YEAH??? YEAH?????

i think people need to also consider how messed up it is when stomach content creators use characters who are minors/create characters who are minors for kink content. It isn't ok and this shouldn't be happening in the first place, yet I've had to block blogs or click back from videos from those who use minors in kink content. It's just so gross.

This too. Went scrolling yesterday and got hit with a video that literally was named “Preteen 12 - 14 stomach growling edit”

Motherfucker eww???? Ykw it’s sketch as hell when they specify shit like that. Blocked AND reported bitch-

Also — why is there a fascination with Women eating kids in the editing community? are y’all okay???

Food is clearly fermenting nicely inside my intestines, and I must hold in my gas for the time being because there are people behind me that will ✨know✨

I'll also be stuffing my tummy with more food soon!

I should add- it is in fact leftover baked pasta with an ungodly deliciously sinful amount of cheese

It is official I am doing!! My very first official hold on record!!!

Ate psyllium husk, 3 big servings of baked pasta with an ungodly deliciously sinful amount of cheese, abd topped that thang off with more psyllium husk

The left of my colon feels a little full, but this is only the beginning. I'll update in the coming days, send me your encouragements and food ideas!

Perhaps I can be convinced to eat a little sugar free candy for extra gas who knows 👀

I'm on the toilet currently and the biggest hardest log is stretching out my poor hole 🥺

It's out~ 🤤🥴🥵💦 made a huge plop noise too

First time posting a writing...

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Content: Semi-unwilling pred, multiple prey, size difference (prey are like palm sized), safe vore, soft vore, very willing prey

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All Michael wants is to get out of here. Distract his mind from the hurricane that's having it's way in his head. The dread, the fear, the anxiety that eats away at his skin.

Maybe that's why he decided to go tramping aimlessly into the woods. No one around to hate him. No one around to fear the judgement of. He knows he'll be fine. To get back, all he has to do is follow the quiet until it breaks away into the noise of the city. But that's for later. Much later. These woods are better than trying to ignore the smell of people everywhere, of his friends, of his family. Just grass and leaves as far as the eye can see. The lingering scents of animals, leaving their marks in the underbrush. And… something… sweet? The air tastes almost like fruit, yet he sees none around. If there was an orchard nearby, he'd know, right? There'd be a massive farmer's market in town or something.

Michael stops and looks up. There's a trail of small winking lights floating among the branches. They almost remind him of fireflies. The presence of those same bugs might be why he didn't register these at first. He reaches up and pokes one. It sparkles, bursting into motes of light that slowly dissolve into the air.

Curious, he follows the lights. Up ahead he can hear sparking pops, rushing water, and soft hisses of indistinct noise. The fruit-like smell grows stronger. The air feels thicker, thrumming with some substance he can't identify. He decides to think of it like a confusing alien humidity. As he pushes himself through a wall of bushes, he blinks at the sight in front of him.

It's… a party? Seemingly random objects crowd the place (giant mushrooms, sure, but why is there a brand-new sofa here?) and even more of those lights illuminate the area. It's like a star-filled sky, flooded with sparkling lights that are replaced as quickly as they wink out. Blurs of color and light move around the area. A buzz of movement fills his ears– like insect wings, like a whistling breeze, like rustling leaves. At first he wonders where the people are. Only once he focuses on the blurs do they start looking like definite forms to him. Small people, decked with– no, embedded with crystals.

The pit in his stomach grows deeper at the realization. Then it itches at his insides, insisting he stop ignoring it. He wanted to get away from people. Yet here he is, ending up in a throng of them. Maybe that's on him. Being stupid and following what was probably magical lanterns for fairies or something.

He backs up, trying to retreat to the other side of the bushes. The fragile branches snap around his arms.

"Hey!" Someone shouts, and he hopes that it's not directed at him. Then that someone flies into his vision, promptly dashing that hope. "You busy?"

"What?" Michael asks.

"I said, are you busy?" The fairy repeats, hovering in front of his face.

"I, uh. No. Why do you ask?"

"Great!" The fairy claps their hands together, beaming. "We need some variety over here. Make some requests, get crazy! Wishes, if you insist on it. We've got mana to burn."

"I'm…" He glances past them, into the thick of the gathering. Some faces have turned towards him. If he's leaving, it's not going to be unnoticed. Or unjudged.

"Sorry, I don't know what this is about. I don't want to intrude on your, uh, party?"

The fairy gives him an odd look. "It's a casting festival. We've been running out of ideas and we still have mox-ridden to take care of. So come on! Get in here, sit down."

