Chapter 1

I am no stranger to the pleasure of weight gain, but it has taken a long time to come to terms with it. I have spent much of my life riddled with eating disorders in an attempt to be thin, equating thinness with success and beauty. I remember gaining weight after my worst period of anorexia. It was terrifying - every day I felt myself grow larger, the fat seeping its way into my thighs, my hips, my breasts, my belly. I would cry at my reflection in the mirror, knowing that I had to get healthy again, and feeling like a fat, awful failure. But with the weight gain came other feelings - strange sensations of lust as my hormones returned to normal. As my fertility returned I remember lying in bed and stroking my belly. The once hard ridges of abs had been filled in with soft, warm fat. My hip bones no longer stuck out jaggedly, but were coated in pinchable chub. When I lay on my side, my thighs filled out the gap and touched each other, and my knee bones no longer rubbed. Sitting on chairs became comfortable again as my ass plumped up. I felt sexy and desirable, began dressing nicely, wearing makeup, and masturbating a LOT. My lust was insatiable, and I put it down to returning to a normal, healthy weight, with normal, healthy feelings.

I got pretty chubby after I recovered from anorexia because my metabolism was destroyed and I ate like a fiend. Eventually I lost the weight through diet and exercise. I enjoyed eating but tried to keep my weight down. I ate healthily and went to the gym for the endorphins and the health benefits, but mostly because it stopped the weight gain.

You see, I am a feeder's dream, what you might call an "easy gainer" - my body WANTS to be fat. It is very easy for me to gain, and I easily overeat. Gym-going and healthy eating created a lean, toned body; my tits were small and empty but my ass and thighs were honed and I had visible abs. Any slight lapse (Christmas!) meant instant weight gain, so I always returned to my obsessive exercise of hard cardio, weight training, and long walks to burn calories, and ate plain, boring foods. And I kept my lust under control by keeping my weight under control.

This all changed when I met a guy. He was tall, gorgeous, muscular, ridiculously good in bed, and he taught me to relax and live a little. Through him I discovered the joys of drinking beer, eating stupid amounts of mayonnaise, getting ***ed hard all night, and lying in bed all day watching movies and eating duvet picnics.

You can see where this is going.

Slowly but surely, I began to grow. I noticed that my abs were no longer as defined. My arms were thicker. My thighs became dimpled with cellulite when I sat down. My ass made my jeans tighten. My breasts filled out and grew more sensitive and touchable than ever. I ignored my tightening clothes because life was awesome and I was in love. This guy never put on weight unless it was muscle. We would eat the same amounts of food even though there was more than a foot of height difference between us, and he would get hencher while I would get fatter. He was always encouraging me to eat more, whether it was one more bite of something we shared, or by refusing to eat unless I was eating, even if he was hungry and I wasn't. So of course I would eat. And I would get fatter.

And I secretly loved it.

Outwardly, I moaned to my friends about how I was putting on weight and they assured me that it was normal in any new relationship and that I should enjoy it and not worry about it. "You can always lose it," they said. But I had no intention of losing it.

Fat brings a host of delights when it deposits itself on your body. You feel guilty and shameful, because that is what society tells us to feel when we get fatter. These feelings alone are enough to arouse people. You feel softer and warmer. You rub your hands down your stomach and grab an extra inch of flab that wasn't there before. You pat it and you enjoy the solidness of your belly that the extra ring of fat brings. Your love handles become more grabbable, which is particularly enjoyable if you like getting taken roughly from behind - it gives your partner extra purchase on your hot body. Your thighs thicken and if you walk just right, you can feel them rub deliciously against your clit. Your ass fills out beautifully, you can't grab it all even if you use both hands, and it squeezes like a giant stress ball. Your breasts start to grow bigger and fuller, creamy white with rosy nipples, and you dream up ridiculous fantasies like drinking a litre of cream to plump them up even more.

"Fantasies".

Because before long, you're broaching the subject of feederism with your partner, and you're expecting them to look at you like you're crazy, and run a mile out of the bedroom.

Only this didn't happen with the guy. He seemed amused and curious, and started grabbing my hips and ass and thighs and tits, as if he hadn't noticed them before. He didn't even realize that they had grown until I told him, and suddenly he began to see my weight gain and accompanying lust as a huge sense of achievement. He pushed me back down onto the pillows and started pleasuring me with one hand, put the other around my neck, and growled softly into my ear, "It's a good start. But you're going to get bigger." I swear to God I came instantly as soon as he'd said that.

As I lay in post orgasmic bliss we planned what we would do to help me get fatter and hornier. He would continue to encourage me ("just have one more bite" "Ben and Jerry's is half price" "your tits look awesome"). I would continue to overeat and take his cock. It was a delicious arrangement.

We went food shopping right away. It was the most erotic grocery shop of my life, knowing that everything we put in the basket would be depositing itself as seductive adipose all over my body. Bars of chocolate, peanut butter, crisps, creamy dips, ice cream, white chocolate and raspberry cookies, milk, and a pot of clotted cream - pure fat gains. All through the shop he kept grabbing my ass, hard, and I know he was thinking of how good it would feel when it bounced off his hips.

We tore each other's clothes off as soon as we got home. In between kisses he spoon fed me bites of cookie dough ice cream, which made our mouths cold and sweet and addictive. He dripped it down his chest and I licked it off his pecs, his abs, and finally his cock. Before I knew it I was sucking the rest of the melted ice cream off his cock and the second I finished, he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me up on the bed. "I have to *** you now", he said, grabbing my hips and throwing me over the mattress. I felt him enter me from behind and screamed into the pillows, but he didn't let me enjoy the moment. I heard him rip open a bag of cookies and suddenly he was pulling my head back and gagging me with them whilst ***ing me. I chewed frantically, almost choking on the cloying sweetness, completely overwhelmed by the sugar rush and the feelings of my *** clenching around his cock as I came. He pumped his load into me and collapsed on top, a sweaty panting mess of sticky sweet ice cream covered gorgeousness. We laughed at how insane it had all been - how incredibly hot the sex was, and how I hadn't expected him to be so accepting, and he responded by shoving the rest of the cookies in my mouth.

As I chewed diligently, crumbs scattering over the duvet, he said "you know...I always found pregnant chicks really hot. Want to see how big we can puff up your belly?"

My eyes grew round. I grabbed his face with both sticky hands and kissed him deeply. "Pass me the milk."

I took deep gulps, feeling it fill every last gap in my stomach. I felt myself bloat from the dairy, felt it slosh uncontrollably in my gut. I swelled bigger and bigger, gasping for air in between gulps of milk as he started rubbing my belly. It was swollen to maximum capacity, both uncomfortable and arousing at the same time - I was unable to move, unable to swallow any more milk - all I could do was sag helplessly against the bedframe, burping and groaning. He rubbed my belly softly and gently, but his eyes betrayed his lust. "Look" he murmured, pointing to the mirror by his bed.

I was 8.5 months pregnant. My stomach was an enormous creamy white dome of flesh. My belly button was almost popping out. My plumpened breasts sat atop my bloated orb stomach - was it a trick of the light, or were my areola darker? My nipples were hard little pebbles that begged to be sucked. He dutifully relieved my painfully sore gut by rubbing it and sucking my nipples until the pleasure overcame the pain. It was then that I noticed quite how wet I'd become. He pressed his erection into my thigh and all the feelings of fattening, stuffing pleasurable pain overwhelmed me and I sucked him off until he exploded. We looked down at my stuffed, cum-covered belly, and smiled at each other. The next day I woke up fatter.