heffalump

And one for little @Whittier !

Whittier was a big boy. Rounder than Pasha, with a fat little belly that now, when it wasn't wedged in her hoo-haa, was adorable. And so fuzzy. Now that the pups were dry, it was easier to see the colours of their coats. Whittier was a mix of his mother and father - a bleached version of Scimitar superimposed on Bazi's Arctic heritage. Bazi watched him with deep fascination as he drank and drank, gulping down more liquid than he possibly had room for. Where did it all go? Did he know how to pee? Panic blossomed briefly in Bazi's chest. Was peeing something she had to teach them?

With each passing minute of his life, Whittier became ...not at all truly aware of anything still.  The world he had once known inside of his mother's belly was gone from his teeny tiny brain.  His horrible, mother-rending birth wasn't even a figment of his imagination.  Hell, he didn't really care for those other lumps that he'd spent the past six weeks with as they kept knocking into him and trying to part him from the one thing that did exist in his world - his mama's glorious, saggy nipple.

Having no concept of limits, little Whittle had no idea that he had surpassed his about 4.5 seconds ago.  The peculiar sensation in his belly was nothing to him at all, not until it gurgled quite unexpectedly.  He paused as he felt the sensation rumbled up his chest to his throat.  It was entirely horrifying, but the worst part was when all of his hard-earned dinner suddenly came rushing back out of his mouth all over his most prized possession (I'm again referring to Bazi's nips, just to be clear).

While he couldn't exactly cry yet, the shrillness of his whining squeaks was likely enough to communicate the high level of distress this terrible incident had caused him.  His lifted his little paws to wriggle against his brothers and sister, fussing about all the while.  It hadn't quite occurred to him yet that he could simply reattach himself to the teat and begin the process all over again, but then again.. he had already forgotten what he was so pissed about in the first place.  Being a newborn is hard.

Whittier gave her fair warning, but there was little Bazi could do about it. Three suckling mouths still kept her anchored to the ground, and the new mother could only look on in disgust as the fourth emptied himself all over the dinner table. "You little beast.." she rumbled, not even slightly charmed by his terrible manners. Before the pup could take two gulps, she picked him up by his fat middle and wedged him between her forelegs for a clean. But first, much to Bazi's disgust, she had to lick milky puke off her own nipple.

The fact that Whittier wasn't sure what was upsetting him so much did little to ease his distress.  If anything, it just made him even more miserable.  His little limbs flopped about against the ground ineffectively (unless his intention actually had been to shift about half an inch to the right, which it was not).  He opened his mouth wide and jerked his head about as though to find something to clamp his fierce jaws down upon.  Instead, he found himself suddenly wrapped his the loving embrace of his mother's mouth and whisked away to an entirely new land - the sweeping fields between his mother's forepaws.

Instantly, his distress was cured and replaced by his first inklings of curiosity.  What was this mysterious place he had been relocated to?  Was there anything he could suck on that would provide him with more food?  Eagerly, his little legs scrambled against the ground until he had moved the few centimeters it took to bring him to his mother's arm, which he promptly attempted to nurse from.

Acting as foster parent to Relonikiv and his siblings had not prepared Bazi for this first, delicate stage of parenthood. Despite looking like four mouldy breakfast rolls and lacking any sense of what was going on, her children taught her something new every time she looked at them - about instinct, about themselves, and the five puppy "P"s that would dominate these next few weeks: poop, piddle, puke, patience, and perseverance.

Amazingly, Whittier did not cry when he was relocated from boob to bathroom. Swift might have growled, but Whit seemed almost.. curious. Bazi watched him heave his little grey-brown body forward, impressed that her two day old baby as already strong enough to move on his own. He gummed her leg ineffectually, tasting fur and dirt. What was he doing? Exploring? Bazi grinned down at her curious little potato, then wedged her nose under his tummy and flipped him onto his back. "Shower time," she whispered into his belly fuzz, and began to groom the milky vomit from around his face.

Whit might have been a bit overly preoccupied with constant eating, but there was more to him than just gluttony. Namely, determination, which in this case was focused on extracting something edible from his mother's leg. I never said gluttony was not the root of his other characteristics, mind you. I could also try and brag a little bit about his impressive curiosity here as well, but considering the fact that his curiosity was also driven by where else he might be able to find food, it.. probably wouldn't have the effect I'm hoping for.

So.. moving on!

When Bazi rolled the boy over onto his back, his jaws were still firmly latched upon her arm. When he was finally dislodged, his mouth slipped off of her with a little pop! which was followed quickly by a series of confused and disgruntled squeaks. He froze briefly when he felt his mother's tongue brushing across him and wonder overtook him. He opened his mouth wide to try and explore the whatsit that kept poking at him, but it kept moving. Determined once again (cause who knew? Maybe this was another nipple!), the little wolf continued to jerk his head to and fro, trying to clamp his jaws on his mother's nose with his pudgy limbs reached out to clasp onto her.

