belly-bond

chapter 1: the belly-bond is set (setting wg goals, domination, bondage, non-realistic, force feed)

It's the wind, which rushes in like fingers that wake you. Cold air smacks against the exposed skin of your torso, snaking across the ribbed lines of your abs.
It chills the rest of your skin as well, but the skin of your belly, so accustomed to being tucked behind walls of shirts, recoils at the touch.
Your eyes bounce open, head heavily veiled from sleep. The light is soft, the ground soft, and as you look down to gain a view of your surroundings you realized -- your belly, too, has softened. Not much, you realized, but from the sculpted abs you had earlier, they seem to have given way, like a hand drug over the sharp edges of a pencil drawing.
The flesh sags, drenched in green florescent light of the basement, drowning it to match the speckled tile floor and orange painted walls. You blink, noticing the wall with the door painted bright red.
"Odd," you consider. You don't remember wandering into a room like this. Last you checked, you were dressed and had just finished a show...
Shaking your head, you move to stand. The handcuffs at your wrists, bound behind you back catch you. They jingle, clinking against metal. You twist your head, realizing you are seated in a metal chair, your hands cuffed to the back of it, your feet cuffed to the legs. As you turn, you notice a tug near your hips.
Looking down, you realize the jeans you wear are not your own. They are small, pressing into your tights, fighting against your moving form.
My hand, clad in a black leather glove grasps at your belly from behind. My fingers stretch across the flat surface, pulling at the light train of fat you'd accumulated.
"These fit you better," I purr. "Compliment your curves." My hand move down to your hip, pinching it. You squirm, trying to move but find my arms restrain you.
"Gavin?" You ask. I laugh, my breath trailing across your ear.
"The same."
"What's happening? Where am I?"
I move my hands away from your torso, stepping before you. Light shines on the skin my muscles as I kneel before you, setting my hands on your knees. I do not look in your eyes, but rather leave my measuring gaze on your belly while my hands pick at your thighs.
"You complain you never get to eat what you want or as much as you'd like," I say. "I felt bad. Decided to give you an opportunity to eat." A hint of smile pulls at my face as I wink.
"What do you mean? You can't keep me here for dinner. I have to get back to our manager," You jerk your thigh to the side, your eyes flashing in fear.
My smile fades, a harsher gaze setting in.
"As far as our manager is concerned, you've left on a health retreat until the tour starts," I say. Your pupils shrink as you find yourself sucking in your tummy, as though to keep away from me.
"Besides, you're 22 and you let your manager cook you meals so you don't ruin your body. Don't you think there's something wrong with that?"
"We have a tour in three months, I have to keep this body. You'd have to sing lead if I got fat," you stumble. My eyebrows flutter as I roll my fingers onto your knees. The leather is cold, too cold. The tips strained to a specific pad of five contacts. I press into your skin. Lock eye contact.
"Now, now, I suppose I would have to sing," I growl, then wink. My hands slide up to your mid thigh. You don't move. "Wouldn't that be a shame?"
"You're going to fatten me?" You squeak.
"Just a bit." My hands have moved to your hips, thumbs rubbing circles on your jutting pelvis. I'm partially standing, staring down onto you. "And besides, you'll get to eat like you want."
"I don't want to eat," you reply. I raise an eyebrow incredulously, pinching your soft tummy. A pitiful inch-ful of fat rises from your belly button that I roll in my fingers in the way I would grind sage.
I laugh and release your belly, walking behind you. The sudden loss of contact makes your belly feel small and cold. You stare down at it. The skin's shivering, nerves rippling to your pelvic area. Did you actually enjoy that? you worry.
"You're right. It isn't fair I should fatten you without limits," I reply. "Your waist is what? 25 inches?"
Your face blushes as you look at the soft fat. You nod. I grasp your belly again from behind, this time a thin tape measure in my hand that I snake around you. You find the cold plastic material chilling, and you suck in your belly, staring at the wall before you.
"I'll wait," I growl into your ear. You shiver, holding your breath. I wait a moment, then removed a glove, slapping it against your tummy. A red mark appears on the soft surface as you release your air from shock. The high button on your jeans groans, the fabric tearing a bit as your small fat fills the space. I tightened the tape measure, reading the number: "Oh, you lying piggy, 26". Been sneaking some sweets?" I pat your tummy and walk away, taking the tape measure with me.
You frown. Heat simmers in the depth of your belly. Shame flushes your face as you realized, you actually liked that. You close your eyes, staring at the plaster ceiling trying to push the thought from your mind. You have to focus on getting out.
Suddenly I wrap a black leather restraint around you. It had five buttons where the two ends of the restraint connect. I wrap it around your midsection, pulling the end in front of your belly tight so you can see the circle of empty space between your belly and the restraint.
"This space is the difference between you and a 45" waist, which is rather small by my standards," I explain. "I have twelve of these belts, one for each two inches you gain. Burst out of one to progress to the next -- the bursting must be done on an empty stomach, though if we do burst one from bloating, I have multiples in each size. This one on your lap now will be the one that matters, though. I'll show it to you frequently, to remind you where you're heading."
I switch my grip to hold the belly-bond with my right hand, leaving my left on your gut as I continue. "Burst out of this final belly-bond with your fat, unbloated mind you, and I'll let you go and sing lead. I have a friend in the plastic surgery industry who can make you small again. Not enough to have abs, but enough to be manageable."
"That's impossible. That's a two foot gain. How many pounds is that?" You gasp.
"You'll be 270 pounds. You'll gain about 130 pounds" I smile, kissing your neck and patting your belly with one hand.
"If I say no?"
I wrap my arm around your stomach and pull you against the chair, setting your ear against my lips.
"If you don't set me a limit, I may not know when to stop," I reply.
Your breath hitches in your throat. Your gut looks so small right now, your breath rising and falling, each inhale seeming to reach out to fill the space between the edge of your belly and the restraint like a tide stretching for shore. It feels empty and small, like it has to fill the space.
"I don't want to eat right now. Or get fat," you say. I frown, the rough of my stubble scraping on your cheek.
"You only ate half an hour ago, yes?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"Tell me, when's the last time you've been full? Did you enjoy it?" I ask, letting my index finger burrow into your navel. It's shallow, much to shallow.
"I always eat until I'm full."
Your gut growls, gurgling so hard it makes your skin dance. Your blush burns your cheeks as I pull away my hands from your body. Your stomach seems to stretch for the restraint.
"Evidently not," I spit.
You barely notice when I remove my hands, too caught in your own embarrassment of your body craving fat to be added to your body. I take advantage of your unawareness and open your jaw. You fight as I slide an open gag into your jaws, opening your mouth enough for the head of a funnel.
I buckle a new belly bond onto your stomach. This boundary sits closer to your skin. If you were to jut out your belly, your skin would barely touch the leather.
I pause before tipping your head back and inserting the funnel, moving my gloved hand down your jaw.
"You don't know full yet," I say. "Let me show you full. Then you can answer."
I insert the funnel into the gag as your stomach grinds in on itself.
You do feel hungry, you realize. Your stomach feels empty. As you wait for the first bit of liquid to come into your mouth, you realize: you will never feel this way again.
The liquid drains down the funnel toward your mouth. Your stomach growls. The first belly-bond sits loose on your lap.
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extremely good work, im begging you to continue haha
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I've been picturing the guy being fattened as a theatre friend of mine, and oh my fucking god. If this isn't the hottest thing. Stunning work, darling. Keep it up!