#nb bloating

You've been pushing your limits for months now, and you just finished the largest binge I've ever seen you devour. You ate every bite I put before you without hesitation or question, even after your belly began to protest. And now you lay before me like divinity in human form, soft and luscious and absolutely the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.

You watch me spread oil over my fingers before slicking it along the curve of your distended abdomen to soothe your aching skin. Your sighs of obvious pleasure and relief bring a smile to my face, and the way your eyes soften and your lip catches between your teeth stirs another kind of hunger within me.

My hand slowly dips lower, beneath the dome of your belly.

You've been binging since you got home from work, struck with the insatiable urge to stuff your face with anything you could find. You plowed through the leftovers in your fridge before moving on to the freezer with its bounty of frozen fruit, snack cakes, and ice cream. The cold barely seemed to phase you as you scraped every package clean of its contents, nearly moaning in delight at the taste.

The pantry came next, where you gorged yourself on countless packages of cookies, snacks, cereal, and other ready-to-eat foods. When those ran out, you tore into a bag of dry pasta, crunching through the normally tasteless noodles that suddenly tasted divine.

You can hear your stomach groaning with displeasure at the sheer mass of food you've stuffed into it, but you don't want to stop. You can't stop. Every mouthful tastes heavenly, and your brain keeps you chewing and swallowing, only pausing when you need to breathe.

At some point you glance down to see your stomach protruding from the expensive button-down shirt you'd worn to work that day, the tight, reddening skin stretched like a balloon inflated far past its maximum capacity. You had no idea that your belly could grow so big or round, as if you'd somehow swallowed a basketball that forced your body to conform to its shape.

You should probably be concerned, right? This doesn't seem normal.

I can see embarrassment flash across your face as your eyes dart up to see if I've noticed. Of course I've noticed-- I'm the one who feeds you, after all. I'm the one who waited just a little bit longer so I could experience the way your body reacted to the unexpected hunger, and your belly's petulant grumbles please me.

You moan at the sensation of all those bubbles fizzing within you and making you bloat. Heat surges between your thighs as you let out a long, loud burp, freeing up space in your gut so you can keep guzzling.

You know the rules, and the rules are that you can only eat if I give you permission. So I take you by the hand and lead you over to the table, sit you down, and place a plate full of your favorite food in front of you.

Go on, eat up. I want you to have seconds, thirds, and fourths. I want you to fill up every empty space in your stomach and have plenty of room for dessert, too.

I want you to keep eating until you're stuffed, until your pants feel tight and uncomfortable and you feel the need to loosen your belt. Your shirt will ride up a little bit as your belly starts to poke out of it, and you'll see your belly button stretch as your skin gets tighter and tighter.

Still, you won't stop eating. No, you won't be able to. It feels so good to eat, and it feels even better when I'm here encouraging you. You love the feeling of being so full, your gut swollen with your gluttony, especially once I start taking pity on you and rub that taut skin.

How much have you eaten already? How much more will you eat before the end of the month?

I have a little challenge for you, my beloved followers: gorge yourself on all of those sugary treats. Make your bellies swell from the sheer mass of chocolate and candy you've stuffed down your throat. Know that I'll be so, so proud of you when you do.