Triple N (No Nut November special for Bluebunboy/TheGentlebro)

TAGS: No Nut November + Hyper = You do the math

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“A-are you sure this is fine? You know h-h-how we get when we don-”

“Trust me, it’ll be fine!” the other bun interjected, “I did this last year and I was perfectly ok by the end of it!”

“Didn’t y-you end you flooding yo-”

“Perfectly ok by the end of it, yup!” - the interruption was even more deliberate than the smaller rabbit could possibly imagine; his friend was working as hard to convince him as he was convincing himself - “Trust me, you’re gonna love it, there’s nothing like it. Come on!”

Either through peer pressure or his own desires finally being allowed to shine through for once, Gentle took the ring into his hands and then proceeded to spend enough time staring at it that Trist managed to get his own from the table, sit down, and then adjust it around the base of his own shaft. It was an… investment, to put it lightly, especially for something that barely amounted to good alliteration, but the shy bun couldn’t help but shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it would be absolutely worth it in the end. He wasn’t a stranger to growth bursts after all, and he’d experienced a few where he later on admitted to himself were actually pretty good, so the thought of getting bigger wasn’t the main obstacle; no, it was the idea of spending a whole month without any kind of relief, all while slowly building up to an incrementally larger size by the end of it.

It had been, of course, Tristan’s idea for them to do it, after the “amazing success” of his experiment the previous year that ended up giving his room a fresh coat of paint. Despite Gentle vividly remembering seeing the other bun looking like they were constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown, not to mention the many occasions where Trist outright begged friends to jerk him off because he couldn’t do it himself, it would appear his friend was fully intent in repeating the stunt, despite how inadvisable it was. Then again, Gentle couldn’t really blame him; the look on their face after week two betrayed the sort of rapturous, carnal pleasure that most people could only begin to dream of, let alone experience, and now that they were forced to stay inside over health concerns, there wouldn’t be a lot of things to distract them from their growth journey.

Well, apart from one another of course, but surely Tristan wouldn’t take advantage of that. Surely he wouldn’t either.

Surely.

Gentle sighed, then carefully opened the metal ring and slowly placed it around the base of his dick, with Trist watching eagerly as he did so. The bun hesitated at the last moment, wondering if he really should go ahead, but with a curt nod to himself, a reminder that things couldn’t possibly get really bad and, of course, the usual nonsense about convincing himself that he could back away from the challenge (that he never managed to live up to), Gentle clicked the cockring into place and then immediately withdrew his hands. It was done.

… oh God, what had he just done?

“See? Perfectly fine~” Trist insisted, his voice sounding a lot worse now that both of them had committed to going a full month without emptying themselves out properly, “Oh, and did I mention I got these custom-made? They don’t actually unlock until after a full month.”

“You what?!” Gentle screamed back at him, desperately trying to yank the damned thing off of him, only to find his fingers slipping from the sudden bout of sweating, “Oh no, no, no, why? Why did you only tell me about this now?!”

“What, I thought you made up your mind about going all the way!” the other bun replied, the widest, smuggest smile stamped on his face.

“I did, but… b-but then I maybe, I mean… I m-mean, you know, like,” Gentle stammered over himself, trying to rationalize his way out of backpedalling on himself, “you know what I mean, Trist!”

“Do I~?”

Damn that horny rabbit bastard. Gentle wished he had a mean bone in his body, just so he could muster up all the spite it contained and direct it straight at that smug bun staring at him like he was some kind of prize catch; he loved that look, and he hated that he loved it, as it brought about far too much blushing for his liking. Still, he had been tricked, so it was only fair that he go and sit on the other side of the bed, with his back turned to his friend and his arms crossed in front of him; Trist, for his part, waited the customary five awkward minutes before trying to get his attention, at which point he gave up after two attempts and went straight for a far more direct approach.

