Cake, at Belly Height

The cake stays the same size. She doesn't.

First slice

Taut lines and lace, the slice hovering like a proposal she's still pretending to consider.

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The frame is all torso and temptation: red lace, a slice of layer cake in her hand, and the stretch of skin between them. Keep the cake coming and watch the distance close — the flat stomach becoming a soft shelf that meets the plate halfway.

Every stage of the sequence

First slice. Taut lines and lace, the slice hovering like a proposal she's still pretending to consider.
Many slices later. The belly rounds forward in deep, inked folds — a body keeping every crumb of the argument.

The belly reaches the cake before her hand does now. Efficient, honestly.