rough with ro

You come home. I’ve been updating my spreadsheet. 141kg after entertaining my sweet treat, and you’ve been snacking on sweets and things since. Then there were those two kids you cornered, each rendering into a gentle increment of adipose tissue, leaving you at 149kg.

I’ve been playing with numbers. You’ve been living it. I look up to see a 23-and-a-half stone beauty leaning against my doorframe. Except you’re not 23-and-a-half stone right now. You bear a passenger. Somehow, incredibly, your meal is still alive.

I know this because your massive gut doesn’t normally bounce of its own accord like that.

You see me jump to my feet. If I were standing by a burning house I’d have the same intensity, except there I’d be wanting to help rescue the people trapped inside. I’m clearly overwhelmed. You decide to help, give me something to do.

“Rub my belly.”

Instantly I respond with a demand of my own: “Bed.”

Your legs are still powerful, but your body is just so heavy, even without Ro throwing her weight around in there. Every step up the stairs requires concentration and a hand on the balustrade. I walk behind you. The sides of your belly are visible, peering out either side of your back.

A scream for help is almost entirely absorbed by inches of skin, fat, cruel muscle, mucus, thick air. She gets a muscular crush for her trouble. You feel her fight to keep her airways clear of the fluids that eat away at her delicate membranes.

“You could let her out and she’ll live,” I say, sounding hypnotised.

You sit on the bed and smirk up at me. “You want me to?”

I shake my head, still watching your belly. You flex your neck and release a low, almost soundless belch. The space beneath your ribs tightens as the stomach walls bear down on their prey. You sense Ro’s frantic struggles like aircraft turbulence, if turbulence made you blush and your panties wet.

“Swallow more air, Raven.” I’m delicately unbuttoning your top and pulling it away as you comply. The sound is a little reminiscent of a plunger. Not an obvious candidate for a sexy sound, but both of us are enamored with the passage of fluids through your alimentary canal, so in our bedroom, your rhythmic swallowing of air is like a siren song.

“Lie back,” I say, once bra, skirt and panties are safely removed. “Let me see.”

“Bellyrubs,” you remind me, growing impatient. But you sprawl backwards on the bed.

I kneel by your side. To look at my expression you would think you were Aphrodite. Whatever your own thoughts on the matter, it feels good to be adored. Ro within you finds the air your oesophagus burps into her prison and settles down a little.

She’s weak enough and you’re padded enough that no outline or sharp edges ever appear. Just unexplained motion, faint, like gentle waves.

My hands move slowly over the straining swell of your belly, at first. It’s not clear who I’m massaging: Ro, curled up and restlessly seeking shelter your gut will never give her; or you, half a foot thick and draping two massive tits over her. Regardless, it feels so good to have your hard-working tummy massaged. My touch reaffirms to your senses just how full you feel.

You can’t wait for digestion to progress. Is it possible for your intestines to tingle in anticipation? Currently your pylorus is sealed shut, denying them even a taste of your prey even as her squirming causes them to squish and jiggle together.

“It’s okay,” I say. At first you think I’m talking to you, but then see me looking at your bulge like I can see her inside you. “It’ll all be over soon.”

It feels like I’ve worked out how she’s lying. My strong strokes across your diaphragm threaten to make you hiccup but they correspond to her curled spine. You on your back, she’s on all fours inside you, giving herself space to breathe.

“It must be hell in there.” I raise my eyes to yours and press down suddenly beneath your ribs. Your fat squishes out of the way around my hands and inside you, Ro’s face is plunged into digestive fluids.

Instantly your tummy is filled with the palpating flutters of struggling prey. It feels so gorgeously filling, a hundred little stretches and relaxations, like an internal massage. She squirms hard enough to get her head to air but one of my hands chases her and keeps her struggling, while the other strokes the rest of your belly to really help grind into her whole body.

The sensation makes you squirm, makes you rub your fat thighs together. My drowning hand stays in place but my other disappears for a second. It turns with your teddy, recently laundered and ready for duty. The strange image of a childhood toy being wedged beneath a slab of fat from departed prey, pressed against a pussy made ravenous by the slow murder of an innocent young woman by your stretched and greedy stomach— this is an image that will stay with me.

Teddy feels good. You crush her and rock till she fits just right.

I release the pressure on Ro’s head and give you deep strokes all over your belly, top to bottom. Impatient squeaks and groans echo up from your empty intestines. I don’t know it, but a belch tells you that Ro is softening. Meat and blood crosses your tongue. She shudders inside you, coughing from lungs bleeding where your inhaled acids carve her up from the inside.

Insulated from the outside world, can she even hear the moan through your distant larynx as you masturbate? But her muscular prison sits right above the tubing that awaits her dead and liquified form. She hears that alright, singing its glottal and gurgling song, when it can be heard over your stomach squelching and burbling its corrosive poison into her.

Once again I find her head and push it into the bloody drowning pool. Her struggles fade quicker this time. Your food is on her way out. Or way down, at least. You treat yourself to another belch, really drawing it out. ~Uoaaarp-BWOoourggh~

Her last motions are crushed out of her by you. I release the pressure when she’s still barely struggling. It’s your gut that mercilessly grinds her into itself in a corrosive embrace she cannot survive.

You come for the second time when meat slurry begins to pour out of your stomach and deeper into your hungry intestines. My massage follows her, broadening to the whole of your belly, chasing the wet noises that tell me where Ro is being processed.

Satisfied, you release teddy from your grip and arch your back in a stretch. Liquid girl is being sucked dry and her fragile spirit is already snared hopelessly in yours. You flutter your eyelids open briefly to flash me a lazy, victorious smile. “Still eating.”

“Mmhmm.” There’s a gentle smile on my lips. “Gonna collar you sometime. But tonight you’re just too hot. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect.”

“Damn right I am.” You slap your belly then allow your eyes to close. A few deep breaths betray how close to sleep you are. “Belly rubs all night.”

You feel me place a kiss on your belly button. Affectionately you place your hand on the back of my head and clamp it there. I don’t struggle as you cut me off from air and put me inches away from where Ro is squeezing through your guts on her way to becoming your shit.

You let my head go. I’m breathing a little harder. “All night or you’re following her. And I don’t get any more belly rubs.”

“With pleasure.” Belly rubs resume at the stomach and work their way down. Warm, deep, rhythmic, they and the glorious fullness through your whole being lull you to sleep.