#drunk stuffing

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Being with me has made you worse. Not that you've noticed.

When we met, you still had some self-restraint. Not much, as seen by your softening curves, tightening clothes, and weeping bank account. But you could at least pretend that because you sometimes made 'responsible' choices you were in control.

Not with me. Dates involved food in every which way; food truck festivals, lavish dinners, V.I.P. movie tickets with dinner, buffets, tasting tours... you were always so pliant, so willing to try anything I offered. And I offered a lot, purely out of love, but also a little bit to see how far you'd go.

Going out usually resulted in drinks, and if you came back to my place the drinking didn't stop. I was so attentive and kind, refilling your drink every time it was empty without you ever asking. You loved the warmth from the liquor complimented by the heaviness in your belly. Your face would flush and your head would get floaty. You especially loved what would happen if you spent the night.

I made you feel safe. I made you feel nourished. I learned all your favourite indulgences and made sure they were around.

You were actually the one to introduce me to weed. I was stressed and in pain from work, and you offered it as a solution. The relief was great, but not as good as seeing the effects it had on you. You get giggly and cuddly, and oh so hungry. You made countless stoner abominations in the kitchen, then would plow through that along with the usual fare I had around. Then I learned to cook stoner abominations.

I'd make us dinner, and you'd take a look and say it would be better high. I couldn't agree more. I ask if you want a drink. If you said no I would absolutely oblige your request, but that was rare.

You were spending more and more time at my place. Which meant you were spending more time indulging and growing.

One day we returned after Food and Blues Fest, myself fairly tipsy, but you were breaching drunk. It didn't help that you were also food drunk, stuffed full of bbq and fried things, belly swollen into a giant orb. We went to the backyard to lounge. I offered a drink, which you accepted, and pulled out a preroll to ease your stomach.

Despite how packed you were, the booze and weed compounded on each other making your cravings irresistble. I brought you every snack you requested along with more drinksz and even ordered fast food for delivery. By the end of the night you were a hiccuping bloated mess, shirt turned into a croptop and new stretchmarks already staining your skin. You sat forward on the lounge chair, chugging the last of your drink before go inside, when you heard a slight ping and felt sudden massive relief in your belly.

The button on your shorts had shot off into the night-covered backyard, there was no way you'd be able to find it now.

"I thhhink I'm too fah- urrrp- fat now," you stand againt the sliding door still swaying, talking to my back as I tidy the kitchen.

"There's no such thing. What makes you say that, love?"

I turn and notice your open shorts.

"I -urrrp- ugh I loss th' button."

That night, I showed exactly how I felt about that.

After that it was like a floodgate had opened. It was like you were in a frenzy, gorging at every meal, self-soothing and medicating with weed, and getting tanked three or four nights a week.

Not long after I asked you to move in with me. It was a lot easier to take care of you when you were close. Now I could make sure you never wanted for anything. I brought all your meals to you, made sure there were plenty of snacks around, and regularly offered or lightly suggested weed and booze.

Multiple times a day you would pass out in a food coma, stomach audibly working at the most recent onslaught of calories. Only yo wake up and do it again.

Seeing you like this, well I just couldn't help myself. You learned to associate an overfull belly and fuzzy head with pleasure. Soon you were consuming even more, your body a by-product of lust.

Your chin became three chins, your neck swelled to be the same width as my thigh. Fat hung off your arms making them heavy and cumbersome. Your wrists and ankles gained folds of adipose, and your fingers were sausage-like. You had to shift the way you sat as your ass swelled and your thick thighs got in the way. Even in a wide stance they still pressed together. They made things particularly difficult with your ever-growing belly. It had moved on from taking up your entire lap and now needed to hang between your legs when you sat. It bowed out in front of you when you stood, obstructing the view of your feet entirely. Your back ached with all the extra weight. New stretchmarks were appearing over old ones, criss-crossing the signs of indulgence on your skin.

But none of this stopped you. I always brought anything you asked for, and always offered something extra on top of that, which you took. I'd rub your expanding stomach, trying to ease the abused organ as you digested yet another meal for a family of four. But of course I would never take any of the blame. All I was doing was being a supportive and doting partner. You never expressed any qualms with my love. You were the one who took that bite, who smoked yet another joint, who finished a twelve-pack in a night. Not me.

Now, you spend most days smoking and drinking, chasing the high of a completely stuffed belly. As you got bigger, so did your orders. Moving has become more of a struggle so I happily get enything you need. You have to order clothes online now, and your most recent haul is already threatening to burst at the seams.

Pity Party

Holiday season. Christmas, once again, and once again, you were alone.

Every year before you had worked retail, so you couldn't take time to fly back to your family. This year you had a real desk job that had 2 weeks break over the holidays! When you called your mom to coordinate Christmas, she informed you they assumed you couldn't make it, and booked a sold out (and let's be real, too expensive for you) cruise that was non-refundable. But you'll do something with them next year, okay?

That sucked, but at least you had your partner. Until two days ago. They had decided you were getting too fat, even though you had met on Feabie. You know, to get fat. They actively worked to make you this fat. You had noticed they started pulling away after you said you couldn't shop for clothes in normal retail stores anymore, they just didn't have your sizes. That fucker only wanted your fat body for sexual pleasure, but was ashamed to be seen with you.

You lost 190lbs of dead weight that day, but felt a different kind of heaviness on your chest.

So, completely alone, and with office job money to spend, you decided to let loose for the few days over Christmas. You had enough weed and booze for a college house party, and a list of all restaurants that were delivering on Christmas. You also stocked the freezer with easy meals like pizza and lasagne, and horded snacks for when you just got peckish.

