synned

[synned]

To My Synners (Especially My Lovely Feedees),

Hey, my dear Synners! I hope you’re all indulging and enjoying life to the fullest. 😏 I wanted to take a moment to talk about something important that’s been on the rise lately. There’s been an uptick in accounts impersonating feedees and attempting to scam feeders, and it’s time we take action together.

If you come across an account that’s imitating either you or someone else, don’t hesitate to reach out to me or @feedismburnbook . All you need to send is the infringing account and the account of the actual feedee (they don’t even have to be a Tumblr user). If you really want to help, you can go the extra mile and gather every individual post link with infringing content and send those in too—that would be a huge help!

Thanks to some resources I have, I can contact Tumblr directly and usually get these accounts completely removed within 24 hours.

Remember, it’s all of our responsibility to keep this community safe and enjoyable for each other. Let’s work together to protect our space and ensure everyone can enjoy it freely, without the fear of scammers or imposters.

If you could reblog this post to help spread the word, it would make a real difference in keeping our community safe!

Stay indulgent, vigilant, and safe,

Synn

[synned]

desperately trying to gain weight

i've been trying to gain weight for months but nothing works😩😩 if anyone has any advice it'd be so amazing. i've been trying to gain weight for months but nothing works and i'm still just sick thin. i'm willing to do anything at this point

[synned]

@gutsluttsbelly ,

I saw someone impersonating one of my favourite follows and I took that personally.

REMOVED.

If it happens again, feel free to shoot me a message. If you come across an account that’s imitating either you or someone else, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.

All you need to send is the infringing account and the account of the actual feedee (they don’t even have to be a Tumblr user). If you really want to help, you can go the extra mile and gather every individual post link with infringing content and send those in too—that would be a huge help!

Thanks to some resources I have, I can contact Tumblr directly and usually get these accounts completely removed within 24 hours.

Stay indulgent, vigilant, and safe,

Synn

hey yall! someone is impersonating me the account looks exactly the same just with two y’s so be on the lookout and don’t interact with them please!

[synned]

Gluttony’s Gambit

The bar pulsed with the salty, humid energy of a beach town night, neon lights flickering over sunburned skin and sandy flip-flops. Kitty sat at the bar, a vision of hedonistic abandon, her bikini top a vivid crimson that strained against her full, heavy breasts. The fabric clung to her curves, the triangles of cloth barely containing her, with the edges digging into her soft flesh, leaving faint red marks. Her denim shorts, unbuttoned for that carefree, beachy aesthetic, hung low on her hips, the waistband pushed down by the gentle curve of her belly, which already hinted at her indulgent tendencies. The shorts were tight, the frayed hem cutting into the tops of her thick thighs, her ass spilling slightly over the edge of the barstool, round and plush. Her belly, soft and slightly rounded, pushed forward, forcing her breasts upward until they nearly brushed her chin with every breath. Her navel, a deep, shadowed slit, sat at the center of her exposed midriff, a tantalizing focal point.

Kitty was a force of gluttony, knocking back beers with a ferocity that turned heads. She’d tip a bottle back, her throat working in long, greedy gulps, draining each one in a single go. Foam dribbled down her chin, catching in the valley of her cleavage, and she’d laugh, wiping it away with the back of her hand. Her belly swelled with each chug, the skin tightening, growing taut as the liquid filled her. She was a portrait of overindulgence, her eyes glassy with the buzz of alcohol, her movements loose and languid.

Synn sat beside her, his gaze sharp and predatory, though his smile was all charm. He leaned in, his voice low and smooth. “Kitty, you gotta have a glass of water after every beer. Don’t want you waking up with a killer hangover, do we?” His tone dripped with faux concern, but his eyes were fixed on her belly, watching it bloom with every sip. He wanted her swollen, engorged, a hot, bloated mess—the prettiest, most overstuffed babygirl in the world. Kitty, oblivious, nodded eagerly, her trust in him absolute. She guzzled the water as greedily as the beer, unaware that Synn was orchestrating her descent into excess.

He kept the beers coming, signaling the bartender with a flick of his wrist as soon as Kitty slammed an empty bottle down. She matched his pace, her belly growing rounder, heavier, the skin stretching to accommodate the flood of liquid. After six beers and six waters, her waistband was shoved even lower, the denim biting into her hips, her belly now a pronounced dome that rested heavily against the edge of the bar. Her breasts, pushed up by the swell, pressed against her chin, making her giggle as she adjusted herself, unaware of how obscene she looked. Synn’s arm snaked around her, his fingers finding her navel, slipping inside the warm, tight slit. He wanted to feel her belly grow, to press against the tightening skin as it expanded into his hand.

