Chapter 7: Stuffed Turkey
A low, gurgling laugh vibrated through her, starting from where he was still lodged impossibly deep and rippling outward. The Joker’s cock, a monstrous, wrist-thick intruder, remained seated fully within her uterus, a dense, throbbing weight that made her feel split in two. She could feel the hot, liquid pressure of his spend sloshing heavily inside her with every tiny shift of her hips.
“Well, well, my dear,” his voice purred, a razor blade wrapped in velvet. His painted lips curled into a smirk just inches from her own. His hips gave a minute, teasing thrust, not enough to withdraw, but enough to make her gasp as the colossal head of him nudged something profound and electric deep in her core. “You’ve taken my little… welcoming gift. But a host should always offer seconds. Don’t you think? Should I… bake another loaf in that needy little oven of yours?”
Ellie’s eyes, wide and brilliantly blue, rolled back for a moment before focusing on him with manic glee. She could feel the stretch burning at her limits, a delicious, full-to-bursting sensation that was all she could think about.
“Ooh, puddin’!” she squealed, her voice a perfect, pitchy imitation of the animated harlequin. “Ya already filled my tummy so full I’m sloshin’! But my baby-bakery’s got a forever hunger!” She wriggled, a tiny, internal massage around the massive shaft, feeling his cum churn inside her. “It’s sayin’… it’s sayin’ it wants the whole batch! Every last inch of that green-stuffin’! Don’tcha dare take the meat-mallet outta the dough yet! Pound it! Pound it till I’m risin’ like a pretty, pretty loaf!”
Her hands slid down her corseted torso, fingers pressing into the slight, firm swell of her lower belly, right where the outline of him was buried. “See? It’s beggin’ for it! Wants ya to proof the whole batch again! C’mon, Mistah J! Let’s see if ya can make this cake… overflow!”
She threw her head back, a cackle of pure, unadulterated ecstasy tearing from her throat as she felt the first deliberate, withdrawing slide of him, a tectonic shift that promised only more.
That withdrawal was a slow, torturous promise of the violence to come, a deliberate inch of slick, veined flesh dragging against her raw, inner walls. Then he drove back into her, a single, piston-like stroke that buried his entire length back into the clutching heat of her womb in one brutal, seamless motion. The impact slammed the air from her lungs in a choked squeal.
“That’s it! Yes!” she shrieked, her voice cracking with the strain as her nails dug into his purple-clad shoulders. Her body jolted from the force, her heavy breasts swaying wildly. “Pound my crazy-cavern, puddin’! Make ya permanent home in my ha-ha-hole! I wanna feel ya in my teeth!”
He set a relentless, punishing rhythm, each thrust a deep, internal hammer blow that made her see starbursts behind her eyelids. The wet, meaty sound of their collision filled the garish room, a base counterpoint to the recorded, maniacal laughter piping through the speakers. She could feel the previous load of his cum churning inside her, a hot, sloshing soup with every drive of his hips.
“You’re nothing but a vessel,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear, his painted face a mask of cool concentration. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her steady for his assault. “A pretty, broken toy waiting to be filled with my chaos.”
“Then fill me! Cram it in!” she begged, her own fingers frantically working her clit, matching the frantic pace he set. “I wanna be your number one chaos-container! Your personal cum-dumpster! Dump all yer messy, messy thoughts right inside! Make me think straight by fuckin’ me stupid!”
Her words dissolved into a guttural, broken moan as he angled himself, grinding the bulbous head of his cock against a spot so deep it felt like he was touching her soul. The sensation was too much, a blinding, white-hot wire of pleasure that short-circuited every thought. Her body seized, back arching violently off the stage floor as a raw, screaming orgasm tore through her, clamping her inner muscles around his invading shaft in a series of violent, milking spasms.
He didn’t stop. He fucked her right through her climax, his pace never faltering, using her convulsing body for his own pleasure. “There’s my good girl,” he cooed, the patronizing tone a sharp contrast to the animalistic force of his movements. “Dripping your insanity all over me. But the joke’s not finished.”
A new, different pressure began to build deep within him, a telltale thickening and pulse that she felt intimately. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna paint your walls, my dear,” he hissed, his composure finally cracking. “I’m going to flood that desperate little oven until it’s overflowing.”
“Do it!” she wailed, her voice hoarse, her body completely his to use. “Gimme the punchline! Flood the bakery! I wanna be your… your cream-filled joke!”