The first thing Gentle felt was the bed’s springs groaning, followed by a very heavy set of breasts boobhatting him after knocking his actual hat onto the ground; within moments, he couldn’t even see the outside world, given the other bun’s bust was firmly locked around his head, keeping him from moving away. Not because he couldn’t, but because it’d be downright rude to turn down an offer as intimate as that one… or at least that’s how Gentle chose to rationalize it. Soon afterwards came the familiar warmth of something long, hard, throbbing and already leaking profusely against his lower back, with Tristan bucking his hips to really press his shaft directly against his roommate and soon to be compatriot in a month-long endurance challenge. How exactly this was their chosen way of making up after an argument was anyone’s guess, but the fact of the matter was that it did make Gentle feel a little better… even if all the sloshing was already making him nervous about his prospects of lasting until the end of November.

“We’ll be fine, ok?” Trist murmured, “Trust me.”

It was hard to do so. But he’d do it.

“... a-alright. I can trust you.”

Gentle was still unsure if he truly meant what he said or if those four words were going to be the bane of his existence for the next month, but there was no turning back now. With a smile, Tristan pressed onwards, providing an ever-tighter boobhug that eventually culminated in much the same way they always did; that night, the rest of the apartment block wouldn’t be able to sleep right, and frankly, neither would the two buns.

The first week was the easiest one, as the two of them hadn’t yet begun to fill up enough that it genuinely began to hurt or be anything more than mildly uncomfortable. Both of them were extremely productive, yes, but not to the point that some of their acquaintances were; unlike them, they could go for more than a couple of days without having those things dragging along the floor, or without making so much of a mess that it counted as a second coat of paint on the walls. Nonetheless, it’d be disingenuous to claim that they weren’t feeling the effects of the cockrings barely a day into their experience; for two buns very much used to being able to unload at any point they wanted to, to suddenly be denied this free access to relief was… special, for lack of a better word. Special because it was abnormal, special because it was so unlike their normal, everyday lives. Not special because it was good though, at least not yet; they both knew they had a lot of suffering in front of them before the experience circled back to overloading their pleasure centers and giving them only mindless bliss, and while Trist was so giddy for the opportunity that he practically buzzed with excitement, Gentle was less than enthused with the thought… at least when he had to keep up the charade next to the other bun.

It was hard to tell whether he truly believed what he was saying, if it was a narrative he felt the need to play up, or some odd combination of both, but the fact of the matter was, whenever the smaller bun managed to find some time for himself, away from the fountain of horny that was Tristan, he didn’t default to wailing and gnashing his teeth over not being able to relieve himself; rather, he’d often find himself climbing onto his bed, taking his clothes off, and spending what felt like hours staring at his junk, watching as it slowly throbbed its way to greater sizes, filling up from lack of use, begging him to touch it, to caress it, to give it the attention it needed. Whatever amount of slick pre managed to escape the vice-grip of the cockring freely smeared itself down his length, a problem both he and Tristan shared and that caused no end of frustration for their laundry schedule; and yet, as much as he wanted to touch himself, he knew he couldn’t. Not because he wouldn’t instantly climax the second he touched his rod, because he absolutely would, but because doing so would inevitably lead to a chain reaction that could only end with him being unable to walk without wobbling as he dragged two colossal cum factories behind him before half of the month was out.

Which was, oddly enough, precisely what Trist was planning to do to himself.

The challenge itself stipulated that they couldn’t ever “nut” for the duration of a whole month, but it didn’t say anything about making oneself so horny that they were perpetually edging and on the verge of collapsing by sheer virtue of wanting to cum but having to hold back from doing so. And if that meant growing his nuts out with backed-up seed desperate to find a way to the outside world, then that was honestly just a bonus in his eyes; it meant spending the rest of the month in such a constant, unending state of hyper-activation that even if his roomie didn’t want to beg for it to happen to them as well, they’d end up doing so anyway. And besides, there wasn’t anything stopping him from playing with his own tits when he was too distracted to notice… and when he wasn’t… and outright deliberately, when he locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour while pretending to do something else, filling the tiny space with his stifled moans and leaving Gentle extremely nervous about whatever was happening behind closed doors. Didn’t exactly help that it happened every time the other bun was on his bed and trying his best not to bring his hands to his shaft; it was bad enough having to resist his urges by themselves, he did not need Trist making it worse.

