Sammie's eyes widened as the server brought over a slice of tiramisu and a bowl of gelato.
Andy smiled at her eagerly, and when the waiter walked away, he said, "Looks good, doesn't it?"
Sammie opened her mouth to answer but instead a burp came out, and instead of speaking, she began massaging her swollen stomach.
Her crop top was impossible to pull down now. She tugged at it in vain, trying to get it to come down at least to her belly button, but the top slipped right back up to just under her breasts. Her shorts were digging into her waist, and Andy could see belly bulging over the waistband as her engorged belly tried to find more room.
"OoofâuuurpâAndy, I'm so stuffed. I couldn't eat another bite..."
Andy leaned forward across the table. "I think you can, Sammie," he said, holding a heaping spoon of gelato up to her lips.
She turned her head away, muffling another huge belch as she did so. "Andy, my belly is so full. I'm so uncomfortable....ohhhuuuuurp."
She began rubbing at her belly again, trying to soothe the swollen organ.
Andy got up and came to sit next to her. He could truly see how utterly stuffed she was now. Her tummy bulged out from her tiny form; the button on her shorts was barely clinging on. Boldly, he rested one hand gently on her middle. "Here, I'll rub your tummy and you eat. If you're good and eat it all, I'll give you a special reward."
Using both hands, he squeezed her belly inwards, working up a string of burps that Sammie evidently had no control over.
Andy knew he had won, though. As soon as his hand was on her belly, a flush had risen on her cheeks. One that had nothing to do with the bottle of wine or the immense amount of pasta in her belly.
Slowly, Sammie began to eat. Each bite was a struggle. Andy swore he could feel her belly puffing up more and more with each bite.
He was true to his word and massaged her aching stomach the whole time, gently encouraging her, and occasionally pushing the fork into her mouth when she hesitated.
She grunted and groaned and burped and hiccuped her way through the slice of tiramisu. "OhhâUURPâAndy....I'm soo stuâhicâffed. I'm full...my tummy...ohhhuuuuuurp...ohhh huuuuurp....hurts...UUUURP......ooooh"
"You're doing so good, Sammie. Eating so much for me and filling up that little tummy. Soon, you're gonna burst out of these clothes."
Panting, Sammie put the fork down and looked at her distended belly. Andy hadn't stopped rubbing it, though from all the strained sounding burps and hiccups, he hadn't made all that much room.
Her tummy was comically bulging into her lap and she moaned and whined about how utterly stuffed she was. She wallowing back and forth in her seat, burping and groaning as Andy massaged her orb of a belly.
"Just the gelato left now." He grinned
"UUUUUURP...oooh please...hic...ohhhuuurp no Andy. IâuuuurpâI'm full...ohh please....oooohhhuuuuuurpp...."
Andy paid no mind to the protests of the swollen girl next to him. He merely picked up the bowl and poured the gelato into her mouth. She had no choice but to swallow. With one hand he poured and the other he patted her tummy, encouraging all that food to make just a bit more room.
When at last the table was empty, Sammie simply lay against his shoulder, huffing and moaning. Her shorts button was stretched agonizingly tight and her crop top had become a bra. He rubbed her belly a bit longer then stood.
"Let's go get your reward."
Sammie struggled out of the booth. Her massive belly throwing her off balance, forcing Andy to steady her until she gained her footing.
Embarrassed at the size of her stomach, she tried to pull her blazer closed, but it didn't reach past her sides. Her tummy bulged out of the blazer and her one effort to suck in her belly caused her to burp so loud the tables nearby turned to look at her.
Proudly, Andy pushed away the jacket, exposing her whole, greedy belly.
"She's a good eater, huh?" He said to the tables around them, thumping her belly again for forcing out another belch.
Sammie leaned back a bit to ease her aching stomach, and her shorts button couldn't take the strain anymore. It popped free and skittered across the restaurant floor. Sammie blushed bright red, and her tummy, finally unrestrained, surged forward out of her pants.
"She's got quite the tummy." Andy laughed and steered his bloated, blushing date out of the restaurant.
He helped her into the car, and barely got the seat belt around her belly. Once he was seated in the driver's seat, he looked over at her. She was a bloated, groaning mess with her stomach filled to the max.
"You're going to love your reward, Sammie." He said massaging her belly as he pulled out of the parking lot. He slipped a finger into her belly button and was rewarded with a moan that was more sensual than the others.
"Oh yes," he said, continuing his massage of her belly button, "You're going to love it."
i miss the feeling of being stuffed so badly... so full i'm lightheaded, chewing slowly because i'm not sure how much more i can take, squirming to try to find a comfortable position for my packed belly, belly gurgling and pushing up burps, one hand rubbing my round, tight, full belly while the other holds more food up to my greedy mouth. sitting with my thighs spread and my belly hanging between them, or struggling to stand as my center of gravity has so dramatically shifted, or trying to walk without upsetting my overstuffed stomach, or finally laying down and all that heavy food shifting, my big, stuffed belly pinning me down on my back, or rolls spilling out the sides if i try to lay on my tummy. rubbing it and burping and moaning as i digest, mindlessly full and horny. i need it again so badly đ”âđ«đ
describe the perfect belly ache for a chubby puppy bf.. and spare no details đđ¶
Mmmm well đ
Considering his taste for all things greasy and packed with dairy, a belly ache evening would start with a pizza and their favorite sodaâŠdiet Coke maybe? Iâd 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 thereâs already tummy ache complaints and pained whines seconds, it seems, after his final bite and time are announced. Iâm 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 limitâŠthe goal is make his belly ache, right?
