No think only kink

Not a problem.  Lunch is free, after all!  You request a plate of pasta and some kind of cream sauce that arrives surprisingly fast, and food in hand, you settle down on the sofa to watch some TV.  The pasta is amazing, and it doesn't take long to devour the entire plate.

Except your stomach clearly doesn't believe you ate enough, if the deep, hollow rumble it soon lets out is any indication.

You blush, rubbing soothing circles against your distressed middle as you return to the kiosk. You're a little embarrassed at needing to order something else so quickly, but at least nobody you know will realize that you're being a bit of a pig.  Your fingers tap out a request for some fries, chicken strips, and a chocolate milkshake, which appear in the nearby dumbwaiter within minutes.  It's a lot, but if it's here, maybe you can just pick at it as the evening goes on.

But as you pop morsel after morsel into your mouth, the food disappears down your gullet almost as quickly as it had arrived. It tastes far better than the ramen and rice you've been subsisting on lately, and it's hard to make yourself slow down when your stomach feels so ravenous.  You press a hand against your gut, concerned by the way your stomach continues to gurgle and growl.  It's complaining so much that you can feel its displeasure vibrate through your skin.

You lick your lips, giving the kiosk a mortified glance.  You've already eaten so much—your stomach can't need much more at this rate, right?  Maybe you ought to just order some snacks to have lying around; that way, you won't have to keep bothering the kitchen.  Yeah, that should work.

The digital screen lights up beneath your fingers as you begin tapping item after item that strikes your fancy, doing your best not to think about the sheer volume of food piling up in your request queue.  Despite already being bloated enough to leave it straining against the front of your t-shirt, your stomach feels like a howling void determined to scream for more more more.  

Maybe you should be worried.  It's just… it's hard to think about such things when the dumbwaiter opens up to expel the first of many loads of fresh, succulent new dishes for you to try.

You can't even be bothered to go sit down anymore, content to stand at the counter and mindlessly shovel food into your mouth.  Grease and crumbs cling to your fingers as you take bite after bite, at least until you pause long enough to lick them clean and reach for the next plate.  It's so good that you can't help but moan from the sheer pleasure of your gluttony, whatever shame that still lingered evaporating in the face of your greed.  

The counter is littered with empty dishes by the time a shred of reason finally returns to your mind.  You're leaning heavily against the surface, panting softly, your belly a tight, churning ball where it hangs heavily from your waist.  You can't remember ever feeling this full before, this tight and hot from overstuffing yourself.  

Rubbing a hand over the obscenely stretched dome, you struggle to muffle a few hiccups and resonating burps, as if your stomach is desperately seeking some sense of relief.  

But clearing the air out of your gut only seems to reinvigorate your sense of hunger.

You're already staggering over to order even more food when you hear a chime and the click of a door opening.  The unexpected sight of a pair of nurses invading your space is almost enough to still your hand, but the irresistible urge to continue packing food into your body keeps you moving.  

"Don't mind us, dear," one of the nurses says, sliding a blood pressure cuff around your arm.  "You go ahead and keep doing what you're doing."

"Just open up for a moment for me," the other says, brandishing a thermometer.  It's no trouble at all to let her slide it under your tongue while you tap at the kiosk, the light of the screen reflecting off your face.  

They're still there when the latest batch of food comes, remaining politely out of your way while you doggedly resume eating.  Your stomach aches, angrily grumbling and struggling in vain to digest everything you've shoved down your throat, but the sensation of eating has become intoxicating.  You pant around every bite, cramming more and more into a space that's already bloated and overwhelmed.

"It's just… so much," you moan between mouthfuls, rubbing one hand over your straining belly while the other reaches for more to eat.

"You're doing just fine," the first nurse says, gently patting the side of your abdomen before she starts scribbling some notes on a pad.  "You'd be amazed at how far the human stomach can stretch.  Now, you just listen to what your body wants and let us work, alright?"

You nod gormlessly, trying to ignore the heavy mass of food burbling and seething in your agitated gut.  

The faint whispers of pain and queasiness that ripple through your swollen stomach are easy enough to brush aside when the dumbwaiter's door slides open to reveal a decadent cake covered in fresh buttercream and glazed fruit.  Your mouth waters, your hands already reaching forward to pull the tray closer.  You feel the nurses poking and prodding, a tape measure being pressed against your skin, but you're just so hungry.

So very, very hungry.