#tummy fantasy

[ohnomytummy]

Well i'd Love to assist you in stuffing yourself sick. I'd Cook all your favorite food (maybe laced with a few laxs If your up for it)

Prepare your Seat with cushions and a variety of Drinks so your comfy.

Spoonfeed you and praise you with every little spoon you eat.

A Lot of Breaks to Help your tummy get used to all the food.

Massaging, Kissing and caressing you all over. I want you to feel like a King.

Once the stuffed burps start to turn to sickly burps we'll Switch to the liquid & lactose fun. Milkshakes, icecream, chocolate, hot cocoa. I'll be ushering you to sit between my legs, recline into me, let me make you feel good while you snack on that ice cream. Ohhh your tum is so firm now *sqeezes it lovingly*

If i can still sink my hands into it you must have a little more room i say while gently stroking your Side, marveling at the gurgling Sensation I feel there. You Look Up at me pitifully and?

*burps pitifully* “m-my belly….t-too full.” I moan and roll my face into your neck.

You whisper sweetly in my ear, “but I can feel so much room in there, my stuffed sweetheart. I bet you can finish another bowl of ice cream, hm? So tasty….will melt right into the little space left in there.” You shake my belly again, and I moan with discomfort.

“B-but….” Before I can finish my sentence, you shove a spoonful of sweet ice cream into my mouth. I groan and clutch my gut with both hands, but let you keep feeding me, listening to my and my bellies protests happily. “Oh god…..so good….but fuck it h-hurts so b-b-baaadddd.”

Spoonful after spoonful goes down my throat until a sudden loud and too wet belch stops your hand. Wide eyed, you watch my face go from hot and pink to flushed green. An equally loud and ugly gurgle rips through me, and one arm wraps around my belly while my other hand’s fingers clasp over my lips.

“Oh no….”

With my belly bare and bloated like a cow, I quickly scramble out of your lap and rush to the bathroom. You watch my belly bounce as I run across the apartment, moaning “I’m gonna be sick” while my oversized meal rushes from my stomach up my throat.

Unfortunately, my stomach has other plans besides the bathroom.

As I round the corner, you hear a loud moan and a sudden splash. You get up quickly to find me on my knees clutching my bowling ball of a belly in the hall, everything you stuffed in me now gushing onto the floor. You find a trash can and put it under me, pulling me into your lap again, helping me be sick while you kiss and comfort me. We’re a mere few feet from the toilet, but you know I can’t make any further. There we sit for nearly an hour while I gag and hurl my stuffing back up.

As I finish, exhausted and still feeling sick (I can’t stop gagging and burping nauseously), you whisper seductively in my ear, “what’s on the menu for tomorrow?”

[ohnomytummy]

Here's a tummy ache scenario for ya...

A and B both enjoy belly aches and the things that come with that, much like you and me. So one day, they decide to have a competition. They will eat the same amount of gummy bears (somewhere between 30 and 40) and have to hold it as long as they can because the person who can hold it in the longest wins. And the winner gets full control of the losers belly for 24 hours.

Considering how many gummies you’ve eaten in the last 24 hours I think you would beat me in a heartbeat (or maybe not considering it’s consequences 😉)

Before starting, A and B get into their loosest, comfiest, dirtiest clothes to prepare for the day’s events. Towels are washed and sheets are prepped for re-lining the bed, just in case.

They start in the morning, already confirming they’ll have nowhere to be for the next two days. A, being a bigger glutton for extreme belly aches and torment, finishes the bag before B can get down 10; B’s stomach has turned on a gas faucet and bubbles are starting to float and pop all over the top like foam. B, trying to hide their rapidly growing discomfort, watches the movie the pair put on in stoic silence. From the corner of their eye, they can see A peering at their middle.

“I can see your stomach pushing against your sweater. Your silence is fooling no one, babe,” A pries playfully, poking roughly into B’s stomach.

“Hey, don’t cheat,” B whines, gently pushing A’s hand away.

A rolls their eyes and curls into B’s side to lovingly rub the top of their stomach. “Fine, fine, I’ll be nice. If you finish your bag.”

“That’s mean,” B jokes, stuffing another handful in their mouth. Mid chew they start complaining. “Swallowing hurts my stomach,” while guiding A’s hand over the bloated top of their abdomen, dramatically sighing for effect.

