[quote]GrowingLoveHandles:
[quote]Ghouliette:
Good lord.
You need to make this into a short story and post in the stories section. It is just sooooo goooooood!
[quote]lesbianasexualstuffer wrote:
I want to be in a force-feeding centered BDSM relationship, and get caught by my Mistress doing something naughty, like eating dessert that she was saving for later. But instead of getting mad she just smiles sweetly and says it's ok, I can make it up to her right now. She has me help her cook a small dinner party's worth of delicious gourmet food... fancy pasta, roasted duck, a huge designer salad that's more cheese and croutons than vegetables, fresh fruit over thick but foamy vanilla mousse, a fancy spiced Italian pizza, loaves of specialty bread (savory rye, gooey garlic bread, cheese and shallot biscuits...), mounds of expensive, rich cheese, thick juicy steak fillets wrapped in bacon, crepes with custard and sweet jam, a huge cheesecake, batches of caramel chocolate cookies, homemade gelato, dark chocolate eclairs, light fluffy cupcakes in every flavor... And I'm thinking that she's going to punish me by stuffing me in front of a dinner party, there's no way she'll seriously try to make me eat all this... But I sit down and gorge myself anyway, and just as I feel like I'll burst, I weakly ask her when the guests will arrive, but I see her take out her ropes, and the last bite of cheesecake sticks in my throat. I'm powerless to stop her, she's so beautiful and sweet, and I can't let her down... I moan pitifully as she presses a beautiful handmade eclair into my mouth, and prepare for the worst. I'm so, sooo full... I'll probably get nauseous in a few minutes and have to use the safe word, oh but I don't want to, I just want to keep eating and eating... Soon I can feel my jeans forming a restricting meridian around my waist, and my belly feels like it's on fire. But this time it's different. I'm starting to feel a lot of pain and pressure, but no nausea. I groan and steal a glace at my heaving middle. It's bigger than it should be, oh my god, how is she doing this to me? My jeans feel like they're being drawn tighter by corset strings. Just as I feel like they'll cut me in two, a loud pop sounds over my muffled complaining and her giggling and teasing. Unbelievable... is it even possible to pop open jeans by stuffing? My mind feels as heavy as my groaning middle. My skin is stretched tight from chest to legs. Now even my mistress is surprised. How much can you hold, chubby girl? she muses with genuine wonder. Her hands glide over, then poke and prod my distended abdomen. I grunt weakly in between my quick panting. My lungs feel squashed between my stomach and skin. She reopens the bread basket, and garnishes each into a tiny masterpiece of butter, cheese, spices, onions... My brain is screaming at me to stop this, but the rolls are so delicious, I want more... I'm aching and trembling all over, but the fire in my belly is oozing outward, and it overwhelms my nerves so much that I feel euphoric. This is better than an orgasm; it's total surrender to gluttony and overindulgence. Adrenaline rushes into my aching jaws and renews their ravenous fervour. I notice a new sensation on my back and belly, and manage to roll my heavy head down to see. I've swelled up so much, my midsection is lightly nudging the table and the chair back. I fuss over my unnatural shape, but my mistress is mesmerized. She runs her hands over my overstretched stomach, pushing and pinching. But she can't even gather any skin with pinches, it's so very tight... I notice my blissful fire receding, and impulsively call out, ugh, don't stop! She slowly raises her gaze to meet mine, and grins. Oh, I'm not done yet, she says with a sharp, mocking tone. First you eat my dessert, then consume half this feast, and you're still not satisfied. I think it's time I taught you... She pauses and slices a huge wedge of cheesecake. ...Some portion control. I'm in for it now. I practically choke down it's rich, dense mass, she's stuffing it into me so quickly. Bottle after bottle of sparkling juice are drained, plates are emptied, containers are ravaged, pretty tray arrangements are decimated. I can feel my skin stretching, my organs shifting, and my stomach wobbling and sloshing. My arms feel tight against my sides, and my thighs are pushed apart by the weight of my bloated middle. I have lost all human shape, and am decidedly round. My mistress or I should be panicking at my impossible state, but we are powerless to curb our desires. She is frantically gathering the last of the feast now. Eat, eat, eat! She bellows, squealing with glee. I have felt my shirt riding up for a while now, but I begin to see my skin beneath it, even over the quivering horizon of my new expanse. She cheekily pokes a finger into my inflamed navel; her long slender digit doesn't even reach its new depth. I cry out in surprise, anguish, and helpless add
8 years
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