The walls of my stomach stretch so wide
this is actually so hot its killing me
i don't do bad sauce passes
One Nice Bug Per Day
Monterey Bay Aquarium
hello vonnie
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sheepfilms

ē„ę„ / Permanent Vacation

blake kathryn

if i look back, i am lost
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@diarrhead
The walls of my stomach stretch so wide
this is actually so hot its killing me
Imagefic - Speeding to Shit
Chase had considered himself popular until today. No-one had remembered his birthday, not his friends, not his family, no-one. To make himself feel better he drove to his favourite Mexican takeout for the first time in almost a year. The management had taken over and food hygiene has plummeted to the floor. He'd heard horror stories about how "Casa del Viento" tacos had randomly started turning family homes and frat houses alike into biohazard zones. But, it was his birthday and the loveable tacos from his childhood were all he craved.
Arthur Gea at French Open
Has anyone else seen the clips from Arthur Geaās match at the French Open?? I recommend checking it out to anyone who hasnāt! Brief run down: the 21 year old French tennis player struggles to hold it in, with diarrhoea during his match. He keeps begging the umpire to let him go blow up the toilet, but theyāre like inhumanely stubborn. Eventually they get a doctor out who says he can go if heās really desperate and he runs off the pitch. Genuinely top tier desperation dialogue: āI feel itās going to blow outā, āI canāt!ā when the empire tells him to wait till after the match, and of course āIām going to shit on the fucking court!ā
A few of my personal notes on the situation:
His ass looked honestly amazing in those tight blue tennis shorts. 𤩠I wonder if the ball boy count hear it farting in revolt throughout the match
I like how watching the match, you can hear his tennis grunts turn into whimpers as he hits the ball
He said in the post-match interview that heās been feeling ill throughout the lead up to the match, it could be food poisoning or maybe a stomach virus. That would be bad for the other players if it spreads and we end up seeing more of this kind of pleading. š Most likely though, theyād start taking it more seriously and give the players less hassle when theyāre asking to be excused.
Brazilian guy farts! #5
He turned the elevator into a gas chamber! That rotten egg stench isn't going away anytime soon⦠š¤¢
The Doctor's Visit
- This story contains themes of extreme weight gain, including health issues and talk of immobility. If you don't like that, don't read. -
James pleaded with his boyfriend, he really did. A trip to the doctor's was just about the most humiliating situation he could imagine himself in at his size. Max forced him to go, he wouldn't take no for an answer and James always gave in to his boyfriend's requests, it's probably how he ended up so huge. Max told James that the doctor would be the safest place to go since his mountain of a boyfriend had struggled with getting out of bed by himself, and after getting stuck in the doorframe last week James had been sat in bed with little to no movement. He was hesitant to agree, but after his boyfriend mentioned grabbing McDonald's on the way back home it didn't take very long for James' buried cock to get hard and agree.
After snacking the whole car journey they had finally arrived at the doctors. James wanted to finish the rest of his donuts before he went inside but the great effort of getting his seatbelt done up put them behind schedule so Max said there was no time. Thankfully, they were able to get a good parking spot right next to the front door so there wasn't far to walk for the obese man, although James still needed a break before they even got his ass through the double doors. Once they entered the waiting room they could feel everyone's eyes locked on to the massive man stood before them. James was breathing as if he had just completed a marathon and while Max checked them in James sat his wide ass across two seats in the waiting room, protesting with a loud creak as they felt his weight. James was nervous, but he felt hungry more than anything, it was a long time that he'd gone so long without food and even longer since Max had fed him.
"James Parker?" called out the receptionist, "You're free to enter Room 103."
Thank God for that, James thought. He was lucky he got a room on the ground floor, he was in no condition to be climbing any steps. Waddling into the room was harder than he thought it would be but at least he had Max holding onto his back so he wouldn't fall over. The door was a tight squeeze but James could suck in just enough for his hips to slightly brush the doorframe as he entered and plopped his ass on the seats in the doctor's office. Max was left standing behind his mammoth boyfriend who took up both seats, he desperately tried to hide how horny he was.
