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Story Notes:

This is a shameless stuffing/vore fetish piece based on a scenario posted on /d/. Part of the inspiration also came from the kinds of preds the writer Vyatich (on Eka's Portal) would use in their stories. Needless to say, it's not for the faint of heart.

Babysitter's Binge


Patricia took a swig of beer and drummed her fingers on her gut impatiently. She was hungry, and, disappointingly, the apartment she was babysitting at had almost nothing to eat. Free food was the best part of the gig, after all. Her flabby orb of a belly groaned again, sending a pang of hunger up into Patricia's chest. She decided enough was enough and heaved herself off the couch. As she rose, the young, thumb-sized boy sitting on the coffee table gave her a nervous glance before turning back to his book.

    “Are you hungry, hon? Cause I'm starving,” she slurred out. She was about four cans into the six-pack she'd brought along, and all that drinking on an empty stomach was starting to take its toll.

    “No – ah – no, ma'am,” he stuttered, barely loud enough to hear.

    “S'alright, dear,” she said gently, “Jus' don't be afraid to speak up when ya are.”

    Patricia shook her head as she waddled into the kitchen. She'd barely gotten a dozen words from Tommy since his mother had left. Not that she minded overly much – better a shy, obedient kid than a troublemaker, she always thought. But he was cute, with his meticulously combed black hair and boxy little glasses, and his mousey mannerisms and endless over-politeness – not to mention the sweet spot Patricia had for little folk. She had really hoped she might get to chat with him or play some games, instead of the endless TV time she was used to.

    Patricia perused the cupboards before making her way to the fridge. When all was said and done she came up with three left-over pieces of pizza and a bottle of whiskey. The pizza went straight into the microwave, but Patricia eyed the whiskey, twirling the glass bottle while it sat on the counter. On the one hand, she was already  quite tipsy, and that was just from a couple cans of cheap beer. On the other hand, she didn't come by good whiskey every day, and it would definitely take the edge off her hunger. She already knew those three scrawny slices of pizza weren't going to cut it. After thinking for a moment, she realized the decision was obvious.

    The microwave dinged, and Patricia retrieved her three steaming slices before she started to pry the wax seal off the whiskey.

The table shook beneath Tommy, heralding Patricia's return to the couch. He peeked away from his book just in time to see her heavy beer gut ooze out into her lap, the pudgy mass paying little heed to either the woman's jeans or her tight lime green tube-top. Her enormous breasts rested pendulously above, barely held in check by a three-sizes-too-small bra, the outline of which could be seen through Patricia's shirt. Tommy's gaze traveled up further, past the sun-freckled expanse of cleavage, to meet Patricia's face. She was biting deep into a slice of pizza, but her features were still obvious. A round, pretty face just beginning to show signs of age, dazzling blue eyes, and long brown hair that was done up in a nonchalant bun.

    Most babysitters gave Tommy an awkward twinge of sexual stimulation, but they were young, pleasant women, and as far as his hormonal mind could understand, they should make him feel that way. Patricia was something else entirely. Her crudeness was repellent, but alluring. She was salacious and loose like a teenage girl, but doting and affectionate like his mother. It confused him deeply, and was the main reason he'd retreated so deeply into his shell the past few hours. He didn't know how to approach this woman.

    In between bites, Patricia licked a bit of sauce off her fingers. Looking down, she noticed Tommy.

    “Mmh, are you sure ya don't want any of this? I feel awful scarfing it down like a pig without giving you any.”

    Tommy wasn't really hungry, but he decided to take up her offer, if only to make her feel better.

    “Sure, um, just give me little pinch. That'll be enough.”

    She thought for a second, then looked back at him, “Actually, it'll be easier if ya come up here, sweetie,” she tapped a finger on the edge of the plate. Wiping a greasy hand on her shirt, Patricia reached down to scoop him up. She was gentle, but forceful, and Tommy just barely managed to contain his surprise. In moments he was carefully deposited on the edge of her plate. The last slice of pizza lay across the center, and he crawled over to it to get a nibble. He didn't dare stand up, from the fear that a tiny twitch from Patricia could send him off the edge. Once he'd pulled off a handful of pizza, he moved back to the rim of the plate, sitting just inside of upward-curving edge. He didn't eat much, though. At this distance it was hard to keep his eyes away from Patricia.