Iâd 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 youâre still grumbling about your tummy gurgles from the pizza and suddenly your eyes pop and your mouth opens to a deep groan. Iâve 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 leastâŠ
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.
Another 10 minutes is spent adoring that tummy. Complimenting itâs bloated, expanding capabilities. âMy puppy has such an impressive appetite.â Iâve left kisses and marks all down your body, and my hand prints might as well be molded into your rolls. Youâre pushing your limits for me. I canât get enough of how desperately full your becoming in my name.
But then the time is up and course three is on itâs way. âNo ughâŠmy belly hurts so bad, you know Iâm lactose intolerant, sir.â You look down and blush, whispering in heat and embarrassment. ââŠand Iâm getting so gassy.â
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 youâd been holding in, trying not let me know how bad your tummy really hurts. âBellies get gassy, sweetheart. Donât worry about that.â
I win, of course, and you allow me to bring you the next plateâŠor bag. Enough McDonaldâs for two, but itâs really justâŠyou.
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. âI canât finish that!â
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. âOooooohhhh fuckâŠgod *a gurgle I can hear from across the room sounds and a wet fart slips out* my belly. Iâve eaten way too mu-*buuurrrp*-ch already, how do you expect me to *groans* finish *gulp* that?â
I move towards you and wrap your curled, aching body into my arms, kissing your strained temples and wiping the sweat from your forehead. âI expect you,â I rub a deep, firm circle over your swollen stomach, making your moan âto do as your told.â I reach for the bag, open the first quarter pounder, and begin feeding you slowly. No time limit on your last round (Iâm secretly desperate to see you even try to finish. I donât 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 itâs 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 itâs overwhelmed system. Your whole abdomen looksâŠstrained. When we start the second burger, all bites are followed by moans and whispered complaints. âNot another bite *swallow.* Iâm gonna burst *swallow.* Youâre giving me a tummy ache! *takes an even bigger bite.*â But I know how much youâre 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. Youâre a vision, burping and moaning and begging me to get the milkshakes from the freezer so we can get it all over with already. Youâre really planning on finishing bothâŠI canât believe it. Iâm 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. Iâve 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 Iâm shocked. If I thought your belly was full beforeâŠitâs 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, youâve got tears pricked in your eyes. I remove the funnel, youâre panting and groaning uncontrollably. Your hands donât stop roaming your tummy, cluelessly pressing into every tight bubble daring to burst your bubble belly.
An awe-filled âoh my godâ escapes as I watch you. I canât think, canât 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. Youâre 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. âHow do you feel, sweetheart?â
CONTAINS: bakery manager x reader, stuffing, light dom feedism, light eructo, belly rubs
Reminder for what this is: there were some old fics/adjacent things that used to be around that I latched onto but was dissatisfied with them because of spelling mistakes, being RPF, or feeling unfinished etc. This is the first of 3 rewrites Iâve hoped to do, but they are not connected in any other way.
Details about the original:
It was a post on Tumblr that I believe has been lost to time, I donât know if there were any titles on the post. I hold no ill will towards whomever wrote it originally, and I love the concept too much to not try to fix it up a bit.
What I remember about the original: 2 unnamed people working at a bakery, 2nd person perspective. The character is said to typically eat a lot of the bakeryâs leftovers, and this time the character is made to eat an entire wedding cake on top of that, because it was made in the wrong flavor. They stop after eating each layer though didnât indicate which they started with and would try to rub their belly but would be encouraged to keep eating instead. This would occur until they finished the entire cake. The manager then promptly leaves and the character is forced to clean up the mess on a full stomach.
Things I wanted to fix: the spelling, the lack of detail about the cake and bakery operations, the rushed-feeling ending and withholding of relief from the full belly. Hopefully all is accomplished and more (also quick warning that itâs quite long), enjoy.
âââââ
Youâre an early riser, though your body belabors it. Youâre the first person to enter the small bakery, Reverie, every morning. Your tired mind skims across the most preliminary of preparations, until you find yourself peering through the oven glass at the rising dough of treats and confections, the task of making the dough itself so instinctual now that your brain neglects to even remember doing so.
When everything is baked to perfection, you heave trays and trays of daily cookies, tarts, croissants and more to their displays, for the many customers to glance at throughout the day, their hungry eyes compelling them to buy more and more. Itâs around the time you are filling in the last of the shelves with the new stock that the only other employee, your manager, clocks in for the day, nodding to you with an unwavering sense of trust as they don a matching apron.
You finish the current task by placing the day-old desserts in a separate, discounted display. At your managerâs behest, the desserts not bought from this discount pile at the end of the day are given to you. Your manager sees to it that you are eating well throughout the day, and consistently reminds you to partake in your allotted confectionary while behind the counter or doing other tasks, along with providing you your generous lunch breaks. You oblige, if a bit reluctantly, though you have omitted from telling them that when you lumber home from work every day, you can do little else than rub your massive, sugar-bloated stomach in bed until you fall asleep.
