run hunt 02

You flash me down with an airy wave and I indicate to pull over. Something in your smile and body language makes me suspect you’re a little drunk, but you didn’t sound drunk on the phone. You saunter over inasfar as someone hauling an entire person minus a skeleton can saunter.

“Can I check your Uber security code?” I call through the passenger window. You giggle and open the door. Suspension springs protest as you slide inside. Your belly fully moulds to the dashboard, giving a slightly uncomfortable but deeply fulfilling pressure precisely where you’re most stuffed.

“Where to, love?” I ask, continuing the taxi theme.

“You can take a trip to a toilet if you want to be funny,” you say with a smirk. I grin back, and you lean over to give me a great smack of a kiss on my cheek. “You’d be sharing with this fellow. I had a wonderful hunt.”

“Sounds like it!” You can be guarded or just casual about your feedings when I’m not with me. It’s rare to see you so obviously excited. “Are you satisfied?”

“Mmn… Yes? No? I felt every bit of him sliding down so I know I’ve eaten. But there’s always room for more.” A thought visibly occurs to you and you look out of the window as Christmas-lit suburban houses glide past. “Do you think we could find some carollers?”

“It’s a bit late now, but some might come as takeaway tomorrow tonight, my love. I can do you 1am pizza.”

“Sold!”

You grind your hands against your belly. Your stomach is still a rigid orb buried within you, but there are no hard edges. It yields if you really press. The fullness you get from eating the flesh is different to when you swallow them whole. The latter is a shock to the stomach, and even with struggling, your system doesn’t get a chance to gradually fill up. But even swallowing down flesh in large torn mouthfuls gives your natural biological processes a chance to gracefully accommodate them. Your stomach purrs as it works on ragged meat edges.

That’s why you’re a little giddy. Already, a rich slurry is pouring into intestines awake and ready to absorb. The food high combines with the running endorphins to give you the most marvelous, bubbly sense of contentedness.

Maybe other things.

“While the pizza cooks we should fuck, too.”

The engine revs a little higher as something happens to my leg. When I look, eyebrows raised, you’re grinning mischievously at me.

“I’ve got this great big belly and I want to lie on it while you fuck me up the arse.”

“I’ll… Yes, God, yes. You’re huge. Did you eat a whale?” With my left hand I reach a hand to press hard into your stomach. It gurgles, which results in a soft pocket of air bursting from your lips.

“Not too big. This is mostly me.”

“You’re so big, now. Even without the meal you— I think I need a bigger car. You’re so fucking greedy. How many people have you eaten?”

“How should I know? I just do what feels right. Sometimes that’s open wide while shove someone down my throat. Or up my shitter. Or into my—”

“We’re not going to make it,” I say in a warning tone. “The windows are streaming up.”

“Pull over. I can’t reach my cunt because of this belly—”

“I’ll help, my gluttonous murder-princess.” Somehow I remember to indicate. A country lay-by is our dangerous rendezvous point. “Let’s churn your dinner up into shit.”