some over a bead of white at her cheek. “Coffee barely had any cream in it too.” 
	“You could'a waited like any hospitable folk,” Belle muttered, “I ought a…” 
	“Ey, ey… ah always pay on time, ya know I'm good for it.” 
	Belle scoffed. “On yer way then…,” she dismissed. One hand rubbing down my gut. “Gotta clear out this tank. Hope ya'll still thirsty, we're making a fresh batch,” she said hoisting up a whole dunk of water, which I stared at in horror, horror mingled with the relief that at least next I was only going to be force-fed water… 


~ 2 ~


As the afternoon light superimposed itself over the Trailer park its denizens migrated from waiting ahead of the stand, to lounging in the oasis: sprawled out on the faux grass, sharing benches, chatting and swapping stories, all with drinks in hand. Belle had taken it upon herself to offer refills, sauntering through the lot plot buzzing with activity, carrying my shackled frame in front, toted about for all the inhabitants to witness – fulfilling the role of a hood ornament. 
	A handful of times glances would land on me, chuckles exchanged, though locked in my leather fetters I could at most turn my gaze in an embarrassed fluster elsewhere. 
	“Lisa, you haven't gotten yaself a drink yet?”
	Lisa Rose looked up, carrying a bag of discarded cups and refuse that spontaneously materialised during get togethers. “Suppose, long as we got this fancy lil' number, I could go fer some o' ya homemade tea.” 
	“Coming right up, hun,” Belle cooed and twisted the cap of another thermos. 
	I pinched my lips as she brought it to me. With a finger aimed down my neck, and one smooth stroke she drugged my muscles to relax and my jaw to drop enough for her to nurse the thermos over my lips. With all the ease flicking on a household appliance. It was as if she knew my body better than I did. The drink poured down my tongue, tastebuds enraptured in a minty wave of strong peppers, a rounded character of ripe, distilled fruit with a smattering of herbs
	“Extra spicy, just the way I take it.”
	“Ya peach tea can't be beat, ma.” 
	“Oh perhaps it can, when steeped through this here teabag,” Belle mused and clutched a hold of my scrotum, the squeeze spiking tension throughout my spine while I chugged, the spiced tea singeing and jabbing its way across my tongue, like walking across it in rivets… Though despite the heat it gathered in my mouth, I felt the consequences through my guts, the sped-up process of the liquid churning through my gut, and collecting in my bladder twisted and knotted my gut in the aftershocks of capsaicin, folding my insides into balloonanimals. And just as it was flowing towards relief, Belle's hand crawled up from my sack to clamp around my dick – A spider wrapping its prisoner. 
	“Just let it steep for moment longer,” she hummed whilst lining up her fingers underneath my dick, each spaced along the urinary tract with her thumb putting pressure form above. 
	I felt the flood coming, sloshing down my dick and blocked by Belle's dam. The longer it stayed, the more it feIt like a kettle pot; steam circling and coursing down my dick. She eased up the grip of her pinky finger, and let it flow deep further, just to massage it down again, manipulating the flow , playing it like a flute. “Feel the burn, until it is ripe and ready.” 
	I quivered, sweating, my palms gripping into empty air, and squirming under the fetters: panting around the gag whilst her finger splayed along my dick to churn the tea back and forth. At least, I wheezed out in stinging, irradiating desperation, “Fmngngyaaa…” as a did, steam wisped from the tip of my dick, and Belle aimed it down a pitcher. “Kettle's done,” she mused and relinquished the grasp, letting my cock-head hurl up a torrent of rosy hued urine, speckled with flecks of chilly seeds and crumpled, dry leaves, with streaks of scarlet filling up the pitcher as it decanted through my mangled cock. -Splrroorhht- The roaring foam bubbling up along the glass as a good liter drained out and singed the inside of my dick fully, a shaking, shuddering wreck, with my limbs hanging limp in the restraints. 
	Lisa poured herself a glass and sipped with a sigh, “Plenty milder than ya usual batch, though s'pose that's this ‘ere filter doing it, ain't bad,” Belle's daughter mumbled and sipped, “Shows ya could could stand to be a bit milder at times.” 
	Belle muted a snicker. “Glad you enjoy it, though, see to our people now, hun. There'll be a refill done soon enough.” She turned to the stand, tapping her chin. “Since they've already introduced alcohol into this 'ere soirée; might as well go hold hog,” Rose cooed and brought up two hefty bottles. 
