Chapter 1

The table in the dining room stretches for some 60 inches, and its practically groaning for almost as many dishes. I catch your arm as we approach it, stopping you before we can place our own dish onto it. It’s a heavy glass pot that I bought especially for making our contribution to tonight… and, well maybe there was one ulterior motive in my mind as I picked up. This was a test run, I considered. Just how much pasta would it take to fill up. How many people would it serve overall? And then how long before that number reduces to a portion just for one.

“I hope you feel the weight of this in your hands,” I squeeze the smooth skin of your forearm, feeling the tense of muscles which have held you strong for so long, my fingers pinching the line of your flex.

It’s an obscene comment really. I know from experience you can hold your own weight, climbing high above my own ability level. I’ve seen you reach, and balance and flow so smoothly that even I in my slender, youth have felt a little swell of awe and envy. The thought of you finding a single tray too heavy… not for your arms anyway. But the weight of its contents pressing heavily down towards your pelvis, in the form of an overfed, distended belly. I’m sure it will be heavy then.

With my other hand, I cup your bicep, squeezing it briefly as I step closer, a kiss to your cheek to cover the words I whisper, “for now. Although I am sure that when its all in your belly it will feel heavier still. I hope its too heavy… try to find a space for it. And take note. One day, I will fill a feast like this for you.” I let my hand snake its way around the small of your back, making sure I catch the bustle of soft, new fat there from previous indulgences.

“But you’ll have to show me you’re greedy enough to finish it all. A true… h-”

No one around is aware of conversation, but I stop short of the word. Letting the final letters catch into a soft moan directly to your cheek.

My “hog” because a little murmur, or “mmh” the catch in my throat the often comes when I tease you – the times I have sat astride your lap, and I have lost control to my want of you. Taking my pleasure by means of allowing my hands to wonder across your body – the breath catching into a moan as I find a way of admiring your overfed body in a way that excites. But for now…I catch your eye, hoping that you can see the sparkle of excitement within my own gaze as I hold it. The word on my tongue. “My hog.” Not that anyone else here would know. This shirt, a loose summer blue check, hides even the slightest bumps. For all they know you are still all tight abs and muscle… and I guess you are beneath all of the calories we have shared. You aren’t fat. Just stretched out from the immense capabilities of your greed. Our greed. I can call it that, I think, for I know where you would stop if it weren’t for my firm hand.
The next few hours of the evening fall into an easy pattern. It is easy for me to smile when my heart flutters with such genuine happiness. But, I can feel my anticipation for the evening to draw to a close. After so long away from social events and friends, I would never wish for these moments to pass by quickly, but there are moments where from across the room, I catch you once again at the table. I watch as your fingers brush your lips. Another bite. Another plate. A helping that no one notices except for me. A second slice of cake that I think may actually be your third. Or is it your fourth. That change to your stance – the little roll of your shoulders. Are you arching your back to support a burgeoning middle? Or are you trying to slide your waistband down just a little? A belly bloating even bigger with just a little beer, and other carinated soft drinks, on top of this feast needing just a little more room. No means a stuffing for your belly – you are too greedy now. But certainly, a lot of food. Enough for any “normal” person to know they had to stop. And I know that there is a rosy heugh to my cheeks, that as I laugh with someone, I look down and back up a little too quickly quite unable to hold my eye contact anywhere but forever drawn to you. So, I can only say that it with a sigh of relief and built up anticipation that I bid the others goodbye at the end of the night.
“This thing might have held ten pounds of pasta,” our most gracious of hosts laughs a little turning the empty glass, now washed clean for me to take home, over in her hands. “But I’m not surprised its been the most popular. Your dishes are always wonderful.”


I return the compliment, my smile and blush of embarrassment gentle. The bowl had in fact held ten pounds. I had used 4 250g bags of uncooked pasta in the dish, not including my vegetables and other ingredients. And I know how much such things grow when cooked… if only because I have seen them expand in your belly, swelling beyond capacity after one too many litres post pasta stuffing as your food settles.
From a round, pale belly to a gut which I may with a giggle describe as a strained strawberry. You see, its pink, growing red as your skin tingles and tries to stretch, and you bloat outwards. Wide at the top beneath your chest, but so full that even the smooth skin above your pelvis bloats outwards. All filled up… and such a sweet treat for me. My favourite dessert.

You see, I hadn’t just filled the bowl idly. This, I guess, was an experiment of sorts. Just how much of my cooking can this vessel contain. And… in turn part two will follow just how many attempts will it take for you to clear it by yourself. Until, my greedy glutton, you look ripe for the picking. Ready to be in my hands. My lips…
These are the thoughts at the darkest, depths of my mind as I give my goodbyes. The sweetest treats are of course, reserved for you. But I can’t avoid them. These feeder thoughts, the excitement of knowing that you are going to eat for me, that soon I will have my hands on your grossly gorged belly its… I…

I…

I…


I’m glad of the cool nights air on my face as we walk to the car. I tingle with excitement as your fingers interlock with mine, as you pull me close, and let me burrow into your coat. The rain in these warm spring evenings is by no means unpleasant. And yet, I find I cling to you as if I may shelter from a winter storm as if I need the heat of your body.

