Stuffed (Post-Stuffing/Implied Vore)
This is just a super, Super, SUPER thirsty, rambling little mini-story (of sorts) I whipped up in about a half hour. It was actually inspired by me over-eating at a restaurant recently. Go figure. :P Enjoy, fellow weirdos. BE WARNED: THIS BE VERY, VERY KINKY BUSINESS.
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I belch deeply. The sound thunders through my innards, making something inside of me tremble. I can feel my guts squelch around something that used to be solid, mulching and pulping it further into a mushy paste that rests like the filling of a stress ball inside my belly. I groan, my face feeling warm and flushed. My cheeks must be mottled green and red, like some bizarre holiday experiment gone horribly wrong. The green would be because I. AM. SO. STUFFED. I can’t even move. I don’t WANT to move. My body is just…done. My belly roils and tosses, like the magma brewing in the bowels of an active volcano preparing to erupt. It takes every bit of personal effort I have to simply lift one shaky arm and slap my hand against my stomach. I bite my lip with a mixture of discomfort and pleasure as I feel my taut, stretched, pinkish skin ripple from the blow. The red in my cheeks is the thought of how proud I must make him. I find myself whimpering as I think of how he’ll react when he comes home…my stomach is just aching to be pampered, as well as just plain aching. I hope, almost pray, he’ll give it the attention my body is begging for. I curl my toes, imagining his feather-light fingertips…then imagining how they might change their method from soft, simple strokes and caresses to a full-blown massage. I think of those hands, those beautiful hands, pressing down into my gut…I imagine the way it will feel, sensing the food inside of me being further broken up. Feeling lumps of nourishing goop liquefy as he presses, prods, and fondles my burgeoning middle. I fidget, wondering if he might even decide to kiss my tummy…tell me how good a job I’ve done, eating up every little morsel he left for me to consume. I have to eat it all up. Because every bit of me is going to be part of him. That’s why I’m eating so much. It hurts…but it feels SO GOOD. Not only the sensation of intense, over-embiggened fullness that makes my insides creak and wobble like a battered old windmill machine…but knowing that the more I eat, and the bigger I get…the bigger HE will get to. My blush intensifies, momentarily chasing away the green in my proverbial gills. Maybe…maybe he’ll make it happen tonight. Maybe I’m finally too tempting for him to resist. My heart beats faster as my breath - already labored due to the weight inside my stomach, and the lethargy flowing through my bloodstream - intensifies its own rate and pace. I’m already imagining him drooling over me as he walks into the room, teasing me with how big I’m getting. He’ll probably say something like, “Are you trying to beat my record, little morsel?” or perhaps, “My, my, what have we here? A piece of stuffed pork?” I almost pout. Almost. He has a tendency to say such rude things when he sees me getting ready for my eventual date with his own belly…but I know he’s just being affectionate. There’s no lechery and no malice in those words, just playful teasing. It’s just his way. And I…I feel no real shame. After all, he’s MASSIVE compared to me, even at this point, and he never feels any shame at all. Not when he moans and belches and coos over the good little meal sitting in his stomach…not when he admires his ever-growing mass in the mirror, and murmurs sweet nothings to the tiny pieces of pudge that still remain semi-sentient inside his girth. Folds of blubber he lovingly tends to every day…or sometimes allows me to tend to, with the ever-present reminder I’ll be part of him, like all the others. The bigger I am, and the less ashamed of it I am, the more he praises me, and tells me how proud he is of me. And the happier he is, the happier I am…the BIGGER he is, the more filled with satisfaction I am. My stomach lurches and I groan, the green overriding the crimson once more. I don’t know how he STANDS eating so much, though…he makes it look so easy when he has someone kicking and squirming inside his stomach. He doesn’t seem to break a sweat while they slowly melt away, over days and days, inside his body. He doesn’t seem remotely bothered when the wiggles fade and there’s only him, nothing more. Just him. I whimper and whine, running my fingers over my compact underbelly. Even now, I know that if he were to swallow me, in this very moment…I wouldn’t make a dent in his giant, hulking body…and that only makes me want it so much more. I’ve seen the way he drools over me whenever I eat so much, and lay here, waiting for him to return and tell me if I did a good job. He always does, encouraging me and kissing my cheek, reminding me of how I’m going to give him So. Much. Gas. Burping in my face and teasing me when I belch as well from how bloated my stomach has become. Every day this sort of thing happens, he says some variation of the same thing: “It’s so hard to hold back. I’m so hungry just looking at you. Someday, soon, I’ll take you, and you will be mine. Mine forever. No more you. Only me.” I close my eyes, focusing on the bubbling in the lowest portion of my swollen stomach. As it settles, I feel my lips curl upwards. Something in there just slipped deeper into my intestines…I wonder how long it would take for me to end up in his, to any degree. Maybe I won’t have to wait long. I can hear the door opening and closing downstairs. Now I’m able to sense his footsteps…so heavy…like the footsteps of a giant. Of a God. He’s so BIG. And I’m just here to make him bigger. I’m so eager for when that happens. Please make it today. Please, tell me I’m irresistible. That you have to have me inside of you now. Please, swallow me. Make me more of you. Nothing will make me feel more fulfilled, even if the food you give me does, indeed, make me feel most full AND filled. As the door opens, I’m already imagining his hot, steaming maw, pulling itself wide open before me, for a kiss that will be deeper than any other, and completely without end. I’m already imagining his horrible yet beautiful breath and those sharp, pointed teeth tickling my skin. I’m helpless. I can’t move with this heavy cargo inside my belly. I hope that’s a sign that I’m ready to take the plunge. Am I his dinner, or must I wait longer, and be forced to eat another day so that he can be even more gorgeously humongous, all thanks to me? For me, it’s a win-win situation…but somehow, as I see those greedy, needy eyes peer at me from the doorway, I already know. I’m about to make him feel exactly the way I feel now. Completely. Totally. “UUUUUURRRRRRRRP!” Stuffed.