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synned · 1 month ago

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Dark Synnphony

My name is Namimi.

I told myself I was done. I’d kept my promise. Last weekend, I relapsed again.

I’d been so proud of myself, too. It had been almost a year since I had stepped away from my old lifestyle. I’d worked so hard to leave it all behind.

No more overindulgence, no more waking up in a haze of discomfort, my belly distended beyond reason and aching from the sheer weight of food.

No more nights of overindulgence that left me gasping for breath and sinking into an intoxicating fog of submission.

No more falling under Synn’s spell, letting his commands and teasing smiles push me to limits I didn’t know I had.

I had promised myself I was done. For almost a year, I’d convinced myself I was done with that life. I told myself it wasn’t healthy, that I deserved better. And for a while, I believed it.

I wore loose clothes. I counted calories. I avoided temptation. I stayed in control.

But when Synn called, all my resolve started to unravel.

He was charming as always, his deep and smooth voice, tinged with the unmistakable authority that always sent a thrill through me, reached through the phone to curl around my thoughts like a silken rope. “Just a movie, Namimi,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, with that teasing edge that sent a familiar shiver down my spine, as if it were just an ordinary invitation. “Nothing complicated.”

I hesitated. I should’ve said no. I could feel the danger in his tone, the way he lingered on my name like a promise. But I didn’t. I knew better than to trust him, but a part of me—the part of me that had been dormant for months, buried deep but never truly gone—the part of me that secretly loved surrendering, loved the indulgence, stirred awake—wanted to say yes. And before I could stop myself, against my better judgement, I agreed.

When I arrived at Synn’s apartment later that day, I knew I’d made a mistake.

Why did I come here? I thought, feeling the first prickling warmth of temptation licking at my resolve. I swallowed hard. It’s just a movie date. He promised. Just a movie.

Yet here I was, fidgeting, uncertain, and timidly hopeful.

I adjusted the hem of my skirt nervously as I stepped into Synn’s apartment. The moment the door closed behind me, I knew I was in trouble. The first thing that hit me was the smell—warm, sweet, and buttery. My stomach betrayed me immediately, growling loud enough to embarrass me. My timid smile faltered when my eyes drifted to the kitchen table, and I froze. It was laden with an army of desserts, covered with pastries, éclairs lined up in perfect rows, their glossy chocolate tops, glinting under the light like sinister bullets of cream, and two cakes—one a towering masterpiece of frosting and decoration, the other smaller but no less decadent. My heart raced.

“You… baked?” I asked, my voice as soft as my demeanor. I stood there awkwardly, tugging at the hem of my pale-pink blouse. It had fit me well when I’d put it on, but now, just the anticipation made it feel tighter. The fabric strained slightly across my chest, and I felt a flutter of nervous energy as I smoothed it over my skirt.

“We’ll head out in a minute.” Synn appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel, leaning casually against the frame. His sharp features made me feel even smaller than I already did. His dark eyes locking on me like a predator sizing up its prey, roaming over me from head to toe, and his smirk widened, slow and knowing. Synn loved when I dressed like this and if I was honest with myself, I knew it too and had dressed like this deliberately. “Something wrong?” he asked, his tone light, as if the table wasn’t groaning under the weight of temptation, but I knew better.

“No,” I lied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just…wasn’t expecting this,” gesturing toward the table.

“We’re not staying,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, tilting his head toward the door. “I need to stop at the pet store first to pick something up.”

“The pet store?” I repeated, confused, my brow furrowing. I reluctantly crossed to the living room, my skirt tight against my thighs, the waistband already digging into my hips from nerves alone. I frowned but nodded, too nervous to ask what he was planning. I knew he was gaslighting me but I enjoyed it, I missed it.

I sat timidly at the edge of Synn’s couch, nervously smoothing my skirt over my thighs. It barely covered my modesty, the fabric stretched taut over my wide hips. My pale-pink blouse, fitted but conservative when I’d chosen it, now betrayed me. It clung to my burgeoning frame, the hem curling upward with the slightest movement, teasingly revealing a soft crescent of my belly. The faint sheen of my skin glistened under the warm light of Synn’s living room, my timid demeanor only amplifying the quiet desperation of my situation.

My heart started to race. Memories I’d tried to bury came rushing back: The nights of hedonistic excess spent bloated beyond recognition, the way my belly would strain, stretch, and swell until I thought I couldn’t possibly take more, the hazy, heady mix of pleasure and discomfort that followed. I tugged at the hem of my pale-pink blouse, suddenly hyper-aware of how it clung to my curves. It was fitted, a little too snug across my chest leaving little to the imagination, and the fabric felt tighter with every breath. My skirt wasn’t much better. The waistband dug softly into my hips, reminding me that I hadn’t exactly been keeping my promises to myself.

Synn stood over me, commanding and calculating, his dark eyes scanning my form like an artist admiring their canvas. The kitchen table was laden with pastries, cakes, and éclairs, all screaming indulgence.

He grabbed his keys, not waiting for me to follow. I followed him out, my nerves bubbling like soda in my stomach.

The drive was quiet, save for the steady hum of Synn’s sports car. I glanced out the window, trying to calm the growing unease in my stomach. The pet store was brightly lit and smelled faintly of cedar and hay. I trailed behind Synn, my nerves prickling. My skirt felt tighter with every step, and I found myself tugging at it, trying to adjust the waistband. I assumed he needed something for his dog, a Shiba Inu—a leash, food, a toy. I thought we were heading to the cinema, but instead, Synn led me into a pet shop.

“What are we here for? Are we here for your dog?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Something I need,” he said over his shoulder, his tone dismissive. He led me to the back of the store, where he stopped in front of a shelf and picked up a pump. It was large and industrial-looking contraption, with thick tubing and a sturdy handle.

My stomach twisted at the sight of it. “W-what’s that for?” I asked softer than I intended, my voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly.

Synn turned to me, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll see soon enough.”

My breath hitched. My heart thudded painfully. I felt a wave of heat creep up my neck. Heat rose to my cheeks. He wouldn’t, would he? It’s just a movie date… isn’t it? Memories I had buried over the past year bubbled to the surface—the way my belly had grown so massive it felt like I would burst, being overfed until my belly had grown so round, heavy, and painfully taut I could barely move, of the exhilarating loss of control that left me both terrified and thrilled, his relentless encouragement, of the delicious ache that came with being completely overfilled, the ecstatic haze that came with surrendering entirely. Memories of the pump came flooding back—how it had left me gasping and swollen beyond belief, the way my belly had surged outward as if it would never stop. I shook my head slightly, trying to push the thoughts away. I told myself this was different, that he wouldn’t dare. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Synn, I don’t think—”

“You agreed to come, didn’t you?” His tone was soft, but there was no mistaking the command in it. He smirked as he added, “Trust me,” gaslighting me further.

My heart raced when I saw him purchase the pump. A pump? For what? My imagination spiraled into dark corners, but Synn’s nonchalant demeanor didn’t give anything away. This was just a movie date, I reminded myself. Nothing more.

“We’ll check out that new restaurant next,” he said casually, his lips curling into a smile that was just a shade too sharp.

The first restaurant was everything I feared and everything I secretly craved. It was exquisite, its chandeliers dripping with decadence and polished marble floors. I, however, barely noticed. The air was rich with the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread, and the soft clinking of silverware set an intimate, indulgent mood. I hesitated at the entrance, my fingers brushing against my belly, which was beginning to feel warm and sensitive under my blouse. I had worn a fitted corset beneath, my skirt, a decision I now regretted. I sat gingerly in the booth, trying not to fidget as the restrictive corset beneath my skirt pressed into my sides. I’d worn it as a safeguard, hoping it would keep me from going too far. Now, it felt like a ticking time bomb.

Synn ordered without consulting me, stacking the table with dishes that turned heads from surrounding diners. I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought, my mind at war with my body’s cravings. Yet I couldn’t stop.

Unable to help myself, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the waiter brought the first dish: duck BBQ pizza, the crust golden and crisp, laden with succulent slices of duck, the smoky aroma making my stomach grumble. Before I could hesitate, Synn cut a slice and held it to my lips, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “Try it,” Synn urged. His voice was low, commanding, impossible to resist. My cheeks flushed as I took a hesitant bite, the smoky sweetness of the barbecue sauce teasing my palate. I nibbled at first, but Synn’s relentless gaze bore into me as he encouraged—no, commanded me. I hesitated for only a moment before taking a full bite. The flavors were rich and decadent, the smoky barbecue sauce and tender duck were intoxicating, and before I knew it, one slice turned into two, then three.

Dish after dish arrived. Next came the lobster pasta, the sauce creamy and luxurious, followed by Mediterranean lamb with rice, the spices warm and tantalizing. Roasted duck so tender it seemed to melt under my fork followed shortly after. Side dishes of crispy calamari and beverages—a pistachio milkshake for me and two pints of beer for him—rounded out the spread.

