He’s eating the last of the cake when you walk in—hands sticky, lips glazed with chocolate and cream, his belly hanging huge and obscene over his open jeans. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth. He just glares, fork in hand, mouth full, daring you to say something.
“Look at you,” he sneers, shoving in another bite, crumbs raining down his chest. “Came in here hoping you’d find me stuffing my fat fucking face, huh? This what gets you off? Jesus, you’re even sicker than I thought.”
He finishes the slice, licks his fingers slow, then pushes himself up, gut swinging, cock already hard and leaking through his gray swetpants. He stands in front of you, smirking. “You want this? Want to get fucked by a fat disgusting pig? Thought you could turn me into your little pet project—make me your personal fuck toy?”
He grabs the back of your neck, drags you down to your knees. “Look at what you’ve done to me. How fucking fat and disgusting I am..made me crave food, and sex, and fucking humiliation. You proud of yourself you sick little freak?!"
He strokes himself, belly bouncing with every motion, making sure you can’t look away. “Bet you’re soaked for it. Bet you’re dripping down your thighs just thinking about getting split open by fat fucking animal..."
You stare at him so turned on you cant speak and you see his face change..He’s done pretending. No more hiding, no more shame—just raw hunger, animal and unrestrained. He drags you to the bed, cake forgotten, icing smeared on his lips and his massive belly wobbling with every step.
He pushes you down—hard—on your knees, chest pressed into the mattress. You barely get your bearings before he’s behind you, grabbing your hips, his thick hands leaving marks. His gut—hot, heavy, impossibly soft—settles across your back as he lines himself up behind you, cock thick and demanding.
“You wanted this?” he growls, voice rough with need and spite. He grinds against you, his belly flattening your body, pinning you down so you can barely move. “Wanted to see what it’s like to get fucked by a greedy, disgusting pig? Here you go, sweetheart. Here’s every pound you begged for.”
He thrusts in—slow, punishing, deep. You gasp, the weight of him overwhelming, his stomach spreading across your back, suffocating, delicious. He leans in, his mouth at your ear, breath hot and sticky with sugar.
“Feel that?” He bounces his gut against you, making you arch and whimper. “That’s what you do to me. You want to fuck a fat fuck? You want this? Christ you're so fucking wet..Tell me. Tell me you love it.”
You whine—helpless, soaked, the filthy words pushing you higher. He’s relentless, rutting into you, hand fisted in your hair, one arm braced around your waist. His free hand finds your clit, thick fingers circling, teasing, until you’re squirming, sobbing, desperate.
“You’re such a dirty little whore, aren’t you?” he spits, voice breaking, “God, you’re so fucking wet—just from my belly on your back. From being taken by a pig. My sick little freak. My greedy, needy little slut.”
He grabs a handful of his belly, slapping it against you, making you shudder. “You want it bigger? Want more? Gonna stuff myself stupid for you. Let myself go until you can’t even wrap your arms around me—until you can barely take my cock with all this fat pressed up against you.”
You’re gone—moaning, bucking, lost in him, in the filthy, glorious weight of him pounding you into the mattress. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop until you’re both shaking, spent, completely undone.
After, he collapses over you, gut still draped across your back, chest heaving. He nuzzles your neck, voice softer now but just as filthy.
“You wanted a fat fuck, baby. Hope you know what you’re in for—because I’m only getting bigger. And you’re never getting away.”
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