Chapter 1 - Perfect Piggy.

I want to live with a feeder so badly.
My dream is to wake up late in a comfortable bed, my feeder wheeling in a tray of breakfast - eating whatever they’ve picked for me is absolute heaven. I will eat whatever they think is best for their growing piggy.
I’ll start the day with a stuffed belly, setting a theme of heavy laziness for the hours ahead. After an hour of lying around on my phone, my feeder comes back in to help me stand up and waddle my way to the living room - where I’ll most likely spend the rest of the day watching tv, playing video games, and consuming any snack that they give me.
Lunch is served soon after - just a small one for me today: a large pizza with garlic bread, a couple of toasted subway sandwiches dripping with cheese, a couple packets of chips, followed by a huge slab of cake. Of course this is all accompanied by an ever present supply of milkshakes and sugary sodas.

My feeder insists that I don’t move a muscle when they announce dinner is almost ready - it’s a gorgeous combination of a large bowl of their rich, creamy homemade pasta bake (that they know is my favourite), and the five ‘meals’ worth of McDonald’s burgers and fries that arrive at our doorstep soon after.
My gut is a round ball, curtained by flab that has been carefully crafted by my feeder over the time we’ve been together.

I’m their art piece - a sculpture that they can’t stop adding clay onto.

It’s back over to the bed for dessert, they announce - gripping me by the hands and attempting to haul me up off of the sofa. It takes several tries, and a lot of effort from us both.
Wobbling and groaning, I rub my distended gut as the weight is dragged down by gravity - suddenly feeling just how much I have shoved down my throat and stuffed myself with.
It doesn’t stop me salivating when my feeder talks about the treats that they have planned.
Taking one of my pudgy hands in their own, they lead me through the hallway - delighting in the fact I have to turn sideways to get through the narrow doorframe. My fat still grazes the sides, however.

The bed quakes as I settle myself down, out of breath and having to rest for a minute before shuffling backwards into the prepared nest of pillows. All the while, my feeder totters around making sure everything is perfectly placed. They give my belly a tender shake, then brushes it down like a homemaker smoothing out a cushion.

Dessert is brought out in the same manner as breakfast - but this time was purely to tease my sweet tooth: heaps of donuts and other tasty pastries, a tureen of trifle, and a gigantic cake covered in icing and delicate swirls of cream.
They bring the confectionary to me slower than I would like - but seeing me desperate to be fed makes them happy, and I love that fact with all my heart. I’m more than glad to oblige.
I already feel overstuffed, but we both know my capacity has been tested before and I have always made my feeder proud. I’ll always make myself bigger for them.

Finally it is time for the cake - and instead of hand feeding me like they did with the pastries, they simply place it in front of me - a knowing look shared between us that told me what they wanted me to do.

Dig in.
And so I did. Bite after bite of deliciously fattening cake took all sense of shame away from me. As my feeder would recall with a laugh later, I went “full hog-mode.”
Moans of delight and no thought for making a mess, I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed - revelling in the heavy weight of my gut stretching past it’s limits.
I wanted more. It didn’t matter how tight my stomach was getting - it was just too pleasurable to stop.
And the awe-struck look on my feeder’s face spurred me on.

“I love the way you eat for me, piggy.” Their loving gaze never leave me as I continue to scarf down the cake, watching as I scoop up some icing with my chubby fingers and moan in pleasure as I bring the final mouthful to my lips.

“You’re so good for me, I think you deserve an extra treat.”

They get up lithely - the days of me getting up with such grace are long since gone - and reach for an item that made my butterflies flutter with excitement.
My feeder placed the funnel in the special holder that they had installed in the bed frame - high enough so that the tube would hang down and I could suck on it like a good pig should.
I heft my flabby arms up and catch the mouthpiece - already placing it between my lips as my feeder goes to the kitchen to grab whatever they had planned.
A few minutes and some clattering later, they emerge once again with several tubs stacked in their arms. My eyes go wide - how I was going to fit all of that in my already full belly, I had no idea.
There were two tubs of ice cream, probably melted by the sloshing sound they made as they were placed on the bedside table. The biggest - more like a bucket than a tub - was full of creamy weight gain shake, recognisable from the daily decanter I’m presented with every night. This was a lot more than usual, though.

The first lot of ice cream went down fine; it filled up the gaps between the food, adding to my lethargy and weighing my belly down like it was filling with cement.

With a great deal of belly rubs - jostling burps out of my chubby cheeks to make more room - the second tub was consumed. I groan with the pleasurable ache, loving the feel of their fingers tracing up and down my taught gut. Soft tones tell me just how good I’m being, how I can manage just a bit more. Piggy is making them so proud right now.

The shake took a lot longer- but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. It flowed down the tube, filling my mouth again as soon as I swallowed - and I quickly found myself sucking it down with a renewed fervour, determined to prove to my feeder just how good I was. It would be an act of thanks for all the hard work I know they do for me.

I let out a long groan as the flow lessened to dregs and the tube was removed. Moaning was punctuated by belches and hiccups as I lay back, feeling the weight of my gut shift with me. In my stupor, I find myself thinking of how lucky I am.
Kept consistently stuffed throughout the day, my stomach stretches as it’s pushed to its limits. I’m glad my feeder and I have enough income to fill this belly - it’s like trying to plug a black hole.

Small circles are rubbed into my belly, and warm words are shared. My food-muddled mind spills out confessions of love that are returned.
They could do anything to me in my helpless state, but I know they only want what’s good for me. I trust them, just as they trust me to be their perfect piggy.