The doctor assessed his patient for a few seconds, unsure of what to say after pulling up his previous records. "Well Mr. Parker, it seems you have gained quite a lot of weight since your last visit, your records show you at 317lbs two and a half years ago."
James shifted nervously causing the chairs to creak loudly from underneath him, he knew he was about to get scolded, he just hoped Max would be there to back him up.
"We need to get some updated measurements of you, can you step up on the scale for me please?" Ugh. That scale was all the way across the room and James had just gotten comfy. He didn't want to face the music and see how much he'd grown, he knew it was going to be bad anyways. He looked over to Max for reassurance.
"Come on big boy up you get." said his boyfriend as he pulled him up out of his chairs with a few failed attempts.
An already out of breath James leaned on his boyfriend while he caught his breath. Max leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Move it piggy, or no takeout on the way home. If you're above 600 I'll buy you double."
James moaned quietly and started waddling towards the scale with great effort. With a loud grunt he'd gotten onto the scale and waited for the doctor to read the number out, all James could see when he looked down was his belly and tits.
"Oh dear..." said the doctor, "This is worse than we thought. James, you're 642.2lbs."
He felt his heart drop, how on earth was it possible to double your weight in under three years? James knew he was getting fat but he had no idea how bad it was! He started to panic, wondering how this could've happened and he looked around at his boyfriend catching him smiling and giving his piggy a wink. James knew Max loved to feed him, but had he gone too far? All the doubt washed away when he saw just how excited his fat made his fit boyfriend, if Max was happy with James' size then James should be too! The waddle back to the chairs felt even harder than before, it felt as if all 642lbs were resting on his shoulders on top of his weight. With a few grunts he managed to waddle into place and sit, but with a loud crash soon echoed in the room.
"Babe? Baby are you okay?" Max said with a panicked look on his face.
His whale of a boyfriend was stuck on the floor after breaking the chairs in the doctor's office. As worried as he was that James may have injured himself, he could feel precum coating his underwear at the sight of his helpless pig on the floor. Max knew he was gonna treat him so well after this, he deserved it.
With the help of four doctors plus his boyfriend's muscly arms, James was back on his feet and placed in a bariatric wheelchair, finally in a seat that was wide enough for him. The doctor did some blood tests on James with a fair amount of struggle. The cuff would just barely wrap around James' meaty arms, that sent a jolt to his buried cock.
"James, our tests have revealed that you have a BMI of 97.5, the maximum for a healthy weight should be no more than 25. At just 5'8, you should be sitting at around 160lbs but instead you are four times as much as that. Your blood pressure is dangerously high and your breathing is extremely heavy, I am worried about what may happen to you if you continue to gain weight. I can refer you to a bariatric specialist if necessary, if no action is taken I'm afraid to say you will likely be immobile by the end of the year."
James was zoning out, all he could think about was Max and how much he was in love with him. He didn't care about the inevitable health issues he was going to get from gaining weight, he just wanted Max to take care of him. And something about being in a specialist wheelchair, so fat and helpless was doing something to him, making him feel sexier than ever. He knew Max felt it too.
Max thanked the doctor for his time and wheeled James out of the office. So many eyes darted and locked onto his whale sized boyfriend who was nervously squeezing his tits. Once they got to the car Max threw James the rest of his donuts and it didn't take long for them to be devoured, much to the doctor's disapproval. It took longer getting James into the car because of his wheelchair and fall, Max didn't want to put too much pressure on his boyfriend's feet. James ended up laying down in the back of the car looking like a beached whale, it was the safest thing to do with him.
"So piggy, what do you want from Maccies?" asked Max as James was too distracted playing with his fat to even notice. He'd always loved being fat but he'd truely fallen in love with his size just like how Max had. He wanted more, so much more... "Babe, get one of everything on the menu... URRRP" James burped.
After his feast they healed James out of the car and got back into bed, hooking him back up to his CPAP machine where he quickly fell asleep. Max cuddled up to his whale boyfriend knowing just how much fatter he was going to make him and started to suck on his boyfriend's tits until cum dripped out of his fatpad, he must've been having a wet dream. Max cleaned up his boyfriend's mess and fell asleep next to the comforting blubber and warmth of James.
