Late Night Feast
by Anon123
by Anon123
I roll my body out of bed and slip my feet into the soft slippers on the floor. Careful not to wake Edward sleeping next to me, I heave myself up and the floorboards creak under my weight. I trip over an empty box of marzipan chocolates and dozens of wrappers fly around my feet. Maria will pick them up in the morning. I walk heavily down the stairs and into the kitchen.
The fridge emits a faint glow and I tingle with the prospect of what I am about to do. My pudgy hand quietly prises open the door and the light of the fridge shines onto my grinning face. The shelves are, as usual, packed with decadent treats. My eyes linger on an entire chocolate devil’s cake with thick black icing. Careful not to make a sound, I take it over to the sofa.
I recline on the plush pillows and place the tray on my plump stomach. It wobbles and quivers. I spoon large mouthfuls of the rich, moist cake into my mouth and close my eyes. Heavenly. Although I am faintly aware that the cake could probably serve twelve hungry party guests, I feel no guilt. My fiancé has been watching my diet disapprovingly, and it feels so nice to indulge away from his watchful eye. A mixture of pleasure and sickness overcomes my tastebuds. Just two hours ago, I demolished three enormous bowls of creamy pasta, two large slices of sickly sweet key lime pie and the box of chocolates in bed. Dinner had left me in a food coma, stomach bulging over the new jeans Edward had bought me until the button popped off. But I had had a stressful day at home, ordering the maids around and organising dinner parties. I figure I deserve to treat myself.
The spoon scrapes an empty tray and I sigh. My cravings haven’t even begun to be satisfied. I struggle to sit up as my stomach, now tightly packed with cake, presses against my silk nightgown. I can see the delicate seams straining. Wanting to avoid ripping yet another item of clothing, I peel it off and my stomach bulges out onto my lap. With somewhat difficulty, I stand up and head back to the fridge. Jellies? Pastries? Donuts? I take a selection of them all and don’t even bother going back to the lounge chaise. I sit on the marble bench and slowly devour the goodies. The jellies slip down with ease into my eager stomach. The pastries and donuts require a more careful approach. I groan with pleasure as I finish the last chocolate croissant. I feel completely stuffed and pressurised, as if the heavy jam donuts will come out of my ears. My stomach threatens to explode.
I sit there, clutching my rounded orb of a stomach for ten minutes, unable to move. My stomach is no longer made of rolls but just one huge ball. I look in the fridge and take one last scoop of jelly. The kitchen staff won’t suspect a thing in the morning.
The walk up the stairs seems a lot longer than the walk down. I waddle as fast as I can, huffing and puffing dangerously. Each step puts pressure onto my engorged middle.
The bed groans as I slowly climb in and get under the covers. I lie awake for a few minutes, unhappily. I look like I swallowed a large beach ball but still I am unsatisfied. My thoughts wander to the kitchen. Some ice-cream would be just the thing to finish my feast. I ordered a few gallons of a luxury brand yesterday and I already ate one tub after breakfast but suddenly I am dying to sample the honeycomb flavour.
I look over at my sleeping fiancé and walk down to the kitchen one last time. My stomach and thighs wobble immensely with each step. All this walking should offset my sneaky feasting and Edward won’t even notice in the morning when we are woken up with a cooked breakfast in bed. The extra weight I am carrying in the front makes it hard to balance down the stairs.
Gleefully, I take the honeycomb tub from the freezer shelf. And the chocolate pecan tub. Taking an enormous spoon, I plop myself on a chair dig in with gusto. The coldness of the ice-cream soothes my growling stomach and offsets the sweetness of the earlier treats. Perfect. After five glorious minutes, I finish the tub. I turn to the second tub and begin to peel off the label when I hear a noise. Startled, I spin around on the chair and see Edward standing in the doorway, bleary eyed yet awake.
“What are you doing, Chanel?” He asks. His voice is emotionless. I see myself as he would. A naked, bloated, over-stuffed binging blonde squeezed into a chair.
“I – I – I was a bit hungry. I just ate a small bit of ice-cream.” I stutter.
Edward motions towards the empty tub and the trays scattered around that showed the last remains of chocolate cake and pastries.
“It wasn’t a lot,” I begin, blushing. “I was so hungry after not eating much at dinner.” I try to explain myself.
Edward scoffs humorously. “Surely the marzipans you were sneaking into your mouth would have sorted that out.” He walks over to me and leans down. “I was saving that chocolate cake for a dinner party tomorrow.”
“Maria can bake another one.” I counteract. I am suddenly very aware of the way my distended stomach is rolling out in front of me, the way my thighs are squished against the floor. My breasts are covered in crumbs and flecks of pastry.
“That is true.” Edward says. “But what can we do about this?” He pokes my bloated stomach and I let out a huge unintentional burp. He holds onto a roll of fat around my middle. Embarrassed I try to stand but am now too full, too heavy to really move.
“Do you want to get up, fatty?” Edward smiles. “Do you want to come back to bed?”
I nod.
Edward is still caressing my blubbery stomach, causing it to wobble violently along with the rest of my body. “I thought we discussed this, Chanel. I thought you were going to try to control yourself.” He doesn’t sound angry.
He grabs my lowest bulging roll and tugs it softly. The feeling, along with my complete fullness, causes me to gasp. I feel my soft double chin quiver. He inches his hand lower and lower while he whispers in my ear. “I always give you everything you could ever want. All I want from you is to stop this ridiculous habit. The president of the company can’t have a wife this size.” As he says this, he reaches around and feels my love handles. Having him touch me, feeling so damn round and stuffed, feels so good.
He slips his hand lower, underneath my tight panties and rubs into my folds. I shake ever so violently into him, crying out in pleasure. My engorged stomach puts so much pressure on me that I am on the brink of orgasm after two minutes. Suddenly he stops. I open my eyes as he is shoving a small cream puff into my mouth. I swallow it whole. Then another. And another. And another.
“Stop.” I whisper. “I can’t – eat – anymore…”
He begins touching me again, while his other hand continues to feed me. Cream and icing sugar cover my lips and cheeks as I grunt and moan. I sway from side to side and I flop onto my back. I am unable to move from underneath my monstrous belly. I can’t even see Edward at all now, just feel him. The supply of cream puffs stops and I cry out obstinately. They are quickly replaced by rich caramel chocolates. As I sloppily chew the second, third, sixth, eleventh, I feel like I could vomit. I am screaming now, mouth full of sweets. Edward is speaking softly to me but I can’t hear. He pushes his fingers roughly through me and I squirm on the floor still eating the chocolates. All I can see is my enormous stomach in front of me jiggling and rippling and I come hard, crying out, almost choking on the last chocolate. For what feels like five minutes I am shaking and moaning on the kitchen floor, surrounded by wrappers and crumbs.
THE END
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