    The monstrous woman had just slipped the last bite of the second slice between her plump, pink lips. She chewed away at it happily, before realizing there was something stuck in her cleavage. Her hand went down to retrieve a chunk of crust almost the size of Tommy. With a deft motion, it was thrown into her already-full mouth mid-chew. The young boy looked on, as moments later the whole mass was swallowed down with an audible 'gulp', nothing more than a bulge that quickly disappeared behind Patricia's giant bust.

    As soon as the bulge passed, Patricia sighed happily. From somewhere below, Tommy heard a soft slapping noise as she patted her gut. She took a long swig from the half-empty bottle of whiskey before homing in on the third piece of pizza.

    “You get your fill, Tommy?” Patricia asked as her hand came to grip the slice.

    He could only nod agreement in slack-jawed awe.

    “Good,” she smiled, “Wouldn't want a little cutie like you to go hungry.”

    Tommy took a nibble of his pizza and watched as the last slice lifted away, off to meet its end in Patricia's guts. It was gone in four ravenous bites, and the woman glugged down some more whiskey to polish it off. Tommy noticed the rosy tint to her cheeks and her heavy-lidded blue eyes. She was far more than just tipsy now.

    Now that Patricia was done with her food, Tommy looked up at her expectantly. He wanted to get off this greasy plate and back down to the table where it was safe. His babysitter was looking down towards him, but her eyes were unfocused, like she was thinking. She gave her chest a few meaty thumps, sending her breasts jiggling every which way, before ripping the deepest, wettest belch Tommy had ever heard. The fermented pizza-and-whiskey scent blasted him, and he cringed in disgust.

    “Oof, that's better,” Patricia mumbled, wiping a strand of saliva off her mouth. “Now that I've freed up some space, though,” she said as she rubbed her chin, “I think I'm still a bit peckish.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled ominously beneath Tommy. Sitting on the plate of this hungry, gluttonous woman, Tommy had a vision of her eating him, but he pushed it away. It was ridiculous. His babysitter wasn't really going to eat him, right?

    “Does your mom hide the food anywhere else, Tommy?” Patricia asked.

    “Ah, well, I don't look in the cupboards too much myself, you see,” he stammered nervously, “I'm much too small for that… so if there's anything there you probably saw it already.”

    “Drats,” Patricia muttered, eyes questing around the room in thought. Her stomach growled again, a long low groan that sent a chill up Tommy's spine. He wondered how she could still be so hungry after downing three slices of pizza and lord knows how much alcohol. Patricia's eyes landed back on him. She smiled, and brought the plate up to her face.

    “O-oh,” Patricia moaned, “Tommy, I'm so hungry. Are you sure there's nothing you could do about it?”

    Now inches from her face, Patricia's whiskey scented breath washed over him. On instinct he crept away from her, towards the opposite edge of the plate. But he knew he couldn't escape. Even if he made a lucky landing on her squishy belly or in her cleavage, she'd grab him easily. “N-no. No. W-what are you s-suggesting, P-patricia?”

    “Well, I'm a big hungry gal, and you're a tasty little morsel. Maybe you would be so kind as to fill me up?”

    “P-patricia p-please, that's crazy!” Tommy pleaded. He was shaking now, so scared he could barely keep from collapsing onto his back.

    “Aww, sweetie, don't be scared,” she soothed. “Just a quick gulp,” she made an exaggerated swallowing motion, “And it'll all be over. I won't go hungry and you'll be safe and sound right here in my tummy,” she gave her fat gut a few dainty pats, “How's that sound, hon?”

    “No! Nonononono! You can't! P-please, please, Patricia!” Tommy had succumbed completely to panic. His babysitter was insane, or insanely cruel, and he had just plunged headfirst into a nightmare. And things could only get worse.

    “Oh,” Patricia cooed ruefully, “Honey, you were so well behaved earlier. What happened?”

    Tommy stared at her with wild eyes.

     “I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way,” she said sadly, and began to tilt the plate down so he'd slide towards her mouth.

