I want L/ondo at my feet, bare as the day he was born, leashed and collared. The lead pulled taut in my hand as I have him looking up at me. His six rubbing against each other in a slippery, writhing tangle. I pick up pieces of savory, cheesey rich Pinaldi to feed him, watching with rapture.
With each bite swallowed I kiss and lick at his lips, mockingly admonishing him for being such a messy eater. Then having him wash it all down with very fizzy soda, rubbing at his steadily expanding belly, growing more round and sloshy with each gulp.
Ending with a deep, rich belch that turns into moans of relief as I continue to massage his belly for more, turning him into a whiny, belchy mess as I'll call him a good boy throughout it all.
“Oh, I'm so full.” Cam moans before letting out a soft burp.
“Yes, but is that not a good thing? You were starting to resemble more of a twig than a man.” L/ondo says.
“Still, why did you let me eat so much?” Cam bemoans, he leans back, his hands resting gingerly atop the crest of his belly. And L/ondo notices how the swell of Cam's stomach spills over the waistband of his jeans, cinched tightly around his bloated middle. His shirt taut, a second skin. It was a much greater improvement than the malnourished appearance Cam had before dinner.
He feels a sense of pride in having had a helping hand in Cam's newfound plumpness. An indulgent warmth settles at his core.
“Ah, but is that not what you wanted, my dear? I certainly did not put you in this position.” He tuts.
Cam grimaces a bit at a dull ache in his stomach, “no, but you sure encouraged it, alright. Let me eat so much- uurrrp. And I just couldn't help myself, either.”
“And was it not everything you could've imagined? Data entries on our dinner habits make for a poor substitute for the real experience, no?” He sounds proud of the fact, and can't but preen.
“Yes, yes, but God was it good..."
L/ondo knew he meant it. It had been the greatest feast the station might've ever seen, if they knew. Every plate, every treat and every cuisine that Centauri Prime could provide for a human palate—all at Cam's fingertips. An endless spread of food laid out, filling out the entire space of L/ondo's quarters from wall to wall. A delicious mix of flavors to sample.
And sample did Cam do. Endlessly, unwavering, did he relish in every dish offered to him. He ate, and he ate until he could do so no longer.
L/ondo goes to help Cam from his seat, hearing him whine from the exertion and fullness. He guides Cam to the living room area, gingerly and slow, careful not to jostle his overly full stomach as Cam uses him as a crutch. L/ondo eases him gently into the plush seat of his couch, watching as Cam's paunch of a belly jiggles. Cam whines.
“Whew, thanks, I doubt I could've made it without your help. But, man, am I tired now.” Cam groans out, lightly patting his belly.
L/ondo takes a seat next to him, perhaps a bit too close, as L/ondo feels himself pressing against the softness of Cam's side. “Then rest here, I do not mind, if anything I would be honored if you did so.”
Cam leans back, relaxing, leaving his stomach to spill from under his shirt and onto his lap with a sigh of relief.
Oh, Great Maker this man knows not what he does. All L/ondo wants to do is reach over and unclasp that straining button of his pants and really let his fat overflow.
“Hey…” Cam asks out loud. “Would it be weird if I asked you to rub my stomach?”
“Just a few more bites,” you say with a nonchalant air, face schooled into a cool facade. But despite this—excitement still bleeds into your words. “I know you can do it, baby, you've done so well up til now. Just a little more, open up that pretty mouth of yours again… That's a good boy.”
L/ondo groans as he chews, head thrown back, his handsome features scrunched in discomfort. One of his hands rubs at his tight, overstuffed gut. He swallows slowly, the bite weighting heavily in his stomach, he groans louder. L/ondo's belly bulges with the rising-fall of his labored breathing. He has to stifle a hiccup-burp coming on—even though knowing it would cause him even more discomfort doing so. He believes that in denying his own instant gratification, the more you would pleased when you finally got what you wanted. L/ondo moans out, too full to even be able to speak.
