Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2658365.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Super_Dangan_Ronpa_2
  Relationship:
      Mioda_Ibuki/Togami_Byakuya_(Super_Dangan_Ronpa_2), Heir_Guitar_-
      Relationship
  Character:
      Mioda_Ibuki, Togami_Byakuya_(Super_Dangan_Ronpa_2)
  Additional Tags:
      Dangan_Ronpa_Kink_Meme, fat_kink, Belly_Kink, feederism, Fast_Food, Canon
      Bisexual_Character, Implied/Referenced_Underage_Relationship(s), Sexual
      Humor, Bad_Puns, Alternate_Universe_-_Non-Despair, Additional_Warnings_In
      Author's_Note, Belly_Rubs, Masturbation, 69_(Sex_Position), Oral_Sex,
      Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Vaginal_Fingering
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-30 Completed: 2015-08-23 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 11285
****** Flirting, Feeding, Fucking ******
by cuddlesome
Summary
     Ibuki seduces two hundred and eighty-six pounds of hunky businessman
     by way of flattery and fast food.
Notes
     Written to fill a prompt from the superhighschoollevelsmut kink meme.
     Prompt:
     "togami" x chubbychaser!ibuki
     Ibuki has major girlboners for Fatogami’s fatness. Foodplay/feeding
     is a plus, but I’m down with anything, fluff or porn.
***** Flirting *****
Being surrounded by rake-thin light music idols for a good chunk of her life
had the opposite effect on Ibuki than one might think.
Soft and shapely were physical qualities she witnessed mostly in the forms of
perky tits and tight asses, if even then. Not once was she presented with the
opportunity to embrace someone without being prodded at with the sharp jut of
hipbones, and she never quite escaped having her pussy touched by the boniest
of fingers.
The same fingers that delicately lifted tiny morsels of food to bubblegum pink
lips and calorie counted and poked not-there bellies.
How long did it take for the producers and the general public to drill that
sort of self-consciousness into their heads? Ibuki wouldn’t know, she never
paid much mind to what she ate, no matter what her bandmates said.
For that reason Ibuki wishes she can say she’s different, but she’s only
minimally fleshier than other light music stars. By all accounts, she's
underweight to the point of frailty. Thus, her wants for plumpness and self-
confidence end up projected onto other people.
People like Byakuya.
Byakuya, who already has an assertive, poised presence, a caring disposition
(after a fashion), and an ego big enough to pulverize all other egos, is also
overweight. No, more than overweight. Obese. Massive.
Every bit of him is padded with doughy, cuddly fat, from the flesh that rounds
out his face and curves over the corners of his mouth to his legs--thicker
around than Ibuki’s waist at the thigh and slimming down only minimally at the
arcs of his calves.
The best part is that Byakuya owns all of that weight and unapologetically
loves the way he looks.
Ibuki is smitten.
His physique is like a bonus; the hot fudge on an already loaded sundae of sex
appeal. It’s this food analogy that inspires her to ask him to have dinner with
her. After some level of pestering and two song numbers, Byakuya agrees to eat
with Ibuki at the park.
She’s not sure whether she should attribute her success based purely on her
offer to buy him hamburgers for the meal or not, but in the end she supposes it
doesn’t matter. Any opportunity to interact with Byakuya in a situation that
involves food is 128.5% awesome in her book.
She finds him at the predetermined meeting spot when she arrives a good fifteen
minutes late. It’s difficult to gauge how irritated he is with her tardiness,
given that nine times out of ten he’s frowning at something or the other even
when not actually upset.
Ibuki scampers up to meet him, skidding to a stop only inches away from running
into his globular belly. The thought of outright slamming into him then playing
it off as an accident crosses her mind and is barely stifled.
He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "You kept me waiting,
Mioda. After the effort you put in asking me to attend, I thought you would
consider punctuality more important."
"Haaaaaahhh, super duper ultra deluxe sorry there. Ibuki didn't know what
Byakuya wanted," she hauls the bag of food and drinks up, "so she just got like
five of the most popular things on the menu, fries, and a couple of drinks.
Hope you like Coke, ‘cause Ibuki got the extra large cups.”
Byakuya’s attention is diverted to the meal, something that causes his sour
expression to ease the slightest bit. “That’s fine.”
They sit down at a nearby picnic table that Ibuki realizes in hindsight isn’t
the best to accommodate someone as large as her date. He gives the tabletop,
visibly digging into his middle, a sharp glare as if doing so would somehow
change the uncomfortable situation.
“Eeeouch. You know, we could move if that’s hurting you--”

“I’ve suffered far worse than this. Let’s eat.”
Ibuki concedes with a shrug possessing enough lift to have her shoulders touch
her ears. After all, his fat pooches over the top of the table, drooping cutely
in a forced sort of roll, and provides further cushion for his breasts, sights
which she’s all too happy to take in.
The moment she opens the bag, his nostrils flare and his stomach lets out a
long, drawn-out growl in response to the scent of greasy food.
She holds up one of the burgers. "Whoa-ho, hungry much?"
“Extremely.” He unfolds his arms to accept the proffered food, unwraps it with
practiced speed, and takes a massive bite in short order.
Ibuki watches with a smile badly disguised by her hand. The sounds he makes as
he decimates his meal--fast, frenzied chewing, followed by a rough gulp and the
occasional wet smacking of lips--suggest that he would be a messy eater. By
some miracle, though, he doesn’t get one speck of sauce on his pristine white
clothing as he devours two of the burgers without stopping.
Her insides twist with... something. Not disgust, definitely not that. For a
moment Ibuki fights to name the icky sensation, and then it comes to her:
guilt. Yes, some part of her feels guilty for watching Byakuya eat to indulge
in her fixation on his weight and appetite. It’s not like he would be
displeased to know she thinks he’s attractive, though, right? And he’s getting
food out of the deal, something he's gotta like.
Trying to justify it to herself makes Ibuki feel even worse, so she stops that
train of thought before it can go careening off of the tracks into a fiery pit
of self-condemnation complete with dynamite at the bottom.
Just as he starts to tear into a third burger, Byakuya notices her staring at
him. He pauses mid-chew to give her a pointed look that’s made only a bit less
impressive by his full mouth.
He swallows the giant globule of food with startling ease and straightens up.
“What?”
“What, what?" Ibuki swirls a fry through a puddle of ketchup on the side of the
bag that’s now becoming a pool with the addition of a ninth packet. It
threatens to drip down over the side of the bag, so she places another fry down
to form a dam.
“You were giving me a strange look.” Byakuya takes a few sips of soda and
glances away from her.
She sticks the ketchup-drowned fry into her mouth with a smile, not the least
bit abashed to have been caught. “Byakuya noticed that, huh? Sorry, she can’t
help it. You’re probably already aware of this, but you’re very--” she rakes
her gaze up and down his curvy bulk “--hunky.”
Byakuya chokes on the soda he’s been nursing, recovering only after a short
coughing fit. His voice is low and throaty when he speaks again, a tone which
Ibuki mentally files away to use as masturbation material.  It’s made better by
the fact that he stammers a little bit.
“You… you think I’m… hunky..?”
“Ibuki doesn’t think you’re dory.”
He takes a gulp of soda to clear his throat, then sneers. “What swayed you
first, my pretty face or my charming personality?”
“A stellar combination of the two,” Ibuki says earnestly, “and something else.”