Eve of Christmas Eve

You dropped the last of your snacks within arms' reach in the living room and checked the wait time on your delivery. 20 minutes. You crack open a beer and drink deeply, carbonation fizzling in your gut. The malty taste starts to trigger something in you, and after a quick pause to burp, you quickly chug down the rest. The feeling of beer bloating up your big empty stomach before a night of binging always got you going. And this was going to be more than just a night of binging.

Your joint rolling has gotten better, but the condensation from the second beer can on your fingers makes it harder. Finally the edge is sealed and you can light up. Your personal blend of death star and girl scout cookies has an herbal but sweet tinge to it, and it fills your lungs and quickly clouds your brain. The second beer certainly helps with that.

Your food arrives, and you're feeling good. So what it takes you extra effort to haul your ass off the couch to get to the door? So what you haven't been able to do up your pants at all for the past week? So what if you had gotten too fat for your feeder, someone who said they got off to this? You would get off to this, but that would be a long time from now.

Tonight is an order from a pizza place. There's an extra large pizza, a full order of loaded cheesy bread, a double order of cauliflower bites, and it looks like they sent two lava cakes even though you only ordered one.

After getting settled back on your worn couch, you choose your mindless tv. Now the high is taking over, and you just want the comfort of a dumb Christmas movie. You quickly choose and then turn to your feast.

Beer and pizza is one of your favourite combos. The greasy slices pair perfectly with the calorie-filled alcohol. The alcohol fuels your haze which just makes you want more.

You let your brain turn off entirely and get to work. After a few swigs that empty half of beer number three, you stack two pieces together and dig in. You found you can trick your brain into thinking you've eaten less than you actually have this way. You can also eat faster, which means you can shovel more in before your gut starts to signal how full you are.

Your gluttonous trance takes over, and you mindlessly glut out on your pizza, pausing to take another drink, drag, or bite of cheesybread or cauliflower. Your pizza sandwich technique means you eat half the pizza in 15 minutes, along with a quarter of the cheesy bread, and you're well into beer number four. You don't feel full yet, but you do feel heavy. All of that food sits in your belly, and your belly sits on your plush thighs, slowly pushing your knees apart.

As you get higher, you're reduced to your desires and your pleasures. You get distracted by the flashy family comedy, your laughs interrupted by surprised boozy pizza belches. You rub your gut, pudgy fingers sinking into your inches of flab. The flavours of everything explode on your tongue, and you just need more. Every bite is nearly orgasmic and not so slowly, but surely, your gut stretches to accommodate your massive meal. Your upper belly juts out, soon sticking out past your flabby chest and fat-laden lower belly. Gurgles and churns echo louder than your tv, more and more sloppy belches falling from your mouth. At some point your shirt comes off to give you easier access to your belly, and so you rub and jostle it, trying to ease the aching organ while also getting riled up.

You slow your frantic gorging, instead slowly snacking on everything, switching up flavours to trick yourself into eating more. Forty-five minutes later all that remains is two pieces of cheesy bread, five cauliflower bites, and one piece of pizza. The last bite of lava cake feels like cement in your mouth, but you swallow it down and chase it with another swig of beer. You feel your skin stretch with every gulp, the itching sending shivers up your spine. Once beer number 6 is empty your hand just lets go, and the can falls down your body into the pile of cans and pizza boxes from tonight, leaving a trail of sticky booze down your belly.

Your head falls back and you pant through the burps and moans. You don't remember the last time you were this stuffed. Every breath feels like a gamble, your stomach actually creaking with every movement.

You wish they were here, your feeder. Well, ex-feeder. They would have lit the bong for you, rubbed your gut as you faded in and out of conciousness, and then started stuffing you once they thought you had room.

Fuck them, I can do this myself. You were too fat for them now? You were just getting started.

You grab the bong from the seat beside you and lit up. You take a few more shallow hits, your lungs just out of room to expand for a deep inhale. After a few minutes the more intense aches ease and your eyes get heavy, but you are determined to stay awake. At the very least, you're going to finish the pizza and cheesy bread.

There are more beers on the coffee table, but you physically cannot lean forward to get them. You're completely pinned down by the mass in your gut, compounding on your rapidly climbing weight that your body hadn't gotten used to yet. 112lbs in one year was a lot to take on. So you'll have to finish this dry. Not that you weren't fucking trashed by now, but having a sip between items usually helped.

The first piece of cheesybread goes down quickly, your last hit somehow spurring the munchies again, despite your current state. Your stomach starts to protest though, and the last piece is completed by little nibbles. A dangerous burp works its way up so you take another break, trying to gingerly massage your belly. Everything is swimming, and your arm feels like its being controlled by a puppet string, uncoordinated and foreign. You feel your stomach move under your hand as if a baby is kicking, but it's just the absurd amount of food and booze you've forced inside your body, churning away.

You casually eat the cauliflower bites, trying to focus on the end of the movie rather than your body fighting back against every swallow. You can barely understand what's being said on the tv, your pulse in your ears and in your crotch, and yet new levels of intoxication washing over you. You try to grab the last piece of pizza to get this over with, but your marionette arm just won't cooperate. You miss the slice twice entirely, your swaying vision making coordination incredibly hard. The third time you grab it awkwardly, hand half on the crust and half in the sauce, but you call this a success and bring it to your slack jaw.

Every bite feels like you have to remember how to chew, jaw sore, gut viscerally protesting, weed and booze zapping all of your focus, every part of your body is working against you.

