Eating can be passive. You don't realize how much you've had until it starts to hurt.
She leaned forward slightly, only to find that the mound of her belly had already made itself known. A soft, full wall between her and everything below.
The pain and the fullness told her that she'd had more than usual.
That's when she knew she needed to keep going.
Her belly already pushing swelling breasts closer to her chin. She couldn't imagine how much room could possibly be left.
She brought the fork to her mouth anyway.
Warmth pulsing through her body and the source wasn't the food.
Does she dare address it?
She hesitated.
The urge was there, her hands wanting to find the source of that warmth. Not yet. She wasn't ready. Another forkful found its way to her mouth.
A rhythm emerged. Rubbing her heavy, swollen mound. Stuffing her face. She got lost in it.
How many calories could this be. How much more of me will this become.
The heat below intensified, practically aching for attention. The food was gone, all of it, inside her. Both hands free now.
She slipped a hand beneath her waistband, leaning back to make room under the full weight of her belly. That first touch... she inhaled sharply. So sensitive. Chills moving through her entire body.
She found the same rhythm as before. Kneading, rubbing, squeezing her belly with one hand. Caressing herself with the other. Occasionally dipping lower.
Soaking. All for her. All because of her.
A woman in her most beautiful self. It was bringing her to the edge. She held herself there... long enough for it to be real, long enough to be witnessed.
Her arousal escaped her lips in low moans.
Then she allowed it...
Lingered in it.
Witness her.
