#stuffd posts

Your first day on the job dawns bright and breezy as you roll out of bed at 6am. You decide to pass on your usual morning workout - you weren’t sure how intense the day’s activities would be, so you plan to hit the gym after work to avoid any injuries. You still go through the rest of your routine though, stretching, moisturising, carefully ruffling your dark curly hair so it looked effortless. 

You want to make a good first impression. 

The drive to the resort where the game is based is a long one, about 100 miles down the coast and far out of the city where you lived. Understandably, the company wanted privacy for both its players and avatars, and there's a thorough security screening process as you drive your car through multiple check points, having your fingerprints and retina scans checked against the ones you filed when you accepted the job. 

By the time you get to the welcome centre, you're eager to begin. Part of the screening process had involved testing you were compatible with the technology they would be using. In fact, you’d snuck a look at the doctor’s notes as she tapped them into the terminal she was using to run her tests. ‘Highly susceptible’ she had added to your form, which you supposed was what they were looking for. 

Still, it feels more than a little uncomfortable to watch as the technician draws the cover off a long needle and positions it at the base of your skull. 

‘As you previously consented to, I’m now going to implant our proprietary control device into your brain stem via injection. The chip receives commands from our server and translates them into neuro-muscular impulses. You’ll still be conscious and aware, but you’ll have no control over your body. Don’t worry too much - we have plenty of failsafes and automatic cut offs if your player tries to make you do anything that would actually harm you.’

You swallow, nervously. Even with the disclaimer, and all your preparation, this is starting to feel very real. Before you can object, you feel a sharp prick at the back of your neck. 

‘Very good.’ The technician continues. ‘Now, to make the adjustment a little easier you’re going to briefly lose consciousness while you transport you into the resort and you get matched to a player. You might have different users each session, or if someone takes a liking to you they might request you again. The next thing you see will be your private apartment, where you’ll wake up every time you’re activated. Now just relax - things will start to go black in three, two…’

You don’t hear the one. 

… 

The first thing you see is sunlight against your closed eyelids, warming your face and turning them a deep, translucent red. Your eyes flick open, and you try to lift your head to look around you. There’s a moment of panic when you can’t, until you remember. Right - the player. 

At the same moment you come to that realisation, text appears in the corner of your vision, super imposed against your view of the ceiling. 

Player #2256 - Online

After a moment, you feel the disconcerting sensation of your body moving without your control. You lift your head, and as the player turns your neck from side to side you finally get a look at the apartment. 

It’s nice - really nice. The bed you were lying in is huge with soft, white sheets, crisply laundered and faintly vanilla scented. The bedroom has tall windows overlooking the main square of the resort. You can see people a half dozen floors below sipping coffee in the square and splashing in the fountain. 

On the wall across from the bed is a full length mirror, and your player takes a moment to position you in front of it, taking you in. They slowly turn you from side to side in front of the glass, and you imagine them admiring your physique, the way the flat plane of your stomach flows into the sharp v of your hips. 

Once they’ve got a good look, your player turns you away from the window, crossing the thick carpet that muffles your footsteps and taking you into the apartment’s main room. This too is much nicer than your own place. A plush leather couch fills much of the space, with a huge flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. You can’t imagine why anyone would take control of another person just to make them watch TV, but maybe it’s just for appearances. 

Across the room is a kitchenette with sleek, stainless steel appliances and padded bar stools lined up against the counter. With the tug in your body that you’re starting to get used to, your player takes control once again. They lead you into the kitchen and pull open the fridge, and you’re surprised by how well stocked it is. Fresh produce, cheese, deli meats, butter, gallons of milk and juice. You suppose the avatars still need to eat, but you can’t imagine it being a big concern for most players. 

It does seem to be for your player, however. Before you can ponder too much they reach your hand into the fridge and grasp one of the cartons of milk, screwing the cap off in a single motion and letting it drop to the floor. Then, they raise the carton to your lips. 

Your swallowing is smooth, almost mechanical, and you can picture the player holding down their mouse or touchscreen somewhere as they press the button to drink. You feel the creamy, full-fat dairy pour down your throat as you drink gulp after gulp, the heavy liquid settling in your stomach. You put away half the carton without stopping, then slam it down on the countertop as your player directs you back to fridge. 

Now, you're pulling out food. Bacon, butter, eggs. You open the freezer and pull out hash browns, and with growing concern you notice the drawers are packed with ice-cream, frozen junk food and pastries. Is every apartment stocked like this, or did your player request it specifically?

You toss a fat knob of butter into a skillet and put it on the stove, adding strips of bacon and cracking two eggs once it's melted. You see yourself pull a bag of English muffins out of the cupboard - a worryingly well stocked cupboard - and watch yourself slide the bacon and eggs onto a plate and then toast the muffin halves in the butter and bacon grease. 

You never cook like this - not even on a cheat day, not on your birthday. You think of the hundreds, maybe thousands of calories you're cramming into your carefully tuned digestive system as your player forces you to finish assembling the sandwich and take a seat on one of the plush bar stools. 

