š Tie Me Down & Fill Me Up š·
I donāt want control anymore. I donāt want choices. I want to be tied down. Strapped to the bed, wrists pinned, ankles spread wide as my overfed belly spills over the sides. Tight, round, groaning from the sheer volume Iāve already crammed inside.
I want to be turned into a helpless feeding experiment. Tray after tray, bowl after greasy bowl, shoveled into my open mouth. Moaning, drooling, whining around every mouthful, but still swallowing. Always swallowing. I want to feel the food pile up in my gut like wet cement, until Iām trembling, red-faced, stretched taut like an overinflated balloon.
No breaks. No mercy. Just gluttony.
Until Iām a bloated, sweaty, whimpering mess. Barely able to speak, too full to move. Belly high, firm, angrily distended. Tears in my eyes, breath catching in my throat with every pitiful burp.
And thenā¦ the funnel comes out.
You tilt my head back. Slide the tube past my lips. Thick, sludgy gainer shake starts pouring down. I canāt stop it. Canāt fight. Itās too much, too heavy, too rich, and itās still coming. Filling every last crevice of my ruined stomach. I can feel it sloshing, my belly gurgling and rising higher with each desperate swallow.
I moan like a thing possessed. Not human. Just a pig. A vessel. A gut meant to be filled.
I want you to keep going. Until Iām too full to make a sound. Until my belly is a tight, round globe. twitching, overstretched, obscene. Until Iām crying from the pressure, the fullness, the helpless need to be even bigger.
Tie me down. Break me with calories. Feed me until I forget who I am.
