Thicc Ho

gluttony

noun

glut·​tony / glə-tə-nē  

1.

: excess in eating or drinking

2.

: greedy or excessive indulgence

3.

You watch the swirl of heavy cream get mixed in with the chocolate milk. your belly is resting on your countertop, a t-shirt that used to fit clinging to every roll and fold on your body. you already ate dinner- a large pizza, an order of chicken wings, a couple of pizza rolls- and you can feel your stomach pushing your belly out even further than usual.

~

your shake is done. you pour the heavy liquid into a big cup and shuffle over to your couch. you sit down, thighs spread out, leaning back as much as possible- giving your belly as much room as you can. you put the cup to your lips and start pouring the dense, creamy shake into your mouth. you moan around every gulp. you can feel the cold drink pouring into your stomach, making your belly swell up more and more. you can feel the liquid fill up every last inch of space in your belly. your hand, the one not holding the shake, found its way to your gut, rubbing frantic circles over the vast amount of fat, desperately trying to make more room. you manage to drink about half the shake before you have to set the cup down, immediately letting out a huge burp. your breathing is shallow and fast, your overstretched stomach is restricting your lungs. you lift the cup back against your lips. you know you're too full, your body is screaming at you to stop, to give it some time to digest at least some of the food you forced into it tonight. but you almost feel high from all that sugar and grease and calories you consumed so you start drinking again.

~

The shirt you're wearing rides up and you tug it back down.

I laugh.

"You can't put down the fork and that's supposed to be my fault?"

You don't say anything because you're already too busy taking a huge bite. Your eyes close in bliss. You lean back in your chair and let out a pleased sigh as you chew. Your belly peeks out from under your shirt again at the movement but this time your hand goes to caress and squeeze the revealed pudge.

You make a little satisfied noise as you take a second bite, because you know I like it and because you just can't help yourself anymore. Before you even finish swallowing you take another bite, knowing that I won't be able to stop from teasing you.

"So greedy."

You smirk, patting your side so your soft fat wobbles despite already be so full.

"You made me this way."

I did. We both know it. With every praise and tease, pushing bite after bite past your lips. Teaching you gradually to associate this lifestyle with pleasure until you were craving it. But you were the one who wanted to go further, hooked on the hedonism and gluttony. Needing it all the time, even when I wasn't around, then begging me to unbutton your straining pants, all while desperately moaning for me to bring you more.

Your fingers drag and scrape lightly at the stretchmarks on your belly. You're teasing me. and it's working.

"Blaming me again?" My eyes haven't left your paunch, the way you're playing with it. All with one hand. You're still eating with the other. "With a full mouth, no less?"

You swallow, a little embarrassed. It's cute that you can still get flustered shamelessly eating as much as you do. But it's only a second before you're back to stuffing your face because when there's food in front of you all you can think about is needing to finish it.

"You just can't believe that you've done this to yourself," I continue, enjoying how insatiable you've become, "that you've slipped this far after what supposed to only be a little experiment? All that sitting around and constant eating while kneading palmfuls of your overtaxed tummy has turned you into this. It's so hot to see you lose control. How it makes you crave more of all it, more food, more fat..."

With the hand you've been fondling your fat, you slip a finger into your navel and whimper audibly.

You've admitted it a few times but every time I say it, I can tell it immediately makes you throb.

"You can't stop can you?"

You moan low and needy. Your nipples harden against the fabric of your shirt.

"You want more."

You nod, rubbing and hefting your tender tummy. A small burp escapes and you sigh.

"Always," you say breathlessly, "all the time, I'm so heavy now and it feels so good."

"Remember when realized you wanted this? And now you can't get enough."

Your hand moves lower at my words, and you begin to rut in your seat, panting intensifying, whimpering helplessly.

"Look what it's turned you into."

"Fuck," you whisper right at the edge, voice tight, until you stop, and for awhile, it's like you've snapped, as you focus ravenously on your meal. When you come up for air, you're groaning, an overfull stupor coming on in your half-lidded eyes.

I smile:

"We've conditioned you well, hm?"

You nod and rub your glutted stomach in wide circles, so full now your shirt can no longer cover all you, your earlier attempt at decency long gone. You stifle a burp, sucking in air.

"I'm so fat," you groan like you can't get enough of it. And you haven't been able to for months now, your entire wardrobe shows it. You'll need to size up again soon.

"Keep making me bigger."

I assess the damage of empty containers but I can hear you fine. I just want you to say it again.

"What was that?"

I want you to hear yourself. How you're begging and desperate to be fattened.

"Please keep making me bigger. I love getting fatter for you. I love what you've done to me."

You squirm when I pull a container from the delivery bag. A slice of pie you had added to the order when you were so hungry earlier and feeling confident about being able to finish everything with how insatiable you've been lately. Now you look at it and groan.

"You don't have to eat it."

"No.. I want to.. fuck, I really want to." You slap your stomach, then jiggling it slightly, leaning back. "I can't help myself anymore. I don't want to stop."

You lick your lips, biting the bottom one, your eyes full of lust and focused only on the food in my hand. A low impatient whine starts in your throat when you realize I'm taking my time.

"Letting go eating whatever you want, giving into decadence has made you so spoiled and demanding. Clearly," I tease taking the dessert from the container. "Maybe I should make it worse and feed you this last bit, hm?"