I feel it as we get to the car door, as you reach across to open it for me, I feel the press into the small of my back. The difference in our heights, meaning that as you guide me into the seat, letting me step forward, the contour of your belly presses to my back. At first, bumping, catching on the muscles in my upper back, and then as you lean across me, fitting so snuggly into the small of my back. This was your plan all along… the hand of yours that grabs at my hips, holding me as I am angled forward, head down, ass tensed and back arched you unlock your reward. The final solve of the puzzle piece of our bodies slotted together unlocking a gasp from me.
I would let you hold me like this for an eternity. In fact, the moment that it takes for you to lean in, and whisper softly to my ear is not long enough.


“I think I’ve been a bit greedy.”
The spin to face you as you step back, almost knocks me off balance, and I find you are catching me. Gathering me in your arms with a little laughter. A kiss, telling me to be careful in my keenness. But, hidden in the semi dimness of the coming night, and our newfound quiet, I am lost. Lost to lust for your body, and I am already slipping my hands beneath your shirt. I don’t yet pull the material upwards, for I don’t want to ruin my surprise. No, when I see your belly I want it to be on full, glorious, distended display – not hidden in the half light on the way out from a dinner that I know didn’t even fill you up.


And my hands… they find the difference. You see… well, a matter of “filling you up” isn’t as it once was. You can have eaten many thousands of calories – more than most people would dream of eating on even their most intense of “cheat” days wherein they indulge to their favourites, and you have room. You can’t stop there. You just need to fill up. And pushing the limits of this greed. Well… it has given you quite the capacity.


I am not sure what it is I say to you, as my hands find the upwards tilt of your pelvis towards a deepening, and stretched belly button. As I try, and fail due to its snugness, to run a finger around your waistband. As I squeeze between finger, and thumb, and then handful upon handful of stretched, fed belly.


“Whoops.” You tease between kisses, “I think we got me fatter… because you’re making me hungry.”

“Hungry?” In return, I flash my own smile, letting only one hand slip from your belly down over your waist. I feel the firm, spreading bump of your excitement.
“Hungry” I feel you pulse, in my grip as you repeat the word, “How about we pick up a few pizzas on the way home? And we can feed me up a little… I want to get absolutely stuffed tonight.”

“Hog,” the chastise isn’t real in my tone, but I match it by slapping on your belly. Letting the noise of the slap ripple outwards before jiggling your softness, “Hmm. It is better when you’re tight. But will you have room for dessert? Because I have ice cream?”
“For you. Always” Each of your words are punctuated with kisses. Your tongue teasing me, as you bite my reply away, inciting my passion until my words are lost to a moan with your addendum, “And if not… well you can always make room. Bouncing, Riding, Rubbing… once you’ve funnel fed me.”

You see. I don't need to show you off to please me. I can think that I am in the mood to feed you until you physically can not move from the chair, pinned beneath a painfully full tummy. I can have my way with you - a fattened pig with the sexiest of stuffed tummies.

I can tell you over and over how big that I am going to make you. But, it is moments like these. The unprompted result of stretching your capcity... well, it shows me how much of a glutton we have become.

Is it so that we will always want more? Is it so that this isn't enough for you? For me? .... will you really leave yourself panting and moaning, knowing that each inch you swell edges me closer... closer... towards that point where we feel as if we may both be on the verge of bursting.

You see... I don't just want you greedy. Its not enough that you simply eat. I don't want you to pour, and fill empty calories to you.

I want to measure how you swell. I want to feel you grow. To own each inch... its not enough you are a growing glutton. I want you to be glutton...

my glutton gasping for air. I need you there.

So, I'll ask you nicely. Lose control with me? Give me command of your calories. We both know you are greedy.

Let me set the limits for the adventure that awaits.

You just can't help yourself. And neither can I. Although, I will help you. When you are incapacited by your own greed. Too full for love. All on display... no hiding your greed, even if it does hide your excitement.

"Two pizzas." I smile, as I let myself back away from your embrace to the drivers side. The first of many too much pizzas. But never enough.

You see, what I have just described is almost a preceeding teasing to the things which really, truly excite me. It is not the eating which excites. It is not simply the act of growing you hugely. Perhaps that means I am not a goof feeder. Perhaps that means I shouldn't categories myself as such.

I am the adorer of stuffed, overfed bellies. Your belly to be exact. Laid back, the weight of your bloated middle sitting heavily - slow breathing as the food seems to sit heavily onto your lungs. Skin unable to stretch further, belly grossly over excess.

I am... shamelessly able to match my own moans to yours of discomfort. I can get off, from climbing astride you, but not in the way others might.

I am excited by your greed. Yes. It feels so good to stretch your gut our further. Fatter. So big and full thar you can barely even stand. Why is it that when I see your hands tenderly cup your swollen, side I feel myself quiver? Why is my arousal peaked by seeing you sprawled gorged beneath me?

When I look down, and see your engorged belly sticking out high into the air.. spilling outwards from your slim body. Belly weighing down to take up more and more space. Would it cover you if you sit forwards. Pity you can't move to do so.

Even now; as we sit quietly in the car a deep satisfaction pulsing in me, my mind is on the impending round results. And I know then... my funnel will make you roundest.

It takes a glutton to please me. Could you be greedy enough? It takes a true hog to exceed my expectations.