joe part 02
Your shoulders ache from being hyperextended. When you try to take the pressure off them by sitting up you can’t quite get wholly upright and your hips get tired. Laying on your side is just about acceptable, though your belly sloshes to the side as your prey further softens and heads south.
You must have nodded off, because I’m suddenly here. My hands stroke firmly up and down your back, exploring the contours. Away from the bulk of your belly the fat you are laying down on your frame is more obvious. You feel your skin rucking up as pudge squishes beneath my palms before gliding silkily under my touch.
All the while I’m murmuring under my breath with an urgency that suggests a kind of delirium, or a prayer. “—believe how large you are. You’re immense. Can’t believe it’s two people, they must melt smaller inside you. You’re so big. So greedy. My ravenous, greedy, gorgeous pig.” My hand traces along your flanks, exploring the growing folds that new fat is seeding there. “Bloated like a snake. God you’re beautiful. The whole world should pass through your jaws.” Clearer, directed to you as an order. “Raven, sit up.”
You shuffle your hips until you’re on all fours. Moving food inside you groans with the effort—BluuuUuurrgggl—and a sneaky fart wends its way between your cheeks. I can’t see your blush, but don’t seem to mind your emission, positioning myself behind you and using my knees to work yours further apart.
“Ah!” you exclaim in warning, feeling your pucker having to work harder now your hips are angled open. Oh god, the pressure is beginning to shift downward. Pain ripples as you fight your own muscles, trying to keep everything inside. “Hgnnn…”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” I murmur. You can feel me hard against your pillowy buttock. I’m not normally this forward. Perhaps you feel pride at eliciting this response from me, even if your distress. “You can end it whenever you like.”
“Nnng,” you grunt, between clenched teeth.
“Okay, my love. Down.”
My hands press on the small of your back, arching your butt upwards. Your stuffed, stretched belly squishes out against the floor like a pancake and the pressure is extraordinary. You pant with pain, but you’re not going to break just yet.
You feel me slide between your lips and smoothly enter you from behind. A gasp—you didn’t realise how wet you were. My hips press and slowly retreat, a wave of pressure against your bum, translating through your aching intestines. Pleasure sparks in there somewhere but competes with the pain in a confusing cocktail that absorbs your whole attention.
You hear me moan, losing control. One hand on your back creeps forward to ball in your hair. I pull it back, causing your neck to crane, causing your hips to arch more. It feels like I’m fucking your stuffed colon through your pussy.
I like what you’re giving me. The ridge of the head of my cock massages you deep and pulls a guilty fart out of you. It only encourages me to go harder.
Soon, too soon, I grip your hips and pull them tight against me. You feel me go rigid, feel another heat spreading deep inside you. When I start breathing again, panting like I’ve been for a sprint, you’re only half-finished.
I’m not leaving you this time, though.
You told me once that vibrators did little for you. I seemed to take this at the time as a personal mission.
The breakthrough was what you feel being put into place now. A now-familiar shaped pillow, perfect when gripped between your legs, makes you clench your thigh around it. It’s a blessed relief to be able to close your legs a bit, and the pillow cups you pleasantly, offering a massage as you rock your hips ruttishly.
With barely a sound, only the lowest of rumbles, the pillow comes alive with deep vibration. It waxes and wanes as I seek the sweet spot with my massage wand. When I do you make the smallest sound and clench even tighter.
Pleasure outweighs the discomfort of your packed large intestine. My hand moulds the pudge that spills out where your belly presses against the floor, enjoying the miracle of the fruits of your brutal digestion. You feel the trail run South, and your increasingly copious backside is weighed in greedy handfuls of your flesh. Ripples spread out from the vibration and from the slightest manipulation with my hand.
“Aahh…” You rock harder against the pillow as the sensation builds, reaching a crescendo. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest and the pain down below has transformed into something beautiful, feeling like another penetration. “Aaahh…”
“Not till you’re ready to let it all go,” I murmur, and pull the wand away, letting it’s barest touch remain as a feather flutter that tickles your pussy.
