ummoo

Marlene belched loudly and patted her fat, bloated belly.  Her hand made wet smacking sounds against her flabby, bare skin, and her more than full stomach gurgled affectionately. "God, I love doing this!" Marlene said to herself and continued to rub her belly soothingly.  Her loose, wobbly fat shifted and jiggled beneath her moving hands. She referred, of course, to lounging on her bed, shoving huge amounts of fattening junk food down her throat, and watching her belly grow.  Marlene had pulled up her shirt and unbuttoned her pants before she had even started her afternoon's long, delectable pig-out session so she could see the plump, burge

Full. Oh, so full. So completely overstuffed with pies, cakes, cookies, and ice cream. There's no room left, your stomach is so horribly packed tight you're surprised the skin hasn't torn. It itches, though, as if it's stretched to the limit. Maybe it is. The colossal balloon sticking out as much sideways as it bows out forwards. Pushing away from your pudgy body as though wanting to avoid another feast. Just like you do. And you would, too, if you could move anything but your mouth. You aren't strapped to the leather arm chair, but you may as well be. Leaning back into the cushions, you're pinned under the hefty weight of your belly. After