SilentSymphony
New Member
~BBW, Stuffing, ~Gas - A woman finds herself tied to a chair about to be stuffed to the limit, the victim of a man's strange hobby.
It comes as a shock to me when I begin regaining consciousness, mostly because I hadnt been aware of losing consciousness in the first place. All I know is that I am waking up in a spacious but vacant room that looks as if it is part of some larger storage facility or warehouse. I am tied to a wooden chair; ropes bind my ankles to the chairs legs, and my wrists are bound together behind it. Though there are no windows in the room, I know it must be raining because I can hear the drumming of raindrops falling on the metal roof high above me. Then suddenly I remember: I had been followed by two men as I walked back to my apartment from work.
They had made no attempt to conceal their stares as they drew closer and closer to me over the course of five or ten minutes as I wound my way through the city. I kept glancing back to see how far they were, and when I looked over my shoulder for the hundredth time, I saw them begin to run. I immediately started running as well, shouting for help along the mostly deserted street. Then a third man appeared a block in front of me, running towards me while the other two closed in behind. I made the only available move to escape - down a narrow alleyway - and emerged in an industrial park surrounded on all sides by chain-link fences and abandoned warehouses. Thats when it started raining. I glanced back through the watery haze and could see at least one man still pursuing me as I turned left between two warehouses. And now I am waking up tied to a chair with my heart racing as I realize I can hear footsteps approaching from outside the room.
As the footsteps grow louder, I struggle against my bonds, but I am tied securely in place, and struggling only causes me pain as the rope rubs painfully against my wrists. A metal door slides open along the wall to the left of me, and I snap my head to the side to meet the gaze of the man who is stepping into the room. He is wearing black pants and a white collared shirt, looking nothing like any of the thugs who had previously been pursuing me. He slides the door closed behind him before he crosses the dozen yards to where I am sitting in the center of the rom. His figure is tall and impossibly thin, and his hands are clasped behind his back as he approaches.
Hello, he says calmly, running his eyes unabashedly over my body.
I make to say something exactly what, I dont know but he whips a hand from behind his back and points a pale, willowy finger at me,
No, no, he chides, Let me start.
I remain silent.
You are here because you were caught trespassing on my private property you must have seen the signs.
No doubt there were signs, but I hadnt been in a position to take notice of them. The man continues without pausing,
Instead of notifying the authorities, I thought instead that perhaps you would be better suited in helping me with a certain hobby of mine.
All the color drains from my face, Dont touch me, I say harshly, but my voice is barely above a whisper.
He must understand what I am thinking because he laughs the sound echoes eerily in the empty room and says, Oh dont worry; I can assure you its nothing inherently sexual.
Im not sure what he means by this, but he moves behind me to where I cannot see him and returns with a second wooden chair in one hand a metal trolley pushed with his other. He sets the chair next to and facing me on my left side and sits down upon it in one fluid movement while pulling the trolley next to him so it stands just behind my shoulder. On top of the trolley sits a large bowl, the size of a punch bowl that decorates counters at large parties, filled to the brim with what I can only describe as a sort of gray porridge.
Its really rather simple, he explains, seeing my questioning glance at the bowl, When you have eaten all of this, I will let you go. It shouldnt be that hard for you, he chuckles.
I gaze at him in disbelief; there is no way that my stomach can hold that entire bowl of whatever that is. And his last comment seems to be a stinging reference to the fact that I do not possess the thinnest of figures. I may be slightly chubby, and my stomach may be rounder than I would like, but that doesnt mean I have an unrestricted ability to shove massive amounts of food into my body.
Theres no way I can eat all of that, I tell him, my voice shaking, and he smiles.
Well, then, youre never getting out of here, are you? He picks up a spoon sitting next to the bowl on the trolley and plunges it into the thick, lumpy mass. He brings the dripping utensil to my lips and commands me: Eat.
