Too Much Honey Expands My Ass Until I'm Stuck

I'm alone at home trying to understand why my boyfriend broke up with me. I remember a male friend who always has a huge supply of honey. Rather than admitting that I want to go there specifically to eat, I convince myself that he probably keeps extra honey because he likes visitors—and because she I'm a visitor, some of that honey is basically already intended for me.

I prepare to visit while trying very hard not to appear greedy. My plan is to look cute, act casual, mention the breakup, glance at the honey just enough for him to notice, and hopefully make him offer it himself. 

I reach his familiar burrow-style home and call inside. The opening already fits me closely, but I consider the small bumps and little effort required to get through completely normal and give them no thought.

The host sees exactly what I want and offers me a jar. I'm delighted that he somehow “figured it out” even though I supposedly never asked. I promise to have only a little, then quickly abandon the spoon, eating enthusiastically, and finish the whole jar. 

Because the jar is finished, I assume the visit should now end and reluctantly begin to leave. The host casually asks whether I'd like anything else. I promise myself that this time I will eat slowly and responsibly, then immediately I eat almost exactly as fast as before. 

My rationalisations become more creative. A smaller jar “barely counts” because it is tiny. Another jar is already open, so somebody needs to finish it before something happens to it. I sincerely treat these as sensible technical exceptions rather than excuses for continuing to eat.

By now, the pattern has become automatic: empty jar goes down, new jar should appear. I'm no longer pretending very successfully. I openly ask for more and become increasingly delighted by the larger jars because they require less time opening containers. Throughout all of this, my hips and ass are visibly growing much larger, but I'm far too focused on the honey to notice.

Hours have passed. I've wiped out the honey supply, feel wonderful, have forgotten all about my breakup, and believe the visit was an enormous success. I still have no idea how much my body has changed.

I get onto all fours and casually crawl through the same hole I used earlier. My upper body goes through, but my enlarged ass repeatedly bumps against the opening. I'm confused - I got through earlier so I believe that I should obviously fit now.

I try harder and harder, repeatedly backing up and bumping forward. Slowly, I realise my ass really has become larger. I ask how much of it is stuck, whether squeezing it makes it smaller, and whether I've gained “one jar” or “two jars” worth of size. I protect my insecurities by saying my ass is not too big in general, the hole is simply too small.

With no easy solution, I tell the host to push me through. I throw myself forward and demand harder pushes. I treat his hands on my hips and ass as purely practical at first: that is the part that is stuck, so obviously that is where he needs to push.

The repeated physical contact begins producing reactions I did not expect.I notice that I'm warm, sweaty, shaky, and excited. Because exercise also makes people sweaty, I decide all of this must count as exercise, therefore making my ass smaller. The chemistry becomes increasingly obvious, and the scene strongly implies that I'm getting fucked from behind.

I feel that I can suddenly move slightly more. I proudly conclude that the “exercise” worked and I've already lost weight. In reality, all of the struggling and pushing has begun damaging the hole around me.

Suddenly, I sneeze, slamming hard against the frame, and hear a crack. I can immediately wiggle more. Now convinced my method is working, I become determined. The opening cracks further until I finally pop through and tumble free.

I completely misunderstand the escape, conclude that I made myself skinny enough to fit, deciding this means that I can eat as much as I want.