Chapter 1

[Him]

I can't believe you're off on another trip, and can't wait for you to come home again. I figured you'd appreciate an update on my progress. Well, I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that we're now out of ice cream, beer, nutella, pie, and sundry other delicious and fattening items. The good news is, I gained another seven pounds this trip - putting me at just over eighty pounds since we first started dating. (!) Thank god we switched to my bed when I moved in, I don't know how the old one would have taken the added weight.

I've outgrown ANOTHER pair of pants. I tried to button up my already-tight 42's today when I went out, and they wouldn't budge - and I haven't been able to suck in in months, thanks to you and your cooking and encouragement. (Remember when I wore 29's?) Thankfully, most of my sweaters were much too large to begin with and are only now starting to get a bit snug - although it's only a matter of time before they, too, start riding up and exposing my soft, fat belly. I'd rather that not happen - it's cold out and my added insulation only does so much.

If you'd told me a year ago, when we started dating, just how much I'd change with you, I don't think I would have believed you. Even when we talked about fattening me up, it was just twenty or thirty pounds, enough to get me to an average weight with just a bit of added fluff. I'd never imagined that we'd keep going - that my appetite would keep increasing, that all my eating habits would change, and that you'd continue to want me fatter, fatter, fatter. That you would take so much pleasure in stuffing me full of fattening foods, and pushing me to eat one more bite to stretch my stomach. That we'd get addicted to making and finding new soft places to squeeze, more flabby, pliable rolls for you to knead. That the feeling of my belly pressing against yours - spreading your legs further and putting intense pressure on your clit - would be so incredible and enjoyable for you. That once you'd felt my increased weight, the heft of my fattened body pressing down on you, that you'd never be able to let go.

And I couldn't have imagined the things I'd do for you. Every time you move a goalpost, I consume my way to the next one - and you move it again. I would do anything to please you. Nothing makes me happier than the smile on your face when I finish one of your meals - except perhaps the belly rubs that follow (God, I love feeling your hands dig into my soft folds of fat, sinking into my massive belly and squeezing me inch by inch). The other night when we were watching television, another one of those fit, lean male actors was portraying yet another character out flirting and fucking whomever they wanted. You pulled my shirt up a few inches to expose my belly, and gave me the sexiest look. It said "you're all mine, fatboy."

I love knowing that my body is only for you - that it's been customized to appeal to a niche demographic. My years of playing the field are over - you’ve made sure of it. So possessive. I hate seeing you anxious or insecure and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to feel that way again, sweetie. I know that after your last boyfriend you worry about faithfulness. I’m going to make sure you never have to worry about me going behind your back. I want you to be my only option.

You slipped your hand under my belly, where it sits in my lap, and gripped my cock, and whispered, "every inch of your fat body is mine, piggie. Every piece of food I put in front of you gets eaten, and everything that's not burned finds its way onto this huge body of yours - your soft, pillowy arms, your thick thighs, your fat butt, your squeezable tits, your gentle double chin, your chubby cheeks, and your big, fat, sexy belly." I don't think I've ever been as hard (or as soft, everywhere else) as I was when that happened. Well, until this past week, when you took this latest trip. I wanted to please you so much that I ate everything I could.

It reminded me of the time that we'd run into your ex at that birthday party. He was as fit as ever, taut and firm, and I was practically bursting out of my clothes, plump and round and soft, all curves and bulges. I don't know what was going through his head at that moment, but the contrast between us in that moment made it all the more hot when we fucked that night, and you came while feeling my fat gut rest on your ass while I pounded you from behind, my heart racing from the effort.

You turned me on my back - giving me a minute to recover from the exertion - and began to ride me. “You’re the fattest guy I’ve ever fucked.” I moaned. “My ex looked so hot next to you tonight.” I moaned again. “Did you see how some of the women there looked at him? How *I* looked at him?” I whimpered. “None of them looked at you that way. I’m the only one who wants your fat, bloated body beneath me. You belong to me, piggy.” I came - my heart pounding intensely, in a way it never did when I was thin.

What have you done to me? I love it.

I love you so much. I can't believe I've found someone so beautiful, so sexy, so supportive, such a good communicator - and such a fantastic cook and encourager. I remember how scared I was when you told me that I would be gaining past my first goal - and then my second - but I'm not scared anymore. I know now that my body belongs to you, and that I'm forced to do whatever it takes to make you happy with it, because nothing makes me as happy as pleasing you. I am so grateful to be your chubby boyfriend, your fat plaything, your kept piggie of a partner. If you told me to lose all the weight tomorrow, I would do it - and if you ordered me to keep gaining, to get fatter and fatter until I can't gain anymore - I would do that also. My body is yours to play with.

I’d conclude this letter with “here’s to another eighty.” Except I know that that number isn’t up to me. I’m going to get as fat as you decide I’m going to get.