trans rights đłď¸ââ§ď¸đłď¸âđ, BLM, end genocide, and all that jazz
just, like, be kind to one another
writer (also on AO3, same name)
really just here to write and read; no interest in being involved irl
no AI
generally like fairly realistic stuffing/inflation, more-so writing but also art/irl. mainly interested in the eating/filling/becoming stuffed process part
if I donât like something, Iâll just go look at something else
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Your toes are freezing. You huff and scrunch them inside your wool slippers as you shiver in your bundle of blankets. The house is frigid around you, any residual heat draining quickly the longer your power stays dead. It's the middle of the night and the snow is still falling thickly outside; there's no chance of anyone who could fix it making it to you tonight. The tea kettle starts wailing; at least you have gas to the stove still. Into your favorite mug goes a bag of your favorite tea and a pile of sugar.
Freezing, you drink as soon as it cools enough to pass over your tongue. It splashes into your belly with a comforting warmth, you quickly drain the mug with large sips - enjoying the heat that falls through your throat and into your belly. The tea warms you, but you still shake in the cold. Your fingers start numbing again as the heat fades from the mug all too soon. You fill your mug again, refilling the kettle to its maximum and pulling out your largest mug while you wait for the teabag to steep. By the time the kettle boils, you're breathing out the faintest burp after finishing your second mug. The heat stays only momentairily longer, and only leaves you desperate for more relief.
You take long sips of your third cup as you ponder your situation. Standing in the kitchen is cold, and not fun. There's just enough room in your already roaring fireplace to fit a soup pot next to the fire without touching it, but keeping the pot warm. Tight, but it would fit. You could keep drinking all night if you wanted, warmed by fire and drink. Soon, the pot boils on the stove, full of hot chocolate, and your mug is empty. Your stomach sloshes gently as you walk, three cups of tea warming you gently as you move your things to the fire. You're cold again before you're done.
Your mug is full and the pot rests within reach by the flames. Blankets piles around you in a fort, leaving a warming cavern beneath. You place your hand on your belly as you drink your fourth cup, this time a new tea. There's a gentle bulge and a faint heat, and its contents slosh as your fingers sink deeper for warmth. Your skin molds around you fingers, warming them better than the mug. You're chugging by the end, needy for more warmth. The tea runs into you, heat growing in your belly. You're no longer shaking, but you're far from the toasty comfort you crave. You blech, clutching a full stomach that offers your hands a new warm bump to hold. But the rest of you is still too cold. So, so cold.
You fill your mug from the ladle in the pot and start drinking desperately. Your body continues to fill with heat as your stomach fills. Its not used to being this full, contents sloshing audibly with every mouthful that splashes down, but the warmth is intoxicating. Being finally warm is worth being full, being overfull, being so full of warm, hot, boiling hot chocolate. It's no longer so squishing five cups in, but it pushes out hot and heavy and feels so good in your free hand.
You moan loudly six cups in, your belly a space heater in the blankets. Panting means you suck in more cold air, but you're no longer thinking straight enough to slow down to breathe. Some part of you registers that you've drunk the equivalent of a two liter by now, but all your hands want to do is rub the bloated form that now shows beneath your flannel top. You've never been one to overindudge before, but the contrast between cold outside and hot inside is hedonistic. The seventh cup is filled eagerly, despite the complaints begging to grow from your stomach. It's walls stretch around the sweet liquid, but tight and thin and unhappy.
The seventh cup is slow. Each sip asks your stomach to accept more, stretch more, heat up more. It's so tight inside you, aching with two and a half liters, bulging from your skin. Your skin is hot with drink and stretch now, and you can touch the curves of the bloated organ beneath. But the warmth is so, so good and you need it so badly, and you keep begging your mouth for more.
Sips of the eighth cup hurt now, belly hanging round and protesting. You force each down, clinging to your distended form. It no longer sloshes with your shuddered gulping, too overfull with sickly sweet drink. Both your hands are needed to hold it now, sips sitting in your mouth while your hands move from mug to belly to clutch it like a heating pad. You've shucked your top, too warm now for it, deliciously warm. The skin over the clear shape of your stomach is red and fire hot. The pain fades into the heat.
Hot chocolate feels like it sits in your throat too long now, refusing to enter without force. It keeps coming anyway, and your stomach grows tigher and hotter, tighter and hotter, too tight and too hot, and eight cups are inside you. You are little more than a squealing tea pot, boiling inside and full to the brim. Moaning and panting with what little lung space you have left, you drift into a toasty sleep. Curled around the hot water bag of your own creation, your distended belly finally keeps the cold at bay.
