Chapter 1 - short story

You're terrible at hiding your thoughts and emotions. It obvious that you think with your stomach by the way you stare at the food that I've brought you. It's obvious what you want.

You want me to make you fatter. But I know you, you want the details. So I'll tell you, but only because you've been such a good little piggy.

I'd start off with cooking all of your favorite meals. I obviously have my own recipes, recipes that contain only the most fattening ingredients. I don't tell you that the meals I make you are 3,000 calories each. And of course, being the little hungry piggy that you are, you eat far more than three of my homemade meals a day.

I not only cook, but I buy you whatever your heart desires. Pints of ice cream, brownies, entire cakes and pizzas all to yourself. You can have whatever you want, whenever you want, but here's the catch.

You have to please me.

Really, it's not that hard. I want you to lay in bed all day, and eat as much as you possibly can before I get home. I want you stuffed to the brim, and then a little more. By the time I get home, you better be stuffed and moaning, begging me for more food and belly rubs. I want your clothes to be stretched tight, buttons popping and seams ripping. I want you to complain about how stuffed you are before shoving in another bite.

We both know you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. You love being a fat, bloated little piggy, and you love nothing more. You can't resist it. You always end up coming back to this, to me.

I want you to stuff yourself so full that you can't move, and then some. Every time you try to move, you can't help a groan from escaping. When you try to speak, only hiccups and small burps come out. I don't want you to talk anyway. Your mouth has more important things to do.

Your belly hangs over your waistband, and your fat spills over your clothes. You practically fill the bed. God, you've really let yourself go. You have food in both hands, trying to eat as quickly as possible, because it Feels. So. Good. Your belly is stuffed and tight, and it's the only thing you can see. You're so full you're panting for breath, your stuffed gut jiggling and heaving with every breath. You're so fat and out of shape, you can't even leave the bed. It's amusing to watch you try and waddle across the room though. But you only get out of bed if I tell you to.

If I decide you've eaten enough, I'll pleasure you, worshiping your body. But only because I feel like it. I don't care what you want. I would kiss all over your bloated belly, sometimes pushing just a littleee too hard because I love the groans of pain you make. I would cover every inch of your fat body, moving agonizingly slow. I love teasing you. But I love how fat you are even more.

I would move to your inner thighs, tracing the letters of the alphabet with my tongue. I want you to quiver at my touch, to beg me to touch you. And of course, I want you to be eating the entire time.

I would moan your name, just because I know it will convince you to eat a little bit more. Because I want you fatter, and I always get what I want.

So start eating piggy. You've got a long way to go if you want to be mine.