By then, I was struggling to sit up straight. When the waiter returned with an elaborately garnished cocktail, my stomach churned with apprehension. My breaths grew shallow as my belly began to swell against the corset. Each bite brought with it a twinge of discomfort as my belly swelled against the corset’s unforgiving embrace, pressing hard. Every time my fork wavered, he raised an eyebrow, silently challenging me. I shifted uncomfortably, I glanced down, horrified to see the hem of my blouse riding up as my belly surged outward, revealing the soft curve of my swollen belly. My waistband had slipped low on my hips, leaving nothing to the imagination; I could feel the ambient air grazing my lower back and top of my ass. I whimpered softly as Synn handed me the milkshake, his gaze unwavering.

By the time, I reached the end of the pistachio milkshake, I was squirming in my seat. It was rich, decadent, and heavy, yet I sipped until the glass was empty, encouraged by Synn’s unyielding gaze. I was embarrassed as I noticed my blouse riding up, the hem now bunched just below my breasts. My swollen belly peaked out, taut and distended, its curve pushing against the waistband of my skirt, which had slid lowr on my hips. The corset-like outfit I wore only added to my plight, pressing unforgivingly against my bloated belly, squeezing until my skin bulged over its edge.

The arch of my back strained as my belly jutted outward, the exaggerated curve making me wince. The tight fabric forced my stomach upward, until it brushed against the underside of my breasts. I shifted uncomfortably, tugging at my blouse, but the hem had already curled upward, revealing the soft curve of my belly. My discomfort didn’t escape Synn.

“Full already?” Synn asked, his tone mocking, his voice silk but his eyes steel.

I hesitated. “I-I’m just…my outfit,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning, my voice tinged with guilt.

“In that case,” he said with a sly smile, “we should move on.”

“We’re not done yet,” Synn announced, guiding me to another restaurant. I waddled behind him, my steps labored. My thighs rubbed together with each step, despite being spread wide to accommodate the heavy sway of the burgeoning swell of my stomach with each movement, which now hung heavily over my waistband above them, forcing my hips to sway exaggeratedly. The once-snug waistband of my skirt threatened to snap entirely, the fabric struggling valiantly against my overfed gut. I could feel the eyes of passersby on me, their gazes lingering on my swollen tummy. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but deep inside, a flicker of excitement stirred.

My legs felt unsteady as we arrived at the second restaurant, I was waddling. I felt like a hostage in my own body as we entered. My thighs rubbed together with every step, forcing my hips to sway. My belly swayed with me, heavy and taut, the skin starting to feel tender and stretched. The second restaurant was bustling, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and spices. I felt every pair of eyes on me as I followed Synn to a booth. The tight corset only made things worse, pushing my belly outward in a dramatic curve under the table, pressing firmly against the table’s underside I couldn’t hide, pushing my legs apart. I spread them instinctively, trying to make room for the mound of flesh that dominated my lap.

Synn’s relentless pace left me no room to recover and this time, the meal was even more imposing. Synn again ordered with ease, a table-breaking, belly-bursting feast. By now, my timid protests were ignored. My discomfort was irrelevant to Synn.

The food came quickly: plates of roasted duck salad and a massive portion of pork loin glistening with juices dominated the table, accompanied by a pepperoni pizza and a strawberry milkshake. He ordered more beer for himself, his indulgence a stark contrast to my growing unease. My belly was already painfully taut, the skin shiny and inflamed. I tried to pace myself, but Synn’s relentless encouragement made it impossible. Synn fed me bite after bite, his eyes never leaving mine. Bite by bite, my stomach stretched further. I could feel the fresh sting of stretch marks forming, the raised veins on my skin visible under the dim light.

I managed a few bites of salad, forcing myself to chew despite the tight pressure in my stomach. Synn cut my portions for me, feeding me each bite, his voice soft and coaxing. My belly groaned audibly, the skin inflamed and shiny, stretching to accommodate my growing burden, the sound unmistakable in the quiet hum of the restaurant. My belly button, once a demure inward dip, began to flatten and protrude outward. Synn smirked at the sight.

My hands fluttered to my belly instinctively. It was massive, overburdened, and screaming for mercy, but I could do nothing but endure. He watched me struggle with every bite, his satisfaction growing with my visible unease. When I slowed again, Synn leaned in, his voice low but commanding, as he smacked my belly firmly causing me to wince. “Keep going.” he urged softly, his voice a mix of encouragement and command.

“I can’t…” I whispered, clutching my belly, rubbing the sting from Synn’s hand. I could feel the skin of my belly stretching, the taut surface inflamed and shiny.

My strawberry milkshake disappeared quickly, its sugary sweetness masking the growing pressure inside me.

“We have to leave soon,” I muttered weakly, clutching my stomach, hoping the movie time would save me. “The movie starts soon.”

Synn’s gaze darkened. “You’ll finish it now,” he said, his voice laced with finality.

When we finally reached the cinema, I could barely move. I collapsed into the plush seat, my belly pressing, firmly and heavily against my thighs. It felt impossibly round, resting heavily on the seat, spilling over my lap like a dome, stretching the fabric of my skirt to its limit, it felt almost unreal. The armrests pressed into my sides, and I shifted uncomfortably, my breathing shallow as my breasts were pushed upward by my belly, nearly into my chin. My back arching to accommodate the girth and exaggerated swell of my stomach. My skirt was a distant memory, bunched around my hips, under my gut. The corset beneath my blouse was a cruel joke now, squeezing my tummy like a vice.

My hopes for reprieve were dashed when Synn handed me a large bucket of popcorn and a soda, his smile unrelenting. “For the movie,” he said, his tone light but teasing, as if the previous two meals hadn’t happened and I hadn’t already eaten enough for three people. I stared at the mountain of salty kernels, my stomach already groaning in protest.

“I can’t,” I whispered, though my hands betrayed me, already reaching for the popcorn. “You can,” he said firmly. “Keep going.” I wanted to protest but the smell of buttery popcorn was irresistible, the words died in my throat under his domineering stare leaving no room for refusal.

I nibbled at the popcorn at first, my stomach protesting each kernel, then shovelled handfuls into my mouth as the salty, buttery popcorn was irresistible. My belly pressed firmly against the armrests, its weight making it difficult to breathe. My back arched painfully as I tried to find a position that didn’t strain my aching spine. The exaggerated curve of my back mirrored the immense swell of my belly, which looked overburdened and overdue.

The salty crunch of popcorn felt like gravel in my overstuffed gut, but I dutifully irked through it as the movie droned on. I ate mechanically, the crunch of popcorn loud in my ears as my body screamed for mercy. By the end, I was delirious, the seams of my restrictive outfit screaming in protest threatening to give way.

My corset felt like a cage, my breaths shallow and laboured. My blouse had bunched completely beneath my breasts, leaving my swollen belly fully exposed. I barely noticed the stares of people around us. As I leaned back, sipping the last quarter of the massive soda, I felt it: a soft pop as my belly button pushed outward. My breath caught, and I froze, my cheeks burning with humiliation. Synn chuckled, clearly pleased, his hand brushing over the taut curve of my belly, fingering my incredible navel. “There it is,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Synn’s smirk was a silent reminder of what awaited me back at his apartment.

When we returned to his home, I barely had the strength to climb the stairs, having to stop and rest multiple times even though it was only one flight. There was an elevator but Synn ignored it, revelling in my struggle. My waddle was severe now worse than ever, each step forcing my things apart to accommodate the swollen form of my belly. My belly jiggled slightly with each movement, its inflamed skin sensitive to the touch. Fresh stretch marks crisscrossed the surface, red and angry, while veins snaked across the taut skin.

Inside, my nightmare reached its crescendo and I was too exhausted to protest. I collapsed onto the couch, my belly heaving dramatically. I was barely aware of what was happening. Synn fed me the large cake and six éclairs, one by one, ignoring my groans and muffled whimpers. My body felt foreign, an over inflated balloon teetering on the edge of bursting, impossibly heavy, overburdened, and overdue—like I was carrying a thirteen-month massive food baby. I pleaded for mercy, but Synn wasn’t finished.

The real challenge began. Synn’s plan became clear when he retrieved the pump. I watched in stunned silence through half-lidded eyes, my mind hazy from overindulgence. My heart thundered as Synn prepared the pump with deliberate precision, pouring a creamy, thick concoction of weight gain powder and milk into the device, failing to spill a single drop. Before I could protest, I found myself, tied down, gently yet firmly; as if I could move in my terribly distended state, my belly pressing outward like a grotesque monument of my gluttony. I didn’t resist, at this point, I welcomed it. Synn’s face was a mask of dark delight as he started the machine.