Finally, bite after agonizing bite, the credits roll, and the entire pizza is gone. Everything is gone, into your overtaxed stomach. You can only moan now, too stuffed, high, and drunk to form a coherent thought. You rest your hads on top of your shelf of a gut, unable to figure out how to make your arms move to rub your belly without jostling it. Every breath sends another flash of cramps over your middle, your lungs just putting that much extra pressure on your abused organ. Fuck, you've really overdone it now. There is no way you could move even if your life depended on it.

Cw:intox (weed/alcohol)

Fuck, I'm so glad to be done finals. Summer can finally start! I've got like, a month and a half before my job starts, and Millie suggested that I just take it easy, because I've been working so hard. I have been!

We're all going out later to celebrate, but surely a hit or two of my vape wouldn't hurt...

Millie's so funny, and sweet. She brought home a burger and fries for me because she knows I'll get hungry before we finish at the club. God I lucked out. Gotta shove this in my face before Ollie and Jazlyn arrive.

"Here, Shevy, to your first year of masters done!" She gives me a shot glass, we clink, and I throw it back without thinking. Mmmm it burns so good. Tonight is gonna be great.

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Shavon's clothing was fitting like a failing sausage casing, and Millie couldn't keep her eyes off of them. They had packed on even more weight, probably close to 50-60 pounds since this time last year, and their flab could not be contained. Millie knew for a fact that their shorts were being haphazardly held closed by the old hair elastic trick; not that anyone else could see it under their belly hang. Millie also knew that their skin-tight shirt wasn't originally a crop top, but there was no way they could get it over their belly button now.

The crew didn't go clubbing super often as they now all preferred a quiet night in, but when Jazlyn suggested it, both Millie and Shavon enthusiastically agreed. Shavon because they knew there would be an epic fast food run, and Millie because she'd get to enable and watch Shavon swell in public. Just seeing them in their outfit now made her feela type of way. What would happen as the night continued?

They all ordered shots and their first drinks and managed to find an empty booth. Shavon sat at the end kind of sideways, and that's when Millie noticed that their gut was pressing heavily into the table.

Fuck.

"Cheers!" Jazlyn initiated, "to another year of schooling done!"

Everyone downed their shot, and Millie was pleased to see Shavon down more than half of their beer right after.

They tried to talk for a little while, but a club isn't a great place to do that, so Jazlyn tried to drag them to the dance floor.

"I'm not drunk enough," Shavon had already lumbered back to the bar once for another beer, which was nearly empty now.

Ollie stood up, promising to join after a smoke. So Jaz and Millie went by themselves.

But first Millie had something to take care of.

"I'll keep getting you drinks, as long as you promise to come on the dance floor later," she muttered into Shavon's ear, whose eyes glinted as they nodded.

She replaced their drink right away, and checked in every few songs. Millie put back a good amount herself. She loosened up, enjoying dancing with her friends, and then dancing with strangers. She tried to get into rhythm with a few different people, but there was only one body she wanted to see moving on this floor.

After an hour she couldn't wait any longer. Ollie was going to get bored soon, Jaz would find someone to go home with, and Millie was tiring out.

They found Shavon at the booth, tipping the last of their 7th full drink into their mouth, the other hand on top of their bloated belly.

"Urrrp! I guess it's time?"

Millie nodded, and Shavon tried to get up, but between the inebriated lack of coordination and their gut bloating up further to wedge them in, they struggled to move, just managing to shake out some burps.

After Millie's brain finished short-circuiting, she bent over to help them, pulling their arm with one hand and maneuvering their fat away from the table with the other.

Mission accomplished! Both were panting by the end of it, both faces red for many reasons.

Millie turned towards the bar first. "I need a shot. Then we dance."

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I never been a good dancsr, even when I was thinner. I've always been clummsy. But noe I'm clumsy, heacy, and drunk.

Millie don't seem yo mind though. We're dancing and she keeps brushin over y fat nd it feels so good.

This the first time I notice that my bellu hang is bouncing off my crotch while standing up. Fuk im fat.

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Millie could blame it on the booze, but she doubted she could keep her hands to herself when Shavon was in this state. Sweat glistened across their dark skin, pooling and following the tracks of their angry stretchmarks. Every movement sent a ripple through their fat, each part of their body with a mind of its own.

Millie would brush against them, then hold them a little, then press right into them, to the point she could  feel Shavon's bloated gut gurgle before a big burp.

Something needed to happen soon, or she wasn't going to be able to contain herself.

Oh thank god Ollie wants to leave.

Her last touch only lingered a few seconds longer than intended.

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Fuck I'm fat and this is exhausting. Thank god ollie is askin us to go ousside. Jaz already found a paartnrr for the night, so its just the three if us now.

The cool air feeels so good on my skin. All thise drinks bloated mme up bad, i can't pull my sirt down from under mu chest.

"Shavon, here, smoke this while we walk to taco bell."

God bless ollie.

Im already so hungry fom the booze,  ut the munchies hit harrrd when we walk in.

"Cannu order for me, Millie? I dunno wha I want!"

"Sure thing, hon."

I dunno wgat shes ordering, but it soundz like a lot. Maybe foe all of us?....i hope not.

Ollie's frowning t a sign.

"Aw shit, guys, the lobby's closed for the night. I'm just gonna grab my stuff and go home if that's okay? Transit from your place to mine after 1am is god awful."

Millie offers to lt him stay ob our couch, but he says he wats his oen bed. Good, cuz i wanna sit on the xouch for another beer ir three.

