#idk i’m horny lol

I’m stuffed full of potato and ice cream and fruit and chicken I’m bloated and burping like crazy and everything is hard to swallow yet all I want to do is fill my belly till I’m sick…tummy sloppy and aching and bulging in my hands forcing me to rub it nonstop to keep the nausea from bolting me to the bathroom floor (did I mention in this scenario I…or someone who knows I love to be sick bloated and fucked…have purposely served my tummy slightly expired and undercooked food…spoiled cheese and milk…full of oil and sugar to cover the slightly off taste of the old dairy…oil and sugar that’s now coating my insides in a thick soup—the kind you just can’t burp up…that crawls up your throat leaving a trail of queasy hiccups and gas).

I’m feeling dirty so I’m going to flesh this fantasy out ;)

The cake I made myself…the cake I ate myself…is made with (slightly) expired eggs and (slightly) expired cream and (slightly) expired flour with a side of (very) expired ice cream. Not only am I full of sugary goodness, all that old dairy has pushed my guts to their limits. The gurgles are crazy…I’m thankful I live alone because I may not remember to close the bathroom door; the way the cake sloshes and roars deep beneath my belly’s surface is beginning to turn that slightly uncomfortable full, bloated feeling into the far more alarming nauseous wave (and the even more alarming clench and swirl of my lower belly…the one that pushes my stomach out and makes a bathroom an immediate concern…the one that makes me so uncomfortable, I moan as soon as I sit on the toilet…letting as much mess out as I can…sometimes unsuccessful…).

As I watch tv, the slop of dessert refuses to leave—yet I begin to feel sicker and sicker. The room gets sticky and my tummy feels like it’s full of wet concrete. I’m on my side, knees pulled into my lower belly, protecting what my hands cannot as they wrap around the stretched out mass. I swear my belly has never been this big. The expired concoction has forced my guts to bloat to mass capacity…if I can’t get it out, my body was going to make the space…the sick, sick, nauseous space.

I move myself to the bathroom in preparation for the beginning of my painful night (I bring the contents of my top drawer along…not all the moans tonight will be moans of pain). I spend the night and the next day in agony over my messy tummy…you fill in the rest.