“Rules are rules,” A stands their ground and adds their other hand to B’s tummy for rubs of encouragement. B moans softly as rumbles erupt from their stomach, soon they start forcing up burps to relieve the growing pressure, but with A’s hands on their middle they keep eating until their bag is finally gone.

“Happy?” B rolls their eyes and adds their own hands to their belly, which already feels like it’s filling with air and is beginning to round like an inflating rubber ball.

“Very,” A kisses B’s cheek and puts their head on their shoulder, cuddling into the blanket to finish the movie. A’s tiny middle is slowly beginning to fill with gas, but they’re willing to ignore the tightening feeling in their guts to tease B, who’s got a much lower tolerance for sugar free sweets.

As the day progresses and morning turns to afternoon, B remains uncomfortably round, tight, and nauseous. “I feel like you made me pour a packet of yeast down my throat.”

A begins asking B to get things from around the apartment just to watch them get up and cradle their gut while they walked. The bottom of their sweater is riding up so A can see the bottom of B’s belly—bloated and strained with gummy sludge. On one such errand (getting a water from the fridge because the one on the end table was warm), just as B opens the fridge and bends over to get A their beloved water, B feels their belly drop as a gurgles rips from their belly button to the bottom of their belly. All A hears is B moan quietly from their spot in the kitchen.

Obviously curious, A gets up to check on B. A’s own middle is 2x its usual size, but all their feeling are some tight, strained gurgles. They’ll be in the bathroom at some point, but not anytime soon. A reaches the kitchen, their hands teasingly placed on the sides of their tummy to extenuate their bloat, and asks sweetly, “need any help?”

“Not unless you’ve got any pepto,” B mumbles, closing the fridge and handing A the water.

“What?” A takes the drink, their fingers lingers on B’s. A heard B loud and clear.

“Oh hush,” B sighs, embracing A’s bloated tum, pushing their middles together, popping a series of small bubbles B can feel all too much, making him burp sickly. “I don’t feel good.”

“Oh?” A’s eyebrows raise in concern, but their eyes twinkle. “How long have you been—“

“Two hours,” B moans, placing A’s hands on their underbelly. B blushes, embarrassed. “You’re gonna win…”

A giggles sweetly, rubbing B’s slop filled belly firmly, eliciting even more whimpers and desperate moans from B. A watches as B’s thighs clench together, relishing in the look on B’s face as they feel a slippery gurgle slide across the hand placed on B’s guts. “Yeah.” A kisses the top of Bs tummy. “You need to go, don’t you?”

“So bad,” B’s whole face goes crimson as they whimper.

“And you can’t hold it anymore?”

“Please,” B begs. “I really can’t.” A warm, sick cramp rushes through B’s belly and they desperately clutch and lean into the counter top. “Oh g-god…I need to go now!”

B sends A a pleading look, understanding the consequences of their actions but desperately not wanting to make a mess in the kitchen. A steps aside and B rushes to the bathroom, clutching their belly and stripping their clothing as they go. By the time B reaches the bathroom, they’re naked and groaning, slamming the door shut before A can follow them inside. But that doesn’t stop A from sitting outside the door, listening for nearly a half hour while B moans and swears as their belly gets sick from the candy.

The 24 hours might have to come from you ;)))

[ohnomytummy]

describe the perfect belly ache for a chubby puppy bf.. and spare no details 💜🐶

Mmmm well 😉

Considering his taste for all things greasy and packed with dairy, a belly ache evening would start with a pizza and their favorite soda…diet Coke maybe? I’d dare them to eat it as fast as they can, timing him from start to finish, putting that belly to the first of many tests. By the end his belly is warmed up, taught and round but not too tight.

Of course, the cheese hits his belly so fast there’s already tummy ache complaints and pained whines seconds, it seems, after his final bite and time are announced. I’m soft on my puppy, especially at first, letting his bloated gut land in my lap to kiss and rub through the beginning dairy cramps.

But this tummy time has a time limit…the goal is make his belly ache, right?

I’d pamper his tummy for no more than 10 minutes, after which the next meal would be coming out of the oven: Deep fried mozzarella sticks, so gooey, dripping with grease, and bowls of sauces lined up for dipping.