Whit's mouth locked on to everything that came too close. Bazi dreaded to think what would happen if he was let loose beyond the den, where a thousand sharp and poisonous things awaited his unsuspecting gums. For a moment, she pondered stationing an additional guard outside at all times, but eventually dismissed the idea as a ludicrous waste of resource. Whittier would have to fend for himself one day, and as long as he didn't die, perhaps a spot of diarrhoea would teach him a lesson.

At least for the moment, she had him in her grasp. Whitter fussed and reached, gnashing his toothless chops at anything that came close. It didn't hurt, and his mother allowed it to happen whilst she cleaned the spot under his forelegs, his belly, and his rear - currently the second most dangerous little butt in the den after Swift's.

In spite of his extremely impressive attempts at catching his mother's nose, when the chubby Frostfur settled, it was without her muzzle hugged against him like a body pillow. He was still grumbling as he relaxed beneath her ministrations, but soon enough his growls turned into tiny little puppy purrs. It was actually rather nice and comforting being cleaned up like this. And though he wasn't eating, for once it didn't bother him all too much.

Until, you know.. more than thirty seconds had passed and his belly was beginning to rumble uncomfortably. It was either starvation or the beginnings of a smelly little puppy toot. Convinced it was the latter, Whit began to flap his chubby little arms against his mother's snout.

Unlike Swift, Whittier had the good grace to warn his mother that something was about to explode out of his ass. This surprised her - Bazi had pidgeon-holed her chubbiest boy as the family's kamikaze butt-bandit the minute he threw up on her boob and soiled himself in the same afternoon, but here he was, giving her plenty of notice about his intentions.

Bazi giggled appreciatively to herself and quickly flipped the pup over onto his belly, rotating his volatile baby bum to face the den wall and spreading her forearms to avoid any splatter. "There you go. Shart away," she told him.

bahaha NICE TRY MOM

Bazi was quick to move out of the way of her son's toxic bum, though Whittier barely even realized it. He felt himself being rolled over, but he was far more focused on the gurgling in his stomach which was growing stronger by the minute.

The boy tensed his body with purpose, though it yielded him nothing. His belly was just as full and grumpy as it had been before he'd tried to expel whatever demon it was inside of him. With a grunt, he tried again.. and again and again... And yet, nothing! With a pathetic whine, Whit began to wriggle upon the ground, searching for his mama to help him squish out the poopy for him.

No cigar. Whittier huffed and squeezed, but his rear end was having none of it. Bazi's face fell when she rotated Whit 90 degrees to the left and saw the strained 'lolz how do I sphincter?'  look on his little face. Could she just leave him to strain and hope that it all worked out? No.. at the rate he was going, either his eyes would pop out of his skull, or he would just explode - inwardly. With a resigned sigh, Bazi nudged Whit's wire-like tail out of the way to stimulate the area, face scrunched up in fear and anticipation.

Goddamnit Poopie-face!

Like the goddess she was, Bazi recognized the distress in her pudgiest son's face and came to the rescue. He whimpered pathetically as she went to work trying to coax the poopy out of his bum. He strained again while she assisted, but for the first few seconds, it seemed that his butt just wasn't going to let go of its treasures. Finally, with an impassioned grunt, he felt his bowels grant him that sweet, sweet release.

Like a balloon deflating, Whit felt the pressure in his belly ease. He gave a contented sigh then, heedless of whatever terrible situation he'd left his mother in behind him.

For such a small creature, Whittier was capable of producing an impossible amount of substance. He popped, shook, and tooted, expelling loose stool all over the den floor and his mother's paws. Bazi was simultaneously proud and disgusted - two feelings that were difficult to reconcile. Grumbling under her breath, she transferred her son into the narrow space where her forelegs met her body, and set to work cleaning up the mess. With her face. Bazi could scarcely believe what she was doing, but within a few minutes she had made short work of Whittier's mess. "You'd better reward me with the longest nap of my life," she told the pup, licking her lips and holding herself back from gagging.

Whit was already content since he'd finally passed whatever devil had been pounding on the walls of his little belly.  His ease only intensified with the gentle strokes of his mother's tongue.  Purring like a kitten, he wriggled happily against her legs as she cleaned him.  Almost as though he'd understood her request, the chubby boy crawled towards her chest, wriggled in a little half circle until he was neatly wedged between forelegs, and rolled over into her fur for a snooze.

  Wanna wrap up and then I can make my stubborn demands for a new mommy thread? :D