front and back

A couple of weeks after my wife I still couldn’t sleep, my mind churning over what I’d seen and rerendering it in infinite variations. You smiled and called it cute; would kiss my forehead or indulge my passions as your mood saw fit.

Two weeks later the stars aligned. I knew what I wanted. I told you I would feed you, and that there were special rules. You challenged me to Crash Team Racing for it and I lost fifty-three rounds in a row.

After the fifth-fourth I took your hand and practically dragged you out of the door.

(Later you would reveal you threw the game, mostly out of curiosity for what I had planned, but partially because your thumb ached.)

“Her,” I said, nodding towards a late-evening bus stop dweller. She was young, Thai or something, uncharacteristically chubby, and the only other person at the stop had boarded a bus she didn’t want.

“Hint.”

“You’re going to shit her out for me.”

“Bigger hint.”

“It’s going to be hot.”

When you cornered her in the bus shelter she threw her rucksack on the ground like you cared about it. She seemed small in the void between your arms.

From across the road I watched her back through the plexiglass. Your hands pressed against it either side of her and she cringed away.

In an exaggerated kiss you take her whole head between your lips. She experiences the fate you denied me, slipping from the waking world into a nightmare within you.

The rucksack and shoes find a home in a bush by the railway, and I place my hand on your belly like an expectant father feeling the bus-goer kick for her life. You let out a perfunctory puff of gas. My wife keeps any sound of her struggles from escaping your guts.

The bus arrives. It actually goes in the right direction so we hop on board. At least she didn’t miss her ride.

Back home you experience the uncommon sensation of bloody burps while your meal still kicks inside you. Scrabbling and scratching at your inner walls feels like a ticking sort of heartburn but her nails were short enough not to hurt. With the digestion head-rush growing you grow sleepy and horny.

“You said it’ll be hot,” you murmur, pulling me to the couch and sitting bestride my lap.

“It will. But no cumming till she’s all done.”

You scowl, an expression I alleviate with a kiss, hand soft on either cheek. We melt together into an intimate kiss and you grind unconsciously against one of my thighs, but before your get too worked up I shift my hips and slide your weight beside me on the couch. We’re still kissing and that thigh still pulses with lazy, decadent pressure against your crotch, but when the twin simulations bring you too close to orgasm I can back off, let the fires bank.

You growl, fingernails sharp on my back. “This has better be worth it.” I grin and kiss the tip of your nose.

We distract you with gaming and dessert —cheesecake, how do you feel about an entire cheesecake? Your prey’s last flutter of life exhausts itself in a final spasm just before bed. She must have been in agony. You try to tempt me with that heart-stopping sight of your legs parted as you lie back on the bed. The way you dance your fingertips through the womanly dark weave almost breaks me. I have to physically grab your wrists to prevent you from short-circuiting something important in my brain.

Somehow we sleep. Your dinner doesn’t sleep. She is busy all night. Processing. Slipping deeper, and through. Being sucked dry.

Lunchtime is when you tap me on the arm. “She’s ready.”

It’s not the same orientation in the bathroom. You face me. Your backside, grown with once-beloved flesh and topped up with the meal who is about to experience it from the inside, hangs vaguely over the toilet bowl. Your shyness is defeated by your curiosity but it still colours your cheeks.

“Okay Andrew, what do—” an uncomfortable pfffrt squeaks its way out and brings the blush to the forefront. You brush your hair from your eyes, a gesture that lets you hide your face a second.

“You told me a while ago it feels almost as good as eating,” I say, beginning an answer to your uncompleted question.

You nod, looking hesitant.

“Why?”

You look struck. I’m kind of enjoying having this effect on you but I think it’s not obvious I am. “Um, well. It’s like… I like that place being… filled up anyway.” We share shy smiles. “And having my big, greedy gut filled up with food, of any kind, feels amazing. So put them together—”

“Touch yourself,” I say, “and tell me more.”

You are a little surprised with how easily your hand moves to comply. “There’s the… anticipation, too. Ahh~”

“Go on…” My eyes are fixed on yours like you’re the centre of the universe. Maybe you are.

“It’s been building for hours, maybe days. Ahh… Like a good burp. Like a good, long-delayed, ah—”

“Steady there, don’t push yourself over the edge. Just tease.”

“It’s also… she’s was a living person. Maybe she just started her job. She was pretty young. And now she’s only… Ngg… She looks like your wife. She’s coming.”

“Legs apart, Rey. Hands on my shoulders.”

“Wha— Ooh…”

I step close to you as you comply with the first part. Your hands settle on my shoulders for balance. You already feel bus-girl beginning to crown when I drop to my knees. Your hands follow, unconsciously applying a little pressure.

Did you feel me kiss my wife’s remains in passing?

You certainly feel my first kiss on your womanhood. Tender, nuzzling between your engorged lips, I trace one long, firm lick up the length of you… Even as a catastrophic bark escapes your capacious backside and announces the intent of your bowels.

For some reason it only drives me deeper. I lap your clit once or twice, sensitising the secretive little prominence.

Muscles tense, muscles relax.

Your prey leaps for freedom, stretching you wide. Except it is not your prey. She, you reflect, as your hips rock to the rhythm of my ecstatic licking, is burned away. The waste your body left from her is being forced out, your body rejecting what is not good after have drunk deep of everything worthy.

The first banal plops fill past the water line, and my mouth is warm and insistent on your pussy.

You defy orders to grab my hair with a first. I do not complain as you rock me to a rhythm you find more pleasing.

Deep through you, foot upon foot waits its turn, graced temporarily by the squeeze of hidden, secret places.

Your first orgasm brings with it the sound of water.