    Tommy wrapped his fingers around the upper edge of the plate, clinging on for dear life as she tilted it to near vertical.

    “Ah-ah-ah,” Patricia chided sweetly from behind him, “You're gonna have a nice long time out in my belly whether you like it or not!”

    Tommy's face was pressed tight against the plate, eyes screwed shut and every muscle tensed with the knowledge that he must not let go. His concentration shattered when Patricia wrapped her lips around his feet. It was such a surprise he shrieked and released his grip in a terrified spasm. She slurped him right into her mouth before he had time to fall. His skinny arms were still sticking out when she started to taste him, but she quickly pushed them in with a finger.

    Now completely inside Patricia's mouth, Tommy struggled against her violating tongue as he choked on sticky saliva. She pushed him against the roof her mouth and sucked on him like a lozenge, eliciting a moan of pleasure that rumbled from deep in her throat. Then she swished him back and forth between her cheeks, drowning him in saliva and disorienting him. She even held him between her teeth, nibbling at him gently. When she returned him to the center of her tongue he was battered, bruised and exhausted. He couldn't fight back as she took one final swallow, sending him down into her belly at last.


Patricia felt Tommy plop down in her gut heavily, and sighed. The cute little boy had been even more delicious than she hoped, but perhaps not quite as filling. She could still feel him moving, though. The faint ticklish sensation was very pleasurable and relaxing. Patricia gave her flabby belly – now bloated out slightly more with the addition of Tommy – an affectionate rub.

    She hadn't eaten any tinies since her sorority days, and she'd really forgotten how much she loved them. She was ready to fall asleep right there on the couch, but her stomach gurgled angrily again. Not quite a hunger pang, but it confirmed that she was not really full, although she'd eaten quite a bit now. Maybe having a squirmy little morsel like Tommy in there had gotten the old girl in the mood for a proper binge, Patricia thought.

    While she was wondering what she was going to devour this time, Patricia realized that with Tommy in her belly, she was free to hit up the town. And she knew just the place to go to fix her little hunger problem.

    Patricia heaved herself off the couch once more, and went to find the emergency money Tommy's mom had left them. As she waddled around the apartment, she felt a bit of pressure in her chest, and let out a crass, airy burp.

    “Ugh. Giving me gas already, Tommy?” she poked an accusing finger into her beer gut, “I don't mind a little gas, sweetie, but when the time comes you better digest nicely, or I'll have a word with your mother. Understood?” she asked. Her stomach gurgled noisily in reply. “Good,” she said, giving it a few pats.

    A few minutes later she found the cash. She slipped her flip-flops on by the door, and headed out to find the bus stop.


Tommy clung to a soggy piece of pizza crust, floating in the fetid sea of alcohol that was Patricia's stomach. His panic had subsided, and while his current situation was miserable, he had an earnest hope that Patricia had eaten him in some drunken madness, and as soon as she came to her senses, she would get him out of her belly. With that in mind, he'd been conserving his strength, but making sure to pound on the walls every few minutes so she wouldn't forget he was down here.

    The stomach was a volatile place. In addition to its own digestive contractions, every time Patricia walked or stood up or sat down or turned a bit to quickly, Tommy's whole environment lurched nauseatingly, splashing liquor and bile everywhere. He was completely soaked in stinging, stinking whiskey at this point, and he'd been forced to strip off his clothes because they itched so much.

    The rhythmic sloshing of Patricia's waddle stopped, and the whole stomach heaved as she plopped down to sit. Tommy decided this was a good time to make his presence known again, and waded over to the stomach wall to start pounding. This time, though, he received a response. The stomach wall rebounded inward, sending Tommy careening back into the lake of bile. The whole stomach reverberated from the force of the smack Patricia had given to her gut.

    As Tommy started to pull himself out of the murky alcohol, he noticed the sphincter at the top of the stomach open and dump in a chewed lump of fried chicken. More followed in short order. He couldn't believe Patricia was gorging herself again. The more she ate the harder it would be for him to stay alive in her stomach, and the harder it would be for her to get him out. An anxious knot tightened in his chest. His churning, digestive doom grew closer by the minute and he was powerless to stop it.

