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Description
I swallowed the last bit of the bread, and I thought I would burst. I tried to lean back in my chair to stretch out my new big tummy, but it was difficult, as my hands were tied to the arms of the chair. I looked down at myself, and I had to help from not vomiting at the sight. My belly was round now, like a beachball, and it went almost all the way to my knees. Rejected food sat on my bosom, and my tight pink shirt was now pushed all the way up to my breasts. It was disgusting.

Pete came back right then, and I sat up and smiled, not wanting to disappoint. It was difficult to smile though, when I saw the next heaping plate of food he carried over. He sat down on the couch across from me and smiled.

"How are you liking it?" he asked, obviously oblivious to my discomfort.

"Great! Your cooking is the best," I said with practised sweetness.

He took a spoon and dippd it into the deep mound of mashed potatoes and when I opened my mouth he shoved it in my mouth. I gulped it down, trying not to taste the same dull flavor, and felt my stomach grow bigger on my legs. He took another spoonful of the stuff and I ate it, and then the next fifteen spoonfulls after it. When He got done with the plate, he added it to the stack of twenty and went to get another.

My belly was so heavy, it could easily be half my entire body weight. It was pink and sore, signs of a massive binge, and my ever-deepening belly button looked like just a hole in my gut.

Maybe I should explain what's going on. My boyfriend, Pete, cooks at a restaraunt, and it's not that popular. The food is great and all, but he picked a bad spot for the building. He gets so stressed out sometimes, he just does, well, this. He tied me to this chair while I napped and he spent an hour cooking while I was awake, and who knows how much before.

He sat down again with another plate, and I eyed it like an old enemy.

"How much, uh, food, did you cook, exactly?" I asked, trying to keep it together.

He smiled sadistically, and replied, "Enough to feed seven families three full meals a day for a week." Then he did something totally unexpected. He got out this industrial-sized funnel and put it in my mouth, and tilted my head back.

"Just wait," Pete said, "you're going to love this."

He took the plate he had and took a bite of the brocoli and went back into the kitchen. When he came back, he had two big bowls of something.

"I remeber how much you said you loved the tomato soup-" it's true, actually, it's really quite good "- so I made a whole bunch of it just for you!" I smiled, which was difficult with the funnel in my mouth. He took one of the bowls of soup and poured it into the funnel, and I opened my mouth and swallowed a gulp of it. I felt the creamy broth flow down my throat and I felt a squish inside me as the soup reahced my cramped stomach. Then he took the next bowl, and poured all of that down, and the next, and the next, and the next. When he took the funnel out of my mouth, I belched loudly, and a awful mix of tomato soup and bread and deviled eggs-flavored gas escaped my body. I leaned back now, and I felt the mushy contents of my tummy gurgle and slosh inside of my creaking mass.

"Oh my god," I moaned, "I'm so full!" I looked down at myself. I could easily be mistaken for a woman overdue with triplets, my belly was so round. Pete patted the front of my belly and poked a little into it, and found some give.

"Oh, you're not full yet," Pete said, mad with joy, and prepared to stuff me further.

"Please, no more," I gasped, through with myt false courtesy. "I'm gonna burst. Please, I'm full!"

"If you were full," he said. walking backwards into the kitchen, "then your belly would be as hard as a rock. You've still got some room."

I struggled to escape the ducktape bonds that held me, but without avail. I was stuck. He came back with a tray stacked high with plates for my force-feeding, and he sat them down in front of me.

He dug his spon deep into the green bean casserole and pushed the bite into my gullet. I swallowed ot, and my stomach was now hanging over my knees and was as round as an exercise ball. He went to shovel the scoop down into me until I turned my head away.

"No please, Pete, no, I'll burst! I can't take any more! Oh god, no more, please!" I screamed, begging pitifully.

Pete didn't reply, but midscream he dumped the entire plate down my throat. I tried to spit the glob of food out, but he shoved it down with his hand. All of it.

I could feel the chunk of solid food go down my esophagus, and I looked up to the ceiling. "Oh my god," I screamed, thinking it my last words as whole person, "I'm gonna pop!"

The bulge of substance reached my stomach, and I felt my red tummy expand a good foot in diameter.

"OH!" I yelped, and I looked down at me. It looked like I had boulder inside of my skin, and it hurt so much. Pete walked behind me and cut my hands loose, and my hands flew to my belly. Not only did I grow out, but sideways too. I could now lay my arms on my groteque stomach like a table. My skin was drum tight, red, and sore like I had been punched thirty times. Pete walked around in front of me and put his hand on my table-top belly, and I could feel the immense tension their, even with his lightest touch.

"I can feel them kicking," he said, and looked at me, and laughed hysterically. I could no longer reach my belly button, much less get at Pete.

"Well, I'll be back in the morning," he said, "maybe the new night hours will open up more business." He said this like he had no recollection of force stuffing his girlfriend until she was the size of a whale.

He left and locked up the apartment, and I got up and moved to lying on the couch. My belly was a masive globe of flesh, creaking and moaning with every movement like it might pop at a moment's notice. I could hear the groaning of my stomach as it tried to digest the huge meal. Red and sore, and filled with so much food.

And only one thought entered my mind: I need to get a new boyfriend.