I dont even resist; it all feels so unreal. I open my mouth and accept the strange offering. The food he is spooning into my mouth me is warm and has the consistency of oatmeal. It is rich but not sweet, incredibly heavy, and the lumps have a slightly meaty taste to them. I barely have to chew, and the mixture slides down easily into my stomach when I swallow.
As soon as Ive swallowed one spoonful, there is another one already waiting at my lips, and I continue to eat mouthful after mouthful of the strange, porridge-like substance. The man watches me intently as he feeds me, making sure every last drop gets past my lips and into my stomach. He seems to grow strangely excited as he I eat, and I catch his eyes wandering down to my belly, which is slowly filling with the heavy food.
I settle into a rhythm, opening my mouth, closing it around the spoon and letting the utensil slide out, leaving the mixture for me to chew briefly and swallow. Then as that mouthful reaches my stomach, Im opening my mouth for another heaping spoonful. I cannot tell how long this continues until I begin to feel the fullness growing in my stomach. Each time I swallow, I can feel the rich food settling in my belly, stretching it and making me feel incredibly stuffed. My belly is slowly ballooning outward under my blouse, and its becoming uncomfortable to continue eating mouthful after mouthful. I shift in my chair, and the man pauses in the feeding.
Youre getting quite full, arent you? he asks.
I nod, and he simply pushes the spoon to my face again. I begrudgingly accept it. Despite my curiosity, I dont allow myself to look at the bowl; Im afraid to see just how much I have left to eat. I dont feel as if Ive eaten even a quarter of it yet. I feel so bloated, my already pudgy belly growing a little more each time I swallow. It expands like a balloon, pushing against the fabric of my shirt and straining the buttons as I force myself to eat until Im practically ready to burst. I groan, and I see the mans eyes dart to my stomach again; he only seems to grow more excited and pushes another large spoonful past my lips.
I swallow again and again, and the strange food is heavy and warm inside me. It seems to expand as it settles, and my belly has at this point swollen larger than I had ever seen it before when I had occasionally overindulged on my own. My breathing begins to grow labored with the effort of eating and stuffing myself so fully. The buttons on my blouse are dangerously close to popping, and the skin of my belly is visible pushing between them. My moans echo in the cavernous room as the man forces me to eat. I obediently swallow again, and as it is forced downward, my distended belly grows just a fraction larger. Suddenly I feel some of the pressure on my gut loosen slightly, and I hear the sound of a small object skitting across the concrete floor. I look down at myself and see that the button straining over widest part of my stomach has popped off, allowing the engorged sphere a little more room to push its way through the widening opening in the fabric.
I realize I am not the only one breathing heavily anymore, as the man has paused in his continuous rhythm of spoon to mouth to bowl to mouth in order to gaze at my stomach exploding from my shirt. His breathing quickens as he reaches out a spidery hand to caress my bloated abdomen. The pale fingers ghost over the bloated flesh before the man lays down the spoon so that he can undo the remaining buttons holding back my stomach. The extreme pressure of the fabric fighting against my bulging belly is slightly lessened, and my stomach explodes outwards, free to expand fully. I groan loudly at the sudden relief as my gut sloshes forward, jiggling full of the odd food. Unable to contain himself, the mans hands run across the large expanse of tight flesh before him. His hands feel so good against my aching stomach, and I continue to moan in pleasure at his touch.
But he quickly pulls his hands away and picks up the spoon again.
I want you bigger, much bigger he coos sweetly, and I meet his eyes, slightly afraid. Look, he continues, Youre already halfway there.
My eyes flicker to the bowl beside him. Only halfway there. No. Theres no way I can possibly do this, when I already feel like Im going to burst at any moment. I open my mouth to protest but a spoonful of rich food is shoved inside instead. I swallow and my stomach grows just a bit larger.