"Okay, gnnight, Ollie!" We wave as our bus pukls up, Millie carrying two nAgs of takeout. My ass spilla into a seconds seat now. How long until I'm too fat for the bus?

I mentioned millie the best ruggt? As soo  i sat diwn she pyt one taci bell box right on nu tummy, and she brougbt ovdr the bonf abd a 6 paxk od cidr.

Thidd high idx buildung reallu fast and im so hungry.

"You're doing so good! Finished your first box already. Let me get your quesadillas. And don't forget to drink up!"

Ohh ya, im thirdty. Cottonmoutgd a bitch.

Urrrrrp! 2nd cabb doen. I dont ecen knoe ho muxh i drank tonight. Enough that the sgars in frint of ouf houe were hard. Noe im dond 2 urrp M ore ciders. My belluu feels a llittle bit itchy.

I love that i can use my bellu as a table nkw. Works even better in thrvrecliner, but imm be too fat for that soon. And on the coubch millie sits bestde me and helps. Sheds so helpful.

"Here, hon, let me open another drink for you." She dowsnt even maje me hol the can, she putd it right tk mh mouth and i just chugg  milli will know when im dine

Fuuc the while can is gone

"Urrrrap-hic! Oh nooo -hic- Millllie I -hic- i got da hiccups! -hic- urrrp!" My belly id gurgling so loud, and id sloshes every time j hiccup.

"Poor little piggy. But you like how much the hiccups jiggle your flab, and make you burp. You always have more room after hiccups, right?"

I dunno why my fsce turbs red, maybev hust allcohol in my chreks. Bt then shes rjbbing my gut with bkth her hands and fucj

"Mmmmm urp- hic!"

"You like that?" Wgen she rjbs her fjnder inside my bellu button it ljrerslly takes my vreath awat

"Hic- yesss mmm, keep goi -urrrp!- going pless -hic!"

"Well I'll keep rubbing as long as you keep eating. Let me open another drink for you too."

Unnnnn even her stopping fr hust a seckndd is torrture. Soon s shee has the can opdn abd fthe quessadillaa open i jut have to sjove the frst one in my moutg. Is cold noe but i sont care. Fuck wheb she rhbs mu upperr belly as it goes down its likd orgasmic. Mmmm. Mjy hips wannd buck byht in jusr so fuckingg full and fat.

"You're being so good," her breaagh on mh ear mahes me shiver all the way dken to my toes.

"I wann be so goo!" Last bitr of the firest dilla goneoooh even ho im so crossed my belly reakky startinv to ache. Urrrp.

"I know you're full, but keep going. Only a little bit left." I gfrab thr can and chug wgat i can, but i miss a littlgr bit. Ites cold when it drivble kn between my chind and onto my chest. Fick im so fst i hsve multople chine now.

.mmm i can keeo my head up, af my eyes are so heach. Every ohher bresthe is just  brp nkw. Dcsnt see, but i feel mill hold othef dolla to me and its like sges magic and csb make me eat cuz i do. Eceru bitr id making my poor gut evveb rojnder. Itd so itchy abbd tight snd i ca barely breathe.  Ooooh ifs crampy. Wjy can mt o stop now?

She pjts the food down and tips my head  back. Fick thats hot and she pours the rest ig the can down my throst.

"I can feel you swelling under my hand," hðr vkice is like smoke, she can do ehstever she wantd to me if she cleeps yalkinh and rubbjng my belly

"Yur gonna make me popp!" My gut id creakikg now. I think im drkkling. Im deffinuitely panting i got no room lefft ffr my lungs. A bit fat drunker pig pudhing my bidy to breasking point

"Not yet. Just a little bit more food, and maybe more cider. Can you do that for me?"

Icab do anhthing for hki millie.

Ohh my velly hurtd. Each  bjte feelsd like itll be the onr to make me exxplohe, but her sweert praises and warm youch is so worth jt.

"You're done your food! Good job! I didn't know if you could. Now just a little bit more drink, honey."

I canny speak anymode. I jut mosn abd hiccup abd burp . I thibk i nod. Ns i drnk and drink gilping loudly, feeelingbit go down my throuar and expanðing my stomach.

Och! My belky hanf stings?

"Wow, you're a fatass. You broke the elastic holding your shorts closed~"

Fuuuk.

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Millie could barely contain herself. Shavon was a cacophony of piggish noises, moaning and burping. Their eyes completely glazed over, and now they couldn't even keep them open. There was no way they were moving from this spot tonight.

Millie whispered praise as she rubbed their groaning belly. Every part of Shavon was fat now, but their abused gut was stuffed so large it looked like it belonged to someone much bigger. Red lightning bolts ripped over their dark skin, leaving divets as evidence of their unrestrained hedonism.

It had been a long night of celebrations. Your friend was getting married and this was his last night of 'freedom.' The festivities started at a steakhouse, where appetizers, mains, desserts, and many drinks were had.

Your pants were already on the brink of being too tight when you left the house, but you could definitely feel your gut straining against the fabric as you jaunted out of there with all your buddies.

Next stop was everyone's favourite bar. On the way over marajuana was passed around. You have no idea how many joints were circling at once, you just know by the time you made it to the pub, your head was floating and gut roaringly hungry, despite being backed to the brim.

Some sportball event was blaring over the tv when you arrived. You didn't care, but your buds were all stoked, so many appetizers and beers were ordered. You forgot to feign interest in the game 4 beers after getting to the pub.