That clears up next to nothing, but Michael nods like he understands. What he expected was a demand for why he's there, or maybe a yell for him to leave. Not… this.

"Um, okay." He never was good at speaking. He's not sure if this will be any different. Michael clumsily extricates himself from the bush, bringing plenty of leaves with him.

"Go, go!" A new voice shouts. He can feel the press of attention on him, of much smaller eyes following his comparatively giant self. The idea of standing feels nauseating. At least that confusingly pristine couch will come into use. He sits.

Michael picks a leaf out of his air.

"Allow me." Yet another stranger comes near him, waving their good arm. The other is stiff, composed entirely of gem. Or encrusted with it? He's not sure. Before Michael can figure that out, all the broken twigs and leaves in his hair transform into butterflies, fluttering away.

"Ah." He states. There's movement behind him, and the pressure of being watched is now crushing. God. These people are, what, palm-sized? Smaller? He doesn't know. Because he's not focusing on that. Definitely. Most certainly not. But there's a bunch behind his head on the back of the couch now aren't they. Why are they there. He's boring he's not interesting.

Something hisses, and he decides to ignore the basket of rubber snakes someone just manifested.

"You don't talk much, do you?" The first stranger says. Michael isn't sure when they followed him, or if they were there all along. He just sort of shakes his head, feeling too sick to speak.

"Hey, wait." The crystal-ridden fairy gestures out their good arm, holding a hand out. "Hold up your hand."

Confused and too afraid to say no, he does so. They press their hand against his finger, thoughtful.

"Oh, this is perfect. You drain magic!"

"Uh. I– sorry. I don't, I don't think I can make it stop. Is that… is that gonna be a problem?" He asks despite knowing the answer is yes.

"Not at all!" The fairy laughs at him, and there's tittering behind his head. The fear of why they're laughing drowns out the actual words.

"I've got an excellent idea. You're a vampire, aren't you?"

"You can tell that fast?" He asks.

"Not many things can be mana sinks and alive beings." The fairy pauses. "Technically alive."

Before he can ask what being a vampire has to do with anything, another voice pipes up.

"Eat us!"

Alarmed, Michael spins around to stare at the miniature crowd behind him. "Huh??"

There's a chorus of agreement, of laughter, and beaming smiles. He starts to wonder if his hunger is making him delusional.

"Look!" The same voice cries, now identified as belonging to glowing blue fairy. "This is a golden opportunity. We need to burn mana, you need to absorb energy. It's an easy solution!"

"But why– why eating? Isn't that dangerous for you?"

"Psht," A green fairy scoffs, "We could get out even if wanted to stop us."

"Are… are you sure? If you get out with magic, and I'm… taking it…?"

"Just one of us has way more mana than you could ever take at once. And guess what! You take it best through eating, which is why that's the only way it'll actually make a difference." At this point he isn't sure who's speaking. They're all strangers to him, overwhelming and bright. The constant switching is making his head spin.

"Look," A brash voice says, "We’re basically doing you a favor.”

Something pokes his belly, and Michael reflectively swats at the offending person. They easily flit backwards out of reach, giggling at him.

“I’m–”

“Come on!”

“I…” Michael glances away, frighteningly aware of the gathering crowd around him. He clutches his shirt, pressing his fist into his middle. A rumble teases him in return. They'll be fine. They'll be fine? And he. He doesn't think he can get out of this situation anyway. He'd been desperate to avoid his friends and their insisting, but this is astronomically worse. The anxiety and the hunger alike dig at his insides. "Okay."

There's a pregnant pause.

"Open up, then!" Someone shouts. Admonished, Michael opens his mouth, displaying his fangs and empty throat. All of a sudden there's a taste on his tongue. A slight weight presses against it, and wings tickle against the roof of his mouth. He flinches, snapping his jaws shut and reflexively swallowing to rid himself of the feeling. Something wriggles down his throat in surprise.

He looks down at his stomach in a panic.

“Shit! Shit, I'm sorry, you– I didn’t mean to throw you down so fast–”

“Forget that! It’s my turn!” Another fairy presses tiny hands against his lips.

“Uh–?” The moment his mouth opens, they push inside, kicking their legs against his teeth to propel themselves down his throat. In that moment, he’s grateful he no longer has a gag reflex. He swallows, and their lemony taste slips past his tongue along with them. Michael doesn't know if he should be glad for or dreadful of the rapid pace.