I settle back into the rhythm again: open, close, swallow, open, close swallow, all interspersed with frequent groans. My stomach is so heavy, the pressure inside of it becoming more and more enormous with each passing second. The sides are stretching outward under incredible strain, and the hugeness of my rotund stomach makes me look like a tick ready to pop. The layer of chubby fat that had previously coated my stomach is now stretched tightly across the distended gut. As I continue swallowing, though, I feel a different pressure building inside me, a force growing in the lowest part of my digestive tract, seeking an exit. My eyes grow wide and I start to sweat as I try to hold it back, already embarrassed at what this gorging has done to me and horrified at what I know is coming.
But its impossible to keep it contained, and I feel the pressure being pushed out of me under the force of my enormous belly. The gas is forced out of my ass between my flabby cheeks with a sound that reverberates across the room. *Frrrrrrrrrrrt*
Oh God I gasp as another explosive fart quickly follows the first.
As embarrassed as I am, I cant deny how good it feels to release some of the pressure inside of me. I struggle in my chair, attempting to find a more comfortable position. I feel the mans hand on my stomach again, gently massaging it. I turn my head to look at him, and I can see his pupils are completely blown out, staring at my stomach and then at my mouth as he continues stuffing me.
Thats it, let it out, he murmurs, obviously aroused by my condition, This is how a woman should be: fat and full of gas.
I groan and throw my head back both at his words and his hand that is rubbing my aching, throbbing belly. Each time he pressures down, massaging the tight, bloated gut another cloud of gas rumbles out from under me. *FrrrrRRRRRPT* His slender fingers knead my engorged belly, coaxing out the gas that has built up inside me. I spread my legs as much as I can with my ankles tied and let it come, grateful for this temporary relief.
Though my stomach continues to expand painfully, pushing out the excess gas every few mouthfuls is strangely soothing. I glance over at the bowl. Almost done, I tell myself, almost there. My belly is heavy and huge; it rests on my thighs and strains unbearably against the waist of my pants. I feel as though Ive swallowed a bowling ball thats growing inside me, ready to burst at the next mouthful, or the next touch. And suddenly its too much to bear, and I turn my head away from the spoon seeking entrance at my lips that are already smeared with the mixture.
Ooooh, I moan, Im going to pop; I cant eat any more!
The man aims a jab at the mound that is currently my stomach, and his finger immediately bounces back from the pressure forcing my stomach against the taut skin. I cry out as a stream of gas escapes with the noise of a deflating balloon.
I think you can take a little more, he says, rubbing my bloated stomach fondly.
No, ooooh please, I cant do it!
But he jams the spoon back into my mouth and I am forced to swallow. My stomach grows fatter by the tiniest bit and another fart escapes. The spoon mercilessly enters my mouth again.
Youre very gassy, arent you? Just a bit more and youll be all done, he whispers in my ear.
Oh God, I cant do it, I was beyond full half the bowl ago, and its painful just to think about allowing more food into my inflated gut. The spoon is jabbed forcefully between my closed lips, and I swallow simply out of habit. Another spoonful and another swallow, and my stomach stretches further. Then for the second time during this process, theres a release of some of the strain, the sound of something skitting across the concrete floor, and the feeling of my stomach bursting forward as the button on my pants snaps off. The huge mound of flesh and food forces the zipper down, and my belly sloshes back and forth as it settles further down on my thighs. I swallow again, and even this newly acquired space isnt enough to relieve the pain.
I cant move anymore, not even to pull lamely against the ropes keeping my hands behind my back. My huge stomach seems to consume all of my energy, pinning me down in the wooden chair. More food pushes past my lips and slides down my throat.
I cant take it no more! I groan, but the main isnt paying attention to my words anymore.
He is almost literally shoving the food down my throat, and my stomach grows, a rotund mass of flesh weighing me down. The gas which has been pushing through my fleshy cheeks in an almost constant stream seems to have stopped, but I can feel it building up low inside me, and I find I cant release it. I swallow again and again, not even thinking anymore, and my stomach swells dangerously big. Every mouthful it expands just a bit more, tightening, bursting upwards and to the sides. My moans are loud in the large room. Another swallow, another fraction of an inch of growth.