ââââââ
Today is a slow day, with little to indicate that anything is but ordinary. Your manager, really the owner of this bakery, tends to handle special projects on their own, as the more experienced of the two of you at decorating. These assignments donât pop up super frequently, as Reverie is but a little known secret of your city, but those who come seeking catering, wedding cakes, and other large desserts have never once been disappointed by the quality. Your manager has been in the back kitchen most of the day, handling the most recent order, while you munch away on stale treats at the counter.
Youâre beginning to feel how full you are, a twinge appearing in your side followed by a hiccup. You feel your face growing warm as you cover your mouth, but thankfully no customers are around, though you hadnât thought to check in the moment. As your focus returns, you notice the voice of your manager in conversation coming from the kitchen:
âI see - - Iâm so sorry to hear that, yes we can accommodate - - no trouble at all! These things are common - - yes, please donât worry, Iâm happy to do so free of charge - - I insist - - thank you - -â
You then hear a plastic click as they return the phone to the wall, a drawn-out sigh accompanying it. They push through the double doors behind you, apron covered in flour and frosting, and address you with a small smile.
âLooks like weâve got a situation.â
ââââââ
âHow does someone develop an allergy so sudden?â You ask incredulously.
âNo clue! But now I have to remake this entire cake in a different flavor.â Your manager sighs even deeper. You rendezvoused in the back room after closing a bit earlier (and hastier, to the chagrin of your stomach) than normal. âSorry I might have to keep you later than usual, youâll be getting overtime for this. I just need help setting up and cleaning, Iâve got the mixing and decorating handled. Oh, and help yourself to any leftovers. Thereâs quite a lot to go around, itâs just you and me here after all.â
You nod, beginning to gather utensils, though you try to ignore your apron digging into your full stomach.
Your manager looks resolute, saying to you and themselves, âItâll take more time but itâll be worth it. After all,â they mention over their shoulder with a smile, âit would be bad business if one of the grooms were to die on their wedding day.â
ââââââ
The three-tiered wedding cake looms over you on the center counter of the kitchen. Itâs unavoidable from all angles, white frosting piped into delicate flowers, with thin dark chocolate vines spread throughout, and flaked all over in almonds. According to the original recipeâ you read off of the counter housing the mixer âeach tier is a different flavor, with the bottom being a lemon cake with vanilla filling, the middle being a pistachio cake with Italian meringue, and the top being a rich chocolate cake with raspberry. Your manager was prepping to remake most parts the same for the new cake, but sub out the almonds and pistachios for flower notes and orange flavor.
You feel your belly rumble reading the recipes, but you brush it off and figure itâs begun the long digestion of all the treats itâs been stuffed with. You glance at the measly plastic tupperware your manager retrieved from storage and put to the side of the behemoth-cake, and recall that you had stopped bringing your own take-home plastic containers to work a long time ago, since you just ate it all while you were there anyway. But this, on such a full stomach already, is much too big, you tell yourself, averting your eyes to focus on wiping down counters and preheating the ovens. You canât look away from the smell though. All around you wafts its sweet notes of almond-vanilla, its hints of dark chocolate, until finally, in a lull between tasks, it compels you to cut a slice.
You go for a piece from the very top, just a small slice as you anticipate it to be very dense, and oh how dense it is. The consistency is almost torte-like, chocolate that sits heavy in your mouth while being contrasted by the bright notes from the raspberry. Delighted instantly, you start wondering about how the others might taste, and go to cut two more small slices. Your manager smiles at you as they catch a glance of the plastic plate in your hand, and you feel your cheeks growing warm again.
The bite of pistachio is less sweet but earthy, with a nutty flavor profile, the texture of the cake so soft it practically melts in your mouth along with the meringue. The lemon cake melds the best with the almond exterior, and you find yourself slicing the ends of the frosting off to eat in tandem with the cake. Before you know it, youâve breezed through all three slices, and itâs knocked the wind out of you. Thatâs enough now, you say to yourself as you pat your middle (even your thoughts are wheezing), donât want to get a tummy ache on the job, though you are already halfway there.
ââââââ
You try to push away the feeling that thereâs a little more room in your stomach, reasoning thatâs your sweet tooth talking. No time for that. You go back to your baking assistant duties, for a time, until youâre idling again because youâre waiting for the ingredients to mix, or your manager shooes you away, and you just canât help yourself from taking another little slice.
Before you know it, youâve finished the equivalent of the entire small tier. Most of it is gone anyhow, with a sizable dent made in the pistachio tier as well. You stifle a deep burp. Oof, your stomach rounds doubly over than normal, molding your now very tight apron into a bulbous swell. As your hands begin to follow the curve up and down for some relief, your manager calls you over again to help put the cake trays in the oven. You turn around and walk- no, waddle over, wondering how obviously your belly is leading the way.