“My name? My position? My money?” His tone, which was bitter and sarcastic when
speaking of his looks and temperament, has shifted to be more serious.

“Pffffssshhh, nothing boring like that. Ibuki’s more interested in, well…”
Ibuki slides one of her feet out of her shoe and runs a stockinged toe up along
his calf, pleased with both the amount of give the soft flesh has from her toe
alone (what would it be like to sink fingers or teeth into all of that
blubber..?) and Byakuya’s sharp inhale, then clench of his jaw in response.
Ibuki licks her upturned lips as she drags her toe along the back of his leg,
maintaining eye contact all the while. His face colors and she hears him
swallow hard, harder than before when he had used his gullet to gulp down so
much food.
She stops before he can get vocal about her short, one-sided game of footsie
and goes back to submerging her fries in the giant puddle of ketchup. Byakuya
looks ready to say something, then reconsiders, instead choosing to pick up his
own food.
He scarfs down the remainder of his burger and the extra large portion of fries
with the same speed he had before. This time he doesn’t pause when she looks at
him for more time than what would usually be deemed socially acceptable. Then
again, he doesn’t pause for much of anything at all.
Even Ibuki’s attempts to involve him in a conversation again fall flat, and she
figures he must be embarassed. Alluding to how she thinks of him in the context
of physical attractiveness may not have been the best idea.
It’s just as well. He seems content enough to eat every last bit of food in
front of him until it’s gone and his belly pooches out over the table even more
than before.
Byakuya sits back in his chair, shuts his eyes, and smirks. “That was
satisfying.”
"Satisfying? As in ‘good enough’? Doesn't that imply Byakuya could handle
more?"
"Don't be ignorant." His expression melts back into his usual scowl as he opens
one eye. “I’m Byakuya Togami. I can handle anything and everything."
Ibuki twists a lock of her hair around one finger.
"In that case… Ibuki’s not all that hungry, do you want the rest of her food?”
She holds up her sole burger, which had a whopping two nibbles taken out of it.
"It's not in my nature to turn down a perfectly good hamburger," he says,
giving her offering an appraising look. "But surely you realize that you've
barely eaten? Or were you not properly educated on the importance of getting
enough to eat? In any case, I'll have to refuse your handout in favor of
telling you you need to have more than that."
Ibuki decides that she'll oblige, mostly because she thinks it's cute that he
cares.
The burger is thick and meaty, with enough sauce to just begin to drip out of
the sides in a mixture with grease from the patty. How Byakuya tore through
these in no time at all, she's not entirely sure.
Being on the receiving end of the staring while she eats isn't bad at all. If
anything, Ibuki enjoys the attention more than she should. Byakuya has the
decency to pretend to be looking at something else for a while, sneaking hasty
glances at her out of the corner of his eye. 
Around the fifth time, just as she finishes eating, she calls him out on it to
see how he’ll react. “Hey, what’s up? Does Ibuki have something on her face?”
He freezes, looking guilty for all of a fleeting moment before he reattains his
usual self-righteous demeanor complete with a huffing sigh.
“I--yes. I wasn’t going to say anything and let you suffer in your ignorance,
but yes, you have some sauce on your cheek.”

Ibuki plays along, putting on a mildly distressed face. “Eep, how embarrassing!
Can you get it for Ibuki?”
She fully expects him deny her outright and maybe toss in a barbed insult, but
he surprises her. Byakuya grumbles something incomprehensible under his breath
before shoving aside the wrappers in front of him and leaning forward, hand
outstretched. The position is anything but comfortable with the grimace on his
face and the way his belly is crushed further against the tabletop as he leans
to judge by. His hand hovers by her cheek for a moment.
Ibuki lifts an eyebrow. “Did you get it?”
“Be patient. There.” Byakuya wipes the imaginary smear of sauce away with the
pad of his thumb then moves back with speed that would suggest he’d just killed
something on her face instead.
“Thanks, Byakuya.”

“Hmph.” He crosses his arms and looks away.
“Oh, and also thanks bunches for making sure Ibuki ate her fill, she feels much
better than usual.” In truth her tiny stomach feels bloated as a result of the
burger on top of the fries that are all she usually eats. At the very least she
can appreciate the sentiment he got across.
"Having a decent calorie intake is important," he nods regally, causing the
crease between his chins to deepen and the excess flesh on his cheeks to
wobble. "I, of course, require more than the average man."
“Mmmmmmmmmmm, yeah, Byakuya’s anything but average.”
Ibuki knows she's never been the type to settle for average even if given the
opportunity; not with her music and not with her sexual partners. Average comes
easy and wrapped up in a gift box alongside a complimentary bottle of boring.
Extremities are what excite her the most, and Byakuya--big, beddable,
bootylicious Byakuya--has too many extremities to count.
Ibuki resolves then and there that she’s going to mack on him until they get it
on.
***** Feeding *****
Byakuya doesn’t turn Ibuki down point blank the next time she asks him to go
out with her, which is more than she expected. It’s almost disappointing,
really, she’d prepared a half dozen more of her specialty songs to win him over
once more. They’re walking through the halls together after school lets out--
or, well, more accurately, Byakuya walks while Ibuki jogs alongside him to keep
up with his considerably longer and quicker strides--when she admits as much.
“That won’t be necessary. I accept your invitation.”
She gapes and nearly trips over her own feet. “For serious? You want to go out
with Ibuki again? That easily? You don’t need Ibuki to pull out her guitar and
drag her speakers into the middle of this hallway and--”
“No. I’m already busy recovering from those last two songs. I don’t need my
hearing to be as bad as my eyesight due to your ungodly loud declarations,” he
says, tapping one side of the frames of his glasses.
“Agah, don’t say it like that, you wound Ibuki!” She clutches at the left side
of her chest. “Y’know, some people that aren’t punk rockers have enough nicety
to lie and say they can deal with the awesome volume.”
Byakuya lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Since when have I been denigrated
to the point of constituting as ‘some people’?”
“Aah… er… huh. Good point. Still kinda saddening that you don’t like Ibuki’s
music, though.”
“I didn’t say that,” he harrumphs, crossing his arms. “I said it was borderline
deafening.”
Ibuki perks up, sidles closer, and elbows the side of his gut, secretly
marveling at how far her elbow sinks in to his plumpness. “So what you’re
saying is... you like Ibuki’s music, huh? Huuuuuh?”
“In a manner of speaking. You have... interesting lyrical choices.”
“Byakuya likes it a whole awful lot! Ibuki knew all along, of course.” She
smiles cheekily and hip checks him.
Byakuya lifts an eyebrow before knocking his hip back against her in
retaliation. The languid but heavy bump almost causes Ibuki to fall over. She
takes a moment to recover her balance, reaching out and grabbing a hold of
Byakuya’s jacket. He reaches out to steady her, but withdraws when she catches
herself.
Ibuki tries very hard to fight down the grin threatening to spread across her
face in favor of a chastising frown (with ultimate failure). “Well. Now you owe
Ibuki one for nearly causing her serious injury.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “I don’t think--”
“Seeeeerious injury, Byakuya. Now you for sure have to go steady with Ibuki and
give her lots of hugs and kisses to soothe her,” she grabs his hand and
interlocks their fingers as she changes from her jogging pace to a skip.
Byakuya frowns but makes no move to extricate his hand. “How juvenile."