The pump roared to life, and I moaned softly as the first rush of liquid began to flow into my already overstuffed belly. The slurry flowed into me filling me further, pushing me beyond any limit I had previously reached or thought I had and my mind began unraveling. My belly surged outward, the skin stretching impossibly taut and inflamed. I moaned softly, the pressure becoming unbearable, but I couldn’t stop. My blouse having rode up entirely long ago, bunched beneath my breast, leaving my engorged, swollen belly fully exposed, finally gave way. The buttons burst from my chest, scattering across the tile, my breasts forced upwards as my back arched into a near right angle from the load forcing its way into me. I moaned around the tubing forced down my throat. Fresh stretch marks blossomed across the surface, and veins snaked visibly, raising beneath the taut skin, throbbing. The sensation was overwhelming— cold, heavy, unrelenting. My body rebelled against the intrusion, but there was no escape. My vision blurred. Synn leaned close, his voice a low murmur.

“Shhh. Let it happen.”

I felt heavy, overburdened as my belly jutted impossibly outward, completely at Synn’s mercy. My belly pressed against my thighs, its massive curve dominating my lap. My mind shut down as the weight of my gluttony—and Synn’s domineering presence—overwhelmed me entirely, leaving me lost, adrift the haze of overindulgence and surrender. My consciousness flickered like a dying bulb. The pressure in my stomach mounted until it eclipsed every other sensation. Somewhere, in the distance of my own mind, I heard his laughter—a cruel melody underscoring my descent into oblivion.

When I awoke, the world felt muted. Hours had passed, I was sprawled on my back on Synn’s couch. The room was dim, and the table had been cleared, the pump was gone. For a moment, I wondered if it had all been a dream. But the ache in my belly told me otherwise, my body bore the evidence of Synn’s twisted orchestration. I felt heavy, dazed, my skin stretched and sensitive. I sat up slowly, groaning, the motion sending waves of discomfort through my overfilled stomach, it thudded heavily on the seat between my thighs. It was massive, round and tender, the skin warm and shiny.

Synn stood nearby, his arms crossed, a glass of rum in hand, his smirk as satisfied as ever, watching me. “Good morning,” he said, his tone soft but smug. “You survived,” he said simply, raising his glass in a mock toast.

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I only started at him, my timid nature frayed into something darker—a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface.

But Synn didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. For him, the game had only just begun.

My hands cradled my engorged belly, fondly quite pleased with myself despite the circumstance. Deep down, I knew I’d fallen completely—and part of me didn’t want to stop.

That’s when I noticed the other cake from last night on the coffee table, just within my reach…

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synned · 1 month ago

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Unyieldingly Hunger

Zewik sprawled across the bed, or at least what was left of it. The mattress, once ample, now bowed beneath her weight, barely holding her. The edges of the bed frame creaked audibly, no longer able to contain the sheer size of her. Every inch of her body exuded excess and indulgence, a hedonistic display of overconsumption.

Her bratty demeanor didn’t fade despite the strain her body placed on everything around her. She wore a tank top that once might have fit, but now it clung desperately to her skin, riding up as her enormous belly surged forward. The fabric bunched just under her breasts, which themselves were pressed so high by the expanse of her belly that they seemed to rise into her chin. The bottom of her shirt never stayed down, leaving the wide dome of her stomach completely exposed, its pale flesh taut and smooth, marked only by the deep navel at its center.

Zewik’s stomach was a masterpiece of indulgence, a testament to her endless appetite. Her belly button stretched and widened, a yawning hollow that only accentuated the soft yet overfilled look of her midsection. Every movement caused it to wobble, rippling with the faintest shift. The size of her belly was such that, sitting down, she had to spread her thick thighs far apart just to accommodate its mass. It rested heavily on her seat, her thighs quivering under the strain, forcing her into a spread-legged position.

Her appetite knew no limits. Platters of food surrounded her—half-eaten pastries, empty plates that once held mounds of fried delights, and a gravy-smeared bowl where an entire roast had just been—Zewik shoveled food into her mouth with reckless abandon, cheeks puffed out as she devoured without pause. Each plate scraped clean, down to the crumbs, leaving only smears and fragments in their wake. Zewik never left anything unfinished, her greed so profound that even crumbs were not beneath her; she eagerly picked at them, stuffing them between her lips as though they were the final proof of her conquest. She didn’t just eat; she stuffed herself, relentlessly. Every swallow sent her belly pushing further out, each bite making her body expand with a palpable fullness. Her gluttony was endless, and her belly seemed to grow more demanding with every morsel she crammed into it. She ate like she had something to prove, like the world existed for her consumption and she intended to make use of it all.

Her movements were slow and cumbersome. When she tried to stand, her belly shifted heavily in front of her, pulling her forward. Her back arched under the weight, the curve of her spine mimicking the vast curve of her stomach. She waddled heavily, each step a struggle as her belly swayed from side to side, her body jiggling with every motion. Her arms hung slightly away from her body, balancing her as she moved. The waddle was severe, her hips swinging in wide arcs, her butt jostling behind her as her thighs rubbed together. Her entire body seemed to move in layers, with her belly leading the way, dragging the rest of her behind it.

Even in her overindulgence, there was something undeniably confident in the way she carried herself, like she reveled in her size. She flaunted her appetite and her body with a bratty air, as if daring anyone to challenge her right to this hedonistic life. For Zewik, there was no shame in her gluttony, no restraint in her consumption. There was only the next plate, the next feast, the next indulgence that would leave her belly fuller and her body growing ever larger.

look, i’m trying to be optimist here…

but the thing is my belly overgrew both the mattress and the bed frame…

BOTH SITTING AND LAYING DOWN!

🥵🐷✨

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synned · 1 month ago

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Good News and Bad News

Hey Synners,

I’ve got some good news and bad news to share.

Let’s start with the bad news: I’ve been so busy with work lately that I completely lost track of which story prompts I’ve already written stories for. Oops.

But here’s the good news: the only viable solution is to write new stories! So, if you’ve sent in a prompt, keep an eye out—it might just inspire a brand-new piece. I’ll try to keep better track of things moving forward, but in the meantime, let’s embrace the creative chaos.

Thanks for sticking with me through it all!

Yours in indulgence,

Synn

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synned · 1 month ago

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Pavlov’s Notification

Dedicated to @friesmakethickthighs, "One day very soon."

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There was a strange, irresistible pull every time the notification bell chimed. It wasn’t just a sound anymore—it was a summoning. The sharp ding of the alert sliced through mundane routines, breaking through the haze of your day. The moment it rang, a gnawing hunger unfurled in your stomach. It wasn’t polite or manageable; it was primal, insistent, and impossible to ignore.

You didn’t know when it started, not exactly. At first, you’d seen the posts and thought they were... enticing. Fun, maybe even a bit silly. You liked to snack when scrolling anyway, so what was the harm? A bite of chips here, a sip of soda there, as you devoured the text on your screen.

But somewhere along the way, your body learned to anticipate. The notifications became a trigger, the sound a promise. The ding of your phone became Pavlovian, a call to action that set your mouth watering and your stomach growling before you even reached the kitchen. The words woven in the posts seemed to drip with a delicious energy, feeding something deep inside you. The more you read, the more you wanted. No—needed. Snacks turned into meals. Meals became feasts. Soon, no post could be fully appreciated without a spread laid out in front of you: salty, sweet, fizzy, creamy, and rich. Always more.

Your phone dinged again, and your stomach clenched with immediate desire. You didn’t even question it anymore. You shuffled to the kitchen, opening cupboards and the fridge without thought, though even the simple act of walking had become a task. Your gait was slow, your steps wide and awkward, each one accompanied by a heavy waddle. The sheer size of your belly forced your thighs apart, your hips swaying with every step. The weight of it pulled you forward, making balance difficult. You leaned back slightly to counteract the heavy dome in front of you, your movements deliberate and ungainly, each shift of your body an exercise in effort.

By the time you reached the fridge, you were already panting slightly, the exertion sending a dull ache through your back. Your stomach swayed with your motions, a massive, overburdened weight that dominated your frame. It pressed forward unapologetically, the sheer volume of its fullness making it impossible to ignore.

Your hands moved as if guided by something else—your instincts, or maybe it was the words that had planted themselves in your mind like seeds of longing. You piled your arms full of snacks, loaded your bottle with something cold and fizzy, and shuffled back to your seat, your waddle even more pronounced now under the added weight of your haul, and settled into your favorite spot. Every step caused your belly to jiggle slightly, the taut, rounded surface straining against itself with each motion.

