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Ah…that was a good nap.
One very rich and powerful Addison by the name of Spamton G. Spamton arose from the soft velvet couch of his personal office. His thick, stubby arms stretched above his head like a contented, sleepy cat. Then they fell down to rest at his middle. His red suit jacket was flapped open, yellow tie slung over his shoulders, the very picture of after-work leisure and debauchery.
Oh, tonight’s dinner had been wonderful. Roast cyber-duck, braised cyber-salmon…platters upon platters of potatoes, oysters, gourmet cheese…savory salads and rich soups… Spamton had certainly had his fill—three heaping helpings—and had then retreated back to his office for a bit of a full-belly snooze. Everything at the Queen’s mansion was just so delectable, he couldn’t help but indulge.
With a smug little grin, he looked down at himself…and ran his pudgy fingers over the luscious, wobbly fat that padded out his torso. Spamton had plumped up quite a bit since arriving at the mansion, and he honestly adored it. Several of the Queen’s more lowly guests had told him he ought to be ashamed…but why would he? This right here was a physical, tangible manifestation of his wealth and status, a direct result of living a luxurious life of excess. If anything, he was proud. Just look at how far he’d come.
His arms, legs, and butt had widened, his face had softened, sinking into a new little roll under his chin, and his chest had developed two soft mounds of flesh, exquisitely plush and squeezable. But most of all, his once flat, thin little belly had grown and blossomed into the protruding, abundant, doughy cushion before him now. Oh, Heaven, how he loved his own pillowy plumpness.
Spamton had long since removed his belt—awful, pinching, restrictive thing it was—and he now reached down, pulling his lower belly free from his pants and letting it flop into his lap like an overflowing bowl of pudding. With a little huff of relief, he filled his palms with the round dollops of extra-soft lower belly fat and massaged his thumbs into the sore red line where the waistband had been digging into him. Ahhhhh…oh, that’s better.
Recently, his benefactor had warned him not to appear too fat in his next commercial shoot, but there was plenty of time before then. And besides, this was nothing a few undergarments and a bit of TV magic couldn’t fix…right?
Spamton’s eyes stared down at the little buttons of his white dress shirt. They were still holding strong, though a few at the widest parts of his belly were beginning to pucker. A crescent of puffy, fuzzy, fatty white belly was poking out the bottom, now that his shirt had been untucked, and that’s precisely where his hands were groping. Oh, it felt so soft and tender…and it was all him. All thanks to the months of marvelous banquets he could now easily enjoy. How could having more of him not be the grandest thing?
With a chuckle, he realized…this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d set out to become a “big shot”. But now, he truly was big, in every sense of the word.
After a minute, Spamton sat up a little more, pausing his ministrations as he thought. Despite the hearty dinner he’d had only an hour earlier, he was feeling a bit peckish. And that was when he realized, with a bit of a shock…he hadn’t had dessert!! How could he have forgotten something so critical, so very essential?!
His mind whirled with ways he could rectify this grave oversight as soon as possible. And a little idea took root, creeping and slithering through his head. A snicker slid out from between his teeth. Oh, it was just so selfish and excessive…but why shouldn’t he? He was on top of the world, subject to only the Queen herself. He could have anything and everything he wished. His greedy heart thrilled and shivered with desire, and with that, his mind was made up.
It took a bit of effort for Spamton to lift himself back onto his feet. In the process, he gathered his own belly up in his arms, enjoying the heft of it. He was fat, there was no denying it…and after tonight, he’d only get even fatter. As he stepped over to the side of his desk to reach for the rotary phone, he focused on the lovely, bubbly feeling of his own body wiggling and jiggling with movement.
Leaning his elbow on the desk, he picked up the phone, and with his opposite hand, gave the side of his belly a slap, watching it ripple and wave. Wonderful, beautiful…but that meant there was lots of empty space left in there. Better fill it as soon as he could.
“Good evening,” a smooth voice on the other end picked up, prompt as always. “You’ve reached the Color Café. How may we be of service?”
“Heya, Swatch,” Spamton brashly addressed the head butler. “I’m gonna need a serving cart full of your best desserts in my office, pronto—two plates of each should be good. And three of your finest Swatchlings. I’ll be—ahem—in need of their services.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Spamton, it is thirty minutes until closing time, and I would ask that you wait until after public hours for such a large request.”
