chapter 1

Your full belly turns me on. That's it in the simplest terms. The most blunt, uninteresting, plain words that I can manage. When you over eat, and I mean really over eat, sat back hands on the orb that’s pinning you down; forcing the button of your trousers undone... I ... I...

It seems like neither of us can draw a full breath. Me with the little gasps of awe that pulse so tantalisingly through my body; dark eyelashes fluttering as my fingers pinch to your skin a little tighter as I rock a little closer into the swell of your aching belly. You with the weight of all of this dense food so heavily pressing on your middle; short, shallow, rasps which barely make your stuffed stomach move. Your chest rising and falling, as you tilt your head back with a tantalising little moan of “too full.”

It’s the same words that you had whispered to me after your first few thousand calories, as you had reached beneath the billowing swell of your fat, to undo the tight restraint of your button; not that you were even close to being so by either of our expectations. Even with more than two days’ worth of calories giving your belly such a voluptuous curve, the swell of a heavy ball on your middle, billowing out from your chest in a slope, your lower belly swollen tapering down to your groin… the little waist. “Too full for buttons, at least.”

I had begged for more then. Teased. Needed. And here we are again. Only this time. This time you mean it. This time it will take more than my pleading; using our bodies, our pleasures as the most tantalising demand.

Our unrestrained gluttony has quite an impact on your waistline; this belly taut and round. Skin stretched tight over a dense feast of your favourites. There's too many calories inside here. Even a taste of each; a mouthful of all of my sweetest treats would be enough to fill your belly. And as such a glutton you finished every bite. That’s why I had insisted on more. Why, that even at that last stage of fullness I had lifted the next serving to your lips. I had forced. I had taken. I had needed. Or rather, I love the after effects of you eating like this. That stuffed stupor; the quietest little moans that you give off. I love to see you eat like this.

Such curvature only a true glutton can achieve. You’re at my mercy, my feedee. My wonderful overfed sweetheart. “Your feeders wiles have made you fat.” I whisper, “And now she can do as she pleases.”

And what would please me? What is it that such a seductress such as my self may lovingly implore; whispered wants as I rub your aching belly? As I caress this big belly. I am devoted to you; lost in the lust of worshipping such a glutton, of enjoying and pleasing you as you are at your most plump. Your fullness turns me on. The delicate balance, the overwhelming tilt, of this hedonistic stuffing. A perfect shared trust, and affection. A plump passion like no other.


And, what comes next? What comes after the hours of ardour; when you can finally sit up with difficulty. When I get to feel, to experience your eagerness for me all over again. This time pinned beneath the packed weight of your gut. As I get to feel you try to account for a belly that was so much smaller only a few hours ago. It’s a good thing that you have such strong arms… even if your bell still presses downwards onto me. Into me. Even if your fat, still tight and stretched from stuffing, forces apart my thighs a little further. Jiggling, and gyrating… the weight of your belly still able to extract such excitement from me. Over and over. My plump pleasure. Surrender, my stuffer. I want you full. I want you fat. I want you fed.

Just what would you do to please me, my glutton? How Much more would you consume to make me climax? In twelve months of gluttony... Just how greedy could you be? Are you ready to hear your feeders thoughts? On just how round I wish to make you? As you fall into exhaustion. As these calories turn from the swollen tightness into fat…

What would happen to those buttons in ten pounds? In Twenty? In Fifty? Is this shared love of stuffing finally going to turn you into the fattened feedee we both desire? Will this straining belly finally sag, hang into fat, filling my lap as I sit on you? Fatter still than these inches that spill between us now as we lie intertwined.

Will you, my stuffer, surrender to your feeder? To my decadent demands? Are you finally ready to let go?

Does this expanding appetite - with more and more to fill you up - mean that you have finally let go?

Rounder. Greedier. You have exceeded my expectations... You are exanding so well; look at the size of this belly. Just how I wanted you.. more.

But, still, I have plump plans for you. Shall I tell you? Over dessert?

Shall we expand and indulge?

A little more indulgent with every inch. My feedee, Your fullness turns me on... You expand. You Excite. So Perfectly plump. My fattened feedee... Is this your new small belly? My Fattened Feedee... I... need you to eat. I dream of your greed.