    Patricia's binge dragged on, and her stomach slowly filled with all manner of fried, greasy foods, and a steady supply of beer. Tommy had to fight the churning madness to stay above the waterline, sometimes treading a mixture of stomach acid and beer, sometimes crawling up chewed mounds of food. He was starting to get tired. He couldn't do this forever.

    The gas rising from the digesting food collected near the top of the stomach, around where Tommy was. Every minute or so, the stomach would contract violently as Patricia belched. Each time she did, the breathable air got thinner for Tommy. His muscles burned from fatigue and lack of oxygen and his breaths were quick and labored.

    There was only a bit of air left in the stomach now, and Tommy used the last of his strength to push up into it and pound desperately on the stomach lining. If he could just survive a little longer, he thought, she would stop eating, and she would remember his struggling, and she would save him.

    But Patricia didn't stop eating. As her stomach became tight, she burped again, leaving no air inside at all. Forced up against ribbed flesh of the stomach, Tommy could no longer move. And he could no longer breathe. More food piled in and he sunk lower, and lower, until he was completely submerged, surrounded on all sides by warm mushy food and inky darkness. He was holding his breath, but the pain in his chest grew and grew until he could take it no longer. He took a shuddering breath and let the liquid pour into his lungs, while the chewed ooze of food clogged his mouth and his throat. As Tommy's consciousness faded, spiraling into the confused nothingness of death, he thought about the taste of beer, and how much he hated it.


Patricia leaned back in her booth at the buffet and sighed in contentment. She ran a finger in circles around the spot on her gut where she last felt Tommy struggling. He put up a good fight, and she relished his tickling movements, but Patricia was pleased when he finally succumbed to her belly, becoming just another part of her massive meal.

    She caressed her gut and cooed to it affectionately, “Was that so hard, sweetie? Now just lay back and I'll do all the work.”

    Her stomach let out a long watery gurgle, almost like a whine.

    “Don't feel bad about it, hon, you aren't the first one who's lost to my tummy,” Patricia chuckled, “I had quite a reputation for this back in college, actually. They used call me 'Patty the Pit'.”

    This time her gut replied with the pressure of gas, rising into her chest. She was happy to release it, letting loose a satisfying, meaty belch. To Patricia's surprise, Tommy's t-shirt, sopping wet with bile, flew out of her mouth alongside her crass eructation, landing with a splat on the side of her beer mug. She chuckled and slipped the souvenir into her pocket.

    Patricia didn't linger on her conquest too long, however. She was stuffed to the gills, sure, but she wasn't in pain yet, and there were a few more foods she wanted to try at the buffet, not to mention the soft-serve ice cream machine that she had yet to touch. The bloated woman felt she could fit a few more plates in her, and so she carefully scooted out of her booth and lumbered off in search of more food. Some of the other patrons stared at her engorged gut as she passed, and she felt a tingle of exhibitionistic excitement as she wondered what they might think if they knew there was a tiny person in there with all that food.

    Thirty minutes, three plates of food, and one huge bowl of ice cream later, and Patricia was now painfully stuffed. Her shirt rode up, exposing the sensitive skin of her belly. The pale-pinkish orb was soft to the touch, but hard underneath the outer layer of fat. Patricia took a bit of masochistic pleasure in the straining discomfort of a packed stomach, but the slow tightening happening lower in her guts was much less welcome. With great effort she wrapped her arms around her bloated midsection and lifted it just enough to unbutton and unzip her jeans before plopping it back down in her lap. The release of pressure felt amazing to Patricia, and she sighed blissfully, “Ahh, much better.”

    Her bliss was short lived, though. With a low groan, something clenched deep in her bowels. Patricia moaned and slid lower into her seat as she reached her hands around to massage the lowest part of her belly, right above her panties. It didn't do much good, as the pain only intensified. Something, or – Patricia was certain – someone, was giving her some serious indigestion. And, judging from the pressure building in her rectum, some serious gas, too.

    Unbeknown to her, Tommy's partially dissolved remains were indeed wedged lengthwise into her small intestine, sliding along slowly but painfully. The gas was more the result of all the fried meat she'd eaten, but she would blame the poor boy for that, too.