“One more then?” you coo, voice honey sweet, eyes locked onto the whining, bloated man underneath you. L/ondo opens his mouth to protest, but instead lets out a loud, hearty belch. You give his “shelf” of a belly a couple of prodding pats to loosen more air from his stomach, he lets outs small burps in response. And you keep rubbing and pressing against his swollen dome to force out a clamor of burps and moans from his lips.
“Good, so good for me, Great Maker. L/ondo, you're so hot right now. Keep being good for me? Just one more bite, I promise,” you say, breathlessly.
“Mmph, no, I can't anymore.” L/ondo whimpers, still rubbing at the soreness of his overfed belly. “I can't have another bite- Haaahh, much too full.”
“It's okay, it'll be okay, darling, I did promise after all,” You reassure, picking up another piece of japoti with your fingers. There are still quite a number of the pastries left, you had gotten a bit carried away while making them for L/ondo. And despite his current incapacitated state, his traitorous attributes give a healthy throb at the thought of you feed him more of these exquisite japoti, ambrosia on his tongue waiting to flood him with warmth. L/ondo opens his mouth obligingly, even letting his tongue lull out as he moans, showing his fangs. His moans only grow in volume as he chews on the sugary sweet, flaky pastry.
“That's it, that's my good boy, my handsome darling.” You purr, only this time, you make no effort to hide your excitement. “Getting so big, getting so huge, all for me.” Your hand on his gut presses down once more and are rewarded with a thunderous belch. L/ondo slumps further down, too full to even consider sitting up.
“Now, you just lay back and let me tend to you… You know I'll take real good care of you, my dear~”
The wiggling underneath L/ondo's shirt grows more fervent as he lets out a weak groan.
Really just want to come up behind L/ondo and grab at his tummy, yk? Just knead at the softness of his skin and rest my head on his shoulder as I kiss on his neck.
Just taking my time to feel up his handsome figure - starting from his thick thighs to his full waist and chest before wrapping my hands around two of his attributes. Letting the rest entwine around my limbs and maybe take one in my mouth, giving the wet head soft teasing kisses before letting it slip into my mouth.
All the while L/ondo makes the most delicious noises, shamelessly voicing his pleasure.
For a Centauri, indulgence comes as easily as breathing—as just a way of life.
For a race that embraces hedonism, very rarely can one overindulge—but that's not to say it is not unheard of. And of course, one's consequences are never fun to deal with in the aftermath. But you live and learn.
Unless you happen to be a certain Centauri ambassador. Then the lessons never quite stick.
And currently the latter finds himself collapsed within the settee, making himself as comfortable as he can in his current condition. Fat and filled to bursting with rich, thick blood; oh so lovingly donated by his human partner. And how fortunate for L/ondo, that human just happens to be a Chalice too.
Chalices; beings of a mysterious nature whose physical biology is still being studied today. All is known is that their bodies create more blood than is needed, and must be drained regularly to maintain healthy levels within the body.
L/ondo groans at the memory suddenly coming back to him, and he has the feeling that the universe is having fun at his expense once again.
L/ondo hiccups, and then hisses when the movement jostles his overly stuffed stomach, painfully heavy with warm syrupy blood.
You had caught him when he had just finished his meal—so generously provided here on Babylon 5 for him and others—practically sprinting into his arms to paw at him in your feverish state. You begged for relief, for him to feed from you with a whine, and how could he say no. You had begged so prettily, and his hearts ached for you to see you in pain.
L/ondo whisked you away to his quarter to do the deed, public feedings were frowned upon here on Babylon 5, and he would rather save you and himself a lecture from the staff due to both of your eagerness and haste. In the privacy of his quarters, he had made sure you were comfortable and sitting before drinking deeply from you.
A swipe of a tongue at your throat had your pulse racing in anticipation. You had hissed in pain at the initial bite at your neck before sighing in relief as he sucked. The sweet sanguine on his tongue had him moaning, and you pressed yourself impossibly closer into his front, urging him on.
And L/ondo needed no further invitation, hugging you close like you would slip from his very grasp. Though you would never conceive the very thought to do so.