	Belle rolled her eyes, but took the bottles. “Which one 'o you ladies could go for a martini?” she said, her annoyed countenance somewhat melting at the rousing intrigue and murmur that rose through the crowd. She popped the cork out of the first bottle, clear with a silver engraved label. “We got the Gin,” she mused and stuffed it down my face into deepthroat. The bottleneck so deep the alcohol drenched straight into my throat, with mere splashes of stains. My tongue with the sharp, intoxicating acidity. “We got the vermouth,” she mused and bit the cap off the bottle, crowding it next to the gin, my lips spanning between the two bottlenecks as their contents chugged down my neck, the sweet and fruity nature of the latter washing down my molars to stain them in the piquant and potent deluge.
	The kindle of alcohol sloughing through my body and made my gut budge outwards as the drink mixed within me. 
	“Throw in some olives,” she mused and crammed a handful of the briny cloudberries down my face, hoisting my neck back with a tickle on my throat, so I'd swallow each one, caressing the little bumps as they slithered through my throat. 
	“And then give it a good stir,” she grabbed my dick, gently pumping it in her grasp as she brought it down into the neck of a pitcher. She swirled and rolled my member against the glass, shackling the tip shut as the fluids percolated through my bladder, pouring down my tract and starting to swell down my dick. 
	My shaft's girth ballooning as it congested with the concoction, growing plump and juicy, broad as Belle's fist before she eased her grasp, and the drink fizzled out. -Fsllrrlssfhshh- The first jettison was a sharp spray down the sides of the pitcher like a tsunami, only to ease, through gentle gropes, and she spritzed out jets of the drink at a time to empty my shaft. The torrent clamped to a drooling dripple as that of awine cask, interrupted by the occasional plonk of an olive making its way through the mast, leaving me to wince and groan after each one that escaped my meat. All the while Belle kept stirring into the drink with my dick, the contour of pale white in the otherwise crystal clear, character forming spirals that ensnared the olives, into a real, little avant guard art piece that stunk of bookclubs and girl nights' out.”
	Belle hoisted up the pitcher, and announced as Lisa Rose added handfuls of ice cubes to the drink to chill it down, “Who's here's eager got them craving's fer a real smooth, cool Cocktail, on the rocks?” and punctuated her statement by a clinking the pitcher against my sack, to the chuckling cheers of the Trailer park’s denizens. All I could do was sit there, strung up and shackled, face situated and eyes twitching from embarrassment, though… that wasn't the only thing that made my cheeks rosy. It had been a good while since I had gotten drunk, and I've never shot-gunned gin before… Even worse. To top it all off, I had never felt drunk, in my dick, before this… Oh hell… I was really far gone at this point…


~ 3 ~


The afternoon turned to evening – a developing photo bolstering its saturation to shadows and contours taking the place of glaring light. The Crowd dispersed, one by one saying their goodbyes and heading back to their lot. The chirp of crickets and nightly critters replacing the air whistling. And Belle packing up the stand. She shook a jug of water, hearing it jostle within.  And plucked the gag out of my mouth. 
	“Please, B-Belle I-fmfpgh.” She plugged my lip with the nozzle, forced to chug under the weight of the liters of liquid that still remained.
	“Be easier if yau finished what's left. Easier than slugging the jugs along witff me, drink up hoss,” she mused as the water dunked down my oesophagus and plunged down my gut, the weight of the water collecting, sloshing in my guts, swelling my abs, straining my stomach. With every step I felt the liquids sloughing through my broadened gut -Chhrlpgh- -Glpgsk-. Glancing down, I saw my abdomen distending, outwards, sideways, bouncing with the sea of leftover liquid cargo couped up my core -Ghlrpgh- -Gllgspghllsk-. 
	“Phea… a phaa,” I wheezed as it emptied, gasping after breaths before the gag returned. Though… this time it didn't. Belle stashed away the jugs, and rolled the stand back behind the plot. “B-belle I… I’m… -Buhruaaalrp- can't d-deal with this.” I wheezed out, belching up what felt like lungfuls of phantom liquid, just having air coursing down my throat was starting to feel unnatural… 
	Belle patted down my head. “Sonny, you ain't given yerelf 'nough credit. You'll shape up to a fine grandson, and if not, least ya make a great dispenser for parties.” Her pets turned to a grasp, shoving me back into the folds of her chest before hoisting on the coat and trekking home: “Belle… mfms c-can't breath, please I j-just wanna…” I wheezed out, now and then expending the precious breaths I had to plead. The night grew eerie with the crow of my voice dampened over the steps of the behemoth I was mounted to.


Once we arrived, she took a turn around to the backyard of the plot. Where she started to undo the belts, ensuing me out of the harness. My wrists, marked with red welts from the belts, quivering, and the harness easing open for my gut to billow out -Cbbwlgpgs- a meaty water pillow weighing me down. Once the last strap was relinquished, I stumbled onto the ground, stepping over myself and swaying my arms to find balance. My soles hurt, softened and neutered after a day without exposure to the ground, so the smooth grass felt like walking on needles. 
	“Ia pah g-gotta. S-sit down.” 
	“Shh, shhs…,” Belle said, one arm under mine, holding me close. “We aren't done with maintenance yet, cannot stash you away till yer all clean and a prim, can we?” 
	“P-please, s-stop, I-I won't run. I just n-need some time to-.” Though my attempts were thwarted as her lips enveloped mine, face planted, sealing my words beneath a kiss. The shock lingered. Of all the things she'd do, this I hadn't expected. She wasn't my real grandmother, but sharing a kiss still felt… odd. Her lips were smooth over mine, her breath warm and leathery. It tasted like an old, cured hide… and it grew stronger… She wasn't letting go… The kiss dropped its act of an exchange of love, for what it truly was: her lips were plastered on mine as a leech, her breath invading my maw. 
	“Mfmg-gmgpah,” I mumbled. 
	Her palm met my throat, clamping onto it, grinding with the bottom of her palm, over my esophagus, easing the grasp as she breathed down my neck… Her presence took over, what little there was of my own breath being dominated, outclassed by her moans trailing my neck, filling my lungs. Sheer manipulations massaging just how much, or how little, oxygen could circulate my body, inflating me with her dead air. My already addled grey matter turned to gruel, with not but her breath… 
	Her lips popped off of me like a cork -Clrptwwwlp- I chipped for breath, eyelids sluggish, wobbling on my feet. All effort rerouted to staying upwards, there was no energy to spare on speech. 
	“Good lad,” she mused. Belle crouched down to my dick, moistened her lips and gave the head a peck. A twitch roused it temporarily, in languid excitement. “Easier to manage, gotta drain off them last drops,” she mused and leaned forwards, slathering her puckered lips over my meat, catering to the aching manhood with her tongue as she leaned forwards, swallowing the mast. 
	“Mmgn… mfm…,” I mumbled above, staring into the hazy, early autumn dusk with my hips shaking and bumping up along with Belle's bobs. Her lips supplanting my dick to its base, slathering it in drooling as my wobbly body couldn't help but sway and buck back into her from her thrusts, as the warm maw bathed my dick in its humid hug of suckles and laps. 
	That last bit of blood in my brain funnelling down to my cock to swell it thick and juicy in her maw. Each breath I took felt like it collapsed my entire ribcage, eyelids fluttering shut as she worked down to my base, drawing her lips back and forth along my length. Though, before I could hit my relief… -Shrhrlpts- she drew back, pursing her lips at the tip of my shaft into another kiss, and stood up behind me. 
	“Time to show how much that bladder of yers can produce,” she mused, leading me forwards. In the vignette of a lull vision I could make out something pastel, cerulean, almost neon against the dark freshness, a circle with a painted undersea landscape around the rim, with dancing crabs and happy dolphins: a kiddypool. 
	“Fill ‘er up, son,” she whispered, one arm wrapped over my shoulder and down my gut – squeezing her palm into me to form a crater in the outline of her digits – the other wound down to my dick, rousing with the thick mast. 
	There was a biological paradox raging in my lap, the excited erection blocking off the flow from my bladder, but which was itself congested beyond recognition. Yet, having pushed my body the whole day, my mangled ducts wouldn't pinch shut, gaping even as the strain of resistance radiated through my mast, and the steaming flood washed through my shaft, where it was pinched. It sprayed out free, arching a thumb or so forwards before curving down in a splutter of pee. An amber archway drooling from my dick.
	“Mmhahh,” I wheezed. 
	“Ya got more bull in than that now, don't 'cha, gransonny? Or does granny hafta pull the reign?” she mused and tugged down on my dick, aiming the beam and massaging it in strokes, the meat pulsing, pinching together to suffer in her squeeze. The arch elongated, sprawling forwards into a straight beam of fluids towards the opposite end of the basin. The beam fracturing towards the end of the surge, scattering into a sprinkle of liquid pebbles pelting the plastic and sprawling down together into a deep pool. The Liquid amber scintillant in pale reflections of the last streaks of summer sunlight, refracting across the bream, its texture and surface rapidly shifting between glimmering streaks carving though the evening air like a whip of molten bronze -Cspprlrpthth- Slprthaht-. The water laid like lead in my gut to pressure its way forwards, aimed trough such a thin calorific gave me the feeling of pissing nails. 
