Lara leaned back, letting her bulk settle, and slid a hand b..

Lara leaned back, letting her bulk settle, and slid a hand beneath the heavy apron of her stomach. She was so turned on—by the memory of her old self, by the ruin she’d made of that body, by the sheer audacity of her gluttony. She’d traded granite peaks for this soft, sprawling landscape of flesh, and it thrilled her. The phone slipped from her grasp as she closed her eyes, lost in the sensation of her own excess, her gasps filling the room as she gave in to the pleasure of being so utterly, deliciously undone.

Her reverie was interrupted by a sudden impulse. Lara fumbled for her phone again, her thick fingers clumsy with urgency, and pulled up the photo she’d taken—the close-up of her beach ball-sized belly, glowing pink and obscene in the soft light. She hesitated for only a moment before sending it to her friend Riley, a writer with a sharp mind and a taste for the unconventional. “Check this out,” she typed, her pulse quickening. She didn’t know what she expected—shock, maybe, or teasing—but the act of sharing her transformation felt like a confession, raw and exhilarating.

Riley’s response came later that night, a text followed by a file. “You’re a muse now,” the message read. “Fed this to an AI and let it run wild.” Curious, Lara opened the attachment. It was an erotica story, vivid and unapologetic, starring her—or at least a version of her. The AI had spun a tale of Lara as a voluptuous queen of indulgence, her flabby belly a centerpiece of worship, growing rounder with every decadent feast. The prose lingered on the way her flesh jiggled as she moved, the way her appetite consumed everything in its path, painting her as both predator and prize. Lara’s breath caught as she read, her skin prickling with heat. The story didn’t just describe her—it amplified her, turning her surrender into something mythic.

She couldn’t stop reading. The words sank into her, stoking the fire that had already been smoldering. Lara stumbled to the kitchen, her massive gut swaying with each step, and raided the fridge—leftover pizza, a pint of ice cream, a slab of buttery cake she’d forgotten about. She ate with a fervor she hadn’t felt before, the AI’s fantasy looping in her mind. She imagined herself as that queen, her belly ballooning beyond its current size, her body a testament to unrestrained desire. Each bite pushed her further into the spiral, the stretch of her stomach a delicious ache that mirrored the story’s crescendo.

Days blurred into a haze of indulgence. Lara ordered delivery in stacks—burgers, fries, milkshakes, entire trays of pastries—chasing the high of that first night. She’d sprawl on the couch, rereading Riley’s gift, her hands roaming her ever-softening form as she stuffed herself fuller. Her beach ball belly grew heavier, its pink-tinged expanse spilling further over her lap, a monument to her descent. She’d abandoned the cliffs long ago, but now she was scaling new heights—of excess, of pleasure, of herself—and every pound she gained felt like a victory she hadn’t known she’d been craving.