Chapter 1

Your belly sinks beneath the waterline, protruding suddenly from beneath your softer chest, a sharp projection from your reactively small, slim body into roundness. It acts like a magnifying glass extenuating the curve of the ball-like bulge with each ripple of water – creating a bounce to your otherwise taut skin, with the pinkness of an overindulged belly emphasised. It is as if it is reaching out and expanding already in front of my very eyes. Although, maybe it is. Certainly, it will be. I find my mind wondering to the calories that are to come. What will happen with a week of such treatment?
I can see, on the hot tub’s small ledge of a seat, your thighs slightly parted, still strongly muscled and athletic... but billowing out above them - almost touching them is this grossly distended glimpse of your gluttony. And oh, how I love it. It's like a huge beach ball - but instead of floating atop each ripple of the water - it sinks heavily. Its weighing you down... all of you. Can you feel the throb of your hardness press against it? I can't see from this vantage point, resting on on your lap. You're too round. The jets still create a little bounce though, my fingers finding a little give.
Unlike you, my body floats lightly. The spread of my breasts carried by the currents of swirling jets, are set to float a little. They are too heavy to fully Bob up, to break the surface. But instead, you see a soft jiggle. The ripple of my pale skin, as it jiggles. Lifted up as I press against you. If I lift up out of the water, raising myself onto my knees, taking your chin in my hands as I position myself higher than you, looking down at you then you will get a full reveal of my body... the droplets of water falling from me to bounce from your chest. To roll down your roundness. One simple movement to make you moan.
I have time to enjoy. You're not going anywhere, are you? You’ve transcended from the need to sit forward, or to lean back, trying to find the position that allows your stomach to stretch. We have filled you up. Truly filled. Filled so a glutton can take no more. And now you have to sit with this weight… literally. The thought brings a smile to my lips. A smile which widens until I laugh a little... how are we going to get you out of here? The thought of you clambering with such a heavy belly... its comical almost. But as the words form on my tongue, as I articulate the thought a little more to tell you, I find that I am almost grinding to ride your lap. I want to see how you move with this big belly. I want to see how you love with it.
And do I… do i want to feed you more? When you already look fit to explode with calories? Do I... want more?
I know for sure that you are. You see, I know your deepest secret. Deeper than this belly button – stretched tightly in the curve of your body. You’ve grown so quickly. A deeper desire still than that bliss that comes when you find your way into me; bodies connected in the most intimate way. No… This is your biggest secret. One that we share.

For me stuffing (and any eventual gain from that) is something that is obviously very sexually charged. To be crudely blunt, it turns me on to think of.

The more filled the more thrilled i am. But for me this is also something very intimate. I do not just want to look at a non descript filled belly. Perhaps forwardly, its not enough to know a belly is full. On the one hand, it has to be so much more than that. *full* isn't enough. Yes. But on the other... I want to be responsible for filling it. This covers two bases. The obvious dynamic of control. The shunning of societal (and bodily) norms.

You know you have had enough. Your body is telling you so; the tightness of your clothes is telling you so - the fact that your body is physically distended and you're having to recline is telling you so. But that you still reach for more. And that... well all these extra calories might make you fatter. Certainly, for the time being they have added more weight to your body making you aware of your body leaning forward. Redistributing the way you balance and walk. And...well you are sharing yourself with me. Its a highly intimate experience. You are handing me control. Allowing me to see you in ways that are inextricably vulnerable. Letting me tease you for things that are our shared secret... who knew you could grow this big? A relentlessly feeding - a force feeding almost. But always done with the upmost respect and as part of a wider loving. It's an experience which stretches as an expanse of wild, hot love. Not merely feeding and fucking. Often my writing focuses on only one small aspect of the scenario. Often the after effects- or teasing my feedee for growing. Aimed to want to make him eat for me, or to offload a thought whilst I enjoy it for him to find. To mull over. To expand. But, I intend to go a little more in-depth at times. In a place i can if I can explore my fantasies in words. For me... feeding is intertwined so with my sexuality. And there are so many paths to explore. I have held off uploading writing that extends beyond a passage as I am unsure of how... big that my mind may take me down the path of gluttony with my feedee. How greedy am i for fullness? But I think i have preamble enough - it's time for me to explore...

So much of what I try to capture in my writing is driven by trying to articulate the feelings that feeding you gives me. They are moments, suspended within much larger scenarios, that play across my deepest fantasies. The dark corners of my mind that make me blush to even think of. They are short scenarios written as I lay back, my fingers swiftly working their way across my phone screen as the blush of my skin deepens. Sometimes I look down from my focus, and notice that my the soft mound of my breasts are rising with increased vigour - a mixture of shallow breaths as I pant in a fight to get the words out and share the scenario, and I feel my body tense and tingle to think about the very things that turn me on the most, and deep exhales which often bring a little moan from my lips. It's a moan of frustration pent from my desires.