And then it all stops. The spoon Im expecting to ferry another mouthful of food past my lips isnt there. I hear a clink as the man sets the utensil down on the trolley. It takes all of my strength to turn my head to look at the bowl. Its completely empty.
Oh God, I whimper.
Then I feel the hands again. Touching my stomach, poking, prodding it with slender fingers. The skin doesnt even give way this time; it is simply a hard, tight mass stuffed to the limit with the rich mixture.
Oh yes . . . he murmurs, his voice saturated with delight and arousal.
I cant even find my voice to protest as his hands start massaging my gut. My stomach cant take it, and Im reduced to a moaning form, crying out beneath him. He rubs every inch of the swollen orb, places his hands on either side of it and gazes intently as he jiggles it and it wobbles back and forth. His fingers and palms knead it, and the pressure forces out the gas that has been trapped inside of me for the last few minutes. *FRRRRRRRRRRRRRPT* It rumbles out from under me, loud and long. This only excites the man further as he works more and more gassy bursts from me, his eyes fixated on my huge stomach.
Ooooh stop! *Frrrrrt* Please, I cant take it *FrrrrRRRRRT* His hands dont stop, and my head lolls back.
And then I am slowly regaining consciousness on what appears to be the sheltered bench of a bus stop. Again, I cant remember losing consciousness in the first place and have no recollection of the events during which my transit has taken place. Perhaps, I think to myself, it was all just a dream. But then I notice the heaviness in my midsection and look down. My stomach is bulging out in front of me like a fleshy boulder. Its half the size of what it was, but its still bloated and swollen and incredibly full. I run my hands over it, feeling the how big and fat it is. I give it a jiggle and it bounces heavily on my thighs. On the ground before me, a distinctive piece of graffiti catches my eye, and I realize that I am only two blocks from my apartment. As much as I dont want to move, I let out a massive groan as I heave myself onto my feet, clutching my stomach with one hand and pushing off the bench with the other. My belly bounces in front of me as I make the slow walk home. It has stopped raining.
A Strange Hobby
by SilentSymphony
by SilentSymphony
It comes as a shock to me when I begin regaining consciousness, mostly because I hadnt been aware of losing consciousness in the first place. All I know is that I am waking up in a spacious but vacant room that looks as if it is part of some larger storage facility or warehouse. I am tied to a wooden chair; ropes bind my ankles to the chairs legs, and my wrists are bound together behind it. Though there are no windows in the room, I know it must be raining because I can hear the drumming of raindrops falling on the metal roof high above me. Then suddenly I remember: I had been followed by two men as I walked back to my apartment from work.
They had made no attempt to conceal their stares as they drew closer and closer to me over the course of five or ten minutes as I wound my way through the city. I kept glancing back to see how far they were, and when I looked over my shoulder for the hundredth time, I saw them begin to run. I immediately started running as well, shouting for help along the mostly deserted street. Then a third man appeared a block in front of me, running towards me while the other two closed in behind. I made the only available move to escape - down a narrow alleyway - and emerged in an industrial park surrounded on all sides by chain-link fences and abandoned warehouses. Thats when it started raining. I glanced back through the watery haze and could see at least one man still pursuing me as I turned left between two warehouses. And now I am waking up tied to a chair with my heart racing as I realize I can hear footsteps approaching from outside the room.
As the footsteps grow louder, I struggle against my bonds, but I am tied securely in place, and struggling only causes me pain as the rope rubs painfully against my wrists. A metal door slides open along the wall to the left of me, and I snap my head to the side to meet the gaze of the man who is stepping into the room. He is wearing black pants and a white collared shirt, looking nothing like any of the thugs who had previously been pursuing me. He slides the door closed behind him before he crosses the dozen yards to where I am sitting in the center of the rom. His figure is tall and impossibly thin, and his hands are clasped behind his back as he approaches.
Hello, he says calmly, running his eyes unabashedly over my body.
