Welcome to the second installment of the “Isabela Cosplay? How?!” series. Today I will be breaking down the BEASTS that are Isabela’s boots. I say beasts because these bad boys ate up the majority of the cosplay construction time. That’s ok though because once again I want to stress how absolutely important her boots are. Whenever I run across an Isabela cosplayer the first thing I look at are how they did the boots. I don’t think two people have ever done them the exactly same way and I think that’s really neat. They all have different buckles, the cuffs are made out of different materials, some are real leather, some are faux, and now I’m rambling. The point is don’t stress too much about getting them exact!
BEFORE I GET STARTED!! I am by know means claiming to know what I am talking about! I am completely self taught in all things sewing related, so I guarantee there is probably a much better way to do all of this. I just wanted to explain how I did mine.
Anyway I will start with the reference pictures I used most while working on the beasts.
The top images are from Tumblr user thedosianimports
who has just a ton of high res reference pictures for dragon age! I can’t stress how important these pictures were to me during the construction process.
Immediately I knew when looking at these images that the best way to go with these beasts were not to make actual boots, but make them more like a pair of spats that went over a pair of base boots.
The first thing I do when working on any cosplay is determine what type of material would work best for this project. If I had the funds and tools I would have loved to have made these boots out of actual leather. Unfortunately when buying for this cosplay I was trying to recover from an expensive semester in college. So I took a trip to the local Joanns and browsed for a while. My search took me to a giant roll of dark brown upholstery vinyl that I immediately fell in love with. It was thick enough to support itself for the most part. I’ve noticed that a lot of Isabela cosplayers have a tough time keeping their boots up. Some use garters, some use tape, and some just let them do what they want. The main goal here is to be able to just put your boots on and be able to leave them. I hope that kind of makes sense.
Once I had my base material I started working on the pattern. I just made it out of some old white sheets I had lying around. It kind of ended up looking like this:
I measured the circumference of my legs at the top of where I wanted the boots to lie, around the knee, around the largest point of my calf, and my ankles with the base boots on. I put the mock up pieces together and sort of measured how big I wanted the knee hole to be. Sorry I can’t think of a better way to explain that. Don’t forget to add the seam allowance when your cutting out your spat pieces!!!
I started by sewing the two horizontal parts so that instead of four pieces I had two. After that I joined the pieces at the top thigh. At this point I put on the first invisible zipper. NOT THE THIGH ONE but the one going down the length of the shin. I sewed it in upside down.
I marked here where the invisible zippers were sewn in during construction.
IMPORTANT: THE THIGH ZIPPER DID NOT GO ON UNTIL MUCH LATER I WILL SPECIFY WHEN!!!!!
Once the shin zipper was on I cut out a circular piece of the vinyl and just sort of pinned it into the knee whole till I thought it looked alright. This is probably the sloppiest part of my boots and I praise anyone who does it well.
Once I sewed the knee piece in, I topstitched everything I had with a thick white upholstery thread.
At this point I sewed up the back to right behind the knee and just pinned up the back of the thigh to make sure the fit was right.
I made adjustments where I thought they were needed, seam ripped the back and started on the dreaded buckles.
For the buckles I knew I personally wanted to go a little larger than what is strictly accurate. Just a personal preference sort of thing. I ended up buying 10 of these:
I liked the antiquey look and size. I also bought 10 matching “D” rings in the correct size.
At this point I was completely stumped and actually ended up walking away from the project for a couple weeks. I HATE BELTS!!!!! Once I calmed down and de-stressed, I sat down with my materials and just started playing. I came up with a weird solution that worked really well for me.
I sewed pieces of vinyl to brown craft foam. Each belt is two pieces: the one with the “D” rings, and the one with the buckles. The buckles are not in any way important to the fit of the boots. They are just there for show.
Breaking it down specifically I cut out the craft foam, spray glued the vinyl strips to the foam, and sewed them on with the white upholstery thread. All the belts were hand sewn to the boots because my machine couldn’t handle it. This is the part that took the longest BY FAR.
Once all the belts were on I sewed up the back, FINALLY INSTALLED THE LAST ZIPPER, and started patterning out the cuff. I don’t have a picture of the cuff pattern so it kind of looked like this:
Use your imaginations I suppose. Anyways I cut out two of those for each cuff, sewed them right sides together, turned them right sides out, and top stitched with my upholstery thread.
Once those were on I just hemmed the bottoms and they were done in time for the con.
They aren’t done at this point. I still need to add the buckles and belts to the base boots. I’m going to use the same method as the belts on the spats but instead of sewing them to the boots I’m just going to glue the belts on with Barge Cement.
And that’s all folks. If there is anything I forgot to mention or anyone has any questions PLEASE ASK ME! I loooove answering questions about my cosplays. I promise you can do it little Izzies! It’s easier than it looks.
If anyone uses any of my methods to make their Isabela boots PLEASE SEND ME PICTURES! I wanna see your awesome work guys!!!!
For weeks, my roommate had
been reminding me that we needed to have Marcie and her husband Jonathan over
for dinner in thanks for their help our move in May. In my mind, I could still see fresh images of
Jonathan’s recently ex-military hunky build:
his wide shoulders, his thick chest and nearly breast-like pecs, his
tight bubblebutt, his meaty calves, and his sweet young face. The beginnings of a round belly hinted at
holding his tee shirt out in front, but overall he seemed to be on the textbook
low-fat, lean and mean end of the scales of beefiness. Jonathan’s strength was awesome; I watched in
silent admiration as he packed unwieldy items down the stairs and into the big
truck with unfettered grace.
Planning the menu for the
dinner and then preparing the various treats had become almost a weeklong
project. Timing had ended up being
fairly awkward, as the date for the event had been set for the evening right
after Halloween night. Nonetheless, our
preparations fell right into place and we were breathing a sigh of relief that
Saturday afternoon as appetizers, entrees, desserts, and drinks were flawlessly
staged for that evening. My roommate had
made a point of consulting our most elaborate cookbooks, as Marcie was quite an
accomplished at-home chef; we didn’t want to disappoint and preferred to
impress at this point.
I was just arranging the
bowls of honey-roasted peanuts and smokehouse almonds on the kitchen counter
when the doorbell rang. Following my roommate
to the front door, I tried to appear attentive through a triple-Scotch-induced
fog. When the door swung open and I saw
Jonathan standing confidently behind Marcie, I tried not to let my reaction be
too noticeable; although I’m sure they didn’t miss my eyes widening to the size
of cup saucers.
As he passed the door
threshold and made his way towards me to offer a friendly handshake, I trembled
at the sight of his even beefier ex-military status. Of course, my memory was faithful to his big
and meaty parts, but even the most casual of acquaintances couldn’t miss the
distinct plump look of those big and meaty parts. As I took his hand in mine, I couldn’t help
but stare down at his commendably fattened and rounded belly as it perched
itself over a torturously tight pair of Levi denim shorts. He wore a burgundy red stretch-knit
shortsleeved shirt that spared relatively few details; his sensual bumps,
bulges, and nipple peaks were all artfully displayed.
“Hello, Jonathan, good
to see you.” I said, trying to calm
“Thanks. Good to see you, too.”
As Marcie and my roommate
went off to do some looking around the house, I led Jonathan into the kitchen
where I teased him with a big jar of Halloween chocolates.
“Oh, thanks, but
hmmm…” Jonathan thought, with his hand going to the side of his belly,
“I think I ate about five pounds of candy this week, and probably gained
at least that much weight. I was cursing
these shorts earlier today trying to get them buttoned…” Jonathan pointed out as he smacked his fat
round belly. His belly seemed to bounce
with incredible precision, showing me the perfect balance of size, firmness,
“Well, I’m sure they
just shrunk a little bit in the wash, Jonathan.”
Jonathan smiled confidently
that he had a more truthful explanation.
“Hot water and a hot dryer cycle may be to blame for a tighter
waistband in some situations, but I think too much beer and food is more the
culprit in my case.”
Still feeling the effects of
my Scotch, I offered “I thought I noticed something different about you
when you walked in. You *have* gained a
little weight since the last time we saw each other, haven’t you?” I started to walk around the kitchen counter
to the liquor cabinet.
“Oh, you’re being too
polite, Brian. My belly is getting
pretty hard to miss.” Jonathan
reached under the thick belly roll that scrunched down the tight
waistband. "It took me more than a
couple tries to get these damn shorts buttoned this morning, and I still feel
like a very full tick in them. Hey, you
got any beer?“
"Of course! I knew you were coming. It’s in the fridge.”
