#stoned stuffing

[queercoshon]

Feedist Kinktober 2025-5: High Expectations

Your family has had high expectations for you your entire life. You had to get staight As all through school, participate in several extracurriculars including sports and arts, volunteer at least once a month, get a job every summer, and do all your chores. You held it together because you never knew any other way of life. Your parents made sure you knew failure was not an option.

It was no surprise when you got accepted into one of the top universities in the country. The school was far from your hometown so you would only be able to fly back for holidays and week long breaks. You were so excited. This is what you spent your entire life preparing for.

The start of school was fantastic. You got along well with your roommate Nel and other students on your dormitory floor. The campus was beautiful with state-of-the-art amenities. Best of all, classes were engaging in a way high school never was.

Unfortunately, classes were much harder than high school, too. Your previous schooling did nothing to prepare you for the amount of studying and homework you would have to do, on top of the actual classes, nevermind anything else in your life going on. You realised you weren't the best athlete in the school anymore, rather than a big fish in a small pond, you were an average sized fish against ginormous fish in an ocean. There wasn't time for you to volunteer anymore because you had to study all the time. You started having petty arguments with your roommate that would leave you two stewing for days. College life was hard. You missed your family. You missed being good at things. You missed feeling put together. Your grades dipped, as most people's do when they move on to post-secondary, but to you it was devastating. Your parents called to berate you for hours.

Despite the tension with Nel, they came and comforted you after they overheard your parents on the phone. They let you cry on their shoulder as the weight of the world collapsed on your chest.

"Getting 75% on a midterm is not the end of the world," they said as they held you close.

"You don't know my parents. For them, it is," you sniffled back.

They sat you up. "What you need is to relax. To just forget everything for a while and unwind. Things will still be hard after, but you'll have a clearer head and be in a better mood. It'll be easier to handle everything."

You nodded slowly. Downtime is a foreign concept to you as you were never allowed such a thing growing up. Nel seemed to pick up on this. They set up a movie for you to watch together, but you couldn't stop thinking about your grades and how disappointed your parents were. You missed a funny joke and Nel looked at you with concern.

"Clearly this isn't enough. You need to turn your brain off entirely. Have you ever gotten high?"

You stared at them. "Are you kidding? My parents would have flayed me alive if they found out I ever did that."

"Your parents won't find out about this." They pull out a vape and hand it to you. "I prefer to smoke a normal joint but that's not allowed in the dorms."

You take the vape hesitantly. Nel shows you the button you need to press. The sickly sweet vapour stings your throat and makes you cough. Nel rubs your back as you catch your breath.

"It'll take a few minutes to hit. In the meantime, just sit back and relax. I'll go grab some snacks from the vending machine."

They got up from the bed and took a few hits from their vape and as they left the room.

You weren't sure if it was the anticipation of the high, but your head started to feel a little funny almost immediately.

It was definitely starting to hit by the time Nel returned. Your head felt buzzy, and your body had the feeling of when a swing is at its highest point right before it starts swinging back to the ground. The snacks in Nel's arms seemed to glimmer, and you thought you could smell them through their packaging.

Nel dropped the snacks on the bed before grabbing 2 cans of pop from their mini fridge and handing one to you. It didn't occur to you to hesitate, despite growing up in a no-pop household.

The snacks got moved to between the 2 of you and Nel told you to grab whatever you wanted before they started the movie again. You stared at the pile, no idea where to start. You'd never had so much freedom to have such junky snacks before.

You started with pretzels, but found them insanely dry. Nel laughed as you smacked your lips, trying to swallow them down.

"Have a drink," they said. "If you don't like them, I'll finish them. I didn't like them as a munchie snack until recently." You take a sip of pop and hand them the bag.

The rest of the snacks that you chose were hits. The chex mix pieces weren't as dense as the pretzels so they were easier to swallow. Your favourites were the fruit gummies and thr salt and vinegar chips. You'd never really learned to enjoy food before this, or even been allowed to eat such junky snacks, so your mind was blown as the munchies elevated your tastebuds.

Nel handed you the vape throughout the movie which you smoked without thinking. By the end of the movie you were soaring and starving. Unfortunately, all of the snacks were gone. Your tiny tummy was bloated, a feeling you weren't used to. After a lifetime of meticulously eating, this was the first time since you were a child where you ate without care. It felt rebellious. It felt freeing. It felt good.

Nel's own munchies were running rampant, so they graciously went to the campus cafeteria to grab you both some dinner. While you waited you laid back on the bed and lifted up your shirt, admiring the little dome your belly had become. You gently stroked and prodded it, feeling something stir within you.

Nel returned with slices of pizza and brownies. You only managed two slices before tapping out, as it was already more than you would normally eat for dinner. You salivated as you watched Nel finish up the rest, dreaming of the day you could put away a whole pizza by yourself, a desire you didn't know you had until right then.

You had the best sleep of your life that night. Your heavy belly lured you into a food coma while the weed made your fuzzy head drift away softly.

That was the beginning of your undoing. You started getting high and gorging with Nel every weekend. You liked weed, but the real drug was the freedom it allowed you. The carefree euphoria was your favourite Saturday night reward after a long day of homework. You could forget about all the stresses in your life, thoroughly enjoy food, and fully immerse yourself in whatever media you were watching.

After weeks of this habit, you noticed the usual stuffed-bloat wasn't going away in the morning anymore. You were by no means fat or even curvy, but you had a bit of pudge coming in that was making it hard to do up your jeans. This scared you, but also gave you a little thrill.

When you flew back home for Christmas, your entire family pointed out you were already putting on the freshman 15. They tried to shame you every time you reached for another serving of dinner or a holiday treat, and you certainly felt that shame, but also something else simmering below the surface.

You and Nel had an all-day celebratory smoke sesh when you returned back to campus, puffing away all the stress of dealing with your family during the break. They even gave you a vape of your very own as a late Christmas present. Gorging felt extra rebellious after 2 weeks of constant scolding. That night you passed out with your pants undone and a handful of chips stacked on your chest.

Having your own vape was dangerous. You never let it get in the way of school or your now-stabilized grades, you were way too anxious for that. But whenever there wasn't schoolwork to do you found yourself absent-mindedly puffing away. You would take a hit or two before entering the dining hall, just to give your appetite a boost. Nel was happy to have a smoking buddy, so they did nothing but encourage your habit.

The consequences of your actions were starting to manifest on your body. You could grab a handful of pudge from your belly now, which you did gleefully when high, or roughly and sensually when you were alone in the shower. Your thighs started rubbing holes in your pants, and stuck together when you wore your pj shorts. Your cheeks got softer and rosier. The changes to your body just spurred you on more, driving you to smoke and binge during whatever little spare time you had.

When you flewk back for spring break your parents nearly had a breakdown. Their perfect child was now chubby, and still not a straight A student anymore. However, this time you felt emboldened and snapped at them to back off.

"I'm happy. I like my body, and I like my course. My grades are fine. Why are you so miserable at my happiness?" Surprisingly, they stopped nagging. They still gave you disapproving frowns when you went to the fridge for extra food, but they didn't say anything.

Your grades actually managed to improve when you returned, bringing you to a 4.0 GPA. You were finally learning how to thrive in college, with your own ideals and morals, away from the constricting shackles of your family.

Nel asked you if you wanted to get an apartment together over the summer. You sure didn't want to move back in with your family after a year of freedom, so you agreed. It was small, but you each had your own room now, which meant a little more privacy. You could watch TV together on the couch in front of an actual TV, rather than cramped together on the bed behind a little laptop.

You got a summer job as usual, but this year rather than a lifeguard or camp counselor, you started working at a fast food restaurant. You had the morning prep shift, so you started early, but you also ended early. The job came with a great discount on food, as well as a free meal every shift.

