paco123345

[paco123345]

You can see my button holding on for dear life 😈

[paco123345]

[paco123345]

RedSanctum

[paco123345]

RedSanctum

[paco123345]

RedSanctum

[paco123345]

RedSanctum

[paco123345]

[paco123345]

[paco123345]

[paco123345]

[paco123345]

RedSanctum

[paco123345]

[paco123345]

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[paco123345]

I am so turned on by the concept of being constantly full.

I want to re-train my appetite so that the moment I am even the slightest bit less than absolutely stuffed, I get hunger pangs. And then I immediately stuff myself back up again.

I fantasize about drifting through the day in a constant state of stuffed bliss. My belly permanently bloated and straining against my clothes, puffing out around my middle. I’m always kind of food-stupid and dazed. I’m able to fall asleep anywhere, anytime (and I do) but I always wake up slightly less full. My brain interprets that as desperate hunger, and I proceed to eat way more than I need, which sends me right back into a food coma again. A delightfully vicious cycle, one that helps me get chubbier and chubbier.

Anytime I move, sit up, or change position, my tummy gurgles and rumbles, trying to adjust to its rich and heavy burden. I burp constantly, and maybe at first I try to be delicate about it, cover my mouth and mumble “excuse me,” but sometimes they just slip out, too fast and too loud to be concealed. Or I’m too blissed-out to care or even realize how I sound. In fact, I guiltily enjoy the constant burping, as each flavorful, fragrant belch reminds me of the most recent delicious fatty goodness I stuffed myself with.

But I don’t always fall asleep. No, more often the constant fullness leaves me in a half-awake stupor. My reflexes are dangerously slow. My brain moves at a molasses pace, and my body moves even slower, shifting only to adjust my gut, breathing shallow to accommodate my eternally stuffed belly.

Just…. constant fullness. Is so good.

[paco123345]

Mathew Summer

[paco123345]

Miguel Castro

[paco123345]