I present them to you while you’re still grumbling about your tummy gurgles from the pizza and suddenly your eyes pop and your mouth opens to a deep groan. I’ve stacked a dozen large fried logs in a pyramid, and my baby must eat every last one in under 12 minutes. If he can, at least…

You eat. And eat. And eat. My eyes devour you as you devour the fried cheese, shaking your belly and burping, desperate for the room to pass your test.

The timer ticks and my baby boy sucks down his second course. Despite being still full from the pizza, he manages to pass the second test, but just barely. 11:24. Nearly choked on the last one just to make it.

“My *buraaahhp* tummy *huff huff.* That’s *burp* enough *huff* *burp* *hic* cheese.”

Another 10 minutes is spent adoring that tummy. Complimenting it’s bloated, expanding capabilities. “My puppy has such an impressive appetite.” I’ve left kisses and marks all down your body, and my hand prints might as well be molded into your rolls. You’re pushing your limits for me. I can’t get enough of how desperately full your becoming in my name.

But then the time is up and course three is on it’s way. “No ugh…my belly hurts so bad, you know I’m lactose intolerant, sir.” You look down and blush, whispering in heat and embarrassment. “…and I’m getting so gassy.”

I look you gently in the eye, take your lower belly in my hands and shake your cheese filled guts. You squeak, moan, and let out the gas I knew you’d been holding in, trying not let me know how bad your tummy really hurts. “Bellies get gassy, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.”

I win, of course, and you allow me to bring you the next plate…or bag. Enough McDonald’s for two, but it’s really just…you.

Two large orders of perfectly cooked fries, two quarter pounders (with cheese, duh) and the finale: two large chocolate milkshakes. If you can eat everything, you get to stop. A fair deal, in my opinion, but your eyes grow wide and you start to plead the plight of your exhausted tummy. “I can’t finish that!”

At that moment a cramp rumbles from your stomach to your lower gut. I watch you curl your knees into your tummy and wrap your arms quickly around your bare belly, which now looks red and bulbous, angry, almost. “Oooooohhhh fuck…god *a gurgle I can hear from across the room sounds and a wet fart slips out* my belly. I’ve eaten way too mu-*buuurrrp*-ch already, how do you expect me to *groans* finish *gulp* that?”

I move towards you and wrap your curled, aching body into my arms, kissing your strained temples and wiping the sweat from your forehead. “I expect you,” I rub a deep, firm circle over your swollen stomach, making your moan “to do as your told.” I reach for the bag, open the first quarter pounder, and begin feeding you slowly. No time limit on your last round (I’m secretly desperate to see you even try to finish. I don’t think you really can, but the challenge was too tempting not to give you). You get the rest of the night to finish stuffing your face.

When you get through the first fries and burger, your tummy is so tight it’s pulsing. With a hand over the very top of your gut, I can feel how much your body is struggling to let every bite into it’s overwhelmed system. Your whole abdomen looks…strained. When we start the second burger, all bites are followed by moans and whispered complaints. “Not another bite *swallow.* I’m gonna burst *swallow.* You’re giving me a tummy ache! *takes an even bigger bite.*” But I know how much you’re burning, how fast your eating so we can move on to the reward portion of the evening.

I know how much my puppy wants a days long upset belly. A tummy ache for the ages.

As you finish both fries and burgers, I have to stop myself from drooling. You’re a vision, burping and moaning and begging me to get the milkshakes from the freezer so we can get it all over with already. You’re really planning on finishing both…I can’t believe it. I’m as consumed by your belly as you are by pleasing me, doing all that I ask.

The milkshakes begin to soften while I hold the cups to your lips. I’ve taken off the caps and gotten your funnel. We both want the milkshakes in your gut. Fast.

I pour and you chug, the milkshakes just frozen enough to be delicious but warm enough to gulp down with little to no struggle

I watch your tummy expand so quickly I’m shocked. If I thought your belly was full before…it’s like the shakes are filling in every last gap you have and pushing everything out. Your back is starting to arch, and I can hear how much your struggling to deal with the pain of your fast growing tummy. When the last of the shakes are down the funnel and dripping from your lips, you’ve got tears pricked in your eyes. I remove the funnel, you’re panting and groaning uncontrollably. Your hands don’t stop roaming your tummy, cluelessly pressing into every tight bubble daring to burst your bubble belly.

