#xcarmelox

He stared down at his bulging middle, bewildered. He pressed his hands gently into the sides of it. It felt firm, as though it were still filled up tight with that deep breath. He wasn't sure what to do. Curiosity--and maybe something else--got the better of him, though, and against his instincts, he pushed out his belly again. It was as though he were pushing it out from square one; it swelled up impressively from its already-distended state, and he could feel his skin stretching and pulling as it strained to accommodate its new volume.

He let his breath out with a heavy sigh, and once again, his belly remained inflated, now sticking out alarmingly as though he were pregnant. It jutted out at a sharp angle beneath his chest, sides bulging unnervingly, muscles twitching and straining under the paper-thin skin. He was worried now. The pressure inside him was unbelievable, impossible, so immense that he was sure he'd burst if he made a wrong move. He didn't know what to do. Sitting up seemed daunting; just the compression of bending his torso forward seemed like it could pop his belly like a balloon. He needed to find a way to deflate. There was something so alluring about the dangerous pressure, though, and he couldn't help but wonder how far he could go.

Foolishly, he began puffing out his belly yet again, slowly this time, and he could feel an ominous creaking as his skin stretched even further. He watched as his middle strained outward, trembling as air bubbled up inside it. It let out a deep groan, threatening to blow open, but he didn't stop yet. He was entranced by the clear outline where his belly stuck out sharply from his ribcage, the pulls of his drum-tight skin stretching like fabric, the strange feeling of his bellybutton popping out as the pressure built beneath it.

Finally, the ache became too great, and he stopped with a moan, carefully holding his belly. It felt like a basketball under his hands, so taut there wasn't a bit of give left to it, spasming and rumbling as it tried to process the liters of air that had been unnaturally forced into it. What an idiot, he thought, face pinched with pain. What was he going to do? If he wasn't in danger before, he certainly was now. He could hardly move without an urgent stretched feeling jolting through his overinflated belly. Even breathing felt difficult, each breath straining his belly tighter and tighter--

"Well, hello there, cutie pie, can I get you something to drink?" A big, tall waitress smiled cheerfully down at him, notepad in hand.

"Um…" Carmelo almost asked for water out of instinct, but if he was going to go all out, why not live a little? "Can I have a hot chocolate, please?"

"You sure can. Would you like whipped cream on that? I recommend it."

He nodded.

"Comin' right up, sweetpea. You're not ready to order yet, are you?"

"Um…" He took a quick look at the menu. "I think I am."

"Oh, good! What'll it be, pumpkin?"

"Can I have, uh…" He tipped his head, squinting close at the menu. "The Fluffy Stack Platter, with chocolate chips?" She gave him a quick look up and down, and he blushed. She knew. A platter that big, she knew it was--

"Gonna be a lot for a cute little thing like you," she said, smiling approvingly, and his blush deepened. "That's what I like to see. I don't let anybody leave this place hungry! Now, how about your sides?"

With the choice of two, he decided to go with bacon and strawberries. The bacon would be good in the syrup, and the berries, well, they were just nice. The waitress--Marianne, her nametag said--left him with a smile, promising to be back soon with the hot chocolate, and as soon as she was out of sight he hid his face in his hands. What was he thinking? It must have been obvious, she could surely see it on his face, hear it in his voice, the bizarre desire to stuff himself until his belly was nearly ready to pop. If he could only have been cool and confident like his brother, or better yet, if he'd just had the sense to not order such a big meal--

"Here you go, pumpkin," said Marianne, startling him out of his moment of lament. "I had them put a little extra whipped cream on it. It'll keep you nice and sweet." She set a big mug down before him, steaming hot and almost overflowing with whipped cream.

"Thank you," he said meekly, his soft voice even smaller than usual.

"You feeling alright? You look a little nervous."

He nodded shyly.

"Well, don't you worry, sweetpea, whatever's buggin' you, I'm sure you'll feel a lot better with a belly full of breakfast."

