run hunt 03

In time we satisfy the lust sparked by the weight of meat in your guts. The slap of my thighs against the backs of yours was echoed by ripples traversing the fat of your arse and by heavy chyme sloughing back and forth within bloated intestines. At its height, it felt like you were being fucked throughout your entire digestive system at once.

Afterwards, once our breathing slowed and we had cooled down, I regretfully informed you, “I definitely burned the pizza. There’s another one, though.”

“Scandalous. Don’t take so long making me cum next time.”

“Hold that thought.”

In what would in any other context be the least sexy foreplay, I nip away to replace one incinerated pizza with one fresh in the oven. When I come back your eyelids are fluttering closed. It is late, after all.

No. Seeing you there, the proud fat dome of your belly rising from tousled bedsheets… Once is not enough.

Strong hands suddenly plough furrows through the pale expanse of tender flesh padding your belly. You inhale deeply, at first preparing to relax; but as I continue to massage your hard-working guts, I lean up to kiss your neck. You shiver and rock your hips slightly, helping present different angles of your belly.

“Since when was one of anything enough for you? I want you to be a greedy slob for me.”

“Mmm? Jogger and a fuck not enough?”

I nip your neck, making you squeak. “Not hardly. You’re going to eat pizza from a box balanced on your tits while I rub your belly and eat your pussy.”

You make a catlike sound, interested. You’re about to say something but my massage loosens some discomfort in your bowels. A lazy, rolling fart animates an arsehole that has already seen so much action today. You blush, but I just gasp. As far as you can tell from my expression, what you just did is the sexiest thing in the world.

“The runner gave me gas. You sure you want to be down—”

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

I don’t have a ready answer. Somewhere in the distance, a timer goes off.

“Because even the worst most disgusting things your body can do are fucking magical. And even your fart is, like, a postcard from deep inside here.” I slap your gut. In a rare moment of utterly naked prey desire, I murmur, “I’m so jealous of that runner.”

“Touch my mouth or my bumhole any time before dawn and you’ll meet him, I promise.” You watch how your words make me squirm and smirk. “Now go get that pizza and drape it over my tits. You’ve a cunt to service.” You hesitate a fraction of a second, daring yourself to push further filthy talk. “So careful you don’t get too close sniffing my farts. If you give my shitter a kiss it’ll kiss you back, permanently.”

“Least you’ll cum again,” I murmur, as I hurry to the task.