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While her dinner date surrenders to her affection, midsection receding and softening, the belly against which she reclines bloats and swells.
It's not long before all that remains of her meal is a rippling, doughy tum. With a smug smirk, she leans back, sighing victoriously.
Medea's "smooches" are a bit... different.
She stares, single-minded and unblinking, like you're the only thing she craves. A lustful growl swells in her chest, threatening to erupt; her guts burble below, growing impatient.
Hot, steamy breaths wash over you. Her maw beckons.