I make to say something exactly what, I dont know but he whips a hand from behind his back and points a pale, willowy finger at me,
No, no, he chides, Let me start.
I remain silent.
You are here because you were caught trespassing on my private property you must have seen the signs.
No doubt there were signs, but I hadnt been in a position to take notice of them. The man continues without pausing,
Instead of notifying the authorities, I thought instead that perhaps you would be better suited in helping me with a certain hobby of mine.
All the color drains from my face, Dont touch me, I say harshly, but my voice is barely above a whisper.
He must understand what I am thinking because he laughs the sound echoes eerily in the empty room and says, Oh dont worry; I can assure you its nothing inherently sexual.
Im not sure what he means by this, but he moves behind me to where I cannot see him and returns with a second wooden chair in one hand a metal trolley pushed with his other. He sets the chair next to and facing me on my left side and sits down upon it in one fluid movement while pulling the trolley next to him so it stands just behind my shoulder. On top of the trolley sits a large bowl, the size of a punch bowl that decorates counters at large parties, filled to the brim with what I can only describe as a sort of gray porridge.
Its really rather simple, he explains, seeing my questioning glance at the bowl, When you have eaten all of this, I will let you go. It shouldnt be that hard for you, he chuckles.
I gaze at him in disbelief; there is no way that my stomach can hold that entire bowl of whatever that is. And his last comment seems to be a stinging reference to the fact that I do not possess the thinnest of figures. I may be slightly chubby, and my stomach may be rounder than I would like, but that doesnt mean I have an unrestricted ability to shove massive amounts of food into my body.
Theres no way I can eat all of that, I tell him, my voice shaking, and he smiles.
Well, then, youre never getting out of here, are you? He picks up a spoon sitting next to the bowl on the trolley and plunges it into the thick, lumpy mass. He brings the dripping utensil to my lips and commands me: Eat.
I dont even resist; it all feels so unreal. I open my mouth and accept the strange offering. The food he is spooning into my mouth me is warm and has the consistency of oatmeal. It is rich but not sweet, incredibly heavy, and the lumps have a slightly meaty taste to them. I barely have to chew, and the mixture slides down easily into my stomach when I swallow.
As soon as Ive swallowed one spoonful, there is another one already waiting at my lips, and I continue to eat mouthful after mouthful of the strange, porridge-like substance. The man watches me intently as he feeds me, making sure every last drop gets past my lips and into my stomach. He seems to grow strangely excited as he I eat, and I catch his eyes wandering down to my belly, which is slowly filling with the heavy food.
I settle into a rhythm, opening my mouth, closing it around the spoon and letting the utensil slide out, leaving the mixture for me to chew briefly and swallow. Then as that mouthful reaches my stomach, Im opening my mouth for another heaping spoonful. I cannot tell how long this continues until I begin to feel the fullness growing in my stomach. Each time I swallow, I can feel the rich food settling in my belly, stretching it and making me feel incredibly stuffed. My belly is slowly ballooning outward under my blouse, and its becoming uncomfortable to continue eating mouthful after mouthful. I shift in my chair, and the man pauses in the feeding.
Youre getting quite full, arent you? he asks.
I nod, and he simply pushes the spoon to my face again. I begrudgingly accept it. Despite my curiosity, I dont allow myself to look at the bowl; Im afraid to see just how much I have left to eat. I dont feel as if Ive eaten even a quarter of it yet. I feel so bloated, my already pudgy belly growing a little more each time I swallow. It expands like a balloon, pushing against the fabric of my shirt and straining the buttons as I force myself to eat until Im practically ready to burst. I groan, and I see the mans eyes dart to my stomach again; he only seems to grow more excited and pushes another large spoonful past my lips.
