How many hits have you taken? You really can’t remember. You know it must be a lot by the way your head seems to float around in slow motion as your friends excitedly talk about whatever show is on the tv. Someone hands you another shot, you’re not even sure who. But you look around and everyone’s got one in their hands. Must be part of the drinking game you forgot you were all playing.
You knock back the shot with the rest, how many have you had? Your lips and fingers feel numb as you lift your ice cold beer to your lips to chase the intense flavor of the seemingly cheery vodka you were handed. At least 4 that you can remember… but this was the first cherry one in a while to your knowledge. Everyone is solidly drunk and having a great time. But they seem to have forgotten about the yummy snacks set out. At least, that’s what you thought as no one had really had a bite of them in a while.
They hadn’t forgotten, of course. They just kept giving them to you. Every time you finished a bowl of chips or popcorn or a plate of wings something else replaced it on the table in front of you. You, being increasingly intoxicated from the additional drinks, shots, and hits they convinced you to take, didn’t even notice when the next bite you reached for was different from the last.
They just love to see you so very full and so very out of it. Every few minutes someone new is rubbing or patting your swollen belly or pinching your squishy side. You hardly notice, besides how good it feels for your overtaxed stomach to get some attention. Eventually someone comes up to you and, over the course of a full minute, gets your attention.
“Your poor belly looks like it might burst that button sweetheart. Can I give it some room?”
You try to focus your eyes enough to see who exactly is asking while you try to focus your mind on what, exactly, they just asked. They’ve settled on your lap, legs straddling around your gut. They squeeze their thighs together a bit to see how much it’s jiggling as it’s barely settled down onto your lap at this size. This pulls a large burp out of you thanks to the surplus of bubbly beer you’ve had. You do your best to smile and nod your head. You really don’t know what they asked, but they’ve been so nice to you and helped relieve some of the tension in you with that burp, how could you tell them no?
“Good boy, I knew you’d like my help!”
They reach below your gut, squishing it up just barely to get to the button of your jeans that squeeze you absolutely everywhere. They struggle, but eventually get the button to pop open and quickly pull the zipper down as well.
You feel amazing, all the tension in your body magically gone. You let out a happy moan at the newly free feeling, not that you even notice you’ve made a sound. Everyone laughs, with big smiles on their faces as they look at you when your slow eyes glance around.
God it’s hard to talk when your tongue feels like it’s made of lead. You sigh just from getting through the question, and very soon someone is holding a pen to your mouth and whispering for you to take a deep hit for them. You do as requested with a questioning look on your face.
“If you can talk… you probably need some more, right big guy? It’s no fun to be the only sober one at the party now, is it.”
Sober? You didn’t realize… You’re struggling to realize anything right now, and the recent hit isn’t helping. If you’re almost sober then they’re probably right, you should have some more. You reach for your half finished beer and chug down the rest, finishing with a full body burp. Everyone cheers and you have the biggest grin on your face as you place a hand on the side of your belly, trying to subtly massage it.
It must not have been so subtle, as three new people come and start helping to rub your aching gut and a fourth brings over a fresh beer and tilts it to your lips to let you slowly drain it down your throat. You feel so blissed out as you sink into the couch and let everyone keep up their movements.
You hear the doorbell ring, pulling you out of the hazy daze you were in, although you still can’t focus your eyes enough to look over to the door and see what the interruption is. You’re handed another shot and down it without second thought as someone shouts feom the entryway,
Oh good… you were starting to get peckish…