“Nnnnghn,” you groan, barely coherent with frustration. The source of pleasure having withdrawn, the pressure inside comes back, worse than ever. You rock against the pillow even harder, chasing its relief from pain and relief from the fire in your crotch.
You feel a kiss on your backside—just a cheek, I’m not about to play with fire here—and the wand presses closer to keep your desire stoked. “What’s your answer, Raven? Are you ready?”
Cheek against the cold floor, guts grumbling like a rock tumbler, loins inflamed with frustrated desire, you grit your teeth. “Fucking… Use me, lick me out, fuck me, just let me come!”
You can hear the way your salacious invitation takes my breath away, but I hold fast. “Only when you’re ready.”
You have another crack. “Touch me. Feel how wet I am for you.”
Your turn for your breath to be taken away: I press the wand in close, sending shivers up through your whole body. You press close, only for the sensation to fade away.
“Ready?”
You screw your eyes shut and nod your head. Keeping your eyes shut makes it all feel less exposed. “Come first?”
Another kiss, to your other buttcheek, signals my assent. The pleasurable buzzing passes stronger again through the pillows.
You take your time to climb the mountain again, and I’m patient. The pain floats away as you stroke yourself with the pillow, as your sensitive flesh eats the ripples caused by the wand. Soon you’re focused only on your body, how it feels newly padded with surely kilos of flesh. The rocking eases a latecomer belch up your throat. You hear a soft noise of approval and desire from me.
You linger by the summit for a while, teasing yourself and allowing yourself to be teased… And then you clamp down and accept the wands stimulation into yourself. As I pulse it against your pillow you experience a slow-rolling orgasm that starts in your belly and spreads like burning sodium through your whole body, setting even your hands and feet alight. You’re whimpering by the end, though you’re not sure if that’s because of pleasure, the returning pain, or what you now need to do.
I’ve moved, now sprawled across your back, lightly giving you a hug. “It’s okay. Nearly over now. You know what to do.”
You lie there a while, accepting affection, and then stir. I withdraw to let you rise, once again on all fours, hunting a comfortable position. I notice you glancing at the laptop and see the way you hesitate. “It’s not recording. I was just keeping an eye on you.” I flash you my phone to prove it, showing a few frames of us. When I close the app the little blue light on the camera disappears. “It’s always been just us.”
That makes it easier to settle. You glance bashfully at me and blush. The pose you settle for is side on. Not fully showing me the business end, but not having to make eye contact the whole time either.
It takes a lot of effort to relax the appropriate muscles. They’ve been cramped tightly shut for so long and a lifetime of conditioning balks at your place in the middle of a room. Still, you manage it. You bow your head to hide it as Ro first emerges as a turtle’s head. She stands proud a surprisingly great distance, dried like leather by the desiccating caress of your large intestine, before the first offering lands with a soft thud on the laminate floor.
The first few feet are hard to navigate, being similarly dried and compacted. I watch in silence as you angle your hips back and forth, and turn your head away.
“You’re doing so well, my dear Raven.”
You don’t acknowledge, just continue the work. Ro smooths out and begins to flow. There is no terminator where Ro ends and Joe begins. No colour change or anything: your body has obliterated any difference between them. They are utterly gone, immured in your soul, absorbed in your flesh, expelled as your shit.
Relief brings sweat to your skin. You shiver as the last of Joe sees daylight.
When you are done I come to you and kiss the back of your neck. “That’s good. They’re gone now. Your mistake is dealt with. You did well. I’m so proud of you.”
You don’t move even when I wipe you clean. Then I begin undoing the rope handcuffs. When the rope falls away I take your hands and raise you up. We shuffle away from the stinking pile and you straighten, stiff from the hours of pronation.
You still don’t meet my eye. “I feel like an animal.”
I watch your face and squeeze your hands. “You’re not an animal. You lost control and were punished. And you made me very happy. Everything you did here was just right.”
“You’re not disgusted?”
