Months later, the cottage smelled different. Less like weed and bleach, more like the faint salt of Lake Ontario and the cedar the place was built from. Margot stood at the kitchen counter of the AirBnB, her phone propped against a jar of honey, one hand on her hip as she scrolled through the breakfast menu.
"Ronnie, babe, are we doing the discount thing or not? Because if we are, I need to pick the right button."
Ronnie padded over from the living area, her bare feet slapping the worn floorboards. She was shorter than Margot by three inches, with a body that carried its history in every curve—wide hips that knocked against table legs, a soft belly that bounced when she laughed, breasts that rested heavy on her ribcage. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she was already halfway through a joint.
"There's a promo code," Ronnie said, squinting at Margot's phone. "Something about breakfast bundles. If we order through the app we get twenty percent off and a free dozen."
Margot passed her the phone. "You do it. I'm still coming down from last night."
Henry and Carter were on the porch, their voices low and easy over the sound of the lake lapping at the shore. They'd been friends for years—Carter was Henry's height, same lean build, same way of moving that said he knew what he wanted. They'd met through a forum, actually, back when Henry was first researching pumps and recipes. Turned out Carter lived two towns over. Turned out his wife had the same secret hunger.
Ronnie tapped at the screen, her tongue poking out as she navigated the app. "Okay, there's a button for 'breakfast party pack' that gives us bulk pricing. And then this other code—" She selected something, then frowned. "Huh. It auto-added quantities. That's weird."
"What'd you do?" Margot leaned in.
"I don't know. It says 'applied quantity multiplier x2 for promo eligibility.' That's probably fine, right?"
Margot shrugged. "We're feeding four people. How bad can it be?"
Ronnie hit confirm. The screen spun for a moment, then displayed the total. She whistled. "That's a lot of donuts."
"How many?"
"Four dozen."
Margot blinked. "And coffee?"
"Two gallons of iced. Two gallons of hot. But it's all the same price as ordering one of each, so…"
Margot laughed, a low rolling sound that came from her belly. "The universe wants us full today."
Ronnie grinned, passing the joint back. "I'm not mad at it."
They sat on the couch, passing the weed back and forth, letting the morning haze settle over them. The AirBnB was a lakefront house with big windows and a deck that jutted over the water. The fire in the stone fireplace had burned down to embers, and the place smelled like wet wood and the faint sweetness of the cinnamon candles Ronnie had lit.
An hour later, the doorbell rang.
"I got it," Carter called from the porch. He and Henry had been stripping off their shoes, and they exchanged a look as they headed for the front door.
Margot heard the delivery guy's voice, then a long silence. Then Carter's laugh, sharp and surprised.
"Henry. Come look at this."
She pushed herself off the couch, curious, and padded to the front door. Ronnie followed.
On the porch sat four cardboard boxes, each big enough to hold a small child. Two of them had coffee urns visible through the flaps. Two more were stacked with donut boxes, the tops bulging.
"What the hell," Ronnie said.
"You ordered this," Henry said, but he was smiling. He was always smiling when something went interestingly wrong.
"There was a discount button," Ronnie said weakly.
Carter picked up one of the coffee urns. "Two gallons each. That's four gallons of coffee." He hefted it. "And forty-eight donuts."
They carried it all inside, lining the kitchen counter with boxes. The counter disappeared under white cardboard and the warm smell of fried dough and dark roast. Margot stood in the middle of it, her hands on her hips, and felt something stir in her chest—not hunger yet, but anticipation.
"Well," Henry said, his voice dropping into that register she knew well. The one that meant he was about to make a plan. "Seems like a waste to let it go cold."
Carter looked at him, then at the women. "You're thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm thinking the ladies need their appetites built up first." Henry reached into his bag, which was already by the door because of course it was, and pulled out a small tin. "I packed extra."
Margot's stomach did a slow flip. "Edibles?"
"The strong ones. The ones that make you want to eat everything in sight." He tossed the tin to Carter. "Give them two each. We'll let them settle while we get things ready."
