Geovan's Proposition: Chapter 4

Geovan’s Proposition: Chapter 4 by Pragmaton

Cyrus had blacked out. Again.

He really ought to consider training himself for the rigors for this relationship. However, 24 years of seamanship did not prepare a man to pleasure a horny giant who can barely see over his own stomach, let alone protect the laborer from being crushed by said stomach. Cyrus would get plenty of exercise doing on the job training, at least…if he lived that long at this rate.

This blackout, however, was different. Cyrus felt relaxed, like he was resting upon a cloud. His back was a little hot, like it was being treated with a heated massage, and the rest of his body was encompassed by a cocoon of warmth.

He slowly opened his eyes. Right away, he could tell that he was upon Geovan's bed. He could feel a subtle pressure pushing forcefully against him. His eyes widened when he realized where he was.

His body was snuggled up against Geovan's giant form, specifically against his titanic belly. The fingers of Geovan’s massive paw were draped upon Cyrus’ naked body, heavy and callused but undeniably warm.

The mattress and bed the size of a small barn still sunk low against Geovan’s considerable tonnage. Cyrus felt like he was half sinking into quicksand as the beefy, solid mass caused him to slide down into it. All it would take is a particularly robust yawn, and that round tank looming

above him would suck him down deeper into the bed's depths, blotting out the ceiling and covering his small frail body completely.

He'd be wise to get in a less compromising position before that happened. Cyrus struggled and wiggled out from underneath the huge finger appendages that served as a makeshift blanket. Once he was free, it was difficult to get a proper footing in the deep, V-shaped crevice between bed and belly. He turned and used both feet to push against the giant boulder of flesh until he was scooted upward out of the crevice.

When he stood, he experienced a sense of vertigo, feeling like he was in a tall tale that was told to children when they misbehaved. He looked beyond the monstrous belly to the equally imposing face looming just to the right of it, snoring peacefully. Tall tale or not, he was now in service to a god, a progeny of a titan of myth. Power, strength and mass incarnate. He shivered.

Ever since Cyrus could remember, he had yearned and lusted over big bellies, prodigious paunches and well-fed workmen. He often felt guilty for checking out his best friend Aegeus throughout their years growing up together, especially when the growth spurts began and never seemed to end. The gentle, trusting and oblivious nature of his friend made Cyrus feel all the more guilty about it, knowing it could never be. But hey, it was hard to resist belly-peeking when you were friends with the biggest ox-sized stud along the coast, especially one whose clothes were constantly being outgrown.

But now? He was standing before a behemoth of a being, at the mercy of a gargantuan gullet that was both mentally and spiritually oppressing, simply by gazing at the size of the be-damned thing. A literal mountain of blubber, the fattest deity imaginable, was dozing before him, titanic lungs like

bellows as they inflated his stomach to building-bursting proportions, before deflating to a more manageable, yet still home-wrecking size.

Cyrus eyed the cavernous navel of the bellied giant. It seemed to stare down at him, gaping, deep and wide. The weight of the blubber mountain had caused nearly half of the titanic gut to sink deep into the mattress, bringing the belly button only a few feet above Cyrus' head level.

Mesmerized by it, Cyrus moved toward Geovan's hand, the same that had pinned him merely moments before. It rested next to his massive stomach, most likely meant to protectively cradle Cyrus against it. Cyrus carefully stepped onto the hand, roughly the size of a large chariot wheel, taking two quick steps across it until he smacked face-first into belly, leaning heavily against it for balance.

Reaching his left hand up, he grabbed onto a tangle of coarse, red belly hair. His right hand reached up into the large, deep navel, palm finding purchase against a smooth and round blubbery surface. He heaved, hoisting himself up in a lithe, smooth motion, his strong slender body making it a breeze.

His heart raced as both feet balanced themselves on the ledge of the cavernous hole, both arms now wrapped in belly hair above it, hanging on for dear life. It was like trying to ride a wild creature with a mind of its own, puffing in and out by a few feet every few seconds, his naked body lightly rocking against it in response.

This…was all his. The mass, the size, the unapologetic, fucking roundness of it. Just hopelessly big, with zero chance of ever getting smaller, just bigger and bigger. The free reign to play with the body of a giant glutton, god or

not, was finally his. He wrapped his hands tightly in Geovan's belly hair and carefully pulled himself up. His now wet, hard cockhead was positioned so that it eagerly slapped against the roof of Geovan's round navel, his legs completely suspended in the air as if he were an acrobatic performer.

