You know, babe, I bet that belly of yours is probably pretty hungry for a good, heavy, decadent brunch right about now, isn't it? It's the weekend, after all. What more perfect time for plate after plate of delicious breakfast food?
Light and fluffy pancakes, stacked precariously high, dripping with melted butter and rich maple syrup. Waffles buried under sugar sweet berries and heaps of whipped cream. Eggs prepared every kind of way you can imagine, served along side greasy, sizzling bacon AND sausage, because why not both? Savory, heavy potatoes, and flakey warm biscuits drowning in salty, rich gravy.
Damn, I wish I was there with you, big boy. You probably want to sleep in, would be happy to have me stuff you full of dozens of donuts and pastries, until you pass out from sugar overload... and you know, that's a great idea. Pre-gaming before brunch with obscene amounts of deep fried, frosted, and cream filled pastries. Check. Done.
But then I'm still planning on forcing you up, getting you dressed in some too tight khakis with a button that has no hope of surviving what's about to happen, a shirt that hugs your firm orb of a gut so snugly, it leaves nothing to the imagination and an adorable strip of underbelly exposed, and wedging you into the car so we can make it to that sweet little cafƩ with the cute waitress and the irresistible brunch menu.
And once you've forced down every last bite, licked every plate clean, I help you up from the cute little chair that has been creaking under your weight, and parade you through the brunch crowd of cafƩ patrons, showing off just how amazing the food there really is. You will have to slowly waddle, the weight of your engorged gut keeping you from standing fully upright as you try to support and protect your ponderous belly from bumping into something, or someone, accidentally (it won't really work, the massive, protruding, food filled ball is unwieldy), and potentially causing yourself to burst. Your pants button will be long gone, and there will just not be enough stretch left in your shirt to keep your gut covered, so your shirt will have ridden up, just barely clinging to the highest, fullest crest of your stuffed to near bursting food balloon, leaving your gluttony on full display for the world to see.
Panting for air, as your abused and angry stomach hinders you from taking deep breaths, you will gasp and moan, belch and groan, all the way to the car, where the chore of wedging you in will be even more difficult than before. But once we're there, oh, I would have my way with that beautiful belly. Rubbing and massaging and kneading and smacking and shaking and pressing, forcing out agonized whines, heavy rattling belches, and relieved gasps, winding you up until you can't tell the difference between pleasure and pain, but you will just want to recline your seat and sleep until your body digests the impossible amount you will have forced into it.
Once you're settled, grunting and burping as you will be unable to keep your hands from rubbing your distended orb of a gut, I will drive you home, and I will be careful to avoid unnecessary bumps and pot holes, but we both know I will not be able to avoid the multiple drive-thru fast food places along the route. It will, after all, be nearing lunch time.
Yeah, babe. I think brunch seems like a fucking fantastic idea.
Yeah that definitely makes me wanna get brunch alright. And I did, omlet meal, breakfast tacos, and pancake stack š©
Two people sat across from me too while I ordered it and they just ordered 1 thing š
I seriously need my gut rubbed and massaged in the car once we get done with bigass brunch. My gut feels so fucking overfilled and swollen right now I need it to be cared for since I just torture it by shoving as much food as I possibly can into it. I just wanna belch and complain the whole time afterwards š„µ
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