Kitty, lost in the sensation, didn’t question his touch. Her feedee tendencies, which she thought were her dirty little secret, hummed beneath the surface, thrilled by the stretch of her belly. She held in her burps, swallowing them down to force her gut to swell more efficiently, her discomfort mingling with a twisted ecstasy. Synn noticed, his lips curling into a smirk as he watched her squirm, her face a mix of misery and bliss. Her belly groaned audibly, a low, strained sound, and she shifted on the stool, her thighs spreading wider to make room for the growing mass. By the thirteenth beer and water, her belly was a taut, heavy orb, resting on the seat between her spread thighs, the skin shiny and flushed. She was sloshed, her words slurring as she leaned into Synn, her flirtations overt and clumsy. “You’re so hot,” she mumbled, her hand pawing at his chest. “Take me to your place, Synn, please.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go, babygirl.” He helped her off the stool, and Kitty’s waddle was immediate and severe. Her belly, now a swollen, liquid-filled dome, threw off her balance, forcing her to sway with each step, her hips rolling exaggeratedly. Her shorts slipped lower, the unbuttoned waistband barely clinging to her hips, her bikini top straining as her breasts bounced with each labored step. Synn wrapped an arm around her, his hand splaying possessively over her belly, which looked pregnant, overdue, a grotesque parody of fertility. Passersby stared—some whispered, others pointed, their eyes lingering on the obscene curve of her gut. “Look at her,” one woman muttered, loud enough for Kitty to hear. “What’s she doing to herself?” Kitty’s cheeks burned, but the humiliation sent a shiver of arousal through her, her breath hitching as she leaned heavier into Synn for support.

At Synn’s condo, the air was cool and dim, a stark contrast to the sticky heat outside. Kitty stumbled into the kitchen, her waddle more pronounced, her belly sloshing audibly with every step. On the table sat two dozen donuts, their sugary glaze glistening under the fluorescent light. Kitty’s drunken eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands, squealing, “Oh my God, donuts! I love donuts!” Synn only nodded, his expression unreadable as she tore into the first dozen, shoving six into her mouth in a frenzy. Crumbs dusted her chest, glaze smearing across her lips as she moaned, her belly groaning under the added strain.

Synn set a gallon jug of heavy cream on the table, his voice coaxing. “Wash ‘em down, Kitty. You’re doing so good.” She grabbed the jug, tilting it back and gulping, the thick liquid coating her throat, spilling down her chin and soaking her bikini top. Her binge slowed, her belly protesting with deep, pained groans, the skin stretched to its limit. Synn sprang into action, his hands gentle but insistent, pushing donuts into her mouth. “Open up, babygirl,” he murmured, and Kitty, still oblivious, leaned back in her chair, submitting to the feeding. Her back arched, the curve of her spine mirroring the obscene swell of her belly, which now dominated her frame, a shiny, inflamed dome marked with fresh, angry stretch marks and raised veins. She clutched it with both hands, rubbing frantically to soothe the itching, burning skin, her moans a mix of pain and pleasure.

“You okay, Kitty?” Synn asked, his tone laced with mock concern. She shook her head, her voice trembling. “No, I’m… I’m so full, it hurts, but I love it. Please, Synn, more donuts. I need them.” Her eyes were wild, her gluttony overriding her body’s screams for mercy. Synn knew he should stop, but he didn’t. He fed her more, donut after donut, the heavy cream disappearing down her throat.

Halfway through the second dozen, Kitty shifted in her chair, her belly so overburdened it pressed against the table’s edge. She reached for another donut, her arm trembling, and as she swallowed a massive gulp of cream, her belly button popped out with a soft, audible pop. The once-deep slit was now a protruding nub, the skin around it red and taut, resembling the belly of a woman far past due. Kitty froze, tears welling in her eyes, but her voice was desperate. “More, Synn, please.” She was crying now, her body wracked with pain, but her desire was insatiable, a dark, unstoppable force.

Synn obliged, feeding her until the second dozen was gone, the entire gallon of cream vanished into her belly. She looked thirteen months pregnant, her gut a grotesque, overburdened sphere, the skin so tight it seemed it might split. Stretch marks crisscrossed it like lightning, the veins pulsing visibly beneath the surface. Synn stepped back, admiring his work, then smacked her belly hard, the impact sending a shockwave through the taut flesh. Kitty yelped, doubling over, her hands clutching her gut as pain radiated through her. He grabbed it again, shaking it violently, the sloshing contents making her whimper.