    “Oh, Tommy, honey, what did we talk about?” Patricia chided her bulging gut, “I asked you to digest like a good boy, and you go and do this! Have some mercy on your poor babysitter.”

    Patricia lifted one of her butt cheeks and grunted as a hot, pungent fart forced its way out. The rancid odor quickly enveloped the whole booth, but luckily no one else was near enough to hear or smell it. Patricia was in too much discomfort to really care either way, though. This was going to be a long night, and one best not spent passed out in the buffet. With that in mind, she scooted out of the booth and made for the door. Whoever she sat next to on the bus would be in for a treat, she thought wryly.


Patricia woke up slowly the next day. She had slept well into the afternoon, but thankfully her hangover was nowhere near as bad as she expected. As she struggled to sit up, she put together the events of last night, aided by other sensations: the heavy, bloated feeling in her gut, and the unbearable pressure in her bowels. She quickly remembered her binge, and Tommy's ignoble fate in her guts, noting happily that she had made it back to the right apartment after she got off the bus. It was not the night she had planned – by any means – but it was an enjoyable night nonetheless. She did feel a bit bad about eating Tommy, but after the hell he gave her last night it was hard to feel too much sympathy. And judging by the feeling in her lower belly, it was not yet over.

    Finally standing up, Patricia realized at some point last night she'd removed her shirt and her jeans. She didn't rush to put them on, knowing that there was some very serious dumping in her future that would be a lot more comfortable the less she was wearing. Instead she squatted a bit to force out a loud, airy fart. It came dangerously close to being more than a fart, and she decided it was finally time to hit the can.

    Waddling into the bathroom, Patricia took her panties off completely, and plopped her cellulite padded butt down on the toilet. “Alright, Tommy, it's time to go,” she muttered.
    It took a few deep breaths to relax her muscles, but as soon as she did a thick, hot log of excrement emerged, and it didn't stop. Patricia grunted and curled her toes as the snake made its uncomfortable exit. The longer it took the more she feared she might be having a prolapse. After what seemed like minutes, it stopped just as quickly as it started. Her anus pinched closed, and the tail end of the mighty turd splashed down into the toilet bowl. Patricia sighed with relief, wiped, and stood up to inspect her work.

    A long, brown tube of waste, curled and folded over itself, filled most of the bowl, sticking out of the water in some places. Patricia reckoned it might be the entire length of her colon, and felt a little pride in knowing she could still binge like an Upsilon Omicron Rho sister in her prime. She caressed her fat gut lovingly, like a trained but dangerous animal, “Looks like we've still got it, darling.”

    On closer inspection of the turd, Patricia could make out Tommy's little skeleton, polished ivory white by digestive acids. He was embedded near the tail end, back bent backwards at an impossible angle. His glasses were lodged into the excrement just above his skull, having somehow remained near his body for all that time.

    Patricia just shook her head, “All that ruckus you made in my guts, and look where it got you, hon. Baked into a turd like the rest of my food. Least you could've done is make things comfortable for poor ol' me,” she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes in frustration before continuing, “Or if you weren't so darn adorable, I wouldn't have gobbled ya up in the first place!”

    A little bubble of gas rose from the tangled mass of waste, and popped when it hit the surface of the water. Patricia realized that there was nothing more to be said here, and reached for the lever on the toilet, but stopped when she a devious idea popped into her head. She went back to the living room to retrieve the old Polaroid camera she'd seen hanging in the coat closet last night. On the way she grabbed her pants and took Tommy's little t-shirt out of them.
    Returning to the bathroom, she reunited the t-shirt with its old owner for a few glamor shots. “Scatbooking” was an old hobby of the girls in her sorority, and while the days of scarfing down tinies at every party were long gone, it was fun for Patricia to relive them now. She could already imagine the caption: “9/22/87 – Tommy goes to tummy town.”

    Satisfied with her pictures, Patricia finally flushed away the huge dump. She decided against confronting Tommy's mother after what she'd done, instead opting to skip out on her pay. Getting to relive her glory days as a gluttonous party girl made the gig more than worth it. She gathered up her things and left the apartment with a spring in her step, the only remnants of the boy she ate resting in her purse and on her hips.

Chapter End Notes:

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