Chapter 1 - 1

He's looking up at me from the bed, exhausted. From where I'm sitting, perched at the other end, the round dome of his belly is obscuring his nose and mouth - I can only just see the top half of his face; the weary look of defeat in his eyes, the result of several hours of endurance.

"Eat it", I command him. I keep my voice calm, patient, almost gentle, but the authority is unmistakeable. He is going to eat it, whether he likes it or not.

He's lying on his back, panting, propped against the pillows, arms lying slack and helpless at his sides, head lolling. His huge stomach is swollen with cake; he's holding the last slice in his hand. It was enormous, that cake, the biggest I could find; very chocolatey and rich and thick with calories. There's just this one sliver of it left. He hasn't really been able to move for a good half an hour, maybe more, pinned as he is under the weight of his gut.

"Eat it", I say again.

"....Please...", he moans, and his voice is weak, plaintive. "...I feel like I'm going to burst any minute..."

"You will not," I say, half reassuring, half mocking. Still he doesn't move. I wonder if he actually can move his arms at all at this point.

"If you don't eat that last little slice" I say, slowly, "I will go and get the funnel, and then maybe you really will burst".

His eyes widen in alarm, although I can tell he isn't sure whether to believe me. I've often threatened him with the funnel, although I only use it occasionally. I like to keep him guessing.

"I mean it. I've got a carton of cream all ready to go."

He shoots me a despairing look, and with a sudden surge of effort, brings his hand up and crams the last slice of cake into his mouth. He moans - he's so full. He really doesn't want to eat it, but he's going to.

"EAT IT".

He closes his eyes and starts chewing vigourously - then stops again. He's breathing hard, struggling. I wait, looking at him lying there, his hand still over his mouth, cheeks bulging.

"Chew" I say, quietly. He moans, but he obediently starts to chew, slowly this time. I don't rush him. Secretly I am thrilled I made him continue - I wasn't sure if he would manage it.

"Swallow".

He grimaces - it takes him a few attempts to swallow the whole mouthful, and he groans and whimpers between the last few gulps. When it's over he sighs and places his other hand and very gingerly on top of his belly, as if more than the slightest pressure there is unbearable.

I let him lie there, peacefully, feeling how huge he has become, until he looks up at me with a curiously sexy expression of both victory and defeat. I raise an eyebrow. Victory?

"Let me get the tape measure".

He smiles, he likes this part, where I show him how big I've just made him, what an obedient fat glutton he's been. I reach my arms wide and stretch the tape over his belly; I scrutinise the numbers and hold the tape up so he can see the inches. He beams, looking almost smug. Yes - victory - a hint of defiance. A wicked thought occurs to me.

"Are you completely full, do you think?", I say, my voice overly casual. Teasing. I gently prod his bulging stomach, testing him. He's full alright, but yes: I think I can still feel some give.

"I'm stuffed...so stuffed....I feel massive..."

"Well yeah, I'm sure," I say, still prodding his belly "I mean look how big you got. I can't believe you ate that entire cake, you really should be ashamed of yourself. I bet you could eat more, though, you're always so greedy..."

"I could not! Leave me alone, I'm full" he says, half laughing, even though he's still out of breath.

"Come on now, you're a big guy, you can take it"

"No! I'm full...please...stop it..."

I can tell he thinks I really am only teasing him.

"The thing is," I say, slyly, "I'd really hate all this cream to go to waste..."

He looks worried suddenly.

"I can't! Really! Please, really, I'm full. Please. I'm stuffed. I'm already so big, you wouldn't-"

Oh, but I would. I reach under the bed where I have stashed the funnel and the carton of double cream, and before he knows what's happening, I've expertly slipped the funnel into his mouth so that the cream will pour straight down his throat and into his stomach. I quickly pop the top off the carton and empty it straight into the funnel.

He grunts, glares at me fiercely, eyes wide, incredulous. I'm not sure if that look is defiance, fear, or lust.

He could stop me if he wanted, he just has to reach up and move the funnel away, but after a second or two he starts to run his hands up and down his belly, feeling himself fill to the brim. I knew it. He can't help himself. The funnel empties slowly and steadily - towards the end he's breathing rapidly, panicky, massaging his gut feverishly as if that will somehow create more room.

When the funnel has emptied, I carefully remove it from his mouth. He makes an urgent, struggling noise in his throat, trying to keep everything down. I know he will: greedy boy, he's so determined to be fat, he wants to hold on to all those calories. He's clearly in difficulty though; lying back against the pillows, face contorted, clutching his stomach, gasping. I reach forward and begin to gently caress his belly, tight as a drum now. He winces at first, but as I softly glide my hands all over his body -his soft love handles, his heavy thighs, his flabby chest and arms - he starts to relax, the tortured moans of pain giving way to satisfied moans of pleasure.

He's breathing more evenly now. Calm. Extremely full. Finally he just says: "...Fuck."

I have to laugh at this - he opens his eyes and grins at me. He's so fucking hot. I smile back at him, surveying his body, the pounds I've made him pile on.

"Same again tomorrow?"