You Guys Work Almost Faster Than I Can Draw! Here's The Second Part, The Poor Boy's So Hungry Now :33

you guys work almost faster than i can draw! here's the second part, the poor boy's so hungry now :33

first part

The thrill of teasing someone under the table, in a restaurant, while they try their best to muffle the moans in fear of getting caught.

Bonus if the embarrassment turns them on :P

Along the same vein as the bloating singer, but imagine someone's standing behind a podium and they have to keep stalling and talking because the minute their speech is over, they have to leave the podium. The only issue is that something's been disagreeing with them for the past half hour, letting air bubbles find their home in the round curve of their belly. Maybe it might not have been noticeable at the beginning of the speech, and if they'd been quick, they might've finished the speech and gone away without much fuss about the subtle curve of their stomach. But now their stomach is tight enough to cause discomfort as they fight to not unbutton their expensive suit. Every sentence is a gradually losing battle against the chorus of burps that attempt to leave their mouth anytime they utter a single syllable. It's getting bad now, nearly every other word is beginning to be a glutinous burp that resounds into the podiums microphone, and they can see the confusion or disgust from the audience. But their bloated stomach looks akin to a puppy with a belly full of worms now, and they're hoping with every fiber of their being that their suit can hold on a little longer and all of this will just go away. Their forehead is beaded with sweat as they belch into the mic again, attempting to stifle it with their palm before eventually getting the burp to stop. Though rather than silence, they're met with a disproving groan and gurgle from their stomach before the lowest button of their suit shoots off, hitting the podium with a soft plink as their stomach pushes forward with the trapped air bubbles.

Gotta be honest I think ‘gluttonous belches’ is gonna be stuck in my head for the next few days, that is a great descriptor-

Also this is some good imagery anon 👀 Generally I’m not that into professional characters belching unless under very specific circumstances but I do like the idea of them trying to hide their growing stomach under a suit 👀

Would you rather the older lover be a smug, dominant feeder who wants to see you grow huge? Or would you rather they be a glutton whose metabolism is rapidly slowing and who needs you, young and plump, to be their caretaker and enabler?

Or perhaps both? 😏

I'll have to go with both. I wouldn't mind a smug glutton who needs my help but is also willing to try and get some meat on my bones that I'm thoroughly lacking. Telling them how big they're getting with each passing day of letting me stuff their face, but also finding new curves on myself after a few days of letting them occasionally feed me instead <3

No. The dozens of bags of Halloween candy in my cart aren't for the trick-or-treaters. The hundreds of thousands of calories in caramel, chocolate, nougat, cream, and just pure sugar aren't for the eager kids who'll come by my house next month.

They're for the lovely hog that lives in my house. The one who lays on my couch with a stomach that weighs nearly twice as much as me. The one who can't get to their feet without audibly groaning in exertion as they try to will their legs to work. The one who wears shirts that barely cover their chest, but can't even begin to cover the absolute yoga ball of a stomach that they've developed. The one who asks me to rub their belly when their arms can no longer reach the swollen front of it after a hearty stuffing session.

The one who I'm going to put in a tight, sexy costume and help hand feed the candy to on Halloween night, only stopping when the costume's seams finally pop and all the weight we just packed into them becomes easily visible as their rolls fall forward.

Thinking a lot about black nitrile gloves. Wet with my saliva as each finger gets added to my mouth, one at a time until four fingers are making my jaw ache. Thinking about those wet gloved fingers framing my cock as they stroke me with my own drool as lube. Thinking about how they shine and glisten with my desire. Thinking about the contrast with my hard swollen dick, so red and filled with blood surrounded by the darkness of the gloves. Thinking about the squelching noise as each of those fingers begins to stretch my needy hole, the friction met with wetness and moaning and intense pleasure. Thinking about cumming all over those gloved fingers. Thinking about how they will pull them off with a dramatic snap, discarding my mess with a smile.