




I’ve let myself go, and it feels so good. My belly’s grown so heavy and round, it presses down over my thighs, taut and full, hiding my feet completely.
I can’t walk without waddling now—every step a reminder of how soft, swollen, and utterly stuffed.
My appetite is out of control, insatiable, and I don’t want to stop. I crave the stretch, the weight, the slow, decadent swell of getting bigger... fuller. I want to feel myself grow—inch by inch, pound by pound—until I’m too big to ignore, too soft to resist, and begging for more food (: