giggles
watching piggy at a trough

good thing you don't have those pesky blond licks anymore eh?

as soon as you speak
the pigs face is in her bowl
munching the food into its mouth

nice pic

of course piggy

enjoy

grins

looks at the bowls
then back at you

~may pig eat… please

~lick

you've been a good piggy

hops down n gets cool fresh water bowls n fresh bowls of food for you n the other cunnts

placing the bowls

stands back n smiles watching you drip

-looks in-

Looking...

thanks *S*

giggling as you wipe me

good piggy

thank you

you may finish lapping up your drink

looking up
~yes Miss
tongue tip stretching wiping the drops of ouss off your soft pink flesh
whimpering a bit. the scent soooo nice
then pigs tongue wiping over your butthole
tongue tip
fluttering at the pucker

take any picture you like sweets *s*

https://cdn5-images.motherlessmedia.com/images/FD4223C.jpg

drops in

Under Dogtown
Rats were incredible creatures, each their own unique avatar of resiliency.

But they were often habit-bound creatures, too. Find a routine that works, didn't get them killed, it was folded into the route. When resources were scarce, when the habit was inadequate, it was time to expand the boundary and test limits.

It wasn't unusual for someone to traverse the disused and incomplete subterranean mass-transit thoroughfares, let alone late at night, let alone armed, beaming the dim warmth of sub-optic illumination, emanating from the dark front port of her suppressed pistol.

She wasn't here to end lives, but this was D-Town.

The subject of her… lively inquiry was to be a man by an ambiguous-at-best description. Small. Mousey. Glasses. Perpetually on his last dollar, cursed with a bit of uncooperative kit that was prone to failure in spite of a habit of borrowing equipment or letting his aura of Kaputt short, freeze, burst a trail of cheap hardware, rental or otherwise, follow him from Southie all the way to Dogtown.

The noise of a spark, that split-second hum of terminals failing, and… no blood-curdling scream of a man being cooked from the inside.

Celeste re-safed her weapon and allowed the muzzle of her pistol to droop in thought before she slipped aside, eavesdropping the conversation from where a barely-working ventilation vane concealed her — its subtle noise and the irregular flutter of a canvas tarp — so-draped so the vent could be seen working or failing from a distance — could make it easy to hide and observe.

Once she saw the customer head off, presumably towards the ill-advised option, she approached the desk with her finger to her lips to plead silence.

Eddies and intentions exchanged wordlessly as she turned and made to follow Felix Stroh towards the unfiltered data relay, hopefully arriving before he did anything inadvisable.

"I'm not going to hurt you," first words out of her mouth. Her voice sounded weary, just barely smoothing her sleepless rasp up above audibility as she approached with her pistol pointed at the floor, one-handed. The other was open in what she hoped was a gesture of calm.

"…do you still have it?"

giggling..ahh you were thirsty

you may wipe me with your pig tongue too..don't forget my asshole too cunnt

kneeling in the puddle
looking down
then without a word
down on knees and elbows
slurping it up