Jonathan served himself
while I finished my retrieval of the Scotch bottle. He’d been nibbling from the bowls of nuts,
but began feverishly digging in them in an apparent quest to devour them
all. I put out a big bowl of chips with
a party-size dose of salsa, and he dove into that as well. Marcie and my roommate had returned from
their house tour, and Marcie joined Jonathan in the kitchen. He had nearly finished his first beer when
she leaned into his back and wrapped her arms around him from behind. My cock poised itself for immediate erection
as her hands carefully massaged his big pecs and then lazily traveled south to
his plump round belly. Marcie continued
her massage on each side of Jonathan’s stout middle, and then paused to try to
grab a handful of well-developed belly on each side.
“Honey, maybe you were
diving too deep in the candy dish this week?” She softly asked in his ear.
Jonathan admitted, “but that was an awfully big bag of candy we got at
The lighthearted discussion
continued as Jonathan got a second beer and stepped up his assault on the snack
bowls. I didn’t want it to end, but the
casserole was announcing its imminent debut from the oven.
“Are you guys ready to
eat?” My roommate asked.
Jonathan easily cracked a
smile as he languidly dragged his strong hand across the width of his fat belly
and assured her “oh yeah, I’m always ready to eat.”
Although I had argued
earlier with my roommate about the quantity of food we had prepared, thinking
that there were too many dishes and simply too much of each, I was now very
thankful for the Herculean portions loading up the dining room table. Jonathan looked hungry, and he didn’t need
any coaxing to start.
“Boy, does this look
*good*!” Jonathan excitedly proclaimed, serving himself an enormous square
of chile releno casserole. "You
guys are going to need a forklift to get me outta here!“
Laughter arose from the
table at Jonathan’s comments, but there was an element of truth in his
statement; I could see big things in his very near future by the way he
mercilessly stuffed a tortilla full of steak fajita mixture from a giant bowl. By the time Jonathan added beans, rice, and
guacamole to his plate with the rest, there wasn’t space available for a
molecule more. Marcie did most of the
talking at the table as Jonathan hungrily shoveled food, I watched Jonathan,
and my roommate paid attention to Marcie.
Jonathan looked up at me occasionally and batted his lusciously long
eyelashes. He was always busy chewing,
so he didn’t have much opportunity or inclination to respond to any of Marcie’s
"Jonathan here hasn’t
seen the inside of a gym for quite a while now.”
My roommate spoke up in
response, “he looks pretty good, though.”
“Solid,” I noted,
staring at Jonathan’s quickly burgeoning stomach.
“Yeah, he’s getting so
*solid* that he’s having trouble bending over to tie his shoes.” Marcie commented, looking to her right at
Jonathan’s midsection. "We went to
Bogey’s Pizza Parlor the other night…“
interrupted, “we weren’t going to bring that up again, remember?”
“Oh, these are our
friends– it’s OK, isn’t it?”
Jonathan hesitated after
pushing in a heaped forkful of cheese-laden casserole, “…well… sure, I
“I’m pretty sure that
Jonathan has forgotten anymore when he’s supposed to stop eating. It was all-you-can-eat night, and you know
how good their pizza is, and, well, Jonathan overdid it a little bit.”
Jonathan listened shallowly
as he asked for more casserole. Since it
was so rich, I was at first amazed he wanted more; nonetheless, I passed him
the serving spoon and he carved out another person-and-a-half-sized portion and
dumped it on his recently cleaned plate.
“So, after Jonathan
finished gorging himself on ample portions of everything, we got up to
leave. Well, Jonathan was wearing one of
his old pairs of khaki shorts from when he was in the Service, and they were
painted on him like a second skin.
Anyway, he drops his credit card at the register counter, leans down to
pick it up– I still don’t know how he was able to bend in the middle– and
*rips* the back seam open on his shorts!”
Marcie took another sip of her drink.
Reserved laughter seconded
Marcie’s spirited guffaw, and Jonathan smiled sheepishly as he packed two more
tortillas full of steak fajita mixture and guacamole. He straightened his back a little in his
chair, making the oak creak a bit.
Jonathan’s belly had respectably grown in size during his unrestrained
indulgence, and he relaxed his abdominal muscles enough to facilitate an
impressive rounding of his belly region.
The soft cotton of his shirt stretched more to further highlight his
swelling bulge. Before he dug back in,
he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly from side-to-side. "You guys– this is so delicious. I love that casserole.“
"Brian made that,”
my roommate quickly credited.
“It’s got the most
incredible flavor. I love the texture
too. It just slides down.”
“Well, there’s plenty
more, Jonathan,” I pointed out, realizing that he had eaten as much as
three of us had, “help yourself!”
“Oh, I will!”
As dinner stretched on into
the evening, Jonathan’s belly stretched right along with it; should someone had been bold enough to slip a
tape measure around the ex-military hunk’s midsection, they would have been
delighted to find the measurement inching larger and larger, keeping pace with
the vacuum rate of Jonathan’s hungry mouth.
Jonathan had dared eat a third gigantic helping of casserole, along with
a total of five pregnant fajitas, along with king-size portions of beans, rice,
and guacamole, and all of it chased down his well-exercised gullet by four
ice-cold bottles of beer. Long after
everyone else was satisfied and sitting around waiting for a coffee or a bite
of dessert, Jonathan was just then finishing his latest plateful and leaning
back in his chair to offer a raucous belch from deep underneath his massive
meal. Jonathan’s belly had blown up into
an incredibly pumped and handsome balloon, offering a wide ledge under his
juicy pecs. From just sitting across the
table from him, I could tell he was blissfully heavy; Jonathan’s belly was
impressively swollen, yet there was a sense that he was tortured by the
decision of whether or not to indulge himself in another round of helpings.
Marcie turned again to the
right to look him over carefully. She
reached her hand over and firmly patted his belly. "See, you guys? Solid.“
"Wow, that was
great.” Jonathan said, putting his
right hand on top of his protruding belly.
“There’s still some
more left, Jonathan, help yourself!”
I teased, not sure if he’d go for more or not.
“Oh, believe me, I’d
love to,” Jonathan covered his mouth in response to a hearty belch,
“but my belly is really s-t-u-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-e-d.”
“I take it that we’ll
wait a bit to offer you two some dessert and coffee?” my roommate asked.
“That sounds like a
Marcie spoke up, “well,
let’s let these guys take care of the dishes…” And with that, she and my roommate were off
again to her office, leaving the very-bloated Jonathan unattended with me
across the table lusting after his incredibly beefed-up, plumped-up form.
“That’s it…I gotta
stand up for a while, guy.”
Jonathan told me, as he struggled to push his chair away from the
table. "My butt is gettin’ tired
"Should I run and go
get the forklift?”
Jonathan gave up a pleased
laugh and shook his head. He’d been put
in the corner chair by the big houseplant, so he had precious little space in
which to wield his chunkier form around.
When he stood up straight, it was blatantly obvious that he’d totally
overindulged his increased appetite and overeaten to the very definition of
excess. When he reached down to grab his
plate, I quickly let him know to take it easy, and that I would take care of
Jonathan lazily lumbered out
of the dining room and headed for the kitchen.
His giant round swollen belly loomed out distantly over his now
excruciatingly tight Levi shorts, and his burgundy red stretchknit shirt tried
its best to cover the increased region of overindulgence. He sauntered about with his wide shoulders
back, letting his heavy full belly extend as far as it wanted over his taut
waistband. I watched his exaggerated
movements as I continued to clear the table.
Finally, Jonathan felt guilted enough to help carry in a plate as I
stood at the sink spraying them off for the dishwasher. He came up behind me and sat the plate down to
my right as he leaned his solid round gut into the back of my elbow.
“My gut feels pregnant,
dude.” Jonathan said in a proud,
unwavering voice as he continued to push against my elbow. “Like 11 months pregnant from that
Not wasting any time, I
pushed back with my elbow into his firm round belly. Jonathan pushed against me more, almost
knocking me into the sink; he grabbed my shoulders to put me steady back on my
feet. "Whoa,“ he said, and
pulled me back toward him, "didn’t mean to knock you over.”
I turned around and took the
chance to thump his belly more than a couple times. "Jonathan, I’m really glad you enjoyed
the dinner. *Really* enjoyed the
dinner,“ I emphasized, liberally surveying the surface region of his big
"Well, I sure did enjoy
it. I really wanted to eat more, but my
belly got so maxed out that I thought for sure it’d bust if I stuffed anymore
in it. I tell ya, there really are times
when I wish my gut was bigger, even though Marcie bitches about it.” He relaxed a bit as I continued to rub his
belly. I poked him right in the fattest
part, and he grunted. "I suppose I
do resemble the Pop'n Fresh Doughboy right now.“
"Only on a much larger,
more well-fed, vastly more pregnant scale, Jonathan.” We both laughed. “Taller, too.
Taller than that short little doughboy.
How tall are you, Jonathan?”
“Six-foot-two, dude. And unlike my weight, that number doesn’t
continue to grow. I think I’ve porked up
to about 235 now; I don’t really know.
It’s such an extra effort to get on that ol’ bathroom scale.”
Jonathan swaggered over to
the fridge and helped himself to another beer.