You quickly developed a routine. The day started with work, which went until early afternoon. You'd buy enough food to get you and Nel through the evening, an amount that seemed to be increasing daily. As soon as you got off the bus on the way home you'd hit your vape. By the time you made it in the door the high would be starting to hit, so you'd plunk down on the couch and eat until Nel came home. Then you would both get higher and gorge even more.

All those calories and lazing about made the pounds pile on in record time. Stretchmarks exploded across your skin, zigzagging up and down your plump belly and extenuating your softening chest. A 'w' shape developed on your lower belly as it started to hang. You had to buy clothes a few sizes too big whenever you sized up, because you were growing too quickly.

Every night would end with you in a haze, huffing and puffing as you struggled to waddle back to your room, your massive meal gurgling away in your gut. You would groan as you lowered yourself onto your bed, your belly pressing into your thighs. Then you would take another couple hits and reach into your bedside drawer where you kept dessert. Doughnuts, cookies, chocolate, chips, gummies, and so many other treats were forced into your tired mouth, jaw exhausted from hours of chewing. More often than not you would pass out mid bite, food coma overriding your drive to consume. You loved it. You were thriving.

One day in August as you prepared to go back to school, you and Nel had another all day smoke session. You had just come to after passing out in your first food coma of the day. Nel handed you the vape which you smoked before your eyes were fully open. You leaned back and sighed, resting a hand on your bare belly. Nel gave you a smile.

"What?" You asked, already starting to drawl from the intoxication.

"Nothing. You just look happy."

You thought back on your previous year. It had been a struggle, shaking off those high expectations from your family and yourself, and replacing them with a different high, but you managed. You were thriving now.

"Yeah, I am."

[hornysideblog1234]

I'm so full... I've been encouraged through another 1/4 of the pizza and about another 1/4 of the tub of ice cream. I'm so so tight and heavy and full.

It hurts

My belly is a dome even laying down, now, and the weight of it pressing into my lungs is making me pant.

I keep trying to coax more burps out, but they're coming few and far between. I might just be packed totally full...

Lying down pic. My sides have started to turn red and itch... I think I'm successfully getting new stretch marks.

[queercoshon]

Even though this is over a month late, I hope you enjoy. I'm thinking there will be one more part to come, and then I'll post the whole thing on Deviantart.

Christmas Day

The crust on your eyes makes it hard to crack them open, taunted awake by the sunlight through the curtains. Your mouth is dry as shit, it feels like your tongue is made of sand paper. The world is just an assault of light, but you manage to grab the water bottle and haphazardly drain it. It's not enough, so you somehow get your hands on another drink and crack it open. The malty taste of ale almost makes you gag, but your desire for liquid and an instant inebriation kick in and you drink deeply. A few burps hiccup their way up.

You slowly come awake and try to take stock of your body. You thought you'd be hungover, but you're still drunk. Pins and needles shoot down your back, and your back aches from passing out semi-sitting up on the couch. Gurgles burble up from your belly, working away at yesterday's onslaught of food and freshly drained beer. Working at turning all of that into fat on your rapidly growing frame. The skin over your gut still itches, and you can feel the indents of new stretchmarks forming as you grope and rub your belly.

Christmas day means most places won't be open, which means you'll have to prepare your own breakfast (it's really closer to lunch time). That means you'll have to get up. You rock to get momentum, but still fall back on your ass the first few times you try. Too fat? Too stuffed? Too drunk? You decide.

You finally make it to your feet and manage to not topple forward, but the room is spinning. Every step is a monumental task. You're trying to go forward, but sometimes you go sideways, or backward. A few times, you almost go down.

It takes you half an hour to stumble to the bathroom, freshen up just a bit, and stumble to the kitchen. By now you're exhausted and just want to sit, but you know it will be even harder to get up after. This is why you need a feeder. Or at least a wheelie stool for the kitchen.

You always struggle opening the tubes of cinnamon bun dough when sober, but now you look like a spectacle trying to get into it. Eventually you get it open and onto a pan. The buns are not even sizes, but really it's impressive you've made it this far. You set your oven to turn off when the timer goes off, you absolutely do not trust yourself to turn it off manually now.

You waddle over to the fridge to grab bacon and a drink, when suddenly a realisation sends all the blood to your crotch. You're so stuffed and bloated that your belly hang isn't slapping against your thighs as you stumble around, more like bouncing off of them. And you can feel everything jostle and gurgle with every step. A moan escapes, but you can't get distracted yet, there's still more work to do.

You get the bacon frying, but regret your decision to cook shirtless. You take a step back to stop the bacon grease from splattering all over your bare belly.

Your drink of choice is cider; it's basically fruit juice, right? You drink steadily as you cook and pretend to tidy up. You got the lasagne pan in the sink to soak, and threw out the wrappers you could reach without bending over; you were worried you would either topple over or your stomach would explode with the extra pressure. By the time the bacon is done, a bottle is gone and hiccups are making your boozy belly bounce. You have to lean heavily against the counter, there's no way you could stand freely now. You're swaying as it is, you would be going down without support.

When the cinnamon rolls come out, your mouth waters at the scent, but you have to wait for them to set and cool at least a little, so you occupy yourself with lighting up a preroll. By now you're exhausted after all your activity and need to sit, so you plunk down in a kitchen chair. You hear a crack come from somewhere underneath you, but you don't crash to the ground so you can just ignore that for now.

You mindlessly huff back the joint, the distinct scent of marijuana mingling with the sweet spices of the cinnamon rolls. Your body starts to feel light and floaty, and waves of euphoria are starting to wash up. Everything is so tingly. You hope you're not too fucked up to get up again, you will need to get your food and another drink or five before waddling back to the couch.

Incredibly, you manage to get up first try, but you do stumble a few steps one way, then a few steps the other way, then a few steps back again. You think it'll only take one more drink before you have to crawl.

Icing the cinnamon rolls goes well, but it takes an immense amount of concentration to transfer all of them to a serving tray. The spatula just won't cooperate! It doesn't help that everything is swaying, and your bloated gut is completely in the way, but you eventually succeed.

It takes you three trips to get everything back to the living room; one for the cinnamon rolls, one for the bacon, and one for the rest of the bottles of cider. Partially because you don't want to risk dropping anything and you can only focus on keeping one thing upright, partially because you need a free arm to help you navigate the shifting halls, and partially because it's hot as fuck. You let yourself stumble a little bit more on your empty-handed trips back to the kitchen, and you almost go down a few times. A few steps forward, a few steps back. Too many steps to the side and your fat body bounces into the wall, sending ripples over your skin and dislodging several burps. It's amazing you haven't put a dent in the wall yet. If you keep acting like a fat drunk fuck like this though, it's only a matter of time.

Your excursion is finally finished after you grab a bottle of water and plunk down on the abused sofa. Another structural piece inside snaps, but you don't go tumbling. You'll have to be very careful lowering your body onto the seat next time.

You put on a playlist of Christmas movies; you plan on being too fucked up to operate the remote within the hour, and carrying that on well into the night. It's already a pretty big struggle.

Finally situated, you look down. Make no mistake, you're still engorged from the past two days of debauchery; your bloated belly resting heavily on your thighs, new intensely red stretch marks shoot across your skin. If it weren't for that last joint, you would maybe feel just how gravid and achy your belly is. But you're so high, and all you want is more, so you dig in.

Cinnamon buns are one of your biggest weaknesses. Gorging on the rolls is how you started packing on weight. You could usually put away half a pan without thinking nowadays, but not after gorging like you have been. Hopefully the weed and booze keep you dumb and hungry enough to push through. Speaking of which, you open another cider and gulp it down, a little bit dribbling down your cheek.

