babying me while you burp me… saying “there you go, let it all out, sweetheart. make some more room for me.” praising me for my biggest burps and giving my gut a proud smack. telling me it’s natural for big growing girls like me to burp… ahhh i need it so bad!!! >//<
“i know, sweetheart, you ate so much. this pretty belly is so full, isn’t it?” your feeder says, their hands gently rubbing and prodding your swollen gut. your legs are spread to make room for your hanging lower belly as your feeder softly pats the tight, swollen dome of your upper belly. you nod between gulps of heavy breath and low, rumbling burps. it feels like there’s not enough space left in your body for all the air you need— it’s all been taken up by the ache in your stomach.
a low, loud burp leaves your lips, and your feeder smacks your gut lightly. “good girl, there you go.” you whine at them between heavy breaths, the heat between your legs just as strong as the ache in your belly. your feeder coos at you softly, back to rubbing the swell of your taut upper belly.
they place a kiss to a stray stretch mark. “poor thing, all worked up just from eating for me. you just lay back, baby. i’ll take care of you.”
You wake up to a partner rubbing your belly and slowly start to feel how beyond full you are because they fed you in your sleep. Your stomach is stretched past capacity, your skin is tight, and you keep burping trying to make room while holding it all in. And they just look at you all innocent knowing what they did to you.
Guy whose drank so much his shirt isn't covering his tummy. His.pants are unbuttoned. You need to lift his belly to even touch his cock. The poor thing burps with each movement
Just some self-indulgent drivel written late at night with no proofreading - apologies for quality :-)
She had a feeling she’d been eating more and more, needing more and more to feel completely sated during this last bout of overeating. No, she knew she had, she knew the size of her stretched stomach had grown just as her fat round belly had expanded outwards as her need to gorge became more and more frequent. But she wanted to know, wanted to be sure. Wanted to know what exactly she had done to herself. After a particularly intense night of filling herself up till her poor strained gut was racked with cramps, she decided it was time.
She’d slept badly because of her overfull stomach and woke up bloaty and achy. So she ate some oatmeal just to calm her fat gut down a bit. Once that was digested and she started feeling a bit hungry again she made some mild soup, and also some vanilla custard, not too sweet, for flavour variation.
While waiting for both to cool down, she gently stretched her stomach with several litres of warm tea. She’d learned the hard way that too hot or too cold, or too spicy or even just too rich and heavy foods made her stomach stress and contract and fill her up sooner than she would have liked. Warm tea is easy on the tummy, but it runs through you way too fast so it’s not an accurate measuring tool. You can always drink way more than your stomach actually holds because half is out the other end by the time you finish swallowing the last drops. Still, it warms up her big tummy for what is to come very nicely, and she still gets a nice big sloshy balloon belly out of it. Pulling heavily at her sides so much she has to hold it to slowly waddle up the stairs to the bathroom.
She’s wearing a soft cuddly oversized sweater. It helps keep some of the warmth from the tea in her big belly. If she had to describe how she felt, she’d say perhaps the way you feel after a good day at the spa. Happy-warm-tired. The equivalent of that but for stomachs. Empty but completely calm and relaxed and warm. Her lower belly is still a bit swollen from last night but quite comfortable at this point. It’s sticking out further than her bellybutton, which it only does when her upper belly is completely empty and her lower belly very full. Unless she got even fatter than she suspected.
All in all, conditions are about as good as they can get to measure her stomach capacity.
Leaning against the kitchen counter she fills herself a half-litre mug at a time, alternating between warm soup and warm custard. She’s often found that kind of breathing it down works best... long slow inhales and deep glugs at the same time, counting to keep a steady rhythm. Her hand is on her upper belly, feeling it swell, feeling it fill and distend as she calmly inhales pint after pint of thick, creamy liquid.