It doesn't matter how horrified you are though - the first bite tastes like heaven. You try and relax as you are made to swallow mouthful after greasy but delectable mouthful. Okay, this is an unexpected cheat day, but you trust your self control to fast for the evening and hit an extra hard gym session. This could even be a good chance to dirty bulk and add a few inches to your biceps. 

The breakfast sandwich finished, your player lets you catch your breath sat on the stool. Your arm moves upwards, and your hand presses against your belly, rubbing gentle circles. The milk and food has already bloated it to a tight dome, your carefully managed capacity being tested by the large meal. 

Your stomach gurgles, the food shifting inside you, and you hope that the player is bored of making you eat, but it seems not. After a moment's reprieve they stand you up again and walk you back to the kitchen, opening cupboards as if hunting for something.

They find it quickly, a powerful-looking blender, all shiny steel and a huge glass jug. Concern knots in your already overstretched belly as your player starts assembling ingredients. 

A carton of caramel ice-cream, more of the thick, full-fat milk, a packet of chocolate brownie mix (makes 12 decadent treats! Blares the label on the box), a can of whipped cream. Once they're all lined up on the counter your player puppets you to start mixing everything together in the blender jug. 

The resulting shake is thick. So thick that, as you stand at the edge of the counter and lift the jug up to your mouth, not even bothering to pour it out into a glass, the rich mixture slowly pours down the side towards your mouth. 

The controller lodged in your brain means you have no choice but to swallow, but even if it hadn't been there the mixture is so heavy and rich you would have had to gulp it down to avoid choking. 

You can feel every drop of the ludicrously indulgent shake settling in your already taxed stomach, your breathing growing strained as you struggle to take gasps between mouthfuls. 

Your hard ball of a stomach presses against the counter as you grow fuller and fuller. You didn't know you could eat like this, didn't think your body was capable of swallowing this volume of food. 

Your mind feels like it's growing hazy as the chugging continues. Maybe it's not being in control of your actions for so long, maybe it's the buzz of so much sugar, so many calories forced into your system that's more used to brown rice and raw veggies. Whatever the cause, it feels good to let yourself fall into a stupor and surrender yourself. 

There's nothing you can do but let the player do what they like with your body. 

Eventually, long after you felt sure you couldn't possibly swallow another drop, the jug is empty. Or - almost empty. Your player makes you drag a finger around the inside of the blender jug, catching every drop of shake and sucking it off your own fingertips. Even as you're horrified at the sheer gluttony you're being compelled into, you have to admit that every bite you've devoured has been delicious. 

You want to slump against the counter, or fall to the floor in a heap, but your player is still in control, and they lead you back to the bedroom with slow, ponderous footsteps. Your gut is so stuffed you feel off balance, like the sheer weight of all that food has shifted your center of gravity. 

When you reach the bedroom, your player makes you sit on the edge of the bed, facing yourself in the mirror. 

You weren't imaging it, your belly really is stretched taut, the skin shiny and sore looking from the overextension. Your hand comes up to cradle it again, rubbing slow circles, and you let out a moan of relief that didn't come from the player's instruction but was still involuntary, a sigh of pleasure at how good the firm but gentle pressure feels against your sensitive midsection. 

Now, your other hand is moving. The player makes you reach between your own legs, and when you make contact you are more than a little embarrassed to find yourself hard. 

Was that something the game gave your player control over? Or were you actually turned on by using controlled like this, forced to glut yourself on enough food and drink to satisfy someone four times your size. 

Your hand moves steadily, stroking yourself, and you moan aloud again as the pleasure rises through you. God it feels good, the sensations heightened by the lack of control, and the sensitivity of the skin of your lower belly. You, your player, whichever, you're still watching yourself in the mirror, unable to tear your eyes from your swollen belly as your hand moves faster and faster. 

When you come, it's hard and long, moaning deeply as the pleasure pulses. You gasp for air, struggling to breathe deeply enough around your overfull stomach, as the waves of pleasure fade slowly. 

As you begin to recover, you feel a sudden change in your muscles, and you flop back on the bed like a discarded toy, spread eagled and still gasping. 

A moment later, the text appears again in the corner of your vision. 

Player #2256 - Offline

…

Hope you enjoyed 🩷

If you get off to my writing, you have to tell me - it fuels my horny inspiration.

If you'd like a part two, let me know, I feel like there's much more to explore with this setting. 

It's getting even harder to focus. The spiral is drawing me in, filling every space inside my head. As it should. Of course, of course my head should be filled with nothing but this softness, this feeling of falling.

I don't know how long the headset is on. I don't know when I dropped to my knees, but I must have at some point, because when it's pulled off my face I'm on the floor.

As the headset is pulled off I whimper a little, sad at being taken away from the lovely spiral, the wonderful voices. Then suddenly, I don't care. Because he's there.

How could I have ever thought he was gross? A loser? He's so obviously perfect. I can't believe how lucky I am that he's my master. That I was made to serve him.