His stomach seems to have no opinion one way or the other, merely growling at the prospect of being fed. There's a tittering of excitement around him.

Another approaches, face eager. He hesitates, but opens up his mouth for them. God, another. How many will there be? He hasn't bothered to count the amount around him, but he hopes it's not all of them. The way his gut gurgles implies disagreement.

Someone touches his middle again, and he gently waves them away. He can't speak, not with the current fairy deciding to take their time searching his mouth. His tongue twitches, and it's with great chagrin he realizes he's drooling. They taste like sugar. Artificial fruit. They push forward, and Michael takes that as a sign to swallow. He can feel the warmth of energy slip past his throat, moving deeper inside him. It collects in his stomach. He doesn't dare look down at it.

Even as that someone tries to touch him again.

"What are you doing?" He snaps, unable to help it.

"I want to see if I can feel anyone from out here," They say, perturbed.

"Well– just don't. If you want to touch anything, do it from inside." Even as he says them, Michael regrets the words.

"You hear that? You're next!"

"That's not what I–" He stammers, trying to correct the assumption, but they're already staring up at him with such big, desperate eyes. The noise dies in his throat. How is he supposed to deal with a look like that? Michael sighs and opens his mouth. The fairy, eager as the rest, dives in. It's some small relief that he can't choke. He swallows, pressing fingers against his lips. The taste of their skin lingers, crystalline and sweet. The movement of their small body disappears inside him.

That's what he wants to think, anyway. In reality, he can feel squirming inside his gut. Small pressures that he can feel for moments, only for his stomach to disguise the sensation with a deep growl. Hunger still itches at him. The edge has been weaned off, dulled. But he doesn't feel full. Doesn't feel satiated. As much as he hates to admit it, this crowd might be right. They're kind of doing him a favor. Instead of going home and starving, hoping he won't do anything…

With an uncertain sort of confidence, he holds his tongue out. Michael doesn't even see this one, only knows they're in his mouth. He draws his mouth closed, and– oh, no, okay, a second has decided to clamber in. Michael hums in protest. With his tongue he presses one against the inside of his cheek, swallowing one at a time. There's a little bit of a rhythm now.

The way they slide down his throat. His stomach squirms, and he grimaces. The sensation is foreign, and he can't tell if the movement makes him feel sick or thrilled. That's a pretty consistent doubt, though. Not knowing if he's happy or disgusted by the situation at hand.

"Me next! Me next!"

"One second…" he pauses, taking a deep breath. How many has he eaten? He hasn't been counting, but it feels like far too many. Not enough. He wonders whether he'll be able to fit all of the fairies that flutter around his head. They stare expectantly at him, hover above his shoulders, lower in front of his stomach. Is it sticking against his shirt now? Now that he looks at it, he can see it glowing with a handful of different colors. They flicker and move through his skin.

"Right."

Michael's stomach growls again. At the end of this, he's going to be stuffed…

To have an overpacked cauldron of a belly that is completely controlled by your feeder.

Master hasn’t allowed for an emptying In 3 days but has still fed his prized hog to the brim. Rancid constipated farts are a small relief when your bowels are stretched to the max to compensate. He uses your cunt, needing to push a bit harder than usual to get in, feeling how everything clogging your pipes has piled into and swollen your rectum.

He finishes inside you and then goes to get your next meal. He proceeds to stuff you with a mountain of food until you can no longer breath.

He presses your fat bloated gut and you groan in discomfort, your hole inadvertently puckering.

“No, no,” he says. “No shitting yet. Just gas.”

“But if I try to fart again, it’ll be impossible to hold the rest in. “

“That’s your fault for being such a greedy piggy. Your stomach is this way because of YOUR gluttony. And You have another day to go piggy.”

The next day comes and your guts are done processing the food. Your feeder instructs you that it’s emptying day. He instructs you to take a stance on all fours , and goes to feel how hard and bloated your abdomen is.

“Ah, looks like you’ve done a great job of getting filled and having your bowels stretched to capacity,” he says grabbing a box and what looks like tin foil. He puts on a rubber glove.

“Alright you know the drill. Face down and spread em,” he instructs. You follow his instructions and place your head on the floor, ass still up and use both hands behind you to spread your deep cheeks. You sigh , knowing that finally you’ll get some relief from the unbearably fullness in your guts.

Suddenly, you feel a cold glycerine suppository press against your hole. It’s forced in along with the finger behind it. He retracts his finger to have it covered In your chocolate. He repeats this with three more slippery inserts.