You adjusted yourself on the couch, feeling your waistband push further down over your hips, unable to stay in place against the swell of your belly. The hem of your shirt, once long enough to tuck in neatly, was now an afterthought, perpetually riding up over your engorged gut. It clung desperately to the underside of your breasts, which themselves seemed to have grown fuller, heavier, as they were pushed upward by the relentless pressure from below.

The fabric strained over every curve, creases forming where it was pulled too tightly, and the slightest movement sent it creeping higher. Each time you shifted, you tugged it down reflexively, but it was a losing battle. Your belly demanded freedom, rounding out in front of you with unapologetic dominance.

The post was waiting for you, bright and bold on the screen. You took your first bite before reading the first word, as though preparing for a ritual. The words flowed through your mind like syrup, thick and decadent, making you pause every so often to sip, to chew, to revel in your growing fullness.

The food was within arm’s reach, and you didn’t hesitate. Bite after bite, gulp after gulp, you consumed without restraint. Grease coated your fingers, crumbs littered your lap, and the soda bubbled noisily as you tipped the bottle back, chugging with abandon. You didn’t stop to savor or pace yourself. This wasn’t about taste; it was about need. The volume was staggering—a mountain of food that would have seemed impossible just weeks ago, now disappearing rapidly under your insatiable hunger.

As you sat, the full scale of your indulgence became clear. Your belly was immense, rounding out in front of you like a heavy, overstuffed globe. Its surface was stretched tight and warm, faint lines of fresh stretch marks glimmering where your skin had given way to your appetite. The skin was shiny and flushed, a deep red from the relentless pressure, and it itched faintly, a signal of how far it had been pushed. You absentmindedly scratched at it, feeling the raised ridges of the new marks etched into your skin.

The fullness radiated outward, dominating your frame, forcing your thighs apart to make room for its unapologetic expanse. As you shifted to get comfortable, the heavy dome settled on your lap, pressing firmly against your thighs and leaving no space between. It was almost impossible not to feel its every curve, the weight grounding you in your hedonism.

Your back arched instinctively, your posture straining to accommodate the overwhelming mass pressing forward. The curve of your spine matched the perfect dome of your belly in symmetry, as though your body had been reshaped entirely to carry this new, overburdened form. Every shift in your seat made the connection more apparent, the contrast between your arched back and protruding stomach creating a silhouette that felt both excessive and strangely satisfying.

Your belly looked impossibly full, as if it contained the weight of a feast far beyond what should be possible. It wasn’t just large—it was overburdened, pushed to its absolute limit, appearing overdue, as if you were carrying a food baby well past 13 months. The taut skin glistened under the light, evidence of your gluttony, its surface smooth and stretched as though a single bite more might send it beyond its capacity. Every subtle movement sent a ripple through its rounded surface, a visual reminder of just how much it carried.

Your jeans had surrendered long ago, their button undone and zipper split open, the waistband shoved aside to make way for the burgeoning swell of your stomach. It poured outward, a taut, heavy presence that dominated your lap. You could feel its warmth, its weight, resting heavily on your thighs, which you had to spread wide to accommodate the growing expanse. Even sitting upright required a slight arch to your back, the curve matching the dome of your belly perfectly, as though your body had restructured itself to carry this burgeoning monument of indulgence.

Your belly button, once shallow and unassuming, a modest indentation, had transformed, now seemed on the verge of surrender. It seemed to hover on the brink, teetering between barely holding its shape and surrendering completely to the pressure within. Each bite brought you closer to the inevitable. You tipped back the bottle of soda, chugging deeply, the fizzy drink rushing down to join the feast already packed within you. The pressure was immediate, a stretching sensation that pushed every inch of your skin to the brink.

As you let out a deep, satisfied gasp, you felt it: a small, sudden pop, had now fully popped outward, a tiny, taut nub standing proudly at the apex of your stomach, its prominence making it look as though you were well past due with a food baby, the ultimate marker of how far you’d pushed yourself. The sheer fullness had forced it outward, a visible marker of how much you had consumed, and each breath made it shift slightly against the strain of your skin.

You glanced down to see your belly button had finally given in, thrust outward into a tight little nub, standing triumphantly at the apex of your stomach. The act of finishing the bottle, of forcing one last gulp into your already overburdened belly, had sent it over the edge. It was a final marker of how much you had consumed, and it stood out proudly, a tiny exclamation point on your gluttony.

Above the swell, your breasts were pushed upward, resting high on the curve of your stomach. They felt heavier, fuller, like they were competing with your belly for dominance. The fabric of your shirt clung to them tightly, highlighting their shape while struggling to remain in place. Every move you made sent the hem riding up higher, exposing the bare skin of your stomach to the cool air.

Behind you, your hips spread wide to support your overindulgence. Your butt, once an afterthought, had grown plush and generous, spilling over the edges of your seat. It provided a cushioned base for your expanding form, though even it seemed to struggle to keep up with the unrelenting demands of your appetite.

Your stomach swelled further with every bite, every sip, until you could feel the pressure intensify. It was glorious and overwhelming, a combination of carbonation, fullness, and ache that only spurred you to keep going. The weight of it all dragged you deeper into your seat, the curve of your back arching to accommodate the expanding mass. The arch of your back mirrored the perfect, round dome of your stomach, both straining as if locked in a battle of extremes.

But the story didn’t just satisfy. It urged. It encouraged. It celebrated the extra handfuls, the heavier gulps, the strain of your waistband. And as your stomach grew taut and warm, a strange heat flushed your cheeks. You knew what you had to do.

Your fingers hovered over the comment box, but this time, words weren’t enough. No, the story demanded proof. You pulled your shirt up and glanced down. Your belly looked... different. Rounder. Full. Engorged. Greedy. And now crowned by your belly button, sticking out triumphantly as if it were celebrating your excess.

You snapped a picture and attached it to your comment, a caption forming in your mind: "Another amazing story! Look what you’ve done to me this time 🥵🤰."

As you hit send, another notification popped up. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your stomach rumbling despite the unbearable tightness. You reached for more snacks, already salivating.

This wasn’t just a habit anymore. It was hunger. It was desire. And you didn’t want it to stop.

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synned · 1 month ago

Text

Overflow

Chapter Two

Synn

Synn watched Sahuara climb the stairs to her apartment, her hips swaying as she moved with a mix of drunken confidence and the slight stumble that came from the strain of her bloated belly. He lingered behind the bar, polishing glasses that didn’t need polishing, his dark eyes fixed on the now-empty stairwell.

She was something else—always pushing her limits, always testing herself. It fascinated him, the way she embraced indulgence with reckless abandon, her neurotic quirks only adding to the allure. Synn wasn’t blind to the tension that simmered between them; it was a constant undercurrent, woven into their banter and the way she looked at him from beneath her lashes.

Tonight had been no different. He’d seen the way her belly swelled with each drink, her tan lines stretching across her honeyed skin as her shirt struggled to contain her. He’d noticed how her breath hitched when she shifted on the barstool, her thighs pressing together as her discomfort grew.

Synn leaned on the counter, his mind replaying the scene. She had a way of holding herself that was equal parts maddening and mesmerizing, her confidence never faltering even as her body betrayed her. He wondered how far she’d let herself go tonight, how much she could handle before she reached her breaking point—or if she’d even let herself get there.

The bar was empty now, save for him. He wiped down the counter, his movements slow and deliberate, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her. He’d seen her like this before, though every time felt different. She was intoxicating, in more ways than one, and he found himself wanting to push her limits just to see what she’d do next.

---

Upstairs

Synn’s curiosity got the better of him. He finished closing up the bar, locking the door with a satisfying click, before making his way upstairs. He didn’t knock. They had an unspoken understanding; she didn’t seem to mind when he let himself in, and tonight, he doubted she’d object.

The apartment door creaked open, and Synn stepped inside, his movements quiet as he navigated the familiar space. The soft hum of her vibrator reached his ears before he even saw her, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him.

He smirked, shaking his head as he closed the door quietly behind him. The sound wasn’t a surprise; he’d had a feeling she’d push herself to the brink tonight.

Before heading toward her bedroom, he made a detour into the kitchen. Her fridge was always stocked with sodas and mixers, a chaotic array of sweetness and fizz waiting to be unleashed. He grabbed a can of cola, popped it open with a satisfying hiss, and poured it into a pint glass. A generous splash of rum followed, the liquid fizzing violently as he filled the oversized glass to the brim.

“Let’s see how far you really want to go,” he muttered, grabbing the glass and making his way to her room.

He found her sprawled on the bed, her tan-lined body glistening in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, her halter top was bunched beneath her breasts fully exposing her swollen belly, its tight curve gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, full and rounded, glinting with the light of her double belly rings. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and the tiny diamonds sparkling as her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, as she moved the vibrator against herself with increasing urgency.

