Could get used to this
Added 2025-06-13 02:20:01 +0000 UTCShe had always played it safe—same meals, same routes, same routine. Risk was for other people. Her world was one of quiet predictability, where comfort came from control. So when the cute girl with the sly smile and wild eyes leaned in and asked, “Wanna be fed and worshipped?”, it short-circuited something in her. The old her would’ve said no, backed out with a laugh and a polite excuse. But something in the way the girl said it, casual but electric, made her answer different this time.
Now she was kneeling on a soft bed, her breath shallow, skin stretched taut over her full, rounded belly. Every bite of the sweet, decadent treats had pushed her closer to the edge—chocolate, cream, more chocolate. She hadn’t realized how much she could take until the girl gently coaxed her past that line. Her stomach, gargantuan and heavy, ached with fullness, but the touch—those warm lips and teasing fingers—turned discomfort into something else entirely. Her body trembled as soft kisses and reverent hands explored every curve and swell like they were sacred.
The girl's fingers pressed in, making small indentations that sent shockwaves through her. It was strange, feeling so exposed and so wanted at once. Every brush of her lips, every whispered compliment, melted her resistance further. The sensation of being seen, adored, even indulged—something she'd never let herself want—now felt dangerously right. She let out a shaky breath, half-laughing, half-moan, and looked down at the worshipper tangled up in her belly. “I guess I can get used to this.”