Maybe a controversial post but I noticed a lot of times in eprocto content it usually revolves around massive bloating, weight gain, furries, feederism, etc. (No hate to people into this stuff, it's just not my thing)
Honestly what actually turns me on is the idea of a conventionally attractive person farting. I want to see their gorgeous faces twist in discomfort, ripples and bubbles of sewage hidden neatly under toned abs, the epitome of beauty's face showing pleasure meant for an orgasm, instead used for relief of their putrid, gross guts.
I need to hear that boyish laugh and evil smirk as the hot male actor admits to his rip, that mischevious grin and blush as the model realizes she's on camera, the panic or lack of panic as gas makes its way out after being held too long.
I want to see pain, annoyance as their perfect body fights against being perfect for once. I want to hear muffled groans and sighs as they try to hold it in as much as possible. Fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, pacing, groaning, all while looking as sexy and ethereal as possible.
Is it bad that I so badly want to be kidnapped and fattened endlessly? I mean if I didnāt have a choice in the matter then I wouldnāt feel bad for ending up immobile, doing nothing in life but eating. If I had health problems, oh well isnāt my fault. Iād have no worries no problems no struggles just food.
Yeah maybe itād be pretty rough being force fed day and night for the rest of my life but I think Iād like it. I wanna be so full I forgot what hunger feels like, Iām begging for the food to end between burps and moans all while my sadistic kidnapper rubs my body feeling my fat up and laughing at me while holding my next plate of food. Anyone wanna do this for me hit me up if so lol
both front and back getting heavierš®āšØ
My favorite pose
Cleaning this tank
new sickfic RP generator!
Sickfic: Insert prompt below:
If you saw my last post, you know I created an AI sickfic RP generator using Character.AI. That one was restricted to a clinic setting. This new one I've made is more liberal. (I also think the quality of the writing is much better.)
You can write out your prompt as a sentence, but the AI will likely respond better to this format ā Name: (insert name). Personality: (insert personality traits). Receptivity to help: (AKA how they'll react to you). Setting: (anything from bedroom to Antarctica). Source of pain: (indigestion, food poisoning, etc.). You can forgo any of these categories if you'd like.
Example convo (sorry for the blurriness):
Fun things to remember!
Swipe on the AI's generated response and it'll give you more potential replies!
The more you vote (stars at the bottom), the higher quality it'll grow to be!
If you insert a fictional character for the name, the AI should mimic the character (to an extent)!
Have fun!
Taco Bell Toilet
Iām sitting in front of the toilet, dripping in sweat and holding my stomach. It churns and whines and gurgles away. Itās my fault, I never should have eaten two week old Taco Bell, regular Taco Bell messes with my stomach so why did I think two week old burritos wouldnāt do worse.Ā
I can feel it coming - the inevitable is on its way. It churns and gurgles and burbles but somehow it hasnāt made its way to the toilet yet. My stomach is hard and bloated. I look 9 months pregnant. I burp and belch and spit a little but still nothing. Iām praying for it at this point just to get it over with but I know once it starts, itās not gonna stop.Ā
Itās been an hour and nothing - no exiting, no relief. I donāt know what to do. I try to get up and go lay in bed but the second I do I feel a shift in my gut. I lean over the toilet and expect a waterfall to come out but to my surprise, nothing. I finally manage to get up and get to bed. Iām really hoping I just sleep it off.Ā
Itās 1:58 am. I wake up to my stomach bigger and more bloated than before. My mouth is full ofā¦something and I feel raging diarrhea about to come! I RUN to the bathroom and quickly sit on the toilet. I grab the bucket and get ready. The diarrhea is just endless. It just goes and goes and goes. One burp sends up every once of food out my mouth and nose. The rancid sour cream, the old cheese, the bad beef burritos come flying up and out. Itās everywhere. I have zero control over anything right now. The second one end stops, the other comes out in full force. I finally stop having diarrhea but the puking on the other handā¦.the puking has just begun. I sit and wait because I know that it wasnāt done. I wouldnāt even believe what happened next if I wasnāt there to seeā¦err experience it first hand. My stomach makes the loudest bubbling sound Iāve ever heard. Chunks of Taco Bell come out with extreme force and practically paint my bathroom. Thereās bits and pieces of food everywhere. This goes on for another minute or two but it feels like hours. When Iām done, Iām exhausted, my bathroom is destroyed, but my stomach is finally empty and I feel better.Ā
he held onto everything in his guts for too long
is he gonna make it? :oc
(uhhhh so I drew a sc*t version of this, it's my first time drawing it. you can check it out on my fa here)
unironically my situationship rn lolll
The Bet and The Butt Plug
"You *actually* thought you could beat me in Mario Kart?" I snorted, tossing the controller onto the couch beside me. Jerome, my stepdadāall six-foot-five of him, built like a linebacker who moonlighted as a bearājust blinked at the screen where his character had spun out for the eighth time. His thick fingers flexed against his thighs like he was still mentally gripping the controller.