She left him again, and he held his hands around the mug, just taking in the warmth. If she suspected his intention, she was certainly being kind about it. Maybe a little too kind--she seemed almost as eager to fill him up as he was. Well, at least there wasn't really anybody else around to notice. There was barely anybody in the diner at all right now, nearly ten o'clock on a Tuesday night, and nobody sitting near him. It was quiet, save for the soft music of the radio and the muffled noise of the kitchen, with a sleepy atmosphere blanketing everything in a slow, gentle calmness. He took a small sip of the hot chocolate. It was rich and creamy, which was pleasantly surprising; he'd expected something thin and watery. He sighed softly, and with the smooth chocolate lingering on his tongue and the warmth of the mug in his hands, he tried to let himself relax.

Carmelo sat there for some time, reminding himself to enjoy the sweet drink and the mellow atmosphere of the diner. He wished he'd gotten the food to go. If he was going to allow himself a chance to indulge his kink, he'd have felt far more comfortable doing it at home. That hadn't been his intention when he'd come in, though. He'd just wanted to enjoy a hot meal after a long and busy day. Maybe it wasn't too late to ask for it in a box. If Marianne came back to check on him--

"Here we go, one nice big Fluffy Stack Platter," said Marianne, happily setting the huge plate before him. So much for the box. "Need anything else, pumpkin pie?"

"N-no. Thank you," he stammered, eyes wide at the size of the platter. It smelled delicious, and much to his dismay, his belly rumbled audibly. He blushed again.

"Well, I'll be right around the corner if you need anything," she promised. "Now, you go ahead and feed that poor hungry tummy of yours."

Carmelo felt about ready to evaporate into a little puff of steam, both out of embarrassment and out of whatever it was that made fooling around with his belly so alluring. He would have sworn she was teasing him for it. Pulling himself back to Earth, he looked at the enormous dish awaiting him. Three big fluffy pancakes loaded with chocolate chips--it hardly seemed like a short stack, given the size of them--and two thick slices of French toast dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar, each surely worth a meal on its own. A good serving of bacon on one side of the plate, a handful of ripe, red strawberries on the other. Just the sight of the amount of food before him made his belly feel tight. He thought about how tight it would feel if he managed to get the full contents of the platter into it, and a fluttering excitement began to outweigh the anxiety. Mouth watering, he picked up his fork and dug in.

Marianne watched from across the restaurant as she idly wiped down the counter, gaze fixed on the sweet little man tucked away in that booth in the corner. He was absolutely adorable--the dark, fluffy curls, the big brown eyes, the shy, quiet voice. He had a soft, clean look to him, like a warm teddy bear fresh from the laundry, and he looked delightfully cozy in his loose-fitting sweater. She would have liked to scoop him right up in her arms and feed him the whole platter herself. That, of course, was hardly proper waitressing protocol, though, so she settled for observation--for now, at least. When he inevitably began to struggle with the oversized meal, that observation would upgrade to encouragement.

Strange desires aside, the sweet, hot breakfast was exactly what Carmelo had been craving. He was a big fan of carbs and a bigger fan of chocolate, and any combination of the two was liable to leave him stuffed silly even if that wasn't what he was going for. Everything was dripping with a salty-sweet mixture of butter and syrup, the steaming bread of the pancakes filled with gooey bursts of melty chocolate, the bacon a perfect combination of chewy and crisp, the berries bright and refreshing between rich, sugary bites. The only thing that could have made it better in his book was a little Nutella on top, but it hardly needed it. It was the perfect cozy late-night indulgence, and his anxiety melted away right along with the hungry feeling in his tummy.

Given the large size of the meal and the small size of his stomach, it wasn't long before Carmelo began to feel full. It was a pleasant, comforting fullness, the bulk of the soft bread filling out his belly like a big puffy hug from the inside--not quite a completely stuffed feeling, but a definite weight lazily blooming in his core. He decided to take his time, knowing he'd need to pace himself if he wanted a chance at putting away the whole thing. If he ate too fast, stretched his stomach too quickly, he'd wind up feeling sore and bloated before he was halfway done. That was no good. He wanted the warm, sleepy sort of fullness, the kind that would put him into a comfortable food coma. A tight, heavy pressure pushing out inside him that was immense, yet soothing. That was his goal tonight.

