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“I think we did a pretty nice job.” “Can’t decide until we ..
🕑 Added 2023-03-04 16:46:55 +0000 UTC “I think we did a pretty nice job.” “Can’t decide until we taste it.” You reply, sipping down the remainder of your milk and slipping out of your seat to refill the glass. I take the time to drink down your body, noting the way your shirt is beginning to scrunch up in all the usual places: hips, belly, arms. I wonder if you’ll ever start to plateau and part of me hopes you never do. Twenty minutes later and we’re seated at the table with a heaping bowl of homemade chili in front of you, topped with red onions, sour cream, and shredded cheddar. I help myself to a small bowl, a quiet moan slipping out in satisfaction. “The meat is a little overcooked, but the flavor is perfection.” You nod, though you seem characteristically unaware of the finer details and much more focused on consumption. You scoop up bite after bite, making a bit of a mess of your cheeks in all your haste. I can’t get enough of the sight: your greed on full display, mouth stuffed and gut getting fuller. “Do you even taste anything?” I ask, getting only flushed cheeks and a scowl in response. You’re clearly too interested in your chili to offer much more, already close to halfway done with the bowl. I give your gut a firm pat, neglecting my meal for a few moments to watch you enjoy your food, and goodness does your love for food seem to get stronger every day. You revel in every bite, tiny confirmations of enjoyment showed in short moans, even your eyes flutter shut every now and again. You finish the bowl in even less time than I had anticipated, leaning back in your chair and resting a hand on your big belly, seeming just as surprised as me at how quickly you wolfed your food down. I refill the bowl like a reflex, finally sitting back to work on my own food as I watch you eat with keen eyes, loving the sight. You slow down a bit during your second bowl, finishing just a couple minutes before me and taking a short break. I get to my feet to get a drink and glance at you when you loudly clear your throat. “Will you get me another bowl? My belly is a little…uh…” you give the dome a firm pat, the tightness obvious. "Admitting you're full and asking for more?" I blush, satisfied with my half-full bowl and shifting to serve you a third, heaping portion. "You're like a walking definition of greedy." “Shut up. I just can’t sit up very well…” You mumble, squirming in place as you begin scarfing down the chili, hastily at first, but you seem to taper out a bit after the first few inhales. You hum at the taste, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to cup your stomach; feel the tight heaviness of it. I can hardly help sneaking my hand in next to yours, feeling the product of all your hard work so big and impossible to ignore. I move to serve you your next bowl the second you slurp down the dredges of your third, hands moving straight back to their place on your stomach one you had the full bowl. “Think you can finish four?” You hum, making a pleased noise and pondering, though you seem plenty confident. “Bet I can, if you help me.” “I’ll give you all the tummy rubs you need, piggy.” I offer, fingers dancing along the massive bulge of your stomach, making soothing patterns along your skin. You let your head loll back, resting the bowl on your chest and scooping bites straight past your lips. The both of us work hard to get exactly four and a half bowls of chili stuffed in your belly. You’re heaving and exhausted by the end of it; I had to shovel the last few bites in. I revel in your pained moans and burps with every bite, slipping a hand delicately up your thigh when you shift your hips up in an easy rhythm. “This okay?” I ask before pressing my palm against your navel, and you nod frantically. You seem to love every second of it, but I keep my hand still, deciding not to roam too much. You’re not done eating until I say so, and I can’t give you that satisfaction yet. The moment you swallow the last bite, I sink down to pepper kisses along the taut skin of your belly. I rub the width of it and I can feel how firm and swollen with food the top is, while the bottom is soft and malleable. I give it a smack and you moan, and I notice how hard you are. “You like being my big pig, huh?” I ask, and your cheeks flush red as you nod. “Good,” I smile deviously, “because we don’t have room for this pot of chili in the fridge, so you’re going to have to eat it all for me.”
