badbloodpressure

The idea was simple: sit still and patient while you demonstrate just how gluttonous you are. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, so of course I agreed. My overconfidence blinded me to the well known fact that I’m less patient than you when I’m not in control. This was making itself very apparent.

I struggle not to bite my lip as I watch you unwrap the last burger of the mountain of fast food you’d come home with. I’m sitting across from you in our living room, the TV playing some mindless show for background noise while you torture me. You look stuffed to the brim, pants undone and shirt riding up, as you take a bite of that last burger. You wash it down with a big swig of soda, playful eyes meeting my heated gaze. Your hand moves to massage your heavy gut and you belch, low and deep.

Fuck.

I shift in my seat, fingers gripping my forearms. My face is burning.

“You okay, baby?” You ask with an air of innocence. “You look unwell.”

I roll my eyes.

“Use your words.” You’re having way too much fun with this.

“I’m fine,” I say, the words coming out more strained than I’d like.

“You sure?” You ask, stuffing the rest of the burger in your mouth. Your hand starts wandering lower and I lean forward in my seat.

“Uh huh,” I say, breathless. You pull your hand back and I huff ever so slightly. You’re so smug and it’s making me not want to cooperate, but I know if I want to touch you I have to be patient. It’s all part of the game.

You burp again and shift to pull you pants down past your knees before kicking them off.

“Much better,” you say, winking at me. You’re very clearly turned on. I resist the urge to quit this game, kneel between your thighs, and make you forget why you wanted to try this scenario in the first place. “Fuck, I’m full.” You press your hands into your soft lower belly and give it a shake, letting out a low moan.

I whine, despite myself, and immediately regret it when I see how delighted you are.

“Do you wanna see me touch myself, baby? Is my pretty feeder soaking wet just from watching me?” I squeeze my legs together as if on cue, unable to stand this teasing.

“Yes,” I whisper. Your hand slips under the waistband of your boxers and you moan when you finally touch yourself. I take one shaky breath and try not to moan myself. It’s all I can do to keep it together.

I rock my hips against the chair, desperate to give myself any stimulation. This is unfair. I need to touch you, feel how full you are, tease your cock myself. I need to feel you rut against me as I force more into you.

At some point my mouth opened and I can barely believe I’m actually panting, but you’re picking the pace and I can tell you’re getting so close. You open your eyes and meet my gaze again, lost in the sensation.

“That’s it, baby,” you say, “watch me show you how much I love this, how much I fucking need this. I think I could eat more, you know.” You slow down, walking that line that tips you over the edge. “I could eat more, but only if you’re feeding me.”

“Oh god,” I answer.

“Do you want me to cum?”

“Please, baby.” My face flushes again with how desperate I sound. “Please cum for me. I need to touch you, I need to feel you.”

“It’s so fun teasing you, though,” you say with a smirk. “To see you all worked up like this, it’s so hot to know that I do this to you.” You make a show of thrusting your hips into your hand - at least as well as you can with being so full.

I think I’m sweating.

“I need to fuck you,” I choke out. “God, please baby. Let me fuck you.”

You laugh and renew your efforts. You’ll cum this time, I can tell by the way your breath starts to hitch.

I’ll never get tired of watching you cum. Once I know you’re finished, I rush over to you and kiss you, your lips curling into a smile beneath me.

“God that was so hot,” I say in a rush, my fingers fumbling with my own pants. “Please touch me. See how dripping wet your pretty feeder is for you, baby.”