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The fairy stretched his gossamer wings beneath the overturned drinking glass. His prison. He knew the wizard would come indoors soon, having finished slopping his pigs and working in his garden.
His stomach snarled as he wondered what today would bring. He clamped a hand over his growling stomach. For four days, the wizard had tied him against the wall and stuffed him with blueberry pie until he thought his poor tummy couldnât possibly hold any more. Until his stomach ached more than he could take.
Afterward, the wizard spelled the food away, leaving him bruised and hollow. For the past two days, the wizard hadnât fed him at all. Fairies were so small they needed to eat multiple small meals a day to have enough energy to fly. Although about the height of a standing rat, they were slender things who burned up food quickly.
The fairyâs stomach growled ferociously. His stomach twisted with hunger. He could no longer stand up waiting for the wizard to come into the kitchen to decide his fate. Faint, he drifted down to the kitchen counter and sat cross-legged.
No sooner had he sat down, than the kitchen door opened and the wizard entered. Perhaps the wizard would think he had been punished enough for stealing his blueberry pie? Perhaps he was tired of him and would let him go?
The wizard placed a small cloth bag on the counter next to the glass the fairy sat in. âAre you ready to eat now?â
âPlease. Iâm very hungry. Butââ
âBut?â
Did he dare say it? âNot so much this time, please. Ifâifâyou donât mind.â
The wizard shrugged. âI brought you some seeds.â
The fairyâs eyes widened. âI love seeds.â He eyed the little bag. It was much smaller than a pie.
The wizard poured some small black seeds out on the counter. âIf I let you eat these yourself, will you stay put?â
He didnât trust the wizardâs cruel magic to be gentle if he tried to get away. âYes.â
The wizard lifted the glass from the counter and freed the fairy. The fairy ran to the seeds. Honestly, even if he werenât scared of the wizard, he would have not tried to leave without feasting on the seeds. He picked one up and examined it. He had never seen its like before. It tasted sweet and delicious. He nibbled the first, but after that he crammed them in his mouth two or three at a time.
They tasted so good and he was sooo hungry. Once he had eaten every single seed from the countertop, he rubbed his full stomach with satisfaction.
âWhat did you think about those?â
âThey were splendid! Thank you.â
âWould you like some more?â
The fairy rubbed his hand up and down his stomach, thinking. He was comfortably full now, but he had missed so many meals and the seeds were so goodâŚ. âDefinitely!â
âEat them all.â The wizard poured out more seeds.
This pile was bigger than the last. That didnât matter. He would eat them all. Happily. Once he had devoured half of it, however, his stomach began to feel tight and heavy. He rubbed a circle around his tummy to make more room and found it was a big, hard bulge. He massaged his stomach until a burp popped out, then returned to eating the delicious seeds.
Eventually, he finished the last one. His tummy had fully rounded out. Not a bulge anymore, but a large marble. A dull ache had entered it. He had eaten too many seeds.
âYour mouth must be parched,â said the wizard. âHave some water.â He gave the fairy a thimble-sized cup.
The fairy was, indeed, parched. Despite his fullness, he drained the cup.
The wizard poured out the remainder of the bag. âEat the rest of this and Iâll let you go.â
This pile was even bigger than the last. His stomach winced as he looked at the seeds. He wouldnât have had so much water if he had known about this. Still, he missed his home. âDeal.â
He tried to eat as fast as he could, but his stomach started cramping. He had to slow down not quite halfway through. Doggedly, he pressed onward. His belly swelled twice the size it had been before he started. He clutched it as another cramp rippled through him, his face squinching up into a mask of pain.
He had thought this would be so much easier than the blueberry pie. Somehow, it seemed worse. He thought he could feel his tummy growing as he ate, even when he stopped between bites. His poor tummy ached terribly. He tried to quiet a cramp by pressing his hand against it. He felt his stomach stretch! He could actually feel it beneath his hand.
It was a large round globe sticking out from his slender body. It hurt all over. This is the worst tummy ache, he thought. He hadnât expected the innocuous seeds to give him such a bad belly ache.
With a determined grimace, he attacked the seeds, trying to forget the terrible pain in his stomach. His intestines writhed within in him, fighting desperately to digest the seeds. His stomach swelled even more as he ate. When an especially powerful wave of pain hit him, he doubled over with a moan.