He does end up giving her the occasional warm hug and squishy-soft smooch after
they’re “official”, albeit tentatively. Their first deep kisses involve a lot
awkwardness in the form of teeth clacking and nose bopping and “are you
okay?”s. Seeing Byakuya flustered as she ends the immense failure of a makeout
session with a peck on his flushed cheek makes it more than worth it. He
stoutly refuses to admit to her that he’s never kissed anyone else.
Clumsiness at most things resembling physical displays of affection aside,
Ibuki enjoys the trend that their dates more often than not involve a lot of
food. Byakuya gorges himself at every meal, no matter what the fare, stopping
only to remind Ibuki to get enough to eat. She complies, albeit slowly, as
she’s usually too absorbed in watching him to do much else. The thought of
feeding him à la corny romcom style occurs to her more than once, but she
doesn’t act on it. Better not to scare Byakuya off by removing any doubts he
might have about how much she loves to see him make a pig of himself.
He’s probably suspicious enough as it is. After all, Ibuki’s not-so-subtle
grabs at his fattest bits and habit of offering him every other food item she
comes in contact with have to be telling him something. She doesn’t mind the
occasional searching look he gives her in these instances. It's nothing she
hasn't experienced before when a teacher or another student's parent looked at
her and tried to discern why she often had no volume control, did her hair up
in Oni horns, et cetera, et cetera.
What Ibuki does mind is how insanely sexually frustrated she gets around him.
It’s the little things that get her turned on; a plump thigh and love handle
pressed against her when they sit next to each other, a slice of his belly
showing when his shirt rides up, the heft and shape of his ass outlined in a
pair of tight-fitting pants (fuck, he had to know how much he teased her with
that one). All of these things and more ignite that topsy-turvy feeling in her
guts that quickly melts into hot, gooey arousal.
Even when Byakuya isn’t around she finds herself getting all wound up just
thinking about him--which is constantly. It doesn’t take long for Ibuki to get
bored with even her most favorite toys and her wrist to cramp up something
horrible when she paddles the pink canoe far too many times in rapid
succession.
“Ggggghhhhhhgghh.”
Ibuki tosses aside a vibrator, flops back on her bed, and rakes her nails down
her face after yet another lame, weak orgasm. Sex toys and her skinny fingers
didn’t even begin to live up to her fantasies of getting busy with Byakuya. She
gets the distinct feeling her super horny spells won’t give her a break until
she scores that sweet piece of ass she’s had her eyes on for so long.
After waiting until she’s calmed down from masturbating enough to hold a normal
conversation, or at least as normal as she ever speaks, Ibuki grabs her
cellphone off of her nightstand and calls Byakuya.
“Hey there, tall, blonde, and handsome, you free tonight?”
“Mioda,” he greets curtly. “Yes, I am at the moment, but I probably won’t be
once you finish speaking.”
“Correctamundo, good sir," she flips herself over so she's laying down on her
stomach and kicks her feet back and forth in the air. "It’s like this: Byakuya.
Ibuki. Awful D-list movie. Pizza. Ibuki’s place. Eight o’clock. Are you in or
are you out?”
“I’ll be there.”
“What kind of pizza do you--wait, hold the phone, hold the pickles, hold the
lettuce--don’t tell Ibuki, she knows.” She rubs her temple with her free hand,
unconcerned with the impatient sigh on the other side of the line. "Bingo,
Ibuki’s got it! Meat lover's pizza would be a type Byakuya would like, is Ibuki
right or is she right?"
“Yes, that would be more than suitable for my tastes. But before you try to be
polite, I’m paying again this time.” Ibuki can picture him folding his arms and
lifting his chin to give her his best look of finality when he says that.
“Pish posh, Byakuya, Ibuki’s not some starving artist."
“Maybe not, but you will be if you keep treating someone with an appetite as
big as mine to dinner.”
After some more back and forth, Ibuki caves after deciding she really ought to
just comply in general with what he wants so he’ll be more likely to entertain
her far more entrenched desires.
Hours later she’s leaning fully against Byakuya, practically in his lap instead
of the couch, while some low budget horror movie she’d chosen completely at
random plays. Byakuya comments on the many gaping plot holes in the movie all
throughout, wrapping his arm around Ibuki almost absently when she nudges
closer to him. His nervousness regarding physical contact has faded with time,
though he still flinches a little when Ibuki pets one of his thighs.
She lifts her hand. "Sorry, does this bother Byakuya?"
"No," he says. "You... have permission to touch me until I say otherwise."
"Really?" Ibuki tries to catch his gaze, but his eyes are obscured by the
reflection of light from the movie on his glasses.
"Humph. I wouldn't say so if I didn't have any conviction on the subject. Don't
question my generous consent, appreciate it."
"Okayyy, whatever you sayyy."
With that, Ibuki lays her head against his chest, snuggling against the
cushiony, full mound that is his left breast. His breath shortens considerably
and Ibuki hears his heart beat a little faster. The latter sound is muffled
somewhat by the excess fat and the competition to be heard over the irregular
squelches of his other organs. The voracious, gurgling rumbles his stomach
makes drowns out everything else whenever it chooses to remind the world how
hungry it is. Is he just in a constant state of hunger? The thought probably
shouldn’t turn her on as much as it does.
The pizza arrives at what Ibuki thinks is about midway through the movie--she
hasn’t been paying much attention, truth be told. Byakuya mutters something
about the delivery service far exceeding their thirty minute deadline before
getting disentangled from Ibuki and heaving himself up to answer the door.
After a couple of minutes in which Ibuki mentally keens at the loss of her
cuddle buddy, Byakuya returns with the four pizzas and a large bottle of soda.
He looks more ravenous than usual, a discouraging development for Ibuki’s plan
involving the step of momentarily coming between him and his dinner. That could
be dangerous.
Before she gets a chance to think it through more, Byakuya opens one of the
boxes and reaches for a slice, prompting Ibuki to push his hand to one side. He
blinks, initially too baffled to be mad as she moves the box a good distance
away.
Best just to come out and say it. "Ah, ah, ah, ah--wait, Ibuki thinks that was
one 'ah' too many--in any case, Ibuki shall hand-deliver Byakuya his meal."
"I believe the term you're looking for is 'hand-feed'," he says, pushing up his
glasses and leveling a glare that anyone else might have found foreboding.
“Oh, tomato, potato."
"I'm not some infant that requires having nourishment held to my mouth, Mioda."
Regretful as she is about upsetting him, Ibuki can't help but like the angry
blush that spreads across his cheeks and ears. She cups the side of his face
with her free hand, rubbing at the heated skin with the pad of her thumb. He
looks suspiciously out of the corner of his eye in response to her touch.
“Ibuki knows perfectly well that Byakuya is a big boy.”
And big boys gotta eat. A princely, curvy, huge boy like Byakuya Togami has
gotta eat even more.
He turns his face away from her hand. “Then what is this? Are you making a joke
at my expense?”
"NONONONONO," Ibuki reels back and shakes her head violently. "IBUKI REPEATS,
NONONONONO, WITH UPPERCASE EVERYTHING! IF IBUKI COULD CAPITALIZE AN EXCLAMATION
POINT, SHE WOULD!”
Byakuya cringes at her loudness, then frowns skeptically.