As she recovered, panting and trembling, Synn leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “You’re such a good feedee, Kitty.” The words hit her like a bolt of lightning, her foggy mind piecing together the night—the water, the beers, the donuts, his hands on her belly. She froze, her eyes wide, realization crashing through her drunken, gluttonous haze. Synn’s smile was dark, triumphant, and Kitty, still swollen and aching, knew she’d been played—her secret laid bare, her body pushed to its limits under his domineering hand.

[synned]

Reblog if you are a...

•feedist (feedee/feeder) •weight gain blog •FFA •FA •fat positive blog •anything feedism or fat related :)

I need more blogs to follow !

[synned]

The Hunger That Bites Back

It started with those cursed blueberry muffins, fresh from the oven, their golden tops speckled with sugar crystals that winked under the kitchen light. One bite, and the dam broke. Liza had been so good—forty pounds shed, her curves tamed into something society might call “acceptable.” She’d starved the beast inside, the one that craved excess, the one that whispered more in the dark. But those muffins? They were the devil’s handshake, and Liza, weak and ravenous, shook back.

Before the binge, Liza stood in her kitchen, her outfit a carefully curated lie. She wore a fitted white crop top, its hem grazing the tops of her high-waisted denim shorts. The top hugged her softened curves, accentuating her newly trim waist and the gentle swell of her hips. Her breasts, still full but less heavy after her weight loss, pressed snugly against the fabric, the faintest outline of her bra visible. The shorts, a size smaller than last year, clung to her thighs, their button just kissing her navel—a shallow, almond-shaped divot in her smooth, pale skin. Her outfit screamed control, a costume of restraint that barely contained the chaos beneath.

One muffin became three. Then a sleeve of Oreos, a half-jar of peanut butter scooped out with a spoon, a bag of stale tortilla chips, and a pint of rocky road ice cream she chugged straight from the carton, the cold cream sliding down her throat in hedonistic gulps. Her gluttony was a wildfire, each bite fueling her overindulgence. She tore through a loaf of white bread, slathering slices with butter and jam, cramming them into her mouth until crumbs rained onto her chest. Her belly, once flat, ballooned with each swallow, swelling into a taut, rounded dome. Her navel stretched, no longer a neat slit but a widened, shallow crater, the skin around it inflamed, shiny, and itching with fresh stretch marks—pink and raw, crisscrossing like lightning. Raised veins pulsed faintly beneath the surface, a map of her surrender. Her breasts, engorged from the pressure below, strained against her top, their weight pulling the fabric taut. Her butt, already plump, pushed against the seams of her shorts, the denim creaking as she shifted. She was a monument to overeating, a temple of stuffing, her body screaming for more even as it begged for mercy.

By midnight, Liza collapsed onto the couch, a wreckage of crumbs and shame. Her crop top had betrayed her, riding up to expose the lower curve of her bloated belly, the skin red and glistening. Her shorts’ waistband, shoved low by the sheer mass of her gut, dug into her hips, the button long popped. Her belly, a heavy, overfull orb, pushed her breasts upward, their swollen curves nearly grazing her chin. She was a vision of excess, her body no longer her own but a slave to the beast within.

The thought of needing more—needing someone to feed this hunger—clawed at her. She scrolled X late at night, lurking in corners where people confessed their darkest desires. Posts about feeders, gainers, the thrill of letting go. One username caught her eye: Synn. His profile was bare, just a single line: “I make hunger obey.” No photo, no fluff. Just power. She messaged him before she could think, her fingers trembling: I can’t stop. I need… help.

His reply came within minutes. Help? No. You need control. Meet me. Tomorrow. 8 PM. The diner on Broadway. No question, no negotiation. Just a command. Liza’s heart thudded, half fear, half thrill. She should’ve deleted it, blocked him, gone back to her kale smoothies and denial. But the beast inside purred, and she was already lost.

The diner was a grease-stained relic, all chipped Formica and flickering neon. Liza sat in a corner booth, her sundress too tight after last night’s binge. She felt exposed, like prey. At 8:01, he walked in. Synn. Tall, broad, with eyes like a storm cloud and a smirk that said he already owned her. He slid into the booth, his presence filling the space like smoke. “You’re Liza,” he said, not a question. “You’re starving.”