“Excuse me?! You’d make me wait that long?! Ridiculous! I’m starving over here! If you don’t have them up to me in the next ten minutes, the Queen will be hearing about your piss-poor performance today! In fact, you know what? Have them bring over the chaise from my room, too. No expenses spared, you got that?!”
There was a brief pause…but the next words out of Swatch were “yes sir, right away, sir”, and then, the line went dead.
Spamton practically cackled with glee. He loved sticking it to that guy, making them bend over backwards to appease his every whim. It was a power trip, to be sure, and it left him feeling even higher off his own affluence. Now…he just had to wait.
In the meanwhile, Spamton plopped himself down at his desk and began to arrange some paperwork. His work mainly consisted of phone calls and, of course, e-mails, so there wasn’t a lot of it, but it would help to have everything organized for tomorrow.
Though, obviously, he wasn’t really starving, he did start to feel a rumbling and shuddering in his stomach. The anticipation was piquing his appetite. Another few minutes passed, and it grumbled again. He rubbed at it, soothingly, and practically started salivating at the thought of what was on its way.
A strange buzzing sound suddenly started up in the back of his head, and it made his heart inexplicably begin to pound. Not that again. Oh, please, not that. It only grew louder, fizzling like static, grinding and screeching in the distance. It began to ache, like the fibers of his brain were stretching in opposite directions.
With desperation, Spamton slammed his face down into his desk, his long nose squishing to the side in an unnatural position. The pain receded a bit…but now, he could feel a constriction around his neck, tight at his wrists, and biting into his shoulderblades.
Whatever this was…it had been happening every now and then, often when he had nothing else to serve as a distraction. He’d mentioned it to the man on the phone once, but he’d told him, firmly, that it was nothing to worry about. He shouldn’t go to the doctor or anything over it—it was just a side-effect of his rapid rise in sales, and it would go away eventually. And just like everything else he said, Spamton fully believed it. He had to believe it.
Following a soft knock, the door to the office creaked open, snapping him out of his mire of misery. His face shot up, though it felt like something was resisting and trying to keep it pinned down. But no, nothing could keep him down now. His dessert had finally arrived.
Just as he’d dictated, three Swatchlings entered the room. The two clothed in blue and yellow were carrying his plush magenta-colored chaise, and the one clothed in green was wheeling a golden trolley absolutely laden with sweet treats and pastries. The first two set the chaise down beside the desk, and the third stopped the cart, presenting it with a bow and a sweep of their wing.
“Evening, Mr. Spamton. Your order, as requested, has arrived. Please let us know how we might be of service.”
Ohhhhhh yes. The weight around Spamton’s neck all but disappeared when he set eyes on the decadent spread of desserts. The thick aroma of fresh baking hit his nose and traveled straight down to his stomach, making it rumble, impatiently. He felt almost dizzy with food-lust. Cookies and donuts and macarons and cakes and miniature tarts and strudels and slices of pie… Oh, it was a smorgasbord, and it was all for him.
He heaved himself from his desk with the strength of a man possessed, and lumbered straight to the chaise. “Oh, I’ll definitely keep you busy serving me tonight,” he told the butlers, with a desiring grin. And he flopped heavily into the soft, stuffed chaise, noticing how it creaked just a bit as it strained to hold him.
A long, almost crazed smile stretched across his Addison mouth, and he looked to the Swatchlings with hooded eyes. “I’m not lifting a finger for the rest of the night,” Spamton ordered them. “You’re all going to bring me those desserts—feed me those desserts—one by one, until I tell you to stop or until it’s all gone. No complaining or fumbling or slacking off. Serve me well, and maybe I’ll tell your little boss not to cut your pay this year.”
“Yes, sir,” the three Swatchlings replied, simultaneously, and Spamton stretched out, making himself comfortable, exposing all of his lush, pampered, yearning belly.
“Gimme the donuts first, I’m craving something doughy.” An excited hum purred in Spamton’s chest as the Swatchlings hopped to work at his command, fetching a half-dozen donuts and quickly returning to his side.