A sound tore from him then, not a laugh but a raw, guttural snarl as his control finally shattered. His hips stuttered against her, losing their brutal rhythm for a single, convulsive moment. Deep within her, the thick, veined shaft sheathed inside her womb began to pulse, a frantic, throbbing beat that was entirely its own.
It was a distinct, internal hammering, a frantic signal that preceded the deluge.
“Here it comes, my dear,” he rasped, his voice stripped of its playful malice, replaced by something darker and more primal. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, surely leaving plum-colored bruises in the shape of a clown’s grip. “The… punchline.”
The first jet was a scalding flood, a shocking, liquid heat that seemed to have no end. It hit the deepest part of her, a searing brand that made her back arch off the grimy stage floor, a silent scream caught in her throat. Her own climax, which had just begun to recede, was violently re-ignited, coiling tight and then exploding anew at the sensation of being so utterly filled.
“Oh, G-God… puddin’…” she stammered, her eyes wide and unfocused, seeing only the swirling neon lights above. The pulsing inside her was relentless, a geyser of hot cum that just kept coming, each thick, ropey spurt adding to the overwhelming pressure building in her core. She could feel her stomach distending slightly, a tender, swollen firmness beneath her corset. “Y-you’re… you’re fillin’ my whole crazy-cavern!”
Another volley, even hotter and thicker, slammed into her, and she cried out, her voice a broken, ecstatic thing. “It’s so much! I’m sloshin’! I’m a big, sloshy joke-bag!” Her hands frantically rubbed her lower belly, feeling the incredible, liquid weight of him pooling inside her. The previous load was now utterly drowned, replaced by this fresh, seemingly endless torrent.
He grunted, a harsh, animal sound, his body rigid as he emptied himself completely into her clutching depths. The pulses began to slow, each one a heavy, final dollop adding to the incredible volume already saturating her. A final, shuddering thrust seated him to the root, grinding his pubic bone against her swollen clit as he spent the very last of it.
Then, stillness.
The only sound was their ragged breathing, mingling with the canned, maniacal laughter from the speakers. He remained inside her, impossibly, his cock still rock-hard and lodged deep, a permanent-feeling plug keeping his massive deposit trapped within her.
Ellie felt delirious, drunk on the sensation of such profound fullness. A slow, wicked grin spread across her gloss-smeared lips. She shifted her hips, a tiny, internal roll, and flinched at the immediate, sloshing response from within.
“Hoo-boy,” she giggled, her voice breathy and amazed. She looked down between their bodies, though she couldn't see the junction, her focus entirely on the feeling. “Ya really… ya really iced the cake, puddin’. I think ya used the whole bakery’s supply of cream.”
She wriggled again, more deliberately this time, and a thick, pearly trickle escaped around the girth of him, seeping out to stain the stage beneath them. “Oops. Leakin’ a little. Your batch is so big it’s overflowin’ my pan.”
The Joker looked down at where they were joined, his painted smile seeming to curl with a new, possessive satisfaction. He gave a slow, deliberate thrust, not to withdraw, but to push back in, making her gasp as another small wave of his spend was forced deeper. “A good joke,” he murmured, his voice regaining its silken edge, “is worth repeating. Don’t you think?”
He shifted then, his movements fluid and surprisingly strong, his hands never leaving her hips. In one smooth, possessive motion, he rolled them over, his back hitting the grimy stage floor with a soft thud, taking her with him. Ellie gasped as the world tilted, her hands splaying across his chest for balance, her body now straddling him, his cock still buried to the hilt inside her overfilled womb.
The new position made her feel him even more deeply, a solid, unyielding presence that seemed to prop up her very spine from the inside. “Well, lookit this!” she crowed, her voice bouncing off the twisted clown faces leering from the walls. “Now I’m really on top of the world, puddin’! Or at least on top of your world!” She rolled her hips in a slow, grinding circle, feeling the slosh and churn of his cum within her.
A sharp, electric thrill shot through her as the movement caused his thick shaft to rub against a cluster of raw, overstimulated nerves. “Ooh, that’s the spot,” she purred, leaning forward, her massive breasts swaying heavily, their weight a pleasant anchor. Her fishnet-clad knees dug into the floor on either side of his hips, finding purchase. “My turn to drive the crazy-train! Choo-choo!”