She fits 2,5 litres fairly easily, she knows what she’s doing. Her upper belly is ballooning outward, sides fully puffed out, and the mound of her swollen stomach visible between her fat little tits. She looks... pregnant. Another pint disappears into her straining tummy. 3 litres. Her breathing has become shallower and faster as her gut constricts her lungs, but she’s keeping it calm and regular still. Can she manage 4. A full gallon even?
The next mug though, is harder to finish. She’s extremely full and swollen and her back hurts from overarching it to make room for her big belly and her legs hurt from supporting all that gluttonous weight, but she manages. 3,5 litres. It's important to not slow down too much because then the measurement is off. If the first portion is already digesting, she won’t get an accurate read. This is science after all, she’s doing it for the science.
She starts an eighth mug but can’t even get half in. She has to stop and urgently breathe away some stomach cramps that are threatening to undo all her hard work. She concentrates on breathing regular and willing her overfull stomach to stay relaxed. It works, but she daren’t take another sip.
So, fat and round as a tub, she figures she currently has a stomach capacity of 3,7 litres. Which is not a gallon but also waaaaaaaay over her previous record—last time she measured she could get just over three litres into her big sloshy tummy.
Speaking of sloshy – her immense FULLNESS hits her rather suddenly, now that she’s not concentrating on breathing and swallowing. She yowls in discomfort, frantically rubbing her itching and distended sides. A warm bath is the only thing that helps, though bending over to run the taps and heaving herself in is pure torture. Finally she sighs blissfully and lets herself sink in, letting the water carry her mountain of a gut and the warmth soothe her painfully stretched skin. She stays long enough to feel her huge swollen gut slowly go down and just feel heavy and comfortable and enjoy how much it rises above the water. A fat slippery island of lard amid a sea of foam. When the water gets tepid she is almost ready to eat again. She knows from experience how worn out and exhausted her big belly will feel after the ordeal, and how immensely satisfying a light filling will feel now. So she eats. Nothing heavy, just enough to make her feel full but not stuffed. Which is quite a lot these days.
Collapsing on the sofa, she’s asleep before she’s finished massaging a soothing lotion into her tender skin. Next time she’ll fit a gallon.
Luke flops back onto Han’s bed with a huff. “I’m officially too big for the desks here,” he complains, still catching his breath from the trek upstairs — the elevator has been out all day, and it’s taking a toll.
Han watches, transfixed, as his belly jiggles. “You don’t say, sweetheart.”
“You say that like it’s my fault,” Luke whines, giving Han puppy eyes from where he’s flat on his back, his wide gut spreading over his chubby hips and doming under his t-shirt. “Take some responsibility, at least.”
Han is ostensibly trying to finish an assignment at his desk, but Luke looks so tantalizing spread out on his bed, gut wobbling with every little movement, that he gives up any chance of using his remaining brainpower on academics and dives onto the bed next to him. “Take some responsibility? You were plenty big when I got to you, kid.”
“Mm, but not this big,” says Luke, tracing the curve of his stomach with one pudgy hand. “I could still fit in the desks. And the booths at the diner. Not to mention being able to drive my car without adjusting the seat.”
“Uh-huh, and you think you wouldn’t have gotten here yourself?” Han mouths at the impossibly soft skin of his double chin, leaving a gentle mark on the underside of Luke’s jaw. Kid bruises so easy it makes Han want to mark him up to show everyone else who he belongs to. “I’ve seen you after a couple of joints. It was only a matter of time.”
Luke moans softly, his plump cheeks going pink. “You think so?”
“The way you eat? Absolutely.”
“You don’t think you’ve made me bigger?”
“Oh, I know I have,” says Han, rolling his hips against Luke’s billowing side. “Just not anything you couldn’t have done on your own, ’s all I’m saying.. How much were you when we got together?”
“Around three-ten, I think.” Luke struggles to roll onto his side, his big belly spilling onto the mattress between him and Han. Han helps him maneuver, savoring every one of Luke’s soft, exerted sounds, and pets at the rolls of his helplessly doughy gut. “Not that big, right?”