She nodded, throat dry. He didn’t bother with small talk. A waitress appeared, and he ordered without looking at the menu: burgers, fries, milkshakes, pie. Enough for a family of five. Liza’s stomach growled, traitor that it was. “I’m not… I don’t know if I can,” she stammered.

“You will,” he said, voice low, unyielding. “You didn’t message me to play coy. You want this. The greed. The fullness. You want to be fed.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “And I’m going to make sure you choke on it.”

The food arrived, a mountain of calories and sin. He didn’t ask permission. He picked up a fry, dipped it in the shake, and held it to her lips. “Open.” Her mouth obeyed before her brain could protest. The first bite was electric, the salt and sugar a hymn to her ruin. As she ate, her belly swelled further, forcing her to spread her thighs wide to accommodate its bulk. The taut, shiny dome rested heavily on the edge of the diner seat, its weight pinning her in place. Her back arched instinctively, the curve of her spine mirroring the obscene arc of her gut, each vertebra straining to support her gluttony. He didn’t stop. Fries, bites of burger, spoonfuls of pie—each one a command, each one a surrender. Her stomach protested, but he only smirked. “More,” he said, and she obeyed, tears pricking her eyes as the fullness became pain, then something else—pleasure, dark and twisted.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his hand resting on her swollen belly, pressing just enough to make her gasp. “That’s what you are. Not some skinny little doll. You’re mine to feed, to fill, to break.” His voice was a whip, and she wanted to be lashed.

By the time they left, Liza could barely move. Her belly, a grotesque, overfilled balloon, throbbed with every step, its skin screaming with new stretch marks and pulsing veins. She waddled severely, each step a laborious sway, her hips rolling to compensate for the weight of her gut. Her back arched dramatically, the curve of her spine a perfect echo of her belly’s obscene swell. Her sundress clung to her like a second skin, its hem riding up to expose the angry, inflamed flesh. Synn didn’t ask if she’d see him again. He just handed her a card with an address. “Tomorrow. 7 PM. Bring your hunger.” Then he was gone, leaving her swaying in the diner’s parking lot, her body heavy, her soul heavier.

Liza drove home, her seatbelt slung low under her engorged belly, the strap digging into her hips. The driver’s seat was pushed back as far as it would go and reclined to make room for her gut, but the swollen, shiny dome still pressed insistently against the steering wheel, its bulk an unyielding reminder of her surrender. The beast inside roared with triumph. She’d wanted a man to feed her kink, and she’d found one. But as she collapsed onto her bed, her belly aching, she realized something: she hadn’t just found a feeder. She’d found a predator. And God help her, she was ready to be devoured.

[synned]

Wow…

I don’t usually do this, but something about this situation doesn’t sit right with me. I messaged you on February 5th to ask when would be a good time to connect. You replied very late that night or early in the morning of February 6th/7th, while I was busy working. I responded later that morning on February 7th. You had mentioned the weekend of February 7th–9th, but I didn’t hear back from you at all during those days. I followed up multiple times afterward and only got a one-word response from you on February 22nd—nothing since then. This feels especially off considering I sent you money a few years ago, after which you completely ghosted me. And yet, I’m the one you’d call ‘all talk, no real action’?

I’ve been messaging you on Telegram.

We have stuffing to do.

Which will never happen cause you never send anything anyway all talk no real action thanks bye

[synned]

@belchingjennaeats, thank you so much for your support! I’m thrilled that you finally had the chance to check out my work. You’re very welcome—I truly appreciate your enthusiasm. I’d love the opportunity to feature you more in my writing. Please feel free to send me a message whenever you have a moment to chat. For an extra bit of fun, try rereading it while chugging your favorite drink and giving your tummy a little rub and shake for me!

Yours in indulgence,

Synn

Got told my burps were unladylike. This piggy can’t help it. I’m too full to care.

[synned]

could you write a story where a woman rips her uniform at an office job with alot of teasing

Hello.

Been in a different head space.

I actually have idea I can mesh this with.

I’ll try to get it out within the week.

Message me with any specific details you have in mind.

[synned]

Due for a reblog.

Do You Ever Write the Smut Part?

Great question! In my stories, I intentionally try to keep things relatively tame. The reason? Some of my readers may be younger, and I want to ensure my content remains accessible and respectful to all members of my audience.

Let’s face it—most of us discovered this world in our mid-teens (I know I did). Keeping that in mind, I choose to focus on the themes and scenarios without crossing into explicit territory. It’s important to me that my stories can be enjoyed by a wide range of readers, no matter where they are in their journey.

