lucy bows out part 03

With air, she lasts just shy of an hour in your stomach. The first ten minutes are serene and beautiful. Her hands stroke symmetric patterns in the stretched walls of your stomach, a gesture that feels loving and intimate. Her shoulders and wonderful, oversized backside glide around as she moves, spreading a feeling of fullness and contentedness. But it feels incomplete somehow.

Completion comes when she stops being calm. First comes stillness. She has fed herself to you: she wishes to hold to that promise. Her stillness is buffeted on all sides by the ceaseless massage of your stomach muscles, still giving you that tight and packed sensation. Her weight squishes down on your guts which squish down on anus, on your blushing and dewy cunt.

“Help me off with these. And wait.”

You wriggle from mammoth buttock to buttock as I help peel your gym leggings from under your hanging belly and down your legs. You sit with legs apart, shamelessly flashing me where you’re not covered by the roll of your belly.

There. A sudden push against the walls makes your whole gut jump. You angle back your head and belch out her entire air supply in a riot of gutteral noises. Then she begins to struggle properly, fighting for air and fighting to escape the relentless, caustic embrace of your gut.

“Come here.”

You worked hard at the gym but you don’t care right now that your scent is strong. Maybe you will later and I will reassure you that I love it, but for now you take my hair in your hand and lever me under your belly overhang to press my lips against your pussy. You sigh as you feel me begin to work you.

Blood in the air you expelled. You can taste it on the back of your tongue. Excellent. You swallow more air to give her more time. She is still melting alive.

In time she goes wild. She bucks and wrestles against her confines. You feel every motion and grind down on the convenient toy gripped between your legs. Her hands explore again, but their desperate scrabbling does not find the tight entrance she passed through. If she screams, your fat and your deep breathing are enough to drown her out.

The last time you feel her move is the faintest stroke, somewhere beneath your ribcage near your heart. You barely noticed it, happy belly and contented pussy coaxing you blissfully towards sleep.

I wrap you in a blanket. Together you both sink: you into sleep; her, deeper and deeper into your guts.