Two weeks of indulgence

Opening scene

Lena stood in front of the bathroom mirror after another long day of tugging at waistbands and hating the way clothes sat on her. Under her breath, half-joking and half-desperate, she whispered, “I just wish I could feel comfortable in my body for once. Really comfortable.”

A soft warmth spread through her stomach. She shrugged it off and went to bed.

The next morning her favourite jeans were noticeably tighter. By the afternoon her belly sat a little heavier against the waistband. That night she caught herself resting a hand on the soft new curve and feeling… oddly calm. A quiet thought that didn’t quite feel like her own drifted through her mind: This is better. Let it keep going.

She tried to ignore it. The scale the next day said otherwise. The wish had already started working — and it had no intention of stopping at “a little softer.”

Turn 1 of 23

Revel in the changes. Revel in them so much that I order food to increase them. Don't hold back any burps or farts.

Lena stands in front of the bathroom mirror, and this time she doesn't tug at the waistband. She turns sideways instead, letting her eyes trace the new swell of her belly where it pushes against the cotton of her sleep shirt. The fabric rides up just slightly, revealing a strip of soft, warm skin. She rests both hands on the curve — not pulling it flat, not sucking in, just *holding* it — and a low, pleased sound escapes her throat before she can think to stop it. The thought that drifts through her mind doesn't feel intrusive anymore. It feels like hers. *More.*

She pads to the kitchen in bare feet, each step heavier than she remembers, and the sensation sends a thrill through her. The fridge hums. The phone sits on the counter. Her thumb moves before her conscious mind catches up, tapping through the delivery app, loading the page with burgers, fries, a milkshake, an extra milkshake, mozzarella sticks. She doesn't scroll back to check the total. The warm hum in her stomach isn't embarrassment — it's appetite, and something deeper than appetite, something that purrs *yes* every time she adds another item. She hits confirm and drops onto the couch, where her body sinks into the cushions with a satisfying give she's never felt before.

The food arrives in two bags. She eats on the couch with the TV on and the volume low, and she doesn't bother with a plate. The first burger is gone in minutes, and she licks salt from her fingers before reaching for the fries. Halfway through the mozzarella sticks, a pressure builds in her chest and she lets out a belch — deep, rolling, utterly unladylike — and the sound of it makes her laugh out loud. The tightness in her belly eases, and she reaches for the milkshake.

Her body feels like it's humming along with some frequency she's finally tuned into. She shifts her weight on the couch, and a soft, rolling fart escapes into the cushion. She snorts, then lets another come when it presses up behind the first. The old Lena would have gone red. This Lena just takes a long pull on the milkshake straw and feels the cold sweetness settle into the warm, full ache of her stomach. The ache isn't pain. It's *stretching*. It's room being made.

She finishes everything. The second milkshake leaves a film on her lips. She sits back, breathing slowly, both hands resting on the taut dome of her belly where it presses outward against her shirt. The fabric has ridden up completely now, and she doesn't pull it down. The soft skin is warm under her palms, and she can feel it: not fullness that will recede, but fullness that will stay. The warmth spreads outward from her center, through her thighs pressed together on the couch, through her softened arms, through her chest. She closes her eyes and lets the wish keep doing its work. The last thought she has before she dozes is: *I ordered all that and I'm already thinking about what comes next.*