Now, before anyone jumps into the comments with opinions, let me preemptively address it: No, I’m not encouraging minors. I simply choose not to be ignorant of the reality that younger people may stumble across my work. I prefer to remain conscious of my potential audience and create content that’s mindful of that.

This isn’t up for debate, and I ask for your respect on this matter. Just as I strive to be respectful of all members of my audience, I hope you can extend the same courtesy to me.

Thanks for understanding—and for always supporting my writing!

Synn

[synned]

A Feast of Comfort

"Do you think I got huge?" Chloe asked herself, reclining on the oversized couch in her living room, surrounded by the remnants of her evening of indulgence. The soft glow of fairy lights strung along the walls illuminated her relaxed figure. Her maroon sweater stretched tightly over her torso, clinging snugly to her generous curves. The sweater, once an oversized favorite, now seemed to struggle against the ample swell of her form. The hem barely brushed the waistband of her pajama pants, leaving a sliver of her soft, rounded belly exposed—a tantalizing curve peeking out with each breath.

The fabric of her sweater creased around her full breasts, emphasizing their plush shape as they pressed against the knit material. The maroon tone brought out the warmth in her skin, highlighting the glow that seemed to radiate from her as she indulged in another sip of hot cocoa, the whipped cream mustache on her upper lip a playful reminder of her evening's decadence.

Her belly was the undeniable centerpiece of her transformation, a soft, round expanse that pressed forward against her sweater. The strain of the fabric revealed every gentle curve, the faint indentation of her belly button teasingly visible beneath the maroon knit. Each time she shifted, the sweater rode up slightly, exposing more of the pale skin of her abdomen, which bore the faintest pink flush from the heat of the room.

Her pajama pants, once loose and flowing, now hugged her hips and thighs in a way that accentuated her generous proportions. The elastic waistband had stretched to its limit, dipping slightly beneath the swell of her belly and framing her hips and round, full butt. The faint pattern of stars on the fabric was distorted, stretched wide across her curves, giving them a whimsical, almost surreal look.

The table before her was a testament to her hedonistic feast. Empty plates and bowls formed a chaotic tableau: remnants of pasta coated in creamy alfredo sauce, the last crumbs of a large garlic bread loaf, an empty ice cream tub, and wrappers from chocolate bars she had torn into with abandon. Chloe had lost track of how much she had consumed—what began as a simple dinner had turned into an evening of gluttony.

She licked her lips, savoring the salty-sweet residue of her last indulgence, a thick milkshake she had chugged down with an almost primal eagerness. Her stomach groaned softly, but she only chuckled, resting her hands atop her full belly, her fingers splayed to take in its size. She gave it a gentle rub, a soothing motion as if to coax it into making space for more.

“Just a little more,” she whispered to herself, her voice a mix of satisfaction and mischief. Her gaze fell on the last untouched box of pastries—a dozen cream-filled éclairs that she had eyed earlier but saved as the grand finale. She leaned forward, her belly pressing firmly against her thighs, and grabbed the box.

As she bit into the first éclair, the rich cream spilling onto her lips, a satisfied sigh escaped her. Her sweater rode up even further as she leaned back again, leaving her belly completely exposed. It rested heavily in her lap, its rounded curve undeniable evidence of her overindulgence. Her breaths came slower, deeper, as she continued to eat, the act itself becoming as pleasurable as the taste of the food.

Her enjoyment was shameless, uninhibited. She reveled in the sensation of fullness, the warm pressure in her stomach a comforting reminder of the night’s excess. Chloe didn’t just eat—she celebrated every bite, every sip, every indulgence as a gift to herself. This was her sanctuary, her moment of unbridled hedonism, and she embraced it fully.

As she finished the last éclair, her eyes fluttered closed. Her hand rested atop her belly, now taut and round, her belly button stretched into a slight oval from the fullness beneath. The maroon sweater was forgotten, scrunched up around her ribs, leaving her in the embrace of her indulgence. Chloe let out a satisfied hum, her lips curling into a soft smile. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of her own body and the lingering taste of her overindulgent feast.

[synned]

Nice Belly

This story is more tame than some of my others, but it holds a special place in my memory. It's based on an actual moment from my life, a fleeting exchange that stuck with me—funny, a little awkward, and unexpectedly sweet. Writing it down felt like reliving the experience, but with the chance to see it play out in all its little details.