"You cheated," he grumbled, deep voice rumbling through the living room.
Jeromeās accusation hung in the air, ridiculous and delicious. I leaned back, grinning. "Cheated? You *wish*." I stretched my arms behind my head, watching his brow furrow. "But you know what this meansābetās a bet. You lost. Rules are rules."
He exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring like a bull scenting red. "Fine," he muttered. "Whatās the damn punishment?"
I tapped my chin, pretending to consider my options even though I'd planned this the moment he'd foolishly agreed to the bet. "Well," I said slowly, watching his shoulders tense, "since you clearly can't handle anything *complicated*, let's keep it simple." His dark eyes narrowed as I leaned forward, grinning. "Butt plug. One week."
Jerome's face went completely still. Then, like a slow-motion avalanche, disbelief crept across his features. "You're *joking*."
Jeromeās massive frame tensed like a bowstring. His deep voice dropped to a growl. "You canāt be serious."
I leaned back, stretching my arms behind my head with a grin. "Dead serious." I kicked my feet up onto the coffee table, watching his nostrils flare. "And Mexican food every day. No exceptions."
Jerome exhaled sharply through his nose, arms crossing over his broad chest like he was physically restraining himself from flipping the coffee table. "Mexican *and* theā" He hesitated, jaw twitching. "The other thing."
"Yep," I said, popping the 'p' like a bubblegum bubble. "Starting tonight. Oh, andā" I reached into my backpack and pulled out the little velvet box I'd stashed there this morning. Jerome's eyes locked onto it like it was a live grenade. "Ta-da!" I flipped the lid open, revealing the silicone plug nestled insideāmodest, but *definitely* noticeable. "You're gonna *love* the weighted base. Nice and... secure."
Jerome stared at the plug like it had personally insulted his ancestors. His massive fingers twitchedāwhether to strangle me or snatch the damn thing, I couldnāt tellābefore he exhaled hard through his nose. "Fine," he grumbled, snatching the box from my hand. "But if you *ever* tell your momā"
I clutched my chest in mock horror. "What kind of monster do you take me for?" Then, grinning, I added, "Unless, yāknow, she asks *really* nicely."
Jerome disappeared into the bathroom with the velvet box clutched in his bear-like fist, muttering something about "goddamn humiliation" under his breath. I sprawled on the couch, grinning at the ceiling, listening to the muffled thumps and hissed curses through the door. When he finally emerged, his usual swagger was goneāreplaced by the stiff-legged walk of a man who'd just ridden a horse for the first time. His dark cheeks were flushed, and he refused to meet my eyes.
"Aw, c'mon," I teased, tossing him a bag of tortilla chips from the coffee table. "It's not *that* bad." He caught them automatically, his scowl deepening as he realized I'd already ordered takeout from his least favorite taqueriaāthe one that always gave him the runs even *without* extracurricular assistance.
