Eleven o'clock. The left side of the bed had been vacated, leaving the covers in a wrinkled mess. With no one left to hold him and cherish him, Skye had lazily rolled onto his back, and now lay snoring lightly, under the weight of his wobbling dome of a gut. Though its strained flesh still seared blush-red with heat, pain, and rushing blood, the plump, overfed tummy had done its work, and had zealously contracted around its soupy prize, to a more modest bloat of fifty inches around or so.
Having since absentmindedly kicked off his quilt in a drowsy moment of dream-fear gone unconsoled, Skye lay bare as the day he was born, his small, lean arms outstretched like wings to occupy the full width of the bed. His generous hips lay turned out akimbo, as if to make a snow angel in the blankets. "Filipe"--the stuffed rabbit--had rolled down underneath his lower back, just shy of his rear. One of its silky, floppy ears had escaped being squashed under his augmented girth, and found itself in a prime position to pick up on the thick, watery shifting and sliding going on inside him. Occasionally, a cool, fresh breeze from the newly opened window would brush over his popped navel, eliciting little cries of glutton's remorse, and wet, sloppy groans of digestive discomfort; or tickle his small, chaste privates, which otherwise drooped flaccid between his chubby legs, sleeping soundly as he was.
With all of Skye's most sensitive areas so red with stimulation, and his legs spread apart without any hint of suspicion or tact, it would have been so easy for someone, if they were so inclined, to scoot him down toward the edge of the bed, lift his knees up over their shoulders, prop his cushioned glutea apart, grab his wrists to keep him from using them, and mercilessly go to town. He'd squeal in some strange mix of terror and pleasure, his belly would bob up and down with each thrust, sloshing and shaking enough to easily make him nauseous and dizzy, and maybe if they went at him hard enough, he'd even pass out from sheer grief, his eyes rolling back to stare vacantly at the ceiling.
But there was no one to do such a thing to him. Not this time. And there wouldn't be anyone, either. No one but Filipe, who was far too gentle, and loved him far too much; the other Filipe, who was nothing but a pretend fluffy bunny; and someone who had been so cruel, and so irresistibly tasty and filling, that now he wasn't really exactly a person anymore. No one else was allowed here, in this place of shelter and protection, this impenetrable stone wall of love he knew as "home."
It was with these fading thoughts that Skye smacked his lips for a few last traces of flavor from what was now a gooey lump inside him, and slowly sat up, before yelping and recoiling from the sensation of a leathery plastic nose pressing directly against his forbidden pucker. His eyes darted down beside him to ascertain the identity of his assailant this time around. A cotton ear was sprawled out from underneath him. There was no one trying to hurt him; his scooting and shifting as he rose to a sitting position had merely been enough to trap his stuffed rabbit friend face-first in the deep, toasty crevice of his considerable behind.
"Oops," he giggled in relief. "Good morning, Filipe." He lifted one leg and rescued the toy from its squishy and embarrassing predicament. Its cold nose and one fluffy chop brushed against his open cheek on the way out. "Hee hee. You naughty bunny." He picked up the doll in both hands and planted a tiny peck of a kiss on its forehead. Skye was a very clean boy, and had just been helped in the shower the previous night, so this didn't bother him one bit.
He set down his stuffed rabbit beside him and yawned. As he stretched his arms and wrists toward the ceiling, his elbows popped. He rubbed his eyes and brushed his luxurious curls out of his face, and with a happy sigh, he settled back into a smaller, heavier posture. His busy, swollen stomach spilled graciously between his thighs and plopped onto the edge of the mattress, churning and sloshing loudly as it jiggled its way into a still, comfortable place.
A hearty hiccup caught Skye by surprise. He coverd his mouth. "Aah!" He glanced down to the pile of congealing food suspended from his body, and gave it a curious poke. He pouted. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Smelly Jerkface." Rubbing at his sore side, he tilted his head back, and a loud, wet burp tore out from between his lips. "Uuurrrph. Ough, stop it. Haven't you made me do enough gross stuff already?"
Reclining to ease the growing stomachache, he rubbed over his reddened belly and sighed contentedly. "At first you made me think it was all my fault." Skye gave himself a little pat. The gut sunk in under the impact, but jutted back out with a gurgle, restoring its immaculate roundness. He sat mesmerized by its wobbling for a few seconds. "But now I know better. Filipe helped the lies go away. Now I know you deserve this, you bully."
A robust pair of forearms slipped under Skye's shoulders and lifted him into the air with some difficulty. He squeaked out a note of surprise and swiveled to see who was there. The real Filipe stood grinning back at him.
"Good morning, my little flower!" Filipe pecked Skye on the nose, turned around, and sat down on the bed. Laughing with glee, the bloated femboy relaxed into Filipe's lap, leaning back against his chest and idly swinging his legs. Filipe smiled down into his eyes, and stole another kiss to the nose, and another, and one to the cheek, wrapping both arms around him and claiming him as a helpless victim to an incessant assault of smooches to his face and his forehead and his fluffy locks. Skye could feel something hot and stiff thumping against his entrance from underneath a layer of cloth, well sandwiched between his pudgy buttocks, but in between futile attempts to shield himself from the relentless kissing, he just giggled and sat down on it harder, pushing his weight deeper into Filipe's arms. He knew this one meant him no harm; the pressure against him down there was a familiar feeling, a safe feeling, like especially rough licking from a big, loving dog.
"How does it feel?" Filipe stroked Skye's cheek and neck, and rubbed a palm over his bloated, groaning tummy. The heat and pressure from his hand made it growl and grumble, so he slowed down and let up a bit. "Tummy all better yet?"
Skye shook his head and winced. "It hurts a little," he replied, looking down at it. He tried to give it a brief rub, but Filipe took his hands and gently lifted them away, before resuming tender care of the responsibility himself. They had a certain understanding: Skye shouldn't ever have to do anything difficult.
"Poor baby," cooed Filipe, squishing the round, doughy tummy, as fluid squirted about inside. "Is that mean old pervert even bothering you from beyond the grave?" Blushing brightly in discomfort, Skye gave a few brisk nods, stiffened and tensed his whole body up, and shuddered, almost in delight.
"We'll get him all taken care of, don't you worry." Filipe gave a few very light drubbings, making the flesh shake and undulate under his hand. The outward force from inside Skye's belly became so unbearable he tucked his knees in and moaned loudly. He was cut off by a deep kiss on the lips, before closing his eyes and acquiescing, letting Filipe's wandering hand fondle and appreciate a newly fattened breast.
Filipe pulled away, holding Skye's bewildered face between his callused palms and admiring the glisten of his sweat. His attention turned to the dresser. "But for now, what do you want to wear today?"
"Wear?" Skye popped a finger between his lips and licked it pensively. "Hmmm... Why~?" He arched his back and leaned forward, emphasizing his thick bottom and swaying it teasingly from side to side. The cheeks had grown fat enough to completely hide any evidence of his tight little hole, but the drag each time he bounced back made them slip open a little to briefly reveal it.
It was almost too much for Filipe to bear, but he bit his lip and kept his composure. "Ha ha, very funny." He gave the spectacle a light slap. "You're a little jokester, that's what you are." Skye cried out and bit down on his finger as his plump bum bore the brunt of the strike and bounced in place. He sat back down; contact with the cool, ventilated fabric of Filipe's boxers would be necessary to treat the redness and pain, he'd decided.
Filipe rubbed the boy's equally sore globe of a tummy with both hands. Under his soothing touch, the activity inside seemed to heighten, producing a louder and more consistent noise. "Today, we're going out," he answered at last. "That's why."