Told from my perspective, this story captures how a seemingly random compliment and a simple gesture can spark a moment worth remembering. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

---

Synn leaned against the equipment cart, trying to look casual as he adjusted the headset on his ear. The crew bustled around him, preparing for the upcoming live event. Cables snaked across the floor, screens flickered with test images, and the low hum of excited chatter filled the air. But none of that mattered to him.

His eyes were fixed on one person: Avriana.

She moved with a confidence that was hard to miss. Her long, curly hair bounced as she walked, and the fitted crop top she wore today revealed more than Synn had ever seen. She always looked amazing, effortlessly pulling off the stagehand attire, but today was different. The crop top hugged her curves, showcasing her soft, thick midriff. Her soft belly, unashamed and perfectly round, was a sight to behold, and—his heart skipped a beat—a silver belly ring glinted under the bright lights.

Synn had always known Avriana was curvy, her body voluptuous and alluring in all the right ways. But this was the first time he’d ever seen her show any skin. The sight of her soft belly, adorned with that small, glistening ring, sent a thrill down his spine. He had a thing for belly rings, always had, and seeing Avriana with one ignited something in him. And then there were her glasses—simple, black frames that rested perfectly on her nose. He had a weakness for glasses too, and on her, they were irresistible.

He tried to focus on his work, adjusting the lighting and checking the equipment, but his gaze kept wandering back to her. She was directing a group of techs near the stage, her eyes sharp behind her glasses as she focused on the setup, her lips curled into a slight, natural smile as she nodded at their progress.

As he watched, Avriana lifted a water bottle and began chugging, tilting her head back as she took long sips. In that moment, she glanced over and caught his gaze. She waved, her expression friendly and warm, and Synn’s heart did a little flip. He straightened up, his nerves buzzing, and greeted her.

“Hey, Avriana, you look nice today.”

Avriana smiled, lowering her water bottle. “Thanks, Synn!” she replied cheerfully, still oblivious to his lingering gaze on her soft belly.

Without missing a beat, and feeling a surge of boldness, Synn added, “Nice belly.”

For a split second, she paused, an almost imperceptible moment where her eyes met his, as if processing the unexpected comment. Then, she laughed, the sound bright and genuine, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. “Thanks!” she said, as if it was just another compliment in their lighthearted exchange. “You’re funny.”

Synn felt his cheeks warm, but he was relieved she hadn’t taken it the wrong way. He grabbed a packet of her favorite snack—a bag of jerky he always kept handy for moments like these. “Figured you might like a snack,” he said, trying to play it cool.

Avriana’s face lit up as she accepted the jerky with a grateful grin. “You know me too well,” she laughed, tearing open the bag. “This is perfect. Thanks!”

She had no idea, he realized. No idea how much he noticed every detail about her, from the way her glasses would slide down her nose to how her soft belly peeked out just enough for him to glimpse that silver ring. And maybe that was okay. For now, he was just happy to be near her, offering small moments like these.

As they stood there, sharing a quiet moment amidst the chaos of the production, Synn watched as she took a bite of the jerky, her eyes bright and focused elsewhere. And even though she seemed completely unaware of the effect she had on him, he couldn’t help but think that one day, he might find a way to let her know.

But for now, he’d take every wave, every snack shared, and every glance he could get. Because for Synn, that was more than enough.

[synned]

Endless Summer Indulgence

Bella sprawled out on the golden sands of the beach, the sun's warmth wrapping around her like a loving embrace. The sky above was a brilliant expanse of blue, dotted with a few fluffy clouds that drifted lazily, just as she intended to do all day. She tugged at her lime-colored bikini, adjusting it over her curves, feeling the way the fabric hugged her soft body. The color popped against her sun-kissed skin, drawing the eyes of passersby as it highlighted every swell and dip of her voluptuous figure.

Her belly, round and soft, rose and fell with each slow breath, creating a mesmerizing rhythm. The double belly rings—one a sparkling green gem, the other a delicate silver hoop—glinted in the sunlight, accentuating her full, plush middle. She traced her fingers around her navel, feeling the rings shift slightly with the movement of her skin. It was a reminder of how much she adored her own hedonistic tendencies, especially on days like these.

Laid out beside her was a feast that could rival any buffet. It was her day of pure indulgence, and she intended to savor every moment, every bite. A tray of tacos, each loaded with cheese, meat, and guacamole, was the first to disappear. She chomped into one, the flavors bursting in her mouth as juices dripped down her chin. She licked her lips and reached for another. And another. The pleasure of each mouthful sent shivers down her spine, her belly beginning to swell just a little more with each bite.

