life choices

Tonight is a quiet night in. We played guitar hero because I’m a nerd and sometimes you humour me.

I fed you, of course. Dinner was pizza I made from scratch, one for me, two for you because you were peckish. I hit upon the trick of pre-cooking the meatballs and ham before putting them on the pizza, to give them the ashen taste you prefer in non-sentient flesh. I ate mine quickly, so you still had a pizza and a half for me to feed to you, slice by lucky slice. Sometimes when we do this it’s super casual, with you gaming or something, soaking up my attention.

Today, your attention is solely on me as you chew and swallow, chew and swallow. It makes me feel special, but I can see the cogs turning.

“What are you thinking?”

You raise your fist to burp behind it. I squeeze your thigh, affirming the cuteness of your gesture. “First, is there seconds? And then… Wait, order more food first.”

McDonalds is the winner of our brief discussion. The pizza was building a nice overall fullness but after yesterday’s play, and the effort your body made me have to go to clean up you, the bathroom, the towels involved, the toys we used afterwards… Given all that you have a feeling you’d like something trashy. McDonalds fits the bill.

Somewhere out there, a driver is speeding our way with three Big Mac’s and a sharer of Chicken Nuggets. Plus make those meals, large, and maybe go for a rainbow of milkshakes, vanilla strawberry chocolate.

I put down my phone and smile at you crookedly. “So why are you staring, Rey?”

“I almost ate you with my butt and you treat me like a princess. You were still even, like, wanking me off.”

I grin. “What’s your point, my love?”

“Why did you… choose this? Is this really the life you want to lead?”

My eyes fall to your stomach, still doughy, and I shuffle closer on the couch. You permit me to lay you out comfortably in a lounging position. The sigh that you make as my hands squeeze your fat beneath them is pure relief and relaxation. “I was born wanting you.

“When I was six I cried because a girl caught me and so converted me from my friends on my team to be on her team. Everyone thought I was being a bad loser. But I was overwhelmed by the feeling of being hers.”

Feel the curve of your belly, heavy above the plane of your pubis. I heft it irreverently, weighing it like a slab of meat in my hands, watching the way the rest of your belly moves in sympathy and causes your recumbent tits to jiggle, falling softly apart.

“You. You will devour me some day. You’ll make me yours because it’s the most natural thing in the world to you. That’s so, so rare. I never dared dream you were real till you reached out and snared me.”

Content with having weighed your fat, your guts and mesentery, I begin probing the depths of your fat. Small circles of my fingertips reveal how much is adipose, how much is muscle, all the way from lower belly, past your navel, up to those languorous breasts. You are deepest at the bottom but I feel the clenched hardness of your working stomach, beneath your ribs. You let out another belch, no pretense of hiding it, just open-mouthed. I look up, colouring sightly as I catch a glimpse of your deep dark throat disgorging air.

“I don’t know why I was made like this, but I suffered for every day the world didn’t contain you like I knew in my bones it should. And then you were there. Now,” and at this point I begin a slow, deep massage of your stomach area, hand-over-hand helping break down mushed-up pizza and mix it with your expert gut’s digestive juices. “Now just the knowledge you exist is enough. But you’re here. Real. Solid.” I press theatrically into your belly-flesh, which sinks and threatens to engulf my splayed fingers with your skin. “Maybe solid isn’t the right word.”

You open your mouth to continue the point but there’s a knock at the door. Your stomach happens to produce a long, loud grumble as it announces space for the new feast. I grin, lean down, and kiss you.

“Don’t worry if you don’t understand. I don’t understand you either. But I give thanks for you.”

I return with food and you go full slob, balancing the burgers on the dome of the belly that will be their final resting place. The papers rustle as my hands knead your abdomen, stimulating your intestines awake and helping sluice liquefied pizza downwards.

That might be the extent of it but you maintain the eye contact. My heart beats faster, and by the end of the second burger I can’t take it any more. Slowly and purposefully I part your legs, revealing the tangled diamond I love so much. Your labia, already excited, are a pink slash in black. I sink myself into your ready wetness, pulling from you a gasp which I fill with a soft mouthful of artificial burger bun. As your white teeth scissor a bite into your mouth I thrust into you slowly, deeply, pressing hard against your vulva on each stroke the way I’ve learned you like it.

Your legs wrap behind my back and slow me down as you eat. We take our time, heat and passion building. Your pussy is stuffed the way your face is: deliberately, with great enjoyment, knowing you will be filled up by the end of your meal.

We’re getting frantic when the fries are gone. We only get through one milkshake, thick, sweet and sickly. Your own bubbling belch triggers your orgasm and you crush me inside your pussy as I try and fail to beat the vice grip of your legs. Your open-mouthed expression of delight, pink-tinged with strawberry, triggers mine, and I spill out into you as you continue to crush.

We collapse together, breathing hard. When I’ve recovered enough I place chains of kisses across your neck and your collarbone. You stroke my back. Then I notice you rocking oddly.

Turns out you’re trying to reach for a milkshake. I chuckle and sit up to hand it to you. When you start drinking I recommence your belly rubs.

They last a lot longer than the milkshakes.