An awe-filled “oh my god” escapes as I watch you. I can’t think, can’t move. You actually did it. You finished everything in under 2 hours, most of it spent on round three. I can feel my desire dripping down my thighs, leaving visible wet spots on my shorts. You’re a non-stop luscious view of bloated burps and cramps. I can basically see your belly shake as the food tries to move through you unsuccessfully. It must feel like you swallowed a cheese filled brick, I think. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Full.”

[ohnomytummy]

What would be your ultimate Fantasy?

Wow okay…ultimate…fantasy…hmmmm

Gas station sushi.

Lots of gas station sushi in an already stuffed and gassy belly.

Not mine, someone else’s.

I convince them to buy the fish, even though I KNOW they’ll spend the next few days in agony (and ecstasy but that’s the fantasy part, obviously ;)) The purchase alone is suspicious, but the look of knowing anticipation in both of our faces is a different kind of off-putting to the cashier who is very confused.

We walk out to the car and I’ve already shoved a piece in their mouth. It’s…slightly warm…a grimy texture, they say between bites. By the time we’re home, the two large rolls (two too many for gas station sushi) are gone, and the look on their face is already twisted and green.

Without going into too much detail, we spend the next few days going from the bedroom to the bathroom. The apartment is graced with sick buckets and bowls, and they’ve sweated through or soiled most of their comfy clothes. Their tummy is solid. The. Whole. Time. The sushi has somehow turned everything to cement despite the constant puking and bouts of watery diarrhea. They ache. They hurt. But between rounds of sick and warm soapy baths, are sloppy, groaning fucks. Both of us are shamefully turned on by how disgusting they are, how sick their gut is, but we continue rutting and sucking and licking until they find themselves running for the bathroom…again.

But that’s just the one I’m thinking of now ☺️

[ohnomytummy]

Urgh... I have the stomach flu. I caught it at a 3 day festival I went to.

The first day was fine, I set up our tent and spent the whole 24 hours listening to the artists and having fun. I do remember noting that the nurses station was quite full.

After I went to bed on the second day, I woke up feel queasy. But I shook it off and went back on the dance floor.

A couple of hours later, some dude leaned over and puked right in front of me. This made me loose the fragile grip on my stomach that I already had, along with a number of others. I think all up, there were about 15 people uncontrollably vomiting.

I went back to the tent where I just got worse. I tried to sleep but I just kept getting sick from both ends.

They ended up finishing the festival 12 hours earlier then was planned because literally everyone, even the artists, had caught it.

Now I'm at home, still being sick from both ends. Yet somehow, even with the pure liquid that is coming out of me at both ends, my stomach is somehow rock hard??

So I'm curious. What would you do if you were with me? Would you catch it too? If not, what would you do to my poor tummy?

(Quick note: I'm into tummy torture and humiliation as well :)) )

😳🥴 I’m sorry…this sounds like a fantasy I didn’t know I had???? Wowowowow…how do you hold in such a kinky situation when everyone else is so…*gulp*sick….

Anyways….fuck…okay…

I have never gotten a stomach bug in my life. Not a bad one anyway. So I’m gonna pretend, if I WERE to be there with you (moans), it’d be as an innocent bystander. Maybe I don’t go with you, but I see you from across the tent and think you’re cute. I’m already turned on from watching people get sick all around us. Poor babes. Such poor tummy’s. So weak…not strong like mine ;)

The music is loud, and despite the chaos, I’ve been watching you wrestle with your tummy for the last hour. I’ve been paying attention to your stomach slowly bloating, the heave of your chest as you hiccup and burp, the way your hands brush innocently against your gut. I can tell you’re either clueless about your belly ache, or lying to yourself.

When the stranger hurls his insides in front of you, I remind myself to thank him if I see him because I know you’ll soon have your first trip down the hurl train to. And of course, I’m right. I watch you puke all over your shoes, barely missing the guy who puked on you. Using the moment as my opportunity, I approach you quickly and encircle my arms around your waist.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. Let’s get you back to your tent,” I whisper in your ear. I rub your sides as we walk, you wipe your mouth every so often, but otherwise your arms are wrapped tightly around your belly. I feel your belly gurgle and the hiccups build. You softly moan, the short trip making you feel worse.