“Now you have to hold it until the glycerine melts. I’m doing you a favour so your hole doesn’t rip this time. Let me know when you’re busting to empty and I’ll bring the bucket”

Last time the constipated plug of shit practically tore your ass in two while being birthed.

You hold it, clenching against everything In your body telling you to push. You’re still on your hands and knees half an hour later as you feel the pressure behind your hole is mountain and you feel the weight of days worth of sweet creamy shit pressing against your hole. Despite your best efforts, a fart sputters out along with a bit of shit and melted glycerine.

“I’m ready to empty,” you groan loudly in defeat. Your feeder walks in on a pathetic scene. Fat pig on their hands and knees, swollen gut gurgling and hanging on the floor, drenched in sweat, hole quivering with the anticipation of finally getting some reprieve. He lays an industrial bucket behind your cellulite-ridden ass.

“All right pig, let’s see the aftermath of that gluttony,” the words are barely out his mouth before the gates part and shit starts pummelling onto the bottom of the bucket. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, as log after log of constipated shit leaves its incubator. Rumbling farts and stomach gurgles are all that can be heard as the shit gets sloppier and bursts out of your poor tender hole. You moan half in pain half in pleasure.

Your feeder smirks, knowing you’ll be laying cable trying to empty all that waste for at least the next couple of hours.

#constipated #slob

Pro tip: if you rail your puppyboy from behind and put a hand on his lower stomach, you'll hear the most desperate pathetic noises you've ever heard (bonus points if you tease them about how you're going to fill their little tummy with puppies)

ohhh I'm so bloated my tummy hurts so bad, I've got smth coming

Gonna blow up the toilet again

Tummy... tummy hurty...

Ate ghost pebber chees

And double serving of sugar free candy

Farted like crazy for an hour then expelled sloppy shit into the toilet uhnnhghghnn

Tummy burning... hurts.. so good~

Are you still up for talking about pooping and constipation after stuffing?

o ofc! DW I switch kink moods rapidly but they're still all consistent

I should probably provide an update on just how bloated I've been 😮‍💨 I'm so full and it feels like a huge log is right up against my hole... the urge to poop isnt too strong yet but unloading definitely sounds like heaven~

I haven't let out too many farts today either but I feel like they would definitely stink 💦

Swallow air. Eat some popcorn or chips or something bjngeable that will give you gas, and then hold it

Really bloat up. Make your guts moan

whoof 🥵🥵🥵 yes anon

I've got a soda and some chips, I'll eat after working and try my best not to burp. Wish me luck!

First oc fic w/ Eve!! 🎆🔧👾

Thank you all for 40 follows!! At first I made this with AI for help which is why it's in second person (I made the rest myself, it's really only the eloquent parts that AI wrote lmao) but I tried to express the character's emotion and personality through the inner monologue. Sorry this is long and that I'm not the best writer! Also I didn't detail the character all too well bc I didn't want to specify it was them at the time

Warnings: scat, farts, messing, constipation, NSFT

Also maaaaybe I'll explore her kink journey in further installations~

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You're naked, fresh out of the shower. Since being cursed, you smell like death no matter how much you scrub yourself. You may as well give up at this point.

Even worse, your lower stomach is big enough to make you look pregnant. You're bloated as hell. You started this job a few weeks ago, and you've been way too tired and busy to shit– not that you could in a timely manner if you tried. Your guts had always been like this, constantly backed up with a ton of solid shit that refused to come out for at least a few days at a time. This damn curse has only made everything worse for you.

You let out an irritated sigh and palm the hard mass in your belly. You feel so full of shit, it's all so hard inside of you. You feel some pressure build up, and you force out a hot fart. It's tiny and silent, but the steam in the bathroom amplifies the rotten smell. You wrinkle your nose at the stink. That was awful even for you.

You put on a cropped shirt, a jacket, boyshorts, and some loose, ripped sweats. You still look bloated in these. Hell, your belly stuck out past your boobs- not like your boobs were ever even big enough to warrant a bra most days. You left the bathroom with another tiny, putrid puff of gas.

…

You and the crew are on break, preparing for your next mission. While tinkering with a new weapon, the pain in your packed guts reemerges. You break a sweat with how much it's cramping. You press deeply into the side where it hurts most. When you least expect it, it gurgles. Your stuck, backed up guts _gurgled. Things were finally moving down there, thank fuck. You would use the restroom soon, just implement a couple more parts…_

Your stomach gurgled again, a high-pitched whine of pressurized gas that descended into a deep groan. You reflexively put your hand to your bloated mess of a belly, feeling the taut surface under your skin. You gave it a small slap, and shook it. You could feel the gas bubbles crowding towards your asshole, and you eagerly pushed.