Everything is so mindless. Your sticky fingers bringing bite after bite to your mouth, chugging down ciders that force belches out of your round gut and forces all thoughts out of your head. All thoughts except 'consume.'

It gets to a point where you can't sit forward to get another drink. You finish yet another can of cider but need more to quench your thirst. Through your blurred vision you can see where you need to grab to get another, but it seems your bigger challenge is getting there. To start, your gut is bulbous, rounding out in front of you and hanging between your thighs. You don't have room to lean forward or backward to build up momentum to get your burdened body there. And of course you're drunk as a skunk and can only hold your arm out like that for more than a few seconds. You can barely keep your head up to look where you need to reach. Your chin and hand keep flopping down. But you're thirsty! You can't give up. So you keep trying, sluggishly shifting your mass forward, falling back when the booze takes over your balance and when your belly sends a warning ache from too much movement, and then trying all over again. You don't go a minute without burping, not that you notice.

You finally get your hand on the plastic rings around the ciders and pull the two left of that pack back to you. You want to crack one open and chug victoriously, but first you need to catch your breath. That was a lot of exercise for someone in your situation. You can feel the contents in your gut still sloshing around, and you burp between panting and moaning. You're such a fat fuck. All you did was reach forward to get a drink, and you're winded as if you'd just run 5k.

Any blood left in your brain rushes to your crotch, a new hunger setting in. You tilt your head back and down half a can, keeping your other hand on top of your gut to feel it swell with every gulp. It's starting to feel pretty solid under all the flab, and you'll need a nap to digest soon, but all you need right now is more.

You keep forcing cinnamon buns, bacon, and booze into your slackjaw mouth, moans ramping up as your body goes into overload, trying to process everything you've forced inside. If you weren't blind drunk and completely zooted, you would be able to see your stretch marks go from purple to angry red during this meal, and notice new zigzags shooting across your skin with every forced bite. All of your organs feel inflamed and abused, squishing against each other, a situation you just continue to make worse as you start another cider.

Your head gets too heavy to hold up with just half a cinnamon bun left to go. It's still in your hand, but your chin keeps dropping before you can bring it to your mouth. Your eyelids droop, keeping them open makes everything spin violently. Your diaphragm quivers, threatening hiccups, which would almost certainly end in disaster. All you can do is sit there, completely incapacitated, and wait for your body to buffer and catch up. You're packed so tight that you can feel every desperate gurgle your belly makes radiate through your body and sending heat to your crotch.

But you're just stuck here, your brain not processing anything. Conciousness starts to slip from you, being pulled away by severe intoxication and your body only having the resources to barely try to process all or the food you've forced in. All of your energy needs to go towards digesting. Your mouth can barely open to let out burps, and you don't even think to close it after. You don't think at all. Completely brain dead, glutted to the point of passing out with food still in your hand.

[queercoshon]

Sorry for the late post, I got super sick on top of being busy, prepping for surgery, and generally having no executive function. We'll see how many more of these I do. I have at least 1 more planned.

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3. Thick Fog

A thick fog envelopes you as soon as you walk in the door. The pungent aroma of cannabis has migrated from the back rumpus room the the front hall where you stand. Your roommate have gotten started without you.

You make your way to the back, eyes watering the closer you get.

Libbie and Connor are laid back on the sunken couch, smoke still dribbling from the ashtray. The TV has a streaming service loaded but nothing is playing yet. You clear your throat and both of them turn to face you.

"See," says Connor, "I told you they'd be home any minute."

Libbie huffs dramatically. "Finally, someone who can decide. Scream or Jurassic Park first?"

You pick your favourite of the two and plunk down on the couch between them. Connor hands you a joint he rolled for you before you got home and lights it as soon as the filter is between your lips. He knows this is what you've been waiting all day for.

As you puff away, Libbie hands her phone to you with a delivery app open. "Pick something quick, so we can order before the munchies hit."

You scroll, debating all the options. There are so many restaurants in this city! You finish your joint and scroll some more. You do not pick quick enough. The restaurant you decide on is the one you almost always pick; a greasy spoon diner with cheap food and big portions. By the time the phone gets passed between the three of you placing your orders, you're all starving. Libbie adds another order of loaded fries before clicking 'confirm.'

Waiting for delivery is almost painful. Connor and Libbie have been snacking all day, but you haven't eaten since your lunch break several hours ago. Your gut audibly growls.

"Poor little thing," says Connor as he pats your belly making it jiggle. "Don't worry, the food will be here soon."

Finally, Libbie buzzes in the food and does Rock, Paper, Scissors with Connor to see who has to get it. As you're the only one who had to work today you are automatically exempt from that task.

Libbie lumbers back from the front hall, 2 huge paper bags in tow. She distributes the main dishes to their respective owners and lays out the appetizers to share on the coffee table. Connor plays the movie and you can finally dig in.

You swear this diner was made for stoners. Your go-to meal is a chili mac and cheese. Everything is made in-house, the cheese is a nice sharp cheddar and liberally seasoned with herbs and spices, the beans and peppers are a great texture addition to the noodles, and to top it off they cover it in breadcrumbs and cheese and bake it until it has a hearty crust on top. You would marry this dish if you could.

You try to remind yourself to take breathers to drink, as well as grab some appetizers before your roommates hog them all. Libbie's already mowed through most of the first box of loaded fries, and Connor finished the jalapeno poppers before anyone else could snag one.

You let a fog blanket you and give in to existence. You all engage with the movie with varying delays, either due to being high or stuffing another bite in your mouths. And you eat. You slow down at some point, but you never stop fully.

And then it hits you. You're full. All of a sudden you can feel every bite sitting heavy in your gut, pinning you back against the couch. The groans coming from your companions tell you they're in the same boat. You three never learn. That's why all of you are once again smushed together on the couch, stoned out of your minds, engorged and aching.

Your thighs press against Libbie and Connor's, sweat making your skin stick together. Connor pants a little and Libbie stifles burps behind her fist. Your gut makes another grumble and whine.

The first movie ends, which means it's time for a quick break before starting the next one. Libbie heaves up and shuffles to the bathroom while Connor tries to sit forward to roll a couple more jays, but his belly is so bloated he can't get closer to the coffee table.

"When you get up, could you pass me the rolling tray?" he asks. You nod sluggishly and rock back and forth to get up. It takes you a few tries, but you gain enough momentum to stumble up and forward. Your belly hangs out from the bottom of your shirt. Leaning forward to pick up the tray elicits a burp and a groan, but Connor is grateful for your service.

You lumber to the kitchen, your upper belly too stuffed to join the rest of your flabby body in jiggling with every laboured step. You're so stuffed that you're huffing for breath after your short journey. You stack three pints of ice cream on top of each other and hold them between one hand and your chins, grabbing 3 spoons with the other hand. The trip back to the couch is just as arduous, but now you're also worried about dropping dessert.

Libbie plays the next movie as soon as you sit down, and Connor lights up and passes the blunt down. You all puff passively, each one of you melting further into the couch. The haze in the air matches the fog in your brain keeping you docile and dumb. You dole out the pints and you get back into the movie.

Even though you're soaring, you're still acutely aware of every bite being swallowed down into your stomach. Each mouthful feels like it stretches your gut out further, but your compulsion to eat is far stronger than the ache in your gut. The texture is soft and cold, interrupted by bits of chocolate and cookie dough. Sweets are one of your munchie weaknesses. There's no way you'll be able to stop eating until the entire pint is gone.