âOkay, that should be ready in 20 minutes,â your manager says, dusting off their hands of flour and sugar. You find it hard to focus on anything but your belly; it was extra sensitive against the trays you held, waiting to place them into the oven. âHow was the cake?â You are snapped out of your food-engorged trance by the sound of their voice.
âOh, it was really good. Varied, it was all good but different,â you say, catching them glancing at you from an angle much lower than your face. They hum, amused by your compliment, and approach the cake.
âWhile we have time, I think Iâll try a slice. Do you want any more?â Their tone is completely neutral, as though theyâre oblivious to a third of the cake being gone already. You open your mouth to respond but theyâve already turned back to the cake and cut the last two slices of the chocolate tier, setting aside one on another plate. âJust in case you want it. Thereâs so much, and I certainly canât eat it all.â
You pick up the plate to be polite, picking your fork back up as well. As you watch them eat, they appear just as pleased as you were when trying the cake for the first time. âNot too shabby, Iâd say. Sad that itâs a waste. Oh well.â
They finish their slice and open a nearby drawer in the counter, pulling out a large binder of cake designs and flipping to a marked page they point out to you. âIâm going to keep as much as I can from the original design, without nuts. I say we keep the chocolate, and maybe still have some texture on the outside, maybe coconut? Now we need to make the outer frosting as well as the inner icing.â Your manager goes over with you the ingredients for the different spreads and for the main icing. Nodding along, you somewhat-unconsciously bring bites of the cake to your mouth, since youâre holding it in your hand after all. Perhaps that had been a mistake, since when you begin to break away to locate the ingredients, you find that youâve eaten the whole piece. As you set the plate down again, your manager asks over their shoulder, âStill hungry?â
Not in the slightest, you want to say, but a loud burp interjects first. You slam your hand over your mouth, your face flushed and hot, and surely red as a beet.
âIâm so sorry,â you stammer through your fingers, while your manager gives a little laugh.
âThatâs quite alright,â they say, a note of sweetness in their voice. âI take it you have more room now?â
Before you or your stomach can protest, you are handed another slice of lemon cake with a smile. âIâve got this; you just keep eating.â
ââââââ
You do keep eating, and while your manager takes the cakes out of the oven and mixes together icing, you find the room to finish three more slices before you start significantly slowing down.
âOohâŠâ you grunt, resting your hands on your stomach as you tilt your head back.
âSomething wrong?â your manager asks, looking over at you from the mixing bowls.
âIâm just..really full..â
Your manager emerges behind you, and firmly tugs on the strings at the back of your apron, pulling them loose. Immediately your belly surges forward, skin rippling from hitting the edge of the counter. It groans as you do, disgruntled from the sudden shock. But as shocking as that was, your manager then slides their hands over your sides, cups their hands under your stomach, and heaves it onto the counter. Youâre just tall enough for it to remain there, and your belly is just big enough to be unable to slide off.
âThatâs better, hm?â they ask softly. You groan, too full to think of anything but the drastic relief of being relinquished from the tightness of your apron. You keep groaning, as your managerâs hands knead away the sore ache in your sides, bringing up air bubbles. âI bet that feels good. Hereâs whatâs going to happen. I will decorate and assemble the new cake. You are going to eat the rest of this one before I am done, or youâre going to clean this kitchen top to bottom. Sound good?â
âMmphâŠâ You had, how many, 10, 11 slices already? Only halfwayâŠ
ââââââ
Thankfully the decorating would take some time. You alternate between the remaining two tiersâ pistachio, lemon, savory, sweetâ while watching your manager pipe the delicate designs onto the replacement cake. Out of necessity, you find a rhythm in your eating. Chew. Swallow. Chew. Swallow. Burrp. Groan⊠Repeat.
Your sheer willpower gets you through 6 more slices. Time feels as though itâs slowed to a crawl. Your tummy demands at least one hand be constantly rubbing it. It remains resting on the counter, growing firmer with every bite.
You whimper as you hear your manager approaching behind you once more. Without a word, their hands appear by your taut belly again and they squeeze it suddenly inward. You gasp in between expelling forceful belches and low moans. But just as quickly as they arrived, the hands leave your sides. They whisper in your ear, âYouâve got more room now. So eat up, Iâm almost done.â
ââââââ
âUuurrpâŠ.buoorrpâŠ.â
In between shoving cake into your mouth, you press your belly into the counter, forcing air back up your throat. In these crucial moments, every inch of your stomach capacity must be utilized to the fullest, and at this point, youâre desperate. You canât even imagine summoning the energy needed to move your heavy belly off this counter, let alone cleaning anything.
Heaving and panting, you approach the final slice. You saved the pistachio for last as a palate cleanser. You glance to your manager, who is adding the final piping to the cake decor. They look like they could be finished at any moment. You grip your plastic fork with new purpose.
Your rhythm returns, as you thickly swallow each bite of cake. Youâve come this far, you canât give up now! And you really donât want to cleanâŠthinking of that possibility makes you tired more than anything else, so you focus on chewing, the taste of the pistachio mixed with the icing. It would taste like heaven in any other scenario, but youâre not sure many people have tasted so much heaven in one sitting.
Your fork reaches for another bite before you realize the slice is finished, and the moment it clicks, as though on cue, your full, full stomach whines loud and long. Your hands weakly clutch at your huge bellyâ triple its normal size, aching, and so, so full.
