I was vegged out on the couch, watching TV. Messy hair, no m..
Added 2025-04-22 12:14:05 +0000 UTCI was vegged out on the couch, watching TV. Messy hair, no makeup, just cuddled under a blanket in my underwear, waiting for the food delivery I knew I wasn't supposed to have. Something easy, something private. My own little getaway- a sneaky stuffing on the living room couch. I even left a note:
"Knock softly. I'm supposed to be on a diet."
They didn't listen. The doorbell rang. I shot up in panic, but it was already too late. Over my protests- "It's probably just Amazon..." my boyfriend answered the door. And I was caught red-handed. But this time, he didn't let it slide. He knew exactly what I was up to. He grabbed a camera and a light stand and started documenting. He flipped the script on my peaceful mid-day indulgence, dressing me up like a pet: floral cat ears, white lace bracelets and necklace, trimmed with silly pink ribbons and bells. Every fidget, every awkward adjustment of my too-tight clothing, punctuated by tinny little jingles announcing my every move- leaving me nowhere to hide.
No privacy. No dignity. This wasn't a meal anymore. It was a punishment and a fetishistic spectacle. Stripped of dignity, of pride, of excuses. I tried to protest, but the more I struggled, the more he teased. "I could be enjoying this meal alone." "You could be at the gym right now." So, here I sit, unprepared, unvarnished, but put on display anyway- like a pet, like a dumb doll, mindlessly stuffing.