I swallow again and again, and the strange food is heavy and warm inside me. It seems to expand as it settles, and my belly has at this point swollen larger than I had ever seen it before when I had occasionally overindulged on my own. My breathing begins to grow labored with the effort of eating and stuffing myself so fully. The buttons on my blouse are dangerously close to popping, and the skin of my belly is visible pushing between them. My moans echo in the cavernous room as the man forces me to eat. I obediently swallow again, and as it is forced downward, my distended belly grows just a fraction larger. Suddenly I feel some of the pressure on my gut loosen slightly, and I hear the sound of a small object skitting across the concrete floor. I look down at myself and see that the button straining over widest part of my stomach has popped off, allowing the engorged sphere a little more room to push its way through the widening opening in the fabric.
I realize I am not the only one breathing heavily anymore, as the man has paused in his continuous rhythm of spoon to mouth to bowl to mouth in order to gaze at my stomach exploding from my shirt. His breathing quickens as he reaches out a spidery hand to caress my bloated abdomen. The pale fingers ghost over the bloated flesh before the man lays down the spoon so that he can undo the remaining buttons holding back my stomach. The extreme pressure of the fabric fighting against my bulging belly is slightly lessened, and my stomach explodes outwards, free to expand fully. I groan loudly at the sudden relief as my gut sloshes forward, jiggling full of the odd food. Unable to contain himself, the mans hands run across the large expanse of tight flesh before him. His hands feel so good against my aching stomach, and I continue to moan in pleasure at his touch.
But he quickly pulls his hands away and picks up the spoon again.
I want you bigger, much bigger he coos sweetly, and I meet his eyes, slightly afraid. Look, he continues, Youre already halfway there.
My eyes flicker to the bowl beside him. Only halfway there. No. Theres no way I can possibly do this, when I already feel like Im going to burst at any moment. I open my mouth to protest but a spoonful of rich food is shoved inside instead. I swallow and my stomach grows just a bit larger.
I settle back into the rhythm again: open, close, swallow, open, close swallow, all interspersed with frequent groans. My stomach is so heavy, the pressure inside of it becoming more and more enormous with each passing second. The sides are stretching outward under incredible strain, and the hugeness of my rotund stomach makes me look like a tick ready to pop. The layer of chubby fat that had previously coated my stomach is now stretched tightly across the distended gut. As I continue swallowing, though, I feel a different pressure building inside me, a force growing in the lowest part of my digestive tract, seeking an exit. My eyes grow wide and I start to sweat as I try to hold it back, already embarrassed at what this gorging has done to me and horrified at what I know is coming.
But its impossible to keep it contained, and I feel the pressure being pushed out of me under the force of my enormous belly. The gas is forced out of my ass between my flabby cheeks with a sound that reverberates across the room. *Frrrrrrrrrrrt*
Oh God I gasp as another explosive fart quickly follows the first.
As embarrassed as I am, I cant deny how good it feels to release some of the pressure inside of me. I struggle in my chair, attempting to find a more comfortable position. I feel the mans hand on my stomach again, gently massaging it. I turn my head to look at him, and I can see his pupils are completely blown out, staring at my stomach and then at my mouth as he continues stuffing me.
Thats it, let it out, he murmurs, obviously aroused by my condition, This is how a woman should be: fat and full of gas.
I groan and throw my head back both at his words and his hand that is rubbing my aching, throbbing belly. Each time he pressures down, massaging the tight, bloated gut another cloud of gas rumbles out from under me. *FrrrrRRRRRPT* His slender fingers knead my engorged belly, coaxing out the gas that has built up inside me. I spread my legs as much as I can with my ankles tied and let it come, grateful for this temporary relief.
Though my stomach continues to expand painfully, pushing out the excess gas every few mouthfuls is strangely soothing. I glance over at the bowl. Almost done, I tell myself, almost there. My belly is heavy and huge; it rests on my thighs and strains unbearably against the waist of my pants. I feel as though Ive swallowed a bowling ball thats growing inside me, ready to burst at the next mouthful, or the next touch. And suddenly its too much to bear, and I turn my head away from the spoon seeking entrance at my lips that are already smeared with the mixture.
Ooooh, I moan, Im going to pop; I cant eat any more!
