I wish I could stop. I really do, but it feels like everyday I get heavier and everyday it takes more to fill me up, and the more it takes to fill me up the greater to uncontrollable desire to be filled becomes. It's like my own gravity pulls me in deeper with every ounce of fat layered on to my growing body.
It started out so cute and fun. Some water bloats to make my flat tummy round. But that didn't last. It couldn't have. Pretending was only going to last so long until the underlying desire forced itself into manifestation.
The first real stuffing also seems so cute and innocent looking back on it. Just a standard combo meal at the nearby fast food spot. It seemed like so much food back then, and it was to my petit frame, but in reality, it was no more than a normal person would eat. I was just a normal person back then with a weird desire. And I was certainly full from it, but I didn't necessarily push my capacity. I didn't eat until it hurt. I didn't eat until I physically couldn't take another bite. Just an innocent indulgence. A one off thing, only to be repeated on special occasions when I really needed it. When the desire was so unbearable that I had to. I didn't want to get fat, after all. Well, I mean I did. I wanted that more than anything. It's what I imagined with my cute little water bloats. It's what I imagined during that first stuffing. I imagined what it would be like if my belly was the size empty as it was when it was bloated. I imagined it bigger. And bigger. And bigger. The bloats were to make that imagining easier. Real. But that first stuffing was something different. Something more powerful. I wasn't just able to imagine myself bigger, I was able to feel what it would be like to make myself big. And it felt good. It felt so much better than the water too. The water filled me up, but it didn't make me full. Now I was full. And I revelled in it. I felt more than just full. I felt fulfilled.
The next one came a lot sooner than I thought it would. The desire was already feeling overwhelming, but I could still last a couple days back then. And I was able to hold off a couple days at a time for a while. Those might have been the glory days of it all when I did have the self control to hold myself back, just for a little bit. Then when I did release. It felt so good. I felt so bad finally letting loose. Allowing myself to get fat. And I knew I was going to get fat. I always knew, but now the time had finally come. The dam hadn't broken yet, but the cracks were there. I could see them grow.
I felt the very first pound. It sounds silly but I remember it. I remember spending a whole week pinching the tiniest bit on flab on my lower belly. That week I ate fast food most days and made myself cum holding onto that small pinch of flab after every meal.
The memories are the clearest from those early days. The more frequently and intensely I stuffed myself, the more each stuffing blended together. I remember milestones. I remember outgrowing my first pair of pants. I remember that first little red stretchmark growing under my rounding belly where I could barely see it. I remember when my double chin became permanent. I remember the first time stopping halfway up the stairs to my apartment because I needed to catch my breath. But I don't remember when I realized that the dam had fully broken. When it finally ceased to exist. I don't remember the first time hitting up two drive-thrus on the same day. I don't remember the first time I still felt hungry after a double cheeseburger and fries. I don't remember when my belly started resting on my lap. I don't remember when it started spilling between my thighs. I don't remember when I started having to lift it up to reach. I don't remember when it stopped being a desire and started being a need. When I had to eat until it hurt. When I had to end my days swollen and groaning.
That's how I ended last night. And the night before. And the night before that. That's how I'm going to end tonight. I'm almost there. I can feel it. My breath heavy. Each inhale fighting to lift the massive weight of all the fat and calories crammed in my enourmous belly. Each exhale pushed out by the very same force. I'm already past the point at which anyone else would stop, but I know myself. I've done this enough times by now. I know there's still room for a few more bites. A few more calories. And because I know, I know I have to keep going. I have to be filled. If I can just lift myself up one more time. Use the little strength in my round fat arms to push myself upright. Roll that massive distended gut and push it between my thighs on my way up. I can't see it, but I know it's just ove the horizon of the ball of fat pinning me down. There's two more brownies in the tray on the coffee table and half a glass of full-fat milk right next to them to wash them down. If I can just sit up, I can satify the thing keeping me down.
The first push comes to nothing. I barely budge myself. All I accomplish is angering my belly which is fully occupied struggling to digest the mass of calories forced into it again tonight. It doesn't want to be disturbed and it lets me know. I'm hot and out of breath, but the mental image of what I must look like lying here on this couch gets me worked up again. Nothing on but a sports bra and a tortured pair of stretch-out panties. Grease on my fat cheeks and double chin from way too many slices of pizza. Looking massive, bloated, and unbeleivably fat beached on the couch. Pudgy fingers resting on and stroking the protruding mound of fat, riddled with angry red stretchmarks etched into it by the unsustainable speed of its growth, and pinning me down into these cushions. The dominating force of my gluttony. I feel fat and disgusting. I feel unbearably horny and desparate for those last two brownies.
I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm out of breath, but all of it just makes me even hornier and even more motivated to sink deeper into it all. It takes everything to get my bloated body back to an upright position. I have to spread my rippling dimpled thighs as wide as they'll go to make room for the sloshing mass of my gut to rest inbetween them and sink onto the cushion of my couch - I can't remember when that started happening either, but I know it's been that way for a while. And I love it. I greedily shove the first brownie in my mouth. It's almost too much to it. Gooey bits of chocolate stick on my pudgy cheeks and crumbs bounce down the slope of my belly and onto the dirty carpet below. I sound like a hog trying to breathe through my full mouth. Chewing feels like a asphixiated enternity, but I finally make enough room for a gulp of cool creamy milk. Then do the same with the second. I shoudl have given myself a chance to catch my breath, but I'm not in control. The second one is even harder to finsh - almost impossible - and that's how I know I'm there. I chug the last few gulps of milk to be sure. Dribbles of cool liquid slide down my fat chin and onto the hot stretch out skin of my belly and it feels so good. If I could stand, I'd take a shower, but I'm fated to pass out here amongst the remains of my feast. A fat sweaty hog.
My night's over. I'm too painfully stuffed and exhausted to even mastrubate. I'm going to need someone to help me with that soon.