And thus they lived their first week with cockrings on, Gentle trying to come to terms with the idea that he wanted to give in, but still had some sense of propriety holding him back, while Tristan revelled in the excess that came from being able to see his own balls swell with unused, unspent spunk over the course of a whole month… and yet, somehow, out of the two, it wasn’t the latter who ended up with the biggest nuts overall, despite Trist’s frantic, obvious attempts at forcing his body to overproduce. Perhaps it was due to Gentle’s own ability to simply make more, or maybe the universe was rewarding him for having more self-restraint than his roommate, but the fact was, going into the second week, both of his nuts had approached the size of watermelons, audibly sloshed whenever he took a step, and just downright churned away even when he was standing perfectly still. By comparison, Trist’s had just barely gone past cantaloupe-sized, and weren’t nearly as loud, something that confused the both of them to no end.

Clearly, something else was necessary. Clearly, Trist needed to put more enthusiasm behind his self-ministrations… or, perhaps, try and make good use of someone else’s ability to surpass him by doing absolutely nothing.

Thus began the second week, with the bun that instigated it all already falling for the hormonal drive that had taken him twice as long to succumb to the year before, courtesy of having that other cutey living with him; how could he possibly resist someone as both adorable and extremely productive as Gentle, when they had to deal with them for their whole day? It’s not like they could go anywhere now, and the only time they really had apart from one another was when one of them had to go get groceries… and given the sort of packages they were packing, things were quickly approaching a point where even that wouldn’t be possible anymore. They still insisted on wearing underwear around the house, despite this doing very little to hide their true size anymore, but getting pants on was rapidly slipping away from their skillset, and with it, their ability to go anywhere where they had to remain decent. Even with the thin layers of fabric they used to call boxer briefs, things weren’t in any way made better; the lack of stimulation, coupled with the bloating and swelling of their nuts, had left both of their members perpetually turgid and begging for some sort of attention, to the point where nothing they had was able to hide them. Boxers could at least keep their balls supported, if not necessarily hidden, but their rods were absolutely stuck smearing the fur on their bellies, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and they were barely done with the first one.

Things began to go awry very quickly after that, given the lack of stimuli and distractions that could get their minds away from the one thing about their bodies that they absolutely couldn’t ignore anymore. Even remote classes weren’t enough, not when they had to have them side-by-side and at the same time, not when they spent most of the time making sure the sound was muted just so they could stare at one another, biting their lower lips and holding back a torrent of comments that would leave them completely wrecked and unable to resist anymore. Not a single word left their mouths, and not for a lack of want; Gentle was simply too bashful to make such a blatant first move like that and Trist, for all of his teasing and flirting, had his mind too preoccupied with what he was seeing to really put on the moves… plus, they were attending remote class, so everyone would notice if they either turned off their strategically-positioned webcams or moved away from them. Courses thus became another thing for them to be tortured with, another non-distraction that only served to make their situation worse, and yet both of them yearned for the opportunity; it was a delectable mixture of the proverbial forbidden fruit and the utterly mundane, the knowledge that everyone else assumed they were fine, if feeling a bit hotter than usual for some reason, while the reality of it was that both of them were mere instants away from descending into the sort of sexual madness that best befitted their species.

