The Beginning of Us

Chapter 1

Part One: The Beginning of Us

I never expected my life to become something out of a decadent dream, but then again, I never expected her either.

She was everything I never knew I needed soft, radiant, insatiable. From the moment we met, we shared something deeper than just attraction. We shared hunger. Not just for food, but for indulgence. For each other. For a life lived without shame or limits.

It started innocently enough. Midnight fast food runs turned into rituals. Our “usual” became something absurd: twenty nuggets each, double Big Tasties with extra bacon and cheese, Quarter Pounders, large banana milkshakes… and the grand finale our homemade shake of heavy cream, caramel, peanut butter, and weight gain powder. It was wild. It was excessive. And it was ours.

We’d strip down and lie together in bed, too full to move, bellies round and tight, moaning and laughing as we fed each other one last spoonful. Her fingers would linger on my softening chest. Mine on the curve of her belly. We admired the changes—every pound, every jiggle, every new stretch of skin. Our bodies were transforming together. And it was the most beautiful, erotic thing we’d ever known.

We celebrated each other’s growth like other couples celebrated anniversaries. A new roll on her hips? I’d kiss it. A deeper crease in my belly? She’d trace it with her tongue. Our love wasn’t just about who we were—it was about who we were becoming. Fat. Full. Free.

And as our bodies grew, so did our roles. I adored how huge and goddess-like she became her belly soft and prominent and hanging, her thighs thick and dimpled like her massive nasty, super wide, needing two seets in an plane and extremely sexy saggy massive sweaty smelly ass, her breasts heavy, saggy and always just a little too full. She worshipped the way I softened my wide, jiggly hips, my hairy belly, and especially my moobs, which she’d squeeze, suck, and playfully tease me about until I was putty in her hands.

She started dressing me in her old bras, and somehow, it just made sense. It wasn’t about pretending. It was about letting go. Embracing softness. Equality. She grew stronger and rounder confident in her dominance and I leaned into my plushness, surrendering to the pleasure of being her matching opposite. Her fat prince. Her soft daddy pig.

Sometimes, we’d switch roles entirely. She’d grow her hair out belly, arms, legs slipping into my boxers, belly full and proud with a big strapon. Meanwhile, she’d shave me down smooth, dress me in her thongs and lingerie, and tease me until I was blushing and giggling like a shy piglet. We both adored those moments. It wasn’t about gender it was about release. Connection. Being unashamedly, deeply ourselves she being the hairy daddy and I the mommy taken from behind by her huge strapon.

And we were always turned on. Always touching, always feeding. Sweaty, slow-moving, too big to do anything fast. Even during the deed, we couldn’t help ourselves—grunting, laughing, letting our full bellies and soft bodies crash into each other like waves. And yes, we farted. Loudly. Shamelessly. We were such fat pigs that even our bodies made it known but somehow, it only turned us on more. It reminded us who we were: greedy, stuffed, and in love. This attraction to the dirtiness in each other lead to a fetish of eating from each other’s asses, from sausages till chocolate cakes and the hottest whipped cream, that really fattening goodness combined with super loud farts is so hot. Now we even when we have to fart call each other so the other can put their nose right in the butthole and enjoy a freaking sexy, nasty fart straight from our nasty sweaty cheeks.

Then came the talk about babies.

We didn’t plan to become parents the usual way. No ovulation charts, no apps, no precision. Just raw indulgence, closeness, and the idea that if it happened, it happened because what could be more beautiful than growing not just fat, but full of life?

The first time she got pregnant, we cried. Then we ordered even more food. Watching her grow with our child while still stuffing herself silly was the most powerful thing I had ever seen. She was radiant. Glowing. Massive. And still insatiable. She’d waddle into bed, plop her belly on mine, and whisper in my ear, “Let’s do it again soon, Daddy Pig.” On which I replied, I will never stop breeding you, knocking you up and keeping you pregnant all the time like my big fat nasty hucow is the hottest thing there is. On that she replied with an amazing supprise, she started by accidentally peeing over me(she was so pregnant she had no control), then sitting on my face, emptying the can of whipped cream she put in her ass straight into my mouth, farting all over my face and finally forcing me on her lap and breastfeeding me. She was the perfect mommy pig and made me all hers.

I thought life couldn’t get better than that.

But I didn’t know what was coming next.