Kompera
patreon
Gingerbread House V
🕑 Added 2022-04-30 18:53:07 +0000 UTCNote: This is a story-prompt for imposter_dude.
-
Emma awoke in the middle of the night to her stomach grumbling. Despite her best efforts, she just couldn’t manage to sleep through it.
She lay there on her side as her hunger grew incrementally worse till the grumbling was relentless, and her belly had started to ache. She could only tolerate an hour of this before she heaved herself up, breathing heavily. She just needed a snack, then she would go back to sleep. Emma shifted herself to the edge of the bed, and after taking a moment to brace herself, heaved herself up to her feet. Once she was standing, her hands flew down to her abdomen, clutching at it in an effort to support it. She took another few moments to catch her breath, before she began a slowly rock to the door, down the hall, and into the kitchen.
Fortunately for Emma, there was always something to eat. Some food or snack, already prepared in the fridge or cupboard. Emma opened the fridge door and regarded everything for a moment. She finally reached inside and removed a large ceramic pot. Before she returned to the table, she also snagged the pan of homemade chocolate donuts that were still cooling in the oven.
Even herself down in a chair at the kitchen table, Emma felt her belly sink against her lap, and couldn’t help enjoying the sensation of the round mound squashing between her thighs and torso. Just perched there, huge and round.
Much as she fought it, Emma could feel her resolve progressively crumbling. She couldn’t deny how right this all felt. She loved being full, and round, and stuffed to the brim with food. She loved the increasing heaviness of her body when she woke up every morning. She loved eating. It had possibly become her favorite thing. There was nothing better than stuffing her belly until it was full, then forcing even more down, until she was uncomfortably bloated, then painfully tight. So why did it have to be so wrong? All her life, she had been the perfect, responsible role model to her younger siblings. But Emma wondered if she could toss that expectation aside. Maybe she could just do what she liked, for once.
Emma removed the lid from the pot. Inside was a mountain of potato salad, several pounds of it, a mixture of potato, mayonnaise, dressings, vegetable, and boiled egg with just a hint of sweetness. It was more of a side dish than anything else, but like everything Annette created, it was absolutely delicious.
Emma dug in, not even having the patience to retrieve a spoon. She used her bare hands, scooping up globs of the potato salad and shoving it into her mouth, appreciating how soft and chewable it was, how easy it was to gulp down, and rapidly. She felt it lurch down her throat and into gut. She paused only to breathe, before filling herself more.
It was almost fetishistic. This newly found love for food. She ate until she took the edge of softness off her belly, and the potato salad was done, but she wasn’t nearly sated. Emma turned her attention to the large donuts. There were about a dozen. It wasn’t much, but Emma made short work of those as well, forcing them into her mouth, hardly even needing to chew because of their softness. It was even more delicious than the potato salad. Emma didn’t know how Annette did it, but her food was addictive.
After that, Emma returned to the fridge, retrieving dishes one by one. There was some cold pasta, leftover ham, some extra-large meatballs, and in the cupboard, Emma retrieved a bag of rolls, homemade potato chips, sugar cookies, and freshly baked bread. She ate until the sun rose.
“Oh dear,” Annette’s voice snapped Emma out of her trance.
Emma looked up, only then becoming cognizant of the food that coated her hands, face, and clothing. She looked down at the half empty tub of caramel ice him she had been working her way through.
Emma’s belly ached, her gut uncomfortably tight, and firm. She quickly covered her mouth, fearing that she might retch, but instead a belch emerged.
Annette hurried over, rubbing her back. “You have quite the appetite this morning,” and it said, looking positively gleeful. “Why don’t I make you a nice big breakfast?”
Emma nodded her assent. She would not refuse food anymore. She didn’t even think she could.
