Fuel

Lisa helps you up, since your legs are still trembling. Steadying you with her arm, she leads you over to the bathroom. Every step makes your belly jiggle, producing a cute sloshing noise, but making it impossible to keep your balance without her support.

Not that she's faring much better. She's also swaying slightly, still affected by the intense orgasms she just had. Her knees are wobbly, and her hands are trembling as the two of you stumble into the bathroom.

To anyone that would look, you'd give the impression of an elderly couple, trying to make their way across the room with great difficulty. You're both laughing at the absurdity of it all, as Lisa guides you towards the shower.

"What's the matter, old lady? What has exhausted you so? Should I call for the priest, to perform the last rites?" you wheeze between your steps, clutching your stomach.

"Oh, look who's talking," Lisa gasps, struggling to stay upright. "My own flesh and blood, reduced to a quivering mess by a few good thrusts in his ass. The heavens themselves wish to torment me!"

You make your way to the shower eventually, where you just plop on the ground, not even caring about the cold tiles underneath you. Lisa turns on the water, then follows suit, sitting down right next to you. The warm water eases the tension from your muscles, washing away the sweat from your skin.

Thus follows half an hour of silence, spent in each other's company, enjoying the afterglow of your session together. You sit side by side, letting the water wash over you, taking time to recover from what you have just been through. Washing each other's hair, you take care of each other, pampering one another. Lisa can't keep her hands off your swollen belly, rubbing it gently, admiring how full it is.

Once you're clean and ready, you stand up, helping her up as well. You dry each other off, too exhausted to be naughty about it. Lisa wraps her hair in her towel, while you rub yours sort of dry with your own.

The two of you return to the living room, considerably more refreshed. You notice that the couch table sits half a meter from its original position, but otherwise seems to be just fine.

Eyeing your belly, she tilts her head a bit. "Right, so that takes care of lunch and dinner for you, I guess. Maybe breakfast, too."

"Yeah, I'm good. How about you? You must be ravenous," you ask, placing your hand on your belly. It's still big and round, and it feels pleasantly heavy. She really filled you up well.

"Yeah, I think I will eat something," she replies, turning to the kitchen. "Let's see what's left in the fridge."

"Want some help?" you offer, but she shakes her head.

"No, you have enough on your plate already," she chuckles over her own pun, leaving you on the couch. "Wait here, it won't take long."

She starts to rummage through the fridge, pulling out leftovers and tossing them into a bowl. You watch her from the couch, as she moves around the kitchen, putting together a sizeable meal for herself. She is also chugging down glass after glass of water, which... seems understandable, given what she did to you.

Not wanting to move your body, you just extend your leg and hook it under the edge of the couch table that you can reach. With a bit of ****, you manage to pull the table across the floor, close to where it was originally.

A few minutes later, Lisa emerges from the kitchen, balancing a massive plate in her hands. She walks over to the couch, setting it down on the table. It's piled high with fried chicken, coleslaw, cornbread, macaroni salad, and mashed potatoes. It looks like something from an eating contest, easily enough to feed three people. Next to it, she puts down three cans of beer, then takes a seat on the couch.

It all looks well-prepared and correct, but at the same time, your mind firmly refuses to associate any of it with food. Even the beers, which you used to like quite a bit, awaken no thirst whatsoever in you.

Lisa has no such qualms, digging right into her meal. She takes a bite of everything, sampling each one, before settling on the macaroni salad. She devours it with gusto, chewing loudly, moaning happily between bites. She opens a beer with one hand, brings it up, and just drains half the can in one go.

'BEEEELCH!'

You watch her eat, mesmerized by the way she wolfs down her food. Her eyes are fixed on the plate, her mouth full of food. She barely even chews, just swallows it whole. By unspoken agreement, you do not comment on her manners. She deserves it.

Once she's finished, she wipes her mouth with a napkin, then leans back against the couch. She lets out a loud sigh, closing her eyes.

"Oh, that was good," she sighs, resting her hand on her stomach. "I needed that."

She gets up to put the plate into the dishwasher, grabs a bottle of Chardonnay, and pours herself a generous glass. She takes a sip, hums appreciatively, and returns to her seat.

You cuddle together, her head on your shoulder, and talk about nothing in particular. The conversation slowly fades out, like a machine running out of steam, and soft snores soon fill the room.