	“Good lad,” she mused and pinched around the base of my cock with her little finger. The flow easing up to a discordant trickle, only for her to release and let it flood upwards, pinched shut before my tip, feeling my dick balloon into her palm with the onslaught of trapped urine, held hostage by her playing grasp of my shaft. She let it go in load after load, spirtzing out trails of sparkling lemonade through the air as she kneaded bloating domes of fluid down my mast, kneading into them with a squeal and slosh of groping a water balloon -Shhgllglbpsuh- before she unleashed each fresh wave into the pool. Even squeezing into the bulge to jettison it further, painting the upper walls of the plastic basin and even sprinkling past the rim and onto the grass. 
	“Lotta spunk in this one, ain't there?” she mused and slapped over my cheek, puppeteering my dick to her whims as she rubbed and pressed down on my tummy to adjust the pressure of in my hose. 
	My tired eyelids squinted, my teeth gnawing on my loose lips as the torrent tore through my insides. Compounded by the ache in a dissatisfaction of getting blue-balled time and time again, trapped in a state before climax just to have the soft tissue prepared for an orgasm and scolded by the burning river of piss. The compounding strain wracking my head and tearing out my hair in frustration. “Mmnghuugh…” Though my plight could at best be manifested through the odd wheeze and grunt from my oxygen deprived brain. 
	“Though ya capacity could do wiff a bit ah' improvement still, but won't be no problem for anny's lil' juicer, well it?” she cooed and gawked at my cheeks, moving in for another close, breath warping kiss as she pumped my shaft and squeezed out sprouts and gushes of thick fluids. She sapped the breath my lungs had been harboring and saving like a corrupted taxman pilfers that last funds of a poverty ridden family. Her focus was drawn to that and she eased up on my dick. 
	My shaft still splurted and winched in lingering arousal as it sprouted out loops of sparkling lemonade, though as it calmed my mast shrunk back, throbbing, shrunk to curl down limp and its pit gaping, muscles relaxed till the tip laid splayed and oozing forth in a deluge of clean, loaded bladder bile. Reminiscent of a soda machine on tap, limp, straight, and broken, unleashing its salvo with no sign of ease. The liquid splurged and foamed into the surface of a puddle of piss below, clusters of foam birthed from the waterfall of citrine and sloshing along the waves on the surface to explore the breadth of the slowly filling basin. Somewhere along the second make out session, the urine basked across the whole bottom, a blank surface of tainted, pungent yellow that reflected the sparse clouds and early stars across its liquid mirror. The surface rising as my limp shaft divulged all it had within, my stomach deflating under her grasp as the liters of residual party-fluids dispensed out and trickled away into sparkling droplets falling from my drying tap. 
	As the end of the piss came, that urgent insight from pent-up relief mastered my lungs, though my inhale was swathed with Belle's breath, tainted in a perfume of eau de bat and with a head of burbon. -Splrlrpr- -Pslrit- -Sslllrrrl- The last few drops trickled free, forming ripples across the pool, a quarter way filled in one long session. 
	Belle popped her lips off of mine, brushing back her silver white hair. “Shake,” she commanded. 
	I swallowed, wheezing out a cough, and weakly grasping my shaft, to shake off any remaining droplets. 
	“Good lad…” she said, patting my face. “Lets get you inside.” 


~ 4 ~


The scent of ventilated rust brought some sense back into me as we headed inside Belle's trailer. The world was still, and much of my lower self ached to the point my brain started ignoring it, floating along on soft soles like a ghost haunting this place, which wouldn't surprise me if there were at this point. 
	“Up, up, hoss. Haven't forgotten how ta walk now, have ya?” Belle teased as she lead me up to her desk, and up onto her swivelling office chair. I had looked forward to the relief of sitting down on my own ass, though when I did, it felt closer to sitting on a heap of disorderly bricks. Having me whincing and quivering. “Then again, if fen that ain't suit you. Still got some girth to these ol' bones of a mine, and I'm certain Lisa would hardly object to getting her go with you again.” She hoisted my feet onto the seat, so I sat curled up, arms slumped around my knees, panting to recover form the strain put through my mind. “Mmfgh…” 
	“But, rest assured, the test run today went well. A suitable lil' dispenser, with just a few kinks ta work out,” she said, patting down my head, smearing the sweat streaked down my face… “Mfms… tired…” I managed to mumble.