By the time your spoon hits the bottom of the carton you're wheezing from the effort of cramming all the ice cream in. Libbie and Connor sound like they're in similar boats. Connor is slumped over, one hand under his belly hang taking some weight off his thighs and the other lazily rubbing his upper belly, which is so stuffed it juts out further than his flabby lower belly. Libbie groans and holds her belly on either side, slowly rubbing and massaging it, squeezing out belches she doesn't bother to hide anymore. You're afraid to squeeze your own gut the same way in case you pop.

Eventually the fresh ache dulls to a low throbbing and you can focus on the movie even though you're not taking any of it in. Halfway through Connor lights up another joint, and you and Libbie take it without thinking. Your head swims and your eyes burn and you just feel so inundated.

Before the movie ends, your head falls back and your eyes lose the battle to stay open, and finally, the thick fog takes over completely.

[queercoshon]

Here's part 2. Not sure how I feel about it. Lemme know what you think, as well as any other scenarios you might wanna see with this crew:P

Cw:intox (weed/alcohol)

Fuck, I'm so glad to be done finals. Summer can finally start! I've got like, a month and a half before my job starts, and Millie suggested that I just take it easy, because I've been working so hard. I have been!

We're all going out later to celebrate, but surely a hit or two of my vape wouldn't hurt...

Millie's so funny, and sweet. She brought home a burger and fries for me because she knows I'll get hungry before we finish at the club. God I lucked out. Gotta shove this in my face before Ollie and Jazlyn arrive.

"Here, Shevy, to your first year of masters done!" She gives me a shot glass, we clink, and I throw it back without thinking. Mmmm it burns so good. Tonight is gonna be great.

-----------------------

Shavon's clothing was fitting like a failing sausage casing, and Millie couldn't keep her eyes off of them. They had packed on even more weight, probably close to 50-60 pounds since this time last year, and their flab could not be contained. Millie knew for a fact that their shorts were being haphazardly held closed by the old hair elastic trick; not that anyone else could see it under their belly hang. Millie also knew that their skin-tight shirt wasn't originally a crop top, but there was no way they could get it over their belly button now.

The crew didn't go clubbing super often as they now all preferred a quiet night in, but when Jazlyn suggested it, both Millie and Shavon enthusiastically agreed. Shavon because they knew there would be an epic fast food run, and Millie because she'd get to enable and watch Shavon swell in public. Just seeing them in their outfit now made her feela type of way. What would happen as the night continued?

They all ordered shots and their first drinks and managed to find an empty booth. Shavon sat at the end kind of sideways, and that's when Millie noticed that their gut was pressing heavily into the table.

Fuck.

"Cheers!" Jazlyn initiated, "to another year of schooling done!"

Everyone downed their shot, and Millie was pleased to see Shavon down more than half of their beer right after.

They tried to talk for a little while, but a club isn't a great place to do that, so Jazlyn tried to drag them to the dance floor.

"I'm not drunk enough," Shavon had already lumbered back to the bar once for another beer, which was nearly empty now.

Ollie stood up, promising to join after a smoke. So Jaz and Millie went by themselves.

But first Millie had something to take care of.

"I'll keep getting you drinks, as long as you promise to come on the dance floor later," she muttered into Shavon's ear, whose eyes glinted as they nodded.

She replaced their drink right away, and checked in every few songs. Millie put back a good amount herself. She loosened up, enjoying dancing with her friends, and then dancing with strangers. She tried to get into rhythm with a few different people, but there was only one body she wanted to see moving on this floor.

After an hour she couldn't wait any longer. Ollie was going to get bored soon, Jaz would find someone to go home with, and Millie was tiring out.

They found Shavon at the booth, tipping the last of their 7th full drink into their mouth, the other hand on top of their bloated belly.

"Urrrp! I guess it's time?"

Millie nodded, and Shavon tried to get up, but between the inebriated lack of coordination and their gut bloating up further to wedge them in, they struggled to move, just managing to shake out some burps.

After Millie's brain finished short-circuiting, she bent over to help them, pulling their arm with one hand and maneuvering their fat away from the table with the other.

Mission accomplished! Both were panting by the end of it, both faces red for many reasons.

Millie turned towards the bar first. "I need a shot. Then we dance."

-------------------------------------------

I never been a good dancsr, even when I was thinner. I've always been clummsy. But noe I'm clumsy, heacy, and drunk.

Millie don't seem yo mind though. We're dancing and she keeps brushin over y fat nd it feels so good.

This the first time I notice that my bellu hang is bouncing off my crotch while standing up. Fuk im fat.

--------------------

Millie could blame it on the booze, but she doubted she could keep her hands to herself when Shavon was in this state. Sweat glistened across their dark skin, pooling and following the tracks of their angry stretchmarks. Every movement sent a ripple through their fat, each part of their body with a mind of its own.

Millie would brush against them, then hold them a little, then press right into them, to the point she could  feel Shavon's bloated gut gurgle before a big burp.

Something needed to happen soon, or she wasn't going to be able to contain herself.

Oh thank god Ollie wants to leave.

Her last touch only lingered a few seconds longer than intended.

-------------------

Fuck I'm fat and this is exhausting. Thank god ollie is askin us to go ousside. Jaz already found a paartnrr for the night, so its just the three if us now.

The cool air feeels so good on my skin. All thise drinks bloated mme up bad, i can't pull my sirt down from under mu chest.

"Shavon, here, smoke this while we walk to taco bell."

God bless ollie.

Im already so hungry fom the booze,  ut the munchies hit harrrd when we walk in.

"Cannu order for me, Millie? I dunno wha I want!"

"Sure thing, hon."

I dunno wgat shes ordering, but it soundz like a lot. Maybe foe all of us?....i hope not.

Ollie's frowning t a sign.

"Aw shit, guys, the lobby's closed for the night. I'm just gonna grab my stuff and go home if that's okay? Transit from your place to mine after 1am is god awful."

Millie offers to lt him stay ob our couch, but he says he wats his oen bed. Good, cuz i wanna sit on the xouch for another beer ir three.

"Okay, gnnight, Ollie!" We wave as our bus pukls up, Millie carrying two nAgs of takeout. My ass spilla into a seconds seat now. How long until I'm too fat for the bus?

I mentioned millie the best ruggt? As soo  i sat diwn she pyt one taci bell box right on nu tummy, and she brougbt ovdr the bonf abd a 6 paxk od cidr.

Thidd high idx buildung reallu fast and im so hungry.

"You're doing so good! Finished your first box already. Let me get your quesadillas. And don't forget to drink up!"

Ohh ya, im thirdty. Cottonmoutgd a bitch.

Urrrrrp! 2nd cabb doen. I dont ecen knoe ho muxh i drank tonight. Enough that the sgars in frint of ouf houe were hard. Noe im dond 2 urrp M ore ciders. My belluu feels a llittle bit itchy.

I love that i can use my bellu as a table nkw. Works even better in thrvrecliner, but imm be too fat for that soon. And on the coubch millie sits bestde me and helps. Sheds so helpful.

"Here, hon, let me open another drink for you." She dowsnt even maje me hol the can, she putd it right tk mh mouth and i just chugg  milli will know when im dine

Fuuc the while can is gone

"Urrrrap-hic! Oh nooo -hic- Millllie I -hic- i got da hiccups! -hic- urrrp!" My belly id gurgling so loud, and id sloshes every time j hiccup.

"Poor little piggy. But you like how much the hiccups jiggle your flab, and make you burp. You always have more room after hiccups, right?"

I dunno why my fsce turbs red, maybev hust allcohol in my chreks. Bt then shes rjbbing my gut with bkth her hands and fucj

"Mmmmm urp- hic!"