âOoohhhhâŠ.uUrpâŠ.oooohhhâŠâ Your head swims, delirious almost, as your stomach uproariously churns.
Your managerâs hands soon join yours in gently rubbing away the ache, and you melt into their touch.
âWell done,â they say in your ear. âYour capacity is extraordinary. Perhaps youâll help me tomorrow with inventory?â Youâre the fullest youâve ever been, you canât respond to their innocuous question with anymore than groans and burps, but some small part of you canât help but fantasize about filling your belly up even bigger with your next meal.
You're a couple of donuts and office treats away from popping those buttons and bursting that skirt. Looks like the office fatty is gonna need a new wardrobe soon, even then you'll just pop out of those too eventuallyđŠ
âSort of. I said itâs not good to drink on an empty stomach.â
Becca started to feel dizzy. She reached out for Charlie to steady herself.
âCânewâŠâ She tried to sit up straighter, tried to get the words out right, but she had to confess to herself that she could not. Thatâs when Becca realized she was drunk.
âCharlie?â
âYes, love?â
âI dididit! I got drungk!â
âI noticed.â
âButnow idonâ-hic- feelsogud.â
âYou just need some food.â
âWheresafood?â
There were a few bowls of chips in the house, but nothing substantial. Besides, Becca was beyond casual conversation at this stage. It would probably be best to bow out before she embarrassed herself or got sick.
âLetâs get you some. You just stay here.â
Charlie squeezed his drunk girlfriendsâ shoulder and ventured back inside. Someone had ordered six pizzaâs, and the leftover slices had been consolidated into one box, the equivalent of a pizza and a half. Charlie grabbed it and made his way to the front door, ducking into the kitchen for a few beers on his way out.
âOMIGODâ gasped Becca when the pizza box was set in her lap. âYour⊠my hero!â The smokers had disbanded, and only Becca and Charlie remained on the porch. And the bong, of course.
Becca inhaled the first four slices without stopping. When she looked around for something to drink, Charlie handed her the beer, which she drained. This cycle repeated a few times until Becca had stuffed nine slices of pizza into herself, downing three more beers in the process.
Charie could only watch in awe. He didnât know why, but this was driving him crazy with lust. He loved watching Becca satisfy herself without a thought, he loved watching her ENJOY herself like this. And, he had to admit, he loved how bloated and sluggish all the pizza and booze had made her. Her stylish tank was short enough to reveal a sliver of skin normally, but now it barely stretched over her distended belly. She was moaning, in pain or pleasure he couldnât tell.
âHow are you feeling?â he asked. Beccaâs reply was delayed by a hiccup and interrupted by a belch. âMmm? Iâm HIC mgood.â She absentmindedly patted her stuffed belly in satisfaction. âI wanâ more tho.â
Iâm thinking about a cozy stuffing with the richest, warmest, most comforting food in existence: a heaping bowl of pasta. A character has had a rough day, so when they finally have the evening to unwind and marathon their favorite show, they make it extra special by whipping up/ordering a family-sized pasta dish thatâs absolutely drowning in a thick, creamy sauce. When they finally recline on the sofa and rest the warm bowl on the crest of their hungry belly, theyâre already in a glazed over state of bliss. The show theyâre watching is interesting enough to keep them glued while shoveling oversized forkfuls of pasta down their gullet, spraying flecks of sauce as they noisily slurp it up.
The first several mouthfuls of pasta settle delightfully in their tummy, washing away the troubles of the day. The sauce is so rich it catches in their throat, occasionally making them lightly cough to clear their palate. Incidentally, during one of said coughs, they notice the hefty weight deep in their belly. They look down in surprise to see a noticeable bump just under their breast, sloping gently toward their bellybutton. Lightly pressing their fingers against the bump jostles the digesting noodles, prompting a soft burp. A bout of action on the tv screen retracts their attention, and wellâŠthe still-warm bowl on their lap is wafting pleasantly spiced aromas past the gurgling mound in their belly and up to their nose. Their fork goes back to dutifully twirling, each mouthful delivering a hefty addition to the pasta already sitting in their belly like concrete.
To no oneâs surprise, the bowl winds up empty and the belly ends up a heaving bowling ball atop a now moaning character. The show continues in the background, but the character is slumped into their cushions with their head tilted back, mouth hanging open to help get extra oxygen into a body that feels like itâs 99% composed of pasta. At that angle, their heavy, swollen stomach feels like itâs pressing against their lungs, stretching the skin of their abdomen uncomfortably. One hand is cradling their jutting-out underbelly, the other massaging the overstuffed organ while it gurgles away, emitting strained, shifting bubbles that they can feel under their fingers. Through throaty, gargling belches, they can feel the heat from their engorged stomach spreading deep into their body, extending down into their pants, only making them moan louder with each euphorically painful cramp. It feels like they filled their digestive system with wet sand, every labored breath urging up more gurgles and burps as their guts try to find space for the slop invading every nook and cranny.
The evening, starting out warm and comfortable, quickly evolved into a hot, sweaty, belch-filled night that can end in any way you can imagine.