“Ibuki would never consciously hurt your feelings, never, never, never," she
says, more subdued. "Ibuki just wanted to be able to observe the awesomeness of
the great Byakuya Togami eating up close and personal."
She's not lying, and playing to his excessive pride works wonders. His
expression softens until there’s not much evidence that he’d ever been mad at
all, save for the ever-present moue.
"Fine, feed me, if you're so inclined." He leans back in the couch, eliciting a
series of creaks as it bows beneath his weight. "Just keep in mind I eat more
quickly than commoners and you'll need to keep up."
Ibuki livens back up at the prospect of him indulging her--or, well, he would
indulge her kink, she would indulge his appetite. “Roger dodger! The easiest
way would probably be if Ibuki sat in your lap."
She climbs up before he can protest, kneeling so her legs are on either side of
one thigh as she sits down. And, man, oh man, Byakuya's thigh does not
disappoint her. The material of his slacks is warm with his body heat. She has
to fight grinding down against him out of instinct. Byakuya clears his throat,
reminding her to grab a slice of pizza and hold it up.
"Open wiiide..!"
The movie plays on unnoticed as Ibuki offers Byakuya piece after piece of meat
laden pizza. In spite of his initial attitude about her feeding him, he attacks
the food with his usual gusto. Every bit is torn into as though he hasn’t had a
scrap to eat for weeks instead of the reality of constant bingeing.
His warm belly keeps Ibuki hard pressed for space in his lap. Not that she’s
complaining. If anything, she leans against him more than necessary, pressing
her front up against the overhang of his paunch, loving the softness of it
against her own small breasts and concave middle.
The burbling sounds from his stomach cease as the hunger pangs are presumably
replaced with feelings of fullness. And then, after around twenty pieces,
overfullness surfaces with a series of new discontented noises.
Ibuki can tell when he's starting to go past his limit due to the way he slows
his gorging down, though not by much, and the swollen quality his gut takes on.
The change is slight, but noticeable. It’s further distended when she
introduces the soda into the mix.
He looks even fatter, and by extension, at least in Ibuki’s eyes, sexier than
usual. The urge to kiss his greasy lips and grope every inch of his bulk is
overwhelming.
The best course of action is for her to concentrate on keeping Byakuya’s mouth
full and her mouth shut. It's so incredibly difficult. She wants to tell him
how good he looks, how much she loves seeing him content, and maybe while she's
at it kiss all over his bulging stomach.
Every time she gets the urge to say something, Ibuki stops feeding him to take
a bite of pizza herself. She eats about one piece to every six he wolfs down,
with little bites that would seem reasonable to others. In light of Byakuya's
huge mouthfuls, they look positively miniscule. The pace is slower, too, giving
Byakuya chances to catch his breath.
Ibuki starts experimenting at some point; piling one piece on top of another,
taking the toppings off before giving them to him individually, feeding him the
crust first and then the resulting messy triangle of gooey cheese, sauce, and
meat. All are endeavors that her feedee haughtily declares to be playing with
the food. Not that he does much to protest it outside of the occasional eye
roll.
Three extra large pizzas in and the fabric on Byakuya’s shirt is positively
gaping, revealing his navel, creased deeply underneath one of his rolls.
Finally the pressure becomes too much. A button bursts off with a snap and his
flab surges outward in the resulting diamond of space.
Ibuki shoves a pizza crust in her mouth to keep from voicing her first thought
("Hhhholy shit that was so hot, do that again..!"). Byakuya's gaze drifts
downward to the exposed pudge.
“You're not going to stop eating, are you?" Ibuki blurts after she finishes the
crust off.
"And waste all of this food? No." Byakuya frowns a bit as he attempts to pull
his shirt closed. "I'm somewhat... embarrassed about this, however.”
"Don't be embarrassed on Ibuki's account." She pats the bit of tummy, thrilled
at the sensation of her hand sinking into his soft flesh. "She likes seeing a
little more of you than usual."
Seeing him buck naked would be the ideal, of course, but the tantalizing
portion of his belly exposed is super duper nice, too.
Byakuya ends up eating all of the pizza--well, all of it minus the few pieces
Ibuki has. He’s bloated far more than Ibuki has ever seen him and looks about
ready to pass out at any given moment.
"Is all this too tight, Byakuya?" She runs a knuckle down where the buttons on
his shirt are straining and taut in their efforts to contain his swollen
middle, then circles the spot where one of them had broken off just a short
while earlier. "Ibuki could loosen everything up so you're more comfy, if you
want.”
He grumbles his assent and nods. Ibuki gets to work unbuttoning his shirt,
struggling with them in her eagerness, until his belly hangs free in all its
glory. Stretch marks, some new and pink, others old and white like scars,
extend from the low curve. She runs her fingertips over them and presses just
lightly.
“And... Ibuki will do this, too, while she's at it."
Ibuki reaches under the fat hanging over the lip of his pants, unsurprised to
find it compressing and sweat-slicked. She marvels at how much of her arms
disappear underneath it before she reaches her goal. Ibuki fumbles as she
undoes his belt buckle, the pants button, followed by the zipper, biting her
lower lip all the while. It might be her imagination, but it feels as though
something hot is pressing up against her--
And suddenly all of the restrained flesh spills out entirely in a wobbly
cascade, drooping onto his thighs and forcing her to retract her hands. The
enormous shape of Byakuya's stomach rises and falls slowly as he takes a few
deep breaths.
Ibuki’s brain short-circuits for a good ten seconds at the sight. She’s brought
back to reality by a hiss of discomfort from him as he gingerly rubs the side
of his belly with one hand.
"Was it too much, Byakuya?"
"No such thing as too much," he says, only to let out a painful-sounding burp a
mere second later. "...pardon me."
"Can Ibuki do anything to help you out?"
Byakuya adjusts his glasses. "You could--urp--start by giving me a massage."
"Oooooh," her eyes go round. "A belly rub?"
Byakuya scoffs and stifles another burp. "Whatever terminology suits you, I
don’t care, just… do it."
She doesn’t hesitate, completely pushing aside his unbuttoned shirt and laying
her hands down.
"Kyaaa, you’re so bi-i-ig and even stuffed to the brim you’re hella soft!
You’re better than any Dakimakura love pillow in the universe, you know?”
Byakuya groans, then hiccups. "Are you going to help me with my stomachache or
not, Mioda?"
"Yep, yes, yeah, of course!" She gives his bloated gut a light pat, struck by
how tiny her hands look on top of him. "So where should Ibuki start, mon
capitan?"
The prominence of the size difference between them is helped when he reaches
out and all but engulfs her hands in his own thick-fingered grip to guide her
to the spots he especially wants her to rub.
"Right... here." He presses her palms and spread fingers to areas on each side
of his navel.
He grunts and tenses as she sinks her fingers into him--"Sorry, sorry, Ibuki
will be more gentle."--then relaxes.
Byakuya's tummy has grown firm as a result of his binge beneath the initial
layer of soft flesh. Ibuki kneads her fingers against the silky flab, giggling
at the rumbles and gurgles as his stomach works to digest the vast amount of
food. Byakuya flexes his own fingers for a while, alternating between having
them loose and tightly clinched. Ibuki keeps an eye on these motions, gauging
when she's causing him discomfort and altering her actions.
If Ibuki was somewhat horny before the ordeal started, she’s altogether
oversexed now. Her pussy is wet, her clit is throbbing, and her lower regions
in general are in desperate need of a certain heavyset blonde’s attention.