He looked down, and his poor tummy was huge now. He hadnât noticed with all of his determined eating. It was easily just as large as when the wizard fed him blueberry pieâa round, full, bloated belly the size of a chicken egg. He didnât know how he was going to fly like that.
He looked at the seeds miserably. He wanted freedom, but his still swelling stomach was in agony. How much bigger would it get?
He steadied himself. He would walk home if he had to. He lifted three seeds to his mouth and tossed them down. By the time he had almost finished the pile, his stomach looked like a goose egg. The skin was pulled so tight, it blushed. His arms couldnât get around it to cradle it. Waves of pain spread through his entire, absurdly distended stomach. It was so tight, so hard. He rubbed his sides, wishing he could hold the middle of his aching belly. âOhhh, my tummy hurts.â His distended belly groaned in response. His belly button popped out.
âLet me help you with the rest.â
Reluctantly, the fairy opened his mouth as the wizard spooned in the rest of the seeds. When, at last, all of the seeds were gone, the fairy held as much of his oversized stomach as he could. It gurgled loudly and quaked under his hands. âI feel like Iâm going to burst,â he said, his voice fraught with pain.
âWell, letâs see.â He poked the fairy just above his pushed out bellybutton.
The fairy gave a strangled cry as pain exploded through his already aching belly.
âHmmm.â The wizard took the fairyâs overindulged stomach between his thumb and forefinger and pressed as if testing a grape for ripeness.
The fairy screamed. The pressure on his distended stomach created unimaginable agony. âPlease. Please donât. I have such a bad tummy ache. My poor tummy canât take anymore.â
âHumph. I donât know about that.â He thumped the fairy in the lower belly.
âOof!â The fairy fell backward, his aching, throbbing stomach like a great dome rising from his body. His abused belly shuddered and groaned. âIâm too full,â he panted. âIâm going to pop.â
The wizard bounced a finger on his prone tummy, causing ripples of pain to radiate through it. âI donât think so. I think youâre going to be fine, for now.â He placed the drinking glass over the fairy.
âYou said youâd let me go. Remember?â He didnât know how he would leave, but he would drag himself out if need be.
âYou broke the deal. Iâm keeping you here.â
âWhat?! No! I ate all of the seedsâevery last one!â
âYou negated the deal when you asked for my help.â He laughed.
Somehow, the fairyâs stomach swelled more. He could do nothing but moan. The tight skin had reddened around his navel and created a blush over the top of his belly.
The wizard leaned over to peer at him. âYouâre getting so big.â
âI donât know whatâs happening. My tummy just keeps swelling up more and more. Itâs already so tight. I donât know how much more I can take.â
âYouâd better hope it can take much more. Those are magical seeds. When eaten or soaked, they swell up to ten times their size.â
âNo! No! Please, you have to help me! Youâyou wonât be able to have fun feeding me if I burst!â As he spoke, his intestines chugged and writhed, too full of seeds to digest anything. He was absolutely stuffed with seeds. Swelling seeds, making his stomach puff out to grotesque dimensions.
The wizard smiled at him. âI have an errand to run. If youâre still alive when I return, Iâll take the seeds away and we can have some more fun.â He walked out the door to the outside.
âNo! Wait!â he called to the wizardâs back. âYou canât leave me like this!â Tears slid down the fairyâs face as he lay trapped under his huge, aching belly. It stretched more, rising like bread dough in an oven. His skin felt impossibly tight. A new groan erupted from his gurgling tummy. As the swelling continued, his tummy began to creak.
Cute girl with a slim frame and a tight, rounded full belly poking out from under her shirt. As she squirms, she can feel how her insides are bubbling with the gurgled remains of food and trapped air thatâs just begging to be let out.
A slew of noisy, overstuffed groans fill her ears as she lies down, tentatively poking her grumbly belly. Itâs firm now, hard as a rock. Every low gurgle indicates that the half-digested food and gas is settling deeper into her guts, and she whimpers in pain.
She tries massaging her tum so that something can loosen up in there; a meaty belch to relieve the pressureâ or perhaps the sensation of something moving along through her intestines. But all she manages to stir from the oversized organ are a few pathetic hiccups.
She whines, resigned to her fate. All she can do is sit there and stroke her poor bloated middle, hoping for some reliefâŚ
Yâall seem to really like Sebby over here, heres a comp of some sketches I did early this year :3
(Fic below these)
So i accidentally wrote and fic under this so enjoy!
A BIG synopsis of my head cannon here is heâs always had a problem either his weight and self esteem issues. Led him to wearing large clothing, sweat shirts and not going outside much. But all changed when he met Farmer (Liv). She met him when he was out by his lake, asking to join him while she fished.
