chapter 3

"So when did you realize you enjoyed feeding yourself?" Gabby asked me.


"Um, what?" I mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.


"C'mon, surely you didn't grow this luxuriously soft, curvy body by accident. I always suspected you really wanted to be the one to be fed."


Did I? I had to admit that once I had started gaining, I accepted just about any excuse to not start losing weight. Sure, I always liked food and maybe it didn't take too much to entice me to overeat, but that didn't mean I had secret fantasies about being fat, did it?


But it did. Oh, how could Gabby know about those deep, dark, hidden secrets. The fact that sometimes when bringing myself to completion that my mind would be filled with a picture of me, 50 pounds heavier, groaning as I ate my way through a ridiculously huge feast.


I never even admitted it to myself. But now it was leaking out into reality and I was getting fat and someone was feeding me and yes, there was a warmth and familiar wetness down there. But this was my best friend and she was a girl and could I possibly have kept yet another secret from myself?


I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I just kept opening my mouth for each bite until the plate was clean my stomach started to feel heavy and bloated again. I watched as Gabby started refilling the plate and the tingling between my thighs only intensified.


"So w-when did you know?" I asked as a thought occurred to me.


"When did I know what?" she chuckled softly as she put the full plate into the microwave.


"When did you know that you, um, liked g-girls?"


She looked at me with a strange expression on her face, an inner conflict giving way to a small, sad smile.


"I always knew that I liked you," she whispered.


My heart melted. "Even fat me?"


"Especially fat you," she replied, looking more like the Gabby of old. "Although I wouldn't say you're fat."


"Thanks."

< br>"Not yet, anyway."


I faked a glare as she took out the reheated food and held it up again.


"Does it turn you on?" she asked, my cheeks puffed out with an outrageously large bite scoop of stuffing.


"Does wh't?" I mumbled.


"Getting fat. Do you . . . play with yourself? Do you binge in secret? Do you like watching yourself in the mirror as each new pound finds a home?"


"No, it's not like, I mean, it doesn't turn me on."


"Are you sure?" she giggled, pausing from the feeding to slide one hand under my blouse and squeeze my fattened middle.


A hot flash of arousal jolted through my body and I gasped out loud.


"That's what I thought," Gabby smirked.


Her feeding picked up speed, I gulped and grunted as she shoveled food down my gullet into my steadily expanding gut.


"How's that feel?" she asked once the plate was finally clean again.


I belched softly, leaning back against the counter and not even caring that my top was riding up the swell of my overfed tum.


"Let's give you a little room to breathe," Gabby said as she reached down and removed the hair tie from my pants.


I groaned softly in release as my slacks unzipped themselves to make room my ballooning belly.


"There, isn't that better?" she asked rhetorically, slipping her hand under my shirt again.


I couldn't help myself, I relaxed the muscles of my stomach, at least what was left of them. She bit her lip and smiled as she felt my swollen belly expand into her palm.


"Wow, you really got big," Gabby commented, a statement blunt enough to be rude if it wasn't for the obvious lust in her voice.


I couldn't disagree. I wasn't sure I wanted to. I didn't know if I was too full to suck in anymore or if I wanted her to see it.


"Gabby?" I asked quietly.


"Yes babe?"


"Is there any apple pie left?"


Something between a gasp and a moan escaped her lips. She stared at me for a moment as if she had never seen me before.


"You bet there is," she finally said, opening up the fridge and removing a mostly full pie pan.


She took the fork and started feeding me straight from the pan. I gently rubbed my stomach as it stretched further and further. The only sounds in the kitchen were of the fork scraping the pan, our mutual panting, and an occasional half-stifled burp.


Finally, when there was probably only the equivalent of a slice or two left, I had to cry uncle. I was at max capacity, hardly able to stand from the weight of my gluttony.