Unfair how she's getting all worked up when he's just getting more and more
relaxed.
At some point, his lips part and his eyes flutter shut. A look of utter
contentment comes over his face.
"Does this feel good, Byakuya?"
Ibuki’s answer comes in the form of a low, rough moan, causing her mouth to go
dry and her pussy to get even wetter. The need to touch herself--or, better
yet, grab one of his big hands and shove it between her legs so he can touch
her--is sudden and burning. She stops rubbing Byakuya's belly for a second,
resting her hands on either side of his girth, trying not to squirm as her
groin throbs with arousal.
"Mmm. Did I..." He cracks his eyes open and peers down at her blearily. "...say
you should stop?"
His eyes are hazy with drowsiness as a result of overeating, not desire at the
feeling of her worshipping his gut, but her pussy doesn't seem to recognize
that if the way it clenches is any indicator.
“Nosirree, you didn't,” Ibuki says, a bit breathless, very conscious of the
steadily slicker crotch of her panties on top of his thigh.
"Then what's the holdup? Keep going." Byakuya arches his back just enough to
have his swollen middle press more fully against her hands.
Ibuki considers him for a moment, then lays fully against his stomach,
continuing to knead him with her hands while pressing her cheek against him,
listening once more to the inner workings of his guts while also giving the
occasional nuzzle. Byakuya burps, whines, and groans intermittently as she does
so, eyes drooped back shut and breath more shallow than ever. He definitely
likes it, but whether or not he likes it the way she does remains to be seen.
If she reaches under the swell of his full belly again, between his thighs,
will she find him hard and pulsing and just as grossly turned on as her?
Unthinking, Ibuki grinds down against his leg, whimpering as her neglected clit
finally gets some attention. He’s so soft and warm and thick and--
...and… and sleeping.
Without her realization, Byakuya had gone completely limp, head slumped
forward, glasses looking ready to fall off of his face at any given moment.
Aside from low, raspy snores and the rise and fall of his belly and chest, he’s
dead to the world.
Ibuki waves her hand in front of his face and snaps a couple of times. "No way,
are you kidding Ibuki right now? Seriously? You're going to take a siesta and
leave Ibuki all hot to trot, right on top of you? That's too cruel!”
It figures that he would fall into a food coma what with the amount he ate and
Ibuki’s belly rub to soothe the indigestion he had, but she hadn’t thought of
it in the heat of the moment.
With a sigh, Ibuki reluctantly gets up. Attempting to move a stuffed and
unconscious Byakuya to a more comfortable position would require the assistance
of someone like Nidai. Or a forklift. Thus, she resolves to leave him there.
Ibuki sticks her tongue out as she drapes the biggest blanket she could find
over him and takes off the askew glasses. “It’s a good thing Ibuki doesn’t feel
like drawing a moustache or a dirty word or something on your face with
permanent marker while you’re vulnerable.”
***** Fucking *****
Planning on getting off alone in the shower while her plump prince sleeps under
the same roof is the complete and total opposite of awesome.
Ibuki situates herself in one corner, not at all as comfortable as the torso
she leaned against ten minutes previous, no sir. Her shower just doesn’t
compare to the feeling of a human being, someone as big and soft as Byakuya or
otherwise. Though, comparatively speaking, the pillowiness of Byakuya’s pudge
on her clothed body makes the hard edged shower on her nakedness seem about ten
times worse.
She undoes the elaborate horns on the top of her head and combs her fingers
through the resulting half-formed spirals of hair. Despite her horns being
gone, Ibuki finds she’s still incredibly horny.
With a shake of her head and a tiny huff, Ibuki reaches up to unhook the
showerhead. She turns the pressure to its highest setting and the temperature
up to about not-quite-hot-enough-to-burn-her-giblets-but-pretty-damn-close.
After she runs it over the rest of her body and thoroughly soaks her hair, she
aims it between her legs, lifting her hips to angle herself better toward the
gush of water against her clit.
Playing with herself kills off whatever stress manages to make it past her
high-spirited attitude most of the time. In this instance, though, she wishes
that she didn’t have to play alone. Not that Byakuya would be much help since
he’s out cold.
Difficult as it was, Ibuki left his slumbering body without giving him much
more than a pat and a kiss on the cheek after she covered him up with the
blanket. Touching all over him while he’s unaware wouldn’t be right, so
touching herself in the shower will have to do. Even if she feels lonely and
dejected and that kind of sucks.
Ibuki squeezes one of her breasts, trying to imagine it softer and flabbier and
generally much, much bigger. She had her attention fixed on Byakuya’s middle
while she soothed his stomachache, of course, but she noticed his tits too. Big
and round and absolutely freaking gorgeous, just like the rest of him. The way
they rested on the top curve of his belly caused them to do enticing jiggles
whenever Ibuki massaged the uppermost part of him especially hard.
After a time, Ibuki releases her grip on her breast. Her hand migrates down to
spread her labia, exposing more of the tender flesh to the stream of shower
water. The next few minutes are spent arching her back and curling her toes as
her inner walls twitch and pulse. Ibuki slides her pointer and middle finger
inside of herself, allowing her to clamp down onto something of substance.
Staying quiet has never been her strong suit. Ibuki doesn’t even try to contain
the wordless, drawn-out moans as she presses her fingertips to just the right
spot. Once, twice, three times, and then she loses count as she makes her
nerves jolt over and over, fingers curving up faster each time. Continuing to
keep the showerhead in place becomes more difficult as her grip on the handle
loosens intermittently.
The physical sensations get supplemented by her elaborate mental fantasies.
Every conceivable sex position that would work in the confined space the shower
offered goes through her head. A good many inconceivable, too, given that in
some of them, realistically speaking, she would end up flatter than a pancake
run over by a semi-truck under his weight.
She’s far too gone to notice the approaching footsteps or knocking on the
bathroom door. Only once she hears Byakuya say her name does she get around to
taking away every bit of stimulation, ending with shutting off the shower.
Ibuki slides the shower door open and leans halfway out where her hair, heavy
with water, hits the floor with a dull slap.
“Whoa, hello.” Ibuki lays down on her front in a lounge, trying not to flinch
too badly when her chest hits the cold tile. “What’s shakin’, bacon? Ibuki
thought you were down for the count for... longer than this. Not that Ibuki’s
objecting to Byakuya being here with her.”
“I heard you calling my name. Have you somehow managed to hurt yourself in the
short amount of time I’ve left you alone?”
Ibuki clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a guffaw that threatened to
escape her mouth at the idea of Byakuya hearing her fapping and thinking she’d
injured herself. She wasn’t into that kind of thing, at least as far as she
knew. The closest her sexy experiences had come to pain were a couple of slaps
on the ass and a massive chomp on the thigh from one of her more rough fans,
experiences she didn’t remember all that fondly.
A moment is spent pulling herself together before she manages to answer, "If
you’re really so worried about little Ibuki, why don’t you come see for
yourself? The door's unlocked, hot stuff.”
There’s a long pause. “Pardon me?”
“Oh, sorry,” she says as she crawls forward a bit to lay on the fuzzy bath rug.
“Would you prefer Ibuki calling you something more cutesy and food-related like
‘pudding pie’ or ‘stud muffin’ or—”
“No, not that, the implication that since the door’s unlocked I should come in.
