Chapter 1

“Are you sure?” I grace my lips to your neck as I ask. I already have my answer, although not in words, but in the pulsing hardness which my fingers weave their way towards. Inch by inch, taking care to squeeze my way into the layer of softness that now covers your lower gut… Your moan of want. But you need to say it. I want to hear the words from you. I just need to let you get them out.
Spoken words are lost to my soft lips, tasting the sugar laced sweetness of our shared breath, as I let you slip through my fingers. Seizing you, squeezing you, sliding from tip to base and… belly. My hands are there now, my kisses growing deeper. Biting.

My own arousal begins to swell, as I swoon. I am aware of the heave of my breasts as I pant for you – the little lip of cleavage so determined to spill from its lace cladding, rolling to squish itself to your chest – pressing the growing softness of your own chest flat. My nipples prickle as I begin to squirm… I can feel yours pert and excited as I lift my hips, as I grind in your lap, rocking as if determined to get as close to you as possible.

When you are eating for me, this is the point that I would have started to shift in my seat – that I could feel the wood beneath me, almost beating with the thrum of my excitement. A constant pulsing, panties wet… watching you run your hands over your distended belly is enough to make even the movement against the chair making me so aroused that I almost want to reach… And yet here we are. Skin pink, shining almost even in the dimness of dusk; peering up from between your muscled thighs, the great swell of your globular belly towers above me. Expanding from the contours of your slim hips, tapering down to your pelvis, rounding upwards and outwards so that your mass fills my whole field of vision as I look down.

“Does it feel good to have this big belly on display?” Your shirt was peeled off after your second helping. It was tempting to leave it on. To let you shovel portion after portion of this immense gluttony until you are so gorged that your little pot belly protrudes. We have done that before, eating you out of your clothes…

A growing belly and shrinking clothes. Its enough to soak your feeder. But not today. As your gut had begun to feel a little full, we both know its nowhere near full enough for a glutton like you, and as I see you slow I take my opportunity.

I had decided on standing above you, lifting your chin in my hand, and tracing around your sauce covered lips… I’m not going to let you waste a calorie. I smile on at the warmth of your tongue on fingers.

Pressing them back to your mouth again and again until I see them shimmer, not with my own glisten as before, but with your kisses… are you keen for me yet? Can you taste me in amongst the sweet sensations?

I wipe them on the pale plunge of my cleavage, and reach behind me. Another serving before desert, I command as you without words. Pressing the next bite to your mouth, and leaving it hanging at your lips. Makinng you take a mouthful more than what you’re ready for as I and button my shirt lower. If you weren’t so gloriously plump perhaps I would have asked you to do so. But that’s ok… You keep stuffing for me. I want you keen to eat for me. Eager and hungry just to start cramming it into this bulging little belly. Usually I would have let the material fall to floor, to have stepped out of my clothes and, in my nakedness, into your embrace. I know you’re expecting it. Gulping your next bite down so that you may be finished and ready to meet my lips, to have your hands all over my curves as you swallow what is already one too many servings.

You see, you’re still hungry. But, that’s only because you are an insatiable, greedy hog now. The gurgling, groan of a well fed belly gives you away. This thing is growing full. But full ins’t enough – not for either of us. The greed that drives us goes so much further than just fullness. That’s obvious from the sheer volume of fat, rolling over your unbuttoned waistband… From the shirt that you’ve pulled up to above your belly button to display. My glutton what have we done to your body? Just how much can you hold now? And how much more will we push that by the time that you gorge yourself this evening.

I catch the material of my shirt as I slip it from my shoulders. This isn’t something I’ve ever done before, and I blush a little as I do. A fantasy. A fat imagining that I’ve had from some time. If I weren’t already flushed from my excitement with you, I may be blushing now. I catch your hands – raising them above your head, and having to take a moment to admire your body as I do. I can feel your gaze on me, as I gather you up, but you don’t protest allowing me to take control; to gather you up… It won’t be long before you are stuffed to my submission anyway. I had planned to make eye contact. To describe what I was doing… To tell you explicitly just how big I wanted this belly. That I intend to feed you so much bigger. Simple perhaps but in this moment of feeding you, so, so exciting. But the words are lost to the exigent swell of your middle. I am in awe of your belly. Reaching up like this… I realise that it not only weighs downwards towards your lap from fullness, swollen and round but that it has grown so tightly overfed that I can see it protruding from your chest. There is the faintest outline of your straining stomach; a stretched sphere that seems to be growing into another. An inner rampart upon the mountainous terrain thrown up by this gluttony on your body… Your upper belly protrudes, almost more than your lower belly where the softness of previous stuffings resides. And…Raised up like this, I can see the tapering of your lower belly. So full that you are weighing down onto your pelvis. Full from top to bottom.
I am staring at the unequalled evidence of our hedonism… The words have left my lips before I’m even aware that they have formed on my tongue. I think you’ve grown… Its time to see if you’ve met a measuring milestone.

I crowd your belly as I hush you’re moans. You do like when I admire your growing body. You enjoy when I comment that I think your eating is not only expanding your capacity, don’t you? I’m not surprised.
I slip the arms of my shirt over yours, making you sit forward as I pull it across your back. The movement is awkward, making you huff and puff a little as if it is strenuous. I adore the noise. It creates such a warmth within me. The golden syrup of a warm drink on a cold day… when you can feel that heat just pouring through your body, and warming you up. That. But in my pelvis. Radiating from there to my stomach. Down my legs. Boiling. Stirring… inside.