âArenât we all like skipping rocks over the water, eventually were all gonna sinkâ
âIt isnât about the sinking part, its about the skipâ
âWhat do you mean?â
And the conversation lasted hoursâŚ
Afterward when it got dark, she ends up invited him over to cook to his she caught for both of them, well he ended up eating most of it.
Weeks go by and they get into the habit of meeting at their spot and having dinner. Sebastian hadnât noticed any changes to himself compared to how he used to be.. just life seemed more⌠tolerable? Even if his waist band started to feel tighter.
Eventually they started hanging out with Sebbyâs friends, Sam and Abiand getting close with all of them. As they were walking back homeâŚ
âHey, wanna come hang at my room for a bit?â
Farmer smiled and agreed ofc, it was a wonderful night but as Sebby took off his hoodie, farmer caught a glimpse of his overhang, framed but the lifted brim of his shirt. Her face turned flush as she turned away.
What was that?
She didnât think much as the night went on, playing video games and watching a movie.
Things moved forward fairly quickly after that, first kiss, dates and all that comes with⌠but all this eating and lounging was not doing well on Sebbyâs psyche. On one hand, heâs the happiest hes ever been in his life, on the other hand⌠hes the heaviest. He stomach now comfortably hugged by his used to be oversized tâshirts, none of his skinny jeans fit and worst, his hoodies canât even hide his tummy.
He stares in the mirror at himself.
How can she love me like this, Iâm huge.
They had a date planned that evening with of course, her fabulous cooking. And OF COURSE it was his favorite, pumpkin soup.
He arrived at her place layered in a sweater and jacket over the top. She offered to hang it up but he declined, saying heâs got chills.
I thought he liked the winter cold?
They had dinner, Seb tried to atleast hold back alittle but fully gave into his comfort food and had two large bowls which left him sloshy and sluggish. He could feel his belly tight against the brim of his sweat pants and quickly adjusts it under his overhang when felt so relieving.
âAre you still hungry? Thereâs plenty leftâ
âNo, no, that was so good honey but Iâm fullâ how is she still offering me more after I just ate so much so fast it could have been mistaken as a competition.
He helped her clean up and wasted no time sprawling out on the couch. Liv close to follow grabbing the remote and at the end of the couch to prep for laying is what ever couch space is left after Sebby took up like 90% of it.
âInterstellar?â
âYeah~â
Liv had already seen like 20 times but her focus was never gonna be on the movie.
As Sebby laid back, his left arm over his head to rest against which sequentially lifted his shirt. A alittle revealing his happy trail, plush and rising over waist band. Her face flush, she caught herself watching as it lifted and lowered with every one of his breaths.
Sebby felt a-little colder then hes used to on the couch and realized it directly corilated to Liv laying next to him. He looks up to see her staring, looking at his gut then once she meets his eyes, turns away.
A wave of pure distress washes over Seb, he blood tuns cold.
She just found out Iâve gotten fat
He quickly moved his sweater down to cover and leans up slightly.
âHey hey whats wrongâ in and extremely shaky voice just teetering on an edge waiting for her to land a heavy blow to his self worth.
âYou just⌠you just look so hot right now.. I cant take itâ saying this completely facing away from him, she would explode looking at him.
His gaze freezes in place looking at her, the silhouette of hands over her face.
âAre you serious?â In the softest tone he could muster, he was so everywhere in emotion, he couldnât decide on which to focus on.
She turns around and nods, trying to keep her focus on his face and not his plump pecs pressing against the sweater.
âBut⌠even with all this fat? â his face tilting more to sadness as he looks down and grabs the side on his belly through the sweater.
For liv, this was like a dam bursting, she couldnât keep it in any longer.
âSweetyâŚYouâve been getting hotter the fat youâve gottenâ
They both cover there mouth in unison.
âI canât believe i just said that.â Said live is a soft tone.
âMe neitherâ Sebby also said matching her tone.
There was a very pregnant pause between them.
Sebby had to break the tense, he couldnt keep tell how embarrassed and horney his poor girlfriend was. He had to help.
âWanna touch itâ
He lifted his sweater a but revealing his so much soft belly then the last time she saw it a few months ago.
âOh Sebbyâ she said in the most yearning voices
âJust be gentle, im so stuffed right nowâ as he leaned back and adjusted his seating, even looking alittle fatter with the way he arched his back slightly
âOf course baby, Iâll take good care of youâshe couldnât even finish her sentence before moving in front of him with his legs behind her.
