Chapter 1 - One Shot

My sweet glutton looks so darling, passed out on our bed in a food coma.

I've spent most of the day keeping his belly stretched taut. Well, as taut as it can be covered in soft, jiggly fat. We'll often joke about how he's expecting food triplets the way his upper belly juts so prettily outwards.

I reach out and gently stroke his fat cheeks to wake him up. The fuzz of his beard tickles my fingers. He stirs but doesn't wake up. I'm not shocked since I stuffed my glutton until he couldn't move. However, I have an ace up my sleeve.

I push his flabby thighs apart, settle in between, and admire his girth. His belly has gone down a bit since he passed out two hours ago - he's due for a top-off. While most of his belly is still bloated with food, his thick hang is soft, pure fat. Once upon a time, it was a cute pot belly. Now, it touched the top of his thighs even when lying down.

And I'm on a one-woman mission to make it reach his knees.

I press my hands against his hang - enjoying its heft and softness. Then, I slowly start to massage him. His bulk feels heavenly between my fingers. Air bubbles shift and gurgle from underneath his squishy belly. Suddenly, his middle makes a loud noise and -

**BWOOOOORP**

He startles awake. My glutton looks so sweet and disoriented momentarily before his sleepy eyes land on me.

"Good morning, mistress," he yawns.

"Good afternoon, glutton," I smirk.

"Is it? My internal clock is shot these days."

I laugh. "There's no need to worry your pretty little head about such things. All you need to do is eat for me."

"And get fatter?" My glutton's eyes twinkle with excitement.

"That goes without saying. As greedy as you are, you fatten so well for me."

We spend a few more minutes like this - basking in each other's presence while I massage and play with his belly. I even lean forward and tease his plump tits with my mouth. They aren't sensitive like my own, but it's a fun way to remind him just how fat I've made him.

And soon, how much fatter he will be.

"Mistress?"

I look up at his flushed face and smile. I know what he's about to say, but being coy is too much fun. I start nibbling at his soft chest and gesture for him to continue.

"D-do you think I c-can cum this time?" he stutters.

"I don't know," I channel my inner English teacher while teasing his inner thighs, "Can you?"

My glutton's face flushes with pent-up pleasure. "M-may I c-cum m-mistress."

"Depends. Have you earned it?"

"B-but"

"Te ll me how you earn the privilege to cum?" I suddenly stop touching him. He whines and pouts, but I won't be swayed.

"By eating all my food, mistress."

"And have you eaten all your food?"

He pouts even more. "No."

"Then can you cum, glutton?"

"No."

" ;Don't worry, glutton. You've already had third lunch. All you need to eat is first, second, and third dinners before I let you have dessert."

He pouts and shifts in his seat. I can only imagine how backed up the poor thing is. Suddenly, a wicked thought pops into my head.

I leave the room to warm up his dinner - an entire lasagne pan. When I return, I put the lasagne on a nearby table and stand beside my glutton's face.

"Let's play a game, darling," I whisper in his ear.

Before he can ask anything, I take off my pants and underwear. The air feels cool against my slickness. I chuckle as I watch his brain short circuits.

"You like what you see, greedy boy?" I watch as he eagerly nods - his plump face vigorously jiggling. "Good. The rules are simple. If you want to cum, you have to eat. And I'll only feed you if you keep fingering me. If you stop, I stop. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mistress," my glutton says with stars in his eyes. As much as he pouts about not getting his release, he loves nothing more than my pleasure. Mixed in with sweet torture and the promise of a reward? Even better.

I crawl into the bed next to him with the food and smile. He slips in a thick finger and then another. I let out a moan as he stretches me out like the fat boy he is. He gives me a moment to savor the fullness between my thighs before curling his fat sausage fingers inside of me.

For a moment, I consider letting myself get lost in how good everything feels. However, I am not so cruel a mistress to renege on a promise. He can spend the entire day making me feel good during his recovery day tomorrow. In the meantime, I have a fat belly to make fatter.

I grab the serving spoon and dig into the pan. I watch how my glutton's mouth waters as the melted cheese pulls tantalizingly before breaking off. His eyes roll back in pleasure as the flavors coat his tongue.

"It's good, isn't it?" I ask.

He nods, humming eagerly. His mouth opens expectantly for the next bite.

"I used a sherry ragout and fresh cheese. Only the best for my glutton."