The man aims a jab at the mound that is currently my stomach, and his finger immediately bounces back from the pressure forcing my stomach against the taut skin. I cry out as a stream of gas escapes with the noise of a deflating balloon.
I think you can take a little more, he says, rubbing my bloated stomach fondly.
No, ooooh please, I cant do it!
But he jams the spoon back into my mouth and I am forced to swallow. My stomach grows fatter by the tiniest bit and another fart escapes. The spoon mercilessly enters my mouth again.
Youre very gassy, arent you? Just a bit more and youll be all done, he whispers in my ear.
Oh God, I cant do it, I was beyond full half the bowl ago, and its painful just to think about allowing more food into my inflated gut. The spoon is jabbed forcefully between my closed lips, and I swallow simply out of habit. Another spoonful and another swallow, and my stomach stretches further. Then for the second time during this process, theres a release of some of the strain, the sound of something skitting across the concrete floor, and the feeling of my stomach bursting forward as the button on my pants snaps off. The huge mound of flesh and food forces the zipper down, and my belly sloshes back and forth as it settles further down on my thighs. I swallow again, and even this newly acquired space isnt enough to relieve the pain.
I cant move anymore, not even to pull lamely against the ropes keeping my hands behind my back. My huge stomach seems to consume all of my energy, pinning me down in the wooden chair. More food pushes past my lips and slides down my throat.
I cant take it no more! I groan, but the main isnt paying attention to my words anymore.
He is almost literally shoving the food down my throat, and my stomach grows, a rotund mass of flesh weighing me down. The gas which has been pushing through my fleshy cheeks in an almost constant stream seems to have stopped, but I can feel it building up low inside me, and I find I cant release it. I swallow again and again, not even thinking anymore, and my stomach swells dangerously big. Every mouthful it expands just a bit more, tightening, bursting upwards and to the sides. My moans are loud in the large room. Another swallow, another fraction of an inch of growth.
And then it all stops. The spoon Im expecting to ferry another mouthful of food past my lips isnt there. I hear a clink as the man sets the utensil down on the trolley. It takes all of my strength to turn my head to look at the bowl. Its completely empty.
Oh God, I whimper.
Then I feel the hands again. Touching my stomach, poking, prodding it with slender fingers. The skin doesnt even give way this time; it is simply a hard, tight mass stuffed to the limit with the rich mixture.
Oh yes . . . he murmurs, his voice saturated with delight and arousal.
I cant even find my voice to protest as his hands start massaging my gut. My stomach cant take it, and Im reduced to a moaning form, crying out beneath him. He rubs every inch of the swollen orb, places his hands on either side of it and gazes intently as he jiggles it and it wobbles back and forth. His fingers and palms knead it, and the pressure forces out the gas that has been trapped inside of me for the last few minutes. *FRRRRRRRRRRRRRPT* It rumbles out from under me, loud and long. This only excites the man further as he works more and more gassy bursts from me, his eyes fixated on my huge stomach.
Ooooh stop! *Frrrrrt* Please, I cant take it *FrrrrRRRRRT* His hands dont stop, and my head lolls back.
And then I am slowly regaining consciousness on what appears to be the sheltered bench of a bus stop. Again, I cant remember losing consciousness in the first place and have no recollection of the events during which my transit has taken place. Perhaps, I think to myself, it was all just a dream. But then I notice the heaviness in my midsection and look down. My stomach is bulging out in front of me like a fleshy boulder. Its half the size of what it was, but its still bloated and swollen and incredibly full. I run my hands over it, feeling the how big and fat it is. I give it a jiggle and it bounces heavily on my thighs. On the ground before me, a distinctive piece of graffiti catches my eye, and I realize that I am only two blocks from my apartment. As much as I dont want to move, I let out a massive groan as I heave myself onto my feet, clutching my stomach with one hand and pushing off the bench with the other. My belly bounces in front of me as I make the slow walk home. It has stopped raining.