She took her time moving up his shirt further, display more of her love on him. The upper belly clearly distended from all the soup and churning from and heavy cream she used in the recipe.
She began with sliding his hands to the side of his body, feeling the softness of his fat and the heaviness of his gut. Making small circles, large circles, some grabs slight giggles. All this while Sebby is a mix of fearfully on edge do to the strangeness of this but immensely inthralled with her warm silky hands messaging his dinner. He let out a strand burp which made his belly tense for a second which sent Liv a wave of heat through her body and down to her crotch.
She was trying to seem calm but he legs started to gently gitter which Sebby mistook for her being cold. He leaned up and grabbed the blanket on the top rim of the couch and gently threw it around the back on her and pulled her in with it.
âLets cuddleâ which she nodded too, not up for making to many decisions now with how overwhelmed she was.
She slid between the sliver on couch left between Sebbys side and love handles. Since the gate had been broken, he hand mysteriously found itself under the softness of his underbelly, cupping it in her hand.
âSo this is gonna be the new normal now huh?â
âIf you donât want me to I can stop.â As he hand slightly lets go, she feels a large even warmer hand stop hers and move it back to its postion.
âNo no, you feel really niceâ
Having something heâs despised for so long be worshipped was like a drug to him. Seeing her reactions and nervousness about what she enjoyed⌠he couldnât help but relate and want to make her happier.
-fin (for now)
Damn this became a novel, i was having to much fun. Lmk if yâall would want a fic of them :3
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Before and after my Thanksgiving stuffing. Loved the feeling of my belt digging into my skin and the heft of my bloated belly spilling out of my jeans. Trying to hide my massive food baby from my entire family while waddling back for my 4th piece of pieâŚ.
how badly do you need to be stuffed right now? how stuffed are you already? Obviously not stuffed enough. I bet youâre reaching for more food already, you canât resist that uncomfortably tight feeling. you need to have your belly so tight it feels like a beach ball, it definitely looks like one. youâll look pregnant if you keep eating like this. you definitely need to eat more. youâre not full if you can bend over, move, or take a deep breath. thereâs more room in there still. youâre going to look like you swallowed a yoga ball but youâre not even close to round enough yet. you need to be the roundest and heaviest ever. you need to eat more. you think youâre done? you know you still need to get tighter. chug a drink so that it fills up all the space and rounds you out more, you know thereâs still space. if youâre still able to reach around your belly to massage that tight fullness away, you need to eat more. more than that. it needs to be tighter and rounder and fuller, so taut that you can feel the stretch every time you breathe. your belly should be so heavy you canât get up, and so big you canât even think about leaning forward or do anything except rubbing your tight gut and groaning.
how are you feeling now? i think you can do more.
I need to gorge myself with everything in sight, insatiable, getting fuller and fuller by the minute. I need to feel myself filling up inside, feel the weight and pressure building inside my gut. I need that sensation of eating and eating and eating until I feel my belly bulging outwards. I need to cram delicious food in my face while my middle swells bigger and bigger, popping my buttons and filling my lap.
I need to be horribly overfed, sprawled out in my chair, my belly packed drum tight with everything I've forced into it. I need to be swollen and tight, and so unbelievably bloated that my poor stomach doesn't have a bit of give left. I need the pressure inside my stomach to be immense and heavy.
And then I need to be tempted by something irresistable. I need to be compelled to keep going. To keep glutting myself, despite feeling that I have no room left. I need the feeling of slowly shoving bite after bite into my overloaded gut, unable to do anything but groan, eat, and feel so, so full.
I need to indulge until I have no choice but to stop. I need to be pinned to my bed by my heavy stomach, unable to move under the weight of my gluttony. I need to be seconds away from bursting, having only stopped eating once my belly is threatening to pop like a balloon if I so much as take a deep breath, let alone another bite.
I need to lie back in bliss, packed solid and filled to the limit, rubbing my firm, tight belly, groaning from fullness, filled with excitement and pride with the immense meal I've had.
CONTAINS: bakery manager x reader, stuffing, light dom feedism, light eructo, belly rubs
Reminder for what this is: there were some old fics/adjacent things that used to be around that I latched onto but was dissatisfied with them because of spelling mistakes, being RPF, or feeling unfinished etc. This is the first of 3 rewrites Iâve hoped to do, but they are not connected in any other way.
