"She's just finished lunch. You didn't get to watch that part. This is what she saved for you. The aftermath. The reckoning. The deliberate, calculated destruction of her own composure through carbonation and time.

She twists the cap off her soda. The hiss is your first warning. She doesn't sip. She tilts her head back and drinks in long, uninterrupted gulps, the bubbles already audible in her throat, the swallowing wet and deliberate. Her throat moves with each massive intake. Half the bottle disappears. She pauses, presses her palm flat against her midsection, and waits.

The first burp surprises even her. Loud, throaty, unapologetic, erupting from deep in her chest with a satisfaction that makes her eyes half-close. She doesn't cover her mouth. She aims the sound toward the microphone, toward you. ""Better,"" she whispers, and resumes drinking.

The second soda opens. The third. Each one compounds the pressure building beneath her ribs. Her stomach begins to distend visibly, rounding beneath her top. She lifts it, exposes the swelling flesh. It's warm, taut, pushing back

against her hand. She taps it, and the hollow-drum sound echoes. She presses harder, feeling the g*s shift, the internal gurgle of digestion in overdrive.

The burps escalate. Short, sharp hiccup-burps that escape without warning. Long, rumbling releases that vibrate her chest and throat, each one momentarily softening the bloat before the next wave of soda builds pressure again. She

describes the sensation: the tightness under her ribs, the relief when it finally releases, the immediate return of pressure, the cycle of inflate and deflate that leaves her slightly breathless, slightly dizzy, thoroughly satisfied.

She experiments. Drinking faster produces more hard, immediate burps.

Pausing between bottles allows deeper, more resonant explosions. She leans back, arches her spine, make the g*s upward through deliberate body positioning.

She leans forward, compressing her gut, feeling the pressure fight against her weight, then releases with a burp that rattles the microphone.

Her belly is fully swollen now. She measures it with her hands, compares to how flat she was at the start. She jiggles it, the liquid and g*s inside sl*shing audibly. She lies back, lets it rise as a dome, her navel stretched. She sits up, lets it fold, the softness and firmness coexisting. She continues to burp even now, the g*s endless, her system overwhelmed by your request.

She ends with a final, massive burp that empties something deep, her shoulders dropping, her hand resting on her still-inflated gut. ""Done for now,"" she says.

""But you know it'll build again. It always does. Especially when you're watching.""

Bauch Geräusche Lebensmittelfüllung Furzen Soda Bloat & Burping Spree: Post-Lunch Gassy Belly Inflation mit C4s.com