	“Bet cha are, so let's get ja packed in…” 
	That sounded… wrong? Did she mean, tucked away? Like in bed? I soon felt a shadow looming above me, peering upwards. I watched Belle standing broad-legged, fingers clutching, thighs wide, and a pussy gaping as she squatted towards me. 
	‘Oh… yeah, she meant packed in…’ I thought as the cunt descended onto my face, theruffled lips sweeping over my nose and peeling down fat across my face like petals of flesh, a moist putter of pancake batter hitting a heating pan reverberating around me as the rippling lips twitched and enveloped my head in its embrace -Shhrrlpsthah- -Bbrrlptbprlrst-. “Mmmfna, haaa, ah yeah, back in the box for you. Gotta ensure ta, keep ya in prime condition, don't we?” she mused and panted as she squatted further, leaning into her chair as her snatch swallowed my throat and sprawled over my shoulders, clamping and gnawing at me to be hoisted up into the realm of her birth canal. 
	Resisting was too much effort, she had me right where she wanted, folded up right in place for her to slot her bow over me, like any niche kitchen appliance destined to spend its days. On a shelf or a closet until its services were needed…. I wonder if they saw the same darkness I did, if they felt the same lingering. The maturity of an old clooter also smelled like bonito flakes and old shampoo. The walls of the vagina plastered over me, sweeping down my shoulders whilst my head lodged into her depths -Shchwrllptah- -Cslttatpahs- Belle's figure gradually sank down, enveloping my curled-up stature past the drapes of sleek, vacuum packing pussy folds. A light squeal of moist cling-wrap rippling over me as my knees were swallowed up in her embrace -Chsrllfsscllrpth-, delving deeper into the dark embrace ahead of me that, shifting and warping its sections of luscious, silken smooth tissue across every cent of my body. There was some comfort associated with the warmth, and I had already been locked into a low oxygen environment for most of the day. This one was just a touch moister, as if I was diving into a pool filled with piss. 
	-Schhrlrlpt- Their nether lips slathered down to my shins, dropping across my back as she gyrated her hips to and fro, working herself down into the chair. My body warping out her crotch and syphoning to a broad bloat engorging her abdomen. Vague hints of my figure's caricatured on her midrif, though without a close inspection it was just some folds of chub on a curvesious mistress. 
	“Mmf fmfpsh,” she mumbled as she wedged and shuffled downwards, leaning in the seat as her pussy warped up over my shins, crawling past my feet and meeting up with the seat below me. 
	“Mmm and… there…” she said and reclined into the chair with her full weight, a smear and -Glruughsh- smother of cellulite ass-chub smothering the cushion below, and sealing the box of her newest piece of fashionable kitchen appliances: a boy named Andrew. Her pussy clamped over my toes, smacking as they wrapped over the last of me, smushing into the seat, packing me up and plowing my form into the depths of her tissue-laced storage. With a thud her hind collided with the chair. I tumbled upwards as the space around me vibrated: Tremors of rattling meat caressing my form and brushing into every nook and cranny of my body. Though it gradually petered out, leaving me suspended in the damp darkness, with the distant coos and grunts of Belle on the outside. 


Belle traced a finger down her abdomen, following the outlines of my body as it protruded in her lap, soft and feeling it ply against the gently displaced skin that remained of all my body was to the outside worlds. “Safe and secure, and sound, cooped up in there, ain't nothing that'd come to bother ya. So why don't you get a nice rest, recharge ya batties and whatnot?” she mused and popped the cap, leaning back with a sigh. After a smack of her lips she glanced at the table, and a modest stack of paperwork. She sighed, and popped the cap off the pen with her thumb, catching it in between her teeth, setting it out in an open drawer in the desk. “I'll just be here burning the midnight oil fer a spell, never you mind me,” she said, patting the outline of my body as she shuffled forwards. Her pussy drooling down over the rim of the chair and onto a puddle on the ground ahead of her, as she looked over the documents. “Tomorrow's another day, after all~.” 
	Tomorrow… another day in the Trailer park, another day at the whims of Belle and her family. The thought of home brushed past my tired mind, if I would ever see it again. And if not, how long until I got used to this?