In them i often tell you how I want you so full that you need to lie back beneath an unyielding mass of stuffed gut. Panting, moaning and belching slightly as I trace my hands across pink Skin stretched tight over a densly overfed belly. And here I am... even thinking of this has made me almost mimic you down this path to hedonism. Although with me, my indulgence is that I grow so wet from thinking about this gluttony. That I'm turned on by you swollen, and round. That words like "overfed" or "stuffed" or even the simple act of you bringing a hand down to your distended middle after a big meal make me pulse in anticipation. I'm turned on by thoughts of making you fat. Almost Embarrassingly so.

Space is at a premium in this stuffed little belly of yours. But that's a price I'm willing to pay. This is how i want you. Through teasing. Through eating. Through more.

I know its not a societal norm. It's not everyone's desire to have a lover engage in overconsumption that firstly distends their body to such round experiences - a glutted ball protruding from their torso - and then to a softer, bigger body.

Is that a much fatter heavier belly I see on the horizon? Certainly, I know that it's a much fuller one for you seem to eat a little more every time. And I love it. We love it.

I still want you to be strong. Strong enough that even in days of over eating you can match my energetic stride to slip your hands in mine, to wrap an arm around my waist and pull me into your chest. As you lean down to whisper, I can feel the flabby give of flesh that rolls over your waistband when you move forward. How much of this is stretched out from stuffing? Looser and emptier now that your skin has had to expand to such impressive circumstances. How much of it is here to stay? Either way... let me fill you up?

My mouth grazes your erect nipple as I gasp, my nose pressing into your chest. Your body aware of the cool air even through your clothes after so many days spent in bed... but excited I'm sure by the jiggle of your body as we walk. Is this softer also? Are you growing as you gorge? When will it be that I can see not only the perk of your nipples through this shirt, but the contour of a belly that presses out even further?

"I'm hungry."

Why do those words excite me so much from you? Is it because I know the decadence that follows them - a hedonism that neither of us can hold back from. And I don't want to. I want to push your limits. To exceed them. You're hungry even when your belly holds twice the amount that most people eat in a day... for one meal. You're hungry even as you clutch tenderly at a mountain of gut. A protrusion from your chest, the swell down to your undercarriage making a whole new topography for me to explore. And I want to map every inch... even those which protrude beneath.

And it brings me here. Laid back. Thinking of you full and fat. Typing these thoughts, and not doing any of them justice. How can I bring to life the images that are so clear in my mind? My wants and desires with words on a page? Maybe I'll need to film you. To meticulously record ever inch - each frame of you getting fatter. To press a finger into your unrelenting belly, allowing you to admire it from every angle and to see it as I see it only to utter the mantra of hedonistic desire... "More".


To be in such ardent desire of greed...It's a feeling. An expression. An experience. And one I want to share with you.

Will you let me explore my deepest desires? Perhaps you should hear them first. So you know how big, how full, how far towards the path of being a gluttonous hog you will become at my behest... or will it with the lull of my words, and my direction and assurance become a roundness from mutual desire. That cross over of control, and intimate close love. Sharing and trusting one another with our bodies...

And here I am once more. Laid back in this large bed... looking beyond my keyboard at my naked form. The outline of the muscles of my calves, only a glint in the fuzzy grey darkness, the soft pillowing of my own softness that spills towards my inner thighs, the divots of my hips and the little spill of my love handles... my own soft belly hidden beneath the plunge of my cleavage, pushed together a I type. If I lie on my side, my breasts part, their round pendulous form no longer constrained can fall freely. I can look down... down to where my fingers creep. I lift my chin, tilting my cheek and closing my eyes. I feel my lips part... a gasp. A want of your kisses. I have need of your body against mine. One day will your view too be impeded ? Will you have to learn to reach around the body that we build for you? The contrast of fit, curved but strong and Lythe, to full and... fat.

My words often tell a little tale of immediate consequences of our gluttony. That moment where we give into want, and you lose all control... but let me tell you a little tale of lust for roundness. For really, sharing a stuffing with you, is a tale of the most intimate experience.

The difference that a few hours of indulgence can make in your body is quite incredible. And I don't use that phrasing lightly. But what difference would the warmth of my body give? When my thoughts and fantasies are felt, and followed?

What would happen if I had control of your belly?... is that a desire you would be willing to accommodate? To swell for your feeders command? A casting off of societal norms... to celebrate more. Let me feed you relentlessly, and to ride the desire that this brings to us both.

Would you like more from me?

You're helpless to it now. What will happen, I wonder, when I get these hands of mine on your belly? Tell me; are you ready to be my gluttony? Lover to lover... a deliberately descent into gluttony. I need your word. Every bite. I insist. From the first bite, to the last at my command.

Let this be the first expansion in time. A surge forward at expendential growth... in greed. In fat. In calories.

Say it. Admit it. Tell me.

You want a big belly. You are a glutton. Give in.