Bella’s breasts, full and soft, threatened to spill from the confines of her bikini top as she continued her feast. The fabric stretched, the lime green straps pressing into her sun-warmed skin. She grabbed a large soda, the condensation cool against her fingers, and took a long gulp, the fizzy sweetness quenching her thirst momentarily. But it was never enough—she craved more, needed more. Her hand moved automatically to the platter of fries, and she stuffed a fistful into her mouth, chewing with abandon.

With every bite, every sip, her belly expanded, inch by inch. It wasn’t long before she felt the tightness of her bikini bottom digging into her sides, but she didn’t mind. She loved the sensation, loved knowing her body was growing, becoming fuller and softer with each indulgence. The double belly rings shifted as her stomach rounded, the metal cool against her warm skin.

She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the swell of her belly. It was firm now, a testament to the quantities of food she had consumed, but she grinned and reached for the tub of ice cream she had chilling in a cooler. Lifting the spoon, she heaped a large scoop into her mouth, the cold, creamy sweetness melting against her tongue. She groaned in delight, feeling the heaviness settle further in her stomach.

“Just one more bite,” she whispered to herself, but even she knew it was a lie. She couldn’t stop—didn’t want to. The feeling of her belly growing tighter, pushing against the limits of her bikini, sent a thrill through her. Her body was a temple of pleasure, and today, she was its high priestess.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, her hand wandered to her belly, now a heavy, stuffed mound, full and content. She rubbed it slowly, feeling the softness and the weight, her fingers brushing the rings that adorned her navel. Her double belly rings sparkled, a symbol of her indulgence and her love for every curve, every soft inch of her body.

Chugging the last of her soda, she let out a satisfied sigh. Her belly sloshed slightly, full of fizzy sweetness and all the indulgences of the day. She ran a hand down the curve of her hips, her soft butt pressing into the sand beneath her as she shifted to a more comfortable position. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun’s warmth dance across her skin, the pleasant ache of fullness pulsing in her middle.

There was no rush, no end to her pleasure. This was her world—sun, sand, and endless indulgence. And she savored every bite, every moment, letting her body bask in the hedonistic delight of overindulgence. Bella smiled, knowing there would always be another feast, another day of pure, unadulterated bliss on the beach.

[synned]

To My Synners: Where I’ve Been

Okay, what happened? Where have I been? Funny story...

On Christmas Day (of all fucking days!), I went to log into Tumblr only to find that my blog had been terminated without notice. Just like that, hundreds of stories gone in the blink of an eye. To say I was crushed would be an understatement.

Naturally, I contacted Tumblr immediately. No response. I followed up. Still no response. I followed up every single day until, finally, this morning, I got an email from Tumblr. Their response? "Our bad, we reinstated you."

Not gonna lie, I was elated—but wow, what a rollercoaster! Now, I’m working diligently to back up my stories in case this ever happens again. Lesson learned. I still have a flagged story that I’m trying to get an appeal on, but for now, I’m just grateful to be back.

I’ve missed every single one of you, and I can’t wait to get back to sharing stories with you all.

Stay tuned, Synners—I’m back.

Yours in indulgence, Synn

[synned]

Bella's Day of Indulgence

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the crowded beach. Waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, their salty mist mingling with the scent of suntan lotion and the smoky aroma wafting from distant beachside grills. Among the swaying palms and colorful umbrellas, Bella lay sprawled on a large, plush beach towel, her body sinking comfortably into the sand’s warmth.

Bella was a vision of hedonistic beauty. Her nude-colored black acid wash bikini hugged her curves, accentuating the softness of her figure. The bikini top struggled to contain her full, rounded breasts, which swayed gently each time she adjusted her position. Her skin glistened with a light sheen of oil, highlighting the dimples and soft folds of her belly. It was a belly that spoke of indulgence and freedom—smooth yet marked with ripples and dimples of cellulite that caught the sunlight. She had decorated her navel with two sparkling belly rings, the silver hoops glinting playfully with each breath she took.

She stretched lazily, feeling the sun kiss her skin. Her fingers traced absentmindedly over the soft swell of her stomach, enjoying the sensation of her skin beneath her fingertips. It was a belly that told stories—of nights filled with feasting, of mornings spent sipping rich, sugary coffees, and of moments like this, lounging in pleasure.

Bella’s eyes sparkled as she reached for the cooler beside her. It was filled to the brim with a feast of delights: sandwiches layered thick with meats and cheese, tubs of creamy pasta salad, and bags of crunchy chips. She pulled out a bottle of fizzy soda, unscrewing the cap and tilting it back, letting the cold liquid flood her mouth. She drank deeply, the cool fizz pooling in her belly, making her feel delightfully full.