"You like that?" Wgen she rjbs her fjnder inside my bellu button it ljrerslly takes my vreath awat

"Hic- yesss mmm, keep goi -urrrp!- going pless -hic!"

"Well I'll keep rubbing as long as you keep eating. Let me open another drink for you too."

Unnnnn even her stopping fr hust a seckndd is torrture. Soon s shee has the can opdn abd fthe quessadillaa open i jut have to sjove the frst one in my moutg. Is cold noe but i sont care. Fuck wheb she rhbs mu upperr belly as it goes down its likd orgasmic. Mmmm. Mjy hips wannd buck byht in jusr so fuckingg full and fat.

"You're being so good," her breaagh on mh ear mahes me shiver all the way dken to my toes.

"I wann be so goo!" Last bitr of the firest dilla goneoooh even ho im so crossed my belly reakky startinv to ache. Urrrp.

"I know you're full, but keep going. Only a little bit left." I gfrab thr can and chug wgat i can, but i miss a littlgr bit. Ites cold when it drivble kn between my chind and onto my chest. Fick im so fst i hsve multople chine now.

.mmm i can keeo my head up, af my eyes are so heach. Every ohher bresthe is just  brp nkw. Dcsnt see, but i feel mill hold othef dolla to me and its like sges magic and csb make me eat cuz i do. Eceru bitr id making my poor gut evveb rojnder. Itd so itchy abbd tight snd i ca barely breathe.  Ooooh ifs crampy. Wjy can mt o stop now?

She pjts the food down and tips my head  back. Fick thats hot and she pours the rest ig the can down my throst.

"I can feel you swelling under my hand," hðr vkice is like smoke, she can do ehstever she wantd to me if she cleeps yalkinh and rubbjng my belly

"Yur gonna make me popp!" My gut id creakikg now. I think im drkkling. Im deffinuitely panting i got no room lefft ffr my lungs. A bit fat drunker pig pudhing my bidy to breasking point

"Not yet. Just a little bit more food, and maybe more cider. Can you do that for me?"

Icab do anhthing for hki millie.

Ohh my velly hurtd. Each  bjte feelsd like itll be the onr to make me exxplohe, but her sweert praises and warm youch is so worth jt.

"You're done your food! Good job! I didn't know if you could. Now just a little bit more drink, honey."

I canny speak anymode. I jut mosn abd hiccup abd burp . I thibk i nod. Ns i drnk and drink gilping loudly, feeelingbit go down my throuar and expanðing my stomach.

Och! My belky hanf stings?

"Wow, you're a fatass. You broke the elastic holding your shorts closed~"

Fuuuk.

-------------------------

Millie could barely contain herself. Shavon was a cacophony of piggish noises, moaning and burping. Their eyes completely glazed over, and now they couldn't even keep them open. There was no way they were moving from this spot tonight.

Millie whispered praise as she rubbed their groaning belly. Every part of Shavon was fat now, but their abused gut was stuffed so large it looked like it belonged to someone much bigger. Red lightning bolts ripped over their dark skin, leaving divets as evidence of their unrestrained hedonism.

And now that it was summer, Millie had several months to see how unrestrained they could really be.

[queercoshon]

So I realise that I'll be very late with the actual Christmas part of the story... but Christmas isn't really the point of it all. It's just another excuse for debauchery, which I hope people are happy to read any time of the year;P

Anyways, without further ado, here is Christmas Eve Day.

Christmas Eve Day

The morning light coming through the curtains was blinding, shining right on your drool-covered chin. You blearily blink your eyes, and heavily raise your head from resting on your plush chest. You don't know how long it's been since you passed out, but certainly not long enough to sober up. You still feel more than tipsy. Your plan is going perfectly.

You rock back and forth to build up enough momentum to haul your ass off the couch, and it takes a few more rocks than usual. Maybe because you're still drunk, or because your gut is still bloated. Once up, your gravid belly pulls you forward, almost making you fall. You stumble to catch yourself, then waddle off to clean up a little before breakfast.

You throw a few of the beers back in the fridge and grab 2 premade bottles of mimosa. You grab a warm beer and gear up to chug it, as soon as your sausage fingers finish placing the order. Finally you choose everything you want and submit the order. 25 minutes.

You drain half the beer and wince at the temperature, before all the blood rushes to your crotch and you get lost in chugging it down. You woke up drunk, ordered enough breakfast for four people after gorging like a hog, and you're currently chugging another beer to see if you can be incoherent before 2pm.

Once it's done you belch emphatically, and haphazardly clean your bong. Just enough to get another big sesh out of it.

Soon it's lit up and your eyes are rolling back after more than a few hits. The smoke tickles your throat, so you pop a mimosa bottle and chug straight from the neck. You're still bloated from last night, and you can feel the carbonation compounding on that. You press your gut down onto your crotch and keep letting air out.

When the food is still ten minutes away, the munchies hit you like a truck. A bag of cookies is in arm's reach, and 10 of them end up in your stomach before the food gets delivered.

Getting up, getting the food, and coming back is an adventure in itself. Your feet won't quite listen to where you want them to go, and you bounce off the walls a few times. The couch corner takes you by surprise, but you save the food and stick the landing! A victory swig is taken and you get to work.

Denny's is your vice this morning. You've ordered two grand slams, caramel banana pancakes, and a burger, for when it gets close to lunch.

You throw on some shitty sitcom, take another hit for a good measure, and dig in.

Your lingering high from yesterday means you are soaring now. Every other joke is making you giggle, and you just feel so floaty.

You love their pancakes. Massive, sweet and sticky, everything a growing pig could want. Those go down quickly, unable to get enough of the caramel coating your mouth.

The hashbrowns aren't your favourite, but they're offenseless in taste and easy to shovel in. There's a right mound of them, coming from two slams.

A grand slam is fun because there's enough different flavours to keep your palette busy, and you don't need to think about changing up your food items. The ham, sausage links, and bacon all pair perfectly with the leftover syrup from your pancakes. The toast you leave as is. Eggs aren't great cold, so you eat those as quick as possible. And of course, there are the hashbrowns.

You've finished all the eggs, most of the bacon, and half the toast and hashbrowns when your mimosa bottle runs dry. Now there's the debate of opening the second bottle, or popping another room temperature beer. Mimosas have a fun vibe, and you're certainly feeling fun, so orangey champagne it is. It takes you a few tries to grab the bottle, your arm once again controlled by a shoddy puppet string, but you successfully grab the neck on the third try. After you wrangle the top open you drink deeply.

You only get a few more bites into your food before the hiccups start. They jolt your body, making your fat bounce and ripple. Each jolt shakes out more air and makes your head bounce. Your body feels so fuzzy and warm, but hiccups keep sending electricity over your skin.

Eating with hiccups is hard, so you take a break to get them under control. You hold your breath, absentmindedly kneading your gut. More than once a burp comes up, making you inhale after, sends a cramp through your stuffed belly, and then another hiccup shakes everything up again. Your body is completely inundated by hedonism.

Once those damn hiccups clear up, you light up again and celebrate being in control of your lungs again. You take extra hits to make up for lack of lung capacity, but you definitely overestimate. You start back on your breakfast, but after five minutes your brain is just completely gone. Your head falls back and soft moans fall from your mouth. You barely register how itchy your skin is, trying to stretch around your abused middle. Everything is just so heavy. Your eyes, your lips, your belly hanging between your heavy thighs.

You don't know how long you lay like this, eyes glazed staring blankly at the tv, gut gurgling angrily, and moaning without realising as heat spreads throughout your body. But you do come back to your body eventually, and once you can, you get right back to gorging. You want to finish everything with enough time to have a food coma nap before you order Christmas Eve dinner.