The world tilted again as she pushed herself up, her palms flat on his chest, her stiletto heels digging into the grimy stage floor for balance. The shift made his cock, still buried to the hilt, grind against a new, breathtaking angle deep inside her overstuffed womb. She rose into a deep, stable squat, her thighs burning with the effort, her knees wide apart, feeling the incredible stretch of her own body accommodating him.
“Time for this cupcake to do the frosting dance, puddin’!” she cackled, her voice a gleeful shriek that echoed the recorded madness around them. With his shaft serving as her pivot point, she began to move, a crude, undulating roll of her hips that started a slow, internal churn of the vast amount of cum trapped within her. The wet, sloshing sound was obscenely loud, a private symphony of their depravity.
She dropped lower, her ass slapping against his thighs, then rose up, the muscles in her powerful legs and massive ass flexing with each deliberate bounce. “Rise and shine, Mr. J!” she squealed, driving back down onto him, taking every thick, veined inch in a single, wet plunge that forced a gasp from her lips. “Gotta knead the dough again! Gotta make sure all that yummy cream gets mixed in real good!”
Her movements became faster, more frantic, a savage twerking motion that jarred his body beneath her with each impact. “You feel that? My crazy-cavern’s milkin’ ya dry! It’s hungry for thirds even though it’s still full from the first course!”
The Joker’s hands, which had been resting on his own thighs, snaked out and gripped the full, bouncing cheeks of her ass, his fingers digging into the flesh like claws. “A glutton for punishment,” he hissed, his voice a low thrum of amusement and threat. He met her next downward thrust with a sharp upward grind of his own, burying himself even deeper, if that were possible.
The sensation was a lightning bolt of pure, white-hot pleasure-pain that made her vision blur. “Yes! More!” she screamed, her voice cracking, her rhythm faltering for a second as her body convulsed around the invasion. “Break the oven! I don’t care! Just keep stuffin’ it!”
She regained her rhythm, bouncing on him with a renewed, desperate fury, each descent a wet, meaty slap of flesh against flesh. The thick leakage from their union coated his pelvis and her inner thighs, a slick, cooling mess. “I’m your perfect little mess, ain’t I, puddin’?” she panted, her words coming in ragged bursts between impacts. “Your personal, leaky, cum-filled joke!”
“The punchline,” he grunted, his own composure straining, “is that you’ll never be clean again.” His grip on her ass tightened, holding her steady as he began to piston up into her from below, his thrusts short, brutal, and devastatingly accurate.
The dual motion her frantic bouncing and his punishing upward drives shattered her completely. Her dirty talk dissolved into incoherent, guttural sounds, a language of pure, animal need. Her body seized, clamping around him in a series of violent, uncontrollable spasms that milked the rigid length of him, demanding another offering.
She felt the familiar, thrilling pulse begin deep within his shaft, a frantic throbbing against her raw, inner walls. “It’s coming! I can feel it!” she wailed, slamming down onto him one final time and holding herself there, impaled, as his body went rigid beneath her.
A raw, guttural sound was torn from him, a vibration that traveled through the hard length of him into the very core of her. Then the dam broke. A scalding geyser erupted deep within her womb, a torrential flood so voluminous it felt like a separate entity claiming space inside her. The hot, liquid pressure instantly expanded, a shocking fullness that made her gasp and clutch at his chest.
“Oh, fuck, Puddin’! You’re fillin’ my tank right to the brim!” she squealed, her voice cracking with the strain of containing him. She could feel the incredible, pulsing jets, one after another, each thick spurt adding to the liquid weight distending her belly. It was a relentless, internal drenching, a hot branding that marked her as his.
The sheer volume forced its way back out around the girth of his still-hard cock, a hot, creamy rush that streamed down her inner thighs and pooled on his stomach. “Lookit that! Leakin’ all over your nice suit!” she giggled, the sound unhinged and joyous. She ground her hips down in a slow, circular motion, milking him for every last drop, feeling the slosh and churn within her.
He was still rigid inside her, a thick, unyielding plug holding the deluge captive. His painted smile was a slash of genuine, wicked amusement. “A mess requires… maintenance,” he purred, his hands sliding from her ass to grip her hips. “And you, my dear, are a masterpiece of chaos.”
“Then let’s make a bigger mess!” she cackled, and began to move again. Using the slick mixture of their fluids as lubrication, she rose up, the sensation of his shaft dragging through the overfilled, sensitive channel making her whimper. She paused at the tip, feeling the thick ooze of his cum begin to seep out in her absence, before slamming back down, taking him all in a single, wet, schlorping plunge.