He guzzled cold brew as I toiled with the dishes.
“You know, Brian,”
he started, “a guy can’t have a gut like this in the Service. They legislate your *weight* in that stuff–
it sucks!! I remember being in this
remote post way up by the Arctic Circle with one other guy and an entire
roomful of rations. I tell ya, it didn’t
take long for the boredom of the thing to set in, and we were spending most of
our time eating. The post was really
small, and there was literally no room to exercise. All we did was eat, sleep, sit in our chairs,
and make trips to the latrine.”
Jonathan wetted his voice with another swig of beer. "It wasn’t long before we were both
getting fat, resorting to eating contests for entertainment.“
"Jeez, how long were
“Long enough to fatten
up pretty good. My CO made me lose 40
pounds when I got back. He was pretty
upset with the fact that I had a gut– not even as big as it is now– and that
my uniform wouldn’t button in the front.
Oh well, I lost the weight and he got off my case.”
“I bet you’re happy you
don’t have that to deal with anymore, huh?”
“Well, some parts of it
I miss. But tonight, I wouldn’t trade
this *big* bellyful of *great* food for *anything*…” With that comment, Jonathan slugged down the
rest of his beer, belched, and slapped his belly.
“Did you want to see
what’s for dessert?” I asked.
I unveiled a chocolate cake
that was richer than a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, and Jonathan’s eyes
widened with interest. Cracking the
freezer door open, I pointed to the quart of vanilla Haagen Dazs that sat innocently
on the top shelf. Jonathan licked his
lips and made a deep “mmmmm” sound.
Since I’d drawn his attention in that direction, he looked up and saw a
box of Entemann’s “Pop'ems” on top of the fridge.
“What are those,
Brian?” Jonathan asked with
“Funny, I never would
have thought that you did.” We both
laughed at the fun-intended sarcasm; I grabbed the box of Pop'ems and started
to open it.
“So, why do they call
I opened up the box, grabbed
one of the bite-size treats, and shoved it into Jonathan’s mouth. "Because you pop ‘em in your
mouth.“ I smiled as Jonathan
chewed, returning the smile.
"So, Marcie was telling
me something about you having a doll collection or something?”
A little surprised at the
change of subject, I stammered, “well, something like that.”
“Where is it? I would like to see it.”
“Well, it’s in my
“OK, lead the
way.” Jonathan told me, devouring
another Pop'em. He brought the box with
him into my bedroom.
He stood there looking at my
collection of Kens, chewing constantly due to the steady stream of
Pop'ems. He looked like Pac Man on an
energy pellet binge. "You
know,“ he started, "they should make a doll that’s more like real
life. I mean, how many guys look like
that…well, I guess I used to a bit—but I always had bigger bulges in my chest
and crotch. But eventually they discover
there’s more to life than flat-abs and three-hour workouts.”
I opened up my closet door
and grabbed one of my Oliver Hardy collector dolls to show him. "Now, this is more like it. Look at the shape of that gut– nice, *big*
one. Look at the way that it pops out of
that too-small suit coat. I like
"So do I,” I
assured Jonathan, “that’s why I bought it.”
He popped another donut
treat in his mouth and looked at me.
out.” I reached up to the top shelf
of my closet and produced a “Weekend Sportsman Bank”. The bank accurately represented a
beer-and-pizza-fed, well-paunched couch-potato “weekend sportsman”
who wore too-small shorts and buttoned shirt that allowed his burgeoning paunch
to hang out bare. I explained how his
belly grew bigger and bigger as the lucky saver shoved more coins down his
plastic gullet, and showed Jonathan the span of which the little guy’s belly
was capable of growing.
“That’s so cool,”
Jonathan said, eating another Pop'em.
“Yeah, but there’s a
limit to how big this little guy is going to get. I mean, there comes a time when his gut is as
full of coins as it can possibly get.”
I sat the bank down on my dresser.
“Not like the real thing,” I said, sticking my finger into
Jonathan’s firm round belly, “not like the real thing that eventually
stretches and lets more in…and then keeps on growing bigger and bigger
“Bigger!” Jonathan took another enthusiastic bite, then
sat down on the edge of my bed, sat the box of Pop'ems down at his side, and
flopped himself backwards onto the mattress.
He slid farther onto the bed and let his chunky legs dangle a bit over
the edge. Jonathan’s very round belly
towered into the air like the lava-pregnant dome on an erupting volcano. He relaxed his muscular arms out from his
sides and took in a deep breath.
I couldn’t control myself
any longer, so I nudged myself closer and rested my hand on his fat round
bellyball. Gently I rocked his big
swollen mound from side-to-side, listening for the satisfied slosh of its long
list of contents. "And so,
Jonathan, how’s this belly bank doing?“
"Deposits are up, and
the amount of interest seems to be increasing.
A lot of room left to grow.”
He went to reach for a Pop'em, and I grabbed one before he did. Our eyes met for a minute, and I accepted his
unspoken invitation to pop it into his mouth.
Putting another in his mouth, I then grabbed the Bellybank from the
dresser and lifted up its shirt to show Jonathan. To my delight, Jonathan did the same with his
taut shirt, baring the literally full expanse of studbelly. I popped another donut treat in his mouth and
then rubbed his tall round belly in wide circles. Putting my open hand onto where his solid gut
emerged from his too-tight denim shorts, I shook him a little from
top-to-bottom, while eyeing the incredibly stressed pants button.
“Wow, Jonathan. How can you stand these shorts? They have got to be cutting off your
“Yeah, they are pretty
damn tight.” As I propelled another
miniature donut bellybomb into his mouth, he grunted his way to popping open
his top jeans button. He smacked his
belly as it took advantage of the sorely-needed open space, “ahhhhh yeah–
that’s the stuff…er…stuffing!”
“Having a good time,
“The best. Talk about good stuffing.”
“And speaking of good
stuffing– just think– it’s only three weeks until Thanksgiving.”
“Definitely. 'Tis the season to get enormously fat. This year I’m not holding back for anything
or anybody. I’m going to stuff, and I’ll
stuff, and I’ll stuff myself until my belly bus-s-s-s-sts itself wide open–
should take a long, long time.” Jonathan chuckled. I poked another Pop'em into his mouth and he
chewed slowly. "Jeez, are you going
to feed me that whole box?“
I lifted up the box and
showed him the empty white space: "Just did,” I said. I reached over and thumped his belly; gently
I broke into a rubbing exercise.
“Wow, feel all of those little bellybombs in there. Pretty *solid* again, guy. Ready for some coffee and dessert?”
Brian. I’m looking forward to it!”
Jonathan pulled his shirt
back down to cover his bare expanse of impressively prominent belly, appearing
to enjoy the fact that his top shorts button had been blown wide open to sport
a “V”-shaped gap in his sinfully tight waistband. Jonathan’s substantial ballbelly offered an
interesting dimension into his languid gait back to the kitchen, and I watched
from behind as he swung his arms out wide from his sides. Marcie and my roommate were watching some
movie out in the family room as Jonathan and I rounded the corner. Jonathan helped himself to the fridge again
and this time poured himself a glass of milk.
Then, like she had done
earlier, Marcie made her way into the kitchen and stood behind her man
again. Like she had done earlier, she
concentrated her attentions on Jonathan’s middle section, although she really
had to reach for the very front of him.
I watched her hand slowly descend over the bowed circumference of his
bloated belly, and then slyly disappear under where his shirt hem dangled in
front. "Well, honey,“ Marcie
began cautiously, as she picked her hand up and sat it back down with a thump
on the very center of Jonathan’s distended belly, "you really enjoyed your
dinner tonight, huh?”
Jonathan assured everyone, letting Marcie continue to enjoy thumping his belly.
going to be heading into the holiday season this year with an ample
advantage!” Marcie told her chubby
hubby. "I better plan the menus and
pace the treats out right, otherwise you’re going to become a very juicy guy by
Jonathan groaned a bit at
the thought of his food supply dwindling during one of his favorite times of
the year, and tried to suck in his belly while Marcie continued to survey its
size with concern. Jonathan’s belly was
simply too full to budge in any direction of thinner, so he just let it swell
out as big as it needed while he relaxed.
"Sure, honey,” he said, winking at me.
Without much more delay, I
offered Jonathan a more-than-generous piece of rich chocolate cake and sidecar
bowl of ice cream. Dreading getting back
into his chair at the dining room table, he sat on a stool in front of the
kitchen counter. He sat so that his
belly hung out and swelled distantly over his taut shorts. Marcie seemed to get more stressed as Jonathan
enjoyed his dessert, and cut me off when I offered him more.
“We hate to eat and
run, but we’d better get going,” Marcie quickly offered.
disappointed, as I’m sure he wanted another piece of cake. So, I packaged up half of the cake for them
to take home with them. As they left,
Jonathan patted his enormous round belly, belched, and said, “let’s do
I agreed, and then watched
as he waddled his way out to their car.