Another bite. Another swallow. Another swig. You have no control over your body anymore, some other force is compelling you to consume.

Pancakes, two grand slams, and one and a half bottles of mimosa sit in your engorged middle, and you can feel your gut creaking with every breath now. Through the haze the ache is starting to come through. But the haze still brings terrible munchies, and the booze brings bad decisions, so you start on the burger.

Your jaw is starting to hurt. A quarter of the way through the burger your body struggles to swallow every mouthful. You take a break every few minutes to sit there and pant like a dog, and massage out the ache and burps. There is no give to your stomach under the caress of your sausage fingers anymore, even with the inches of fat covering your belly.

Finally, after half an hour, you make it through the burger. You're a cacophony of hedonism, panting, moaning, and burping, your gut churning and glorping trying to process all of that food and booze. You hold your middle as if you might explode from jostling it too much. You actually might; you've completely overdone it. And you aren't even done digesting last night's meal. Your gut sits swollen on your lap, completely engorged and too packed for you to think about getting up.

You have no idea if you're conscious throughout the afternoon. You spend it staring dumbly at the tv, unable to remember how to change the channel, rubbing your belly to both ease it and rile you up, and semi-passing out, becoming a semi-coherant blob.

After digesting a little you try to walk to the bathroom, but the absurd amount of alcohol in your gut has you losing balance, so you waddle unevenly down the hall, bouncing from side to side. It takes so long for you to make the trek, but you manage. Then, it's time to head to the kitchen to pop the lasagne in the oven.

Standing in one spot is hard, everything is swaying. Is it you that's swaying? Something is swaying, which also makes it hard to read the temperature and timer on the stove. That's probably 35 minutes... you even remember to set the stove's auto off for 50 minutes, just in case. Look at you, being so responsible. You take a few big swigs of baileys to celebrate.

You're such a fatass, still drinking empty calories, on top of more calories than a person would eat in a week. Your gut is still stuffed from breakfast/lunch, but you're salivating over a meal meant to feed eight. In fact, you're actively trying to indulge in all of it, stimulating your appetite and libido with weed and booze.

The bong really needs to be cleaned, but you don't think you can successfully waddle your way to the living room and back and get it here in one piece. So tonight will be about prerolls.

The kitchen chair creaks ominously as you plunk your ass down, cheeks and thighs spilling over the sides. You're too trashed to realise it, but your gut hangs below the seat for the first time.

The next thirty-five minutes are spent preparing for your dinner. A swig or two of beer, maybe another big gulp of baileys, and a puff of a joint. Tender belly rubs, clumsy tracing of stretchmarks with your unsteady fingers. Taking in the marvel that is your expanse, and thinking about how much fatter you're about to be.

By the time the stove goes off, you're barely aware of anything. The only thing you feel is hunger.

Time for dinner.

[queercoshon]

It's not feedist kinktober stuff, but I think you'll enjoy it just the same;P

Neither Millie nor Shavon celebrated Thanksgiving, but they certainly weren't going to miss a foodie holiday.

It was just a small affair this year. Ollie would be coming over, but Jaslyn was going to visit her girlfriend's family in Italy. Shavon's family didn't even acknowledge Thanksgiving, and Millie's parents were visiting her grandparents in Ireland, so it would just be the three of them.

That didn't mean Millie would be cutting back on cooking. She knew Ollie wouldn't hold back, and of course Shavon would go as hard as possible, so a feast's worth of food was still needed.

Millie started preparing a week in advance. She had preordered a butterball turkey and picked it up the previous Monday. Several casseroles were assembled and held in the chest freezer until day of, when she would bake them. A baking extravaganza lasted all week which resulted in 'special' brownies, gingersnaps, spiced apple cider cake, apple cranberry cobbler, and of course pumpkin pie. Keeping Shavon out of the kitchen had been a sisyphean task, the smells just kept enticing them back. They could only be convinced to leave by being given the bowls to lick clean, a few 'test' bites, and the promise of fast food later. Shavon could barely wait for Sunday.

Ollie arrived mid afternoon with a pack of infused prerolls and a bottle of wine. He'd asked if he should bring a dish, but he was really only good at making stoner food, and Millie took great pleasure in perfectly tailoring their meal.

Shavon slept until about 1pm. They wanted to have a completely empty belly for dinner, but they didn't want to endure hours of hunger either. After laying in bed for an hour, they slowly lumbered to the bathroom to clean up before plunking down on their chair for the rest of the afternoon. By the time Ollie arrived at 4:30, their poor empty stomach was audibly grumbling. Millie brought each of them a beer.

"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour," she cooed as she hugged Ollie in greeting. "You two relax, I'll call you to the table soon."

Ollie plopped down on the couch across from Shavon and handed them a joint.

"Ollie, I can't, I'm already starving. The munchies might kill me." They took the joint and lit up, taking a few puffs before cracking open their can of beer. Happy to have something in their stomach, Shavon drank quickly, belching unashamedly. Ollie would be joining their cacophony soon enough.

Two more beers later and no food to soak up the alcohol, Shavon was feeling nice and tipsy despite their increasing tolerance.

Finally Millie came out of the kitchen.

"Dinner is served!"

------------------------------------------------------------------

After making mr suffer all day- actually no, all week, Millie is finally serving dinner. I know wht I had to wait, but it was still agony.

When we sit down at the table, I can see the buttons on Ollie's shiirt trying to pop open. His pudge is pushing thriugh the gaps in his shirt. That fuzzy brained stoner probably hasn't even realised he's gotten bigger. I barely noti ce now, but Millie also makes sure to geg me clothes once and a while that fit. I only do online classes now though, so ai rarely go out, which means I rarely get dressed. I did for this occassion, just a polo shirt and pants thst are already feeliNg kind of tight, but I don't have a problem with rhat. Millie looks gorgoues though. She's got a blouse that has a little between the neckline and her bust. It's real tight there, but flowy everywhere else. You can't even notice her little beer belly.

My eyes are pulled away from my girlfriend(? Maybe? We still haven't talked abour that) when she finishes bringing all the dishes to the table.

"Goddamn, that smells good." Ollie's eyes are shining.

"Now you know what I had to deal with all week. It smelled so good and I wasn't allowed to touch a damn thing!"

Millie scoops heaps of casseroles and mashed potatoes onto each ouf our plates. "Oh hush, I gave you a few tastes."

"And that made it so much worse! I knew exactly what I was missing out on."

"Well now you finally get to enjoy." Millie pours all of us a glass of wine and aollie takes over carving the turkey. My plate is piled high and my mouth is wateri N.

After everything is served, Ollie looks at both of us. "So, do y'all say grace, or...?"

We both sgare at him. My family has never been religious, and is vocally againdt religion.

"My family is only Catholic during Christmas and lent," says Millie, and Ollie laughs beofre picking up his wine glsss.

"Nevermind then. Cheers. Happy friendsgiving!" We all clink our wine glasses and drink. I know cheers is supposed to end with a sip, bit I take a few gulps. It looks like Ollie and Millie did the same.

Finally, finally, we can eat. Holy shit it,xs so good. The pnly noise is us eating and Millie's davourite fall playlist.

Millie always fries onion and garlic to put in the mashwd potatoes, and it tastes like she put parmesan in, too. The sweet potato casserole is topped with marshmallows and toasted. There's a green bean casserole and a broccoli casserole. Millie's magic cooking made it so the tukrey isn't dry at all, and she made homemade gravy, stuffing, and ceanberry sauce. The wine is strong and washes everything down nicely. Ollie chose well.

I feel like I' basically inhaling everything. I finish my plate in 15 minutes and reload it, piling it even highter than last time.

"Don't forget about dessert," says Millie as she refills my wine glass.