Not that it would do anything; that was the real kicker there. They could certainly try, and indeed Gentle at least had Tristan’s tits to worry about, but what were they supposed to do after reaching climax? The cockrings wouldn’t come out until three weeks from then, and there was no way any orgasm would be able to break through them… so what then? Odds were good that trying to force their bodies into a position like that would just make their nuts bigger by way of backing up their cum production, something that sounded ridiculous and yet felt more and more real a possibility with each passing day. So the two of them just… didn’t do it. They looked, they stared, they trembled, their eyelids quivered at the sight of one another, but it was never more than that; Gentle on multiple occasions called Trist out for cheating, whenever the latter locked himself in the bathroom to play with his bust, while he, lacking one, had to lie there and take the full brunt of the impact with no outlet… and yet, despite Gentle’s near-religious adherence to the strictest interpretation of the rules of the challenge, it was him who kept growing the most out of the two. Despite Tristan’s feverish attempts at forcing his nuts to become more pent-up by making them output against the cockring barrier, he still lagged behind his friend in terms of size, something that confused him to no end. What was he doing wrong?

Something that Gentle himself would like to know, because carrying around a pair of overinflated watermelons stuffed with spunk was not his definition of a good time, and he despised how much his body disagreed with that notion. He wanted to hate it, he truly did, because at least then he could harness that hatred and use it to fuel his determination; instead, what he had was unending love and desire, and an intense, almost unbearable need to cut himself free of that cockring, even if it meant getting power tools and literally ripping it off of him, scratches and worse be damned. There was a single, three-letter word repeating ad nauseum in the back of his head, and the bun kept berating himself for wanting to listen to it, for wanting to give in, because there was no giving in; the restraint wasn’t going to come off no matter how hard he tried, so all he had to do was sit and lie there for thirty days without jacking off. So why was that so hard? Why was he so hard? Why couldn’t he just walk normally without each motion, each movement causing his nuts to slosh so loudly that it made him even harder?

And why did he like that so much?!

The second week was when things began to completely break down, to the point where even remote classes just weren’t possible anymore, and both buns had to admit that putting the rings on was possibly the best worst thing they could’ve ever done. The only excuse they had for skipping on their obligations was a vague notice of getting stick, though thankfully no one kicked up too much of a fuss given the general state of affairs; the two were roommates, after all, so if one fell ill, it was only natural the other one did as well. This much was surprisingly close to the truth, though what they were suffering from was less an illness and more a disorder of their own doing.

Gentle in particular had taken to simply not getting out of bed at all; having learned the hard way that trying to move from place to place was a recipe for disaster, he resolved to park his butt on his sheets and deal with the problem in the only way he could: staring at it, despairing at his inability to do anything about it, and then fighting with his own hands when they tried to “fix” things anyway. The bun knew that the moment he lost control over them, that was it, he was done; all it took was one climax and he’d be bloating so hard as to be unable to walk, rather than unwilling. That this meant his days were mostly spent looking at a two-foot-long, engorged shaft of cockmeat wasn’t exactly lost on him, nor was the fact that, even with the ring on, he still constantly bubbled with so much pre that his bed was a complete mess, but what was he to do? It was either that, or endure worse, and his balls were already big enough that he had to scooch up to one end of the bed to keep them from spilling over; he didn’t need things to take even more unexpected turns.

As for Trist, the other bun could not have picked a more different approach. While Gentle chose to pursue self-denial and the ensuing mounting despair at how little that did anything, his roomie opted to dive headfirst into self-gratification, hard enough that it no longer strained the definition of what the challenge was about so much as it completely broke the rules and kept sailing on cheerfully as if they weren’t there at all. Not an hour went by that Tristan didn’t rush to the bathroom to play with his tits, and if there was one good thing that could be said about him, it was that he at least avoided actually touching that throbbing shaft of his; instead, he groped and squeezed at his bust whenever he felt mildly aroused, resulting in quite a bit of growth from all the backed-up orgasms that kept slamming into the cockring at his base. Spurts of pre were ejected with alarming regularity, the whole dorm covered in the stuff, and despite Gentle’s protests, the smaller bun still had to deal with Trist sloshing his way from place to place, desperately trying to hold onto their own sanity as it slowly, but surely, slipped away into the realms of self-exploration.