When we get to your tent, I gently strip you. “We’ll keep your clothes for when you’re well. You’ll mess them in this state, and then what will you wear?” Each movement you make causes a cramp and painful gas, making you pause, but you do as I say. Despite not knowing each other long, you’re already begging for me to rub your sore tummy, to pop the sick bubbles and let up the gas trapped inside you. Your shyness is nowhere in sight. You’re blinded by your horrible infected belly.

“Where are your trash bags?” You point with a soft moan. In the quiet of the tent, we can both hear your belly’s sick groans and gurgles. I grab a bag and hold you in my lap, opening the bag in front of you.

Without warning, I press into your rock hard belly. You gag and a flow of sick comes up and into the trash bag. “I knew you needed to release. Your tummy can’t even handle a little stomach bug. Look,” I put my hand over your lower tummy. “You’re already filling back up.”

Over the course of the night, you go back and forth from my lap puking, to crouching over a hole, clutching your stomach and moaning or praying to god to make it stop while I tease you and press hard into your tummy, making matters (and the mess) worse.

Must’ve been one hell of a festival…shit

[ohnomytummy]

Ok so let's say if I woke up in the middle of the night with an urgent, cramping belly ache and I knew exactly what caused it (icecream, a large cheese pizza (I'm lactose intolerant) and a bottle of coke) and you got to do whatever you want to my belly (punishment hint hint nudge nudge)... what would you do?

Well first, I don’t know if you assumed I’d be sending you to bed with a plug in, but if not you need to re-organize your thoughts ;)

I’m also assuming I’d get to watch you devour your huge meal of dairy and grease and sugar and drool over your growing gut, knowing you’ll be suffering from your choices very shortly. You’d start eating with the plug in btw…gotta show that belly who’s boss, after all.

(This may get long idk)

When you finish, you’re claiming nothing but a full bloated stomach, but I can hear your insides squirm and whine from across the table. I haven’t touched you. You fed yourself like the good eater you are, and I glued my eyes to you while you ate and ate. I know whats in your belly, and I know how fast ice cream runs through you when it’s the ONLY dairy you’ve eaten that day. I can see your eyes pleading. Your tummy hurts already, so so badly…so fast…you ate everything so fast…oh dear…

Your act isn’t on for long though, and a few minutes later you’re burping and moaning and telling me how you can feel your tummy sloshing over the mound of pizza inside you. I urge you to bed, changing your tight (but unbuttoned) jeans to my loosest boxers…and even they struggle to contain your pizza gut. As I’m helping you slide them on, I hear a different kind of…slipping. Your lower belly whines so deeply, you might as well have a river in your colon. It’s so close to your plug, but it can’t escape—moments later a wet, rattling burp comes from your lips. “Sounds like that cheese is coming to the surface,” I tease, letting you waddle shirtless to the bed.

At first I let you attempt to sleep aka lie to yourself. Your tossing and turning. I’m waiting for you to…and quickly you do: grasp my hand, moaning “baby…my tummy…” and an arm moves loosely in front of your bulbous belly, protecting it’s cramping mess from more pain (or our signal…sadistic of us…).

I first kiss you, letting you lean into the moment with me while I climb on top of your hips. As we kiss I slowly move my hands over the solid food filled mound that is your top belly, caressing your skin and running my nails lightly over your most sensitive spots. But when my hands reach their peak, I break the kiss, grin gently down at you, and push. Hard.

You grab my wrists and moan almost loudly enough to block the sound of your belly rushing up your throat, forcing you to gag (you felt so awful climbing into bed, you barely noticed the towels I laid all over your side of the bed and the floor). My weight forces your legs still, so you have to use your upset belly’s minimal muscles to twist your body as you hic, sputter and burp the sick from your mouth and onto the dirty brown towel below.

As you finish puking, I kiss your neck and shoulders and sides gently. When the last of round one has left your lips you turn to collapse back on the bed while your hands achingly rub your still massive gutt. “You made me throw up.” You say cutely…cluelessly…full of tummy ache. I chuckle at your empty, pain and lust filled mind, while your belly continues to omit ugly sounding gurgles. “Uh oh,” you mutter before turning back over the side of the bed and puking up round two, the floor now a clear mess. Your mess…

This goes on for a bit. The puking. Hurling. Stomach ache filled with hard tummy rubs and a mix of moans, pleasure and pain at war in your belly.