Details about the original:
It was a post on Tumblr that I believe has been lost to time, I donât know if there were any titles on the post. I hold no ill will towards whomever wrote it originally, and I love the concept too much to not try to fix it up a bit.
What I remember about the original: 2 unnamed people working at a bakery, 2nd person perspective. The character is said to typically eat a lot of the bakeryâs leftovers, and this time the character is made to eat an entire wedding cake on top of that, because it was made in the wrong flavor. They stop after eating each layer though didnât indicate which they started with and would try to rub their belly but would be encouraged to keep eating instead. This would occur until they finished the entire cake. The manager then promptly leaves and the character is forced to clean up the mess on a full stomach.
Things I wanted to fix: the spelling, the lack of detail about the cake and bakery operations, the rushed-feeling ending and withholding of relief from the full belly. Hopefully all is accomplished and more (also quick warning that itâs quite long), enjoy.
âââââ
Youâre an early riser, though your body belabors it. Youâre the first person to enter the small bakery, Reverie, every morning. Your tired mind skims across the most preliminary of preparations, until you find yourself peering through the oven glass at the rising dough of treats and confections, the task of making the dough itself so instinctual now that your brain neglects to even remember doing so.
When everything is baked to perfection, you heave trays and trays of daily cookies, tarts, croissants and more to their displays, for the many customers to glance at throughout the day, their hungry eyes compelling them to buy more and more. Itâs around the time you are filling in the last of the shelves with the new stock that the only other employee, your manager, clocks in for the day, nodding to you with an unwavering sense of trust as they don a matching apron.
You finish the current task by placing the day-old desserts in a separate, discounted display. At your managerâs behest, the desserts not bought from this discount pile at the end of the day are given to you. Your manager sees to it that you are eating well throughout the day, and consistently reminds you to partake in your allotted confectionary while behind the counter or doing other tasks, along with providing you your generous lunch breaks. You oblige, if a bit reluctantly, though you have omitted from telling them that when you lumber home from work every day, you can do little else than rub your massive, sugar-bloated stomach in bed until you fall asleep.
ââââââ
Today is a slow day, with little to indicate that anything is but ordinary. Your manager, really the owner of this bakery, tends to handle special projects on their own, as the more experienced of the two of you at decorating. These assignments donât pop up super frequently, as Reverie is but a little known secret of your city, but those who come seeking catering, wedding cakes, and other large desserts have never once been disappointed by the quality. Your manager has been in the back kitchen most of the day, handling the most recent order, while you munch away on stale treats at the counter.
Youâre beginning to feel how full you are, a twinge appearing in your side followed by a hiccup. You feel your face growing warm as you cover your mouth, but thankfully no customers are around, though you hadnât thought to check in the moment. As your focus returns, you notice the voice of your manager in conversation coming from the kitchen:
âI see - - Iâm so sorry to hear that, yes we can accommodate - - no trouble at all! These things are common - - yes, please donât worry, Iâm happy to do so free of charge - - I insist - - thank you - -â
You then hear a plastic click as they return the phone to the wall, a drawn-out sigh accompanying it. They push through the double doors behind you, apron covered in flour and frosting, and address you with a small smile.
âLooks like weâve got a situation.â
ââââââ
âHow does someone develop an allergy so sudden?â You ask incredulously.
âNo clue! But now I have to remake this entire cake in a different flavor.â Your manager sighs even deeper. You rendezvoused in the back room after closing a bit earlier (and hastier, to the chagrin of your stomach) than normal. âSorry I might have to keep you later than usual, youâll be getting overtime for this. I just need help setting up and cleaning, Iâve got the mixing and decorating handled. Oh, and help yourself to any leftovers. Thereâs quite a lot to go around, itâs just you and me here after all.â
You nod, beginning to gather utensils, though you try to ignore your apron digging into your full stomach.
Your manager looks resolute, saying to you and themselves, âItâll take more time but itâll be worth it. After all,â they mention over their shoulder with a smile, âit would be bad business if one of the grooms were to die on their wedding day.â
ââââââ
The three-tiered wedding cake looms over you on the center counter of the kitchen. Itâs unavoidable from all angles, white frosting piped into delicate flowers, with thin dark chocolate vines spread throughout, and flaked all over in almonds. According to the original recipeâ you read off of the counter housing the mixer âeach tier is a different flavor, with the bottom being a lemon cake with vanilla filling, the middle being a pistachio cake with Italian meringue, and the top being a rich chocolate cake with raspberry. Your manager was prepping to remake most parts the same for the new cake, but sub out the almonds and pistachios for flower notes and orange flavor.