They set up their camp near the edge of the festival grounds, close enough for Julian and Maria to go back and forth. Personally, Emmett wouldâve preferred to pitch the tent further away. But their little group didnât pass through towns often these days, particularly not during harvest season, and he couldnât deny his friends the chance to watch the villagers hold their contests and hear the storytellers perform their songs.
He couldnât complain too much anyway. The village theyâd found themselves in was located at the mouth of a great river, and as it turned out, this time of year was not so much harvest season for them as it was fishing season. Heâd come back from his single trip to the festival grounds with a basdket full of bark-wrapped filets of fresh salmon, roasted on hot coals. The fish was hot and smoky and perfect, one of the most delicious things heâd ever tasted, and he was perfectly content to spend his evening lounging by the campfire, unwrapping filet after filter as he waited for his friends to return.
He ate warm, tender fish until he felt like his stomach would burst if he tried another swallow. Then he pulled his cloak around himself, leaned into the bundle of furs at his back, and closed his eyes to let himself digest.
It was Mariaâs amused voice close by his ear that roused him: âYou still with us, Em?â
ââŠHmm?â Emmett dragged open an eye. He wasnât sure how long heâd been drowsing, but it sure hadnât been long enough for his belly to make much progress, as evidenced by the way his sides ached as he shifted to look at Maria. âWhat?â
âJust checking on ya. Theyâre serving up dessert over at the festival grounds. Blueberry pie.â She tilted her wooden bowl so he could see. âItâs delicious.â
âMmmâŠ.â Normally, Emmett would have just dismissed dessert out of hand, but the firelight glinted off the syrup oozing out between the golden pastry in Mariaâs bowl, and despite all the fish weighing down his insides, his mouth watered. âLooks good. Too bad Iâm so stuffed with salmon I donât think I can get up.â
Maria laughed. âAww. Who doesnât overdo it at festivals, though?â
âIâm not joking, Maria. I would go get pie if I could. But I literally canât move.â To illustrate his point, he tried to sit upright, huffing a little as the pressure in his belly spiked. His cloak slipped away, revealing the way his shirt was clinging to the swell of his middle, and he couldnât help but chuckle as he stared down and fully appreciated how silly he must look.
âDamn!â Maria laughed, sounding both incredulous and a little concerned. âOkay Em, yeah, that tummy looks pretty heavy. Are you feeling okay?â
âMmhmm.â Sitting up straight was starting to make Emmettâs stomach cramp, so he sank back into the furs with a soft sigh, resting one hand against the curve of his lower belly. âJust full.â
Maria settled onto the pile of furs next to him, snuggling up against his side. Her hand tentatively found the bulge where Emmettâs stomach was protruding beneath his ribs, and she laughed as he stifled a burp. âIâll say. How many of those fish packets did you eat?â
âMmm⊠lost count.â Emmett braced his hand against his side as another burp worked its way up, and then groaned contentedly as Maria began to rub gentle circles over the tightness of his dinner. âFuck, that feels good, Maria⊠Keep doing that, please.â
âAre you two cuddling without me?â Julianâs bright voice preceded him plopping down on Emmettâs other side. âThereâs pie at the cookfire, Em. I brought you some.â
âHeâs full up to his ears with fish,â Maria laughed, patting Emmettâs belly.
âSo he is.â Julianâs expression shifted to something both amused and deeply fond. âYou mustâve been hungry.â
âYeah. And the salmon here is just so fucking good.â Emmett groaned ruefully as he glanced down at the two bowls of pie resting on Julianâs lap. âBet that pieâs good too.â
âOh, it is. I would even venture to say that itâs not to be missed. If your stomach has the room, that is. â Julianâs hand joined Mariaâs on the bulge of Emmettâs belly. His fingers pressed in gently, as though to emphasize how taut it was, but at the same time, he moved one of the bowls into Emmettâs lap. âI bet you could manage a little taste.â
âMmm. Stuffed with salmon and now being tempted with blueberries. I feel like a damn grizzly.â Emmett sighed softly, considering. The bowl of pie that Julian had placed on his leg had slipped to rest against the curve of his belly, and he was so full and sensitive there that its weight felt heavy even on the outside of him. He wasnât sure he could fit much more in. But then again⊠Maria was right. Festivals were typically for overdoing it. And what better place to overdo it than here, with soft furs and a crackling fire and a loved one close on either side?
âIâm gonna have a little,â he decided. âBut⊠mmmâŠâ âhe paused as his stomach gurgled uncertainlyâ âI might be kinda out of it afterwards.â
âThatâs alright, Em, we got you.â Maria swept her hand up to rest just below his ribs and began rubbing gentle circles with her fingers. âYou should have as much as you want.â
âAbsolutely agreed.â Julianâs palm was pressed to Emmettâs taut side, warm and supportive. âJust be careful, dear. Donât make yourself sick.â
Emmett didnât feel sick in the slightest, which was unusual for him, considering how far past full he already was. As he put the first bite of pie in his mouth, savoring the perfect balance of tartness and sweetness and the way the tender pastry flaked between his teeth, he couldnât help but wish that he were able to indulge himself to this point more often. Eating on such a stuffed stomach felt⊠intensely and viscerally good in a way that he had rarely experienced. He could feel the very edges of his body, thanks to the way each swallow pressed outwards as it squeezed down, and it was pleasurable in that same primal way he sometimes felt when he was running or riding or fightingâas though he were a wild animal, all raw natural power, bound by nothing but his body and its limits.