But, I am aware also that we are nowhere near done. This has been barely the first few courses… and here you are already feeling heavy as you move. Maybe we really are starting to overfeed you?

There are parts of your lap that are inaccessible now as you sit forward. Your belly not only graces your thighs. It weighs down onto them. It demands capital in your lap… how long will it be until it buries the sweetest of treasure from your feeder?
However, although this if you think this movement makes you feel big, I know more than heavy… it makes you feel hungry. And if that is the case…then you may be in for a surprise, and I a treat.

You see… we used to be the same size. And you may think at times, when you haven’t been so grossly overstuffed that we might be. When I curl myself to you in the evenings, I still feel the definition in your arms, the little divots of your collar bones as I turn my cheek to rub it against your stubble. In those times that I just want my body as close to yours as I can physically get it, pressing and pushing myself to you, I can feel the contrast of the soft squish of my own breasts to the underlying firmness of your chest (even if it has softened a little these past few weeks). But your outline has grown…

There is beneath this strong body a disproportionate, ballooning belly.

“Are you full, or fat?” I tease as I try to pull the material across your stomach. It won’t come close. I can stretch my hand a full span from little finger to thumb to hold the material of the gaping shirt, across your belly button. This is the fattest point of your belly. And it shows… it shows with your own shirt pulled up, as if a cropped top. This belly just can not be contained.

We both know the answer. The cycle of lust and hedonism. With every stuffing you grow a little fuller. The capcity of this gut grows. It takes more and more thousands of calories to fill you up. And those in time, add a new layer of softness. You make, after an evening of gorging with me, in the early hours to find that you can’t help fondling your fullness. That you feel fat… and it makes you hungry. Not hungry for food, no -I’ve fed you to well for there to be room in this belly even hours later – but for the feeling of… full. And I’m feeding you once more. You have lost control…

If you keep eating like this, I am going to end up holding up the measuring tape one morning and telling you that You’ve ate yourself to twice my width in the belly. I am going to be able to be pinned down by your belly… and not only when you’re full.
Gluttonous. Growing. Your feeders big bellied fantasy.

And that’s how you found yourself shovelling more food into an already packed paunch. Until you had ate your way out of both of our clothes…

“Do you feel fat with your big belly on display?” I ask again. But I don’t let you answer. I’ve opened the Punnett of strawberries now… a small dessert. Healthy eating after a first portion of donuts on top of enough food for four people… Donuts worth almost two days worth of calories pressed to your lips until you’re only able to moan in ecstasy. Or… in excited pain. You don’t seem to mind that your belly aching turns me on. Bite sized berries can’t take up that much room in this bulging belly… even if there is almost four pounds of them. And I am going to make sure that you fit in every one.

Every.
Last.
Bite.

A laboured belch. Breathing Heavily. Too full. Feeling so big… More.

Half a punnet to go before your protruding belly is too much even for unpopped buttons. You need eased to eat… Adored for by your feeder. A growing, groaning, naked glutton. Pinned beneath his belly… gently caressed by your lover.

I am in your lap now, although I aside from the long shirt I made you wear, I am still lace clad… Of course, You could reach a finger down the front of these lace panties. You could peel them from me and have me… You could have me, Wrapped firmly between my thighs as my body gives to you. But there is a big belly in the way. And you’re not full yet.

Only full hogs get to fuck me… you know that’s the rule.

You are an anchor for my arousal. A vessel for all of my most voluptuous desires.
Devine hedonism fuelled by the combination of your greed. And my pleasure.

But, its not big enough. Not yet. We both want more – more even than this globular belly already an erogenous expanse of gluttony. You want my pleasure. You want my arousal to seep, until the waves of want that you stir in me are crashing through me, soaking the shores.
“More.” The word on your lips is enough to make me shudder. I am trembling in your arms. Aware of every inch of your body pressing to me… You still seem to be growing. In belly… and below its great swell.

You sweat in exertion from eating, and I in excitement for you… In holding back. I want you.

“Are you sure?” You can barely answer for moaning as I slip you into my grasp. I want the conformation… Because after this point. I am going to feed you relentlessly.
I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Until you are my rounded hog. And I am sat astride you. Round enough to ride.

Are you out of control and overfed? Or stuffed under my spell? You see… if you let me feed you. I won’t stop. 5 pounds so quickly becomes 50. Your biggest stuffing becomes a little less of a belly ache, until eating so greedily only enough to make you full. Until you just can’t stop eating.
Is this the year you are going to be the uncontrolled fat hog who has eaten himself past full? Past merely a little chubby from days of overfeeding. When you tease me to fill this flabby, empty belly….

Has my feedee really become a hog? one stuffing of the year, spiraling into many... monthly indulgences.

Are you sure; that your buttons will hold for another serving? ... pity. One more.

If you eat for me… You best be sure. Sure to be stuffed. And plump to please. Say it. Tell me you'll eat for me. But I expect you to finish every bite... cramming more until I cry for you.