Chapter 1 - inundated

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Disclaimer
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Th is story is a work of erotic fiction and fantasy. It in no way demonstrates or models appropriate relationship dynamics or behavior. This story is not encouraging or condoning abuse or illegal acts. The author is not liable for any damages incurred by reading, acting upon, or interacting with the content in this story. Reader discretion is advised.

This story is written in good faith with the intention that the reader will interact with it in good faith.

If you are under the age of 18 or this is not content you consent to read, navigate away now.

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Content Advisory
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This story contains the following elements.

—First and second person point of view ("I" and "you"), written from the perspective of the feeder and addressing the feedee.

—Ambiguous genders and physical descriptions

—Extreme (unrealistic) stuffing and overeating

—Fat admiration

—Light domination and force which is not explicitly consensual

—Light sexual content, not explicit

—Sadism and masochism in the way of stomach aches from overeating

If you are not 18 years or older or do not consent to reading this content, navigate away now. By continuing to the content, you warrant that you are of legal age in your location, over the age of 18, and that you consent to reading erotic works of the nature detailed above.

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INUNDATED
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You look so full already.

Not packed taught—not like you will be—but comfortably filled.

You weren't skinny to begin with, but by this time you are looking positively round. Your belly rests heavily on your lap as your entire body sinks comfortably back into the armchair.

I am made to serve you, to fill you until you can no longer move. And you were made to satisfy me. We are a perfect cycle of creation and consumption.

I walk up behind you and lean over the back of your chair, wrapping my arms around you and pressing my hands into your globular gut. You give a little grunting burp as some air works its way free. Your lips turn to mine, seeking, hungry, and I devour that feeling with my tongue.

"I'm still hungry," you groan as I break away. I smile, wicked and promising of painful pleasure.

"Shh, I'll be right there," I say. You fidget in your chair, your wide hips pressing into the arms of the chair where your own arms sprawl lazily.

Mountainous plates of rich food laden every surface of the kitchen. I take another platter, your third, and bring it over to you. I see that hunger in your eyes, that desperation that makes your breath go uneven. I feel myself growing aroused at the sight.

I rest the platter of giant, sticky-sweet éclairs on top of your gut, your heavy chest keeping it from falling off. You are already close to a food-coma as it is, but there's still a need in your eyes.

I take pity on you and pick up the first éclair myself. I put it to your mouth, tracing it around your lips until they are covered with cream and chocolate.

You open and take a bite of the sweet treat, cream exploding into your mouth as you moan in hedonistic pleasure.

Your hands tense on the armrests and I move to straddle you, feeling my belly press against your glorious stomach. A thrill passes between our bodies, electrifying us both. I press myself into you so hard that I can feel when the éclair moves into your straining stomach.

One decadent treat follows another until you've nearly consumed them all. You pause as I place the last pastry to your lips.

"Come, now," I encourage, rubbing my free hand across the soft skin of your belly. You shiver, the movement making your flab quiver and I nearly come just like that. I keep myself still over you through sheer force of will. The anticipation only makes it better.

"I'm too full," you say. I purse my lips and give you a disapproving look.

"You aren't too full. Feel." I take your hand and press it into the softness of your stomach. "There's still so much more room. I'm not going to let you stop until you have filled every inch of that cavernous gut with food."

"I can't—" you moan, but your protests are weak. "I'm going to pop."

I lean down and take your mouth with mine. I can taste the sweetness of the éclairs on your tongue as I wrap my fist into your hair, pressing my body into your stomach. You groan in something between pain and pleasure. I break away and focus my attention on your stomach, pressing and kneading it until a large air bubble works its way past your lips.

You sigh in relief as the pressure is lessened just enough for you to take the final éclair. I pull back and reward you with an open-mouthed kiss to your belly. You shiver, your breaths coming in shallow pants.

"Now, one last platter and then we can take a break," I say, meeting your dazed eyes.

You nod.

You know that there's nothing else to do but nod. I will have my way, I always do. Because I was made to give and you were made to receive.

I move from your lap, loving the way your entire body quivers with every shallow breath. Sweat beads on your forehead as your abused stomach works to digest its meal. I go to the freezer one last time and pull out a giant sundae.

I've made it in a fruit bowl with an entire pan of brownies, ten bananas, and three tubs of ice cream, topped with a can of whipped cream, fudge sauce, caramel, and sprinkles. I even put cherries on top—delicious, sugar-filled maraschino cherries.

I bring over a spoon and set the bowl to the side. Your eyes, ever so slightly out of focus, go wide at the sight of the dessert. I give you a saccharine smile and take the first spoonful of ice cream for myself, licking the spoon as the cool cream and fudge coats my tongue. I give an exaggerate moan and my lips curl at the corners as you pout, making a grab for the spoon.

I laugh as I hold it out of your reach and dip the spoon into the ice cream again. This time, I put it to your lips. Your hands ball into fists against the armrests, but you eat it without complaint.

"You're doing so well," I coo, softly rubbing your belly with one hand as I settle onto your lap again. I can feel every bite fill you even more. There's hardly any room for me to sit like this anymore. I compete with your own gut for space.

You groan as I stuff you more and more. Your stomach is round and tight now, so huge it looks like it belongs to some much larger creature than you.

But I still feed you.

Bite after bite, you eat the calorie-laden treat, ice cream and brownie mingling on your tongue in a heady combination.

I steal one cherry for myself, rubbing it over my lips and then sucking it into my mouth. Your eyes roll back in your head as I lean down to kiss you again.

I cannot get enough of this, enough of you. That's why I want more of you, so much more, to feed this addiction of ours.

Each new bite of sundae shortens your breath, rounds your stomach until I can feel the strain of the organ even through thick layers of fat. Your skin is beginning to grow tight and red, stretching over your swollen stomach. I trace my fingers over the stretch marks, some old and silvery, others a furious red.

I want you, I want so much more of you. I want all of you.

By the time you finish the last bite, your breaths are coming in short gasps, hiccups wracking your prone body.

"Good, you're so good, yes," I mutter, kissing a line from your lips down your neck and chest to your stomach. I press my hands into the mass, not roughly this time, but tenderly, worshiping it with all the love I feel for you. I suck the skin into my mouth and leave love bites down your perfect skin.

"Mmm," you groan, pain-laced pleasure filling your voice. Your chubby fingers join mine, exploring the new expanse of your body, pressing into fat-covered hardness. You feel like a solid mass, infinite and ever present, even as your eyes fog over with exhaustion.

"Perfect," I mutter against your inundated gut, trying to heft it with my hands. "You are perfect."

Your stomach lets out a loud gurgle of protest, working so hard to digest the massive meal you've eaten. I smile as I press my face to the softness, feeling it as your belly fat encompasses me, bringing us closer together than ever before.

I want you. I want all of you. I want more.



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Author&apo s;s Note
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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed Inundated: A Feedism Stuffing and Fat Admiration Erotic Fantasy Scenario.

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