As a result of this, their size at the end of the second week was something beyond unwieldy. Each nut was about as big as a yoga ball, so large that Tristan had to push them behind his legs just to be able to exist without being paralyzed from the sensations, let alone walk to and from the bathroom, the bedroom and the kitchen, the latter because, much to his consternation and complete surprise, Gentle had somehow maintained the lead! Despite the other bun having done absolutely nothing for a whole week but lie in bed and constantly complain about how full he was, he was now… well, effectively stuck to that bed, because there was no way he was going to get off and move anywhere with nuts that big. Each one was about as large as both of Tristan’s combined, if not even slightly larger, and the strain it placed on both his body and mind had at least given him a reason to quiet down; complaining about things was somewhat difficult when his brain was constantly assaulted by rhythmic, overwhelming shockwaves of what he could only assume was pleasure emanating from those overstuffed orbs of his, every heartbeat being accompanied by a twitch of his rod, now perpetually hardened and reaching the three foot mark. Poor Gentle had both of his arms limp by his side, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused and only vaguely aware of the world around him, with only the glint of the cockring to remind him of the foolish decision that had placed him in that situation to begin with. It fell to Trist to help feed him, because Gentle certainly wasn’t going to do that himself, which only exacerbated the envy the former felt for the latter.

He hated having to go through that. He knew it was unfair to his friend… but why were they bigger than him?! Tristan had tried so hard to get his balls to grow, and despite having objectively succeeded by all reasonable measures, he was lagging further and further behind his friend, who had done precisely nothing to earn any of his si-no, no, that was not fair. It wasn’t about earning, it was about developing big, cumstuffed balls and enjoying the challenge while it lasted… but he still felt it. He still had that tiny nugget of size envy that refused to go away, and indeed, he wondered whether it wouldn’t be better to just accept it and move on… or perhaps, he could distract himself. After all, they both had survived two weeks of the challenge, and there were two big, juicy distractions right there for Trist to take into his hands; Gentle would surely be fine with it, it’s not like he was using them anyway.

The third week rolled in, and with it came a dramatic shift in the relationship between the two roommates, as they now spent quite a bit more time together after Tristan discovered that the key to true happiness was to worship those overstuffed, cum-filled orbs that his friend sported between his legs, rubbing and kneading and squeezing and groping and goodness knows what else for hours on end. He’d wake up, roll out of bed, and the first thing he did after getting back on his feet (a process that took anything from five to ten minutes by that point) was to drag himself over to Gentle’s bed and practically throw himself at those hyperactive cum factories; Gentle himself was so completely out of it that, apart from dinner and lunch, he was barely ever truly conscious and aware of his surroundings anymore, and in fact the only thing needed to complete the picture would be a cartoonish puff of smoke emanating from the top of his head.

He certainly had the audio to go with the visuals though; with a pair of nuts nearly big enough to cover a good half of his bed, whenever the house wasn’t filled with his low, moaning groans, the air rumbled with the sounds of churning and the occasional gurgling growl as those things continued to grow in all directions. Tristan’s desire to be the biggest between the two began to disappear the moment he gave into the allure of those two mountainous, overpressurized cumtanks; after all, how could he be truly envious of something that he had at his disposal day and night, to caress and dote on, to lick and to breathe in, to tease his best friend with via small pokes and the odd pinch. Any touch at all was enough to set Gentle off, and if it weren’t for the two cockrings holding the buns back, their room would’ve been flooded by his own production by that point, something that Trist himself seemed intent on forcing through, given how energetically he worshipped those enormous balls.