Synn leaned against the doorway, his dark eyes drinking her in. He didn’t announce himself; he didn’t need to. She knew he was there—he could tell by the way her movements faltered for a moment, then became more deliberate, almost as if she was performing for him.

“You really went for it tonight,” he said, his voice low, roughened by something he didn’t bother to hide.

Her eyes opened, hazy and half-lidded, and a lazy smirk curved her lips, that was equal parts amused and needy. “Think I hit my limit,” she murmured, though the way her body arched against the vibrator suggested otherwise.

Synn stepped closer, his gaze flicking to her belly. It was tight and firm, the skin stretched so taut it looked like it might burst, and yet she didn’t seem to care. If anything, she seemed to revel in the sensation, her body writhing under her own touch.

“You’re relentless,” she murmured, her voice hoarse but teasing as she noticed the glass in his hand.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, his tone both teasing and reverent.

“You’re the one who likes to test limits,” Synn replied, stepping closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.

She laughed softly, the sound hitching as the vibrator hit a sensitive spot. “You’re the one who kept pouring.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand moved instinctively, resting lightly on her belly. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she seemed to lean into his touch, her breath catching as his fingers traced the curve of her swollen stomach.

“Still holding it in?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Sahuara nodded, her eyes fluttering shut again. “Can’t help it,” she admitted, her voice breathy.

Synn’s hand lingered, his touch firm but careful, as if testing her limits. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” she said, her lips curling into a sly smile. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, his fingers moving lower, tracing the line of her belly rings. “You’re full of surprises.”

Sahuara’s laughter turned into a soft moan as he pressed his palm more firmly against her stomach, the added pressure making her squirm. The vibrator slipped from her hand, forgotten for the moment as her focus shifted entirely to him.

He held out the pint glass, his dark eyes glinting with mischief.

Sahuara’s gaze dropped to the oversized drink, and her lips curled into a lazy smirk. “A pint, Synn? You trying to kill me?”

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But I’m curious to see how much more you can take.”

“You’re gonna burst me,” she said, though there was no fear in her voice—only excitement.

Synn smirked, leaning closer, his hand still pressed to her belly. “I think you can handle more than you let on.”

She reached for the glass, but stopped, biting her lip as a new idea formed in her mind. She struggled to shift her weight, her swollen belly making every movement feel deliberate and heavy. With a low groan, she swung one leg over Synn’s lap, straddling him with effort.

Synn stiffened slightly, his hands instinctively coming to rest on her hips, just below the firm curve of her belly. The weight of her pressed into him, her warmth undeniable as she settled into place.

“You’re going to burst me,” she repeated teasingly, her voice tinged with breathy anticipation as she arched her back, pushing her tight belly toward his face.

Synn’s gaze darkened, his hands tightening on her hips. “Maybe,” he murmured, leaning forward to press his lips against her taut skin. He started with soft kisses along the curve of her belly, his stubble grazing her sensitive flesh. She let out a soft moan, her fingers gripping the glass tightly as his lips found her belly button, his tongue teasing the cool metal of her rings.

Encouraged by her reaction, he kissed her more firmly, his lips trailing down to where her belly pressed against the waistband of her unbuttoned shorts. Each kiss sent a shiver through her body, the tension in her stomach amplifying every sensation.

Sahuara’s breaths quickened, her chest heaving as she tilted the glass to her lips. The first gulp hit her throat with a sharp burn, followed by the familiar effervescence that spread through her chest and stomach. She kept drinking, greedily chugging the pint as Synn’s kisses became more fervent, his hands sliding up her sides to support her swollen form.

The carbonation hit her hard, her belly groaning audibly as it stretched even tighter. She moaned into the glass, the sound vibrating through her body as she continued to drink, her free hand tangling in Synn’s dark hair. The mix of pressure and pleasure was overwhelming, her body teetering on the edge of too much, and she loved every second of it.

Synn pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her skin as he looked up at her. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice tinged with awe.

Sahuara tilted the glass back, finishing the last gulp with a shuddering sigh. She let it drop to the floor beside them, her hands moving to cradle her overstuffed belly. The tightness was almost unbearable now, her skin stretched to its limit, but the way Synn’s hands and lips worshiped her made it feel like the most delicious torment she’d ever experienced.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Think I can handle one more?”

Synn smirked, his hands sliding back to her hips, his grip firm and steady. “You tell me,” he replied, already leaning forward to kiss her again.

Overflow

@bellybabygirl, here's the story we discussed privately.

Note to Readers:

Before any of my fellow bartenders jump in with their pitchforks, yes, I’m fully aware that I am the absolute worst bartender in history and that my license should be revoked immediately for overserving a patron like this. Truly shameful behavior. 🙄

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, how about we just enjoy the story and spare me the lectures, alright? Thanks.

Synn

---

Chapter One

Sahuara

Sahuara leaned against the polished wood of the bar, her honeyed skin gleaming under the warm glow of the lights. The sharp contrast of her artificial bikini tan lines peeked out from the low neckline of her cropped black halter top, its fabric stretched tight across her chest. The hem hovered precariously above her belly button, exposing the glint of her double belly rings under the soft amber lights and the soft curve of her stomach.

Below, her low-rise denim shorts hugged her hips, the waistband sitting dangerously low it seemed like an afterthought, accentuating the delicate lines of her toned, stomach, revealing a hint of the tan lines that traced down her sides. The button strained slightly, the fit already snug even before the night’s indulgences.

The music thrummed low, almost hypnotic, as Synn polished a glass and gave her one of his knowing smirks. It was late. The bar was winding down for the night, leaving only a few die-hard patrons nursing their drinks. Synn stood behind the counter, his dark eyes fixed on her with a smirk that was equal parts amused and intrigued.

“You sure you’re ready for another one?” he teased, his dark eyes flicking to the half-empty soda glass in her hand.

Sahuara tilted her head, her auburn hair spilling over one shoulder. “I think you know the answer to that.” She slid the glass across the bar. “Mix it with something fun this time.”

“You’re pushing it tonight,” he teased, sliding a freshly mixed rum and soda toward her.

Sahuara grinned, her full lips catching the dim light as she leaned forward to take the drink. The stretch caused her shirt to ride up slightly, revealing the delicate indentations of her tan lines disappearing beneath the top edge of her shorts. “I’m just getting started,” she quipped, raising the glass in a mock toast.

The first sip sent an electric spark through her chest, the bubbles racing down her throat. She tilted her head back, taking a longer pull, savoring the sharp sweetness and the warmth of the alcohol. The carbonation began its familiar creep, swelling her stomach like a balloon. She felt it rising, pressing against her ribs, but she ignored the discomfort, leaning into the sensation as she drained the glass.

Synn chuckled and reached for the rum, pouring a generous measure over ice before topping it off with soda. The fizz crackled as he slid it back to her. “You’re a glutton for punishment, you know.”

She shrugged, already lifting the drink to her lips. “What’s life without a little indulgence?”

Synn leaned on the bar, watching her with that same bemused expression. “You ever let it out, or do you just like torturing yourself?”

She shot him a playful glare, though her cheeks were already flushing. “I can handle it.”

He snorted, but didn’t argue, already reaching for another bottle. “One more?”

“You’re the best,” she purred.

Synn tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Let’s see how far you can go, then.” He reached for another bottle without waiting for her to finish her current drink, his hands moving with practiced ease.

Sahuara didn’t object. She downed the rum and soda in a few long pulls, the carbonation biting at her throat as it slid down. The familiar swell began almost immediately, her stomach rounding out as the bubbles expanded. She winced, pressing a hand to her midsection, but the discomfort didn’t stop her from accepting the next glass Synn slid her way.

“Another?” he asked, pouring more soda into the mix, the fizz rising dangerously close to the rim.

“You know me too well,” she purred, her voice tinged with a mix of drunken bravado and underlying tension.

The drinks kept coming. Her halter top began to strain against her chest, the fabric riding up with every sip. Her belly swelled, firm and tight, pressing against the low waistband of her shorts until the button strained dangerously. The hem of her top was now permanently bunched beneath her breasts, leaving her belly completely exposed. The glint of her double belly rings caught the light as her belly swelled even further, the skin stretched taut over the carbonation trapped inside.

She shifted uncomfortably on the stool, one hand resting on her growing tummy as if to soothe the pressure. Her low-rise denim shorts dug into her hips, the waistband cutting into her skin, but she ignored the discomfort, leaning into the sensation instead.

“You’re holding it all in again, aren’t you?” Synn’s voice was low, teasing. He leaned across the bar, his gaze lingering on her stomach.

Sahuara flushed but didn’t deny it. She had a habit of holding the carbonation in as long as possible, even as the pressure built to unbearable levels. The sensation was maddening—part pain, part pleasure—as her belly stretched and tightened, her skin warm under her own touch.

