parminder 04

While her lips linger on your belly, between ribs and belly button, she peels off the rest of your dress, and your panties along with it. You step out of both and gaze down at her, imperious.

“Yes, I’m greedy. I want to eat everything. I want to eat you. Make me some room to eat you. Massage my tummy. And for God’s sake, put your mouth to good use while you do!”

To look at her, one would think she were terrified, with wide eyes and pounding heart. Perhaps she is. But her breathing catches every time her grinding hands cause your belly to growl or squeak. And especially when you give a little sigh of pleasure, capped with a clipped, crude ~huaaAAUuurp~. Her mouth kisses lower, following the faint trail of down that leads to your womanhood. Then she veers right, scarcely daring to kiss beside your pussy and ending up brushing your inner thigh with her lips.

“Sweet thing,” you murmur. She’s like a virgin, pure and willing but inexperienced and frightened.

“Here.” You take her hands and perch in front of her on her couch. She shuffles on her knees to follow. “Let me show you how I want you to rub my tummy.”

You forgive her ignoring your poor languishing pussy a little while longer. Though virginal, she applies herself. Her soft hands dig deep along the lines of your flanks—a vanity move that emphasises to you both just how large and swollen your stomach has become.

Then your hands guide hers in a circular pattern over the bulk. “Harder,” you murmur, and she shuffles more upright to knead a belly full of deliquescent food. You fancy you can feel her mapping out your insides, learning where makes you moan, hunting down knots of discomfort and easing them out as delighted little burps.

“Is this helping you digest?” she asks, her soft accent coming across as vulnerable.

“Mmmhm. Feel how soupy I am?” Your hand joins hers and casually bounce your tummy, to show off how you slosh. “You’re helping me break down dinner. By now, probably help it gurgle down into my guts. Here.”

Unabashed fascination on her face follows as you guide her hands downward. Wait. Only one hand. The other caresses unconsciously at her crotch.

When she realises what you’re smirking at she blushes furiously. “I don’t— this isn’t— your body is just so fucking hot—”

“Get undressed. For me. Then come back to my belly.”

You can control her with the slightest touch to your own body. No supernatural power is necessary. Your gaze devours every signal her expressive face gives as you grope your own midsection. She speeds up when you pause, desperate to join in; she falters, absorbed, when you dig deep into the slowly spreading tummy bulge. It’s funny to watch her desperation in fumbling with her corset.

And then she’s naked and scrabbling for your middle. “Ah ah,” you chide, and she holds back. Divested of black clothing and deep purple underwear, she is nevertheless still dark. The soft contours of her belly, fatter than yours, catch the light and come up coffee-and-cream. Her generous breasts are capped with smoky dark areolas. Eyes, hair, trimmed diamond: all are black.

Seeing you examining her she smiles and looks down. Proud? Shy? You take your time enjoying the view, casually stroking yourself, until: “Okay. Come here.”

And she is back upon your belly. The scent of your lust must be all around her as she massages your abdomen and you stroke your mons, your inner thighs, your lips.

Increasingly her eyes keep flitting down. She wets her lips with hunger when she contemplates your sex. “I want you.”

“Mmh? You kissed my thigh, earlier.”

“… I was shy. It’s my first… yeah. You’re my first.”

Your spell on her is so complete she sways when your next stroke parts your lips, granting her a glimpse at this most private sight.

“Do you know what to do?”

“I… think so, yeah.” She swallows.

“Don’t stop massaging my tummy. Feels good when you do it. … Good. Now. Come give me a kiss, my adorable prey.”

She falls into you—shuddering with overwhelmed, confused delight at the nickname you give her. Though she is new, she doesn’t act shy. The first stroke of her tongue is bold and greedy: you can’t help but growl and arch your back.

It’s all the encouragement she needs. With great sensitivity and attentiveness she eats you out, learning where you like to be licked, where you like to be sucked, and where to rock with pressure. You help with the latter lesson when you put one hand behind her head and squeeze her in close. The grind is electric.

This is the first time tonight you could simply eat her. Pull her close and flex impossibly, turn her first time eating pussy into a mutual affair. You nearly do it: fuck her into your cramped womb and cum her out in great spurts into the gorgeous hand-woven rug she is currently kneeling on.

She doesn’t know how close to death she comes when you orgasm. Maybe she worries about suffocating. You clamp down hard. It feels so right to have something clamped and struggling between your thighs.

When your senses come back you realise she is furiously fingering herself. “Nng. Ah-ah. Up. Come on, pet. Up.”

She whimpers when forced to abandon her own climax but obeys, sitting up tall on her knees. Your lips are centimetres from hers. Your hand traces patterns around her pussy, dragging an animal sound of need from her throat. She looks at you with begging eyes.

“Would you let me eat you, if I let you cum?”