liver n onions 02

We get in at four. You heave yourself up the path, each step a totter despite your powerful legs, like a person carrying a whole drum of water.

“Three,” I murmur in the dead, still night. Wonder is audible in my voice. “There are three people inside you.”

You wisely release a knot of gas alongside a breath. The last thing we need is a thunderclap waking the neighbours.

“Mhmm. Open the door or there’ll be four.”

I squeeze past you a kiss your cheek as I go. “I love it when you threaten my life.”

The hallway used to have shoe holder cupboard things attached to the walls. I removed them after Phats, all those months ago. Even so, your stomach touches both walls at the same time.

You’re about to make the shuffling, creaking journey upstairs when I stop you. “Wait. Stand here.”

“It’s late. I need to lie down and digest.”

I stride up to you and grind the heel of a hand into the height of your belly, just below the rib fat. At the same time my other hand glides its fingers from the nape of your neck through your hair. Together the gestures make you catch your breath and raise your chin to eye me defiantly. I stare back, into eyes patterned with vortices I know so well.

“Raven,” I say, putting into my voice every ounce of the passion that animates my exhausted frame. “I need to see you like this.”

We hold our little tableau for a heartbeat. Then you relent, following my lead till your back is pressed against the living room door closed behind you. I step back and just… look.

There are no words to capture it. Your body without prey would be an excess of smooth soft flesh, pale as cream and cool as moonlight. With prey… It doesn’t matter how far digested, your meals are so packed inside you that they sit heavy in your pelvis, till your entire abdomen is a giant irregular orb, punching triumphantly out and up. Some of their flesh slops noisily through greedy pipes crammed tight within you. The goodness you suck from it has already begun to lay upon your form. I can see it on your breasts, your thighs; your calves and arms. You’re fatter than you were this morning.

It’s so easy to forget that I’m taller than you. Every room becomes backdrop to you.

“On all fours. Here, please.”

A moment’s hesitation, showing me you’re choosing to grant me this favour, and then you comply. I understand your message.

How does it feel when your belly pancakes on the floor beneath you? Your back must feel relief as the strain of father and children is taken. Your nipples, too, nestle within the soft pile of the rug. As you shift your weight to relieve a knot of internal tension you they tickle, guided by breasts swaying ponderously.

I walk around you. Perhaps you hear my intake of breath when I take the time to appreciate your backside. Always sculpted, it has grown from apple-shaped to peach as fat layered upon it. Now it threatens to form rolls of its own over the equally immense thighs that support it, and the cleft that shades into your sex is deep and dark.

A muffled, wet crunch from within you marks some bone being ground to splinters. A short belch follows, but then, quite by surprise, a brassy tone from where you know I’m looking. We both gasp and you clench hard in embarrassment, changing the shape of your bum in hypnotising ways.

I remember a time you decided to force upon me a deeper appreciation of such an outburst, pinning me while you drank a cocktail. Payback time.

I kneel beside you and stroke my hands up and down your back. Into your ear I murmur, “One more good one of those and I will tuck you up and rub your tummy.”

If you’re about to protest those words die on your lips when I press down and along your back, rocking you back and forth on your belly. A full-body massage of tummy and tits begins.

I discover that I can keep you rocking with a hand on your backside. From there I stopper you unceremoniously with a finger sliding smooth up your rear, making you draw breath. That leaves me the other hand free to claw lovingly through your fat, seeking out bulges and hidden pockets of your bubbling, melting, fermenting prey. Half the work is done by microbes, of course. Your body makes shit out of living people and enlists allies along the way.

“Three people,” I murmur, beginning to let my finger slide within your anus on each rock. “All of them are going to pass out of here.”

“Not… fair…” you murmur, beginning to press against the finger. I can feel the heat of your pussy as you grow excited despite your exhaustion and discomfort. “Too tired for this…”

“One good fart for me, baby. Let me see what your greedy body did to that family. A sneak preview.” Within your guts, a bubbling groan we can both hear. I chase it with rhythmic, rippling motions, trying to help peristalsis gather and guide the trapped gas downward.

“Can’t believe you’re… Ffff…” A hiss from between your teeth and around the inadequate bung as a little puff finds your pucker.

“You can do better than that, Raven. Wiggle. Side to side. Get those intestines moving.” I direct you with my internal handle to do just that. You feel me test the walls of your rectum.

The other hand pauses its massage to retrieve something from a pocket. A little glossy slip of paper flutters down by your elbow, stolen from a wall of family moments.

“These are the people you’re currently churning away to shit, Raven. Look at them.” You do. Father looks a lot more handsome with all his face present. He’s gripping his children who slightly awkwardly tolerate it in a seaside scene. The youngest has a genuine smile of delight. The eldest wears braces.

Come to think of it, those braces will be somewhere inside you right now.

“Relax and give me something, my dear—”

It comes all at once, a minor seismic event felt like a whip-crack in your overworked transverse colon. Pressure behind my finger causes me to pull out with a flourish. Your anus performs the rest, its instinctive tightening tuning an initial ~phfffut~ into a stunning mid-tone warble. Is it a pint you exhaust out into the room? Honestly, I’m impressed.

“Good! Good girl!” A little carried away, I give your arse an affectionate spank. The ripples travel a considerable distance.

You look up, blushing and intense. “Look. Either fuck me or rub my belly.”

What else could I choose but both? You fall asleep stuffed, sore, satisfied, and subject to deep, grinding massages through the whole of your hard-working gut.