Ronnie looked at Margot, her eyes wide. "Is this—"
"This is how Henry says 'the universe gave us a gift.'" Margot took her first edible without hesitation, letting the chocolate melt on her tongue. She watched Ronnie do the same, saw the slight tremor in her friend's hand. "First time with this kind of prep?"
Ronnie nodded, chewing slowly. "We've done stuffings. I've done enemas. But never… together. Like this."
"You'll be fine." Margot squeezed her arm. "I'll be right there with you."
Twenty minutes later, the edibles had taken root. Margot could feel it in her fingertips first, a warmth that spread up her arms and settled in her chest. Her stomach growled—a low, insistent sound that made her realize how empty she was. They'd only had coffee that morning, and the weed had burned through that hours ago.
Across the room, Ronnie was rubbing her own belly, her expression dreamy. "I'm so hungry," she said, almost a moan.
"Good." Henry stood up from the armchair. "Carter, you grab the chairs. I'll get the hoses."
They worked in comfortable silence, the way people do when they've done this before. Henry and Carter brought in two sturdy wooden dining chairs from the kitchen nook, placed them side by side in the middle of the living room. From their bags came the familiar equipment: the pump, the hoses, the bucket. Henry tested the pump, the low hum filling the room, then ran the hoses through a basin of warm water to soften them.
Carter mixed the coffee. All four gallons—the iced and the hot—went into a large plastic tub he'd found under the sink. He stirred it with a ladle, the liquid turning a uniform lukewarm brown. "That's a lot of coffee enema," he said, almost reverently.
"They'll be caffeinated for a week," Henry replied. He was tying a length of rope to one of the chair arms, testing the knot. "Margot, come here."
She went to him, her bare feet quiet on the rug. He guided her into the chair, his hands warm on her shoulders. She sat, and he knelt, running his palms down her thighs to her calves, then lifting each foot to strap her ankles to the chair legs. The rope was soft but firm. He did the same with her wrists, securing her arms to the armrests, leaving just enough give to shift but not enough to escape.
His face was close to hers as he tightened the last knot. "You ready?"
"Yes." It came out breathless.
He kissed her forehead, then stood to help Carter with Ronnie.
Ronnie was watching them, her eyes dark and a little nervous. "Do I need to take anything off?"
"Just your bottoms," Carter said, already untying the drawstring of her shorts. She lifted her hips, let him slide them down, then her panties. She sat back, bare from the waist down, her thighs pressed together.
Margot watched Carter handle her with the same quiet competence Henry used. The same careful patience. He knelt, strapped her ankles, then her wrists, his hands steady.
When both women were secured, Henry picked up the two hoses. They were medical-grade silicone, smooth and flexible, each about three feet long with a tapered end. He handed one to Carter, then knelt behind Margot's chair.
"You know where to put it," he said quietly.
She nodded. She knew.
He parted her cheeks with his thumbs, and she felt the cool tip of the hose press against her entrance. She took a breath, pushed back just slightly, and felt it slide in—slow, steady, no resistance. She was already slick, not from arousal yet but from anticipation, from the familiar territory of being opened.
The hose went in deep. She knew the feeling: past the sphincter, into the rectum, curving with her colon. Henry pushed it until there was about six inches left outside, then taped it in place against her skin. A strip of medical tape across her thigh, another across her lower back. She was connected.
Beside her, Ronnie made a small sound—not pain, not pleasure, just acknowledgment. Carter had finished inserting her hose, and she was breathing through it, her eyes closed.
"Okay?" Margot asked.
"Yeah. Just… full already. And it hasn't even started."
Henry took the free end of Margot's hose and connected it to the pump's outlet port. Carter did the same with Ronnie's. Then Henry ran a third hose from the pump's inlet port and dropped the other end into the coffee bucket.
The pump sat on the floor between them, a black cylinder about the size of a thick novel. Henry checked the connections, then looked at Carter. "Ready when you are."
Carter picked up a donut from the nearest box—glazed, plump, still slightly warm. He held it in front of Ronnie's face. "Open."
