Stuffer Stories: Stomach Stretching

In the mornings Mister Six usually got up before her. The bedroom had two large doors that opened straight outside onto the patio, and thus to the pool--he often went out first thing in the morning, just as he was, to swim a few laps. Rihanna, waking a little later, would see him come up out of the pool and dash the water from his skin, glowing pink from the exertion and the shock of the cold. A few days after the first stuffing she woke up to see him standing in the doorway, squeezing the water from his hair.

"Christ," he said, "I'm hungry!"

She laughed. "You're usually not hungry in the morning."

"I know," he said.

"Your stomach stretched," she said. "Means you'll have to eat more."

"I can believe that," he said, but she wasn't sure from his tone how he felt about it. During the days after that first, amazing stuffing he had eaten like a normal person--but still, for him, quite a lot. Nevertheless they hadn't yet tried to burst his gut again, just gotten him regularly full. However, he seemed a lot easier with eating in general, and she sensed that he had been enjoying himself.

He was still standing there, thinking, so she went to get a towel from the bathroom. He smiled as she knelt to dry his legs, lingering over his tight ass and kissing him on the most sensitive area of skin, right where his legs joined his body. His skin, still damp, grew warm with the sudden rush of blood, and he leaned down to kiss her hard on the mouth, biting her lower lip.

Suddenly his stomach growled, startling them both. She laughed and caressed his empty belly. "Well," she said, "let's see what we can do to fix this."

She fed him with gentle fingers from a big box of doughnuts, and he managed to drink about half a gallon of milk. When they were finished his tummy was fatter than before, but he seemed no more used to it than he had been the first time: he held his swollen tummy with both hands, rucking up the front of his shirt, as if constantly amazed at himself. Laughing a little, he told her that he wasn't sure what they had done to him, and didn't know if they shouldn't feed him again, just so he could finally figure it out.

"That was just breakfast," said Rihanna. " You'll get used to it soon enough: there's still lunch, and dinner, and snacks...:

"Oh no," he begged, leaning up against her as if the weight of his belly was exhausting him, "please Rihanna, no more today--I've never been this stuffed in my life before, and now you want me to do it twice in one day!"

"We'll see," she said, stroking his round tight belly--he belched, but tried to smother it into a more decorous hiccup. She was fairly sure if she waited long enough he would do it all over: he had discovered that he loved eating too much to pass up another chance at it. His utter gluttony shocked her, it was such a contrast to how she thought he had been, but it was also satisfying to her as she watched him fill himself up when he had been too skinny before: his tummy had already begun to relax and stretch out into the tight swell that she had been wanting. In a week or two he would begin to lose his face's hollowness, she was sure, and at least partially fill up the gaps in his ribs.

At five-o-clock they did it all over again. He said he hadn't meant to, but what she gave him was so delicious that he couldn't help himself. Now his belly was bigger than ever, and he lay on the bed reading and smoking--only, though, as an excuse to look busy. After a little, when he thought she wasn't watching, he rolled away from the book and ran his hand down his waistcoat in a long, slow stroke, moaning quietly to himself with one arm over his eyes.

She got in bed with him and nuzzled him, startling him out of his introspection. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He took a long drag on his cigarette.

"I really can't describe it," he said. His white hand, against the dark purple of his straining waistcoat, caressed his belly in long slow strokes.

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh, no," he said, levering himself up on the pillows a little, so as to be at least nominally sitting up. "Quite the opposite, it's just..." He couldn't think of the word and glanced involuntarily down at his solid, well-rounded belly.

"Stuffed," she said.

"If you insist on using such an unromantic term for it," he said, and blew a smoke ring at her.

"But do you like it?"

He looked up at the ceiling, smoking, but then he started to grin. "Yes," he said. He stroked the swell of his tummy from where it began to where it ended just above his dick, and rested his hand there. "I like it very much."

"That's good," she said, snuggling into his shoulder. Then she began to slowly undo his buttons.

"Oh no!" he said, pushing her away roughly, "no, no, no, I'm too fat for that--I'll burst--"

She straddled him gently and continued to undo his shirt and pants over his protests. The skin on his belly had stretched out until it was as tight as a drum, heavy and round, but she was very gentle as she ran her tongue down it. He didn't made a sound, but lay with his head to the side, breathing at the same time fast and very deeply...she would have thought he was merely indulging her until she realized his hips were straining upwards where they were trapped under hers.