He looks down at me, a little concern troubling his perfect face, and smile up at him, desperate to know how I can ease his concern.

'How do you feel?' he asks.

'I'm perfect, master,' I say, happily. 'Is there anything I can do for you?'

His face breaks into a wide grin, and he leans back in his gaming chair, satisfied.

'Well, you should be naked, shouldn't you?'

Of course! One of my most important purposes is to be good porn for him. I pull my shirt over my head, wriggle out of my jeans, slip off my underwear. He holds out a hand I pass my underwear to him, of course, it belongs to him.

I present in the way I know he'll like, my thighs parted, my mouth open and my tongue hanging out, drool gathering at the tip. A tiny part of my brain wonders how I know what he likes - isn't this the first time I've been here? Why does this feel so natural? Then his thumb is in my mouth and those thoughts vanish. God it feels so tight to worship him.

He pulls down his sweatpants and boxers, then clicks his fingers and points at the space under his desk. I crawl there, happily, and then his hand is in my hair and his cock - his perfect, beautiful cock - is in my mouth, the heavy swelling of his gut resting on my face as I lap up the sweat from his body, savouring the taste of him.

I hear him hit his keyboard a few times, booting up one of his favourite anime porn games, but I'm too distracted trying to cockwarm him properly. I want to suck him off frantically, gagging as I take his shaft deeply, but I need to follow his direction. Right now, he's just grinding against my face, spreading my drool around my slack mouth as I lick at him with slow, deep strokes.

The anime girls on his screen moan, and his speeds up his rhythm against my face, fucking my mouth harder and deeper. When his cock hits the back of my throat I choke slightly, but I focus on relaxing my jaw, letting him use me like the fuck toy I am. I feel his shaft twitch, and he cums down my throat, the taste rich and salty and delicious. I swallow every drop, licking the tip clean as a few more drips squeeze from the tip and he lets out a deep groan.

I know he'll be sensitive after coming, so I stay in my spot on my knees and move to worshipping his beautiful gut. I kiss and lick across the surface, nuzzling my face into the swirls of dark hair. I slide my tongue into his deep belly button, nibble along the sensitive flesh of his lower gut.

I'm in heaven.

Pretty soon he's hard again, and he grabs my hair, moving me back to his cock and pressing a hand on the back of my head to fuck me deep and hard. My eyes water at the roughness, and I can't help but moan in pleasure. There's a mounting pressure between my own thighs, but that's not important right now. I need to be a good toy, a good pet. If he wants to use the rest of me later, that will be his decision.

He comes again, and pulls my head away after I've cleaned him off. He looks down at me, crouched under his desk, my eyes looking adoringly up at him, my face smeared with tears, drool and his sweat. A

He slaps me, hard, and I keep my adoring state locked on him. He hasn't given me permission to speak, but I want to thank him so badly.

Instead, he gives me another order - he's so considerate of my need to be useful.

'I'm hungry, slut. Fix it.'

Of course! He must have used so much energy fucking my worthless face, I've been so selfish. I spring to my feet immediately and rush to his kitchen, still naked.

I need to make him a proper meal, but he'll need snacks to tide him over till then. I pull open the kitchen cabinets until I find what I'm looking for. A family sized bag of chips that I pour into a bowl. A box of brownie bites I stack on a plate. A six pack of soda I carry in my mouth by the plastic ring like a loyal dog. He deserves so much better, but this will have to do for now.

I bring him his snacks, which he acknowledged with a grunt, his eyes already back on his game, though he's kind enough to slap my ass as I hurry back to the kitchen.

I pull an apron on over my naked body and start to work cooking him something more substantial, a thick stack of pancakes and crisp bacon, smothered in butter and drowning in syrup. God, I hope he likes it.

I make him a coffee and ice-cream shake too, I need to keep his energy up so he can game as long as he wants. The food seems to take ages, but finally every bite is perfect - as it should be.

I bring the plate and glass back to his room, eager to see my beautiful master again.

He's leaned back in his chair, eyes on the screen, one hand resting on his domed belly where his shirt has ridden up. He looks so gorgeous. I wait eagerly, seeing if he will be kind enough to let me feed him. He doesn't take his eyes of the heavy-titted anime girls finger fucking each other on his screen, just gestures for me to perch on the edge of his cluttered desk.

I do, careful not to disturb any of his snacks or figurines, and start cutting his pancakes into pieces and feeding him one bite after another. I love watching him eat. The soft jiggle of his double chin, the cute nipples of his moobs straining against his overstretched shirt. A blob of syrup clings to the corner of his mouth, and I reverently lean in to lick it up.

Soon enough the meal is gone, the drinks guzzled. My master - my god - heaves himself out of his chair and waddles over to the bed, reclining on his pillows like the king he is.

I move to kneel beside the bed, and he ruffles my hair, the affection meaning more to me than any bouquet of roses could.

Then, he clicks his fingers again and points at his stiffening cock. I eagerly climb up onto the bed with him and take him in my mouth again, worshipping every inch of his soft flesh. He flops backwards, watching me with a dozy, satisfied expression.