Happy birthday, baby

chapter 4

You are whimpering by the time we’re halfway through the cottage cheese, but you’re still swallowing like a good girl. I get hard again, remembering what it feels like when you swallow my cum this well. We’ve never seriously talked about fucking in front of other people, though, so I distract myself by talking to our DM while I methodically spoon cottage cheese into your mouth.

“Here, Jasper,” I say, cutting off the DM, “can you give her belly rubs, please?”

“Sure,” he agrees. I’ve never heard him say anything about stuffing or feederism, but he’s always down to try something new. He starts massaging your belly with enthusiasm. You start moaning around the cottage cheese in your mouth.

“Harder,” I tell Jasper. “Like you’re kneading bread.” An avid baker, Jasper immediately switches to a harder, deeper massage. Your moans switch to grunts of pain. “Well what did you expect, eating so much?”

I switch places with Jasper after you finish the cottage cheese. He pushes one of his giant cinnamon rolls into your mouth, not pulling back when you bite off a piece. He keeps pushing and pushing until you’ve devoured it all.

“How many calories do you think that was?” I ask him.

“About 1200, I’d guess. I used lard instead of butter.” He winks at you and wanders off.

A few of our friends have heard how I’ve been talking to you, and they try out some taunting of their own. Madelyn, for example, is now making you drink a peanut butter smoothie with weight gaining protein powder in it. “You know how bad this is for you?” she asks. “It’s on a list of highest-calorie foods. And I got you a large.”

Your third button pops midway through a piece of ham and cheese casserole. It’s impressive but not surprising. The amount of food you’ve put away is impressive. “That’s a good girl!” Will whoops. He claps, and soon everyone’s clapping for you, baby girl. Everyone is so proud of how much you’ve eaten and how chubby you’re getting.

By now, you look pregnant. Not that far along, but definitely popped. I cannot tell you how much I want you right now. Your belly hanging out of your shorts, the sides of those shorts pushed aside to accommodate you, the way you’re squirming on your birthday throne…it’s amazing. You are amazing. I have to feed you again myself. I don’t even pay attention to what I take from the buffet; I just grab at things.

You’re slowing down and so, so red in the face from embarrassment. I hold your belly in my hand for a moment, squeezing ever so slightly. If we want this to last longer, we have to be careful; I can’t have you getting full before dessert.

“Daddy,” you whine quietly as I wipe some errant pizza sauce onto your exposed belly.

“Yes, baby girl?” I draw a smiley face into the sauce.

“I feel sick,” you whisper.

“Oh, baby, no. No, you’re not sick, just stuffed.” I jab your belly, hard, making a nose on the smiley face. Your belly is firming up, but there’s still room for so much more. I can make you eat so. Much. More. And I have a team to help me.

You begin to cry when I dig my finger into your belly. They’re soft, silent cries. Your friend from college is next. She’s the newest at all this, the most vanilla. She looks uncertain, like she should stop. I shake my head and gesture for her to join me in front of you. Teamwork.

“Aubrey, you give her that doughnut,” I suggest. “Let’s feed her some breakfast.”

I have chipped beef and gravy on my plate. As soon as you’ve licked the last of the doughnut icing off your lips, I drag a biscuit through the gravy and beef and shove the entire thing in your mouth. You’re still crying some, so I kiss your belly while you chew, then I lean in close and whisper in your ear.

“Remember what comes later tonight.”

Your eyes flash and you nod quickly. I don’t hear a peep out of you for several minutes.

“You’re looking pretty…porky, babe,” Will tells you. He slaps the side of your belly the way you would a prize hog, and several of us laugh at the smacking sound it makes. “You should probably stop.”

You don’t stop, though, and soon, it’s time to undo your fourth and final button. I do the honors, and I can smell you as I do so. Even through the pizza sauce and meatball glaze and chocolate, I can smell how wet you are. You’re enjoying this; I know you are. And if I have my way, you won’t be able to walk when this is all over. It’s going to take at least two of us to get you up the stairs and in bed. I can’t wait.

With the last of your buttons undone or on the floor, your belly descends upon your lap. It jiggles when it hits your thighs, and it peels back the flaps of your shorts, nearly hiding them under its girth. You look like a pregnant woman ready to give birth. You look fat.