Jeremy's Belly Fun

Part 2: The Consequence of Gluttony - Get On With It

"Fuckin' hell!" Jeremy cries out as he follows you into the house — rubbing his cheese residue-covered hands along the hard surface of his bloat. "I'm in soooo much pain right now, it's unreal." The heavy sound of his footsteps chases yours down the stretch of the main entryway, and into the den. It was tough, getting him out of the car after shoving the last handful of fries down his throat... and even more difficult getting him to stand upright on his own two feet, with his center of gravity shifted so far off... but, by sheer willpower alone, he's managed to make it this far. "I... I feel like I'm gonna explode." As bad of a quitter as he is, when he puts his mind to it, he can do pretty much anything... even if it means getting to the front door without bursting, or spouting out of both ends.

"Yeah? Well, don't. You've eaten me out of fifty dollars, baby... the least you could do is keep it all in you, while I finish giving you that sample from earlier. We're home now... and I can't make love to a blown-out gut." Practically foaming at the mouth, you lead him into the kitchen... to the table, where you watch him eat his breakfast every morning... and pull out a chair. "Sit down. Get comfortable. I'm gonna make you feel good... just like I promised."

"Yeah?" He drops his heavy ass down into the seat... the same dense ass that was pushed against you while you were out at the Drive Shack... and spreads his legs as far apart as they can reach, to give his belly room to hang. "I doubt it." Leant against the splat of the seat, with his knees turned out like they are, he looks as though he's getting ready to push through a tough labor... give a long, difficult birth to your massive food baby, right there on the floor. There's a part of you that wants him to just release the tension in his pelvic floor, and give way for the little one to come into the world... but, in reality, you know in your heart that it won't be a baby that comes out... as much as you wish that it were the case. One of these days, you'll knock him up for good, with a little human... but today just isn't that day.

"Do you, now?" You ask him, trying not to sound as sappy as you feel. "Well... there's one thing about me that you should know, Big Boy, after all this time. I always, always, keep my word. Like... when I say I'm going to eat something, I eat it. All of it. When I say I'm gonna make you feel so good, you'll forget all about how stuffed you are, I'm not bluffing. Oh, and when I bet that I'll read my book faster than you will tomorrow, I fully plan on doing it. You could learn a lot from me." Lust heavy in your gaze, and saliva dripping from your bottom lip, you kneel down between his thighs, and perch yourself comfortably on your knees. You're already throbbing in your pants as you settle into place.

The air between his thighs smells awful, like a thick blanket of rotten pepperoni and sour dairy farts, suspended in space... farts that you missed out on the pleasure of hearing. Jeremy's emissions are always so musical, like a song to your ears... even the worst of them carries a beautiful melody. Though the initial blasts have long fizzled out, their wonderful stench still lingers in the fabric around the crotch of his pants, and the surrounding atmosphere. It's like heaven to inhale... though it stinks like hell. "Damn, Big Boy, you reek! Been gassing up a storm on me, haven't you? Trying to be discreet?"

"It's the cheese." He groans. "I... I couldn't help it."

"Damn right, it's the cheese. I'm smelling curdled cheddar more than anything else right now. Whew! You're toxic!" Taking in a deep breath through your nose, to exaggerate how raunchy the odor is, you grab hold of either side of his stomach and give it a good shake. Jeremy hates passing gas around people... everyone but you. He was raised properly, to always be a gentleman, and made to believe that gentleman never fart... unless they're sat down on a toilet, or hidden away in a private room... alone. Such an unhealthy practice, and a foolish way to think. It's no wonder that Jeremy's always so big and bloated, with all of the gas that he keeps bottled up inside of him. He just can't help but to be ashamed whenever his human nature gets the better of his autonomy... but, in order to keep you happy, he's had to compromise his formal upbringing, and let his emissions break loose — whether they're silent, or not.

"Uuaaghhh." He huffs, breathing through his discomfort like a woman in labor. "Fuck! You're gonna make me—" His abdominal muscles do their best to tense themselves against your sticky palms... but, as stretched out as they are, they don't do much to brace him for impact. Like an oversized snow-globe, his gut bounces up and down in your grasp, as one solid mass... it's rotten contents thrashing around inside of him, loudly churning up more foul air. "—throw up. Don't squeeze me! Please! Just... make me feel good, like you said."

   Hearing the anguish in his tone, you back away from him, and give him a chance to catch his breath. By no means do you consider yourself a sadist... but there's just something about his agony that makes you crazy. You just can't put into words, the way that it makes you feel, seeing him so helpless — groaning like an obese zombie, on the verge of bursting.

"Trust me, baby." You tell him, waiting for him to regain his strength. "What I'm about to do to you is going to feel so good, you won't have to concentrate on keeping those fries down anymore. Let's get you out of this seat, and into the bedroom. Take off those clothes and strip you down. I want to see the damage I've done! Every inch of it!"