Chapter 1

I could tell you that I know you're naughty little secret... but looking at the immense swell of your belly from an otherwise slim body, I don't think it would be quite truthful to call it "little."

Perhaps, I should just call you my fattened pig instead? Or would you still like to pretend you're not there yet, even as we must undo your trousers earlier and earlier into our stuffing sessions each time?

Either way; You're no longer eating because you're hungry, are you?

I think the pangs of hunger turned into pulses of aching pain a long time ago. Some 20 or 30 donuts ago... I can't even pretend I haven't counted. Its 28 - and a half if we count the one you're currently struggling your way through. But I like when you "round" up. Of course, this is after a fourth helping of my pasta. I was suprised you didn't lift the casserole dish to your lips - the glass bowl deep enough for you to dip your whole head inside, and now that depth packed inside a dense belly, pressing a keen tongue to lick the remnants of a heavy dinner for 10 people according to the serving size. These things always exgerate a little. Im sure most people reach for a second serving... or they may be particularly indulgent and raach for a third... but oh my. Well, 10 people or one very, very greedy hog who devours way more than any ordinary person can. And here we are with me practically expecting you to lick the bowl... if only you could have sat forward enough to do so. Instead, there was a sprawling, aching, bloat of tummy pinning you down. A once muscled stomach now that distends to anchor you down to your seat; pulling your weight deeper still to the depths of hedonism until your fully immersed. Or maybe just .. fat.

You see, the thing you satiate isn't taste. This is not a careful counting of calories to output of energy, relaxed into the occasional excess that should come with feeling the need to "let go". No, this is a chaotic, all consuming hunger. Full is not enough. Your driving desire to be as stuffed as possible, wherein we watch your body growing round to please.

"It turns you on doesn't it?" I hear the way my vioce breaks, and cracks with pleasure as I run my hands over your belly. I think I can feel the outline of your stomach beneath stretched skin. It's over stretched also. If I press in just under your chest, beneath what used to be toned pecs, I can feel a lumpy hardness. I can also feel a rise from between your legs, as you harden and twitch against me, bumping into my bare thigh as I let myself move with your body. I almost grind myself into your lap, sitting with my legs a little wider than I need so as to guide you to where I want, coating your length in just the most brief depth of excitment from tip to base before I slide back.

You try to slide and match my movement, firm hands on my hips as if you'll guide me in to further bliss. But you underestimate fhe curve of thus cumbersome gut. And instead the half movement of your sit up makes you moan and gasp, "I'm so full."

"Did I say that you could stop eating?" My tender carress to a half as you moan. I think you're probably right. Overfull. I relent only a little. Whispering my sweetest sympathies in your ear... as if I'm not the director of this decadent display. As if you hsvent taken time to eat for me, and over eat for me. And beyond. My lips to your colar bone, up your neck until I can taste the sweet sugar on your lips. "I believe... you promised to eat for me"

From here, as i work my hands down your sides pushing a little too roughly to coax a belch and a moan from you, i can see that growing length beneath the globe of flesh - even if you can't. keep eating like this and you may get so far past greedy that any of this lap, I find to perch myself may disappear.


"Keep eating." There's the whimper to my vioce again. I don't mean to beg, it just happens. You're starting to really struggle now. Heavy, laboured breaths. A slight sweat, on your back... reclining. "Or ill make you eat for me."

I feel it then. The little flare of excitment, that implodes. Your wetness may match my own.

Are you embarrassed to be this vulnerable around me? Swollen and turned on by the expanse of your own growing body. Eating yourself into thr hog of mu dreams. More

I could tease you, I could revel in the fat hog you've become. But as you pant and belch and moan... my mind is made. Open wide... it'd my turn to feed as I please. I don't think I'll stop until we hit sixty. 60 what?

Oh... sixty donuts - double you're current amount. Sixty inches - twice your stating size... sixty thousand calories. That may br less than a weeks eating for you soon.

I dont want for the moan of your reply. The next one is to your lips and I'm pressing it in. I could say bite after bite I hand feed you. Although I'm not sure that's the right description... am I about to begin to force feed you?

Yes. I know you're doughy little secret. The.fattened, flabby belly that now sits distended and round. There will be no stopping