She set the bottle aside and dove into the cooler again, this time pulling out a sub—thick with layers of roasted meats, cheese, and tangy sauce. With a grin, she sank her teeth into it, savoring each bite. The flavors exploded on her tongue as she chewed slowly, feeling the satisfaction spread through her. Bite after bite, she devoured the sandwich, pausing only to sip from her drink. As she ate, she felt her belly swell, filling with the rich, heavy meal.

With a sigh of contentment, she laid back, resting her hands on the curve of her belly, feeling the fullness settling in. She traced the lines of her double belly rings, letting the cool metal soothe her skin. Her belly rose and fell with each breath, the soft curves pushing against the fabric of her bikini. She loved this feeling—the sensation of being so deliciously, decadently full.

But her indulgence wasn’t done. Bella grabbed a bag of chips next, tearing it open and crunching through the salty, crispy morsels. Each bite made her feel more satisfied, more deeply content. She chugged her soda again, the liquid washing down the chips and settling in her belly. She could feel it growing heavier, the food piling up inside her, pressing against her skin, but she loved every moment.

People passed by, some glancing at her with smiles, others with curious eyes. She didn’t mind; Bella was in her element, basking in the pleasure of overindulgence. Her body was her canvas—her belly, breasts, and butt all softened by years of unrestrained enjoyment. Her belly pushed against the waistband of her bikini bottoms, and she adjusted them slightly, letting her fingers sink into the soft flesh as she did.

The afternoon slipped by in a haze of hedonism. Bella feasted and lounged, alternating between bites of rich, sugary desserts and sips of her favorite soda. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows, but she remained sprawled on her towel, savoring the moment. Her belly was round and heavy now, pressing outwards, and she reveled in its fullness, a testament to her day of gluttony.

Her double belly rings glinted under the soft light of the setting sun, a small, shining reminder of her love for excess and the pleasures of a day well spent. She stretched once more, her fingers trailing over her rounded belly, satisfied in both body and spirit. For Bella, there was no greater joy than this—living in the moment, embracing her body, and savoring the endless delights life had to offer.

[synned]

A Feast Fit for Her

Bella lounged in the plush restaurant booth, her pink, off-the-shoulder bodycon maxi dress hugging every curve. The dress was a daring choice—corset lacing stretched from just above her belly button to her neckline, attempting to hold her in but clearly struggling against her appetite. She grinned, plump lips shimmering under the soft lighting, and pouted at her date with that signature bratty flair.

"You're not done with me yet, are you?" she teased, tapping the table with her manicured nails as another platter of food arrived.

The table was already crowded with empty plates, but Bella was undeterred. She had a taste for excess, a thrill for indulgence that bordered on hedonistic. Her belly, round and soft, had steadily pushed against the limits of her dress all night. It rode up slightly with every bite she took, revealing a teasing glimpse of her belly button adorned with a sparkling bottom belly ring.

She leaned forward, her ample chest pressing upward as her belly settled heavily onto her lap. The fabric of her dress, desperately clinging to her curves, rode higher, and she gave it a playful tug back down. But it was no use—her belly, now full and rounded, demanded all the room it could get, and even her thighs had to spread wide just to accommodate its weight.

With each bite, Bella's back arched, the curve of her spine matching the soft, generous curve of her belly. She knew her posture was dramatic, but she didn’t care. She reveled in the attention, her chin almost touching her breasts as they were pushed upward by the swell of her middle. She took a long sip from her drink, her throat moving rhythmically as she chugged, the liquid disappearing into the growing fullness of her stomach.

Bella glanced down at her belly, a pleased grin spreading across her face. She loved the sight—the way it pressed out, round and taut, resting comfortably on her lap like a queen’s prize. Her legs, spread apart, cradled the mass as she settled deeper into the plush seat.

When she finally rose, the task was anything but graceful. Her back, still arched, formed a dramatic curve that balanced the weight of her belly, causing her to sway and waddle. Her thighs moved apart as she adjusted her dress one last time, its fabric pulling taut over her ample backside. Each step was deliberate, and she felt every eye in the room watching her exaggerated movement. She loved the attention.

"Come on," she called, swaying her hips with exaggerated confidence, even as her belly jiggled slightly. "I'm not done with this night yet."

Bella was the epitome of indulgence, and she savored every second of it.

[synned]

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…