The first night was hilarious. Jerome sat rigidly at the dinner table, shifting his weight every few seconds like he was trying to discreetly dislodge a knife from his back. His thick fingers kept pausing mid-bite, his jaw clenching as he chewed the extra-spicy carnitas with deliberate slowness. "You're enjoying this too much," he muttered, glaring at me over his plate.
"Absolutely," I agreed, swirling my fork in the queso dip. "But hey, only six more days to go."
Day two started with Jerome shuffling into the kitchen like a man whoād forgotten how knees worked. The weighted plug had shifted overnight, and judging by the way he winced when he lowered himself onto the barstool, it wasnāt sitting *quite* right. "Sleep well?" I chirped, sliding a plate of huevos rancheros his wayāextra beans, extra chorizo, just like Iād requested.
He glared at the plate like it had personally betrayed him. "You little shit," he muttered, but he picked up his fork anyway. The man had *pride*, even if his stomach didnāt.
Day three was when Jeromeās body started actively rebelling. By noon, his stomach was audibly gurglingāa deep, ominous sound, like a washing machine full of wet cement. Heād been shifting his weight from foot to foot all morning, his thick thighs tensing every few minutes as he triedāand failedāto ignore the growing pressure. āYou good?ā I asked, tossing him a bottle of Tums like it was a lifeline. He caught it without looking, his free hand pressing against his abdomen as another low groan escaped his lips.
āPeachy,ā he gritted out, popping two tablets into his mouth like they were bullets.
By day four, Jeromeās walk had devolved into a stiff-legged waddle, his usual confident stride replaced by the cautious steps of a man navigating a minefield. His stomach had taken on a faintly rounded curve, the combination of constant Mexican food and the plugās pressure turning his usually flat abdomen into a taut drum. I caught him pressing a hand against it more than once, his fingers sinking slightly into the soft swell before heād force them away, like he was embarrassed to be caught acknowledging the discomfort.
āYou look pregnant,ā I remarked over breakfast, shoving a plate of chilaquiles smothered in verde sauce toward him. Jeromeās glare couldāve melted steel, but he still picked up his forkāslowly, like his joints ached. The first bite made his stomach gurgle instantly, a wet, sloshing sound that had him freezing mid-chew. His throat worked as he swallowed, Adamās apple bobbing. āThatās... new,ā he muttered, staring down at his plate like it had betrayed him.
Day five was when Jerome started making sounds. Not just the occasional grunt or muttered curseāfull-body, involuntary noises that escaped him like air from a punctured tire. The plug had settled deep, its weighted base keeping everything locked tight, and the sheer volume of food he'd been forced to consume was turning his gut into a pressure cooker. I found him leaning against the kitchen counter, both hands braced on the granite, his forehead dotted with sweat as his stomach let out a long, wet gurgle that sounded like a drain unclogging.
"You look like you're about to explode," I said, tossing a bag of extra-spicy Takis onto the counter beside him. Jerome didn't even glare this timeājust stared at the bag like it was a ticking bomb. His fingers twitched toward it anyway, because damn it, the man had a weakness for crunchy trash food, and I knew it. The first crunch made his stomach gurgle louder, a deep, resonant groan that had him freezing mid-chew, his eyes widening slightly.
By day six, Jeromeās stomach had taken on a life of its ownāa restless, groaning entity that refused to be ignored. He moved through the house like a man haunted, his usual imposing presence reduced to a series of stiff, cautious movements. Every step sent a fresh ripple through his gut, and I could *hear* it from across the roomāa wet, sloshing symphony that made his jaw clench tighter with each passing hour.
"Thought you might want these," I said, sliding a pair of sweatpants with a suspiciously stretched-out waistband across the kitchen island. Jerome eyed them like they were a trap. His usual jeans had been abandoned days ago, deemed too constricting, and even his loosest basketball shorts now dug into his swollen middle. He snatched the sweats without a word, his fingers brushing against the taut curve of his belly as he didāa fleeting touch, quickly withdrawn, like he was ashamed to acknowledge how much heād swollen.