Marianne nearly went to check up on Carmelo, but decided to watch just a while longer. He seemed terribly shy, and as much as she wanted to tease him like a cat with its cornered mouse, she didn't want to scare him off. Right now, he looked like he was determined to make good headway on the platter. He ate carefully, with purpose. He was enjoying himself, though, she could see that. There was a soft, content look on his face, almost blissful as he stuck another syrupy, chocolatey bite in his mouth. His boyish face was a sight for sore eyes, but her gaze wandered downward, down to his middle. His sweater was big on him, largely concealing the shape of his torso, but she thought she could see the gentle swell of his belly beginning to curve out against the thick fabric. Glancing back up at the amount of food still on his plate, she knew that tiny curve was just the beginning.

Carmelo picked up another forkful of French toast. It was still steaming hot, and he ate it carefully, trying not to drip syrup on himself. Almost absentmindedly, he rested his free hand on his belly under the table. It was beginning to round out, warm and full against his palm, and he could feel the waist of his jeans growing tight around it as it began to puff out over the top. He still didn't feel too full to keep eating, though. That was good. He had a long ways to go.

"How are we doing over here, cutie pie?" Marianne approached the table with a friendly smile, no longer able to stay away. Carmelo quickly pulled his hand from his belly.

"Good," he said timidly, swallowing his mouthful.

"Fantastic," she beamed. "Well, you just keep working on that--I'm sure it won't be half as good tomorrow."

That was true. The pancakes would be mush by the next day, and he couldn't imagine the toast reheating well. Even if he wasn't trying to stuff himself, it would be a shame to let the food go to waste, and, feeling validated in his desire to eat as much as he could, he kept going. He decided to prioritize the pancakes, knowing they'd start to lose their appeal soon as they grew soggy with syrup, though they hadn't lost it yet. He'd only made it through a third of the stack, though, and he was beginning to doubt whether he'd be able to finish the rest. His stomach was growing tighter by the minute. It wouldn't be long before it became difficult to continue. Still, silently enjoying that perilous tightness in his belly, he pushed on.

The hug of his jeans was beginning to grow uncomfortable now, and he paused for a moment to try and adjust them. Setting his fork down, he carefully inched the waist lower until it rested just under the curve of his belly, and he felt his skin tighten as his middle was allowed to round out a little further. He felt surprisingly bloated now, and he gave himself a moment to adjust, again subtly holding his belly under the table. It felt snug and heavy, and it grumbled softly as it worked happily at the big meal. He would have liked to sit like that for a moment longer, just enjoying the roundness of his tummy in his hands, but when he saw Marianne returning once again, he sat upright and took his fork.

"I'm just gonna top off your whipped cream, pumpkin," she said, filling his half-empty mug back to the top. "Feelin' full yet?"

He shook his head, though they both knew it was a lie. Freed from the constraints of his jeans and filled to the brim with breakfast, his belly stuck out noticeably from his small frame now, pushing visibly against his sweater.

"Good, because you've got a ways to go. Want a little on your pancakes? If you think you can squeeze it in," she teased, holding up the can.

"Oh, um, um, sure," he said, hoping the blush on his face wasn't too obvious. She sprayed a nice big heap of fluffy white cream onto the remaining pancakes.

"There. It'll be almost as sweet as you," she giggled. "Eat up, pumpkin pie. I wanna see that plate nice and clean."

He watched her go, blushing brightly, then looked back down at his plate. He had about half of his meal left, now freshly topped with a pile of whipped cream, and, now feeling undeniably stuffed, it looked like a lot. He didn't think he'd be able to finish. Thinking about Marianne's words, though, he supposed he'd better try. He scooped up another hunk of pancake, getting plenty of whipped cream on the fork with it, and ate.

