Full. Oh, so full. So completely overstuffed with pies, cakes, cookies, and ice cream. There's no room left, your stomach is so horribly packed tight you're surprised the skin hasn't torn. It itches, though, as if it's stretched to the limit. Maybe it is. The colossal balloon sticking out as much sideways as it bows out forwards. Pushing away from your pudgy body as though wanting to avoid another feast. Just like you do. And you would, too, if you could move anything but your mouth.
You aren't strapped to the leather arm chair, but you may as well be. Leaning back into the cushions, you're pinned under the hefty weight of your belly. After a whole day of endlessly shoving in dessert after cruelly delicious dessert, you're so engorged even breathing is difficult. Heaving that boulder up and down with every breath. It tires you out, so you quickly realise moving is impossible. At least not without help.
But he won't help you. The man in the kitchen, who currently cooks yet more food for