People get busy, and the
weeks sped by. What Marcie neglected to
mention at that October dinner was that she and Jonathan were expecting a
baby. The holidays passed, and I was
disappointed that I didn’t get to see Jonathan, but I knew that he and Marcie
were busy with all sorts of family activities.
Both sets of parents lived in the Bay Area, and I was sure that it was a
very get-together intensive season. It
wasn’t until mid-January that my roommate and I were able to schedule something
“Let’s meet at the
restaurant on Friday night around 7:30, ok?”
was what I overheard my roommate say on the phone to Marcie.
I felt a crisp wave of
anticipation come over me, inspiring significantly increased bloodflow as
mental pictures of Jonathan played in my mind like a sublime slide show of
delight. “Great!” I blurted out,
startling my roommate.
“Wow, you really like seeing
Marcie and Jonathan…”
“Yes, my favorite people,” I
offered as mostly truth, but keeping private that Jonathan was fast becoming my
Like all eagerly anticipated
things, the dinner at Galliano’s did not come without my usual hunger-stifling
jitters. I ordered a glass of Merlot to
settle my nerves as we waited for Marcie and her hunky hubby to arrive; we were
there a bit early to get a good table as it was one of their busiest
nights. Strategically seating myself
with a panoramic view of the door and most of the restaurant, I sipped Merlot
and tried to get my nerves and erection under control.
Then, like an opening act
taking the concert stage, Marcie appeared in the doorway; I felt my blood
pressure rise in now feverish-hot anticipation of the headliner sure to arrive
next. I swear I could hear the roar of
the crowd as Jonathan appeared several people behind Marcie, but I’m sure it
was just my pounding heart and the blood rushing in my veins. A smile curved onto his slightly chubbier,
freshly goateed face as he saw us at the table in the corner. Marcie led the way, her pregnant belly
showing her obvious child-bearing status; Jonathan trailed behind, adopting a
manly swagger around his own pregnant belly status—bigger than he’d been in
January, and certainly bigger than Marcie.
My roommate and I stood as
they reached our table, and I offered a hearty handshake to Jonathan as he
shifted over to choose the seat directly across from me. Instinctively, my eyes quickly traveled up
and down the six-feet-plus-two-inches of Jonathan’s superlatively well-fed frame. As I shook his big soft hand, I felt my
cheeks getting red as my gaze glued onto his fat round belly, succulently
juiced-up pecs, and budding lovehandles all encased by a very stretched
golf-print pullover shirt. Jonathan had
gotten more swaybacked, and his impressive rotund gut jutted over the taut
waistband of his khaki-colored Dockers that fretted to contain his more
thickly-padded thighs and bubble butt.
His eyes followed my gaze down to his pooched-out middle as the smile
broadened on his face. His free hand
slapped under his solid fat protrusion before his surveying ended up in a
hypnotic back-and-forth rubbing on his firm overhang.
Jonathan laughed, “Brian, I
suppose you’re wondering which one of us is pregnant, huh?”
Marcie joined in the
laughter, followed by my roommate and I.
She looked over at Jonathan’s fat round belly that dwarfed her 5-month
pregnancy, placed her hand on top his solid beach ball, and said, “Jonathan is
doing a great job of growing an empathy belly here, but there’s no doubt that
I’m the one that will be popping in May.”
We took our seats, and
picked up the menus that the waitress had left before. Jonathan’s mind seemed to wander as he kept
looking over his menu at me. “Boy, am I
hungry. My stomach is like totally
Marcie chuckled. “Sure, Jonathan. Make it sound like I’ve been neglecting and
starving you all day. I seem to remember
hearing about a certain young man’s pants coming open after an overly generous
lunch I packed for you today.”
“Oh, that was bound to happen. These pants are just too small for me, and
you know it.”
“Well, all of your clothes
seem to be too small and hard-to-button after that bountiful holiday season we
“True,” Jonathan agreed with
a confident smile returning to his face.
“Silly to complain, though. I
have a lot to be thankful for…”
“…and I think you had
more-than-ample occasion to give thanks for all of those things on
Thanksgiving,” Marcie interrupted.
Jonathan’s expression melted
into memories of past satisfaction, and he leaned back in his chair while
running his hand down the front of his plump meaty paunch. The waitress appeared and readied herself to
gather our dinner orders; she took Jonathan’s order last. Jonathan kind of surprised everyone by
ordering not one, but two, large entrées.
My heart gave into palpitation, as I knew that one of Galliano’s entrées
was enough to pack an above-average stomach to blissfully stretched fullness,
but two? After Jonathan had ordered his
beer, he looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “guess I’m a bit on
the hungry side tonight.”
“So, you had a pleasant
Thanksgiving, Jonathan?” I probed.
“God, yeah. We had back-to-back dinners that day. Even though we were supposed to go to both of
our parents’ houses for dinner, Marcie insisted on making a big ol’ turkey
dinner herself for just us.”
“Honey, it’s just not
Thanksgiving unless you get to cook!”
“Oh, I know—the chef’s
speaking now,” Jonathan chuckled, patting Marcie’s shoulder.
Our drinks arrived, and
Jonathan didn’t waste time in grabbing his bottle and pouring a cold glassful
for himself to savor. After a lengthy
satisfying swig, he continued with his anecdote of Thanksgiving conquest.
“I still don’t know how I
was able to eat all of that food,” Jonathan reflected, rubbing his belly
absentmindedly, “but you know how when you’re blowing up a balloon, you keep
puffing more air into it, feeling it stretch tighter and tighter, until his
elasticity is almost gone…”
Marcie’s head snapped toward
her chunky husband as she blurted, “did you realize you just said ‘his’ and not
Jonathan’s face got a little
red as a nervous chuckle bubbled out of him, “uh, um, I meant its elasticity is
almost gone, and it becomes increasingly more difficult to blow more air into
it as you suspect it’s about to burst?”
My erection throbbed as I
“Well, I don’t even know for
sure how many times my belly felt that way on Thanksgiving.”
“It’s true,” Marcie said,
watching as the waitress delivered four salads with a soup for Jonathan. The well-fed hubby began to devour salad and
soup on top of the basket of hot fresh bread and creamery butter already in his
belly. “We were at my parents’ house
last, and this poor guy had
been gorging himself non-stop
all day long. He was so bloated and
heavy that he made an easy target for my mother’s relentless offer of ‘just a
little more, Jonathan?’”
conservatively and excused himself; he listened to Marcie prattle on, but
couldn’t be distracted too long from his dwindling pile of salad and hearty
bowl of clam chowder. “Yeah, your mom
was bound and determined on getting rid of all that pie she had baked. Said she didn’t want it around because she
was on a diet or something—your dad seemed a little disappointed.”
“So, it’s 10:30 at night,
and Jonathan is still sitting at the table, and my mom is still feeding him
pie. I keep telling mom that his belly
must be getting pretty full by that point, and she offers her opinion that she
doesn’t think his big belly is ever going to get full. You should have seen this sight, but I took
pictures—there’s Jonathan leaned back in his chair, his belly swollen into a
rock-solid sphere, and he barely able to breathe.”
“And I wanted more, I tell
you,” Jonathan offered. His face
brightened as the waitress appeared to clear our dishes and return shortly with
“Would you like your lasagna
with your raviolis, or later, sir?” the waitress asked Jonathan.
“A little later, thank
An erotic silence fell over
the table as we began to eat our dinners.
Jonathan seemed to relish the generously stuffed homemade pasta, and
devoured each morsel in one bite where the less initiated might have cut them
in two with their fork.
My attention was diverted
from Jonathan as a six-foot delight emerged from the kitchen area. Standing at the counter for a moment
wrestling off his sauce-splattered green apron, he adjusted his skin-tight pink
tank top after handing his apron to a passing waitress. Even from a distance, I could see that his
extra-stuffed black Levi’s rode open one button under his hefty round fat
belly; the tanned rotund belly pooched out firmly– escaping from under the hem
of his taut tank top. I wasn’t sure if he was
returning my stare or gazing at Jonathan’s grazing as he passed our table in a
very self-assured saunter.
Jonathan caught the handsome
dark-haired Italian chunk as he brushed past our table on his way to the
restroom. “Wow…I think that was Vince
Galliano.” Jonathan watched the rounded
ass disappear into the restroom area, and then cleaned up his ample portion of
raviolis. The attentive waitress seemed to be there
in a blink of an eye, and she offered to take his plate and bring his lasagna;
the offer was accepted without hesitation.
The chunky Italian
reappeared from the restroom, and made his way over to our table. Jonathan leaned back and held out his hand,
“Vince? Vince Galliano?”
The two smiled and enthusiastically
shook hands, giving each other the once, then twice-over. “Vince, boy, you’ve gotten big there! Jeans don’t even button!” Jonathan reached over and thumped the fat
round belly that jutted over the border of our table space. Vince chuckled, put his hands on his belly
and sensuously shook it with unmistakable pride.