She did, and he placed it on her tongue. She bit, chewed, swallowed.
Henry did the same for Margot. A chocolate cream-filled, the custard spilling out the side. She opened her mouth, let him place it, and the sweetness hit her tongue, the soft dough dissolving. She was so hungry. The edible had turned her stomach into a hollow space, and every bite felt like a revelation.
Henry turned on the pump.
The hum changed pitch, becoming a low vibration that traveled up through the hose and into her body. She felt it before she felt the liquid—a tremor in her colon, a warning. Then warmth. A slow, steady warmth that started at the tip and spread inward.
Coffee. Lukewarm, moving through her insides like a tide.
She took another bite of donut as her belly began to grow.
It was a familiar feeling, but different. The coffee wasn't thick like cream, wasn't fizzy like soda. It was smooth and warm, and it filled her with a steady patience that matched the pump's rhythm. Her colon accepted it, inch by inch, and she could feel herself expanding from the inside out.
Another donut. She bit, chewed, swallowed. Her stomach took it, joined the party.
Between bites, she glanced at Ronnie. Her friend's belly was already showing a curve, a gentle swell above her lap. She was eating too—Carter was feeding her in sync with Henry's rhythm. Two donuts, three. The pile on the table was shrinking.
"How do you feel?" Henry asked, his voice low.
"Full," she said, her mouth half-full. "Good. Full."
The pump kept going. The coffee kept coming. Her belly rose, a firm dome that pushed against her shirt. She could feel the weight of it, the heat of it, the pressure of her colon filling to capacity.
Ronnie groaned. "It's—it's almost to my ribs."
"You're not done," Carter said, but his voice was gentle. "Keep eating."
Another donut. This one was powdered sugar, and she tasted it on her lips, felt the sweetness dissolve on her tongue. Her stomach was starting to press back—not rejecting, but filling. She could feel the space grow smaller, the donuts landing on top of each other, mixing with the coffee that was now pressing up from below.
She was becoming a vessel. One end filled with solid, the other with liquid. And they were meeting in the middle.
Henry paused the pump, checked the hose connection, then resumed. "Your colon's about full," he murmured. "The next stage is going to push into your small intestine. That's when you'll really feel it."
She nodded, not trusting her voice. She knew the feeling. The first time he'd done it with the vinegar and baking soda, she'd felt the breach—a sharp pressure that made her think she might burst. But she hadn't. She'd just grown bigger.
Beside her, Ronnie was panting. "I don't think I can—"
"You can." Margot reached over with her bound hand, or tried to. She could only extend her fingers, but she touched Ronnie's arm. "You can. Just breathe through it."
Ronnie met her eyes, and something passed between them—not competition yet, but solidarity. Two women being filled together, their bellies rising in parallel, their limits being tested by the men who loved them.
The pump hummed. The coffee flowed. Margot felt the shift—a deep cramp, then a release, then a warmth spreading higher. The coffee had breached into her small intestine, and suddenly she wasn't just full in her colon. She was full everywhere. Her belly rounded out, a hard sphere that pushed against her shirt, that pressed into her thighs, that made her sit up straighter.
She looked down and couldn't see her lap anymore.
Henry stopped feeding her for a moment, just watching. His hand came to rest on her belly, cupping the curve. "You're doing so well," he said. "Look at you."
She smiled, a lazy, stoned smile. The edible was at full strength, and the fullness was amplifying it. She felt floaty and grounded at the same time, like a balloon tethered to the earth by a single string.
Ronnie was groaning again, but it was a different sound now—less pain, more awe. "It's so much," she said. "I've never been this big."
"First time for everything," Carter said, and he pressed a donut to her lips. She took it, chewing slowly, her eyes half-closed.
The bucket was still half-full. The donuts were still stacked. And the pump was patient.
Margot settled into the rhythm: bite, swallow, warmth, grow. The coffee rose through her, filling every empty space, while the donuts pressed down from above. She was a sandwich, a filling between two layers of consumption, and she was becoming something beautiful.