Once he was sure his upper body was safe and secure, he slowly thrusted, slippery precum coating a negligible amount of ceiling surface area in the dark, fattened hole. He imagined an elongated lifespan worshiping this being, kissing every corpulent inch thousands of times over, building Geovan's confidence in his own large, unwieldy body, Cyrus using his own fit body as a surrogate to please the giant so that he would not miss his old physique.

Cyrus imagined, due to his own meticulous prodding, Geovan one day giving in to his new form, and truly letting go and creating a new definition for the visage of a "harvest" god. Demeter would certainly be given a run for her money for that title, the only difference being that she would be the harvest god of land, and Geovan of the sea. That difference, and also the fact that only one of those Gods would be the size of Mount Olympus by then, if Cyrus had anything to say about it. He imagined year by year, decade by decade, century by century, Geovan's massive, corpulent frame ballooning outward uncontrollably, much to the shock of the other gods, who themselves frequently bring forth miracles and fantastical events, as Geovan’s cataclysmic tidal wave of gut rapidly plumped upward, eventually reaching toward the high ceiling of this very chamber, pushing against it with no signs of ever stopping.

Cyrus screamed, shooting his hot, sticky seed far into that cave of corpulent desire. Geovan stopped his sonorous breathing suddenly, his entire body jolting slightly at the sound of Cyrus' pleasured yell. The jolt, combined with the waves of ecstasy Cyrus was currently riding, caused him to lose his grip. As he fell, his feet graced the ledge of the bottom half of Geovan's belly

button before he lost his footing there as well, tumbling backward. For a split moment he was actually terrified he might land on his head.

He needn't have worried. He fell scarcely a foot into Geovan's cupped, upward palm. A giant face curved around his massive stomach to eye Cyrus, a single digit of his other hand moving around to probe his own navel. He rubbed the fingertips of that hand together, seeing the tiny translucent strings of viscous fluid stretch between them. A single eyebrow rose, mirth tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Thought you'd have a lay of the land, did you boy?" he said, tone thick and husky. "I'm somewhat of a proud god, in case you've forgotten, and can have quite the temper when certain festivities and carousing take place beneath my notice."

His eyes twinkled, studying Cyrus' breathless, naked form. Cyrus could detect a familiar hunger in those eyes.

"My, my, certainly my little Lordling of such high self-importance has enough revelry and gaiety left in him for another go? After all, he has a God to entertain! No mortal would be foolish enough to refuse, or risk the wrath that only an improper welcome could bring?"

A fleeting thought of Geovan eating and drinking his way through an entire village's stores of food and drink during an “improper welcome” flashed through Cyrus's mind before he quashed it guiltily.

"M-my lord, I'm afraid I'll need a moment…" Cyrus began, mind still hazy.

"Ah, so the little Lordling has bequeathed me the title of Lord as well! Far beneath my station, much less befitting a god, but it is the only gift he has to bestow upon me, the one he has supposedly dedicated his life to! Fear not, I've dealt with kings and Lords of such selfish natures before, believe me!"

Geovan's voice suddenly went into a low, conspiratorial tone. "And between you and me, my Lordling, I have quite the little concubine back in my chambers, who worships this corpulent form of mine. Has a thing for gluttons, of all things, can you believe it? Always ready to go at a moment's notice, able to feed his gluttonous God's desires at all times!"

Geovan slowly began to lower his palm with Cyrus in it, smiling devilishly as he took in a long, slow breath. Cyrus' heart began to beat faster as he saw a wall of blubberous belly slowly begin to roll over him, pinning him there and encroaching over half of his small body. His prick slowly began to come to life again.

"But the fearful thing about encouraging a glutton's desires, is that he begins to find ways to get what he wants…always."

The massive wall of lustful lard continued to slowly put pressure on Cyrus, covering him up to his chest, rolling over him further and further still, until—

There was a thunderous sound, cracking through the chamber, in rapid order. Geovan suddenly stopped his ministrations with the tiny mortal. The sound had come from two gigantic chamber doors at the far end of the room. A voice called out.

"My Lord Poseidon? Have you returned? Apologies for my intrusion. There are palace duties awaiting your approval, my Lord."

Geovan sighed in a big huff that would have tested the foundations of any of the shabbier abodes in Cyrus' home village. He sucked in his prodigious gut, little good it did, and gently pulled Cyrus out from underneath it. The little mortal looked dazed, but none worse for wear. In fact, there was a dreamy, lazy smile upon his face.

"Well, my little self-important Lordling," Geovan said, gently. "Allow me to show you around your marble palace."