Day seven dawned with Jerome already awakeāhad been for hours, judging by the dark circles under his eyes. He was sitting rigidly on the couch, hands clamped over his distended stomach like he was trying to hold himself together. The sweats I'd given him yesterday were stretched taut across his middle, the fabric straining over the unnatural swell of his gut. His breathing was shallow, deliberate, like each inhale risked upsetting the precarious balance inside him.
"Big day," I said, tossing a fresh diaper onto his lap. Jerome stared at it like it was a live grenade. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he managed to grind out, "Absolutely not."
Jerome's fingers twitched toward the diaper like it might bite him. The plastic crinkled faintly under his grip when he finally snatched it up, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled through his noseāa bull preparing to charge. "You're *enjoying* this," he growled, low and dangerous, but the effect was ruined when his stomach let out a wet, rolling gurgle that made his thighs tense.
"Obviously," I said, tossing him the gallon of milk with a grin. It landed in his lap with a slosh, and Jerome flinched like I'd dropped a rattlesnake on him. His stomach gave another ominous groan, louder this time, the sound traveling up through his ribcage like a seismic event. He stared at the milk like it was a death sentence.
The milk jugās condensation dripped onto Jeromeās bare thighs as he held it away from his body, like it was radioactive. His stomach let out a deep, liquid growlāthe kind of sound that made *me* wince in sympathy. "Drink up," I said, nodding toward the gallon. "All of it. Unless you wanna forfeit the bet?"
Jeromeās glare couldāve melted steel, but his pride was stronger than his common sense. He twisted the cap off with a sharp crack, the plastic squeaking as he lifted it to his lips. The first swallow made his throat bob like he was choking down battery acid. His stomach *immediately* protested, a wet, sloshing sound so loud it echoed off the walls. Jerome froze mid-gulp, his free hand instinctively pressing against his swollen belly, fingers sinking into the taut flesh.
Jeromeās throat worked as he forced down another gulp, milk trickling down his chin as his stomach gave a violent heave. The sound was obsceneāa deep, bubbling churn like a volcano about to erupt. His fingers dug into the soft swell of his belly, knuckles whitening as another wave of pressure rolled through him. āFuck,ā he gasped, barely managing to set the milk jug down before doubling over, his forehead pressing into his knees. The diaper crinkled pathetically between his legs, still untouched.
I couldnāt resist. Kneeling beside him, I pressed my palm flat against the curve of his stomach, feeling the chaos beneath. His skin was fever-hot, stretched tight over what felt like a water balloon seconds from bursting. Jerome shuddered, a strangled noise escaping him as my fingers traced the swollen outline of his gut. āYouāre *packed*,ā I murmured, grinning when he groaned in response. His stomach gurgled long and low, the sound dragging out like a dying engine.
Jeromeās breath hitched as my fingers pressed deeper into the swollen curve of his belly, the flesh yielding unnaturally under my touch. His stomach gave another wet, sloshing heave, and this time, a thin sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead. āStopā*fuck*āā he gritted out, but his protest died in a strangled gasp as I rubbed slow, deliberate circles over the taut mound. The movement sent a visible ripple through his gut, a wave of pressure traveling downward that made his thighs clamp together instinctively.
The diaper rustled as he shifted, the sound absurdly loud in the silence punctuated only by the gurgling storm inside him. Jeromeās fingers dug into the couch cushions, his knuckles white. āGonnaā*hnng*āā His voice cracked, the words dissolving into a groan as his stomach gave a violent, liquid lurch. The sound was unmistakableāa deep, rolling *glorp* that seemed to echo from his ribs to his hips. His entire body tensed, his back arching slightly off the couch as if trying to escape the inevitable.
Jerome's breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as his stomach clenched violently under my palm. His skin felt like a drum stretched to its limit, vibrating with every wet, internal shift. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as his hips jerked involuntarilyāthen froze. His eyes flew wide.