He downs your blood slowly in great big gulps, heat slowly crawls inside your veins and spreads warmth all across, racking your body with shivers at the strange pleasure of it all. You shakily moan as you cling to him, like a lifeline, through it all.
Only once the blood haze passes does L/ondo realize his mistake.
L/ondo lets out a belch that turns to groans. He leans back heavily into the softness of the couch. Small mercies, he thinks. L/ondo's drank as much as he could stomach, and even then some. He feels bloated, his gut—because that's exactly what it is, who is he fooling—feeling tight and cramping, and sloshing with rich, filling blood, courtesy of you.
He's having some regrets, but as you curl yourself around him while making with those cute little noises that you do. Happy and content, no more pain in your features. Well, maybe he could deal with a little stomach ache.
Especially when you bring a hand to his belly to rub at his aches and pains. Gentle but firm in massaging circles into the swell of his belly, somehow knowing just where to rub to ease the dull achiness of his stomach. And drawing out small but continuous burps from him that bring him more relief.
Really want to pamper L/ondo- feed him tender morsels of rich food slowly, and effortlessly as he opens his mouth to receive each bite. Rubbing the steadily growing dome of his belly as I coo praise and encouragements into his ear. Kneading and pinching gently at fatty rolls. My other hand twining and wiggling playfully with two of his six, serving more to tease than anything. A hint of what's to come if he keeps being good, and finishes everything I have to give him.
Having thoughts of Cam being L/ondo's fat, pampered little pet.
No more working, no more responsibilities, stress, or thoughts for that matter. Nothing, but being a good boy for L/ondo, and L/ondo wants his pet to be fat and happy.
No more sadness or the harsh and sharp lines of his body. Only warmth and softness.
The only thing Cam needs to focus on is getting bigger and getting more comfortable in his own skin. To become a soft and spoiled pet for his master.
. . .
The callous hands on Cam's waist are worshipful and generous in their touch, tracing along the new expanses of naked skin bared to L/ondo. He fondled handfuls of fatty flesh here and there as he layered sweet praise onto the trembling man.
Cam whimpers, embarrassed, but still his body warms at the Centauri's ministrations.
“Yes, very good. You've gotten so soft and jiggly now, my sweet dove.” L/ondo coos, his hands never once stopping their roving caresses—as if they cannot decide which part of Cam needs his touch the most.
L/ondo leans down to whisper into Cam's ear, “but… I think you can get even bigger still…” L/ondo grabs Cam's pouch of a stomach between his two hands. “No…?”
And Cam can only make meek, flustered little sounds, but he nods his head in agreement.
“Good boy, so very good and all for me.” L/ondo kisses under his chin, now more of a double chin. “Come, let us get you weighed and find out how much bigger you are going to get, my little pet.” L/ondo purrs.
Imagining L/ondo finding out you have a particular fixation for his teeth, their shape, and sharpness. And then using it against you, to tease you even-especially-when it's most inconvenient.
Giving you flashes of them in between talks and speeches, when he eats, and smiles, anything for an excuse to show them off for you.
Licking them like he's found something particularly tasty to sink his fangs into. His tongue slides along each long point, slow-like, deliberately showing off their sharpness. His grin tight, lips pulled back to bare them, head tilted just so they glistened in the light. He watches you with bright, watchful eyes, capturing all your reactions.
Or when he kisses you, he makes sure you feel the outline of his fangs pressed against your lips as you make out passionately. Before moving towards your neck, teeth grazing your flesh.
At your neck, he's laving a tongue at your throat to your collarbones, delivering bites all along the expanse of your skin. Gently, never enough to break it, even though you might want him to. Perhaps sensing this, he does deliver swift bites to the junction of your shoulders, leaving behind a matching set of claiming bites.
In the privacy of your quarters, he might even let you touch his teeth with your fingers. Letting you feel them up to your desire, fingerpads tracing and feeling around their length and sharpness. Pressing on with light pressure, threatening to puncture yourself on them.
