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One snowy afternoon, we spend the morning cooped up together..
🕑 Added 2023-03-06 22:20:52 +0000 UTC One snowy afternoon, we spend the morning cooped up together in cozy companionship, with me playing video games while you read in the armchair. You made yourself a couple bacon-grilled-cheeses, and I watch out of the corner of my eye while you eat them quickly and neatly, turning pages with your greasy fingers and licking crumbs from your lips. When the two sandwiches are finished, you put your book down and disappear into the kitchen, and I smell the unmistakable savory odor of cooking bacon. You come back a while later with two more grilled cheeses, plus a big bowl of Doritos. You settle again into the armchair, leaning back and running a thumb around the waistband of your sweatpants like they’re irritating you, and I watch as your shirt climbs up and reveals a tantalizing strip of bare, bloated belly. You munch on a handful of Doritos before starting in on your grilled cheese, and I watch your stomach swell ever-so-slightly further outwards as you finish the third and then fourth sandwich, and demolished the bowl of chips. You’re flushed by the time you’re done, clearly full, and you use the heel of your hand to rub soothing circles on your belly while you read, your shirt lifting and falling over the tight roundness of it. Every so often the shirt lifts in such a way that I can see the waistband of your sweats folded down beneath your gut; your sides bowing subtly outwards, too, a hint of a roll. I find myself saying, “Was thinking of running across the street for a cupcake or something. You interested?” “Sure,” you hiccup, as if you aren’t already swollen from breakfast and your four-sandwich lunch. “Just give me a few minutes.” “I'll go alone, I don't mind,” I say. “Just stay seated, baby. What do you want?” “Surprise me,” you say, your eyes heavy-lidded; fingers digging into your stomach. I come back with a coconut cream pie, and without thinking too hard about it, I serve you an enormous piece, nearly a fourth of the entire thing. You don’t even blink, just put down your book and pull the plate onto your knee and begin stuffing eager forkfuls into your mouth. I can hear your heavy breathing; can hear you squirm a little as you try to find a more comfy position, but I pretend not to notice. I don’t look until he hear the last scrape of your fork on the empty plate, and a series of stiff little burps, followed by the whoosh of a difficult breath. Then – then I look. Your hand is cupping your gut gently, thumb moving slow, soothing circles over your belly button, which is clearly visible through the stretched cloth of your t-shirt. Your stomach is round and poking out over your waistband, and your chin is squishy, your cheeks fuller. You’ve always been a little soft, but you are a little bigger now than you’d been before – a little bigger, and differently-shaped, too. You used to be smoothed in a small, soft layer of fat like an otter; had a few little rolls when you sat down, but now you’re growing round and squishy. Your firm stomach pushes out solidly in front of you, instead of folding like it once had done, and I have a sudden, desperate urge to see it bare. I haven’t seen you shirtless since summer, when you’d been so thin. “Think I'm gonna go take a nap,” you say, interrupting my reverie. “Sure,” I say, “cool, yeah, I'm just gonna --” I wave my game controller, trying to push down the blush that is clawing its way to my cheeks. You push yourself to your feet, your face wrinkling in discomfort as you get vertical, but instead of trudging into your room, you detour into the kitchen, and my jaw nearly unhinges when I see that you’ve helped yourself to another enormous piece of pie, easily as huge as the first one. “Pre-nap snack,” you blush, eyes on the floor, and a moment later you disappear into your room. I abandon all pretense of playing the video game, and steal off to my own room, where I have my hand in my pants almost immediately, my eyes slammed shut as I imagine you across the hall, pink mouth wrapped around the pie fork; your strained, too-full breaths; that stomach getting even rounder as you eat. I almost feel guilty for sexualizing you this way – sexualizing the person who was probably slipping into a food-nap right as I cum in my underwear.
