chapter 2

We took it slow. I didn't want to arouse suspicion from friends and family about my secret kink. I still harboured guilt about gaining weight and didn't want to become unhealthy. Deep down, I wondered how big I could become, what I would look like with an extra 25kg on my frame, and I fantasized about being fattened up into a plush, ***able sex toy. In reality, I still exercised regularly and ate salads for lunch. But when I met up with him we would continue to drink beers, eat fries covered in mayonnaise and have long languid days of sex and picnics in bed with films.

Our summer fling turned into an autumn relationship. The days grew shorter. Staying inside was more appealing than being outside. We would go for runs or lift weights in the gym and I would make big healthy meals so he could gain muscle, and I told myself that the healthy meals would offset the junk I consumed. In reality, the gym just made me hungrier, and my gains were not muscle at all.

My work uniform trousers were getting tight. I resorted to wearing an oversized jacket and unbuttoning the top button "for digestion", when really it was because my stomach was fattening up. It formed two rolls when I bent over and the waistband dug into my flesh. I could barely cross my legs because the fabric would cut off the circulation in my thickening thighs. My ass grew bigger and softer but retained its roundness. I spent all day at work getting turned on by my tight clothes and at home I would tear them off and rub my silky soft chubby belly with one hand while the other was in my crotch. Why did this weight gain turn me on so much? Would I lose the weight, or would I have to buy new work clothes? That would be the ultimate defeat - my once skinny athletic body turned into a curvy soft womanly one. But was that a bad thing?

He certainly didn't think so. He stroked my curves, called me "luscious", and ate me out with more gusto than ever. He told me my chub made it easier to *** me because he could hold me down, pull me up, grab my hips, and throw me around - there was more to love, more to ***. At work he would text to ask how my trousers were fitting, and I would text back that I was using the tight crotch seam to get myself off.

Occasionally we would play the stuffing game again. We noticed that my belly button was less popped out each time; instead it began to deepen as it became surrounded by soft fat. My belly was filled so often now that I couldn't tell what was bloat and what was fat. I never woke up with defined "morning abs" anymore, just soft white flesh. I had gone from ridged hard abs, to the abs filling in with fat and becoming a soft but flat stomach, to developing the tiniest cutest little paunch. I thought it was adorable. I felt so feminine. My breasts were full and sensitive to the touch. When I sat down in my underwear, my little panties became lost in the soft plump folds of my belly and hips. I wore tight jeans and looser tops to hide my bloated belly but show off my thick thighs, hips and bum. He couldn't get enough. He couldn't keep his hands off me.

Without realising it, he had become a feeder.

We went on holiday and that was his excuse to buy "us" a box of doughnuts to eat back in the hotel after dinner and many beers. "We're in holiday mode, live a little", he said as I munched my way through a half dozen before we had sugar-high sex. Again I woke up fatter.

He made me pancakes and bought a pint of double cream to go on top. When he pulled it out of the shopping bag, my eyes locked with his and I knew he had plans. Sure enough, he managed to wheedle me into drowning the sugary pancakes with it, and that cream deposited itself deliciously all over my growing body. Most of our sex was not feeding based, but every time we got naked he gazed appreciatively at my growing curves. Whilst my history of eating disorders meant I was still struggling to come to terms with my larger size, he disagreed. "You look better now", he'd say as I quizzed him relentlessly about whether I was sexier with abs or with tits. "You feel amazing," he'd say as he squeezed my full breasts and chubby love handles. "Look at your thighbrow!" (That seductive crease where the hip divides into thigh and ass on a woman.)

I had more than a thighbrow, though. Lying in bed we noticed that my hips had fattened enough to create at least two creases where my side, hip and ass rolls met. He loved jiggling them whilst biting my neck and it always led to incredibly hot sex. Being naked was joyous, but there was no getting away from the fact that my clothes were becoming too tight.

One day at work I was joking with my colleagues that my trousers were straining to hold in my giant ass, and one of them said "yeah, Jesus - you're bursting at the seams!" He didn't know how much his words turned me on. I wore stretchy yoga pants whenever I could and noticed lots of stares on the street. Was it because I was looking hot, with my curvier rear, or was I straying into chubby territory? It was hard to say. I kept eating healthily but plenty of it. Lots of bread dipped in olive oil and hummus, a good splash of double cream in my porridge, mindless snacking out of the fridge, working late and eating late and going straight to bed so that I kept waking up full, but eating breakfast anyway. After all, it is the most important meal of the day. And again I grew fatter.

I always looked forward to seeing him after a particularly long week of work because he would notice the changes immediately. He would meet me at the station and we'd hug and kiss, and before long his hands would be grasping at my ticker ass and fuller tits. At home I'd show him how I was outgrowing my bras and he would unclasp them and release my full, heavy breasts so that he could suck my hard nipples and make me moan and beg him to *** me. His fingers would be deep in my ***, shaking me hard as he made me cum, and I would feel my belly jiggling as my tits bounced into my face. We used to watch our abs flex as we did missionary position, but now I watched his flex while my belly wobbled beneath him, my plump breasts bouncing and sliding against his hard pecs. It was glorious - the embodiment of male and female sexuality conjoined in lust. We took sexy photos and touched ourselves while looking at them when we were apart.

My fattening continued and one fateful day I had to ask my boss for new uniform trousers. Mine were so uncomfortably tight that they were cutting off my circulation when I walked. My boss looked me up and down, unsure of what to say, and sent me off to the tailor to get measured.

Standing in front of the tailor, in just my panties, with my shirt tucked up under my arms, I felt really fat. My belly was bulging out (a result of big breakfast and many sugary coffees, and it has been someone's birthday so I had dutifully devoured a big slice of cake). My thick thighs overlapped. My ass was big and soft and cold, so I rubbed it absentmindedly for warmth. It must have looked pretty odd to the tailor because he got his measuring tape out quickly and avoided eye contact. One he'd finished he sat back on his heels in bewilderment.

"You're thighs are three inches bigger. Your waist has gone up by 2 inches. Your hips are up 3 inches as well." He finally looked me in the eye. "Is it a medical condition?"

Ha! If only he knew. "No," I replied steadily, "just greedy."

He told me my trousers would be ready in a week and to cut back on the biscuits until then.

I pulled back on my wincingly tight trousers and headed straight to the kitchen where I devoured the company biscuits out of spite. I was already outgrowing these trousers, so I might as well work on that little belly roll over the top of them.