“No!” I pull you gently into a kneeling hug. Your belly is still large between us, but the pile behind you had been displaced, leaving you freer to move. “I’m so proud you accepted it. Come on, you deserve a treat.”
“Treat?” Wide-eyed, you stand when I pull you up. The floor creaks beneath you.
“The real treat comes tomorrow, but for now, I’ve got ice cream in the freezer and an entire deliveroo catalogue to explore.”
“Pizza,” you say solemnly.
“Pizza.” I give you a kiss and lead you out of the room.
Excepting the time I take for clean-up, we spend the rest of the day on the couch. You’re quiet at first, but I load up Rocket League and soon we’re laughing and swearing at one another’s lucky shots.
A brief interlude occurs when it comes time to weigh up. This we handle quickly.
“Two people, girl and man, became eleven-and-a-half kilos on your beautiful body.”
You brandish your belly, then rub it like a pregnant woman. “Where am I now?”
“Been a few days’ hard work after your previous punishment. All told, you’re looking at 128kg. Back over twenty stone.”
“Hmm?” You were distracted, picking up your tits and letting them flop back down. Then you grope your own arse. “Worth it.”
“Don’t make me have to punish you again, missy.”
I get a call later that day. “What a turnaround, mate. Cheers for that.” You mock me for how Northern I become when talking to other Northerners. I make you try the “’t in’t in t’tin” shibboleth Yorkshire people use to detect outsiders.
Then I nip out quickly, after making sure you have everything you need. You hold up your packet of jelly babies and your writing pad. I kiss your cheek and leave.
Next day is a work day. I wake you a little earlier than usual with a wrapped box.
“For me?”
“For you.”
You squeal and tear into the wrapping paper. Inside is what looks like a battered jewelry box. Inside that is what looks like a very heavy-duty silver necklace in crushed black velvet.
You’re clearly excited. “What is it?!”
I draw it out and hold it between my hands at throat height. It clinks when I’m handling it as plates touch one another, but once fitness into a circle, it’s silent.
“It’s your chastity collar, my love,” I say, with a grin.
You lean away from it, then closer to inspect it. Formed from rectangular plates of something like steel or chrome, highly polished, each linked by three hinges between each. One hinge is open, wide enough to admit the shank of a lock.
“You got me a collar?”
It sounds like you can’t decide between annoyance and excitement, the standard cocktail when I’m enforcing diet rules.
“Yes. One that you could hang your whole weight off. Friend Duncan made it. Blacksmith. Wasn’t at the party, because he used to be married to— nevermind, not important.” I lean forward and present it to you formally. “Raven, I would like you to wear this collar for me.”
You’re frowning at me but your foot is wiggling side-to-side under the duvet, showing me you’re still interested. I press the point.
“I’d also like to tie your body harness each day you go out. Partially to remind you about your goals. Partially to prevent you simply gorging on blood. And partially because the thought of you in my rope as you go about your day gives me chills.”
Your frown melts into a sly smile. You know I’m flattering you, but you know I’m sincere, too. You raise your eyebrows, an expression that says, ‘convince me’.
“And when you reach an intermediate goal weight, to be determined, I will remove it all and I will stuff you. Utterly stuff you to the point of immobility. I will put you in a food coma so deep you will barely be aware of how much I’m making you come. We will undo a fortnight of work, but it’ll feel so fucking good you’ll want to do it all again and reach a new, lower weight. Deal?”
Your eyebrows raise further—asking for more convincing—but I can tell by the flush in your cheeks you’re sold.
The colour in your cheeks, the twinkle in your eyes. I can barely stand it, you’re so beautiful. I hold the collar to your throat and you press against it, holding still as I put the padlock in place. The lock is tastefully hidden. Duncan has, on my instruction, silver-welded a raven’s skull to the lock.
It’s heavy but not overly so, and the edges are smoothed and polished. It will be comfortable enough. The initial thrill of cold is easy to ignore with my mouth on your neck, my hands running through your hair.
We will play rope, and you’ll be running so late for work that I’ll have to drop you off there.
But it’s worth it.