Rey on Toilet (Patreon)

                                The cold surface of the toilet bowl pressed against Rey's massive thighs, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her bare feet. Her toes, once nimble and calloused from Jakku's scorching sands, now felt perpetually hot, swollen against the polished floor. Seven years. Seven years since the wars ended, seven years since a proper fuck, seven years since anything truly moved her. Her gut, a soft, yielding mound beneath the stretched fabric of her tanktop, protested with a low rumble. High-carb snacks, late-night space drinks, they had all conspired to reshape her, to bloat her once-athletic frame into this unfamiliar, heavy form. The mirror, when she dared to look, reflected a stranger: a woman with a once-beautiful face now etched with lines of worry, her hazel eyes dulled, her body a testament to neglect.

                She leaned forward, her elbows digging into her knees, a heavy groan escaping her lips. The lightsaber, cold and inert in her hand, became a focal point for her frustration. Her fingers, usually adept at manipulating salvage, now gripped the hilt with white-knuckled desperation. This was her battle now, fought on a porcelain throne, a solitary struggle against a body that refused to cooperate. Two weeks. Two weeks of internal siege, her abdomen a tight, aching drum.

                "Come on, you worthless piece of… ugh."

                Her voice, usually resonant, came out as a strangled whisper. She pushed, a primal, raw effort that sent a tremor through her entire frame. Her face contorted, a mask of strain, and the muscles in her neck corded. A low, moist gurgle echoed from deep within, a promise of release, swiftly followed by a sharp, ripping sensation. Her asshole, tight and unyielding, began to stretch, the puckered flesh protesting. A thin, hairy line divided her cheeks, now straining to accommodate the emerging mass. She gritted her teeth, a faint whimper escaping, and squeezed the lightsaber hilt until her knuckles turned bone-white.

                Then, a sudden, explosive BRRRRRRRRRRT tore through the quiet bathroom, reverberating off the sleek, futuristic walls. The air, thick with the toxic tang of recycled oxygen, was instantly assaulted by a stench so profound, so utterly vile, it made her eyes water. A monstrous turd, thick as her forearm, began its slow, agonizing egress. Her asshole, now distended, spread wide, the dark, ridged mass pushing through, tearing at the edges of her skin. She gasped, a ragged breath, the sensation overwhelming, a grotesque blend of stretch and an almost perverse relief. The lightsaber slipped slightly in her sweaty grip.

                "Oh, kriff!"

                The sheer volume of the shit shocked her. It was a dark, lumpy coiled serpent, seemingly endless. She pushed again, a second, more powerful effort, her body trembling. Another wet SCHLURP and the turd continued to unravel, coiling into the bowl with a splash. The smell intensified, a sickly-sweet, putrid aroma that made her stomach clench. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple, past her eyebrow, and into her eye, stinging.

                "Why… why does it smell so bad?" she choked out, her voice thick with disgust. "Like… like a rancor's armpit after a long day of hunting."

                She slumped back slightly, momentarily exhausted, but the sensation of something still lodged within spurred her back to action. Her fingers, still wrapped around the lightsaber, trembled. Another series of grunts, another slow, agonizing stretch of her asshole, another wave of putrid odor. Finally, with a weary sigh and a final, wet plop, the last of it released. She sat there, panting, her body slick with sweat, the ceramic cool beneath her. A few weak, sputtering farts followed, like deflating balloons, releasing the last pockets of trapped air.

                She leaned back, her head resting against the cool wall, her eyes drawn to her stomach. The bloating had lessened, but the soft, yielding curve remained. She ran a hand over the fleshy expanse, a profound sadness settling over her.

                "Would anyone ever… look at this and see something beautiful?" she whispered to the empty room, her voice hollow. "Someone... a man. Would he ever want this? This… old, wrinkled, overweight mess?"

                She closed her eyes, the image of her once-lean, powerful body flashing in her mind, a stark contrast to the heavy, tired woman now slumped on the toilet. The scent of her own waste still hung heavy in the air, a final, humiliating reminder of her current state.