You expected a silent hiss as usual, but this fart was like a small foghorn compared to your normal track record. You quickly muffled it with your jacket pulled off and shoved under you, letting the rest of the fart rumble out of you for what felt like a whole minute as you rubbed and pushed into your bloated belly. The tainted jacket is still warm with your gas, and in your solitude and curiosity, you bring it up to your face to smell it.

The stench is overpowering. It's the awful odor of rotten meat and mold, yet it's earthy and sweet. You huff it deeply, reaching down to graze your fingers over your clothed clit. _The fuck? How is this turning you on? You've hated being bloated with a shit-ton of gas and shit all the time, even if eventually releasing it all was… borderline orgasmic. …Fuck, did you have any more in you?_

You did, in fact, have another fart coming. Still huffing your own fumes off the jacket, you rubbed your belly eagerly. You felt gas traveling throughout your lower left colon and further down. You quickly pulled down your pants, then shoved the jacket between your flat asscheeks. You pushed, burning hot gas rushing out of you with a muffled noise like that of a brass instrument. This fart was even longer, ending with a series of wet bubbles. You bit back what would have been an audible moan.

You brought the jacket to your nose, and sniffed. It was so strong, you felt almost lightheaded. You were wet with pleasure down there, and you began rubbing yourself over your panties. You moaned aloud this time, soft enough to be sufficiently muffled by the jacket. _What the hell, why not?_ You muffle a few rancid burps in the jacket between whiffs, savoring the intoxicating mix of gas from both your ends.

Just as you fart on your jacket again, a solid mass pokes out from between your cheeks. Fuck. You think to rush to the bathroom, but then again… You remember the last times you ran to the bathroom only to get it stuck again. These boxers were as old as shit, and you had spare panties. You sat back while on your knees, leaning forward and pushing into your stomach. _May as well try._

Grunting softly, you begin to push out the first log. It feels so wide, maybe as thick as your (admittedly skinny) wrists. You brace yourself against the wall, legs splayed apart for balance, and push harder. The log emerges inch by inch, dry and hard from being in your guts for ages. It breaks apart in your boxers as it exits. You grunt again, face contorted in effort, and finally, with a soft plop, the log is free.

You're not done, you can definitely feel more coming. You manage to free a second log, even larger than the first, with a grunt and a groan. It lands with a wet thud in your boxers on top of the first one. You're sweating now, your body shaking with the effort. You lean forward, both hands pressing into your lower abdomen, feeling the next one ready to emerge. You groan, a low, guttural sound, and push again.

Your body strains with the effort, every muscle taut as you bear down. The third log is the largest yet, and it takes several tries before you feel it begin to slide out. You brace yourself, panting heavily, and with one final, powerful push, it crackles out into your boxers, stretching them out from how full they are. You manage a few more small logs of shit before slumping back, panting and drenched in sweat.

You moan quietly, cupping the back of your boxers with one hand. The mass is fucking heavy, and you feel so much lighter. Your hole is sore, and your pussy is throbbing from the ecstasy of relief.

Just when you think it's over, a sudden series of loud gurgles ripples through your colon, shaking your stomach and rushing towards your hole. You clutch your stomach and _push._

A thunderous fart rushes out of your ass, rumbling on for ages. The sound is barely muffled by your mess, as it's heavy enough to have weighed your panties down away from your butt. Your stomach doesn't stop gurgling, all your gas finally unstuck and feeling almost infinitely generated inside of you.

Long, wet, bubbling farts blast out of you one after another. They go on, getting wetter and wetter, burning with heat as they come out.

_ssplrt_

_Shit- Gods, fuck, your stomach is cramping. This mess is gonna get ten fucking times worse..._ A sickeningly wet shart then blasts out of you, splattering your mess with the cherry on top that is a torrent of liquid diarrhea. You can feel your stomach deflate as the last of your shit demons are exorcized.

You slump over against the wall. _The fuck else can you do? Holy shit... literally._ You take a deep breath in. The air is polluted with the rotten smell of your shit- shit that's been fermenting in your guts for fucking weeks. Your loose hole is still spilling with a few airy farts as you catch your breath.

_Great. How the hell are you gonna clean this up?_