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I’m already stuffed—my belly round, bloated, and aching from how much I’ve eaten—but I just can’t help myself. The way it feels… the way it looks… I’m addicted. Even though I know I should stop, I don’t. I won’t. I give in completely, succumbing to my gluttony, needing to feel myself stretch even more. I come back for seconds, piling more and more on, greedily shoving in bite after tiny bite. With every swallow, I can feel my stomach swelling, filling tighter, rounder… heavier. I rub my belly as it grows, feeling the pressure build, the weight of my own indulgence making me breathless—but it’s so satisfying. It’s like I’m growing right before your eyes, getting bigger and bigger, all because I just can’t stop stuffing myself full. I love how obscene I look—how greedy I am—how I just keep going until I’m absolutely bursting. By the end, I’m stretched to the limit, completely full, completely satisfied… and already thinking about how good thirds would feel.