chapter 1

I hope you aren't too tired out from this season of indulgence.

I lean in close, the deep plunge of my cleavage on your eyeline as, as I put a third helping of dessert in front of you.  The little voice in your ear; softly murmered so that no one else around the table can over hear with my lips lingering to your cheeks for only a second longer than proper, for only a moment as my fingers brush down your torso prodding at the softness of fat that we have grown on your lower belly. A joint effort of teasing you to the very limits of your gluttony. And beyond.

How many thousands of calories have you over consumed with me? How many times have you agreed to just a little more as you rub your over stuffed gut and belch to find room? How many times have I promised that this is the last thing you will have to eat before sitting on your lap, and coercing you to eat more - using my curves to extort you into gorging more. Pushing the limits of your gluttony with my pleasure. And when burstingly full: When your belly is round and taut, fatter and fuller than you have ever been,  how many times then have I had my way?  My muse to feed as I please as you plead on how full you are; belching as you clutch a belly that you think is fuller than its ever even before and knowing that we both want to feed you more. Until you are too deep into the thrawl of gluttony to do all but lay back and moan... in fullness and in pleasure from having such a fattening fantasy fulfilled.   You will be at my mercy.

"Eat. Another plate", I whisper. No one can hear us. The noise of chatter around us is too much, people caught up in the festivities, the buzz of excitement lubricated by the free flow of alcohol and good food.  Everyone indulges a little at this time of the year...

The little dome of your belly is hidden beneath your loose fitted t-shirt ... for now. Although we both know the struggle that you had buttoning your jeans this morning; pushing the waistband so that it sat low beneath the overflow of doughy fat that so many thousands of calories have created. You're going to need a bigger size soon... you maybe should have already had one. 

I know from past dinner dates with you that these jeans are too snug to contain your belly for long. But of course, that's a different sort of dinner.  The type with so many courses that you need time just be able to sit up straight, and even then  can barely waddle from the table to bed, holding your belly in both hands as if nursing a beach ball. Or is it an over sized bowling ball... you do always tell me how heavy it is?

Here you have just been a little greedy... not enough to satiate a glutton like you.  But you are fatter. Fatter than ever.

And from the way you glance worriedly down at your waitband; at the belly that pours outwardly into your lap further than it used to even when packed full... you're wondering if there is room enough to grow before your belly demands more room. 

I dont think there is. In fact, I'm counting on it as I straighten up, the warmth of my lips still tingling on your cheek as I twirl away,  smiling and turning to the noise and laughter.  Although, I've barely touched anything all evening.  Instead, you've been indulging for two. 


It takes you a while to finish that slice of cake. Or should I say wedge. It's block shaped and deep; and you can feel the weight of the dense slice as you lift the plate. You can feel your belly ache a little in protest as you loud the fork. Just the weight of it in your hands. how many pounds of cake is in this piece alone? And this is your third sweet treat....  already my quiet insistence thar you finish fourth helpings of dinner. Looking at the full plate of dinner before you, made up of my entire almost untouched dinner, it did look smaller than your first three helpings had been.  And it had taken you to that third plate to place a hand on your belly and admit you felt a little full. Just how much of glutton have I made you?

I know your eyes are on me as I flit around the room; as I am caught around the waist by a well meaning friend. And pulled to dance merrily the music; the warm the lights on the Christmas tree catching the gold in my hair. As I twirl my dress billowing around me; ever higher glimpses of my strong thighs...  the pale soft skin of between where the scratch of your beard had made me squirm this morning, as your kisses told me of your hunger. For me.

You had conceded that you were only a little fatter. But I am aware of every pound. Every inch. Every time that you have made me gasp. Moan. Beg. For this fatter belly that now jiggles and presses me down... 


You watch me spring: lythe and light as you sit back the wait of your gluttony sitting heavier on your middle with each swallow. You're swollen. And feel huge, but nobody has noticed yet.  Perhaps that's a good thing for now...

For by the time I reach my way back to you; those around you are chatting softly with their attention absorbed elsewhere. I can see you are reclining in your chair. Trying your hardest to draw deep, steady breaths. But you're too plump. Too packed full to manage more than a quick pant; with a hand placed delicately on your swollen belly as you try and hold in your belches. 

