coming and going
Hour -3
I bundle you giggling into a taxi. You’re meeting friends and insisted on pre-drinking with me. We did body shots except you insisted on me shaving first, so now I have the body of a professional swimmer and you are five tequilas down. I don’t mind. I spilled one of mine, a plum Schnapps, and though I managed to lap up the flow before it hit your womanhood (wouldn’t that have stung!) I carried on my path and got a taste of you as well.
(When tipsy you get a little rough. At points I thought you were going to leave me bald on the head as well as shaved on the body. You will note that I am not complaining at the treatment.)
Hour 0
She is reserved but you bring out her wild side. She is tiny like I asked but she dresses chic like she loves her body. She is with friends but you get her alone.
She is so small and you are so strong that you can bodily lift her above your head and chug her down like a sword swallower.
The clock starts now. She is still alive, and breathing the close air of your digestive tract. But that doesn’t mean that digestion hasn’t started.
Hour 0, minute 10
Your fat is not quite enough to muffle her screams and pleas. You lean against a secluded wall with one hand supporting your packed and squirming belly and the other stroking it like a fond pet. Occasionally you hic-burp: ~guh-hwooARk~
Hour 0, minute 13
You ignore her pleas and she dies. Only the sensation of fullness is important: even if she was small it feels like so long since someone stretched out your stomach lining. You take out your phone, dial me up, and when I answer you rip out a belch. “Ah, still tipsy,” you hear your mobile say as you dissolve into giggles. “I’ll be there in ten. … Where is ’there’?”
Hour 1
You heft your belly through the entranceway and stop. Your eyes adjust rapidly to the low light.
I’ve lit candles all around the room. Bookshelf, mantelpiece, TV cabinet, coffee table. Simple white tapers give a clean, intimate light ringed around the large crimson rug in the middle of the floor. A tray hosts wine and two glasses, alongside a blindfold. Incense perfumes the air, something resinous and spicy.
You kiss me on the cheek in passing and then sit cross-legged on the carpet. Your meal curls up too, her acid-bitten frame obligingly crunching to occupy the space between your lap and your tits. I pour you a glass of wine and we clink, looking into one another’s eyes. I feel the pull of the maelstrom of colour in yours; you see profound gratitude in mine.
We talk quietly. You’re still pretty tipsy and the wine isn’t going to help that but it feels like we’re the only two people in the whole world right now. We take our time and our space. We undress, and you fold gracefully to lay your head on a cushion I laid out for the purpose.
I appear in your field of vision, smiling. The blindfold slips over your raised head and nestles comfortably over your eyes. My lips settle on yours and you invite me, sparking a kiss in darkness that fills your mouth with sensation and presses your lips urgently. You lie back, content to let your lips and tongue ensnare me, while my hands rove over your whole body, from cheeks to jawline to the angle of your shoulders; from breasts to pubis to thighs; and always the gently churning billow of your stomach.
You smile as I break the kiss, knowing it’s either that or sink myself into you and I have plans first.
Silence; then a bottle unstoppering; then the sound of my hands rubbing vigorously together.
Hour 1, minute 30
You let out a low moan that is chased by a silent burst of gas from your throat. Your entire torso is oiled so my hands gliiiide up the precipitous curve of your belly. It’s like I’m massaging your overworked stomach directly, a much more relaxed massage than your struggling dinner caused.
Said dinner’s edges are slowly being erased by your gut. The belch carried with it sweetness and copper, rich contributions from the deepest parts of her lovely body. You smack your lips together in appreciation and wish you could eat her all over again.
I told you that I felt it when she started packing out your duodenum, and you could feel it too. Hand chased hand in a waterfall of massages as I seek to squeeze more of her out of the prison of your stomach and into the concentration camp of your intestines. When you squirm beneath my touch I cup your whole vulva with a firm hand and massage you, grabbing your attention.
Hour 1, minute 44
The blindfold forces you to zoom in on every sensation. The warm circles my hand traces as it glides over the whole terrain of your swollen tummy… The kisses I place on your long neck, your half-open lips… The hand expertly teasing between your legs, keeping pressure while pulsing your clit… It all comes crashing down and you orgasm with a cry. Loud cracks from your middle signal the surrender of some of the long bones and instantly a pressure between inside rib and inside hip disappears.
