Your tired eyes trail towards your middle, your dry mouth dampening as soon as you take note of your middle. The pitiful sight of concave flesh having sunken down into nothing more than a dip in your body already sends lightning down to your bare loins. Below your ample chest, you can make out the subtle lining of your ribs— at least two of the bones press against your flesh. You lost track of time, between spending time with your partner, to the fast, to being kept in your room. The memories of all of the planning, the teasing, the “don’t worry, I’ll be fine”, all led up to this single moment.

Pressure builds in your gut as your body begins to wake. You know it’s coming. The ache. The squeeze. Your eyes squint shut and your body involuntarily writhes.

It hurts. It hurts and you love it. Your stomach twisting inside of you, squeezing around nothing. Your body trembling, seeking out sustenance.

The release finally comes. A deep bellow, your stomach quakes enough that the surface itself vibrates.

Your breathing hitches, your thighs squeeze together. You’re dizzy. You can’t tell if you’re dizzy from your arousal or your own starvation.

And then it’s silent. Silent save for the ticking clock.

You’re panting now, staring at the door through half-lidded eyes. They’d be back, they said. Your partner would come back to finalize this fast for good. You’re hungry. So hungry, but so stupidly aroused. You weakly pull at your bindings, like they’d snap, but your arms can’t do much but weakly yank the chains. You wish you could at least rub your belly, or rub yourself. Everything is on fire…

The smell hits you before the door opens. Your eyes flash open.

Your stomach starts to squeeze again.

There he is. With a plastic bag, a smiley face on its front. Something in there smells so good.

You squirm, your gut aches, your mouth salivates. You can’t speak beyond whimpers before your belly voices its desperation, the long, howling gurgle causing your body to curl in on itself as much as it can.

“Hey, I wasn’t gone that long,” He says, setting the food on the nightstand so tantalizingly close to your head, “I said I’d get you some food.”

You whine. Your stomach follows suit with a high-pitched groan. It’s right there. Your heart is beating so hard. A touch graces your stomach. He presses down and immediately your body relents, splaying itself for him.

“You did so good, darling…” He coos, running both of his hands around my abused organ. A gentle squeeze was all that was needed to coax it to contract and roar. You rut your hips uselessly. It’s the only thing you can do. “Oh, fuck.” He breathes. Adjusting his body, his knees come up to either side of your legs. Both hands explore your body. You’re lost in the sensation, but with the smell of food so close…

It was something familiar.

The sweet and salty scent of garlic mixed with soy. The starchy air of rice. Fried breading around vegetables and shrimp…

Oh, god, he didn’t.

The pressure mounts. It’s coming. It’s coming and you can’t stop it.

Your stomach releases a deafening roar—one that you can feel rattling your spine, maybe even the whole bed. The acids inside of your stomach slosh, you’re certain that your body is about to digest itself. Your eyes flutter, then squeeze shut. You can’t help but hold back a moan, tears beading at the sides of your eyes.

It hurts. It hurts so good. You know he felt that. He felt it vibrating. He heard it groan without having to place his ear on it.

“I knew one extra day would give me what I wanted,” he murmurs between your panting and whimpering. You notice he’s already undoing his pants, digits walking down your ribs like they were stairs for his fingers. “You must be starving.”

You want to say how much you want to eat. It’s been too long. Your tongue craves something. Anything. Your gut trembles with frequent gurgles that you can’t comfort. You’re dizzy. Wet. Shaking. Needy.

“Do good now, understand? And you’ll be fed.”

Heart racing, your mouth held agape, you show your obedience. The scent permeates your nostrils. Your mouth is spilling with drool. He leans forward, lifting just enough to avoid your ribs. HIs length passes your breasts, and then…

It’s right in front of you.

You don’t need to hear him tell you what to do. The scent of hormones mixes with the smell of food. The tip only just touches your tongue.

Pressure builds inside of you again. You can’t pull your arms down to hold your stomach down.

At the same time, your lips wrap around that length, your gut bellows, an animalistic howl that shakes your frame. Hollowing out your lips, you suckle, bobbing your head back and forth as fast as you possibly can, the taste of his shaft sliding along your tastebuds. You can hear him grunting, groaning, complimenting you, praising you.

“Fuck, your mouth is so nice…”

“It’s only been a week, you can’t be this hungry!”

“Keep going, you’ll be getting your snack…”

You need it. You need something. Anything. His release is nothing compared to the salmon in that plastic box, hot and waiting for your lips to curl around that. It’s nothing like the rice you love, that filling grain.

Pressure releases. Another roar detonates your insides, a squelching, crushing contraction makes your fervent suckling stop. Again you groan, again you whimper, thighs squeezing against one another.

“Shit… What happened? Maybe you’re not as hungry as I thought…”

His words stir something in you. Your mind flashes to the safe word, but your body—no, your being refuses to uncurl your lips from the taste of his cock. Not yet. You’re so close. So close to climax. So close to finishing without even touching yourself. You want to be filled, but you’re too hungry to think about that. His taste is divine. The meal you’ll get will be greater. You need it. You need him to cum now.

Breathing through your nose you start again, tongue lashing around the head. He ruts into your throat, pumping his hips in rhythm with you. You can tell he’s almost there. You can taste the dollops of pre coating your tastebuds. Your stomach squelches, a pang tearing through you right as he pushes his full length into your throat. You can’t hold yourself back. You finish first, your body weakly twitching— a contradiction of pleasure and pain, your mind momentarily forgets the dull ache at the core of your body. A the same time one— two— three— four jets of thick liquid coat your mouth. Again, you feel your middle fill with the deep gnaw of pressure before it releases shortly after you begin swallowing his load down. Your body is nothing more than a hollow shell, tossing your partner’s seed within it, your mind in a daze, you can only stare up into your partner’s chest and his full, rounded stomach.

As the climax dies down, your eyes close. Your partner leaves your mouth. Your arms, held by string, fall to the side as he undoes the bindings.

And then, a spoon full of rice is held in front of you.

“You alright?”

You nod. Opening your mouth, the meal passes your lips. It’s soured slightly by the aftertaste of cum, but the food is coated in that sauce you love.

Spoon after spoon, the pressure begin to relieve itself.

“I was a little worried,” he says, “After six days, I figured it was long enough. I… didn’t expect you wanted to go longer.”

As you chew on another bite, you rub his hand as he rubs yours. You tell him that it felt good. That if there was any discomfort, you’d say the safe word. He feeds you another spoonful of food, ensuring to get the combo of vegetables and protein in. He smiles. Then he waves his hand a few times, that familiar energy distorting the space around his digits.

“You know, I’m capable of making you go longer,” he says, “Without the debilitating ‘human’ issues.”

You roll your eyes and sit up, finally taking the spoon from him. You tell him that it was he that didn’t believe you’d last a seventh day. He raises his eyebrows, purses his lips, and nods as you take another bite.

“You’re right,” He says, “so, then that means we’ll shoot for a day or two longer then, won’t we?”

You’re tired, but your loins stir. Biting your bottom lip, you tell him maybe three, if his powers allow.

He smiles, pets your cheek and trails his hand down to your middle.