chapter 1

I think the dress looks stunning on you.

It's deep red, and cut just above the knee. It's designed to be loose around the thighs and form fitting around the torso, with a low back. It fit perfectly two months ago.

I don't know how you haven't noticed how much you've gained, but as long as you keep eating I'm happy.

The dress isn't loose around your thighs anymore. It's not tight either, but I can clearly see their form in the deep red fabric. Your ass is not to be contained. It's pressing against the dress, straining it. I can see every outline of your thong - which also looks uncomfortably small. Your breasts rest on the top of your belly, barely contained by a bra that will need a size-up soon.

I could barely get the zipper up. I mean, I really had to pull on it. It was really hard to do without you noticing.

And it really shows. The fabric is stretched to the max over your belly, I was afraid it would rip apart when I finally got the zipper. I can make out your belly button, or at least the ~3 cm indent in your flab. Your belly bulges out over your thong, even under the dress it's clearly visible.

You turn to me, and as you do your belly jiggles ever so slightly.

"So? Do you think I look okay?" You sound a little worried. I suppose it's impossible for you to notice nothing at all.

"Yeah babe, you look stunning."

I walk towards you and wrap my arms around you, hands resting on your ass. You're so much softer. I pull you closer and kiss you.

"You're gonna knock them dead."

---

Tonight is your highschool's 10 year reunion. You've been talking my ears off about it for weeks, and honestly I'm kind of glad that that will be over after tonight.

It doesn't start until 8, so I'm taking you out to dinner first. There's a restaurant near my place you love, a tiny cozy Italian place, a bit of a cliché. We're regulars there, and I'm pretty sure the chef also appreciates your appetite. He usually personally delivers a free desert. Two portions - one for both of us, but I make sure you always try mine. And then you usually end up eating it.

Really, I don't have to work too hard for it. You're just a naturally piggy, all I'm doing is enabling you a little bit. I just need to make sure the food is there, you'll happily stuff your face all day long.

We start with an appetizer. Me, the tomato soup, you, the filled mushrooms. You get an extra full plate, I get a wink from the chef. The dress really looks terrific on you.

When the waiter brings the plates over, you get that look in your eye. I love to watch you eat. You're completely focused on your food, just shoving it into your mouth, sometimes before you even finish the last bite. You eat way faster than me. Maybe because I'm busier with watching you eat than with what's on my plate.

So, after you're done with yours, I ask if you want to try some of mine. And then you end up finishing that too. A main course later (me, the grilled salmon, you, the pasta carbonara) you'll have had roughly 3 meals.

---

The dress is starting to look uncomfortably tight. Your belly is heavily sitting into your lap, pressing rebelliously against the red fabric. Every time you bend over to get something from the table your belly bulges out. Every time I think it will rip. But it still holds.

We take a break after the main course. You sit back. I hear you let out a tiny burp inside your mouth.

"The food here is always so good," you say with your eyes closed. You put your hands on your belly and absentmindedly start massaging a bit. "Mmmh."

20 minutes and a glass of wine later, you're hungry again. I remember a skinny girl that would only eat salads. She's long gone now.

The waiter brings out a dish of canoli. No separate deserts this time, just a two-person portion on one plate. Before the plate has even touched the table, you take one of the cookies and put it in your mouth. Distracted, I also start eating one. I watch a second disappear in your mouth. A third. A fourth. Not 10 minutes later, the plate is empty. You've had 7, I've had one.

You look more alive than ever. Your cheeks are flushed, you're breathing faster, and your eyes are closed in extacy.

"I love food," you sigh. Another barely audible burp. You start rubbing your stomach again. "I'm such a greedy piggy."

You giggle. Then you look worried. "Babe, you don't think I'm getting fat, do you?"

I smile at you reassuringly. "No baby. Of course not. I mean, a few more pounds really wouldn't hurt," and I look at your cleavage. Your swollen, stuffed belly bulges out far further.