Sexy stuffing stories, my peeps: it's what I live for. Here's part 1 if you wanna catch up.
* * *
There was a knock on the door.
Rufus jumped up from the sofa. He had shaved, buttoned up, tucked in, and gave himself a quick look in the mirror before he opened the door. In that single second of pull a tingle seized his crotch--half sex, half fear at not knowing who he would find on the other side.
And there she was.
"You must be Molly," he said, not knowing what else to say.
Molly lowered her head, but a small smile upturned one corner of her mouth. "He said you were pretty," she said, looking up at him through her long eyelashes, "and it's true."
The corner of each of her merry eyes was decorated with a tiny red jewel, and her dimpled cheek had a beauty mark on it. Rufus felt all his tension sigh out--and his chest swell again on the next breath.
"And you are adorable," he told her, "a little burlesque princess."
Molly stepped inside, taking it all in: the balcony with the view of the city in the pouring rain, the fully equipped kitchen, the door to the bedroom. Then she undid her belt, turned, and allowed her trench to slide down off her shoulders. "Take my coat?" she asked him sweetly.
Slowly, Rufus curled his fingers under the collar, between the fabric and her warm skin, and the coat slid off. Underneath she was wearing thigh-highs, frilly red panties, and a corset teddy that completely failed to conceal the thickness of her waist or her round soft belly. She had a pert rump, and two bouncy breasts ready to spill from their cups as soon as she bent over. She stood smiling at him a little, her hands rising to tighten the combs that held her curly hair back--her eyes asked him if he was pleased.
Rufus felt a pleasurable twinge in his belly, and without thinking reached out to draw her closer to him. She was smaller than he was--she could pillow her head on his breast, and he could rest his chin on the top of her head. He heard her give a little "Oh," as she came up against his broad chest and his soft tummy, the same combination that had so enticed Andre Six. She lay one of her little manicured hands on his chest, the nails red as love, and then she tweaked his nipple!
He felt a tickle: one of her hands grope around, squeezed one of his love handles through his shirt. "You're soft," she said."
"Softer than most boys, I've been told." His voice had deepened, coming up from his chest.
"Not as soft as I am, though," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
I bet you are, he thought, eyeing her thick waist--she might even outweigh him a little, for all their difference in height. "I'd like to kiss you," he said.
"I'm surprised you waited this long," she said, and turned her face up to him, her flower-pink lips parted prettily.
He caught her open mouthed, and as their kiss deepened he felt her arms slide under his, gripping his shoulder blades--a harness of lust. Rufus ran her hands down the curves of her sides, feeling the hard ribs of her corset and then the soft, soft globes of her rump beneath. He was pressing his palms to them, about to squeeze, when with a little flip of her head she came loose from his mouth. Rufus was left staring stupidly at her, his lips still parted. She bit him gently on the lower lip.
"Want to help me carry my bags?" she asked, smiling.
The door was still open. Her bags were out in the hallway, a large one made of maroon crocodile, and two paper grocery bags. When he brought them in for her he noticed they held a gallon of milk and a new six pack of Orange Crush.
Rufus smiled.
* * *
Part three is next, so stay tuned!
Related:
◆ See more beautiful bellies in Molly's Flickr favorites!
Showing posts with label champagne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label champagne. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Experiment
This would have been Molly's 104th post.
On other blogs, such a milestone would count for cake and champagne (or, in my case, a liter of Diet Coke and pack of Mentos.) Instead, Molly has taken a long, hard look at what she wants the future of this blog to be.
When she first came to me, eager to show off what she claimed to be "The Very First Feederism Blog, Anywhere!" I was as excited as she. I am a stuffer myself, and wildly interested in anyone's efforts to legitimize this delightful subculture. A blog devoted particularly to the intestinal workings of the most beautiful of creatures, stuffer boys, made me hurry to my bedroom in anticipation of a long session of critique.
My verdict? A quiet, yet adamant: "It's dull, dear."
Her eyes filled, but I went on: "This isn't at all what you envisioned--where are the descriptions of real life stuffing orgies you've attended? Your creation of a pinhole camera for a tour of the UK, in which you would take glorious black and white photos for Stuffies Magazine, Issue 1? Where are your drafts for Champagne, the full-length fetish novel starring myself, Rufus and Rihanna with full-color illustrations by mamabliss? All you have to show for your hundreds of hours of wanking is a very ugly template--" she protested that all Blogger templates were so--"and a lot of poorly archived photos! And--" I raged on, for this made me the most indignant of all, "what was with your ridiculous insistence on referring to me as fictional?!"
I admit for someone who so loves the softer sex, I can be very hard sometimes. Fortunately, Molly was only briefly dismayed. She knows that the best cure for when I get uppity is to tell me to stuff it-- in this case, by shoving a Twinkie in my mouth. Nevertheless, it required the additional administration of several liters of soda before I was fully quieted.
Later, having eased me by unbuttoning my suddenly-too-tight-clothes, she gently whispered to me the realities of the world. Sex blogging, of whatever kind, is a labor of love, for which few, if any, receive compensation. Her carefree college days are over, along with much of her free time. She must begin a search for a real career--one that will help her pay off the thousands of dollars she has incurred in college loans. The writers of a few of the other sex blogs she reads so voraciously sometimes work out ways to get paid for it, but she has yet to do that--and she feels odd simply asking for handouts. To carry out the projects she's envisioned, she'll need more readers, writers, artists, and fetish enthusiasts to help her--connections she has yet to make. And, she added, since Saturday she has had shooting pains in her right wrist, perhaps the onset of carpal tunnel after all this blogging--
"But," I pointed out as her hand cupped the fullest part of my belly, giving it a gentle squeeze, "it does get you real life dates with stuffer boys."
