pole 02

Once Becky goes quiet you feel digestion bite hard. Blood leaves your brain and you become a giggly mess.

“Raven, we need to get out of here, I think there’s a class starting in half an hour and the instructor could arrive any time!”

“Can’t go.” You’re spinning slowly, red and purple wrapped tightly around parted thighs and arms. “Upside down.”

You’ve been inverted for a while now. You peer at your midsection and clench and unclench your stomach muscles, consciously sloshing and squeezing liquifying Becky inside your tummy. The crepitus of bone grinding against bone has long stopped as your muscles and acids have worn away the jagged edges. Now you’re just fascinated as contractions force air past gloop inside you, making deep, bassy internal growls and gurgles. No, “gurgle” doesn’t cover it. Your belly roars with treacly wet sounds.

“If whoever it is arrives you’ll need to eat her, and then students will arrive, and Raven, I love you, but I worry you will pop and I don’t think I can wrestle an entire pole class into your mouth!”

“I have faith in you!” A particularly powerful clench makes you jump when a raucous fart squeezed out of your lofted, parted cheeks. Becky, distilled by your digestive system. You snicker. “Doesn’t have to be just my mouth. You can use my arsehole too. I’ll allow it.”

I have a real problem. I’m legitimately anxious about your safety, or at least that you might have to move on; but also, I can’t help but find you cute as hell when you’re like this. I’m trying to be a disciplinarian while also hiding a goofy grin, and I think you can tell.

“I will cut down those silks and drag you to the car, young lady.”

“And my cunt. I think you underestimate us both.”

My other problem is that you’re hot as hell, so it’s kind of hard to keep focus on being the boss. You currently are swaying your hips side to side, causing your taut, round midsection to sway with them, while the fat of your belly rolls over it like the gravid ocean in a changing tide. It’s hypnotic. I find myself trying to count. How many full-grown, squirming and struggling adults could fit beneath your skin? I think the booking app showed twenty places. You’ve been excruciatingly full with two, before, and one child crammed up your arse…

“Oh,” comes a voice from the entranceway. A bag clatters casually to the ground. I whirl around, aghast. “Hi Andrew. Are you Becky’s private? Where is she?”

“Hi, Emily.” My voice is calm, but my mind isn’t. I can hear you hum a self-satisfied little tune to yourself. You’re going to be fed again. “She nipped out. Could you, uh, help Raven dismount? I think she’s stuck.”

Emily strides quickly over, thin, blonde and no-nonsense. Looking a little concerned and a little annoyed that the instructor isn’t present to help. Of course she walks right up to you. Why wouldn’t she?