Carmelo could feel his belly grow fuller with each bite now, slowly and steadily stretching as he tucked more food into it. It felt like he had an enormous ball of bread expanding inside him. The bulky carbs pushed out firmly against the walls of his stomach, the hot chocolate seeming to soak in and swell it up even further, and each mouthful drew a quiet rumble of protest as it was forced into the overpacked space. He pushed on, though, working slowly and carefully through the plate, keeping a hand quietly on his belly as it distended taut against his palm. With the bacon and berries already long gone, all he had to do was make it through the main course.

Marianne watched again from across the diner, eyes fixed on Carmelo's tummy. It bulged out adorably underneath the table, round against the soft fabric of his sweater as though he'd stuck a pillow under it. Had somebody just walked in and looked at him, they might have assumed he was just a little plump, but knowing how undetectable his belly had been under the sweater when he'd started, Marianne could practically feel how stuffed he was, the phantom touch of his taut skin fleeting across her longing hands. She could imagine the weight of everything inside him, the solid firmness of his tightly-packed stomach just under the soft skin, the strain of his belly puffing up with each breath. She wanted nothing more than to take that puffed up belly in her hands and give it a squeeze, and that it was off limits, she thought, was one of life's greatest tragedies. He paused for a moment, leaning back in the seat, resting a hand on his tummy, clearly trying to assess whether he could fit any more, and she decided to move in.

"You're lookin' pretty full, sweetheart," she remarked, gazing fondly down at him with a playful smile. He'd finished all but a quarter of his meal, and there was no question where he'd put it all. He looked shyly up at her, face as hot as the steaming food. There was no hiding it this time--he was stuffed. It felt good. His belly felt taut and heavy, the pressure inside him warm and pleasant.

"Y'know," she went on, a sly look creeping across her face, "I bet you could squeeze that last little bit in here." She drummed her fingers across the curve of his belly, and he stared up at her like a deer in the headlights, his dark eyes wide. Now she had him.

"'Course, I wouldn't hold it against you if you couldn't," she said. "That cute little tummy looks about ready to pop. One more bite and…" She made a soft popping sound with her mouth, then grinned down at him, eating up the cornered look on his face. "I bet you could do it, though. Just a tiny bit more, hm? I do like to send my customers home nice and full, you know." She gave his rounded side a gentle pat, then began to walk away. She didn't go far, though. She stopped just a few tables away, then turned and leaned against the wall, watching him with a smile.

Carmelo's big eyes remained frozen on Marianne, breath held captive, heart fluttering madly in his chest like he was staring down the slope of a roller coaster. She tipped her head expectantly at him, and suddenly he snapped out of it. He looked back down at his plate, then back up at her, then quickly back down. He didn't know what to do, but then again, there was only one thing to do. Dazed and bewildered, a tingling heat whirling through his distended belly, he picked up his fork and ate.

It wasn't easy to keep going. He'd already felt stuffed to the limit when she'd approached him again, and now each bite seemed to stretch his stomach further past that limit. His belly felt like a drum. It was growing uncomfortable, but there was a wild excitement around that pressure building inside him, his belly straining under her gaze as he ate for her. He took another slow bite, then another. He was moving at a snail's pace, struggling to make space in his stomach for anything more, but he felt compelled to keep going, even as his belly groaned for him to stop. He chewed slowly, cautiously, the task of swallowing growing more intimidating with each mouthful as the tremendous pressure in his stomach urged his body to reject any more. Still, he managed to force it in, until the strain of his overstretched stomach began to ache, and he felt certain that it would burst if he tried to eat another bite. A small bit remained on his plate, but he couldn't hold any more. He let the fork fall from his hand and held his bulging tummy, slumping back against the seat.

"Well, I'm impressed, sweetpea," said Marianne, striding coolly back up to the table. "I didn't think you'd be able to fit that much in there." Truthfully, neither did he. The platter had been enormous, especially for a smaller man like himself, and he hadn't in any honesty expected to finish more than two thirds of it. Now, looking down at his swollen belly pushing out against his hands, feeling how tight and heavy it was, he was surprised with himself. He looked shyly back up at Marianne, unable to speak, and she leaned in close, her hand hovering just over the drum-tight curve of his stomach.