Description
I swallowed the last bit of the bread, and I thought I would burst. I tried to lean back in my chair to stretch out my new big tummy, but it was difficult, as my hands were tied to the arms of the chair. I looked down at myself, and I had to help from not vomiting at the sight. My belly was round now, like a beachball, and it went almost all the way to my knees. Rejected food sat on my bosom, and my tight pink shirt was now pushed all the way up to my breasts. It was disgusting.

Pete came back right then, and I sat up and smiled, not wanting to disappoint. It was difficult to smile though, when I saw the next heaping plate of food he carried over. He sat down on the couch across from me and smiled.

"How are you liking it?" he asked, obviously oblivious to my discomfort.

"Great! Your cooking is the best," I said with practised sweetness.

He took a spoon and dippd it into the deep mound of mashed potatoes and when I opened my mouth he shoved it in my mouth. I gulped it down, trying not to taste the same dull flavor, and felt my stomach grow bigger on my legs. He took another spoonful of the stuff and I ate it, and then the next fifteen spoonfulls after it. When He got done with the plate, he added it to the stack of twenty and went to get another.

My belly was so heavy, it could easily be half my entire body weight. It was pink and sore, signs of a massive binge, and my ever-deepening belly button looked like just a hole in my gut.

Maybe I should explain what's going on. My boyfriend, Pete, cooks at a restaraunt, and it's not that popular. The food is great and all, but he picked a bad spot for the building. He gets so stressed out sometimes, he just does, well, this. He tied me to this chair while I napped and he spent an hour cooking while I was awake, and who knows how much before.

He sat down again with another plate, and I eyed it like an old enemy.

"How much, uh, food, did you cook, exactly?" I asked, trying to keep it together.

He smiled sadistically, and replied, "Enough to feed seven families three full meals a day for a week." Then he did something totally unexpected. He got out this industrial-sized funnel and put it in my mouth, and tilted my head back.

"Just wait," Pete said, "you're going to love this."

He took the plate he had and took a bite of the brocoli and went back into the kitchen. When he came back, he had two big bowls of something.

"I remeber how much you said you loved the tomato soup-" it's true, actually, it's really quite good "- so I made a whole bunch of it just for you!" I smiled, which was difficult with the funnel in my mouth. He took one of the bowls of soup and poured it into the funnel, and I opened my mouth and swallowed a gulp of it. I felt the creamy broth flow down my throat and I felt a squish inside me as the soup reahced my cramped stomach. Then he took the next bowl, and poured all of that down, and the next, and the next, and the next. When he took the funnel out of my mouth, I belched loudly, and a awful mix of tomato soup and bread and deviled eggs-flavored gas escaped my body. I leaned back now, and I felt the mushy contents of my tummy gurgle and slosh inside of my creaking mass.

"Oh my god," I moaned, "I'm so full!" I looked down at myself. I could easily be mistaken for a woman overdue with triplets, my belly was so round. Pete patted the front of my belly and poked a little into it, and found some give.

"Oh, you're not full yet," Pete said, mad with joy, and prepared to stuff me further.

"Please, no more," I gasped, through with myt false courtesy. "I'm gonna burst. Please, I'm full!"

"If you were full," he said. walking backwards into the kitchen, "then your belly would be as hard as a rock. You've still got some room."

I struggled to escape the ducktape bonds that held me, but without avail. I was stuck. He came back with a tray stacked high with plates for my force-feeding, and he sat them down in front of me.

He dug his spon deep into the green bean casserole and pushed the bite into my gullet. I swallowed ot, and my stomach was now hanging over my knees and was as round as an exercise ball. He went to shovel the scoop down into me until I turned my head away.

"No please, Pete, no, I'll burst! I can't take any more! Oh god, no more, please!" I screamed, begging pitifully.

Pete didn't reply, but midscream he dumped the entire plate down my throat. I tried to spit the glob of food out, but he shoved it down with his hand. All of it.

I could feel the chunk of solid food go down my esophagus, and I looked up to the ceiling. "Oh my god," I screamed, thinking it my last words as whole person, "I'm gonna pop!"

The bulge of substance reached my stomach, and I felt my red tummy expand a good foot in diameter.

"OH!" I yelped, and I looked down at me. It looked like I had boulder inside of my skin, and it hurt so much. Pete walked behind me and cut my hands loose, and my hands flew to my belly. Not only did I grow out, but sideways too. I could now lay my arms on my groteque stomach like a table. My skin was drum tight, red, and sore like I had been punched thirty times. Pete walked around in front of me and put his hand on my table-top belly, and I could feel the immense tension their, even with his lightest touch.

"I can feel them kicking," he said, and looked at me, and laughed hysterically. I could no longer reach my belly button, much less get at Pete.

"Well, I'll be back in the morning," he said, "maybe the new night hours will open up more business." He said this like he had no recollection of force stuffing his girlfriend until she was the size of a whale.

He left and locked up the apartment, and I got up and moved to lying on the couch. My belly was a masive globe of flesh, creaking and moaning with every movement like it might pop at a moment's notice. I could hear the groaning of my stomach as it tried to digest the huge meal. Red and sore, and filled with so much food.

And only one thought entered my mind: I need to get a new boyfriend.