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Text Transcription:«Sometimes I cannot believe the intensity..
🕑 Added 2024-12-09 12:00:07 +0000 UTCText Transcription:
«Sometimes I cannot believe the intensity of every time my wife funnel-feeds me.
It’s like every time she manages, in some way, to achieve a kind of concentration – both in the fluids she engorges me with and the vibes of the action – I never saw before.
It's one thing to indulge slowly, taking my time with each bite as I stuff my face with fast food, sweets, fried foods and chocolate, but being fed this way, especially after a whole day of binging… it’s a whole different experience.
I see how she watches me during the day, tending to my every need while I eat mindlessly, watching some stupid show on the tv, filling my stomach so much that when it comes to the night, I’m barely able to stand up by myself.
And it’s there that she smiles to me seductively, asking me if I’m ready for it, for the honored guest: the funnel.
When I lie down, I know she will be right there with me for the whole journey, guiding every moment, and there’s a thrill in the way I accept to give myself over completely, knowing I’m in her hands and that she will not be satisfied until I’m about to burst.
When she starts, she always says a thing like “Caution, it’s coming!”, so that I’m prepared to open my gullet so that the liquid flows smoothly down my throat; sometimes it’s cold, sometimes it’s warm, but it’s always soothing and comforting.
At first, then, it’s actually relaxing, almost quieting as it settles in filling the spaces between bites of solid food; but as it keeps coming, that feeling of fullness starts to build, spreading outward from my core.
My stomach stretches, tightens, expands to welcome the new mass; and I feel each second passing as it takes in more than I thought it could.
And yet, I keep going, I keep swallowing, because she’s there, holding the funnel, her eyes glimmering with pure love, pure ardor, pure threat. I know she’ll stop in time, like always, but for a second I come to kinda doubt it. I start realizing that this is a metaphor for my whole current life: how much I let myself go, how much I let HER let me surrender to these pleasures, and how much I didn’t care about the morality of that at all… I’m only interested in the hedonism part, I guess.
There’s then a moment when I think I might be at my limit, when the fullness is so intense that it feels almost overwhelming. I try to vocalize it, but she has this method, this “pat pat” with her hand and her fingers on my stomach, and she always understand by it, if I can take in any more or if it's done for good. And, apparently, even tho my ribs hurt from my stomach’s distension, I can actually take one gulp more, one more, one more.
She knows exactly when to push and when to ease up, gently pressing on my belly as if telling me, “You’ve got this. Just a little more”.
The pressure grows, and every inch of me feels heavy, filled to the brim, exhausted, anchored by this weight that I carry for her and with her.
Finally, she pulls the funnel away, and I’m left breathing shallowly, each inhale pressing against the weight of it all. Her hands trace over my stretched skin, gentle and proud.
I can barely move, the fullness so complete, but there’s a deep satisfaction too – this is our connection, our trust in each other, something that goes beyond words. In these moments, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, surrounded by her love and devotion, absolutely and fully hers.»