You feel your belly rumble reading the recipes, but you brush it off and figure itâs begun the long digestion of all the treats itâs been stuffed with. You glance at the measly plastic tupperware your manager retrieved from storage and put to the side of the behemoth-cake, and recall that you had stopped bringing your own take-home plastic containers to work a long time ago, since you just ate it all while you were there anyway. But this, on such a full stomach already, is much too big, you tell yourself, averting your eyes to focus on wiping down counters and preheating the ovens. You canât look away from the smell though. All around you wafts its sweet notes of almond-vanilla, its hints of dark chocolate, until finally, in a lull between tasks, it compels you to cut a slice.
You go for a piece from the very top, just a small slice as you anticipate it to be very dense, and oh how dense it is. The consistency is almost torte-like, chocolate that sits heavy in your mouth while being contrasted by the bright notes from the raspberry. Delighted instantly, you start wondering about how the others might taste, and go to cut two more small slices. Your manager smiles at you as they catch a glance of the plastic plate in your hand, and you feel your cheeks growing warm again.
The bite of pistachio is less sweet but earthy, with a nutty flavor profile, the texture of the cake so soft it practically melts in your mouth along with the meringue. The lemon cake melds the best with the almond exterior, and you find yourself slicing the ends of the frosting off to eat in tandem with the cake. Before you know it, youâve breezed through all three slices, and itâs knocked the wind out of you. Thatâs enough now, you say to yourself as you pat your middle (even your thoughts are wheezing), donât want to get a tummy ache on the job, though you are already halfway there.
ââââââ
You try to push away the feeling that thereâs a little more room in your stomach, reasoning thatâs your sweet tooth talking. No time for that. You go back to your baking assistant duties, for a time, until youâre idling again because youâre waiting for the ingredients to mix, or your manager shooes you away, and you just canât help yourself from taking another little slice.
Before you know it, youâve finished the equivalent of the entire small tier. Most of it is gone anyhow, with a sizable dent made in the pistachio tier as well. You stifle a deep burp. Oof, your stomach rounds doubly over than normal, molding your now very tight apron into a bulbous swell. As your hands begin to follow the curve up and down for some relief, your manager calls you over again to help put the cake trays in the oven. You turn around and walk- no, waddle over, wondering how obviously your belly is leading the way.
âOkay, that should be ready in 20 minutes,â your manager says, dusting off their hands of flour and sugar. You find it hard to focus on anything but your belly; it was extra sensitive against the trays you held, waiting to place them into the oven. âHow was the cake?â You are snapped out of your food-engorged trance by the sound of their voice.
âOh, it was really good. Varied, it was all good but different,â you say, catching them glancing at you from an angle much lower than your face. They hum, amused by your compliment, and approach the cake.
âWhile we have time, I think Iâll try a slice. Do you want any more?â Their tone is completely neutral, as though theyâre oblivious to a third of the cake being gone already. You open your mouth to respond but theyâve already turned back to the cake and cut the last two slices of the chocolate tier, setting aside one on another plate. âJust in case you want it. Thereâs so much, and I certainly canât eat it all.â
You pick up the plate to be polite, picking your fork back up as well. As you watch them eat, they appear just as pleased as you were when trying the cake for the first time. âNot too shabby, Iâd say. Sad that itâs a waste. Oh well.â
They finish their slice and open a nearby drawer in the counter, pulling out a large binder of cake designs and flipping to a marked page they point out to you. âIâm going to keep as much as I can from the original design, without nuts. I say we keep the chocolate, and maybe still have some texture on the outside, maybe coconut? Now we need to make the outer frosting as well as the inner icing.â Your manager goes over with you the ingredients for the different spreads and for the main icing. Nodding along, you somewhat-unconsciously bring bites of the cake to your mouth, since youâre holding it in your hand after all. Perhaps that had been a mistake, since when you begin to break away to locate the ingredients, you find that youâve eaten the whole piece. As you set the plate down again, your manager asks over their shoulder, âStill hungry?â
Not in the slightest, you want to say, but a loud burp interjects first. You slam your hand over your mouth, your face flushed and hot, and surely red as a beet.
âIâm so sorry,â you stammer through your fingers, while your manager gives a little laugh.
âThatâs quite alright,â they say, a note of sweetness in their voice. âI take it you have more room now?â
Before you or your stomach can protest, you are handed another slice of lemon cake with a smile. âIâve got this; you just keep eating.â
ââââââ
You do keep eating, and while your manager takes the cakes out of the oven and mixes together icing, you find the room to finish three more slices before you start significantly slowing down.
