Your belly howls as noodles slide down your throat. The dense clump lands heavy in your packed stomach, and your back arches further as the pressure increases. Deep angry gurgles rumble in your churning gut, the rich pasta sitting unhappily in you. You rub the hot, tight skin of your belly as it juts inches from your form; a heavy taut mound. God you can’t believe it’s so heavy and big, so stuffed with pasta. It’s so tight and full oh god. Your moan is lost in the shoveling of more food into your mouth. Noodles wet with sauce hang from your lips as you scoop handfuls from the pot. Your stomach cries out in groans and wet belches push up past the pasta going down. There’s so little room left but you’re so hungry, so desperate for more. You need so much more.
How much pasta did you make? Five boxes? Six? Seven? You didn’t even measure as you made the sauce, dumping ingredients in the huge stock pot in ratios you know by heart.
How much pasta is swirling in you now? The pot still has a quarter left, but your stomach is rebelling. You pant as you clutch at your distended stomach, it’s curves visible where it hangs from your ribs. You can feel the contents sloshing and churning, and you whine through the belches as you massage it. You’re so fucking full, so heavy with pasta and creamy sauce that is so so delicious. You can’t fit anything else but you’re not full yet, there’s still room, you know there must still be room.
You struggle to reach the pot, unable to sit up around the enormous belly hanging off you. You pull it into your lap and shove both your hands deep into the pile of still warm pasta. Your face is flushed the same red as your gut, every inch of you hot with arousal, digestion, and effort. Every swallow makes your stomach tighter, tighter, tighter but you can’t stop yourself. It’s too good, it’s not enough, it’s too much it’s too much. Ohhhhhhmmmmmmm you’re so stuffed but you can’t stop eating. Your belly heaves with the force of every swallow, no stretch left and only pressure. Building pressure, it’s so fucking tight oh god you’re going to burst but it’s still not enough.
The pot is empty and you let it fall to the ground in your desperate scrabble for the nearly untouched liter of soda. Each gulp feels like a shove to get down, but you’re so thirsty. Your stomach shakes with growls and whines, and you moan with it as you drain more into its depths. The skin is shiny and hard and you feel like you swallowed concrete and it’s so gooood. It’s so full, oh god you’re so full, you can’t believe how enormous you are. You gulp desperately. You need to be bigger, heavier, tighter. Ahhhhhmmmmm you’re so tight. Pain lances across your stomach but you keep drinking, the pressure keeps growing, it’s hard to breathe. It’s unbearable but it’s incredible.
The bottle falls to the ground empty. You fall backward to lie flat, shaking and writhing in pleasure and pain and pressure. You can’t fit anything else inside, you’re so full, you’d burst. Your gut is a heavy, angry mass weighing on you. It’s so huge, god it’s huge and heavy and full. The pressure inside is so so high. It’s so good, it’s so tight, it’s so stuffed. All the pasta and sauce and soda that you stuffed inside yourself; you fit so much inside yourself. You’re huge, you can’t reach yourself to touch yourself, you’re tight and stuffed and huge oh god. You’re so full, so full, so full, so full, so full
