Zilla and the Feedress

Chapter 1

The autumn storm continued to batter the reinforced glass and groan against the heavy timber pillars of the porch, but the tempest outside was nothing compared to the slow, delicious squall of indulgence taking place within the sheltered enclave. Zilla felt every single pound of his three hundred and eighty-some-odd frame resting heavily, deeply embedded in the reinforced steel-and-hardwood armchair that Clara had specially commissioned for him. The furniture groaned a familiar, intimate song beneath him-a symphony of creaking springs and compressed wood that signaled just how thoroughly his massive, soft bulk had conquered the seat.

His gargantuan belly, a warm, undulating mountain of absolute flesh, rested directly against the edge of the low custom table, spilling over the sides and pressing heavily against his thighs. Every slow, labored inhalation made his massive chest heave, drawing taut the thin, black cotton of his stretched t-shirt, which had long since lost any pretense of fitting. His oversized flannel shirt hung off his broad shoulders in tatters, the buttons gaping open into a wide chasm that exposed the pale, smooth expanse of his incredibly distended, tautly stretched midsection. The skin there was pulled so tight it practically glistened under the amber porch light, marked by faint, silvery stretches that Clara adored tracing with her fingertips.

Clara leaned across the table, her eyes practically burning with an intense, proprietary heat. To her, every single ounce Zilla wore was a testament to her devotion, her culinary persistence, and his total, unwavering submission to her desires. She reached out, her warm fingertips tracing a slow, agonizingly deliberate arc down the center of his chest, slipping down over the firm, heavy curve of his dome-like belly before sinking deep into the warm, doughy rolls at his waist.

Zilla let out a low, vibrating shudder that rippled through his immense layers, his heavy eyelids fluttering half-shut as a wave of intense, pleasure-soaked lethargy washed over him. The friction of her hand against his ultras-sensitive, stretched skin felt electric, a deliciously intimate reminder of how completely helpless his sheer mass made him.

"Look at you, my sweet, enormous bear," Clara whispered, her voice dropping an octave into a low, sultry purr that sent goosebumps racing across his skin. "So heavy. So wonderfully stuffed and ruined for anyone else. Just look at how those rolls spill over your lap. You're already a monster of a man... but we've barely scratched the surface of what I'm going to do to you."

Zilla swallowed hard, a thick, sweet taste lingering in his mouth from the feast that had preceded this moment. His stomach felt like a tightly packed vault, stretched to its absolute limit with the heavy remnants of double-bacon cheeseburgers, buttered brioche, and rivers of melted cheese. Every heartbeat sent a heavy, sluggish thrum through his veins, the sheer metabolic effort of maintaining and expanding such a massive body leaving him delightfully dizzy and boneless.

"Clara..." Zilla breathed out, his voice husky, thick with a mixture of utter exhaustion and a deep, pulsing arousal that bloomed directly from his overfilling belly. "My stomach... it's throbbing. Every time I breathe, I can feel the weight pressing against my ribs. I'm so full I can barely twitch a finger."

"Good," Clara murmured, her smile turning wicked and deeply affectionate. She gripped a fistful of the soft, dense flesh at his flank, squeezing it possessively. "I want you so full you can't even think straight. I want every single cubic inch of your body dedicated to digesting, expanding, and softening. Feel how heavy you are, Zilla. Feel how hard it is to even draw a breath without your entire middle shifting and swelling. That's my handywork. And I am only halfway done."


She pulled the lid off the steaming cardboard box between them, releasing a fresh wave of rich, cloying cinnamon and hot cream cheese icing into the humid air. The scent alone made Zilla's overtaxed stomach clench in a delicious, agonizing spasm of desire. It was perverse, intoxicating, and utterly irresistible.

"Three hundred more pounds, Zilla," Clara whispered, picking up one of the largest, heaviest cinnamon rolls, glistening with translucent sugar and warm fat. She brought it slowly toward his parted lips, her eyes locked onto his. "Imagine six hundred and eighty pounds of absolute, immovable softness. Imagine your belly sagging so low it rests in your lap when you sit, completely burying you. Imagine needing me to feed you every single bite because your arms are too heavy, too thick with fat to lift the food yourself. Imagine being completely, deliciously helpless, trapped inside a mountain of my making."

The erotic weight of her words hit Zilla like a physical blow, sending a hot, electric surge straight to his groin. The thought of losing all control-of surrendering his mobility, his independence, and his very shape to Clara's insatiable appetite for his expansion-was the most erotic fantasy he had ever known. He was already a prisoner of his own flesh, unable to stand for more than a few minutes without his knees shaking under the crushing load, but the promise of six hundred and eighty pounds pushed him over the edge into a state of pure, trembling surrender.

"Feed me..." Zilla whimpered, his voice cracking with a mix of gluttonous yearning and profound sexual submission. "Make me bigger, Clara. Ruin me. Stuff me until I burst."

Clara rewarded him with a breathless, triumphant laugh, pressing the sticky, warm pastry directly against his lips. Zilla parted them eagerly, taking the massive bite into his mouth. The explosion of intense, sugary richness coated his tongue, so heavy and dense it was almost overwhelming. As he chewed slowly, his jaws working methodically against the massive mouthful, Clara used her free hand to caress the underside of his enormous belly, gently lifting and pressing the heavy mass to help ease the food down his throat.

"That's it, my greedy boy," she praised softly, watching with rapt adoration as his throat convulsed and the heavy sweet mass slid down into his already groaning stomach. "Swallow it all down. Let every single calorie settle deep into your hips, your thighs, your chest, and your gut. Grow wide for me. Grow impossibly heavy."

With every swallow, Zilla felt his body expanding just a fraction more, the delicious pressure inside him intensifying until his skin felt hot and tight like a drum. He closed his eyes, leaning his heavy head back against the leather cushion as the storm raged on outside. Wrapped in the rich scent of indulgence, the unrelenting heat of Clara's gaze, and the profound, crushing weight of his own rapidly growing body, Zilla drifted into a haze of absolute, erotic bliss, knowing he would wake up heavier, wider, and even more hopelessly trapped in her paradise tomorrow.