“Yeah, Jonathan. I’m growing into my job as cook at mom ‘n
dad’s restaurant.” Then Vince turned his
attention to his pal that sat before him.
Thumping Jonathan’s beefy round belly with apparent satisfaction, he
noted, “and you’ve done pretty good yourself there, Jonathan.”
Jonathan gave a confident
chuckle, “you bet your butter rolls, guy.
I’m here tonight taking full advantage of your good cooking.”
“That’s great. Believe me, you can see the results of taking
advantage of my good cooking and my nona’s recipes.” Vince put his hand under this firm round
overhang near his open jeans button, gently bouncing his plump middle up and
down. “So far, this is only a one-button
night, but my special tonight is so good that I think I’m going to end up with
a very nice, big, full belly over two-button open comfort by closing tonight…”
“Your special?” Jonathan asked as the waitress deposited the
boat-shaped dish of lasagna in front of him.
“Big juicy tiger prawns,
mushrooms, and this wonderful creamy garlic butter sauce over linguine.” Vince actually salivated at the mere mention
of the dish, and Jonathan followed suit.
Jonathan took a cooled bite
of lasagna and commented, “wow, wish I would have known about that before I
“Aaaah, don’t worry about
it.” Vince patted Jonathan’s
shoulder. “Damn, good to see you again,
“You too.” Jonathan shook his Italian friend’s hand
again before getting back to business on entrée number two.
I watched as Vince’s
well-padded ass wiggled into the kitchen, and then Jonathan as he began to
shovel pasta with renewed energy.
Jonathan’s belly had swollen considerably by mid-lasagna, and the seams
on his pullover shirt were really starting to pucker. Marcie’s attention became diverted from her
conversation with my roommate and she reached over and patted her husband’s
spherical belly. Jonathan offered up a fairly
satisfied belch, and then leaned back to allow his wife to survey the breadth
of his bloated mound of belly.
“Honey, I can’t finish my
veal parmesan, and I don’t want to take home any leftovers. There really isn’t much left, would you mind
being a dear and finishing it off for me?”
“Sure. Just a minute.” Jonathan shoved a large finale bite of
lasagna into his mouth, and traded plates with her.
My cannelloni had gone
pretty much neglected as I was a bit distracted from my own hunger; one of the
tasty pasta tubes was gone, but there remained a second. As I sat mesmerized by Jonathan’s seemingly bottomless
pit and the quick evaporation of Marcie’s leftovers, I considered offering him
the rest of my dinner. Jonathan leaned
back in his chair, reaching his muscular arms towards the ceiling. The stretching exercise seemed to only
increase his very swollen abdomen from top to bottom; the taut
hem of his golf-print pullover shirt edged up the circumference to bare a nice
portion of very well-fed bulge. Jonathan’s
deep exhaling caused a breeze felt across the table, and a loud belch followed
it. “Well, well, well,” Jonathan acknowledged,
“my big ol’ belly must be getting full!”
“Damn,” I said, attracting
Jonathan’s immediate attention, “and I was hoping you would help me with this
cannelloni. I just can’t eat any more,
Jonathan. Can you?”
“Sure.” Jonathan smiled as we traded plates. “I think this big ol’ balloon of mine has
some stretch in it yet…”
Marcie nodded her head in
support. “I agreed that Jonathan can put
off his dieting until after the baby is born.
I couldn’t stand to watch his sad handsome face while I ate whatever the
baby and I wanted; it was cruel and unusual punishment for such a nice guy.”
Jonathan grunted over my
donated cannelloni. “Plus, I have an
advantage over Deb. I don’t have a baby
growing and taking up space in my pregnant belly.”
Marcie reached over and
rubbed Jonathan’s immensely rotund gut, “nope honey, you have one hundred
percent stomach to fill.”
“Some nights, more like
110%, huh, Jonathan?” I quipped.
“Yeah, like tonight. Ooo-ooo-oo-ffff-ffff! Push me away from the trough and plug my
pie-hole. I think my belly is at maximum
bloat. My stomach feels like an
overpumped basketball in there.“
Jonathan actually pushed away the last bite of cannelloni and relaxed
into a reclined position richly deserved.
Just as Jonathan began
rubbing his hugely stuffed gut, I saw Vince emerge from the kitchen again; this
time, the hot Italian was without his apron, and there were sauce dribbles on
his pink tank top. Vince’s incredibly
swollen round gut wobbled in front of him, solidly protruding over tight black jeans that
were now burst open two buttons. More
bare tanned belly was sticking out under the rolled-up tank top, and Vince was
truly amazing to see. In his hand, he
carried a vast plateful of pasta and giant prawns.
Jonathan could scarcely move
from his laid-back position, but struggled to acknowledge Vince’s appearance at
our table as the generous stud offered yet more food. Vince moved the mostly vacant cannelloni
plate and sat the heap of Friday night special in front of Jonathan.
“Whoa, dude…I thought you
should try my special, but signs point to your belly making a loud pop noise if
you swallow one more morsel.”
Jonathan nodded his head,
but his eyes were all over Vince’s protruding round belly. “You’re lookin’ pretty gorged there yourself,
Vince. Take pretty hefty advantage of
your cooking tonight?”
Vince smiled broadly as he
patted his big full belly. “More than
usual, even. I feel like just taking the
rest of the night off…grabbing a king-size plate of tiramisu and a fork and
going off in a corner…eating until I can’t move…” Jonathan burped, practically begging for
Vince’s anticipated response of thumping ex-military stud’s solid porked-up belly;
Vince responded with a few well-placed thumps on Jonathan’s stout middle. “Boy, Jonathan, I think you really enjoyed
your meal, well, meals tonight. But no
dinner is complete without dessert.
Please let me treat you and your tablemates to a nice dessert.”
Vince asked the waitress to
put the mound of special in a to-go box as he waddled off to fetch us all
dessert. I looked over at Jonathan, who now
languidly scratched the front of his fat prominent belly. “Got an itch?” I asked.
“Yeah, heh,” Jonathan began,
“when the skin on my belly gets stretched this tight, it itches.” Marcie reached over and scratched her
over-fed hubby’s belly as he relaxed it for her to get good coverage.
“Poor Jonathan,” she said,
looking over at me, “his belly skin is stretched so tight around his big dinner
that he feels like one of those over-blown balloons he was talking about
earlier. I best rub him a little to see
if I can loosen him up a bit for when his friend brings back that
dessert.” Jonathan’s eyes glazed over as
her outstretched fingers traversed his colossal round belly. His erect nipples were evident through his
taut pullover shirt, which essentially wore like sausage casing at that
point. “How’s that feel, my big ol’
pregnant guy?” It wasn’t necessary for
him to answer, since drool accumulated and dripped from a corner of his
slightly open mouth as evidence of his pleasure.
Vince returned with a large
tray of amazing goodies, and sat it on an empty table across from ours. “That’s the stuff, huh, guy?” Vince commented, watching Marcie rub
Jonathan’s solid protrusion in unrestrained circles. “Big full belly and a nice bellyrub to go
along with it. Well, get him ready,
Marcie, look what I brought!”
Vince began transferring
plates and bowls to the table. A giant
chunk of pound cake with stacks of strawberries and fresh whipped cream. An immense piece of chocolate-on-chocolate
cake. A gargantuan piece of tiramisu. A tub of hot fudge sundae, replete with nuts
and several maraschino cherries. Vince
stood back and admired what he had created, “now, if that doesn’t fatten your
belly, Jonathan, I don’t know what will!!”
“Hell, Vince, if my belly
gets any fatter tonight, you’re gonna have to help roll me out of here.”
“Don’t sweat it, big guy,
just relax and enjoy. This good stuff
just slides down your gullet. You won’t
even feel it.”
With that, Vince wobbled
off, surely back to the kitchen to indulge in a bit of dessert himself from the
way he smacked his lips at the sight of our calorie-laden table. Jonathan had received the pound cake, and wanted
to trade with me right away; his desires seemed to be focused on Galliano’s
famous tiramisu. And focus he did. He focused his way through the entire sweet
plateful, groaning as his belly pumped up into an even more gigantic protrusion
right under his softened pecs. “Excuse me,
please.” Jonathan struggled, but
eventually got his heavy ass off his thoroughly warmed chair. As he straightened his back, his amazingly swollen
belly protruded even farther. A slight
bit of relaxation and a sigh caused his pants button to launch in a sudden
departure from its severely stressed threads.
Jonathan’s taut waistband took the queue and rolled over even more, his
big swollen round belly folding belt loops flat in the process. All in a flash, his zipper, which had already
begun to lower itself and taunt me, shot to the bottom of its track, as Jonathan
seemed to split out of his pants like a fattened caterpillar. His cheeks reddened
as he grabbed for his fly, hurrying into the restroom.
