Chapter 1 - Where Desire Hurts

I had been cooking all day.
Not out of politeness. Not to impress. I did it so that every bite could speak of me. I wanted this dinner to leave a mark. On his body... and in his mind.

When he stepped through the door, I knew something had already begun.
His eyes were full of hesitation and hunger. He was well-dressed, fitted clothes hugging his form. A little tense, unsure of what was about to happen.

I smiled at him - soft, intimate - with the calm of someone who already knows they’re getting exactly what they want.
“Come in… I’ve been waiting for you.”

I guided him with a light hand on his back. Just a brush but enough for the silence between us to begin turning into skin.

The table was set. The light was warm. The air… dense, heavy, charged with something unseen.

I sat close to him. I wanted him to feel my presence before my voice.
I served the first course slowly, with care and waited.

He took a bite. Didn’t swallow right away. He closed his eyes. Savored. Exhaled and in that quiet gesture, I knew, he was beginning to give in.

I watched him without touching. The way he swallowed. The way his lips parted and glistened. How his fingers tensed, as if something inside him didn’t want to let go… but already was.

“It’s made for you,” I whispered - soft enough that only the air could hear.

He didn’t answer. Just kept eating. One spoonful. Then another. As if each bite was calling him to stay and I thought, keep going… each mouthful brings you closer to me.

He started to change. His shirt grew tighter around his belly. The bottom button strained. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

“Is it tight?” I asked gently.
He nodded, eyes lowered.

I leaned in, slow with the tips of my fingers, I began unbuttoning him from the bottom up. One. Then another. Until the swell of his belly was exposed - round, tense, warm under the light.

The fabric gave way and so did he.

I laid my hand on his bare skin. He closed his eyes. Said nothing but I felt it. His breathing slowed, deepened... and became mine.

“Much better like this,” I whispered.

He lifted the fork again, but this time… he hesitated. It hovered in his hand, motionless.

“I don’t know if I can eat more…”

I smiled. Not with mockery with desire.

I slid behind him, pressing my stomach to his back, my lips to his neck. Wrapped my arms around him.
Surrounded him with my warmth. My rhythm. Me.

“Don’t think,” I murmured.
“Let go. Let me guide you through this path… where pain melts into the sweetest pleasure.”

I took the hand that trembled. Helped it lift the fork. Offered him another bite.

“Just one more…”

And he took it. Then another and another. My hand on his swollen belly, hot and taut. My breath in his ear. My hunger pulsing against his back.

There was no more hesitation. He was eating for me. Because of me, with me.

I kissed his now-rounded cheek, warm and flushed and whispered:

“You’re beautiful… and we’re far from done.”

I took his hand.We stood. His body, heavier, slower… followed me like it had no other choice.

We entered the bedroom.
The bed welcomed him like it had been made for the weight he now carried. He sank into it with a deep, breathy moan.

I slipped beneath him. His belly collapsed onto mine. Pressed me down. Covered me. Filled me.

I closed my eyes, smiling.
There is no deeper pleasure than feeling him like this - above me, heavy with what I’ve given him.

“Look at you…” I whispered, running my hands over his enormous belly, grasping his soft, thick folds, hot and yielding.
“So full… so beautiful… so mine.

My hands explored him. His arms, thick and swollen. His thighs, broad and heavy. His whole body, softened… surrendered. Reshaped.

He breathed hard. Eyes open, locked on me. Not afraid. Just… wanting.

“Can you feel what I’m doing to you?” I murmured, brushing my lips over his.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

His body burned above mine and mine beneath his.

And in that moment - no words, no thoughts - we saw each other clearly.

No more hesitation. No more resistance. Only that thing that can’t be broken once it takes hold:

Hunger, desire and a fire so deep that neither of us would ever want to leave it.