âOohâŚâ you grunt, resting your hands on your stomach as you tilt your head back.
âSomething wrong?â your manager asks, looking over at you from the mixing bowls.
âIâm just..really full..â
Your manager emerges behind you, and firmly tugs on the strings at the back of your apron, pulling them loose. Immediately your belly surges forward, skin rippling from hitting the edge of the counter. It groans as you do, disgruntled from the sudden shock. But as shocking as that was, your manager then slides their hands over your sides, cups their hands under your stomach, and heaves it onto the counter. Youâre just tall enough for it to remain there, and your belly is just big enough to be unable to slide off.
âThatâs better, hm?â they ask softly. You groan, too full to think of anything but the drastic relief of being relinquished from the tightness of your apron. You keep groaning, as your managerâs hands knead away the sore ache in your sides, bringing up air bubbles. âI bet that feels good. Hereâs whatâs going to happen. I will decorate and assemble the new cake. You are going to eat the rest of this one before I am done, or youâre going to clean this kitchen top to bottom. Sound good?â
âMmphâŚâ You had, how many, 10, 11 slices already? Only halfwayâŚ
ââââââ
Thankfully the decorating would take some time. You alternate between the remaining two tiersâ pistachio, lemon, savory, sweetâ while watching your manager pipe the delicate designs onto the replacement cake. Out of necessity, you find a rhythm in your eating. Chew. Swallow. Chew. Swallow. Burrp. Groan⌠Repeat.
Your sheer willpower gets you through 6 more slices. Time feels as though itâs slowed to a crawl. Your tummy demands at least one hand be constantly rubbing it. It remains resting on the counter, growing firmer with every bite.
You whimper as you hear your manager approaching behind you once more. Without a word, their hands appear by your taut belly again and they squeeze it suddenly inward. You gasp in between expelling forceful belches and low moans. But just as quickly as they arrived, the hands leave your sides. They whisper in your ear, âYouâve got more room now. So eat up, Iâm almost done.â
ââââââ
âUuurrpâŚ.buoorrpâŚ.â
In between shoving cake into your mouth, you press your belly into the counter, forcing air back up your throat. In these crucial moments, every inch of your stomach capacity must be utilized to the fullest, and at this point, youâre desperate. You canât even imagine summoning the energy needed to move your heavy belly off this counter, let alone cleaning anything.
Heaving and panting, you approach the final slice. You saved the pistachio for last as a palate cleanser. You glance to your manager, who is adding the final piping to the cake decor. They look like they could be finished at any moment. You grip your plastic fork with new purpose.
Your rhythm returns, as you thickly swallow each bite of cake. Youâve come this far, you canât give up now! And you really donât want to cleanâŚthinking of that possibility makes you tired more than anything else, so you focus on chewing, the taste of the pistachio mixed with the icing. It would taste like heaven in any other scenario, but youâre not sure many people have tasted so much heaven in one sitting.
Your fork reaches for another bite before you realize the slice is finished, and the moment it clicks, as though on cue, your full, full stomach whines loud and long. Your hands weakly clutch at your huge bellyâ triple its normal size, aching, and so, so full.
âOoohhhhâŚ.uUrpâŚ.oooohhhâŚâ Your head swims, delirious almost, as your stomach uproariously churns.
Your managerâs hands soon join yours in gently rubbing away the ache, and you melt into their touch.
âWell done,â they say in your ear. âYour capacity is extraordinary. Perhaps youâll help me tomorrow with inventory?â Youâre the fullest youâve ever been, you canât respond to their innocuous question with anymore than groans and burps, but some small part of you canât help but fantasize about filling your belly up even bigger with your next meal.
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god itâs so swollen, no wonder it aches so much. i can feel it bloating up with every queasy gurgle and rumble, which was particularly distracting during my exam this morning. my tummy is typically pretty flat, so iâve been hiding it under baggy shirts and sweaters.
so far only one person has noticed, a girl in one of my afternoon lectures. a particularly loud bubble squelched through my guts, and i pressed my hand against my lower belly. she leaned over and asked if my stomach was upset, and i nodded. i gave some excuse about being stressed, and she playfully scolded me for not drinking enough water (she always reminds me to refill my water bottle in that class, sheâs very sweet). all the while, my tummy groaned and gurgled with three days worth of food, and i tried my absolute best to hide how obscenely swollen i was. seriously, i donât think iâve ever been this bloated in my life.