“Right, princess,” says Han, kissing his forehead. “And you were three sixty-four last week. Do you know how much you weighed when you started college?”
“Mmm, maybe one-eighty?” Luke guesses, and it’s Han’s turn to go breathless. “I was still a little fat.”
“Jesus,” spits Han. His pulse throbs hotly in his ears. “You could’ve told me you’ve put on almost two hundred pounds of dough since getting here. I can think of a few scenarios where that would’ve been useful information.”
Luke grins. “I wanted to surprise you. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment.”
“Well, you got it,” Han grumbles. He sinks his hands into the plush flab of Luke’s body and grabs until Luke is semi-on top of him, both their breathing kicking up. “Hey, think we could get you to a full two hundred before Thanksgiving?”
Luke inhales sharply. “Definitely. That’s not that much.”
“I just got one stipulation,” says Han. “I wanna see you in one of those desks.”
—
“Happy now?” asks Luke, panting. He’s wedged into a combined seat/desk in an empty classroom by the library, chub overflowing from every angle. His ass and thighs are too wide for the seat, and the desk portion cuts sharply into the blubber of his upper belly. His lower belly is even wider, and it oozes out the side of the desk that joins to the seat, his t-shirt riding up to expose its dimpled, doughy lowest roll where it dips between his thighs. It took a lot of shimmying and jiggling and exertion for him to squeeze himself in, and he looks so uncomfortable that Han half-wants to yank him out right away. But the other half of him wants to drink in how huge he looks, how much bigger he is than these desks anticipated.
“God, sweetheart,” he manages. “You look incredible. Need help getting out?”
Luke wriggles fruitlessly for a moment, his whole body wobbling as he tries to suck enough of his belly in to edge out of the seat. But whatever he can suck in is nowhere near enough, and Han has to help haul him out, squishing different parts of his belly, hips, and thighs until they’re able to extract him.
Luke groans, rubbing the part of his upper belly where the desk dug into him. “Ugh, that’s miserable. I gotta email disability services and see if they can get me something else, or I’m gonna have to start getting to class twenty minutes early just to get myself in those seats.”
Han tries to pretend that isn’t devastatingly hot. “Tell me if they’re dicks about it. I’ll make a fuss they can’t ignore.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” Luke tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, but no matter how he adjusts it, it still exposes a little dip of belly where the cotton just can’t stretch anymore. “And all my 4Xs are getting small, too. Which is your fault, by the way. I was wearing a 4X pretty comfortably until I met you.”
“Uh-huh. And whose idea was it to try every flavor of ice cream at that off-campus place in the span of a month?”
“Oh, come on,” Luke wheedles. “You loved that.”
“Yeah, I did love watching my guy house fifty-four pints of ice cream in thirty days. Sue me.”
“Oh, am I your guy now?” Luke teases, grabbing Han's hand and tugging him toward the classroom door. “What, you have a weight threshold I have to meet before you call me that?”
“You’re a brat,” says Han, pulling him in for a kiss. His arms don’t reach all the way the widest part of Luke anymore, which would be kind of a bummer if it weren’t so fucking hot. “You think deciding to eat sixty pints of ice cream didn’t put some of this dough on you? You were practically exploding out of those jeans you kept insisting on wearing.”
“I think someone encouraged me through all sixty,” says Luke with a beatific smile. “And those jeans were the only ones that still buttoned under my belly! Plus, you had that punch card for pizzas that you wanted to get through.”
“Nowhere on that card did it specify you had to eat them all yourself! Or get them with extra cheese. I would’ve been fine splitting a pie every weekend ’til we got those punches in.”
“Yeah, maybe,” says Luke with a gleam in his eye, pulling Han toward the elevator. “But you loved it, didn’t you?”
Han did, but he’s not giving it up that easy. “We’re on the second floor, princess. You really need the elevator?”
