chapter 1

I am washing the dishes in our galley kitchen. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. I can feel them brush the muscles I've been working so hard on... I can also feel the heft of his belly envelope me from behind, the press of it against my spine. I tilt my head back, and his breath smells of warm, fresh lasagne.

This isn't good. I turn sharply and push him up against the other wall. A year ago he'd have fended me off, and had the ability to do so. Now he's just a lazy pile of blubber, sitting around all day and stuffing his chubby face while I go to work and the gym. The result, a lump of hungry adipose that has just eaten the meal I prepared for his parents. Such a greedy fat piggy, so in thrall to his hunger. I smile. It isn't kind.

My push slams him back against the wall. He's startled by his own weakness. I can see his belly quivering, his moobs bouncing, such ripe flesh. I can also see that my strength is turning him on. Sweatpants are good like that, good for showing every crease and roll and bulge if you bend them just right.

"Well, that's done it then. No more Italian. I'll have to do something simpler." I say it calmly, looking straight into his eyes. He knows he's going to pay for this, and I do rather think he's looking forward to it. Though I doubt his binges have prepared him for what I have in store.

"But half of it is left," he says softly. Goading me on.

I grab the bottom roll of his gut, sinking my fingers into his flesh "And how long do you think that will last with this at the table? I wanted to show your mother I'm taking good care of you! " he squirms and flushes. I've taken good enough care of him that his 32 trousers are now a creaking 44 with that delicious overlapping roll. He's developing a waddle when he walks. He gets out of breath climbing the single flight of stairs to our apartment. I have taken very good care of him indeed.

"I'm sorry. How can I make it up to you?" he asks, almost whining as he pushes back into my grip, trying to rub his bulge against my hand, his gut, against anything that can give him that delightful friction he so craves.

I grin and look him straight in the eye. "Eat the rest of it." I say slowly and deliberately. "Eat the antipasti, eat the salad, eat the gelato. By the time your parents get here, I want no trace of this meal to remain."

His eyes widen, and he tries to step back involuntarily, but his delicious arse hits the wall again. "That's enough food for four people," he stutters.

"Correction," I smile. "It's nibbles and dessert for four. It's now mains for two. Thanks to you." I pull on his roll and grab one moob with my other hand and squeeze. He moans softly. "This is on you, you greedy fat piggy boy. Now go fill yourself up before your mother gets here. And then be ready to have another full meal on top of that. I want her to be sure that I take good care of her darling son."