The blue one held the first donut—chocolate glaze with swirls of fancy frosting and tiny candies—up to his mouth, and he eagerly devoured it in just two ravenous bites.
“C’mon, next!” Spamton swallowed in a split second, and was already opening his mouth again. “How do you ever expect to earn your keep with a pace like that?!”
The Swatchlings glanced at each other, as if silently communicating. And then…they came up with a solution. Quick as could be, they split the donut stack between them, so each would have a fresh treat constantly at the ready.
Well, duh, they should have thought of that earlier, Spamton mentally criticized…but he was too eager for the show to really begin.
The next donut was pressed into his hungering mouth, filling it with sweet, smooth grape jelly, and he slurped it right in, feeling it sliding into his awaiting stomach. It was absolutely delicious, naturally, and the needy fire of gluttony tingled through his whole body. The instant he’d finished chewing, the next jelly-stuffed donut was right there at his lips, and all he had to do was open up and start chewing again.
“Mmmmm.” Spamton couldn’t help but moan, as the Swatchlings kept up the steady stream of donuts, one after the other after the other. He fully reclined into his chaise, tipping his head back, and the nearest Swatchling dangled the next donut around his nose and down into his mouth. What an incredible idea. Now this was the life—three butlers hand-feeding him top-class pastries while he lounged around and enjoyed the sinfully scrumptious tastes. He felt his belly bubble a little inside him, as if rejoicing and delighting in all these yummy treats.
Soon enough, the donuts had run out, and Spamton pointed, snapping at them to bring him more, it didn’t matter what this time, just more. He didn’t want a single moment to speak, not a second to even catch his breath—just more, more.
One Swatchling hurriedly brought the apple strudel, and the other two divided up the massive pile of variety macarons. With the avian butlers on either side of him, Spamton only had to turn his head, taking a bite of strudel from one, then turning to the next for a macaron. Flaky warmth filled his body, then crunchy little pockets of sweetness…bite after bite.
He licked his lips after one particularly overzealous bite of strudel, and the green Swatchling holding it expertly dabbed the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief before proceeding to feed him the rest. Ah…oh, it felt so good to be waited on like this. That disjointed, scraping buzzing in Spamton’s head had entirely disappeared as he was inundated with the sensations of sweet, addicting taste, and the warm contentment growing in his belly. So good…so, so good…
He finished off the strudel. Then, that whole tower of multicolored macarons disappeared into him. Lazily, he rubbed up around the curve of his belly. It felt satisfied now…maybe a tiny bit bloated. He hadn’t been entirely empty before diving into this indulgence, after all.
For once, he allowed a pause, and demanded something to drink. The yellow Swatchling slid over with a pitcher of water, which they poured directly into his mouth. Spamton happily gulped it down, cleansing his taste buds of the sharp sweetness for a moment. It was cool and refreshing as it crept down into his stomach…and his body pulsed with a sudden belch.
Ahhhh, ooooh, there we go. It was a clear sign that he was getting full. But, oh, no, he was far from done. In fact, he was only getting started.
With a lustful grin, Spamton petted his puffy, spoiled belly like it was beloved pet. Only the beginning…much, much more to come. It was thrilling, just indulging in such hedonism, not a care in the world except for which yummy delicacy he should consume next.
And it resumed. Spamton munched and munched, soft, round cheeks perpetually puffed, his eyes closed in utter bliss. Time began to melt away, as all he could think about was opening up for the next bite. Everything felt like an endless parade of heavenly deliciousness.
That was…until a sharp pang at his middle abruptly broke him out of the trance.
“Ah--” Spamton waved off the green Swatchling, who had been holding a forkful of custard pie poised at his cheek. His chubby little fingers flew to his stomach, and curiously looked down at it, following the source of the pain. Oh. Of course.
The buttons of his dress shirt were really straining now, pressing in and cutting into his burgeoning flesh. Another burp popped out of him as soon as his hand made contact with the side of his tortured belly. How much had he eaten by now? Judging by what remained on the dessert cart, it looked to be about half-empty. Or half-full, he thought, greedily.