But then, the gurgles change…they get…deeper. Lower, more drawn out. And your hands are now gripping the space between your boxer hem and belly. “No…” Your legs curl into your tummy as a cramp rips through you. “Uh-uh baby,” I say, as I force your legs down and uncurl your body. “You let me take care of that.”

You give me that soft, pained, wet look: “Yes, sir.”

And the game begins.

For the next…however long you can last…I meet each of your horrible cramps with a deep belly rub, a hard push, encouragement, if you will. I cuddle you big spoon style and you hold my hands to your belly. Our legs lock together to keep you from curling into yourself as your gluttony rocks your insides.

The plug forces you to keep everything in, and I’m challenging you to let it out. You moan and whimper, “my tummy…oh god it’s coming back…*buuurrrrppp* nnnnoooo goooddddd…”

Our thighs are sticky, our underwear soaked through. I continue palpating your abdomen, kissing your neck and back, and telling you sweet nothings, how good you are at filling your belly and keeping it in, until you give me the final signal. When the desperation is too much and you need the bathroom and you need the bathroom now.

I carry your cramping belly and you to the toilet and put you down, letting you pull out the plug, both of us red with a mix of embarrassment, shame, and classic dirty horny sex as your tummy violently empties itself.

I stay as close as you let me, respecting your space but wanting to help you get through the most painful part of the night.

And then we’d go to sleep. Obviously 🤭

[ohnomytummy]

urrrrp.. mmph.. *gently nudges you awake*.. daddy..

.. i don’t feel so g-good.. *places my feverish forehead on your arm*.. hic hic..

*ominous belly gurgles* .. urrrpp! *covers my mouth with my hand*

(you know what to do~ muah~ 🐶💜)

*rolls over to put a hand on your belly* I told you that 4th burger was too much, puppy. And on top of the large milkshake, fries and onion rings…

*your belly glorps under my hand, and a wet belch shoots up your throat* poor baby. Eyes too big for your belly again.

[Switching forms cause it’s easier to think in]

Too tired (and sick) to move, I rub your belly while we doze to the sound of your tummy desperately trying to digest your oversized meal. I’m on the verge of sleep when I hear your groan and feel your weight quickly leave the bed.

“I told you you’d make yourself sick, baby.” I call, hearing you run to the bathroom and fall on your knees in front of the toilet. Wearing only a big tshirt (my own tummy slightly oversized and uncomfortable), I sleepily tiptoe my way across the hall to find you gagging, forearms draped over the open seat, tummy so full it flops to the floor.

“Be nice and help me,” you whine. I know your tummy is sludge from the milkshake. You had (I forced you to have) a tall glass of milk before you ate to warm up your stomach. Lactose intolerance is basically a choice…

I lean again the bathroom door frame, watching your pitiful state hungrily, quickly waking up at the sight of you so sick and exhausted.

“I guess I could,” I say as you gag and spit into the water. I slowly make my way behind your crouched body, wrapping one hand around your belly and letting the other rub your back gently. You moan and heave, but nothing happens. “Please daddy,” you beg. “Push my tummy up and out.”

I kiss your back and whisper “okay” into your skin, pushing forcefully up into your bloated stomach. Again, your body heaves, and again nothing. Desperately you whine and beg, groaning and burping helplessly. I coo and rub your tummy, continuing to push forcefully with the rhythm of your gags. “That’s it. Good boy. It’ll happen soon.”

Finally, after what feels like eternity, your heaping dinner comes quickly up and out of your poor belly, like it was waiting to be let loose. You spend the rest of the night in a grease overdose, spending as much time in the bathroom as the bedroom (and none of that time sleeping).

[ohnomytummy]

hi, new here, so uh…those belly fantasies…yeah? 🫣

if I were to-hypothetically-send a fantasy it would be this…

I just got back from dinner. My belly is completely stuffed full. Groaning in pain I make my way up to you and place my head on your chest. My belly lets out these sickly gurgles as it tries-and fails-to digest everything. It’s at its brim but I don’t mind if you stuff me until I’m puking my guys out…

ps. I don’t mind wholesome or…kinky… *cough* kinky please *cough*

Hi 😙 This one was cute and hot and domestic and fun!!! Thank you new anon friend ❤️

—

I love when you go out to dinner with your friends on weekends.