We stay like this for a few minutes - him pleasuring me and me feeding him - in relative silence. Then he looks me in the eye with a wicked expression. Before I can ask, I feel his fingers suddenly cross inside me and then swirl.

"Only the best for my mistress," he purrs.

I let out a loud moan as he mercilessly attacks my g-spot. I'm unsure when he learned his trick, but it's making it hard to stay present.

And he knows it.

I try to maintain my composure. I try to keep a sense of refined elegance. But I'm just as much a glutton for pleasure as he is.

My careful spoonfuls of lasagne become shakier and more forceful with every mouthful. That is until a particularly rough prod at my g-spot sends me over the edge, dropping the spoonful onto his chest. The serving spoon clatters uselessly onto the floor.

My glutton smirks at me with a self-satisfied grin. He doesn't let up even for a moment.

"You love this, don't you, mistress," he whispers in my ear, "You love my fat, my stuffed belly ... my fingers."

His fingers are absolutely drenched. A lewd, squelching noise and my breathy moans have replaced the sound of his eating. I can feel his fingers uncross before circling my a-spot. I feel so sensitive, and it isn't long before a warm glow builds up and explodes in my core.

"Yes!" I scream, "Yes, I love it! Don't stop! I need this - need you."

I feel a shift in my brain when I open my eyes. The lasagne is still sitting on his chest. I don't think twice when I grab the food and shove it into his face.

"I need more of you," I purr, "Open up and give it to me."

His eyes show no hesitation when he opens his mouth for me. His face looks so sweet as I shove the food inside. A shiver runs up my spine as I feel his pink tongue lick all the sauce and cheese off my hand.

I need more.

I feel myself slip into a flow state. My world shrinks to the near-constant pleasure between my legs, the handfuls of lasagne, and my glutton's growing belly. I manhandled his middle with my clean hand to free up as much room as possible between bites.

I could practically see his body swell up with fat. His fat thighs growing fatter, his plump tits growing to frame his middle. But most of all, I could see his morbidly obese belly inching lower and lower with every pound.

Then suddenly, my hand grabbed at nothing but an empty pan.

My partner carefully slides his drenched fingers out of me. He's covered in food while belching helplessly for relief. I grab some wipes I keep stashed nearby to clean us both up.

"I'm so - *urp* - full. So bloated."

"You ate so well for me, glutton. But you're not done - not yet."

"What? How? There's a whole pan of lasagna inside of me!" He rubs his overfilled middle, marveling at how packed it feels.

I laugh. "Surely my glutton has some room for dessert."

He pauses for a moment and looks at me cautiously.

"What kind of desert?"

"One of your favorites in the world. My honey pot."

My gluttonous eyes twinkle mischievously. "Oh, I'll always have room for that."

I can feel myself get wet as I sit down on his face. "You make the perfect throne for me. Now, show me how a real fat boy eats.

He grabs me by my thighs and buries his face in between. I moan loudly as he licks my slick like a melting ice cream cone. I'm still keyed up from the near-constant orgasms from earlier. Nothing else exists except for this soul-shattering pleasure coursing through me.

There are no words anymore. There's no need for them anyway. It's just me and my beloved glutton wringing every drop of pleasure out of me. When he switches from licking me clean to sucking on my swollen clit, the world melts away.

I brace myself against the wall. My glutton's fat bearded face makes a delicious seat. All of my thoughts melt away as I let my pleasure sweep me away. You'd never know that I just stuffed him to the brim with how eagerly he laps and sucks at me.

My body coils and tightens as a fire builds and glows within me. My glutton's face grows wetter by the second. Greedy, passionate, eager to please - I've trained him well. The perfect pet and toy.

I come with a shout. Every bone dissolves in my body as I slide off in a gasping heap.

He looks at me with a self-satisfied smile on his glistening face. "Was it good for you, mistress?"

I laugh and pull my limp body closer to him. "You were a very greedy boy for me."

"I'm glad, mistress."

I pat his chubby cheek, then reach down to give his fupa a squeeze.

"I bet you're eager for tonight, aren't you, greedy boy?"

"Of course, mistress. I'll eat as much as you want."

"Good boy," I hum, "Let's nap. You've earned it."

I sigh as he wraps his chubby, fat arms around me and pulls me closer to his overfed middle. We snuggle close and drift off.