i n d u l g e

“Ate too much?”

'fuck, i'm huge... my belly's so big, i can't believe how big it is... it feels so good... fuck, i want more... i want more babies... no, i need more, i need to have more babies... i need it so bad... i can't wait to get pregnant again... i never wanna stop... god, im such a little breeder~'

now that they’ve made some room, they look like they could use a snack.

you gently jostle them awake, holding a treat near their mouth. “hi, baby. here - just one more bite,” you murmur, knowing they’re too sleepy to protest. you press it past their lips, stroking their cheek as they chew, and the moment they swallow you coax them back to sleep.

it’s even easier than you thought.

so you start the cycle over: worshipping their body, mouthing at their chest, grinding against their thighs and tummy, diving between their legs, reaping the rewards of their indulgence for them…careful not to send them over the edge. not yet. if they start to wake up from an overeager bounce of their belly or too sharp a nip at their rolls? well, that just means it’s time for another treat~

a dizzyingly delicious cycle, so easy to get lost in. feeding them up even fuller than they started — and they’re just too deep in dreamland to keep track of how many “one more bite”s they’ve had. by the time they wake up for real, they’re packed to the brim, so full they can’t even roll over…and they barely know why. even more, they’re so riled up from however long you spent gorging yourself on them, it’s all they can do to beg you for help. so stuffed they can’t move, so turned on they can’t focus, and completely at your mercy.

Watching them shove more and more food down their gullet, not out of hunger, but in greedy desperation to just grow. Hands perpetually exploring their belly for new bulges and rolls and softness. Hearing them moan as they cradle their rapidly overgrown tummy beneath their fingertips. Seeing their cheeks flush red when they can no longer button those once-oversized jeans. Watching them suck and guzzle down weight gain shakes because food along isn’t making them fatter fast enough. Feeling their hips buck and grind in pure unabashed ecstasy as a funnel is placed in their mouth.

At first, the weight isn’t much of issue. He’s always been chubby and one dress size up won’t deter him from the grades he wants. He doesn’t exercise by parking himself in a desk chair and barely moving for the day, poring over texts, so some weight is inevitable. Right?

He doesn’t cook for himself often, because it takes too much time from his studies. His mom sends things to his dorm like new underwear and socks and baked goods and if his weight changes drastically enough to render most of his closet moot he asks her for a size up.

When he revises, he snacks through nearly a whole day’s worth of calories, surely. When he has an upcoming exam or finds something in his notes he’s a bit muddy on, he panics and stuffs his face with takeout. A ton of burgers and fries, a large soda maybe, and some ice cream or something from the bakery down the road to wean him out of his feeding frenzy.

His later classes are always a pain because he ends up waddling there on a stuffed belly after gorging throughout the day as he’s studied.

There’s whispers from his classmates as his ass spreads in his seat, trapping his hips under the arms. Lately he’s had to make a habit of lifting an arm between two seats so he can sit on both, but occasionally he forgets, resulting in an end of lecture struggle.

During lectures he nervously grazes on a bag full of chips and candy bars to help him focus.

He decides to cut back, but when he’s studying the next day and uncovers a section he doesn’t know that well, he panics. He ends up in the closest fast food place shoveling food into his mouth until he can focus on the subject.

When he graduates, he’s over twice the size of what he was when he enrolled. And with a brain like his, he’s bound for a desk job - IT, maybe - where he can eat as much as he wants at his desk and blush when he can’t quite get out of his chair.

Not just little content sighs, not just little giggles or laughs.

now that they’ve made some room, they look like they could use a snack.

you gently jostle them awake, holding a treat near their mouth. “hi, baby. here - just one more bite,” you murmur, knowing they’re too sleepy to protest. you press it past their lips, stroking their cheek as they chew, and the moment they swallow you coax them back to sleep.

it’s even easier than you thought.

so you start the cycle over: worshipping their body, mouthing at their chest, grinding against their thighs and tummy, diving between their legs, reaping the rewards of their indulgence for them…careful not to send them over the edge. not yet. if they start to wake up from an overeager bounce of their belly or too sharp a nip at their rolls? well, that just means it’s time for another treat~

a dizzyingly delicious cycle, so easy to get lost in. feeding them up even fuller than they started — and they’re just too deep in dreamland to keep track of how many “one more bite”s they’ve had. by the time they wake up for real, they’re packed to the brim, so full they can’t even roll over…and they barely know why. even more, they’re so riled up from however long you spent gorging yourself on them, it’s all they can do to beg you for help. so stuffed they can’t move, so turned on they can’t focus, and completely at your mercy.