A sound escaped himāpart groan, part whimperāas his body went rigid. The plug shifted inside him with an audible *slurp*, sliding fractionally downward before stopping again. Jerome made a noise like a dying animal, his thighs trembling as he fought to keep everything locked tight. "Oh god," he wheezed, fingers clawing at the couch cushions. "Oh *fucking*ā"
The plug shifted againāslow, inexorableāand Jeromeās whole body seized like heād been electrocuted. His thighs clamped together hard enough to make the diaper crinkle violently, but it was too late. A wet, bubbling sound seeped out from between his clenched cheeks, followed by a thick *pop* as the plugās weighted base finally gave way. Jeromeās breath stuttered out in a choked gasp, his hands flying back to grab at his own ass like he could physically stop what was coming.
He couldnāt.
Jeromeās body betrayed him in stages. First, the initial *pop*ālike a cork rocketing free from a champagne bottleāsent the plug skittering across the hardwood floor with a rubbery bounce. Then came the wet, pressurized hiss of air escaping, followed by a thick, glistening trickle that oozed down his thighs before he could even react. His hands clamped over his ass, fingers sinking into the diaperās padding as if he could physically dam the flood, but his stomach had other plans. A deep, rolling cramp tore through him, doubling him over with a strangled groan as his guts *moved* inside him like a collapsing water tower.
The first wave wasnāt liquid. It was *chunks*āhalf-digested beans and tortilla fragments packed into a pasty sludge that forced its way out in a shuddering, meaty *glorp*. The sound alone made Jerome whimper, his face burning crimson as his bowels voided in slow, humiliating pulses. The diaper sagged between his legs, warm and heavy, the plastic backing crinkling ominously with each contraction. He tried to standāto bolt for the bathroomābut his legs gave out halfway up, sending him crashing back onto the couch with a grunt. His stomach *sloshed* audibly, another cramp twisting his guts into knots.
Jeromeās breath came in ragged gasps as the second wave hitāthis one liquid, a hot rush of soupy diarrhea that surged out of him with a sound like a burst pipe. The diaperās plastic backing strained audibly, the sides stretching as it ballooned between his thighs. His fingers dug into the couch cushions, his whole body shaking as another cramp wracked him, forcing out a gurgling torrent that made his cheeks burn hotter than the salsa heād been eating all week. The smell hit instantlyāa pungent, fermented stench of milk and spicesāand Jeromeās face twisted in mortified agony.
I couldnāt help it. I burst out laughing. "Holy *shit*," I wheezed, clutching my sides as Jeromeās stomach gave another wet heave, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. The diaper sagged lower, its weight pulling the waistband down to reveal the top of his ass crack, now glistening with streaks of escaped mess. Jerome made a strangled noise, his hands fluttering uselessly over the swollen padding like he didnāt know whether to hold it up or tear it off.
Jeromeās stomach gave another violent heave, his diaphragm hitching as another gush forced its way out with a wet *splat* that visibly expanded the diaperās sagging bulk. The plastic backing strained ominously, the seams creaking under the pressure before giving way with a faint *rrrip* near his left thigh. A thick, caramel-colored trickle immediately oozed through the gap, dribbling down his leg onto the couch cushion. Jeromeās whole body locked up, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he stared at the mess like it wasnāt part of his own body.
"Fuckā*fuck*ā" he choked out, his voice cracking as another cramp twisted his guts. His hands hovered uselessly over the ruined diaper, fingers twitching like he wanted to claw it off but couldnāt bring himself to touch the warm, shifting weight. The smell had gone nuclearāa pungent, sour-butter stench of fermented dairy and half-digested chorizo that made even *my* eyes water. Jeromeās face was a masterpiece of humiliation, his dark skin flushed crimson from his forehead to his collarbones.
š¤ everytime one of you horny little goners tells me you pleasure yourselves to my blog or express how much you enjoy reading about my insatiable gluttonyā¦it makes me wanna stuff my face all over again so I have more to write for you allā¦
Might spend all day tomorrow swelling myself up with dairy and trying a hold until the next night, with regular updates for all of you dirty minded readers.
Iāve always wanted to do a heeeavy stuffing then immediately drink a whole bottle of lax (like that one Black Mirror sceneš«£š¤¤) to experience being overstuffed, belly ache, and forced emptying all in one day š¤š¤ might try tomorrow..