“Look at me,” whines Luke, hefting his heavy belly and dropping it so that it jiggles wildly. He exhales hard from the exertion of gravity, and Han’s pulse jumps. “I’m too fat for the stairs, plus I’m sore from squeezing myself into a desk for you.”
“All right, all right,” Han relents, giving Luke a little kiss on the head to reinforce that he’s teasing. “You wanna smoke before lunch?”
“Hell yeah I do.”
—
Luke eats, and eats, and eats. He’s taking his mission to reach three-eighty very seriously, and Han is having a hard time keeping up. He’s only human, come on. He’s not built to be this hard for this long.
Yesterday it was double cheeseburgers and an extra-large milkshake, gulped down while Luke squished his tremendous bulk into one of the diner booths he always complains about. By the time he was done, so stuffed full he had to wait to digest a bit before he could haul himself up, Han was alternating black coffee and ice water to keep the waitstaff from kicking them out for lingering too long. He’d tried to keep track of how often Luke had to stop and catch his breath on the walk back to campus, but gave up after three times and walked twenty minutes in the opposite direction to get his car so Luke didn’t have to suffer unduly. Grateful, Luke had flopped down in the backseat and burped and groaned the whole ride back to the dorms.
The day before, it was rabbit food from the vegan health place in town. Han’s never heard of half the things on the menu, but it’s unarguably hot to watch Luke order an assortment of vegetable-forward salads and rice bowls and wash them down with thick, fruity smoothies, plural. He wheezes his way to a bench outside, Han close behind, and collapses in a doughy, quivering heap as heads turn outside the shop. Han sits half his ass on the fraction of the bench Luke isn’t taking up and plays with his hair, rubs his swollen belly, lets every nosy passerby know that he’s fed and loved and cared for. When Luke can breathe again, back in the dorms, he sits on Han’s slender hips and lets him thrust into the rolls of his belly until he finishes, and Han helps him wash off in the tiny shower because god knows Luke can’t reach under his belly anymore.
Today Luke is going all in on liquids: a huge smoothie full of peanut butter, banana, and heavy cream at breakfast and all-you-can-eat hot pot under the guise of sharing it with Han, who mostly eats the simmered meat and a bit of rice, for lunch. Han ducks out to the fast-food place next door while Luke finishes up, and by the time he waddles out, stomach huge and taut and sloshing like a washing machine, Han is waiting with a supersized soda to help settle his stomach. He takes Luke for a gentle joyride around the city, and Luke’s gurgling burps only pause when he dozes off, hands cradling his overstuffed belly.
For dinner, they hit one of the dive bars just off campus, and Luke leaves Han breathless by chugging three beers they choose solely because they’re caloric heavy hitters.
“I can do one more,” Luke gasps with a heavy, gurgling belch, even though Han knows he hates beer of all kinds. “I have — urrrp — room.”
“Yeah, sounds like you just made some,” Han retorts, wobbling his belly under the table. Luke hiccups, looking pleased with himself. He glugs down another beer, wincing as he swallows, and leans back in his seat, stomach swelling out before him. “Hic-uuuurp. Ohmygod, I’m so full. Fuck.”
Hearing Luke curse always sends a stupid little thrill down Han’s spine. “You oughta eat something after all that beer. Something fatty.”
“Look at you — hic — calling me a fatty.” Luke burps. “Can you get me cheese fries? With bacon. The biggest size they have.”
Which is enough to take even Han, a seasoned accomplice to Luke’s antics at this point, a little aback. “You sure? That was a lot of beer.”
Luke nods and burps again, rubbing at the hard curve at the top of his gut. “Yeah. I can handle it.”
Which is true, if Han doesn’t count the part where he asks for help getting up halfway through the plate, steps outside and comes back with his eyes pink and heavy-lidded, smelling like weed. “Okay,” he says, only slurring a little. “I got this.”
Han picks a few fries off his plate. “I know. I’ve seen you in action.”