Normally…this would be going a little too far. Even with his devil-may-care attitude, he wouldn’t dare do something like this is public. But…he wasn’t in public now, was he? Sure, the three Swatchlings would witness this, but it was their duty to attend to him, no matter what. The hell with it all.
Spamton sucked in a determined breath…and practically tore open his dress shirt, letting out the whole, bare expanse of his pale, bloated mound of a tummy. A few of the buttons were now hanging by a thread, but what did it matter? He could always buy a new one.
With a heavy, relieved sigh, he rested a hand on it, as if apologizing to it for squeezing it in there. Oh, much, much better. Why did I wait so long to do that? Ahhhh, this is so comfy.
He took this opportunity to just rest for a moment, and rubbed both hands up around his big mound of a belly, soothing it and assessing it. The lower portion was still just as wobbly and marshmallow-soft as always…but up at the top, it was feeling firm…more rounded and heavy and full.
Massaging in with one knuckle, he found a tight, achy bubble, and carefully pressed in around it. “Hrr-uuuuuuuurrrrp! Hoo, boy…” He proudly patted at that full little top bulge. “That hit the spot. Not that I’m anywhere near calling it quits yet, mind you.”
In Spamton’s peripheral vision, he swore he saw the blue Swatchling scowling a bit at him, while the yellow one appeared to be sweating. Rude. He’d have to make a note to complain about the two of them next time.
The green, however, remained cool and stoic as ever. “Is there anything we may help you with, Mr. Spamton?” They asked, no hint of judgement in their voice.
“Yeah,” Spamton simply replied, tilting his round head back and grinning. “Bring the next plate.”
The feeding resumed. More donuts, sugar-dusted cookies…puffy little tarts pressed to plump, greedy lips…moaning in inundated bliss around mouthfuls of rich dark chocolate cherry cake…
A stack of emptied plates was growing taller on the corner edge of the office desk. Swipes of chocolate, sugar frosting, and tiny crumbs were the only things left sticking to their surfaces. And in turn, Spamton’s tummy slowly, steadily swelled…tighter and fuller and rounder. He was weakly clutching and rubbing at it, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of overfilling himself, loving the tugging little ache from inside signaling “full! I’m full! No more!” Then, feeling another, deeper urge from inside him, yearning to push that strangely pleasant achiness even further.
There came another water break. Then, muffled through a fresh mouthful of crumbly lemon-brown tart, he called for an additional pillow, and the blue Swatchling shoved one into the slowly shrinking space between his burgeoning side and the right chaise arm. Though their attitude left much to be desired, the extra cushioning soothed him and urged him onward.
The yellow Swatchling held out another thick, decadent slice of cake towards Spamton with trembling feathered hands, and he reached out, shoving all of it into his puffed cheeks in a sudden fit of gluttony. It was like he couldn’t get it in there fast enough. He was full, very full, but he needed to be fuller.
“Amph, mmph, mph, nmmph…” Spamton took big, desperate, gulping bites, smears of chocolate decorating his round, white cheeks. The ever-vigilant green Swatchling gently wiped off every one. Heaven help him, he felt so pampered and spoiled and blissful.
“Mmmmmmph…hic!” He finally rested his head back, exhausted, after polishing off the last of the cake in his frenzy. The entire lavish cake was sitting heavily in that engorged tummy now, on top of a plethora of other treats…and what was left of his dinner. His hand rested, tired and inert, over the pale, round bloat. By now…he was just feeling so sluggish, so very heavy…and his senses, his thoughts and inhibitions felt dulled, lulled into a sleepy haze by the excessive overindulgence.
“Ohhhhhh, I’m stuffed,” Spamton moaned aloud. His head lolled to the side, taking in the sight of the Swatchlings, two of whom looked ready to explode, but for entirely different reasons. “One ‘a youse…rub my belly for me. The others…keep it comin’…”
“I-I-I’ll rub for you, sir!!” The yellow Swatchling squawked, a little too loudly.
Spamton gave a weak “eheh,” and lazily licked at his lips. There was still plenty left… maybe about a fourth of the total.
The yellow Swatchling took position, kneeling at the side of the chaise, and sliding their feathered digits up over Spamton’s firm, ballooned ball of belly. It had pushed out further, forming a much more complete spherical shape from the overabundance of desserts packed in there. The quivering Swatchling stroked and caressed it like it was the most precious thing in the world.