You make a desperate, excited sound as you squeeze your softened chest in anticipation.

I place a knee between your spread thighs and against your pudgy groin, for just a bit of teasing pressure. This is the first time I've touched you since your last meal. Your hips immediately respond despite your fullness and your hands go to the sides of your taut belly as I simultaneously press the treat to your lips. You open your mouth so willingly and greedily.

"Mmm, that's good," you say, mouth full, sluggishly grinding against my knee and squeezing your belly fat.

"You're eating so well for me," I praise. My cool fingers skim over and along your tender, heated skin. You tense in pleasure at the sensation. "Maybe I'll reward you later."

"Please," you beg, "I want to keep eating for you."

"Such a good pet."

I'm amazed how much you've changed since we started. Your body, of course, but also your mind.

"More," you demand and I oblige.

Your eyes are closed, head thrown back in ecstasy. You're lost in the pleasure, thinking of nothing else as you wrap your mouth another bite, the very picture of hedonism, thick thighs spread and your hands massaging your gut, plopping it docilely in your lap, double chin prominent as you eagerly and greedily accept another mouthful.

You've been eating all day with no signs of stopping.

And you know what?

Go ahead, blame me.

You don't stop

You don't get to stop

You can't stop

You won't stop

Those are the words that flow through your head every time the funnel touches your lips and you are filled with that soft creamy fattening liquid you've become so used to. It's become a basic need at this point. It doesn't matter what it is, so long as that funnels in your mouth you suckle it down. It's almost as if you've been trained to do it, well I guess you have in a way but I can't blame you. I made sure there was always an incentive. You always finished it, one way or another.

Now it doesn't matter, the damage has been done as you associate that sensation with a deep primal pleasure. You used to get excited just seeing the funnel appear, the tube placed carefully between your lips and just that slight hint of danger as you started. Knowing what you are doing to yourself by accepting this, thinking how much damage you are doing to your poor figure - and the excitement of feeling like you can't turn back.

Well now you can't, you're addicted. Not as in you are addicted to other things, like your silly little videos you melt your brain with or the thrill of buying yourself 'little' treats to snack on. I mean truly addicted. It consumes your every waking moment, that feeling. It encompasses your whole being, it's part of you. That deep animalistic desire to grow, no matter what. Whatever it takes, I used to tell you and you would greedily suck away and nod, as if it were some kind of game. But this is it piggy, there's no going back from this. It's consumed you. You'll beg and writhe and moan if you don't get your fix, conditioned like a little pet who is more than eager to sacrifice everything for just another taste. Your figure,your social life your mobility and even your health just to give in to your deepest, aching desire.

That's why you won't stop. Because you've lost all control. It's a crippling wanton need to grow more soft lard that controls every thought in that fat addled brain of yours, if there's even a thought in there more than just 'more'. Stuck in a constant mix of pleasure and regret as you slowly sink further into morbid obesity.

“Please,” I whimper, my voice hoarse.

“Just one more bite… I need it. Make me bigger, rounder, heavier. I can take it, I need to feel so full… Please.” My words were a desperate plea, the weight of my belly making it almost impossible to sit up. I don’t care, the thought of being even more stuffed consumes me, and the ache in my gut is only a reminder of how much I crave it.

I let out a needy whine and struggled to push myself up in the chair, belly wobbling and sloshing with the effort. It feels like the world is pressing against me as I try to reach the plate. My massive gut sits tight on my lap, protruding in front of me and making me heavy and slow. I gasp for air, the tightness in my belly taking up all the space, but it isn’t enough. I need more.

“Please,” I beg again, my voice breaking.

“I want to be bigger, fuller… I can’t move. But I just… need more.” Every breath feels harder, but my hunger—no, my need to be even more full—overpowers it all. I can feel the weight of my body shifting as I slowly lower myself back down, my belly aching but hungry for just one more bite.

Heavy is where I want you.

The type of heavy that fills your mind with worry.

Heaviness that makes you groan when you move and sigh in relief when you are finally off your feet.

When moving becomes a painstaking chore so your choices become less healthier by the day.

That's the starting point. The gradual descent to an addiction of pleasure. Pleasure when you eat. The pleasure you get from me as a reward. And the pleasure of being comfortable around the clock.

When you walk, I need to see every inch of your body swaying and jiggling with you slowing day by day. Leaning to catch your breath, reaching for more snacks in the fridge, and filling yourself between what I feed you.

I want to sit atop your softened lap and let my hands sink into your corpulence. While my fingertips trace every stretchmark earned, you'll suck down countless pastries and cakes fueling your addiction to sugar and carbs. I'll kiss you between bites and praise your insatiable appetite.

You'll smile and give into every temptation I put in front of you, living in gluttony with an uncontrollable voracious desire for more. More food, more sex, more of me.

While you worship my contrastingly fit body, I'll wrap my arms around every inch of your abundant frame and let my mind run wild with the possibilities.

The possibility that you will become heavier from my giving hands. You'll grow from my generosity, tainted with lust to see more of you.

And while your belly rounds and sinks towards your pudgy thickened thighs; my hand will rest between them as I salivate to watch you expand and take up more and more space.

Maybe I'm the greedy one. To watch you get oh so...