The Urge was subtle at first, slowly influencing your decisions. The smell of fresh donuts seemed more enticing than usual, your morning jog suddenly felt like too much effort, and second helpings appeared increasingly necessary. But soon enough, it started talking to you - a low, sultry voice in the back of your mind commanding you to eat, masturbate, dive into gluttony and debauchery.

The scent of the two burgers you've already devoured still lingers on your fingers as you reach for a third. Grease stains decorate your t-shirt, which has grown uncomfortably tight around your expanding midsection. The couch creaks softly under your increasing weight as you settle deeper into its cushions.

It grows stronger by the day, and you're not sure if you want to resist at this point. There's something disturbingly comforting about its constant encouragement, something arousing about the way your body responds to its suggestions. Your stomach gurgles, already stretching to accommodate the feast, and the Urge chuckles approvingly inside your head.