I take another big drink. "Oh, I won't."

I feel like I'm in a transe. The joints Ollie brought have activated like an extreme form of munchies or somethinhn, and being crossfaded is just making that stronger.

Bite after bite. I chew the turkey, but the casseroles and potatoes are so soft I have to remind mg elf to taste.

"Hic! Urp, fuck excuse me." Sounds like Ollie is eating just as fast. His shirt buttons look evn tighter. Millie spoons more food onto his plate.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She pours herself the last of the wine.

Urrrrp. No point inn keeping it in to be polite anyjore.

Millles doesn't tefill her own plate after finishing, but she loads more onto my plate. I can fel some pressure in my belly now, but i' just getting dtarted. Ollie sits back for a breather and rub s his belly. I finish another glss of wine as Millie finishes defilling my plate. I think it's even fullsdc than last time. I look up at the widn bottle and frown when I remember it's empty.

Millie must havd deen my expression. "Don't worry, I'll go get more. More wine good, or do you two want beer." Ollie and I make glazed eye contact bdfore slowly responding. "...both? Both." Millie laughs. Her laugh is so pfetty. She stimbles a little as she heads to the kifchen. She was defiinitely drinking while she was cookjng. Good.

She gives each of us a bottle of beer and refills the wine glssses. Usually she fills them to the proper amoint because of all her restaurant training, but this is definitely filler than usual. Not that I' complainkng.

Haldway through this plate i can feel my shirtt shlipping up. Thr bottom of my belly need to haang between my lefs as my upper belly pduffs out. When i shioft to spread my thighs, the chair creaks real loud.

Ollie taps out, pushigh his plate away with like a quarter of it leddt.

"Fuck, that was good." He rubs hix belly and those buttij are miracukously sitll holding on. "No wonder Shavon is fat. I would be too if you cook like this all the time, Millie."

"She does. Urrrp. Or she brings home restaurant food." I gaze at her. Go i love her so mucb.

I shovel a fe more bites in. Only a little elft on my plate, until Millit grabs Ollie's abandoned meal.

"Are you done?" He nods and pats his belly. It sound solid.

"I'm gonna fucking pop if I eat more right now."

Shed spoons the rest onto my plate. My belly grossn. Even throughh the high and the boooze I can feel it starting to hift and ache.

"Mills, I'm getting real full."

Shde bats her eyelashed at me. "Nonsense, you know how I feel about food waste. Eat up."

I try to tkae adeep bteath to gear up, but my belly is taking up too much goom near my lungs. A fee burps bubble up ans I dig in again. I gotta go on auropilot to shovel it all in. I can barely taste it, I ba E ely chew. Easch swallow makes it hsrder to breathe.

Ollie half watches througĥ lidded eyes, but Millie's fofused slll her attention on me, eyeing me up vapidly as I pant through each bite. She works her way through a half bottle of wind as I eat. Both her and Ollie muttr encouragement to me. Oooh, my belly. Hic.

Finally I finish tjhe last bite with a loud gulp. My head falls back and I hold mmmy gut with both hands. "Oooh fuck."

Millie looks like she gould devour me. "Great job, babe. You did so well." She gets up pulls her chair between me and Ollie, swayu J g and using the chair as support. She falls into hee seat and makes kollie scootch over a bit so she can reach jvoth of our guts. At firdst zi wanted her atgention all on ke, but it's also fucking hot shdd's fattinging up two peope right now.

Ollid moans. His eyesz are sooooo red. "Oh my god."

"No one's ever done this for you, huh?" Millie's slurring dust a little bit.

"Jas, once or twice, but more out of hic-urrrp pity."

Even wirh just one hand, Milli's belly rub fdels like magic. I dunno how long we sit therez my hot feeeder sittingg between two stoned hogs. K can hear Ollie's belly groanning even through both of our moans ans buros.

I feel like I haveb a binch of rocksx in my stomach. The rubs, the nwine, the weed, and the heaviness start to lull me to sleep- well, more pass oht into food coma. I think zi hear Ollie snore s little. Millie looks at both of us.

"Okay, you two. I think it's time to move to the couch. Dessert?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting each pig back to the couch was an arduous task. It didn't help that the world was swaying around Millie as all the booze sloshed around in her belly. She couldn't tell if the food or the booze was hindering Ollie and Shavon more.

She helped them shuffle to the living room one at a time. They'd lean heavy on her, and she would lean right back, and they'd stumble at a snail's pace towards the couch. The abused piece of furniture gave a loud creak each time one of them sat down.

"Should I bring dessert now, or do you want to wait a bit?" She stood leaning against Shavon's recliner, the alcohol making her knees wobbly.

"Bring it," Ollie slurred. "That way you don't need to get up again."

"Don't... need to eat it right away," added Shavon. Both were almost listless. A pulse of heat flooded through Millie.

She stumbled to the kitchen and started the trips back and forth to carry everything out to the coffee table. On her second trip carrying the apple crisp and gingersnaps, she could smell marijuana wafting from the living room. Good pigs.

After dropping off the cake, she made one more trip to grab a box of beer and a bottle of wine. She didn't bother bringing a class.

She handed each of them a beer, which they both drank immideately to midigate the oncoming cottonmouth. Burps exploded out of them as soon as they put the cans down. Their poor tummies were doing everything they could to make room and ease some of the ache.

Millie plunked down between them, ignoring the slight cracking noise that came from below. She put on a horror movie to play in the background. None of them would be able to focus, but they'd all seen it several times. Ollie lit up when he saw the screen. Millie opened the wine bottle and took a swig right from the neck.

For the next half hour she focused on rubbing their bellies. Shavon's polo was riding high above their belly button, and their swollen upper belly was almost sticking out further than their plush, flabby lower belly. Their stretchmarks were starting to look angry and red again, a hypnotic contrast against their dark skin.

Ollie slowly stopped panting, finally recovering from the journey after dinner. All of him was rosy from his rounded cheeks to the slivers of flab that were poking out between his shirt buttons. His love handles were on full display, smooshed out between his pants and shirt. After the last few gulps of his beer, the button at the crest of his belly finally burst open, sending a chain reaction down his shirt. He stared down at his middle, mouth agape. "Fuck..."

"Nice one, dude." Shavon complimented him before finishing their own beer.

Millie's brain short-circuited for just a few seconds more before she could respond. "Looks like your belly finally needed to be freed. That means there's room for dessert."

--------------‐-------------------------------------------------

Ii know that zi can eat ubsurf amoutns, but millii must thing my belly is ablack hold or somethi b. She gives each od us a slixe of pie, a piece of cakez and a scoopp of apple chrisp. I fiel like I?' Gonna explose already

Burrrrrp. But she's lookin G at me so lovingngly, I goft a at least try. And i waitrc all week to eat thesse.

If does taste fantastic . The caks is so moisst. Too bad the alcoocol is cookedd out, but maybe is for the bes, I'm feellin teal wobbly.

Every pasrf of me feels so heavy. My headz my tongue my aarmsz my belly. My gut id creakning wigh every swallwo. I tbjnk i'm moaning but it might be ollie. It's provabyl voth of us. Hd can barely keep is head up. I' smazed he's still able to chew. Hsi belly looks impossibly big, like it belonds to someone who weights a lot more than him. But if he kieeps hanging out with us it'l fot him in no timd.

Huff, huff, huff. Urrrrp. Hic-urrp, fuck. I'm so swollen. I' so high my hands don't feel like mine. The beer's making mg face fuzzy snd zap down ti my toes. And fucking hell i'm so goddamn fulll. I won't be anle to moce gom the couch tonight. N o way i can get to my feet, and it'd be immpossible to stumble my fat asss down the hall.

