Mirko stood center stage, bathed in silver moonlight, her dancer outfit hugging every curve of her powerful body. Inspired by her usual costume, the ensemble was trimmed with ivory and violet, a veil fluttering from her hips, and a moon-shaped navel piercing glinting against her taut belly. Her arms were raised high, her hips swaying in hypnotic rhythm, bells at her ankles jingling with every precise stomp.

But what truly captured the audience wasn’t just her fiery moves—it was her belly. Massive, round, and tight as a drum, it swayed and wobbled slightly with each motion, crammed full from both the pre-performance feast and a few overly confident dancers who made the mistake of warming up near her. They had been stuffed themselves, hoping to match Mirko’s fullness as part of the aesthetic. Now? They were part of it.

Her thick thighs shifted powerfully with every beat, and as she spun, she gave the crowd a glimpse of her bulging midsection from every angle. Beads of sweat shimmered down her chest, and she licked her lips, not entirely because of exertion.

She loved the attention, even if she'd never admit it. The way her belly bounced, the way jaws dropped—it all fueled her to dance harder. But deep down, her hunger still simmered. Her red eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her next course.

Then she saw them.

Midnight and Mt. Lady, both dressed in their own flashy interpretations of dancer outfits—silken wraps clinging to their plump frames, bellies bouncing in time with the music, smiles wide and teasing. They were dancing together, unaware of the predator’s gaze now locked on them.

Mirko’s grin widened.

Midnight twirled, her belly jiggling beneath a sheer violet sash, cheeks flushed from wine and dance. Mt. Lady giggled at her side, the towering heroine’s hips swinging with dramatic flair, her own belly nearly rivaling Mirko’s in size from a meal shared earlier.

"Those other dancers were filling, buuuut…” Mirko licked her lips at the thought, slowly dancing her way to their spot on stage, ‘I think I got room for dessert~.’

(Part of a personal art trade. They wanted a stuffed and voracious Mirko belly dancing, while looking at a plump Midnight and Mt Lady...)

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