hhhh tummies...,.,..

Please, stuff me until I’m heaving. (make me unable to swallow anymore)

Please, stuff me until I’m burping uncontrollably. (make me burp as I’m trying to eat more)

Please, stuff me until my jaw is sore. (make my tongue cramp)

Please, stuff me until I can’t stand up without assistance. (make me too heavy to help)

Please, stuff me until I can’t walk. (make me temporarily immobile)

Please, stuff me until I am sleepy. (make me pass out)

Please, stuff me until my belly is distended. (make my gut so much fatter)

Eating challenge day 5 🍕

Today’s stuffing happened at work because we had an office party. I just kept going and going for hours… plate after plate, snacks, desserts, everything. By the end my belly was so swollen and tight under my shirt that my coworkers eventually pulled me aside and told me “okay, that’s more than enough now” 😂

When the party finally ended and I headed home, my stomach was so heavy and full it felt like I was carrying a food baby the whole way. I basically burped non-stop the entire trip back. Still feeling super stuffed and round even now.

Worth it though

You always say you don’t want it.

Say it with those glossy eyes, trembling lip, belly already taut from the last round

but here you are again, tied pretty and tight, leaking desperation and need all over my feeding chair.

The funnel’s mouthpiece presses past your whining, and suddenly that bratty little fight melts into helpless moans.

I knew you were hungry.

I knew you’d lie.

The first splash of slop hits your tongue and you sob god, that sound

half shame, half bliss, all mine.

Your belly lurches outward as I pour more in, slow and thick,

watching it pool behind your ribs and drag your breath shallow.

“You don’t want to get fat?” I purr, cupping under that swelling gut.

Then why’s your throat working like that?

Why’s your cock twitching against your thigh?

Every moan is a confession.

Every gulp is a surrender.

You’re gonna get bigger.

You’re gonna get spoiled.

Okay, I admit it! You’re right! You got me! 

My belly rules me. My huge fat gut dictates my life. It completely dominates me and my identity. My hobbies, my free time, my day. I am nothing but my hungry, blubbery, sagging belly. It gets whatever it wants. I’ll eat it all. Everything I possibly can until I’m out of breath. I’ll eat until I can no longer swallow, I’ll eat until I’m heaving and my belly is sore. I’ll eat until there is nothing left. I’ll eat until I feel it in my throat.

Please, I beg you, fill me!

Just stuff the food past my lips. Use your hands. Push it down my throat. I want to choke on it, I don’t care about the taste anymore. Please I beg you! I’m so desperate to be full again! It takes so long. So much food, so much money, so much time…continuous eating. Continuous swallowing. 

I’ve had it! I can’t wait anymore! Fill me to the brim. Give my belly what it craves. Fill my fat gut until it can’t hold anymore. I don’t care what happens. I’ll get fatter! I’ll pass out! I’ll ruin my day by being so groggy I can’t think straight as I try to digest it all. Please just let me surrender to my belly. I am only carrying it to the next meal. I am my gut. It’s the only thing that matters. Please…I beg you. Swell it with so much food. Make me overfed. Make me overladen. Make me overweight.

Feed me enough for a whole family. Feed me more than any one person should ever eat. Feed me too much food. Feed my empty, aching stomach.

You can just use straight, solid lard for all I care. Fill it up. Please. Please just make me so full I cannot breathe right. Make me so full I can’t stand up. Make me so full I can’t stay awake. 

Short, labored breaths. A glazed look in my eye. Burps escaping my mouth. Groaning sighs. Slow, slogged movements.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“You’re gonna pop.”

You say it every night now. Not out of concern—out of pride? Like you’re looking at a trophy or a new achievement.

I’m curled up on the couch, or at least trying to be. There’s no curling anymore, just shifting and rebalancing. Honestly I’m hoping the mountain that is my belly won’t roll me off the edge entirely.

I groan as I try to lean forward, one hand trying to hold my underbelly like it might fall off my body without support.

You’re already there, placing a pillow behind my back and another under my knees; you know I’m too far gone to adjust myself.

“Still full?” you ask, holding up a plate like a question you already know the answer to.

Of course I’m still full. You made me eat three full helpings of pasta an hour ago, telling me about how good I looked chewing with my cheeks full. Meanwhile I could feel my belly swelling with every bite. I told you I couldn’t finish the second plate, and then you fed me the third anyway—spoonful by spoonful.

Rubbing my bump with your free hand, you shushed me; whispering about how round I’m getting, how tight my skin looks, how I was made for this.

And I let you.

I shift again, my thighs spreading wider just to accommodate the heaviness of my belly. The fabric of my stretched maternity tank top rides up automatically now, unable to keep up with my growing size.

You sit down next to me and place the plate on my lap—well, what used to be my lap. Now it balances on the top of my belly. I draw in a sharp breath just from the little bit of added weight.

“Just a few bites,” you say, as if you haven’t said that for the last two weeks straight. You don’t wait for an answer. You scoop up the chocolate mousse and bring the spoon to my lips.

I hesitate. I feel the fullness and pressure against my ribs. But the spoon is there, and your gaze is so patient it’s impossible to say no to.

I open my mouth.

It’s good. You hum your approval and spoon in another bite, then another. You don’t stop until I groan and let my head fall back, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You set the tray aside and place your hands over the sides of my belly, your thumbs stroking across the tight skin.

“You’re so good like this,” you continue, like you’re proud of me. Like you own me. “So full. So slow. Just how I like you.”

I try to breathe away the pressure, squirming and my fingers twitching against the cushions. My whole body feels like it’s been pushed past the point of no return—soft and sore and distended, built for nothing except carrying what you put in me.

I want to be mad. Or bratty. Or defiant. But I just nod, eyelids heavy.

“Can’t move,” I moan.

“That’s the point.”

You kiss my forehead, then the top of my belly. Then you settle in beside me, one hand resting possessively over the middle of my belly.

“You’ll eat more later.”

First screenshot is from video i took in February when i moved in to another city and second screenshot is from today. So just 8 months of greediness

Im so glad u like! Breathing so rapidly feels like a workout in of itself, not to mention the strain on my back when my belly is crammed with thousands of calories + excessive liquid weight 😮‍💨😵‍💫♥️♥️🎈 i love the feeling of the pain tho ngl