I can sit on your knee now, having escaped the attention of others too now lost in revelry and cheer. I have gained another bottle. Another beer which I place down in front of you. That makes one more for you to fit in. And cake. It's not too much. I insist.

You let our a moan of pleasure, of pain, as I crowd your overfilled belly, pressing against you so that your lower belly must lean heavily against the side of my thigh; so that the stretched depression of your belly button is resting in the slope of my hip; so that the outwards and downwards curve of your upper belly fits itself into the contours of my body. Your new weight to my waist.  "Little belly" as you had insisted it was, pressed hard against a little body. Stuffed to slim. 

"I'm so... ugh..." you loose your words to another soft belch as I lean closer to you, a kiss on your neck.  I press the bottle to your lips. And in a few deep swallows it's gone. I can practically feel your belly growing as you do. Your skin is stretched so tightly; it has no where else to go except to press more tightly into your alrwady overindulged belly. Pressing outwards further; upwards; downwards. As I take the bottle away... you are definitely more spherical. Tighter. Rounder. "Full"

I know it's what you say; but the word is lost in such a moan it's hard to make out.
I no longer know if you are panting from fullness; or the pleasure of the pain that must be radiating across your tight middle.

"Nearly" I murmuring, drumming my fingers on your gut. I have to do so through your tshirt... but I find myself biting my lip. Wanting to, wishing, that I had my skin pressed to yours. "Now the cake."

You don't object. You just hold your belly; rubbing it tenderly. Your hands massaging an unspoken plea to make room; enjoying the feeling of being so undeniably fat.

I'm sure... if I listen very closely that I can hear your trousers creak in between bites. The material warning that it really can't take any more. Threading that if this belly grows any rounder that the button is going to give way.

You really are a glutton now. So fat. So greedy: that you're going to blow out a button, with your feeder in your lap, in a room full of people. That you will have to sit back with your belly hanging out - out of sight... but definitely not out of mind. Just when did you let go?

And we both know that there is more to come. That this is only the very first few pounds of your belly. The first verge of gluttony from which you have plunged. This plump little belly which looks so big now on your slim figure - the throbbing indicator of overindulgence... or at least one of them.

I shift in your lap, a devious smile crossing my lips as I push myself against you once more. My eyes gliting, deviously. Before my sweetest compassion. The gentle kisses that come with your last mouthful; the tender motion of my well trained fingers - the hands that have mapped every inch of this growing belly. As you have gorged and grown.

Your trousers have held. For now. But how quickly, your belly rushes forth, forcing yhe zip down tells me that we were close.

"This might be the last time you can wear this out if you don't gain control.  If you gorge anymore... you are really going to get fat." I sit back against you one more; closely as if keen to press my entire body to your belly.

Tell Me, glutton - Are you too far gone to turn back now? ... as you look down at this swollen belly,  as you feel huge with it pressing forwards and outwards so much - are you thinking what I am thinking? 

Can you help but imagine more? When you are already the fattest you have ever been? Just a little winter weight I'm sure.  Do you think of yourself fatter? Fatter than this somehow?  Let me make you feel huge - to indulge your fattest desires along with mine so that you are twice as big. More.

I am a feeder who loves a round achingly overfilled belly. Strong to stuffed. From  fullness to fat... tell me; will you eat for me?  Even as you grow beyond your wildest dreams... beyond what you ever thought you would.   I can't deny how much I love your belly. And that... part of me doesn't want this to stop.

I am a feeder who pushes boundaries; stretching the limits of your belly and encouraging your gluttony past giving into that hendonism of indulgence. Of too much. Of a satisfied appetite to an overfed glutton.  Burstingly, achingly round.  I know how greedy you are. I can see your potential. The potential for this little pot belly to be substantial.

..  Will you be my fattened feedee?

Whatever your waistline; will you let me feed you up.

I hope that these weeks of indulgence haven't tired you out. That this season of feeding and fattening has not dampened your hunger.

... Because, I have big plans of you. And teasing demands. I hope you are still hungry, with this plump little belly.

Say you will grow for me... For My plump present, this dedication of decadence, I have started with you...  soon. There will be no hiding your belly. No redoing up these pants...

Bursting buttons, and bloated bellies.  There will be no hiding your belly. Promise me. You will be plump.

Say you will eat for me; my glutton. More. A Christmas of making me cry out. Over and over...

Please your feeder. One more plate.