And then of course, there was the press of his friendsâ hands over the sore stretch of his belly. It wasnât just the relief of pressure eased, of tension gently massaged awayâalthough that was incredibly good on its ownâbut also the powerful intimacy of it all, the way he could feel affection in each careful press and concern in every slow, thoughtful motion. He could feel each touch easing the burden of everything heâd eatenâthe circles beneath his ribs helping each bite find a tiny crevice of room to settle into, the slow sweeps over his navel calming strained twinges and rumbles, the kneading into his sides helping the muscles relax so his belly could swell out even further.
He was so caught up in the sensation of it that he felt drunk. Everything else around him seemed to blur into a hazeâthe warmth of the fire, the repetitive scrape of his spoon against the bowl, the soft sounds of Maria and Julian chatting. It pulled him partway out of his daze when he realized they were talking about him.
ââŠI dunno, should we stop him? His tummy is getting enormous.â
âHmm, he really is quite bloated, isnât he?â
âYeah, and I meanâseriously, Julian, feel right here, under his ribs.â
The hand supporting the heaviness of Emmettâs lower belly suddenly disappeared. He made a soft sound of protest, which was quickly replaced by a deep groan as it reappeared on the sensitive swell high in his middle, where pie and fish were packed tightly in his stomach.
âOh my.â Julianâs voice was full of concern. âAre you sure youâre alright, Emmett dear? Your belly feels so full.â
A thumb pressed a gentle circle into the extra-tight lump inside him, while another warm hand rubbed over its side before pressing down towards his navel to support it from underneath. Emmett groaned happily, feeling his stomach gurgle appreciatively with the help, and mumbled, âMmm⊠yeah, Iâm good.â
As the neared the bottom of the bowl, he developed a vague awareness that he was reaching some kind of limit. The strained feeling in his stomach had grown throbbingly intense, and he was starting to feel uneasy grumbles even through the supportive press of his friendsâ hands. The bowl was nearly empty, and part of him wanted to finish it, just to see if he could. But the next morsel of pie he swallowed forced up a wheezy belch, and he had the distinct feeling that he had just traded the last bit of air in his stomach to hold that bite.
âUgh,â he gasped. âOhhh, my stomach⊠okay, Iâm⊠Iâmâurpâdone.â
Immediately, the bowl was taken from his hands, and he felt an armâit was hard to say whoseâgently encircling his shoulders. He wanted to tell them that heâd prefer that hand on his belly, really, but after wheezing out his admission of defeat, he couldnât get enough breath back to say anything more. He was so full that his lungs felt squeezed, so full that the bloat of it all was forcing him to sit with his back arched. Trying to bend at the waist to move into any other position seemed impossible.
âCome on, boy, donât explode on us.â Mariaâs voice was warm and affectionate, close to his ear. âThat was seriously impressive. Youâre not in pain, are you?â
Emmett tried to say âno,â but all that came out of him was a ragged groan. He flashed a little grin instead, trying to make sure that Maria knew he was alright. His stomach did ache, but in a nice way, like the satisfying soreness he felt in his body after a good dayâs work. Not to mention, the press of loving hands was soothing the ache out of his overworked stomach like a massage soothing cramps from overworked muscles.
âPoor dear. Canât even speak, can you?â Julianâs voice coincided with a gentle press of a hand over his navel, and Emmett panted as a wave of relief surged through his straining belly. âHave I mentioned how adorable you are when you indulge yourself?â
It was a good thing Julian found it adorable. Emmett could only imagine that he looked like an absolute mess. But that was the beautiful thing about having people who loved you. It didnât matter. Sometimes being messy only made them love you more.
âSomebody looks ready to hibernate.â Julian patted Emmettâs distended belly with a chuckle. âSeems like youâve got enough in here to last you until spring.â
âShuddup,â Emmett mumbled, letting his head fall sideways to press his cheek into Julianâs shoulder. He groaned softly as he felt an uncomfortable rumble building in his overstuffed stomach, and then again as Mariaâs hand kneaded in to settle it. It was a struggle to catch his breath, but he managed to groan, âFuck⊠Iâm so fullâŠâ
âYeah, we noticed. Kinda hard to miss all this.â Maria swept her hand over Emmettâs swollen front, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. âYouâd better get to work on digesting, because weâre going to have to move you eventually.â
âHrmph.â Emmett rubbed his knuckles over the crest of his stomach, thinking that his digestion had already been hard at work for quite some time.
âDonât worry. Weâll help.â Julian patted just below where Emmett was rubbing, prompting a grumble from deep in his belly. âDid you enjoy that pie?â
âMmm⊠yeah. So good.â Emmett arched his back just a tiny bit more, hoping to illustrate that he was enjoying all the attention, too.