To be fair to him, there wasn’t a hint of malice behind his actions, because there wasn’t a hint of anything at all; the time for thinking, the time for having reasons behind why they did anything, was long gone, replaced by raw, animalistic instinct and the primal urge to grow forever, or at least for as long as their bodies allowed them. It made eating lunch and dinner harder than it had been already, with Tristan unwilling to part ways with Gentle, even with the short amount of time needed to get stuff out of the fridge and into the microwave. The poor delivery personnel sent to their dorm were left flabbergasted whenever Trist opened the door, especially if it happened during one of Gentle’s loud slorshing periods; there was just enough of a clear line of sight between the front door and the bedroom that anyone standing outside could catch the slightest glimpse of the other bun’s orbs peeking through, if they weren’t already stunned by the pair sported by the one answering the door. Rumours began to spread throughout campus, but none dared to come check in on them; they all knew too well what had happened with Tristan the year before, and no one wanted to go through that awkwardness again.

Thus, if the two buns weren’t busy eating so they wouldn’t literally starve to death, they were getting busy with one another… or, to be more precise, Trist was throwing himself at Gentle’s perennially-swelling pair of nuts and Gentle sort of lay there alternatively begging for said nuts to grow bigger, small, emptier, fuller and a dozen other nonsensical things that no one in their right minds would be able to decipher. Days began to meld into one another, and it wasn’t that odd for Trist to fall asleep hugging those colossal cumtanks as if they were pillows, only to wake up holding a pair that was ever so slightly larger than the one he'd fallen asleep to the churning of. Before long, Gentle’s bed began to audibly groan simply from the weight being placed on it, but neither of them were in a position where they could even begin to care; by the start of the fourth week, every inch of the bed that wasn’t Gentle’s body was taken up by his balls, with the nearly five-foot cock he sported being so twitchy that it literally never stopped whatsoever. A simple flick was all that was needed for what felt like half a gallon of pre to come spurting out, and for Gentle to cry out and beg Tristan to stop; not because it wasn’t good, but because it went against the rules of the challenge.

Because ultimately, wasn’t that what this was all about? The “smaller” bun remembered it, even if Trist didn’t; the latter was slightly too concerned about the fact that he had to drag his floor-length nuts behind him whenever he wanted to move anywhere to care about such things as “rules”, doubly so when him hugging his friend’s orbs inevitably meant he also had to shove his own torso-length cock against them, only making the experience that much more unbearable. It was a vicious cycle that would only end when the two of them took the cockrings off, or rather, when they came off on their own, as it was highly doubtful that either of them would have the presence of mind to remember they were even there by the time the month ended. Conventional thoughts were replaced with the raw hunger for size and fullness that had consumed their lives, and the eternal desire to stretch their limits even further than they had been already; for both Tristan and Gentle, their life was just this now, growing, bloating, filling, gurgling, sloshing, churning, spurting, thickening, perpetually in a cycle of unending pleasure and self-indulgence that no one but them could put an end to, and they themselves would never do so without their hands being forced.

It made for a rather interesting final week, given that neither of them recalled ever leaving one another’s side for the whole duration. Hours blended together into days and the flow of time ceased to make any sense altogether, as hunger and thirst seemingly vanished into thin air, their bodies fueled purely by lust and the mindless adherence to the challenge’s rules, as written; even Tristan had given up pleasuring himself via his bust, though he spent countless hours thrusting into and onto Gentle’s utterly colossal cum factories, long past the point where they’d grown big enough that they would have spilled over the bed… if they hadn’t collapsed it completely, leaving the poor bun practically buried by his own balls. Trist himself had developed quite the pair as well, though not nearly as large as his roomie’s; still enough to immobilize him though, making it hard to get anything done that didn’t involve rubbing himself all over his friend’s body.

The noises only got worse as the deadline drew closer, doubly so when their consciousness was roused by the cockrings themselves; what with the two of them falling in and out of a dreamlike state and losing track of how long they were sort-of-asleep for, it was a surprise when the metallic restraints beeped loudly and informed them that they had a single day left. Maybe if they were still in possession of their mental faculties, they would’ve complained about it; a single day, with what they were experiencing? That was an utter travesty, they couldn’t possibly go through everything they wanted to do in just a single day… but alas, the two buns were far past the point of being able to care, and immediately resumed their mindless self-exploration, mentally counting down the hours until the cockrings told them they only had twelve left. The churning kept getting louder, the gurgling cacophonous, almost as if their bodies were deliberately ramping up production for the final release; feet were added to each of their nuts, the pressure rising to insane levels that completely shattered any projection they might’ve had.