I searched for the button as
Marcie gave a chuckle. “I asked him not
to wear his tight pants anymore. I’m
getting tired of sewing those damn buttons on again and again. I think I’ll get him some of those pants that
expand or at least something with stronger buttons. Vince seems to have the right idea with his
Levi’s buttonfly. Just keep unbuttoning down
as his belly grows and gets fuller and fatter.”
“There’s a thought,” I
By this time, the restaurant
had emptied out, and we realized that we had been there for hours eating and
laughing. Well, Jonathan had been there
for hours eating, and he seemed to have done a good enough job for all of us
put together. He emerged from the
restroom holding his fly
together with one hand, as
reaching around his very bloated bulging belly with both hands was nearly
impossible. He sat back down with a hefty
thud, his belly bouncing seductively.
“Here’s your button,
Jonathan,” I offered, holding my clenched hand across the table.
“Thanks, guy. Marcie can sew it on again later.” There was muffled laughter around the table,
and Jonathan realized that it must be with regard to him. “What?” he asked. Jonathan shifted his weight around a bit, and
reached for the hot fudge sundae. “You
know what? Bustin’ out of my pants is
exactly what I needed to finish off this dessert.”
“Well, you know, Vince
brought those desserts for all of us,” Marcie reminded her chunky hubby, who
was now well into the melting mass of ice cream.
“It’s ok, Marcie,” I assured
her, “I couldn’t eat any if I wanted to.
You all go ahead.” With that
being said, it was then apparent that Jonathan was the only one at the table
able to eat dessert, and that fact in itself was fairly surprising.
An incredibly long, loud,
and saturated belch soon emerged from the depths of Jonathan’s overpumped
spherical belly. He just sat there leaned
into the table on his elbows, his big tree-trunk thighs spread wide, his
immense heavy round belly sticking out and stretched to shiny-skinned ecstasy. With no one really around, Jonathan felt
compelled to work his taut shirt up over his belly and park the rolls of
material under his meaty pecs. Then,
like watching a beach ball roll down the sand and bump itself against a wall,
he reclined himself against the back of his chair. “So, what do you think of your big ol’
pregnant guy, now?”
“I think he’s had plenty to
eat this evening, and the size of his big full belly shows just how much he’s
“Definitely,” I added, “I
feel like I have to burp just lookin’ at ya, Jonathan.”
As if there wasn’t enough
visual overload for me, Vince once again rolled out of his kitchen. This time, it was fairly comical as his belly
was so swollen that he could barely wobble his way back over to our table. Vince’s torturously tight black Levi’s begged
to be let go a third button, but Vince didn’t seem to mind his bursting solid
round belly’s tender skin being marked by the tight stitching. Vince wobbled right up to Jonathan’s side and
bumped his big full Italian belly into his friend’s cheek. Jonathan turned to Vince, took the hem of his
stretched tank top in each hand and pushed it up off of Vince’s prize-winning
paunch. Jonathan put his hands on the
sides of Vince’s enormous solid belly and proclaimed, “damn, as full as I am, I
can’t resist some stuffed Italian sausage!”
Jonathan spread his jaw open and pushed his gaping mouth against the
taut tan skin of Vince’s big belly.
Vince was too full for Jonathan to get his mouth set on a healthy bite,
and the well-fed Italian chunk laughed.
“Jonathan, you nut.” Vince took Jonathan’s handsome goateed face
in his hands and gently pushed him away.
“I have to admit that it must look pretty damn tempting…like a giant
stuffed ravioli or something…” Vince pushed
Jonathan’s shoulders against the back of his chair enough to make the full
belly stick out in a most center-stage fashion.
Putting his hand on top of the bulge, he thumped Jonathan’s firmly
stuffed belly. “Lordy, talk about your
ripe summertime watermelons! Sure has a
nice solid thump to it…must be bursting full of juice.”
“Bursting full is
right. This melon is ready to roll away
from the vine.” Jonathan began to thump
his own belly. “Well, I could choose to complain
about how the massive bellyache I have, but I choose instead to wish that I had
a bigger belly into which I could pack more of your outstanding cooking,
“Thanks for the compliment,
Jonathan.” Vince pushed against the
bloated belly in front of him, giving an impromptu massage. “God knows that I’ve discovered the
advantages of growing and feeding my belly, and it looks like you have
“Marcie is such a good
cook. But now that she’s pregnant, it
will probably be more of a chore for her to cook as she gets bigger.”
“Cooking for you is never a
chore, honey,” Marcie assured him, “but you’re right about it getting more
“Not too worry,
Jonathan. You guys just come in here and
I’ll take care of you. Jonathan, you
might want to wear some pants with a little stretch in the waist.”
“That’s good advice, heh,
Vince.” Jonathan then pushed himself up
and held his pants shut with his right hand.
The exertion caused Jonathan to emit another hearty belch. “Time to settle up and waddle out, Vince,” he
said, beginning to fuss to fetch his wallet.
“Not to worry, guy. Dinner’s on me tonight. It was great getting to see you again, and a
distinct pleasure getting to stuff so much of my cooking into your belly.”
“Wow, thanks Vince. Thanks from the very bottom of my big stuffed
Vince gave Jonathan another
belly rub as the rest of us thanked our overly generous host as well, making
movements toward the door. Marcie had
already grabbed the to-go box, and she and my roommate were the first to reach
the door. I lingered back with the two
big-bellied guys, who still admired each other’s fat round paunches with pokes
and pats. “Do come back, Jonathan,
you’re just too skinny. I want to invent
some great new dishes and fatten that belly.”
“I’ll see ya, Vince.”
“Bye Jonathan. Bye Brian.”
Soon we were all outside the
restaurant. “What now, guys?” I asked.
Jonathan spoke up, “wanna
come over and hot tub for awhile?”
Marcie groaned first, then
my roommate. “I’m tired,” came the
chorus of whining.
“Brian, if you want, you can
ride over with us, and I’ll take you home later.”
“Sure. That sounds great!”
From the back seat, I could
see Jonathan caressing his fat round belly by the dashboard light. He belched from time to time, and I think he was
glad his car had an automatic transmission as I sensed that he didn’t want to
be interrupted from his belly rubbing by having to shift gears. It was a quick drive to their house, and
Marcie was soon enough saying “good night”, yawning, and heading off for their
bedroom. Jonathan had already shed his
shoes, socks, and what was left of his pants, and wandered into their kitchen
in his stretched underwear. I followed
him into the kitchen, marveling at his perfect ass, then leaned against the
counter watching as he quietly opened and closed cupboard doors.
“Hungry, big guy?” I asked,
watching the front of his underwear become slightly more tented.
“I shouldn’t be, huh? After gorging myself like a big ol’
beefer.” He scratched the lower front of
his belly where his tight underwear waistband curved itself low under the
immense full belly above. He hiked his
shirt up again to his pecs and stood there with his big round gut sticking
“Well, you are looking
pretty corn-fed these days, Jonathan.
The holiday season seems to have put a nice chunk of weight on you.”
Jonathan put his hands on
the sides of his belly and put forth a subsequently futile effort to squeeze it
as he waddled in my direction. “Twenty five pounds since Halloween. Do you approve?” He pushed his solid round gut into me,
pinning me against the counter.
I grunted as he breathed in
deep and pushed more of his big solid belly into my front. “Of course, big guy.” I took his big round belly in my hands and
shook it from side to side. Slowly I
turned him around, watching the chubby head of his stiff cock snake along his
lower belly. I pulled his perfect ass back against my own hard cock, then I
reached around to give his pregnant belly the attention it so richly deserved. “I
think your friend Vince approved of your newfound heft as well…”
“Oh that Vince! Boy, he’s gotten so fat. I was amazed at how big and round that fat
belly of his has gotten…he always had a belly, but nothing compared to
now!” Jonathan softly grunted as I
continued massaging his bloated round gut.
“Did you notice how big his
belly got by the end of the evening?”
“I did. His gut was hard as a rock.”
“Like this big gut,” I said,
thumping Jonathan’s belly with alternating hands. “You know, Vince was ready to keep feeding
you as long as you were able to stuff it in.”
“I know. I could tell.
I really wanted to eat that plate of special he brought, but my belly
was really full. After you and Marcie
fed me what was left of your dinners, I was ready to pop like a tick.”
“How does your belly feel
“Feels pretty good. Nice and heavy. In fact…”
Jonathan walked over to the miniscule cupboard above the refrigerator
and reached up high to open it. “Marcie
doesn’t venture into these cupboards very often.” Inside was an impressive stash of junk food,
including a couple boxes of Entemann’s Pop’ems. He opened the box and handed it to me. “I might be hungry for some dessert.”