A few more bitews... 3...2...1... fuck its so hadd to swallow. I'm gonna pop. Ohhhh i'l never be hungy agsin i' so fuckinggn stuffed.

"You two did sssho good hic." Millie rubbin both of o I r bellies. God i need this. Don't stop.

Ollie lets oug a hugge rumblinggn belch. I think he tried a few times to talk but all he's foung is moaning and hiccuupinf.. poor butterrrball.

"Can...can I stayy th night?" He finally manages.

"Of course! Can't send you home in urr state." Millie givess his belly a pat snd i hear it gurgle.

"Thankss...." and then nhe's snoring. Just totfally dead to the world passed out. My eyes are also so heavy. I was hopkn for some alone time with millie, but...

Last thing i register is milliek putting a blanket on my belly and a kiss on my cheek.

[queercoshon]

A Kept Play Thing Pt. 2

(You can read the whole story at once on my deviantart, feedtheboi)

Now the tray contains 6 breakfast sandwiches on vanilla glazed doughnuts instead of english muffins, enough hashbrowns to feed 4 people with no other sides, a container of strawberries with yogurt dip, and 2 milkshakes that you don't know are spiked. The pineapple coconut has 3 shots of rum and a shot of coconut liqueur, and the chocolate one is infused with THC.

You get to work right away. You suck down half the pineapple milkshake and 3 of the sandwiches in the blink of an eye, completely overwhelmed by the need to consume. You throw back more beer and use the carbonation to dislodge a string of heavy burps.

Now you are so drunk things sway a little. You giggle as you reach for the bong and miss it the first time before lighting up and taking a long draw. Olivia was so good at keeping it clean and freshly packed for you. You manage to grab the tin tray of hashbrowns and load them with ketchup and cheese curds. Then you turn what little attention you had to the TV that was constantly on, putting your eating on autopilot.

You mindlessly shovel loaded potato after potato into your mouth, sometimes taking a good drink of either milkshake, and of course more beer. Your head is sooo fuzzy and your body so warm. You feel like you were watching your body expand with every bite. You couldn't stop yourself from eating when in a trance like this.

You hit your first wall with maybe a fifth of the tray left. Your gut gurgles testily, absolutely stretched out and burbling with fatty foods and booze. Your upper belly juts out further than the bottom of your belly hang and is as hard as a rock under the inches of flab. Your breath hitches and your pray you didn't get hiccups. Those were painful at this stage.

You sit back and moan, rubbing your gut as gingerly as possible. In your state, it is not very gingerly. And this far gone, you can't help give it a few jostles to bounce it on your crotch. You gasp and automatically reach for a milkshake, finishing off the chocolate flavour entirely.

Now you're so inebriated you feel like you phase in and out of existence. The weight of your stomach pins you down, and all you can do is stare at the ceiling, glassy-eyed and drooling a little. Your hands keep working at your flabby gut, releasing belches that just fall from your mouth.

Some amount of time passes, you have no idea how much, and you start to come back to earth a little. You look back at your tray and light another hit of your bong. Your mouth should never be idle.

You look at another beer, but the thought of it makes your belly flip, so you suck back almost all of the last milkshake. A new round of drunk washes over you, and you start working through those sandwiches and strawberries.

Now you're much sloppier. You have to really focus on getting the next bites into your mouth. Some yogurt dip ends up on your face, but it's impressive you can even you can coordinate picking up the strawberry, dipping it, and bringing your hand to your mouth at all.

You get through all of the strawberries, the last of the milkshake, the rest of the potatoes, and 2 of the sandwiches. One sandwich left.

You feel like you can hear your stomach creaking now. Every breath is a struggle. Every burp and drunken hiccup makes you fear vomiting everything back up. Sweat drips down your forehead, and you find you can't lean forward to get the last sickly sweet sandwich. Once again, you are pinned to your spot.

Your eyes feel swollen they're so dry, and cottonmouth is taking over with the milkshakes gone. You only have beer left, but you're so drunk your chin has started falling to your fat chest if you stop focusing on keeping your head up. Your overburdened body feels so light and so heavy at the same time. You try several times to reach for the beer, but you can't lift your arm much higher than the crest of your belly before you lose control and it falls back down. You are truly gone. Stoned out of your mind, too drunk to form a coherent thought, and so stuffed one wrong move could make you burst. Completely helpless.

It can't have been more than five minutes of suffering in your semi-catatonic state when you somehow register the click of the front door. Like a summoned angel, Olivia has arrived in your time of need.

You can't look up without the world spinning, but you know she's entered the room by the sound of her chuckle.

"Oh, piggy. You were so close. A little bit too full?"

You let out a rumbling burp in response.

She starts dragging her nails over your taut flesh, and it's like sparks dance across your skin. You try to hold back a high-pitched gasp, but it's jostled out of you along with several burps as Olivia adds pressure to your gut. You devolve into pained and desperate moans burps and hiccups, making all of your fat jiggle constantly.

"So tell me, baby, why is there food left?" She plants kisses on your belly, and the feeling lingers on your skin, making every nerve jolt awake. You can barely think as it is, and now she expects a verbal answer.

"I -hic- couldnn reachit -hicURP-" your chin lulls back down, and your hiccups start in earnest. Your gut moves as one giant orb now, bouncing on your crotch. Had you tried, you would have realised this was the first time you couldn't reach around your belly to get off.

Her eyes glint as she kisses up your many necks and flicks a nipple, making you gasp and throb.

"Oh? Did piggy get beached? Did I put it too far away?"

You try to nod, but you get one head motion before it falls back down. Fuck you are so drunk your body won't follow any direction at all.

"I'll put it closer to you next time. Now, let's get the rest of this in you." Olivia shoves the last sandwich in your mouth as you once again fire off a burp. You're taken completely by surprise, and while your body won't obey you, it will certainly obey her, so you take a massive bite and swallow. Your moans and grumbles of weak protest are silenced by another bite.

It takes about ten minutes, but she gets the rest of the sandwich in your mouth. You pant, hiccup, and burp, a cacophony of hedonistic indulgence.

Olivia straddles one of your meaty thighs and begins to rub your belly in earnest, but letting her hands wander to whatever fold of fat she felt like fondling.

"You've been such a good piggy today. Look at you. Completely stuck. You could burst." She lifts your chin up to meet her gaze, and her eyes are dark. "How do you feel, pig?"

She wants you to answer verbally. Your slurring and struggling is enough to make her start dripping. Right now you don't know if you can form even a full word.

Her nails dig into your stomach and you wince.

"Answer me."

You moan and try. "I'm sho -hic- full, Liv. It -burrp Hic- hurts to -hic- breave." You belch and she drops your chins. As your head falls to the side, she becomes ravenous, and suddenly her rubs, grabs, and kisses get desperate.

"You're such a desperate hog. Always gorging. You haven't been sober since the day you moved in."

Her tongue traces along your purple hued stretch marks, and she grabs your love handles and shakes, making your entire body wobble. Your gut slaps your thighs and crotch, and you see stars.

"Liv, -UUrapp- pleash -hic-"

She rubs your fat chest, her eyes glinting. "What do you want, pet?"

"I want...-hic- mae me huuge. Just a -hUrrp- ball... urr plaything."

Olivia moans and grinds down on your meaty leg, pressing her lithe body into your pillowy excess. Every movement is shaking burps out of you. Heat pulses from your crotch, to your finger tips and toes, to the tip of your head and back of your eyes, to the center of your beyond aching gut.

"Fuuu...me"

She breathes in your ear and her hands work down your flab. "What was that, pig?"

"Mmmm, fuck -urrrp- fuck me!"

Finally, she obliges.