“Don’t stop now,” she challenged, finishing another glass and sliding it back to him with a shaky hand. Her breath hitched as her belly gave an audible groan, the sound muffled but impossible to ignore.

Synn obliged, pouring her another drink, his smirk unwavering. The tension between them hung thick in the air, the unspoken game continuing until her stomach looked nearly second trimester in size, her belly button slightly flattened from the strain. Her shirt was now completely bunched beneath her breasts, the fabric unable to stay in place. Her shorts, low as they were, were barely holding on, the waistband digging into her skin, now looked painted onto her hips, the waistband barely containing the swell of her belly.

“Last one,” Synn said, though they both knew he didn’t mean it.

Sahuara took the drink with both hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. The carbonation burned her throat, but she didn’t stop until the glass was empty. By now, the discomfort was overwhelming, her skin stretched so tight it felt like it might burst. But beneath the pressure was a growing heat, an insistent thrum that made her thighs press together.

“See you upstairs?” Synn asked, his tone light but loaded.

Sahuara only gave him a knowing smile before sliding off the stool, her belly leading the way as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment.

---

Upstairs

By the time she climbed the stairs to her apartment above the bar, her belly was taut, her shirt riding up to expose her glinting rings and the soft curve of her skin. She pressed a hand to the firm swell, feeling the pressure beneath her fingertips. A strange mix of discomfort and arousal coiled in her gut, the tightness making her hyperaware of every movement, every shift of fabric against her skin.

The moment the door clicked shut, Sahuara kicked off her shoes, she stumbled into her bedroom, the alcohol buzzing through her veins. Her mind felt loose, her inhibitions melting away as she flopped onto the bed. Her halter top riding up even further, bunching beneath her breasts, fully exposing her taut, rounded stomach, and she didn’t bother to tug it down. Her double belly rings gleamed in the soft moonlight filtering through the window, the cool metal pressing into her overheated skin. Instead, she ran her fingers over her swollen belly, the sensation sending shivers down her spine.

She groaned, her hands instinctively moving to her belly, her fingers tracing the swollen curve. Her breath hitched as her fingers brushed the edges of her rings, the cool metal a stark contrast to her flushed skin. She let her hand wander lower, her touch becoming bolder as her inhibitions slipped further. The discomfort from the carbonation twisted into something else, a pulsing heat that demanded attention. Every inch of her felt hypersensitive, the tightness in her skin amplifying every touch. The carbonation churned inside her, each gurgle sending a jolt of sensation straight to her core.

Her low-rise denim shorts dug painfully into her sides, the waistband cutting into her skin. She fumbled with the button, finally freeing herself with a relieved sigh as her belly pushed out even further. The release of pressure sent a shiver down her spine, the sensation both soothing and electrifying.

Her gaze flicked to the nightstand, where her favorite vibrator rested in the bedside drawer. The vibrator was already there, waiting. She reached for it without hesitation, her fingers trembling as she turned it on. The soft, low hum filled the room, a counterpoint to the pounding of her heart, and she let out a shuddering sigh as it touched her skin.

She started slow, running the vibrator over the taut surface of her belly. The vibrations sent ripples through her swollen belly, each one magnifying the heat pooling between her legs, amplifying the sensation in a way she hadn’t expected. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she pressed harder, the sensation of the firm pressure and the humming device unlocking something deep inside her.

Sahuara bit her lip, her hips arching off the bed as she moved the vibrator lower. The mixture of discomfort and pleasure drove her to the edge, the tightness of her body heightening every touch. For the first time, she surrendered completely to the strange, overwhelming sensations, letting them consume her until she shattered, her cries echoing in the empty apartment.

As she lay there, her body trembling, her swollen belly still taut and warm beneath her hands, she couldn’t help but smile. She had discovered something new about herself, and she wasn’t about to stop exploring.

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synned · 1 month ago

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Belly of the Coven

Chapter Seventeen

Dusk, Thorn, and Luna looked at Ty, exchanging a glance before finally revealing their true intentions.

“Ty,” Thorn said, her voice soft but direct. “We brought you here not just to enjoy your company but because… you’re to become our familiar. It strengthens our bond to Fraqis and gives her a way to directly touch the mortal realm.”

Dusk nodded, her expression sincere yet intense. “You… you’re meant to be with us. To share in our bond to her. To live this life of indulgence, of pleasure, with us.”

Ty’s expression hardened as their words settled over him. He felt anger surge within him, a bitterness at the revelation that he’d been drawn into something without his full understanding. “So, this whole time,” he said, his voice rough with hurt, “I was just… part of some plan? You didn’t bring me here because you actually cared, but because of her?” He cast a pained glance at Fraqis, who watched with calm amusement.

Each sister looked down, their heads bowed as he spoke, absorbing the pain of his disappointment.

Luna, still struggling to stand, reached a trembling hand toward him. “Ty, it’s not like that,” she said softly. “Yes, we brought you here with a purpose, but it’s… it’s more than that. We *do* care about you.”

“Everything we shared, everything we showed you—that was real,” Thorn insisted, her tone filled with earnestness. “You are part of something important, but that doesn’t mean our feelings weren’t real.”

Ty looked between them, his disappointment clear, the weight of their deception a painful realisation. He made his anger plain, his voice a low, controlled force as he made it clear how deeply he felt betrayed. Each sister bowed her head, accepting his words, the sorrow in their faces unmistakable.

But as Ty continued to look at each of them, memories of their time together surfaced. He remembered how they had cared for him, each sister in her own unique way—Dusk’s bold confidence, Thorn’s steady encouragement, Luna’s warmth and gentleness. They had shown him something he’d never felt before, a mixture of love and sensuality that left him feeling truly seen.

Resolute, Ty stepped forward, his heart pounding, and approached Fraqis. She looked down at him, between her massive breasts and the awesome curve of her round belly, her figure towering above him, her gaze intense and filled with a dark, chaotic energy that made him pause for a moment. But he pushed down his hesitation, knowing this was his choice to make. He wanted to stay with the sisters, even if this was the cost.

In a final, defiant act, he leaned forward and repeated the same gesture he had given Thorn and Luna earlier—pressing a gentle kiss to Fraqis’s belly, his lips lingering on her skin before his tongue traced a slow, reverent lick over her navel. He placed his hands on either side of her massive belly, attempting to hold its weight as he closed his mouth around her belly button, sucking softly, the intimate act one of total submission as he looked up at her, meeting her gaze.

Fraqis’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as the gesture sent a shiver through her. The chaotic energy in her gaze softened, her lips parting as a faint, involuntary gasp escaped her. The same effect he’d seen in Luna’s eyes was mirrored in Fraqis’s expression, a testament to the unexpected power of his touch.

Regaining her composure, Fraqis looked down at him, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. In a voice that echoed Luna’s words earlier, she murmured, “Oooh, that’s dangerous. Naughty.”

The sisters looked on in shock, their eyes wide at Ty’s boldness. Dusk, watching the exchange with an intrigued expression, absently ran a hand over her own rounded belly before her gaze shifted downward. A grin spread across her face as she massaged her own enormous breasts, pushing them together in her hands.

“So,” she murmured to her sisters, her voice filled with curiosity, “what’s the deal with this belly button play?”

Both Thorn and Luna bit their lips, their faces flushing as memories surfaced, but neither of them said a word, casting each other a quick, knowing look.

Dusk grinned, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked over at Ty. “Well, Ty,” she murmured, “you’d better be ready. I’m going to make you do that to me, too.”

---

This is Synn, we hope you have enjoyed this unabridged production of 'Belly of the Coven' by Synn.

This program was directed by No-Face, executive producer Dionysus, edited by Hansel & Gretel, text copyright 2024 by 5th Synn, Inc. Production Copyright, some guy in an apartment in a desert. All rights reserved.

Synn hopes you have enjoyed this program.

😅

I may revisit these characters in the future. Let me know if you all would like this.

If u can please I would love to be the subject of one of ur stuffing stories! I'm pretty new to the feedee game so maybe one where I'm taken in by some feedee sisters and trained in there ways? Or maybe u have an idea that u would want it to be if be great with that too!! I'm not super creative in writing but I know u are and live your stories cant wait to hear what u come up!

I don’t typically write my characters as men, but I’m definitely willing to give it a shot! In fact, I’m already brainstorming an idea as I write this. 🤔

If you have any particular sensations or specific things you’d like to see happen in the story, feel free to message me—I’d love to make it as close to your vision as possible!

Synn

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synned · 1 month ago

Text

A Hymn to Her Excess

For some odd reason, while writing this story, my mind kept wandering to Cassandra Clare. If that name rings a bell, she’s the “author” of the critically acclaimed Mortal Instruments series. (Feel free to Google her if you need a visual.) As a writer, I am also an avid reader, I keep up with book world drama—and trust me, there’s surprisingly A LOT of it.

