I’ve taken you out to eat–no, to overeat–at a restaurant. You’re dressed in a t-shirt that looks painted on and pants that aren’t much better. I slide into the booth beside you, noting how we might need to start sticking to tables soon to give you more room. You seem much rounder than the last time we were here.
“I’m thinking about getting the chips and queso appetizer. Is that too greedy? I’ve already had a lot to eat today,” you say as you look down at your round belly and give it a little rub. I know you’re doing it to tease me, and it’s working.
I play along through the tingle that’s started in the pit of my belly. “You haven’t had thaaaaaaat much. You definitely ate more yesterday. And this place has the best queso in town!”
The first time I reach over and touch your belly is when you crunch down on the first tortilla chip. You shift in your seat a little, the shift you do when you’re stuffed, though we both know you’re nowhere close yet, and you’re just putting on a show to get me excited. It’s working.
The second time I reach over and touch your belly is when you polish off the last chip.
The third time I touch it is when the server places two entree platters in front of you, and you shift your tight waistband further below your fat belly in preparation for this main event. I feel my heart beat faster and my face flush slightly as I glimpse the small strip of bare flesh peeking out from under your tight shirt. Oh, you are a tease, and is it ever working.
Still resting my hand on your belly, I lean in close, gulp, and say, “I can’t decide whether I want you to eat until you can barely manage to stand up and waddle back out to the car afterwards, or whether I want you to hold back enough that you can fuck me properly as soon as we get home.”
You give me a knowing grin and tuck into your first entree. “All I know is I’m hungry and don’t intend to take any leftovers home,” you say.
