I can hardly breath. My stomach hurts. IāmĀ so full. I ate too much. I cannot imagine getting up from the couch. My belly weighs me down. I feel so groggy.Ā
I have toĀ focusĀ on my breathing. Iām so thoroughly beached all I can do is cradle my fat, blubbery gut spread over my lap. Itās dominating my evenings recently. It demands I feed it until I canāt think straight.Ā
I am sitting upright, in a sluggish daze. Iām too full to lay down comfortably, but so, soĀ exhausted. Itās taking all my energy to just digest all this food, and breathe correctly. Burps keep escaping my lips. Every time I press out more air, I get a momentary relief. Iām so swollen, so bloated, so distended. Iām completely overladen with delicious food. So totally engorged with my failed restraint.Ā
I keep fantasizing about eating more cookies. Today I added about 32 soft baked cookies of various kinds to my evening feeding. I ate so many I lost count, but some still remain on the table in front of me. But that table is so, so,Ā so far away.Ā
Leaning forward feels impossible. I still probably couldnāt reach. I just canāt reach past my belly right now. I keep trying to talk myself into moving. Just standing up and getting my cookies. Just a little effort. But IāmĀ too heavy. Much too heavy now.
I keep sipping my drink. I can barely reach it, and itās running out. Iām thirsty, but I also need to be sure I fill all remaining space. Thatās what my bellyĀ requires, after all.Ā
My belly is so warm, and so squishy. Itās like I have a personal pillow attached at all times. A giant, soft, jiggly beanbag just hanging over my waistband, or between my legs, or into sinks. It feels so good when I lift it up and itĀ completely overfillsĀ my arms. It spills over my forearms and flops over my hands as I hold the meaty underside. I love bouncing it up and down, and letting it drop. I love how I have a deep, plunging overhang and a thick upper roll beneath my tits. I love how said roll is one of many that are piled up on my sides and connected around to my back.Ā
My entire torso is covered in a hefty, thick, sagging layer ofĀ fat. Iām a butterball, a tub of lard, a fleshy sack of dough. It encases me, buries me, crushes me. Itās no small part of why Iām pinned to this couch.Ā
Iāve outgrown tape measures, seat belts, booths, and many shirts. All thanks to this gluttonous, greedy, grotesquely overfed gut.Ā Itās in control.Ā Iām just carrying it to its next meal. Iām just making sure the food gets where it needs to go.
It needs to be so much bigger.