Which I don’t plan on doing since in all probability you’re au naturel.” He’s
leaning on the door at this point if the pained creaks of the door’s hinges are
anything to judge by.
“Booooooooooooooooo!” She forces her tone to be playful to hide her
disappointment. Just when she thought she might actually get some, he had to go
and be all prim and proper. “Some may say you’re polite for not looking at
Ibuki in the buff even when she’s offering, but to Ibuki it’s boooriiinggg.
Fine, if you don’t want to see Ibuki’s cute self nude you can stay out there
cold and alone. And consequently leave Ibuki cold and alone, too. And sad.
Quite sad. You could even call it Mega Sad if you wanted to make merchandise
and market it to a large fan audience. Hey, that’s not a bad business model,
remind Ibuki to look into that.”
“You really want me to come in there.” His tone is unreadable.
Ibuki props her chin in her hand. “Does Byakuya want Ibuki to be completely
frank? She wants you to take her into your arms so she can lavish all of her
love on you, but yes, coming in here would be a good place to start.”
The silence for the next few moments is near-tangible and Ibuki gives herself a
mental kick for being too straightforward, again. She wouldn’t entirely blame
him for walking out on her, never giving her any attention again save for a
cold sneer here and there. At the very least she could cut her losses, hang on
to the memories of closeness she’d had if nothing else.
Then the door opens.
He looks enormous from where she lays on the floor, his heaving middle with a
slight flush around his navel attracting immediate attention. Any attempt to
button up the remaining buttons on his shirt would be futile in light of the
very, very full state of his stomach.
When her gaze lingers, Byakuya crosses his thick arms, as usual. Unusually, his
open shirt allows Ibuki to see where his breasts are squished together to form
deep cleavage.
It takes some doing for Ibuki not to go back to touching herself.
"Should Ibuki drape her hair over herself like she's a mermaid, or are we going
to make this one of those risque uncensored things?" She tosses a damp lock of
hair over her shoulder and grins as she stands up. “Ibuki’s thinking the
latter.”
“Either way you’re naked, just as I expected,” Byakuya mutters, then makes a
strangled noise as she closes the distance between them to give him a hug.
Despite the swelling going down somewhat since she last touched his stomach,
he’s still bloated with food on top of the normal size. Ibuki rubs the sides of
his girth as she presses her front to him. The attempts his body makes in
breaking down his dinner is reflected in how Ibuki feels the gorged stomach
groan and quiver. She in turn quivers as she grinds her breasts against him,
grinning to herself because holy hell that feels even better than she
anticipated. Ibuki presses a kiss to the center of his belly before squishing
one side of her face against the spot. She looks up to see him shaking his head
but also undeniably smirking.
Byakuya uncrosses one arm from where he’d kept it against his chest to brush
her still-sopping bangs out of her eyes. “You’re incomprehensible.”
“Mmmm? Is she?” Ibuki draws circles on his side with the tip of her finger.
“Ibuki hopes you plan on appreciating that incomprehensibility at some point,
because you interrupted Ibuki mid-masturbating sesh. Didn't get to come even
once."
The blush on his cheeks that had been there the moment he entered the humid
room begins to spread to the rest of his face like melting butter.
“Oh,” he says simply, but the breathiness of his voice indicates more.
He hasn’t walked out yet and hasn’t reacted badly to the prolonged physical
contact with full frontal female nudity. It bolsters Ibuki’s confidence more
than it probably should.
“S’okay, happens to the best of us. You can make it up to Ibuki by making her
come lots of times, huh?” she giggles. “She’s not presuming too much, right?
Ibuki wants to do the frickle frackle with you so, so, soooo bad. And call it
her intuition, but she thinks you want to with her, too.”
Ibuki slides one hand down to reach between his thighs. Much to her
satisfaction, she feels the telltale stiffness of arousal amongst the yielding,
soft fat. The taken aback look on Byakuya's face is priceless, topped only by
the low moan he lets out as she cups his crotch. Her other hand busies itself
playing with the mass of flab on the underside of his belly.
His breathing grows steadily more disjointed at the continuous fondling. “I
won’t deny that the prospect… mmm… interests me...”
The pleased noises Byakuya makes now are thicker than the ones a while back.
Where distinct sighs of tiredness echoed then, now she can hear only deep,
lusty moans. Ibuki can only assume that impromptu power nap must have done
wonders. He’s more vocal than she could have hoped for (and as a vocalist
herself, she feels especially appreciative).
After one final squeeze to both his stomach and his crotch, Ibuki withdraws
from her touching in favor of simply leaning on him, peering up at him with a
grin so guiltless she may as well have just straightened his tie.
“Mioda, if we’re going to—to—"
When he hesitates for a few seconds, Ibuki does an exaggerated pelvic thrust
against his leg.
“Yes. That.” He makes a decent attempt at leveling out his speech and breathing
patterns, relatively unsuccessfully. “If we’re going to do that, I refuse to do
so here.”
Byakuya leans down and takes her into his arms with all of the ease that he
would pick up a bag of popcorn, no doubt due to Ibuki’s paltry BMI. Ibuki has
the sudden sensation of getting held by the plush warmth of a featherbed. His
big, fleshy arms make for good support of her tiny frame. The way he braces her
against his chest lets her hear his heart pounding as he walks down the hall.
Ibuki reaches up to pat his cheek. “Hey, stop being so nervous. If you can eat
Ibuki out as well as you can eat everything else, you’ll be fine.”
After Byakuya trips and almost drops Ibuki in response to her idea of comfort,
they arrive at her room. He pauses to look around, testing the little remaining
patience Ibuki has left in her system, though she does enjoy seeing the minute
reactions that pass across his face. Particularly when his gaze lands on her
more graphic punk rock posters on the ceiling and the open box of toys she
hadn’t bothered to put away earlier that day.
He sets her down on the edge of her bed, then takes a seat next to her. The
resulting dip in the mattress used to supporting only Ibuki causes Byakuya to
look a bit concerned.
"Mioda—"
"Shhhhh. Let Ibuki stop you right there,” she says, wrapping her arms around
his waist. “Ibuki thinks we should both be on a first name basis by now.”
The smile that appears on Byakuya’s face is small and brief, but it makes
Ibuki’s heart drop. “Hm. I suppose you’d be right in thinking that… Ibuki.”
While Ibuki attempts to recover from how much the small gesture frazzled her,
Byakuya extracts himself from her hold. She's dismayed up until he takes off
his shirt and tosses it aside. Ibuki gapes as she’s suddenly granted a view of
his upper half completely free of a single scrap of cloth. Byakuya crosses his
arms and glares off to the side in what Ibuki has come to recognize as his
default expression.
"I'm setting some ground rules," his voice takes on the snobbish, domineering
"I'm the leader" quality she loves so much, and she straightens up to listen.
"First of all, any positions that require me to be on top of you are out of the
question."
"Awww..." Ibuki hangs her head in a manner similar to how disappointed children
react upon realization that they’re not tall enough to ride the especially
life-threatening roller coasters. "No fun allowed."
"Do you really want your cause of death to be listed under 'asphyxiated by
obese boyfriend'? I don't."
"Ibuki would die happy, at least.”
Byakuya ignores that sentiment altogether. "Secondly, if you at any point feel
uncomfortable, I don’t care what the reason is, tap out the moment it starts."