Six hours.

It was the middle of the night, and the noises weren’t yet loud enough to wake other people up… but they were loud enough to keep the two buns stuck in a very lucid state, their alertness forced to remain at a level where they had to go through everything their bodies were experiencing, and simply shutting off and embracing release wasn’t an option yet. Gentle called out for Trist, Tristan called out for Gentle, and the two lost themselves in their own size.

One hour.

The sun was rising, and the few students that were back at the dorms after Thanksgiving were starting to wonder what the noise was all about. It sounded like the building’s boiler had suddenly malfunctioned, coupled with some massive clogging in the piping system and at least a four-point earthquake. A brave minority, those who knew what was going on inside the two buns’ room, dared to approach the door, hoping to be able to fix whatever the problem was before it was too late. But said door was locked, and no one was about to kick it down, lest they get in trouble with campus security.

Inside, the cockrings were louder than ever before, loudly complaining about reaching their limit, as both Gentle and Trist’s shaft had both grown so much that even those things weren’t well-designed enough to keep up. Spurts of pre thicker than proper cum painted the whole room, covered their whole bodies. They were about to blow.

Ten minutes.

Gentle was moaning, Tristan was screaming, both of them had wide, open smiles and openly begged for release to come. A crowd congregated on the entrance to their dorm, now fully convinced that whatever was going to happen, they were probably in the blast zone for it. A clever few bolted out of there as soon as they could, while the rest took a few steps back, believing themselves to be in the clear by doing so.

Five minutes.

Two minutes.

Thirty seconds.

…

The first thing the bystanders heard was the noise of metal being bent out of shape and then torn asunder, followed by what sounded like two firehoses being opened at maximum capacity. It didn’t take a genius to understand what had just happened, especially after the torrential deluge of cum being produced by both buns began to loudly splash against every solid surface and then bounce back to hit itself as it covered every single square inch on every single object in their bedroom; walls, floor, ceiling, upholstery, everything was almost instantly coated in an inch-thick covering of spunk that only got thicker by the second, and yet both of them felt like they were barely even started.

More clenching, and the flood oozed into the hallway, straight into the living room and then right out the door into the corridor outside, with the other students now starting to seriously doubt their own safety. They could hear the waves inside, sloshing about heavily enough that they smashed into the door with so much force as to leave cracks in the wood, gallons of it spilling from underneath. Within the cum-flooded dorm, things weren’t much better; neither Gentle nor Trist had even begun to shrink, and their spunk was already halfway up the mattress that the former had been on ever since their bed broke, with no signs of stopping, and the only reason they weren’t drowning being the conveniently open window by their side and the fact that their front door now had more leaks than they themselves did.

Wouldn’t take long before that door collapsed entirely, spraying the crowd with a wave of seed so quick and powerful that most of them were literally plastered against the opposite wall, only to slide off and be carried by the tide moments later. Much like the inside of the dorm, the corridor was being given a fresh coat of paint, extending all the way to the ceiling with its customary cum stalactites, turning the whole accessway into a goopy, musk-scented tunnel of pure, creamy white.

And still they were going, not abating, not slowing.

Outside, someone was lucky enough to have found something to halt their slide, when holding onto a piece of metal that had become lodged in an outlying rock: one of the cockrings that had disengaged from the buns just a minute ago, still flashing red, and oddly enough displaying something on a screen that neither Trist nor Gentle had noticed before; four words that appeared burned into the display in bright lettering:

PROJECTED OUTPUT - FIVE HOURS