I put my hand on his swollen
belly and pushed him into the family room. “Why don’t you relax on that rug
over there by the fireplace?” As Jonathan
grunted around to bend over to get down on the floor, I cast my shoes, socks,
and pants aside. Finally he settled on
his back with his mountainous ball of belly protruding up into space;
straddling his cock with my ass, I sat down and shifted my weight back and
forth on the stiff piece of meat. “Open
up, my big hungry pregnant-bellied guy…”
Once I began stuffing his
mouth with the tasty little donuts, he laid his big muscular arms out from his
sides, got totally relaxed, and just chewed blissfully. I was surprised that more food would actually
go into his belly, and he kept up pace with my hand that deposited a small donut
in his mouth and then traveled back to rub and massage his big round solid belly. Jonathan’s belly grew taller and wider with
each sensuous double-glazed bite, and he put up a fuss when he realized the box
was empty. “More, please.”
“More?” I asked incredulously, surveying the
tight-skinned belly that ballooned before me.
I put my hand on top of his tall bulge and pushed down. Jonathan emitted a startled grunt and spread
his legs apart under me, putting more strain on my crotch. “More, huh?”
Go get some more.”
It took me awhile to
separate myself from him, but once I was up, I didn’t waste any time getting
another box of Pop’ems. “My God, Jonathan,”
I observed, walking back, “your gut is so awesomely big.” Straddling him once again, I sat on his
throbbing cock as I pushed another tasty morsel of donut into his eager open
“Stuff me so full that I
can’t move!” Jonathan implored, chewing
his donut-bites faster. I knew that he
was pretty close to immobility as he laid there with his big stretched belly
swollen up three sizes, but I happily shoved more donuts into his cute
fur-surrounded mouth. “Would you scratch my belly a
As I fed him, I lavished all
of the attention I could muster on his immensely bloated belly. I scratched it. I kneaded it.
I thumped it. I shook it back and forth.
I rubbed it in generous circles.
And his belly just kept swelling.
His cheeks were reddish as I pushed the last donut in his mouth with my
“Mmmmm. That’s so good,” Jonathan told me. “Thirsty.
Need some milk.”
I went back to the kitchen,
grabbed the nearly full half-gallon of whole milk, and searched for a turkey
baster. Coming back into the family room,
I got a curious look from Jonathan, who just lay on the floor like a
bloated-beached whale. “What are you
going to do with that?” he asked.
Propping him up behind the shoulders, I filled the baster’s bulb with
milk and shoved the pointed tip in Jonathan’s mouth. Squeezing the bulb filled Jonathan’s mouth
full of milk and he swallowed happily. I
squirted milk into him until he let out a tremendous belch and said it was time
to stop. The half-gallon container was
much lighter as I picked it up to return to the fridge. Jonathan continued to lie there looking at
me; he was bigger around than ever, gorged too full to even attempt moving a
muscle. I found a little plastic bottle
full of lotion on the kitchen counter, and I brought it back with me.
I knelt down by him and
poked his big fat gut. “Now how’s that belly feel, guy?”
“Like it’s going to explode,
and I love it. Are you going to rub some
of that lotion on my belly?”
“I was thinking about
it. Looks like I need to rub some
moisture back into that skin. It’s
stretched tighter than a drum.”
“Marcie got that lotion for
growing pregnant bellies. She doesn’t
need it yet, but I sure do!”
“Yeah, you really do, ya big
pregnant stud.” I squirted some lotion into
my hand and rubbed it all over the expanse of Jonathan’s gigantically ballooned
“Lower,” he said. I rubbed down south of his stretched belly
I peeled his underwear off
and grabbed onto his cock with a palmful of lotion. Jonathan’s legs spread apart a bit more and
he began to writhe with pleasure. His
strained abdominal muscles tried to contort, but he couldn’t budge; his
shoulders stayed firmly planted on the floor.
Just as I went to say something, his cock erupted in a hot fountain of
cum that showered down all over his big mountain of a belly. I got up and straddled his wide body again,
this time lowering my throbbing cock right onto his tall mass of belly. His bellyskin was slippery with the lotion
and cum all over it, and my cock reached orgasm as I pushed it against his
firmly stuffed belly. Both of us
breathing heavily, I slid off and lay at his side. We looked at each other, but nothing really needed
to be said.
Eventually the silence was
broken. “You realize that you’re gonna
have to roll me over on my gut for me to be able to get up, don’t you?”
Request: Hi! I really want to make a request but I’m awful with prompts, so hopefully this works for you. I have a big kink for possessive/jealous/angry Bucky or Clint. And I thought about something (cliche btw) where one of them sees the reader talking to an ex boyfriend at a meeting or party and even thought it’s something innocent for her, he gets super mad because the guy was flirting and she didn’t notice (he thinks she’s lying) it and it leads do angry sex.
Warnings: Mentions of blood, kissing, (possibly kinky) angst, a little metta, a little cheesy, implied smut
Request: @cupcakequeen1999 -Hiya! Can you do Fairytale AU where the handsome but lonely John Laurens is secretly a werewolf and he pretends to be sick and confused to get the little red riding hood (the reader) to stop and help him, but then he kidnaps her? That’d be cool!
A/N: I kind of had fun writing this one. Sorry it took so long! I love writing for John Laurens! I hope this is somewhat like you were looking for. Thank you for requesting! Hope you enjoy, lovely!
The birds chirped in the trees. The animals whistled through the bushes. You sang a merry tune as you skipped down the path to grandmother’s house. A small white bunny rabbit hopped in your way. It looked sadly up at your basket of sweets. You smiled with pity at the rabbit, You broke off a piece of a muffin and dropped it in front of the rabbit. It nibbled at it greedily,
A fox with a snow white tail jumped in front of the rabbit. You leapt back and laughed. They seemed to be getting along. Until it wrapped its jaws around its little fluffy ears and dragged it into the bush. You cried out. “No!”
Just as the fox dragged the rabbit’s corpse into the brush, a dark large figure threw you back. It swept a black cape in your face. When you looked up, you saw the figure hunched over, a white furry tale hanging out of his hands.
The figure disappeared, the body of the fox and rabbit falling into the green brush.
“Excuse me, Miss.” a small voice came from behind you.
You spun around and nearly fell backwards again. But his hand caught you. He smiled at you with forest green eyes, dimples, and a freckled face. He swept his hair back, it was dark and curly. He was dressed like a prince. Maybe he was a prince!
He certainly looked like one, aside from a mysterious dark cape at his feet. He wore a dark velvet royal coat. He couldn’t take his eyes of you. He smiled. He extended his hand out to you and brought your hand to his lips. He kissed your knuckles.
You reluctantly retracted from his touch.
He frowned at you. “Forgive me, Miss. I am Sir Laurens. John Laurens.” he coughed. He let his eyes linger on you while he coughed terribly. He fell to his knees at your feet. “I have no place to go. I am sick and I am far from my home.” he almost began to cry. “Please. Will you help me?”
“Uh…I…” clear glistening tears fell down his freckled face. His hands clasped around yours.
“Please.” he cried.
“Please, don’t beg.” you frowned. You raised him to your feet. He towered over you but he still smiled with tears in his eyes. “I can’t leave the path. I can’t go astray. I have to go to my grandmother’s. Please. I am sorry. Sir, I cannot help you.”
His hands fell from you and he rose to his feet. A dark shadow over you. You turned to walk away but a sharp hand fell on you. The sweet voice of Laurens that had spoke to you behind a tree, had turned dark.
A slow laugh came from Laurens. His frail and pale figure turned dark and large. His back arched. The buttons and seams of his clothes popped off and ripped to rags on the forest floor. Hair sprang from every part. His eyes turned beady and green. He bared his teeth. “Then let me help myself!” he swept you up in his dark cape and took you deeper into the woods.
You woke with his eyes fixed on you. They were soft green again. His face and hairs were void of dark fur. His freckles and dimples had returned. He smiled at you with glistening, straight teeth. His lips were plump. He looked at you. Almost ashamed.
You moaned and tossed your body around. You ached all over. You were lying on a bed. A sheet pulled up around you. John was sat in a chair, staring at you. “I have wronged you. I have wronged many others. I have caused pain. For you. For them.” he stared at the wall above you. “I have caused pain to myself.” he began to cry.
This time they were tears of real pain. It wasn’t an act. John broke down beside the chair and cried. “No one wants to be a werewolf! I was bitten as a little boy, and banished from my home. I am no one. I am sorry. I just wish I had someone.”
You sat up. Pulling the sheet off. “Sir.” you said. He looked to you with sadness in his eyes. “Laurens, there must be a way. To lift this curse. Truly, no one can stay a werewolf forever can they? There must be a cure!”
“There isn’t!” he shouted as he cried. “It isn’t a fairy tale story, this isn’t a bedtime story. This isn’t a thing a kiss can fix. This isn’t something love can heal. I am a monster. You-you are just a fair maiden that I plucked out of the woods. I am sorry.” he walked across the dusty floor and opened a misshapen door. “You can go. Please, try to forget the pain I have caused you.”