You always order way too much food. Always get just a few too many drinks. You leave in your nice, put together outfit and get back with a button or two popped, your belly pressed against the fabric. Eager to undo the zipper or take off the belt.

You always text me when you think you “may” come home overfilled, which always means you’ll be eating till your seems are close to popping (close…can’t be too messy with your friends). Lets me know to be on the couch with some show on when your car comes up the drive…the oven and deep fryer on, just in case.

I hear your key in the door and my breath quickens. I can’t wait to see how big my baby got on their own, already waiting for the signal that you’re eager to get your belly near bursting.

I call out to you from the living room and instead of a hi or hey…you groan and sigh. You drop your stuff loudly on the floor, carelessly take off your shoes, and make your way over to me. The whole time, I’m watching your belly—your shirt is riding up over your bloat leaving your lower tum bare, your jeans are unzipped shamelessly. As you turn and walk towards me, I see new stains on the fabric. I can’t help but be proud at the sight.

As you reach me, I close my hands around the back of your thighs, gently squeezing your softness. I kiss your belly, triggering a light moan. You put one hand on my chest and fall into my lap, straddling me, letting your belly bulge sexily between the two of us. Wrapping both arms around my neck you lean into my ear and say those two pretty words: “Feed me.”

I look in your eyes and see that special, dirty, excited glint. You’re almost drooling at the salacious thoughts your mind has pushing you towards me and your tummy.

“Of course.”

We go to our room where a special fridge is hidden in our closet: full of all your favorite sweets, heavy dinners, drinks, and…appetite enhancers. As you undress and make your evening selections, I can see your goal. Spread out next to you (as you hold your belly in your hands) is a 2 liter of Coke, a cheesecake, and a pan of your favorite lasagna. You cock your head and look me dead in the eyes: “I want all of it.”

I ask if you’re sure (trying not to look too much like an eager puppy), and after the confirmation of you sucking on my fingers…we begin.

I lean you again the pillows and begin feeding you the lasagna. Your dinner, you say, was more like an appetizer. You had more drinks than food, you tell me you’re the perfect mix of tipsy and hungry (hiccup). Just nibbled a plate of nachos (the stains). You ask me to roll a joint after your first chunk of lasagna. As I fulfill your desire, you chug the soda so I can return to you burping, your tummy rounder than when I left.

We smoke and you eat…and eat, and eat, and eat. You finish the lasagna and I’m enthralled—we take a break so I can show you just how impressed I am (my thrusts make you sick, you say as you shake and moan). When you plow through half the cheese cake, I’m so turned on by your display, I’m feeding you with my legs straddling your open thigh, gently and mindlessly humping to the pace of your chewing.

But the thickness of the dessert gets you. You stop me and we hear a loud rumbling coming from deep within you. You’re so full, there’s no time to think or move: one gag and a wave of sick spills over you like it was just waiting in your throat to be released. You moan and sputter, wrapping both arms over your middle, contorting your body to protect your tummy (and stop me from feeding you). That cheese cake triggered something. You’re way, WAY too full. The ratio of dairy to everything else is sickening.

I quickly transition to caretaker. We’re well prepped with towels and trash bags. I place a towel in your lap, and, knowing you’re now helpless to the waves of sick about to rush over your body, hold a bag under your chin to prep for the next heave.

And boy do you heave. You shut your eyes tight and muster a horrible “oh god” as your huge binge starts rolling back up and into the trash bag. Your arms are now glued to your tummy, and as you heave fumble my way behind you, moving you into my lap. As you gain the ability to hold the bag yourself, I rub your back and belly, caressing your soft, damp inner thighs while you get sick.

After the first relentless wave subsides, you’re left with an intense overstuffed belly ache and spend the rest of the night running from our bed (which I cleaned and re-dressed when your puking turned to a rush of dairy belly and you were stuck moaning on the toilet for 20 minutes) to the bathroom. Neither of us really sleep because your stomach has me perpetually hard and wanting. Your tummy hurts so bad you can barely move, so I get both of us off to your stomach ache. Letting my mouth take care of you then jerking myself off to your bulging tummy ache.