allfattenedup

Juicy

Added 2022-07-21 00:20:21 +0000 UTC

It's so hard to stop touching. I can't, and I don't try. It means you've walked in on me, dozens of times now, lifting and squeezing, wobbling new handfuls, admiring the constant oceanic rolling of myself with boiling cheeks and lusty eyes. When I see you seeing me, I'm too caught up in the moment to care. It only makes it better, the way you either quickly look away, or fail to hide your grimace fast enough. You're trying to be supportive, but I know how you really feel. What you really think of me. I think about it at night, I stroke myself to it. Your obvious uneasiness with my slow, persistent transformation. Your embarrassment on my behalf. I can see you wonder why I'm doing this to myself - or at the very least why I'm not doing it in secret. I can see you wonder what's wrong with me, and as I take a big, heavy handful of my once-lean stomach and tip over into ecstasy, I wonder it too.