“There is hope for everyone.” you said, walking over, with a limp. You closed the door. Hope lifted in his eyes. You held his head in your hands.
“No, there isn’t.” he lifted his hands to your rosy cheeks. His forehead touched yours and a tear slipped down his cheek and dripped off his lips.
“The truth is.” you said softly. “I have no one either. My grandmother, soon she will die. And I will have no one to care for me. Love me. She is all I have left.” you ran your hand along his. A tear tickled your nose.
You kissed his cheek. You kissed away a tear. “There is hope for everyone. No one is ever truly alone. There might not be a spell or a cure. But you have hope.”
“Where? Where is my hope?”
“Me.” you said tentatively. You moved in closer to him. He was irresistible. He wrapped a hand around his neck, the other found it’s way into his hair. You closed your eyes. You pulled him into you and kissed him. He kissed you slowly and sadly with longing.
“I don’t want to be a monster anymore.” he cried.
You smiled at him and said, “Then don’t.” you fell hard back on the bed, him on top of you. You smiled as you kissed him, as you watched a smile fall to his face. You reached for his shirt but he shook his head. He kissed you slowly instead.
Why did no one ever think all the wolf needed was love?
Now, John and someone to care for him and love him. And you did too.
Request: Hi love your writing! Can you write a Bucky x reader where the reader is a former coworker of Natasha(the red room) the are good friends and the reader is in New York for an unannounced visit. She comes in late so decides to sleep in a hotel the first night and surprise Natasha the next morning instead. She decides to get a drink before going to bed and end up meeting a very charming fellow at the bar(Bucky) leads to smut, they’re drunk and end up at the avenger tower
Warnings: Smut, NSFW, unprotected sex, oral sex, spanking, slight humor at the end😂
Physical affection is not a foreign concept to Emma, but her first date with Killian makes her realize how much she’s been starved of it in her life.
She had an inkling when she first came to Storybrooke – Henry is free with his hugs and it stirs a vague sense of something she’d been missing but unable to name. But Killian’s inability to stop touching her (getting his hand back so he could hold her as if he wasn’t already more than enough, God) flips a switch in her brain, and instead of shying away from it she finds herself reaching for him even more than he does her.
Maybe it’s because there are no expectations; he doesn’t want her because she is a mother, or a daughter, or the Savior, and his attention feels all the more light and comfortable because of it. And so she can’t stop – threading their fingers together, bumping her shoulder against his, snuggling into his side as they walk back to the loft. The new leather of his jacket is a caress against her bare shoulders and she wants more, can barely stop herself when she pulls away from his embrace at her doorstep.
It just feels so damned good.
He just feels so damned good.
She’s greedy for it, even more so after she returns his heart to him, during those glorious six weeks when she can touch and explore and revel in his uncomplicated, steadfast love (she knows it even if he doesn’t say it yet) without the rest of the world getting in the way.
In Camelot she is selfish and is desperate for it, clinging to him as if it will keep the little pieces of herself that still feel familiar from floating away. She presses her hand to his chest every chance she gets, letting her fingers drift over the leather to tease at his skin, lingering there when he kisses her. The steady beat she feels underneath tethers her to something warm and beautiful, not the cold, sharp metal of the dagger.
Weird thinky-thought word spew inspired by Josephine’s comment: “He likes them? Truly? It’s just butter and sugar. Ferelden taste is so… simple.”
Food in the Circle is basic, boiled vegetables and tough meat. Everything is designed to fill you up and keep you going. When he first joins, he’s young and he hates it. He misses his mother’s stew, and fresh berries with sweet cream, but he’s growing and he trains hard and he’s hungry, so he learns not to care too much.
When he leaves Ferelden for Kirkwall, he finds the Circle much the same. Things are basically nutritious, but overcooked and under-seasoned, but he has more important things to worry about. He has nightmares to banish and anger to quell. He has endless questions and no answers. Sometimes he finds himself in a tavern, away from the mess hall, but he still gravitates toward the bland, it’s familiar now. Besides, treating himself isn’t something he ever thinks about it.
When he joins the Inquisition he lives on rations, hardtack and jerky. Once they arrive at Haven, things are a little better, the food is hot. But once they’re settled in Skyhold, as the Inquisition grows, things start to change. The meal offerings are brighter, more colorful as Josephine brings in cooks from Val Royeaux. It’s all a little strange, the tastes unfamiliar… but oddly muted. He can’t figure out why.
As the Lyrium leaves his body he notices the changes more, things taste better, more full and rich. They smell better too. There’s no longer that strange tang he had grown accustomed to, tingeing everything and reminding him of what he used to be. He eats more, he eats to taste things… to enjoy them rather than just to fuel himself. It’s a blessed thing.
He learns to treat himself in ways he never had before. When Josephine sends the biscuits, he finds them delightful, like nothing he’s had yet. Sweet and crisp and delicious. He enjoys them with tea when the afternoons start to drag, and the pain is a little too much to bear.
When they go to Halamshiral his dress uniform no longer fits like it used. Before it hung loosely, the shoulders not tailored right. Now it’s restricted, the arms snug, and it’s tight across the back. He thinks if he crosses his arms the seam might rip. As he stands by the window, trying to ignore his many admirers, he catches a glimpse of his reflection.
He had never given much thought to his looks, it wasn’t something that mattered in the Circle. But he now he notices a change, fuller cheeks, a stronger carriage… there’s just more to him. He is more. His figure is fuller, but he’s fuller too. He’s no longer hollowed out, with sunken cheeks and soulless eyes. The change shocks him a bit because he realizes, for the first time, he is new. He is not the man he was. His eyes drift across the sea of people, the glinting masks and lush finery, until he finds her. The Inquisitor. She had asked for a dance. The old Cullen would never have even attempted such a thing, he would only make a fool of himself. But, he decides with a firm nod to himself, the new Cullen would give it a try.
What do you think? I need suggestions. Something about be outfit doesn’t satisfy me.
Painted Frankie’s shoes and made some love-hazard medallions for earrings and shoes. Fixed the too-small skirt but ripping the back seam and inserting the extra material from my custom ordered fabric from Rosie’s Runway.
I’m not sure of the colors and whatnot. I have some ribbons I could add as embellishments, and I next need to do her hot glue slime trails. And get her repainted of course.
I have a hard time seeing Maxie as completely calm and collected, honestly. Sure, there’s him acting more mature and composed- which can be seen through the order of Team Magma, but honestly? When you compare certain things, say, how he reacts to being beaten, it shows that he’s not really naturally that calm.
He’s stable, yes. Aware of what he wants, and the measures needed to obtain his desires to the point he can organize a group of militant eco-terrorists to a T, but he’s still hotheaded. The only thing keeping this suppressed is a massive superego. He knows what he needs to do, how to do it perfectly (In his opinion; which may be absolutely skewed to hell as what the hell kind of plan is accidentally burning the entire Earth) and how to present himself as a respectable intellect. And to do these things, he has to hold himself back, lest he wants his entire plan to rip apart at the seams.
My mother was born with a war drum in her chest, so it shouldn’t have surprised her when her daughters came home with bloody knuckles and bruised knees. She taught us to fight, taught us that even the softest skin, when stretched to its limits can boom across the generations and nations. But human skin has a bad habit of ripping at its seams, of peeling back to reveal our marrow. And how I wish I was a fortune teller, so I could throw my bones into the fire and present my mother with the cracks, and say Look, I will be ok. Because war drum foretell, but they also compel. And I want to hear my own heart beat for once.
Bellarke: "I make the costumes and you keep bringing yours back for adjustments-how many times can someone 'accidentally' rip a seam?"
“Again? Seriously, princess?” Bellamy groused when Clarke waltzed into his office backstage.
Clarke shrugged and peeled off the perfect Elizabethan replica he had spent weeks creating. “Too tight. The waist ripped when I bent to pick up the letter.”
Bellamy frowned at her, because he’d made it to her exact measurements. Okay, so the darts around the waist were maybe a little tighter than he originally planned, but he had meant to give her a good clean line onstage. “All right, hand it over,” he grumbled.
Clarke shimmied out of it and lifted it up to her hand with her toes. Bellamy was used to actors stripping in front of him (he had practically grown up backstage, helping his mother with the same tasks he handled now) but he still lost all the air in his lungs whenever he was faced with Clarke in nothing but her bra and panties. He was starting to feel like she did this on purpose–swanning into his office once everyone else was packing up to go home with a nitpick or tiny rip in her costume.
“I just need a little more room,” she said, her own eyes dragging up and down his body. She handed him the soft material but didn’t draw away, standing just a hairsbreadth from him. Her fingers trailed up his forearm and he gave in, wrapping his hands around her wrist and yanking her against him. She met him as he leaned down to kiss her, the dress falling to the floor, forgotten.