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 after vaguely mentioning my ass. My entire concern is whether he meant it was too big or too small. While “thinking,” I repeatedly check empty cupboards and eventually realise that I've eaten everything in the house.
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. In my mind, being offered honey is completely different from going there to get honey.
I reach his familiar burrow-style home and calls inside. The host jokingly says nobody is home, which completely confuses me because somebody obviously had to speak. I decide the sensible solution is simply to crawl 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.
I immediately switch into “normal visitor” mode. I insist that I was simply nearby and came to say hello, while my eyes repeatedly drift toward the honey. I bring up the breakup and bluntly ask whether he thinks my ass is too big or too small.
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 finishing the whole jar. I am genuinely surprised when it becomes empty.
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. My entire mood changes. I instantly decide that refusing hospitality would actually be rude, so staying for more honey becomes—according to me—the polite choice.
I promise myself that this time I will eat slowly and responsibly, then immediately I eat almost exactly as fast as before. While eating, I return to discussing my ass, checks myself out, concludes that I still look cute, and become increasingly comfortable staying. When the jar empties, I don't directly ask for another; I simply wait with an expectant smile.
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. When the host does not immediately replace one, I wonder whether he forgot. I begin referring to “the next one” as though there is an agreed sequence. Small jars get combined mentally so that two jars can somehow count as one.
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. My logic shifts from “this barely counts” to “this is more efficient.” Throughout all of this, my hips and ass are visibly growing much larger, but I'm far too focused on the honey to notice.
I finally prepare to leave when I spot one giant jar sitting by itself. I decide that leaving a single jar behind would be rude, or somehow unfair to the jar. The host knows I've had far too much, but I clearly want it and happily talks myself into one final indulgence. I finish it, pat my stomach, and declare that I finally feel perfectly satisfied.
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. Because accepting that my body changed would require connecting the honey to the problem. I instead decide that the hole must somehow have become smaller while I was eating.
When the host suggests I ate too much, I attempt to prove him wrong by recounting every jar. Small jars barely count. Two small ones equal one normal one. An open jar needed finishing. A jar eaten quickly should somehow matter less. The longer I explain myself, the more obvious the enormous amount becomes—except to her.
I finally decide to give up on moving forward and simply crawl backward into the house. That fails too: my upper body catches when I try to retreat. I realise that I'm now stuck in both directions, which I find deeply unfair because, in my mind, people should only be allowed to be stuck one way at a time.
Slowly, I realise my ass really has become much 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 certain pushes feel particularly good and start asking him to repeat them. I remain consistent: open, confused, enthusiastic, and focused on the immediate sensation rather than analysing what is happening.
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. Rather than recognising that the house is breaking, I excitedly interprets each new crack as proof that my butt is rapidly getting smaller.
Now convinced my method is working, I become determined. We coordinate several final pushes. 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.
Video contains: Ass Expansion, Expanding, Transformation, Transforming, Expansion, Ass Expansion, Stuck, Elouise Please
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