The Witch's Dollhouse Pt. 02

His moans were silenced when his mouth was plugged by a doll's breast, though they were jostled constantly and a new teat would take it's place in time.

Often times their clumsy movements merely caused their hefty tits to slap against the poor youth's face, his distressed lips tasted nippleless flesh and oily skin.

But sometimes they would successfully sneak into his mouth one of the leaking towers and unload a flood of sweet tasting, warm milk which spread throughout his body and flushed his pale skin a bashful pink, sweat forming in places his body felt the hottest and his penis in particular swelled more and more, radiating heat like it was it's own sun.

Just like before.

When his cock felt like it was ready to burst, the dolls pulled back and hoisted him up into a kneeling position. In his daze, he had trouble fixating on the doll in front of him who had started bending over, her bubble butt jiggling in rapturous anticipation for his attention.

Two dolls on either side moved towards the puffed up gate of her maidenhood and spread it open, directing him into the tight pink vortex of lust, the pleats and folds inside drooled clear erotic nectar and pulsated in excitement.

Faced with such a sight, Phil may have responded the same if he were in his right mind.

He took hold of his dick, burning hot in hunger and quaking for release, a blazing lance ready to pierce the depths of the denizens of the dark lands beneath the mansion.

He positioned it's head at the entrance of her tunnel and, without hesitation, thrusted the entire length inside as deep as he could.

While the doll let out a primal cry of lust, Phil was lost in a silent scream as her maidenhood clamped down and the sudden piercing of her vagina squeezed out a tsunami of femcum from her walls, washing over Phil's groin with the same sense of liberation as a child peeing itself.

Phil's cock, throttled in her narrow pussy couldn't hold itself back and fermented her virgin flesh with his seed, a torrent gushed into her depths and would have spilled out if her vagina wasn't clinging so hard to his penis.

Indeed, it refused to permit it's separation from his manhood and Phil was left to awkwardly bask in his orgasm's afterglow, unable to remain upright but unable to fall down either.

The restless dolls made their move too, one hugged him from behind to keep him from falling limp from exhaustion while another spread his rear wide before cramming her writhing tongue into his asterisk. Phil lacked the stamina to complain, all he could manage was to gasp and thrust deeper into the doll's depths in an attempt to escape the wriggling flesh.

As the wet serpent writhed and burrowed deeper into his sphincter, the mountainous ass before him began to slam back into him, allowing the tongue to probe deeper as Phil's hole clamped down on it. Suffering a two pronged attack Phil could do little more than hang limply in their embrace as they did away with him like a toy to vent

out their sexual frustrations.

Occasionally the dolls would switch after a couple of rounds of cum were pumped into them and Phil would find a new tongue tasting his ass and another tight passage consuming his cock in passionate hunger.

Whenever Phil's cock started to grow flaccid, it would be removed from it's lover's sheath and tended to by several dolls pampering the shaft and balls with patient licks, sensual kisses and by loudly, sloppily sucking. Meanwhile Phil would find his mouth full of a nipple or two, whether he refused or not, and a warm, thick milk was fed into his body, dimming his mind and enhancing his sensitivity. It wasn't long before his body, feeling like it was on fire, broke out veil of sweat which the crowd of horny nymphos lapped up like thirsty kittens.

Phil endured this torment in a haze disconnected from the advance of time. The process was monotonous but the care given by the dolls and their eternally tight vaginas made it impossible to resist arousal.

And every time Phil felt unconsciousness tug at him into the void, the dolls would swiftly drag him back into awareness either by the force of their immense frames smashing against his or with a powerful slap to the young man's face.

It appeared as though the lusty effigies refused to let their fun end just yet.

Phil was barely aware of the fact that he was no longer standing, but lying on top of one of the gargantuan ladies, still ensnared in her soft grasp, the desperate caress of the dolls tasting his flushed body, the amazonian weight bouncing on his penis, lubricated by his and countless other erotic fluids, the feel of multiple mouths swallowing his ballsack and two tongues intertwining in his rectum, digging deep as if it was the tastiest cuisine available.

Before his sight was muffled by another doll's drooling snatch, he noted that the light had faded and that the only source of illumination came from the fickle light of the moon and stars above.

Trapped in this cycle of indulgence, the uncaring day marched on and left him behind, now the lazy night watched over his suffering heedless to his mind's silent cries for mercy as another torrent of white surrender erupted into the womb of his captors.

And then finally, when the silver light had bled into a warm orange of daybreak, the young man's body had finally given up, ignoring his hosts' physical abuse it fell deep into the abyss of sleep with the fading cries of insatiable lust and the knowledge that another similar hell awaited him when he woke up pursuing him into the void.