Hour 2, minute 10
So much is gone from your dinner. Once a hard dome, the bulge now becomes diffuse. The paths of my hands alters to accommodate the change, now drawing figures of eight all the way from belly-button to breast, including taking in the flanks. You feel your skin depress and roll under the leading edge of my hands, your own fat squeezing under.
You shift your hips, and then raise your hands to the blindfold. I place a finger across your lips, which halts you, then when I’m certain you’re not going to remove the blindfold, I take it off for you. You blink once or twice, but your eyes adjust extremely quickly.
“What is it, love?”
“I’m hungry.”
My jaw tightens as I suppress a smile. “Say that again.”
You walk yourself up onto your elbows to give me a better, closer view of your mouth as you spell out the words. “I’m. Hungry. Feed me.”
Hour 2, minute 36
The club girl’s most stubborn intimate parts find themselves suddenly admixed with descending boluses of sweet dough.
“Gon’ need more trays. These are pretty good. Grandma’s secret recipe?”
“BBC Good Food.”
With your index finger you press the whole remainder of the first cookie into your mouth. Chocolate chip in vanilla cookie, baked just past the point of any squidginess. Through your mouthful you say, “Lazy grandma. Gonna eat her.”
I smirk. After baking I resumed my job with gusto. Currently I’m following the thread of your intestines, trying to sense beneath your layer of gorgeous fat which pipes were now full of ex-human and which were still waiting to swallow her deeper. It’s likely not possible but why let that stop me? You belly shines with fresh oil.
“You’ll have a job. Both have passed.”
You lick melted chocolate from your fingers and select another still-warm cookie. “Wont stop me.”
Your massage freezes for a fraction of a second. You take a huge bite of the second cookie and smile around your mouthful. It’s fun to poke me.
Hour 3, minute 30
The cookies sit pleasantly high on your belly but what’s-her-face has been annihilated and fed to your greedy, pulsing guts. That coupled with sex, massage, and the departing alcohol all contrive to lull you to sleep. You rock slightly with each long stroke, each kiss on belly, nipple, belly button.
Hour 3, minute 49
You stir from your twilight sleep. My thumb brushes your cheek and I murmur with earnest need, “Rey. Rey, I have to fuck you.”
You can feel me ramrod stiff and hot against your inner thigh. The sight, feeling and sounds of your body digesting your prey have moved me deeply.
In one smooth motion you hook your legs and your arms around me and pull me close. Your tongue invades my mouth and your pussy swallows me up to the root. My legs stiffen with the desire to thrust into you again and again but you hold me fast in your tight, wet heat, only allowing the slightest rock against your clitoris. You drive me effortlessly wild but hold me exactly where you want me, bucking and struggling, until you grind your way to yet another crashing orgasm
You crush me inside you but keep me just shy of releasing. I growl with pent-up need.
“Satisfied, pet?” you ask, smirking in the darkness. The sounds of our heavy breathing mingles with the gurgling of your digestive tract make our world feel close and biological, like we’re just two animals.
“Mh mh,” I say, glaring at you.
You unwrap your legs but then push me away. I spring up in the candlelight, shining with your juices. Free of my weight you switch your hips and roll your whole body over, coming to lie on your pampered belly. Your legs part wide in invitation. I see your shining pussy, but judging by the way your butthole is relaxing and clenching, you have something else in mind.
“Then fuck my prey.”
Hour forever, minute forever
A frozen moment, my weight piling down on your belly making you feel each ounce of flesh you ever ate, my fist in your hair pulling you back to look at me, my cock filling you deeply in the secret terminal passages where you commit the filthiest requiem for the lives you devour.
And now, some hours hence, that shy-but-wild girl you gulped down whole will find her voyage as a log of your shit eased by our mingled sexual fluids.
Do you orgasm one last time at the thought? I hope you do. I have. The desecration of which your body is capable captivates me as much as your wildness, your gentleness, your creativity. In this moment it seems to me the world exists for your pleasure alone. You are a goddess and I worship you with my body and my soul.
Hour 4, minute 15
It is a while before we calm down properly. You’re on your back again. Chocolate kisses threaten to spill us once again into overdrive, but your poor abused pussy begs you to take a break. I offer to kiss it better but you instead grab my head and place it against your belly. You are warm, gut still working its way through the girl.
“No, I want you to rub my belly. All night. I will sleep, but this is your job. If you want to make me happy.”
I kiss the soft skin of your tummy. “Always. If this is what you want, I will do it. All night.”