Rihanna was awoken by a familiar, satisfied sigh.
Slowly, her body reminded her of where she was….her hair brushing her bare shoulders and back..wonderfully cool sheets against her bare skin…a hotel. She could feel a warm side pressed up against hers, and she grinned, pretending to still be asleep. When she was with Mister Six, there was no point in rushing things.
After a little while he stirred and stretched, rolling over. She heard it as he pushed the covers aside, careful not to wake her, and got out of bed. She opened her eyes just a bit, looking through her long lashes.
Mister Six was standing in front of the full-length mirror, caressing his rounded belly. Just in the few days they had been here, his belly had been filled to bursting and relaxed so many times that it had bloated out a couple more inches, swelling out of his slender, sharp hips. It was perfectly smooth, tight, and round, and had a small navel unhidden by softness. He caressed it, pressing on it gently where it began to swell out of his body, and rubbed its fullest part with a satisfied grin.
He looked quite different than when they had first met—he had been so skinny that Rihanna had been able to count the outline of each rib, and had often teased him about it. He had always had high cheekbones, large nipples, and a lovely round ass—his rump, Rihanna said, used to be the only part of him that stuck out. She had the idea that he had been unhappy before he had met her, and had neglected to eat or to swim simply because he did not care. He was famous for gunning his cars at breakneck speeds along the most dangerous roads like a stunt driver, and had once broken a rib and a collarbone in a bar fight that he had gotten mixed up in for no other reason than a kind of morbid curiosity. But then she had begun to soften him up, feeding him cake and champagne (and sometimes cheap fast food) until it was all he could do to rest his heavy stomach against her side and his head on her breast, belching contentedly and sighing with the Pleasure that filled him to bursting. He loved for her to massage his tight, swollen stomach more than anything: it was the pressure, they decided, the just-on-the-point-of-bursting, but never doing so, that made it so wonderful, his skin growing supersensitive as it stretched. She loved it too, and liked it best when he mounted her from behind, so that she could feel his stomach pressing against her back.
Now, several months later, he was nicely filled out, with hardly a rib to be seen…and he also had a lovely back and chest and nicely muscled arms, honed by hours and hours of work in between their weekly stuffings. His hips were sharp and narrow, his thighs strong and slightly rounded, like a woman’s. His had lost none of his grace and his face no longer had the tight look of near-emaciation but was still delicate, keeping his high cheekbones. His eyes were a strange, flat blue, often shining with wickedness and now sleepy with satisfied hunger and lust.
He turned in the mirror, caressing his belly and looking at it from the sides and the front. Then his eyes wandered to the side table where there were four water bottles laid out, put there by the maid. She shut her eyes as he came over to get them, heard him take off their plastic tops and start drinking. He opened her eyes again to see his smooth belly right on her eye level, growing bigger and bigger, rounder and rounder, with each heavy gulp. After three bottles he gave a big belch and rubbed his expanding tummy, sitting back down on the bed so he could lean back against her legs, then started on the last one.
She decided to “wake up” then. “Started without me?” she asked, pushing down the comforter to look at him with teasing eyes.
“Not really,” he said, swallowing and smiling. “Just water.”
“Just a bottle or two,” she said, sitting up and revealing her large, full breasts. “Stand up,” she said, and she pulled him closer until she could squeeze his hips between her plump thighs, adorned with wrinkled thigh-high stockings. He gave one her breasts and upward flip with his hand, smiling down at her tangled hair.
“Drink that,” she said, for he had forgotten the water bottle he still had in his hand. He chugged it obediently as she caressed the fullest part of his stomach in slow circles, and when he looked like he might have to stop pushed the end of the bottle up, making him finish it. He gasped when he was through, held his breath for a second, then belched again, looking quite pleased with himself. She fond herself squeezing him tighter, pressing an ear against his lightly distended belly so that she could listen to the tickings and purring of his insides. He laughed, rumpling her hair.
“You know what I could do to make it bigger?” he said, “I could get a bicycle pump, and put the tube up my ass, and—”
“Mister Six!” She took her head away. “That’s disgusting!”
“You think so?” he said, pushing out his gut and running a fingertip from his navel to his collarbones. She saw by the wicked look in his eyes that he was having fun pulling her chain. “Of course it’s disgusting—all sex is disgusting.” He rubbed the curve of his pushed-out belly. “But it’s fun and you like it, so who cares?” He pressed her down on the bed, kissing her breasts and tonguing her nipples and gently tickling her chubby sides.
“You’re a liar—YOU like it too,” she said.
“I do very much. But I think you’d like it if I was even fatter.”
“Maybe I could work out like crazy until I was too thin and then we could start all over again, hmm?” He nuzzled her, then pressed his tight, sloshing stomach up against her so that she could feel the gathering heat lower down.
