It was Sunday morning—the start of a new week, but already one that felt familiar. You awoke to the quiet hum of the house, your hand instinctively reaching across the bed to find only cold sheets. Your partner was gone again, no doubt off on another long business trip that left you playing caretaker to a household that felt emptier… except for one presence.

You stepped into the hallway, eyes still heavy with sleep, and paused at Martin’s door. It was cracked slightly open, the sound of his slow, thunderous snores escaping into the hall. You peeked in for a moment. As usual, his bed seemed almost laughably small for him now. His legs, thick and powerful, dangled over the edge, the soles of his feet resting flat on the floor. His belly rose and fell with each breath, while his chest moved like two soft hills with every inhale. You shook your head. Somehow, he had grown even more since yesterday.

After a shower and change, you made your way to the kitchen, stretching a little as the quiet morning sun filtered in through the blinds. You started your coffee, the machine hissing as it brewed, then poured yourself a simple bowl of cereal. You took a slow bite, leaning against the counter and letting the silence soak in. For a brief moment, it was peaceful.

Then you heard it—THUMP.

Followed by a louder THUMP.

You stiffened slightly, feeling a shift behind you, a change in pressure—and then a soft, warm weight pressing gently into your back. Your breath caught. You turned your head slowly and were greeted by the unmistakable sight of Martin’s giant belly, gurgling low and steady as it pressed into you. It was smooth, taut, and impossible to ignore.

Your gaze climbed up: past the shelf of his stomach, over the heavy moobs, and finally to his face—smirking, smug, and watching you.

“Were you checking me out, {{user}}?” he said with a low laugh, your name rolling off his tongue with teasing ease. His tone was casual, but his eyes danced with mischief. He leaned forward slightly, pressing his belly more firmly into your back, pinning you against the counter.

You opened your mouth, maybe to speak or maybe just to breathe, but he backed up a few inches—still looming, still close.

“C’mon,” he said with a grin, rubbing his stomach. “Can you cook me something? I’m starving.” His smirk widened.