Chapter 1 - All you can eat

You’re such an insatiable piggy aren’t you? We both know that you’re going to blow up to a stupefying degree, especially with an appetite like yours. Imagine yourself at an all you can eat buffet, too fucking greedy to be bothered with plates, instead just shoveling whatever your pudgy fingers can reach into your gaping maw. It’s so much. You can feel yourself getting heavier, bigger, more rounded and stuffed. Seams on your inadequate clothes groan in time with the pained burbling of your overfull stomach as you ram more greasy food down your gullet. Patrons at the restaurant give you a wide berth, too terrified of the hulking gorging girl in front of them to get their own meals.

As you exhaust tray after tray of buffet food meant for dozens of people, you can feel it more taxing to move to other trays. Your overstuffed belly getting in the way of your lard-entombed legs. Huffing and puffing, sheer hunger and greed for more propels you to the next set of trays. Like Noah parting the Red Sea, the various guests at the buffet scatter before your overpacked stomach as it bubbles cacophonously, desperately trying to digest the feast you carelessly forced into it, before you get a chance to pack it further. The last remaining button on your jeans cuts into the flabby terror that is your stomach rather painfully. You’d undo it if you could, but it’s just too far in front of you for you to reach, and saying your hunger is far more important to you right now. As your body lumbers over to a massive steaming dish of Mac and cheese you feel gas build up within your titanic stomach before it is unleashed as a thunderous belch, driving the last of the customers from the restaurant in a panic. You smack your grease-stained lips in anticipation for this limit-breaking gorge, now able to enjoy this feast in private, you can finally cut loose (not that you weren’t before).

With fattened, mitten-like hands you heft the whole tray up into the air, poised to tip it down your awaiting maw. The cheesy greasy pasta enters you like a yellow cement, filling out every unstuffed crevice in your cavernous gut. The chunks that miss your gorging maw splatter across your growling, bubbling gut as it expands further outwards. The button holding your jeans intact explodes off the sundered garment and flies across the room like a copper rocket. Your legs wobble as they adjust to the rapidly increasing heft concentrated inside your agonizingly heavy gut. As you glup down the last few morsels, you can feel your guts churn and roar as a digestive war is raged deep underneath thick layers of flab. Deep inside, resonant bassy belches escape your cheese stained lips as you heave yourself, undeterred and even slower now, to the next dish.

You need more. All you can think about is more. Even after feeling like you could burst it’s the only thing that runs through your addled mind. Your whole grows to monstrous sizes as you continue to gorge on the feasts meant for collections of families. Bingo-winged arms carry fistfuls of slop right up to your cavernous, multi-chinned maw. Your clothes burst off your expanding body as the fabric is overtaken by an onslaught of magma-like flab. Angry red stretch marks decorate your embiggening mass, indicating where the hedonistic growth is the most intense. The sheer size of your body cracks the tile floor. Despite all odds you’re still mobile enough to reach ever more dishes to pack yourself with. More fat. More food. More weight. More.