“Or you could just drink more water,” she said, rubbing his smooth side.
“That’s a thought,” he said, gently humping her through his clothes and the sheet.
“Or Coke and Mentos.”
The thought made him stop humping her. In the sudden silence she heard his tummy gurgle. “I can’t decide whether that would be awesome…or if it would make me actually explode.”
“It might,” she said, running a hand down the curve of his gut. “But then again, you’ve gotten pretty expandable. In fact,” she said, pressing on his swelling tummy so that he moaned a little, “I think we could fill you up with a lot more.”
“Mmm…You think so?”
“You might even be a little hungry.”
“A little bit.”
“Just a little?” She twisted his nipples, pinching his stomach just above the navel. “I think a lot.”
“Starving,” he agreed, his pupils large with the pleasure-pain.
“What would you like?”
* * *
Rhianna was always the one that stuffed him. She was the one who had gotten him to start, and was the one who decided how much he was eating and when she was going to let him stop. Outside of that, Mister Six always took the lead. He gave her the money for the pizza with very specific instructions, and she knew he wouldn’t brook any contradiction.
The boy with the pizza broke into a big grin when she opened the door to hand him the money. And his jaw nearly dropped when she opened the door the rest of the way to take the box from him. He looked hardly old enough to have seen many naked women before, and especially not one so generously endowed.
She could tell he was pleased with her by the way that he looked at her when she came back. He was lying on his side, and she set the box next to him. Both of them were growing excited, and she knew that this was one of the times when he was going to challenge himself. He pushed down the waistband of his briefs and jeans a little bit in preparation for his belly to expand, but didn’t undo the buttons and the zipper. Then, grinning at her, he took the first bite.
* * *
An hour later he had gorged himself until his stomach was ready to burst. He had devoured four slices within minutes, then a couple more, beginning to slow down and feel full. By then his stomach, already bloated by the water, was beginning to stick out quite a bit, and she massaged it, rubbing hard the way he liked. Then she coaxed him into eating two more…and, after a rest of twenty minutes, the very last. The box was empty, the entire pizza stuffed into his jutting stomach. He was laying on his back, trying to ease the pressure, when Rhianna poked him in the belly and told him that she wanted him to drink a few sodas.
Mister Six groaned happily. He ran his palms down his swelling sides and passed them over the front of his proud belly, which was starting to rumble in protest at having so much food crammed inside it. This was as stuffed as he’d ever been, and one could almost hear his skin straining across his enormous meal. “Nope,” he said, grinning, “tummy’s full.”
“Are you sure?” she said, and ran her hand over his belly, caressing it from nipples to its fullest part, then rubbing it in smooth circles. He shut his eyes with pleasure, and she slipped her fingers inside his briefs, gently arranging his penis so the tip peaked out of the top of his underwear. “If you drink them like I ask—” she began, and finished by kissing him on the very end of his dick, closing her pouting lips about the head and sucking.
He drank them very fast, punching a hole in the bottom of each and finishing them off in a matter of seconds. It was called shotgunning, he told her, and since the contents went straight from the can to his stomach the carbonation should make his stomach bulge out even more. It also made him burp, and she giggled when he started hiccuping. This annoyed him so that he crushed the last can in one hand and pressed her face down into his swollen tummy with the other, making her unzip his jeans with her teeth. “Oh,” he said, when she had at last undone the straining buttons, “oh.” He was so full he had difficulty breathing, and lay over on his side with his pants undone, his huge stomach curving out above the waistband of his briefs. The enormous weight of his swollen gut made him helpless, sprawled across the rumpled bed in his skinny black jeans, and his drugged look, pale skin, delicate wrists and mussed hair was so evocative that she said without thinking, “You look like a Versache model.”
He rolled his eyes at her, rubbing his huge, hard, tight belly, and gave an enormous, satisfied belch. “A binge-drinking Versache model.” She spooned up against his back, pillowing his head on one of her rounded arms. He moaned, and she wrapped her other arm around his heavy belly, trying to support it as it rumbled and growled.
“I’m so full,” he complained.
She snorted and gently slapped his tummy, making him hiccup. “You think?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so stuffed in my entire life before,” he said. “Never. My stomach’s throbbing…”
“Aww,” she said. She kissed him on the back of the neck, and suddenly realized that he was smiling. “What are you grinning about?” she asked, nipping him gently. “You look like you’ve swallowed a beach ball—you’re ready to explode!”
“Mmm,” he said. He painfully turned himself in her arms, his belly sloshing. He kissed her, snuggled his face into her shoulder, and gave a silly little hiccup, putting one of her hands on the curve of his stomach to make her caress him. In a little while he was asleep.
She laughed at him. As he drifted off to sleep she kissed him on the eyelids, on the nipples and the tight, tight skin of his belly. “Glutton,” she said.