At this point everyone is visibly drunk, and you are definitely feeling it yourself. Hiccups were wracking your body, jostling the pressured contents of your stomach, shaking loose several beers. You suddenly realised you needed to pee, and somehow managed to stumble your way over to the 1 stall bathroom, missing the door handle on the first try.

Which brings you to now. You stumble/waddle over to the toilet, do your stuff, then do up your pants. Well, you try to. You automatically suck in to close the button (you have to do this even when you're not packed with food and booze now), but the button doesn't quite make it to the hole. When you try again, you try to push your gut out of the way with your arm, but its so rounded out you still have a hard time seeing over it. The button does not get any closer. You drop your belly and belch, which lets loose a new string of hiccups.

God, you're a pig. You'd given up dieting 6 months ago, gaining 20lbs in the first 3 months. All clothes starting to cling to your softening body. Not that you were horribly skinny before, but you were now nearing the heavier end of chubby. Three months ago you'd discovered the empty calories and lost inhibitions of alcohol, and all the benefits weed had. At least twice a week you pass out on your couch, empty takeout containers and beer cans scattered around you, gut creaking and gurgling dangerously. You think you've put on maybe 30 lbs in the last 3 months, but it's closer to 45.

This is evident in your clothing. This is your last pair of pants. You had to lay on your bed, suck in your gut, and use all your strength to get them closed. You could still feel the red indentations on your skin under your gut.

And rather than take it easy and be mindful of what you put in your belly, you consumed with reckless abandon. Leading you to this little bathroom, too fat and bloated to dress yourself decently.

You shake your belly, trying to belch out enough bloat to maybe get them done up. Even in this predicament, you start to fantasize about the beers you'll order once you go back out there, and maybe another basket of fried things.

You drop your gut and hazily look in the mirror. You look sloshed. Eyes completely red, a stupid grin plastered on your face, and even though your upper gut is clearly completely overfed, your belly still hangs low.

Your belly is hanging. You can barely see the button isn't done up. You manage to wiggle the zipper up and grin. No one will notice a thing! And now you definitely have more room without those pesky pants digging into your belly.

Neither Millie nor Shavon celebrated Thanksgiving, but they certainly weren't going to miss a foodie holiday.

It was just a small affair this year. Ollie would be coming over, but Jaslyn was going to visit her girlfriend's family in Italy. Shavon's family didn't even acknowledge Thanksgiving, and Millie's parents were visiting her grandparents in Ireland, so it would just be the three of them.

That didn't mean Millie would be cutting back on cooking. She knew Ollie wouldn't hold back, and of course Shavon would go as hard as possible, so a feast's worth of food was still needed.

Millie started preparing a week in advance. She had preordered a butterball turkey and picked it up the previous Monday. Several casseroles were assembled and held in the chest freezer until day of, when she would bake them. A baking extravaganza lasted all week which resulted in 'special' brownies, gingersnaps, spiced apple cider cake, apple cranberry cobbler, and of course pumpkin pie. Keeping Shavon out of the kitchen had been a sisyphean task, the smells just kept enticing them back. They could only be convinced to leave by being given the bowls to lick clean, a few 'test' bites, and the promise of fast food later. Shavon could barely wait for Sunday.

Ollie arrived mid afternoon with a pack of infused prerolls and a bottle of wine. He'd asked if he should bring a dish, but he was really only good at making stoner food, and Millie took great pleasure in perfectly tailoring their meal.

Shavon slept until about 1pm. They wanted to have a completely empty belly for dinner, but they didn't want to endure hours of hunger either. After laying in bed for an hour, they slowly lumbered to the bathroom to clean up before plunking down on their chair for the rest of the afternoon. By the time Ollie arrived at 4:30, their poor empty stomach was audibly grumbling. Millie brought each of them a beer.

"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour," she cooed as she hugged Ollie in greeting. "You two relax, I'll call you to the table soon."

Ollie plopped down on the couch across from Shavon and handed them a joint.

"Ollie, I can't, I'm already starving. The munchies might kill me." They took the joint and lit up, taking a few puffs before cracking open their can of beer. Happy to have something in their stomach, Shavon drank quickly, belching unashamedly. Ollie would be joining their cacophony soon enough.

Two more beers later and no food to soak up the alcohol, Shavon was feeling nice and tipsy despite their increasing tolerance.

Finally Millie came out of the kitchen.

"Dinner is served!"

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After making mr suffer all day- actually no, all week, Millie is finally serving dinner. I know wht I had to wait, but it was still agony.

When we sit down at the table, I can see the buttons on Ollie's shiirt trying to pop open. His pudge is pushing thriugh the gaps in his shirt. That fuzzy brained stoner probably hasn't even realised he's gotten bigger. I barely noti ce now, but Millie also makes sure to geg me clothes once and a while that fit. I only do online classes now though, so ai rarely go out, which means I rarely get dressed. I did for this occassion, just a polo shirt and pants thst are already feeliNg kind of tight, but I don't have a problem with rhat. Millie looks gorgoues though. She's got a blouse that has a little between the neckline and her bust. It's real tight there, but flowy everywhere else. You can't even notice her little beer belly.

My eyes are pulled away from my girlfriend(? Maybe? We still haven't talked abour that) when she finishes bringing all the dishes to the table.

"Goddamn, that smells good." Ollie's eyes are shining.

"Now you know what I had to deal with all week. It smelled so good and I wasn't allowed to touch a damn thing!"

Millie scoops heaps of casseroles and mashed potatoes onto each ouf our plates. "Oh hush, I gave you a few tastes."

"And that made it so much worse! I knew exactly what I was missing out on."