“Gotcha. We should probably come up with a safe word, too.” Ibuki leans back
with a hum, contemplating it. "'Porkfeet' is easy enough to remember, Ibuki
thinks. Ibuki doesn't know about you, but nothing kills Ibuki's arousal faster
than the thought of Hiyoko's voice."
Byakuya smirks. “That should work.” His face turns serious again in what feels
like a millisecond. “Either one of those things, tell me right away.”
“Awww, look at the super high school level babe, all concerned over little
Ibuki. Don’t worry, she trusts you, and you trust her, right?"
“I don’t know that it’s the smartest decision,” he takes off his glasses and
sets them on her nightstand, “but yes, I trust you.”
“Good! Let’s demonstrate that trust starting with you taking off those pants,
too, hm? Even the playing field a little more? Games aren't as fun if you have
a handicap."
Byakuya doesn’t answer save for turning slightly to the side as he tugs off his
belt. He struggles out with just enough difficulty to showcase his quivery,
creamy flesh as it's freed from the confines of his pants. Ibuki watches with
no small level of appreciation.
Deep pressure marks evidence where his waistband cut into his flesh, harsh and
pink against the rest of him. Ibuki only gives that particular detail a passing
glance, however, as she's fixated on Byakuya's rather prominent ass.
Ibuki whistles through her teeth. "Truly the booty fitting of an elite.”
"Oh, please," Byakuya responds in a brusque tone, but Ibuki can tell he’s
pleased.
At that moment, Ibuki notices what sort of underwear he has on.
“Is that what Ibuki thinks it is? It is! Ibuki didn't think Byakuya the type,”
she reaches out to pull at the waistband of the thong from the back, revealing
another pressure mark. “You and Peko should get together over lunch sometime.”
He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder when she starts to pull the
thong down over the plump curve of his rear. “Yes, I’m sure a discussion about
choice in undergarments would make for great conversation while eating a meal.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
After he succeeds in taking off his underwear he sits back down on the bed and
for the second time that night, Ibuki gets in Byakuya's lap. This time, though,
her slick pussy ends up on his bare thigh. Byakuya looks equal parts surprised
and perplexed.
"What’s with that look? Ibuki's been creaming herself over you the moment you
let her feed you dinner. And only now does she get to sit on your marshmallowy
self without some barrier.” She makes a point of rubbing herself against his
thigh, shivering with delight. "Is all of you this marshmallow soft, Ibuki
wonders?”
Ibuki cups his pecs in her hands, flab spilling over on all sides, and
squeezes. The fat molds with ease around her slim fingers.
“Yup, soft here, too,” she giggles, then kisses both of his nipples in turn.
"Why do you always have to squish these beauties down with your arms, huh?"
Ibuki peers up at Byakuya’s face as she laves each tit with her tongue, adding
some variation with the occasional nibble and deep suction. He averts his gaze
for a second when they make eye contact, but then drags it back, eyes narrow.
She takes an obscene amount of satisfaction in the sight of his teeth sinking
into his plump lower lip when she hums the slightest bit with his breast still
in her mouth. After utilizing just enough suction to coax a series of
shuddering sighs forward and causing his hands to slide onto her waist, Ibuki
lets go.
She tweaks a saliva slicked nipple with her thumb and blows a puff of air over
it. “Hella soft.”
After letting go of his breasts with more than a touch of reluctance, she
slides her hands around to the other side of his torso. Then it’s down to rub
the rolls gathered at the base of his back. “This feels soft, too.”
"Soft here, and here, and here—" she jostles the circumference of his middle,
squeezing the flesh so it bulges between her fingers. Even stretched tight with
food, there’s more than enough loose flab for her to get entire handfuls.
“Not so soft down here, though,” she lightly touches between his spread thighs
for a brief moment, just long enough to make his hips twitch.
At this point Byakuya gets more with the program, enfolding her in his left arm
and cradling her against him in a way that allows her the most bodily contact
possible. Ibuki flashes a grin at him, though it drops off of her face in
exchange for a small “o” when he leans down to nuzzle her neck, then uses his
free hand to caress one side of her chest. He seems unsure as to how to go
about it until he settles into imitating the fondling she had done to him. Her
petite breast seems even tinier in his hand, barely enough to fill it, but
instead of being embarrassed Ibuki feels a thrill at the reminder again of his
great size and the striking contrast between them. Not to mention the
combination of his warm hug and sudden change in demeanor puts Ibuki in a state
of concurrent shock and bliss.
He kisses her neck, then her collarbone, each touch soft and warm and causing
Ibuki’s heartbeat to stutter far more than what’s healthy. As he finally takes
her breast into her mouth his hand slips over to the other and Ibuki gets some
of her own medicine. The rare kind of medicine that’s really syrupy and nice
instead of that fake cherry stuff, that is. Byakuya turns out to be a natural
at sucking and fondling her, a fact that pleases but doesn’t surprise Ibuki
given his track record for tantalizing her even when he isn’t trying.
Once both of her nipples have been teased to taut peaks, Byakuya lets go with a
wet pop. Ibuki hugs his face to her chest for a moment, then pulls away until
he’s at arm’s length.
“So, did Ibuki’s cupcakes taste like gumdrops, strawberries, or pop rocks?”
When he doesn’t reply in under half a second, she answers her own question.
“Probably none of the above, but she likes to imagine.”
Byakuya lays back with a small groan as gravity and Ibuki’s slight weight press
down on his stomach. “In all honesty, I want to taste you more fully than
that.”
“Ooooo, Ibuki hopes you mean tasting the way she thinks you do.”
Ibuki wriggles her hips, half joking, then squeaks when Byakuya cants his hips
up in response.
“Naturally.”
Perhaps it’s newfound confidence or simply bullheaded pride that’s causing
Byakuya to sound so self-assured about giving oral sex when some time ago he
hesitated to hold her hand for longer than two minutes in public and maybe
three in private. Whatever the reason, Ibuki wastes no time crawling up and
kneeling over his face. After a moment of consideration, she turns around and
leans forward so that their torsos are parallel to one another. His soft,
rounded cheeks get squished between her thighs even with her knees spread.
Ibuki tries not to jostle the position too much as she lays entirely on top of
him. Her body, thin to the point of being bony in places, sinks a good bit into
his plush flesh, giving her the sensation of another full-body hug.
After brushing her still-damp, ragged curtain of hair to one side, Ibuki comes
to rest her upper body on the taut bulge of his stomach. Incorrectly she
assumes that her slim body won’t have a great ramifications on him, only to
discover that his stomach is still very, very tender. Byakuya grunts, then
shifts beneath her after only the slightest touch. Small though the reaction
is, Ibuki almost topples off of him. She ends up saved when Byakuya pins her by
way of grabbing her ass and holding her there. After pulling her upper body
back into position, Ibuki gives him a two-fingered salute, remembering too late
there's no way he can see it. She doesn’t have much time to worry about it, as
at that moment Byakuya starts kissing her inner thighs.
Soft brushes with his lips and sloppy suckling happens in equal measure as he
works his way up. At the same time, his hands fondle what little fat she has on
her ass and hips. It’s light enough to continue hold her in place, but rough
enough that Ibuki sinks her fingers into his love handles in retaliation. His
chuckle makes his belly wobble beneath her.
