The Challenge

Chapter 1

Oliver felt the weight of his car dip down as he not-so-smoothly slipped inside. He hated driving, but that little moment was always fun. Feeling this heavy machine give a bit under the weight of his size, comparatively smaller and smaller as he grew bigger. He grunted as he pulled the door shut, the motion squeezing his gut a little, and struggled slightly to pull the seatbelt across his belly. It was tight and uncomfortable, the straps digging into the fat of his chest and waist.

“Safety first,” he muttered to himself. But really, he was just glad he could still fit. The seatbelt clicked, snug and annoying, but secure. His belly sat several inches from the steering wheel. Still a gap. For now.

Won’t be too long, he thought, glancing down at the swell of himself, before I’m rubbing up against it. He imagined it, that soft pressure of his gut pressing into the wheel, the tight squeeze of the car around him. Maybe one day he’d outgrow the whole thing, have to angle his body just to fit in, or better yet, not fit at all. The idea turned him on more than he’d care to admit. Embarrassing, but real. He shifted in the seat, feeling the under-curve of his belly settle against his lap.

Today would help with that.

He started the car. The A/C kicked on with a loud whir, and he sighed as the cold air blasted his face. He checked the time—12:50. Then his phone buzzed, a text from Elise. Exciting, elusive Elise.

His thumb moved before he could even think about it. The message preview made his stomach flip a little.

‘today the day?’

His heart thudded, stupidly eager. He typed out a reply quickly, faster than he probably should’ve, but he couldn’t help himself.

‘Yep, heading out now’

Three dots appeared, then another message.

‘dont forget to send pictures.’

No “good luck.” No “rooting for you.” Not even a minor indication of excitement.

Oliver smiled anyway. Elise was—well, he didn’t really know her, not like that. But he was determined to impress her, this distant, capable feeder he’d followed online for years. She wasn't a feeder anymore, not really, but she dabbled in it from time to time, as evidenced by the various stuffed, bloated, dominated bellies she’d post once in a blue moon.

He wanted that for himself. So bad. Her hands on him, nails digging in, voice in his ear. “Look at you. Look what you did to yourself.” That kind of thing. Even the idea of it made him fidget in his seat.

He could only dream of being so lucky. He and the thousands of other feedees who followed her and filled her comments with compliments. Other guys way bigger than he was. Most of them commented the second she posted anything. He didn’t stand out. Not really.

So when she actually replied to one of his messages a couple months ago, he thought it was a mistake. But she kept replying. She didn’t flirt, was never forward. Just short messages, little check-ins, like she was curious to see if he’d actually keep growing. He’d asked—twice—if she’d want to feed him. She’d shut that down. Said she wasn’t really into it anymore.

Then, out of nowhere, she gave him this challenge.

Five drive-thrus. Five hours. Five heavy meals. Said if he could actually do it, she’d “think about it.” Maybe make him her pig.

That was enough. That was more than enough.

Five meals, he thought to himself, running a hand over his stomach. Can’t be that bad.

He figured he could eat about three in that amount of time. So five was certainly pushing it. He’d have to time everything just right, not waste too much time. But the prize? Worth it. So worth it.

He rubbed at his belly, already starting to feel a flutter of hunger. Nothing serious, not yet, but enough to make him aware of it. His stomach let out a soft, low growl, like it had overheard his thoughts.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” he said, and shifted into gear. Time to go.