The Forbidden Gardens…

This is her typical work day!

“sure…” the waiter says, giving you an uncertain look. you smile at him, and he figures he’s not getting paid enough to care if one of his customers is sloppy drunk at 2pm.

i burp loudly in the middle of your order, shameless. you laugh, and when the waiter leaves, you slide my glass of wine over to me.

“you should finish,” you say, “you’re not even halfway through the bottle.”

i grab the glass clumsily, slopping a bit out over my hand. “bud’di had two -hic!- whoolleee boddles a’d -hic!- bre’gfass’. an’ the vod’ga in the -hic!- car.”

“yes,” you say patiently, “but that isn’t this bottle, is it?”

i blink, dazed, and then take a long drink without even thinking about it. “iss not,” i decide, and slug down the rest of the glass. giggling, i slump over the back of the chair and hold it out for a refill with a proud burp.

Overindulged / heaven sent

“Ooooh—this was too much—”

Your moaning protest is both cut short and seconded by the roiling gurgle rumbling its way through your heavy belly, which is nearly pinning you in the corner of the mercifully soft sofa. “Way too much.” You let out a sigh as your hands find your stomach, rubbing tentatively at your stretched sides.

“Oh? Really? That was too much?”

Your eyes are drooping toward closed, but the smirk in your partner’s voice is undisguised— kind, but clearly biting back amusement at a predictable predicament. You hear them shuffle your abandoned witch’s cloak off the couch; you hear it land on the jeans you had peeled off and discarded with a grunt the second you walked back in the door. They tuck their knees up as they nestle in beside you on the sofa.

You inhale sharply as their hand presses gently but firmly on the crest of your stretched stomach, the tight skin separated from their warm touch only by the thin satin of the last piece standing of your Halloween costume. Their palm cradles the curve of your bulging tummy delicately for a moment, and then presses more inquisitively – deepening the pressure at the peak of the swell for a long near-painful moment, before circling their hand out in smooth, wide circles. You moan without meaning too, as the soothing warmth of their hand slowly starts to soak into the straining walls of your abdomen, toward the organs that have been dancing back and forth across the line of "aching" since before you two left the party. And, to be fair, since well before you stopped adding to their burden...

“Which part was ‘too much’?” your partner coos innocently, their other hand joining the first now to sweep across and around the absurd bulge of your upper belly, as you groan and relax deeper into your beached backward sprawl. “The extra-large combo meal before we went to the party? Or the giant boba smoothie you asked to stop for, ‘for the road’? Or—"

You hum guiltily under your breath, mouth stretching involuntarily into a grin as your partner grips your whole heavy stomach squarely between their two hands for a moment — letting their fingers sink into the layer of softness, as if to test the tautness of the heavy swell below. “Or was it maybe the pretending you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, once the pizza deliveries showed up?”

They give your distended tummy a gentle but pointed slosh from one side to the other, hefting it carefully between their two hands – not hard enough to upset anything, but enough to remind you how utterly swollen with food and drink you are—and how much they love playing with you in this helpless, glutted state.  You grunt out a small burp that gives way to a giggle as you lightly swat one of their hands back.

“And I might have gotten away with it, too,” you languidly reply in your best Scooby Doo villain cadence, “if you hadn’t been pressing another cupcake or something into my hand, every time I turned around—”

“I put them in your hand,” they note pointedly. “I didn’t put them in your mouth.”

They’re back to running their palms all over your swollen belly, and then you feel them shift and turn to straddle you. “I’m not the one who downed half a large pizza after a huge dinner, and then decided I should nibble my way through – what – five of those frisbee-sized chocolate chip cookies—?”

They settle back into a light seat on what’s available of your lap at the moment, though they’re mostly supported by their knees, which you can feel buried in the couch to either side of your legs. “I’m not the one who was still guzzling down cups of beer and soda, and cramming chocolate into any square inch of space I had left, even after my belly was already sticking out in front of me like a balloon—”

Your partner is almost buzzing now, their fingers running hungrily up and down and around your bulging sides and round middle as they remember just how full you really must be right now.

“Well– I didn’t notice how big it had gotten,” you pout, hamming it up a bit as their roving hands grow more urgent. “Because you just kept handing me treats while I was distracted! And then once you had me all full of beer, too, you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist anything—and it was all so good, and now I’m just—”

You moan theatrically for good measure, clutching again with both hands at the sides of your inflated middle as you hear their breath catch above you. “Oooh—God, I'm so full – but then, that's because you couldn’t help yourself either, could you? You just had to keep feeding me, every chance you got all night long, slipping something to me every time you passed by— and now I’m completely stuffed—" You crack one eye open just for a moment to catch a glimpse of how this is affecting them, before cautiously adjusting your position with another dramatic groan. "Didn't you see that I couldn’t even keep my pants buttoned, when I sat down on the porch the end of the party? My poor little tummy was just so full I thought I might pop—”

“And yet… you decided you need to finish another whole can and a half of beer after that—?”

“Mhmm—maybe – and the rest of that candy bowl–” You open your eyes finally, a bit sheepish now, to see your partner staring down at you, their fingers slowing as they glide firmly down your sides once more— then curling like greedy claws into the softness, to grab your hips.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” they ask you, all feigned innocence gone. Their eyes are ravenous as they drink you in, top to obscenely swollen middle and back again. “Eating yourself out of your own pants, then eating more? Drinking yourself rounder and rounder, as you filled up every inch?”

“I—well, I mean—” Your mouth cracks open into a shy grin, as their hands find the back of the couch. “Yes, obviously... ”

Your eyes flutter closed again as they lower themselves smoothly down against the upper half of your reclined form, their warm breath suddenly in your ear as their head finds your shoulder. You can’t fully stifle the belch or the moan that escape you as their body sinks down onto yours, slightly compressing the bloated organs now squeezed between you. The new pressure on your distended belly draws a groan of befuddled pleasure from you.

Your arms wrap reflexively around their strong back—as they, in turn, snake their arms between you and the soft couch cushions, one hand finding the zipper to your thin costume tunic. Their other arm slips under the thin silky fabric from below and pulls your body in closer to them, wrapping all the way around your back to softly sink warm fingers into an exposed side of your swollen belly. They press you tightly to them as you both melt deeper together into the velour of the overstuffed sofa.

“Then I think, maybe, it was just enough,” your partner growls with a grin.