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A Hedonist's Vacation

This is my first story on DeviantArt, please feel free to check out my profile, feedtheboi. I'm considering doing some writing for commission? If that's something anyone is even mildly interested in, let me know:)

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You groan and open your eyes, the world slowly coming to focus. Your... friend? Partner? Fuck buddy? Enabler?... passes a joint. You take a deep drag completely on instinct.

It's been 1.5 weeks since your last job ended, and it's another 3 weeks until your next contract starts. Your friend suggested a 3 week vacation in the city, a chance to let loose and decompress. "You work from home, there's no way you can really relax with that next job looming over your office." You agree, so off you go.

You were able to rent a hotel room, set up like a studio apartment, for surprisingly cheap. You got a hefty bonus at the end of the last job, but the rest of it would go to other things.

Within half an hr of arriving, you were high as a kite, snacking on chips and cupcakes, and waiting for your food delivery. Your friend handed you a drink to quell your cotton mouth, and you downed the cider in one go.

That was the beginning of this hedonistic vacation. You haven't been sober since. You've only left the hotel to go to the buffet a few times, as well as a hole-in-the-wall pub where you drank and ate until you basically had to be carried to the cab.

Now over a week in, you have no concept of time. Your life is smoking until the littlest things make you giggle uncontrollably, drinking until the world starts to swim and your words slur together, and eating until your breath hitches and your gut is so overglutted you can feel your skin stretching. Then you pass out in a drunken food coma, only to wake up and do it all over again.

After this joint, you're handed ...breakfast? Dinner? Your next feast. Extra large stuffed crust supreme pizza, a family order of cheesy breadsticks, and half a dozen cinnamon rolls each the size of your 2 fists. You dive in wolfishly, aching to satisfy the hole in your gut the munchies have created.

At some point you're handed a high percentage craft beer, and then another, and then another. Bouncing between long swigs and shoving your greasy meal in your face, your gut grows like a parade balloon inflating.

Any time your gut tries to signal how full you are, you belch and keep going. Moans escape from deep within you as your belly swells into your lap, even in your reclined position.

You've finished all but one piece of pizza, half the breadsticks, 2 cinnamon rolls, and 6 cans of ale when your body is wracked with hiccups. Your stomach bounces with every jolt, shaking out burps and groans. Your hands fly to your belly desparately rubbing, almost afraid a hiccup will bring everything up.

Your friend pulls your hands away and does the work themself, and bliss overcomes you. Their warm hands on your overtaxed gut is heavenly. They smirk every time you hiccup, and their eyes glint every time you burp.

"Chug this, it will stop the hiccups." You're handed another can. If you were sober you would question this logic, but now all your thoughts manifest as soft colours, and a primal need to consume more, so you obey blindly.

You feel your gut stretching with every gulp, your skin starting to itch. When you finish, a string of desperate burps fall out of you, but miraculously the hiccups are gone.

Now your head is lolling and you can barely keep your eyes open. Your chin drops to rest on your upper chest for just a second before it's lifted by the gentle caress of your friend.

"You have more to eat. Just a little more." They look into your half-lidded eyes, and lift the last piece of pizza to your mouth. You eat on instinct, the only thing you can think about is chewing and swallowing. You have to close your eyes by the end of the slice, but the food keeps coming anyways. Breadstick after breadstick is coaxed into your exhausted maw, interrupted by breaks for deep belly rubs. By now you don't know what's groaning louder, you or your stomach.

The world sways, your skin itches, your lungs beg for room to expand, and your gut is positively throbbing, but the gentle and finessed touch of your friend's hands make it all feel like background noise as your body finally shuts down for another food coma, getting ready to do this again in 4-8 hours.

You feel yourself fading into food coma when the barrage finally stops. "We'll save the cinnamon buns for when you wake up, pet." You can barely nod your head in acknowledgement.

uchikawa + me !

THIS ENTIRE ALBUM

OH DARLING, TAKE THE LONG WAY HOME, GOODBYE STRANGER….