You’re almost too full. We’ve made sure of it. You ease yourself onto the sofa, a soft t-shirt stretched taught across your burgeoning middle; a subtle dent in the fabric around your bellybutton and a couple inches of doughy overhang on display signals that this shirt’s days are numbered.
Breathing heavily, you try to settle into your seat to find a more comfortable position, but the weight of your belly pins you down. It’s obvious you’re just too stuffed to find any relief- well, without a little help, anyway. But luckily, we know what works best.
Taking the seat next to you, I lean into your overstuffed side, and gently run my fingertips over the peak of your belly. Slow, lazy circles, counter-clockwise above your packed stomach, and your body slumps into relaxation almost immediately. It doesn’t take long to forget how full you are, and you don’t notice when your heavy breathing slows to a steady, tranquil pace. Several minutes pass as fingertips slide over more of your vast middle, and you feel your eyes glazing over as the rest of the world falls away. You’re only remotely aware as you feel my hand slide up underneath your shirt, lightly moving across the plush expanse, tracing stretch marks and prodding gingerly to see if we’re making any progress.
More time passes- how much? Does it matter? You’re living completely in this moment, practically drunk on the blissful feeling of having your belly rubbed. Your stomach doesn’t hurt anymore, and from the look on your face you’re reveling in every inch of yourself. I squeeze a handful of overhang, grab at a lovehandle. Now that you’re feeling better, it’s time to make you feel fat. My hand slides across to the far side of your belly, hefting it delicately and sending subtle jiggles across your abdomen. You feel a hand sink deep into the heavy side roll under your arm. Your belly is practically being worshipped- no, not practically, actually- and a voice brings you to your senses.
“You’re doing such a good job. I can’t wait to see you fatter.”
You feel that drive to grow flutter inside you and your face flushes a little. You feel enormous- and you can’t wait to be fatter, either.
Hypothetically, of course.
titsay
annaxmalina
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