Though a mention of the Cheesecake Factory is enough to distract me, I do sometimes make some very good points. This one was enough to make her change her whole outlook. And so, as she continued rubbing my stuffed belly and I encouraged her with a gurgle or a moan every now and then, she laid out a new plan for Stuffies. She would try to write Champagne. Every week she would try--she laid particular emphasis on try--to post a new, polished segment of six stories that would have to do with our adventures in stuffing, bloating, and lots of m/m/f sex. I smiled at her projected number of tales.
"And the weekly BBWs and stuffer boys," I urged, "you shouldn't stop those. And Jaime has sent you the next installement in his adventures with the BBW Candy. And--"
She stuffed another Twinkie in my mouth.
But you, dear Reader--how will you keep up with these still-constant, but less scheduled updates? There are lots of ways!
♥ You can subscribe! Click on the box on the left that says "Subscribe to Stuffies"--that will bring you to the Stuffies RSS Feed!
♥ You can friend Molly on Myspace, and receive blog invites and updates from there.
What else can you do to help Molly?
♥ Leave comments! Comments, ideas, and constructive criticism are all welcome!
♥ E-mail Molly! Do you have an article or photo to submit, or just want to send her a link to something feeder-related on the web? You can send her a message on missmollyren (at) gmail (dot) com.
♥ Or you can send her a message on one of her profiles on Fantasy Feeder, Myspace, Fetlife , or Curvage.
"I think I'll answer all my e-mails on Sundays," she said, gently laying her plump thigh across my hip. "And who knows? Maybe someday..."
But what "someday" would be I never got to hear. Cradling my bursting belly, I was already asleep, dreaming of my former adventures...and envisioning those that would come tomorrow.
On other blogs, such a milestone would count for cake and champagne (or, in my case, a liter of Diet Coke and pack of Mentos.) Instead, Molly has taken a long, hard look at what she wants the future of this blog to be.
When she first came to me, eager to show off what she claimed to be "The Very First Feederism Blog, Anywhere!" I was as excited as she. I am a stuffer myself, and wildly interested in anyone's efforts to legitimize this delightful subculture. A blog devoted particularly to the intestinal workings of the most beautiful of creatures, stuffer boys, made me hurry to my bedroom in anticipation of a long session of critique.
My verdict? A quiet, yet adamant: "It's dull, dear."
Her eyes filled, but I went on: "This isn't at all what you envisioned--where are the descriptions of real life stuffing orgies you've attended? Your creation of a pinhole camera for a tour of the UK, in which you would take glorious black and white photos for Stuffies Magazine, Issue 1? Where are your drafts for Champagne, the full-length fetish novel starring myself, Rufus and Rihanna with full-color illustrations by mamabliss? All you have to show for your hundreds of hours of wanking is a very ugly template--" she protested that all Blogger templates were so--"and a lot of poorly archived photos! And--" I raged on, for this made me the most indignant of all, "what was with your ridiculous insistence on referring to me as fictional?!"
I admit for someone who so loves the softer sex, I can be very hard sometimes. Fortunately, Molly was only briefly dismayed. She knows that the best cure for when I get uppity is to tell me to stuff it-- in this case, by shoving a Twinkie in my mouth. Nevertheless, it required the additional administration of several liters of soda before I was fully quieted.
Later, having eased me by unbuttoning my suddenly-too-tight-clothes, she gently whispered to me the realities of the world. Sex blogging, of whatever kind, is a labor of love, for which few, if any, receive compensation. Her carefree college days are over, along with much of her free time. She must begin a search for a real career--one that will help her pay off the thousands of dollars she has incurred in college loans. The writers of a few of the other sex blogs she reads so voraciously sometimes work out ways to get paid for it, but she has yet to do that--and she feels odd simply asking for handouts. To carry out the projects she's envisioned, she'll need more readers, writers, artists, and fetish enthusiasts to help her--connections she has yet to make. And, she added, since Saturday she has had shooting pains in her right wrist, perhaps the onset of carpal tunnel after all this blogging--
"But," I pointed out as her hand cupped the fullest part of my belly, giving it a gentle squeeze, "it does get you real life dates with stuffer boys."
Though a mention of the Cheesecake Factory is enough to distract me, I do sometimes make some very good points. This one was enough to make her change her whole outlook. And so, as she continued rubbing my stuffed belly and I encouraged her with a gurgle or a moan every now and then, she laid out a new plan for Stuffies. She would try to write Champagne. Every week she would try--she laid particular emphasis on try--to post a new, polished segment of six stories that would have to do with our adventures in stuffing, bloating, and lots of m/m/f sex. I smiled at her projected number of tales.
"And the weekly BBWs and stuffer boys," I urged, "you shouldn't stop those. And Jaime has sent you the next installement in his adventures with the BBW Candy. And--"
She stuffed another Twinkie in my mouth.
But you, dear Reader--how will you keep up with these still-constant, but less scheduled updates? There are lots of ways!
♥ You can subscribe! Click on the box on the left that says "Subscribe to Stuffies"--that will bring you to the Stuffies RSS Feed!
♥ You can friend Molly on Myspace, and receive blog invites and updates from there.
What else can you do to help Molly?
♥ Leave comments! Comments, ideas, and constructive criticism are all welcome!
♥ E-mail Molly! Do you have an article or photo to submit, or just want to send her a link to something feeder-related on the web? You can send her a message on missmollyren (at) gmail (dot) com.
♥ Or you can send her a message on one of her profiles on Fantasy Feeder, Myspace, Fetlife , or Curvage.
"I think I'll answer all my e-mails on Sundays," she said, gently laying her plump thigh across my hip. "And who knows? Maybe someday..."
But what "someday" would be I never got to hear. Cradling my bursting belly, I was already asleep, dreaming of my former adventures...and envisioning those that would come tomorrow.
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