Julian seemed to get the picture, judging by the way he chuckled and obligingly rubbed a broad circle across the expanse of Emmettâs belly. âYou just get some rest.â
Emmett didnât need to be told twice. He let every muscle in his body fall slack, including his eyelids. The world shrank down to the warmth of the fire and the weight of his stomach and the warm trails of relief left in the wakes of his friendsâ hands, and he drifted off to sleep.
You watch them from across the couch. Theyâre eating yet another snack, this time itâs Reeceâs cups smooshed between two Oreos. The pile of orange wrappers next to them tells you this is the 5th or 6th makeshift sandwich theyâve had.
Your best friend and roommate broke up with his boyfriend about a month ago, and hasnât fully recovered from the heartbreak. This has been how youâve spent most nights since: sitting together on the couch while they eat until they canât get up, you watching their growing gut bloat up with food and soda. Usually thereâs a movie or YouTube playing, but you both mostly talk over whateverâs playing, so itâs not as obvious that youâre drooling over the way the button on his jeans is no longer visible this far into the night. Simultaneously, their shirt is finally getting too small and riding up their belly as they jiggle through a laugh they couldnât quite contain because of something funny youâd said. You canât help the way your mind goes blank and your laughter stops in its tracks. After all, their bulging hips and the top of their growing ass are just as on display as their big soft belly now.
You might be slightly more obvious than you intended, as they blush, looking embarrassed as they seem to realize how fucking full they are with a hand resting on the side of their gut. They try hard to tug down their shirt. Itâs a waste of energy, as heâs just a little too round to get the shirt to reach the top of his jeans in the front or the back. Plus their love handles have been out on show since they sat down. He awkwardly tries to tug up his jeans to make up for the slight gap, but honestly, he has even less luck getting any movement from the stiff material. Besides every inch of him visibly wobbling, of course.
I think one of my favorite posts of yours was when you described having a stoned stuffing with your feeder and accidentally burping in front of them.
I'd like to think you even surprise yourself with how loud the burp feels when you're all soft and gooey from your high.
You've slowly been sinking deeper and deeper into your couch, your feeder's hands gently touching every bulge and soothing every ache in your slowly-tightening belly. They lovingly squeeze your rolls, take your firm upper belly in their hands to feel for themselves how full you are, but whisper that good girls like you can eat even more. They wobble your doughy lower belly, letting you giggle and gorge, your pen alternating with bites of fattening food against your lips. The fullness sneaks up on you, before you fully realize it, you're stuffed to the brim and panting.
Maybe you tell them you're getting so fat, just so they can reassure you that you're the perfect size; that you could gain a few more pounds and you'd still just be chubby and cute. You feel so big, your body high making you feel all wobbly and bloated, but they're so sweet and loving with you that you keep eating. Their hands coaxing more and more food into you until there's no room left and the burp wobbles its way out, your happy, high grin plastered on your chubby face as you look up and see they're still so pleased with you.
They tell you what a good girl you are for making more room to eat. Now that you've ripped the seal of burping once, they work their hands over every tight spot of your plump belly, pushing and easing burp after burp out as you get more and more stoned and stuffed. They put the TV on for you as you whimper beneath your own bloated belly, patting it affectionately as they give you another hit and tell you they'll be back with dinner soon. They don't have to tell you not to move since you're too full and lazy to get up anyways. Good girls stay firmly beached on the couch, right? <3
All the trust and affection and vulnerability unlocked by that one big burp. All the care and dependence you'd hand over to your feeder soooo easily if they praise and pamper and pleasure and plump you up. Your clothes riding up more and more, your cute, overflowing belly on display so you can wobble it and whine to be fed even more.
I think you'd balloon into just the cutest, heaviest, laziest girl around if you managed to just let out one big burp at the right moment, like the good fat girl you're growing into~
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(not your very fav well-written anon, but another new follower who wants to stuff your inbox silly)
I love how rewarding it feels to squeeze myself into clothes that used to fit after a long week of stuffing myself endlessly with fast food. Ending each night with my belly more swollen than the last until itâs become permanently rounded from the amount of food I keep stuffing in it. These jeans buttoned a little over a month ago and nowâŠ. It doesnât even come close to closing. My bras have begun struggling to contain my growing boobs. As if that wasnât proof enough of what all the extra calories have done to my body I tried to fit into this tank top since I knew my other shirts would struggle against my chubby arms⊠I did not expect this to struggle to cover my belly đ
getting stoned makes me feel like suuuuuch a big belly bimbo (* ÂŽ ïčïœ*) i get so slow and stupid and hungry!! my feeder could feed me sooo much more than i usually could eat if they just sat me in front of a tv.. and when iâd eaten everything for them and all i can do is lean back against the couch and whine, theyâd shush me and rub my stuffed tummy with one hand while the other raises the weed pen back up to my lips for another hit.
âthere you go, baby. take another hit for me and iâll make it all better.â theyâd coo, finding a spot on my belly and pressing down until a heavy burp forces its way out. i look to them in surprise because iâve never burped like that in front of them before, but they just smile sweetly at me and give my belly a couple of solid pats that knock another burp loose. âbig, growing girls like you are supposed to sound like that, angel. donât worry about it.â theyâd say, and iâd believe them, happy to be their good, big, growing girl. <3
