You lean back, breathing heavily. You grab your phone and sc..

You lean back, breathing heavily. You grab your phone and scroll through it and try to ignore the aching in your abdomen. You’re packed uncomfortably tight, and it’s becoming hard to distract yourself from it when you had gone to bed bloated almost every night for the past few months. This time, like the last few, you took it to a new height. You aren’t sure if you can even stand up. You finally put your phone down and look at your taut belly. You hesitantly hover your hand over it and slowly bring it down to rest atop. Your hand moves slowly down the slope of your gut. You felt your heart rate speed up and heat rushes to your cheeks, causing you to flush red. You’re shamefully turned on by the realization of your own indulgence. Guilt and desire intertwines as you rub the bottom of your swollen gut; you bite your lip. You can’t help but be curious and knead at it, which heats your chest up with burning desire. You let out a groan from your throat and pull your hand back, embarrassed. Though no one is around, your stomach is full of butterflies due to how oddly sexual this all is: making yourself continue to eat until you’re temporarily immobilized; easing your stuffed, swollen belly while you desperately grow harder; gasping at the touch of your fingers relieving the tension. Society tells you that you should feel bad, but you don’t. Sure, you feel like this is something you may need to keep a secret, but you’re not doing very well at deception considering your gut is sitting in your lap. You decide to do what you’re best at and indulge in the feeling of you heavy body. You grope the thick roll on your side and massage it as you run your hand up and down your gut. This was bound to happen - every time you eat, you are overcome with the temptation to touch your body and feel the consequences of your greed. You usually resist it (with a few previous inebriated exceptions) but you figure that the damage has already been done, so you might as well enjoy the ride. You lean forward to get up and your distended gut pins you to the couch. You let out an audible whimper and desperately knead your bloated belly. You inhale and try again, rocking in place as you slowly get on your feet. You walk over to the mirror and avoid looking down, maintaining eye contact out of shame. But it’s not like you’re not aware of what you’ve done to your body. You’ll look like this regardless. You are the only person getting in the way of your own satisfaction and you know this, so you look. Your eyes widen and you finally see the growth you’ve added to your waistline. You’ve avoided looking in the mirror for months, allowing yourself to live in a delusion that you’re not fat. In reality, you know you have to be at least 300. Your shirt is riding up, exposing the bottom of your belly that overlaps your waistband. You run your hands up the soft fat and pull your shirt up over your tits, which rest on the dome of your stomach. The feeling of grabbing each roll of fat and caressing your own growing body almost brings you close to orgasm. You make your way into the bedroom and sit on the bed, which creaks as you lean back to lay down. Your weight shifts as you lie down and you reach around your belly to pull off your clothes. By the time you’ve reached your underwear, you’re already out of breath. “Fuck,” you exhale desperately as you rub your swollen gut. With your other hand, you press into the firm, full top of your belly and whimper from the pressure. “So big,” you remark, unable to see over your swollen gut. Your legs shake as you try to keep it together, biting your lip hard. You close your eyes and think about eating even more; being even bigger. You probably can’t even get up from the bed, and that thought alone nearly makes you cum. You think about someone else- someone you try not to think about, but always seem to- kissing your thick thighs and shoving bite after bite down your throat. “C’mon, baby. Just one more. Be good for me,” I would say. You see my blue eyes and blonde hair in your mind when you reach your climax and it’s almost as if you can feel my strong hands groping your taut belly; you can practically hear my voice telling you to eat just a little more for me…