Luke eats until he’s practically asleep, eyes drifting closed between bites and sleepy burps jerking him awake as he sips on a ginger ale Han ordered him. When he finishes, pushing his plate away triumphantly, Han tousles his hair and wraps an arm around him as far as it’ll go. “Let’s get you home, huh?”
He calls a rideshare and Luke sleeps the whole way home, taking up nearly two thirds of the backseat of the little sedan that comes to collect them. Han steers him back up to his dorm room, wishing like never before that he’d gotten into weightlifting so he could carry him.
“Mmmm, one more thing,” says Luke drowsily as Han fumbles under the weight of Luke’s belly for the keys on his belt loop. Luke lets out a rumbling burp at the motion, then says,“Will you get me ice cream?”
Han stares at him, the thrill of having to lift Luke’s huge, distended gut dissolving in the face of this new request. “Are you serious? You’re gonna pop.”
“I’m fiiine,” Luke insists, leaning against the doorframe. His belly spills out from under his sweater, shameless in its heavy jiggle, and he rubs the lowest roll in both hands as he cajoles Han. “I just want something sweet. Please? I’ll wait here and digest and — hic — be good.”
Han gives him a long look. “Hey, I don’t want you making yourself sick on my account.”
Luke shakes his head. “No, I swear! I’m — uuurrrrp — fine.”
“Okay,” says Han dubiously, and he jogs down the stairs to the dorm’s convenience store where his and Luke’s romance took root, half because the elevators are a hell of too-slow drunk people on weekend nights and half because there’s something insanely arousing about taking the stairs down and then back up for six flights while his boyfriend upstairs can barely stand as he digests the tens of thousands of calories he’s eaten today. He’s barely winded when he trots back up a few minutes later with a pint of mint chocolate chip. Luke is sitting on the floor, plump legs spread as much as they can, his big belly overflowing his lap and sinking between his thighs, breathing like he’s just run a marathon.
“All right, princess,” says Han, hauling him up and unlocking the door. “You want this now or later?”
Luke smiles sleepily and drops onto his bed. The bedframe creaks ominously. “Can you melt it?”
“Can I — I guess?”
Luke’s got a microwave in his room, because of course he does, and Han nukes the ice cream until it’s also a liquid. As he watches in mild disbelief, Luke slugs back the pint without trouble, then lets out a prodigious belch once the ice cream is gone.
“I,” he pants. “Hic-uuuuurp. Am so. Fuck — huuurp — fucking full.”
“Yeah, I bet,” says Han, kicking off his boots and curling up beside him. “Lie back, baby. Get comfortable, you deserve it.”
Luke hiccups and lets out a soft, tortured noise that hits every one of Han’s buttons with a sledgehammer. “Fuck,” he breathes, and Luke’s mouth curls up in a smile.
“You like me helpless.”
“Nah,” says Han, stroking his hair off his forehead. “I like you fat and happy.”
He helps prop him up with pillows so he doesn’t put too much weight on his stomach, and he kisses Luke gently all over, marveling at how wide and perfect he is, how sated.
By the end of the month, Luke is noticeably fatter, which is impressive given how large he already was. His thick double chin is looking more like a triple, and even the apples of his cheeks look plumper. There are new rolls on his upper elbows and his upper thighs, extra creases settling in his skin as his weight piles up. His stomach hangs enormous and heavy on his fleshy hips, rolling down to obscure the widest, most dimpled flab of his thighs. His elbows are developing their own plush roll that Han loves to pinch, and even a 5X is looking a little snug.
“Pretty soon you’re gonna be wider than you are tall,” says Han, wobbling Luke’s gut as he tries to pull a t-shirt over the expanse of his waistline. “Gonna have to roll you across campus.”
“Let me get dressed, will you? Do you want me on the scale or not?”
