Kaitlyn laughed.
"If you can belch and fart like a pig, you've got plenty of room left," she said, narrowing her eyes as her perfectly manicured nails scratched at the exposed skin of my belly, the indents of her nails against my skin betraying just how much she'd fattened me up over the past six months.
It had started as a casual embarrassing thing: I'd go over to her house and she'd stuff me silly and call me a pig and rub her cunt against my bloated belly and toss me out after. But she was so hot and I became addicted. She had plenty of lovers but as far as I knew I was her only pig: she was as embarrassed about wanting me- wanting my gut- as much as I was about letting her stuff it and somehow that knowledge made it hotter. I was her dirty little secret.
"See this?" I could just barely see over the crest of my gut but I could feel her fingernail cutting along the crease made by the two rolls I finally had coming in. It was those that made me start to question if I wanted this.
You told me, once, that you wanted to eat me up and I'd just laughed. Now I'm not so sure.
I belch as you rub baby oil into my gut. It's my crowning glory. Sure, my ass and hips and thighs have grown, too- my arms are fat now- but my belly, well, it takes the cake...and all the cake you can force into it.
You DO keep it stuffed. I'm more like a Thanksgiving turkey or pinata than a person most days, but it's still HUGE. I can't reach my arms all the way around it any more.
You work your hands over the pounds of plumped flesh thoroughly, slowly, and I can't help but think about how this is probably a way for you to make sure my meat is marbled with the fat, but damn if it doesn't feel good. Already I can feel the pressure from the tons of food you've crammed down into me easing. You spend a little longer with the soft flesh under my navel than anywhere else- it's one of your favorite parts. You cradle the broad underside of my gut, and I can feel the way you weigh it in your hands.