The pie eating contest

Chapter 1 - 1

Your boyfriend slides his finger deep into your belly button through the gaps in your shirt. He leans forward and kisses your neck and whispers,

"Eat. Eat more, eat more. Stretch that fat-piggy gut out for me."

You moan through a mouthful of food, you love it when he encourages you like this. You feel the buttons on your shirt straining, straining.

Through cheeks stuffed with pie you say,
"Kiss me, mmmm, kiss your fat, growing girl."

He smiles and brings both hand to your food-plumped cheeks and kisses you several times, "Mmmm, I adore you," -kiss- " I can't live without you. Now shove more pie in that big greedy belly. The contest is in a month," he reaches under your belly and hefts its wobbly bulk, "we need to get this big ol' thing ready for Sally Ann Perkins."

Sall Ann Perkins. Perfect little Sally Ann Perkins. She is everything you are not: tall; slender; blonde. She's the pride of the town and has won the state championship for the last three years, never gaining a pound. She has taken to teasing you lately about your weight: poking and prodding your belly flab, mentioning your shamefully large muffintop, loudly expressing mock concern about your climbing weight and even flirting openly with your boyfriend.
You took last year's defeat hard (Sally Ann beat you by half a pie) and during a vulnerable moment with your boyfriend, you admitted you were afraid to get fat from training and lose him, but you really wanted to win the contest. He slid his arms around you and kissed you deeply, and admitted he wanted you very heavy. He has always loved plump women with big appetites.

Your regimen changed after that and your boyfriend began stuffing you and stuffing you and stuffing you. The plan was to turn you in an absolute hog. An insatiable eating machine that could easily inhale 8000 calories in a single sitting, wipe her mouth and demand more. And it worked.

Every minute of every day you were fed like a pig. Anytime you opened your mouth, your boyfriend shoved something fattening past your lips. Lovemaking took on a new, wonderful intensity as your boyfriend stuffed you until you could barely move then ***ed you and fed you and fed you some more. Your thighs swelled with lard, your belly pushed past your tits and sagged under its own weight. You grew huge, obscene love handles and sprouted thick rolls of back fat. You were (dare I say it, FF?) in hog heaven. By the sixth month of training, you could easily eat three large pizzas and still have room. You grew wide, flabby, embarassingly out of shape. You developed an insidious fatty waddle. Your boyfriend kept you stuffed, f*cked and very satisfied. Few people knew of your plan and assumed you had merely gotten comfortable living with your boyfriend and simply let yourself go - and go and go, you naughty fat pig.

As the competition drew to within a few days, your boyfriend put you on a funnel feeding regimen. You could feel your gut stretch dramatically after each session, it got bigger and heavier, heavier and larger. You could even feel that fat around your deeping belly button wobble when you walked.The evening before the competition, your boyfriend teased you teased you, kissed your neck and ears and worked you several times to the edge of orgasm -- then cut you off completely: no food, no sex, you over-filled blimp -- until after the competition.
3 chapters, created StoryListingCard.php 10 years
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Comments

Bradypig 10 years
I want to be her!