Han does. He relents, keeping his hands to himself until Luke is fully dressed, and then all bets are off. He fondles the biggest roll at his side as they head toward the campus gym, jiggles the pillowy flab of his heavy upper arms. Luke’s moving slower these days, stomach swaying and plump thighs wobbling against each other as he moves, and Han’s getting better at slowing his own long stride to keep pace with him.
The person working the gym’s tap desk stares as Luke touches his ID to the reader. Han follows, glaring daggers, daring them to say something. Wisely, they choose not to.
It’s been a while since Luke could actually see over his own belly enough to check the scale, so Han does the honors, his heartbeat kicking up as he absorbs the LED readout.
“Did I make it?” Luke asks impatiently, trying to lift his gut out of the way.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” says Han, taking a picture of the red 398 on the display. “You made it.”
The skirt used to fit. It also used to sit on her waist – where her waist used to be. Right in the middle of her swollen tummy. Now it rides up, sitting right under her plump tits, bunching up in the back. Try as she might, she can’t pull it down. Maybe a little, if she sucks her gut in with all her might. But as soon as she dares breathe, up it goes.
Shame. She likes that skirt. An elegant black pencil skirt. She'd gotten it to celebrate her first job as a secretary. It had looked good on her. Even as the outline of her potbelly became more pronounced, rounding out and pushing forward. When had it stopped fitting? Her gut wasn't that much bigger was it? She couldn't throw it out. Not yet. That would be admitting defeat, admitting that the weight she'd put on wasn't just temporary, nothing a little discipline and a couple visits to the gym couldn't fix.
F--k. Cleaning the closet was depressing. She'd have a beer, finish tomorrow. Too lazy to change, she grabs a sixpack, and collapses on the sofa, her round tum lightly touching her thighs.
One beer becomes two, the cool liquid flowing down her throat, settling in her rising belly. Soon enough the first sixpack is gone, and she's making headway on the second. She's starting to feel it. Lightheaded, and a bit drowsy. Bloating. Her distended gut pushing against the ridiculously tight skirt. Drunkenly fumbling with the zipper, she manages to free her tummy, lift it over the waistband. Naked it looks massive. Tight as a drum. Without the skirt she's gotten her second wind though. She guzzles another beer, and another. Fast, feeling her stomach expand with each sip. Rubbing her gurgling gut, pushing out the excess gas in a series of burps. Ouf! More! She loves this feeling! Numb from drink. Tummy hard and sloshy and filled to the brim. A massive tank. Heavy. Oh so full.
Finally satisfied (or maybe just out of beer?) she staggers to bed, cradling her overblown keg. Too drunk to even feel horny.
Oh she'll pay for it in the morning. With an even bigger beergut, and a headache to match. Not that it ever stops her. And she'll finally get rid of that skirt.
i do have a fantasy of being turned into someone dumb and oblivious and lazy by my feeder as i gain weight,,,
encouraging me to work from home and stay home with them in my free time because i can’t burn calories or realize how big i am compared to everyone else if i don’t leave the house!! shifting the media i consume from things that make you think to meaningless reality tv and video games that keep me further locked onto the couch!! changing the vocabulary you use with me so i start forgetting advanced words and begin sounding a little stupid and confused if i try to use them!! just the idea of being turned into a stupid, airheaded, oblivious fat girl who loves to eat and have her growing body groped while she sits on the couch and burps her way through another shitty reality tv show,,, oughdhd yes please!!! (๑/////๑ " )
I wanna sit on someone’s lap and make them drink a whole two liter, feeling their belly start to swell and slosh with the soda bloating them, needing to take breaks more often to burp and try to make more room until there’s more liquid than air filling them up
So, recently I ate 2 bowls of vietnamese noodles, bowl of pho-bo and bowl of rice. Seems my stomach shrank a bit during the break - I now feel how all these noodles and rice expand and swell inside my tightly stuffed stomach causing some ache. I wonder If I could fit a bottle of milk on top if that and not to birst my stomach
baratheonpilled
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