"Well now you finally get to enjoy." Millie pours all of us a glass of wine and aollie takes over carving the turkey. My plate is piled high and my mouth is wateri N.

After everything is served, Ollie looks at both of us. "So, do y'all say grace, or...?"

We both sgare at him. My family has never been religious, and is vocally againdt religion.

"My family is only Catholic during Christmas and lent," says Millie, and Ollie laughs beofre picking up his wine glsss.

"Nevermind then. Cheers. Happy friendsgiving!" We all clink our wine glasses and drink. I know cheers is supposed to end with a sip, bit I take a few gulps. It looks like Ollie and Millie did the same.

Finally, finally, we can eat. Holy shit it,xs so good. The pnly noise is us eating and Millie's davourite fall playlist.

Millie always fries onion and garlic to put in the mashwd potatoes, and it tastes like she put parmesan in, too. The sweet potato casserole is topped with marshmallows and toasted. There's a green bean casserole and a broccoli casserole. Millie's magic cooking made it so the tukrey isn't dry at all, and she made homemade gravy, stuffing, and ceanberry sauce. The wine is strong and washes everything down nicely. Ollie chose well.

I feel like I' basically inhaling everything. I finish my plate in 15 minutes and reload it, piling it even highter than last time.

"Don't forget about dessert," says Millie as she refills my wine glass.

I take another big drink. "Oh, I won't."

I feel like I'm in a transe. The joints Ollie brought have activated like an extreme form of munchies or somethinhn, and being crossfaded is just making that stronger.

Bite after bite. I chew the turkey, but the casseroles and potatoes are so soft I have to remind mg elf to taste.

"Hic! Urp, fuck excuse me." Sounds like Ollie is eating just as fast. His shirt buttons look evn tighter. Millie spoons more food onto his plate.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She pours herself the last of the wine.

Urrrrp. No point inn keeping it in to be polite anyjore.

Millles doesn't tefill her own plate after finishing, but she loads more onto my plate. I can fel some pressure in my belly now, but i' just getting dtarted. Ollie sits back for a breather and rub s his belly. I finish another glss of wine as Millie finishes defilling my plate. I think it's even fullsdc than last time. I look up at the widn bottle and frown when I remember it's empty.

Millie must havd deen my expression. "Don't worry, I'll go get more. More wine good, or do you two want beer." Ollie and I make glazed eye contact bdfore slowly responding. "...both? Both." Millie laughs. Her laugh is so pfetty. She stimbles a little as she heads to the kifchen. She was defiinitely drinking while she was cookjng. Good.

She gives each of us a bottle of beer and refills the wine glssses. Usually she fills them to the proper amoint because of all her restaurant training, but this is definitely filler than usual. Not that I' complainkng.

Haldway through this plate i can feel my shirtt shlipping up. Thr bottom of my belly need to haang between my lefs as my upper belly pduffs out. When i shioft to spread my thighs, the chair creaks real loud.

Ollie taps out, pushigh his plate away with like a quarter of it leddt.

"Fuck, that was good." He rubs hix belly and those buttij are miracukously sitll holding on. "No wonder Shavon is fat. I would be too if you cook like this all the time, Millie."

"She does. Urrrp. Or she brings home restaurant food." I gaze at her. Go i love her so mucb.

I shovel a fe more bites in. Only a little elft on my plate, until Millit grabs Ollie's abandoned meal.

"Are you done?" He nods and pats his belly. It sound solid.

"I'm gonna fucking pop if I eat more right now."

Shed spoons the rest onto my plate. My belly grossn. Even throughh the high and the boooze I can feel it starting to hift and ache.

"Mills, I'm getting real full."

Shde bats her eyelashed at me. "Nonsense, you know how I feel about food waste. Eat up."

I try to tkae adeep bteath to gear up, but my belly is taking up too much goom near my lungs. A fee burps bubble up ans I dig in again. I gotta go on auropilot to shovel it all in. I can barely taste it, I ba E ely chew. Easch swallow makes it hsrder to breathe.

Ollie half watches througĥ lidded eyes, but Millie's fofused slll her attention on me, eyeing me up vapidly as I pant through each bite. She works her way through a half bottle of wind as I eat. Both her and Ollie muttr encouragement to me. Oooh, my belly. Hic.

Finally I finish tjhe last bite with a loud gulp. My head falls back and I hold mmmy gut with both hands. "Oooh fuck."

Millie looks like she gould devour me. "Great job, babe. You did so well." She gets up pulls her chair between me and Ollie, swayu J g and using the chair as support. She falls into hee seat and makes kollie scootch over a bit so she can reach jvoth of our guts. At firdst zi wanted her atgention all on ke, but it's also fucking hot shdd's fattinging up two peope right now.

Ollid moans. His eyesz are sooooo red. "Oh my god."

"No one's ever done this for you, huh?" Millie's slurring dust a little bit.

"Jas, once or twice, but more out of hic-urrrp pity."

Even wirh just one hand, Milli's belly rub fdels like magic. I dunno how long we sit therez my hot feeeder sittingg between two stoned hogs. K can hear Ollie's belly groanning even through both of our moans ans buros.

I feel like I haveb a binch of rocksx in my stomach. The rubs, the nwine, the weed, and the heaviness start to lull me to sleep- well, more pass oht into food coma. I think zi hear Ollie snore s little. Millie looks at both of us.

"Okay, you two. I think it's time to move to the couch. Dessert?"

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

Getting each pig back to the couch was an arduous task. It didn't help that the world was swaying around Millie as all the booze sloshed around in her belly. She couldn't tell if the food or the booze was hindering Ollie and Shavon more.