“Gotta mix the batter, Mistah J! Can’t have lumps!” Her thighs burned with the effort, but the obscene feedback from her body was a potent fuel. Each bounce produced a wet, slapping sound and a corresponding internal squelch. “You gonna give me another load? Huh? Gonna cement this crazy-cavern shut with all your cement?”
His answer was a low, approving chuckle and a sharp upward thrust that stole her breath. His hands guided her rhythm, forcing her to move faster, harder. “The joke,” he hissed, his eyes gleaming, “is that you’ll never get enough.”
“It’s the best joke!” she screamed, her body beginning to tremble on the edge of another climax, spurred by the relentless friction and the knowledge of the hot, sticky pool they were both creating beneath her. “And I’m gonna laugh… and laugh… and laugh…” Her words trailed off into a moan as she felt that familiar, terrifying pulse begin deep within him once more.
The pulse became a frantic, internal drumming, a signal that another deluge was imminent. She drove down onto him, burying his length to the root as a raw, guttural shout was torn from his throat. A fresh, scalding flood erupted deep within her already overfilled womb, the heat of it so intense it was a brand.
“Yes! Pump it in! Drown my little oven!” she shrieked, her body convulsing around the massive, pulsing intrusion. The new volume forced a thick, creamy rivulet to escape around the tight seal of their joining, tracing a hot path down her inner thigh. “It’s so hot! You’re cookin’ me from the inside, Puddin’!”
Her own climax ripped through her a second later, a seismic event that made her vision whiten at the edges. She ground herself against him, a frantic, circular motion that milked his shaft for every last drop. The sloshing within her was a palpable, liquid weight with every tiny movement.
He was still hard, a seemingly permanent part of her internal landscape. His hands, slick with their mixed fluids, slid from her hips to grip the swollen curve of her belly. “Look what you’ve done,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum of possessive delight. “You’re bloated with me.”
A wicked, breathless giggle escaped her. She looked down, seeing the slight, firm distention of her lower abdomen beneath the corset. “I’m your personal piggy bank, Mistah J! Just full of your shiny, liquid crazy!” She rose up again, the drag of his veined flesh against her raw, overstimulated walls making her gasp. “But the piggy ain’t broke yet!”
She began to ride him in earnest, no longer just bouncing but rolling and undulating, a practiced, filthy dance designed to wring another climax from her own ravaged body. Each downward plunge was a wet, meaty impact that echoed in the garish room. “C’mon, stuff me like a Thanksgiving turkey the day after! I wanna be so full I can’t walk!”
“Insatiable little harpy,” he grunted, his own hips meeting her thrust for thrust, his endurance seemingly supernatural. His painted eyes watched her, captivated by the spectacle of her abandon.
“You made me this way!” she cried out, her voice hoarse. One of her hands left his chest to frantically rub her clit, the rough, circular motions pushing her higher. “You opened my baby-bakery and now you gotta keep supplyin’ the dough! I’m your best customer!”
The friction, the overwhelming fullness, the sheer obscenity of the situation coiled into a tension so sharp it was painful. Her breathing hitched, her movements becoming jerky, less controlled. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”
The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated. A silent, open-mouthed scream was all she could manage as her body locked up, seizing around his invading girth in a series of violent, rhythmic clenches. Her head fell back, her back arched, every muscle taut as a wire.
He fucked her through it, his pace relentless, using her convulsing body for his own pleasure until her screams found their voice again. “That’s it! That’s it! Squeeze it all outta me, you desperate thing!”
Slowly, the violent spasms subsided into deep, full-body tremors. She collapsed forward, her sweat-slicked chest pressing against his, her face buried in the cheap fabric of his jacket. She could feel his heart hammering against her own, a frantic, syncopated rhythm. The hard, thick presence of him remained inside her, a constant, demanding pressure.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breath and the distant, cackling soundtrack. Then, his voice, soft and lethal, cut through the haze. “The show’s almost over, my dear.” His hands stroked her damp back, a parody of tenderness. “The rubes will be wanting their finale.”
She lifted her head, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her gloss-smeared lips. Her blue eyes, glazed with exhaustion and ecstasy, met his. “Then let’s give ‘em a grand finale, Puddin’,” she whispered, her voice a raw, used-up thing. She shifted her hips, a deliberate, internal clench around his still-rigid cock. “One they’ll never forget.”