When Ibuki gets the presence of mind to think about reaching for Byakuya’s dick
to stimulate him more intensely in turn, she finds the prospect difficult due
to his stomach being in the way. One of few downsides to it.
“Heck. Byakuya, as much as Ibuki loves this arrangement, she can’t quite
reach—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he presses a kiss just below the apex of her thighs.
“You’ve done plenty thus far, I need to return the favor.”
“Huh, but that sort of attitude is a little OOC for a Togami, isn’t it?”
Abruptly, he stops what he’s doing, then says, “Oi, stop talking already.”
Ibuki giggles. “That’s better.”
The effects of both her visceral attraction to him and his perusal of her
thighs with his mouth culminate in Ibuki’s already rampant arousal. By the time
his mouth hovers over where Ibuki wants it, she’s clenching up already and
throbbing so much it feels like a second pulse.
“Hey, Byakuya,” Ibuki says, voice unsteady and breathy as his had been multiple
times that night, “Ibuki’s all-you-can-eat buffet is open for busin—ahhh—”
Byakuya’s mouth is colder than it had felt on her breasts and thighs, at least
in comparison to how heated she’s gotten between her legs, but warms up with
the contact. The ensuing series of slick, hungry noises alone make Ibuki sigh
with pleasure, let alone the sensation of his lips and tongue slipping briskly
over her.
As with most everything he does, Byakuya oozes composure, managing to pull off
the illusion that he knows exactly what he’s doing to the casual observer.
Ibuki knows better. She gives unsubtle hints as to when she especially likes
something with needy whines and undulation of her hips. Soon she’s not doing it
of her own accord anymore. Suction on her lips has her trembling and fighting
not to clamp her thighs with even more firmness against the sides of his face.
He’s inconsistent in his approach, switching from one technique that focused on
broad strokes with his tongue to another involving tiny grazes in a matter of
seconds, but Ibuki doesn’t care. The variety keeps things interesting while the
main consistency, his plump, full body beneath her, keeps her comfortable.
One of his hands slides down her side to lift her up a few inches. Ibuki takes
the cue to push more of her weight forward and raise her lower half up. With
the new space, Byakuya puts his hand on her pussy.
He circles her slick, quivering entrance with the tip of his finger. “May I?”
“You bet your gorgeous curvy ass you may.”
Ibuki forces herself to calm down a bit by preoccupying herself with grabbing
at his sides as he slips it inside of her. His middle finger is more than twice
the size of hers in thickness and a good half inch longer in length, making the
sensation feel more than novel.
“Now just kind of press on the—yeahhh, right there, perf, 11/10, you got it—”
Her hips jerk and she sinks her fingers even further into his love handles.
“And—one more—please—”
She’s more than lubricated enough to handle the entrance of his index finger,
but the gradual stretch makes Ibuki cry out a curse even Fuyuhiko would blush
at. When Byakuya asks if he should stop she shakes her head and rocks herself
back to further fill herself with the soft thickness of his fingers. It doesn’t
take much more movement to have her spasming around them, mouth open in a
silent moan. For a long moment Ibuki stays completely still outside of tremors
throughout her body. There’s a brief taste of euphoria, made all the better by
who’s supplying it, then she goes limp.
Byakuya’s stomach is a welcome firm-but-supple cushion to support her as Ibuki
collapses, panting and all too aware of his scent, his size, and most of all
his desire that she had kept waiting so long right in front of her face. Okay,
so he had already kept her waiting for months, but even then her inability to
reach him before, then her forgetfulness once she could, made her feel just the
tiiiiiiniest bit guilty.
“Hey,” she looks over her shoulder. “Were you all worked up from seeing Ibuki
all worked up?”
“Something like that.”
Post-orgasmic and hazy though she is, Ibuki has the presence of mind to get her
fingers wet with the juices dripping from her tender pussy before wrapping her
hand around his dick.
It’s reminiscent of when she would entertain some of her fans when she felt
frisky after concerts. Where it varies from those fans, of course, is that
Byakuya is extra super special and far more considerate of her in addition to
being extra super fat and all around a far better person in general. She takes
the time to figure out what he likes, not to get him off as soon as possible as
she had with the fans, but to draw out his pleasure.
It turns out he likes having his belly fondled while she plays with him. Go
figure.
“Ohhh?” Ibuki asks as she strokes his gut and his dick simultaneously, coercing
him to buck his hips. “Was Byakuya really as oblivious to Ibuki’s former
advances as he tried to appear? Or has she just made you associate more
perverse stuff with belly rubs now? Either way, Byakuya might just be as kinky
as Ibuki.”
“I don’t know what you’re—mmm—” Byakuya interrupts himself with a grateful hum
that Ibuki vows she’ll try to make him do again purely for the sexy-cute
levels. ”—t-talking about.”
“Don’t mind Ibuki,” she says, running her fingertip over the rapidly slickening
head, “she’s just a wonderer wondering wonderfully to herself.”
He harrumphs and retaliates by pressing a finger inside of her still quite
sensitive and impossibly wetter pussy. In a far shorter span of time than the
first, Ibuki convulses around his fingers again, this time with his thumb
rubbing on her clit as the catalyst. After a moment spent recovering and seeing
white, she has no holds barred as she pulls her body forward and takes the
first couple of inches of his dick in her mouth. The lewd sounds she makes
rival those he made when he ate her out, though he still has her topped when it
comes to pleasured moaning.
It occurs to Ibuki at some point to thank god, buddha, and whoever else was
listening that she hadn’t put her spider bite piercings in that day or this
wouldn’t be fun for anybody.
Despite his clear attempts to hold out, Byakuya is no match for Ibuki’s
experience in the art of blowjobs and gets off fairly quickly. She squeezes one
of his juicy thighs in one hand and cups his balls in the other as he comes.
It’s only her strong grip with her legs on his sides that keeps her from
getting thrown off when his hips jolt upward.
Ibuki does allow herself to tumble off eventually when he’s spent, then crawls
up to lay next to him, enjoying the sight of him well and truly satiated.
He’s blushing again, hard, and after recovering from breathlessness he says,
“You didn’t have to swallow it.”
“Yeah, well, you swallowed like most of a bajillion pieces of pizza earlier.”
Ibuki shrugs. “It’s only fair, right?”
Byakuya opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head.
In a sudden it dawns on them both that it’s approximately two in the morning
and they get under the bed covers. The heat Byakuya exudes under the covers
rival that of a furnace, only softer, of course.
Ibuki cuddles up to his side, pressing her face to his chest and draping one
arm across his middle, to which he in turn wraps an arm around her to hold her
close.
For some, most, or the general public even, it would be too much. A too-big boy
with a girl possessing a too-big personality. Thankfully, neither of them make
up that terrible plain-vanilla percentage of the population and too much is
just enough.
She pats his belly. “Next time, Ibuki’s feeding you during the sexytimes.”
“That’s fine,” Byakuya says as he puts a hand over hers, “but give me a bit of
forewarning.”
“Ibuki understands, overstands even, but she can’t make promises she won’t
keep. She’s gonna spring it on you whenever she’s in the mood.” Ibuki smirks
and entwines their fingers.
His quiet laugh makes the whole of his full stomach jiggle beneath their hands.
“Then make it something especially good like ice cream or cake. Maybe I won’t
mind as much.”
“Make that ‘or’ an ‘and’, then we have a deal, handsome.”
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