She helped them shuffle to the living room one at a time. They'd lean heavy on her, and she would lean right back, and they'd stumble at a snail's pace towards the couch. The abused piece of furniture gave a loud creak each time one of them sat down.

"Should I bring dessert now, or do you want to wait a bit?" She stood leaning against Shavon's recliner, the alcohol making her knees wobbly.

"Bring it," Ollie slurred. "That way you don't need to get up again."

"Don't... need to eat it right away," added Shavon. Both were almost listless. A pulse of heat flooded through Millie.

She stumbled to the kitchen and started the trips back and forth to carry everything out to the coffee table. On her second trip carrying the apple crisp and gingersnaps, she could smell marijuana wafting from the living room. Good pigs.

After dropping off the cake, she made one more trip to grab a box of beer and a bottle of wine. She didn't bother bringing a class.

She handed each of them a beer, which they both drank immideately to midigate the oncoming cottonmouth. Burps exploded out of them as soon as they put the cans down. Their poor tummies were doing everything they could to make room and ease some of the ache.

Millie plunked down between them, ignoring the slight cracking noise that came from below. She put on a horror movie to play in the background. None of them would be able to focus, but they'd all seen it several times. Ollie lit up when he saw the screen. Millie opened the wine bottle and took a swig right from the neck.

For the next half hour she focused on rubbing their bellies. Shavon's polo was riding high above their belly button, and their swollen upper belly was almost sticking out further than their plush, flabby lower belly. Their stretchmarks were starting to look angry and red again, a hypnotic contrast against their dark skin.

Ollie slowly stopped panting, finally recovering from the journey after dinner. All of him was rosy from his rounded cheeks to the slivers of flab that were poking out between his shirt buttons. His love handles were on full display, smooshed out between his pants and shirt. After the last few gulps of his beer, the button at the crest of his belly finally burst open, sending a chain reaction down his shirt. He stared down at his middle, mouth agape. "Fuck..."

"Nice one, dude." Shavon complimented him before finishing their own beer.

Millie's brain short-circuited for just a few seconds more before she could respond. "Looks like your belly finally needed to be freed. That means there's room for dessert."

--------------‐-------------------------------------------------

Ii know that zi can eat ubsurf amoutns, but millii must thing my belly is ablack hold or somethi b. She gives each od us a slixe of pie, a piece of cakez and a scoopp of apple chrisp. I fiel like I?' Gonna explose already

Burrrrrp. But she's lookin G at me so lovingngly, I goft a at least try. And i waitrc all week to eat thesse.

If does taste fantastic . The caks is so moisst. Too bad the alcoocol is cookedd out, but maybe is for the bes, I'm feellin teal wobbly.

Every pasrf of me feels so heavy. My headz my tongue my aarmsz my belly. My gut id creakning wigh every swallwo. I tbjnk i'm moaning but it might be ollie. It's provabyl voth of us. Hd can barely keep is head up. I' smazed he's still able to chew. Hsi belly looks impossibly big, like it belonds to someone who weights a lot more than him. But if he kieeps hanging out with us it'l fot him in no timd.

Huff, huff, huff. Urrrrp. Hic-urrp, fuck. I'm so swollen. I' so high my hands don't feel like mine. The beer's making mg face fuzzy snd zap down ti my toes. And fucking hell i'm so goddamn fulll. I won't be anle to moce gom the couch tonight. N o way i can get to my feet, and it'd be immpossible to stumble my fat asss down the hall.

A few more bitews... 3...2...1... fuck its so hadd to swallow. I'm gonna pop. Ohhhh i'l never be hungy agsin i' so fuckinggn stuffed.

"You two did sssho good hic." Millie rubbin both of o I r bellies. God i need this. Don't stop.

Ollie lets oug a hugge rumblinggn belch. I think he tried a few times to talk but all he's foung is moaning and hiccuupinf.. poor butterrrball.

"Can...can I stayy th night?" He finally manages.

"Of course! Can't send you home in urr state." Millie givess his belly a pat snd i hear it gurgle.

"Thankss...." and then nhe's snoring. Just totfally dead to the world passed out. My eyes are also so heavy. I was hopkn for some alone time with millie, but...

(You can read the whole story at once on my deviantart, feedtheboi)

Now the tray contains 6 breakfast sandwiches on vanilla glazed doughnuts instead of english muffins, enough hashbrowns to feed 4 people with no other sides, a container of strawberries with yogurt dip, and 2 milkshakes that you don't know are spiked. The pineapple coconut has 3 shots of rum and a shot of coconut liqueur, and the chocolate one is infused with THC.

You get to work right away. You suck down half the pineapple milkshake and 3 of the sandwiches in the blink of an eye, completely overwhelmed by the need to consume. You throw back more beer and use the carbonation to dislodge a string of heavy burps.

Now you are so drunk things sway a little. You giggle as you reach for the bong and miss it the first time before lighting up and taking a long draw. Olivia was so good at keeping it clean and freshly packed for you. You manage to grab the tin tray of hashbrowns and load them with ketchup and cheese curds. Then you turn what little attention you had to the TV that was constantly on, putting your eating on autopilot.

You mindlessly shovel loaded potato after potato into your mouth, sometimes taking a good drink of either milkshake, and of course more beer. Your head is sooo fuzzy and your body so warm. You feel like you were watching your body expand with every bite. You couldn't stop yourself from eating when in a trance like this.

