a real stuffing
A fantasy about our world.
The oven is preheated to crisp off the delivery, still currently five minutes away according to the app. The house is yours, and you invited me along for the ride.
“If you hadn’t wriggled about so much we wouldn’t be racing the delivery driver,” I chide gently. I’ve finally, finally got your wrists comfortably tied to one another behind your back. I’m currently looping rope between the wrist tie and an ankle tie that keeps you in a relaxed kneeling posture on your bed. You elected to wear stretchy leggings but decided you trusted me enough to skip a top and bra. By now you know that I’ll respect your boundaries, no matter how attractive I find you.
This is about food. This is about you getting to be a greedy pig and then being made to be a greedier one.
You show me a grin, parking your chin on your shoulder and looking up at me where I’m tying behind you. I’ve called the expression “weapons-grade cute” before.
“What kind of a Dom can’t get control of a little slip of a thing like me?”
“You have like ten limbs or something. Everything is pointy. You’re a nightmare to wrestle into place.” I lock off the final knot. You feel it go tight. Flexing your shoulders you find you can move your joints, but there’s no way you can move your arms from behind you, or get off the bed. “Besides, we’ll see how little a slip you are when the pizza gets here.”
“I think you should let me try to swallow you again. I think I know what I did wrong.”
I almost blush. But when I open my mouth to reply there’s a knock at the door.
You snap your teeth in a bite. “Saved by the bell. Oo, send them in here instead!”
I put a hand on your shoulder and place a kiss on one cheek as I climb off your bed. “Hold that thought. If you actually manage everything we’ll talk.”
The smell of chain pizza fills your room. You’re legitimately starving hungry but the sight of two boxes and sides sets butterflies free in your tummy. It’s a lot.
“Finished them in your oven. Nice and crispy. You ready?”
The mattress depresses as I kneel in front of you. You hesitate, then nod. Then you open your mouth expectantly.
I’m not sure if you’re teasing me with the view or if you’ve just forgot the pizza’s red hot. Either way the sight’s enough to make me fluster. I select the first large slice and present it to you. Pepperoni and ham, browned cheese. No stuffed crust: I remembered you’re not a fan of excessively soft food.
“Blow.”
You oblige. The scent promises pure stodgy satisfaction. I test the heat with my wrist and find it satisfactory. The first slice is presented to you, point-forward.
“Bite.”
Boy, do you. Like you’re trying to swallow it whole your first bite is a thrust of your head. Your teeth crack through hot cheese and crispy bread. Tomato and spiced meat flavours full your nose and mouth as you chew the morsel off the slice. You swallow. I’m paying more attention than you are to the way your throat bobs: you’re just desperate to have your food inside you.
You take another bite, as greedy as the first. I dab my hand on a tissue and brush back some hair that has fallen forward. You look up at me and smile with the slice still between your teeth. It feels so intimate to be eating with someone else there, to say nothing of the rope.
The first slice disappears into your rumbling tummy in a chain of bites without pause. I dab your lips with a napkin and offer them a straw. Coke fizzes its way down your throat
Half the pizza is gone before you begin to slow. You take another big drink of coke to wash it down and then cock your head back and belch. Colour settles on your cheeks but your eyes are bright with enjoyment, mischief and straight-up horniness.
You gasp then I bend down to put my ear to your belly. To have someone listening right there as your tightening stomach churns up the meal you have been pigging out on… You want to curl up in shyness but instead you’re presented for all to see. On your thin frame your growing belly can already be felt beneath your skin.
A particularly loud ~glooork~ makes me involuntarily grip your thigh. You hear me breath a long sigh.
“You’re amazing, Rey.”
Then it’s back to the feeding. Encouraged, you take a an entire box of crispy chicken strips with ease, then two more slices without issue. Chewed-and-swallowed Italian dough squeezes into your belly. You think you might be able to feel it as they do.
I’ve noticed you beginning to struggle. “Hang on let me try something.” I hold the next slice in my open palm and place one hand on your stomach. In between bites I begin gently to massage the growing dome. It’s exciting to feel how rigid you’re becoming right below your ribs but it doesn’t relieve the discomfort until a sudden ~bwooOOoaAAAark~ breaks free.
“‘scuse me.”
“Less talking, more eating.”
The bites are becoming smaller as you fill up. I watch you mechanically working to cram yourself full. You take the penultimate slice, and then the final, snapping the last bit out of my hands with a flourish.
“There!” you proclaim with mouth full. You breathe out a belch and then swallow your mouthful. “Done! Not so hard.”
“You’re pretty hard,” I say, stroking your little potbelly.
“Won’t make the obvious joke,” you say, smirking. I smirk back, then reach behind me for the other pizza.
“… That’s not your pizza?”
“I don’t have a pizza.”
“Oh.” You seem to give this state of affairs some thought. You try your bonds. You look at the box, opened up to reveal mushroom and chicken toppings. “Let’s go, then.”
“Attagirl. Open wide.”
Two slices into eight and your guts are protesting. The gentle tummy rub isn’t yielding any more space. You have no more burps to make space. A tiny premature fart even escaped from the increasing pressure, to no avail.
“No,” you say when I draw the third slice. “Too full.”
“You’re going to eat this whole pizza,” I say gently, watching your face. “We can take breaks, but the first pizza is going to work its way into your intestines and make room. And frankly we’re going to stretch you out a little bit. But I want to see all your guts full up.”
As soon as I mentioned your intestines you shifted your position. Perhaps it feels hot having someone there wanting to fill you up from mouth to bottom?
“So I’d love it if you could try to take this extra slice for me.”
You close your eyes and shake your head. “Break first.”
I stroke your cheek. “That’s fine, love. You get tummy rubs either way.”
Not just the stomach, but your whole abdomen gets affection. You feel like you are a seated Buddha, belly swelling out for all to see. The deep massages lower down make things feel nicer. Perhaps liquid food is already sloshing down into hidden pipes?
You nod. I grab a slice.
We proceed this way for over an hour. Sometimes you get tears in your eyes when you force yourself a little too hard, or allow me to force you. But the belly rubs are soothing, and you’re definitely feeling doughier lower down.
All the while I tell you how well you’re doing, or how beautiful you are, or how special it feels that you are sharing this with me.
Your poor stomach is still iron hard when the last bite of the last slide squeezes, protesting, down your throat. Your abdomen won’t get that hard but is visibly bigger. You have a food baby verging on a food toddler.
“You did it! I can’t believe someone so tiny could— God, you’re incredible.”
“Stiff.”
“I bet— oh.” I shift behind you and untie your bonds. Your hands immediately go to your belly when freed, clawing pleasurably into the submerged and digesting mass. You are bloated, swollen, stuffed.
I don’t move away but instead encourage you to lean back against me. You settle back into a warm snuggle that reinforces the heat coming from within. There are two pairs of hands exploring and adoring your spreading middle.
“You’re not going to want to watch me go bathroom, are you?”
I laugh, then pretend to get serious. “You mean you’re not going to let me wipe you?”
You slap my thigh and then snuggle back. The food coma is coming.
Surrounded by snuggles, lulled by the fullness and constant low gurgling of digestion, filled with the glow of a job well done, you drift off into a contented sleep. I kiss your hair and follow you, not far behind.