Why the air quotes, you ask? Well, it’s rumored (with some pretty damning evidence, I might add) that her famous series, along with other stories, drew heavily from stolen online fanfic. Luckily for me, I don’t have to worry about accusations like that. I mean, let’s be real—there’s not exactly a mainstream market for feedism outside of TLC (I'm not even sure if that network is still on the air).

That said, if anyone is interested in turning these tales into the next big cultural phenomenon, have your peoples contact my peoples. I’m open to ideas. 😉

Now, let’s get into it.

Synn

---

The room was dim, its corners cloaked in shadows that danced along the walls like ghosts of better judgment. She sat at the head of the table, her throne a custom-made reinforced chair, the only piece of furniture in the house capable of enduring her weight and bulk. Her name was Cassandra, but to those who knelt before her, she was known simply as "The Lady of Indulgence."

Her dress—if it could still be called that—was a pitifully stretched remnant of fabric. The faded crimson material clung to her body like a desperate lover, the hem barely scraping the tops of her thighs before curling upward, surrendering to the immense curve of her belly. What once was a modest V-neck was now a neckline plunged into absurdity, her breasts swollen and heaving, spilling over the neckline with a defiant abundance. The straps of her dress strained against her shoulders, biting into her skin, threatening to snap with every heaving breath. Her waistband was a distant memory, rolled down beneath the cascading swell of her stomach, which surged forward like a tidal wave. The taut skin of her gut gleamed under the dim light, a sheen of sweat highlighting its swollen, overstretched surface.

She leaned back, the chair creaking ominously beneath her, and the curve of her back was a mirror image of the curve of her belly. Her spine arched dramatically, a testament to the weight she carried, and her enormous gut pressed forward, crushing her lap and forcing her thighs to spread wide. There was no other option; her body demanded space. Her belly rested heavily on her thighs, its weight shifting the balance of her posture, the underside faintly red from constant pressure. New stretch marks crisscrossed her skin like fresh scars from a battle well fought. They radiated out from her popped belly button, a proud marker of her triumph.

And her belly button—oh, that small but defiant detail—had popped outward days ago, unable to contain the girth of her gluttony. The moment it had given way was vivid in her mind. It was during the Feast of the Black Forest Cake. She had insisted on eating the entire triple-tiered monstrosity alone, forks and decorum abandoned as she dug in with her bare hands, shoving handfuls of rich, sticky cake into her maw. Each bite had been a battle of willpower, each swallow a victory, until, finally, with a stomach-cramping groan, her overstuffed gut surged outward. Her belly button popped like a champagne cork, the skin stretching so far it had reddened, itchy and tight, protesting against its abuse.

She hadn’t stopped. She couldn’t stop.

Now, her fingers danced over the mound of her belly, pressing and kneading the taut surface as though testing its limits. Her long nails traced the stretch marks like a cartographer mapping new territory, and she grinned darkly, her lips smeared with grease and chocolate. Her tongue darted out, licking the remnants of her last conquest from the corners of her mouth.

Her appetite was insatiable. The table before her groaned under the weight of her banquet: mountains of fried chicken, lakes of buttery mashed potatoes, towers of burgers dripping with cheese and sauce. She didn’t bother with utensils. Her hands were sticky with remnants of sauces and oils, and she tore into the feast like a predator, her chin glistening with the residue of her overindulgence.

Every bite was an act of worship—of herself, her hunger, her hedonism. She tilted her head back to chug a gallon of soda, the carbonation fizzing audibly as she guzzled it down. Her throat worked in rhythmic swallows, and her gut expanded further, pressing her breasts upward until they crowded against her chin. She moaned through a mouthful of food, her body quivering with satisfaction. The sound of fabric tearing brought her attention downward, and she laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, as the seams of her dress finally gave way entirely, the fabric sloughing off her like shed skin.

Her movements were deliberate and slow as she stood, the act a Herculean effort. Her swollen thighs jiggled as she shifted her weight, her belly leading the way like a wrecking ball. She waddled with difficulty, each step a swaying, unsteady motion, her body fighting gravity itself. Her hands cradled her belly, fingers sinking slightly into the soft, overburdened flesh. The weight of it made her gait exaggerated, her steps short and labored. The sway of her hips and the wobble of her gut were mesmerizing, a hypnotic rhythm of excess.

“Worship me,” she commanded, her voice dripping with authority. Her followers, kneeling at the edges of the room, did as they were told, their eyes fixed on her belly, her body, her triumph. Her swollen belly button stood proud, a beacon of her gluttony, her skin shiny and red with the evidence of her victory.

She grinned again, reaching for another plate. The feast wasn’t over. It never would be.

Worship her fat gut because she grew it for you.

Worship her fat gut because she grew it.

Worship her fat gut.

Worship her.

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synned · 1 month ago

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EAT, SLEEP, BLOG, REPEAT

To my dearest @tubbylittleslut, I hope you return to us very soon.

---

Her name was Tubby. No, it wasn’t her given name, of course. But it’s what everyone had come to call her, whether they dared to say it aloud or not. She liked the power of it, the way it made people pause, the way it stung. Her real name had long been forgotten, drowned out by the endless parade of food and indulgence that defined her very existence.

Tubby wasn't the type to care about what others thought of her. Why should she? The world was her buffet, and she took what she wanted with all the grace of a steamroller. Her blog—a grotesque diary of excess—captured her philosophy in life: Why stop when there's more?

Today, she wore her favorite outfit, if you could even call it that. A tattered, skin-tight shirt, barely clinging to her swollen frame. It had once been a regular t-shirt, but now it looked more like a scrap of fabric that refused to give up the fight. The fabric clung desperately to her breasts, straining to contain them as her massive belly pushed them higher and higher, nearly to her chin. The hem of the shirt was a joke—it constantly rode up, exposing the full, shiny curve of her belly. Her waistband had long ago surrendered, pushed down over her hips by the sheer force of her gut, which seemed to grow larger with each passing second.

Her belly was monumental, an entity all its own. It sagged forward in her lap, resting heavily on the seat beneath her, the weight of it forcing her to spread her thighs wide just to accommodate the mass. Her skin was taut, stretched to its limit, red and glossy under the overhead light. Fresh, angry stretch marks slashed across the sides of her belly like battle scars. The skin was so tight, it itched, but she didn’t care. Scratching it would just make it worse, she told herself, though her hand instinctively wandered to rub the underside of her gut as she shifted in her seat.

The sheer mass of her stomach seemed to pull everything else forward with it—her back arched dramatically, the curve of her spine mirroring the massive dome of her belly, each straining against the other. And then, in a grotesque symphony of overindulgence, her back popped audibly. The crack echoed through the room, sending a jolt of relief—and a strange kind of satisfaction—down her spine. The sound was harsh, but familiar, as if her body had learned to contort and yield to the monstrous size of her belly.

But Tubby wasn’t content to simply sit and gorge. No, she had a ritual, an intrusive impulse she could never quite resist. With a groan, she struggled to her feet, her belly swaying heavily with the effort. She spread her legs wide for balance, her severe waddle already taking over as her body compensated for the overwhelming mass. Her fingers gravitated toward her popped-out belly button, now jutting forward like a button on a balloon. With an almost mechanical determination, she hooked her finger under the protrusion and lifted her belly—hoisting it up with a grunt. The weight was tremendous, but Tubby reveled in it.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she dropped it. Her gut slammed down onto the plates she had just cleared, the force sending a faint clatter through the table. The sensation was a rush, her belly quivering with the impact, settling heavier than before. She basked in it—the growing weight, the pressure, the sensation of being fuller, bigger. She repeated this grotesque ritual after every plate, her belly pressing down harder each time, the discomfort growing—but so did her twisted pleasure.

Tubby never stopped simply because she was full or uncomfortable. Fullness was the beginning, not the end. Her hunger was an endless void, and her capacity for overindulgence knew no limits. It was ordinary for her to gorge herself until her body simply couldn’t keep up, her system shutting down in desperate need of rest to digest the monstrous amount of food. She would pass out mid-bite, fork or spoon still in hand, her belly so stretched that even in her sleep, it rose and fell with each labored breath.

When she awoke, hours later, the first thing she felt was the ache—the heavy, painful pressure in her overstuffed gut. But instead of stopping, instead of letting her body recover, Tubby would simply continue where she left off. Without skipping a beat, she’d shovel the next bite into her mouth, as if the hours of sleep and digestion had only been a brief pause in the endless symphony of gluttony.

Her blog was her pride. She posted obsessively, documenting each conquest, every plate cleared, and every inch her belly grew. It was a grotesque testament to her excess, a digital shrine to her hedonism. She wrote about the sensations in vivid detail—the stretch of her belly, the pressure on her skin, the pop of her belly button, the tightness of her clothes. Her followers devoured it, just as she devoured her food, reveling in the constant updates on her ever-expanding frame.