“Harder,” Spamton whined at them. “You’re not doin’ anything. Didn’ anyone ever teach ya to massage?”
“Uh, uh, sorry, sir! I’ll do it better right away!!”
“You had better—icc!”
The yellow Swatchling did indeed massage a bit more, pressing into the tight, tight swell, and it coaxed up a few satisfied little hiccups. Spamton could only grin, dreamily, utterly lost in his own gluttonous heaven.
More pink, sugary cookies were slotted into his mouth, two at a time, and he crunched them in, much slower now, but steady. His pace calmed to a savoring, indulgent crawl, but he never hesitated to take in another bite.
The yellow Swatchling rubbed and rubbed, easing in each parcel of dessert. And Spamton continued to fill…and fill…
Immensely proud, he tipped his head down as he ate…and watched the expansive mound of his tummy press and push and stretch gradually outward, rising and ripening to rounded perfection. A whole second cake eventually found its way into him, and his face was rosy, forehead speckled with beads of sweat. Shallow hiccups and quiet burps eased out of him from the butler attending to that utterly spoiled, over-gorged tummy. In fact…Spamton finally registered that something felt a little different.
He could barely see around his own swollen form, but he could definitely feel it now. That yellow Swatchling was not only rubbing…but nuzzling the side of their beak under the heavy, round curve, worshipping every inch of its taut skin. The skin at the very apex of Spamton’s tummy was rosy, too…stretched out to utter repletion. A sweet tummy ball, glowing happily at being so very, very, very full.
“D-Does it feel good, Mr. Spamton?” The Swatchling quietly asked, almost a whisper. And Spamton gave a tiny chuckle-hiccup at the question.
“Yes. Mmmmmm, yes. Feels…incredible. S-sooo good…”
The Swatchling turned its beak upwards for a second and let out a tiny, high-pitched shriek. Their blue-clad co-worker gave them a nasty glare.
That yellow one…hmm, Spamton decided, he’d have to ask for them specifically again.
He munched…and licked and gulped and swallowed, automatically, every time a new piece of food was pressed to his mouth. Water was tipped down into his throat, emptying the pitcher. He panted, he smacked his lips, he hummed, he moaned for more, and he kept on eating.
“Yummy…yum yum,” the fat little salesman mumbled, in his gluttonous daze. “Delicis. D’you have…any more?”
“Sir, I’m afraid that’s everything we prepared for you tonight.” The green Swatchling bowed, apologetically, and the yellow popped back up onto their feet, standing at attention, though their beak was flushing pink.
“Awwww, booooo,” Spamton whined, like a bratty child. “Make sure…you bring more…next time.”
“I shall keep that in mind, sir,” the green replied.
With the last of the strength in his sleepy, heavy limbs, Spamton patted both hands over the protruding, round shelf of his belly. It had swelled out past his knees, filling his entire lap, and he could no longer see around it at all. It bloated out of the chaise, a big, flushing sphere of over-glutted bliss.
Spamton let his hands slip down and pushed the dangling flaps of his shirt and jacket even further back…and he fondly patted his widened, rounded sides, feeling the firm thump of that drum-tight tummy. He grinned with woozy affection and pride.
This…oh, look at this. This was a tummy to be revered, to be envied. The very peak of luxury, the ultimate in excess. To have grown to such a size…to have enough rich food packed away in there to feed a whole army of Addisons.
Gllrrrp…
Spamton flushed with ecstasy at the sound of his wonderful tummy churning and gurgling and working away at alllllll that food. Eventually, it would add even more thick, luscious flesh to his frame. Oh…it really was a shame there wasn’t any more.
If he kept stuffing and stuffing this marvelous belly of his…he’d never have to feel that horrific noise in his head ever again.
At last, Spamton closed his eyes, dreaming of another feast appearing before him, of even more Swatchlings to feed him and pamper him. The green Swatchling deftly tossed a blanket up over him, just a second before he started to snore.
Big. He’d be bigger. The biggest. And he’d have the thickest body and the fullest belly to prove it.