Her Giant

Chapter 1

When I met her, I was a thin guy. Even very thin, clothes fit me perfectly, and I had this feeling of confidence - that I "fit in anywhere". There was no belly that would stick out, no buttocks that would expand, no sides that would spill out. Sometimes she even envied me how easy it was for me to eat whatever I wanted without gaining weight.

But then, slowly, life with her changed me.

It all started innocently - dinners for couples, movie nights with popcorn, Saturdays with cakes and cookies because baking is the love of her life and I couldn't help but be the taster of . But very quickly it turned into something else. She didn't just want to make me happy with food, she wanted to see me fill up. To see me grow and I flowed with it.

I remember the first time it hit me. I was standing across from her in the kitchen, she was smiling, and I realized that my shirt was a little too tight on my stomach. Not in a dramatic way, but a small button insisted on not closing. She noticed me. She smiled like this and whispered: “How sweet, look how you expand for me…”

Something in me lit up.

Something deep.

From that moment on, it wasn’t just food anymore. It became a game. A sexual game, of power, of seduction. She made me huge portions, and I ate until it hurt. Every extra bite wasn’t just taste – it was surrender. It was a silent confession: I’m yours. Do whatever you want with me.

And slowly, she really did.

My body is changing

At first it was subtle – a little heavy after a meal, a little pressure in my pants. But very quickly I started to notice changes that couldn’t be ignored.

My stomach started to cover my belt. Sitting down only became comfortable if I unbuttoned it. The shirts became smaller, one after the other, until there wasn’t even one left that really “fits well.”

She loved it.

Loved watching me struggle to zip up.

Loved hearing me groan after a third plate.

Loved stroking my stomach when I lay full, heavier and bigger than ever, stroking my belly as if it were her creation.

But it really was her creation.

I will never forget the night she really broke me. We sat down to watch a movie, she brought a tray with burgers, fries, snacks, desserts - everything in one. She encouraged me to eat, over and over, until I felt like I couldn't move. When I put my head on her lap, with a swollen, tense stomach, - she put her hand on me, smiled and whispered: "You will be my giant."

Those words pierced me like fire.

I realized that this was not just her fantasy - this was a reality that we were building together.

Lust for food - and lust for her

Something in my body began to change not only on the outside, but also on the inside. My hunger became animalistic. I no longer eat to fill up - I eat to feel full, heavy, bloated. She taught me to enjoy it. To enjoy the weight, the heaviness, the belly that protrudes forward even when I stand.

She loved to tease me while I ate. To caress my legs under the table, to whisper to me how much she loved what was happening to my body. Sometimes even to feed me with her hands, to hold my head close and shove another bite into my mouth, while I was already out of breath.

Every time like that felt like sex in every way. The satisfaction didn't come only after we were making love - it was already in the middle of the meal, when her eyes burned into me and she saw me turn into a giant man, "her giant".

There was a moment when I realized that I could no longer escape reality: I stood in front of the mirror, trying to fit myself into old jeans. They just wouldn't go up. My butt was getting bigger and my belly was sticking out.

I looked at her, expecting some compassion, maybe a little laughter—but she just bit her lip. She enjoyed it. The sight of my body bursting out of the tight clothes turned her on more than anything else.

And really? It turned me on, too.

Every meal with her became a foreplay. No bed, no candles, no music. A table laden with food was enough, and she was in front of me with her sparkling eyes. From the first bite, I knew where it was going—not just to satisfy hunger, but to a much deeper, physical, sexual satisfaction.

She knew how to hold her fork, how to place a bite too big in front of my mouth, how to wait until I was out of breath and then push a little more. Sometimes she would hold me with one hand on the back of my neck, smile, and whisper: “A little more, for me…” Those words were stronger than any command.

As the weight increased, so did our passion. She loved me heavier, I loved myself more submissive. This combination created a spiral that I didn’t want to stop.

I could no longer deny what was happening to me. My body was taking up space – a lot of space. When I sat on the couch, there wasn’t much room left next to her. When I bent down to tie my shoelaces, my breath hitched. In the shower, my stomach touched the wall in front of me.

Every little friction with reality was a reminder. A reminder that I wasn’t the same skinny guy I used to be.

But instead of feeling ashamed, I began to feel a strange pride. Pride in being her “project,” pride in being the giant built with her hands, on her plate, with her love. She had made me her creation, and I accepted that.

My body no longer moved like it used to, the old positions had become more complex and it opened up a new world. She enjoyed the weight, the soft touch, the feeling that she didn’t have a regular skinny man – she had a big, huge, meaty man.

And me? I enjoyed the fact that my every move, my every sigh, my every quiver in my stomach - turned her on even more.

She turned sex into a game where my weight was the temptation. Sometimes she would even bring food to bed - feed me, giggle as my stomach jiggled. Every bite was like a caress, every dessert like a groan.

There was a point when I simply gave up a large part of my wardrobe. There was no point. Every old shirt clung to me like a second skin, every pair of pants was torn or stretched painfully. She loved these moments. She loved watching me try to squeeze into jeans that had long since ceased to be for me, she loved hearing the ripping of the threads.

Once she even deliberately asked me to wear an old button-down shirt to go out with her. I knew it no longer fit, but I went for it. We sat down to eat, and in the middle of the meal, as I sipped another beer and stuffed another hamburger, the buttons simply gave in - they exploded one by one. My stomach was sticking out in front of everyone, and she just smiled and whispered in my ear: “What a huge man I am… That’s exactly how I love you.”

At that moment I realized there was no going back.

It's not just the body that's growing, it's also the gratitude. I think differently. It wasn't fear or pressure anymore - it was excitement. Seeing the numbers go up, seeing my body become bigger, more massive, boundless.

She always knew how to make it a celebration. Sometimes I surprise me with a cake, sometimes with a night of sexual indulgence in it. She didn't accept it - she demanded it.

Of course, you can't ignore the price: fatigue, heaviness, shortness of breath. But even that became part of the game. She loved to see me panting after climbing the stairs, loved to sit me down with a cold drink after I'd had a little too much, loved to caress me and I, who at the beginning weighed almost the same, today can hardly imagine it. I'm already twice her weight. Sometimes when we hug, she enjoys the softness of my belly. I love it even more.

I looked back - at myself, the skinny guy - and I can't believe that was the starting point. Today I am a different man. Heavy, huge, full. And it's all her doing.

She makes me what I am. She is the artist and I am the sculptor. She is the one who filled me, who shaped me, who made me become "her giant".

And me?

I don't fight it anymore. I surrender. With intention, with passion, with pleasure. Because in the end - being her giant is the sweetest fantasy I have ever lived.