You hit your first wall with maybe a fifth of the tray left. Your gut gurgles testily, absolutely stretched out and burbling with fatty foods and booze. Your upper belly juts out further than the bottom of your belly hang and is as hard as a rock under the inches of flab. Your breath hitches and your pray you didn't get hiccups. Those were painful at this stage.

You sit back and moan, rubbing your gut as gingerly as possible. In your state, it is not very gingerly. And this far gone, you can't help give it a few jostles to bounce it on your crotch. You gasp and automatically reach for a milkshake, finishing off the chocolate flavour entirely.

Now you're so inebriated you feel like you phase in and out of existence. The weight of your stomach pins you down, and all you can do is stare at the ceiling, glassy-eyed and drooling a little. Your hands keep working at your flabby gut, releasing belches that just fall from your mouth.

Some amount of time passes, you have no idea how much, and you start to come back to earth a little. You look back at your tray and light another hit of your bong. Your mouth should never be idle.

You look at another beer, but the thought of it makes your belly flip, so you suck back almost all of the last milkshake. A new round of drunk washes over you, and you start working through those sandwiches and strawberries.

Now you're much sloppier. You have to really focus on getting the next bites into your mouth. Some yogurt dip ends up on your face, but it's impressive you can even you can coordinate picking up the strawberry, dipping it, and bringing your hand to your mouth at all.

You get through all of the strawberries, the last of the milkshake, the rest of the potatoes, and 2 of the sandwiches. One sandwich left.

You feel like you can hear your stomach creaking now. Every breath is a struggle. Every burp and drunken hiccup makes you fear vomiting everything back up. Sweat drips down your forehead, and you find you can't lean forward to get the last sickly sweet sandwich. Once again, you are pinned to your spot.

Your eyes feel swollen they're so dry, and cottonmouth is taking over with the milkshakes gone. You only have beer left, but you're so drunk your chin has started falling to your fat chest if you stop focusing on keeping your head up. Your overburdened body feels so light and so heavy at the same time. You try several times to reach for the beer, but you can't lift your arm much higher than the crest of your belly before you lose control and it falls back down. You are truly gone. Stoned out of your mind, too drunk to form a coherent thought, and so stuffed one wrong move could make you burst. Completely helpless.

It can't have been more than five minutes of suffering in your semi-catatonic state when you somehow register the click of the front door. Like a summoned angel, Olivia has arrived in your time of need.

You can't look up without the world spinning, but you know she's entered the room by the sound of her chuckle.

"Oh, piggy. You were so close. A little bit too full?"

You let out a rumbling burp in response.

She starts dragging her nails over your taut flesh, and it's like sparks dance across your skin. You try to hold back a high-pitched gasp, but it's jostled out of you along with several burps as Olivia adds pressure to your gut. You devolve into pained and desperate moans burps and hiccups, making all of your fat jiggle constantly.

"So tell me, baby, why is there food left?" She plants kisses on your belly, and the feeling lingers on your skin, making every nerve jolt awake. You can barely think as it is, and now she expects a verbal answer.

"I -hic- couldnn reachit -hicURP-" your chin lulls back down, and your hiccups start in earnest. Your gut moves as one giant orb now, bouncing on your crotch. Had you tried, you would have realised this was the first time you couldn't reach around your belly to get off.

Her eyes glint as she kisses up your many necks and flicks a nipple, making you gasp and throb.

"Oh? Did piggy get beached? Did I put it too far away?"

You try to nod, but you get one head motion before it falls back down. Fuck you are so drunk your body won't follow any direction at all.

"I'll put it closer to you next time. Now, let's get the rest of this in you." Olivia shoves the last sandwich in your mouth as you once again fire off a burp. You're taken completely by surprise, and while your body won't obey you, it will certainly obey her, so you take a massive bite and swallow. Your moans and grumbles of weak protest are silenced by another bite.

It takes about ten minutes, but she gets the rest of the sandwich in your mouth. You pant, hiccup, and burp, a cacophony of hedonistic indulgence.

Olivia straddles one of your meaty thighs and begins to rub your belly in earnest, but letting her hands wander to whatever fold of fat she felt like fondling.

"You've been such a good piggy today. Look at you. Completely stuck. You could burst." She lifts your chin up to meet her gaze, and her eyes are dark. "How do you feel, pig?"

She wants you to answer verbally. Your slurring and struggling is enough to make her start dripping. Right now you don't know if you can form even a full word.

Her nails dig into your stomach and you wince.

"Answer me."

You moan and try. "I'm sho -hic- full, Liv. It -burrp Hic- hurts to -hic- breave." You belch and she drops your chins. As your head falls to the side, she becomes ravenous, and suddenly her rubs, grabs, and kisses get desperate.

"You're such a desperate hog. Always gorging. You haven't been sober since the day you moved in."

Her tongue traces along your purple hued stretch marks, and she grabs your love handles and shakes, making your entire body wobble. Your gut slaps your thighs and crotch, and you see stars.

"Liv, -UUrapp- pleash -hic-"

She rubs your fat chest, her eyes glinting. "What do you want, pet?"

"I want...-hic- mae me huuge. Just a -hUrrp- ball... urr plaything."

Olivia moans and grinds down on your meaty leg, pressing her lithe body into your pillowy excess. Every movement is shaking burps out of you. Heat pulses from your crotch, to your finger tips and toes, to the tip of your head and back of your eyes, to the center of your beyond aching gut.

"Fuuu...me"

She breathes in your ear and her hands work down your flab. "What was that, pig?"

"Mmmm, fuck -urrrp- fuck me!"