Each day was the same for Tubby. Eat, sleep, blog, repeat. And there was no stopping her. Not until her body finally gave up on her, crushed under the weight of her own overindulgence.

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synned · 1 month ago

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Burrito Brat

Bunny sauntered down the street with a purposeful waddle, each step sending ripples through her jiggling body. Her thick thighs rubbed together with each stride, and the waistband of her leggings, already too tight, had surrendered to the weight of her gut, pushed low beneath her hips. Her belly, huge and demanding, strained against the fabric of her too-small crop top, forcing it to ride up higher with every movement. It wasn’t so much a crop top as a band of fabric now, just barely hanging on for dear life beneath her breasts. Those, too, were a problem; large and heavy, they were practically shoved up to her chin by the sheer force of her gut pressing upwards.

The storefront of Synn’s burrito shop loomed ahead like a beacon of indulgence. Bunny's brattiness fueled her every step, the promise of greasy, meaty delight keeping her going. Her gut swayed heavily as her pace quickened, the rolls of her belly jostling with enthusiasm as she imagined the feast waiting for her. She licked her lips in anticipation, unconsciously tugging at the edge of her shirt, though it was a hopeless effort—there was no hiding the expanse of her pale, soft flesh as it spilled out for the world to see.

Synn, the owner, watched Bunny approach from behind the counter, eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. Bunny was his favorite patron. Not just because she was a regular—no, it was the show she put on. Every time, it was a spectacle of hedonism. She pushed boundaries, teased limits, all while demanding more. Synn knew exactly what Bunny wanted before she even stepped inside, and he was already preparing her usual as she shoved through the door.

“Look who’s wobbling in,” Synn teased, barely containing his grin as Bunny stomped up to the counter, her belly brushing the edge, pushing her breasts up even further as she leaned over slightly. “Thought you might have gotten lost.”

Bunny rolled her eyes, a bratty huff escaping her lips. “Shut up, you know why I’m here. Feed me.”

Synn’s eyebrow raised. He loved when she got demanding. “You’re lucky I was already making your burrito. Extra stuffing, just how you like it.” His voice dripped with mock sweetness, and Bunny gave a triumphant smile, her belly pressing harder into the counter as she shifted her weight, demanding attention.

She grinned back at him, biting her lower lip as she envisioned the mountain of food she was about to consume. "You know I expect perfection, Synn."

Synn just nodded, expertly wrapping the enormous burrito in not one, but two oversized tortillas, trying to contain the gluttonous amount of meat, cheese, and sauce packed inside. At 1.5 pounds, it was an almost impossible beast of a meal. But Bunny was no stranger to pushing herself, and Synn, indulging her, slid not one but two burritos across the counter.

"On the house today," he said casually, watching her eyes widen with greed.

Bunny didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed the first burrito, her fingers sinking into the soft flour tortillas. She leaned against the counter, her gut pressing down even harder, forcing her waistband to slide a little lower and her belly to spill out even more. The burrito was enormous, but Bunny attacked it with savage hunger, her cheeks bulging as she bit into it. Grease dripped down her chin as she shoved the food in faster than she could chew, moaning with pleasure between bites.

Her belly quivered with every movement, expanding further as she forced the food down. It groaned in protest, the already taut skin growing tighter as her stomach filled with rich, fatty meat and melted cheese. Bunny’s shirt, pushed to the brink, finally gave up. It rolled completely up over her breasts, leaving her gut fully exposed as it rounded out, pressing her breasts so high they nearly touched her chin.

Synn watched, arms crossed, leaning back as she gorged herself, her belly button deepening as her stomach swelled. Bunny’s moans grew louder, her bratty demeanor dissolving into raw, hedonistic pleasure as she stuffed herself. By the time she was halfway through the first burrito, her gut was so tight it looked like it might burst, yet she couldn’t stop. She was driven by pure gluttony, unable to control her need to keep pushing, keep eating. Her hands, slick with grease, reached for the second burrito.

She chugged water between bites, trying to make room, her belly wobbling as she greedily gulped down liquid. The added volume made her wince, but she grinned through the discomfort, loving every second of it. Her breathing grew labored as her belly stretched impossibly tight, her skin flushed with effort. She leaned back against the wall now, her gut jutting out in front of her like a massive, stuffed ball, almost painful, but in the best way.

Synn’s voice was a soft murmur behind her. "You really don’t know when to stop, do you?"

Bunny’s reply was a bratty smirk, sauce smeared across her cheek as she paused, barely able to breathe. “I stop…when I’m done.”

And done she would be—only after she had devoured every last bite.

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synned · 1 month ago

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Floral Skirts and Full Stomachs

Katy walked into the bustling diner, her belly leading the way with a gentle sway, the fabric of her white cami top clinging to the curve of her midsection. The soft cotton hugged her breasts, which sat high and full, the white material pulling tightly over her chest and gathering in soft wrinkles under the weight of her bust. Her cami ended just above her belly button, leaving a swath of exposed skin, a deliberate choice she made despite how her stomach spilled slightly over the waistline of her skirt.

Her belly button, adorned with a small silver ring, peeked out, catching the light as she moved. The delicate piece of jewelry swayed with every step she took, a quiet complement to the fullness of her stomach. Her bottom belly had a slight curve to it, soft and plush, pushing gently against the hem of her floral skirt. The skirt itself sat low on her hips, clinging precariously as though any more movement might push it lower. It was a vivid contrast to the white of her top, a flurry of colors and petals against her smooth, creamy skin.

Underneath her outfit, Katy wore a bright bikini, the straps occasionally visible when her top rode up or her skirt shifted. The bikini, barely concealed by the thin layers of fabric, pressed into her skin, especially around her hips and bust, reminding her of the indulgent day she was having.

The diner smelled of rich meats, fresh breads, and decadent sauces. Katy slid into the booth, eyeing the menu with a hunger that went beyond simple craving. It was the kind of hunger that whispered of indulgence, of more than enough, of hedonism in its most delightful form. She smiled to herself, her fingers grazing over her slightly bloated belly as she ordered far more than most would think necessary.

Plate after plate was set in front of her—thick slices of garlic bread smothered in melted butter, a towering lasagna oozing with cheese, bowls of creamy fettuccine Alfredo, and a side dish of mashed potatoes swimming in rich gravy. A large bowl of Caesar salad accompanied the spread, with crunchy croutons and shaved Parmesan. To wash it all down, Katy ordered a giant iced tea and a glass of rich red wine. Her hands moved methodically, fork to plate, spoon to mouth, as she fed her appetite with abandon. Her belly, once a gentle curve, began to swell with each bite. The soft mound of her stomach pressed further into the waistband of her skirt, threatening to roll over completely.

As she stuffed herself, Katy leaned back slightly, allowing her stomach room to expand. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her top, rising and falling with her heavy breathing, but her belly was the star of the scene. Rounder now, fuller, her belly stretched the skin tight, her belly button pushing outward slightly as if it were the center of her overindulgence. The ring in her navel glittered as she shifted in her seat, adjusting the waistband of her skirt to sit lower, giving her belly room to grow.

She wasn’t ashamed of the way her stomach filled out; in fact, she reveled in it. Every bite, every sip, brought her closer to that full, blissful state of overindulgence she so craved. Her fingers absentmindedly traced circles around her belly button as she reached for more food, a sensation she found oddly satisfying in her bloated state. Each mouthful was heavier, more satisfying, and with every swallow, she felt the swell of her belly intensify.

As Katy continued to gorge herself, her hips shifted in her seat, her butt pressing against the soft cushion of the booth. The curve of her backside, now more pronounced from the way her body softened with every indulgence, added to the overall fullness of her figure. Her floral skirt clung to her hips, the fabric straining as her belly expanded, but she didn’t mind the tightness. She embraced it, just as she embraced the sheer hedonism of the moment.

Chugging down her wine in slow, greedy sips, her throat worked rhythmically as the rich liquid filled the last remaining spaces in her stomach. Her belly was taut now, full to the point of aching, but she wasn’t finished. The gluttony, the need to push herself beyond mere fullness, drove her to continue, to consume until she could barely move.

As the last bite disappeared, Katy sighed, leaning back against the booth with a satisfied groan. Her hands rested on her belly, swollen and round, her fingers tracing the tight skin that stretched beneath her cami top. Her bikini pressed against her now, the straps biting into her bloated skin, but it was a small discomfort compared to the pleasure of being so completely, utterly stuffed.

Katy smiled to herself, reveling in her overindulgence, her belly a testament to the feast she had consumed, a symbol of her enjoyment of life’s pleasures without restraint.

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